SCENE I. _A Flat Wood_.

Produced by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders

THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN

VOL. II

EDITED BY

MONTAGUE SUMMERS

CONTENTS

ABDELAZER; OR, THE MOOR’S REVENGE

THE YOUNG KING; OR, THE MISTAKE

THE CITY HEIRESS; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TREAT-ALL

THE FEIGN’D CURTEZANS; OR, A NIGHT’S INTRIGUE

NOTES

ABDELAZER; OR, THE MOOR’S REVENGE.

ARGUMENT.

The old King of Spain, having conquered Fez and killed the Moorish

monarch, has taken the orphaned prince Abdelazer under his protection and

in time made him General. Abdelazer, though always courageous, has the

desire of revenge ever uppermost, and to gain influence, rather than from

any love, he becomes the Queen’s paramour. She, being a lustful and

wicked woman, joins with the Moor in poisoning her husband, at whose

death Philip, her second son, newly returned victor from a martial

expedition, leaving his army at some distance, rushes in mad with rage

and publicly accuses his mother of adultery with Abdelazer. She is

greatly incensed, but Cardinal Mendozo, as Protector of the King,

promptly banishes her gallant. The young King Ferdinand, however, to

please Florella, the Moor’s wife, whom he loves, revokes this decree.

Abdelazer, in revenge, next orders his native officer Osmin to kill

Philip and the Cardinal. They escape by night disguised as monks, whilst

Abdelazer alarms the castle with cries of treason and tells the King that

Philip and the Cardinal are plotting to murder him. Ferdinand orders

Abdelazer to follow them, intending to visit Florella during her

husband’s absence. Abdelazer, fully aware of his plan, out of pride

and mischief furnishes Florella with a dagger, bidding her stab the

King if he persists in his suit. Elvira, the Queen Mother’s confidante,

Watches the King enter Florella’s apartment and conveys the news to her

Mistress who, with dissembled reluctance, informs Alonzo, the Moor’s

brother-in-law. Florella resists the King’s solicitations and produces

the dagger threatening to stab herself. At this juncture the Queen rushes

in and, feigning to think that Florella was about to attempt the King’s

life, kills her. Her motive for this deed is, in reality, jealousy.

Whilst the King falls weeping at his dead mistress’ feet Abdelazer enters,

and in the ensuing fight Ferdinand is slain. Philip is then proclaimed

King, but Abdelazer announcing he is a bastard, an avowal backed by the

Queen, declares himself Protector of Spain, Overpowered by his following,

The lords accept him. Alonzo, however, flies to Philip’s camp with the

tidings. A battle between the two parties follows, but the Queen

treacherously detaches Mendozo, who loves her, from Philip, and although

the Moors are at first beaten back they now gain the advantage and Philip

is captured. At a general assembly of the nobles the Queen relates the

false tale of Philip’s illegitimacy and asserts that the Cardinal is his

father. She privately bids Mendozo acknowledge this and so gain the

crown, but he refuses to support the lie and is promptly arrested as a

traitor. Abdelazer now brings forward the Infanta Leonora and proclaims

her Queen of Spain, He next disposes of the Queen Mother by bidding

Roderigo, a creature of his own, assassinate her forthwith. Roderigo

gains admittance disguised as a friar and stabs her, upon which

Abdelazer, to screen himself, rushes in and cuts him down. He next openly

declares his love for Leonora and is about to force her when Osmin, his

officer, enters to inform him that Alonzo, to whom Leonora is affianced,

has resisted arrest but is at last secured. Abdelazer, enraged at the

interruption, wounds Osmin in the arm. Leonora pities the blow; and the

Moorish soldier, deeply hurt at the insult, resolves to betray his

master. He accordingly goes to the prison where Philip, the Cardinal, and

Alonzo are confined, and killing his fellow Zarrack who was to have been

their executioner, sets them free. When Abdelazer enters he finds himself

entrapped. He glories, however, in his crimes, and as they set on him

kills Osmin, himself falling dead in the mêleé. The Cardinal is forgiven,

Leonora and Alonzo are united, whilst Philip ascends the throne.

SOURCE.

_Abdelazer; or, the Moor’s Revenge_ is an alteration of the robustious

_Lust’s Dominion; or, the _Lascivious Queen_, printed 12mo, 1657, and then

attributed to Marlowe, who was certainly not the author. It is now

generally identified with _The Spanish Moor’s Tragedy_ by Dekker

(Haughton and Day, 1600), although, as Fleay justly says, there is ‘an

under-current of pre-Shakespearean work’ unlike either Dekker or Day.

There are marked crudities of form and a rough conduct of plot which

stamp it as of very early origin. Probably it was emended and pruned by

the three collaborators.

Although often keeping close to her original, Mrs. Behn has dealt with

the somewhat rude material in a very apt and masterly way: she has, to

advantage, omitted the old King, Emanuel, King of Portugal, Alvero,

father to Maria (Florella), and the two farcical friars, Crab and Cole;

she adds Elvira, and whereas in _Lust’s Dominion_ the Queen at the

conclusion is left alive, declaiming:--

‘I’ll fly unto some solitary residence

When I’ll spin out the remnant of my life

In true contrition for my past offences.’--

Mrs. Behn far more dramatically kills her Isabella. Perhaps the famous

assassination of Henri III of France by the Dominican, Jacques Clement,

gave a hint for Roderigo masqued as a monk.

The sexual passion, the predominance of which in this tragedy a recent

critic has not a little carpingly condemned, is entirely natural in such

an untamed savage as Abdelazer, whilst history affords many a parallel to

the lascivious Queen.

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_Abdelazer; or, The Moor’s Revenge_ was first produced at the Duke’s

Theatre in Dorset Garden during the late autumn of 1677. It was supported

by a strong cast, and Betterton, whose Othello, Steele--writing

exquisitely in the _Tatler_--seems to have considered artistically quite

perfect, was no doubt n wonderful representative of the ferocious Afric.

The effective rôle of Queen Isabella fell to Mrs. Mary Lee, the first

tragedienne of the day, Mrs. Marshall, the leading lady of the King’s

Company, having at this time just retired from the stage. [Footnote: Her

last rôle was Berenice in Crowne’s heroic tragedy, _The Destruction of

Jerusalem_ (1677).] It is interesting to notice that Mrs. Barry on her

way to fame played the secondary part of Leonora.

_Abdelazer_ seems to have met with good success, and on Easter Monday,

April, 1695, the patentees, after the secession of Betterton, Mrs. Barry,

Mrs. Bracegirdle and their following to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, chose the

tragedy to reopen Drury Lane. The Moor was played by George Powell, a

vigorous and passionate actor, who also spoke a new prologue written for

the nonce by Cibber, then a mere struggler in the ranks. Colley’s verses

were accepted at the eleventh hour in default of better, and he tells us

how chagrined he was not to be allowed to deliver them in person. The

house was very full the first day, but on the morrow it was empty,

probably owing to the inexperience of many of the actors and a too hasty

rehearsing of the play.

On the stage _Abdelazer_ was superseded by Edward Young’s _The Revenge_,

a tragedy largely borrowed in theme and design from Mrs. Behn, with

reminiscences of _Othello_. Produced at Drury Lane, 18 April, 1721, with

Mills, Booth, Wilks, Mrs. Porter and Mrs. Horton in the cast, it attained

considerable success, and Zanga, the Moor, was long a favourite part with

our greatest actors even down to the days of Kean, who excelled in it,

and Macready. _The Revenge_ is not without merit, and it stands out well

before the lean and arid tragedies of its time, but this, unfortunately,

is not much to say. It is not for a moment to be compared with the

magnificent tapestry of _Abdelazer_, woven though the latter may be in

colours strong and daring.

ABDELAZER; or, The Moor’s Revenge.

PROLOGUE.

_Gallants, you have so long been absent hence,

That you have almost cool’d your Diligence;

For while we study or revive a Play,

You, like good Husbands, in the Country stay,

There frugally wear out your Summer Suit,

And in Prize Jerkin after Beagles toot;

Or, in Montero-Caps, at Feldfares shoot.

Nay, some are so obdurate in their Sin,

That they swear never to come up again,

But all their Charge of Clothes and Treat retrench,

To Gloves and Stockings for some Country Wench:

Even they, who in the Summer had Mishaps,

Send up to Town for Physick for their Claps.

The Ladies too are as resolved as they,

And having Debts unknown to them, they stay,

And with the Gain of Cheese and Poultry pay.

Even in their Visits, they from Banquets fall,

To entertain with Nuts and Bottle-Ale;

And in Discourse with Secresy report

State-News, that past a Twelve-month since at Court.

Those of them who are most refind, and gay,

Now learn the Songs of the last Summer’s Play:

While the young Daughter does in private mourn,

Her Lovers in Town, and hopes not to return.

These Country Grievances too great appear:

But cruel Ladies, we have greater here;

You come not sharp, as you are wont, to Plays;

But only on the first and second Days:

This made our Poet, in her Visits, look

What new strange Courses, for your time you took,

And to her great Regret she found too soon,

Damn’d Beasts and Ombre spent the Afternoon;

So that we cannot hope to see you here

Before the little Net-work Purse be clear.

Suppose you should have Luck--

Yet sitting up so late, as I am told,

You’ll lose in Beauty what you win in Gold:

And what each Lady of another says,

Will make you new Lampoons, and us new Plays.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

_Ferdinand_, a young King of Spain, in love with

_Florella_. Mr. _Harris_.

_Philip_, his Brother. Mr. _Smith_.

_Akdelazer_, the Moor. Mr. _Betterton_.

_Mendozo_, Prince Cardinal, in love with the Queen. Mr. _Medburn_.

_Alonzo_, a young Nobleman of _Spain_, contracted to

_Leonora_. Mr. _Crasbie_.

_Roderigo_, a Creature to the Moor, Mr. _Norris_.

_Antonio_, |

_Sebastian_, Two Officers of _Phillip’s_. | Mr. _John Lee_.

_Osmin_, | Mr. _Percivall_.

_Zarrack_, Moors and Officers to _Abdelazer_. | Mr. _Richards_.

_Ordonio_, a Courtier.

A Swain, and Shepherds.

Courtiers, Officers, Guards, Soldiers, Moors, Pages, and Attendants.

WOMEN.

_Isabella_, Queen of _Spain_, Mother to _Ferdinand_

and _Philip_, in love with _Abdelazer_. Mrs. _Lee_.

_Leonora_, her Daughter, Sister to _Ferdinand_

and _Philip_. Mrs. _Barrey_.

_Florella_, Wife to _Abdelazer_, and Sister to Mrs. _Betterton_.

_Alonzo_.

_Elvira_, Woman to the Queen. Mrs. _Osborne_.

A Nymph, and Shepherdesses.

Other Women Attendants.

SCENE _Spain_, and in the Camp.

ACT I.

SCENE I. _A rich Chamber_.

_A Table with Lights_, Abdelazer _sullenly leaning his Head

on his Hands: after a little while, still Musick plays_.

SONG.

_Love _in fantastick Triumph sat,

Whilst bleeding Hearts around him flow’d,

For whom fresh Pains he did create,

And strange Tyrannick Pow’r he shewed;

From thy bright Eyes he took his Fires,

Which round about in sport he hurl’d;

But ‘twas from mine he took Desires,

Enough t’undo the amorous World.

From me he took his Sighs and Tears,

From thee his Pride and Cruelty;

From me his Languishments and Fears,

And ev’ry killing Dart from thee:

Thus thou, and I, the God have arrri’d,

And set him up a Deity;

But my poor Heart alone is harm’d,

Whilst thine the Victor is, and free_.

[_After which he rouzes, and gazes_.

_Abd_. On me this Musick lost?--this Sound on me

That hates all Softness?--What, ho, my Slaves!

_Enter_ Osmin, Zarrack.

_Osm_. My gracious Lord--

[_Enter_ Queen, Elvira.

_Qu_. My dearest _Abdelazer_--

_Abd_. Oh, are you there?--Ye Dogs, how came she in?

Did I not charge you on your Lives to watch,

That none disturb my Privacy?

_Qu_. My gentle _Abdelazer_, ‘tis thy Queen,

Who ‘as laid aside the Business of her State,

To wanton in the kinder Joys of Love--

Play all your sweetest Notes, such as inspire

The active Soul with new and soft Desire,

[_To_ the Musick, they play softly.

Whilst we from Eyes--thus dying, fan the Fire.

[_She sits down by him_.

_Abd_. Cease that ungrateful Noise.

[_Musick_ ceases.

_Qu_. Can ought that I command displease my Moor?

_Abd_. Away, fond Woman.

_Qu_. Nay, prithee be more kind.

_Abd_. Nay, prithee, good Queen, leave me--I am dull,

Unfit for Dalliance now.

_Qu_. Why dost thou frown?--to whom was that Curse sent?

_Abd_. To thee--

_Qu_. To me?--it cannot be--to me, sweet Moor?--

No, no, it cannot--prithee smile upon me--

Smile, whilst a thousand Cupids shall descend

And call thee Jove, and wait upon thy Smiles,

Deck thy smooth Brow with Flowers;

Whilst in my Eyes, needing no other Glass,

Thou shalt behold and wonder at thy Beauty.

_Abd_. Away, away, be gone--

_Qu_. Where hast thou learnt this Language, that can say

But those rude Words--Away, away, be gone?

Am I grown ugly now?

_Abd_. Ugly as Hell--

_Qu_. Didst thou not love me once, and swore that Heav’n

Dwelt in my Face and Eyes?

_Abd_. Thy Face and Eyes!--Baud, fetch me here a Glass,

[_To_ Elvira.

And thou shalt see the Balls of both those Eyes

Burning with Fire of Lust:

That Blood that dances in thy Cheeks so hot,

That have not I to cool it

Made an Extraction even of my Soul,

Decay’d my Youth, only to feed thy Lust?

And wou’dst thou still pursue me to my Grave?

_Qu_. All this to me, my _Abdelazer_?

_Abd_. I cannot ride through the _Castilian_ Streets,

But thousand Eyes throw killing Looks at me,

And cry--That’s he that does abuse our King--

There goes the Minion of the _Spanish_ Queen,

Who, on the lazy Pleasures of his Love,

Spends the Revenues of the King of _Spain_--

This many-headed Beast your Lust has arm’d.

_Qu_. How dare you, Sir, upbraid me with my Love?

_Abd_. I will not answer thee, nor hear thee speak.

_Qu_. Not hear me speak!--Yes, and in Thunder too;

Since all my Passion, all my soft Intreaties

Can do no good upon thee,

I’ll see (since thou hast banish’d all thy Love,

That Love, to which I’ve sacrific’d my Honour)

If thou hast any Sense of Gratitude,

For all the mighty Graces I have done thee.

_Abd_. Do;--and in thy Story too, do not leave out

How dear those mighty Graces I have purchas’d;

My blooming Youth, my healthful vigorous Youth,

Which Nature gave me for more noble Actions

Than to lie fawning at a Woman’s Feet,

And pass my Hours in Idleness and Love--

If I cou’d blush, I shou’d thro all this Cloud

Send forth my Sense of Shame into my Cheeks.

_Qu_. Ingrate!

Have I for this abus’d the best of Men,

My noble Husband?

Depriving him of all the Joys of Love,

To bring them all intirely to thy Bed;

Neglected all my Vows, and sworn ‘em here a-new,

Here, on thy Lips--

Exhausted Treasures that wou’d purchase Crowns,

To buy thy Smiles--to buy a gentle Look;

And when thou didst repay me--blest the Giver?

Oh, _Abdelazer_, more than this I’ve done--

This very Hour, the last the King can live,

Urg’d by thy Witch-craft, I his Life betray’d;

And is it thus my Bounties are repaid?

Whate’er a Crime so great deserves from Heav’n,

By _Abdelazer_ might have been forgiven: [_Weeps_.

But I will be reveng’d by penitence,

And e’er the King dies, own my black Offence--

And yet that’s not enough--_Elvira_-- [_Pauses_.

Cry murder, murder, help, help.

[_She and her Women cry aloud, he is surpriz’d,

the_ Queen _falls_, _he draws a Dagger_ at Elvira.

_Elv_. Help, murder, murder!--

_Abd_. Hell, what’s this?--peace, Baud--’sdeath,

They’ll raise the Court upon me, and then I’m lost--

My Queen--my Goddess--Oh raise your lovely Eyes,

I have dissembled Coldness all this while;

And that Deceit was but to try thy Faith.

[_Takes her up, sets her in a Chair, then kneels_.

Look up--by Heav’n,’.was Jealousy--

Pardon your Slave--pardon your poor Adorer.

_Qu_. Thou didst upbraid me with my shameful Passion.

_Abd_. I’ll tear my Tongue out for its Profanation.

_Qu_. And when I woo’d thee but to smile upon me,

Thou cry’st--Away, I’m dull, unfit for Dalliance.

_Abd_. Call back the frighted Blood into thy Cheeks,

And I’ll obey the Dictates of my Love,

And smile, and kiss, and dwell for ever here--

_Enter_ Osmin hastily.

How now--why star’st thou so?

_Osm_. My Lord--the King is dead.

_Abd_. The King dead!--’Twas time then to dissemble. [_Aside_.

What means this Rudeness?--

[_One knocks_.

_Enter_ Zarrack.

_Zar_. My Lord--the Cardinal inquiring for the Queen,

The Court is in an uproar, none can find her.

_Abd_. Not find the Queen! and wou’d they search her here?

_Qu_. What shall I do? I must not here be found.

_Abd_. Oh, do not fear--no Cardinal enters here;

No King--no God, that means to be secure--

Slaves guard the Doors, and suffer none to enter,

Whilst I, my charming Queen, provide for your Security--

You know there is a Vault deep under Ground,

Into the which the busy Sun ne’er enter’d,

But all is dark, as are the Shades of Hell,

Thro which in dead of Night I oft have pass’d,

Guided by Love, to your Apartment, Madam--

They knock agen--thither, my lovely Mistress, [_Knock_.

Suffer your self to be conducted--

_Osmin_, attend the Queen--descend in haste,

[Queen, Osm. _and_ Elv. _descend the Vault_.

My Lodgings are beset.

_Zar_. I cannot guard the Lodgings longer--

Don _Ordonio_, Sir, to seek the Queen--

_Abd_. How dare they seek her here?

_Zar_. My Lord, the King has swounded twice,

And being recover’d, calls for her Majesty.

_Abd_. The King not dead!--go, _Zafrack_, and aloud

Tell Don _Ordonio_ and the Cardinal,

He that dares enter here to seek the Queen,

[_Puts his Hand to his Sword_.

Had better snatch the She from the fierce side

Of a young amorous Lion, and ‘twere safer.--

Again, more knocking!--

[_Knocking_.

_Zar_. My gracious Lord, it is your Brother, Don _Alonzo_.

_Abd_. I will not have him enter--I am disorder’d.

_Zar_. My Lord, ‘tis now too late.

_Enter_ Alonzo.

_Alon_. Saw you not the Queen, my Lord?

_Abd_. My Lord!

_Alon_. Was not the Queen here with you?

_Abd_. The Queen with me!

Because, Sir, I am married to your Sister,

You, like your Sister, must be jealous too:

The Queen with me! with me! a Moor! a Devil!

A Slave of _Barbary_! for so

Your gay young Courtiers christen me--But, Don,

Altho my Skin be black, within my Veins

Runs Blood as red, and royal as the best.--

My Father, Great _Abdela_, with his Life

Lost too his Crown; both most unjustly ravish’d

By Tyrant _Philip_, your old King I mean.

How many Wounds his valiant Breast receiv’d

E’er he would yield to part with Life and Empire:

Methinks I see him cover’d o’er with Blood,

Fainting amidst those numbers he had conquer’d.

I was but young, yet old enough to grieve,

Tho not revenge, or to defy my Fetters:

For then began my Slavery; and e’er since

Have seen that Diadem by this Tyrant worn,

Which crown’d the sacred Temples of my Father,

And shou’d adorn mine now--shou’d! nay, and must--

Go tell him what I say--’twill be but Death--

Go, Sir,--the Queen’s not here.

_Alon_. Do not mistake me, Sir,--or if I wou’d,

I’ve no old King to tell--the King is dead--

And I am answer’d, Sir, to what I came for,

And so good night.

[_Exit_.

_Abd_. Now all that’s brave and villain seize my Soul,

Reform each Faculty that is not ill,

And make it fit for Vengeance, noble Vengeance.

Oh glorious Word! fit only for the Gods,

For which they form’d their Thunder,

Till Man usurp’d their Power, and by Revenge

Sway’d Destiny as well as they, and took their trade of killing.

And thou, almighty Love,

Dance in a thousand forms about my Person,

That this same Queen, this easy Spanish Dame,

May be bewitch’d, and dote upon me still;

Whilst I make use of the insatiate Flame

To set all _Spain_ on fire.--

Mischief, erect thy Throne,

And sit on high; here, here upon my Head.

Let Fools fear Fate, thus I my Stars defy:

The influence of this--must raise my Glory high.

[_Pointing to his Sword.

[Exit_.

SCENE II. _A Room in the Palace_.

_Enter_ Ferdinand _weeping_, Ordonio _bearing the Crown,

followed by_ Alonzo, _leading_ Leonora _weeping_; Florella,

Roderigo, Mendozo, _met by the_ Queen _weeping_;

Elvira _and Women_.

_Qu_. What doleful Cry was that, which like the Voice

Of angry Heav’n struck thro my trembling Soul?

Nothing but horrid Shrieks, nothing but Death;

Whilst I, bowing my Knees to the cold Earth,

Drowning my Cheeks in Rivulets of Tears,

Sending up Prayers in Sighs, t’ implore from Heaven

Health for the Royal Majesty of _Spain_--

All cry’d, the Majesty of _Spain_ is dead.

Whilst the sad Sound flew through the ecchoing Air,

And reach’d my frighted Soul--Inform my Fears,

Oh my _Fernando_, oh my gentle Son--

[_Weeps_.

_King_. Madam, read here the truth, if looks can shew

That which I cannot speak, and you wou’d know:

The common Fare in ev’ry face appears;

A King’s great loss the publick Grief declares,

But ‘tis a Father’s Death that claims my Tears.

[Card. _leads in the_ Queen _attended_.

_Leon_. Ah, Sir!

If you thus grieve, who ascend by what y’ave lost,

To all the Greatness that a King can boast;

What Tributes from my Eyes and Heart are due,

Who’ve lost at once a King and Father too?

_King_. My _Leonora_ cannot think my Grief

Can from those empty Glories find relief;

Nature within my Soul has equal share,

And that and Love surmount my Glory there.

Had Heav’n continu’d Royal _Philip’s_ Life,

And giv’n me bright _Florella_ for a Wife,

[_Bows to_ Florella.

To Crown and Scepters I had made no claim,

But ow’d my Blessings only to my Flame.

But Heav’n well knew in giving thee away, [_To_ Flor.

I had no bus’ness for another Joy. [_Weeps_.

The King, _Alanzo_, with his dying Breath,

[_Turns to_ Alon. _and_ Leon.

To you my beauteous Sister did bequeath;

And I his Generosity approve,

And think you worthy _Leonora’s_ Love.

_Enter_ Card. _and_ Queen _weeping_.

_Alon_. Too gloriously my Services are paid,

In the possession of this Royal Maid,

To whom my guilty Heart durst ne’er aspire,

But rather chose to languish in its Fire.

_Enter_ Philip _in a Rage_, Antonio _and_ Sebastian.

_Phil_. I know he is not dead; what envious Powers

Durst snatch him hence? he was all great and good,

As fit to be ador’d as they above.

Where is the Body of my Royal Father?

That Body which inspir’d by’s sacred Soul,

Aw’d all the Universe with ev’ry Frown,

And taught ‘em all Obedience with his Smiles.

Why stand you thus distracted--Mother--Brother--

My Lords--Prince Cardinal--

Has Sorrow struck you dumb?

Is this my Welcome from the Toils of War?

When in his Bosom I shou’d find repose,

To meet it cold and pale!--Oh, guide me to him,

And with my Sighs I’ll breathe new Life into’t.

_King_. There’s all that’s left of Royal _Philip_ now,

[Phil, _goes out_.

Pay all thy Sorrow there--whilst mine alone

Are swoln too high t’ admit of Lookers on.

[_Ex_. King _weeping_.

Philip _returns weeping_.

_Phil_. His Soul is fled to all Eternity;

And yet methought it did inform his Body,

That I, his darling _Philip_, was arriv’d

With Conquest on my Sword; and even in Death

Sent me his Joy in Smiles.

_Qu_. If Souls can after Death have any Sense

Of human things, his will be proud to know

That _Philip_ is a Conqueror.

_Enter_ Abdelazer.

But do not drown thy Laurels thus in Tears,

Such Tributes leave to us, thou art a Soldier.

_Phil_. Gods! this shou’d be my Mother--

_Men_. It is, great Sir, the Queen.

_Phil_. Oh, she’s too foul for one or t’other Title.

_Qu_. How, Sir, do you not know me?

_Phil_. When you were just, I did,

And with a Reverence, such as we pay Heav’n,

I paid my awful Duty;--

But as you have abus’d my Royal Father,

For such a Sin the basest of your Slaves

Wou’d blush to call you Mother.

_Qu_. What means my Son?

_Phil_. Son! by Heav’n, I scorn the Title.

_Qu_. Oh Insolence!--out of my sight, rude Boy.

_Phil_. We must not part so, Madam;

I first must let you know your Sin and Shame;--

Nay, hear me calmly--for, by Heav’n, you shall--

My Father whilst he liv’d, tir’d his strong Arm

With numerous Battles ‘gainst the Enemy,

Wasting his Brains in warlike Stratagems;

To bring Confusion on the faithless Moors,

Whilst you, lull’d in soft Peace at home, betray’d

His Name to everlasting Infamy;

Suffer’d his Bed to be defil’d with Lust,

Gave up your self, your Honour, and your Vows,

To wanton in yon sooty Lecher’s Arms.

[_Points to_ Abd.

_Abd_. Me, dost thou mean?

_Phil_. Yes, Villain, thee, thou Hell-begotten Fiend,

’.is thee I mean.

_Qu_. Oh most unnatural, to dishonour me!

_Phil_. That Dog you mean, that has dishonour’d you,

Dishonour’d me, these Lords, nay, and all Spain;

This Devil’s he, that--

_Abd_. That--what--Oh pardon me if I throw off

All Ties of Duty:--wert thou ten King’s Sons,

And I as many Souls as I have Sins,

Thus I would hazard all.

[Draws, they all run between.

_Phil_. Stand off--or I’ll make way upon thy Bosom.

_Abd_. How got you, Sir, this daring?

_Phil_. From injur’d _Philip’s_ Death,

Who, whilst he liv’d, unjustly cherish’d thee,

And set thee up beyond the reach of Fate;

Blind with thy brutal Valor, deaf with thy Flatteries,

Discover’d not the Treason thou didst act,

Nor none durst let him know ‘em--but did he live,

I wou’d aloud proclaim them in his Ears.

_Abd_. You durst as well been damn’d.

_Phil_. Hell seize me if I want Revenge for this--

Not dare!

Arise, thou injur’d Ghost of my dead King,

And thro thy dreadful Paleness dart a Horror,

May fright this pair of Vipers from their Sins.

_Abd_. Oh insupportable! dost hear me, Boy?

_Qu_. Are ye all mute, and hear me thus upbraided?

[_To the Lords_.

_Phil_. Dare ye detain me whilst the Traitor braves me?

_Men_. Forbear, my Prince, keep in that noble Heat

That shou’d be better us’d than on a Slave.

_Abd_. You politick Cheat--

_Men. Abdelazer_--

By the Authority of my Government,

Which yet I hold over the King of _Spain_,

By Warrant of a Council from the Peers,

And (as an Unbeliever) from the Church,

I utterly deprive thee of that Greatness,

Those Offices and Trusts you hold in _Spain_.

_Abd_. Cardinal--who lent thee this Commission?

Grandees of Spain, do you consent to this?

_All_. We do.

_Alon_. What Reason for it? let his Faith be try’d.

_Men_. It needs no tryal, the Proofs are evident,

And his Religion was his Veil for Treason.

_Alon_. Why should you question his Religion, Sir?

He does profess Christianity.

_Men_. Yes, witness his Habit which he still retains

In scorn to ours--

His Principles are too as unalterable.

_Abd_. Is that the only Argument you bring?

I tell thee, Cardinal, not thy Holy Gown

Covers a Soul more sanctify’d than this

Moorish Robe.

_Phil_. Damn his Religion--he has a thousand Crimes

That will yet better justify your Sentence.

_Men_. Come not within the Court; for if you do,

Worse mischief shall ensue--you have your Sentence.

[_Ex_. Phil, _and_ Men.

_Alon_. My Brother banish’d! ‘tis very sudden;

For thy sake, Sister, this must be recall’d. [_To_ Flor.

_Qu. Alonzo_, join with me, I’ll to the King,

And check the Pride of this insulting Cardinal.

[_Exeunt all, except_ Abdelazer, Florella.

_Abd_. Banish’d! if I digest this Gall,

May Cowards pluck the Wreath from off my Brow,

Which I have purchas’d with so many Wounds,

And all for Spain; for _Spain_! ingrateful _Spain_!--

Oh, my _Florella_, all my Glory’s vanish’d,

The Cardinal (Oh damn him) wou’d have me banish’d.

_Flor_. But, Sir, I hope you will not tamely go.

_Abd_. Tamely!--ha, ha, ha,--yes, by all means--

A very honest and religious Cardinal!

_Flor_. I wou’d not for the World you should be banish’d.

_Abd_. Not Spain, you mean--for then she leaves the King. [_Aside_.

What if I be?--Fools! not to know--All parts o’ th’ World

Allow enough for Villany; for I’ll be brave no more.

It is a Crime--and then I can live any where--

But say I go from hence--I leave behind me

A Cardinal that will laugh--I leave behind me

A _Philip_ that will clap his Hands in sport--

But the worst Wound is this, I leave my Wrongs,

Dishonours, and my Discontents, all unreveng’d--

Leave me, _Florella_--prithee do not weep;

I love thee, love thee wondrously--go leave me--

I am not now at leisure to be fond--

Go to your Chamber--go.

_Flor_. No, to the King I’ll fly,

And beg him to revenge thy Infamy. [_Ex_. Flor.

_To him_ Alonzo.

_Alon_. The Cardinal’s mad to have thee banish’d Spain.

I’ve left the Queen in angry Contradiction,

But yet I fear the Cardinal’s Reasoning.

_Abd_. This Prince’s Hate proceeds from Love,

He’s jealous of the Queen, and fears my Power. [_Aside_.

_Alon_. Come, rouse thy wonted Spirits, awake thy Soul,

And arm thy Justice with a brave Revenge.

_Abd_. I’ll arm no Justice with a brave Revenge.

[_Sullenly_.

_Alon_. Shall they then triumph o’er thee, who were once

Proud to attend thy conqu’ring Chariot-Wheels?

_Abd_. I care not--I am a Dog, and can bear wrongs.

_Alon_. But, Sir, my Honour is concern’d with yours,

Since my lov’d Sister did become your Wife;

And if yours suffer, mine too is unsafe.

_Abd_. I cannot help it--

_Alon_. What Ice has chill’d thy Blood?

This Patience was not wont to dwell with thee.

_Abd_. ‘Tis true; but now the World is chang’d you see.

Thou art too brave to know what I resolve-- [_Aside_.

No more--here comes the King with my _Florella_.

He loves her, and she swears to me she’s chaste;

’.is well, if true--well too, if it be false: [_Aside_.

I care not, ‘tis Revenge

That I must sacrifice my Love and Pleasure to.

[Alon. _and_ Abd. _stand aside_.

_Enter King, _Lords, Guards passing over the Stage_,

Florella _in a suppliant posture weeping_.

_King_. Thou woo’st me to reverse thy Husband’s Doom,

And I woo thee for Mercy on my self,

Why shoud’st thou sue to him for Life and Liberty,

For any other, who himself lies dying,

Imploring from thy Eyes a little Pity?

_Flor_. Oh mighty King! in whose sole Power, like Heav’n,

The Lives and Safeties of your Slaves remain,

Hear and redress my _Abdelazer’s_ Wrongs.

_King_. All Lives and Safeties in my Power remain!

Mistaken charming Creature, if my Power

Be such, who kneel and bow to thee,

What must thine be,

Who hast the Sovereign Command o’er me and it?

Wou’dst thou give Life? turn but thy lovely Eyes

Upon the wretched thing that wants it,

And he will surely live, and live for ever.

