THE
WORKS
OF
JOHN DRYDEN,
NOW FIRST COLLECTED
_IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES_.
ILLUSTRATED
WITH NOTES,
HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND EXPLANATORY,
AND
A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,
BY
WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.
VOL. VIII.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET,
BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH.
1808.
CONTENTS
OF
VOLUME EIGHTH.
PAGE.
Amphitryon, or the Two Sosias, a Comedy, 1
Epistle Dedicatory to Sir William Leveson Gower, Bart. 7
King Arthur, or the British Worthy, a Dramatic Opera, 107
Epistle Dedicatory to the Marquis of Halifax, 113
Cleomenes, the Spartan Hero, a Tragedy, 181
Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Rochester, 191
Preface, 196
The Life of Cleomenes, translated from
Plutarch by Mr Thomas Creech, 207
Love Triumphant, or Nature will prevail, a Tragi-comedy, 331
Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Salisbury, 337
Prologue, Song, Secular Masque, and Epilogue, written for
the Pilgrim, revived for Dryden's benefit in 1700, 437
AMPHITRYON:
OR
THE TWO SOSIAS.
A COMEDY.
_Egregiam verò laudem, et spolia ampla refertis,
Una dolo Divûm si fæmina victa duorum est._ VIRG.
AMPHITRYON.
Plautus, the venerable father of Roman comedy, who flourished during
the second Punic war, left us a play on the subject of Amphitryon,
which has had the honour to be deemed worthy of imitation by Moliere
and Dryden. It cannot be expected, that the plain, blunt, and
inartificial stile of so rude an age should bear any comparison with
that of authors who enjoyed the highest advantages of the polished
times, to which they were an ornament. But the merit of having devised
and embodied most of the comic distresses, which have excited laughter
throughout so many ages, is to be attributed to the ancient bard,
upon whose original conception of the plot his successors have made
few and inconsiderable improvements. It is true, that, instead of a
formal _Prologus_, who stepped forth, in the character of Mercury,
and gravely detailed to the audience the plot of the play, Moliere
and Dryden have introduced it in the modern more artificial method,
by the dialogue of the actors in the first scene. It is true, also,
that with great contempt of one of the unities, afterwards deemed so
indispensible by the ancients, Plautus introduces the birth of Hercules
into a play, founded upon the intrigue which occasioned that event.
Yet with all these disadvantages, and that of the rude flatness of
his dialogue,--resting frequently, for wit, upon the most miserable
puns,--the comic device of the two Sosias; the errors into which
the malice of Mercury plunges his unlucky original; the quarrel of
Alcmena with her real husband, and her reconciliation with Jupiter
in his stead; the final confronting of the two Amphitryos; and the
astonishment of the unfortunate general, at finding every proof of his
identity exhibited by his rival,--are all, however rudely sketched,
the inventions of the Roman poet. In one respect it would seem, that
the _jeu de theatre_, necessary to render the piece probable upon
the stage, was better managed in the time of Plautus than in that of
Dryden and Moliere. Upon a modern stage it is evidently difficult to
introduce two pair of characters, so extremely alike as to make it at
all probable, or even possible, that the mistakes, depending upon their
extreme resemblance, could take place. But, favoured by the masks and
costume of the ancient theatre, Plautus contrived to render Jupiter and
Mercury so exactly like Amphitryon and Sosia, that they were obliged
to retain certain marks, supposed to be invisible to the other persons
of the drama, by which the audience themselves might be enabled to
distinguish the gods from the mortals, whose forms they had assumed[1].
The modern poets have treated the subject, which they had from Plautus,
each according to the fashion of his country; and so far did the
correctness of the French stage exceed ours at that period, that the
palm of the comic writing must be, at once, awarded to Moliere. For,
though Dryden had the advantage of the French author's labours, from
which, and from Plautus, he has translated liberally, the wretched
taste of the age has induced him to lard the piece with gratuitous
indelicacy. He is, in general, coarse and vulgar, where Moliere is
witty; and where the Frenchman ventures upon a double meaning, the
Englishman always contrives to make it a single one. Yet although
inferior to Moliere, and accommodated to the gross taste of the
seventeenth century, "Amphitryon" is one of the happiest effusions
of Dryden's comic muse. He has enriched the plot by the intrigue of
Mercury and Phædra; and the petulant interested "Queen of Gipsies," as
her lover terms her, is no bad paramour for the God of Thieves.
In the scenes of a higher cast, Dryden far outstrips both the
French and Roman poet. The sensation to be expressed is not that of
sentimental affection, which the good father of Olympus was not capable
of feeling; but love, of that grosser and subordinate kind which
prompted Jupiter in his intrigues, has been by none of the ancient
poets expressed in more beautiful verse than that in which Dryden has
clothed it, in the scenes between Jupiter and Alcmena. Even Milbourne,
who afterwards attacked our author with such malignant asperity, was
so sensible of the merit of "Amphitryon," that he addressed to the
publisher the following letter and copy of verses, which Mr Malone's
industry recovered from among Mr Tonson's papers.
"MR TONSON, _Yarmouth, Novemb. 24.--90._
"You'l wonder perhaps at this from a stranger; but ye reason of it
may perhaps abate somewhat of ye miracle, and it's this. On Thursday
the twentyth instant, I receiv'd Mr Drydens AMPHYTRIO: I leave out
the Greeke termination, as not so proper in my opinion, in English.
But to passe that; I liked the play, and read it over with as much of
criticisme and ill nature as ye time (being about one in ye morning,
and in bed,) would permit. Going to sleep very well pleasd, I could
not leave my bed in ye morning without this sacrifice to the authours
genius: it was too sudden to be correct, but it was very honestly
meant, and is submitted to yours and Mr Ds. disposall.
"Hail, Prince of Witts! thy fumbling Age is past,
Thy youth and witt and art's renewed at last.
So on some rock the Joviall bird assays
Her ore-grown beake, that marke of age, to rayse;
That done, through yield'ing air she cutts her way,
And strongly stoops againe, and breaks the trembling prey.
What though prodigious thunder stripp'd thy brows
Of envy'd bays, and the dull world allows
Shadwell should wear them,--wee'll applaud the change;
Where nations feel it, who can think it strange!
So have I seen the long-ear'd brute aspire
To drest commode with every smallest wire;
With nightrail hung on shoulders, gravely stalke,
Like bawd attendant on Aurelias walke.
Hang't! give the fop ingratefull world its will;
He wears the laurel,--thou deservs't it still.
Still smooth, as when, adorn'd with youthful pride,
For thy dear sake the blushing virgins dyed;
When the kind gods of witt and love combined,
And with large gifts thy yielding soul refined.
"Not Phœbus could with gentler words pursue
His flying Daphne, not the morning dew
Falls softer than the words of amorous Jove,
When melting, dying, for Alcmene's love.
"Yet briske and airy too, thou fill'st the stage,
Unbroke by fortune, undecayed by age.
French wordy witt by thine was long surpast;
Now Rome's thy captive, and by thee wee taste
Of their rich dayntyes; but so finely drest,
Theirs was a country meal, thine a triumphant feast.
"If this to thy necessityes wee ow,
O, may they greater still and greater grow!
Nor blame the wish; Plautus could write in chaines,
Wee'll blesse thy wants, while wee enjoy thy pains.
Wealth makes the poet lazy, nor can fame,
That gay attendant of a spritely flame,
A Dorset or a Wycherly invite,
Because they feel no pinching wants, to write.
"Go on! endenizon the Romane slave;
Let an eternal spring adorne his grave;
His ghost would gladly all his fame submitt
To thy strong judgment and thy piercing witt.
Purged by thy hand, he speaks immortall sense,
And pleases all with modish excellence.
Nor would we have thee live on empty praise
The while, for, though we cann't restore the bays,
While thou writ'st thus,--to pay thy merites due,
Wee'll give the claret and the pension too."
Milbourne concludes, by desiring to be supplied with such of our
author's writings, as he had not already, to be sent to Yarmouth in
Norfolk, where he probably had then a living.
"Amphitryon" was produced in the same year with "Don Sebastian;" and
although it cannot be called altogether an original performance, yet it
contains so much original writing as to shew, that our author's vein
of poetry was, in his advanced age, distinguished by the same rapid
fluency, as when he first began to write for the stage.
This comedy was acted and printed in 1690. It was very favourably
received; and continued long to be what is called a stock-play.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: This caution is given by Mercury in the prologue.
"Nunc internosse ut vos possitis facilius,
Ego has habebo hic usque in petaso pinnulas,
Tum meo patri autem torulus inerit aureus
Sub petaso: Id signum Amphitruoni non erit.
Ea signa nemo horumce familiarium
Videri poterit; verum vos videbitis."]
TO
THE HONOURABLE
SIR WILLIAM LEVESON GOWER,
BARONET.[2]
There is one kind of virtue which is inborn in the nobility, and indeed
in most of the ancient families of this nation; they are not apt to
insult on the misfortunes of their countrymen. But you, sir, I may
tell it without flattery, have grafted on this natural commiseration,
and raised it to a nobler virtue. As you have been pleased to honour
me, for a long time, with some part of your esteem, and your good
will; so, in particular, since the late Revolution, you have increased
the proofs of your kindness to me; and not suffered the difference of
opinions, which produce such hatred and enmity in the brutal part of
human kind, to remove you from the settled basis of your good nature,
and good sense. This nobleness of yours, had it been exercised on an
enemy, had certainly been a point of honour, and as such I might have
justly recommended it to the world; but that of constancy to your
former choice, and the pursuance of your first favours, are virtues
not over-common amongst Englishmen. All things of honour have, at
best, somewhat of ostentation in them, and self-love; there is a pride
of doing more than is expected from us, and more than others would
have done. But to proceed in the same track of goodness, favour, and
protection, is to shew that a man is acted by a thorough principle: it
carries somewhat of tenderness in it, which is humanity in a heroical
degree; it is a kind of unmoveable good-nature; a word which is
commonly despised, because it is so seldom practised. But, after all,
it is the most generous virtue, opposed to the most degenerate vice,
which is that of ruggedness and harshness to our fellow-creatures.
It is upon this knowledge of you, sir, that I have chosen you, with
your permission, to be the patron of this poem. And as, since this
wonderful Revolution, I have begun with the best pattern of humanity,
the Earl of Leicester, I shall continue to follow the same method, in
all to whom I shall address; and endeavour to pitch on such only, as
have been pleased to own me, in this ruin of my small fortune; who,
though they are of a contrary opinion themselves, yet blame not me for
adhering to a lost cause; and judging for myself, what I cannot chuse
but judge, so long as I am a patient sufferer, and no disturber of the
government. Which, if it be a severe penance, as a great wit has told
the world, it is at least enjoined me by myself: and Sancho Pança, as
much fool as I, was observed to discipline his body no farther than he
found he could endure the smart.
You see, sir, I am not entertaining you like Ovid, with a lamentable
epistle from Pontus: I suffer no more than I can easily undergo; and so
long as I enjoy my liberty, which is the birth-right of an Englishman,
the rest shall never go near my heart. The merry philosopher is more to
my humour than the melancholic; and I find no disposition in myself to
cry, while the mad world is daily supplying me with such occasions of
laughter. The more reasonable sort of my countrymen have shewn so much
favour to this piece, that they give me no doubt of their protection
for the future.
As you, sir, have been pleased to follow the example of their goodness,
in favouring me; so give me leave to say that I follow yours, in this
dedication to a person of a different persuasion. Though I must confess
withal, that I have had a former encouragement from you for this
address; and the warm remembrance of your noble hospitality to me, at
Trentham[3], when some years ago I visited my friends and relations
in your country, has ever since given me a violent temptation to this
boldness.
It is true, were this comedy wholly mine, I should call it a trifle,
and perhaps not think it worth your patronage; but, when the names of
Plautus and Moliere are joined in it, that is, the two greatest names
of ancient and modern comedy, I must not presume so far on their
reputation, to think their best and most unquestioned productions can
be termed little. I will not give you the trouble of acquainting you
what I have added, or altered, in either of them, so much, it may be,
for the worse; but only, that the difference of our stage, from the
Roman and the French, did so require it. But I am afraid, for my own
interest, the world will too easily discover, that more than half of
it is mine; and that the rest is rather a lame imitation of their
excellencies, than a just translation. It is enough, that the reader
know by you, that I neither deserve nor desire any applause from it:
if I have performed any thing, it is the genius of my authors that
inspired me; and, if it pleased in representation let the actors share
the praise amongst themselves. As for Plautus and Moliere, they are
dangerous people; and I am too weak a gamester to put myself into their
form of play. But what has been wanting on my part, has been abundantly
supplied by the excellent composition of Mr Purcell; in whose person
we have at length found an Englishman, equal with the best abroad. At
least, my opinion of him has been such, since his happy and judicious
performances in the late opera[4], and the experience I have had of
him, in the setting my three songs for this "Amphitryon:" to all
which, and particularly to the composition of the pastoral dialogue,
the numerous choir of fair ladies gave so just an applause on the
third day. I am only sorry, for my own sake, that there was one star
wanting, as beautiful as any in our hemisphere; that young Berenice[5],
who is misemploying all her charms on stupid country souls, that can
never know the value of them; and losing the triumphs, which are ready
prepared for her, in the court and town. And yet I know not whether I
am so much a loser by her absence; for I have reason to apprehend the
sharpness of her judgment, if it were not allayed with the sweetness of
her nature; and, after all, I fear she may come time enough to discover
a thousand imperfections in my play, which might have passed on vulgar
understandings. Be pleased to use the authority of a father over her,
on my behalf: enjoin her to keep her own thoughts of "Amphitryon" to
herself; or at least not to compare him too strictly with Moliere's. It
is true, I have an interest in this partiality of hers: but withal, I
plead some sort of merit for it, in being so particularly, as I am,
SIR,
Your most obedient,
Humble servant,
JOHN DRYDEN.
_October 24th, 1690._
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 2: This gentleman united in his person the ancient families
of Gower and Leveson. He was second son of Sir Thomas Gower, bart.,
and succeeded to the title and estate, by the death of his nephew, Sir
Edward Gower, in the year before. He was a keen whig, and distinguished
himself, both by his attachment to Monmouth, and his zeal for the
Revolution; but his alliance with Lawrence Earl of Rochester, whose
eldest son, Lord Hyde, had married his daughter, might smooth our
poet's access to his favour; since Rochester is distinguished as his
constant patron. Dryden also refers to former passages of intimacy
between him and Sir William. Above all, we are to suppose that, in
admiration of our author's poetical talents, Sir William Gower was
capable of drowning every unfavourable recollection of his political
tenets. Sir William Leveson Gower is ancestor of the present Marquis of
Stafford.]
[Footnote 3: A noble seat in Staffordshire, inhabited by Sir William
Gower, from the Levesons, his maternal ancestors.]
[Footnote 4: Betterton, having recovered the dislike to operas, which
the failure of "Albion and Albanius" occasioned, had brought out the
"Prophetess," of Beaumont and Fletcher, shortened and altered into a
musical piece, which was set by the famous Purcell. Dr. Burney has
sanctioned the compliment, which Dryden bestows upon it. There is
something in our author's turn of expression, which may lead us to
infer, that he was but a recent convert to the English school of music.
Sir John Hawkins seems to be mistaken, in placing this opera posterior
to that of "Prince Arthur." The dances were invented by the celebrated
Priest.]
[Footnote 5: Under this poetical appellation, the author here, and in
the dedication to "Cleomenes," celebrates Jane Lady Hyde, daughter to
Sir William L. Gower, and wife, as has been noticed, to Henry Lord
Hyde; eldest son of Lawrence Earl of Rochester.]
PROLOGUE,
SPOKEN BY MRS BRACEGIRDLE.
The labouring bee, when his sharp sting is gone,
Forgets his golden work, and turns a drone:
Such is a satire, when you take away
That rage, in which his noble vigour lay.
What gain you, by not suffering him to teaze ye?
He neither can offend you now, nor please ye.
The honey-bag, and venom, lay so near, }
That both together you resolved to tear; }
And lost your pleasure, to secure your fear. }
How can he show his manhood, if you bind him
To box, like boys, with one hand tied behind him?
This is plain levelling of wit; in which
The poor has all the advantage, not the rich.
The blockhead stands excused, for wanting sense;
And wits turn blockheads in their own defence.
Yet, though the stage's traffic is undone,
Still Julian's[6] interloping trade goes on:
Though satire on the theatre you smother,
Yet, in lampoons, you libel one another.
The first produces, still, a second jig;
You whip them out, like school-boys, till they gig;
And with the same success, our readers guess,
For every one still dwindles to a less[7];
And much good malice is so meanly drest,
That we would laugh, but cannot find the jest.
If no advice your rhyming rage can stay,
Let not the ladies suffer in the fray:
Their tender sex is privileged from war;
'Tis not like knights, to draw upon the fair.
What fame expect you from so mean a prize?
We wear no murdering weapons, but our eyes.
Our sex, you know, was after yours designed; }
The last perfection of the Maker's mind: }
Heaven drew out all the gold for us, and left your dross behind. }
Beauty, for valour's best reward, he chose;
Peace, after war; and, after toil, repose.
Hence, ye profane, excluded from our sights; }
And, charmed by day with honour's vain delights, }
Go, make your best of solitary nights. }
Recant betimes, 'tis prudence to submit;
Our sex is still your over-match in wit:
We never fail, with new, successful arts,
To make fine fools of you, and all your parts.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 6: Julian, who styled himself secretary to the muses, made
a dirty livelihood, by copying and dispersing lampoons at the Wits'
coffee-house. He was the subject of a copy of verses, which the reader
will find among those ascribed to Dryden on doubtful authority.]
[Footnote 7: The poetasters of that age were so numerous, and so
active, that the most deplorable attempt at wit, or satire, was
usually answered in one which was yet worse. Parody and personal abuse
were the implements of this warfare, which sometimes extended to
answers, replies, rejoinders, rebutters, and sur-rebutters, all only
distinguished by malignant scurrility.]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
JUPITER.
MERCURY.
PHŒBUS.
AMPHITRYON, _the Theban General_.
SOSIA, _his Slave_.
GRIPUS, _a Theban Judge_.
POLIDAS, } _Officers of the Theban Army_.
TRANIO, }
ALCMENA, _Wife to_ AMPHITRYON.
PHÆDRA, } _Her Slaves_.
BROMIA, }
NIGHT.
SCENE,--_Thebes_.
AMPHITRYON,
OR THE
TWO SOSIAS.
ACT I. SCENE I.
MERCURY _and_ PHŒBUS _descend in two Machines_.
_Phoe._ Know you the reason of this present summons?
'Tis neither council day, nor is this heaven.
What business has our Jupiter on earth?
Why more at Thebes than any other place?
And why we two, of all the herd of gods,
Are chosen out to meet him in consult?
They call me God of Wisdom;
But Mars and Vulcan, the two fools of heaven,
Whose wit lies in their anvil and their sword,
Know full as much as I.
_Merc._ And Venus may know more than both of us;
For 'tis some petticoat affair, I guess.
I have discharged my duty, which was, to summon you, Phœbus: we shall
know more anon, when the Thunderer comes down. 'Tis our part to obey
our father; for, to confess the truth, we two are little better than
sons of harlots; and, if Jupiter had not been pleased to take a little
pains with our mothers, instead of being gods, we might have been a
couple of link-boys.
_Phoe._ But know you nothing farther, Hermes? What news in court?
_Merc._ There has been a devilish quarrel, I can tell you, between
Jupiter and Juno. She threatened to sue him in the spiritual court for
some matrimonial omissions; and he stood upon his prerogative: then she
hit him in the teeth of all his bastards; and your name and mine were
used with less reverence than became our godships. They were both in
their cups; and at last the matter grew so high, that they were ready
to have thrown stars at one another's heads.
_Phoe._ 'Twas happy for me that I was at my vocation, driving day-light
about the world. But I had rather stand my father's thunderbolts, than
my stepmother's railing.
_Merc._ When the tongue-battle was over, and the championess had
harnessed her peacocks to go for Samos, and hear the prayers that were
made to her--
_Phoe._ By the way, her worshippers had a bad time on't; she was in a
damnable humour for receiving petitions.
_Merc._ Jupiter immediately beckons me aside, and charges me, that,
as soon as ever you had set up your horses, you and I should meet him
here at Thebes: Now, putting the premises together, as dark as it is,
methinks I begin to see day-light.
_Phoe._ As plain as one of my own beams; she has made him uneasy at
home, and he is going to seek his diversion abroad. I see heaven
itself is no privileged place for happiness, if a man must carry his
wife along with him.
_Merc._ 'Tis neither better nor worse, upon my conscience. He is weary
of hunting in the spacious forest of a wife, and is following his game
_incognito_ in some little purlieu here at Thebes: that's many an
honest man's case on earth too, Jove help them! as indeed he does, to
make them cuckolds.
_Phoe._ But, if so, Mercury, then I, who am a poet, must indite his
love-letter; and you, who are by trade a porter, must convey it.
_Merc._ No more; he's coming down souse upon us, and hears as far as he
can see too. He's plaguy hot upon the business, I know it by his hard
driving.
JUPITER _descends_.
_Jup._ What, you are descanting upon my actions!
Much good may do you with your politics:
All subjects will be censuring their kings.
Well, I confess I am in love; what then?
_Phoe._ Some mortal, we presume, of Cadmus' blood;
Some Theban beauty; some new Semele;
Or some Europa.
_Merc._ I'll say that for my father, he's constant to a handsome
family; he knows when they have a good smack with them, and snuff's up
incense so savourily when 'tis offered by a fair hand,----
_Jup._ Well, my familiar sons, this saucy carriage
I have deserved; for he, who trusts a secret,
Makes his own man his master.
I read your thoughts;
Therefore you may as safely speak as think.
_Merc._ Mine was a very homely thought.--I was considering into what
form your almightyship would be pleased to transform yourself to-night:
whether you would fornicate in the shape of a bull, or a ram, or an
eagle, or a swan; what bird or beast you would please to honour, by
transgressing your own laws in his likeness; or, in short, whether you
would recreate yourself in feathers, or in leather?
_Phoe._ Any disguise to hide the king of gods.
_Jup._ I know your malice, Phœbus; you would say,
That, when a monarch sins, it should be secret,
To keep exterior shew of sanctity,
Maintain respect, and cover bad example:
For kings and priests are in a manner bound,
For reverence sake, to be close hypocrites.
_Phoe._ But what necessitates you to this love,
Which you confess a crime, and yet commit?
For, to be secret makes not sin the less;
'Tis only hidden from the vulgar view;
Maintains, indeed, the reverence due to princes,
But not absolves the conscience from the crime.
_Jup._ I love, because 'twas in the fates I should.
_Phoe._ With reverence be it spoke, a bad excuse:
Thus every wicked act, in heaven or earth,
May make the same defence. But what is fate?
Is it a blind contingence of events,
Or sure necessity of causes linked,
That must produce effects? Or is't a power,
That orders all things by superior will,
Foresees his work, and works in that foresight?
_Jup._ Fate is, what I,
By virtue of omnipotence, have made it;
And power omnipotent can do no wrong:
Not to myself, because I will it so;
Nor yet to men, for what they are is mine.--
This night I will enjoy Amphitryon's wife;
For, when I made her, I decreed her such
As I should please to love. I wrong not him
Whose wife she is; for I reserved my right,
To have her while she pleased me; that once past,
She shall be his again.
_Merc._ Here's omnipotence with a vengeance! to make a man a cuckold,
and yet not to do him wrong! Then I find, father Jupiter, that when you
made fate, you had the wit to contrive a holiday for yourself now and
then; for you kings never enact a law, but you have a kind of an eye to
your own prerogative.
_Phoe._ If there be no such thing as right and wrong
Of an eternal being, I have done;
But if there be,----
_Jup._ Peace, thou disputing fool!--
Learn this; If thou could'st comprehend my ways,
Then thou wert Jove, not I; yet thus far know,
That, for the good of human kind, this night
I shall beget a future Hercules,
Who shall redress the wrongs of injured mortals,
Shall conquer monsters, and reform the world.
_Merc._ Ay, brother Phœbus; and our father made all those monsters for
Hercules to conquer, and contrived all those vices on purpose for him
to reform too, there's the jest on't.
_Phoe._ Since arbitrary power will hear no reason,
'Tis wisdom to be silent.
_Merc._ Why that's the point; this same arbitrary power is a knock-down
argument; 'tis but a word and a blow. Now methinks, our father speaks
out like an honest bare-faced god, as he is; he lays the stress in the
right place, upon absolute dominion: I confess, if he had been a man,
he might have been a tyrant, if his subjects durst have called him to
account. But you, brother Phœbus, are but a mere country gentleman,
that never comes to court; that are abroad all day on horseback, making
visits about the world; are drinking all night; and, in your cups
are still railing at the government. O, these patriots, these bumpkin
patriots, are a very silly sort of animal!
_Jup._ My present purpose and design you heard,
To enjoy Amphitryon's wife, the fair Alcmena:
You two must be subservient to my love.
_Merc._ [_To Phœbus._] No more of your grumbletonian morals, brother;
there's preferment coming; be advised, and pimp dutifully.
_Jup._ Amphitryon, the brave Theban general,
Has overcome his country's foes in fight,
And, in a single duel, slain their king:
His conquering troops are eager on their march
Returning home; while their young general,
More eager to review his beauteous wife,
Posts on before, winged with impetuous love,
And, by to-morrow's dawn, will reach this town.
_Merc._ That's but short warning, father Jupiter; having made no former
advances of courtship to her, you have need of your omnipotence, and
all your godship, if you mean to be beforehand with him.
_Phoe._ Then how are we to be employed this evening?
Time's precious, and these summer nights are short;
I must be early up to light the world.
_Jup._ You shall not rise; there shall be no to-morrow.
_Merc._ Then the world's to be at an end, I find.
_Phoe._ Or else a gap in nature of a day.
_Jup._ A day will be well lost to busy man;
Night shall continue sleep, and care shall cease.
So, many men shall live, and live in peace,
Whom sunshine had betrayed to envious sight,
And sight to sudden rage, and rage to death.
Now, I will have a night for love and me;
A long luxurious night, fit for a god
To quench and empty his immortal heat.
_Merc._ I'll lay on the woman's side for all that, that she shall love
longest to-night, in spite of your omnipotence.
_Phoe._ I shall be cursed by all the labouring trades,
That early rise; but you must be obeyed.
_Jup._ No matter for the cheating part of man,
They have a day's sin less to answer for.
_Phoe._ When would you have me wake?
_Jup._ Why, when Jove goes to sleep; when I have finished,
Your brother Mercury shall bring you word.--
[_Exit_ PHŒBUS _in his chariot_.
Now, Hermes, I must take Amphitryon's form,
To enjoy his wife:
Thou must be Sosia, this Amphitryon's slave;
Who, all this night, is travelling to Thebes,
To tell Alcmena of her lord's approach,
And bring her joyful news of victory.
_Merc._ But why must I be Sosia?
_Jup._ Dull god of wit, thou statue of thyself!
Thou must be Sosia, to keep out Sosia;
Who, by his entrance, might discover Jove,
Disturb my pleasures, raise unruly noise,
And so distract Alcmena's tender soul,
She would not meet my warmth, when I dissolve
Into her lap, nor give down half her love.
_Merc._ Let me alone, I'll cudgel him away;
But I abhor so villainous a shape.
_Jup._ Take it, I charge thee on thy duty, take it;
Nor dare to lay it down, till I command.
I cannot bear a moment's loss of joy.--
NIGHT _appears above in a chariot_.
Look up, the Night is in her silent chariot,
And rolling just o'er Thebes: Bid her drive slowly,
Or make a double turn about the world;
While I drop Jove, and take Amphitryon's dress,
To be the greater, while I seem the less. [_Exit_ JUPITER.
Merc. [_To Night._] Madam Night, a good even to you! Fair and softly, I
beseech you, madam; I have a word or two to you from no less a god than
Jupiter.
_Night._ O my nimble-fingered god of theft, what makes you here on
earth at this unseasonable hour? What banker's shop is to be broke open
to-night? or what clippers, and coiners, and conspirators, have been
invoking your deity for their assistance?
_Merc._ Faith, none of those enormities, and yet I am still in my
vocation; for you know I am a jack of all trades. At a word, Jupiter is
indulging his genius to-night with a certain noble sort of recreation;
called wenching; the truth on't is, adultery is its proper name.
_Night._ Jupiter would do well to stick to his wife, Juno.
_Merc._ He has been married to her above these hundred years; and
that's long enough, in conscience, to stick to one woman.
_Night._ She's his sister too, as well as his wife; that's a double tie
of affection to her.
_Merc._ Nay, if he made bold with his own flesh and blood, 'tis likely
he will not spare his neighbours.
_Night._ If I were his wife, I would raise a rebellion against him, for
the violation of my bed.
_Merc._ Thou art mistaken, old Night; his wife could raise no faction.
All the deities in heaven would take the part of the cuckold-making
god, for they are all given to the flesh most damnably. Nay, the very
goddesses would stickle in the cause of love; 'tis the way to be
popular, to whore and love. For what dost thou think old Saturn was
deposed, but that he was cold and impotent, and made no court to the
fair ladies? Pallas and Juno themselves, as chaste as they are, cried,
_Shame on him!_--I say unto thee, old Night, woe be to the monarch that
has not the women on his side!
_Night._ Then, by your rule, Mercury, a king who would live happily,
must debauch his whole nation of women.
_Merc._ As far as his ready money will go, I mean; for Jupiter himself
can't please all of them.--But this is beside my present commission: He
has sent me to will and require you to make a swinging long night for
him, for he hates to be stinted in his pleasures.
_Night._ Tell him plainly, I'll rather lay down my commission. What,
would he make a bawd of me?
_Merc._ Poor ignorant! why he meant thee for a bawd, when he first
made thee. What art thou good for, but to be a bawd? Is not day-light
better for mankind, I mean as to any other use, but only for love and
fornication? Thou hast been a bawd too, a reverend, primitive, original
bawd, from the first hour of thy creation; and all the laudable actions
of love have been committed under thy mantle. Pr'ythee, for what dost
thou think that thou art worshipped?
_Night._ Why, for my stars and moonshine.
_Merc._ That is, for holding a candle to iniquity. But if they were put
out, thou would'st be doubly worshipped by the willing bashful virgins.
_Night._ Then, for my quiet, and the sweetness of my sleep.
_Merc._ No:--For thy sweet waking all the night; for sleep comes not
upon lovers, till thou art vanished.
_Night._ But it will be against nature, to make a long winter's night
at midsummer.
_Merc._ Trouble not yourself for that: Phœbus is ordered to make a
short summer's day to-morrow; so, in four-and-twenty hours, all will be
at rights again.
_Night._ Well, I am edified by your discourse; and my comfort is, that,
whatever work is made, I see nothing.
_Merc._ About your business then. Put a spoke into your chariot-wheels,
and order the seven stars to halt, while I put myself into the habit
of a serving-man, and dress up a false Sosia, to wait upon a false
Amphitryon.--Good night, Night.
_Night._ My service to Jupiter.--Farewell, Mercury.
[NIGHT _goes backward. Exit_ MERCURY.
SCENE II.--AMPHITRYON'S _Palace_.
_Enter_ ALCMENA.
_Alc._ Why was I married to the man I love!
For, had he been indifferent to my choice,
Or had been hated, absence had been pleasure;
But now I fear for my Amphitryon's life:
At home, in private, and secure from war,
I am amidst an host of armed foes,
Sustaining all his cares, pierced with his wounds;
And, if he falls,--which, O ye gods avert!--
Am in Amphitryon slain! Would I were there,
And he were here; so might we change our fates;
That he might grieve for me, and I might die for him.
_Enter_ PHÆDRA, _running_.
_Phæd._ Good news, good news, madam; O such admirable news, that, if I
kept it in a moment, I should burst with it.
_Alc._ Is it from the army?
_Phæd._ No matter.
_Alc._ From Amphitryon?
_Phæd._ No matter, neither.
_Alc._ Answer me, I charge thee, if thy good news be any thing relating
to my lord; if it be, assure thyself of a reward.
_Phæd._ Ay, madam, now you say something to the matter: You know the
business of a poor waiting-woman, here upon earth, is to be scraping up
something against a rainy day, called the day of marriage; every one in
our own vocation:--But what matter is it to me if my lord has routed
the enemy, if I get nothing of their spoils?
_Alc._ Say, is my lord victorious?
_Phæd._ Why, he is victorious: indeed I prayed devoutly to Jupiter for
a victory; by the same token, that you should give me ten pieces of
gold if I brought you news of it.
_Alc._ They are thine, supposing he be safe too.
_Phæd._ Nay, that's a new bargain, for I vowed to Jupiter, that then
you should give me ten pieces more; but I do undertake for my lord's
safety, if you will please to discharge his godship Jupiter of the
debt, and take it upon you to pay.
_Alc._ When he returns in safety, Jupiter and I will pay your vow.
_Phæd._ And I am sure I articled with Jupiter, that, if I brought you
news that my lord was upon return, you should grant me one small favour
more, that will cost you nothing.
_Alc._ Make haste, thou torturer; is my Amphitryon upon return?
_Phæd._ Promise me, that I shall be your bedfellow to-night, as I have
been ever since my lord's absence; unless I shall be pleased to release
you of your word.
_Alc._ That's a small request; 'tis granted.
_Phæd._ But swear by Jupiter.
_Alc._ But why by Jupiter?
_Phæd._ Because he's the greatest: I hate to deal with one of your
little baffling gods, that can do nothing but by permission; but
Jupiter can swinge you off, if you swear by him, and are forsworn.
_Alc._ I swear by Jupiter.
_Phæd._ Then--I believe he is victorious, and I know he is safe; for I
looked through the key-hole, and saw him knocking at the gate; and I
had the conscience to let him cool his heels there.
_Alc._ And would'st thou not open to him? Oh, thou traitress!
_Phæd._ No, I was a little wiser: I left Sosia's wife to let him in;
for I was resolved to bring the news, and make my pennyworths out of
him, as time shall show.
_Enter_ JUPITER, _in the shape of_ AMPHITRYON, _with_ SOSIA'S _wife_,
BROMIA. _He kisses and embraces_ ALCMENA.
_Jup._ O let me live for ever on those lips!
The nectar of the gods to these is tasteless.
I swear, that, were I Jupiter, this night
I would renounce my heaven, to be Amphitryon.
_Alc._ Then, not to swear beneath Amphitryon's oath,
(Forgive me, Juno, if I am profane,)
I swear, I would be what I am this night,
And be Alcmena, rather than be Juno.
_Brom._ Good my lord, what is become of my poor bedfellow, your man
Sosia? you keep such a billing and cooing here, to set one's mouth
a watering--what I say, though I am a poor woman, I have a husband
as well as my lady; and should be as glad as she, of a little honest
recreation.
_Phæd._ And what have you done with your old friend, and my old
sweetheart, Judge Gripus? has he brought me home a crammed purse, that
swells with bribes? if he be rich, I will make him welcome like an
honourable magistrate; but if he has not had the wit to sell justice,
he judges no causes in my court, I warrant him.
_Alc._ My lord, you tell me nothing of the battle?
Is Thebes victorious, are our foes destroyed?
For, now I find you safe, I should be glad
To hear you were in danger.
_Jup._ [_Aside._] A man had need be a god, to stand the fury of three
talking women! I think, in my conscience, I made their tongues of
thunder.
_Brom._ [_Pulling him on one side._] I asked the first question; answer
me, my lord.
_Phæd._ [_Pulling him on the other side._] Peace! mine is a lover, and
yours but a husband; and my judge is my lord too; the title shall take
place, and I will be answered.
_Jup._ Sosia is safe; Gripus is rich; both coming;
I rode before them, with a lover's haste.----
Was e'er poor god so worried? but for my love,
I wish I were in heaven again with Juno. [_Aside._
_Alc._ Then I, it seems, am last to be regarded?
_Jup._ Not so, my love; but these obstreperous tongues
Have snatched their answers first; they will be heard;
And surely Jove would never answer prayer
That woman made, but only to be freed
From their eternal noise. Make haste to bed;
There let me tell my story, in thy arms;
There, in the gentle pauses of our love,
Betwixt our dyings, ere we live again,
Thou shalt be told the battle, and success;
Which I shall oft begin, and then break off;
For love will often interrupt my tale,
And make so sweet confusion in our talk,
That thou shalt ask, and I shall answer things,
That are not of a piece; but patched with kisses,
And sighs, and murmurs, and imperfect speech;
And nonsense shall be eloquent, in love.
_Brom._ [_To_ PHÆDHA.] My lord is very hot upon it: this absence is a
great friend to us poor neglected wives; it makes us new again.
_Alc._ I am the fool of love; and find within me
The fondness of a bride, without the fear.
My whole desires and wishes are in you.
_Phæd._ [_Aside._] My lady's eyes are pinking to bed-ward too: now is
she to look very sleepy, counterfeiting yawning,--but she shall ask me
leave first.
_Alc._ Great Juno, thou, whose holy care presides
Over the nuptial bed, pour all thy blessings
On this auspicious night!
_Jup._ Juno may grudge; for she may fear a rival
In those bright eyes; but Jupiter will grant,
And doubly bless this night.
_Phæd._ [_Aside._] But Jupiter should ask my leave
first, were he here in person.
_Alc._ Bromia, prepare the bed:
The tedious journey has disposed my lord
To seek his needful rest. [_Exit_ BROMIA.
_Phæd._ 'Tis very true, madam; the poor gentleman must needs be
weary; and, therefore, it was not ill contrived, that he must lie
alone to-night, to recruit himself with sleep, and lay in enough for
to-morrow night, when you may keep him waking.
_Alc._ [_To_ JUPITER.] I must confess, I made a kind of promise.----
_Phæd._ [_Almost crying._] A kind of promise, do you call it? I see you
would fain be coming off. I am sure you swore to me, by Jupiter, that
I should be your bedfellow; and I'll accuse you to him, too, the first
prayers I make; and I'll pray o' purpose, too, that I will, though I
have not prayed to him this seven years.
_Jup._ O, the malicious hilding!
_Alc._ I did swear, indeed, my lord.
_Jup._ Forswear thyself; for Jupiter but laughs
At lovers' perjuries.
_Phæd._ The more shame for him, if he does: there would be a fine god,
indeed, for us women to worship, if he laughs when our sweethearts
cheat us of our maidenheads. No, no, Jupiter is an honester gentleman
than you make of him.
_Jup._ I'm all on fire; and would not lose this night,
To be the master of the universe.
_Phæd._ Ay, my lord, I see you are on fire; but the devil a bucket
shall be brought to quench it, without my leave. You may go to bed,
madam; but you shall see how heaven will bless your night's work, if
you forswear yourself:--Some fool, some mere elder-brother, or some
blockheadly hero, Jove, I beseech thee, send her!
_Jup._ [_Aside._] Now I could call my thunder to revenge me,
But that were to confess myself a god,
And then I lost my love!----Alcmena, come;
By heaven I have a bridegroom's fervour for thee,
As I had ne'er enjoyed.
_Alc._ She has my oath; [_Sighing._
And sure she may release it, if she pleases.
_Phæd._ Why truly, madam, I am not cruel in my nature, to poor
distressed lovers; for it may be my own case another day: and
therefore, if my lord pleases to consider me----
_Jup._ Any thing, any thing! but name thy wish, and have it.
_Phæd._ Ay, now you say, any thing, any thing; but you would tell me
another story to-morrow morning. Look you, my lord, here is a hand
open to receive; you know the meaning of it; I am for nothing but the
ready----
_Jup._ Thou shalt have all the treasury of heaven.
_Phæd._ Yes, when you are Jupiter, to dispose of it.
_Jup._ [_Aside._] I had forgot, and shewed myself a god: This love can
make a fool of Jupiter.
_Phæd._ You have forgot some part of the enemies' spoil, I warrant you.
I see a little trifling diamond upon your finger; and I am proud enough
to think it would become mine too.
_Jup._ Here take it.--
[_Taking a Ring off his Finger, and giving it._
This is a very woman;
Her sex is avarice, and she, in one,
Is all her sex.
_Phæd._ Ay, ay, 'tis no matter what you say of us. What, would you have
your money out of the treasury, without paying the officers their fees?
Go, get you together, you naughty couple, till you are both weary of
worrying one another; and then to-morrow morning I shall have another
fee for parting you.
[PHÆDRA _goes out before_ ALCMENA _with a light_.
_Jup._ Why now, I am indeed the lord of all;
For what's to be a god, but to enjoy?
Let human kind their sovereign's leisure wait;
Love is, this night, my great affair of state:
Let this one night of providence be void;
All Jove, for once, is on himself employ'd.
Let unregarded altars smoke in vain;
And let my subjects praise me, or complain:
Yet if, betwixt my intervals of bliss,
Some amorous youth his orisons address,
His prayer is in a happy hour preferred;
And when Jove loves, a lover shall be heard. [_Exit._
ACT II.
SCENE I.--_A Night Scene of a Palace._
SOSIA, _with a Dark-Lanthorn_; MERCURY, _in_ SOSIA'S _shape, with a
Dark-Lanthorn also_.
_Sos._ Was not the devil in my master, to send me out this dreadful
dark night, to bring the news of his victory to my lady? and was not I
possessed with ten devils, for going on his errand, without a convoy
for the safeguard of my person? Lord, how am I melted into sweat with
fear! I am diminished of my natural weight, above two stone: I shall
not bring half myself home again, to my poor wife and family; I have
been in an ague fit, ever since shut of evening; what with the fright
of trees by the highway, which looked maliciously, like thieves, by
moonshine; and what with bulrushes by the river-side, that shaked like
spears and lances at me. Well, the greatest plague of a serving-man, is
to be hired to some great lord! They care not what drudgery they put
upon us, while they lie lolling at their ease a-bed, and stretch their
lazy limbs, in expectation of the whore which we are fetching for them.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] He is but a poor mortal, that suffers this; but I,
who am a god, am degraded to a foot-pimp; a waiter without doors! a
very civil employment for a deity!
_Sos._ The better sort of them will say, "Upon my honour," at every
word; yet ask them for our wages, and they plead the privilege of their
honour, and will not pay us; nor let us take our privilege of the law
upon them. These are a very hopeful sort of patriots, to stand up, as
they do, for liberty and property of the subject: There's conscience
for you!
_Merc._ [_Aside._] This fellow has something of the republican spirit
in him.
_Sos._ [_Looking about him._] Stay; this, methinks, should be our
house; and I should thank the gods now for bringing me safe home: but,
I think, I had as good let my devotions alone, till I have got the
reward for my good news, and then thank them once for all; for, if I
praise them before I am safe within doors, some damned mastiff dog may
come out and worry me; and then my thanks are thrown away upon them.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] Thou art a wicked rogue, and wilt have thy bargain
beforehand; therefore thou get'st not into the house this night; and
thank me accordingly as I use thee.
_Sos._ Now am I to give my lady an account of my lord's victory; 'tis
good to exercise my parts beforehand, and file my tongue into eloquent
expressions, to tickle her ladyship's imagination.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] Good! and here's the god of eloquence to judge of
thy oration.
_Sos._ [_Setting down his Lanthorn._] This lanthorn, for once, shall be
my lady; because she is the lamp of all beauty and perfection.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] No, rogue! 'tis thy lord is the lanthorn by this
time, or Jupiter is turned fumbler.
_Sos._ Then thus I make my addresses to her:--[_Bows._] Madam, my lord
has chosen me out, as the most faithful, though the most unworthy, of
his followers, to bring your ladyship this following account of our
glorious expedition. Then she,--O my poor Sosia, [_In a shrill tone._]
how am I overjoyed to see thee! She can say no less.--Madam, you do me
too much honour, and the world will envy me this glory:--Well answered
on my side. And how does my lord Amphitryon?--Madam, he always does
like a man of courage, when he is called by honour.--There I think I
nicked it.--But when will he return?--As soon as possibly he can; but
not so soon as his impatient heart could wish him with your ladyship.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] When Thebes is an university, thou deservest to be
their orator.
_Sos._ But what does he do, and what does he say? Pr'ythee tell me
something more of him.--He always says less than he does, madam; and
his enemies have found it to their cost.--Where the devil did I learn
these elegancies and gallantries!
_Merc._ So, he has all the natural endowments of a fop, and only wants
the education.
_Sos._ [_Staring up to the sky._] What, is the devil in the night!
She's as long as two nights. The seven stars are just where they were
seven hours ago! high day--high night, I mean, by my favour. What, has
Phœbus been playing the good fellow, and overslept himself, that he
forgets his duty to us mortals!
_Merc._ How familiarly the rascal treats us gods! but I shall make him
alter his tone immediately.
[MERCURY _comes nearer, and stands just before him_.
_Sos._ [_Seeing him, and starting back, aside._] How now? what, do my
eyes dazzle, or is my dark lanthorn false to me! is not that a giant
before our door? or a ghost of somebody slain in the late battle? If
he be, 'tis unconscionably done, to fright an honest man thus, who
never drew weapon wrathfully in all my life. Whatever wight he be, I am
devilishly afraid, that's certain; but, 'tis discretion to keep my own
counsel; I'll sing, that I may seem valiant.
[SOSIA _sings; and_, _as_ MERCURY _speaks_, _by little and little drops
his voice_.
_Merc._ What saucy companion is this, that deafens us with his hoarse
voice? What midnight ballad-singer have we here? I shall teach the
villain to leave off catterwauling.
_Sos._ I would I had courage, for his sake, that I might teach him to
call my singing catterwauling! an illiterate rogue! an enemy to the
muses, and to music.
_Merc._ There is an ill savour that offends my nostrils and it wafteth
this way.
_Sos._ He has smelt me out; my fear has betrayed me into this savour. I
am a dead man: the bloody villain is at his fee, fa, fum, already.
_Merc._ Stand, who goes there?
_Sos._ A friend.
_Merc._ What friend?
_Sos._ Why, a friend to all the world, that will give me leave to live
peaceably.
_Merc._ I defy peace and all its works; my arms are out of exercise,
they have mauled nobody these three days: I long for an honourable
occasion to pound a man, and lay him asleep at the first buffet.
_Sos._ [_Aside._] That would almost do me a kindness; for I have been
kept waking, without tipping one wink of sleep, these three nights.
_Merc._ Of what quality are you, fellow?
_Sos._ Why, I am a man, fellow.--Courage, Sosia!
_Merc._ What kind of man?
_Sos._ Why, a two-legged man; what man should I be? [_Aside._] I must
bear up to him, he may prove as arrant a milksop as myself.
_Merc._ Thou art a coward, I warrant thee; do not I hear thy teeth
chatter in thy head?
_Sos._ Ay, ay; that's only a sign they would be snapping at thy nose.
[_Aside._] Bless me, what an arm and fist he has, with great thumbs
too; and golls and knuckle-bones of a very butcher!
_Merc._ Sirrah, from whence came you, and whither go you; answer me
directly, upon pain of assassination.
_Sos._ I am coming from whence I came, and am going whither I
go,--that's directly home; though this is somewhat an uncivil manner of
proceeding, at the first sight of a man, let me tell you.
_Merc._ Then, to begin our better acquaintance, let me first make you a
small present of this box o' the ear---- [_Strikes him._
_Sos._ If I were as choleric a fool as you are now, here would be fine
work betwixt us two; but I am a little better bred, than to disturb the
sleeping neighbourhood; and so good-night, friend---- [_Is going._
_Merc._ [_Stopping him._] Hold, sir; you and I must not part so easily;
once more, whither are you going?
_Sos._ Why I am going as fast as I can, to get out of the reach of your
clutches. Let me but only knock at the door there.
_Merc._ What business have you at that door, sirrah?
_Sos._ This is our house; and, when I am got in, I will
tell you more.
_Merc._ Whose house is this, sauciness, that you are so
familiar with, to call it ours?
_Sos._ 'Tis mine, in the first place; and next, my
master's; for I lie in the garret, and he lies under
me.
_Merc._ Have your master and you no names, sirrah?
_Sos._ His name is Amphitryon; hear that, and tremble.
_Merc._ What, my lord general?
_Sos._ O, has his name mollified you! I have brought
you down a peg lower already, friend.
_Merc._ And your name is----
_Sos._ Lord, friend, you are so very troublesome--what should my name
be, but Sosia?
_Merc._ How, Sosia, say you? how long have you taken up that name,
sirrah?
_Sos._ Here's a fine question! Why I never took it up, friend; it was
born with me.
