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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12166-0.txt b/12166-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7a98428 --- /dev/null +++ b/12166-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18907 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12166 *** + +The +Works +Of +John Dryden, + +Now First Collected +_In Eighteen Volumes_. + +Illustrated +With Notes, +Historical, Critical, And Explanatory, +And +A Life Of The Author, +By +Walter Scott, Esq. + +VOL. II. +1808. + + + + +CONTENTS +OF +VOLUME SECOND. + + +Dedication of Mr Congreve's edition of Dryden's + Dramatic Works to the Duke of Newcastle + +The Wild Gallant, a Comedy + Preface + +The Rival Ladies, a Tragi-comedy + Dedication to the Earl of Orrery + +The Indian Queen, a Tragedy + +The Indian Emperor, or the Conquest of Mexico by the Spaniards + Dedication to the Duchess of Monmouth and Buccleuch + Defence of an Essay of Dramatic Poesy + Connection of the Indian Emperor to the Indian Queen + +Secret Love, or the Maiden Queen + Preface + + + + + +THE +WORKS +OF +JOHN DRYDEN. + +VOL. II. + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + + +_Mr Congreve's edition of Dryden's dramatic works, in six volumes +12mo, printed for Tonson in 1735, has been chiefly resorted to for the +text of the Plays in the present edition, although the assistance +of the older copies, in quarto and folio, has been called in, where +difficulties occurred, or improvements were obvious. The preliminary +Dissertations, Dedications, and Prefaces, have been corrected from the +excellent edition of Mr Malone. Congreve appears deeply to have felt +the bequest, left him by his great predecessor, when, "just abandoning +the ungrateful stage" he made it his intreaty, that his successor +would be kind to his remains. Considerable pains have been bestowed +by the present editor in correcting the text. The notes are limited +to the explanation of such passages, as the fashion in language, in +manners, or in literature, has, in the space of a century, rendered +doubtful or obscure._ + + + + +DEDICATION TO MR CONGREVE'S EDITION OF +DRYDEN'S DRAMATIC WORKS. + +TO +HIS GRACE +THE +DUKE OF NEWCASTLE[1], +LORD CHAMBERLAIN OF HIS MAJESTY'S HOUSEHOLD +_&c_. + +[Footnote 1: Thomas Pelham, Duke of Newcastle. No satire ever can +convey such bitter reproof as the high-strained eulogy of this +dedication. This great and wealthy man unblushingly received +Congreve's tribute of praise and gratitude, for his munificence in +directing a splendid monument to be raised over Dryden's remains. But +the incense of the dedicator was wasted on a block, more insensible +than his Grace's workmen could have dug from the quarry. Neither pride +nor shame could induce the Duke to accomplish what vanity had led him +voluntarily to propose; and the dedication, instead of producing a +tomb in honour of Dryden, will remain itself an eternal monument of +the patron's disgrace.] + + +My Lord, +It is the fortune of this edition of the dramatic works of the late +Mr Dryden, to come into the world at a time, when your Grace has just +given order for erecting, at your own expense, a noble monument to his +memory. + +This is an act of generosity, which has something in it so very +uncommon, that the most unconcerned and indifferent persons must be +moved with it. How much more must all such be affected by it, who had +any due regard for the personal merits of the deceased, or are capable +of any taste and distinction for the remains and elegant labours of +one of the greatest men, that our nation has produced! + +That, which distinguisheth actions of pure and elevated generosity, +from those of a mixed and inferior nature, is nothing else but the +absolutely disinterested views of the agent. + +My Lord, this being granted, in how fair a light does your munificence +stand? A munificence to the memory, to the ashes, of a man whom you +never saw--whom you never can see; and who, consequently, never could, +by any personal obligation, induce you to do this deed of bounty; nor +can he ever make you any acknowledgment for it, when it shall be done. + +It is evident, your Grace can have acted thus from no other motive +but your pure regard to merit; from your entire love for learning; and +from that accurate taste and discernment, which, by your studies, you +have so early attained to in the politer arts. + +And these are the qualities, my Lord, by which you are more +distinguished, than by all those other uncommon advantages, with which +you are attended. Your great disposition, your great ability to be +beneficent to mankind, could by no means answer that end, if you were +not possessed of a judgment to direct you in the right application and +just distribution of your good offices. + +You are now in a station, by which you necessarily preside over the +liberal arts, and all the practisers and professors of them. Poetry is +more particularly within your province; and with very good reason +may we hope to see it revive and flourish under your influence and +protection. + +What hopes of reward may not the living deserver entertain, when +even the dead are sought out for, and their very urns and ashes made +partakers of your liberality? + +As I have the honour to be known to you, my Lord, and to have been +distinguished by you by many expressions and instances of your +goodwill towards me, I take a singular pleasure to congratulate you +upon an action so entirely worthy of you. And as I had the happiness +to be very conversant, and as intimately acquainted with Mr Dryden as +the great disproportion in our years could allow me to be, I hope it +will not be thought too assuming in me, if, in love to his memory, and +in gratitude for the many friendly offices, and favourable instructions, +which, in my early youth, I received from him, I take upon me to make +this public acknowledgment to your Grace, for so public a testimony, +as you are pleased to give to the world, of that high esteem, in which +you hold the performances of that eminent man. + +I can, in some degree, justify myself for so doing, by a citation of a +kind of right to it, bequeathed to me by him. And it is, indeed, upon +that pretension, that I presume even to make a dedication of these his +works to you. + +In some very elegant, though very partial, verses, which he did me the +honour to write to me, he recommended it to me to _be kind to his +remains_[2]. + +[Footnote 2: These are the affecting lines referred to. + + Already I am worn with cares and age, + And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage; + Unprofitably kept at heaven's expense, + I live a rent-charge on his providence. + But you, whom every muse and grace adorn, + Whom I foresee to better fortune born, + Be kind to my remains; and, O! defend, + Against your judgment, your departed friend: + Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue, + But shade those laurels which descend to you; + And take, for tribute, what these lines express: + You merit more, nor could my love do less. + +_Epistle to_ MR CONGREVE] + +I was then, and have been ever since, most sensibly touched with that +expression; and the more so, because I could not find in myself the +means of satisfying the passion which I felt in me, to do something +answerable to an injunction laid upon me in so pathetic and so +amicable a manner. + +You, my Lord, have furnished me with ample means of acquitting myself, +both of my duty and obligation to my departed friend. What kinder +office lies in me to do to these, his most valuable and imperishable +remains, than to commit them to the protection, and lodge them under +the roof, of a patron, whose hospitality has extended itself even to +his dust? + +If I would permit myself to run on in the way which so fairly opens +itself before me, I should tire your Grace with reiterated praises and +acknowledgments; and I might possibly (notwithstanding my pretended +right so to do) give some handle to such, who are inclinable to +censure, to tax me of affectation and officiousness, in thanking you, +more than comes to my share, for doing a thing, which is, in truth, of +a public consideration, as it is doing an honour to your country. For +so unquestionably it is, to do honour to him, who was an honour to it. + +I have but one thing to say, either to obviate or to answer such +an objection, if it shall be made to me, which is, that I loved Mr +Dryden. + +I have not touched upon any other public honour or bounty, done by you +to your country. I have industriously declined entering upon a theme +of so extensive a nature; and of all your numerous and continual +largesses to the public, I have only singled out this, as what most +particularly affected me. I confess freely to your Grace, I very much +admire all those other donations, but I much more love this; and I +cannot help it, if I am naturally more delighted with any thing that +is amiable, than with any thing that is wonderful. + +Whoever shall censure me, I dare be confident, you, my Lord, will +excuse me for any thing that I shall say with due regard to a +gentleman, for whose person I had as just an affection as I have +an admiration of his writings. And indeed Mr Dryden had personal +qualities to challenge both love and esteem from all who were truly +acquainted with him. + +He was of a nature exceedingly humane and compassionate; easily +forgiving injuries, and capable of a prompt and sincere reconciliation +with them who had offended him. + +Such a temperament is the only solid foundation of all moral virtues +and sociable endowments. His friendship, where he professed it, +went much beyond his professions; and I have been told of strong and +generous instances of it by the persons themselves who received them, +though his hereditary income was little more than a bare competency. + +As his reading had been very extensive, so was he very happy in a +memory, tenacious of every thing that he had read. He was not more +possessed of knowledge than he was communicative of it. But then his +communication of it was by no means pedantic, or imposed upon the +conversation; but just such, and went so far, as, by the natural turns +of the discourse in which he was engaged, it was necessarily promoted +or required. He was extreme ready and gentle in his correction of +the errors of any writer, who thought fit to consult him; and full as +ready and patient to admit of the reprehension of others, in respect +of his own oversight or mistakes. He was of very easy, I may say, of +very pleasing access; but something slow, and, as it were, diffident +in his advances to others. He had something in his nature, that +abhorred intrusion into any society whatsoever. Indeed, it is to be +regretted, that he was rather blameable in the other extreme; for, +by that means, he was personally less known, and, consequently, +his character might become liable both to misapprehensions and +misrepresentations. + +To the best of my knowledge and observation, he was, of all the men +that ever I knew, one of the most modest, and the most easily to +be discountenanced in his approaches either to his superiors or his +equals. + +I have given your Grace this slight sketch of his personal character, +as well to vindicate his memory, as to justify myself for the love +which I bore to his person; and I have the rather done it, because I +hope it may be acceptable to you to know, that he was worthy of the +distinction you have shewn him, as a man, as well as an author. + +As to his writings, I shall not take upon me to speak of them: For to +say little of them would not be to do them right; and to say all that +I ought to say, would be to be very voluminous. But I may venture to +say, in general terms, that no man hath written in our language +so much, and so various matter, and in so various manners so well. +Another thing I may say very peculiar to him, which is, that his parts +did not decline with his years, but that he was an improving writer +to his last, even to near seventy years of age, improving even in +fire and imagination, as well as in judgment; witness his Ode on St +Cecilia's Day, and his Fables, his latest performances. + +He was equally excellent in verse and in prose. His prose had all the +clearness imaginable, together with all the nobleness of expression; +all the graces and ornaments proper and peculiar to it, without +deviating into the language or diction of poetry. I make this +observation, only to distinguish his style from that of many poetical +writers, who, meaning to write harmoniously in prose, do, in truth, +often write mere blank verse. + +I have heard him frequently own with pleasure, that if he had any +talent for English prose, it was owing to his having often read the +writings of the great Archbishop Tillotson. + +His versification and his numbers he could learn of no body; for he +first possessed those talents in perfection in our tongue. And they, +who have best succeeded in them since his time, have been indebted +to his example; and the more they have been able to imitate him, the +better have they succeeded. + +As his style in prose is always specifically different from his +style in poetry, so, on the other hand, in his poems, his diction is, +wherever his subject requires it, so sublimely and so truly poetical, +that its essence, like that of pure gold, cannot be destroyed. Take +his verses and divest them of their rhymes, disjoint them in their +numbers, transpose their expressions, make what arrangement and +disposition you please of his words, yet shall there eternally be +poetry, and something which will be found incapable of being resolved +into absolute prose; an incontestible characteristic of a truly +poetical genius. + +I will say but one word more in general of his writings, which is, +that what he has done in any one species, or distinct kind, would have +been sufficient to have acquired him a great name. If he had written +nothing but his prefaces, or nothing but his songs or his prologues, +each of them would have entitled him to the preference and distinction +of excelling in his kind. + +But I have forgot myself; for nothing can be more unnecessary than an +attempt to say any thing to your Grace in commendation of the writings +of this great poet; since it is only to your knowledge, taste, and +approbation of them, that the monument, which you are now about to +raise to him, is owing. I will, therefore, my Lord, detain you no +longer by this epistle; and only entreat you to believe, that it is +addressed to your Grace from no other motive than a sincere regard to +the memory of Mr Dryden, and a very sensible pleasure which I take +in applauding an action, by which you are so justly and so singularly +entitled to a dedication of his labours, though many years after his +death, and even though most of them were produced by him many years +before you were born. I am, with the greatest respect, + +MY LORD, + +Your Grace's most obedient, + +And most humble servant, + +WILLIAM CONGREVE. + + + + +THE +WILD GALLANT, +A COMEDY. + + + +THE WILD GALLANT. + +The Editor may be pardoned in bestowing remarks upon Dryden's plays, +only in proportion to their intrinsic merit, and to the attention +which each has excited, either at its first appearance, or when the +public attention has been since directed towards them. In either point +of view, little need be said on the "Wild Gallant." It was Dryden's +first theatrical production, and its reception by no means augured +his future pre-eminence in literature; nor was it more than tolerated, +when afterwards revived under the sanction of his increasing fame. +It was brought upon the stage in February 1662-3, according to the +conjecture of Mr Malone, who observes, that the following lines in the +prologue. + + It should have been but one continued song; + Or, at the least, a dance of three hours long; + + must refer to D'Avenant's opera, called the "Siege of Rhodes," +acted in 1662; and that the expression, "in plays, he finds, you love +_mistakes_," alludes to the blunders of Teague, an Irish footman, +in Sir Robert Howard's play of the "Committee." The "Wild Gallant" was +revived and published in 1669, with a new prologue and epilogue, and +some other alterations, not of a nature, judging from the prologue, to +improve the morality of the piece. That the play had but indifferent +success in the action, the poet himself has informed us, with the +qualifying addition, that it more than once was the divertisement +of Charles II., by his own command. This honourable distinction it +probably acquired by the influence of the Countess of Castlemaine, +then the royal favourite, to whom Dryden addresses some verses on +her encouraging this play.--See Vol. XI p. 18.--The plot is borrowed +avowedly from the Spanish, and partakes of the unnatural incongruity, +common to the dramatic pieces of that nation, as also of the bustle +and intrigue, with which they are usually embroiled. Few modern +audiences would endure the absurd grossness of the deceit practised on +Lord Nonsuch in the fourth act; nor is the plot of Lady Constance, to +gain her lover, by marrying him in the disguise of a heathen divinity, +more grotesque than unnatural.--Yet, in the under characters, some +liveliness of dialogue is maintained; and the reader may be amused +with particular scenes, though, as a whole, the early fate of the play +was justly merited. + +These passages, in which the plot stands still, while the spectators +are entertained with flippant dialogue and repartee, are ridiculed in +the scene betwixt Prince Prettyman and Tom Thimble in the Rehearsal; +the facetious Mr Bibber being the original of the latter personage. +The character of Trice, at least his whimsical humour of drinking, +playing at dice by himself, and quarrelling as if engaged with a +successful gamester, is imitated from the character of Carlo, in +Jonson's "Every Man out of his Humour," who drinks with a supposed +companion, quarrels about the pledge, and tosses about the cups and +flasks in the imaginary brawl. We have heard similar frolics related +of a bon-vivant of the last generation, inventor of a game called +_solitaire_, who used to complain of the hardship of drinking by +himself, because the _toast came too often about_. + +The whole piece seems to have been intended as a sacrifice to popular +taste; and, perhaps, our poet only met a deserved fate, when he +stooped to sooth the depraved appetite, which his talents enabled him +to have corrected and purified. Something like this feeling may be +interred from the last lines of the second epilogue: + +Would you but change, for serious plot and verse, +This motley garniture of fool and farce; +Nor scorn a mode, because 'tis taught at home, +Which dues, like vests,[A] our gravity become; +Our poet yields you should this play refuse, +As tradesmen by the change of fashions lose, +With some content, their fripperies of France, +In hope it may their staple trade advance. + +[Footnote A: This seems to allude to the Polish dress, which, upon +his restoration, Charles wished to introduce into Britain. It was not +altered for the French, till his intimacy with that court was cemented +by pecuniary dependence.] + +In the prologue, the author indulges himself in a display of the terms +of astrology, of which vain science he was a believer and a student. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +It would be a great impudence in me to say much of a comedy, which has +had but indifferent success in the action. I made the town my judges, +and the greater part condemned it: after which, I do not think it +my concernment to defend it with the ordinary zeal of a poet for his +decried poem. Though Corneille is more resolute in his preface before +his _Pertharite_[A], which was condemned more universally than +this; for he avows boldly, that, in spite of censure, his play was +well and regularly written; which is more than I dare say for mine. +Yet it was received at court; and was more than once the divertisement +of his Majesty, by his own command; but I have more modesty than to +ascribe that to my merit, which was his particular act of grace. It +was the first attempt I made in dramatic poetry; and, I find since, a +very bold one, to begin with comedy, which is the most difficult +part of it. The plot was not originally my own; but so altered by me, +(whether for the better or worse I know not) that whoever the author +was, he could not have challenged a scene of it. I doubt not but you +will see in it the uncorrectness of a young writer; which is yet but a +small excuse for him, who is so little amended since. The best apology +I can make for it, and the truest, is only this, that you have, since +that time, received with applause, as bad, and as uncorrect plays from +other men. + +[Footnote A: "Le succés de cette tragédie à été si malheureux, que +pour m'epargner le chagrin de m'en souvenir, je n'en dirai presque +rien.--J'ajoute ici malgré sa disgrace, que les sentimens en sont +assez vifs et nobles, les vers assez bien tournes, et que la façon +dont le sujet s'explique dans la première scène ne manque pas +d'artifice." + +_Examen de Pertharite_.] + + + + +PROLOGUE, + +WHEN IT WAS FIRST ACTED. + +Is it not strange to hear a poet say, +He comes to ask you, how you like the play? +You have not seen it yet: alas! 'tis true; +But now your love and hatred judge, not you: +And cruel factions (bribed by interest) come, +Not to weigh merit, but to give their doom. +Our poet, therefore, jealous of th' event, +And (though much boldness takes) not confident, +Has sent me, whither you, fair ladies, too, +Sometimes upon as small occasions, go; +And, from this scheme, drawn for the hour and day, +Bid me enquire the fortune of his play. + +_The curtain drawn discovers two Astrologers; the prologue is +presented to them_. + +_1 Astrol. reads_, A figure of the heavenly bodies in their +several Apartments, Feb. the 5th, half-an-hour after three afternoon, +from whence you are to judge the success of a new play, called the +Wild Gallant. + +_2 Astrol_. Who must judge of it, we, or these gentlemen? We'll +not meddle with it, so tell your poet. Here are, in this house, the +ablest mathematicians in Europe for his purpose. + + They will resolve the question, ere they part. +_1 Att_. Yet let us judge it by the rules of art; + First Jupiter, the ascendant's lord disgraced, + In the twelfth house, and near grim Saturn placed, + Denote short life unto the play:-- +_2 Ast_. --Jove yet, + In his apartment Sagittary, set + Under his own root, cannot take much wrong. +_1 Ast_. Why then the life's not very short, nor long; +_2 Ast_. The luck not very good, nor very ill; +_Prole_. That is to say, 'tis as 'tis taken still. +_1 Ast_. But, brother, Ptolemy the learned says, + 'Tis the fifth house from whence we judge of plays. + Venus, the lady of that house, I find + Is Peregrine; your play is ill-designed; + It should have been but one continued song, + Or, at the least, a dance of three hours long. +_Ast_. But yet the greatest mischief does remain, + The twelfth apartment bears the lords of Spain; + Whence I conclude, it is your author's lot, + To be endangered by a Spanish plot. +_Prolo_. Our poet yet protection hopes from you, + But bribes you not with any thing that's new; + Nature is old, which poets imitate, + And, for wit, those, that boast their own estate, + Forget Fletcher and Ben before them went, + Their elder brothers, and that vastly spent; + So much, 'twill hardly be repair'd again, + Not, though supplied with all the wealth of Spain, + This play is English, and the growth your own; + As such, it yields to English plays alone. + He could have wish'd it better for your sakes, + But that, in plays, he finds you love mistakes: + Besides, he thought it was in vain to mend, + What you are bound in honour to defend; + That English wit, howe'er despised by some, + Like English valour, still may overcome. + + + + +PROLOGUE, + +WHEN REVIVED. + + +As some raw squire, by tender mother bred, +'Till one-and-twenty keeps his maidenhead; +(Pleased with some sport, which he alone does find; +And thinks a secret to all humankind;) +'Till mightily in love, yet half afraid, +He first attempts the gentle dairy maid: +Succeeding there, and, led by the renown +Of Whetston's park, he comes at length to town; +Where entered, by some school-fellow or friend, +He grows to break glass windows in the end: +His valour too, which with the watch began, +Proceeds to duel, and he kills his man. +By such degrees, while knowledge he did want, +Our unfledged author writ a Wild Gallant. +He thought him monstrous lewd, (I lay my life) +Because suspected with his landlord's wife; +But, since his knowledge of the town began, +He thinks him now a very civil man; +And, much ashamed of what he was before, +Has fairly play'd him at three wenches more. +'Tis some amends his frailties to confess; +Pray pardon him his want of wickedness: +He's towardly, and will come on apace; +His frank confession shows he has some grace. +You baulked him when he was a young beginner, +And almost spoiled a very hopeful sinner; +But if once more you slight his weak endeavour, +For aught I know, he may turn tail forever; + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + +Lord NONSUCH, _an old rich humorous lord_. +Justice TRICE, _his neighbour_. +Mr LOVEBY, _the Wild Gallant_. +Sir TIMOROUS, _a bashful knight_. +FAILER, } _hangers-on of_ Sir TIMOROUS. +BURR, } +BIBBER, _a tailor_. +SETSTONE, _a jeweller_. + +Lady CONSTANCE, Lord NONSUCH'S _daughter_, +Madam ISABELLA, _her cousin_. +Mrs BIBBER, _the tailors wife_. + +_Serjeants, Boy to LOVEBY, Servants, a Bawd and +Whores, Watch and Constable_. + + + +SCENE.--London. + + + +THE +WILD GALLANT. + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_FAILER entering to BURR, who is putting on his +buff-coat_. + + +_Fail_. What! not ready yet, man? + +_Burr_. You do not consider my voyage from Holland last night. + +_Fail_. Pish, a mere ferry; get up, get up: My cousin's maids will +come and blanket thee anon; art thou not ashamed to lie a-bed so long? + +_Burr_. I may be more ashamed to rise; and so you'll say, dear +heart, if you look upon my clothes: the best is, my buff-coat will +cover all. + +_Fail_. Egad, there goes more cunning than one would think to the +putting thy clothes together. Thy doublet and breeches are Guelphs and +Ghibellins to one another; and the stitches of thy doublet are so far +asunder, that it seems to hang together by the teeth. No man could +ever guess to what part of the body these fragments did belong, unless +he had been acquainted with 'em as long as thou hast been. If they +once lose their hold, they can never get together again, except by +chance the rags hit the tallies of one another. He, that gets into thy +doublet, must not think to do it by storm; no, he must win it inch by +inch, as the Turk did Rhodes. + +_Burr_. You are very merry with my wardrobe; but, till I am +provided of a better, I am resolved to receive all visits in this +truckle-bed. + +_Fail_. Then will I first scotch the wheels of it, that it may +not run: Thou hast cattle enough in it to carry it down stairs, and +break thy neck; 'tis got a yard nearer the door already. + +_Enter Boy_. + +_Boy_. Sir, Mr Bibber your tailor's below, and desires to speak +with you. + +_Fail_. He's an honest fellow, and a fashionable; he shall set +thee forth, I warrant thee. + +_Burr_. Ay; but where's the money for this, dear heart? + +_Fail_. Well, but what think you of being put into a suit of +clothes without money? [_Aside_. + +_Burr_. You speak of miracles. + +_Fail_. Do you not know Will Bibber's humour? + +_Burr_. Pr'ythee, what have I to do with his humour? + +_Fail_. Break but a jest, and he'll beg to trust thee for a +suit; nay, he will contribute to his own destruction, and give thee +occasions to make one. He has been my artificer these three years; +and, all the while, I have lived upon his favourable apprehension. +Boy, conduct him up. [_Exit Boy._ + +_Burr_. But what am I the better for this? I ne'er made jest in +all my life. + +_Fail._ A bare clinch will serve the turn; a car-wichet, a +quarter-quibble, or a pun. + +_Burr_. Wit from a Low Country soldier! One, that has conversed +with none but dull Dutchmen these ten years! What an unreasonable +rogue art thou? why, I tell thee, 'tis as difficult to me, as to pay +him ready money. + +_Fail_. Come, you shall be ruled for your own good; I'll +throw the clothes over you to help meditation. And, upon the first +opportunity, start you up, and surprise him with a jest. + +_Burr_. Well, I think this impossible to be done: but, however, +I'll attempt. [_Lies down_, FAILER _covers him_. + +_Fail_. Husht! he's coming up. + +_Enter BIBBER_. + +_Bib_. 'Morrow, Mr Failer: What, I warrant you think I come a +dunning now? + +_Fail_. No, I vow to gad, Will; I have a better opinion of thy +wit, than to think thou would'st come to so little purpose. + +_Bib_. Pretty well that: No, no, my business is to drink my +morning's-draught in sack with you. + +_Fail_. Will not ale serve thy turn, Will? + +_Bib_. I had too much of that last night; I was a little +disguised, as they say. + +_Fail_. Why disguised? Hadst thou put on a clean band, or washed +thy face lately? Those are thy disguises, Bibber. + +_Bib_. Well, in short, I was drunk; damnably drunk with ale; +great hogan-mogan bloody ale: I was porterly drunk, and that I hate of +all things in nature. + +_Burr, rising_.] And of all things in nature I love it best. + +_Bib_. Art thou there, i'faith? and why, old boy? + +_Burr_. Because, when I am porterly drunk, I can carry myself. + +_Bib_. Ha, ha, boy. + +_Fail_. This porter brings sad news to you, Will; you must +trust him for a suit of clothes, as bad as 'tis: Come, he's an honest +fellow, and loves the king. + +_Bib_. Why, it shall be my suit to him, that I may trust him. + +_Burr_. I grant your suit, sir. + +_Fail_. Burr, make haste and dress you; Sir Timorous dines here +to-day: you know him? + +_Burr_. Aye, aye, a good honest young fellow; but no conjurer; he +and I are very kind. + +_Fail_. Egad, we two have a constant revenue out of him: He would +now be admitted suitor to my Lady Constance Nonsuch, my Lord Nonsuch's +daughter; our neighbour here in Fleetstreet. + +_Burr_. Is the match in any forwardness? + +_Fail_. He never saw her before yesterday, and will not be +brought to speak to her this month yet. + +_Burr_. That's strange. + +_Fail_. Such a bashful knight did I never see; but we must move +for him. + +_Bib_. They say, here's a great dinner to be made to-day here, at +your cousin Trice's, on purpose for the interview. + +_Burr_. What, he keeps up his old humour still? + +_Fail_. Yes, certain; he admires eating and drinking well, as +much as ever, and measures every man's wit by the goodness of his +palate. + +_Burr_. Who dines here besides? + +_Fail_. Jack Loveby. + +_Bib_. O, my guest. + +_Burr_. He has ever had the repute of a brave clear-spirited +fellow. + +_Fail_. He's one of your Dear Hearts, a debauchee. + +_Burr_. I love him the better for't: The best heraldry of a +gentleman is a clap, derived to him from three generations. What +fortune has he? + +_Fail_. Good fortune at all games; but no estate: He had one; but +he has made a devil on't long ago. He's a bold fellow, I vow to gad: +A person, that keeps company with his betters; and commonly has gold +in's pockets. Come, Bibber, I see thou longest to be at thy morning's +watering: I'll try what credit I have with the butler. + +_Bib_. Come away, my noble Festus and new customer. + +_Fail_. Now will he drink, till his face be no bigger than a +three-pence. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter LOVEBY and BOY; followed by FRANCES, BIBBER'S wife_. + +_Lov_. Nay, the devil take thee, sweet landlady, hold thy tongue: +Was't not enough thou hast scolded me from my lodging, which, as long +as I rent it, is my castle; but to follow me here to Mr Trice's, +where I am invited; and to discredit me before strangers, for a lousy, +paltry sum of money? + +_Fran_. I tell you truly, Mr Loveby, my husband and I cannot live +by love, as they say; we must have wherewithal, as they say; and pay +for what we take; or some shall smoke fort. + +_Lov_. Smoke! why a piece of hung beef in Holland is not more +smoked, than thou hast smoked me already. Thou knowest I am now +fasting; let me have but fair play; when I have lined my sides with a +good dinner, I'll engage upon reputation to come home again, and thou +shall scold at me all the afternoon. + +_Fran_. I'll take the law on you. + +_Lov_. The law allows none to scold in their own causes: What +dost thou think the lawyers take our money for? + +_Fran_. I hope you intend to deal by my husband like a gentleman, +as they say? + +_Lov_. Then I should beat him most unmercifully, and not pay him +neither. + +_Fran_. Come, you think to fobb me off with your jests, as you +do my husband; but it won't be: yonder he comes, and company with him. +Husband, husband! why, William, I say! + +_Enter BIBBER, BURR, and FAILER, at the other end_. + +_Lov_. Speak softly, and I will satisfy thee. + +_Fran_. You shall not satisfy me, sir; pay me for what you owe +me, for chamber-rent and diet, and many a good thing besides, that +shall be nameless. + +_Lov_. What a stygian woman's this, to talk thus? Hold thy tongue +'till they be gone, or I'll cuckold thy husband. + +_Fran_. You cuckold him--would you durst cuckold him! I will not +hold my tongue, sir. + +_Bib_. Yonder's my guest; what say you, gentlemen? Shall I call +him to go down with us? + +_Lov_. I must make a loose from her, there's no other way. Save +ye, Mr Failer; is your cousin Trice stirring yet? Answer me quickly, +sir, is your cousin Trice yet stirring? + +_Fail_. I'll go and see, sir. Sure the man has a mind to beat me; +but I vow to gad I have no mind to be beaten by him. Come away, Burr. +Will, you follow us. + +_Bib_. I'll be with you immediately. + +[_Exeunt BURR and FAILER_. + +_Lov_. Who was that with Failer, Will? + +_Bib_. A man at arms, that's come from Holland. + +_Lov_. A man out at arms thou mean'st, Will. + +_Bib_. Good, i'faith. + +_Fran_. Aye, aye; you run questing up and down after your +gambols, and your jests, William; and never mind the main chance, +as they say: Pray get in your debts, and think upon your wife and +children. + +_Lov_. Think upon the sack at Carey-house, with the Abricot +flavour, Will. Hang a wife; what is she, but a lawful kind of +manslayer? Every little hug in bed is a degree of murdering thee: and +for thy children, fear 'em not: thy part of 'em shall be taylors, +and they shall trust; and those, thy customers get for thee, shall +be gentlemen, and they shall be trusted by their brethren; and so thy +children shall live by one another. + +_Bib_. Did you mark that, Frances? There was wit now; he call'd +me cuckold to my face, and yet for my heart I cannot be angry with +him. I perceive you love Frances, sir; and I love her the better for +your sake; speak truly, do you not like such a pretty brown kind of +woman? + +_Lov_. I do i'faith, Will; your fair women have no substance in +'em, they shrink in the wetting. + +_Fran_. Well, you may be undone if you will, husband: I hear +there are two or three actions already out against him: You may be the +last, if you think good. + +_Bib_. Tis true she tells me; I love your wit well, sir; but I +must cut my coat according to my cloth. + +_Fran_. Sir, we'll come by our own as we can; if you put us oft' +from week to week thus. + +_Lov_. Nay, but good landlady-- + +_Fran_. Will good landlady set on the pot, as they say; or make +the jack go? then I'll hear you. + +_Bib_. Now she's too much on t'other hand; hold your prating, +Frances; or I'll put you out of your Pater Nosters, with a sorrow to +you. + +_Fran_. I did but lay the law open to him, as they say, whereby +to get our money in: But if you knew how he had used me, husband! + +_Bib_. Has he used you, Frances? put so much more into his bill +for lodging. + +_Lov_. Honest Will, and so he died[A]; I thank thee, little +Bibber, being sober, and, when I am drunk, I will kiss thee for't. + +[Footnote A: This expression seems proverbial.] + +_Bib_. Thank me, and pay me my money, sir; though I could not +forbear my jest, I do not intend to lose by you; if you pay me not the +sooner, I must provide you another lodging; say I give you warning. + +_Lov_. Against next quarter, landlord? + +_Bib_. Of an hour, sir. + +_Lov_. That's short warning, Will. + +_Bib_. By this hand you shall up into the garret, where the +little bed is; I'll let my best room to a better pay-master: you know +the garret, sir? + +_Franc_. Aye, he knows it, by a good token, husband. + +_Lov_. I sweat to think of that garret, Will; thou art not so +unconscionable to put me there? Why, 'tis a kind of little ease[B], to +cramp thy rebellious prentices in; I have seen an usurer's iron chest +would hold two on't: A penny looking-glass cannot stand upright in +the window, that and the brush tills it: the hat-case must be disposed +under the bed, and the comb-case will hang down, from the ceiling to +the floor. If I chance to dine in my chamber, I must stay till I am +empty before I can get out: and if I chance to spill the chamber-pot, +it will overflow it from top to bottom. + +[Footnote B: A kind of dungeon, so called from its construction.] + +_Bib_. Well, for the description of the garret, I'll bate you +something of the bill. + +_Lov_. All, all, good Will; or, to stay thy fury till my rents +come up, I will describe thy little face. + +_Bib_. No, rather describe your own little money; I am sure +that's so little it is not visible. + +_Lov_. You are in the right, I have not a cross at present, as I +am a sinner; an you will not believe me, I'll turn my pockets inside +outward--Ha! What's the meaning of this? my pockets heavy! has my +small officer put in counters to abuse me?--How now! yellow boys, by +this good light? sirrah, varlet, how came I by this gold? Ha! + +_Boy_. What gold do you mean, sir? the devil a piece you had this +morning. In these last three weeks, I have almost forgot what my teeth +were made for; last night good Mrs Bibber here took pity on me, and +crumm'd me a mess of gruel with the children, and I popt and popt my +spoon three or four times to my mouth, before I could find the way +to't. + +_Lov_. 'Tis strange, how I should come by so much money! +[_Aside_.] Has there been nobody about my chamber this morning, +landlady? + +_Boy_. O yes, sir; I forgot to tell you that: This morning a +strange fellow, as ever eyes beheld, would needs come up to you, when +you were asleep; but when he came down again, he said, he had not +waked you. + +_Lov_. Sure this fellow, whoe'er he was, was sent by Fortune to +mistake me into so much money.--Well, this is not the first time my +necessities have been strangely supplied: some Cadua or other has a +kindness for me, that's certain: [_Aside_.]--Well, Mons. Bibber, +from henceforward I'll keep my wit for more refined spirits; you shall +be paid with dirt;--there's money for you. + +_Bib_. Nay, good sir. + +_Lov_. What's your sum? tell it out: will the money burn your +fingers? Sirrah, boy, fetch my suit with the gold-lace at sleeves, +from tribulation. + +[_Gives him gold. Exit Boy_.] Mr Taylor, I shall turn the better +bill-man[A], and knock that little coxcomb of yours, if you do not +answer me what I owe you. + +[Footnote A: Alluding to the ancient weapon called the bill; a +never-failing source of puns in old plays.] + +_Bib_. Pray, sir, trouble not yourself; 'tis nothing; i'feck now +'tis not. + +_Lov_. How nothing, sir? + +_Fran_. An't, please your worship, it was seventeen pounds and +a noble yesterday at noon, your worship knows: And then your worship +came home ill last night, and complained of your worship's head; and +I sent for three dishes of tea for your good worship, and that was six +pence more, and please your worship's honour. + +_Lov_. Well; there's eighteen pieces, tell 'em. + +_Bib_. I say, Frances, do not take 'em. + +_Lov_, What, is all your pleading of necessity come to this? + +_Bib_. Now I see he will pay, he shall not pay. Frances, go home, +and fetch him the whole bag of forty pounds; I'll lend it him, and the +lease of the house too; he shall want for nothing. + +_Lov_. Take the money, or I'll leave your house. + +_Bib_. Nay, rather than displease his worship, take it. [_She +takes it_. + +_Lov_. So, so; go home quietly and suckle my godson, Frances. +[_Exit FRANCES_. + +_Bib_. If you are for the cellar, sir, you know the way. [_Exit +BIBBER_. + +_Lov_. No, my first visit shall be to my mistress, the Lady +Constance Nonsuch. She's discreet, and how the devil she comes to love +me, I know not; yet I am pretty confident she loves me. Well, no woman +can be wiser, than you-know-what will give her leave to be. + +_Enter Lady CONSTANCE, and Madam ISABELLA_. + +_Isa_. Look, look; is not that your servant Loveby? + +_Lov_. Tis she; there's no being seen, 'till I am better habited. +[_Exit_ LOVEBY. + +_Const_. Let him go, and take no notice of him: Poor rogue! he +little thinks I know his poverty. + +_Isa_. And less, that you supply it by an unknown hand. + +_Const_. Aye, and falsified my father's key to do it. + +_Isa_. How can you answer this to your discretion? + +_Const_. Who could see him want, she loves? + +_Enter SETSTONE_. + +_Isa_. O here's Mr Setstone come, your jeweller, madam. + +_Const_. Welcome, Setstone; hast thou performed thy visit +happily, and without discovery? + +_Set_. As you would wish it, madam: I went up to his chamber +without interruption; and there found him drowning his cares, and +pacifying his hunger, with sleep; which advantage I took, and; +undiscovered by him, left the gold divided in his pockets. + +_Const_. Well, this money will furnish him, I hope, that we may +have his company again. + +_Set_. Two hundred and fifty good pounds, madam. Has your father +missed it yet? + +_Const_. No; if he had, we should have all heard on't before now: +But, pray God Monsieur Loveby has no other haunts to divert him, now +he's ransomed! What a kind of woman is his landlady? + +_Set_. Well enough to serve a tailor; or to kiss when he comes +home drunk, or wants money; but far unlikely to create jealousy in +your ladyship. + +_Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Madam, Justice Trice desires your ladyship's excuse, +that he has not yet performed the civilities of his hour to you; he is +dispatching a little business, about which he is earnestly employed. + +_Const_. He's master of his own occasions. [_Exit Servant_. + +_Isa_. We shall see him anon, with his face as red as if it had +been boiled in pump-water: But, when comes this mirror of knighthood, +that is to be presented you for your servant? + +_Const_. Oh, 'tis well thought on; 'faith thou know'st my +affections are otherwise disposed; he's rich, and thou want'st a +fortune; atchieve him, if thou can'st; 'tis but trying, and thou hast +as much wit as any wench in England. + +_Isa_. On condition you'll take it for a courtesy to be rid of an +ass, I care not if I marry him: the old fool, your father, would be so +importunate to match you with a young fool, that, partly for quietness +sake, I am content to take him. + +_Const_. To take him! then you make sure on't. + +_Isa_. As sure, as if the sack posset were already eaten. + +_Const_. But, what means wilt thou use to get him? + +_Isa_. I'll bribe Failer; he's the man. + +_Const_. Why, this knight is his inheritance; he lives upon him: +Do'st thou think he'll ever admit thee to govern him? No, he fears thy +wit too much: Besides, he has already received an hundred pounds, to +make the match between Sir Timorous and me. + +_Isa_. 'Tis all one for that; I warrant you, he sells me the +fee-simple of him. + +_Set_. Your father, madam-- + +_Enter_ NONSUCH. + +_Isa_. The tempest is risen; I see it in his face; he puffs +and blows yonder, as if two of the winds were fighting upwards and +downwards in his belly. + +_Set_. Will he not find your false keys, madam? + +_Isa_. I hope he will have more humanity than to search us. + +_Const_. You are come after us betimes, sir. + +_Non_. Oh child! I am undone; I am robbed, I am robbed; I have +utterly lost all stomach to my dinner. + +_Const_. Robbed! good my lord, how, or of what? + +_Non_. Two hundred and fifty pounds, in fair gold, out of my +study: An hundred of it I was to have paid a courtier this afternoon +for a bribe. + +_Set_. I protest, my lord, I had as much ado to get that parcel +of gold for your lordship-- + +_Non_. You must get me as much more against to-morrow; for then +my friend at court is to pay his mercer. + +_Isa_. Nay, if that be all, there's no such haste: the courtiers +are not so forward to pay their debts. + +_Const_. Has not the monkey been in the study? He may have +carried it away, and dropt it under the garden-window: the grass is +long enough to hide it. + +_Non_. I'll go see immediately. + +_Enter_ FAILER, BURR, TIMOROUS. + +_Fail_. This is the gentleman, my lord. + +_Non_. He's welcome. + +_Fail_. And this the particular of his estate. + +_Non_. That's welcome too. + +_Fail_. But, besides the land here mentioned, he has wealth in +specie. + +_Non_. A very fine young gentleman. + +_Tim_. Now, my lord, I hope there's no great need of wooing: I +suppose my estate will speak for me; yet, if you please to put in a +word-- + +_Non_. That will I instantly. + +_Tim_. I hope I shall have your good word, too, madam, to your +cousin for me. [_To_ ISABELLA. + +_Isa_. Any thing within my power, Sir Timorous. + +_Non_. Daughter, here's a person of quality, and one, that loves +and honours you exceedingly-- + +_Tim_. Nay, good my lord! you discover all at first dash. + +_Non_. Let me alone, sir; have not I the dominion over my own +daughter? Constance, here's a knight in love with you, child. + +_Const_. In love with me, my lord! it is not possible. + +_Non_. Here he stands, that will make it good, child. + +_Tim_. Who, I, my lord? I hope her ladyship has a better opinion +of me than so. + +_Non_. What! are not you in love with my daughter? I'll be sworn +you told me so but even now: I'll eat words for no man. + +_Tim_. If your ladyship will believe all reports, that are raised +on men of quality-- + +_Non_. He told it me with his own mouth, child: I'll eat words +for no man; that's more than ever I told him yet. + +_Fail_. You told him so but just now; fie, Sir Timorous. + +_Non_. He shall have no daughter of mine, an he were a thousand +knights; he told me, he hoped I would speak for him: I'll eat no man's +words; that's more than ever I told him yet. + +_Isa_. You need not keep such a pudder about eating his words; +you see he has eaten 'em already for you. + +_Non_. I'll make him stand to his words, and he shall not marry +my daughter neither: By this good day, I will. [_Exit_ NONSUCH. + +_Const_. 'Tis an ill day to him; he has lost two hundred and +fifty pounds in't. [_To_ ISABELLA. + +_Burr_. He swears at the rate of two thousand pounds a year, if +the Rump act were still in being. + +_Fail_. He's in passion, man; and, besides, he has been a great +fanatic formerly, and now has got a habit of swearing, that he may be +thought a cavalier. + +_Burr_. What noise is that? I think I hear your cousin Trice's +voice. + +_Fail_. I'll go see. [_Exit_ FAIL. + +_Isa_. Come, Sir Timorous, be not discouraged: 'Tis but an old +man's frowardness; he's always thus against rain. + +_Enter_ FAILER. + +_Fail_. O madam, follow me quickly; and if you do not see sport, +melancholy be upon my head. + +[_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. + +_The_ SCENE _changes, and_ TRICE _is discovered playing at +tables by himself, with spectacles on, a bottle, and parmezan by him; +they return and see him, undiscovered by him_. + +_Trice_. Cinque and quatre: My cinque I play here, sir; my quatre +here, sir: Now for you, sir: But first I'll drink to you, sir; upon my +faith I'll do you reason, sir: Mine was thus full, sir! Pray mind your +play, sir:--Size ace I have thrown: I'll play 'em at length, sir. + +--Will you, sir? Then you have made a blot sir; I'll try if I can +enter: I have hit you, sir. + +--I think you can cog a dye, sir. + +--I cog a dye, sir? I play as fair as you, or any man. + +--You lie, sir. + +--How! lie, sir? I'll teach you what 'tis to give a gentleman the lie, +sir. + +[_Throws down the tables_. + +[_They all laugh and discover themselves_. + +_Isa_. Is this your serious business? + +_Trice_. O you rogue, are you there? You are welcome, huswife; +and so are you, Constance, _Fa tol de re tol de re la_. [_Claps +their backs_. + +_Isa_. Pr'ythee be not so rude, Trice. + +_Trice_. Huswife Constance, I'll have you into my larder, and +shew you my provision: I have cockles, dainty fat cockles, that came +in the night; if they had seen the day, I would not have given a fart +for 'em. I would the king had 'em. + +_Const_. He has as good, I warrant you. + +_Trice_. Nay, that's a lie. I could sit and cry for him +sometimes; he does not know what 'tis to eat a good meal in a whole +year. His cooks are asses: I have a delicate dish of ruffs to dinner, +sirrah. + +_Const_. To dinner! + +_Trice_. To dinner! why by supper they had been past their prime. +I'll tell thee the story of 'em: I have a friend-- + +_Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Sir, dinner's upon the table. + +_Trice_. Well, well; I have a friend, as I told you-- + +_Serv_. Dinner stays, sir: 'tis dinner that stays: Sure he will +hear now. + +_Trice_. I have a friend, as I told you-- + +_Isa_. I believe he's your friend, you are so loth to part with +him. + +_Trice_. Away, away;--I'll tell you the story between the +courses. Go you to the cook immediately, sirrah; and bring me word +what we have to supper, before we go to dinner: I love to have the +satisfaction of the day before me. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + +_Enter, as from Dinner_, TRICE, TIMOROUS, FAILER, BURR, +CONSTANCE, ISABELLA. + + +_Trice_. Speak thy conscience; was it not well dressed, sirrah? + +_Tim_. What think you of the Park, after our plenteous +entertainment, madam? + +_Isa_. I defy the Park, and all its works. + +_Const_. Come, Mr Trice, we'll walk in your garden. + +[_Exeunt all but_ FAILER _and_ BURR. + +_Fail_. O, one thing I had almost forgot to tell you; one of us +two must ever be near Sir Timorous. + +_Burr_. Why? + +_Fail_. To guard our interest in him from the enemy, madam +Isabella; who, I doubt, has designs upon him. I do not fear her wit, +but her sex; she carries a prevailing argument about her. + +_Enter_ BIBBER _with a Bottle_. + +_Bib_. By this hand, I have alight upon the best wine in your +cousin's cellar; drink but one glass to me, to shew I am welcome, and +I am gone. + +_Fail_. Here then, honest Will; 'tis a cup of forbearance to +thee. + +_Bib_. Thank you, sir, I'll pledge you--now here's to you again. + +_Fail_. Come away; what is't, Will? + +_Bib_. 'Tis what you christened it, a cup of forbearance, sir. + +_Fail_. Why, I drank that to thee, Will, that thou shouldst +forbear thy money. + +_Bib_. And I drink this to you, sir; henceforward I'll forbear +working for you. + +_Fail_. Then say I: + +_Take a little Bibber, +And threw him in the river; +And if he will trust never, +Then there let him lie ever._ + +_Bib_. Then say I: + +_Take a little Failer, +And throw him to the jailor; +And there let him lie, +Till he has paid his tailor._ + +_Burr_. You are very smart upon one another, gentlemen. + +_Fail_. This is nothing between us; I use to tell him of his +title, _Fiery facias_; and his setting dog, that runs into +ale-houses before him, and comes questing out again, if any of the +woots, his customers, be within. + +_Bib_. I'faith 'tis true; and I use to tell him of his two +capon's tails about his hat, that are laid spread-eaglewise to make a +feather; I would go into the snow at any time, and in a quarter of +an hour I would come in with a better feather upon my head; and so +farewel, sir; I have had the better on you hitherto, and for this time +I am resolved to keep it. + +[_Exit_ BIBBER. + +_Fail_. The rogue's too hard for me; but the best on't is, I have +my revenge upon his purse. + +_Enter_ ISABELLA. + +_Isa_. Came not Sir Timorous this way, gentlemen? He left us in +the garden, and said he would look out my Lord Nonsuch, to make his +peace with him. + +_Fail_. Madam, I like not your enquiring after Sir Timorous: I +suspect you have some design upon him: You would fain undermine your +cousin, and marry him yourself. + +_Isa_. Suppose I should design it, what are you the worse for my +good fortune? Shall I make a proposition to you? I know you two carry +a great stroke with him: Make the match between us, and propound to +yourselves what advantages you can reasonably hope: You shall chouse +him of horses, cloaths, and money, and I'll wink at it. + +_Burr_. And if he will not be choused, shall we beat him out +on't? + +_Isa_. For that, as you can agree. + +_Fail_. Give us a handsel of the bargain; let us enjoy you, and +'tis a match. + +_Isa_. Grammercy i'faith, boys; I love a good offer, howe'er the +world goes; but you would not be so base to wrong him that way? + +_Fail_. I vow to gad but I would, madam: In a horse, or a woman, +I may lawfully cheat my own father: Besides, I know the knight's +complexion; he would be sure to follow other women; and all that. + +_Isa_. Nay, if he fought with the sword, he should give me leave +to fight with the scabbard. + +_Burr_. What say you, madam? Is't a bargain? + +_Isa_. 'Tis but a promise; and I have learnt a court trick +for performing any thing [_Aside_]. Well, gentlemen, when I am +married I'll think upon you; you'll grant there's a necessity I should +cuckold him, if it were but to prove myself a wit. + +_Fail_. Nay, there's no doubt you'll cuckold him, and all that; +for look you, he's a person fit for nothing else; but I fear we shall +not have the graffing of the horns; we must have livery and seisin +beforehand of you, or I protest to gad we believe you not. + +_Isa_. I have past my word; is't not sufficient? What! do you +think I would tell a lie to save such a paltry thing as a night's +lodging?--Hark you, sir. [To BURR. + +_Fail_. Now will she attempt Burr; egad, she has found him out +for the weaker vessel. + +_Isa_. I have no kindness for that Failer; we'll strike him out, +and manage Sir Timorous ourselves. + +_Burr_. Indeed we won't. + +_Isa_. Failer's a rook; and, besides, he's such a debauched +fellow-- + +_Burr_. I am ten times worse. + +_Isa_. Leave it, and him that taught it you: You have virtuous +inclinations, and I would not have you ruin yourself. He, that serves +many mistresses, surfeits on his diet, and grows dead to the whole +sex: 'Tis the folly in the world next long ears and braying. + +_Burr_. Now I'm sure you have a mind to me; when a woman once +falls a preaching, the next thing is ever use and application. + +_Isa_. Forbear your rudeness!-- + +_Burr_. Then I am sure you mean to jilt me: You decline Failer, +because he has wit; and you think me such an ass, that you may pack me +off so soon as you are married; no, no, I'll not venture certainties +for uncertainties. + +_Isa_. I can hold no longer;--Mr Failer, what do you think this +fellow was saying of you? + +_Fail_. Of me, madam? + +_Isa_. That you were one of the arrantest cowards in Christendom, +though you went for one of the Dear Hearts; that your name had been +upon more posts than playbills; and that he had been acquainted with +you these seven years, drunk and sober, and yet could never fasten a +quarrel upon you. + +_Burr_. Do you believe this, dear heart? + +_Isa_. If you deny it, I'll take his sword, and force you to +confess it. + +_Fail_. I vow to gad; this will not do, madam: You shall not set +us at variance so easily; neither shall you have Sir Timorous. + +_Isa_. No! then mark my words: I'll marry him in spite of you; +and, which is worse, you shall both work my ends, and I'll discard you +for your pains. + +_Fail_. You shall not touch a bit of him: I'll preserve his +humbles from you, egad; they shall be his keeper's fees[A]. + +[Footnote A: The keeper of a royal forest had for his fees the skin, +head, umbles (_i.e._ inwards), chine, and shoulders. HOLINSHED'S +_Chronicle_, vol. i. p. 104.] + +_Burr_. She shall cut an atom sooner than divide us. +[_Exeunt_ BURR _and_ FAILER. + +_Enter_ CONSTANCE. + +_Const_. I have given 'em the slip in the garden, to come and +overhear thee: No fat overgrown virgin of forty ever offered herself +so dog-cheap, or was more despised; methinks now this should mortify +thee exceedingly. + +_Isa_. Not a whit the more for that: Cousin mine, our sex is not +so easily put out of conceit with our own beauties. + +_Const_. Thou hast lost the opinion of thy honesty, and got +nothing in recompence: Now that's such an oversight in a lady-- + +_Isa_. You are deceived; they think me too virtuous for their +purpose; but I have yet another way to try, and you shall help me. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY, _new habited_. + +_Const_. Mr Loveby, welcome, welcome: Where have you been this +fortnight? + +_Lov_. Faith, madam, out of town, to see a little thing that's +fallen to me upon the death of a grandmother. + +_Const_. You thank death for the windfall, servant: But why are +you not in mourning for her? + +_Lov_. Troth, madam, it came upon me so suddenly, I had not time: +'Twas a fortune utterly unexpected by me. + +_Isa_. Why, was your grandmother so young, you could not look for +her decease? + +_Lov_. Not for that neither; but I had many other kindred, whom +she might have left it to; only she heard I lived here in fashion, and +spent my money in the eye of the world. + +_Const_. You forge these things prettily; but I have heard you +are as poor as a decimated cavalier, and had not one foot of land in +all the world. + +_Lov_. Rivals' tales, rivals' tales, madam. + +_Const_. Where lies your land, sir? + +_Lov_. I'll tell you, madam, it has upon it a very fair manor +house; from one side you have in prospect an hanging garden. + +_Isa_. Who was hanged there? not your grandmother, I hope? + +_Lov_. In the midst of it you have a fountain: You have seen +that at Hampton-court? it will serve to give you a slight image of +it. Beyond the garden you look to a river through a perspective of +fruit-trees; and beyond the river you see a mead so flowery!--Well, I +shall never be at quiet, till we two make hay there. + +_Const_. But where lies this paradise? + +_Lov_. Pox on't; I am thinking to sell it, it has such a +villanous unpleasant name, it would have sounded so harsh in a lady's +ear. But for the fountain, madam-- + +_Const_. The fountain's a poor excuse, it will not hold water; +come, the name, the name. + +_Lov_. Faith, it is come so lately into my hands, that I have +forgot the name on't. + +_Isa_. That's much, now, that you should forget the name, and yet +could make such an exact description of the place. + +_Lov_. If you would needs know, the name's Bawdy.--Sure this +will give a stop to their curiosity. [_Aside_. + +_Isa_. At least you will tell us in what county it lies, that my +cousin may send to enquire about it: come, this shall not serve your +turn; tell us any town that's near it. + +_Lov_. 'Twill be somewhat too far to send; it lies in the very +north of Scotland. + +_Isa_. In good time, a paradise in the Highlands; is't not so, +sir? + +_Const_. It seems you went post, servant: in troth you are a rank +rider, to go to the north of Scotland, stay and take possession, and +return again, in ten days time. + +_Isa_. I never knew your grandmother was a Scotch woman: Is +she not a Tartar too? Pray whistle for her, and let's see her dance; +come--whist, grannee! + +_Const_. Fie, fie, servant; what, no invention in you? all this +while a-studying for a name of your manor? come, come, where lies it? +tell me. + +_Lov_. No, faith, I am wiser than so; I'll discover my seat to no +man; so I shall have some damned lawyer keep a prying into my title, +to defeat me of it. + +_Const_. How then shall I be satisfied, there is such a thing in +nature? + +_Lov_. Tell me what jewel you would wear, and you shall have it: +Enquire into my money, there's the trial. + +_Const_. Since you are so flush, sir, you shall give me a locket +of diamonds, of three hundred pounds. + +_Isa_. That was too severe; you know he has but two hundred and +fifty pounds to bestow. [_To her. + +Lov_. Well, you shall have it, madam: But I cannot higgle; I know +you'll say it did not cost above two hundred pieces. + +_Isa_. I'll be hanged if he does not present you with a parcel of +melted flints set in gold, or Norfolk pebbles. + +_Lov_. Little gentlewoman, you are so keen--Madam, this night +I have appointed business, to-morrow I'll wait upon you with it. +[_Exit_ LOVEBY. + +_Isa_. By that time he has bought his locket, and paid his +landlady, all his money will be gone. But do you mean to prosecute +your plot to see him this evening? + +_Const_. Yes, and that very privately; if my father know it, I am +undone. + +_Enter_ SETSTONE. + +_Isa_. I heard him say, this night he had appointed business. + +_Set_. Why, that was it, madam; according to your order, I put on +a disguise, and found him in the Temple-walks: Having drawn him aside, +I told him, if he expected happiness, he must meet me in a blind +alley, I nam'd to him, on the back side of Mr Trice's house, just at +the close of evening; there he should be satisfied from whom he had +his supplies of money. + +_Const_. And how did he receive the summons? + +_Set_. Like a bold Hector of Troy; without the least doubt or +scruple: But, the jest on't was, he would needs believe that I was the +devil. + +_Const_. Sure he was afraid to come then? + +_Set_. Quite contrary; he told me I need not be so shy, to +acknowledge myself to him; he knew I was the devil; but he had learnt +so much civility, as not to press his friend to a farther discovery +than he was pleased. I should see I had to do with a gentleman; and +any courtesy I should confer on him, he would not be unthankful; for +he hated ingratitude of all things. + +_Const_. 'Twas well carried not to disabuse him: I laugh to +think what sport I shall have anon, when I convince him of his lies, +and let him know I was the devil, to whom he was beholden for his +money: Go, Setstone; and in the same disguise be ready for him. +[_Exit_ SETSTONE. + +_Isa_. How dare you trust this fellow? + +_Const_. I must trust some body: Gain has made him mine, and now +fear will keep him faithful. + +_To them_, BURR, FAILER, TIMOROUS, TRICE, _and_ NONSUCH. + +_Fail_. Pray, my lord, take no pique at it: 'Tis not given to all +men to be confident: Egad, you shall see Sir Timorous will redeem all +upon the next occasion. + +_Non_. A raw miching boy. + +_Isa_. And what are you but an old boy of five and fifty? I never +knew any thing so humoursome--I warrant you, Sir Timorous; I'll speak +for you. + +_Non_. Would'st thou have me be friends with him? for thy sake +he shall only add five hundred a-year to her jointure, and I'll be +satisfied: Come you hither, sir. + +[_Here_ TRICE _and_ NONSUCH _and_ TIMOROUS _talk +privately_; BURR _with_ FAILER _apart_, CONSTANCE +_with_ ISABELLA. + +_Const_. You'll not find your account in this trick to get Failer +beaten; 'tis too palpable and open. + +_Isa_. I warrant you 'twill pass upon Burr for a time: So my +revenge and your interest will go on together. + +_Fail_. Burr, there's mischief a-brewing, I know it by their +whispering, I vow to gad: Look to yourself, their design is on you; +for my part, I am a person that am above 'em. + +_Tim_. to _Trice_. But then you must speak for me, Mr Trice: +and you too, my lord. + +_Non_. If you deny't again, I'll beat you; look to't, boy. + +_Trice_. Come on; I'll make the bargain. + +_Isa_. You were ever good in a flesh-market. + +_Trice_. Come, you little harlotry; what satisfaction can you +give me for running away before the ruffs came in? + +_Const_. Why, I left you to 'em, that ever invite your own belly +to the greatest part of all your feasts. + +_Trice_. I have brought you a knight here, huswife, with a +plentiful fortune to furnish out a table; and what would you more? +Would you be an angel in heaven? + +_Isa_. Your mind's ever upon your belly. + +_Trice_. No: 'tis sometimes upon yours: But, what say'st thou to +sir Timorous, little Constance? + +_Const_. Would you have me married to that king Midas's face? + +_Trice_. Midas me no Midas; he's a wit; he understands eating and +drinking well: _Poeta coquus_, the heathen philosopher could tell +you that. + +_Const_. Come on, sir: what's your will with me? [_Laughs_. + +_Tim_. Why, madam, I could only wish we were a little better +acquainted, that we might not laugh at one another so. + +_Const_. If the fool puts forward, I am undone. + +_Tim_. Fool!--do you know me, madam? + +_Const_. You may see I know you, because I call you by your name. + +_Fail_. You must endure these rebukes with patience, Sir +Timorous. + +_Const_. What, are you planet struck? Look you, my lord, the +gentleman's tongue-tied. + +_Non_. This is past enduring. + +_Fail_. 'Tis nothing, my lord;--courage, Sir Timorous. + +_Non_. I say 'tis past enduring; that's more than ever I told you +yet: Do you come to make a fool of my daughter? + +_Isa_. Why lord-- + +_Non_. Why lady--[_Exit_ NONSUCH. + +_Trice_. Let's follow the old man, and pacify him. + +_Isa_. Now, cousin,--[_Exeunt_ ISA. TRICE, BURR. + +_Const_. Well, Mr Failer, I did not think you, of all the rest, +would have endeavoured a thing so much against my inclination, as +this marriage: if you had been acquainted with my heart, I am sure you +would not. + +_Fail_. What can the meaning of this be? you would not have me +believe you love me; and yet how otherwise to understand you I vow to +gad I cannot comprehend. + +_Const_. I did not say I loved you; but if I should take a fancy +to your person and humour, I hope it is no crime to tell it you. Women +are tied to hard unequal laws: The passion is the same in us, and +yet we are debarred the freedom to express it. You make poor Grecian +beggars of us ladies; our desires must have no language, but only be +fastened to our breasts. + +_Fail_. Come, come; egad I know the whole sex of you: Your love's +at best but a kind: of blind-man's-buff, catching at him that's next +in your way. + +_Const_. Well, sir, I can take nothing ill from you; when 'tis +too late you'll see how unjust you have been to me. I have said too +much already.--[_Is going_. + +_Fail_. Nay stay, sweet madam! I vow to gad my fortune's better +than I could imagine. + +_Const_. No, pray let me go, sir; perhaps I was in jest. + +_Fail_. Really, madam, I look upon you as a person of such worth, +and all that, that I vow to gad I honour you of all persons in the +world; and though I am a person that am inconsiderable in the world, +and all that, madam, for a person of your worth and excellency I +would-- + +_Const_. What would you, sir? + +_Fail_. Sacrifice my life and fortunes, I vow to gad, madam. + +_Enter_ ISABELLA, BURR, _and_ TIMOROUS, _at a distance +from them_. + +_Isa_. There's Failer close in talk with my cousin; he's +soliciting your suit, I warrant you, Sir Timorous: Do but observe with +what passion he courts for you. + +_Burr_. I do not like that kneading of her hand though. + +_Isa_. Come, you are such a jealous coxcomb: I warrant you +suspect there's some amour between 'em; there can be nothing in't, it +is so open: Pray observe. + +_Burr_. But how come you so officious, madam? you, that ere now +had a design upon Sir Timorous for yourself? + +_Isa_. I thought you had a better opinion of my wit, than to +think I was in earnest. My cousin may do what she pleases, but he +shall never pin himself upon me, assure him. + +_Const_. to _Fail_. Sir Timorous little knows how dangerous +a person he has employed in making love.--[Aloud. + +_Burr_. How's this! Pray, my lady Constance, what's the meaning +of that you say to Failer? + +_Fail_. What luck was this, that he should overhear you! Pax +on't! + +_Const_. Mr Burr, I owe you not that satisfaction; what you have +heard you may interpret as you please. + +_Tim_. The rascal has betrayed me. + +_Isa_. In earnest, sir, I do not like it. + +_Fail_. Dear Mr Burr, be pacified; you are a person I have an +honour for; and this change of affairs shall not be the worse for you, +egad, sir. + +_Const_. Bear up resolutely, Mr Failer; and maintain my favours, +as becomes my servant. + +_Burr_. He maintain 'em! go, you Judas; I'll teach you what 'tis +to play fast and loose with a man of war. [Kicks him. + +_Tim_. Lay it on, Burr. + +_Isa_. Spare him not, Burr. + +_Const_. Fear him not, servant. + +_Fail_. Oh, oh! would nobody were on my side! here I am praised, +I vow to gad, into all the colours of the rainbow. + +_Const_. But remember 'tis for me. + +_Burr_. As you like this, proceed, sir; but, come not near me +to-night, while I'm in wrath. + +[_Exeunt_ BURR _and_ TIMOROUS. + +_Const_. Come, sir; how fare you after your sore trial? You bore +it with a most heroic patience. + +_Isa._ Brave man at arms, but weak to Balthazar[A]! + +[Footnote A: Alluding to the old play of Hieronymo.] + +_Fail_. I hope to gad, madam, you'll consider the merit of my +sufferings. I would not have been beaten thus, but to obey that person +in the world-- + +_Const_. Heaven reward you for't; I never shall. + +_Fail_. How, madam! + +_Isa_. Art thou such an ass, as not to perceive thou art abused? +This beating I contrived for you: you know upon what account; and have +yet another or two at your service. Yield up the knight in time, 'tis +your best course. + +_Fail_. Then does not your ladyship love me, madam? + +_Const_. Yes, yes, I love to see you beaten. + +_Isa_. Well, methinks now you have had a hard bargain on't: You +have lost your cully, Sir Timorous, and your friend, Burr, and all to +get a poor beating. But I'll see it mended against next time for you. + +[_Exeunt_ CONSTANCE _and_ ISABELLA, _laughing_. + +_Fail_. I am so much amazed, I vow to gad, I do not understand my +own condition. [_Exit_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY _solus, in the dark, his sword drawn, groping +out his way_. + + +_Lov_. This is the time and place he pointed me, and 'tis +certainly the devil I am to meet; for no mortal creature could have +that kindness for me, to supply my necessities as he has done, +nor could have done it in so strange a manner. He told me he was +a scholar, and had been a parson in the fanatic's times: a shrewd +suspicion it was the devil; or at least a limb of him. If the devil +can send churchmen on his errands, lord have mercy on the laity! Well, +let every man speak as he finds, and give the devil his due; I think +him a very honest and well-natured fellow; and if I hear any man speak +ill of him, except it be a parson, that gets his living by it, I wear +a sword at his service. Yet, for all this, I do not much care to see +him. He does not mean to hook me in for my soul, does he? If he does, +I shall desire to be excused. But what a rogue am I, to suspect a +person, that has dealt so much like a gentleman by me! He comes to +bring me money, and would do it handsomely, that it might not be +perceived. Let it be as 'twill, I'll seem to trust him; and, then, if +he have any thing of a gentleman in him, he wills corn to deceive +me, as much as I would to cozen him, if I were the devil, and he Jack +Loveby. + +_Enter_ FAILER _at the other end of the stage_. + +_Fail_. What will become of me to-night! I am just in the +condition of an out-lying deer, that's beaten from his walk for +offering to rut. Enter I dare not, for Burr. + +_Lov_. I hear a voice, but nothing do I see. Speak, what thou +art? + +_Fail_. There he is, watching for me. I must venture to run by +him; and, when I am in, I hope my cousin Trice will defend me. The +devil would not lie abroad in such a night. + +_Lov_. I thought it was the devil, before he named himself. + +[FAILER _goes to run off, and falls into_ LOVEBY'S _arms_. + +_Lov_. Honest Satan, well encountered! I am sorry, with all my +heart, it is so dark. 'Faith, I should be very glad to see thee at my +lodging; pr'ythee, let's not be such strangers to one another for the +time to come. And what hast thou got under thy cloak there, little +Satan? I warrant thou hast brought me some more money. + +_Fail_. Help, help; thieves! thieves! + +[LOVEBY _lets him go_. + +_Lov_. This is Failer's voice: How the devil was I mistaken! I +must get off, ere company comes in. + +[_Exit_ Loveby. + +_Fail_. Thieves! thieves! + +_Enter_ Trice, Burr, _and_ Timorous, _undressed_. + +_All_. Where! where! + +_Fail_. One was here just now; and it should be Loveby by his +voice, but I have no witness. + +_Trice_. It cannot be; he wants no money. + +_Burr_. Come, sirrah; I'll take pity on you to-night: You shall +lie in the truckle-bed. + +_Trice_. Pox o' this noise! it has disturbed me from such a dream +of eating!--[Exeunt. + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. + +_Enter_ Constance _and_ Isabella. + + +_Const_. Twas ill luck to have the meeting broke last night, just +as Setstone was coming towards him. + +_Isa_. But, in part of recompence, you'll have the pleasure of +putting him on farther straits. O, these little mischiefs are meat and +drink to me. + +_Const_. He shall tell me from whence he has his money: I am +resolved now to try him to the utmost. + +_Isa_. I would devise something for him to do, which he could not +possibly perform. + +_Const_. As I live, yonder he comes, with the jewel in his hand +he promised me. Pr'ythee, leave me alone with him. + +_Isa_. Speed the plough! If I can make no sport, I'll hinder +none. I'll to my knight, Sir Timorous; shortly you shall hear news +from Dametas[A]. + +[Footnote A: A foolish character in Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, who +seems to have become proverbial.] + +[_Exit_ ISABELLA. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY. + +_Lov_. Look you, madam, here's the jewel; do me the favour to +accept it, and suppose a very good compliment delivered with it. + +_Const_. Believe me, a very fair jewel. But why will you be at +this needless charge? What acknowledgment do you expect? You know I +will not marry you. + +_Lov_. How the devil do I know that? I do not conceive myself, +under correction, so inconsiderable a person. + +_Const_. You'll alter your partial opinion, when I tell you, 'tis +not a flash of wit fires me, nor is it a gay out-side can seduce me to +matrimony. + +_Lov_. I am neither fool, nor deformed, so much as to be +despicable. What do I want? + +_Const_. A good estate, that makes every thing handsome: Nothing +can look well without it. + +_Lov_. Does this jewel express poverty? + +_Const_. I conjure you by your love to me, tell me one truth not +minced by your invention, how came you by this jewel? + +_Lov_. 'Tis well I have a voucher. Pray ask your own jeweller, +Setstone, if I did not buy it of him. + +_Const_. How glad you are now, you can tell a truth so near a +lie. But where had you the money, that purchased it? Come--without +circumstances and preambles-- + +_Lov_. Umph--Perhaps, that may be a secret. + +_Const_. Say, it be one; yet he, that loved indeed, could not +keep it from his mistress. + +_Lov_. Why should you be thus importunate? + +_Const_. Because I cannot think you love me, if you will not +trust that to my knowledge, which you conceal from all the world +beside. + +_Lov_. You urge me deeply-- + +_Const_. Come, sweet servant, you shall tell me; I am resolved to +take no denial. Why do you sigh? + +_Lov_. If I be blasted, it must out. + +_Const_. Either tell me, or resolve to take your leave for ever. + +_Lov_. Then know, I have my means,--I know not how. + +_Const_. This is a fine secret. + +_Lov_. Why, then, if you will needs know, 'tis from the devil; I +have money from him, what, and when I please. + +_Const_. Have you sealed a covenant, and given away your soul for +money? + +_Lov_. No such thing intended on my part. + +_Const_. How then? + +_Lov_. I know not yet what conditions he'll propose. I should +have spoke with him last night, but that a cross chance hindered it. + +_Const_. Well, my opinion is, some great lady, that is in love +with you, supplies you still; and you tell me an incredible tale of +the devil, merely to shadow your infidelity. + +_Lov_. Devise some means to try me. + +_Const_. I take you at your word. You shall swear freely to +bestow on me whatever you shall gain this unknown way; and, for a +proof, because you tell me you can have money, what, and when you +please, bring me a hundred pounds ere night.--If I do marry him for +a wit, I'll see what he can do; he shall have none from me. +[_Aside_. + +_Lov_. You overjoy me, madam; you shall have it, an 'twere twice +as much. + +_Const_. How's this? + +_Lov_. The devil a cross that I have, or know where to get; but +I must promise well, to save my credit.--Now, devil, if thou dost +forsake me! + +[_Aside_. + +_Const_. I mistrust you; and, therefore, if you fail, I'll +have your hand to show against you; here's ink and paper. [LOVEBY +_writes_. + +_Enter_ BURR, _and_ TIMOROUS. + +_Burr_. What makes Loveby yonder? He's writing somewhat. + +_Tim_. I'll go see. [_Looks over him_. + +_Lov_. Have you no more manners than to overlook a man when he's +a writing?--Oh! is't you, Sir Timorous? You may stand still; now I +think on't, you cannot read written hand. + +_Burr_. You are very familiar with Sir Timorous. + +_Lov_. So am I with his companions, sir. + +_Burr_. Then there's hopes you and I may be better acquainted. I +am one of his companions. + +_Lov_. By what title? as you are an ass, sir? + +_Const_. No more, Loveby. + +_Lov_. I need not, madam. Alas! this fellow is only the solicitor +of a quarrel, 'till he has brought it to an head; and will leave the +fighting part to the courteous pledger. Do not I know these fellows? +You shall as soon persuade a mastiff to fasten on a lion, as one of +those to engage with a courage above their own: They know well enough +whom they can beat, and who can beat them. + +_Enter _FAILER _at a distance_. + +_Fail_. Yonder they are: Now, would I compound for a reasonable +sum, that I were friends with Burr. If I am not, I shall lose Sir +Timorous. + +_Const_. O, servant, have I spied you? let me run into your arms. + +_Fail_. I renounce my lady Constance: I vow to gad, I renounce +her. + +_Tim_. To your task, Burr. + +_Enter NONSUCH and ISABELLA_. + +_Const_. Hold, gentlemen! no sign of quarrel. + +_Non_. O, friends! I think I shall go mad with grief: I have lost +more money. + +_Lov_. Would I had it: that's all the harm I wish myself. Your +servant, madam; I go about the business. + +_Exit LOVEBY_. + +_Non_. What! does he take no pity on me? + +_Const_. Pr'ythee, moan him, Isabella. + +_Isa_. Alas, alas, poor uncle! could they find in their hearts to +rob him! + +_Non_. Five hundred pounds, out of poor six thousand pounds +a-year! I, and mine, are undone for ever. + +_Fail_. Your own house, you think, is clear, my lord? + +_Const_. I dare answer for all there, as much as for myself. + +_Burr_. Oh, that he would but think that Loveby had it! + +_Fail_. If you'll be friends with me, I'll try what I can +persuade him to. + +_Burr_. Here's my hand, I will, dear heart. + +_Fail_. Your own house being clear, my lord, I am apt to suspect +this Loveby for such a person. Did you mark how abruptly he went out? + +_Non_. He did indeed, Mr Failer. But why should I suspect him? +his carriage is fair, and his means great; he could never live after +this rate, if it were not. + +_Fail_. This still renders him the more suspicious: He has no +land, to my knowledge. + +_Burr_. Well said, mischief. [_Aside_. + +_Const_. My father's credulous, and this rogue has found the +blind side of him; would Loveby heard him! [_To_ ISABELLA. + +_Fail_. He has no means, and he loses at play; so that, for my +part, I protest to gad, I am resolved he picks locks for his living. + +_Burr_. Nay, to my knowledge, he picks locks. + +_Tim_. And to mine. + +_Fail_. No longer ago than last night he met me in the dark, and +offered to dive into my pockets. + +_Non_. That's a main argument for suspicion. + +_Fail_. I remember once, when the keys of the Exchequer were lost +in the Rump-time, he was sent for upon an extremity, and, egad, he +opens me all the locks with the blade-bone of a breast of mutton. + +_Non_. Who, this Loveby? + +_Fail_. This very Loveby. Another time, when we had sate up very +late at ombre in the country, and were hungry towards morning, he +plucks me out (I vow to gad I tell you no lie) four ten-penny nails +from the dairy lock with his teeth, fetches me out a mess of milk, and +knocks me 'em in again with his head, upon reputation. + +_Isa_. Thou boy! + +_Non_. What shall I do in this case? My comfort is, my gold's all +marked. + +_Const_. Will you suspect a gentleman of Loveby's worth, upon the +bare report of such a rascal as this Failer? + +_Non_. Hold thy tongue, I charge thee; upon my blessing hold thy +tongue. I'll have him apprehended before he sleeps; come along with +me, Mr Failer. + +_Fail_. Burr, look well to Sir Timorous; I'll be with you +instantly. + +_Const_. I'll watch you by your favour. [_Aside. +[Exeunt_ NONSUCH _and_ FAILER, CONSTANCE _following them_. + +_Isa_. A word, Sir Timorous. + +_Burr_. [Gets _behind_.] She shall have a course at the +knight, and come up to him, but when she is just ready to pinch, he +shall give such a loose from her, shall break her heart. + +_Isa_. Burr there still, and watching us? There's certainly some +plot in this, but I'll turn it to my own advantage. [_Aside_. + +_Tim. Did you mark Burr's retirement, madam? + +_Isa_ Ay; his guilt, it seems, makes him shun your company. + +_Tim_. In what can he be guilty? + +_Isa_. You must needs know it; he courts your mistress. + +_Tim_. Is he, too, in love with my lady Constance? + +_Isa_. No, no: but, which is worse, he courts me. + +_Tim_. Why, what have I to do with you? You know I care not this +for you. + +_Isa_. Perhaps so; but he thought you did: and good reason for +it. + +_Tim_. What reason, madam? + +_Isa_. The most convincing in the world: He knew my cousin +Constance never loved you: He has heard her say, you were as +invincibly ignorant as a town-fop judging a new play: as shame-faced +as a great overgrown school-boy: in fine, good for nothing but to be +wormed out of your estate, and sacrificed to the god of laughter. + +_Tim_. Was your cousin so barbarous to say this? + +_Isa_. In his hearing. + +_Tim_. And would he let me proceed in my suit to her? + +_Isa_. For that I must excuse him; he never thought you could +love one of my cousin's humour; but took your court to her, only as +a blind to your affection for me; and, being possessed with that +opinion, he thought himself as worthy as you to marry me. + +_Tim_. He is not half so worthy; and so I'll tell him, in a fair +way. + +_Burr_. [_To a Boy entering_.] Sirrah, boy, deliver this +note to madam Isabella; but be not known I am so near. + +_Boy_. I warrant you, sir. + +_Burr_. Now, Fortune, all I desire of thee is, that Sir Timorous +may see it; if he once be brought to believe there is a kindness +between her and me, it will ruin all her projects. + +_Isa_. [_To the Boy_.] From whom? + +_Boy_. From Mr Burr, madam. + +_Isa_. [Reads.] _These for Madam Isabella. Dear rogue, Sir +Timorous knows nothing of our kindness, nor shall for me; seem still +to have designs upon him; it will hide thy affection the better to thy +servant,_ BURR. + +_Isa_. Alas, poor woodcock, dost thou go a-birding? Thou hast +e'en set a springe to catch thy own neck. Look you here, Sir Timorous; +here's something to confirm what I have told you. [_Gives him the +letter_. + +_Tim_. D, e, a, r, _dear_; r, o, g, u, e, _rogue_. +Pray, madam, read it; this written hand is such a damned pedantic +thing, I could never away with it. + +_Isa_. He would fain have robbed you of me: Lord, Lord! to see +the malice of a man. + +_Tim_. She has persuaded me so damnably, that I begin to think +she's my mistress indeed. + +_Isa_. Your mistress? why, I hope you are not to doubt that, at +this time of day. I was your mistress from the first day you ever saw +me. + +_Tim_. Nay, like enough you were so; but I vow to gad now, I was +wholly ignorant of my own affection. + +_Isa_. And this rogue pretends he has an interest in me, merely +to defeat you: Look you, look you, where he stands in ambush, like a +Jesuit behind a Quaker, to see how his design will take. + +_Tim_. I see the rogue: Now could I find in my heart to marry you +in spite to him; what think you on't, in a fair way? + +_Isa_. I have brought him about as I could wish; and now I'll +make my own conditions. [_Aside_.] Sir Timorous, I wish you well; +but he I marry must promise me to live at London: I cannot abide to be +in the country, like a wild beast in the wilderness, with no Christian +soul about me. + +_Tim_. Why, I'll bear you company. + +_Isa_. I cannot endure your early hunting-matches there; to have +my sleep disturbed by break of day, with heigh, Jowler, Jowler! there +Venus, ah Beauty! and then a serenade of deep-mouthed curs, to answer +the salutation of the huntsman, as if hell were broke loose about me: +and all this to meet a pack of gentlemen savages, to ride all day, +like mad-men, for the immortal fame of being first in at the hare's +death: to come upon the spur, after a trial at four in the afternoon, +to destruction of cold meat and cheese, with your lewd company in +boots; fall a-drinking till supper time, be carried to bed, tossed out +of your cellar, and be good for nothing all the night after. + +_Tim_. Well, madam, what is it you would be at? you shall find me +reasonable to all your propositions. + +_Isa_. I have but one condition more to add; for I will be as +reasonable as you; and that is a very poor request--to have all the +money in my disposing. + +_Tim_. How, all the money? + +_Isa_. Ay, for I am sure I can huswife it better for your honour; +not but that I shall be willing to encourage you with pocket-money, or +so, sometimes. + +_Tim_. This is somewhat hard. + +_Isa_. Nay, if a woman cannot do that, I shall think you have +an ill opinion of my virtue: Not trust your own flesh and blood, Sir +Timorous? + +_Tim_. Well, is there any thing more behind? + +_Isa_. Nothing more, only the choice of my own company, my own +hours, and my own actions: These trifles granted me, in all things of +moment, I am your most obedient wife and servant, Isabella. + +_Tim_. Is't a match, then? + +_Isa_. For once I am content it shall; but 'tis to redeem you +from those rascals, Burr and Failer--that way, Sir Timorous, for fear +of spies; I'll meet you at the garden door.--[_Exit_ TIMOROUS.] I +have led all women the way, if they dare but follow me. + _And now march off, if I can scape but spying, + With my drums beating, and my colours flying_. + +[_Exit_. + +_Burr_. So, their wooing's at an end; thanks to my wit. + +_Enter_ FAILER. + +_Fail_. O Burr! whither is it Sir Timorous and Madam Isabella are +gone together? + +_Burr_. Adore my wit, boy; they are parted, never to meet again. + +_Fail_. I saw them meet just now at the garden-door: So ho, ho, +ho, who's within there! Help here quickly, quickly. + +_Enter_ NONSUCH _and two Servants_. + +_Non_. What's the matter? + +_Fail_. Your niece Isabella has stolen away Sir Timorous. + +_Non_. Which way took they? + +_Fail_. Follow me, I'll show you. + +_Non_. Break your necks after him, you idle varlets. + +[_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY. LOVEBY'S _collar unbuttoned, band carelessly +on, hat on the table, as new risen from sleep_. + +_Lov_. Boy! how long have I slept, boy? + +_Enter Boy_. + +_Boy_. Two hours and a half, sir. + +_Lov_. What's a-clock, sirrah? + +_Boy_. Near four, sir. + +_Lov_. Why, there's it: I have promised my lady Constance an +hundred pounds ere night; I had four hours to perform it in, when I +engaged to do it; and I have slept out more than two of them. All +my hope to get this money lies within the compass of that hat there. +Before I lay down, I made bold a little to prick my finger, and write +a note, in the blood of it, to this same friend of mine in t'other +world, that uses to supply me: the devil has now had above two hours +to perform it in; all which time I have slept, to give him the better +opportunity: time enough for a gentleman of his agility to fetch it +from the East Indies, out of one of his temples where they worship +him; or, if he were lazy, and not minded to go so far, 'twere but +stepping over sea, and borrowing so much money out of his own bank at +Amsterdam: hang it, what's an hundred pounds between him and me? +Now does my heart go pit-a-pat, for fear I should not find the money +there: I would fain lift it up to see, and yet I am so afraid of +missing: Yet a plague, why should I fear he'll fail me; the name of a +friend's a sacred thing; sure he'll consider that. Methinks, this hat +looks as if it should have something under it: If one could see the +yellow boys peeping underneath the brims now: Ha! [_Looks under +round about_.] In my conscience I think I do. Stand out o'the way, +sirrah, and be ready to gather up the pieces, that will flush out of +the hat as I take it up. + +_Boy_. What, is my master mad, trow? + +[LOVEBY _snatches up the hat, looks in it hastily, and sees nothing +but the paper_. + +_Low_. Now, the devil take the devil! A plague! was ever man +served so as I am! [_Throws his hat upon the ground_.] To break +the bands of amity for one hundred pieces! Well, it shall be more out +of thy way than thou imaginest, devil: I'll turn parson, and be at +open defiance with thee: I'll lay the wickedness of all people upon +thee, though thou art never so innocent; I'll convert thy bawds and +whores; I'll Hector thy gamesters, that they shall not dare to swear, +curse, or bubble; nay, I'll set thee out so, that thy very usurers and +aldermen shall fear to have to do with thee. + +[_A noise within of_ ISABELLA _and_ FRANCES. + +_Enter_ FRANCES, _thrusting back_ ISABELLA _and_ +TIMOROUS. + +_Franc_. How now, what's the matter? + +_Isa_. Nay, sweet mistress, be not so hard-hearted; all I desire +of you is but harbour for a minute: you cannot, in humanity, deny that +small succour to a gentlewoman. + +_Franc_. A gentlewoman! I thought so; my house, affords no +harbour for gentlewomen: you are a company of proud harlotries: I'll +teach you to take place of tradesmen's wives, with a wannion to you. + +_Lov_. How's this! Madam Isabella! + +_Isa_. Mr Loveby! how happy am I to meet with you in my distress! + +_Lov_. What's the matter, madam? + +_Isa_. I'll tell you, if this gentlewoman will give me leave. + +_Franc_. No, gentlewoman, I will not give you leave; they are +such as we maintain your pride, as they say. [ISABELLA _and_ +LOVEBY _whisper_.] Our husbands trust you, and you must go before +their wives. I am sure my good-man never goes to any of your lodgings, +but he comes home the worse for it, as they say. + +_Lov_. Is that all? pr'ythee, good landlady, for my sake +entertain my friends. + +_Franc_. If the gentleman's worship had come alone, it may be I +might have entertained him; but for your minion! + +_Enter_ NONSUCH, FAILER, BURR, _and Officers. Cry within, Here, +here_. + +_Fail_. My lord, arrest Sir Timorous upon a promise of marriage +to your daughter, and we'll witness it. + +_Tim_. Why, what a strange thing of you's this, madam Isabella, +to bring a man into trouble thus! + +_Fail_. You are not yet married to her? + +_Tim_. Not that I remember. + +_Isa_. Well, Failer, I shall find a time to reward your +diligence. + +_Lov_. If the knight would have owned his action, I should have +taught some of you more manners, than to come with officers into my +lodging. + +_Franc_. I'm glad with all my heart this minx is prevented of her +design: the gentleman had got a great catch of her, as they say. His +old father in the country would have given him but little thanks +for it, to see him bring down a fine-bred woman, with a lute, and a +dressing-box, and a handful of money to her portion. + +_Isa_. Good Mistress Whatdeelack! I know your quarrel to the +ladies; do they take up the gallants from the tradesmen's wives? Lord, +what a grievous thing it is, for a she citizen to be forced to have +children by her own husband! + +_Franc_. Come, come, you're a slanderful huswife, and I squorn +your harlotry tricks, that I do, so I do. + +_Isa_. Steeple-hat your husband never gets a good look when he +comes home, except he brings a gentleman to dinner; who, if he casts +an amorous eye towards you, then, "Trust him, good husband, sweet +husband, trust him for my sake: Verily the gentleman's an honest man, +I read it in his countenance: and if you should not be at home to +receive the money, I know he will pay the debt to me." Is't not so, +mistress? + +_Enter_ BIBBER _in slippers, with a skein of silk about his +neck_. + +_Franc_. Will you see me wronged thus, under my own roof, as they +say, William? + +_Isa_. Nay, 'tis very true, mistress: you let the men, with old +compliments, take up new clothes; I do not mean your wife's clothes, +Mr Merchant-Tailor. + +_Bib_. Good, i'faith! a notable smart gentlewoman! + +_Isa_. Look to your wife, sir, or, in time, she may undo your +trade; for she'll get all your men-customers to herself. + +_Bib_. An' I should be hanged, I can forbear no longer. [_He +plucks out his measure, and runs to_ ISABELLA, _to take measure +of her_. + +_Isa_. How now! what means Prince Pericles by this? + +_Bib_. [_On his knees_.] I must beg your ladyship e'en to +have the honour to trust you but for your gown, for the sake of that +last jest, flowered sattin, wrought tabby, silver upon any grounds; I +shall run mad if I may not trust your ladyship. + +_Franc_. I think you are mad already, as they say, William: You +shall not trust her-- + +[_Plucks him back_. + +_Bib_. Let me alone, Frances: I am a lion when I am angered. + +_Isa_. Pray do not pull your lion by the tail so, mistress--In +these clothes, that he now takes measure of me for, will I marry Sir +Timorous; mark that, and tremble, Failer. + +_Fail_. Never threaten me, madam; you're a person I despise. + +_Isa_. I vow to gad, I'll be even with you, sir. + +[_Exit_. + +_Non_. [_To the Bailiff's_.]--And when you have arrested +him, be sure you search him for my gold. + +_Bailiffs_. [_To_ LOVEBY.] We arrest you, sir, at my Lord +Nonsuch's suit. + +_Lov_. Me, you rascals! + +_Non_. Search him for my gold; you know the marks on't. + +_Lov_. If they can find any marked or unmarked gold about me, +they'll find more than I can. You expect I should resist now; no, no; +I'll hamper you for this. + +_Bail_. There's nothing to be found about him. + +_Fail_. 'Tis no matter, to prison with him; there all his debts +will come upon him. + +_Lov_. What, hurried to durance, like a stinkard! + +_Job_. Now, as I live, a pleasant gentleman; I could find in my +heart to bail him; but I'll overcome myself, and steal away. [_Is +going_. + +_Bail_. Come, sir, we must provide you of another lodging; but I +believe you'll scarce like it. + +_Lov_. If I do not, I ask no favour; pray turn me out of doors. + +_Bib_. Turn him out of doors! What a jest was there? Now, an' I +should be hanged, I cannot forbear bailing him: Stay, officers, I bail +him body and soul for that jest. + +_Fail_. Let us begone in time, Burr. + +[_Exeunt_ BURR, FAILER, _and_ TIMOROUS. + +_Franc_. You shall not bail him. + +_Bib_. I know I am a rogue to do it; but his wit has prevailed +upon me, and a man must not go against his conscience. There, +officers. + +_Lov_. to _Non_. Old man, if it were not for thy daughter-- + +_Non_. Well, well; take your course, sir. + +[_Exeunt_ NONSUCH _and Bailiffs_. + +_Lov_. Come, Will, I'll thank thee at the tavern. Frances, +remember this the next time you come up to make my bed. + +_Franc_. Do your worst, I fear you not, sir. This is twice to +day, William; to trust a gentlewoman, and bail a ragamuffin: I am sure +he called you cuckold but yesterday, and said he would make you one. + +_Lov_. Look you, Frances, I am a man of honour, and, if I said +it, I'll not break my word with you. + +_Bib_. There he was with you again, Frances: An excellent good +jest, i'faith la. + +_Franc_. I'll not endure it, that I won't, so I won't: I'll go to +the justice's worship, and fetch a warrant for him. + +_Lov_. But, landlady, the word cuckold will bear no action in the +law, except you could prove your husband prejudiced by it. Have any +of his customers forsook him for't? Or any mercer refused to trust him +the less, for my calling him so? + +_Franc_. Nay, I know not for the mercers; perhaps the citizens +may take it for no slander among one another, as they say: but for the +gentlemen-- + +_Lov_. Will, have they forsaken thee upon it? + +_Bib_. No, I assure you, sir. + +_Lov_. No, I warrant 'em: A cuckold has the signification of an +honest well-meaning citizen; one, that is not given to jealousies or +suspicions; a just person to his wife, &c.; one that, to speak the +worst of him, does but to her, what he would be content should be done +to her by other men. + +_Franc_. But that another man should be the father of his +children, as they say; I don't think that a civil thing, husband. + +_Lov_. Not civil, landlady! why all things are civil, that are +made so by custom. + +_Bib_. Why may not he get as fine children as I, or any man? + +_Franc_. But if those children, that are none of yours, should +call you father, William! + +_Bib_. If they call me father, and are none of mine, I am the +more beholden to 'em. + +_Franc_. Nay, if that be your humour, husband, I am glad I +know it, that I may please you the better another time, as they say. +[_Exit_ FRANCES. + +_Bib_. Nay, but Frances, Frances! 'tis such another woman. +[_Exit_ BIBBER. + +_Lov_. 'Tis such another man:--My coat and sword, boy, I must go +to Justice Trice's; bring the women; and come after me. [_Exit_ +LOVEBY. + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + +_A Table set with Cards upon it_. + +TRICE _walking: Enter Servant_. + + +_Serv_. Sir, some company is without upon justice-business. + +_Trice_. Saucy rascal, to disturb my meditations. [_Exit +Servant_.--Ay, it shall be he: Jack Loveby, what think'st thou of +a game at piquet, we two, hand to fist? you and I will play one single +game for ten pieces: 'Tis deep stake, Jack, but 'tis all one between +us two: You shall deal, Jack:--Who I, Mr Justice! that's a good +one; you must give me use for your hand then; that's six i'the +hundred.--Come, lift, lift;--mine's a ten; Mr Justice:--mine's a king; +oh ho, Jack, you deal. I have the advantage of this, i'faith, if I can +keep it. [_He deals twelve a piece, two by two, and looks on his +own cards_.] I take seven, and look on this--Now for you, Jack +Loveby. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY _behind_. + +_Lov_. How's this? Am I the man he fights with? + +_Trice_. I'll do you right, Jack; as I am an honest man, you +must discard this; there's no other way: If you were my own brother, I +could do no better for you.--Zounds, the rogue has a quint-major, and +three aces younger hand.--[_Looks on the other cards_.] Stay; +what am I for the point? But bare forty, and he fifty-one: Fifteen, +and five for the point, twenty, and three by aces, twenty-three; +well, I am to play first: one, twenty-three; two, twenty-three; three, +twenty-three; four, twenty-three;--Pox on't, now I must play into his +hand: five:--now you take it, Jack;--five, twenty-four, twenty-five, +twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, and the +cards forty. + +_Lov_. Hitherto it goes well on my side.-- + +_Trice_. Now I deal: How many do you take, Jack? All. Then I am +gone: What a rise is here! Fourteen by aces, and a sixieme-major; I +am gone, without looking into my cards.--[_Takes up an ace and +bites it_.] Ay, I thought so: If ever man play'd with such cursed +fortune, I'll be hanged, and all for want of this damned ace--there's +your ten pieces, with a pox to you, for a rooking beggarly rascal as +you are. + +LOVEBY _enters_. + +_Lov_. What occasion have I given you for these words, sir? Rook +and rascal! I am no more rascal than yourself, sir. + +_Trice_. How's this! how's this! + +_Lov_. And though for this time I put up, because I am a winner-- +[_Snatches the gold_. + +_Trice_. What a devil do'st thou put up? Not my gold, I hope, +Jack? + +_Lov_. By your favour, but I do; and 'twas won fairly: a sixieme, +and fourteen by aces, by your own confession,--What a pox, we don't +make childrens' play, I hope? + +_Trice_. Well, remember this, Jack; from this hour I forswear +playing with you when I am alone; what, will you bate me nothing on't? + +_Lov_. Not a farthing, Justice; I'll be judged by you; if I had +lost, you would have taken every piece on't: What I win, I win--and +there's an end. + +_Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Sir, these people stay without, and will not be answered. + +_Trice_. Well, what's their business? + +_Serv_. Nay, no great matter; only a fellow for getting a wench +with child. + +_Trice_. No great matter, say'st thou? 'Faith, but it is. Is he a +poor fellow, or a gentleman? + +_Serv_. A very poor fellow, sir. + +_Trice_. Hang him, rogue; make his mittimus immediately; must +such as he presume to get children? + +_Lov_. Well considered: A poor lousy rascal, to intrench upon +the game of gentlemen! He might have passed his time at nine-pins, or +shovel-board; that had been fit sport for such as he: Justice, have no +mercy on him. + +_Trice_. No, by the sword of justice will I not. + +_Lov_. Swear'st thou, ungracious boy[A]? That's too much, on the +other hand, for a gentleman. I swear not, I drink not, I curse not, +I cheat not; they are unnecessary vices: I save so much out of those +sins, and take it out in that one necessary vice of wenching. + +[Footnote A: Henry IV. Part 1. Act ii. Scene 4.] + +_Enter_ LOVEBY'S _Boy_. + +_Boy_. Sir, the parties are without, according to your order. + +_Lov_. 'Tis well; bring 'em in, boy. + +_Enter Lady Du_ LAKE, _and two or three Whores_. + +Justice, I recommend this ancient gentlewoman, with these virtuous +ladies, to thy patronage; for her part, she is a person of exemplary +life and behaviour; of singular conduct to break through, and patience +to bear the assaults of fortune: A general benefactress of mankind, +and, in fine, a promoter of that great work of nature, love. + +_Trice_. Or, as the vulgar translation hath it, a very sufficient +and singular good bawd: Is't not so, boy? + +_Lov_. Ay, boy: Now for such a pettifogging fellow as thy clerk +to persecute this lady; pr'ythee think on't: Tis a grievance of the +free-born subject. + +_L. Du Lake_. To see the ingratitude of this generation! That I, +that have spent my youth; set at nought my fortune; and, what is more +dear to me, my honour, in the service of gentlemen; should now, in my +old age, be left to want and beggary, as if I were the vilest and most +unworthy creature upon God's earth! [_Crying_. + +_Lov_. Nay, good mother, do not take it so bitterly. + +_L. Du Lake_. I confess, the unkindness of it troubles me. + +_Lov_. Thou shalt not want, so long as I live.--Look, here's five +pieces of cordial gold, to comfort thy heart with: I won it, e'en now, +off Mr Justice; and I dare say he thinks it well bestowed. + +_Trice_. My money's gone to very pious uses. + +_L. Du Lake_. [_Laying her hand on_ LOVEBY'S _head_.] +Son Loveby, I knew thy father well; and thy grandfather before him. +Fathers they were both to me; and I could weep for joy to see how thou +tak'st after them. [_Weeping again_.] I wish it lay in my power +too to gratify this worthy Justice in my vocation. + +_Trice_. 'Faith, I doubt I am past that noble sin. + +_Lov_. Pr'ythee, good magistrate, drink to her, and wipe sorrow +from her eyes. + +_Trice_. Right reverend, my service to you in canary. [_She +drinks after him, and stays at half a glass_. + +_L. Du Lake_. 'Tis a great way to the bottom; but heaven is +all-sufficient to give me strength for it. [_Drinks it up_.] Why, +God's blessing on your heart, son Trice! I hope 'tis no offence to +call you son? hem!--hem!--Son Loveby, I think my son Trice and I are +much of the same years: let me see, son, if nature be utterly extinct +in you: Are you ticklish, son Trice? [_Tickles him_. + +_Trice_. Are you ticklish, Mother Du Lake? + +[_Tickles her sides. She falls off her chair; he falls off his to +her; they roll one over the other_. + +_Lov_. I would have all London now show me such another sight of +kindness in old age. [_They help each other up_.] Come, a dance, +a dance; call for your clerk, Justice; he shall make one, in sign of +amity. Strike up, fidlers! + +[_They dance a round dance, and sing the tune_. + +_Enter_ ISABELLA _and_ CONSTANCE. + +_Isa_. Are you at that sport, i'faith? Have among you, blind +harpers. [_She falls into the dance_. + +[_At the dance's ending_, LOVEBY _sees_ CONSTANCE. + +_Trice_. Is she come? A pox of all honest women at such a time! + +_Lov_. If she knows who these are, by this light, I am undone. + +_Const_. Oh, servant! I come to mind you of your promise. Come, +produce my hundred pounds; the time's out I set you. + +_Lov_. Not till dark night, upon my reputation! I have not yet +spoke with the gentleman in the black pantaloons; you know he seldom +walks abroad by day-light. Dear madam, let me wait on you to your +coach; and, if I bring it not within this hour, discard me utterly. + +_Const_. You must give me leave to salute the company. What are +they? + +_Lov_. Persons of quality of my acquaintance; but I'll make your +excuse to 'em. + +_Const_. Nay, if they are persons of quality, I shall be rude to +part from 'em so abruptly. + +_Lov_. Why so?--the devil owed me a shame; and now he has paid +me. I must present 'em, whate'er come on't. [_Aside_.]--This, +madam, is my Lady Du Lake--the Lady Springwell--the Lady Hoyden. + +[_She and_ ISABELLA _salute them_. + +_Isa_. What a whiff was there came from my Lady Hoyden; and what +a garlic breath my Lady Springwell had! + +_Trice_. Ha, ha, ha, ha! + +_Lov_. Do not betray me, Justice; if you do--[_Aside_. + +_Isa_. Oh, are you thereabouts, sir? then I smell a rat, i'faith; +but I'll say nothing. [_Aside_. + +_Const_. Ladies, I am an humble servant to you all; and account +it my happiness to have met with so good company at my cousin Trice's. + +_Trice_. Ha, ha, ha! + +_L. Du Lake_. Are these two ladies of your acquaintance, son +Loveby? + +_Lov_. Son, quoth a'! a pox of our relation! [_Aside_. + +_L. Du Lake_. I shall be glad to be better known to your +ladyships. + +_Const_. You too much honour your servants, madam. + +_Isa_. How Loveby fidges up and down! In what pain he is! well, +if these be not they, they call whores, I'll be hanged, though I never +saw one before. [_Aside_. + +_Lov_. Will your ladyship please to go, madam? + +_Const_. I must beg the favour of these ladies first, that I may +know their lodgings, and wait on them. + +_L. Du. Lake_. It will be our duty to pay our respects first to +your ladyship. + +_Const_. I beg your ladyship's pardon, madam-- + +_L. Du Lake_. Your ladyship shall excuse us, madam-- + +_Isa_. Trice. Ha, ha, ha! + +_Low_. Ah, devil grin you! [_Aside_. + +_Trice_. I must go out, and laugh my belly-full. + +[_Exit_ TRICE. + +_Const_. But in earnest, madam, I must have no denial; I beseech +your ladyship instruct me, where I may tender my devoirs. + +_L. Du Lake_. Since your ladyship commands me, madam, I dare +disobey no longer. My lodgings are in St Lucknor's Lane, at the Cat +and Fiddle. + +_Const_. Whereabouts is that lane, servant? + +_Lov_. Faith, madam, I know not that part o'the town.--Lord, how +I sweat for fear! [_Aside_. + +_Const_. And yours, madam, where, I beseech your ladyship? + +_2 Whore_. In Dog and Bitch yard, an't please your ladyship. + +_3 Whore_. And mine in Sodom, so like your ladyship. + +_Const_. How, Loveby! I did not think you would have used me +thus? + +_Lov_. I beseech your ladyship, but hear my justification as I +lead you. + +_Const_. By no means, sir; that were such a rudeness to leave +persons of quality, to wait upon me: Unhand me, sir. + +_Isa_. Ha, ha, ha!--[_Exeunt_ CONST. ISA. + +_Lov_. I am ruined! for ever ruined. Plague, had you no places in +the town to name, but Sodom, and Lucknor's Lane, for lodgings! + +_L. Du Lake_. If any prejudice arise from it, upon my honour, +son, 'twas by mistake, and not intended you: I thought she desired to +have been admitted of the quality. + +_Lov_. I was curst, when I had first to do with you. + +[_Kicks them_. + +_L. Du Lake_. Well, I thank heaven, that has indued me with such +patience. + +[_Exeunt all but_ LOVEBY _and his Boy_. + +_Lov_. I have made a fair hand on't to-day;--both lost my +mistress, and hear no news from my friend below: The world frowns upon +me, and the devil and my mistress have forsaken me: My godfathers and +godmothers have promised well for me: Instead of renouncing them, they +have renounced me. + +_Boy_. Sir, I saw my Lady Constance smile as she went out: I am +confident she's angry but from the teeth outwards: you might easily +make fair weather with her, if you could get the money you promised +her, but there's the devil-- + +_Lov_. Where is he, boy? shew me him quickly. + +_Boy_. Marry, God bless us! I mean, sir, there's the difficulty. + +_Lov_. Damned rogue, to put me in hope so-- + +_Enter_ BIBBER _at the other end_. + +_Lov_. Uds so, look where Bibber is: Now I think on't, he offered +me a bag of forty pounds, and the lease of his house yesterday: But +that's his pocky humour; when I have money, and do not ask him, he +will offer it; but when I ask him, he will not lend a farthing.--Turn +this way, sirrah, and make as though we did not see him. + +_Bib_. Our gentleman, I think, a-talking with his boy there. + +_Lov_. You understand me?-- + +_Boy_. I warrant you, sir. + +_Lov_. No news yet; what an unlucky rascal 'tis! if the rogue +should hereafter be reduced to the raiment of his own shreds, I should +not pity him. + +_Bib_. How's this! + +_Lov_. Now is this rascal hunting after jests, to make himself +the greatest to all that know him. + +_Bib_. This must be me. + +_Boy_. I can hear neither tale nor tidings of him: I have +searched him in all his haunts; amongst his creditors; and in all +companies where they are like to break the least jest. I have visited +the coffee-houses for him; but among all the news there, I heard none +of him. + +_Bib_. Good, i' faith. + +_Lov_. Where's the warrant? I'll put in my own name, since I +cannot find him. + +_Boy_. Sir, I gave it a scrivener at next door, because I could +not write, to fill up the blank place with Mr Bibber's name. + +_Lov_. What an unlucky vermin 'tis! now, for an hundred pound, +could I have gratified him with a waiter's place at the custom-house, +that had been worth to him an hundred pound a-year upon the nail. + +_Bib_. Could you so, could you so, sir? give me your hand, and I +thank you heartily, Mr Loveby. + +_Lov_. Art thou honest Will? faith, 'tis not worth thy thanks, +till it be done: I wish I had the money for thee. + +_Bib_. How much is't, sir? + +_Lov_. An hundred pounds would do it. + +_Bib_. Let me see: forty, I have already by me; take that in +part, sir;--and that, and the lease of my house, would over-do it. + +_Lov_. By all means thy lease, Will: ne'er scruple at that; hang +a piece of parchment, and two bits of soft wax! thou shalt do't, thou +shalt, boy. + +_Bib_. Why, then I will, sir:--But stay, stay: now I think on't, +Frances has one hundred and twenty pieces of old grandam-and-aunt gold +left her, that she would never let me touch: if we could get that, Mr +Loveby! but she'll never part with it. + +_Lov_. Tis but saying the place is for her; a waiting woman's +place in the custom-house: Boy, go, and tell her on't immediately. +[_Exit Boy_ + +_Bib_. Hold a little; she has been very desirous to get a place +in court, that she might take place as the queen's servant. + +_Lov_. She shall have a dresser's place, if thou'lt keep counsel. +The worst on't is, I have never a warrant ready. + +_Bib_. 'Tis all one for that, sir; she can neither write nor +read; 'tis but my telling her 'tis a warrant, and all's well. I can't +but laugh to think how she'll be choused. + +_Lov_. And you too: [_Aside_.] Mum, she's here, Will. + +_Enter_ FRANCES. + +_Franc_. A waiting-woman's place in the custom-house! there's +news for me! thank you, kind Mr Loveby; you have been instrumental, I +hear, of my preferment. + +_Lov_. No, 'tis a dresser's place at court, landlady. + +_Franc_. O gemini! that's better news. + +_Bib_. Aye, but you must make haste and fetch an hundred pieces: +I can assure you five hundred are bidden for it: And the courtiers are +such slippery youths, they are ever for the fairest chapman. + +_Franc_. I'll fetch it presently;--oh how my heart quops now, as +they say: I'll fetch it presently: Sweet Mr Loveby, if the business +can be done, it shall be a good thing in your worship's way, I promise +you: O the father! that it could be done: O sweet father! [Loveby +_plucks out a paper_. + +_Lov_. Here, Mr Bibber, pray put in Madam Bibber's name into the +warrant. + +_Bib_. Madam Bibber! there's joy!--I must call you wife no more, +'tis Madam Bibber now. + +_Franc_. Pray read it, Mr Bibber. + +_Bib_. An order for the admission of the illustrious lady, Madam +Bibber, into her majesty's service. + +_Franc_. Pray give me the paper, I'll have nobody touch it but +myself; I am sure my money pays for it, as they say. These are the +finest words; Madam Bibber! pray, chicken, shew me where Madam is +written, that I may kiss it all over. I shall make bold now to bear +up to those flirting gentlewomen, that sweep it up and down with their +long tails. I thought myself as good as they, when I was as I was; but +now I am as I am. + +_Lov_. Good landlady, dispatch, and bring the money-- + +_Franc_. Truly, in the place of a dresser, I dare be bold to say, +as they say, I shall give their majesties worships good content: I'll +go fetch it. + +[_Exit_ FRANCES. + +_Bib_. We must keep the poor soul in ignorance as long as we +can, sir; for when she has once smoked it, I have no other way but to +retreat into the body of my janizaries, my journey-men; and never come +out into her presence more. Where will you be at nine o'clock, sir, +that we may rejoice over our good fortune? + +_Lov_. Call me at my Lord Nonsuch's house, and I'll go with you. + +_Bib_. We'll have the fiddles, and triumph, i'faith. + +[_Exit_ BIBBER. + +_Lov_. Lord, how eager this vermin was to cheat himself! Well, +I'll after; I long to finger these Jacobus's: Perhaps they may make my +peace again with my mistress. + +[_Exit _LOVEBY. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ FAILER _and_ NONSUCH. [CONSTANCE _and_ ISABELLA +_listening_.] + + +_Fail_. I vow to gad, my lord, Sir Timorous is the most dejected +person in the world, and full of regret for what is past. 'Twas his +misfortune to be drawn in by such a person as Madam Isabella. + +_Non_. Tis well his estate pleads for him; he should ne'er set +foot more within my doors else. + +_Fail_. I'll be security for him for time to come: Leave it to +me to get the licence: All I desire is, your daughter may be ready +to-morrow morning. + +_Non_. Well, let me alone with her. + +[_Exeunt_ FAILER _and_ NONSUCH. + +_Isa_. You heard the dreadful sound, to-morrow, cousin. + +_Const_. I would not throw myself away upon this fool, if I could +help it. + +_Isa_. Better marry a tertian ague than a fool, that's certain; +there's one good day and night in that. + +_Const_. And yet thou art mad for him thyself. + +_Isa_. Nay, the fool is a handsome fool, that's somewhat; but +'tis not that; 'tis a kind of fancy I have taken to a glass coach, and +six Flanders mares; rich liveries, and a good fortune. + +_Const_. Pr'ythee do not mind me of 'em; for though I want 'em +not, yet I find all women are caught with gaieties: One grain more +would turn the balance on his side; I am so vexed at the wild courses +of this Loveby. + +_Isa_. Vexed? why vexed? the worst you can say of him is, he +loves women: And such make the kindest husbands, I'm told. If you had +a sum of money to put out, you would not look so much whether the man +were an honest man, (for the law would make him that) as if he were a +good sufficient pay-master. + +_Enter_ SETSTONE. + +_Const_. As I live, thou art a mad girl. + +_Set_. She must be used as mad folks are then; had into the dark +and cured. + +_Const_. But all this is no comfort to the word, to-morrow. + +_Isa_. Well, what say you, if I put you to-night into the arms of +Loveby? + +_Const_. My condition's desperate, and past thy physic. + +_Isa_. When physic's past, what remains but to send for the +divine? here's little Nicodemus, your father's chaplain: I have spoke +with him already; for a brace of angels he shall make all sure betwixt +you without a license; aye, and prove ten at night a more canonical +hour than ten i'the morning. + +_Const_. I see not which way thou can'st perform it; but if thou +do'st, I have many admirations in store for thee. [_Whispers_. + +_Isa_. Step in, and get a cushion underneath your apron. + +_Const_. O, I must be with child, it seems! + +_Isa_. And Loveby shall bring you to bed to-night, if the devil +be not in the dice: away, make haste;--[_Exit_ CONSTANCE.] +Setstone, be not you far off: I shall have need of you too: I hear my +uncle coming--Methinks I long to be revenged of this wicked +elder, for hindering of my marriage to-day: Hark you, Setstone-- +[_Whispers;_ + +_Set_. Tis impossible, madam; 'twill never take. + +_Isa_. I warrant you; do not I know him? he has not brains +enough, if they were buttered, to feed a blackbird--Nay, no +replies--out of what I have said, you may instruct my cousin too. + +[_Exit_ SETSTONE. + +_Enter_ NONSUCH. + +_Isa_. Oh, are you there, sir? Faith, it was kindly done of you +to hinder me of a good husband this afternoon: And but for one thing, +I would resolve to leave your house. + +_Non_. I'm glad there's any thing will stay thee. + +_Isa_. If I stay, 'tis for love of my cousin Constance, not of +you: I should be loth to leave her in this sad condition. + +_Non_. What condition? + +_Isa_. Nay, I know not; she has not worn her busk this fortnight. +I think she's grown fat o'the sudden. + +_Non_. O devil, devil! what a fright I'm in! + +_Isa_. She has qualms too every morning: ravens mightily for +green fruit; and swoons at the sight of hot meat. + +_Non_. She's with child: I am undone! I am undone! + +_Isa_. I understand nothing of such matters: She's but in the +next room; best call her, and examine her about it. + +_Non_. Why Constance, Constance! + +_Enter_ CONSTANCE, _as with child_. + +_Isa_. Now for a broad-side; turn your prow to him, cousin. + +[_To her_. + +_Non_. Now, gentlewoman! is this possible? + +_Const_. I do not reach your meaning, sir. + +_Non_. Where have you been of late? + +_Const_. I seldom stir without you, sir: These walls most +commonly confine me. + +_Non_. These walls can get no children; nor these hangings; +though there be men wrought in 'em. + +_Isa_. Yet, by your favour, nuncle, children may be wrought +behind the hangings. + +_Non_. O Constance, Constance! How have my grey hairs deserved +this of thee? Who got that belly there? + +_Const_. You, I hope, sir. + +_Non_. Tell me the truth, for I will know it; come, the story. + +_Const_. The story's quickly told, sir; I am with child. + +_Non_. And who is the father? + +_Const_. I do not know, sir. + +_Non_. Not know! went there so many to't? + +_Const_. So far from that, that there were none at all, to my +best knowledge, sir. + +_Non_. Was't got by miracle? Who was the father? + +_Const_. Who got your money, sir, that you have lost? + +_Non_. Nay, Heaven knows who got that. + +_Const_. And, Heaven knows who got this: for, on my conscience, +he, that had your money, was the father on't. + +_Non_. The devil it was as soon. + +_Const_. That's all I fear, sir. + +_Isa_. 'Tis strange;--and yet 'twere hard, sir, to suspect my +cousin's virtue, since we know the house is haunted. + +_Non_. 'Tis true, that nothing can be laid, though under lock and +key, but it miscarries. + +_Isa_. 'Tis not to be believed, what these villainous spirits can +do: they go invisible. + +_Const_. First, they stole away my prayer-book; and, a little +after that, a small treatise I had against temptation; and when they +were gone, you know, sir-- + +_Isa_. If there be such doings, pray heaven we are not all with +child. 'Tis certain, that none live within these walls, but they have +power of: I have reared Toby, the coachman, any time this fortnight. + +_Non_. Out, impudence! A man with child! why 'tis unnatural. + +_Isa_. Ay, so is he that got it. + +_Non_. Thou art not in earnest? + +_Isa_. I would I were not:--Hark! I hear him groan hither. Come +in, poor Toby. + +_Enter_ TOBY, _the coachman, with an urinal_. + +_Non_. How now! what have you there, sirrah? + +_Tob_. An't please your worship, 'tis my water. I had a spice +o'the new disease here i'the house; and so carried it to master +doctor. + +_Non_. Well; and what did he say to you? + +_Tob_. He told me very sad news, an' please you: I am somewhat +bashful to speak on't. + +_Isa_. Out with it, man. + +_Tob_. Why, truly, he told me, the party that owned the water was +with child. + +_Isa_. I told you so, uncle. + +_Non_. To my best remembrance, I never heard of such a thing +before. + +_Tob_. I never stretch out myself to snap my whip, but it goes to +the heart of me. + +_Isa_. Alas, poor Toby! + +_Non_. Begone, and put off your livery, sirrah!--You shall not +stay a minute in my service. + +_Tob_. I beseech your good worship, be good to me; 'twas the +first fault I ever committed in this kind. I have three poor children +by my wife; and if you leave me to the wide world, with a new charge +upon myself-- + +_Non_. Begone! I will not hear a word. + +_Tob_. If I must go, I'll not go alone: Ambrose Tinis, the cook, +is as bad as I am. + +_Non_. I think you'll make me mad. Call the rascal hither! I +must account with him on another score, now I think on't. + +_Enter_ AMBROSE TINIS. + +_Non_. Sirrah, what made you send a pheasant with one wing to the +table yesterday? + +_Amb_. I beseech your worship to pardon me; I longed for't. + +_Isa_. I feared as much. + +_Amb_. And I beseech your worship let me have a boy, to help me +in the kitchen; for I find myself unable to go through with the work. +Besides, the doctor has warned me of stooping to the fire, for fear of +a mischance. + +_Non_. Why, are you with child, sirrah? + +_Amb_. So he tells me; but, if I were put to my oath, I know not +that ever I deserved for't. + +_Non_. Still worse and worse. And here comes Setstone groaning. + +_Enter_ SETSTONE. + +_Set_. O, sir! I have been so troubled with swooning fits; and +have so longed for cherries! + +_Non_. He's poopt too. + +_Isa_. Well, this is not the worst yet: I suspect something more +than I will speak of. + +_Non_. What dost thou suspect, ha! + +_Isa_. Is not your lordship with child, too? + +_Non_. Who, I with child! marry, heaven forbid! What dost thou +see by me, to ground it on? + +_Isa_. You're very round of late;--that's all, sir. + +_Non_. Round! that's only fat, I hope. I have had a very good +stomach of late, I'm sure. + +_Isa_. Alas, and well you may;--You eat for two, sir. + +_Non_. Setstone, look upon me, and tell me true: Do you observe +any alteration in me? + +_Set_. I would not dishearten your ladyship--your lordship, I +would say--but I have observed, of late, your colour goes and comes +extremely. Methinks your lordship looks very sharp, and bleak i'the +face, and mighty puffed i'the body. + +_Non_. O, the devil! Wretched men, that we are all! Nothing +grieves me, but that, in my old age, when others are past +child-bearing, I should come to be a disgrace to my family. + +_Const_. How do you, sir? Your eyes look wondrous dim. Is not +there a mist before 'em? + +_Isa_. Do you not feel a kicking in your belly--When do you look, +uncle? + +_Non_. Uh, uh!--Methinks, I am very sick o'the sudden. + +_Isa_. What store of old shirts have you against the good time? +Shall I give you a shift, uncle? + +_Non_. Here's like to be a fine charge towards! We shall all be +brought to-bed together! Well, if I be with devil, I will have such +gossips: an usurer, and a scrivener, shall be godfathers. + +_Isa_. I'll help you, uncle; and Sawney's two grannies shall be +godmothers. The child shall be christened by the directory; and the +gossips' gifts shall be the gude Scotch kivenant. + +_Const. Set. Non. Tob. Amb_. Uh! uh! uh! + +_Isa_. What rare music's here! + +_Non_. Whene'er it comes from me, 'twill kill me; that's certain. + +_Set_. Best take a vomit. + +_Isa_. An't come upward, the horns will choke him. + +_Non_. Mass! and so they will. + +_Isa_. Your only way, is to make sure o'the man-midwife. + +_Non_. But my child's dishonour troubles me the most. If I could +but see her well married, before I underwent the labour and peril of +child-bearing!--What would you advise, niece? + +_Isa_. That which I am very loth to do. Send for honest Jack +Loveby, and let him know the truth on't: He's a fellow without a +fortune, and will be glad to leap at the occasion. + +_Non_. But why Loveby, of all the world? 'Tis but staying 'till +to-morrow, and then Sir Timorous will marry her. + +_Const_. Uh!--I swell so fast, I cannot hide it 'till to-morrow. + +_Isa_. Why, there's it now! + +_Non_. I'll send for the old alderman, Getwell, immediately: +He'll father the devil's bastard, I warrant you. + +_Isa_. Fie, uncle! my cousin's somewhat too good yet for an +alderman. If it were her third child, she might hearken to you. + +_Non_. Well, since it must be so, Setstone, go you to Loveby; +make my excuse to him for the arrest, and let him know, what fortune +may attend him. + +_Isa_. Mr Setstone, pray acquaint him with my cousin's affection +to him; and prepare him to father the cushion underneath her +petticoat. + +[_Aside to_ SETSTONE. _Exit_.] + +_Set_. I'll bring him immediately. + +_Isa_. When he comes, uncle, pray cover your great belly with +your hat, that he may not see it. + +_Non_. It goes against my heart to marry her to this Loveby; but, +what must be, must be. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY. + +_Const_. O, Mr Loveby! The welcomest man alive! You met Setstone, +I hope, that you came so opportunely? + +_Lov_. No, faith, madam; I came of my own accord. + +_Isa_. 'Tis unlucky; he's not prepared. + +_Lov_. Look you, madam, I have brought the hundred pounds; the +devil was as punctual as three o' clock at a playhouse. Here; 'tis +right, I warrant it, without telling: I took it upon his word. + +[_Gives it_. + +_Const_. Your kindness shall be requited, servant: But I sent for +you upon another business. Pray, cousin, tell it him, for I am ashamed +to do't. + +_Lov_. Ha! 'tis not that great belly, I hope. Is't come to that? + +_Isa_. Hark you, Mr Loveby; a word with you. + +_Lov_. A word with you, madam: Whither is your cousin bound? + +_Isa_. Bound, sir? + +_Lov_. Ay, bound: Look you, she's under sail, with a lusty +fore-wind. + +_Non_. I sent for you, sir; but, to be plain with you, 'twas more +out of necessity than love. + +_Lov_. I wonder, my lord, at your invincible ill-nature. You +forget the arrest, that I passed by: But this it is to be civil to +unthankful persons; 'tis feeding an ill-natured dog, that snarls while +he takes victuals from your hand. + +_Non_. All friends! all friends! No ripping up old stories; you +shall have my daughter. + +_Lov_. Faith, I see your lordship would let lodgings ready +furnished; but I am for an empty tenement. + +_Non_. I had almost forgot my own great belly. If he should +discover that too! [_Claps his hat before it_. + +_Isa. [To Lov_.] You will not hear me, sir. 'Tis all roguery, as +I live. + +_Lov_. Flat roguery, I'll swear! If I had been father on't, nay, +if I had but laid my breeches upon the bed, I would have married her: +But I see we are not ordained for one another. + +[_Is going_. + +_Non_. I beseech you, sir. + +_Lov_. Pray cover, my lord. + +_Isa_. He does his great belly, methinks. + +_Non_. I'll make it up in money to you. + +_Lov_. That cannot tempt me. I have a friend, that shall be +nameless, that will not see me want; and so, your servant. + +[_Exit_ LOVEBY. + +_Isa_. I'll after, and bring him back. + +_Non_. You shall not stir after him;--Does he scorn my daughter? + +_Isa_. Lord, how fretful you are! This breeding makes you so +peevish, uncle. + +_Non_. 'Tis no matter, she shall straight be married to Sir +Timorous. + +_Const_. I am ruined, cousin. + +[_Aside_. + +_Isa_. I warrant you.--My lord, I wish her well married to Sir +Timorous; but Loveby will certainly infect him with the news of her +great belly. + +_Non_. I'll dispatch it, ere he can speak with him. + +_Isa_. Whene'er he comes, he'll see what a _bona roba_ she +is grown. + +_Non_. Therefore, it shall be done i'the evening. + +_Isa_. It shall, my lord. + +_Const_. Shall it? + +[Aside. + +_Isa_. Let me alone, cousin.--And to this effect she shall write +to him, that, to conform to your will, and his modesty, she desires +him to come hither alone this evening. + +_Non_. Excellent wench!--I'll get my chaplain ready. + +[_Exit_ NONSUCH. + +_Const_. How can you hope to deceive my father? + +_Isa_. If I don't, I have hard luck. + +_Const_. You go so strange a way about, your bowl must be well +bias'd to come in. + +_Isa_. So plain a ground, there's not the least rub in't. I'll +meet Sir Timorous in the dark; and, in your room, marry him. + +_Const_. You'll be sure to provide for one. + +_Isa_. You mistake me, cousin:--Oh! here's Setstone again. + +_Enter_ SETSTONE. + +Mr Jeweller, you must again into your devil's shape, and speak with +Loveby. But pray be careful not to be discovered. + +_Set_. I warrant you, madam. I have cozened wiser men than he in +my own shape; and, if I cannot continue it in a worse, let the devil, +I make bold with, e'en make as bold with me. + +_Isa_. You must guide him, by back ways, to my uncle's house, and +so to my cousin's chamber, that he may not know where he is when he +comes there. The rest I'll tell you as we go along. + +[_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter_ TIMOROUS; _after him_ BURR _and_ FAILER. + + +_Tim_. Here, here, read this note; there's news for us. + +_Fail_. Let me see't. [_Reads_. + +_Sir Timorous, Be at the garden-door at nine this evening; there +I'll receive you with my daughter. To gratify your modesty I designed +this way, after I had better considered on it: and pray leave your +caterpillars, Burr and Failer, behind you. Yours,_ Nonsuch. + +There is some trick in this, whate'er it be. But this word, +caterpillars--You see, Burr, Sir Timorous is like to be lured from us. +[_Aside_. + +_Burr_. Is there no prevention? [_Aside_. + +_Fail_. One way there is.--Sir Timorous, pray walk a turn, while +Burr and I confer a little upon this matter.--Look you, Burr, there is +but one remedy in nature, I vow to gad; that is, for you to have a new +Sir Timorous, exceeding this person in bounty to you. Observe, then; +in Sir Timorous' place will I go, and, egad, I'll marry my lady +Constance; and then, from the bowels of friendship, bless thee with a +thousand pounds, besides lodging and diet for thy life, boy. + +_Burr_. Umph, very well thought on.--No, sir! you shall trust +to my bounty; I'll go in his place. Murmur or repine, speak the least +word, or give thy lips the least motion, and I'll beat thee till thou +art not in condition to go. + +_Fail_. I vow to gad, this is extreme injustice.--Was it not my +invention? + +_Burr_. Why, dost thou think thou art worthy to make use of thy +own invention?--Speak another word, d'ye see!--Come, help me quickly +to strip Sir Timorous; his coat may conduce to the deceit.--Sir +Timorous, by your leave. [_Fatts on him_. + +_Tim_. O, Lord! what's the matter?--Murder? murder! + +_Burr_. D'ye open? I have something in my pocket that will serve +for a gag, now I think on't. + +[_Gags, and binds him_. + +So, lie there, knight. Come, sir, and help to make me Sir Timorous; +and, when I am married, remember to increase your manners with my +fortune.--Yet we'll always drink together. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + +_Enter_ CONSTANCE, ISABELLA, _and_ NONSUCH. + + +_Const_. This is just the knight's hour; and lovers seldom come +after their time. + +_Non_. Good night, daughter; I'll to bed, and give you joy +to-morrow morning. [_Exit_. + +_Isa_. I'm glad he's gone: What, your train takes? + +_Const_. Yes, yes; Loveby will come: Setstone has been with him +in disguise; and promised him golden mountains, if he will not be +wanting to his own fortune. + +_Isa_. Is your habit provided too? + +_Const_. All is ready. + +_Isa_. Away then; for this is the place where we must part like +knights errant, that take several paths to their adventures. + +_Const_. 'Tis time, for I hear somebody come along the alley; +without question 'tis Timorous. Farewell; the chaplain stays for me in +the chamber. + +_Isa_. And I'll post after you to matrimony; I have laid a fresh +parson at the next stage, that shall carry me tantivy. + +[_Exit_ CONSTANCE. + +_Enter_ BURR _with_ TIMOROUS'S _coat on_. + +_Burr_. My lady Constance! + +_Isa_. The same: Sir Timorous? + +_Burr_. The same. + +_Isa_. Sir Timorous takes me for my cousin. + +[_Aside_. + +_Burr_. My lady Constance mistakes me for the knight. + +[_Aside_. + +_Isa_. Here, sir; through the dark walk: 'tis but a little way +about--He's my own beyond redemption-- + +[_Aside_. + +_Burr_. The Indies are mine; and a handsome lady into the +bargain. + +[_Excunt_. + +_Enter_ FAILER, _dogging them, as they go off_. + +_Fail_. He shall be hanged, ere he shall get her. Thus far I have +dogged them, and this way I am sure they must pass, ere they come to +the house. The rogue had got the old dog-trick of a statesman; to fish +things out of wiser heads than his own, and never so much as to take +notice of him that gave the counsel-- + +_Enter ISABELLA and BURR again_. + +Now, if I can but give her the hint without his knowledge!--Madam--my +lady Constance! + +_Isa_. What voice is that? + +_Fail_. A word in private, or you are undone--Pray step aside. + +_Burr._ Where are you, madam? + +_Isa_. Immediately, Sir Timorous. + +_Fail_. You are mistaken, madam; 'tis not Sir Timorous, but Burr +in his clothes; he has stripped the knight, gagged him, and locked him +up. + +_Isa_. Failer? + +_Fail_. The same. I could not but prevent your unhappiness, +though I hazard my person in the discovery, I vow to gad, madam. + +_Burr_. Who's that talks to you, my lady Constance? + +_Isa_. A maid of my acquaintance, that's come to take her leave +of me before I marry; the poor soul does so pity me. + +_Burr_. How will that maid lie, thinking of you and me to-night! + +_Isa_. Has he the key about him? [_To FAILER_. + +_Fail_. I think so, madam. + +_Isa_. Could not you possibly pick his pocket, and give me the +key? then let me alone to release Sir Timorous; and you shall be +witness of the wedding. + +_Fail_. Egad, you want your cousin Isabella's wit to bring that +to pass, madam. + +_Isa_. I warrant you, my own wit will serve to fool Burr--and you +too, or I am much deceived. [_Aside_. + +_Fail_. I am a little apprehensive of the rascal's fingers, since +I felt them last; and yet my fear has not power to resist the sweet +temptation of revenge; I vow to gad I'll try, madam. + +_Isa_. Never fear; let me alone to keep him busy. + +_Burr_. Come, madam, and let me take off these tasteless kisses +the maid gave you; may we not join lips before we are married? + +_Isa_. No; fie, Sir Timorous. + +[_They struggle a little, and in that time FAILER picks his pocket +of the key_. + +_Fail_. I have it--here it is--now, shift for yourself, as I'll +do; I'll wait you in the alley. + +[_Exit_. + +_Isa_. Sir Timorous, pray go into my chamber, and make no noise +till I return; I'll but fetch the little man of God, and follow you in +a twinkling. + +_Burr_. There's no light, I hope? + +_Isa_. Not a spark. + +_Burr_. For to light me to the mark-- + +[_Exit_. + +_Isa_. What a scowering have I 'scaped to-night! Fortune, 'tis +thou hast been ingenious for me! Allons, Isabella! Courage! now to +deliver my knight from the enchanted castle. + +[_Exit_. + +_Enter LOVEBY, led by SETSTONE, antickly habited; with a torch in +one hand, and a wand in the other_. + +_Lov_. What art thou, that hast led me this long hour through +lanes and alleys, and blind passages? + +_Set_. I am thy genius; and conduct thee to wealth, fame, and +honour; what thou comest to do, do boldly; fear not; with this rod I +charm thee; and neither elf nor goblin now can harm thee. + +_Lov_. Well, march on; if thou art my genius, thou art bound to +be answerable for me; I'll have thee hanged, if I miscarry. + +_Set_. Fear not, my son. + +_Lov_. Fear not, quotha! then, pr'ythee, put on a more familiar +shape:--one of us two stinks extremely: Pr'ythee, do not come so near +me; I do not love to have my face bleached like a tiffany with thy +brimstone. + +_Set_. Fear not, but follow me. + +_Lov_. 'Faith, I have no great mind to't; I am somewhat godly at +present; but stay a month longer, and I'll be proud, and fitter for +thee. In the mean time, pr'ythee, stay thy stomach with some Dutchman; +an Hollander, with butter, will fry rarely in hell. + +_Set_. Mortal, 'tis now too late for a retreat; go on, and live; +step back, and thou art mine. + +_Lorn_. So I am, however, first or last; but for once I'll trust +thee. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +_The scene opens, and discovers CONSTANCE, and a Parson by her; she +habited like Fortune. + +Enter again_. + + +_Set_. Take here the mighty queen of good and ill, Fortune; first +marry, then enjoy thy fill Of lawful pleasures; but depart ere morn; +Slip from her bed, or else thou shalt be torn Piecemeal by fiends; +thy blood caroused in bowls, And thy four quarters blown to the top of +Paul's. + +_Lov_. By your favour, I'll never venture. Is marrying the +business? I'll none, I thank you. + +[_Here CONSTANCE whispers SETSTONE_. + +_Set_. Fortune will turn her back if twice denied. + +_Lav_. Why, she may turn her girdle too on t'other side[A]. This +is the devil; I will not venture on her. + +[Footnote A: A usual expression of indifference for a man's +displeasure.] + +_Set_. Fear not; she swears thou shalt receive no harm. + +_Lov_. Ay, if a man durst trust her; but the devil is got into +such an ill name of lying-- + +_Set_. Whene'er you are not pleased, it shall be lawful to sue +out your divorce. + +_Lov_. Ay, but where shall I get a lawyer? there you are +aforehand with me; you have retained most of them already. For the +favours I have received, I am very much her servant; but, in the way +of matrimony, Mr Parson there can tell you 'tis an ordinance, and must +not be entered into without mature deliberation; besides, marriages, +you know, are made in heaven; and that I am sure this was not. + +_Set_. She bids you then, at least, restore that gold, which she, +too lavishly, poured out on you, unthankful man. + +_Lov_. Faith, I have it not at present; 'tis all gone, as I am a +sinner; but, 'tis gone wickedly; all spent in the devil her father's +service. + +_Set_. Where is the grateful sense of all your favours? Come, +fiends, with flesh-hooks, tear the wretch in pieces, And bear his soul +upon your leather wings, Below the fountain of the dark abyss. + +_Lov_. What, are you a-conjuring? If you are good at that sport, +I can conjure as well as you--[_Draws his sword_. + +_Const_. Hold; for Heaven's sake, hold! I am no spirit; touch but +my hand; ghosts have no flesh and blood. [_Discovering_. + +_Lov_. My lady Constance! I began to suspect it might be a trick, +but never could imagine you the author. It seems you are desirous I +should father this _hans en kelder_ here? + +_Const_. I know not how, without a blush, to tell you, it was a +cheat I practised for your love. + +_Set_. A mere tympany, sir, raised by a cushion; you see 'tis +gone already. + +_Const_. Setstone was sent to have acquainted you; but, by the +way, unfortunately missed you. + +_Lev_. Twas you, then, that supplied me all this while with +money? pretty familiar, I hope to make thee amends ere I sleep +to-night. Come, parson, pr'ythee make haste and join us. I long to be +out of her debt, poor rogue. + +[_The parson takes them to the side of the stage; they turn their +backs to the audience, while he mumbles to them_. + +_Set_. I'll be the clerk; Amen--give you joy, Mr Bridegroom, and +Mrs Bride. + +_Lov. Const_. Thanks, honest Setstone. + +[_BIBBER, FRANCES, and music without--they play_. + +_Music_. God give your worship a good even, Mr Loveby. + +_Const_. Hark! what noise is that! Is this music of your +providing, Setstone? + +_Set_. Alas, madam, I know nothing of it. + +_Lov_. We are betrayed to your father; but the best on't is, he +comes too late to hinder us--fear not, madam, I'll bear you through +them all. + +[_As they rush out, BIBBER, FRANCES, and Music are entering in; +BIBBER and FRANCES are beaten down.--Exeunt LOVEBY; CONSTANCE, +SETSTONE, and Parson_. + +_All cry out_. Oh the devil! the devil! the devil! + +_Bib_. Lord bless us, where are you, Frances! + +_Fran_. Here, William! this is a judgment, as they say, upon +you, William, for trusting wits, and calling gentlemen to the tavern, +William. + +_Bib_. No; 'twas a judgment upon you, for desiring preferment at +court, Frances. Let's call up the watch, and Justice Trice, to have +the house searched. + +_Fran_. Ay, ay; there's more devils there, I warrant you. +[_Exeunt_. + +_Enter LOVEBY, CONSTANCE, and SETSTONE again_. + +_Lov_. It was certainly Will Bibber and his wife, with music; +for, now I remember myself, I 'pointed him this hour at your father's +house: but we frighted them worse than they frighted us. + +_Const_. Our parson ran away too, when they cried out the devil! + +_Lov_. He was the wiser; for if the devil had come indeed, he has +preached so long against him, it would have gone hard with him. + +_Set_. Indeed, I have always observed parsons to be more fearful +of the devil than other people. + +_Lov_. Oh, the devil's the spirit, and the parson's the flesh; +and betwixt those two there must be a war; yet, to do them both right, +I think in my conscience they quarrel only like lawyers for their +fees, and meet good friends in private, to laugh at their clients. + +_Const_. I saw him run in at my cousin Isabella's chamber door, +which was wide open; I believe she's returned: We'll fetch a light +from the gallery, and give her joy. + +_Lov_. Why, is she married, madam? + +_Const_. I'll tell you as we go. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. + +_BURR and the Parson enter, meeting in the dark_. + + +_Burr_. My lady Constance, are you come again? That's well; I +have waited sufficiently for you in the dark. + +_Par_. Help, help, help, good Christian people! the devil, the +devil's here. + +_Burr_. 'Tis I, madam; what do you mean? + +_Par_. Avoid, Satan! avoid, avoid. + +_Burr_. What have I here, the hairy woman? + +_Enter LOVEBY, and CONSTANCE with the light_. + +Ha! yonder's my lady Constance! who have I got? a stone priest, by +this good light. How's this, Loveby too! + +_Lov_. Burr a-beating my reverend clergy? What makes you here at +this unseasonable hour? I'll know your business. [_Draws_. + +_Burr_. Will you, sir? [_They fight_. + +_Const. Set. Par_. Help, murder, murder! + +_Enter, at one door, TRICE drunk, with the Watch; BIBBER and FRANCES +following; at the other, NONSUCH and Servants, and FAILER_. + +_Non_. Murder, murder! beat down their weapons. Will you +murder Sir Timorous, Mr Loveby?--[_They disarm both_.] Sir +Timorous?--ha, Burr! Thieves, thieves!--sit down, good Mr Justice, and +take their examinations. Now I shall know how my money went. + +_Trice_. They shall have justice, I warrant them. [_Goes to +sit, and misses the chair_. + +_Bib_. The justice is almost dead drunk, my lord. + +_Fran_. But an't please your worship, my lord, this is not the +worst sight that we have seen here to-night in your worship's house; +we met three or four hugeous ugly devils, with eyes like saucers, that +threw down my husband, that threw down me, that made my heart so panck +ever since, as they say!-- + +_Non_. The devil again in my house? + +_Lov_. Nay, here he was, that's certain; he brought me hither, I +know not how myself, and married me; Mr Setstone there can justify it: +But the best is, I have a charm about me, that will lay him yet ere +midnight. + +_Fail_. And I vow to gad, my lord, I know as little how I came +hither as any man. + +_Burr_. Nor I. + +_Trice_. Nor I. + +_Lot_. No, I dare swear do'st thou not, Mr Justice. + +_Trice_. But I wonder how the devil durst come into our ward, +when he knows I have been at the duties of--my family--this evening. + +_Enter one of the Watch, with_ TIMOROUS _and_ ISABELLA. + +_Watch_. An please your worship, I met this couple in the street +late, and so, seeing them to be a man and woman, I brought them along +with me, upon suspicion of felony together. + +_Fran_. This is the proud minx, that sought shelter in my house +this afternoon, Mr Justice. + +_Fail_. Sir Timorous and Madam Isabella! I vow to gad, we are +undone, Burr.-- + +_Isa_. Do not you know me, Mr Justice? + +_Lov_. Justice is blind, he knows nobody. + +_Isa_. My name is Isabella. + +_Fran_. No, thy name is Jezebella; I warrant you, there's none +but rogues and papists would be abroad at this time of night. + +_Bib_. Hold, Frances.-- + +_Trice_. She's drunk, I warrant her, as any beast. I wonder, +woman, you do not consider what a crying sin drunkenness is: Whom do +you learn it from in our parish? I am sure you never see me worse. + +_Isa_. Burr and Failer, acknowledge yourselves a couple of +recreant knights: Sir Timorous is mine: I have won him in fair field +from you. + +_Const_. Give you joy, cousin, give you joy! + +_Lov_. Married! + +_Isa_. And in Diana's grove, boy. + +_Lov_. Why, 'tis fine, by Heaven; 'tis wondrous fine; as the poet +goes on sweetly. + +_Tim_. I am sure they had gagged me, and bound me, and stripped +me almost stark naked, and locked me up as fast as a butterfly, 'till +she came and made me a man again; and therefore I have reason to love +her the longest day I have to live. + +_Isa_. Ay, and the longest night too, or you are to blame. And +you have one argument I love you, if the proverb be true, for I took +you almost in your bare shirt. + +_Burr_. So much for us, Failer! + +_Const_. Well, my lord, it had as good out at first as at last: +I must beg your lordship's blessing for this gentleman and myself. +[_Both kneel_. + +_Non_. Why, you are not married to him, I hope! he's married to +the devil. + +_Lov_. 'Twas a white devil of your lordship's getting, then; Mr +Setstone and the reverend here can witness it. + +_Set. Par_. We must speak truth, my lord. + +_Non_. Would I had another child for your sake! you should ne'er +see a penny of my money. + +_Lov_. Thank you, my lord; but methinks 'tis much better as it +is. + +_Isa_. Come, nuncle, 'tis in vain to hold out, now 'tis past +remedy: 'Tis like the last act of a play, when people must marry; and +if fathers will not consent then, they should throw oranges at them +from the galleries. Why should you stand off, to keep us from a dance? + +_Non_. But there's one thing still that troubles me; that's her +great belly, and my own too. + +_Const_. Nay, for mine, my lord, 'tis vanished already; 'twas but +a trick to catch the old one. + +_Lov_. But I'll do my best; she shall not be long without +another. + +_Isa_. But as for your great belly, nuncle, I know no way to rid +you on't, but by taking out your guts. + +_Lov_. 'Tis such a pretty smart rascal, 'tis well I am pleased +with my own choice: but I could have got such Hectors, and poets, and +gamesters, out of thee!-- + +_Const_. No, no; two wits could never have lived well together; +want would have so sharpened you upon one another. + +_Isa_. A wit should naturally be joined to a fortune; by the same +reason your vintners feed their hungry wines. + +_Const_. And if Sir Timorous and I had married, we two fortunes +must have built hospitals with our money; we could never have spent it +else. + +_Lov_. Or what think you of paying courtiers' debts with it? + +_Isa_. Well, to shew I am in charity with my enemies, I'll make +a motion: While we are in town, let us hire a large house, and live +together: Burr and Failer-- + +_Fail_. Shall be utterly discarded; I knew 'twould come to that, +I vow to gad. + +_Isa_. Shall be our guests. + +[_BURR and FAILER throw up their caps, and cry, Vive Madam +ISABELLA!