Canst thou do this, and com’st to beg of me?

_Flor_. Alas, Sir, what I beg’s what you alone can give,

My _Abdelazer’s_ Pardon.

_King_. Pardon! can any thing ally’d to thee offend?

Thou art so sacred and so innocent,

That but to know thee, and to look on thee,

Must change even Vice to Virtue.

Oh my _Florella_!

So perfectly thou dost possess my Soul,

That ev’ry Wish of thine shall be obey’d:

Say, wou’dst thou have thy Husband share my Crown?

Do but submit to love me, and I yield it.

_Flor_. Such Love as humble Subjects owe their King.

[_Kneels, he takes her up_.

And such as I dare pay, I offer here.

_King_. I must confess it is a Price too glorious:

But, my _Florella_--

_Abd_. I’ll interrupt your amorous Discourse. [_Aside_.

[Abd. _comes up to them_.

_Flor_. Sir, _Abdelazer’s_ here.

_King_. His Presence never was less welcome to me;--

[_Aside_.

But, Madam, durst the Cardinal use this Insolence?

Where is your noble Husband?

_Abd_. He sees me, yet inquires for me. [_Aside_.

_Flor_. Sir, my Lord is here.

_King. Abdelazer_, I have heard with much surprize,

O’ th’ Injuries you’ve receiv’d, and mean to right you:

My Father lov’d you well, made you his General,

I think you worthy of that Honour still.

_Abd_. True--for my Wife’s sake. [_Aside_.

_King_. When my Coronation is solemnized,

Be present there, and re-assume your wonted State and Place;

And see how I will check the insolent Cardinal.

_Abd_. I humbly thank my Sovereign--

[_Kneels, and kisses the_ King’s _Hand_.

That he loves my Wife so well. [_Aside_.

[_Exeunt_.

_Manent_ Abdelazer, Florella.

_Flor_. Wilt thou not pay my Service with one Smile?

Have I not acted well the Suppliant’s part?

_Abd_. Oh wonderfully! y’ave learnt the Art to move.

Go, leave me.

_Flor_. Still out of humour, thoughtful and displeas’d?

And why at me, my _Abdelazer_? what have I done?

_Abd_. Rarely! you cannot do amiss you are so beautiful.

So very fair--Go, get you in, I say--

[_Turns her in roughly_.

She has the art of dallying with my Soul,

Teaching it lazy softness from her Looks.

But now a nobler Passion’s enter’d there,

And blows it thus--to Air--Idol Ambition,

_Florella_ must to thee a Victim fall:

Revenge,--to thee--a Cardinal and Prince:

And to my Love and Jealousy, a King--

More yet, my mighty Deities, I’ll do,

None that you e’er inspir’d like me shall act;

That fawning servile Crew shall follow next,

Who with the Cardinal cry’d, banish _Abdelazer_.

_Like Eastern Monarchs I’ll adorn thy Fate,

And to the Shades thou shalt descend in State.

[Exit_.

ACT II.

SCENE I. _A Chamber of State_.

_Enter the_ King _crown’d_, Philip, Mendozo, Queen, Leonora,

Florella, Elvira, Alonzo, Roderigo, Ordonio, Sebastian,

Antonio, _Officers and Guards; met by_ Abdelazer _follow’d

by_ Osmin, Zarrack, _and Moors attending. He comes in with

Pride, staring on_ Philip _and_ Mendozo, _and takes his stand

next the_ King.

_Phil_. Why stares the Devil thus, as if he meant

From his infectious Eyes to scatter Plagues,

And poison all the World? Was he not banish’d?

How dares the Traitor venture into th’ Presence?--

Guards, spurn the Villain forth.

_Abd_. Who spurns the _Moor_

Were better set his foot upon the Devil--

Do, spurn me, and this Hand thus justly arm’d,

Shall like a Thunder-bolt, breaking the Clouds,

Divide his Body from his Soul--stand back--

[_To the Guards_.

Spurn _Abdelazer_!--

_Phil_. Death, shall we bear this Insolence?

_Alon_. Great Sir, I think his Sentence was unjust.

[_To the_ King.

_Men_. Sir, you’re too partial to be judge in this,

And shall not give your Voice.

_Abd_. Proud Cardinal--but he shall--and give it loud.

And shall not!--who shall hinder him?

_Phil_. This--and cut his Wind-pipe too.

[_Offers to draw_.

To spoil his whisp’ring.

[Abd. _offers to draw, his Attendants do the same_.

_King_. What means this Violence?

Forbear to draw your Swords--’tis we command.

_Abd_. Sir, do me Justice, I demand no more.

[_Kneels, and offers his Sword_.

And at your Feet we lay our Weapons down.

_Men_. Sir, _Abdelazer_ has had Justice done,

And stands by me banish’d the Court of _Spain_.

_King_. How, Prince Cardinal!

From whence do you derive Authority

To banish him the Court without our leave?

_Men_. Sir, from my Care unto your royal Person,

As I’m your Governor--then for the Kingdom’s Safety.

_King_. Because I was a Boy, must I be still so?

Time, Sir, has given me in that formal Ceremony,

And I am of an age to rule alone;

And from henceforth discharge you of your Care.

We know your near relation to this Crown,

And wanting Heirs, that you must fill the Throne;

Till when, Sir, I am absolute Monarch here,

And you must learn Obedience.

_Men_. Pardon my zealous Duty, which I hope

You will approve, and not recal his Banishment.

_King_. Sir, but I will; and who dares contradict

It, is a Traitor.

_Phil_. I dare the first, yet do defy the last.

_King_. My hot-brain’d Sir, I’ll talk to you anon.

_Men_. Sir, I am wrong’d, and will appeal to _Rome_.

_Phil_. By Heav’n, I’ll to the Camp--Brother, farewel,

When next I meet thee, it shall be in Arms,

If thou can’st get loose from thy Mistress’ Chains,

Where thou ly’st drown’d in idle wanton Love.

_Abd_. Hah--his Mistress--who is’t Prince _Philip_ means?

_Phil_. Thy Wife, thy Wife, proud Moor, whom thou’rt content

To sell for Honour to eternal Infamy--

Does’t make thee snarl?--Bite on, whilst thou shalt see,

I go for Vengeance, and ‘twill come with me.

[_Going out, turns and draws_.

_Abd_. Stay! for ‘tis here already--turn, proud Boy.

[Abd. _draws_.

_King_. What mean you, _Philip_?--[_Talks to him aside_.

_Qu_. Cease, cease your most impolitick Rage. [_To_ Abd.

Is this a time to shew’t?--Dear Son, you are a King,

And may allay this Tempest.

_King_. How dare you disobey my Will and Pleasure? [_To_ Abd.

_Abd_. Shall I be calm, and hear my Wife call’d Whore?

Were he great _Jove_, and arm’d with all his Lightning,

By Heav’n, I could not hold my just Resentment.

_Qu_. ‘Twas in his Passion, noble _Abdelazer_--

[King _talking to_ Phil. _aside_.

Imprudently thou dost disarm thy Rage,

And giv’st the Foe a warning, e’er thou strik’st;

When with thy Smiles thou might’st securely kill.

You know the Passion that the Cardinal bears me;

His Pow’r too o’er _Philip_, which well manag’d

Will serve to ruin both: put up your Sword--

When next you draw it, teach it how to act.

_Abd_. You shame me, and command me.

_Qu_. Why all this Rage?--does it become you, Sir?

[_To_ Men. _aside_.

What is’t you mean to do?

_Men_. You need not care, whilst _Abdelazer’s_ safe.

_Qu_. Jealousy, upon my Life--how gay it looks!

_Men_. Madam, you want that pitying Regard

To value what I do, or what I am;

I’ll therefore lay my Cardinal’s Hat aside,

And in bright Arms demand my Honour back.

_Qu_. Is’t thus, my Lord, you give me Proofs of Love?

Have then my Eyes lost all their wonted Power?

And can you quit the hope of gaining me,

To follow your Revenge?--go--go to fight,

Bear Arms against your Country, and your King,

All for a little worthless Honour lost.

_Men_. What is it, Madam, you would have me do?

_Qu_. Not side with _Philip_, as you hope my Grace--

Now, Sir, you know my Pleasure, think on’t well.

_Men_. Madam, you know your Power o’er your Slave,

And use it too tyrannically--but dispose

The Fate of him, whose Honour, and whose Life,

Lies at your Mercy--

I’ll stay and die, since ‘tis your gracious Pleasure.

_King. Philip_, upon your Life,

Upon your strict Allegiance, I conjure you

To remain at Court, till I have reconcil’d you.

_Phil_. Never, Sir;

Nor can you bend my Temper to that Tameness.

_King_. ‘Tis in my Power to charge you as a Prisoner;

But you’re my Brother--yet remember too

I am your King--No more.

_Phil_. I will obey.

_King. Abdelazer_,

I beg you will forget your Cause of Hate

Against my Brother _Philip_, and the Cardinal;

He’s young, and rash, but will be better temper’d.

_Abd_. Sir, I have done, and beg your royal Pardon.

_King_. Come, _Philip_, give him your Hand.

_Phil_. I can forgive without a Ceremony.

_King_. And to confirm ye Friends,

I invite you all to Night to banquet with me;

Pray see you give Attendance--Come, Brother,

You must along with us.

[_Exeunt all but_ Abd. Queen _and Women_.

_Qu_. Leave me--

[_To the Women, who go out_.

Now my dear Moor.

_Abd_. Madam.

_Qu_. Why dost thou answer with that cold Reserve--

Is that a Look--an Action for a Lover?

_Abd_. Ah, Madam--

_Qu_. Have I not taken off thy Banishment?

Restor’d thee to thy former State and Honours?

Nay, and heap’d new ones too, too mighty for thy Hopes;

And still to raise thee equal to this Heart,

Where thou must ever reign.

_Abd_. ‘Tis true, my bounteous Mistress, all this you’ve done--

But--

_Qu_. But what, my _Abdelazer_?

_Abd_. I will not call it to your Memory.

_Qu_. What canst thou mean?

_Abd_. Why was the King remov’d?

_Qu_. To make thy way more easy to my Arms.

_Abd_. Was that all?

_Qu_. All!

_Abd_. Not but it is a Blessing Gods would languish for--

But as you’ve made it free, so make it just.

_Qu_. Thou mean’st, marry thee.

_Abd_. No, by the Gods-- [_Aside_.

Not marry thee, unless I were a King.

_Qu_. What signifies the Name to him that rules one?

_Abd_. What use has he of Life, that cannot live

Without a Ruler?

_Qu_. Thou wouldst not have me kill him.

_Abd_. Oh, by no means, not for my wretched Life!

What, kill a King!--forbid it, Heaven:

Angels stand like his Guards about his Person.

The King!

Not so many Worlds as there be Stars

Twinkling upon the embroider’d Firmament!

The King!

He loves my Wife _Florella_, shou’d he die--

I know none else durst love her.

_Qu_. And that’s the Reason you wou’d send him hence.

_Abd_. I must confess, I wou’d not bear a wrong:

But do not take me for a Villain, Madam;

He is my King, and may do what he pleases.

_Qu_. ‘Tis well, Sir.

_Abd_. Again that Frown, it renders thee more charming

Than any other Dress thou could’st put on.

_Qu_. Away, you do not love me.

_Abd_. Now mayst thou hate me, if this be not pretty.

_Qu_. Oh, you can flatter finely--

_Abd_. Not I, by Heaven:

Oh, that this Head were circled in a Crown,

And I were King, by Fortune, as by Birth!

And that I was, till by thy Husband’s Power

I was divested in my Infancy--

Then you shou’d see, I do not flatter ye.

But I, instead of that, must see my Crown

Bandy’d from Head to Head, and tamely see it:

And in this wretched state I live, ‘tis true;

But with what Joy, you, if you lov’d, might guess.

_Qu_. We need no Crowns; Love best contented is

In shady Groves, and humble Cottages,

Where when ‘twould sport, it safely may retreat,

Free from the Noise and Danger of the Great;

Where Victors are ambitious of no Bays,

But what their Nymphs bestow on Holy-days;

Nor Envy can the amorous Shepherd move,

Unless against a Rival in his Love.

_Abd_. Love and Ambition are the same to me,

In either I’ll no Rivals brook.

_Qu_. Nor I:

And when the King you urge me to remove,

It may be from Ambition, not from Love.

_Abd_. Those Scruples did not in your Bosom dwell,

When you a King did in a Husband kill.

_Qu_. How, Sir, dare you upbraid me with that Sin,

To which your Perjuries first drew me in?

_Abd_. You interrupt my Sense; I only meant

A Sacrifice to Love so well begun

Shou’d not Devotion want to finish it;

And if that stop to all our Joys were gone,

The envying World wou’d to our Power submit:

But Kings are sacred, and the Gods alone

Their Crimes must judge, and punish too, or none--

Yet he alone destroys his Happiness.

_Qu_. There’s yet one more--

_Abd_. One more! give me his Name,

And I will turn it to a Magick Spell,

To bind him ever fast.

_Qu. Florella_.

_Abd. Florella_! Oh, I cou’d gnaw my Chains |

That humble me so low as to adore her: | [_Aside_.

But the fond Blaze must out--while I erect |

A nobler Fire more fit for my Ambition. |

--_Florella_ dies--a Victim to your Will.

I will not let you lose one single Wish,

For a poor Life, or two;

Tho I must see my Glories made a Prey,

And not demand ‘em from the Ravisher;

Nor yet complain--because he is my King:

But _Philip’s_ Brow no sacred Ointment deifies,

If he do wrong, stands fair for the Revenger.

_Qu. Philip_! instruct me how t’ undo that Boy I hate;

The publick Infamy I have receiv’d,

I will revenge with nothing less than Death.

_Abd_. ‘Tis well we can agree in our Resentments,

For I have vow’d he shall not live a day;

He has an Art to pry into our Secrets:

To all besides our Love is either hid,

Or else they dare not see--But this Prince

Has a most dangerous Spirit must be calm’d.

_Qu_. I have resolv’d his Death,

And now have waiting in my Cabinet,

Engines to carry on this mighty Work of my Revenge.

_Abd_. Leave that to me, who equally am injur’d;

You, like the Gods, need only but command,

And I will execute your sacred Will--

That done, there’s none dare whisper what we do.

_Qu_. Nature, be gone, I chase thee from my Soul,

Who Love’s almighty Empire does controul:

And she that will to thy dull Laws submit,

In spite of thee, betrays the Hypocrite.

No rigid Virtue shall my Soul possess,

Let Gown-men preach against the Wickedness;

Pleasures were made by Gods, and meant for us,

And not t’ enjoy ‘em, were ridiculous.

_Abd_. Oh perfect, great and glorious of thy Sex!

Like thy great self ‘twas spoke, resolv’d and brave--

I must attend the King--where I will watch

All _Philip’s_ Motions.

_Qu_. And--after that--if you will beg Admittance,

I’ll give you leave to visit me to Night.

_Abd_. Madam, that Blessing now must be defer’d.

[_Leads her to the Door_.

My Wrongs and I will be retir’d to Night,

And bring forth Vengeance with the Morning’s Light.

_Enter_ Osmin, Zarrack.

_Osm_. My gracious Lord.

_Abd_. Come near--and take a Secret from my Lips;

And he who keeps not silent hears his Death.--

This Night the Prince and Cardinal--do you mark me--

Are murder’d.

_Osm_. Where, Sir?

_Abd_. Here in the Court.

_Osm_. By whom, great Sir?

_Abd_. By thee--I know thou darst.

_Osm_. Whatever you command.

_Abd_. Good!--then see it be perform’d.

_Osmin_, how goes the Night?

_Osm_. About the hour of Eight,

And you’re expected at the Banquet, Sir:

Prince _Philip_ storms, and swears you’re with the Queen.

_Abd_. Let him storm on; the Tempest will be laid--

Where’s my Wife?

_Osm_. In the Presence, Sir, with the Princess and

Other Ladies.

_Abd_. She’s wondrous forward!--what the King--

(I am not jealous tho)--but he makes court to her.

--Hah, _Osmin_!

He throws out Love from Eyes all languishing;--

Come tell me,--he does sigh to her,--no matter if he do--

And fawns upon her Hand,--and kneels;--tell me, Slave!

_Osm_. Sir, I saw nothing like to Love; he only treats her

Equal to her Quality.

_Abd_. Oh, damn her Quality.

_Zar_. I came just now

From waiting on his Person to the Banquet,

And heard him ask, if he might visit her to Night,

Having something to impart to her, that concern’d his Life.

_Abd_. And so it shall, by Heav’n! [_Aside_.

_Zar_. But she deny’d, and he the more intreated--

But all in vain, Sir.

_Abd_. Go, _Osmin_, (you the Captain of my Guard of Moors)

Chuse out the best affected Officers,

To keep the Watch to Night--

Let every Guard be doubled--you may be liberal too--

And when I gave the Word, be ready all.

_Osm_. What shall the Word be?

[_Ex_. Zarrack.

_Abd_. Why--Treason--mean time make it your Business,

To watch the Prince’s coming from the Banquet;

Heated with Wine, and fearless of his Person,

You’ll find him easily to be attack’d.

_Osm_. Sir, do not doubt my Management nor Success.

[_Ex_. Osmin.

_Abd_. So, I thank thee, Nature, that in making me,

Thou didst design me Villain;

Hitting each Faculty for active Mischief:

Thou skilful Artist, thank thee for my Face,

It will discover nought that’s hid within.

Thus arm’d for Ills,

Darkness, and Horrour, I invoke your aid;

And thou dread Night, shade all your busy Stars

In blackest Clouds,

And let my Dagger’s Brightness only serve

To guide me to the Mark--and guide it so,

It may undo a Kingdom at one Blow.

[Exit.

SCENE II. _A Banqueting Hall_.

_A Banquet, under a Canopy the_ King, Leonora, Florella,

_Ladies waiting_; Philip, Mendozo, Alonzo, Ordonio,

Antonio, Sebastian, _Lords and Attendants: As soon as

the Scene draws off, they all rise, and come forward_.

_King_. My Lords, you’re sad to Night; give us loud Musick--

I have a double Cause to mourn;

And Grief has taken up his dwelling here--

Beyond the Art of Love, or Wine to conquer--

’.is true, my Father’s dead--and possibly

’.is not so decent to appear thus gay;

But Life, and Death, are equal to the wretched,

And whilst _Florella_ frowns--’tis in that Number [_To_ Flor.

I must account her Slave--_Alonzo_,

How came thy Father so bewitch’d to Valour,

(For _Abdelazer_ has no other Virtue)

To recompense it with so fair a Creature?

Was this--a Treasure t’ inrich the Devil with?

_Alon_. Sir, he has many Virtues, more than Courage,

Royally born, serv’d well his King, and Country;

My Father brought him up to martial Toils,

And taught him to be brave; I hope, and good;--

Beside, he was your Royal Father’s Favourite.

_King_. No, _Alonzo_, ‘twas not his Love to Virtue,

But nice Obedience to his King, and Master,

Who seeing my increase of Passion for her,

To kill my Hopes, he gave her to this _Moor_.

_Alon_. She’s now a virtuous Woman, Sir.

_King_. Politick Sir, who would have made her other?

Against her Will, he forc’d her to his Arms,

Whilst all the World was wondring at his Madness.

_Alon_. He did it with her Approbation, Sir.

_King_. With thine, _Florella!_ cou’dst thou be so criminal?

_Flor_. Sir, I was ever taught Obedience;

My humble Thoughts durst ne’er aspire to you,

And next to that--Death, or the Moor, or any thing.

_King_. Oh God! had I then told my Tale

So feebly, it could not gain Belief.

Oh my _Florella_! this little Faith of thine

Has quite undone thy King--_Alonzo_,

Why didst not thou forbid this fatal Marriage,

She being thy only Sister?

_Alon_. Great Sir, I did oppose it with what Violence

My Duty would permit; and wou’d have dy’d

In a just Quarrel of her dear Defence;

And, Sir, though I submitted to my Father,

The Moor and I stand on unequal Terms.

_Phil_. Come, who dares drink Confusion to this Moor?

_Ant_. That, Sir, will I.

_Sebast_. And I.

_Phil_. Page, fill my Glass, I will begin the Round,

Ye all shall pledge it--_Alonzo_, first to thee.

[_Drinks_.

_Alon_. To me, Sir!

_Phil_. Why, yes, thou lovest him--therefore--

Nay, you shall drink it, tho ‘twere o’th’ _Stygian_ Lake.

Take it--by Heaven, thoud’st pimp for him to my Mother--

Nay, and after that, give him another Sister.

_Alon_. ‘Tis well you are my Prince.

_Phil_. I’d rather be a Prince of Curs--come pledge me--

_Alon_. Well, Sir, I’ll give you way.

[_Drinks_.

_Phil_. So wou’dst thou any--though they trod on thee.

So--nay, Prince Cardinal, tho it be not decent

For one so sanctify’d to drink a Health;

Yet ‘tis your Office both to damn and bless--

Come, drink and damn the Moor.

_Men_. Sir, I’m for no carousing.

_Phil_. I’m in an Humour now to be obey’d,

And must not be deny’d--But see, the Moor

_Enter_ Abdelazer, _gazes on them_.

Just come to pledge at last--Page, fill again--

_Abd_. I’ll do you Reason, Prince, what’er it be.

[_Gives him the Glass_.

_Phil_. ‘Twas kindly said--Confusion to the Moor.

_Abd_. Confusion to the Moor--if this vain Boy,

See the next rising Sun. [_Aside_.

_Phil_. Well done, my Lad.

_King_. _Abdelazer_, you have been missing long,

The publick Good takes up your whole Concern,

But we shall shortly ease you of that Load--

Come, let’s have some Musick;

_Ordonio_, did I not call for Musick?

_Ord_. You did, Sir.

_Abd_. _Roderigo!_

_Rod_. My gracious Lord--

[Roderigo _whispers to_ Abd.

_Abd_. No more--the Prince observes us.

_Phil_. There’s no good towards when you are whisp’ring.

_Ord_. The Musick you commanded, Sir, is ready.

SONG.

Nymph.

_Make haste_, Amintas, _come away,

The Sun is up and will not stay;

And oh how very short’s a Lover’s_ Day!

_Make haste_, Amintas, _to this Grove,

Beneath whose Shade so oft I’ve sat,

And heard my dear lay’d Swain repeat,

How much he_ Galatea _lov’d;

Whilst all the listening Birds around,

Sung to the Musick of the blessed Sound.

_Make haste_, Amintas, _come away,

The Sun is up and will not stay;

And oh how very short’s a Lover’s Day_!

Swain enters, with Shepherds and Shepherdesses, and Pipes.

_I hear thy charming Voice, my Fair,

And see, bright Nymph, thy Swain is here;

Who his Devotions had much earlier paid,

But that a Lamb of thine was stray’d;

And I the little Wanderer have brought,

That with one angry Look from thy fair Eyes,

Thou may’st the little Fugitive chastise,

Too great a Punishment for any Fault.

Come_, Galatea, _haste away,

The Sun is up and will not stay,

And oh how very short’s a Lover’s Day_! [Dance.

_King_. How likes _Florella_ this?

_Flor_. Sir, all Delight’s so banish’d from my Soul,

I’ve lost the Taste of every single Joy.

_Abd_. God’s! this is fine! Give me your Art of Flattery,

Or something more of this, will ruin me--

Tho I’ve resolv’d her Death, yet whilst she’s mine,

I would not have her blown by Summer Flies.

_Phil_. Mark how he snarls upon the King!

The Cur will bite anon.

_Abd_. Come, my _Florella_, is’t not Bed-time, Love?

_Flor_. I’ll wait upon you, Sir.

[Going out.

_Phil_. The Moor has ta’en away, we may depart.

_Abd_. What has he ta’en away?

[_Turns about_.

_Phil_. The fine gay play-thing, that made us all so merry.

_Abd_. Was this your Sport? [To his Wife.

_King_. _Abdelazer_, keep your way--Good night, fair Creature!

_Abd_. I will obey for once.

[_Ex_. Abd. _and_ Flor.

_King_. Why this Resentment, Brother, and in publick?

_Phil_. Because he gives me Cause, and that in Publick.

And, Sir, I was not born to bear with Insolence;

I saw him dart Revenge from both his Eyes,

And bite his angry Lip between his Teeth,

To keep his Jealousy from breaking forth,

Which, when it does--stand fast, my King.

_King_. But, _Philip_, we will find a way to check him;

Till when we must dissemble--take my Counsel--Good night.

_Phil_. I cannot, nor I will not--yet good Night.

[_Exit_ King, _and all but_ Philip’s _Party_.

Well, Friends, I see the King will sleep away his Anger,

And tamely see us murder’d by this Moor;

But I’ll be active, Boys--

Therefore, _Antonio_, you command the Horse;

Get what more Numbers to our Cause you can:

’.is a good Cause, and will advance our Credit.

We will awake this King out of his Lethargy of Love,

And make him absolute--Go to your Charge,

And early in the Morning I’ll be with you--

[_Ex. all but_ Phil.

If all fail, Portugal shall be my Refuge,

Those whom so late I conquer’d, shall protect me--

But this Alanzo I shou’d make an Interest in;

Cou’d I but flatter--’tis a Youth that’s brave.

_Enter_ Cardinal _in haste_.

_Men_. Fly, fly, my Prince, we are betray’d and lost else.

_Phil_. Betray’d and lost! Dreams, idle Coward Dreams.

_Men_. Sir, by my Holy Order, I’m in earnest,

And you must either quickly fly, or die;

’.is so ordain’d--nor have I time to tell

By what strange Miracle I learn’d our Fate.

_Phil_. Nor care I, I will stay, and brave it.

_Men_. That, Sir, you shall not, there’s no safety here,

And ‘tis the Army only can secure us.

_Phil_. Where had you this Intelligence?

_Men_. I’ll tell you as we go to my Apartment;

Where we must put ourselves in Holy Dress;

For so the Guards are set in every Place,

(And those all Moors, the Slaves of _Abdelazer_)

That ‘tis impossible in any other Habit to escape.

Come, haste with me, and let us put ‘em on.

_Phil_. I had rather stay and kill till I am weary--

Let’s to the Queen’s Apartment and seize this Moor;

I’m sure there the Mongrel’s kennel’d.

_Men_. Sir, we lose time in talking--Come with me.

_Phil_. Where be these lousy Gaberdines?

_Men_. I will conduct you to ‘em.

_Phil_. Mother--and Moor, farewel,

I’ll visit you again; and if I do,

My black Infernal, I will conjure you.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT III.

SCENE I. _A Gallery in the Palace_.

_Enter_ Abdelazer _and_ Zarrack.

_Zar. Osmin_ (my Lord) by this has done his Task,

And _Philip_ is no more among the living:

Will you not rest to night?

_Abd_. Is this a time for Sleep and Idleness--dull Slaves?

_Zar_. The Bus’ness we have Order, Sir, to do,

We can without your Aid.

_Enter_ Osmin.

_Abd. Osmin_!

Thy ominous Looks presage an ill Success;

Thy Eyes no joyful News of Murders tell:

I thought I shou’d have seen thee drest in Blood--

Speak! Speak thy News--

Say that he lives, and let it be thy last.

_Osm_. Yes, Sir, he lives.

_Abd_. Lives! thou ly’st, base Coward--lives!--renounce thy Gods!

It were a Sin less dangerous--speak again.

_Osm_. Sir, _Philip_ lives.

_Abd_. Oh treacherous Slave!

_Osm_. Not by my Fault, by Heav’n!

_Abd_. By what curst Chance,

If not from thee, could he evade his Fate?

_Osm_. By some Intelligence from his good Angel.

_Abd_. From his good Devil!

Gods! must the Earth another Day at once

Bear him and me alive?

_Osm_. Another Day!--an Age for ought I know;

For, Sir, the Prince is fled, the Cardinal too.

_Abd_. Fled! fled--say’st thou?

Oh, I cou’d curse the Stars, that rule this Night:

’.is to the Camp they’re fled; the only Refuge

That Gods, or Men cou’d give ‘em--

Where got you this Intelligence?

_Osm_. My Lord, inquiring for the Prince

At the Apartment of the Cardinal, (whither he went)

His Pages answer’d me, he was at his Devotions:

A lucky time (I thought) to do the Deed;

And breaking in, found only their empty Habits,

And a poor sleepy Groom, who with much threatning,

Confess’d that they were fled, in holy Robes.

_Abd_. That Case of Sanctity was first ordain’d,

To cheat the honest World:

Twas an unlucky Chance--but we are idle--

Let’s see, how from this ill, we may advance a good--

[_Pauses_.

’.is now dead time of Night, when Rapes, and Murders

Are hid beneath the horrid Veil of Darkness--

I’ll ring thro all the Court, with doleful Sound

The sad Alarms of Murder--Murder--_Zarrack_,

Take up thy standing yonder--_Osmin_, thou

At the Queen’s Apartment--cry out, Murder:

Whilst I, like his ill Genius, do awake the King;

Perhaps in this Disorder I may kill him. [_Aside_.

--Treason--Murder--Murder--Treason.

_Enter_ Alonzo, _and Courtiers_.

_Alon_. What dismal Crys are these?--

_Abd_. Where is the King?--Treason--Murder!

Where--is the sleeping Queen?--Arise, arise.

_Osm_. The Devil taught him all his Arts of Falshood. [_Aside_.

_Enter_ King _in a Night-Gown, with Lights_.

_King_. Who frights our quiet Slumbers with this Noise?

_Enter_ Queen _and Women, with Lights_.

_Qu_. Was it a Dream, or did I hear the Sound

Of Treason, call me from my silent Griefs?

_King_. Who rais’d this Rumour, _Abdelazer_, you?

_Abd_. I did, Great Sir.

_King_. Your Reasons.

_Abd_. Oh Sir, your Brother _Philip_, and the Cardinal,

Both animated by a Sense of Wrongs,

(And envying, Sir, the Fortune of your Slave)

Had laid a Plot this Night, to murder you:

And ‘cause they knew it was my waiting Night,

They wou’d have laid the Treason, Sir, on me.

_King_. The Cardinal, and my Brother! bring them forth,

Their Lives shall answer it.

_Abd_. Sir, ‘tis impossible:

For when they found their Villany discover’d,

They in two Friers Habits made escape.

_King_. That Cardinal is subtle, and ambitious,

And from him _Philip_ learnt his dangerous Principles.

_Qu_. The Ambition of the one infects the other,

And they are both too dangerous to live--

But might a Mother’s Counsel be obey’d,

I wou’d advise you, send the valiant Moor

To fetch ‘em back, e’er they can reach the Camp:

For thither they are fled--where they will find

A Welcome fatal to us all.

_King_. Madam, you counsel well; and, _Abdelazer_,

Make it your Care to fetch these Traitors back,

Not only for my Safety, and the Kingdom’s,

But as they are your Enemies; and th’ envious World

Will say, you made this story to undo ‘em.

_Abd_. Sir, I’ll obey; nor will I know repose,

Till I have justify’d this fatal Truth.

[Abd. _goes to the_ Queen, _and talks to her_.

_King_. Mean time I will to my _Florella’s_ Lodging,

Silence, and Night, are the best Advocates [_Aside_.

To plead a Lover’s Cause--_Abdelazer_--haste.

Madam, I’ll wait on you to your Chamber.

_Abd_. Sir, that’s my Duty.

_King_. Madam, good Night--_Alonzo_, to your rest.

[_Ex. all but_ Qu. _and_ Abd.

_Qu. Philip_ escap’d!

Oh, that I were upon some Desart Shoar,

Where I might only to the Waves and Winds

Breathe out my Sense of Rage for this Defeat.

_Abd_. Oh, ‘tis no time for Rage, but Action, Madam.

_Qu_. Give me but any Hopes of blest Revenge,

And I will be as calm as happy Lovers.

_Abd_. There is a way, and is but that alone;

But such a way, as never must be nam’d.

_Qu_. How! not be nam’d! Oh, swear thou hat’st me rather,

It were a Torment equal to thy Silence.

_Abd_. I’ll shew my Passion rather in that Silence.

_Qu_. Kind Torturer, what mean’st thou?

_Abd_. To shew you, Madam, I had rather live

Wrong’d and contemn’d by _Philip_,

Than have your dearer Name made infamous.

_Qu_. Heavens! dost thou mock my Rage? can any Sin

I could commit, undo my Honour more

Than his late Insolence?

Oh, name me something may revenge that Shame:

I wou’d encounter killing Plagues, or Fire,

To meet it--Come, oh quickly give me ease.

_Abd_. I dare no more reveal the guilty Secret,

Than you dare execute it when ‘tis told.