_Merc._ What, was your name born Sosia? take this remembrance for that
lie. [_Beats him._
_Sos._ Hold, friend! you are so very flippant with your hands, you
won't hear reason: What offence has my name done you, that you should
beat me for it? _S. O. S. I. A._ they are as civil, honest, harmless
letters, as any are in the whole alphabet.
_Merc._ I have no quarrel to the name; but that 'tis e'en too good for
you, and 'tis none of yours.
_Sos._ What, am not I Sosia, say you?
_Merc._ No.
_Sos._ I should think you are somewhat merrily disposed, if you had
not beaten me in such sober sadness. You would persuade me out of my
heathen name, would you?
_Merc._ Say you are Sosia again, at your peril, sirrah.
_Sos._ I dare say nothing, but thought is free; but whatever I am
called, I am Amphitryon's man, and the first letter of my name is _S._
too. You had best tell me that my master did not send me home to my
lady, with news of his victory?
_Merc._ I say, he did not.
_Sos._ Lord, Lord, friend, one of us two is horribly given to lying;
but I do not say which of us, to avoid contention.
_Merc._ I say my name is Sosia, and yours is not.
_Sos._ I would you could make good your words; for then I should not be
beaten, and you should.
_Merc._ I find you would be Sosia, if you durst; but if I catch you
thinking so----
_Sos._ I hope I may think I was Sosia; and I can find no difference
between my former self, and my present self, but that I was plain Sosia
before, and now I am laced Sosia.
_Merc._ Take this, for being so impudent to think so. [_Beats him._
_Sos._ [_Kneeling._] Truce a little, I beseech thee! I would be a
stock or a stone now by my good will, and would not think at all, for
self-preservation. But will you give me leave to argue the matter
fairly with you, and promise me to depose that cudgel, if I can prove
myself to be that man that I was before I was beaten?
_Merc._ Well, proceed in safety; I promise you I will not beat you.
_Sos._ In the first place, then, is not this town called Thebes?
_Merc._ Undoubtedly.
_Sos._ And is not this house Amphitryon's?
_Merc._ Who denies it?
_Sos._ I thought you would have denied that too; for all hang upon a
string. Remember then, that those two preliminary articles are already
granted. In the next place, did not the aforesaid Amphitryon beat
the Teleboans, kill their king Pterelas, and send a certain servant,
meaning somebody, that for sake-sake shall be nameless, to bring a
present to his wife, with news of his victory, and of his resolution to
return to-morrow?
_Merc._ This is all true, to a very tittle; but who is that certain
servant? there's all the question.
_Sos._ Is it peace or war betwixt us?
_Merc._ Peace.
_Sos._ I dare not wholly trust that abominable cudgel; but 'tis a
certain friend of yours and mine, that had a certain name before he was
beaten out of it; but if you are a man that depend not altogether upon
force and brutality, but somewhat also upon reason, now do you bring
better proofs, that you are that same certain man; and, in order to it,
answer me to certain questions.
_Merc._ I say I am Sosia, Amphitryon's man; what reason have you to
urge against it?
_Sos._ What was your father's name?
_Merc._ Davus; who was an honest husbandman, whose sister's name was
Harpage, that was married, and died in a foreign country.
_Sos._ So far you are right, I must confess; and your wife's name is----
_Merc._ Bromia, a devilish shrew of her tongue, and a vixen of her
hands, that leads me a miserable life; keeps me to hard duty a-bed; and
beats me every morning when I have risen from her side, without having
first----
_Sos._ I understand you, by many a sorrowful token;--this must be I.
[_Aside._
_Merc._ I was once taken upon suspicion of burglary, and was whipt
through Thebes, and branded for my pains.
_Sos._ Right, me again; but if you are I, as I begin to suspect, that
whipping and branding might have been past over in silence, for both
our credits. And yet now I think on't, if I am I, (as I am I) he
cannot be I. All these circumstances he might have heard; but I will
now interrogate him upon some private passages.--What was the present
that Amphitryon sent by you or me, no matter which of us, to his wife
Alcmena?
_Merc._ A buckle of diamonds, consisting of five large stones.
_Sos._ And where are they now?
_Merc._ In a case, sealed with my master's coat of arms.
_Sos._ This is prodigious, I confess; but yet 'tis nothing, now I think
on't; for some false brother may have revealed it to him. [_Aside._]
But I have another question to ask you, of somewhat that passed only
betwixt myself and me;--if you are Sosia, what were you doing in the
heat of battle?
_Merc._ What a wise man should, that has respect for his own person. I
ran into our tent, and hid myself amongst the baggage.
_Sos._ [_Aside._] Such another cutting answer; and I must provide
myself of another name.--[_To him._] And how did you pass your time in
that same tent? You need not answer to every circumstance so exactly
now; you must lie a little, that I may think you the more me.
_Merc._ That cunning shall not serve your turn, to circumvent me out
of my name: I am for plain naked truth. There stood a hogshead of old
wine, which my lord reserved for his own drinking----
_Sos._ [_Aside._] O the devil! as sure as death, he must have hid
himself in that hogshead, or he could never have known that!
_Merc._ And by that hogshead, upon the ground, there lay the kind
inviter and provoker of good drinking----
_Sos._ Nay, now I have caught you; there was neither inviter, nor
provoker, for I was all alone.
_Merc._ A lusty gammon of----
_Sos._ [_Sighing._] Bacon!--that word has quite made an end of
me.--Let me see--this must be I, in spite of me; but let me view him
nearer.
[_Walks about_ MERCURY _with his Dark Lanthorn_.
_Merc._ What are you walking about me for, with your dark lanthorn?
_Sos._ No harm, friend; I am only surveying a parcel of earth here,
that I find we two are about to bargain for:--He's damnable like me,
that's certain. _Imprimis_, there's the patch upon my nose, with a pox
to him. _Item_, A very foolish face, with a long chin at end on't.
_Item_, One pair of shambling legs, with two splay feet belonging to
them; and, _summa totallis_, from head to foot all my bodily apparel.
[_To_ MERCURY.] Well, you are Sosia; there's no denying it:--but what
am I then? for my mind gives me, I am somebody still, if I knew but who
I were.
_Merc._ When I have a mind to be Sosia no more, then thou may'st be
Sosia again.
_Sos._ I have but one request more to thee; that, though not as Sosia,
yet as a stranger, I may go into that house, and carry a civil message
to my lady.
_Merc._ No, sirrah; not being Sosia, you have no message to deliver,
nor no lady in this house.
_Sos._ Thou canst not be so barbarous, to let me lie in the streets all
night, after such a journey, and such a beating; and therefore I am
resolved to knock at the door, in my own defence.
_Merc._ If you come near the door, I recal my word, and break off the
truce, and then expect----
[_Holds up his Cudgel._
_Sos._ No, the devil take me if I do expect; I have felt too well what
sour fruit that crab-tree bears: I'll rather beat it back upon the hoof
to my lord Amphitryon, to see if he will acknowledge me for Sosia;
if he does not, then I am no longer his slave; there's my freedom
dearly purchased with a sore drubbing: if he does acknowledge me, then
I am Sosia again. So far 'tis tolerably well: but then I shall have
a second drubbing for an unfortunate ambassador, as I am; and that's
intolerable. [_Exit_ SOSIA.
_Merc._ [_Alone._] I have fobbed off his excellency pretty well. Now
let him return, and make the best of his credentials. I think, too, I
have given Jupiter sufficient time for his consummation.--Oh, he has
taken his cue; and here he comes as leisurely, and as lank, as if he
had emptied himself of the best part of his almightyship.
SCENE II.
_Enter_ JUPITER, _leading_ ALCMENA, _followed by_ PHÆDRA. _Pages with
Torches before them._
_Jup._ [_To the Pages._] Those torches are offensive; stand aloof;
For, though they bless me with thy heavenly sight,
[_To her._
They may disclose the secret I would hide.
The Thebans must not know I have been here;
Detracting crowds would blame me, that I robbed
These happy moments from my public charge,
To consecrate to thy desired embrace;
And I could wish no witness but thyself,
For thou thyself art all I wish to please.
_Alcm._ So long an absence, and so short a stay!
What, but one night! one night of joy and love
Could only pay one night of cares and fears,
And all the rest are an uncancelled sum!--
Curse on this honour, and this public fame;
Would you had less of both, and more of love!
_Jup._ Alcmena, I must go.
_Alcm._ Not yet, my lord.
_Jup._ Indeed I must.
_Alcm._ Indeed you shall not go.
_Jup._ Behold the ruddy streaks o'er yonder hill;
Those are the blushes of the breaking morn,
That kindle day-light to this nether world.
_Alcm._ No matter for the day; it was but made
To number out the hours of busy men.
Let them be busy still, and still be wretched,
And take their fill of anxious drudging day;
But you and I will draw our curtains close,
Extinguish day-light, and put out the sun.
Come back, my lord; in faith you shall retire;
You have not yet lain long enough in bed,
To warm your widowed side.
_Phæd._ [_Aside._] I find my lord is an excellent school-master, my
lady is so willing to repeat her lesson.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] That's a plaguy little devil; what a roguish eye she
has! I begin to like her strangely. She's the perquisite of my place
too; for my lady's waiting-woman is the proper fees of my lord's chief
gentleman. I have the privilege of a god too; I can view her naked
through all her clothes. Let me see, let me see;--I have discovered
something, that pleases me already.
_Jup._ Let me not live, but thou art all enjoyment!
So charming and so sweet,
That not a night, but whole eternity,
Were well employed,
To love thy each perfection as it ought.
_Alcm._ [_Kissing him._] I'll bribe you with this kiss,
to stay a while.
_Jup._ [_Kissing her._] A bribe indeed that soon will bring me back;
But, to be just, I must restore your bribe.
How I could dwell for ever on those lips!
O, I could kiss them pale with eagerness!
So soft, by heaven! and such a juicy sweet,
That ripened peaches have not half the flavour.
_Alcm._ Ye niggard gods! you make our lives too long;
You fill them with diseases, wants, and woes,
And only dash them with a little love,
Sprinkled by fits, and with a sparing hand:
Count all our joys, from childhood even to age,
They would but make a day of every year.
Take back your seventy years, the stint of life,
Or else be kind, and cram the quintessence
Of seventy years into sweet seventy days;
For all the rest is flat, insipid being.
_Jup._ But yet one scruple pains me at my parting:
I love so nicely, that I cannot bear
To owe the sweets of love, which I have tasted,
To the submissive duty of a wife.
Tell me, and sooth my passion ere I go,
That, in the kindest moments of the night,
When you gave up yourself to love and me,
You thought not of a husband, but a lover?
_Alcm._ But tell me first, why you would raise a blush
Upon my cheeks, by asking such a question?
_Jup._ I would owe nothing to a name so dull
As husband is, but to a lover all.
_Alcm._ You should have asked me then, when love and night,
And privacy, had favoured your demand.
_Jup._ I ask it now, because my tenderness
Surpasses that of husbands for their wives.
O that you loved like me! then you would find
A thousand, thousand niceties in love.
The common love of sex to sex is brutal;
But love refined will fancy to itself
Millions of gentle cares, and sweet disquiets;
The being happy is not half the joy;
The manner of their happiness is all.
In me, my charming mistress, you behold
A lover that disdains a lawful title,
Such as of monarchs to successive thrones;
The generous lover holds by force of arms,
And claims his crown by conquest.
_Alcm._ Methinks you should be pleased; I give you all
A virtuous and modest wife can give.
_Jup._ No, no; that very name of wife and marriage
Is poison to the dearest sweets of love;
To please my niceness, you must separate
The lover from his mortal foe--the husband.
Give to the yawning husband your cold virtue;
But all your vigorous warmth, your melting sighs,
Your amorous murmurs, be your lover's part.
_Alcm._ I comprehend not what you mean, my lord;
But only love me still, and love me thus,
And think me such as best may please your thought.
_Jup._ There's mystery of love in all I say.--
Farewell; and when you see your husband next,
Think of your lover then.
[_Exeunt_ JUP. _and_ ALCM. _severally_;
PHÆD. _follows her_.
_Merc._ [_Alone._] Now I should follow him; but love has laid a
lime-twig for me, and made a lame god of me. Yet why should I love this
Phædra? She's interested, and a jilt into the bargain. Three thousand
years hence, there will be a whole nation of such women, in a certain
country, that will be called France; and there's a neighbour island,
too, where the men of that country will be all interest. O what a
precious generation will that be, which the men of the island shall
propagate out of the women of the continent!--
PHÆDRA _re-enters_.
And so much for prophecy; for she's here again, and I must love her, in
spite of me. And since I must, I have this comfort, that the greatest
wits are commonly the greatest cullies; because neither of the sexes
can be wiser than some certain parts about them will give them leave.
_Phæd._ Well, Sosia, and how go matters?
_Merc._ Our army is victorious.
_Phæd._ And my servant, judge Gripus?
_Merc._ A voluptuous gormand.
_Phæd._ But has he gotten wherewithal to be voluptuous;
is he wealthy?
_Merc._ He sells justice as he uses; fleeces the rich
rebels, and hangs up the poor.
_Phæd._ Then, while he has money, he may make love to me. Has he sent
me no token?
_Merc._ Yes, a kiss; and by the same token I am to give it you, as a
remembrance from him.
_Phæd._ How now, impudence! A beggarly serving-man presume to kiss me?
_Merc._ Suppose I were a god, and should make love to you?
_Phæd._ I would first be satisfied, whether you were a poor god, or a
rich god.
_Merc._ Suppose I were Mercury, the god of merchandise?
_Phæd._ What! the god of small wares, and fripperies, of pedlers and
pilferers?
_Merc._ How the gipsy despises me! [_Aside._
_Phæd._ I had rather you were Plutus, the god of money; or Jupiter, in
a golden shower: there was a god for us women! he had the art of making
love. Dost thou think that kings, or gods either, get mistresses by
their good faces? no, it is the gold, and the presents they can make;
there is the prerogative they have over their fair subjects.
_Merc._ All this notwithstanding, I must tell you, pretty Phædra, I am
desperately in love with you.
_Phæd._ And I must tell thee, ugly Sosia, thou hast not wherewithal to
be in love.
_Merc._ Yes, a poor man may be in love, I hope.
_Phæd._ I grant a poor rogue may be in love, but he can never make
love. Alas, Sosia, thou hast neither face to invite me, nor youth to
please me, nor gold to bribe me; and, besides all this, thou hast a
wife, poor miserable Sosia!--What, ho, Bromia!
_Merc._ O thou merciless creature, why dost thou conjure up that sprite
of a wife?
_Phæd._ To rid myself of that devil of a poor lover. Since you are so
lovingly disposed, I'll put you together to exercise your fury upon
your own wedlock.--What, Bromia, I say, make haste; here is a vessel of
yours, full freighted, that is going off without paying duties.
_Merc._ Since thou wilt not let me steal custom, she shall have all the
cargo I have gotten in the wars; but thou mightst have lent me a little
creek, to smuggle in.
_Phæd._ Why, what have you gotten, good gentleman soldier, besides a
legion of---- [_Snaps her fingers._
_Merc._ When the enemy was routed, I had the plundering of a tent.
_Phæd._ That is to say, a house of canvas, with moveables of
straw.--Make haste, Bromia!----
_Merc._ But it was the general's own tent.
_Phæd._ You durst not fight, I am certain; and therefore came last in,
when the rich plunder was gone beforehand.--Will you come, Bromia?
_Merc._ Pr'ythee, do not call so loud:--A great goblet, that holds a
gallon.
_Phæd._ Of what was that goblet made? answer quickly, for I am just
calling very loud----Bro--
_Merc._ Of beaten gold. Now, call aloud, if thou dost not like the
metal.
_Phæd._ Bromia. [_Very softly._
_Merc._ That struts in this fashion, with his arms a-kimbo, like a city
magistrate; and a great bouncing belly, like a hostess with child of a
kilderkin of wine. Now, what say you to that present, Phædra?
_Phæd._ Why, I am considering----
_Merc._ What, I pr'ythee?
_Phæd._ Why, how to divide the business equally; to take the gift, and
refuse the giver, thou art so damnably ugly, and so old.
_Merc._ Now the devil take Jupiter, for confining me to this ungodly
shape to-day! [_Aside._] but Gripus is as old and as ugly too.
_Phæd._ But Gripus is a person of quality, and my lady's uncle; and if
he marries me, I shall take place of my lady.--Hark, your wife! she has
sent her tongue before her. I hear the thunderclap already; there is a
storm approaching.
_Merc._ Yes, of thy brewing; I thank thee for it. O how I should hate
thee now, if I could leave loving thee!
_Phæd._ Not a word of the dear golden goblet, as you hope for--you know
what, Sosia.
_Merc._ You give me hope, then----
_Phæd._ Not absolutely hope neither; but gold is a great cordial in
love matters; and the more you apply of it, the better.--[_Aside._] I
am honest, that is certain; but when I weigh my honesty against the
goblet, I am not quite resolved on which side the scale will turn.
[_Exit_ PHÆD.
_Merc._ [_Aloud._] Farewell, Phædra; remember me to my wife, and tell
her----
_Enter_ BROMIA.
_Brom._ Tell her what, traitor? that you are going away without seeing
her?
_Merc._ That I am doing my duty, and following my master.
_Brom._ 'Umph!--so brisk, too! your master did his duty to my lady
before he parted: He could leave his army in the lurch, and come
galloping home at midnight to have a lick at the honey-pot; and steal
to-bed as quietly as any mouse, I warrant you. My master knew what
belonged to a married life; but you, sirrah--you trencher-carrying
rascal--you worse than dunghill-cock; that stood clapping your wings,
and crowing without doors, when you should have been at roost, you
villain--
_Merc._ Hold your peace, dame Partlet, and leave your cackling; my
master charged me to stand centry without doors.
_Brom._ My master! I dare swear thou beliest him; my master is more
a gentleman than to lay such an unreasonable command upon a poor
distressed married couple, and after such an absence too. No, there is
no comparison between my master and thee, thou sneaksby.
_Merc._ No more than there is betwixt my lady and you, Bromia. You and
I have had our time in a civil way, spouse, and much good love has been
betwixt us; but we have been married fifteen years, I take it; and that
hoighty toighty business ought, in conscience, to be over.
_Brom._ Marry come up, my saucy companion! I am neither old nor ugly
enough to have that said to me.
_Merc._ But will you hear reason, Bromia? my lord and my lady are yet
in a manner bride and bridegroom; they are in honey-moon still: do but
think, in decency, what a jest it would be to the family, to see two
venerable old married people lying snug in a bed together, and sighing
out fine tender things to one another!
_Brom._ How now, traitor, darest thou maintain that I am past the age
of having fine things said to me?
_Merc._ Not so, my dear; but certainly I am past the age of saying them.
_Brom._ Thou deservest not to be yoked with a woman of honour, as I am,
thou perjured villain.
_Merc._ Ay, you are too much a woman of honour, to my sorrow; many a
poor husband would be glad to compound for less honour in his wife, and
more quiet. Pr'ythee, be but honest and continent in thy tongue, and do
thy worst with every thing else about thee.
_Brom._ Thou wouldst have a woman of the town, wouldst thou! to be
always speaking my husband fair, to make him digest his cuckoldom
more easily! wouldst thou be a wittol, with a vengeance to thee? I am
resolved I'll scour thy hide for that word.
[_Holds up her ladle at him._
_Merc._ Thou wilt not strike thy lord and husband, wilt thou?
_Brom._ Since thou wilt none of the meat, 'tis but justice to give thee
the bastings of the ladle.
[_She courses him about._
Merc. [_Running about._] Was ever poor deity so hen-pecked as I am!
nay, then 'tis time to charm her asleep with my enchanted rod, before I
am disgraced or ravished.
[_Plucks out his Caduceus, and strikes her
upon the shoulder with it._
_Brom._ What, art thou rebelling against thy anointed wife! I'll make
thee--how now--What, has the rogue bewitched me! I grow dull and
stupid on the sudden--I can neither stir hand nor foot--I am just like
him--I have lost the use of all my--members--[_Yawning._]--I can't so
much as wag my tongue--neither, and that's the last liv--ing part about
a--woman-- [_Falls down._
MERCURY _alone_.
Lord, what have I suffered for being but a counterfeit married man one
day! If ever I come to this house as a husband again--then--and yet
that then was a lie too; for, while I am in love with this young gipsy,
Phædra, I must return. But lie thou there, thou type of Juno; thou that
wantest nothing of her tongue, but the immortality. If Jupiter ever let
thee set foot in heaven, Juno will have a rattling second of thee; and
there will never be a fair day in heaven or earth after it:
For two such tongues will break the poles asunder;
And, hourly scolding, make perpetual thunder.
[_Exit_ MERCURY.
ACT III.
SCENE I.--_Before_ AMPHITRYON'S _Palace_.
AMPHITRYON _and_ SOSIA.
_Amph._ Now, sirrah, follow me into the house; thou shalt be convinced
at thy own cost, villain! What horrible lies hast thou told me! such
improbabilities, such stuff, such nonsense!--that the monster, with
two long horns, that frighted the great king, and the devil at the
stone-cutter's, are truths to these.[8]
_Sos._ I am but a slave, and you are master; and a poor man is always
to lie when a rich man is pleased to contradict him: but, as sure as
this is our house--
_Amph._ So sure 'tis thy place of execution.--Thou art not made for
lying neither.
_Sos._ That's certain; for all my neighbours say I have an honest face;
or else they would never call me cuckold, as they do.
_Amph._ I mean thou hast not wit enough to make a lie that will hang
together: thou hast set up a trade that thou hast not stock enough to
manage. O that I had but a crab-tree cudgel for thy sake!
_Sos._ How, a cudgel, said you! the devil take Jupiter for inventing
that hard-hearted, merciless, knobby wood.
_Amph._ The bitterness is yet to come: thou hast had but a half dose of
it.
_Sos._ I was never good at swallowing physic; and my stomach wambles
at the very thought of it. But, if I must have a second beating, in
conscience let me strip first, that I may show you the black and blue
streaks upon my sides and shoulders. I am sure I suffered them in your
service.
_Amph._ To what purpose wouldst thou show them?
_Sos._ Why, to the purpose that you may not strike me upon the sore
places; and that, as he beat me the last night cross-ways, so you would
please to beat me long-ways, to make clean work on't, that at least my
skin may look like chequer-work.
_Amph._ This request is too reasonable to be refused. But, that all
things may be done in order, tell me over again the same story, with
all the circumstances of thy commission, that a blow may follow in due
form for every lie. To repetition, rogue; to repetition.
_Sos._ No; it shall be all a lie, if you please; and I'll eat my words,
to save my shoulders.
_Amph._ Ay, sirrah, now you find you are to be disproved; but 'tis too
late. To repetition, rogue; to repetition.
_Sos._ With all my heart, to any repetition but the cudgel. But
would you be pleased to answer me one civil question? Am I to use
complaisance to you, as to a great person that will have all things
said your own way? or am I to tell you the naked truth alone, without
the ceremony of a farther beating?
_Amph._ Nothing but the truth, and the whole truth; so help thee,
cudgel!
_Sos._ That's a damned conclusion of a sentence: but, since it must be
so--back and sides, at your own peril!--I set out from the port in an
unlucky hour; the dusky canopy of night enveloping the hemisphere.--
_Amph._ [Strikes him.] _Imprimis_, for fustian:--now proceed.
_Sos._ I stand corrected: In plain prose then,--I went darkling, and
whistling to keep myself from being afraid; mumbling curses betwixt my
teeth, for being sent at such an unnatural time of night.
_Amph._ How, sirrah, cursing and swearing against your lord and master!
take-- [_Going to strike._
_Sos._ Hold, sir--pray, consider if this be not unreasonable to strike
me for telling the whole truth, when you commanded me: I'll fall into
my old dog-trot of lying again, if this must come of plain dealing.
_Amph._ To avoid impertinences make an end of your journey, and come to
the house;--what found you there, a god's name?
_Sos._ I came thither in no god's name at all, but in the devil's name;
I found before the door a swinging fellow, with all my shapes and
features, and accoutred also in my habit.
_Amph._ Who was that fellow?
_Sos._ Who should it be, but another Sosia! a certain kind of other me:
who knew all my unfortunate commission, precisely to a word, as well as
I Sosia; as being sent by yourself from the port upon the same errand
to Alcmena.
_Amph._ What gross absurdities are these?
_Sos._ O Lord, O Lord, what absurdities!--as plain as any packstaff.
That other me had posted himself there before me, me.--You won't give
a man leave to speak poetically now; or else I would say, that I was
arrived at the door just before I came thither.
_Amph._ This must either be a dream or drunkenness, or madness in thee.
Leave your buffooning and lying; I am not in humour to bear it, sirrah.
_Sos._ I would you should know I scorn a lie, and am a man of honour
in every thing but just fighting. I tell you once again, in plain
sincerity and simplicity of heart, that, before last night, I never
took myself but for one single individual Sosia; but, coming to our
door, I found myself, I know not how, divided, and, as it were, split
into two Sosias.
_Amph._ Leave buffooning: I see you would make me laugh, but you play
the fool scurvily.
_Sos._ That may be; but, if I am a fool, I am not the only fool in this
company.
_Amph._ How now, impudence! I shall----
_Sos._ Be not in wrath, sir; I meant not you: I cannot possibly be
the only fool; for, if I am one fool, I must certainly be two fools;
because, as I told you, I am double.
_Amph._ That one should be two, is very probable!
_Sos._ Have you not seen a six-pence split into two halves, by some
ingenious school-boy, which bore on either side the impression of the
monarch's face? Now, as those moieties were two three-pences, and yet
in effect but one six-pence----
_Amph._ No more of your villainous tropes and figures.
_Sos._ Nay, if an orator must be disarmed of his similitudes----
_Amph._ A man had need of patience, to endure this gibberish! be brief,
and come to a conclusion.
_Sos._ What would you have, sir? I came thither, but the t'other I was
before me; for that there was two _I_'s, is as certain, as that I have
two eyes in this head of mine. This _I_, that am here, was weary: the
t'other _I_ was fresh; this _I_ was peaceable, and t'other _I_ was a
hectoring bully _I_.
_Amph._ And thou expect'st I should believe thee?
_Sos._ No; I am not so unreasonable; for I could never have believed it
myself, if I had not been well beaten into it: but a cudgel, you know,
is a convincing argument in a brawny fist. What shall I say, but that
I was compelled, at last, to acknowledge myself! I found that he was
very I, without fraud, cozen, or deceit. Besides, I viewed myself, as
in a mirror, from head to foot; he was handsome of a noble presence, a
charming air, loose and free in all his motions; and saw he was so much
I, that I should have reason to be better satisfied with my own person,
if his hands had not been a little of the heaviest.
_Amph._ Once again, to a conclusion: Say you passed by him, and entered
into the house.
_Sos._ I am a friend to truth, and say no such thing; he defended the
door, and I could not enter.
_Amph._ How, not enter?
_Sos._ Why, how should I enter? unless I were a spirit, to glide by
him, and shoot myself through locks, and bolts, and two-inch boards.
_Amph._ O coward! Didst thou not attempt to pass?
_Sos._ Yes, and was repulsed and beaten for my pains.
_Amph._ Who beat thee?
_Sos._ I beat me.
_Amph._ Didst thou beat thyself?
_Sos._ I don't mean _I_, here: but the absent _Me_ beat me here present.
_Amph._ There's no end of this intricate piece of nonsense.
_Sos._ 'Tis only nonsense, because I speak it, who am a poor fellow;
but it would be sense, and substantial sense, if a great man said it,
that was backed with a title, and the eloquence of ten thousand pounds
a-year.
_Amph._ No more; but let us enter:--Hold! my Alcmena is coming out, and
has prevented me: how strangely will she be surprised to see me here so
unexpectedly!
_Enter_ ALCMENA _and_ PHÆDRA.
_Alcm._ [_To_ PHÆD.] Make haste after me to the temple; that we may
thank the gods for this glorious success, which Amphitryon has had
against the rebels--O heaven!
[_Seeing him._
_Amph._ Those heavens, and all the blessed inhabitants,
[_Saluting her._
Grant, that the sweet rewarder of my pains
May still be kind, as on our nuptial night!
_Alcm._ So soon returned!
_Amph._ So soon returned! Is this thy welcome home?
[_Stepping back._
So soon returned, says I am come unwished.
This is no language of desiring love:
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years;
And every little absence is an age.
_Alcm._ What says my lord?
_Amph._ No, my Alcmena, no:
True love by its impatience measures time,
And the dear object never comes too soon.
_Alcm._ Nor ever came you so, nor ever shall;
But you yourself are changed from what you were,
Palled in desires, and surfeited of bliss.
Not so I met you at your last return;
When yesternight I flew into your arms,
And melted in your warm embrace.
_Amph._ How's this?
_Alcm._ Did not my soul even sparkle at my eyes,
And shoot itself into your much-loved bosom?
Did I not tremble with excess of joy?
Nay agonize with pleasure at your sight,
With such inimitable proofs of passion,
As no false love could feign?
_Amph._ What's this you tell me?
_Alcm._ Far short of truth, by heaven!
And you returned those proofs with usury;
And left me, with a sigh, at break of day.
Have you forgot?
_Amph._ Or have you dreamt, Alcmena?
Perhaps some kind, revealing deity
Has whispered, in your sleep, the pleasing news
Of my return, and you believed it real;
Perhaps too, in your dream, you used me kindly;
And my preventing image reaped the joys
You meant, awake, to me.
_Alcm._ Some melancholy vapour, sure, has seized
Your brain, Amphitryon, and disturbed your sense;
Or yesternight is not so long a time,
But yet you might remember; and not force
An honest blush into my glowing cheeks,
For that which lawful marriage makes no crime.
_Amph._ I thank you for my melancholy vapour.
_Alcm._ 'Tis but a just requital for my dream.
_Phæd._ I find my master took too much of the creature last night,
[_Aside._] and now is angling for a quarrel, that no more may be
expected from him to-night, when he has no assets.
[_In the mean time_, AMPH. _and_ ALC.
_walk by themselves, and frown at each other as they meet_.
_Amph._ You dare not justify it to my face.
_Alcm._ Not what?
_Amph._ That I returned before this hour.
_Alcm._ You dare not, sure, deny you came last night, And staid till
break of day?
_Amph._ O impudence!--Why Sosia!
_Sos._ Nay, I say nothing; for all things here may go by enchantment,
as they did with me, for aught I know.
_Alcm._ Speak, Phædra,--was he here?
_Phæd._ You know, madam, I am but a chamber-maid; and, by my place, I
am to forget all that was done over night in love-matters,--unless my
master please to rub up my memory with another diamond.
_Amph._ Now, in the name of all the gods, Alcmena,
A little recollect your scattered thoughts,
And weigh what you have said.
_Alcm._ I weighed it well, Amphitryon, ere I spoke:
And she, and Bromia, all the slaves and servants,
Can witness they beheld you, when you came.
If other proof were wanting, tell me how
I came to know your fight, your victory,
The death of Pterelas in single combat?
And farther, from whose hands I had a jewel,
The spoils of him you slew?
_Amph._ This is amazing!
Have I already given you those diamonds,
The present I reserved?
_Alcm._ 'Tis an odd question:
You see I wear them; look.
_Amph._ Now answer, Sosia.
_Sos._ Yes, now I can answer with a safe conscience, as to that point;
all the rest may be art magic, but, as for the diamonds, here they are,
under safe custody.
_Alcm._ Then what are these upon my arm? [_To_ SOSIA.
_Sos._ Flints, or pebbles, or some such trumpery of enchanted stones.
_Phæd._ They say, the proof of a true diamond is to glitter in the
dark: I think my master had best take my lady into some by-corner, and
try whose diamond will sparkle best.
_Sos._ Yet, now I think on't, madam, did not a certain friend of mine
present them to you?
_Alcm._ What friend?
_Sos._ Why another Sosia, one that made himself Sosia in my despite,
and also unsosiated me.
_Amph._ Sirrah, leave your nauseous nonsense; break open the seal, and
take out the diamonds.
_Sos._ More words than one to a bargain, sir. I I thank you,--that's no
part of prudence for me to commit burglary upon the seals: Do you look
first upon the signet, and tell me, in your conscience, whether the
seals be not as firm as when you clapt the wax upon them.
_Amph._ The signature is firm. [_Looking._
_Sos._ Then take the signature into your own custody, and open it; for
I will have nothing done at my proper peril. [_Giving him the Casket._
_Amph._ O heavens! here's nothing but an empty space, the nest where
they were laid.
[_Breaking open the Seal._
_Sos._ Then, if the birds are flown, the fault's not mine. Here has
been fine conjuring work; or else the jewel, knowing to whom it should
be given, took occasion to steal out, by a natural instinct, and tied
itself to that pretty arm.
_Amph._ Can this be possible?
_Sos._ Yes, very possible: You, my lord Amphitryon, may have brought
forth another. You my lord Amphitryon, as well as I, Sosia, have
brought forth another Me, Sosia; and our diamonds may have procreated
these diamonds, and so we are all three double.
_Phæd._ If this be true, I hope my goblet has gigged another golden
goblet; and then they may carry double upon all four. [_Aside._
_Alcm._ My lord, I have stood silent, out of wonder What you could
wonder at.
_Amph._ A chilling sweat, a damp of jealousy,
Hangs on my brows, and clams upon my limbs.
I fear, and yet I must be satisfied;
And, to be satisfied, I must dissemble. [_Aside._
_Alcm._ Why muse you so, and murmur to yourself?
If you repent your bounty, take it back.
_Amph._ Not so; but, if you please, relate what past
At our last interview.
_Alcm._ That question would infer you were not here.
_Amph._ I say not so;
I only would refresh my memory,
And have my reasons to desire the story.
_Phæd._ So, this is as good sport for me, as an examination of a great
belly before a magistrate.
_Alcm._ The story is not long: you know I met you,
Kissed you, and pressed you close within my arms,
With all the tenderness of wifely love.
_Amph._ I could have spared that kindness.-- [_Aside._
And what did I?
_Alcm._ You strained me with a masculine embrace,
As you would squeeze my soul out.
_Amph._ Did I so?
_Alcm._ You did.
_Amph._ Confound those arms that were so kind!-- [_Aside._
Proceed, proceed---- [_To her._
_Alcm._ You would not stay to sup; but much complaining of your
drowsiness, and want of natural rest----
_Amph._ Made haste to bed: Ha, was't not so? Go on--
[_Aside._] And stab me with each syllable thou speak'st.
_Phæd._ So, now 'tis coming, now 'tis coming.
_Alcm._ I have no more to say.
_Amph._ Why, went we not to bed?
_Alcm._ Why not?
Is it a crime for husband and for wife
To go to bed, my lord?
_Amph._ Perfidious woman!
_Alcm._ Ungrateful man!
_Amph._ She justifies it too!
_Alcm._ I need not justify: Of what am I accused?
_Amph._ Of all that prodigality of kindness
Given to another, and usurped from me.
So bless me, Heaven, if, since my first departure,
I ever set my foot upon this threshold!
So am I innocent of all those joys,
And dry of those embraces.
_Alcm._ Then I, it seems, am false!
_Amph._ As surely false, as what thou say'st is true.
_Alcm._ I have betrayed my honour, and my love,
And am a foul adultress?
_Amph._ What thou art,
Thou stand'st condemned to be, by thy relation.
_Alcm._ Go, thou unworthy man! for ever go:
No more my husband: go, thou base impostor!
Who tak'st a vile pretence to taint my fame,
And, not content to leave, wouldst ruin me.
Enjoy thy wished divorce: I will not plead
My innocence of this pretended crime;
I need not. Spit thy venom; do thy worst;
But know, the more thou wouldst expose my virtue,
Like purest linen laid in open air,
'Twill bleach the more, and whiten to the view.
_Amph._ 'Tis well thou art prepared for thy divorce:
For, know thou too, that, after this affront,
This foul indignity done to my honour,
Divorcement is but petty reparation.
But, since thou hast, with impudence, affirmed
My false return, and bribed my slaves to vouch it,
The truth shall, in the face of Thebes, be cleared:
Thy uncle, the companion of my voyage,
And all the crew of seamen shall be brought,
Who were embarked, and came with me to land,
Nor parted, till I reached this cursed door:
So shall this vision of my late return
Stand a detected lie; and woe to those,
Who thus betrayed my honour!
_Sos._ Sir, shall I wait on you?
_Amph._ No, I will go alone. Expect me here.
[_Exit_ AMPHITRYON.
_Phæd._ Please you, that I---- [_To_ ALCMENA.
_Alcm._ Oh! nothing now can please me:
Darkness, and solitude, and sighs, and tears,
And all the inseparable train of grief,
Attend my steps for ever.---- [_Exit_ ALCMENA.
_Sos._ What if I should lie now, and say we have been here before? I
never saw any good that came of telling truth. [_Aside._
_Phæd._ He makes no more advances to me: I begin a little to suspect,
that my gold goblet will prove but copper. [_Aside._
_Sos._ Yes, 'tis resolved, I will lie abominably, against the light of
my own conscience. For, suppose the other Sosia has been here, perhaps
that strong dog has not only beaten me, but also has been predominant
upon my wife, and most carnally misused her! Now, by asking certain
questions of her, with a side-wind, I may come to understand how
squares go, and whether my nuptial bed be violated. [_Aside._
_Phæd._ Most certainly he has learned impudence of his master, and will
deny his being here; but that shall not serve his turn, to cheat me of
my present. [_Aside._]--Why, Sosia! What, in a brown study?
_Sos._ A little _cogitabund_, or so, concerning this dismal revolution
in our family.
_Phæd._ But that should not make you neglect your duty to me, your
mistress.
_Sos._ Pretty soul! I would thou wert, upon condition that old Bromia
were six foot under ground.
_Phæd._ What! is all your hot courtship to me dwindled into a poor
unprofitable wish? You may remember, I did not bid you absolutely
despair.
_Sos._ No, for all things yet may be accommodated, in an amicable
manner, betwixt my master and my lady.
_Phæd._ I mean, to the business betwixt you and me--
_Sos._ Why, I hope we two never quarrelled?
_Phæd._ Must I remember you of a certain promise, that you made me at
our last parting?
_Sos._ Oh, when I went to the army: that I should still be praising thy
beauty to judge Gripus, and keep up his affections to thee?
_Phæd._ No, I mean the business betwixt you and me this morning--that
you promised me----
_Sos._ That I promised thee--I find it now. That strong dog, my brother
Sosia, has been here before me, and made love to her. [_Aside._
_Phæd._ You are considering, whether or no you should keep your
promise--
_Sos._ That I should keep my promise.--The truth on't is, she's
another-guess morsel than old Bromia. [_Aside._
_Phæd._ And I had rather you should break it, in a manner, and as it
were, and in some sense----
_Sos._ In a manner, and as it were, and in some sense, thou say'st?--I
find, the strong dog has only tickled up her imagination, and not
enjoyed her; so that, with my own limbs, I may perform the sweetness
of his function with her. [_Aside._]--No, sweet creature, the promise
shall not be broken; but what I have undertaken, I will perform like a
man of honour.
_Phæd._ Then you remember the preliminaries of the present----
_Sos._ Yes, yes, in gross I do remember something; but this disturbance
of the family has somewhat stupified my memory. Some pretty _quelque
chose_, I warrant thee; some acceptable toy, of small value.
_Phæd._ You may call a gold goblet a toy; but I put a greater value
upon your presents.
_Sos._ A gold goblet, say'st thou! Yes, now I think on't, it was a kind
of a gold goblet, as a gratuity after consummation.
_Phæd._ No, no; I had rather make sure of one bribe beforehand, than be
promised ten gratuities.
_Sos._ Yes, now I remember, it was, in some sense, a gold goblet, by
way of earnest; and it contained--
_Phæd._ One large--
_Sos._ How, one large--
_Phæd._ Gallon.
_Sos._ No; that was somewhat too large, in conscience: It was
not a whole gallon; but it may contain, reasonably speaking, one
large--thimble-full; but gallons and thimble-fulls are so like, that,
in speaking, I might easily mistake them.
_Phæd._ Is it come to this?--Out, traitor!
_Sos._ I had been a traitor, indeed, to have betrayed thee to the
swallowing of a gallon; but a thimble-full of cordial water is easily
sipt off: and then, this same goblet is so very light too, that it will
be no burden to carry it about with thee in thy pocket.
_Phæd._ O apostate to thy love! O perjured villain!--
_Enter_ BROMIA.
What, are you here, Bromia? I was telling him his own: I was giving
him a rattle for his treacheries to you, his love: You see I can be a
friend, upon occasion.
_Brom._ Ay, chicken, I never doubted of thy kindness; but, for this
fugitive--this rebel--this miscreant----
_Sos._ A kind welcome, to an absent lover, as I have been.
_Brom._ Ay; and a kind greeting you gave me, at your return; when you
used me so barbarously this morning.
_Sos._ The t'other Sosia has been with her too; and has used her
barbarously: barbarously,--that is to say, uncivilly: and uncivilly,--I
am afraid that means too civilly. [_Aside._
_Phæd._ You had best deny you were here this morning! And by the same
token----
_Sos._ Nay, no more tokens, for Heaven's sake, dear Phædra.--Now must I
ponder with myself a little, whether it be better for me to have been
here, or not to have been here, this morning. [_Aside._
_Enter a Servant._
_Serv._ Phædra, my lord's without; and will not enter till he has first
spoken with you. [_Exit Serv._
_Phæd._ [_To him in private._] Oh, that I could stay to help worry
thee for this abuse; but the best on't is, I leave thee in good
hands.----Farewell, Thimble----To him, Bromia. [_Exit_ PHÆDRA.
_Brom._ No; you did not beat me, and put me into a swoon, and deprive
me of the natural use of my tongue for a long half hour: you did not
beat me down with your little wand:--but I shall teach you to use your
rod another time----I shall.
_Sos._ Put her into a swoon, with my little wand, and so forth! That's
more than ever I could do. These are terrible circumstances, that some
Sosia or other has been here. Now, if he has literally beaten her,
gramercy, brother Sosia! he has but done what I would have done, if I
had durst. But I am afraid it was only a damned love-figure; and that
the wand, that laid her asleep, might signify the peace-maker. [_Aside._
_Brom._ Now you are snuffling up on a cold scent, for some pitiful
excuse. I know you; twenty to one, but you will plead a drunkenness;
you are used to be pot-valiant.
_Sos._ I was pumping, and I thank her, she has invented for me.--Yes,
Bromia, I must confess I was exalted; and, possibly, I might scour upon
thee, or perhaps be a little more familiar with thy person, by the way
of kindness, than if I had been sober: but, pr'ythee, inform me what I
did, that I may consider what satisfaction I am to make thee.
_Brom._ Are you there at your dog-tricks! You would be forgetting,
would you? like a drunken bully that affronts over night, and, when
he is called to account the next morning, remembers nothing of the
quarrel; and asks pardon, to avoid fighting.
_Sos._ By Bacchus, I was overtaken; but I should be loth that I
committed any folly with thee.
_Brom._ I am sure, I kept myself awake all night, that I did, in
expectation of your coming. [_Crying._
_Sos._ But what amends did I make thee, when I came?
_Brom._ You know well enough, to my sorrow, but that you play the
hypocrite.
_Sos._ I warrant, I was monstrous kind to thee.
_Brom._ Yes, monstrous kind indeed: You never said a truer word; for,
when I came to kiss you, you pulled away your mouth, and turned your
cheek to me.
_Sos._ Good.
_Brom._ How, good! Here's fine impudence! He justifies!
_Sos._ Yes, I do justify, that I turned my cheek, like a prudent
person, that my breath might not offend thee; for, now I remember, I
had eaten garlick.
_Brom._ Ay, you remember, and forget, just as it makes for you, or
against you; but, to mend the matter, you never spoke one civil word to
me; but stood like a stock, without sense or motion.
_Sos._ Yet better. [_Aside._
_Brom._ After which, I lovingly invited you to take your place in your
nuptial bed, as the laws of matrimony oblige you; and you inhumanly
refused me.
_Sos._ Ay, there's the main point of the business! Art thou morally
certain, that I refused thee? Look me now in the face, and say I did
not commit matrimony with thee!
_Brom._ I wonder how thou canst look me in the face, after that
refusal!
_Sos._ Say it once again, that I did not feloniously come to bed to
thee!
_Brom._ No, thou cold traitor, thou know'st thou didst not.
_Sos._ Best of all!--'twas discreetly done of me to abstain.
_Brom._ What, do you insult upon me too?
_Sos._ No, I do not insult upon you----but--
_Brom._ But what? How was it discreetly done then? ha!
_Sos._ Because it is the received opinion of physicians, that nothing
but puling chits, and booby-fools are procreated in drunkenness.
_Brom._ A received opinion, snivel-guts! I'll be judged by all the
married women of this town, if any one of them has received it. The
devil take the physicians for meddling in our matters! If a husband
will be ruled by them, there are five weeks of abstinence in dog-days
too; for fear a child, that was got in August, should be born just nine
months after, and be blear-eyed, like a May kitten.
_Sos._ Let the physicians alone; they are honest men, whatever the
world says of them. But, for a certain reason, that I best know, I am
glad that matter ended so fairly and peaceably betwixt us.
_Brom._ Yes, 'twas very fair and peaceably; to strike a woman down, and
beat her most outrageously.
_Sos._ Is't possible that I drubbed thee?
_Brom._ I find your drift; you would fain be provoking me to a new
trial now: but, i'faith, you shall bring me to no more handy-blows; I
shall make bold to trust to my tongue hereafter. You never durst have
offered to hold up a finger against me, till you went a trooping.
_Sos._ Then I am a conqueror; and I laud my own courage: this renown I
have atchieved by soldier-ship and stratagem. Know your duty, spouse,
hence-forward, to your supreme commander. [_Strutting._
_Enter_ JUPITER _and_ PHÆDRA, _attended by Musicians and Dancers_.
_Phæd._ Indeed I wondered at your quick return.
_Jup._ Even so almighty love will have it, Phædra;
And the stern goddess of sweet-bitter cares,
Who bows our necks beneath her brazen yoke.
I would have manned my heart, and held it out;
But, when I thought of what I had possessed,
Those joys, that never end, but to begin,
O, I am all on fire to make my peace;
And die, Jove knows, as much as I can die,
Till I am reconciled.
_Phæd._ I fear 'twill be in vain.
_Jup._ 'Tis difficult:
But nothing is impossible to love;
To love like mine; for I have proved his force,
And my Alcmena too has felt his dart.
If I submit, there's hope.
_Phæd._ 'Tis possible I may solicit for you.
_Jup._ But wilt thou promise me to do thy best?
_Phæd._ Nay, I promise nothing--unless you begin to promise first.
[_Curtsying._
_Jup._ I will not be ungrateful.
_Phæd._ Well; I'll try to bring her to the window; you shall have a
fair shot at her; if you can bring her down, you are a good marksman.
_Jup._ That's all I ask;
And I will so reward thee, gentle Phædra--
_Phæd._ What, with catsguts and rosin! This _Solla_ is but a lamentable
empty sound.
_Jup._ Then, there's a sound will please thee better.
[_Throwing her a purse._
_Phæd._ Ay, there's something of melody in this sound.
I could dance all day to the music of _Chink, Chink_.
_Jup._ Go, Sosia, round our Thebes,
To Polidas, to Tranio, and to Gripus,
Companions of our war; invite them all
To join their prayers to smooth Alcmena's brow,
And, with a solemn feast, to crown the day.
_Sos._ [_Taking_ JUPITER _about the knees_.] Let me embrace you, sir.
[JUPITER _pushes him away_.] Nay, you must give me leave to express my
gratitude; I have not eaten, to say eating, nor drunk, to say drinking,
never since our villainous encamping so near the enemy. It is true, I
escaped the bloody-flux, because I had so little in my bowels to come
out; and I durst let nothing go, in conscience, because I had nothing
to swallow in the room on't.
_Jup._ You, Bromia, see that all things be prepared, With that
magnificence, as if some god Were guest or master here.
_Sos._ Or rather, as much as if twenty gods were to be guests or
masters here.
_Brom._ That you may eat for to-day and to-morrow.
_Sos._ Or, rather again, for to-day and yesterday, and as many months
backward, as I am indebted to my own belly.
_Jup._ Away, both of you.--[_Exeunt_ SOSIA _and_ BROMIA _severally_.