_ + +_Lov_. And Bibber shall make our wedding clothes without +trusting. + +_Bib_. No, henceforward I'll trust none but landed men, and such +as have houses and apple-trees in the country, now I have got a place +in the custom-house. + +_Fran_. Nothing vexes me, but that this flirting gentlewoman +should go before me; but I'll to the herald's office, and see whether +the queen's majesty's dresser, should not take place of any knight's +wife in Christendom. + +_Bib_. Now all will out--no more, good Frances. + +_Fran_. I will speak, that I will, so I will: What! shall I be a +dresser to the queen's majesty, and nobody must know on't? I'll +send Mr Church-warden word on't; and, gentlemen, when you come to St +Bride's church (if ever you come to church, gentlemen), you shall see +me in the pew that's next the pulpit; thank Mr Loveby's worship for +it. + +_Lov_. Spare your thanks, good landlady; for the truth is, they +came too late, the place is gone; and so is yours, Will; but you shall +have two hundred pounds for one, if that will satisfy you. + +_Fran_. This is bitter news, as they say. + +_Lov_. Cheer up thy wife, Will. Where are the fiddles? A dance +should do it. + +_Bib_. I'll run and call them. + +_Isa_. I have found out that, will comfort her: Henceforward I +christen her by the name of Madam Bibber. + +_All_. A Madam Bibber, a Madam Bibber! + +_Fran_. Why, I thank you, sweet gentlemen and ladies; this is a +cordial to my drooping spirits: I confess I was a little eclipsed; but +I'll cheer up with abundance of love, as they say. Strike up, fiddles. + +_Lov_. That's a good wench. + +DANCE. + +_Trice_. This music and a little nod has recovered me. I'll in, +and provide for the sack posset. + +_Non_. To bed, to bed; 'tis late. Son Loveby, get me a boy +to-night, and I'll settle three thousand a-year upon him the first day +he calls me grandsire. + +_Lov_. I'll do my best, To make the bargain sure before I sleep. +Where love and money strike, the blow goes deep. + +[_Exeunt omnes_. + + + +EPILOGUE, + +WHEN IT WAS FIRST ACTED. + + +The _Wild Gallant_ has quite played out his game; +He's married now, and that will make him tame; +Or if you think marriage will not reclaim him, +The critics swear they'll damn him, but they'll tame him. +Yet, though our poet's threatened most by these, +They are the only people he can please: +For he, to humour them, has shown to-day, +That which they only like, a wretched play: +But though his play be ill, here have been shown +The greatest wits, and beauties of the town; +And his occasion having brought you here, +You are too grateful to become severe. +There is not any person here so mean, +But he may freely judge each act and scene: +But if you bid him chuse his judges, then, +He boldly names true English gentlemen: +For he ne'er thought a handsome garb or dress +So great a crime, to make their judgment less: +And with these gallants he these ladies joins, +To judge that language, their converse refines. +But if their censures should condemn his play, +Far from disputing, he does only pray +He may Leander's destiny obtain: +Now spare him, drown him when he comes again. + + + +EPILOGUE, + +WHEN REVIVED. + + +Of all dramatic writing, comic wit, +As 'tis the best, so 'tis most, hard to hit. +For it lies all in level to the eye, +Where all may judge, and each defect may spy. +Humour is that, which every day we meet, +And therefore known as every public street; +In which, if e'er the poet go astray, +You all can point, 'twas there he lost his way. +But, what's so common, to make pleasant too, +Is more than any wit can always do. +For 'tis like Turks, with hen and rice to treat; +To make regalios out of common meat. +But, in your diet, you grow savages: +Nothing but human flesh your taste can please; +And, as their feasts with slaughtered slaves began, +So you, at each new play, must have a man. +Hither you come, as to see prizes fought; +If no blood's drawn, you cry, the prize is naught. +But fools grow wary now; and, when they see +A poet eyeing round the company, +Straight each-man for himself begins to doubt; +They shrink like seamen when a press comes out. +Few of them will be found for public use, +Except you charge an oaf upon each house, +Like the train bands, and every man engage +For a sufficient fool, to serve the stage. +And when, with much ado, you get him there, +Where he in all his glory should appear, +Your poets make him such rare things to say, +That he's more wit than any man i' th' play: +But of so ill a mingle with the rest, +As when a parrot's taught to break a jest. +Thus, aiming to be fine, they make a show, +As tawdry squires in country churches do. +Things well considered, 'tis so hard to make +A comedy, which should the knowing take, +That our dull poet, in despair to please, +Does humbly beg, by me, his writ of ease. +'Tis a land-tax, which he's too poor to pay; +You therefore must some other impost lay. +Would you but change, for serious plot and verse, +This motely garniture of fool and farce, +Nor scorn a mode, because 'tis taught at home, +Which does, like vests, our gravity become, +Our poet yields you should this play refuse: +As tradesmen, by the change of fashions, lose, +With some content, their fripperies of France, +In hope it may their staple trade advance. + + + + +THE RIVAL LADIES, + +A TRAGI-COMEDY + + + +THE RIVAL LADIES. + + +This play, like that which preceded it, is a drama of intrigue, +borrowed from the Spanish, and claiming merit only in proportion to +the diversity and ingenuity of the incidents represented. On this +point every reader can decide for himself; and it would be an invidious +task to point out blemishes, where, to own the truth, there are but +few beauties. The ease with which the affections of almost every +female in the drama are engrossed by Gonsalvo, and afterwards +transferred to the lovers, upon whom the winding up of the plot made +it necessary to devolve them, will, it is probable, strike every +reader as unnatural. In truth, when the depraved appetite of the +public requires to be gratified by trick and bustle, instead of nature +and sentiment, authors must sacrifice the probable, as well as the +simple, process of events. + +The author seems principally to have valued himself on this piece, +because it contains some scenes executed in rhyme, in what was then +called the heroic manner. Upon this opinion, which Dryden lived to +retract, I have ventured to offer my sentiments in the Life of the +Author. In other respects, though not slow in perceiving and avouching +his own merit, our author seems to consider the "Rival Ladies" as no +very successful dramatic effort. + +The "Rival Ladies" is supposed to have been first acted in 1663, and +was certainly published in the year following. Of its success we know +nothing particular. It is probable, the flowing verse, into which some +part of the dialogue is thrown, with the strong point and antithesis, +which distinguishes Dryden's works, and particularly his argumentative +poetry, tended to redeem the credit of the author of the "Wild +Gallant." + + + +THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ROGER, EARL OF ORRERY[1]. + +[Footnote 1: This distinguished person was fifth son of Richard Boyle, +known by the title of the great Earl of Cork. His first title was Lord +Broghill, under which he distinguished himself in Ireland. +Cromwell, although his lordship was a noted royalist, and in actual +correspondence with the exiled monarch, had so much confidence in +his honour and talents, that he almost compelled him to act as lord +lieutenant of that kingdom, under the stipulation that he was to come +under no oaths, and only to act against the rebel Irish, then the +common enemy. He was instrumental in the restoration, and created earl +of Orrery by Charles II, in 1660, He deserved Dryden's panegyric in +every respect, except as a poet--the very character, however, in which +he is most complimented, and perhaps was best pleased to be so. He +wrote, 1st, The Art of War--2d, Parthenissa, a romance--3d, Some +Poems--4th; Eight Plays--5th, State Tracts.] + + +My Lord, + +This worthless present was designed you long before it was a play; +when it was only a confused mass of thoughts, tumbling over one +another in the dark; when the fancy was yet in its first work, +moving the sleeping images of things towards the light, there to be +distinguished, and then either chosen or rejected by the judgment; it +was yours, my lord, before I could call it mine. And, I confess, in +that first tumult of my thoughts, there appeared a disorderly kind of +beauty in some of them, which gave me hope, something, worthy my lord +of Orrery, might be drawn from them: But I was then in that eagerness +of imagination, which, by overpleasing fanciful men, flatters them +into the danger of writing; so that, when I had moulded it into that +shape it now bears, I looked with such disgust upon it, that the +censures of our severest critics are charitable to what I thought +(and still think) of it myself: It is so far from me to believe this +perfect, that I am apt to conclude our best plays are scarcely so; for +the stage being the representation of the world, and the actions in +it, how can it be imagined, that the picture of human life can be more +exact than life itself is? He may be allowed sometimes to err, who +undertakes to move so many characters and humours, as are requisite in +a play, in those narrow channels which are proper to each of them; to +conduct his imaginary persons through so many various intrigues and +chances, as the labouring audience shall think them lost under every +billow; and then, at length, to work them so naturally out of their +distresses, that, when the whole plot is laid open, the spectators may +rest satisfied, that every cause was powerful enough to produce the +effect it had; and that the whole chain of them was with such due +order linked together, that the first accident would naturally beget +the second, till they all rendered the conclusion necessary. + +These difficulties, my lord, may reasonably excuse the errors of +my undertaking; but for this confidence of my dedication, I have an +argument, which is too advantageous for me not to publish it to the +world. It is the kindness your lordship has continually shown to all +my writings. You have been pleased, my lord, they should sometimes +cross the Irish seas, to kiss your hands; which passage (contrary +to the experience of others) I have found the least dangerous in the +world. Your favour has shone upon me at a remote distance, without the +least knowledge of my person; and (like the influence of the heavenly +bodies) you have done good, without knowing to whom you did it. It is +this virtue in your lordship, which emboldens me to this attempt; for, +did I not consider you as my patron, I have little reason to desire +you for my judge; and should appear with as much awe before you in the +reading, as I had when the full theatre sat upon the action. For, who +could so severely judge of faults as he, who has given testimony he +commits none? Your excellent poems have afforded that knowledge of it +to the world, that your enemies are ready to upbraid you with it, as +a crime for a man of business to write so well. Neither durst I have +justified your lordship in it, if examples of it had not been in the +world before you; if Xenophon had not written a romance, and a certain +Roman, called Augustus Caesar, a tragedy, and epigrams. But their +writing was the entertainment of their pleasure; yours is only a +diversion of your pain. The muses have seldom employed your thoughts, +but when some violent fit of the gout has snatched you from affairs +of state; and, like the priestess of Apollo, you never come to deliver +his oracles, but unwillingly, and in torment. So that we are obliged +to your lordship's misery for our delight: You treat us with the cruel +pleasure of a Turkish triumph, where those, who cut and wound their +bodies, sing songs of victory as they pass, and divert others with +their own sufferings. Other men endure their diseases; your lordship +only can enjoy them. Plotting and writing in this kind are certainly +more troublesome employments than many which signify more, and are of +greater moment in the world: The fancy, memory, and judgment, are then +extended (like so many limbs) upon the rack; all of them reaching +with their utmost stress at nature; a thing so almost infinite and +boundless, as can never fully be comprehended, but where the images of +all things are always present. Yet I wonder not your lordship succeeds +so well in this attempt; the knowledge of men is your daily practice +in the world; to work and bend their stubborn minds, which go not all +after the same grain, but each of them so particular a way, that +the same common humours, in several persons, must be wrought upon by +several means. Thus, my lord, your sickness is but the imitation of +your health; the poet but subordinate to the statesman in you; you +still govern men with the same address, and manage business with the +same prudence; allowing it here (as in the world) the due increase and +growth, till it comes to the just height; and then turning it when it +is fully ripe, and nature calls out, as it were, to be delivered. +With this only advantage of ease to you in your poetry, that you +have fortune here at your command; with which wisdom does often +unsuccessfully struggle in the world. Here is no chance, which you +have not foreseen; all your heroes are more than your subjects, they +are your creatures; and though they seem to move freely in all the +sallies of their passions, yet you make destinies for them, which +they cannot shun. They are moved (if I may dare to say so) like the +rational creatures of the Almighty Poet, who walk at liberty, in their +own opinion, because their fetters are invisible; when, indeed, the +prison of their will is the more sure for being large; and, instead of +an absolute power over their actions, they have only a wretched desire +of doing that, which they cannot chuse but do[1]. + +[Footnote 1: The earl of Orrery was author of several plays. If the +reader is not disposed to admit, that his habit of composing them, +when tormented by the gout, enhanced their value, it may be allowed to +apologise for their faults.] + +I have dwelt, my lord, thus long upon your writing, not because you +deserve not greater and more noble commendations, but because I am not +equally able to express them in other subjects. Like an ill swimmer, +I have willingly staid long in my own depth; and though I am eager of +performing more, yet am loth to venture out beyond my knowledge: for +beyond your poetry, my lord, all is ocean to me. To speak of you as a +soldier, or a statesman, were only to betray my own ignorance; and I +could hope no better success from it, than that miserable rhetorician +had, who solemnly declaimed before Hannibal, of the conduct of armies, +and the art of war. I can only say, in general, that the souls of +other men shine out at little crannies; they understand some one +thing, perhaps, to admiration, while they are darkened on all the +other parts; but your lordship's soul is an entire globe of light, +breaking out on every side; and, if I have only discovered one beam +of it, it is not that the light falls unequally, but because the body, +which receives it, is of unequal parts. + +The acknowledgment of which is a fair occasion offered me, to retire +from the consideration of your lordship to that of myself. I here +present you, my lord, with that in print, which you had the goodness +not to dislike upon the stage; and account it happy to have met you +here in England; it being, at best, like small wines, to be drunk out +upon the place, and has not body enough to endure the sea. + +I know not whether I have been so careful of the plot and language as +I ought; but, for the latter, I have endeavoured to write English, as +near as I could distinguish it from the tongue of pedants, and that +of affected travellers. Only I am sorry, that (speaking so noble a +language as we do) we have not a more certain measure of it, as they +have in France, where they have an academy erected for that purpose, +and endowed with large privileges by the present king. I wish we might +at length leave to borrow words from other nations, which is now a +wantonness in us, not a necessity; but so long as some affect to speak +them, there will not want others, who will have the boldness to write +them. + +But I fear, lest, defending the received words, I shall be accused for +following the new way, I mean, of writing scenes in verse. Though, to +speak properly, it is not so much a new way amongst us, as an old +way new revived; for, many years before Shakspeare's plays, was the +tragedy of Queen Gorboduc, in English verse, written by that famous +Lord Buckhurst, afterwards earl of Dorset, and progenitor to that +excellent person, who (as he inherits his soul and title) I wish may +inherit his good fortune[1]. But, supposing our countrymen had not +received this writing till of late; shall we oppose ourselves to the +most polished and civilised nations of Europe? Shall we, with the same +singularity, oppose the world in this, as most of us do in pronouncing +Latin? Or do we desire that the brand, which Barclay has (I hope +unjustly) laid upon the English, should still continue? _Angli suos +ac sua omnia impense mirantur; caeteras nationes despectui habent_. +All the Spanish and Italian tragedies, I have yet seen, are writ in +rhyme. For the French, I do not name them, because it is the fate of +our countrymen to admit little of theirs among us, but the basest of +their men, the extravagancies of their fashions, and the frippery of +their merchandise. Shakspeare (who, with some errors not to be avoided +in that age, had undoubtedly a larger soul of poesy than ever any of +our nation) was the first who, to shun the pains of continual rhyming, +invented[A] that kind of writing which we call blank verse, but the +French, more properly, _prose mesuré_; into which the English +tongue so naturally slides, that, in writing prose, it is hardly to be +avoided. And therefore, I admire some men should perpetually stumble +in a way so easy, and, inverting the order of their words, constantly +close their lines with verbs, which, though commended sometimes in +writing Latin, yet we were whipt at Westminster if we used it twice +together. I knew some, who, if they were to write in blank verse, +_Sir, I ask your pardon_, would think it sounded more heroically +to write, _Sir, I your pardon ask_. I should judge him to have +little command of English, whom the necessity of a rhyme should force +often upon this rock; though sometimes it cannot easily be avoided; +and indeed this is the only inconvenience with which rhyme can be +charged. This is that which makes them say, rhyme is not natural; it +being only so, when the poet either makes a vicious choice of words, +or places them, for rhyme sake, so unnaturally as no man would in +ordinary speaking; but when it is so judiciously ordered, that the +first word in the verse seems to beget the second, and that the next, +till that becomes the last word in the line, which, in the negligence +of prose, would be so; it must then be granted, rhyme has all the +advantages of prose, besides its own. But the excellence and dignity +of it were never fully known till Mr Waller taught it; he first made +writing easily an art; first shewed us to conclude the sense, most +commonly in distichs, which, in the verse of those before him, runs +on for so many lines together, that the reader is out of breath to +overtake it. This sweetness of Mr Waller's lyric poesy was afterwards +followed in the epic by Sir John Denham, in his Cooper's-Hill, a poem +which, your Lordship knows, for the majesty of the style, is, and +ever will be, the exact standard of good writing. But if we owe the +invention of it to Mr Waller, we are acknowledging for the noblest use +of it to Sir William D'Avenant, who at once brought it upon the stage, +and made it perfect, in the Siege of Rhodes. + +[Footnote 1: The tragedy of Ferrex and Perrex (which is the proper +title) was written by Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, afterwards +earl of Dorset, and Thomas Norton, a barrister at law. In Sackville's +part of the play, which comprehends the two last acts, there is some +poetry worthy of the author of the sublime Introduction to the Mirror +of Magistrates. While both the authors were out of England, one +William Griffiths published a spurious copy, under the title of +Gorboduc, the name of one of the principal personages, who is not, +however, _queen_, but _king_, of England, But, what was a +wider mistake, considering Dryden's purpose of mentioning the work, it +is not written in rhyme, but in blank verse, excepting the choruses, +which are in stanzas of six lines. The name of the queen is Videna. +Sir Philip Sydney says, "Gorboduc is full of stately speeches and well +sounding phrases, climbing up to the height of Seneca his style, and +as full of notable morality, which it doth most delightfully teach, +and thereby obtain the very end of poetry."] + +[Footnote A: This is a mistake. Marlow, and several other dramatic +authors, used blank verse before the days of Shakspeare.] + +The advantages which rhyme has over blank verse are so many, that +it were lost time to name them. Sir Philip Sidney, in his Defence +of Poesy, gives us one, which, in my opinion, is not the least +considerable; I mean the help it brings to memory, which rhyme so +knits up, by the affinity of sounds, that, by remembering the last +word in one line, we often call to mind both the verses. Then, in the +quickness of repartees (which in discoursive scenes fall very often), +it has so particular a grace, and is so aptly suited to them, that the +sudden smartness of the answer, and the sweetness of the rhyme, set +off the beauty of each other. But that benefit which I consider most +in it, because I have not seldom found it, is, that it bounds and +circumscribes the fancy. For imagination in a poet is a faculty so +wild and lawless, that, like an high-ranging spaniel, it must have +clogs tied to it, lest it out-run the judgment. The great easiness of +blank verse renders the poet too luxuriant; he is tempted to say many +things, which might better be omitted, or at least shut up in fewer +words; but when the difficulty of artful rhyming is interposed, where +the poet commonly confines his sense to his couplet, and must contrive +that sense into such words, that the rhyme shall naturally follow +them, not they the rhyme; the fancy then gives leisure to the judgment +to come in, which, seeing so heavy a tax imposed, is ready to cut off +all unnecessary expences. This last consideration has already answered +an objection which some have made, that rhyme is only an embroidery of +sense, to make that, which is ordinary in itself, pass for excellent +with less examination. But certainly, that, which most regulates the +fancy, and gives the judgment its busiest employment, is like to bring +forth the richest and clearest thoughts. The poet examines that most, +which he produceth with the greatest leisure, and which, he knows, +must pass the severest test of the audience, because they are aptest +to have it ever in their memory; as the stomach makes the best +concoction, when it strictly embraces the nourishment, and takes +account of every little particle as it passes through. But, as the +best medicines may lose their virtue, by being ill applied, so is it +with verse, if a fit subject be not chosen for it. Neither must the +argument alone, but the characters and persons, be great and +noble; otherwise, (as Scaliger says of Claudian) the poet will +be _ignobitiore materiâ depressus_. The scenes, which, in my +opinion, most commend it, are those of argumentation and discourse, on +the result of which the doing or not doing some considerable action +should depend. + +But, my lord, though I have more to say upon this subject, yet I must +remember, it is your lordship to whom I speak; who have much better +commended this way by your writing in it, than I can do by writing for +it. Where my reasons cannot prevail, I am sure your lordship's example +must. Your rhetoric has gained my cause; at least the greatest part of +my design has already succeeded to my wish, which was to interest so +noble a person in the quarrel, and withal to testify to the world how +happy I esteem myself in the honour of being, + +MY LORD, + +Your Lordship's most humble, +and most obedient servant, +JOHN DRYDEN. + + + +PROLOGUE + +'Tis much desired, you judges of the town +Would pass a vote to put all prologues down; +For who can show me, since they first were writ, +They e'er converted one hard-hearted wit? +Yet the world's mended well; in former days +Good prologues were as scarce as now good plays. +For the reforming poets of our age, +In this first charge, spend their poetic rage: +Expect no more when once the prologue's done; +The wit is ended ere the play's begun. +You now have habits, dances, scenes, and rhymes; +High language often; ay, and sense, sometimes. +As for a clear contrivance, doubt it not; +They blow out candles to give light to th' plot. +And for surprise, two bloody-minded men +Fight till they die, then rise and dance again. +Such deep intrigues you're welcome to this day: +But blame yourselves, not him who writ the play; +Though his plot's dull, as can be well desired, +Wit stiff as any you have e'er admired: +He's bound to please, not to write well; and knows, +There is a mode in plays as well as clothes; +Therefore, kind judges-- + + +_Second Prologue enters_. + +2.--Hold; would you admit +For judges all you see within the pit? + +1. Whom would he then except, or on what score? + +2. All, who (like him) have writ ill plays before; +For they, like thieves condemned, are hangmen made, +To execute the members of their trade. +All that are writing now he would disown, +But then he must except--even all the town; +All cholerick, losing gamesters, who, in spite, +Will damn to day, because they lost last night; +All servants, whom their mistress' scorn upbraids; +All maudlin lovers, and all slighted maids; +All, who are out of humour, or severe; +All, that want wit, or hope to find it here. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + +DON GONSALVO DE PERALTA, _a young gentleman newly arrived from the +Indies, in love with_ JULIA. +DON RODORIGO DE SYLVA, _in love with the same lady_. +DON MANUEL DE TORRES, _brother to_ JULIA. + +JULIA, _elder sister to_ DON MANUEL, _promised to_ RODORIGO. +HONORIA, _younger sister to_ DON MANUEL, _disguised in the +habit of a man, and going by the name of_ HIPPOLITO, _in love +with_ GONSALVO. +ANGELINA, _sister to_ DON RODORIGO, _in man's habit, likewise +in love with_ GONSALVO, _and going by the name of_ AMIDEO. + +_Servants, Robbers, Seamen, and Masquers_. + + +SCENE--_Alicant_. + + + +THE RIVAL LADIES. + +ACT I. + +SCENE I--_A Wood_. + +_Enter_ GONSALVO _and a Servant_. + + +_Gon_. Nay, 'twas a strange as well as cruel storm, +To take us almost in the port of Sevile, +And drive us up as far as Barcelona; +The whole plate fleet was scattered, some part wrecked; +There one might see the sailors diligent +To cast o'erboard the merchant's envied wealth, +While he, all pale and dying, stood in doubt, +Whether to ease the burden of the ship, +By drowning of his ingots, or himself. + +_Serv_. Fortune, sir, is a woman everywhere, +But most upon the sea. + +_Gons_. Had that been all, +I should not have complained; but, ere we could +Repair our ship, to drive us back again, +Was such a cruelty-- + +_Serv_. Yet that short time you staid at Barcelona +You husbanded so well, I think you left +A mistress there. + +_Gons_. I made some small essays +Of love; what might have been I cannot tell: +But, to leave that, upon what part of Spain +Are we now cast? + +_Serv_. Sir, I take that city to be Alicant. + +_Gons_. Some days must of necessity be spent +In looking to our ship; then back again +For Sevile. + +_Serv_. There you're sure you shall be welcome. + +_Gons_. Aye, if my brother Rodoric be returned +From Flanders; but 'tis now three years since I +Have heard from him, and, since I saw him, twelve. + +_Serv_. Your growth, and your long absence in the Indies, +Have altered you so much, he'll scarcely know you. + +_Gons_. I'm sure I should not him, and less my sister; +Who, when I with my uncle went this voyage, +Was then one of those little prating girls, +Of whom fond parents tell such tedious stories: +Well, go you back. + +_Serv_. I go, sir. + +_Gons_. And take care +None of the seamen slip ashore. + +_Serv_. I shall, sir. [_Exit Servant_. + +_Gons_. I'll walk a little while among these trees, +Now the fresh evening air blows from the hills, +And breathes the sweetness of the orange flowers +Upon me, from the gardens hear the city. + +_Robbers within_. + +_1 Rob_. I say, make sure, and kill him. + +_Hip_. For heaven's dear sake have pity on my youth. + +[_Within_. + +_Gons_. Some violence is offered in the wood +By robbers to a traveller: Whoe'er +Thou art, humanity obliges me +To give thee succour. + +_Hip_. Help! ah cruel men! [_Within_. + +_Gons_. This way, I think, the voice came; 'tis not far. [_Exit_. + +_The_ SCENE _draws, and discovers_ HIPPOLITO _bound to a +tree, and two Robbers by him with drawn swords_. + +_2 Rob_. Strip him, and let him go. + +_1 Rob_. Dispatch him quite; off with his doublet quickly. + +_Hip_. Ah me, unfortunate! + +_Enter_ GONSALVO, _seizes the sword of one of them, and runs +him through; then, after a little resistance, disarms the other_. + +_2 Rob_. If you have mercy in you, spare my life; +I never was consenting to a deed +So black as murder, though my fellow urged me: +I only meant to rob, and I am punished +Enough, in missing of my wicked aim. + +_Gons_. Do they rob angels here? This sweet youth has +A face so like one, which I lately saw, +It makes your crime of kin to sacrilege: +But live; and henceforth +Take nobler courses to maintain your life: +Here's something that will rescue you from want, +'Till you can find employment. +[_Gives him gold, and unbinds_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Hip_. What strange adventure's this! How little hoped I, +When thus disguised I stole from Barcelona, +To be relieved by brave Gonsalvo here? [_Aside_. + +_2 Rob_. That life, you have preserved, shall still be yours; +And that you may perceive, how much my nature +Is wrought upon by this your generous act, +That goodness, you have shown to me, I'll use +To others for your sake, if you dare trust me +A moment from your sight. + +_Gons_. Nay, take your sword; +I will not so much crush a budding virtue, +As to suspect. [_Gives him his sword. Exit Robber_. +--Sweet youth, you shall not leave me, +Till I have seen you safe. + +_Hip_. You need not doubt it: +Alas! I find I cannot, if I would: +I am but freed to be a greater slave: [_Aside_. +How much am I obliged, sir, to your valour! + +_Gons_. Rather to your own sweetness, pretty youth; +You must have been some way preserved, though I +Had not been near; my aid did but prevent +Some miracle more slowly setting out +To save such excellence. + +_Hip_. How much more gladly could I hear those words, +If he, that spoke them, knew he spoke to me! [_Aside_. + +_Enter the Robber again with Don_ MANUEL, _and_ +JULIA, _bound_. + +My brother and my sister prisoners too! +They cannot sure discover me through this +Disguise; however, I'll not venture it. + [_Steps behind the trees_. + +_2 Rob_. This gentleman and lady + [_To_ GONS. _privately_. +My fellows bound. [_Exit Robber_. + +_Man_. We must prepare to die; +This is the captain of the Picarons. + +_Jul_. Methinks he looks like one; I have a strange +Aversion to that man; he's fatal to me. + +_Gons_. I ne'er saw excellence in womankind + [_Stares on her_. +Till now, and yet discern it at the first: +Perfection is discovered in a moment; +He, that ne'er saw the sun before, yet knows him. + +_Jul_. How the villain stares upon me! + +_Gons_. Wonder prepares my soul, and then love enters: +But wonder is so close pursued by love, +That, like a fire, it warms as soon as born. + +_Man_. If we must die, what need these circumstances? + +_Jul_. Heaven defend me from him! + +_Gons_. Why, madam, can you doubt a rudeness from me? +Your very fears and griefs create an awe, +Such majesty they bear; methinks, I see +Your soul retired within her inmost chamber. +Like a fair mourner sit in state, with all +The silent pomp of sorrow round about her. + +_Man_. Your language does express a man, bred up +To worthier ways than those you follow now. + +_Gons_. What does he mean? [_Aside_. + +_Man_. If (as it seems) you love; love is a passion, +Which kindles honour into noble acts: +Restore my sister's liberty; oblige her, +And see what gratitude will work. + +_Gons_. All this is stranger yet. + +_Man_. Whate'er a brother's power +To-morrow can do for you, claim it boldly. + +_Gons_. I know not why you think yourselves my prisoners; +This lady's freedom is a thing too precious +To be disposed by any but herself: +But value this small service as you please, +Which you reward too prodigally, by +Permitting me to pay her more. + +_Jul_. Love from an outlaw? from a villain, love? +If I have that power on thee, thou pretend'st, +Go and pursue thy mischiefs, but presume not +To follow me:--Come, brother. [_Ex_. Jul. _and_ Man. + +_Gons_. Those foul names of outlaw and of villain +I never did deserve: They raise my wonder. [_Walks_. +Dull that I was, not to find this before! +She took me for the captain of the robbers; +It must be so; I'll tell her her mistake. + +[_Goes out hastily, and returns immediately_. + +She's gone, she's gone, and who or whence she is +I cannot tell; methinks, she should have left +A track so bright, I might have followed her; +Like setting suns, that vanish in a glory. +O villain that I am! O hated villain! + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO _again_. + +_Hip_. I cannot suffer you to wrong yourself +So much; for, though I do not know your person, +Your actions are too fair, too noble, sir, +To merit that foul name. + +_Gons_. Pr'ythee, do not flatter me; I am a villain; +That admirable lady said I was. + +_Hip_. I fear, you love her, sir. + +_Gons_. No, no, not love her: +Love is the name of some more gentle passion; +Mine is a fury, grown up in a moment +To an extremity, and lasting in it; +An heap of powder set on fire, and burning +As long as any ordinary fuel. + +_Hip_. How could he love so soon? and yet, alas! +What cause have I to ask that question, +Who loved him the first minute that I saw him? +I cannot leave him thus, though I perceive +His heart engaged another way. [_Aside_. + +Sir, can you have such pity on my youth, [To Him. +On my forsaken and my helpless youth, +To take me to your service? + +_Gons_. Would'st thou serve +A madman? how can he take care of thee, +Whom fortune and his reason have abandoned? +A man, that saw, and loved, and disobliged, +Is banished, and is mad, all in a moment. + +_Hip_. Yet you alone have title to my service; +You make me yours by your preserving me: +And that's the title heaven has to mankind. + +_Gons_. Pr'ythee, no more. + +_Hip_. I know your mistress too. + +_Gons_. Ha! dost thou know the person I adore? +Answer me quickly; speak, and I'll receive thee: +Hast thou no tongue? + +_Hip_. Why did I say I knew her? +All I can hope for, if I have my wish +To live with him, is but to be unhappy. [Aside. + +_Gons_. Thou false and lying boy, to say thou knew'st +her; +Pr'ythee, say something, though thou cozen'st me. + +_Hip_. Since you will know, her name is Julia, sir, +And that young gentleman you saw, her brother, +Don Manuel de Torres. + +_Gons_. Say I should take thee, boy, and should +employ thee +To that fair lady, would'st thou serve me faithfully? + +_Hip_. You ask me an hard question: I can die +For you; perhaps I cannot woo so well. + +_Gons_. I knew thou would'st not do't. + +_Hip_. I swear I would: +But, sir, I grieve to be the messenger +Of more unhappy news; she must be married +This day to one Don Roderick de Sylva, +Betwixt whom and her brother there has been. +A long (and it was thought a mortal) quarrel, +But now it must for ever end in peace: +For, happening both to love each others sisters, +They have concluded it in a cross marriage; +Which, in the palace of Don Rodorick, +They went to celebrate from their countryhouse, +When, taken by the thieves, you rescued them. + +_Gons_. Methinks I am grown patient on a sudden, +And all my rage is gone: like losing gamesters, +Who fret and storm, and swear at little losses; +But, when they see all hope of fortune vanished, +Submit, and gain a temper by their ruin. + +_Hip_. Would you could cast this love, which troubles you, +Out of your mind! + +_Gons_. I cannot, boy; but since +Her brother, with intent to cozen me, +Made me the promise of his best assistance, +I'll take some course to be revenged of him. + +[_Is going out_. + +But stay--I charge thee, boy, discover not +To any, who I am. + +_Hip_. Alas, I cannot, sir; I know you not. + +_Gons_. Why, there's it; I am mad again; Oh love! + +_Hip_. Oh love! [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter two Servants of Don_ RODORICK'S, _placing +chairs, and talking as they place them_. + + +_1 Serv_. Make ready quickly there; Don Manuel +And his fair sister, that must be our lady, +Are coming in. + +_2 Serv_. They have been long expected; +'Tis evening now, and the canonic hours +For marriage are past. + +_1 Serv_. The nearer bedtime, +The better still; my lord will not defer it: +He swears, the clergy are no fit judges +Of our necessities. + +_2 Serv_. Where is my lord? + +_1 Serv_. Gone out to meet his bride. + +_2 Serv_. I wonder that my lady Angelina +Went not with him; she's to be married too. + +_1 Serv_. I do not think she fancies much the man: +Only, to make the reconcilement perfect +Betwixt the families, she's passive in it; +The choice being but her brother's, not her own. + +_2 Serv_. Troth, were't my case, I cared not who +chose for me. + +_1 Serv_. Nor I; 'twould save the process of a tedious +passion, +A long law-suit of love, which quite consumes +An honest lover, ere he gets possession: +I would come plump, and fresh, and all my self, +Served up to my bride's bed like a fat fowl, +Before the frost of love had nipped me through. +I look on wives as on good dull companions, +For elder brothers to sleep out their time with; +All, we can hope for in the marriage-bed, +Is but to take our rest; and what care I, +Who lays my pillow for me? + +_Enter a Poet with verses_. + +_1 Serv_. Now, what's your business, friend? + +_Poet_. An epithalamium, to the noble bridegrooms. + +_1 Serv_. Let me see; what's here? as I live, + [_Takes it_. +Nothing but downright bawdry: Sirrah, rascal, +Is this an age for ribaldry in verse; +When every gentleman in town speaks it +With so much better grace, than thou canst write it? +I'll beat thee with a stave of thy own rhymes. + +_Poet_. Nay, good sir--[_Runs off, and Exit_. + +_2 Serv_. Peace, they are here. + +[_Enter_ Don RODORICK, _Don_ MANUEL, JULIA, _and Company_. + +_1 Serv_. My lord looks sullenly, and fain would +hide it. + +_2 Serv_. Howe'er he weds Don Manuel's sister, yet +I fear he's hardly reconciled to him. + +_Jul_. I tremble at it still. + +_Rod_. I must confess +Your danger great; but, madam, since 'tis past, +To speak of it were to renew your fears. +My noble brother, welcome to my breast. +Some, call my sister; say, Don Manuel, +Her bridegroom, waits. + +_Man_. Tell her, in both the houses +There now remains no enemy but she. + +_Rod_. In the mean time let's dance; madam, I +hope You'll grace me with your hand.-- + +[_Enter_ LEONORA, _woman to_ ANGELINA; _takes the two men aside_. + +_Leon_. O sir, my lady Angelina-- + +_Rod_. Why comes she not? + +_Leon_. Is fallen extremely sick. + +_Both_. How? + +_Leon_. Nay, trouble not yourselves too much; +These fits are usual with her, and not dangerous. + +_Rod_. O rarely counterfeited. + [_Aside_. + +_Man_. May not I see her? + +_Leon_. She does, by me, deny herself that honour. + [_As she speaks, steals a note into his hand_. +I shall return, I hope, with better news; +In the mean time she prays, you'll not disturb +The company. + [_Exit _LEONORA. + +_Rod_. This troubles me exceedingly. + +_Man_. A note put privately into my hand +By Angelina's woman? She's my creature: +There's something in't; I'll read it to myself.-- +[_Aside_. + +_Rod_. Brother, what paper's that? + +_Man_. Some begging verses, +Delivered me this morning on my wedding. + +_Rod_. Pray, let me see them. + +_Man_. I have many copies, +Please you to entertain yourself with these. +[_Gives him another paper_. MANUEL _reads_. + +SIR, +_My lady feigns this sickness to delude you: +Her brother hates you still; and the plot is, +That he shall marry first your sister, +And then deny you his_.-- + +_Yours_, LEONORA. + +POSTSCRIPT. + +_Since I writ this, I have so wrought upon her, +(Who, of herself, is timorous enough) +That she believes her brother will betray her, +Or else be forced to give her up to you; +Therefore, unknown to him, she means to fly: +Come to the garden door at seven this evening, +And there you may surprise her; mean time, I +Will keep her ignorant of all things, that +Her fear may still increase_. + +_Enter_ LEONORA _again_. + +_Rod_. How now? How does your lady? + +_Leon_. So ill, she cannot possibly wait on you. + +_Man_. Kind heaven, give me her sickness! + +_Rod_. Those are wishes: +What's to be done? + +_Man_. We must defer our marriages. + +_Rod_. Leonora, now! [_Aside to her_ + +_Leon_. My lady, sir, has absolutely charged, +Her brother's should go forward. + +_Rod_. Absolutely! + +_Leon_. Expressly, sir; because, she says, there are +So many honourable persons here, +Whom to defraud of their intended mirth, +And of each others company, were rude: +So, hoping your excuse--[_Exit_ LEONORA. + +_Rod_. That privilege of power, which brothers have +In Spain, I never used, therefore submit +My will to hers; but with much sorrow, sir, +My happiness should go before, not wait +On yours: Lead on. + +_Man_. Stay, sir; though your fair sister, in respect +To this assembly, seems to be content +Your marriage should proceed, we must not want +So much good manners as to suffer it. + +_Rod_. So much good manners, brother? + +_Man_.--I have said it. +Should we, to show our sorrow for her sickness, +Provoke our easy souls to careless mirth, +As if our drunken revels were designed +For joy of what she suffers? + +_Rod_. 'Twill be over +In a few days. + +_Man_. Your stay will be the less. + +_Rod_. All things are now in readiness, and must not +Be put off, for a peevish humour thus. + +_Man_. They must; or I shall think you mean not fairly. + +_Rod_. Explain yourself. + +_Man_. That you would marry first, +And afterwards refuse me Angelina. + +_Rod_.--Think so. + +_Man_. You are-- + +_Rod_. Speak softly. + +_Man_. A foul villain. + +_Rod_. Then-- + +_Man_. Speak softly. + +_Rod_. I'll find a time to tell you, you are one. + +_Man_. 'Tis well. +Ladies, you wonder at our private whispers, + [_To the company_. +But more will wonder when you know the cause; +The beauteous Angelina is fallen ill; +And, since she cannot with her presence grace +This day's solemnity, the noble Roderick +Thinks fit it be deferred, 'till she recover; +Then, we both hope to have your companies. + +_Lad_. Wishing her health, we take our leaves. + [_Exeunt company_. +_Rod_. Your sister yet will marry me. + +_Man_. She will not: Come hither, Julia. + +_Jul_. What strange afflicting news is this you tell us? + +_Man_. 'Twas all this false man's plot, that when he had +Possest you, he might cheat me of his sister. + +_Jul_. Is this true, Roderick?--Alas, his silence +Does but too much confess it: How I blush +To own that love, I cannot yet take from thee! +Yet for my sake be friends. + +_Man_. 'Tis now too late: +I am by honour hindered. + +_Rod_. I by hate. + +_Jul_. What shall I do? + +_Man_. Leave him, and come away; +Thy virtue bids thee. + +_Jul_. But love bids me stay. + +_Man_. Her love's so like my own, that I should blame +The brother's passion in the sister's flame. +Rodorick, we shall meet.--He little thinks +I am as sure this night of Angelina, +As he of Julia. [_Aside. Exit_ MANUEL. + +_Rod_. Madam, to what an ecstasy of joy +Your goodness raises me! this was an act +Of kindness, which no service e'er can pay. + +_Jul_. Yes, Rodorick, 'tis in your power to quit +The debt you owe me. + +_Rod_. Do but name the way. + +_Jul_. Then briefly thus; 'tis to be just to me, +As I have been to you. + +_Rod_. You cannot doubt it. + +_Jul_. You know I have adventured, for your sake, +A brother's anger, and the world's opinion: +I value neither; for a settled virtue +Makes itself judge, and, satisfied within, +Smiles at that common enemy, the world. +I am no more afraid of flying censures, +Than heaven of being fired with mounting sparkles. + +_Rod_. But wherein must my gratitude consist? + +_Jul_. Answer yourself, by thinking what is fit +For me to do. + +_Rod_. By marriage, to confirm +Our mutual love. + +_Jul_. Ungrateful Rodorick! +Canst thou name marriage, while thou entertain'st +A hatred so unjust against my brother? + +_Rod_. But, unkind Julia, you know the causes +Of love and hate are hid deep in our stars, +And none but heaven can give account of both. + +_Jul_. Too well I know it: for my love to thee +Is born by inclination, not by judgment; +And makes my virtue shrink within my heart, +As loth to leave it, and as loth to mingle. + +_Rod_. What would you have me do? + +_Jul_. Since I must tell thee, +Lead me to some near monastery; there +(Till heaven find out some way to make us happy) +I shall be kept in safety from my brother. + +_Rod_. But more from me; what hopes can Rodorick +have, +That she, who leaves him freely, and unforced, +Should ever of her own accord return? + +_Jul_. Thou hast too great assurance of my faith, +That, in despite of my own self, I love thee. +Be friends with Manuel, I am thine; 'till when +My honour's. Lead me. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE III.--_The representation of a Street discovered +by twilight_. + +_Enter Don_ MANUEL, _solus_. + + +_Man_. This is the time and place, where I expect +My fugitive mistress; if I meet with her, +I may forget the wrongs, her brother did me; +If otherwise, his blood shall expiate them. +I hope her woman keeps her ignorant +How all things passed, according to her promise. + +_A door opens,--Enter_ ANGELINA _in boy's clothes_. +LEONORA _behind at the door_. + +_Leon_. I had forgot to tell him of this habit +She has put on; but sure he'll know her in it. + +[_Aside_. + +_Man_. Who goes there? + +_Ang_. 'Tis Don Manuel's voice; I must run back: +The door shut on me?--Leonora! where?--Does +she not follow me? I am betrayed. + +_Man_. What are you? + +_Ang_. A poor boy. + +_Man_. Do you belong to Rodorick? + +_Ang_. Yes, I do. + +_Man_. Here's money for you; tell me where's his +sister? + +_Ang_. Just now I met her coming down the stairs, +Which lead into the garden. + +_Man_. 'Tis well; leave me +In silence. + +_Ang_. With all my heart; was ever such a 'scape? +[_Exit running_. + +_Man_. She cannot now be long; sure by the moons shine +I shall discover her: + +_Enter_ RODORICK _and_ JULIA. + +This must be she; I'll seize her. + +_Jul_. Help me, Roderick. + +_Rod_. Unhand the lady, villain. + +_Man_. Roderick! +I'm glad we meet alone; now is the time +To end our difference. + +_Rod_. I cannot stay. + +_Man_. You must. + +_Rod_. I will not. + +_Man_. 'Tis base to injure any man; but yet +Tis far more base, once done, not to defend it. + +_Rod_. Is this an hour, for valiant men to fight? +They love the sun should witness what they do; +Cowards have courage, when they see not death; +And fearful hares, that sculk in forms all day, +Yet fight their feeble quarrels by the moonlight. + +_Man_. No; light and darkness are but poor distinctions +Of such, whose courage comes by fits and starts. + +_Rod_. Thou urgest me above my patience; +This minute of my life was not my own, +But hers, I love beyond it. [_They draw, and fight_. + +_Jul_. Help, help! none hear me! +Heaven, I think, is deaf too: +O Roderick! O brother! + +_Enter_ GONSALVO, _and_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Jul_. Whoe'er you are, if you have honour, part +them! [MANUEL _stumbles, and falls_. + +_Gons_. Hold, sir, you are too cruel; he, that kills +At such advantage, fears to fight again. + +[_Holds_ RODORICK. + +_Man_. Cavalier, I may live to thank you for this +favour. [_Rises_. + +_Rod_. I will not quit you so. + +_Man_. I'll breathe, and then-- + +_Jul_. Is there no way to save their lives? + +_Hip_. Run out of sight, +If 'tis concerning you they quarrel. + +[JULIA _retires to a corner_. + +_Hip_. Help, help, as you are cavaliers; the lady. +For whom you thus contend, is seized by some +Night-robbing villains. + +_All_. Which way took they? + +_Hip_. 'Twas so dark I could not see distinctly. + +_Rod_. Let us divide; I this way. [_Exit_. + +_Gons_. Down yonder street I'll take. + +_Man_. And I down that. [_Exeunt severally_. + +_Hip_. Now, madam, may we not lay by our fear? +They are all gone. + +_Jul_. Tis true; but we are here, +Exposed to darkness, without guide or aid, +But of ourselves. + +_Hip_. And of ourselves afraid. + +_Jul_. These dangers, while 'twas light, I could +despise; +Then I was bold, but watched by many eyes: +Ah! could not heaven for lovers find a way, +That prying people still might sleep by day? + +_Enter_ ANGELINA. + +_Hip_. Methinks I'm certain I discover some. + +_Jul_. This was your speaking of them, made them +come. + +_Hip_. There is but one, perhaps he may go by. + +_Ang_. Where had I courage for this bold disguise, +Which more my nature than my sex belies? +Alas! I am betrayed to darkness here; +Darkness, which virtue hates, and maids most fear: +Silence and solitude dwell every where: +Dogs cease to bark; the waves more faintly roar, +And roll themselves asleep upon the shore: +No noise but what my footsteps make, and they +Sound dreadfully, and louder than by day: +They double too, and every step I take +Sounds thick, methinks, and more than one could +make. +Ha! who are these? +I wished for company, and now I fear. +Who are you, gentle people, that go there? + +_Jul_. His voice is soft as is the upper air, +Or dying lovers' words: O pity us. +Ang. O pity me! take freely as your own +My gold, my jewels; spare my life alone. + +_Hip_. Alas, he fears as much as we. + +_Jul_. What say you, +Sir, will you join with us? + +_Ang_. Yes, madam; but +If you would take my sword, you'll use it better. + +_Hip_. Ay, but you are a man. + +_Ang_. Why, so are you. + +_Hip_. Truly my fear had made me quite forget it. + +_Enter GONSALVO_. + +_Gons_. Hippolito! how barbarous was I +To leave my boy! Hippolito! + +_Hip. _Here, here. +Now, madam, fear not, you are safe. + +_Jul_. What is become, sir, of those gentlemen? + +_Gons_. Madam, they all went several ways; not like +To meet. + +_Jul_. What will become of me? + +_Gons_. Tis late, +And I a stranger in the town; yet all +Your dangers shall be mine. + +_Jul_. You're noble, sir. + +_Gons_. I'll pawn the hopes of all my love, to see +You safe. + +_Jul_. Whoe'er your mistress be, she has +My curses, if she prove not kind. + +_Ang_. And mine. + +_Hip_. My sister will repent her, when she knows +For whom she makes that wish; but I'll say nothing, +Till day discovers it. [_Aside_.] A door opens; +I hope it is some inn. + +[_A door opens, at which a Servant appears_. + +_Ang_. Friend, can you lodge us here? + +_Serv_. Yes, friend, we can. + +_Jul_. How shall we be disposed? + +_Serv_. As nature would; +The gentleman and you: I have a rule, +That, when a man and woman ask for lodging, +They are ever husband and wife. + +_Jul_. Rude and unmannered! + +_Gons_. Sir, this lady must be lodged apart. + +_Serv_. Then the two boys, that are good for nothing +But one another, they shall go together. + +_Ang_. Lie with a man! sweet heaven defend me! + +_Hip_. Alas, friend, I ever lie alone. + +_Serv_. Then to save trouble, sir, because 'tis late, +One of the youths shall be disposed with you. + +_Ang_. Who, I! not for the world. + +_Hip_. Neither of us; for, though I would not lodge with you +Myself, I never can endure he should. + +_Ang_. Why then, to end the difference, if you please. +I and that lady will be bed-fellows. + +_Hip_. No, she and I will lodge together rather. + +_Serv_. You are sweet youths indeed; not for the world +You would not lodge with men! none but the lady +Would serve your turn. + +_Aug_. Alas, I had forgot I am a boy; +I am so lately one. [_Aside_. + +_Serv_. Well, well; all shall be lodged apart. + +_Gons_. to Hip. I did not think you harboured wanton +thoughts; +So young, so bad? + +_Hip_. I can make no defence, +But must be shamed by my own innocence. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I.--_A Chamber_. + +[_Enter_ GONSALVO, HIPPOLITO, _and_ ANGELINA _as_ AMIDEO _at a +distance_. + + +_Gon_. Hippolito, what is this pretty youth, +That follows us? + +_Hip_. I know not much of him: +Handsome you see, and of graceful fashion; +Of noble blood, he says, and I believe him; +But in some deep distress; he'll tell no more, +And I could cry for that, which he has told. +So much I pity him. + +_Gon_. My pretty youth, +Would I could do thee any service. + +_Ang_. Sir, +The greatest you can do me, is accepting mine. + +_Hip_. How's this? methinks already I begin +To hate this boy, whom but even now I moaned, +You serve my master? Do you think I cannot +Perform all duties of a servant better, +And with more care, than you? + +_Ang_. Better you may, +But never with more care: +Heaven, which is served with angels, yet admits +Poor man to pay his duty, and receives it. + +_Hip_. Mark but, my lord, how ill behaved a youth, +How very ugly, what a dwarf he is. + +_Ang_. My lord, I yet am young enough to grow, +And 'tis the commendation of a boy, +That he is little. [_Cries_. + +_Gons_. Pr'ythee, do not cry; +Hippolito, 'twas but just now you praised him, +And are you changed so soon? + +_Hip_. On better view. + +_Gons_. What is your name, sweet heart? + +_Hip_. Sweet heart! since I +Have served you, you ne'er called me so. + +_Ang_. O, ever, +Ever call me by that kind name; I'll own +No other, because I would still have that. + +_Hip_. He told me, sir, his name was Amideo; +Pray, call him by't. + +_Gons_. Come, I'll employ you both; +Reach me my belt, and help to put it on. + +_Amid_. I run, my lord. + +_Hip_. You run? it is my office. + +[_They both take it up, and strive for it;_ +HIPPOLITO _gets it, and puts it on_. + +_Amid_. Look you, my lord, he puts it on so aukwardly; +[_Crying_. +The sword does not sit right. + +_Hip_. Why, where's the fault? + +_Amid_. I know not that; but I am sure 'tis wrong. + +_Gons_.The fault is plain, 'tis put on the wrong shoulder. + +_Hip_. That cannot be, I looked on Amideo's, +And hung it on that shoulder his is on. + +_Amid_. Then I doubt mine is so. + +_Gons_. It is indeed: +You're both good boys, and both will learn in time. +Hippolito, go you and bring me word, +Whether that lady, we brought in last night, +Be willing to receive a visit from, me. + +_Hip_. Now, Amideo, since you are so forward +To do all service, you shall to the lady. + +_Amid_. No, I'll stay with my master, he bid you. + +_Hip_. It mads me to the heart to leave him here: +But I will be revenged. [_Aside_. +My lord, I beg +You would not trust this boy with any thing +Till my return; pray, know him better first. [_Exit_. + +_Gons_. 'Twas my unhappiness to meet this lady +Last night; because it ruined my design +Of walking by the house of Roderick: +Who knows but through some window I had spied +Fair Julia's shadow passing by the glass; +Or if some others, I would think it hers; +Or if not any, I would see the place +Where Julia lives. O Heaven, how small a blessing +Will serve to make despairing lovers happy! + +_Amid_. Unhappy Angelina, thou art lost: +Thy lord loves Julia. [_Aside_. + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO _and_ JULIA. + +_Jul_.--Where is thy master? +I long to give him my acknowledgments +For my own safety, and my brother's both. +Ha! Is it he? [_Looks_. + +_Gons_. Can it be Julia? +Could night so far disguise her from my knowledge! + +_Jul_. I would not think thee him, I see thou art: +Pr'ythee disown thyself in pity to me: +Why should I be obliged by one I hate? + +_Gons_. I could say something in my own defence; +But it were half a crime to plead my cause, +When you would have me guilty. + +_Amid_. How I fear +The sweetness of those words will move her pity! +I'm sure they would do mine. + +_Gons_. You took me for a robber, but so far +I am from that-- + +_Jul_. O, pr'ythee, be one still, +That I may know some cause for my aversion. + +_Gons_. I freed you from them, and more gladly did it-- + +_Jul_. Be what thou wilt, 'tis now too late to tell me: +The blackness of that image, I first fancied, +Has so infected me, I still must hate thee. + +_Hip_. Though (if she loves him) all my hopes are ruined, +It makes me mad to see her thus unkind. [_Aside_. +Madam, what see you in this gentleman, +Deserves your scorn or hatred? love him, or +Expect just Heaven should strangely punish you. + +_Gons_. No more: Whate'er she does is best; and if +You would be mine, you must, like me, submit +Without dispute. + +_Hip_. How can I love you, sir, and suffer this? +She has forgot that, which, last night, you did +In her defence. + +_Jul_. O call that night again; +Pitch her with all her darkness round: then set me +In some far desert, hemmed with mountain wolves +To howl about me: This I would endure, +And more, to cancel my obligements to him. + +_Gons_. You owe me nothing, madam; if you do, +I make it void; and only ask your leave +To love you still; for, to be loved again +I never hope; + +_Jul_. If that will clear my debt, enjoy thy wish; +Love me, and long, and desperately love me. +I hope thou wilt, that I may plague thee more: +Mean time, take from me that detested object; +Convey thy much loathed person from my sight. + +_Gons_. Madam, you are obeyed. +Hippolito and Amideo, wait +Upon fair Julia; look upon her for me +With dying eyes, but do not speak one word +In my behalf; for, to disquiet her, +Even happiness itself were bought too dear. + +[_Goes farther off, towards the end of the stage_. + +My passion swells too high; +And, like a vessel struggling in a storm, +Requires more hands than one to steer her upright; +I'll find her brother out. +[_Exit_. + +_Jul_. That boy, I see, he trusts above the other: +He has a strange resemblance with a face +That I have seen, but when, or where, I know not. +I'll watch till they are parted; then, perhaps, +I may corrupt that little one to free me. + +[_Aside. Exit_. + +_Amid_. Sweet Hippolito, let me speak with you. + +_Hip_. What would you with me? + +_Amid_. Nay, you are so fierce; +By all that's good, I love and honour you, +And, would you do but one poor thing I'll ask you, +In all things else you ever shall command me. +Look you, Hippolito, here's gold and jewels; +These may be yours. + +_Hip_. To what end dost thou show +These trifles to me? or how cam'st thou by them? +Not honestly, I fear. + +_Amid_. I swear I did: +And you shall have them; but you always press +Before me in my master's service so-- + +_Hip_. And always will. + +_Amid_. But, dear Hippolito, +Why will you not give way, that I may be +First in his favour, and be still employed? +Why do you frown? 'tis not for gain I ask it; +Whatever he shall give me shall be yours, +Except it be some toy you would not care for, +Which I should keep for his dear sake, that gave it. + +_Hip_. If thou wouldst offer both the Indies to me, +The eastern quarries, and the western mines, +They should not buy one look, one gentle smile +Of his from me; assure thy soul they should not, +I hate thee so. + +_Amid_. Henceforth I'll hate you worse. +But yet there is a woman whom he loves, +A certain Julia, who will steal his heart +From both of us; we'll join at least against +The common enemy. + +_Hip_. Why does he fear my lord should love a +woman? +The passion of this boy is so like mine, +That it amazes me. [_Aside_. + +_Enter a Servant_. + +_Serv_. Young gentleman, +Your master calls for you. + +_Hip_. I'll think upon't-- + +[_Exuent_ HIPPOLITO _and Serv_ + +_Enter_ JULIA _to_ AMIDEO. + +_Jul_. Now is the time, he is alone. + +_Amid_. Here comes +The saint, my lord adores; love, pardon me +The fault, I must commit. + +_Jul_. Fair youth, I am +A suitor to you. + +_Amid_. So am I to you. + +_Jul_. You see me here a prisoner. + +_Amid_. My request +Is, I may set you free; make haste, sweet madam; +Which way would you go? + +_Jul_. To the next +Religious house. + +_Amid_. Here through the garden, madam; +How I commend your holy resolution! [_Exeunt_. + +_Enter_ DON MANUEL _in the street, and a Servant +with him_. + +_Man_. Angelina fled to a monastery, say you? + +_Serv_. So 'tis given out: I could not see her woman: +But, for your sister, what you heard is true; +I saw her at the inn: +They told me, she was brought in late last night; +By a young cavalier, they showed me there. + +_Man_. This must be he that rescued me: +What would I give to see him! + +_Serv_. Fortune is +Obedient to your wishes; he was coming +To find out you; I waited on him to +The turning of the street, and stepped before +To tell you of it. + +_Man_. You o'erjoy me. + +_Serv_. This, sir, is he. + +_Enter_ GONSALVO. DON MANUEL _is running to +embrace him, and stops_. + +_Man_.--The captain of the robbers! + +_Gons_. As such, indeed, you promised me your +sister. + +_Man_. I promised all the interest I should have; +Because I thought, before you came to claim it, +A husband's right would take my title from me. + +_Gons_. I come to see if any manly virtue +Can dwell with falsehood: Draw, thou'st injured me. + +_Man_. You say already I have done you wrong, +And yet would have me right you by a greater. + +_Gons_. Poor abject thing! + +_Man_. Who doubts another's courage +Wants it himself; but I, who know my own, +Will not receive a law from you to fight, +Or to forbear: for then I grant your courage +To master mine, when I am forced to do +What of myself I would not. + +_Gons_. Your reason? + +_Man_. You saved my life. + +_Gons_. I'll quit that debt, to be +In a capacity of forcing you +To keep your promise with me; for I come +To learn, your sister is not yet disposed. + +_Man_. I've lost all privilege to defend my life; +And, if you take it now, 'tis no new conquest; +Like fish, first taken in a river, then +Bestowed in ponds to catch a second time. + +_Gons_. Mark but how partially you plead your +cause, +Pretending breach of honour if you fight, +Yet think it none to violate your word. + +_Man_. I cannot give my sister to a robber. + +_Gons_. You shall not; I am none, but born of blood +As noble as yourself; my fortunes equal +At least with yours, my reputation yet, +I think, unstained. + +_Man_. I wish, sir, it may prove so; +I never had so strong an inclination +To believe any man as you--But yet-- + +_Gons_. All things shall be so clear, there shall be left +No room for any scruple. I was born +In Seville, of the best house in that city; +My name Gonsalvo de Peralta: Being +A younger brother, 'twas my uncle's care +To take me with him in a voyage to +The Indies, where since dying, he has left me +A fortune not contemptible; returning +From thence with all my wealth in the plate fleet, +A furious storm almost within the port +Of Seville took us, scattered all the navy. +My ship, by the unruly tempest borne +Quite through the Streights, as far as Barcelona, +There first cast anchor; there I stept ashore: +Three days I staid, in which small time I made +A little love, which vanished as it came. + +_Man_. But were you not engaged to her you +courted? + +_Gons_. Upon my honour, no; what might have been +I cannot tell: But ere I could repair +My beaten ship, or take fresh water in, +One night, when there by chance I lay aboard, +A wind tore up my anchor from the bottom, +And with that violence it brought me thither, +Has thrown me in this port. + +_Mon_. But yet our meeting in the wood was +strange. + +_Gons_. For that I'll satisfy you as we walk. + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Hip_. O sir, how glad am I to find you!-- + + [_Whispers_. + +_Man_. That boy I have seen somewhere, or one +like him, +But where, I cannot call to mind. + +_Hip_. I found it out, and got before them-- +And here they are-- + +_Enter AMIDEO and JULIA_. + +_Man_. My sister! as I could have wished it. + +_Amid_. O! we are caught! + +_Jul_. I did expect as much: +Fortune has not forgot that I am Julia. + +_Man_. Sister, I'm glad you're happily returned; +'Twas kindly done of you thus to prevent +The trouble of my search. + +_Jul_. I would not have you +Mistake my love to Roderick so much, +To think I meant to fall into your hands. +My purpose is for the next nunnery; +There I'll pray for you: So farewell. + +_Man_. Stay, Julia, you must go with me. + +_Jul_. Lead, lead; +You think I am your prisoner now. + +_Gons_. If you will needs to a religious house, +Leave that fair face behind; a worse will serve +To spoil with watching, and with fasting there. + +_Man_. Pr'ythee, no more of this; the only way +To make her happy is to force it on her. +Julia, prepare yourself strait to be married. + +_Jul_. To whom? + +_Man_. You see your bridegroom: And you know +My father's will, who, with his dying breath +Commanded, you should pay as strict obedience +To me, as formerly to him: If not, +Your dowry is at my dispose. + +_Jul_. O, would +The loss of that dispense with duty in me, +How gladly would I suffer it! and yet, +If I durst question it, methinks 'tis hard! +What right have parents over children, more +Than birds have o'er their young? yet they impose +No rich-plumed mistress on their feathered sons; +But leave their love, more open yet and free +Than all the fields of air, their spacious birthright. + +[_GONSALVO seems to beg MANUEL + not to be harsh_. + +_Man_. Nay, good Gonsalvo, trouble not yourself, +There is no other way; when 'tis once done, +She'll thank me for't. + +_Jul_. I ne'er expected other usage from you; +A kind brother you have been to me, +And to my sister: You have sent, they say, +To Barcelona, that my aunt should force her +To marry the old Don you brought her. + +_Hip_. Who could, that once had seen Gonsalvo's. +face? +Alas, she little thinks I am so near! [_Aside_. + +_Man_. Mind not what she says. +A word with you--[_To GONSALVO._ + +_Amid_. Don Manuel eyes me strangely; the best is, +he never saw me yet but at a distance: +My brother's jealousy (who ne'er intended +I should be his) restrained our nearer converse. [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. My pretty youth, I am enforced to trust thee +[_To AMIDEO_. +With my most near concerns; friends I have none, +If thou deny'st to help me. + +_Amid_. Any thing +To break your marriage with my master. + +_Jul_. Go to Roderick, and tell him my condition: +But tell it him as from thyself, not me. + +_Amid_. That you are forced to marry? + +_Jul_. But do not ask him +To succour me; if of himself he will not, +I scorn a love that must be taught its duty. + +_Man_. What youth is that? I mean the little one. + +_Gons_. I took him up last night. + +_Man_. A sweet-faced boy, +I like him strangely: Would you part with him? + +_Amid_. Alas, sir, I am good for nobody, +But for my master. + +_Hip_. Sir, I'll do your errand +Another time, for letting Julia go. [_To AMIDEO_. + +_Man_. Come, sir. + +_Gons_. I beg your pardon for a moment, +I'll but dispatch some business in my ship, +And wait you presently: + +_Man_. We'll go before; +I'll make sure Roderick shall never have her; +And 'tis at least some pleasure to destroy +His happiness, who mined first my joy. + +[_Exeunt all but GONSALVO; who, before he goes, whispers HIPPOLITO_. + +_Gons_. Against her will fair Julia to possess, +Is not to enjoy, but ravish happiness: +Yet women pardon force, because they find +The violence of love is still most kind: +Just like the plots of well built comedies, +Which then please most, when most they do surprise: +But yet constraint love's noblest end destroys, +Whose highest joy is in another's joys: +Where passion rules, how weak does reason prove! +I yield my cause, but cannot yield my love. [_Exit_. + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_A great room in DON MANUEL'S house_. + + +_HIPPOLITO solus_. + +My master bid me speak for him to Julia: +Hard fate, that I am made a confident +Against myself! +Yet, though unwillingly I took the office, +I would perform it well: But how can I +Prove lucky to his love, who to my own +Am so unfortunate? he trusts his passion +Like him, that ventures all his stock at once +On an unlucky hand. + +_Enter AMIDEO_. + +_Amid_. Where is the lady Julia? + +_Hip_. What new treason +Against my master's love have you contrived +With her? + +_Amid_. I shall not render you account. + +_Enter JULIA_. + +_Jul_. I sent for him; yet if he comes, there's danger; +Yet if he does not, I for ever lose him. +What can I wish? and yet I wish him here, +Only to take the care of me from me. +Weary with sitting out a losing hand, +Twill be some ease to see another play it. +Yesterday I refused to marry him, +To-day I run into his arms unasked; +Like a mild prince encroached upon by rebels, +Love yielded much, till honour asked for all. +How now, where's Roderick? [_Sees AMIDEO_. +I mean Gonsalvo. [_Sees HIPPOLITO_. + +_Hip_. You would do well to meet him-- + +_Amid_. Meet him! you shall not do't: I'll throw myself, +Like a young fawning spaniel, in your way +So often, you shall never move a step, +But you shall tread on me. + +_Jul_. You need not beg me: +I would as soon meet a syren, as see him. + +_Hip_. His sweetness for those frowns no subject finds: +Seas are the field of combat for the winds: +But when they sweep along some flowery coast, +Their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost. + +_Jul_. 'Tis that which makes me more unfortunate; +Because his sweetness must upbraid my hate. +The wounds of fortune touch me not so near; +I can my fate, but not his virtue, bear. +For my disdain with my esteem is raised; +He most is hated when he most is praised: +Such an esteem, as like a storm appears, +Which rises but to shipwreck what it bears. + +_Hip_. Infection dwells upon my kindness, sure, +Since it destroys even those whom it would cure. + +[_Cries, and exit_. + +_Amid_. Still weep, Hippolito; to me thy tears +Are sovereign, as those drops the balm-tree sweats.-- +But, madam, are you sure you shall not love him? +I still fear.-- + +_Jul_. Thy fear will never let thee be a man. + +_Amid_. Indeed I think it won't. + +_Jul_. We are now +Alone; what news from Roderick? + +_Amid_. Madam, he begs you not to fear; he has +A way, which, when you think all desperate, +Will set you free. + +_Jul_. If not, I will not live +A moment after it. + +_Amid_. Why? there's some comfort. + +_Jul_. I strongly wish, for what I faintly hope: +Like the day-dreams of melancholy men, +I think and think on things impossible, +Yet love to wander in that golden maze. + +_Enter DON MANUEL, HIPPOLITO, and company_. + +_Amid_. Madam, your brother's here. + +_Man_. Where is the bridegroom? + +_Hip_. Not yet returned, sir, from his ship. + +_Man_. Sister, all this good company is met, +To give you joy. + +_Jul_. While I am compassed round +With mirth, my soul lies hid in shades of grief, +Whence, like the bird of night, with half shut eyes, +She peeps, and sickens at the sight of day. [_Aside_. + +_Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Sir, some gentlemen and ladies are without, +Who, to do honour to this wedding, come +To present a masque. + +_Man_. Tis well; desire them +They would leave put the words, and fall to dancing. +The poetry of the foot takes most of late. + +_Serv_. The poet, sir, will take that very ill; +He's at the door, with the argument o'the masque +In verse. + +_Man_. Which of the wits is it that made it? + +_Serv_. None of the wits, sir; 'tis one of the poets. + +_Man_. What subject has he chose? + +_Serv_. The rape of Proserpine. + +_Enter GONSALVO_. + +_Man_. Welcome, welcome, you have been long +expected. + +_Gons_. I staid to see the unlading of some rarities, +Which are within-- +Madam, your pardon that I was so long absent. + +_Jul_. You need not ask it for your absence, sir. + +_Gons_. Still cruel, Julia? + +_Jul_. The danger's here, and Roderick not here: +I am not grieved to die; but I am grieved +To think him false. [_Aside_. + +_Man_. Bid him begin. [_The music plays_. + +A _Cupid_ descends in swift motion, and speaks +these verses. + +_Cup_. _Thy conquests, Proserpine, have stretched too far; +Amidst heavens peace thy beauty makes a war: +For when, last night, I to Jove's palace went, +(The brightest part of all the firmament) +Instead of all those gods, whose thick resort +Filled up the presence of the thunderers court; +There Jove and Juno all forsaken sate, +Pensive, like kings in their declining state: +Yet (wanting power) they would preserve the show, +By hearing prayers from some few men below: +Mortals to Jove may their devotions pay; +The gods themselves to Proserpine do pray. +To Sicily the rival powers resort; +'Tis Heaven wherever Ceres keeps her court. +Phoebus and Mercury are both at strife, +The courtliest of our gods who want a wife. +But Venus, whate'er kindness she pretends, +Yet (like all females envious of their friends), +Has, by my aid, contrived a black design, +The god of hell should ravish Proserpine: +Beauties, beware; Venus will never bear +Another Venus shining in her sphere_. + +After Cupid's speech, Venus and Ceres descend in the slow machines; +Ceres drawn by dragons, Venus by swans. + +After them Phoebus and Mercury descend in swift motion. Then Cupid +turns to Julia, and speaks. + +_Cup_. _The rival deities are come to woo +A Proserpine, who must be found below: +Would you, fair nymph, become, this happy hour, +In name a goddess, as you are in power? +Then to this change the king of shades will owe +A fairer Proserpine than heaven can show_. + +[_Julia, first whispered by AMIDEO, goes into the dance, performed +by Cupid, Phoebus, Mercury, Ceres, Venus, and JULIA. Towards the end +of the dance, RODORICK, in the habit of Pluto, rises from below in +a black chariot, all flaming, and drawn by black horses; he ravishes +Julia, who personated Proserpine, and as he is carrying her away, his +vizard fails off: HIPPOLITO first discovers him_. + +_Hip_. A rape, a rape! 'tis Roderick, 'tis Roderick! + +_Rod_. Then I must have recourse to this. [_Draws_. + +_Jul_. O heavens! + +[_DON MANUEL and GONSALVO draw, and a Servant; the two that acted +Phoebus and Mercury return to assist RODORICK, and are beat back by +MANUEL and a Servant, while GONSALVO attacks RODORICK_. + +_Gons_. Unloose thy hold, foul villain. + +_Rod_. No, I'll grasp her +Even after death. + +_Jul_. Spare him, or I'll die with him. + +_Gons_. Must ravishers and villains live, while I +In vain implore her mercy? + +[_Thrusts at him, and hurts JULIA in the arm_. + +_Jul_. Oh, I am murdered! + +_Gons_. Wretched that I am, +What have I done? To what strange punishment +Will you condemn this guilty hand? And yet +My eyes were guilty first--For they could look +On nothing else but you; and my unlucky hand +Too closely followed them!-- + +_Enter MANUEL again_. + +_Man_. The powers above are just, that thou still livest, +For me to kill. + +_Rod_. You'll find no easy task on't +Alone; come both together, I defy you! +Curse on this disguise, that has betrayed me +Thus cheaply to my death.-- + +_Man_. Under a devil's shape, thou could'st not be +Disguised. + +_Jul_. Then, must he die?-- +Yet, I'll not bid my Roderick farewell; +For they take leave, who mean to be long absent. + +_Gons_. Hold, sir! I have had blood enough already; +And must not murder Julia again +In him she loves. Live, sir; and thank this lady. + +_Rod_. Take my life, and spare my thanks. + +_Man_. Though you +Forgive him, let me take my just revenge. + +_Gons_. Leave that distinction to our dull divines: +That ill, I suffer to be done, I do. + +_Hip_. My heart bleeds for him: to see his virtue +O'ercome so fatally, against such odds +Of fortune, and of love!-- + +_Man_. Permit his death, and Julia will be yours. + +_Jul_. Permit it not, and Julia will thank you. + +_Gons_. Who e'er could think, that one kind word from Julia +Should be preferred to Julia herself? +Could any man think it a greater good +To save a rival, than possess a mistress? +Yet this I do! these are thy riddles, love!-- +What fortune gives me, I myself destroy; +And feed my virtue, but to starve my joy. +Honour sits on me like some heavy armour, +And with its stiff defence, encumbers me; +And yet, when I would put it off, it sticks +Like Hercules's shirt; heats me at once; +And poisons me! + +_Man_. I find myself grow calm by thy example; +My panting heart heaves less and less, each pulse; +And all the boiling spirits scatter from it. +Since thou desirest he should not die, he shall not, +'Till I on nobler terms can take his life. + +_Rod_. The next turn may be yours.--Remember, +I owed this danger to your wilfulness: +Once, you might easily have been mine, and would +not. [_Exit_ RODORICK. + +_Man_. Lead out my sister, friend; her hurt's so +small, +'Twill scarce disturb the ceremony. +Ladies, once more your pardons. + + [_Leads out the Company. Exeunt_. + +_Manent_ JULIA, GONSALVO, AMIDEO, _and_ HIPPOLITO. GONSALVO +_offers his hand,_ JULIA _pulls back hers_. + +_Jul_. This hand would rise in blisters, should'st +thou touch it!-- +My Roderick's displeased with me, and thou, +Unlucky man, the cause. Dare not so much +As once to follow me. [_Exit_ JULIA. + +_Gons_. Not follow her! Alas, she need not bid me! +Oh, how could I presume to take that hand, +To which mine proved so fatal! +Nay, if I might, should I not fear to touch it?-- +murderer's touch would make it bleed afresh! + +_Amid_. I think, sir, I could kill her for your sake. + +_Gons_. Repent that word, or I shall hate thee +Strangely: +Harsh words from her, like blows from angry kings, +Though they are meant affronts, are construed favours. + +_Hip_. Her inclinations and aversions +Are both alike unjust; and both, I hope, +Too violent to last: Chear up yourself; +for if I live, (I hope I shall not long) [_Aside_. +She shall be yours. + +_Amid_. 'Twere much more noble in him, +To make a conquest of himself, than her. +She ne'er can merit him; and, hadst not thou +A mean low soul, thou wouldst not name her to him. + +_Hip_. Poor child, who would'st be wise above thy years! +Why dost thou talk, like a philosopher, +Of conquering love, who art not yet grown up, +To try the force of any manly passion? +The sweetness of thy mother's milk is yet +Within thy veins, not soured and turned by love. + +_Gons_. Thou hast not field enough in thy young breast, +To entertain such storms to struggle in. + +_Amid_. Young as I am, I know the power of love; +Its less disquiets, and its greater cares, +And all that's in it, but the happiness. +Trust a boy's word, sir, if you please, and take +My innocence for wisdom; Leave this lady; +Cease to persuade yourself you are in love, +And you will soon be freed. Not that I wish +A thing, so noble as your passion, lost +To all the sex: Bestow it on some other; +You'll find many as fair, though none so cruel.-- +Would I could be a lady for your sake! + +_Hip_. If I could be a woman, with a wish, +You should not be without a rival long. + +_Amid_. A cedar, of your stature, would not cause +Much jealousy. + +_Hip_. More than a shrub of yours. + +_Gons_. How eagerly these boys fall out for nothing!-- +Tell me, Hippolito, wert thou a woman, +Who would'st thou be? + +_Hip_. I would be Julia, sir, +Because you love her. + +_Amid_. I would not be she, +Because she loves not you. +_Hip_. True, Amideo; +And, therefore, I would wish myself a lady, +Who, I am sure, does infinitely love him. + +_Amid_. I hope that lady has a name? + +_Hip_. She has: +And she is called Honoria, sister to +This Julia, and bred up at Barcelona; +Who loves him with a flame so pure and noble, +That, did she know his love to Julia, +She would beg Julia to make him happy. + +_Gons_. This startles me! + +_Amid_. Oh, sir, believe him not: +They love not truly, who, on any terms, +Can part with what they love. + +_Gons_. I saw a lady +At Barcelona, of what name I know not, +Who, next to Julia, was the fairest creature +My eyes did e'er behold: But, how camest thou +To know her? + +_Hip_. Sir, some other time I'll tell you. + +_Amid_. It could not be Honoria, whom you saw; +For, sir, she has a face so very ugly, +That, if she were a saint for holiness, +Yet no man would seek virtue there. + +_Hip_. This is the lyingest boy, sir;--I am sure +He never saw Honoria; for her face, +'Tis not so bad to frighten any man-- +None of the wits have libelled it. + +_Amid_. Don Roderick's sister, Angelina, does +So far exceed her, in the ornaments +Of wit and beauty, though now hid from sight, +That, like the sun, (even when eclipsed) she casts +A yellowness upon all other faces. + +_Hip_. I'll not say much of her, but only this, +Don Manuel saw not with my eyes, if e'er +He loved that Flanders shape; that lump of earth, +And phlegm together. + +_Amid_. You have often seen her, +It seems, by your description of her person: +But I'll maintain on any Spanish ground, +Whate'er she be, yet she is far more worthy +To have my lord her servant, than Honoria. + +_Hip_. And I'll maintain Honoria's right against her, +In any part of all the world. + +_Gons_. You go +Too far, to quarrel on so slight a ground. + +_Hip_. O pardon me, my lord, it is not slight: +I must confess, I am so much concerned, +I shall not bear it long. + +_Amid_. Nor I, assure you. + +_Gons_. I will believe what both of you have said, +That Honoria, and Angelina, +Both equally are fair. + +_Amid_. Why did you name +Honoria first? + +_Gons_. And, since you take their parts so eagerly +Henceforth I'll call you by those ladies' names: +You, my Hippolito, shall be Honoria; +And you, my Amideo, Angelina. + +_Amid_. Then all my services, I wish, may make +You kind to Angelina, for my sake. + +_Hip_. Put all my merits on Honoria's score, +And think no maid could ever love you more. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + + +MANUEL _solus_. + +_Man_. Thus I provide for others' happiness, +And lose my own. 'Tis true, I cannot blame +Thy hatred, Angelina, but thy silence. +Thy brother's hatred made thine just; but yet +'Twas cruel in thee not to tell me so. +Conquest is noble, when an heart stands out; +But mine, which yielded, how could'st thou betray? +That heart, of which thou could'st not be deprived +By any force or power, beside thy own; +Like empires, to that fatal height arrived, +They must be ruined by themselves alone. +My guarded freedom cannot be a prize +To any scornful face a second time; +For thy idea, like a ghost, would rise, +And fright my thoughts from such another crime. + +_Enter a Servant, with a letter_. + +_Man_. From whom? + +_Serv_. Sir, the contents will soon resolve you. + +[_He read_. + +_Man_. Tell Roderick, he has prevented me +In my design of sending to him first. +I'll meet him, single, at the time and place; +But, for my friend, tell him, he must excuse me: +I'll hazard no man in my quarrel, but +Myself alone.--[_Exit Servant_. +Who's within there? + +_Enter a Servant_. + +Go, call my sister, and Gonsalvo, hither. + [_Exit Servant_. +'Twas pushed so far, that, like two armies, we +Were drawn so closely up, we could not part +Without engagement.--But they must not know it. + +_Enter JULIA, GONSALVO, and AMIDEO_. + +I have some business calls me hence, and know not +When I shall return: But, ere I go, +That power I have, by my dead father's will, +Over my sister, I bequeath to you: [_To GONS_. +She, and her fortunes, both be firmly yours; +And this when I revoke, let cowardice +Blast all my youth, and treason taint my age. + +_Gons_. Sir-- + +_Man_. Nay, good, no thanks; I cannot stay-- + [_Exit MANUEL_. + +_Gons_. There's something more than ordinary in this; +Go, Amideo, quickly follow him, +And bring me word which way he takes. + +_Amid_. I go, sir. [_Exit AMID. JULIA kneels_. + +_Gons_. Madam, when you implore the powers divine, +You have no prayers in which I will not join, +Though made against myself. [_Kneels with her_. + +_Jul_. In vain I sue, +Unless my vows may be conveyed by you. + +_Gons_. Conveyed by me! My ill success in love +Shews me, too sure, I have few friends above. +How can you fear your just desires to want? +When the gods pray, they both request and grant. + +_Jul_. Heaven has resigned my fortune to your hand, +If you, like heaven, the afflicted understand. + +_Gons_. The language of the afflicted is not new; +Too well I learned it, when I first saw you. + +_Jul_. In spite of me, you now command my fate; +And yet the vanquished seeks the victor's hate; +Even in this low submission, I declare, +That, had I power, I would renew the war. +I'm forced to stoop, and 'twere too great a blow +To bend my pride, and to deny me too. + +_Gons_. You have my heart; dispose it to your will; +If not, you know the way to use it ill. + +_Jul_. Cruel to me, though kind to your desert, +My brother gives my person, not my heart; +And I have left no other means to sue, +But to you only, to be freed from you. + +_Gons_. From such a suit how can you hope success, +Which, given, destroys the giver's happiness? + +_Jul_. You think it equal you should not resign +That power you have, yet will not leave me mine; +Yet on my will I have the power alone, +And, since you cannot move it, move your own. +Your worth and virtue my esteem may win, +But women's passions from themselves begin; +Merit may be, but force still is, in vain. + +_Gons_. I would but love you, not your love constrain; +And though your brother left me to command, +He placed his thunder in a gentle hand. + +_Jul_. Your favour from constraint has set me free, +But that secures not my felicity; +Slaves, who, before, did cruel masters serve, +May fly to deserts, and in freedom starve. +The noblest part of liberty they lose, +Who can but shun, and want the power to chuse. + +_Gons_. O whither would your fatal reasons move! +You court my kindness, to destroy my love. + +_Jul_. You have the power to make my happiness, +By giving that, which you can ne'er possess. + +_Gons_. Give you to Roderick? there wanted yet +That curse, to make my miseries complete. + +_Jul_. Departing misers bear a nobler mind; +They, when they can enjoy no more, are kind; +You, when your love is dying in despair, +Yet want the charity to make an heir. + +_Gons_. Though hope be dying, yet it is not dead; +And dying people with small food are fed. + +_Jul_. The greatest kindness dying friends can have, +Is to dispatch them, when we cannot save. + +_Gons_. Those dying people, could they speak' at all, +That pity of their friends would murder call: +For men with horror dissolution meet; +The minutes even of painful life are sweet. + +_Jul_. But I'm by powerful inclination led; +And streams turn seldom to their fountain head. + +_Gons_. No; 'tis a tide which carries you away; +And tides may turn, though they can never stay. + +_Jul_. Can you pretend to love, and see my grief +Caused by yourself, yet give me no relief? + +_Gons_. Where's my reward? + +_Jul_. The honour of the flame. + +_Gons_. I lose the substance, then, to gain the name. + +_Jul_. I do too much mistress' power betray; +Must slaves be won by courtship to obey? +Thy disobedience does to treason rise, +Which thou, like rebels, would'st with love disguise. +I'll kill myself, and, if thou can'st deny +To see me happy, thou shalt see me die. + +_Gons_. O stay! I can with less regret bequeath +My love to Roderick, than you to death: +And yet-- + +_Jul_. What new objection can you find? + +_Gons_. But are you sure you never shall be kind? + +_Jul_. Never. + +_Gons_. What! never? + +_Jul_. Never to remove. + +_Gons_. Oh fatal never to souls damned in love! + +_Jul_. Lead me to Roderick. + +_Gons_. If it must be so-- + +_Jul_. Here, take my hand, swear on it thou wilt go. + +_Gons_. Oh balmy sweetness! but 'tis lost to me, + [_He kisses her hand_. +Like food upon a wretch condemned to die: +Another, and I vow to go:--Once more; +If I swear often, I shall be foreswore. +Others against their wills may haste their fate; +I only toil to be unfortunate: +More my own foe than all my stars could prove; +They give her person, but I give her love. +I must not trust myself--Hippolito! + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Hip_. My lord! + +_Gons_. Quickly go find Don Roderick out: +Tell him, the lady Julia will be walking +On the broad rock, that lies beside the port, +And there expects to see him instantly. +In the mean time I'll call for Amideo. + +_Jul_. You'll keep your promise to Don Roderick? + +_Gons_. Madam, since you bring death, I welcome it; +But to his fortune, not his love, submit. + [_Exit_ GONSALVO. + +_Hip_. I dare not ask what I too fain would hear: +But, like a tender mother, hope and fear, +My equal twins, my equal care I make, +And keep hope quiet, lest that fear should wake. + [_Aside. Exit_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Jul_. So, now I'm firmly at my own dispose; +And all the lets, my virtue caused, removed: +Now, Roderick, I come-- + +_Enter_ GONSALVO _again_. + +_Gons_. Madam, my boy's not yet returned. + +_Jul_. No matter, we'll not stay for him. + +_Gon_. Pray make not too much haste. + + [_Exeunt JUL. and GONS_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter DON RODORICK, and a Servant_. + + +_Rod_. Have you bespoke a vessel, as I bid you? + +_Serv_. I have done better; for I have employed +Some, whom I know, this day to seize a ship; +Which they have done, clapping the men within her +All under hatches, with such speed and silence, +That, though she rides at anchor in the port +Among the rest, the change is not discovered. + +_Rod_. Let my best goods and jewels be embarked +With secrecy: We'll put to sea this night. +Have you yet found my sister, or her woman? + +_Serv_. Neither, sir; but in all probability +She is with Manuel. + +_Rod_. Would God the meanest man in Alicant +Had Angelina, rather than Don Manuel! +I never can forgive, much less forget, +How he (the younger soldier) was preferred +To that command of horse, which was my due. + +_Serv_. And, after that, by force disseized you of +Your quarters-- + +_Rod_. Should I meet him seven years hence +At the altar, I would kill him there:--I had +Forgot to tell you, the design we had, +To carry Julia by force away, +Will now be needless: she'll come to the rock +To see me; you, unseen, shall stand behind, +And carry her into the vessel. + +_Serv_. Shall I not help you to dispatch Don Manuel? + +_Rod_. I neither doubt my valour nor my fortune: +But if I die, revenge me: Presently +About your business; I must to the rock, +For fear I come too late. [_Exeunt severally_. + + +SCENE III.--_Through a rock is discovered a navy of +ships riding at a distance_. + +_Enter AMIDEO_. + + +_Amid_. Thus far, unseen by Manuel, I have traced him; +He can be gone no farther than the walk +Behind the rock: I'll back, and tell my master. + +_Enter HIPPOLITO at the other end_. + +_Hip_. This is the place, where Roderick must expect +His Julia:--How! Amideo here! + +_Amid_. Hippolito! + +_Hip_. This were so fit a time +For my revenge, had I the courage, now! +My heart swells at him, and my breath grows short; +But whether fear or anger choaks it up, +I cannot tell. + +_Amid_. He looks so ghastfully, +Would I were past him; yet I fear to try it, +Because my mind misgives me he will stop me. +By your leave, Hippolito. + +_Hip_. Whither so fast? + +_Amid_. You'll not presume to hinder my lord's business? +He shall know it. + +_Hip_. I'll make you sure, before, +For telling any tales: Do you remember, +Since you defended Angelina's beauty +Against Honoria's; nay, and would maintain it. + +_Amid_. And so I will do still; (I must feign courage, +There is no other way.) [_Aside_. + +_Hip_. I'll so revenge +That injury! (if my heart fails me not.) + +_Amid_. Come, confess truly, for, I know, it fails you. +What would you give to avoid fighting now? + +_Hip_. No, 'tis your heart that fails. + +_Amid_. I scorn the danger; +Yet, what compassion on your youth might do, +I cannot tell; and, therefore, do not work +Upon my pity; for I feel already +My stout heart melts. + +_Hip_. Oh! Are you thereabout? +Now I am sure you fear; and you shall fight. + +_Amid_. I will not fight. + +_Hip_. Confess, then, Angelina +Is not so fair as is Honoria. + +_Amid_. I do confess; now are you satisfied? + +_Hip_. There's more behind; confess her not so worthy +To be beloved, nor to possess Gonsalvo, +As fair Honoria is. + +_Amid_. That's somewhat hard. + +_Hip_. But you must do't, or die. + +_Amid_. Well, life is sweet; +She's not so worthy: Now, let me be gone. + +_Hip_. No, never to my master; swear to quit +His service, and no more to see his face. + +_Amid_. I fain would save my life, but that, which you +Propose, is but another name to die. +I cannot live without my master's sight. + +_Hip_. Then you must fight with me for him. + +_Amid_. I would +Do any thing with you, but fighting for him. + +_Hip_. Nothing but that will serve. + +_Amid_. Lay by our swords, +And I'll scratch with you for him. + +_Hip_. That's not manly. + +_Amid_. Well, since it must be so, I'll fight:--Unbutton. + +[_HIPPOLITO unbuttons slowly_. + +How many buttons has he? I'll be one +Behind him still. [_Aside_. + +[_Unbuttons one by one after him. HIPPOLITO makes more haste_. + +You are so prodigal! if you loved my master, +You would not tear his doublet so:--How's this! +Two swelling breasts! a woman, and my rival! +The stings of jealousy have given me courage, +Which nature never gave me: +Come on, thou vile dissembler of thy sex; +Expect no mercy; either thou or I +Must die upon this spot: Now for Gonsalvo-- +Sa--Sa-- + +_Hip_. This courage is not counterfeit; ah me! +What shall I do? for pity, gentle boy-- + +_Amid_. No pity; such a cause as ours +Can neither give nor take it: If thou yieldest, +I will not spare thee; therefore, fight it out. +[_Tears open his doublet_. + +_Hip_. Death to my hopes! a woman! and so rare +A beauty, that my lord must needs doat on her. +I should myself, if I had been a man: +But, as I am, her eyes shoot death at me. + +_Amid_. Come, have you said your prayers? + +_Hip_. For thy confusion,-- +Thou ravenous harpy, with an angel's face,-- +Thou art discovered, thou too charming rival; +I'll be revenged upon those fatal eyes. + +_Amid_. I'll tear out thine. + +_Hip_. I'll bite out hungry morsels +From those plump cheeks, but I will make them +thinner. + +_Amid_. I'd beat thee to the blackness of a Moor. +But that the features of thy face are such, +Such damnable, invincible good features, +That as an Ethiop thou would'st still be loved. + +_Hip_. I'll quite unbend that black bow o'er thine eyes; +I'll murder thee, and Julia shall have him, +Rather than thou. + +_Amid_. I'll kill both thee and her, +Rather than any one but I shall have him. + +_Hip_. Come on, thou witch. + +_Amid_. Have at thy heart, thou Syren. + +[_They draw and fight awkwardly, not coming near one another_. + +_Amid_. I think I paid you there. + +_Hip_. O stay a little, +And tell me in what corner of thy heart +Gonsalvo lies, that I may spare that place. + +_Amid_. He lies in the last drop of all my blood, +And never will come out, but with my soul. + +_Hip_. Come, come, we dally; +Would one of us were dead, no matter which! + [_They fight nearer_. + +_Enter Don_ MANUEL. + +_Man_. The pretty boys, that serve Gonsalvo, fighting! +I come in time to save the life of one. + + [HIPPOLITO _gets_ AMIDEO _down in closing: + MANUEL takes away their swords_. + +_Hip_. For goodness' sake, hinder not my revenge. + +_Amid_. The noble Manuel has saved my life: +Heavens, how unjustly have I hated him. [_Aside_. + +_Man_. What is it, gentle youths, that moves you thus? +I cannot tell what causes you may find; +But, trust me, all the world, in so much sweetness, +Would be to seek where to begin a quarrel: +You seem the little Cupids in the song, +Contending for the honey-bag. + +_Hip_. 'Tis well +You're come; you may prevent a greater mischief: +Here 'tis Gonsalvo has appointed Roderick-- + +_Man_.To fight? + +_Hip_. What's worse: to give your sister to him. +Won by her tears, he means to leave her free, +And to redeem her misery with his: +At least so I conjecture. + +_Man_. 'Tis a doubtful +Problem; either he loves her violently, +Or not at all. + +_Amid_. You have betrayed my master:-- + +[_To_ HIPPOLITO. _Aside_. + +_Hip_. If I have injured you, I mean to give you +The satisfaction of a gentlewoman. + +_Enter_ GONSALVO _and_ JULIA. + +_Man_. Oh, they are here; now I shall be resolved. + +_Jul_. My brother Manuel! what fortune's this! + +_Man_. I'm glad I have prevented you. + +_Gons_. With what +Variety my fate torments me still! +Never was man so dragged along by virtue; +But I must follow her. + +_Jul_. Noble Gonsalvo, +Protect me from my brother. + +_Gons_. Tell me, sir, +When you bestowed your sister on me, did not +You give her freely up to my dispose? + +_Man_. 'Tis true, I did; but never with intent +You should restore her to my enemy. + +_Gons_. 'Tis past; 'tis done: She undermined my soul +With tears; as banks are sapped away by streams. + +_Man_. I wonder what strange blessing she expects +From the harsh nature of this Rodorick; +A man made up of malice and revenge. + +_Jul_. If I possess him, I may be unhappy; +But if I lose him, I am surely so. +Had you a friend so desperately sick, +That all physicians had forsook his cure; +All scorched without, and all parched up within, +The moisture that maintained consuming nature +Licked up, and in a fever fried away; +Could you behold him beg, with dying eyes, +A glass of water, and refuse it him, +Because you knew it ill for his disease? +When he would die without it, how could you +Deny to make his death more easy to him? + +_Man_. Talk not to me of love, when honour suffers. +The boys will hiss at me. + +_Gons_. I suffer most: +Had there been 'choice, what would I not have chose? +To save my honour I my love must lose: +But promises, once made, are past debate, +And truth's of more necessity than fate. + +_Man_. I scarce can think your promise absolute; +There might some way be thought on, if you would, +To keep both her and it. + +_Gons_. No, no; my promise was no trick of state: +I meant to be made truly wretched first, +And then to die; and I'll perform them both. + +_Man_. Then that revenge, I meant on Rodorick, +I'll take on you. [_Draws_. + +_Gons_.--I draw with such regret, +As merchants throw their wealth into the sea, +To save their sinking vessels from a wreck. + +_Man_. I find I cannot lift my hand against thee: +Do what thou wilt; but let not me behold it. + [_Goes off a little way_. +I'll cut this gordian knot I cannot loose: +To keep his promise, Rodorick shall have her, +But I'll return and rescue her by force; +Then giving back what he so frankly gave, +At once my honour and his love I'll save. +[_Exit MANUEL_. + +_Enter RODORICK_. + +_Rod_. How! Julia brought by him?--Who sent +for me? + +_Gons_. 'Twas I. + +_Rod_. I know your business then; 'tis fighting. + +_Gons_. You're mistaken; 'tis something that I +fear. + +_Rod_. What is't? + +_Gons_. Why,--'twill not out: Here, take her; +And deserve her: but no thanks; +For fear I should consider what I give, +And call it back.-- + +_Jul_. O my dear Rodorick! + +_Gons_. O cruel Julia! +For pity shew not all your joy before me; +Stifle some part of it one minute longer, +'Till I am dead. + +_Jul_. My Rodorick shall know, +He owes his Julia to you; thank him, love; +In faith I take it ill you are so slow. + +_Rod_. You know he has forbid me; and, beside, +He'll take it better from your mouth than mine; +All that you do must needs be pleasing to him. + +_Jul_. Still sullen and unkind! + +_Rod_. Why, then, in short, +I do not understand the benefit. + +_Gons_. Not to have Julia in thy free possession? + +_Rod_. Not brought by you; not of another's leaving. + +_Jul_. Speak softly, Rodorick: Let not these hear thee; +But spare my shame for the ill choice I made, +In loving thee. + +_Rod_. I will speak loud, and tell thee, +Thou com'st, all cloyed and tired with his embraces, +To proffer thy palled love to me; his kisses +Do yet bedew thy lips; the very print, +His arms made round thy body, yet remains. + +_Gons_. O barbarous jealousy! + +_Jul_. 'Tis an harsh word: +I am too pure for thee; but yet I love thee. + +[_Offers to take his hand_. + +_Rod_. Away, foul impudence. + +_Gons_. Madam, you wrong +Your virtue, thus to clear it by submission. + +_Jul_. Whence grows this boldness, sir? did I ask you +To be my champion? + +_Rod_. He chose to be your friend, and not your husband: +Left that dull part of dignity to me; +As often the worst actors play the kings. + +_Jul_. This jealousy is but excess of passion, +Which grows up, wild, in every lover's breast; +But changes kind when planted in an husband. + +_Rod_. Well, what I am, I am; and what I will be, +When you are mine, my pleasure shall determine. +I will receive no law from any man. + +_Jul_. This strange unkindness of my Rodorick +I owe to thee, and thy unlucky love; +Henceforth go lock it up within thy breast; +'Tis only harmless while it is concealed, +But, opened, spreads infection like a vault. +Go, and my curse go with thee!-- + +_Gons_. I cannot go 'till I behold you happy:-- +--Here, Rodorick, receive her on thy knees; +Use her with that respect, which thou would'st pay +Thy guardian angel, if he could be seen. +--Do not provoke my anger by refusing.-- +I'll watch thy least offence to her; each word, +Nay, every sullen look;-- +And, as the devils, who are damned to torments, +Yet have the guilty souls their slaves to punish; +So, under me, while I am wretched, thou +Shalt be tormented.-- + +_Rod_. Would'st thou make me the tenant of thy lust, +To toil, and for my labour take the dregs, +The juicy vintage being left for thee? +No: she's an infamous, lewd prostitute: +I loath her at my soul. + +_Gons_. I can forbear +No longer: swallow down thy lie, foul villain. + +[_They fight off the stage. Exeunt_. + +_Jul_. Help, help! + +_Amid_. Here is that witch, whose fatal beauty +Began the mischief; she shall pay for all. + +[_Goes to kill JULIA_. + +_Hip_. I hate her for it more than thou canst do; +But cannot see her die, my master loves. + +[_Goes between with her sword_. + +_Enter_ GONSALVO, _following_ RODORICK, _who falls_. + +_Rod_. So, now I am at rest:-- +I feel death rising higher still, and higher, +Within my bosom; every breath I fetch +Shuts up my life within a shorter compass, +And, like the vanishing sound of bells, grows less +And less each pulse, 'till it be lost in air. + +[_Swoons away_. + +_Gons_. Down at your feet, much injured innocence, +I lay that sword, which-- + +_Jul_. Take it up again; +It has not done its work 'till I am killed: +For ever, ever, thou hast robbed me of +That man, that only man, whom I could love: +Dost thou thus court thy mistress? thus oblige her? +All thy obligements have been fatal yet, +Yet the most fatal now would most oblige me. +Kill me:--yet I am killed before in him. +I lie there on the ground; cold, cold, and pale: +That death, I die in Roderick, is far +More pleasant than that life, I live in Julia.-- +--See how he stands--when he is bid dispatch me! +How dull! how spiritless! that sloth possest +Thee not, when thou didst kill my Roderick. + +_Gons_. I'm too unlucky to converse with men: +I'll pack together all my mischiefs up, +Gather with care each little remnant of them, +That none of them be left behind: Thus loaded, +Fly to some desert, and there let them loose, +Where they may never prey upon mankind. +But you may make my journey shorter:--Take +This sword; 'twill shew you how:-- + +_Jul_.I'll gladly set you on your way:-- +[_Takes his sword_. + +_Enter three of_ RODORICK'S _servants_. + +_1 Serv_. Make haste; he's now unarmed, we may with ease +Revenge my master's death. + +_Jul_. Now these shall do it. + +_Gons_. I'll die by none but you.-- + +_Hip_. O here, take my sword, sir. + +_Amid_. He shall have mine. + +[_Both give their swords_ to GONSALVO. + +_Enter MANUEL_. + +_Man_. Think not of death. +We'll live and conquer. + +[_They beat them off_. + +_Man_. These fellows, though beat off, will strait return +With more; we must make haste to save ourselves. + +_Hip_. 'Tis far to the town, +And, ere you reach it, you will be discovered. + +_Gons_. My life's a burden to me, were not Julia's +Concerned; but, as it is, she, being present, +Will be found accessary to his death. + +_Man_. See where a vessel lies, not far from shore; +And near at hand a boat belonging to her; +Let's haste aboard, and what with prayers and gifts +Buy our concealment there:--Come, Julia. + +_Gons_. Alas, she swoons away upon the body. + +_Man_. The night grows on apace; we'll take her in +Our arms, and bear her hence. + +[_Exeunt GONSALVO, and the boys, with MANUEL, carrying JULIA_. + +_The Servants enter again_. + +_1 Serv_. They are all gone, we may return with safety: +Help me to bear the body to the town. + +_2 Serv_. He stirs, and breathes a little; there may be +Some hope. + +_3 Serv_. The town's far off, and the evening cold. +Let's carry him to the ship. + +_1 Serv_. Haste then away: +Things, once resolved, are ruined by delay. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + +_The Scene lying in a Carrack_. + +_Enter a Pirate and the Captain_. + + +_Pir_. Welcome a ship-board, captain; you staid +long. + +_Capt_. No longer than was necessary for shifting +trades; to change me from a robber to a pirate. + +_Pir_. There's a fair change wrought in you since +yesterday morning; then you talked of nothing but +repentance, and amendment of life. + +_Capt_. 'Faith, I have considered better on't: for, +conversing a whole day together with honest men, +I found them all so poor and beggarly, that a civil +person would be ashamed to be seen with them:--but +you come from Don Roderick's cabin; what hopes +have you of his life? + +_Pir_. No danger of it, only loss of blood had +made him faint away; he called for you. + +_Capt_. Well, are his jewels and his plate brought +in? + +_Pir_. They are.--When hoist we sails? + +_Capt_. At the first break of day: When we are +got out clear, we'll seize on Roderick and his men: +They are not many, but fear may make them desperate. + +_Pir_. We may take them, when they are laid to +sleep. + +_Capt_. 'Tis well advised. + +_Pir_. I forgot to tell you, sir, that a little before +Don Roderick was brought in, a company of gentlemen +(pursued it seems by justice) procured our +boat to row them hither. Two of them carried a +very fair lady betwixt them, who was either dead, +or swooned. + +_Capt_. We'll sell them altogether to the Turk,--at +least I'll tell them so. [_Aside_. + +_Pir_. Pray, sir, let us reserve the lady to our own +uses; it were a shame to good catholicks to give +her up to infidels. + +_Capt_. Don Roderick's door opens; I'll speak to +him. + +_The Scene draws, and discovers the Captains cabin; +RODORICK on a bed, and two Servants by him_. + +_Capt_. How is it with the brave Don Roderick? +Do you want any thing? + +_Rod_. I have too much +Of that I would not, love; +And what I would have, that I want, revenge. +I must be set ashore. + +_Capt_. That you may, sir; +But our own safety must be thought on first. + +[_One enters, and whispers the Captain_. + +_Capt_. I come:--Seignior, think you are lord +here, and command all freely. + +[_Exeunt Captain and Pirates_. + +_Rod_. He does well to bid me think so: I am of opinion +We are fallen into huckster's hands. + +_1 Serv_. Indeed he talked suspiciously enough; +He half denied to land us. + +_Rod_. These, Pedro, are your confiding men-- + +_2 Serv_. I think them still so. + +_Rod_. Would I were from them. + +_2 Serv_. 'Tis impossible +To attempt it now; you have not strength enough +To walk. + +_Rod_. That venture must be mine: We're lost, +If we stay here to-morrow. + +_2 Serv_. I hope better. + +_1 Serv_. One whom I saw among 'em, to my knowledge, +Is a notorious robber. + +_2 Serv_. He looked so like a gentleman, I could +not know him then. + +_Rod_. What became of Julia when I fell? + +_1 Serv_. We left her weeping over you, till we +Were beaten off; but she, and those with her, +Were gone when we returned. + +_Rod_. Too late I find, +I wronged her in my thoughts. I'm every way +A wretched man:-- +Something we must resolve on, ere we sleep; +Draw in the bed, I feel the cold. + +[_Bed drawn in. Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter GONSALVO, MANUEL, HIPPOLITO and +AMIDEO_. + + +_Hip_. Nay, 'tis too true; for, peeping through a chink, +I saw Don Roderick lying on a bed, +Not dead, as we supposed, but only hurt; +So waited on as spoke him master here. + +_Man_. Was there ever so fatal an adventure! +To fly into that very ship, for refuge, +Where the only person, we would shun, commands! +This mischief is so strange, it could not happen, +But was the plot and juggle of our fate, +To free itself, and cast the blame on us. + +_Gons_. This is not yet our fortune's utmost malice; +The gall remains behind. This ship was that, +Which yesterday was mine; I can see nothing +Round me, but what's familiar to my eyes; +Only the persons new: Which makes me think, +Twas seized upon by Roderick, to revenge +Himself on me. + +_Man_. Tis wonderful indeed. + +_Amid_. The only comfort is, we are not known; +For when we entered it was dark. + +_Hip_. That comfort +Is of as short continuance as the night; +The day will soon discover us. + +_Man_. Some way must be invented to get out. + +_Hip_. Fair Julia, sadly pining by herself. +Sits on her bed; tears falling from her eyes, +As silently as dews in dead of night. +All we consult of must be kept from her: +That moment, that she knows of Roderick's life, +Dooms us to certain death. + +_Man_. 'Tis well considered. + +_Gons_. For my part, were not you and she concerned, +I look upon my life, like an estate, +So charged with debts, it is not worth the keeping. +We cannot long be undiscovered by them; +Let us then rush upon them on the sudden, +(All hope of safety placed in our despair) +And gain quick victory, or speedy death. + +_Man_. Consider first, the impossibility +Of the attempt; four men, and two poor boys, +(Which, added to our number, make us weaker) +Against ten villains, more resolved for death, +Than any ten among our holiest priests. +Stay but a little longer, till they all +Disperse to rest within their several cabins; +Then more securely we may set upon them, +And kill them half, before the rest can wake: +By this means too, the boys are useful for us, +For they can cut the throats of sleeping men. + +_Hip_. Now have I the greatest temptation in the world to reveal, +Thou art a woman. [_To AMIDEO_. + +_Amid_. If 'twere not for thy beauty, my master should know, +What a man he keeps. [_To HIPPOLITO_. + +_Hip_. Why should we have recourse to desperate ways, +When safer may be thought on? +'Tis like giving the extreme unction. +In the beginning of a sickness; +Can you imagine to find all asleep? +The wicked joy, of having such a booty +In their possession, will keep some awake; +And some, no doubt, will watch with wounded +Roderick. + +_Amid_. What would your wisdom now propose? + +_Hip_. To say +That some of us are sea-sick; (your complexion +Will make the excuse for us who are less fair:) +So, by good words and promises, procure +We may be set ashore, ere morning come. + +_Amid_. O, the deep reasons of the grave Hippolito!-- +As if 'twere likely, in so calm a season, +We should be sick so soon; or, if we were, +Whom should we chuse among us to go tell it? +For whoe'er ventures out must needs be known: +Or, if none knew us, can you think that pirates +Will let us go upon such easy terms, +As promising rewards?--Let me advise you. + +_Hip_. Now, we expect an oracle. + +_Amid_. Here are bundles, +Of canvas and of cloth, you see lie by us; +In which one of us shall sew up the rest, +Only some breathing place, for air, and food: +Then call the pirates in, and tell them, we, +For fear, had drowned ourselves: And when we come +To the next port, find means to bring us out. + +_Hip_. Pithily spoken!-- +As if you were to bind up marble statues, +Which only bore the shapes of men without, +And had no need of ever easing nature. + +_Gons_. There's but one way left, that's this;-- +You know the rope, by which the cock-boat's tied, +Goes down by the stern, and now, we are at anchor, +There sits no pilot to discover us; +My counsel is, to go down by the ladder, +And, being once there, unloose, and row to shore. + +_Man_. This, without doubt, were best; but there lies ever +Some one, or more, within the boat, to watch it. + +_Gons_. I'll slide down first, and run the venture of it; +You shall come after me, if there be need, +To give me succour. + +_Man_. 'Tis the only way. + +_Gons_. Go in to Julia, then, and first prepare her, +With knowledge of the pirates, and the danger +Her honour's in, among such barbarous people. + +_Man_. Leave it to me. + +_Amid_. Hippolito and Julia, +My rivals, like two pointed rocks appear; +And I, through both, must to Gonsalvo steer. [_Aside_. + +[_Exeunt all but HIPPOLITA_. + +_Hip_. As from some steep and dreadful precipice +The frighted traveller casts down his eyes, +And sees the ocean at so great a distance, +It looks as if the skies were sunk below him; +Yet if some neighbouring shrub (how weak soe'er) +Peeps up, his willing eyes stop gladly there, +And seem to ease themselves, and rest upon it: +So, in my desperate state, each little comfort +Preserves me from despair. Gonsalvo strove not +With greater care to give away his Julia, +Than I have done to part with my Gonsalvo; +Yet neither brought to pass our hateful wish. +Then, we may meet, since different ways we move, +Chasing each other in the maze of love. + [_Exit_. + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter Don RODORICK, carried by two Servants_. + + +_1 Serv_. It was the only way that could be thought on, +To get down by the ladder to the boat. + +_2 Serv_. You may thank me for that invention. + +_Rod_. What a noise is here, when the least breath's +As dangerous as a tempest. + +_2 Serv_. If any of those rogues should hear him talk, +In what a case were we? + +_Rod_. O, patience! patience!-- +This ass brays out for silence. + +_Enter, at the other end, MANUEL, leading JULIA, +GONSALVO, HIPPOLITO, and AMIDEO_. + +_Gons_. Hark! what noise is that? go softly. + + [_They meet on the middle of the stage_. + +_Rod_. Who's here? I am betrayed! and nothing grieves me, +But I want strength to die with honour. + +_Jul_. Roderick! +Is it thy voice, my love?--Speak, and resolve me, +Whether thou livest, or I am dead with thee? + +_Man_. Kill him, and force our way. + +_Rod_. Is Manuel there? +Hold up my arm, that I may make one thrust +At him, before I die. + +_Gons_. Since we must fall, +We'll sell our lives as dearly as we can. + +_1 Serv_. And we'll defend our master to the last. + [_Fight_. + +_Enter Pirates, without their Captain_. + +_1 Pirate_. What's the meaning of this uproar?--Quarrelling +Amongst yourselves at midnight? + +_2 Pirate_. We are come in a fit time to decide the +difference. + +_Man_. Hold, gentlemen! we're equally concerned. + [_To RODORICK'S Servants_. +We for our own, you for your master's safety; +If we join forces, we may then resist them, +If not, both sides are ruined. + +_1 Serv_. We agree. + +_Gons_. Come o'er on our side then. [_They join_. + +_1 Pirate_. A mischief on our captain's drowsiness; +We're lost, for want of him! [_They fight_. + +_Gons_. Dear madam, get behind; while you are safe, +We cannot be o'ercome. [_To JULIA_. + +[_They drive off the Pirates, and follow them off. +RODORICK remains on the ground_. + +_Rod_. I had much rather my own life were lost, +Than Manuel's were preserved. + +_Enter the Pirates, retreating before GONSALVO, &c_. + +_1 Pirate_. All's lost! they fight like devils, and our captain +Yet sleeping in his bed. + +_2 Pirate_. Here lies Don Roderick; +If we must die, we'll not leave him behind. + +[_Goes to kill him_. + +_Jul_. O, spare my Roderick's life; and, in exchange, +Take mine! I put myself within your power, +To save or kill. + +_1 Pirate_. So, here's another pawn, +For all our safeties. + +_Man_. Heaven! what has she done? + +_Gons_. Let go the lady, or expect no mercy!--The +least drop of her blood is worth all yours. +And mine together. + +_1 Pirate_. I am glad you think so:-- +Either deliver up your sword, or mine +Shall pierce her heart this moment. + +_Gons_. Here, here, take it. + +_Man_. You are not mad, to give away all hopes + +[_MANUEL holds him_ + +Of safety and defence, from us, from her, +And from yourself, at once! + +_Gons_. When she is dead, +What is there worth defending? + +_Man_. Will you trust +A pirate's promise, sooner than your valour? + +_Gons_. Any thing, rather than see her in danger. + +_1 Pirate_. Nay, if you dispute the matter!-- + +[_Holds his sword to her breast_. + +_Gons_. I yield, I yield!--Reason to love must bow: +Love, that gives courage, can make cowards too! + +[_Gives his sword_. + +_Jul_. O, strange effect of a most generous passion! + +_Rod_. His enemies themselves must needs admire it. + +_Man_. Nay, if Gonsalvo makes a fashion of it, +'Twill be valour to die tamely. [_Gives his_. + +_Hip_. I am for dying too with my dear master. + +_Amid_. My life will go as easily as a fly's; +The least fillip does it in this fright. + +_1 Pirate_. One call our captain up: Tell him, he +deserves little of the booty. + +_Jul_. It has so much prevailed upon my soul, +I ever must acknowledge it. [_To GONS_. + +_Rod_. Julia has reason, if she love him; yet, +I find I cannot bear it. [_Aside_. + +_Gons_. Say but, you love me; I am more than +paid. + +_Jul_. You ask that only thing, I cannot give;-- +Were I not Roderick's first, I should be yours; +My violent love for him, I know, is faulty; +Yet passion never can be placed so ill, +But that to change it is the greater crime. +Inconstancy is such a guilt, as makes +That very love suspected, which it brings; +It brings a gift, but 'tis of ill-got wealth, +The spoils of some forsaken lover's heart. +Love, altered once, like blood let out before, +Will lose its virtue, and can cure no more. + +_Gons_. In those few minutes which I have to live, +To be called yours, is all I can enjoy. +Roderick receives no prejudice by that; +I would but make some small acquaintance here, +For fear I never should enquire you out +In that new world, which we are going to. + +_Amid_. Then, I can hold no longer;--You desire, +In death, to be called hers; and all I wish, +Is, dying, to be yours. + +_Hip_. You'll not discover? [_Aside_. + +_Amid_. See here the most unfortunate of women, +That Angelina, whom you all thought lost; +And lost she was indeed, when she beheld +Gonsalvo first. + +_All_. How?--Angelina! + +_Rod_. Ha! +My sister! + +_Amid_. I thought to have fled love in flying Manuel, +But love pursued me in Gonsalvo's shape: +For him, I ventured all that maids hold dear; +The opinion of my modesty, and virtue, +My loss of fortune, and my brother's love. +For him, I have exposed myself to dangers, +Which, great themselves, yet greater would appear, +If you could see them through a woman's fear. +But why do I my right by dangers prove? +The greatest argument for love is love: +That passion, Julia, while he lives, denies, +He should refuse to give her when he dies: +Yet grant he did his life to her bequeath, +May I not claim my share of him in death? +I only beg, when all the glory's gone, +The heatless beams of a departing sun. + +_Gons_. Never was passion, hid so modestly, +So generously revealed. + +_Man_. We're now a chain of lovers linked in death; +Julia goes first, Gonsalvo hangs on her, +And Angelina holds upon Gonsalvo, +As I on Angelina. + +_Hip_. Nay, here's Honoria too:--You +look on me with wonder in your eyes, +To see me here, and in this strange disguise. + +_Jul_. What new miracle is this? Honoria! + +_Man_. I left you with my aunt at Barcelona, +And thought, ere this, you had been married to +The rich old man, Don Estevan de Gama. + +_Hip_. I ever had a strange aversion for him: +But when Gonsalvo landed there, and made +A kind of courtship, (though, it seems, in jest,) +It served to conquer me; which Estevan +Perceiving, pressed my aunt to haste the marriage. +What should I do? My aunt importuned me +For the next day: Gonsalvo, though I loved him, +Knew not my love; nor was I sure his courtship +Was not the effect of a bare gallantry. + +_Gons_. Alas! how grieved I am, that slight address +Should make so deep impression on your mind, +In three days time! + +_Hip_. That accident, in which +You saved my life, when first you saw me, caused it, +Though now the story be too long to tell. +Howe'er it was, hearing that night, you lay +Aboard your ship, thus, as you see, disguised, +In clothes belonging to my youngest nephew, +I rose ere day, resolved to find you out, +And, if I could, procure to wait on you +Without discovery of myself: but fortune +Crossed all my hopes. + +_Gons_. It was that dismal night +Which tore my anchor up, and tossed my ship, +Past hope of safety, many days together, +Until at length it threw me on this port. + +_Hip_. I will not tell you what my sorrows were, +To find you gone; but there was now no help. +Go back again, I durst not; but, in fine, +Thought best, as fast as my weak legs would bear me, +To come to Alicant, and find my sister, +Unknown to any else: But, being near +The city, I was seized upon by thieves, +From whom you rescued me.--The rest you know. + +_Gons_. I know too much indeed for my repose. + +_Enter Captain_. + +_Capt_. Do you know me? + +_Gons_. Now I look better on thee, +Thou seemest a greater villain than I thought thee. + +_Jul_ 'Tis he! + +_Hip_. That bloody wretch, that robbed us in +The woods. + +_Gons_. Slave! darest thou lift thy hand against me? +Darest thou touch any one whom he protects, +Who gave thee life? But I accuse myself, +Not thee: The death of all these guiltless persons +Became my crime, that minute when I spared thee. + +_Capt_. It is not all your threats can alter me +From what I have resolved. + +_Gons_. Begin, then, first +With me. + +_Capt_. I will, by laying here my sword. +[_Lays his sword at Gonsalvo's feet_. + +_All_. What means this sudden change? + +_Capt_. Tis neither new, nor sudden.--From that time +You gave me life, I watched how to repay it; +And Roderick's servant gave me speedy means +To effect my wish: For, telling me, his master +Meant a revenge on you, and on Don Manuel, +And then to seize on Julia, and depart, +I proffered him my aid to seize a vessel; +And having, by enquiry, found out yours, +Acquainted first the captain with my purpose, +To make a seeming mastery of the ship. + +_Man_. How durst he take your word? + +_Capt_. That I secured, +By letting him give notice to the ships +That lay about: This done, knowing the place +You were to fight on was behind the rock, +Not far from thence, I, and some chosen men, +Lay out of sight, that, if foul play were offered, +We might prevent it: +But came not in; because, when there was need, +Don Manuel, who was nearer, stepped before me. + +_Gons_. Then the boat, which seemed +To lie by chance, hulling not far from shore, +Was placed by your direction there? + +_Capt_. It was. + +_Gons_. You're truly noble; and I owe much more +Than my own life and fortunes to your worth. + +_Capt_. 'Tis time I should restore their liberty +To such of yours, as yet are seeming prisoners. +I'll wait on you again. [_Exit Captain_. + +_Rod_. My enemies are happy; and the storm, +Prepared for them, must break upon my head. + +_Gons_. So far am I from happiness, heaven knows +My griefs are doubled! +I stand engaged in hopeless love to Julia; +In gratitude to these:-- +Here I have given my heart, and here I owe it. + +_Hip_. Dear master, trouble not yourself for me; +I ever made your happiness my own; +Let Julia witness with what faith I served you. +When you employed me in your love to her, +I gave your noble heart away, as if +It had been some light gallant's, little worth: +Not that I loved you less than Angelina, +But myself less than you. + +_Gons_. Wonder of honour! +Of which my own was but a fainter shadow. +When I gave Julia, whom I could not keep, +You fed a fire within, with too rich fuel, +In giving it your heart to prey upon; +The sweetest offering that was ever burnt +Since last the Phoenix died. + +_Hip_. If Angelina knew, like me, the pride +Of noble minds, which is to give, not take, +Like me she would be satisfied, her heart +Was well bestowed, and ask for no return. + +_Amid_. Pray, let my heart alone; you'll use it as +The gipsies do our money; +If they once touch it, they have power upon't. + +_Enter the Servant, who appeared in the first act with GONSALVO_. + +_Serv_. O, my dear lord, Gonsalvo de Peralta! + +_Rod_. De Peralta, said you? You amaze me! + +_Gons_. Why?--Do you know that family in Seville? + +_Rod_. I am myself the elder brother of it. + +_Gons_. Don Rodorick de Peralta! + +_Rod_. I was so, +Until my mother died, whose name, de Sylva, +I chose, (our custom not forbidding it) +Three years ago, when I returned from Flanders: +I came here to possess a fair estate, +Left by an aunt, her sister; for whose sake +I take that name; and liked the place so well, +That never since have I returned to Seville. + +_Gons_. 'Twas then that change of name, which caused my letters +All to miscarry. What an happy tempest +Was this, which would not let me rest at Seville, +But blew me farther on, to see you here! + +_Amid_. Brother, I come to claim a sister's share: +But you're too near me, to be nearer now. + +_Gons_. In my room, let me beg you to receive +Don Manuel. + +_Amid_. I take it half unkindly, +You give me from yourself so soon: Don Manuel, +I know, is worthy, and, but yesterday, +Preserved my life; but, it will take some time +To change my heart. + +_Man_. I'll watch it patiently, as chemists do +Their golden birth; and, when 'tis changed, receive it +With greater care than they their rich elixir, +Just passing from one vial to another. + +_Rod_. Julia is still my brother's, though I lose her. + +_Gons_. You shall not lose her; Julia was born +For none but you; +And I for none but my Honoria: +Julia is yours by inclination; +And I, by conquest, am Honoria's. + +_Hon_. 'Tis the most glorious one that e'er was made: +And I no longer will dispute my happiness. + +_Rod_. Julia, you know my peevish jealousies; +I cannot promise you a better husband +Than you have had a servant. + +_Jul_. I receive you +With all your faults. + +_Rod_. And think, when I am froward, +My sullen humour punishes itself: +I'm like a day in March, sometimes o'ercast +With storms, but then the after clearness is +The greater. The worst is, where I love most, +The tempest falls most heavy. + +_Jul_. Ah! what a little time to love is lent! +Yet half that time is in unkindness spent. + +_Rod_. That you may see some hope of my amendment, +I give my friendship to Don Manuel, ere +My brother asks, or he himself desires it. + +_Man_. I'll ever cherish it. + +_Gons_. Since, for my sake, you become friends, my care +Shall be to keep you so. You, captain, shall +Command this carrack, and, with her, my fortunes. +You, my Honoria, though you have an heart +Which Julia left, yet think it not the worse; +'Tis not worn out, but polished by the wearing. +Your merit shall her beauty's power remove; +Beauty but gains, obligement keeps our love. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +THE +INDIAN QUEEN, +A +TRAGEDY, + + +WRITTEN BY THE +HON. SIR ROBERT HOWARD, +AND +MR DRYDEN. + + + +THE INDIAN QUEEN + +The plays of Sir Robert Howard were tolerated by his contemporaries, +on account of the rank, gallantry, and loyalty, of the author; at +least, we are now unable to discover any better reason for their +success. The Committee, alone, kept possession of the stage till our +time; and that solely supported by the humours of Teague, an honest +blundering Irish footman, such as we usually see in a modern farce. +From a hint, given by Langbaine, Sir Robert Howard seems to have been +suspected of frequent plagiarisms. At any rate it is certain, that, in +the composition of the Indian Queen, he was so fortunate, as to have +the assistance of our great poet, who was bound to him by ties of +personal obligation. + +It is, of course, difficult even to guess at the share which Dryden +had in the Indian Queen. Several of the characters have a strong +resemblance to others, which he afterwards drew in bolder colours. +Thus, Montezuma, who, like the hero of an ancient romance, bears +fortune to any side which he pleases to espouse, is justly pointed out +by Settle, as the prototype of Almanzor; though we look in vain for +the glowing language, which, though sometimes bordering on burlesque, +suits so well the extravagant character of the Moorish hero. Zempoalla +strongly resembles Nourmuhal in Aureng-Zebe; both shewing that high +spirit of pride, with which Dryden has often invested his female +characters. The language of the Indian Queen possesses, in general, +greater ease, and a readier flow of verse, than Sir Robert Howard +appears to have possessed, when unassisted. Of this he seems, +himself, to have been sensible; and alludes to Dryden's acknowledged +superiority, when maintaining against him the cause of dramatic blank +verse, as preferable to rhyme[1]. Besides general hints towards the +conception of the characters, and a superintendance of the dialogue, +it is probable, that Dryden wrote some entire scenes of the following +piece. In the third act particularly, the passage respecting the +incantation, which resembles that in the Indian Emperor, has strong +traces of our author's manner. + +[Footnote 1: "But writing the epistle in so much haste, I had almost +forgot one argument, or observation, which that author (Dryden) has +most good fortune in. It is in his Epistle Dedicatory, before his +essay of _Dramatic Poesie_; where, speaking of rhyme in plays, he +desires it may be observed, that none are violent against it, but such +as have not attempted it, or who have succeeded ill in the attempt: +Which, as to myself, and him, I easily acknowledge;--for, I confess, +none has written in that way better than himself, nor few worse than +I." + +_Introduction to the Great Favourite, or the Duke of Lerma_.] + +The Indian Queen was acted in 1664; and received, says Langbaine, with +great applause. It was printed in 1665. + + + +Prologue + +_As the music plays a soft air, the curtain rises slowly, and +discovers an Indian Boy and Girl sleeping under two plantain-trees; +and, when the curtain is almost up, the music turns into a tune +expressing an alarm, at which the Boy awakes, and speaks; + + +_Boy_. WAKE, wake, Quevira! our soft rest must cease, +And fly together with our country's peace! +No more must we sleep under plantain shade, +Which neither heat could pierce, nor cold invade; +Where bounteous nature never feels decay, +And opening buds drive falling fruits away. + +_Que_. Why should men quarrel here, where all possess +As much as they can hope for by success?-- +None can have most, where nature is so kind, +As to exceed man's use, though not his mind. + +_Boy_. By ancient prophecies we have been told, +Our world shall be subdued by one more old;-- +And, see, that world already hither come. + +_Que_. If these be they, we welcome then our doom! +Their looks are Such, that mercy flows from thence, +More gentle than our native innocence. + +_Boy_. Why should we then fear these, our enemies, +That rather seem to us like deities? + +_Que_. By their protection, let us beg to live; +They came not here to conquer, but forgive.-- +If so, your goodness may your power express, +And we shall judge both best by our success. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + +_The Inca of Peru_. +MONTEZUMA, _his General_. +ACACIS, _son to_ ZEMPOALLA. +TRAXALLA, _General to_ ZEMPOALLA. +GARUCCA, _a faithful subject to_ AMEXIA. +_The God of Dreams_. +ISMERON, _one of the prophets, a conjuror_. +_Officers and Soldiers. +Peruvians and Mexicans. +Priests_. + +AMEXIA, _the lawful queen of Mexico_. +ZEMPOALLA, _the usurping Indian Queen_. +ORAZIA,_daughter to the Inca_. +_Attendants of Ladies_. + + + +THE +INDIAN QUEEN. + + +ACT I. SCENE I. + + +_Enter Inca,_ ORAZIA, MONTEZUMA, ACACIS, _prisoners, with +Peruvians_. + + +_Inca_. Thrice have the Mexicans before us fled, +Their armies broke, their prince in triumph led; +Both to thy valour, brave young man, we owe; +Ask thy reward, but such as it may show +It is a king thou hast obliged, whose mind +Is large, and, like his fortune, unconfined. + +_Mont_. Young, and a stranger, to your court I +came, +There, by your favour, raised to what I am: +I conquer, but in right of your great fate, +And so your arms, not mine, are fortunate. + +_Inca_. I am impatient, till this debt be paid. +Which still encreases on me while delayed; +A bounteous monarch to himself is kind: +Ask such a gift as may for ever bind +Thy service to my empire, and to me. + +_Mont_. What can this gift, he bids me ask him, be! +Perhaps he has perceived our mutual fires, +And now, with ours, would crown his own desires; +'Tis so, he sees my service is above +All other payments but his daughter's love. + +[_Aside_. + +_Inca_. So quick to merit, and to take so slow? +I first prevent small wishes, and bestow +This prince, his sword and fortunes, to thy hand; +He's thine unasked; now make thy free demand. + +_Mont_. Here, prince, receive this sword, as only due + +[_Gives_ ACACIS _his sword_. + +To that excess of courage shown in you.-- +When you, without demand, a prince bestow, +Less than a prince to ask of you were low. + +_Inca_. Then ask a kingdom; say, where thou wilt +reign. + +_Mont_. I beg not empires, those my sword can gain; +But, for my past and future service too, +What I have done, and what I mean to do; +For this of Mexico which I have won, +And kingdoms I will conquer yet unknown; +I only ask from fair Orazia's eyes +To reap the fruits of all my victories. + +_1 Peru_. Our Inca's colour mounts into his face. + +_2 Peru_. His looks speak death. + +_Inca_. Young man of unknown race, +Ask once again; so well thy merits plead, +Thou shall not die for that which thou hast said; +The price of what thou ask'st, thou dost not know; +That gift's too high. + +_Mont_. And all besides too low. + +_Inca_. Once more I bid thee ask. + +_Mont_. Once more I make +The same demand. + +_Inca_. The Inca bids thee take +Thy choice, what towns, what kingdoms thou would'st have. + +_Mont_. Thou giv'st me only what before I gave. +Give me thy daughter. + +_Inca_. Thou deserv'st to die. +O thou great author of our progeny, +Thou glorious sun, dost thou not blush to shine, +While such base blood attempts to mix with thine! + +_Mont_. That sun, thou speak'st of, did not hide his face, +When he beheld me conquering with his race. + +_Inca_. My fortunes gave thee thy success in fight! +Convey thy boasted valour from my sight; +I can o'ercome without thy feeble aid. + +[_Exeunt Inca_, ORAZIA, _and Peruvians_. + +_Mont_. And is it thus my services are paid? +Not all his guards-- + +[_Offers to go,_ ACACIS _holds him_. + +_Aca_. Hold, sir. + +_Mont_. Unhand me. + +_Aca_. No, I must your rage prevent +From doing what your reason would repent; +Like the vast seas, your mind no limits knows, +Like them, lies open to each wind that blows. + +_Mont_. Can a revenge, that is so just, be ill? + +_Aca_. It is Orazia's father, you would kill. + +_Mont_. Orazia! how that name has charmed my sword! + +_Aca_. Compose these wild distempers in your breast; +Anger, like madness, is appeased by rest. + +_Mont_. Bid children sleep, my spirits boil too high; +But, since Orazia's father must not die, +A nobler vengeance shall my actions guide; +I'll bear the conquest to the conquered side, +Until this Inca for my friendship sues, +And proffers what his pride does now refuse. + +_Aca_. Your honour is obliged to keep your trust. + +_Mont_. He broke that bond, in ceasing to be just. + +_Aca_. Subjects to kings should more obedience pay. + +_Mont_. Subjects are bound, not strangers, to obey. + +_Aca_. Can you so little your Orazia prize, +To give the conquest to her enemies? +Can you so easily forego her sight? +I, that hold liberty more dear than light, +Yet to my freedom should my chains prefer, +And think it were well lost to stay with her. + +_Mont_. How unsuccessfully I still o'ercome! +I brought a rival, not a captive, home; +Yet I may be deceived; but 'tis too late +To clear those doubts, my stay brings certain fate. +[_Aside_. +Come, prince, you shall to Mexico return, +Where your sad armies do your absence mourn; +And in one battle I will gain you more +Than I have made you lose in three before. + +_Aca_. No, Montezuma, though you change your side, +I, as a prisoner, am by honour tied. + +_Mont_. You are my prisoner, and I set you free. + +_Aca_. 'Twere baseness to accept such liberty. + +_Mont_. From him, that conquered you, it should be sought. + +_Aca_. No, but from him, for whom my conqueror fought. + +_Mont_. Still you are mine, his gift has made you so. + +_Aca_. He gave me to his general, not his foe. + +_Mont_. How poorly have you pleaded honour's laws! +Yet shun the greatest in your country's cause. + +_Aca_. What succour can the captive give the free. + +_Mont_. A needless captive is an enemy. +In painted honour you would seem to shine; +But 'twould be clouded, were your wrongs like mine. + +_Aca_. When choler such unbridled power can +have, +Thy virtue seems but thy revenge's slave: +If such injustice should my honour stain, +My aid would prove my nation's loss, not gain. + +_Mont_. Be cozened by thy guilty honesty, +To make thyself thy country's enemy. + +_Aca_. I do not mean in the next fight to stain +My sword in blood of any Mexican, +But will be present in the fatal strife, +To guard Orazia's and the Inca's life. + +_Mont_. Orazia's life, fond man! First guard thy +own; +Her safety she must owe to me alone. + +_Aca_. Your sword, that does such wonders, cannot +be, +In an ill cause, secure of victory. + +_Mont_. Hark, hark! [_Noise of trampling_. + +_Aca_. What noise is this invades my ear? +Fly, Montezuma! fly, the guards are near: +To favour your retreat, I'll freely pay +That life, which you so frankly gave this day. + +_Mont_. I must retire; but those, that follow me, +Pursue their deaths, and not their victory. + + [_Exit_ MONT. + +_Aca_. Our quarrels kinder than our friendships +prove: +You for my country fight, I for your love. + +_Enter_ INCA _and Guards_. + +_Inca_. I was to blame to leave this madman free; +Perhaps he may revolt to the enemy, +Or stay, and raise some fatal mutiny. + +_Aca_. Stop your pursuits, for they must pass +through me. + +_Inca_. Where is the slave? + +_Aca_. Gone. + +_Inca_. Whither? + +_Aca_. O'er the plain; +Where he may soon the camp, or city, gain. + +_Inca_. Curse on my dull neglect! +And yet I do less cause of wonder find, +That he is gone, than that thou stayest behind. + +_Aca_. My treatment, since you took me, was so free, +It wanted but the name of liberty. +I with less shame can still your captive live, +Than take that freedom, which you did not give. + +_Inca_. Thou brave young man, that hast thy years outdone, +And, losing liberty, hast honour won, +I must myself thy honour's rival make, +And give that freedom, which thou would'st not take. +Go, and be safe.-- + +_Aca_. But that you may be so-- +Your dangers must be past before I go. +Fierce Montezuma will for fight prepare, +And bend on you the fury of the war, +Which, by my presence, I will turn away, +If fortune gives my Mexicans the day. + +_Inca_. Come, then, we are alike to honour just, +Thou to be trusted thus, and I to trust. + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II.--_Mexico_. + +_Enter_ ZEMPOALLA, TRAXALLA, _and attendants_. + + +_Zemp_. O my Acacis! +Does not my grief, Traxalla, seem too rude, +Thus to press out before my gratitude +Has paid my debts to you?--yet it does move +My rage and grief, to see those powers above +Punish such men, as, if they be divine, +They know will most adore, and least repine. + +_Trax_. Those, that can only mourn when they are crost, +May lose themselves with grieving for the lost. +Rather to your retreated troops appear, +And let them see a woman void of fear: +The shame of that may call their spirits home. +Were the prince safe, we were not overcome, +Though we retired: O, his too youthful heat, +That thrust him where the dangers were so great! +Heaven wanted power his person to protect +From that, which he had courage to neglect: +But since he's lost, let us draw forth, and pay +His funeral rites in blood; that we or they +May, in our fates, perform his obsequies, +And make death triumph when Acacis dies. + +_Zemp_. That courage, thou hast shown in fight, seems less +Than this, amidst despair to have excess: +Let thy great deeds force fate to change her mind: +He, that courts fortune boldly, makes her kind. + +_Trax_. If e'er Traxalla so successful proves, +May he then say he hopes, as well as loves; +And that aspiring passion boldly own, +Which gave my prince his fate, and you his throne? +I did not feel remorse to see his blood +Flow from the spring of life into a flood; +Nor did it look like treason, since to me +You were a sovereign much more great than he. + +_Zemp_. He was my brother, yet I scorned to pay +Nature's mean debts, but threw those bonds away; +When his own issue did my hopes remove, +Not only from his empire, but his love. +You, that in all my wrongs then bore a part, +Now need not doubt a place within my heart: +I could not offer you my crown and bed, +Till fame and envy with long time were dead; +But fortune does now happily present +Occasions, fit to second my intent. +Your valour may regain the public love, +And make the people's choice their queen's approve. + +[_Shout_. + +Hark, hark, what noise is this, that strikes my ear! + +_Trax_. 'Tis not a sound that should beget a fear; +Such shouts as these have I heard often fly +From conquering armies, crowned with victory. + +_Zemp_. Great God of vengeance, here I firmly vow, +Make but my Mexicans successful now, +And with a thousand feasts thy flames I'll feed; +And that I take shall on the altars bleed; +Princes themselves shall fall, and make thy shrine, +Died with their blood, in glorious blushes shine. + +_Enter a Messenger_. + +_Trax_. How now! +What news is this that makes thy haste a flight? + +_Mess_. Such as brings victory without a fight. +The prince Acacis lives-- + +_Zemp_. Oh, I am blest!-- + +_Mess_. Reserve some joy till I have told the rest. +He's safe, and only wants his liberty: +But that great man, that carries victory +Where'er he goes; that mighty man, by whom +In three set battles we were overcome; +Ill used (it seems) by his ungrateful king, +Does to our camp his fate and valour bring. +The troop gaze on him, as if some bright star +Shot to their aids; call him the god of war: +Whilst he, as if all conquest did of right +Belong to him, bids them prepare to fight; +Which if they should delay one hour, he swears +He'll leave them to their dangers, or their fears, +And shame, which is the ignoble coward's choice. +At this the army seemed to have one voice, +United in a shout, and called upon +The god-like stranger, "Lead us, lead us on." +Make haste, great sir, lest you should come too late, +To share with them in victory, or fate. + +_Zemp_. My general, go; the gods be on our side; +Let valour act, but let discretion guide. + +[_Exit_ TRAX. + +Great god of vengeance, +I see thou dost begin to hear me now: +Make me thy offering, if I break my vow. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + +_Enter_ INCA _and_ ORAZIA, _as pursued in a battle_. + + +_Oraz_. O fly, sir, fly; like torrents your swift foes +Come rolling on-- + +_Inca_. The gods can but destroy. +The noblest way to fly is that death shows; +I'll court her now, since victory's grown coy. + +_Oraz_. Death's winged to your pursuit, and yet you wait +To meet her-- + +_Inca_. Poor Orazia, time and fate +Must once o'ertake me, though I now should fly. + +_Oraz_. Do not meet death; but when it comes, then die. + +_Enter three Soldiers_. + +_3 Sold_. Stand, sir, and yield yourself, and that fair prey. + +_Inca_. You speak to one, unpractised to obey. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA. + +_Mont_. Hold, villains, hold, or your rude lives shall be +Lost in the midst of your own victory: +These have I hunted for;--nay, do not stare; +Be gone, and in the common plunder share. + +[_Exeunt Soldiers_. + +How different is my fate, from theirs, whose fame +From conquest grows! from conquest grows my shame. + +_Inca_. Why dost thou pause? thou canst not give me back, +With fruitless grief, what I enjoyed before; +No more than seas, repenting of a wreck, +Can with a calm our buried wealth restore. + +_Mont_. 'Twere vain to own repentance, since I know +Thy scorn, which did my passions once despise, +Once more would make my swelling anger flow, +Which now ebbs lower than your miseries: +The gods, that in my fortunes were unkind, +Gave me not sceptres, nor such gilded things; +But, whilst I wanted crowns, enlarged my mind +To despise sceptres, and dispose of kings. + +_Inca_. Thou art but grown a rebel by success, +And I, that scorned Orazia should be tied +To thee my slave, must now esteem thee less: +Rebellion is a greater guilt than pride. + +_Mont_. Princes see others' faults, but not their own; +'Twas you that broke that bond, and set me free: +Yet I attempted not to climb your throne, +And raise myself; but level you to me. + +_Oraz_. O, Montezuma, could thy love engage +Thy soul so little, or make banks so low +About thy heart, that thy revenge and rage, +Like sudden floods, so soon should overflow? +Ye gods, how much I was mistaken here! +I thought you gentle as the gall-less dove; +But you as humoursome as winds appear, +And subject to more passions than your love. + +_Mont_. How have I been betrayed by guilty rage, +Which, like a flame, rose to so vast a height, +That nothing could resist, nor yet assuage, +Till it wrapt all things in one cruel fate. +But I'll redeem myself, and act such things, +That you shall blush Orazia was denied; +And yet make conquest, though with wearied wings, +Take a new flight to your own fainting side. + +_Inca_. Vain man, what foolish thoughts fill thy swelled mind! +It is too late our ruin to recall; +Those, that have once great buildings undermined, +Will prove too weak to prop them in their fall. + +_Enter_ TRAXALLA, _with the former soldiers_. + +_1 Sold_. See, mighty sir, where the bold stranger stands, +Who snatched these glorious prisoners from our hands. + +_Trax_. 'Tis the great Inca; seize him as my prey, +To crown the triumphs of this glorious day. + +_Mont_. Stay your bold hands from reaching at what's mine, +If any title springs from victory; +You safer may attempt to rob a shrine, +And hope forgiveness from the deity. + +_Enter_ ACACIS. + +_Trax_. O, my dear prince, my joys to see you live +Are more than all that victory can give. + +_Aca_. How are my best endeavours crost by fate! +Else you had ne'er been lost, or found so late. +Hurried by the wild fury of the fight, +Far from your presence, and Orazia's sight, +I could not all that care and duty show, +Which, as your captive, mighty prince, I owe. + +_Inca_. You often have preserved our lives this day, +And one small debt with many bounties pay. +But human actions hang on springs, that be +Too small, or too remote, for us to see. +My glories freely I to yours resign, +And am your prisoner now, that once were mine. + +_Mont_. These prisoners, sir, are mine by right of war; +And I'll maintain that right, if any dare. + +_Trax_. Yes, I would snatch them from thy weak defence; +But that due reverence, which I owe my prince, +Permits me not to quarrel in his sight; +To him I shall refer his general's right. + +_Mont_. I knew too well what justice I should find +From an armed plaintiff, and a judge so kind. + +_Aca_. Unkindly urged, that I should use thee so; +Thy virtue is my rival, not my foe; +The prisoners fortune gave thee shall be thine. + +_Trax_. Would you so great a prize to him resign? + +_Aca_. Should he, who boldly for his prey designed +To dive the deepest under swelling tides, +Have the less title if he chance to find +The richest jewel that the ocean hides? +They are his due-- +But in his virtue I repose that trust, +That he will be as kind as I am just: +Dispute not my commands, but go with haste, +Rally our men, they may pursue too fast, +And the disorders of the inviting prey +May turn again the fortune of the day. + +[_Exit_ TRAX. + +_Mont_. How gentle all this prince's actions be! +Virtue is calm in him, but rough in me. + +_Aca_. Can Montezuma place me in his breast? + +_Mont_. My heart's not large enough for such a guest. + +_Aca_. See, Montezuma, see, Orazia weeps. + +[ORAZ. _weeps_. + +_Mont_. Acacis! is he deaf, or, waking, sleeps? +He does not hear me, sees me not, nor moves; +How firm his eyes are on Orazia fixt! +Gods, that take care of men, let not our loves +Become divided by their being mixt. + +_Aca_. Weep not, fair princess, nor believe you are +A prisoner, subject to the chance of war; +Why should you waste the stock of those fair eyes, +That from mankind can take their liberties? +And you, great sir, think not a generous mind +To virtuous princes dares appear unkind, +Because those princes are unfortunate, +Since over all men hangs a doubtful fate: +One gains by what another is bereft; +The frugal deities have only left +A common bank of happiness below, +Maintained, like nature, by an ebb and flow. + +[_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +ZEMPOALLA _appears seated upon a throne, frowning +upon her attendants; then comes down and speaks. + + +Zemp_. No more, you, that above your prince's +dare proclaim, +With your rebellious breath, a stranger's name. + +_1 Peru_. Dread empress-- + +_Zemp_. Slaves, perhaps you grieve to see +Your young prince glorious, 'cause he sprang from me; +Had he been one of base Amexia's brood, +Your tongues, though silent now, had then been +loud. + +_Enter TRAXALLA_. + +Traxalla, welcome; welcomer to me +Than what thou bring'st, a crown and victory. + +_Trax_. All I have done is nothing; fluttering +fame +Now tells no news, but of the stranger's name, +And his great deeds; 'tis he, they cry, by whom +Not men, but war itself is overcome; +Who, bold with his success, dares think to have +A prince to wear his chains, and be his slave. + +_Zemp_. What prince? + +_Trax_. The great Peruvian Inca, that of late +In three set battles was so fortunate, +Till this strange man had power to turn the tide, +And carry conquest into any side. + +_Zemp_. Would you permit a private man to have +The great Peruvian Inca for his slave? +Shame to all princes! was it not just now +I made a sacred, and a solemn vow, +To offer up (if blest with victory) +The prisoners that were took? and they shall die. + +_Trax_. I soon had snatched from this proud stranger's hand +That too great object for his bold demand; +Had not the prince, your son, to whom I owe +A kind obedience, judged it should be so. + +_Zemp_. I'll hear no more; go quickly take my guards, +And from that man force those usurped rewards; +That prince, upon whose ruins I must rise, +Shall be the gods', but more my sacrifice: +They, with my slaves, in triumph shall be tied, +While my devotion justifies my pride: +Those deities, in whom I place my trust, +Shall see, when they are kind, that I am just. [_Exit_. + +_Trax_. How gladly I obey! +There's something shoots from my enlivened frame, +Like a new soul, but yet without a name, +Nor can I tell what the bold guest will prove; +It must be envy, or it must be love: +Let it be either, 'tis the greatest bliss +For man to grant himself, all he dares wish; +For he, that to himself himself denies, +Proves meanly wretched, to be counted wise. +[_Exit_ TRAXALLA. + +SCENE III. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA _and_ ACACIS. + +_Aca_. You wrong, me, my best friend, not to believe +Your kindness gives me joy; and when I grieve, +Unwillingly my sorrows I obey: +Showers sometimes fall upon a shining day. + +_Mont._. Let me, then, share your griefs, that in +your fate +Would have took part. + +_Aca_. Why should you ask me that? +Those must be mine, though I have such excess; +Divided griefs increase, and not grow less. + +_Mont_. It does not lessen fate, nor satisfy +The grave, 'tis true, when friends together die; +And yet they are unwilling to divide. + +_Aca_. To such a friend nothing can be denied. +You, when you hear my story, will forgive +My grief, and rather wonder that I live; +Unhappy in my title to a throne, +Since blood made way for my succession: +Blood of an uncle too, a prince so free +From being cruel, it taught cruelty. +His queen Amexia then was big with child; +Nor was he gentler than his queen was mild; +Th'impatient people longed for what should come +From such a father, bred in such a womb; +When false Traxalla, weary to obey, +Took with his life their joys and hopes away. +Amexia, by the assistance of the night, +When this dark deed was acted, took her flight; +Only with true Garucca for her aid: +Since when, for all the searches that were made, +The queen was never heard of more: Yet still +This traitor lives, and prospers by the ill: +Nor does my mother seem to reign alone, +But with this monster shares the guilt and throne. +Horror choaks up my words: now you'll believe, +'Tis just I should do nothing else but grieve. + +_Mont_. Excellent prince! +How great a proof of virtue have you shown, +To be concerned for griefs, though not your own! + +_Aca_. Pray, say no more. + +_Enter a Messenger hastily_. + +_Mont_. How now, whither so fast? + +_Mess_. O sir, I come too slow with all my haste! +The fair Orazia-- + +_Mont_. Ha, what dost thou say? + +_Mess_. Orazia with the Inca's forced away +Out of your tent; Traxalla, in the head +Of the rude soldiers, forced the door, and led, +Those glorious captives, who on thrones once shined, +To grace the triumph, that is now designed. [_Exit_. + +_Mont_. Orazia forced away!--what tempests roll +About my thoughts, and toss my troubled soul! +Can there be gods to see, and suffer this? +Or does mankind make his own fate or bliss; +While every good and bad happens by chance, +Not from their orders, but their ignorance?-- +I will pull a ruin on them all, +And turn their triumph to a funeral. + +_Aca_. Be temperate, friend. + +_Mont_. You may as well advise +That I should have less love, as grow more wise. + +_Aca_. Yet stay--I did not think to have revealed +A secret, which my heart has still concealed; +But, in this cause since I must share with you, +'Tis fit you know--I love Orazia too: +Delay not then, nor waste the time in words, +Orazia's cause calls only for our swords. + +_Mont_. That ties my hand, and turns from thee that rage +Another way, thy blood should else assuage: +The storm on our proud foes shall higher rise, +And, changing, gather blackness as it flies: +So, when winds turn, the wandering waves obey, +And all the tempest rolls another way. + +_Aca_. Draw then a rival's sword, as I draw mine. +And, like friends suddenly to part, let's join + In this one act, to seek one destiny; + Rivals with honour may together die. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. + +ZEMPOALLA _appears seated upon her Slaves in triumph, +and the Indians, as to celebrate the victory, +advance in a warlike dance; in the midst of which +triumph_, ACACIS _and_ MONTEZUMA _fall in upon +them_. + +ZEMPOALLA _descends from her triumphant throne, +and_ ACACIS _and_ MONTEZUMA _are brought in before +her. + +Zemp_. Shame of my blood, and traitor to thy own: +Born to dishonour, not command a throne! +Hast thou, with envious eyes, my triumph seen? +Or couldst not see thy mother in thy queen? +Couldst thou a stranger above me prefer? + +_Aca_. It was my honour made my duty err; +I could not see his prisoners forced away, +To whom I owed my life, and you the day. + +_Zemp_. Is that young man the warrior so renowned? + +_Mont_. Yes, he, that made thy men thrice quit their ground. +Do, smile at Montezuma's chains; but know, +His valour gave thee power to use him so. + +_Trax_. Grant that it did, what can his merits be, +That sought his vengeance, not our victory? +What has thy brutish fury gained us more, +Than only healed the wounds, it gave before? +Die then, for, whilst thou liv'st, wars cannot cease; +Thou may'st bring victory, but never peace. +Like a black storm thou roll'st about us all, +Even to thyself unquiet, till thy fall. + [_Draws to kill him_. + +_Aca_. Unthankful villain, hold! + +_Trax_. You must not give +Him succour, sir. + +_Aca_. Why then, I must not live. +Posterity shall ne'er report, they had +Such thankless fathers, or a prince so bad. + +_Zemp_. You're both too bold to will or to deny: +On me alone depends his destiny. +Tell me, audacious stranger, whence could rise +The confidence of this rash enterprise? + +_Mont_. First tell me, how you dared to force from me +The fairest spoils of my own victory? + +_Zemp_. Kill him--hold, must he die?--why, let him die;-- +Whence should proceed this strange diversity. +In my resolves? +Does he command in chains? What would he do, +Proud slave, if he were free, and I were so? +But is he bound, ye gods, or am I free? +'Tis love, 'tis love, that thus disorders me. +How pride and love tear my divided soul! +For each too narrow, yet both claim it whole: +Love, as the younger, must be forced away.-- +Hence with the captives, general, and convey +To several prisons that young man, and this +Peruvian woman. + +_Trax_. How concerned she is! +I must know more. + +_Mont_. Fair princess, why should I +Involve that sweetness in my destiny? +I could out-brave my death, were I alone +To suffer, but my fate must pull yours on. +My breast is armed against all sense of fear; +But where your image lies, 'tis tender there. + +_Inca_. Forbear thy saucy love, she cannot be +So low, but still she is too high for thee. + +_Zemp_. Be gone, and do as I command; away! + +_Mont_. I ne'er was truly wretched till this day. + +_Oraz_. Think half your sorrows on Orazia fall, +And be not so unkind to suffer all: +Patience, in cowards, is tame hopeless fear, +But, in brave minds, a scorn of what they bear. + [_Exit Inca_, MONTEZUMA, ORAZIA, _and_ TRAXALLA. + +_Zemp_. What grief is this which in your face appears? + +_Aca_. The badge of sorrow, which my soul still wears. + +_Zemp_. Though thy late actions did my anger move, +It cannot rob thee of a mother's love. +Why shouldst thou grieve? +Grief seldom joined with blooming youth is seen; +Can sorrow be where knowledge scarce has been? +Fortune does well for heedless youth provide, +But wisdom does unlucky age misguide; +Cares are the train of present power and state, +But hope lives best that on himself does wait: +O happiest fortune if well understood, +The certain prospect of a future good! + +_Aca_. What joy can empire bring me, when I know +That all my greatness to your crimes I owe: + +_Zemp_. Yours be the joy, be mine the punishment. + +_Aca_. In vain, alas, that wish to Heaven is sent +For me, if fair Orazia must not live. + +_Zemp_. Why should you ask me what I cannot +give? +She must be sacrificed: Can I bestow +What to the gods, by former vows, I owe? + +_Aca_. O plead not vows; I wish you had not shown +You slighted all things sacred for a throne. + +_Zemp_. I love thee so, that, though fear follows still, +And horror urges, all that have been ill, +I could for thee +Act o'er my crimes again; and not repent, +Even when I bore the shame and punishment. + +_Aca_. Could you so many ill acts undertake, +And not perform one good one for my sake? + +_Zemp_. Prudence permits not pity should be shown +To those, that raised the war to shake my throne. + +_Aca_. As you are wise, permit me to be just; +What prudence will not venture, honour must; +We owe our conquest to the stranger's sword, +Tis just his prisoners be to him restored. +I love Orazia; but a nobler way, +Than for my love my honour to betray. + +_Zemp_. Honour is but an itch of youthful blood, +Of doing acts extravagantly good; +We call that virtue, which is only heat +That reigns in youth, till age finds out the cheat. + +_Aca_. Great actions first did her affections move, +And I, by greater, would regain her love. + +_Zemp_. Urge not a suit which I must still deny; +Orazia and her father both shall die: +Begone, I'll hear no more. + +_Aca_. You stop your ears-- +But though a mother will not, Heaven will hear; +Like you I vow, when to the powers divine +You pay her guiltless blood, I'll offer mine. [_Exit_. + +_Zemp_. She dies, this happy rival, that enjoys +The stranger's love, and all my hopes destroys; +Had she triumphed, what could she more have done, +Than robbed the mother, and enslaved the son? +Nor will I, at the name of cruel, stay: +Let dull successive monarchs mildly sway: +Their conquering fathers did the laws forsake, +And broke the old, ere they the new could make, +I must pursue my love; yet love, enjoyed, +Will, with esteem, that caused it first, grow less: +But thirst and hunger fear not to be cloyed, +And when they be, are cured by their excess. + +_Enter_ TRAXALLA. + +_Trax_. Now I shall see, what thoughts her heart +conceals; +For that, which wisdom covers, love reveals. [_Aside_. +Madam, the prisoners are disposed. + +_Zemp_. They are? +And how fares our young blustering man of war? +Does he support his chains with patience yet? + +_Trax_. He, and the princess, madam-- + +_Zemp_. Are they met? + +_Trax_. No: but from whence is all this passion +grown? + +_Zemp_. 'Twas a mistake. + +_Trax_. I find this rash unknown +Is dangerous; and, if not timely slain, +May plunge your empire in new wars again. + +_Zemp_. Thank ye; I shall consider. + +_Trax_. Is that all? +The army doat on him, already call +You cruel; and, for aught I know, they may +By force unchain, and crown him in a day. + +_Zemp_. You say, I have already had their curse +For his bad usage; should I use him worse? + +_Trax_. Yet once you feared his reputation might +Obscure the prince's in the people's sight. + +_Zemp_. Time will inform us best what course to +steer, +But let us not our sacred vows defer: +The Inca and his daughter both shall die. + +_Trax_. He suffers justly for the war; but why +Should she share his sad fate? A poor pretence, +That birth should make a crime of innocence. + +_Zemp_. Yet we destroy the poisonous viper's young, +Not for themselves, but those from whom they +sprung. + +_Trax_. O no, they die not for their parents' sake, +But for the poisonous seed which they partake. +Once more behold her, and then let her die, +If in that face or person you can see +But any place to fix a cruelty. +The heavens have clouds, and spots are in the moon; +But faultless beauty shines in her alone. + +_Zemp_. Beauty has wrought compassion in your +mind! + +_Trax_. And you to valour are become as kind. +To former services there's something due, +Yet be advised-- + +_Zemp_. Yes, by myself, not you. + +_Trax_. Princes are sacred. + +_Zemp_. True, whilst they are free: +But power once lost, farewell their sanctity: +'Tis power, to which the gods their worship owe, +Which, uncontrouled, makes all things just below: +Thou dost the plea of saucy rebels use; +They will be judge of what their prince must chuse: +Hard fate of monarchs, not allowed to know +When safe, but as their subjects tell them so. +Then princes but like public pageants move, +And seem to sway, because they sit above. [_Exit_. + +_Trax_. She loves him; in one moment this new +guest +Has drove me out from this false woman's breast; +They, that would fetter love with constancy, +Make bonds to chain themselves, but leave him free +With what impatience I her falsehood bear! +Yet do myself that, which I blame in her; +But interest in my own cause makes me see +That act unjust in her, but just in me. [_Exit_. + + +SCENE II. + +ISMERON _asleep.--Enter_ ZEMPOALLA. + + +_Zemp_. Ho, Ismeron, Ismeron! +He stirs not; ha, in such a dismal cell +Can gentle sleep with his soft blessings dwell? +Must I feel tortures in a human breast, +While beasts and monsters can enjoy their rest? +What quiet they possess in sleep's calm bliss! +The lions cease to roar, the snakes to hiss, +While I am kept awake, +Only to entertain my miseries. +Or if a slumber steal upon my eyes, +Some horrid dream my labouring soul benumbs +And brings fate to me sooner than it comes. +Fears most oppress when sleep has seized upon +The outward parts, and left the soul alone. +What envied blessings these cursed things enjoy! +Next to possess, 'tis pleasure to destroy. +Ismeron! ho, Ismeron, Ismeron! [_Stamps_. + +_Ism_. Who's that, that with so loud and fierce a call +Disturbs my rest? + +_Zemp_. She, that has none at all, +Nor ever must, unless thy powerful art +Can charm the passions of a troubled heart. + +_Ism_. How can you have a discontented mind, +To whom the gods have lately been so kind? + +_Zemp_. Their envious kindness how can I enjoy, +When they give blessings, and the use destroy? + +_Ism_. Dread empress, tell the cause of all your grief; +If art can help, be sure of quick relief. + +_Zemp_. I dreamed, before the altar that I led +A mighty lion in a twisted thread; +I shook to hold him in so slight a tie, +Yet had not power to seek a remedy: +When, in the midst of all my fears, a clove, +With hovering wings, descended from above, +Flew to the lion, and embraces spread, +With wings, like clasping arms, about his head, +Making that murmuring noise that cooing doves +Use, in the soft expression of their loves; +While I, fixed by my wonder, gazed to see +So mild a creature with so fierce agree: +At last the gentle dove turned from his head, +And, pecking, tried to break the slender thread, +Which instantly she severed, and released +From that small bond the fierce and mighty beast, +Who presently turned all his rage on me, +And, with his freedom, brought my destiny. + +_Ism_. Dread empress, this strange vision you relate +Is big with wonder, and too full of fate, +Without the god's assistance, to expound. +In those low regions, where sad night hangs round +The drowsy vaults, and where moist vapours steep +The god's dull brows, that sways the realm of sleep; +There all the informing elements repair, +Swift messengers of water, fire, and air, +To give account of actions, whence they came, +And how they govern every mortal frame; +How, from their various mixture, or their strife, +Are known the calms and tempests of our life: +Thence souls, when sleep their bodies overcome, +Have some imperfect knowledge of their doom. +From those dark caves those powers shall strait appear; +Be not afraid, whatever shapes they wear. + +_Zemp_. There's nothing, thou canst raise, can make me start; +A living form can only shake my heart. + +_Ism_. _You twice ten hundred deities, + To whom we daily sacrifice; + You powers, that dwell with fate below, + And see what men are doomed to do; + Where elements in discord dwell; + Thou god of sleep, arise and tell + Great Zempoalla what strange fate + Must on her dismal vision wait._ + +_Zemp_. How slow these spirits are! Call, make them rise, +Or they shall fast from flame and sacrifice. + +_Ism_. Great empress, +Let not your rage offend what we adore, +And vainly threaten, when we must implore. +Sit silently, and attend-- +While my powerful charms I end. + + _By the croaking of the toad, + In their caves that make abode; + Earthy Dun that pants for breath, + With her swelled sides full of death; + By the crested adders' pride, + That along the clifts do glide; + By thy visage fierce and black; + By the death's-head on thy back; + By the twisted serpents placed + For a girdle round thy waist; + By the hearts of gold that deck + Thy breast, thy shoulders, and thy neck: + From thy sleepy mansion rise, + And open thy unwilling eyes, + While bubbling springs their music keep, + That use to lull thee in thy sleep._ + +_God of Dreams rises_. + +_God_. Seek not to know what must not be revealed; +Joys only flow where fate is most concealed: +Too busy man would find his sorrows more, +If future fortunes he should know before; +For, by that knowledge of his destiny, +He would not live at all, but always die. +Enquire not, then, who shall from bonds be freed, +Who 'tis shall wear a crown, and who shall bleed: +All must submit to their appointed doom; +Fate and misfortune will too quickly come: +Let me no more with powerful charms be pressed; +I am forbid by fate to tell the rest. + +[_The god descends_. + +_Zemp_. Stay, cozener, thou, that hat'st clear truth like light, +And usest words dark as thy own dull night. +You tyrant gods, do you refuse to free +The soul, you gave, from its perplexity? +Why should we in your mercies still believe, +When you can never pity, though we grieve? +For you have bound yourselves by harsh decrees; +And those, not you, are now the deities. + [_Sits down sad_. + +_Ism_. She droops under the weight of rage and care: +You spirits, that inhabit in the air, +With all your powerful charms of music, try +To bring-her soul back to its harmony. + +SONG SUNG BY AERIAL SPIRITS. + + _Poor mortals, that are clogged with earth below, + Sink under love and care, + While we, that dwell in air, + Such heavy passions never know. + Why then should mortals be + Unwilling to be free + From blood, that sullen cloud, + Which shining souls does shroud? + Then they'll shew bright, + And like us light, + When leaving bodies with their care, + They slide to us and air_. + +_Zemp_. Death on these trifles! Cannot your art find +Some means, to ease the passions of the mind? +Or, if you cannot give a lover rest, +Can you force love into a scornful breast? + +_Ism_. Tis reason only can make passions less; +Art gives not new, but may the old increase; +Nor can it alter love in any breast, +That is with other flames before possessed. + +_Zemp_. If this be all your slighted arts can do, +I'll kindle other flames, since I must burn, +And all their temples into ashes turn. + +_Ism_. Great queen-- + +_Zemp. If you would have this sentence staid, +Summon their godheads quickly to your aid, +And presently compose a charm, that may +Love's flames into the stranger's breast convey, +The captive stranger, he whose sword and eyes +Wheree'er they strike, meet ready victories: +Make him but burn for me, in flames like mine, +Victims shall bleed, and feasted altars shine: +If not-- + Down go your temples, and your gods shall see + They have small use of their divinity. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I.--_The scene opens, and discovers_ MONTEZUMA +_sleeping in prison_. + +_Enter_ TRAXALLA _leading in_ ORAZIA. + + +_Trax_. Now take your choice, and bid him live or die; +To both shew pity, or shew cruelty: +'Tis you that must condemn, I'll only act; +Your sentence is more cruel than my fact. + +_Oraz_. You are most cruel, to disturb a mind, +Which to approaching fate was so resigned. + +_Trax_. Reward my passion, and you'll quickly prove +There's none dare sacrifice what I dare love. +Next to thee, stranger; wake, and now resign +The bold pretences of thy love to mine, +Or in this fatal minute thou shalt find-- + +_Mont_. Death, fool; in that thou may'st be just and kind: +'Twas I that loved Orazia, yet did raise +The storm, in which she sinks: Why dost thou gaze, +Or stay thy hand from giving that just stroke, +Which, rather than prevent, I would provoke? +When I am dead, Orazia may forgive; +She never must, if I dare wish to live. + +_Oraz_. Hold, hold--O Montezuma, can you be +So careless of yourself, but more of me? +Though you have brought me to this misery, +I blush to say I cannot see you die. + +_Mont_. Can my approaching fate such pity move? +The gods and you at once forgive and love. + +_Trax_. Fond fool, thus to mis-spend that little breath +I lent thee to prevent, not hasten, death: +Let her thank you she was unfortunate, +And you thank her for pulling on your fate; +Prove to each other your own destinies. [_Draws_. + +_Enter_ ZEMPOALLA _hastily, and sets a dagger to_ +ORAZIA'S _breast._ + +_Zemp_. Hold, hold, Traxalla, or Orazia dies.-- +O, is't Orazia's name that makes you stay? +'Tis her great power, not mine, that you obey. +Inhuman wretch, dar'st thou the murderer be +Of him, that is not yet condemned by me? + +_Trax_. The wretch, that gave you all the power you have, +May venture sure to execute a slave; +And quench a flame your fondness would have burn, +Which may this city into ashes turn, +The nation in your guilty passion lost; +To me ungrateful, to your country most: +But this shall be their offering, I their priest. + +_Zemp_. The wounds, thou giv'st, I'll copy on her breast: +Strike, and I'll open here a spring of blood, +Shall add new rivers to the crimson flood. +How his pale looks are fixed on her!--'tis so. +Oh, does amazement on your spirits grow? +What, is your public love Orazia's grown? +Could'st thou see mine, and yet not hide thy own? +Suppose I should strike first, would it not breed +Grief in your public heart to see her bleed? + +_Trax_. She mocks my passion; in her sparkling eyes +Death, and a close dissembled fury lies: +I dare not trust her thus. [_Aside_.]--If she must die, +The way to her loved life through mine shall lie. + +[_He puts her by, and steps before_ ORAZIA; _and +she runs before_ MONTEZUMA. + +_Zemp_. And he, that does this stranger's fate design, +Must, to his heart, a passage force through mine. + +_Trax_. Can fair Orazia yet no pity have? +'Tis just she should her own preserver save. + +_Zemp_. Can Montezuma so ungrateful prove +To her, that gave him life, and offers love? + +_Oraz_. Can Montezuma live, and live to be +Just to another, and unjust to me? +You need not be ungrateful; can she give +A life to you, if you refuse to live?-- +Forgive my passion; I had rather see +You dead, than kind to any thing but me. + +_Mont_. O, my Orazia! +To what new joys and knowledge am I brought! +Are death's hard lessons by a woman taught? +How to despise my fate I always knew; +But ne'er durst think, at once, of death and you: +Yet since you teach this generous jealousy, +I dare not wish your life, if I must die. +How much your love my courage does exceed! +Courage alone would shrink to see you bleed! + +_Zemp_. Ungrateful stranger! thou shalt please thy eyes, +And gaze upon Orazia while she dies!-- +I'll keep my vow!--It is some joy to see, +That my revenge will prove my piety. + +_Trax_. Then both shall die!--We have too long withstood, +By private passions urged, the public good. + +_Zemp_. Sure he dissembles; and, perhaps, may prove +My ruin, with his new ambitious love: +Were but this stranger kind, I'd cross his art, +And give my empire, where I gave my heart. +[_Aside_. Yet, thou ungrateful man, +Let thy approaching ruin make thee wise. + +_Mont_. Thee, and thy love, and mischief, I despise! + +_Zemp_. What shall I do? Some way must yet be tried;-- +What reason can she use whom passions guide! + +[_Aside. Trax_. Some black designs are hatching now:--False eyes +Are quick to see another's treacheries. + +[_Aside. Zemp_. Rash stranger, thus to pull down thy own fate! + +_Mont_. You, and that life you offer me, I hate. + +_Enter Jailor_. + +_Zemp_. Here, jailor, take--What title must he have? +Slave, slave!--Am I then captive to a slave?-- +Why art thou thus unwilling to be free? + +_Mont_. Death will release me from these chains, and thee. + +_Zemp_. Here, jailor, take this monster from my sight, +And keep him where it may be always night. +Let none come near him; if thou dost, expect +To pay thy life, the price of the neglect. + +_Mont_. I scorn thy pity, and thy cruelty; +And should despise a blessing sent from thee. + +_Zemp_. O, horror to my soul! take him away!-- +My rage, like dammed-up streams, swelled by some stay, +Shall, from this opposition, get new force, +And leave the bound of its old easy course.-- +Come, my Traxalla, let us both forgive, +And in these wretches' fates begin to live. +The altars shall be crowned with funeral boughs, +Peace-offerings paid,--but with unquiet vows. + [_Exeunt_ ZEMP. _and_ TRAX. + +_Oraz_. How are things ordered, that the wicked should +Appear more kind and gentle than the good? +Her passion seems to make her kinder prove, +And I seem cruel through excess of love: +She loves, and would prevent his death; but I, +That love him better, fear he should not die. +My jealousy, immortal as my love, +Would rob my grave below, and me above, +Of rest.--Ye gods, if I repine, forgive! +You neither let me die in peace, nor live. + +_Enter_ ACACIS, _Jailor, and Indian_. + +_Jail_. They are just gone, sir. + +_Aca_. 'Tis well: Be faithful to my just design, +And all thy prince's fortune shall be thine. + [_Exit_ ACACIS. + +_Ind_. This shall to the empress. [_Exit Indian_. + +_Oraz_. What can this mean!-- +'Twas Prince Acacis, if I durst believe +My sight; but sorrow may like joy deceive: +Each object different from itself appears, +That comes not to the eyes, but through their tears. + +_Enter_ ACACIS, _bringing in_ MONTEZUMA. +Ha!-- + +_Aca_. Here, sir, wear this again;--[_Gives a sword_. +Now follow me. + +_Mont_. So, very good;-- +I dare not think, for I may guess amiss; +None can deceive me while I trust in this. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ ORAZIA, _conducted by two Indians with their +swords drawn;_ MONTEZUMA, ACACIS _whispering +another Indian_. + + +_Aca_. Think what a weight upon thy faith I lay. + +_Ind_. I ne'er did more unwillingly obey. + +_Aca_. First, Montezuma, take thy liberty; +Thou gavest me freedom, here I set thee free: +We're equal now. Madam, the danger's great +Of close pursuit; to favour your retreat, +Permit we two a little while remain +Behind, while you go softly o'er the plain. + +_Oraz_. Why should I go before?--What's your intent?-- +Where is my father?--Whither am I sent? + +_Aca_. Your doubts shall soon be cleared. Conduct her on. + [_Exit_ ORAZIA. + +So, Montezuma, we are now alone. +That which my honour owed thee I have paid; +As honour was, so love must be obeyed. +I set Orazia, as thy captive, free; +But, as my mistress, ask her back from thee. + +_Mont_. Thou hast performed what honour bid thee do: +But friendship bars what honour prompts me to.-- +Friends should not fight. + +_Aca_. If friendship we profess, +Let us secure each others happiness: +One needs must die, and he shall happy prove +In her remembrance, t'other in her love. +My guards wait near; and, if I fail, they must +Give up Orazia, or betray their trust. + +_Mont_. Suppose thou conquer'st, would'st thou wander o'er +The south-sea sands, or the rough northern shore, +That parts thy spacious kingdom from Peru, +And, leaving empire, hopeless love pursue? + +_Aca_. By which of all my actions could you guess, +Though more your merit, that my love was less? +What prize can empire with Orazia bear? +Or, where love fills the breast, what room for fear? + +_Mont_. Let fair Orazia then the sentence give, +Else he may die whom she desires to live. + +_Aca_. Your greater merits bribe her to your side; +My weaker title must by arms be tried. + +_Mont_. Oh, tyrant love! how cruel are thy laws! +I forfeit friendship, or betray thy cause: +That person, whom I would defend from all +The world, that person by my hand must fall. + +_Aca_. Our lives we to each others friendship owe; +But love calls back what friendship did bestow: +Love has its cruelties, but friendship none; +And we now fight in quarrels not our own. [_Fight. + +Enter_ ORAZIA. + +_Oraz_. What noise is this?-- +Hold, hold! what cause could be so great, to move +This furious hatred?-- + +_Mont_. 'Twas our furious love.-- + +_Aca_. Love, which I hid till I had set you free, +And bought your pardon with my liberty; +That done, I thought, I less unjustly might +With Montezuma, for Orazia, fight; +He has prevailed, and I must now confess +His fortune greater, not my passion less; +Yet cannot yield you, till his sword remove +A dying rival, that holds fast his love. + +_Oraz_. Whoever falls, 'tis my protector still, +And then the crime's as great, to die as kill.-- +Acacis, do not hopeless love pursue; +But live, and this soft malady subdue. + +_Aca_. You bid me live, and yet command me die! +I am not worth your care;--Fly, madam, fly! +(While I fall here unpitied) o'er this plain, +Free from pursuit, the faithless mountains gain; +And these I charge, +As they would have me think their friendship true, +Leave me alone, to serve, and follow you: +Make haste, fair princess, to avoid that fate, +Which does for your unhappy father wait. + +_Oraz_. Is he then left to die, and shall he see +Himself forsaken, ere his death, by me? + +_Mont_. That would you do? + +_Oraz_. To prison I'll return, +And there, in fetters, with my father mourn. + +_Mont_. That saves not his, but throws your life +away. + +_Oraz_. Duty shall give what nature once must +pay. + +_Aca_. Life is the gift, which heaven and parents +give, +And duty best preserves it, if you live. + +_Oraz_. I should but further from my fountain fly, +And, like an unfed stream, run on and die: +Urge me no more, and do not grieve to see +Your honour rivalled by my piety. +[_She goes softly of, and often looks back_. + +_Mont_. If honour would not, shame would lead the way; +I'll back with her. + +_Aca_. Stay, Montezuma, stay!-- +Thy rival cannot let thee go alone, +My love will bear me, though my blood is gone. + +[_As they are going off,_ + +_Enter_ ZEMPOALLA, TRAXALLA, _the Indian that +went to tell her, and the rest, and seize them_. + +_Zemp_. Seize them!-- + +_Aca_. Oh, Montezuma, thou art lost. + +_Mont_. No more, proud heart, thy useless courage boast!-- +Courage, thou curse of the unfortunate! +That canst encounter, not resist, ill fate. + +_Zemp_. Acacis bleeds!-- +What barbarous hand has wounded thus my son? + +_Mont_. 'Twas I; by my unhappy sword 'twas done.-- +Thou bleed'st, poor prince, and I am left to grieve +My rival's fall. + +_Trax_. He bleeds, but yet may live. + +_Aca_. Friendship and love my failing strength renew; +I dare not die, when I should live for you; +My death were now my crime, as it would be +My guilt to live when I have set you free: +Thus I must still remain unfortunate, +Your life and death are equally my fate. + +ORAZIA _comes back_. + +_Oraz_. A noise again!--alas, what do I see! +Love, thou didst once give place to piety: +Now, piety, let love triumph awhile;-- +Here, bind my hands: Come, Montezuma, smile +At fortune; since thou sufferest for my sake, +Orazia will her captive's chains partake. + +_Mont_. Now, fate, thy worst. + +_Zemp_. Lead to the temple straight, +A priest and altar for these lovers wait: +They shall be joined, they shall. + +_Trax_. And I will prove +Those joys in vengeance, which I want in love. + +_Aca_. I'll quench your thirst with blood, and will destroy +Myself, and, with myself, your cruel joy. +Now, Montezuma, since Orazia dies, +I'll fall before thee, the first sacrifice; +My title in her death shall exceed thine, +As much as, in her life, thy hopes did mine: +And when with our mixed blood the altar's dyed, +Then our new title let the gods decide. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + +_The Scene opens, and discovers the Temple of the Sun, +all of gold, and four Priests, in habits of white and +red feathers, attending by a bloody altar, as ready +for sacrifice. + +Then enter the Guards_, ZEMPOALLA, _and_ TRAXALLA; +_Inca_, ORAZIA, _and_ MONTEZUMA,_ bound. As soon +as they are placed, the Priest sings_. + + +SONG. + + _You to whom victory we owe, + Whose glories rise + By sacrifice, + And from our fates below; + Never did your altars shine + Feasted with blood so near divine; + Princes to whom we bow, + As they to you:-- + Thus you can ravish from a throne, + And, by their loss of power, declare your own._ + +_Zemp_. Now to inflict those punishments, that are +Due to the authors of invasive war; +Who, to deceive the oppressed world, like you, +Invent false quarrels to conceal the true. + +_Inca_. My quarrel was the same, that all the gods +Must have to thee, if there be any odds +Betwixt those titles that are bad or good, +To crowns descended, or usurped by blood:-- +Swell not with this success; 'twas not to thee, +But to this man, the gods gave victory. + +_Mont_. Since I must perish by my own success, +Think my misfortunes more, my crimes the less; +And so, forgiving, make me pleased to die, +Thus punished for this guilty victory. + +_Inca_. Death can make virtue easy; I forgive: +That word would prove too hard, were I to live; +The honour of a prince would then deny, +But in the grave all our distinctions die. + +_Mont_. Forgive me one thing yet; to say, I love, +Let it no more your scorn and anger move; +Since, dying in one flame, my ashes must +Embrace and mingle with Orazia's dust. + +_Inca_. Name thy bold love no more, lest that last breath, +Which should forgive, I stifle with my death. + +_Oraz_. Oh, my dear father! Oh, why may not I, +Since you gave life to me, for you now die? + +_Mont_. 'Tis I, that wrought this mischief, ought to fall +A just and willing sacrifice for all. +Now, Zempoalla, be both just and kind, +And, in my fate, let me thy mercy find: +Be grateful, then, and grant me that esteem, +That as alive, so dead, I may redeem. + +_Oraz_. O, do not for her cruel mercy move; +None should ask pity but from those they love. + +[_Weeps_. + +_Inca_. Fond girl! to let thy disobedient eyes +Show a concern for him, whom I despise. + +_Oraz_. How love and nature may divide a breast, +At once by both their powers severely prest! +Yet, sir, since love seems less, you may forgive; +I would not have you die, nor have him live; +Yet if he dies, alas! what shall I do? +I cannot die with him, and live with you. + +_Mont_. How vainly we pursue this generous strife, +Parting in death more cruel than in life!-- +Weep not, we both shall have one destiny; +As in one flame we lived, in one we'll die. + +_Trax_. Why do we waste in vain these precious hours? +Each minute of his life may hazard ours: +The nation does not live whilst he enjoys +His life, it is his safety that destroys. +He shall fall first, and teach the rest to die. + +_Zemp_. Hold!-- +Who is it that commands;--ha! you, or I?-- +Your zeal grows saucy!--sure, you may allow +Your empress freedom first to pay her vow. + +_Trax_. She may allow--a justice to be done +By him, that raised his empress to her throne. + +_Zemp_. You are too bold,-- + +_Trax_. And you too passionate. + +_Zemp_. Take heed, with his, you urge not your own fate.-- +For all this pity is now due to me. + +_Mont_. I hate thy offered mercy more than thee. + +_Trax_. Why will not then the fair Orazia give +Life to herself, and let Traxalla live? + +_Mont_. Orazia will not live, and let me die; +She taught me first this cruel jealousy. + +_Oraz_. I joy that you have learned it!-- +That flame not like immortal love appears. +Where death can cool its warmth, or kill its fears. + +_Zemp_. What shall I do? am I so quite forlorn, +No help from my own pride, nor from his scorn! +My rival's death may more effectual prove; +He, that is robbed of hope, may cease to love:-- +Here, lead these offerings to their deaths. + +_Trax_. Let none +Obey but he, that will pull on his own! + +_Zemp_. Tempt me not thus; false and ungrateful too! + +_Trax_. Just as ungrateful, and as false, as you. + +_Zemp_. 'Tis thy false love that fears her destiny. + +_Trax_. And your false love that fears to have him die. + +_Zemp_. Seize the bold traitor! + +_Trax_. What a slighted frown +Troubles your brow! feared nor obeyed by none; +Come, prepare for sacrifice. + +_Enter_ ACACIS _weakly_. + +_Aca_. Hold, hold! such sacrifices cannot be +Devotions, but a solemn cruelty: +How can the gods delight in human blood? +Think them not cruel, if you think them good. +In vain we ask that mercy, which they want, +And hope that pity, which they hate to grant. + +_Zemp_. Retire, Acacis;-- +Preserve thyself, for 'tis in vain to waste +Thy breath for them: The fatal vow is past. + +_Aca_. To break that vow is juster than commit +A greater crime, by your preserving it. + +_Zemp_. The gods themselves their own will best express +To like the vow, by giving the success. + +_Aca_. If all things by success are understood, +Men, that make war, grow wicked to be good: +But did you vow, those that were overcome, +And he that conquered, both, should share one doom? +There's no excuse; for one of these must be +Not your devotion, but your cruelty. + +_Trax_. To that rash stranger, sir, we nothing owe; +What he had raised, he strove to overthrow: +That duty lost, which should our actions guide, +Courage proves guilt, when merits swell to pride. + +_Aca_. Darest thou, who didst thy prince's life betray, +Once name that duty, thou hast thrown away? +Like thy injustice to this stranger shown, +To tax him with a guilt, that is thy own?-- +Can you, brave soldiers, suffer him to die, +That gave you life, in giving victory? +Look but upon this stranger, see those hands, +That brought you freedom, fettered up in bands. +Not one looks up,-- +Lest sudden pity should their hearts surprise, +And steal into their bosoms through their eyes. + +_Zemp_. Why thus, in vain, are thy weak spirits prest? +Restore thyself to thy more needful rest. + +_Aca_. And leave Orazia!-- + +_Zemp_. Go, you must resign: +For she must be the gods'; not yours, nor mine. + +_Aca_. You are my mother, and my tongue is tied +So much by duty, that I dare not chide.-- +Divine Orazia! +Can you have so much mercy to forgive? +I do not ask it with design to live, +But in my death to have my torments cease: +Death is not death, when it can bring no peace. + +_Oraz_. I both forgive, and pity;-- + +_Aca_. O, say no more, lest words less kind destroy +What these have raised in me of peace and joy: +You said, you did both pity and forgive; +You would do neither, should Acacis live. +By death alone the certain way appears, +Thus to hope mercy, and deserve your tears. + +[_Stabs himself_. + +_Zemp_. O, my Acacis! +What cruel cause could urge this fatal deed?-- + +[_Weeps_. + +He faints!--help, help! some help! or he will bleed +His life, and mine, away!-- +Some water there!--Not one stirs from his place! +I'll use my tears to sprinkle on his face. + +_Aca_. Orazia,-- + +_Zemp_. Fond child! why dost thou call upon her name? +I am thy mother. + +_Aca_. No, you are my shame. +That blood is shed that you had title in, +And with your title may it end your sin!-- +Unhappy prince, you may forgive me now, +Thus bleeding for my mother's cruel vow. + +_Inca_. Be not concerned for me; +Death's easier than the changes I have seen: +I would not live to trust the world again. + +_Mont_. Into my eyes sorrow begins to creep; +When hands are tied, it is no shame to weep. + +_Aca_. Dear Montezuma, +I may be still your friend, though I must die +Your rival in her love: Eternity +Has room enough for both; there's no desire, +Where to enjoy is only to admire: +There we'll meet friends, when this short storm is past. + +_Mont_. Why must I tamely wait to perish last? + +_Aca_. Orazia weeps, and my parched soul appears +Refreshed by that kind shower of pitying tears; +Forgive those faults my passion did commit, +'Tis punished with the life that nourished it; +I had no power in this extremity +To save your life, and less to see you die. +My eyes would ever on this object stay, +But sinking nature takes the props away. +Kind death, +To end with pleasures all my miseries, +Shuts up your image in my closing eyes. + +[_Dies_. + +_Enter a Messenger_. + +_Mess_. To arms, to arms! + +_Trax_. From whence this sudden fear? + +_Mess_. Stand to your guard, my lord, the danger's near: +From every quarter crowds of people meet, +And, leaving houses empty, fill the street. + +[_Exit Mess_. + +_Trax_. Fond queen, thy fruitless tears a while defer; +Rise, we must join again--Not speak, nor stir! +I hear the people's voice like winds that roar, +When they pursue the flying waves to shore. + +_Enter Second Messenger_. + +_2 Mess_. Prepare to fight, my lord; the banished queen, +With old Garucca, in the streets are seen. + +_Trax_. We must go meet them or it be too late; +Yet, madam, rise; have you no sense of fate? + +_Enter third Messenger_. + +_3 Mess_. King Montezuma their loud shouts proclaim, +The city rings with their new sovereign's name; +The banished queen declares he is her son, +And to his succour all the people run. + + [ZEMPOALLA _rises_. + +_Zemp_. Can this be true? O love! O fate! have I +Thus doated on my mortal enemy? + +_Trax_. To my new prince I thus my homage pay; +Your reign is short, young king-- + +_Zemp_. Traxalla, stay-- +'Tis to my hand that he must owe his fate, +I will revenge at once my love and hate. + +[_She sets a dagger to_ MONTEZUMA'S _breast_. + +_Trax_. Strike, strike, the conquering enemy is near. +My guards are passed, while you detain me here. + +_Zemp_. Die then, ungrateful, die; Amexia's son +Shall never triumph on Acacis' throne. +Thy death must my unhappy flames remove: +Now where is thy defence--against my love? + +[_She cuts the cords, and gives him the dagger_. + +_Trax_. Am I betrayed? +[_He draws and thrusts at_ MONTEZUMA, +_he puts it by and kills him_. + +_Mont_. So may all rebels die: +This end has treason joined with cruelty. + +_Zemp_. Live thou whom I must love, and yet must hate; +She gave thee life, who knows it brings her fate. + +_Mont_. Life is a trifle which I would not take, +But for Orazia's and her father's sake: +Now, Inca, hate me, if thou canst; for he, +Whom thou hast scorned, will die, or rescue thee. + +_As he goes to attack the guards with_ TRAXALLA'S +_sword, enter_ AMEXIA, GARUCCA, _Indians, driving +some of the other party before them_. + +_Gar_. He lives; ye gods, he lives! great queen, see here +Your coming joys, and your departing fear. + +_Amex_. Wonder and joy so fast together flow, +Their haste to pass has made their passage slow; +Like struggling waters in a vessel pent, +Whose crowding drops choak up the narrow vent. +My son!-- + +[_She embraces him_. + +_Mont_. I am amazed! it cannot be +That fate has such a joy in store for me. + +_Amex_. Can I not gain belief that this is true? + +_Mont_. It is my fortune I suspect, not you. + +_Gar_. First ask him if he old Garucca know. + +_Mont_. My honoured father! let me fall thus low. + +_Gar_. Forbear, great prince; 'tis I must pay to you +That adoration, as my sovereign's due: +For, from my humble race you did not spring; +You are the issue of our murdered king, +Sent by that traitor to his blest abode, +Whom, to be made a king, he made a god: +The story is too full of fate to tell, +Or what strange fortune our lost queen befel. + +_Amex_. That sad relation longer time will crave; +I lived obscure, he bred you in a cave, +But kept the mighty secret from your ear, +Lest heat of blood to some strange course should steer +Your youth. + +_Mont_. I owe him all, that now I am; +He taught me first the noble thirst of fame. +Shewed me the baseness of unmanly fear, +Till the unlicked whelp I plucked from the rough bear, +And made the ounce and tyger give me way, +While from their hungry jaws I snatched the prey: +'Twas he that charged my young arms first with toils, +And drest me glorious in my savage spoils. + +_Gar_. You spent in shady forest all the day, +And joyed, returning, to shew me the prey, +To tell the story, to describe the place, +With all the pleasures of the boasted chace; +Till fit for arms, I reaved you from your sport, +To train your youth in the Peruvian court: +I left you there, and ever since have been +The sad attendant of my exiled queen. + +_Zemp_. My fatal dream comes to my memory; +That lion, whom I held in bonds, was he, +Amexia was the dove that broke his chains; +What now but Zempoalla's death remains? + +_Mont_. Pardon, fair princess, if I must delay +My love a while, my gratitude to pay. +Live, Zempoalla--free from dangers live, +For present merits I past crimes forgive: +Oh, might she hope Orazia's pardon, too! + +_Oraz_. I would have none condemned for loving you; +In me her merit much her fault o'erpowers; +She sought my life, but she preserved me yours. + +_Amex_. Taught by my own, I pity her estate, +And wish her penitence, but not her fate. + +_Inca_. I would not be the last to bid her live; +Kings best revenge their wrongs, when they forgive. + +_Zemp_. I cannot yet forget what I have been: +Would you give life to her, that was a queen? +Must you then give, and must I take? there's yet +One way, that's by refusing, to be great: +You bid me live--bid me be wretched too; +Think, think, what pride, unthroned, must undergo: +Look on this youth, Amexia, look, and then +Suppose him yours, and bid me live again; +A greater sweetness on these lips there grows, +Than breath shut out from a new-folded rose: +What lovely charms on these cold cheeks appear! +Could any one hate death, and see it here? +But thou art gone-- + +_Mont_. O that you would believe +Acacis lives in me, and cease to grieve. + +_Zemp_. Yes, I will cease to grieve, and cease to be. +His soul stays watching in his wound for me; +All that could render life desired is gone, +Orazia has my love, and you my throne, +And death, Acacis--yet I need not die, +You leave me mistress of my destiny; +In spite of dreams, how am I pleased to see, +Heaven's truth, or falsehood, should depend on me! +But I will help the Gods; +The greatest proof of courage we can give, +Is then to die when we have power to live. [_Kills herself_. + +_Mont_. How fatally that instrument of death +Was hid-- + +_Amex_. She has expired her latest breath. + +_Mont_. But there lies one, to whom all grief is due. + +_Oraz_. None e'er was so unhappy and so true. + +_Mont_. Your pardon, royal sir. + +_Inca_. You have my love. [_Gives him ORAZIA_. + +_Amex_. The gods, my son, your happy choice approve. + +_Mont_. Come, my Orazia, then, and pay with me, +[_Leads her to ACACIS_. +Some tears to poor Acacis' memory; +So strange a fate for men the gods ordain, +Our clearest sunshine should be mixt with rain; +How equally our joys and sorrows move! +Death's fatal triumphs, joined with those of love. +Love crowns the dead, and death crowns him that lives, +Each gains the conquest, which the other gives. +[_Exeunt omnes_. + + +EPILOGUE. + +SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA. + + +You see what shifts we are enforced to try, +To help out wit with some variety; +Shows may be found that never yet were seen, +'Tis hard to find such wit as ne'er has been: +You have seen all that this old world can do, +We, therefore, try the fortune of the new, +And hope it is below your aim to hit +At untaught nature with your practised wit: +Our naked Indians, then, when wits appear, +Would as soon chuse to have the Spaniards here. +'Tis true, you have marks enough, the plot, the show, +The poet's scenes, nay, more, the painter's too; +If all this fail, considering the cost, +'Tis a true voyage to the Indies lost: +But if you smile on all, then these designs, +Like the imperfect treasure of our minds, +Will pass for current wheresoe'er they go, +When to your bounteous hands their stamps they owe. + + + + +THE +INDIAN EMPEROR +OR, +THE CONQUEST OF MEXICO +BY +THE SPANIARDS. + +BEING THE SEQUEL OF +THE INDIAN QUEEN. + + +Dum relego, scripsisse pudet, quia plurima cerno, + Me quoque, qui feci, judice, digna limi. OVID. + + + +TO THE +MOST EXCELLENT +AND MOST ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCESS, +ANNE, +DUCHESS OF MONMOUTH AND BUCCLEUCH, +WIFE TO THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS +AND HIGH-BORN PRINCE, +JAMES, +DUKE OF MONMOUTH[A]. + +[Footnote A: Anne Scott, duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth, was the +last scion of a race of warriors, more remarkable for their exploits +in the field, than their address in courts, or protection of +literature. She was the heiress of the Scotts, barons and earls of +Buccleuch; and became countess, in her own right, upon the death of +her elder sister, lady Mary, who married the unfortunate Walter +Scott, earl of Tarras, and died without issue in 1662. In 1665, Anne, +countess of Buccleuch, married James Fitzroy, duke of Monmouth, eldest +natural son of Charles II. They were afterwards created duke and +duchess of Buccleuch. She was an accomplished and high-spirited lady, +distinguished for her unblemished conduct in a profligate court. +It was her patronage which first established Dryden's popularity; a +circumstance too honourable to her memory to be here suppressed.] + + +May it please Your Grace, +The favour which heroic plays have lately found upon our theatres, has +been wholly derived to them from the countenance and approbation they +have received at court. The most eminent persons for wit and honour +in the royal circle having so far owned them, that they have judged +no way so fit as verse to entertain a noble audience, or to express +a noble passion; and among the rest which have been written in this +kind, they have been so indulgent to this poem, as to allow it no +inconsiderable place. Since, therefore, to the court I owe its fortune +on the stage; so, being now more publicly exposed in print, I humbly +recommend it to your grace's protection, who by all knowing persons +are esteemed a principal ornament of the court. But though the rank +which you hold in the royal family might direct the eyes of a poet to +you, yet your beauty and goodness detain and fix them. High objects, +it is true, attract the sight; but it looks up with pain on craggy +rocks and barren mountains, and continues not intent on any object, +which is wanting in shades and greens to entertain it. Beauty, in +courts, is so necessary to the young, that those, who are without it, +seem to be there to no other purpose than to wait on the triumphs of +the fair; to attend their motions in obscurity, as the moon and stars +do the sun by day; or, at best, to be the refuge of those hearts which +others have despised; and, by the unworthiness of both, to give and +take a miserable comfort. But as needful as beauty is, virtue and +honour are yet more: The reign of it without their support is unsafe +and short, like that of tyrants. Every sun which looks on beauty +wastes it; and, when it once is decaying, the repairs of art are of as +short continuance, as the after-spring, when the sun is going +further off. This, madam, is its ordinary fate; but yours, which is +accompanied by virtue, is not subject to that common destiny. Your +grace has not only a long time of youth in which to flourish, but +you have likewise found the way, by an untainted preservation of your +honour, to make that perishable good more lasting: And if beauty, like +wines, could be preserved, by being mixed and embodied with others of +their own natures, then your grace's would be immortal, since no +part of Europe can afford a parallel to your noble lord in masculine +beauty, and in goodliness of shape. To receive the blessings and +prayers of mankind, you need only to be seen together: We are ready +to conclude, that you are a pair of angels sent below to make virtue +amiable in your persons, or to sit to poets when they would pleasantly +instruct the age, by drawing goodness in the most perfect and alluring +shape of nature. But though beauty be the theme on which poets love to +dwell, I must be forced to quit it as a private praise, since you have +deserved those which are more public: For goodness and humanity, which +shine in you, are virtues which concern mankind; and, by a certain +kind of interest, all people agree in their commendation, because the +profit of them may extend to many. It is so much your inclination to +do good, that you stay not to be asked; which is an approach so nigh +the Deity, that human nature is not capable of a nearer. It is my +happiness, that I can testify this virtue of your grace's by my +own experience; since I have so great an aversion from soliciting +court-favours, that I am ready to look on those as very bold, who +dare grow rich there without desert. But I beg your grace's pardon for +assuming this virtue of modesty to myself, which the sequel of this +discourse will no way justify: For in this address I have already +quitted the character of a modest man, by presenting you this poem as +an acknowledgment, which stands in need of your protection; and which +ought no more to be esteemed a present, than it is accounted bounty +in the poor, when they bestow a child on some wealthy friend, who +will better breed it up. Offsprings of this nature are like to be so +numerous with me, that I must be forced to send some of them abroad; +only this is like to be more fortunate than his brothers, because I +have landed him on a hospitable shore. Under your patronage Montezuma +hopes he is more safe than in his native Indies; and therefore comes +to throw himself at your grace's feet, paying that homage to your +beauty, which he refused to the violence of his conquerors. He begs +only, that when he shall relate his sufferings, you will consider +him as an Indian Prince, and not expect any other eloquence from his +simplicity, than what his griefs have furnished him withal. His story +is, perhaps, the greatest which was ever represented in a poem of this +nature; the action of it including the discovery and conquest of a new +world. In it I have neither wholly followed the truth of the history, +nor altogether left it; but have taken all the liberty of a poet, +to add, alter, or diminish, as I thought might best conduce to +the beautifying of my work: it being not the business of a poet to +represent historical truth, but probability. But I am not to make +the justification of this poem, which I wholly leave to your grace's +mercy. It is an irregular piece, if compared with many of Corneille's, +and, if I may make a judgment of it, written with more flame than art; +in which it represents the mind and intentions of the author, who is +with much more zeal and integrity, than design and artifice, + +MADAM, +Your Grace's most obedient, +And most obliged servant, +JOHN DRYDEN, +_October_ 12. 1667. + + + +Betwixt 1664, when our author assisted Sir Robert Howard in composing +the preceding play, and the printing of the Indian Emperor in 1668, +some disagreement had arisen betwixt them. Sir Robert appears to have +given the first provocation, by prefixing to his tragedy of the Duke +of Lerma, or Great Favourite, in 1668, some remarks, which drew down +the following severe retort. It is therefore necessary to mention the +contents of the offensive preface. + +Sir Robert Howard begins, as one taking leave of the drama and +dramatic authors, "his too long acquaintances;" and unwilling again to +venture "into the civil wars of Censure, + +_Ubi--Nullos habitura triumphos_." + +He states his unwilling interference to be owing to the "unnecessary +understanding" of some, who endeavoured to apply as strict rules to +poetry as mathematics, which rendered it incumbent on him to justify +his having written some scenes of his tragedy in blank verse. In the +next paragraph, Dryden is expressly pointed out as the author of the +Essay on Dramatic Poetry; and is ridiculed for attempting to prove, +not that rhyme is more natural in a dialogue on the stage supposed to +be spoken _extempore_, but grander and more expressive. In like +manner, Sir Robert unfortunately banters our author for drawing from +Seneca an instance of a lofty mode of expressing so ordinary a thing +as _shutting a door_[A], instead of giving an example to the same +effect in English. + +[Footnote A: + +Reserate clusos regii postes laris. + +Howard's mistranslation of this passage seems to have been +inadvertent. In the Essay it is rendered, + +"Set wide the palace gates."] + +The author of the Duke of Lerma proceeds to attack the unities; +arguing, because it is impossible that the stage can represent exactly +a house, or that the time of acting can be extended to twenty-four +hours; therefore it is needless there should be any limitation +whatever as to time or place, since otherwise it must be inferred, +that there are degrees in impossibility, and that one thing may be +more impossible than another. + +The whole tone of the preface is that of one who wished to have it +supposed, that he was writing concerning a subject rather beneath his +notice, and only felt himself called forth to do so by the dogmatism +of those who laid down confident rules or laws in matters so trifling. +This affectation of supercilious censure appears deeply to have +provoked Dryden, and prompted the acrimony of the following Defence, +which he prefixed to a second edition of the Indian Emperor published +in 1668, probably shortly after the offence had been given. The angry +friends were afterwards reconciled; and Dryden, listening more to +the feelings of former kindness than of recent passion, cancelled the +_Defence_, which was never afterwards reprinted, till Congreve +collected our author's dramatic works. It is worthy of preservation, +as it would be difficult to point out deeper contempt and irony, +couched under language so temperate, cold, and outwardly respectful. + + + +A +DEFENCE +OF AN +ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY; +BEING +AN ANSWER TO THE PREFACE +OF THE +GREAT FAVOURITE, OR THE DUKE OF LERMA. + + +The former edition of "the Indian Emperor" being full of faults, which +had escaped the printer, I have been willing to overlook this second +with more care: and though I could not allow myself so much time as +was necessary, yet by that little I have done, the press is freed +from some errors which it had to answer for before. As for the more +material faults of writing, which are properly mine, though I see many +of them, I want leisure to amend them. It is enough for those who +make one poem the business of their lives, to leave that correct: yet, +excepting Virgil, I never met with any which was so in any language. + +But while I was thus employed about this impression, there came to my +hands a new printed play, called, "The Great Favourite, or, The Duke +of Lerma;" the author of which, a noble and most ingenious person, has +done me the favour to make some observations and animadversions upon +my Dramatic Essay. I must confess he might have better consulted his +reputation, than by matching himself with so weak an adversary. But +if his honour be diminished in the choice of his antagonist, it is +sufficiently recompensed in the election of his cause: which being the +weaker, in all appearance, as combating the received opinions of +the best ancient and modern authors, will add to his glory, if he +overcome; and to the opinion of his generosity, if he be vanquished, +since he engages at so great odds; and, so like a cavalier, undertakes +the protection of the weaker party. I have only to fear, on my +own behalf, that so good a cause as mine may not suffer by my ill +management, or weak defence; yet I cannot in honour but take the glove +when it is offered me; though I am only a champion by succession, +and no more able to defend the right of Aristotle and Horace, than an +infant Dimock[A] to maintain the title of a king. + +[Footnote A: The family of Dimock, or Dymock, are hereditary champions +of England; and, as such, obliged to maintain the king's title in +single combat against all challengers.] + +For my own concernment in the controversy, it is so small, that I can +easily be contented to be driven from a few notions of dramatic poesy; +especially by one, who has the reputation of understanding all things: +and I might justly make that excuse for my yielding to him, which the +philosopher made to the emperor; why should I offer to contend with +him, who is master of more than twenty legions of arts and sciences? +But I am forced to fight, and therefore it will be no shame to be +overcome. + +Yet I am so much his servant, as not to meddle with any thing which +does not concern me in his preface: therefore I leave the good sense +and other excellencies of the first twenty lines, to be considered by +the critics. As for the play of "The Duke of Lerma," having so much +altered and beautified it as he has done, it can justly belong to none +but him. Indeed they must be extremely ignorant, as well as envious, +who would rob him of that honour; for you see him putting in his claim +to it, even in the first two lines: + + Repulse upon repulse, like waves thrown back, + That slide to hung upon obdurate rocks. + +After this, let detraction do its worst; for if this be not his, it +deserves to be. For my part, I declare for distributive justice; and +from this, and what follows, he certainly deserves those advantages, +which he acknowledges to have received from the opinion of sober men. + +In the next place, I must beg leave to observe his great address in +courting the reader to his party: For, intending to assault all poets, +both ancient and modern, he discovers not his whole design at once, +but seems only to aim at me, and attacks me on my weakest side, my +defence of verse. + +To begin with me, he gives me the compellation of "The Author of a +Dramatic Essay;" which is a little discourse in dialogue, for the most +part borrowed from the observations of others: therefore, that I may +not be wanting to him in civility, I return his compliment, by calling +him, "The Author of the Duke of Lerma." + +But (that I may pass over his salute) he takes notice of my great +pains to prove rhyme as natural in a serious play, and more effectual +than blank verse. Thus indeed I did state the question; but he tells +me, "I pursue that which I call natural in a wrong application; For +'tis not the question, whether rhyme, or not rhyme, be best, or most +natural for a serious subject, but what is nearest the nature of that +it represents." + +If I have formerly mistaken the question, I must confess my ignorance +so far, as to say I continue still in my mistake: But he ought to have +proved that I mistook it; for it is yet but _gratis dictum_; I +still shall think I have gained my point, if I can prove that rhyme is +best, or most natural for a serious subject. As for the question as he +states it, whether rhyme be nearest the nature of what it represents, +I wonder he should think me so ridiculous as to dispute, whether prose +or verse be nearest to ordinary conversation. + +It still remains for him to prove his inference; that, since verse +is granted to be more remote than prose from ordinary conversation, +therefore no serious plays ought to be writ in verse: and when he +clearly makes that good, I will acknowledge his victory as absolute as +he can desire it. + +The question now is, which of us two has mistaken it; and if it appear +I have not, the world will suspect, "what gentleman that was, who was +allowed to speak twice in parliament, because he had not yet spoken to +the question[A];" and perhaps conclude it to be the same, who, as it +is reported, maintained a contradiction _in terminis_, in the +face of three hundred persons. + +[Footnote A: A sneer which Sir Robert aims at Dryden. Dryden had +written twice on the question of rhyming tragedies.] + +But to return to verse, whether it be natural or not in plays, is a +problem which is not demonstrable of either side: It is enough for me, +that he acknowledges he had rather read good verse than prose: for +if all the enemies of verse will confess as much, I shall not need +to prove that it is natural. I am satisfied if it cause delight; for +delight is the chief, if not the only, end of poesy: Instruction can +be admitted but in the second place, for poesy only instructs as it +delights. It is true, that to imitate well is a poet's work; but to +affect the soul, and excite the passions, and, above all, to move +admiration (which is the delight of serious plays), a bare imitation +will not serve. The converse, therefore, which a poet is to imitate, +must be heightened with all the arts and ornaments of poesy; and must +be such as, strictly considered, could never be supposed spoken by any +without premeditation. + +As for what he urges, that "a play will still be supposed to be a +composition of several persons speaking _extempore_, and that good +verses are the hardest things which can be imagined to be so spoken;" +I must crave leave to dissent from his opinion, as to the former part +of it: For, if I am not deceived, a play is supposed to be the work +of the poet, imitating, or representing, the conversation of several +persons: and this I think to be as clear, as he thinks the contrary. + +But I will be bolder, and do not doubt to make it good, though a +paradox, that one great reason why prose is not to be used in serious +plays, is, because it is too near the nature of converse: There may be +too great a likeness; as the most skilful painters affirm, that there +may be too near a resemblance in a picture: To take every lineament +and feature is not to make an excellent piece, but to take so much +only as will make a beautiful resemblance of the whole: and, with an +ingenious flattery of nature, to heighten the beauties of some parts, +and hide the deformities of the rest. For so says Horace, + + _Ut pictura poesis erit. &c.-- + Haec amat obscurum, vult haec sub luce videri, + Judicis argutum quae formidat acumen. + Et quae + Desperat tractata nitescere posse, relinquit._ + +In "Bartholomew Fair," or the lowest kind of comedy, that degree of +heightening is used, which is proper to set off that subject: It is +true the author was not there to go out of prose, as he does in his +higher arguments of comedy, "The Fox" and "Alchemist;" yet he does so +raise his matter in that prose, as to render it delightful; which +he could never have performed, had he only said or done those very +things, that are daily spoken or practised in the fair: for then the +fair itself would be as full of pleasure to an ingenious person as the +play, which we manifestly see it is not. But he hath made an excellent +lazar of it; the copy is of price, though the original be vile. You +see in "Catiline" and "Sejanus," where the argument is great, he +sometimes ascends to verse, which shews he thought it not unnatural in +serious plays; and had his genius been as proper for rhyme as it +was for humour, or had the age in which he lived attained to as much +knowledge in verse as ours, it is probable he would have adorned those +subjects with that kind of writing. + +Thus Prose, though the rightful prince, yet is by common consent +deposed, as too weak for the government of serious plays: and he +failing, there now start up two competitors; one, the nearer in blood, +which is Blank Verse; the other, more fit for the ends of government, +which is Rhyme. Blank Verse is, indeed, the nearer Prose, but he is +blemished with the weakness of his predecessor. Rhyme (for I will +deal clearly) has somewhat of the usurper in him; but he is brave, and +generous, and his dominion pleasing. For this reason of delight, +the ancients (whom I will still believe as wise as those who so +confidently correct them) wrote all their tragedies in verse, though +they knew it most remote from conversation. + +But I perceive I am falling into the danger of another rebuke from my +opponent; for when I plead that the ancients used verse, I prove not +that they would have admitted rhyme, had it then been written. All +I can say is only this, that it seems to have succeeded verse by the +general consent of poets in all modern languages; for almost all their +serious plays are written in it; which, though it be no demonstration +that therefore they ought to be so, yet at least the practice first, +and then the continuation of it, shews that it attained the end, which +was to please; and if that cannot be compassed here, I will be the +first who shall lay it down: for I confess my chief endeavours are +to delight the age in which I live. If the humour of this be for low +comedy, small accidents, and raillery, I will force my genius to obey +it, though with more reputation I could write in verse. I know I am +not so fitted by nature to write comedy: I want that gaiety of humour +which is required to it. My conversation is slow and dull; my humour +saturnine and reserved: In short, I am none of those who endeavour to +break jests in company, or make repartees. So that those, who decry my +comedies, do me no injury, except it be in point of profit: reputation +in them is the last thing to which I shall pretend. I beg pardon for +entertaining the reader with so ill a subject; but before I quit that +argument, which was the cause of this digression, I cannot but take +notice how I am corrected for my quotation of Seneca, in my defence of +plays in verse. My words are these: "Our language is noble, full, and +significant; and I know not why he, who is a master of, it, may not +clothe ordinary things in it as decently as in the Latin, if he use +the same diligence in his choice of words." One would think, "unlock +a door," was a thing as vulgar as could be spoken; yet Seneca could +make it sound high and lofty in his Latin. + +"_Reserate clusos regii postes laris_." + +But he says of me, "That being filled with the precedents of the +ancients, who writ their plays in verse, I commend the thing, +declaring our language to be full, noble, and significant, and +charging all defects upon the _ill placing of words_, which I +prove by quoting Seneca loftily expressing such an ordinary thing as +_shutting a door_." + +Here he manifestly mistakes; for I spoke not of the placing, but +of the choice of words; for which I quoted that aphorism of +Julius Caesar, _Delectus verborum est origo eloquentiae_; but +_delectus verborum_ is no more Latin for the _placing of +words_, than _reserate_ is Latin for _shut the door_, +as he interprets it, which I ignorantly construed _unlock_ or +_open_ it. + +He supposes I was highly affected with the sound of those words, and +I suppose I may more justly imagine it of him; for if he had not been +extremely satisfied with the sound, he would have minded the sense a +little better. + +But these are now to be no faults; for ten days after his book is +published, and that his mistakes are grown so famous, that they are +come back to him, he sends his _Errata_[A] to be printed, and +annexed to his play; and desires, that, instead of _shutting_, +you would read _opening_, which, it seems, was the printer's +fault. I wonder at his modesty, that he did not rather say it was +Seneca's or mine; and that, in some authors, _reserate_ was to +_shut_ as well as to _open_, as the word _barach_, say +the learned, is both to _bless_ and _curse_. + +[Footnote A: This erratum has been suffered to remain in the edition +of the Knight's plays now before us, published in 1692.] + +Well, since it was the printer, he was a naughty man to commit +the same mistake twice in six lines: I warrant you _delectus +verborum_, for _placing of words_, was his mistake too, though +the author forgot to tell him of it: If it were my book, I assure you +I should. For those rascals ought to be the proxies of every gentleman +author, and to be chastised for him, when he is not pleased to own an +error. Yet since he has given the _errata_, I wish he would have +enlarged them only a few sheets more, and then he would have spared +me the labour of an answer: For this cursed printer is so given to +mistakes, that there is scarce a sentence in the preface without some +false grammar, or hard sense in it; which will all be charged upon the +poet, because he is so good-natured as to lay but three errors to the +printer's account, and to take the rest upon himself, who is better +able to support them. But he needs not apprehend that I should +strictly examine those little faults, except I am called upon to do +it: I shall return therefore to that quotation of Seneca, and answer, +not to what he writes, but to what he means. I never intended it as +an argument, but only as an illustration of what I had said before +concerning the election of words; and all he can charge me with is +only this, that if Seneca could make an ordinary thing sound well in +Latin by the choice of words, the same, with the like care, might be +performed in English: If it cannot, I have committed an error on the +right hand, by commending too much the copiousness and well-sounding +of our language, which I hope my countrymen will pardon me; at least +the words which follow in my Dramatic Essay will plead somewhat in my +behalf; for I say there, that this objection happens but seldom in +a play; and then, too, either the meanness of the expression may be +avoided, or shut out from the verse by breaking it in the midst. + +But I have said too much in the defence of verse; for, after all, +it is a very indifferent thing to me whether it obtain or not. I am +content hereafter to be ordered by his rule, that is, to write it +sometimes because it pleases me, and so much the rather, because he +has declared that it pleases him. But he has taken his last farewell +of the muses, and he has done it civilly, by honouring them with the +name of "his long acquaintances," which is a compliment they have +scarce deserved from him. For my own part, I bear a share in +the public loss; and how emulous soever I may be of his fame and +reputation, I cannot but give this testimony of his style, that it is +extremely poetical, even in oratory; his thoughts elevated sometimes +above common apprehension; his notions politic and grave, and tending +to the instruction of princes, and reformation of states; that +they are abundantly interlaced with variety of fancies, tropes, and +figures, which the critics have enviously branded with the name of +obscurity and false grammar. + +"Well, he is now fettered in business of more unpleasant nature:" The +muses have lost him, but the commonwealth gains by it; the corruption +of a poet is the generation of a statesman. + +"He will not venture again into the civil wars of censure, +_ubi--nullos habitura triumphos_:" If he had not told us he +had left the muses, we might have half suspected it by that word +_ubi_, which does not any way belong to them in that place: +the rest of the verse is indeed Lucan's, but that _ubi_, I will +answer for it, is his own. Yet he has another reason for this disgust +of poesy; for he says immediately after, that "the manner of plays +which are now in most esteem is beyond his power to perform:" to +perform the manner of a thing, I confess, is new English to me. +"However, he condemns not the satisfaction of others, but rather their +unnecessary understanding, who, like Sancho Panza's doctor, prescribe +too strictly to our appetites; for," says he, "in the difference of +tragedy and comedy, and of farce itself, there can be no determination +but by the taste, nor in the manner of their composure." + +We shall see him now as great a critic as he was a poet; and the +reason why he excelled so much in poetry will be evident, for it will +appear to have proceeded from the exactness of his judgment. "In +the difference of tragedy, comedy, and farce itself, there can be no +determination but by the taste." I will not quarrel with the obscurity +of his phrase, though I justly might; but beg his pardon if I do +not rightly understand him. If he means that there is no essential +difference betwixt comedy, tragedy, and farce, but what is only made +by the people's taste, which distinguishes one of them from the other, +that is so manifest an error, that I need not lose time to contradict +it. Were there neither judge, taste, nor opinion in the world, yet +they would differ in their natures; for the action, character, and +language of tragedy, would still be great and high; that of comedy, +lower and more familiar. Admiration would be the delight of one, and +satire of the other. + +I have but briefly touched upon these things, because, whatever his +words are, I can scarce imagine, that "he, who is always concerned for +the true honour of reason, and would have no spurious issue fathered +upon her," should mean any thing so absurd as to affirm, "that there +is no difference betwixt comedy and tragedy but what is made by the +taste only;" unless he would have us understand the comedies of my +lord L. where the first act should be pottages, the second fricassees, +&c. and the fifth a _chere entiere_ of women. + +I rather guess he means, that betwixt one comedy or tragedy and +another, there is no other difference, but what is made by the liking +or disliking of the audience. This is indeed a less error than the +former, but yet it is a great one. The liking or disliking of the +people gives the play the denomination of good or bad, but does not +really make or constitute it such. To please the people ought to be +the poet's aim, because plays are made for their delight; but it does +not follow that they are always pleased with good plays, or that the +plays which please them are always good. The humour of the people is +now for comedy; therefore, in hope to please them, I write comedies +rather than serious plays: and so far their taste prescribes to +me. But it does not follow from that reason, that comedy is to be +preferred before tragedy in its own nature; for that, which is so in +its own nature, cannot be otherwise, as a man cannot but be a rational +creature: But the opinion of the people may alter, and in another age, +or perhaps in this, serious plays may be set up above comedies. + +This I think a sufficient answer; if it be not, he has provided me of +an excuse: it seems, in his wisdom, he foresaw my weakness, and has +found out this expedient for me, "That it is not necessary for poets +to study strict reason, since they are so used to a greater latitude +than is allowed by that severe inquisition, that they must infringe +their own jurisdiction, to profess themselves obliged to argue well." + +I am obliged to him for discovering to me this back door; but I am not +yet resolved on my retreat; for I am of opinion, that they cannot be +good poets, who are not accustomed to argue well. False reasonings and +colours of speech are the certain marks of one who does not understand +the stage: for moral truth is the mistress of the poet as much as of +the philosopher; poesy must resemble natural truth, but it must be +ethical. Indeed, the poet dresses truth, and adorns nature, but does +not alter them: + +_Ficta voluptatis causa sint proxima veris_. + +Therefore, that is not the best poesy, which resembles notions of +things, that are not, to things that are: though the fancy may be +great, and the words flowing, yet the soul is but half satisfied when +there is not truth in the foundation. This is that which makes Virgil +be preferred before the rest of poets. In variety of fancy, and +sweetness of expression, you see Ovid far above him; for Virgil +rejected many of those things which Ovid wrote. "A great wit's great +work is to refuse," as my worthy friend Sir John Berkenhead has +ingeniously expressed it: you rarely meet with any thing in Virgil but +truth, which therefore leaves the strongest impression of pleasure in +the soul. This I thought myself obliged to say in behalf of poesy; and +to declare, though it be against myself, that when poets do not argue +well, the defect is in the workmen, not in the art. + +And now I come to the boldest part of his discourse, wherein he +attacks not me, but all the ancients and moderns; and undermines, as +he thinks, the very foundations on which Dramatic Poesy is built. I +could wish he would have declined that envy which must of necessity +follow such an undertaking, and contented himself with triumphing over +me in my opinions of verse, which I will never hereafter dispute with +him; but he must pardon me if I have that veneration for Aristotle, +Horace, Ben Jonson, and Corneille, that I dare not serve him in such +a cause, and against such heroes, but rather fight under their +protection, as Homer reports of little Teucer, who shot the Trojans +from under the large buckler of Ajax Telamon. + +[Greek: Stae d ax up Aiantos sachei Telamoniadao] +He stood beneath his brother's ample shield; +And covered there, shot death through all the field. + +The words of my noble adversary are these: + +"But if we examine the general rules laid down for plays by strict +reason, we shall find the errors equally gross; for the great +foundation which is laid to build upon, is nothing as it is generally +stated, as will appear upon the examination of the particulars." + +These particulars in due time shall be examined. In the mean while, +let us consider what this great foundation is, which he says is +nothing, as it is generally stated. I never heard of any other +foundation of Dramatic Poesy than the imitation of nature; neither was +there ever pretended any other by the ancients or moderns, or me, who +endeavour to follow them in that rule. This I have plainly said in +my definition of a play; that it is a just and lively image of human +nature, &c. Thus the foundation, as it is generally stated, will stand +sure, if this definition of a play be true; if it be not, he ought to +have made his exception against it, by proving that a play is not an +imitation of nature, but somewhat else, which he is pleased to think +it. + +But 'tis very plain, that he has mistaken the foundation for that +which is built upon it, though not immediately: for the direct and +immediate consequence is this; if nature be to be imitated, then there +is a rule for imitating nature rightly, otherwise there may be an +end, and no means conducing to it. Hitherto I have proceeded by +demonstration; but as our divines, when they have proved a Deity, +because there is order, and have inferred that this Deity ought to be +worshipped, differ afterwards in the manner of the worship; so, having +laid down, that nature is to be imitated, and that proposition proving +the next, that then there are means which conduce to the imitating of +nature, I dare proceed no farther positively; but have only laid down +some opinions of the ancients and moderns, and of my own, as means +which they used, and which I thought probable for the attaining of +that end. Those means are the same which my antagonist calls the +foundations, how properly the world may judge; and to prove that this +is his meaning, he clears it immediately to you, by enumerating +those rules or propositions against which he makes his particular +exceptions; as, namely, those of time and place, in these words: +"First, we are told the plot should not be so ridiculously contrived, +as to crowd two several countries into one stage; secondly, to cramp +the accidents of many years or days into the representation of two +hours and an half; and, lastly, a conclusion drawn, that the only +remaining dispute is, concerning time, whether it should be contained +in twelve or twenty-four hours; and the place to be limited to that +spot of ground where the play is supposed to begin: and this is called +nearest nature; for that is concluded most natural, which is most +probable, and nearest to that which it presents." + +Thus he has only made a small mistake, of the means conducing to the +end for the end itself, and of the superstructure for the foundation: +But he proceeds: + +"To shew therefore upon what ill grounds they dictate laws for +Dramatic Poesy," &c. He is here pleased to charge me with being +magisterial, as he has done in many other places of his preface; +therefore, in vindication of myself, I must crave leave to say, that +my whole discourse was sceptical, according to that way of reasoning +which was used by Socrates, Plato, and all the academics of old, which +Tully and the best of the ancients followed, and which is imitated by +the modest inquisitions of the Royal Society. That it is so, not +only the name will shew, which is, _An Essay_, but the frame and +composition of the work. You see it is a dialogue sustained by persons +of several opinions, all of them left doubtful, to be determined by +the readers in general; and more particularly deferred to the accurate +judgment of my Lord Buckhurst, to whom I made a dedication of my +book. These are my words in my epistle, speaking of the persons whom I +introduced in my dialogue: "'Tis true they differed in their opinions, +as 'tis probable they would: neither do I take upon me to reconcile, +but to relate them, leaving your lordship to decide it in favour of +that part which you shall judge most reasonable." And after that, in +my advertisement to the reader, I said this: "The drift of the ensuing +discourse is chiefly to vindicate the honour of our English writers +from the censure of those who unjustly prefer the French before them. +This I intimate, lest any should think me so exceeding vain, as to +teach others an art, which they understand much better than myself." +But this is more than necessary to clear my modesty in that point: and +I am very confident, that there is scarce any man who has lost so much +time, as to read that trifle, but will be my compurgator, as to that +arrogance whereof I am accused. The truth is, if I had been naturally +guilty of so much vanity as to dictate my opinions; yet I do not find +that the character of a positive or self-conceited person is of such +advantage to any in this age, that I should labour to be publicly +admitted of that order. + +But I am not now to defend my own cause, when that of all the ancients +and moderns is in question. For this gentleman, who accuses me of +arrogance, has taken a course not to be taxed with the other extreme +of modesty. Those propositions, which are laid down in my discourse +as helps to the better imitation of nature, are not mine (as I +have said), nor were ever pretended so to be, but derived from the +authority of Aristotle and Horace, and from the rules and examples +of Ben Jonson and Corneille. These are the men with whom properly he +contends, and against "whom he will endeavour to make it evident, that +there is no such thing as what they all pretend." + +His argument against the unities of place and time is this: "That 'tis +as impossible for one stage to present two rooms or houses truly, +as two countries or kingdoms; and as impossible that five hours or +twenty-four hours should be two hours, as that a thousand hours or +years should be less than what they are, or the greatest part of time +to be comprehended in the less: for all of them being impossible, they +are none of them nearest the truth, or nature of what they present; +for impossibilities are all equal, and admit of no degree." + +This argument is so scattered into parts, that it can scarce be united +into a syllogism; yet, in obedience to him, _I will abbreviate_, +and comprehend as much of it as I can in few words, that my answer to +it may be more perspicuous. I conceive his meaning to be what follows, +as to the unity of place: (if I mistake, I beg his pardon, professing +it is not out of any design to play the _Argumentative Poet_.) If +one stage cannot properly present two rooms or houses, much less two +countries or kingdoms, then there can be no unity of place. But one +stage cannot properly perform this: therefore there can be no unity of +place. + +I plainly deny his minor proposition; the force of which, if I mistake +not, depends on this, that the stage being one place cannot be two. +This indeed is as great a secret, as that we are all mortal; but to +requite it with another, I must crave leave to tell him, that though +the stage cannot be two places, yet it may properly represent them +successively, or at several times. His argument is indeed no more than +a mere fallacy, which will evidently appear when we distinguish place, +as it relates to plays, into real and imaginary. The real place is +that theatre, or piece of ground, on which the play is acted. The +imaginary, that house, town, or country where the action of the drama +is supposed to be, or, more plainly, where the scene of the play is +laid. Let us now apply this to that Herculean argument, "which if +strictly and duly weighed, is to make it evident, that there is no +such thing as what they all pretend." 'Tis impossible, he says, for +one stage to present two rooms or houses: I answer, 'tis neither +impossible, nor improper, for one real place to represent two or more +imaginary places, so it be done successively; which, in other words, +is no more than this, that the imagination of the audience, aided by +the words of the poet, and painted scenes, may suppose the stage to +be sometimes one place, sometimes another; now a garden, or wood, and +immediately a camp: which I appeal to every man's imagination, if it +be not true. Neither the ancients nor moderns, as much fools as he is +pleased to think them, ever asserted that they could make one place +two; but they might hope, by the good leave of this author, that the +change of a scene might lead the imagination to suppose the place +altered: so that he cannot fasten those absurdities upon this scene +of a play, or imaginary place of action, that it is one place, and yet +two. And this being so clearly proved, that 'tis past any shew of a +reasonable denial, it will not be hard to destroy that other part of +his argument, which depends upon it, namely, that 'tis as impossible +for a stage to represent two rooms or houses, as two countries or +kingdoms: for his reason is already overthrown, which was, because +both were alike impossible. This is manifestly otherwise; for 'tis +proved that a stage may properly represent two rooms or houses; for +the imagination being judge of what is represented, will in reason be +less choked with the appearance of two rooms in the same house, or +two houses in the same city, than with two distant cities in the same +country, or two remote countries in the same universe. Imagination in +a man, or reasonable creature, is supposed to participate of reason, +and when that governs, as it does in the belief of fiction, reason +is not destroyed, but misled, or blinded; that can prescribe to the +reason, during the time of the representation, somewhat like a weak +belief of what it sees and hears; and reason suffers itself to be so +hood-winked, that it may better enjoy the pleasures of the fiction: +But it is never so wholly made a captive, as to be drawn headlong into +a persuasion of those things which are most remote from probability: +It is in that case a free-born subject, not a slave; it will +contribute willingly its assent, as far as it sees convenient, but +will not be forced. Now, there is a greater vicinity in nature betwixt +two rooms, than betwixt two houses; betwixt two houses, than betwixt +two cities; and so of the rest: Reason, therefore, can sooner be led, +by imagination, to step from one room into another, than to walk to +two distant houses, and yet rather to go thither, than to fly like +a witch through the air, and be hurried from one region to another. +Fancy and Reason go hand in hand; the first cannot leave the last +behind: And though Fancy, when it sees the wide gulph, would venture +over, as the nimbler, yet it is with-held by Reason, which will refuse +to take the leap, when the distance over it appears too large. If Ben +Jonson himself will remove the scene from Rome into Tuscany in +the same act, and from thence return to Rome, in the scene which +immediately follows, reason will consider there is no proportionable +allowance of time to perform the journey, and, therefore, will choose +to stay at home. So, then, the less change of place there is, the +less time is taken up in transporting the persons of the drama, with +analogy to reason; and in that analogy, or resemblance of fiction to +truth, consists the excellency of the play. + +For what else concerns the unity of place, I have already given my +opinion of it in my Essay, that there is a latitude to be allowed to +it, as several places in the same town or city, or places adjacent to +each other in the same country; which may all be comprehended under +the larger denomination of one place; yet with this restriction, +that the nearer and fewer those imaginary places are, the greater +resemblance they will have to truth; and reason, which cannot make +them one, will be more easily led to suppose them so. + +What has been said of the unity of place, may easily be applied to +that of time: I grant it to be impossible, that the greater part of +time should be comprehended in the less, that twenty-four hours should +be crowded into three: But there is no necessity of that supposition; +for as _place_, so time relating to a play, is either imaginary +or real: The real is comprehended in those three hours, more or less, +in the space of which the play is represented; the imaginary is that +which is supposed to be taken up in the representation, as twenty-four +hours, more or less. Now, no man ever could suppose, that twenty-four +real hours could be included in the space of three; but where is +the absurdity of affirming, that the feigned business of twenty-four +imagined hours, may not more naturally be represented in the compass +of three real hours, than the like feigned business of twenty-four +years, in the same proportion of real time? For the proportions are +always real, and much nearer, by his permission, of twenty-four to +three, than of four thousand to it. + +I am almost fearful of illustrating any thing by similitude, lest he +should confute it for an argument; yet I think the comparison of +a glass will discover very aptly the fallacy of his argument, both +concerning time and place. The strength of his reason depends on this, +that the less cannot comprehend the greater. I have already answered, +that we need not suppose it does; I say not that the less can +comprehend the greater, but only, that it may represent it. As in +a glass, or mirror, of half-a-yard diameter, a whole room, and many +persons in it, may be seen at once; not that it can comprehend that +room, or those persons, but that it represents them to the sight. + +But the author of the "Duke of Lerma" is to be excused for his +declaring against the unity of time; for, if I be not much mistaken, +he is an interested person;--the time of that play taking up so many +years, as the favour of the Duke of Lerma continued; nay, the second +and third act including all the time of his prosperity, which was a +great part of the reign of Philip the Third: For in the beginning of +the second act he was not yet a favourite, and, before the end of +the third, was in disgrace. I say not this with the least design of +limiting the stage too servilely to twenty-four hours, however he be +pleased to tax me with dogmatising on that point, In my dialogue, as I +before hinted, several persons maintained their several opinions: One +of them, indeed, who supported the cause of the French poesy, said how +strict they were in that particular; but he who answered, in behalf of +our nation, was willing to give more latitude to the rule, and cites +the words of Corneille himself, complaining against the severity of +it, and observing, what beauties it banished from the stage, p. 44. +of my Essay. In few words, my own opinion is this, (and I willingly +submit it to my adversary, when he will please impartially to consider +it) that the imaginary time of every play ought to be contrived into +as narrow a compass, as the nature of the plot, the quality of the +persons, and variety of accidents will allow. In comedy, I would +not exceed twenty-four or thirty hours; for the plot, accidents, and +persons, of comedy are small, and may be naturally turned in a little +compass: But in tragedy, the design is weighty, and the persons great; +therefore, there will naturally be required a greater space of time in +which to move them. And this, though Ben Jonson has not told us, yet +it is manifestly his opinion: For you see that to his comedies +he allows generally but twenty-four hours; to his two tragedies, +"Sejanus," and "Catiline," a much larger time, though he draws both +of them into as narrow a compass as he can: For he shews you only the +latter end of Sejanus's favour, and the conspiracy of Catiline already +ripe, and just breaking out into action. + +But as it is an error, on the one side, to make too great a +disproportion betwixt the imaginary time of the play, and the real +time of its representation; so, on the other side, it is an oversight +to compress the accidents of a play into a narrower compass than that +in which they could naturally be produced. Of this last error the +French are seldom guilty, because the thinness of their plots prevents +them from it; but few Englishmen, except Ben Jonson, have ever made +a plot, with variety of design in it, included in twenty-four hours, +which was altogether natural. For this reason, I prefer the "Silent +Woman" before all other plays, I think justly, as I do its author, in +judgment, above all other poets. Yet, of the two, I think that error +the most pardonable, which in too strait a compass crowds together +many accidents, since it produces more variety, and, consequently, +more pleasure to the audience; and, because the nearness of proportion +betwixt the imaginary and real time, does speciously cover the +compression of the accidents. + +Thus I have endeavoured to answer the meaning of his argument; for, as +he drew it, I humbly conceive that it was none,--as will appear by his +proposition, and the proof of it. His proposition was this: + +"If strictly and duly weighed, it is as impossible for one stage to +present two rooms, or houses, as two countries, or kingdoms," &c. +And his proof this: "For all being impossible, they are none of them +nearest the truth or nature of what they present." + +Here you see, instead of proof or reason, there is only _petitio +principii_. For, in plain words, his sense is this: Two things +are as impossible as one another, because they are both equally +impossible: But he takes those two things to be granted as impossible, +which he ought to have proved such, before he had proceeded to prove +them equally impossible: He should have made out first, that it was +impossible for one stage to represent two houses, and then have gone +forward to prove, that it was as equally impossible for a stage to +present two houses, as two countries. + +After all this, the very absurdity, to which he would reduce me, is +none at all: For he only drives at this, that, if his argument +be true, I must then acknowledge that there are degrees in +impossibilities, which I easily grant him without dispute; and, if I +mistake not, Aristotle and the School are of my opinion. For there are +some things which are absolutely impossible, and others which are only +so _ex parte_; as it is absolutely impossible for a thing _to +be_, and _not to be_ at the same time: But for a stone to move +naturally upward, is only impossible _ex parte materiae_; but it +is not impossible for the first mover to alter the nature of it. + +His last assault, like that of a Frenchman, is most feeble; for +whereas I have observed, that none have been violent against verse, +but such only as have not attempted it, or have succeeded ill in their +attempt, he will needs, according to his usual custom, improve my +observation to an argument, that he might have the glory to confute +it, But I lay my observation at his feet, as I do my pen, which I have +often employed willingly in his deserved commendations, and now most +unwillingly against his judgment. For his person and parts, I honour +them as much as any man living, and have had so many particular +obligations to him, that I should be very ungrateful, if I did not +acknowledge them to the world. But I gave not the first occasion +of this difference in opinions. In my epistle dedicatory, before my +"Rival Ladies," I had said somewhat in behalf of verse, which he was +pleased to answer in his preface to his plays. That occasioned my +reply in my essay; and that reply begot this rejoinder of his, in +his preface to the "Duke of Lenna." But as I was the last who took +up arms, I will be the first to lay them down. For what I have here +written, I submit it wholly to him; and if I do not hereafter answer +what may be objected against this paper, I hope the world will not +impute it to any other reason, than only the due respect which I have +for so noble an opponent. + + + +THE INDIAN EMPEROR. + + +The Indian Emperor is the first of Dryden's plays which exhibited, in +a marked degree, the peculiarity of his stile, and drew upon him the +attention of the world. Without equalling the extravagancies of the +Conquest of Granada, and the Royal Martyr, works produced when our +author was emboldened, by public applause, to give full scope to +his daring genius, the following may be considered as a model of the +heroic drama, A few words, therefore, will not be here misplaced, on +the nature of the kind of tragedies, in which, during the earlier part +of his literary career, our author delighted and excelled. + +The heroic, or rhyming, plays, were borrowed from the French, to whose +genius they are better suited than to the British. An analogy may be +observed between all the different departments of the belles lettres; +and none seem more closely allied, than the pursuits of the dramatic +writer, and those of the composer of romances or novels. Both deal in +fictitious adventure; both write for amusement; and address themselves +nearly to the same class of admirers. Nay, although the pride of the +dramatist may be offended by the assertion, it would seem, that the +nature of his walk is often prescribed by the successful impression +of a novel upon the public mind. If we laugh over low adventures in a +novel, we soon see low comedy upon the stage: If we are horror-struck +with a tale of robbers and murder in our closet, the dagger and the +green carpet will not long remain unemployed in the theatre; and if +ghosts haunt our novels, they soon stalk amongst our scenes. Under +this persuasion, we have little doubt that the heroic tragedies were +the legitimate offspring of the French romances of Calprenede and +Scuderi. Such as may deign to open these venerable and neglected +tomes, will be soon convinced of their extreme resemblance to the +heroic drama. A remarkable feature in both, is the ideal world which +they form for themselves. Every sentiment is lofty, splendid, and +striking; and no apology is admitted for any departure from the +dignity of character, however natural or impressive. The beauty of the +heroine, and the valour of the hero, must be alike resistless; and the +moving spring, through the whole action, is the overbearing passion +of love. Their language and manners are as peculiar to themselves, +as their prowess and susceptibility. The pastoral Arcadian does not +differ more widely from an ordinary rustic, than these lofty +persons do from the princes and kings of this world. Neither is any +circumstance of national character, or manners, allowed as an apology +for altering the established character, which must be invariably +sustained by the persons of the heroic drama. The religion, and +the state of society of the country where the scene is laid, may be +occasionally alluded to as authority for varying a procession, or +introducing new dresses and decorations; but, in all other respects, +an Indian Inca, attired in feathers, must hold the same dignity of +deportment, and display the same powers of declamation, and ingenuity +of argument, with a Roman emperor in his purple, or a feudal warrior +in his armour; for the rule and decorum of this species of composition +is too peremptory, to give way either to the current of human +passions, or to the usages of nations. Gibbon has remarked, that the +kings of the Gepidae, and the Ostrogoths in Corneille's tragedy +of Attila, are profound politicians, and sentimental lovers;--a +description which, with a varying portion of pride, courtesy, and +heroism, will apply to almost all the characters in plays drawn upon +this model. + +It is impossible to conceive any thing more different from the old +English drama, than the heroic plays which were introduced by Charles +II. The former, in labouring to exhibit a variety and contrast of +passions, tempers, or humours, frequently altogether neglected the +dignity of the scene. In the heroical tragedy, on the other hand, +nothing was to be indecorous, nothing grotesque: The personages were +to speak, not as men, but as heroes; to whom, as statuaries have +assigned a superiority of stature, so these poets have given an +uniform grandeur of feeling and of expression. It may be thought, that +this monotonous splendour of diction would have palled upon an English +audience, less pleased generally with refinement, however elegant, +than with bursts of passion, and flights of novelty. But Dryden felt +his force in the line which he chose to pursue and recommend. The +indescribable charms of his versification gratified the ear of the +public, while their attention was engaged by the splendour of his +images, and the matchless ingenuity of his arguments. It must also +be admitted, that, by their total neglect of the unities, our ancient +dramatic authors shocked the feelings of the more learned, and +embarrassed the understanding of the less acute, among the spectators. +We do not hold it treason to depart from the strict rules respecting +time and place, inculcated by the ancients, and followed in the heroic +plays. But it will surely be granted to us, that, where they can be +observed, without the sacrifice of great beauties, or incurring such +absurdities as Dennis has justly charged upon Cato, the play will be +proportionally more intelligible on the stage, and more pleasing in +the closet. And although we willingly censure the practice of driving +argument, upon the stage, into metaphysical refinement, and rendering +the contest of contrasted passions a mere combat in logic, yet we must +equally condemn those tragedies, in which the poet sketches out the +character with a few broken common-places, expressive of love, of +rage, or of grief, and leaves the canvas to be filled up by the actor, +according to his own taste, power, and inclination. + +The Indian Emperor is an instance, what beautiful poetry may be united +to, we had almost said thrown away upon, the heroic drama. The very +first scene exhibits much of those beauties, and their attendant +deformities. A modern audience would hardly have sate in patience +to hear more than the first extravagant and ludicrous supposition of +Cortez: + + As if our old world modestly withdrew; + And here, in private, had brought forth a new. + +But had they condemned the piece for this uncommon case of +parturition, they would have lost the beautiful and melodious verses, +in which Cortez, and his followers, describe the advantages of the +newly discovered world; and they would have lost the still more +exquisite account, which, immediately after, Guyomar gives of the +arrival of the Spanish fleet. Of the characters little need be said; +they stalk on, in their own fairy land, in the same uniform livery, +and with little peculiarity of discrimination. All the men, from +Montezuma down to Pizarro, are brave warriors; and only vary, in +proportion to the mitigating qualities which the poet has infused into +their military ardour. The women are all beautiful, and all deeply +in love; differing from each other only, as the haughty or tender +predominates in their passion. But the charm of the poetry, and the +ingenuity of the dialogue, render it impossible to peruse, without +pleasure, a drama, the faults of which may be imputed to its +structure, while its beauties are peculiar to Dryden. + +The plot of the Indian Emperor is certainly of our author's own +composition; since even the malignant assiduity of Langbaine has been +unable to point out any author from whom it is borrowed. The play was +first acted in 1665, and received with great applause. + + + +CONNECTION +OF +THE INDIAN EMPEROR +TO +THE INDIAN QUEEN [A]. + +[Footnote A: This argument was printed, and dispersed amongst the +audience upon the first night of representation. Hence Bayes is made +to say, in the Rehearsal, that he had printed many reams, to instil +into the audience some conception of his plot.] + + +The conclusion of the Indian Queen (part of which poem was wrote +by me) left little matter for another story to be built on, there +remaining but two of the considerable characters alive, viz. Montezuma +and Orazia. Thereupon the author of this thought it necessary to +produce new persons from the old ones; and considering the late Indian +Queen, before she loved Montezuma, lived in clandestine marriage +with her general Traxalla, from those two he has raised a son and two +daughters, supposed to be left young orphans at their death. On the +other side, he has given to Montezuma and Orazia, two sons and a +daughter; all now supposed to be grown up to mens' and womens' estate; +and their mother, Orazia, (for whom there was no further use in the +story,) lately dead. + +So that you are to imagine about twenty years elapsed since the +coronation of Montezuma; who, in the truth of the history, was a great +and glorious prince; and in whose time happened the discovery and +invasion of Mexico, by the Spaniards, under the conduct of Hernando +Cortez, who, joining with the Traxallan Indians, the inveterate +enemies of Montezuma, wholly subverted that flourishing empire;--the +conquest of which is the subject of this dramatic poem. + +I have neither wholly followed the story, nor varied from it; and, as +near as I could, have traced the native simplicity and ignorance of +the Indians, in relation to European customs;--the shipping, armour, +horses, swords, and guns of the Spaniards, being as new to them, as +their habits and their language were to the Christians. + +The difference of their religion from ours, I have taken from the +story itself; and that which you find of it in the first and fifth +acts, touching the sufferings and constancy of Montezuma in his +opinions, I have only illustrated, not altered, from those who have +written of it. + + + +PROLOGUE + + +Almighty critics! whom our Indians here +Worship, just as they do the devil--for fear; +In reverence to your power, I come this day, +To give you timely warning of our play. +The scenes are old, the habits are the same +We wore last year, before the Spaniards came[A]. +Now, if you stay, the blood, that shall be shed +From this poor play, be all upon your head. +We neither promise you one dance, or show; +Then plot, and language, they are wanting too: +But you, kind wits, will those light faults excuse, +Those are the common frailties of the muse; +Which, who observes, he buys his place too dear; +For 'tis your business to be cozened here. +These wretched spies of wit must then confess, +They take more pains to please themselves the less. +Grant us such judges, Phoebus, we request, +As still mistake themselves into a jest; +Such easy judges, that our poet may +Himself admire the fortune of his play; +And, arrogantly, as his fellows do, +Think he writes well, because he pleases you. +This he conceives not hard to bring about, +If all of you would join to help him out: +Would each man take but what he understands, +And leave the rest upon the poet's hands. + +[Footnote A: Alluding to the Indian Queen, in which the scene is laid +before the arrival of the Spaniards in America, and which was acted in +1664, as this was in 1665.] + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + +INDIAN MEN. + +MONTEZUMA, _Emperor of Mexico_. +ODMAR, _his eldest son_. +GUYOMAR, _his younger son_. +ORBELLAN, _son of the late Indian Queen by TRAXALLA_. +_High Priest of the Sun_. + +WOMEN. + +CYDARIA, _MONTEZUMA'S daughter_. +ALMERIA, } _Sisters; and daughters to the late_ +ALIBECH, } _Indian Queen_. + +SPANIARDS. + +CORTEZ, _the Spanish General_. +VASQUEZ, } _Commanders under him_. +PIZARRO, } + + +SCENE--_Mexico, and two leagues about it_. + + + +THE INDIAN EMPEROR. + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_A pleasant Indian country_. + +_Enter_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _with Spaniards and Indians +of their party_. + + +_Cort_. On what new happy climate are we thrown, +So long kept secret, and so lately known; +As if our old world modestly withdrew, +And here in private had brought forth a new? + +_Vasq._ Corn, oil, and wine, are wanting to this ground, +In which our countries fruitfully abound; +As if this infant world, yet unarrayed, +Naked and bare in Nature's lap were laid. +No useful arts have yet found footing here, +But all untaught and savage does appear. + +_Cort._ Wild and untaught are terms which we alone +Invent, for fashions differing from our own; +For all their customs are by nature wrought, +But we, by art, unteach what nature taught. + +_Piz_. In Spain, our springs, like old men's children, be +Decayed and withered from their infancy: +No kindly showers fall on our barren earth, +To hatch the season in a timely birth: +Our summer such a russet livery wears, +As in a garment often dyed appears. + +_Cort_. Here nature spreads her fruitful sweetness round, +Breathes on the air, and broods upon the ground: +Here days and nights the only seasons be; +The sun no climate does so gladly see: +When forced from hence, to view our parts, he mourns; +Takes little journies, and makes quick returns. + +_Vasq_. Methinks, we walk in dreams on Fairy-land, +Where golden ore lies mixt with common sand; +Each downfal of a flood, the mountains pour +From their rich bowels, rolls a silver shower. + +_Cort_. Heaven from all ages wisely did provide +This wealth, and for the bravest nation hide, +Who, with four hundred foot and forty horse, +Dare boldly go a new-found world to force. + +_Piz_. Our men, though valiant, we should find too few, +But Indians join the Indians to subdue; +Taxallan, shook by Montezuma's powers, +Has, to resist his forces, called in ours. + +_Vasq_. Rashly to arm against so great a king, +I hold not safe; nor is it just to bring +A war, without a fair defiance made. + +_Piz_. Declare we first our quarrel; then invade. + +_Cort_. Myself, my king's ambassador, will go; +Speak, Indian guide, how far to Mexico? + +_Ind_. Your eyes can scarce so far a prospect make, +As to discern the city on the lake; +But that broad causeway will direct your way, +And you may reach the town by noon of day. + +_Cort_. Command a party of our Indians out, +With a strict charge, not to engage, but scout: +By noble ways we conquest will prepare; +First, offer peace, and, that refused, make war. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II.--_A Temple_. + +_The High Priest with other Priests. To them an +Indian_. + + +_Ind_. Haste, holy priest, it is the king's command. + +_High Pr_. When sets he forward? + +_Ind_. He is near at hand. + +_High Pr_. The incense is upon the altar placed, +The bloody sacrifice already past; +Five hundred captives saw the rising sun, +Who lost their light, ere half his race was run. +That which remains we here must celebrate; +Where, far from noise, without the city gate, +The peaceful power that governs love repairs, +To feast upon soft vows and silent prayers. +We for his royal presence only stay, +To end the rites of this so solemn day. + +[_Exit Ind_. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA; _his eldest son_, ODMAR; _his +daughter_, CYDARIA; ALMERIA, ALIBECH, ORBELLAN, +_and Train. They place themselves_. + +_High Pr_. On your birthday, while we sing +To our gods and to our king, +Her, among this beauteous quire, +Whose perfections you admire, +Her, who fairest does appear, +Crown her queen of all the year, +Of the year and of the day, +And at her feet your garland lay. + +_Odm_. My father this way does his looks direct; +Heaven grant, he give it not where I suspect! + +[MONTEZUMA _rises, goes about the Ladies, and +at length stays at_ ALMERIA, _and bows_. + +_Mont_. Since my Orazia's death, I have not seen +A beauty, so deserving to be queen +As fair Almeria. + +_Alm_. Sure he will not know + [_To her brother and sister, aside_. +My birth I to that injured princess owe, +Whom his hard heart not only love denied, +But in her sufferings took unmanly pride. + +_Alib_. Since Montezuma will his choice renew, +In dead Orazia's room electing you, +'Twill please our mother's ghost that you succeed +To all the glories of her rival's bed. + +_Alm_. If news be carried to the shades below, +The Indian queen will be more pleased, to know, +That I his scorns on him, who scorned her, pay. + +_Orb_. Would you could right her some more noble way! + +[_She turns to him, who is kneeling all this while_. + + +_Mont_. Madam, this posture is for heaven designed, +[_Kneeling_. +And what moves heaven I hope may make you kind. + +_Alm_. Heaven may be kind; the gods uninjured live. +And crimes below cost little to forgive: +By thee, inhuman, both my parents died; +One by thy sword, the other by thy pride. + +_Mont_. My haughty mind no fate could ever bow, +Yet I must stoop to one, who scorns me now: +Is there no pity to my sufferings due? + +_Alm_. As much as what my mother found from you. + +_Mont_. Your mother's wrongs a recompence shall meet; +I lay my sceptre at her daughter's feet. + +_Alm_. He, who does now my least commands obey, +Would call me queen, and take my power away. + +_Odm_. Can he hear this, and not his fetters break? +Is love so powerful, or his soul so weak? +I'll fright her from it.--Madam, though you see +The king is kind, I hope your modesty +Will know, what distance to the crown is due. + +_Alm_. Distance and modesty prescribed by you! + +_Odm_. Almeria dares not think such thoughts as these. + +_Alm_. She dares both think and act what thoughts she please. +Tis much below me on his throne to sit; +But when I do, you shall petition it. + + +_Odm_. If, sir, Almeria does your bed partake, +I mourn for my forgotten mother's' sake. + +_Mont_. When parents' loves are ordered by a son, +Let streams prescribe their fountains where to run. + +_Odm_. In all I urge, I keep my duty still, +Not rule your reason, but instruct your will. + +_Mont_. Small use of reason in that prince is shown, +Who follows others, and neglects his own. + +[ALMERIA _to_ ORBELLAN _and_ ALIBECH, _who are this while +whispering to her_. + +_Alm_. No, he shall ever love, and always be +The subject of my scorn and cruelty. + +_Orb_. To prove the lasting torment of his life, +You must not be his mistress, but his wife. +Few know what care an husband's peace destroys, +His real griefs, and his dissembled joys. + +_Alm_. What mark of pleasing vengeance could be shown, +If I, to break his quiet, lose my own? + +_Orb_. A brother's life upon your love relics, +Since I do homage to Cydaria's eyes: +How can her father to my hopes be kind, +If in your heart he no example find? + +_Alm_. To save your life I'll suffer any thing, +Yet I'll not flatter this tempestuous king; +But work his stubborn soul a nobler way, +And, if he love, I'll force him to obey. +I take this garland, not as given by you, + [_To MONT_. +But as my merit and my beauty's due. +As for the crown, that you, my slave, possess, +To share it with you would but make me less. + +_Enter_ GUYOMAR _hastily_. + +_Odm_. My brother Guyomar! methinks I spy +Haste in his steps, and wonder in his eye. + +_Mont_. I sent thee to the frontiers; quickly tell +The cause of thy return; are all things well? + +_Guy_. I went, in order, sir, to your command, +To view the utmost limits of the land: +To that sea-shore where no more world is found, +But foaming billows breaking on the ground; +Where, for a while, my eyes no object met, +But distant skies, that in the ocean set; +And low-hung clouds, that dipt themselves in rain, +To shake their fleeces on the earth again. +At last, as far as I could cast my eyes +Upon the sea, somewhat, methought, did rise, +Like blueish mists, which, still appearing more, +Took dreadful shapes, and moved towards the shore. + +_Mont_. What forms did these new wonders represent? + +_Guy_. More strange than what your wonder can invent. +The object, I could first distinctly view, +Was tall straight trees, which on the waters flew; +Wings on their sides, instead of leaves, did grow, +Which gathered all the breath the winds could blow: +And at their roots grew floating palaces, +Whose outblowed bellies cut the yielding seas. + +_Mont_. What divine monsters, O ye gods, were these, +That float in air, and fly upon the seas! +Came they alive, or dead, upon the shore? + +_Guy_. Alas, they lived too sure; I heard them roar. +All turned their sides, and to each other spoke; +I saw their words break out in fire and smoke. +Sure 'tis their voice, that thunders from on high, +Or these the younger brothers of the sky. +Deaf with the noise, I took my hasty flight; +No mortal courage can support the fright. + +_High Pr_. Old prophecies foretel our fall at hand, +When bearded men in floating castles land. +I fear it is of dire portent. + +_Mont_. Go see +What it foreshows, and what the gods decree. +Meantime proceed we to what rites remain.-- +Odmar, of all this presence does contain, +Give her your wreath, whom you esteem most fair. + +_Odm_. Above the rest I judge one beauty rare, +And may that beauty prove as kind to me, + [_He gives_ ALIBECH _the wreath_. +As I am sure fair Alibech is she. + +_Mont_. You, Guyomar, must next perform your part. + +_Guy_. I want a garland, but I'll give a heart: +My brother's pardon I must first implore, +Since I with him fair Alibech adore. + +_Odm_. That all should Alibech adore, 'tis true; +But some respect is to my birthright due. +My claim to her by eldership I prove. + +_Guy_. Age is a plea in empire, not in love. + +_Odm_. I long have staid for this solemnity, +To make my passion public. + +_Guy_. So have I. + +_Odm_. But from her birth my soul has been her slave; +My heart received the first wounds which she save: +I watched the early glories of her eyes, +As men for daybreak watch the eastern skies. + +_Guy_. It seems my soul then moved the quicker pace; +Yours first set out, mine reached her in the race. + +_Mont_. Odmar, your choice I cannot disapprove; +Nor justly, Guyomar, can blame your love. +To Alibech alone refer your suit, +And let her sentence finish your dispute. + +_Alib_. You think me, sir, a mistress quickly won. +So soon to finish what is scarce begun: +In this surprise should I a judgment make, +'Tis answering riddles ere I'm well awake: +If you oblige me suddenly to chuse, +The choice is made, for I must both refuse: +For to myself I owe this due regard, +Not to make love my gift, but my reward. +Time best will show, whose services will last. + +_Odm_. Then judge my future service by my past. +What I shall be, by what I was, you know: +That love took deepest root, which first did grow. + +_Guy_. That love, which first was set, will first decay; +Mine, of a fresher date, will longer stay. + +_Odm_. Still you forget my birth. + +_Guy_. But you, I see, +Take care still to refresh my memory. + +_Mont_. My sons, let your unseemly discord cease, +If not in friendship, live at least in peace. +Orbellan, where you love, bestow your wreath. + +_Orb_. My love I dare not, even in whispers, breathe. + +_Mont_. A virtuous love may venture any thing. + +_Orb_. Not to attempt the daughter of my king. + +_Mont_. Whither is all my former fury gone? +Once more I have Traxalla's chains put on, +And by his children am in triumph led: +Too well the living have revenged the dead! + +_Alm_. You think my brother born your enemy; +He's of Traxalla's blood, and so am I. + +_Mont_. In vain I strive. +My lion-heart is with love's toils beset; +Struggling I fall still deeper in the net. +Cydaria, your new lover's garland take, +And use him kindly for your father's sake. + +_Cyd_. So strong an hatred does my nature sway. +That, spite of duty, I must disobey: +Besides, you warned me still of loving two; +Can I love him, already loving you? + +_Enter a Guard hastily_. + +_Mont_. You look amazed, as if some sudden fear +Had seized your hearts; is any danger near? + +_1 Guard_. Behind the covert, where this temple stands, +Thick as the shades, there issue swarming bands +Of ambushed men, whom, by their arms and dress, +To be Taxallan enemies I guess. + +_2 Guard_. The temple, sir, is almost compassed round. + +_Mont_. Some speedy way for passage must be found. +Make to the city by the postern gate, +I'll either force my victory, or fate; +A glorious death in arms I'll rather prove, +Than stay to perish tamely by my love. + +[_Exeunt_. + +_An alarm within. Enter_ MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, ALIBECH, +ORBELLAN, CYDARIA, ALMERIA, _as pursued by Taxallans_. + +_Mont_. No succour from the town? + +_Odm_. None, none is nigh. + +_Guy_. We are inclosed, and must resolve to die. + +_Mont_. Fight for revenge, now hope of life is past +But one stroke more, and that will be my last. + +_Enter_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _to the Taxallans_: CORTEZ +_stays them, just falling on_. + +_Cort_. Contemned? my orders broke even in my sight? +Did I not strictly charge, you should not fight? + +[_To his Indians_. + +_Ind_. Your choler, general, does unjustly rise, +To see your friends pursue your enemies. +The greatest and most cruel foes we have, +Are these, whom you would ignorantly save. +By ambushed men, behind their temple laid, +We have the king of Mexico betrayed. + +_Cort_. Where, banished virtue, wilt thou shew thy face, +If treachery infects thy Indian race? +Dismiss your rage, and lay your weapons by: +Know I protect them, and they shall not die. + +_Ind_. O wondrous mercy, shewn to foes distrest! + +_Cort_. Call them not so, when once with odds opprest; +Nor are they foes my clemency defends, +Until they have refused the name of friends: +Draw up our Spaniards by themselves, then fire +Our guns on all, who do not strait retire. + +[_To_ VASQ. + +_Ind_. O mercy, mercy! at thy feet we fall, + [_Indians kneeling_. +Before thy roaring Gods destroy us all: +See, we retreat without the least reply; +Keep thy Gods silent! if they speak we die. + +[_The Taxallans retire_. + +_Mont_. The fierce Taxatlans lay their weapons down, +Some miracle in our relief is shewn. + +_Guy_. These bearded men in shape and colour be +Like those I saw come floating on the sea. + +[MONT. _kneels to_ CORT. + +_Mont_. Patron of Mexico, and God of wars, +Son of the sun, and brother of the stars-- + +_Cort_. Great monarch, your devotion you misplace. + +_Mont_. Thy actions shew thee born of heavenly race. +If then thou art that cruel God, whose eyes +Delight in blood, and human sacrifice, +Thy dreadful altars I with slaves will store, +And feed thy nostrils with hot reeking gore; +Or if that mild and gentle God thou be, +Who dost mankind below with pity see, +With breath of incense I will glad thy heart; +But if, like us, of mortal seed thou art, +Presents of choicest fowls, and fruits I'll bring, +And in my realms thou shalt be more than king. + +_Cort_. Monarch of empires, and deserving more +Than the sun sees upon your western shore; +Like you a man, and hither led by fame, +Not by constraint, but by my choice, I came; +Ambassador of peace, if peace you chuse, +Or herald of a war, if you refuse. + +_Mont_. Whence, or from whom, dost thou these offers bring? + +_Cort_. From Charles the Fifth, the world's most potent king. + +_Mont_. Some petty prince, and one of little fame, +For to this hour I never heard his name: +The two great empires of the world I know, +That of Peru, and this of Mexico; +And since the earth none larger does afford, +This Charles is some poor tributary lord. + +_Cort_. You speak of that small part of earth you know; +But betwixt us and you wide oceans flow, +And watry desarts of so vast extent, +That passing hither four full moons we spent. + +_Mont_. But say, what news, what offers dost thou bring +From so remote, and so unknown a king? + +[_While_ VASQUEZ _speaks_, CORTEZ _spies the ladies +and goes to them, entertaining_ CYDARIA _with +courtship in dumb shew_. + +_Vasq_. Spain's mighty monarch, to whom heaven thinks fit, +That all the nations of the earth submit, +In gracious clemency, does condescend +On these conditions to become your friend. +First, that of him you shall your sceptre hold; +Next, you present him with your useless gold: +Last, that you leave those idols you implore, +And one true deity with him adore. + +_Mont_. You speak your prince a mighty emperor, +But his demands have spoke him proud and poor; +He proudly at my free-born sceptre flies, +Yet poorly begs a metal I despise. +Gold thou mayest take, whatever thou canst find, +Save what for sacred uses is designed: +But, by what right pretends your king to be +The sovereign lord of all the world and me? + +_Piz_. The sovereign priest-- +Who represents on earth the power of heaven, +Has this your empire to our monarch given. + +_Mont_. Ill does he represent the powers above, +Who nourishes debate, not preaches love; +Besides, what greater folly can be shewn? +He gives another what is not his own. + +_Vasq_. His power must needs unquestioned be below, +For he in heaven an empire can bestow. + +_Mont_. Empires in heaven he with more ease may give, +And you, perhaps, would with less thanks receive; +But heaven has need of no such viceroy here, +Itself bestows the crowns that monarchs wear. + +_Piz_. You wrong his power, as you mistake our end, +Who came thus far religion to extend. + +_Mont_. He, who religion truly understands, +Knows its extent must be in men, not lands. + +_Odm_. But who are those that truth must propagate +Within the confines of my father's state? + +_Vasq_. Religious men, who hither must be sent +As awful guides of heavenly government; +To teach you penance, fasts, and abstinence, +To punish bodies for the soul's offence. + +_Mont_. Cheaply you sin, and punish crimes with ease, +Not as the offended, but the offenders please; +First injure heaven, and, when its wrath is due, +Yourselves prescribe it how to punish you. + +_Odm_. What numbers of these holy men must come? + +_Piz_. You shall not want, each village shall have some; +Who, though the royal dignity they own, +Are equal to it, and depend on none. + +_Guy_. Depend on none! you treat them sure in state, +For 'tis their plenty does their pride create. + +_Mont_. Those ghostly kings would parcel out my power, +And all the fatness of my land devour. +That monarch sits not safely on his throne +Who bears, within, a power that shocks his own. +They teach obedience to imperial sway, +But think it sin if they themselves obey. + +_Vasq_. It seems, then, our religion you accuse, +And peaceful homage to our king refuse. + +_Mont_. Your Gods I slight not, but will keep my own; +My crown is absolute, and holds of none. +I cannot in a base subjection live, +Nor suffer you to take, though I would give. + +_Cort_. Is this your answer, sir? + +_Mont_.--This, as a prince, +Bound to my people's and my crown's defence, +I must return; but, as a man, by you +Redeemed from death, all gratitude is due. + +_Cort_. It was an act my honour bound me to: +But what I did, were I again to do, +I could not do it on my honour's score, +For love would now oblige me to do more. +Is no way left that we may yet agree? +Must I have war, yet have no enemy? + +_Vasq_. He has refused all terms of peace to take. + +_Mont_. Since we must fight, hear, heavens, what prayers I make! +First, to preserve this ancient state and me, +But if your doom the fall of both decree, +Grant only he, who has such honour shewn, +When I am dust, may fill my empty throne! + +_Cort_. To make me happier than that wish can do, +Lies not in all your Gods to grant, but you; +Let this fair princess but one minute stay, +A look from her will your obligements pay. + +[_Exeunt_ MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, ORBELLAN, ALMERIA, and +ALIBECH. + +_Mont_. to _Cyd_. Your duty in your quick return be shewn.-- +Stay you, and wait my daughter to the town. +[_To his guards_. + +[CYDARIA _is going, but turns and looks back upon_ CORTEZ, _who +is looking on her all this while_. + +_Cyd_. My father's gone, and yet I cannot go; +Sure I have something lost or left behind! + +[_Aside_. + +_Cort_. Like travellers who wander in the snow, +I on her beauty gaze 'till I am blind. + +[_Aside_. + +_Cyd_. Thick breath, quick pulse, and heaving of my heart, +All signs of some unwonted change appear: +I find myself unwilling to depart, +And yet I know not why I would be here. +Stranger, you raise such torments in my breast, +That when I go, (if I must go again) +I'll tell my father you have robbed my rest, +And to him of your injuries complain. + +_Cort_. Unknown, I swear, those wrongs were which I wrought, +But my complaints will much more just appear, +Who from another world my freedom brought, +And to your conquering eyes have lost it here. + +_Cyd_. Where is that other world, from whence you came? + +_Cort_. Beyond the ocean, far from hence it lies. + +_Cyd_. Your other world, I fear, is then the same, +That souls must go to when the body dies. +But what's the cause that keeps you here with me, +That I may know what keeps me here with you? + +_Cort_. Mine is a love which must perpetual be, +If you can be so just as I am true. + +_Enter_ ORBELLAN. + +_Orb_. Your father wonders much at your delay. + +_Cyd_. So great a wonder for so small a stay! + +_Orb_. He has commanded you with me to go. + +_Cyd_. Has he not sent to bring the stranger too? + +_Orb_. If he to-morrow dares in fight appear, +His high-placed love perhaps may cost him dear. + +_Cort_. Dares!--that word was never spoke to Spaniard yet, +But forfeited his life, who gave him it; +Haste quickly with thy pledge of safety hence, +Thy guilt's protected by her innocence. + +_Cyd_. Sure in some fatal hour my love was born, +So soon o'ercast with absence in the morn! + +_Cort_. Turn hence those pointed glories of your eyes; +For if more charms beneath those circles rise, +So weak my virtue, they so strong appear, +I shall turn ravisher to keep you here. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I.--_The Magician's Cave_. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA, _and High-Priest_. + + +_Mont_. Not that I fear the utmost fate can do, +Come I the event of doubtful war to know; +For life and death are things indifferent; +Each to be chose as either brings content: +My motive from a nobler cause does spring, +Love rules my heart, and is your monarch's king; +I more desire to know Almeria's mind, +Than all that heaven has for my state designed. + +_High Pr_. By powerful charms, which nothing can withstand, +I'll force the Gods to tell what you demand. + +CHARM. + +Thou moon, that aidest us with thy magic might, +And ye small stars, the scattered seeds of light, +Dart your pale beams into this gloomy place, +That the sad powers of the infernal race +May read above what's hid from human eyes, +And in your walks see empires fall and rise. +And ye, immortal souls, who once were men, +And now, resolved to elements again, +Who wait for mortal frames in depths below, +And did before what we are doomed to do; +Once, twice, and thrice, I wave my sacred wand, +Ascend, ascend, ascend at my command. + +[_An earthy spirit rises_. + +_Spir_. In vain, O mortal men, your prayers implore +The aid of powers below, which want it more: +A God more strong, who all the Gods commands, +Drives us to exile from our native lands; +The air swarms thick with wandering deities, +Which drowsily, like humming beetles, rise +From our loved earth, where peacefully we slept, +And, far from heaven, a long possession kept. +The frighted satyrs, that in woods delight, +Now into plains with pricked-up ears take flight; +And scudding thence, while they their horn-feet ply, +About their sires the little silvans cry. +A nation loving gold must rule this place, +Our temples ruin, and our rites deface: +To them, O king, is thy lost sceptre given. +Now mourn thy fatal search, for since wise heaven +More ill than good to mortals does dispense, +It is not safe to have too quick a sense. + +[_Descends_. + +_Mont_. Mourn they, who think repining can remove +The firm decrees of those, who rule above; +The brave are safe within, who still dare die: +Whene'er I fall, I'll scorn my destiny. +Doom as they please my empire not to stand, +I'll grasp my sceptre with my dying hand. + +_High Pr_. Those earthy spirits black and envious are; +I'll call up other Gods, of form more fair: +Who visions dress in pleasing colour still, +Set all the good to shew, and hide the ill. +Kalib, ascend, my fair-spoke servant rise, +And sooth my heart with pleasing prophesies. + +KALIB ascends all in white, in shape of a woman, +and sings. + +_Kal_. _I looked and saw within the book of fate, + Where, many days did lowr, + When lo one happy hour + Leapt up, and smiled to save thy sinking state; + A day shall come when in thy power + Thy cruel foes shall be; + Then shall thy land be free, + And thou in peace shalt reign. + But take, O take that opportunity, + Which, once refused, will never come again._ + +[Descends. + +_Mont_. I shall deserve my fate, if I refuse +That happy hour which heaven allots to use: +But of my crown thou too much care dost take; +That which I value more, my love's at stake. + +_High Pr_. Arise, ye subtle spirits, that can spy, +When love is entered in a female's eye; +You, that can read it in the midst of doubt, +And in the midst of frowns can find it out; +You, that can search those many cornered minds, +Where women's crooked fancy turns and winds; +You, that can love explore, and truth impart, +Where both lie deepest hid in woman's heart, +Arise-- + +[_The ghosts of_ TRAXALLA _and_ ACACIS _arise; they stand +still, and point at_ MONTEZUMA. + +_High Pr_. I did not for these ghastly visions send; +Their sudden coming does some ill portend. +Begone,--begone,--they will not disappear! +My soul is seized with an unusual fear. + + +_Mont_. Point on, point on, and see whom you can fright. +Shame and confusion seize these shades of night! +Ye thin and empty forms, am I your sport? + [_They smile_. +If you were flesh-- +You know you durst not use me in this sort. + +[_The ghost of the Indian Queen rises betwixt the +ghosts, with a dagger in her breast_. + +_Mont_. Ha! +I feel my hair grow stiff, my eye-balls roll! +This is the only form could shake my soul. + +_Ghost_. The hopes of thy successful love resign; +Know, Montezuma, thou art only mine; +For those, who here on earth their passion shew +By death for love, receive their right below. +Why dost thou then delay my longing arms? +Have cares, and age, and mortal life such charms? +The moon grows sickly at the sight of day, +And early cocks have summoned me away: +Yet I'll appoint a meeting place below, +For there fierce winds o'er dusky vallies blow, +Whose every puff bears empty shades away, +Which guidless in those dark dominions stray. +Just at the entrance of the fields below, +Thou shalt behold a tall black poplar grow; +Safe in its hollow trunk I will attend, +And seize thy spirit when thou dost descend. + +[_Descends_. + +_Mont_. I'll seize thee there, thou messenger of fate.-- +Would my short life had yet a shorter date! +I'm weary of this flesh which holds us here, +And dastards manly souls with hope and fear; +These heats and colds still in our breast make war, +Agues and fevers all our passions are. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +CYDARIA _and_ ALIBECH, _betwixt the two armies_. + + +_Alib_. Blessings will crown your name, if you prevent +That blood, which in this battle will be spent; +Nor need you fear so just a suit to move, +Which both becomes your duty and your love. + +_Cyd_. But think you he will come? their camp is near, +And he already knows I wait him here. + +_Alib_. You are too young your power to understand, +Lovers take wing upon the least command; +Already he is here. + +_Enter_ CORTEZ _and_ VASQUEZ _to them_. + +_Cort_. Methinks, like two black storms on either hand, +Our Spanish army and your Indians stand; +This only space betwixt the clouds is clear, +Where you, like day, broke loose from both appear. + +_Cyd_. Those closing skies might still continue bright, +But who can help it, if you'll make it night? +The Gods have given you power of life and death, +Like them to save, or ruin, with a breath. + +_Cort_. That power they to your father did dispose, +'Twas in his choice to make us friends or foes. + +_Alib_. Injurious strength would rapine still excuse, +By offering terms the weaker must refuse; +And such as these your hard conditions are, +You threaten peace, and you invite a war. + +_Cort_. If for myself to conquer here I came, +You might perhaps my actions justly blame: +Now I am sent, and am not to dispute +My prince's orders, but to execute. + +_Alib_. He, who his prince so blindly does obey, +To keep his faith his virtue throws away. + +_Cort_. Monarchs may err; but should each private +breast +Judge their ill acts, they would dispute their best. + +_Cyd_. Then all your care is for your prince, I see; +Your truth to him out-weighs your love to me: +You may so cruel to deny me prove, +But never after that pretend to love. + +_Cort_. Command my life, and I will soon obey; +To save my honour I my blood will pay. + +_Cyd_. What is this honour which does love controul? + +_Cort_. A raging fit of virtue in the soul; +A painful burden which great minds must bear, +Obtained with danger, and possest with fear. + +_Cyd_. Lay down that burden if it painful grow; +You'll find, without it, love will lighter go. + +_Cort_. Honour, once lost, is never to be found. + +_Alib_. Perhaps he looks to have both passions crowned; +First dye his honour in a purple flood, +Then court the daughter in the father's blood. + +_Cort_. The edge of war I'll from the battle take, +And spare her father's subjects for her sake. + +_Cyd_. I cannot love you less when I'm refused. +But I can die to be unkindly used; +Where shall a maid's distracted heart find rest. +If she can miss it in her lover's breast? + +_Cort_. I till to-morrow will the fight delay; +Remember you have conquered me to-day. + +_Alib_. This grant destroys all you have urged before; +Honour could not give this, or can give more. +Our women in the foremost ranks appear; +March to the fight, and meet your mistress there: +Into the thickest squadrons she must run, +Kill her, and see what honour will be won. + +_Cyd_. I must he in the battle, but I'll go +With empty quiver, and unbended bow; +Not draw an arrow in this fatal strife, +For fear its point should reach your noble life. + +_Enter_ PIZARRO. + +_Cort_. No more: your kindness wounds me to the death: +Honour, be gone! what art thou but a breath? +I'll live, proud of my infamy and shame, +Graced with no triumph but a lover's name; +Men can but say, love did his reason blind, +And love's the noblest frailty of the mind.-- +Draw off my men; the war's already done. + +_Piz_. Your orders come too late, the fight's begun; +The enemy gives on, with fury led, +And fierce Orbellan combats at their head. + +_Cort_. He justly fears, a peace with me would +prove +Of ill concernment to his haughty love; +Retire, fair excellence! I go to meet +New honour, but to lay it at your feet. + +[_Exeunt_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, _and_ PIZARRO.] + +_Enter_ ODMAR _and_ GUTOMAR, _to_ ALIBECH _and_ +CYDARIA. + +_Odm_. Now, madam, since a danger does appear +Worthy my courage, though below my fear; +Give leave to him, who may in battle die, +Before his death, to ask his destiny. + +_Guy_. He cannot die, whom you command to live; +Before the fight, you can the conquest give; +Speak, where you'll place it? + +_Alib_. Briefly, then, to both, +One I in secret love, the other loathe; +But where I hate, my hate I will not show, +And he, I love, my love shall never know; +True worth shall gain me, that it may be said, +Desert, not fancy, once a woman led. +He who, in fight, his courage shall oppose, +With most success, against his country's foes, +From me shall all that recompence receive, +That valour merits, or that love can give. +'Tis true, my hopes and fears are all for one, +But hopes and fears are to myself alone. +Let him not shun the danger of the strife; +I but his love, his country claims his life. + +_Odm_. All obstacles my courage shall remove. + +_Guy_. Fall on, fall on. + +_Odm_. For liberty! + +_Guy_. For love! + +[_Exeunt, the women following_. + + +SCENE III.--_Changes to the Indian country_. + +_Enter_ Montezuma, _attended by the Indians_. + + +_Mont_. Charge, charge! their ground the faint Taxallans yield! +Bold in close ambush, base in open field. +The envious devil did my fortune wrong:-- +Thus fought, thus conquered I, when I was young. + +[_Exit_. + +_Alarm. Enter CORTEZ bloody_. + +_Cort_. Furies pursue these false Taxallans' flight; +Dare they be friends to us, and dare not fight? +What friends can cowards be, what hopes appear +Of help from such, who, where they hate, show fear! + +_Enter_ PIZARRO _and_ VASQUEZ. + +_Piz_. The field grows thin; and those, that now remain, +Appear but like the shadows of the slain. + +_Vasq_. The fierce old king is vanished from the place, +And, in a cloud of dust, pursues the chase. + +_Cort_. Their eager chase disordered does appear, +Command our horse to charge them in the rear: + [_To_ PIZARRO. +You to our old Castilian foot retire, [_To_ VASQ. +Who yet stand firm, and at their backs give fire. + [_Exeunt severally._ + + +SCENE IV. + +_Enter_ ODMAR _and_ GUTOMAR, _meeting each other in the +battle_. + +_Odm_. Where hast thou been, since first the fight began, +Thou less than woman in the shape of man? + +_Guy_. Where I have done what may thy envy move, +Things worthy of my birth, and of my love. + +_Odm_. Two bold Taxallans with one dart I slew, +And left it sticking ere my sword I drew. + +_Guy_. I sought not honour on so base a train, +Such cowards by our women may be slain; +I felled along a man of bearded face, +His limbs all covered with a shining case: +So wondrous hard, and so secure of wound, +It made my sword, though edged with flint, re-bound. + +_Odm_. I killed a double man; the one half lay +Upon the ground, the other ran away. + +[_Guns go off within. + +Enter_ Montezuma, _out of breath, with him_ Alibech, _and an +Indian_. + +_Mont_. All is lost!-- +Our foes with lightning and with thunder fight; +My men in vain shun death by shameful flight: +For deaths invisible come winged with fire, +They hear a dreadful noise, and strait expire. +Take, gods! that soul, ye did in spite create, +And made it great, to be unfortunate: +Ill fate for me unjustly you provide, +Great souls are sparks of your own heavenly pride: +That lust of power we from your godheads have, +You're bound to please those appetites you gave. + +_Enter_ Vasquez _and_ Pizarro, _with Spaniards._ + +_Vasq_. Pizarro, I have hunted hard to-day, +Into our toils, the noblest of the prey; +Seize on the king, and him your prisoner make, +While I, in kind revenge, my taker take. + +[Pizarro, _with two, goes to attack the king_. Vasquez, _with +another, to seize_ Alibech. + +_Guy_. Their danger is alike;--whom shall I free? + +_Odm_. I'll follow love! + +_Guy_. I'll follow piety! + +[Odmar _retreats from_ Vasquez, _with_ Alibech, _off the +stage_; Guyomar _fights for his father_. + +_Guy_. Fly, sir! while I give back that life you gave; +Mine is well lost, if I your life can save. + +[Montezuma _fights off_; Guyomar, _making his retreat, stays_. + +_Guy_. Tis more than man can do to scape them all; +Stay, let me see where noblest I may fall. + +[_He runs at_ Vasquez, _is seized behind and taken_. + +_Vasq_. Conduct him off, +And give command, he strictly guarded be. + +_Guy_. In vain are guards, death sets the valiant free. + + +[_Exit_ Guyomar, _with guards_. + +_Vasq_. A glorious day! and bravely was it fought; +Great fame our general in great dangers sought; +From his strong arm I saw his rival run, +And, in a crowd, the unequal combat shun. + +_Enter_ Cortez _leading_ Cydaria, _who seems crying and +begging of him_. + +_Cort_. Man's force is fruitless, and your gods would fail +To save the city, but your tears prevail; +I'll of my fortune no advantage make, +Those terms, they had once given, they still may take. + +_Cyd_. Heaven has of right all victory designed, +Where boundless power dwells in a will confined; +Your Spanish honour does the world excel. + +_Cort_. Our greatest honour is in loving well. + +_Cyd_. Strange ways you practise there, to win a heart; +Here love is nature, but with you 'tis art. + +_Cort_. Love is with us as natural as here, +But fettered up with customs more severe. +In tedious courtship we declare our pain, +And, ere we kindness find, first meet disdain. + +_Cyd_. If women love, they needless pains endure; +Their pride and folly but delay their cure. + +_Cort_. What you miscall their folly, is their care; +They know how fickle common lovers are: +Their oaths and vows are cautiously believed, +For few there are but have been once deceived. + +_Cyd_. But if they are not trusted when they vow, +What other marks of passion can they show? + +_Cort_. With feasts, and music, all that brings delight, +Men treat their ears, their palates, and their sight. + +_Cyd_. Your gallants, sure, have little eloquence, +Failing to move the soul, they court the sense: +With pomp, and trains, and in a crowd they woo, +When true felicity is but in two; +But can such toys your women's passions move? +This is but noise and tumult, 'tis not love. + +_Cort_. I have no reason, madam, to excuse +Those ways of gallantry, I did not use; +My love was true, and on a nobler score. + +_Cyd_. Your love, alas! then have you loved before? + +_Cort_. 'Tis true I loved, but she is dead, she's dead; +And I should think with her all beauty fled, +Did not her fair resemblance live in you, +And, by that image, my first flames renew. + +_Cyd_. Ah! happy beauty, whosoe'er thou art! +Though dead, thou keep'st possession of his heart; +Thou makest me jealous to the last degree, +And art my rival in his memory: +Within his memory! ah, more than so, +Thou livest and triumph'st o'er Cydaria too. + +_Cort_. What strange disquiet has uncalmed your breast, +Inhuman fair, to rob the dead of rest!-- +Poor heart! she slumbers in her silent tomb; +Let her possess in peace that narrow room. + +_Cyd_. Poor heart!--he pities and bewails her death!-- +Some god, much hated soul, restore thy breath, +That I may kill thee; but, some ease 'twill be, +I'll kill myself for but resembling thee. + +_Cort_. I dread your anger, your disquiet fear, +But blows, from hands so soft, who would not bear? +So kind a passion why should I remove? +Since jealousy but shows how well we love. +Yet jealousy so strange I never knew; +Can she, who loves me not, disquiet you? +For in the grave no passions fill the breast, +'Tis all we gain by death, to be at rest. + +_Cyd_. That she no longer loves, brings no relief; +Your love to her still lives, and that's my grief. + +_Cort_. The object of desire once ta'en away, +'Tis then not love, but pity, which we pay. + +_Cyd_. 'Tis such a pity I should never have, +When I must lie forgotten in the grave; +I meant to have obliged you, when I died, +That, after me, you should love none beside.-- +But you are false already. + +_Cort_. If untrue, +By heaven! my falsehood is to her, not you. + +_Cyd_. Observe, sweet heaven, how falsely he does swear!-- +You said, you loved me for resembling her. + +_Cort_. That love was in me by resemblance bred, +But shows you cheared my sorrows for the dead. + +_Cyd_. You still repeat the greatness of your grief. + +_Cort_. If that was great, how great was the relief! + +_Cyd_. The first love still the strongest we account. + +_Cort_. That seems more strong which could the first surmount: +But if you still continue thus unkind, +Whom I love best, you, by my death, shall find. + +_Cyd_. If you should die, my death shall yours pursue; +But yet I am not satisfied you're true. + +_Cort_. Hear me, ye gods! and punish him you hear, +If aught within the world I hold so dear. + +_Cyd_. You would deceive the gods and me; she's dead, +And is not in the world, whose love I dread.-- +Name not the world; say, nothing is so dear. + +_Cort_. Then nothing is,--let that secure your fear. + +_Cyd_. 'Tis time must wear it off, but I must go. +Can you your constancy in absence show? + +_Cort_. Misdoubt my constancy, and do not try, +But stay, and keep me ever in your eye. + +_Cyd_. If as a prisoner I were here, you might +Have then insisted on a conqueror's right, +And staid me here; but now my love would be +The effect of force, and I would give it free. + +_Cort_. To doubt your virtue, or your love, were sin! +Call for the captive prince, and bring him in. + +_Enter_ Guyomar, _bound and sad_. + +You look, sir, as your fate you could not bear: +[_To_ Guy. +Are Spanish fetters, then, so hard to wear? +Fortune's unjust, she ruins oft the brave, +And him, who should be victor, makes the slave. + +_Guy_. Son of the sun! my fetters cannot be +But glorious for me, since put on by thee; +The ills of love, not those of fate, I fear; +These can I brave, but those I cannot bear: +My rival brother, while I'm held in chains, +In freedom reaps the fruit of all my pains. + +_Cort_. Let it be never said that he, whose breast +Is filled with love, should break a lover's rest.-- +Haste! lose no time!--your sister sets you free:-- +And tell the king, my generous enemy, +I offer still those terms he had before, +Only ask leave his daughter to adore. + +_Guy_. Brother, (that name my breast shall ever own, + [_He embraces him_. +The name of foe be but in battles known;) +For some few days all hostile acts forbear, +That, if the king consents, it seem not fear: +His heart, is noble, and great souls must be +Most sought and courted in adversity.-- +Three days, I hope, the wished success will tell. + +_Cyd_. Till that long time,-- + +_Cort_. Till that long time, farewell. + +[_Exeunt severally_. + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_A Chamber Royal_. + +_Enter_ ODMAR _and_ ALIBECH. + + +_Odm_. The gods, fair Alibech, had so decreed, +Nor could my valour against fate succeed; +Yet though our army brought not conquest home, +I did not from the fight inglorious come: +If, as a victor, you the brave regard, +Successless courage, then, may hope reward; +And I, returning safe, may justly boast, +To win the prize which my dear brother lost. + +_Enter_ GUYOMAR _behind him_. + +_Guy_. No, no, thy brother lives! and lives to be +A witness, both against himself and thee; +Though both in safety are returned again, +I blush to ask her love for vanquished men. + +_Odm_. Brother, I'll not dispute but you are brave; +Yet I was free, and you, it seems, a slave. + +_Guy_. Odmar, 'tis true that I was captive led; +As publicly 'tis known, as that you fled: +But of two shames, if she must one partake, +I think the choice will not be hard to make. + +_Odm_. Freedom and bondage in her choice remain; +Darest thou expect she will put on thy chain? + +_Guy_. No, no, fair Alibech, give him the crown, +My brother is returned with high renown: +He thinks by flight his mistress must be won, +And claims the prize, because he best did run. + +_Alib_. Your chains were glorious, and your flight was wise, +But neither have o'ercome your enemies: +My secret wishes would my choice decide, +But open justice bends to neither side. + +_Odm_. Justice already does my right approve, +If him, who loves you most, you most should love. +My brother poorly from your aid withdrew, +But I my father left, to succour you. + +_Guy_. Her country she did to herself prefer, +Him who fought best, not who defended her; +Since she her interest, for the nation's, waved, +Then I, who saved the king, the nation saved. +You, aiding her, your country did betray; +I, aiding him, did her commands obey. + +_Odm_. Name it no more; in love there is a time +When dull obedience is the greatest crime. +She to her country's use resigned your sword, +And you, kind lover, took her at her word; +You did your duty to your love prefer, +Seek your reward from duty, not from her. + +_Guy_. In acting what my duty did require, +'Twas hard for me to quit my own desire; +That fought for her, which, when I did subdue, +'Twas much the easier task I left to you. + +_Alib_. Odmar a more than common love has shown, +And Guyomar's was greater, or was none; +Which I should chuse, some god direct my breast. +The certain good, or the uncertain best.-- +I cannot chuse,--you both dispute in vain,-- +Time and your future acts must make it plain; +First raise the siege, and set your country free, +I, not the judge, but the reward, will be. + +_To them, Enter_ MONTEZUMA, _talking with_ ALMERIA +_and_ ORBELLAN. + +_Mont_. Madam, I think, with reason, I extol +The virtue of the Spanish general; +When all the gods our ruin have foretold, +Yet generously he does his arms withhold, +And, offering peace, the first conditions make. + +_Alm_. When peace is offered, 'tis too late to take; +For one poor loss, to stoop to terms like those!-- +Were we o'ercome, what could they worse impose? +Go, go, with homage your proud victors meet! +Go, lie like dogs beneath your masters' feet! +Go, and beget them slaves to dig their mines, +And groan for gold, which now in temples shines! +Your shameful story shall record of me, +The men all crouched, and left a woman free! + +_Guy_. Had I not fought, or durst not fight again, +I my suspected counsel should refrain; +For I wish peace, and any terms prefer, +Before the last extremities of war. +We but exasperate those we cannot harm, +And fighting gains us but to die more warm: +If that be cowardice, which dares not see +The insolent effects of victory, +The rape of matrons, and their childrens cries,-- +Then I am fearful, let the brave advise. + +_Odm_. Keen cutting swords, and engines killing far, +Have prosperously begun a doubtful war: +But now our foes with less advantage fight, +Their strength decreases with our Indians' fright. + +_Mont_. This noble vote does with my wish comply,-- +I am for war. + +_Alm_. And so am I. + +_Orb_. And I. + +_Mont_. Then send to break the truce, and I'll take care +To chear the soldiers, and for fight prepare. + +[_Exeunt_ MONT. ODM. GUY. _and_ ALIB. + +_Alm_. to _Orb_. 'Tis now the hour which all to rest allow, +And sleep sits heavy upon every brow; +In this dark silence softly leave the town, + [GUYOMAR _returns, and hears them_. +And to the general's tent,--'tis quickly known,-- +Direct your steps: You may despatch him: strait, +Drowned in his sleep, and easy for his fate: +Besides, the truce will make the guards more slack. + +_Orb_. Courage, which leads me on, will bring me back.-- +But I more fear the baseness of the thing: +Remorse, you know, bears a perpetual sting. + +_Alm_. For mean remorse no room the valiant find, +Repentance is the virtue of weak minds; +For want of judgment keeps them doubtful still, +They may repent of good, who can of ill; +But daring courage makes ill actions good, +'Tis foolish pity spares a rival's blood; +You shall about it strait. + +[_Exeunt_ ALM. _and_ ORB. + +_Guy_. Would they betray +His sleeping virtue, by so mean a way!-- +And yet this Spaniard is our nation's foe,-- +I wish him dead,--but cannot wish it so;-- +Either my country never must be freed, +Or I consenting to so black a deed.-- +Would chance had never led my steps this way! +Now if he dies, I murder him, not they;-- +Something must be resolved ere 'tis too late;-- +He gave me freedom, I'll prevent his fate. + +[_Exit_. + + +SCENE II.--_A Camp_. + +_Enter CORTEZ alone, in a night-gown_. + + +_Cort_. All things are hushed, as nature's self lay dead; +The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head; +The little birds, in dreams, their songs repeat, +And sleeping flowers beneath the night-dew sweat. +Even lust and envy sleep; yet love denies +Rest to my soul, and slumber to my eyes.-- +Three days I promised to attend my doom, +And two long days and nights are yet to come:-- +'Tis sure the noise of some tumultuous fight, + [_Noise within_. +They break the truce, and sally out by night. + +_Enter_ ORBELLAN, _flying in the dark, his sword +drawn_. + +_Orb_. Betrayed! pursued! O, whither shall I fly? +See, see! the just reward of treachery!-- +I'm sure among the tents, but know not where; +Even night wants darkness to secure my fear. + +[_Comes near_ CORTEZ, _who hears him_. + +_Cort_. Stand! who goes there? + +_Orb_. Alas, what shall I say?-- + [_Aside_. +A poor Taxallan that mistook his way, +And wanders in the terrors of the night. + +_Cort_. Soldier, thou seem'st afraid; whence comes thy fright? + +_Orb_. The insolence of Spaniards caused my fear, +Who in the dark pursued me entering here. + +_Cort_. Their crimes shall meet immediate punishment, +But stay thou safe within the general's tent. + +_Orb_. Still worse and worse. + +_Cort_. Fear not, but follow me; +Upon my life I'll set thee safe and free. + +[CORTEZ _leads him in, and returns. +To him_ VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _and Spaniards with Torches_. + +_Vasq_. O sir, thank heaven, and your brave Indian friend, +That you are safe; Orbellan did intend +This night to kill you sleeping in your tent: +But Guyomar his trusty slave has sent, +Who, following close his silent steps by night, +Till in our camp they both approached the light, +Cried-_Seize the traitor, seize the murtherer_! +The cruel villain fled I know not where; +But far he is not, for he this way bent. + +_Piz_. The enraged soldiers seek, from tent to tent, +With lighted torches, and in love to you, +With bloody vows his hated life pursue. + +_Vasq_. This messenger does, since he came, relate, +That the old king, after a long debate, +By his imperious mistress blindly led, +Has given Cydaria to Orbellan's bed. + +_Cort_. Vasquez, the trusty slave with you retain; +Retire a while, I'll call you back again. + [_Exeunt_ VASQ. _and_ PIZ. + CORTEZ _at his tent door_. +Indian, come forth; your enemies are gone, +And I, who saved you from them, here alone. + + _Enter ORBELLAN, holding his face aside_. + +You hide your face, as you were still afraid: +Dare you not look on him, who gave you aid? + +_Orb_. Moon, slip behind some cloud, some tempest, rise, +And blow out all the stars that light the skies, +To shrowd my shame! + +_Cort_. In vain you turn aside, +And hide your face; your name you cannot hide: +I know my rival and his black design. + +_Orb_. Forgive it, as my passion's fault, not mine. + +_Cort_. In your excuse your love does little say; +You might, howe'er, have took a fairer way. + +_Orb_. 'Tis true, my passion small defence can make; +Yet you must spare me for your honour's sake, +That was engaged to set me safe and free. + +_Cort_. 'Twas to a stranger, not an enemy: +Nor is it prudence to prolong thy breath, +When all my hopes depend upon thy death; +Yet none shall tax me with base perjury: +Something I'll do, both for myself and thee; +With vowed revenge my soldiers search each tent, +If thou art seen, none can thy death prevent; +Follow my steps with silence and with haste. + + +SCENE III. + +_They go out, the Scene changes to the Indian Country, they +return_. + +_Cort_. Now you are safe, you have my outguards past. + +_Orb_. Then here I take my leave. + +_Cort_. Orbellan, no; +When you return, you to Cydaria go: +I'll send a message. + +_Orb_. Let it be exprest; +I am in haste. + +_Cort_. I'll write it in your breast. + +[_Draws_. + +_Orb_. What means my rival? + +_Cort_. Either fight or die, +I'll not strain honour to a point too high; +I saved your life, and keep it if you can, +Cydaria shall be for the bravest man; +On equal terms you shall your fortune try, +Take this, and lay your flint-edged weapon by; + [_Gives him a sword_. +I'll arm you for my glory, and pursue +No palm, but what's to manly virtue due. +Fame, with my conquest, shall my courage tell. +This you shall gain, by placing love so well. + +_Orb_. Fighting with you, ungrateful I appear. + +_Cort_. Under that shadow, thou would'st hide thy fear: +Thou would'st possess thy love at thy return, +And in her arms my easy virtue scorn. + +_Orb_. Since we must fight, no longer let's delay; +The moon shines clear, and makes a paler day. + +[_They fight_, ORBELLAN_ is wounded in the hand, + his sword falls out of it_. + +_Cort_. To courage, even of foes, there's pity due; +It was not I, but fortune, vanquished you: + [_Throws his sword again_. +Thank me with that, and so dispute the prize, +As if you fought before Cydaria's eyes. + +_Orb_. I would not poorly such a gift requite; +You gave me not this sword to yield, but fight: + [_He strives to hold it, but cannot_. +But see, where yours has forced its bloody way; +My wounded hand my heart does ill obey. + +_Cort_. Unlucky honour, that controul'st my will? +Why have I vanquished, since I must not kill? +Fate sees thy life lodged in a brittle glass, +And looks it through, but to it cannot pass. + + +_Orb_. All I can do is frankly to confess,-- +I wish I could, but cannot, love her less: +To swear I would resign her, were but vain, +Love would recal that perjured breath again; +And in my wretched case, 'twill be more just, +Not to have promised, than deceive your trust. +Know, if I live once more to see the town, +In bright Cydaria's arms my love I'll crown. + +_Cort_. In spite of that, I give thee liberty, +And with thy person leave thy honour free; +But to thy wishes move a speedy pace, +Or death will soon o'ertake thee in the chase.-- +To arms, to arms; fate shows my love the way, +I'll force the city on thy nuptial day. + +[_Exeunt severally_. + + +SCENE IV.--Mexico. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, ALMERIA. + + +_Mont_. It moves my wonder, that in two days space, +This early famine spreads so swift a pace. + +_Odm_. 'Tis, sir, the general cry; nor seems it strange, +The face of plenty should so swiftly change: +This city never felt a siege before, +But from the lake received its daily store; +Which now shut up, and millions crowded here, +Famine will soon in multitudes appear. + +_Mont_. The more the number, still the greater shame. + +_Alm_. What if some one should seek immortal fame, +By ending of the siege at one brave blow? + +_Mont_. That were too happy! + +_Alm_. Yet it may be so. +What if the Spanish general should be slain? + +_Guy_. Just heavens I hope, does otherwise ordain. + +[_Aside_. + +_Mont_. If slain by treason, I lament his death. + +_Enter_ ORBELLAN, _and whispers his sister_. + +_Odm_. Orbellan seems in haste, and out of breath. + +_Mont_. Orbellan, welcome; you are early here, +A bridegroom's haste does in your looks appear. + +[ALMERIA _aside to her brother_. + +_Alm_. Betrayed! no, 'twas thy cowardice and fear; +He had not 'scaped with life, had I been there: +But since so ill you act a brave design, +Keep close your shame;--fate makes the next turn mine. + +_Enter_ ALIBECH _and_ CYDARIA. + +_Alib_. O sir, if ever pity touched your breast, +Let it be now to your own blood exprest: +In tears your beauteous daughter drowns her sight, +Silent as dews that fall in dead of night. + +_Cyd_. To your commands I strict obedience owe, +And my last act of it I come to show: +I want the heart to die before your eyes, +But grief will finish that which fear denies. + +_Alm_. Your will should by your father's precept move. + +_Cyd_. When he was young, he taught me truth in love. + +_Alm_. He found more love than he deserved, 'tis true, +And that, it seems, is lucky too to you; +Your father's folly took a headstrong course, +But I'll rule yours, and teach you love by force. + +_Enter Messenger_. + +_Mess_. Arm, arm, O king! the enemy comes on, +A sharp assault already is begun; +Their murdering guns play fiercely on the walls. + +_Odm_. Now, rival, let us run where honour calls. + +_Guy_. I have discharged what gratitude did owe, +And the brave Spaniard is again my foe. + +[_Exeunt_ ODMAR _and_ GUYOMAR. + +_Mont_. Our walls are high, and multitudes defend: +Their vain attempt must in their ruin end; +The nuptials with my presence shall be graced. + +_Alib_. At least but stay 'till the assault be past. + +_Alm_. Sister, in vain you urge him to delay, +The king has promised, and he shall obey. + +_Enter second Messenger_. + +_2 Mess_. From several parts the enemy's repelled, +One only quarter to the assault does yield. + +_Enter third Messenger_. + +_3 Mess_. Some foes are entered, but they are so few, +They only death, not victory, pursue. + +_Orb_. Hark, hark, they shout! +From virtue's rules I do too meanly swerve, +I, by my courage, will your love deserve. + +[_Exit_. + +_Mont_. Here, in the heart of all the town, I'll stay; +And timely succour, where it wants, convey. + +_A noise within. Enter_ ORBELLAN, _Indians driven +in_, CORTEZ _after them, and one or two Spaniards_. + +_Cort_. He's found, he's found! degenerate coward, stay: +Night saved thee once, thou shalt not scape by day. + +[_Kills_ ORBELLAN. + +_Orb_. O, I am killed-- + +[_Dies_. + +_Enter_ GUYOMAR _and_ ODMAR. + +_Guy_. Yield, generous stranger, and preserve your life; +Why chuse you death in this unequal strife? + +[_He is beset_. + +[ALMERIA _and_ ALIBECH _fall on_ ORBELLAN'S _body_. + +_Cort_. What nobler fate could any lover meet? +I fall revenged, and at my mistress' feet. + +[_They fall on him, and bear him down_, GUYOMAR _takes his sword_. + +_Alib_. He's past recovery; my dear brother's slain, +Fate's hand was in it, and my care is vain. + +_Alm_. In weak complaints you vainly waste your breath: +They are not tears that can revenge his death. +Despatch the villain strait. + +_Cort_. The villain's dead. + +_Alm_. Give me a sword, and let me take his head. + +_Mont_. Though, madam, for your brother's loss I grieve, +Yet let me beg-- + +_Alm_. His murderer may live? + +_Cyd_. 'Twas his misfortune, and the chance of war. + +_Cort_. It was my purpose, and I killed him fair: +How could you so unjust and cruel prove, +To call that chance, which was the act of love? + +_Cyd_. I called it any thing to save your life: +Would he were living still, and I his wife! +That wish was once my greatest misery: +But 'tis a greater to behold you die. + +_Alm_. Either command his death upon the place, +Or never more behold Almeria's face. + +_Guy_. You by his valour once from death were freed: +Can you forget so generous a deed? + +[_To_ MONTEZUMA. + +_Mont_. How gratitude and love divide my breast! +Both ways alike my soul is robbed of rest. +But--let him die--Can I his sentence give? +Ungrateful, must he die, by whom I live? +But can I then Almeria's tears deny? +Should any live whom she commands to die? + +_Guy_. Approach who dares: He yielded on my word; +And, as my prisoner, I restore his sword. + [_Gives his sword_. +His life concerns the safety of the state, +And I'll preserve it for a calm debate. + +_Mont_. Dar'st thou rebel, false and degenerate boy? +That being, which I gave, I thus destroy. + +[_Offers to kill him_, ODMAR _steps between_. + +_Odm_. My brother's blood I cannot see you spill, +Since he prevents you but from doing ill. +He is my rival, but his death would be +For him too glorious, and too base for me. + +_Guy_. Thou shalt not conquer in this noble strife: +Alas, I meant not to defend my life: +Strike, sir, you never pierced a breast more true; +'Tis the last wound I e'er can take for you. +You see I live but to dispute your will; +Kill me, and then you may my prisoner kill. + +_Cort_. You shall not, generous youths, contend for me: +It is enough that I your honour see: +But that your duty may no blemish take, +I will myself your father's captive make: + [_Gives his sword to_ MONTEZUMA. +When he dares strike, I am prepared to fall: +The Spaniards will revenge their general. + +_Cyd_. Ah, you too hastily your life resign, +You more would love it, if you valued mine! + +_Cort_. Despatch me quickly, I my death forgive; +I shall grow tender else, and wish to live; +Such an infectious face her sorrow wears, +I can bear death, but not Cydaria's tears. + +_Alm_. Make haste, make haste, they merit death all three: +They for rebellion, and for murder he. +See, see, my brother's ghost hangs hovering there +O'er his warm blood, that steams into the air; +Revenge, revenge, it cries. + +_Mont_. And it shall have; +But two days respite for his life I crave: +If in that space you not more gentle prove, +I'll give a fatal proof how well I love. +'Till when, you, Guyomar, your prisoner take; +Bestow him in the castle on the lake: +In that small time I shall the conquest gain +Of these few sparks of virtue which remain; +Then all, who shall my headlong passion see, +Shall curse my crimes, and yet shall pity me. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I.--_A prison_. + +_Enter_ ALMERIA _and an Indian; they speak entering_. + + +_Ind_. A dangerous proof of my respect I show. + +_Alm_. Fear not, Prince Guyomar shall never know: +While he is absent let us not delay; +Remember 'tis the king thou dost obey. + +_Ind_. See where he sleeps. + +[CORTEZ _appears chained and laid asleep_. + +_Alm_.--Without, my coming wait; +And, on thy life, secure the prison gate. + +[_Exit Indian_. + +[_She plucks out a dagger, and approaches him_. + +Spaniard, awake: thy fatal hour is come: +Thou shalt not at such ease receive thy doom. +Revenge is sure, though sometimes slowly paced: +Awake, awake, or, sleeping, sleep thy last. + +_Cort_. Who names revenge? + +_Alm_.--Look up, and thou shalt see. + +_Cort_. I cannot fear so fair an enemy. + +_Alm_. No aid is nigh, nor canst thou make defence: +Whence can thy courage come? + +_Cort_.--From innocence. + +_Alm_. From innocence? let that then take thy part. +Still are thy looks assured--have at thy heart! + [_Holds up the dagger_. +I cannot kill thee; sure thou bear'st some charm, + [_Goes back_. +Or some divinity holds back my arm. +Why do I thus delay to make him bleed? + [_Aside_. +Can I want courage for so brave a deed? +I've shook it off; my soul is free from fear. + [_Comes again_. +And I can now strike any where--but here: +His scorn of death, how strangely does it move! +A mind so haughty who could chuse but love! + [_Goes off_. +Plead not a charm, or any god's command, +Alas, it is thy heart that holds thy hand: +In spite of me I love, and see, too late, +My mother's pride must find my mother's fate. +--Thy country's foe, thy brother's murderer,-- +For shame, Almeria, such mad thoughts forbear: +It w'onnot be,--if I once more come on, + [_Coming on again_. +I shall mistake the breast, and pierce my own. + +[_Comes with her dagger down_. + +_Cort_. Does your revenge maliciously forbear +To give me death, 'till 'tis prepared by fear? +If you delay for that, forbear or strike, +Foreseen and sudden death are both alike. + +_Alm_. To show my love would but increase his pride: +They have most power, who most their passions hide. + [_Aside_. +Spaniard, I must confess, I did expect +You could not meet your death with such neglect; +I will defer it now, and give you time: +You may repent, and I forget your crime. + +_Cort_. Those, who repent, acknowledge they do ill: +I did not unprovoked your brother kill. + +_Alm_. Petition me, perhaps I may forgive. + +_Cort_. Who begs his life does not deserve to live. + +_Alm_. But if 'tis given, you'll not refuse to take? + +_Cort_. I can live gladly for Cydaria's sake. + +_Alm_. Does she so wholly then possess your mind? +What if you should another lady find, +Equal to her in birth, and far above +In all that can attract, or keep your love, +Would you so doat upon your first desire, +As not to entertain a nobler fire? + +_Cort_. I think that person hardly will be found, +With gracious form and equal virtue crowned: +Yet if another could precedence claim, +My fixed desires could find no fairer aim. + +_Alm_. Dull ignorance! he cannot yet conceive: +To speak more plain, shame will not give me leave. + [_Aside_. +--Suppose one loved you, whom even kings adore: + [_To him_. +Who, with your life, your freedom would restore, +And add to that the crown of Mexico: +Would you, for her, Cydaria's love forego? + +_Cort_. Though she could offer all you can invent, +I could not of my faith, once vowed, repent. + +_Alm_. A burning blush has covered all my face; +Why am I forced to publish my disgrace? +What if I love? you know it cannot be, +And yet I blush to put the case--'twere me. +If I could love you with a flame so true, +I could forget what hand my brother slew-- +--Make out the rest--I am disordered so, +I know not farther what to say or do: +--But answer me to what you think I meant. + +_Cort_. Reason or wit no answer can invent: +Of words confused who can the meaning find? + +_Alm_. Disordered words show a distempered mind. + +_Cort_. She has obliged me so, that could I chuse, +I would not answer what I must refuse. [_Aside_. + +_Alm_. His mind is shook--suppose I loved you, speak, +Would you for me Cydaria's fetters break? + +_Cort_. Things, meant in jest, no serious answer need. + +_Alm_. But, put the case that it were so indeed. + +_Cort_. If it were so,--which but to think were pride,-- +My constant love would dangerously be tried: +For since you could a brother's death forgive, +He, whom you save, for you alone should live: +But I, the most unhappy of mankind, +Ere I knew yours, have all my love resigned: +'Tis my own loss I grieve, who have no more: +You go a-begging to a bankrupt's door. +Yet could I change, as sure I never can, +How could you love so infamous a man? +For love, once given from her, and placed in you, +Would leave no ground I ever could be true. + +_Alm_. You construed me aright--I was in jest: +And, by that offer, meant to sound your breast; +Which since I find so constant to your love, +Will much my value of your worth improve. +Spaniard, assure yourself you shall not be +Obliged to quit Cydaria for me: +'Tis dangerous though to treat me in this sort, +And to refuse my offers, though in sport. [_Exit_. + +_Cort_. In what a strange condition am I left? +More than I wish I have, of all I wish bereft! +In wishing nothing, we enjoy still most; +For even our wish is, in possession, lost: +Restless, we wander to a new desire, +And burn ourselves, by blowing up the fire: +We toss and turn about our feverish will, +When all our ease must come by lying still: +For all the happiness mankind can gain +Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain. + [_Goes in, and the scene closes upon him_. + + +SCENE II.