_Qu_. How little I am understood by thee--

Come, tell me instantly, for I grow impatient;

You shall obey me--nay, I do command you.

_Abd_. Durst you proclaim--_Philip_ a Bastard, Madam?

_Qu_. Hah! proclaim my self--what he wou’d have me thought!

What mean’st thou?--

_Abd_. Instruct you in the way to your Revenge.

_Qu_. Upon my self thou meanest--

_Abd_. No--

He’s now fled to th’ Camp, where he’ll be fortify’d

Beyond our Power to hurt, but by this means;

Which takes away his Hopes of being a King,

(For he’d no other Aim in taking Arms)

And leaves him open to the People’s Scorn;

Whom own’d as King, Numbers wou’d assist him,

And then our Lives he may dispose,

As he has done our Honours.

_Qu_. There’s Reason in thy Words: but oh my Fame!

_Abd_. Which I, by Heaven, am much more tender of,

Than my own Life or Honour; and I’ve a way

To save that too, which I’ll at leisure tell you.

In the mean time send for your Confessor,

And with a borrow’d Penitence confess,

Their Idol _Philip_ is a Bastard;

And zealously pretend you’re urg’d by Conscience,

A cheap Pretence to cozen Fools withal.

_Qu_. Revenge, although I court you with my fatal Ruin,

I must enjoy thee: there’s no other way,

And I’m resolv’d upon the mighty Pleasure;

He has profan’d my purer Flame for thee,

And merits to partake the Infamy.

[_He leads her out_.

_Abd_. Now have at my young King--

I know he means to cuckold me to Night,

Whilst he believes I’ll tamely step aside--

No, let _Philip_ and the Cardinal gain the Camp,

I will not hinder ‘em--

I have a nobler Sacrifice to make

To my declining Honour, shall redeem it,

And pay it back with Interest--well, then in order to’t,

I’ll watch about the Lodgings of _Florella_,

And if I see this hot young Lover enter,

I’ll save my Wife the trouble of allaying

The amorous Heat--this--will more nimbly do’t,

[_Snatches out his Dagger_.

And do it once for all--

_Enter_ Florella _in her Night-Clothes_.

_Flor_. My _Abdelazer_--why in that fierce posture,

As if thy Thoughts were always bent on Death?

Why is that Dagger out?--against whom drawn?

_Abd_. Or stay,--suppose I let him see _Florella_,

And when he’s high with the expected Bliss,

Then take him thus--Oh, ‘twere a fine surprize!

_Flor_. My Lord--dear _Abdelazer_.

_Abd_. Or say--I made her kill him--that were yet

An Action much more worthy of my Vengeance.

_Flor_. Will you not speak to me? what have I done?

_Abd_. By Heaven, it shall be so.

_Flor_. What shall be so?

_Abd_. Hah--

_Flor_. Why dost thou dress thy Eyes in such unusual wonder?

There’s nothing here that is a stranger to thee,

Or what is not intirely thine own.

_Abd_. Mine!

_Flor_. Thou canst not doubt it.

_Abd_. No,--and for a proof that thou art so,--take this Dagger.

_Flor_. Alas, Sir!--what to do?

_Abd_. To stab a Heart, _Florella_, a Heart that loves thee.

_Flor_. Heaven forbid!

_Abd_. No matter what Heaven will, I say it must--

_Flor_. What must?

_Abd_. That Dagger must enter the Heart of him

That loves thee best, _Florella_;--guess the Man.

_Flor_. What means my Moor?

Wouldst thou have me kill thy self?

_Abd_. Yes--when I love thee better than the King.

_Flor_. Ah, Sir! what mean you?

_Abd_. To have you kill this King,

When next he does pursue thee with his Love--

What, do you weep?--

By Heaven, they shall be bloody Tears then.

_Flor_. I shall deserve them--when I suffer Love

That is not fit to hear;--but for the King,

That which he pays me, is so innocent--

_Abd_. So innocent! damn thy dissembling Tongue;

Did I not see, with what fierce wishing Eyes

He gazed upon thy Face, whilst yours as wantonly

Returned, and understood the amorous Language?

_Flor_. Admit it true, that such his Passions were,

As (Heaven’s my witness) I’ve no cause to fear;

Have not I Virtue to resist his Flame,

Without a pointed Steel?

_Abd_. Your Virtue!--Curse on the weak Defence;

Your Virtue’s equal to his Innocence.

Here, take this Dagger, and if this Night he visit thee,

When he least thinks on’t--send it to his Heart.

_Flor_. If you suspect me, do not leave me, Sir.

_Abd_. Oh--I’m dispatch’d away--to leave you free--

About a wonderful Affair--mean time,

I know you will be visited--but as you wish to live,

At my return let me behold him dead.--

Be sure you do’t--’tis for thy Honour’s safety--

I love thee so, that I can take no rest,

Till thou hast kill’d thy Image in his Breast.

--Adieu, my dear _Florella_.

[Exit_.

_Flor_. Murder my King! the Man that loves me too--

What Fiend, what Fury such an act wou’d do?

My trembling Hand wou’d not the Weapon bear,

And I should sooner strike it here--than there.

[_Pointing to her Breast_.

No! though of all I am, this Hand alone

Is what thou canst command, as being thy own;

Yet this has plighted no such cruel Vow;

No Duty binds me to obey thee ‘now.

To save my King’s, my Life I will expose,

No Martyr dies in a more glorious Cause.

[_Exit_.

SCENE II. _The Queen’s Apartments_.

_Enter the_ Queen _in an undress alone, with a Light_.

_Qu_. Thou grateful Night, to whom all happy Lovers

Make their devout and humble Invocations;

Thou Court of Silence, where the God of Love,

Lays by the awful Terror of a Deity,

And every harmful Dart, and deals around

His kind Desires; whilst thou, blest Friend to Joys,

Draw’st all thy Curtains, made of gloomy Shades,

To veil the Blushes of soft yielding Maids;

Beneath thy Covert grant the Love-sick King,

May find admittance to _Florella’s_ Arms;

And being there, keep back the busy Day;

Maintain thy Empire till my Moor returns;

Where in her Lodgings he shall find his Wife,

Amidst her amorous Dalliance with my Son.--

My watchful Spies are waiting for the Knowledge;

Which when to me imparted, I’ll improve,

Till my Revenge be equal to my Love.

_Enter_ Elvira.

--_Elvira_, in thy Looks I read Success;

What hast thou learnt?

_Elv_. Madam, the King is gone as you imagin’d,

To fair _Florella’s_ Lodging.

_Qu_. But art thou sure he gain’d Admittance?

_Elv_. Yes, Madam;

But what Welcome he has found, to me’s unknown;

But I believe it must be great, and kind.

_Qu_. I am of thy Opinion.--

But now, _Elvira_, for a well-laid Plot,

To ruin this _Florella_;--though she be innocent,

Yet she must die; so hard a Destiny

My Passion for her Husband does decree:

But ‘tis the way I stop at.--

His Jealousy already I have rais’d;

That’s not enough, his Honour must be touch’d.

This Meeting twixt the King and fair _Florella_,

Must then be render’d publick;

’.is the Disgrace, not Action, must incense him--

Go you to Don _Alonzo’s_ Lodging strait,

Whilst I prepare my Story for his Ear.--

[Exit Elvira.

Assist me all that’s ill in Woman-kind,

And furnish me with Sighs, and feigned Tears,

That may express a Grief for this Discovery.--

My Son, be like thy Mother, hot and bold;

And like the noble Ravisher of Rome,

Court her with Daggers, when thy Tongue grows faint,

Till thou hast made a Conquest o’er her Virtue.

_Enter_ Alonzo, Elvira.

--Oh, _Alonzo_, I have strange News to tell thee!

_Alon_. It must be strange indeed, that makes my Queen

Dress her fair Eyes in Sorrow.

_Qu_. It is a Dress that thou wilt be in love with,

When thou shalt hear my Story.--

You had a Sister once.

_Alon_. Had!

_Qu_. Yes, had,--whilst she was like thy self, all Virtue;

Till her bewitching Eyes kindled such Flames,

As will undo us all.

_Alon_. My Sister, Madam! sure it cannot be:--

What Eyes? what Flames?--inform me strait.

_Qu. Alonzo_, thou art honest, just and brave:

And should I tell thee more,--

(Knowing thy Loyalty’s above all Nature)

It would oblige thee to commit an Outrage,

Which baser Spirits will call Cruelty.

_Alon_. Gods, Madam! do not praise my Virtue thus,

Which is so poor, it scarce affords me patience

To attend the end of what you wou’d deliver--

Come, Madam, say my Sister--is a Whore.

I know ‘tis so you mean; and being so,

Where shall I kneel for Justice?

Since he that shou’d afford it me,

Has made her Criminal.--

Pardon me, Madam, ‘tis the King I mean.

_Qu_. I grieve to own, all thy prophetick Fears

Are true, _Alonzo_, ‘tis indeed the King.

_Alon_. Then I’m disarm’d,

For Heaven can only punish him.

_Qu_. But, _Alonzo_,

Whilst that religious Patience dwells about thee,

All Spain must suffer, nay, Ages that shall ensue

Shall curse thy Name, and Family;

From whom a Race of Bastards shall proceed,

To wear that Crown.

_Alon_. No, Madam, not for mine,

My Sister’s in my power, her Honour’s mine;

I can command her Life, though not my King’s.

Her Mother is a Saint, and shou’d she now

Look down from Heaven upon a Deed so foul,

I think even there she wou’d invent a Curse,

To thunder on her Head.--

But, Madam, whence was this Intelligence?

_Qu. Elvira_ saw the King enter her Lodgings,

With Lover’s haste, and Joy.

_Alon_. Her Lodgings!--when?

_Qu_. Now, not an Hour ago,

Now, since the Moor departed.

_Alon_. Damnation on her! can she be thus false?

Come, lead me to the Lodgings of this Strumpet,

And make me see this truth, [_To_ Elvira.

Or I will leave thee dead, for thus abusing me.

_Qu_. Nay, dear _Alonzo_, do not go inrag’d,

Stay till your Temper wears a calmer look;

That if, by chance, you shou’d behold the Wantons,

In little harmless Dalliance, such as Lovers

(Aided with Silence, and the shades of Night)

May possibly commit,

You may not do that which you may repent of.

_Alon_. Gods! should I play the Pander!

And with my Patience, aid the amorous Sin--

No, I shall scarce have so much Tameness left,

To mind me of my Duty to my King.

Ye Gods! behold the Sacrifice I make

To my lost Honour: behold, and aid my Justice.

[_Ex_. Alon.

_Qu_. It will concern me too to see this Wonder,

For yet I scarce can credit it.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE III. Florella’s _Lodgings_.

_Enter the_ King, _leading in_ Florella _all in fear_.

_Flor_. Ah, Sir, the Gods and you would be more merciful,

If by a Death less cruel than my Fears,

You would preserve my Honour; begin it quickly,

And after that I will retain my Duty,

And at your Feet breathe Thanks in dying Sighs.

_King_. Where learnt you, Fairest, so much Cruelty

To charge me with the Power of injuring thee?

Not from my Eyes, where Love and Languishment

Too sensibly inform thee of my Heart.

_Flor_. Call it not Injury, Sir, to free my Soul

From fears which such a Visit must create,

In dead of Night, when nought but frightful Ghosts

Of restless Souls departed walk the Round.

_King_. That fleeting thing am I, whom all Repose,

All Joys, and every good of Life abandon’d,

That fatal Hour thou gavest thy self away;

And I was doom’d to endless Desperation:

Yet whilst I liv’d, all glorious with my hopes,

Some sacred Treasures in thy Breast I hid,

And near thee still my greedy Soul will hover.

_Flor_. Ah, rather like a Ravisher you come,

With Love and Fierceness in your dangerous Eyes;

And both will equally be fatal to me.

_King_. Oh, do not fear me, as the fair _Lucretia_

Did the fierce Roman Youth; I mean no Rapes,

Thou canst not think that I wou’d force those Joys,

Which cease to be so, when compell’d, _Florella_--

No, I would sooner pierce this faithful Heart,

Whose Flame appears too criminal for your Mercy.

_Flor_. Why do you fright me, Sir? methinks your Looks

All pale, your Eyes thus fixt, and trembling Hands,

The awful Horror of the dark and silent Night,

Strike a cold Terror round my fainting Heart,

That does presage some fatal Accident.

_King_. ‘Tis in your cruel Eyes the Danger lies--

Wou’d you receive me with that usual Tenderness,

Which did express it self in every Smile,

I should dismiss tin’s Horror from my Face,

And place again its native Calmness there;

And all my Veins shall re-assume their Heat,

And with a new and grateful Ardour beat.

_Flor_. Sir, all my Soul is taken up with fear,

And you advance your Fate, by staying here--

Fly, fly, this place of Death--if _Abdelazer_

Shou’d find you here--all the Divinity

About your sacred Person could not guard you.

_King_. Ah, my _Florella_, cease thy needless Fear,

And in thy Soul let nothing reign but Love;

Love, that with soft Desires may fill thy Eyes,

And save thy Tongue the pain t’ instruct my Heart,

In the most grateful Knowledge Heaven can give me.

_Flor_. That Knowledge, Sir, wou’d make us both more wretched,

Since you, I know, wou’d still be wishing on,

And I shou’d grant, till we were both undone.

And, Sir, how little she were worth your care,

Cou’d part with all her honourable Fame,

For an inglorious Life--short and despis’d--

_King_. Canst thou believe a Flame thy Eyes have kindled,

Can urge me to an infamous pursuit?--

No, my _Florella_, I adore thy Virtue,

And none profane those Shrines, to whom they offer;

--Say but thou lov’st--and I thus low will bow--

[_Kneels_.

And sue to thee, to be my Sovereign Queen?

I’ll circle thy bright Forehead with the Crowns

Of _Castile, Portugal_, and _Arragon_;

And all those petty Kingdoms, which do bow

Their Tributary Knees to thy Adorer.

_Flor_. Ah, Sir! have you forgot my sacred Vow?

All that I am, is _Abdelazer’s_ now.

_King_. By Heav’n, it was a sacrilegious Theft;

But I the Treasure from his Breast will tear,

And reach his Heart, though thou art seated there.

_Flor_. A Deed like that my Virtue wou’d undo,

And leave a Stain upon your Glories too;

A Sin, that wou’d my Hate, not Passion move;

I owe a Duty, where I cannot love.

_King_. Thou think’st it then no Sin to kill thy King;

For I must die, without thy Love, _Florella_.

_Flor_. How tamely, Sir, you with the Serpent play,

Whose fatal Poison must your Life betray;

And though a King, cannot divine your Fate;

Kings only differ from the Gods in that.--

See, Sir, with this--I am your Murderer made;

[_Holds up a Dagger_.

By those we love, we soonest are betray’d.

_King_. How! can that fair Hand acquaint it self with Death?

--What wilt thou do, _Florella_?

_Flor_. Your Destiny divert,

And give my Heart those Wounds design’d for yours.

--If you advance, I’ll give the deadly Blow.

_King_. Hold!--I command thee hold thy impious Hand,

My Heart dwells there, and if you strike--I die.

_Enter_ Queen, Alonzo, _and_ Elvira.

_Qu. Florella_! arm’d against the King?

[_Snatches the Dagger and stabs her: the_ King _rises_.

Oh Traitress!

_King_. Hold, hold, inhuman Murdress;

What hast thou done, most barbarous of thy Sex!

[_Takes_ Flor. _in his Arms_.

_Qu_. Destroy’d thy Murdress,--and my too fair Rival. [_Aside_.

_King_. My Murdress!--what Devil did inspire thee

With Thoughts so black and sinful? cou’d this fair Saint

Be guilty of a Murder?--No, no, too cruel Mother,

With her Eyes, her charming lovely Eyes,

She might have kill’d, and her too virtuous Cruelty.

--Oh my _Florella_! Sacred lovely Creature!

_Flor_. My Death was kind, since it prevented yours,

And by that Hand, which sav’d mine from a Guilt.

[_Points to the_ Queen.

--That Dagger I receiv’d of _Abdelazer_,

To stab that Heart,--he said, that lov’d me best;

But I design’d to overcome your Passion,

And then to have vanquish’d _Abdelazer’s_ Jealousy:

But finding you too faithful to be happy,

I did resolve to die--and have my wish.

--Farewel--my King--my Soul begins its flight,

--And now--is hovering--in eternal--Night.

[Dies.

_King_. She’s gone--she’s gone--her sacred Soul is fled

To that Divinity, of which it is a part;

Too excellent to inhabit Earthly Bodies.

_Alon_. Oh, Sir, you grieve too much, for one so foul.

_King_. What profane Breath was that pronounc’d her foul?

Thy Mother’s Soul, though turn’d into a Cherubim,

Was black to hers--Oh, she was all divine.

--_Alonzo_, was it thou?--her Brother!

_Alon_. When she was good, I own’d that Title, Sir.

_King_. Good!--by all the Gods, she was as chaste as Vestals,

As Saints translated to Divine Abodes.

I offer’d her to be my Queen, _Alonzo_,

To share the growing Glories of my Youth;

But uncorrupted she my Crown contemn’d,

And on her Virtue’s Guard stood thus defended.

[Alon. _weeps_.

--Oh my _Florella_! let me here lie fix’d,

[_Kneels_.

And never rise, till I am cold and pale

As thou, fair Saint, art now--But sure

She cou’d not die;--that noble generous Heart,

That arm’d with Love and Honour, did rebate

All the fierce Sieges of my amorous Flame,

Might sure defend it self against those Wounds

Given by a Woman’s Hand,--or rather ‘twas a Devil’s.

[_Rises_.

--What dost thou merit for this Treachery?

Thou vilest of thy Sex--

But thou’rt a thing I have miscall’d a Mother,

And therefore will not touch thee--live to suffer

By a more shameful way;--but here she lies,

Whom I, though dead, must still adore as living.

_Alon_. Sir, pray retire, there’s danger in your stay;

When I reflect upon this Night’s Disorder,

And the Queen’s Art to raise my Jealousy;

And after that my Sister’s being murder’d,

I must believe there is some deeper Plot,

Something design’d against your sacred Person.

_King. Alonzo_, raise the Court, I’ll find it,

[_Ex_. Alonzo.

Tho ‘twere hid within my Mother’s Soul.

_Qu_. My gentle Son, pardon my kind mistake,

I did believe her arm’d against thy Life.

_King_. Peace, Fury! Not ill boding Raven Shrieks,

Nor midnight Cries of murder’d Ghosts, are more

Ungrateful, than thy faint and dull Excuses.

--Be gone! and trouble not the silent Griefs,

Which will insensibly decay my Life,

Till like a Marble Statue I am fixt,

Dropping continual Tears upon her Tomb.

[_Kneels and--weeps at_ Florella’s _Feet_.

_Abd. [Within]_. Guard all the Chamber-Doors--Fire and Confusion

Consume the _Spanish_ Dogs--was I for this

Sent to fetch back a _Philip_, and a Cardinal,

To have my Wife abus’d?

_Enter_ Abdelazer.

_Qu_. Patience, dear _Abdelazer_.

_Abd_. Patience and I am Foes: where’s my _Florella_?

The King! and in _Florella’s_ Bed-Chamber!

_Florella_ dead too!--

Rise, thou eternal Author of my Shame;

Gay thing--to you I speak, [King _rises_.

And thus throw off Allegiance.

_Qu_. Oh, stay your Fury, generous _Abdelazer_.

_Abd_. Away, fond Woman.

[_Throws her from him_.

_King_. Villain, to me this Language?

_Abd_. To thee, young amorous King.

How at this dead and silent time of Night,

Durst you approach the Lodgings of my Wife?

_King_. I scorn to answer thee.

_Abd_. I’ll search it in thy Heart then.

[_They fight_, Queen _and_ Elv. _run out crying Treason_.

_King_. The Devil’s not yet ready for his Soul,

And will not claim his due.--Oh, I am wounded. [_Falls_.

_Abd_. No doubt on’t, Sir, these are no Wounds of Love.

_King_. Whate’er they be, you might have spar’d ‘em now,

Since those _Florella_ give me were sufficient:

--And yet a little longer, fixing thus

Thou’dst seen me turn to Earth, without thy aid.

_Florella!--Florella!_--is thy Soul fled so far

It cannot answer me, and call me on?

And yet like dying Ecchoes in my Ears,

I hear thee cry, my Love--I come--I come, fair Soul.

--Thus at thy Feet--my Heart shall bleeding--lie.

Who since it liv’d for thee--for thee--will die. [_Dies_.

_Abd_. So--thou art gone--there was a King but now,

And now a senseless, dull, and breathless nothing.

[_A noise of fighting without_.

_Enter_ Queen _running_.

_Qu_. Oh Heavens! my Son--the King, the King is kill’d!--

Yet I must save his Murderer:--Fly, my Moor;

_Alonzo_, Sir, assisted by some Friends,

Has set upon your Guards,

And with resistless Fury is making hither.

_Abd_. Let him come on.

_Enter Alonzo and others, led in by Osmin, Zarrack, and Moors_.

Oh, are you fast?

[_Takes away their Swords_.

_Alon_. What mean’st thou, Villain?

_Abd_. To put your Swords to better uses, Sir,

Than to defend the cause of Ravishers.

_Alon_. Oh Heavens, the King is murder’d!

_Abd_. Look on that Object,

Thy Sister and my Wife, who’s doubly murder’d,

First in her spotless Honour, then her Life.

_Alon_. Heaven is more guilty than the King in this.

_Qu_. My Lords, be calm; and since your King is murder’d.

Think of your own dear Safeties; chuse a new King,

That may defend you from the Tyrant’s Rage.

_Alon_. Who should we chuse? Prince _Philip_ is our King.

_Abd_. By Heaven, but _Philip_ shall not be my King;

_Philip’s_ a Bastard, and Traytor to his Country:

He braves us with an Army at our Walls,

Threatning the Kingdom with a fatal Ruin.

And who shall lead you forth to Conquest now,

But _Abdelazer_, whose Sword reap’d Victory,

As oft as ‘twas unsheath’d?--and all for _Spain_

--How many Laurels has this Head adorn’d?

Witness the many Battles I have won;

In which I’ve emptied all my youthful Veins!--

And all for _Spain!_--ungrateful of my Favours!

--I do not boast my Birth,

Nor will not urge to you my Kingdom’s Ruin;

But loss of Blood, and numerous Wounds receiv’d--

And still for _Spain!_--

And can you think, that after all my Toils,

I wou’d be still a Slave?--to Bastard _Philip_ too?

That dangerous Foe, who with the Cardinal,

Threatens with Fire and Sword.--I’ll quench those Flames,

Such an esteem I still preserve for _Spain_.

_Alon_. What means this long Harangue? what does it aim at?

_Abd_. To be Protector of the Crown of _Spain_,

Till we agree about a lawful Successor.

_Alon_. Oh Devil!

_Qu_. We are betray’d, and round beset with Horrors;

If we deny him this--the Power being his,

We’re all undone, and Slaves unto his Mercy.--

Besides--Oh, give me leave to blush when I declare,

That _Philip_ is--as he has rendred him.--

But I in love to you, love to my _Spain_,

Chose rather to proclaim my Infamy,

Than an ambitious Bastard should be crown’d.

_Alon_. Here’s a fine Plot,

What Devil reigns in Woman, when she doats? [_Aside_.

_Rod_. My Lords, I see no remedy but he must be Protector.

_Alon_. Oh, Treachery--have you so soon forgot

The noble _Philip_, and his glorious Heir,

The murder’d _Ferdinand?_--

And, Madam, you so soon forgot a Mother’s Name,

That you wou’d give him Power that kill’d your Son?

_Abd_. The Modesty wherewith I’ll use that Power,

Shall let you see, I have no other Interest

But what’s intirely _Spain’s_.--Restore their Swords,

And he amongst you all who is dissatisfy’d,

I set him free this minute.

_Alon_. I take thee at thy word--

And instantly to _Philip’s_ Camp will fly.

[_Exit_.

_Abd_. By all the Gods my Ancestors ador’d,

But that I scorn the envying World shou’d think

I took delight in Blood--I wou’d not part so with you.

--But you, my Lords, who value _Spain’s_ Repose,

Must for it instantly with me take Arms.

Prince _Philip_, and the Cardinal, now ride

Like _Jove_ in Thunder; we in Storms must meet them.

To Arms! to Arms! and then to Victory,

Resolv’d to conquer, or resolv’d to die.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Abdelazer’s _Tent_.

_Enter_ Abdelazer, Osmin _bearing his Helmet of Feathers_,

Zarrack _with his Sword and Truncheon_.

_Abd_. Come, _Osmin_, arm me quickly; for the Day

Comes on apace, and the fierce Enemy

Will take advantages by our delay.

_Enter_ Queen _and_ Elvira.

_Qu_. Oh, my dear Moor!

The rude, exclaiming, ill-affected Multitude

(Tempestuous as the Sea) run up and down,

Some crying, kill the Bastard--some the Moor;

These for King _Philip_,--those for _Abdelazer_.

_Abd_. Your Fears are idle,--blow ‘em into Air.

I rush’d amongst the thickest of their Crouds,

And with the awful Splendor of my Eyes,

Like the imperious Sun, dispers’d the Clouds.

But I must combat now a fiercer Foe,

The hot-brain’d _Philip_, and a jealous Cardinal.

_Qu_. And must you go, before I make you mine?

_Abd_. That’s my Misfortune--when I return with Victory,

And lay my Wreaths of Laurel at your Feet,

You shall exchange them for your glorious Fetters.

_Qu_. How canst thou hope for Victory, when their Numbers

So far exceed thy Powers?

_Abd_. What’s wanting there, we must supply with Conduct.

I know you will not stop at any thing

That may advance our Interest, and Enjoyment.

_Qu_. Look back on what I have already done;

And after that look forward with Assurance.

_Abd_. You then (with only Women in your Train)

Must to the Camp, and to the Cardinal’s Tent;--

Tell him, your Love to him hath drawn you thither:

Then undermine his Soul--you know the way on’t.

And sooth him into a Belief, that the best way

To gain your Heart, is to leave _Philip’s_ Interest;

Urge ‘tis the Kingdom’s safety, and your own;

And use your fiercest Threats, to draw him to a Peace with me;

Not that you love me, but for the Kingdom’s good:

Then in a Tent which I will pitch on purpose,

Get him to meet me: He being drawn off,

Thousands of Bigots (who think to cheat the World

Into an Opinion, that fighting for the Cardinal is

A pious Work) will (when he leaves the Camp)

Desert it too.

_Qu_. I understand you, and more than I have time to be

Instructed in, I will perform; and possibly

Before you can begin, I’ll end my Conquests.

_Abd_. ‘Twill be a Victory worthy of your Beauty.

--I must to Horse, farewel, my generous Mistress.

_Qu_. Farewel! and may thy Arms as happy prove,

As shall my Art, when it dissembles Love.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II. Philip’s _Tent_.

_Enter_ Philip, Alonzo, _and Guards_.

_Phil_. ‘Tis a sad Story thou hast told, _Alonzo_;

Yet ‘twill not make me shed one single Tear:

They must be all of Blood that I will offer

To my dear Brother’s Ghost--

But, gallant Friend, this Good his Ills have done,

To turn thee over to our juster Interest,

For thou didst love him once.

_Alon_. Whilst I believ’d him honest, and for my Sister’s sake;

But since, his Crimes have made a Convert of me.

_Phil_. Gods! is it possible the Queen should countenance

His horrid Villanies?

_Alon_. Nay, worse than so,’.is thought she’ll marry him.

_Phil_. Marry him! then here upon my Knees I vow,

[_Kneels_.

To shake all Duty from my Soul;

And all that Reverence Children owe a Parent,

Shall henceforth be converted into Hate. [_Rises_.

--Damnation! marry him! Oh, I cou’d curse my Birth!

This will confirm the World in their Opinion,

That she’s the worst of Women;

That I am basely born too, (as she gives it out)

That Thought alone does a just Rage inspire,

And kindles round my Heart an active Fire.

_Alan_. A Disobedience, Sir, to such a Parent,

Heaven must forgive the Sin, if this be one:

--Yet do not, Sir, in Words abate that Fire,

Which will assist you a more effectual way.

_Phil_. Death! I could talk of it an Age;

And, like a Woman, fret my Anger high:

Till like my Rage, I have advanc’d my Courage,

Able to fight the World against my Mother.

_Alan_. Our Wrongs without a Rage, will make us fight,

Wrongs that wou’d make a Coward resolute.

_Phil_. Come, noble Youth,

Let us join both our several Wrongs in one,

And from them make a solemn Resolution,

Never to part our Interest, till this Moor,

This worse than Devil Moor be sent to Hell.

_Alon_. I do.

_Phil_. Hark--hark--the Charge is sounded, let’s to Horse,

St. _Jaques_ for the Right of _Spain_ and me.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE III. _A Grave_.

_Drums and Trumpets afar off,--with noise of fighting at a

distance: After a little while, enter_ Philip _in a Rage_.

_Phil_. Oh unjust Powers! why d’ye protect this Monster?--

And this damn’d Cardinal, that comes not up

With the Castilian Troops? curse on his formal Politicks--

_Enter_ Alonzo.

--_Alonzo_, where’s the Moor?

_Alon_. The Moor--a Devil--never did Fiend of Hell,

Compell’d by some Magician’s Charms,

Break thro the Prison of the folded Earth

With more swift Horrour, than this Prince of Fate

Breaks thro our Troops in spite of Opposition.

_Phil_. Death! ‘tis not his single Arm that works the Wonders,

But our Cowardice--Oh, this Dog Cardinal!

_Enter_ Antonio.

_Ant_. Sound a Retreat, or else the Day is lost.

_Phil_. I’ll beat that Cur to Death that sounds Retreat.

_Enter_ Sebastian.

_Sebast_. Sound a Retreat.

_Phil_. Who is’t that tempts my Sword?--continue the Alarm,

Fight on Pell-mell--fight--kill--be damn’d--do any thing

But sound Retreat--Oh, this damn’d Coward Cardinal!

[_Exeunt_.

_The noise of fighting near; after a little while enter

Philip again_.

_Phil_. Not yet, ye Gods! Oh, this eternal Coward!

_Enter_ Alonzo.

_Alon_. Sir, bring up your Reserves, or all is lost;

Ambition plumes the Moor, that makes him act

Deeds of such Wonder, that even you wou’d envy them.

_Phil_. ‘Tis well--I’ll raise my Glories to that dazling height,

Shall darken his, or set in endless Night.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE IV. _A Grove_.

_Enter_ Card. and Queen; _the noise of a Battel continuing

afar off all the Scene_.

_Qu_. By all thy Love, by all thy Languishments,

By all those Sighs and Tears paid to my Cruelty,

By all thy Vows, thy passionate Letters sent,

I do conjure thee, go not forth to fight:

Command your Troops not to engage with _Philip_,

Who aims at nothing but the Kingdom’s ruin.

--_Fernando’s_ kill’d--the Moor has gain’d the Power,

A Power that you nor _Philip_ can withstand;

And is’t not better he were lost than _Spain_,

Since one must be a Sacrifice?

Besides--if I durst tell it,

There’s something I cou’d whisper to thy Soul,

Wou’d make thee blush at ev’ry single Good

Thou’ast done that insolent Boy;--But ‘tis not now

A time for Stories of so strange a Nature,--

Which when you know, you will conclude with me,

That every Man that arms for _Philip’s_ Cause,

Merits the name of Traitor.--

Be wise in time, and leave his shameful Interest,

An Interest thou wilt curse thy self for taking;

Be wise, and make Alliance with the Moor.

_Card_. And, Madam, should I lay aside my Wrongs,

Those publick Injuries I have receiv’d,

And make a mean and humble Peace with him?

--No, let Spain be ruin’d by our Civil Swords,

E’er for its safety I forego mine Honour.--

_Enter an Officer_.

_Offi_. Advance, Sir, with your Troops, or we are lost.

_Card_. Give order--

_Qu_. That they stir not on their Lives;

Is this the Duty that you owe your Country?

Is this your Sanctity--and Love to me?

Is’t thus you treat the Glory I have offer’d

To raise you to my Bed?

To rule a Kingdom, be a Nation’s Safety,

To advance in hostile manner to their Walls;

Walls that confine your Countrymen, and Friends,

And Queen, to whom you’ve vow’d eternal Peace,

Eternal Love? And will you court in Arms?

Such rude Addresses wou’d but ill become you.

No, from this hour renounce all Claims to me,

Or _Philip’s_ Interest; for let me tell you, Cardinal,

This Love, and that Revenge, are inconsistent.