Now I have packed him hence, thou other Sosia,
(Who, though thou art not present, hear'st my voice)
Be ready to attend me at my call,
And to supply his place.
_Enter_ MERCURY _to_ JUPITER; ALCMENA _and_ PHÆDRA _appear above_.
See, she appears: [_Seeing_ ALCMENA.
This is my bribe to Phædra; when I made
This gold, I made a greater God than Jove,
And gave my own omnipotence away.
JUPITER _signs to the Musicians. Song and Dance: After
which_, ALCMENA _withdraws, frowning_.
SONG.
I.
_Celia, that I once was blest
Is now the torment of my breast;
Since, to curse me, you bereave me
Of the pleasures I possest:
Cruel creature, to deceive me!
First to love, and then to leave me!_
II.
_Had you the bliss refused to grant,
Then I had never known the want:
But possessing once the blessing,
Is the cause of my complaint;
Once possessing is but tasting;
'Tis no bliss that is not lasting._
III.
_Celia now is mine no more;
But I am her's, and must adore,
Nor to leave her will endeavour;
Charms, that captived me before,
No unkindness can dissever;
Love, that's true, is love for ever._
_Jup._ O stay.
_Merc._ She's gone; and seemed to frown at parting.
_Jup._ Follow, and thou shalt see her soon appeased;
For I, who made her, know her inward state;
No woman, once well-pleased, can throughly hate.
I gave them beauty to subdue the strong,--
A mighty empire, but it lasts not long.
I gave them pride, to make mankind their slave;
But, in exchange, to men I flattery gave.
The offending lover, when he lowest lies,
Submits, to conquer; and but kneels, to rise.
ACT IV.--SCENE I.
_Jupiter_ _following_ ALCMENA; MERCURY _and_ PHÆDRA.
_Jup._ O stay, my dear Alcmena; hear me speak!
_Alcm._ No, I would fly thee to the ridge of earth,
And leap the precipice, to 'scape thy sight.
_Jup._ For pity----
_Alcm._ Leave me, thou ungrateful man.
_Jup._ I cannot leave you; no, but like a ghost,
Whom your unkindness murdered, will I haunt you.
_Alcm._ Once more, be gone; I'm odious to myself,
For having loved thee once.
_Jup._ Hate not, the best and fairest of your kind!
Nor can you hate your lover, though you would:
Your tears, that fall so gently, are but grief:
There may be anger; but there must be love.
The dove, that murmurs at her mate's neglect,
But counterfeits a coyness, to be courted.
_Alcm._ Courtship from thee, and after such affronts!
_Jup._ Is this that everlasting love you vowed
Last night, when I was circled in your arms?
Remember what you swore.
_Alcm._ Think what thou wert, and who could swear too much?
Think what thou art, and that unswears it all.
_Jup._ Can you forsake me, for so small a fault?
'Twas but a jest, perhaps too far pursued;
'Twas but, at most, a trial of your faith,
How you could bear unkindness;
'Twas but to get a reconciling kiss,
A wanton stratagem of love.
_Alcm._ See how he doubles, like a hunted hare:
A jest, and then a trial, and a bait;
All stuff, and daubing!
_Jup._ Think me jealous, then.
_Alcm._ O that I could! for that's a noble crime,
And which a lover can with ease forgive;
'Tis the high pulse of passion in a fever;
A sickly draught, but shews a burning thirst:
Thine was a surfeit, not a jealousy;
And in that loathing of thy full-gorged love,
Thou saw'st the nauseous object with disdain.
_Jup._ O think not that! for you are ever new:
Your fruits of love are like eternal spring,
In happy climes, where some are in the bud,
Some green, and ripening some, while others fall.
_Alcm._ Ay, now you tell me this,
When roused desires, and fresh recruits of force,
Enable languished love to take the field:
But never hope to be received again;
You would again deny you were received,
And brand my spotless fame.
_Jup._ I will not dare to justify my crime,
But only point you where to lay the blame;
Impute it to the husband, not the lover.
_Alcm._ How vainly would the sophister divide,
And make the husband and the lover two!
_Jup._ Yes, 'tis the husband is the guilty wretch;
His insolence forgot the sweets of love,
And, deeming them his due, despised the feast.
Not so the famished lover could forget;
He knew he had been there, and had been blest
With all that hope could wish, or sense can bear.
_Alcm._ Husband and lover, both alike I hate.
_Jup._ And I confess I have deserved that hate.
Too charming fair, I kneel for your forgiveness: [_Kneeling._
I beg, by those fair eyes
Which gave me wounds, that time can never cure,
Receive my sorrows, and restore my joys.
_Alcm._ Unkind, and cruel! I can speak no more.
_Jup._ O give it vent, Alcmena, give it vent;
I merit your reproach, I would be cursed;
Let your tongue curse me, while your heart forgives.
_Alcm._ Can I forget such usage?
_Jup._ Can you hate me?
_Alcm._ I'll do my best; for sure I ought to hate you.
_Jup._ That word was only hatched upon your tongue,
It came not from your heart. But try again,
And if, once more, you can but say,--I hate you,
My sword shall do you justice.
_Alcm._ Then--I hate you.
_Jup._ Then you pronounce the sentence of my death.
_Alcm._ I hate you much, but yet--I love you more.
_Jup._ To prove that love, then say, that you forgive me;
For there remains but this alternative,--
Resolve to pardon, or to punish me.
_Alcm._ Alas! what I resolve appears too plain;
In saying that I cannot hate, I pardon.
_Jup._ But what's a pardon worth without a seal?
Permit me, in this transport of my joy---- [_Kisses her hand._
_Alcm._ Forbear; I am offended with myself,
[_Putting him gently away with her hand._
That I have shewn this weakness.--Let me go,
Where I may blush alone;-- [_Going, and looking back on him._
But come not you,
Lest I should spoil you with excess of fondness,
And let you love again. [_Exit_ ALCMENA.
_Jup._ Forbidding me to follow, she invites me:--
This is the mould of which I made the sex:
I gave them but one tongue, to say us nay;
And two kind eyes to grant.--Be sure that none
Approach, to interrupt our privacy. [_To_ MERC.
[_Exit_ JUPITER _after_ ALCMENA.
MERCURY _and_ PHÆDRA _remain_.
_Merc._ Your lady has made the challenge of reconciliation to my lord:
here's a fair example for us two, Phædra.
_Phæd._ No example at all, Sosia; for my lady had the diamonds
beforehand, and I have none of the gold goblet.
_Merc._ The goblet shall be forthcoming, if thou wilt give me weight
for weight.
_Phæd._ Yes, and measure for measure too, Sosia; that is, for a
thimble-full of gold, a thimble-full of love.
_Merc._ What think you now, Phædra? Here's a weighty argument of love
for you.
[_Pulling out the Goblet in a case from under his Cloak._
_Phæd._ Now Jupiter, of his mercy, let me kiss thee, O thou dear metal!
[_Taking it in both hands._
_Merc._ And Venus, of her mercy, let me kiss thee, dear, dear Phædra!
_Phæd._ Not so fast, Sosia; there's a damned proverb in your
way,--"Many things happen betwixt the cup and the lip," you know.
_Merc._ Why, thou wilt not cheat me of my goblet?
_Phæd._ Yes, as sure as you would cheat me of my maidenhead: I am
yet but just even with you, for the last trick you played me. And,
besides, this is but a bare retaining fee; you must give me another
before the cause is opened.
_Merc._ Shall I not come to your bed-side to-night?
_Phæd._ No, nor to-morrow night neither; but this shall be my
sweetheart in your place: 'tis a better bedfellow, and will keep me
warmer in cold weather.
[_Exit_ PHÆDRA.
MERCURY _alone_.
_Merc._ Now, what's the god of wit in a woman's hand? This very goblet
I stole from Gripus; and he got it out of bribes, too. But this is the
common fate of ill-gotten goods, that, as they came in by covetousness,
they go out by whoring.--
_Enter_ AMPHITRYON.
Oh, here's Amphitryon again; but I'll manage him above in the balcony
[_Exit_ MERCURY.
_Amph._ Not one of those, I looked for, to be found,
As some enchantment hid them from my sight!
Perhaps, as Sosia says, 'tis witchcraft all.
Seals may be opened, diamonds may be stolen;
But how I came, in person, yesterday,
And gave that present to Alcmena's hands,
That which I never gave, nor ever came,--
O there's the rock on which my reason splits!
Would that were all! I fear my honour, too.
I'll try her once again;--she may be mad;--
A wretched remedy; but all I have,
To keep me from despair.
_Merc._ [_From the Balcony, aside._] This is no very charitable action
of a god, to use him ill, who has never offended me; but my planet
disposes me to malice; and when we great persons do but a little
mischief, the world has a good bargain of us.
_Amph._ How now, what means the locking up of my doors at this time of
day? [_Knocks._
_Merc._ Softly, friend, softly; you knock as loud, and as saucily, as
a lord's footman, that was sent before him to warn the family of his
honour's visit. Sure you think the doors have no feeling! What the
devil are you, that rap with such authority?
_Amph._ Look out, and see; 'tis I.
_Merc._ You! what you?
_Amph._ No more, I say, but open.
_Merc._ I'll know to whom first.
_Amph._ I am one, that can command the doors open.
_Merc._ Then you had best command them, and try whether they will obey
you.
_Amph._ Dost thou not know me?
_Merc._ Pr'ythee, how should I know thee? Dost thou take me for a
conjurer?
_Amph._ What's this? midsummer-moon! Is all the world gone a
madding?--Why, Sosia!
_Merc._ That's my name, indeed; didst thou think I had forgot it?
_Amph._ Dost thou see me?
_Merc._ Why, dost thou pretend to go invisible? If thou hast any
business here, dispatch it quickly; I have no leisure to throw away
upon such prattling companions.
_Amph._ Thy companion, slave! How darest thou use this insolent
language to thy master?
_Merc._ How! Thou my master? By what title? I never had any other
master but Amphitryon.
_Amph._ Well; and for whom dost thou take me?
_Merc._ For some rogue or other; but what rogue I know not.
_Amph._ Dost thou not know me for Amphitryon, slave!
_Merc._ How should I know thee, when I see thou dost not know thyself?
Thou Amphitryon! In what tavern hast thou been? and how many bottles
did thy business, to metamorphose thee into my lord?
_Amph._ I will so drub thee for this insolence!
_Merc._ How now, impudence, are you threatening your betters? I should
bring you to condign punishment, but that I have a great respect for
the good wine, though I find it in a fool's noddle.
_Amph._ What, none to let me in? Why, Phædra! Bromia!----
_Merc._ Peace, fellow; if my wife hears thee, we are both undone. At a
word, Phædra and Bromia are very busy; one in making a caudle for my
lady, and the other in heating napkins, to rub down my lord when he
rises from bed.
_Amph._ Amazement seizes me!
_Merc._ At what art thou amazed? My master and my lady had a falling
out, and are retired, without seconds, to decide the quarrel. If thou
wert not a meddlesome fool, thou wouldst not be thrusting thy nose into
other people's matters. Get thee about thy business, if thou hast any;
for I'll hear no more of thee.
[_Exit_ MERCURY _from above_.
_Amph._ Braved by my slave, dishonoured by my wife!
To what a desperate plunge am I reduced,
If this be true the villain says?--But why
That feeble _if_! It must be true; she owns it.
Now, whether to conceal, or blaze the affront?
One way, I spread my infamy abroad;
And t'other, hide a burning coal within,
That preys upon my vitals: I can fix
On nothing, but on vengeance.
_Enter_ SOSIA, POLIDAS, GRIPUS, _and_ TRANIO.
_Grip._ Yonder he is, walking hastily to and fro before his door, like
a citizen clapping his sides before his shop in a frosty morning; 'tis
to catch a stomach, I believe.
_Sos._ I begin to be afraid, that he has more stomach to my sides
and shoulders, than to his own victuals. How he shakes his head, and
stamps, and what strides he fetches! He's in one of his damned moods
again; I don't like the looks of him.
_Amph._ Oh, my mannerly, fair-spoken, obedient slave, are you there! I
can reach you now without climbing: Now we shall try who's drunk, and
who's sober.
_Sos._ Why this is as it should be: I was somewhat suspicious that you
were in a pestilent humour. Yes, we will have a crash at the bottle,
when your lordship pleases; I have summoned them, you see, and they are
notable topers, especially judge Gripus.
_Grip._ Yes, faith; I never refuse my glass in a good quarrel.
_Amph._ [_To_ SOS.] Why, thou insolent villain! I'll teach a slave how
to use his master thus.
_Sos._ Here's a fine business towards! I am sure I ran as fast as ever
my legs could carry me, to call them; nay, you may trust my diligence
in all affairs belonging to the belly.
_Grip._ He has been very faithful to his commission. I'll bear him
witness.
_Amph._ How can you be witness, where you were not present?--The
balcony, sirrah! the balcony!
_Sos._ Why, to my best remembrance, you never invited the balcony.
_Amph._ What nonsense dost thou plead, for an excuse of thy foul
language, and thy base replies!
_Sos._ You fright a man out of his senses first, and blame him
afterwards for talking nonsense! But it is better for me to talk
nonsense, than for some to do nonsense; I will say that, whate'er comes
on't. Pray, sir, let all things be done decently: what, I hope, when a
man is to be hanged, he is not trussed upon the gallows, like a dumb
dog, without telling him wherefore.
_Amph._ By your pardon, gentlemen; I have no longer patience to forbear
him.
_Sos._ Justice, justice!--My Lord Gripus, as you are a true magistrate,
protect me. Here's a process of beating going forward, without sentence
given.
_Grip._ My Lord Amphitryon, this must not be; let me first understand
the demerits of the criminal.
_Sos._ Hold you to that point, I beseech your honour, as you
commiserate the case of a poor, innocent malefactor.
_Amph._ To shut the door against me in my very face, to deny me
entrance, to brave me from the balcony, to laugh at me, to threaten
me! what proofs of innocence call you these? but if I punish not this
insolence----
[_Is going to beat him, and is held by_ POLIDAS
_and_ TRANIO.
I beg you, let me go.
_Sos._ I charge you, in the king's name, hold him fast; for you see
he's bloodily disposed.
_Grip._ Now, what hast thou to say for thyself, Sosia?
_Sos._ I say, in the first place, be sure you hold him, gentlemen; for
I shall never plead worth one farthing, while I am bodily afraid.
_Pol._ Speak boldly; I warrant thee.
_Sos._ Then if I may speak boldly, under my lord's favour, I do not
say he lies neither: no, I am too well bred for that; but his lordship
fibs most abominably.
_Amph._ Do you hear his impudence? yet will you let me go?
_Sos._ No impudence at all, my lord; for how could I, naturally
speaking, be in the balcony, and affronting you, when at the same time
I was in every street of Thebes, inviting these gentlemen to dinner?
_Grip._ Hold a little:--How long since was it that he spoke to you from
the said balcony?
_Amph._ Just now; not a minute before he brought you hither.
_Sos._ Now speak, my witnesses.
_Grip._ I can answer for him for this last half hour.
_Pol._ And I.
_Tran._ And I.
_Sos._ Now judge equitably, gentlemen, whether I was not a civil
well-bred person, to tell my lord he fibs only?
_Amph._ Who gave you that order, to invite them?
_Sos._ He that best might,--yourself: By the same token, you bid old
Bromia provide an' 'twere for a god, and I put in for a brace, or a
leash;--no, now I think on't, it was for ten couple of gods, to make
sure of plenty.
_Amph._ When did I give thee this pretended commission?
_Sos._ Why, you gave me this pretended commission, when you were just
ready to give my lady the fiddles, and a dance; in order, as I suppose,
to your second bedding.
_Amph._ Where, in what place, did I give this order?
_Sos._ Here, in this place, in the presence of this very door, and of
that balcony; and, if they could speak, they would both justify it.
_Amph._ O, heaven! These accidents are so surprising, the more I think
of them, the more I am lost in my imagination.
_Grip._ Nay, he has told us some passages, as he came along, that seem
to surpass the power of nature.
_Sos._ What think you now, my lord, of a certain twin-brother of
mine, called Sosia? 'Tis a sly youth: pray heaven, you have not just
such another relation within doors, called Amphitryon. It may be it
was he that put upon me, in your likeness; and perhaps he may have
put something upon your lordship too, that may weigh heavy upon the
forehead.
Amph. [_To those who hold him._] Let me go; Sosia may be innocent, and
I will not hurt him. Open the door, I'll resolve my doubts immediately.
_Sos._ The door is peremptory, that it will not be opened without keys;
and my brother on the inside is in possession, and will not part with
them.
_Amph._ Then 'tis manifest that I am affronted.--Break open the door
there.
_Grip._ Stir not a man of you to his assistance.
_Amph._ Dost thou take part with my adulteress too, because she is thy
niece?
_Grip._ I take part with nothing, but the law; and, to break the doors
open, is to break the law.
_Amph._ Do thou command them then.
_Grip._ I command nothing without my warrant; and my clerk is not here
to take his fees for drawing it.
_Amph._ [_Aside._] The devil take all justice-brokers! I curse him too,
when I have been hunting him all over the town, to be my witness! But
I'll bring soldiers, to force open the doors, by my own commission.
[_Exit_ AMPH.
_Sos._ Pox o' these forms of law, to defeat a man of a dinner, when
he's sharp set! 'Tis against the privilege of a free-born stomach; and
is no less than subversion of fundamentals. [JUPITER _above in the
Balcony_.
_Jup._ Oh, my friends, I am sorry I have made you wait so long: you are
welcome; and the door shall be opened to you immediately.
[_Exit_ JUPITER.
_Grip._ Was not that Amphitryon?
_Sos._ Why, who should it be else?
_Grip._ In all appearance it was he; but how got be thither?
_Pol._ In such a trice too!
_Tran._ And after he had just left us!
_Grip._ And so much altered, for the better, in his humour!
_Sos._ Here's such a company of foolish questions, when a man's hungry!
You had best stay dinner, till he has proved himself to be Amphitryon
in form of law: but I'll make short work of that business; for I'll
take mine oath 'tis he.
_Grip._ I should be glad it were.
_Sos._ How! glad it were? with your damned interrogatories, when you
ought to be thankful, that so it is.
_Grip._ [_Aside._] That I may see my mistress Phædra, and present her
with my great gold goblet.
_Sos._ If this be not the true Amphitryon, I wish I may be kept without
doors, fasting, and biting my own fingers, for want of victuals; and
that's a dreadful imprecation! I am for the inviting, and eating, and
treating Amphitryon; I am sure 'tis he that is my lawfully begotten
lord; and, if you had an ounce of true justice in you, you ought to
have laid hold on the other Amphitryon, and committed him for a rogue,
and an impostor, and a vagabond. [_The Door is opened._
_Merc._ [_From within._] Enter quickly, masters: The passage, on the
right hand, leads to the gallery, where my lord expects you; for I am
called another way.
[GRIPUS, TRANIO, _and_ POLIDAS, _go into the House_.
_Sos._ I should know that voice by a secret instinct; 'tis a tongue
of my family, and belongs to my brother Sosia: it must be so; for it
carries a cudgelling kind of sound in it.--But put the worst: Let me
weigh this matter wisely: Here's a beating, and a belly-full, against
no beating, and no belly-full. The beating is bad; but the dinner is
good. Now, not to be beaten, is but negatively good; but, not to fill
my belly, is positively bad. Upon the whole matter, my final resolution
is, to take the good and the bad as they come together.
[_Is entering_: MERCURY _meets him at the Door_.
_Merc._ Whither now, ye kitchen-scum? From whence this impudence, to
enter here without permission?
_Sos._ Most illustrious sir, my ticket is my hunger: Show the full
bowels of your compassion to the empty bowels of my famine.
_Merc._ Were you not charged to return no more? I'll cut you into
quarters, and hang you upon the shambles.
_Sos._ You'll get but little credit by me. Alas, sir, I am but mere
carrion! Brave Sosia, compassionate coward Sosia; and beat not thyself,
in beating me.
_Merc._ Who gave you that privilege, sirrah, to assume my name? have
you not been sufficiently warned of it, and received part of punishment
already?
_Sos._ May it please you, sir, the name is big enough for both of us;
and we may use it in common, like a strumpet. Witness heaven, that I
would have obeyed you, and quitted my title to the name; but, wherever
I come, the malicious world will call me Sosia, in spite of me. I
am sensible there are two Amphitryons; and why may there not be two
Sosias? Let those two cut one another's throats at their own pleasure;
but you and I will be wiser, by my consent, and hold good intelligence
together.
_Merc._ No, no; two Sosias would but make two fools.
_Sos._ Then let me be the fool, and be you the prudent person; and
chuse for yourself some wiser name: Or you shall be the eldest brother;
and I'll be content to be the younger, though I lose my inheritance.
_Merc._ I tell thee, I am the only son of our family.
_Sos._ Ah! Then let me be your bastard brother, and the son of a whore;
I hope that's but reasonable.
_Merc._ No, thou shall not disgrace my father; for there are few
bastards now-a-days worth owning.
_Sos._ Ah, poor Sosia! what will become of thee?
_Merc._ Yet again profanely using my proper name?
_Sos._ I did not mean myself; I was thinking of another Sosia, a poor
fellow, that was once of my acquaintance, unfortunately banished out of
doors, when dinner was just coming upon the table.
_Enter_ PHÆDRA.
_Phæd._ Sosia, you and I must--Bless me! what have we here? a couple of
you? or do I see double?
_Sos._ I would fain bring it about, that I might make one of them; but
he's unreasonable, and will needs incorporate me, and swallow me whole
into himself. If he would be content to be but one-and-a-half, 'twould
never grieve me.
_Merc._ 'Tis a perverse rascal: I kick him, and cudgel him, to no
purpose; for still he's obstinate to stick to me; and I can never beat
him out of my resemblance.
_Phæd._ Which of you two is Sosia? for t'other must be the devil.
_Sos._ You had best ask him, that has played the devil with my back and
sides.
_Merc._ You had best ask him,--who gave you the gold goblet?
_Phæd._ No, that's already given; but he shall be my Sosia, that will
give me such another.
_Merc._ I find you have been interloping, sirrah.
_Sos._ No, indeed, sir; I only promised her a gold thimble, which was
as much as comes to my proportion of being Sosia.
_Phæd._ This is no Sosia for my money; beat him away, t'other Sosia; he
grows insufferable.
_Sos._ [_Aside._] Would I were valiant, that I might beat him away; and
succeed him at the dinner, for a pragmatical son of a whore, as he is!
_Merc._ What's that you are muttering betwixt your teeth, of a son of a
whore, sirrah?
_Sos._ I am sure, I meant you no offence; for, if I am not Sosia, I am
the son of a whore, for aught I know; and, if you are Sosia, you may be
the son of a whore, for aught you know.
_Merc._ Whatever I am, I will be Sosia, as long as I please; and
whenever you visit me, you shall be sure of the civility of the cudgel.
_Sos._ If you will promise to beat me into the house, you may begin
when you please with me; but to be beaten out of the house, at
dinner-time, flesh and blood can never bear it.
[MERCURY _beats him about, and_ SOSIA _is still making towards the
Door; but_ MERCURY _gets betwixt, and at length drives him off the
Stage_.
_Phæd._ In the name of wonder, what are you, that are Sosia, and are
not Sosia?
_Merc._ If thou would'st know more of me, my person is freely at thy
disposing.
_Phæd._ Then I dispose of it to you again; for 'tis so ugly, 'tis not
for my use.
_Merc._ I can be ugly, or handsome, as I please; go to bed old, and
rise young. I have so many suits of persons by me, I can shift them
when I will.
_Phæd._ You are a fool, then, to put on your worst clothes, when you
come a-wooing.
_Merc._ Go to; ask no more questions. I am for thy turn; for I know thy
heart, and see all thou hast about thee.
_Phæd._ Then you can see my backside too; there's a bargain for you.
_Merc._ In thy right pocket:--let me see; three love letters from judge
Gripus, written to the bottom, on three sides; full of fustian passion,
and hearty nonsense: as also, in the same pocket, a letter of thine
intended to him, consisting of nine lines and a half, scrawled and
false spelled, to show thou art a woman; and full of fraudulence, and
equivocations, and shoeing-horns of love to him; to promise much, and
mean nothing; to show, over and above, that thou art a mere woman.
_Phæd._ Is the devil in you, to see all this? Now, for heaven's sake,
do not look in t'other pocket.
_Merc._ Nay, there's nothing there, but a little godly prayer-book, and
a bawdy lampoon, and----
_Phæd._ [_Giving a great frisk._] Look no farther, I beseech you.
_Merc._ And a silver spoon----
_Phæd._ [_Shrieking._] Ah!----
_Merc._ Which you purloined last night from Bromia.
_Phæd._ Keep my counsel, or I am undone for ever.
[_Holding up her hands to him._
_Merc._ No; I'll mortify thee, now I have an handle to thy iniquity, if
thou wilt not love me.
_Phæd._ Well, if you'll promise me to be secret, I will love you;
because indeed I dare do no other.
_Merc._ 'Tis a good girl; I will be secret: and, further, I will be
assisting to thee in thy filching; for thou and I were born under the
same planet.
_Phæd._ And we shall come to the same end too, I'm afraid.
_Merc._ No, no; since thou hast wit enough already to cozen a judge,
thou needst never fear hanging.
_Phæd._ And will you make yourself a younger man, and be handsome too,
and rich? for you, that know hearts, must needs know, that I shall
never be constant to such an ugly old Sosia.
_Merc._ Thou shalt know more of that another time; in the mean while,
here is a cast of my office for thee.
[_He stamps upon the ground: some Dancers come from under-ground;
and others from the sides of the Stage: a Song, and a fantastic
Dance._
MERCURY'S SONG TO PHÆDRA.
_Fair Iris, I love, and hourly I die,
But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye:
She's fickle and false, and there we agree;
For I am as false and as fickle as she.
We neither believe, what either can say;
And, neither believing, we neither betray;_
_'Tis civil to swear, and say things of course;
We mean not the taking for better for worse.
When present, we love; when absent, agree:
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me:
The legend of love no couple can find,
So easy to part, or so equally joined._
_After, the Dance._
_Phæd._ This power of yours makes me suspect you for little better than
a god; but if you are one, for more certainty, tell me what I am just
now thinking.
_Merc._ Why, thou art thinking,--let me see; for thou art a woman, and
your minds are so variable, that it is very hard, even for a god, to
know them,--but, to satisfy thee, thou art wishing, now, for the same
power I have exercised, that thou might'st stamp like me, and have more
singers come up for another song.
_Phæd._ Gad, I think the devil's in you. Then I do stamp in somebody's
name, but I know not whose: [_Stamps._] Come up, gentle-folks from
below, and sing me a pastoral dialogue, where the woman may have the
better of the man; as we always have in love-matters. [_New Singers
come up, and sing a Song._
A PASTORAL DIALOGUE BETWIXT THYRSIS AND IRIS.
Thyrsis. _Fair Iris and her swain
Were in a shady bower;
Where Thyrsis long in vain
Had sought the shepherd's hour:_
_At length his hand advancing upon her snowy breast;
He said, O kiss me longer,
And longer yet, and longer,
If you will make me blest_
Iris. _An easy yielding maid,
By trusting, is undone;
Our sex is oft betray'd,
By granting love too soon.
If you desire to gain me, your sufferings to redress,
Prepare to love me longer,
And longer yet, and longer,
Before you shall possess._
Thyrsis. _The little care you show
Of all my sorrows past,
Makes death appear too slow,
And life too long to last.
Fair Iris kiss me kindly, in pity of my fate;
And kindly still, and kindly,
Before it be too late._
Iris. _You fondly court your bliss,
And no advances make;
'Tis not for maids to kiss,
But 'tis for men to take.
So you may kiss me kindly, and I will not rebel;
And kindly still, and kindly,
But kiss me not and tell._
A RONDEAU.
Chorus. _Thus at the height we love and live,
And fear not to be poor;
We give, and give, and give, and give,
'Till we can give no more,
But what to-day will take away,
To-morrow will restore:
Thus at the height we love, and live,
And fear not to be poor._
_Phæd._ Adieu, I leave you to pay the music. Hope well,
Mr. Planet; there is a better heaven in store for you:
I say no more, but you can guess.
_Merc._ [_alone._] Such bargain-loves, as I with Phædra treat,
Are all the leagues and friendships of the great;
All seek their ends, and each would other cheat.
They only seem to hate, and seem to love;
But interest is the point on which they move.
Their friends are foes, and foes are friends again,
And, in their turns, are knaves, and honest men.
Our iron age is grown an age of gold:
'Tis who bids most; for all men will be sold. [_Exit._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_Enter_ GRIPUS _and_ PHÆDRA. GRIPUS _has the Goblet in his hand_.
_Phæd._ You will not be so base to take it from me?
_Grip._ 'Tis my proper chattel; and I'll seize my own, in whatever
hands I find it.
_Phæd._ You know I only showed it you, to provoke your generosity, that
you might out-bid your rival with a better present.
_Grip._ My rival is a thief; and I'll indite you for a receiver of
stolen goods.
_Phæd._ Thou hide-bound lover!
_Grip._ Thou very mercenary mistress!
_Phæd._ Thou most mercenary magistrate!
_Grip._ Thou seller of thyself!
_Phæd._ Thou seller of other people: thou weather-cock of government;
that, when the wind blows for the subject, pointest to privilege; and
when it changes for the sovereign, veerest to prerogative[9]!
_Grip._ Will you compound, and take it as my present?
_Phæd._ No; but I'll send thy rival to force it from thee.
_Grip._ When a thief is rival to his judge, the hangman will soon
decide the difference.
[_Exit_ PHÆDRA.
_Enter_ MERCURY, _with two Swords_.
_Merc._ [_Bowing._] Save your good lordship.
_Grip._ From an impertinent coxcomb: I am out of humour, and am in
haste; leave me.
_Merc._ 'Tis my duty to attend on your lordship, and to ease you of
that undecent burden.
_Grip._ Gold was never any burden to one of my profession.
_Merc._ By your lordship's permission, Phædra has sent me to take it
from you.
_Grip._ What, by violence?
_Merc._ [_still bowing._] No; but by your honour's permission, I am
to restore it to her, and persuade your lordship to renounce your
pretensions to her.
_Grip._ Tell her flatly, I will neither do one, nor t'other.
_Merc._ O my good lord, I dare pass my word for your free consent to
both.----Will your honour be pleased to take your choice of one of
these?
_Grip._ Why, these are swords: what have I to do with them?
_Merc._ Only to take your choice of one of them, which your lordship
pleases; and leave the other to your most obedient servant.
_Grip._ What, one of these ungodly weapons? Take notice, I'll lay you
by the heels, sirrah: this has the appearance of an unlawful bloody
challenge.
_Merc._ You magistrates are pleased to call it so, my lord; but with
us swordmen, it is an honourable invitation to the cutting of one
another's throats.
_Grip._ Be answered; I have no throat to cut. The law shall decide our
controversy.
_Merc._ By your permission, my lord, it must be dispatched this way.
_Grip._ I'll see thee hanged before I give thee any such permission, to
dispatch me into another world.
_Merc._ At the least, my lord, you have no occasion to complain of
my want of respect to you. You will neither restore the goblet, nor
renounce Phædra: I offer you the combat; you refuse it; all this is
done in the forms of honour: It follows, that I am to affront, cudgel
you, or kick you, at my own arbitrement; and, I suppose, you are too
honourable not to approve of my proceeding.
_Grip._ Here is a new sort of process, that was never heard of in any
of our courts.
_Merc._ This, my good lord, is law in short-hand, without your long
preambles, and tedious repetitions that signify nothing but to squeeze
the subject: therefore, with your lordship's favour, I begin.
[_Fillips him under the chin._
_Grip._ What is this for?
_Merc._ To give you an occasion of returning me a box o' the ear; that
so all things may proceed methodically.
_Grip._ I put in no answer, but suffer a non-suit.
_Merc._ No, my lord; for the costs and charges are to be paid: will you
please to restore the cup?
_Grip._ I told thee, no.
_Merc._ Then from your chin, I must ascend to your lordship's ears.
_Grip._ Oh, oh, oh, oh!--Wilt thou never leave lugging me by the ears?
_Merc._ Not till your lordship will be pleased to hear
reason. [_Pulling again._
_Grip._ Take the cup, and the devil give thee joy on't.
_Merc._ [_Still holding him._] And your lordship will farther be
graciously pleased, to release all claims, titles, and actions
whatsoever, to Phædra: you must give me leave to add one small
_memento_ for that too. [_Pulling him again._
_Grip._ I renounce her; I release her.
_Enter_ PHÆDRA.
_Merc._ [_To her._] Phædra, my lord has been pleased to be very
gracious, without pushing matters to extremity.
_Phæd._ I overheard it all; but give me livery and seisin of the
goblet, in the first place.
_Merc._ There is an act of oblivion should be passed too.
_Phæd._ Let him begin to remember quarrels, when he dares; now I have
him under my girdle, I'll cap verses with him to the end of the chapter.
_Enter_ AMPHITRYON, _and Guards_.
_Amph._ [_To_ GRIPUS.] At the last I have got possession without your
lordship's warrant.--Phædra, tell Alcmena I am here.
_Phæd._ I'll carry no such lying message: you are not here, and you
cannot be here; for, to my knowledge, you are above with my lady, in
the chamber.
_Amph._ All of a piece, and all witchcraft!--Answer me precisely: dost
thou not know me for Amphitryon?
_Phæd._ Answer me first: did you give me a diamond and a purse of gold?
_Amph._ Thou knowest I did not.
_Phæd._ Then, by the same token, I know you are not the true
Amphitryon: if you are he, I am sure I left you in bed with your own
wife. Now you had best stretch out a leg, and feel about for a fair
lady.
_Amph._ I'll undo this enchantment with my sword, and kill the
sorcerer.--Come up, gentlemen, and follow me. [_To the Guards._
_Phæd._ I'll save you the labour, and call him down to confront you, if
you dare attend him. [_Exit_ PHÆDRA.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] Now the spell is ended, and Jupiter can enchant
no more; or else Amphitryon had not entered so easily. [GRIPUS _is
stealing off_.]--Whither now, Gripus? I have business for you: if you
offer to stir, you know what follows.
_Enter_ JUPITER, _followed by_ TRANIO _and_ POLIDAS.
_Jup._ Who dares to play the master in my house?
What noise is this that calls me from above,
Invades my soft recess and privacy,
And, like a tide, breaks in upon my love?
_Amph._ O heavens, what's this I see?
_Tran._ What prodigy!
_Pol._ How! two Amphitryons!
_Grip._ I have beheld the appearance of two suns,
But still the false was dimmer than the true;
Here, both shine out alike.
_Amph._ This is a sight, that, like the gorgon's head,
Runs through my limbs, and stiffens me to stone.
I need no more inquire into my fate;
For what I see resolves my doubts too plain.
_Tran._ Two drops of water cannot be more like.
_Pol._ They are two very sames.
_Merc._ Our Jupiter is a great comedian, he counterfeits most
admirably: sure his priests have copied their hypocrisy from their
master. [_Aside._
_Amph._ Now I am gathered back into myself:
My heart beats high, and pushes out the blood,
[_Drawing his sword._
To give me just revenge on this impostor.
If you are brave, assist me--not one stirs!
[_To the Guards._
What, are all bribed to take the enchanter's part?
'Tis true, the work is mine; and thus----
[_Going to rush upon_ JUPITER; _and is held by_ TRANIO _and_
POLIDAS.
_Pol._ It must not be.
_Jup._ Give him his way; I dare the madman's worst:
But still take notice, that it looks not like
The true Amphitryon, to fly out at first
To brutal force: it shews he doubts his cause,
Who dares not trust his reason to defend it.
_Amph._ Thou base usurper of my name and bed! [_Struggling._
No less than thy heart's blood can wash away
The affronts I have sustained.
_Tran._ We must not suffer
So strange a duel, as Amphitryon
To fight against himself.
_Pol._ Nor think we wrong you, when we hold your hands:
We know our duty to our general;
We know the ties of friendship to our friend;
But who that friend, or who that general is,
Without more certain proofs, betwixt you two,
Is hard to be distinguished, by our reason;
Impossible, by sight.
_Amph._ I know it, and have satisfied myself;
I am the true Amphitryon.
_Jup._ See again,
He shuns the certain proofs; and dares not stand
Impartial judgment, and award of right.
But, since Alcmena's honour is concerned,
Whom, more than heaven, and all the world, I love,
This I propose, as equal to us both:--
Tranio and Polidas, be you assistants;
The guards be ready to secure the impostor,
When once so proved, for public punishment;
And Gripus, be thou umpire of the cause.
_Amph._ I am content: let him proceed to examination.
_Grip._ On whose side would you please that I should give the sentence?
[_Aside to_ MERC.
_Merc._ Follow thy conscience for once; but not to make a custom of
it neither, nor to leave an evil precedent of uprightness to future
judges. [_Aside._]--'Tis a good thing to have a magistrate under
correction: your old fornicating judge dares never give sentence
against him that knows his haunts.
_Pol._ Your lordship knows I was master of Amphitryon's ship; and
desire to know of him, what passed, in private, betwixt us two at his
landing, when he was just ready to engage the enemy?
_Grip._ Let the true Amphitryon answer first.
_Jup. and Amph. together._ My lord, I told him----
_Grip._ Peace, both of you:--'Tis a plain case they are both true;
for they both speak together: but, for more certainty, let the false
Amphitryon speak first.
_Merc._ Now they are both silent.
_Grip._ Then 'tis plain, on the other side, that they are both false
Amphitryons.
_Merc._ Which Amphitryon shall speak first?
_Grip._ Let the cholerick Amphitryon speak; and let the peaceable hold
his peace.
_Amph._ [_To Polid._] You may remember that I whispered you, not to
part from the stern one single moment.
_Polid._ You did so.
_Grip._ No more words then: I proceed to sentence.
_Jup._ 'Twas I that whispered him; and he may remember I gave him this
reason for it, that, if our men were beaten, I might secure my own
retreat.
_Polid._ You did so.
_Grip._ Now again he is as true as the other.
_Tran._ You know I was paymaster: what directions did
you give me the night before the battle?
_Grip._ To which of the you's art thou speaking?
_Merc._ It should be a double u; but they have no such letter in their
tongue. [_Aside._
_Amph._ I ordered you to take particular care of the great bag.
_Grip._ Why this is demonstration.
_Jup._ The bag, that I recommended to you, was of tygers-skin; and
marked Beta.
_Grip._ In sadness, I think they are both jugglers: here is nothing,
and here is nothing; and then _hiccius doccius_, and they are both here
again.
_Tran._ You peaceable Amphitryon, what money was there in that bag?
_Jup._ The sum, in gross, amounted just to fifty Attick talents.
_Tran._ To a farthing.
_Grip._ Paugh: Obvious, obvious.
_Amph._ Two thousand pieces of gold were tied up in a handkerchief, by
themselves.
_Tran._ I remember it.
_Grip._ Then it is dubious again.
_Jup._ But the rest was not all silver; for there were just four
thousand brass half-pence.
_Grip._ Being but brass, the proof is inconsiderable: if they had been
silver, it had gone on your side.
_Amph._ Death and hell, you will not persuade me, that I did not kill
Pterelas? [_To_ JUPITER.
_Jup._ Nor you me, that I did not enjoy Alcmena?
_Amph._ That last was poison to me.---- [_Aside._
Yet there's one proof thou canst not counterfeit:
In killing Pterelas, I had a wound
Full in the brawny part of my right arm,
Where still the scar remains:--now blush, impostor;
For this thou canst not show.
[_Bares his arm, and shows the scar, which they all look on._
_Omnes._ This is the true Amphitryon.
_Jup._ May your lordship please----
_Grip._ No, sirrah, it does not please me: hold your tongue, I charge
you, for the case is manifest.
_Jup._ By your favour then, this shall speak for me.
[_Bares his arm, and shows it._
_Tran._ 'Tis just in the same muscle.
_Polid._ Of the same length and breadth; and the scar of the same
blueish colour.
_Grip._ [_To Jup._] Did not I charge you not to speak? 'twas plain
enough before; and now you have puzzled it again.
_Amph._ Good gods, how can this be!
_Grip._ For certain there was but one Pterelas; and he must have been
in the plot against himself too; for he was killed first by one of
them, and then rose again out of respect to the other Amphitryon, to be
killed twice over.
_Enter_ ALCMENA, PHÆDRA, _and_ BROMIA.
_Alcm._ No more of this; it sounds impossible
[_Turning to_ PHÆDRA _and_ BROMIA.
That two should be so like, no difference found.
_Phæd._ You'll find it true.
_Alcm._ Then where's Alcmena's honour and her fame?
Farewell my needless fear, it cannot be:
This is a case too nice for vulgar sight;
But let me come, my heart will guide my eyes
To point, and tremble to its proper choice.
[_Seeing_ AMPHITRYON, _goes to him_.
There neither was, nor is, but one Amphitryon;
And I am only his.--
[_Goes to take him by the hand._
_Amph._ Away, adultress!
[_Pushing her away from him._
_Jup._ My gentle love, my treasure, and my joy,
Follow no more that false and foolish fire,
That would mislead thy fame to sure destruction!
Look on thy better husband, and thy friend,
Who will not leave thee liable to scorn,
But vindicate thy honour from that wretch,
Who would by base aspersions blot thy virtue.
Alcm. [_Going to him, who embraces her._]
I was indeed mistaken; thou art he!
Thy words, thy thoughts, thy soul is all Amphitryon.
The impostor has thy features, not thy mind;
The face might have deceived me in my choice,
Thy kindness is a guide that cannot err.
_Amph._ What! in my presence to prefer the villain?
O execrable cheat!--I break the truce;
And will no more attend your vain decisions:
To this, and to the gods, I'll trust my cause.
[_Is rushing upon_ JUPITER, _and is held again_.
_Jup._ Poor man, how I contemn those idle threats!
Were I disposed, thou might'st as safely meet
The thunder launched from the red arm of Jove,--Nor
Jove need blush to be Alcmena's champion.
But in the face of Thebes she shall be cleared;
And what I am, and what thou art, be known.--
Attend, and I will bring convincing proofs.
_Amph._ Thou would'st elude my justice, and escape:
But I will follow thee through earth and seas;
Nor hell shall hide thee from my just revenge.
_Jup._ I'll spare thy pains. It shall be quickly seen,
Betwixt us two, who seeks, and who avoids.--
Come in, my friends,--and thou, who seem'st Amphitryon--
That all, who are in doubt, may know the true.
[JUPITER _re-enters the house; with him_ AMPHITRYON ALCMENA,
POLIDAS, TRANIO, _and Guards_.
_Merc._ Thou, Gripus, and you, Bromia, stay with Phædra:
[_To_ GRIPUS _and_ BROMIA,
_who are following_.
Let their affairs alone, and mind we ours,
Amphitryon's rival shall appear a god:
But know beforehand, I am Mercury;
Who want not heaven, while Phædra is on earth.
_Brom._ But, an't please your lordship, is my fellow Phædra to be
exalted into the heavens, and made a star?
_Phæd._ When that comes to pass, if you look up a-nights, I shall
remember old kindness, and vouch-safe to twinkle on you.
_Enter_ SOSIA, _peeping about him; and, seeing_ MERCURY, _is
starting back_.
_Sos._ Here he is again; and there's no passing by him into the house,
unless I were a sprite, to glide in through the key-hole. I am to be a
vagabond, I find.
_Merc._ Sosia, come back.
_Sos._ No, I thank you; you may whistle me long enough; a beaten dog
has always the wit to avoid his master.
_Merc._ I permit thee to be Sosia again.
_Sos._ 'Tis an unfortunate name, and I abandon it: he that has an itch
to be beaten, let him take it up for Sosia;--What have I said now! I
mean for me; for I neither am nor will be Sosia.
_Merc._ But thou may'st be so in safety; for I have acknowledged myself
to be god Mercury.
_Sos._ You may be a god, for aught I know; but the devil take me if
ever I worship you, for an unmerciful deity as you are.
_Merc._ You ought to take it for an honour to be drubbed by the hand of
a divinity.
_Sos._ I am your most humble servant, good Mr God; but, by the faith of
a mortal, I could well have spared the honour that you did me. But how
shall I be sure that you will never assume my shape again?
_Merc._ Because I am weary of wearing so villainous an outside.
_Sos._ Well, well; as villainous as it is, here's old Bromia will be
contented with it.
_Brom._ Yes, now I am sure that I may chastise you safely, and that
there's no god lurking under your appearance.
_Sos._ Ay; but you had best take heed how you attempt it; for, as
Mercury has turned himself into me, so I may take the toy into my head,
and turn myself into Mercury, that I may swinge you off condignly.
_Merc._ In the mean time, be all my witnesses, that I take Phædra for
my wife of the left hand; that is, in the nature of a lawful concubine.
_Phæd._ You shall pardon me for believing you, for all you are a god;
for you have a terrible ill name below; and I am afraid you'll get a
footman, instead of a priest, to marry us.
_Merc._ But here's Gripus shall draw up articles betwixt us.
_Phæd._ But he's damnably used to false conveyancing. Well, be it so;
for my counsel shall over-look them before I sign--Come on, Gripus,
that I may have him under black and white.
[_Here_ GRIPUS _gets ready pen, ink, and paper_.
_Merc._ With all my heart, that I may have thee under black and white
hereafter.
_Phæd._ [_To_ GRIPUS.] Begin, begin--Heads of articles to be made, &c.
betwixt Mercury, god of thieves----
_Merc._ And Phædra, queen of gypsies.----_Imprimis_, I promise to buy
and settle upon her an estate, containing nine thousand acres of land,
in any part of Boeotia, to her own liking.
_Phæd._ Provided always, that no part of the said nine thousand acres
shall be upon, or adjoining to, Mount Parnassus; for I will not be
fobbed off with a poetical estate.
Merc. _Memorandum_, that she be always constant to me, and admit of no
other lover.
Phæd. _Memorandum_, unless it be a lover that offers more; and that the
constancy shall not exceed the settlement.
Merc. _Item_, that she shall keep no male servants in her house:
_Item_, no rival lap-dog for a bedfellow: _Item_, that she shall never
pray to any of the gods.
_Phæd._ What, would you have me an atheist?
_Merc._ No devotion to any he-deity, good Phædra.
_Brom._ Here's no provision made for children yet.
_Phæd._ Well remembered, Bromia; I bargain that my eldest son shall be
a hero, and my eldest daughter a king's mistress.
_Merc._ That is to say, a blockhead, and a harlot, Phædra.
_Phæd._ That's true; but who dares call them so? Then, for the younger
children--But now I think on't, we'll have no more, but Mass and Miss;
for the rest would be but chargeable, and a burden to the nation.
_Merc._ Yes, yes; the second shall be a false prophet: he shall have
wit enough to set up a new religion, and too much wit to die a martyr
for it.
_Phæd._ O what had I forgot? there's pin-money, and alimony, and
separate maintenance, and a thousand things more to be considered, that
are all to be tacked to this act of settlement.
_Sos._ I am a fool, I must confess; but yet I can see as far into a
mill-stone as the best of you. I have observed, that you women-wits
are commonly so quick upon the scent, that you often over-run it:
now I would ask of Madam Phædra, that in case Mr Heaven there should
be pleased to break these articles, in what court of judicature she
intends to sue him?
_Phæd._ The fool has hit upon't:--Gods, and great men, are never to be
sued, for they can always plead privilege of peerage; and therefore
for once, monsieur, I'll take your word; for, as long as you love me,
you'll be sure to keep it: and, in the mean time, I shall be gaining
experience how to manage some rich cully; for no woman ever made her
fortune by a wit.
_It thunders; and the company within doors_, AMPHITRYON, ALCMENA,
POLIDAS, _and_ TRANIO, _all come running out, and join with the
rest, who were on the stage before_.
_Amph._ Sure 'tis some god; he vanished from our sight,
And told us, we should see him soon return.
_Alcm._ I know not what to hope, nor what to fear.
A simple error is a real crime,
And unconsenting innocence is lost.
_A second peal of Thunder. After which_, JUPITER _appears in a Machine_.
_Jup._ Look up, Amphitryon, and behold, above,
The impostor god, the rival of thy love;
In thy own shape see Jupiter appear,
And let that sight secure thy jealous fear.