--_Chamber-royal_. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, _and_ +ALIBECH. + + +_Mont_. My ears are deaf with this impatient crowd. + +_Odm_. Their wants are now grown mutinous and loud: +The general's taken, but the siege remains; +And their last food our dying men sustains. + +_Guy_. One means is only left. I to this hour +Have kept the captive from Almeria's power; +And though, by your command, she often sent +To urge his doom, do still his death prevent. + +_Mont_. That hope is past: Him I have oft assailed; +But neither threats nor kindness have prevailed; +Hiding our wants, I offered to release +His chains, and equally conclude a peace: +He fiercely answered, I had now no way +But to submit, and without terms obey: +I told him, he in chains demanded more +Than he imposed in victory before: +He sullenly replied, he could not make +These offers now; honour must give, not take. + +_Odm_. Twice have I sallied, and was twice beat back: +What desp'rate course remains for us to take! + +_Mont_. If either death or bondage I must chuse, +I'll keep my freedom, though my life I lose. + +_Guy_. I'll not upbraid you, that you once refused +Those means, you might have then with honour used; +I'll lead your men, perhaps bring victory: +They know to conquer best, who know to die. + [_Exeunt_ MONTEZUMA _and_ ODMAR. + +_Alib_. Ah me, what have I heard! stay, Guyomar, +What hope you from this sally you prepare? + +_Guy_. A death, with honour, for my country's good: +A death, to which yourself designed my blood. + +_Alib_. You heard, and I well know the town's distress, +Which sword and famine both at once oppress: +Famine so fierce, that what's denied man's use, +Even deadly plants, and herbs of poisonous juice, +Wild hunger seeks; and, to prolong our breath, +We greedily devour our certain death: +The soldier in th' assault of famine falls: +And ghosts, not men, are watching on the walls. +As callow birds-- +Whose mother's killed in seeking of the prey, +Cry in their nest, and think her long away; +And at each leaf that stirs, each blast of wind, +Gape for the food, which they must never find: +So cry the people in their misery. + +_Guy_. And what relief can they expect from me? + +_Alib_. While Montezuma sleeps, call in the foe: +The captive general your design may know: +His noble heart, to honour ever true, +Knows how to spare as well as to subdue. + +_Guy_. What I have heard I blush to hear: And grieve, +Those words you spoke I must your words believe. +I to do this! I, whom you once thought brave, +To sell my country, and my king enslave? +All I have done by one foul act deface, +And yield my right to you, by turning base? +What more could Odmar wish that I should do, +To lose your love, than you persuade me to? +No, madam, no, I never can commit +A deed so ill, nor can you suffer it: +'Tis but to try what virtue you can find +Lodged in my soul. + +_Alib_. I plainly speak my mind; +Dear as my life my virtue I'll preserve, +But virtue you too scrupulously serve: +I loved not more than now my country's good, +When for its service I employed your blood: +But things are altered, I am still the same, +By different ways still moving to one fame; +And by disarming you, I now do more +To save the town, than arming you before. + +_Guy_. Things good or ill by circumstances be, +In you 'tis virtue, what is vice in me. + +_Alib_. That ill is pardoned, which does good procure. + +_Guy_. The good's uncertain, but the ill is sure. + +_Alib_. When kings grow stubborn, slothful, or unwise, +Each private man for public good should rise. + +_Guy_. Take heed, fair maid, how monarchs you accuse: +Such reasons none but impious rebels use: +Those, who to empire by dark paths aspire, +Still plead a call to what they most desire; +But kings by free consent their kingdoms take, +Strict as those sacred ties which nuptials make; +And whate'er faults in princes time reveal, +None can be judge where can be no appeal. + +_Alib_. In all debates you plainly let me see +You love your virtue best, but Odmar me: +Go, your mistaken piety pursue: +I'll have from him what is denied by you; +With my commands you shall no more be graced. +Remember, sir, this trial was your last. + +_Guy_. The gods inspire you with a better mind; +Make you more just, and make you then more kind! +But though from virtue's rules I cannot part, +Think I deny you with a bleeding heart: +'Tis hard with me whatever choice I make; +I must not merit you, or must forsake: +But, in this strait, to honour I'll be true, +And leave my fortune to the gods and you. + +_Enter Messenger privately_. + +_Mess_. Now is the time; be aiding to your fate; +From the watch-tower, above the western-gate, +I have discerned the foe securely lie, +Too proud to fear a beaten enemy: +Their careless chiefs to the cool grottoes run, +The bowers of kings, to shade them from the sun. + +_Guy_. Upon thy life disclose thy news to none; +I'll make the conquest or the shame my own. + [_Exeunt_ GUYOMAR _and Messenger_. + +_Enter_ ODMAR. + +_Alib_. I read some welcome message in his eye: +Prince Odmar comes: I'll see if he'll deny.-- +Odmar, I come to tell you pleasing news; +I begged a thing, your brother did refuse. + +_Odm_. The news both pleases me, and grieves me +too; +For nothing, sure, should be denied to you: +But he was blessed who might commanded be; +You never meant that happiness to me. + +_Alib_. What he refused, your kindness might bestow, +But my commands, perhaps, your burden grow. + +_Odm_. Could I but live till burdensome they prove, +My life would be immortal as my love. +Your wish, ere it receive a name, I grant. + +_Alib_. 'Tis to relieve your dying country's want; +All hopes of succour from your arms is past, +To save us now you must our ruin haste; +Give up the town, and, to oblige him more. +The captive general's liberty restore. + +_Odm_. You speak to try my love; can you forgive +So soon, to let your brother's murderer live? + +_Alib_. Orbellan, though my brother, did disgrace, +With treacherous deeds, our mighty mother's race; +And to revenge his blood, so justly spilt, +What is it less than to partake his guilt? +Though my proud sister to revenge incline, +I to my country's good my own resign. + +_Odm_. To save our lives, our freedom I betray-- +Yet, since I promised it, I will obey; +I'll not my shame nor your commands dispute; +You shall behold your empire's absolute. [_Exit_. + +_Alib_. I should have thanked him for his speedy grant, +And yet, I know not how, fit words I want: +Sure I am grown distracted in my mind;-- +That joy, this grant should bring, I cannot find: +The one, denying, vexed my soul before; +And this, obeying, has disturbed me more: +The one, with grief, and slowly, did refuse, +The other, in his grant, much haste did use: +--He used too much--and, granting me so soon, +He has the merit of the gift undone: +Methought with wondrous ease he swallowed down +His forfeit honour, to betray the town: +My inward choice was Guyomar before, +But now his virtue has confirmed me more-- +I rave, I rave, for Odmar will obey, +And then my promise must my choice betray. +Fantastic honour, thou hast framed a toil +Thyself, to make thy love thy virtue's spoil. [_Exit_. + + +SCENE III. + +_A pleasant grotto discovered; in it a fountain spouting; +round about it Vasquez, Pizarro, and other +Spaniards, lying carelessly unarmed, and by them +many Indian women, one of which sings the following +song. + + +SONG. + +Ah fading joy! how quickly art thou past! +Yet we thy ruin haste. +As if the cares of human life were few, +We seek out new: +And follow fate, which would too fast pursue. + +See, how on every bough the birds express, +In their sweet notes, their happiness. +They all enjoy, and nothing spare; +But on their mother nature lay their care: +Why then should man, the lord of all below, +Such troubles chuse to know, +As none of all his subjects undergo? + +Hark, hark, the waters, fall, fall, fall, +And with a murmuring sound +Dash, dash, upon the ground, +To gentle slumbers call. + +_After the song two Spaniards arise, and dance a saraband with +castanietas: At the end of which Guyomar and his Indians enter, and, +ere the Spaniards can recover their swords, seize them_. + +_Guy_. Those, whom you took without, in triumph bring; +But see these strait conducted to the king. + +_Piz_. Vasquez, what now remains in these extremes? + +_Vasq_. Only to wake us from our golden dreams. + +_Piz_. Since by our shameful conduct we have lost +Freedom, wealth, honour, which we value most, +I wish they would our lives a period give: +They live too long, who happiness out-live. + +[_Spaniards are led out_. + +_1 Ind_. See, sir, how quickly your success is spread; +The king comes marching in the army's head. + +_Enter Montezuma, Alibech, Odmar discontented_. + +_Mont_. Now all the Gods reward and bless my son. [_Embracing_. +Thou hast this day thy father's youth outdone. + +_Alib_. Just heaven all happiness upon him shower, +Till it confess its will beyond its power. + +_Guy_. The heavens are kind, the Gods propitious +be, +I only doubt a mortal deity: +I neither fought for Conquest, nor for fame, +Your love alone can recompence my flame. + +_Alib_. I gave my love to the most brave in war; +But that the king must judge. + +_Mont_.--'Tis Guyomar. + +[_Soldiers shout_, A Guyomar, &c. + +_Mont_. This day your nuptials we will celebrate; +But guard these haughty captives 'till their fate: +Odmar, this night to keep them be your care, +To-morrow for their sacrifice prepare. + +_Alib_. Blot not your conquest with your cruelty. + +_Mont_. Fate says, we are not safe unless they die: +The spirit, that foretold this happy day, +Bid me use caution and avoid delay: +Posterity be juster to my fame; +Nor call it murder, when each private man +In his defence may justly do the same: +But private persons more than monarchs can: + All weigh our acts, and whate'er seems unjust, + Impute not to necessity, but lust. + +[_Exeunt_ MONTEZUMA, GUYOMAR _and_ ALIBECH. + +_Odm_. Lost and undone! he had my father's voice, +And Alibech seemed pleased with her new choice: +Alas, it was not new! too late I see, +Since one she hated, that it must be me. +--I feel a strange temptation in my will +To do an action, great at once and ill: +Virtue, ill treated, from my soul is fled; +I by revenge and love am wholly led: +Yet conscience would against my rage rebel-- +Conscience, the foolish pride of doing well! +Sink empire, father perish, brother fall, +Revenge does more than recompence you all. +Conduct the prisoners in. + +_Enter_ VASQUEZ, _and_ PIZARRO. + +Spaniards, you See your own deplored estate: +What dare you do to reconcile your fate? + +_Vasq_. All that despair, with courage joined, can do. + +_Odm_. An easy way to victory I'll shew; +When all are buried in their sleep or joy, +I'll give you arms, burn, ravish, and destroy; +For my own share one beauty I design; +Engage your honour that she shall be mine. + +_Piz_. I gladly swear. + +_Vasq_.--And I; but I request +That, in return, one, who has touched my breast, +Whose name I know not, may be given to me. + +_Odm_. Spaniard, 'tis just; she's yours, whoe'er she +be. + +_Vasq_. The night comes on: if fortune bless the bold, +I shall possess the beauty. + +_Piz_. I the gold. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE IV.--_A Prison_. + +CORTEZ _discovered bound:_ ALMERIA _talking with him_. + + +_Alm_. I come not now your constancy to prove; +You may believe me when I say I love. + +_Cort_. You have too well instructed me before +In your intentions, to believe you more. + +_Alm_. I'm justly plagued by this your unbelief, +And am myself the cause of my own grief: +But to beg love, I cannot stoop so low; +It is enough that you my passion know: +'Tis in your choice; love me, or love me not; +I have not yet my brother's death forgot. + [_Lays hold on the dagger_. + +_Cort_. You menace me and court me in a breath: +Your Cupid looks as dreadfully as death. + +_Alm_. Your hopes, without, are vanished into smoke: +Your captains taken, and your armies broke. + +_Cort_. In vain you urge me with my miseries: +When fortune falls, high courages can rise; +Now should I change my love, it would appear +Not the effect of gratitude, but fear. + +_Alm_. I'll to the king, and make it my request, +Or my command, that you may be releast; +And make you judge, when I have set you free, +Who best deserves your passion, I, or she. + +_Cort_. You tempt my faith so generous a way, +As without guilt might constancy betray: +But I'm so far from meriting esteem, +That, if I judge, I must myself condemn; +Yet having given my worthless heart before, +What I must ne'er possess, I will adore: +Take my devotion then this humbler way; +Devotion is the love which heaven we pay. + [_Kisses her hand_. + +_Enter_ CYDARIA. + +_Cyd_. May I believe my eyes! what do I see! +Is this her hate to him, his love to me! +'Tis in my breast she sheaths her dagger now. +False man, is this thy faith? is this thy vow? + [_To him_. + +_Cort_. What words, dear saint, are these I hear you use? +What faith, what vows, are those which you accuse? + +_Cyd_. More cruel than the tyger o'er his spoil; +And falser than the weeping crododile: +Can you add vanity to guilt, and take +A pride to hear the conquests, which you make? +Go, publish your renown; let it be said, +You have a woman, and that loved, betrayed. + +_Cort_. With what injustice is my faith accused! +Life, freedom, empire, I at once refused; +And would again ten thousand times for you. + +_Alm_. She'll have too great content to find him true; +And therefore, since his love is not for me, +I'll help to make my rival's misery. [_Aside_. +Spaniard, I never thought you false before: + [_To him_. +Can you at once two mistresses adore? +Keep the poor soul no longer in suspence, +Your change is such as does not need defence. + +_Cort_. Riddles like these I cannot understand. + +_Alm_. Why should you blush? she saw you kiss my hand. + +_Cyd_. Fear not; I will, while your first love's denied, +Favour your shame, and turn my eyes aside; +My feeble hopes in her deserts are lost: +I neither can such power nor beauty boast: +I have no tie upon you to be true, +But that, which loosened yours, my love to you. + +_Cort_. Could you have heard my words! + +_Cyd_.--Alas, what needs +To hear your words, when I beheld your deeds? + +_Cort_. What shall I say? the fate of love is such, +That still it sees too little or too much. +That act of mine, which does your passion move, +Was but a mark of my respect, not love. + +_Alm_. Vex not yourself excuses to prepare: +For one, you love not, is not worth your care. + +_Cort_. Cruel Almeria, take that life you gave; +Since you but worse destroy me, while you save. + +_Cyd_. No, let me die, and I'll my claim resign; +For while I live, methinks, you should be mine. + +_Cort_. The bloodiest vengeance, which she could pursue, +Would be a trifle to my loss of you. + +_Cyd_. Your change was wise: for, had she been denied, +A swift revenge had followed from her pride: +You from my gentle nature had no fears, +All my revenge is only in my tears. + +_Cort_. Can you imagine I so mean could prove, +To save my life by changing of my love? + +_Cyd_. Since death is that which naturally we shun, +You did no more than I, perhaps, had done. + +_Cort_. Make me not doubt, fair soul, your constancy; +You would have died for love, and so would I. + +_Alm_. You may believe him; you have seen it proved. + +_Cort_. Can I not gain belief how I have loved? +What can thy ends, malicious beauty, be: +Can he, who kill'd thy brother, live for thee? + +[_A noise of clashing of swords_. +[VASQUEZ _within, Indians against him_. + +_Vasq_. Yield, slaves, or die; our swords shall force our way. + [_Within_. + +_Ind_. We cannot, though o'er-powered, our trust betray. + [_Within_. + +_Cort_. 'Tis Vasquez's voice, he brings me liberty. + +_Vasq_. In spite of fate I'll set my general free; + [_Within_. +Now victory for us, the town's our own. + +_Alm_. All hopes of safety and of love are gone: +As when some dreadful thunder-clap is nigh, +The winged fire shoots swiftly through the sky, +Strikes and consumes, ere scarce it does appear, +And by the sudden ill prevents the fear: +Such is my state in this amazing woe, +It leaves no power to think, much less to do. +--But shall my rival live, shall she enjoy +That love in peace, I laboured to destroy? [_Aside_. + +_Cort_. Her looks grow black as a tempestuous wind; +Some raging thoughts are rolling in her mind. + +_Alm_. Rival, I must your jealousy remove, +You shall, hereafter, be at rest for love. + +_Cyd_. Now you are kind. + +_Alm_.--He whom you love is true: +But he shall never be possest by you. + +[_Draws her dagger, and runs towards her_. + +_Cort_. Hold, hold, ah barbarous woman! fly, oh fly! + +_Cyd_. Ah pity, pity, is no succour nigh! + +_Cort_. Run, run behind me, there you may be sure, +While I have life, I will your life secure. + [CYDARIA _gets behind him_. + +_Alm_. On him, or thee,--light vengeance any where +[_She stabs and hurts him_. +--What have I done? I see his blood appear! + +_Cyd_. It streams, it streams from every vital part: +Was there no way but this to find his heart? + +_Alm_. Ah! cursed woman, what was my design! +This weapon's point shall mix that blood with mine! + +[_Goes to stab herself, and being within his reach +he snatches the dagger_. + +_Cort_. Now neither life nor death are in your +power. + +_Alm_. Then sullenly I'll wait my fatal hour. + +_Enter_ VASQUEZ _and_ PIZARRO, _with drawn swords_. + +_Vasq_. He lives, he lives. + +_Cort_.--Unfetter me with speed; +Vasquez, I see you troubled that I bleed: +But 'tis not deep, our army I can head. + +_Vasq_. You to a certain victory are led; +Your men, all armed, stand silently within: +I with your freedom did the work begin. + +_Piz_. What friends we have, and how we came so strong, +We'll softly tell you as we march along. + +_Cort_. In this safe place let me secure your fear: + [_To_ CYDARIA. +No clashing swords, no noise can enter here. +Amidst our arms as quiet you shall be, +As Halcyons brooding on a winter sea. + +_Cyd_. Leave me not here alone, and full of fright, +Amidst the terrors of a dreadful night: +You judge, alas, my courage by your own; +I never durst in darkness be alone: +I beg, I throw me humbly at your feet. + +_Cort_. You must not go where you may dangers meet. +The unruly sword will no destinction make; +And beauty will not there give wounds, but take. + +_Alm_. Then stay and take me with you; tho' to be +A slave to wait upon your victory. +My heart unmoved can noise and horror bear: +Parting from you is all the death I fear. + +_Cort_. Almeria, 'tis enough I leave you free: +You neither must stay here, nor go with me. + +_Aim_. Then take my life, that will my rest restore: +'Tis all I ask, for saving yours before. + +_Cort_. That were a barbarous return of love. + +_Alm_. Yet, leaving it, you more inhuman prove. +In both extremes I some relief should find; +Oh! either hate me more, or be more kind. + +_Cort_. Life of my soul, do not my absence mourn: +But chear your heart in hopes of my return. + [_To_ CYD. +Your noble father's life shall be my care; +And both your brothers I'm obliged to spare. + +_Cyd_. Fate makes you deaf, while I in vain implore;-- +My heart forebodes, I ne'er shall see you more: +I have but one request,--when I am dead, +Let not my rival to your love succeed. + +_Cort_. Fate will be kinder than your fears foretell; +Farewell, my dear. + +_Cyd_.--A long and last farewell: +--So eager to employ the cruel sword? +Can you not one, not one last look afford! + +_Cort_. I melt to womanish tears, and if I stay, +I find my love, my courage will betray; +Yon tower will keep you safe, but be so kind +To your own life, that none may entrance find. + +_Cyd_. Then lead me there.--[_He leads her_. +For this one minute of your company, +I go, methinks, with some content to die. + +[_Exeunt_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _and_ CYDARIA. + +_Alm_. Farewell, O too much lov'd, since lov'd in vain! +What dismal fortune does for me remain! +Night and despair my fatal footsteps guide; +That chance may give the death which he denied. + [_Exit_. + +CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _and_ SPANIARDS _return again_. + +_Cort_. All I hold dear I trust to your defence; + [_To_ Piz. +Guard her, and on your life, remove not hence. + [_Exeunt_ CORTEZ _and_ VASQUEZ. +_Piz_. I'll venture that.-- +The Gods are good; I'll leave her to their care, +Steal from my post, and in the plunder share. + [_Exit_. + + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I.--_A chamber royal, an Indian hammock discovered in it_. + +_Enter_ ODMAR _with soldiers_, GUYOMAR, _and_ ALIBECH +_bound_. + +_Odm_. Fate is more just than you to my desert, +And in this act you blame, heaven takes my part. + +_Guy_. Can there be gods, and no revenge provide? + +_Odm_. The gods are ever of the conquering side: +She's now my queen; the Spaniards have agreed, +I to my father's empire shall succeed. + +_Alib_. How much I crowns contemn, I let thee see, +Chusing the younger, and refusing thee. + +_Guy_. Were she ambitious, she'd disdain to own +The pageant pomp of such a servile throne; +A throne, which thou by parricide dost gain, +And by a base submission must retain. + +_Alib_. I loved thee not before; but, Odmar, know, +That now I hate thee, and despise thee too. + +_Odm_. With too much violence you crimes pursue, +Which if I acted, 'twas for love of you. +This, if it teach not love, may teach you fear: +I brought not sin so far, to stop it here. +Death in a lover's mouth would sound but ill: +But know, I either must enjoy, or kill. + +_Alib_. Bestow, base man, thy idle threats elsewhere, +My mother's daughter knows not how to fear. +Since, Guyomar, I must not be thy bride, +Death shall enjoy what is to thee denied. + +_Odm_. Then take thy wish-- + +_Guy_. Hold, Odmar, hold: +My right in Alibech I will resign; +Rather than see her die, I'll see her thine. + +_Alib_. In vain thou wouldst resign, for I will be, +Even when thou leav'st me, constant still to thee: +That shall not save my life: Wilt thou appear +Fearful for her, who for herself wants fear? + +_Odm_. Her love to him shows me a surer way: +I by her love her virtue must betray.--[_Aside_. +Since, Alibech, you are so true a wife, [_To her_. +'Tis in your power to save your husband's life: +The gods, by me, your love and virtue try; +For both will suffer, if you let him die. + +_Alib_. I never can believe you will proceed +To such a black, and execrable deed. + +_Odm_. I only threatened you; but could not prove +So much a fool, to murder what I love: +But in his death I some advantage see: +Worse than it is I'm sure it cannot be. +If you consent, you with that gentle breath +Preserve his life: If not, behold his death. + [_Holds his sword to his breast_. + +_Alib_. What shall I do! + +_Guy_. What, are your thoughts at strife +About a ransom to preserve my life? +Though to save yours I did my interest give, +Think not, when you were his, I meant to live. + +_Alib_. O let him be preserved by any way: +But name not the foul price which I must pay. + [_To_ ODM. + +_Odm_. You would, and would not,--I'll no longer stay. + [_Offers again to kill him_. + +_Alib_. I yield, I yield; but yet, ere I am ill, +An innocent desire I would fulfil: +With Guyomar I one chaste kiss would leave, +The first and last he ever can receive. + +_Odm_. Have what you ask: That minute you agree +To my desires, your husband shall be free. + [_They unbind her, she goes to her husband_. + +_Guy_. No, Alibech, we never must embrace. + [_He turns from her_. +Your guilty kindness why do you misplace? +'Tis meant to him, he is your private choice; +I was made yours but by the public voice. +And now you leave me with a poor pretence, +That your ill act is for my life's defence. + +_Alib_. Since there remains no other means to try, +Think I am false; I cannot see you die. + +_Guy_. To give for me both life and honour too, +Is more, perhaps, than I could give for you. +You have done much to cure my jealousy, +But cannot perfect it unless both die! +For since both cannot live, who stays behind +Must be thought fearful, or, what's worse, unkind. + +_Alib_. I never could propose that death you chuse; +But am, like you, too jealous to refuse. + [_Embracing him_. +Together dying, we together show +That both did pay that faith, which both did owe. + +_Odm_. It then remains I act my own design: +Have you your wills, but I will first have mine. +Assist me, soldiers-- + [_They go to bind her: She cries out_. + +_Enter_ VASQUEZ, _and two Spaniards_. + +_Vasq_. Hold, Odmar, hold! I come in happy time +To hinder my misfortune, and your crime. + +_Odm_. You ill return the kindness I have shown. + +_Vasq_. Indian, I say, desist. + +_Odm_. Spaniard, be gone. + +_Vasq_. This lady I did for myself design: +Dare you attempt her honour, who is mine? + +_Odm_. You're much mistaken; this is she, whom I +Did with my father's loss, and country's buy: +She, whom your promise did to me convey, +When all things else were made your common prey. + +_Vasq_. That promise made, excepted one for me; +One whom I still reserved, and this is she. + +_Odm_. This is not she; you cannot be so base. + +_Vasq_. I love too deeply to mistake the face: +The vanquished must receive the victor's laws. + +_Odm_. If I am vanquished, I myself am cause. + +_Vasq_. Then thank yourself for what you undergo. + +_Odm_. Thus lawless might does justice overthrow. + +_Vasq_. Traitors, like you, should never justice name. + +_Odm_. You owe your triumphs to that traitor's shame. +But to your general I'll my right refer. + +_Vasq_. He never will protect a ravisher: +His generous heart will soon decide our strife; +He to your brother will restore his wife. +It rests we two our claim in combat try, +And that with this fair prize the victor fly. + +_Odm_. Make haste, +I cannot suffer to be long perplext; +Conquest is my first wish, and death my next. + [_They fight, the Spaniards and Indians fight_. + +_Alib_. The gods the wicked by themselves o'erthrow: +All fight against us now, and for us too! + [_Unbinds her husband_. + +[_The two Spaniards and three Indians kill each +other,_ VASQUEZ _kills_ ODMAR, GUYOMAR _runs +to his brothers sword_. + +_Vasq_. Now you are mine; my greatest foe is slain. + [_To_ AL. + +_Guy_. A greater still to vanquish does remain. + +_Vasq_. Another yet! +The wounds, I make, but sow new enemies, +Which from their blood, like earth-born brethren, rise. + +_Guy_. Spaniard, take breath: Some respite I'll afford, +My cause is more advantage than your sword. + +_Vasq_. Thou art so brave--could it with honour be, +I'd seek thy friendship more than victory. + +_Guy_. Friendship with him, whose hand did Odmar kill! +Base as he was, he was my brother still: +And since his blood has washed away his guilt. +Nature asks thine for that which thou hast spilt. +[_They fight a little and breathe_, ALIBECH _takes +up a sword and comes on_. + +_Alib_. My weakness may help something in the strife. + +_Guy_. Kill not my honour to preserve my life: + [_Staying her_. +Rather than by thy aid I'll conquest gain, +Without defence I poorly will be slain. + +[_She goes back, they fight again_, VASQUEZ _falls_. + +_Guy_. Now, Spaniard, beg thy life, and thou shalt live. + +_Vasq_. 'Twere vain to ask thee what thou canst not give; +My breath goes out, and I am now no more; +Yet her, I loved, in death I will adore. [_Dies_. + +_Guy_. Come, Alibech, let us from hence remove. +This is a night of horror, not of love. +From every part I hear a dreadful noise, +The vanquished crying, and the victor's joys. +I'll to my father's aid and country's fly, +And succour both, or in their ruin die. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II.--_A Prison_. + +MONTEZUMA, _Indian High Priest, bound_; PIZARRO, _Spaniards +with swords drawn, a Christian Priest_. + +_Piz_. Thou hast not yet discovered all thy store. + +_Mont_. I neither can nor will discover more; +The gods will punish you, if they be just; +The gods will plague your sacrilegious lust. + +_Chr. Priest_. Mark how this impious heathen justifies +His own false gods, and our true God denies: +How wickedly he has refused his wealth, +And hid his gold, from christian hands, by stealth: +Down with him, kill him, merit heaven thereby. + +_Ind. High Pr_. Can heaven be author of such cruelty? + +_Piz_. Since neither threats nor kindness will prevail, +We must by other means your minds assail; +Fasten the engines; stretch 'em at their length, +And pull the straitened cords with all your strength. +[_They fasten them to the rack, and then pull them_. + +_Mont_. The gods, who made me once a king, shall know, +I still am worthy to continue so: +Though now the subject of your tyranny, +I'll plague you worse than you can punish me. +Know, I have gold, which you shall never find; +No pains, no tortures, shall unlock my mind. + +_Chr. Pr_. Pull harder yet; he does not feel the rack. + +_Mont_. Pull 'till my veins break, and my sinews crack. + +_Ind. High Pr_. When will you end your barbarous cruelty? +I beg not to escape, I beg to die. + +_Mont_. Shame on thy priesthood, that such prayers can bring! +Is it not brave, to suffer with thy king? +When monarchs suffer, gods themselves bear part; +Then well mayest thou, who but my vassal art: +I charge thee, dare not groan, nor shew one sign; +Thou at thy torments dost the least repine. + +_Ind. High Pr_. You took an oath, when you received the crown, +The heavens should pour their usual blessings down; +The sun should shine, the earth its fruits produce, +And nought be wanting to your subjects' use: +Yet we with famine were opprest, and now +Must to the yoke of cruel masters bow. + +_Mont_. If those above, who made the world, could be +Forgetful of it, why then blamest thou me? + +_Chr. Pr_, Those pains, O prince, thou sufferest now, are light +Compared to those, which, when thy soul takes flight, +Immortal, endless, thou must then endure, +Which death begins, and time can never cure. + +_Mont_. Thou art deceived; for whensoe'er I die, +The Sun, my father, bears my soul on high: +He lets me down a beam, and mounted there, +He draws it back, and pulls me through the air: +I in the eastern parts, and rising sky, +You in heaven's downfal, and the west must lie. + +_Chr. Pr_. Fond man, by heathen ignorance misled, +Thy soul destroying when thy body's dead: +Change yet thy faith, and buy eternal rest. + +_Ind. High Pr_. Die in your own, for our belief is best. + +_Mont_. In seeking happiness you both agree, +But in the search, the paths so different be, +That all religions with each other fight, +While only one can lead us in the right. +But till that one hath some more certain mark, +Poor human kind must wander in the dark; +And suffer pain eternally below, +For that, which here we cannot come to know. + +_Chr. Pr_. That, which we worship, and which you believe, +From nature's common hand we both receive: +All, under various names, adore and love +One Power immense, which ever rules above. +Vice to abhor, and virtue to pursue, +Is both believed and taught by us and you: +But here our worship takes another way-- + +_Mont_. Where both agree, 'tis there most safe to stay: +For what's more vain than public light to shun, +And set up tapers, while we see the sun? + +_Chr. Pr_. Though nature teaches whom we should adore, +By heavenly beams we still discover more. + +_Mont_. Or this must be enough, or to mankind +One equal way to bliss is not designed; +For though some more may know, and some know less, +Yet all must know enough for happiness. + +_Chr. Pr_. If in this middle way you still pretend +To stay, your journey never will have end. + +_Mont_. Howe'er, 'tis better in the midst to stay, +Than wander farther in uncertain way. + +_Chr. Pr_. But we by martyrdom our faith avow. + +_Mont_. You do no more than I for ours do now. +To prove religion true-- +If either wit or sufferings would suffice, +All faiths afford the constant and the wise: +And yet even they, by education swayed, +In age defend what infancy obeyed. + +_Chr. Pr_. Since age by erring childhood is misled, +Refer yourself to our unerring head. + +_Mont_. Man, and not err! what reason can you give? + +_Chr. Pr_. Renounce that carnal reason, and believe. + +_Mont_. The light of nature should I thus betray, +'Twere to wink hard, that I might see the day. + +_Chr. Pr_. Condemn not yet the way you do not know; +I'll make your reason judge what way to go. + +_Mont_. 'Tis much too late for me new ways to take, +Who have but one short step of life to make. + +_Piz_. Increase their pains, the cords are yet too slack. + +_Chr. Pr_. I must by force convert him on the rack. + +_Ind. High Pr_. I faint away, and find I can no more: +Give leave, O king, I may reveal thy store, +And free myself from pains, I cannot bear. + +_Mont_. Think'st thou I lie on beds of roses here, +Or in a wanton bath stretched at my ease? +Die, slave, and with thee die such thoughts as these. +[_High Priest turns aside, and dies_. + +_Enter_ CORTEZ _attended by Spaniards, he speaks entering_. + +_Cort_. On pain of death, kill none but those who fight; +I much repent me of this bloody night: +Slaughter grows murder when it goes too far, +And makes a massacre what was a war: +Sheath all your weapons, and in silence move, +'Tis sacred here to beauty, and to love. +Ha--[_Sees_ MONT. +What dismal sight is this, which takes from me +All the delight, that waits on victory! + [_Runs to take him off the rack_. +Make haste: How now, religion, do you frown? +Haste, holy avarice, and help him down. +Ah, father, father, what do I endure + [_Embracing_ MONT. +To see these wounds my pity cannot cure! + +_Mont_. Am I so low that you should pity bring, +And give an infant's comfort to a king? +Ask these, if I have once unmanly groaned; +Or aught have done deserving to be moaned. + +_Cort_. Did I not charge, thou shouldst not stir from hence? + [_To_ Piz. +But martial law shall punish thy offence. +And you, [_To the Christian Priest_. +Who saucily teach monarchs to obey, +And the wide world in narrow cloisters sway; +Set up by kings as humble aids of power, +You that which bred you, viper-like, devour, +You enemies of crowns-- + +_Chr. Pr_. Come, let's away, +We but provoke his fury by our stay. + +_Cort_. If this go free, farewell that discipline, +Which did in Spanish camps severely shine: +Accursed gold, 'tis thou hast caused these crimes; +Thou turn'st our steel against thy parent climes! +And into Spain wilt fatally be brought, +Since with the price of blood thou here art bought. + +[_Exeunt Priest and_ PIZARRO. +[CORTEZ _kneels by_ MONTEZUMA, _and weeps_. + +_Cort_. Can you forget those crimes they did commit? + +_Mont_. I'll do what for my dignity is fit: +Rise, sir, I'm satisfied the fault was theirs: +Trust me, you make me weep to see your tears: +Must I chear you? + +_Cort_. Ah heavens! + +_Mont_. You're much to blame; +Your grief is cruel, for it shows my shame, +Does my lost crown to my remembrance bring: +But weep not you, and I'll be still a king. +You have forgot, that I your death designed, +To satisfy the proud Almeria's mind: +You, who preserved my life, I doomed to die. + +_Cort_. Your love did that, and not your cruelty. + +_Enter a Spaniard_. + +_Span_. Prince Guyomar the combat still maintains, +Our men retreat, and he their ground regains: +But once encouraged by our general's sight, +We boldly should renew the doubtful fight. + +_Cort_. Remove not hence, you shall not long attend; + [_To_ MONTEZUMA. +I'll aid my soldiers, yet preserve my friend. + +_Mont_. Excellent man! [_Exeunt_ CORTEZ, &c. +But I, by living, poorly take the way +To injure goodness, which I cannot pay. + +_Enter_ ALMERIA. + +_Alm_. Ruin and death run armed through every street; +And yet that fate, I seek, I cannot meet: +What guards misfortunes are and misery! +Death, that strikes all, yet seems afraid of me. + +_Mont_. Almeria here! Oh turn away your face! +Must you be witness too of my disgrace? + +_Alm_. I am not that Almeria whom you knew, +But want that pity I denied to you: +Your conqueror, alas, has vanquished me; +But he refuses his own victory: +While all are captives in your conquered state, +I find a wretched freedom in his hate. + +_Mont_. Couldst thou thy love on one who scorned thee lose? +He saw not with my eyes, who could refuse: +Him, who could prove so much unkind to thee, +I ne'er will suffer to be kind to me. + +_Alm_. I am content in death to share your fate; +And die for him I love, with him I hate. + +_Mont_. What shall I do in this perplexing strait! +My tortured limbs refuse to bear my weight: + [_Endeavouring to walk, not being able_. +I cannot go to death to set me free; +Death must be kind, and come himself to me. + +_Alm_. I've thought upon't: I have affairs below, + [ALM. _musing_. +Which I must needs despatch before I go: +Sir, I have found a place where you may be, [_To him_. +(Though not preserved) yet, like a king, die free; +The general left your daughter in the tower, +We may a while resist the Spaniards' power, +If Guyomar prevail. + +_Mont_. Make haste and call; +She'll hear your voice, and answer from the wall. + +_Alm_. My voice she knows and fears, but use your own; +And, to gain entrance, feign you are alone. + [ALM. _steps behind_. + +_Mont_. Cydaria! + +_Alm_. Louder. + +_Mont_. Daughter! + +_Alm_. Louder yet. + +_Mont_. Thou canst not, sure, thy father's voice forget. + +[_He knocks at the door, at last_ CYDARIA _looks over the balcony_. + +_Cyd_. Since my love went, I have been frighted so, +With dismal groans, and noises from below; +I durst not send my eyes abroad, for fear +Of seeing dangers, which I yet but hear. + +_Mont_. Cydaria! + +_Cyd_. Sure, 'tis my father calls. + +_Mont_. Dear child, make haste; +All hope of succour, but from thee, is past: +As when, upon the sands, the traveller +Sees the high sea come rolling from afar, +The land grow short, he mends his weary pace, +While death behind him covers all the place: +So I, by swift misfortunes, am pursued, +Which on each other are, like waves, renewed. + +_Cyd_. Are you alone? + +_Mont_. I am. + +_Cyd_. I'll strait descend; +Heaven did you here for both our safeties send. + +[CYDARIA _descends and opens the door_, ALMERIA _rushes betwixt +with_ MONTEZUMA. + +_Cyd_. Almeria here! then I am lost again. +[_Both thrust_. + +_Alm_. Yield to my strength, you struggle but in vain. +Make haste and shut, our enemies appear. + +[CORTEZ _and Spaniards appear at the other end_. + +_Cyd_. Then do you enter, and let me stay here. + +[_As she speaks,_ ALMERIA _overpowers her, thrusts +her in, and shuts_. + +_Cort_. Sure I both heard her voice and saw her face: +She's like a vision vanished from the place. +Too late I find my absence was too long; +My hopes grow sickly, and my fears grow strong. + +[_He knocks a little, then_ MONTEZUMA, CYDARIA, _and_ +ALMERIA, _appear above_. + +_Alm_. Look up, look up, and see if you can know +Those, whom in vain you think to find below. + +_Cyd_. Look up, and see Cydaria's lost estate. + +_Mont_. And cast one look on Montezuma's fate. + +_Cort_. Speak not such dismal words as wound my ear; +Nor name death to me, when Cydaria's there. +Despair not, sir; who knows but conquering Spain +May part of what you lost restore again? + +_Mont_. No, Spaniard; know, he who, to empire born, +Lives to be less, deserves the victor's scorn: +Kings and their crowns have but one destiny: +Power is their life; when that expires, they die. + +_Cyd_. What dreadful words are these! + +_Mont_. Name life no more; +'Tis now a torture worse than all I bore; +I'll not be bribed to suffer life, but die, +In spite of your mistaken clemency. +I was your slave, and I was used like one; +The shame continues when the pain is gone: +But I'm a king while this is in my hand--[_His sword_. +He wants no subjects, who can death command: +You should have tied him up, t'have conquered me; +But he's still mine, and thus he sets me free. +[_Stabs himself_. + +_Cyd_. Oh, my dear father! + +_Alm_. When that is forced, there yet remain two more. + [_The Soldiers break open the first door, and go in_. +We shall have time enough to take our way, +Ere any can our fatal journey stay. + +_Mont_. Already mine is past: O powers divine, +Take my last thanks: no longer I repine; +I might have lived my own mishap to mourn, +While some would pity me, but more would scorn! +For pity only on fresh objects stays, +But with the tedious sight of woes decays. +Still less and less my boiling spirits flow; +And I grow stiff, as cooling metals do. +Farewell, Almeria. [_Dies_. + +_Cyd_. He's gone, he's gone, +And leaves poor me defenceless here alone. + +_Alm_. You shall not long be so: Prepare to die, +That you may bear your father company. + +_Cyd_. O name not death to me! you fright me so, +That with the fear I shall prevent the blow: +I know, your mercy's more than to destroy +A thing so young, so innocent as I. + +_Cort_. Whence can proceed thy cruel thirst of blood, +Ah, barbarous woman? Woman! that's too good, +Too mild for thee: There's pity in that name, +But thou hast lost thy pity with thy shame. + +_Alm_. Your cruel words have pierced me to the heart; +But on my rival I'll revenge my smart. + +_Cort_. Oh stay your hand; and, to redeem my fault, +I'll speak the kindest words-- +That tongue e'er uttered, or that heart e'er thought. +Dear--lovely--sweet-- + +_Alm_. This but offends me more; +You act your kindness on Cydaria's score. + +_Cyd_. For his dear sake let me my life receive. + +_Alm_. Fool, for his sake alone you must not live: +Revenge is now my joy; he's not for me, +And I'll make sure he ne'er shall be for thee. + +_Cyd_. But what's my crime? + +_Alm_. 'Tis loving where I love. + +_Cyd_. Your own example does my act approve. + +_Alm_. 'Tis such a fault I never can forgive. + +_Cyd_. How can I mend, unless you let me live? +I yet am tender, young, and full of fear, +And dare not die, but fain would tarry here. + +_Cort_. If blood you seek, I will my own resign: +O spare her life, and in exchange take mine! + +_Alm_. The love you shew but hastes her death the more. + +_Cort_. I'll run, and help to force the inner door. +[_Is going in haste_. + +_Alm_. Stay, Spaniard, stay; depart not from my eyes: +That moment that I lose your sight, she dies. +To look on you, I'll grant a short reprieve. + +_Cort_. O make your gift more full, and let her live! +I dare not go; and yet how dare I stay!-- +Her I would save, I murder either way. + +_Cyd_. Can you be so hard-hearted to destroy +My ripening hopes, that are so near to joy? +I just approach to all I would possess: +Death only stands 'twixt me and happiness. + +_Alm_. Your father, with his life, has lost his throne: +Your country's freedom and renown is gone. +Honour requires your death; you must obey. + +_Cyd_. Do you die first, and shew me then the way. + +_Alm_. Should you not follow, my revenge were lost. + +_Cyd_. Then rise again, and fright me with your ghost. + +_Alm_. I will not trust to that; since death I chuse, +I'll not leave you that life which I refuse: +If death's a pain, it is not less to me; +And if 'tis nothing, 'tis no more to thee. +But hark! the noise increases from behind; +They're near, and may prevent what I designed; +Take there a rival's gift. [_Stabs her_. + +_Cort_. Perdition seize thee for so black a deed. + +_Alm_. Blame not an act, which did from love proceed: +I'll thus revenge thee with this fatal blow; + [_Stabs herself_. +Stand fair, and let my heart-blood on thee flow. + +_Cyd_. Stay, life, and keep me in the cheerful light! +Death is too black, and dwells in too much night. +Thou leav'st me, life, but love supplies thy part, +And keeps me warm, by lingering in my heart: +Yet dying for him, I thy claim remove; +How dear it costs to conquer in my love! +Now strike: That thought, I hope, will arm my breast. + +_Alm_. Ah, with what differing passions am I prest! + +_Cyd_. Death, when far off, did terrible appear; +But looks less dreadful as he comes more near. + +_Alm_. O rival, I have lost the power to kill; +Strength hath forsook my arm, and rage my will: +I must surmount that love which thou hast shown; +Dying for him is due to me alone. +Thy weakness shall not boast the victory, +Now thou shalt live, and dead I'll conquer thee: +Soldiers, assist me down. + +[_Exeunt from above, led by Soldiers, and enter both, led by_ CORTEZ. + +_Cort_. Is there no danger then? [_To_ CYDARIA. + +_Cyd_. You need not fear +My wound; I cannot die when you are near. + +_Cort_. You, for my sake, life to Cydaria give; + [_To_ ALM. +And I could die for you, if you might live. + +_Alm_. Enough, I die content, now you are kind; +Killed in my limbs, reviving in my mind: +Come near, Cydaria, and forgive my crime. + [CYDARIA _starts back_. +You need not fear my rage a second time: +I'll bathe your wounds in tears for my offence. +That hand, which made it, makes this recompence. + [_Ready to join their hands_. +I would have joined you, but my heart's too high: +You will, too soon, possess him when I die. + +_Cort_. She faints; O softly set her down. + +_Alm_. 'Tis past! +In thy loved bosom let me breathe my last. +Here, in this one short moment that I live, +I have whate'er the longest life could give. [_Dies_. + +_Cort_. Farewell, thou generous maid: Even victory, +Glad as it is, must lend some tears to thee; +Many I dare not shed, lest you believe [_To_ CYD. +I joy in you less than for her I grieve. + +_Cyd_. But are you sure she's dead? +I must embrace you fast, before I know, +Whether my life be yet secure, or no: +Some other hour I will to tears allow, +But, having you, can shew no sorrow now. + +_Enter_ GUYOMAR _and_ ALIBECH _bound, with Soldiers_. + +_Cort_. Prince Guyomar in bonds! O friendship's shame! +It makes me blush to own a victor's name. +[_Unbinds him,_ CYDARIA, ALIBECH. + +_Cyd_. See, Alibech, Almeria lies there; +But do not think 'twas I that murdered her. + +[ALIBECH _kneels, and kisses her dead sister_. + +_Cort_. Live, and enjoy more than your conqueror: +[_To_ GUYOMAR. +Take all my love, and share in all my power. + +_Guy_. Think me not proudly rude, if I forsake +Those gifts I cannot with my honour take: +I for my country fought, and would again, +Had I yet left a country to maintain: +But since the gods decreed it otherwise, +I never will on its dear ruins rise. + +_Alib_. Of all your goodness leaves to our dispose, +Our liberty's the only gift we chuse: +Absence alone can make our sorrows less; +And not to see what we can ne'er redress. + +_Guy_. Northward, beyond the mountains, we will go, +Where rocks lie covered with eternal snow, +Thin herbage in the plains and fruitless fields, +The sand no gold, the mine no silver yields: +There love and freedom we'll in peace enjoy; +No Spaniards will that colony destroy. +We to ourselves will all our wishes grant; +And, nothing coveting, can nothing want. + +_Cort_. First your great father's funeral pomp provide: +That done, in peace your generous exiles guide; +While I loud thanks pay to the powers above, +Thus doubly blest, with conquest, and with love. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +EPILOGUE + +BY A MERCURY. + + +To all and singular in this full meeting, +Ladies and gallants, Phoebus sends ye greeting. +To all his sons, by whate'er title known, +Whether of court, or coffee-house, or town; +From his most mighty sons, whose confidence +Is placed in lofty sound, and humble sense, +Even to his little infants of the time, +Who write new songs, and trust in tune and rhyme: +Be't known, that Phoebus (being daily grieved +To see good plays condemned, and bad received) +Ordains, your judgment upon every cause, +Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws. +He first thinks fit no sonnetteer advance +His censure, farther than the song or dance. +Your wit burlesque may one step higher climb, +And in his sphere may judge all doggrel rhyme: +All proves, and moves, and loves, and honours too; +All that appears high sense, and scarce is low. +As for the coffee-wits, he says not much; +Their proper business is to damn the Dutch: +For the great dons of wit-- +Phoebus gives them full privilege alone, +To damn all others, and cry up their own. +Last, for the ladies, 'tis Apollo's will, +They should have power to save, but not to kill: +For love and he long since have thought it fit, +Wit live by beauty, beauty reign by wit. + + + + + +SECRET LOVE; +OR, THE +MAIDEN QUEEN. + + _Vitiis nemo sine nascitur; optimus ille +Qui minimis urgetur_. HORAT. + + + +THE MAIDEN QUEEN + +The Maiden Queen is said, by Langbaine, to be founded upon certain +passages in "The Grand Cyrus," and in "Ibrahim, the illustrious +Bassa." Few readers will probably take the trouble of consulting +these huge volumes, for the purpose of ascertaining the truth of +this charge. Even our duty, as editors, cannot impel us to the task; +satisfied, as we are, that, since these ponderous folios at that time +loaded every toilette, Dryden can hardly have taken more from such +well-known sources, than the mere outline of the story. Indeed, to +a certain degree, the foundation of the plot, upon a story in the +"Cyrus," is admitted by the author. The character of the queen is +admirably drawn, and the catastrophe is brought very artfully forward; +the uncertainty, as to her final decision, continuing till the last +moment. In this, as in all our author's plays, some passages of +beautiful poetry occur in the dialogue; as, for example, the scene in +act 3d betwixt Philocles and Candiope. The characters, excepting that +of the Maiden Queen herself, are lame and uninteresting. Philocles, in +particular, has neither enough of love to make him despise ambition, +nor enough of ambition to make him break the fetters of love. We might +have admired him, had he been constant; or sympathised with him, had +he sinned against his affections, and repented; but there is nothing +interesting in the vacillations of his indecision. The comic part of +the play contains much of what was thought wit in the reign of Charles +II.; for marriage is railed against, and a male and female rake join +in extolling the pleasures of a single life, even while the usage of +the theatre compels them, at length, to put on the matrimonial +chains. It is surprising, that no venturous author, in that gay age, +concluded, by making such a couple happy in their own way. The novelty +of such a catastrophe would have insured its success; and, unlike to +the termination of the loves of Celadon and Florimel, it would have +been strictly in character. + +The Maiden Queen was first acted in 1667; and printed, as the poet has +informed us, by the command of Charles himself, who graced it with the +title of HIS play. Dryden mentions the excellence of the acting, so it +was probably received very favourably. + + + +PREFACE + + +It has been the ordinary practice of the French poets, to dedicate +their works of this nature to their king; especially when they have +had the least encouragement to it, by his approbation of them on the +stage. But, I confess, I want the confidence to follow their example, +though, perhaps, I have as specious pretences to it, for this piece, +as any they can boast of; it having been owned in so particular a +manner by his majesty, that he has graced it with the title of his +play, and thereby rescued it from the severity (that I may not say +malice) of its enemies. But though a character so high and undeserved +has not raised in me the presumption to offer such a trifle to his +most serious view, yet I will own the vanity to say, that after this +glory which it has received from a sovereign prince, I could not send +it to seek protection from any subject. Be this poem, then, sacred to +him, without the tedious form of a dedication, and without presuming +to interrupt those hours which he is daily giving to the peace and +settlement of his people. + +For what else concerns this play, I would tell the reader, that it is +regular, according to the strictest of dramatic laws; but that it is +a commendation which many of our poets now despise, and a beauty which +our common audiences do not easily discern. Neither indeed do I value +myself upon it; because, with all that symmetry of parts, it may want +an air and spirit (which consists in the writing) to set it off. 'Tis +a question variously disputed, whether an author may be allowed as a +competent judge of his own works. As to the fabric and contrivance +of them, certainly he may; for that is properly the employment of +the judgment; which, as a master-builder, he may determine, and that +without deception, whether the work be according to the exactness of +the model; still granting him to have a perfect idea of that pattern +by which he works, and that he keeps himself always constant to the +discourse of his judgment, without admitting self-love, which is +the false surveyor of his fancy, to intermeddle in it. These +qualifications granted (being such as all sound poets are presupposed +to have within them), I think all writers, of what kind soever, may +infallibly judge of the frame and contexture of their works. But +for the ornament of writing, which is greater, more various, and +_bizarre_ in poesy than in any other kind, as it is properly the +child of fancy; so it can receive no measure, or at least but a very +imperfect one, of its own excellences or failures from the judgment. +Self-love (which enters but rarely into the offices of the judgment) +here predominates; and fancy (if I may so speak), judging of itself, +can be no more certain, or demonstrative of its own effects, than two +crooked lines can be the adequate measure of each other. What I +have said on this subject may, perhaps, give me some credit with my +readers, in my opinion of this play, which I have ever valued above +the rest of my follies of this kind; yet not thereby in the least +dissenting from their judgment, who have concluded the writing of this +to be much inferior to my "Indian Emperor." But the argument of that +was much more noble, not having the allay of comedy to depress it; yet +if this be more perfect, either in its kind, or in the general +notion of a play, it is as much as I desire to have granted for the +vindication of my opinion, and what as nearly touches me, the sentence +of a royal judge. Many have imagined the character of Philocles to +be faulty; some for not discovering the queen's love, others for his +joining in her restraint: But though I am not of their number, who +obstinately defend what they have once said, I may, with modesty, take +up those answers which have been made for me by my friends; namely, +that Philocles, who was but a gentleman of ordinary birth, had no +reason to guess so soon at the queen's passion; she being a person +so much above him, and, by the suffrages of all her people, already +destined to Lysimantes: Besides, that he was prepossessed (as the +queen somewhere hints it to him) with another inclination, which +rendered him less clear-sighted in it, since no man, at the same time, +can distinctly view two different objects; and if this, with any +shew of reason, may be defended, I leave my masters, the critics, to +determine, whether it be not much more conducing to the beauty of my +plot, that Philocles should be long kept ignorant of the queen's love, +than that with one leap he should have entered into the knowledge of +it, and thereby freed himself, to the disgust of the audience, from +that pleasing labyrinth of errors which was prepared for him. As for +that other objection, of his joining in the queen's imprisonment, it +is indisputably that which every man, if he examines himself, would +have done on the like occasion. If they answer, that it takes from +the height of his character to do it; I would enquire of my overwise +censors, who told them I intended him a perfect character, or, indeed, +what necessity was there he should be so, the variety of images being +one great beauty of a play? It was as much as I designed, to shew one +great and absolute pattern of honour in my poem, which I did in the +person of the queen: all the defects of the other parts being set +to shew, the more to recommend that one character of virtue to the +audience. But neither was the fault of Philocles so great, if the +circumstances be considered, which, as moral philosophy assures +us, make the essential differences of good and bad; he himself +best explaining his own intentions in his last act, which was the +restoration of his queen; and even before that, in the honesty of his +expressions, when he was unavoidably led by the impulsions of his love +to do it. That which with more reason was objected as an indecorum, +is the management of the last scene of the play, where Celadon and +Florimel are treating too lightly of their marriage in the presence of +the queen, who likewise seems to stand idle, while the great action of +the drama is still depending. This I cannot otherwise defend, than by +telling you, I so designed it on purpose, to make my play go off more +smartly; that scene being, in the opinion of the best judges, the most +divertising of the whole comedy. But though the artifice succeeded, I +am willing to acknowledge it as a fault, since it pleased his majesty, +the best judge, to think it so. + +I have only to add, that the play is founded on a story in the +"Cyrus," which he calls the Queen of Corinth; in whose character, +as it has been affirmed to me, he represents that of the famous +Christina, queen of Sweden. This is what I thought convenient to write +by way of preface to "The Maiden Queen;" in the reading of which I +fear you will not meet with that satisfaction, which you have had in +seeing it on the stage; the chief parts of it, both serious and comic, +being performed to that height of excellence, that nothing but a +command, which I could not handsomely disobey, could have given me the +courage to have made it public. + + + +PROLOGUE. + + +I. + +He who writ this, not without pains and thought, +From French and English theatres has brought +The exactest rules, by which a play is wrought. + +II. + +The unities of action, place, and time; +The scenes unbroken; and a mingled chime +Of Jonson's humour, with Corneille's rhyme. + +III. + +But while dead colours he with care did lay, +He fears his wit, or plot, he did not weigh, +Which are the living beauties of a play. + +IV. + +Plays are like towns, which, howe'er fortified +By engineers, have still some weaker side, +By the o'er-seen defendant unespied. + +V. + +And with that art you make approaches now; +Such skilful fury in assaults you show, +That every poet without shame may bow. + +VI. + +Ours, therefore, humbly would attend your doom, +If, soldier-like, he may have terms to come, +With flying colours, and with beat of drum. + +_The Prologue goes out, and stays while a tune is played, after +which he returns again_. + + + +SECOND PROLOGUE. + + +I had forgot one half, I do protest, +And now am sent again to speak the rest. +He bows to every great and noble wit; +But to the little Hectors of the pit +Our poet's sturdy, and will not submit. +He'll be beforehand with 'em, and not stay +To see each peevish critic stab his play; +Each puny censor, who, his skill to boast, +Is cheaply witty on the poet's cost. +No critic's verdict should, of right, stand good, +They are excepted all, as men of blood; +And the same law shall shield him from their fury, +Which has excluded butchers from a jury. +You'd all be wits-- +But writing's tedious, and that way may fail; +The most compendious method is to rail: +Which you so like, you think yourselves ill used, +When in smart prologues you are not abused. +A civil prologue is approved by no man; +You hate it, as you do a civil woman: +Your fancy's palled, and liberally you pay +To have it quickened ere you see a play; +Just as old sinners, worn from their delight, +Give money to be whipped to appetite. +But what a pox keep I so much ado +To save our poet? He is one of you; +A brother judgment, and, as I hear say, +A cursed critic as e'er damned a play. +Good savage gentlemen, your own kind spare; +He is, like you, a very wolf or bear; +Yet think not he'll your ancient rights invade, +Or stop the course of your free damning trade; +For he (he vows) at no friend's play can sit, +But he must needs find fault, to shew his wit: +Then, for his sake, ne'er stint your own delight; +Throw boldly, for he sits to all that write; +With such he ventures on an even lay, +For they bring ready money into play. +Those who write not, and yet all writers nick, +Are bankrupt gamesters, for they damn on tick. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + +LYSIMANTES, _first Prince of the Blood_. +PHILOCLES, _the Queen's favourite_. +CELADON, _a courtier_. + +_Queen of Sicily_. +CANDIOPE, _Princess of the Blood_. +ASTERIA, _the Queen's confident_. +FLORIMEL, _a maid of honour_. +FLAVIA, _another maid of honour_. +OLINDA, SABINA, _Sisters_. +MELISSA, _mother to_ OLINDA _and_ SABINA. + +_Guards, Pages of Honour, Soldiers_. + + +SCENE--_Sicily_. + + + +SECRET LOVE +OR THE +MAIDEN QUEEN. + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_Walks near the Court_. + +_Enter_ CELADON _and_ ASTERIA, _meeting each other, he in +a riding habit; they embrace_. + + +_Cel_. Dear Asteria!-- + +_Ast_. My dear brother, welcome! A thousand welcomes! Methinks, +this year, you have been absent, has been so tedious:--I hope, as you +have made a pleasant voyage, so you have brought your good humour back +again to court? + +_Cel_. I never yet knew any company I could not be merry in, +except it were an old woman's. + +_Ast_. Or at a funeral. + +_Cel_. Nay, for that you shall excuse me; for I was never merrier +than I was at a creditor's of mine, whose book perished with him. +But what new beauties have you at court? How do Melissa's two fair +daughters? + +_Ast_. When you tell me which of them you are in love with, I'll +answer you. + +_Cel_. Which of them, naughty sister! what a question's there? +With both of them; with each and singular of them. + +_Ast_. Bless me!--You are not serious? + +_Cel_. You look, as if it were a wonder to see a man in love. Are +they not handsome? + +_Ast_. Ay; but both together-- + +_Cel_. Ay, and both asunder; why, I hope there are but two of +them; the tall singing and dancing one, and the little innocent one? + +_Ast_. But you cannot marry both? + +_Cel_. No, nor either of them, I trust in Heaven: but I can keep +them company; I can sing and dance with them, and treat them; and +that, I take it, is somewhat better than musty marrying them. Marriage +is poor folks' pleasure, that cannot go to the cost of variety; but I +am out of danger of that with these two, for I love them so equally, I +can never make choice between them. Had I but one mistress, I might go +to her to be merry, and she, perhaps, be out of humour; there were a +visit lost: But here, if one of them frown upon me, the other will be +the more obliging, on purpose to recommend her own gaiety; besides a +thousand things that I could name. + +_Ast_. And none of them to any purpose. + +_Cel_. Well, if you will not be cruel to a poor lover, you might +oblige me, by carrying me to their lodgings. + +_Ast_. You know I am always busy about the queen. + +_Cel_. But once or twice only; 'till I am a little flushed in my +acquaintance with other ladies, and have learned to prey for myself. I +promise you I'll make all the haste I can to end the trouble, by being +in love somewhere else. + +_Ast_. You would think it hard to be denied now? + +_Cel_. And reason good. Many a man hangs himself for the loss of +one mistress: How do you think, then, I should bear the loss of two; +especially in a court, where, I think, beauty is but thin sown? + +_Ast_. There's one Florimel, the queen's ward, a new beauty, as +wild as you, and a vast fortune. + +_Cel_. I am for her before the world. Bring me to her, and I'll +release you of your promise for the other two. + +_Enter a Page_. + +_Page_. Madam, the queen expects you. + +_Cel_. I see you hold her favour; adieu, sister:--you have a +little emissary there, otherwise I would offer you my service. + +_Ast_. Farewell, brother; think upon Florimel. + +_Cel_. You may trust my memory for a handsome woman: I'll think +upon her, and the rest too; I'll forget none of them. [_Exit_ +ASTERIA. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter a Gentleman walking over the stage hastily; After him_ +FLORIMEL _and_ FLAVIA _masked_. + + +_Fla_. Phormio! Phormio! you will not leave us? + +_Gent_. In faith, I have a little business. + +[_Exit Gent_. + +_Cel_. Cannot I serve you in the gentleman's room, ladies? + +_Fla_. Which of us would you serve? + +_Cel_. Either of you, or both of you. + +_Fla_. Why, could you not be constant to one? + +_Cel_. Constant to one!--I have been a courtier, a soldier, and a +traveller, to good purpose, if I must be constant to one: Give me some +twenty, some forty, some a hundred mistresses! I have more love than +any woman can turn her to. + +_Flo_. Bless us! let us be gone, cousin: We two are nothing in +his hands. + +_Cel_. Yet, for my part, I can live with as few mistresses as any +man. I desire no superfluities; only for necessary change or so, as I +shift my linen. + +_Flo_. A pretty odd kind of fellow this; he fits my humour +rarely. [_Aside_. + +_Fla_. You are as inconstant as the moon. + +_Flo_. You wrong him, he's as constant as the sun; he would see +all the world in twenty-four hours. + +_Cel_. 'Tis very true, madam; but, like him, I would visit, and +away. + +_Flo_. For what an unreasonable thing it were, to stay long, be +troublesome, and hinder a lady of a fresh lover. + +_Cel_. A rare creature this! [_Aside_]--Besides, madam, how +like a fool a man looks, when, after all his eagerness of two minutes +before, he shrinks into a faint kiss, and a cold compliment.--Ladies +both, into your hands I commit myself; share me betwixt you. + +_Fla_. I'll have nothing to do with you, since you cannot be +constant to one. + +_Cel_. Nay, rather than lose either of you, I'll do more; I'll be +constant to an hundred of you. Or, if you will needs fetter me to one, +agree the matter between yourselves; and the most handsome take me. + +_Flo_. Though I am not she, yet since my mask is down, and you +cannot convince me, have a good faith of my beauty, and for once I +take you for my servant. + +_Cel_. And for once I'll make a blind bargain with you. Strike +hands; is't a match, mistress? + +_Flo_. Done, servant. + +_Cel_. Now I am sure I have the worst on't: For you see the worst +of me, and that I do not of you, 'till you shew your face.--Yet, now I +think on't, you must be handsome. + +_Flo_. What kind of beauty do you like? + +_Cel_. Just such a one as yours. + +_Flo_. What's that? + +_Cel_. Such an oval face, clear skin, hazel eyes, thick brown +eye-brows, and hair as you have, for all the world. + +_Fla_. But I can assure you, she has nothing of all this. + +_Cel_. Hold thy peace, envy; nay, I can be constant an I set +on't. + +_Flo_. 'Tis true she tells you. + +_Cel_. Ay, ay, you may slander yourself as you please: Then you +have,--let me see. + +_Flo_. Ill swear, you shall not see. + +_Cel_. A turned up nose, that gives an air to your face:--Oh, +I find I am more and more in love with you!--a full nether lip, an +out-mouth, that makes mine water at it; the bottom of your cheeks a +little blub, and two dimples when you smile: For your stature, 'tis +well; and for your wit, 'twas given you by one that knew it had been +thrown away upon an ill face.--Come, you're handsome, there's no +denying it. + +_Flo_. Can you settle your spirits to see an ugly face, and not +be frighted? I could find in my heart to lift up my mask, and disabuse +you. + +_Cel_. I defy your mask:--Would you would try the experiment! + +_Flo_. No, I won't; for your ignorance is the mother of your +devotion to me. + +_Cel_. Since you will not take the pains to convert me, I'll make +bold to keep my faith. A miserable man, I am sure, you have made me. + +_Fla_. This is pleasant. + +_Cel_. It may be so to you, but it is not to me; for aught I see, +I am going to be the most constant Maudlin,-- + +_Flo_. 'Tis very well, Celadon; you can be constant to one you +have never seen, and have forsaken all you have seen? + +_Cel_. It seems, you know me then:--Well, if thou should'st +prove one of my cast mistresses, I would use thee most damnably, for +offering to make me love thee twice. + +_Flo_. You are i'the right: An old mistress, or servant, is an +old tune; the pleasure on't is past, when we have once learned it. + +_Fla_. But what woman in the world would you wish her like? + +_Cel_. I have heard of one Florimel, the queen's ward; would she +were as like her for beauty, as she is for humour! + +_Fla_. Do you hear that, cousin? [_To_ FLOR. _aside_. + +_Flo_. Florimel's not handsome: Besides she's inconstant; and +only loves for some few days. + +_Cel_. If she loves for shorter time than I, she must love by +winter days and summer nights, i'faith. + +_Flo_. When you see us together, you shall judge. In the mean +time, adieu, sweet servant. + +_Cel_. Why, you won't be so inhuman to carry away my heart, and +not so much as tell me where I may hear news on't? + +_Flo_. I mean to keep it safe for you; for, if you had it, you +would bestow it worse: Farewell, I must see a lady. + +_Cel_. So must I too, if I can pull off your mask. + +_Flo_. You will not be so rude, I hope. + +_Cel_. By this light, but I will! + +_Flo_. By this leg, but you shan't. + +[_Exeunt_ FLO. _and_ FLA. _running_. + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter_ PHILOCLES, _and meets him going out_. + + +_Cel_. How! my cousin, the new favourite!--[_Aside_. + +_Phil_. Dear Celadon! most happily arrived.-- +I hear you've been an honour to your country +In the Calabrian wars; and I am glad +I have some interest in it. + +_Cel_. But in you +I have a larger subject for my joys: +To see so rare a thing as rising virtue, +And merit, understood at court. + +_Phil_. Perhaps it is the only act, that can +Accuse our queen of weakness. + +_Enter_ LYSIMANTES, _attended_. + +_Lys_. O, my lord Philocles, well overtaken! +I came to look you. + +_Phil_. Had I known it sooner, +My swift attendance, sir, had spared your trouble.-- +Cousin, you see prince Lysimantes [_To_ CEL. +Is pleased to favour me with his commands: +I beg you'll be no stranger now at court. + +_Cel_. So long as there be ladies there, you need +Not doubt me. [_Exit_ CELADON. + +_Phil_. Some of them will, I hope, make you a convert. + +_Lys_. My lord Philocles, I'm glad we are alone; +There is a business, that concerns me nearly, +In which I beg your love. + +_Phil_. Command my service. + +_Lys_. I know your interest with the queen is great; +(I speak not this as envying your fortune, +For, frankly, I confess you have deserved it; +Besides, my birth, my courage, and my honour, +Are all above so base a vice,)-- + +_Phil._ I know, my lord, you are first prince o'the blood; +Your country's second hope: +And that the public vote, when the queen weds, +Designs you for her choice. + +_Lys_. I am not worthy, +Except love makes desert; +For doubtless she's the glory of her time: +Of faultless beauty, blooming as the spring +In our Sicilian groves; matchless in virtue, +And largely souled where'er her bounty gives, +As, with each breath, she could create new Indies. + +_Phil_. But jealous of her glory,-- + +_Lys_. You are a courtier; and, in other terms, +Would you say, she is averse from marriage, +Lest it might lessen her authority. +But whensoe'er she does, I know the people +Will scarcely suffer her to match +With any neighbouring prince, whose power might bend +Our free Sicilians to a foreign yoke. + +_Phil_. I love too well my country to desire it. + +_Lys_. Then, to proceed, (as you well know, my lord,) +The provinces have sent their deputies, +Humbly to move her, she would chuse at home; +And, (for she seems averse from speaking with them,) +By my appointment, have designed these walks, +Where well she cannot shun them.--Now, if you +Assist their suit, by joining yours to it, +And by your mediation I prove happy, +I freely promise you-- + +_Phil_. Without a bribe, command my utmost in it:-- +And yet, there is a thing, which time may give me +The confidence to name,-- + +_Lys_. 'Tis yours whatever:-- +But, tell me true, does she not entertain +Some deep and settled thoughts against my person? + +_Phil_. I hope, not so; but she, of late, is froward; +Reserved, and sad, and vexed at little things; +Which her great soul, ashamed of, strait shakes off, +And is composed again. + +_Lys_. You are still near the queen; and all our actions +Come to princes' eyes, as they are represented +By them, that hold the mirror. + +_Phil_. Here she comes, and with her the deputies: +I fear all is not right. + +_Enter Queen, Deputies after her;_ ASTERIA, _Guard,_ FLAVIA, +OLINDA, _and_ SABINA. _Queen turns back to the Deputies, and +speaks entering_. + +_Queen_. And I must tell you, +It is a saucy boldness, thus to press +On my retirements. + +_1 Dep_. Our business being of no less concern, +Than is the peace and quiet of your subjects;-- +And that delayed,-- + +_2 Dep_. We humbly took this time +To represent your people's fears to you. + +_Queen_. My people's fears! who made them statesmen? +They much mistake their business, if they think, +It is to govern. +The rights of subjects, and of sovereigns, +Are things distinct in nature:--Theirs is to +Enjoy propriety, not empire. + +_Lys_. If they have erred, 'twas but an over-care; +An ill-timed duty. + +_Queen_. Cousin, I expect +From your near blood, not to excuse, but check them. +They would impose a ruler upon their lawful queen: +For what's an husband else? + +_Lys_. Far, madam, be it from the thoughts +Of any, who pretends to that high honour, +To wish for more than to be reckoned +As the most graced, and first of all your servants. + +_Queen_. These are the insinuating promises +Of those, who aim at power. But tell me, cousin, +(For you are unconcerned, and may be judge,) +Should that aspiring man compass his ends, +What pawn of his obedience could he give me, +When kingly power were once invested in him? + +_Lys_. What greater pledge than love! When those fair eyes +Cast their commanding beams, he, that could be +A rebel to your birth, must pay them homage. + +_Queen_. All eyes are fair, +That sparkle with the jewels of a crown: +But now I see my government is odious; +My people find I am not fit to reign, +Else they would never-- + +_Lys_. So far from that, we all acknowledge you +The bounty of the gods to Sicily: +More than they are you cannot make our joys; +Make them but lasting in a successor. + +_Phil_. Your people seek not to impose a prince; +But humbly offer one to your free choice: +And such a one he is--may I have leave +To speak some little of his great deserts?-- + +_Queen_. I'll hear no more.-- +For you, attend to-morrow at the council: +[_To the Deputies_. +There you shall have my firm resolves:--meantime, +My cousin, I am sure, will welcome you. + +_Lys_. Still more and more mysterious: But I have +Gained one of her women that shall unriddle it.-- + [_Aside_. +Come, gentlemen. + +_All Dep_. Heaven preserve your majesty! + [_Exeunt_ LYS. _and Dep_. + +_Queen_. Philocles, you may stay. + +_Phil_. I humbly wait your majesty's commands. + +_Queen_. Yet, now I better think on't, you may go. + +_Phil_. Madam! + +_Queen_. I have no commands;--or, what's all one, +You, no obedience. + +_Phil_. How! no obedience, madam? +I plead no other merit; 'tis the charter +By which I hold your favour, and my fortunes. + +_Queen_. My favours are cheap blessings, like rain and sunshine, +For which we scarcely thank the gods, because +We daily have them. + +_Phil_. Madam, your breath, which raised me from the dust, +May lay me there again: +But fate nor time can ever make me lose +The sense of your indulgent bounties to me. + +_Queen_. You are above them now, grown popular:-- +Ah, Philocles! could I expect from you +That usage!--no tongue but yours +To move me to a marriage?--[_Weeps_. +The factious deputies might have some end in't, +And my ambitious cousin gain a crown: +But what advantage could there come to you? +What could you hope from Lysimantes' reign, +That you can want in mine? + +_Phil_. You yourself clear me, madam. Had I sought +More power, this marriage sure was not the way. +But, when your safety was in question, +When all your people were unsatisfied, +Desired a king,--nay more, designed the man,-- +It was my duty then,-- + +_Queen_. Let me be judge of my own safety. +I am a woman; +But danger from my subjects cannot fright me. + +_Phil_. But Lysimantes, madam, is a person,-- + +_Queen_. I cannot love. +Shall I,--I, who was born a sovereign queen, +Be barred of that, which God and nature gives +The meanest slave, a freedom in my love?-- +Leave me, good Philocles, to my own thoughts; +When next I need your counsel, I'll send for you. + +_Phil_. I'm most unhappy in your high displeasure; +But, since I must not speak, madam, be pleased +To peruse this, and therein read my care. + +[_He plucks out a paper, and presents it to her; but drops, unknown +to him, a picture. Exit_ PHI. + +_Queen_. [_reads_.] A catalogue of such persons,-- +What's this he has let fall, Asteria? + [_Spies the box_. + +_Ast_. Your majesty?-- + +_Queen_. Take that up; it fell from Philocles. + +[_She takes it up, looks on it, and smiles_. + +_Queen_. How now, what makes you merry? + +_Ast_. A small discovery I have made, madam. + +_Queen_. Of what? + +_Ast_. Since first your majesty graced Philocles, +I have not heard him named for any mistress, +But now this picture has convinced me. + +_Queen_. Ha! let me see it.-- + [_Snatches it from her_. +Candiope, prince Lysimantes' sister! + +_Ast_. Your favour, madam, may encourage him,-- +And yet he loves in a high place for him: +A princess of the blood; and, what is more, +Beyond comparison the fairest lady +Our isle can boast. + +_Queen_. How!--she the fairest +Beyond comparison!--'Tis false! you flatter her; +She is not fair. + +_Ast_. I humbly beg forgiveness on my knees, +If I offended you:--But next yours, madam, +Which all must yield to. + +_Queen_. I pretend to none. + +_Ast_. She passes for a beauty. + +_Queen_. Ay, she may pass:--But why do I speak of her?-- +Dear Asteria, lead me, I am not well o' the sudden. + [_She faints_. + +_Ast_. Who's near there?--help the queen! + +[_The guards are coming_. + +_Queen_. Bid them away: 'Twas but a qualm, +And 'tis already going. + +_Ast_. Dear madam, what's the matter? +You are of late so altered, I scarce know you. +You were gay humoured, and you now are pensive; +Once calm, and now unquiet:-- +Pardon my boldness, that I press thus far +Into your secret thoughts: I have, at least, +A subject's share in you. + +_Queen_. Thou hast a greater. +That of a friend:--But I am froward, say'st thou? + +_Ast_. It ill becomes me, madam, to say that. + +_Queen_. I know I am:--Pr'ythee, forgive me for it,-- +I cannot help it;--but thou hast +Not long to suffer it. + +_Ast_. Alas! + +_Queen_. I feel my strength each day and hour consume, +Like lilies wasting in a lymbeck's heat. +Yet a few days, +And thou shalt see me lie, all damp and cold, +Shrouded within some hollow vault, among +My silent ancestors. + +_Ast_. O dearest madam! +Speak not of death; or think not, if you die, +That I will stay behind. + +_Queen_. Thy love has moved me;--I, for once, will have +The pleasure to be pitied. I'll unfold +A thing so strange, so horrid of myself-- + +_Ast_. Bless me, sweet heaven!-- +So horrid, said you, madam? + +_Queen_. That sun, who with one look surveys the globe, +Sees not a wretch like me!--And could the world +Take a right measure of my state within, +Mankind must either pity me, or scorn me. + +_Ast_. Sure none could do the last. + +_Queen_. Thou longest to know it, +And I to tell thee, but shame stops my mouth. +First, promise me thou wilt excuse my folly; +And, next, be secret. + +_Ast_. Can you doubt it, madam? + +_Queen_. Yet you might spare my labour:-- +Can you not guess? + +_Ast_. Madam, please you, I'll try. + +_Queen_. Hold, Asteria!-- +I would not have you guess; for should you find it, +I should imagine that some other might, +And then I were most wretched:-- +Therefore, though you should know it, flatter me, +And say you could not guess it. + +_Ast_. Madam, I need not flatter you, I cannot--and yet, +Might not ambition trouble your repose? + +_Queen_. My Sicily, I thank the Gods, contents me. +But, since I must reveal it, know,--'tis love: +I, who pretended so to glory, am +Become the slave of love. + +_Ast_. I thought your majesty had framed designs +To subvert all your laws; become a tyrant, +Or vex your neighbours, with injurious wars; +Is this all, madam? + +_Queen_. Is not this enough? +Then, know, I love below myself; a subject; +Love one, who loves another, and who knows not +That I love him. + +_Ast_. He must be told it, madam. + +_Queen_. Not for the world, Asteria: +Whene'er he knows it, I shall die for shame. + +_Ast_. What is it, then, that would content you? + +_Queen_. Nothing, but that I had not lov'd. + +_Ast_. May I not ask, without offence, who 'tis? + +_Queen_. Ev'n that confirms me, I have loved amiss; +Since thou canst know I love, and not imagine +It must be Philocles. + +_Ast_. My cousin is, indeed, a most deserving person; +Valiant, and wise; handsome, and well-born. + +_Queen_. But not of royal blood: +I know his fate, unfit to be a king. +To be his wife, I could forsake my crown; but not my glory: +Yet--would he did not love Candiope; +Would he loved me--but knew not of my love, +Or e'er durst tell me his. + +_Ast_. In all this labyrinth, +I find one path, conducting to our quiet. + +_Queen_. O tell me quickly then! + +_Ast_. Candiope, as princess of the blood, +Without your approbation cannot marry: +First, break his match with her, by virtue of +Your sovereign authority. + +_Queen_. I fear, that were to make him hate me, +Or, what's as bad, to let him know, I love him: +Could you not do it of yourself? + +_Ast_. I'll not be wanting to my pow'r: +But if your majesty appears not in it, +The love of Philocles will soon surmount +All other difficulties. + +_Queen_. Then, as we walk, we'll think what means are best; +Effect but this, and thou shar'st half my breast. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I--_The Queens Apartment_. + + +ASTERIA _alone_. + +Nothing thrives that I have plotted; +For I have sounded Philocles, and find +He is too constant to Candiope: +Her too I have assaulted, but in vain, +Objecting want of quality in Philocles. +I'll to the queen, and plainly tell her, +She must make use of her authority +To break the match. + +_Enter_ CELADON _looking about him_. + +Brother! what make you here +About the queen's apartments? +Which of the ladies are you watching for? + +_Cel_. Any of 'em, that will do me the good turn, to make me +soundly in love. + +_Ast_. Then I'll bespeak you one, you will be desperately in love +with; Florimel: So soon as the queen heard you were returned, she gave +you her for mistress. + +_Cel_. Thank her majesty; but, to confess the truth, my fancy +lies partly another way. + +_Ast_. That's strange: Florimel vows you are already in love with +her. + +_Cel_. She wrongs me horribly; if ever I saw or spoke with this +Florimel-- + +_Ast_. Well, take your fortune, I must leave you. + +[_Exit_ ASTERIA. + +_Enter_ FLORIMEL, _sees him, and is running back_. + +_Cel_. Nay, i'faith I am got betwixt you and home; you are my +prisoner, lady bright, till you resolve me one question. + +[_She makes signs she is dumb_.] + +Pox, I think, she's dumb: what a vengeance dost thou at court, with +such a rare face, without a tongue to answer to a kind question? Art +thou dumb indeed? then thou canst tell no tales-- + +[_Goes to kiss her_. + +_Flo_. Hold, hold, you are not mad! + +_Cel_. Oh, my miss in a mask! have you found your tongue? + +_Flo_. 'Twas time, I think; what had become of me if I had not? + +_Cel_. Me thinks your lips had done as well. + +_Flo_. Ay, if my mask had been over 'em, as it was when you met +me in the walks. + +_Cel_. Well; will you believe me another time? Did not I say, +you were infinitely handsome? they may talk of Florimel, if they will, +but, i'faith, she must come short of you. + +_Flo_. Have you seen her, then? + +_Cel_. I look'd a little that way, but I had soon enough of her; +she is not to be seen twice without a surfeit. + +_Flo_. However, you are beholden to her; they say she loves you. + +_Cel_. By fate she shan't love me: I have told her a piece of +my mind already? Pox o' these coming women: They set a man to dinner, +before he has an appetite. [FLAVIA _at the door_. + +_Fla_. Florimel, you are call'd within--[_Exit_. + +_Cel_. I hope in the lord, you are not Florimel! + +_Flo_. Ev'n she, at your service; the same kind and coming +Florimel, you have described. + +_Cel_. Why then we are agreed already: I am as kind and coming +as you, for the heart of you: I knew, at first, we two were good for +nothing but one another. + +_Flo_. But, without raillery, are you in love? + +_Cel_. So horribly much, that, contrary to my own maxims, I +think, in my conscience, I could marry you. + +_Flo_. No, no, 'tis not come to that yet; but if you are really +in love, you have done me the greatest pleasure in the world. + +_Cel_. That pleasure, and a better too, I have in store for you. + +_Flo_. This animal, call'd a lover, I have long'd to see these +two years. + +_Cel_. Sure you walk'd with your mask on all the while; for if +you had been seen, you could not have been without your wish. + +_Flo_. I warrant, you mean an ordinary whining lover; but I must +have other proofs of love, ere I believe it. + +_Cel_. You shall have the best that I can give you. + +_Flo_. I would have a lover, that, if need be, should hang +himself, drown himself, break his neck, poison himself, for very +despair: He, that will scruple this, is an impudent fellow if he says +he is in love. + +_Cel_. Pray, madam, which of these four things would you have +your lover to do? For a man's but a man; he cannot hang, and drown, +and break his neck, and poison himself, all together. + +_Flo_. Well, then, because you are but a beginner, and I would +not discourage you, any of these shall serve your turn, in a fair way. + +_Cel_. I am much deceiv'd in those eyes of yours, if a treat, a +song, and the fiddles, be not a more acceptable proof of love to you, +than any of those tragical ones you have mentioned. + +_Flo_. However, you will grant it is but decent you should be +pale, and lean, and melancholick, to shew you are in love: And that I +shall require of you when I see you next. + +_Cel_. When you see me next? Why you do not make a rabbit of me, +to be lean at twenty-four hours warning? in the mean while, we burn +day-light, lose time and love. + +_Flo_. Would you marry me without consideration? + +_Cel_. To chuse, by heaven; for they that think on't, twenty to +one would never do it. Hang forecast! to make sure of one good night +is as much in reason, as a man should expect from this ill world. + +_Flo_. Methinks, a few more years and discretion would do well: +I do not like this going to bed so early; it makes one so weary before +morning. + +_Cel_. That's much as your pillow is laid, before you go to +sleep. + +_Flo_. Shall I make a proposition to you? I will give you a whole +year of probation to love me in; to grow reserved, discreet, sober, +and faithful, and to pay me all the services of a lover-- + +_Cel_. And at the end of it, you'll marry me? + +_Flo_. If neither of us alter our minds before. + +_Cel_. By this light a necessary clause. But if I pay in all +the foresaid services before the day, you shall be obliged to take me +sooner into mercy. + +_Flo_. Provided, if you prove unfaithful, then your time of a +twelve-month to be prolonged; so many services, I will bate you so +many days or weeks; so many faults, I will add to your 'prenticeship +so much more: And of all this, I only to be judge. + +_Enter_ PHILOCLES _and_ LYSIMANTES. + +_Lys_. Is the queen this way, madam? + +_Flo_. I'll see, so please your highness: Follow me, captive. + +_Cel_. March on, conqueror--[_She pulls him_. + +[_Exeunt_ CEL. FLO. + +_Lys_. You're sure her majesty will not oppose it? + +_Phil_. Leave that to me, my lord. + +_Lys_. Then, tho' perhaps my sister's birth might challenge +An higher match, +I'll weigh your merits, on the other side, +To make the balance even. + +_Phil_. I go, my lord, this minute. + +_Lys_. My best wishes wait on you. + [_Exit_ LYSIMANTES. + +_Enter the Queen and_ ASTERIA. + +_Queen_. Yonder he is; have I no other way? + +_Ast_. O madam, you must stand this brunt: +Deny him now, and leave the rest to me: +I'll to Candiope's mother, +And, under the pretence of friendship, work +On her ambition to put off a match +So mean as Philocles. + +_Queen_. You may approach, sir; [_To_ PHIL. +We two discourse no secrets. + +_Phil_. I come, madam, to weary out your royal +bounty. + +_Queen_. Some suit, I warrant, for your cousin Celadon. +Leave his advancement to my care. + +_Phil_. Your goodness still prevents my wishes.-- +Yet I have one request, +Might it not pass almost for madness, and +Extreme ambition in me-- + +_Queen_. You know you have a favourable judge; +It lies in you not to ask any thing +I cannot grant. + +_Phil_. Madam, perhaps, you think me too faulty: +But love alone inspires me with ambition, +Tho' but to look on fair Candiope were an excuse for both. + +_Queen_. Keep your ambition, and let love alone: +That I can cloy, but this I cannot cure. +I have some reasons (invincible to me) which must forbid +Your marriage with Candiope. + +_Phil_. I knew I was not worthy. + +_Queen_. Not for that, Philocles; you deserve all things, +And, to shew I think it, my admiral, I hear, is dead; +His vacant place (the best in all my kingdom,) +I here confer on you. + +_Phil_. Rather take back all you had giv'n before, +Than not give this; +For believe, madam, nothing is so near +My soul, as the possession of Candiope. + +_Queen_. Since that belief would be to your disadvantage, +I will not entertain it. + +_Phil_. Why, madam, can you be thus cruel to me? +To give me all things, which I did not ask, +And yet deny that only thing, I beg: +And so beg, that I find I cannot live +Without the hope of it. + +_Queen_. Hope greater things; +But hope not this. Haste to o'ercome your love; +It is but putting a short-liv'd passion to a violent death. + +_Phil_. I cannot live without Candiope; +But I can die, without a murmur, +Having my doom pronounced from your fair mouth. + +_Queen_. If I am to pronounce it, live, my Philocles, +But live without, (I was about to say) [_Aside_. +Without his love, but that I cannot do; +Live Philocles without Candiope. + +_Phil_. Madam, could you give my doom so quickly, +And knew it was irrevocable! +'Tis too apparent, +You, who alone love glory, and whose soul +Is loosened from your senses, cannot judge +What torments mine, of grosser mould, endures. + +_Queen_. I cannot suffer you +To give me praises, which are not my own: +I love like you, and am yet much more wretched, +Than you can think yourself. + +_Phil_. Weak bars they needs must be, that fortune puts +'Twixt sovereign power, and all it can desire. +When princes love, they call themselves unhappy; +Only, because the word sounds handsome in a lover's mouth; +But you can cease to be so when you please, +By making Lysimantes fortunate. + +_Queen_. Were he indeed the man, you had some reason; +But 'tis another, more without my power, +And yet a subject too. + +_Phil_. O, madam, say not so: +It cannot be a subject, if not he; +It were to be injurious to yourself +To make another choice. + +_Queen_. Yet, Lysimantes, set by him I love, +Is more obscured, than stars too near the sun: +He has a brightness of his own, +Not borrowed of his father's, but born with him. + +_Phil_. Pardon me if I say, whoe'er he be, +He has practis'd some ill arts upon you, madam; +For he, whom you describe, I see, is born +But from the lees o' the people. + +_Queen_. You offend me, Philocles. +Whence had you leave to use those insolent terms, +Of him I please to love? One, I must tell you, +(Since foolishly I have gone thus far) +Whom I esteem your equal, +And far superior to prince Lysimantes; +One, who deserves to wear a crown-- + +_Phil_. Whirlwinds bear me hence, before I live +To that detested day!--That frown assures me +I have offended, by my over-freedom; +But yet, methinks, a heart so plain and honest, +And zealous of your glory, might hope your pardon for it. + +_Queen_. I give it you; but, +When you know him better, +You'll alter your opinion; he's no ill friend of yours. + +_Phil_. I well perceive, +He has supplanted me in your esteem; +But that's the least of ills this fatal wretch +Has practised--Think, for heaven's sake, madam, think, +If you have drunk no philtre. + +_Queen_. Yes, he has given me a philtre; +But I have drunk it only from his eyes. + +_Phil_. Hot irons thank 'em for't! + [_Softly, or turning from her_. + +_Queen_. What's that you mutter? +Hence from my sight! I know not whether +I ever shall endure to see you more. + +_Phil_. But hear me, madam. + +_Queen_. I say, begone.--See me no more this day.-- +I will not hear one word in your excuse: +Now, sir, be rude again; and give laws to your queen. + [_Exit_ PHILOCLES _bowing_. +Asteria, come hither. +Was ever boldness like to this of Philocles? +Help me to reproach him, for I resolve +Henceforth no more to love him. + +_Ast_. Truth is, I wondered at your patience, madam: +Did you not mark his words, his mein, his action, +How full of haughtiness, how small respect? + +_Queen_. And he to use me thus, he whom I favoured, +Nay more, he whom I loved? + +_Ast_. A man, methinks, of vulgar parts and presence! + +_Queen_. Or, allow him something handsome, valiant, +Or so--Yet this to me!-- + +_Ast_. The workmanship of inconsiderate favour, +The creature of rash love; one of those meteors +Which monarchs raise from earth, +And people, wondering how they came so high, +Fear, from their influence, plagues, and wars, and famine. + +_Queen_. Ha! + +_Ast_. One, whom, instead of banishing a day, +You should have plumed of all his borrowed honours, +And let him see what abject things they are, +Whom princes often love without desert. + +_Queen_. What has my Philocles deserved from thee, +That thou shouldst use him thus? +Were he the basest of mankind, thou couldst not +Have given him ruder language. + +_Ast_. Did not your majesty command me? +Did not yourself begin? + +_Queen_. I grant I did, but I have right to do it: +I love him, and may rail; in you 'tis malice; +Malice in the most high degree; for never man +Was more deserving than my Philocles. +Or, do you love him, ha! and plead that title? +Confess, and I'll forgive you-- +For none can look on him, but needs must love. + +_Ast_. I love him, madam! I beseech your majesty, +Have better thoughts of me. + +_Queen_. Dost thou not love him then? +Good heaven, how stupid, and how dull is she? +How most invincibly insensible! +No woman does deserve to live, +That loves not Philocles. + +_Ast_. Dear madam, recollect yourself; alas! +How much distracted are your thoughts; and how +Disjointed all your words! +The sibyl's leaves more orderly were laid. +Where is that harmony of mind, that prudence, +Which guided all you did? that sense of glory, +Which raised you high above the rest of kings, +As kings are o'er the level of mankind? + +_Queen_. Gone, gone, Asteria; all is gone, +Or lost within me, far from any use. +Sometimes I struggle, like the sun in clouds, +But straight I am o'ercast. + +_Ast_. I grieve to see it. + +_Queen_. Then thou hast yet the goodness +To pardon what I said? +Alas! I use myself much worse than thee. +Love rages in great souls, +For there his power most opposition finds; +High trees are shook, because they dare the winds. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_The Court Gallery_. + + +PHILOCLES _solus_. + +'Tis true, she banished me but for a day; +But favourites, once declining, sink apace. +Yet fortune, stop--this is the likeliest place +To meet Asteria, and by her convey +My humble vows to my offended queen. +Ha! She comes herself; unhappy man, +Where shall I hide?--[_Is going out_. + +_Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA. + +_Queen_. Is not that Philocles, +Who makes such haste away? Philocles, Philocles!-- + +_Phil_. I feared she saw me. [_Coming back_. + +_Queen_. How now, sir, am I such a bugbear, +That I scare people from me? + +_Phil_. 'Tis true, I should more carefully have shunned +The place where you might be; as, when it thunders, +Men reverently quit the open air, +Because the angry gods are then abroad. + +_Queen_. What does he mean, Asteria? +I do not understand him. + +_Ast_. Your majesty forgets, you banished him +Your presence for this day. [_To her softly_. + +_Queen_. Ha! banished him! 'tis true indeed; +But, as thou sayest, I had forgot it quite. + +_Ast_. That's very strange, scarce half an hour ago. + +_Queen_. But love had drawn his pardon up so soon, +That I forgot he e'er offended me. + +_Phil_. Pardon me, that I could not thank you sooner; +Your sudden grace, like some swift flood poured in +On narrow banks, o'erflowed my spirits. + +_Queen_. No: 'tis for me to ask your pardon, Philocles, +For the great injury I did you, +In not remembering I was angry with you: +But I'll repair my fault, +And rouse my anger up against you yet. + +_Phil_. No, madam, my forgiveness was your act of grace, +And I lay hold of it. + +_Queen_. Princes sometimes may pass +Acts of oblivion, in their own wrong. + +_Phil_. 'Tis true, but not recal them. + +_Queen_. But, Philocles, since I have told you there is one +I love, I will go on, and let you know +What passed this day betwixt us; be our judge, +Whether my servant have dealt well with me. + +_Phil_. I beseech your majesty, excuse me: +Any thing more of him may make me +Relapse too soon, and forfeit my late pardon. + +_Queen_. But you'll be glad to know it. + +_Phil_. May I not hope, then, +You have some quarrel to him? + +_Queen_. Yes, a great one. +But first to justify myself: +Know, Philocles, I have concealed my passion +With such care from him, that he knows not yet +I love, but only that I much esteem him. + +_Phil_. O stupid wretch, +That, by a thousand tokens, could not guess it! + +_Queen_. He loves elsewhere, and that has blinded him. + +_Phil_. He's blind indeed! +So the dull beasts in the first paradise, +With levelled eyes, gazed each upon their kind; +There fixed their love, and ne'er looked up to view +That glorious creature man, their sovereign lord. + +_Queen_. Y'are too severe on little faults; but he +Has crimes, untold, +Which will, I fear, move you much more against him. +He fell this day into a passion with me, +And boldly contradicted all I said. + +_Phil_. And stands his head upon his shoulders yet? +How long shall this most insolent-- + +_Queen_. Take heed you rail not; +You know you are but on your good behaviour. + +_Phil_. Why then I will not call him traitor, +But only rude, audacious, and impertinent, +To use his sovereign so--I beg your leave +To wish, you have at least imprisoned him. + +_Queen_. Some people may speak ill, and yet mean well: +Remember you were not confined; and yet +Your fault was great. In short, I love him, +And that excuses all; but be not jealous; +His rising shall not be your overthrow, +Nor will I ever marry him. + +_Phil_. That's some comfort yet; +He shall not be a king. + +_Queen_. He never shall. But you are discomposed; +Stay here a little; I have somewhat for you, +Shall shew, you still are in my favour. + +[_Exeunt Queen and_ ASTERIA. + +_Enter to him_ CANDIOPE, _weeping_. + +_Phil_. How now, in tears, my fair Candiope? +So, through a watry cloud, +The sun, at once, seems both to weep and shine. +For what forefather's sin do you afflict +Those precious eyes? For sure you have +None of your own to weep. + +_Cand_. My crimes both great and many needs must shew, +Since heaven will punish them with losing you. + +_Phil_. Afflictions, sent from heaven without a cause, +Make bold mankind enquire into its laws. +But heaven, which moulding beauty takes such care, +Makes gentle fates on purpose for the fair: +And destiny, that sees them so divine, +Spins all their fortunes in a silken twine: +No mortal hand so ignorant is found, +To weave coarse work upon a precious ground. + +_Cand_. Go preach this doctrine in my mother's ears. + +_Phil_. Has her severity produced these tears? + +_Cand_. She has recalled those hopes she gave before, +And strictly bids me ne'er to see you more. + +_Phil_. Changes in froward age are natural; +Who hopes for constant weather in the fall? +'Tis in your power your duty to transfer, +And place that right in me, which was in her. + +_Cand_. Reason, like foreign foes, would ne'er o'ercome, +But that I find I am betrayed at home; +You have a friend, that fights for you within. + +_Phil_. Let reason ever lose, so love may win. + +_Enter Queen with a picture in her hand, and_ ASTERIA + +_Queen_. See there, Asteria, +All we have done succeeds still to the worse; +We hindered him from seeing her at home, +Where I but only heard they loved; and now +She comes to court, and mads me with the sight on't. + +_Ast_. Dear madam, overcome yourself a little, +Or they'll perceive how much you are concerned. + +_Queen_. I struggle with my heart-- +But it will have some vent. +Cousin, you are a stranger at the court. [_To_ CAND. + +_Cand_. It was my duty, I confess, +To attend oftner on your majesty. + +_Queen_. Asteria, mend my cousin's handkerchief; +It sits too narrow there, and shows too much +The broadness of her shoulders--Nay, fie, Asteria, +Now you put it too much backward, and discover +The bigness of her breasts. + +_Cand_. I beseech your majesty, +Give not yourself this trouble. + +_Queen_. Sweet cousin, you shall pardon me; +A beauty such as yours +Deserves a more than ordinary care, +To set it out. +Come hither, Philocles, do but observe, +She has but one gross fault in all her shape, +That is, she bears up here too much, +And the malicious workman has left it +Open to your eye. + +_Phil_. Where, and please your majesty? +Methinks 'tis very well. + +_Queen_. Do not you see it? Oh how blind is love! + +_Cand_. And how quick-sighted malice! [_Aside_. + +_Queen_. But yet, methinks, those knots of sky do not +So well with the dead colour of her face. + +_Ast_. Your majesty mistakes, she wants no red. + +[_The Queen here plucks out her glass, and looks +sometimes on herself, sometimes on her rival_. + +_Queen_. How do I look to-day, Asteria? +Methinks, not well. + +_Ast_. Pardon me, madam, most victoriously. + +_Queen_. What think you, Philocles? come, do not +flatter. + +_Phil_. Paris was a bold man, who presumed, +To judge the beauty of a goddess. + +_Cand_. Your majesty has given the reason why +He cannot judge; his love has blinded him. + +_Queen_. Methinks, a long patch here, beneath her eye, +Might hide that dismal hollowness. +What think you, Philocles? + +_Cand_. Beseech you, madam, ask not his opinion: +What my faults are it is no matter; +He loves me with them all. + +_Queen_. Ay, he may love; but when he marries you, +Your bridal shall be kept in some dark dungeon. +Farewell, and think of that, too easy maid! +I blush, thou sharest my blood. + +[_Exeunt Queen and_ ASTERIA. + +_Cand_. Inhuman queen! +Thou canst not be more willing to resign +Thy part in me, than I to give up mine. + +_Phil_. Love, how few subjects do thy laws fulfil, +And yet those few, like us, thou usest ill! + +_Cand_. The greatest slaves, in monarchies, are they, +Whom birth sets nearest to imperial sway; +While jealous power does sullenly o'erspy, +We play, like deer, within the lion's eye. +'Would I for you some shepherdess had been, +And, but each May, ne'er heard the name of queen! + +_Phil_. If you were so, might I some monarch be, +Then, you should gain what now you lose by me; +Then, you in all my glories should have part, +And rule my empire, as you rule my heart. + +_Cand_. How much our golden wishes are in vain! +When they are past, we are ourselves again. + +_Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA _above_. + +_Queen_. Look, look, Asteria, yet they are not gone. +Hence we may hear what they discourse alone. + +_Phil_. My love inspires me with a generous thought, +Which you, unknowing in those wishes, taught. +Since happiness may out of courts be found, +Why stay we here on this enchanted ground; +And chuse not rather with content to dwell +(If love and joy can find it) in a cell? + +_Cand_. Those who, like you, have once in courts been great, +May think they wish, but wish not, to retreat. +They seldom go, but when they cannot stay; +As losing gamesters throw the dice away. +Even in that cell, where you repose would find, +Visions of court will haunt your restless mind; +And glorious dreams stand ready to restore +The pleasing shapes of all you had before. + +_Phil_. He, who with your possession once is blest, +On easy terms will part with all the rest. +All my ambition will in you be crowned; +And those white arms shall all my wishes bound. +Our life shall be but one long nuptial day, +And, like chafed odours, melt in sweets away; +Soft as the night our minutes shall be worn, +And chearful as the birds, that wake the morn. + +_Cand_. Thus hope misleads itself in pleasant way, +And takes more joys on trust, than love can pay: +But, love with long possession once decayed, +That face, which now you court, you will upbraid. + +_Phil_. False lovers broach these tenets, to remove +The fault from them, by placing it on love. + +_Cand_. Yet grant, in youth you keep alive your fire, +Old age will come, and then it must expire: +Youth but a while does at love's temple stay, +As some fair inn, to lodge it on the way. + +_Phil_. Your doubts are kind; but, to be satisfied +I can be true, I beg I may be tried. + +_Cand_. Trials of love too dear the making cost; +For if successless, the whole venture's lost. +What you propose, brings wants and care along. + +_Phil_. Love can bear both. + +_Cand_. But is your love so strong? + +_Phil_. They do not want, who wish not to have more; +Who ever said an anchoret was poor? + +_Cand_. To answer generously, as you have done, +I should not by your arguments be won: +I know, I urge your ruin by consent; +Yet love too well, that ruin to prevent. + +_Phil_. Like water given to those whom fevers fry, +You kill but him, who must without it die. + +_Cand_. Secure me, I may love without a crime; +Then, for our flight, appoint both place and time. + +_Phil_. The ensuing hour my plighted vows shall be; +The time's not long; or only long to me. + +_Cand_. Then, let us go where we shall ne'er be seen +By my hard mother. + +_Phil_. Or my cruel queen. + +[_Exeunt_ PHIL. _and_ CAND. + +_Queen above_. O, Philocles, unkind to call me cruel! +So false Aeneas did from Dido fly; +But never branded her with cruelty. +How I despise myself for loving so! + +_Ast_. At once you hate yourself, and love him too. + +_Queen_. No, his ingratitude has cured my wound: +A painful cure indeed! + +_Ast_. And yet not sound. +His ignorance of your true thoughts +Excuses this; you did seem cruel, madam. + +_Queen_. But much of kindness still mixed with it. +Who could mistake so grossly, not to know +A Cupid frowning, when he draws his bow? + +_Ast_. He's going now to smart for his offence. + +_Queen_. Should he, without my leave, depart from +hence? + +_Ast_. No matter; since you hate him, let him go. + +_Queen_. But I my hate by my revenge will show: +Besides, his head's a forfeit to the state. + +_Ast_. When you take that, I will believe you hate. +Let him possess, and then he'll soon repent; +And so his crime will prove his punishment. + +_Queen_. He may repent; but he will first possess. + +_Ast_. O, madam, now your hatred you confess: +If his possessing her your rage does move, +'Tis jealousy, the avarice of love. + +_Queen_. No more, Asteria. +Seek Lysimantes out, bid him set his guards +Through all the court and city. +Prevent their marriage first; then stop their flight. +Some fitting punishments I will ordain, +But speak not you of Philocles again: +'Tis bold to search, and dangerous to find, +Too much of heaven's, or of a prince's mind. +[_Queen descends, and exit_. + +_As the Queen has done speaking,_ FLAVIA _is going +hastily over the stage;_ ASTERIA _sees her_. + +_Ast_. Flavia, Flavia, whither so fast? + +_Fla_. Did you call, Asteria? + +_Ast_. The queen has business with Prince Lysimantes; +Speak to any gentleman in the court, to fetch him. +[_Exit_ ASTERIA _from above_. + +_Fla_. I suspect somewhat, but I'll watch you close; +Prince Lysimantes has not chose in me +The worst spy of the court-- +Celadon! what makes he here? + +_Enter_ CELADON, OLINDA, _and_ SABINA; _they walk over the +stage together, he seeming to court them_. + +_Olind_. Nay, sweet Celadon-- + +_Sab_. Nay, dear Celadon. + +_Fla_. O ho! I see his business now; 'tis with Melissa's two +daughters: Look, look, how he peeps about, to see if the coast be +clear; like an hawk that will not plume, if she be looked on. + +[_Exeunt_ CEL. OLIND. _and_ SAB. + +So--at last he has trussed his quarry. + +_Enter_ FLORIMEL. + +_Flo_. Did you see Celadon this way? + +_Fla_. If you had not asked the question, I should have thought +you had come from watching him; he's just gone off with Melissa's +daughters. + +_Flo_. Melissa's daughters! he did not court 'em, I hope? + +_Fla_. So busily, he lost no time: While he was teaching the one +a tune, he was kissing the other's hand. + +_Flo_. O fine gentleman! + +_Fla_. And they so greedy of him! did you never see two fishes +about a bait, tugging it this way and t'other way? for my part, I +looked at least he should have lost a leg or arm i'the service.--Nay, +never vex yourself, but e'en resolve to break with him. + +_Flo_. No, no, 'tis not come to that yet; I'll correct him first, +and then hope the best from time. + +_Fla_. From time! believe me, there's little good to be +expected from him. I never knew the old gentleman with the scythe and +hour-glass bring any thing but grey hair, thin cheeks, and loss of +teeth: You see Celadon loves others. + +_Flo_. There's the more hope he may love me among the rest: Hang +it, I would not marry one of these solemn fops; they are good for +nothing, but to make cuckolds. Give me a servant, that is an high +flier at all games, that is bounteous of himself to many women; and +yet, whenever I pleased to throw out the lure of matrimony, should +come down with a swing, and fly the better at his own quarry. + +_Fla_. But are you sure you can take him down when you think +good? + +_Flo_. Nothing more certain. + +_Fla_. What wager will you venture upon the trial? + +_Flo_. Any thing. + +_Fla_. My maidenhead to yours. + +_Flo_. That's a good one; who shall take the forfeit? + +_Fla_. I'll go and write a letter, as from these two sisters, to +summon him immediately; it shall be delivered before you. I warrant, +you see a strange combat betwixt the flesh and the spirit: If he +leaves you to go to them, you'll grant he loves them better? + +_Flo_. Not a jot the more: A bee may pick of many flowers, and +yet like some one better than all the rest. + +_Fla_. But then your bee must not leave his sting behind him. + +_Flo_. Well; make the experiment however: I hear him coming, and +a whole noise of fidlers at his heels. Hey-day, what a mad husband +shall I have!-- + +_Enter CELADON_. + +_Fla_. And what a mad wife will he have! Well, I must go a little +way, but I'll return immediately, and write it: You'll keep him in +discourse the while? [_Exit_ FLA. + +_Cel_. Where are you, madam? What, do you mean to run away thus? +Pray stand to't, that we may despatch this business. + +_Flo_. I think you mean to watch me, as they do witches, to +make me confess I love you. Lord, what a bustle have you kept this +afternoon? What with eating, singing, and dancing, I am so wearied, +that I shall not be in case to hear any more love this fortnight. + +_Cel_. Nay, if you surfeit on't before trial, Lord have mercy +upon you, when I have married you. + +_Flo_. But what king's revenue, do you think, will maintain this +extravagant expence? + +_Cel_. I have a damnable father, a rich old rogue, if he would +once die! Lord, how long does he mean to make it ere he dies! + +_Flo_. As long as ever he can, I'll pass my word for him. + +_Cel_. I think, then, we had best consider him as an obstinate +old fellow, that is deaf to the news of a better world; and ne'er stay +for him. + +_Flo_. But e'en marry; and get him grandchildren in abundance, +and great-grandchildren upon them, and so inch him and shove him out +of the world by the very force of new generations--if that be the way, +you must excuse me. + +_Cel_. But dost thou know what it is to be an old maid? + +_Flo_. No, nor hope I shan't these twenty years. + +_Cel_. But when that time comes, in the first place, thou wilt +be condemned to tell stories, how many men thou mightst have had; and +none believe thee: Then thou growest forward, and impudently weariest +all thy friends to solicit man for thee. + +_Flo_. Away with your old common-place-wit: I am resolved to grow +fat, and look young till forty, and then slip out of the world, with +the first wrinkle, and the reputation of five and twenty. + +_Cel_. Well, what think you now of a reckoning betwixt us? + +_Flo_. How do you mean? + +_Cel_. To discount for so many days of my years service, as I +have paid in this morning. + +_Flo_. With all my heart. + +_Cel_. _Imprimis_, for a treat. + _Item_, For my glass coach. + _Item_, For sitting bare, and wagging your fan. +And lastly, and principally, for my fidelity to you this long hour +and half. + +_Flo_. For this I bate you three weeks of your service; now hear +your bill of faults; for your comfort 'tis a short one. + +_Cel_. I know it. + +_Flo_. _Imprimis_, _item_, and sum total, for keeping +company with Melissa's daughters. + +_Cel_. How the pox came you to know of that? Gad, I believe +the devil plays booty against himself, and tells you of my sins. +[_Aside_. + +_Flo_. The offence being so small, the punishment shall be but +proportionable; I will set you back only half a year. + +_Cel_. You're most unconscionable: When then do you think we +shall come together? There's none but the old patriarchs could live +long enough to marry you at this rate. What, do you take me for some +cousin of Methusalem's, that I must stay an hundred years, before I +come to beget sons and daughters? + +_Flo_. Here's an impudent lover! he complains of me without ever +offering to excuse himself; _item_, a fortnight more for that. + +_Cel_. So, there's another puff in my voyage, has blown me back +to the north of Scotland. + +_Flo_. All this is nothing to your excuse for the two sisters. + +_Cel_. 'Faith, if ever I did more than kiss them, and that but +once-- + +_Flo_. What could you have done more to me? + +_Cel_. An hundred times more; as thou shalt know, dear rogue, at +time convenient. + +_Flo_. You talk, you talk; could you kiss them, though but once, +and ne'er think of me? + +_Cel_. Nay, if I had thought of thee, I had kissed them over a +thousand times, with the very force of imagination. + +_Flo_. The gallants are mightily beholden to you; you have found +them out a new way to kiss their mistresses, upon other women's lips. + +_Cel_. What would you have? You are my Sultana Queen, the +rest are but in the nature of your slaves; I may make some slight +excursions into the enemy's country for forage, or so, but I ever +return to my head quarters. + +_Enter one with a letter_. + +_Cel_. To me? + +_Mess_. If your name be Celadon. [_CEL. reads softly_. + +_Flo_. He is swallowing the pill; presently we shall see the +operation. + +_Cel. to the page_.] Child, come hither, child; here's money for +thee: So, begone quickly, good child, before any body examines thee: +Thou art in a dangerous place, child--[_Thrusts him out_.] +Very good; the sisters send me word, they will have the fiddles this +afternoon, and invite me to sup there!--Now, cannot I forbear, an I +should be damned, tho' I have scap'd a scouring so lately for it. Yet +I love Florimel better than both of them together; there's the riddle +on't: But only for the sweet sake of variety.--[_Aside_.] Well, +we must all sin, and we must all repent, and there's an end on't. + +_Flo_. What is it, that makes you fidge up and down so? + +_Cel_. 'Faith, I am sent for by a very dear friend, and 'tis upon +a business of life and death. + +_Flo_. On my life, some woman? + +_Cel_. On my honour, some man; do you think I would lie to you? + +_Flo_. But you engaged to sup with me. + +_Cel_. But I consider it may be scandalous to stay late in +your lodgings. Adieu, dear miss! If ever I am false to thee again!-- +[_Exit_ CELADON. + +_Flo_. See what constant metal you men are made of! He begins to +vex me in good earnest. Hang him, let him go and take enough of 'em: +And yet, methinks, I can't endure he should neither. Lord, that such a +mad-cap as I should ever live to be jealous! I must after him. + Some ladies would discard him now, but I + A fitter way for my revenge will find; + I'll marry him, and serve him in his kind. + +[_Exit_ FLO. + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I,--_The Walks_. + +MELISSA, _after her_ OLINDA _and_ SABINA. + + +_Mel_. I must take this business up in time: This wild fellow +begins to haunt my house again. Well, I'll be bold to say it, 'tis +as easy to bring up a young lion without mischief, as a maidenhead of +fifteen, to make it tame for an husband's bed. Not but that the young +man is handsome, rich, and young, and I could be content he should +marry one of them; but to seduce them both in this manner:--Well, I'll +examine them apart, and if I can find out which he loves, I'll offer +him his choice.--Olinda, come hither, child. + +_Olin_. Your pleasure, madam? + +_Met_. Nothing but for your good, Olinda; what think you of +Celadon? + +_Olin_. Why I think he's a very mad fellow; but yet I have some +obligements to him: he teaches me new airs of the guitar, and talks +wildly to me, and I to him. + +_Mel_. But tell me in earnest, do you think he loves you? + +_Olin_. Can you doubt it? There were never two so cut out for one +another; we both love singing, dancing, treats, and music. In short, +we are each other's counterpart. + +_Mel_. But does he love you seriously? + +_Olin_. Seriously?--I know not that; if he did, perhaps I should +not love him: But we sit and talk, and wrangle, and are friends; when +we are together, we never hold our tongues; and then we have always a +noise of fiddles at our heels; he hunts me merrily, as the hound does +the hare; and either this is love, or I know it not. + +_Mel_. Well, go back, and call Sabina to me. + +[_OLINDA goes behind_. + +This is a riddle past my finding out: Whether he loves her, or no, +is the question; but this, I am sure of, she loves him:--O my little +favourite, I must ask you a question concerning Celadon: is he in love +with you? + +_Sab_. I think, indeed, he does not hate me; at least, if a man's +word may be taken for it. + +_Mel_. But what expressions has he made you? + +_Sab_. Truly, the man has done his part: He has spoken civilly to +me, and I was not so young but I understood him. + +_Mel_. And you could be content to marry him? + +_Sab_. I have sworn never to marry: besides he's a wild young +man; yet, to obey you, mother, I would be content to be sacrificed. + +_Mel_. No, no, we would but lead you to the altar. + +_Sab_. Not to put off the gentleman neither; for if I have him +not, I am resolved to die a maid, that's once, mother. + +_Mel_. Both my daughters are in love with him, and I cannot yet +find he loves either of them. + +_Olin_. Mother, mother, yonder's Celadon in the walks. + +_Mel_. Peace, wanton; you had best ring the bells for joy. Well, +I'll not meet him, because I know not which to offer him; yet he seems +to like the youngest best: I'll give him opportunity with her. Olinda, +do you make haste after me. + +_Olin_. This is something hard though. + +[_Exit_ MEL. + +_Enter_ CELADON. + +_Cel_. You see, ladies, the least breath of yours brings me to +you: I have been seeking you at your lodgings, and from thence came +hither after you. + +_Sab_. 'Twas well you found us. + +_Cel_. Found you! half this brightness betwixt you two was enough +to have lighted me; I could never miss my way: Here's fair Olinda has +beauty enough for one family; such a voice, such a wit, so noble a +stature, so white a skin!-- + +_Olin_. I thought he would be particular at last. [_Aside_. + +_Cel_. And young Sabina, so sweet an innocence, such a rose-bud +newly blown. This is my goodly palace of love, and that my little +withdrawing room. A word, madam.--[_To_ SAB. + +_Olin_. I like not this--[_Aside_.] Sir, if you are not too +busy with my sister, I would speak with you. + +_Cel_. I come, madam. + +_Sab_. Time enough, sir; pray finish your discourse--and as you +were a saying, sir,-- + +_Olin_. Sweet sir,-- + +_Sab_. Sister, you forget, my mother bid you make haste. + +_Olin_. Well, go you, and tell her I am coming. + +_Sab_. I can never endure to be the messenger of ill news; but, +if you please, I'll send her word you won't come. + +_Olin_. Minion, minion, remember this--[_Exit OLIN_. + +_Sab_. She's horribly in love with you. + +_Cel_. Lord, who could love that walking steeple! She's so high, +that every time she sings to me, I am looking up for the bell that +tolls to church.--Ha! give me my little fifth-rate, that lies so +snug. She! hang her, a Dutch-built bottom: She's so tall, there's no +boarding her. But we lose time--madam, let me seal my love upon +your mouth. [_Kiss_] Soft and sweet, by heaven! sure you wear +rose-leaves between your lips. + +_Sab_. Lord, Lord, what's the matter with me! my breath grows so +short, I can scarce speak to you. + +_Cel_. No matter, give me thy lips again, and I'll speak for +thee. + +_Sab_. You don't love me-- + +_Cel_. I warrant thee; sit down by me, and kiss again,--She warms +faster than Pygmalion's image. [_Aside_]--[_Kiss_.]--Ay +marry, sir, this was the original use of lips; talking, eating, and +drinking came in by and by. + +_Sab_. Nay, pray be civil; will you be at quiet? + +_Cel_. What, would you have me sit still, and look upon you, like +a little puppy-dog, that's taught to beg with his fore-leg up? + +_Enter_ FLORIMEL. + +_Flo_. Celadon the faithful! in good time, sir,-- + +_Cel_. In very good time, Florimel; for heaven's sake, help me +quickly. + +_Flo_. What's the matter? + +_Cel_. Do you not see? here's a poor gentlewoman in a swoon! +(Swoon away.) I have been rubbing her this half hour, and cannot bring +her to her senses. + +_Flo_. Alas! how came she so? + +_Cel_. Oh barbarous! do you stay to ask questions? run, for +charity. + +_Flo_. Help, help! alas! poor lady--[_Exit_ FLO. + +_Sab_. Is she gone? + +_Cel_. Ay, thanks be to my wit, that helped me at a pinch; I +thank heaven, I never pumpt for a lye in all my life yet. + +_Sab_. I am afraid you love her, Celadon! + +_Cel_. Only as a civil acquaintance, or so; but, however, to +avoid slander, you had best be gone before she comes again. + +_Sab_. I can find a tongue as well as she. + +_Cel_. Ay, but the truth is, I am a kind of scandalous person, +and for you to be seen in my company--stay in the walks, by this kiss +I'll be with you presently. + +_Enter_ FLORIMEL _running_. + +_Flo_. Help, help!--I can find nobody. + +_Cel_. Tis needless now, my dear; she's recovered, and gone off; +but so wan and weakly,-- + +_Flo_.Umph! I begin to smell a rat.--What was your business here, +Celadon? + +_Cel_. Charity, Christian charity; you saw I was labouring for +life with her. + +_Flo_. But how came you hither?--Not that I care this, but only +to be satisfied. [_Sings_. + +_Cel_. You are jealous, in my conscience! + +_Flo_. Who, I jealous!--then I wish this sigh may be the last +that ever I may draw. [_Sighs_. + +_Cel_. But why do you sigh, then? + +_Flo_. Nothing but a cold, I cannot fetch my breath well. But +what will you say, if I wrote the letter you had, to try your faith? + +_Cel_. Hey day! this is just the devil and the sinner; you lay +snares for me, and then punish me for being taken: Here's trying a +man's faith indeed!--What, do you think I had the faith of a stock, or +of a stone? Nay, an you go to tantalize a man--I love upon the square, +I can endure no tricks to be used to me. + +[OLINDA _and_ SABINA _at the door peeping_. + +_Olin_. and _Sab_. Celadon! Celadon! + +_Flo_. What voices are those? + +_Cel_. Some comrades of mine, that call me to play.--Pox on them, +they'll spoil all. [_Aside_. + +_Flo_. Pray, let's see them. + +_Cel_. Hang them, tatterdemallions! they are not worth your +sight.--Pray, gentlemen, begone; I'll be with you immediately. + +_Sab_. No; we'll stay here for you. + +_Flo_. Do your gentlemen speak with treble voices? I am resolved +to see what company you keep. + +_Cel_. Nay, good my dear. + +[_He lays hold of her to pull her back, she lays hold of_ OLINDA, +_by whom_ SABINA _holds; so that, he pulling, they all come +in_. + +_Flo_. Are these your comrades? [Sings.] _'Tis Strephon +calls, what would my love?_ Why do you not roar out, like a great +bass-viol, _Come follow to the myrtle-grove_.--Pray, sir, which +of these fair ladies is it, for whom you were to do the courtesy? for +it were unconscionable to leave you to them both:--What, a mans but a +man, you know. + +_Olin_. The gentleman may find an owner. + +_Sab_. Though not of you. + +_Flo_. Pray, agree whose the lost sheep is, and take him. + +_Cel_. 'Slife, they'll cry me anon, and tell my marks. + +_Flo_. Troth, I pity your highness there; I perceive he has left +you for the little one: Methinks he should have been afraid to break +his neck, when he fell so high as from you to her. + +_Sab_. Well, my drolling lady, I may be even with you. + +_Flo_. Not this ten years, by the growth, yet. + +_Sab_. Can flesh and blood endure this! + +_Flo_. How now, my amazon _in decimo sexto_! + +_Olin_. Do you affront my sister? + +_Flo_. Ay; but thou art so tall, I think I shall never affront +thee. + +_Sab_. Come away, sister; we shall be jeered to death else. +[_Exeunt_ OLIN. _and_ SAB. + +_Flo_. Why do you look that way? You can't forbear leering after +the forbidden fruit.--But whene'er I take a wencher's word again! + +_Cel_. A wencher's word!--Why should you speak so contemptibly +of the better half of mankind? I'll stand up for the honour of my +vocation. + +_Flo_. You are in no fault, I warrant!--'Ware my busk[A]. + +[Footnote A: The now almost forgotten _busk_ was a small slip of +steel or wood, used to stiffen the stays. Florimel threatens to employ +it as a rod of chastisement.] + +_Cel_. Not to give a fair lady the lie, I am in fault; but +otherwise--Come, let us be friends, and let me wait on you to your +lodgings. + +_Flo_. This impudence shall not save you from my table-book. +_Item_, A month more for this fault. [_They walk to the +door_. + +_1 Sold. [within.]_ Stand!-- + +_2 Sold_. Stand, give the word! + +_Cel_. Now, what's the meaning of this, trow?--guards set! + +_1 Sold_. Give the word, or you cannot pass:--These are they, +brother; let's in and seize them. + +_The two Soldiers enter_. + +_1 Sold_. Down with him! + +_2 Sold_. Disarm him!_Cel_. How now, rascals?-- + [_Draws, and beats one off, and catches the other_. +Ask your life, you villain. +_2 Sold_. Quarter! quarter! + +_Cel_. Was ever such an insolence? + +_2 Sold_. We did but our duty;--here we were set to take a +gentleman and lady, that would steal a marriage without the queen's +consent, and we thought you had been they. [_Exit Sold_. + +_Flo_. Your cousin Philocles, and the princess Candiope, on my +life! for I heard the queen give private orders to Lysimantes, and +name them twice or thrice. + +_Cel_. I know a score or two of madcaps here hard by, whom I can +pick up from taverns, and gaming-houses, and bordels; those I'll bring +to aid him,--Now, Florimel, there's an argument for wenching: Where +would you have had so many honest men together, upon the sudden, for a +brave employment? + +_Flo_. You'll leave me then, to take my fortune? + +_Cel_. No:--If you will, I'll have you into the places aforesaid, +and enter you into good company. + +_Flo_. 'Thank you, sir; here's a key, will let me through this +back-door to my own lodgings. + +_Cel_. If I come off with life, I'll see you this evening; if +not,--adieu, Florimel! + +_Flo_. If you come not, I shall conclude you are killed; or +taken, to be hanged for a rebel to-morrow morning: and then I'll +honour your memory with a lampoon, instead of an epitaph. + +_Cel_. No, no! I trust better in my fate: I know I am reserved to +do you a courtesy. [_Exit_ CEL. + +[_As_ FLORIMEL _is unlocking the door to go out,_ FLAVIA +_opens it against her, and enters to her, followed by a Page_. + +_Fla_. Florimel, do you hear the news? + +_Flo_. I guess they are in pursuit of Philocles. + +_Fla_. When Lysimantes came with the queen's orders, +He refused to render up Candìope; +And, with some few brave friends he had about him, +Is forcing of his way through all the guards. + +_Flo_. A gallant fellow!--I'll in, will you with me?-- +Hark! the noise comes this way! + +_Fla_. I have a message from the queen to Lysimantes.-- +I hope I may be safe among the soldiers. + +_Flo_. Oh, very safe!--Perhaps some honest fellow in the tumult +may take pity of thy maidenhead, or so.--Adieu! [_Exit_ FLO. + +_Page_. The noise comes nearer, madam. + +_Fla_. I am glad on't.--This message gives me the opportunity of +speaking privately with Lysimantes. + +_Enter_ PHILOCLES _and_ CANDIOPE, _with three Friends, +pursued by_ LYSIMANTES, _and Soldiers_. + +_Lys_. What is it renders you thus obstinate? You have no hope of +flight, and to resist is full as vain. + +_Phil_. I'll die rather than yield her up. + +_Fla_. My lord! + +_Lys_. How now? some new message from the queen?-- +Retire a while to a convenient distance. + +[_To the Soldiers_. LYS. _and_ FLAV. _whisper_. + +_Lys_. O Flavia, 'tis impossible! the queen in love with Philocles! + +_Fla_. I have suspected it before; but now +My ears and eyes are witnesses. +This hour I overheard her, to Asteria, +Making such sad complaints of her hard fate!-- +For my part, I believe, you lead him back +But to his coronation. + +_Lys_. Hell take him first! + +_Fla_. Presently after this she called for me, +And bid me run, and, with strict care, command you, +On peril of your life, he had no harm: +But, sir, she spoke it with so great concernment, +Methought I saw love, anger, and despair, +All combating at once upon her face. + +_Lys_. Tell the queen,--I know not what, +I am distracted so.-- +But go, and leave me to my thoughts.-- + [_Exit_ FLAVIA. +Was ever such amazing news, +Told in so strange and critical a moment?-- +What shall I do?-- +Does she love Philocles, who loves not her; +And loves not Lysimantes, who prefers her +Above his life?--What rests, but that I take +This opportunity, which she herself +Has given me, to kill this happy rival!-- +Assist me, soldiers! + +_Phil_. They shall buy me dearly. + +_Cand_. Ah me, unhappy maid! + +_Enter _CELADON, _with his Friends, unbuttoned and reeling_. + +_Cel_. Courage, my noble cousin! I have brought A band of blades, +the bravest youths of Syracuse; Some drunk, some sober, all resolved +to run Your fortune to the utmost.--Fall on, mad boys! + +_Lys_. Hold a little!--I'm not secure of victory against these +desperate ruffians. + +_Cel_. No, but I'll secure you! They shall cut your throat +for such another word of them. Ruffians, quoth a'! call gamesters, +whoremasters, and drunkards, ruffians! + +_Lys_. Pray, gentlemen, fall back a little. + +_Cel_. O ho, are they gentlemen now with you!--Speak first to +your gentlemen soldiers to retire; And then I'll speak to my gentlemen +ruffians. [CEL. _signs to his party_. There's your disciplined +men now.--[_They sign, and the Soldiers retire on both sides_. +Come, gentlemen, let's lose no time: While they are talking, let's +have one merry main before we die, for mortality sake. + +_1 Fr_. Agreed! here's my cloak for a table. + +_2 Fr_. And my hat for a box. + +[_They lie down and throw_. + +_Lys_. Suppose I killed him! +'Twould but exasperate the queen the more: +He loves not her, nor knows he she loves him:-- +sudden thought is come into my head,-- +So to contrive it, that this Philocles, +And these his friends, shall bring to pass that for me, +Which I could never compass.--True, I strain +A point of honour; but then her usage to me-- +It shall be so.-- +Pray, Philocles, command your soldiers off; +As I will mine: I've somewhat to propose, +Which you perhaps may like. + +_Can_. I will not leave him. + +_Lys_. 'Tis my desire you should not. + +_Phil_. Cousin, lead off your friends. + +_Cel_. One word in your ear, coz:--Let me advise you, either make +your own conditions, or never agree with him: his men are poor rogues, +they can never stand before us. + +[_Exeunt all but_ Lys. Phil. _and_ Cand. + +_Lys_. Suppose some friend, ere night, +Should bring you to possess all you desire; +And not so only, but secure forever +The nation's happiness? + +_Phil_. I would think of him, +As some god or angel. + +_Lys_. That god or angel you and I may be to one another. +We have betwixt us +An hundred men; the citadel you govern: +What were it now to seize the queen? + +_Phil_. O impiety! to seize the queen!-- +To seize her, said you? + +_Lys_. The word might be too rough,--I meant, secure her. + +_Phil_. Was this your proposition?-- +And had you none to make it to but me? + +_Lys_. Pray hear me out, ere you condemn me!-- +I would not the least violence were offered +Her person. Two small grants is all I ask; +To make me happy in herself, and you +In your Candiope. + +_Cand_. And will not you do this, my Philocles?-- +Nay, now my brother speaks but reason. + +_Phil_. Interest makes all seem reason, that leads to it. +Interest, that does the zeal of sects create, +To purge a church, and to reform a state. + +_Lys_. In short, the queen hath sent to part you two:-- +What more she means to her, I know not. + +_Phil_. To her, alas!--Why, will not you protect her? + +_Lys_. With you I can; but where's my power alone? + +_Cand_. You know she loves me not: You lately heard her, +How she insulted over me: How she +Despised that beauty, which you say I have.-- +I see, she purposes my death. + +_Phil_. Why do you fright me with it? +'Tis in your brother's power to let us 'scape, +And then you run no danger. + +_Lys_. True, I may; +But then my head must pay the forfeit of it. + +_Phil_. O wretched Philocles! whither would love +Hurry thee headlong? + +_Lys_. Cease these exclamations. +There's no danger on your side: 'tis but to +Live without my sister; resolve that, +And you have shot the gulf. + +_Phil_. To live without her! Is that nothing, think you? +The damned in hell endure no greater pain, +Than seeing heaven from far with hopeless eyes. + +_Cand_. Candiope must die, and die for you:-- +See it not unrevenged at least. + +_Phil_. Ha, unrevenged! On whom should I revenge it?-- +But yet she dies, and I may hinder it? +'Tis I then murder my Candiope:-- +And yet, should I take arms against my queen! +That favoured me, raised me to what I am?-- +Alas! it must not be. + +_Lys_. He cools again.--[_Aside_. +True, she once favoured you; +But now I am informed. +She is besotted on an upstart wretch +So far, that she intends to make him master +Both of her crown and person. + +_Phil_. Knows he that! +Then, what I dreaded most is come to pass.--[_Aside_. +I am convinced of the necessity; +Let us make haste to raze +That action from the annals of her reign: +No motive but her glory could have wrought me. +I am a traitor to her, to preserve her +From treason to herself: Yet heaven knows, +With what a heavy heart +Philocles turns reformer. But have care +This fault of her strange passion take no air. +Let not the vulgar blow upon her fame. + +_Lys_. I will be careful:--Shall we go, my lord? + +_Phil_. Time wastes apace; each first prepare his men.-- +Come, my Candiope. [_Exeunt_ PHIL. _and_ CAND. + +_Lys_. This ruins him forever with the queen; +The odium's half his, the profit all my own. +Those who, like me, by others' help would climb, +To make them sure, must dip them in their crime. [_Exit_. + + +SCENE II.--_The Queen's apartments_. + +_Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA. + + +_Queen_. No more news yet from Philocles? + +_Ast_. None, madam, since Flavia's return. + +_Queen_. O, my Asteria! if you loved me, sure +You would say something to me of my Philocles! +I could speak ever of him. + +_Ast_. Madam, you commanded me no more to name him to you. + +_Queen_. Then I command you now, speak of nothing else:-- +I charge you here, on your allegiance, tell me +What I should do with him? + +_Ast_. When you gave orders that he should be taken, +You seemed resolved how to dispose of him. + +_Queen_. Dull Asteria! not to know, +Mad people never think the same thing twice!-- +Alas! I'm hurried restless up and down:-- +I was in anger once, and then I thought +I had put into shore: +But now a gust of love blows hard against me, +And bears me off again. + +_Ast_. Shall I sing the song, you made of Philocles, +And called it _Secret Love_? + +_Queen_. Do; for that's all kindness. And while thou singest it, +I can think nothing but what pleases me. + +SONG. + +_I feed a flame within, which so torments me, +That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me: +'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love if, +That I had rather die, than once remove it. + +Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it; +My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it. +Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses, +But they fall silently, like dew on roses. + +Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel, +My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel: +And while I suffer this to give him quiet, +My faith rewards my love, though he deny it. + +On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me; +While I conceal my love no frown can fright me: +To be more happy, I dare not aspire; +Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher_. + +_Queen_. Peace!--Methinks I hear the noise +Of clashing swords, and clattering arms below. + +_Enter_ FLAVIA. + +Now; what news, that you press in so rudely? + +_Fla_. Madam, the worst that can be:-- +Your guards upon the sudden are surprised, +Disarmed; some slain; all scattered. + +_Queen_. By whom? + +_Fla_. Prince Lysimantes, and Lord Philocles. + +_Queen_. It cannot be; Philocles is a prisoner. + +_Fla_. What my eyes saw,-- + +_Queen_. Pull them out; they are false spectacles. + +_Ast_. O, virtue! impotent and blind as fortune! +Who would be good, or pious, if this queen, +Thy great example, suffers! + +_Queen_. Peace, Asteria! accuse not virtue; +She has but given me a great occasion +Of showing what I am, when fortune leaves me. + +_Ast_. Philocles to do this! + +_Queen_. Ay, Philocles!--I must confess 'twas hard!-- +But there's a fate in kindness, +Still to be least returned, where most 'tis given.-- +Where's Candiope? + +_Fla_. Philocles was whispering to her. + +_Queen_. Hence, screech-owl!--Call my guards quickly there!-- +Put them apart in several prisons!-- +Alas! I had forgot, I have no guards, +But those which are my jailors. +Never 'till now unhappy queen! +The use of power, till lost, is seldom known; +Now, I should strike, I find my thunder gone. +[_Exeunt Queen and_ FLAV. + +PHILOCLES _enters, and meets_ ASTERIA _going out_. + +_Phil_. Asteria, where's the queen? + +_Ast_. Ah, my lord! what have you done? +I came to seek you. + +_Phil_. Is it from her you come? + +_Ast_. No; but on her behalf:--Her heart's too great, +In this low ebb of fortune, to entreat. + +_Phil_. Tis but a short eclipse, +Which past, a glorious day will soon ensue.-- +But I would ask a favour too from you. + +_Ast_. When conquerors petition, they command: +Those, that can captive queens, who can withstand? + +_Phil_. She, with her happiness, might mine create; +Yet seems indulgent to her own ill fate: +But she in secret hates me, sure; for why, +If not, should she Candiope deny? + +_Ast_. If you dare trust my knowledge of her mind, +She has no thoughts of you that are unkind. + +_Phil_. I could my sorrows with some patience bear, +Did they proceed from any one but her: +But from the queen! whose person I adore, +By duty much, by inclination more. + +_Ast_. He is inclined already; did he know, +That she loved him, how would his passion grow! [_Aside_. + +_Phil_. That her fair hand with destiny combines! +Fate ne'er strikes deep, but when unkindness joins: +For, to confess the secret of my mind, +Something so tender for the queen I find, +That even Candiope can scarce remove, +And, were she lower, I should call it love. + +_Ast_. She charged me, not this secret to betray; +But I best serve her, if I disobey. +For, if he loves, 'twas for her interest done; +If not, he'll keep it secret for his own. [_Aside._ + +_Phil_. Why are you in obliging me so slow? + +_Ast_. The thing's of great importance, you would know; +And you must first swear secresy to all. + +_Phil_. I swear. + +_Ast_. Yet hold; your oath's too general: +Swear that Candiope shall never know. + +_Phil_. I swear. + +_Ast_. No; not the queen herself. + +_Phil_. I vow. + +_Ast_. You wonder why I am so cautious grown, +In telling what concerns yourself alone: +But spare my vow, and guess what it may be, +That makes the queen deny Candiope: +'Tis neither heat, nor pride, that moves her mind; +Methinks the riddle is not hard to find. + +_Phil_. You seem so great a wonder to intend, +As were, in me, a crime to apprehend. + +_Ast_. 'Tis not a crime to know; but would be one, +To prove ungrateful when your duty's known. + +_Phil_. Why would you thus my easy faith abuse: +I cannot think the queen so ill would chuse. +But stay, now your imposture will appear; +She has herself confessed she loved elsewhere: +On some ignoble choice has placed her heart, +One, who wants quality, and more, desert. + +_Ast_. This, though unjust, you have most right to say; +For, if you'll rail against yourself, you may. + +_Phil_. Dull that I was! +A thousand things now crowd my memory. +That make me know it could be none but I. +Her rage was love; and its tempestuous flame, +Like lightning, showed the heaven from whence it came. +But in her kindness my own shame I see; +Have I dethroned her, then for loving me? +I hate myself for that which I have done, +Much more, discovered, than I did unknown. +How does she brook her strange imprisonment? + +_Ast_. As great souls should, that make their own content. +The hardest term, she for your act could find, +Was only this, O Philocles, unkind! +Then, setting free a sigh, from her fair eyes +She wiped two pearls, the remnant of wild showers, +Which hung like drops upon the bells of flowers: +And thanked the heavens, +Which better did, what she designed, pursue, +Without her crime, to give her power to you. + +_Phil_. Hold, hold! you set my thoughts so near a crown, +They mount above my reach, to pull them down: +Here constancy, ambition there does move; +On each side beauty, and on both sides love. + +_Ast_. Methinks the least you can, is to receive +This love with reverence, and your former leave. + +_Phil_. Think but what difficulties come between! + +_Ast_. 'Tis wondrous difficult to love a queen. + +_Phil_. For pity, cease more reasons to provide, +I am but too much yielding to your side; +And, were my heart but at my own dispose, +I should not make a scruple now to chuse. + +_Ast_. Then if the queen will my advice approve, +Her hatred to you shall expel her love. + +_Phil_. Not to be loved by her as hard would be, +As to be hated by Candiope. + +_Ast_. I leave you to resolve while you have time; +You must be guilty, but may chuse your crime. + [_Exit_ ASTERIA. + +_Phil_. One thing I have resolved; and that I'll do, +Both for my love, and for my honour too; +But then (ingratitude and falsehood weighed), +I know not which would most my soul upbraid. +Fate shoves me headlong down a rugged way; +Unsafe to run, and yet too steep to stay. + [_Exit_ PHIL. + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I.--_The Court_. + +FLORIMEL _in man's habit_. + + +_Flor_. 'Twill be rare now, if I can go through with it, to outdo +this mad Celadon in all his tricks, and get both his mistresses from +him; then I shall revenge myself upon all three, and save my own stake +into the bargain; for I find I do love the rogue, in spite of all his +infidelities. Yonder they are, and this way they must come. If clothes +and a _bon mien_ will take them, I shall do it.--Save you, +Monsieur Florimel! Faith, me thinks you are a very janty fellow, +_poudré et ajusté_, as well as the best of 'em. I can manage +the little comb; set my hat, shake my garniture, toss about my empty +noddle, walk with a courant slur, and at every step peck down my +head: If I should be mistaken for some courtier now, pray where's the +difference? + +_Enter, to her,_ CELADON, OLINDA, _and_ SABINA. + +_Olin_. Never mince the matter! + +_Sab_. You have left your heart behind with Florimel; we know it. + +_Cel_. You know you wrong me: when I am with Florimel, 'tis still +your prisoner, it only draws a longer chain after it. + +_Flo_. Is it e'en so! then farewell, poor Florimel! thy +maidenhead is condemned to die with thee. + +_Cel_. But let's leave this discourse; 'tis all digression, that +does not speak of your beauties. + +_Flo_. Now for me, in the name of impudence!--[_Comes +forward_.] They are the greatest beauties, I confess, that ever I +beheld-- + +_Cel_. How now, what's the meaning of this young fellow? + +_Flo_. And therefore I cannot wonder that this gentleman, who has +the honour to be known to you, should admire you, since I, that am a +stranger-- + +_Cel_. And a very impudent one, as I take it, sir. + +_Flo_. Am so extremely surprised, that I admire, love, am +wounded, and am dying, all in a moment. + +_Cel_. I have seen him somewhere, but where I know +not:--Pry'thee, my friend, leave us; dost thou think, we do not know +our way in court? + +_Flo_. I pretend not to instruct you in your way; you see I do +not go before you; but you cannot possibly deny me the happiness to +wait upon these ladies; me, who-- + +_Cel_. Thee, who shalt be beaten most unmercifully, if thou dost +follow them. + +_Flo_. You will not draw in court, I hope? + +_Cel_. Pox on him, let's walk away faster, and be rid of him. + +_Flo_. O, take no care for me, sir! you shall not lose me; I'll +rather mend my pace, than not wait on you. + +_Olin_. I begin to like this fellow. + +_Cel_. You make very bold here in my seraglio, and I shall find a +time to tell you so, sir. + +_Flo_. When you find a time to tell me on't, I shall find a +time to answer you: But, pray, what do you find in yourself so +extraordinary, that you should serve these ladies better than I? Let +me know what 'tis you value yourself upon, and let them judge betwixt +us. + +_Cel_. I am somewhat more a man than you. + +_Flo_. That is, you are so much older than I:--Do you like a man +ever the better for his age, ladies? + +_Sab_. Well said, young-gentleman. + +_Cel_. Pish, thee! a young raw creature; thou hast ne'er been +under the barber's hands yet. + +_Flo_. No, nor under the surgeon's neither, as you have been. + +_Cel_. 'Slife, what would'st thou be at? I am madder than thou +art. + +_Flo_. The devil you are! I'll tope with you; I'll sing with you; +I'll dance with you;--I'll swagger with you-- + +_Cel_. I'll fight with you. + +_Flo_. Out upon fighting; 'tis grown so common a fashion, that +a modish man condemns it; a man of garniture and feather is above the +dispensation of the sword. + +_Olin_. Uds my life! here's the queen's music just going to us; +you shall decide your quarrel by a dance. + +_Sab_. Who stops the fiddles? + +_Cel_. Base and treble, by your leaves, we arrest you at these +ladies' suits. + +_Flo_. Come on, sirs, play me a jig; you shall see how I'll +baffle him. + +DANCE. + +_Flo_. Your judgment, ladies. + +_Olin_. You, sir; you, sir: This is the rarest gentleman! I could +live and die with him-- + +_Sab_. Lord, how he sweats! please you, sir, to make use of my +handkerchief? + +_Olin_. You and I are merry, and just of an humour, sir; +therefore we two should love one another. + +_Sab_. And you and I are just of an age, sir; and therefore, +methinks, we should not hate one another. + +_Cel_. Then I perceive, ladies, I am a castaway, a reprobate, +with you: Why, 'faith, this is hard luck now, that I should be no less +than one whole hour in getting your affections, and now must lose 'em +in a quarter of it. + +_Olin_. No matter, let him rail; does the loss afflict you, sir? + +_Cel_. No, in faith, does it not; for if you had not forsaken me, +I had you: So the willows may flourish, for any branches I shall rob +'em of. + +_Sab_. However, we have the advantage to have left you; not you +us. + +_Cel_. That's only a certain nimbleness in nature, you women +have, to be first inconstant; but if you had not made the more haste, +the wind was veering too upon my weathercock: The best on't is, +Florimel is worth both of you. + +_Flo_. 'Tis like she'll accept of their leavings. + +_Cel_. She will accept on't, and she shall accept on't: I think I +know more than you of her mind, sir. + +_Enter_ MELISSA. + +_Mel_. Daughters, there's a poor collation within, that waits for +you. + +_Flo_. Will you walk, musty sir? + +_Cel_. No, marry, sir, I will not; I have surfeited of that old +woman's face already. + +_Flo_. Begin some frolic, then; what will you do for her? + +_Cel_. Faith, I am no dog, to show tricks for her; I cannot come +aloft to an old woman. + +_Flo_. Dare you kiss her? + +_Cel_. I was never dared by any man. By your leave, old madam-- +[_He plucks off her ruff_. + +_Mel_. Help! help! do you discover my nakedness? + +_Cel_. Peace, Tiffany! no harm! [_He puts on the ruff_.] +Now, Sir, here's Florimel's health to you. [_Kisses her_. + +_Mel_. Away, sir!--A sweet young man as you are, to abuse the +gift of nature so! + +_Cel_. Good mother, do not commend me so; I am flesh and blood, +and you do not know what you may pluck upon that reverend person of +yours.--Come on, follow your leader. + +[_Gives_ FLORIMEL _the ruff; she puts it on_. + +_Flo_. Stand fair, mother-- + +_Cel_. What, with your hat on? Lie thou there;--and thou, too-- + +[_Plucks off her hat and peruke, and discovers_ FLORIMEL. + +_All_. Florimel! + +_Flo_. My kind mistresses, how sorry I am, I can do you no +further service! I think I had best resign you to Celadon, to make +amends for me. + +_Cel_. Lord! what a misfortune it was, ladies, that the gentleman +could not hold forth to you? + +_Olin_. We have lost Celadon too. + +_Mel_. Come away; this is past enduring. [_Exeunt_ MEL. +_and_ OLIN. + +_Sab_. Well, if ever I believe a man to be a man, for the sake of +a peruke and feather again.-- + +_Flo_. Come, Celadon, shall we make accounts even? Lord! what +a hanging-look was there? indeed, if you had been recreant to your +mistress, or had forsworn your love, that sinner's face had been but +decent; but, for the virtuous, the innocent, the constant Celadon! + +_Cel_. This is not very heroic in you now, to insult over a +man in his misfortunes; but take heed, you have robb'd me of my two +mistresses; I shall grow desperately constant, and all the tempest of +my love will fall upon your head: I shall so pay you!-- + +_Flo_. Who, you pay me! you are a bankrupt, cast beyond all +possibility of recovery. + +_Cel_. If I am a bankrupt, I'll be a very honest one; when I +cannot pay my debts, at least I'll give you up the possession of my +body. + +_Flo_. No, I'll deal better with you; since you are unable to +pay, I'll give in your bond. + +_Enter_ PHILOCLES _with a commanders staff in his hand, +attended_. + +_Phil_. Cousin, I am sorry I must take you from your company +about an earnest business. + +_Flo_. There needs no excuse, my lord; we had despatched our +affairs, and were just parting. + +_Cel_. Will you be going, sir? sweet sir,--damn'd sir!--I have +but one word more to say to you. + +_Flo_. As I am a man of honour, I'll wait on you some other time. + +_Cel_. By these breeches,-- + +_Flo_. Which, if I marry you, I am resolved to wear; put that +into our bargain, and so adieu, sir. + +[_Exit_ FLO. + +_Phil_. Hark you, cousin,--[_They whisper_. You'll see it +exactly executed; I rely upon you. + +_Cel_. I shall not fail, my lord; may the conclusion of it prove +happy to you. [_Exit_ CEL. + +PHILOCLES _solus_. + +Wheree'er I cast about my wandering eyes, +Greatness lies ready in some shape to tempt me. +The royal furniture in every room, +The guards, and the huge waving crowds of people, +All waiting for a sight of that fair queen, +Who makes a present of her love to me: +Now tell me, Stoick! +If all these with a wish might be made thine, +Would'st thou not truck thy ragged virtue for 'em? +If glory was a bait, that angels swallow'd, +How then should souls allied to sense resist it? + +_Enter_ CANDIOPE. + +Ah poor Candiope! I pity her, +But that is all.-- + +_Cand_. O my dear Philocles! +A thousand blessings wait on thee! +The hope of being thine, I think, will put +Me past my meat and sleep with ecstasy, +So I shall keep the fasts of seraphims, +And wake for joy, like nightingales in May. + +_Phil_. Wake, Philocles, wake from thy dream of +glory, +'Tis all but shadow to Candiope: +Canst thou betray a love so innocent? [_Aside_. + +_Cand_. What makes you melancholick? I doubt, +I have displeased you. + +_Phil_. No, my love, I am not displeased with you, +But with myself, when I consider, +How little I deserve you. + +_Cand_. Say not so, my Philocles; a love so true as yours, +That would have left a court, and a queen's favour, +To live in a poor hermitage with me,-- + +_Phil_. Ha! she has stung me to the quick! +As if she knew the falsehood I intended: +But, I thank heaven, it has recall'd my virtue; + [_Aside_. +Oh! my dear, I love you, and you only; [_To her_. +Go in, I have some business for a while; +But I think minutes ages till we meet. + +_Cand_. I knew you had; but yet I could not chuse, +But come and look upon you. [_Exit_ CANDIOPE. + +_Phil_. What barbarous man would wrong so sweet a virtue! + +_Enter the Queen in black, with_ ASTERIA. + +Madam, the states are straight to meet; but why +In these dark ornaments will you be seen? + +_Queen_. They fit the fortune of a captive queen. + +_Phil_. Deep shades are thus to heighten colours set; +So stars in night, and diamonds shine in jet. + +_Queen_. True friends should so in dark afflictions shine, +But I have no great cause to boast of mine. + +_Phil_. You may have too much prejudice for some, +And think them false, before their trials come. +But, madam, what determine you to do? + +_Queen_. I came not here to be advised by you: +But charge you, by that power which once you owned, +And which is still my right, even when unthroned, +That whatsoe'er the states resolve of me, +You never more think of Candiope. + +_Phil_. Not think of her! ah, how should I obey! +Her tyrant eyes have forced my heart away. + +_Queen_. By force retake it from those tyrant eyes, +I'll grant you out my letters of reprise. + +_Phil_. She has too well prevented that design, +By giving me her heart, in change for mine. + +_Queen_. Thus foolish Indians gold for glass forego; +'Twas to your loss you prized your heart so low. +I set its value when you were advanced, +And as my favours grew, its rate enhanced. + +_Phil_. The rate of subjects' hearts by yours must go, +And love in yours has set the value low. + +_Queen_. I stand corrected, and myself reprove; +You teach me to repent my low-placed love: +Help me this passion from my heart to tear!-- +Now rail on him, and I will sit and hear. + +_Phil_. Madam, like you, I have repented too, +And dare not rail on one, I do not know. + +_Queen_. This, Philocles, like strange perverseness shews, +As if whate'er I said you would oppose; +How come you thus concerned for this unknown? + +_Phil_. I only judge his actions by my own. + +_Queen_. I've heard too much, and you too much have said. +O heavens, the secret of my soul's betrayed! +He knows my love, I read it in his face, +And blushes, conscious of his queen's disgrace. + [_Aside_. +Hence quickly, hence, or I shall die with shame. + [_To him._ + +_Phil_. Now I love both, and both with equal flame. +Wretched I came, more wretched I retire: +When two winds blow it, who can quench the fire? + [_Exit_ PHILOCLES. + +_Queen_. O my Asteria! I know not whom to accuse; +But either my own eyes, or you, have told +My love to Philocles. + +_Ast_. Is't possible that he should know it, madam? + +_Queen_. Methinks, you ask that question guiltily. + [_Lays her hand on_ ASTERIA'S _shoulder._ +Confess, for I will know, what was the subject +Of your long discourse i'th' antichamber with him. + +_Ast_. It was business to convince him, madam, +How ill he did, being so much obliged, +To join in your imprisonment. + +_Queen_. Nay, now I am confirmed my thought was true; +For you could give him no such reason +Of his obligements, as my love. + +_Ast_. Because I saw him much a malecontent, +I thought to win him to your interest, madam, +By telling him it was no want of kindness, +Made your refusal of Candiope. +And he, perhaps-- + +_Queen_. What of him now? + +_Ast_. As men are apt, interpreted my words, +To all the advantage he could wrest the sense, +As if I meant you loved him. + +_Queen_. Have I deposited within thy breast +The dearest treasure of my life, my glory, +And hast thou thus betrayed me! +But why do I accuse thy female weakness, +And not my own, for trusting thee! +Unhappy queen, Philocles knows thy fondness, +And needs must think it done by thy command. + +_Ast_. Dear madam, think not so. + +_Queen_. Peace, peace, thou should'st for ever hold thy tongue: +For it has spoke too much for all thy life. [_To her_. +Then Philocles has told Candiope, +And courts her kindness with his scorn of me. +O whither am I fallen! +But I must rouse myself, and give a stop +To all these ills by headlong passion caused. +In hearts resolved weak love is put to flight, +And only conquers, when we dare not fight. +But we indulge our harms, and, while he gains +An entrance, please ourselves into our pains. + +_Enter_ LYSIMANTES. + +_Ast_. Prince Lysimantes, madam. + +_Queen_. Come near, you poor deluded criminal; +See how ambition cheats you: +You thought to find a prisoner here, +But you behold a queen. + +_Lys_. And may you long be so! 'tis true, this act +May cause some wonder in your majesty. + +_Queen_. None, cousin, none; I ever thought you +Ambitious, proud, designing. + +_Lys_. Yet all my pride, designs, and my ambition, +Were taught me by a master, +With whom you are not unacquainted, madam. + +_Queen_. Explain yourself; dark purposes, like yours, +Need an interpretation. + +_Lys_. 