_Card_. But, Madam--

_Qu_. No more--disband your Rebel Troops,

And strait with me to _Abdelazer’s_ Tent,

Where all his Claims he shall resign to you,

Both in my self, the Kingdom, and the Crown:

You being departed, thousands more will leave him,

And you’re alone the Prop to his Rebellion.

_Enter_ Sebastian.

_Sebast_. Advance, advance, my Lord, with all your Force,

Or else the Prince and Victory is lost,

Which now depends upon his single Valour;

Who, like some ancient Hero, or some God,

Thunders amongst the thickest of his Enemies,

Destroying all before him in such numbers,

That Piles of Dead obstruct his passage to the living--

Relieve him strait, my Lord, with our last Cavalry and

Hopes.

_Card_. I’ll follow instantly.--

[_Ex_. Sebast.

_Qu_. Sir, but you shall not, unless it be to Death--

Shall you preserve the only Man I hate,

And hate with so much reason?--let him fall

A Victim to an injur’d Mother’s Honour.

--Come, I will be obey’d--indeed I must--[_Fawns on him_.

_Card_. When you’re thus soft, can I retain my Anger?

Oh, look but ever thus--in spite of Injuries--

I shall become as tame and peaceable,

As are your charming Eyes, when dress’d in Love,

Which melting down my Rage, leave me defenceless.

--Ah, Madam, have a generous care of me,

For I have now resign’d my Power to you.

[_Shouts within_.

_Qu_. What Shouts are these?

_Enter_ Sebastian.

_Sebast_. My Lord, the Enemy is giving ground,

And _Philip’s_ Arm alone sustains the day:

Advance, Sir, and compleat the Victory.

[_Exit_.

_Qu_. Give order strait, that a Retreat be sounded;

And whilst they do so, by me conducted,

We’ll instantly to _Abdelazer’s_ Tent--

Haste--haste, my Lord, whilst I attend you here.

[_Ex. severally_.

[Cardinal _going out, is met by_ Philip.

_Phil_. Oh, damn your lazy Order, where have you been, Sir?

--But ‘tis no time for Questions,

Move forward with your Reserves.

_Card_. I will not, Sir.

_Phil_. How, will not!

_Card_. Now to advance would be impolitick;

Already by your desperate Attempts,

You’ve lost the best part of our Hopes.

_Phil_. Death! you lye.

_Card_. Lye, Sir!

_Phil_. Yes, lye, Sir,--therefore come on,

Follow the desperate Reer-Guard, which is mine,

And where I’ll die, or conquer--follow my Sword

The bloody way it leads, or else, by Heaven,

I’ll give the Moor the Victory in spite,

And turn my Force on thee--

Plague of your Cowardice--Come, follow me.

[_Ex_. Card.

SCENE V. _The Grove_.

_As_ Philip _is going off, he is overtook by_ Alonzo, Antonio,

Sebastian, _and other Officers: At the other side some Moors,

and other of_ Abdelazer’s _Party, enter and fall on_ Philip _and

the rest--the Moors are beaten off--one left

dead on the Stage_.--

_Enter_ Abdelazer, _with_ Roderigo _and some others_.

_Abd_. Oh, for more Work--more Souls to send to Hell!

--Ha, ha, ha, here’s one going thither,--Sirrah--Slave

Moor--who kill’d thee?--how he grins--this Breast,

Had it been temper’d and made proof like mine,

It never wou’d have been a Mark for Fools.

Abd. _going out: Enter_ Philip, Alonzo, Sebastian, Antonio,

_and Officers, as passing over the Stage_.

_Phil_. I’ll wear my Sword to th’ Hilt, but I will find

The Subject of my Vengeance.--

Moor, ‘tis for thee I seek, where art thou, Slave?--

_Abd_. Here, _Philip_. [Abd. _turns_.

_Phil_. Fate and Revenge, I thank thee.--

_Abd_. Why--thou art brave, whoe’er begot thee.

_Phil_. Villain, a King begot me.

_Abd_. I know not that,

But I’ll be sworn thy Mother was a Queen,

And I will kill thee handsomly for her sake.

[_Offers to fight, their Parties hinder them_.

_Alon_. Hold--hold, my Prince.

_Osm_. Great Sir, what mean you? [_To_ Abd.

The Victory being yours, to give your Life away

On one so mad and desperate.

[_Their Parties draw_.

_Phil. Alonzo_, hold,

We two will be the Fate of this great Day.

_Abd_. And I’ll forego all I’ve already won,

And claim no Conquest; the whole heaps of Bodies,

Which this Right-hand has slain, declare me Victor.

_Phil_. No matter who’s the Victor; I have thee in my view,

And will not leave thee,

Till thou hast crown’d those Heaps, and made ‘em all

The glorious Trophies of my Victory--Come on, Sir.

_Alon_. You shall not fight thus single;

If you begin, by Heaven, we’ll all fall on.

_Phil_. Dost thou suspect my Power?

Oh, I am arm’d with more than compleat Steel,

The Justice of my Quarrel; when I look

Upon my Father’s Wrongs, my Brother’s Wounds,

My Mother’s Infamy, _Spain’s_ Misery,

I am all Fire; and yet I am too cold

To let out Blood enough for my Revenge:

--Therefore stir not a Sword on my side.

_Abd_. Nor on mine.

_They fight; both their Parties engage on either side; the

Scene draws off, and discovers both the Armies, which

all fall on and make the main Battel:_ Philip _prevails,

the_ Moors _give ground: Then the Scene closes to the

the Grove. Enter some_ Moors _flying in disorder_.

SCENE VI. _Changes to a Tent_.

_Enter_ Abdelazer, Roderigo, Osmin, Zarrack, _and some

others of his Party_.

_Rod_. Oh, fly, my Lord, fly, for the Day is lost.

_Abd_. There are three hundred and odd Days i’th Year,

And cannot we lose one? dismiss thy Fears,

They’ll make a Coward of thee.

_Osm_. Sir, all the noble _Spaniards_ have forsook you;

Your Soldiers faint, are round beset with Enemies,

Nor can you shun your Fate, but by your Flight.

_Abd_. I can--and must--in spite of Fate:

The Wheel of War shall turn about again,

And dash the Current of his Victories.--

This is the Tent I’ve pitched, at distance from the Armies,

To meet the Queen and Cardinal;

Charm’d with the Magick of Dissimulation,

I know by this h’as furl’d his Ensigns up,

And is become a tame and coward Ass.

[_A Retreat is sounded_.

--Hark--hark, ‘tis done: oh, my inchanting Engine!

--Dost thou not hear Retreat sounded?

_Rod_. Sure ‘tis impossible.

_Abd_. She has prevail’d--a Woman’s Tongue and Eyes

Are Forces stronger than Artilleries.

_Enter_ Queen, Cardinal, _Women, and Soldiers_.

--We are betray’d--

_Qu_. What means this Jealousy? lay by your Weapons.

And embrace--the sight of these beget Suspicion:

--_Abdelazer_, by my Birth he comes in peace;

Lord Cardinal, on my Honour so comes he.

_Abd_. Let him withdraw his Troops then.

_Qu_. They’re Guards for all our Safeties:

Give me your Hand, Prince Cardinal--thine, _Abdelazer_--

[_She brings them together, they embrace_.

This blest Accord I do behold with Joy.

_Card. Abdelazer_,

I at the Queen’s Command have met you here,

To know what ‘tis you will propose to us.

_Abd_. Peace and eternal Friendship ‘twixt us two.

How much against my Will I took up Arms,

Be witness, Heav’n: nor was it in revenge to you,

But to let out th’ infected Blood of _Philip_,

Whose sole aim

Is to be King--which Spain will never suffer;

Spain gave me Education, though not Birth,

Which has intitled it my native Home,

To which such Reverence and Esteem I bear,

I will preserve it from the Tyrant’s Rage.

The People who once lov’d him, now abhor him,

And ‘tis your Power alone that buoys him up:

And when you’ve lifted him into a Throne,

’.is time to shake you off.

_Card_. Whilst I behold him as my native Prince,

My Honour and Religion bids me serve him;

Yet not when I’m convinc’d that whilst I do so,

I injure _Spain_.

_Abd_. If he were so, the Powers above forbid

We should not serve, adore, and fight for him;

But _Philip_ is a Bastard:--nay, ‘twill surprize ye,

But that ‘tis Truth, the Queen will satisfy you.

_Qu_. With one bold Word he has undone my Honour.

[_Weeps_.

Too bluntly, _Abdelazer_, you repeat

That which by slow Degrees you shou’d have utter’d.

_Abd_. Pardon my Roughness, Madam, I meant well.

_Card. Philip_ a Bastard!

If by such Arts you wou’d divide me from him,

I shall suspect you wou’d betray us both.

_Qu_. Sir, he informs you Truth; and I blush less

To own him so, than that he is a Traitor.

_Card. Philip_ a Bastard! oh, it cannot be--

Madam, take heed you do not for Revenge,

Barter your dearer Honour, and lose both.

_Qu_. I know what’s due to Honour, and Revenge,

But better what I owe to _Spain_, and you--

You are a Prince o’th’ Blood, and may put off

The Cardinal when you please, and be a Monarch.

_Card_. Though my Ambition’s equal to my Passion,

Neither shall make me act against those Principles

My Honour ever taught me to obey.

--And, Madam--

’.is less a Sin, not to believe you her,

Than ‘tis to doubt your Virtue.

_Qu_. I wish it were untold, if it must forfeit

The least of your Esteem--but that ‘tis Truth,

Be witness, Heav’n, my Shame, my Sighs, and Tears.

[_Weeps_.

_Card_. Why, Madam, was’t so long conceal’d from me?

_Qu_. The Circumstances I shall at leisure tell you:

And for the present,

Let it suffice, he cannot rule in _Spain_,

Nor can you side with him, without being made

As much incapable to reign as he.

_Card_. Though Love and Honour I have always made

The Business of my Life;

My Soul retains too so much of Ambition,

As puts me still in mind of what I am,

A Prince, and Heir to Spain:

Nor shall my blinded Zeal to Loyalty,

Make me that glorious Interest resign,

Since _Philip’s_ Claims are not so great as mine.

--Madam, tho I’m convinc’d I’ve done amiss

In taking Arms for _Philip_,

Yet ‘twill be difficult to disengage my self.

_Abd_. Most easily--

Proclaim it in the head of all your Troops,

The Justice of your Cause for leaving him;

And tell ‘em, ‘tis a Work of Piety

To follow your Example.

The giddy Rout are guided by Religion,

More than by Justice, Reason, or Allegiance.

--The Crown which I as a good Husband keep,

I will lay down upon the empty Throne;

Marry you the Queen, and fill it--and for me,

I’ll ever pay you Duty as a Subject.

[_Bows low_.

_Card_. On these Conditions all I am is yours;

_Philip_ we cannot fear, all he can do

Is to retire for refuge into _Portugal_.

_Abd_. That wou’d be dangerous--

Is there no Arts to get him in our Power?

_Card_. Perhaps by Policy, and seeming Friendship,

For we have reason yet to fear his Force;

And since I’m satisfy’d he’s not my lawful Prince,

I cannot think it an Impiety

To sacrifice him to the Peace of _Spain_,

And every Spirit that loves Liberty:

First we’ll our Forces join, and make ‘em yours,

Then give me your Authority to arrest him;

If so we can surprize him, we’ll spare the hazard

Of a second Battel.

_Abd_. My Lord, retire into my inner Tent,

And all things shall be instantly perform’d.

[_Exeunt all_.

SCENE VII. _The Grove_.

_Enter some of_ Philip’s _Party running over the Stage,

pursued by_ Philip, Alonzo, Sebastian, Antonio,

_and some few Officers more_.

_Alon_. Do not pursue ‘em, Sir, such coward Slaves

Deserve not Death from that illustriate Hand.

_Phil_. Eternal Plagues consume ‘em in their flight;

Oh, this damn’d coward Cardinal has betray’d us!

When all our Swords were nobly dy’d in Blood,

When with red Sweat that trickled from our Wounds

We’ad dearly earn’d the long disputed Victory,

Then to lose all, then to sound base Retreat,

It swells my Anger up to perfect Madness.

_Alon_. Indeed ‘twas wondrous strange.

_Sebast_. I’m glad, Sir--

_Phil_. Art glad of it? art glad we are abandon’d?

That I, and thou have lost the hopeful’st Day--

_Sebast_. Great Sir, I’m glad that you came off alive.

_Phil_. Thou hast a lean Face--and a carrion Heart--

A plague upon the Moor, and thee--Oh, _Alonzo_,

To run away--follow’d by all the Army!

Oh, I cou’d tear my Hair, and curse my Soul to Air!

--Cardinal--thou Traitor, _Judas_, that would’st sell

Thy God again, as thou hast done thy Prince.

--But come--we’re yet a few,

And we will fight till there be left but one--

If I prove him, I’ll die a glorious death.

Ant. Yes, but the Cardinal has took pious Care

It shall be in our Beds.

_Sebast_. We are as bad as one already, Sir; for all our

Fellows are crawl’d home, some with ne’er a Leg, others

with ne’er a Arm, some with their Brains beat out, and

glad they escaped so.

_Phil_. But, my dear Countrymen, you’ll stick to me.

_1 Sold_. Ay, wou’d I were well off-- [_Aside_.

_Phil_. Speak, stout _Sceva_, wilt thou not?

_1 Sold. Sceva_, Sir, who’s that?

_Phil_. A gallant _Roman_, that fought by _Caesar’s_ side,

Till all his Body cover’d o’er with Arrows,

Shew’d like a monstrous Porcupine.

_1 Sold_. And did he die, Sir?

_Phil_. He wou’d not but have dy’d for Caesar’s Empire.

_1 Sold_. Hah--why, Sir, I’m none of _Sceva_, but honest

_Diego_, yet would as willingly die as he, but that I have

a Wife and Children; and if I die they beg.

_Phil_. For every drop of Blood which thou shalt lose,

I’ll give thy Wife--a Diadem.

_Sold_. Stark mad, as I am valiant!

_Enter_ Card. _Officers and Soldiers_: Philip _offers to run on

him, is held by_ Alonzo.

_Phil_. Oh Heav’n! is not that the Cardinal?

Traitor, how dar’st thou tempt my Rage, and Justice?

_Card_. Your Pardon, Sir, I come in humble Love

To offer happy Peace.

_Phil_. Was that thy aim when base Retreat was sounded?

Oh, thou false Cardinal--let me go, _Alonzo_--

Death! offer happy Peace! no, offer War,

Bring Fire and Sword--Hell and Damnation-Peace!

Oh, damn your musty Peace--No, will you fight and cry,

Down with the Moor! and then I’ll die in peace.

I have a Heart, two Arms, a Soul, a Head,

I’ll hazard these--I can but hazard all--

Come--I will kneel to thee--and be thy Slave--

[_Kneels_.

I’ll let thee tread on me, do any thing,

So this damn’d Moor may fall.

_Card_. Yes, Sir, he shall--

_Phil_. Gods! shall he--thy noble Hand upon’t,

And for this Promise, take my grateful Heart.

[_Embraces him_.

--Shall _Abdelazer_ fall?

_Card_. Yes, upon thee--

Like the tall Ruins of a falling Tower,

To crush thee into Dust--

[_As they embrace, the Guards seize him and the rest_.

Traitor and Bastard, I arrest thee of High-Treason.

_Phil_. Hah!--Traitor!--and Bastard--and from thee!

[_They hold_ Philip’s _Hands_.

_Card_. Guards, to your Hands the Prisoner is committed.

There’s your Warrant--_Alonzo_, you are free.

[_Ex_. Card.

_Phil_. Prithee lend me one Hand--to wipe my Eyes,

And see who ‘tis dares authorize this Warrant:

--The Devil and his Dam!--the Moor and Queen!

Their Warrant!--Gods! _Alonzo_, must we obey it?

Villains, you cannot be my Jailors; there’s no Prison,

No Dungeon deep enough; no Gate so strong,

To keep a Man confin’d--so mad with Wrong.

--Oh, dost thou weep, _Alonzo_?

_Alon_. I wou’d fain shed a Tear,

But from my Tears so many Show’rs are gone,

They are too poor to pay your Sorrow’s Tribute;

There is no Remedy, we must to Prison.

_Phil_. Yes, and from thence to Death--

I thought I should have had a Tomb hung round

With tatter’d Ensigns, broken Spears and Javelins;

And that my Body, with a thousand Wounds,

Shou’d have been borne on some triumphant Chariot,

With solemn Mourning, Drums, and Trumpets sounding;

Whilst all the wondring World with Grief and Envy,

Had wish’d my glorious Destiny their own:

But now, _Alonzo_--like a Beast I fall,

And hardly Pity waits my Funeral.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT V.

SCENE I. _A Presence-Chamber, with a Throne and Canopy.

Enter_ Abdelazer, Cardinal, Alonzo, Ordonio, Roderigo,

_and other Lords, one bearing the Crown, which is laid on

the Table on a Cushion; the_ Queen, Leonora, _and Ladies.

They all seat themselves, leaving the Throne and Chair

of State empty_. Abdelazer _rises and bows_, Roderigo

_kneeling, presents him with the Crown_.

_Abd_. Grandees of _Spain_, if in this royal Presence

There breathes a Man, who having laid his hold

So fast on such a Jewel, and dares wear it,

In the Contempt of Envy, as I dare;

Yet uncompell’d (as freely as the Gods

Bestow their Blessings) wou’d give such Wealth away;

Let such a Man stand forth--are ye all fix’d?

No wonder, since a King’s a Deity.

And who’d not be a God?

This glorious Prospect, when I first saw the Light,

Met with my Infant Hopes; nor have those Fetters

(Which e’er they grew towards Men, Spain taught me how to wear)

Made me forget what’s due to that illustrious Birth;

--Yet thus--I cast aside the Rays of Majesty--

[_Kneels, and lays the Crown on the Table_.

And on my Knee do humbly offer up

This splendid powerful thing, and ease your Fears

Of Usurpation and of Tyranny.

_Alon_. What new Device is this? [_Aside_.

_Card_. This is an Action generous and just--

Let us proceed to new Election.

_Abd_. Stay, Peers of _Spain_,

If young Prince _Philip_ be King _Philip’s_ Son,

Then is he Heir to _Philip_, and his Crown;

But if a Bastard, then he is a Rebel,

And as a Traitor to the Crown shou’d bleed:

That dangerous popular Spirit must be laid,

Or _Spain_ must languish under civil Swords;

And _Portugal_ taking advantage of those Disorders,

(Assisted by the Male-contents within,

If _Philip_ live) will bring Confusion home.

--Our Remedy for this is first to prove,

And then proclaim him Bastard.

_Alon_. That Project wou’d be worth your Politicks [_Aside_.

--How shou’d we prove him Bastard?

_Abd_. Her Majesty being lately urg’d by Conscience,

And much above her Honour prizing _Spain_,

Declar’d this Secret, but has not nam’d the Man;

If he be noble and a _Spaniard_ born,

He shall repair her Fame by marrying her.

_Card_. No; Spaniard, or Moor, the daring Slave shall die.

_Qu_. Would I were cover’d with a Veil of Night,

[_Weeps_.

That I might hide the Blushes on my Cheeks!

But when your Safety comes into Dispute,

My Honour, nor my Life must come in competition.

--I’ll therefore hide my Eyes, and blushing own,

That _Philip’s_ Father is i’th’ Presence now.

_Alon_. I’th’ Presence! name him.

_Qu_. The Cardinal--

[_All rise in Amazement_.

_Card_. How’s this, Madam!

_Abd_. How! the Cardinal!

_Card_. I _Philip’s_ Father, Madam!

_Qu_. Dull Lover--is not all this done for thee!

Dost thou not see a Kingdom and my self,

By this Confession, thrown into thy Arms?

_Card_. On Terms so infamous I must despise it.

_Qu_. Have I thrown by all Sense of Modesty,

To render you the Master of my Bed,

To be refus’d--was there any other way?--

_Card_. I cannot yield; this Cruelty transcends

All you have ever done me--Heavens! what a Contest

Of Love and Honour swells my rising Heart!

_Qu_. By all my Love, if you refuse me now,

Now when I have remov’d all Difficulties,

I’ll be reveng’d a thousand killing ways.

_Card_. Madam, I cannot own so false a thing,

My Conscience and Religion will not suffer me.

_Qu_. Away with all this Canting; Conscience, and Religion!

No, take advice from nothing but from Love.

_Card_. ‘Tis certain I’m bewitch’d--she has a Spell

Hid in those charming Lips.

_Alon_. Prince Cardinal, what say you to this?

_Card_. I cannot bring it forth--

_Qu_. Do’t, or thou’rt lost for ever.

_Card_. Death! What’s a Woman’s Power!

And yet I can resist it.

_Qu_. And dare you disobey me?

_Card_. Is’t not enough I’ve given you up my Power,

Nay, and resign’d my Life into your Hands,

But you wou’d damn me too--I will not yield--

Oh, now I find a very Hell within me;

How am I misguided by my Passion!

_Alon_. Sir, we attend your Answer.

_Qu_. ‘Tis now near twenty Years, when newly married,

(And ‘tis the Custom here to marry young,)

King _Philip_ made a War in _Barbary_,

Won _Tunis_, conquer’d Fez, and hand to hand

Slew great _Abdela_, King of _Fez_, and Father

To this _Barbarian_ Prince.

_Abd_. I was but young, and yet I well remember

My Father’s Wound--poor _Barbary_--but no more.

_Qu_. In absence of my King I liv’d retir’d,

Shut up in my Apartment with my Women,

Suffering no Visits, but the Cardinal’s,

To whom the King had left me as his Charge;

But he, unworthy of that Trust repos’d,

Soon turned his Business into Love.

_Card_. Heavens! how will this Story end? [_Aside_.

_Qu_. A Tale, alas! unpleasant to my Ear,

And for the which I banish’d him my Presence,

But oh, the power of Gold! he bribes my Women,

That they should tell me (as a Secret too)

The King (whose Wars were finish’d) would return

Without acquainting any with the time;

He being as jealous, as I was fair and young,

Meant to surprize me in the dead of Night:

This pass’d upon my Youth, which ne’er knew Art.

_Card_. Gods! is there any Hell but Woman’s Falshood! [Aside.

_Qu_. The following Night I hasted to my Bed,

To wait my expected Bliss--nor was it long

Before his gentle Steps approach’d my Ears.

Undress’d he came, and with a vigorous haste

Flew to my yielding Arms: I call’d him King,

My dear lov’d Lord; and in return he breath’d

Into my Bosom, in soft gentle Whispers,

My Queen! my Angel! my lov’d _Isabella_!

And at that word--I need not tell the rest.

_Alon_. What’s all this, Madam, to the Cardinal?

_Qu_. Ah, Sir, the Night too short for his Caresses,

Made room for Day, Day that betray’d my Shame;

For in my guilty Arms I found the Cardinal.

_Alon_. Madam, why did not you complain of this?

_Qu_, Alas, I was but young, and full of Fears;

Bashful, and doubtful of a just Belief,

Knowing King _Philip’s_ rash and jealous Temper;

But from your Justice I expect Revenge.

_Rod_. His Crime, my Lords, is Death, by all our Laws.

_Card_. Have you betray’d me by my too much Faith?

Oh shameless Creature, am I disarm’d for this?

Had I but so much Ease to be inrag’d,

Sure I shou’d kill thee for this Treachery:

But I’m all Shame, and Grief--By all that’s holy,

My Lords, I never did commit this Crime.

_Abd_. ‘Tis but in vain, Prince Cardinal, to deny it.

_Qu_. Do not believe him, Lords;--

Revenge--let Sentence pass upon the Traitor.

_Card_. I own that Name with Horror, which you drew me to,

When I betray’d the best of Men, and Princes;

And ‘tis but just you fit me for Despairs,

That may instruct me how to follow him in Death:

Yet as I’m Prince o’th’ Blood, and Cardinal too,

You cannot be my Judges.

_Abd_. You shall be try’d, Sir, as becomes your Quality.

_Osmin_, we commit the Cardinal to your Charge.

_Card_. Heaven! should I live to that! No,

I have within me a private Shame,

That shall secure me from the publick one.

_Alon_. A pretty turn of State!--we shall all follow, Sir.

_Card_. The Powers above are just:

Thus I my Prince a Sacrifice first made,

And now my self am on the Altar laid.

[_Ex_. Card, _guarded_.

_Abd_. Madam, retire, you’ve acted so divinely,

You’ve fill’d my Soul with new admiring Passion:

I’ll wait on you in your Apartment instantly,

And at your Feet pay all my Thanks, and Love.

_Qu_. Make haste, my dearest Moor, whilst I retire,

And fit my Soul to meet thy kind Desire.

[_Ex_. Queen _and her Train_; Leon, _advancing to

follow, is staid by_ Abd.

_Abd_. Stay, beauteous Maid, stay, and receive that Crown,

[_Leads her back_.

Which as your due, Heav’n and all _Spain_ present you with.

_Alon_. But granting _Philip_ is--that thing you call him,

If we must grant him so, who then shall reign?

Not that we do not know who ought to reign,

But ask who ‘tis you will permit to do so. [_To_ Abd.

_Abd_. Who but bright _Leonora_! the Royal Off-spring

Of noble _Philip_, whose Innocence and Beauty,

Without th’ advantage of her glorious Birth,

Merits all Adoration.

_All_. With Joy we do salute her Queen.

_Abd_. Live _Leonora_! beauteous Queen of _Spain!

[Shout_.

_Alon_. From _Abdelazer_ this! it cannot be,

At least not real. [_Aside_.

_Abd_. My Lords,

Be it now your Care magnificently to provide

Both for the Coronation, and the Marriage

Of the fair Queen;

Let nothing be omitted that may shew,

How we can pay, where we so vastly owe.

[_Bows_.

_Alon_. I am much bound to _Spain_, and you, my Lords,

For this great Condescenion.

_Leo_. My Lords, I thank ye all,

And most the gallant Moor--I am not well--

[_Turns to Alon_.

Something surrounds my Heart so full of Death,

I must retire to give my Sorrow Breath.

[_Ex_. Leo. _followed by all but_ Abd. _and_ Rod. _who

looks on_ Abd.

_Rod_. Sir,--what have you done?

_Abd_. What every Man that loves like me shou’d do;

Undone my self for ever, to beget

One Moment’s thought in her, that I adore her;

That she may know, none ever lov’d like me,

I’ve thrown away the Diadem of _Spain_--

’.is gone! and there’s no more to set but this--

(My Heart) at all, and at this one last Cast,

Sweep up my former Losses, or be undone.

_Rod_. You court at a vast Rate, Sir.

_Abd_. Oh, she’s a Goddess! a Creature made by Heaven

To make my prosperous Toils all sweet and charming!

She must be Queen, I and the Gods decree it.

_Rod_. Sir, is she not designed _Alonzo’s_ Bride?

_Abd_. Yes, so her self and he have ill agreed;

But Heav’n and I am of another Mind,

And must be first obey’d.

_Rod. Alonzo_ will not yield his Interest easily.

_Abd_. Wou’d that were all my stop to Happiness;

But, _Roderigo_, this fond amorous Queen

Sits heavy on my Heart.

_Rod_. She’s but a Woman, nor has more Lives than one.

_Abd_. True, _Roderigo_, and thou hast dealt in Murders,

And knowest the safest way to--

_Rod_. How, Sir!--

_Abd_. Thou dar’st not sure pretend to any Virtue;

Had Hell inspir’d thee with less Excellency

Than Arts of killing Kings, thou’dst ne’er been rais’d

To that exalted Height, t’ have known my Secrets.

_Rod_. But, Sir--

_Abd_. Slave, look back upon the Wretchedness I took thee from;

What Merits had thou to deserve my Bounty,

But Vice, brave prosperous Vice?

Thou’rt neither wise, nor valiant.

_Rod_. I own my self that Creature rais’d by you,

And live but to repay you, name the way.

_Abd_. My business is--to have the Queen remov’d;

She does expect my coming this very Hour;

And when she does so, ‘tis her Custom to be retir’d,

Dismissing all attendance, but _Elvira_.

_Rod_. The rest I need not be instructed in.

[_Ex_. Rod.

_Enter_ Osmin.

_Osm_. The Cardinal, Sir, is close confin’d with _Philip_.

_Abd_. ‘Tis well.

_Osm_. And do you think it fit, Sir, they shou’d live?

_Abd_. No, this day they both must die, some sort of Death,

That may be thought was given them by themselves:

I’m sure I give them cause--_Osmin_, view well this Ring;

Whoever brings this Token to your Hands,

Without considering Sex, or Quality,

Let ‘em be kill’d.

_Osm_. Your Will shall be obey’d in every thing.

[_Exeunt severally_.

SCENE II. _A fine Chamber. A Table and Chair_.

_Enter_ Queen _and_ Elvira.

_Qu. Elvira_, hast thou drest my Lodgings up,

Fit to receive my Moor?

Are they all gay, as Altars, when some Monarch

Is there to offer up rich Sacrifices?

Hast thou strew’d all the Floor his Feet must press,

With the soft new-born Beauties of the Spring?

_Elv_. Madam, I’ve done as you commanded me.

_Qu_. Let all the Chambers too be fill’d with Lights;

There’s a Solemnity methinks in Night,

That does insinuate Love into the Soul,

And make the bashful Lover more assur’d.

_Elv_. Madam,

You speak as if this were your first Enjoyment.

_Qu_. My first! Oh _Elvira_, his Power, like his Charms,

His Wit, or Bravery, every hour renews;

Love gathers Sweets like Flow’rs, which grow more fragrant,

The nearer they approach Maturity.

[_Knock_.

--Hark! ‘tis my Moor,--give him admittance strait,

The Thought comes o’er me like a gentle Gale,

Raising my Blood into a thousand Curls.

_Elv_. Madam, it is a Priest--

_Qu_. A Priest! Oh, send him quickly hence;

I wou’d not have so cold and dull an Object,

Meet with my nobler Sense, ‘tis mortifying.

_Elv_. Perhaps ‘tis some Petition from the Cardinal.

_Qu_. Why, what have I to do with Priest or Cardinal?

Let him not enter--

[Elv. _goes out, and returns with_ Roderigo _drest like a Fryar_.

_Elv_. From _Abdelazer_, Madam.

_Qu_. H’as named a Word will make all Places free.

_Rod_. Madam, be pleas’d to send your Woman hence,

I’ve something to deliver from the Moor,

Which you alone must be acquainted with.

_Qu_. Well, your Formality shall be allowed--retire--

[_To_ Elv. _Exit_ Elv.

What have you to deliver to me now?

_Rod_. This--

[_Shews a Dagger, and takes her roughly by the Hands_.

_Qu_. Hah!--

_Rod_. You must not call for help, unless to Heaven.

_Qu_. What daring thing art thou?

_Rod_. One that has now no time to answer thee.

[_Stabs her, she struggles, her Arm bleeds_.

_Qu_. Oh, hold thy killing Hand! I am thy Queen.

_Rod_. Thou may’st be Devil too, for ought I know;

I’ll try thy Substance thus--

[_Stabs again_.

_Qu_. Oh, _Abdelazer_!--

Thou hast well reveng’d me--on my Sins of Love;--

[_He seats her in the Chair_.

But shall I die thus tamely unrcveng’d?

--Help--murder--help--

[_He offers to stab again_.

_Enter_ Elvira, _and other Women_.

_Elv_. Oh Heavens! the Queen is murder’d--help the Queen!

[Rod. _offers to stab_ Elv.

_Enter_ Abdelazer.

_Abd_. Hah! the Queen! what sacrilegious Hand,

Or Heart so brutal--

Durst thus profane the Shrine ador’d by me?

Guard well the Passages.--

_Qu_. Thou art that sacrilegious--brutal thing!--

And false as are the Deities thou worship’st.

_Abd_. Gods! let me not understand that killing Language?

--Inform me quickly, how you came thus wounded,

Lest looking on that sacred Stream of Blood,

I die e’er I’ve reveng’d you on your Murderer.

_Qu_. Haste then, and kill thy self; thou art my Murderer.

Nor had his Hand, if not by thee instructed,

Aim’d at a Sin so dangerous--

_Abd_. Surely she’ll live--[_Aside_.]--This!--

Can Mischief dwell beneath this reverend Shape?

Confess who taught thee so much Cruelty.

Confess, or I will kill thee.

_Rod_. The Cardinal.

_Qu_. The Cardinal!

_Abd_. Oh impious Traitor!

How came I mention’d then?

_Rod_. To get Admittance.