Disgrace, and infamy, are turned to boast;
No fame, in Jove's concurrence, can be lost:
What he enjoys, he sanctifies from vice,
And, by partaking, stamps into a price,
'Tis I who ought to murmur at my fate,
Forced by my love my godhead to translate;
When on no other terms I could possess,
But by thy form, thy features, and thy dress.
To thee were given the blessings that I sought,
Which else, not all the bribes of heaven had bought,
Then take into thy arms thy envied love,
And, in his own despite, triumph o'er Jove.
_Merc._ Amphitryon and Alcmena both stand mute, and know not how to
take it. [_Aside._
_Sos._ Our sovereign lord Jupiter is a sly companion; he knows how to
gild a bitter pill. [_Aside._
_Jup._ From this auspicious night shall rise an heir,
Great like his sire, and like his mother fair:
Wrongs to redress, and tyrants to disseize;
Born for a world that wants a Hercules.
Monsters, and monster-men he shall engage,
And toil, and struggle, through an impious age.
Peace to his labours shall at length succeed; }
And murmuring men, unwilling to be freed, }
Shall be compelled to happiness, by need. }
[JUPITER _is carried back to Heaven_.
_Omnes._ We all congratulate Amphitryon.
_Merc._ Keep your congratulations to yourselves, gentlemen. 'Tis a nice
point, let me tell you that; and the less that's said of it the better.
Upon the whole matter, if Amphitryon takes the favour of Jupiter in
patience, as from a god, he's a good heathen.
_Sos._ I must take a little extraordinary pains to-night, that my
spouse may come even with her lady, and produce a squire to attend on
young Hercules, when he goes out to seek adventures; that, when his
master kills a man, he may stand ready to pick his pockets, and piously
relieve his aged parents.--Ah, Bromia, Bromia, if thou hadst been as
handsome and as young as Phædra!--I say no more, but somebody might
have made his fortunes as well as his master, and never the worse man
neither.
For, let the wicked world say what they please,
The fair wife makes her husband live at ease:
The lover keeps him too; and but receives,
Like Jove, the remnants that Amphitryon leaves.
'Tis true, the lady has enough in store,
To satisfy those two, and eke two more:
In fine, the man, who weighs the matter fully,
Would rather be the cuckold than the cully. [_Exeunt._
EPILOGUE,
SPOKEN BY PHÆDRA.
I'm thinking, (and it almost makes me mad)
How sweet a time those heathen ladies had.
Idolatry was even their Gods' own trade:
They worshipped the fine creatures they had made.
Cupid was chief of all the deities;
And love was all the fashion, in the skies.
When the sweet nymph held up the lily hand,
Jove was her humble servant at command;
The treasury of heaven was ne'er so bare,
But still there was a pension for the fair.
In all his reign, adultery was no sin;
For Jove the good example did begin.
Mark, too, when he usurped the husband's name,
How civilly he saved the lady's fame.
The secret joys of love he wisely hid;
But you, sirs, boast of more than e'er you did.
You teaze your cuckolds, to their face torment 'em;
But Jove gave his new honours to content him,
And, in the kind remembrance of the fair,
On each exalted son bestowed a star.
For these good deeds, as by the date appears,
His godship flourished full two thousand years.
At last, when he and all his priests grew old, }
The ladies grew in their devotion cold; }
And that false worship would no longer hold. }
Severity of life did next begin;
And always does, when we no more can sin.
That doctrine, too, so hard in practice lies,
That the next age may see another rise.
Then, pagan gods may once again succeed: }
And Jove, or Mars, be ready, at our need, }
To get young godlings; and so mend our breed. }
KING ARTHUR:
OR,
THE BRITISH WORTHY.
A
DRAMATIC OPERA.
* * * * *
----_hîc alta theatris
Fundamenta locant,--scenis decora alta futuris._ VIRG. Æn. 1.
_Purpurea intexti tollant aulæa Britanni._ Georg. 3.
----_Tanton' placuit concurrere motu,
Jupiter, æterna gentes in pace futuris!_ Æneid. 12.
----_Et celebrare domestica facta._ HOR.
KING ARTHUR.
The Seventeenth century was still familiar with
----Whate'er resounds,
In fable or romance, of Uther's son,
Begirt with British and Armoric knights.
Fired by the splendid fictions which romancers had raised on the
basis of Geoffrey of Monmouth and the Welsh traditions, Milton had
designed the exploits of King Arthur for the subject of his lofty epic
strain. What we have lost, in his abandoning the theme, can only be
estimated by the enthusiastic tone into which he always swells, when
he touches upon the "shores of old romance." The sublime glow of his
imagination, which delighted in painting what was beyond the reach
of human experience; the dignity of his language, formed to express
the sentiments of heroes and of immortals; his powers of describing
alike the beautiful and terrible; above all, the justice with which
he conceived and assigned to each supernatural agent a character as
decidedly peculiar, as lesser poets have given to their human actors,
would have sent him forth to encounter such a subject with gigantic
might. Whoever has ventured, undeterred by their magnitude, upon the
old romances of "Lancelot du Lac," "Sir Tristrem," and others, founded
on the achievements of the Knights of the Round Table, cannot but
remember a thousand striking Gothic incidents, worthy subjects of the
pen of Milton. What would he not have made of the adventure of the
Ruinous Chapel, the Perilous Manor, the Forbidden Seat, the Dolorous
Wound, and many others susceptible of being described in the most
sublime poetry! Even when that sun had set, Arthur had yet another
chance for immortality; for Dryden repeatedly expressed his intention
to found an epic poem upon his history. Our poet, it may be guessed,
was too much in the trammels of French criticism, to have ventured
upon a style of composition allied to the Gothic romance. His poem
would probably have been formed upon the model of the ancients, which,
although more classical and correct, might have wanted the force,
which reality of painting and description never fails to give to epic
narrative. Arthur, in such a poem, would, like Rinaldo, have reminded
us of Achilles; and the sameness of a copy would have been substituted
for the spirit of a characteristic original. But, had Dryden executed
his intended plan, we should have found picturesque narrative
detailed in the most manly and majestic verse, and interspersed with
lessons teaching us to know human life, maxims proper to guide it,
and sentiments which ought to adorn it. In the Knight's Tale, and in
Dryden's other narrative poems, we see enough to induce us to regret
the sordid negligence, or avarice, which withheld from him the means
of decent support, while employed upon the promised task. But Arthur,
as a sort of counterpoise to his extravagant reputation during the
middle ages, was doomed, in the seventeenth century, to be reluctantly
abandoned by Milton and Dryden; and to be celebrated by the pen of
Blackmore.
It is probable, that, when Dryden abandoned all thoughts of a larger
work, he adapted the intended subject to the following opera, and
converted the Genii of the kingdoms, by whom the supernatural
machinery of the epic was to have been conducted, into the lighter and
simpler device of airy and earthy spirits, whose idea the Rosicrucian
philosophy had long rendered popular and familiar. There is no attempt
to avail himself of any fragments of Arthur's romantic renown. He
is not, in this drama, the formidable possessor of Excalibar, and
the superior of the chivalry of the Round Table; nor is Merlin the
fiend-born necromancer, of whom antiquity related and believed so
many wonders. They are the prince and magician of a beautiful fairy
tale, the story of which, abstracted from the poetry, might have been
written by Madame D'Aunois. At the same time, the obvious advantages of
an appeal to the ancient prejudices, which our author has neglected,
are supplied from the funds of his own genius. The incidents, being
intended more for the purpose of displaying machinery, and introducing
music and dances, than with any reference to the rules of the drama,
are abundantly fantastic and extravagant; but the poet has supported
them with wonderful address. The blindness of Emmeline, and the
innocence with which she expresses her conception of visible objects,
gives her character an interest often wanting in what may be called the
heroine of a play, whose perfections generally raise her so far beyond
mere mortal excellence, as to render superfluous all human sympathy.
The scene in which Emmeline recovers her sight, when well represented,
never fails to excite the most pleasing testimony of interest and
applause. The machinery is simple, and well managed: the language and
ministry of Grimbald, the fierce earthy dæmon, are painted with some
touches which arise even to sublimity. The conception of Philidel, a
fallen angel, retaining some of the hue of heaven, who is touched with
repentance, and not without hope of being finally received, is an idea,
so far as I know, altogether original. Klopstock has since introduced
a similar character into sacred poetry[10]. The principal incident
in "King Arthur" is copied, in almost every circumstance, from the
adventures of Rinaldo in the haunted grove on Mount Olivet[11], which
makes also the subject of an Italian opera.
From what is mentioned in the author's preface, we may conceive
the disadvantages under which "King Arthur" was finally brought
forward. It was written originally for the conclusion of the reign
of Charles II, and the political masque of "Albion and Albanius" was
often rehearsed before him, as the prologue to "King Arthur." We may
therefore conclude, that the piece, as originally written, had a
strong political tendency, and probably abounded with these ingenious
parallels, by which Dryden, with dexterity far exceeding that of every
other writer, could draw, from remote or distant events, a moral
directly applicable to those of his own time. But the Revolution,
while it ruined our author's prospects, imposed a cautious restraint
upon his muse; and therefore, as he himself states, he was obliged to
deprive his play of many beauties, not to offend the present times, or
displease a government by which he had hitherto been protected, or at
least endured. Thus, our author was obliged to convert an ingenious,
and probably highly poetical political drama, into a mere fairy tale,
as totally divested as possible of any meaning beyond extravagant
adventure. How much the drama must have suffered in this transformation
is easy to judge, from the spirit with which all Dryden's political
pieces are composed; and from recollecting with what reluctance he must
have gone through alterations, that were to deprive the play of what
was intended to have been its principal merit. This is the disadvantage
of which the poet had already complained:
How can he show his manhood, when you bind him To box, like boys,
with one hand tied behind him? This is plain levelling of wit, in
which The poor has all the advantage, not the rich.
The blockhead stands excused for want of sense,
And wits turn blockheads in their own defence.
_Prologue to Amphitryon._
Under all these disadvantages, "King Arthur" was received with great
applause, at its first appearance; was often repeated, and continues to
be occasionally represented, being the only one of Dryden's numerous
plays which has retained possession of the stage. Some part of its
success was doubtless owing to the music, of which Dr Burney gives the
following account in his "History of Music:"
"Of the music in "King Arthur," I shall say but little, as it has
been lately revived, well performed, and printed. If ever it could,
with truth, be said of a composer, that he had _devancé son siecle_,
Purcell is entitled to that praise; as there are movements in many of
his works which a century has not injured, particularly the duet in
"King Arthur," "Two Daughters of this Aged Stream," and "Fairest Isle,
all Isles excelling," which contain not a single passage that the
best composers of the present times, if it presented itself to their
imagination, would reject." vol. iii. p. 492.
The dances, which were composed by the famous Priest, did not disgrace
the music and poetry; and the company, according to Downes, were well
rewarded for the time and expence they had bestowed on "King Arthur."
This opera was acted and printed in 1691.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 8: The author alludes to some popular tales of the day, or
perhaps of former; but the editor confesses himself unable to trace the
reference.]
[Footnote 9: The infamous Scroggs, and several of Charles the Second's
judges, had huffed, and roared, and ranted, and domineered, over the
unfortunate victims, who suffered for the Popish Plot; and had been
equally partial to prerogative, when the king's party attained a
decided ascendancy.]
[Footnote 10: The author acknowledges, with gratitude, the opinion of
his "first and best patroness, the duchess of Monmouth," which, to the
author of "Absalom and Achitophel," must have excited a strange mixture
of recollections and emotions. The judgment of that accomplished lady
alleged the fairy kind of writing, which depends only on the force of
imagination, as the grounds for liking a piece which has that chiefly
to recommend it.]
[Footnote 11: Tasso's "Gierusaleme Liberata."]
TO THE
MARQUIS OF HALIFAX[12].
* * * * *
MY LORD,
This poem was the last piece of service which I had the honour to do
for my gracious master King Charles II.; and, though he lived not to
see the performance of it on the stage, yet the Prologue to it, which
was the opera of "Albion and Albanius," was often practised before him
at Whitehall, and encouraged by his royal approbation. It was indeed
a time which was proper for triumph, when he had overcome all those
difficulties which, for some years, had perplexed his peaceful reign:
but, when he had just restored his people to their senses, and made
the latter end of his government of a piece with the happy beginning
of it, he was on the sudden snatched away from the blessings and
acclamations of his subjects, who arrived so late to the knowledge of
him, that they had but just time enough to desire him longer, before
they were to part with him for ever. Peace be with the ashes of so
good a king! Let his human frailties be forgotten, and his clemency
and moderation (the inherent virtues of his family) be remembered with
a grateful veneration by three kingdoms, through which he spread the
blessings of them. And, as your lordship held a principal place in his
esteem, and, perhaps, the first in his affection, during his latter
troubles, the success which accompanied those prudent counsels cannot
but reflect an honour on those few who managed them, and wrought out,
by their faithfulness and diligence, the public safety. I might dilate
on the difficulties which attended that undertaking, the temper of
the people, the power, arts and interest of the contrary party, but
those are all of them invidious topics,--they are too green in our
remembrance, and he, who touches on them, _Incedit per ignes suppositos
cineri doleso._ But, without reproaching one side to praise another, I
may justly recommend to both those wholesome counsels, which, wisely
administered, and as well executed, were the means of preventing a
civil war, and of extinguishing a growing fire which was just ready
to have broken forth among us. So many wives, who have yet their
husbands in their arms; so many parents, who have not the number of
their children lessened; so many villages, towns and cities, whose
inhabitants are not decreased, their property violated, or their wealth
diminished,--are yet owing to the sober conduct, and happy results of
your advice. If a true account may be expected by future ages from the
present, your lordship will be delivered over to posterity in a fairer
character than I have given; and be read, not in the preface of a play,
(whose author is not vain enough to promise immortality to others, or
to hope it for himself,) but in many pages of a chronicle, filled with
praises of your administration. For, if writers be just to the memory
of King Charles II., they cannot deny him to have been an exact knower
of mankind, and a perfect distinguisher of their talents. It is true,
his necessities often forced him to vary his counsellors and councils,
and sometimes to employ such persons in the management of his affairs,
who were rather fit for his present purpose than satisfactory to his
judgment: but where it was choice in him, not compulsion, he was master
of too much good sense to delight in heavy conversation; and whatever
his favourites of state might be, yet those of his affection were men
of wit[13]. He was easy with these, and complied only with the former.
But in the latter part of his life, which certainly required to be most
cautiously managed, his secret thoughts were communicated but to few,
and those selected of that sort who were _amici omnium horarum_, able
to advise him in a serious consult, where his honour and safety were
concerned, and afterwards capable of entertaining him with pleasant
discourse, as well as profitable. In this maturest part of his age,
when he had been long seasoned with difficulties and dangers, and was
grown to a niceness in his choice, as being satisfied how few could
be trusted,--and, of those who could be trusted, how few could serve
him,--he confined himself to a small number of bosom friends, amongst
whom the world is much mistaken if your lordship was not first.
If the rewards which you received for those services were only honours,
it rather shewed the necessities of the times, than any want of
kindness in your royal master; and, as the splendour of your fortune
stood not in need of being supported by the Crown, so likewise, in
being satisfied without other recompence, you showed yourself to
be above a mercenary interest, and strengthened that power which
bestowed those titles on you; which, truly speaking, were marks of
acknowledgement more than favour.
But, as a skilful pilot will not be tempted out to sea in suspected
weather, so have you wisely chosen to withdraw yourself from public
business, when the face of heaven grew troubled, and the frequent
shifting of the winds foreshewed a storm. There are times and seasons
when the best patriots are willing to withdraw their hands from the
commonwealth, as Phocion, in his latter days, was observed to decline
the management of affairs; or as Cicero, (to draw the similitude more
home) left the pulpit for Tusculum, and the praise of oratory for the
sweet enjoyments of a private life; and, in the happiness of those
retirements, has more obliged posterity by his moral precepts, than he
did the republic in quelling the conspiracy of Catiline. What prudent
man would not rather follow the example of his retreat, than stay,
like Cato, with a stubborn unseasonable virtue, to oppose the torrent
of the people, and at last be driven from the market-place by a riot
of a multitude, uncapable of counsel, and deaf to eloquence? There
is likewise a portion of our lives, which every wise man may justly
reserve to his own peculiar use, and that without defrauding his native
country. A Roman soldier was allowed to plead the merit of his services
for his dismission at such an age; and there was but one exception to
that rule, which was, an invasion from the Gauls. How far that may work
with your lordship, I am not certain, but I hope it is not coming to
the trial[14].
In the mean time, while the nation is secured from foreign attempts by
so powerful a fleet, and we enjoy, not only the happiness, but even the
ornaments of peace, in the divertisement of the town, I humbly offer
you this trifle, which, if it succeed upon the stage, is like to be the
chiefest entertainment of our ladies and gentlemen this summer. When I
wrote it, seven years ago, I employed some reading about it, to inform
myself out of Beda, Bochartus and other authors, concerning the rites
and customs of the heathen Saxons; as I also used the little skill I
have in poetry to adorn it[15]. But, not to offend the present times,
nor a government which has hitherto protected me, I have been obliged
so much to alter the first design, and take away so many beauties from
the writing, that it is now no more what it was formerly, than the
present ship of the Royal Sovereign, after so often taking down and
altering, is the vessel it was at the first building. There is nothing
better than what I intended, but the music; which has since arrived
to a greater perfection in England than ever formerly; especially
passing through the artful hands of Mr Purcell, who has composed it
with so great a genius, that he has nothing to fear but an ignorant,
ill-judging audience. But the numbers of poetry and vocal music are
sometimes so contrary, that, in many places, I have been obliged to
cramp my verses, and make them rugged to the reader, that they may
be harmonious to the hearer; of which I have no reason to repent me,
because these sorts of entertainments are principally designed for
the ear and eye; and therefore, in reason, my art, on this occasion,
ought to be subservient to his. And, besides, I flatter myself with
an imagination, that a judicious audience will easily distinguish
betwixt the songs wherein I have complied with him, and those in which
I have followed the rules of poetry, in the sound and cadence of the
words. Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, there is somewhat still
remaining of the first spirit with which I wrote it; and though I can
only speak by guess, of what pleased my first and best patroness the
Duchess of Monmouth in the reading, yet I will venture my opinion, by
the knowledge I have long had of her Grace's excellent judgment and
true taste of poetry, that the parts of the airy and earthy spirits,
and that fairy kind of writing which depends only upon the force of
imagination, were the grounds of her liking the poem, and afterwards of
her recommending it to the Queen. I have likewise had the satisfaction
to hear, that her majesty has graciously been pleased to peruse the
manuscript of this opera, and given it her royal approbation. Poets,
who subsist not but on the favour of sovereign princes, and of great
persons, may have leave to be a little vain, and boast of their
patronage, who encourage the genius that animates them; and therefore,
I will again presume to guess, that her majesty was not displeased to
find in this poem the praises of her native country, and the heroic
actions of so famous a predecessor in the government of Great Britain
as King Arthur.
All this, my lord, I must confess, looks with a kind of insinuation,
that I present you with somewhat not unworthy your protection; but
I may easily mistake the favour of her majesty for her judgment: I
think I cannot be deceived in thus addressing to your lordship, whom
I have had the honour to know, at that distance which becomes me, for
so many years. It is true, that formerly I have shadowed some part
of your virtues under another name; but the character, though short
and imperfect, was so true, that it broke through the fable, and was
discovered by its native light[16]. What I pretend by this dedication,
is an honour which I do myself to posterity, by acquainting them, that
I have been conversant with the first persons of the age in which I
lived; and thereby perpetuate my prose, when my verses may possibly be
forgotten, or obscured by the fame of future poets. Which ambition,
amongst my other faults and imperfections, be pleased to pardon, in,
MY LORD,
Your Lordship's most obedient servant,
JOHN DRYDEN.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 12: We have often occasion, in these notes, to mention the
Marquis of Halifax. He was originally Sir George Saville, Baronet;
but, being early characterized by unmatched dexterity in political
intrigue, he successively attained the rank of Viscount, Earl, and, in
1682, Marquis of Halifax. He acted alternately for the people against
the Crown, and for the Crown against the people; for he delighted in
nice and delicate strokes of policy, and in balancing, by a slight but
well-applied exertion, the sinking against the rising faction. Hence
he was accounted the head of the little faction called Trimmers; and
hence his counsels became particularly acceptable to Charles II., whose
administration he guided, as Lord Privy Seal, during the last years of
that monarch's life. The king had no mind that the high-flying tories
should attain an absolute predominance; for he feared his brother,
who had placed himself at their head, and he loved Monmouth, who
was the object of their most violent hatred. Still less could he be
supposed to favour the whigs, whose ranks contained many determined
republicans. A minister, therefore, whose ingenious and versatile
councils could enable him to check the triumph of the tories, without
too much encouraging the whigs, was a treasure to him,--and just
such a minister was Halifax. Our author therefore dedicates to him,
with great propriety, a piece written for Charles, when Halifax was
his favourite minister; and the subjects of eulogium are chosen with
Dryden's usual felicity. Some allowance must doubtless be made, for
the indispensible obligation which compelled a dedicator to view the
conduct of his patron on the favourable side. Such an unfortunate wight
cannot be reasonably tied down to uniformity of sentiment in different
addresses. The character of Dryden's immediate patron was always his
cue for praise: if he stood forward against a predominant party, he
was necessarily Cato, the most virtuous of men; if he yielded to the
torrent, he was Phocion or Cicero, and Cato was a fool to him. With
the few grains of allowance which his situation required, Dryden's
praise of Halifax is an honest panegyric. It is certain, his wisdom
prevented a civil war in the last years of the reign of Charles, and
indirectly led the way to a bloodless revolution. The age in which
he lived was therefore so far indebted to him, as our author has
elegantly said, for the lives of husbands and of children, for property
unviolated, and wealth undiminished. Nor does the present owe him
less; for, when is it that a government, erected by a party successful
in civil dissention, does not far exceed their just, and even their
original pretensions? The parties had each founded their plea and their
pretensions upon sacred and integral parts of the constitution, as the
contending factions of the Jews occupied, the one the temple, and the
other the palace of Jerusalem. In a civil war, one bulwark or other
must have fallen with the party which it sheltered; and it was only the
Revolution of 1688, which, leaving both whig and tory in full strength,
compelled them mutually to respect the constitutional vantage-ground
assumed by each other.]
[Footnote 13: Lord Halifax was unquestionably a man of wit; and we have
some tolerable bon mots of his, handed down by his contemporaries.
Burnet says, "The liveliness of his imagination was always too hard
for his judgment. A severe jest was preferred by him to all arguments
whatever; and he was endless in consultations; for when, after much
discourse, a point was settled, if he could find a new jest to make
even that which was suggested by himself ridiculous, he could not
hold, but would study to raise the credit of his wit, though it made
others call his judgment in question." We may not, perhaps, refine
too far in supposing, that the bishop was not always able to estimate
the policy of this subtle statesman. It was more frequently his wish
to avoid taking decisive steps than to recommend them; and what could
more effectually retard violent councils than the conduct remarked by
Burnet, or what argument would have weighed with Charles II. like a
keen jest?]
[Footnote 14: The Roman veterans were dismissed after twenty years
service; a regulation equally politic and humane. In 1691 a French
invasion, in behalf of King James, appeared not improbable.]
[Footnote 15: We cannot trace the result of this study any where but
in the song of the Saxon priests; and it did not surely require much
reading to glean up the names of the Saxon deities, which are almost
the only traits of national manners exhibited through the drama.]
[Footnote 16: Under that of Jotham in "Absalom and Achitophel."]
PROLOGUE,
SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON.
Sure there's a dearth of wit in this dull town,
When silly plays so savourily go down;
As, when clipped money passes, 'tis a sign
A nation is not over-stocked with coin.
Happy is he, who, in his own defence,
Can write just level to your humble sense;
Who higher than your pitch can never go;
And, doubtless, he must creep, who writes below.
So have I seen, in hall of knight, or lord,
A weak arm throw on a long shovel-board;
He barely lays his piece, bar rubs and knocks,
Secured by weakness not to reach the box[17].
A feeble poet will his business do, }
Who, straining all he can, comes up to you: }
For, if you like yourselves, you like him too. }
An ape his own dear image will embrace;
An ugly beau adores a hatchet face:
So, some of you, on pure instinct of nature,
Are led, by kind, to admire your fellow creature.
In fear of which, our house has sent this day,
To insure our new-built vessel, called a play;
No sooner named, than one cries out,--These stagers
Come in good time, to make more work for wagers.
The town divides, if it will take or no; }
The courtiers bet, the cits, the merchants too; }
A sign they have but little else to do. }
Bets, at the first, were fool-traps; where the wise,
Like spiders, lay in ambush for the flies:
But now they're grown a common trade for all, }
And actions by the new-book rise and fall; }
Wits, cheats, and fops, are free of wager-hall. }
One policy as far as Lyons carries;
Another, nearer home, sets up for Paris.
Our bets, at last, would even to Rome extend,
But that the pope has proved our trusty friend.
Indeed, it were a bargain worth our money,
Could we insure another Ottoboni[18].
Among the rest there are a sharping set,
That pray for us, and yet against us bet.
Sure heaven itself is at a loss to know
If these would have their prayers be heard, or no:
For, in great stakes, we piously suppose,
Men pray but very faintly they may lose.
Leave off these wagers; for, in conscience speaking,
The city needs not your new tricks for breaking:
And if you gallants lose, to all appearing,
You'll want an equipage for volunteering;
While thus, no spark of honour left within ye,
When you should draw the sword, you draw the guinea.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 17: The ancient game of shovel-board was played by sliding
pieces of money along a smooth table, something on the principle of
billiards. The allusion seems to be the same as if a modern poet had
said, that a feeble player at billiards runs no risk of pocketing his
own ball. The reader will find a variety of passages concerning this
pastime in the notes of the various commentators upon a passage in the
"Merry Wives of Windsor," where Slender enumerates among the contents
of his pocket, when picked by Pistol, "two Edward shovel-boards," that
is, two broad shillings of Edward VI. used for playing at this game. In
some old halls the shovel-board table is still preserved, and sometimes
used.]
[Footnote 18: Cardinal Ottoboni, a Venetian by birth, succeeded to the
tiara on the death of Innocent XI., and assumed the name of Alexander
VIII. He was, like his predecessor, an enemy to France, and maintained
the privileges of the Holy See, both in the point of the regale, and
in refusing to grant bulls to those French bishops who had signed the
formulary of 1682, by which the Pope was declared fallible, and subject
to the decrees of a general council. His death took place during the
congress of 1690. It was therefore a recent event when this play was
first represented, and the disposition of his successor, towards the
French or Imperial Courts, was matter of anxious speculation to the
politicians of the day.]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
_King_ ARTHUR.
OSWALD, _King of_ KENT, _a Saxon, and a Heathen_.
CONON, _Duke of_ CORNWALL, _Tributary to King_ ARTHUR.
MERLIN, _a famous Enchanter_.
OSMOND, _a Saxon Magician, and a Heathen_.
AURELIUS, _Friend to_ ARTHUR.
ALBANACT, _Captain of_ ARTHUR'S _Guards_.
GUILLIMAR, _Friend to_ OSWALD.
EMMELINE, _Daughter of_ CONON.
MATILDA, _her Attendant_.
PHILIDEL, _an Airy Spirit_.
GRIMBALD, _an Earthy Spirit_.
_Officers and Soldiers, Singers and Dancers._
_SCENE--Kent._
KING ARTHUR,
OR, THE
BRITISH WORTHY.
ACT I--SCENE I.
_Enter_ CONON, AURELIUS, ALBANACT.
_Con._ Then this is the deciding day, to fix
Great Britain's sceptre in great Arthur's hand.
_Aur._ Or put it in the bold invader's gripe.
Arthur and Oswald, and their different fates,
Are weighing now within the scales of Heaven.
_Con._ In ten set battles have we driven back
These heathen Saxons, and regained our earth.
As earth recovers from an ebbing tide
Her half-drowned face, and lifts it o'er the waves,
From Severn's bank, even to this barren down,
Our foremost men have pressed their fainty rear,
And not one Saxon face has been beheld;
But all their backs and shoulders have been stuck
With foul dishonest wounds; now here, indeed,
Because they have no farther ground, they stand.
_Aur._ Well have we chose a happy day for fight;
For every man, in course of time, has found
Some days are lucky, some unfortunate.
_Alb._ But why this day more lucky than the rest?
_Con._ Because this day
Is sacred to the patron of our isle;
A christian and a soldier's annual feast.
_Alb._ Oh, now I understand you. This is St George of Cappadocia's
day. Well, it may be so, but faith I was ignorant. We soldiers seldom
examine the rubrick, and now and then a saint may happen to slip by us;
but, if he be a gentleman saint, he will forgive us.
_Con._ Oswald undoubtedly will fight it bravely.
_Aur._ And it behoves him well, 'tis his last stake. But what manner of
man is this Oswald? Have you ever seen him? [_To_ ALBANACT.
_Alb._ Never but once; and that was to my cost too. I followed him too
close, and, to say the truth, somewhat uncivilly, upon a rout; but he
turned upon me, as quick and as round as a chafed boar, and gave me two
licks a-cross the face, to put me in mind of my Christianity.
_Con._ I know him well; he's free and open-hearted.
_Aur._ His country's character: that speaks a German.
_Con._ Revengeful, rugged, violently brave;
And, once resolved, is never to be moved.
_Alb._ Yes, he's a valiant dog, pox on him!
_Con._ This was the character he then maintained,
When in my court he sought my daughter's love,
My fair, blind Emmeline.
_Alb._ I cannot blame him for courting the heiress of Cornwall. All
heiresses are beautiful; and, as blind as she is, he would have had no
blind bargain of her.
_Aur._ For that defeat in love, he raised this war;
For royal Arthur reigned within her heart,
Ere Oswald moved his suit.
_Con._ Ay, now, Aurelius, you have named a man;
One, whom, besides the homage that I owe,
As Cornwall's duke, to his imperial crown,
I would have chosen out, from all mankind,
To be my sovereign lord.
_Aur._ His worth divides him from the crowd of kings;
So born, without desert to be so born;
Men, set aloft to be the scourge of heaven,
And, with long arms, to lash the under-world.
_Con._ Arthur is all that's excellent in Oswald,
And void of all his faults. In battle brave,
But still serene in all the stormy war,
Like heaven above the clouds; and after fight,
As merciful and kind to vanquished foes,
As a forgiving God. But see, he's here,
And praise is dumb before him.
_Enter King_ ARTHUR, _reading a letter, with Attendants_.
Arth. [_Reading._] "Go on, auspicious prince, the stars are kind:
Unfold thy banners to the willing wind;
While I, with airy legions, help thy arms;
Confronting art with art, and charms with charms."
So Merlin writes; nor can we doubt the event,
[
_To_ CONON.
With Heaven and you to friends. Oh noble Conon,
You taught my tender hands the trade of war;
And now again you helm your hoary head,
And, under double weight of age and arms,
Assert your country's freedom and my crown.
_Con._ No more, my son.
_Arth._ Most happy in that name!
Your Emmeline, to Oswald's vows refused,
You made my plighted bride:
Your charming daughter, who, like Love, born blind,
Unaiming hits, with surest archery,
And innocently kills.
_Con._ Remember, son,
You are a general; other wars require you,
For, see, the Saxon gross begins to move.
_Arth._ Their infantry embattled, square and close,
March firmly on, to fill the middle space,
Covered by their advancing cavalry.
By Heaven, 'tis beauteous horror:
The noble Oswald has provoked my envy.--
_Enter_ EMMELINE, _led by_ MATILDA.
Ha! now my beauteous Emmeline appears,
A new, but oh, a softer flame inspires me:
Even rage and vengeance slumber at her sight.
_Con._ Haste your farewell; I'll cheer my troops, and wait ye.
[_Exit_ CONON.
_Em._ O father, father, I am sure you're here;
Because I see your voice.
_Arth._ No, thou mistak'st thy hearing for thy sight:
He's gone, my Emmeline;
And I but stay to gaze on those fair eyes,
Which cannot view the conquest they have made.
Oh star-like night, dark only to thyself,
But full of glory, as those lamps of heaven,
That see not, when they shine!
_Em._ What is this heaven, and stars, and night, and day,
To which you thus compare my eyes and me?
I understand you, when you say you love:
For, when my father clasps my hand in his,
That's cold, and I can feel it hard and wrinkled;
But when you grasp it, then I sigh and pant,
And something smarts and tickles at my heart.
_Arth._ Oh artless love, where the soul moves the tongue,
And only nature speaks what nature thinks!--
Had she but eyes!
_Em._ Just now you said, I had:
I see them, I have two.
_Arth._ But neither see.
_Em._ I'm sure they hear you then:
What can your eyes do more?
_Arth._ They view your beauties.
_Em._ Do not I see? You have a face like mine,
Two hands, and two round, pretty, rising breasts,
That heave like mine.
_Arth._ But you describe a woman;
Nor is it sight, but touching with your hands.
_Em._ Then 'tis my hand that sees, and that's all one;
For is not seeing, touching with your eyes?
_Arth._ No; for I see at distance, where I touch not.
_Em._ If you can see so far, and yet not touch,
I fear you see my naked legs and feet
Quite through my clothes. Pray do not see so well.
_Arth._ Fear not, sweet innocence;
I view the lovely features of your face,
Your lips carnation, your dark-shaded eye-brows,
Black eyes, and snow-white forehead; all the colours
That make your beauty, and produce my love.
_Em._ Nay, then, you do not love on equal terms;
I love you dearly, without all these helps:
I cannot see your lips carnation,
Your shaded eye-brows, nor your milk-white eyes.
_Arth._ You still mistake.
_Em._ Indeed I thought you had a nose and eyes,
And such a face as mine: have not men faces?
_Arth._ Oh, none like yours, so excellently fair.
_Em._ Then would I had no face; for I would be
Just such a one as you.
_Arth._ Alas, 'tis vain to instruct your innocence;
You have no notion of light or colours.
[_Trumpet sounds within._
_Em._ Why, is not that a trumpet?
_Arth._ Yes.
_Em._ I knew it,
And I can tell you how the sound on't looks;
It looks as if it had an angry fighting face.[19]
_Arth._ 'Tis now indeed a sharp unpleasant sound,
Because it calls me hence from her I love,
To meet ten thousand foes.
_Em._ How do so many men e'er come to meet?
This devil trumpet vexes them, and then
They feel about for one another's faces;
And so they meet, and kill.
_Arth._ I'll tell you all, when we have gained the field.
One kiss of your fair hand, the pledge of conquest,
And so a short farewell.
[_Kisses her Hand, and Exit with_ AURELIUS, ALBANACT, _and
Attendants_.
_Em._ My heart and vows go with him to the fight.
May every foe be that which they call blind,
And none of all their swords have eyes to find him!--
But lead me nearer to the trumpet's face;
For that brave sound upholds my fainting heart;
And, while I hear, methinks I fight my part.
[_Exit, led by_ MATILDA.
SCENE II.--_A Place of Heathen Worship. The Three Saxon Gods_,
WODEN, THOR, _and_ FREYA, _placed on Pedestals. An Altar._
_Enter_ OSWALD _and_ OSMOND.
_Osm._ 'Tis time to hasten our mysterious rites,
Because your army waits you.
_Osw._ Thor, Freya, Woden, all ye Saxon powers,
[_Making three Bows before the three Images._
Hear and revenge my father Hengist's death!
_Osm._ Father of gods and men, great Woden, hear!
Mount thy hot courser, drive amidst thy foes,
Lift high thy thundering arm, let every blow
Dash out a misbelieving Briton's brains!
_Osw._ Father of gods and men, great Woden, hear!
Give conquest to thy Saxon race, and me!
_Osm._ Thor, Freya, Woden, hear, and spell your Saxons,
With sacred Runick rhymes, from death in battle;
Edge their bright swords, and blunt the Britons' darts!--[20]
No more, great prince; for see my trusty fiend,
Who all the night has winged the dusky air.--
GRINBALD, _a fierce earthy Spirit, arises_.
What news, my Grimbald?
_Grim._ I have played my part;
For I have steeled the fools that are to die,--
Six fools, so prodigal of life and soul,
That, for their country, they devote their lives
A sacrifice to mother Earth, and Woden.
_Osm._ 'Tis well; but are we sure of victory?
_Grim._ Why askest thou me?
Inspect their entrails, draw from thence thy guess:
Blood we must have, without it we are dumb.
_Osm._ Say, where's thy fellow-servant, Philidel?
Why comes not he?
_Grim._ For he's a puling spirit.
Why didst thou chuse a tender airy form,
Unequal to the mighty work of mischief?
His make is flitting, soft, and yielding atoms;
He trembles at the yawning gulph of hell,
Nor dares approach the flame, lest he should singe
His gaudy silken wings:
He sighs when he should plunge a soul in sulphur,
As with compassion touched of foolish men.
_Osm._ What a half-devil is he!
His errand was to draw the lowland damps,
And noisome vapours, from the foggy fens;
Then breathe the baleful stench, with all his force,
Full on the faces of our christened foes.
_Grim._ Accordingly he drained those marshy grounds,
And bagged them in a blue pestiferous cloud;
Which when he should have blown, the frighted elf
Espied the red-cross banners of their host,
And said, he durst not add to his damnation.
_Osm._ I'll punish him at leisure.
Call in the victims, to propitiate hell.
_Grim._ That's my kind master: I shall breakfast on them.
GRIMBALD _goes to the Door, and re-enters with six Saxons in
White, with Swords in their Hands. They range themselves, three
and three, in opposition to each other. The rest of the Stage is
filled with Priests and Singers._
ODE.
_Woden, first to thee,
A milk-white steed, in battle won,
We have sacrificed._
Chor. _We have sacrificed._
Vers. _Let our next oblation be
To Thor, thy thundering son,
Of such another._
Chor. _We have sacrificed._
Vers. _A third, of Friesland's breed was he,
To Woden's wife, and to Thor's mother;
And now we have atoned all three,
We have sacrificed._
Chor. _We have sacrificed._
2 Voc. _The white horse neighed aloud.
To Woden thanks we render;
To Woden we have vowed;_
Chor. _To Woden, our defender._
[The four last lines in chorus.
Vers. _The lot is cast, and Tanfan pleased;_
Chor. _Of mortal cares you shall be eased,
Brave souls, to be renowned in story.
Honour prizing,
Death despising,
Fame acquiring,
By expiring;
Die, and reap the fruit of glory,
Brave souls, to be renowned in story._
Vers. 2. _I call ye all
To Woden's hall;
Your temples round,
With ivy bound,
In goblets crowned,
And plenteous bowls of burnished gold;
Where you shall laugh,
And dance, and quaff
The juice, that makes the Britons bold._[21]
[The six Saxons are led off by the Priests, in order
to be sacrificed.
_Osw._ Ambitious fools we are,
And yet ambition is a godlike fault;
Or rather 'tis no fault in souls born great,
Who dare extend their glory by their deeds.--
Now, Britany, prepare to change thy state,
And from this day begin thy Saxon date.
[_Exeunt._
_A Battle supposed to be given behind the Scenes, with Drums,
Trumpets, and Military Shouts and Excursions; after which, the
Britons, expressing their joy for the Victory, sing this Song of
triumph._
_Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound;
Come, if you dare, the foes rebound:
We come, we come, we come, we come,
Says the double, double, double beat of the thundering drum._
_Now they charge on amain,
Now they rally again:
The gods from above the mad labour behold,
And pity mankind, that will perish for gold._
_The fainting Saxons quit their ground,
Their trumpets languish in the sound:
They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly_;
Victoria, Victoria, _the bold Britons cry_.
_Now the victory's won,
To the plunder we run:
We return to our lasses like fortunate traders,
Triumphant with spoils of the vanquished invaders._
[Exeunt.
ACT II. SCENE I.
_Enter_ PHILIDEL.
_Phil._ Alas, for pity, of this bloody field!
Piteous it needs must be, when I, a spirit,
Can have so soft a sense of human woes!
Ah, for so many souls, as but this morn
Were clothed with flesh, and warmed with vital blood,
But naked now, or shirted but with air!
MERLIN, _with Spirits, descends to_ PHILIDEL, _in a Chariot drawn by
Dragons_.
_Mer._ What art thou, spirit? of what name, or order?
For I have viewed thee in my magic glass,
Making thy moan among the midnight wolves,
That bay the silent moon; speak, I conjure thee.
'Tis Merlin bids thee, at whose awful wand
The pale ghost quivers, and the grim fiend gasps.
_Phil._ An airy shape, the tenderest of my kind,
The last seduced, and least deformed, of hell;
Half-white, and shuffled in the crowd, I fell,
Desirous to repent, and loth to sin;
Awkward in mischief, piteous of mankind.
My name is Philidel, my lot in air,
Where, next beneath the moon, and nearest heaven,
I soar, and have a glimpse to be received,
For which the swarthy dæmons envy me.
_Mer._ Thy business here?
_Phil._ To shun the Saxon wizard's dire commands,
Osmond, the awfullest name, next thine, below.
'Cause I refused to hurl a noisome fog
On christened heads, the hue and cry of hell
Is raised against me, for a fugitive sprite.
_Mer._ Osmond shall know, a greater power protects thee.
But follow thou the whispers of thy soul,
That draw thee nearer heaven;
And, as thy place is nearest to the sky,
The rays will reach thee first, and bleach thy soot.
_Phil._ In hope of that, I spread my azure wings;
And wishing still,--for yet I dare not pray,--
I bask in day-light, and behold, with joy,
My scum work outward, and my rust wear off.
_Mer._ Why, 'tis my hopeful devil. Now mark me, Philidel;
I will employ thee, for thy future good.
Thou know'st, in spite of valiant Oswald's arms,
Or Osmond's powerful spells, the field is ours.
_Phil._ Oh, master! hasten
Thy dread commands; for Grimbald is at hand,
Osmond's fierce fiend; I snuff his earthy scent.
The conquering Britons he misleads to rivers,
Or dreadful downfals of unheeded rocks;
Where many fall, that ne'er shall rise again.
_Mer._ Be that thy care, to stand by falls of brooks,
And trembling bogs, that bear a green-sward show.
Warn off the bold pursuers from the chace.--
No more; they come, and we divide the task.
But, lest fierce Grimbald's ponderous bulk oppress
Thy tender flitting air, I'll leave my band
Of spirits, with united strength to aid thee,
And force with force repel.
[_Exit_ MERLIN _in his Chariot_. MERLIN'S
_Spirits stay with_ PHILIDEL.
_Enter_ GRIMBALD _in the habit of a Shepherd, followed by King_
ARTHUR, CONON, AURELIUS, ALBANACT, _and Soldiers, who wander at a
distance in the Scenes_.
_Grim._ Here, this way, Britons; follow Oswald's flight.
This evening, as I whistled out my dog,
To drive my straggling flock, and pitched my fold,
I saw him, dropping sweat, o'er-laboured, stiff,
Make faintly, as he could, to yonder dell.
Tread in my steps; long neighbourhood by day
Has made these fields familiar in the night.
_Arth._ I thank thee, shepherd;
Expect reward. Lead on, we follow thee.
Phil. } _Hither this way, this way bend,_
sings. } _Trust not that malicious fiend;
Those are false deluding lights,
Wafted far and near by sprites.
Trust them not, for they'll deceive ye,
And in bogs and marshes leave ye._
Chor. of Phil. Spir. _Hither this way, this way bend._
Chor. of Grimb. Spir. _This way, this way bend._
Phil. } _If you step, no danger thinking,_
sings. } _Down you fall, a furlong sinking:
'Tis a fiend, who has annoyed ye;
Name but heaven, and he'll avoid ye._
Chor. of Phil. Spir. _Hither this way, this way bend._
Chor. of Grimb. Spir. _This way, this way bend._
Philidel's Spirits. _Trust not that malicious fiend._
Grimbald's Spirits. _Trust me, I am no malicious fiend._
Philidel's Spirits. _Hither this way_, &c.
_Con._ Some wicked phantom, foe to human kind,
Misguides our steps.
_Alba._ I'll follow him no further.
_Grimb._ By hell, she sings them back, in my despite.
I had a voice in heaven, ere sulphurous steams
Had damped it to a hoarseness; but I'll try.
He sings. _Let not a moon-born elf mislead ye
From your prey, and from your glory.
Too far, alas! he has betrayed ye:
Follow the flames, that wave before ye;
Sometimes seven, and sometimes one;
Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry on._
_See, see the footsteps plain appearing,
That way Oswald chose for flying;
Firm is the turf, and fit for bearing,
Where yonder pearly dews are lying.
Far he cannot hence be gone;
Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry on._
_Aur._ 'Tis true he says; the footsteps yet are fresh
Upon the sod, no falling dew-drops have
Disturbed the print.
[_All are going to follow_ GRIMBALD.
Philidel sings. _Hither this way._
Chor. of Phil. Spir. _Hither this way, this way bend._
Chor. of Grimb. Spir. _This way, this way bend._
Philidel's Spirits. _Trust not that malicious fiend._
Grimb. Spirits. _Trust me, I am no malicious fiend._
Philidel's Spirits. _Hither this way_, &c.
[_They all incline to_ PHILIDEL.
_Grim._ Curse on her voice! I must my prey forego;--
Thou, Philidel, shalt answer this below.
[GRIMBALD _sinks with a Flash_.
_Arth._ At last the cheat is plain;
The cloven-footed fiend is vanished from us;
Good angels be our guides, and bring us back!
Phil. singing. _Come follow, follow, follow me._
Chor. _Come follow_, &c.
_And me; and me; and me; and me._
Vers. 2 Voc. _And green-sward all your way shall be._
Chor. _Come follow_, &c.
Vers. _No goblin or elf shall dare to offend ye._
Chor. _No, no, no_, &c.
_No goblin or elf shall dare to offend ye._
Ver. 3 Voc. _We brethren of air_,
_You heroes will bear_,
_To the kind and the fair that attend ye._
Chor. _We brethren_, &c.
[PHILIDEL and the Spirits go off singing, with King ARTHUR and the
rest in the middle of them.
SCENE II.--_A Pavilion._
_Enter_ EMMELINE, _led by_ MATILDA.
_Em._ No news of my dear love, or of my father?
_Mat._ None, madam, since the gaining of the battle.
Great Arthur is a royal conqueror now,
And well deserves your love.
_Em._ But now I fear
He'll be too great, to love poor silly me,
If he be dead, or never come again,
I mean to die. But there's a greater doubt,
Since I ne'er saw him here,--
How shall I meet him in another world?
_Mat._ I have heard something, how two bodies meet;
But how souls join, I know not.
_Em._ I should find him,
For surely I have seen him in my sleep;
And then methought he put his mouth to mine,
And eat a thousand kisses on my lips.
Sure by his kissing I could find him out,
Among a thousand angels in the sky.
_Mat._ But what a kind of man do you suppose him?
_Em._ He must be made of the most precious things;
And I believe his mouth, and eyes, and cheeks,
And nose, and all his face, are made of gold.
_Mat._ Heaven bless us, madam, what a face you make him!
If it be yellow, he must have the jaundice,
And that's a bad disease.
_Em._ Why then do lovers give a thing so bad
As gold to women, whom so well they love?
_Mat._ Because that bad thing, gold, buys all good things.
_Em._ Yet I must know him better: Of all colours,
Tell me which is the purest, and the softest.
_Mat._ They say, 'tis black.
_Em._ Why, then, since gold is hard, and yet is precious,
His face must all be made of soft, black gold.
_Mat._ But, madam,----
_Em._ No more; I have learned enough for once.
_Mat._ Here are a crew of Kentish lads and lasses
Would entertain ye, till your lord's return,
With songs and dances, to divert your cares.
_Em._ O bring them in;
For, though I cannot see the songs, I love them;
And love, they tell me, is a dance of hearts.
_Enter Shepherds and Shepherdesses._
1 Shepherd sings.
_How blest are shepherds, how happy their lasses,
While drums and trumpets are sounding alarms!
Over our lowly sheds all the storm passes;
And when we die, 'tis in each others arms.
All the day on our herds and flocks employing;
All the night on our flutes, and in enjoying._
Chor. _All the day_, &c.
_Bright nymphs of Britain, with graces attended,
Let not your days without pleasure expire;
Honour's but empty, and, when youth is ended,
All men will praise you, but none will desire;
Let not youth fly away without contenting;
Age will come time enough for your repenting._
Chor. _Let not youth_, &c.
[Here the Men offer their Flutes to the Women, which they refuse.