'Tis love, I mean. + +_Queen_. Have my low fortunes given thee +This insolence, to name it to thy queen? + +_Lys_. Yet you have heard, love named without offence. +As much below you as you think my passion, +I can look down on yours. + +_Queen_. Does he know it too! +This is the extremest malice of my stars! [_Aside_. + +_Lys_. You see that princes' faults, +(Howe'er they think them safe from public view) +Fly out thro the dark crannies of their closets: +We know what the sun does, +Even when we see him not, in t'other world. + +_Queen_. My actions, cousin, never feared the light. + +_Lys_. Produce him, then, your darling of the dark. +For such an one you have. + +_Queen_. I know no such. + +_Lys_. You know, but will not own him. + +_Queen_. Rebels ne'er want pretence to blacken kings, +And this, it seems, is yours: Do you produce him, +Or ne'er hereafter sully my renown +With this aspersion:--Sure he dare not name him. + [_Aside_. + +_Lys_. I am too tender of your frame; or else-- +Nor are things brought to that extremity: +Provided you accept my passion, +I'll gladly yield to think I was deceived. + +_Queen_. Keep in your error still; I will not buy +Your good opinion at so dear a rate, +And my own misery, by being yours. + +_Lys_. Do not provoke my patience by such scorns. +For fear I break through all, and name him to you. + +_Queen_. Hope not to fright me with your mighty looks; +Know, I dare stem that tempest in your brow, +And dash it back upon you. + +_Lys_. Spite of prudence it will out:--'Tis Philocles! +Now judge, when I was made a property +To cheat myself, by making him your prisoner, +Whether I had not right to take up arms? + +_Queen_. Poor envious wretch! +Was this the venom that swelled up thy breast? +My grace to Philocles mis-deemed my love! + +_Lys_. Tis true, the gentleman is innocent; +He ne'er sinned up so high, not in his wishes; +You know he loves elsewhere. + +_Queen_. You mean your sister. + +_Lys_. I wish some Sibyl now would tell me, +Why you refused her to him. + +_Queen_. Perhaps I did not think him worthy of her. + +_Lys_. Did you not think him too worthy, madam? +This is too thin a veil to hide your passion; +To prove you love him not, yet give her him, +And I'll engage my honour to lay down my arms. + +_Queen_. He is arrived where I would wish-- + [_Aside_. +Call in the company, and you shall see what I will do. + +_Lys_. Who waits without there? [_Exit_ LYS. + +_Queen_. Now hold, my heart, for this one act of honour, +And I will never ask more courage of thee: +Once more I have the means to reinstate myself into my glory. +I feel my love to Philocles within me +Shrink, and pull back my heart from this hard trial. +But it must be, when glory says it must: +As children, wading from some river's bank, +First try the water with their tender feet; +Then, shuddering up with cold, step back again, +And straight a little further venture on, +Till, at the last, they plunge into the deep, +And pass, at once, what they were doubting long: +I'll make the experiment; it shall be done in haste, +Because I'll put it past my power to undo. + +_Enter at one door_ LYSIMANTES, _at the other_ PHILOCLES, +CELADON, CANDIOPE, FLORIMEL, FLAVIA, OLINDA, SABINA, _the three +deputies, and soldiers_. + +_Lys_. In arms! is all well, Philocles? + +_Phil_. No, but it shall be. + +_Queen_. He comes, and with him +The fever of my love returns to shake me. +I see love is not banished from my soul; +He is still there, but is chained up by glory. + +_Ast_. You've made a noble conquest, madam. + +_Queen_. Come hither Philocles: I am first to tell you, +I and my cousin are agreed; he has +Engaged to lay down arms. + +_Phil_. 'Tis well for him he has; for all his party, +By my command, already are surprised, +While I was talking with your majesty. + +_Cel_. Yes, 'faith, I have done him that courtesy; +I brought his followers, under pretence of guarding +it, to a strait place, where they are all coupt up +without use of their arms, and may be pelted to +death by the small infantry o'er the town. + +_Queen_. 'Twas more than I expected, or could hope; +Yet still I thought your meaning honest. + +_Phil_. My fault was rashness, but 'twas full of zeal: +Nor had I e'er been led to that attempt, +Had I not seen, it would be done without me: +But by compliance I preserved the power, +Which I have since made use of for your service. + +_Queen_. And which I purpose so to recompence-- + +_Lys_. With her crown, she means: I knew 'twould come to it. + [_Aside_. + +_Phil_. O heavens, she'll own her love! +Then I must lose Candiope for ever, +And, floating in a vast abyss of glory, +Seek and not find myself!-- + +_Queen_. Take your Candiope; and be as happy +As love can make you both:--How pleased I am, +That I can force my tongue +To speak words, so far distant from my heart! + [_Aside_. + +_Cand_. My happiness is more than I can utter! + +_Lys_. Methinks I could do violence on myself, for taking arms +Against a queen, so good, so bountiful: +Give me leave, madam, in my ecstasy +Of joy, to give you thanks for Philocles:-- +You have preserved my friend, and now he owes not +His fortunes only to your favour; but, +What's more, his life, and, more than that, his love. +I am convinced, she never loved him now; +Since by her free consent, all force removed, +She gives him to my sister. +Flavia was an impostor, and deceived me. [_Aside_. + +_Phil_. As for me, madam, I can only say, +That I beg respite for my thanks; for, on a sudden, +The benefit's so great, it overwhelms me. + +_Ast_. Mark but the faintness of the acknowledgement. + [_To the Queen, aside_. + +_Queen to Ast_.] I have observed it with you, and am pleased, +He seems not satisfied; for I still wish +That he may love me. + +_Phil_. I see Asteria deluded me, +With flattering hopes of the queen's love. +Only to draw me off from Lysimantes: +But I will think no more on't. +I'm going to possess Candiope, +And I am ravished with the joy on't!--ha! +Not ravished neither. +For what can be more charming than that queen! +Behold how night sits lovely on her eye-brows, +While day breaks from her eyes! then a crown too: +Lost, lost, for ever lost; and now 'tis gone, +Tis beautiful.--[_Aside_. + +_Ant_. How he eyes you still! [_To the queen._ + +_Phil_. Sure I had one of the fallen angels' dreams; +All heaven within this hour was mine! [_Aside_. + +_Cand_. What is it, that disturbs you, dear? + +_Phil_. Only the greatness of my joy: +I've ta'en too strong a cordial, love, +And cannot yet digest it. + +_Queen_. Tis done! + [_Clapping her hand on_ ASTERIA, +But this pang more, and then a glorious birth.-- +The tumults of this day, my loyal subjects, +Have settled in my heart a resolution, +Happy for you, and glorious too for me. +First, for my cousin; tho', attempting on my person, +He has incurred the danger of the laws, +I will not punish him. + +_Lys_. You bind me ever to my loyalty. + +_Queen_. Then that I may oblige you more to it, +I here declare you rightful successor, +And heir immediate to my crown: +This, gentlemen--[_To the deputies_. +I hope will still my subjects' discontents, +When they behold succession firmly settled. + +_Dep_. Heaven preserve your majesty! + +_Queen_. As for myself, I have resolved +Still to continue as I am, unmarried: +The cares, observances, and all the duties +Which I should pay an husband, I will place +Upon my people; and our mutual love +Shall make a blessing more than conjugal, +And this the states shall ratify. + +_Lys_. Heaven bear me witness, that I take no joy +In the succession of a crown, +Which must descend to me so sad a way. + +_Queen_. Cousin, no more; my resolution's past +Which fate shall never alter. + +_Phil_. Then I am once more happy; +For, since none must possess her, I am pleased +With my own choice, and will desire no more: +For multiplying wishes is a curse. +That keeps the mind still painfully awake. + +_Queen_. Celadon. +Your care and loyalty have this day obliged me; +But how to be acknowledging, I know not, +Unless you give the means. + +_Cel_. I was in hope your majesty had forgot me; therefore, if +you please, madam, I'll only beg a pardon for having taken up arms +once to-day against you; for I have a foolish kind of conscience, +which I wish many of your subjects had, that will not let me ask a +recompence for my loyalty, when I know I have been a rebel. + +_Queen_. Your modesty shall not serve the turn; ask something. + +_Cel_. Then I beg, madam, you will command Florimel never to be +friends with me. + +_Flo_. Ask again; I grant that without the queen: +But why are you afraid on't? + +_Cel_. Because I am sure, as soon as ever you are, you'll marry +me. + +_Flo_. Do you fear it? + +_Cel_. No, 'twill come with a fear. + +_Flo_. If you do, I will not stick with you for an oath. + +_Cel_. I require no oath till we come to church: and then after +the priest, I hope; for I find it will be my destiny to marry thee. + +_Flo_. If ever I say a word after the black gentleman for thee, +Celadon-- + +_Cel_. Then, I hope, you'll give me leave to bestow a faithful +heart elsewhere. + +_Flo_. Ay, but if you would have one, you must bespeak it, for I +am sure you have none ready made. + +_Cel_. What say you, shall I marry Flavia? + +_Flo_. No, she'll be too cunning for you. + +_Cel_. What say you to Olinda, then? she's tall, and fair, and +bonny. + +_Flo_. And foolish, and apish, and fickle. + +_Cel_. But Sabina there's pretty, and young, and loving, and +innocent. + +_Flo_. And dwarfish, and childish, and fond, and flippant: If you +marry her sister, you will get may-poles; and if you marry her, you +will get fairies to dance about them. + +_Cel_. Nay, then, the case is clear, Florimel; if you take 'em +all from me, 'tis because you reserve me for yourself. + +_Flo_. But this marriage is such a bugbear to me! much might be +if we could invent but any way to make it easy. + +_Cel_. Some foolish people have made it uneasy, by drawing the +knot faster than they need; but we that are wiser will loosen it a +little. + +_Flo_. 'Tis true, indeed, there's some difference betwixt a +girdle and a halter. + +_Cel_. As for the first year, according to the laudable custom of +new-married people, we shall follow one another up into chambers, +and down into gardens, and think we shall never have enough of one +another. So far 'tis pleasant enough, I hope. + +_Flo_. But after that, when we begin to live like husband and +wife, and never come near one another--what then, sir? + +_Cel_. Why, then, our only happiness must be to have one mind, +and one will, Florimel. + +_Flo_. One mind, if thou wilt, but pr'ythee let us have two +wills; for I find one will be little enough for me alone. But how, if +those wills should meet and clash, Celadon? + +_Cel_. I warrant thee for that; husbands and wives keep their +wills far enough asunder for ever meeting. One thing let us be sure to +agree on, that is, never to be jealous. + +_Flo_. No; but e'en love one another as long as we can; and +confess the truth when we can love no longer. + +_Cel_. When I have been at play, you shall never ask me what +money I have lost. + +_Flo_. When I have been abroad, you shall never enquire who +treated me. + +_Cel_. _Item_, I will have the liberty to sleep all night, +without your interrupting my repose for any evil design whatsoever. + +_Flo_. _Item_, Then you shall bid me goodnight before you +sleep. + +_Cel_. Provided always, that whatever liberties we take with +other people, we continue very honest to one another. + +_Flo_. As far as will consist with a pleasant life. + +_Cel_. Lastly, whereas the names of husband and wife hold forth +nothing, but clashing and cloying, and dulness and faintness, in their +signification; they shall be abolished for ever betwixt us. + +_Flo_. And instead of those, we will be married by the more +agreeable names of mistress and gallant. + +_Cel_. None of my privileges to be infringed by thee, Florimel, +under the penalty of a month of fasting nights. + +_Flo_. None of my privileges to be infringed by thee, Celadon, +under the penalty of cuckoldom. + +_Cel_. Well, if it be my fortune to be made a cuckold, I had +rather thou should'st make me one, than any one in Sicily; and, for my +comfort, I shall have thee oftener than any of thy servants. + +_Flo_. Look ye now, is not such a marriage as good as wenching, +Celadon? + +_Cel_. This is very good; but not so good, Florimel. + +_Queen_. Now set we forward to the assembly.--You promise, +cousin, your consent? + +_Lys_. But most unwillingly. + +_Queen_. Philocles, I must beg your voice too. + +_Phil_. Most joyfully I give it. + +_Lys_. Madam, but one word more;-- +Since you are so resolved, +That you may see, bold as my passion was, +'Twas only for your person, not your crown; +I swear no second love +Shall violate the flame I had for you, +But, in strict imitation of your oath, +I vow a single life. + +_Queen_. Now, my Asteria, my joys are full; + [_To_ ASTERIA. +The powers above, that see +The innocent love I bear to Philocles, +Have given its due reward; for by this means +The right of Lysimantes will devolve +Upon Candiope: and I shall have +This great content, to think, when I am dead, +My crown may fall on Philocles's head. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +EPILOGUE, +WRITTEN BY +A PERSON OF HONOUR. + + +Our poet, something doubtful of his fate, +Made choice of me to be his advocate, +Relying on my knowledge in the laws; +And I as boldly undertook the cause. +I left my client yonder in a rant, +Against the envious, and the ignorant, +Who are, he says, his only enemies: +But he condemns their malice, and defies +The sharpest of his censurers to say, +Where there is one gross fault in all his play. +The language is so fitted for each part, +The plot according to the rules of art, +And twenty other things he bid me tell you; +But I cried, e'en go do't yourself for Nelly.[A] +Reason with judges, urged in the defence +Of those they would condemn, is insolence; +I therefore wave the merits of his play, +And think it fit to plead this safer way. +If when too many in the purchase share, +Robbing's not worth the danger nor the care; +The men of business must, in policy, +Cherish a little harmless poetry, +All wit would else grow up to knavery. +Wit is a bird of music, or of prey; +Mounting, she strikes at all things in her way. +But if this birdlime once but touch her wings, +On the next bush she sits her down and sings. +I have but one word more; tell me, I pray, +What you will get by damning of our play? +A whipt fanatic, who does not recant, +Is, by his brethren, called a suffering saint; +And by your hands should this poor poet die, +Before he does renounce his poetry, +His death must needs confirm the party more, +Than all his scribbling life could do before; +Where so much zeal does in a sect appear, +'Tis to no purpose, 'faith, to be severe. +But t'other day, I heard this rhyming fop +Say,--Critics were the whips, and he the top; +For, as a top spins more, the more you baste her, +So, every lash you give, he writes the faster. + +[Footnote A: The epilogue appears to have been spoken by Nell Gwynn.] + + + +PROLOGUE, + +SPOKEN BY MRS BOUTELL TO THE MAIDEN QUEEN, IN MAN'S CLOTHES. + + +_The following prologue and epilogue occur in the "Covent-Garden +Drollery" a publication which contains original copies of several +of Dryden's fugitive pieces. They appear to have been spoken +upon occasion of the male characters in "The Maiden Queen" being +represented by female performers. From our author's connection both +with the play and with Mrs Reeves, who spoke the epilogue, it is +probable he wrote both that and the prologue; and therefore (although +not much worth preserving) we have here added them. From the reference +to Ravenscroft's play of "The Citizen turned Gentleman," in the last +line of the epilogue, it would seem the prologue and epilogue were +written and spoken in 1672_. + +Women, like us, (passing for men,) you'll cry, +Presume too much upon your secrecy. +There's not a fop in town, but will pretend +To know the cheat himself, or by his friend; +Then make no words on't, gallants, 'tis e'en true, +We are condemn'd to look and strut, like you. +Since we thus freely our hard fate confess, +Accept us, these bad times, in any dress. +You'll find the sweet on't: now old pantaloons +Will go as far as, formerly, new gowns; +And from your own cast wigs, expect no frowns. +The ladies we shall not so easily please; +They'll say,--What impudent bold things are these, +That dare provoke, yet cannot do us right, +Like men, with huffing looks, that dare not fight!-- +But this reproach our courage must not daunt; +The bravest soldier may a weapon want; +Let her that doubts us still send her gallant. +Ladies, in us you'll youth and beauty find: +All things--but one--according to your mind: +And when your eyes and ears are feasted here, +Rise up, and make out the short meal elsewhere. + + + +EPILOGUE, + +SPOKEN BY MRS REEVES TO THE MAIDEN QUEEN, IN MAN'S CLOTHES. + + +What think you, sirs, was't not all well enough? +Will you not grant that we can strut and huff? +Men may be proud; but faith, for aught I see, +They neither walk, nor cock, so well as we; +And, for the fighting part, we may in time +Grow up to swagger in heroic rhyme; +For though we cannot boast of equal force, +Yet, at some weapons, men have still the worse. +Why should not then we women act alone? +Or whence are men so necessary grown? +Our's are so old, they are as good as none. +Some who have tried them, if you'll take their oaths, +Swear they're as arrant tinsel as their clothes. +Imagine us but what we represent, +And we could e'en give you as good content. +Our faces, shapes,--all's better then you see, +And for the rest, they want as much as we. +Oh, would the higher powers behind to us, +And grant us to set up a female house! +We'll make ourselves to please both sexes then,-- +To the men women, to the women men. +Here, we presume, our legs are no ill sight, +And they will give you no ill dreams at night: +In dreams both sexes may their passions ease, +You make us then as civil as you please. +This would prevent the houses joining too, +At which we are as much displeased as you; +For all our women most devoutly swear, +Each would be rather a poor actress here, +Then to be made a Mamamouchi [A] there. + +[Footnote A: Alluding to Ravenscroft's play of the "Citizen turned +Gentleman," acted at the Duke's House in 1672 See Vol. IV. pp. 346, +356-7.] + +END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of John Dryden, Vol. II +by Edited by Walter Scott + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12166 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85af3c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12166 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12166) diff --git a/old/12166-8.txt b/old/12166-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..37771c1 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12166-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19329 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of John Dryden, Vol. II +by Edited by Walter Scott + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Works of John Dryden, Vol. II + Now First Collected in Eighteen Volumes. Illustrated With Notes, + Historical, Critical, and Explanatory, and a Life of the Author, + + +Author: Edited by Walter Scott + +Release Date: April 26, 2004 [EBook #12166] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN, VOL. II *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Michel Boto and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +The +Works +Of +John Dryden, + +Now First Collected +_In Eighteen Volumes_. + +Illustrated +With Notes, +Historical, Critical, And Explanatory, +And +A Life Of The Author, +By +Walter Scott, Esq. + +VOL. II. +1808. + + + + +CONTENTS +OF +VOLUME SECOND. + + +Dedication of Mr Congreve's edition of Dryden's + Dramatic Works to the Duke of Newcastle + +The Wild Gallant, a Comedy + Preface + +The Rival Ladies, a Tragi-comedy + Dedication to the Earl of Orrery + +The Indian Queen, a Tragedy + +The Indian Emperor, or the Conquest of Mexico by the Spaniards + Dedication to the Duchess of Monmouth and Buccleuch + Defence of an Essay of Dramatic Poesy + Connection of the Indian Emperor to the Indian Queen + +Secret Love, or the Maiden Queen + Preface + + + + + +THE +WORKS +OF +JOHN DRYDEN. + +VOL. II. + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + + +_Mr Congreve's edition of Dryden's dramatic works, in six volumes +12mo, printed for Tonson in 1735, has been chiefly resorted to for the +text of the Plays in the present edition, although the assistance +of the older copies, in quarto and folio, has been called in, where +difficulties occurred, or improvements were obvious. The preliminary +Dissertations, Dedications, and Prefaces, have been corrected from the +excellent edition of Mr Malone. Congreve appears deeply to have felt +the bequest, left him by his great predecessor, when, "just abandoning +the ungrateful stage" he made it his intreaty, that his successor +would be kind to his remains. Considerable pains have been bestowed +by the present editor in correcting the text. The notes are limited +to the explanation of such passages, as the fashion in language, in +manners, or in literature, has, in the space of a century, rendered +doubtful or obscure._ + + + + +DEDICATION TO MR CONGREVE'S EDITION OF +DRYDEN'S DRAMATIC WORKS. + +TO +HIS GRACE +THE +DUKE OF NEWCASTLE[1], +LORD CHAMBERLAIN OF HIS MAJESTY'S HOUSEHOLD +_&c_. + +[Footnote 1: Thomas Pelham, Duke of Newcastle. No satire ever can +convey such bitter reproof as the high-strained eulogy of this +dedication. This great and wealthy man unblushingly received +Congreve's tribute of praise and gratitude, for his munificence in +directing a splendid monument to be raised over Dryden's remains. But +the incense of the dedicator was wasted on a block, more insensible +than his Grace's workmen could have dug from the quarry. Neither pride +nor shame could induce the Duke to accomplish what vanity had led him +voluntarily to propose; and the dedication, instead of producing a +tomb in honour of Dryden, will remain itself an eternal monument of +the patron's disgrace.] + + +My Lord, +It is the fortune of this edition of the dramatic works of the late +Mr Dryden, to come into the world at a time, when your Grace has just +given order for erecting, at your own expense, a noble monument to his +memory. + +This is an act of generosity, which has something in it so very +uncommon, that the most unconcerned and indifferent persons must be +moved with it. How much more must all such be affected by it, who had +any due regard for the personal merits of the deceased, or are capable +of any taste and distinction for the remains and elegant labours of +one of the greatest men, that our nation has produced! + +That, which distinguisheth actions of pure and elevated generosity, +from those of a mixed and inferior nature, is nothing else but the +absolutely disinterested views of the agent. + +My Lord, this being granted, in how fair a light does your munificence +stand? A munificence to the memory, to the ashes, of a man whom you +never saw--whom you never can see; and who, consequently, never could, +by any personal obligation, induce you to do this deed of bounty; nor +can he ever make you any acknowledgment for it, when it shall be done. + +It is evident, your Grace can have acted thus from no other motive +but your pure regard to merit; from your entire love for learning; and +from that accurate taste and discernment, which, by your studies, you +have so early attained to in the politer arts. + +And these are the qualities, my Lord, by which you are more +distinguished, than by all those other uncommon advantages, with which +you are attended. Your great disposition, your great ability to be +beneficent to mankind, could by no means answer that end, if you were +not possessed of a judgment to direct you in the right application and +just distribution of your good offices. + +You are now in a station, by which you necessarily preside over the +liberal arts, and all the practisers and professors of them. Poetry is +more particularly within your province; and with very good reason +may we hope to see it revive and flourish under your influence and +protection. + +What hopes of reward may not the living deserver entertain, when +even the dead are sought out for, and their very urns and ashes made +partakers of your liberality? + +As I have the honour to be known to you, my Lord, and to have been +distinguished by you by many expressions and instances of your +goodwill towards me, I take a singular pleasure to congratulate you +upon an action so entirely worthy of you. And as I had the happiness +to be very conversant, and as intimately acquainted with Mr Dryden as +the great disproportion in our years could allow me to be, I hope it +will not be thought too assuming in me, if, in love to his memory, and +in gratitude for the many friendly offices, and favourable instructions, +which, in my early youth, I received from him, I take upon me to make +this public acknowledgment to your Grace, for so public a testimony, +as you are pleased to give to the world, of that high esteem, in which +you hold the performances of that eminent man. + +I can, in some degree, justify myself for so doing, by a citation of a +kind of right to it, bequeathed to me by him. And it is, indeed, upon +that pretension, that I presume even to make a dedication of these his +works to you. + +In some very elegant, though very partial, verses, which he did me the +honour to write to me, he recommended it to me to _be kind to his +remains_[2]. + +[Footnote 2: These are the affecting lines referred to. + + Already I am worn with cares and age, + And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage; + Unprofitably kept at heaven's expense, + I live a rent-charge on his providence. + But you, whom every muse and grace adorn, + Whom I foresee to better fortune born, + Be kind to my remains; and, O! defend, + Against your judgment, your departed friend: + Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue, + But shade those laurels which descend to you; + And take, for tribute, what these lines express: + You merit more, nor could my love do less. + +_Epistle to_ MR CONGREVE] + +I was then, and have been ever since, most sensibly touched with that +expression; and the more so, because I could not find in myself the +means of satisfying the passion which I felt in me, to do something +answerable to an injunction laid upon me in so pathetic and so +amicable a manner. + +You, my Lord, have furnished me with ample means of acquitting myself, +both of my duty and obligation to my departed friend. What kinder +office lies in me to do to these, his most valuable and imperishable +remains, than to commit them to the protection, and lodge them under +the roof, of a patron, whose hospitality has extended itself even to +his dust? + +If I would permit myself to run on in the way which so fairly opens +itself before me, I should tire your Grace with reiterated praises and +acknowledgments; and I might possibly (notwithstanding my pretended +right so to do) give some handle to such, who are inclinable to +censure, to tax me of affectation and officiousness, in thanking you, +more than comes to my share, for doing a thing, which is, in truth, of +a public consideration, as it is doing an honour to your country. For +so unquestionably it is, to do honour to him, who was an honour to it. + +I have but one thing to say, either to obviate or to answer such +an objection, if it shall be made to me, which is, that I loved Mr +Dryden. + +I have not touched upon any other public honour or bounty, done by you +to your country. I have industriously declined entering upon a theme +of so extensive a nature; and of all your numerous and continual +largesses to the public, I have only singled out this, as what most +particularly affected me. I confess freely to your Grace, I very much +admire all those other donations, but I much more love this; and I +cannot help it, if I am naturally more delighted with any thing that +is amiable, than with any thing that is wonderful. + +Whoever shall censure me, I dare be confident, you, my Lord, will +excuse me for any thing that I shall say with due regard to a +gentleman, for whose person I had as just an affection as I have +an admiration of his writings. And indeed Mr Dryden had personal +qualities to challenge both love and esteem from all who were truly +acquainted with him. + +He was of a nature exceedingly humane and compassionate; easily +forgiving injuries, and capable of a prompt and sincere reconciliation +with them who had offended him. + +Such a temperament is the only solid foundation of all moral virtues +and sociable endowments. His friendship, where he professed it, +went much beyond his professions; and I have been told of strong and +generous instances of it by the persons themselves who received them, +though his hereditary income was little more than a bare competency. + +As his reading had been very extensive, so was he very happy in a +memory, tenacious of every thing that he had read. He was not more +possessed of knowledge than he was communicative of it. But then his +communication of it was by no means pedantic, or imposed upon the +conversation; but just such, and went so far, as, by the natural turns +of the discourse in which he was engaged, it was necessarily promoted +or required. He was extreme ready and gentle in his correction of +the errors of any writer, who thought fit to consult him; and full as +ready and patient to admit of the reprehension of others, in respect +of his own oversight or mistakes. He was of very easy, I may say, of +very pleasing access; but something slow, and, as it were, diffident +in his advances to others. He had something in his nature, that +abhorred intrusion into any society whatsoever. Indeed, it is to be +regretted, that he was rather blameable in the other extreme; for, +by that means, he was personally less known, and, consequently, +his character might become liable both to misapprehensions and +misrepresentations. + +To the best of my knowledge and observation, he was, of all the men +that ever I knew, one of the most modest, and the most easily to +be discountenanced in his approaches either to his superiors or his +equals. + +I have given your Grace this slight sketch of his personal character, +as well to vindicate his memory, as to justify myself for the love +which I bore to his person; and I have the rather done it, because I +hope it may be acceptable to you to know, that he was worthy of the +distinction you have shewn him, as a man, as well as an author. + +As to his writings, I shall not take upon me to speak of them: For to +say little of them would not be to do them right; and to say all that +I ought to say, would be to be very voluminous. But I may venture to +say, in general terms, that no man hath written in our language +so much, and so various matter, and in so various manners so well. +Another thing I may say very peculiar to him, which is, that his parts +did not decline with his years, but that he was an improving writer +to his last, even to near seventy years of age, improving even in +fire and imagination, as well as in judgment; witness his Ode on St +Cecilia's Day, and his Fables, his latest performances. + +He was equally excellent in verse and in prose. His prose had all the +clearness imaginable, together with all the nobleness of expression; +all the graces and ornaments proper and peculiar to it, without +deviating into the language or diction of poetry. I make this +observation, only to distinguish his style from that of many poetical +writers, who, meaning to write harmoniously in prose, do, in truth, +often write mere blank verse. + +I have heard him frequently own with pleasure, that if he had any +talent for English prose, it was owing to his having often read the +writings of the great Archbishop Tillotson. + +His versification and his numbers he could learn of no body; for he +first possessed those talents in perfection in our tongue. And they, +who have best succeeded in them since his time, have been indebted +to his example; and the more they have been able to imitate him, the +better have they succeeded. + +As his style in prose is always specifically different from his +style in poetry, so, on the other hand, in his poems, his diction is, +wherever his subject requires it, so sublimely and so truly poetical, +that its essence, like that of pure gold, cannot be destroyed. Take +his verses and divest them of their rhymes, disjoint them in their +numbers, transpose their expressions, make what arrangement and +disposition you please of his words, yet shall there eternally be +poetry, and something which will be found incapable of being resolved +into absolute prose; an incontestible characteristic of a truly +poetical genius. + +I will say but one word more in general of his writings, which is, +that what he has done in any one species, or distinct kind, would have +been sufficient to have acquired him a great name. If he had written +nothing but his prefaces, or nothing but his songs or his prologues, +each of them would have entitled him to the preference and distinction +of excelling in his kind. + +But I have forgot myself; for nothing can be more unnecessary than an +attempt to say any thing to your Grace in commendation of the writings +of this great poet; since it is only to your knowledge, taste, and +approbation of them, that the monument, which you are now about to +raise to him, is owing. I will, therefore, my Lord, detain you no +longer by this epistle; and only entreat you to believe, that it is +addressed to your Grace from no other motive than a sincere regard to +the memory of Mr Dryden, and a very sensible pleasure which I take +in applauding an action, by which you are so justly and so singularly +entitled to a dedication of his labours, though many years after his +death, and even though most of them were produced by him many years +before you were born. I am, with the greatest respect, + +MY LORD, + +Your Grace's most obedient, + +And most humble servant, + +WILLIAM CONGREVE. + + + + +THE +WILD GALLANT, +A COMEDY. + + + +THE WILD GALLANT. + +The Editor may be pardoned in bestowing remarks upon Dryden's plays, +only in proportion to their intrinsic merit, and to the attention +which each has excited, either at its first appearance, or when the +public attention has been since directed towards them. In either point +of view, little need be said on the "Wild Gallant." It was Dryden's +first theatrical production, and its reception by no means augured +his future pre-eminence in literature; nor was it more than tolerated, +when afterwards revived under the sanction of his increasing fame. +It was brought upon the stage in February 1662-3, according to the +conjecture of Mr Malone, who observes, that the following lines in the +prologue. + + It should have been but one continued song; + Or, at the least, a dance of three hours long; + + must refer to D'Avenant's opera, called the "Siege of Rhodes," +acted in 1662; and that the expression, "in plays, he finds, you love +_mistakes_," alludes to the blunders of Teague, an Irish footman, +in Sir Robert Howard's play of the "Committee." The "Wild Gallant" was +revived and published in 1669, with a new prologue and epilogue, and +some other alterations, not of a nature, judging from the prologue, to +improve the morality of the piece. That the play had but indifferent +success in the action, the poet himself has informed us, with the +qualifying addition, that it more than once was the divertisement +of Charles II., by his own command. This honourable distinction it +probably acquired by the influence of the Countess of Castlemaine, +then the royal favourite, to whom Dryden addresses some verses on +her encouraging this play.--See Vol. XI p. 18.--The plot is borrowed +avowedly from the Spanish, and partakes of the unnatural incongruity, +common to the dramatic pieces of that nation, as also of the bustle +and intrigue, with which they are usually embroiled. Few modern +audiences would endure the absurd grossness of the deceit practised on +Lord Nonsuch in the fourth act; nor is the plot of Lady Constance, to +gain her lover, by marrying him in the disguise of a heathen divinity, +more grotesque than unnatural.--Yet, in the under characters, some +liveliness of dialogue is maintained; and the reader may be amused +with particular scenes, though, as a whole, the early fate of the play +was justly merited. + +These passages, in which the plot stands still, while the spectators +are entertained with flippant dialogue and repartee, are ridiculed in +the scene betwixt Prince Prettyman and Tom Thimble in the Rehearsal; +the facetious Mr Bibber being the original of the latter personage. +The character of Trice, at least his whimsical humour of drinking, +playing at dice by himself, and quarrelling as if engaged with a +successful gamester, is imitated from the character of Carlo, in +Jonson's "Every Man out of his Humour," who drinks with a supposed +companion, quarrels about the pledge, and tosses about the cups and +flasks in the imaginary brawl. We have heard similar frolics related +of a bon-vivant of the last generation, inventor of a game called +_solitaire_, who used to complain of the hardship of drinking by +himself, because the _toast came too often about_. + +The whole piece seems to have been intended as a sacrifice to popular +taste; and, perhaps, our poet only met a deserved fate, when he +stooped to sooth the depraved appetite, which his talents enabled him +to have corrected and purified. Something like this feeling may be +interred from the last lines of the second epilogue: + +Would you but change, for serious plot and verse, +This motley garniture of fool and farce; +Nor scorn a mode, because 'tis taught at home, +Which dues, like vests,[A] our gravity become; +Our poet yields you should this play refuse, +As tradesmen by the change of fashions lose, +With some content, their fripperies of France, +In hope it may their staple trade advance. + +[Footnote A: This seems to allude to the Polish dress, which, upon +his restoration, Charles wished to introduce into Britain. It was not +altered for the French, till his intimacy with that court was cemented +by pecuniary dependence.] + +In the prologue, the author indulges himself in a display of the terms +of astrology, of which vain science he was a believer and a student. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +It would be a great impudence in me to say much of a comedy, which has +had but indifferent success in the action. I made the town my judges, +and the greater part condemned it: after which, I do not think it +my concernment to defend it with the ordinary zeal of a poet for his +decried poem. Though Corneille is more resolute in his preface before +his _Pertharite_[A], which was condemned more universally than +this; for he avows boldly, that, in spite of censure, his play was +well and regularly written; which is more than I dare say for mine. +Yet it was received at court; and was more than once the divertisement +of his Majesty, by his own command; but I have more modesty than to +ascribe that to my merit, which was his particular act of grace. It +was the first attempt I made in dramatic poetry; and, I find since, a +very bold one, to begin with comedy, which is the most difficult +part of it. The plot was not originally my own; but so altered by me, +(whether for the better or worse I know not) that whoever the author +was, he could not have challenged a scene of it. I doubt not but you +will see in it the uncorrectness of a young writer; which is yet but a +small excuse for him, who is so little amended since. The best apology +I can make for it, and the truest, is only this, that you have, since +that time, received with applause, as bad, and as uncorrect plays from +other men. + +[Footnote A: "Le succés de cette tragédie à été si malheureux, que +pour m'epargner le chagrin de m'en souvenir, je n'en dirai presque +rien.--J'ajoute ici malgré sa disgrace, que les sentimens en sont +assez vifs et nobles, les vers assez bien tournes, et que la façon +dont le sujet s'explique dans la première scène ne manque pas +d'artifice." + +_Examen de Pertharite_.] + + + + +PROLOGUE, + +WHEN IT WAS FIRST ACTED. + +Is it not strange to hear a poet say, +He comes to ask you, how you like the play? +You have not seen it yet: alas! 'tis true; +But now your love and hatred judge, not you: +And cruel factions (bribed by interest) come, +Not to weigh merit, but to give their doom. +Our poet, therefore, jealous of th' event, +And (though much boldness takes) not confident, +Has sent me, whither you, fair ladies, too, +Sometimes upon as small occasions, go; +And, from this scheme, drawn for the hour and day, +Bid me enquire the fortune of his play. + +_The curtain drawn discovers two Astrologers; the prologue is +presented to them_. + +_1 Astrol. reads_, A figure of the heavenly bodies in their +several Apartments, Feb. the 5th, half-an-hour after three afternoon, +from whence you are to judge the success of a new play, called the +Wild Gallant. + +_2 Astrol_. Who must judge of it, we, or these gentlemen? We'll +not meddle with it, so tell your poet. Here are, in this house, the +ablest mathematicians in Europe for his purpose. + + They will resolve the question, ere they part. +_1 Att_. Yet let us judge it by the rules of art; + First Jupiter, the ascendant's lord disgraced, + In the twelfth house, and near grim Saturn placed, + Denote short life unto the play:-- +_2 Ast_. --Jove yet, + In his apartment Sagittary, set + Under his own root, cannot take much wrong. +_1 Ast_. Why then the life's not very short, nor long; +_2 Ast_. The luck not very good, nor very ill; +_Prole_. That is to say, 'tis as 'tis taken still. +_1 Ast_. But, brother, Ptolemy the learned says, + 'Tis the fifth house from whence we judge of plays. + Venus, the lady of that house, I find + Is Peregrine; your play is ill-designed; + It should have been but one continued song, + Or, at the least, a dance of three hours long. +_Ast_. But yet the greatest mischief does remain, + The twelfth apartment bears the lords of Spain; + Whence I conclude, it is your author's lot, + To be endangered by a Spanish plot. +_Prolo_. Our poet yet protection hopes from you, + But bribes you not with any thing that's new; + Nature is old, which poets imitate, + And, for wit, those, that boast their own estate, + Forget Fletcher and Ben before them went, + Their elder brothers, and that vastly spent; + So much, 'twill hardly be repair'd again, + Not, though supplied with all the wealth of Spain, + This play is English, and the growth your own; + As such, it yields to English plays alone. + He could have wish'd it better for your sakes, + But that, in plays, he finds you love mistakes: + Besides, he thought it was in vain to mend, + What you are bound in honour to defend; + That English wit, howe'er despised by some, + Like English valour, still may overcome. + + + + +PROLOGUE, + +WHEN REVIVED. + + +As some raw squire, by tender mother bred, +'Till one-and-twenty keeps his maidenhead; +(Pleased with some sport, which he alone does find; +And thinks a secret to all humankind;) +'Till mightily in love, yet half afraid, +He first attempts the gentle dairy maid: +Succeeding there, and, led by the renown +Of Whetston's park, he comes at length to town; +Where entered, by some school-fellow or friend, +He grows to break glass windows in the end: +His valour too, which with the watch began, +Proceeds to duel, and he kills his man. +By such degrees, while knowledge he did want, +Our unfledged author writ a Wild Gallant. +He thought him monstrous lewd, (I lay my life) +Because suspected with his landlord's wife; +But, since his knowledge of the town began, +He thinks him now a very civil man; +And, much ashamed of what he was before, +Has fairly play'd him at three wenches more. +'Tis some amends his frailties to confess; +Pray pardon him his want of wickedness: +He's towardly, and will come on apace; +His frank confession shows he has some grace. +You baulked him when he was a young beginner, +And almost spoiled a very hopeful sinner; +But if once more you slight his weak endeavour, +For aught I know, he may turn tail forever; + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + +Lord NONSUCH, _an old rich humorous lord_. +Justice TRICE, _his neighbour_. +Mr LOVEBY, _the Wild Gallant_. +Sir TIMOROUS, _a bashful knight_. +FAILER, } _hangers-on of_ Sir TIMOROUS. +BURR, } +BIBBER, _a tailor_. +SETSTONE, _a jeweller_. + +Lady CONSTANCE, Lord NONSUCH'S _daughter_, +Madam ISABELLA, _her cousin_. +Mrs BIBBER, _the tailors wife_. + +_Serjeants, Boy to LOVEBY, Servants, a Bawd and +Whores, Watch and Constable_. + + + +SCENE.--London. + + + +THE +WILD GALLANT. + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_FAILER entering to BURR, who is putting on his +buff-coat_. + + +_Fail_. What! not ready yet, man? + +_Burr_. You do not consider my voyage from Holland last night. + +_Fail_. Pish, a mere ferry; get up, get up: My cousin's maids will +come and blanket thee anon; art thou not ashamed to lie a-bed so long? + +_Burr_. I may be more ashamed to rise; and so you'll say, dear +heart, if you look upon my clothes: the best is, my buff-coat will +cover all. + +_Fail_. Egad, there goes more cunning than one would think to the +putting thy clothes together. Thy doublet and breeches are Guelphs and +Ghibellins to one another; and the stitches of thy doublet are so far +asunder, that it seems to hang together by the teeth. No man could +ever guess to what part of the body these fragments did belong, unless +he had been acquainted with 'em as long as thou hast been. If they +once lose their hold, they can never get together again, except by +chance the rags hit the tallies of one another. He, that gets into thy +doublet, must not think to do it by storm; no, he must win it inch by +inch, as the Turk did Rhodes. + +_Burr_. You are very merry with my wardrobe; but, till I am +provided of a better, I am resolved to receive all visits in this +truckle-bed. + +_Fail_. Then will I first scotch the wheels of it, that it may +not run: Thou hast cattle enough in it to carry it down stairs, and +break thy neck; 'tis got a yard nearer the door already. + +_Enter Boy_. + +_Boy_. Sir, Mr Bibber your tailor's below, and desires to speak +with you. + +_Fail_. He's an honest fellow, and a fashionable; he shall set +thee forth, I warrant thee. + +_Burr_. Ay; but where's the money for this, dear heart? + +_Fail_. Well, but what think you of being put into a suit of +clothes without money? [_Aside_. + +_Burr_. You speak of miracles. + +_Fail_. Do you not know Will Bibber's humour? + +_Burr_. Pr'ythee, what have I to do with his humour? + +_Fail_. Break but a jest, and he'll beg to trust thee for a +suit; nay, he will contribute to his own destruction, and give thee +occasions to make one. He has been my artificer these three years; +and, all the while, I have lived upon his favourable apprehension. +Boy, conduct him up. [_Exit Boy._ + +_Burr_. But what am I the better for this? I ne'er made jest in +all my life. + +_Fail._ A bare clinch will serve the turn; a car-wichet, a +quarter-quibble, or a pun. + +_Burr_. Wit from a Low Country soldier! One, that has conversed +with none but dull Dutchmen these ten years! What an unreasonable +rogue art thou? why, I tell thee, 'tis as difficult to me, as to pay +him ready money. + +_Fail_. Come, you shall be ruled for your own good; I'll +throw the clothes over you to help meditation. And, upon the first +opportunity, start you up, and surprise him with a jest. + +_Burr_. Well, I think this impossible to be done: but, however, +I'll attempt. [_Lies down_, FAILER _covers him_. + +_Fail_. Husht! he's coming up. + +_Enter BIBBER_. + +_Bib_. 'Morrow, Mr Failer: What, I warrant you think I come a +dunning now? + +_Fail_. No, I vow to gad, Will; I have a better opinion of thy +wit, than to think thou would'st come to so little purpose. + +_Bib_. Pretty well that: No, no, my business is to drink my +morning's-draught in sack with you. + +_Fail_. Will not ale serve thy turn, Will? + +_Bib_. I had too much of that last night; I was a little +disguised, as they say. + +_Fail_. Why disguised? Hadst thou put on a clean band, or washed +thy face lately? Those are thy disguises, Bibber. + +_Bib_. Well, in short, I was drunk; damnably drunk with ale; +great hogan-mogan bloody ale: I was porterly drunk, and that I hate of +all things in nature. + +_Burr, rising_.] And of all things in nature I love it best. + +_Bib_. Art thou there, i'faith? and why, old boy? + +_Burr_. Because, when I am porterly drunk, I can carry myself. + +_Bib_. Ha, ha, boy. + +_Fail_. This porter brings sad news to you, Will; you must +trust him for a suit of clothes, as bad as 'tis: Come, he's an honest +fellow, and loves the king. + +_Bib_. Why, it shall be my suit to him, that I may trust him. + +_Burr_. I grant your suit, sir. + +_Fail_. Burr, make haste and dress you; Sir Timorous dines here +to-day: you know him? + +_Burr_. Aye, aye, a good honest young fellow; but no conjurer; he +and I are very kind. + +_Fail_. Egad, we two have a constant revenue out of him: He would +now be admitted suitor to my Lady Constance Nonsuch, my Lord Nonsuch's +daughter; our neighbour here in Fleetstreet. + +_Burr_. Is the match in any forwardness? + +_Fail_. He never saw her before yesterday, and will not be +brought to speak to her this month yet. + +_Burr_. That's strange. + +_Fail_. Such a bashful knight did I never see; but we must move +for him. + +_Bib_. They say, here's a great dinner to be made to-day here, at +your cousin Trice's, on purpose for the interview. + +_Burr_. What, he keeps up his old humour still? + +_Fail_. Yes, certain; he admires eating and drinking well, as +much as ever, and measures every man's wit by the goodness of his +palate. + +_Burr_. Who dines here besides? + +_Fail_. Jack Loveby. + +_Bib_. O, my guest. + +_Burr_. He has ever had the repute of a brave clear-spirited +fellow. + +_Fail_. He's one of your Dear Hearts, a debauchee. + +_Burr_. I love him the better for't: The best heraldry of a +gentleman is a clap, derived to him from three generations. What +fortune has he? + +_Fail_. Good fortune at all games; but no estate: He had one; but +he has made a devil on't long ago. He's a bold fellow, I vow to gad: +A person, that keeps company with his betters; and commonly has gold +in's pockets. Come, Bibber, I see thou longest to be at thy morning's +watering: I'll try what credit I have with the butler. + +_Bib_. Come away, my noble Festus and new customer. + +_Fail_. Now will he drink, till his face be no bigger than a +three-pence. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter LOVEBY and BOY; followed by FRANCES, BIBBER'S wife_. + +_Lov_. Nay, the devil take thee, sweet landlady, hold thy tongue: +Was't not enough thou hast scolded me from my lodging, which, as long +as I rent it, is my castle; but to follow me here to Mr Trice's, +where I am invited; and to discredit me before strangers, for a lousy, +paltry sum of money? + +_Fran_. I tell you truly, Mr Loveby, my husband and I cannot live +by love, as they say; we must have wherewithal, as they say; and pay +for what we take; or some shall smoke fort. + +_Lov_. Smoke! why a piece of hung beef in Holland is not more +smoked, than thou hast smoked me already. Thou knowest I am now +fasting; let me have but fair play; when I have lined my sides with a +good dinner, I'll engage upon reputation to come home again, and thou +shall scold at me all the afternoon. + +_Fran_. I'll take the law on you. + +_Lov_. The law allows none to scold in their own causes: What +dost thou think the lawyers take our money for? + +_Fran_. I hope you intend to deal by my husband like a gentleman, +as they say? + +_Lov_. Then I should beat him most unmercifully, and not pay him +neither. + +_Fran_. Come, you think to fobb me off with your jests, as you +do my husband; but it won't be: yonder he comes, and company with him. +Husband, husband! why, William, I say! + +_Enter BIBBER, BURR, and FAILER, at the other end_. + +_Lov_. Speak softly, and I will satisfy thee. + +_Fran_. You shall not satisfy me, sir; pay me for what you owe +me, for chamber-rent and diet, and many a good thing besides, that +shall be nameless. + +_Lov_. What a stygian woman's this, to talk thus? Hold thy tongue +'till they be gone, or I'll cuckold thy husband. + +_Fran_. You cuckold him--would you durst cuckold him! I will not +hold my tongue, sir. + +_Bib_. Yonder's my guest; what say you, gentlemen? Shall I call +him to go down with us? + +_Lov_. I must make a loose from her, there's no other way. Save +ye, Mr Failer; is your cousin Trice stirring yet? Answer me quickly, +sir, is your cousin Trice yet stirring? + +_Fail_. I'll go and see, sir. Sure the man has a mind to beat me; +but I vow to gad I have no mind to be beaten by him. Come away, Burr. +Will, you follow us. + +_Bib_. I'll be with you immediately. + +[_Exeunt BURR and FAILER_. + +_Lov_. Who was that with Failer, Will? + +_Bib_. A man at arms, that's come from Holland. + +_Lov_. A man out at arms thou mean'st, Will. + +_Bib_. Good, i'faith. + +_Fran_. Aye, aye; you run questing up and down after your +gambols, and your jests, William; and never mind the main chance, +as they say: Pray get in your debts, and think upon your wife and +children. + +_Lov_. Think upon the sack at Carey-house, with the Abricot +flavour, Will. Hang a wife; what is she, but a lawful kind of +manslayer? Every little hug in bed is a degree of murdering thee: and +for thy children, fear 'em not: thy part of 'em shall be taylors, +and they shall trust; and those, thy customers get for thee, shall +be gentlemen, and they shall be trusted by their brethren; and so thy +children shall live by one another. + +_Bib_. Did you mark that, Frances? There was wit now; he call'd +me cuckold to my face, and yet for my heart I cannot be angry with +him. I perceive you love Frances, sir; and I love her the better for +your sake; speak truly, do you not like such a pretty brown kind of +woman? + +_Lov_. I do i'faith, Will; your fair women have no substance in +'em, they shrink in the wetting. + +_Fran_. Well, you may be undone if you will, husband: I hear +there are two or three actions already out against him: You may be the +last, if you think good. + +_Bib_. Tis true she tells me; I love your wit well, sir; but I +must cut my coat according to my cloth. + +_Fran_. Sir, we'll come by our own as we can; if you put us oft' +from week to week thus. + +_Lov_. Nay, but good landlady-- + +_Fran_. Will good landlady set on the pot, as they say; or make +the jack go? then I'll hear you. + +_Bib_. Now she's too much on t'other hand; hold your prating, +Frances; or I'll put you out of your Pater Nosters, with a sorrow to +you. + +_Fran_. I did but lay the law open to him, as they say, whereby +to get our money in: But if you knew how he had used me, husband! + +_Bib_. Has he used you, Frances? put so much more into his bill +for lodging. + +_Lov_. Honest Will, and so he died[A]; I thank thee, little +Bibber, being sober, and, when I am drunk, I will kiss thee for't. + +[Footnote A: This expression seems proverbial.] + +_Bib_. Thank me, and pay me my money, sir; though I could not +forbear my jest, I do not intend to lose by you; if you pay me not the +sooner, I must provide you another lodging; say I give you warning. + +_Lov_. Against next quarter, landlord? + +_Bib_. Of an hour, sir. + +_Lov_. That's short warning, Will. + +_Bib_. By this hand you shall up into the garret, where the +little bed is; I'll let my best room to a better pay-master: you know +the garret, sir? + +_Franc_. Aye, he knows it, by a good token, husband. + +_Lov_. I sweat to think of that garret, Will; thou art not so +unconscionable to put me there? Why, 'tis a kind of little ease[B], to +cramp thy rebellious prentices in; I have seen an usurer's iron chest +would hold two on't: A penny looking-glass cannot stand upright in +the window, that and the brush tills it: the hat-case must be disposed +under the bed, and the comb-case will hang down, from the ceiling to +the floor. If I chance to dine in my chamber, I must stay till I am +empty before I can get out: and if I chance to spill the chamber-pot, +it will overflow it from top to bottom. + +[Footnote B: A kind of dungeon, so called from its construction.] + +_Bib_. Well, for the description of the garret, I'll bate you +something of the bill. + +_Lov_. All, all, good Will; or, to stay thy fury till my rents +come up, I will describe thy little face. + +_Bib_. No, rather describe your own little money; I am sure +that's so little it is not visible. + +_Lov_. You are in the right, I have not a cross at present, as I +am a sinner; an you will not believe me, I'll turn my pockets inside +outward--Ha! What's the meaning of this? my pockets heavy! has my +small officer put in counters to abuse me?--How now! yellow boys, by +this good light? sirrah, varlet, how came I by this gold? Ha! + +_Boy_. What gold do you mean, sir? the devil a piece you had this +morning. In these last three weeks, I have almost forgot what my teeth +were made for; last night good Mrs Bibber here took pity on me, and +crumm'd me a mess of gruel with the children, and I popt and popt my +spoon three or four times to my mouth, before I could find the way +to't. + +_Lov_. 'Tis strange, how I should come by so much money! +[_Aside_.] Has there been nobody about my chamber this morning, +landlady? + +_Boy_. O yes, sir; I forgot to tell you that: This morning a +strange fellow, as ever eyes beheld, would needs come up to you, when +you were asleep; but when he came down again, he said, he had not +waked you. + +_Lov_. Sure this fellow, whoe'er he was, was sent by Fortune to +mistake me into so much money.--Well, this is not the first time my +necessities have been strangely supplied: some Cadua or other has a +kindness for me, that's certain: [_Aside_.]--Well, Mons. Bibber, +from henceforward I'll keep my wit for more refined spirits; you shall +be paid with dirt;--there's money for you. + +_Bib_. Nay, good sir. + +_Lov_. What's your sum? tell it out: will the money burn your +fingers? Sirrah, boy, fetch my suit with the gold-lace at sleeves, +from tribulation. + +[_Gives him gold. Exit Boy_.] Mr Taylor, I shall turn the better +bill-man[A], and knock that little coxcomb of yours, if you do not +answer me what I owe you. + +[Footnote A: Alluding to the ancient weapon called the bill; a +never-failing source of puns in old plays.] + +_Bib_. Pray, sir, trouble not yourself; 'tis nothing; i'feck now +'tis not. + +_Lov_. How nothing, sir? + +_Fran_. An't, please your worship, it was seventeen pounds and +a noble yesterday at noon, your worship knows: And then your worship +came home ill last night, and complained of your worship's head; and +I sent for three dishes of tea for your good worship, and that was six +pence more, and please your worship's honour. + +_Lov_. Well; there's eighteen pieces, tell 'em. + +_Bib_. I say, Frances, do not take 'em. + +_Lov_, What, is all your pleading of necessity come to this? + +_Bib_. Now I see he will pay, he shall not pay. Frances, go home, +and fetch him the whole bag of forty pounds; I'll lend it him, and the +lease of the house too; he shall want for nothing. + +_Lov_. Take the money, or I'll leave your house. + +_Bib_. Nay, rather than displease his worship, take it. [_She +takes it_. + +_Lov_. So, so; go home quietly and suckle my godson, Frances. +[_Exit FRANCES_. + +_Bib_. If you are for the cellar, sir, you know the way. [_Exit +BIBBER_. + +_Lov_. No, my first visit shall be to my mistress, the Lady +Constance Nonsuch. She's discreet, and how the devil she comes to love +me, I know not; yet I am pretty confident she loves me. Well, no woman +can be wiser, than you-know-what will give her leave to be. + +_Enter Lady CONSTANCE, and Madam ISABELLA_. + +_Isa_. Look, look; is not that your servant Loveby? + +_Lov_. Tis she; there's no being seen, 'till I am better habited. +[_Exit_ LOVEBY. + +_Const_. Let him go, and take no notice of him: Poor rogue! he +little thinks I know his poverty. + +_Isa_. And less, that you supply it by an unknown hand. + +_Const_. Aye, and falsified my father's key to do it. + +_Isa_. How can you answer this to your discretion? + +_Const_. Who could see him want, she loves? + +_Enter SETSTONE_. + +_Isa_. O here's Mr Setstone come, your jeweller, madam. + +_Const_. Welcome, Setstone; hast thou performed thy visit +happily, and without discovery? + +_Set_. As you would wish it, madam: I went up to his chamber +without interruption; and there found him drowning his cares, and +pacifying his hunger, with sleep; which advantage I took, and; +undiscovered by him, left the gold divided in his pockets. + +_Const_. Well, this money will furnish him, I hope, that we may +have his company again. + +_Set_. Two hundred and fifty good pounds, madam. Has your father +missed it yet? + +_Const_. No; if he had, we should have all heard on't before now: +But, pray God Monsieur Loveby has no other haunts to divert him, now +he's ransomed! What a kind of woman is his landlady? + +_Set_. Well enough to serve a tailor; or to kiss when he comes +home drunk, or wants money; but far unlikely to create jealousy in +your ladyship. + +_Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Madam, Justice Trice desires your ladyship's excuse, +that he has not yet performed the civilities of his hour to you; he is +dispatching a little business, about which he is earnestly employed. + +_Const_. He's master of his own occasions. [_Exit Servant_. + +_Isa_. We shall see him anon, with his face as red as if it had +been boiled in pump-water: But, when comes this mirror of knighthood, +that is to be presented you for your servant? + +_Const_. Oh, 'tis well thought on; 'faith thou know'st my +affections are otherwise disposed; he's rich, and thou want'st a +fortune; atchieve him, if thou can'st; 'tis but trying, and thou hast +as much wit as any wench in England. + +_Isa_. On condition you'll take it for a courtesy to be rid of an +ass, I care not if I marry him: the old fool, your father, would be so +importunate to match you with a young fool, that, partly for quietness +sake, I am content to take him. + +_Const_. To take him! then you make sure on't. + +_Isa_. As sure, as if the sack posset were already eaten. + +_Const_. But, what means wilt thou use to get him? + +_Isa_. I'll bribe Failer; he's the man. + +_Const_. Why, this knight is his inheritance; he lives upon him: +Do'st thou think he'll ever admit thee to govern him? No, he fears thy +wit too much: Besides, he has already received an hundred pounds, to +make the match between Sir Timorous and me. + +_Isa_. 'Tis all one for that; I warrant you, he sells me the +fee-simple of him. + +_Set_. Your father, madam-- + +_Enter_ NONSUCH. + +_Isa_. The tempest is risen; I see it in his face; he puffs +and blows yonder, as if two of the winds were fighting upwards and +downwards in his belly. + +_Set_. Will he not find your false keys, madam? + +_Isa_. I hope he will have more humanity than to search us. + +_Const_. You are come after us betimes, sir. + +_Non_. Oh child! I am undone; I am robbed, I am robbed; I have +utterly lost all stomach to my dinner. + +_Const_. Robbed! good my lord, how, or of what? + +_Non_. Two hundred and fifty pounds, in fair gold, out of my +study: An hundred of it I was to have paid a courtier this afternoon +for a bribe. + +_Set_. I protest, my lord, I had as much ado to get that parcel +of gold for your lordship-- + +_Non_. You must get me as much more against to-morrow; for then +my friend at court is to pay his mercer. + +_Isa_. Nay, if that be all, there's no such haste: the courtiers +are not so forward to pay their debts. + +_Const_. Has not the monkey been in the study? He may have +carried it away, and dropt it under the garden-window: the grass is +long enough to hide it. + +_Non_. I'll go see immediately. + +_Enter_ FAILER, BURR, TIMOROUS. + +_Fail_. This is the gentleman, my lord. + +_Non_. He's welcome. + +_Fail_. And this the particular of his estate. + +_Non_. That's welcome too. + +_Fail_. But, besides the land here mentioned, he has wealth in +specie. + +_Non_. A very fine young gentleman. + +_Tim_. Now, my lord, I hope there's no great need of wooing: I +suppose my estate will speak for me; yet, if you please to put in a +word-- + +_Non_. That will I instantly. + +_Tim_. I hope I shall have your good word, too, madam, to your +cousin for me. [_To_ ISABELLA. + +_Isa_. Any thing within my power, Sir Timorous. + +_Non_. Daughter, here's a person of quality, and one, that loves +and honours you exceedingly-- + +_Tim_. Nay, good my lord! you discover all at first dash. + +_Non_. Let me alone, sir; have not I the dominion over my own +daughter? Constance, here's a knight in love with you, child. + +_Const_. In love with me, my lord! it is not possible. + +_Non_. Here he stands, that will make it good, child. + +_Tim_. Who, I, my lord? I hope her ladyship has a better opinion +of me than so. + +_Non_. What! are not you in love with my daughter? I'll be sworn +you told me so but even now: I'll eat words for no man. + +_Tim_. If your ladyship will believe all reports, that are raised +on men of quality-- + +_Non_. He told it me with his own mouth, child: I'll eat words +for no man; that's more than ever I told him yet. + +_Fail_. You told him so but just now; fie, Sir Timorous. + +_Non_. He shall have no daughter of mine, an he were a thousand +knights; he told me, he hoped I would speak for him: I'll eat no man's +words; that's more than ever I told him yet. + +_Isa_. You need not keep such a pudder about eating his words; +you see he has eaten 'em already for you. + +_Non_. I'll make him stand to his words, and he shall not marry +my daughter neither: By this good day, I will. [_Exit_ NONSUCH. + +_Const_. 'Tis an ill day to him; he has lost two hundred and +fifty pounds in't. [_To_ ISABELLA. + +_Burr_. He swears at the rate of two thousand pounds a year, if +the Rump act were still in being. + +_Fail_. He's in passion, man; and, besides, he has been a great +fanatic formerly, and now has got a habit of swearing, that he may be +thought a cavalier. + +_Burr_. What noise is that? I think I hear your cousin Trice's +voice. + +_Fail_. I'll go see. [_Exit_ FAIL. + +_Isa_. Come, Sir Timorous, be not discouraged: 'Tis but an old +man's frowardness; he's always thus against rain. + +_Enter_ FAILER. + +_Fail_. O madam, follow me quickly; and if you do not see sport, +melancholy be upon my head. + +[_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. + +_The_ SCENE _changes, and_ TRICE _is discovered playing at +tables by himself, with spectacles on, a bottle, and parmezan by him; +they return and see him, undiscovered by him_. + +_Trice_. Cinque and quatre: My cinque I play here, sir; my quatre +here, sir: Now for you, sir: But first I'll drink to you, sir; upon my +faith I'll do you reason, sir: Mine was thus full, sir! Pray mind your +play, sir:--Size ace I have thrown: I'll play 'em at length, sir. + +--Will you, sir? Then you have made a blot sir; I'll try if I can +enter: I have hit you, sir. + +--I think you can cog a dye, sir. + +--I cog a dye, sir? I play as fair as you, or any man. + +--You lie, sir. + +--How! lie, sir? I'll teach you what 'tis to give a gentleman the lie, +sir. + +[_Throws down the tables_. + +[_They all laugh and discover themselves_. + +_Isa_. Is this your serious business? + +_Trice_. O you rogue, are you there? You are welcome, huswife; +and so are you, Constance, _Fa tol de re tol de re la_. [_Claps +their backs_. + +_Isa_. Pr'ythee be not so rude, Trice. + +_Trice_. Huswife Constance, I'll have you into my larder, and +shew you my provision: I have cockles, dainty fat cockles, that came +in the night; if they had seen the day, I would not have given a fart +for 'em. I would the king had 'em. + +_Const_. He has as good, I warrant you. + +_Trice_. Nay, that's a lie. I could sit and cry for him +sometimes; he does not know what 'tis to eat a good meal in a whole +year. His cooks are asses: I have a delicate dish of ruffs to dinner, +sirrah. + +_Const_. To dinner! + +_Trice_. To dinner! why by supper they had been past their prime. +I'll tell thee the story of 'em: I have a friend-- + +_Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Sir, dinner's upon the table. + +_Trice_. Well, well; I have a friend, as I told you-- + +_Serv_. Dinner stays, sir: 'tis dinner that stays: Sure he will +hear now. + +_Trice_. I have a friend, as I told you-- + +_Isa_. I believe he's your friend, you are so loth to part with +him. + +_Trice_. Away, away;--I'll tell you the story between the +courses. Go you to the cook immediately, sirrah; and bring me word +what we have to supper, before we go to dinner: I love to have the +satisfaction of the day before me. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + +_Enter, as from Dinner_, TRICE, TIMOROUS, FAILER, BURR, +CONSTANCE, ISABELLA. + + +_Trice_. Speak thy conscience; was it not well dressed, sirrah? + +_Tim_. What think you of the Park, after our plenteous +entertainment, madam? + +_Isa_. I defy the Park, and all its works. + +_Const_. Come, Mr Trice, we'll walk in your garden. + +[_Exeunt all but_ FAILER _and_ BURR. + +_Fail_. O, one thing I had almost forgot to tell you; one of us +two must ever be near Sir Timorous. + +_Burr_. Why? + +_Fail_. To guard our interest in him from the enemy, madam +Isabella; who, I doubt, has designs upon him. I do not fear her wit, +but her sex; she carries a prevailing argument about her. + +_Enter_ BIBBER _with a Bottle_. + +_Bib_. By this hand, I have alight upon the best wine in your +cousin's cellar; drink but one glass to me, to shew I am welcome, and +I am gone. + +_Fail_. Here then, honest Will; 'tis a cup of forbearance to +thee. + +_Bib_. Thank you, sir, I'll pledge you--now here's to you again. + +_Fail_. Come away; what is't, Will? + +_Bib_. 'Tis what you christened it, a cup of forbearance, sir. + +_Fail_. Why, I drank that to thee, Will, that thou shouldst +forbear thy money. + +_Bib_. And I drink this to you, sir; henceforward I'll forbear +working for you. + +_Fail_. Then say I: + +_Take a little Bibber, +And threw him in the river; +And if he will trust never, +Then there let him lie ever._ + +_Bib_. Then say I: + +_Take a little Failer, +And throw him to the jailor; +And there let him lie, +Till he has paid his tailor._ + +_Burr_. You are very smart upon one another, gentlemen. + +_Fail_. This is nothing between us; I use to tell him of his +title, _Fiery facias_; and his setting dog, that runs into +ale-houses before him, and comes questing out again, if any of the +woots, his customers, be within. + +_Bib_. I'faith 'tis true; and I use to tell him of his two +capon's tails about his hat, that are laid spread-eaglewise to make a +feather; I would go into the snow at any time, and in a quarter of +an hour I would come in with a better feather upon my head; and so +farewel, sir; I have had the better on you hitherto, and for this time +I am resolved to keep it. + +[_Exit_ BIBBER. + +_Fail_. The rogue's too hard for me; but the best on't is, I have +my revenge upon his purse. + +_Enter_ ISABELLA. + +_Isa_. Came not Sir Timorous this way, gentlemen? He left us in +the garden, and said he would look out my Lord Nonsuch, to make his +peace with him. + +_Fail_. Madam, I like not your enquiring after Sir Timorous: I +suspect you have some design upon him: You would fain undermine your +cousin, and marry him yourself. + +_Isa_. Suppose I should design it, what are you the worse for my +good fortune? Shall I make a proposition to you? I know you two carry +a great stroke with him: Make the match between us, and propound to +yourselves what advantages you can reasonably hope: You shall chouse +him of horses, cloaths, and money, and I'll wink at it. + +_Burr_. And if he will not be choused, shall we beat him out +on't? + +_Isa_. For that, as you can agree. + +_Fail_. Give us a handsel of the bargain; let us enjoy you, and +'tis a match. + +_Isa_. Grammercy i'faith, boys; I love a good offer, howe'er the +world goes; but you would not be so base to wrong him that way? + +_Fail_. I vow to gad but I would, madam: In a horse, or a woman, +I may lawfully cheat my own father: Besides, I know the knight's +complexion; he would be sure to follow other women; and all that. + +_Isa_. Nay, if he fought with the sword, he should give me leave +to fight with the scabbard. + +_Burr_. What say you, madam? Is't a bargain? + +_Isa_. 'Tis but a promise; and I have learnt a court trick +for performing any thing [_Aside_]. Well, gentlemen, when I am +married I'll think upon you; you'll grant there's a necessity I should +cuckold him, if it were but to prove myself a wit. + +_Fail_. Nay, there's no doubt you'll cuckold him, and all that; +for look you, he's a person fit for nothing else; but I fear we shall +not have the graffing of the horns; we must have livery and seisin +beforehand of you, or I protest to gad we believe you not. + +_Isa_. I have past my word; is't not sufficient? What! do you +think I would tell a lie to save such a paltry thing as a night's +lodging?--Hark you, sir. [To BURR. + +_Fail_. Now will she attempt Burr; egad, she has found him out +for the weaker vessel. + +_Isa_. I have no kindness for that Failer; we'll strike him out, +and manage Sir Timorous ourselves. + +_Burr_. Indeed we won't. + +_Isa_. Failer's a rook; and, besides, he's such a debauched +fellow-- + +_Burr_. I am ten times worse. + +_Isa_. Leave it, and him that taught it you: You have virtuous +inclinations, and I would not have you ruin yourself. He, that serves +many mistresses, surfeits on his diet, and grows dead to the whole +sex: 'Tis the folly in the world next long ears and braying. + +_Burr_. Now I'm sure you have a mind to me; when a woman once +falls a preaching, the next thing is ever use and application. + +_Isa_. Forbear your rudeness!-- + +_Burr_. Then I am sure you mean to jilt me: You decline Failer, +because he has wit; and you think me such an ass, that you may pack me +off so soon as you are married; no, no, I'll not venture certainties +for uncertainties. + +_Isa_. I can hold no longer;--Mr Failer, what do you think this +fellow was saying of you? + +_Fail_. Of me, madam? + +_Isa_. That you were one of the arrantest cowards in Christendom, +though you went for one of the Dear Hearts; that your name had been +upon more posts than playbills; and that he had been acquainted with +you these seven years, drunk and sober, and yet could never fasten a +quarrel upon you. + +_Burr_. Do you believe this, dear heart? + +_Isa_. If you deny it, I'll take his sword, and force you to +confess it. + +_Fail_. I vow to gad; this will not do, madam: You shall not set +us at variance so easily; neither shall you have Sir Timorous. + +_Isa_. No! then mark my words: I'll marry him in spite of you; +and, which is worse, you shall both work my ends, and I'll discard you +for your pains. + +_Fail_. You shall not touch a bit of him: I'll preserve his +humbles from you, egad; they shall be his keeper's fees[A]. + +[Footnote A: The keeper of a royal forest had for his fees the skin, +head, umbles (_i.e._ inwards), chine, and shoulders. HOLINSHED'S +_Chronicle_, vol. i. p. 104.] + +_Burr_. She shall cut an atom sooner than divide us. +[_Exeunt_ BURR _and_ FAILER. + +_Enter_ CONSTANCE. + +_Const_. I have given 'em the slip in the garden, to come and +overhear thee: No fat overgrown virgin of forty ever offered herself +so dog-cheap, or was more despised; methinks now this should mortify +thee exceedingly. + +_Isa_. Not a whit the more for that: Cousin mine, our sex is not +so easily put out of conceit with our own beauties. + +_Const_. Thou hast lost the opinion of thy honesty, and got +nothing in recompence: Now that's such an oversight in a lady-- + +_Isa_. You are deceived; they think me too virtuous for their +purpose; but I have yet another way to try, and you shall help me. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY, _new habited_. + +_Const_. Mr Loveby, welcome, welcome: Where have you been this +fortnight? + +_Lov_. Faith, madam, out of town, to see a little thing that's +fallen to me upon the death of a grandmother. + +_Const_. You thank death for the windfall, servant: But why are +you not in mourning for her? + +_Lov_. Troth, madam, it came upon me so suddenly, I had not time: +'Twas a fortune utterly unexpected by me. + +_Isa_. Why, was your grandmother so young, you could not look for +her decease? + +_Lov_. Not for that neither; but I had many other kindred, whom +she might have left it to; only she heard I lived here in fashion, and +spent my money in the eye of the world. + +_Const_. You forge these things prettily; but I have heard you +are as poor as a decimated cavalier, and had not one foot of land in +all the world. + +_Lov_. Rivals' tales, rivals' tales, madam. + +_Const_. Where lies your land, sir? + +_Lov_. I'll tell you, madam, it has upon it a very fair manor +house; from one side you have in prospect an hanging garden. + +_Isa_. Who was hanged there? not your grandmother, I hope? + +_Lov_. In the midst of it you have a fountain: You have seen +that at Hampton-court? it will serve to give you a slight image of +it. Beyond the garden you look to a river through a perspective of +fruit-trees; and beyond the river you see a mead so flowery!--Well, I +shall never be at quiet, till we two make hay there. + +_Const_. But where lies this paradise? + +_Lov_. Pox on't; I am thinking to sell it, it has such a +villanous unpleasant name, it would have sounded so harsh in a lady's +ear. But for the fountain, madam-- + +_Const_. The fountain's a poor excuse, it will not hold water; +come, the name, the name. + +_Lov_. Faith, it is come so lately into my hands, that I have +forgot the name on't. + +_Isa_. That's much, now, that you should forget the name, and yet +could make such an exact description of the place. + +_Lov_. If you would needs know, the name's Bawdy.--Sure this +will give a stop to their curiosity. [_Aside_. + +_Isa_. At least you will tell us in what county it lies, that my +cousin may send to enquire about it: come, this shall not serve your +turn; tell us any town that's near it. + +_Lov_. 'Twill be somewhat too far to send; it lies in the very +north of Scotland. + +_Isa_. In good time, a paradise in the Highlands; is't not so, +sir? + +_Const_. It seems you went post, servant: in troth you are a rank +rider, to go to the north of Scotland, stay and take possession, and +return again, in ten days time. + +_Isa_. I never knew your grandmother was a Scotch woman: Is +she not a Tartar too? Pray whistle for her, and let's see her dance; +come--whist, grannee! + +_Const_. Fie, fie, servant; what, no invention in you? all this +while a-studying for a name of your manor? come, come, where lies it? +tell me. + +_Lov_. No, faith, I am wiser than so; I'll discover my seat to no +man; so I shall have some damned lawyer keep a prying into my title, +to defeat me of it. + +_Const_. How then shall I be satisfied, there is such a thing in +nature? + +_Lov_. Tell me what jewel you would wear, and you shall have it: +Enquire into my money, there's the trial. + +_Const_. Since you are so flush, sir, you shall give me a locket +of diamonds, of three hundred pounds. + +_Isa_. That was too severe; you know he has but two hundred and +fifty pounds to bestow. [_To her. + +Lov_. Well, you shall have it, madam: But I cannot higgle; I know +you'll say it did not cost above two hundred pieces. + +_Isa_. I'll be hanged if he does not present you with a parcel of +melted flints set in gold, or Norfolk pebbles. + +_Lov_. Little gentlewoman, you are so keen--Madam, this night +I have appointed business, to-morrow I'll wait upon you with it. +[_Exit_ LOVEBY. + +_Isa_. By that time he has bought his locket, and paid his +landlady, all his money will be gone. But do you mean to prosecute +your plot to see him this evening? + +_Const_. Yes, and that very privately; if my father know it, I am +undone. + +_Enter_ SETSTONE. + +_Isa_. I heard him say, this night he had appointed business. + +_Set_. Why, that was it, madam; according to your order, I put on +a disguise, and found him in the Temple-walks: Having drawn him aside, +I told him, if he expected happiness, he must meet me in a blind +alley, I nam'd to him, on the back side of Mr Trice's house, just at +the close of evening; there he should be satisfied from whom he had +his supplies of money. + +_Const_. And how did he receive the summons? + +_Set_. Like a bold Hector of Troy; without the least doubt or +scruple: But, the jest on't was, he would needs believe that I was the +devil. + +_Const_. Sure he was afraid to come then? + +_Set_. Quite contrary; he told me I need not be so shy, to +acknowledge myself to him; he knew I was the devil; but he had learnt +so much civility, as not to press his friend to a farther discovery +than he was pleased. I should see I had to do with a gentleman; and +any courtesy I should confer on him, he would not be unthankful; for +he hated ingratitude of all things. + +_Const_. 'Twas well carried not to disabuse him: I laugh to +think what sport I shall have anon, when I convince him of his lies, +and let him know I was the devil, to whom he was beholden for his +money: Go, Setstone; and in the same disguise be ready for him. +[_Exit_ SETSTONE. + +_Isa_. How dare you trust this fellow? + +_Const_. I must trust some body: Gain has made him mine, and now +fear will keep him faithful. + +_To them_, BURR, FAILER, TIMOROUS, TRICE, _and_ NONSUCH. + +_Fail_. Pray, my lord, take no pique at it: 'Tis not given to all +men to be confident: Egad, you shall see Sir Timorous will redeem all +upon the next occasion. + +_Non_. A raw miching boy. + +_Isa_. And what are you but an old boy of five and fifty? I never +knew any thing so humoursome--I warrant you, Sir Timorous; I'll speak +for you. + +_Non_. Would'st thou have me be friends with him? for thy sake +he shall only add five hundred a-year to her jointure, and I'll be +satisfied: Come you hither, sir. + +[_Here_ TRICE _and_ NONSUCH _and_ TIMOROUS _talk +privately_; BURR _with_ FAILER _apart_, CONSTANCE +_with_ ISABELLA. + +_Const_. You'll not find your account in this trick to get Failer +beaten; 'tis too palpable and open. + +_Isa_. I warrant you 'twill pass upon Burr for a time: So my +revenge and your interest will go on together. + +_Fail_. Burr, there's mischief a-brewing, I know it by their +whispering, I vow to gad: Look to yourself, their design is on you; +for my part, I am a person that am above 'em. + +_Tim_. to _Trice_. But then you must speak for me, Mr Trice: +and you too, my lord. + +_Non_. If you deny't again, I'll beat you; look to't, boy. + +_Trice_. Come on; I'll make the bargain. + +_Isa_. You were ever good in a flesh-market. + +_Trice_. Come, you little harlotry; what satisfaction can you +give me for running away before the ruffs came in? + +_Const_. Why, I left you to 'em, that ever invite your own belly +to the greatest part of all your feasts. + +_Trice_. I have brought you a knight here, huswife, with a +plentiful fortune to furnish out a table; and what would you more? +Would you be an angel in heaven? + +_Isa_. Your mind's ever upon your belly. + +_Trice_. No: 'tis sometimes upon yours: But, what say'st thou to +sir Timorous, little Constance? + +_Const_. Would you have me married to that king Midas's face? + +_Trice_. Midas me no Midas; he's a wit; he understands eating and +drinking well: _Poeta coquus_, the heathen philosopher could tell +you that. + +_Const_. Come on, sir: what's your will with me? [_Laughs_. + +_Tim_. Why, madam, I could only wish we were a little better +acquainted, that we might not laugh at one another so. + +_Const_. If the fool puts forward, I am undone. + +_Tim_. Fool!--do you know me, madam? + +_Const_. You may see I know you, because I call you by your name. + +_Fail_. You must endure these rebukes with patience, Sir +Timorous. + +_Const_. What, are you planet struck? Look you, my lord, the +gentleman's tongue-tied. + +_Non_. This is past enduring. + +_Fail_. 'Tis nothing, my lord;--courage, Sir Timorous. + +_Non_. I say 'tis past enduring; that's more than ever I told you +yet: Do you come to make a fool of my daughter? + +_Isa_. Why lord-- + +_Non_. Why lady--[_Exit_ NONSUCH. + +_Trice_. Let's follow the old man, and pacify him. + +_Isa_. Now, cousin,--[_Exeunt_ ISA. TRICE, BURR. + +_Const_. Well, Mr Failer, I did not think you, of all the rest, +would have endeavoured a thing so much against my inclination, as +this marriage: if you had been acquainted with my heart, I am sure you +would not. + +_Fail_. What can the meaning of this be? you would not have me +believe you love me; and yet how otherwise to understand you I vow to +gad I cannot comprehend. + +_Const_. I did not say I loved you; but if I should take a fancy +to your person and humour, I hope it is no crime to tell it you. Women +are tied to hard unequal laws: The passion is the same in us, and +yet we are debarred the freedom to express it. You make poor Grecian +beggars of us ladies; our desires must have no language, but only be +fastened to our breasts. + +_Fail_. Come, come; egad I know the whole sex of you: Your love's +at best but a kind: of blind-man's-buff, catching at him that's next +in your way. + +_Const_. Well, sir, I can take nothing ill from you; when 'tis +too late you'll see how unjust you have been to me. I have said too +much already.--[_Is going_. + +_Fail_. Nay stay, sweet madam! I vow to gad my fortune's better +than I could imagine. + +_Const_. No, pray let me go, sir; perhaps I was in jest. + +_Fail_. Really, madam, I look upon you as a person of such worth, +and all that, that I vow to gad I honour you of all persons in the +world; and though I am a person that am inconsiderable in the world, +and all that, madam, for a person of your worth and excellency I +would-- + +_Const_. What would you, sir? + +_Fail_. Sacrifice my life and fortunes, I vow to gad, madam. + +_Enter_ ISABELLA, BURR, _and_ TIMOROUS, _at a distance +from them_. + +_Isa_. There's Failer close in talk with my cousin; he's +soliciting your suit, I warrant you, Sir Timorous: Do but observe with +what passion he courts for you. + +_Burr_. I do not like that kneading of her hand though. + +_Isa_. Come, you are such a jealous coxcomb: I warrant you +suspect there's some amour between 'em; there can be nothing in't, it +is so open: Pray observe. + +_Burr_. But how come you so officious, madam? you, that ere now +had a design upon Sir Timorous for yourself? + +_Isa_. I thought you had a better opinion of my wit, than to +think I was in earnest. My cousin may do what she pleases, but he +shall never pin himself upon me, assure him. + +_Const_. to _Fail_. Sir Timorous little knows how dangerous +a person he has employed in making love.--[Aloud. + +_Burr_. How's this! Pray, my lady Constance, what's the meaning +of that you say to Failer? + +_Fail_. What luck was this, that he should overhear you! Pax +on't! + +_Const_. Mr Burr, I owe you not that satisfaction; what you have +heard you may interpret as you please. + +_Tim_. The rascal has betrayed me. + +_Isa_. In earnest, sir, I do not like it. + +_Fail_. Dear Mr Burr, be pacified; you are a person I have an +honour for; and this change of affairs shall not be the worse for you, +egad, sir. + +_Const_. Bear up resolutely, Mr Failer; and maintain my favours, +as becomes my servant. + +_Burr_. He maintain 'em! go, you Judas; I'll teach you what 'tis +to play fast and loose with a man of war. [Kicks him. + +_Tim_. Lay it on, Burr. + +_Isa_. Spare him not, Burr. + +_Const_. Fear him not, servant. + +_Fail_. Oh, oh! would nobody were on my side! here I am praised, +I vow to gad, into all the colours of the rainbow. + +_Const_. But remember 'tis for me. + +_Burr_. As you like this, proceed, sir; but, come not near me +to-night, while I'm in wrath. + +[_Exeunt_ BURR _and_ TIMOROUS. + +_Const_. Come, sir; how fare you after your sore trial? You bore +it with a most heroic patience. + +_Isa._ Brave man at arms, but weak to Balthazar[A]! + +[Footnote A: Alluding to the old play of Hieronymo.] + +_Fail_. I hope to gad, madam, you'll consider the merit of my +sufferings. I would not have been beaten thus, but to obey that person +in the world-- + +_Const_. Heaven reward you for't; I never shall. + +_Fail_. How, madam! + +_Isa_. Art thou such an ass, as not to perceive thou art abused? +This beating I contrived for you: you know upon what account; and have +yet another or two at your service. Yield up the knight in time, 'tis +your best course. + +_Fail_. Then does not your ladyship love me, madam? + +_Const_. Yes, yes, I love to see you beaten. + +_Isa_. Well, methinks now you have had a hard bargain on't: You +have lost your cully, Sir Timorous, and your friend, Burr, and all to +get a poor beating. But I'll see it mended against next time for you. + +[_Exeunt_ CONSTANCE _and_ ISABELLA, _laughing_. + +_Fail_. I am so much amazed, I vow to gad, I do not understand my +own condition. [_Exit_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY _solus, in the dark, his sword drawn, groping +out his way_. + + +_Lov_. This is the time and place he pointed me, and 'tis +certainly the devil I am to meet; for no mortal creature could have +that kindness for me, to supply my necessities as he has done, +nor could have done it in so strange a manner. He told me he was +a scholar, and had been a parson in the fanatic's times: a shrewd +suspicion it was the devil; or at least a limb of him. If the devil +can send churchmen on his errands, lord have mercy on the laity! Well, +let every man speak as he finds, and give the devil his due; I think +him a very honest and well-natured fellow; and if I hear any man speak +ill of him, except it be a parson, that gets his living by it, I wear +a sword at his service. Yet, for all this, I do not much care to see +him. He does not mean to hook me in for my soul, does he? If he does, +I shall desire to be excused. But what a rogue am I, to suspect a +person, that has dealt so much like a gentleman by me! He comes to +bring me money, and would do it handsomely, that it might not be +perceived. Let it be as 'twill, I'll seem to trust him; and, then, if +he have any thing of a gentleman in him, he wills corn to deceive +me, as much as I would to cozen him, if I were the devil, and he Jack +Loveby. + +_Enter_ FAILER _at the other end of the stage_. + +_Fail_. What will become of me to-night! I am just in the +condition of an out-lying deer, that's beaten from his walk for +offering to rut. Enter I dare not, for Burr. + +_Lov_. I hear a voice, but nothing do I see. Speak, what thou +art? + +_Fail_. There he is, watching for me. I must venture to run by +him; and, when I am in, I hope my cousin Trice will defend me. The +devil would not lie abroad in such a night. + +_Lov_. I thought it was the devil, before he named himself. + +[FAILER _goes to run off, and falls into_ LOVEBY'S _arms_. + +_Lov_. Honest Satan, well encountered! I am sorry, with all my +heart, it is so dark. 'Faith, I should be very glad to see thee at my +lodging; pr'ythee, let's not be such strangers to one another for the +time to come. And what hast thou got under thy cloak there, little +Satan? I warrant thou hast brought me some more money. + +_Fail_. Help, help; thieves! thieves! + +[LOVEBY _lets him go_. + +_Lov_. This is Failer's voice: How the devil was I mistaken! I +must get off, ere company comes in. + +[_Exit_ Loveby. + +_Fail_. Thieves! thieves! + +_Enter_ Trice, Burr, _and_ Timorous, _undressed_. + +_All_. Where! where! + +_Fail_. One was here just now; and it should be Loveby by his +voice, but I have no witness. + +_Trice_. It cannot be; he wants no money. + +_Burr_. Come, sirrah; I'll take pity on you to-night: You shall +lie in the truckle-bed. + +_Trice_. Pox o' this noise! it has disturbed me from such a dream +of eating!--[Exeunt. + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. + +_Enter_ Constance _and_ Isabella. + + +_Const_. Twas ill luck to have the meeting broke last night, just +as Setstone was coming towards him. + +_Isa_. But, in part of recompence, you'll have the pleasure of +putting him on farther straits. O, these little mischiefs are meat and +drink to me. + +_Const_. He shall tell me from whence he has his money: I am +resolved now to try him to the utmost. + +_Isa_. I would devise something for him to do, which he could not +possibly perform. + +_Const_. As I live, yonder he comes, with the jewel in his hand +he promised me. Pr'ythee, leave me alone with him. + +_Isa_. Speed the plough! If I can make no sport, I'll hinder +none. I'll to my knight, Sir Timorous; shortly you shall hear news +from Dametas[A]. + +[Footnote A: A foolish character in Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, who +seems to have become proverbial.] + +[_Exit_ ISABELLA. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY. + +_Lov_. Look you, madam, here's the jewel; do me the favour to +accept it, and suppose a very good compliment delivered with it. + +_Const_. Believe me, a very fair jewel. But why will you be at +this needless charge? What acknowledgment do you expect? You know I +will not marry you. + +_Lov_. How the devil do I know that? I do not conceive myself, +under correction, so inconsiderable a person. + +_Const_. You'll alter your partial opinion, when I tell you, 'tis +not a flash of wit fires me, nor is it a gay out-side can seduce me to +matrimony. + +_Lov_. I am neither fool, nor deformed, so much as to be +despicable. What do I want? + +_Const_. A good estate, that makes every thing handsome: Nothing +can look well without it. + +_Lov_. Does this jewel express poverty? + +_Const_. I conjure you by your love to me, tell me one truth not +minced by your invention, how came you by this jewel? + +_Lov_. 'Tis well I have a voucher. Pray ask your own jeweller, +Setstone, if I did not buy it of him. + +_Const_. How glad you are now, you can tell a truth so near a +lie. But where had you the money, that purchased it? Come--without +circumstances and preambles-- + +_Lov_. Umph--Perhaps, that may be a secret. + +_Const_. Say, it be one; yet he, that loved indeed, could not +keep it from his mistress. + +_Lov_. Why should you be thus importunate? + +_Const_. Because I cannot think you love me, if you will not +trust that to my knowledge, which you conceal from all the world +beside. + +_Lov_. You urge me deeply-- + +_Const_. Come, sweet servant, you shall tell me; I am resolved to +take no denial. Why do you sigh? + +_Lov_. If I be blasted, it must out. + +_Const_. Either tell me, or resolve to take your leave for ever. + +_Lov_. Then know, I have my means,--I know not how. + +_Const_. This is a fine secret. + +_Lov_. Why, then, if you will needs know, 'tis from the devil; I +have money from him, what, and when I please. + +_Const_. Have you sealed a covenant, and given away your soul for +money? + +_Lov_. No such thing intended on my part. + +_Const_. How then? + +_Lov_. I know not yet what conditions he'll propose. I should +have spoke with him last night, but that a cross chance hindered it. + +_Const_. Well, my opinion is, some great lady, that is in love +with you, supplies you still; and you tell me an incredible tale of +the devil, merely to shadow your infidelity. + +_Lov_. Devise some means to try me. + +_Const_. I take you at your word. You shall swear freely to +bestow on me whatever you shall gain this unknown way; and, for a +proof, because you tell me you can have money, what, and when you +please, bring me a hundred pounds ere night.--If I do marry him for +a wit, I'll see what he can do; he shall have none from me. +[_Aside_. + +_Lov_. You overjoy me, madam; you shall have it, an 'twere twice +as much. + +_Const_. How's this? + +_Lov_. The devil a cross that I have, or know where to get; but +I must promise well, to save my credit.--Now, devil, if thou dost +forsake me! + +[_Aside_. + +_Const_. I mistrust you; and, therefore, if you fail, I'll +have your hand to show against you; here's ink and paper. [LOVEBY +_writes_. + +_Enter_ BURR, _and_ TIMOROUS. + +_Burr_. What makes Loveby yonder? He's writing somewhat. + +_Tim_. I'll go see. [_Looks over him_. + +_Lov_. Have you no more manners than to overlook a man when he's +a writing?--Oh! is't you, Sir Timorous? You may stand still; now I +think on't, you cannot read written hand. + +_Burr_. You are very familiar with Sir Timorous. + +_Lov_. So am I with his companions, sir. + +_Burr_. Then there's hopes you and I may be better acquainted. I +am one of his companions. + +_Lov_. By what title? as you are an ass, sir? + +_Const_. No more, Loveby. + +_Lov_. I need not, madam. Alas! this fellow is only the solicitor +of a quarrel, 'till he has brought it to an head; and will leave the +fighting part to the courteous pledger. Do not I know these fellows? +You shall as soon persuade a mastiff to fasten on a lion, as one of +those to engage with a courage above their own: They know well enough +whom they can beat, and who can beat them. + +_Enter _FAILER _at a distance_. + +_Fail_. Yonder they are: Now, would I compound for a reasonable +sum, that I were friends with Burr. If I am not, I shall lose Sir +Timorous. + +_Const_. O, servant, have I spied you? let me run into your arms. + +_Fail_. I renounce my lady Constance: I vow to gad, I renounce +her. + +_Tim_. To your task, Burr. + +_Enter NONSUCH and ISABELLA_. + +_Const_. Hold, gentlemen! no sign of quarrel. + +_Non_. O, friends! I think I shall go mad with grief: I have lost +more money. + +_Lov_. Would I had it: that's all the harm I wish myself. Your +servant, madam; I go about the business. + +_Exit LOVEBY_. + +_Non_. What! does he take no pity on me? + +_Const_. Pr'ythee, moan him, Isabella. + +_Isa_. Alas, alas, poor uncle! could they find in their hearts to +rob him! + +_Non_. Five hundred pounds, out of poor six thousand pounds +a-year! I, and mine, are undone for ever. + +_Fail_. Your own house, you think, is clear, my lord? + +_Const_. I dare answer for all there, as much as for myself. + +_Burr_. Oh, that he would but think that Loveby had it! + +_Fail_. If you'll be friends with me, I'll try what I can +persuade him to. + +_Burr_. Here's my hand, I will, dear heart. + +_Fail_. Your own house being clear, my lord, I am apt to suspect +this Loveby for such a person. Did you mark how abruptly he went out? + +_Non_. He did indeed, Mr Failer. But why should I suspect him? +his carriage is fair, and his means great; he could never live after +this rate, if it were not. + +_Fail_. This still renders him the more suspicious: He has no +land, to my knowledge. + +_Burr_. Well said, mischief. [_Aside_. + +_Const_. My father's credulous, and this rogue has found the +blind side of him; would Loveby heard him! [_To_ ISABELLA. + +_Fail_. He has no means, and he loses at play; so that, for my +part, I protest to gad, I am resolved he picks locks for his living. + +_Burr_. Nay, to my knowledge, he picks locks. + +_Tim_. And to mine. + +_Fail_. No longer ago than last night he met me in the dark, and +offered to dive into my pockets. + +_Non_. That's a main argument for suspicion. + +_Fail_. I remember once, when the keys of the Exchequer were lost +in the Rump-time, he was sent for upon an extremity, and, egad, he +opens me all the locks with the blade-bone of a breast of mutton. + +_Non_. Who, this Loveby? + +_Fail_. This very Loveby. Another time, when we had sate up very +late at ombre in the country, and were hungry towards morning, he +plucks me out (I vow to gad I tell you no lie) four ten-penny nails +from the dairy lock with his teeth, fetches me out a mess of milk, and +knocks me 'em in again with his head, upon reputation. + +_Isa_. Thou boy! + +_Non_. What shall I do in this case? My comfort is, my gold's all +marked. + +_Const_. Will you suspect a gentleman of Loveby's worth, upon the +bare report of such a rascal as this Failer? + +_Non_. Hold thy tongue, I charge thee; upon my blessing hold thy +tongue. I'll have him apprehended before he sleeps; come along with +me, Mr Failer. + +_Fail_. Burr, look well to Sir Timorous; I'll be with you +instantly. + +_Const_. I'll watch you by your favour. [_Aside. +[Exeunt_ NONSUCH _and_ FAILER, CONSTANCE _following them_. + +_Isa_. A word, Sir Timorous. + +_Burr_. [Gets _behind_.] She shall have a course at the +knight, and come up to him, but when she is just ready to pinch, he +shall give such a loose from her, shall break her heart. + +_Isa_. Burr there still, and watching us? There's certainly some +plot in this, but I'll turn it to my own advantage. [_Aside_. + +_Tim. Did you mark Burr's retirement, madam? + +_Isa_ Ay; his guilt, it seems, makes him shun your company. + +_Tim_. In what can he be guilty? + +_Isa_. You must needs know it; he courts your mistress. + +_Tim_. Is he, too, in love with my lady Constance? + +_Isa_. No, no: but, which is worse, he courts me. + +_Tim_. Why, what have I to do with you? You know I care not this +for you. + +_Isa_. Perhaps so; but he thought you did: and good reason for +it. + +_Tim_. What reason, madam? + +_Isa_. The most convincing in the world: He knew my cousin +Constance never loved you: He has heard her say, you were as +invincibly ignorant as a town-fop judging a new play: as shame-faced +as a great overgrown school-boy: in fine, good for nothing but to be +wormed out of your estate, and sacrificed to the god of laughter. + +_Tim_. Was your cousin so barbarous to say this? + +_Isa_. In his hearing. + +_Tim_. And would he let me proceed in my suit to her? + +_Isa_. For that I must excuse him; he never thought you could +love one of my cousin's humour; but took your court to her, only as +a blind to your affection for me; and, being possessed with that +opinion, he thought himself as worthy as you to marry me. + +_Tim_. He is not half so worthy; and so I'll tell him, in a fair +way. + +_Burr_. [_To a Boy entering_.] Sirrah, boy, deliver this +note to madam Isabella; but be not known I am so near. + +_Boy_. I warrant you, sir. + +_Burr_. Now, Fortune, all I desire of thee is, that Sir Timorous +may see it; if he once be brought to believe there is a kindness +between her and me, it will ruin all her projects. + +_Isa_. [_To the Boy_.] From whom? + +_Boy_. From Mr Burr, madam. + +_Isa_. [Reads.] _These for Madam Isabella. Dear rogue, Sir +Timorous knows nothing of our kindness, nor shall for me; seem still +to have designs upon him; it will hide thy affection the better to thy +servant,_ BURR. + +_Isa_. Alas, poor woodcock, dost thou go a-birding? Thou hast +e'en set a springe to catch thy own neck. Look you here, Sir Timorous; +here's something to confirm what I have told you. [_Gives him the +letter_. + +_Tim_. D, e, a, r, _dear_; r, o, g, u, e, _rogue_. +Pray, madam, read it; this written hand is such a damned pedantic +thing, I could never away with it. + +_Isa_. He would fain have robbed you of me: Lord, Lord! to see +the malice of a man. + +_Tim_. She has persuaded me so damnably, that I begin to think +she's my mistress indeed. + +_Isa_. Your mistress? why, I hope you are not to doubt that, at +this time of day. I was your mistress from the first day you ever saw +me. + +_Tim_. Nay, like enough you were so; but I vow to gad now, I was +wholly ignorant of my own affection. + +_Isa_. And this rogue pretends he has an interest in me, merely +to defeat you: Look you, look you, where he stands in ambush, like a +Jesuit behind a Quaker, to see how his design will take. + +_Tim_. I see the rogue: Now could I find in my heart to marry you +in spite to him; what think you on't, in a fair way? + +_Isa_. I have brought him about as I could wish; and now I'll +make my own conditions. [_Aside_.] Sir Timorous, I wish you well; +but he I marry must promise me to live at London: I cannot abide to be +in the country, like a wild beast in the wilderness, with no Christian +soul about me. + +_Tim_. Why, I'll bear you company. + +_Isa_. I cannot endure your early hunting-matches there; to have +my sleep disturbed by break of day, with heigh, Jowler, Jowler! there +Venus, ah Beauty! and then a serenade of deep-mouthed curs, to answer +the salutation of the huntsman, as if hell were broke loose about me: +and all this to meet a pack of gentlemen savages, to ride all day, +like mad-men, for the immortal fame of being first in at the hare's +death: to come upon the spur, after a trial at four in the afternoon, +to destruction of cold meat and cheese, with your lewd company in +boots; fall a-drinking till supper time, be carried to bed, tossed out +of your cellar, and be good for nothing all the night after. + +_Tim_. Well, madam, what is it you would be at? you shall find me +reasonable to all your propositions. + +_Isa_. I have but one condition more to add; for I will be as +reasonable as you; and that is a very poor request--to have all the +money in my disposing. + +_Tim_. How, all the money? + +_Isa_. Ay, for I am sure I can huswife it better for your honour; +not but that I shall be willing to encourage you with pocket-money, or +so, sometimes. + +_Tim_. This is somewhat hard. + +_Isa_. Nay, if a woman cannot do that, I shall think you have +an ill opinion of my virtue: Not trust your own flesh and blood, Sir +Timorous? + +_Tim_. Well, is there any thing more behind? + +_Isa_. Nothing more, only the choice of my own company, my own +hours, and my own actions: These trifles granted me, in all things of +moment, I am your most obedient wife and servant, Isabella. + +_Tim_. Is't a match, then? + +_Isa_. For once I am content it shall; but 'tis to redeem you +from those rascals, Burr and Failer--that way, Sir Timorous, for fear +of spies; I'll meet you at the garden door.--[_Exit_ TIMOROUS.] I +have led all women the way, if they dare but follow me. + _And now march off, if I can scape but spying, + With my drums beating, and my colours flying_. + +[_Exit_. + +_Burr_. So, their wooing's at an end; thanks to my wit. + +_Enter_ FAILER. + +_Fail_. O Burr! whither is it Sir Timorous and Madam Isabella are +gone together? + +_Burr_. Adore my wit, boy; they are parted, never to meet again. + +_Fail_. I saw them meet just now at the garden-door: So ho, ho, +ho, who's within there! Help here quickly, quickly. + +_Enter_ NONSUCH _and two Servants_. + +_Non_. What's the matter? + +_Fail_. Your niece Isabella has stolen away Sir Timorous. + +_Non_. Which way took they? + +_Fail_. Follow me, I'll show you. + +_Non_. Break your necks after him, you idle varlets. + +[_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY. LOVEBY'S _collar unbuttoned, band carelessly +on, hat on the table, as new risen from sleep_. + +_Lov_. Boy! how long have I slept, boy? + +_Enter Boy_. + +_Boy_. Two hours and a half, sir. + +_Lov_. What's a-clock, sirrah? + +_Boy_. Near four, sir. + +_Lov_. Why, there's it: I have promised my lady Constance an +hundred pounds ere night; I had four hours to perform it in, when I +engaged to do it; and I have slept out more than two of them. All +my hope to get this money lies within the compass of that hat there. +Before I lay down, I made bold a little to prick my finger, and write +a note, in the blood of it, to this same friend of mine in t'other +world, that uses to supply me: the devil has now had above two hours +to perform it in; all which time I have slept, to give him the better +opportunity: time enough for a gentleman of his agility to fetch it +from the East Indies, out of one of his temples where they worship +him; or, if he were lazy, and not minded to go so far, 'twere but +stepping over sea, and borrowing so much money out of his own bank at +Amsterdam: hang it, what's an hundred pounds between him and me? +Now does my heart go pit-a-pat, for fear I should not find the money +there: I would fain lift it up to see, and yet I am so afraid of +missing: Yet a plague, why should I fear he'll fail me; the name of a +friend's a sacred thing; sure he'll consider that. Methinks, this hat +looks as if it should have something under it: If one could see the +yellow boys peeping underneath the brims now: Ha! [_Looks under +round about_.] In my conscience I think I do. Stand out o'the way, +sirrah, and be ready to gather up the pieces, that will flush out of +the hat as I take it up. + +_Boy_. What, is my master mad, trow? + +[LOVEBY _snatches up the hat, looks in it hastily, and sees nothing +but the paper_. + +_Low_. Now, the devil take the devil! A plague! was ever man +served so as I am! [_Throws his hat upon the ground_.] To break +the bands of amity for one hundred pieces! Well, it shall be more out +of thy way than thou imaginest, devil: I'll turn parson, and be at +open defiance with thee: I'll lay the wickedness of all people upon +thee, though thou art never so innocent; I'll convert thy bawds and +whores; I'll Hector thy gamesters, that they shall not dare to swear, +curse, or bubble; nay, I'll set thee out so, that thy very usurers and +aldermen shall fear to have to do with thee. + +[_A noise within of_ ISABELLA _and_ FRANCES. + +_Enter_ FRANCES, _thrusting back_ ISABELLA _and_ +TIMOROUS. + +_Franc_. How now, what's the matter? + +_Isa_. Nay, sweet mistress, be not so hard-hearted; all I desire +of you is but harbour for a minute: you cannot, in humanity, deny that +small succour to a gentlewoman. + +_Franc_. A gentlewoman! I thought so; my house, affords no +harbour for gentlewomen: you are a company of proud harlotries: I'll +teach you to take place of tradesmen's wives, with a wannion to you. + +_Lov_. How's this! Madam Isabella! + +_Isa_. Mr Loveby! how happy am I to meet with you in my distress! + +_Lov_. What's the matter, madam? + +_Isa_. I'll tell you, if this gentlewoman will give me leave. + +_Franc_. No, gentlewoman, I will not give you leave; they are +such as we maintain your pride, as they say. [ISABELLA _and_ +LOVEBY _whisper_.] Our husbands trust you, and you must go before +their wives. I am sure my good-man never goes to any of your lodgings, +but he comes home the worse for it, as they say. + +_Lov_. Is that all? pr'ythee, good landlady, for my sake +entertain my friends. + +_Franc_. If the gentleman's worship had come alone, it may be I +might have entertained him; but for your minion! + +_Enter_ NONSUCH, FAILER, BURR, _and Officers. Cry within, Here, +here_. + +_Fail_. My lord, arrest Sir Timorous upon a promise of marriage +to your daughter, and we'll witness it. + +_Tim_. Why, what a strange thing of you's this, madam Isabella, +to bring a man into trouble thus! + +_Fail_. You are not yet married to her? + +_Tim_. Not that I remember. + +_Isa_. Well, Failer, I shall find a time to reward your +diligence. + +_Lov_. If the knight would have owned his action, I should have +taught some of you more manners, than to come with officers into my +lodging. + +_Franc_. I'm glad with all my heart this minx is prevented of her +design: the gentleman had got a great catch of her, as they say. His +old father in the country would have given him but little thanks +for it, to see him bring down a fine-bred woman, with a lute, and a +dressing-box, and a handful of money to her portion. + +_Isa_. Good Mistress Whatdeelack! I know your quarrel to the +ladies; do they take up the gallants from the tradesmen's wives? Lord, +what a grievous thing it is, for a she citizen to be forced to have +children by her own husband! + +_Franc_. Come, come, you're a slanderful huswife, and I squorn +your harlotry tricks, that I do, so I do. + +_Isa_. Steeple-hat your husband never gets a good look when he +comes home, except he brings a gentleman to dinner; who, if he casts +an amorous eye towards you, then, "Trust him, good husband, sweet +husband, trust him for my sake: Verily the gentleman's an honest man, +I read it in his countenance: and if you should not be at home to +receive the money, I know he will pay the debt to me." Is't not so, +mistress? + +_Enter_ BIBBER _in slippers, with a skein of silk about his +neck_. + +_Franc_. Will you see me wronged thus, under my own roof, as they +say, William? + +_Isa_. Nay, 'tis very true, mistress: you let the men, with old +compliments, take up new clothes; I do not mean your wife's clothes, +Mr Merchant-Tailor. + +_Bib_. Good, i'faith! a notable smart gentlewoman! + +_Isa_. Look to your wife, sir, or, in time, she may undo your +trade; for she'll get all your men-customers to herself. + +_Bib_. An' I should be hanged, I can forbear no longer. [_He +plucks out his measure, and runs to_ ISABELLA, _to take measure +of her_. + +_Isa_. How now! what means Prince Pericles by this? + +_Bib_. [_On his knees_.] I must beg your ladyship e'en to +have the honour to trust you but for your gown, for the sake of that +last jest, flowered sattin, wrought tabby, silver upon any grounds; I +shall run mad if I may not trust your ladyship. + +_Franc_. I think you are mad already, as they say, William: You +shall not trust her-- + +[_Plucks him back_. + +_Bib_. Let me alone, Frances: I am a lion when I am angered. + +_Isa_. Pray do not pull your lion by the tail so, mistress--In +these clothes, that he now takes measure of me for, will I marry Sir +Timorous; mark that, and tremble, Failer. + +_Fail_. Never threaten me, madam; you're a person I despise. + +_Isa_. I vow to gad, I'll be even with you, sir. + +[_Exit_. + +_Non_. [_To the Bailiff's_.]--And when you have arrested +him, be sure you search him for my gold. + +_Bailiffs_. [_To_ LOVEBY.] We arrest you, sir, at my Lord +Nonsuch's suit. + +_Lov_. Me, you rascals! + +_Non_. Search him for my gold; you know the marks on't. + +_Lov_. If they can find any marked or unmarked gold about me, +they'll find more than I can. You expect I should resist now; no, no; +I'll hamper you for this. + +_Bail_. There's nothing to be found about him. + +_Fail_. 'Tis no matter, to prison with him; there all his debts +will come upon him. + +_Lov_. What, hurried to durance, like a stinkard! + +_Job_. Now, as I live, a pleasant gentleman; I could find in my +heart to bail him; but I'll overcome myself, and steal away. [_Is +going_. + +_Bail_. Come, sir, we must provide you of another lodging; but I +believe you'll scarce like it. + +_Lov_. If I do not, I ask no favour; pray turn me out of doors. + +_Bib_. Turn him out of doors! What a jest was there? Now, an' I +should be hanged, I cannot forbear bailing him: Stay, officers, I bail +him body and soul for that jest. + +_Fail_. Let us begone in time, Burr. + +[_Exeunt_ BURR, FAILER, _and_ TIMOROUS. + +_Franc_. You shall not bail him. + +_Bib_. I know I am a rogue to do it; but his wit has prevailed +upon me, and a man must not go against his conscience. There, +officers. + +_Lov_. to _Non_. Old man, if it were not for thy daughter-- + +_Non_. Well, well; take your course, sir. + +[_Exeunt_ NONSUCH _and Bailiffs_. + +_Lov_. Come, Will, I'll thank thee at the tavern. Frances, +remember this the next time you come up to make my bed. + +_Franc_. Do your worst, I fear you not, sir. This is twice to +day, William; to trust a gentlewoman, and bail a ragamuffin: I am sure +he called you cuckold but yesterday, and said he would make you one. + +_Lov_. Look you, Frances, I am a man of honour, and, if I said +it, I'll not break my word with you. + +_Bib_. There he was with you again, Frances: An excellent good +jest, i'faith la. + +_Franc_. I'll not endure it, that I won't, so I won't: I'll go to +the justice's worship, and fetch a warrant for him. + +_Lov_. But, landlady, the word cuckold will bear no action in the +law, except you could prove your husband prejudiced by it. Have any +of his customers forsook him for't? Or any mercer refused to trust him +the less, for my calling him so? + +_Franc_. Nay, I know not for the mercers; perhaps the citizens +may take it for no slander among one another, as they say: but for the +gentlemen-- + +_Lov_. Will, have they forsaken thee upon it? + +_Bib_. No, I assure you, sir. + +_Lov_. No, I warrant 'em: A cuckold has the signification of an +honest well-meaning citizen; one, that is not given to jealousies or +suspicions; a just person to his wife, &c.; one that, to speak the +worst of him, does but to her, what he would be content should be done +to her by other men. + +_Franc_. But that another man should be the father of his +children, as they say; I don't think that a civil thing, husband. + +_Lov_. Not civil, landlady! why all things are civil, that are +made so by custom. + +_Bib_. Why may not he get as fine children as I, or any man? + +_Franc_. But if those children, that are none of yours, should +call you father, William! + +_Bib_. If they call me father, and are none of mine, I am the +more beholden to 'em. + +_Franc_. Nay, if that be your humour, husband, I am glad I +know it, that I may please you the better another time, as they say. +[_Exit_ FRANCES. + +_Bib_. Nay, but Frances, Frances! 'tis such another woman. +[_Exit_ BIBBER. + +_Lov_. 'Tis such another man:--My coat and sword, boy, I must go +to Justice Trice's; bring the women; and come after me. [_Exit_ +LOVEBY. + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + +_A Table set with Cards upon it_. + +TRICE _walking: Enter Servant_. + + +_Serv_. Sir, some company is without upon justice-business. + +_Trice_. Saucy rascal, to disturb my meditations. [_Exit +Servant_.--Ay, it shall be he: Jack Loveby, what think'st thou of +a game at piquet, we two, hand to fist? you and I will play one single +game for ten pieces: 'Tis deep stake, Jack, but 'tis all one between +us two: You shall deal, Jack:--Who I, Mr Justice! that's a good +one; you must give me use for your hand then; that's six i'the +hundred.--Come, lift, lift;--mine's a ten; Mr Justice:--mine's a king; +oh ho, Jack, you deal. I have the advantage of this, i'faith, if I can +keep it. [_He deals twelve a piece, two by two, and looks on his +own cards_.] I take seven, and look on this--Now for you, Jack +Loveby. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY _behind_. + +_Lov_. How's this? Am I the man he fights with? + +_Trice_. I'll do you right, Jack; as I am an honest man, you +must discard this; there's no other way: If you were my own brother, I +could do no better for you.--Zounds, the rogue has a quint-major, and +three aces younger hand.--[_Looks on the other cards_.] Stay; +what am I for the point? But bare forty, and he fifty-one: Fifteen, +and five for the point, twenty, and three by aces, twenty-three; +well, I am to play first: one, twenty-three; two, twenty-three; three, +twenty-three; four, twenty-three;--Pox on't, now I must play into his +hand: five:--now you take it, Jack;--five, twenty-four, twenty-five, +twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, and the +cards forty. + +_Lov_. Hitherto it goes well on my side.-- + +_Trice_. Now I deal: How many do you take, Jack? All. Then I am +gone: What a rise is here! Fourteen by aces, and a sixieme-major; I +am gone, without looking into my cards.--[_Takes up an ace and +bites it_.] Ay, I thought so: If ever man play'd with such cursed +fortune, I'll be hanged, and all for want of this damned ace--there's +your ten pieces, with a pox to you, for a rooking beggarly rascal as +you are. + +LOVEBY _enters_. + +_Lov_. What occasion have I given you for these words, sir? Rook +and rascal! I am no more rascal than yourself, sir. + +_Trice_. How's this! how's this! + +_Lov_. And though for this time I put up, because I am a winner-- +[_Snatches the gold_. + +_Trice_. What a devil do'st thou put up? Not my gold, I hope, +Jack? + +_Lov_. By your favour, but I do; and 'twas won fairly: a sixieme, +and fourteen by aces, by your own confession,--What a pox, we don't +make childrens' play, I hope? + +_Trice_. Well, remember this, Jack; from this hour I forswear +playing with you when I am alone; what, will you bate me nothing on't? + +_Lov_. Not a farthing, Justice; I'll be judged by you; if I had +lost, you would have taken every piece on't: What I win, I win--and +there's an end. + +_Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Sir, these people stay without, and will not be answered. + +_Trice_. Well, what's their business? + +_Serv_. Nay, no great matter; only a fellow for getting a wench +with child. + +_Trice_. No great matter, say'st thou? 'Faith, but it is. Is he a +poor fellow, or a gentleman? + +_Serv_. A very poor fellow, sir. + +_Trice_. Hang him, rogue; make his mittimus immediately; must +such as he presume to get children? + +_Lov_. Well considered: A poor lousy rascal, to intrench upon +the game of gentlemen! He might have passed his time at nine-pins, or +shovel-board; that had been fit sport for such as he: Justice, have no +mercy on him. + +_Trice_. No, by the sword of justice will I not. + +_Lov_. Swear'st thou, ungracious boy[A]? That's too much, on the +other hand, for a gentleman. I swear not, I drink not, I curse not, +I cheat not; they are unnecessary vices: I save so much out of those +sins, and take it out in that one necessary vice of wenching. + +[Footnote A: Henry IV. Part 1. Act ii. Scene 4.] + +_Enter_ LOVEBY'S _Boy_. + +_Boy_. Sir, the parties are without, according to your order. + +_Lov_. 'Tis well; bring 'em in, boy. + +_Enter Lady Du_ LAKE, _and two or three Whores_. + +Justice, I recommend this ancient gentlewoman, with these virtuous +ladies, to thy patronage; for her part, she is a person of exemplary +life and behaviour; of singular conduct to break through, and patience +to bear the assaults of fortune: A general benefactress of mankind, +and, in fine, a promoter of that great work of nature, love. + +_Trice_. Or, as the vulgar translation hath it, a very sufficient +and singular good bawd: Is't not so, boy? + +_Lov_. Ay, boy: Now for such a pettifogging fellow as thy clerk +to persecute this lady; pr'ythee think on't: Tis a grievance of the +free-born subject. + +_L. Du Lake_. To see the ingratitude of this generation! That I, +that have spent my youth; set at nought my fortune; and, what is more +dear to me, my honour, in the service of gentlemen; should now, in my +old age, be left to want and beggary, as if I were the vilest and most +unworthy creature upon God's earth! [_Crying_. + +_Lov_. Nay, good mother, do not take it so bitterly. + +_L. Du Lake_. I confess, the unkindness of it troubles me. + +_Lov_. Thou shalt not want, so long as I live.--Look, here's five +pieces of cordial gold, to comfort thy heart with: I won it, e'en now, +off Mr Justice; and I dare say he thinks it well bestowed. + +_Trice_. My money's gone to very pious uses. + +_L. Du Lake_. [_Laying her hand on_ LOVEBY'S _head_.] +Son Loveby, I knew thy father well; and thy grandfather before him. +Fathers they were both to me; and I could weep for joy to see how thou +tak'st after them. [_Weeping again_.] I wish it lay in my power +too to gratify this worthy Justice in my vocation. + +_Trice_. 'Faith, I doubt I am past that noble sin. + +_Lov_. Pr'ythee, good magistrate, drink to her, and wipe sorrow +from her eyes. + +_Trice_. Right reverend, my service to you in canary. [_She +drinks after him, and stays at half a glass_. + +_L. Du Lake_. 'Tis a great way to the bottom; but heaven is +all-sufficient to give me strength for it. [_Drinks it up_.] Why, +God's blessing on your heart, son Trice! I hope 'tis no offence to +call you son? hem!--hem!--Son Loveby, I think my son Trice and I are +much of the same years: let me see, son, if nature be utterly extinct +in you: Are you ticklish, son Trice? [_Tickles him_. + +_Trice_. Are you ticklish, Mother Du Lake? + +[_Tickles her sides. She falls off her chair; he falls off his to +her; they roll one over the other_. + +_Lov_. I would have all London now show me such another sight of +kindness in old age. [_They help each other up_.] Come, a dance, +a dance; call for your clerk, Justice; he shall make one, in sign of +amity. Strike up, fidlers! + +[_They dance a round dance, and sing the tune_. + +_Enter_ ISABELLA _and_ CONSTANCE. + +_Isa_. Are you at that sport, i'faith? Have among you, blind +harpers. [_She falls into the dance_. + +[_At the dance's ending_, LOVEBY _sees_ CONSTANCE. + +_Trice_. Is she come? A pox of all honest women at such a time! + +_Lov_. If she knows who these are, by this light, I am undone. + +_Const_. Oh, servant! I come to mind you of your promise. Come, +produce my hundred pounds; the time's out I set you. + +_Lov_. Not till dark night, upon my reputation! I have not yet +spoke with the gentleman in the black pantaloons; you know he seldom +walks abroad by day-light. Dear madam, let me wait on you to your +coach; and, if I bring it not within this hour, discard me utterly. + +_Const_. You must give me leave to salute the company. What are +they? + +_Lov_. Persons of quality of my acquaintance; but I'll make your +excuse to 'em. + +_Const_. Nay, if they are persons of quality, I shall be rude to +part from 'em so abruptly. + +_Lov_. Why so?--the devil owed me a shame; and now he has paid +me. I must present 'em, whate'er come on't. [_Aside_.]--This, +madam, is my Lady Du Lake--the Lady Springwell--the Lady Hoyden. + +[_She and_ ISABELLA _salute them_. + +_Isa_. What a whiff was there came from my Lady Hoyden; and what +a garlic breath my Lady Springwell had! + +_Trice_. Ha, ha, ha, ha! + +_Lov_. Do not betray me, Justice; if you do--[_Aside_. + +_Isa_. Oh, are you thereabouts, sir? then I smell a rat, i'faith; +but I'll say nothing. [_Aside_. + +_Const_. Ladies, I am an humble servant to you all; and account +it my happiness to have met with so good company at my cousin Trice's. + +_Trice_. Ha, ha, ha! + +_L. Du Lake_. Are these two ladies of your acquaintance, son +Loveby? + +_Lov_. Son, quoth a'! a pox of our relation! [_Aside_. + +_L. Du Lake_. I shall be glad to be better known to your +ladyships. + +_Const_. You too much honour your servants, madam. + +_Isa_. How Loveby fidges up and down! In what pain he is! well, +if these be not they, they call whores, I'll be hanged, though I never +saw one before. [_Aside_. + +_Lov_. Will your ladyship please to go, madam? + +_Const_. I must beg the favour of these ladies first, that I may +know their lodgings, and wait on them. + +_L. Du. Lake_. It will be our duty to pay our respects first to +your ladyship. + +_Const_. I beg your ladyship's pardon, madam-- + +_L. Du Lake_. Your ladyship shall excuse us, madam-- + +_Isa_. Trice. Ha, ha, ha! + +_Low_. Ah, devil grin you! [_Aside_. + +_Trice_. I must go out, and laugh my belly-full. + +[_Exit_ TRICE. + +_Const_. But in earnest, madam, I must have no denial; I beseech +your ladyship instruct me, where I may tender my devoirs. + +_L. Du Lake_. Since your ladyship commands me, madam, I dare +disobey no longer. My lodgings are in St Lucknor's Lane, at the Cat +and Fiddle. + +_Const_. Whereabouts is that lane, servant? + +_Lov_. Faith, madam, I know not that part o'the town.--Lord, how +I sweat for fear! [_Aside_. + +_Const_. And yours, madam, where, I beseech your ladyship? + +_2 Whore_. In Dog and Bitch yard, an't please your ladyship. + +_3 Whore_. And mine in Sodom, so like your ladyship. + +_Const_. How, Loveby! I did not think you would have used me +thus? + +_Lov_. I beseech your ladyship, but hear my justification as I +lead you. + +_Const_. By no means, sir; that were such a rudeness to leave +persons of quality, to wait upon me: Unhand me, sir. + +_Isa_. Ha, ha, ha!--[_Exeunt_ CONST. ISA. + +_Lov_. I am ruined! for ever ruined. Plague, had you no places in +the town to name, but Sodom, and Lucknor's Lane, for lodgings! + +_L. Du Lake_. If any prejudice arise from it, upon my honour, +son, 'twas by mistake, and not intended you: I thought she desired to +have been admitted of the quality. + +_Lov_. I was curst, when I had first to do with you. + +[_Kicks them_. + +_L. Du Lake_. Well, I thank heaven, that has indued me with such +patience. + +[_Exeunt all but_ LOVEBY _and his Boy_. + +_Lov_. I have made a fair hand on't to-day;--both lost my +mistress, and hear no news from my friend below: The world frowns upon +me, and the devil and my mistress have forsaken me: My godfathers and +godmothers have promised well for me: Instead of renouncing them, they +have renounced me. + +_Boy_. Sir, I saw my Lady Constance smile as she went out: I am +confident she's angry but from the teeth outwards: you might easily +make fair weather with her, if you could get the money you promised +her, but there's the devil-- + +_Lov_. Where is he, boy? shew me him quickly. + +_Boy_. Marry, God bless us! I mean, sir, there's the difficulty. + +_Lov_. Damned rogue, to put me in hope so-- + +_Enter_ BIBBER _at the other end_. + +_Lov_. Uds so, look where Bibber is: Now I think on't, he offered +me a bag of forty pounds, and the lease of his house yesterday: But +that's his pocky humour; when I have money, and do not ask him, he +will offer it; but when I ask him, he will not lend a farthing.--Turn +this way, sirrah, and make as though we did not see him. + +_Bib_. Our gentleman, I think, a-talking with his boy there. + +_Lov_. You understand me?-- + +_Boy_. I warrant you, sir. + +_Lov_. No news yet; what an unlucky rascal 'tis! if the rogue +should hereafter be reduced to the raiment of his own shreds, I should +not pity him. + +_Bib_. How's this! + +_Lov_. Now is this rascal hunting after jests, to make himself +the greatest to all that know him. + +_Bib_. This must be me. + +_Boy_. I can hear neither tale nor tidings of him: I have +searched him in all his haunts; amongst his creditors; and in all +companies where they are like to break the least jest. I have visited +the coffee-houses for him; but among all the news there, I heard none +of him. + +_Bib_. Good, i' faith. + +_Lov_. Where's the warrant? I'll put in my own name, since I +cannot find him. + +_Boy_. Sir, I gave it a scrivener at next door, because I could +not write, to fill up the blank place with Mr Bibber's name. + +_Lov_. What an unlucky vermin 'tis! now, for an hundred pound, +could I have gratified him with a waiter's place at the custom-house, +that had been worth to him an hundred pound a-year upon the nail. + +_Bib_. Could you so, could you so, sir? give me your hand, and I +thank you heartily, Mr Loveby. + +_Lov_. Art thou honest Will? faith, 'tis not worth thy thanks, +till it be done: I wish I had the money for thee. + +_Bib_. How much is't, sir? + +_Lov_. An hundred pounds would do it. + +_Bib_. Let me see: forty, I have already by me; take that in +part, sir;--and that, and the lease of my house, would over-do it. + +_Lov_. By all means thy lease, Will: ne'er scruple at that; hang +a piece of parchment, and two bits of soft wax! thou shalt do't, thou +shalt, boy. + +_Bib_. Why, then I will, sir:--But stay, stay: now I think on't, +Frances has one hundred and twenty pieces of old grandam-and-aunt gold +left her, that she would never let me touch: if we could get that, Mr +Loveby! but she'll never part with it. + +_Lov_. Tis but saying the place is for her; a waiting woman's +place in the custom-house: Boy, go, and tell her on't immediately. +[_Exit Boy_ + +_Bib_. Hold a little; she has been very desirous to get a place +in court, that she might take place as the queen's servant. + +_Lov_. She shall have a dresser's place, if thou'lt keep counsel. +The worst on't is, I have never a warrant ready. + +_Bib_. 'Tis all one for that, sir; she can neither write nor +read; 'tis but my telling her 'tis a warrant, and all's well. I can't +but laugh to think how she'll be choused. + +_Lov_. And you too: [_Aside_.] Mum, she's here, Will. + +_Enter_ FRANCES. + +_Franc_. A waiting-woman's place in the custom-house! there's +news for me! thank you, kind Mr Loveby; you have been instrumental, I +hear, of my preferment. + +_Lov_. No, 'tis a dresser's place at court, landlady. + +_Franc_. O gemini! that's better news. + +_Bib_. Aye, but you must make haste and fetch an hundred pieces: +I can assure you five hundred are bidden for it: And the courtiers are +such slippery youths, they are ever for the fairest chapman. + +_Franc_. I'll fetch it presently;--oh how my heart quops now, as +they say: I'll fetch it presently: Sweet Mr Loveby, if the business +can be done, it shall be a good thing in your worship's way, I promise +you: O the father! that it could be done: O sweet father! [Loveby +_plucks out a paper_. + +_Lov_. Here, Mr Bibber, pray put in Madam Bibber's name into the +warrant. + +_Bib_. Madam Bibber! there's joy!--I must call you wife no more, +'tis Madam Bibber now. + +_Franc_. Pray read it, Mr Bibber. + +_Bib_. An order for the admission of the illustrious lady, Madam +Bibber, into her majesty's service. + +_Franc_. Pray give me the paper, I'll have nobody touch it but +myself; I am sure my money pays for it, as they say. These are the +finest words; Madam Bibber! pray, chicken, shew me where Madam is +written, that I may kiss it all over. I shall make bold now to bear +up to those flirting gentlewomen, that sweep it up and down with their +long tails. I thought myself as good as they, when I was as I was; but +now I am as I am. + +_Lov_. Good landlady, dispatch, and bring the money-- + +_Franc_. Truly, in the place of a dresser, I dare be bold to say, +as they say, I shall give their majesties worships good content: I'll +go fetch it. + +[_Exit_ FRANCES. + +_Bib_. We must keep the poor soul in ignorance as long as we +can, sir; for when she has once smoked it, I have no other way but to +retreat into the body of my janizaries, my journey-men; and never come +out into her presence more. Where will you be at nine o'clock, sir, +that we may rejoice over our good fortune? + +_Lov_. Call me at my Lord Nonsuch's house, and I'll go with you. + +_Bib_. We'll have the fiddles, and triumph, i'faith. + +[_Exit_ BIBBER. + +_Lov_. Lord, how eager this vermin was to cheat himself! Well, +I'll after; I long to finger these Jacobus's: Perhaps they may make my +peace again with my mistress. + +[_Exit _LOVEBY. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ FAILER _and_ NONSUCH. [CONSTANCE _and_ ISABELLA +_listening_.] + + +_Fail_. I vow to gad, my lord, Sir Timorous is the most dejected +person in the world, and full of regret for what is past. 'Twas his +misfortune to be drawn in by such a person as Madam Isabella. + +_Non_. Tis well his estate pleads for him; he should ne'er set +foot more within my doors else. + +_Fail_. I'll be security for him for time to come: Leave it to +me to get the licence: All I desire is, your daughter may be ready +to-morrow morning. + +_Non_. Well, let me alone with her. + +[_Exeunt_ FAILER _and_ NONSUCH. + +_Isa_. You heard the dreadful sound, to-morrow, cousin. + +_Const_. I would not throw myself away upon this fool, if I could +help it. + +_Isa_. Better marry a tertian ague than a fool, that's certain; +there's one good day and night in that. + +_Const_. And yet thou art mad for him thyself. + +_Isa_. Nay, the fool is a handsome fool, that's somewhat; but +'tis not that; 'tis a kind of fancy I have taken to a glass coach, and +six Flanders mares; rich liveries, and a good fortune. + +_Const_. Pr'ythee do not mind me of 'em; for though I want 'em +not, yet I find all women are caught with gaieties: One grain more +would turn the balance on his side; I am so vexed at the wild courses +of this Loveby. + +_Isa_. Vexed? why vexed? the worst you can say of him is, he +loves women: And such make the kindest husbands, I'm told. If you had +a sum of money to put out, you would not look so much whether the man +were an honest man, (for the law would make him that) as if he were a +good sufficient pay-master. + +_Enter_ SETSTONE. + +_Const_. As I live, thou art a mad girl. + +_Set_. She must be used as mad folks are then; had into the dark +and cured. + +_Const_. But all this is no comfort to the word, to-morrow. + +_Isa_. Well, what say you, if I put you to-night into the arms of +Loveby? + +_Const_. My condition's desperate, and past thy physic. + +_Isa_. When physic's past, what remains but to send for the +divine? here's little Nicodemus, your father's chaplain: I have spoke +with him already; for a brace of angels he shall make all sure betwixt +you without a license; aye, and prove ten at night a more canonical +hour than ten i'the morning. + +_Const_. I see not which way thou can'st perform it; but if thou +do'st, I have many admirations in store for thee. [_Whispers_. + +_Isa_. Step in, and get a cushion underneath your apron. + +_Const_. O, I must be with child, it seems! + +_Isa_. And Loveby shall bring you to bed to-night, if the devil +be not in the dice: away, make haste;--[_Exit_ CONSTANCE.] +Setstone, be not you far off: I shall have need of you too: I hear my +uncle coming--Methinks I long to be revenged of this wicked +elder, for hindering of my marriage to-day: Hark you, Setstone-- +[_Whispers;_ + +_Set_. Tis impossible, madam; 'twill never take. + +_Isa_. I warrant you; do not I know him? he has not brains +enough, if they were buttered, to feed a blackbird--Nay, no +replies--out of what I have said, you may instruct my cousin too. + +[_Exit_ SETSTONE. + +_Enter_ NONSUCH. + +_Isa_. Oh, are you there, sir? Faith, it was kindly done of you +to hinder me of a good husband this afternoon: And but for one thing, +I would resolve to leave your house. + +_Non_. I'm glad there's any thing will stay thee. + +_Isa_. If I stay, 'tis for love of my cousin Constance, not of +you: I should be loth to leave her in this sad condition. + +_Non_. What condition? + +_Isa_. Nay, I know not; she has not worn her busk this fortnight. +I think she's grown fat o'the sudden. + +_Non_. O devil, devil! what a fright I'm in! + +_Isa_. She has qualms too every morning: ravens mightily for +green fruit; and swoons at the sight of hot meat. + +_Non_. She's with child: I am undone! I am undone! + +_Isa_. I understand nothing of such matters: She's but in the +next room; best call her, and examine her about it. + +_Non_. Why Constance, Constance! + +_Enter_ CONSTANCE, _as with child_. + +_Isa_. Now for a broad-side; turn your prow to him, cousin. + +[_To her_. + +_Non_. Now, gentlewoman! is this possible? + +_Const_. I do not reach your meaning, sir. + +_Non_. Where have you been of late? + +_Const_. I seldom stir without you, sir: These walls most +commonly confine me. + +_Non_. These walls can get no children; nor these hangings; +though there be men wrought in 'em. + +_Isa_. Yet, by your favour, nuncle, children may be wrought +behind the hangings. + +_Non_. O Constance, Constance! How have my grey hairs deserved +this of thee? Who got that belly there? + +_Const_. You, I hope, sir. + +_Non_. Tell me the truth, for I will know it; come, the story. + +_Const_. The story's quickly told, sir; I am with child. + +_Non_. And who is the father? + +_Const_. I do not know, sir. + +_Non_. Not know! went there so many to't? + +_Const_. So far from that, that there were none at all, to my +best knowledge, sir. + +_Non_. Was't got by miracle? Who was the father? + +_Const_. Who got your money, sir, that you have lost? + +_Non_. Nay, Heaven knows who got that. + +_Const_. And, Heaven knows who got this: for, on my conscience, +he, that had your money, was the father on't. + +_Non_. The devil it was as soon. + +_Const_. That's all I fear, sir. + +_Isa_. 'Tis strange;--and yet 'twere hard, sir, to suspect my +cousin's virtue, since we know the house is haunted. + +_Non_. 'Tis true, that nothing can be laid, though under lock and +key, but it miscarries. + +_Isa_. 'Tis not to be believed, what these villainous spirits can +do: they go invisible. + +_Const_. First, they stole away my prayer-book; and, a little +after that, a small treatise I had against temptation; and when they +were gone, you know, sir-- + +_Isa_. If there be such doings, pray heaven we are not all with +child. 'Tis certain, that none live within these walls, but they have +power of: I have reared Toby, the coachman, any time this fortnight. + +_Non_. Out, impudence! A man with child! why 'tis unnatural. + +_Isa_. Ay, so is he that got it. + +_Non_. Thou art not in earnest? + +_Isa_. I would I were not:--Hark! I hear him groan hither. Come +in, poor Toby. + +_Enter_ TOBY, _the coachman, with an urinal_. + +_Non_. How now! what have you there, sirrah? + +_Tob_. An't please your worship, 'tis my water. I had a spice +o'the new disease here i'the house; and so carried it to master +doctor. + +_Non_. Well; and what did he say to you? + +_Tob_. He told me very sad news, an' please you: I am somewhat +bashful to speak on't. + +_Isa_. Out with it, man. + +_Tob_. Why, truly, he told me, the party that owned the water was +with child. + +_Isa_. I told you so, uncle. + +_Non_. To my best remembrance, I never heard of such a thing +before. + +_Tob_. I never stretch out myself to snap my whip, but it goes to +the heart of me. + +_Isa_. Alas, poor Toby! + +_Non_. Begone, and put off your livery, sirrah!--You shall not +stay a minute in my service. + +_Tob_. I beseech your good worship, be good to me; 'twas the +first fault I ever committed in this kind. I have three poor children +by my wife; and if you leave me to the wide world, with a new charge +upon myself-- + +_Non_. Begone! I will not hear a word. + +_Tob_. If I must go, I'll not go alone: Ambrose Tinis, the cook, +is as bad as I am. + +_Non_. I think you'll make me mad. Call the rascal hither! I +must account with him on another score, now I think on't. + +_Enter_ AMBROSE TINIS. + +_Non_. Sirrah, what made you send a pheasant with one wing to the +table yesterday? + +_Amb_. I beseech your worship to pardon me; I longed for't. + +_Isa_. I feared as much. + +_Amb_. And I beseech your worship let me have a boy, to help me +in the kitchen; for I find myself unable to go through with the work. +Besides, the doctor has warned me of stooping to the fire, for fear of +a mischance. + +_Non_. Why, are you with child, sirrah? + +_Amb_. So he tells me; but, if I were put to my oath, I know not +that ever I deserved for't. + +_Non_. Still worse and worse. And here comes Setstone groaning. + +_Enter_ SETSTONE. + +_Set_. O, sir! I have been so troubled with swooning fits; and +have so longed for cherries! + +_Non_. He's poopt too. + +_Isa_. Well, this is not the worst yet: I suspect something more +than I will speak of. + +_Non_. What dost thou suspect, ha! + +_Isa_. Is not your lordship with child, too? + +_Non_. Who, I with child! marry, heaven forbid! What dost thou +see by me, to ground it on? + +_Isa_. You're very round of late;--that's all, sir. + +_Non_. Round! that's only fat, I hope. I have had a very good +stomach of late, I'm sure. + +_Isa_. Alas, and well you may;--You eat for two, sir. + +_Non_. Setstone, look upon me, and tell me true: Do you observe +any alteration in me? + +_Set_. I would not dishearten your ladyship--your lordship, I +would say--but I have observed, of late, your colour goes and comes +extremely. Methinks your lordship looks very sharp, and bleak i'the +face, and mighty puffed i'the body. + +_Non_. O, the devil! Wretched men, that we are all! Nothing +grieves me, but that, in my old age, when others are past +child-bearing, I should come to be a disgrace to my family. + +_Const_. How do you, sir? Your eyes look wondrous dim. Is not +there a mist before 'em? + +_Isa_. Do you not feel a kicking in your belly--When do you look, +uncle? + +_Non_. Uh, uh!--Methinks, I am very sick o'the sudden. + +_Isa_. What store of old shirts have you against the good time? +Shall I give you a shift, uncle? + +_Non_. Here's like to be a fine charge towards! We shall all be +brought to-bed together! Well, if I be with devil, I will have such +gossips: an usurer, and a scrivener, shall be godfathers. + +_Isa_. I'll help you, uncle; and Sawney's two grannies shall be +godmothers. The child shall be christened by the directory; and the +gossips' gifts shall be the gude Scotch kivenant. + +_Const. Set. Non. Tob. Amb_. Uh! uh! uh! + +_Isa_. What rare music's here! + +_Non_. Whene'er it comes from me, 'twill kill me; that's certain. + +_Set_. Best take a vomit. + +_Isa_. An't come upward, the horns will choke him. + +_Non_. Mass! and so they will. + +_Isa_. Your only way, is to make sure o'the man-midwife. + +_Non_. But my child's dishonour troubles me the most. If I could +but see her well married, before I underwent the labour and peril of +child-bearing!--What would you advise, niece? + +_Isa_. That which I am very loth to do. Send for honest Jack +Loveby, and let him know the truth on't: He's a fellow without a +fortune, and will be glad to leap at the occasion. + +_Non_. But why Loveby, of all the world? 'Tis but staying 'till +to-morrow, and then Sir Timorous will marry her. + +_Const_. Uh!--I swell so fast, I cannot hide it 'till to-morrow. + +_Isa_. Why, there's it now! + +_Non_. I'll send for the old alderman, Getwell, immediately: +He'll father the devil's bastard, I warrant you. + +_Isa_. Fie, uncle! my cousin's somewhat too good yet for an +alderman. If it were her third child, she might hearken to you. + +_Non_. Well, since it must be so, Setstone, go you to Loveby; +make my excuse to him for the arrest, and let him know, what fortune +may attend him. + +_Isa_. Mr Setstone, pray acquaint him with my cousin's affection +to him; and prepare him to father the cushion underneath her +petticoat. + +[_Aside to_ SETSTONE. _Exit_.] + +_Set_. I'll bring him immediately. + +_Isa_. When he comes, uncle, pray cover your great belly with +your hat, that he may not see it. + +_Non_. It goes against my heart to marry her to this Loveby; but, +what must be, must be. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY. + +_Const_. O, Mr Loveby! The welcomest man alive! You met Setstone, +I hope, that you came so opportunely? + +_Lov_. No, faith, madam; I came of my own accord. + +_Isa_. 'Tis unlucky; he's not prepared. + +_Lov_. Look you, madam, I have brought the hundred pounds; the +devil was as punctual as three o' clock at a playhouse. Here; 'tis +right, I warrant it, without telling: I took it upon his word. + +[_Gives it_. + +_Const_. Your kindness shall be requited, servant: But I sent for +you upon another business. Pray, cousin, tell it him, for I am ashamed +to do't. + +_Lov_. Ha! 'tis not that great belly, I hope. Is't come to that? + +_Isa_. Hark you, Mr Loveby; a word with you. + +_Lov_. A word with you, madam: Whither is your cousin bound? + +_Isa_. Bound, sir? + +_Lov_. Ay, bound: Look you, she's under sail, with a lusty +fore-wind. + +_Non_. I sent for you, sir; but, to be plain with you, 'twas more +out of necessity than love. + +_Lov_. I wonder, my lord, at your invincible ill-nature. You +forget the arrest, that I passed by: But this it is to be civil to +unthankful persons; 'tis feeding an ill-natured dog, that snarls while +he takes victuals from your hand. + +_Non_. All friends! all friends! No ripping up old stories; you +shall have my daughter. + +_Lov_. Faith, I see your lordship would let lodgings ready +furnished; but I am for an empty tenement. + +_Non_. I had almost forgot my own great belly. If he should +discover that too! [_Claps his hat before it_. + +_Isa. [To Lov_.] You will not hear me, sir. 'Tis all roguery, as +I live. + +_Lov_. Flat roguery, I'll swear! If I had been father on't, nay, +if I had but laid my breeches upon the bed, I would have married her: +But I see we are not ordained for one another. + +[_Is going_. + +_Non_. I beseech you, sir. + +_Lov_. Pray cover, my lord. + +_Isa_. He does his great belly, methinks. + +_Non_. I'll make it up in money to you. + +_Lov_. That cannot tempt me. I have a friend, that shall be +nameless, that will not see me want; and so, your servant. + +[_Exit_ LOVEBY. + +_Isa_. I'll after, and bring him back. + +_Non_. You shall not stir after him;--Does he scorn my daughter? + +_Isa_. Lord, how fretful you are! This breeding makes you so +peevish, uncle. + +_Non_. 'Tis no matter, she shall straight be married to Sir +Timorous. + +_Const_. I am ruined, cousin. + +[_Aside_. + +_Isa_. I warrant you.--My lord, I wish her well married to Sir +Timorous; but Loveby will certainly infect him with the news of her +great belly. + +_Non_. I'll dispatch it, ere he can speak with him. + +_Isa_. Whene'er he comes, he'll see what a _bona roba_ she +is grown. + +_Non_. Therefore, it shall be done i'the evening. + +_Isa_. It shall, my lord. + +_Const_. Shall it? + +[Aside. + +_Isa_. Let me alone, cousin.--And to this effect she shall write +to him, that, to conform to your will, and his modesty, she desires +him to come hither alone this evening. + +_Non_. Excellent wench!--I'll get my chaplain ready. + +[_Exit_ NONSUCH. + +_Const_. How can you hope to deceive my father? + +_Isa_. If I don't, I have hard luck. + +_Const_. You go so strange a way about, your bowl must be well +bias'd to come in. + +_Isa_. So plain a ground, there's not the least rub in't. I'll +meet Sir Timorous in the dark; and, in your room, marry him. + +_Const_. You'll be sure to provide for one. + +_Isa_. You mistake me, cousin:--Oh! here's Setstone again. + +_Enter_ SETSTONE. + +Mr Jeweller, you must again into your devil's shape, and speak with +Loveby. But pray be careful not to be discovered. + +_Set_. I warrant you, madam. I have cozened wiser men than he in +my own shape; and, if I cannot continue it in a worse, let the devil, +I make bold with, e'en make as bold with me. + +_Isa_. You must guide him, by back ways, to my uncle's house, and +so to my cousin's chamber, that he may not know where he is when he +comes there. The rest I'll tell you as we go along. + +[_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter_ TIMOROUS; _after him_ BURR _and_ FAILER. + + +_Tim_. Here, here, read this note; there's news for us. + +_Fail_. Let me see't. [_Reads_. + +_Sir Timorous, Be at the garden-door at nine this evening; there +I'll receive you with my daughter. To gratify your modesty I designed +this way, after I had better considered on it: and pray leave your +caterpillars, Burr and Failer, behind you. Yours,_ Nonsuch. + +There is some trick in this, whate'er it be. But this word, +caterpillars--You see, Burr, Sir Timorous is like to be lured from us. +[_Aside_. + +_Burr_. Is there no prevention? [_Aside_. + +_Fail_. One way there is.--Sir Timorous, pray walk a turn, while +Burr and I confer a little upon this matter.--Look you, Burr, there is +but one remedy in nature, I vow to gad; that is, for you to have a new +Sir Timorous, exceeding this person in bounty to you. Observe, then; +in Sir Timorous' place will I go, and, egad, I'll marry my lady +Constance; and then, from the bowels of friendship, bless thee with a +thousand pounds, besides lodging and diet for thy life, boy. + +_Burr_. Umph, very well thought on.--No, sir! you shall trust +to my bounty; I'll go in his place. Murmur or repine, speak the least +word, or give thy lips the least motion, and I'll beat thee till thou +art not in condition to go. + +_Fail_. I vow to gad, this is extreme injustice.--Was it not my +invention? + +_Burr_. Why, dost thou think thou art worthy to make use of thy +own invention?--Speak another word, d'ye see!--Come, help me quickly +to strip Sir Timorous; his coat may conduce to the deceit.--Sir +Timorous, by your leave. [_Fatts on him_. + +_Tim_. O, Lord! what's the matter?--Murder? murder! + +_Burr_. D'ye open? I have something in my pocket that will serve +for a gag, now I think on't. + +[_Gags, and binds him_. + +So, lie there, knight. Come, sir, and help to make me Sir Timorous; +and, when I am married, remember to increase your manners with my +fortune.--Yet we'll always drink together. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + +_Enter_ CONSTANCE, ISABELLA, _and_ NONSUCH. + + +_Const_. This is just the knight's hour; and lovers seldom come +after their time. + +_Non_. Good night, daughter; I'll to bed, and give you joy +to-morrow morning. [_Exit_. + +_Isa_. I'm glad he's gone: What, your train takes? + +_Const_. Yes, yes; Loveby will come: Setstone has been with him +in disguise; and promised him golden mountains, if he will not be +wanting to his own fortune. + +_Isa_. Is your habit provided too? + +_Const_. All is ready. + +_Isa_. Away then; for this is the place where we must part like +knights errant, that take several paths to their adventures. + +_Const_. 'Tis time, for I hear somebody come along the alley; +without question 'tis Timorous. Farewell; the chaplain stays for me in +the chamber. + +_Isa_. And I'll post after you to matrimony; I have laid a fresh +parson at the next stage, that shall carry me tantivy. + +[_Exit_ CONSTANCE. + +_Enter_ BURR _with_ TIMOROUS'S _coat on_. + +_Burr_. My lady Constance! + +_Isa_. The same: Sir Timorous? + +_Burr_. The same. + +_Isa_. Sir Timorous takes me for my cousin. + +[_Aside_. + +_Burr_. My lady Constance mistakes me for the knight. + +[_Aside_. + +_Isa_. Here, sir; through the dark walk: 'tis but a little way +about--He's my own beyond redemption-- + +[_Aside_. + +_Burr_. The Indies are mine; and a handsome lady into the +bargain. + +[_Excunt_. + +_Enter_ FAILER, _dogging them, as they go off_. + +_Fail_. He shall be hanged, ere he shall get her. Thus far I have +dogged them, and this way I am sure they must pass, ere they come to +the house. The rogue had got the old dog-trick of a statesman; to fish +things out of wiser heads than his own, and never so much as to take +notice of him that gave the counsel-- + +_Enter ISABELLA and BURR again_. + +Now, if I can but give her the hint without his knowledge!--Madam--my +lady Constance! + +_Isa_. What voice is that? + +_Fail_. A word in private, or you are undone--Pray step aside. + +_Burr._ Where are you, madam? + +_Isa_. Immediately, Sir Timorous. + +_Fail_. You are mistaken, madam; 'tis not Sir Timorous, but Burr +in his clothes; he has stripped the knight, gagged him, and locked him +up. + +_Isa_. Failer? + +_Fail_. The same. I could not but prevent your unhappiness, +though I hazard my person in the discovery, I vow to gad, madam. + +_Burr_. Who's that talks to you, my lady Constance? + +_Isa_. A maid of my acquaintance, that's come to take her leave +of me before I marry; the poor soul does so pity me. + +_Burr_. How will that maid lie, thinking of you and me to-night! + +_Isa_. Has he the key about him? [_To FAILER_. + +_Fail_. I think so, madam. + +_Isa_. Could not you possibly pick his pocket, and give me the +key? then let me alone to release Sir Timorous; and you shall be +witness of the wedding. + +_Fail_. Egad, you want your cousin Isabella's wit to bring that +to pass, madam. + +_Isa_. I warrant you, my own wit will serve to fool Burr--and you +too, or I am much deceived. [_Aside_. + +_Fail_. I am a little apprehensive of the rascal's fingers, since +I felt them last; and yet my fear has not power to resist the sweet +temptation of revenge; I vow to gad I'll try, madam. + +_Isa_. Never fear; let me alone to keep him busy. + +_Burr_. Come, madam, and let me take off these tasteless kisses +the maid gave you; may we not join lips before we are married? + +_Isa_. No; fie, Sir Timorous. + +[_They struggle a little, and in that time FAILER picks his pocket +of the key_. + +_Fail_. I have it--here it is--now, shift for yourself, as I'll +do; I'll wait you in the alley. + +[_Exit_. + +_Isa_. Sir Timorous, pray go into my chamber, and make no noise +till I return; I'll but fetch the little man of God, and follow you in +a twinkling. + +_Burr_. There's no light, I hope? + +_Isa_. Not a spark. + +_Burr_. For to light me to the mark-- + +[_Exit_. + +_Isa_. What a scowering have I 'scaped to-night! Fortune, 'tis +thou hast been ingenious for me! Allons, Isabella! Courage! now to +deliver my knight from the enchanted castle. + +[_Exit_. + +_Enter LOVEBY, led by SETSTONE, antickly habited; with a torch in +one hand, and a wand in the other_. + +_Lov_. What art thou, that hast led me this long hour through +lanes and alleys, and blind passages? + +_Set_. I am thy genius; and conduct thee to wealth, fame, and +honour; what thou comest to do, do boldly; fear not; with this rod I +charm thee; and neither elf nor goblin now can harm thee. + +_Lov_. Well, march on; if thou art my genius, thou art bound to +be answerable for me; I'll have thee hanged, if I miscarry. + +_Set_. Fear not, my son. + +_Lov_. Fear not, quotha! then, pr'ythee, put on a more familiar +shape:--one of us two stinks extremely: Pr'ythee, do not come so near +me; I do not love to have my face bleached like a tiffany with thy +brimstone. + +_Set_. Fear not, but follow me. + +_Lov_. 'Faith, I have no great mind to't; I am somewhat godly at +present; but stay a month longer, and I'll be proud, and fitter for +thee. In the mean time, pr'ythee, stay thy stomach with some Dutchman; +an Hollander, with butter, will fry rarely in hell. + +_Set_. Mortal, 'tis now too late for a retreat; go on, and live; +step back, and thou art mine. + +_Lorn_. So I am, however, first or last; but for once I'll trust +thee. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +_The scene opens, and discovers CONSTANCE, and a Parson by her; she +habited like Fortune. + +Enter again_. + + +_Set_. Take here the mighty queen of good and ill, Fortune; first +marry, then enjoy thy fill Of lawful pleasures; but depart ere morn; +Slip from her bed, or else thou shalt be torn Piecemeal by fiends; +thy blood caroused in bowls, And thy four quarters blown to the top of +Paul's. + +_Lov_. By your favour, I'll never venture. Is marrying the +business? I'll none, I thank you. + +[_Here CONSTANCE whispers SETSTONE_. + +_Set_. Fortune will turn her back if twice denied. + +_Lav_. Why, she may turn her girdle too on t'other side[A]. This +is the devil; I will not venture on her. + +[Footnote A: A usual expression of indifference for a man's +displeasure.] + +_Set_. Fear not; she swears thou shalt receive no harm. + +_Lov_. Ay, if a man durst trust her; but the devil is got into +such an ill name of lying-- + +_Set_. Whene'er you are not pleased, it shall be lawful to sue +out your divorce. + +_Lov_. Ay, but where shall I get a lawyer? there you are +aforehand with me; you have retained most of them already. For the +favours I have received, I am very much her servant; but, in the way +of matrimony, Mr Parson there can tell you 'tis an ordinance, and must +not be entered into without mature deliberation; besides, marriages, +you know, are made in heaven; and that I am sure this was not. + +_Set_. She bids you then, at least, restore that gold, which she, +too lavishly, poured out on you, unthankful man. + +_Lov_. Faith, I have it not at present; 'tis all gone, as I am a +sinner; but, 'tis gone wickedly; all spent in the devil her father's +service. + +_Set_. Where is the grateful sense of all your favours? Come, +fiends, with flesh-hooks, tear the wretch in pieces, And bear his soul +upon your leather wings, Below the fountain of the dark abyss. + +_Lov_. What, are you a-conjuring? If you are good at that sport, +I can conjure as well as you--[_Draws his sword_. + +_Const_. Hold; for Heaven's sake, hold! I am no spirit; touch but +my hand; ghosts have no flesh and blood. [_Discovering_. + +_Lov_. My lady Constance! I began to suspect it might be a trick, +but never could imagine you the author. It seems you are desirous I +should father this _hans en kelder_ here? + +_Const_. I know not how, without a blush, to tell you, it was a +cheat I practised for your love. + +_Set_. A mere tympany, sir, raised by a cushion; you see 'tis +gone already. + +_Const_. Setstone was sent to have acquainted you; but, by the +way, unfortunately missed you. + +_Lev_. Twas you, then, that supplied me all this while with +money? pretty familiar, I hope to make thee amends ere I sleep +to-night. Come, parson, pr'ythee make haste and join us. I long to be +out of her debt, poor rogue. + +[_The parson takes them to the side of the stage; they turn their +backs to the audience, while he mumbles to them_. + +_Set_. I'll be the clerk; Amen--give you joy, Mr Bridegroom, and +Mrs Bride. + +_Lov. Const_. Thanks, honest Setstone. + +[_BIBBER, FRANCES, and music without--they play_. + +_Music_. God give your worship a good even, Mr Loveby. + +_Const_. Hark! what noise is that! Is this music of your +providing, Setstone? + +_Set_. Alas, madam, I know nothing of it. + +_Lov_. We are betrayed to your father; but the best on't is, he +comes too late to hinder us--fear not, madam, I'll bear you through +them all. + +[_As they rush out, BIBBER, FRANCES, and Music are entering in; +BIBBER and FRANCES are beaten down.