_Abd_. But why do I delay thy Punishment?

Die,--and be damn’d together. [_Aside.]

[Stabs him_.

But oh, my Queen!--_Elvira_, call for help.

Have I remov’d all that oppos’d our Flame,

[_Kneels_.

To have it thus blown out, thus in a Minute?

When I, all full of youthful Fire, all Love,

Had rais’d my Soul with Hopes of near Delights,

To meet thee cold, and pale; to find those Eyes,

Those charming Eyes thus dying--Oh ye Powers!

Take all the Prospect of my future Joys,

And turn it to Despair, since thou art gone.

_Qu_. Cease,--cease--your kind Complaints--my struggling Soul,

’.wixt Death--and Love--holds an uneasy Contest;

This will not let it stay--nor that depart;--

And whilst I hear thy Voice--thus breathing Love,

It hovers still--about--the grateful--Sound.

My Eyes--have took--an everlasting Leave--

Of all that blest their Sight; and now a gloomy Darkness

Benights the wishing Sense,--that vainly strives--

To take another View;--but ‘tis too late,--

And Life--and Love--must yield--to Death--and--

Fate.

[_Dies_.

_Abd_. Farewell, my greatest Plague,

[_He rises with Joy_.

Thou wert a most impolitick loving thing;

And having done my Bus’ness which thou wert born for,

’.was time thou shouldst retire,

And leave me free to love, and reign alone.

_Enter_ Leonora, Alonzo, Ordonio, _and other Men and Women_.

Come all the World, and pay your Sorrows here,

Since all the World has Interest in this Loss.

_Alon_. The Moor in Tears! nay, then the Sin was his.

_Leon_. The Queen my Mother dead!

How many Sorrows will my Heart let in,

E’er it will break in pieces.

[_Weeps over her_.

_Alon_. I know the Source of all this Villany,

And need not ask you how the Queen came murder’d.

_Elv_. My Lord, that Fryer, from the Cardinal, did it.

_Alon_. The Cardinal!

’.is possible,--for the Injuries she did him

Cou’d be repaid with nothing less than Death. [Aside.

My Fair, your Griefs have been so just of late,

I dare not beg that you would weep no more;

Though every Tear those lovely Eyes let fall,

Give me a killing Wound--Remove the Body.

[_Guards remove the Body. Ex. all but_ Alon. _and_ Leon.

Such Objects suit not Souls so soft as thine.

_Leon_. With Horrors I am grown of late familiar;

I saw my Father die, and liv’d the while;

I saw my beauteous Friend, and thy lov’d Sister,

_Florella_, whilst her Breast was bleeding fresh;

Nay, and my Brother’s too, all full of Wounds,

The best and kindest Brother that ever Maid was blest with;

Poor _Philip_ bound, and led like Victims for a Sacrifice;

All this I saw and liv’d--

And canst thou hope for Pity from that Heart,

Whose harden’d Sense is Proof ‘gainst all these Miseries?

This Moor, _Alonzo_, is a subtle Villain,

Yet of such Power we scarce dare think him such.

_Alon_. ‘Tis true, my charming Fair, he is that Villain,

As ill and powerful too; yet he has a Heart

That may be reach’d with this--but ‘tis not time,

[_Points to his Sword_.

We must dissemble yet, which is an Art

Too foul for Souls so innocent as thine.

_Enter_ Abdelazer.

The Moor!

Hell! will he not allow us sorrowing time?

_Abd_. Madam, I come to pay my humblest Duty,

And know what Service you command your Slave.

_Leon_. Alas, I’ve no Commands; or if I had,

I am too wretched now to be obey’d.

_Abd_. Can one so fair, and great, ask any thing

Of Men, or Heaven, they wou’d not grant with Joy?

_Leon_. Hea’vns Will I’m not permitted to dispute,

And may implore in vain; but ‘tis in you

To grant me what may yet preserve my Life.

_Abd_. In me! in me! the humblest of your Creatures!

By yon bright Sun, or your more splendid Eyes,

I wou’d divest my self of every Hope,

To gratify one single Wish of yours.

--Name but the way.

_Leon_. I am so unhappy, that the only thing

I have to ask, is what you must deny;

--The Liberty of _Philip_--

_Abd_. How! _Philip’s_ Liberty--and must I grant it?

I (in whose Hands Fortune had put the Crown)

Had I not lov’d the Good and Peace of _Spain_,

Might have dispos’d it to my own Advantage;

And shall that Peace,

Which I’ve preferr’d above my proper Glories,

Be lost again in him, in him a Bastard?

_Alon_. That he’s a Bastard, is not, Sir, believ’d;

And she that cou’d love you, might after that

Do any other Sin, and ‘twas the least

Of all the Number to declare him Bastard.

_Abd_. How, Sir! that you’d love me! what is there here,

Or in my Soul, or Person, may not be belov’d?

_Alon_. I spoke without Reflection on your Person,

But of dishonest Love, which was too plain,

From whence came all the Ills we have endur’d;

And now being warm in Mischiefs,

Thou dost pursue the Game, till all be thine.

_Abd_. Mine!

_Alon_. Yes, thine--

The little humble Mask which you put on

Upon the Face of Falshood, and Ambition,

Is easily seen thro; you gave a Crown,

But you’ll command the Kingly Power still,

Arm and disband, destroy or save at Pleasure.

_Abd_. Vain Boy, (whose highest Fame,

Is that thou art the great _Alvaro’s_ Son)

Where learnt you so much daring, to upbraid

My generous Power thus falsly--do you know me?

_Alon_. Yes, Prince, and ‘tis that Knowledge makes me dare;

I know thy Fame in Arms; I know in Battels

Thou hast perform’d Deeds much above thy Years:

My Infant Courage too

(By the same Master taught) grew up to thine,

When thou in Rage out-didst me, not in Bravery.

--I know thou’st greater Power too--thank thy Treachery!

_Abd_. Dost thou not fear that Power?

_Alon_. By Heaven, not I,

Whilst I can this--command.

[_Lays his Hand on his Sword_.

_Abd_. I too command a Sword.

[Abd. _lays his Hand on his, and comes close up to him_.

But not to draw on thee, _Alonzo_;

Since I can prove thy Accusation false

By ways more grateful--take this Ring, _Alonzo_;

The sight of it will break down Prison-Gates,

And set all free, as was the first-born Man.

_Alon_. What means this turn?

_Abd_. To enlarge _Philip_; but on such Conditions,

As you think fit to make for my Security:

And as thou’rt brave, deal with me as I merit.

_Alon_. Art thou in earnest?

_Abd_. I am, by all that’s sacred.

_Leon_. Oh, let me fall before you, and ne’er rise,

Till I have made you know what Gratitude

Is fit for such a Bounty!--

Haste, my _Alonzo_--haste--and treat with _Philip_;

Nor do I wish his Freedom, but on such Terms

As may be advantageous to the Moor.

_Alon_. Nor I, by Heaven! I know the Prince’s Soul,

Though it be fierce, has Gratitude and Honour;

And for a Deed like this, will make returns,

Such as are worthy of the brave Obliger.

[_Exit_ Alon.

_Abd_. Yes, if he be not gone to Heaven before you come. [_Aside_.

--What will become of _Abdelazer_ now,

Who with his Power has thrown away his Liberty?

_Leon_. Your Liberty! Oh, Heaven forbid that you,

Who can so generously give Liberty,

Should be depriv’d of it!

It must not be whilst _Leonora_ lives.

_Abd_. ‘Tis she that takes it from me.

_Leon_. I! Alas, I wou’d not for the World

Give you one minute’s Pain.

_Abd_. You cannot help it, ‘tis against your Will;

Your Eyes insensibly do wound and kill.

_Leon_. What can you mean? and yet I fear to know.

_Abd_. Most charming of your Sex! had Nature made

This clouded Face, like to my Heart, all Love,

It might have spar’d that Language which you dread;

Whose rough harsh sound, unfit for tender Ears,

Will ill express the Business of my Life.

_Leon_. Forbear it, if that Business, Sir, be Love.

_Abd_. Gods!

Because I want the art to tell my Story

In that soft way, which those can do whose Business

Is to be still so idly employ’d,

I must be silent and endure my Pain,

Which Heaven ne’er gave me so much lameness for.

Love in my Soul is not that gentle thing

It is in other Breasts; instead of Calms,

It ruffles mine into uneasy Storms.

--I wou’d not love, if I cou’d help it, Madam;

But since ‘tis not to be resisted here--

You must permit it to approach your Ear.

_Leon_. Not when I cannot hear it, Sir, with Honour.

_Abd_. With Honour!

Nay, I can talk in the Defence of that:

By all that’s sacred, ‘tis a Flame as virtuous,

As every Thought inhabits your fair Soul,

And it shall learn to be as gentle too;

--For I must merit you--

_Leon_. I will not hear this Language; merit me!

_Abd_. Yes--why not?

You’re but the Daughter of the King of _Spain_,

And I am Heir to great Abdela, Madam;

I can command this Kingdom you possess,

(Of which my Passion only made you Queen)

And re-assume that which your Father took

From mine--a Crown as bright as that of _Spain_.

_Leon_. You said you wou’d be gentle--

_Abd_. I will; this sullen Heart shall learn to bow,

And keep it self within the Bounds of Love;

Its Language I’ll deliver out in Sighs,

Soft as the Whispers of a yielding Virgin.

I cou’d transform my Soul to any Shape;

Nay, I could even teach my Eyes the Art

To change their natural Fierceness into Smiles;

--What is’t I wou’d not do to gain that Heart!

_Leon_. Which never can be yours! that and my Vows,

Are to _Alonzo_ given; which he lays claim to

By the most sacred Ties, Love and Obedience;

All _Spain_ esteems him worthy of that Love.

_Abd_. More worthy it than I! it was a Woman,

A nice, vain, peevish Creature that pronounc’d it;

Had it been Man, ‘t had been his last Transgression.

--His Birth! his glorious Actions! are they like mine?

_Leon_. Perhaps his Birth wants those Advantages,

Which Nature has laid out in Beauty on his Person.

_Abd_. Ay! there’s your Cause of Hate! Curst be my Birth,

And curst be Nature that has dy’d my Skin

With this ungrateful Colour! cou’d not the Gods

Have given me equal Beauty with _Alonzo_!

--Yet as I am, I’ve been in vain ador’d,

And Beauties great as thine have languish’d for me.

The Lights put out, thou in thy naked Arms

Will find me soft and smooth as polish’d Ebony;

And all my Kisses on thy balmy Lips as sweet,

As are the Breezes, breath’d amidst the Groves

Of ripening Spices in the height of Day:

As vigorous too,

As if each Night were the first happy Moment

I laid thy panting Body to my Bosom.

Oh, that transporting Thought--

See--I can bend as low, and sigh as often,

[Kneels.

And sue for Blessings only you can grant;

As any fair and soft _Alonzo_ can--

If you could pity me as well--

But you are deaf, and in your Eyes I read

[_Rises with Anger_.

A Scorn which animates my Love and Anger;

Nor know I which I should dismiss or cherish.

_Leon_. The last is much more welcome than the first;

Your Anger can but kill; but, Sir, your Love--

Will make me ever wretched, since ‘tis impossible

I ever can return it.

_Abd_. Why, kill me then! you must do one or t’other.

[_Kneels_.

For thus--I cannot live--why dost thou weep?

Thy every Tear’s enough to drown my Soul!

How tame Love renders every feeble Sense!

[_Rises_.

--Gods! I shall turn Woman, and my Eyes inform me

The Transformation’s near--Death! I’ll not endure it,

I’ll fly before sh’as quite undone my Soul--

[_Offers to go_.

But ‘tis not in my Power--she holds it fast--

And I can now command no single part--

[Returns.

Tell me, bright Maid, if I were amiable,

And you were uningag’d, could you then love me?

_Leon_. No! I could die first.

_Abd_. Hah!--awake, my Soul, from out this drousy Fit,

And with thy wonted Bravery scorn thy Fetters.

By Heaven, ‘tis gone! and I am now my self.

Be gone, my dull Submission! my lazy Flame

Grows sensible, and knows for what ‘twas kindled.

Coy Mistress, you must yield, and quickly too:

Were you devout as Vestals, pure as their Fire,

Yet I wou’d wanton in the rifled Spoils

Of all that sacred Innocence and Beauty.

--Oh, my Desire’s grown high!

Raging as midnight Flames let loose in Cities,

And, like that too, will ruin where it lights.

Come, this Apartment was design’d for Pleasure,

And made thus silent, and thus gay for me;

There I’ll convince that Error, that vainly made thee think

I was not meant for Love.

_Leon_. Am I betray’d? are all my Women gone?

And have I nought but Heaven for my Defence?

_Abd_. None else, and that’s too distant to befriend you.

_Leon_. Oh, take my Life, and spare my dearer Honour!

--Help, help, ye Powers that favour Innocence.

[_Enter Women_.

_Just as the Moor is going to force in_ Leonora,

_enters to him_ Osmin _in haste_.

_Osm_. My Lord, _Alonzo_--

_Abd_. What of him, you Slave--is he not secur’d?

Speak, dull Intruder, that know’st not times and seasons,

Or get thee hence.

_Osm_. Not till I’ve done the Business which I came for.

_Abd_. Slave!--that thou cam’st for.

[_Stabs him in the Arm_.

_Osm_. No, ‘twas to tell you, that _Alonzo_,

Finding himself betray’d, made brave resistance;

Some of your Slaves h’as killed, and some h’as wounded.

_Abd_. ‘Tis time he were secured;

I must assist my Guards, or all is lost.

[_Exit_.

_Leon_. Sure, _Osmin_, from the Gods thou cam’st,

To hinder my undoing; and if thou dy’st,

Heaven will almost forgive thy other Sins

For this one pious Deed.--

But yet I hope thy Wound’s not mortal.

_Osm_. ‘Tis only in my Arm--and, Madam, for this pity,

I’ll live to do you Service.

_Leon_. What Service can the Favourite of the Moor,

Train’d up in Blood and Mischiefs, render me?

_Osm_. Why, Madam, I command the Guard of Moors,

Who will all die, when e’er I give the Word.

Madam, ‘twas I caus’d _Philip_ and the Cardinal

To fly to th’ Camp,

And gave ‘em warning of approaching Death.

_Leon_. Heaven bless thee for thy Goodness.

_Osm_. I am weary now of being a Tyrant’s Slave,

And bearing Blows too; the rest I could have suffer’d.

Madam, I’ll free the Prince.

But see, the Moor returns.

_Leon_. That Monster’s Presence I must fly, as from a killing Plague.

[_Ex. with her Women_.

_Enter_ Abdelazer _with_ Zarrack, _and a Train of Moors_.

_Abd_. It is prodigious, that a single Man

Should with such Bravery defend his Life

Amongst so many Swords;--but he is safe.

_Osmin_, I am not us’d to sue for Pardon,

And when I do, you ought to grant it me.

_Osm_. I did not merit, Sir, so harsh a Usage.

_Abd_. No more; I’m asham’d to be upbraided,

And will repair the Injury I did thee.

_Osm_. Acknowledgment from you is pay sufficient.

_Abd_. Yet, _Osmin_, I shou’d chide your Negligence,

Since by it _Philip_ lives still, and the Cardinal.

_Osm_. I had design’d it, Sir, this Evening’s Sacrifice.

_Abd_. _Zarrack_ shall now perform it--and instantly:

_Alonzo_ too must bear ‘em company.

_Zar_. I’ll shew my Duty in my haste, my Lord.

[_Ex_. Zar.

_Osm_. Death! I’m undone; I’ll after him, and kill him.

[_Offers to go_.

_Abd. Osmin_, I’ve business with you.--

[Osm. _comes back bowing.

As they are going off, enter_ Leonora, Ordonio, _other

Lords, and Women_.

_Leon_. Oh Prince! for Pity hear and grant my Suit.

[_Kneels_.

_Abd_. When so much Beauty’s prostrate at my Feet,

What is’t I can deny?--rise, thou brightest Virgin

That ever Nature made;

Rise, and command my Life, my Soul, my Honour.

_Leon_. No, let me hang for ever on your Knees,

Unless you’ll grant _Alonzo_ Liberty.

_Abd_. Rise, I will grant it; though _Alonzo_, Madam,

Betray’d that Trust I had repos’d in him.

_Leon_. I know there’s some Mistake; let me negotiate

Between my Brother and the Gallant Moor.

I cannot force your Guards,

There is no Danger in a Woman’s Arm.

_Abd_. In your bright Eyes there is, that may corrupt ‘em more

Than all the Treasures of the Eastern Kings.

Yet, Madam, here I do resign my Power;

Act as you please, dismiss _Alonzo’s_ Chains.

And since you are so generous, to despise

This Crown, which I have given you,

_Philip_ shall owe his Greatness to your Bounty,

And whilst he makes me safe, shall rule in Spain.

--_Osmin_--

[_Whispers_.

_Ord_. And will you trust him, Madam?

_Leon_. If he deceive me, ‘tis more happy far

To die with them, than live where he inhabits.

_Osm_. It shall be done.

_Abd_. Go, _Osmin_, wait upon the Queen;

And when she is confin’d, I’ll visit her,

Where if she yield, she reigns; if not, she dies. [_Aside_.

[_Ex_. Abd. _one way_, Leon. Osm. _and the rest another_.

SCENE III. _A Prison_.

_Discovers_ Philip _chain’d to a Post, and over against him

the_ Cardinal _and_ Alonzo _in Chains_.

_Phil_. Oh, all ye cruel Powers! is’t not enough

I am depriv’d of Empire, and of Honour?

Have my bright Name stol’n from me, with my Crown!

Divested of all Power! all Liberty!

And here am chain’d like the sad Andromede,

To wait Destruction from the dreadful Monster!

Is not all this enough, without being damn’d,

To have thee, Cardinal, in my full view?

If I cou’d reach my Eyes, I’d be reveng’d

On the officious and accursed Lights,

For guiding so much torment to my Soul.

_Card_. My much wrong’d Prince! you need not wish to kill

By ways more certain, than by upbraiding me

With my too credulous, shameful past misdeeds.

_Phil_. If that wou’d kill, I’d weary out my Tongue

With an eternal repetition of thy Treachery;--

Nay, and it shou’d forget all other Language,

But Traitor! Cardinal! which I wou’d repeat,

Till I had made my self as raging mad,

As the wild Sea, when all the Winds are up;

And in that Storm, I might forget my Grief.

_Card_. Wou’d I cou’d take the killing Object from your Eyes.

_Phil_. Oh _Alonzo_, to add to my Distraction,

Must I find thee a sharer in my Fate?

_Alon_. It is my Duty, Sir, to die with you.--

But, Sir, my Princess

Has here--a more than equal claim to Grief;

And Fear for her dear Safety will deprive me

Of this poor Life, that shou’d have been your Sacrifice.

_Enter_ Zarrack _with a Dagger; gazes on_ Philip.

_Phil_. Kind Murderer, welcome! quickly free my Soul,

And I will kiss the sooty Hand that wounds me.

_Zar_. Oh, I see you can be humble.

_Phil_. Humble! I’ll be as gentle as a Love-sick Youth,

When his dear Conqu’ress sighs a Hope into him,

If thou wilt kill me!--Pity me and kill me.

_Zar_. I hope to see your own Hand do that Office.

_Phil_. Oh, thou wert brave indeed,

If thou wou’dst lend me but the use of one.

_Zar_. You’ll want a Dagger then.

_Phil_. By Heaven, no, I’d run it down my Throat,

Or strike my pointed Fingers through my Breast.

_Zar_. Ha, ha, ha, what pity ‘tis you want a Hand.

_Enter_ Osmin.

_Phil. Osmin_, sure thou wilt be so kind to kill me!

Thou hadst a Soul was humane.

_Osm_. Indeed I will not, Sir, you are my King.

[_Unbinds him_.

_Phil_. What mean’st thou?

_Osm_. To set you free, my Prince.

_Phil_. Thou art some Angel sure, in that dark Cloud.

_Zar_. What mean’st thou, Traitor?

_Osm_. Wait till your Eyes inform you.

_Card_. Good Gods! what mean’st thou?

_Osm_. Sir, arm your Hand with this.

[_Gives_ Phil. _a Sword, goes to undo_ Alonzo.

_Zar_. Thou art half-damn’d for this!

I’ll to my Prince--

_Phil_. I’ll stop you on your way--lie there--your Tongue

[_Kills him_.

Shall tell no Tales to day--Now, Cardinal--but hold,

I scorn to strike thee whilst thou art unarm’d,

Yet so thou didst to me;

For which I have not leisure now to kill thee.

--Here, take thy Liberty;--nay, do not thank me;

By Heaven, I do not mean it as a Grace.

_Osm_. My Lord, take this--

[_To_ Alon. _and the_ Card.

And this--to arm your Highness.

_Alon_. Thou dost amaze me!

_Osm_. Keep in your Wonder with your Doubts, my Lord.

_Phil_. We cannot doubt, whilst we’re thus fortify’d--

[_Looks on his Sword_.

Come, _Osmin_, let us fall upon the Guards.

_Osm_. There are no Guards, great Sir, but what are yours;

And see--your Friends I’ve brought to serve ye too.

[_Opens a back Door.

_Enter_ Leonora _and Women_, Ordonio, Sebastian,

Antonio, _etc_.

_Phil_. My dearest Sister safe!

_Leon_. Whilst in your Presence, Sir, and you thus arm’d.

_Osm_. The Moor approaches,--now be ready all.

_Phil_. That Name I never heard with Joy till now;

Let him come on, and arm’d with all his Powers,

Thus singly I defy him. [_Draws_.

_Enter_ Abdelazer.

[Osmin _secures the Doors_.

_Abd_. Hah! betray’d! and by my Slaves! by _Osmin_ too!

_Phil_. Now, thou damn’d Villain! true-born Soul of Hell!

Not one of thy infernal Kin shall save thee.

_Abd_. Base Coward Prince!

Whom the admiring World mistakes for Brave;

When all thy boasted Valour, fierce and hot

As was thy Mother in her height of Lust,

Can with the aid of all these--treacherous Swords,

Take but a single Life; but such a Life,

As amongst all their Store the envying Gods

Have not another such to breathe in Man.

_Phil_. Vaunt on, thou monstrous Instrument of Hell!

For I’m so pleas’d to have thee in my Power,

That I can hear thee number up thy Sins,

And yet be calm, whilst thou art near Damnation.

_Abd_. Thou ly’st, thou canst not keep thy Temper in;

For hadst thou so much Bravery of Mind,

Thou’dst fight me singly; which thou dar’st not do.

_Phil_. Not dare!

By Heaven, if thou wert twenty Villains more,

And I had all thy Weight of Sins about me,

I durst thus venture on;--forbear, _Alonzo_.

_Alon_. I will not, Sir.

_Phil_. I was indeed too rash; ‘tis such a Villain,

As shou’d receive his Death from nought but Slaves.

_Abd_. Thou’st Reason, Prince! nor can they wound my Body

More than I’ve done thy Fame; for my first step

To my Revenge, I whor’d the Queen thy Mother.

_Phil_. Death! though this I knew before, yet the hard Word

Runs harshly thro my Heart;--

If thou hadst murder’d fifty Royal _Ferdinands_,

And with inglorious Chains as many Years

Had loaded all my Limbs, ‘t had been more pardonable

Than this eternal Stain upon my Name:

--Oh, thou hast breath’d thy worst of Venom now.

_Abd_. My next advance was poisoning of thy Father.

_Phil_. My Father poison’d! and by thee, thou Dog!

Oh, that thou hadst a thousand Lives to lose,

Or that the World depended on thy single one,

That I might make a Victim

Worthy to offer up to his wrong’d Ghost.--

But stay, there’s something of thy Count of Sins untold,

That I must know; not that I doubt, by Heaven,

That I am _Philip’s_ Son--

_Abd_. Not for thy Ease, but to declare my Malice,

Know, Prince, I made thy amorous Mother

Proclaim thee Bastard, when I miss’d of killing rhee.

_Phil_. Gods! let me contain my Rage!

_Abd_. I made her too betray the credulous Cardinal,

And having then no farther use of her,

Satiated with her Lust,

I set _Roderigo_ on to murder her.

Thy Death had next succeeded; and thy Crown

I wou’d have laid at _Leonora’s_ Feet.

_Alon_. How! durst you love the Princess?

_Abd_. Fool, durst! had I been born a Slave,

I durst with this same Soul do any thing:

Yes, and the last Sense that will remain about me,

Will be my Passion for that charming Maid,

Whom I’d enjoy’d e’er now, but for thy Treachery.

[_To_ Osmin.

_Phil_. Deflour’d my Sister! Heaven punish me eternally,

If thou out-liv’st the Minute thou’st declar’d it.

_Abd_. I will, in spite of all that thou canst do.

--Stand off, fool-hardy Youth, if thou’dst be safe,

And do not draw thy certain Ruin on,

Or think that e’er this Hand was arm’d in vain.

_Phil_. Poor angry Slave, how I contemn thee now!

_Abd_. As humble Huntsmen do the generous Lion;

Now thou darst see me lash my Sides, and roar,

And bite my Snare in vain; who with one Look

(Had I been free) hadst shrunk into the Earth,

For shelter from my Rage:

And like that noble Beast, though thus betray’d,

I’ve yet an awful Fierceness in my Looks,

Which makes thee fear t’approach; and ‘tis at distance

That thou dar’st kill me; for come but in my reach,

And with one Grasp I wou’d confound thy Hopes.

_Phil_. I’ll let thee see how vain thy Boastings are,

And unassisted, by one single Rage,

Thus--make an easy Passage to thy Heart.

[_Runs on him, all the rest do the like in the same Minute_.

Abd. _aims at the_ Prince, _and kills_ Osmin, _and falls

dead himself_.

--Die with thy Sins unpardon’d, and forgotten--

[_Shout within_.

_Alon_. Great Sir, your Throne and Kingdom want you now;

Your People rude with Joy, do fill each Street,

And long to see their King--whom Heaven preserve.

_All_. Long live _Philip_, King of _Spain_--

_Phil_. I thank ye all;--and now, my dear _Alonzo_,

Receive the Recompence of all thy Sufferings,

Whilst I create thee Duke of _Salamancha_.

_Alon_. Thus low I take the Bounty from your Hands.

[_Kneels_.

_Leon_. Rise, Sir, my Brother now has made us equal.

_Card_. And shall this joyful Day, that has restor’d you

To all the Glories of your Birth and Merits,

That has restor’d all _Spain_ the greatest Treasure

That ever happy Monarchy possess’d,

Leave only me unhappy, when, Sir, my Crime

Was only too much Faith?--Thus low I fall, [_Kneels_.

And from that Store of Mercy Heaven has given you,

Implore you wou’d dispense a little here.

_Phil_. Rise, (though with much ado) I will forgive you.

_Leon_. Come, my dear Brother, to that glorious business,

Our Birth and Fortunes call us, let us haste,

For here methinks we are in danger still.

_Phil_. So after Storms, the joyful Mariner

Beholds the distant wish’d-for Shore afar,

And longs to bring the rich-fraight Vessel in,

Fearing to trust the faithless Seas again.

EPILOGUE.

Spoken by little Mrs. _Ariell_.

_With late Success being blest, I’m come agen;

You see what Kindness can do, Gentlemen,

Which when once shewn, our Sex cannot refrain.

Yet spite of such a Censure I’ll proceed,

And for our Poetess will intercede:

Before, a Poet’s wheedling Words prevail’d,

Whose melting Speech my tender Heart assail’d,

And I the flatt’ring Scribler’s Cause maintain’d;

So by my means the Fop Applauses gain’d.

’.was wisely done to chuse m’ his Advocate,

Since I have prov’d to be his better Fate;

For what I lik’d, I thought you could not hate.

Respect for you, Gallants, made me comply,

Though I confess he did my Passion try,

And I am too good-natur’d to deny.

But now not Pity, but my Sex’s Cause,

Whose Beauty does, like Monarchs, give you Laws,

Should now command, being join’d with Wit, Applause.

Yet since our Beauty’s Power’s not absolute,

She’ll not the Privilege of your Sex dispute,

But does by me submit.--Yet since you’ve been

For my sake kind, repeat it once agen.

Your Kindness, Gallants, I shall soon repay,

If you’ll but favour my Design to Day:

Your last Applauses, like refreshing Showers,

Made me spring up and bud like early Flow’rs;

Since then I’m grown at least an Inch in height,

And shall e’er long be full-blown for Delight_.

Written by a Friend.

THE YOUNG KING; OR, THE MISTAKE.

ARGUMENT.

Orsames, heir to the Dacian throne, has been kept in a castle from

His infancy, never having seen any human being save his old tutor,

Geron, owing to an Oracle which foretold great cruelties and mischiefs

If he should be allowed to wear the crown. The Queen of Dacia designs

Her daughter Cleomena as her successor, and with this intent gives her

An Amazonian education. The Dacians and Scythians are at war, but

Thersander, The Scythian prince, has joined the Dacians under the name

Of Clemanthis, inasmuch as he loves the princess, who in her turn

Becomes enamoured of him. He is recognized but not betrayed by Urania,

a Scythian lady who, her lover Amintas having been previously captured,

allows herself to be taken prisoner and presented to Cleomena. Amintas

is confined in the old castle where Urania, visiting him, is accidently

seen by Orsames. He is, however, persuaded by Geron that it is an

apparition. Amintas is freed by Urania, who has gained Cleomena’s

friendship. Honorius, the Dacian general, offers Thersander his daughter

Olympia, and the young Scythian is obliged to feign acceptance. Cleomena

hears Honorius telling the Queen his design and goes off enraged, only to

see Thersander seemingly courting Olympia. She raves and threatens to

kill him, but eventually parts with disdain, bidding him quit the place.

Orsames is now brought from the castle during his sleep, crowned, seated

on the throne and treated in every respect as King. His power is

acknowledged, the Queen kneels before him, and Olympia entering, he

falls violently in love with her. At a supposed contradiction he orders

one courtier to instant execution and another to be cast into the sea.

Immediately after, during a banquet, a narcotic is mingled with his wine

and he is conveyed back to the castle whilst under its influence,

leaving the Queen fearful that her experiment is of no avail as he has

displayed so tyrannical and cruel a nature.

A battle between the Dacians and Scythians follows, in which the

Latter are victorious owing to Thersander having, under his own name,

Returned to their camp. The Dacian chiefs then challenge him to single

Combat. He crosses over once again as Clemanthis and the lot falls upon

himself. He thereupon dresses Amintas in the clothes of Clemanthis and

arranges that in a pretended duel with him himself shall gain the upper

hand. Meanwhile two rival princes to the hand of Cleomena post assassins

in the wood to kill Thersander, and these, deceived by the garb of

Clemanthis, mistake Amintas for the prince, and leaving him half dead on

the ground and covered with blood and wounds, take their flight,

imagining they have fully carried out their masters’ wishes. Amintas is

just able to gasp the name ‘Thersander’, and Cleomena promptly concludes

that Thersander has slain Clemanthis. She then herself assumes the attire

of Clemanthis and goes out to the duel. She is wounded, her sex

discovered, and she is borne from the field, whilst Thersander remains

plunged in despair.

Meanwhile Orsames in his prison forces Geron to tell him the truth as to

his adventure, whilst outside the populace are clamouring for him as

king. Cleomena, disguised as a shepherd-boy, carries a letter to

Thersander, and stabs him as he reads it. The Scythian king has her

thrown into a dungeon, but Thersander obtains her release. Amintas

meanwhile has been cured of his wounds by a Druid leech. Thersander is

visited by Cleomena and reveals to her his identity with Clemanthis.

They are at length united, and this event, with the arrival of Orsames,

Who has been placed on the throne by the Dacians, joins the two

countries in a lasting peace. It is explained that the Oracle is

satisfied by his previous reign of a night.

SOURCE.

The plot of _The Young King_, which, as the _Biograpbia Dramatitca_ well

remarks, ‘is very far from being a bad one’, is taken from the eighth

part of La Calprenède’s famous romance, _Cléopatre_. The adventures of

Alcamenes (Thersander) and Menalippa (Cleomena) are therein related for

the benefit of Cleopatra and Artemisa, temporarily imprisoned on

shipboard. The narrative, which occupies some hundred pages, is n good

example of those prolix detached episodes and histories peculiar to this

school, which by their perpetual crossing and intertwining render the

consecutive reading of a heroic romance so confused and difficult a task.

Yet in this particular instance the tale is extraordinarily well told and

highly interesting. Mrs. Behn has altered the names for the better.