2 Shepherdess.
_Shepherd, shepherd, leave decoying,
Pipes are sweet a summer's day;
But a little after toying,
Women have the shot to pay.
Here are marriage-vows for signing,
Set their marks that cannot write;
After that, without repining,
Play, and welcome, day and night._
[Here the Women give the Men Contracts, which they accept.
Chor. } _Come, shepherds, lead up a lively measure;_
of all. } _The cares of wedlock are cares of pleasure:
But whether marriage bring joy or sorrow,
Make sure of this day, and hang to-morrow._
[The Dance after the Song, and _Exeunt_
Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
_Enter, on the other side of the Stage_, OSWALD _and_
GUILLAMAR.
_Osw._ The night has wildered us; and we are fallen
Among their foremost tents.
_Guil._ Ha! what are these?
They seem of more than vulgar quality.
_Em._ What sounds are those? they cannot far be distant.
Where are we now, Matilda?
_Mat._ Just before your tent.
Fear not, they must be friends, and they approach.
_Em._ My Arthur! speak, my love; are you returned
To bless your Emmeline?
_Osw._ [_To_ GUIL.] I know that face:
'Tis the ungrateful fair, who, scorning mine,
Accepts my rival's love.--Heaven, thou art bounteous,
Thou owest me nothing now.
_Mat._ Fear grows upon me.--
Speak what you are; speak, or I call for help.
_Osw._ We are your guards.
_Mat._ Ah me, we are betrayed! 'tis Oswald's voice.
_Em._ Let them not see our voices, and then they cannot find us.
_Osw._ Passions in men oppressed are doubly strong.
I take her from king Arthur; there's revenge:
If she can love, she buoys my sinking fortunes:
Good reasons both: I'll on.--Fear nothing, ladies,
You shall be safe.
[OSWALD _and_ GUILLAMAR _seize_
EMMELINE _and_ MATILDA.
_Em._ and _Mat._ Help, help! a rape, a rape!
_Osw._ By heaven, ye injure me; though force is used,
Your honour shall be sacred.
_Em._ Help, help! Oh, Britons, help!
_Osw._ Your Britons cannot help you.
This arm through all their troops shall force my way,
Yet neither quit my honour, nor my prey.
[_Exeunt, the Women still crying. An Alarm within: Some Soldiers
running over the Stage_, "Follow, follow, follow."
_Enter_ ALBANACT, _Captain of the Guards, with Soldiers_.
_Alb._ Which way went the alarm?
_1 Sol._ Here, towards the castle.
_Alb._ Pox o'this victory, the whole camp's debauched;
All drunk, or whoring.--This way; follow, follow.
[_Exeunt. The Alarm renews: Clashing of Swords
within for a while._
_Re-enter_ ALBANACT, _Officer, and Soldiers_.
_Offi._ How sits the conquest on great Arthur's brow?
_Alb._ As when the lover with the king is mixt.
He puts the gain of Britain in a scale,
Which weighing with the loss of Emmeline,
He thinks he's scarce a saver.
[_Trumpet within._
_Offi._ Hark, a trumpet!
It sounds a parley.
_Alb._ 'Tis from Oswald then,
An echo to king Arthur's friendly summons,
Sent since he heard the rape of Emmeline,
To ask an interview, [_Trumpet answering on the other side._
_Offi._ But hark! already
Our trumpet makes reply; and see both present.
_Enter_ ARTHUR _on one side attended_, OSWALD _on the other with
Attendants, and_ GUILLAMAR. _They meet and salute._
_Arth._ Brave Oswald! we have met on friendlier terms,
Companions of a war, with common interest,
Against the bordering Picts: but times are changed.
_Osw._ And I am sorry that those times are changed,
For else we now might meet on terms as friendly.
_Arth._ If so we meet not now, the fault's your own;
For you have wronged me much.
_Osw._ Oh you would tell me,
I called more Saxons in, to enlarge my bounds.
If those be wrongs, the war has well redressed ye.
_Arth._ Mistake me not; I count not war a wrong.
War is the trade of kings, that fight for empire:
And better be a lion, than a sheep.
_Osw._ In what, then, have I wronged ye?
_Arth._ In my love.
_Osw._ Even love's an empire too; the noble soul,
Like kings, is covetous of single sway.
_Arth._ I blame ye not for loving Emmeline:
But, since the soul is free, and love is choice,
You should have made a conquest of her mind,
And not have forced her person by a rape.
_Osw._ Whether by force, or stratagem, we gain,
Still gaining is our end, in war, or love.
Her mind's the jewel, in her body locked;
If I would gain the gem, and want the key,
It follows I must seize the cabinet.
But, to secure your fear, her honour is untouched.
_Arth._ Was honour ever safe in brutal hands?
So safe are lambs within the lion's paw;
Ungriped and played with, till fierce hunger calls,
Then nature shews itself; the close-hid nails
Are stretched, and opened, to the panting prey.
But if, indeed, you are so cold a lover,--
_Osw._ Not cold, but honourable.
_Arth._ Then restore her:
That done, I shall believe you honourable.
_Osw._ Think'st thou I will forego a victor's right?
_Arth._ Say rather, of an impious ravisher.
That castle, were it walled with adamant,
Can hide thy head but till to-morrow's dawn.
_Osw._ And ere to-morrow I may be a god,
If Emmeline be kind: but, kind or cruel,
I tell thee, Arthur, but to see this day,
That heavenly face, though not to have her mine,
I would give up a hundred years of life,
And bid fate cut to-morrow.
_Arth._ It soon will come, and thou repent too late;
Which to prevent, I'll bribe thee to be honest.
Thy noble head, accustomed to a crown,
Shall wear it still, nor shall thy hand forget
The scepter's use: from Medway's pleasing stream,
To Severn's roar, be thine;
In short, restore my love, and share my kingdom.
_Osw._ Not though you spread my sway from Thames to Tyber:
Such gifts might bribe a king, but not a lover.
_Arth._ Then pr'ythee give me back my kingly word,
Passed for thy safe return; and let this hour,
In single combat, hand to hand, decide
The fate of empire, and of Emmeline.
_Osw._ Not that I fear do I decline this combat;
And not decline it neither, but defer:
When Emmeline has been my prize as long
As she was thine, I dare thee to the duel.
_Arth._ I named your utmost term of life,--to-morrow.
_Osw._ You are not fate.
_Arth._ But fate is in this arm.
You might have made a merit of your theft.
_Osw._ Ha! theft! your guards can tell I stole her not.
_Arth._ Had I been present,--
_Osw._ Had you been present, she had been mine more nobly.
_Arth._ There lies your way.
_Osw._ My way lies where I please.
Expect (for Oswald's magic cannot fail)
A long to-morrow, ere your arms prevail.
Or, if I fall, make room, ye blessed above,
For one who was undone, and died for love.
[_Exit_ OSWALD _and his Party_.
_Arth._ There may be one black minute ere to-morrow:
For who can tell, what power, and lust, and charms,
May do this night?--To arms, with speed, to arms.
[_Exeunt._
ACT III. SCENE I.
_Enter_ ARTHUR, CONON, _and_ AURELIUS.
_Con._ Furl up our colours, and unbrace our drums;
Dislodge betimes, and quit this fatal coast.
_Arth._ Have we forgot to conquer?
_Aur._ Cast off hope;
The embattled legions of fire, air, and earth,
Are banded for our foes:
For, going to discover, with the dawn,
Yon southern hill, which promised to the sight
A rise more easy to attack the fort,
Scarce had we stept on the forbidden ground,
When the woods shook, the trees stood bristling up;
A living trembling nodded through the leaves.
_Arth._ Poplars, and aspen-boughs; a panic fright.
_Con._ We thought so too, and doubled still our pace;
But strait a rumbling sound, like bellowing winds,
Rose and grew loud; confused with howls of wolves,
And grunts of bears, and dreadful hiss of snakes;
Shrieks more than human; globes of hail poured down
An armed winter, and inverted day.
_Arth._ Dreadful indeed!
_Aur._ Count then our labour's lost;
For other way lies none, to mount the cliff,
Unless we borrow wings, and sail through air.
_Arth._ Now I perceive a danger worthy me.
'Tis Osmond's work, a band of hell-hired slaves:
Be mine the hazard, mine shall be the fame.
[ARTHUR _is going out, but is met by_ MERLIN, _who takes him by
the hand, and brings him back_.
_Enter_ MERLIN.
_Mer._ Hold, sir, and wait heaven's time; the attempt's too dangerous.
There's not a tree in that enchanted grove,
But's numbered out, and given by tale to fiends;
And under every leaf a spirit couched.
But by what method to dissolve these charms,
Is yet unknown to me.
_Aur._ Hadst thou been here,--for what can thwart thy skill?--
Nor Emmeline had been the boast of Oswald,
Nor I, forewarned, been wanting to her guard.
_Con._ Her darkened eyes had seen the light of heaven;
That was thy promise too, and this the time.
_Mer._ Nor has my aid been absent, though unseen,
With friendly guides in your benighted maze:
Nor Emmeline shall longer want the sun.
_Arth._ Is there an end of woes?
_Mer._ There is, and sudden.
I have employed a subtle airy sprite
To explore the passage, and prepare my way.
Myself, mean time, will view the magic wood,
To learn whereon depends its force.
_Con._ But Emmeline!----
_Mer._ Fear not. This vial shall restore her sight.
_Arth._ Oh might I hope,--and what's impossible
To Merlin's art?--to be myself the bearer,
That with the light of heaven she may discern
Her lover first!
_Mer._ 'Tis wond'rous hazardous;
Yet I foresee the event, 'tis fortunate.
I'll bear ye safe, and bring ye back unharmed:
Then lose not precious time, but follow me.
[_Exeunt_, MERLIN _leading_ ARTHUR.
SCENE II.--_A Deep Wood._
_Enter_ PHILIDEL.
_Phil._ I left all safe behind;
For, in the hindmost quarter of the wood,
My former lord, grim Osmond, walks the round,
Calls o'er the names, and schools the tardy sprites.
His absence gives me more security.
At every walk I passed, I drew a spell;
So that, if any fiend, abhorring heaven,
There sets his foot, it roots him to the ground.
Now could I but discover Emmeline,
My task were fairly done.
[_Walking about, and prying betwixt the Trees._
_Enter_ GRIMBALD _rushing out: He seizes_ PHILIDEL, _and binds him
in a Chain_.
_Grim._ O rebel, have I caught thee!
_Phil._ Ah me! what hard mishap!
_Grim._ What just revenge!--
Thou miscreant elf, thou renegado scout,
So clean, so furbished, so renewed in white,
The livery of our foes; I see thee through:
What mak'st thou here? thou trim apostate, speak.
Thou shak'st for fear, I feel thy false heart pant.
_Phil._ Ah mighty Grimbald,
Who would not fear, when seized in thy strong gripe!
But hear me, Oh renowned, Oh worthy fiend,
The favourite of our chief!
_Grim._ Away with fulsome flattery,
The food of fools; thou knowest where last we met,
When, but for thee, the Christian had been swallowed
In quaking bogs, and living sent to hell.
_Phil._ Ay, then I was seduced by Merlin's art,
And half persuaded by his soothing tales,
To hope for heaven; as if eternal doom
Could be reversed, and undecreed for me;
But I am now set right.
_Grim._ Oh, still thou think'st to fly a fool to mark.
_Phil._ I fled from Merlin, free as air that bore me,
To unfold to Osmond all his deep designs.
_Grim._ I believe nothing: Oh thou fond impostor,
When wert thou last in hell? Is not thy name
Forgot, and blotted from the infernal roll?
But since thou sayest, thy errand was to Osmond,
To Osmond shalt thou go: march, know thy driver.
_Phil._ [_Kneeling._] Oh spare me, Grimbald, and I'll be thy slave,
Tempt hermits for thee, in their holy cells,
And virgins, in their dreams.
_Grim._ Canst thou, a devil, hope to cheat a devil?
A spy! why, that's a name abhorred in hell.
Haste, forward, forward, or I'll goad thee on
With iron spurs.
_Phil._ But use me kindly then.
Pull not so hard, to hurt my airy limbs;
I'll follow thee unforced: look, there's thy way.
_Grim._ Ay, there's thy way indeed; but, for more surety,
I'll keep an eye behind: not one word more,
But follow decently.
[GRIM. _goes out, dragging_ PHIL.
_Phil._ So, catch him, spell! [_Aside._
_Grim._ [_within._] Oh help me, help me, Philidel!
_Phil._ Why, what's the matter?
_Grim._ Oh, I am ensnared;
Heaven's birdlime wraps me round, and glues my wings.
Loose me, and I will free thee:
Do, and I'll be thy slave.
_Phil._ What, to a spy, a name abhorred in hell?
_Grim._ Do not insult!--Oh, Oh, I grow to ground;
The fiery net draws closer on my limbs.
_Phil._ Thou shalt not have the ease to curse in torments.
Be dumb for one half hour,--so long my charm
Can keep thee silent,--and there lie
Till Osmond breaks thy chain.
[PHILIDEL _unbinds his own Fetters_.
_Enter to him_ MERLIN, _with a Vial in his Hand; and_ ARTHUR.
_Mer._ Well hast thou wrought thy safety with thy wit,
My Philidel; go meritorious on.
Me other work requires, to view the wood,
And learn to make the dire enchantments void.
Mean time, attend king Arthur, in my room;
Shew him his love, and with these sovereign drops
Restore her sight.
[_Exit_ MERLIN, _giving a Vial to_ PHILIDEL.
Phil. _We must work, we must haste;
Noon-tide hour is almost past.
Sprites, that glimmer in the sun,
Into shades already run;
Osmond will be here, anon._
_Enter_ EMMELINE _and_ MATILDA, _at the far end of the Wood_.
_Arth._ O yonder, yonder she's already found;
My soul directs my sight, and flies before it.--
Now, gentle spirit, use thy utmost art,
Unseal her eyes, and this way lead her steps.
[ARTHUR _withdraws behind the Scene_; EMMELINE _and_ MATILDA _come
forward to the Front_; PHILIDEL _approaches_ EMMELINE, _sprinkling
some of the Water over her eyes, out of the Vial_.
Phil. _Thus, thus I infuse
These sovereign dews:
Fly back, ye films, that cloud her sight;
And you, ye crystal humours bright,
Your noxious vapours purged away,
Recover, and admit the day:
Now cast your eyes abroad, and see
All but me._
_Em._ Ha! What was that? Who spoke?
_Mat._ I heard the voice; 'tis one of Osmond's fiends.
_Em._ Some blessed angel sure. I feel my eyes
Unsealed; they walk abroad, and a new world
Comes rushing on, and stands all gay before me.
_Mat._ Oh heavens! Oh joy of joys! she has her sight!
_Em._ I am new-born; I shall run mad for pleasure.
[_Staring on_ MAT.
Are women such as thou? Such glorious creatures?
_Arth._ [_Aside._] O how I envy her, to be first seen!
_Em._ Stand farther; let me take my fill of sight.
[_Looking up._
What's that above, that weakens my new eyes,
Makes me not see, by seeing?
_Mat._ 'Tis the sun.
_Em._ The sun! 'tis sure a God, if that be heaven:--
Oh! if thou art a creature, best and fairest,
How well art thou from mortals so remote,
To shine, and not to burn, by near approach!
How hast thou lightened even my very soul,
And let in knowledge by another sense!
I gaze about, new-born to day and thee;
A stranger yet, an infant of the world!--
Art thou not pleased, Matilda? Why, like me,
Dost thou not look and wonder?
_Mat._ For these sights
Are to my eyes familiar.
_Em._ That's my joy,
Not to have seen before; for nature now
Comes all at once, confounding my delight.
But ah! what thing am I? Fain would I know;
Or am I blind, or do I see but half?
With all my care, and looking round about,
I cannot view my face.
_Mat._ None see themselves
But by reflection; in this glass you may. [_Gives her a glass._
_Em._ [_Taking the glass, and looking._] What's this?
It holds a face within it:--Oh sweet face!
It draws the mouth, and smiles, and looks upon me,
And talks, but yet I cannot hear it speak;
The pretty thing is dumb.
_Mat._ The pretty thing
You see within the glass, is you.
_Em._ What! am I two? Is this another me?
Indeed it wears my clothes, has hands like mine,
And mocks whate'er I do; but that I'm sure
I am a maid, I'd swear it were my child. [MATILDA _looks_.
Look, my Matilda: We both are in the glass.
Oh, now I know it plain; they are our names,
That peep upon us there.
_Mat._ Our shadows, madam.
_Em._ Mine is a prettier shadow far, than thine.
I love it; let me kiss my t'other self.
[_Kissing the glass, and hugging it._
Alas, I've kissed it dead; the fine thing's gone:
Indeed, it kissed so cold, as if 'twere dying.
[ARTHUR _comes forward softly, shewing himself behind her_.
'Tis here again;
Oh no, this face is neither mine nor thine;
I think the glass has born another child.
[_She turns and sees_ ARTHUR.
Ha! What art thou with a new kind of face,
And other clothes? a noble creature too;
But taller, bigger, fiercer in thy look;
Of a controuling eye, majestic make?
_Mat._ Do you not know him, madam?
_Em._ Is't a man?
_Arth._ Yes; and the most unhappy of my kind,
If you have changed your love.
_Em._ My dearest lord!
Was my soul blind; and could not that look out,
To know you, ere you spoke? Oh counterpart
Of our soft sex! Well are you made our lords;
So bold, so great, so godlike are you formed!
How can you love such silly things as women?
_Arth._ Beauty like yours commands; and man was made
But a more boisterous, and a stronger slave,
To you, the best delights of human kind.
_Em._ But are you mine? Is there an end of war?
Are all those trumpets dead themselves, at last,
That used to kill men with their thundering sounds?
_Arth._ The sum of war is undecided yet;
And many a breathing body must be cold,
Ere you are free.
_Em._ How came you hither then?
_Arth._ By Merlin's art, to snatch a short-lived bliss;
To feed my famished love upon your eyes
One moment, and depart.
_Em._ O moment, worth
Whole ages past, and all that are to come!
Let love-sick Oswald now unpitied mourn;
Let Osmond mutter charms to sprites in vain,
To make me love him; all shall not change my soul.
_Arth._ Ha! Does the enchanter practise hell upon you?
Is he my rival too?
_Em._ Yes, but I hate him;
For, when he spoke, through my shut eyes I saw him;
His voice look'd ugly, and breathed brimstone on me;
And then I first was glad that I was blind,
Not to behold damnation.
_Phil._ This time is left me to congratulate
Your new-born eyes; and tell you what you gain
By sight restored, and viewing him you love.--
Appear, ye airy forms!
[_Airy Spirits appear in the shapes of Men and Women._
Man sings. _Oh sight, the mother of desires,
What charming objects dost thou yield!
'Tis sweet, when tedious night expires,
To see the rosy morning gild
The mountain-tops, and paint the field!
But when Clarinda comes in sight,
She makes the summer's day more bright;
And when she goes away, 'tis night._
Chor. _When fair Clarinda comes in sight, &c._
Wom. sings. _'Tis sweet the blushing morn to view;
And plains adorned with pearly dew:_
_But such cheap delights to see,
Heaven and nature
Give each creature;
They have eyes, as well as we;
This is the joy, all joys above,
To see, to see,
That only she,
That only she we love!_
Chor. _This is the joy, all joys above, &c._
Man sings. _And if we may discover
What charms both nymph and lover,
'Tis, when the fair at mercy lies,
With kind and amorous anguish,
To sigh, to look, to languish,
On each other's eyes!_
Chorus of all Men and Women.
_And if we may discover, &c._
_Phil._ Break off your music, for our foes are near.
[_Spirits vanish._
_Enter_ MERLIN.
_Merl._ My sovereign, we have hazarded too far;
But love excuses you, and prescience me:
Make haste, for Osmond is even now alarmed,
And, greedy of revenge, is hasting home.
_Arth._ Oh! take my love with us, or leave me here.
_Merl._ I cannot, for she's held by charms too strong,
Which, with the enchanted grove, must be destroyed;
Till when, my art is vain:--But fear not, Emmeline,
The enchanter has no power on innocence.
_Em._ [_To Arth._] Farewell, since we must part: When you are gone,
I'll look into my glass, just where you looked.
To find your face again;
If 'tis not there, I'll think on you so long,
My heart shall make your picture for my eyes.
_Arth._ Where'er I go, my soul shall stay with thee;
'Tis but my shadow that I take away.
True love is never happy but by halves;
An April sunshine, that by fits appears,
It smiles by moments, but it mourns by years.
[_Exeunt_ ARTHUR _and_ MERLIN _at one door_.
_Enter_ OSMOND _at the other door, who gazes on_ EMMELINE, _and she
on him_.
_Em._ Matilda, save me from this ugly thing,
This foe to sight: speak; dost thou know him?
_Mat._ Too well; 'tis Oswald's friend, the great magician.
_Em._ It cannot be a man, he's so unlike the man I love.
_Osm._ [_Aside._] Death to my eyes, she sees!
_Em._ I wish I could not; but I'll close my sight,
And shut out all I can.----It will not be;
Winking, I see thee still; thy odious image
Stares full into my soul, and there infects the room,
My Arthur should possess.
_Osm._ [_Aside._] I find too late,
That Merlin and her lover have been here.
If I was fired before, when she was blind,
Her eyes dart lightning now; she must be mine.
_Em._ I pr'ythee, dreadful thing, tell me thy business here,
And, if thou canst, reform that odious face;
Look not so grim upon me.
_Osm._ My name is Osmond, and my business love.
_Em._ Thou hast a grisly look,--forbidding what thou askest,
If I durst tell thee so.
_Osm._ My pent-house eye-brows, and my shaggy beard,
Offend your sight, but these are manly signs;
Faint white and red abuse your expectations:
Be woman; know your sex, and love full pleasures.
_Em._ Love from a monster, fiend?
_Osm._ Come, you must love, or you must suffer love;
No coyness, none, for I am master here.
_Em._ And when did Oswald give away his power,
That thou presum'st to rule? Be sure I'll tell him;
For, as I am his prisoner, he is mine.
_Osm._ Why then, thou art a captive to a captive.
O'er-laboured with the fight, opprest with thirst,
That Oswald, whom you mentioned, called for drink:
I mixt a sleepy potion in his bowl,
Which he and his fool friend quaffed greedily:
The happy dose wrought the desired effect;
Then to a dungeon's depth I sent both bound;
Where, stowed with snakes and adders, now they lodge,
Two planks their beds, slippery with ooze and slime:
The rats brush o'er their faces with their tails,
And croaking paddocks crawl upon their limbs;
Since when the garrison depends on me.
Now know you are my slave.
_Mat._ He strikes a horror through my blood.
_Em._ I freeze, as if his impious art had fixed
My feet to earth.
_Osm._ But love shall thaw ye.
I'll show his force in countries caked with ice,
Where the pale pole-star in the north of heaven
Sits high, and on the frosty winter broods,--
Yet there love reigns: For proof, this magic wand
Shall change the mildness of sweet Britain's clime
To Iceland, and the farthest Thule's frost,
Where the proud god, disdaining winter's bounds,
O'erleaps the fences of eternal snow,
And with his warmth supplies the distant sun.
OSMOND _strikes the Ground with his Wand: The Scene changes to a
Prospect of Winter in Frozen Countries_.
CUPID _descends_.
Cup. } _What ho, thou Genius of the Clime, what ho!_
sings. } _Ly'st thou asleep beneath those hills of snow?
Stretch out thy lazy limbs; awake, awake,
And winter from thy furry mantle shake._
GENIUS Arises.
Genius. _What power art thou, who from below
Hast made me rise, unwillingly, and slow,
From beds of everlasting snow?
See'st thou not how stiff and wond'rous old,
Far unfit to bear the bitter cold?
I can scarcely move, or draw my breath;
Let me, let me, freeze again to death._
Cupid. _Thou doating fool, forbear, forbear;
What, dost thou dream of freezing here?
At Love's appearing, all the sky clearing,
The stormy winds their fury spare:
Winter subduing, and spring renewing,
My beams create a more glorious year.
Thou doating fool, forbear, forbear,
What! dost thou dream of freezing here?_
Genius. _Great Love, I know thee now;
Eldest of the gods art thou
Heaven and earth by thee were made;
Human nature
Is thy creature,
Every where thou art obeyed._
Cupid. _No part of my dominion shall be waste;
To spread my sway, and sing my praise,
Even here I will a people raise,
Of kind embracing lovers, and embraced._
Cupid waves his Wand, upon which the Scene opens, and discovers a
prospect of Ice and Snow to the end of the Stage.
Singers and Dancers, Men and Women, appear.
Man. _See, see, we assemble,
Thy revels to hold;
Though quiv'ring with cold,
We chatter and tremble._
Cupid. _'Tis I, 'tis I, 'tis I, that have warmed ye:
In spite of cold weather,
I've brought you together:
'Tis I, 'tis I, 'tis I, that have armed ye._
Chor. _'Tis Love, 'tis Love, 'tis Love, that has warmed us;
In spite of cold weather
He brought us together:
'Tis Love, 'tis Love, 'tis Love, that has armed us._
Cupid. _Sound a parley, ye fair, and surrender;
Set yourselves and your lovers at ease;
He's a grateful offender
Who pleasure dare seize;
But the whining pretender
Is sure to displease._
II.
_Since the fruit of desire is possessing,
'Tis unmanly to sigh and complain;
When we kneel for redressing,
We move your disdain:_
_Love was made for a blessing,
And not for a pain._
A Dance; after which the Singers and Dancers depart.
_Em._ I could be pleased with any one but thee,
Who entertained my sight with such gay shows,
As men and women moving here and there,
That, coursing one another in their steps,
Have made their feet a tune.
_Osm._ What, coying it again!
No more, but make me happy to my gust,
That is, without your struggling.
_Em._ From my sight,
Thou all thy devils in one! thou dar'st not force me.
_Osm._ You teach me well; I find you would be ravished.
I'll give you that excuse your sex desires.
[_He begins to lay hold on her, and they struggle._
_Grim._ [_Within._] O help me, master, help me!
_Osm._ Who's that? my Grimbald? Come and help thou me;
For 'tis thy work to assist a ravisher.
_Grim._ [_Within._] I cannot stir; I am spell-caught by Philidel,
And pursed within a net,
With a huge heavy weight of holy words
Laid on my head, that keeps me down from rising.
_Osm._ I'll read them backwards and release thy bonds.--
Mean time go in,
[_To_ EMMELINE.
Prepare yourself, and ease my drudgery:
But if you will not fairly be enjoyed,
A little honest force is well employed.
[_Exit_ OSMOND.
_Em._ Heaven be my guard, I have no other friend!
Heaven, ever present to thy suppliant's aid,
Protect and pity innocence betrayed!
[_Exeunt_ EMMELINE _and_ MATILDA.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
_Enter_ OSMOND.
Now I am settled in my forceful sway;
Why then, I'll be luxurious in my love;
Take my full gust, and, setting forms aside,
I'll bid the slave, that fires my blood, lie down.
[_Seems to be going off._
_Enter_ GRIMBALD, _who meets him_.
_Grim._ Not so fast, master, danger threatens thee:
There's a black cloud descending from above,
Full of heaven's venom, bursting o'er thy head.
_Osm._ Malicious fiend, thou liest; for I am fenced
By millions of thy fellows, in my grove.
I bade thee, when I freed thee from the charm,
Run scouting through the wood, from tree to tree,
And look if all my devils were on duty:
Had'st thou performed thy charge, thou tardy sprite,
Thou would'st have known no danger threatened me.
_Grim._ When did a devil fail in diligence?
Poor mortal, thou thyself art overseen.
I have been there, and thence I bring this news,--
Thy fatal foe, great Arthur, is at hand;
Merlin has taken his time, when thou wert absent,
To observe thy characters, their force, and nature,
And counterwork thy spells.
_Osm._ The devil take Merlin!
I'll cast them all a-new, and instantly,
All of another mould; be thou at hand.
Their composition was, before, of horror;
Now they shall be of blandishment, and love,
Seducing hopes, soft pity, tender moans:
Art shall meet art; and, when they think to win,
The fools shall find their labour to begin.
[_Exeunt_ OSM. _and_ GRIMB.
_Enter_ ARTHUR, _and_ MERLIN _at another Door.
Scene of the Wood continues._
_Merl._ Thus far it is permitted me to go;
But all beyond this spot is fenced with charms;
I may no more, but only with advice.
_Arth._ My sword shall do the rest.
_Merl._ Remember well, that all is but illusion.
Go on; good stars attend thee.
_Arth._ Doubt me not.
_Merl._ Yet, in prevention
Of what may come, I'll leave my Philidel
To watch thy steps, and with him leave my wand;
The touch of which no earthy fiend can bear,
In whate'er shape transformed, but must lay down
His borrowed figure, and confess the devil.
Once more farewell, and prosper. [_Exit_ MERLIN.
_Arth._ [_walking._] No danger yet; I see no walls of fire,
No city of the fiends, with forms obscene,
To grin from far on flaming battlements.
This is indeed the grove I should destroy;
But where's the horror? sure the prophet erred.--
Hark! music, and the warbling notes of birds! [_Soft Music._
Hell entertains me, like some welcome guest.--
More wonders yet! yet all delightful too:
A silver current to forbid my passage,
And yet, to invite me, stands a golden bridge:
Perhaps a trap for my unwary feet,
To sink and whelm me underneath the waves.
With fire or water let him wage his war,
Or all the elements at once, I'll on.
[_As he is going to the Bridge, two Syrens arise from the water.
They shew themselves to the waist, and sing:_
1 Syren. _O pass not on, but stay,
And waste the joyous day
With us in gentle play:
Unbend to love, unbend thee:
O lay thy sword aside,
And other arms provide;
For other wars attend thee,
And sweeter to be tried._
Chor. _For other wars_, &c.
Both sing. _Two daughters of this aged stream are we;
And both our sea-green locks have comb'd for thee:
Come bathe with us an hour or two,
Come naked in, for we are so;
What danger from a naked foe?
Come bathe with us, come bathe and share
What pleasures in the floods appear.
We'll beat the waters till they bound,
And circle, round, around, around,
And circle round, around._
_Arth._ A lazy pleasure trickles through my veins;
Here could I stay, and well be cozened here.
But honour calls;--is honour in such haste?
Can it not bait at such a pleasing inn?
No; for, the more I look, the more I long.--
Farewell, ye fair illusions! I must leave ye,
While I have power to say, that I must leave ye.
Farewell! with half my soul I stagger off,--
How dear this flying victory has cost,
When, if I stay to struggle, I am lost.
_As he is going forward, Nymphs and Sylvans come out from behind
the Trees. A Bass and two Trebles sing the following Song to a
Minuet._
Dance with a Song, all with Branches in their Hands.
Song. _How happy the lover,
How easy his chain,
How pleasing his pain,
How sweet to discover
He sighs not in vain.
For love every creature
Is formed by his nature;
No joys are above
The pleasures of love._
The Dance continues, with the same measure played alone.
II.
_In vain are our graces,
In vain are your eyes,
If love you despise;
When age furrows faces,
'Tis time to be wise.
Then use the short blessing,
That flies in possessing:
No joys are above
The pleasures of love._
_Arth._ And what are the fantastic fairy joys,
To love like mine? false joys, false welcomes all.
Be gone, ye Sylvan trippers of the green;
Fly after night, and overtake the moon.
[_Here the Dancers, Singers, and Syrens vanish._
This goodly tree seems queen of all the grove.
The ringlets round her trunk declare her guilty
Of many midnight-sabbaths revelled here.
Her will I first attempt.
[ARTHUR _strikes at the Tree, and cuts it; Blood spouts out of it;
a groan follows, then a shriek_.
Good heavens, what monstrous prodigies are these!
Blood follows from my blow; the wounded rind
Spouts on my sword, and sanguine dies the plain.
[_He strikes again: The Voice of_ EMMELINE _from behind_.
Em. [_from behind._] Forbear, if thou hast pity, ah, forbear!
These groans proceed not from a senseless plant;
No spouts of blood run welling from a tree.
_Arth._ Speak what thou art; I charge thee, speak thy being,
Thou, that hast made my curdled blood run back,
My heart heave up, my hair to rise in bristles,
And scarcely left a voice to ask thy name!
[EMMEL. _breaks out of the Tree, shewing her Arm bloody_.
_Em._ Whom thou hast hurt, unkind and cruel, see;
Look on this blood; 'tis fatal still to me,
To bear thy wounds; my heart has felt them first.
_Arth._ 'Tis she; amazement roots me to the ground!
_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._
'Tis finished, and the dusk, that yet remains,
Is but the native horror of the wood.
But I must lose no time; the pass is free;
The unroosted fiends have quitted this abode.
On yon proud towers, before this day be done,
My glittering banners shall be waved against the setting sun.
[_Exit_ ARTHUR.
_Phil._ Come on, my surly slave; come stalk along,
And stamp a madman's pace, and drag thy chain.
_Grim._ I'll champ and foam upon it, till the blue venom
Work upward to thy hands, and loose their hold.
_Phil._ Know'st thou this powerful wand? 'tis lifted up;
A second stroke would send thee to the centre,
Benumbed and dead, as far as souls can die.
_Grim._ I would thou would'st, to rid me of my sense:
I shall be whooped through hell, at my return
Inglorious from the mischief I designed.
_Phil._ And therefore, since thou loath'st etherial light,
The morning sun shall beat on thy black brows;
The breath thou draw'st shall be of upper air,
Hostile to thee, and to thy earthy make;
So light, so thin, that thou shalt starve for want
Of thy gross food, till gasping thou shalt lie,
And blow it back all sooty to the sky.
[_Exit_ PHILIDEL, _dragging_ GRIMBALD _after him_.
ACT V. SCENE I.
_Enter_ OSMOND, _as affrighted_.
_Osm._ Grimbald made prisoner, and my grove destroyed!
Now what can save me----Hark, the drums and trumpets!
[_Drums and Trumpets within._
Arthur is marching onward to the fort.
I have but one recourse, and that's to Oswald;--
But will he fight for me, whom I have injured?
No, not for me, but for himself he must.
I'll urge him with the last necessity;
Better give up my mistress than my life.
His force is much unequal to his rival;--
True; but I'll help him with my utmost art,
And try to unravel fate. [_Exit._
_Enter_ ARTHUR, CONON, AURELIUS, ALBANACT, _and Soldiers_.
_Con._ Now there remains but this one labour more;
And, if we have the hearts of true-born Britons,
The forcing of the castle crowns the day.
_Aur._ The works are weak, the garrison but thin,
Dispirited with frequent overthrows,
Already wavering on their ill-manned walls.
_Alb._ They shift their places oft, and sculk from war;
Sure signs of pale despair, and easy rout:
It shews they place their confidence in magic,
And, when their devils fail, their hearts are dead.
_Arth._ Then, where you see them clustering most in motion,
And staggering in their ranks, there press them home;
For that's a coward heap.--How's this, a sally?
_Enter_ OSWALD, GUILLAMAR, _and Soldiers on the other side_.
Beyond my hopes, to meet them on the square.
_Osw._ Brave Britons, hold; and thou, their famous chief,
[_Advancing._
Attend what Saxon Oswald will propose.
He owns your victory; but whether owing
To valour, or to fortune, that he doubts.
If Arthur dares ascribe it to the first,
And, singled from a crowd, will tempt a conquest,
This Oswald offers; let our troops retire,
And hand to hand let us decide our strife:
This if refused, bear witness, earth and heaven,
Thou steal'st a crown and mistress undeserved.
_Arth._ I'll not usurp thy title of a robber,
Nor will upbraid thee, that before I proffered
This single combat, which thou didst avoid;
So glad I am, on any terms to meet thee,
And not discourage thy repenting shame.
As once Æneas, my famed ancestor,
Betwixt the Trojan and Rutilian bands,
Fought for a crown, and bright Lavinia's bed,
So will I meet thee, hand to hand opposed:
My auguring mind assures the same success.--
[_To his Men._] Hence, out of view; If I am slain, or yield,
Renounce me, Britons, for a recreant knight;
And let the Saxon peacefully enjoy
His former footing on our famous isle.
To ratify these terms, I swear----
_Osw._ You need not;
Your honour is of force, without your oath.
I only add, that, if I fall, or yield,
Yours be the crown, and Emmeline.
_Arth_. That's two crowns.
No more; we keep the looking heavens and sun
Too long in expectation of our arms.
[_Both Armies go off the Stage._
[_They fight with Spunges in their Hands, dipt in blood: after
some equal passes and closing, they appear both wounded_; ARTHUR
_stumbles among the Trees_, OSWALD _falls over him; they both
rise_; ARTHUR _wounds him again, then_ OSWALD _retreats. Enter_
OSMOND, _from among the Trees, and with his Wand strikes_ ARTHUR'S
_Sword out of his Hand, and exit_. OSWALD _pursues_ ARTHUR. MERLIN
_enters, and gives_ ARTHUR _his Sword, and exit; they close, and_
ARTHUR, _in the Fall, disarms_ OSWALD.[22]
_Arth_. Confess thyself o'ercome, and ask thy life.
_Osw_. 'Tis not worth asking, when 'tis in thy power.
_Arth_. Then take it as my gift.
_Osw_. A wretched gift,
With loss of empire, liberty, and love.
[_A concert of Trumpets within, proclaiming_ ARTHUR'S _Victory;
while they sound_, ARTHUR _and_ OSWALD _seem to confer_.
'Tis too much bounty to a vanquished foe;
Yet not enough to make me fortunate.
_Arth_. Thy life, thy liberty, thy honour safe,
Lead back thy Saxons to their ancient Elbe:
I would restore thee fruitful Kent, the gift
Of Vortigern for Hengist's ill-bought aid,
But that my Britons brook no foreign power,
To lord it in a land, sacred to freedom,
And of its rights tenacious to the last.
_Osw._ Nor more than thou hast offered would I take;
I would refuse all Britain, held in homage;
And own no other masters but the gods.
_Enter, on one side_, MERLIN, EMMELINE, _and_ MATILDA. CONON,
AURELIUS, ALBANACT, _with British Soldiers, bearing King_ ARTHUR'S
_Standard displayed. On the other side_, GUILLAMAR, _and_ OSMOND,
_with Saxon Soldiers, dragging their Colours on the Ground_.
[ARTH. _going to_ EMM. _and embracing her_.
_Arth._ At length, at length, I have thee in my arms;
Though our malevolent stars have struggled hard,
And held us long asunder.
_Em._ We are so fitted for each other's hearts,
That heaven had erred, in making of a third,
To get betwixt, and intercept our loves.
_Osw._ Were there but this, this only sight to see,
The price of Britain should not buy my stay.
_Mer._ Take hence that monster of ingratitude:
Him, who betrayed his master, bear him hence;
And in that loathsome dungeon plunge him deep,
Where he plunged noble Oswald.
_Osm._ That indeed is fittest for me;
For there I shall be near my kindred friends,
And spare my Grimbald's pains to bear me to them.
[_Is carried off._
_Mer._ [_To_ ARTH.] For this day's palm, and for thy former acts,
Thy Britain freed, and foreign force expelled,
Thou, Arthur, hast acquired a future fame,
And, of three Christian worthies, art the first:[23]
And now, at once to treat thy sight and soul,
Behold what rolling ages shall produce:
The wealth, the loves, the glories of our isle,
Which yet, like golden ore, unripe in beds,
Expect the warm indulgency of heaven
To call them forth to light.--
[_To_ OSM.] Nor thou, brave Saxon prince, disdain our triumphs;
Britons and Saxons shall be once one people;
One common tongue, one common faith shall bind
Our jarring bands, in a perpetual peace.
[MERLIN _waves his Wand: the_ SCENE _changes, and discovers the
British Ocean in a Storm_. ÆOLUS _in a Cloud above: Four Winds
hanging, &c._
ÆOLUS singing.
_Ye blustering brethren of the skies,
Whose breath has ruffled all the watry plain,
Retire, and let Britannia rise,
In triumph o'er the main.
Serene and calm, and void of fear,
The Queen of Islands must appear:
Serene and calm, as when the spring
The new-created world began,
And birds on boughs did softly sing
Their peaceful homage paid to man;
While Eurus did his blasts forbear,
In favour of the tender year._
_Retreat, rude winds, retreat
To hollow rocks, your stormy seat;
There swell your lungs, and vainly, vainly threat._
ÆOLUS ascends, and the four Winds fly off. The SCENE opens, and
discovers a calm Sea, to the end of the House. An Island arises,
to a soft Tune; BRITANNIA, seated in the Island, with Fishermen
at her Feet, &c. The Tune changes, the Fishermen come ashore, and
dance a while; after which, PAN and a NEREID come on the Stage,
and sing.
PAN and NEREID sing.
_Round thy coasts, fair nymph of Britain,
For thy guard our waters flow:
Proteus all his herds admitting,
On thy greens to graze below.
Foreign lands thy fishes tasting,
Learn from thee luxurious fasting._
Song of three parts.
_For folded flocks, on fruitful plains,
The shepherd's and the farmer's gains,
Fair Britain all the world outvies;
And Pan, as in Arcadia, reigns,
Where pleasure mixt with profit lies._
_Though Jason's fleece was famed of old,
The British wool is growing gold;
No mines can more of wealth supply;
It keeps the peasant from the cold,
And takes for kings the Tyrian dye._
[The last Stanza sung over again betwixt PAN and the Nereid. After
which, the former dance is varied, and goes on.
Enter COMUS, with three Peasants, who sing the following Song in Parts.
Com. _Your hay it is mow'd, and your corn is reaped;
Your barns will be full, and your hovels heaped;
Come, my boys, come;
Come, my boys, come;
And merrily roar out harvest home;
Harvest home,
Harvest home;
And merrily roar out harvest home._
Chor. _Come, my boys, come, &c._
1 Man. _We ha' cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again.
For why should a blockhead ha' one in ten?
One in ten,
One in ten;
For why should a blockhead ha' one in ten?_
2 Man. _For prating so long like a book-learned sot,
Till pudding and dumpling burn to pot, Burn to pot,
Burn to pot;
Till pudding and dumpling burn to pot._
Chor. _Burn to pot, &c._
3 Man. _We'll toss off our ale till we cannot stand,
And hoigh for the honour of old England:
Old England,
Old England;
And hoigh for the honour of old England._
Chor. _Old England, &c._
[The Dance varied into a round Country-dance.
_Enter_ VENUS.
Venus. _Fairest isle, all isles excelling,
Seat of pleasures and of loves;
Venus here will chuse her dwelling,
And forsake her Cyprian groves._
_Cupid from his favourite nation
Care and envy will remove;
Jealousy, that poisons passion,
And despair, that dies for love._
_Gentle murmurs, sweet complaining,
Sighs, that blow the fire of love;
Soft repulses, kind disdaining,
Shall be all the pains you prove._
_Every swain shall pay his duty,
Grateful every nymph shall prove;
And as these excel in beauty,
Those shall be renowned for love._
SONG BY MR HOWE.
She. _You say, 'Tis love creates the pain,
Of which so sadly you complain;
And yet would fain engage my heart
In that uneasy cruel part;
But how, alas! think you, that I
Can bear the wound of which you die?_
He. _'Tis not my passion makes my care,
But your indifference gives despair;
The lusty sun begets no spring,
Till gentle showers assistance bring;
So love, that scorches and destroys,
Till kindness aids, can cause no joys._
She. _Love has a thousand ways to please,
But more to rob us of our ease;
For wakeful nights, and careful days,
Some hours of pleasure he repays;
But absence soon, or jealous fears,
O'erflow the joys with flood of tears._
He. _By vain and senseless forms betrayed,
Harmless love's the offender made;
While we no other pains endure,
Than those, that we ourselves procure;
But one soft moment makes amends
For all the torment that attends._
Chorus of both.
_Let us love, let us love, and to happiness haste.
Age and wisdom come too fast;
Youth for loving was designed._
He alone. _I'll be constant, you'll be kind._
She alone. _You'll be constant, I'll be kind._
Both. _Heaven can give no greater blessing
Than faithful love, and kind possessing._
[After the Dialogue, a Warlike Concert: The SCENE opens above, and
discovers the Order of the Garter.
_Enter_ HONOUR, _attended by Heroes_.
_Merl._ These, who last entered, are our valiant Britons,
Who shall by sea and land repel our foes.
Now, look above, and in heaven's high abyss,
Behold what fame attends those future heroes.
Honour, who leads them to that steepy height,
In her immortal song shall tell the rest.
HONOUR _sings_.
_St George, the patron of our isle,
A soldier, and a saint,
On that auspicious order smile,
Which love and arms will plant._
_Our natives not alone appear
To court this martial prize;
But foreign kings, adopted here,
Their crowns at home despise._
_Our sovereign high, in awful state,
His honours shall bestow;
And see his sceptered subjects wait
On his commands below._
[A full Chorus of the whole Song: After
which, the grand Dance.
_Arth._ [_To_ MERL.] Wisely you have, whate'er will please, revealed:
What would displease, as wisely have concealed:
Triumphs of war and peace, at full ye show,
But swiftly turn the pages of our woe.
Rest we contented with our present state;
'Tis anxious to enquire of future fate.[24]
That race of heroes is enough alone,
For all unseen disasters to atone.
Let us make haste betimes to reap our share,
And not resign them all the praise of war;
But set the example, and their souls inflame,
To copy out their great forefathers' name. [_Exeunt omnes._
EPILOGUE
SPOKEN BY MRS BRACEGIRDLE.
I've had to-day a dozen billet-doux
From fops, and wits, and cits, and Bow-street beaux;[25]
Some from Whitehall, but from the Temple more;
A Covent-Garden porter brought me four.
I have not yet read all: But, without feigning,
We maids can make shrewd guesses at your meaning.
What if, to shew your styles, I read them here? }
Methinks I hear one cry, "O Lord, forbear! }
No, madam, no; by heaven, that's too severe." }
Well then, be safe----
But swear henceforwards to renounce all writing, }
And take this solemn oath of my inditing,-- }
As you love ease, and hate campaigns and fighting. }
Yet, faith, 'tis just to make some few examples:
What if I shew'd you one or two for samples?
Here's one desires my ladyship to meet
[_Pulls out one._
At the kind couch above in Bridges-Street.
Oh sharping knave! that would have--you know what,
For a poor sneaking treat of chocolate.
Now, in the name of luck, I'll break this open,
[_Pulls out another._
Because I dreamt last night I had a token;
The superscription is exceeding pretty,
--"To the desire of all the town and city."
Now, gallants, you must know, this precious fop
Is foreman of a haberdasher's shop:
One who devoutly cheats; demure in carriage;
And courts me to the holy bands of marriage;
But, with a civil innuendo too,
My overplus of love shall be for you.
"Madam, I swear your looks are so divine,
[_Reads._
When I set up, your face shall be my sign;
Though times are hard--to show how I adore you,
Here's my whole heart, and half-a-guinea for you.
But, have a care of beaux! they're false, my honey;
And, which is worse, have not a rag of money."
See how maliciously the rogue would wrong ye!
But I know better things of some among ye.
My wisest way will be to keep the stage,
And trust to the good-nature of the age:
And he, that likes the music and the play,
Shall be my favourite gallant to-day.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 19: In imitation of the blind man, who said, that "red
resembled the sound of a trumpet."]
[Footnote 20: One virtue ascribed by Odinn to the Runick characters
was, to blunt the weapons of an enemy.]
[Footnote 21: In this Ode is contained all the use which our poet
made of his knowledge of the Saxon manners, gleaned from Bede and
Bochart. It is certain, that the Saxons, like the other Northmen,
used the horrible superstition of human sacrifices. Woden, Freya or
Frigga his wife, and Thor the god of war, were worshipped by the Saxons
with probably the same attributes ascribed to them as in Denmark and
Sweden. The casting of lots is mentioned by Alfred in his version of
Bede, _pluton mid tanum_, "they cast lots with twigs." Much, and most
extensive learning, has been displayed on the subject, by Mr Turner, in
the fourth volume of his Anglo-Saxon History.]
[Footnote 22: This long stage direction contains an attempt to render
interesting what is necessarily ridiculous. With all the assistance
of bloody spunges, a stage combat must be always a ludicrous
representation of a real one. We are content, in old plays, to let it
pass, as a hieroglyphic, which conveys to us the author's meaning;
but modern dramatists would do well to obscure their combats, if the
termination is to be a bloody one.]