--Exeunt LOVEBY; CONSTANCE, +SETSTONE, and Parson_. + +_All cry out_. Oh the devil! the devil! the devil! + +_Bib_. Lord bless us, where are you, Frances! + +_Fran_. Here, William! this is a judgment, as they say, upon +you, William, for trusting wits, and calling gentlemen to the tavern, +William. + +_Bib_. No; 'twas a judgment upon you, for desiring preferment at +court, Frances. Let's call up the watch, and Justice Trice, to have +the house searched. + +_Fran_. Ay, ay; there's more devils there, I warrant you. +[_Exeunt_. + +_Enter LOVEBY, CONSTANCE, and SETSTONE again_. + +_Lov_. It was certainly Will Bibber and his wife, with music; +for, now I remember myself, I 'pointed him this hour at your father's +house: but we frighted them worse than they frighted us. + +_Const_. Our parson ran away too, when they cried out the devil! + +_Lov_. He was the wiser; for if the devil had come indeed, he has +preached so long against him, it would have gone hard with him. + +_Set_. Indeed, I have always observed parsons to be more fearful +of the devil than other people. + +_Lov_. Oh, the devil's the spirit, and the parson's the flesh; +and betwixt those two there must be a war; yet, to do them both right, +I think in my conscience they quarrel only like lawyers for their +fees, and meet good friends in private, to laugh at their clients. + +_Const_. I saw him run in at my cousin Isabella's chamber door, +which was wide open; I believe she's returned: We'll fetch a light +from the gallery, and give her joy. + +_Lov_. Why, is she married, madam? + +_Const_. I'll tell you as we go. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. + +_BURR and the Parson enter, meeting in the dark_. + + +_Burr_. My lady Constance, are you come again? That's well; I +have waited sufficiently for you in the dark. + +_Par_. Help, help, help, good Christian people! the devil, the +devil's here. + +_Burr_. 'Tis I, madam; what do you mean? + +_Par_. Avoid, Satan! avoid, avoid. + +_Burr_. What have I here, the hairy woman? + +_Enter LOVEBY, and CONSTANCE with the light_. + +Ha! yonder's my lady Constance! who have I got? a stone priest, by +this good light. How's this, Loveby too! + +_Lov_. Burr a-beating my reverend clergy? What makes you here at +this unseasonable hour? I'll know your business. [_Draws_. + +_Burr_. Will you, sir? [_They fight_. + +_Const. Set. Par_. Help, murder, murder! + +_Enter, at one door, TRICE drunk, with the Watch; BIBBER and FRANCES +following; at the other, NONSUCH and Servants, and FAILER_. + +_Non_. Murder, murder! beat down their weapons. Will you +murder Sir Timorous, Mr Loveby?--[_They disarm both_.] Sir +Timorous?--ha, Burr! Thieves, thieves!--sit down, good Mr Justice, and +take their examinations. Now I shall know how my money went. + +_Trice_. They shall have justice, I warrant them. [_Goes to +sit, and misses the chair_. + +_Bib_. The justice is almost dead drunk, my lord. + +_Fran_. But an't please your worship, my lord, this is not the +worst sight that we have seen here to-night in your worship's house; +we met three or four hugeous ugly devils, with eyes like saucers, that +threw down my husband, that threw down me, that made my heart so panck +ever since, as they say!-- + +_Non_. The devil again in my house? + +_Lov_. Nay, here he was, that's certain; he brought me hither, I +know not how myself, and married me; Mr Setstone there can justify it: +But the best is, I have a charm about me, that will lay him yet ere +midnight. + +_Fail_. And I vow to gad, my lord, I know as little how I came +hither as any man. + +_Burr_. Nor I. + +_Trice_. Nor I. + +_Lot_. No, I dare swear do'st thou not, Mr Justice. + +_Trice_. But I wonder how the devil durst come into our ward, +when he knows I have been at the duties of--my family--this evening. + +_Enter one of the Watch, with_ TIMOROUS _and_ ISABELLA. + +_Watch_. An please your worship, I met this couple in the street +late, and so, seeing them to be a man and woman, I brought them along +with me, upon suspicion of felony together. + +_Fran_. This is the proud minx, that sought shelter in my house +this afternoon, Mr Justice. + +_Fail_. Sir Timorous and Madam Isabella! I vow to gad, we are +undone, Burr.-- + +_Isa_. Do not you know me, Mr Justice? + +_Lov_. Justice is blind, he knows nobody. + +_Isa_. My name is Isabella. + +_Fran_. No, thy name is Jezebella; I warrant you, there's none +but rogues and papists would be abroad at this time of night. + +_Bib_. Hold, Frances.-- + +_Trice_. She's drunk, I warrant her, as any beast. I wonder, +woman, you do not consider what a crying sin drunkenness is: Whom do +you learn it from in our parish? I am sure you never see me worse. + +_Isa_. Burr and Failer, acknowledge yourselves a couple of +recreant knights: Sir Timorous is mine: I have won him in fair field +from you. + +_Const_. Give you joy, cousin, give you joy! + +_Lov_. Married! + +_Isa_. And in Diana's grove, boy. + +_Lov_. Why, 'tis fine, by Heaven; 'tis wondrous fine; as the poet +goes on sweetly. + +_Tim_. I am sure they had gagged me, and bound me, and stripped +me almost stark naked, and locked me up as fast as a butterfly, 'till +she came and made me a man again; and therefore I have reason to love +her the longest day I have to live. + +_Isa_. Ay, and the longest night too, or you are to blame. And +you have one argument I love you, if the proverb be true, for I took +you almost in your bare shirt. + +_Burr_. So much for us, Failer! + +_Const_. Well, my lord, it had as good out at first as at last: +I must beg your lordship's blessing for this gentleman and myself. +[_Both kneel_. + +_Non_. Why, you are not married to him, I hope! he's married to +the devil. + +_Lov_. 'Twas a white devil of your lordship's getting, then; Mr +Setstone and the reverend here can witness it. + +_Set. Par_. We must speak truth, my lord. + +_Non_. Would I had another child for your sake! you should ne'er +see a penny of my money. + +_Lov_. Thank you, my lord; but methinks 'tis much better as it +is. + +_Isa_. Come, nuncle, 'tis in vain to hold out, now 'tis past +remedy: 'Tis like the last act of a play, when people must marry; and +if fathers will not consent then, they should throw oranges at them +from the galleries. Why should you stand off, to keep us from a dance? + +_Non_. But there's one thing still that troubles me; that's her +great belly, and my own too. + +_Const_. Nay, for mine, my lord, 'tis vanished already; 'twas but +a trick to catch the old one. + +_Lov_. But I'll do my best; she shall not be long without +another. + +_Isa_. But as for your great belly, nuncle, I know no way to rid +you on't, but by taking out your guts. + +_Lov_. 'Tis such a pretty smart rascal, 'tis well I am pleased +with my own choice: but I could have got such Hectors, and poets, and +gamesters, out of thee!-- + +_Const_. No, no; two wits could never have lived well together; +want would have so sharpened you upon one another. + +_Isa_. A wit should naturally be joined to a fortune; by the same +reason your vintners feed their hungry wines. + +_Const_. And if Sir Timorous and I had married, we two fortunes +must have built hospitals with our money; we could never have spent it +else. + +_Lov_. Or what think you of paying courtiers' debts with it? + +_Isa_. Well, to shew I am in charity with my enemies, I'll make +a motion: While we are in town, let us hire a large house, and live +together: Burr and Failer-- + +_Fail_. Shall be utterly discarded; I knew 'twould come to that, +I vow to gad. + +_Isa_. Shall be our guests. + +[_BURR and FAILER throw up their caps, and cry, Vive Madam +ISABELLA!_ + +_Lov_. And Bibber shall make our wedding clothes without +trusting. + +_Bib_. No, henceforward I'll trust none but landed men, and such +as have houses and apple-trees in the country, now I have got a place +in the custom-house. + +_Fran_. Nothing vexes me, but that this flirting gentlewoman +should go before me; but I'll to the herald's office, and see whether +the queen's majesty's dresser, should not take place of any knight's +wife in Christendom. + +_Bib_. Now all will out--no more, good Frances. + +_Fran_. I will speak, that I will, so I will: What! shall I be a +dresser to the queen's majesty, and nobody must know on't? I'll +send Mr Church-warden word on't; and, gentlemen, when you come to St +Bride's church (if ever you come to church, gentlemen), you shall see +me in the pew that's next the pulpit; thank Mr Loveby's worship for +it. + +_Lov_. Spare your thanks, good landlady; for the truth is, they +came too late, the place is gone; and so is yours, Will; but you shall +have two hundred pounds for one, if that will satisfy you. + +_Fran_. This is bitter news, as they say. + +_Lov_. Cheer up thy wife, Will. Where are the fiddles? A dance +should do it. + +_Bib_. I'll run and call them. + +_Isa_. I have found out that, will comfort her: Henceforward I +christen her by the name of Madam Bibber. + +_All_. A Madam Bibber, a Madam Bibber! + +_Fran_. Why, I thank you, sweet gentlemen and ladies; this is a +cordial to my drooping spirits: I confess I was a little eclipsed; but +I'll cheer up with abundance of love, as they say. Strike up, fiddles. + +_Lov_. That's a good wench. + +DANCE. + +_Trice_. This music and a little nod has recovered me. I'll in, +and provide for the sack posset. + +_Non_. To bed, to bed; 'tis late. Son Loveby, get me a boy +to-night, and I'll settle three thousand a-year upon him the first day +he calls me grandsire. + +_Lov_. I'll do my best, To make the bargain sure before I sleep. +Where love and money strike, the blow goes deep. + +[_Exeunt omnes_. + + + +EPILOGUE, + +WHEN IT WAS FIRST ACTED. + + +The _Wild Gallant_ has quite played out his game; +He's married now, and that will make him tame; +Or if you think marriage will not reclaim him, +The critics swear they'll damn him, but they'll tame him. +Yet, though our poet's threatened most by these, +They are the only people he can please: +For he, to humour them, has shown to-day, +That which they only like, a wretched play: +But though his play be ill, here have been shown +The greatest wits, and beauties of the town; +And his occasion having brought you here, +You are too grateful to become severe. +There is not any person here so mean, +But he may freely judge each act and scene: +But if you bid him chuse his judges, then, +He boldly names true English gentlemen: +For he ne'er thought a handsome garb or dress +So great a crime, to make their judgment less: +And with these gallants he these ladies joins, +To judge that language, their converse refines. +But if their censures should condemn his play, +Far from disputing, he does only pray +He may Leander's destiny obtain: +Now spare him, drown him when he comes again. + + + +EPILOGUE, + +WHEN REVIVED. + + +Of all dramatic writing, comic wit, +As 'tis the best, so 'tis most, hard to hit. +For it lies all in level to the eye, +Where all may judge, and each defect may spy. +Humour is that, which every day we meet, +And therefore known as every public street; +In which, if e'er the poet go astray, +You all can point, 'twas there he lost his way. +But, what's so common, to make pleasant too, +Is more than any wit can always do. +For 'tis like Turks, with hen and rice to treat; +To make regalios out of common meat. +But, in your diet, you grow savages: +Nothing but human flesh your taste can please; +And, as their feasts with slaughtered slaves began, +So you, at each new play, must have a man. +Hither you come, as to see prizes fought; +If no blood's drawn, you cry, the prize is naught. +But fools grow wary now; and, when they see +A poet eyeing round the company, +Straight each-man for himself begins to doubt; +They shrink like seamen when a press comes out. +Few of them will be found for public use, +Except you charge an oaf upon each house, +Like the train bands, and every man engage +For a sufficient fool, to serve the stage. +And when, with much ado, you get him there, +Where he in all his glory should appear, +Your poets make him such rare things to say, +That he's more wit than any man i' th' play: +But of so ill a mingle with the rest, +As when a parrot's taught to break a jest. +Thus, aiming to be fine, they make a show, +As tawdry squires in country churches do. +Things well considered, 'tis so hard to make +A comedy, which should the knowing take, +That our dull poet, in despair to please, +Does humbly beg, by me, his writ of ease. +'Tis a land-tax, which he's too poor to pay; +You therefore must some other impost lay. +Would you but change, for serious plot and verse, +This motely garniture of fool and farce, +Nor scorn a mode, because 'tis taught at home, +Which does, like vests, our gravity become, +Our poet yields you should this play refuse: +As tradesmen, by the change of fashions, lose, +With some content, their fripperies of France, +In hope it may their staple trade advance. + + + + +THE RIVAL LADIES, + +A TRAGI-COMEDY + + + +THE RIVAL LADIES. + + +This play, like that which preceded it, is a drama of intrigue, +borrowed from the Spanish, and claiming merit only in proportion to +the diversity and ingenuity of the incidents represented. On this +point every reader can decide for himself; and it would be an invidious +task to point out blemishes, where, to own the truth, there are but +few beauties. The ease with which the affections of almost every +female in the drama are engrossed by Gonsalvo, and afterwards +transferred to the lovers, upon whom the winding up of the plot made +it necessary to devolve them, will, it is probable, strike every +reader as unnatural. In truth, when the depraved appetite of the +public requires to be gratified by trick and bustle, instead of nature +and sentiment, authors must sacrifice the probable, as well as the +simple, process of events. + +The author seems principally to have valued himself on this piece, +because it contains some scenes executed in rhyme, in what was then +called the heroic manner. Upon this opinion, which Dryden lived to +retract, I have ventured to offer my sentiments in the Life of the +Author. In other respects, though not slow in perceiving and avouching +his own merit, our author seems to consider the "Rival Ladies" as no +very successful dramatic effort. + +The "Rival Ladies" is supposed to have been first acted in 1663, and +was certainly published in the year following. Of its success we know +nothing particular. It is probable, the flowing verse, into which some +part of the dialogue is thrown, with the strong point and antithesis, +which distinguishes Dryden's works, and particularly his argumentative +poetry, tended to redeem the credit of the author of the "Wild +Gallant." + + + +THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ROGER, EARL OF ORRERY[1]. + +[Footnote 1: This distinguished person was fifth son of Richard Boyle, +known by the title of the great Earl of Cork. His first title was Lord +Broghill, under which he distinguished himself in Ireland. +Cromwell, although his lordship was a noted royalist, and in actual +correspondence with the exiled monarch, had so much confidence in +his honour and talents, that he almost compelled him to act as lord +lieutenant of that kingdom, under the stipulation that he was to come +under no oaths, and only to act against the rebel Irish, then the +common enemy. He was instrumental in the restoration, and created earl +of Orrery by Charles II, in 1660, He deserved Dryden's panegyric in +every respect, except as a poet--the very character, however, in which +he is most complimented, and perhaps was best pleased to be so. He +wrote, 1st, The Art of War--2d, Parthenissa, a romance--3d, Some +Poems--4th; Eight Plays--5th, State Tracts.] + + +My Lord, + +This worthless present was designed you long before it was a play; +when it was only a confused mass of thoughts, tumbling over one +another in the dark; when the fancy was yet in its first work, +moving the sleeping images of things towards the light, there to be +distinguished, and then either chosen or rejected by the judgment; it +was yours, my lord, before I could call it mine. And, I confess, in +that first tumult of my thoughts, there appeared a disorderly kind of +beauty in some of them, which gave me hope, something, worthy my lord +of Orrery, might be drawn from them: But I was then in that eagerness +of imagination, which, by overpleasing fanciful men, flatters them +into the danger of writing; so that, when I had moulded it into that +shape it now bears, I looked with such disgust upon it, that the +censures of our severest critics are charitable to what I thought +(and still think) of it myself: It is so far from me to believe this +perfect, that I am apt to conclude our best plays are scarcely so; for +the stage being the representation of the world, and the actions in +it, how can it be imagined, that the picture of human life can be more +exact than life itself is? He may be allowed sometimes to err, who +undertakes to move so many characters and humours, as are requisite in +a play, in those narrow channels which are proper to each of them; to +conduct his imaginary persons through so many various intrigues and +chances, as the labouring audience shall think them lost under every +billow; and then, at length, to work them so naturally out of their +distresses, that, when the whole plot is laid open, the spectators may +rest satisfied, that every cause was powerful enough to produce the +effect it had; and that the whole chain of them was with such due +order linked together, that the first accident would naturally beget +the second, till they all rendered the conclusion necessary. + +These difficulties, my lord, may reasonably excuse the errors of +my undertaking; but for this confidence of my dedication, I have an +argument, which is too advantageous for me not to publish it to the +world. It is the kindness your lordship has continually shown to all +my writings. You have been pleased, my lord, they should sometimes +cross the Irish seas, to kiss your hands; which passage (contrary +to the experience of others) I have found the least dangerous in the +world. Your favour has shone upon me at a remote distance, without the +least knowledge of my person; and (like the influence of the heavenly +bodies) you have done good, without knowing to whom you did it. It is +this virtue in your lordship, which emboldens me to this attempt; for, +did I not consider you as my patron, I have little reason to desire +you for my judge; and should appear with as much awe before you in the +reading, as I had when the full theatre sat upon the action. For, who +could so severely judge of faults as he, who has given testimony he +commits none? Your excellent poems have afforded that knowledge of it +to the world, that your enemies are ready to upbraid you with it, as +a crime for a man of business to write so well. Neither durst I have +justified your lordship in it, if examples of it had not been in the +world before you; if Xenophon had not written a romance, and a certain +Roman, called Augustus Caesar, a tragedy, and epigrams. But their +writing was the entertainment of their pleasure; yours is only a +diversion of your pain. The muses have seldom employed your thoughts, +but when some violent fit of the gout has snatched you from affairs +of state; and, like the priestess of Apollo, you never come to deliver +his oracles, but unwillingly, and in torment. So that we are obliged +to your lordship's misery for our delight: You treat us with the cruel +pleasure of a Turkish triumph, where those, who cut and wound their +bodies, sing songs of victory as they pass, and divert others with +their own sufferings. Other men endure their diseases; your lordship +only can enjoy them. Plotting and writing in this kind are certainly +more troublesome employments than many which signify more, and are of +greater moment in the world: The fancy, memory, and judgment, are then +extended (like so many limbs) upon the rack; all of them reaching +with their utmost stress at nature; a thing so almost infinite and +boundless, as can never fully be comprehended, but where the images of +all things are always present. Yet I wonder not your lordship succeeds +so well in this attempt; the knowledge of men is your daily practice +in the world; to work and bend their stubborn minds, which go not all +after the same grain, but each of them so particular a way, that +the same common humours, in several persons, must be wrought upon by +several means. Thus, my lord, your sickness is but the imitation of +your health; the poet but subordinate to the statesman in you; you +still govern men with the same address, and manage business with the +same prudence; allowing it here (as in the world) the due increase and +growth, till it comes to the just height; and then turning it when it +is fully ripe, and nature calls out, as it were, to be delivered. +With this only advantage of ease to you in your poetry, that you +have fortune here at your command; with which wisdom does often +unsuccessfully struggle in the world. Here is no chance, which you +have not foreseen; all your heroes are more than your subjects, they +are your creatures; and though they seem to move freely in all the +sallies of their passions, yet you make destinies for them, which +they cannot shun. They are moved (if I may dare to say so) like the +rational creatures of the Almighty Poet, who walk at liberty, in their +own opinion, because their fetters are invisible; when, indeed, the +prison of their will is the more sure for being large; and, instead of +an absolute power over their actions, they have only a wretched desire +of doing that, which they cannot chuse but do[1]. + +[Footnote 1: The earl of Orrery was author of several plays. If the +reader is not disposed to admit, that his habit of composing them, +when tormented by the gout, enhanced their value, it may be allowed to +apologise for their faults.] + +I have dwelt, my lord, thus long upon your writing, not because you +deserve not greater and more noble commendations, but because I am not +equally able to express them in other subjects. Like an ill swimmer, +I have willingly staid long in my own depth; and though I am eager of +performing more, yet am loth to venture out beyond my knowledge: for +beyond your poetry, my lord, all is ocean to me. To speak of you as a +soldier, or a statesman, were only to betray my own ignorance; and I +could hope no better success from it, than that miserable rhetorician +had, who solemnly declaimed before Hannibal, of the conduct of armies, +and the art of war. I can only say, in general, that the souls of +other men shine out at little crannies; they understand some one +thing, perhaps, to admiration, while they are darkened on all the +other parts; but your lordship's soul is an entire globe of light, +breaking out on every side; and, if I have only discovered one beam +of it, it is not that the light falls unequally, but because the body, +which receives it, is of unequal parts. + +The acknowledgment of which is a fair occasion offered me, to retire +from the consideration of your lordship to that of myself. I here +present you, my lord, with that in print, which you had the goodness +not to dislike upon the stage; and account it happy to have met you +here in England; it being, at best, like small wines, to be drunk out +upon the place, and has not body enough to endure the sea. + +I know not whether I have been so careful of the plot and language as +I ought; but, for the latter, I have endeavoured to write English, as +near as I could distinguish it from the tongue of pedants, and that +of affected travellers. Only I am sorry, that (speaking so noble a +language as we do) we have not a more certain measure of it, as they +have in France, where they have an academy erected for that purpose, +and endowed with large privileges by the present king. I wish we might +at length leave to borrow words from other nations, which is now a +wantonness in us, not a necessity; but so long as some affect to speak +them, there will not want others, who will have the boldness to write +them. + +But I fear, lest, defending the received words, I shall be accused for +following the new way, I mean, of writing scenes in verse. Though, to +speak properly, it is not so much a new way amongst us, as an old +way new revived; for, many years before Shakspeare's plays, was the +tragedy of Queen Gorboduc, in English verse, written by that famous +Lord Buckhurst, afterwards earl of Dorset, and progenitor to that +excellent person, who (as he inherits his soul and title) I wish may +inherit his good fortune[1]. But, supposing our countrymen had not +received this writing till of late; shall we oppose ourselves to the +most polished and civilised nations of Europe? Shall we, with the same +singularity, oppose the world in this, as most of us do in pronouncing +Latin? Or do we desire that the brand, which Barclay has (I hope +unjustly) laid upon the English, should still continue? _Angli suos +ac sua omnia impense mirantur; caeteras nationes despectui habent_. +All the Spanish and Italian tragedies, I have yet seen, are writ in +rhyme. For the French, I do not name them, because it is the fate of +our countrymen to admit little of theirs among us, but the basest of +their men, the extravagancies of their fashions, and the frippery of +their merchandise. Shakspeare (who, with some errors not to be avoided +in that age, had undoubtedly a larger soul of poesy than ever any of +our nation) was the first who, to shun the pains of continual rhyming, +invented[A] that kind of writing which we call blank verse, but the +French, more properly, _prose mesuré_; into which the English +tongue so naturally slides, that, in writing prose, it is hardly to be +avoided. And therefore, I admire some men should perpetually stumble +in a way so easy, and, inverting the order of their words, constantly +close their lines with verbs, which, though commended sometimes in +writing Latin, yet we were whipt at Westminster if we used it twice +together. I knew some, who, if they were to write in blank verse, +_Sir, I ask your pardon_, would think it sounded more heroically +to write, _Sir, I your pardon ask_. I should judge him to have +little command of English, whom the necessity of a rhyme should force +often upon this rock; though sometimes it cannot easily be avoided; +and indeed this is the only inconvenience with which rhyme can be +charged. This is that which makes them say, rhyme is not natural; it +being only so, when the poet either makes a vicious choice of words, +or places them, for rhyme sake, so unnaturally as no man would in +ordinary speaking; but when it is so judiciously ordered, that the +first word in the verse seems to beget the second, and that the next, +till that becomes the last word in the line, which, in the negligence +of prose, would be so; it must then be granted, rhyme has all the +advantages of prose, besides its own. But the excellence and dignity +of it were never fully known till Mr Waller taught it; he first made +writing easily an art; first shewed us to conclude the sense, most +commonly in distichs, which, in the verse of those before him, runs +on for so many lines together, that the reader is out of breath to +overtake it. This sweetness of Mr Waller's lyric poesy was afterwards +followed in the epic by Sir John Denham, in his Cooper's-Hill, a poem +which, your Lordship knows, for the majesty of the style, is, and +ever will be, the exact standard of good writing. But if we owe the +invention of it to Mr Waller, we are acknowledging for the noblest use +of it to Sir William D'Avenant, who at once brought it upon the stage, +and made it perfect, in the Siege of Rhodes. + +[Footnote 1: The tragedy of Ferrex and Perrex (which is the proper +title) was written by Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, afterwards +earl of Dorset, and Thomas Norton, a barrister at law. In Sackville's +part of the play, which comprehends the two last acts, there is some +poetry worthy of the author of the sublime Introduction to the Mirror +of Magistrates. While both the authors were out of England, one +William Griffiths published a spurious copy, under the title of +Gorboduc, the name of one of the principal personages, who is not, +however, _queen_, but _king_, of England, But, what was a +wider mistake, considering Dryden's purpose of mentioning the work, it +is not written in rhyme, but in blank verse, excepting the choruses, +which are in stanzas of six lines. The name of the queen is Videna. +Sir Philip Sydney says, "Gorboduc is full of stately speeches and well +sounding phrases, climbing up to the height of Seneca his style, and +as full of notable morality, which it doth most delightfully teach, +and thereby obtain the very end of poetry."] + +[Footnote A: This is a mistake. Marlow, and several other dramatic +authors, used blank verse before the days of Shakspeare.] + +The advantages which rhyme has over blank verse are so many, that +it were lost time to name them. Sir Philip Sidney, in his Defence +of Poesy, gives us one, which, in my opinion, is not the least +considerable; I mean the help it brings to memory, which rhyme so +knits up, by the affinity of sounds, that, by remembering the last +word in one line, we often call to mind both the verses. Then, in the +quickness of repartees (which in discoursive scenes fall very often), +it has so particular a grace, and is so aptly suited to them, that the +sudden smartness of the answer, and the sweetness of the rhyme, set +off the beauty of each other. But that benefit which I consider most +in it, because I have not seldom found it, is, that it bounds and +circumscribes the fancy. For imagination in a poet is a faculty so +wild and lawless, that, like an high-ranging spaniel, it must have +clogs tied to it, lest it out-run the judgment. The great easiness of +blank verse renders the poet too luxuriant; he is tempted to say many +things, which might better be omitted, or at least shut up in fewer +words; but when the difficulty of artful rhyming is interposed, where +the poet commonly confines his sense to his couplet, and must contrive +that sense into such words, that the rhyme shall naturally follow +them, not they the rhyme; the fancy then gives leisure to the judgment +to come in, which, seeing so heavy a tax imposed, is ready to cut off +all unnecessary expences. This last consideration has already answered +an objection which some have made, that rhyme is only an embroidery of +sense, to make that, which is ordinary in itself, pass for excellent +with less examination. But certainly, that, which most regulates the +fancy, and gives the judgment its busiest employment, is like to bring +forth the richest and clearest thoughts. The poet examines that most, +which he produceth with the greatest leisure, and which, he knows, +must pass the severest test of the audience, because they are aptest +to have it ever in their memory; as the stomach makes the best +concoction, when it strictly embraces the nourishment, and takes +account of every little particle as it passes through. But, as the +best medicines may lose their virtue, by being ill applied, so is it +with verse, if a fit subject be not chosen for it. Neither must the +argument alone, but the characters and persons, be great and +noble; otherwise, (as Scaliger says of Claudian) the poet will +be _ignobitiore materiâ depressus_. The scenes, which, in my +opinion, most commend it, are those of argumentation and discourse, on +the result of which the doing or not doing some considerable action +should depend. + +But, my lord, though I have more to say upon this subject, yet I must +remember, it is your lordship to whom I speak; who have much better +commended this way by your writing in it, than I can do by writing for +it. Where my reasons cannot prevail, I am sure your lordship's example +must. Your rhetoric has gained my cause; at least the greatest part of +my design has already succeeded to my wish, which was to interest so +noble a person in the quarrel, and withal to testify to the world how +happy I esteem myself in the honour of being, + +MY LORD, + +Your Lordship's most humble, +and most obedient servant, +JOHN DRYDEN. + + + +PROLOGUE + +'Tis much desired, you judges of the town +Would pass a vote to put all prologues down; +For who can show me, since they first were writ, +They e'er converted one hard-hearted wit? +Yet the world's mended well; in former days +Good prologues were as scarce as now good plays. +For the reforming poets of our age, +In this first charge, spend their poetic rage: +Expect no more when once the prologue's done; +The wit is ended ere the play's begun. +You now have habits, dances, scenes, and rhymes; +High language often; ay, and sense, sometimes. +As for a clear contrivance, doubt it not; +They blow out candles to give light to th' plot. +And for surprise, two bloody-minded men +Fight till they die, then rise and dance again. +Such deep intrigues you're welcome to this day: +But blame yourselves, not him who writ the play; +Though his plot's dull, as can be well desired, +Wit stiff as any you have e'er admired: +He's bound to please, not to write well; and knows, +There is a mode in plays as well as clothes; +Therefore, kind judges-- + + +_Second Prologue enters_. + +2.--Hold; would you admit +For judges all you see within the pit? + +1. Whom would he then except, or on what score? + +2. All, who (like him) have writ ill plays before; +For they, like thieves condemned, are hangmen made, +To execute the members of their trade. +All that are writing now he would disown, +But then he must except--even all the town; +All cholerick, losing gamesters, who, in spite, +Will damn to day, because they lost last night; +All servants, whom their mistress' scorn upbraids; +All maudlin lovers, and all slighted maids; +All, who are out of humour, or severe; +All, that want wit, or hope to find it here. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + +DON GONSALVO DE PERALTA, _a young gentleman newly arrived from the +Indies, in love with_ JULIA. +DON RODORIGO DE SYLVA, _in love with the same lady_. +DON MANUEL DE TORRES, _brother to_ JULIA. + +JULIA, _elder sister to_ DON MANUEL, _promised to_ RODORIGO. +HONORIA, _younger sister to_ DON MANUEL, _disguised in the +habit of a man, and going by the name of_ HIPPOLITO, _in love +with_ GONSALVO. +ANGELINA, _sister to_ DON RODORIGO, _in man's habit, likewise +in love with_ GONSALVO, _and going by the name of_ AMIDEO. + +_Servants, Robbers, Seamen, and Masquers_. + + +SCENE--_Alicant_. + + + +THE RIVAL LADIES. + +ACT I. + +SCENE I--_A Wood_. + +_Enter_ GONSALVO _and a Servant_. + + +_Gon_. Nay, 'twas a strange as well as cruel storm, +To take us almost in the port of Sevile, +And drive us up as far as Barcelona; +The whole plate fleet was scattered, some part wrecked; +There one might see the sailors diligent +To cast o'erboard the merchant's envied wealth, +While he, all pale and dying, stood in doubt, +Whether to ease the burden of the ship, +By drowning of his ingots, or himself. + +_Serv_. Fortune, sir, is a woman everywhere, +But most upon the sea. + +_Gons_. Had that been all, +I should not have complained; but, ere we could +Repair our ship, to drive us back again, +Was such a cruelty-- + +_Serv_. Yet that short time you staid at Barcelona +You husbanded so well, I think you left +A mistress there. + +_Gons_. I made some small essays +Of love; what might have been I cannot tell: +But, to leave that, upon what part of Spain +Are we now cast? + +_Serv_. Sir, I take that city to be Alicant. + +_Gons_. Some days must of necessity be spent +In looking to our ship; then back again +For Sevile. + +_Serv_. There you're sure you shall be welcome. + +_Gons_. Aye, if my brother Rodoric be returned +From Flanders; but 'tis now three years since I +Have heard from him, and, since I saw him, twelve. + +_Serv_. Your growth, and your long absence in the Indies, +Have altered you so much, he'll scarcely know you. + +_Gons_. I'm sure I should not him, and less my sister; +Who, when I with my uncle went this voyage, +Was then one of those little prating girls, +Of whom fond parents tell such tedious stories: +Well, go you back. + +_Serv_. I go, sir. + +_Gons_. And take care +None of the seamen slip ashore. + +_Serv_. I shall, sir. [_Exit Servant_. + +_Gons_. I'll walk a little while among these trees, +Now the fresh evening air blows from the hills, +And breathes the sweetness of the orange flowers +Upon me, from the gardens hear the city. + +_Robbers within_. + +_1 Rob_. I say, make sure, and kill him. + +_Hip_. For heaven's dear sake have pity on my youth. + +[_Within_. + +_Gons_. Some violence is offered in the wood +By robbers to a traveller: Whoe'er +Thou art, humanity obliges me +To give thee succour. + +_Hip_. Help! ah cruel men! [_Within_. + +_Gons_. This way, I think, the voice came; 'tis not far. [_Exit_. + +_The_ SCENE _draws, and discovers_ HIPPOLITO _bound to a +tree, and two Robbers by him with drawn swords_. + +_2 Rob_. Strip him, and let him go. + +_1 Rob_. Dispatch him quite; off with his doublet quickly. + +_Hip_. Ah me, unfortunate! + +_Enter_ GONSALVO, _seizes the sword of one of them, and runs +him through; then, after a little resistance, disarms the other_. + +_2 Rob_. If you have mercy in you, spare my life; +I never was consenting to a deed +So black as murder, though my fellow urged me: +I only meant to rob, and I am punished +Enough, in missing of my wicked aim. + +_Gons_. Do they rob angels here? This sweet youth has +A face so like one, which I lately saw, +It makes your crime of kin to sacrilege: +But live; and henceforth +Take nobler courses to maintain your life: +Here's something that will rescue you from want, +'Till you can find employment. +[_Gives him gold, and unbinds_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Hip_. What strange adventure's this! How little hoped I, +When thus disguised I stole from Barcelona, +To be relieved by brave Gonsalvo here? [_Aside_. + +_2 Rob_. That life, you have preserved, shall still be yours; +And that you may perceive, how much my nature +Is wrought upon by this your generous act, +That goodness, you have shown to me, I'll use +To others for your sake, if you dare trust me +A moment from your sight. + +_Gons_. Nay, take your sword; +I will not so much crush a budding virtue, +As to suspect. [_Gives him his sword. Exit Robber_. +--Sweet youth, you shall not leave me, +Till I have seen you safe. + +_Hip_. You need not doubt it: +Alas! I find I cannot, if I would: +I am but freed to be a greater slave: [_Aside_. +How much am I obliged, sir, to your valour! + +_Gons_. Rather to your own sweetness, pretty youth; +You must have been some way preserved, though I +Had not been near; my aid did but prevent +Some miracle more slowly setting out +To save such excellence. + +_Hip_. How much more gladly could I hear those words, +If he, that spoke them, knew he spoke to me! [_Aside_. + +_Enter the Robber again with Don_ MANUEL, _and_ +JULIA, _bound_. + +My brother and my sister prisoners too! +They cannot sure discover me through this +Disguise; however, I'll not venture it. + [_Steps behind the trees_. + +_2 Rob_. This gentleman and lady + [_To_ GONS. _privately_. +My fellows bound. [_Exit Robber_. + +_Man_. We must prepare to die; +This is the captain of the Picarons. + +_Jul_. Methinks he looks like one; I have a strange +Aversion to that man; he's fatal to me. + +_Gons_. I ne'er saw excellence in womankind + [_Stares on her_. +Till now, and yet discern it at the first: +Perfection is discovered in a moment; +He, that ne'er saw the sun before, yet knows him. + +_Jul_. How the villain stares upon me! + +_Gons_. Wonder prepares my soul, and then love enters: +But wonder is so close pursued by love, +That, like a fire, it warms as soon as born. + +_Man_. If we must die, what need these circumstances? + +_Jul_. Heaven defend me from him! + +_Gons_. Why, madam, can you doubt a rudeness from me? +Your very fears and griefs create an awe, +Such majesty they bear; methinks, I see +Your soul retired within her inmost chamber. +Like a fair mourner sit in state, with all +The silent pomp of sorrow round about her. + +_Man_. Your language does express a man, bred up +To worthier ways than those you follow now. + +_Gons_. What does he mean? [_Aside_. + +_Man_. If (as it seems) you love; love is a passion, +Which kindles honour into noble acts: +Restore my sister's liberty; oblige her, +And see what gratitude will work. + +_Gons_. All this is stranger yet. + +_Man_. Whate'er a brother's power +To-morrow can do for you, claim it boldly. + +_Gons_. I know not why you think yourselves my prisoners; +This lady's freedom is a thing too precious +To be disposed by any but herself: +But value this small service as you please, +Which you reward too prodigally, by +Permitting me to pay her more. + +_Jul_. Love from an outlaw? from a villain, love? +If I have that power on thee, thou pretend'st, +Go and pursue thy mischiefs, but presume not +To follow me:--Come, brother. [_Ex_. Jul. _and_ Man. + +_Gons_. Those foul names of outlaw and of villain +I never did deserve: They raise my wonder. [_Walks_. +Dull that I was, not to find this before! +She took me for the captain of the robbers; +It must be so; I'll tell her her mistake. + +[_Goes out hastily, and returns immediately_. + +She's gone, she's gone, and who or whence she is +I cannot tell; methinks, she should have left +A track so bright, I might have followed her; +Like setting suns, that vanish in a glory. +O villain that I am! O hated villain! + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO _again_. + +_Hip_. I cannot suffer you to wrong yourself +So much; for, though I do not know your person, +Your actions are too fair, too noble, sir, +To merit that foul name. + +_Gons_. Pr'ythee, do not flatter me; I am a villain; +That admirable lady said I was. + +_Hip_. I fear, you love her, sir. + +_Gons_. No, no, not love her: +Love is the name of some more gentle passion; +Mine is a fury, grown up in a moment +To an extremity, and lasting in it; +An heap of powder set on fire, and burning +As long as any ordinary fuel. + +_Hip_. How could he love so soon? and yet, alas! +What cause have I to ask that question, +Who loved him the first minute that I saw him? +I cannot leave him thus, though I perceive +His heart engaged another way. [_Aside_. + +Sir, can you have such pity on my youth, [To Him. +On my forsaken and my helpless youth, +To take me to your service? + +_Gons_. Would'st thou serve +A madman? how can he take care of thee, +Whom fortune and his reason have abandoned? +A man, that saw, and loved, and disobliged, +Is banished, and is mad, all in a moment. + +_Hip_. Yet you alone have title to my service; +You make me yours by your preserving me: +And that's the title heaven has to mankind. + +_Gons_. Pr'ythee, no more. + +_Hip_. I know your mistress too. + +_Gons_. Ha! dost thou know the person I adore? +Answer me quickly; speak, and I'll receive thee: +Hast thou no tongue? + +_Hip_. Why did I say I knew her? +All I can hope for, if I have my wish +To live with him, is but to be unhappy. [Aside. + +_Gons_. Thou false and lying boy, to say thou knew'st +her; +Pr'ythee, say something, though thou cozen'st me. + +_Hip_. Since you will know, her name is Julia, sir, +And that young gentleman you saw, her brother, +Don Manuel de Torres. + +_Gons_. Say I should take thee, boy, and should +employ thee +To that fair lady, would'st thou serve me faithfully? + +_Hip_. You ask me an hard question: I can die +For you; perhaps I cannot woo so well. + +_Gons_. I knew thou would'st not do't. + +_Hip_. I swear I would: +But, sir, I grieve to be the messenger +Of more unhappy news; she must be married +This day to one Don Roderick de Sylva, +Betwixt whom and her brother there has been. +A long (and it was thought a mortal) quarrel, +But now it must for ever end in peace: +For, happening both to love each others sisters, +They have concluded it in a cross marriage; +Which, in the palace of Don Rodorick, +They went to celebrate from their countryhouse, +When, taken by the thieves, you rescued them. + +_Gons_. Methinks I am grown patient on a sudden, +And all my rage is gone: like losing gamesters, +Who fret and storm, and swear at little losses; +But, when they see all hope of fortune vanished, +Submit, and gain a temper by their ruin. + +_Hip_. Would you could cast this love, which troubles you, +Out of your mind! + +_Gons_. I cannot, boy; but since +Her brother, with intent to cozen me, +Made me the promise of his best assistance, +I'll take some course to be revenged of him. + +[_Is going out_. + +But stay--I charge thee, boy, discover not +To any, who I am. + +_Hip_. Alas, I cannot, sir; I know you not. + +_Gons_. Why, there's it; I am mad again; Oh love! + +_Hip_. Oh love! [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter two Servants of Don_ RODORICK'S, _placing +chairs, and talking as they place them_. + + +_1 Serv_. Make ready quickly there; Don Manuel +And his fair sister, that must be our lady, +Are coming in. + +_2 Serv_. They have been long expected; +'Tis evening now, and the canonic hours +For marriage are past. + +_1 Serv_. The nearer bedtime, +The better still; my lord will not defer it: +He swears, the clergy are no fit judges +Of our necessities. + +_2 Serv_. Where is my lord? + +_1 Serv_. Gone out to meet his bride. + +_2 Serv_. I wonder that my lady Angelina +Went not with him; she's to be married too. + +_1 Serv_. I do not think she fancies much the man: +Only, to make the reconcilement perfect +Betwixt the families, she's passive in it; +The choice being but her brother's, not her own. + +_2 Serv_. Troth, were't my case, I cared not who +chose for me. + +_1 Serv_. Nor I; 'twould save the process of a tedious +passion, +A long law-suit of love, which quite consumes +An honest lover, ere he gets possession: +I would come plump, and fresh, and all my self, +Served up to my bride's bed like a fat fowl, +Before the frost of love had nipped me through. +I look on wives as on good dull companions, +For elder brothers to sleep out their time with; +All, we can hope for in the marriage-bed, +Is but to take our rest; and what care I, +Who lays my pillow for me? + +_Enter a Poet with verses_. + +_1 Serv_. Now, what's your business, friend? + +_Poet_. An epithalamium, to the noble bridegrooms. + +_1 Serv_. Let me see; what's here? as I live, + [_Takes it_. +Nothing but downright bawdry: Sirrah, rascal, +Is this an age for ribaldry in verse; +When every gentleman in town speaks it +With so much better grace, than thou canst write it? +I'll beat thee with a stave of thy own rhymes. + +_Poet_. Nay, good sir--[_Runs off, and Exit_. + +_2 Serv_. Peace, they are here. + +[_Enter_ Don RODORICK, _Don_ MANUEL, JULIA, _and Company_. + +_1 Serv_. My lord looks sullenly, and fain would +hide it. + +_2 Serv_. Howe'er he weds Don Manuel's sister, yet +I fear he's hardly reconciled to him. + +_Jul_. I tremble at it still. + +_Rod_. I must confess +Your danger great; but, madam, since 'tis past, +To speak of it were to renew your fears. +My noble brother, welcome to my breast. +Some, call my sister; say, Don Manuel, +Her bridegroom, waits. + +_Man_. Tell her, in both the houses +There now remains no enemy but she. + +_Rod_. In the mean time let's dance; madam, I +hope You'll grace me with your hand.-- + +[_Enter_ LEONORA, _woman to_ ANGELINA; _takes the two men aside_. + +_Leon_. O sir, my lady Angelina-- + +_Rod_. Why comes she not? + +_Leon_. Is fallen extremely sick. + +_Both_. How? + +_Leon_. Nay, trouble not yourselves too much; +These fits are usual with her, and not dangerous. + +_Rod_. O rarely counterfeited. + [_Aside_. + +_Man_. May not I see her? + +_Leon_. She does, by me, deny herself that honour. + [_As she speaks, steals a note into his hand_. +I shall return, I hope, with better news; +In the mean time she prays, you'll not disturb +The company. + [_Exit _LEONORA. + +_Rod_. This troubles me exceedingly. + +_Man_. A note put privately into my hand +By Angelina's woman? She's my creature: +There's something in't; I'll read it to myself.-- +[_Aside_. + +_Rod_. Brother, what paper's that? + +_Man_. Some begging verses, +Delivered me this morning on my wedding. + +_Rod_. Pray, let me see them. + +_Man_. I have many copies, +Please you to entertain yourself with these. +[_Gives him another paper_. MANUEL _reads_. + +SIR, +_My lady feigns this sickness to delude you: +Her brother hates you still; and the plot is, +That he shall marry first your sister, +And then deny you his_.-- + +_Yours_, LEONORA. + +POSTSCRIPT. + +_Since I writ this, I have so wrought upon her, +(Who, of herself, is timorous enough) +That she believes her brother will betray her, +Or else be forced to give her up to you; +Therefore, unknown to him, she means to fly: +Come to the garden door at seven this evening, +And there you may surprise her; mean time, I +Will keep her ignorant of all things, that +Her fear may still increase_. + +_Enter_ LEONORA _again_. + +_Rod_. How now? How does your lady? + +_Leon_. So ill, she cannot possibly wait on you. + +_Man_. Kind heaven, give me her sickness! + +_Rod_. Those are wishes: +What's to be done? + +_Man_. We must defer our marriages. + +_Rod_. Leonora, now! [_Aside to her_ + +_Leon_. My lady, sir, has absolutely charged, +Her brother's should go forward. + +_Rod_. Absolutely! + +_Leon_. Expressly, sir; because, she says, there are +So many honourable persons here, +Whom to defraud of their intended mirth, +And of each others company, were rude: +So, hoping your excuse--[_Exit_ LEONORA. + +_Rod_. That privilege of power, which brothers have +In Spain, I never used, therefore submit +My will to hers; but with much sorrow, sir, +My happiness should go before, not wait +On yours: Lead on. + +_Man_. Stay, sir; though your fair sister, in respect +To this assembly, seems to be content +Your marriage should proceed, we must not want +So much good manners as to suffer it. + +_Rod_. So much good manners, brother? + +_Man_.--I have said it. +Should we, to show our sorrow for her sickness, +Provoke our easy souls to careless mirth, +As if our drunken revels were designed +For joy of what she suffers? + +_Rod_. 'Twill be over +In a few days. + +_Man_. Your stay will be the less. + +_Rod_. All things are now in readiness, and must not +Be put off, for a peevish humour thus. + +_Man_. They must; or I shall think you mean not fairly. + +_Rod_. Explain yourself. + +_Man_. That you would marry first, +And afterwards refuse me Angelina. + +_Rod_.--Think so. + +_Man_. You are-- + +_Rod_. Speak softly. + +_Man_. A foul villain. + +_Rod_. Then-- + +_Man_. Speak softly. + +_Rod_. I'll find a time to tell you, you are one. + +_Man_. 'Tis well. +Ladies, you wonder at our private whispers, + [_To the company_. +But more will wonder when you know the cause; +The beauteous Angelina is fallen ill; +And, since she cannot with her presence grace +This day's solemnity, the noble Roderick +Thinks fit it be deferred, 'till she recover; +Then, we both hope to have your companies. + +_Lad_. Wishing her health, we take our leaves. + [_Exeunt company_. +_Rod_. Your sister yet will marry me. + +_Man_. She will not: Come hither, Julia. + +_Jul_. What strange afflicting news is this you tell us? + +_Man_. 'Twas all this false man's plot, that when he had +Possest you, he might cheat me of his sister. + +_Jul_. Is this true, Roderick?--Alas, his silence +Does but too much confess it: How I blush +To own that love, I cannot yet take from thee! +Yet for my sake be friends. + +_Man_. 'Tis now too late: +I am by honour hindered. + +_Rod_. I by hate. + +_Jul_. What shall I do? + +_Man_. Leave him, and come away; +Thy virtue bids thee. + +_Jul_. But love bids me stay. + +_Man_. Her love's so like my own, that I should blame +The brother's passion in the sister's flame. +Rodorick, we shall meet.--He little thinks +I am as sure this night of Angelina, +As he of Julia. [_Aside. Exit_ MANUEL. + +_Rod_. Madam, to what an ecstasy of joy +Your goodness raises me! this was an act +Of kindness, which no service e'er can pay. + +_Jul_. Yes, Rodorick, 'tis in your power to quit +The debt you owe me. + +_Rod_. Do but name the way. + +_Jul_. Then briefly thus; 'tis to be just to me, +As I have been to you. + +_Rod_. You cannot doubt it. + +_Jul_. You know I have adventured, for your sake, +A brother's anger, and the world's opinion: +I value neither; for a settled virtue +Makes itself judge, and, satisfied within, +Smiles at that common enemy, the world. +I am no more afraid of flying censures, +Than heaven of being fired with mounting sparkles. + +_Rod_. But wherein must my gratitude consist? + +_Jul_. Answer yourself, by thinking what is fit +For me to do. + +_Rod_. By marriage, to confirm +Our mutual love. + +_Jul_. Ungrateful Rodorick! +Canst thou name marriage, while thou entertain'st +A hatred so unjust against my brother? + +_Rod_. But, unkind Julia, you know the causes +Of love and hate are hid deep in our stars, +And none but heaven can give account of both. + +_Jul_. Too well I know it: for my love to thee +Is born by inclination, not by judgment; +And makes my virtue shrink within my heart, +As loth to leave it, and as loth to mingle. + +_Rod_. What would you have me do? + +_Jul_. Since I must tell thee, +Lead me to some near monastery; there +(Till heaven find out some way to make us happy) +I shall be kept in safety from my brother. + +_Rod_. But more from me; what hopes can Rodorick +have, +That she, who leaves him freely, and unforced, +Should ever of her own accord return? + +_Jul_. Thou hast too great assurance of my faith, +That, in despite of my own self, I love thee. +Be friends with Manuel, I am thine; 'till when +My honour's. Lead me. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE III.--_The representation of a Street discovered +by twilight_. + +_Enter Don_ MANUEL, _solus_. + + +_Man_. This is the time and place, where I expect +My fugitive mistress; if I meet with her, +I may forget the wrongs, her brother did me; +If otherwise, his blood shall expiate them. +I hope her woman keeps her ignorant +How all things passed, according to her promise. + +_A door opens,--Enter_ ANGELINA _in boy's clothes_. +LEONORA _behind at the door_. + +_Leon_. I had forgot to tell him of this habit +She has put on; but sure he'll know her in it. + +[_Aside_. + +_Man_. Who goes there? + +_Ang_. 'Tis Don Manuel's voice; I must run back: +The door shut on me?--Leonora! where?--Does +she not follow me? I am betrayed. + +_Man_. What are you? + +_Ang_. A poor boy. + +_Man_. Do you belong to Rodorick? + +_Ang_. Yes, I do. + +_Man_. Here's money for you; tell me where's his +sister? + +_Ang_. Just now I met her coming down the stairs, +Which lead into the garden. + +_Man_. 'Tis well; leave me +In silence. + +_Ang_. With all my heart; was ever such a 'scape? +[_Exit running_. + +_Man_. She cannot now be long; sure by the moons shine +I shall discover her: + +_Enter_ RODORICK _and_ JULIA. + +This must be she; I'll seize her. + +_Jul_. Help me, Roderick. + +_Rod_. Unhand the lady, villain. + +_Man_. Roderick! +I'm glad we meet alone; now is the time +To end our difference. + +_Rod_. I cannot stay. + +_Man_. You must. + +_Rod_. I will not. + +_Man_. 'Tis base to injure any man; but yet +Tis far more base, once done, not to defend it. + +_Rod_. Is this an hour, for valiant men to fight? +They love the sun should witness what they do; +Cowards have courage, when they see not death; +And fearful hares, that sculk in forms all day, +Yet fight their feeble quarrels by the moonlight. + +_Man_. No; light and darkness are but poor distinctions +Of such, whose courage comes by fits and starts. + +_Rod_. Thou urgest me above my patience; +This minute of my life was not my own, +But hers, I love beyond it. [_They draw, and fight_. + +_Jul_. Help, help! none hear me! +Heaven, I think, is deaf too: +O Roderick! O brother! + +_Enter_ GONSALVO, _and_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Jul_. Whoe'er you are, if you have honour, part +them! [MANUEL _stumbles, and falls_. + +_Gons_. Hold, sir, you are too cruel; he, that kills +At such advantage, fears to fight again. + +[_Holds_ RODORICK. + +_Man_. Cavalier, I may live to thank you for this +favour. [_Rises_. + +_Rod_. I will not quit you so. + +_Man_. I'll breathe, and then-- + +_Jul_. Is there no way to save their lives? + +_Hip_. Run out of sight, +If 'tis concerning you they quarrel. + +[JULIA _retires to a corner_. + +_Hip_. Help, help, as you are cavaliers; the lady. +For whom you thus contend, is seized by some +Night-robbing villains. + +_All_. Which way took they? + +_Hip_. 'Twas so dark I could not see distinctly. + +_Rod_. Let us divide; I this way. [_Exit_. + +_Gons_. Down yonder street I'll take. + +_Man_. And I down that. [_Exeunt severally_. + +_Hip_. Now, madam, may we not lay by our fear? +They are all gone. + +_Jul_. Tis true; but we are here, +Exposed to darkness, without guide or aid, +But of ourselves. + +_Hip_. And of ourselves afraid. + +_Jul_. These dangers, while 'twas light, I could +despise; +Then I was bold, but watched by many eyes: +Ah! could not heaven for lovers find a way, +That prying people still might sleep by day? + +_Enter_ ANGELINA. + +_Hip_. Methinks I'm certain I discover some. + +_Jul_. This was your speaking of them, made them +come. + +_Hip_. There is but one, perhaps he may go by. + +_Ang_. Where had I courage for this bold disguise, +Which more my nature than my sex belies? +Alas! I am betrayed to darkness here; +Darkness, which virtue hates, and maids most fear: +Silence and solitude dwell every where: +Dogs cease to bark; the waves more faintly roar, +And roll themselves asleep upon the shore: +No noise but what my footsteps make, and they +Sound dreadfully, and louder than by day: +They double too, and every step I take +Sounds thick, methinks, and more than one could +make. +Ha! who are these? +I wished for company, and now I fear. +Who are you, gentle people, that go there? + +_Jul_. His voice is soft as is the upper air, +Or dying lovers' words: O pity us. +Ang. O pity me! take freely as your own +My gold, my jewels; spare my life alone. + +_Hip_. Alas, he fears as much as we. + +_Jul_. What say you, +Sir, will you join with us? + +_Ang_. Yes, madam; but +If you would take my sword, you'll use it better. + +_Hip_. Ay, but you are a man. + +_Ang_. Why, so are you. + +_Hip_. Truly my fear had made me quite forget it. + +_Enter GONSALVO_. + +_Gons_. Hippolito! how barbarous was I +To leave my boy! Hippolito! + +_Hip. _Here, here. +Now, madam, fear not, you are safe. + +_Jul_. What is become, sir, of those gentlemen? + +_Gons_. Madam, they all went several ways; not like +To meet. + +_Jul_. What will become of me? + +_Gons_. Tis late, +And I a stranger in the town; yet all +Your dangers shall be mine. + +_Jul_. You're noble, sir. + +_Gons_. I'll pawn the hopes of all my love, to see +You safe. + +_Jul_. Whoe'er your mistress be, she has +My curses, if she prove not kind. + +_Ang_. And mine. + +_Hip_. My sister will repent her, when she knows +For whom she makes that wish; but I'll say nothing, +Till day discovers it. [_Aside_.] A door opens; +I hope it is some inn. + +[_A door opens, at which a Servant appears_. + +_Ang_. Friend, can you lodge us here? + +_Serv_. Yes, friend, we can. + +_Jul_. How shall we be disposed? + +_Serv_. As nature would; +The gentleman and you: I have a rule, +That, when a man and woman ask for lodging, +They are ever husband and wife. + +_Jul_. Rude and unmannered! + +_Gons_. Sir, this lady must be lodged apart. + +_Serv_. Then the two boys, that are good for nothing +But one another, they shall go together. + +_Ang_. Lie with a man! sweet heaven defend me! + +_Hip_. Alas, friend, I ever lie alone. + +_Serv_. Then to save trouble, sir, because 'tis late, +One of the youths shall be disposed with you. + +_Ang_. Who, I! not for the world. + +_Hip_. Neither of us; for, though I would not lodge with you +Myself, I never can endure he should. + +_Ang_. Why then, to end the difference, if you please. +I and that lady will be bed-fellows. + +_Hip_. No, she and I will lodge together rather. + +_Serv_. You are sweet youths indeed; not for the world +You would not lodge with men! none but the lady +Would serve your turn. + +_Aug_. Alas, I had forgot I am a boy; +I am so lately one. [_Aside_. + +_Serv_. Well, well; all shall be lodged apart. + +_Gons_. to Hip. I did not think you harboured wanton +thoughts; +So young, so bad? + +_Hip_. I can make no defence, +But must be shamed by my own innocence. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I.--_A Chamber_. + +[_Enter_ GONSALVO, HIPPOLITO, _and_ ANGELINA _as_ AMIDEO _at a +distance_. + + +_Gon_. Hippolito, what is this pretty youth, +That follows us? + +_Hip_. I know not much of him: +Handsome you see, and of graceful fashion; +Of noble blood, he says, and I believe him; +But in some deep distress; he'll tell no more, +And I could cry for that, which he has told. +So much I pity him. + +_Gon_. My pretty youth, +Would I could do thee any service. + +_Ang_. Sir, +The greatest you can do me, is accepting mine. + +_Hip_. How's this? methinks already I begin +To hate this boy, whom but even now I moaned, +You serve my master? Do you think I cannot +Perform all duties of a servant better, +And with more care, than you? + +_Ang_. Better you may, +But never with more care: +Heaven, which is served with angels, yet admits +Poor man to pay his duty, and receives it. + +_Hip_. Mark but, my lord, how ill behaved a youth, +How very ugly, what a dwarf he is. + +_Ang_. My lord, I yet am young enough to grow, +And 'tis the commendation of a boy, +That he is little. [_Cries_. + +_Gons_. Pr'ythee, do not cry; +Hippolito, 'twas but just now you praised him, +And are you changed so soon? + +_Hip_. On better view. + +_Gons_. What is your name, sweet heart? + +_Hip_. Sweet heart! since I +Have served you, you ne'er called me so. + +_Ang_. O, ever, +Ever call me by that kind name; I'll own +No other, because I would still have that. + +_Hip_. He told me, sir, his name was Amideo; +Pray, call him by't. + +_Gons_. Come, I'll employ you both; +Reach me my belt, and help to put it on. + +_Amid_. I run, my lord. + +_Hip_. You run? it is my office. + +[_They both take it up, and strive for it;_ +HIPPOLITO _gets it, and puts it on_. + +_Amid_. Look you, my lord, he puts it on so aukwardly; +[_Crying_. +The sword does not sit right. + +_Hip_. Why, where's the fault? + +_Amid_. I know not that; but I am sure 'tis wrong. + +_Gons_.The fault is plain, 'tis put on the wrong shoulder. + +_Hip_. That cannot be, I looked on Amideo's, +And hung it on that shoulder his is on. + +_Amid_. Then I doubt mine is so. + +_Gons_. It is indeed: +You're both good boys, and both will learn in time. +Hippolito, go you and bring me word, +Whether that lady, we brought in last night, +Be willing to receive a visit from, me. + +_Hip_. Now, Amideo, since you are so forward +To do all service, you shall to the lady. + +_Amid_. No, I'll stay with my master, he bid you. + +_Hip_. It mads me to the heart to leave him here: +But I will be revenged. [_Aside_. +My lord, I beg +You would not trust this boy with any thing +Till my return; pray, know him better first. [_Exit_. + +_Gons_. 'Twas my unhappiness to meet this lady +Last night; because it ruined my design +Of walking by the house of Roderick: +Who knows but through some window I had spied +Fair Julia's shadow passing by the glass; +Or if some others, I would think it hers; +Or if not any, I would see the place +Where Julia lives. O Heaven, how small a blessing +Will serve to make despairing lovers happy! + +_Amid_. Unhappy Angelina, thou art lost: +Thy lord loves Julia. [_Aside_. + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO _and_ JULIA. + +_Jul_.--Where is thy master? +I long to give him my acknowledgments +For my own safety, and my brother's both. +Ha! Is it he? [_Looks_. + +_Gons_. Can it be Julia? +Could night so far disguise her from my knowledge! + +_Jul_. I would not think thee him, I see thou art: +Pr'ythee disown thyself in pity to me: +Why should I be obliged by one I hate? + +_Gons_. I could say something in my own defence; +But it were half a crime to plead my cause, +When you would have me guilty. + +_Amid_. How I fear +The sweetness of those words will move her pity! +I'm sure they would do mine. + +_Gons_. You took me for a robber, but so far +I am from that-- + +_Jul_. O, pr'ythee, be one still, +That I may know some cause for my aversion. + +_Gons_. I freed you from them, and more gladly did it-- + +_Jul_. Be what thou wilt, 'tis now too late to tell me: +The blackness of that image, I first fancied, +Has so infected me, I still must hate thee. + +_Hip_. Though (if she loves him) all my hopes are ruined, +It makes me mad to see her thus unkind. [_Aside_. +Madam, what see you in this gentleman, +Deserves your scorn or hatred? love him, or +Expect just Heaven should strangely punish you. + +_Gons_. No more: Whate'er she does is best; and if +You would be mine, you must, like me, submit +Without dispute. + +_Hip_. How can I love you, sir, and suffer this? +She has forgot that, which, last night, you did +In her defence. + +_Jul_. O call that night again; +Pitch her with all her darkness round: then set me +In some far desert, hemmed with mountain wolves +To howl about me: This I would endure, +And more, to cancel my obligements to him. + +_Gons_. You owe me nothing, madam; if you do, +I make it void; and only ask your leave +To love you still; for, to be loved again +I never hope; + +_Jul_. If that will clear my debt, enjoy thy wish; +Love me, and long, and desperately love me. +I hope thou wilt, that I may plague thee more: +Mean time, take from me that detested object; +Convey thy much loathed person from my sight. + +_Gons_. Madam, you are obeyed. +Hippolito and Amideo, wait +Upon fair Julia; look upon her for me +With dying eyes, but do not speak one word +In my behalf; for, to disquiet her, +Even happiness itself were bought too dear. + +[_Goes farther off, towards the end of the stage_. + +My passion swells too high; +And, like a vessel struggling in a storm, +Requires more hands than one to steer her upright; +I'll find her brother out. +[_Exit_. + +_Jul_. That boy, I see, he trusts above the other: +He has a strange resemblance with a face +That I have seen, but when, or where, I know not. +I'll watch till they are parted; then, perhaps, +I may corrupt that little one to free me. + +[_Aside. Exit_. + +_Amid_. Sweet Hippolito, let me speak with you. + +_Hip_. What would you with me? + +_Amid_. Nay, you are so fierce; +By all that's good, I love and honour you, +And, would you do but one poor thing I'll ask you, +In all things else you ever shall command me. +Look you, Hippolito, here's gold and jewels; +These may be yours. + +_Hip_. To what end dost thou show +These trifles to me? or how cam'st thou by them? +Not honestly, I fear. + +_Amid_. I swear I did: +And you shall have them; but you always press +Before me in my master's service so-- + +_Hip_. And always will. + +_Amid_. But, dear Hippolito, +Why will you not give way, that I may be +First in his favour, and be still employed? +Why do you frown? 'tis not for gain I ask it; +Whatever he shall give me shall be yours, +Except it be some toy you would not care for, +Which I should keep for his dear sake, that gave it. + +_Hip_. If thou wouldst offer both the Indies to me, +The eastern quarries, and the western mines, +They should not buy one look, one gentle smile +Of his from me; assure thy soul they should not, +I hate thee so. + +_Amid_. Henceforth I'll hate you worse. +But yet there is a woman whom he loves, +A certain Julia, who will steal his heart +From both of us; we'll join at least against +The common enemy. + +_Hip_. Why does he fear my lord should love a +woman? +The passion of this boy is so like mine, +That it amazes me. [_Aside_. + +_Enter a Servant_. + +_Serv_. Young gentleman, +Your master calls for you. + +_Hip_. I'll think upon't-- + +[_Exuent_ HIPPOLITO _and Serv_ + +_Enter_ JULIA _to_ AMIDEO. + +_Jul_. Now is the time, he is alone. + +_Amid_. Here comes +The saint, my lord adores; love, pardon me +The fault, I must commit. + +_Jul_. Fair youth, I am +A suitor to you. + +_Amid_. So am I to you. + +_Jul_. You see me here a prisoner. + +_Amid_. My request +Is, I may set you free; make haste, sweet madam; +Which way would you go? + +_Jul_. To the next +Religious house. + +_Amid_. Here through the garden, madam; +How I commend your holy resolution! [_Exeunt_. + +_Enter_ DON MANUEL _in the street, and a Servant +with him_. + +_Man_. Angelina fled to a monastery, say you? + +_Serv_. So 'tis given out: I could not see her woman: +But, for your sister, what you heard is true; +I saw her at the inn: +They told me, she was brought in late last night; +By a young cavalier, they showed me there. + +_Man_. This must be he that rescued me: +What would I give to see him! + +_Serv_. Fortune is +Obedient to your wishes; he was coming +To find out you; I waited on him to +The turning of the street, and stepped before +To tell you of it. + +_Man_. You o'erjoy me. + +_Serv_. This, sir, is he. + +_Enter_ GONSALVO. DON MANUEL _is running to +embrace him, and stops_. + +_Man_.--The captain of the robbers! + +_Gons_. As such, indeed, you promised me your +sister. + +_Man_. I promised all the interest I should have; +Because I thought, before you came to claim it, +A husband's right would take my title from me. + +_Gons_. I come to see if any manly virtue +Can dwell with falsehood: Draw, thou'st injured me. + +_Man_. You say already I have done you wrong, +And yet would have me right you by a greater. + +_Gons_. Poor abject thing! + +_Man_. Who doubts another's courage +Wants it himself; but I, who know my own, +Will not receive a law from you to fight, +Or to forbear: for then I grant your courage +To master mine, when I am forced to do +What of myself I would not. + +_Gons_. Your reason? + +_Man_. You saved my life. + +_Gons_. I'll quit that debt, to be +In a capacity of forcing you +To keep your promise with me; for I come +To learn, your sister is not yet disposed. + +_Man_. I've lost all privilege to defend my life; +And, if you take it now, 'tis no new conquest; +Like fish, first taken in a river, then +Bestowed in ponds to catch a second time. + +_Gons_. Mark but how partially you plead your +cause, +Pretending breach of honour if you fight, +Yet think it none to violate your word. + +_Man_. I cannot give my sister to a robber. + +_Gons_. You shall not; I am none, but born of blood +As noble as yourself; my fortunes equal +At least with yours, my reputation yet, +I think, unstained. + +_Man_. I wish, sir, it may prove so; +I never had so strong an inclination +To believe any man as you--But yet-- + +_Gons_. All things shall be so clear, there shall be left +No room for any scruple. I was born +In Seville, of the best house in that city; +My name Gonsalvo de Peralta: Being +A younger brother, 'twas my uncle's care +To take me with him in a voyage to +The Indies, where since dying, he has left me +A fortune not contemptible; returning +From thence with all my wealth in the plate fleet, +A furious storm almost within the port +Of Seville took us, scattered all the navy. +My ship, by the unruly tempest borne +Quite through the Streights, as far as Barcelona, +There first cast anchor; there I stept ashore: +Three days I staid, in which small time I made +A little love, which vanished as it came. + +_Man_. But were you not engaged to her you +courted? + +_Gons_. Upon my honour, no; what might have been +I cannot tell: But ere I could repair +My beaten ship, or take fresh water in, +One night, when there by chance I lay aboard, +A wind tore up my anchor from the bottom, +And with that violence it brought me thither, +Has thrown me in this port. + +_Mon_. But yet our meeting in the wood was +strange. + +_Gons_. For that I'll satisfy you as we walk. + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Hip_. O sir, how glad am I to find you!-- + + [_Whispers_. + +_Man_. That boy I have seen somewhere, or one +like him, +But where, I cannot call to mind. + +_Hip_. I found it out, and got before them-- +And here they are-- + +_Enter AMIDEO and JULIA_. + +_Man_. My sister! as I could have wished it. + +_Amid_. O! we are caught! + +_Jul_. I did expect as much: +Fortune has not forgot that I am Julia. + +_Man_. Sister, I'm glad you're happily returned; +'Twas kindly done of you thus to prevent +The trouble of my search. + +_Jul_. I would not have you +Mistake my love to Roderick so much, +To think I meant to fall into your hands. +My purpose is for the next nunnery; +There I'll pray for you: So farewell. + +_Man_. Stay, Julia, you must go with me. + +_Jul_. Lead, lead; +You think I am your prisoner now. + +_Gons_. If you will needs to a religious house, +Leave that fair face behind; a worse will serve +To spoil with watching, and with fasting there. + +_Man_. Pr'ythee, no more of this; the only way +To make her happy is to force it on her. +Julia, prepare yourself strait to be married. + +_Jul_. To whom? + +_Man_. You see your bridegroom: And you know +My father's will, who, with his dying breath +Commanded, you should pay as strict obedience +To me, as formerly to him: If not, +Your dowry is at my dispose. + +_Jul_. O, would +The loss of that dispense with duty in me, +How gladly would I suffer it! and yet, +If I durst question it, methinks 'tis hard! +What right have parents over children, more +Than birds have o'er their young? yet they impose +No rich-plumed mistress on their feathered sons; +But leave their love, more open yet and free +Than all the fields of air, their spacious birthright. + +[_GONSALVO seems to beg MANUEL + not to be harsh_. + +_Man_. Nay, good Gonsalvo, trouble not yourself, +There is no other way; when 'tis once done, +She'll thank me for't. + +_Jul_. I ne'er expected other usage from you; +A kind brother you have been to me, +And to my sister: You have sent, they say, +To Barcelona, that my aunt should force her +To marry the old Don you brought her. + +_Hip_. Who could, that once had seen Gonsalvo's. +face? +Alas, she little thinks I am so near! [_Aside_. + +_Man_. Mind not what she says. +A word with you--[_To GONSALVO._ + +_Amid_. Don Manuel eyes me strangely; the best is, +he never saw me yet but at a distance: +My brother's jealousy (who ne'er intended +I should be his) restrained our nearer converse. [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. My pretty youth, I am enforced to trust thee +[_To AMIDEO_. +With my most near concerns; friends I have none, +If thou deny'st to help me. + +_Amid_. Any thing +To break your marriage with my master. + +_Jul_. Go to Roderick, and tell him my condition: +But tell it him as from thyself, not me. + +_Amid_. That you are forced to marry? + +_Jul_. But do not ask him +To succour me; if of himself he will not, +I scorn a love that must be taught its duty. + +_Man_. What youth is that? I mean the little one. + +_Gons_. I took him up last night. + +_Man_. A sweet-faced boy, +I like him strangely: Would you part with him? + +_Amid_. Alas, sir, I am good for nobody, +But for my master. + +_Hip_. Sir, I'll do your errand +Another time, for letting Julia go. [_To AMIDEO_. + +_Man_. Come, sir. + +_Gons_. I beg your pardon for a moment, +I'll but dispatch some business in my ship, +And wait you presently: + +_Man_. We'll go before; +I'll make sure Roderick shall never have her; +And 'tis at least some pleasure to destroy +His happiness, who mined first my joy. + +[_Exeunt all but GONSALVO; who, before he goes, whispers HIPPOLITO_. + +_Gons_. Against her will fair Julia to possess, +Is not to enjoy, but ravish happiness: +Yet women pardon force, because they find +The violence of love is still most kind: +Just like the plots of well built comedies, +Which then please most, when most they do surprise: +But yet constraint love's noblest end destroys, +Whose highest joy is in another's joys: +Where passion rules, how weak does reason prove! +I yield my cause, but cannot yield my love. [_Exit_. + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_A great room in DON MANUEL'S house_. + + +_HIPPOLITO solus_. + +My master bid me speak for him to Julia: +Hard fate, that I am made a confident +Against myself! +Yet, though unwillingly I took the office, +I would perform it well: But how can I +Prove lucky to his love, who to my own +Am so unfortunate? he trusts his passion +Like him, that ventures all his stock at once +On an unlucky hand. + +_Enter AMIDEO_. + +_Amid_. Where is the lady Julia? + +_Hip_. What new treason +Against my master's love have you contrived +With her? + +_Amid_. I shall not render you account. + +_Enter JULIA_. + +_Jul_. I sent for him; yet if he comes, there's danger; +Yet if he does not, I for ever lose him. +What can I wish? and yet I wish him here, +Only to take the care of me from me. +Weary with sitting out a losing hand, +Twill be some ease to see another play it. +Yesterday I refused to marry him, +To-day I run into his arms unasked; +Like a mild prince encroached upon by rebels, +Love yielded much, till honour asked for all. +How now, where's Roderick? [_Sees AMIDEO_. +I mean Gonsalvo. [_Sees HIPPOLITO_. + +_Hip_. You would do well to meet him-- + +_Amid_. Meet him! you shall not do't: I'll throw myself, +Like a young fawning spaniel, in your way +So often, you shall never move a step, +But you shall tread on me. + +_Jul_. You need not beg me: +I would as soon meet a syren, as see him. + +_Hip_. His sweetness for those frowns no subject finds: +Seas are the field of combat for the winds: +But when they sweep along some flowery coast, +Their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost. + +_Jul_. 'Tis that which makes me more unfortunate; +Because his sweetness must upbraid my hate. +The wounds of fortune touch me not so near; +I can my fate, but not his virtue, bear. +For my disdain with my esteem is raised; +He most is hated when he most is praised: +Such an esteem, as like a storm appears, +Which rises but to shipwreck what it bears. + +_Hip_. Infection dwells upon my kindness, sure, +Since it destroys even those whom it would cure. + +[_Cries, and exit_. + +_Amid_. Still weep, Hippolito; to me thy tears +Are sovereign, as those drops the balm-tree sweats.-- +But, madam, are you sure you shall not love him? +I still fear.-- + +_Jul_. Thy fear will never let thee be a man. + +_Amid_. Indeed I think it won't. + +_Jul_. We are now +Alone; what news from Roderick? + +_Amid_. Madam, he begs you not to fear; he has +A way, which, when you think all desperate, +Will set you free. + +_Jul_. If not, I will not live +A moment after it. + +_Amid_. Why? there's some comfort. + +_Jul_. I strongly wish, for what I faintly hope: +Like the day-dreams of melancholy men, +I think and think on things impossible, +Yet love to wander in that golden maze. + +_Enter DON MANUEL, HIPPOLITO, and company_. + +_Amid_. Madam, your brother's here. + +_Man_. Where is the bridegroom? + +_Hip_. Not yet returned, sir, from his ship. + +_Man_. Sister, all this good company is met, +To give you joy. + +_Jul_. While I am compassed round +With mirth, my soul lies hid in shades of grief, +Whence, like the bird of night, with half shut eyes, +She peeps, and sickens at the sight of day. [_Aside_. + +_Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Sir, some gentlemen and ladies are without, +Who, to do honour to this wedding, come +To present a masque. + +_Man_. Tis well; desire them +They would leave put the words, and fall to dancing. +The poetry of the foot takes most of late. + +_Serv_. The poet, sir, will take that very ill; +He's at the door, with the argument o'the masque +In verse. + +_Man_. Which of the wits is it that made it? + +_Serv_. None of the wits, sir; 'tis one of the poets. + +_Man_. What subject has he chose? + +_Serv_. The rape of Proserpine. + +_Enter GONSALVO_. + +_Man_. Welcome, welcome, you have been long +expected. + +_Gons_. I staid to see the unlading of some rarities, +Which are within-- +Madam, your pardon that I was so long absent. + +_Jul_. You need not ask it for your absence, sir. + +_Gons_. Still cruel, Julia? + +_Jul_. The danger's here, and Roderick not here: +I am not grieved to die; but I am grieved +To think him false. [_Aside_. + +_Man_. Bid him begin. [_The music plays_. + +A _Cupid_ descends in swift motion, and speaks +these verses. + +_Cup_. _Thy conquests, Proserpine, have stretched too far; +Amidst heavens peace thy beauty makes a war: +For when, last night, I to Jove's palace went, +(The brightest part of all the firmament) +Instead of all those gods, whose thick resort +Filled up the presence of the thunderers court; +There Jove and Juno all forsaken sate, +Pensive, like kings in their declining state: +Yet (wanting power) they would preserve the show, +By hearing prayers from some few men below: +Mortals to Jove may their devotions pay; +The gods themselves to Proserpine do pray. +To Sicily the rival powers resort; +'Tis Heaven wherever Ceres keeps her court. +Phoebus and Mercury are both at strife, +The courtliest of our gods who want a wife. +But Venus, whate'er kindness she pretends, +Yet (like all females envious of their friends), +Has, by my aid, contrived a black design, +The god of hell should ravish Proserpine: +Beauties, beware; Venus will never bear +Another Venus shining in her sphere_. + +After Cupid's speech, Venus and Ceres descend in the slow machines; +Ceres drawn by dragons, Venus by swans. + +After them Phoebus and Mercury descend in swift motion. Then Cupid +turns to Julia, and speaks. + +_Cup_. _The rival deities are come to woo +A Proserpine, who must be found below: +Would you, fair nymph, become, this happy hour, +In name a goddess, as you are in power? +Then to this change the king of shades will owe +A fairer Proserpine than heaven can show_. + +[_Julia, first whispered by AMIDEO, goes into the dance, performed +by Cupid, Phoebus, Mercury, Ceres, Venus, and JULIA. Towards the end +of the dance, RODORICK, in the habit of Pluto, rises from below in +a black chariot, all flaming, and drawn by black horses; he ravishes +Julia, who personated Proserpine, and as he is carrying her away, his +vizard fails off: HIPPOLITO first discovers him_. + +_Hip_. A rape, a rape! 'tis Roderick, 'tis Roderick! + +_Rod_. Then I must have recourse to this. [_Draws_. + +_Jul_. O heavens! + +[_DON MANUEL and GONSALVO draw, and a Servant; the two that acted +Phoebus and Mercury return to assist RODORICK, and are beat back by +MANUEL and a Servant, while GONSALVO attacks RODORICK_. + +_Gons_. Unloose thy hold, foul villain. + +_Rod_. No, I'll grasp her +Even after death. + +_Jul_. Spare him, or I'll die with him. + +_Gons_. Must ravishers and villains live, while I +In vain implore her mercy? + +[_Thrusts at him, and hurts JULIA in the arm_. + +_Jul_. Oh, I am murdered! + +_Gons_. Wretched that I am, +What have I done? To what strange punishment +Will you condemn this guilty hand? And yet +My eyes were guilty first--For they could look +On nothing else but you; and my unlucky hand +Too closely followed them!-- + +_Enter MANUEL again_. + +_Man_. The powers above are just, that thou still livest, +For me to kill. + +_Rod_. You'll find no easy task on't +Alone; come both together, I defy you! +Curse on this disguise, that has betrayed me +Thus cheaply to my death.-- + +_Man_. Under a devil's shape, thou could'st not be +Disguised. + +_Jul_. Then, must he die?-- +Yet, I'll not bid my Roderick farewell; +For they take leave, who mean to be long absent. + +_Gons_. Hold, sir! I have had blood enough already; +And must not murder Julia again +In him she loves. Live, sir; and thank this lady. + +_Rod_. Take my life, and spare my thanks. + +_Man_. Though you +Forgive him, let me take my just revenge. + +_Gons_. Leave that distinction to our dull divines: +That ill, I suffer to be done, I do. + +_Hip_. My heart bleeds for him: to see his virtue +O'ercome so fatally, against such odds +Of fortune, and of love!-- + +_Man_. Permit his death, and Julia will be yours. + +_Jul_. Permit it not, and Julia will thank you. + +_Gons_. Who e'er could think, that one kind word from Julia +Should be preferred to Julia herself? +Could any man think it a greater good +To save a rival, than possess a mistress? +Yet this I do! these are thy riddles, love!-- +What fortune gives me, I myself destroy; +And feed my virtue, but to starve my joy. +Honour sits on me like some heavy armour, +And with its stiff defence, encumbers me; +And yet, when I would put it off, it sticks +Like Hercules's shirt; heats me at once; +And poisons me! + +_Man_. I find myself grow calm by thy example; +My panting heart heaves less and less, each pulse; +And all the boiling spirits scatter from it. +Since thou desirest he should not die, he shall not, +'Till I on nobler terms can take his life. + +_Rod_. The next turn may be yours.--Remember, +I owed this danger to your wilfulness: +Once, you might easily have been mine, and would +not. [_Exit_ RODORICK. + +_Man_. Lead out my sister, friend; her hurt's so +small, +'Twill scarce disturb the ceremony. +Ladies, once more your pardons. + + [_Leads out the Company. Exeunt_. + +_Manent_ JULIA, GONSALVO, AMIDEO, _and_ HIPPOLITO. GONSALVO +_offers his hand,_ JULIA _pulls back hers_. + +_Jul_. This hand would rise in blisters, should'st +thou touch it!-- +My Roderick's displeased with me, and thou, +Unlucky man, the cause. Dare not so much +As once to follow me. [_Exit_ JULIA. + +_Gons_. Not follow her! Alas, she need not bid me! +Oh, how could I presume to take that hand, +To which mine proved so fatal! +Nay, if I might, should I not fear to touch it?-- +murderer's touch would make it bleed afresh! + +_Amid_. I think, sir, I could kill her for your sake. + +_Gons_. Repent that word, or I shall hate thee +Strangely: +Harsh words from her, like blows from angry kings, +Though they are meant affronts, are construed favours. + +_Hip_. Her inclinations and aversions +Are both alike unjust; and both, I hope, +Too violent to last: Chear up yourself; +for if I live, (I hope I shall not long) [_Aside_. +She shall be yours. + +_Amid_. 'Twere much more noble in him, +To make a conquest of himself, than her. +She ne'er can merit him; and, hadst not thou +A mean low soul, thou wouldst not name her to him. + +_Hip_. Poor child, who would'st be wise above thy years! +Why dost thou talk, like a philosopher, +Of conquering love, who art not yet grown up, +To try the force of any manly passion? +The sweetness of thy mother's milk is yet +Within thy veins, not soured and turned by love. + +_Gons_. Thou hast not field enough in thy young breast, +To entertain such storms to struggle in. + +_Amid_. Young as I am, I know the power of love; +Its less disquiets, and its greater cares, +And all that's in it, but the happiness. +Trust a boy's word, sir, if you please, and take +My innocence for wisdom; Leave this lady; +Cease to persuade yourself you are in love, +And you will soon be freed. Not that I wish +A thing, so noble as your passion, lost +To all the sex: Bestow it on some other; +You'll find many as fair, though none so cruel.-- +Would I could be a lady for your sake! + +_Hip_. If I could be a woman, with a wish, +You should not be without a rival long. + +_Amid_. A cedar, of your stature, would not cause +Much jealousy. + +_Hip_. More than a shrub of yours. + +_Gons_. How eagerly these boys fall out for nothing!-- +Tell me, Hippolito, wert thou a woman, +Who would'st thou be? + +_Hip_. I would be Julia, sir, +Because you love her. + +_Amid_. I would not be she, +Because she loves not you. +_Hip_. True, Amideo; +And, therefore, I would wish myself a lady, +Who, I am sure, does infinitely love him. + +_Amid_. I hope that lady has a name? + +_Hip_. She has: +And she is called Honoria, sister to +This Julia, and bred up at Barcelona; +Who loves him with a flame so pure and noble, +That, did she know his love to Julia, +She would beg Julia to make him happy. + +_Gons_. This startles me! + +_Amid_. Oh, sir, believe him not: +They love not truly, who, on any terms, +Can part with what they love. + +_Gons_. I saw a lady +At Barcelona, of what name I know not, +Who, next to Julia, was the fairest creature +My eyes did e'er behold: But, how camest thou +To know her? + +_Hip_. Sir, some other time I'll tell you. + +_Amid_. It could not be Honoria, whom you saw; +For, sir, she has a face so very ugly, +That, if she were a saint for holiness, +Yet no man would seek virtue there. + +_Hip_. This is the lyingest boy, sir;--I am sure +He never saw Honoria; for her face, +'Tis not so bad to frighten any man-- +None of the wits have libelled it. + +_Amid_. Don Roderick's sister, Angelina, does +So far exceed her, in the ornaments +Of wit and beauty, though now hid from sight, +That, like the sun, (even when eclipsed) she casts +A yellowness upon all other faces. + +_Hip_. I'll not say much of her, but only this, +Don Manuel saw not with my eyes, if e'er +He loved that Flanders shape; that lump of earth, +And phlegm together. + +_Amid_. You have often seen her, +It seems, by your description of her person: +But I'll maintain on any Spanish ground, +Whate'er she be, yet she is far more worthy +To have my lord her servant, than Honoria. + +_Hip_. And I'll maintain Honoria's right against her, +In any part of all the world. + +_Gons_. You go +Too far, to quarrel on so slight a ground. + +_Hip_. O pardon me, my lord, it is not slight: +I must confess, I am so much concerned, +I shall not bear it long. + +_Amid_. Nor I, assure you. + +_Gons_. I will believe what both of you have said, +That Honoria, and Angelina, +Both equally are fair. + +_Amid_. Why did you name +Honoria first? + +_Gons_. And, since you take their parts so eagerly +Henceforth I'll call you by those ladies' names: +You, my Hippolito, shall be Honoria; +And you, my Amideo, Angelina. + +_Amid_. Then all my services, I wish, may make +You kind to Angelina, for my sake. + +_Hip_. Put all my merits on Honoria's score, +And think no maid could ever love you more. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + + +MANUEL _solus_. + +_Man_. Thus I provide for others' happiness, +And lose my own. 'Tis true, I cannot blame +Thy hatred, Angelina, but thy silence. +Thy brother's hatred made thine just; but yet +'Twas cruel in thee not to tell me so. +Conquest is noble, when an heart stands out; +But mine, which yielded, how could'st thou betray? +That heart, of which thou could'st not be deprived +By any force or power, beside thy own; +Like empires, to that fatal height arrived, +They must be ruined by themselves alone. +My guarded freedom cannot be a prize +To any scornful face a second time; +For thy idea, like a ghost, would rise, +And fright my thoughts from such another crime. + +_Enter a Servant, with a letter_. + +_Man_. From whom? + +_Serv_. Sir, the contents will soon resolve you. + +[_He read_. + +_Man_. Tell Roderick, he has prevented me +In my design of sending to him first. +I'll meet him, single, at the time and place; +But, for my friend, tell him, he must excuse me: +I'll hazard no man in my quarrel, but +Myself alone.--[_Exit Servant_. +Who's within there? + +_Enter a Servant_. + +Go, call my sister, and Gonsalvo, hither. + [_Exit Servant_. +'Twas pushed so far, that, like two armies, we +Were drawn so closely up, we could not part +Without engagement.--But they must not know it. + +_Enter JULIA, GONSALVO, and AMIDEO_. + +I have some business calls me hence, and know not +When I shall return: But, ere I go, +That power I have, by my dead father's will, +Over my sister, I bequeath to you: [_To GONS_. +She, and her fortunes, both be firmly yours; +And this when I revoke, let cowardice +Blast all my youth, and treason taint my age. + +_Gons_. Sir-- + +_Man_. Nay, good, no thanks; I cannot stay-- + [_Exit MANUEL_. + +_Gons_. There's something more than ordinary in this; +Go, Amideo, quickly follow him, +And bring me word which way he takes. + +_Amid_. I go, sir. [_Exit AMID. JULIA kneels_. + +_Gons_. Madam, when you implore the powers divine, +You have no prayers in which I will not join, +Though made against myself. [_Kneels with her_. + +_Jul_. In vain I sue, +Unless my vows may be conveyed by you. + +_Gons_. Conveyed by me! My ill success in love +Shews me, too sure, I have few friends above. +How can you fear your just desires to want? +When the gods pray, they both request and grant. + +_Jul_. Heaven has resigned my fortune to your hand, +If you, like heaven, the afflicted understand. + +_Gons_. The language of the afflicted is not new; +Too well I learned it, when I first saw you. + +_Jul_. In spite of me, you now command my fate; +And yet the vanquished seeks the victor's hate; +Even in this low submission, I declare, +That, had I power, I would renew the war. +I'm forced to stoop, and 'twere too great a blow +To bend my pride, and to deny me too. + +_Gons_. You have my heart; dispose it to your will; +If not, you know the way to use it ill. + +_Jul_. Cruel to me, though kind to your desert, +My brother gives my person, not my heart; +And I have left no other means to sue, +But to you only, to be freed from you. + +_Gons_. From such a suit how can you hope success, +Which, given, destroys the giver's happiness? + +_Jul_. You think it equal you should not resign +That power you have, yet will not leave me mine; +Yet on my will I have the power alone, +And, since you cannot move it, move your own. +Your worth and virtue my esteem may win, +But women's passions from themselves begin; +Merit may be, but force still is, in vain. + +_Gons_. I would but love you, not your love constrain; +And though your brother left me to command, +He placed his thunder in a gentle hand. + +_Jul_. Your favour from constraint has set me free, +But that secures not my felicity; +Slaves, who, before, did cruel masters serve, +May fly to deserts, and in freedom starve. +The noblest part of liberty they lose, +Who can but shun, and want the power to chuse. + +_Gons_. O whither would your fatal reasons move! +You court my kindness, to destroy my love. + +_Jul_. You have the power to make my happiness, +By giving that, which you can ne'er possess. + +_Gons_. Give you to Roderick? there wanted yet +That curse, to make my miseries complete. + +_Jul_. Departing misers bear a nobler mind; +They, when they can enjoy no more, are kind; +You, when your love is dying in despair, +Yet want the charity to make an heir. + +_Gons_. Though hope be dying, yet it is not dead; +And dying people with small food are fed. + +_Jul_. The greatest kindness dying friends can have, +Is to dispatch them, when we cannot save. + +_Gons_. Those dying people, could they speak' at all, +That pity of their friends would murder call: +For men with horror dissolution meet; +The minutes even of painful life are sweet. + +_Jul_. But I'm by powerful inclination led; +And streams turn seldom to their fountain head. + +_Gons_. No; 'tis a tide which carries you away; +And tides may turn, though they can never stay. + +_Jul_. Can you pretend to love, and see my grief +Caused by yourself, yet give me no relief? + +_Gons_. Where's my reward? + +_Jul_. The honour of the flame. + +_Gons_. I lose the substance, then, to gain the name. + +_Jul_. I do too much mistress' power betray; +Must slaves be won by courtship to obey? +Thy disobedience does to treason rise, +Which thou, like rebels, would'st with love disguise. +I'll kill myself, and, if thou can'st deny +To see me happy, thou shalt see me die. + +_Gons_. O stay! I can with less regret bequeath +My love to Roderick, than you to death: +And yet-- + +_Jul_. What new objection can you find? + +_Gons_. But are you sure you never shall be kind? + +_Jul_. Never. + +_Gons_. What! never? + +_Jul_. Never to remove. + +_Gons_. Oh fatal never to souls damned in love! + +_Jul_. Lead me to Roderick. + +_Gons_. If it must be so-- + +_Jul_. Here, take my hand, swear on it thou wilt go. + +_Gons_. Oh balmy sweetness! but 'tis lost to me, + [_He kisses her hand_. +Like food upon a wretch condemned to die: +Another, and I vow to go:--Once more; +If I swear often, I shall be foreswore. +Others against their wills may haste their fate; +I only toil to be unfortunate: +More my own foe than all my stars could prove; +They give her person, but I give her love. +I must not trust myself--Hippolito! + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Hip_. My lord! + +_Gons_. Quickly go find Don Roderick out: +Tell him, the lady Julia will be walking +On the broad rock, that lies beside the port, +And there expects to see him instantly. +In the mean time I'll call for Amideo. + +_Jul_. You'll keep your promise to Don Roderick? + +_Gons_. Madam, since you bring death, I welcome it; +But to his fortune, not his love, submit. + [_Exit_ GONSALVO. + +_Hip_. I dare not ask what I too fain would hear: +But, like a tender mother, hope and fear, +My equal twins, my equal care I make, +And keep hope quiet, lest that fear should wake. + [_Aside. Exit_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Jul_. So, now I'm firmly at my own dispose; +And all the lets, my virtue caused, removed: +Now, Roderick, I come-- + +_Enter_ GONSALVO _again_. + +_Gons_. Madam, my boy's not yet returned. + +_Jul_. No matter, we'll not stay for him. + +_Gon_. Pray make not too much haste. + + [_Exeunt JUL. and GONS_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter DON RODORICK, and a Servant_. + + +_Rod_. Have you bespoke a vessel, as I bid you? + +_Serv_. I have done better; for I have employed +Some, whom I know, this day to seize a ship; +Which they have done, clapping the men within her +All under hatches, with such speed and silence, +That, though she rides at anchor in the port +Among the rest, the change is not discovered. + +_Rod_. Let my best goods and jewels be embarked +With secrecy: We'll put to sea this night. +Have you yet found my sister, or her woman? + +_Serv_. Neither, sir; but in all probability +She is with Manuel. + +_Rod_. Would God the meanest man in Alicant +Had Angelina, rather than Don Manuel! +I never can forgive, much less forget, +How he (the younger soldier) was preferred +To that command of horse, which was my due. + +_Serv_. And, after that, by force disseized you of +Your quarters-- + +_Rod_. Should I meet him seven years hence +At the altar, I would kill him there:--I had +Forgot to tell you, the design we had, +To carry Julia by force away, +Will now be needless: she'll come to the rock +To see me; you, unseen, shall stand behind, +And carry her into the vessel. + +_Serv_. Shall I not help you to dispatch Don Manuel? + +_Rod_. I neither doubt my valour nor my fortune: +But if I die, revenge me: Presently +About your business; I must to the rock, +For fear I come too late. [_Exeunt severally_. + + +SCENE III.--_Through a rock is discovered a navy of +ships riding at a distance_. + +_Enter AMIDEO_. + + +_Amid_. Thus far, unseen by Manuel, I have traced him; +He can be gone no farther than the walk +Behind the rock: I'll back, and tell my master. + +_Enter HIPPOLITO at the other end_. + +_Hip_. This is the place, where Roderick must expect +His Julia:--How! Amideo here! + +_Amid_. Hippolito! + +_Hip_. This were so fit a time +For my revenge, had I the courage, now! +My heart swells at him, and my breath grows short; +But whether fear or anger choaks it up, +I cannot tell. + +_Amid_. He looks so ghastfully, +Would I were past him; yet I fear to try it, +Because my mind misgives me he will stop me. +By your leave, Hippolito. + +_Hip_. Whither so fast? + +_Amid_. You'll not presume to hinder my lord's business? +He shall know it. + +_Hip_. I'll make you sure, before, +For telling any tales: Do you remember, +Since you defended Angelina's beauty +Against Honoria's; nay, and would maintain it. + +_Amid_. And so I will do still; (I must feign courage, +There is no other way.) [_Aside_. + +_Hip_. I'll so revenge +That injury! (if my heart fails me not.) + +_Amid_. Come, confess truly, for, I know, it fails you. +What would you give to avoid fighting now? + +_Hip_. No, 'tis your heart that fails. + +_Amid_. I scorn the danger; +Yet, what compassion on your youth might do, +I cannot tell; and, therefore, do not work +Upon my pity; for I feel already +My stout heart melts. + +_Hip_. Oh! Are you thereabout? +Now I am sure you fear; and you shall fight. + +_Amid_. I will not fight. + +_Hip_. Confess, then, Angelina +Is not so fair as is Honoria. + +_Amid_. I do confess; now are you satisfied? + +_Hip_. There's more behind; confess her not so worthy +To be beloved, nor to possess Gonsalvo, +As fair Honoria is. + +_Amid_. That's somewhat hard. + +_Hip_. But you must do't, or die. + +_Amid_. Well, life is sweet; +She's not so worthy: Now, let me be gone. + +_Hip_. No, never to my master; swear to quit +His service, and no more to see his face. + +_Amid_. I fain would save my life, but that, which you +Propose, is but another name to die. +I cannot live without my master's sight. + +_Hip_. Then you must fight with me for him. + +_Amid_. I would +Do any thing with you, but fighting for him. + +_Hip_. Nothing but that will serve. + +_Amid_. Lay by our swords, +And I'll scratch with you for him. + +_Hip_. That's not manly. + +_Amid_. Well, since it must be so, I'll fight:--Unbutton. + +[_HIPPOLITO unbuttons slowly_. + +How many buttons has he? I'll be one +Behind him still. [_Aside_. + +[_Unbuttons one by one after him. HIPPOLITO makes more haste_. + +You are so prodigal! if you loved my master, +You would not tear his doublet so:--How's this! +Two swelling breasts! a woman, and my rival! +The stings of jealousy have given me courage, +Which nature never gave me: +Come on, thou vile dissembler of thy sex; +Expect no mercy; either thou or I +Must die upon this spot: Now for Gonsalvo-- +Sa--Sa-- + +_Hip_. This courage is not counterfeit; ah me! +What shall I do? for pity, gentle boy-- + +_Amid_. No pity; such a cause as ours +Can neither give nor take it: If thou yieldest, +I will not spare thee; therefore, fight it out. +[_Tears open his doublet_. + +_Hip_. Death to my hopes! a woman! and so rare +A beauty, that my lord must needs doat on her. +I should myself, if I had been a man: +But, as I am, her eyes shoot death at me. + +_Amid_. Come, have you said your prayers? + +_Hip_. For thy confusion,-- +Thou ravenous harpy, with an angel's face,-- +Thou art discovered, thou too charming rival; +I'll be revenged upon those fatal eyes. + +_Amid_. I'll tear out thine. + +_Hip_. I'll bite out hungry morsels +From those plump cheeks, but I will make them +thinner. + +_Amid_. I'd beat thee to the blackness of a Moor. +But that the features of thy face are such, +Such damnable, invincible good features, +That as an Ethiop thou would'st still be loved. + +_Hip_. I'll quite unbend that black bow o'er thine eyes; +I'll murder thee, and Julia shall have him, +Rather than thou. + +_Amid_. I'll kill both thee and her, +Rather than any one but I shall have him. + +_Hip_. Come on, thou witch. + +_Amid_. Have at thy heart, thou Syren. + +[_They draw and fight awkwardly, not coming near one another_. + +_Amid_. I think I paid you there. + +_Hip_. O stay a little, +And tell me in what corner of thy heart +Gonsalvo lies, that I may spare that place. + +_Amid_. He lies in the last drop of all my blood, +And never will come out, but with my soul. + +_Hip_. Come, come, we dally; +Would one of us were dead, no matter which! + [_They fight nearer_. + +_Enter Don_ MANUEL. + +_Man_. The pretty boys, that serve Gonsalvo, fighting! +I come in time to save the life of one. + + [HIPPOLITO _gets_ AMIDEO _down in closing: + MANUEL takes away their swords_. + +_Hip_. For goodness' sake, hinder not my revenge. + +_Amid_. The noble Manuel has saved my life: +Heavens, how unjustly have I hated him. [_Aside_. + +_Man_. What is it, gentle youths, that moves you thus? +I cannot tell what causes you may find; +But, trust me, all the world, in so much sweetness, +Would be to seek where to begin a quarrel: +You seem the little Cupids in the song, +Contending for the honey-bag. + +_Hip_. 'Tis well +You're come; you may prevent a greater mischief: +Here 'tis Gonsalvo has appointed Roderick-- + +_Man_.To fight? + +_Hip_. What's worse: to give your sister to him. +Won by her tears, he means to leave her free, +And to redeem her misery with his: +At least so I conjecture. + +_Man_. 'Tis a doubtful +Problem; either he loves her violently, +Or not at all. + +_Amid_. You have betrayed my master:-- + +[_To_ HIPPOLITO. _Aside_. + +_Hip_. If I have injured you, I mean to give you +The satisfaction of a gentlewoman. + +_Enter_ GONSALVO _and_ JULIA. + +_Man_. Oh, they are here; now I shall be resolved. + +_Jul_. My brother Manuel! what fortune's this! + +_Man_. I'm glad I have prevented you. + +_Gons_. With what +Variety my fate torments me still! +Never was man so dragged along by virtue; +But I must follow her. + +_Jul_. Noble Gonsalvo, +Protect me from my brother. + +_Gons_. Tell me, sir, +When you bestowed your sister on me, did not +You give her freely up to my dispose? + +_Man_. 'Tis true, I did; but never with intent +You should restore her to my enemy. + +_Gons_. 'Tis past; 'tis done: She undermined my soul +With tears; as banks are sapped away by streams. + +_Man_. I wonder what strange blessing she expects +From the harsh nature of this Rodorick; +A man made up of malice and revenge. + +_Jul_. If I possess him, I may be unhappy; +But if I lose him, I am surely so. +Had you a friend so desperately sick, +That all physicians had forsook his cure; +All scorched without, and all parched up within, +The moisture that maintained consuming nature +Licked up, and in a fever fried away; +Could you behold him beg, with dying eyes, +A glass of water, and refuse it him, +Because you knew it ill for his disease? +When he would die without it, how could you +Deny to make his death more easy to him? + +_Man_. Talk not to me of love, when honour suffers. +The boys will hiss at me. + +_Gons_. I suffer most: +Had there been 'choice, what would I not have chose? +To save my honour I my love must lose: +But promises, once made, are past debate, +And truth's of more necessity than fate. + +_Man_. I scarce can think your promise absolute; +There might some way be thought on, if you would, +To keep both her and it. + +_Gons_. No, no; my promise was no trick of state: +I meant to be made truly wretched first, +And then to die; and I'll perform them both. + +_Man_. Then that revenge, I meant on Rodorick, +I'll take on you. [_Draws_. + +_Gons_.--I draw with such regret, +As merchants throw their wealth into the sea, +To save their sinking vessels from a wreck. + +_Man_. I find I cannot lift my hand against thee: +Do what thou wilt; but let not me behold it. + [_Goes off a little way_. +I'll cut this gordian knot I cannot loose: +To keep his promise, Rodorick shall have her, +But I'll return and rescue her by force; +Then giving back what he so frankly gave, +At once my honour and his love I'll save. +[_Exit MANUEL_. + +_Enter RODORICK_. + +_Rod_. How! Julia brought by him?--Who sent +for me? + +_Gons_. 'Twas I. + +_Rod_. I know your business then; 'tis fighting. + +_Gons_. You're mistaken; 'tis something that I +fear. + +_Rod_. What is't? + +_Gons_. Why,--'twill not out: Here, take her; +And deserve her: but no thanks; +For fear I should consider what I give, +And call it back.-- + +_Jul_. O my dear Rodorick! + +_Gons_. O cruel Julia! +For pity shew not all your joy before me; +Stifle some part of it one minute longer, +'Till I am dead. + +_Jul_. My Rodorick shall know, +He owes his Julia to you; thank him, love; +In faith I take it ill you are so slow. + +_Rod_. You know he has forbid me; and, beside, +He'll take it better from your mouth than mine; +All that you do must needs be pleasing to him. + +_Jul_. Still sullen and unkind! + +_Rod_. Why, then, in short, +I do not understand the benefit. + +_Gons_. Not to have Julia in thy free possession? + +_Rod_. Not brought by you; not of another's leaving. + +_Jul_. Speak softly, Rodorick: Let not these hear thee; +But spare my shame for the ill choice I made, +In loving thee. + +_Rod_. I will speak loud, and tell thee, +Thou com'st, all cloyed and tired with his embraces, +To proffer thy palled love to me; his kisses +Do yet bedew thy lips; the very print, +His arms made round thy body, yet remains. + +_Gons_. O barbarous jealousy! + +_Jul_. 'Tis an harsh word: +I am too pure for thee; but yet I love thee. + +[_Offers to take his hand_. + +_Rod_. Away, foul impudence. + +_Gons_. Madam, you wrong +Your virtue, thus to clear it by submission. + +_Jul_. Whence grows this boldness, sir? did I ask you +To be my champion? + +_Rod_. He chose to be your friend, and not your husband: +Left that dull part of dignity to me; +As often the worst actors play the kings. + +_Jul_. This jealousy is but excess of passion, +Which grows up, wild, in every lover's breast; +But changes kind when planted in an husband. + +_Rod_. Well, what I am, I am; and what I will be, +When you are mine, my pleasure shall determine. +I will receive no law from any man. + +_Jul_. This strange unkindness of my Rodorick +I owe to thee, and thy unlucky love; +Henceforth go lock it up within thy breast; +'Tis only harmless while it is concealed, +But, opened, spreads infection like a vault. +Go, and my curse go with thee!-- + +_Gons_. I cannot go 'till I behold you happy:-- +--Here, Rodorick, receive her on thy knees; +Use her with that respect, which thou would'st pay +Thy guardian angel, if he could be seen. +--Do not provoke my anger by refusing.-- +I'll watch thy least offence to her; each word, +Nay, every sullen look;-- +And, as the devils, who are damned to torments, +Yet have the guilty souls their slaves to punish; +So, under me, while I am wretched, thou +Shalt be tormented.-- + +_Rod_. Would'st thou make me the tenant of thy lust, +To toil, and for my labour take the dregs, +The juicy vintage being left for thee? +No: she's an infamous, lewd prostitute: +I loath her at my soul. + +_Gons_. I can forbear +No longer: swallow down thy lie, foul villain. + +[_They fight off the stage. Exeunt_. + +_Jul_. Help, help! + +_Amid_. Here is that witch, whose fatal beauty +Began the mischief; she shall pay for all. + +[_Goes to kill JULIA_. + +_Hip_. I hate her for it more than thou canst do; +But cannot see her die, my master loves. + +[_Goes between with her sword_. + +_Enter_ GONSALVO, _following_ RODORICK, _who falls_. + +_Rod_. So, now I am at rest:-- +I feel death rising higher still, and higher, +Within my bosom; every breath I fetch +Shuts up my life within a shorter compass, +And, like the vanishing sound of bells, grows less +And less each pulse, 'till it be lost in air. + +[_Swoons away_. + +_Gons_. Down at your feet, much injured innocence, +I lay that sword, which-- + +_Jul_. Take it up again; +It has not done its work 'till I am killed: +For ever, ever, thou hast robbed me of +That man, that only man, whom I could love: +Dost thou thus court thy mistress? thus oblige her? +All thy obligements have been fatal yet, +Yet the most fatal now would most oblige me. +Kill me:--yet I am killed before in him. +I lie there on the ground; cold, cold, and pale: +That death, I die in Roderick, is far +More pleasant than that life, I live in Julia.-- +--See how he stands--when he is bid dispatch me! +How dull! how spiritless! that sloth possest +Thee not, when thou didst kill my Roderick. + +_Gons_. I'm too unlucky to converse with men: +I'll pack together all my mischiefs up, +Gather with care each little remnant of them, +That none of them be left behind: Thus loaded, +Fly to some desert, and there let them loose, +Where they may never prey upon mankind. +But you may make my journey shorter:--Take +This sword; 'twill shew you how:-- + +_Jul_.I'll gladly set you on your way:-- +[_Takes his sword_. + +_Enter three of_ RODORICK'S _servants_. + +_1 Serv_. Make haste; he's now unarmed, we may with ease +Revenge my master's death. + +_Jul_. Now these shall do it. + +_Gons_. I'll die by none but you.-- + +_Hip_. O here, take my sword, sir. + +_Amid_. He shall have mine. + +[_Both give their swords_ to GONSALVO. + +_Enter MANUEL_. + +_Man_. Think not of death. +We'll live and conquer. + +[_They beat them off_. + +_Man_. These fellows, though beat off, will strait return +With more; we must make haste to save ourselves. + +_Hip_. 'Tis far to the town, +And, ere you reach it, you will be discovered. + +_Gons_. My life's a burden to me, were not Julia's +Concerned; but, as it is, she, being present, +Will be found accessary to his death. + +_Man_. See where a vessel lies, not far from shore; +And near at hand a boat belonging to her; +Let's haste aboard, and what with prayers and gifts +Buy our concealment there:--Come, Julia. + +_Gons_. Alas, she swoons away upon the body. + +_Man_. The night grows on apace; we'll take her in +Our arms, and bear her hence. + +[_Exeunt GONSALVO, and the boys, with MANUEL, carrying JULIA_. + +_The Servants enter again_. + +_1 Serv_. They are all gone, we may return with safety: +Help me to bear the body to the town. + +_2 Serv_. He stirs, and breathes a little; there may be +Some hope. + +_3 Serv_. The town's far off, and the evening cold. +Let's carry him to the ship. + +_1 Serv_. Haste then away: +Things, once resolved, are ruined by delay. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + +_The Scene lying in a Carrack_. + +_Enter a Pirate and the Captain_. + + +_Pir_. Welcome a ship-board, captain; you staid +long. + +_Capt_. No longer than was necessary for shifting +trades; to change me from a robber to a pirate. + +_Pir_. There's a fair change wrought in you since +yesterday morning; then you talked of nothing but +repentance, and amendment of life. + +_Capt_. 'Faith, I have considered better on't: for, +conversing a whole day together with honest men, +I found them all so poor and beggarly, that a civil +person would be ashamed to be seen with them:--but +you come from Don Roderick's cabin; what hopes +have you of his life? + +_Pir_. No danger of it, only loss of blood had +made him faint away; he called for you. + +_Capt_. Well, are his jewels and his plate brought +in? + +_Pir_. They are.--When hoist we sails? + +_Capt_. At the first break of day: When we are +got out clear, we'll seize on Roderick and his men: +They are not many, but fear may make them desperate. + +_Pir_. We may take them, when they are laid to +sleep. + +_Capt_. 'Tis well advised. + +_Pir_. I forgot to tell you, sir, that a little before +Don Roderick was brought in, a company of gentlemen +(pursued it seems by justice) procured our +boat to row them hither. Two of them carried a +very fair lady betwixt them, who was either dead, +or swooned. + +_Capt_. We'll sell them altogether to the Turk,--at +least I'll tell them so. [_Aside_. + +_Pir_. Pray, sir, let us reserve the lady to our own +uses; it were a shame to good catholicks to give +her up to infidels. + +_Capt_. Don Roderick's door opens; I'll speak to +him. + +_The Scene draws, and discovers the Captains cabin; +RODORICK on a bed, and two Servants by him_. + +_Capt_. How is it with the brave Don Roderick? +Do you want any thing? + +_Rod_. I have too much +Of that I would not, love; +And what I would have, that I want, revenge. +I must be set ashore. + +_Capt_. That you may, sir; +But our own safety must be thought on first. + +[_One enters, and whispers the Captain_. + +_Capt_. I come:--Seignior, think you are lord +here, and command all freely. + +[_Exeunt Captain and Pirates_. + +_Rod_. He does well to bid me think so: I am of opinion +We are fallen into huckster's hands. + +_1 Serv_. Indeed he talked suspiciously enough; +He half denied to land us. + +_Rod_. These, Pedro, are your confiding men-- + +_2 Serv_. I think them still so. + +_Rod_. Would I were from them. + +_2 Serv_. 'Tis impossible +To attempt it now; you have not strength enough +To walk. + +_Rod_. That venture must be mine: We're lost, +If we stay here to-morrow. + +_2 Serv_. I hope better. + +_1 Serv_. One whom I saw among 'em, to my knowledge, +Is a notorious robber. + +_2 Serv_. He looked so like a gentleman, I could +not know him then. + +_Rod_. What became of Julia when I fell? + +_1 Serv_. We left her weeping over you, till we +Were beaten off; but she, and those with her, +Were gone when we returned. + +_Rod_. Too late I find, +I wronged her in my thoughts. I'm every way +A wretched man:-- +Something we must resolve on, ere we sleep; +Draw in the bed, I feel the cold. + +[_Bed drawn in. Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter GONSALVO, MANUEL, HIPPOLITO and +AMIDEO_. + + +_Hip_. Nay, 'tis too true; for, peeping through a chink, +I saw Don Roderick lying on a bed, +Not dead, as we supposed, but only hurt; +So waited on as spoke him master here. + +_Man_. Was there ever so fatal an adventure! +To fly into that very ship, for refuge, +Where the only person, we would shun, commands! +This mischief is so strange, it could not happen, +But was the plot and juggle of our fate, +To free itself, and cast the blame on us. + +_Gons_. This is not yet our fortune's utmost malice; +The gall remains behind. This ship was that, +Which yesterday was mine; I can see nothing +Round me, but what's familiar to my eyes; +Only the persons new: Which makes me think, +Twas seized upon by Roderick, to revenge +Himself on me. + +_Man_. Tis wonderful indeed. + +_Amid_. The only comfort is, we are not known; +For when we entered it was dark. + +_Hip_. That comfort +Is of as short continuance as the night; +The day will soon discover us. + +_Man_. Some way must be invented to get out. + +_Hip_. Fair Julia, sadly pining by herself. +Sits on her bed; tears falling from her eyes, +As silently as dews in dead of night. +All we consult of must be kept from her: +That moment, that she knows of Roderick's life, +Dooms us to certain death. + +_Man_. 'Tis well considered. + +_Gons_. For my part, were not you and she concerned, +I look upon my life, like an estate, +So charged with debts, it is not worth the keeping. +We cannot long be undiscovered by them; +Let us then rush upon them on the sudden, +(All hope of safety placed in our despair) +And gain quick victory, or speedy death. + +_Man_. Consider first, the impossibility +Of the attempt; four men, and two poor boys, +(Which, added to our number, make us weaker) +Against ten villains, more resolved for death, +Than any ten among our holiest priests. +Stay but a little longer, till they all +Disperse to rest within their several cabins; +Then more securely we may set upon them, +And kill them half, before the rest can wake: +By this means too, the boys are useful for us, +For they can cut the throats of sleeping men. + +_Hip_. Now have I the greatest temptation in the world to reveal, +Thou art a woman. [_To AMIDEO_. + +_Amid_. If 'twere not for thy beauty, my master should know, +What a man he keeps. [_To HIPPOLITO_. + +_Hip_. Why should we have recourse to desperate ways, +When safer may be thought on? +'Tis like giving the extreme unction. +In the beginning of a sickness; +Can you imagine to find all asleep? +The wicked joy, of having such a booty +In their possession, will keep some awake; +And some, no doubt, will watch with wounded +Roderick. + +_Amid_. What would your wisdom now propose? + +_Hip_. To say +That some of us are sea-sick; (your complexion +Will make the excuse for us who are less fair:) +So, by good words and promises, procure +We may be set ashore, ere morning come. + +_Amid_. O, the deep reasons of the grave Hippolito!-- +As if 'twere likely, in so calm a season, +We should be sick so soon; or, if we were, +Whom should we chuse among us to go tell it? +For whoe'er ventures out must needs be known: +Or, if none knew us, can you think that pirates +Will let us go upon such easy terms, +As promising rewards?--Let me advise you. + +_Hip_. Now, we expect an oracle. + +_Amid_. Here are bundles, +Of canvas and of cloth, you see lie by us; +In which one of us shall sew up the rest, +Only some breathing place, for air, and food: +Then call the pirates in, and tell them, we, +For fear, had drowned ourselves: And when we come +To the next port, find means to bring us out. + +_Hip_. Pithily spoken!-- +As if you were to bind up marble statues, +Which only bore the shapes of men without, +And had no need of ever easing nature. + +_Gons_. There's but one way left, that's this;-- +You know the rope, by which the cock-boat's tied, +Goes down by the stern, and now, we are at anchor, +There sits no pilot to discover us; +My counsel is, to go down by the ladder, +And, being once there, unloose, and row to shore. + +_Man_. This, without doubt, were best; but there lies ever +Some one, or more, within the boat, to watch it. + +_Gons_. I'll slide down first, and run the venture of it; +You shall come after me, if there be need, +To give me succour. + +_Man_. 'Tis the only way. + +_Gons_. Go in to Julia, then, and first prepare her, +With knowledge of the pirates, and the danger +Her honour's in, among such barbarous people. + +_Man_. Leave it to me. + +_Amid_. Hippolito and Julia, +My rivals, like two pointed rocks appear; +And I, through both, must to Gonsalvo steer. [_Aside_. + +[_Exeunt all but HIPPOLITA_. + +_Hip_. As from some steep and dreadful precipice +The frighted traveller casts down his eyes, +And sees the ocean at so great a distance, +It looks as if the skies were sunk below him; +Yet if some neighbouring shrub (how weak soe'er) +Peeps up, his willing eyes stop gladly there, +And seem to ease themselves, and rest upon it: +So, in my desperate state, each little comfort +Preserves me from despair. Gonsalvo strove not +With greater care to give away his Julia, +Than I have done to part with my Gonsalvo; +Yet neither brought to pass our hateful wish. +Then, we may meet, since different ways we move, +Chasing each other in the maze of love. + [_Exit_. + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter Don RODORICK, carried by two Servants_. + + +_1 Serv_. It was the only way that could be thought on, +To get down by the ladder to the boat. + +_2 Serv_. You may thank me for that invention. + +_Rod_. What a noise is here, when the least breath's +As dangerous as a tempest. + +_2 Serv_. If any of those rogues should hear him talk, +In what a case were we? + +_Rod_. O, patience! patience!-- +This ass brays out for silence. + +_Enter, at the other end, MANUEL, leading JULIA, +GONSALVO, HIPPOLITO, and AMIDEO_. + +_Gons_. Hark! what noise is that? go softly. + + [_They meet on the middle of the stage_. + +_Rod_. Who's here? I am betrayed! and nothing grieves me, +But I want strength to die with honour. + +_Jul_. Roderick! +Is it thy voice, my love?--Speak, and resolve me, +Whether thou livest, or I am dead with thee? + +_Man_. Kill him, and force our way. + +_Rod_. Is Manuel there? +Hold up my arm, that I may make one thrust +At him, before I die. + +_Gons_. Since we must fall, +We'll sell our lives as dearly as we can. + +_1 Serv_. And we'll defend our master to the last. + [_Fight_. + +_Enter Pirates, without their Captain_. + +_1 Pirate_. What's the meaning of this uproar?--Quarrelling +Amongst yourselves at midnight? + +_2 Pirate_. We are come in a fit time to decide the +difference. + +_Man_. Hold, gentlemen! we're equally concerned. + [_To RODORICK'S Servants_. +We for our own, you for your master's safety; +If we join forces, we may then resist them, +If not, both sides are ruined. + +_1 Serv_. We agree. + +_Gons_. Come o'er on our side then. [_They join_. + +_1 Pirate_. A mischief on our captain's drowsiness; +We're lost, for want of him! [_They fight_. + +_Gons_. Dear madam, get behind; while you are safe, +We cannot be o'ercome. [_To JULIA_. + +[_They drive off the Pirates, and follow them off. +RODORICK remains on the ground_. + +_Rod_. I had much rather my own life were lost, +Than Manuel's were preserved. + +_Enter the Pirates, retreating before GONSALVO, &c_. + +_1 Pirate_. All's lost! they fight like devils, and our captain +Yet sleeping in his bed. + +_2 Pirate_. Here lies Don Roderick; +If we must die, we'll not leave him behind. + +[_Goes to kill him_. + +_Jul_. O, spare my Roderick's life; and, in exchange, +Take mine! I put myself within your power, +To save or kill. + +_1 Pirate_. So, here's another pawn, +For all our safeties. + +_Man_. Heaven! what has she done? + +_Gons_. Let go the lady, or expect no mercy!--The +least drop of her blood is worth all yours. +And mine together. + +_1 Pirate_. I am glad you think so:-- +Either deliver up your sword, or mine +Shall pierce her heart this moment. + +_Gons_. Here, here, take it. + +_Man_. You are not mad, to give away all hopes + +[_MANUEL holds him_ + +Of safety and defence, from us, from her, +And from yourself, at once! + +_Gons_. When she is dead, +What is there worth defending? + +_Man_. Will you trust +A pirate's promise, sooner than your valour? + +_Gons_. Any thing, rather than see her in danger. + +_1 Pirate_. Nay, if you dispute the matter!-- + +[_Holds his sword to her breast_. + +_Gons_. I yield, I yield!--Reason to love must bow: +Love, that gives courage, can make cowards too! + +[_Gives his sword_. + +_Jul_. O, strange effect of a most generous passion! + +_Rod_. His enemies themselves must needs admire it. + +_Man_. Nay, if Gonsalvo makes a fashion of it, +'Twill be valour to die tamely. [_Gives his_. + +_Hip_. I am for dying too with my dear master. + +_Amid_. My life will go as easily as a fly's; +The least fillip does it in this fright. + +_1 Pirate_. One call our captain up: Tell him, he +deserves little of the booty. + +_Jul_. It has so much prevailed upon my soul, +I ever must acknowledge it. [_To GONS_. + +_Rod_. Julia has reason, if she love him; yet, +I find I cannot bear it. [_Aside_. + +_Gons_. Say but, you love me; I am more than +paid. + +_Jul_. You ask that only thing, I cannot give;-- +Were I not Roderick's first, I should be yours; +My violent love for him, I know, is faulty; +Yet passion never can be placed so ill, +But that to change it is the greater crime. +Inconstancy is such a guilt, as makes +That very love suspected, which it brings; +It brings a gift, but 'tis of ill-got wealth, +The spoils of some forsaken lover's heart. +Love, altered once, like blood let out before, +Will lose its virtue, and can cure no more. + +_Gons_. In those few minutes which I have to live, +To be called yours, is all I can enjoy. +Roderick receives no prejudice by that; +I would but make some small acquaintance here, +For fear I never should enquire you out +In that new world, which we are going to. + +_Amid_. Then, I can hold no longer;--You desire, +In death, to be called hers; and all I wish, +Is, dying, to be yours. + +_Hip_. You'll not discover? [_Aside_. + +_Amid_. See here the most unfortunate of women, +That Angelina, whom you all thought lost; +And lost she was indeed, when she beheld +Gonsalvo first. + +_All_. How?--Angelina! + +_Rod_. Ha! +My sister! + +_Amid_. I thought to have fled love in flying Manuel, +But love pursued me in Gonsalvo's shape: +For him, I ventured all that maids hold dear; +The opinion of my modesty, and virtue, +My loss of fortune, and my brother's love. +For him, I have exposed myself to dangers, +Which, great themselves, yet greater would appear, +If you could see them through a woman's fear. +But why do I my right by dangers prove? +The greatest argument for love is love: +That passion, Julia, while he lives, denies, +He should refuse to give her when he dies: +Yet grant he did his life to her bequeath, +May I not claim my share of him in death? +I only beg, when all the glory's gone, +The heatless beams of a departing sun. + +_Gons_. Never was passion, hid so modestly, +So generously revealed. + +_Man_. We're now a chain of lovers linked in death; +Julia goes first, Gonsalvo hangs on her, +And Angelina holds upon Gonsalvo, +As I on Angelina. + +_Hip_. Nay, here's Honoria too:--You +look on me with wonder in your eyes, +To see me here, and in this strange disguise. + +_Jul_. What new miracle is this? Honoria! + +_Man_. I left you with my aunt at Barcelona, +And thought, ere this, you had been married to +The rich old man, Don Estevan de Gama. + +_Hip_. I ever had a strange aversion for him: +But when Gonsalvo landed there, and made +A kind of courtship, (though, it seems, in jest,) +It served to conquer me; which Estevan +Perceiving, pressed my aunt to haste the marriage. +What should I do? My aunt importuned me +For the next day: Gonsalvo, though I loved him, +Knew not my love; nor was I sure his courtship +Was not the effect of a bare gallantry. + +_Gons_. Alas! how grieved I am, that slight address +Should make so deep impression on your mind, +In three days time! + +_Hip_. That accident, in which +You saved my life, when first you saw me, caused it, +Though now the story be too long to tell. +Howe'er it was, hearing that night, you lay +Aboard your ship, thus, as you see, disguised, +In clothes belonging to my youngest nephew, +I rose ere day, resolved to find you out, +And, if I could, procure to wait on you +Without discovery of myself: but fortune +Crossed all my hopes. + +_Gons_. It was that dismal night +Which tore my anchor up, and tossed my ship, +Past hope of safety, many days together, +Until at length it threw me on this port. + +_Hip_. I will not tell you what my sorrows were, +To find you gone; but there was now no help. +Go back again, I durst not; but, in fine, +Thought best, as fast as my weak legs would bear me, +To come to Alicant, and find my sister, +Unknown to any else: But, being near +The city, I was seized upon by thieves, +From whom you rescued me.--The rest you know. + +_Gons_. I know too much indeed for my repose. + +_Enter Captain_. + +_Capt_. Do you know me? + +_Gons_. Now I look better on thee, +Thou seemest a greater villain than I thought thee. + +_Jul_ 'Tis he! + +_Hip_. That bloody wretch, that robbed us in +The woods. + +_Gons_. Slave! darest thou lift thy hand against me? +Darest thou touch any one whom he protects, +Who gave thee life? But I accuse myself, +Not thee: The death of all these guiltless persons +Became my crime, that minute when I spared thee. + +_Capt_. It is not all your threats can alter me +From what I have resolved. + +_Gons_. Begin, then, first +With me. + +_Capt_. I will, by laying here my sword. +[_Lays his sword at Gonsalvo's feet_. + +_All_. What means this sudden change? + +_Capt_. Tis neither new, nor sudden.--From that time +You gave me life, I watched how to repay it; +And Roderick's servant gave me speedy means +To effect my wish: For, telling me, his master +Meant a revenge on you, and on Don Manuel, +And then to seize on Julia, and depart, +I proffered him my aid to seize a vessel; +And having, by enquiry, found out yours, +Acquainted first the captain with my purpose, +To make a seeming mastery of the ship. + +_Man_. How durst he take your word? + +_Capt_. That I secured, +By letting him give notice to the ships +That lay about: This done, knowing the place +You were to fight on was behind the rock, +Not far from thence, I, and some chosen men, +Lay out of sight, that, if foul play were offered, +We might prevent it: +But came not in; because, when there was need, +Don Manuel, who was nearer, stepped before me. + +_Gons_. Then the boat, which seemed +To lie by chance, hulling not far from shore, +Was placed by your direction there? + +_Capt_. It was. + +_Gons_. You're truly noble; and I owe much more +Than my own life and fortunes to your worth. + +_Capt_. 'Tis time I should restore their liberty +To such of yours, as yet are seeming prisoners. +I'll wait on you again. [_Exit Captain_. + +_Rod_. My enemies are happy; and the storm, +Prepared for them, must break upon my head. + +_Gons_. So far am I from happiness, heaven knows +My griefs are doubled! +I stand engaged in hopeless love to Julia; +In gratitude to these:-- +Here I have given my heart, and here I owe it. + +_Hip_. Dear master, trouble not yourself for me; +I ever made your happiness my own; +Let Julia witness with what faith I served you. +When you employed me in your love to her, +I gave your noble heart away, as if +It had been some light gallant's, little worth: +Not that I loved you less than Angelina, +But myself less than you. + +_Gons_. Wonder of honour! +Of which my own was but a fainter shadow. +When I gave Julia, whom I could not keep, +You fed a fire within, with too rich fuel, +In giving it your heart to prey upon; +The sweetest offering that was ever burnt +Since last the Phoenix died. + +_Hip_. If Angelina knew, like me, the pride +Of noble minds, which is to give, not take, +Like me she would be satisfied, her heart +Was well bestowed, and ask for no return. + +_Amid_. Pray, let my heart alone; you'll use it as +The gipsies do our money; +If they once touch it, they have power upon't. + +_Enter the Servant, who appeared in the first act with GONSALVO_. + +_Serv_. O, my dear lord, Gonsalvo de Peralta! + +_Rod_. De Peralta, said you? You amaze me! + +_Gons_. Why?--Do you know that family in Seville? + +_Rod_. I am myself the elder brother of it. + +_Gons_. Don Rodorick de Peralta! + +_Rod_. I was so, +Until my mother died, whose name, de Sylva, +I chose, (our custom not forbidding it) +Three years ago, when I returned from Flanders: +I came here to possess a fair estate, +Left by an aunt, her sister; for whose sake +I take that name; and liked the place so well, +That never since have I returned to Seville. + +_Gons_. 'Twas then that change of name, which caused my letters +All to miscarry. What an happy tempest +Was this, which would not let me rest at Seville, +But blew me farther on, to see you here! + +_Amid_. Brother, I come to claim a sister's share: +But you're too near me, to be nearer now. + +_Gons_. In my room, let me beg you to receive +Don Manuel. + +_Amid_. I take it half unkindly, +You give me from yourself so soon: Don Manuel, +I know, is worthy, and, but yesterday, +Preserved my life; but, it will take some time +To change my heart. + +_Man_. I'll watch it patiently, as chemists do +Their golden birth; and, when 'tis changed, receive it +With greater care than they their rich elixir, +Just passing from one vial to another. + +_Rod_. Julia is still my brother's, though I lose her. + +_Gons_. You shall not lose her; Julia was born +For none but you; +And I for none but my Honoria: +Julia is yours by inclination; +And I, by conquest, am Honoria's. + +_Hon_. 'Tis the most glorious one that e'er was made: +And I no longer will dispute my happiness. + +_Rod_. Julia, you know my peevish jealousies; +I cannot promise you a better husband +Than you have had a servant. + +_Jul_. I receive you +With all your faults. + +_Rod_. And think, when I am froward, +My sullen humour punishes itself: +I'm like a day in March, sometimes o'ercast +With storms, but then the after clearness is +The greater. The worst is, where I love most, +The tempest falls most heavy. + +_Jul_. Ah! what a little time to love is lent! +Yet half that time is in unkindness spent. + +_Rod_. That you may see some hope of my amendment, +I give my friendship to Don Manuel, ere +My brother asks, or he himself desires it. + +_Man_. I'll ever cherish it. + +_Gons_. Since, for my sake, you become friends, my care +Shall be to keep you so. You, captain, shall +Command this carrack, and, with her, my fortunes. +You, my Honoria, though you have an heart +Which Julia left, yet think it not the worse; +'Tis not worn out, but polished by the wearing. +Your merit shall her beauty's power remove; +Beauty but gains, obligement keeps our love. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +THE +INDIAN QUEEN, +A +TRAGEDY, + + +WRITTEN BY THE +HON. SIR ROBERT HOWARD, +AND +MR DRYDEN. + + + +THE INDIAN QUEEN + +The plays of Sir Robert Howard were tolerated by his contemporaries, +on account of the rank, gallantry, and loyalty, of the author; at +least, we are now unable to discover any better reason for their +success. The Committee, alone, kept possession of the stage till our +time; and that solely supported by the humours of Teague, an honest +blundering Irish footman, such as we usually see in a modern farce. +From a hint, given by Langbaine, Sir Robert Howard seems to have been +suspected of frequent plagiarisms. At any rate it is certain, that, in +the composition of the Indian Queen, he was so fortunate, as to have +the assistance of our great poet, who was bound to him by ties of +personal obligation. + +It is, of course, difficult even to guess at the share which Dryden +had in the Indian Queen. Several of the characters have a strong +resemblance to others, which he afterwards drew in bolder colours. +Thus, Montezuma, who, like the hero of an ancient romance, bears +fortune to any side which he pleases to espouse, is justly pointed out +by Settle, as the prototype of Almanzor; though we look in vain for +the glowing language, which, though sometimes bordering on burlesque, +suits so well the extravagant character of the Moorish hero. Zempoalla +strongly resembles Nourmuhal in Aureng-Zebe; both shewing that high +spirit of pride, with which Dryden has often invested his female +characters. The language of the Indian Queen possesses, in general, +greater ease, and a readier flow of verse, than Sir Robert Howard +appears to have possessed, when unassisted. Of this he seems, +himself, to have been sensible; and alludes to Dryden's acknowledged +superiority, when maintaining against him the cause of dramatic blank +verse, as preferable to rhyme[1]. Besides general hints towards the +conception of the characters, and a superintendance of the dialogue, +it is probable, that Dryden wrote some entire scenes of the following +piece. In the third act particularly, the passage respecting the +incantation, which resembles that in the Indian Emperor, has strong +traces of our author's manner. + +[Footnote 1: "But writing the epistle in so much haste, I had almost +forgot one argument, or observation, which that author (Dryden) has +most good fortune in. It is in his Epistle Dedicatory, before his +essay of _Dramatic Poesie_; where, speaking of rhyme in plays, he +desires it may be observed, that none are violent against it, but such +as have not attempted it, or who have succeeded ill in the attempt: +Which, as to myself, and him, I easily acknowledge;--for, I confess, +none has written in that way better than himself, nor few worse than +I." + +_Introduction to the Great Favourite, or the Duke of Lerma_.] + +The Indian Queen was acted in 1664; and received, says Langbaine, with +great applause. It was printed in 1665. + + + +Prologue + +_As the music plays a soft air, the curtain rises slowly, and +discovers an Indian Boy and Girl sleeping under two plantain-trees; +and, when the curtain is almost up, the music turns into a tune +expressing an alarm, at which the Boy awakes, and speaks; + + +_Boy_. WAKE, wake, Quevira! our soft rest must cease, +And fly together with our country's peace! +No more must we sleep under plantain shade, +Which neither heat could pierce, nor cold invade; +Where bounteous nature never feels decay, +And opening buds drive falling fruits away. + +_Que_. Why should men quarrel here, where all possess +As much as they can hope for by success?-- +None can have most, where nature is so kind, +As to exceed man's use, though not his mind. + +_Boy_. By ancient prophecies we have been told, +Our world shall be subdued by one more old;-- +And, see, that world already hither come. + +_Que_. If these be they, we welcome then our doom! +Their looks are Such, that mercy flows from thence, +More gentle than our native innocence. + +_Boy_. Why should we then fear these, our enemies, +That rather seem to us like deities? + +_Que_. By their protection, let us beg to live; +They came not here to conquer, but forgive.-- +If so, your goodness may your power express, +And we shall judge both best by our success. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + +_The Inca of Peru_. +MONTEZUMA, _his General_. +ACACIS, _son to_ ZEMPOALLA. +TRAXALLA, _General to_ ZEMPOALLA. +GARUCCA, _a faithful subject to_ AMEXIA. +_The God of Dreams_. +ISMERON, _one of the prophets, a conjuror_. +_Officers and Soldiers. +Peruvians and Mexicans. +Priests_. + +AMEXIA, _the lawful queen of Mexico_. +ZEMPOALLA, _the usurping Indian Queen_. +ORAZIA,_daughter to the Inca_. +_Attendants of Ladies_. + + + +THE +INDIAN QUEEN. + + +ACT I. SCENE I. + + +_Enter Inca,_ ORAZIA, MONTEZUMA, ACACIS, _prisoners, with +Peruvians_. + + +_Inca_. Thrice have the Mexicans before us fled, +Their armies broke, their prince in triumph led; +Both to thy valour, brave young man, we owe; +Ask thy reward, but such as it may show +It is a king thou hast obliged, whose mind +Is large, and, like his fortune, unconfined. + +_Mont_. Young, and a stranger, to your court I +came, +There, by your favour, raised to what I am: +I conquer, but in right of your great fate, +And so your arms, not mine, are fortunate. + +_Inca_. I am impatient, till this debt be paid. +Which still encreases on me while delayed; +A bounteous monarch to himself is kind: +Ask such a gift as may for ever bind +Thy service to my empire, and to me. + +_Mont_. What can this gift, he bids me ask him, be! +Perhaps he has perceived our mutual fires, +And now, with ours, would crown his own desires; +'Tis so, he sees my service is above +All other payments but his daughter's love. + +[_Aside_. + +_Inca_. So quick to merit, and to take so slow? +I first prevent small wishes, and bestow +This prince, his sword and fortunes, to thy hand; +He's thine unasked; now make thy free demand. + +_Mont_. Here, prince, receive this sword, as only due + +[_Gives_ ACACIS _his sword_. + +To that excess of courage shown in you.-- +When you, without demand, a prince bestow, +Less than a prince to ask of you were low. + +_Inca_. Then ask a kingdom; say, where thou wilt +reign. + +_Mont_. I beg not empires, those my sword can gain; +But, for my past and future service too, +What I have done, and what I mean to do; +For this of Mexico which I have won, +And kingdoms I will conquer yet unknown; +I only ask from fair Orazia's eyes +To reap the fruits of all my victories. + +_1 Peru_. Our Inca's colour mounts into his face. + +_2 Peru_. His looks speak death. + +_Inca_. Young man of unknown race, +Ask once again; so well thy merits plead, +Thou shall not die for that which thou hast said; +The price of what thou ask'st, thou dost not know; +That gift's too high. + +_Mont_. And all besides too low. + +_Inca_. Once more I bid thee ask. + +_Mont_. Once more I make +The same demand. + +_Inca_. The Inca bids thee take +Thy choice, what towns, what kingdoms thou would'st have. + +_Mont_. Thou giv'st me only what before I gave. +Give me thy daughter. + +_Inca_. Thou deserv'st to die. +O thou great author of our progeny, +Thou glorious sun, dost thou not blush to shine, +While such base blood attempts to mix with thine! + +_Mont_. That sun, thou speak'st of, did not hide his face, +When he beheld me conquering with his race. + +_Inca_. My fortunes gave thee thy success in fight! +Convey thy boasted valour from my sight; +I can o'ercome without thy feeble aid. + +[_Exeunt Inca_, ORAZIA, _and Peruvians_. + +_Mont_. And is it thus my services are paid? +Not all his guards-- + +[_Offers to go,_ ACACIS _holds him_. + +_Aca_. Hold, sir. + +_Mont_. Unhand me. + +_Aca_. No, I must your rage prevent +From doing what your reason would repent; +Like the vast seas, your mind no limits knows, +Like them, lies open to each wind that blows. + +_Mont_. Can a revenge, that is so just, be ill? + +_Aca_. It is Orazia's father, you would kill. + +_Mont_. Orazia! how that name has charmed my sword! + +_Aca_. Compose these wild distempers in your breast; +Anger, like madness, is appeased by rest. + +_Mont_. Bid children sleep, my spirits boil too high; +But, since Orazia's father must not die, +A nobler vengeance shall my actions guide; +I'll bear the conquest to the conquered side, +Until this Inca for my friendship sues, +And proffers what his pride does now refuse. + +_Aca_. Your honour is obliged to keep your trust. + +_Mont_. He broke that bond, in ceasing to be just. + +_Aca_. Subjects to kings should more obedience pay. + +_Mont_. Subjects are bound, not strangers, to obey. + +_Aca_. Can you so little your Orazia prize, +To give the conquest to her enemies? +Can you so easily forego her sight? +I, that hold liberty more dear than light, +Yet to my freedom should my chains prefer, +And think it were well lost to stay with her. + +_Mont_. How unsuccessfully I still o'ercome! +I brought a rival, not a captive, home; +Yet I may be deceived; but 'tis too late +To clear those doubts, my stay brings certain fate. +[_Aside_. +Come, prince, you shall to Mexico return, +Where your sad armies do your absence mourn; +And in one battle I will gain you more +Than I have made you lose in three before. + +_Aca_. No, Montezuma, though you change your side, +I, as a prisoner, am by honour tied. + +_Mont_. You are my prisoner, and I set you free. + +_Aca_. 'Twere baseness to accept such liberty. + +_Mont_. From him, that conquered you, it should be sought. + +_Aca_. No, but from him, for whom my conqueror fought. + +_Mont_. Still you are mine, his gift has made you so. + +_Aca_. He gave me to his general, not his foe. + +_Mont_. How poorly have you pleaded honour's laws! +Yet shun the greatest in your country's cause. + +_Aca_. What succour can the captive give the free. + +_Mont_. A needless captive is an enemy. +In painted honour you would seem to shine; +But 'twould be clouded, were your wrongs like mine. + +_Aca_. When choler such unbridled power can +have, +Thy virtue seems but thy revenge's slave: +If such injustice should my honour stain, +My aid would prove my nation's loss, not gain. + +_Mont_. Be cozened by thy guilty honesty, +To make thyself thy country's enemy. + +_Aca_. I do not mean in the next fight to stain +My sword in blood of any Mexican, +But will be present in the fatal strife, +To guard Orazia's and the Inca's life. + +_Mont_. Orazia's life, fond man! First guard thy +own; +Her safety she must owe to me alone. + +_Aca_. Your sword, that does such wonders, cannot +be, +In an ill cause, secure of victory. + +_Mont_. Hark, hark! [_Noise of trampling_. + +_Aca_. What noise is this invades my ear? +Fly, Montezuma! fly, the guards are near: +To favour your retreat, I'll freely pay +That life, which you so frankly gave this day. + +_Mont_. I must retire; but those, that follow me, +Pursue their deaths, and not their victory. + + [_Exit_ MONT. + +_Aca_. Our quarrels kinder than our friendships +prove: +You for my country fight, I for your love. + +_Enter_ INCA _and Guards_. + +_Inca_. I was to blame to leave this madman free; +Perhaps he may revolt to the enemy, +Or stay, and raise some fatal mutiny. + +_Aca_. Stop your pursuits, for they must pass +through me. + +_Inca_. Where is the slave? + +_Aca_. Gone. + +_Inca_. Whither? + +_Aca_. O'er the plain; +Where he may soon the camp, or city, gain. + +_Inca_. Curse on my dull neglect! +And yet I do less cause of wonder find, +That he is gone, than that thou stayest behind. + +_Aca_. My treatment, since you took me, was so free, +It wanted but the name of liberty. +I with less shame can still your captive live, +Than take that freedom, which you did not give. + +_Inca_. Thou brave young man, that hast thy years outdone, +And, losing liberty, hast honour won, +I must myself thy honour's rival make, +And give that freedom, which thou would'st not take. +Go, and be safe.-- + +_Aca_. But that you may be so-- +Your dangers must be past before I go. +Fierce Montezuma will for fight prepare, +And bend on you the fury of the war, +Which, by my presence, I will turn away, +If fortune gives my Mexicans the day. + +_Inca_. Come, then, we are alike to honour just, +Thou to be trusted thus, and I to trust. + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II.--_Mexico_. + +_Enter_ ZEMPOALLA, TRAXALLA, _and attendants_. + + +_Zemp_. O my Acacis! +Does not my grief, Traxalla, seem too rude, +Thus to press out before my gratitude +Has paid my debts to you?--yet it does move +My rage and grief, to see those powers above +Punish such men, as, if they be divine, +They know will most adore, and least repine. + +_Trax_. Those, that can only mourn when they are crost, +May lose themselves with grieving for the lost. +Rather to your retreated troops appear, +And let them see a woman void of fear: +The shame of that may call their spirits home. +Were the prince safe, we were not overcome, +Though we retired: O, his too youthful heat, +That thrust him where the dangers were so great! +Heaven wanted power his person to protect +From that, which he had courage to neglect: +But since he's lost, let us draw forth, and pay +His funeral rites in blood; that we or they +May, in our fates, perform his obsequies, +And make death triumph when Acacis dies. + +_Zemp_. That courage, thou hast shown in fight, seems less +Than this, amidst despair to have excess: +Let thy great deeds force fate to change her mind: +He, that courts fortune boldly, makes her kind. + +_Trax_. If e'er Traxalla so successful proves, +May he then say he hopes, as well as loves; +And that aspiring passion boldly own, +Which gave my prince his fate, and you his throne? +I did not feel remorse to see his blood +Flow from the spring of life into a flood; +Nor did it look like treason, since to me +You were a sovereign much more great than he. + +_Zemp_. He was my brother, yet I scorned to pay +Nature's mean debts, but threw those bonds away; +When his own issue did my hopes remove, +Not only from his empire, but his love. +You, that in all my wrongs then bore a part, +Now need not doubt a place within my heart: +I could not offer you my crown and bed, +Till fame and envy with long time were dead; +But fortune does now happily present +Occasions, fit to second my intent. +Your valour may regain the public love, +And make the people's choice their queen's approve. + +[_Shout_. + +Hark, hark, what noise is this, that strikes my ear! + +_Trax_. 'Tis not a sound that should beget a fear; +Such shouts as these have I heard often fly +From conquering armies, crowned with victory. + +_Zemp_. Great God of vengeance, here I firmly vow, +Make but my Mexicans successful now, +And with a thousand feasts thy flames I'll feed; +And that I take shall on the altars bleed; +Princes themselves shall fall, and make thy shrine, +Died with their blood, in glorious blushes shine. + +_Enter a Messenger_. + +_Trax_. How now! +What news is this that makes thy haste a flight? + +_Mess_. Such as brings victory without a fight. +The prince Acacis lives-- + +_Zemp_. Oh, I am blest!-- + +_Mess_. Reserve some joy till I have told the rest. +He's safe, and only wants his liberty: +But that great man, that carries victory +Where'er he goes; that mighty man, by whom +In three set battles we were overcome; +Ill used (it seems) by his ungrateful king, +Does to our camp his fate and valour bring. +The troop gaze on him, as if some bright star +Shot to their aids; call him the god of war: +Whilst he, as if all conquest did of right +Belong to him, bids them prepare to fight; +Which if they should delay one hour, he swears +He'll leave them to their dangers, or their fears, +And shame, which is the ignoble coward's choice. +At this the army seemed to have one voice, +United in a shout, and called upon +The god-like stranger, "Lead us, lead us on." +Make haste, great sir, lest you should come too late, +To share with them in victory, or fate. + +_Zemp_. My general, go; the gods be on our side; +Let valour act, but let discretion guide. + +[_Exit_ TRAX. + +Great god of vengeance, +I see thou dost begin to hear me now: +Make me thy offering, if I break my vow. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + +_Enter_ INCA _and_ ORAZIA, _as pursued in a battle_. + + +_Oraz_. O fly, sir, fly; like torrents your swift foes +Come rolling on-- + +_Inca_. The gods can but destroy. +The noblest way to fly is that death shows; +I'll court her now, since victory's grown coy. + +_Oraz_. Death's winged to your pursuit, and yet you wait +To meet her-- + +_Inca_. Poor Orazia, time and fate +Must once o'ertake me, though I now should fly. + +_Oraz_. Do not meet death; but when it comes, then die. + +_Enter three Soldiers_. + +_3 Sold_. Stand, sir, and yield yourself, and that fair prey. + +_Inca_. You speak to one, unpractised to obey. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA. + +_Mont_. Hold, villains, hold, or your rude lives shall be +Lost in the midst of your own victory: +These have I hunted for;--nay, do not stare; +Be gone, and in the common plunder share. + +[_Exeunt Soldiers_. + +How different is my fate, from theirs, whose fame +From conquest grows! from conquest grows my shame. + +_Inca_. Why dost thou pause? thou canst not give me back, +With fruitless grief, what I enjoyed before; +No more than seas, repenting of a wreck, +Can with a calm our buried wealth restore. + +_Mont_. 'Twere vain to own repentance, since I know +Thy scorn, which did my passions once despise, +Once more would make my swelling anger flow, +Which now ebbs lower than your miseries: +The gods, that in my fortunes were unkind, +Gave me not sceptres, nor such gilded things; +But, whilst I wanted crowns, enlarged my mind +To despise sceptres, and dispose of kings. + +_Inca_. Thou art but grown a rebel by success, +And I, that scorned Orazia should be tied +To thee my slave, must now esteem thee less: +Rebellion is a greater guilt than pride. + +_Mont_. Princes see others' faults, but not their own; +'Twas you that broke that bond, and set me free: +Yet I attempted not to climb your throne, +And raise myself; but level you to me. + +_Oraz_. O, Montezuma, could thy love engage +Thy soul so little, or make banks so low +About thy heart, that thy revenge and rage, +Like sudden floods, so soon should overflow? +Ye gods, how much I was mistaken here! +I thought you gentle as the gall-less dove; +But you as humoursome as winds appear, +And subject to more passions than your love. + +_Mont_. How have I been betrayed by guilty rage, +Which, like a flame, rose to so vast a height, +That nothing could resist, nor yet assuage, +Till it wrapt all things in one cruel fate. +But I'll redeem myself, and act such things, +That you shall blush Orazia was denied; +And yet make conquest, though with wearied wings, +Take a new flight to your own fainting side. + +_Inca_. Vain man, what foolish thoughts fill thy swelled mind! +It is too late our ruin to recall; +Those, that have once great buildings undermined, +Will prove too weak to prop them in their fall. + +_Enter_ TRAXALLA, _with the former soldiers_. + +_1 Sold_. See, mighty sir, where the bold stranger stands, +Who snatched these glorious prisoners from our hands. + +_Trax_. 'Tis the great Inca; seize him as my prey, +To crown the triumphs of this glorious day. + +_Mont_. Stay your bold hands from reaching at what's mine, +If any title springs from victory; +You safer may attempt to rob a shrine, +And hope forgiveness from the deity. + +_Enter_ ACACIS. + +_Trax_. O, my dear prince, my joys to see you live +Are more than all that victory can give. + +_Aca_. How are my best endeavours crost by fate! +Else you had ne'er been lost, or found so late. +Hurried by the wild fury of the fight, +Far from your presence, and Orazia's sight, +I could not all that care and duty show, +Which, as your captive, mighty prince, I owe. + +_Inca_. You often have preserved our lives this day, +And one small debt with many bounties pay. +But human actions hang on springs, that be +Too small, or too remote, for us to see. +My glories freely I to yours resign, +And am your prisoner now, that once were mine. + +_Mont_. These prisoners, sir, are mine by right of war; +And I'll maintain that right, if any dare. + +_Trax_. Yes, I would snatch them from thy weak defence; +But that due reverence, which I owe my prince, +Permits me not to quarrel in his sight; +To him I shall refer his general's right. + +_Mont_. I knew too well what justice I should find +From an armed plaintiff, and a judge so kind. + +_Aca_. Unkindly urged, that I should use thee so; +Thy virtue is my rival, not my foe; +The prisoners fortune gave thee shall be thine. + +_Trax_. Would you so great a prize to him resign? + +_Aca_. Should he, who boldly for his prey designed +To dive the deepest under swelling tides, +Have the less title if he chance to find +The richest jewel that the ocean hides? +They are his due-- +But in his virtue I repose that trust, +That he will be as kind as I am just: +Dispute not my commands, but go with haste, +Rally our men, they may pursue too fast, +And the disorders of the inviting prey +May turn again the fortune of the day. + +[_Exit_ TRAX. + +_Mont_. How gentle all this prince's actions be! +Virtue is calm in him, but rough in me. + +_Aca_. Can Montezuma place me in his breast? + +_Mont_. My heart's not large enough for such a guest. + +_Aca_. See, Montezuma, see, Orazia weeps. + +[ORAZ. _weeps_. + +_Mont_. Acacis! is he deaf, or, waking, sleeps? +He does not hear me, sees me not, nor moves; +How firm his eyes are on Orazia fixt! +Gods, that take care of men, let not our loves +Become divided by their being mixt. + +_Aca_. Weep not, fair princess, nor believe you are +A prisoner, subject to the chance of war; +Why should you waste the stock of those fair eyes, +That from mankind can take their liberties? +And you, great sir, think not a generous mind +To virtuous princes dares appear unkind, +Because those princes are unfortunate, +Since over all men hangs a doubtful fate: +One gains by what another is bereft; +The frugal deities have only left +A common bank of happiness below, +Maintained, like nature, by an ebb and flow. + +[_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +ZEMPOALLA _appears seated upon a throne, frowning +upon her attendants; then comes down and speaks. + + +Zemp_. No more, you, that above your prince's +dare proclaim, +With your rebellious breath, a stranger's name. + +_1 Peru_. Dread empress-- + +_Zemp_. Slaves, perhaps you grieve to see +Your young prince glorious, 'cause he sprang from me; +Had he been one of base Amexia's brood, +Your tongues, though silent now, had then been +loud. + +_Enter TRAXALLA_. + +Traxalla, welcome; welcomer to me +Than what thou bring'st, a crown and victory. + +_Trax_. All I have done is nothing; fluttering +fame +Now tells no news, but of the stranger's name, +And his great deeds; 'tis he, they cry, by whom +Not men, but war itself is overcome; +Who, bold with his success, dares think to have +A prince to wear his chains, and be his slave. + +_Zemp_. What prince? + +_Trax_. The great Peruvian Inca, that of late +In three set battles was so fortunate, +Till this strange man had power to turn the tide, +And carry conquest into any side. + +_Zemp_. Would you permit a private man to have +The great Peruvian Inca for his slave? +Shame to all princes! was it not just now +I made a sacred, and a solemn vow, +To offer up (if blest with victory) +The prisoners that were took? and they shall die. + +_Trax_. I soon had snatched from this proud stranger's hand +That too great object for his bold demand; +Had not the prince, your son, to whom I owe +A kind obedience, judged it should be so. + +_Zemp_. I'll hear no more; go quickly take my guards, +And from that man force those usurped rewards; +That prince, upon whose ruins I must rise, +Shall be the gods', but more my sacrifice: +They, with my slaves, in triumph shall be tied, +While my devotion justifies my pride: +Those deities, in whom I place my trust, +Shall see, when they are kind, that I am just. [_Exit_. + +_Trax_. How gladly I obey! +There's something shoots from my enlivened frame, +Like a new soul, but yet without a name, +Nor can I tell what the bold guest will prove; +It must be envy, or it must be love: +Let it be either, 'tis the greatest bliss +For man to grant himself, all he dares wish; +For he, that to himself himself denies, +Proves meanly wretched, to be counted wise. +[_Exit_ TRAXALLA. + +SCENE III. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA _and_ ACACIS. + +_Aca_. You wrong, me, my best friend, not to believe +Your kindness gives me joy; and when I grieve, +Unwillingly my sorrows I obey: +Showers sometimes fall upon a shining day. + +_Mont._. Let me, then, share your griefs, that in +your fate +Would have took part. + +_Aca_. Why should you ask me that? +Those must be mine, though I have such excess; +Divided griefs increase, and not grow less. + +_Mont_. It does not lessen fate, nor satisfy +The grave, 'tis true, when friends together die; +And yet they are unwilling to divide. + +_Aca_. To such a friend nothing can be denied. +You, when you hear my story, will forgive +My grief, and rather wonder that I live; +Unhappy in my title to a throne, +Since blood made way for my succession: +Blood of an uncle too, a prince so free +From being cruel, it taught cruelty. +His queen Amexia then was big with child; +Nor was he gentler than his queen was mild; +Th'impatient people longed for what should come +From such a father, bred in such a womb; +When false Traxalla, weary to obey, +Took with his life their joys and hopes away. +Amexia, by the assistance of the night, +When this dark deed was acted, took her flight; +Only with true Garucca for her aid: +Since when, for all the searches that were made, +The queen was never heard of more: Yet still +This traitor lives, and prospers by the ill: +Nor does my mother seem to reign alone, +But with this monster shares the guilt and throne. +Horror choaks up my words: now you'll believe, +'Tis just I should do nothing else but grieve. + +_Mont_. Excellent prince! +How great a proof of virtue have you shown, +To be concerned for griefs, though not your own! + +_Aca_. Pray, say no more. + +_Enter a Messenger hastily_. + +_Mont_. How now, whither so fast? + +_Mess_. O sir, I come too slow with all my haste! +The fair Orazia-- + +_Mont_. Ha, what dost thou say? + +_Mess_. Orazia with the Inca's forced away +Out of your tent; Traxalla, in the head +Of the rude soldiers, forced the door, and led, +Those glorious captives, who on thrones once shined, +To grace the triumph, that is now designed. [_Exit_. + +_Mont_. Orazia forced away!--what tempests roll +About my thoughts, and toss my troubled soul! +Can there be gods to see, and suffer this? +Or does mankind make his own fate or bliss; +While every good and bad happens by chance, +Not from their orders, but their ignorance?-- +I will pull a ruin on them all, +And turn their triumph to a funeral. + +_Aca_. Be temperate, friend. + +_Mont_. You may as well advise +That I should have less love, as grow more wise. + +_Aca_. Yet stay--I did not think to have revealed +A secret, which my heart has still concealed; +But, in this cause since I must share with you, +'Tis fit you know--I love Orazia too: +Delay not then, nor waste the time in words, +Orazia's cause calls only for our swords. + +_Mont_. That ties my hand, and turns from thee that rage +Another way, thy blood should else assuage: +The storm on our proud foes shall higher rise, +And, changing, gather blackness as it flies: +So, when winds turn, the wandering waves obey, +And all the tempest rolls another way. + +_Aca_. Draw then a rival's sword, as I draw mine. +And, like friends suddenly to part, let's join + In this one act, to seek one destiny; + Rivals with honour may together die. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. + +ZEMPOALLA _appears seated upon her Slaves in triumph, +and the Indians, as to celebrate the victory, +advance in a warlike dance; in the midst of which +triumph_, ACACIS _and_ MONTEZUMA _fall in upon +them_. + +ZEMPOALLA _descends from her triumphant throne, +and_ ACACIS _and_ MONTEZUMA _are brought in before +her. + +Zemp_. Shame of my blood, and traitor to thy own: +Born to dishonour, not command a throne! +Hast thou, with envious eyes, my triumph seen? +Or couldst not see thy mother in thy queen? +Couldst thou a stranger above me prefer? + +_Aca_. It was my honour made my duty err; +I could not see his prisoners forced away, +To whom I owed my life, and you the day. + +_Zemp_. Is that young man the warrior so renowned? + +_Mont_. Yes, he, that made thy men thrice quit their ground. +Do, smile at Montezuma's chains; but know, +His valour gave thee power to use him so. + +_Trax_. Grant that it did, what can his merits be, +That sought his vengeance, not our victory? +What has thy brutish fury gained us more, +Than only healed the wounds, it gave before? +Die then, for, whilst thou liv'st, wars cannot cease; +Thou may'st bring victory, but never peace. +Like a black storm thou roll'st about us all, +Even to thyself unquiet, till thy fall. + [_Draws to kill him_. + +_Aca_. Unthankful villain, hold! + +_Trax_. You must not give +Him succour, sir. + +_Aca_. Why then, I must not live. +Posterity shall ne'er report, they had +Such thankless fathers, or a prince so bad. + +_Zemp_. You're both too bold to will or to deny: +On me alone depends his destiny. +Tell me, audacious stranger, whence could rise +The confidence of this rash enterprise? + +_Mont_. First tell me, how you dared to force from me +The fairest spoils of my own victory? + +_Zemp_. Kill him--hold, must he die?--why, let him die;-- +Whence should proceed this strange diversity. +In my resolves? +Does he command in chains? What would he do, +Proud slave, if he were free, and I were so? +But is he bound, ye gods, or am I free? +'Tis love, 'tis love, that thus disorders me. +How pride and love tear my divided soul! +For each too narrow, yet both claim it whole: +Love, as the younger, must be forced away.-- +Hence with the captives, general, and convey +To several prisons that young man, and this +Peruvian woman. + +_Trax_. How concerned she is! +I must know more. + +_Mont_. Fair princess, why should I +Involve that sweetness in my destiny? +I could out-brave my death, were I alone +To suffer, but my fate must pull yours on. +My breast is armed against all sense of fear; +But where your image lies, 'tis tender there. + +_Inca_. Forbear thy saucy love, she cannot be +So low, but still she is too high for thee. + +_Zemp_. Be gone, and do as I command; away! + +_Mont_. I ne'er was truly wretched till this day. + +_Oraz_. Think half your sorrows on Orazia fall, +And be not so unkind to suffer all: +Patience, in cowards, is tame hopeless fear, +But, in brave minds, a scorn of what they bear. + [_Exit Inca_, MONTEZUMA, ORAZIA, _and_ TRAXALLA. + +_Zemp_. What grief is this which in your face appears? + +_Aca_. The badge of sorrow, which my soul still wears. + +_Zemp_. Though thy late actions did my anger move, +It cannot rob thee of a mother's love. +Why shouldst thou grieve? +Grief seldom joined with blooming youth is seen; +Can sorrow be where knowledge scarce has been? +Fortune does well for heedless youth provide, +But wisdom does unlucky age misguide; +Cares are the train of present power and state, +But hope lives best that on himself does wait: +O happiest fortune if well understood, +The certain prospect of a future good! + +_Aca_. What joy can empire bring me, when I know +That all my greatness to your crimes I owe: + +_Zemp_. Yours be the joy, be mine the punishment. + +_Aca_. In vain, alas, that wish to Heaven is sent +For me, if fair Orazia must not live. + +_Zemp_. Why should you ask me what I cannot +give? +She must be sacrificed: Can I bestow +What to the gods, by former vows, I owe? + +_Aca_. O plead not vows; I wish you had not shown +You slighted all things sacred for a throne. + +_Zemp_. I love thee so, that, though fear follows still, +And horror urges, all that have been ill, +I could for thee +Act o'er my crimes again; and not repent, +Even when I bore the shame and punishment. + +_Aca_. Could you so many ill acts undertake, +And not perform one good one for my sake? + +_Zemp_. Prudence permits not pity should be shown +To those, that raised the war to shake my throne. + +_Aca_. As you are wise, permit me to be just; +What prudence will not venture, honour must; +We owe our conquest to the stranger's sword, +Tis just his prisoners be to him restored. +I love Orazia; but a nobler way, +Than for my love my honour to betray. + +_Zemp_. Honour is but an itch of youthful blood, +Of doing acts extravagantly good; +We call that virtue, which is only heat +That reigns in youth, till age finds out the cheat. + +_Aca_. Great actions first did her affections move, +And I, by greater, would regain her love. + +_Zemp_. Urge not a suit which I must still deny; +Orazia and her father both shall die: +Begone, I'll hear no more. + +_Aca_. You stop your ears-- +But though a mother will not, Heaven will hear; +Like you I vow, when to the powers divine +You pay her guiltless blood, I'll offer mine. [_Exit_. + +_Zemp_. She dies, this happy rival, that enjoys +The stranger's love, and all my hopes destroys; +Had she triumphed, what could she more have done, +Than robbed the mother, and enslaved the son? +Nor will I, at the name of cruel, stay: +Let dull successive monarchs mildly sway: +Their conquering fathers did the laws forsake, +And broke the old, ere they the new could make, +I must pursue my love; yet love, enjoyed, +Will, with esteem, that caused it first, grow less: +But thirst and hunger fear not to be cloyed, +And when they be, are cured by their excess. + +_Enter_ TRAXALLA. + +_Trax_. Now I shall see, what thoughts her heart +conceals; +For that, which wisdom covers, love reveals. [_Aside_. +Madam, the prisoners are disposed. + +_Zemp_. They are? +And how fares our young blustering man of war? +Does he support his chains with patience yet? + +_Trax_. He, and the princess, madam-- + +_Zemp_. Are they met? + +_Trax_. No: but from whence is all this passion +grown? + +_Zemp_. 'Twas a mistake. + +_Trax_. I find this rash unknown +Is dangerous; and, if not timely slain, +May plunge your empire in new wars again. + +_Zemp_. Thank ye; I shall consider. + +_Trax_. Is that all? +The army doat on him, already call +You cruel; and, for aught I know, they may +By force unchain, and crown him in a day. + +_Zemp_. You say, I have already had their curse +For his bad usage; should I use him worse? + +_Trax_. Yet once you feared his reputation might +Obscure the prince's in the people's sight. + +_Zemp_. Time will inform us best what course to +steer, +But let us not our sacred vows defer: +The Inca and his daughter both shall die. + +_Trax_. He suffers justly for the war; but why +Should she share his sad fate? A poor pretence, +That birth should make a crime of innocence. + +_Zemp_. Yet we destroy the poisonous viper's young, +Not for themselves, but those from whom they +sprung. + +_Trax_. O no, they die not for their parents' sake, +But for the poisonous seed which they partake. +Once more behold her, and then let her die, +If in that face or person you can see +But any place to fix a cruelty. +The heavens have clouds, and spots are in the moon; +But faultless beauty shines in her alone. + +_Zemp_. Beauty has wrought compassion in your +mind! + +_Trax_. And you to valour are become as kind. +To former services there's something due, +Yet be advised-- + +_Zemp_. Yes, by myself, not you. + +_Trax_. Princes are sacred. + +_Zemp_. True, whilst they are free: +But power once lost, farewell their sanctity: +'Tis power, to which the gods their worship owe, +Which, uncontrouled, makes all things just below: +Thou dost the plea of saucy rebels use; +They will be judge of what their prince must chuse: +Hard fate of monarchs, not allowed to know +When safe, but as their subjects tell them so. +Then princes but like public pageants move, +And seem to sway, because they sit above. [_Exit_. + +_Trax_. She loves him; in one moment this new +guest +Has drove me out from this false woman's breast; +They, that would fetter love with constancy, +Make bonds to chain themselves, but leave him free +With what impatience I her falsehood bear! +Yet do myself that, which I blame in her; +But interest in my own cause makes me see +That act unjust in her, but just in me. [_Exit_. + + +SCENE II. + +ISMERON _asleep.--Enter_ ZEMPOALLA. + + +_Zemp_. Ho, Ismeron, Ismeron! +He stirs not; ha, in such a dismal cell +Can gentle sleep with his soft blessings dwell? +Must I feel tortures in a human breast, +While beasts and monsters can enjoy their rest? +What quiet they possess in sleep's calm bliss! +The lions cease to roar, the snakes to hiss, +While I am kept awake, +Only to entertain my miseries. +Or if a slumber steal upon my eyes, +Some horrid dream my labouring soul benumbs +And brings fate to me sooner than it comes. +Fears most oppress when sleep has seized upon +The outward parts, and left the soul alone. +What envied blessings these cursed things enjoy! +Next to possess, 'tis pleasure to destroy. +Ismeron! ho, Ismeron, Ismeron! [_Stamps_. + +_Ism_. Who's that, that with so loud and fierce a call +Disturbs my rest? + +_Zemp_. She, that has none at all, +Nor ever must, unless thy powerful art +Can charm the passions of a troubled heart. + +_Ism_. How can you have a discontented mind, +To whom the gods have lately been so kind? + +_Zemp_. Their envious kindness how can I enjoy, +When they give blessings, and the use destroy? + +_Ism_. Dread empress, tell the cause of all your grief; +If art can help, be sure of quick relief. + +_Zemp_. I dreamed, before the altar that I led +A mighty lion in a twisted thread; +I shook to hold him in so slight a tie, +Yet had not power to seek a remedy: +When, in the midst of all my fears, a clove, +With hovering wings, descended from above, +Flew to the lion, and embraces spread, +With wings, like clasping arms, about his head, +Making that murmuring noise that cooing doves +Use, in the soft expression of their loves; +While I, fixed by my wonder, gazed to see +So mild a creature with so fierce agree: +At last the gentle dove turned from his head, +And, pecking, tried to break the slender thread, +Which instantly she severed, and released +From that small bond the fierce and mighty beast, +Who presently turned all his rage on me, +And, with his freedom, brought my destiny. + +_Ism_. Dread empress, this strange vision you relate +Is big with wonder, and too full of fate, +Without the god's assistance, to expound. +In those low regions, where sad night hangs round +The drowsy vaults, and where moist vapours steep +The god's dull brows, that sways the realm of sleep; +There all the informing elements repair, +Swift messengers of water, fire, and air, +To give account of actions, whence they came, +And how they govern every mortal frame; +How, from their various mixture, or their strife, +Are known the calms and tempests of our life: +Thence souls, when sleep their bodies overcome, +Have some imperfect knowledge of their doom. +From those dark caves those powers shall strait appear; +Be not afraid, whatever shapes they wear. + +_Zemp_. There's nothing, thou canst raise, can make me start; +A living form can only shake my heart. + +_Ism_. _You twice ten hundred deities, + To whom we daily sacrifice; + You powers, that dwell with fate below, + And see what men are doomed to do; + Where elements in discord dwell; + Thou god of sleep, arise and tell + Great Zempoalla what strange fate + Must on her dismal vision wait._ + +_Zemp_. How slow these spirits are! Call, make them rise, +Or they shall fast from flame and sacrifice. + +_Ism_. Great empress, +Let not your rage offend what we adore, +And vainly threaten, when we must implore. +Sit silently, and attend-- +While my powerful charms I end. + + _By the croaking of the toad, + In their caves that make abode; + Earthy Dun that pants for breath, + With her swelled sides full of death; + By the crested adders' pride, + That along the clifts do glide; + By thy visage fierce and black; + By the death's-head on thy back; + By the twisted serpents placed + For a girdle round thy waist; + By the hearts of gold that deck + Thy breast, thy shoulders, and thy neck: + From thy sleepy mansion rise, + And open thy unwilling eyes, + While bubbling springs their music keep, + That use to lull thee in thy sleep._ + +_God of Dreams rises_. + +_God_. Seek not to know what must not be revealed; +Joys only flow where fate is most concealed: +Too busy man would find his sorrows more, +If future fortunes he should know before; +For, by that knowledge of his destiny, +He would not live at all, but always die. +Enquire not, then, who shall from bonds be freed, +Who 'tis shall wear a crown, and who shall bleed: +All must submit to their appointed doom; +Fate and misfortune will too quickly come: +Let me no more with powerful charms be pressed; +I am forbid by fate to tell the rest. + +[_The god descends_. + +_Zemp_. Stay, cozener, thou, that hat'st clear truth like light, +And usest words dark as thy own dull night. +You tyrant gods, do you refuse to free +The soul, you gave, from its perplexity? +Why should we in your mercies still believe, +When you can never pity, though we grieve? +For you have bound yourselves by harsh decrees; +And those, not you, are now the deities. + [_Sits down sad_. + +_Ism_. She droops under the weight of rage and care: +You spirits, that inhabit in the air, +With all your powerful charms of music, try +To bring-her soul back to its harmony. + +SONG SUNG BY AERIAL SPIRITS. + + _Poor mortals, that are clogged with earth below, + Sink under love and care, + While we, that dwell in air, + Such heavy passions never know. + Why then should mortals be + Unwilling to be free + From blood, that sullen cloud, + Which shining souls does shroud? + Then they'll shew bright, + And like us light, + When leaving bodies with their care, + They slide to us and air_. + +_Zemp_. Death on these trifles! Cannot your art find +Some means, to ease the passions of the mind? +Or, if you cannot give a lover rest, +Can you force love into a scornful breast? + +_Ism_. Tis reason only can make passions less; +Art gives not new, but may the old increase; +Nor can it alter love in any breast, +That is with other flames before possessed. + +_Zemp_. If this be all your slighted arts can do, +I'll kindle other flames, since I must burn, +And all their temples into ashes turn. + +_Ism_. Great queen-- + +_Zemp. If you would have this sentence staid, +Summon their godheads quickly to your aid, +And presently compose a charm, that may +Love's flames into the stranger's breast convey, +The captive stranger, he whose sword and eyes +Wheree'er they strike, meet ready victories: +Make him but burn for me, in flames like mine, +Victims shall bleed, and feasted altars shine: +If not-- + Down go your temples, and your gods shall see + They have small use of their divinity. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I.--_The scene opens, and discovers_ MONTEZUMA +_sleeping in prison_. + +_Enter_ TRAXALLA _leading in_ ORAZIA. + + +_Trax_. Now take your choice, and bid him live or die; +To both shew pity, or shew cruelty: +'Tis you that must condemn, I'll only act; +Your sentence is more cruel than my fact. + +_Oraz_. You are most cruel, to disturb a mind, +Which to approaching fate was so resigned. + +_Trax_. Reward my passion, and you'll quickly prove +There's none dare sacrifice what I dare love. +Next to thee, stranger; wake, and now resign +The bold pretences of thy love to mine, +Or in this fatal minute thou shalt find-- + +_Mont_. Death, fool; in that thou may'st be just and kind: +'Twas I that loved Orazia, yet did raise +The storm, in which she sinks: Why dost thou gaze, +Or stay thy hand from giving that just stroke, +Which, rather than prevent, I would provoke? +When I am dead, Orazia may forgive; +She never must, if I dare wish to live. + +_Oraz_. Hold, hold--O Montezuma, can you be +So careless of yourself, but more of me? +Though you have brought me to this misery, +I blush to say I cannot see you die. + +_Mont_. Can my approaching fate such pity move? +The gods and you at once forgive and love. + +_Trax_. Fond fool, thus to mis-spend that little breath +I lent thee to prevent, not hasten, death: +Let her thank you she was unfortunate, +And you thank her for pulling on your fate; +Prove to each other your own destinies. [_Draws_. + +_Enter_ ZEMPOALLA _hastily, and sets a dagger to_ +ORAZIA'S _breast._ + +_Zemp_. Hold, hold, Traxalla, or Orazia dies.-- +O, is't Orazia's name that makes you stay? +'Tis her great power, not mine, that you obey. +Inhuman wretch, dar'st thou the murderer be +Of him, that is not yet condemned by me? + +_Trax_. The wretch, that gave you all the power you have, +May venture sure to execute a slave; +And quench a flame your fondness would have burn, +Which may this city into ashes turn, +The nation in your guilty passion lost; +To me ungrateful, to your country most: +But this shall be their offering, I their priest. + +_Zemp_. The wounds, thou giv'st, I'll copy on her breast: +Strike, and I'll open here a spring of blood, +Shall add new rivers to the crimson flood. +How his pale looks are fixed on her!--'tis so. +Oh, does amazement on your spirits grow? +What, is your public love Orazia's grown? +Could'st thou see mine, and yet not hide thy own? +Suppose I should strike first, would it not breed +Grief in your public heart to see her bleed? + +_Trax_. She mocks my passion; in her sparkling eyes +Death, and a close dissembled fury lies: +I dare not trust her thus. [_Aside_.]--If she must die, +The way to her loved life through mine shall lie. + +[_He puts her by, and steps before_ ORAZIA; _and +she runs before_ MONTEZUMA. + +_Zemp_. And he, that does this stranger's fate design, +Must, to his heart, a passage force through mine. + +_Trax_. Can fair Orazia yet no pity have? +'Tis just she should her own preserver save. + +_Zemp_. Can Montezuma so ungrateful prove +To her, that gave him life, and offers love? + +_Oraz_. Can Montezuma live, and live to be +Just to another, and unjust to me? +You need not be ungrateful; can she give +A life to you, if you refuse to live?-- +Forgive my passion; I had rather see +You dead, than kind to any thing but me. + +_Mont_. O, my Orazia! +To what new joys and knowledge am I brought! +Are death's hard lessons by a woman taught? +How to despise my fate I always knew; +But ne'er durst think, at once, of death and you: +Yet since you teach this generous jealousy, +I dare not wish your life, if I must die. +How much your love my courage does exceed! +Courage alone would shrink to see you bleed! + +_Zemp_. Ungrateful stranger! thou shalt please thy eyes, +And gaze upon Orazia while she dies!-- +I'll keep my vow!--It is some joy to see, +That my revenge will prove my piety. + +_Trax_. Then both shall die!--We have too long withstood, +By private passions urged, the public good. + +_Zemp_. Sure he dissembles; and, perhaps, may prove +My ruin, with his new ambitious love: +Were but this stranger kind, I'd cross his art, +And give my empire, where I gave my heart. +[_Aside_. Yet, thou ungrateful man, +Let thy approaching ruin make thee wise. + +_Mont_. Thee, and thy love, and mischief, I despise! + +_Zemp_. What shall I do? Some way must yet be tried;-- +What reason can she use whom passions guide! + +[_Aside. Trax_. Some black designs are hatching now:--False eyes +Are quick to see another's treacheries. + +[_Aside. Zemp_. Rash stranger, thus to pull down thy own fate! + +_Mont_. You, and that life you offer me, I hate. + +_Enter Jailor_. + +_Zemp_. Here, jailor, take--What title must he have? +Slave, slave!--Am I then captive to a slave?-- +Why art thou thus unwilling to be free? + +_Mont_. Death will release me from these chains, and thee. + +_Zemp_. Here, jailor, take this monster from my sight, +And keep him where it may be always night. +Let none come near him; if thou dost, expect +To pay thy life, the price of the neglect. + +_Mont_. I scorn thy pity, and thy cruelty; +And should despise a blessing sent from thee. + +_Zemp_. O, horror to my soul! take him away!-- +My rage, like dammed-up streams, swelled by some stay, +Shall, from this opposition, get new force, +And leave the bound of its old easy course.-- +Come, my Traxalla, let us both forgive, +And in these wretches' fates begin to live. +The altars shall be crowned with funeral boughs, +Peace-offerings paid,--but with unquiet vows. + [_Exeunt_ ZEMP. _and_ TRAX. + +_Oraz_. How are things ordered, that the wicked should +Appear more kind and gentle than the good? +Her passion seems to make her kinder prove, +And I seem cruel through excess of love: +She loves, and would prevent his death; but I, +That love him better, fear he should not die. +My jealousy, immortal as my love, +Would rob my grave below, and me above, +Of rest.--Ye gods, if I repine, forgive! +You neither let me die in peace, nor live. + +_Enter_ ACACIS, _Jailor, and Indian_. + +_Jail_. They are just gone, sir. + +_Aca_. 'Tis well: Be faithful to my just design, +And all thy prince's fortune shall be thine. + [_Exit_ ACACIS. + +_Ind_. This shall to the empress. [_Exit Indian_. + +_Oraz_. What can this mean!-- +'Twas Prince Acacis, if I durst believe +My sight; but sorrow may like joy deceive: +Each object different from itself appears, +That comes not to the eyes, but through their tears. + +_Enter_ ACACIS, _bringing in_ MONTEZUMA. +Ha!-- + +_Aca_. Here, sir, wear this again;--[_Gives a sword_. +Now follow me. + +_Mont_. So, very good;-- +I dare not think, for I may guess amiss; +None can deceive me while I trust in this. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ ORAZIA, _conducted by two Indians with their +swords drawn;_ MONTEZUMA, ACACIS _whispering +another Indian_. + + +_Aca_. Think what a weight upon thy faith I lay. + +_Ind_. I ne'er did more unwillingly obey. + +_Aca_. First, Montezuma, take thy liberty; +Thou gavest me freedom, here I set thee free: +We're equal now. Madam, the danger's great +Of close pursuit; to favour your retreat, +Permit we two a little while remain +Behind, while you go softly o'er the plain. + +_Oraz_. Why should I go before?--What's your intent?-- +Where is my father?--Whither am I sent? + +_Aca_. Your doubts shall soon be cleared. Conduct her on. + [_Exit_ ORAZIA. + +So, Montezuma, we are now alone. +That which my honour owed thee I have paid; +As honour was, so love must be obeyed. +I set Orazia, as thy captive, free; +But, as my mistress, ask her back from thee. + +_Mont_. Thou hast performed what honour bid thee do: +But friendship bars what honour prompts me to.-- +Friends should not fight. + +_Aca_. If friendship we profess, +Let us secure each others happiness: +One needs must die, and he shall happy prove +In her remembrance, t'other in her love. +My guards wait near; and, if I fail, they must +Give up Orazia, or betray their trust. + +_Mont_. Suppose thou conquer'st, would'st thou wander o'er +The south-sea sands, or the rough northern shore, +That parts thy spacious kingdom from Peru, +And, leaving empire, hopeless love pursue? + +_Aca_. By which of all my actions could you guess, +Though more your merit, that my love was less? +What prize can empire with Orazia bear? +Or, where love fills the breast, what room for fear? + +_Mont_. Let fair Orazia then the sentence give, +Else he may die whom she desires to live. + +_Aca_. Your greater merits bribe her to your side; +My weaker title must by arms be tried. + +_Mont_. Oh, tyrant love! how cruel are thy laws! +I forfeit friendship, or betray thy cause: +That person, whom I would defend from all +The world, that person by my hand must fall. + +_Aca_. Our lives we to each others friendship owe; +But love calls back what friendship did bestow: +Love has its cruelties, but friendship none; +And we now fight in quarrels not our own. [_Fight. + +Enter_ ORAZIA. + +_Oraz_. What noise is this?-- +Hold, hold! what cause could be so great, to move +This furious hatred?-- + +_Mont_. 'Twas our furious love.-- + +_Aca_. Love, which I hid till I had set you free, +And bought your pardon with my liberty; +That done, I thought, I less unjustly might +With Montezuma, for Orazia, fight; +He has prevailed, and I must now confess +His fortune greater, not my passion less; +Yet cannot yield you, till his sword remove +A dying rival, that holds fast his love. + +_Oraz_. Whoever falls, 'tis my protector still, +And then the crime's as great, to die as kill.-- +Acacis, do not hopeless love pursue; +But live, and this soft malady subdue. + +_Aca_. You bid me live, and yet command me die! +I am not worth your care;--Fly, madam, fly! +(While I fall here unpitied) o'er this plain, +Free from pursuit, the faithless mountains gain; +And these I charge, +As they would have me think their friendship true, +Leave me alone, to serve, and follow you: +Make haste, fair princess, to avoid that fate, +Which does for your unhappy father wait. + +_Oraz_. Is he then left to die, and shall he see +Himself forsaken, ere his death, by me? + +_Mont_. That would you do? + +_Oraz_. To prison I'll return, +And there, in fetters, with my father mourn. + +_Mont_. That saves not his, but throws your life +away. + +_Oraz_. Duty shall give what nature once must +pay. + +_Aca_. Life is the gift, which heaven and parents +give, +And duty best preserves it, if you live. + +_Oraz_. I should but further from my fountain fly, +And, like an unfed stream, run on and die: +Urge me no more, and do not grieve to see +Your honour rivalled by my piety. +[_She goes softly of, and often looks back_. + +_Mont_. If honour would not, shame would lead the way; +I'll back with her. + +_Aca_. Stay, Montezuma, stay!-- +Thy rival cannot let thee go alone, +My love will bear me, though my blood is gone. + +[_As they are going off,_ + +_Enter_ ZEMPOALLA, TRAXALLA, _the Indian that +went to tell her, and the rest, and seize them_. + +_Zemp_. Seize them!-- + +_Aca_. Oh, Montezuma, thou art lost. + +_Mont_. No more, proud heart, thy useless courage boast!-- +Courage, thou curse of the unfortunate! +That canst encounter, not resist, ill fate. + +_Zemp_. Acacis bleeds!-- +What barbarous hand has wounded thus my son? + +_Mont_. 'Twas I; by my unhappy sword 'twas done.-- +Thou bleed'st, poor prince, and I am left to grieve +My rival's fall. + +_Trax_. He bleeds, but yet may live. + +_Aca_. Friendship and love my failing strength renew; +I dare not die, when I should live for you; +My death were now my crime, as it would be +My guilt to live when I have set you free: +Thus I must still remain unfortunate, +Your life and death are equally my fate. + +ORAZIA _comes back_. + +_Oraz_. A noise again!--alas, what do I see! +Love, thou didst once give place to piety: +Now, piety, let love triumph awhile;-- +Here, bind my hands: Come, Montezuma, smile +At fortune; since thou sufferest for my sake, +Orazia will her captive's chains partake. + +_Mont_. Now, fate, thy worst. + +_Zemp_. Lead to the temple straight, +A priest and altar for these lovers wait: +They shall be joined, they shall. + +_Trax_. And I will prove +Those joys in vengeance, which I want in love. + +_Aca_. I'll quench your thirst with blood, and will destroy +Myself, and, with myself, your cruel joy. +Now, Montezuma, since Orazia dies, +I'll fall before thee, the first sacrifice; +My title in her death shall exceed thine, +As much as, in her life, thy hopes did mine: +And when with our mixed blood the altar's dyed, +Then our new title let the gods decide. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + +_The Scene opens, and discovers the Temple of the Sun, +all of gold, and four Priests, in habits of white and +red feathers, attending by a bloody altar, as ready +for sacrifice. + +Then enter the Guards_, ZEMPOALLA, _and_ TRAXALLA; +_Inca_, ORAZIA, _and_ MONTEZUMA,_ bound. As soon +as they are placed, the Priest sings_. + + +SONG. + + _You to whom victory we owe, + Whose glories rise + By sacrifice, + And from our fates below; + Never did your altars shine + Feasted with blood so near divine; + Princes to whom we bow, + As they to you:-- + Thus you can ravish from a throne, + And, by their loss of power, declare your own._ + +_Zemp_. Now to inflict those punishments, that are +Due to the authors of invasive war; +Who, to deceive the oppressed world, like you, +Invent false quarrels to conceal the true. + +_Inca_. My quarrel was the same, that all the gods +Must have to thee, if there be any odds +Betwixt those titles that are bad or good, +To crowns descended, or usurped by blood:-- +Swell not with this success; 'twas not to thee, +But to this man, the gods gave victory. + +_Mont_. Since I must perish by my own success, +Think my misfortunes more, my crimes the less; +And so, forgiving, make me pleased to die, +Thus punished for this guilty victory. + +_Inca_. Death can make virtue easy; I forgive: +That word would prove too hard, were I to live; +The honour of a prince would then deny, +But in the grave all our distinctions die. + +_Mont_. Forgive me one thing yet; to say, I love, +Let it no more your scorn and anger move; +Since, dying in one flame, my ashes must +Embrace and mingle with Orazia's dust. + +_Inca_. Name thy bold love no more, lest that last breath, +Which should forgive, I stifle with my death. + +_Oraz_. Oh, my dear father! Oh, why may not I, +Since you gave life to me, for you now die? + +_Mont_. 'Tis I, that wrought this mischief, ought to fall +A just and willing sacrifice for all. +Now, Zempoalla, be both just and kind, +And, in my fate, let me thy mercy find: +Be grateful, then, and grant me that esteem, +That as alive, so dead, I may redeem. + +_Oraz_. O, do not for her cruel mercy move; +None should ask pity but from those they love. + +[_Weeps_. + +_Inca_. Fond girl! to let thy disobedient eyes +Show a concern for him, whom I despise. + +_Oraz_. How love and nature may divide a breast, +At once by both their powers severely prest! +Yet, sir, since love seems less, you may forgive; +I would not have you die, nor have him live; +Yet if he dies, alas! what shall I do? +I cannot die with him, and live with you. + +_Mont_. How vainly we pursue this generous strife, +Parting in death more cruel than in life!-- +Weep not, we both shall have one destiny; +As in one flame we lived, in one we'll die. + +_Trax_. Why do we waste in vain these precious hours? +Each minute of his life may hazard ours: +The nation does not live whilst he enjoys +His life, it is his safety that destroys. +He shall fall first, and teach the rest to die. + +_Zemp_. Hold!-- +Who is it that commands;--ha! you, or I?-- +Your zeal grows saucy!--sure, you may allow +Your empress freedom first to pay her vow. + +_Trax_. She may allow--a justice to be done +By him, that raised his empress to her throne. + +_Zemp_. You are too bold,-- + +_Trax_. And you too passionate. + +_Zemp_. Take heed, with his, you urge not your own fate.-- +For all this pity is now due to me. + +_Mont_. I hate thy offered mercy more than thee. + +_Trax_. Why will not then the fair Orazia give +Life to herself, and let Traxalla live? + +_Mont_. Orazia will not live, and let me die; +She taught me first this cruel jealousy. + +_Oraz_. I joy that you have learned it!-- +That flame not like immortal love appears. +Where death can cool its warmth, or kill its fears. + +_Zemp_. What shall I do? am I so quite forlorn, +No help from my own pride, nor from his scorn! +My rival's death may more effectual prove; +He, that is robbed of hope, may cease to love:-- +Here, lead these offerings to their deaths. + +_Trax_. Let none +Obey but he, that will pull on his own! + +_Zemp_. Tempt me not thus; false and ungrateful too! + +_Trax_. Just as ungrateful, and as false, as you. + +_Zemp_. 'Tis thy false love that fears her destiny. + +_Trax_. And your false love that fears to have him die. + +_Zemp_. Seize the bold traitor! + +_Trax_. What a slighted frown +Troubles your brow! feared nor obeyed by none; +Come, prepare for sacrifice. + +_Enter_ ACACIS _weakly_. + +_Aca_. Hold, hold! such sacrifices cannot be +Devotions, but a solemn cruelty: +How can the gods delight in human blood? +Think them not cruel, if you think them good. +In vain we ask that mercy, which they want, +And hope that pity, which they hate to grant. + +_Zemp_. Retire, Acacis;-- +Preserve thyself, for 'tis in vain to waste +Thy breath for them: The fatal vow is past. + +_Aca_. To break that vow is juster than commit +A greater crime, by your preserving it. + +_Zemp_. The gods themselves their own will best express +To like the vow, by giving the success. + +_Aca_. If all things by success are understood, +Men, that make war, grow wicked to be good: +But did you vow, those that were overcome, +And he that conquered, both, should share one doom? +There's no excuse; for one of these must be +Not your devotion, but your cruelty. + +_Trax_. To that rash stranger, sir, we nothing owe; +What he had raised, he strove to overthrow: +That duty lost, which should our actions guide, +Courage proves guilt, when merits swell to pride. + +_Aca_. Darest thou, who didst thy prince's life betray, +Once name that duty, thou hast thrown away? +Like thy injustice to this stranger shown, +To tax him with a guilt, that is thy own?-- +Can you, brave soldiers, suffer him to die, +That gave you life, in giving victory? +Look but upon this stranger, see those hands, +That brought you freedom, fettered up in bands. +Not one looks up,-- +Lest sudden pity should their hearts surprise, +And steal into their bosoms through their eyes. + +_Zemp_. Why thus, in vain, are thy weak spirits prest? +Restore thyself to thy more needful rest. + +_Aca_. And leave Orazia!-- + +_Zemp_. Go, you must resign: +For she must be the gods'; not yours, nor mine. + +_Aca_. You are my mother, and my tongue is tied +So much by duty, that I dare not chide.-- +Divine Orazia! +Can you have so much mercy to forgive? +I do not ask it with design to live, +But in my death to have my torments cease: +Death is not death, when it can bring no peace. + +_Oraz_. I both forgive, and pity;-- + +_Aca_. O, say no more, lest words less kind destroy +What these have raised in me of peace and joy: +You said, you did both pity and forgive; +You would do neither, should Acacis live. +By death alone the certain way appears, +Thus to hope mercy, and deserve your tears. + +[_Stabs himself_. + +_Zemp_. O, my Acacis! +What cruel cause could urge this fatal deed?-- + +[_Weeps_. + +He faints!--help, help! some help! or he will bleed +His life, and mine, away!-- +Some water there!--Not one stirs from his place! +I'll use my tears to sprinkle on his face. + +_Aca_. Orazia,-- + +_Zemp_. Fond child! why dost thou call upon her name? +I am thy mother. + +_Aca_. No, you are my shame. +That blood is shed that you had title in, +And with your title may it end your sin!-- +Unhappy prince, you may forgive me now, +Thus bleeding for my mother's cruel vow. + +_Inca_. Be not concerned for me; +Death's easier than the changes I have seen: +I would not live to trust the world again. + +_Mont_. Into my eyes sorrow begins to creep; +When hands are tied, it is no shame to weep. + +_Aca_. Dear Montezuma, +I may be still your friend, though I must die +Your rival in her love: Eternity +Has room enough for both; there's no desire, +Where to enjoy is only to admire: +There we'll meet friends, when this short storm is past. + +_Mont_. Why must I tamely wait to perish last? + +_Aca_. Orazia weeps, and my parched soul appears +Refreshed by that kind shower of pitying tears; +Forgive those faults my passion did commit, +'Tis punished with the life that nourished it; +I had no power in this extremity +To save your life, and less to see you die. +My eyes would ever on this object stay, +But sinking nature takes the props away. +Kind death, +To end with pleasures all my miseries, +Shuts up your image in my closing eyes. + +[_Dies_. + +_Enter a Messenger_. + +_Mess_. To arms, to arms! + +_Trax_. From whence this sudden fear? + +_Mess_. Stand to your guard, my lord, the danger's near: +From every quarter crowds of people meet, +And, leaving houses empty, fill the street. + +[_Exit Mess_. + +_Trax_. Fond queen, thy fruitless tears a while defer; +Rise, we must join again--Not speak, nor stir! +I hear the people's voice like winds that roar, +When they pursue the flying waves to shore. + +_Enter Second Messenger_. + +_2 Mess_. Prepare to fight, my lord; the banished queen, +With old Garucca, in the streets are seen. + +_Trax_. We must go meet them or it be too late; +Yet, madam, rise; have you no sense of fate? + +_Enter third Messenger_. + +_3 Mess_. King Montezuma their loud shouts proclaim, +The city rings with their new sovereign's name; +The banished queen declares he is her son, +And to his succour all the people run. + + [ZEMPOALLA _rises_. + +_Zemp_. Can this be true? O love! O fate! have I +Thus doated on my mortal enemy? + +_Trax_. To my new prince I thus my homage pay; +Your reign is short, young king-- + +_Zemp_. Traxalla, stay-- +'Tis to my hand that he must owe his fate, +I will revenge at once my love and hate. + +[_She sets a dagger to_ MONTEZUMA'S _breast_. + +_Trax_. Strike, strike, the conquering enemy is near. +My guards are passed, while you detain me here. + +_Zemp_. Die then, ungrateful, die; Amexia's son +Shall never triumph on Acacis' throne. +Thy death must my unhappy flames remove: +Now where is thy defence--against my love? + +[_She cuts the cords, and gives him the dagger_. + +_Trax_. Am I betrayed? +[_He draws and thrusts at_ MONTEZUMA, +_he puts it by and kills him_. + +_Mont_. So may all rebels die: +This end has treason joined with cruelty. + +_Zemp_. Live thou whom I must love, and yet must hate; +She gave thee life, who knows it brings her fate. + +_Mont_. Life is a trifle which I would not take, +But for Orazia's and her father's sake: +Now, Inca, hate me, if thou canst; for he, +Whom thou hast scorned, will die, or rescue thee. + +_As he goes to attack the guards with_ TRAXALLA'S +_sword, enter_ AMEXIA, GARUCCA, _Indians, driving +some of the other party before them_. + +_Gar_. He lives; ye gods, he lives! great queen, see here +Your coming joys, and your departing fear. + +_Amex_. Wonder and joy so fast together flow, +Their haste to pass has made their passage slow; +Like struggling waters in a vessel pent, +Whose crowding drops choak up the narrow vent. +My son!-- + +[_She embraces him_. + +_Mont_. I am amazed! it cannot be +That fate has such a joy in store for me. + +_Amex_. Can I not gain belief that this is true? + +_Mont_. It is my fortune I suspect, not you. + +_Gar_. First ask him if he old Garucca know. + +_Mont_. My honoured father! let me fall thus low. + +_Gar_. Forbear, great prince; 'tis I must pay to you +That adoration, as my sovereign's due: +For, from my humble race you did not spring; +You are the issue of our murdered king, +Sent by that traitor to his blest abode, +Whom, to be made a king, he made a god: +The story is too full of fate to tell, +Or what strange fortune our lost queen befel. + +_Amex_. That sad relation longer time will crave; +I lived obscure, he bred you in a cave, +But kept the mighty secret from your ear, +Lest heat of blood to some strange course should steer +Your youth. + +_Mont_. I owe him all, that now I am; +He taught me first the noble thirst of fame. +Shewed me the baseness of unmanly fear, +Till the unlicked whelp I plucked from the rough bear, +And made the ounce and tyger give me way, +While from their hungry jaws I snatched the prey: +'Twas he that charged my young arms first with toils, +And drest me glorious in my savage spoils. + +_Gar_. You spent in shady forest all the day, +And joyed, returning, to shew me the prey, +To tell the story, to describe the place, +With all the pleasures of the boasted chace; +Till fit for arms, I reaved you from your sport, +To train your youth in the Peruvian court: +I left you there, and ever since have been +The sad attendant of my exiled queen. + +_Zemp_. My fatal dream comes to my memory; +That lion, whom I held in bonds, was he, +Amexia was the dove that broke his chains; +What now but Zempoalla's death remains? + +_Mont_. Pardon, fair princess, if I must delay +My love a while, my gratitude to pay. +Live, Zempoalla--free from dangers live, +For present merits I past crimes forgive: +Oh, might she hope Orazia's pardon, too! + +_Oraz_. I would have none condemned for loving you; +In me her merit much her fault o'erpowers; +She sought my life, but she preserved me yours. + +_Amex_. Taught by my own, I pity her estate, +And wish her penitence, but not her fate. + +_Inca_. I would not be the last to bid her live; +Kings best revenge their wrongs, when they forgive. + +_Zemp_. I cannot yet forget what I have been: +Would you give life to her, that was a queen? +Must you then give, and must I take? there's yet +One way, that's by refusing, to be great: +You bid me live--bid me be wretched too; +Think, think, what pride, unthroned, must undergo: +Look on this youth, Amexia, look, and then +Suppose him yours, and bid me live again; +A greater sweetness on these lips there grows, +Than breath shut out from a new-folded rose: +What lovely charms on these cold cheeks appear! +Could any one hate death, and see it here? +But thou art gone-- + +_Mont_. O that you would believe +Acacis lives in me, and cease to grieve. + +_Zemp_. Yes, I will cease to grieve, and cease to be. +His soul stays watching in his wound for me; +All that could render life desired is gone, +Orazia has my love, and you my throne, +And death, Acacis--yet I need not die, +You leave me mistress of my destiny; +In spite of dreams, how am I pleased to see, +Heaven's truth, or falsehood, should depend on me! +But I will help the Gods; +The greatest proof of courage we can give, +Is then to die when we have power to live. [_Kills herself_. + +_Mont_. How fatally that instrument of death +Was hid-- + +_Amex_. She has expired her latest breath. + +_Mont_. But there lies one, to whom all grief is due. + +_Oraz_. None e'er was so unhappy and so true. + +_Mont_. Your pardon, royal sir. + +_Inca_. You have my love. [_Gives him ORAZIA_. + +_Amex_. The gods, my son, your happy choice approve. + +_Mont_. Come, my Orazia, then, and pay with me, +[_Leads her to ACACIS_. +Some tears to poor Acacis' memory; +So strange a fate for men the gods ordain, +Our clearest sunshine should be mixt with rain; +How equally our joys and sorrows move! +Death's fatal triumphs, joined with those of love. +Love crowns the dead, and death crowns him that lives, +Each gains the conquest, which the other gives. +[_Exeunt omnes_. + + +EPILOGUE. + +SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA. + + +You see what shifts we are enforced to try, +To help out wit with some variety; +Shows may be found that never yet were seen, +'Tis hard to find such wit as ne'er has been: +You have seen all that this old world can do, +We, therefore, try the fortune of the new, +And hope it is below your aim to hit +At untaught nature with your practised wit: +Our naked Indians, then, when wits appear, +Would as soon chuse to have the Spaniards here. +'Tis true, you have marks enough, the plot, the show, +The poet's scenes, nay, more, the painter's too; +If all this fail, considering the cost, +'Tis a true voyage to the Indies lost: +But if you smile on all, then these designs, +Like the imperfect treasure of our minds, +Will pass for current wheresoe'er they go, +When to your bounteous hands their stamps they owe. + + + + +THE +INDIAN EMPEROR +OR, +THE CONQUEST OF MEXICO +BY +THE SPANIARDS. + +BEING THE SEQUEL OF +THE INDIAN QUEEN. + + +Dum relego, scripsisse pudet, quia plurima cerno, + Me quoque, qui feci, judice, digna limi. OVID. + + + +TO THE +MOST EXCELLENT +AND MOST ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCESS, +ANNE, +DUCHESS OF MONMOUTH AND BUCCLEUCH, +WIFE TO THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS +AND HIGH-BORN PRINCE, +JAMES, +DUKE OF MONMOUTH[A]. + +[Footnote A: Anne Scott, duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth, was the +last scion of a race of warriors, more remarkable for their exploits +in the field, than their address in courts, or protection of +literature. She was the heiress of the Scotts, barons and earls of +Buccleuch; and became countess, in her own right, upon the death of +her elder sister, lady Mary, who married the unfortunate Walter +Scott, earl of Tarras, and died without issue in 1662. In 1665, Anne, +countess of Buccleuch, married James Fitzroy, duke of Monmouth, eldest +natural son of Charles II. They were afterwards created duke and +duchess of Buccleuch. She was an accomplished and high-spirited lady, +distinguished for her unblemished conduct in a profligate court. +It was her patronage which first established Dryden's popularity; a +circumstance too honourable to her memory to be here suppressed.] + + +May it please Your Grace, +The favour which heroic plays have lately found upon our theatres, has +been wholly derived to them from the countenance and approbation they +have received at court. The most eminent persons for wit and honour +in the royal circle having so far owned them, that they have judged +no way so fit as verse to entertain a noble audience, or to express +a noble passion; and among the rest which have been written in this +kind, they have been so indulgent to this poem, as to allow it no +inconsiderable place. Since, therefore, to the court I owe its fortune +on the stage; so, being now more publicly exposed in print, I humbly +recommend it to your grace's protection, who by all knowing persons +are esteemed a principal ornament of the court. But though the rank +which you hold in the royal family might direct the eyes of a poet to +you, yet your beauty and goodness detain and fix them. High objects, +it is true, attract the sight; but it looks up with pain on craggy +rocks and barren mountains, and continues not intent on any object, +which is wanting in shades and greens to entertain it. Beauty, in +courts, is so necessary to the young, that those, who are without it, +seem to be there to no other purpose than to wait on the triumphs of +the fair; to attend their motions in obscurity, as the moon and stars +do the sun by day; or, at best, to be the refuge of those hearts which +others have despised; and, by the unworthiness of both, to give and +take a miserable comfort. But as needful as beauty is, virtue and +honour are yet more: The reign of it without their support is unsafe +and short, like that of tyrants. Every sun which looks on beauty +wastes it; and, when it once is decaying, the repairs of art are of as +short continuance, as the after-spring, when the sun is going +further off. This, madam, is its ordinary fate; but yours, which is +accompanied by virtue, is not subject to that common destiny. Your +grace has not only a long time of youth in which to flourish, but +you have likewise found the way, by an untainted preservation of your +honour, to make that perishable good more lasting: And if beauty, like +wines, could be preserved, by being mixed and embodied with others of +their own natures, then your grace's would be immortal, since no +part of Europe can afford a parallel to your noble lord in masculine +beauty, and in goodliness of shape. To receive the blessings and +prayers of mankind, you need only to be seen together: We are ready +to conclude, that you are a pair of angels sent below to make virtue +amiable in your persons, or to sit to poets when they would pleasantly +instruct the age, by drawing goodness in the most perfect and alluring +shape of nature. But though beauty be the theme on which poets love to +dwell, I must be forced to quit it as a private praise, since you have +deserved those which are more public: For goodness and humanity, which +shine in you, are virtues which concern mankind; and, by a certain +kind of interest, all people agree in their commendation, because the +profit of them may extend to many. It is so much your inclination to +do good, that you stay not to be asked; which is an approach so nigh +the Deity, that human nature is not capable of a nearer. It is my +happiness, that I can testify this virtue of your grace's by my +own experience; since I have so great an aversion from soliciting +court-favours, that I am ready to look on those as very bold, who +dare grow rich there without desert. But I beg your grace's pardon for +assuming this virtue of modesty to myself, which the sequel of this +discourse will no way justify: For in this address I have already +quitted the character of a modest man, by presenting you this poem as +an acknowledgment, which stands in need of your protection; and which +ought no more to be esteemed a present, than it is accounted bounty +in the poor, when they bestow a child on some wealthy friend, who +will better breed it up. Offsprings of this nature are like to be so +numerous with me, that I must be forced to send some of them abroad; +only this is like to be more fortunate than his brothers, because I +have landed him on a hospitable shore. Under your patronage Montezuma +hopes he is more safe than in his native Indies; and therefore comes +to throw himself at your grace's feet, paying that homage to your +beauty, which he refused to the violence of his conquerors. He begs +only, that when he shall relate his sufferings, you will consider +him as an Indian Prince, and not expect any other eloquence from his +simplicity, than what his griefs have furnished him withal. His story +is, perhaps, the greatest which was ever represented in a poem of this +nature; the action of it including the discovery and conquest of a new +world. In it I have neither wholly followed the truth of the history, +nor altogether left it; but have taken all the liberty of a poet, +to add, alter, or diminish, as I thought might best conduce to +the beautifying of my work: it being not the business of a poet to +represent historical truth, but probability. But I am not to make +the justification of this poem, which I wholly leave to your grace's +mercy. It is an irregular piece, if compared with many of Corneille's, +and, if I may make a judgment of it, written with more flame than art; +in which it represents the mind and intentions of the author, who is +with much more zeal and integrity, than design and artifice, + +MADAM, +Your Grace's most obedient, +And most obliged servant, +JOHN DRYDEN, +_October_ 12. 1667. + + + +Betwixt 1664, when our author assisted Sir Robert Howard in composing +the preceding play, and the printing of the Indian Emperor in 1668, +some disagreement had arisen betwixt them. Sir Robert appears to have +given the first provocation, by prefixing to his tragedy of the Duke +of Lerma, or Great Favourite, in 1668, some remarks, which drew down +the following severe retort. It is therefore necessary to mention the +contents of the offensive preface. + +Sir Robert Howard begins, as one taking leave of the drama and +dramatic authors, "his too long acquaintances;" and unwilling again to +venture "into the civil wars of Censure, + +_Ubi--Nullos habitura triumphos_." + +He states his unwilling interference to be owing to the "unnecessary +understanding" of some, who endeavoured to apply as strict rules to +poetry as mathematics, which rendered it incumbent on him to justify +his having written some scenes of his tragedy in blank verse. In the +next paragraph, Dryden is expressly pointed out as the author of the +Essay on Dramatic Poetry; and is ridiculed for attempting to prove, +not that rhyme is more natural in a dialogue on the stage supposed to +be spoken _extempore_, but grander and more expressive. In like +manner, Sir Robert unfortunately banters our author for drawing from +Seneca an instance of a lofty mode of expressing so ordinary a thing +as _shutting a door_[A], instead of giving an example to the same +effect in English. + +[Footnote A: + +Reserate clusos regii postes laris. + +Howard's mistranslation of this passage seems to have been +inadvertent. In the Essay it is rendered, + +"Set wide the palace gates."] + +The author of the Duke of Lerma proceeds to attack the unities; +arguing, because it is impossible that the stage can represent exactly +a house, or that the time of acting can be extended to twenty-four +hours; therefore it is needless there should be any limitation +whatever as to time or place, since otherwise it must be inferred, +that there are degrees in impossibility, and that one thing may be +more impossible than another. + +The whole tone of the preface is that of one who wished to have it +supposed, that he was writing concerning a subject rather beneath his +notice, and only felt himself called forth to do so by the dogmatism +of those who laid down confident rules or laws in matters so trifling. +This affectation of supercilious censure appears deeply to have +provoked Dryden, and prompted the acrimony of the following Defence, +which he prefixed to a second edition of the Indian Emperor published +in 1668, probably shortly after the offence had been given. The angry +friends were afterwards reconciled; and Dryden, listening more to +the feelings of former kindness than of recent passion, cancelled the +_Defence_, which was never afterwards reprinted, till Congreve +collected our author's dramatic works. It is worthy of preservation, +as it would be difficult to point out deeper contempt and irony, +couched under language so temperate, cold, and outwardly respectful. + + + +A +DEFENCE +OF AN +ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY; +BEING +AN ANSWER TO THE PREFACE +OF THE +GREAT FAVOURITE, OR THE DUKE OF LERMA. + + +The former edition of "the Indian Emperor" being full of faults, which +had escaped the printer, I have been willing to overlook this second +with more care: and though I could not allow myself so much time as +was necessary, yet by that little I have done, the press is freed +from some errors which it had to answer for before. As for the more +material faults of writing, which are properly mine, though I see many +of them, I want leisure to amend them. It is enough for those who +make one poem the business of their lives, to leave that correct: yet, +excepting Virgil, I never met with any which was so in any language. + +But while I was thus employed about this impression, there came to my +hands a new printed play, called, "The Great Favourite, or, The Duke +of Lerma;" the author of which, a noble and most ingenious person, has +done me the favour to make some observations and animadversions upon +my Dramatic Essay. I must confess he might have better consulted his +reputation, than by matching himself with so weak an adversary. But +if his honour be diminished in the choice of his antagonist, it is +sufficiently recompensed in the election of his cause: which being the +weaker, in all appearance, as combating the received opinions of +the best ancient and modern authors, will add to his glory, if he +overcome; and to the opinion of his generosity, if he be vanquished, +since he engages at so great odds; and, so like a cavalier, undertakes +the protection of the weaker party. I have only to fear, on my +own behalf, that so good a cause as mine may not suffer by my ill +management, or weak defence; yet I cannot in honour but take the glove +when it is offered me; though I am only a champion by succession, +and no more able to defend the right of Aristotle and Horace, than an +infant Dimock[A] to maintain the title of a king. + +[Footnote A: The family of Dimock, or Dymock, are hereditary champions +of England; and, as such, obliged to maintain the king's title in +single combat against all challengers.] + +For my own concernment in the controversy, it is so small, that I can +easily be contented to be driven from a few notions of dramatic poesy; +especially by one, who has the reputation of understanding all things: +and I might justly make that excuse for my yielding to him, which the +philosopher made to the emperor; why should I offer to contend with +him, who is master of more than twenty legions of arts and sciences? +But I am forced to fight, and therefore it will be no shame to be +overcome. + +Yet I am so much his servant, as not to meddle with any thing which +does not concern me in his preface: therefore I leave the good sense +and other excellencies of the first twenty lines, to be considered by +the critics. As for the play of "The Duke of Lerma," having so much +altered and beautified it as he has done, it can justly belong to none +but him. Indeed they must be extremely ignorant, as well as envious, +who would rob him of that honour; for you see him putting in his claim +to it, even in the first two lines: + + Repulse upon repulse, like waves thrown back, + That slide to hung upon obdurate rocks. + +After this, let detraction do its worst; for if this be not his, it +deserves to be. For my part, I declare for distributive justice; and +from this, and what follows, he certainly deserves those advantages, +which he acknowledges to have received from the opinion of sober men. + +In the next place, I must beg leave to observe his great address in +courting the reader to his party: For, intending to assault all poets, +both ancient and modern, he discovers not his whole design at once, +but seems only to aim at me, and attacks me on my weakest side, my +defence of verse. + +To begin with me, he gives me the compellation of "The Author of a +Dramatic Essay;" which is a little discourse in dialogue, for the most +part borrowed from the observations of others: therefore, that I may +not be wanting to him in civility, I return his compliment, by calling +him, "The Author of the Duke of Lerma." + +But (that I may pass over his salute) he takes notice of my great +pains to prove rhyme as natural in a serious play, and more effectual +than blank verse. Thus indeed I did state the question; but he tells +me, "I pursue that which I call natural in a wrong application; For +'tis not the question, whether rhyme, or not rhyme, be best, or most +natural for a serious subject, but what is nearest the nature of that +it represents." + +If I have formerly mistaken the question, I must confess my ignorance +so far, as to say I continue still in my mistake: But he ought to have +proved that I mistook it; for it is yet but _gratis dictum_; I +still shall think I have gained my point, if I can prove that rhyme is +best, or most natural for a serious subject. As for the question as he +states it, whether rhyme be nearest the nature of what it represents, +I wonder he should think me so ridiculous as to dispute, whether prose +or verse be nearest to ordinary conversation. + +It still remains for him to prove his inference; that, since verse +is granted to be more remote than prose from ordinary conversation, +therefore no serious plays ought to be writ in verse: and when he +clearly makes that good, I will acknowledge his victory as absolute as +he can desire it. + +The question now is, which of us two has mistaken it; and if it appear +I have not, the world will suspect, "what gentleman that was, who was +allowed to speak twice in parliament, because he had not yet spoken to +the question[A];" and perhaps conclude it to be the same, who, as it +is reported, maintained a contradiction _in terminis_, in the +face of three hundred persons. + +[Footnote A: A sneer which Sir Robert aims at Dryden. Dryden had +written twice on the question of rhyming tragedies.] + +But to return to verse, whether it be natural or not in plays, is a +problem which is not demonstrable of either side: It is enough for me, +that he acknowledges he had rather read good verse than prose: for +if all the enemies of verse will confess as much, I shall not need +to prove that it is natural. I am satisfied if it cause delight; for +delight is the chief, if not the only, end of poesy: Instruction can +be admitted but in the second place, for poesy only instructs as it +delights. It is true, that to imitate well is a poet's work; but to +affect the soul, and excite the passions, and, above all, to move +admiration (which is the delight of serious plays), a bare imitation +will not serve. The converse, therefore, which a poet is to imitate, +must be heightened with all the arts and ornaments of poesy; and must +be such as, strictly considered, could never be supposed spoken by any +without premeditation. + +As for what he urges, that "a play will still be supposed to be a +composition of several persons speaking _extempore_, and that good +verses are the hardest things which can be imagined to be so spoken;" +I must crave leave to dissent from his opinion, as to the former part +of it: For, if I am not deceived, a play is supposed to be the work +of the poet, imitating, or representing, the conversation of several +persons: and this I think to be as clear, as he thinks the contrary. + +But I will be bolder, and do not doubt to make it good, though a +paradox, that one great reason why prose is not to be used in serious +plays, is, because it is too near the nature of converse: There may be +too great a likeness; as the most skilful painters affirm, that there +may be too near a resemblance in a picture: To take every lineament +and feature is not to make an excellent piece, but to take so much +only as will make a beautiful resemblance of the whole: and, with an +ingenious flattery of nature, to heighten the beauties of some parts, +and hide the deformities of the rest. For so says Horace, + + _Ut pictura poesis erit. &c.-- + Haec amat obscurum, vult haec sub luce videri, + Judicis argutum quae formidat acumen. + Et quae + Desperat tractata nitescere posse, relinquit._ + +In "Bartholomew Fair," or the lowest kind of comedy, that degree of +heightening is used, which is proper to set off that subject: It is +true the author was not there to go out of prose, as he does in his +higher arguments of comedy, "The Fox" and "Alchemist;" yet he does so +raise his matter in that prose, as to render it delightful; which +he could never have performed, had he only said or done those very +things, that are daily spoken or practised in the fair: for then the +fair itself would be as full of pleasure to an ingenious person as the +play, which we manifestly see it is not. But he hath made an excellent +lazar of it; the copy is of price, though the original be vile. You +see in "Catiline" and "Sejanus," where the argument is great, he +sometimes ascends to verse, which shews he thought it not unnatural in +serious plays; and had his genius been as proper for rhyme as it +was for humour, or had the age in which he lived attained to as much +knowledge in verse as ours, it is probable he would have adorned those +subjects with that kind of writing. + +Thus Prose, though the rightful prince, yet is by common consent +deposed, as too weak for the government of serious plays: and he +failing, there now start up two competitors; one, the nearer in blood, +which is Blank Verse; the other, more fit for the ends of government, +which is Rhyme. Blank Verse is, indeed, the nearer Prose, but he is +blemished with the weakness of his predecessor. Rhyme (for I will +deal clearly) has somewhat of the usurper in him; but he is brave, and +generous, and his dominion pleasing. For this reason of delight, +the ancients (whom I will still believe as wise as those who so +confidently correct them) wrote all their tragedies in verse, though +they knew it most remote from conversation. + +But I perceive I am falling into the danger of another rebuke from my +opponent; for when I plead that the ancients used verse, I prove not +that they would have admitted rhyme, had it then been written. All +I can say is only this, that it seems to have succeeded verse by the +general consent of poets in all modern languages; for almost all their +serious plays are written in it; which, though it be no demonstration +that therefore they ought to be so, yet at least the practice first, +and then the continuation of it, shews that it attained the end, which +was to please; and if that cannot be compassed here, I will be the +first who shall lay it down: for I confess my chief endeavours are +to delight the age in which I live. If the humour of this be for low +comedy, small accidents, and raillery, I will force my genius to obey +it, though with more reputation I could write in verse. I know I am +not so fitted by nature to write comedy: I want that gaiety of humour +which is required to it. My conversation is slow and dull; my humour +saturnine and reserved: In short, I am none of those who endeavour to +break jests in company, or make repartees. So that those, who decry my +comedies, do me no injury, except it be in point of profit: reputation +in them is the last thing to which I shall pretend. I beg pardon for +entertaining the reader with so ill a subject; but before I quit that +argument, which was the cause of this digression, I cannot but take +notice how I am corrected for my quotation of Seneca, in my defence of +plays in verse. My words are these: "Our language is noble, full, and +significant; and I know not why he, who is a master of, it, may not +clothe ordinary things in it as decently as in the Latin, if he use +the same diligence in his choice of words." One would think, "unlock +a door," was a thing as vulgar as could be spoken; yet Seneca could +make it sound high and lofty in his Latin. + +"_Reserate clusos regii postes laris_." + +But he says of me, "That being filled with the precedents of the +ancients, who writ their plays in verse, I commend the thing, +declaring our language to be full, noble, and significant, and +charging all defects upon the _ill placing of words_, which I +prove by quoting Seneca loftily expressing such an ordinary thing as +_shutting a door_." + +Here he manifestly mistakes; for I spoke not of the placing, but +of the choice of words; for which I quoted that aphorism of +Julius Caesar, _Delectus verborum est origo eloquentiae_; but +_delectus verborum_ is no more Latin for the _placing of +words_, than _reserate_ is Latin for _shut the door_, +as he interprets it, which I ignorantly construed _unlock_ or +_open_ it. + +He supposes I was highly affected with the sound of those words, and +I suppose I may more justly imagine it of him; for if he had not been +extremely satisfied with the sound, he would have minded the sense a +little better. + +But these are now to be no faults; for ten days after his book is +published, and that his mistakes are grown so famous, that they are +come back to him, he sends his _Errata_[A] to be printed, and +annexed to his play; and desires, that, instead of _shutting_, +you would read _opening_, which, it seems, was the printer's +fault. I wonder at his modesty, that he did not rather say it was +Seneca's or mine; and that, in some authors, _reserate_ was to +_shut_ as well as to _open_, as the word _barach_, say +the learned, is both to _bless_ and _curse_. + +[Footnote A: This erratum has been suffered to remain in the edition +of the Knight's plays now before us, published in 1692.] + +Well, since it was the printer, he was a naughty man to commit +the same mistake twice in six lines: I warrant you _delectus +verborum_, for _placing of words_, was his mistake too, though +the author forgot to tell him of it: If it were my book, I assure you +I should. For those rascals ought to be the proxies of every gentleman +author, and to be chastised for him, when he is not pleased to own an +error. Yet since he has given the _errata_, I wish he would have +enlarged them only a few sheets more, and then he would have spared +me the labour of an answer: For this cursed printer is so given to +mistakes, that there is scarce a sentence in the preface without some +false grammar, or hard sense in it; which will all be charged upon the +poet, because he is so good-natured as to lay but three errors to the +printer's account, and to take the rest upon himself, who is better +able to support them. But he needs not apprehend that I should +strictly examine those little faults, except I am called upon to do +it: I shall return therefore to that quotation of Seneca, and answer, +not to what he writes, but to what he means. I never intended it as +an argument, but only as an illustration of what I had said before +concerning the election of words; and all he can charge me with is +only this, that if Seneca could make an ordinary thing sound well in +Latin by the choice of words, the same, with the like care, might be +performed in English: If it cannot, I have committed an error on the +right hand, by commending too much the copiousness and well-sounding +of our language, which I hope my countrymen will pardon me; at least +the words which follow in my Dramatic Essay will plead somewhat in my +behalf; for I say there, that this objection happens but seldom in +a play; and then, too, either the meanness of the expression may be +avoided, or shut out from the verse by breaking it in the midst. + +But I have said too much in the defence of verse; for, after all, +it is a very indifferent thing to me whether it obtain or not. I am +content hereafter to be ordered by his rule, that is, to write it +sometimes because it pleases me, and so much the rather, because he +has declared that it pleases him. But he has taken his last farewell +of the muses, and he has done it civilly, by honouring them with the +name of "his long acquaintances," which is a compliment they have +scarce deserved from him. For my own part, I bear a share in +the public loss; and how emulous soever I may be of his fame and +reputation, I cannot but give this testimony of his style, that it is +extremely poetical, even in oratory; his thoughts elevated sometimes +above common apprehension; his notions politic and grave, and tending +to the instruction of princes, and reformation of states; that +they are abundantly interlaced with variety of fancies, tropes, and +figures, which the critics have enviously branded with the name of +obscurity and false grammar. + +"Well, he is now fettered in business of more unpleasant nature:" The +muses have lost him, but the commonwealth gains by it; the corruption +of a poet is the generation of a statesman. + +"He will not venture again into the civil wars of censure, +_ubi--nullos habitura triumphos_:" If he had not told us he +had left the muses, we might have half suspected it by that word +_ubi_, which does not any way belong to them in that place: +the rest of the verse is indeed Lucan's, but that _ubi_, I will +answer for it, is his own. Yet he has another reason for this disgust +of poesy; for he says immediately after, that "the manner of plays +which are now in most esteem is beyond his power to perform:" to +perform the manner of a thing, I confess, is new English to me. +"However, he condemns not the satisfaction of others, but rather their +unnecessary understanding, who, like Sancho Panza's doctor, prescribe +too strictly to our appetites; for," says he, "in the difference of +tragedy and comedy, and of farce itself, there can be no determination +but by the taste, nor in the manner of their composure." + +We shall see him now as great a critic as he was a poet; and the +reason why he excelled so much in poetry will be evident, for it will +appear to have proceeded from the exactness of his judgment. "In +the difference of tragedy, comedy, and farce itself, there can be no +determination but by the taste." I will not quarrel with the obscurity +of his phrase, though I justly might; but beg his pardon if I do +not rightly understand him. If he means that there is no essential +difference betwixt comedy, tragedy, and farce, but what is only made +by the people's taste, which distinguishes one of them from the other, +that is so manifest an error, that I need not lose time to contradict +it. Were there neither judge, taste, nor opinion in the world, yet +they would differ in their natures; for the action, character, and +language of tragedy, would still be great and high; that of comedy, +lower and more familiar. Admiration would be the delight of one, and +satire of the other. + +I have but briefly touched upon these things, because, whatever his +words are, I can scarce imagine, that "he, who is always concerned for +the true honour of reason, and would have no spurious issue fathered +upon her," should mean any thing so absurd as to affirm, "that there +is no difference betwixt comedy and tragedy but what is made by the +taste only;" unless he would have us understand the comedies of my +lord L. where the first act should be pottages, the second fricassees, +&c. and the fifth a _chere entiere_ of women. + +I rather guess he means, that betwixt one comedy or tragedy and +another, there is no other difference, but what is made by the liking +or disliking of the audience. This is indeed a less error than the +former, but yet it is a great one. The liking or disliking of the +people gives the play the denomination of good or bad, but does not +really make or constitute it such. To please the people ought to be +the poet's aim, because plays are made for their delight; but it does +not follow that they are always pleased with good plays, or that the +plays which please them are always good. The humour of the people is +now for comedy; therefore, in hope to please them, I write comedies +rather than serious plays: and so far their taste prescribes to +me. But it does not follow from that reason, that comedy is to be +preferred before tragedy in its own nature; for that, which is so in +its own nature, cannot be otherwise, as a man cannot but be a rational +creature: But the opinion of the people may alter, and in another age, +or perhaps in this, serious plays may be set up above comedies. + +This I think a sufficient answer; if it be not, he has provided me of +an excuse: it seems, in his wisdom, he foresaw my weakness, and has +found out this expedient for me, "That it is not necessary for poets +to study strict reason, since they are so used to a greater latitude +than is allowed by that severe inquisition, that they must infringe +their own jurisdiction, to profess themselves obliged to argue well." + +I am obliged to him for discovering to me this back door; but I am not +yet resolved on my retreat; for I am of opinion, that they cannot be +good poets, who are not accustomed to argue well. False reasonings and +colours of speech are the certain marks of one who does not understand +the stage: for moral truth is the mistress of the poet as much as of +the philosopher; poesy must resemble natural truth, but it must be +ethical. Indeed, the poet dresses truth, and adorns nature, but does +not alter them: + +_Ficta voluptatis causa sint proxima veris_. + +Therefore, that is not the best poesy, which resembles notions of +things, that are not, to things that are: though the fancy may be +great, and the words flowing, yet the soul is but half satisfied when +there is not truth in the foundation. This is that which makes Virgil +be preferred before the rest of poets. In variety of fancy, and +sweetness of expression, you see Ovid far above him; for Virgil +rejected many of those things which Ovid wrote. "A great wit's great +work is to refuse," as my worthy friend Sir John Berkenhead has +ingeniously expressed it: you rarely meet with any thing in Virgil but +truth, which therefore leaves the strongest impression of pleasure in +the soul. This I thought myself obliged to say in behalf of poesy; and +to declare, though it be against myself, that when poets do not argue +well, the defect is in the workmen, not in the art. + +And now I come to the boldest part of his discourse, wherein he +attacks not me, but all the ancients and moderns; and undermines, as +he thinks, the very foundations on which Dramatic Poesy is built. I +could wish he would have declined that envy which must of necessity +follow such an undertaking, and contented himself with triumphing over +me in my opinions of verse, which I will never hereafter dispute with +him; but he must pardon me if I have that veneration for Aristotle, +Horace, Ben Jonson, and Corneille, that I dare not serve him in such +a cause, and against such heroes, but rather fight under their +protection, as Homer reports of little Teucer, who shot the Trojans +from under the large buckler of Ajax Telamon. + +[Greek: Stae d ax up Aiantos sachei Telamoniadao] +He stood beneath his brother's ample shield; +And covered there, shot death through all the field. + +The words of my noble adversary are these: + +"But if we examine the general rules laid down for plays by strict +reason, we shall find the errors equally gross; for the great +foundation which is laid to build upon, is nothing as it is generally +stated, as will appear upon the examination of the particulars." + +These particulars in due time shall be examined. In the mean while, +let us consider what this great foundation is, which he says is +nothing, as it is generally stated. I never heard of any other +foundation of Dramatic Poesy than the imitation of nature; neither was +there ever pretended any other by the ancients or moderns, or me, who +endeavour to follow them in that rule. This I have plainly said in +my definition of a play; that it is a just and lively image of human +nature, &c. Thus the foundation, as it is generally stated, will stand +sure, if this definition of a play be true; if it be not, he ought to +have made his exception against it, by proving that a play is not an +imitation of nature, but somewhat else, which he is pleased to think +it. + +But 'tis very plain, that he has mistaken the foundation for that +which is built upon it, though not immediately: for the direct and +immediate consequence is this; if nature be to be imitated, then there +is a rule for imitating nature rightly, otherwise there may be an +end, and no means conducing to it. Hitherto I have proceeded by +demonstration; but as our divines, when they have proved a Deity, +because there is order, and have inferred that this Deity ought to be +worshipped, differ afterwards in the manner of the worship; so, having +laid down, that nature is to be imitated, and that proposition proving +the next, that then there are means which conduce to the imitating of +nature, I dare proceed no farther positively; but have only laid down +some opinions of the ancients and moderns, and of my own, as means +which they used, and which I thought probable for the attaining of +that end. Those means are the same which my antagonist calls the +foundations, how properly the world may judge; and to prove that this +is his meaning, he clears it immediately to you, by enumerating +those rules or propositions against which he makes his particular +exceptions; as, namely, those of time and place, in these words: +"First, we are told the plot should not be so ridiculously contrived, +as to crowd two several countries into one stage; secondly, to cramp +the accidents of many years or days into the representation of two +hours and an half; and, lastly, a conclusion drawn, that the only +remaining dispute is, concerning time, whether it should be contained +in twelve or twenty-four hours; and the place to be limited to that +spot of ground where the play is supposed to begin: and this is called +nearest nature; for that is concluded most natural, which is most +probable, and nearest to that which it presents." + +Thus he has only made a small mistake, of the means conducing to the +end for the end itself, and of the superstructure for the foundation: +But he proceeds: + +"To shew therefore upon what ill grounds they dictate laws for +Dramatic Poesy," &c. He is here pleased to charge me with being +magisterial, as he has done in many other places of his preface; +therefore, in vindication of myself, I must crave leave to say, that +my whole discourse was sceptical, according to that way of reasoning +which was used by Socrates, Plato, and all the academics of old, which +Tully and the best of the ancients followed, and which is imitated by +the modest inquisitions of the Royal Society. That it is so, not +only the name will shew, which is, _An Essay_, but the frame and +composition of the work. You see it is a dialogue sustained by persons +of several opinions, all of them left doubtful, to be determined by +the readers in general; and more particularly deferred to the accurate +judgment of my Lord Buckhurst, to whom I made a dedication of my +book. These are my words in my epistle, speaking of the persons whom I +introduced in my dialogue: "'Tis true they differed in their opinions, +as 'tis probable they would: neither do I take upon me to reconcile, +but to relate them, leaving your lordship to decide it in favour of +that part which you shall judge most reasonable." And after that, in +my advertisement to the reader, I said this: "The drift of the ensuing +discourse is chiefly to vindicate the honour of our English writers +from the censure of those who unjustly prefer the French before them. +This I intimate, lest any should think me so exceeding vain, as to +teach others an art, which they understand much better than myself." +But this is more than necessary to clear my modesty in that point: and +I am very confident, that there is scarce any man who has lost so much +time, as to read that trifle, but will be my compurgator, as to that +arrogance whereof I am accused. The truth is, if I had been naturally +guilty of so much vanity as to dictate my opinions; yet I do not find +that the character of a positive or self-conceited person is of such +advantage to any in this age, that I should labour to be publicly +admitted of that order. + +But I am not now to defend my own cause, when that of all the ancients +and moderns is in question. For this gentleman, who accuses me of +arrogance, has taken a course not to be taxed with the other extreme +of modesty. Those propositions, which are laid down in my discourse +as helps to the better imitation of nature, are not mine (as I +have said), nor were ever pretended so to be, but derived from the +authority of Aristotle and Horace, and from the rules and examples +of Ben Jonson and Corneille. These are the men with whom properly he +contends, and against "whom he will endeavour to make it evident, that +there is no such thing as what they all pretend." + +His argument against the unities of place and time is this: "That 'tis +as impossible for one stage to present two rooms or houses truly, +as two countries or kingdoms; and as impossible that five hours or +twenty-four hours should be two hours, as that a thousand hours or +years should be less than what they are, or the greatest part of time +to be comprehended in the less: for all of them being impossible, they +are none of them nearest the truth, or nature of what they present; +for impossibilities are all equal, and admit of no degree." + +This argument is so scattered into parts, that it can scarce be united +into a syllogism; yet, in obedience to him, _I will abbreviate_, +and comprehend as much of it as I can in few words, that my answer to +it may be more perspicuous. I conceive his meaning to be what follows, +as to the unity of place: (if I mistake, I beg his pardon, professing +it is not out of any design to play the _Argumentative Poet_.) If +one stage cannot properly present two rooms or houses, much less two +countries or kingdoms, then there can be no unity of place. But one +stage cannot properly perform this: therefore there can be no unity of +place. + +I plainly deny his minor proposition; the force of which, if I mistake +not, depends on this, that the stage being one place cannot be two. +This indeed is as great a secret, as that we are all mortal; but to +requite it with another, I must crave leave to tell him, that though +the stage cannot be two places, yet it may properly represent them +successively, or at several times. His argument is indeed no more than +a mere fallacy, which will evidently appear when we distinguish place, +as it relates to plays, into real and imaginary. The real place is +that theatre, or piece of ground, on which the play is acted. The +imaginary, that house, town, or country where the action of the drama +is supposed to be, or, more plainly, where the scene of the play is +laid. Let us now apply this to that Herculean argument, "which if +strictly and duly weighed, is to make it evident, that there is no +such thing as what they all pretend." 'Tis impossible, he says, for +one stage to present two rooms or houses: I answer, 'tis neither +impossible, nor improper, for one real place to represent two or more +imaginary places, so it be done successively; which, in other words, +is no more than this, that the imagination of the audience, aided by +the words of the poet, and painted scenes, may suppose the stage to +be sometimes one place, sometimes another; now a garden, or wood, and +immediately a camp: which I appeal to every man's imagination, if it +be not true. Neither the ancients nor moderns, as much fools as he is +pleased to think them, ever asserted that they could make one place +two; but they might hope, by the good leave of this author, that the +change of a scene might lead the imagination to suppose the place +altered: so that he cannot fasten those absurdities upon this scene +of a play, or imaginary place of action, that it is one place, and yet +two. And this being so clearly proved, that 'tis past any shew of a +reasonable denial, it will not be hard to destroy that other part of +his argument, which depends upon it, namely, that 'tis as impossible +for a stage to represent two rooms or houses, as two countries or +kingdoms: for his reason is already overthrown, which was, because +both were alike impossible. This is manifestly otherwise; for 'tis +proved that a stage may properly represent two rooms or houses; for +the imagination being judge of what is represented, will in reason be +less choked with the appearance of two rooms in the same house, or +two houses in the same city, than with two distant cities in the same +country, or two remote countries in the same universe. Imagination in +a man, or reasonable creature, is supposed to participate of reason, +and when that governs, as it does in the belief of fiction, reason +is not destroyed, but misled, or blinded; that can prescribe to the +reason, during the time of the representation, somewhat like a weak +belief of what it sees and hears; and reason suffers itself to be so +hood-winked, that it may better enjoy the pleasures of the fiction: +But it is never so wholly made a captive, as to be drawn headlong into +a persuasion of those things which are most remote from probability: +It is in that case a free-born subject, not a slave; it will +contribute willingly its assent, as far as it sees convenient, but +will not be forced. Now, there is a greater vicinity in nature betwixt +two rooms, than betwixt two houses; betwixt two houses, than betwixt +two cities; and so of the rest: Reason, therefore, can sooner be led, +by imagination, to step from one room into another, than to walk to +two distant houses, and yet rather to go thither, than to fly like +a witch through the air, and be hurried from one region to another. +Fancy and Reason go hand in hand; the first cannot leave the last +behind: And though Fancy, when it sees the wide gulph, would venture +over, as the nimbler, yet it is with-held by Reason, which will refuse +to take the leap, when the distance over it appears too large. If Ben +Jonson himself will remove the scene from Rome into Tuscany in +the same act, and from thence return to Rome, in the scene which +immediately follows, reason will consider there is no proportionable +allowance of time to perform the journey, and, therefore, will choose +to stay at home. So, then, the less change of place there is, the +less time is taken up in transporting the persons of the drama, with +analogy to reason; and in that analogy, or resemblance of fiction to +truth, consists the excellency of the play. + +For what else concerns the unity of place, I have already given my +opinion of it in my Essay, that there is a latitude to be allowed to +it, as several places in the same town or city, or places adjacent to +each other in the same country; which may all be comprehended under +the larger denomination of one place; yet with this restriction, +that the nearer and fewer those imaginary places are, the greater +resemblance they will have to truth; and reason, which cannot make +them one, will be more easily led to suppose them so. + +What has been said of the unity of place, may easily be applied to +that of time: I grant it to be impossible, that the greater part of +time should be comprehended in the less, that twenty-four hours should +be crowded into three: But there is no necessity of that supposition; +for as _place_, so time relating to a play, is either imaginary +or real: The real is comprehended in those three hours, more or less, +in the space of which the play is represented; the imaginary is that +which is supposed to be taken up in the representation, as twenty-four +hours, more or less. Now, no man ever could suppose, that twenty-four +real hours could be included in the space of three; but where is +the absurdity of affirming, that the feigned business of twenty-four +imagined hours, may not more naturally be represented in the compass +of three real hours, than the like feigned business of twenty-four +years, in the same proportion of real time? For the proportions are +always real, and much nearer, by his permission, of twenty-four to +three, than of four thousand to it. + +I am almost fearful of illustrating any thing by similitude, lest he +should confute it for an argument; yet I think the comparison of +a glass will discover very aptly the fallacy of his argument, both +concerning time and place. The strength of his reason depends on this, +that the less cannot comprehend the greater. I have already answered, +that we need not suppose it does; I say not that the less can +comprehend the greater, but only, that it may represent it. As in +a glass, or mirror, of half-a-yard diameter, a whole room, and many +persons in it, may be seen at once; not that it can comprehend that +room, or those persons, but that it represents them to the sight. + +But the author of the "Duke of Lerma" is to be excused for his +declaring against the unity of time; for, if I be not much mistaken, +he is an interested person;--the time of that play taking up so many +years, as the favour of the Duke of Lerma continued; nay, the second +and third act including all the time of his prosperity, which was a +great part of the reign of Philip the Third: For in the beginning of +the second act he was not yet a favourite, and, before the end of +the third, was in disgrace. I say not this with the least design of +limiting the stage too servilely to twenty-four hours, however he be +pleased to tax me with dogmatising on that point, In my dialogue, as I +before hinted, several persons maintained their several opinions: One +of them, indeed, who supported the cause of the French poesy, said how +strict they were in that particular; but he who answered, in behalf of +our nation, was willing to give more latitude to the rule, and cites +the words of Corneille himself, complaining against the severity of +it, and observing, what beauties it banished from the stage, p. 44. +of my Essay. In few words, my own opinion is this, (and I willingly +submit it to my adversary, when he will please impartially to consider +it) that the imaginary time of every play ought to be contrived into +as narrow a compass, as the nature of the plot, the quality of the +persons, and variety of accidents will allow. In comedy, I would +not exceed twenty-four or thirty hours; for the plot, accidents, and +persons, of comedy are small, and may be naturally turned in a little +compass: But in tragedy, the design is weighty, and the persons great; +therefore, there will naturally be required a greater space of time in +which to move them. And this, though Ben Jonson has not told us, yet +it is manifestly his opinion: For you see that to his comedies +he allows generally but twenty-four hours; to his two tragedies, +"Sejanus," and "Catiline," a much larger time, though he draws both +of them into as narrow a compass as he can: For he shews you only the +latter end of Sejanus's favour, and the conspiracy of Catiline already +ripe, and just breaking out into action. + +But as it is an error, on the one side, to make too great a +disproportion betwixt the imaginary time of the play, and the real +time of its representation; so, on the other side, it is an oversight +to compress the accidents of a play into a narrower compass than that +in which they could naturally be produced. Of this last error the +French are seldom guilty, because the thinness of their plots prevents +them from it; but few Englishmen, except Ben Jonson, have ever made +a plot, with variety of design in it, included in twenty-four hours, +which was altogether natural. For this reason, I prefer the "Silent +Woman" before all other plays, I think justly, as I do its author, in +judgment, above all other poets. Yet, of the two, I think that error +the most pardonable, which in too strait a compass crowds together +many accidents, since it produces more variety, and, consequently, +more pleasure to the audience; and, because the nearness of proportion +betwixt the imaginary and real time, does speciously cover the +compression of the accidents. + +Thus I have endeavoured to answer the meaning of his argument; for, as +he drew it, I humbly conceive that it was none,--as will appear by his +proposition, and the proof of it. His proposition was this: + +"If strictly and duly weighed, it is as impossible for one stage to +present two rooms, or houses, as two countries, or kingdoms," &c. +And his proof this: "For all being impossible, they are none of them +nearest the truth or nature of what they present." + +Here you see, instead of proof or reason, there is only _petitio +principii_. For, in plain words, his sense is this: Two things +are as impossible as one another, because they are both equally +impossible: But he takes those two things to be granted as impossible, +which he ought to have proved such, before he had proceeded to prove +them equally impossible: He should have made out first, that it was +impossible for one stage to represent two houses, and then have gone +forward to prove, that it was as equally impossible for a stage to +present two houses, as two countries. + +After all this, the very absurdity, to which he would reduce me, is +none at all: For he only drives at this, that, if his argument +be true, I must then acknowledge that there are degrees in +impossibilities, which I easily grant him without dispute; and, if I +mistake not, Aristotle and the School are of my opinion. For there are +some things which are absolutely impossible, and others which are only +so _ex parte_; as it is absolutely impossible for a thing _to +be_, and _not to be_ at the same time: But for a stone to move +naturally upward, is only impossible _ex parte materiae_; but it +is not impossible for the first mover to alter the nature of it. + +His last assault, like that of a Frenchman, is most feeble; for +whereas I have observed, that none have been violent against verse, +but such only as have not attempted it, or have succeeded ill in their +attempt, he will needs, according to his usual custom, improve my +observation to an argument, that he might have the glory to confute +it, But I lay my observation at his feet, as I do my pen, which I have +often employed willingly in his deserved commendations, and now most +unwillingly against his judgment. For his person and parts, I honour +them as much as any man living, and have had so many particular +obligations to him, that I should be very ungrateful, if I did not +acknowledge them to the world. But I gave not the first occasion +of this difference in opinions. In my epistle dedicatory, before my +"Rival Ladies," I had said somewhat in behalf of verse, which he was +pleased to answer in his preface to his plays. That occasioned my +reply in my essay; and that reply begot this rejoinder of his, in +his preface to the "Duke of Lenna." But as I was the last who took +up arms, I will be the first to lay them down. For what I have here +written, I submit it wholly to him; and if I do not hereafter answer +what may be objected against this paper, I hope the world will not +impute it to any other reason, than only the due respect which I have +for so noble an opponent. + + + +THE INDIAN EMPEROR. + + +The Indian Emperor is the first of Dryden's plays which exhibited, in +a marked degree, the peculiarity of his stile, and drew upon him the +attention of the world. Without equalling the extravagancies of the +Conquest of Granada, and the Royal Martyr, works produced when our +author was emboldened, by public applause, to give full scope to +his daring genius, the following may be considered as a model of the +heroic drama, A few words, therefore, will not be here misplaced, on +the nature of the kind of tragedies, in which, during the earlier part +of his literary career, our author delighted and excelled. + +The heroic, or rhyming, plays, were borrowed from the French, to whose +genius they are better suited than to the British. An analogy may be +observed between all the different departments of the belles lettres; +and none seem more closely allied, than the pursuits of the dramatic +writer, and those of the composer of romances or novels. Both deal in +fictitious adventure; both write for amusement; and address themselves +nearly to the same class of admirers. Nay, although the pride of the +dramatist may be offended by the assertion, it would seem, that the +nature of his walk is often prescribed by the successful impression +of a novel upon the public mind. If we laugh over low adventures in a +novel, we soon see low comedy upon the stage: If we are horror-struck +with a tale of robbers and murder in our closet, the dagger and the +green carpet will not long remain unemployed in the theatre; and if +ghosts haunt our novels, they soon stalk amongst our scenes. Under +this persuasion, we have little doubt that the heroic tragedies were +the legitimate offspring of the French romances of Calprenede and +Scuderi. Such as may deign to open these venerable and neglected +tomes, will be soon convinced of their extreme resemblance to the +heroic drama. A remarkable feature in both, is the ideal world which +they form for themselves. Every sentiment is lofty, splendid, and +striking; and no apology is admitted for any departure from the +dignity of character, however natural or impressive. The beauty of the +heroine, and the valour of the hero, must be alike resistless; and the +moving spring, through the whole action, is the overbearing passion +of love. Their language and manners are as peculiar to themselves, +as their prowess and susceptibility. The pastoral Arcadian does not +differ more widely from an ordinary rustic, than these lofty +persons do from the princes and kings of this world. Neither is any +circumstance of national character, or manners, allowed as an apology +for altering the established character, which must be invariably +sustained by the persons of the heroic drama. The religion, and +the state of society of the country where the scene is laid, may be +occasionally alluded to as authority for varying a procession, or +introducing new dresses and decorations; but, in all other respects, +an Indian Inca, attired in feathers, must hold the same dignity of +deportment, and display the same powers of declamation, and ingenuity +of argument, with a Roman emperor in his purple, or a feudal warrior +in his armour; for the rule and decorum of this species of composition +is too peremptory, to give way either to the current of human +passions, or to the usages of nations. Gibbon has remarked, that the +kings of the Gepidae, and the Ostrogoths in Corneille's tragedy +of Attila, are profound politicians, and sentimental lovers;--a +description which, with a varying portion of pride, courtesy, and +heroism, will apply to almost all the characters in plays drawn upon +this model. + +It is impossible to conceive any thing more different from the old +English drama, than the heroic plays which were introduced by Charles +II. The former, in labouring to exhibit a variety and contrast of +passions, tempers, or humours, frequently altogether neglected the +dignity of the scene. In the heroical tragedy, on the other hand, +nothing was to be indecorous, nothing grotesque: The personages were +to speak, not as men, but as heroes; to whom, as statuaries have +assigned a superiority of stature, so these poets have given an +uniform grandeur of feeling and of expression. It may be thought, that +this monotonous splendour of diction would have palled upon an English +audience, less pleased generally with refinement, however elegant, +than with bursts of passion, and flights of novelty. But Dryden felt +his force in the line which he chose to pursue and recommend. The +indescribable charms of his versification gratified the ear of the +public, while their attention was engaged by the splendour of his +images, and the matchless ingenuity of his arguments. It must also +be admitted, that, by their total neglect of the unities, our ancient +dramatic authors shocked the feelings of the more learned, and +embarrassed the understanding of the less acute, among the spectators. +We do not hold it treason to depart from the strict rules respecting +time and place, inculcated by the ancients, and followed in the heroic +plays. But it will surely be granted to us, that, where they can be +observed, without the sacrifice of great beauties, or incurring such +absurdities as Dennis has justly charged upon Cato, the play will be +proportionally more intelligible on the stage, and more pleasing in +the closet. And although we willingly censure the practice of driving +argument, upon the stage, into metaphysical refinement, and rendering +the contest of contrasted passions a mere combat in logic, yet we must +equally condemn those tragedies, in which the poet sketches out the +character with a few broken common-places, expressive of love, of +rage, or of grief, and leaves the canvas to be filled up by the actor, +according to his own taste, power, and inclination. + +The Indian Emperor is an instance, what beautiful poetry may be united +to, we had almost said thrown away upon, the heroic drama. The very +first scene exhibits much of those beauties, and their attendant +deformities. A modern audience would hardly have sate in patience +to hear more than the first extravagant and ludicrous supposition of +Cortez: + + As if our old world modestly withdrew; + And here, in private, had brought forth a new. + +But had they condemned the piece for this uncommon case of +parturition, they would have lost the beautiful and melodious verses, +in which Cortez, and his followers, describe the advantages of the +newly discovered world; and they would have lost the still more +exquisite account, which, immediately after, Guyomar gives of the +arrival of the Spanish fleet. Of the characters little need be said; +they stalk on, in their own fairy land, in the same uniform livery, +and with little peculiarity of discrimination. All the men, from +Montezuma down to Pizarro, are brave warriors; and only vary, in +proportion to the mitigating qualities which the poet has infused into +their military ardour. The women are all beautiful, and all deeply +in love; differing from each other only, as the haughty or tender +predominates in their passion. But the charm of the poetry, and the +ingenuity of the dialogue, render it impossible to peruse, without +pleasure, a drama, the faults of which may be imputed to its +structure, while its beauties are peculiar to Dryden. + +The plot of the Indian Emperor is certainly of our author's own +composition; since even the malignant assiduity of Langbaine has been +unable to point out any author from whom it is borrowed. The play was +first acted in 1665, and received with great applause. + + + +CONNECTION +OF +THE INDIAN EMPEROR +TO +THE INDIAN QUEEN [A]. + +[Footnote A: This argument was printed, and dispersed amongst the +audience upon the first night of representation. Hence Bayes is made +to say, in the Rehearsal, that he had printed many reams, to instil +into the audience some conception of his plot.] + + +The conclusion of the Indian Queen (part of which poem was wrote +by me) left little matter for another story to be built on, there +remaining but two of the considerable characters alive, viz. Montezuma +and Orazia. Thereupon the author of this thought it necessary to +produce new persons from the old ones; and considering the late Indian +Queen, before she loved Montezuma, lived in clandestine marriage +with her general Traxalla, from those two he has raised a son and two +daughters, supposed to be left young orphans at their death. On the +other side, he has given to Montezuma and Orazia, two sons and a +daughter; all now supposed to be grown up to mens' and womens' estate; +and their mother, Orazia, (for whom there was no further use in the +story,) lately dead. + +So that you are to imagine about twenty years elapsed since the +coronation of Montezuma; who, in the truth of the history, was a great +and glorious prince; and in whose time happened the discovery and +invasion of Mexico, by the Spaniards, under the conduct of Hernando +Cortez, who, joining with the Traxallan Indians, the inveterate +enemies of Montezuma, wholly subverted that flourishing empire;--the +conquest of which is the subject of this dramatic poem. + +I have neither wholly followed the story, nor varied from it; and, as +near as I could, have traced the native simplicity and ignorance of +the Indians, in relation to European customs;--the shipping, armour, +horses, swords, and guns of the Spaniards, being as new to them, as +their habits and their language were to the Christians. + +The difference of their religion from ours, I have taken from the +story itself; and that which you find of it in the first and fifth +acts, touching the sufferings and constancy of Montezuma in his +opinions, I have only illustrated, not altered, from those who have +written of it. + + + +PROLOGUE + + +Almighty critics! whom our Indians here +Worship, just as they do the devil--for fear; +In reverence to your power, I come this day, +To give you timely warning of our play. +The scenes are old, the habits are the same +We wore last year, before the Spaniards came[A]. +Now, if you stay, the blood, that shall be shed +From this poor play, be all upon your head. +We neither promise you one dance, or show; +Then plot, and language, they are wanting too: +But you, kind wits, will those light faults excuse, +Those are the common frailties of the muse; +Which, who observes, he buys his place too dear; +For 'tis your business to be cozened here. +These wretched spies of wit must then confess, +They take more pains to please themselves the less. +Grant us such judges, Phoebus, we request, +As still mistake themselves into a jest; +Such easy judges, that our poet may +Himself admire the fortune of his play; +And, arrogantly, as his fellows do, +Think he writes well, because he pleases you. +This he conceives not hard to bring about, +If all of you would join to help him out: +Would each man take but what he understands, +And leave the rest upon the poet's hands. + +[Footnote A: Alluding to the Indian Queen, in which the scene is laid +before the arrival of the Spaniards in America, and which was acted in +1664, as this was in 1665.] + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + +INDIAN MEN. + +MONTEZUMA, _Emperor of Mexico_. +ODMAR, _his eldest son_. +GUYOMAR, _his younger son_. +ORBELLAN, _son of the late Indian Queen by TRAXALLA_. +_High Priest of the Sun_. + +WOMEN. + +CYDARIA, _MONTEZUMA'S daughter_. +ALMERIA, } _Sisters; and daughters to the late_ +ALIBECH, } _Indian Queen_. + +SPANIARDS. + +CORTEZ, _the Spanish General_. +VASQUEZ, } _Commanders under him_. +PIZARRO, } + + +SCENE--_Mexico, and two leagues about it_. + + + +THE INDIAN EMPEROR. + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_A pleasant Indian country_. + +_Enter_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _with Spaniards and Indians +of their party_. + + +_Cort_. On what new happy climate are we thrown, +So long kept secret, and so lately known; +As if our old world modestly withdrew, +And here in private had brought forth a new? + +_Vasq._ Corn, oil, and wine, are wanting to this ground, +In which our countries fruitfully abound; +As if this infant world, yet unarrayed, +Naked and bare in Nature's lap were laid. +No useful arts have yet found footing here, +But all untaught and savage does appear. + +_Cort._ Wild and untaught are terms which we alone +Invent, for fashions differing from our own; +For all their customs are by nature wrought, +But we, by art, unteach what nature taught. + +_Piz_. In Spain, our springs, like old men's children, be +Decayed and withered from their infancy: +No kindly showers fall on our barren earth, +To hatch the season in a timely birth: +Our summer such a russet livery wears, +As in a garment often dyed appears. + +_Cort_. Here nature spreads her fruitful sweetness round, +Breathes on the air, and broods upon the ground: +Here days and nights the only seasons be; +The sun no climate does so gladly see: +When forced from hence, to view our parts, he mourns; +Takes little journies, and makes quick returns. + +_Vasq_. Methinks, we walk in dreams on Fairy-land, +Where golden ore lies mixt with common sand; +Each downfal of a flood, the mountains pour +From their rich bowels, rolls a silver shower. + +_Cort_. Heaven from all ages wisely did provide +This wealth, and for the bravest nation hide, +Who, with four hundred foot and forty horse, +Dare boldly go a new-found world to force. + +_Piz_. Our men, though valiant, we should find too few, +But Indians join the Indians to subdue; +Taxallan, shook by Montezuma's powers, +Has, to resist his forces, called in ours. + +_Vasq_. Rashly to arm against so great a king, +I hold not safe; nor is it just to bring +A war, without a fair defiance made. + +_Piz_. Declare we first our quarrel; then invade. + +_Cort_. Myself, my king's ambassador, will go; +Speak, Indian guide, how far to Mexico? + +_Ind_. Your eyes can scarce so far a prospect make, +As to discern the city on the lake; +But that broad causeway will direct your way, +And you may reach the town by noon of day. + +_Cort_. Command a party of our Indians out, +With a strict charge, not to engage, but scout: +By noble ways we conquest will prepare; +First, offer peace, and, that refused, make war. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II.--_A Temple_. + +_The High Priest with other Priests. To them an +Indian_. + + +_Ind_. Haste, holy priest, it is the king's command. + +_High Pr_. When sets he forward? + +_Ind_. He is near at hand. + +_High Pr_. The incense is upon the altar placed, +The bloody sacrifice already past; +Five hundred captives saw the rising sun, +Who lost their light, ere half his race was run. +That which remains we here must celebrate; +Where, far from noise, without the city gate, +The peaceful power that governs love repairs, +To feast upon soft vows and silent prayers. +We for his royal presence only stay, +To end the rites of this so solemn day. + +[_Exit Ind_. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA; _his eldest son_, ODMAR; _his +daughter_, CYDARIA; ALMERIA, ALIBECH, ORBELLAN, +_and Train. They place themselves_. + +_High Pr_. On your birthday, while we sing +To our gods and to our king, +Her, among this beauteous quire, +Whose perfections you admire, +Her, who fairest does appear, +Crown her queen of all the year, +Of the year and of the day, +And at her feet your garland lay. + +_Odm_. My father this way does his looks direct; +Heaven grant, he give it not where I suspect! + +[MONTEZUMA _rises, goes about the Ladies, and +at length stays at_ ALMERIA, _and bows_. + +_Mont_. Since my Orazia's death, I have not seen +A beauty, so deserving to be queen +As fair Almeria. + +_Alm_. Sure he will not know + [_To her brother and sister, aside_. +My birth I to that injured princess owe, +Whom his hard heart not only love denied, +But in her sufferings took unmanly pride. + +_Alib_. Since Montezuma will his choice renew, +In dead Orazia's room electing you, +'Twill please our mother's ghost that you succeed +To all the glories of her rival's bed. + +_Alm_. If news be carried to the shades below, +The Indian queen will be more pleased, to know, +That I his scorns on him, who scorned her, pay. + +_Orb_. Would you could right her some more noble way! + +[_She turns to him, who is kneeling all this while_. + + +_Mont_. Madam, this posture is for heaven designed, +[_Kneeling_. +And what moves heaven I hope may make you kind. + +_Alm_. Heaven may be kind; the gods uninjured live. +And crimes below cost little to forgive: +By thee, inhuman, both my parents died; +One by thy sword, the other by thy pride. + +_Mont_. My haughty mind no fate could ever bow, +Yet I must stoop to one, who scorns me now: +Is there no pity to my sufferings due? + +_Alm_. As much as what my mother found from you. + +_Mont_. Your mother's wrongs a recompence shall meet; +I lay my sceptre at her daughter's feet. + +_Alm_. He, who does now my least commands obey, +Would call me queen, and take my power away. + +_Odm_. Can he hear this, and not his fetters break? +Is love so powerful, or his soul so weak? +I'll fright her from it.--Madam, though you see +The king is kind, I hope your modesty +Will know, what distance to the crown is due. + +_Alm_. Distance and modesty prescribed by you! + +_Odm_. Almeria dares not think such thoughts as these. + +_Alm_. She dares both think and act what thoughts she please. +Tis much below me on his throne to sit; +But when I do, you shall petition it. + + +_Odm_. If, sir, Almeria does your bed partake, +I mourn for my forgotten mother's' sake. + +_Mont_. When parents' loves are ordered by a son, +Let streams prescribe their fountains where to run. + +_Odm_. In all I urge, I keep my duty still, +Not rule your reason, but instruct your will. + +_Mont_. Small use of reason in that prince is shown, +Who follows others, and neglects his own. + +[ALMERIA _to_ ORBELLAN _and_ ALIBECH, _who are this while +whispering to her_. + +_Alm_. No, he shall ever love, and always be +The subject of my scorn and cruelty. + +_Orb_. To prove the lasting torment of his life, +You must not be his mistress, but his wife. +Few know what care an husband's peace destroys, +His real griefs, and his dissembled joys. + +_Alm_. What mark of pleasing vengeance could be shown, +If I, to break his quiet, lose my own? + +_Orb_. A brother's life upon your love relics, +Since I do homage to Cydaria's eyes: +How can her father to my hopes be kind, +If in your heart he no example find? + +_Alm_. To save your life I'll suffer any thing, +Yet I'll not flatter this tempestuous king; +But work his stubborn soul a nobler way, +And, if he love, I'll force him to obey. +I take this garland, not as given by you, + [_To MONT_. +But as my merit and my beauty's due. +As for the crown, that you, my slave, possess, +To share it with you would but make me less. + +_Enter_ GUYOMAR _hastily_. + +_Odm_. My brother Guyomar! methinks I spy +Haste in his steps, and wonder in his eye. + +_Mont_. I sent thee to the frontiers; quickly tell +The cause of thy return; are all things well? + +_Guy_. I went, in order, sir, to your command, +To view the utmost limits of the land: +To that sea-shore where no more world is found, +But foaming billows breaking on the ground; +Where, for a while, my eyes no object met, +But distant skies, that in the ocean set; +And low-hung clouds, that dipt themselves in rain, +To shake their fleeces on the earth again. +At last, as far as I could cast my eyes +Upon the sea, somewhat, methought, did rise, +Like blueish mists, which, still appearing more, +Took dreadful shapes, and moved towards the shore. + +_Mont_. What forms did these new wonders represent? + +_Guy_. More strange than what your wonder can invent. +The object, I could first distinctly view, +Was tall straight trees, which on the waters flew; +Wings on their sides, instead of leaves, did grow, +Which gathered all the breath the winds could blow: +And at their roots grew floating palaces, +Whose outblowed bellies cut the yielding seas. + +_Mont_. What divine monsters, O ye gods, were these, +That float in air, and fly upon the seas! +Came they alive, or dead, upon the shore? + +_Guy_. Alas, they lived too sure; I heard them roar. +All turned their sides, and to each other spoke; +I saw their words break out in fire and smoke. +Sure 'tis their voice, that thunders from on high, +Or these the younger brothers of the sky. +Deaf with the noise, I took my hasty flight; +No mortal courage can support the fright. + +_High Pr_. Old prophecies foretel our fall at hand, +When bearded men in floating castles land. +I fear it is of dire portent. + +_Mont_. Go see +What it foreshows, and what the gods decree. +Meantime proceed we to what rites remain.-- +Odmar, of all this presence does contain, +Give her your wreath, whom you esteem most fair. + +_Odm_. Above the rest I judge one beauty rare, +And may that beauty prove as kind to me, + [_He gives_ ALIBECH _the wreath_. +As I am sure fair Alibech is she. + +_Mont_. You, Guyomar, must next perform your part. + +_Guy_. I want a garland, but I'll give a heart: +My brother's pardon I must first implore, +Since I with him fair Alibech adore. + +_Odm_. That all should Alibech adore, 'tis true; +But some respect is to my birthright due. +My claim to her by eldership I prove. + +_Guy_. Age is a plea in empire, not in love. + +_Odm_. I long have staid for this solemnity, +To make my passion public. + +_Guy_. So have I. + +_Odm_. But from her birth my soul has been her slave; +My heart received the first wounds which she save: +I watched the early glories of her eyes, +As men for daybreak watch the eastern skies. + +_Guy_. It seems my soul then moved the quicker pace; +Yours first set out, mine reached her in the race. + +_Mont_. Odmar, your choice I cannot disapprove; +Nor justly, Guyomar, can blame your love. +To Alibech alone refer your suit, +And let her sentence finish your dispute. + +_Alib_. You think me, sir, a mistress quickly won. +So soon to finish what is scarce begun: +In this surprise should I a judgment make, +'Tis answering riddles ere I'm well awake: +If you oblige me suddenly to chuse, +The choice is made, for I must both refuse: +For to myself I owe this due regard, +Not to make love my gift, but my reward. +Time best will show, whose services will last. + +_Odm_. Then judge my future service by my past. +What I shall be, by what I was, you know: +That love took deepest root, which first did grow. + +_Guy_. That love, which first was set, will first decay; +Mine, of a fresher date, will longer stay. + +_Odm_. Still you forget my birth. + +_Guy_. But you, I see, +Take care still to refresh my memory. + +_Mont_. My sons, let your unseemly discord cease, +If not in friendship, live at least in peace. +Orbellan, where you love, bestow your wreath. + +_Orb_. My love I dare not, even in whispers, breathe. + +_Mont_. A virtuous love may venture any thing. + +_Orb_. Not to attempt the daughter of my king. + +_Mont_. Whither is all my former fury gone? +Once more I have Traxalla's chains put on, +And by his children am in triumph led: +Too well the living have revenged the dead! + +_Alm_. You think my brother born your enemy; +He's of Traxalla's blood, and so am I. + +_Mont_. In vain I strive. +My lion-heart is with love's toils beset; +Struggling I fall still deeper in the net. +Cydaria, your new lover's garland take, +And use him kindly for your father's sake. + +_Cyd_. So strong an hatred does my nature sway. +That, spite of duty, I must disobey: +Besides, you warned me still of loving two; +Can I love him, already loving you? + +_Enter a Guard hastily_. + +_Mont_. You look amazed, as if some sudden fear +Had seized your hearts; is any danger near? + +_1 Guard_. Behind the covert, where this temple stands, +Thick as the shades, there issue swarming bands +Of ambushed men, whom, by their arms and dress, +To be Taxallan enemies I guess. + +_2 Guard_. The temple, sir, is almost compassed round. + +_Mont_. Some speedy way for passage must be found. +Make to the city by the postern gate, +I'll either force my victory, or fate; +A glorious death in arms I'll rather prove, +Than stay to perish tamely by my love. + +[_Exeunt_. + +_An alarm within. Enter_ MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, ALIBECH, +ORBELLAN, CYDARIA, ALMERIA, _as pursued by Taxallans_. + +_Mont_. No succour from the town? + +_Odm_. None, none is nigh. + +_Guy_. We are inclosed, and must resolve to die. + +_Mont_. Fight for revenge, now hope of life is past +But one stroke more, and that will be my last. + +_Enter_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _to the Taxallans_: CORTEZ +_stays them, just falling on_. + +_Cort_. Contemned? my orders broke even in my sight? +Did I not strictly charge, you should not fight? + +[_To his Indians_. + +_Ind_. Your choler, general, does unjustly rise, +To see your friends pursue your enemies. +The greatest and most cruel foes we have, +Are these, whom you would ignorantly save. +By ambushed men, behind their temple laid, +We have the king of Mexico betrayed. + +_Cort_. Where, banished virtue, wilt thou shew thy face, +If treachery infects thy Indian race? +Dismiss your rage, and lay your weapons by: +Know I protect them, and they shall not die. + +_Ind_. O wondrous mercy, shewn to foes distrest! + +_Cort_. Call them not so, when once with odds opprest; +Nor are they foes my clemency defends, +Until they have refused the name of friends: +Draw up our Spaniards by themselves, then fire +Our guns on all, who do not strait retire. + +[_To_ VASQ. + +_Ind_. O mercy, mercy! at thy feet we fall, + [_Indians kneeling_. +Before thy roaring Gods destroy us all: +See, we retreat without the least reply; +Keep thy Gods silent! if they speak we die. + +[_The Taxallans retire_. + +_Mont_. The fierce Taxatlans lay their weapons down, +Some miracle in our relief is shewn. + +_Guy_. These bearded men in shape and colour be +Like those I saw come floating on the sea. + +[MONT. _kneels to_ CORT. + +_Mont_. Patron of Mexico, and God of wars, +Son of the sun, and brother of the stars-- + +_Cort_. Great monarch, your devotion you misplace. + +_Mont_. Thy actions shew thee born of heavenly race. +If then thou art that cruel God, whose eyes +Delight in blood, and human sacrifice, +Thy dreadful altars I with slaves will store, +And feed thy nostrils with hot reeking gore; +Or if that mild and gentle God thou be, +Who dost mankind below with pity see, +With breath of incense I will glad thy heart; +But if, like us, of mortal seed thou art, +Presents of choicest fowls, and fruits I'll bring, +And in my realms thou shalt be more than king. + +_Cort_. Monarch of empires, and deserving more +Than the sun sees upon your western shore; +Like you a man, and hither led by fame, +Not by constraint, but by my choice, I came; +Ambassador of peace, if peace you chuse, +Or herald of a war, if you refuse. + +_Mont_. Whence, or from whom, dost thou these offers bring? + +_Cort_. From Charles the Fifth, the world's most potent king. + +_Mont_. Some petty prince, and one of little fame, +For to this hour I never heard his name: +The two great empires of the world I know, +That of Peru, and this of Mexico; +And since the earth none larger does afford, +This Charles is some poor tributary lord. + +_Cort_. You speak of that small part of earth you know; +But betwixt us and you wide oceans flow, +And watry desarts of so vast extent, +That passing hither four full moons we spent. + +_Mont_. But say, what news, what offers dost thou bring +From so remote, and so unknown a king? + +[_While_ VASQUEZ _speaks_, CORTEZ _spies the ladies +and goes to them, entertaining_ CYDARIA _with +courtship in dumb shew_. + +_Vasq_. Spain's mighty monarch, to whom heaven thinks fit, +That all the nations of the earth submit, +In gracious clemency, does condescend +On these conditions to become your friend. +First, that of him you shall your sceptre hold; +Next, you present him with your useless gold: +Last, that you leave those idols you implore, +And one true deity with him adore. + +_Mont_. You speak your prince a mighty emperor, +But his demands have spoke him proud and poor; +He proudly at my free-born sceptre flies, +Yet poorly begs a metal I despise. +Gold thou mayest take, whatever thou canst find, +Save what for sacred uses is designed: +But, by what right pretends your king to be +The sovereign lord of all the world and me? + +_Piz_. The sovereign priest-- +Who represents on earth the power of heaven, +Has this your empire to our monarch given. + +_Mont_. Ill does he represent the powers above, +Who nourishes debate, not preaches love; +Besides, what greater folly can be shewn? +He gives another what is not his own. + +_Vasq_. His power must needs unquestioned be below, +For he in heaven an empire can bestow. + +_Mont_. Empires in heaven he with more ease may give, +And you, perhaps, would with less thanks receive; +But heaven has need of no such viceroy here, +Itself bestows the crowns that monarchs wear. + +_Piz_. You wrong his power, as you mistake our end, +Who came thus far religion to extend. + +_Mont_. He, who religion truly understands, +Knows its extent must be in men, not lands. + +_Odm_. But who are those that truth must propagate +Within the confines of my father's state? + +_Vasq_. Religious men, who hither must be sent +As awful guides of heavenly government; +To teach you penance, fasts, and abstinence, +To punish bodies for the soul's offence. + +_Mont_. Cheaply you sin, and punish crimes with ease, +Not as the offended, but the offenders please; +First injure heaven, and, when its wrath is due, +Yourselves prescribe it how to punish you. + +_Odm_. What numbers of these holy men must come? + +_Piz_. You shall not want, each village shall have some; +Who, though the royal dignity they own, +Are equal to it, and depend on none. + +_Guy_. Depend on none! you treat them sure in state, +For 'tis their plenty does their pride create. + +_Mont_. Those ghostly kings would parcel out my power, +And all the fatness of my land devour. +That monarch sits not safely on his throne +Who bears, within, a power that shocks his own. +They teach obedience to imperial sway, +But think it sin if they themselves obey. + +_Vasq_. It seems, then, our religion you accuse, +And peaceful homage to our king refuse. + +_Mont_. Your Gods I slight not, but will keep my own; +My crown is absolute, and holds of none. +I cannot in a base subjection live, +Nor suffer you to take, though I would give. + +_Cort_. Is this your answer, sir? + +_Mont_.--This, as a prince, +Bound to my people's and my crown's defence, +I must return; but, as a man, by you +Redeemed from death, all gratitude is due. + +_Cort_. It was an act my honour bound me to: +But what I did, were I again to do, +I could not do it on my honour's score, +For love would now oblige me to do more. +Is no way left that we may yet agree? +Must I have war, yet have no enemy? + +_Vasq_. He has refused all terms of peace to take. + +_Mont_. Since we must fight, hear, heavens, what prayers I make! +First, to preserve this ancient state and me, +But if your doom the fall of both decree, +Grant only he, who has such honour shewn, +When I am dust, may fill my empty throne! + +_Cort_. To make me happier than that wish can do, +Lies not in all your Gods to grant, but you; +Let this fair princess but one minute stay, +A look from her will your obligements pay. + +[_Exeunt_ MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, ORBELLAN, ALMERIA, and +ALIBECH. + +_Mont_. to _Cyd_. Your duty in your quick return be shewn.-- +Stay you, and wait my daughter to the town. +[_To his guards_. + +[CYDARIA _is going, but turns and looks back upon_ CORTEZ, _who +is looking on her all this while_. + +_Cyd_. My father's gone, and yet I cannot go; +Sure I have something lost or left behind! + +[_Aside_. + +_Cort_. Like travellers who wander in the snow, +I on her beauty gaze 'till I am blind. + +[_Aside_. + +_Cyd_. Thick breath, quick pulse, and heaving of my heart, +All signs of some unwonted change appear: +I find myself unwilling to depart, +And yet I know not why I would be here. +Stranger, you raise such torments in my breast, +That when I go, (if I must go again) +I'll tell my father you have robbed my rest, +And to him of your injuries complain. + +_Cort_. Unknown, I swear, those wrongs were which I wrought, +But my complaints will much more just appear, +Who from another world my freedom brought, +And to your conquering eyes have lost it here. + +_Cyd_. Where is that other world, from whence you came? + +_Cort_. Beyond the ocean, far from hence it lies. + +_Cyd_. Your other world, I fear, is then the same, +That souls must go to when the body dies. +But what's the cause that keeps you here with me, +That I may know what keeps me here with you? + +_Cort_. Mine is a love which must perpetual be, +If you can be so just as I am true. + +_Enter_ ORBELLAN. + +_Orb_. Your father wonders much at your delay. + +_Cyd_. So great a wonder for so small a stay! + +_Orb_. He has commanded you with me to go. + +_Cyd_. Has he not sent to bring the stranger too? + +_Orb_. If he to-morrow dares in fight appear, +His high-placed love perhaps may cost him dear. + +_Cort_. Dares!--that word was never spoke to Spaniard yet, +But forfeited his life, who gave him it; +Haste quickly with thy pledge of safety hence, +Thy guilt's protected by her innocence. + +_Cyd_. Sure in some fatal hour my love was born, +So soon o'ercast with absence in the morn! + +_Cort_. Turn hence those pointed glories of your eyes; +For if more charms beneath those circles rise, +So weak my virtue, they so strong appear, +I shall turn ravisher to keep you here. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I.--_The Magician's Cave_. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA, _and High-Priest_. + + +_Mont_. Not that I fear the utmost fate can do, +Come I the event of doubtful war to know; +For life and death are things indifferent; +Each to be chose as either brings content: +My motive from a nobler cause does spring, +Love rules my heart, and is your monarch's king; +I more desire to know Almeria's mind, +Than all that heaven has for my state designed. + +_High Pr_. By powerful charms, which nothing can withstand, +I'll force the Gods to tell what you demand. + +CHARM. + +Thou moon, that aidest us with thy magic might, +And ye small stars, the scattered seeds of light, +Dart your pale beams into this gloomy place, +That the sad powers of the infernal race +May read above what's hid from human eyes, +And in your walks see empires fall and rise. +And ye, immortal souls, who once were men, +And now, resolved to elements again, +Who wait for mortal frames in depths below, +And did before what we are doomed to do; +Once, twice, and thrice, I wave my sacred wand, +Ascend, ascend, ascend at my command. + +[_An earthy spirit rises_. + +_Spir_. In vain, O mortal men, your prayers implore +The aid of powers below, which want it more: +A God more strong, who all the Gods commands, +Drives us to exile from our native lands; +The air swarms thick with wandering deities, +Which drowsily, like humming beetles, rise +From our loved earth, where peacefully we slept, +And, far from heaven, a long possession kept. +The frighted satyrs, that in woods delight, +Now into plains with pricked-up ears take flight; +And scudding thence, while they their horn-feet ply, +About their sires the little silvans cry. +A nation loving gold must rule this place, +Our temples ruin, and our rites deface: +To them, O king, is thy lost sceptre given. +Now mourn thy fatal search, for since wise heaven +More ill than good to mortals does dispense, +It is not safe to have too quick a sense. + +[_Descends_. + +_Mont_. Mourn they, who think repining can remove +The firm decrees of those, who rule above; +The brave are safe within, who still dare die: +Whene'er I fall, I'll scorn my destiny. +Doom as they please my empire not to stand, +I'll grasp my sceptre with my dying hand. + +_High Pr_. Those earthy spirits black and envious are; +I'll call up other Gods, of form more fair: +Who visions dress in pleasing colour still, +Set all the good to shew, and hide the ill. +Kalib, ascend, my fair-spoke servant rise, +And sooth my heart with pleasing prophesies. + +KALIB ascends all in white, in shape of a woman, +and sings. + +_Kal_. _I looked and saw within the book of fate, + Where, many days did lowr, + When lo one happy hour + Leapt up, and smiled to save thy sinking state; + A day shall come when in thy power + Thy cruel foes shall be; + Then shall thy land be free, + And thou in peace shalt reign. + But take, O take that opportunity, + Which, once refused, will never come again._ + +[Descends. + +_Mont_. I shall deserve my fate, if I refuse +That happy hour which heaven allots to use: +But of my crown thou too much care dost take; +That which I value more, my love's at stake. + +_High Pr_. Arise, ye subtle spirits, that can spy, +When love is entered in a female's eye; +You, that can read it in the midst of doubt, +And in the midst of frowns can find it out; +You, that can search those many cornered minds, +Where women's crooked fancy turns and winds; +You, that can love explore, and truth impart, +Where both lie deepest hid in woman's heart, +Arise-- + +[_The ghosts of_ TRAXALLA _and_ ACACIS _arise; they stand +still, and point at_ MONTEZUMA. + +_High Pr_. I did not for these ghastly visions send; +Their sudden coming does some ill portend. +Begone,--begone,--they will not disappear! +My soul is seized with an unusual fear. + + +_Mont_. Point on, point on, and see whom you can fright. +Shame and confusion seize these shades of night! +Ye thin and empty forms, am I your sport? + [_They smile_. +If you were flesh-- +You know you durst not use me in this sort. + +[_The ghost of the Indian Queen rises betwixt the +ghosts, with a dagger in her breast_. + +_Mont_. Ha! +I feel my hair grow stiff, my eye-balls roll! +This is the only form could shake my soul. + +_Ghost_. The hopes of thy successful love resign; +Know, Montezuma, thou art only mine; +For those, who here on earth their passion shew +By death for love, receive their right below. +Why dost thou then delay my longing arms? +Have cares, and age, and mortal life such charms? +The moon grows sickly at the sight of day, +And early cocks have summoned me away: +Yet I'll appoint a meeting place below, +For there fierce winds o'er dusky vallies blow, +Whose every puff bears empty shades away, +Which guidless in those dark dominions stray. +Just at the entrance of the fields below, +Thou shalt behold a tall black poplar grow; +Safe in its hollow trunk I will attend, +And seize thy spirit when thou dost descend. + +[_Descends_. + +_Mont_. I'll seize thee there, thou messenger of fate.-- +Would my short life had yet a shorter date! +I'm weary of this flesh which holds us here, +And dastards manly souls with hope and fear; +These heats and colds still in our breast make war, +Agues and fevers all our passions are. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +CYDARIA _and_ ALIBECH, _betwixt the two armies_. + + +_Alib_. Blessings will crown your name, if you prevent +That blood, which in this battle will be spent; +Nor need you fear so just a suit to move, +Which both becomes your duty and your love. + +_Cyd_. But think you he will come? their camp is near, +And he already knows I wait him here. + +_Alib_. You are too young your power to understand, +Lovers take wing upon the least command; +Already he is here. + +_Enter_ CORTEZ _and_ VASQUEZ _to them_. + +_Cort_. Methinks, like two black storms on either hand, +Our Spanish army and your Indians stand; +This only space betwixt the clouds is clear, +Where you, like day, broke loose from both appear. + +_Cyd_. Those closing skies might still continue bright, +But who can help it, if you'll make it night? +The Gods have given you power of life and death, +Like them to save, or ruin, with a breath. + +_Cort_. That power they to your father did dispose, +'Twas in his choice to make us friends or foes. + +_Alib_. Injurious strength would rapine still excuse, +By offering terms the weaker must refuse; +And such as these your hard conditions are, +You threaten peace, and you invite a war. + +_Cort_. If for myself to conquer here I came, +You might perhaps my actions justly blame: +Now I am sent, and am not to dispute +My prince's orders, but to execute. + +_Alib_. He, who his prince so blindly does obey, +To keep his faith his virtue throws away. + +_Cort_. Monarchs may err; but should each private +breast +Judge their ill acts, they would dispute their best. + +_Cyd_. Then all your care is for your prince, I see; +Your truth to him out-weighs your love to me: +You may so cruel to deny me prove, +But never after that pretend to love. + +_Cort_. Command my life, and I will soon obey; +To save my honour I my blood will pay. + +_Cyd_. What is this honour which does love controul? + +_Cort_. A raging fit of virtue in the soul; +A painful burden which great minds must bear, +Obtained with danger, and possest with fear. + +_Cyd_. Lay down that burden if it painful grow; +You'll find, without it, love will lighter go. + +_Cort_. Honour, once lost, is never to be found. + +_Alib_. Perhaps he looks to have both passions crowned; +First dye his honour in a purple flood, +Then court the daughter in the father's blood. + +_Cort_. The edge of war I'll from the battle take, +And spare her father's subjects for her sake. + +_Cyd_. I cannot love you less when I'm refused. +But I can die to be unkindly used; +Where shall a maid's distracted heart find rest. +If she can miss it in her lover's breast? + +_Cort_. I till to-morrow will the fight delay; +Remember you have conquered me to-day. + +_Alib_. This grant destroys all you have urged before; +Honour could not give this, or can give more. +Our women in the foremost ranks appear; +March to the fight, and meet your mistress there: +Into the thickest squadrons she must run, +Kill her, and see what honour will be won. + +_Cyd_. I must he in the battle, but I'll go +With empty quiver, and unbended bow; +Not draw an arrow in this fatal strife, +For fear its point should reach your noble life. + +_Enter_ PIZARRO. + +_Cort_. No more: your kindness wounds me to the death: +Honour, be gone! what art thou but a breath? +I'll live, proud of my infamy and shame, +Graced with no triumph but a lover's name; +Men can but say, love did his reason blind, +And love's the noblest frailty of the mind.-- +Draw off my men; the war's already done. + +_Piz_. Your orders come too late, the fight's begun; +The enemy gives on, with fury led, +And fierce Orbellan combats at their head. + +_Cort_. He justly fears, a peace with me would +prove +Of ill concernment to his haughty love; +Retire, fair excellence! I go to meet +New honour, but to lay it at your feet. + +[_Exeunt_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, _and_ PIZARRO.] + +_Enter_ ODMAR _and_ GUTOMAR, _to_ ALIBECH _and_ +CYDARIA. + +_Odm_. Now, madam, since a danger does appear +Worthy my courage, though below my fear; +Give leave to him, who may in battle die, +Before his death, to ask his destiny. + +_Guy_. He cannot die, whom you command to live; +Before the fight, you can the conquest give; +Speak, where you'll place it? + +_Alib_. Briefly, then, to both, +One I in secret love, the other loathe; +But where I hate, my hate I will not show, +And he, I love, my love shall never know; +True worth shall gain me, that it may be said, +Desert, not fancy, once a woman led. +He who, in fight, his courage shall oppose, +With most success, against his country's foes, +From me shall all that recompence receive, +That valour merits, or that love can give. +'Tis true, my hopes and fears are all for one, +But hopes and fears are to myself alone. +Let him not shun the danger of the strife; +I but his love, his country claims his life. + +_Odm_. All obstacles my courage shall remove. + +_Guy_. Fall on, fall on. + +_Odm_. For liberty! + +_Guy_. For love! + +[_Exeunt, the women following_. + + +SCENE III.--_Changes to the Indian country_. + +_Enter_ Montezuma, _attended by the Indians_. + + +_Mont_. Charge, charge! their ground the faint Taxallans yield! +Bold in close ambush, base in open field. +The envious devil did my fortune wrong:-- +Thus fought, thus conquered I, when I was young. + +[_Exit_. + +_Alarm. Enter CORTEZ bloody_. + +_Cort_. Furies pursue these false Taxallans' flight; +Dare they be friends to us, and dare not fight? +What friends can cowards be, what hopes appear +Of help from such, who, where they hate, show fear! + +_Enter_ PIZARRO _and_ VASQUEZ. + +_Piz_. The field grows thin; and those, that now remain, +Appear but like the shadows of the slain. + +_Vasq_. The fierce old king is vanished from the place, +And, in a cloud of dust, pursues the chase. + +_Cort_. Their eager chase disordered does appear, +Command our horse to charge them in the rear: + [_To_ PIZARRO. +You to our old Castilian foot retire, [_To_ VASQ. +Who yet stand firm, and at their backs give fire. + [_Exeunt severally._ + + +SCENE IV. + +_Enter_ ODMAR _and_ GUTOMAR, _meeting each other in the +battle_. + +_Odm_. Where hast thou been, since first the fight began, +Thou less than woman in the shape of man? + +_Guy_. Where I have done what may thy envy move, +Things worthy of my birth, and of my love. + +_Odm_. Two bold Taxallans with one dart I slew, +And left it sticking ere my sword I drew. + +_Guy_. I sought not honour on so base a train, +Such cowards by our women may be slain; +I felled along a man of bearded face, +His limbs all covered with a shining case: +So wondrous hard, and so secure of wound, +It made my sword, though edged with flint, re-bound. + +_Odm_. I killed a double man; the one half lay +Upon the ground, the other ran away. + +[_Guns go off within. + +Enter_ Montezuma, _out of breath, with him_ Alibech, _and an +Indian_. + +_Mont_. All is lost!-- +Our foes with lightning and with thunder fight; +My men in vain shun death by shameful flight: +For deaths invisible come winged with fire, +They hear a dreadful noise, and strait expire. +Take, gods! that soul, ye did in spite create, +And made it great, to be unfortunate: +Ill fate for me unjustly you provide, +Great souls are sparks of your own heavenly pride: +That lust of power we from your godheads have, +You're bound to please those appetites you gave. + +_Enter_ Vasquez _and_ Pizarro, _with Spaniards._ + +_Vasq_. Pizarro, I have hunted hard to-day, +Into our toils, the noblest of the prey; +Seize on the king, and him your prisoner make, +While I, in kind revenge, my taker take. + +[Pizarro, _with two, goes to attack the king_. Vasquez, _with +another, to seize_ Alibech. + +_Guy_. Their danger is alike;--whom shall I free? + +_Odm_. I'll follow love! + +_Guy_. I'll follow piety! + +[Odmar _retreats from_ Vasquez, _with_ Alibech, _off the +stage_; Guyomar _fights for his father_. + +_Guy_. Fly, sir! while I give back that life you gave; +Mine is well lost, if I your life can save. + +[Montezuma _fights off_; Guyomar, _making his retreat, stays_. + +_Guy_. Tis more than man can do to scape them all; +Stay, let me see where noblest I may fall. + +[_He runs at_ Vasquez, _is seized behind and taken_. + +_Vasq_. Conduct him off, +And give command, he strictly guarded be. + +_Guy_. In vain are guards, death sets the valiant free. + + +[_Exit_ Guyomar, _with guards_. + +_Vasq_. A glorious day! and bravely was it fought; +Great fame our general in great dangers sought; +From his strong arm I saw his rival run, +And, in a crowd, the unequal combat shun. + +_Enter_ Cortez _leading_ Cydaria, _who seems crying and +begging of him_. + +_Cort_. Man's force is fruitless, and your gods would fail +To save the city, but your tears prevail; +I'll of my fortune no advantage make, +Those terms, they had once given, they still may take. + +_Cyd_. Heaven has of right all victory designed, +Where boundless power dwells in a will confined; +Your Spanish honour does the world excel. + +_Cort_. Our greatest honour is in loving well. + +_Cyd_. Strange ways you practise there, to win a heart; +Here love is nature, but with you 'tis art. + +_Cort_. Love is with us as natural as here, +But fettered up with customs more severe. +In tedious courtship we declare our pain, +And, ere we kindness find, first meet disdain. + +_Cyd_. If women love, they needless pains endure; +Their pride and folly but delay their cure. + +_Cort_. What you miscall their folly, is their care; +They know how fickle common lovers are: +Their oaths and vows are cautiously believed, +For few there are but have been once deceived. + +_Cyd_. But if they are not trusted when they vow, +What other marks of passion can they show? + +_Cort_. With feasts, and music, all that brings delight, +Men treat their ears, their palates, and their sight. + +_Cyd_. Your gallants, sure, have little eloquence, +Failing to move the soul, they court the sense: +With pomp, and trains, and in a crowd they woo, +When true felicity is but in two; +But can such toys your women's passions move? +This is but noise and tumult, 'tis not love. + +_Cort_. I have no reason, madam, to excuse +Those ways of gallantry, I did not use; +My love was true, and on a nobler score. + +_Cyd_. Your love, alas! then have you loved before? + +_Cort_. 'Tis true I loved, but she is dead, she's dead; +And I should think with her all beauty fled, +Did not her fair resemblance live in you, +And, by that image, my first flames renew. + +_Cyd_. Ah! happy beauty, whosoe'er thou art! +Though dead, thou keep'st possession of his heart; +Thou makest me jealous to the last degree, +And art my rival in his memory: +Within his memory! ah, more than so, +Thou livest and triumph'st o'er Cydaria too. + +_Cort_. What strange disquiet has uncalmed your breast, +Inhuman fair, to rob the dead of rest!-- +Poor heart! she slumbers in her silent tomb; +Let her possess in peace that narrow room. + +_Cyd_. Poor heart!--he pities and bewails her death!-- +Some god, much hated soul, restore thy breath, +That I may kill thee; but, some ease 'twill be, +I'll kill myself for but resembling thee. + +_Cort_. I dread your anger, your disquiet fear, +But blows, from hands so soft, who would not bear? +So kind a passion why should I remove? +Since jealousy but shows how well we love. +Yet jealousy so strange I never knew; +Can she, who loves me not, disquiet you? +For in the grave no passions fill the breast, +'Tis all we gain by death, to be at rest. + +_Cyd_. That she no longer loves, brings no relief; +Your love to her still lives, and that's my grief. + +_Cort_. The object of desire once ta'en away, +'Tis then not love, but pity, which we pay. + +_Cyd_. 'Tis such a pity I should never have, +When I must lie forgotten in the grave; +I meant to have obliged you, when I died, +That, after me, you should love none beside.-- +But you are false already. + +_Cort_. If untrue, +By heaven! my falsehood is to her, not you. + +_Cyd_. Observe, sweet heaven, how falsely he does swear!-- +You said, you loved me for resembling her. + +_Cort_. That love was in me by resemblance bred, +But shows you cheared my sorrows for the dead. + +_Cyd_. You still repeat the greatness of your grief. + +_Cort_. If that was great, how great was the relief! + +_Cyd_. The first love still the strongest we account. + +_Cort_. That seems more strong which could the first surmount: +But if you still continue thus unkind, +Whom I love best, you, by my death, shall find. + +_Cyd_. If you should die, my death shall yours pursue; +But yet I am not satisfied you're true. + +_Cort_. Hear me, ye gods! and punish him you hear, +If aught within the world I hold so dear. + +_Cyd_. You would deceive the gods and me; she's dead, +And is not in the world, whose love I dread.-- +Name not the world; say, nothing is so dear. + +_Cort_. Then nothing is,--let that secure your fear. + +_Cyd_. 'Tis time must wear it off, but I must go. +Can you your constancy in absence show? + +_Cort_. Misdoubt my constancy, and do not try, +But stay, and keep me ever in your eye. + +_Cyd_. If as a prisoner I were here, you might +Have then insisted on a conqueror's right, +And staid me here; but now my love would be +The effect of force, and I would give it free. + +_Cort_. To doubt your virtue, or your love, were sin! +Call for the captive prince, and bring him in. + +_Enter_ Guyomar, _bound and sad_. + +You look, sir, as your fate you could not bear: +[_To_ Guy. +Are Spanish fetters, then, so hard to wear? +Fortune's unjust, she ruins oft the brave, +And him, who should be victor, makes the slave. + +_Guy_. Son of the sun! my fetters cannot be +But glorious for me, since put on by thee; +The ills of love, not those of fate, I fear; +These can I brave, but those I cannot bear: +My rival brother, while I'm held in chains, +In freedom reaps the fruit of all my pains. + +_Cort_. Let it be never said that he, whose breast +Is filled with love, should break a lover's rest.-- +Haste! lose no time!--your sister sets you free:-- +And tell the king, my generous enemy, +I offer still those terms he had before, +Only ask leave his daughter to adore. + +_Guy_. Brother, (that name my breast shall ever own, + [_He embraces him_. +The name of foe be but in battles known;) +For some few days all hostile acts forbear, +That, if the king consents, it seem not fear: +His heart, is noble, and great souls must be +Most sought and courted in adversity.-- +Three days, I hope, the wished success will tell. + +_Cyd_. Till that long time,-- + +_Cort_. Till that long time, farewell. + +[_Exeunt severally_. + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_A Chamber Royal_. + +_Enter_ ODMAR _and_ ALIBECH. + + +_Odm_. The gods, fair Alibech, had so decreed, +Nor could my valour against fate succeed; +Yet though our army brought not conquest home, +I did not from the fight inglorious come: +If, as a victor, you the brave regard, +Successless courage, then, may hope reward; +And I, returning safe, may justly boast, +To win the prize which my dear brother lost. + +_Enter_ GUYOMAR _behind him_. + +_Guy_. No, no, thy brother lives! and lives to be +A witness, both against himself and thee; +Though both in safety are returned again, +I blush to ask her love for vanquished men. + +_Odm_. Brother, I'll not dispute but you are brave; +Yet I was free, and you, it seems, a slave. + +_Guy_. Odmar, 'tis true that I was captive led; +As publicly 'tis known, as that you fled: +But of two shames, if she must one partake, +I think the choice will not be hard to make. + +_Odm_. Freedom and bondage in her choice remain; +Darest thou expect she will put on thy chain? + +_Guy_. No, no, fair Alibech, give him the crown, +My brother is returned with high renown: +He thinks by flight his mistress must be won, +And claims the prize, because he best did run. + +_Alib_. Your chains were glorious, and your flight was wise, +But neither have o'ercome your enemies: +My secret wishes would my choice decide, +But open justice bends to neither side. + +_Odm_. Justice already does my right approve, +If him, who loves you most, you most should love. +My brother poorly from your aid withdrew, +But I my father left, to succour you. + +_Guy_. Her country she did to herself prefer, +Him who fought best, not who defended her; +Since she her interest, for the nation's, waved, +Then I, who saved the king, the nation saved. +You, aiding her, your country did betray; +I, aiding him, did her commands obey. + +_Odm_. Name it no more; in love there is a time +When dull obedience is the greatest crime. +She to her country's use resigned your sword, +And you, kind lover, took her at her word; +You did your duty to your love prefer, +Seek your reward from duty, not from her. + +_Guy_. In acting what my duty did require, +'Twas hard for me to quit my own desire; +That fought for her, which, when I did subdue, +'Twas much the easier task I left to you. + +_Alib_. Odmar a more than common love has shown, +And Guyomar's was greater, or was none; +Which I should chuse, some god direct my breast. +The certain good, or the uncertain best.-- +I cannot chuse,--you both dispute in vain,-- +Time and your future acts must make it plain; +First raise the siege, and set your country free, +I, not the judge, but the reward, will be. + +_To them, Enter_ MONTEZUMA, _talking with_ ALMERIA +_and_ ORBELLAN. + +_Mont_. Madam, I think, with reason, I extol +The virtue of the Spanish general; +When all the gods our ruin have foretold, +Yet generously he does his arms withhold, +And, offering peace, the first conditions make. + +_Alm_. When peace is offered, 'tis too late to take; +For one poor loss, to stoop to terms like those!-- +Were we o'ercome, what could they worse impose? +Go, go, with homage your proud victors meet! +Go, lie like dogs beneath your masters' feet! +Go, and beget them slaves to dig their mines, +And groan for gold, which now in temples shines! +Your shameful story shall record of me, +The men all crouched, and left a woman free! + +_Guy_. Had I not fought, or durst not fight again, +I my suspected counsel should refrain; +For I wish peace, and any terms prefer, +Before the last extremities of war. +We but exasperate those we cannot harm, +And fighting gains us but to die more warm: +If that be cowardice, which dares not see +The insolent effects of victory, +The rape of matrons, and their childrens cries,-- +Then I am fearful, let the brave advise. + +_Odm_. Keen cutting swords, and engines killing far, +Have prosperously begun a doubtful war: +But now our foes with less advantage fight, +Their strength decreases with our Indians' fright. + +_Mont_. This noble vote does with my wish comply,-- +I am for war. + +_Alm_. And so am I. + +_Orb_. And I. + +_Mont_. Then send to break the truce, and I'll take care +To chear the soldiers, and for fight prepare. + +[_Exeunt_ MONT. ODM. GUY. _and_ ALIB. + +_Alm_. to _Orb_. 'Tis now the hour which all to rest allow, +And sleep sits heavy upon every brow; +In this dark silence softly leave the town, + [GUYOMAR _returns, and hears them_. +And to the general's tent,--'tis quickly known,-- +Direct your steps: You may despatch him: strait, +Drowned in his sleep, and easy for his fate: +Besides, the truce will make the guards more slack. + +_Orb_. Courage, which leads me on, will bring me back.-- +But I more fear the baseness of the thing: +Remorse, you know, bears a perpetual sting. + +_Alm_. For mean remorse no room the valiant find, +Repentance is the virtue of weak minds; +For want of judgment keeps them doubtful still, +They may repent of good, who can of ill; +But daring courage makes ill actions good, +'Tis foolish pity spares a rival's blood; +You shall about it strait. + +[_Exeunt_ ALM. _and_ ORB. + +_Guy_. Would they betray +His sleeping virtue, by so mean a way!-- +And yet this Spaniard is our nation's foe,-- +I wish him dead,--but cannot wish it so;-- +Either my country never must be freed, +Or I consenting to so black a deed.-- +Would chance had never led my steps this way! +Now if he dies, I murder him, not they;-- +Something must be resolved ere 'tis too late;-- +He gave me freedom, I'll prevent his fate. + +[_Exit_. + + +SCENE II.--_A Camp_. + +_Enter CORTEZ alone, in a night-gown_. + + +_Cort_. All things are hushed, as nature's self lay dead; +The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head; +The little birds, in dreams, their songs repeat, +And sleeping flowers beneath the night-dew sweat. +Even lust and envy sleep; yet love denies +Rest to my soul, and slumber to my eyes.