Barzanes in the novel becomes Honorius in the play; Euardes, Ismenes;

Phrataphernes, Artabazes; Beliza, Semiris; whilst La Calprenède dubs the

Scythian king, Arontes and the queen of Dacia, Amalthea.

_Cléopatre_, commenced in 1646, was eventually completed in twelve

volumes. There is an English translation of the eighth part by James Webb

(8vo, 1658), which he terms _Hymen’s Praeludia, or, Love’s Masterpiece_,

and dedicates with much flowery verbiage to his aunt, Jane, Viscountess

Clanebuy. A translation of the whole romance, by Robert Loveday, was

published folio, 1668.

The story, however, is not original even in La Calprenède, being taken

with changed names from _Il Calsandro_ smascherato di Giovanni Ambrogio

Marini (Part 1, Fiorenza, 1646; Part 2, Bologna, 1651), a French version

of which, by Georges de Scudéri, appeared in 1668.

Some critics have seen a resemblance between the character of the young

prince Orsames and that of Hippolito, ‘one that never saw woman,’ in

Dryden and Davenant’s alteration of _The Tempest_ (1667).[1] But the

likeness is merely superficial. Mrs. Behn has undoubtedly taken the

whole episode of Orsames directly from Calderon’s great philosophic and

symbolical comedia, _La Vida es Sueño_ (1633).[2] That Mrs. Behn had a

good knowledge of Spanish is certain, and she has copied with the closest

fidelity minute but telling details of her original. Calderon himself

probably derived his plot from Rojas’ _Viaje Entretenido_. Basilio, King

of Poland, to thwart the fulfilling of a horoscope, imprisons his son

Segismundo from infancy in a lonely tower. The youth is, however, as a

test of his character, one night whilst under the influence of a

soporofic conveyed from his prison and wakes to find himself in a

sumptuous apartment amidst crowds of adulating courtiers. He shows

himself, however, a very despot, and throws an officious servant, who

warns him to proffer greater respect to the infanta Estella, his cousin,

clean out of window; he nearly kills his tutor Clotaldo, who interrupts

his violent wooing; and, in fine, is seen to be wholly unfit to reign.

A potion is deftly administered, and once more, asleep, he is carried

back to the castle. The populace, however, rise and set him on the

throne, and eventually the astrological forecast comes true; but at the

same time he proves himself a worthy sovereign. All these details are

to be found in _The Young King_, as well as Calderon’s scene where

Rosaura, in pursuit of her lover, accidently encounters Segismundo in

his prison.

The story itself is, of course, world-wide with a thousand variants.

Oriental in origin, it is familiar to all readers of the Thousand and One

Nights, when Abou Hassan is drugged by Haroun al Raschid, and for one day

allowed to play the caliph with power complete and unconfined. The same

trick is said to have been tried upon a drunkard at Bruges by Philip the

Good, Duke of Burgundy, during his marriage festivities, 1440.

Christopher Sly, well drubbed by Marian Hacket and bawling for a pot of

small ale, will at once occur to every mind. Richard Edwardes has the

same story in his _Collection of Tales_ (1570); the old _Ballad of the

Frolicsome Duke_ sings it; Sir Richard Barckley repeats it in his

_Discourse of the Felicitie of Man_ (1598); and Burton found a niche for

it in his _Anatomy of Melancholy_ (1621). Simon Goulart included it in

the _Tresor d’histoires admirables et memorables_ (circa 1600), whence it

was Englished by Grimeston (1607). In fact it is a common property of all

times and all nations.

Although Mrs. Behn confessedly does not attain (nor was such her

intention) the deep philosophy and exquisite melody of the great Spanish

poet, she has produced a first-rate specimen of the romance drama, rococo

perhaps, and with quaint ornaments, but none the less full of life,

incident and interest.

FOOTNOTES:

1. This version of Shakespeare, and particularly the part of Hippolito,

belong to Davenant, for, as Dryden says in the preface, Sir William ‘to

put the last hand to it, design’d the counterpart to Shakespeare’s plot,

namely that of a man who had never seen a woman.’.

2. _Life is a Dream_. English translation by John Oxenford, Monthly

Magazine, Vol. XCVI; by Archbishop Trench, 1856; by Denis Florence

Mac-Carthy, 1873; by FitzGerald (a private edition), ‘Such Stuff as

Dreams are Made Of’. It has also been excellently edited by Norman

Maccoll, _Select Plays from Calderon_ (1888).

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The earliest sketch of _The Young King; or, The Mistake_ was written by

Mrs. Behn whilst she was still a young girl at Surinam. Upon her return

to England the rhyming play had made its appearance, and soon heroic

tragedy was carrying all before it on the London stage. Influenced no

doubt by this tremendous vogue, she turned to her early MS. and proceeded

to put her work, founded on one of the most famous of the heroic

romances, into the fashionable couplets. Traces of this may be found in

the scene between Cleomena and Urania, i, II; in Orsames’ speech, iv,

III, and elsewhere. Whilst she was busy, however, _The Rehearsal_ was

produced at the King’s Theatre, 8 December, 1671, and for the moment gave

a severe blow to the drama it parodied. Accordingly, Mrs. Behn with no

little acumen put her tragi-comedy on one side until the first

irresistible influence of Buckingham’s burlesque had waned ever so

slightly, and then, when her dramatic reputation was firmly established

by the triumphant success of _The Rover_, the applause that had been

given to _Sir Patient Fancy_ and half-a-dozen more of her plays, she

bethought of her earlier efforts, and after subjecting _The Toung King_

to a thorough revision, in which, however, it retained marked traces of

its original characteristics, she had it produced at the Duke’s Theatre

in the spring of 1679. Mr. Gosse goes so far as to say that she had

previously offered it to the theatres and publishers, but could find

neither manager nor printer who would accept it. This, which he deduces

from her dedication to Philaster, seems to me unwarrantable, and is not

borne out by the play itself, which, baroque as it may appear to us, is

certainly equal to, and indeed far better, than the rank and file of

Restoration tragi-comedy. There is no record of its performance, and it

never kept the boards. But although we have no direct evidence of its

success, on the other hand it would be rash to suggest it was in any

sense a failure. Indeed, since two editions were published we may safely

assert its popularity. The actors’ names are not preserved, but Mrs. Mary

Lee doubtless created Cleomena; Mrs. Barry, Urania; Betterton,

Thersander; and Smith, Orsames.

TO PHILASTER.

’.is the glory of the Great and Good to be the Refuge of the Distress’d;

their Virtues create ‘em troubles; and he that has the God like Talent to

oblige, is never free from Impunity, you, Philaster, have a Thousand ways

merited my Esteem and Veneration; and I beg you wou’d now permit the

effects of it, which cou’d not forbear, though unpermitted, to dedicate

this youthful sally of my Pen, this first Essay of my Infant-Poetry to

your Self: ‘Tis a Virgin-Muse, harmless and unadorn’d, unpractis’d in the

Arts to please; and if by chance you find any thing agreeable, ‘tis

natural and unskill’d Innocence. Three thousand Leagues of spacious Ocean

she has measured, visited many and distant Shores, and found a welcome

every where; but in all that vast tract of Sea and Land cou’d never meet

with one whose Person and Merits cou’d oblige her to yield her ungarded

self into his protection: A thousand Charms of Wit, good Nature, and

Beauty at first approach she found in _Philaster_; and since she knew she

cou’d not appear upon the too-critical English Stage without making

choice of some Noble Patronage, she waited long, look’d round the judging

World, and fix’t on you. She fear’d the reproach of being an American,

whose Country rarely produces Beauties of this kind: The Muses seldom

inhabit there; or if they do, they visit and away; but for variety a

Dowdy Lass may please: Her youth too should attone for all her faults

besides; and her being a Stranger will beget civility, and you that are

by nature kind and generous, tender and soft to all that’s new and gay,

will not, I hope refuse her the Sanctuary I am so sensible she will have

need of in this loose Age of Censure. You have goodness enough to excuse

all her weaknesses, and Wit enough to defend ‘em; and that’s sufficient

to render her Estimable to all the World that knows the generous and

excellent Philaster; whilst this occasion to celebrate you under this

Name, is both a Pleasure and Honour to. ASTERA.

THE YOUNG KING; or, The Mistake.

PROLOGUE.

_Beauty like Wit, can only charm when new;

Is there no Merit then in being true?

Wit rather should an Estimation hold

With Wine, which is still best for being old.

Judgment in both, with vast Expence and Thought,

You from their native Soil, from Paris brought:

The Drops that from that sacred Sodom fall,

You like industrious Spiders suck up all.

Well might the French a Conquest here design,

Were but their Swords as dangerous as their Wine.

Their Education yet is worse than both;

They make our Virgins Nuns, unman our Youth.

We that don’t know ‘em, think ‘em Monsters too;

And will, because we judge of them by you.

You’ll say this once was so, but now you’re grown

So wise t’invent new Follies of your own:

Their slavish Imitations you disdain;

A Pox of Fops that purchase Fame with Pain:

You’re no such Fools as first to mount a Wall,

Or for your King and Country venture all.

With such like grinning Honour ‘twas perchance,

Your dull Forefathers first did conquer France.

Whilst they have sent us, in Revenge for these,

Their Women, Wine, Religion, and Disease.

Yet for Religion, it’s not much will down,

In this ungirt, unblest, and mutinous Town.

Nay, I dare swear, not one of you in seven,

E’er had the Impudence to hope for Heaven.

In this you’re modest--

But as to Wit, most aim before their time,

And he that cannot spell, sets up for Rhyme:

They’re Sparks who are of Noise and Nonsense full,

At fifteen witty, and at twenty dull;

That in the Pit can huff, and talk hard Words,

And briskly draw Bamboo instead of Swords:

But never yet Rencounter cou’d compare

To our late vigorous Tartarian War:

Cudgel the Weapon was, the Pit the Field;

Fierce was the Hero, and too brave to yield.

But stoutest Hearts must bow; and being well can’d,

He crys, Hold, hold, you have the Victory gained.

All laughing call--

Turn out the Rascal, the eternal Blockhead;

--Zounds, crys Tartarian, I am out of Pocket:

Half Crown my Play, Sixpence my Orange cast;

Equip me that, do you the Conquest boast.

For which to lie at ease, a Gathering’s made,

And out they turn the Brother of the Blade.

--This is the Fruit of Idleness and Ease:

Heaven bless the King that keeps the Land in Peace,

Or he’ll be sweetly served by such as these_.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

DACIANS.

_Queen of Dacia_.

_Orsames_, her Son, kept from his Infancy in a Castle on a Lake,

ignorant of his Quality, and of all the World besides; never

having seen any human thing save only his old Tutor.

_Cleomena_, his Sister, bred up in War, and design’d to reign

instead of _Orsames_; the Oracle having foretold the bloody

Cruelties should be committed during his short Reign, if ever

suffered to wear the Crown.

_Honorius_, General of the Army, and Uncle to _Orsames_ and _Cleomena_.

_Olympia_, his Daughter, young and beautiful.

_Ismenes_ and | Two Rival Princes in love with _Cleomena_.

_Artabazes_, |

_Geron_, the old Tutor to _Orsames_.

_Pimante_, a Fop Courtier.

_Arates_, a Courtier.

_Semeris_, Woman to _Cleomena_.

_Vallentio_, a Colonel of the Army.

_Gorel_, a Citizen.

Keeper of the Castle.

A Druid.

SCYTHIANS.

_King of Scythia_.

_Thersander_, his Son, under the Name of _Clemanthis_, when on the

_Dacian_ side.

_Amintas_, a young Nobleman, belov’d by _Thersander_, and Lover of

_Urania_.

_Lysander_, Page to _Thersander_.

_Urania_, in love with _Amintas_.

_Lyces_, a Shepherdess.

Pages and Attendants, Courtiers (men and women), Officers,

Guards, Soldiers, Huntsmen, Shepherds, Shepherdesses,

Assassins, and all a Rabble of the Mobile.

SCENE, the Court of _Dacia_, between the two

Armies just before the Town.

ACT I.

SCENE I. _A Grove near the Camp_.

_Enter_ Pimante _with Letters_.

Gone! Well, I have never the Luck, I thank my Stars, to meet with any of

these mighty Men of Valour.--_Vallentio_! Noble Colonel.

_Enter_ Vallentio.

_Val. Pimante_! Why, what the Devil brought thee to the Camp?

_Pim_. Affairs, Affairs--

_Val_. They must be wondrous pressing that made thee venture; but the

Fighting’s past, and all the Noise over; every Man of Fame gone to

receive what’s due to his Merit; and the whole Camp looks now like a City

in a great Plague, no stirring--But what’s thy Business here?

_Pim_. Why, I brought Letters from the Queen to that same mighty Man of

Prowess--what d’ye call him?

_Val_. The brave Clemanthis?

_Pim_. The same--But, Colonel, is he indeed so very terrible a thing as

Fame gives out?--But she was ever a notable Wag at History.

_Val_. How dare thy Coward-thoughts venture upon any thing so terrible as

the remembrance of that Gallant Man? Is not his Name like Thunder to thy

Ears? Does it not make thee shrink into thy self?

_Pim_. Lord, Colonel, why so hot? ‘Tis the cursed’st thing in the World

to be thus continually us’d to fighting; why, how uncivil it renders a

Man! I spake by way of Question.

_Val_. Oh! how soft and wanton I could grow in the Description I could

make of him--He merits all in Peace as well as War; Compos’d of Charms

would take all Womankind, As those of’s Valour overcome the Men.

_Pim_. Well said, i’faith, Colonel; but if he be so fine a Man, why did

you not keep him here amongst you to do Execution on the _Scythians_?

for I think e’er long you’ll give ‘em Battel.

_Val_. The General, whose noble Life he sav’d,

Us’d all his Interest with him, but in vain:

He neither could oblige his stay i’th’ Camp,

Nor get him to the Court. Oh! were his Quality

But like his Actions great, he were a Man

To merit _Cleomena_,

Whose Worth and Beauty, as a thing Divine,

I reverence.

But I abhor the feeble Reign of Women;

It foretels the Downfal of the noblest Trade, War.

Give me a Man to lead me on to Dangers,

Such as _Clemanthis_ is, or as _Orsames_ might have been.

_Pim_. Colonel, ‘tis Treason but to name _Orsames_, and much more to wish

he were as King.

_Val_. Not wish he were! by all those Gods I will,

Who did conspire against him in their Oracles.

Not wish him King! yes, and may live to see it.

_Pim_. What should we do with such a King? The Gods foretel he shall be

fierce and bloody, a Ravisher, a Tyrant o’er his People; his Reign but

short, and so unfit for Reign.

_Val_. The Gods! I’ll not trust ‘em for a Day’s Pay--let them but give

one a taste of his Reign, tho but an hour, and I’ll be converted to them.

_Pim_. Besides, he is very ill bred for a King; he knows nothing of the

World, cannot dress himself, nor sing, nor dance, or play on any Musick;

ne’er saw a Woman, nor knows how to make use of one if he had her.

There’s an old fusty Philosopher that instructs him; but ‘tis in nothing

ever that shall make a fine Gentleman of him: He teaches him a deal of

Awe and Reverence to the Gods; and tells him that his natural Reason’s

Sin--But, Colonel, between you and I, he’ll no more of that Philosophy,

but grows as sullen as if you had the breeding of him here i’th’ Camp.

_Val_. Thou tell’st me heavenly News; a King, a King again! Oh, for a

mutinous Rabble, that would break the Prison-Walls, and set _Orsames_ free,

both from his Fetters and his Ignorance.

_Pim_. There is a Discourse at Court, that the Queen designs to bring him

out, and try how he would behave himself: But I’m none of that Counsel,

she’s like to make a fine Court on’t; we have enough in the Virago he

Daughter, who, if it were not for her Beauty, one would swear were no

Woman, she’s so given to Noise and Fighting.

_Val_. I never saw her since she was a Child, and then she naturally

hated _Scythia_.

_Pim_. Nay, she’s in that mind still; and the superstitious Queen, who

thinks that Crown belongs to _Cleomena_--

_Val_. Yes, that was the Promise of the Oracle too.

_Pim_. Breeds her more like a General than a Woman. Ah, how she loves

fine Arms! a Bow, a Quiver! and though she be no natural Amazon, she’s

capable of all their martial Fopperies--But hark, what Noise is that?

[_Song within_.

_Val_. ‘Tis what we do not use to hear--Stand by.

SONG.

(1.)

_Damon, I cannot blame your Will,

’.was Chance, and not Design, did kill;

For whilst you did prepare your Arms

On purpose Celia to subdue,

I met the Arrows as they flew,

And sav’d her from their Harms.

(2.)

Alas, she could not make returns.

Who for a Swain already turns,

A Shepherd, who does her caress

With all the softest Marks of Love;

And ‘tis in vain thou seek’st to move

The cruel Shepherdess.

(3.)

Content thee with this Victory,

I’m Young and Beautiful as she;

I’ll make thee Garlands all the Day,

And in the Shades we’ll sit and sing;

I’ll crown thee with the Pride o’th’ Spring,

When thou art Lord o’th’ May_.

_Enter_ Urania _dress’d gay_, Lyces _a Shepherdess_.

_Ly_. Still as I sing you sigh.

_Uran_. I cannot hear thy Voice, and the returns

The Echoes of these shady Groves repeat,

But I must find some Softness at my Heart.

--Wou’d I had never known another Dwelling,

But this too happy one where thou wert born! [Sighs.

_Ly_. You sigh again: such things become

None but unhappy Maids that are forsaken;

Your Beauty is too great to suffer that.

_Ura_. No Beauty’s proof against false perjur’d Man.

_Ly_. Is’t possible you can have lost your Love?

_Ura_. Yes, pretty Maid, canst tell me any tidings of him?

_Ly_. I cannot tell, by what marks do you know him?

_Ura_. Why, by these--a tempting Face and Shape,

A Tongue bewitching soft, and Breath as sweet,

As is the welcome Breeze that does restore

Life to a Man half kill’d with heat before;

But has a Heart as false as Seas in Calms,

Smiles first to tempt, then ruins with its Storms.

_Ly_. Oh, fair Urania! there are many more

So like your Love, if such a one he be:

That you wou’d take each Shepherd to be he:

’.is grown the fashion now to be forsworn;

Oaths are like Garlands made of finest Flowers,

Wither as soon as finish’d;

They change their Loves as often as their Scrips,

And lay their Mistresses aside like Ribbons,

Which they themselves have sullied.

_Pim_. Gad, I’ll venture in--

_Val_. Fair Women, and so near the Camp!

What are ye, and from whence?

_Pim_. Ha! ‘tis no matter for that; ask no Questions, but fall to.

[_Goes to_ Lyces.

_Ura_. I’m not asham’d to tell the one or t’other;

I am a Maid, and one of gentle Birth,

A _Scythian_ born, an Enemy to thee,

Not as thou art a Man, but Friend to _Dacia_.

_Val_. What Sin have I committed, that so fair a Creature should become

my Enemy? but since you are so, you must be my Prisoner, unless your Eyes

prevent me, and make me yours.

_Pim_. How, take a Woman Prisoner! I hope you are a finer Gentleman than

so.

_Val_. But, Madam, do not fear, for I will use you As well as such a Man

as I can do.

_Ura_. Though thou be’st rough, thou hast a noble look, And I believe my

Treatment will be gentle.

_Val_. Fair Maid, this Confidence is brave in thee;

And though I am not us’d to make returns,

Unless in Thunder on my Enemies,

Yet name the way, and I will strive to serve you.

_Ura_. Then, Sir, I beg that you would set me free,

Nor yet retain me here a Prisoner;

But as thou’rt brave, conduct me to the Castle on the Lake,

Where young Amintas lies, the Spoil of War.

_Val. Amintas_, Madam, is a gallant Youth,

And merits more from Fortune than his Chains;

But I could wish (since I have vow’d to serve you)

You would command me something

Worthy your Beauty, and of that Resolution.

_Ura_. There is no other way to do me service.

_Val_. Then most willingly I will obey you.

_Ura_. But, Sir, I beg this Virgin may depart,

Being a _Dacian_, and a neighbouring Villager.

_Val_. All your Commands shall strictly be obey’d.

_Pim_. Pox on her, she’s coy, and let her go. Well,

Colonel, I doubt you’ll be for the Queen by and by.

_Ura_. Here--take this Jewel as a part of payment,

For all thy goodness to an unknown Maid. [_To_ Lyces.

And if by chance I ever see thee more,

Believe me, _Lyces_, I will quit the score.

[_Ex_. Lyces _weeping_.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II. _A Grove of Trees_.

_Within the Scene lies_ Thersander _sleeping, his Cap and

Feather at a distance from him_.

_Enter_ Cleomena _drest like an_ Amazon, _with a Bow in

her Hand, and a Quiver of Arrows at her Back, with_

Semiris _attired like her_.

_Cleo_. I’m almost tir’d with holding out the Chase.

_Sem_. That’s strange! methought your Highness followed not

So fast to Day as I have seen you heretofore.

_Cleo_. I do not use to leave the Game unvanquish’d,

Yet now by what strange inclination led I know not,

The Sport growing dull, I wish to meet a place

Far from the noise and business of the Day:

Hast thou ty’d fast my Horses?

_Sem_. Madam, I have.

_Cleo_. What place is this, _Semiris_?

_Sem_. I know not, Madam, but ‘tis wondrous pleasant.

_Cleo_. How much more charming are the Works of Nature

Than the Productions of laborious Art?

Securely here the wearied Shepherd sleeps,

Guiltless of any fear, but the disdain

His cruel Fair procures him.

How many Tales the Echoes of these Woods

Cou’d tell of Lovers, if they would betray,

That steal delightful hours beneath their Shades!

_Sem_. You’d rather hear ‘em echo back the sound

Of Horns and Dogs, or the fierce noise of War.

_Cleo_. You charge me with the faults of Education,

That cozening Form that veils the Face of Nature,

But does not see what’s hid within, _Semiris_:

I have a Heart all soft as thine, all Woman,

Apt to melt down at every tender Object.

--Oh, _Semiris_! there’s a strange change within me.

_Sem_. How, Madam!

_Cleo_. I would thou knew’st it;

Till now I durst do any thing--but fear,

Yet now I tremble with the thoughts of telling thee

What none but thou must know--I am in love.

_Sem_. Why do you blush, my Princess? ‘tis no sin;

But, Madam, who’s the happy glorious Object?

_Cleo_. Why, canst thou not guess then?

_Sem_. How is it possible I should?

_Cleo_. Oh Gods! not guess the Man!

Or, rather think some God! Dull stupid Maid,

Hast thou not heard of something more than mortal!

’.wixt Human and Divine! our Country’s Genius,

Our young God of War! not heard of him!

_Sem_. ‘Tis not Prince _Artabazes_, or _Ismenes_?

_Cleo_. Away, thou anger’st me.

_Sem_. Pardon me, Madam,

It can be none at Court, if none of these?

And all besides are much below that Glory.

_Cleo_. What call’st thou much below, mistaken thing?

Can a gay Name give Virtue, Wit, or Beauty?

Can it gain Conquest, or in Fields or Courts?

No, nor defend its own fantastick Owner.

--Come, guess again.

_Sem_. I can guess no further than a Man, and that I’m sure he is.

_Cleo_. I know not--

For yet I never saw him, but in’s Character,

Unless sometimes in Dreams.

_Sem_. Is’t not enough he conquers where he comes,

But that his Fame prevents his Sword and Eyes?

Perhaps his Person may not be agreeable;

The best in Camps are not the best in Courts.

_Cleo_. So brave a Mind must have as brave an Outside.

My Uncle’s Letters from the Camp contain

Nothing but Wonders of his Worth and Valour,

And ‘tis impossible but such a Man

Must merit Love as well as Admiration.

_Sem_. Does he not come to Court?

_Cleo_. The Queen has made him many Invitations;

But he for some unknown and cruel Cause,

Humbly implores her Pardon for refusing:

Nor can the General learn his Quality;

But like his Deeds, believes it must be great.

_Sem_. ‘Tis most likely; but I should never fall in love

with Fame alone.

_Cleo_. I hope it is not Love--but strange Curiosity

To see this brave Unknown--and yet I fear--

I’ve hid this new Impatience of my Soul,

Even from thee, till it grew too importunate;

And strove by all my lov’d Divertisements,

To chase it from my Bosom, but in vain:

’.is too great for little Sports to conquer;

The Musick of the Dogs displeas’d to day,

And I was willing to retire with thee,

To let thee know my Story:

And this lone Shade, as if design’d for Love,

Is fittest to be conscious of my Crime.

--Therefore go seek a Bank where we may sit;

And I will sigh whilst thou shall pity me.

[_Stands with her Arms across_.

[Sem. _looks about, finds the Cap and Feathers_.

_Sem_. See, Madam, what I’ve found.

_Cleo_. ‘Tis a fine Plume, and well adorn’d,

And must belong to no uncommon Man:

--And look, _Semiris_, where its Owner lies

--Ha! he sleeps, tread softly lest you wake him:

--Oh Gods! who’s this with so divine a Shape?

_Sem_. His Shape is very well.

_Cleo_. Gently remove the Hair from off his Face,

[Sem. _puts back his Hair_.

And see if that will answer to the rest:

--All lovely! all surprizing! Oh, my Heart,

How thou betray’st the weakness of our Sex!

--Look on that Face, where Love and Beauty dwells--

And though his Eyes be shut, tell me, _Semiris_,

Has he not wondrous Charms?

_Sem_. Yes, Madam, and I wou’d excuse you, if you

shou’d now fall in Love, here’s Substance; but that same

Passion for Fame alone, I do not like.

_Cleo_. Ah, do not call my Blushes to my Face,

But pardon all my weakness:

May not my Eyes have leave to gaze a while?

Since after this there’s not another Object

Can merit their Attention--

But I’ll no longer view that pleasing Form--

[_Turns from him_.

And yet I’ve lost all power of removing--

[_Turns and gazes_.

Even now I was in love with mere Report,

With Words, with empty Noise;

And now that Flame, like to the Breath that blew it,

Is vanish’d into Air, and in its room

An Object quite unknown, unfam’d, unheard of,

Informs my Soul; how easily ‘tis conquer’d!

How angry am I with my Destiny!

Till now, with much disdain I have beheld

The rest of all his Sex; and shall I here

Resign a Heart to one I must not love?

Must this be he must kill the King of _Scythia_?

For I must lay no claim to any other:

Grant, Oh ye Gods, who play with Mortals thus,

That him for whom ye have design’d your Slave,

May look like this Unknown,

And I’ll be ever grateful for the Bounty.

--But these are vain imaginary Joys.

[Thersander _wakes, rises, and gazes_.

_Ther_. Am I awake, or do my Dreams present me

Ideas much more bright and conquering,

Than e’er approach’d my waking Sense by far?

--Sure ‘tis _Diana_, the Goddess of these Woods,

That Beauty and that Dress confirm me ‘tis. [_Kneels_.

--Great Goddess, pardon an unlucky Stranger,

The Errors he commits ‘gainst your Divinity,

Who, had he known this Grove had sacred been,

He wou’d not have profan’d it by his Presence.

_Cleo_. Rise, Sir, I am no Deity;

Or if I were, I cou’d not be offended [_He rises_.

To meet so brave a Man--Gods, how he looks!

_Ther_. Can you be mortal!

What happy Land contains you? or what Men

Are worthy to adore you?

_Cleo_. I find you are a Stranger to this place,

You else had known me to be _Cleomena_.

_Ther_. The Princess _Cleomena_! my mortal Enemy! [_Aside_.

_Cleo_. You seem displeas’d at the knowledge of my Name;

But give me leave to tell you, yours on me

Wou’d have another Sense.

_Ther_. The knowledge of your Name has not displeas’d me;

[_Kneels_.

But, Madam, I had sooner took you for

The Sovereign of the World than that of Dacia;

Nor ought you to expect less Adoration

From all that World, than those who’re born your Slaves.

--And amongst those devout ones number him,

Whom happy Fate conducted to your Feet,

And who’ll esteem himself more fortunate,

If by that little service he had rendred you,

_Clemanthis’. Name have ever reach’d your Ear.

_Cleo. Clemanthis_! what cou’d the Gods do more, [_Aside_.

To make me ever bless’d!--Rise, noble Youth--

[_Raises him_.

Cou’dst thou salute me Mistress of the World,

Or bring me news of Conquest over _Scythia_,

It would not reach so kindly to my Soul,

As that admir’d illustrious Name of thine.

This Crown’s in debt to your all-conquering Sword;

And I’m the most oblig’d to make Returns,

Which if you knew me, sure you wou’d not doubt,

If to those Favours you’ve already done us,

You’ll add one more, and go with me to Court.

_Ther_. To th’ Court? to th’ utmost Bounds of all the Universe.

At your Command, through Dangers worse than Death,

I’d fly with hasty Joy--

Like Gods, do but decree, and be obey’d.

_Sem_. Madam, the Company we left are coming this

way, and with them Prince _Honorius_.

_Ther_. The General here so soon! [_Aside_.

_Enter_ Honorius, Ismenes, _Women, and Huntsmen_.

_Cleo_. Welcome, victorious Uncle.

[Hon. _kisses_ Cleo’s _Hand_.

_Hon_. Madam, I heard the Noise of Horns and Dogs,

And thought your Highness was abroad to Day;

Following the Cry, it brought me to this Company,

Who were in search for you, and ‘twas my Duty to attend them.

--My gallant Friend _Clemanthis_ here!

This was above my hopes; let me embrace thee,--

And tell thee with what Joy I find thee in the presence

Of my fair Niece, who must prevail upon you

To wait on her to Court; what I cou’d not intreat, let her command.

_Ther_. Where Duty and my Inclination leads me,

There needs no Invitation.

_Cleo_. Already, Uncle, he has promis’d it.

_Ism_. Sir, is this the Man to whom all _Dacia_ is so much oblig’d?

_Hon_. This is that gallant Man, whose single Valour

Has gain’d the Victory over the Nomades,

Who kill’d their King, and scatter’d all their Forces;

And when my feeble Strength (which Age and Wars

Had made unfit for mighty Toils) grew faint,

He, like _Aeneas_, bore my aged Limbs

Through all the fiery Dangers of the Battel.

_Ther_. Too much you’ve said to my Advantage, Sir,

Robbing the Gods and Fortune of their Glory.

_Ism_. Rank me amongst your Captives; for I find,

Whether you fight or not, you must be Victor.

[_Embraces_ Ther.

_Enter_ Vallentio, Urania, Pimante; Vallentio _kneels and delivers_

Urania _to the Princess_.

_Cleo_. What new Encounter’s this?

_Val_. I need not ask where I shall pay my Duty:

My Wonder will direct me to your Feet.

_Cleo_. Who knows the Man that makes me such a Present?

_Hon_. Madam, he is an Officer of mine,

A worthy gallant Fellow;

But one that hardly knows what Cities are,

But as he’as view’d ‘em through their batter’d Walls,

And after join’d ‘em to your Territories.

_Cleo_. Rise high in her Esteem that loves a Soldier.

[_He rises_.

_Val_. I need say nothing for my Prisoner, Madam,

Whose Looks will recommend her: only this,

It was against my Will I made her so,

Who ne’er refus’d till then to take your Enemies.

_Ther_. It is Urania, she’ll know me, and betray me. [_Aside_.

_Cleo_. Say, lovely Maid, whom, and from whence thou art?

_Ura_. A _Scythian_, Madam, and till now your Foe.

_Pim_. Ay, Madam, we took her, we took her.

_Cleo_. So fair an one must merit my Esteem:

I hope there are not many such fine Creatures

Brought into the Camp against us; if there be,

The _Scythians_ cannot doubt of Victory.

--Thy Name and Business here?

_Ura. Urania_, Madam--

My Story were too tedious for your Ear,

Nor were it fit I should relate it here.

--But ‘tis not as an Enemy I come,

’.is rather, Madam, to receive my Doom;

Nor am I by the chance of War betray’d,

But ‘tis a willing Captive I am made:

Your Pity, not your Anger I shall move,

When I confess my Fault is only Love,

Love to a Youth, who never knew till now

How to submit, nor cou’d to ought but you.

--His Liberty for Ransom you deny;

I dare not say that this is Cruelty,

Since yet you may be pleas’d to give me leave

To die with him, with whom I must not live.

_Ther_. Excellent Maid! what Generosity her Love has taught her!

[_Aside_.

_Cleo_. That you esteem me cruel, is unkind,

But Faults of Lovers must Forgiveness find:

_Amintas’. Chains had far more easy been,

Had he been less a Favorite to his King.