[Footnote 23: The Nine Worthies were equally divided among three
religions; namely, Three Pagans, Hector, Pompey, and Alexander the
Great; three Jews, Joshua, David, and Judas Machabæus; and three
Christians, Arthur, Charlemagne, and Godfrey of Boulogne.]
[Footnote 24: In this passage, Dryden's discontent with the existing
circumstances glances out: It is probable, that much was here omitted,
or altered, which would have adorned the termination of the piece,
had it been represented to Charles II. as originally designed by the
author.]
[Footnote 25: With a slight alteration in spelling, a modern poet would
have written _Bond-Street_ beaux. A billet-doux from _Bow-Street_ would
be now more alarming than flattering.]
CLEOMENES,
THE
SPARTAN HERO,
A
TRAGEDY.
TO WHICH IS PREFIXED
THE LIFE OF CLEOMENES,
BY MR THOMAS CREECH.
_His armis, illâ quoque tutus in Aulâ._--JUV. Sat. iv.
CLEOMENES.
There has been occasion to remark, that Dryden seldom avails himself
of national peculiarities, or national _costume_, in sketching his
dramatic personages; the present tragedy forms, however, a remarkable
exception to this general observation. Cleomenes, the last of the
Spartans, is designed, not only as a hero, but as a Lacedemonian; and
is a just picture of that extraordinary race of men, whose virtues
were comprized in patriotism, and whose whole passions centered in
a thirst for military glory. This character Dryden has drawn with
admirable spirit and precision. It was indeed peculiarly suited to his
genius; for, although sometimes deficient in the pathos and natural
expression of violent passion, by which Otway, and even Southerne,
could affect the passions of an audience, he never fails in expressing,
in the most noble language, the sentiments of that stoical philosophy,
which considers sufferings rather as subjects of moral reflection,
than of natural feeling. Yet, lest a character so invulnerable to
the shafts of adversity, so much the _totus teres atque rotundus_ of
the poet, should fail to interest the audience, (for we seldom pity
those who shew no symptoms of feeling their own sorrows,) Dryden has
softened the character of his Spartan hero by the influence of those
chaste and tender domestic affections, which thrive best in bosoms
rendered by nature or philosophy inaccessible to selfish feeling. The
haughty and unbending spirit, the love of war, and thirst of honour
proper to the Lacedemonian, and inculcated by the whole train of his
education, complete the character of Cleomenes. The same spirit, which
animates the father, is finely represented as descending upon the son.
Cleonidas is a model of a Spartan youth; and every slight expression
which he uses, tends to bring out that celebrated character. The idea
of this spirited boy seems to be taken from the excellent character
of Hengo, in the "Bonduca" of Beaumont and Fletcher; whom Cleonidas
resembles in the manner of his death, and in his previous sufferings
by hunger, as well as in his premature courage, and emulation of his
father's military glory.[26] The wife and mother of Cleomenes seem
to be sketched after those of Coriolanus: the former exhibiting a
mild and gentle disposition; the latter, the high-souled magnanimity
of a Spartan matron. Of the other characters, little need be said.
Ptolemy is a silly tyrant, Sosibius a wily minister, and Cleanthes a
friend and confident; such as tyrants, ministers, and confidents in
tragedies usually are. Judging from his first appearance, the author
seems to have intended Pantheus as a character somewhat in contrast to
that of Cleomenes; but he soon tires of the task of discrimination,
and Pantheus sinks into a mere assistant. Cassandra is not sketched
with any peculiar care; her snares are of a nature not very perilous
to Spartan virtue, for her manners are too openly licentious. Such,
however, as are fond of tracing the ideas of poets to those who have
written before them, may consider Cassandra,--in her pride, her love,
and her alternate schemes for saving and destroying Cleomenes,--as
furnishing the original hint of the much more highly finished character
of Zara in Congreve's "Mourning Bride."
The conduct of the piece, being calculated to evince the Spartan
virtue, patience, and courage, contains a long train of hopes
disappointed, seducing temptations resisted, sufferings patiently
endured, and finally closed by a voluntary death. There is no
particular object to which the attention of the audience is fixed, as
that upon which the conclusion of the piece necessarily depends. The
liberation of Cleomenes from his Egyptian bondage is doubtless the
consummation concerning which the poet meant that we should be anxious;
but this event might be brought about in so many different ways, and,
if accomplished, brings Cleomenes so little nearer to the restoration
of Spartan liberty, that it is perhaps insufficient to excite that
strong, concentrated, and vivid interest, which the plot of a drama
ought properly to inspire. The mind is distracted among the various
possibilities by which the desired catastrophe might be accomplished;
and feels a consciousness, that even were Cleomenes dismissed with full
sails from the port of Alexandria, it would be rather the beginning
than the winding up of his history. For these reasons, the plot seems
more deficient in interest than might have been expected, from the
spirited delineation of the principal character.
It appears that Dryden was unable, from illness, to put the finishing
strokes to "Cleomenes." That task he committed to Southerne, now his
intimate friend, and who, as may be easily imagined, felt himself
much honoured by the task imposed upon him.[27] The half of the fifth
act was that upon which Southerne exercised this power of revisal and
finishing; for that it amounted to no more, will, I think, be obvious
to any who takes the trouble to compare that act with those which
precede it. The rabble-scene, introduced, as the poet himself tells
us, to gratify the more barbarous part of his audience, is indeed
deplorably bad.
The play, when presented to the theatre, met with unexpected opposition
from the government, then directed by Queen Mary, in the absence of
her husband. This was not very surprising, considering the subject
of the play, and Dryden's well-known principles. The history of an
exiled monarch, soliciting, in the court of an ally, aid to relieve his
country from a foreign yoke, and to restore him to the throne of his
fathers, with the account of a popular insurrection undertaken for the
same purposes, were delicate themes during the reign of William III.;
at least, when the pen of Dryden was to be employed in them, whose
well-known skill at adapting an ancient story to a modern moral had
so often been exercised in the cause of the house of Stuart. Besides,
he had already given offence by his prologue to the "Prophetess,"
when revived, which contains some familiar metaphorical sneers, as
Cibber calls them, at the Irish war, the female regency, and even the
Revolution itself. This prologue had been forbidden; and a similar
exertion of authority was deemed fit in the case of "Cleomenes."
Accordingly, before the inoffensive nature of the piece could be
explained, the court took alarm at the subject in the abstract, and
the performance of the piece was prohibited by the Chamberlain.[28] It
appears, the exertions of Lord Rochester, the maternal uncle of Queen
Mary, and of his family, had been sufficiently powerful to guarantee
the harmless nature of the play, and to procure a recal of the mandate,
by which the acting of the piece, and the consequent profits of the
author, had been for some time suspended.
When the play was performed, our author had the satisfaction to see the
first character admirably represented by the well-known Mrs Barry, to
whom he has paid, in the preface, the splendid compliment of saying,
"that she had gained by her performance a reputation beyond any woman
he had ever seen on the theatre."[29] If this expression, as Cibber
seems to think, be a little over-stretched, it at least serves to prove
to us, that the play was well received; for, otherwise, the intercourse
of civility between the author and performers is generally very slender.
Cleomenes was acted and published in 1692.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 26: The whole passage is so very fine, that I think I may
venture to extract it from this beautiful and forgotten tragedy.
Caratach and Hengo, the uncle and nephew, are besieged on a rock by the
Romans, and reduced to extremity by hunger. They are decoyed by some
food, hung on a rock by the centurion Judas.
CARATACH _and_ HENGO _on the rock_.
_Caratach._ Courage, my boy! I have found meat: Look, Hengo,
Look where some blessed Briton, to preserve thee,
Was hung a little food and drink; cheer up, boy,
Do not forsake me now!
_Hengo._ Oh uncle, uncle,
I feel I cannot stay long; yet I'll fetch it,
To keep your noble life. Uncle, I'm heart-whole,
And would live.
_Car._ Thou shalt, long, I hope.
_Hengo._ But my head, uncle!
Methinks the rock goes round.
_Enter, below_, MACER _and_ JUDAS, _Romans_.
_Macer._ Mark them well, Judas.
_Judas._ Peace, as you love your life.
_Hengo._ Do not you hear
The noise of bells?
_Car._ Of bells, boy? 'tis thy fancy;
Alas, thy body's full of wind!
_Hengo._ Methinks, sir,
They ring a strange sad knell, a preparation
To some near funeral of state.--Nay, weep not,
Mine own sweet uncle; you will kill me sooner.
_Car._ Oh, my poor chicken!
_Hengo._ Fie, faint-hearted uncle!
Come, tie me in your belt, and let me down.
_Car._ I'll go myself, boy.
_Hengo._ No, as you love me, uncle;
I will not eat it, if I do not fetch it;
The danger only I desire: pray tie me.
_Car._ I will, and all my care hang o'er thee! Come, child,
My valiant child.
_Hengo._ Let me down apace, uncle;
And you shall see how, like a daw, I'll whip it
From all their policies; for 'tis most certain
A Roman train; and you must hold me sure too;
You'll spoil all else. When I have brought it, uncle,
We'll be as merry----
_Car._ Go, in the name of heaven, boy.--
[_Lets him down._
_Hengo._ Quick, quick, good uncle! I have it--Oh!
[JUDAS _shoots_ HENGO.
_Car._ What ailest thou?
_Hengo._ Oh, my best uncle, I am slain!
_Car._ I see you,
And heaven direct my hand.--
[_He kills_ JUDAS _with a stone_.
Destruction
Go with thy coward soul!--How dost thou, boy?--
Oh villain, pocky villain!
_Hengo._ Oh, uncle, uncle,
Oh how it pricks me! Am I preserved for this?
Extremely pricks me.
_Car._ Coward, rascal coward!
Dogs eat thy flesh!
_Hengo._ Oh, I bleed hard! I faint too; out upon't,
How sick I am!--the lean rogue, uncle!
_Car._ Look, boy;
I've laid him sure enough.
_Hengo._ Have you knocked his brains out?
_Car._ I warrant thee, for stirring more; cheer up, child.
_Hengo._ Hold my sides hard; stop, stop; oh, wretched fortune,
Must we part thus? Still I grow sicker, uncle.
_Car._ Heaven look upon this noble child!
_Hengo._ I once hoped
I should have lived to have met these bloody Romans
At my sword's point, to have revenged my father,
To have beaten them. Oh hold me hard!--but, uncle--
_Car._ Thou shalt live still, I hope, boy. Shall I draw it?
_Hengo._ You draw away my soul, then. I would live
A little longer; spare me, heavens! but only
To thank you for your tender love. Good uncle,
Good noble uncle, weep not.
_Car._ Oh my chicken,
My dear boy, what shall I lose!
_Hengo._ Why, a child
That must have died however; had this 'scaped me,
Fever or famine. I was born to die, sir.
_Car._ But thus unblown, my boy?
_Hengo._ I go the straighter
My journey to the Gods. Sure I shall know you
When you come, uncle?
_Car._ Yes, boy.
_Hengo._ And I hope
We shall enjoy together that great blessedness
You told me of?
_Car._ Most certain, child.
_Hengo._ I grow cold;
Mine eyes are going.
_Car._ Lift them up.
_Hengo._ Pray for me--
And, noble uncle, when my bones are ashes,
Think of your little nephew! mercy!--
_Car._ Mercy!
You blessed angels, take him!
_Hengo._ Kiss me--so--
Farewell, farewell!
[_Dies._
_Car._ Farewell the hopes of Britain!
Thou royal graft, farewell for ever!--Time and death,
Ye've done your worst. Fortune, now see, now proudly
Pluck off thy veil, and view thy triumph; look,
Look what thou hast brought this land to.--Oh, fair flower,
How lovely yet thy ruins show! how sweetly
Even death embraces thee! The peace of heaven,
The fellowship of all great souls, be with thee!
_The Tragedy of Bonduca_, act v.
This extract is perhaps longer than necessary; but, independently of
its extreme beauty, it serves to justify the observation in the text,
that Dryden had the recollection of Hengo strongly in his memory while
composing the character of Cleonidas. Both are extenuated by hunger,
and both killed insidiously by a cowardly enemy; and the reader will
discover more minute resemblances to the very dialogue of Beaumont and
Fletcher on perusing p. 209, and pp. 324, 325. I do Dryden no injury in
ascribing a decided superiority to the more ancient dramatists.]
[Footnote 27: This fact is ascertained by the following passage in the
Dedication of Southerne's play, called the "Wife's Excuse," to the
Honourable Thomas Wharton.
"These, sir, are capital objections against me; but they hit very few
faults, nor have they mortified me into a despair of pleasing the more
reasonable part of mankind. If Mr Dryden's judgment goes for any thing,
I have it on my side; for, speaking of this play, he has publicly said,
"the town was kind to Sir Anthony Love; I needed them only to be just
to this;" and to prove there was more than friendship in his opinion,
upon the credit of this play with him, falling sick last summer, he
bequeathed to my care the half of the last act of his tragedy of
"Cleomenes;" which, when it comes into the world, you will find to be
so considerable a trust, that all the town will pardon me for defending
this play, that preferred me to it. If modesty be sometimes a weakness,
what I say can hardly be a crime: in a fair English trial, both parties
are allowed to be heard; and, without this vanity of mentioning Mr
Dryden, I had lost the best evidence of my cause."
I cannot but remark a material difference between this quotation, as
here quoted from the 8vo edition of Southerne's Plays, 1774, and as
quoted by Mr Malone, who reads "_the fifth act_," instead of "_the
half_ of the fifth _act_."]
[Footnote 28: Motteux, in the "Gentleman's Journal," has announced the
prohibition of Cleomenes, and its removal, in a remarkable passage
quoted by Mr Malone.
"I was in hopes to have given you in this letter an account of the
acting of Dryden's "Cleomenes:" it was to have appeared upon the stage
on Saturday last, and you need not doubt but that the town was big with
the expectation of the performance; but orders came from her Majesty to
hinder its being acted; so that none can tell when it shall be played."
"I told you in my last," says the same writer in the following month,
"that none could tell when Mr Dryden's "Cleomenes" would appear. Since
that time, the innocence and merit of the play have raised it several
eminent advocates, who have prevailed to have it acted; and you need
not doubt but it has been with great applause."]
[Footnote 29: Cibber has thus described Mrs Barry at the time when she
was honoured by this high compliment from Dryden:
"Mrs Barry was then (in 1690) in possession of almost all the chief
parts in tragedy: With what skill she gave life to them, you may judge
from the words of Dryden in his preface to "Cleomenes." I perfectly
remember her acting that part; and, however unnecessary it may seem
to give my judgement after Dryden's, I cannot help saying, I do not
only close with his opinion, but will venture to add, that though
Dryden has been dead these thirty-eight years, the same compliment to
this hour may be due to her excellence. And though she was then not a
little past her youth, she was not till that time fully arrived to her
maturity of power and judgment. From whence I would observe, that the
short life of beauty is not long enough to form a complete actress.
In men, the delicacy of person is not so absolutely necessary, nor
the decline of it so soon taken notice of. The fame Mrs Barry arrived
at, is a particular proof of the difficulty there is in judging with
certainty from their first trials, whether young people will ever make
any great figure in a theatre. There was, it seems, so little hope of
Mrs Barry at her first setting out, that she was at the end of the
first year discharged the company, among others that were thought to
be a useless expence to it. I take it for granted, that the objection
to Mrs Barry at that time must have been a defective ear, or some
unskilful dissonance in her manner of pronouncing. But where there is
a proper voice and person, with the addition of a good understanding,
experience tells us, that such defect is not always invincible; of
which not only Mrs Barry, but the late Mrs Oldfield, are eminent
instances,--Mrs Barry, in characters of greatness, had a presence of
elevated dignity; her mien and motion superb, and gracefully majestic;
her voice full, clear, and strong, so that no violence of passion
could be too much for her; and when distress or tenderness possessed
her, she subsided into the most affecting melody and softness. In
the art of exciting pity, she had a power beyond all the actresses I
have yet seen, or what your imagination can conceive. Of the former
of these two great excellencies, she gave the most delightful proofs
in almost all the heroic plays of Dryden and Lee; and of the latter,
in the softer passions of Otway's Monimia and Belvidera. In scenes of
anger, defiance, or resentment, while she was impetuous and terrible,
she poured out the sentiment with an enchanting harmony; and it was
this particular excellence for which Dryden made her the above-recited
compliment upon her acting Cassandra in his "Cleomenes." But here I
am apt to think his partiality for that character may have tempted
his judgment to let it pass for her master-piece, when he could not
but know there are several other characters in which her action might
have given her a fairer pretence to the praise he has bestowed upon
her for Cassandra: for in no part of that is there the least ground
for compassion, as in Monimia; nor equal cause for admiration, as in
the nobler love of Cleopatra, or the tempestuous jealousy of Roxana.
'Twas in these lights I thought Mrs Barry shone with a much brighter
excellence than in Cassandra. She was the first person whose merit
was distinguished by the indulgence of having an annual benefit-play,
which was granted to her alone, if I mistake not, first in King James's
time; and which became not common to others, till the division of
this company after the death of King William's Queen Mary. This great
actress died of a fever towards the latter end of Queen Anne; the year
I have forgot, but perhaps you will recollect it by an expression
that fell from her in blank verse, in her last hours, when she was
delirious, viz.
Ha, ha! and so they make us lords by dozens!"
"And yet (says Antony Aston, in his curious 'Supplement to Cibber's
work,') this fine creature was not handsome, her mouth opening most
on the right side, which she strove to draw t'other way, and at times
composing her face, as if sitting to have her picture drawn. Mrs Barry
was middle-sized, and had darkish hair, light eyes, dark eye-brows, and
was indifferently plump. She had a manner of drawing out her words,
which became her, but not Mrs Bradshaw and Mrs Porter, her successors.
Neither she, nor any of the actresses of those times, had any tone in
their speech, so much lately in use. In tragedy she was solemn and
august; in free comedy, alert, easy, and genteel; pleasant in her face
and action; filling the stage with variety of gesture. She was woman to
Lady Shelton, of Norfolk, (my godmother,) when Lord Rochester took her
on the stage, where for some time they could make nothing of her. She
could neither sing nor dance, no not in a country-dance."--MALONE, Vol.
III. p. 227.]
TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE EARL OF ROCHESTER,
KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, &c[30].
It is enough for your lordship to be conscious to yourself of having
performed a just and honourable action, in redeeming this play from
the persecution of my enemies; but it would be ingratitude in me, not
to publish it to the world. That it has appeared on the stage, is
principally owing to you: that it has succeeded, is the approbation of
your judgment by that of the public. It is just the inversion of an act
of parliament: Your lordship first signed it, and then it was passed
amongst the Lords and Commons. The children of old men are generally
observed to be short-lived, and of a weakly constitution. How this may
prove, I know not, but hitherto it has promised well; and if it survive
to posterity, it will carry the noble fame of its patron along with
it; or, rather, it will be carried by yours to after-ages. Ariosto, in
his Voyage of Astolpho to the Moon, has given us a fine allegory of
two swans; who, when Time had thrown the writings of many poets into
the river of oblivion, were ever in a readiness to secure the best,
and bear them aloft into the temple of immortality.[31] Whether this
poem be of that number, is left to the judgment of the swan who has
preserved it; and, though I can claim little from his justice, I may
presume to value myself upon his charity. It will be told me, that I
have mistaken the Italian poet, who means only, that some excellent
writers, almost as few in number as the swans, have rescued the memory
of their patrons from forgetfulness and time; when a vast multitude of
crows and vultures, that is, bad scribblers, parasites, and flatterers,
oppressed by the weight of the names which they endeavoured to redeem,
were forced to let them fall into Lethe, where they were lost for ever.
If it be thus, my lord, the table would be turned upon me; but I should
only fail in my vain attempt; for, either some immortal swan will be
more capable of sustaining such a weight, or you, who have so long been
conversant in the management of great affairs, are able with your pen
to do justice to yourself, and, at the same time, to give the nation
a clearer and more faithful insight into those transactions, wherein
you have worthily sustained so great a part; for, to your experience
in state affairs, you have also joined no vulgar erudition, which all
your modesty is not able to conceal: for, to understand critically the
delicacies of Horace, is a height to which few of our noblemen have
arrived; and that this is your deserved commendation, I am a living
evidence, as far, at least, as I can be allowed a competent judge on
that subject. Your affection to that admirable Ode, which Horace writes
to his Mecænas, and which I had the honour to inscribe to you, is not
the only proof of this assertion[32]. You may please to remember that,
in the late happy conversation which I had with your lordship at a
noble relation's of yours, you took me aside, and pleased yourself
with repeating to me one of the most beautiful pieces in that author.
It was the Ode to Barine, wherein you were so particularly affected
with that elegant expression, _Juvenumque prodis publica cura_. There
is indeed the virtue of a whole poem in those words; that _curiosa
felicitas_, which Petronius so justly ascribes to our author. The
barbarity of our language is not able to reach it; yet, when I have
leisure, I mean to try how near I can raise my English to his Latin;
though, in the mean time, I cannot but imagine to myself, with what
scorn his sacred _manes_ would look on so lame a translation as I could
make. His _recalcitrat undique tutus_ might more easily be applied to
me, than he himself applied it to Augustus Cæsar. I ought to reckon
that day as very fortunate to me, and distinguish it, as the ancients
did, with a whiter stone; because it furnished me with an occasion
of reading my Cleomenes to a beautiful assembly of ladies, where
your lordship's three fair daughters were pleased to grace it with
their presence[33]; and, if I may have leave to single out any one in
particular, there was your admirable daughter-in-law, shining, not
like a star, but a constellation of herself, a more true and brighter
Berenice. Then it was, that, whether out of your own partiality, and
indulgence to my writings, or out of complaisance to the fair company,
who gave the first good omen to my success by their approbation, your
lordship was pleased to add your own, and afterwards to represent
it to the queen, as wholly innocent of those crimes which were laid
unjustly to its charge. Neither am I to forget my charming patroness,
though she will not allow my public address to her in a dedication, but
protects me unseen, like my guardian-angel, and shuns my gratitude,
like a fairy, who is bountiful by stealth, and conceals the giver when
she bestows the gift; but, my Lady Silvius[34] has been juster to me,
and pointed out the goddess at whose altar I was to pay my sacrifice
and thanks-offering; and, had she been silent, yet my Lord Chamberlain
himself, in restoring my play without any alteration, avowed to me,
that I had the most earnest solicitress, as well as the fairest, and
that nothing could be refused to my Lady Hyde.
These favours, my lord, received from yourself, and your noble family,
have encouraged me to this dedication; wherein I not only give you
back a play, which, had you not redeemed it, had not been mine; but
also, at the same time, dedicate to you the unworthy author, with my
inviolable faith, and (how mean soever) my utmost service; and I shall
be proud to hold my dependance on you in chief, as I do part of my
small fortune in Wiltshire. Your goodness has not been wanting to me
during the reign of my two masters; and, even from a bare treasury, my
success has been contrary to that of Mr Cowley; and Gideon's fleece has
then been moistened, when all the ground has been dry about it[35].
Such and so many provocations of this nature have concurred to my
invading of your modesty with this address. I am sensible that it is
in a manner forced upon you; but your lordship has been the aggressor
in this quarrel, by so many favours, which you were not weary of
conferring on me, though, at the same time, I own the ambition on my
side, to be ever esteemed,
Your Lordship's most thankful,
And most obedient Servant,
JOHN DRYDEN.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 30: Dryden had already distinguished Hyde, Earl of Rochester,
by inscribing "The Duke of Guise" to him. As he was son of the famous
Lord Clarendon, he was, of course, uncle to Queen Mary, by the mother's
side, and his protection continued therefore to be respectable,
although his political tenets were strongly Jacobitical.]
[Footnote 31: See the end of the 34th and beginning of the 35th canto
of the "Orlando Furioso."]
[Footnote 32: The 29th Ode of the First Book. See it among our author's
translations from Horace.]
[Footnote 33: These ladies, Mr Malone supposes to be Lord Rochester's
two daughters, Henrietta Lady Dalkeith, and Mary Lady Conway, with his
daughter-in-law Lady Hyde, the Berenice who is mentioned presently
afterward. The Duchess of Ormond, eldest daughter of the Earl, died in
1685, and therefore could not be of the number.]
[Footnote 34: Lady Silvius was the wife of Sir Gabriel Silvius,
employed upon various occasions as an English envoy on the Continent.]
[Footnote 35:
"As a fair morning of the blessed spring,
After a tedious stormy night,
Such was the glorious entry of our King;
Enriching moisture dropp'd on every thing;
Plenty he sow'd below, and cast about him light.
But then, alas! to thee alone
One of old Gideon's miracles was shewn,
For every tree and every herb around
With pearly dew was crown'd;
And upon all the quicken'd ground
The fruitful seed of heaven did brooding lie,
And nothing but the Muses' fleece was dry."]
PREFACE.
It is now seven or eight years since I designed to write this play of
"Cleomenes;" and my Lord Falkland[36], (whose name I cannot mention
without honour, for the many favours I have received from him) is
pleased to witness for me, that, in a French book which I presented
him about that time, there were the names of many subjects that I had
thought on for the stage, amongst which this tragedy was one. This
was out of my remembrance; but my lord, on the occasion of stopping
my play, took the opportunity of doing me a good office at court, by
representing it as it was, a piece long ago designed; which being
judiciously treated, I thought was capable of moving compassion on the
stage. The success has justified my opinion; and that at a time when
the world is running mad after Farce, the extremity of bad poetry, or
rather the judgment that is fallen upon dramatic writing. Were I in the
humour, I have sufficient cause to expose it in its true colours; but,
having for once escaped, I will forbear my satire, and only be thankful
for my deliverance. A great part of my good fortune, I must confess,
is owing to the justice which was done me in the performance. I can
scarcely refrain from giving every one of the actors their particular
commendations; but none of them will be offended, if I say what the
town has generally granted, that Mrs Barry, always excellent, has, in
this tragedy, excelled herself, and gained a reputation beyond any
woman whom I have ever seen on the theatre. After all, it was a bold
attempt of mine, to write upon a single plot, unmixed with comedy;
which, though it be the natural and true way, yet is not to the genius
of the nation. Yet, to gratify the barbarous party of my audience, I
gave them a short rabble-scene, because the mob (as they call them)
are represented by Plutarch and Polybius, with the same character of
baseness and cowardice, which are here described in the last attempt of
"Cleomenes." They may thank me, if they please, for this indulgence;
for no French poet would have allowed them any more than a bare
relation of that scene, which debases a tragedy to show upon the stage.
For the rest, some of the mechanic rules of unity are observed, and
others are neglected. The action is but one, which is the death of
Cleomenes; and every scene in the play is tending to the accomplishment
of the main design. The place is likewise one; for, it is all in the
compass of Alexandria, and the port of that city. The time might easily
have been reduced into the space of twenty-four hours, if I would have
omitted the scene of famine in the fifth act; but it pleased me to try
how Spartans could endure it; and, besides, gave me the occasion of
writing that other scene, betwixt Cleomenes and his suspected friend;
and, in such a case, it is better to trespass on a rule, than leave out
a beauty.
As for other objections, I never heard any worth answering; and, least
of all, that foolish one which is raised against me by the sparks, for
Cleomenes not accepting the favours of Cassandra. They would not have
refused a fair lady! I grant they would not; but, let them grant me,
that they are not heroes; and so much for the point of honour[37]. A
man might have pleaded an excuse for himself, if he had been false
to an old wife, for the sake of a young mistress; but Cleora was in
the flower of her age, and it was yet but honey-moon with Cleomenes;
and so much for nature. Some have told me, that many of the fair sex
complain for want of tender scenes, and soft expressions of love. I
will endeavour to make them some amends, if I write again, and my next
hero shall be no Spartan.
I know it will be here expected, that I should write somewhat
concerning the forbidding of my play; but, the less I say of it, the
better. And, besides, I was so little concerned at it, that, had it not
been on consideration of the actors, who were to suffer on my account,
I should not have been at all solicitous whether it were played or
no. Nobody can imagine that, in my declining age, I write willingly,
or that I am desirous of exposing, at this time of day, the small
reputation which I have gotten on the theatre. The subsistence which I
had from the former government is lost; and the reward I have from the
stage is so little, that it is not worth my labour.
As for the reasons which were given for suspending the play, it seems
they were so ill-founded, that my Lord Chamberlain no sooner took the
pains to read it, but they vanished; and my copy was restored to me,
without the least alteration by his lordship. It is printed as it was
acted; and, I dare assure you, that here is no parallel to be found:
it is neither compliment, nor satire; but a plain story, more strictly
followed than any which has appeared upon the stage. It is true, it had
been garbled before by the superiors of the play-house; and I cannot
reasonably blame them for their caution, because they are answerable
for any thing that is publicly represented; and their zeal for the
government is such, that they had rather lose the best poetry in the
world, than give the least suspicion of their loyalty. The short is,
that they were diligent enough to make sure work, and to geld it so
clearly in some places, that they took away the very manhood of it. I
can only apply to them, what Cassandra says somewhere in the play to
Ptolemy;
To be so nice in my concerns for you;
To doubt where doubts are not; to be too fearful;
To raise a bug-bear shadow of a danger;
And then be frighted, though it cannot reach you.
But, since it concerns me to be as circumspect as they are, I have
given leave to my bookseller to print the life of Cleomenes, as
it is elegantly and faithfully translated out of Plutarch, by my
learned friend, Mr Creech, to whom the world has been indebted for
his excellent version of Lucretius, and I particularly obliged in his
translation of Horace[38]. We daily expect Manilius from him, an author
worthy only of such hands; which, having formerly revealed the secrets
of nature to us here on earth, is now discovering to us her palace in
the skies, and, if I might be allowed to say it, giving light to the
stars of heaven:
_Ergò vivida vis animi pervicit, et extra
Processit longè flammantia moenia mundi._[39]
But, to return to Plutarch: you will find him particularly fond of
Cleomenes his character; who, as he was the last of the Spartan heroes,
so he was, in my opinion, the greatest. Even his enemy, Polybius,
though engaged in the contrary faction, yet speaks honourably of him,
and especially of his last action in Egypt. This author is also made
English, and will shortly be published for the common benefit[40].
What I have added to the story, is chiefly the love of Agathoclea, the
king's mistress, whose name I have changed into Cassandra, only for
the better sound; as I have also the name of Nicagoras, into that of
Cœnus, for the same reason. Cratesiclæa, Pantheus, and Sosybius, are to
be found in the story, with the same characters which they have in the
tragedy. There is likewise mention made of the son of Cleomenes, who
had resolution enough to throw himself headlong from a tower, when he
had heard of his father's ill success. And for Cleora, whom I make the
second wife of Cleomenes, (for Ægiatis was dead before) you will find a
hint of her in Plutarch; for, he tells us, that after the loss of the
battle at Sellasia, he returned to Sparta, and, entering his own house,
was there attended by a free-born woman of Megalopolis.
The picture of Ptolemy Philopater is given by the fore-mentioned
authors to the full. Both agree that he was an original of his kind; a
lazy, effeminate, cowardly, cruel, and luxurious prince, managed by his
favourite, and imposed on by his mistress. The son of Sosybius, whom I
call Cleanthes, was a friend to Cleomenes; but, Plutarch says, he at
length forsook him. I have given him a fairer character, and made it
only a seeming treachery, which he practised. If any be so curious to
enquire what became of Cassandra, whose fortune was left in suspence at
the conclusion of the play, I must first inform them, that, after the
death of Cleomenes, (the hero of my poem) I was obliged by the laws of
the drama, to let fall the curtain immediately, because the action was
then concluded. But Polybius tells us, that she survived Ptolemy, who
reigned about twenty-seven years; that, with her brother Agathocles,
she governed Egypt in the minority of his son Ptolemy Epiphanes; and
that, finally, for oppressing of the people, both the brother and
sister were slain in a popular insurrection.
There is nothing remaining, but my thanks to the town in general,
and to the fair ladies in particular, for their kind reception of my
play. And, though I cannot retract what I said before, that I was not
much concerned, in my own particular, for the embargo which was laid
upon it, yet I think myself obliged, at the same time, to render my
acknowledgments to those honourable persons, who were instrumental
in the freeing it; for, as it was from a principle of nobleness in
them, that they would not suffer one to want, who was grown old in
their service, so, it is from a principle of another sort, that I have
learned to possess my soul in patience, and not to be much disquieted
with any disappointment of this nature.
[_The following verses were sent me by a young gentleman, under
twenty years of age, whose modesty would have concealed his name;
but I learned it from another hand, and have taken the boldness
to subscribe it without his leave. I presume that, on the reading
of them, nobody can blame me for making Cleonidas speak above his
youth, when you see an Englishman so far surpassing my Spartan._]
TO MR DRYDEN ON HIS CLEOMENES.
Has youth then lost its great prerogative?
And does the soul alone for age survive?
Like embryos sleeping in their seeds, seem nought,
'Till friendly time does ripen it to thought?
Judgment, experience, that before was theirs:
But fancy wantons still in younger spheres;
Played with some loose and scattered beams of light,
And revelled in an anarchy of wit.
Both youth and age unequally did charm;
As much too cold was this, as that too warm.
But you have reconciled their differing praise,
By fixing both to your immortal bays;
Where Fancy mounts, but Judgment holds the reins,
Not checks, but guides you to harmonious strains.
'Tis harmony indeed, 'tis all unite,
Like finished nature, and divided light:
Like the vast order, and its numerous throng, }
Crowded to their Almighty Maker's song; }
Where heaven and earth seem but one single tongue. }
O wond'rous man! where have you learned the art,
To charm our reason, while you wound the heart?
Far more than Spartan morals to inspire,
While your great accents kindle Spartan fire?
Thus metals, heated to the artist's will,
Receive the impression of a nobler skill.
Your hero formed so regularly good,
So nicely patient in his want of food,
That it no more _th' undress_ of death appears,
While the rich garment of your sense it wears,
So just a husband, father, son, and friend,
Great in his life, but greater in his end;
That sure, like Xenophon, you meant to shew }
Not what they are, but what they ought to do; }
At once a poet, and instructor too. }
The parts so managed, as if each were thine; }
Thou draw'st both ore and metal from the mine; }
And, to be seen, thou mak'st even vice to shine: }
As if, like Siam's transmigrating god,
A single life in each you made abode;
And the whole business of the tedious round,
To copy patterns which in each you found.
Sure you have gained from heaven Promethean fire,
To form, then kindle souls into desire:
Else why successive starts of hopes and fears,
A martial warmth first raised, then quenched with tears?
Unless this truth shines clearly through the whole,
Sense rules the world, but you command the soul.
THEOPHILUS PARSONS.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 36: Anthony, fourth Lord Viscount Falkland, succeeded to
that title by the death of his father in 1664. He was a person of wit
and honour, as the phrase then was; a character which he maintained by
writing prologues, and occasional verses, as well as by keeping company
with men of more genius than his own. He died in 1694.]
[Footnote 37: This objection and answer are stated by Steele to have
taken place in an extempore conversation betwixt Dryden and a young
beau just come from the representation of "Cleomenes."--See the
_Guardian_, No. 45. The retort may doubtless have been first made by
the poet in this manner; but it is more probable that Steele either had
an inaccurate recollection of the passage, or thought it had a more
lively effect when thrown into dialogue.]
[Footnote 38: The enemies of Dryden, imputing to him the pitiful
jealousy of which they were probably themselves conscious, pretended,
that, envious of the reputation which Creech acquired by his
translation of Lucretius, Dryden insidiously pushed him on to attempt
a version of Horace, a task for which he was totally unfit, and by
which he forfeited all the credit he had gained. The accusation is thus
stated by Tom Brown, and may serve for a specimen of the under-bred
petulance in which he indulges.
_Bays._ "I have a certain profound stratagem still behind, my _Sacra
Anchora_ I call it, which is only to be made use of upon extraordinary
occasions, and which I was never forced to employ but once in my time,
and is as follows: When any young author has been so fortunate in his
first undertaking, as to win himself the applause of all the world, so
that 'tis impossible for one to ruin his reputation, without running
the hazard of having his throat cut by all sort of company, I am as
forward as the best of them all to commend his ingenuity, to extol his
parts, and promise him a copy of verses before his book, if he honours
the world with a second edition.
_Crites._ "Very good.
_Bays._ "At the same time I privately feel his pulse, and examine the
nature, and inclination of the beast. If he chances to be a little
saturnine like myself, I set him upon a gay undertaking, where 'tis
the devil and all of ill luck if he does not ship-wreck all his former
credit. But, if he proves a man of a brisk and jolly temper, I persuade
him of all loves to make an experiment of his abilities upon some
serious solemn subject; tell him, if ever he expects to be saved, he
must out of hand do justice to the Psalms and Canticles, which work
he's as incapable to manage, egad, as little David was to fight in
Saul's armour. Thus, gentlemen, by engaging the author in a province,
where he has not stock enough to carry on the plantation, I never fail
one way or other to compass my designs, and, at long-run, to defeat my
competitor.
_Crites._ "Why, Mr Bays, this is like enjoining a painter, that has a
good fancy at drawing of Saracens' heads, and grotesque figures only,
to draw you a Venus or an Adonis, where he must certainly miscarry.
Now, I am apt to fancy you trepanned the honest translator of Lucretius
with this profound piece of policy: Come, confess the truth, man; did
you not?
_Bays._ "You could not have guessed better, Mr Crites, if you had dived
into my diaphragma for the secret. It was not in my power, you must
know, either to suppress the work, or to discommend it; because, to
give the gentleman his due, it was performed beyond all expectation,
and, what was a mighty matter, it suited as pat as might be with the
philosophy of the town that was then in fashion. Now, to undermine
and ruin him to all intents and purposes, I took these measures. I
flatter, hug, and caress him, like an Achitophel as I was; after the
strangest manner imaginable, profess all the respect and friendship in
the world for him; tell him that providence had certainly reserved him
for working miracles in poetry; and that I had some ancient prophecies
by me at home, which declared him to be the very person that was to
deliver the immortal writers of former ages out of that Algerine
captivity they had so long laboured under--
_Crites._ "Well, for daubing and wheedling, I'll let thee loose to any
poet in Christendom."
_Bays._ "That, if by his mighty feat he could form those Irish atoms
of Lucretius into so regular, and well-disciplined an army, could
raise such harmony out of a dull unmusical philosopher, how glorious
and exalted would his attempts be upon Horace, or what might we not
expect from so advantageous, so promising an undertaking. And so,
gentlemen, with the help of a little incense and flattery, I so cajoled
this Æsop's crow, that he presently dropt his Epicurean cheese out of
his mouth, to sing one of his unmusical ill-turned Odes of Horace.
I persuaded this Welch courser to leave his ragged unaccessible
precipices, where there was no coming after him, to try his strength
and feet upon good plain ground, where an English vinegar horse, I
knew, would easily distance him." _The Reasons of Mr Bayes changing his
Religion considered in a Dialogue._
Shields, or whoever wrote Creech's Life, in the collection to which
Theophilus Cibber gave his name, has not only adopted this tale of
scandal, but has added, that the great contempt expressed by Dryden for
the translation of Horace, gave the author a shock, from which he never
recovered, and, in short, occasioned his falling into low-spirits, and
finally committing suicide. The passage, to which this note refers, is
sufficient to clear our author from so gross and scandalous a reproach.
It shews that after the publication of Creech's Horace he continued,
in the most public manner, not only to speak kindly and respectfully
of the translator, but to stimulate him to new exertions. It is hence
evident, that no breach of friendship took place between them on this
occasion; far less could Dryden have driven him to despair by harshness
or contempt. The inference, that Dryden urged Creech to attempt Horace,
because he foresaw his failure, seems the unfounded deduction of
calumny and envy. In the dedication to the Translation of Horace, which
is addressed to our author, Creech himself bears the following strong
testimony to the liberality of Dryden's sentiments.
"'Tis you, sir, that have advanced our dramatic to its height, and
showed that epic poetry is not confined to Italy and Greece. That you
are honoured by the best, and envied by others, proclaims excellency
and worth; for, true honour is built only upon perfection; and envy, as
it is as sharp sighted, so 'tis as soaring as an eagle; and who ever
saw it stoop at a sparrow or a wren? and that candour and goodness have
the greatest share in your composition, I dare appeal to every one whom
you have any way favoured with your conversation; these so fill your
mind, that there is no room left for pride, or any disobliging quality.
This appears from the encouragement you are ready to give any tolerable
attempts, and reach out a helping hand to all those who endeavour to
climb that height where you are already seated. Even this owes its
completion to those smiles which you condescended to bestow upon some
parts of it, and now ventures to appear a _second_ time, where at first
it found a favourable entertainment."
The reader will observe that this dedication is prefixed to the
_second_ edition of the Translation of Horace; a circumstance which
confutes the assertion that Dryden ridiculed the work, and indeed the
whole of a tale, so malignantly invented by slander, and repeated by
credulity.]
[Footnote 39: Marcus Manilius, a poet of the Augustan age, wrote the
poem on astronomy, to which Dryden refers.]
[Footnote 40: Sir Henry Shere published his Translation of Polybius in
1692-3, in two volumes, 8vo., to which there was prefixed a character
of the author, and of his writings, by Dryden.]
THE
LIFE OF CLEOMENES,
TRANSLATED FROM PLUTARCH
BY
MR THOMAS CREECH.
Thus fell Agis. His brother Archidamus was too quick for Leonidas, and
saved himself by a timely retreat. But his wife then newly brought to
bed, the tyrant forced her from her own house, and compelled her to
marry his son Cleomenes, though at that time too young for a wife; for
he was unwilling that any one else should have her, she being heiress
to her father Gylippus's great estate; for person, the finest woman in
all Greece, very good-natured, of an exemplary life; and therefore,
they say, she did all she could, that she might not be compelled to
this match.
Being thus married to Cleomenes, she hated Leonidas; but to the youth
she showed herself a kind and obliging wife. He, as soon as they came
together, began to love her very much; and the constant kindness
that she still retained for the memory of Agis, wrought somewhat of
concern in the young man for him; so that he would often enquire of
her concerning what had passed, and attentively listen to the story of
Agis's designs. Now Cleomenes had a generous and great soul: he was
as temperate and moderate in his pleasures as Agis, but not so very
cautious, circumspect, and gentle; a spur of passion always galled him,
and his eagerness to pursue that which he thought good and just, was
violent and heady. To make men willing to obey, he conceived to be the
best discipline; but likewise to break the stubborn, and force them to
be better, was, in his opinion, commendable and brave. This disposition
made him dislike the management of the city. The citizens lay
dissolved in supine idleness and pleasures; the king minded nothing,
designing, if nobody gave him any disturbance, to waste his time in
ease and riot; the public was neglected, and each man intent upon his
private gain. It was dangerous, now Agis was killed, to mention the
exercising and training of their youth; and to set up for the ancient
bravery and equality, was treason against the state. It is said also,
that Cleomenes, whilst a boy, studied philosophy under Sphærus the
Borysthenite, who, coming to Sparta, was very diligent in instructing
the youth. Sphærus was one of the chief of Zeno the Citiean's scholars;
and it is likely that he admired the manly temper of Cleomenes, and
inflamed his generous ambition. The ancient Leonidas, as story saith,
being asked, What manner of poet he thought Tyrtæus? replied, An
excellent one to whet the courages of youth; for, being filled with
fury by his poems, they daringly ventured on any danger. Now the Stoic
philosophy is a dangerous incentive to hot and fiery dispositions; but
being mixed with a grave and cautious temper, is very good to fix and
settle the resolutions.
Upon the death of his father Leonidas, he succeeded; and, observing
the citizens of all sorts to be debauched, the rich neglecting the
public, and intent on their own gain and pleasure, and the poor being
cramped in their private fortunes, grown inactive, cowards, and not
inclinable to the Spartan institution and way of breeding, that he
had only the name of King, and the Ephori all the power, was resolved
to change the present posture of affairs. He had a friend, whose name
was Xenares, his lover, (such an affection the Spartans express by the
word empneithai,) him he sounded; and of him he would commonly enquire,
What manner of king Agis was, by what means, and by what assistance
he began and pursued his designs. Xenares at first willingly complied
with his request, and told him the whole story, with all the particular
circumstances of the actions. But when he observed Cleomenes to be
extremely affected at the relation, and more than ordinarily moved at
Agis's new model of the government, and begging a repetition of the
story, he at first severely chid him, told him he was frantic, and at
last left off all sort of familiarity and conversation with him; yet he
never told any man the cause of their disagreement, but would only say,
"Cleomenes knew very well." Cleomenes finding Xenares averse to his
designs, and thinking all others to be of the same opinion, consulted
with none, but contrived the whole business by himself. And considering
that it would be easier to bring about an alteration when the city was
at war than when in peace, he engaged the commonwealth in a quarrel
with the Achæans, who had given them fair occasions to complain; for
Aratus, a man of the greatest power amongst all the Achæans, designed,
from the very beginning, to bring all the Peloponnesians into one
common body. And to effect this, he undertook many expeditions, and ran
through a long course of policy; for he thought this the only means to
make them an equal match for their foreign enemies. All the rest agreed
to his proposals; only the Lacedæmonians, the Eleans, and as many of
the Arcadians as inclined to the Spartan interest, refused. Therefore,
as soon as Leonidas was dead, he fell upon the Arcadians, and wasted
those especially that bordered on Achaia; by this means designing to
try the inclinations of the Spartans, and despising Cleomenes as a
youth, and of no experience in affairs of state or war. Upon this the
Ephori sent Cleomenes to surprise the Athenæum, dedicated to Minerva,
near Belbina, which is a pass of Laconia, and was then under the
jurisdiction of the Megalopolitans. Cleomenes possessed himself of
the place, and fortified it; at which action Aratus shewed no public
resentment, but marched by night to surprise Tegea and Orchomenium. The
design failed; for those that were to betray the cities into his hands,
doubted the success; so Aratus retreated, imagining that his design
had been undiscovered. But Cleomenes wrote a jeering letter to him,
and desired to know, as from a friend, whither he intended to march
at night? And Aratus answering, That having understood his design to
fortify Belbina, he resolved to march thither to oppose him; Cleomenes
returned, That he believed it, but desired him to give an account, if
it stood with his convenience, why he carried those torches and ladders
with him.
Aratus laughing at the jeer, and asking what manner of youth this was?
Democrites, a Spartan exile, replied, "If you have any designs upon
the Lacedæmonians, begin before this young eagle's talons are grown."
Presently after this, Cleomenes being in Arcadia with a few horse, and
300 foot, the Ephori, fearing to engage in the war, commanded him
home; but upon his retreat, Aratus taking Caphuæ, they commissioned him
again. In this expedition he took Methudrium, and spoiled the country
of the Argives; and the Achæans, to stop his victory, and secure
their friends, sent 20,000 foot and 1000 horse against him, under the
command of Aristomachus. Cleomenes faced them at Palantium, and offered
battle; but Aratus being dashed at his bravery, would not suffer the
general to engage, but retreated; being cursed by the Achæans, and
hooted at, and scorned by the Spartans, who were not above 5000, for
a coward. Cleomenes, encouraged by this success, began to vaunt among
the citizens, a sentence of one of their ancient kings, who said, "The
Spartans seldom enquired how many their enemies were, but where they
were." After this, marching to the assistance of the Eleans, upon
whom the Achæans warred, and about Lycæum falling upon the enemy in
their retreat, he routed their whole army, taking a great number of
captives, and leaving many dead upon the place; so that it was commonly
reported amongst the Greeks, that Aratus was slain. But Aratus making
the best advantage of the opportunity presently after the defeat,
marched to Mantinæa and, before any body suspected it, took the city,
and put a new garrison into it. Upon this the Lacedæmonians being quite
discouraged, and opposing Cleomenes's design of carrying on the war, he
was eager to send for Archidamus, Agis's brother, from Messena; for he
of the other family had a right to the kingdom: and, beside, Cleomenes
thought, that the power of the Ephori would be abated, when the kingly
state was filled up, and equally poised between the two families. But
those that were concerned in the murder of Agis, understanding the
design, and fearing that upon Archidamus's return they should be
called to an account, received him coming privately into town, waited
on him, and presently after murdered him; but whether Cleomenes was
against it, as Phylarchus imagines or whether he was persuaded by his
friends, and winked at the contrivance, is uncertain; however, they
were most blamed, as having forced his consent. But he still resolving
to new-model the state, bribed the Ephori to make him general; and won
the affections of many others by means of his mother Cratesiclea, who
spared no cost, and was very zealous to promote the same interest; and
though of herself she had no inclination to marry, yet for her son's
sake she wedded one of the chiefest citizens for wealth and power.