--But you, _Urania_, may perhaps redeem

That Captive which I would not render them.

_Ura_. Madam, this Bounty wou’d exceed Belief,

But you too generous are to mock my Grief:

And when you shall m’ unhappy Story learn,

’.will justify my Tears, and your Concern.

_Cleo_. I need no Arguments for what I do,

But that I will, and then it must be so.

_Ura_. The Prince of _Scythia_ in the Camp of _Dacia_!

If I could be mistaken in that form,

I’d hate my Eyes for thus deluding me:

But Heaven made nothing but _Amintas_ like him. [_Aside_.

_Cleo_. Come, let’s to Court, by this the Queen expects us:

--You, my fair Prisoner, must along with me:

[_Takes her Hand_.

--Thy Hand, _Clemanthis_, too--Now tell me, Uncle,

[Takes him with the other Hand.

--What _Scythian_ that beholds me thus attended,

Would not repine at my Felicity,

Having so brave a Friend, so fair an Enemy?

[_Exeunt_.

ACT II.

SCENE I. _A Castle or Prison on the Sea_.

_After a little playing on the Lute,--enter_ Orsames

_with his Arms across, looking melancholy, follow’d by_

Geron _with a Lute in his Hand_.

_Ors_. I do not like this Musick;

It pleases me at first,

But every Touch thou giv’st that’s soft and low

Makes such Impressions here,

As puzzles me beyond Philosophy

To find the meaning of;

Begets strange Notions of I know not what,

And leaves a new and unknown thought behind it,

That does disturb my Quietness within.

_Ger_. You were not wont to think so.

_Ors_. ‘Tis true--

But since with time grown ripe and vigorous,

I will be active, though but ill employ’d.

--_Geron_, thou’st often told me,

That this same admirable Frame of Nature,

This Order and this Harmony of things,

Was worthy admiration.

--And yet thou say’st all Men are like to us,

Poor, insignificant Philosophers.

I to my self could an Idea frame

Of Man, in much more excellence.

Had I been Nature, I had varied still,

And made such different Characters of Men,

They should have bow’d and made a God of me,

Ador’d, and thank’d me for their great Creation.

--Now, tell me, who’s indebted to her Bounties,

Whose needless Blessings we despise, not praise?

_Ger_. Why, what wou’d you have done, had you been Nature?

_Ors_. Some Men I wou’d have made with mighty Souls,

With Thoughts unlimited by Heaven or Man;

I wou’d have made ‘em--as thou paint’st the Gods.

_Ger_. What to have done?

_Ors_. To have had Dominion o’er the lesser World,

A sort of Men with low submissive Souls,

That barely shou’d content themselves with Life,

And should have had the Infirmities of Men,

As Fear, and Awe, as thou hast of the Gods;

And those I wou’d have made as numberless

As Curls upon the Face of yonder Sea,

Of which each Blast drives Millions to the Shore,

Which vanishing, make room for Millions more.

_Ger_. But what if these, so numerous, though so humble,

Refuse Obedience to the mighty few?

_Ors_. I would destroy them, and create anew.

--Hast not observ’d the Sea,

Where every Wave that hastens to the Bank,

Though in its angry Course it overtake a thousand petty ones,

How unconcern’d ‘twill triumph o’er their Ruin,

And make an easy Passage to the Shore?--

_Ger_. Which in its proud career ‘twill roughly kiss,

And then ‘twill break to nothing.

_Ors_. Why, thou and I, though tame and peaceable,

Are mortal, and must unregarded fall.

--Oh, that thought! that damn’d resistless thought!

Methinks it hastens Fate before its time,

And makes me wish for what I fain wou’d shun.

_Ger_. Appease your self with thoughts of future Bliss.

_Ors_. Future Bliss! the Dreams of lazy Fools;

Why did my Soul take Habitation here,

Here in this dull unactive piece of Earth!

Why did it not take Wing in its Creation,

And soar above the hated Bounds of this?

What does it lingring here?

_Ger_. To make itself fit for that glorious End

’.was first design’d for,--

By patient suffering here.

_Ors_. But, Geron, still to live! still thus to live

In expectation of that future Bliss,

(Though I believ’d it) is a sort of Virtue

I find the Gods have not inspir’d me with.

_Ger_. Philosophy will teach you, Sir,--

_Ors_. Not to be wise, or happy--

I’ll hear no more of your Philosophy.

--Leave me.--for I of late desire to be without thee.

_Ger_. This Disobedience, Sir, offends the Gods--

_Ors_. Let ‘em do their worst,

For I am weary of the Life they gave.

_Ger_. He grows too wise to be impos’d upon,

And I unable to withstand his Reasons.--

[Ger. _goes out_.

[Ors. _lies on the Ground_.

_Enter_ Urania, _and Keeper_.

_Keeper_. The Ring is sufficient Warrant, and your Path

on the right Hand will lead you to the Lord _Amintas_--

but have a care you advance no further that way.--

[_Exit Keeper_.

_Ura_. What strange Disorder does possess my Soul!

And how my Blood runs shivering through my Veins,

As if, alas, ‘t had need of all its Aid.

At this encounter with my dear _Amintas_.

_Ors_. Ha! what Noise is that? [_He rouzes_.

_Ura_. I heard a Voice that way--or else it was the fear

This gloomy Place possesses all that enter it:

--Stay, I was forbad that Walk.

--Heavens! I have forgot which ‘twas I should have taken,

I’ll call my Love to guide me--_Amintas, Amintas_--

_Ors_. What Voice is that?

Methought it had more sweetness in’t than _Geron’s_--

[_Rises, gazes, then runs fiercely to her_.

--Ha--what charming thing art thou?

_Ura_. ‘Tis not _Amintas_--yet I should not fear,

He looks above the common rate of Men.

--Sir, can you direct my way

To find a Prisoner out they call _Amintas_!

_Ors_.--Oh Gods! it speaks, and smiles, and acts like me;

It is a Man, a wondrous lovely Man!

Whom Nature made to please me.

--Fair thing, pray speak again:

Thy Voice has Musick in’t that does exceed

All _Geron’s_ Lutes, pray bless my Ears again.

_Ura_. Sir, as you’re Noble, as you are a Gentleman,

Instruct me where to find my Lord _Amintas_.

_Ors_. Bright Creature! sure thou wert born i’th’ upper World,

Thy Language is not what we practise here;

Speak on, thou Harmony to every Sense,

Ravish my Ear as well as Sight and Touch.

_Ura_. Surely he’s mad--nay, Sir, you must not touch me.

_Ors_. Perhaps thou art some God descended hither,

[_Retires and bows_.

And cam’st to punish, not to bless thy Creatures?

Instruct me how to adore you so,

As to retain you here my Houshold God,

And I and Geron still will kneel and pray to you.

_Ura_. Alas, I am a Woman.

_Ors_. A Woman! what’s that?

Something more powerful than a Deity;

For sure that Word awes me no less than t’other.

_Ura_. What can he mean?--oh, I shall die with fear--

[_Aside_.

--Sir, I must leave you.

_Ors_. Leave me! oh no, not for my future Being!

You needs must live with me, and I will love you;

I’ve many things that will invite you to’t,

I have a Garden compass’d round with Sea,

Which every day shall send fresh Beauties forth,

To make the Wreaths to crown thy softer Temples.

Geron shall deck his Altar up no more;

The gaudy Flowers shall make a Bed for thee,

Where we will wanton out the heat o’th’ day--

What things are these, that rise and fall so often,

[_Touches her Breasts_.

Like Waves, blown gently up by swelling Winds?

Sure thou hast other Wonders yet unseen,

Which these gay things maliciously do hide.

_Ura_. Alas, I am undone, what shall I do?-- [_Aside_.

_Ors_. Nature, thy Conduct’s wise! nor could thy Favours

Be giv’n to one more apprehensive of ‘em?

--Say, lovely Woman! for I am all on fire,

Impatient of delay,

Can you instruct me what I am to do? [_Sighs_.

Undress, and let me lead thee to my Bed.

_Ura_. Alas, Sir, what to do? defend me, Heaven! [_Aside_.

_Ors_. Why, I will hold thee--thus, between my Arms,

--I’ll see thee sleep, and wonder at thy Form,

--Then wake thee to be gazing on thy Eyes,

--And something more--but yet I know not what.

_Ura_. His whole Discourse amazes me,

And has more Ignorance than Madness in’t:

--But how shall I get free?

_Ors_. Thou grow’st impatient too, come, let us in--

[_Goes to take her in, she strives to get free,

he struggles with her_.

_Ura_. Hold off, you are too rude.

_Ors_. This is the prettiest play I e’er was at,

But I shall gain the better.--

[_Takes her in his Arms to carry her off_.

_Ura_. Help, help!

_Enter_ Amintas _in Fetters_.

_Amin_. A Woman’s Voice!--Villain, unhand the Lady.

_Ors_. Ha! what new thing art thou?

_Amin. One sent from Heaven to punish Ravishers.--

[_Snatches_ Ura. _while_ Ors. _is gazing on him_.

_Ors_. Thou’st call’d up an unwonted Passion in me,

And these be the effects on’t.

[Ors. _strikes him_; _they struggle and fall_.

_Enter_ Geron.

_Ger_. Hah! what’s the matter here? a Woman too!

We are undone--Madam, I pray retire--

For here’s no safety for your Sex.

_Ura_. I gladly take your Counsel.

[Ura. _goes into_ Amintas’ _Apartment_.

_Ors_. What art thou?

_Amin_. That which I seem to be.

_Ors_. Then thou’rt a God; for till I saw a Woman,

I never saw a thing so fine as thou:

And ‘tis but just thou shouldst be more than Mortal,

That durst command that Creature from my Arms.

_Amim_. It is the King--I know it by his Innocence,

and Ignorance-- [_Aside_.

--Rise, I beseech you, Sir, and pardon me.

_Ors_. So I could live a Year with looking on thee;

--But where’s the Creature call’d it self a Woman?

_Ger_. What Woman, Sir?

_Ors_. Ha! Geron, where’s the Woman?

_Ger_. What do you mean, Sir?

_Ors_. The Heavenly Woman, that was here but now.

_Ger_. I saw none such, nor know I what you mean.

_Ors_. Not what I mean? thou could’st not be so dull:

What is’t that I have strove for all this while?

_Amin_. I’ll leave him too, my Presence may be hurtful,

And follow the Lady that’s fled to my Apartment.

[_Ex_. Amin.

_Ors_. Go, fetch the Woman, or, by Heaven, I’ll fling thee into the Sea.

_Ger_. I must delude’him. [_Aside_.

_Ors_. Fly, why stay’st thou dully here? go bring the Woman.

_Ger_. Sure you are frantick.

_Ors_. I am so, and thou shalt feel the effect on’t.

Unless thou render back that lovely Creature.

_Ger_. Oh! this is perfect Madness, Sir, you’re lost;

Call back your noble Temper, and be calm.

_Ors_. No, there’s a furious Tempest in my Soul,

Which nothing can allay but that fine thing.

_Ger_. Hear Reason yet--no human Being can get entrance here;

Look round this Castle, and no other Object

Will meet your Eyes, but a watery Wilderness,

And distant and unhabitable Lands.

--What airy Vision has possess’d your Fancy?

For such the Gods sometimes afflict Men with.

_Ors_. Ha! an airy Vision!--Oh, but it cannot be;

By all that’s good,’.was real Flesh and Blood.

_Ger_. And are you sure you are awake?

_Ors_. As thou art now.

_Ger_. Then ‘twas an Apparition.

_Ors_. Away--thou’st often told me of such Fooleries,

And I as often did reprove thee for’t.

_Ger_. From whence, or how should any living thing get hither?

_Ors_. It dropt, perhaps, from Heaven, or how, I know not;

But here it was, a solid living thing;

You might have heard how long we talk’d together.

_Ger_. I heard you talk, which brought me to this place,

And found you struggling on the ground alone;

But what you meant I know not.

_Ors_. ‘Tis so--I grant you that it was a Vision

--How strong is Fancy!--yet--it is impossible--

Have I not yet the Musick of its Words?

Like answering Echoes less’ning by degrees,

Inviting all the yielding Sense to follow.

Have not my Lips (that fatally took in--

Unrest from ev’ry touch of that fair Hand)

The sweet remains of warmth receiv’d from thence,

Besides the unerring Witness of my Eyes?

And can all these deceive me? tell me, can they?

_Ger_. Most certainly they have.

_Ors_. Then let the Gods take back what they so vainly gave.

_Ger_. Cease to offend, and they will cease to punish.

_Ors_. But why a Woman? cou’d they secure my Faith

By nothing more afflicting?

_Ger_. Shapes Divine are most perplexing.

To Souls, like yours, whom Terrors cannot fright,

It leaves desires of what it cannot gain,

And still to wish for that--

Is much the greatest torment of the Mind.

_Ors_. Well said--but, _Geron_, thou’st undone thy Aim,

And us’d the only Argument cou’d invite me

T’ offend again, that thus I might be punish’d:

The Gods themselves invite me to the Sin!

Not seeing a Woman, I had never bin.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II. _Another Room in the Prison.

Enter_ Amintas _in Fetters with _Urania.

_Amin_. My gallant Maid! this Generosity,

Above thy Sex, and much above my Merit,

I never can repay: my dear _Urania_,

Thou did’st outdo thy Sex before in Beauty,

In all the Charms that make ‘em so ador’d:

But this last Act, this noble Mark of Love,

Begets a reverend Wonder in my Soul,

And I behold thee as some sacred thing,

That--this way should be worship’d--

[_Kneels_, _and kisses her Hand_.

_Ura_. I’m glad you have so kind a Sense of that

Which ev’ry Maid that lov’d like me wou’d do;

What cou’d you less expect?--Ah, my _Amintas_,

That fatal Night before our Wedding-day,

Being alarm’d by the Enemy,

And you were sent to try your Force with theirs,

My Heart foretold your Fate; and that same Night,

Whose darkness veiled my Blushes all alone,

Drest like a Youth I hasted from the Court,

And being well mounted, soon o’ertook the Army,

When, all unknown, I got so near your Person,

That in the Fight I had the Glory twice

To serve you, when your Horses being kill’d,

I still presented you with fresh, whose Riders

Thy Valour had dismounted.

_Amin_. Oh Gods! wert thou that Boy,

Whom oft I said, I thought was sent from Heaven,

And beg’d t’ encounter when the Fight was ended?

_Ura_. The same, ‘twas all you’d time to say; for after that,

Venturing too far, they took you Prisoner.

_Amin_. Oh, with what Shame I look upon your Bounty,

Which all my Life’s too little to acknowledge;

What follow’d then, my dearest fair _Urania_?

_Ura_. I gladly wou’d have been a Prisoner too,

But I appear’d a poor dejected Boy,

That was not worth their Fetters.

--Then I resolv’d upon this last Adventure,

To make my Application to the Princess,

Knowing her noble Nature,

To try (since mighty Ransoms were refus’d)

What simple Love would do; and in my way

I lighted on a Druid, who in’s Youth

Had liv’d in Courts, but now retir’d to Shades,

And is a little Monarch o’er his Flocks;

To him I told my Story, who encourag’d me in my resolv’d design,

And I so luckily have made an Interest

In _Cleomena’s_ Heart,

These Chains she’as given me Freedom to dismiss,

And you must only wear Love’s Fetters now:

[_She takes off his Chains_.

--Come, haste, _Amintas_, from this horrid Place,

And be thy self again, appear in Arms.

The _Scythians_ are encampt within thy View,

And e’er three Births of Day the Armies meet;

Th’ Event of which, I at the _Druid_’. Cell

Will wait; sending continual Vows to Heaven

For thy dear Safety: there when the Fight is done,

I wish to meet thee;

--But now your Country and your King expect you,

And I love Glory equal to _Amintas_.

_Amin_. But yet the generous Bounty of the Princess

Obliges here, no less than Duty there;

I know not how the Gods of War to move

To grant me Victor, or the vanquish’d prove;

My Heart to either is not well inclin’d,

Since--vanquish’d I am lost, conquering unkind.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE III. _A Grove_.

_Enter_ Thersander, Lysander.

_Ther_. Urge it no more, _Lysander_,’.is in vain,

My Liberty past all retrieve is lost;

But they’re such glorious Fetters that confine me,

I wou’d not quit them to preserve that Life

Thou justly say’st I hazard by my Love.

_Lys_. The _Scythian_ Gods defend it!

_Ther_. The Gods inspire it, ‘tis their Work alone;

--I know she is my Enemy, hates _Thersander_,

Has sent for all the neighbouring Kings for aid,

That hither Artabases and Ismenes

Have brought their Powers t’ assist against my Crown.

But what of this? She loves me as _Clemanthis_,

Which will surmount her Hatred to the _Scythians_.

Oh, my _Lysander_! didst thou know her Charms,

Thou’dst also know ‘tis not a mortal Force

That can secure the Heart: She’s all divine!

All Beauty, Wit, and Softness! and she loves!

Already I have found the grateful Secret;

She scorns the little Customs of her Sex,

And her belief of being so much above me,

Permits her to encourage my Design;

She gives a Boldness to my bashful Flame,

And entertains me with much Liberty.

_Lys_. Were all this true, you’re equally unhappy;

She must be only his that conquers you,

That wins your Crown, and lays it at her Feet.

_Ther_. Love ne’er considers the Event of things,

The Path before me’s fair, and I’ll pursue it;

Fearing no other Forces than her Eyes,

Bright as the Planets under which they’re born.

_Lys_. And will you let her know you are in love?

_Ther_. If all my Sighs, if Eyes still fix’d on hers

With Languishment and Passion, will inform her,

I’ll let her know my Flame, or perish in th’ Attempt.

_Lys_. Dare you declare it as you now appear?

And can you hope, that under the Degree

Of what indeed you are, she will permit it?

And your Discovery is your certain ruin.

_Ther_. Thy Counsel, dear _Lysander_, comes too late,

She’s in the Grove, where now I must attend her,

And see where she approaches--

_Enter_ Cleomena, Semiris.

_Cleo_. The Stranger, say you, grown of late so pensive!

--I must enquire the Cause--what if it shou’d be Love?

And that too not for me! hah, my _Semiris_!

That Thought has given me Pains I never felt;

--Gods! why comes he not? I grow impatient now;

--Say, didst thou bid him wait me in the Grove?

_Sem_. Madam, I spoke to him my self--

_Cleo_. And told him I wou’d speak with him?

_Sem_. As you commanded me, I said.

_Cleo_. It seems he values my Commands but little,

Who is so slow in his Obedience:

--Where found you him?

_Sem_. I’th’ Antick Gallery, Madam.

_Cleo_. Gallery! what did he there? tell me exactly,

--I have no Picture there.

_Sem_. Madam, he was viewing that of _Olympia_, your fair Cousin,

But for the Excellency of the Work, not Beauty.

_Cleo_. Thou art deceiv’d; viewing her Picture, say you?

--Oh, thou hast touch’d a tender part, _Semiris_;

--But yonder’s he that can allay my Rage [_Sees_ Thersander.

And calm me in that Love by every Look.

--_Clemanthis_, you absent your self too much

From those to whom your Presence is agreeable;

I hear that you are grown retir’d of late,

And visit shady Groves, walk thus--and sigh,

Like melancholy Lovers. Has the Court

(Who for your Entertainment has put on

More Gaiety than in an Age before)

Nothing that can divert you? Cease your Ceremony;

[_He bows low_.

I am your Friend, and if ought harbour there

Within that sullen Breast, impart it here--

And I’ll contribute any thing to ease you.

--Come--boldly tell thy Griefs;

I have an Interest in thy noble Life.

--Perhaps, since you’re arriv’d at Court, you’ve seen

Some Beauty that has made a Conquest o’er your Heart;

--Whoe’er she be, you cannot fear Success.

_Ther_. The Honours you have heap’d upon your Slave,

Have been sufficient

To have encourag’d any bold Attempt;

And here are Beauties would transform a God,

Much more a Soldier, into an amorous Shape.

--But, I confess, with shame, I brought no Heart

Along with me to Court, and after that

What acceptable Sacrifice can I offer?

This makes me shun the Pleasures of your Court,

And seek Retirements silent as my Griefs.

_Cleo_, It seems you were a Lover e’er I saw you,

And Absence from your Mistress makes you languish.

_Ther_. Ah, Madam, do not ask me many Questions,

Lest I offend where I should merit Pity;

The Boldness may arrive unto her Knowledge,

And then you’ll lose the humblest of your Creatures,

Whilst as I am, I may among the Croud

Of daily Worshippers, pay my Devotions.

_Cleo_. Give me your Hand, we’ll walk a little.

[_They go and sit dawn on a Bank_.

--How do you like this Grove?

_Ther_. As I do every place you’re pleas’d to bless.

Heaven were not Heaven, were Gods not present there;

And where you are, ‘tis Heaven every where.

_Cleo_. Look, Clemanthis--on yonder tuft of Trees,

Near which there is a little murmuring Spring,

From whence a Rivulet does take its rise,

And branches forth in Channels through the Garden;

--’Twas near a place like that--where first I saw _Clemanthis_.

[_Sighing_.

_Ther_. Madam, be pleas’d to add, ‘twas also there

_Clemanthis_ left his Liberty at the Feet

Of Divine _Cleomena_;

And charg’d himself with those too glorious Chains,

Never to be dismist but with his Life.

[_She rising in anger, he kneels_.

_Cleo_. How, _Clemanthis_!

_Ther_. Ah! Madam, if I too presumptuous grow,

From your Commands, and all your Bounties to me,

You should forgive the Pride you do create,

And all its strange Effects;

Which if I have mistaken, let me die.

Only this Mercy grant me, to believe,

That if our Adorations please the Gods,

Mine cannot be offensive to my Princess,

Since they are equally Religious.

_Cleo_. Stranger--before I punish thy Presumption,

Inform me who it is that has offended?

Who giving me no other knowledge of him,

Than what his sword has done--dares raise his Eyes to me?

_Ther_. Madam, what you demand is just,

And I had rather die than disobey you;

But I am constrain’d by a Necessity

(Which when you know, you certainly will pardon)

For some time to conceal my Birth and Name.

_Cleo_. Till then you should have kept your Flame conceal’d,

’. had been less disobliging from a criminal one,

Whose Quality had justify’d his Boldness.

_Ther_. Ah! Madam, wou’d Heaven and you wou’d find

no other Difficulty

Than want of Quality to merit you!

_Cleo_. I must confess, _Clemanthis_, with a Blush,

That nothing of the rest displeases me.

_Ther_. Ah, Madam, how you bless me!

And now with Confidence I dare assure you,

That which should render me more worthy of you,

Shall be in me found more to your Advantage,

Than in those Princes who have taken on ‘em

The Glory of your Service.

_Cleo_. As I am very reasonable, and do act

With more Sincerity than Artifice,

I’ll now desire no more.

But have a care you use my Bounty well;

For I am now grown kind enough to think

That all you say is true.

_Ther_. Madam, banish me your Presence, as the Man

Of all the World unworthy to adore you,

If I present not to you in _Clemanthis_

A Man enough considerable to hope.

_Cleo_. But oh! Clemanthis, I forgot my Fate,

My Destiny depends upon my People;

Urg’d by the Queen, they’ve made a Resolution

To give me to that Prince who does most powerfully

Advance the Ruin of the King of _Scythia_.

_Ther_. Madam, I am not ignorant of the Conditions

That are impos’d on those who pretend to you;

I will not only serve you in this War

With more Success than any,

But set the Crown of _Scythia_ on your Head.

_Cleo_. That’s bravely said.

_Ther_. Perhaps it seems extravagantly spoken,

In the Condition you behold me now;

But here I vow--I never will demand

[_Kneels_.

The Divine _Cleomena_ till I have crown’d her--

Yes, Madam, till I have crown’d her Queen of _Scythia_.

--Till then--give me but hope--enough, to live--

[Rises.

_Cleo_. That’s to your Passion due; and when I know

Who ‘tis I favour--I will more allow.

_Sem_. Madam, the Queen is here.

_Enter_ Queen, Honorius, Artabazes, Ismenes, _Guards,

Attendants, &c_.

_Queen_. I am glad to see you all in Readiness;

To morrow I intend to be i’th’ Camp,

--And _Cleomena_ is your General;

Since ‘tis her Cause we fight, it is but just

She share the Danger of it with the Glory.

_Arta_. We all approve it, Madam, and are proud

Fair _Cleomena_ shall a Witness be

Of what we do to serve her,

And see the easy Conquest we shall make

Upon the Persons of her Enemies.

_Hon_. I know not, Sir, what you may do,

But we have found it not so easy.

_Arta_. Oh, there’s no doubt, but we’ll depopulate _Scythia_,

And lead its King, with the vain Prince his Son,

Loaden with Irons, to adorn your Triumphs.

_Ther_. Madam, I must confess your Force is great,

And the Assistance of these Men considerable;

Yet I advise your Majesty to prepare

For the Defeat of the great King of _Scythia_,

As to a Business much more difficult

Than they present it to you: for I know

The Forces of that Nation are not less.

[_Looks with scorn on them_.

--Consider too, that King was never conquer’d,

Though these believe to do’t with so much ease.

I oft have seen _Thersander_, that young Prince,

Upon whose Sword Fortune her self depends,

--And I can tell--he’s not so easily chain’d,

As, _Artabazes_, you imagine him.

_Arta_. What, do you think to fright us with the Praises

You give our Enemies?

--I have heard of that King, and of _Thersander_ too;

But never heard of so much Terror in ‘em,

Should make us apprehend an ill Success;

--And you, _Clemanthis_, do not know us well,

To think we’ll tremble for the Prince of _Scythia_,

Though many such as you should take his part.

_Ther_. How, many such as I!

[_Gomes up to his Breast_.

Gods! with your selves no other Enemies

To join with that young Prince;

To conquer him and many such as I,

Requires a Number of such Kings as you.

_Ism_. It is too much, _Clemanthis_; were you well

Affected to the Service of the Queen,

You would not thus commend her Enemies.

_Ther_. Madam, I humbly beg your Pardon,

I have fail’d in the Respect I owe you,

By what I’ve said in favour of your Enemies,

Whom, whilst you think so easily o’ercome,

You will neglect that Power should make you Victor.

_Qu_. ‘Tis Virtue, Sir, that makes you give what’s due,

Though to the Advantage of those Men you hate--

--I must not have you take ought ill from him. [_To the_ King.

But as you’ve all unanimously join’d

To assist us in this War, so all embrace,

[Ther. _salutes ‘em coldly_.

Be one and ever Friends.

Brother, I leave the Conduct of this hopeful Army [_To_ Hon.

To your unquestion’d Care; and if you can,

Oblige this noble Stranger for ever in our Service.

_Cleo_. Uncle, I’ll to the Camp with you;

And you, _Clemanthis_, must be near me still.

[Ther. _bows. All go out but_ Ther. Hon. Lysan.

_Hon. Clemanthis_, you are troubled.

_Ther_. I was a little ruffled, but ‘tis gone.

_Hon_. You shou’d not blame them, Sir, for envying you,

A Man so young, and such a Name in War.

_Ther_. That, Sir, is only your Esteem of it.

_Hon_. No, dear _Clemanthis_, that I may declare

To all the World and thee, how much I prize it,

Without consulting of your Quality,

I’ll make you absolute Master of my Fortune.

_Ther_. Heav’ns! whence this Generosity? [_Aside_.

_Hon_. I have a Daughter, Sir, an only Child,

Whom all the World esteems a virtuous one,

And for whose Love Princes have su’d in vain,

I now with Joy will render you in Marriage.

_Ther_. I am undone! [_Aside_.

It is a Princess, Sir, I must admire,

But never durst behold her with Eyes of Love,

A Maid so much above me.

_Hon_. I am a Man, whose martial Disposition

Renders me too unartful in my Language;

I cannot study Fineness in my Words,

But with Sincerity declare my Heart,

And do propose this Marriage with _Olympia_,

For your Advantage and the publick Interest,

Besides my own Content.

_Ther_. Have you consider’d, Sir, I am below her?

_Hon_. No more of that; go visit my _Olympia_,

She is prepared to give you Entertainment.

[_Ex_. Hon.

_Ther_. Marry _Olympia_!

No, cou’d he with Olympia give the World,

I could not love, nor marry her.

--Oh, my Lysander! what evasion now?

--Didst hear the noble Offer of the General?

_Lys_. I did, great Sir, and what will you return?

_Ther_. If I refuse, I must offend the Man

To whom of all the World I am most oblig’d,

And one who knowing me but by my Services,

Offers me what _Thersander_ might accept.

_Lys_. It’s fit you should consult the Princess, Sir,

What ‘tis you ought to do.

_Ther_. I’ll take thy Counsel--and wait upon _Olympia_:

--Yes, I will go visit her, though but to prove

No Torment can be like dissembled Love.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE IV. _A Chamber_.

_Enter Queen, Cleomena, Honorius.

_Qu_. Is’t possible, my Brother, you can have

So great a Passion for the publick good,

As willingly to sacrifice your Child to its Repose,

And make her Arms the soft and easy Chains

To link this gallant Stranger to our Interest?

_Hon_. His Virtue I prefer above a Crown.

_Cleo_. You shou’d love Virtue as you ought to love it;

Not give it over-measure--But are you sure he will accept it?

_Hon_. I am not certain, being not come so far;

But I propos’d it, and no doubt he lik’d it.

_Cleo_. This cannot be his Malice; for he was ever noble,

[Hon. _talks to the_ Queen.

But false or feign’d, I can endure no more on’t:

--By Heaven, this Stranger’s false! false as his Name!

--_Semiris_ found him gazing on her Picture:

--’Tis so--he loves _Olympia_!

And when I ask the Name of her he lov’d,

I urg’d it with such softness in my Eyes,

That he in Pity of me swore ‘twas I:

--Now can I find how much my Soul’s possest

With Love, since ‘tis with Jealousy opprest.

[_Goes out_.

_Qu_. How do you like the Trial of _Orsames_,

Which I intend to make?

_Hon_. You’ll oblige your People, and do a Mother’s Duty.

_Qu_. You know ‘twas not the Tyrant in my Nature,

That from his Infancy has kept him ignorant

Of what he was--but the Decrees of Heaven.

_Hon_. Madam, ‘tis true; and if the Gods be just,

He must be King too, though his Reign be short:

You cannot alter those Decrees of Heaven.

_Qu_. The Gods are Witness how these eighteen Years

I have with much Regret conceal’d his Birth.

_Hon_. You know the last Defeat the _Scythians_ gave us,

Th’ impatient People broke the Castle-gates,

And against all your Powers were ready to have crown’d him;

And shou’d we now be conquer’d, nothing less

Will still the mutinous Army: try him, Madam,

He may be fit for great Impressions,

Had he but good Examples to dispose him.

_Qu_. I’ll have it done to night.

Heaven, if it be thy Will, inspire my Son

With Virtue fit to wear his Father’s Crown.

[_Exeunt_.

_Scene draws off, discovers_ Thersander _seemingly courting_

Olympia. _Enter_ Cleomena; _sees them, starts, gazes

on them, then goes out unseen. The Scene closes and

changes to her Apartment.--She enters in a Rage_--

_Cleo_. Perfidious Man! am I abandon’d then? [_Rage_.

Abandon’d for _Olympia_! my Slave--

And yet I lov’d him more than I did Heaven-- [_Soft_.

And shall he quit me thus?

Without being punish’d for this Infidelity?

--No, let me be a shame to all my Sex then

--Oh, _Clemanthis_! to whom I fondly gave my Liberty,

When first I saw thee sleeping in the Wood.

--But I grow soft, a Passion too unfit

For so much Anger as my Soul’s possess’d with;

’.was but even now he lov’d me with such Ardor,

And he who promis’d me the Crown of _Scythia_,

Dar’st thou become unjust, ungrateful Stranger!

Who having rais’d thy Eyes to _Cleomena_,

Would sacrifice her to another Mistress?

--This Heart, which ought not to’ve been given away,

But by the Services and Blood of Kings,

How hast thou lost it on a false Unknown,

Without being paid for it one single Sigh!--

_Enter_ Thersander; _she draws a Dagger; offers to kill

him, but cannot_.

Traitor--hast thou the impudence to appear before me,

Or dost thou come to meet thy just Reward?

[_Offers to stab him_.

--There’s something in his Looks that does preserve him,

Or I’m not truly brave, and dare not kill him.

--Go, treacherous Unknown, whom I’ve preferr’d

Before so many Princes, who in vain

Sue for this credulous Heart which thou’st betray’d.

_Ther_. Ah! Madam, can you be thus cruel to me,

And not inform me how I have offended?