Cleomenes marching forth with the army now under his command, took
Leuctra, a place belonging to Megalopolis; and the Achæans quickly
facing him with a good body of men commanded by Aratus, in a battle
under the very walls of the city, some part of his army was routed; but
Aratus commanding the Achæans not to pass a deep hollow, and stopping
the pursuit, Lydiadas the Megalopolitan, fretting at the orders,
encouraging the horse which he led, and pursuing the routed enemy, fell
into a place full of vines, hedges, and ditches; and being forced to
break his ranks, was put into a great disorder. Cleomenes observing the
advantage, commanded the Tarentines and Cretans to engage him, by whom,
after a brave dispute, he was routed and slain. The Lacedæmonians,
thus encouraged, with a great shout fell upon the Achæans, and routed
their whole army. Of the slain, which were very many, some Cleomenes
delivered upon articles; but the body of Lydiadas he commanded to be
brought to him; and then putting on it a purple robe, and a crown upon
its head, sent a convoy with it to the gates of Megalopolis. This
Lydiadas was the man that resigned his crown, restored liberty to the
citizens, and joined the city to the Achæan interest. Cleomenes being
very much raised by this success, and persuaded, that if matters were
wholly at his disposal, he should quickly be too hard for the Achæans;
he taught Megistones, his mother's husband, that it was expedient for
the state to shake off the power of the Ephori, and to put all their
wealth into one common stock for the whole body; that Sparta, being
restored to its old equality, might be raised up to be mistress of all
Greece. Megistones liked the design, and engaged two or three more of
his friends. About that time one of the Ephori, sleeping in Pasiphae's
temple, dreamed a very surprising dream; for he thought he saw the
four chairs removed out of the place where the Ephori used to sit and
hear causes, and one only set there; and whilst he wondered, he heard
a voice out of the temple, saying, "This is best for Sparta." The
person telling Cleomenes this dream, he was a little troubled at first,
fearing that he used this as a trick to sift him, upon some suspicion
of his design; but when he was satisfied that the relater spoke truth,
he took heart again; and taking with him those whom he thought would be
against his model, he took Eræa and Alcæa, two cities of the Achæans,
furnished Orchomenium with provisions, besieged Mantinæa, and with long
marches so harassed the Lacedæmonians, that many of them desired to be
left in Arcadia; and he satisfied their request. With the mercenaries
he marched to Sparta; and by the way communicated his design to those,
whom he thought fittest for his purpose, and marched slowly, that he
might catch the Ephori at supper. When he was come near the city, he
sent Eurycleidas to the Sussitium, the eating place of the Ephori,
under pretence of carrying some message from him from the army;
Threicion, Phæbis, and two of those who were bred with Cleomenes,
whom they call Samothracæ followed with a few soldiers; and whilst
Eurycleidas was delivering his message to the Ephori, they ran upon
them with their drawn swords, and slew them. Agesilaus, as soon as he
was run through, fell, and lay as dead; but in a little time he rose,
silently conveyed himself out of the room, and crept undiscovered into
a little house, which was the temple of Fear, and which always used
to be shut, but was then by chance open; being got in, he shut the
door, and lay close: the other four were killed, and above ten more
that came to their assistance. To those that were quiet, they did no
harm, stopt none that fled the city, and spared Agesilaus, who came out
of the temple the next day. The Lacedæmonians have not only temples
dedicated to Fear, but also to Death, Laughter, and the like passions.
Now they worship Fear, not as they do those deities which they dread,
esteeming it hurtful, but thinking their policy is chiefly kept up by
law; and therefore the Ephori, (Aristotle is my author,) when they
enter upon their government, make proclamation to the people, that they
should shave their whiskers, and be obedient to the laws, that they
might not be forced to be severe; using this trivial particular, in my
opinion, to accustom their youth to obedience, even in the smallest
matters. And the ancients, I think, did not imagine fortitude to be
plain fearlessness, but a cautious fear of infamy and disgrace: for
those that shew most fear towards the laws, are most bold against their
enemies; and those are least afraid of any danger, who are most afraid
of a just reproach. Therefore he said well,
A reverence still attends on fear.
And Homer,
Feared you shall be, dear uncle, and revered.
And again,
In silence fearing those that bore the sway.
For it is very commonly seen, that men reverence those whom they fear;
and therefore the Lacedæmonians placed the temple of Fear by the
Sussitium of the Ephori, having raised their power to almost absolute
monarchy.
The next day Cleomenes proscribed eighty of the citizens, whom he
thought necessary to banish, and removed all the seats of the Ephori,
except one, in which he himself designed to sit, and hear causes; and
calling the citizens together, he made an apology for his proceedings;
saying, "That by Lycurgus the senate was joined to the kings, and that
that model of government had continued a long time, and needed no other
sort of magistrates to give it perfection. But afterward, in the long
war with the Messenians, when the kings, being to command the army,
had no time to attend civil causes, they chose some of their friends,
and left them to determine the suits of the citizens in their stead.
These were called Ephori, and at first behaved themselves as servants
to the kings; but afterward, by degrees, they appropriated the power to
themselves, and erected a distinct sort of magistracy. An evidence of
the truth of this may be taken from the usual behaviour of the kings,
who, upon the first and second message of the Ephori, refuse to go;
but upon the third, readily attend them: and Asteropus, the first that
raised the Ephori to that height of power, lived a great many years
after their institution; therefore, whilst they modestly contained
themselves within their own proper sphere, it was better to bear with
them than to make a disturbance. But that an upstart introduced power
should so far destroy the old model of government, as to banish some
kings, murder others without hearing their defence, and threaten those
who desired to see the best and most divine constitution restored in
Sparta, was insufferable; therefore if it had been possible for him,
without bloodshed, to have freed Lacedæmon from those foreign plagues,
luxury, vanity, debts, and usury, and from those more ancient evils,
poverty and riches, he should have thought himself the happiest king in
the world; having, like an expert physician, cured the diseases of his
country without pain. But now, in this necessity, Lycurgus's example
favoured his proceedings, who, being neither king nor magistrate,
but a private man, and aiming at the kingdom, came armed into the
market-place, and, for fear of the king Carileus, fled to the altar;
but he being a good man, and a lover of his country, readily consented
to Lycurgus's project, and admitted an alteration in the state.
Thus, by his own actions, Lycurgus showed, that it was difficult to
correct the government without force and fear; in using which, he
said, he would be so moderate, as never to desire their assistance,
but either to terrify or ruin the enemies of Sparta's happiness and
safety." He commanded, that all the land should be left in common,
and private claims laid aside; that debtors should be discharged of
their debts, and a strict search made, who were foreigners, and who
not; that the true Spartans, recovering their courage, might defend
the city by their arms; and that we may no longer see Laconia, for
want of a sufficient number to secure it, wasted by the Ætolians and
Illyrians. Then he himself first, with his father-in-law Megistones,
and his friends, brought all their wealth into one public stock, and
all the other citizens followed the example. The land was divided,
and every one that he had banished had a share assigned him; for
he promised to restore all, as soon as things were settled, and in
quiet: and compleating the common number of citizens, out of the best
and most agreeable of the neighbouring inhabitants, he raised a body
of four thousand men; and, instead of a spear, taught them to use a
sarissa (a long pike) with both hands, and to carry their shields by
a string fastened round their arms, and not by a handle, as before.
After this he began to consult about the exercising and breeding of
the youth, many particulars of which, Sphærus, being then at Sparta,
directed; and in a short time the schools of exercise, and their
_Sussitia_, (common eating places,) recovered their ancient decency
and order; a few out of necessity, but the most voluntarily applying
themselves to that generous and Laconic way of living. Besides, that
the name of monarch might give them no jealousy, he made Eucleidas,
his brother, partner in the throne; and that was the only time that
Sparta had two kings of the same family. Then understanding that the
Achæans and Aratus imagined that this change had disturbed and shaken
his affairs, and that he would not venture out of Sparta, and leave
the city, now unsettled by so great an alteration, he thought it great
and serviceable to his designs, to convince his enemies that he was
eagerly desirous of a war; and therefore making an incursion into
the territories of Megalopolis, he wasted the country very much, and
got a considerable booty. And at last taking those that used to act
in the public solemnities travelling from Messena, and building a
theatre in the enemy's country, and setting a prize of L. 40 value,
he sat spectator a whole day; not that he either desired or needed
such a divertisement, but as it were insulting over his enemies; and
that by thus manifestly despising them, he might show, that he had
more than conquered the Achæans. For that alone, of all the Greek
or kings' armies, had no stage-players, no jugglers, no dancing or
singing women attending it, but was free from all sorts of looseness,
wantonness, and foppery; the young men being for the most part upon
duty, and the old men teaching them at leisure time to apply themselves
to their usual drollery, and to rally one another facetiously after
the Laconic fashion; the advantages of which I have discovered in the
life of Lycurgus. He himself instructed all by his example: he was a
living pattern of temperance before every body's eyes, and his course
of living was neither more stately nor more expensive than any of the
commons. And this was a considerable advantage to him in his designs
on Greece; for men, when they waited upon other kings, did not so
much admire their wealth, costly furniture, and numerous attendance,
as they hated their pride and state, their difficulty of access, and
scornful commanding answers to their petitions. But when they came to
Cleomenes, who was both really a king, and bore that title, and saw
no purple, no robes of state upon him, no chairs and couches about
him for his ease, and that he did not receive petitions, and return
answers, after a long delay, by a number of messengers, waiters, or by
bills, but that he rose and came forward to meet those that came to
wait upon him, stayed, talked freely and graciously with all that had
business; they were extremely taken, won to his service, and professed
that he alone was the true son of Hercules. His common every-day's
meal was in a mean room, very sparing, and after the Laconic manner;
and when he entertained ambassadors, or strangers, two more beds were
added, and a little better dinner provided by his servants; but no
fricasees, no dainties, only the dishes were larger, and the wine
more plentiful; for he reproved one of his friends for entertaining
some strangers with nothing but pulse and black broth, such diet as
they usually had in their Phiditia; saying, that upon such occasions,
and when they treat strangers, it was not requisite to be too exact
Laconians. After supper, a stand was brought in with a brass vessel
full of wine, two silver pots, which held almost a quart a piece, a
few silver cups, of which he that pleased might drink, but no liquor
was forced on any of the guests. There was no music, nor was any
required; for he entertained the company, sometimes asking questions,
sometimes telling stories: and his discourse was neither too grave,
and unpleasantly serious, nor vain and abusive, but merrily facetious;
for he thought those ways of catching men by gifts and presents, which
other kings use, to be mean and inartificial; and it seemed to him to
be the most glorious method, and most suitable to a king, to win the
affections of those that came near him, by pleasant discourse, and
unaffected conversation; for a friend and mercenary differ only in
this, that the one is made by conversation and agreeableness of humour,
and the other by reward. The Mantinæans were the first that obliged
him; for, getting by night into the city, and driving out the Achæan
garrison, they put themselves under his protection; he restored them
their polity and laws, and the same day marched to Tegea; and a little
while after, fetching a compass through Arcadia, he made a descent upon
Pheræ, in Achaia, intending to force Aratus to a battle, or bring him
into disrepute, for refusing to engage, and suffering him to waste the
country. Hyperbatus at that time commanded the army, but Aratus had all
the power amongst the Achæans. The Achæans marching forth with their
whole strength, and encamping in Dumeæ, about Hecatombæum, Cleomenes
came up, and thinking it not advisable to pitch between Dumeæ, a city
of the enemy's, and the camp of the Achæans, he boldly dared the
Achæans, and forced them to a battle; and routing the phalanx, slew
a great many in the fight, and took many prisoners; thence marching
to Lagon, and driving out the Achæan garrison, he restored the city
to the Elæans. The affairs of the Achæans being in this desperate
condition, Aratus, who was wont to continue in his government above
a year, refused the command, though they entreated and urged him to
accept it; and this was ill done, when the storm was high, to put the
power out of his own hands, and set another to the helm. Cleomenes
at first proposed fair and easy conditions by his ambassadors to the
Achæans; but afterwards he sent others, and required the chief command
to be settled upon him; and in other matters he promised to agree to
reasonable terms, and to restore their captives and their country.
The Achæans were willing to come to an agreement upon those terms,
and invited Cleomenes to Lerna, where an assembly was to be held;
but it happened that Cleomenes hastily marching on, and unseasonably
drinking water, brought up abundance of blood, and lost his voice;
therefore, being unable to continue his march, he sent the chiefest
of the captives to the Achæans, and putting off the meeting for some
time, retired to Lacedæmon. This ruined the affairs of Greece, which
was just then ready to recover itself out of its disasters, and avoid
the insulting and covetousness of the Macedonians: for Aratus, whether
fearing or distrusting Cleomenes, or envying his unlooked-for success,
or thinking it a disgrace for him, who had commanded thirty-three
years, to have a young man succeed to all his glory and his power, and
be head of that government which he had been raising and settling so
many years: he first endeavoured to keep the Achæans from closing with
Cleomenes; but when they would not hearken to him, fearing Cleomenes's
daring spirit, and thinking the Lacedæmonians' proposals to be very
reasonable, who designed only to reduce Peloponnesus to its old model,
he took his last refuge, in an action which was unbecoming any of
the Greeks, most dishonourable to him, and most unworthy his former
bravery and exploits; for he called Antigonus into Greece, and filled
Peloponnesus with Macedonians, whom he himself, when a youth, having
beaten their garrison out of the castle of Corinth, had driven from the
same country; beside he declared himself an enemy to all kings, and
hath left many dishonourable stories of this same Antigonus, in those
commentaries which he wrote: and though he declares that he suffered
considerable losses, and underwent great dangers, that he might free
Athens from the power of the Macedonians, yet afterward he brought
the very same men armed into his own country, and his own house, even
to the women's apartment. He would not endure, that one of the family
of Hercules, and king of Sparta, and one that had reformed the polity
of his country, as it were a disordered harmony, and tuned it to the
plain Doric measure of Lycurgus, to be stiled, head of the Triccæans
and Sicyonians; and whilst he fled the pulse and short coat, and,
which were his chief accusations against Cleomenes, the extirpation
of wealth, and reformation of poverty, he basely subjected himself,
together with Achaia, to the diadem and purple, to the imperious
commands of the Macedonians and their Satrapæ. That he might not
seem to be under Cleomenes, he sacrificed the Antigonea, (sacrifices
in honour of Antigonus,) and sung Pæans himself with a garland on his
head, to the honour of a rotten, consumptive Macedonian. I write this
not out of any design to disgrace Aratus, (for in many things he shewed
himself vigorous for the Grecian interest, and a great man;) but out
of pity to the weakness of human nature, which, in such a person, so
excellent, and so many ways disposed to virtue, cannot attain to a
state irreprehensible.
The Achæans meeting again at Argos, and Cleomenes descending from
Tegea, there were great hopes that all differences would be composed.
But Aratus (Antigonus and he having already agreed upon the chief
articles of their league) fearing that Cleomenes would carry all before
him, and either win or force the multitude to comply with his demands,
proposed that, having three hundred hostages put into his hands, he
should come alone into the town, or bring his army to the place of
exercise, called Cillarabion, without the city, and treat there.
Cleomenes hearing this, said, that he was unjustly dealt with; for they
ought to have told him so plainly at first, and not, now he was come
even to their doors, show their jealousy, and deny him admission. And
writing an epistle to the Achæans about the same subject, the greatest
part of which was an accusation of Aratus; and Aratus, on the other
side, ripping up his faults to the assembly, he hastily dislodged,
and sent a trumpeter to denounce war against the Achæans, but not
to Argos, but to Ægium, as Aratus delivers, that he might not give
them notice enough to make provision for their defence. Upon this,
the Achæans were mightily disturbed; the common people expecting a
division of the land, and a release from their debts: and the chief
men being on many accounts displeased with Aratus, and some angry,
and at odds with him, as the occasion of the Macedonians' descent
on Peloponnesus. Encouraged by these misunderstandings, Cleomenes
invades Achæa; and first took Pellene by surprise, and beat out the
Achæan garrison; and afterwards brought over Pheneon and Pentelæon
to his side. Now the Achæans suspecting some treacherous designs at
Corinth and Sicyon, sent their horse and mercenaries out of Argos to
have an eye upon those cities; and they themselves went to Argos to
celebrate the Nemean games. Cleomenes advertised of this march, and
hoping (as it afterwards fell out) that upon an unexpected advance
to the city, now busied in the solemnity of the games, and thronged
with numerous spectators, he should raise a considerable terror and
confusion amongst them; by night, he marched with his army to the
walls, and taking the quarter of the town called Aspis, which lies
above the theatre, a place well fortified, and hard to be approached,
he so terrified them, that none offered to resist, but agreed to accept
a garrison, to give twenty citizens for hostages, and to assist the
Lacedæmonians, and that he should have the chief command. This action
considerably increased his reputation, and his power; for the antient
Spartan kings, though they many ways endeavoured to effect it, could
never bring Argos to be stedfastly and sincerely theirs. And Pyrrhus,
a most experienced captain, and brave soldier, though he entered the
city by force, could not keep possession, but was slain himself with
a considerable part of his army. Therefore they admired the dispatch
and contrivance of Cleomenes; and those that before derided him for
saying that he imitated Solon and Lycurgus in releasing the people
from their debts, and in equally dividing the wealth of the citizens,
were now persuaded, that he was the cause of the desirable alterations
in the Spartan commonwealth. For, before, they were very low in the
world, and so unable to secure their own, that the Ætolians invading
Laconia, brought away fifty thousand slaves; so that one of the elder
Spartans is reported to have said, that "they had done Laconia a
kindness by unburdening it;" and yet, a little while after, applying
themselves to their own customs, and antient institutions, they gave
notable instances of courage and obedience, as if they had been under
the eye of Lycurgus himself, and quickly raised Sparta to be head of
all Greece, and recovered Peloponnesus to themselves. Whilst Argos
was taken, and Cleonæ and Philius sided with Cleomenes, Aratus was at
Corinth searching after some, who were reported to favour the Spartan
interest. The news being brought to him, disturbed him very much;
for he perceived the city inclining to Cleomenes, and the Achæans
willing to be at ease; therefore he called all the citizens into the
common hall, and, as it were undesignedly retreating to the gate, he
mounted his horse that stood ready there, and fled to Sicyon; and the
Corinthians made such haste to Cleomenes at Argos, that, (as Aratus
says) striving who should be first there, they spoiled all their
horses: and Cleomenes was very angry with the Corinthians for letting
Aratus escape. And Megistones came from Cleomenes to him, desiring
him to deliver up the castle of Corinth, which was then garrisoned
by the Achæans, and offered him a considerable sum of money; and
that he answered, that "matters were not now in his power, but he
in theirs." Thus Aratus himself writes. But Cleomenes marching from
Argos, and taking in the Træzenians, Epidaurians, and Hermioneans, came
to Corinth, and blocked up the castle, which the Achæans would not
surrender; and sending for Aratus's friends and stewards, committed
his house and estate to their care and management and sent Tritimallus
the Messenian to him a second time, desiring that the castle might
be equally garrisoned by the Spartans and Achæans, and promising to
Aratus himself double the pension that he received from king Ptolemy;
but Aratus refusing the conditions, and sending his own son with other
hostages to Antigonus, and persuading the Achæans to make a decree
for delivering the castle into Antigonus's hands, Cleomenes invaded
the territory of the Sicyonians, and, by a decree of the Corinthians,
seized on all Aratus's estate. In the mean time, Antigonus, with a
great army, passed Gerania; and Cleomenes thinking it more advisable
to fortify and garrison, not the Isthmus, but the mountains called
Onia, and by a long siege and skirmishes to weary the Macedonians,
than to venture a set battle, put his design in execution, which very
much distressed Antigonus; for he had not brought victuals sufficient
for his army, nor was it easy to force a way through, whilst Cleomenes
guarded the pass. He attempted by night to pass through Lechæum, but
failed, and lost some men; so that Cleomenes and his army were mightily
encouraged, and so flushed with the victory, that they went merrily to
supper; and Antigonus was very much dejected, being reduced to those
miserable straits. At last he designed to march to the promontory
Heræum, and thence transport his army in boats to Sicyon, which would
take up a great deal of time, and be very chargeable. The same time,
about evening, some of Aratus's friends came from Argos by sea, and
invited him to return; for the Argives would revolt from Cleomenes.
Aristotle was the man that wrought the revolt, and he had no hard task
to persuade the common people; for they were all angry with Cleomenes
for not releasing them from their debts, as they expected. Upon this
advertisement, Aratus, with fifteen hundred of Antigonus's soldiers,
sailed to Epidaurus; but Aristotle, not staying for his coming, drew
out the citizens, and fought against the garrison of the castle; and
Timoxenus, with the Achæans from Sicyon, came to his assistance.
Cleomenes heard the news about the second watch of the night, and,
sending for Megistones, angrily commanded him to go and set things
right at Argos. This Megistones was the man who passed his word for
the Argives' loyalty, and persuaded him not to banish the suspected.
This Megistones he dispatched with two thousand soldiers, and observed
Antigonus himself, and encouraged the Corinthians; pretending,
that there was no great matter in the stirs at Argos, but only a
little disturbance raised by a few inconsiderable persons. But when
Megistones, entering Argos, was slain, and the garrison could scarce
hold out, and frequent messengers came to Cleomenes for succours,
he,--fearing lest the enemy, having taken Argos, should shut up the
passes, and securely waste Laconia, and besiege Sparta itself, which
he had left without forces,--he dislodged from Corinth, and presently
lost that city, for Antigonus entered it, and garrisoned the town. He
turned aside from his direct march, and, assaulting the wall of Argos,
endeavoured to break in; and having cleared a way under the quarter
called Aspis, he joined the garrison, which still held out against the
Achæans; some parts of the city he scaled and took, and his Cretan
archers cleared the streets. But, when he saw Antigonus, with his
phalanx, descending from the mountains into the plain, and the horse on
all sides entering the city, he thought it impossible to maintain his
post; and therefore, with all his men, made a safe retreat behind the
wall; having in a short time raised himself to a considerable height,
and, in one march, made himself master of almost all Peloponnesus, and
lost all again in as short a time: for some of his allies presently
forsook him, and others not long after put themselves under Antigonus's
protection. His army thus defeated, as he was leading back the relicks
of his forces, some from Lacedæmon met him in the evening at Tegea, and
brought him news of as great a misfortune as that which he had lately
suffered; and that was the death of his wife, whom he doated on so
much, that when he was most prosperous, he would ever now and then make
a step to Sparta to visit his beloved Ægiatis.
This news afflicted him extremely; and he grieved as a young man would
do for the loss of a very beautiful and excellent wife; yet his passion
did not debase the greatness of his mind, but, keeping his usual
voice, his countenance, and his habit, he gave necessary orders to his
captains, and took care to secure the Tegeans. The next day he retired
to Sparta; and having at home, with his mother and children, bewailed
the loss, and finished his mourning, he presently appeared about the
public affairs of the state. Now Ptolemy, the king of Egypt, promised
him assistance, but demanded his mother and children for hostages.
This, for some considerable time, he was ashamed to discover to his
mother; and though he often went to her on purpose, and was just upon
the discourse, yet still refrained, and kept it to himself; so that she
began to suspect somewhat, and asked his friends, Whether Cleomenes
had somewhat to say to her, which he was afraid to speak? At last
Cleomenes venturing to tell her, she laughed heartily, and said, "Was
this the thing that you had often a mind to tell me, and was afraid?
Why do you not put me on shipboard, and send this carcase where it
may be most serviceable to Sparta, before age wastes it unprofitably
here?" Therefore, all things being provided for the voyage, they went
to Tænarus on foot, and the army waited on them. Cratesiclea, when
she was ready to go on board, took Cleomenes aside into Neptune's
temple, and embracing him, who was very much dejected, and extremely
discomposed, she said thus: "Go to, king of Sparta; when we are without
door, let none see us weep, or show any passion below the honour and
dignity of Sparta, for that alone is in our own power; as for success
or disappointments, those wait on us as the Deity decrees." Having
said thus, and composed her countenance, she went to the ship with her
little grandson, and bade the pilot put presently out to sea. When
she came to Egypt, and understood that Ptolemy entertained proposals
and overtures of peace from Antigonus, and that Cleomenes, though the
Achæans invited and urged him to an agreement, was afraid, for her
sake, to come to any, without Ptolemy's consent; she wrote to him,
advising him to do that which was most becoming and most profitable
for Sparta, and not, for the sake of an old woman and a little child,
always stand in fear of Ptolemy. This character she maintained in her
misfortunes. Antigonus having taken Tegea, and plundered Orchomenum and
Mantinæa, Cleomenes was shut up within the narrow bounds of Laconia,
and made such of the Helots, as could pay five Attick pounds, free of
Sparta, and by that means got together 500 talents; and arming 2000
after the Macedonian fashion, that he might make a body fit to oppose
Antigonus's Leucaspidæ, (white shields,) he undertook a very surprising
enterprize. Megalopolis was at that time a city of itself, as big and
as powerful as Sparta, and had the forces of the Achæans and Antigonus
encamping on its sides; and it was chiefly the Megalopolitans' doing,
that Antigonus was called in to assist the Achæans. Cleomenes having
a design upon this city, (no action was ever more sudden and more
unexpected) ordered his men to take five days provision, and so marched
to Sellasia, as if he intended to spoil the country of the Argives; but
from thence making a descent into the territories of Megalopolis, and
refreshing his army about Rhætium, he marched through Helicon, directly
to the city. When he was not far off the town, he sent Pantheus with
two regiments to surprise the Mesopyrgion, (the quarter between the
two towers,) which he understood to be the most unguarded quarter of
the Megalopolitans' fortifications; and with the rest of his forces
he followed leisurely. Pantheus not only surprised that place, but,
finding a great part of the wall without guards, he pulled down some
places, and demolished others, and killed all the defenders that he
found. Whilst he was thus busied, Cleomenes came up to him, and was got
with his army within the city, before the Megalopolitans knew of the
surprise. At last, as soon as it was discovered, some left the town
immediately, taking with them what money they had ready; some armed,
and engaged the enemy; and though they were not able to beat them out,
yet they gave their citizens time and opportunity safely to retire:
so that there were not above 1000 persons left in the town, all the
rest flying with their wives and children, and escaping to Messena.
A great number of those that armed and fought the enemy were saved,
and very few taken, amongst whom were Lysandridas and Thearidas, two
men of great power and reputation amongst the Megalopolitans; and
therefore the soldiers, as soon as they were taken, brought them to
Cleomenes. And Lysandridas, as soon as he saw Cleomenes afar off,
cried out,--"Now, king of Sparta, it is in your power, by doing a
most kingly and braver action than you have already performed, to
purchase a considerable glory." And Cleomenes guessing at his meaning,
replied,--"What do you say, Lysandridas? sure you will not advise me to
restore your city to you again?" "It is that which I mean," Lysandridas
replied; "and I advise you not to ruin so brave a city, but to fill
it with faithful and stedfast friends and allies, by restoring their
country to the Megalopolitans, and being the saviour of so considerable
a people." Cleomenes paused a while, and then said,--"It is very hard
to trust so far in these matters; but with us let profit always yield
to glory." Having said this, he sent the two men to Messena with a
trumpeter from himself, offering the Megalopolitans their city again,
if they would forsake the Achæan interest, and be on his side. Though
Cleomenes made these kind and obliging proposals, yet Philopæmen would
not suffer them to break their league with the Achæans; and accusing
Cleomenes to the people, as if his design was not to restore the city,
but to take the citizens too, he forced Thearidas and Lysandridas to
leave Messena.
This was that Philopæmen, who was afterward chief of the Achæans, and
a man of the greatest reputation amongst the Greeks, as I have made it
appear in his own Life. This news coming to Cleomenes though he had
before taken such strict care that the city should not be plundered,
yet then being in a fury, and put out of all patience, he rifled
them of all their coin, plate, and jewels, and sent their statues
and pictures to Sparta; and demolishing a great part of the city, he
marched away for fear of Antigonus and the Achæans; but they never
stirred, for they were in Ægium at a council of war. Aratus mounted
the desk, wept a long while, and held his mantle before his face; and
at last, the company being amazed, and commanding him to speak, he
said,--"Megalopolis is ruined by Cleomenes." The assembly was presently
dissolved; the Achæans being extremely surprised at the suddenness
and greatness of the loss; and Antigonus intending to send speedy
succours, when he found his army to gather very slowly out of their
winter-quarters, he sent them orders to continue there still; and he
himself marched to Argos with a considerable body of men. The second
enterprize of Cleomenes seemed to be carried on by extreme boldness,
and unaccountable madness; but yet, in Polybius's opinion, was done
upon mature deliberation, and exact foresight; for, knowing very well,
that the Macedonians were dispersed into their winter quarters, and
that Antigonus, with his friends and a few mercenaries about him,
wintered in Argos; upon these considerations, he invaded the country of
the Argives, hoping to shame Antigonus to a battle upon unequal terms;
or else, if he did not dare to fight, to bring him into disrepute with
the Achæans. And this accordingly happened; for Cleomenes wasting,
plundering, and spoiling the whole country, the Argives, vexed at the
loss, run in troops to the palace of the king, and clamoured, that he
should either fight, or surrender his command to better and braver
men. But Antigonus, as became an experienced captain, accounting it
dishonourable foolishly to hazard his army, and quit his security,
not to be abused and railed at by the rabble, would not march out
against Cleomenes, but stood fixed to the designs which he had laid.
Cleomenes, in the mean time, brought his army up to the very walls,
and having uncontrouledly spoiled the country, and insulted over his
enemies, drew off again. A little while after, being advertised that
Antigonus designed for Tegea, and thence to make an incursion into
Laconia, he hastily marched with his army another way, and appeared
early in the morning before Argos, and wasted the fields about it:
the corn he did not cut down with reaping-hooks and scythes, as men
usually do, but beat it down with staves made like scymeters; and with
a great deal of contempt and wanton scorn he spoiled the fields, and
wasted the country in his march; yet when his soldiers would have set
Cyllabris, the school of exercise, on fire, he hindered the attempt,
reflecting, upon serious consideration, that the outrages committed at
Megalopolis were the effects of his passion rather than his wisdom.
He pretended to make such little account of, and so much to despise
Antigonus, who first retired to Argos, and afterward placed garrisons
on all the mountains round about, that he sent a trumpeter to desire
the keys of Heræum, (Juno's temple,) that he might sacrifice to the
goddess. Thus with a scoff, and bitter reflection on Antigonus, and
having sacrificed to the goddess, under the walls of the temple, that
was shut, he marched to Phlius; and from thence driving out those
that garrisoned Hologountum, he marched down to Orchomenum. And these
enterprizes not only encouraged the citizens, but made him appear to
the very enemies to be an experienced captain, and very worthy of
command; for, with the strength of one city, not only to fight the
power of the Macedonians, and all the Peloponnesians; not only to
preserve Laconia from being spoiled, but to waste the enemy's country,
and to take so many and such considerable cities, is an argument of
no common bravery. He that first said, "That money was the sinews of
affairs," seemed chiefly in that saying to respect war: and Demades,
when the Athenians voted that a navy should be made ready, but had no
money, said, "They should make bread before they thought of sailing:"
and the old Archidamus, in the beginning of the Peloponnesian war,
when the allies desired, that each party's share of contributions for
the war should be determined, is reported to have said, "War cannot be
kept to a set diet." For, as well-breathed wrestlers do in time weary
and tire out the most active and skilful combatant; so Antigonus,
coming to the war with a great stock of wealth, wearied out Cleomenes,
whose poverty made it difficult for him either to provide pay for the
mercenaries, or provisions for the citizens. For in all other respects
the time favoured Cleomenes; for Antigonus's affairs at home began
to be disturbed: for the Barbarians wasted and over-ran Macedonia
whilst he was absent; and at that time a vast army of the Illyrians
came down, to be freed from whose outrages, the Macedonians sent for
Antigonus, and the letters had almost been brought to him before the
battle was fought, upon the receipt of which he presently dislodged,
and left the Achæans' affairs to themselves. But fortune that loves to
determine the greatest affairs by a minute, in this conjuncture showed
such an exact niceness of time, that immediately after the battle in
Sellasia was over, and Cleomenes had lost his army and his city, the
messengers reached Antigonus. And this made Cleomenes's misfortune
more to be pitied; for, if he had forborne fighting two days longer,
there had been no need of hazarding a battle, since, upon the departure
of the Macedonians he might have had what conditions he pleased from
the Achæans. But now (as I hinted before) for want of money, being
necessitated to rely wholly on his arms, he was forced, with 20,000
(this is Polybius's account) to engage 30,000; and approving himself
an excellent commander in this difficulty, his citizens showing an
extraordinary courage, and his mercenaries bravery enough, he was
overborne by the different way of fighting, and the weight of the armed
phalanx. Besides, Phylarchus affirms, that the treachery of some about
him was the chief cause of Cleomenes's ruin. For Antigonus gave orders,
that the Illyrians and Acharnanians should march round by a secret way,
and encompass the other wing, which Eucleidas, Cleomenes's brother,
commanded; and then drew out the rest of his forces to the battle. And
Cleomenes, from a convenient rising, viewing his order, and not seeing
any of the Illyrians and Acharnanians, began to suspect that Antigonus
had sent them upon some such design; and calling for Damoteles, who was
to inspect and to provide against ambushes, commanded him carefully to
look after, and discover the enemy's designs upon his rear.
But Damoteles (for some say Antigonus had bribed him) telling him, that
he should not be solicitous about that matter, for all was well enough,
but mind and fight those that met him in the front; he was satisfied,
and advanced against Antigonus; and, by the vigorous charge of his
Spartans, made the Macedonian phalanx give ground, and pressed upon
them with great advantage about half a mile; but then making a stand,
and seeing the danger which the surrounded wing, commanded by his
brother Eucleidas, was in, he cried out, "Thou art lost, dear brother!
thou art lost, thou brave example to our Spartan youth, and theme of
our matrons' songs!"
Eucleidas's wing being thus cut in pieces, and the conquerors from
that part falling upon his battle, he perceived his soldiers to be
disordered, and unable to maintain the fight, and therefore provided
for his own safety. When he came into the city, he advised those
citizens that he met, to receive Antigonus; and as for himself, he
said, which should appear most advantageous to Sparta, whether his life
or death, that he would chuse. Seeing the women running out to those
that fled with him, taking their arms, and bringing drink to them, he
entered into his own house, and his servant, who was a free-born woman,
taken from Megalopolis after his wife's death, offering, as she used
to do, to make necessary provision for him returning from the battle;
though he was very thirsty, he refused to drink, and though very weary,
to sit down; but, armed as he was, he clapped his arm side-way to a
pillar, and leaning his forehead upon his elbow, he rested his body a
little while, and ran over in his thoughts what course he should take;
and then with his friends went presently to Gythium, where, finding
ships fitted for the purpose, they embarked. Antigonus, taking the
city, treated the Lacedæmonians courteously; and, neither affronting,
nor ruining the dignity of Sparta, but permitting them to enjoy their
own laws and polity, and sacrificing to the gods, dislodged the third
day; for he heard that there was a great war kindled in Macedonia, and
that the country was spoiled by the Barbarians; besides, he grew sick
of a consumption, and continual defluxion on the lungs; yet he still
kept up, that he might return and free his own country, and fall more
gloriously upon an heap of slaughtered barbarians. As Phylarchus says,
and it is probable, he broke a vein by shouting in the battle. In the
plays, it was said, that after the victory he cried out for joy, "O
fine day!" and presently bringing up abundance of blood, fell into a
fever, and died in a short time. And thus much concerning Antigonus.
Cleomenes sailing from Cytheræ, touched at another island called
Ægialia, whence, as he was about to depart from Cyrene, one of
his friends, Therycion by name, a man of an haughty spirit in all
enterprizes, and high and boasting in his talk, came privately to him,
and said thus: "Sir, death in battle, which is the most glorious, we
have let go, though all heard us say, that Antigonus should never tread
over the king of Sparta, unless dead; and now, that which is next in
bravery and glory, is presented to us. Whither do we madly sail, flying
that which is near, and seeking that which is far removed? For, if it
is not dishonourable for the race of Hercules to serve the successors
of Philip and Alexander, we shall save a long voyage, by delivering
ourselves up to Antigonus, who probably surpasseth Ptolemy, as much as
the Macedonians do the Egyptians: but if we think it mean to submit to
those whose arms have conquered us, why should we choose him for our
lord, by whom we have not yet been beaten? Is it, that instead of one,
we might appear meaner than two, whilst we fly Antigonus, and flatter
Ptolemy? Or, is it for your mother's sake that you retreat to Egypt?
It will indeed be a very fine, and very desirable sight for her to be
shown her son by Ptolemy's women, now changed from a prince into an
exile and a slave! Are we not still masters of our own swords? And
whilst we have Laconia in view, shall we not here free ourselves from
this disgraceful misery, and clear ourselves to those, who at Sellasia
died for the honour and defence of Sparta? Or shall we sit lazily in
Egypt, enquiring, what news from Sparta? and whom Antigonus hath been
pleased to make governor of Lacedæmon:"--Thus spoke Therycion; and this
was Cleomenes's reply:--"By seeking death, you coward, the most easy,
and most ready refuge, you fancy that you shall appear courageous and
brave, though this flight is baser than thy former. Better men than we
have given way to their enemies, having been betrayed by fortune, or
oppressed by multitudes; but he that sinks under labour or afflictions,
the opinions or reproaches of men, is overcome by his own effeminacy
and softness: for a voluntary death ought not to be chosen as a relief
from action, but as an exemplary action itself; and it is base either
to live or die only to ourselves. That death, to which you now invite
us, is proposed only as a release from our present miseries, but
carries nothing of bravery or profit in it. And I think it becomes
both me and you not to despair of our country; but when there are
no hopes of that left, those that have an inclination may quickly
die."--To this Therycion returned no answer; but, as soon as he could
get out of Cleomenes's company, went toward the shore, and ran himself
through. But Cleomenes sailed from Ægialia, landed in Lybia, and, being
honourably conducted through the king's country, came to Alexandria.
When he was first brought to Ptolemy, no more than common civilities,
and usual ceremonies, were paid him; but when, upon trial, he found
him a man of deep sense and great reason, and that his plain laconic
way of conversation carried a free pleasantness with it; that he did
nothing unbecoming the greatness of his birth, nor bent under fortune,
and appeared a more faithful counsellor, than those who made it their
business to please and flatter; he was ashamed, and repented that he
had neglected so great a man, and suffered Antigonus to get so much
power and reputation by ruining him. Therefore he heaped up honours and
kindnesses on Cleomenes, and gave him hopes that he would furnish him
with an army and a navy to recover Greece, and reinstate him in his
throne. Besides, he allowed him a yearly pension of four-and-twenty
talents; a little part of which sum supplied his and his friends'
thrifty temperance; and the rest was employed in doing good offices to,
and in relieving the necessities of those that fled Greece, and retired
into Egypt.
But the elder Ptolemy, dying before Cleomenes's affairs had received
a full dispatch, and the successor being a loose, voluptuous, and
effeminate prince, under the power of his pleasures and his women, his
business was neglected: for the king was so besotted with his women and
his wine, that balls, music, and dancing, were the only employments
of his most busy and serious hours; and the greatest affairs of state
were managed by Agathoclea, the king's mistress, her mother, and the
pimp Oinanthes. Therefore, at the first, they seemed to stand in need
of Cleomenes; for Ptolemy, being afraid of his brother Magas, who,
by his mother's means, had a great interest among the soldiers, took
Cleomenes into his cabinet council, and acquainted him with the design
of taking off his brother. He, though all were for it, declared his
opinion to the contrary, saying, "The king, if it were possible, should
have more brothers, for the better security and management of his
affairs." And Sosibius, the greatest favourite, replying, "That they
were not secure of the mercenaries whilst Magas was alive;" Cleomenes
returned, "That he need not trouble himself about that matter; for
amongst the mercenaries there were above three thousand Peloponnesians,
who were his fast friends, and whom he could command at any time
with his nod." This discourse made Cleomenes for the present to be
looked upon as a man of integrity and power; but afterwards (Ptolemy's
weakness increasing his fear, as it usually happens, where there is
no judgment and wisdom at the bottom, placing his security in jealousy
and suspicion) rendered Cleomenes suspected to the courtiers, as having
too much interest with the mercenaries; and many had this saying in
their mouths, "That he was a lion amidst a flock of sheep;" for such
he seemed to be in the court, slily overlooking and taking notice of
the management of affairs; therefore, when he desired a navy and an
army from the king, his petition was rejected. But when he understood
that Antigonus was dead, that the Achæans were engaged in a war with
the Ætolians, and that the affairs of Peloponnessus, being now in very
great distraction and distress, required and invited his assistance,
he desired leave to depart only with his friends; but could not obtain
that, the king not so much as hearing his petition, being shut up
amongst his women, and wasting his hours in debauchery and frolics. But
Sosibius, the chief minister of state, thought that Cleomenes, being
detained against his will, would grow ungovernable and dangerous, and
yet it was not safe to let him go, being an aspiring, daring man, and
well acquainted with the diseases and weakness of the kingdom; for no
presents, no gifts, could win him to compliance. But as the ox Apis,
though revelling in all possible plenty and delight, yet desires to
live as nature would provide for him, to be at liberty and frisk about
the fields, and can scarce endure to be under the priests' keeping; so
he could not brook their courtship, and tender entertainment, but, like
Achilles,
Whilst there, his heart did waste with secret grief, And he was eager
for the noisy wars.
His affairs standing in this condition, Nicagoras, the Messenian,
came to Alexandria: a man that deeply hated Cleomenes, yet pretended
to be his friend; for he had formerly sold Cleomenes a fair estate,
but never received the money, because Cleomenes was either unable,
(as it may be) or else, by reason of his engagement in the wars and
other distractions, had no time to pay him. Cleomenes, seeing him
landing, (for he was then walking upon the key) kindly saluted him,
and asked, "What business brought him to Egypt?" Nicagoras returned
his compliment, and told him, "That he came to bring some excellent
war-horses to the king." And Cleomenes, with a smile, subjoined, "I
wish you had rather brought pimps, whores, and pathics; for those now
are the king's chief delight." Nicagoras at the present smiled at
the conceit; but, a few days after, he put Cleomenes in mind of the
estate that he had bought of him, and desired his money, protesting,
that he would not have troubled him, if his merchandize had turned
to that account, which he thought it would. Cleomenes replied, "That
he had not a penny left of all that had been given him;" at which
answer Nicagoras being nettled, told Sosibius Cleomenes' scoff upon
the king. He caressed him for the discovery; but desiring to have
some greater reason to excite the king against Cleomenes, persuaded
Nicagoras to leave a letter written against Cleomenes, importing,
that he had a design, if he could have gotten ships and soldiers,
to surprise Cyrene. Nicagoras wrote such a letter, and left Egypt.
Four days after, Sosibius brought the letter to Ptolemy, pretending
it was just then delivered him, and with a bitter invective excited
the fury of the youth. Upon this it was agreed, that Cleomenes should
be invited into a large apartment, and treated as formerly, but not
suffered to go out again. This usage was grievous to Cleomenes; and by
this unlucky accident, his hopes, for the future, seemed to be quite
dashed. Ptolemy, the son of Chrysermas, a favourite of the king's,
always carried himself fairly towards Cleomenes: they contracted a near
acquaintance, and would talk freely together about the state. He, at
Cleomenes's desire, came to him, had some discourse with him upon a few
and inconsiderable subjects, to avoid suspicion, and made some excuses
for the king; but as he went out again, not knowing that Cleomenes
followed him to the door, he very severely reprimanded the keepers,
for their carelessness in looking after so great and so furious a
wild beast. This Cleomenes himself heard; and retiring before Ptolemy
perceived it, told his friends what he had heard. Upon this they cast
off all their former hopes, and determined for violent proceedings,
resolving to be revenged on Ptolemy for his base and unjust dealing, to
have satisfaction for the affronts, to die as it became Spartans, and
not stay till, like fatted sacrifices, they were butchered; for it was
both grievous and dishonourable for Cleomenes, who had scorned to come
to terms with Antigonus, a brave warrior, and a man of action, to wait
an effeminate king's leisure, till he should lay aside his fiddle, and
end his dance, and then kill him. These courses being resolved on, and
Ptolemy happening at the same time to make a progress to Canopus, they
first spread abroad a report, that his freedom was ordered by the king;
and it being the king's custom to send presents and an entertainment
to those whom he would free, Cleomenes's friends made that provision,
and sent it into the prison, thereby deceiving the keepers, who thought
it had been sent by the king; for he sacrificed, and gave them large
portions, and with a crown upon his head feasted and made merry with
his friends. It is said, that he began the action sooner than he
designed, having understood that a servant of one of the accomplices
lay abroad with a mistress that he loved. This made him afraid of a
discovery; and therefore, as soon as it was full noon, and all the
keepers drunk and fast asleep, he put on his coat, and opening the seam
on his right shoulder, with his sword drawn in his hand, he issued
forth, together with his friends, provided in the same manner, making
thirteen in all. One of them, by name Hippotas, was lame; he followed
the first onset very well; but when afterwards he perceived that they
were more slow in their advances for his sake, he desired them to run
him through, and not ruin their enterprise, by staying for an useless,
unprofitable man. By chance an Alexandrian was then riding by the door;
him they threw off, and, setting Hippotas on horseback, ran through the
narrow lanes, and proclaimed liberty to the people; but they, it seems,
had courage enough to praise and admire Cleomenes's daring, but not one
had the heart to follow and assist him. Three of them fell on Ptolemy,
the son of Chrysermas, as he was coming out of the palace, and killed
him: another Ptolemy, the lieutenant of the city, advancing against
them in a chariot, they set upon, dispersed his guards and attendants
and pulling him out of the chariot, killed him upon the place. Then
they made toward the castle, designing to break open the prison, and
take the prisoners to their assistance; but the keepers were too quick
for them, and secured the passages. Being baffled in this attempt,
Cleomenes, with his company, roamed about the city, none joining with
them, but all retreating from, and flying his approach; therefore,
despairing of success, and saying to his friends, "That it was no
wonder that women ruled over those men that fled liberty," he excited
them all to die as bravely as became his followers, and men of their
glorious performances. This said, Hippotas was first, as he desired,
run through by one of the young men, and then each of them readily and
resolutely fell upon his own sword, except Pantheus, that Pantheus that
first surprised Megalopolis. This man, being a very handsome person,
and a better companion than any of the youth, the king loved, and bade
him, when he had seen him and the rest fallen, die by their example.
Pantheus walked over them as they lay, and pricked every one with his
dagger, to try whether any was alive; when he pricked Cleomenes in
the leg, and saw him turn upon his back, he kissed him, sat down by
him, and when he was quite dead, covered his carcase, and then killed
himself upon his body.
Thus fell Cleomenes, that great, brave man, after he had been king of
Sparta sixteen years. The news of their fall being noised through the
city, Cratesiclea, though a woman of a great spirit, could not bear up
against the insupportable weight of this affliction, but, embracing
Cleomenes's children, made grievous lamentations; but the eldest boy,
none suspecting such a spirit in a child, threw himself headlong from
the top of the house; he was bruised very much, but not killed by the
fall, and was taken up crying, and expressing his resentment for not
being permitted to destroy himself. Ptolemy, as soon as an account of
the action was brought him, gave order, that Cleomenes's body should
be flayed and hung up; that his children, mother, and the women that
were with her, should be killed. Among those was Pantheus's wife, a
very fair woman, and of a stately carriage, who had been but newly
married, and suffered these disasters in the height of her love. Her
parents would not let her embark with Pantheus presently after they
were married, though she eagerly desired it, but shut her up, and kept
her by violence at home; yet a few days after, she got a horse and a
little money, and, escaping by night, made speed to Tænarus, where
she embarked for Egypt, came to her husband, and with him cheerfully
endured to live in a foreign country. She led Cratesiclea, as she was
going with the soldiers to execution, held up her train, and begged her
to be courageous, who of herself was not in the least afraid of death,
and desired nothing else, but only to be killed before the children.