_Cleo_. Be gone, I say, if thou would’st save a Life,

Which those that dare do evil fear to lose.

_Ther_. Those Eyes thus order’d are far worse than Death.

End what you have so well begun,

And kill me;

Yet from another’s Hand

The Blow would he less cruel.

_Cleo_. Oh, Impudence!

Still he wou’d cheat my Rage, as he has abus’d my Love;

But, Monster, though thou art below my Hand,

I’m yet a Princess, and I can command.

By Heaven, I’ll try how much Rage can invent.

_Semiris_, call _Qlympia_ to me strait;

She shall in Triumph with me stand and smile,

To see thee by some Vassal bleed.

_Ther_. There needs no other witness of my Death.

But her I have offended;

To you alone I offer up my Life: for dying,

I’ve something to relate may justify your Rage,

Though not deserve your Pity.

_Cleo_. Hell!

Now I’m confirm’d, he fears that she should see

Him die, lest it should cost her but a Tear;

--Why should I want the Strength?

--But Oh, I cannot.

[_Offers to present the Dagger_.

But canst thou live, false Man, and see me frown?

_Ther_. No, Madam, I can die--thus--

[_Offers to fall on his Sword_.

_Cleo_. Stay--

Thou shalt not so much Glory gain:

No, live, and prove wretched enough to know

How very poorly thou hast lost my Heart.

[_Ex. raving_.

[Ther. _gazes after her_.

_Ther_. Must I then live?--I will obey--farewel,

The fairest and unkindest of thy Sex;

If e’er it be thy chance to meet with one

That loves more than _Thersander_, if thou canst

Treat him worse than thou hast done me--

For oh! how miserable is the Wretch, whose Prayer

Repuls’d, like me, lives only to despair.

[_Exit_.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

_The Curtain is let down--being drawn up, discovers_ Orsames

_seated on a Throne asleep, drest in Royal Robes, the Crown

and Sctpter lying by on a Table_. Geron _near the Throne.

On either side of the Stage, Courtiers ready drest, and multitude

of Lights. Above is discovered the_ Queen, Olympia,

_and Women_, Pimante, Artabazes, Ismenes; _Soft Musick

plays;--whilst he wakes by degrees, and gazes round

about him, and on himself with Wonder_.

_Ors_.--Gods! what am I?

--Or, is there any other God but I?

_Ger_. Yes, my great Lord;

But you’re a King, a mighty Monarch, Sir.

_Ors_. I understand thee, ‘tis some God thou mean’st.

_Ger_. On Earth it is: your Power too is as great;

Your Frowns destroy, and when you smile you bless;

At every Nod the whole Creation bows,

And lay their grateful Tributes at your Feet;

Their Lives are yours, and when you deign to take ‘em,

There’s not a Mortal dares defend himself:

But that you may the more resemble Heaven,

You should be merciful and bountiful.

_Ors_. I do believe I am the King thou speak’st of.

_Ger_. Behold this Crown--this sacred Thing is yours.

[_Kneels and gives him the Scepter and Crown; he puts

it on, and walks about_.

_Ors_. It is a glorious Object--

And fit for none but me--

_Olymp_. Madam, methinks the King is the finest Man

That e’er I saw--shall he not still be King?

_Qu_. I hope he will deserve it.

_Ors_. So, now methinks I move like Heaven itself,

All circled round with Stars,

--Hah! what’s this that kneels?

[_The_ Queen _kneels, he snatches her up_.

_Ger_. The Queen your Mother, Sir.--

_Ors_. By my great self it is another Woman,

Which I have burnt with a desire of seeing.

--Be gone, and leave us here alone together;

I’ve something to impart to this fair Thing,

Must not be understood by you.

_Qu_. Why, Sir, what is it you can impart to me,

Which those about you must not understand?

_Ors_. A new Philosophy inspir’d by Nature,

And much above whatever Geron taught.

--Come and augment my Knowledge.

_Qu_. Why me, Sir, more than any one about you?

_Ors_. Thou art all soft and sweet like springing Flowers,

And gentle as the undisturbed Air.

_Qu_. But I am your Mother.

_Ors_. No matter; thou’rt a Woman, art thou not?

And being so, the Mother cannot awe me.

_Ger_. Sir, ‘tis the Person gave you Life and Being.

_Ors_. That gave me Life! oh, how I love thee for’t!

Come--and I’ll pay thee back such kind Returns--

_Ger_. Most Royal Sir, this Woman was

Not made by Heaven--for you.

_Ors_. Away with your Philosophy; but now you said--

I was a King, a mighty God on Earth,

And by that Power I may do any thing.

_Ger_. But Kings are just as well as powerful, Sir.

_Ors_. I am so to my self, do not oppose me.

_Ger_. Sir, this one is not meant, not form’d for you.

_Ors_. Am I a God, and can be disobey’d?

Remove that Contradiction from my sight,

And let him live no longer: ha, more Women!

[Exit Geron.

_Enter_ Olympia _and other Women_.

Oh Nature, how thou’st furnish’d me with Store!

And finer far than this--

[_Gazes on_ Olympia.

--But what is that whose Eyes give Laws to all,

And like the Sun, eclipse the lesser Lights?

_Qu_. Speak to him, _Olympia_.

_Ors_. Who tells me what she is?

_Olym_. Oh, how I tremble!--Sir, I am a Maid.

_Ors_. A Maid! and may you be approacht with Knees and Prayers

[_Kneels_.

_Olym_. I am your Slave, you must not kneel to me--

Takes him up.

_Ors_. How soon my Glory’s vanisht!

Till now I did believe I was some God,

And had my Power and my Divinity

Within my Will; but by this awful Fear,

I find thou art the greater Deity:

--Pray tell me, fairest, are you not a Woman?

_Olym_. I am a Woman, and a Virgin, Sir.

_Ors_. I did believe that thou wert something more,

For I have seen a Woman, and ne’er knew

So much Disorder in my Soul before:

--For every Look of thine gives me a Pain,

And draws my Heart out of its wonted Seat.

_Olym_. Alas, Sir, have I hurt you?

_Ors_. Extremely hurt me, thou hast a secret Power,

And canst at distance wound,

Which none but Heaven and you cou’d ever do.

--But ‘twas my Fault; had I not gaz’d on thee,

I had been still a King, and full of Health.

--Here--receive this Crown, ‘tis now unfit for me,

Since thou hast greater Power--whilst it sits here--

[_He takes off his Crown, and puts it on her_.

It looks like Stars fall’n from their proper Sphere:

--So, now they’re fixt again.

_Qu. Pimante_, speak to him to take it back.

_Pim_. He kills me with his Looks.

--Sir, when you part with this, you’ll be despis’d;

Your Glory, and your Thunder, all will vanish.

_Ors_. I yet have something that shall make thee fear,

I’m still a King, though I must bow to her;

Take him away to Death immediately--

_Pim_. Any where to be out of your Sight--

A King, quotha? [_Exit_.

_Ors_. Come, my fair Virgin, this shall be my Altar,

And I will place thee here, my Deity.

_Qu_. Great Sir, that Throne is only fit for you.

_Ors_. I say again, I’ll have it fit for two:

Thou art a Woman, thank the Gods for that:

--Ascend, my lovely Virgin, and adorn it;

Ascend, and be immortal as my self.

_Art_. That Throne she was not born to.

_Ors_. Into the Sea with that bold Counsellor,

And let him there dispute with Winds and Waves. [_Art. ex_.

_Being seated on a Throne, enter several in Masquerades,

and dance_.

--Cou’d I be sensible of any Pleasure,

But what I take in thee, this had surpriz’d me.

_Olym_. A Banquet, Sir, attends you.

_Ors_. Dispose me as you please, my lovely Virgin;

For I’ve resign’d my Being to your Will,

And have no more of what I call my own,

Than Sense of Joys and Pains, which you create.

[_They rise, and sit down at a Banquet. He gazes on her_.

_Olym_. Will you not please to eat?

_Ors_. It is too gross a Pleasure for a King.

Sure, if they eat, ‘tis some celestial Food,

As I do by gazing on thy Eyes--

Ah, lovely Maid--

_Olym_. Why do you sigh, Sir?

_Ors_. For something which I want; yet having thee,

What more can Heaven bestow to gratify

My Soul and Sense withal?

_Olym_. Sir, taste this Wine;

Perhaps ‘twill alter that deceiv’d Opinion,

And let you know the Error of your Passion;

’.will cause at least some Alteration in you.

_Ors_. Why shouldst thou ask so poor a Proof of me?

But yet, I will obey,--give me the Wine.

[_They put something into the Bowl_.

_Olym_. How do you like it, Sir?

_Ors_. Why--well; but I am still the same.

Come, give it me again--’tis very pleasant--

Will you not taste it too?--

Methinks my Soul is grown more gay and vigorous;

What I have drank, has deify’d thee more,

Heightens the Pleasure which I take to gaze on thee,

And sends a thousand strange uneasy Joys,

That play about my Heart, and more transport me--

Drink, my fair Virgin, and perhaps thy Eyes

May find some Charms in me to make thee thus.

_Olym_. Alas, they’ve found already but too many. [_Aside_.

_Ors_. I thought I must have gaz’d on thee for ever;

--But oh! my Eyes grow heavy in the Play,

As if some strange Divinity about me

Told me my Safety lay in their Declension.

--It is not Sleep!--sure, Kings do never sleep;

That were a low submission to a Power

A Monarch shou’d despise--but yet ‘tis so:

Ye Gods, am I but mortal then?

Or do you ever sleep? I find ye do!

But I must--and lose this lovely Object:

Grant, oh ye Gods, that I may find it in a Dream,

Let her Idea hover about my Soul,

And keep it still in this harmonious Order

--And gently blow the Flame’t has kindled there.

[_Falls asleep_.

_Enter_ Geron, Pimante, _and_ Arates.

_Pim_. Are you sure he’s asleep?

_Ger_. How do you like him, Madam?

_Qu_. I fear he is a Tyrant in his Nature.

_Ger_. But since he can be tam’d by Love and Beauty,

You should not doubt but he’ll be fit to reign.

_Qu_. Remove him now into his own Apartment,

And still continue to impose upon him,

Till you receive new Orders.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II. _A Grove near the Camp_.

_Enter_ Cleo. _with a Truncheon in her Hand, a Sword and

a Quiver of Arrows by her side, with_ Semiris.

_Sem_. Madam, you are sad,

As if you doubted your Success to day.

_Cleo_. There are some Moments wherein I do repent me

The too rash Banishment of poor _Clemanthis_.

How did he take the Letter which I sent?

_Sem_. As Persons innocent and full of Health

Receive unlookt-for Sentences of Death;

He sigh’d, and said he wou’d obey your Will:

And, Madam, had you seen his silent Grief,

You wou’d have thought him innocent.

_Cleo_. Innocent! banish that foolish Pity from your Heart,

That wou’d persuade thee he is innocent.

Did I not see him courting of Olympia?

And can my Eyes deceive me?

_Sem. Olympia_, Madam! Gods, what do I hear!

Till now I did not know his Fault of Banishment.

_Cleo_. And was’t not cause enough?

_Sem_. Ah, Madam, what Injustice have you done?

Before _Clemanthis_ came into your Cabinet,

He entertain’d me for a pretty while

With the Intentions of your generous Uncle;

He told me how he offer’d him _Olympia_,

And that he durst not seem to disesteem it,

Being your Uncle, and a Man to whom

He ow’d so much; but most to hide his Passion:

And then was coming to consult with you,

How he should manage this Affair with him.

_Cleo_. And is this Truth thou tell’st me, dear _Semiris_?

_Sem_. Madam, I do not use t’abuse your Credit.

_Cleo_. Fly then, _Semiris_, and reverse his Doom.

_Sem_. Would I knew whither, Madam.

_Cleo_. Why, is he no longer then in the Camp?

_Sem_. Ah, Madam, is he longer in the World?

For ‘tis impossible to be imagin’d

He parted hence with any Thought of Life.

_Cleo_. Send ev’ry way to find him--hark, I’m call’d--

[_Trumpets sound_.

And he that finds him first, is made for ever.

Oh Jealousy, thou Passion most ingrate!

Thy Ills procure more Mischief than thy Hate.

’.is thou art Tyrant, when Love bears the blame,

’.is pity thou’rt consistent with Love’s Flame.

I’ll not my Weakness nor Resentment show;

A Heart like mine, should sooner break than bow.

--Come, my _Semiris_, we too long have stay’d;

That Call, till now, was never disobey’d.

[_Trumpets sound. Ex_.

SCENE III. _Scythian Tents_.

_Enter_ Amintas, _drest fine, with_ Urania.

_Ura_. Within this Shade till the black Day be past,

I will attend thy Fortune, or thy Fate.

_Amin_. The King has taken Horse, the Fight’s begun,

And I must leave thee to the Gods and Prayer.

_Ura_. Why was I made a Woman? or being so,

Why had I not a masculine Courage given me?

That side by side I might have shar’d thy Glory,

Or have expir’d together?

_Amin_. Thou wilt undo me with this Tenderness.

Come send me kindly from thee,

With Joys about my Heart that may preserve it;

Here rest till my Return; farewel, my Fair.

_Ura_. And if I never see thee more, farewel--

[Amin. _exit_.

Here I will lay me down, and never rise,

Till thou return’st with Laurel, or with Cypress.

[_Sits down_.

Now I cou’d curse the Fortune of my Prince,

Who quits a Father for an Enemy,

To satisfy a Flame will ruin him.

[_A noise of Fighting_.

--The Fight increases; Oh ye Gods of Battel,

In midst of all your Rage preserve my Love.

_Enter_ Artabazes _over the Stage, and goes out_.

_Art_. My Nephew kill’d! and I dismounted too! oh curst Fate!

_Ura_. This Noise has comfort in’t, it sounds like Victory.

[_A hollowing within amongst the noise of Fighting.

Enter_ Amintas.

--Oh Gods! _Amintas_! what has Fortune done?

_Amin_. The undaunted _Scythians_ never lost the Field;

Yet now at first ‘twas doubtful

To which side Fortune would incline her self

_Ismenes_ kill’d where’er he turn’d his Sword,

And quite defeated our _Agrippian_ Forces;

Yet was not satisfy’d, knowing the King

To be the Price of _Cleomena’s_ Heart,

But sought him out on all sides,

Whom ‘twas not hard to find;

For he was hurrying now from Rank to Rank,

Distributing a Death to all Opposers.

But young _Ismenes_ having pierc’d the Squadrons,

And knowing our great King by several Marks,

Boldly cry’d out,--Defend the Life I claim.

The King made no Reply, but at that Word

Prepar’d himself to fight.

_Ura_. Thou kill’st me, till thou bring’st him off again.

_Amin_. Disorder’d thus--the _Dacian_ took Advantage,

And charg’d with so much Vigour--we gave Ground;

When on that side the single Combat was,

There appear’d a Body of two thousand Horse,

Led by a Man, whose Looks brought Victory,

And made the conquering Foe retire again:

But when he did perceive the King engag’d,

With unresisted Fury he made up,

And rushing in between them,

Gave the young Prince a blow upon his Head,

That struck him from his Horse.

After this Victory _Thersander’s_ Name

Did fly from Mouth to Mouth,

Inspiring every _Scythian_ with new Valour:

He kill’d _Philemon_, and forc’d _Artabazes_

To seek his Safety by his Horse’s Flight;

--But here’s the King--retire into this Wood.

[Ura. _Ex_.

_Enter_ King, Thersander, _Officers, and Soldiers_.

_King_. Let me once more embrace my dear _Thersander_.

_Amin_. The Prince is wounded, Sir.

_King_. He is--but they look lovely on him.

_Ther_. They’re too slight Marks to give you of my Duty;

Your Majesty has greater need of Care.

_King_. Thou art my best Physician, and thy sight

Heals all the Wounds I have: come in with me,

And let me lay thee to my panting Bosom,

Thou great Preserver of my Crown and Life.

_Ther_. I’ll wait upon you, Sir,

[_Exeunt all but_ Ther. _and_ Amin.

Now let me take thee to my Arms, my Friend;

For thou art half my self, my dear _Amintas_:

I have strange News to tell thee since we parted,

And need thy Counsel in an Affair of Love

--Thou know’st my business to the Dacian Court

Was to have set thee free; but oh, my Friend!

In lieu of that I’ve made my self a Captive.

_Amin_. Your Story, Sir, I know, but heard withal,

The Princess did repay your grateful Flame.

_Ther_. I thought she did, for so a while she seem’d;

And when I thought my self the most secure,

Being fortify’d with all her new-made Promises,

My blooming Hopes were blasted e’er full-blown,

And I receiv’d her Orders for my Banishment,

Which I as soon obey’d: but by the way,

I did conceive a thousand Revolutions,

Sometimes to serve my Princess--then my Father;

Sometimes ‘twas Nature got the upper hand,

And then again ‘twas Love: in this Dispute

I met the Levies of the _Isadons_,

Who were the last of all our Cavalry,

To whom I made me known, and came so luckily,

As gain’d the yet-disputing Victory.

_Amin_. ‘Twas in an happy Moment.

_Ther_. Thus I comply’d with what I ow’d my Duty.

But these of Love are still unsatisfy’d:

Dare I, who could offend to that degree,

As to deserve a Banishment from her,

Approach her uninvited?

_Amin_. ‘Twas dangerous, Sir.

_Ther_. Then ‘twere the fitter for my Enterprise:

--But her Displeasure--oh, my _Cleomena_!

If, for the Punishment of my Disobedience,

You’d only take away that Life you threaten,

How willingly I wou’d resign it up,

Rather than undergo this Separation!

_Amin_. You’ll certainly expose your Life by going:

What other Reason could she have to banish you,

But from her Knowledge that you were _Thersander_?

And, Sir, you see her Passion for _Clemanthis_

Cou’d not o’ercome her Hatred for her Enemy.

_Ther_. No, when I call to mind her cruel Words;

If chusing me before so many Kings,

I find ‘twas to the Stranger, not the _Scythian_,

She killingly addrest ‘em; therefore I’ll venture on in my Design:

--Give order that our Horses be made ready,

Whilst I excuse our Absence to the King; our stay will not be long:

Mean time it may be thought

We’re gone to view the Camp;

Interest and Love but rarely do agree,

Yet I must reconcile ‘em both to me.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE IV. _The Dacian Tents_.

_Enter_ Queen, Cleo. Hon. Arta. Ism. _Women, Attendants_.

_Cleo_. ‘Twas strangely lost, and yet I dare affirm,

The Victory had been ours but for _Thersander_,

Who like the impetuous Sea oppos’d by Land,

Made Breaches, and o’erflow’d all that lay near it.

_Ism_. I had reveng’d you on the King of _Scythia_,

Had his Arrival not prevented me.

_Cleo_. He is brave, without dispute.

_Ism_. And ‘tis as certain that he did surprize me,

Without permitting time for my Defence,

He had not else so soon dismounted me.

But, Madam, I design (if you approve it)

To fight _Thersander_ in a single Combat.

_Art_. That Justice I may hope as well as you;

He kill’d my Nephew, young _Philemon_,

For which I’ll be reveng’d.

_Qu_. I cannot but commend that noble Ardor

That carries you to those Designs of Glory;

What thinks my Brother of it?

_Hon_. I like it, if the Victor will accept it.

_Cleo_. And so do I;

And that we may do equal Justice to you all,

We’ll write _Thersander’s_ Name,

And he who draws that Name shall fight the Combat.

_Hon_. But are you sure he will accept the Offer?

_Ism_. I dare engage he will.

_Cleo_. I am of your Opinion;

The only brave are never proud of Conquest,

I’ll write his Name my self.

_Enter_ Page.

_Hon_. What Shouts are these? [_A Shout without_.

_Page_. Madam, _Clemanthis_ is arriv’d.

_Qu_. The News is welcome.

_Enter_ Ther. _kneels, kisses the_ Queen’s _Hand;

the same to_ Cleomena--_salutes all_.

_Ther_. Madam, the great Necessity which made me leave you,

When I believ’d my self unprofitable,

Could not detain me when I was assur’d

My Sword could do you Service.

_Qu_. This Visit recompenses all our Loss,

You’ve made it in a time you may redeem

The Opinion your Absence almost forfeited.

_Hon_. Sir, I cou’d chide you too, but that your Sight

Changes my Anger into kinder Welcomes.

_Ther_. I ought to suffer, Sir, in your Opinion,

Till my Excuses may redeem my Credit.

_Cleo_. How great at once, and innocent he seems,

And how his Eyes his past Offence redeems!

Whilst all my Cruelties they seem t’ upbraid,

They pardon too the Faults themselves have made.

_Qu_. I’m satisfy’d, and you are fitly come

To share a Danger we are now disputing.

_Ther_. ‘Tis not the Danger, Madam, can divert me

From enterprizing ought that is to serve you.

_Art_. Madam, consider who we are,

And ought not to be rank’d with one below us.

_Ther_. Your Honour, _Artabazes_, is too nice;

Would we could find in this Dispute, whate’er it be,

That were the greatest Difficulty:

--Madam, name your Commands.

_Qu_. We are drawing of a Lot

To fight _Thersander_ in a single Combat.

_Ther_. Hah--_Thersander_, Madam, is a Conqueror.

_Ism_. Since you’re so nice, we will excuse you, Sir.

_Ther_. What an unlucky accident was this!

One Moment’s longer stay had made me happy, [_Aside_.

And render’d up these Rivals to my Power.

_Hon_. Come, Sir, the Lots are ready.

[_They draw Lots. It falls to_ Ther.

_Ther_. My Fears are all compleated-- [_Aside_.

The Lot is mine.

_Cleo. Clemanthis_, I’m so sensible of the Danger [_Aside to him_.

Whereto you must expose your self for me,

I cannot think with Pleasure on the Victory

You possibly may gain.

_Ther_. Encourag’d thus, I cannot fail of Conquest;

[_Bows to her, and speaks low_.

But, Madam, if _Thersander_ be as nice

[_Turns to the Queen_.

As these two Princes are, it will be hard

To get him to accept a Challenge from me.

_Cleo. Clemanthis’. Deeds has rais’d his Fame too high

To be esteem’d unworthy of that Justice;

Nor can we find the _Scythian_ Prince a Foe

More equal to his Youth and Valour too.

_Ther_. If Fortune bless me with Success to Day,

I’ll owe it to your Cause and not my Sword.

_Qu_. May’st thou be ever Victor. [_They lead him out.

Manent_ Arta. Ism.

_Art_. My Art shall fail me then.

_Ism_. You are displeas’d, Sir.

_Art_. Is that a Wonder?

Who can be tame, and see an unknown Youth,

Who brings no Forces but his single Arm,

Ravish the Hope and Spoil of Victory from us.

And rival us in Love as well as Glory,

Whilst both our Claims to _Cleomena’s_ Heart

Must be neglected since we want Success?

_Ism_. We could pretend to her no other way.

_Art_. Have you, or I, less Virtue than _Clemanthis_?

_Ism_. Yes, if we envy at his Merits.

_Art_. Pursue your virtuous Road, and in the end

See whether you or I reach first the Goal.

I’ll take Revenge.

[Art. exit.

_Ism_. I Honour will pursue,

A Path which never led me to Repentance.

--_Clemanthis_, if thy Life I basely sought,

Like him, I’d save the Hazard of my own;

But as thou’rt brave, so thou shalt bravely fall

Before _Thersander_ rob me of thy Life,

Or thou the Fortune hast to vanquish him--

And if in this Encounter I expire,

I do but fall a Victim to an hopeless Fire.

[_Exit_.

SCENE V. _Changes to the Wood_.

_Discovers_ Ther. _and_ Amin. _among the Trees, changing

Clothes; after which they come forth_.

_Ther_. So, now thou dost appear so like _Clemanthis_,

That not a _Dacian_ but will be mistaken in thee.

_Amin_. My Lord, I know not how I may appear,

But I am ignorant how I am to act.

_Ther_. Remain within the Covert of this Wood,

Until the Sign be given for the Combat,

And then appear upon the Place appointed,

Where I will meet and fight with thee;

But so I’ll order all the Blows I give,

They shall not wound nor hurt thee,

For still remember I must be the Victor.

_Amin_. I will endeavour to perform it so,

[_Noise_.

That none shall know the Fallacy.

_Ther_. Be gone, I hear a Noise; farewel, dear _Amintas_,

Remember that you act Clemanthis well.

[_Ex_. Ther.

_Enter some Fellows in Clokes_.

1 _Fel_. That’s he that goes into the Wood, I know him by his Plume; are

ye all ready?

2 _Fel_. Yes, for a greater Murder than the killing of one single Man;

and here’s a Place as fit as we could wish; shall we set upon him

altogether?

1 _Fel_. Ay, ay, Neatness in this Affair is not required: kill him, and

_Artabazes_ desires no more.

[The Fellows go behind the Trees, they fight, Amintas falls.

Enter _Ismenes_.

_Ism_. Into this Wood he went, as if he knew my Business,

Here we unseen may end the Difference--

[Noise within.

--Hark--what Noise of fighting’s that?

Perhaps my Aid’s requir’d.

[_Exit_.

Ism. _goes in, Scene draws open, discovers_ Amintas _lying as dead all

bloody_, Pimante _peeping_; Ism. _re-enters_.

_Ism_. It is _Clemanthis_, and this barbarous Deed

Is done by _Artabazes_.

[_Exit_.

_Enter_ Pimante.

_Pim_. Had ever Cavalier such damn’d Luck? I have heard it disputed, that

this same Danger was to be courted by the Brave and Bold; but I, who took

the best Care I could whilst the Fight lasted to secure my self by this

Retreat, find my self even here surrounded with it; and poor Clemanthis,

who, I’ll warrant, came too with my Design, has met here what he

endeavour’d to shun: Yonder’s Ismenes too--well, we are all but Men.

_Ism_. Here’s yet some Breath remaining; oh, _Pimante_, lend thy

Assistance.

--_Clemanthis_, if thou yet hast so much Sense, Inform us how thou cam’st

thus wounded?

_Amin_. Know, Sir, _Thersander_--Prince of _Scythia_--_Thersander_--

Prince of _Scythia_.

[_Faints_.

_Pim_. Alas, he’s dead, Sir, trouble him no further.

_Ism_. The Prince of _Scythia_ do this!

_Pim_. Ay, ay, this mighty Prince fearing to encounter a single Man, has

set a dozen to kill him; Mercy upon us, ‘twas a bloody Fight: but, Sir,

what shall we do with the Body?

_Ism_. If I could command thee any thing it should be Silence,

Till I have met _Thersander_ in his Room.

[Ism. _exit_.

_Pim_. You should command me, though I was never good at Secrets.

_Enter_ Cleomena, Semiris.

_Cleo_. Let the Coach wait at the Entrance of the Wood:

I find I am a perfect Woman now,

And have my Fears, and fits of Cowardice.

_Sem_. Madam, will you not see the Combat then?

_Cleo_. I dare not, something here assures me _Clemanthis_ will be

conquer’d.

_Pim_. Ha! the Princess here? on my Conscience there was never Mischief

but a Woman was at one end o’nt.

_Sem_. How now, _Pimante_, why do you look so scurvily?

_Pim_. Ah, Madam, such a Sight so dismal and bloody!

_Cleo_. What says he?

_Pim. Clemanthis_, Madam--

_Cleo. Clemanthis_! Oh, what of him?

Why, my prophetick Heart, dost thou betray me?

_Sem_. For Heaven’s sake, Madam, reassume your Courage.

_Cleo_. Yes--I will hear--the fatal Story--out.

_Pim_. Truth is, Madam, to retire from the Noise and Fury of the Battle,

I came into this Wood; and when I thought all Danger past, I heard even

here the Noise of Swords and Fighting; which endeavouring to avoid, I

fell almost into the Danger of them.

_Sem_. Leave out the History of your own Fears, and come to the Business.

_Pim_. But ah, Madam, unseen I saw: who did I see--

Ah, who should I see but _Clemanthis_, Madam,

Fixt with his Back against yon Cypress-tree,

Defending himself against a dozen Murderers.

I was, alas, too weak to take the weaker side,

And therefore came not forth to his Assistance.

Prince _Ismenes_ would have taken his Part, but came too late too;

But e’er he died we begg’d to know his Murderers,

And he could answer nothing but--_Thersander_.

_Cleo_. Remove me to the Body of my Love--

[_They lead her to_ Amin. _who lies wounded; she

gazes on him a while, his Face being all bloody_.

--I will not now deplore as Women use,

But call up all my Vengeance to my Aid.

Expect not so much Imbecillity--

From her whose Love nor Courage was made known

Sufficiently to thee. Oh, my _Clemanthis_!

I wou’d not now survive thee,

Were it not weak and cowardly to die,

And leave thee unreveng’d.

--Be calm, my Eyes, and let my Soul supply ye;

A silent broken Heart must be his Sacrifice:

Ev’ry indifferent Sorrow claims our Tears,

Mine do require Blood, and ‘tis with that

These must be washt away--

[_Rises, wipes her Eyes_.

Whatever I design to execute,

Pimante, and Semiris, I conjure ye,

Go not about to hinder, but be silent,

Or I will send my Dagger to this Heart.

Remove this Body further into the Wood,

And strip it of these glittering Ornaments,

And let me personate this dear dead Prince.

Obey, and dress me strait without reply.

There is not far from hence a Druid’s Cell,

A Man for Piety and Knowledge famous:

Thither convey the breathless sacred Corps,

Laid gently in my Chariot,

There to be kept conceal’d till further Orders.

_Sem_. Ah, Madam, what is’t you intend to do?

_Cleo_. What shou’d I do but die--ah! do not weep,

But haste to do as I command ye:

Haste, haste, the Time and my Revenge require it.

_Sem_. For Heaven’s sake, Madam, for your royal self,

Do not pursue this cruel fatal Enterprize;

Pity the Queen, your Servants, and all Mankind.

_Cleo_. Away, thou feeble thing, that never knew’st the

real Joys of Love,

Or ever heard of any Grief like mine;

If thou wou’dst give me Proofs of thy Esteem,

Forget all Words, all Language, but Revenge.

Let me not see so much of Woman in thee

To shed one Tear, but dress thy Eyes with fierceness,

And send me forth to meet my Love, as gay,

As if intended for my nuptial Day.

That Soul that sighs in pity of my Fate,

Shall meet returns of my extremes! Hate:

Pity with my Revenge must find no room;

I’ll bury all but Rage within thy Tomb.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. _A Flat Wood_.

_Enter_ Cleomena _drest in_ Clemanthis’s _Clothes_, Semiris

_bearing the Cap and Feather_, Pimante _the Sword_.

_Cleo_. Come, my _Semiris_, you must assist a little,

And you, _Pimante_, buckle on my Sword.

_Pim_. I never parted with a Sword so unwillingly in my Life.

_Cleo_. So--How dost thou like me now?

Might I not pass, thus habited, for _Clemanthis_?

_Pim_. Yes, Madam, till you come to the fighting part.

_Cleo_. Now go, and do as I have ordered you.

_Sem_. Ah, Madam, though I must not wait on you to fight,

I will in Death, ‘tis my first Act, and last of Disobedience.

[_Weeps_.

_Cleo_. Do not disturb me with thy Grief, _Semiris_:

Go leave me to my self, and Thoughts of Vengeance:

And thou, base Traitor-Prince, shalt buy thy Life

At such a Rate shall ruin thee for ever;

And if I fall--as I believe I shall--

The very Shame to know I am a Woman,

Shall make thee curse thy Fortune and thy Arms,

If thou hast any Sense of Manhood left,

After the barbarous Murder thou hast done:

But if my better Fortune guide my Arm,

This Arm (whom Love direct) to meet thy Heart,

Then I shall die with real Satisfaction.

The time draws on when I should try my Fate;

Assist me, mighty Love, in my Design,

That I may prove no Passion equals mine.

_Sem_. Madam, consider whom you must encounter.

_Cleo_. Consider thou who’s dead, the brave _Clemanthis_!

[_Weeps_.

Oh, ‘tis a Shame to weep, being thus attir’d;

Let me once more survey my self--

And yet I need not borrow Resolution:

_Clemanthis_, thou art murder’d, that’s the Word,

’.is that creates me Man, and valiant too,

And all incensed Love can prompt me to.

Hark--hark--the joyful Summons to my Death.

[_Trumpets sound_.

Go, leave me to approach it solemnly--

Come, my dear Sword, from thee I must expect

That Service which my Arm may fail to affect;

And if thou ever did’st thy Master love,

Be sure each Stroke thou mak’st may mortal prove.

[_Exeunt severally_.