When they were come to the place of execution, the children were first
killed before Cratesiclea's eyes, and afterwards she herself, with
only these words in her mouth; "O children, whither are you gone?" But
Pantheus's wife girding her garments close to her, and being a strong
woman, without any noise or lamentation, looked after every one that
was slain, and wound them up as well as her present circumstances would
permit; and after all were killed, dressing herself, bound her clothes
close about her, and, suffering none to come near, or be an eye witness
of her fall, beside the executioner, she courageously submitted to the
stroke, and wanted nobody to look after, or wind her up after she was
dead. Thus, in her death, the modesty of her mind appeared, and set
the guard upon her body, which she always kept when alive; and she, in
the declining age of the Spartans, shewed, that women were no unequal
rivals of the men, and was an instance of such a courage as would not
sneak to the affronts of fortune. A few days after, those that watched
the hanging body of Cleomenes, saw a very great snake winding about
his head, and covering his face, so that no bird of prey should fly at
it. This made the king superstitiously afraid, and set the women upon
several lustrations, as if he had been an extraordinary man, and one
beloved by the gods, that had been slain. And the Alexandrians made
processions to the place, and gave Cleomenes the title of Hero, and
the Son of the gods, till the philosophers satisfied them, by saying,
"That, as oxen breed bees, putrefying horses breed hornets, and beetles
rise from the carcases of dead asses, so the humours and juices of
the marrow of a man's body, coagulating, produce serpents." And this
the antients observing, appropriated a serpent rather than any other
creature to heroes.
PROLOGUE,
SPOKEN BY MR MOUNTFORD.
I think, or hope at least, the coast is clear;
That none but men of wit and sense are here;
That our Bear-Garden friends are all away,
Who bounce with hands and feet, and cry, Play, Play;
Who, to save coach-hire, trudge along the street,
Then print our matted seats with dirty feet;
Who, while we speak, make love to orange-wenches,
And, between acts, stand strutting on the benches;
Where got a cock-horse, making vile grimaces,
They to the boxes show their booby faces.
A Merry-Andrew such a mob will serve,
And treat them with such wit as they deserve.
Let them go people Ireland, where there's need
Of such new planters to repair the breed;
Or to Virginia or Jamaica steer,
But have a care of some French privateer;
For, if they should become the prize of battle,
They'll take them, black and white, for Irish cattle.
Arise, true judges, in your own defence,
Controul these foplings, and declare for sense:
For, should the fools prevail, they stop not there,
But make their next descent upon the fair.
Then rise, ye fair; for it concerns you most,
That fools no longer should your favours boast;
'Tis time you should renounce them, for we find
They plead a senseless claim to womankind:
Such squires are only fit for country-towns,
To stink of ale, and dust a stand with clowns;
Who, to be chosen for the land's protectors,
Tope and get drunk before their wise electors.
Let not farce lovers your weak choice upbraid,
But turn them over to the chamber-maid;
Or, if they come to see our tragic scenes,
Instruct them what a Spartan hero means:
Teach them how manly passions ought to move,
For such as cannot think, can never love;
And, since they needs will judge the poet's art,
Point them with fescues to each shining part.
Our author hopes in you; but still in pain,
He fears your charms will be employed in vain.
You can make fools of wits, we find each hour;
But to make wits of fools, is past your power.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
CLEOMENES, _King of Sparta_.
CLEONIDAS, _his Son by his first Wife_.
PTOLEMY, _King of Egypt_.
SOSIBIUS, _his Minister of State_.
CLEANTHES, _Son to_ SOSIBIUS, _Friend to_ CLEOMENES,
_Captain of_ PTOLEMY'S _Guard_.
PANTHEUS, _a Noble Spartan, the Favourite of_ CLEOMENES.
CŒNUS, _a Messenian Lord_.
CRATESICLEA, _Mother to_ CLEOMENES.
CLEORA, CLEOMENES'_s_ _second Wife_.
CASSANDRA, MISTRESS TO _Ptolemy_.
_Priests of Apis. A Mariner. Egyptians. Guards_
CLEOMENES,
THE
SPARTAN HERO.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--_The Sea-Port of Alexandria._
_Enter_ CLEOMENES.
_Cleom._ Dejected! no, it never shall be said,
That fate had power upon a Spartan soul:
My mind on its own centre stands unmoved,
And stable, as the fabric of the world,
Propt on itself; still I am Cleomenes.
I fought the battle bravely, which I lost;
And lost it, but to Macedonians,
The successors of those who conquered Asia.
'Twas for a cause too, such a cause I fought;
Unbounded empire hung upon my sword:
Greece, like a lovely heifer, stood in view,
To see the rival bulls each other gore,
But wished the conquest mine.
I fled; and yet I languish not in exile;
But here in Egypt whet my blunted horns,
And meditate new fights, and chew my loss.
Ah! why, ye gods, must Cleomenes wait
On this effeminate, luxurious court,
For tardy helps of base Egyptian bands?
Why have not I, whose individual mind
Would ask a nation of such souls to inform it,
Why have not I ten thousand hands to fight
It all myself, and make the work my own?
_Enter_ CRATESICLEA, CLEORA, _and_ CLEONIDAS.
_Crat._ Is this well done? or like the king of Sparta?
Or like my son? to waste your time in tears?
What have you done, that you avoid mankind,
And sculk in corners like a guilty slave?
_Cleor._ We have been seeking you, my dearest lord,
Through all the shady walks and dark retreats
Of secret care; that false deluding friend,
That only sooths and keeps you company,
To prey upon your last remains of life.
_Cleom._ I've heard you. [_Sighs._
_Crat._ Hear her still; she tells you true.
This melancholy flatters, but unmans you.
What is it else, but penury of soul,
A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind,
That locks up all the vigour to attempt,
By barely crying,--'tis impossible!
_Cleom._ You both mistake me:--That I grieve, 'tis true;
But 'tis a grief of fury, not despair!
And if a manly drop or two fall down,
It scalds along my cheeks, like the green wood,
That, sputtering in the flame, works outward into tears.
_Cleor._ Why would you leave me then, and be alone?
Indeed it was a churlish kind of sorrow,
Indeed it was, to engross it all yourself,
And not permit me to endure my share.
Think you, because I am of tender mould,
I cannot suffer and partake your burdens?
Alas! I suffer more by not partaking.
_Cleom._ My wife! my mother! O, I'm so divided,
That I grieve most for both, and love both most!
Two twining vines about this elm, whose fall
Must shortly--very shortly, crush you both.
And yet I will not go to ground,
Without a noble ruin round my trunk:
The forest shall be shaken when I sink,
And all the neighbouring trees
Shall groan, and fall beneath my vast destruction.
_Crat._ That's something yet, an earnest of an action;
Another groan or two, and all goes well.
_Cleom._ Well, I will live.
_Crat._ Thou shalt.
_Cleom._ I'll try at least.
_Crat._ Do not go back, and beat off what thou saidst.
_Cleon._ Peace, peace, good grandmother; he lives already,
And conquers too, in saying he will try:
Nay, if the king of Sparta says he'll do't,
I ask no more than that;
For 'tis below a king to tell a lie.
_Cleor._ But where's the means?
_Cleon._ The means is in the daring:
Had my own mother lived, and asked that question,
I should have thought my father had begot me
Without her help, as Pallas sprung from Jove.
_Cleor._ Think'st thou, he can defend us all, alone?
_Cleon._ No; for I mean to help him.
_Cleom._ That's my boy, my hopeful lion's whelp.
[_Takes and kisses him._
_Cleor._ So Hector hugged his young Astyanax;
Went out to fight, and never saw him more.
_Cleon._ But why did not Astyanax go with Hector?
_Crat._ Because he was a child, and could not go.
_Cleon._ Was he a Spartan child?
_Cleor._ Oh no! a Trojan.
_Cleon._ There's it, a Trojan child. But grant me this,
There are no Spartan children; we are born men;
And though you say, I have but fifteen years,
We Spartans take ten strides before our age,
And start beyond dull nature.
_Cleom._ Let me but live to shadow this young plant
From blights and storms, he'll soon shoot up a hero:
He must; I got him in the pride of conquest;
For, coming back from my first maiden battle,
Wherein I made the great Aratus fly,
And added all his laurels to my brow,
I well remember, that I spurred it hard,
And, like a meteor, shot before my troops,
To reach my love that night. I was bridegroom,
Or scarce had lost that name; and, stealing home,
According to my country's modest use,
I found my Ægiatis just undrest,
Wearying the gods with vows for my return.
My transport was so great, I could not stay,
But kissed, and took her, trembling, in my arms;
And in that fury of my love, I stampt
This image of my soul.--[41]
_Enter_ PANTHEUS.
What, my Pantheus!
Where hast thou been this long long year of hours?
_Panth._ Where I have past a merry morning's walk,
With the best company.
_Cleom._ With whom?
_Panth._ Why with myself, in laughing at the world,
Making a farce of life, where knaves, and fools,
And madmen, that's all human kind, were actors.
_Cleom._ And what part acted you?
_Panth._ As little as I could; and daily would have less,
So please the gods, for that's a wise man's part.
_Cleom._ Would I could share thy balmy, even temper,
And milkiness of blood.
_Panth._ You may.
_Cleom._ As how?
_Panth._ By but forgetting you have been a king.
_Cleom._ Then must I rust in Egypt, never more
Appear in arms, and be the chief of Greece?
Now, by yon blue palace,
The mansion of my great forefather, Hercules,
I would lose o'er again Sellasia's field,
Rather than fight behind,
When proud Aratus led the Grecian van.
_Cleon._ What, when the lively trumpets sound a charge,
The word of battle may be Hercules,
And after our great grandsire's name, Aratus
Cries,--Cleomenes, bring you up the rear.
_Panth._ If fortune takes not off this boy betimes,
He'll make mad work, and elbow all his neighbours.
_Cleon._ My neighbours! Little: Elbow all the world,
And push off kings, like counters, from the board,
To place myself the foremost.
_Panth._ What wilt thou be, young cockeril, when thy spurs
Are grown to sharpness?
_Cleon._ Why, I'll be a Spartan;
For if I said a king, I should say less.
I mean a Spartan while I live on earth;
But when in heaven, I'll stand next Hercules,
And thrust between my father and the god.
_Cleor._ Do you not view, my lord,
As in a glass, your darling fault, ambition,
Reflected in your son?
_Cleom._ My virtue rather:
I love to see him sparkle out betimes,
For 'twas my flame, that lighted up his soul:
I'm pleased with my own work; Jove was not more
With infant nature, when his spacious hand
Had rounded this huge ball of earth and seas,
To give it the first push, and see it roll
Along the vast abyss.
_Cleon._ My mother would have had my youth brought up
To spin with girls in Sparta.
_Crat._ Well said, my boy; yet Hercules, they say,
Took up the distaff once.
_Cleon._ Yes, when he had been conquered by a woman.
_Panth._ [_To_ CLEOM.] One thing I have forgot, which may import you,--
You'll suddenly hear news from Greece.
_Cleom._ Thou wert
Indeed forgetful, not to tell me that;
For, from my first arrival on this coast,
This fatal Egypt, where I fled for refuge,
In three long months I have not heard from Greece.
What makes thee think I shall have news so soon?
_Panth._ As walking on the beach, I saw a ship
Just entering in the port, and on the deck
Stood Cœnus.
_Cleom._ Cœnus, saidst thou?
_Panth._ Yes, our Cœnus, the rich Messenian lord;
I saw and knew him; but, amidst the shouts
Of mariners, and busy care to sling
His horses soon ashore, he saw not me.
_Cleom._ Then shall I hear of thee once more, dear country!
I fear too soon: shall hear how proud Antigonus
Led o'er Eurota's banks his conquering troops,
And first to wondering Sparta shewed a king,
A king, that was not hers:
Then I shall hear of sacrilege and murders,
And fires, and rapes on matrons, and on maids.
_Panth._ Such news we must expect.
_Cleom._ O happy ghosts
Of those that fell in the last fatal fight,
And lived not to survive their country's loss!
Base as I was, I should have fallen there too;
But first have raised a mountain of the dead,
To choke their way to Sparta.
_Panth._ Thus I knew
Your blood would boil, and therefore I delayed
So long to tell you Cœnus was arrived.
_Cleom._ Go,
My mother, my Cleora, and my boy.
[_Stroking_ CLEON.
Your ears would be polluted with such ills,
Which I must try to mollify, before
They reach your tender hearing.
_Cleor._ I obey you.
But let not grief disorder you too much
For what you lost.
For me, while I have you, and you are kind,
I ask no more of heaven.
_Cleon._ I go too,
Because my king and father bids me go;
Else, I have sternness in my soul enough
To hear of murders, rapes, and sacrilege:
For those are soldiers' work; and I would hear them,
To spur me to revenge.
[_Exeunt_ CRAT. CLEORA, _and_ CLEON.
_Panth._ He's here already;
Now bear it like yourself.
_Cleom._ I'm armed against it.
_Enter_ CŒNUS; _salutes_ CLEOMENES.
_Cœn._ I heard, sir, you were refuged in this court,
And come to beg a favour.
_Cleom._ Good; a favour!
Sure, thou mistakest me for a king of Egypt,
And think'st I govern here?
_Cœn._ You're Cleomenes.
_Cleom._ No thanks to heaven for that. I should have died,
And then I had not been this Cleomenes.
_Panth._ You promised patience, sir.
_Cleom._ Thou art a scurvy monitor; I am patient:
Do I foam at lips,
Or stare at eyes? Methinks, I am wondrous patient:
Now, thou shalt see how I can swallow gall.--
I pr'ythee, gentle Cœnus, tell the story [_Speaking softly._
Of ruined Sparta; leave no circumstance
Untold, of all their woes; and I will hear thee,
As unconcerned, as if thou toldst a tale
Of ruined Troy. I pr'ythee, tell us how
The victors robbed the shrines, polluted temples,
Ransacked each wealthy house:--No, spare me that;
Poor honest Sparta had no wealth to lose.
But [_Raises his voice._] when thou com'st to tell of matrons ravished,
And virgins forced, then raise thy voice,
And let me hear their howlings,
And dreadful shrieks, as in the act of rape.
_Panth._ Again you are distempered.
_Cleom._ [_Softly._] Peace! I am not.
I was but teaching him to grace his tale
With decent horror.
_Cœn._ Your sick imagination feigns all this:
Now hear a truth, and wonder.
_Cleom._ Has not the conqueror been at Sparta?
_Cœn._ Yes.
_Cleom._ Nay, then I know what follows victory.
_Panth._ You interrupt, as if you would not know.
_Cœn._ Then,--if you will imagine,--think some king,
Who loved his people, took a peaceful progress
To some far distant place of his dominions;
Smiled on his subjects, as he rode in triumph,
And strewed his plenty, wheresoe'er he passed.
Nay, raise your thoughts yet higher;--think some deity,
Some better Ceres, drawn along the sky
By gentle dragons, scattered, as she flew,
Her fruitful grains upon the teeming ground,
And bade new harvests rise.
_Cleom._ Do we dream, Pantheus?
_Panth._ No, sure; we are awake: but 'tis he, dreams.
_Cœn._ The soldiers marched, as in procession, slow,
And entered Sparta like a choir of priests,
As if they feared to tread on holy ground.
No noise was heard; no voice, but of the crier,
Proclaiming peace and liberty to Sparta.
At that, a peal of loud applause rang out,
And thinned the air, till even the birds fell down
Upon the shouters' heads: the shops flew open,
And all the busy trades renewed their tasks:
No law was changed, no custom was controuled;
That had Lycurgus lived, or you returned,
So Sparta would have shown.
_Panth._ If this be true,----
_Cleom._ If this indeed be true,
Then farewell, Sparta.
_Cœn._ Hear me out.--
He reaped no fruit of conquest but their blessings;
Nor staid three days in Sparta; summoned thence,
With sudden news, that a barbarian host
Was entered Macedonia,
And, like a mighty deluge rolling on,
Swept all before them. Thus alarmed, he left us;
Marched homeward; met, and fought them; nay, and lived
To say, the field is mine!
_Panth._ Died of his wounds?
_Cœn._ Not so; but, straining loud his feeble voice
To animate his soldiers, broke a vein,
And, in a purple vomit, poured his soul.
_Panth._ O blessed, blessed Cœnus, for this happy news!
[_Embraces_ CŒNUS.
_Cleom._ O, wretch! O, born to all misfortunes! cursed,
Cursed Cleomenes!
_Panth._ How's this!--Are these the thanks you pay the gods,
Who freed your Sparta, and removed, by death,
Your only fatal foe?
_Cleom._ O, blind Pantheus!
Canst thou not find, that, had I but deferred
Sellasia's fight three days, but three short days,
Fate then had fought my battle with Antigonus;
And I, not fighting, had been still a king?
_Panth._ That's true; but that you knew not when you fought.
_Cleom._ Why, therefore, once again cursed Cleomenes!
'Tis not to be endured,
That fate of empires, and the fall of kings,
Should turn on flying hours, and catch of moments.
_Panth._ Now, by my soul, 'tis lazy wickedness,
To rail at heaven, and not to help yourself;
Heaven's but too kind, in offering you the means.
Your fate, once more, is laid upon the anvil;
Now pluck up all the Spartan in your soul,
Now stretch at every stroke, and hammer out
A new, and nobler fortune;
Else may the peaceful ground restore the dead,
And give up old Antigonus again.
_Cleom._ I thank thee; thou hast added flame to fury.
The Spartan genius shall once more be roused;
Our household gods, that droop upon our hearths,
Each from his venerable face shall brush
The Macedonian soot, and shine again.
_Panth._ Now you confess the Spartan.
_Cleom._ Haste, Pantheus!
I struggle like the priestess with a god;
With that oppressing god, that works her soul.
Haste to Cleanthes, my Egyptian friend,
That only man that Egypt ever made;
He's my Lucina. Say, my friendship wants him,
To help me bring to light a manly birth;
Which to the wondering world I shall disclose,
Or, if he fail me, perish in my throes. [_Exeunt._
ACT II.--SCENE I.
_Enter_ CLEOMENES, CLEANTHES, _and_ PANTHEUS.
_Cleom._ The king sent for me, say'st thou, and to council!
_Clean._ And I was coming to you, on that message,
Just when I met Pantheus.
_Panth._ Good omen, sir, of some intended good.
Your fortune mends; she reconciles apace,
When Egypt makes the advances.
_Cleom._ Rise a prophet!--
For since his father's death, this Ptolemy
Has minded me no more
Than boys their last year's gewgaws.
Petition on petition, prayer on prayer,
For aid, or free dismission, all unanswered,
As Cleomenes were not worth his thought;
Or he, that god, which Epicurus dreamt,
Disclaiming care, and lolling on a cloud.
_Panth._ At length, it seems, it pleases him to wake.
_Clean._ Yes, for himself, not you; he's drenched too deep,
To wake on any call, but his own danger.
My father, his wise pilot, has observed
The face of heaven, and sees a gathering storm;
I know not from what quarter; but it threatens,
And, while it threats, he wants such hands as yours;
But when 'tis o'er, the thoughtless king returns
To native sloth, shifts sides, and slumbers on.
_Panth._ Sure, he'll remember to reward those hands,
That helped him from the plunge.
_Clean._ You dream, Pantheus,
Of former times, when gratitude was virtue.
Reward him! Yes, like Æsop's snake the wretch,
That warmed him in his bosom. We are tools,
Vile abject things, created for his use,
As beasts for men; as oxen, draw the yoke.
And then are sacrificed.
_Cleom._ I would not use him so.
_Clean._ You are not Ptolemy;
Nor is he Cleomenes.
_Cleom._ I'll press him home,
To give me my dispatch; few ships will serve
To bear my little band, and me, to Greece:
I will not ask him one of his Egyptians;
No, let him keep them all for slaves and stallions,
Fit only to beget their successors.
_Clean._ Excepting one Egyptian,--that's myself.
_Cleom._ Thou need'st not be excepted; thou art only
Misplanted in a base degenerate soil;
But Nature, when she made thee, meant a Spartan.
_Panth._ Then if your father will but second us--
_Clean._ I dare not promise for him, but I'll try.
He loves me: love and interest sometimes
May make a statesman honest.
_Cleom._ For the king,
I know he'll not refuse us, for he dares not;
A coward is the kindest animal,
'Tis the most giving creature in a fright.
_Clean._ Say the most promising, and there you hit him.
_Cleom._ Well, I'll attack him on the shaking side,
That next his fearful heart.
_Enter_ CŒNUS.
_Cœn._ I come to mind you of the late request,
You would not hear. Be pleased to engage this lord,
And then it may succeed.
_Cleom._ What wouldst thou, Cœnus?
_Cœn._ I brought along
Some horses of the best Thessalian breed,
High-spirited and strong, and made for war;
These I would sell the king.
_Cleom._ Mistaken man!
Thou shouldst have brought him whores and catamites;
Such merchandise is fit for such a monarch.
_Clean._ Wouldst thou bring horses here, to shame our men?
Those very words, of _spirited_ and _war_,
Are treason in our clime.
_Cleom._ From the king downward, (if there be a downward,
From Ptolemy to any of his slaves,)
No true Egyptian ever knew in horses
The far side from the near.
_Clean._ Cleomenes told thee true: Thou shouldst have brought
A soft pad strumpet for our monarch's use;
Though, thanked be hell, we want not one at home,--
Our master's mistress, she that governs all.
'Tis well, ye powers, ye made us but Egyptians:
You could not have imposed
On any other people such a load,
As an effeminate tyrant and a woman.
_Cleom._ Sell me thy horses, and, at my return,
When I have got from conquered Greece the pelf
That noble Sparta scorns, I'll pay their value.
_Cœn._ Just as you paid me for the fair estate
I sold you there. [_Aside._
_Cleom._ What's that you mutter?
_Cœn._ Nothing: That's what his hopes are worth--
[_Aside._ _Exit_ CŒNUS.
_Panth._ I fear he's gone away dissatisfied.
_Clean._ I'll make it up:--Those horses I present you;
You'll put them to the use that nature meant them.
_Cleom._ I burden you too much.
_Clean._ If you refuse, you burden me much more.
A trifle this:
A singing eunuch's price, a pandar's fee,
Exceeds this sum at court.
The king expects us.
_Cleom._ Come after us, Pantheus,
And bring my boy Cleonidas along.
I'll shew his youth this base luxurious court,
Just as in sober Sparta we expose
Our drunken Helots; only with design
To wean our children from the vice of wine. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.--_The Apartment of_ CASSANDRA.
_Enter King_ PTOLEMY, SOSIBIUS, _with papers, after him_.
_Ptol._ No more of business.
_Sosib._ Sir, the council waits you.
_Ptol._ Council! What's that? a pack of bearded slaves,
Grave faces, saucy tongues, and knavish hearts,
That never speak one word, but self's at bottom;
The scavengers that sweep state nuisances,
And are themselves the greatest--I'll no council.
_Sosib._ Remember, you appointed them this day.
_Ptol._ I had forgot 'twas my Cassandra's birth-day.
_Sosib._ Your brother Magas grows more dangerous daily,
And has the soldiers' hearts.
_Ptol._ I'll cut him off.
_Sosib._ Not so soon done as said. The Spartan king
Was summoned for advice, and waits without.
_Ptol._ His business is to wait.
_Sosib._ Be pleased to sign these papers; they are all
Of great concern.
_Ptol._ My pleasure is of more.--
How could I curse my name of Ptolemy!
For 'tis so long, it asks an hour to write it.
By Heaven, I'll change it into Jove or Mars,
Or any other civil monosyllable,
That will not tire my hand.
_Sosib._ These are for common good. [_Shewing papers._
_Ptol._ I am glad of that;
Those shall be sure to wait.
_Sosib._ Orders to pay the soldiers, ripe for mutiny;
They may revolt.
_Ptol._ To whom?
_Sosib._ The man you fear,--
Your brother Magas.
_Ptol._ That's indeed the danger.
Give me the physic; let me swallow quick.--
There's Ptolemy for that: Now, not one more,
For every minute I expect Cassandra
To call me to the music.
If she should find me at this rare employment,
Of signing out her treasures!
_Sosib._ The rest are only grants to her you love,
And places for her friends.
_Ptol._ I'll sign them all, were every one a province.
Thou know'st her humour, not to brook denial;
And then a quarrel on her birth-day too
Would be of ill presage. [_Signs more papers._
_Enter_ CASSANDRA _and Women_.
_Cas._ I heard you waited; but you'll pardon me,
I was no sooner dressed.
_Ptol._ Thus I begin my homage to the day [_Kisses her hand._
That brought me forth a mistress; and am proud
To be your foremost slave.
_Cas._ Our little entertainment waits; not worth
A longer ceremony; please to grace it?
_The Scene opens, and discovers_ CASSANDRA'S _Apartment.
Musicians and Dancers._ PTOLEMY _leads in_ CASSANDRA; SOSIBIUS
_follows--They sit. Towards the end of the song and dance, enter_
CLEOMENES _and_ CLEANTHES _on one side of the stage, where they
stand_.
SONG.
_No, no, poor suffering heart, no change endeavour,
Chuse to sustain the smart, rather than leave her;
My ravished eyes behold such charms about her,
I can die with her, but not live without her;
One tender sigh of hers to see me languish,
Will more than pay the price of my past anguish:
Beware, O cruel fair, how you smile on me,
'Twas a kind look of yours, that has undone me._
_Love has in store for me one happy minute,
And she will end my pain, who did begin it;
Then no day void of bliss, of pleasure, leaving,
Ages shall slide away without perceiving:
Cupid shall guard the door, the more to please us,
And keep out Time and Death, when they would seize us:
Time and Death shall depart, and say, in flying,
Love has found out a way to live by dying._
_Cleom._ [_To_ CLEAN.] Is this the council of the Egyptian king?
And am I called upon the grave debate,
To judge of trilling notes, and tripping feet?
_Clean._ 'Tis of a piece with all the rest of Ptolemy;
A singing and a dancing government.--
O Egypt, Egypt! thou art grown the lees
Of all the world; the slime of thy own Nile.
Sure we had neither human sires, nor mothers;
The sun and Nile begot us: We're so cowardly,
And yet so proud; so many gods we have.
And yet not one!--
_Cleom._ No more:--they seem to gaze on me with wonder.
_Clean._ And well they may, to see a man in Egypt.
[_King_, CASSANDRA, _and_ SOSIBIUS,
_rise and come forward_.
_Ptol._ Welcome, royal stranger!
Not only to my court, but to my bosom.
_Cleom._ I heard you sent for me; but on what business
Am yet to learn.
_Ptol._ The greatest in the world: to see the man,
Whom even his foes extol, his friends adore,
And all mankind admire.
_Cleom._ Say rather, sir,
A man forsaken of his better stars,
A banished prince, the shadow of a king.
_Ptol._ My father's friend.
_Cleom._ I must not think so vainly of myself,
To be what you have said; lest it upbraid you,
To let your father's friend for three long months
Thus dance attendance for a word of audience.
_Cas._ Now, by my soul, 'tis nobly urged: He speaks
As if he were in Sparta, on his throne;
Not asking aid, but granting.
How little looks our pageant prince to him!
This is the only king I ever saw. [_Aside._
_Cleom._ By all the gods, when I have stood repulsed,
Before your gates, and could not gain admittance,
I have not sighed so much for my own sorrows,
As I have blushed for your ungenerous usage.
_Clean._ Not a word, Ptolemy?--
Ashamed, by all that's good, to be miscalled
A king, when this is present. [_Aside._
_Cleom._ Think you 'tis nothing
For me to beg; that I constrain my temper
To sue for aid, which you should first have offered?
Believe me, Ptolemy, a noble soul
Does much, that asks: He gives you power to oblige him.
Know, sir, there's a proud modesty in merit,
Averse from begging; and resolved to pay
Ten times the gift it asks.
_Ptol._ I have been to blame;
And you have justly taxed my long neglect.
I am young, and am a lover; and how far
Fair eyes may make even kings forgetful, look,
And read my best excuse.
_Clean._ O miracle! He blushes!
The first red virtue I have ever seen
Upon that face. [_Aside._
_Cas._ I am sorry, sir, you've made me your excuse;
As if I stood betwixt the good you meant,
And intercepted every royal grace.
Now, in my own defence, I must solicit
All his concerns, as mine:
And if my eyes have power, he should not sue
In vain, nor linger with a long delay.
_Ptol._ Well! I'll consider.
_Cas._ Say that word again,
And I'll consider too.
_Ptol._ Pr'ythee be satisfied; he shall be aided,
Or I'll no more be king.
_Clean._ When wert thou one!--For shame, for shame, ye gods,
That e'er you put it in a strumpet's power,
To do so good a deed! [_Aside._
_Cleom._ I am a Spartan, madam, scarce of words;
We have but just enough to speak our meaning.
Be thanked; that's all I could have said to Jove,
Had Jove, like you, restored me to my crown.
_Sosib._ [_To_ CLEOM.] The gods have given you, sir, the speedy means
To satisfy your debt of gratitude.
_Cleom._ Oh, make me happy! tell me how this sword
(This and my heart are all that's left me now)
Can be employed to serve the crown of Egypt.
_Clean._ Well said, father; thou art a true statesman.
So much for so much is the way at court. [_Aside._
_Sosib._ My king has in the camp a younger brother,
Valiant, they say, but very popular;
He gets too far into the soldiers' grace,
And inches out my master.
_Cleom._ Is the king
Assured of this, by any overt-act,
Or any close conspiracy revealed?
_Ptol._ He has it in his power to be a traitor;
And that's enough.
_Sosib._ He has it in his will too;
Else, why this ostentation of his virtues,
His bounty, valour, and his temperance?
Why are they thus exposed to public view,
But as a Venus set beside a monster,
To make an odious comparison;
As if his brother wanted what he boasts?
_Ptol._ What's to be done with him?
_Cas._ There needs no more, I think, but to contrive,
With secrecy, and safety, to dispatch him.
_Clean._ I thank thee, that thou hast not cozened me
In this advice; for two good deeds together
Had been too much in conscience for thy calling. [_Aside._
_Ptol._ He dies, that's out of doubt.
_Cleom._ Your brother, sir!
_Ptol._ Why do you ask that question?
_Cleom._ Because I had a brother,
(Oh grief to say I had, and have not now!)
Wise, valiant, temperate; and, in short, a Spartan;
Had all the virtues, which your counsellor
Imputed to your brother as his crimes.
He loved me well; so well, he could but die,
To shew he loved me better than his life.
He lost it for me in Sellasia's field;
And went the greatest ghost of all our name,
That ever had a brother, or a king[42].
_Sosib._ Wipe off the tears that stand upon your eyes;
Good nature works too far. Kings have no brothers,
What men call such, are rivals of their crowns;
Yours timed his death, so as to merit grief.
Who knows, but he laid in, by that last action,
The means to have betrayed you, had he lived?
_Cleom._ I would say something; but I curb my passion,
Because thou art the father to my friend--
To you, sir, this: If you condemn your brother, [_To_ PTOL.
Only because he's bounteous, great, and brave,--
Know, you condemn those virtues, own you want them.
Had you a thousand brothers, such as he,
You ought to shew you are above them all,
By daring to reward, and cherish them,
As bucklers of your crown in time of war,
And in soft peace, the jewels that adorn it.
_Cas._ I stand corrected, sir; he ought to live.
_Ptol._ I think so too.
_Sosib._ I do not wish his death,
Howe'er I seemed to give that rugged counsel.
_Clean._ Well said again, father! Comply, comply;
Follow the sun, true shadow. [_Aside._
_Sosib._ I only wish my master may be safe;
But there are mercenaries in the army,
Three thousand Greeks, the flower of all our troops,
Like wolves indeed among Egyptian lambs;
If these revolt--(I do not say they will)
But if your brother please to take the crown,
And be not good enough to let you reign,
Those Greeks, where'er they go, will turn the scale.
_Ptol._ What think you, Cleomenes?
_Cleom._ He says true.
_Ptol._ Then Magas must not live.
_Cleom._ That does not follow.
Fear not those mercenaries: they are mine,
Devoted to my interest, commanded by my nod:
They are my limbs of war, and I their soul.
Were they in arms against you at your gates,
High in their rage, and fixed upon the spoil,
Should I say,--Hold!--nay, should I only frown,
They could not bear my eyes; but, awed and mastered,
Like lions to their keepers, would couch and fawn,
And disobey their hunger.
_Ptol._ Wondrous man! [_Embraces him._
How I admire thy virtue!
_Cas._ And his genius.
Some are born kings,
Made up of three parts fire, so full of heaven,
It sparkles at their eyes. Inferior souls
Know them as soon as seen, by sure instinct,
To be their lords, and naturally worship
The secret god within them.
_Sosib._ Sir, I humbly beg
A word in private. [_To_ PTOL.
_Ptol._ Madam?--
_Cas._ You may go.
_Sosib._ Cleanthes, follow me.
[_Exeunt_ PTOL. SOSIB. CLEAN.
_Enter_ CLEONIDAS.
_Cleon._ Pantheus brought me hither to attend you.
_Cleom._ And thou art welcome; but thou comest too late.
_Cas._ Your page of honour?
_Cleon._ The mistake is easy in such a court as this,
Where princes look like pages.
_Cleom._ 'Tis my son.
_Cas._ I must have leave to love you, royal youth;
Above all nations I adore a Greek,
And of all Greeks a Spartan. [_Looking on_ CLEOM.
_Cleom._ What he is,
And what I am, are owing to your favour.
_Cas._ [_To_ CLEON.] Shall I not be your mistress?
[_Looking on_ CLEOM.
_Cleon._ No; for I would not get Egyptians.
_Cas._ For what, sir, do you take us?
_Cleon._ For what you are.
When the gods moulded up the paste of man,
Some of their dough was left upon their hands,
For want of souls; and so they made Egyptians.
They were intended for four feet; and when
They come to run before our noble Spartans,
They'll curse the gods for the two legs they owed them.
_Cas._ Then, since you will not let me be your mistress,
Would I had been your mother! [_Looking still on_ CLEOM.
_Cleon._ So would not I:
For then I had not been all Spartan.
_Cas._ [_Aside._] He answers not my glances, stupid man!
My tender looks, my languishing regards,
Are like mis-aiming arrows, lost in air,
And miss the flying prey.
[_While she walks_, CLEOM. _and_ CLEON. _are looking on a picture
hanging on the side of the Scenes. She takes out a pocket-glass,
and looks in it._
These eyes, I thank the gods,
Are still the same. The diamonds are not dimmed,
Nor is their lustre lost in Ptolemy.
Small boast: Alas! Ptolemy has no soul;
'Tis what he wants I love in Cleomenes.
Perhaps he dares not think I would be loved;
Then must I make the advance, and, making, lose
The vast prerogative our sex enjoys,
Of being courted first.--Courted! To what?
To our own wishes: There's the point; but still,
To speak our wishes first;--forbid it, pride,
Forbid it, modesty!--True; they forbid it,
But nature does not. When we are athirst,
Or hungry, will imperious nature stay?
Not eat nor drink, before 'tis bid fall on?--
Well, sex, if this must be,
That I must not invite, I may at least be suffered
To lay some kind occasion in his way,
That, if he dare but speak, he may succeed.
[_She turns round to them, and observes what they are doing._
CLEOM. _turns and meets her_; CLEON. _looks still on the picture_.
_Cleon._ I durst not have presumed to interrupt
Your private thoughts.
_Cas._ They wholly were employed in serving you.
But _durst not_, and _presume_, are words of fear;
I thought they were not in your Spartan tongue;
For my sake banish them.
On what were you so earnestly employed,
You would not look this way?
_Cleom._ A picture, madam.
_Cas._ View it again, 'tis worth a second sight;
Your son observes it still.--'Twere well to help
My lover's understanding. [_Goes with him to the Picture_.
Know you this piece, young prince?
_Cleon._ Some battle, I believe; and in that thought,
I gaze with such delight.
_Cleom._ Some rape, I guess.
_Cas._ That's near the true design, and yet mistaken;
'Tis Paris, bearing from your Spartan shore
The beauteous Helen. How do you approve it?
_Cleom._ Not in the least, for 'tis a scurvy piece.
_Cas._ And yet 'tis known to be Apelles' hand.
The style is his; you grant he was a master.
_Cleom._ 'Tis scurvy still, because it represents
A base dishonest act; to violate
All hospitable rites, to force away
His benefactor's wife:--Ungrateful villain!
And so the gods, the avenging gods have judged.
_Cleon._ Was he a Spartan king that suffered this?
Sure he revenged the rape.
_Cleom._ He did, my boy,
And slew the ravisher.
_Cas._ Look better, sir; you'll find it was no rape.
Mark well that Helen in her lover's arms:
Can you not see, she but affects to strive?
She heaves not up her hands to heaven for help,
But hugs the kind companion of her flight.
See how her tender fingers strain his sides!
'Tis an embrace; a grasping of desire;
A very belt of love, that girds his waist.
She looks as if she did not fear to fall,
But only lose her lover, if she fell.
Observe her eyes; how slow they seem to roll
Their wishing looks, and languish on his face!
Observe the whole design, and you would swear,
She ravished Paris, and not Paris her.
_Cleom._ Sparta has not to boast of such a woman;
Nor Troy to thank her, for her ill-placed love.
_Cas._ But Paris had. As for the war that followed,
'Twas but a fable of a Grecian wit,
To raise the valour of his countrymen:
For Menelaus was an honest wretch;
A tame good man, that never durst resent;
A mere convenient husband, dull and slavish,
By nature meant the thing, the lovers made him.
_Cleom._ His goodness aggravates their crime the more.
Had Menelaus used his Helen ill,
Had he been jealous, or distrusted both,
I would allow a grain or two for love,
And plead in their excuse.
_Cas._ There was their safety, that he was not jealous.
What would you more of him? he was a fool,
And put the happy means into their hands.
_Cleom._ I cannot much commend my countryman.
_Cas._ Indeed, my lord, your countryman was dull,
That did not understand so plain a courtship.
Have Spartans eyes for nothing, not to see
So manifest a passion?
_Cleom._ Yes, too well.-- [_Aside._
Madam, your goodness interests you too much
In Helen's cause. I have no more to urge,
But that she was a wife: that word, a wife,
In spite of all your eloquence, condemns her.
_Cas._ You argue justly; therefore 'twas a crime:
But, had she been a mistress, not a wife,
Her love had been a virtue, to forsake
The nauseous bed of a loathed fulsome king,
And fly into a sprightly lover's arms.
Her love had been a merit to her Paris,
To leave her country, and, what's more, her kingdom,
With a poor fugitive prince to sail away,
And bear her wealth along, to make him happy.
_Cleom._ You put your picture in the fairest light:
But both the lovers broke their plighted vows;
He to Oenone, she to Menelaus.
_Cas._ The gods, that made two fools, had done more justly,
To have matched Menelaus with Oenone.
Think better of my picture, it deserves
A second thought; it speaks; the Helen speaks.
_Cleon._ It speaks Egyptian then; a base dishonest tongue.
_Cas._ You are too young to understand her language.--
[_To_ CLEON.
Do not thank me, [_To_ CLEOM.
Till I have brought your business to perfection.
Doubt not my kindness; nothing shall be wanting
To make your voyage happy.
_Cleom._ I only fear the excess of your full bounty,
To give me more than what my wants require.
[_Exeunt_ CLEOM. _and_ CLEON.
_Cas._ Meaning, perhaps, my person and my love:
I would not think it so; and yet I fear,
And while I fear, his voyage shall be hindered.
No breath of wind
Can stir, to waft him hence, unless I please:
I am the goddess that commands the seas.
In vain he vows at any other shrine,
My heart is in his hands, his fate's in mine.
[_Exit_ CASSANDRA.
ACT III.
SCENE I.--_The King's Apartment._
_A Table set._ PTOLEMY, SOSIBIUS, CASSANDRA _sitting_: PTOLEMY _at
the upper end_; CASSANDRA _sitting on the one side_, SOSIBIUS _on
the other_.
_Ptol._ I must confess, 'twas obvious.
_Sosib._ He said he could command them with his nod:
Can he do this with mercenaries, raised
Not at his charge, but yours? by you maintained?
What could he more, had they been Spartans born?
_Cas._ What would you hence infer?
_Sosib._ What you observed:
Some are born kings, and so is Cleomenes.
_Cas._ A great soul dares not call himself a villain.
He has that interest, and will use it nobly;
To serve, and not to ruin his protector.
_Sosib._ Is Egypt's safety, and the king's, and your's,
Fit to be trusted on a bare suppose,
That he is honest? Honest, let him be;
But on his own experiment, not ours.
Man is but man; unconstant still, and various;
There's no to-morrow in him, like to-day.
Perhaps the atoms rolling in his brain
Make him think honestly this present hour;
The next, a swarm of base, ungrateful thoughts
May mount aloft; and where's our Egypt then?
Who would trust chance, since all men have the seeds
Of good and ill, which should work upward first?
_Cas._ All men! then you are one; and by that rule,
Your wicked atoms may be working now
To give bad counsel, that you still may govern.
_Sosib._ I would the king would govern.
_Cas._ Because you think I have too much command.
_Ptol._ Would you would rule me both by turns, in quiet,
And let me take my ease!
_Cas._ Then my turn's first.
_Sosib._ Our master's safety, in sound reason, ought
To be preferred to both.
_Ptol._ So thinks Cassandra too.
_Cas._ No; court Sosibius, and cast Cassandra off.
_Ptol._ What have I said, or done,
To merit this unkindness?
Tell me but what you think of Cleomenes,
And be my oracle.
_Cas._ I know him grateful.
_Sosib._ To know him grateful, is enough for Jove.
_Cas._ And therefore not too much for me in Egypt:
I say, I know him honest.
_Ptol._ Then I know it.
Now may Sosibius speak?
_Cas._ He may; but not to contradict my knowledge.
_Sosib._ Then I concur, to let him go for Greece;
And wish our Egypt fairly rid of him.
For, as our Apis, though in temples fed,
And under golden roofs, yet loaths his food,
Because restrained; and longs to roam in meads,
Among the milky-mothers of the herd:
So, Cleomenes, kept by force in Egypt,
Is sullen at our feasts, abhors our dainties,
And longs to change them for his Spartan broth[43].
He may be dangerous here; then send him hence,
With aid enough to conquer all he lost,
And make him formidable to mankind.
_Cas._ He may be formidable then to us?
That thou wouldst say.
_Sosib._ No; for you know him grateful.
_Cas._ Would thou wouldst learn to speak without a double,
Thou Delphian statesman! [_Rises._
_Sosib._ Would I could know your wishes, that I might!
I would but smooth their way, and make them easy. [_Bowing._
_Cas._ Good old man! [_Smiling._
A little over zealous, but well-meaning.
My wishes are the honour of my king;
That Ptolemy may keep his royal word,
And I my promise, to procure this aid.
If to be mistress signifies command,
Let this be done; if not, the king may find
Another beauty, worthier of his bed,
And I another lover, less ungrateful.
_Ptol._ Let Egypt sink before that fatal day!
No, we are one; Cassandra, we are one;
Or I am nothing; thou art Ptolemy.
_Cas._ Now you deserve to be the first of kings,
Because you rank yourself the first of lovers.
What can I do to show Cassandra grateful?
Nothing but this--
To be so nice in my concerns for you;
To doubt where doubts are not; to be too fearful;
To raise a bug-bear shadow of a danger,
And then be frighted, though it cannot reach you.
_Sosib._ Be pleased to name your apprehensions, madam.
_Cas._ Plain souls, like mine, judge others by themselves;
Therefore I hold our Cleomenes honest.
But since 'tis possible, though barely so,
That he may prove ungrateful,
I would have pledges given us of his faith;
His wife, his mother, and his son, be left
As hostages in Egypt.
_Sosib._ Admirable!
Some god inspired you with this prudent counsel.
_Ptol._ I thought so too, but that I durst not speak.
_Sosib._ Leave me to manage this.
_Cas._ My best Sosibius!
But do it surely, by the easiest means;
Infuse it gently; do not pour it down:
Let him not think he stands suspected here;
And, least of all, by me.
_Sosib._ He shall not, madam.--
Now, sir, the illumination feast attends you;
For Apis has appeared.
_Ptol._ Why then I must be formal;
Go to the temple.--
Come, my fair Cassandra,
That I may have an object worth my worship. [_Aside._
_Cas._ The God that I adore is in my breast;
This is the temple; this the sacrifice.
But to the powers divine we make appeal,
With great devotion, and with little zeal.
[_Exeunt_ PTOL. _and_ CAS.
_Sosib._ [_Solus._] Yes, yes, it shall be done; but not her way.--
Call in my son Cleanthes.--This Cassandra
Is our enchanting syren; she that sings
Our Ptolemy into secure destruction.
In vain I counsel him to avoid his ruin:
These women-charmers, oh they have a devil
Too strong to dispossess.--Call in my son.
[_Goes to the door._
_Enter_ CLEANTHES.
Cleanthes, are you Cleomenes' friend,
Or only seem you such?
_Clean._ To seem to be, and not be what I seem,
Are things my honest nature understands not.
_Sosib._ But you must love your king and country more.
_Clean._ Yes, when I have a king and country,
That can deserve my love.
Egypt, as Egypt is, deserves it not:
A people baser than the beasts they worship;
Below their pot-herb gods, that grow in gardens:
The king--
_Sosib._ Go to; young man, whate'er he be,
I must not hear my master vilified.
_Clean._ Why did you name him then? Were I at prayers.
And even for you, whom as my soul I love,
If Ptolemy should come across my thoughts,
A curse would follow, where I meant a blessing.
_Sosib._ 'Tis well, 'tis well I am so fond a father;
Those words were death in any other mouth.
I know too much of you; you love the Spartan
Beyond your king and country.
_Clean._ 'Tis a truth
So noble, I would own it to the gods,
And they be proud to hear it.
_Sosib._ Confess, you love him better than your father.
_Clean._ No; but I love him equal with my father.
_Sosib._ Say better, and say true.
If we were opposite, and one must fall,
Whom wouldst thou save?
_Clean._ Neither; for both would die,
Before I could resolve.
_Sosib._ If I command thee
To break thy friendship with him, wouldst thou?
_Clean._ No.
_Sosib._ Why, then thou hast confessed, thou lovest him more.
_Clean._ Not so: for, should he bid me disobey,
Or not love you, thus would I answer him,
As I have answered you.
_Sosib._ Ungrateful boy!
_Clean._ You bid me tell you true, and this is my reward.
_Sosib._ Go from my sight!
_Clean._ I will; but would not go
Without your blessing.
_Sosib._ O, so well I love thee,
That I could curse thee for not loving me!--
Stay, I would send thee on a message to him,
But that I fear thy faith.
_Clean._ You wrong my piety.
_Sosib._ It much concerns my interest, which is thine.
Wouldst thou deliver what I have to say?
Wouldst thou induce his reason to comply?
_Clean._ Both; granting your proposals honourable:
If not, employ some mercenary tongue,--
The court affords you store,--and spare my virtue.
_Sosib._ I would have Cleomenes sent away
With royal aid.
_Clean._ You promised him he should.
_Sosib._ And would have thee persuade him to this voyage.
_Clean._ A welcome errand: Oh my dear, dear father!
_Sosib._ But on my terms, mark that; my terms, Cleanthes.
_Clean._ I feared the statesman in you.
_Sosib._ I would have Egypt safe; that's all my interest:
And therefore he must leave behind, for pawns,
His mother, wife, and son.
_Clean._ 'Tis clogging of a gift; 'tis base, mean counsel.
I hope you gave it not.
_Sosib._ No, 'twas Cassandra:
But she would have that odium cast on me;
I am her beast of burden, and must bear it.
_Clean._ I never can bely so good a father;
But this I'll do:
The message shall be faithfully delivered,
And all the strumpet stand exposed to shame.
_Sosib._ Thou hitst my meaning; but he must be secret,
Must seem to take the favour as from her,
And lay the hardship of the terms on me.
_Clean._ He shall.
_Sosib._ And thou wilt gild this bitter pill;
For there's no other way to go from hence,
But leaving these behind.
_Clean._ A beam of thought comes glancing on my soul.--
[_Aside._
I'll undertake it,
The pledges shall be left.
_Sosib._ My best Cleanthes! [_Embraces him._
But haste, and lose no time.
_Clean._ I'm all on fire to serve my friend and father.
[_Exit_ CLEANTHES.
_Sosib._ [_Alone._] This Cleomenes ought to be dispatched;
Dispatched the safest way: he ought to die.
Not that I hate his virtue; but I fear it.
The mistress drives my counsels to the leeward.
Now I must edge upon a point, of wind;
And make slow way, recovering more and more,
Till I can bring my vessel safe ashore. [_Exit_ SOSIB.