-- +Three days I promised to attend my doom, +And two long days and nights are yet to come:-- +'Tis sure the noise of some tumultuous fight, + [_Noise within_. +They break the truce, and sally out by night. + +_Enter_ ORBELLAN, _flying in the dark, his sword +drawn_. + +_Orb_. Betrayed! pursued! O, whither shall I fly? +See, see! the just reward of treachery!-- +I'm sure among the tents, but know not where; +Even night wants darkness to secure my fear. + +[_Comes near_ CORTEZ, _who hears him_. + +_Cort_. Stand! who goes there? + +_Orb_. Alas, what shall I say?-- + [_Aside_. +A poor Taxallan that mistook his way, +And wanders in the terrors of the night. + +_Cort_. Soldier, thou seem'st afraid; whence comes thy fright? + +_Orb_. The insolence of Spaniards caused my fear, +Who in the dark pursued me entering here. + +_Cort_. Their crimes shall meet immediate punishment, +But stay thou safe within the general's tent. + +_Orb_. Still worse and worse. + +_Cort_. Fear not, but follow me; +Upon my life I'll set thee safe and free. + +[CORTEZ _leads him in, and returns. +To him_ VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _and Spaniards with Torches_. + +_Vasq_. O sir, thank heaven, and your brave Indian friend, +That you are safe; Orbellan did intend +This night to kill you sleeping in your tent: +But Guyomar his trusty slave has sent, +Who, following close his silent steps by night, +Till in our camp they both approached the light, +Cried-_Seize the traitor, seize the murtherer_! +The cruel villain fled I know not where; +But far he is not, for he this way bent. + +_Piz_. The enraged soldiers seek, from tent to tent, +With lighted torches, and in love to you, +With bloody vows his hated life pursue. + +_Vasq_. This messenger does, since he came, relate, +That the old king, after a long debate, +By his imperious mistress blindly led, +Has given Cydaria to Orbellan's bed. + +_Cort_. Vasquez, the trusty slave with you retain; +Retire a while, I'll call you back again. + [_Exeunt_ VASQ. _and_ PIZ. + CORTEZ _at his tent door_. +Indian, come forth; your enemies are gone, +And I, who saved you from them, here alone. + + _Enter ORBELLAN, holding his face aside_. + +You hide your face, as you were still afraid: +Dare you not look on him, who gave you aid? + +_Orb_. Moon, slip behind some cloud, some tempest, rise, +And blow out all the stars that light the skies, +To shrowd my shame! + +_Cort_. In vain you turn aside, +And hide your face; your name you cannot hide: +I know my rival and his black design. + +_Orb_. Forgive it, as my passion's fault, not mine. + +_Cort_. In your excuse your love does little say; +You might, howe'er, have took a fairer way. + +_Orb_. 'Tis true, my passion small defence can make; +Yet you must spare me for your honour's sake, +That was engaged to set me safe and free. + +_Cort_. 'Twas to a stranger, not an enemy: +Nor is it prudence to prolong thy breath, +When all my hopes depend upon thy death; +Yet none shall tax me with base perjury: +Something I'll do, both for myself and thee; +With vowed revenge my soldiers search each tent, +If thou art seen, none can thy death prevent; +Follow my steps with silence and with haste. + + +SCENE III. + +_They go out, the Scene changes to the Indian Country, they +return_. + +_Cort_. Now you are safe, you have my outguards past. + +_Orb_. Then here I take my leave. + +_Cort_. Orbellan, no; +When you return, you to Cydaria go: +I'll send a message. + +_Orb_. Let it be exprest; +I am in haste. + +_Cort_. I'll write it in your breast. + +[_Draws_. + +_Orb_. What means my rival? + +_Cort_. Either fight or die, +I'll not strain honour to a point too high; +I saved your life, and keep it if you can, +Cydaria shall be for the bravest man; +On equal terms you shall your fortune try, +Take this, and lay your flint-edged weapon by; + [_Gives him a sword_. +I'll arm you for my glory, and pursue +No palm, but what's to manly virtue due. +Fame, with my conquest, shall my courage tell. +This you shall gain, by placing love so well. + +_Orb_. Fighting with you, ungrateful I appear. + +_Cort_. Under that shadow, thou would'st hide thy fear: +Thou would'st possess thy love at thy return, +And in her arms my easy virtue scorn. + +_Orb_. Since we must fight, no longer let's delay; +The moon shines clear, and makes a paler day. + +[_They fight_, ORBELLAN_ is wounded in the hand, + his sword falls out of it_. + +_Cort_. To courage, even of foes, there's pity due; +It was not I, but fortune, vanquished you: + [_Throws his sword again_. +Thank me with that, and so dispute the prize, +As if you fought before Cydaria's eyes. + +_Orb_. I would not poorly such a gift requite; +You gave me not this sword to yield, but fight: + [_He strives to hold it, but cannot_. +But see, where yours has forced its bloody way; +My wounded hand my heart does ill obey. + +_Cort_. Unlucky honour, that controul'st my will? +Why have I vanquished, since I must not kill? +Fate sees thy life lodged in a brittle glass, +And looks it through, but to it cannot pass. + + +_Orb_. All I can do is frankly to confess,-- +I wish I could, but cannot, love her less: +To swear I would resign her, were but vain, +Love would recal that perjured breath again; +And in my wretched case, 'twill be more just, +Not to have promised, than deceive your trust. +Know, if I live once more to see the town, +In bright Cydaria's arms my love I'll crown. + +_Cort_. In spite of that, I give thee liberty, +And with thy person leave thy honour free; +But to thy wishes move a speedy pace, +Or death will soon o'ertake thee in the chase.-- +To arms, to arms; fate shows my love the way, +I'll force the city on thy nuptial day. + +[_Exeunt severally_. + + +SCENE IV.--Mexico. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, ALMERIA. + + +_Mont_. It moves my wonder, that in two days space, +This early famine spreads so swift a pace. + +_Odm_. 'Tis, sir, the general cry; nor seems it strange, +The face of plenty should so swiftly change: +This city never felt a siege before, +But from the lake received its daily store; +Which now shut up, and millions crowded here, +Famine will soon in multitudes appear. + +_Mont_. The more the number, still the greater shame. + +_Alm_. What if some one should seek immortal fame, +By ending of the siege at one brave blow? + +_Mont_. That were too happy! + +_Alm_. Yet it may be so. +What if the Spanish general should be slain? + +_Guy_. Just heavens I hope, does otherwise ordain. + +[_Aside_. + +_Mont_. If slain by treason, I lament his death. + +_Enter_ ORBELLAN, _and whispers his sister_. + +_Odm_. Orbellan seems in haste, and out of breath. + +_Mont_. Orbellan, welcome; you are early here, +A bridegroom's haste does in your looks appear. + +[ALMERIA _aside to her brother_. + +_Alm_. Betrayed! no, 'twas thy cowardice and fear; +He had not 'scaped with life, had I been there: +But since so ill you act a brave design, +Keep close your shame;--fate makes the next turn mine. + +_Enter_ ALIBECH _and_ CYDARIA. + +_Alib_. O sir, if ever pity touched your breast, +Let it be now to your own blood exprest: +In tears your beauteous daughter drowns her sight, +Silent as dews that fall in dead of night. + +_Cyd_. To your commands I strict obedience owe, +And my last act of it I come to show: +I want the heart to die before your eyes, +But grief will finish that which fear denies. + +_Alm_. Your will should by your father's precept move. + +_Cyd_. When he was young, he taught me truth in love. + +_Alm_. He found more love than he deserved, 'tis true, +And that, it seems, is lucky too to you; +Your father's folly took a headstrong course, +But I'll rule yours, and teach you love by force. + +_Enter Messenger_. + +_Mess_. Arm, arm, O king! the enemy comes on, +A sharp assault already is begun; +Their murdering guns play fiercely on the walls. + +_Odm_. Now, rival, let us run where honour calls. + +_Guy_. I have discharged what gratitude did owe, +And the brave Spaniard is again my foe. + +[_Exeunt_ ODMAR _and_ GUYOMAR. + +_Mont_. Our walls are high, and multitudes defend: +Their vain attempt must in their ruin end; +The nuptials with my presence shall be graced. + +_Alib_. At least but stay 'till the assault be past. + +_Alm_. Sister, in vain you urge him to delay, +The king has promised, and he shall obey. + +_Enter second Messenger_. + +_2 Mess_. From several parts the enemy's repelled, +One only quarter to the assault does yield. + +_Enter third Messenger_. + +_3 Mess_. Some foes are entered, but they are so few, +They only death, not victory, pursue. + +_Orb_. Hark, hark, they shout! +From virtue's rules I do too meanly swerve, +I, by my courage, will your love deserve. + +[_Exit_. + +_Mont_. Here, in the heart of all the town, I'll stay; +And timely succour, where it wants, convey. + +_A noise within. Enter_ ORBELLAN, _Indians driven +in_, CORTEZ _after them, and one or two Spaniards_. + +_Cort_. He's found, he's found! degenerate coward, stay: +Night saved thee once, thou shalt not scape by day. + +[_Kills_ ORBELLAN. + +_Orb_. O, I am killed-- + +[_Dies_. + +_Enter_ GUYOMAR _and_ ODMAR. + +_Guy_. Yield, generous stranger, and preserve your life; +Why chuse you death in this unequal strife? + +[_He is beset_. + +[ALMERIA _and_ ALIBECH _fall on_ ORBELLAN'S _body_. + +_Cort_. What nobler fate could any lover meet? +I fall revenged, and at my mistress' feet. + +[_They fall on him, and bear him down_, GUYOMAR _takes his sword_. + +_Alib_. He's past recovery; my dear brother's slain, +Fate's hand was in it, and my care is vain. + +_Alm_. In weak complaints you vainly waste your breath: +They are not tears that can revenge his death. +Despatch the villain strait. + +_Cort_. The villain's dead. + +_Alm_. Give me a sword, and let me take his head. + +_Mont_. Though, madam, for your brother's loss I grieve, +Yet let me beg-- + +_Alm_. His murderer may live? + +_Cyd_. 'Twas his misfortune, and the chance of war. + +_Cort_. It was my purpose, and I killed him fair: +How could you so unjust and cruel prove, +To call that chance, which was the act of love? + +_Cyd_. I called it any thing to save your life: +Would he were living still, and I his wife! +That wish was once my greatest misery: +But 'tis a greater to behold you die. + +_Alm_. Either command his death upon the place, +Or never more behold Almeria's face. + +_Guy_. You by his valour once from death were freed: +Can you forget so generous a deed? + +[_To_ MONTEZUMA. + +_Mont_. How gratitude and love divide my breast! +Both ways alike my soul is robbed of rest. +But--let him die--Can I his sentence give? +Ungrateful, must he die, by whom I live? +But can I then Almeria's tears deny? +Should any live whom she commands to die? + +_Guy_. Approach who dares: He yielded on my word; +And, as my prisoner, I restore his sword. + [_Gives his sword_. +His life concerns the safety of the state, +And I'll preserve it for a calm debate. + +_Mont_. Dar'st thou rebel, false and degenerate boy? +That being, which I gave, I thus destroy. + +[_Offers to kill him_, ODMAR _steps between_. + +_Odm_. My brother's blood I cannot see you spill, +Since he prevents you but from doing ill. +He is my rival, but his death would be +For him too glorious, and too base for me. + +_Guy_. Thou shalt not conquer in this noble strife: +Alas, I meant not to defend my life: +Strike, sir, you never pierced a breast more true; +'Tis the last wound I e'er can take for you. +You see I live but to dispute your will; +Kill me, and then you may my prisoner kill. + +_Cort_. You shall not, generous youths, contend for me: +It is enough that I your honour see: +But that your duty may no blemish take, +I will myself your father's captive make: + [_Gives his sword to_ MONTEZUMA. +When he dares strike, I am prepared to fall: +The Spaniards will revenge their general. + +_Cyd_. Ah, you too hastily your life resign, +You more would love it, if you valued mine! + +_Cort_. Despatch me quickly, I my death forgive; +I shall grow tender else, and wish to live; +Such an infectious face her sorrow wears, +I can bear death, but not Cydaria's tears. + +_Alm_. Make haste, make haste, they merit death all three: +They for rebellion, and for murder he. +See, see, my brother's ghost hangs hovering there +O'er his warm blood, that steams into the air; +Revenge, revenge, it cries. + +_Mont_. And it shall have; +But two days respite for his life I crave: +If in that space you not more gentle prove, +I'll give a fatal proof how well I love. +'Till when, you, Guyomar, your prisoner take; +Bestow him in the castle on the lake: +In that small time I shall the conquest gain +Of these few sparks of virtue which remain; +Then all, who shall my headlong passion see, +Shall curse my crimes, and yet shall pity me. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I.--_A prison_. + +_Enter_ ALMERIA _and an Indian; they speak entering_. + + +_Ind_. A dangerous proof of my respect I show. + +_Alm_. Fear not, Prince Guyomar shall never know: +While he is absent let us not delay; +Remember 'tis the king thou dost obey. + +_Ind_. See where he sleeps. + +[CORTEZ _appears chained and laid asleep_. + +_Alm_.--Without, my coming wait; +And, on thy life, secure the prison gate. + +[_Exit Indian_. + +[_She plucks out a dagger, and approaches him_. + +Spaniard, awake: thy fatal hour is come: +Thou shalt not at such ease receive thy doom. +Revenge is sure, though sometimes slowly paced: +Awake, awake, or, sleeping, sleep thy last. + +_Cort_. Who names revenge? + +_Alm_.--Look up, and thou shalt see. + +_Cort_. I cannot fear so fair an enemy. + +_Alm_. No aid is nigh, nor canst thou make defence: +Whence can thy courage come? + +_Cort_.--From innocence. + +_Alm_. From innocence? let that then take thy part. +Still are thy looks assured--have at thy heart! + [_Holds up the dagger_. +I cannot kill thee; sure thou bear'st some charm, + [_Goes back_. +Or some divinity holds back my arm. +Why do I thus delay to make him bleed? + [_Aside_. +Can I want courage for so brave a deed? +I've shook it off; my soul is free from fear. + [_Comes again_. +And I can now strike any where--but here: +His scorn of death, how strangely does it move! +A mind so haughty who could chuse but love! + [_Goes off_. +Plead not a charm, or any god's command, +Alas, it is thy heart that holds thy hand: +In spite of me I love, and see, too late, +My mother's pride must find my mother's fate. +--Thy country's foe, thy brother's murderer,-- +For shame, Almeria, such mad thoughts forbear: +It w'onnot be,--if I once more come on, + [_Coming on again_. +I shall mistake the breast, and pierce my own. + +[_Comes with her dagger down_. + +_Cort_. Does your revenge maliciously forbear +To give me death, 'till 'tis prepared by fear? +If you delay for that, forbear or strike, +Foreseen and sudden death are both alike. + +_Alm_. To show my love would but increase his pride: +They have most power, who most their passions hide. + [_Aside_. +Spaniard, I must confess, I did expect +You could not meet your death with such neglect; +I will defer it now, and give you time: +You may repent, and I forget your crime. + +_Cort_. Those, who repent, acknowledge they do ill: +I did not unprovoked your brother kill. + +_Alm_. Petition me, perhaps I may forgive. + +_Cort_. Who begs his life does not deserve to live. + +_Alm_. But if 'tis given, you'll not refuse to take? + +_Cort_. I can live gladly for Cydaria's sake. + +_Alm_. Does she so wholly then possess your mind? +What if you should another lady find, +Equal to her in birth, and far above +In all that can attract, or keep your love, +Would you so doat upon your first desire, +As not to entertain a nobler fire? + +_Cort_. I think that person hardly will be found, +With gracious form and equal virtue crowned: +Yet if another could precedence claim, +My fixed desires could find no fairer aim. + +_Alm_. Dull ignorance! he cannot yet conceive: +To speak more plain, shame will not give me leave. + [_Aside_. +--Suppose one loved you, whom even kings adore: + [_To him_. +Who, with your life, your freedom would restore, +And add to that the crown of Mexico: +Would you, for her, Cydaria's love forego? + +_Cort_. Though she could offer all you can invent, +I could not of my faith, once vowed, repent. + +_Alm_. A burning blush has covered all my face; +Why am I forced to publish my disgrace? +What if I love? you know it cannot be, +And yet I blush to put the case--'twere me. +If I could love you with a flame so true, +I could forget what hand my brother slew-- +--Make out the rest--I am disordered so, +I know not farther what to say or do: +--But answer me to what you think I meant. + +_Cort_. Reason or wit no answer can invent: +Of words confused who can the meaning find? + +_Alm_. Disordered words show a distempered mind. + +_Cort_. She has obliged me so, that could I chuse, +I would not answer what I must refuse. [_Aside_. + +_Alm_. His mind is shook--suppose I loved you, speak, +Would you for me Cydaria's fetters break? + +_Cort_. Things, meant in jest, no serious answer need. + +_Alm_. But, put the case that it were so indeed. + +_Cort_. If it were so,--which but to think were pride,-- +My constant love would dangerously be tried: +For since you could a brother's death forgive, +He, whom you save, for you alone should live: +But I, the most unhappy of mankind, +Ere I knew yours, have all my love resigned: +'Tis my own loss I grieve, who have no more: +You go a-begging to a bankrupt's door. +Yet could I change, as sure I never can, +How could you love so infamous a man? +For love, once given from her, and placed in you, +Would leave no ground I ever could be true. + +_Alm_. You construed me aright--I was in jest: +And, by that offer, meant to sound your breast; +Which since I find so constant to your love, +Will much my value of your worth improve. +Spaniard, assure yourself you shall not be +Obliged to quit Cydaria for me: +'Tis dangerous though to treat me in this sort, +And to refuse my offers, though in sport. [_Exit_. + +_Cort_. In what a strange condition am I left? +More than I wish I have, of all I wish bereft! +In wishing nothing, we enjoy still most; +For even our wish is, in possession, lost: +Restless, we wander to a new desire, +And burn ourselves, by blowing up the fire: +We toss and turn about our feverish will, +When all our ease must come by lying still: +For all the happiness mankind can gain +Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain. + [_Goes in, and the scene closes upon him_. + + +SCENE II.--_Chamber-royal_. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, _and_ +ALIBECH. + + +_Mont_. My ears are deaf with this impatient crowd. + +_Odm_. Their wants are now grown mutinous and loud: +The general's taken, but the siege remains; +And their last food our dying men sustains. + +_Guy_. One means is only left. I to this hour +Have kept the captive from Almeria's power; +And though, by your command, she often sent +To urge his doom, do still his death prevent. + +_Mont_. That hope is past: Him I have oft assailed; +But neither threats nor kindness have prevailed; +Hiding our wants, I offered to release +His chains, and equally conclude a peace: +He fiercely answered, I had now no way +But to submit, and without terms obey: +I told him, he in chains demanded more +Than he imposed in victory before: +He sullenly replied, he could not make +These offers now; honour must give, not take. + +_Odm_. Twice have I sallied, and was twice beat back: +What desp'rate course remains for us to take! + +_Mont_. If either death or bondage I must chuse, +I'll keep my freedom, though my life I lose. + +_Guy_. I'll not upbraid you, that you once refused +Those means, you might have then with honour used; +I'll lead your men, perhaps bring victory: +They know to conquer best, who know to die. + [_Exeunt_ MONTEZUMA _and_ ODMAR. + +_Alib_. Ah me, what have I heard! stay, Guyomar, +What hope you from this sally you prepare? + +_Guy_. A death, with honour, for my country's good: +A death, to which yourself designed my blood. + +_Alib_. You heard, and I well know the town's distress, +Which sword and famine both at once oppress: +Famine so fierce, that what's denied man's use, +Even deadly plants, and herbs of poisonous juice, +Wild hunger seeks; and, to prolong our breath, +We greedily devour our certain death: +The soldier in th' assault of famine falls: +And ghosts, not men, are watching on the walls. +As callow birds-- +Whose mother's killed in seeking of the prey, +Cry in their nest, and think her long away; +And at each leaf that stirs, each blast of wind, +Gape for the food, which they must never find: +So cry the people in their misery. + +_Guy_. And what relief can they expect from me? + +_Alib_. While Montezuma sleeps, call in the foe: +The captive general your design may know: +His noble heart, to honour ever true, +Knows how to spare as well as to subdue. + +_Guy_. What I have heard I blush to hear: And grieve, +Those words you spoke I must your words believe. +I to do this! I, whom you once thought brave, +To sell my country, and my king enslave? +All I have done by one foul act deface, +And yield my right to you, by turning base? +What more could Odmar wish that I should do, +To lose your love, than you persuade me to? +No, madam, no, I never can commit +A deed so ill, nor can you suffer it: +'Tis but to try what virtue you can find +Lodged in my soul. + +_Alib_. I plainly speak my mind; +Dear as my life my virtue I'll preserve, +But virtue you too scrupulously serve: +I loved not more than now my country's good, +When for its service I employed your blood: +But things are altered, I am still the same, +By different ways still moving to one fame; +And by disarming you, I now do more +To save the town, than arming you before. + +_Guy_. Things good or ill by circumstances be, +In you 'tis virtue, what is vice in me. + +_Alib_. That ill is pardoned, which does good procure. + +_Guy_. The good's uncertain, but the ill is sure. + +_Alib_. When kings grow stubborn, slothful, or unwise, +Each private man for public good should rise. + +_Guy_. Take heed, fair maid, how monarchs you accuse: +Such reasons none but impious rebels use: +Those, who to empire by dark paths aspire, +Still plead a call to what they most desire; +But kings by free consent their kingdoms take, +Strict as those sacred ties which nuptials make; +And whate'er faults in princes time reveal, +None can be judge where can be no appeal. + +_Alib_. In all debates you plainly let me see +You love your virtue best, but Odmar me: +Go, your mistaken piety pursue: +I'll have from him what is denied by you; +With my commands you shall no more be graced. +Remember, sir, this trial was your last. + +_Guy_. The gods inspire you with a better mind; +Make you more just, and make you then more kind! +But though from virtue's rules I cannot part, +Think I deny you with a bleeding heart: +'Tis hard with me whatever choice I make; +I must not merit you, or must forsake: +But, in this strait, to honour I'll be true, +And leave my fortune to the gods and you. + +_Enter Messenger privately_. + +_Mess_. Now is the time; be aiding to your fate; +From the watch-tower, above the western-gate, +I have discerned the foe securely lie, +Too proud to fear a beaten enemy: +Their careless chiefs to the cool grottoes run, +The bowers of kings, to shade them from the sun. + +_Guy_. Upon thy life disclose thy news to none; +I'll make the conquest or the shame my own. + [_Exeunt_ GUYOMAR _and Messenger_. + +_Enter_ ODMAR. + +_Alib_. I read some welcome message in his eye: +Prince Odmar comes: I'll see if he'll deny.-- +Odmar, I come to tell you pleasing news; +I begged a thing, your brother did refuse. + +_Odm_. The news both pleases me, and grieves me +too; +For nothing, sure, should be denied to you: +But he was blessed who might commanded be; +You never meant that happiness to me. + +_Alib_. What he refused, your kindness might bestow, +But my commands, perhaps, your burden grow. + +_Odm_. Could I but live till burdensome they prove, +My life would be immortal as my love. +Your wish, ere it receive a name, I grant. + +_Alib_. 'Tis to relieve your dying country's want; +All hopes of succour from your arms is past, +To save us now you must our ruin haste; +Give up the town, and, to oblige him more. +The captive general's liberty restore. + +_Odm_. You speak to try my love; can you forgive +So soon, to let your brother's murderer live? + +_Alib_. Orbellan, though my brother, did disgrace, +With treacherous deeds, our mighty mother's race; +And to revenge his blood, so justly spilt, +What is it less than to partake his guilt? +Though my proud sister to revenge incline, +I to my country's good my own resign. + +_Odm_. To save our lives, our freedom I betray-- +Yet, since I promised it, I will obey; +I'll not my shame nor your commands dispute; +You shall behold your empire's absolute. [_Exit_. + +_Alib_. I should have thanked him for his speedy grant, +And yet, I know not how, fit words I want: +Sure I am grown distracted in my mind;-- +That joy, this grant should bring, I cannot find: +The one, denying, vexed my soul before; +And this, obeying, has disturbed me more: +The one, with grief, and slowly, did refuse, +The other, in his grant, much haste did use: +--He used too much--and, granting me so soon, +He has the merit of the gift undone: +Methought with wondrous ease he swallowed down +His forfeit honour, to betray the town: +My inward choice was Guyomar before, +But now his virtue has confirmed me more-- +I rave, I rave, for Odmar will obey, +And then my promise must my choice betray. +Fantastic honour, thou hast framed a toil +Thyself, to make thy love thy virtue's spoil. [_Exit_. + + +SCENE III. + +_A pleasant grotto discovered; in it a fountain spouting; +round about it Vasquez, Pizarro, and other +Spaniards, lying carelessly unarmed, and by them +many Indian women, one of which sings the following +song. + + +SONG. + +Ah fading joy! how quickly art thou past! +Yet we thy ruin haste. +As if the cares of human life were few, +We seek out new: +And follow fate, which would too fast pursue. + +See, how on every bough the birds express, +In their sweet notes, their happiness. +They all enjoy, and nothing spare; +But on their mother nature lay their care: +Why then should man, the lord of all below, +Such troubles chuse to know, +As none of all his subjects undergo? + +Hark, hark, the waters, fall, fall, fall, +And with a murmuring sound +Dash, dash, upon the ground, +To gentle slumbers call. + +_After the song two Spaniards arise, and dance a saraband with +castanietas: At the end of which Guyomar and his Indians enter, and, +ere the Spaniards can recover their swords, seize them_. + +_Guy_. Those, whom you took without, in triumph bring; +But see these strait conducted to the king. + +_Piz_. Vasquez, what now remains in these extremes? + +_Vasq_. Only to wake us from our golden dreams. + +_Piz_. Since by our shameful conduct we have lost +Freedom, wealth, honour, which we value most, +I wish they would our lives a period give: +They live too long, who happiness out-live. + +[_Spaniards are led out_. + +_1 Ind_. See, sir, how quickly your success is spread; +The king comes marching in the army's head. + +_Enter Montezuma, Alibech, Odmar discontented_. + +_Mont_. Now all the Gods reward and bless my son. [_Embracing_. +Thou hast this day thy father's youth outdone. + +_Alib_. Just heaven all happiness upon him shower, +Till it confess its will beyond its power. + +_Guy_. The heavens are kind, the Gods propitious +be, +I only doubt a mortal deity: +I neither fought for Conquest, nor for fame, +Your love alone can recompence my flame. + +_Alib_. I gave my love to the most brave in war; +But that the king must judge. + +_Mont_.--'Tis Guyomar. + +[_Soldiers shout_, A Guyomar, &c. + +_Mont_. This day your nuptials we will celebrate; +But guard these haughty captives 'till their fate: +Odmar, this night to keep them be your care, +To-morrow for their sacrifice prepare. + +_Alib_. Blot not your conquest with your cruelty. + +_Mont_. Fate says, we are not safe unless they die: +The spirit, that foretold this happy day, +Bid me use caution and avoid delay: +Posterity be juster to my fame; +Nor call it murder, when each private man +In his defence may justly do the same: +But private persons more than monarchs can: + All weigh our acts, and whate'er seems unjust, + Impute not to necessity, but lust. + +[_Exeunt_ MONTEZUMA, GUYOMAR _and_ ALIBECH. + +_Odm_. Lost and undone! he had my father's voice, +And Alibech seemed pleased with her new choice: +Alas, it was not new! too late I see, +Since one she hated, that it must be me. +--I feel a strange temptation in my will +To do an action, great at once and ill: +Virtue, ill treated, from my soul is fled; +I by revenge and love am wholly led: +Yet conscience would against my rage rebel-- +Conscience, the foolish pride of doing well! +Sink empire, father perish, brother fall, +Revenge does more than recompence you all. +Conduct the prisoners in. + +_Enter_ VASQUEZ, _and_ PIZARRO. + +Spaniards, you See your own deplored estate: +What dare you do to reconcile your fate? + +_Vasq_. All that despair, with courage joined, can do. + +_Odm_. An easy way to victory I'll shew; +When all are buried in their sleep or joy, +I'll give you arms, burn, ravish, and destroy; +For my own share one beauty I design; +Engage your honour that she shall be mine. + +_Piz_. I gladly swear. + +_Vasq_.--And I; but I request +That, in return, one, who has touched my breast, +Whose name I know not, may be given to me. + +_Odm_. Spaniard, 'tis just; she's yours, whoe'er she +be. + +_Vasq_. The night comes on: if fortune bless the bold, +I shall possess the beauty. + +_Piz_. I the gold. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE IV.--_A Prison_. + +CORTEZ _discovered bound:_ ALMERIA _talking with him_. + + +_Alm_. I come not now your constancy to prove; +You may believe me when I say I love. + +_Cort_. You have too well instructed me before +In your intentions, to believe you more. + +_Alm_. I'm justly plagued by this your unbelief, +And am myself the cause of my own grief: +But to beg love, I cannot stoop so low; +It is enough that you my passion know: +'Tis in your choice; love me, or love me not; +I have not yet my brother's death forgot. + [_Lays hold on the dagger_. + +_Cort_. You menace me and court me in a breath: +Your Cupid looks as dreadfully as death. + +_Alm_. Your hopes, without, are vanished into smoke: +Your captains taken, and your armies broke. + +_Cort_. In vain you urge me with my miseries: +When fortune falls, high courages can rise; +Now should I change my love, it would appear +Not the effect of gratitude, but fear. + +_Alm_. I'll to the king, and make it my request, +Or my command, that you may be releast; +And make you judge, when I have set you free, +Who best deserves your passion, I, or she. + +_Cort_. You tempt my faith so generous a way, +As without guilt might constancy betray: +But I'm so far from meriting esteem, +That, if I judge, I must myself condemn; +Yet having given my worthless heart before, +What I must ne'er possess, I will adore: +Take my devotion then this humbler way; +Devotion is the love which heaven we pay. + [_Kisses her hand_. + +_Enter_ CYDARIA. + +_Cyd_. May I believe my eyes! what do I see! +Is this her hate to him, his love to me! +'Tis in my breast she sheaths her dagger now. +False man, is this thy faith? is this thy vow? + [_To him_. + +_Cort_. What words, dear saint, are these I hear you use? +What faith, what vows, are those which you accuse? + +_Cyd_. More cruel than the tyger o'er his spoil; +And falser than the weeping crododile: +Can you add vanity to guilt, and take +A pride to hear the conquests, which you make? +Go, publish your renown; let it be said, +You have a woman, and that loved, betrayed. + +_Cort_. With what injustice is my faith accused! +Life, freedom, empire, I at once refused; +And would again ten thousand times for you. + +_Alm_. She'll have too great content to find him true; +And therefore, since his love is not for me, +I'll help to make my rival's misery. [_Aside_. +Spaniard, I never thought you false before: + [_To him_. +Can you at once two mistresses adore? +Keep the poor soul no longer in suspence, +Your change is such as does not need defence. + +_Cort_. Riddles like these I cannot understand. + +_Alm_. Why should you blush? she saw you kiss my hand. + +_Cyd_. Fear not; I will, while your first love's denied, +Favour your shame, and turn my eyes aside; +My feeble hopes in her deserts are lost: +I neither can such power nor beauty boast: +I have no tie upon you to be true, +But that, which loosened yours, my love to you. + +_Cort_. Could you have heard my words! + +_Cyd_.--Alas, what needs +To hear your words, when I beheld your deeds? + +_Cort_. What shall I say? the fate of love is such, +That still it sees too little or too much. +That act of mine, which does your passion move, +Was but a mark of my respect, not love. + +_Alm_. Vex not yourself excuses to prepare: +For one, you love not, is not worth your care. + +_Cort_. Cruel Almeria, take that life you gave; +Since you but worse destroy me, while you save. + +_Cyd_. No, let me die, and I'll my claim resign; +For while I live, methinks, you should be mine. + +_Cort_. The bloodiest vengeance, which she could pursue, +Would be a trifle to my loss of you. + +_Cyd_. Your change was wise: for, had she been denied, +A swift revenge had followed from her pride: +You from my gentle nature had no fears, +All my revenge is only in my tears. + +_Cort_. Can you imagine I so mean could prove, +To save my life by changing of my love? + +_Cyd_. Since death is that which naturally we shun, +You did no more than I, perhaps, had done. + +_Cort_. Make me not doubt, fair soul, your constancy; +You would have died for love, and so would I. + +_Alm_. You may believe him; you have seen it proved. + +_Cort_. Can I not gain belief how I have loved? +What can thy ends, malicious beauty, be: +Can he, who kill'd thy brother, live for thee? + +[_A noise of clashing of swords_. +[VASQUEZ _within, Indians against him_. + +_Vasq_. Yield, slaves, or die; our swords shall force our way. + [_Within_. + +_Ind_. We cannot, though o'er-powered, our trust betray. + [_Within_. + +_Cort_. 'Tis Vasquez's voice, he brings me liberty. + +_Vasq_. In spite of fate I'll set my general free; + [_Within_. +Now victory for us, the town's our own. + +_Alm_. All hopes of safety and of love are gone: +As when some dreadful thunder-clap is nigh, +The winged fire shoots swiftly through the sky, +Strikes and consumes, ere scarce it does appear, +And by the sudden ill prevents the fear: +Such is my state in this amazing woe, +It leaves no power to think, much less to do. +--But shall my rival live, shall she enjoy +That love in peace, I laboured to destroy? [_Aside_. + +_Cort_. Her looks grow black as a tempestuous wind; +Some raging thoughts are rolling in her mind. + +_Alm_. Rival, I must your jealousy remove, +You shall, hereafter, be at rest for love. + +_Cyd_. Now you are kind. + +_Alm_.--He whom you love is true: +But he shall never be possest by you. + +[_Draws her dagger, and runs towards her_. + +_Cort_. Hold, hold, ah barbarous woman! fly, oh fly! + +_Cyd_. Ah pity, pity, is no succour nigh! + +_Cort_. Run, run behind me, there you may be sure, +While I have life, I will your life secure. + [CYDARIA _gets behind him_. + +_Alm_. On him, or thee,--light vengeance any where +[_She stabs and hurts him_. +--What have I done? I see his blood appear! + +_Cyd_. It streams, it streams from every vital part: +Was there no way but this to find his heart? + +_Alm_. Ah! cursed woman, what was my design! +This weapon's point shall mix that blood with mine! + +[_Goes to stab herself, and being within his reach +he snatches the dagger_. + +_Cort_. Now neither life nor death are in your +power. + +_Alm_. Then sullenly I'll wait my fatal hour. + +_Enter_ VASQUEZ _and_ PIZARRO, _with drawn swords_. + +_Vasq_. He lives, he lives. + +_Cort_.--Unfetter me with speed; +Vasquez, I see you troubled that I bleed: +But 'tis not deep, our army I can head. + +_Vasq_. You to a certain victory are led; +Your men, all armed, stand silently within: +I with your freedom did the work begin. + +_Piz_. What friends we have, and how we came so strong, +We'll softly tell you as we march along. + +_Cort_. In this safe place let me secure your fear: + [_To_ CYDARIA. +No clashing swords, no noise can enter here. +Amidst our arms as quiet you shall be, +As Halcyons brooding on a winter sea. + +_Cyd_. Leave me not here alone, and full of fright, +Amidst the terrors of a dreadful night: +You judge, alas, my courage by your own; +I never durst in darkness be alone: +I beg, I throw me humbly at your feet. + +_Cort_. You must not go where you may dangers meet. +The unruly sword will no destinction make; +And beauty will not there give wounds, but take. + +_Alm_. Then stay and take me with you; tho' to be +A slave to wait upon your victory. +My heart unmoved can noise and horror bear: +Parting from you is all the death I fear. + +_Cort_. Almeria, 'tis enough I leave you free: +You neither must stay here, nor go with me. + +_Aim_. Then take my life, that will my rest restore: +'Tis all I ask, for saving yours before. + +_Cort_. That were a barbarous return of love. + +_Alm_. Yet, leaving it, you more inhuman prove. +In both extremes I some relief should find; +Oh! either hate me more, or be more kind. + +_Cort_. Life of my soul, do not my absence mourn: +But chear your heart in hopes of my return. + [_To_ CYD. +Your noble father's life shall be my care; +And both your brothers I'm obliged to spare. + +_Cyd_. Fate makes you deaf, while I in vain implore;-- +My heart forebodes, I ne'er shall see you more: +I have but one request,--when I am dead, +Let not my rival to your love succeed. + +_Cort_. Fate will be kinder than your fears foretell; +Farewell, my dear. + +_Cyd_.--A long and last farewell: +--So eager to employ the cruel sword? +Can you not one, not one last look afford! + +_Cort_. I melt to womanish tears, and if I stay, +I find my love, my courage will betray; +Yon tower will keep you safe, but be so kind +To your own life, that none may entrance find. + +_Cyd_. Then lead me there.--[_He leads her_. +For this one minute of your company, +I go, methinks, with some content to die. + +[_Exeunt_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _and_ CYDARIA. + +_Alm_. Farewell, O too much lov'd, since lov'd in vain! +What dismal fortune does for me remain! +Night and despair my fatal footsteps guide; +That chance may give the death which he denied. + [_Exit_. + +CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _and_ SPANIARDS _return again_. + +_Cort_. All I hold dear I trust to your defence; + [_To_ Piz. +Guard her, and on your life, remove not hence. + [_Exeunt_ CORTEZ _and_ VASQUEZ. +_Piz_. I'll venture that.-- +The Gods are good; I'll leave her to their care, +Steal from my post, and in the plunder share. + [_Exit_. + + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I.--_A chamber royal, an Indian hammock discovered in it_. + +_Enter_ ODMAR _with soldiers_, GUYOMAR, _and_ ALIBECH +_bound_. + +_Odm_. Fate is more just than you to my desert, +And in this act you blame, heaven takes my part. + +_Guy_. Can there be gods, and no revenge provide? + +_Odm_. The gods are ever of the conquering side: +She's now my queen; the Spaniards have agreed, +I to my father's empire shall succeed. + +_Alib_. How much I crowns contemn, I let thee see, +Chusing the younger, and refusing thee. + +_Guy_. Were she ambitious, she'd disdain to own +The pageant pomp of such a servile throne; +A throne, which thou by parricide dost gain, +And by a base submission must retain. + +_Alib_. I loved thee not before; but, Odmar, know, +That now I hate thee, and despise thee too. + +_Odm_. With too much violence you crimes pursue, +Which if I acted, 'twas for love of you. +This, if it teach not love, may teach you fear: +I brought not sin so far, to stop it here. +Death in a lover's mouth would sound but ill: +But know, I either must enjoy, or kill. + +_Alib_. Bestow, base man, thy idle threats elsewhere, +My mother's daughter knows not how to fear. +Since, Guyomar, I must not be thy bride, +Death shall enjoy what is to thee denied. + +_Odm_. Then take thy wish-- + +_Guy_. Hold, Odmar, hold: +My right in Alibech I will resign; +Rather than see her die, I'll see her thine. + +_Alib_. In vain thou wouldst resign, for I will be, +Even when thou leav'st me, constant still to thee: +That shall not save my life: Wilt thou appear +Fearful for her, who for herself wants fear? + +_Odm_. Her love to him shows me a surer way: +I by her love her virtue must betray.--[_Aside_. +Since, Alibech, you are so true a wife, [_To her_. +'Tis in your power to save your husband's life: +The gods, by me, your love and virtue try; +For both will suffer, if you let him die. + +_Alib_. I never can believe you will proceed +To such a black, and execrable deed. + +_Odm_. I only threatened you; but could not prove +So much a fool, to murder what I love: +But in his death I some advantage see: +Worse than it is I'm sure it cannot be. +If you consent, you with that gentle breath +Preserve his life: If not, behold his death. + [_Holds his sword to his breast_. + +_Alib_. What shall I do! + +_Guy_. What, are your thoughts at strife +About a ransom to preserve my life? +Though to save yours I did my interest give, +Think not, when you were his, I meant to live. + +_Alib_. O let him be preserved by any way: +But name not the foul price which I must pay. + [_To_ ODM. + +_Odm_. You would, and would not,--I'll no longer stay. + [_Offers again to kill him_. + +_Alib_. I yield, I yield; but yet, ere I am ill, +An innocent desire I would fulfil: +With Guyomar I one chaste kiss would leave, +The first and last he ever can receive. + +_Odm_. Have what you ask: That minute you agree +To my desires, your husband shall be free. + [_They unbind her, she goes to her husband_. + +_Guy_. No, Alibech, we never must embrace. + [_He turns from her_. +Your guilty kindness why do you misplace? +'Tis meant to him, he is your private choice; +I was made yours but by the public voice. +And now you leave me with a poor pretence, +That your ill act is for my life's defence. + +_Alib_. Since there remains no other means to try, +Think I am false; I cannot see you die. + +_Guy_. To give for me both life and honour too, +Is more, perhaps, than I could give for you. +You have done much to cure my jealousy, +But cannot perfect it unless both die! +For since both cannot live, who stays behind +Must be thought fearful, or, what's worse, unkind. + +_Alib_. I never could propose that death you chuse; +But am, like you, too jealous to refuse. + [_Embracing him_. +Together dying, we together show +That both did pay that faith, which both did owe. + +_Odm_. It then remains I act my own design: +Have you your wills, but I will first have mine. +Assist me, soldiers-- + [_They go to bind her: She cries out_. + +_Enter_ VASQUEZ, _and two Spaniards_. + +_Vasq_. Hold, Odmar, hold! I come in happy time +To hinder my misfortune, and your crime. + +_Odm_. You ill return the kindness I have shown. + +_Vasq_. Indian, I say, desist. + +_Odm_. Spaniard, be gone. + +_Vasq_. This lady I did for myself design: +Dare you attempt her honour, who is mine? + +_Odm_. You're much mistaken; this is she, whom I +Did with my father's loss, and country's buy: +She, whom your promise did to me convey, +When all things else were made your common prey. + +_Vasq_. That promise made, excepted one for me; +One whom I still reserved, and this is she. + +_Odm_. This is not she; you cannot be so base. + +_Vasq_. I love too deeply to mistake the face: +The vanquished must receive the victor's laws. + +_Odm_. If I am vanquished, I myself am cause. + +_Vasq_. Then thank yourself for what you undergo. + +_Odm_. Thus lawless might does justice overthrow. + +_Vasq_. Traitors, like you, should never justice name. + +_Odm_. You owe your triumphs to that traitor's shame. +But to your general I'll my right refer. + +_Vasq_. He never will protect a ravisher: +His generous heart will soon decide our strife; +He to your brother will restore his wife. +It rests we two our claim in combat try, +And that with this fair prize the victor fly. + +_Odm_. Make haste, +I cannot suffer to be long perplext; +Conquest is my first wish, and death my next. + [_They fight, the Spaniards and Indians fight_. + +_Alib_. The gods the wicked by themselves o'erthrow: +All fight against us now, and for us too! + [_Unbinds her husband_. + +[_The two Spaniards and three Indians kill each +other,_ VASQUEZ _kills_ ODMAR, GUYOMAR _runs +to his brothers sword_. + +_Vasq_. Now you are mine; my greatest foe is slain. + [_To_ AL. + +_Guy_. A greater still to vanquish does remain. + +_Vasq_. Another yet! +The wounds, I make, but sow new enemies, +Which from their blood, like earth-born brethren, rise. + +_Guy_. Spaniard, take breath: Some respite I'll afford, +My cause is more advantage than your sword. + +_Vasq_. Thou art so brave--could it with honour be, +I'd seek thy friendship more than victory. + +_Guy_. Friendship with him, whose hand did Odmar kill! +Base as he was, he was my brother still: +And since his blood has washed away his guilt. +Nature asks thine for that which thou hast spilt. +[_They fight a little and breathe_, ALIBECH _takes +up a sword and comes on_. + +_Alib_. My weakness may help something in the strife. + +_Guy_. Kill not my honour to preserve my life: + [_Staying her_. +Rather than by thy aid I'll conquest gain, +Without defence I poorly will be slain. + +[_She goes back, they fight again_, VASQUEZ _falls_. + +_Guy_. Now, Spaniard, beg thy life, and thou shalt live. + +_Vasq_. 'Twere vain to ask thee what thou canst not give; +My breath goes out, and I am now no more; +Yet her, I loved, in death I will adore. [_Dies_. + +_Guy_. Come, Alibech, let us from hence remove. +This is a night of horror, not of love. +From every part I hear a dreadful noise, +The vanquished crying, and the victor's joys. +I'll to my father's aid and country's fly, +And succour both, or in their ruin die. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II.--_A Prison_. + +MONTEZUMA, _Indian High Priest, bound_; PIZARRO, _Spaniards +with swords drawn, a Christian Priest_. + +_Piz_. Thou hast not yet discovered all thy store. + +_Mont_. I neither can nor will discover more; +The gods will punish you, if they be just; +The gods will plague your sacrilegious lust. + +_Chr. Priest_. Mark how this impious heathen justifies +His own false gods, and our true God denies: +How wickedly he has refused his wealth, +And hid his gold, from christian hands, by stealth: +Down with him, kill him, merit heaven thereby. + +_Ind. High Pr_. Can heaven be author of such cruelty? + +_Piz_. Since neither threats nor kindness will prevail, +We must by other means your minds assail; +Fasten the engines; stretch 'em at their length, +And pull the straitened cords with all your strength. +[_They fasten them to the rack, and then pull them_. + +_Mont_. The gods, who made me once a king, shall know, +I still am worthy to continue so: +Though now the subject of your tyranny, +I'll plague you worse than you can punish me. +Know, I have gold, which you shall never find; +No pains, no tortures, shall unlock my mind. + +_Chr. Pr_. Pull harder yet; he does not feel the rack. + +_Mont_. Pull 'till my veins break, and my sinews crack. + +_Ind. High Pr_. When will you end your barbarous cruelty? +I beg not to escape, I beg to die. + +_Mont_. Shame on thy priesthood, that such prayers can bring! +Is it not brave, to suffer with thy king? +When monarchs suffer, gods themselves bear part; +Then well mayest thou, who but my vassal art: +I charge thee, dare not groan, nor shew one sign; +Thou at thy torments dost the least repine. + +_Ind. High Pr_. You took an oath, when you received the crown, +The heavens should pour their usual blessings down; +The sun should shine, the earth its fruits produce, +And nought be wanting to your subjects' use: +Yet we with famine were opprest, and now +Must to the yoke of cruel masters bow. + +_Mont_. If those above, who made the world, could be +Forgetful of it, why then blamest thou me? + +_Chr. Pr_, Those pains, O prince, thou sufferest now, are light +Compared to those, which, when thy soul takes flight, +Immortal, endless, thou must then endure, +Which death begins, and time can never cure. + +_Mont_. Thou art deceived; for whensoe'er I die, +The Sun, my father, bears my soul on high: +He lets me down a beam, and mounted there, +He draws it back, and pulls me through the air: +I in the eastern parts, and rising sky, +You in heaven's downfal, and the west must lie. + +_Chr. Pr_. Fond man, by heathen ignorance misled, +Thy soul destroying when thy body's dead: +Change yet thy faith, and buy eternal rest. + +_Ind. High Pr_. Die in your own, for our belief is best. + +_Mont_. In seeking happiness you both agree, +But in the search, the paths so different be, +That all religions with each other fight, +While only one can lead us in the right. +But till that one hath some more certain mark, +Poor human kind must wander in the dark; +And suffer pain eternally below, +For that, which here we cannot come to know. + +_Chr. Pr_. That, which we worship, and which you believe, +From nature's common hand we both receive: +All, under various names, adore and love +One Power immense, which ever rules above. +Vice to abhor, and virtue to pursue, +Is both believed and taught by us and you: +But here our worship takes another way-- + +_Mont_. Where both agree, 'tis there most safe to stay: +For what's more vain than public light to shun, +And set up tapers, while we see the sun? + +_Chr. Pr_. Though nature teaches whom we should adore, +By heavenly beams we still discover more. + +_Mont_. Or this must be enough, or to mankind +One equal way to bliss is not designed; +For though some more may know, and some know less, +Yet all must know enough for happiness. + +_Chr. Pr_. If in this middle way you still pretend +To stay, your journey never will have end. + +_Mont_. Howe'er, 'tis better in the midst to stay, +Than wander farther in uncertain way. + +_Chr. Pr_. But we by martyrdom our faith avow. + +_Mont_. You do no more than I for ours do now. +To prove religion true-- +If either wit or sufferings would suffice, +All faiths afford the constant and the wise: +And yet even they, by education swayed, +In age defend what infancy obeyed. + +_Chr. Pr_. Since age by erring childhood is misled, +Refer yourself to our unerring head. + +_Mont_. Man, and not err! what reason can you give? + +_Chr. Pr_. Renounce that carnal reason, and believe. + +_Mont_. The light of nature should I thus betray, +'Twere to wink hard, that I might see the day. + +_Chr. Pr_. Condemn not yet the way you do not know; +I'll make your reason judge what way to go. + +_Mont_. 'Tis much too late for me new ways to take, +Who have but one short step of life to make. + +_Piz_. Increase their pains, the cords are yet too slack. + +_Chr. Pr_. I must by force convert him on the rack. + +_Ind. High Pr_. I faint away, and find I can no more: +Give leave, O king, I may reveal thy store, +And free myself from pains, I cannot bear. + +_Mont_. Think'st thou I lie on beds of roses here, +Or in a wanton bath stretched at my ease? +Die, slave, and with thee die such thoughts as these. +[_High Priest turns aside, and dies_. + +_Enter_ CORTEZ _attended by Spaniards, he speaks entering_. + +_Cort_. On pain of death, kill none but those who fight; +I much repent me of this bloody night: +Slaughter grows murder when it goes too far, +And makes a massacre what was a war: +Sheath all your weapons, and in silence move, +'Tis sacred here to beauty, and to love. +Ha--[_Sees_ MONT. +What dismal sight is this, which takes from me +All the delight, that waits on victory! + [_Runs to take him off the rack_. +Make haste: How now, religion, do you frown? +Haste, holy avarice, and help him down. +Ah, father, father, what do I endure + [_Embracing_ MONT. +To see these wounds my pity cannot cure! + +_Mont_. Am I so low that you should pity bring, +And give an infant's comfort to a king? +Ask these, if I have once unmanly groaned; +Or aught have done deserving to be moaned. + +_Cort_. Did I not charge, thou shouldst not stir from hence? + [_To_ Piz. +But martial law shall punish thy offence. +And you, [_To the Christian Priest_. +Who saucily teach monarchs to obey, +And the wide world in narrow cloisters sway; +Set up by kings as humble aids of power, +You that which bred you, viper-like, devour, +You enemies of crowns-- + +_Chr. Pr_. Come, let's away, +We but provoke his fury by our stay. + +_Cort_. If this go free, farewell that discipline, +Which did in Spanish camps severely shine: +Accursed gold, 'tis thou hast caused these crimes; +Thou turn'st our steel against thy parent climes! +And into Spain wilt fatally be brought, +Since with the price of blood thou here art bought. + +[_Exeunt Priest and_ PIZARRO. +[CORTEZ _kneels by_ MONTEZUMA, _and weeps_. + +_Cort_. Can you forget those crimes they did commit? + +_Mont_. I'll do what for my dignity is fit: +Rise, sir, I'm satisfied the fault was theirs: +Trust me, you make me weep to see your tears: +Must I chear you? + +_Cort_. Ah heavens! + +_Mont_. You're much to blame; +Your grief is cruel, for it shows my shame, +Does my lost crown to my remembrance bring: +But weep not you, and I'll be still a king. +You have forgot, that I your death designed, +To satisfy the proud Almeria's mind: +You, who preserved my life, I doomed to die. + +_Cort_. Your love did that, and not your cruelty. + +_Enter a Spaniard_. + +_Span_. Prince Guyomar the combat still maintains, +Our men retreat, and he their ground regains: +But once encouraged by our general's sight, +We boldly should renew the doubtful fight. + +_Cort_. Remove not hence, you shall not long attend; + [_To_ MONTEZUMA. +I'll aid my soldiers, yet preserve my friend. + +_Mont_. Excellent man! [_Exeunt_ CORTEZ, &c. +But I, by living, poorly take the way +To injure goodness, which I cannot pay. + +_Enter_ ALMERIA. + +_Alm_. Ruin and death run armed through every street; +And yet that fate, I seek, I cannot meet: +What guards misfortunes are and misery! +Death, that strikes all, yet seems afraid of me. + +_Mont_. Almeria here! Oh turn away your face! +Must you be witness too of my disgrace? + +_Alm_. I am not that Almeria whom you knew, +But want that pity I denied to you: +Your conqueror, alas, has vanquished me; +But he refuses his own victory: +While all are captives in your conquered state, +I find a wretched freedom in his hate. + +_Mont_. Couldst thou thy love on one who scorned thee lose? +He saw not with my eyes, who could refuse: +Him, who could prove so much unkind to thee, +I ne'er will suffer to be kind to me. + +_Alm_. I am content in death to share your fate; +And die for him I love, with him I hate. + +_Mont_. What shall I do in this perplexing strait! +My tortured limbs refuse to bear my weight: + [_Endeavouring to walk, not being able_. +I cannot go to death to set me free; +Death must be kind, and come himself to me. + +_Alm_. I've thought upon't: I have affairs below, + [ALM. _musing_. +Which I must needs despatch before I go: +Sir, I have found a place where you may be, [_To him_. +(Though not preserved) yet, like a king, die free; +The general left your daughter in the tower, +We may a while resist the Spaniards' power, +If Guyomar prevail. + +_Mont_. Make haste and call; +She'll hear your voice, and answer from the wall. + +_Alm_. My voice she knows and fears, but use your own; +And, to gain entrance, feign you are alone. + [ALM. _steps behind_. + +_Mont_. Cydaria! + +_Alm_. Louder. + +_Mont_. Daughter! + +_Alm_. Louder yet. + +_Mont_. Thou canst not, sure, thy father's voice forget. + +[_He knocks at the door, at last_ CYDARIA _looks over the balcony_. + +_Cyd_. Since my love went, I have been frighted so, +With dismal groans, and noises from below; +I durst not send my eyes abroad, for fear +Of seeing dangers, which I yet but hear. + +_Mont_. Cydaria! + +_Cyd_. Sure, 'tis my father calls. + +_Mont_. Dear child, make haste; +All hope of succour, but from thee, is past: +As when, upon the sands, the traveller +Sees the high sea come rolling from afar, +The land grow short, he mends his weary pace, +While death behind him covers all the place: +So I, by swift misfortunes, am pursued, +Which on each other are, like waves, renewed. + +_Cyd_. Are you alone? + +_Mont_. I am. + +_Cyd_. I'll strait descend; +Heaven did you here for both our safeties send. + +[CYDARIA _descends and opens the door_, ALMERIA _rushes betwixt +with_ MONTEZUMA. + +_Cyd_. Almeria here! then I am lost again. +[_Both thrust_. + +_Alm_. Yield to my strength, you struggle but in vain. +Make haste and shut, our enemies appear. + +[CORTEZ _and Spaniards appear at the other end_. + +_Cyd_. Then do you enter, and let me stay here. + +[_As she speaks,_ ALMERIA _overpowers her, thrusts +her in, and shuts_. + +_Cort_. Sure I both heard her voice and saw her face: +She's like a vision vanished from the place. +Too late I find my absence was too long; +My hopes grow sickly, and my fears grow strong. + +[_He knocks a little, then_ MONTEZUMA, CYDARIA, _and_ +ALMERIA, _appear above_. + +_Alm_. Look up, look up, and see if you can know +Those, whom in vain you think to find below. + +_Cyd_. Look up, and see Cydaria's lost estate. + +_Mont_. And cast one look on Montezuma's fate. + +_Cort_. Speak not such dismal words as wound my ear; +Nor name death to me, when Cydaria's there. +Despair not, sir; who knows but conquering Spain +May part of what you lost restore again? + +_Mont_. No, Spaniard; know, he who, to empire born, +Lives to be less, deserves the victor's scorn: +Kings and their crowns have but one destiny: +Power is their life; when that expires, they die. + +_Cyd_. What dreadful words are these! + +_Mont_. Name life no more; +'Tis now a torture worse than all I bore; +I'll not be bribed to suffer life, but die, +In spite of your mistaken clemency. +I was your slave, and I was used like one; +The shame continues when the pain is gone: +But I'm a king while this is in my hand--[_His sword_. +He wants no subjects, who can death command: +You should have tied him up, t'have conquered me; +But he's still mine, and thus he sets me free. +[_Stabs himself_. + +_Cyd_. Oh, my dear father! + +_Alm_. When that is forced, there yet remain two more. + [_The Soldiers break open the first door, and go in_. +We shall have time enough to take our way, +Ere any can our fatal journey stay. + +_Mont_. Already mine is past: O powers divine, +Take my last thanks: no longer I repine; +I might have lived my own mishap to mourn, +While some would pity me, but more would scorn! +For pity only on fresh objects stays, +But with the tedious sight of woes decays. +Still less and less my boiling spirits flow; +And I grow stiff, as cooling metals do. +Farewell, Almeria. [_Dies_. + +_Cyd_. He's gone, he's gone, +And leaves poor me defenceless here alone. + +_Alm_. You shall not long be so: Prepare to die, +That you may bear your father company. + +_Cyd_. O name not death to me! you fright me so, +That with the fear I shall prevent the blow: +I know, your mercy's more than to destroy +A thing so young, so innocent as I. + +_Cort_. Whence can proceed thy cruel thirst of blood, +Ah, barbarous woman? Woman! that's too good, +Too mild for thee: There's pity in that name, +But thou hast lost thy pity with thy shame. + +_Alm_. Your cruel words have pierced me to the heart; +But on my rival I'll revenge my smart. + +_Cort_. Oh stay your hand; and, to redeem my fault, +I'll speak the kindest words-- +That tongue e'er uttered, or that heart e'er thought. +Dear--lovely--sweet-- + +_Alm_. This but offends me more; +You act your kindness on Cydaria's score. + +_Cyd_. For his dear sake let me my life receive. + +_Alm_. Fool, for his sake alone you must not live: +Revenge is now my joy; he's not for me, +And I'll make sure he ne'er shall be for thee. + +_Cyd_. But what's my crime? + +_Alm_. 'Tis loving where I love. + +_Cyd_. Your own example does my act approve. + +_Alm_. 'Tis such a fault I never can forgive. + +_Cyd_. How can I mend, unless you let me live? +I yet am tender, young, and full of fear, +And dare not die, but fain would tarry here. + +_Cort_. If blood you seek, I will my own resign: +O spare her life, and in exchange take mine! + +_Alm_. The love you shew but hastes her death the more. + +_Cort_. I'll run, and help to force the inner door. +[_Is going in haste_. + +_Alm_. Stay, Spaniard, stay; depart not from my eyes: +That moment that I lose your sight, she dies. +To look on you, I'll grant a short reprieve. + +_Cort_. O make your gift more full, and let her live! +I dare not go; and yet how dare I stay!-- +Her I would save, I murder either way. + +_Cyd_. Can you be so hard-hearted to destroy +My ripening hopes, that are so near to joy? +I just approach to all I would possess: +Death only stands 'twixt me and happiness. + +_Alm_. Your father, with his life, has lost his throne: +Your country's freedom and renown is gone. +Honour requires your death; you must obey. + +_Cyd_. Do you die first, and shew me then the way. + +_Alm_. Should you not follow, my revenge were lost. + +_Cyd_. Then rise again, and fright me with your ghost. + +_Alm_. I will not trust to that; since death I chuse, +I'll not leave you that life which I refuse: +If death's a pain, it is not less to me; +And if 'tis nothing, 'tis no more to thee. +But hark! the noise increases from behind; +They're near, and may prevent what I designed; +Take there a rival's gift. [_Stabs her_. + +_Cort_. Perdition seize thee for so black a deed. + +_Alm_. Blame not an act, which did from love proceed: +I'll thus revenge thee with this fatal blow; + [_Stabs herself_. +Stand fair, and let my heart-blood on thee flow. + +_Cyd_. Stay, life, and keep me in the cheerful light! +Death is too black, and dwells in too much night. +Thou leav'st me, life, but love supplies thy part, +And keeps me warm, by lingering in my heart: +Yet dying for him, I thy claim remove; +How dear it costs to conquer in my love! +Now strike: That thought, I hope, will arm my breast. + +_Alm_. Ah, with what differing passions am I prest! + +_Cyd_. Death, when far off, did terrible appear; +But looks less dreadful as he comes more near. + +_Alm_. O rival, I have lost the power to kill; +Strength hath forsook my arm, and rage my will: +I must surmount that love which thou hast shown; +Dying for him is due to me alone. +Thy weakness shall not boast the victory, +Now thou shalt live, and dead I'll conquer thee: +Soldiers, assist me down. + +[_Exeunt from above, led by Soldiers, and enter both, led by_ CORTEZ. + +_Cort_. Is there no danger then? [_To_ CYDARIA. + +_Cyd_. You need not fear +My wound; I cannot die when you are near. + +_Cort_. You, for my sake, life to Cydaria give; + [_To_ ALM. +And I could die for you, if you might live. + +_Alm_. Enough, I die content, now you are kind; +Killed in my limbs, reviving in my mind: +Come near, Cydaria, and forgive my crime. + [CYDARIA _starts back_. +You need not fear my rage a second time: +I'll bathe your wounds in tears for my offence. +That hand, which made it, makes this recompence. + [_Ready to join their hands_. +I would have joined you, but my heart's too high: +You will, too soon, possess him when I die. + +_Cort_. She faints; O softly set her down. + +_Alm_. 'Tis past! +In thy loved bosom let me breathe my last. +Here, in this one short moment that I live, +I have whate'er the longest life could give. [_Dies_. + +_Cort_. Farewell, thou generous maid: Even victory, +Glad as it is, must lend some tears to thee; +Many I dare not shed, lest you believe [_To_ CYD. +I joy in you less than for her I grieve. + +_Cyd_. But are you sure she's dead? +I must embrace you fast, before I know, +Whether my life be yet secure, or no: +Some other hour I will to tears allow, +But, having you, can shew no sorrow now. + +_Enter_ GUYOMAR _and_ ALIBECH _bound, with Soldiers_. + +_Cort_. Prince Guyomar in bonds! O friendship's shame! +It makes me blush to own a victor's name. +[_Unbinds him,_ CYDARIA, ALIBECH. + +_Cyd_. See, Alibech, Almeria lies there; +But do not think 'twas I that murdered her. + +[ALIBECH _kneels, and kisses her dead sister_. + +_Cort_. Live, and enjoy more than your conqueror: +[_To_ GUYOMAR. +Take all my love, and share in all my power. + +_Guy_. Think me not proudly rude, if I forsake +Those gifts I cannot with my honour take: +I for my country fought, and would again, +Had I yet left a country to maintain: +But since the gods decreed it otherwise, +I never will on its dear ruins rise. + +_Alib_. Of all your goodness leaves to our dispose, +Our liberty's the only gift we chuse: +Absence alone can make our sorrows less; +And not to see what we can ne'er redress. + +_Guy_. Northward, beyond the mountains, we will go, +Where rocks lie covered with eternal snow, +Thin herbage in the plains and fruitless fields, +The sand no gold, the mine no silver yields: +There love and freedom we'll in peace enjoy; +No Spaniards will that colony destroy. +We to ourselves will all our wishes grant; +And, nothing coveting, can nothing want. + +_Cort_. First your great father's funeral pomp provide: +That done, in peace your generous exiles guide; +While I loud thanks pay to the powers above, +Thus doubly blest, with conquest, and with love. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +EPILOGUE + +BY A MERCURY. + + +To all and singular in this full meeting, +Ladies and gallants, Phoebus sends ye greeting. +To all his sons, by whate'er title known, +Whether of court, or coffee-house, or town; +From his most mighty sons, whose confidence +Is placed in lofty sound, and humble sense, +Even to his little infants of the time, +Who write new songs, and trust in tune and rhyme: +Be't known, that Phoebus (being daily grieved +To see good plays condemned, and bad received) +Ordains, your judgment upon every cause, +Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws. +He first thinks fit no sonnetteer advance +His censure, farther than the song or dance. +Your wit burlesque may one step higher climb, +And in his sphere may judge all doggrel rhyme: +All proves, and moves, and loves, and honours too; +All that appears high sense, and scarce is low. +As for the coffee-wits, he says not much; +Their proper business is to damn the Dutch: +For the great dons of wit-- +Phoebus gives them full privilege alone, +To damn all others, and cry up their own. +Last, for the ladies, 'tis Apollo's will, +They should have power to save, but not to kill: +For love and he long since have thought it fit, +Wit live by beauty, beauty reign by wit. + + + + + +SECRET LOVE; +OR, THE +MAIDEN QUEEN. + + _Vitiis nemo sine nascitur; optimus ille +Qui minimis urgetur_. HORAT. + + + +THE MAIDEN QUEEN + +The Maiden Queen is said, by Langbaine, to be founded upon certain +passages in "The Grand Cyrus," and in "Ibrahim, the illustrious +Bassa." Few readers will probably take the trouble of consulting +these huge volumes, for the purpose of ascertaining the truth of +this charge. Even our duty, as editors, cannot impel us to the task; +satisfied, as we are, that, since these ponderous folios at that time +loaded every toilette, Dryden can hardly have taken more from such +well-known sources, than the mere outline of the story. Indeed, to +a certain degree, the foundation of the plot, upon a story in the +"Cyrus," is admitted by the author. The character of the queen is +admirably drawn, and the catastrophe is brought very artfully forward; +the uncertainty, as to her final decision, continuing till the last +moment. In this, as in all our author's plays, some passages of +beautiful poetry occur in the dialogue; as, for example, the scene in +act 3d betwixt Philocles and Candiope. The characters, excepting that +of the Maiden Queen herself, are lame and uninteresting. Philocles, in +particular, has neither enough of love to make him despise ambition, +nor enough of ambition to make him break the fetters of love. We might +have admired him, had he been constant; or sympathised with him, had +he sinned against his affections, and repented; but there is nothing +interesting in the vacillations of his indecision. The comic part of +the play contains much of what was thought wit in the reign of Charles +II.; for marriage is railed against, and a male and female rake join +in extolling the pleasures of a single life, even while the usage of +the theatre compels them, at length, to put on the matrimonial +chains. It is surprising, that no venturous author, in that gay age, +concluded, by making such a couple happy in their own way. The novelty +of such a catastrophe would have insured its success; and, unlike to +the termination of the loves of Celadon and Florimel, it would have +been strictly in character. + +The Maiden Queen was first acted in 1667; and printed, as the poet has +informed us, by the command of Charles himself, who graced it with the +title of HIS play. Dryden mentions the excellence of the acting, so it +was probably received very favourably. + + + +PREFACE + + +It has been the ordinary practice of the French poets, to dedicate +their works of this nature to their king; especially when they have +had the least encouragement to it, by his approbation of them on the +stage. But, I confess, I want the confidence to follow their example, +though, perhaps, I have as specious pretences to it, for this piece, +as any they can boast of; it having been owned in so particular a +manner by his majesty, that he has graced it with the title of his +play, and thereby rescued it from the severity (that I may not say +malice) of its enemies. But though a character so high and undeserved +has not raised in me the presumption to offer such a trifle to his +most serious view, yet I will own the vanity to say, that after this +glory which it has received from a sovereign prince, I could not send +it to seek protection from any subject. Be this poem, then, sacred to +him, without the tedious form of a dedication, and without presuming +to interrupt those hours which he is daily giving to the peace and +settlement of his people. + +For what else concerns this play, I would tell the reader, that it is +regular, according to the strictest of dramatic laws; but that it is +a commendation which many of our poets now despise, and a beauty which +our common audiences do not easily discern. Neither indeed do I value +myself upon it; because, with all that symmetry of parts, it may want +an air and spirit (which consists in the writing) to set it off. 'Tis +a question variously disputed, whether an author may be allowed as a +competent judge of his own works. As to the fabric and contrivance +of them, certainly he may; for that is properly the employment of +the judgment; which, as a master-builder, he may determine, and that +without deception, whether the work be according to the exactness of +the model; still granting him to have a perfect idea of that pattern +by which he works, and that he keeps himself always constant to the +discourse of his judgment, without admitting self-love, which is +the false surveyor of his fancy, to intermeddle in it. These +qualifications granted (being such as all sound poets are presupposed +to have within them), I think all writers, of what kind soever, may +infallibly judge of the frame and contexture of their works. But +for the ornament of writing, which is greater, more various, and +_bizarre_ in poesy than in any other kind, as it is properly the +child of fancy; so it can receive no measure, or at least but a very +imperfect one, of its own excellences or failures from the judgment. +Self-love (which enters but rarely into the offices of the judgment) +here predominates; and fancy (if I may so speak), judging of itself, +can be no more certain, or demonstrative of its own effects, than two +crooked lines can be the adequate measure of each other. What I +have said on this subject may, perhaps, give me some credit with my +readers, in my opinion of this play, which I have ever valued above +the rest of my follies of this kind; yet not thereby in the least +dissenting from their judgment, who have concluded the writing of this +to be much inferior to my "Indian Emperor." But the argument of that +was much more noble, not having the allay of comedy to depress it; yet +if this be more perfect, either in its kind, or in the general +notion of a play, it is as much as I desire to have granted for the +vindication of my opinion, and what as nearly touches me, the sentence +of a royal judge. Many have imagined the character of Philocles to +be faulty; some for not discovering the queen's love, others for his +joining in her restraint: But though I am not of their number, who +obstinately defend what they have once said, I may, with modesty, take +up those answers which have been made for me by my friends; namely, +that Philocles, who was but a gentleman of ordinary birth, had no +reason to guess so soon at the queen's passion; she being a person +so much above him, and, by the suffrages of all her people, already +destined to Lysimantes: Besides, that he was prepossessed (as the +queen somewhere hints it to him) with another inclination, which +rendered him less clear-sighted in it, since no man, at the same time, +can distinctly view two different objects; and if this, with any +shew of reason, may be defended, I leave my masters, the critics, to +determine, whether it be not much more conducing to the beauty of my +plot, that Philocles should be long kept ignorant of the queen's love, +than that with one leap he should have entered into the knowledge of +it, and thereby freed himself, to the disgust of the audience, from +that pleasing labyrinth of errors which was prepared for him. As for +that other objection, of his joining in the queen's imprisonment, it +is indisputably that which every man, if he examines himself, would +have done on the like occasion. If they answer, that it takes from +the height of his character to do it; I would enquire of my overwise +censors, who told them I intended him a perfect character, or, indeed, +what necessity was there he should be so, the variety of images being +one great beauty of a play? It was as much as I designed, to shew one +great and absolute pattern of honour in my poem, which I did in the +person of the queen: all the defects of the other parts being set +to shew, the more to recommend that one character of virtue to the +audience. But neither was the fault of Philocles so great, if the +circumstances be considered, which, as moral philosophy assures +us, make the essential differences of good and bad; he himself +best explaining his own intentions in his last act, which was the +restoration of his queen; and even before that, in the honesty of his +expressions, when he was unavoidably led by the impulsions of his love +to do it. That which with more reason was objected as an indecorum, +is the management of the last scene of the play, where Celadon and +Florimel are treating too lightly of their marriage in the presence of +the queen, who likewise seems to stand idle, while the great action of +the drama is still depending. This I cannot otherwise defend, than by +telling you, I so designed it on purpose, to make my play go off more +smartly; that scene being, in the opinion of the best judges, the most +divertising of the whole comedy. But though the artifice succeeded, I +am willing to acknowledge it as a fault, since it pleased his majesty, +the best judge, to think it so. + +I have only to add, that the play is founded on a story in the +"Cyrus," which he calls the Queen of Corinth; in whose character, +as it has been affirmed to me, he represents that of the famous +Christina, queen of Sweden. This is what I thought convenient to write +by way of preface to "The Maiden Queen;" in the reading of which I +fear you will not meet with that satisfaction, which you have had in +seeing it on the stage; the chief parts of it, both serious and comic, +being performed to that height of excellence, that nothing but a +command, which I could not handsomely disobey, could have given me the +courage to have made it public. + + + +PROLOGUE. + + +I. + +He who writ this, not without pains and thought, +From French and English theatres has brought +The exactest rules, by which a play is wrought. + +II. + +The unities of action, place, and time; +The scenes unbroken; and a mingled chime +Of Jonson's humour, with Corneille's rhyme. + +III. + +But while dead colours he with care did lay, +He fears his wit, or plot, he did not weigh, +Which are the living beauties of a play. + +IV. + +Plays are like towns, which, howe'er fortified +By engineers, have still some weaker side, +By the o'er-seen defendant unespied. + +V. + +And with that art you make approaches now; +Such skilful fury in assaults you show, +That every poet without shame may bow. + +VI. + +Ours, therefore, humbly would attend your doom, +If, soldier-like, he may have terms to come, +With flying colours, and with beat of drum. + +_The Prologue goes out, and stays while a tune is played, after +which he returns again_. + + + +SECOND PROLOGUE. + + +I had forgot one half, I do protest, +And now am sent again to speak the rest. +He bows to every great and noble wit; +But to the little Hectors of the pit +Our poet's sturdy, and will not submit. +He'll be beforehand with 'em, and not stay +To see each peevish critic stab his play; +Each puny censor, who, his skill to boast, +Is cheaply witty on the poet's cost. +No critic's verdict should, of right, stand good, +They are excepted all, as men of blood; +And the same law shall shield him from their fury, +Which has excluded butchers from a jury. +You'd all be wits-- +But writing's tedious, and that way may fail; +The most compendious method is to rail: +Which you so like, you think yourselves ill used, +When in smart prologues you are not abused. +A civil prologue is approved by no man; +You hate it, as you do a civil woman: +Your fancy's palled, and liberally you pay +To have it quickened ere you see a play; +Just as old sinners, worn from their delight, +Give money to be whipped to appetite. +But what a pox keep I so much ado +To save our poet? He is one of you; +A brother judgment, and, as I hear say, +A cursed critic as e'er damned a play. +Good savage gentlemen, your own kind spare; +He is, like you, a very wolf or bear; +Yet think not he'll your ancient rights invade, +Or stop the course of your free damning trade; +For he (he vows) at no friend's play can sit, +But he must needs find fault, to shew his wit: +Then, for his sake, ne'er stint your own delight; +Throw boldly, for he sits to all that write; +With such he ventures on an even lay, +For they bring ready money into play. +Those who write not, and yet all writers nick, +Are bankrupt gamesters, for they damn on tick. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + +LYSIMANTES, _first Prince of the Blood_. +PHILOCLES, _the Queen's favourite_. +CELADON, _a courtier_. + +_Queen of Sicily_. +CANDIOPE, _Princess of the Blood_. +ASTERIA, _the Queen's confident_. +FLORIMEL, _a maid of honour_. +FLAVIA, _another maid of honour_. +OLINDA, SABINA, _Sisters_. +MELISSA, _mother to_ OLINDA _and_ SABINA. + +_Guards, Pages of Honour, Soldiers_. + + +SCENE--_Sicily_. + + + +SECRET LOVE +OR THE +MAIDEN QUEEN. + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_Walks near the Court_. + +_Enter_ CELADON _and_ ASTERIA, _meeting each other, he in +a riding habit; they embrace_. + + +_Cel_. Dear Asteria!-- + +_Ast_. My dear brother, welcome! A thousand welcomes! Methinks, +this year, you have been absent, has been so tedious:--I hope, as you +have made a pleasant voyage, so you have brought your good humour back +again to court? + +_Cel_. I never yet knew any company I could not be merry in, +except it were an old woman's. + +_Ast_. Or at a funeral. + +_Cel_. Nay, for that you shall excuse me; for I was never merrier +than I was at a creditor's of mine, whose book perished with him. +But what new beauties have you at court? How do Melissa's two fair +daughters? + +_Ast_. When you tell me which of them you are in love with, I'll +answer you. + +_Cel_. Which of them, naughty sister! what a question's there? +With both of them; with each and singular of them. + +_Ast_. Bless me!--You are not serious? + +_Cel_. You look, as if it were a wonder to see a man in love. Are +they not handsome? + +_Ast_. Ay; but both together-- + +_Cel_. Ay, and both asunder; why, I hope there are but two of +them; the tall singing and dancing one, and the little innocent one? + +_Ast_. But you cannot marry both? + +_Cel_. No, nor either of them, I trust in Heaven: but I can keep +them company; I can sing and dance with them, and treat them; and +that, I take it, is somewhat better than musty marrying them. Marriage +is poor folks' pleasure, that cannot go to the cost of variety; but I +am out of danger of that with these two, for I love them so equally, I +can never make choice between them. Had I but one mistress, I might go +to her to be merry, and she, perhaps, be out of humour; there were a +visit lost: But here, if one of them frown upon me, the other will be +the more obliging, on purpose to recommend her own gaiety; besides a +thousand things that I could name. + +_Ast_. And none of them to any purpose. + +_Cel_. Well, if you will not be cruel to a poor lover, you might +oblige me, by carrying me to their lodgings. + +_Ast_. You know I am always busy about the queen. + +_Cel_. But once or twice only; 'till I am a little flushed in my +acquaintance with other ladies, and have learned to prey for myself. I +promise you I'll make all the haste I can to end the trouble, by being +in love somewhere else. + +_Ast_. You would think it hard to be denied now? + +_Cel_. And reason good. Many a man hangs himself for the loss of +one mistress: How do you think, then, I should bear the loss of two; +especially in a court, where, I think, beauty is but thin sown? + +_Ast_. There's one Florimel, the queen's ward, a new beauty, as +wild as you, and a vast fortune. + +_Cel_. I am for her before the world. Bring me to her, and I'll +release you of your promise for the other two. + +_Enter a Page_. + +_Page_. Madam, the queen expects you. + +_Cel_. I see you hold her favour; adieu, sister:--you have a +little emissary there, otherwise I would offer you my service. + +_Ast_. Farewell, brother; think upon Florimel. + +_Cel_. You may trust my memory for a handsome woman: I'll think +upon her, and the rest too; I'll forget none of them. [_Exit_ +ASTERIA. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter a Gentleman walking over the stage hastily; After him_ +FLORIMEL _and_ FLAVIA _masked_. + + +_Fla_. Phormio! Phormio! you will not leave us? + +_Gent_. In faith, I have a little business. + +[_Exit Gent_. + +_Cel_. Cannot I serve you in the gentleman's room, ladies? + +_Fla_. Which of us would you serve? + +_Cel_. Either of you, or both of you. + +_Fla_. Why, could you not be constant to one? + +_Cel_. Constant to one!--I have been a courtier, a soldier, and a +traveller, to good purpose, if I must be constant to one: Give me some +twenty, some forty, some a hundred mistresses! I have more love than +any woman can turn her to. + +_Flo_. Bless us! let us be gone, cousin: We two are nothing in +his hands. + +_Cel_. Yet, for my part, I can live with as few mistresses as any +man. I desire no superfluities; only for necessary change or so, as I +shift my linen. + +_Flo_. A pretty odd kind of fellow this; he fits my humour +rarely. [_Aside_. + +_Fla_. You are as inconstant as the moon. + +_Flo_. You wrong him, he's as constant as the sun; he would see +all the world in twenty-four hours. + +_Cel_. 'Tis very true, madam; but, like him, I would visit, and +away. + +_Flo_. For what an unreasonable thing it were, to stay long, be +troublesome, and hinder a lady of a fresh lover. + +_Cel_. A rare creature this! [_Aside_]--Besides, madam, how +like a fool a man looks, when, after all his eagerness of two minutes +before, he shrinks into a faint kiss, and a cold compliment.--Ladies +both, into your hands I commit myself; share me betwixt you. + +_Fla_. I'll have nothing to do with you, since you cannot be +constant to one. + +_Cel_. Nay, rather than lose either of you, I'll do more; I'll be +constant to an hundred of you. Or, if you will needs fetter me to one, +agree the matter between yourselves; and the most handsome take me. + +_Flo_. Though I am not she, yet since my mask is down, and you +cannot convince me, have a good faith of my beauty, and for once I +take you for my servant. + +_Cel_. And for once I'll make a blind bargain with you. Strike +hands; is't a match, mistress? + +_Flo_. Done, servant. + +_Cel_. Now I am sure I have the worst on't: For you see the worst +of me, and that I do not of you, 'till you shew your face.--Yet, now I +think on't, you must be handsome. + +_Flo_. What kind of beauty do you like? + +_Cel_. Just such a one as yours. + +_Flo_. What's that? + +_Cel_. Such an oval face, clear skin, hazel eyes, thick brown +eye-brows, and hair as you have, for all the world. + +_Fla_. But I can assure you, she has nothing of all this. + +_Cel_. Hold thy peace, envy; nay, I can be constant an I set +on't. + +_Flo_. 'Tis true she tells you. + +_Cel_. Ay, ay, you may slander yourself as you please: Then you +have,--let me see. + +_Flo_. Ill swear, you shall not see. + +_Cel_. A turned up nose, that gives an air to your face:--Oh, +I find I am more and more in love with you!--a full nether lip, an +out-mouth, that makes mine water at it; the bottom of your cheeks a +little blub, and two dimples when you smile: For your stature, 'tis +well; and for your wit, 'twas given you by one that knew it had been +thrown away upon an ill face.--Come, you're handsome, there's no +denying it. + +_Flo_. Can you settle your spirits to see an ugly face, and not +be frighted? I could find in my heart to lift up my mask, and disabuse +you. + +_Cel_. I defy your mask:--Would you would try the experiment! + +_Flo_. No, I won't; for your ignorance is the mother of your +devotion to me. + +_Cel_. Since you will not take the pains to convert me, I'll make +bold to keep my faith. A miserable man, I am sure, you have made me. + +_Fla_. This is pleasant. + +_Cel_. It may be so to you, but it is not to me; for aught I see, +I am going to be the most constant Maudlin,-- + +_Flo_. 'Tis very well, Celadon; you can be constant to one you +have never seen, and have forsaken all you have seen? + +_Cel_. It seems, you know me then:--Well, if thou should'st +prove one of my cast mistresses, I would use thee most damnably, for +offering to make me love thee twice. + +_Flo_. You are i'the right: An old mistress, or servant, is an +old tune; the pleasure on't is past, when we have once learned it. + +_Fla_. But what woman in the world would you wish her like? + +_Cel_. I have heard of one Florimel, the queen's ward; would she +were as like her for beauty, as she is for humour! + +_Fla_. Do you hear that, cousin? [_To_ FLOR. _aside_. + +_Flo_. Florimel's not handsome: Besides she's inconstant; and +only loves for some few days. + +_Cel_. If she loves for shorter time than I, she must love by +winter days and summer nights, i'faith. + +_Flo_. When you see us together, you shall judge. In the mean +time, adieu, sweet servant. + +_Cel_. Why, you won't be so inhuman to carry away my heart, and +not so much as tell me where I may hear news on't? + +_Flo_. I mean to keep it safe for you; for, if you had it, you +would bestow it worse: Farewell, I must see a lady. + +_Cel_. So must I too, if I can pull off your mask. + +_Flo_. You will not be so rude, I hope. + +_Cel_. By this light, but I will! + +_Flo_. By this leg, but you shan't. + +[_Exeunt_ FLO. _and_ FLA. _running_. + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter_ PHILOCLES, _and meets him going out_. + + +_Cel_. How! my cousin, the new favourite!--[_Aside_. + +_Phil_. Dear Celadon! most happily arrived.-- +I hear you've been an honour to your country +In the Calabrian wars; and I am glad +I have some interest in it. + +_Cel_. But in you +I have a larger subject for my joys: +To see so rare a thing as rising virtue, +And merit, understood at court. + +_Phil_. Perhaps it is the only act, that can +Accuse our queen of weakness. + +_Enter_ LYSIMANTES, _attended_. + +_Lys_. O, my lord Philocles, well overtaken! +I came to look you. + +_Phil_. Had I known it sooner, +My swift attendance, sir, had spared your trouble.-- +Cousin, you see prince Lysimantes [_To_ CEL. +Is pleased to favour me with his commands: +I beg you'll be no stranger now at court. + +_Cel_. So long as there be ladies there, you need +Not doubt me. [_Exit_ CELADON. + +_Phil_. Some of them will, I hope, make you a convert. + +_Lys_. My lord Philocles, I'm glad we are alone; +There is a business, that concerns me nearly, +In which I beg your love. + +_Phil_. Command my service. + +_Lys_. I know your interest with the queen is great; +(I speak not this as envying your fortune, +For, frankly, I confess you have deserved it; +Besides, my birth, my courage, and my honour, +Are all above so base a vice,)-- + +_Phil._ I know, my lord, you are first prince o'the blood; +Your country's second hope: +And that the public vote, when the queen weds, +Designs you for her choice. + +_Lys_. I am not worthy, +Except love makes desert; +For doubtless she's the glory of her time: +Of faultless beauty, blooming as the spring +In our Sicilian groves; matchless in virtue, +And largely souled where'er her bounty gives, +As, with each breath, she could create new Indies. + +_Phil_. But jealous of her glory,-- + +_Lys_. You are a courtier; and, in other terms, +Would you say, she is averse from marriage, +Lest it might lessen her authority. +But whensoe'er she does, I know the people +Will scarcely suffer her to match +With any neighbouring prince, whose power might bend +Our free Sicilians to a foreign yoke. + +_Phil_. I love too well my country to desire it. + +_Lys_. Then, to proceed, (as you well know, my lord,) +The provinces have sent their deputies, +Humbly to move her, she would chuse at home; +And, (for she seems averse from speaking with them,) +By my appointment, have designed these walks, +Where well she cannot shun them.--Now, if you +Assist their suit, by joining yours to it, +And by your mediation I prove happy, +I freely promise you-- + +_Phil_. Without a bribe, command my utmost in it:-- +And yet, there is a thing, which time may give me +The confidence to name,-- + +_Lys_. 'Tis yours whatever:-- +But, tell me true, does she not entertain +Some deep and settled thoughts against my person? + +_Phil_. I hope, not so; but she, of late, is froward; +Reserved, and sad, and vexed at little things; +Which her great soul, ashamed of, strait shakes off, +And is composed again. + +_Lys_. You are still near the queen; and all our actions +Come to princes' eyes, as they are represented +By them, that hold the mirror. + +_Phil_. Here she comes, and with her the deputies: +I fear all is not right. + +_Enter Queen, Deputies after her;_ ASTERIA, _Guard,_ FLAVIA, +OLINDA, _and_ SABINA. _Queen turns back to the Deputies, and +speaks entering_. + +_Queen_. And I must tell you, +It is a saucy boldness, thus to press +On my retirements. + +_1 Dep_. Our business being of no less concern, +Than is the peace and quiet of your subjects;-- +And that delayed,-- + +_2 Dep_. We humbly took this time +To represent your people's fears to you. + +_Queen_. My people's fears! who made them statesmen? +They much mistake their business, if they think, +It is to govern. +The rights of subjects, and of sovereigns, +Are things distinct in nature:--Theirs is to +Enjoy propriety, not empire. + +_Lys_. If they have erred, 'twas but an over-care; +An ill-timed duty. + +_Queen_. Cousin, I expect +From your near blood, not to excuse, but check them. +They would impose a ruler upon their lawful queen: +For what's an husband else? + +_Lys_. Far, madam, be it from the thoughts +Of any, who pretends to that high honour, +To wish for more than to be reckoned +As the most graced, and first of all your servants. + +_Queen_. These are the insinuating promises +Of those, who aim at power. But tell me, cousin, +(For you are unconcerned, and may be judge,) +Should that aspiring man compass his ends, +What pawn of his obedience could he give me, +When kingly power were once invested in him? + +_Lys_. What greater pledge than love! When those fair eyes +Cast their commanding beams, he, that could be +A rebel to your birth, must pay them homage. + +_Queen_. All eyes are fair, +That sparkle with the jewels of a crown: +But now I see my government is odious; +My people find I am not fit to reign, +Else they would never-- + +_Lys_. So far from that, we all acknowledge you +The bounty of the gods to Sicily: +More than they are you cannot make our joys; +Make them but lasting in a successor. + +_Phil_. Your people seek not to impose a prince; +But humbly offer one to your free choice: +And such a one he is--may I have leave +To speak some little of his great deserts?-- + +_Queen_. I'll hear no more.-- +For you, attend to-morrow at the council: +[_To the Deputies_. +There you shall have my firm resolves:--meantime, +My cousin, I am sure, will welcome you. + +_Lys_. Still more and more mysterious: But I have +Gained one of her women that shall unriddle it.-- + [_Aside_. +Come, gentlemen. + +_All Dep_. Heaven preserve your majesty! + [_Exeunt_ LYS. _and Dep_. + +_Queen_. Philocles, you may stay. + +_Phil_. I humbly wait your majesty's commands. + +_Queen_. Yet, now I better think on't, you may go. + +_Phil_. Madam! + +_Queen_. I have no commands;--or, what's all one, +You, no obedience. + +_Phil_. How! no obedience, madam? +I plead no other merit; 'tis the charter +By which I hold your favour, and my fortunes. + +_Queen_. My favours are cheap blessings, like rain and sunshine, +For which we scarcely thank the gods, because +We daily have them. + +_Phil_. Madam, your breath, which raised me from the dust, +May lay me there again: +But fate nor time can ever make me lose +The sense of your indulgent bounties to me. + +_Queen_. You are above them now, grown popular:-- +Ah, Philocles! could I expect from you +That usage!--no tongue but yours +To move me to a marriage?--[_Weeps_. +The factious deputies might have some end in't, +And my ambitious cousin gain a crown: +But what advantage could there come to you? +What could you hope from Lysimantes' reign, +That you can want in mine? + +_Phil_. You yourself clear me, madam. Had I sought +More power, this marriage sure was not the way. +But, when your safety was in question, +When all your people were unsatisfied, +Desired a king,--nay more, designed the man,-- +It was my duty then,-- + +_Queen_. Let me be judge of my own safety. +I am a woman; +But danger from my subjects cannot fright me. + +_Phil_. But Lysimantes, madam, is a person,-- + +_Queen_. I cannot love. +Shall I,--I, who was born a sovereign queen, +Be barred of that, which God and nature gives +The meanest slave, a freedom in my love?-- +Leave me, good Philocles, to my own thoughts; +When next I need your counsel, I'll send for you. + +_Phil_. I'm most unhappy in your high displeasure; +But, since I must not speak, madam, be pleased +To peruse this, and therein read my care. + +[_He plucks out a paper, and presents it to her; but drops, unknown +to him, a picture. Exit_ PHI. + +_Queen_. [_reads_.] A catalogue of such persons,-- +What's this he has let fall, Asteria? + [_Spies the box_. + +_Ast_. Your majesty?-- + +_Queen_. Take that up; it fell from Philocles. + +[_She takes it up, looks on it, and smiles_. + +_Queen_. How now, what makes you merry? + +_Ast_. A small discovery I have made, madam. + +_Queen_. Of what? + +_Ast_. Since first your majesty graced Philocles, +I have not heard him named for any mistress, +But now this picture has convinced me. + +_Queen_. Ha! let me see it.-- + [_Snatches it from her_. +Candiope, prince Lysimantes' sister! + +_Ast_. Your favour, madam, may encourage him,-- +And yet he loves in a high place for him: +A princess of the blood; and, what is more, +Beyond comparison the fairest lady +Our isle can boast. + +_Queen_. How!--she the fairest +Beyond comparison!--'Tis false! you flatter her; +She is not fair. + +_Ast_. I humbly beg forgiveness on my knees, +If I offended you:--But next yours, madam, +Which all must yield to. + +_Queen_. I pretend to none. + +_Ast_. She passes for a beauty. + +_Queen_. Ay, she may pass:--But why do I speak of her?-- +Dear Asteria, lead me, I am not well o' the sudden. + [_She faints_. + +_Ast_. Who's near there?--help the queen! + +[_The guards are coming_. + +_Queen_. Bid them away: 'Twas but a qualm, +And 'tis already going. + +_Ast_. Dear madam, what's the matter? +You are of late so altered, I scarce know you. +You were gay humoured, and you now are pensive; +Once calm, and now unquiet:-- +Pardon my boldness, that I press thus far +Into your secret thoughts: I have, at least, +A subject's share in you. + +_Queen_. Thou hast a greater. +That of a friend:--But I am froward, say'st thou? + +_Ast_. It ill becomes me, madam, to say that. + +_Queen_. I know I am:--Pr'ythee, forgive me for it,-- +I cannot help it;--but thou hast +Not long to suffer it. + +_Ast_. Alas! + +_Queen_. I feel my strength each day and hour consume, +Like lilies wasting in a lymbeck's heat. +Yet a few days, +And thou shalt see me lie, all damp and cold, +Shrouded within some hollow vault, among +My silent ancestors. + +_Ast_. O dearest madam! +Speak not of death; or think not, if you die, +That I will stay behind. + +_Queen_. Thy love has moved me;--I, for once, will have +The pleasure to be pitied. I'll unfold +A thing so strange, so horrid of myself-- + +_Ast_. Bless me, sweet heaven!-- +So horrid, said you, madam? + +_Queen_. That sun, who with one look surveys the globe, +Sees not a wretch like me!--And could the world +Take a right measure of my state within, +Mankind must either pity me, or scorn me. + +_Ast_. Sure none could do the last. + +_Queen_. Thou longest to know it, +And I to tell thee, but shame stops my mouth. +First, promise me thou wilt excuse my folly; +And, next, be secret. + +_Ast_. Can you doubt it, madam? + +_Queen_. Yet you might spare my labour:-- +Can you not guess? + +_Ast_. Madam, please you, I'll try. + +_Queen_. Hold, Asteria!-- +I would not have you guess; for should you find it, +I should imagine that some other might, +And then I were most wretched:-- +Therefore, though you should know it, flatter me, +And say you could not guess it. + +_Ast_. Madam, I need not flatter you, I cannot--and yet, +Might not ambition trouble your repose? + +_Queen_. My Sicily, I thank the Gods, contents me. +But, since I must reveal it, know,--'tis love: +I, who pretended so to glory, am +Become the slave of love. + +_Ast_. I thought your majesty had framed designs +To subvert all your laws; become a tyrant, +Or vex your neighbours, with injurious wars; +Is this all, madam? + +_Queen_. Is not this enough? +Then, know, I love below myself; a subject; +Love one, who loves another, and who knows not +That I love him. + +_Ast_. He must be told it, madam. + +_Queen_. Not for the world, Asteria: +Whene'er he knows it, I shall die for shame. + +_Ast_. What is it, then, that would content you? + +_Queen_. Nothing, but that I had not lov'd. + +_Ast_. May I not ask, without offence, who 'tis? + +_Queen_. Ev'n that confirms me, I have loved amiss; +Since thou canst know I love, and not imagine +It must be Philocles. + +_Ast_. My cousin is, indeed, a most deserving person; +Valiant, and wise; handsome, and well-born. + +_Queen_. But not of royal blood: +I know his fate, unfit to be a king. +To be his wife, I could forsake my crown; but not my glory: +Yet--would he did not love Candiope; +Would he loved me--but knew not of my love, +Or e'er durst tell me his. + +_Ast_. In all this labyrinth, +I find one path, conducting to our quiet. + +_Queen_. O tell me quickly then! + +_Ast_. Candiope, as princess of the blood, +Without your approbation cannot marry: +First, break his match with her, by virtue of +Your sovereign authority. + +_Queen_. I fear, that were to make him hate me, +Or, what's as bad, to let him know, I love him: +Could you not do it of yourself? + +_Ast_. I'll not be wanting to my pow'r: +But if your majesty appears not in it, +The love of Philocles will soon surmount +All other difficulties. + +_Queen_. Then, as we walk, we'll think what means are best; +Effect but this, and thou shar'st half my breast. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I--_The Queens Apartment_. + + +ASTERIA _alone_. + +Nothing thrives that I have plotted; +For I have sounded Philocles, and find +He is too constant to Candiope: +Her too I have assaulted, but in vain, +Objecting want of quality in Philocles. +I'll to the queen, and plainly tell her, +She must make use of her authority +To break the match. + +_Enter_ CELADON _looking about him_. + +Brother! what make you here +About the queen's apartments? +Which of the ladies are you watching for? + +_Cel_. Any of 'em, that will do me the good turn, to make me +soundly in love. + +_Ast_. Then I'll bespeak you one, you will be desperately in love +with; Florimel: So soon as the queen heard you were returned, she gave +you her for mistress. + +_Cel_. Thank her majesty; but, to confess the truth, my fancy +lies partly another way. + +_Ast_. That's strange: Florimel vows you are already in love with +her. + +_Cel_. She wrongs me horribly; if ever I saw or spoke with this +Florimel-- + +_Ast_. Well, take your fortune, I must leave you. + +[_Exit_ ASTERIA. + +_Enter_ FLORIMEL, _sees him, and is running back_. + +_Cel_. Nay, i'faith I am got betwixt you and home; you are my +prisoner, lady bright, till you resolve me one question. + +[_She makes signs she is dumb_.] + +Pox, I think, she's dumb: what a vengeance dost thou at court, with +such a rare face, without a tongue to answer to a kind question? Art +thou dumb indeed? then thou canst tell no tales-- + +[_Goes to kiss her_. + +_Flo_. Hold, hold, you are not mad! + +_Cel_. Oh, my miss in a mask! have you found your tongue? + +_Flo_. 'Twas time, I think; what had become of me if I had not? + +_Cel_. Me thinks your lips had done as well. + +_Flo_. Ay, if my mask had been over 'em, as it was when you met +me in the walks. + +_Cel_. Well; will you believe me another time? Did not I say, +you were infinitely handsome? they may talk of Florimel, if they will, +but, i'faith, she must come short of you. + +_Flo_. Have you seen her, then? + +_Cel_. I look'd a little that way, but I had soon enough of her; +she is not to be seen twice without a surfeit. + +_Flo_. However, you are beholden to her; they say she loves you. + +_Cel_. By fate she shan't love me: I have told her a piece of +my mind already? Pox o' these coming women: They set a man to dinner, +before he has an appetite. [FLAVIA _at the door_. + +_Fla_. Florimel, you are call'd within--[_Exit_. + +_Cel_. I hope in the lord, you are not Florimel! + +_Flo_. Ev'n she, at your service; the same kind and coming +Florimel, you have described. + +_Cel_. Why then we are agreed already: I am as kind and coming +as you, for the heart of you: I knew, at first, we two were good for +nothing but one another. + +_Flo_. But, without raillery, are you in love? + +_Cel_. So horribly much, that, contrary to my own maxims, I +think, in my conscience, I could marry you. + +_Flo_. No, no, 'tis not come to that yet; but if you are really +in love, you have done me the greatest pleasure in the world. + +_Cel_. That pleasure, and a better too, I have in store for you. + +_Flo_. This animal, call'd a lover, I have long'd to see these +two years. + +_Cel_. Sure you walk'd with your mask on all the while; for if +you had been seen, you could not have been without your wish. + +_Flo_. I warrant, you mean an ordinary whining lover; but I must +have other proofs of love, ere I believe it. + +_Cel_. You shall have the best that I can give you. + +_Flo_. I would have a lover, that, if need be, should hang +himself, drown himself, break his neck, poison himself, for very +despair: He, that will scruple this, is an impudent fellow if he says +he is in love. + +_Cel_. Pray, madam, which of these four things would you have +your lover to do? For a man's but a man; he cannot hang, and drown, +and break his neck, and poison himself, all together. + +_Flo_. Well, then, because you are but a beginner, and I would +not discourage you, any of these shall serve your turn, in a fair way. + +_Cel_. I am much deceiv'd in those eyes of yours, if a treat, a +song, and the fiddles, be not a more acceptable proof of love to you, +than any of those tragical ones you have mentioned. + +_Flo_. However, you will grant it is but decent you should be +pale, and lean, and melancholick, to shew you are in love: And that I +shall require of you when I see you next. + +_Cel_. When you see me next? Why you do not make a rabbit of me, +to be lean at twenty-four hours warning? in the mean while, we burn +day-light, lose time and love. + +_Flo_. Would you marry me without consideration? + +_Cel_. To chuse, by heaven; for they that think on't, twenty to +one would never do it. Hang forecast! to make sure of one good night +is as much in reason, as a man should expect from this ill world. + +_Flo_. Methinks, a few more years and discretion would do well: +I do not like this going to bed so early; it makes one so weary before +morning. + +_Cel_. That's much as your pillow is laid, before you go to +sleep. + +_Flo_. Shall I make a proposition to you? I will give you a whole +year of probation to love me in; to grow reserved, discreet, sober, +and faithful, and to pay me all the services of a lover-- + +_Cel_. And at the end of it, you'll marry me? + +_Flo_. If neither of us alter our minds before. + +_Cel_. By this light a necessary clause. But if I pay in all +the foresaid services before the day, you shall be obliged to take me +sooner into mercy. + +_Flo_. Provided, if you prove unfaithful, then your time of a +twelve-month to be prolonged; so many services, I will bate you so +many days or weeks; so many faults, I will add to your 'prenticeship +so much more: And of all this, I only to be judge. + +_Enter_ PHILOCLES _and_ LYSIMANTES. + +_Lys_. Is the queen this way, madam? + +_Flo_. I'll see, so please your highness: Follow me, captive. + +_Cel_. March on, conqueror--[_She pulls him_. + +[_Exeunt_ CEL. FLO. + +_Lys_. You're sure her majesty will not oppose it? + +_Phil_. Leave that to me, my lord. + +_Lys_. Then, tho' perhaps my sister's birth might challenge +An higher match, +I'll weigh your merits, on the other side, +To make the balance even. + +_Phil_. I go, my lord, this minute. + +_Lys_. My best wishes wait on you. + [_Exit_ LYSIMANTES. + +_Enter the Queen and_ ASTERIA. + +_Queen_. Yonder he is; have I no other way? + +_Ast_. O madam, you must stand this brunt: +Deny him now, and leave the rest to me: +I'll to Candiope's mother, +And, under the pretence of friendship, work +On her ambition to put off a match +So mean as Philocles. + +_Queen_. You may approach, sir; [_To_ PHIL. +We two discourse no secrets. + +_Phil_. I come, madam, to weary out your royal +bounty. + +_Queen_. Some suit, I warrant, for your cousin Celadon. +Leave his advancement to my care. + +_Phil_. Your goodness still prevents my wishes.-- +Yet I have one request, +Might it not pass almost for madness, and +Extreme ambition in me-- + +_Queen_. You know you have a favourable judge; +It lies in you not to ask any thing +I cannot grant. + +_Phil_. Madam, perhaps, you think me too faulty: +But love alone inspires me with ambition, +Tho' but to look on fair Candiope were an excuse for both. + +_Queen_. Keep your ambition, and let love alone: +That I can cloy, but this I cannot cure. +I have some reasons (invincible to me) which must forbid +Your marriage with Candiope. + +_Phil_. I knew I was not worthy. + +_Queen_. Not for that, Philocles; you deserve all things, +And, to shew I think it, my admiral, I hear, is dead; +His vacant place (the best in all my kingdom,) +I here confer on you. + +_Phil_. Rather take back all you had giv'n before, +Than not give this; +For believe, madam, nothing is so near +My soul, as the possession of Candiope. + +_Queen_. Since that belief would be to your disadvantage, +I will not entertain it. + +_Phil_. Why, madam, can you be thus cruel to me? +To give me all things, which I did not ask, +And yet deny that only thing, I beg: +And so beg, that I find I cannot live +Without the hope of it. + +_Queen_. Hope greater things; +But hope not this. Haste to o'ercome your love; +It is but putting a short-liv'd passion to a violent death. + +_Phil_. I cannot live without Candiope; +But I can die, without a murmur, +Having my doom pronounced from your fair mouth. + +_Queen_. If I am to pronounce it, live, my Philocles, +But live without, (I was about to say) [_Aside_. +Without his love, but that I cannot do; +Live Philocles without Candiope. + +_Phil_. Madam, could you give my doom so quickly, +And knew it was irrevocable! +'Tis too apparent, +You, who alone love glory, and whose soul +Is loosened from your senses, cannot judge +What torments mine, of grosser mould, endures. + +_Queen_. I cannot suffer you +To give me praises, which are not my own: +I love like you, and am yet much more wretched, +Than you can think yourself. + +_Phil_. Weak bars they needs must be, that fortune puts +'Twixt sovereign power, and all it can desire. +When princes love, they call themselves unhappy; +Only, because the word sounds handsome in a lover's mouth; +But you can cease to be so when you please, +By making Lysimantes fortunate. + +_Queen_. Were he indeed the man, you had some reason; +But 'tis another, more without my power, +And yet a subject too. + +_Phil_. O, madam, say not so: +It cannot be a subject, if not he; +It were to be injurious to yourself +To make another choice. + +_Queen_. Yet, Lysimantes, set by him I love, +Is more obscured, than stars too near the sun: +He has a brightness of his own, +Not borrowed of his father's, but born with him. + +_Phil_. Pardon me if I say, whoe'er he be, +He has practis'd some ill arts upon you, madam; +For he, whom you describe, I see, is born +But from the lees o' the people. + +_Queen_. You offend me, Philocles. +Whence had you leave to use those insolent terms, +Of him I please to love? One, I must tell you, +(Since foolishly I have gone thus far) +Whom I esteem your equal, +And far superior to prince Lysimantes; +One, who deserves to wear a crown-- + +_Phil_. Whirlwinds bear me hence, before I live +To that detested day!--That frown assures me +I have offended, by my over-freedom; +But yet, methinks, a heart so plain and honest, +And zealous of your glory, might hope your pardon for it. + +_Queen_. I give it you; but, +When you know him better, +You'll alter your opinion; he's no ill friend of yours. + +_Phil_. I well perceive, +He has supplanted me in your esteem; +But that's the least of ills this fatal wretch +Has practised--Think, for heaven's sake, madam, think, +If you have drunk no philtre. + +_Queen_. Yes, he has given me a philtre; +But I have drunk it only from his eyes. + +_Phil_. Hot irons thank 'em for't! + [_Softly, or turning from her_. + +_Queen_. What's that you mutter? +Hence from my sight! I know not whether +I ever shall endure to see you more. + +_Phil_. But hear me, madam. + +_Queen_. I say, begone.--See me no more this day.-- +I will not hear one word in your excuse: +Now, sir, be rude again; and give laws to your queen. + [_Exit_ PHILOCLES _bowing_. +Asteria, come hither. +Was ever boldness like to this of Philocles? +Help me to reproach him, for I resolve +Henceforth no more to love him. + +_Ast_. Truth is, I wondered at your patience, madam: +Did you not mark his words, his mein, his action, +How full of haughtiness, how small respect? + +_Queen_. And he to use me thus, he whom I favoured, +Nay more, he whom I loved? + +_Ast_. A man, methinks, of vulgar parts and presence! + +_Queen_. Or, allow him something handsome, valiant, +Or so--Yet this to me!-- + +_Ast_. The workmanship of inconsiderate favour, +The creature of rash love; one of those meteors +Which monarchs raise from earth, +And people, wondering how they came so high, +Fear, from their influence, plagues, and wars, and famine. + +_Queen_. Ha! + +_Ast_. One, whom, instead of banishing a day, +You should have plumed of all his borrowed honours, +And let him see what abject things they are, +Whom princes often love without desert. + +_Queen_. What has my Philocles deserved from thee, +That thou shouldst use him thus? +Were he the basest of mankind, thou couldst not +Have given him ruder language. + +_Ast_. Did not your majesty command me? +Did not yourself begin? + +_Queen_. I grant I did, but I have right to do it: +I love him, and may rail; in you 'tis malice; +Malice in the most high degree; for never man +Was more deserving than my Philocles. +Or, do you love him, ha! and plead that title? +Confess, and I'll forgive you-- +For none can look on him, but needs must love. + +_Ast_. I love him, madam! I beseech your majesty, +Have better thoughts of me. + +_Queen_. Dost thou not love him then? +Good heaven, how stupid, and how dull is she? +How most invincibly insensible! +No woman does deserve to live, +That loves not Philocles. + +_Ast_. Dear madam, recollect yourself; alas! +How much distracted are your thoughts; and how +Disjointed all your words! +The sibyl's leaves more orderly were laid. +Where is that harmony of mind, that prudence, +Which guided all you did? that sense of glory, +Which raised you high above the rest of kings, +As kings are o'er the level of mankind? + +_Queen_. Gone, gone, Asteria; all is gone, +Or lost within me, far from any use. +Sometimes I struggle, like the sun in clouds, +But straight I am o'ercast. + +_Ast_. I grieve to see it. + +_Queen_. Then thou hast yet the goodness +To pardon what I said? +Alas! I use myself much worse than thee. +Love rages in great souls, +For there his power most opposition finds; +High trees are shook, because they dare the winds. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_The Court Gallery_. + + +PHILOCLES _solus_. + +'Tis true, she banished me but for a day; +But favourites, once declining, sink apace. +Yet fortune, stop--this is the likeliest place +To meet Asteria, and by her convey +My humble vows to my offended queen. +Ha! She comes herself; unhappy man, +Where shall I hide?--[_Is going out_. + +_Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA. + +_Queen_. Is not that Philocles, +Who makes such haste away? Philocles, Philocles!-- + +_Phil_. I feared she saw me. [_Coming back_. + +_Queen_. How now, sir, am I such a bugbear, +That I scare people from me? + +_Phil_. 'Tis true, I should more carefully have shunned +The place where you might be; as, when it thunders, +Men reverently quit the open air, +Because the angry gods are then abroad. + +_Queen_. What does he mean, Asteria? +I do not understand him. + +_Ast_. Your majesty forgets, you banished him +Your presence for this day. [_To her softly_. + +_Queen_. Ha! banished him! 'tis true indeed; +But, as thou sayest, I had forgot it quite. + +_Ast_. That's very strange, scarce half an hour ago. + +_Queen_. But love had drawn his pardon up so soon, +That I forgot he e'er offended me. + +_Phil_. Pardon me, that I could not thank you sooner; +Your sudden grace, like some swift flood poured in +On narrow banks, o'erflowed my spirits. + +_Queen_. No: 'tis for me to ask your pardon, Philocles, +For the great injury I did you, +In not remembering I was angry with you: +But I'll repair my fault, +And rouse my anger up against you yet. + +_Phil_. No, madam, my forgiveness was your act of grace, +And I lay hold of it. + +_Queen_. Princes sometimes may pass +Acts of oblivion, in their own wrong. + +_Phil_. 'Tis true, but not recal them. + +_Queen_. But, Philocles, since I have told you there is one +I love, I will go on, and let you know +What passed this day betwixt us; be our judge, +Whether my servant have dealt well with me. + +_Phil_. I beseech your majesty, excuse me: +Any thing more of him may make me +Relapse too soon, and forfeit my late pardon. + +_Queen_. But you'll be glad to know it. + +_Phil_. May I not hope, then, +You have some quarrel to him? + +_Queen_. Yes, a great one. +But first to justify myself: +Know, Philocles, I have concealed my passion +With such care from him, that he knows not yet +I love, but only that I much esteem him. + +_Phil_. O stupid wretch, +That, by a thousand tokens, could not guess it! + +_Queen_. He loves elsewhere, and that has blinded him. + +_Phil_. He's blind indeed! +So the dull beasts in the first paradise, +With levelled eyes, gazed each upon their kind; +There fixed their love, and ne'er looked up to view +That glorious creature man, their sovereign lord. + +_Queen_. Y'are too severe on little faults; but he +Has crimes, untold, +Which will, I fear, move you much more against him. +He fell this day into a passion with me, +And boldly contradicted all I said. + +_Phil_. And stands his head upon his shoulders yet? +How long shall this most insolent-- + +_Queen_. Take heed you rail not; +You know you are but on your good behaviour. + +_Phil_. Why then I will not call him traitor, +But only rude, audacious, and impertinent, +To use his sovereign so--I beg your leave +To wish, you have at least imprisoned him. + +_Queen_. Some people may speak ill, and yet mean well: +Remember you were not confined; and yet +Your fault was great. In short, I love him, +And that excuses all; but be not jealous; +His rising shall not be your overthrow, +Nor will I ever marry him. + +_Phil_. That's some comfort yet; +He shall not be a king. + +_Queen_. He never shall. But you are discomposed; +Stay here a little; I have somewhat for you, +Shall shew, you still are in my favour. + +[_Exeunt Queen and_ ASTERIA. + +_Enter to him_ CANDIOPE, _weeping_. + +_Phil_. How now, in tears, my fair Candiope? +So, through a watry cloud, +The sun, at once, seems both to weep and shine. +For what forefather's sin do you afflict +Those precious eyes? For sure you have +None of your own to weep. + +_Cand_. My crimes both great and many needs must shew, +Since heaven will punish them with losing you. + +_Phil_. Afflictions, sent from heaven without a cause, +Make bold mankind enquire into its laws. +But heaven, which moulding beauty takes such care, +Makes gentle fates on purpose for the fair: +And destiny, that sees them so divine, +Spins all their fortunes in a silken twine: +No mortal hand so ignorant is found, +To weave coarse work upon a precious ground. + +_Cand_. Go preach this doctrine in my mother's ears. + +_Phil_. Has her severity produced these tears? + +_Cand_. She has recalled those hopes she gave before, +And strictly bids me ne'er to see you more. + +_Phil_. Changes in froward age are natural; +Who hopes for constant weather in the fall? +'Tis in your power your duty to transfer, +And place that right in me, which was in her. + +_Cand_. Reason, like foreign foes, would ne'er o'ercome, +But that I find I am betrayed at home; +You have a friend, that fights for you within. + +_Phil_. Let reason ever lose, so love may win. + +_Enter Queen with a picture in her hand, and_ ASTERIA + +_Queen_. See there, Asteria, +All we have done succeeds still to the worse; +We hindered him from seeing her at home, +Where I but only heard they loved; and now +She comes to court, and mads me with the sight on't. + +_Ast_. Dear madam, overcome yourself a little, +Or they'll perceive how much you are concerned. + +_Queen_. I struggle with my heart-- +But it will have some vent. +Cousin, you are a stranger at the court. [_To_ CAND. + +_Cand_. It was my duty, I confess, +To attend oftner on your majesty. + +_Queen_. Asteria, mend my cousin's handkerchief; +It sits too narrow there, and shows too much +The broadness of her shoulders--Nay, fie, Asteria, +Now you put it too much backward, and discover +The bigness of her breasts. + +_Cand_. I beseech your majesty, +Give not yourself this trouble. + +_Queen_. Sweet cousin, you shall pardon me; +A beauty such as yours +Deserves a more than ordinary care, +To set it out. +Come hither, Philocles, do but observe, +She has but one gross fault in all her shape, +That is, she bears up here too much, +And the malicious workman has left it +Open to your eye. + +_Phil_. Where, and please your majesty? +Methinks 'tis very well. + +_Queen_. Do not you see it? Oh how blind is love! + +_Cand_. And how quick-sighted malice! [_Aside_. + +_Queen_. But yet, methinks, those knots of sky do not +So well with the dead colour of her face. + +_Ast_. Your majesty mistakes, she wants no red. + +[_The Queen here plucks out her glass, and looks +sometimes on herself, sometimes on her rival_. + +_Queen_. How do I look to-day, Asteria? +Methinks, not well. + +_Ast_. Pardon me, madam, most victoriously. + +_Queen_. What think you, Philocles? come, do not +flatter. + +_Phil_. Paris was a bold man, who presumed, +To judge the beauty of a goddess. + +_Cand_. Your majesty has given the reason why +He cannot judge; his love has blinded him. + +_Queen_. Methinks, a long patch here, beneath her eye, +Might hide that dismal hollowness. +What think you, Philocles? + +_Cand_. Beseech you, madam, ask not his opinion: +What my faults are it is no matter; +He loves me with them all. + +_Queen_. Ay, he may love; but when he marries you, +Your bridal shall be kept in some dark dungeon. +Farewell, and think of that, too easy maid! +I blush, thou sharest my blood. + +[_Exeunt Queen and_ ASTERIA. + +_Cand_. Inhuman queen! +Thou canst not be more willing to resign +Thy part in me, than I to give up mine. + +_Phil_. Love, how few subjects do thy laws fulfil, +And yet those few, like us, thou usest ill! + +_Cand_. The greatest slaves, in monarchies, are they, +Whom birth sets nearest to imperial sway; +While jealous power does sullenly o'erspy, +We play, like deer, within the lion's eye. +'Would I for you some shepherdess had been, +And, but each May, ne'er heard the name of queen! + +_Phil_. If you were so, might I some monarch be, +Then, you should gain what now you lose by me; +Then, you in all my glories should have part, +And rule my empire, as you rule my heart. + +_Cand_. How much our golden wishes are in vain! +When they are past, we are ourselves again. + +_Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA _above_. + +_Queen_. Look, look, Asteria, yet they are not gone. +Hence we may hear what they discourse alone. + +_Phil_. My love inspires me with a generous thought, +Which you, unknowing in those wishes, taught. +Since happiness may out of courts be found, +Why stay we here on this enchanted ground; +And chuse not rather with content to dwell +(If love and joy can find it) in a cell? + +_Cand_. Those who, like you, have once in courts been great, +May think they wish, but wish not, to retreat. +They seldom go, but when they cannot stay; +As losing gamesters throw the dice away. +Even in that cell, where you repose would find, +Visions of court will haunt your restless mind; +And glorious dreams stand ready to restore +The pleasing shapes of all you had before. + +_Phil_. He, who with your possession once is blest, +On easy terms will part with all the rest. +All my ambition will in you be crowned; +And those white arms shall all my wishes bound. +Our life shall be but one long nuptial day, +And, like chafed odours, melt in sweets away; +Soft as the night our minutes shall be worn, +And chearful as the birds, that wake the morn. + +_Cand_. Thus hope misleads itself in pleasant way, +And takes more joys on trust, than love can pay: +But, love with long possession once decayed, +That face, which now you court, you will upbraid. + +_Phil_. False lovers broach these tenets, to remove +The fault from them, by placing it on love. + +_Cand_. Yet grant, in youth you keep alive your fire, +Old age will come, and then it must expire: +Youth but a while does at love's temple stay, +As some fair inn, to lodge it on the way. + +_Phil_. Your doubts are kind; but, to be satisfied +I can be true, I beg I may be tried. + +_Cand_. Trials of love too dear the making cost; +For if successless, the whole venture's lost. +What you propose, brings wants and care along. + +_Phil_. Love can bear both. + +_Cand_. But is your love so strong? + +_Phil_. They do not want, who wish not to have more; +Who ever said an anchoret was poor? + +_Cand_. To answer generously, as you have done, +I should not by your arguments be won: +I know, I urge your ruin by consent; +Yet love too well, that ruin to prevent. + +_Phil_. Like water given to those whom fevers fry, +You kill but him, who must without it die. + +_Cand_. Secure me, I may love without a crime; +Then, for our flight, appoint both place and time. + +_Phil_. The ensuing hour my plighted vows shall be; +The time's not long; or only long to me. + +_Cand_. Then, let us go where we shall ne'er be seen +By my hard mother. + +_Phil_. Or my cruel queen. + +[_Exeunt_ PHIL. _and_ CAND. + +_Queen above_. O, Philocles, unkind to call me cruel! +So false Aeneas did from Dido fly; +But never branded her with cruelty. +How I despise myself for loving so! + +_Ast_. At once you hate yourself, and love him too. + +_Queen_. No, his ingratitude has cured my wound: +A painful cure indeed! + +_Ast_. And yet not sound. +His ignorance of your true thoughts +Excuses this; you did seem cruel, madam. + +_Queen_. But much of kindness still mixed with it. +Who could mistake so grossly, not to know +A Cupid frowning, when he draws his bow? + +_Ast_. He's going now to smart for his offence. + +_Queen_. Should he, without my leave, depart from +hence? + +_Ast_. No matter; since you hate him, let him go. + +_Queen_. But I my hate by my revenge will show: +Besides, his head's a forfeit to the state. + +_Ast_. When you take that, I will believe you hate. +Let him possess, and then he'll soon repent; +And so his crime will prove his punishment. + +_Queen_. He may repent; but he will first possess. + +_Ast_. O, madam, now your hatred you confess: +If his possessing her your rage does move, +'Tis jealousy, the avarice of love. + +_Queen_. No more, Asteria. +Seek Lysimantes out, bid him set his guards +Through all the court and city. +Prevent their marriage first; then stop their flight. +Some fitting punishments I will ordain, +But speak not you of Philocles again: +'Tis bold to search, and dangerous to find, +Too much of heaven's, or of a prince's mind. +[_Queen descends, and exit_. + +_As the Queen has done speaking,_ FLAVIA _is going +hastily over the stage;_ ASTERIA _sees her_. + +_Ast_. Flavia, Flavia, whither so fast? + +_Fla_. Did you call, Asteria? + +_Ast_. The queen has business with Prince Lysimantes; +Speak to any gentleman in the court, to fetch him. +[_Exit_ ASTERIA _from above_. + +_Fla_. I suspect somewhat, but I'll watch you close; +Prince Lysimantes has not chose in me +The worst spy of the court-- +Celadon! what makes he here? + +_Enter_ CELADON, OLINDA, _and_ SABINA; _they walk over the +stage together, he seeming to court them_. + +_Olind_. Nay, sweet Celadon-- + +_Sab_. Nay, dear Celadon. + +_Fla_. O ho! I see his business now; 'tis with Melissa's two +daughters: Look, look, how he peeps about, to see if the coast be +clear; like an hawk that will not plume, if she be looked on. + +[_Exeunt_ CEL. OLIND. _and_ SAB. + +So--at last he has trussed his quarry. + +_Enter_ FLORIMEL. + +_Flo_. Did you see Celadon this way? + +_Fla_. If you had not asked the question, I should have thought +you had come from watching him; he's just gone off with Melissa's +daughters. + +_Flo_. Melissa's daughters! he did not court 'em, I hope? + +_Fla_. So busily, he lost no time: While he was teaching the one +a tune, he was kissing the other's hand. + +_Flo_. O fine gentleman! + +_Fla_. And they so greedy of him! did you never see two fishes +about a bait, tugging it this way and t'other way? for my part, I +looked at least he should have lost a leg or arm i'the service.--Nay, +never vex yourself, but e'en resolve to break with him. + +_Flo_. No, no, 'tis not come to that yet; I'll correct him first, +and then hope the best from time. + +_Fla_. From time! believe me, there's little good to be +expected from him. I never knew the old gentleman with the scythe and +hour-glass bring any thing but grey hair, thin cheeks, and loss of +teeth: You see Celadon loves others. + +_Flo_. There's the more hope he may love me among the rest: Hang +it, I would not marry one of these solemn fops; they are good for +nothing, but to make cuckolds. Give me a servant, that is an high +flier at all games, that is bounteous of himself to many women; and +yet, whenever I pleased to throw out the lure of matrimony, should +come down with a swing, and fly the better at his own quarry. + +_Fla_. But are you sure you can take him down when you think +good? + +_Flo_. Nothing more certain. + +_Fla_. What wager will you venture upon the trial? + +_Flo_. Any thing. + +_Fla_. My maidenhead to yours. + +_Flo_. That's a good one; who shall take the forfeit? + +_Fla_. I'll go and write a letter, as from these two sisters, to +summon him immediately; it shall be delivered before you. I warrant, +you see a strange combat betwixt the flesh and the spirit: If he +leaves you to go to them, you'll grant he loves them better? + +_Flo_. Not a jot the more: A bee may pick of many flowers, and +yet like some one better than all the rest. + +_Fla_. But then your bee must not leave his sting behind him. + +_Flo_. Well; make the experiment however: I hear him coming, and +a whole noise of fidlers at his heels. Hey-day, what a mad husband +shall I have!-- + +_Enter CELADON_. + +_Fla_. And what a mad wife will he have! Well, I must go a little +way, but I'll return immediately, and write it: You'll keep him in +discourse the while? [_Exit_ FLA. + +_Cel_. Where are you, madam? What, do you mean to run away thus? +Pray stand to't, that we may despatch this business. + +_Flo_. I think you mean to watch me, as they do witches, to +make me confess I love you. Lord, what a bustle have you kept this +afternoon? What with eating, singing, and dancing, I am so wearied, +that I shall not be in case to hear any more love this fortnight. + +_Cel_. Nay, if you surfeit on't before trial, Lord have mercy +upon you, when I have married you. + +_Flo_. But what king's revenue, do you think, will maintain this +extravagant expence? + +_Cel_. I have a damnable father, a rich old rogue, if he would +once die! Lord, how long does he mean to make it ere he dies! + +_Flo_. As long as ever he can, I'll pass my word for him. + +_Cel_. I think, then, we had best consider him as an obstinate +old fellow, that is deaf to the news of a better world; and ne'er stay +for him. + +_Flo_. But e'en marry; and get him grandchildren in abundance, +and great-grandchildren upon them, and so inch him and shove him out +of the world by the very force of new generations--if that be the way, +you must excuse me. + +_Cel_. But dost thou know what it is to be an old maid? + +_Flo_. No, nor hope I shan't these twenty years. + +_Cel_. But when that time comes, in the first place, thou wilt +be condemned to tell stories, how many men thou mightst have had; and +none believe thee: Then thou growest forward, and impudently weariest +all thy friends to solicit man for thee. + +_Flo_. Away with your old common-place-wit: I am resolved to grow +fat, and look young till forty, and then slip out of the world, with +the first wrinkle, and the reputation of five and twenty. + +_Cel_. Well, what think you now of a reckoning betwixt us? + +_Flo_. How do you mean? + +_Cel_. To discount for so many days of my years service, as I +have paid in this morning. + +_Flo_. With all my heart. + +_Cel_. _Imprimis_, for a treat. + _Item_, For my glass coach. + _Item_, For sitting bare, and wagging your fan. +And lastly, and principally, for my fidelity to you this long hour +and half. + +_Flo_. For this I bate you three weeks of your service; now hear +your bill of faults; for your comfort 'tis a short one. + +_Cel_. I know it. + +_Flo_. _Imprimis_, _item_, and sum total, for keeping +company with Melissa's daughters. + +_Cel_. How the pox came you to know of that? Gad, I believe +the devil plays booty against himself, and tells you of my sins. +[_Aside_. + +_Flo_. The offence being so small, the punishment shall be but +proportionable; I will set you back only half a year. + +_Cel_. You're most unconscionable: When then do you think we +shall come together? There's none but the old patriarchs could live +long enough to marry you at this rate. What, do you take me for some +cousin of Methusalem's, that I must stay an hundred years, before I +come to beget sons and daughters? + +_Flo_. Here's an impudent lover! he complains of me without ever +offering to excuse himself; _item_, a fortnight more for that. + +_Cel_. So, there's another puff in my voyage, has blown me back +to the north of Scotland. + +_Flo_. All this is nothing to your excuse for the two sisters. + +_Cel_. 'Faith, if ever I did more than kiss them, and that but +once-- + +_Flo_. What could you have done more to me? + +_Cel_. An hundred times more; as thou shalt know, dear rogue, at +time convenient. + +_Flo_. You talk, you talk; could you kiss them, though but once, +and ne'er think of me? + +_Cel_. Nay, if I had thought of thee, I had kissed them over a +thousand times, with the very force of imagination. + +_Flo_. The gallants are mightily beholden to you; you have found +them out a new way to kiss their mistresses, upon other women's lips. + +_Cel_. What would you have? You are my Sultana Queen, the +rest are but in the nature of your slaves; I may make some slight +excursions into the enemy's country for forage, or so, but I ever +return to my head quarters. + +_Enter one with a letter_. + +_Cel_. To me? + +_Mess_. If your name be Celadon. [_CEL. reads softly_. + +_Flo_. He is swallowing the pill; presently we shall see the +operation. + +_Cel. to the page_.] Child, come hither, child; here's money for +thee: So, begone quickly, good child, before any body examines thee: +Thou art in a dangerous place, child--[_Thrusts him out_.] +Very good; the sisters send me word, they will have the fiddles this +afternoon, and invite me to sup there!--Now, cannot I forbear, an I +should be damned, tho' I have scap'd a scouring so lately for it. Yet +I love Florimel better than both of them together; there's the riddle +on't: But only for the sweet sake of variety.--[_Aside_.] Well, +we must all sin, and we must all repent, and there's an end on't. + +_Flo_. What is it, that makes you fidge up and down so? + +_Cel_. 'Faith, I am sent for by a very dear friend, and 'tis upon +a business of life and death. + +_Flo_. On my life, some woman? + +_Cel_. On my honour, some man; do you think I would lie to you? + +_Flo_. But you engaged to sup with me. + +_Cel_. But I consider it may be scandalous to stay late in +your lodgings. Adieu, dear miss! If ever I am false to thee again!-- +[_Exit_ CELADON. + +_Flo_. See what constant metal you men are made of! He begins to +vex me in good earnest. Hang him, let him go and take enough of 'em: +And yet, methinks, I can't endure he should neither. Lord, that such a +mad-cap as I should ever live to be jealous! I must after him. + Some ladies would discard him now, but I + A fitter way for my revenge will find; + I'll marry him, and serve him in his kind. + +[_Exit_ FLO. + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I,--_The Walks_. + +MELISSA, _after her_ OLINDA _and_ SABINA. + + +_Mel_. I must take this business up in time: This wild fellow +begins to haunt my house again. Well, I'll be bold to say it, 'tis +as easy to bring up a young lion without mischief, as a maidenhead of +fifteen, to make it tame for an husband's bed. Not but that the young +man is handsome, rich, and young, and I could be content he should +marry one of them; but to seduce them both in this manner:--Well, I'll +examine them apart, and if I can find out which he loves, I'll offer +him his choice.--Olinda, come hither, child. + +_Olin_. Your pleasure, madam? + +_Met_. Nothing but for your good, Olinda; what think you of +Celadon? + +_Olin_. Why I think he's a very mad fellow; but yet I have some +obligements to him: he teaches me new airs of the guitar, and talks +wildly to me, and I to him. + +_Mel_. But tell me in earnest, do you think he loves you? + +_Olin_. Can you doubt it? There were never two so cut out for one +another; we both love singing, dancing, treats, and music. In short, +we are each other's counterpart. + +_Mel_. But does he love you seriously? + +_Olin_. Seriously?--I know not that; if he did, perhaps I should +not love him: But we sit and talk, and wrangle, and are friends; when +we are together, we never hold our tongues; and then we have always a +noise of fiddles at our heels; he hunts me merrily, as the hound does +the hare; and either this is love, or I know it not. + +_Mel_. Well, go back, and call Sabina to me. + +[_OLINDA goes behind_. + +This is a riddle past my finding out: Whether he loves her, or no, +is the question; but this, I am sure of, she loves him:--O my little +favourite, I must ask you a question concerning Celadon: is he in love +with you? + +_Sab_. I think, indeed, he does not hate me; at least, if a man's +word may be taken for it. + +_Mel_. But what expressions has he made you? + +_Sab_. Truly, the man has done his part: He has spoken civilly to +me, and I was not so young but I understood him. + +_Mel_. And you could be content to marry him? + +_Sab_. I have sworn never to marry: besides he's a wild young +man; yet, to obey you, mother, I would be content to be sacrificed. + +_Mel_. No, no, we would but lead you to the altar. + +_Sab_. Not to put off the gentleman neither; for if I have him +not, I am resolved to die a maid, that's once, mother. + +_Mel_. Both my daughters are in love with him, and I cannot yet +find he loves either of them. + +_Olin_. Mother, mother, yonder's Celadon in the walks. + +_Mel_. Peace, wanton; you had best ring the bells for joy. Well, +I'll not meet him, because I know not which to offer him; yet he seems +to like the youngest best: I'll give him opportunity with her. Olinda, +do you make haste after me. + +_Olin_. This is something hard though. + +[_Exit_ MEL. + +_Enter_ CELADON. + +_Cel_. You see, ladies, the least breath of yours brings me to +you: I have been seeking you at your lodgings, and from thence came +hither after you. + +_Sab_. 'Twas well you found us. + +_Cel_. Found you! half this brightness betwixt you two was enough +to have lighted me; I could never miss my way: Here's fair Olinda has +beauty enough for one family; such a voice, such a wit, so noble a +stature, so white a skin!-- + +_Olin_. I thought he would be particular at last. [_Aside_. + +_Cel_. And young Sabina, so sweet an innocence, such a rose-bud +newly blown. This is my goodly palace of love, and that my little +withdrawing room. A word, madam.--[_To_ SAB. + +_Olin_. I like not this--[_Aside_.] Sir, if you are not too +busy with my sister, I would speak with you. + +_Cel_. I come, madam. + +_Sab_. Time enough, sir; pray finish your discourse--and as you +were a saying, sir,-- + +_Olin_. Sweet sir,-- + +_Sab_. Sister, you forget, my mother bid you make haste. + +_Olin_. Well, go you, and tell her I am coming. + +_Sab_. I can never endure to be the messenger of ill news; but, +if you please, I'll send her word you won't come. + +_Olin_. Minion, minion, remember this--[_Exit OLIN_. + +_Sab_. She's horribly in love with you. + +_Cel_. Lord, who could love that walking steeple! She's so high, +that every time she sings to me, I am looking up for the bell that +tolls to church.--Ha! give me my little fifth-rate, that lies so +snug. She! hang her, a Dutch-built bottom: She's so tall, there's no +boarding her. But we lose time--madam, let me seal my love upon +your mouth. [_Kiss_] Soft and sweet, by heaven! sure you wear +rose-leaves between your lips. + +_Sab_. Lord, Lord, what's the matter with me! my breath grows so +short, I can scarce speak to you. + +_Cel_. No matter, give me thy lips again, and I'll speak for +thee. + +_Sab_. You don't love me-- + +_Cel_. I warrant thee; sit down by me, and kiss again,--She warms +faster than Pygmalion's image. [_Aside_]--[_Kiss_.]--Ay +marry, sir, this was the original use of lips; talking, eating, and +drinking came in by and by. + +_Sab_. Nay, pray be civil; will you be at quiet? + +_Cel_. What, would you have me sit still, and look upon you, like +a little puppy-dog, that's taught to beg with his fore-leg up? + +_Enter_ FLORIMEL. + +_Flo_. Celadon the faithful! in good time, sir,-- + +_Cel_. In very good time, Florimel; for heaven's sake, help me +quickly. + +_Flo_. What's the matter? + +_Cel_. Do you not see? here's a poor gentlewoman in a swoon! +(Swoon away.) I have been rubbing her this half hour, and cannot bring +her to her senses. + +_Flo_. Alas! how came she so? + +_Cel_. Oh barbarous! do you stay to ask questions? run, for +charity. + +_Flo_. Help, help! alas! poor lady--[_Exit_ FLO. + +_Sab_. Is she gone? + +_Cel_. Ay, thanks be to my wit, that helped me at a pinch; I +thank heaven, I never pumpt for a lye in all my life yet. + +_Sab_. I am afraid you love her, Celadon! + +_Cel_. Only as a civil acquaintance, or so; but, however, to +avoid slander, you had best be gone before she comes again. + +_Sab_. I can find a tongue as well as she. + +_Cel_. Ay, but the truth is, I am a kind of scandalous person, +and for you to be seen in my company--stay in the walks, by this kiss +I'll be with you presently. + +_Enter_ FLORIMEL _running_. + +_Flo_. Help, help!--I can find nobody. + +_Cel_. Tis needless now, my dear; she's recovered, and gone off; +but so wan and weakly,-- + +_Flo_.Umph! I begin to smell a rat.--What was your business here, +Celadon? + +_Cel_. Charity, Christian charity; you saw I was labouring for +life with her. + +_Flo_. But how came you hither?--Not that I care this, but only +to be satisfied. [_Sings_. + +_Cel_. You are jealous, in my conscience! + +_Flo_. Who, I jealous!--then I wish this sigh may be the last +that ever I may draw. [_Sighs_. + +_Cel_. But why do you sigh, then? + +_Flo_. Nothing but a cold, I cannot fetch my breath well. But +what will you say, if I wrote the letter you had, to try your faith? + +_Cel_. Hey day! this is just the devil and the sinner; you lay +snares for me, and then punish me for being taken: Here's trying a +man's faith indeed!--What, do you think I had the faith of a stock, or +of a stone? Nay, an you go to tantalize a man--I love upon the square, +I can endure no tricks to be used to me. + +[OLINDA _and_ SABINA _at the door peeping_. + +_Olin_. and _Sab_. Celadon! Celadon! + +_Flo_. What voices are those? + +_Cel_. Some comrades of mine, that call me to play.--Pox on them, +they'll spoil all. [_Aside_. + +_Flo_. Pray, let's see them. + +_Cel_. Hang them, tatterdemallions! they are not worth your +sight.--Pray, gentlemen, begone; I'll be with you immediately. + +_Sab_. No; we'll stay here for you. + +_Flo_. Do your gentlemen speak with treble voices? I am resolved +to see what company you keep. + +_Cel_. Nay, good my dear. + +[_He lays hold of her to pull her back, she lays hold of_ OLINDA, +_by whom_ SABINA _holds; so that, he pulling, they all come +in_. + +_Flo_. Are these your comrades? [Sings.] _'Tis Strephon +calls, what would my love?_ Why do you not roar out, like a great +bass-viol, _Come follow to the myrtle-grove_.--Pray, sir, which +of these fair ladies is it, for whom you were to do the courtesy? for +it were unconscionable to leave you to them both:--What, a mans but a +man, you know. + +_Olin_. The gentleman may find an owner. + +_Sab_. Though not of you. + +_Flo_. Pray, agree whose the lost sheep is, and take him. + +_Cel_. 'Slife, they'll cry me anon, and tell my marks. + +_Flo_. Troth, I pity your highness there; I perceive he has left +you for the little one: Methinks he should have been afraid to break +his neck, when he fell so high as from you to her. + +_Sab_. Well, my drolling lady, I may be even with you. + +_Flo_. Not this ten years, by the growth, yet. + +_Sab_. Can flesh and blood endure this! + +_Flo_. How now, my amazon _in decimo sexto_! + +_Olin_. Do you affront my sister? + +_Flo_. Ay; but thou art so tall, I think I shall never affront +thee. + +_Sab_. Come away, sister; we shall be jeered to death else. +[_Exeunt_ OLIN. _and_ SAB. + +_Flo_. Why do you look that way? You can't forbear leering after +the forbidden fruit.--But whene'er I take a wencher's word again! + +_Cel_. A wencher's word!--Why should you speak so contemptibly +of the better half of mankind? I'll stand up for the honour of my +vocation. + +_Flo_. You are in no fault, I warrant!--'Ware my busk[A]. + +[Footnote A: The now almost forgotten _busk_ was a small slip of +steel or wood, used to stiffen the stays. Florimel threatens to employ +it as a rod of chastisement.] + +_Cel_. Not to give a fair lady the lie, I am in fault; but +otherwise--Come, let us be friends, and let me wait on you to your +lodgings. + +_Flo_. This impudence shall not save you from my table-book. +_Item_, A month more for this fault. [_They walk to the +door_. + +_1 Sold. [within.]_ Stand!-- + +_2 Sold_. Stand, give the word! + +_Cel_. Now, what's the meaning of this, trow?--guards set! + +_1 Sold_. Give the word, or you cannot pass:--These are they, +brother; let's in and seize them. + +_The two Soldiers enter_. + +_1 Sold_. Down with him! + +_2 Sold_. Disarm him!_Cel_. How now, rascals?-- + [_Draws, and beats one off, and catches the other_. +Ask your life, you villain. +_2 Sold_. Quarter! quarter! + +_Cel_. Was ever such an insolence? + +_2 Sold_. We did but our duty;--here we were set to take a +gentleman and lady, that would steal a marriage without the queen's +consent, and we thought you had been they. [_Exit Sold_. + +_Flo_. Your cousin Philocles, and the princess Candiope, on my +life! for I heard the queen give private orders to Lysimantes, and +name them twice or thrice. + +_Cel_. I know a score or two of madcaps here hard by, whom I can +pick up from taverns, and gaming-houses, and bordels; those I'll bring +to aid him,--Now, Florimel, there's an argument for wenching: Where +would you have had so many honest men together, upon the sudden, for a +brave employment? + +_Flo_. You'll leave me then, to take my fortune? + +_Cel_. No:--If you will, I'll have you into the places aforesaid, +and enter you into good company. + +_Flo_. 'Thank you, sir; here's a key, will let me through this +back-door to my own lodgings. + +_Cel_. If I come off with life, I'll see you this evening; if +not,--adieu, Florimel! + +_Flo_. If you come not, I shall conclude you are killed; or +taken, to be hanged for a rebel to-morrow morning: and then I'll +honour your memory with a lampoon, instead of an epitaph. + +_Cel_. No, no! I trust better in my fate: I know I am reserved to +do you a courtesy. [_Exit_ CEL. + +[_As_ FLORIMEL _is unlocking the door to go out,_ FLAVIA +_opens it against her, and enters to her, followed by a Page_. + +_Fla_. Florimel, do you hear the news? + +_Flo_. I guess they are in pursuit of Philocles. + +_Fla_. When Lysimantes came with the queen's orders, +He refused to render up Candìope; +And, with some few brave friends he had about him, +Is forcing of his way through all the guards. + +_Flo_. A gallant fellow!--I'll in, will you with me?-- +Hark! the noise comes this way! + +_Fla_. I have a message from the queen to Lysimantes.-- +I hope I may be safe among the soldiers. + +_Flo_. Oh, very safe!--Perhaps some honest fellow in the tumult +may take pity of thy maidenhead, or so.--Adieu! [_Exit_ FLO. + +_Page_. The noise comes nearer, madam. + +_Fla_. I am glad on't.--This message gives me the opportunity of +speaking privately with Lysimantes. + +_Enter_ PHILOCLES _and_ CANDIOPE, _with three Friends, +pursued by_ LYSIMANTES, _and Soldiers_. + +_Lys_. What is it renders you thus obstinate? You have no hope of +flight, and to resist is full as vain. + +_Phil_. I'll die rather than yield her up. + +_Fla_. My lord! + +_Lys_. How now? some new message from the queen?-- +Retire a while to a convenient distance. + +[_To the Soldiers_. LYS. _and_ FLAV. _whisper_. + +_Lys_. O Flavia, 'tis impossible! the queen in love with Philocles! + +_Fla_. I have suspected it before; but now +My ears and eyes are witnesses. +This hour I overheard her, to Asteria, +Making such sad complaints of her hard fate!-- +For my part, I believe, you lead him back +But to his coronation. + +_Lys_. Hell take him first! + +_Fla_. Presently after this she called for me, +And bid me run, and, with strict care, command you, +On peril of your life, he had no harm: +But, sir, she spoke it with so great concernment, +Methought I saw love, anger, and despair, +All combating at once upon her face. + +_Lys_. Tell the queen,--I know not what, +I am distracted so.-- +But go, and leave me to my thoughts.-- + [_Exit_ FLAVIA. +Was ever such amazing news, +Told in so strange and critical a moment?-- +What shall I do?-- +Does she love Philocles, who loves not her; +And loves not Lysimantes, who prefers her +Above his life?--What rests, but that I take +This opportunity, which she herself +Has given me, to kill this happy rival!-- +Assist me, soldiers! + +_Phil_. They shall buy me dearly. + +_Cand_. Ah me, unhappy maid! + +_Enter _CELADON, _with his Friends, unbuttoned and reeling_. + +_Cel_. Courage, my noble cousin! I have brought A band of blades, +the bravest youths of Syracuse; Some drunk, some sober, all resolved +to run Your fortune to the utmost.--Fall on, mad boys! + +_Lys_. Hold a little!--I'm not secure of victory against these +desperate ruffians. + +_Cel_. No, but I'll secure you! They shall cut your throat +for such another word of them. Ruffians, quoth a'! call gamesters, +whoremasters, and drunkards, ruffians! + +_Lys_. Pray, gentlemen, fall back a little. + +_Cel_. O ho, are they gentlemen now with you!--Speak first to +your gentlemen soldiers to retire; And then I'll speak to my gentlemen +ruffians. [CEL. _signs to his party_. There's your disciplined +men now.--[_They sign, and the Soldiers retire on both sides_. +Come, gentlemen, let's lose no time: While they are talking, let's +have one merry main before we die, for mortality sake. + +_1 Fr_. Agreed! here's my cloak for a table. + +_2 Fr_. And my hat for a box. + +[_They lie down and throw_. + +_Lys_. Suppose I killed him! +'Twould but exasperate the queen the more: +He loves not her, nor knows he she loves him:-- +sudden thought is come into my head,-- +So to contrive it, that this Philocles, +And these his friends, shall bring to pass that for me, +Which I could never compass.--True, I strain +A point of honour; but then her usage to me-- +It shall be so.-- +Pray, Philocles, command your soldiers off; +As I will mine: I've somewhat to propose, +Which you perhaps may like. + +_Can_. I will not leave him. + +_Lys_. 'Tis my desire you should not. + +_Phil_. Cousin, lead off your friends. + +_Cel_. One word in your ear, coz:--Let me advise you, either make +your own conditions, or never agree with him: his men are poor rogues, +they can never stand before us. + +[_Exeunt all but_ Lys. Phil. _and_ Cand. + +_Lys_. Suppose some friend, ere night, +Should bring you to possess all you desire; +And not so only, but secure forever +The nation's happiness? + +_Phil_. I would think of him, +As some god or angel. + +_Lys_. That god or angel you and I may be to one another. +We have betwixt us +An hundred men; the citadel you govern: +What were it now to seize the queen? + +_Phil_. O impiety! to seize the queen!-- +To seize her, said you? + +_Lys_. The word might be too rough,--I meant, secure her. + +_Phil_. Was this your proposition?-- +And had you none to make it to but me? + +_Lys_. Pray hear me out, ere you condemn me!-- +I would not the least violence were offered +Her person. Two small grants is all I ask; +To make me happy in herself, and you +In your Candiope. + +_Cand_. And will not you do this, my Philocles?-- +Nay, now my brother speaks but reason. + +_Phil_. Interest makes all seem reason, that leads to it. +Interest, that does the zeal of sects create, +To purge a church, and to reform a state. + +_Lys_. In short, the queen hath sent to part you two:-- +What more she means to her, I know not. + +_Phil_. To her, alas!--Why, will not you protect her? + +_Lys_. With you I can; but where's my power alone? + +_Cand_. You know she loves me not: You lately heard her, +How she insulted over me: How she +Despised that beauty, which you say I have.-- +I see, she purposes my death. + +_Phil_. Why do you fright me with it? +'Tis in your brother's power to let us 'scape, +And then you run no danger. + +_Lys_. True, I may; +But then my head must pay the forfeit of it. + +_Phil_. O wretched Philocles! whither would love +Hurry thee headlong? + +_Lys_. Cease these exclamations. +There's no danger on your side: 'tis but to +Live without my sister; resolve that, +And you have shot the gulf. + +_Phil_. To live without her! Is that nothing, think you? +The damned in hell endure no greater pain, +Than seeing heaven from far with hopeless eyes. + +_Cand_. Candiope must die, and die for you:-- +See it not unrevenged at least. + +_Phil_. Ha, unrevenged! On whom should I revenge it?-- +But yet she dies, and I may hinder it? +'Tis I then murder my Candiope:-- +And yet, should I take arms against my queen! +That favoured me, raised me to what I am?-- +Alas! it must not be. + +_Lys_. He cools again.--[_Aside_. +True, she once favoured you; +But now I am informed. +She is besotted on an upstart wretch +So far, that she intends to make him master +Both of her crown and person. + +_Phil_. Knows he that! +Then, what I dreaded most is come to pass.--[_Aside_. +I am convinced of the necessity; +Let us make haste to raze +That action from the annals of her reign: +No motive but her glory could have wrought me. +I am a traitor to her, to preserve her +From treason to herself: Yet heaven knows, +With what a heavy heart +Philocles turns reformer. But have care +This fault of her strange passion take no air. +Let not the vulgar blow upon her fame. + +_Lys_. I will be careful:--Shall we go, my lord? + +_Phil_. Time wastes apace; each first prepare his men.-- +Come, my Candiope. [_Exeunt_ PHIL. _and_ CAND. + +_Lys_. This ruins him forever with the queen; +The odium's half his, the profit all my own. +Those who, like me, by others' help would climb, +To make them sure, must dip them in their crime. [_Exit_. + + +SCENE II.--_The Queen's apartments_. + +_Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA. + + +_Queen_. No more news yet from Philocles? + +_Ast_. None, madam, since Flavia's return. + +_Queen_. O, my Asteria! if you loved me, sure +You would say something to me of my Philocles! +I could speak ever of him. + +_Ast_. Madam, you commanded me no more to name him to you. + +_Queen_. Then I command you now, speak of nothing else:-- +I charge you here, on your allegiance, tell me +What I should do with him? + +_Ast_. When you gave orders that he should be taken, +You seemed resolved how to dispose of him. + +_Queen_. Dull Asteria! not to know, +Mad people never think the same thing twice!-- +Alas! I'm hurried restless up and down:-- +I was in anger once, and then I thought +I had put into shore: +But now a gust of love blows hard against me, +And bears me off again. + +_Ast_. Shall I sing the song, you made of Philocles, +And called it _Secret Love_? + +_Queen_. Do; for that's all kindness. And while thou singest it, +I can think nothing but what pleases me. + +SONG. + +_I feed a flame within, which so torments me, +That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me: +'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love if, +That I had rather die, than once remove it. + +Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it; +My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it. +Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses, +But they fall silently, like dew on roses. + +Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel, +My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel: +And while I suffer this to give him quiet, +My faith rewards my love, though he deny it. + +On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me; +While I conceal my love no frown can fright me: +To be more happy, I dare not aspire; +Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher_. + +_Queen_. Peace!--Methinks I hear the noise +Of clashing swords, and clattering arms below. + +_Enter_ FLAVIA. + +Now; what news, that you press in so rudely? + +_Fla_. Madam, the worst that can be:-- +Your guards upon the sudden are surprised, +Disarmed; some slain; all scattered. + +_Queen_. By whom? + +_Fla_. Prince Lysimantes, and Lord Philocles. + +_Queen_. It cannot be; Philocles is a prisoner. + +_Fla_. What my eyes saw,-- + +_Queen_. Pull them out; they are false spectacles. + +_Ast_. O, virtue! impotent and blind as fortune! +Who would be good, or pious, if this queen, +Thy great example, suffers! + +_Queen_. Peace, Asteria! accuse not virtue; +She has but given me a great occasion +Of showing what I am, when fortune leaves me. + +_Ast_. Philocles to do this! + +_Queen_. Ay, Philocles!--I must confess 'twas hard!-- +But there's a fate in kindness, +Still to be least returned, where most 'tis given.-- +Where's Candiope? + +_Fla_. Philocles was whispering to her. + +_Queen_. Hence, screech-owl!--Call my guards quickly there!-- +Put them apart in several prisons!-- +Alas! I had forgot, I have no guards, +But those which are my jailors. +Never 'till now unhappy queen! +The use of power, till lost, is seldom known; +Now, I should strike, I find my thunder gone. +[_Exeunt Queen and_ FLAV. + +PHILOCLES _enters, and meets_ ASTERIA _going out_. + +_Phil_. Asteria, where's the queen? + +_Ast_. Ah, my lord! what have you done? +I came to seek you. + +_Phil_. Is it from her you come? + +_Ast_. No; but on her behalf:--Her heart's too great, +In this low ebb of fortune, to entreat. + +_Phil_. Tis but a short eclipse, +Which past, a glorious day will soon ensue.-- +But I would ask a favour too from you. + +_Ast_. When conquerors petition, they command: +Those, that can captive queens, who can withstand? + +_Phil_. She, with her happiness, might mine create; +Yet seems indulgent to her own ill fate: +But she in secret hates me, sure; for why, +If not, should she Candiope deny? + +_Ast_. If you dare trust my knowledge of her mind, +She has no thoughts of you that are unkind. + +_Phil_. I could my sorrows with some patience bear, +Did they proceed from any one but her: +But from the queen! whose person I adore, +By duty much, by inclination more. + +_Ast_. He is inclined already; did he know, +That she loved him, how would his passion grow! [_Aside_. + +_Phil_. That her fair hand with destiny combines! +Fate ne'er strikes deep, but when unkindness joins: +For, to confess the secret of my mind, +Something so tender for the queen I find, +That even Candiope can scarce remove, +And, were she lower, I should call it love. + +_Ast_. She charged me, not this secret to betray; +But I best serve her, if I disobey. +For, if he loves, 'twas for her interest done; +If not, he'll keep it secret for his own. [_Aside._ + +_Phil_. Why are you in obliging me so slow? + +_Ast_. The thing's of great importance, you would know; +And you must first swear secresy to all. + +_Phil_. I swear. + +_Ast_. Yet hold; your oath's too general: +Swear that Candiope shall never know. + +_Phil_. I swear. + +_Ast_. No; not the queen herself. + +_Phil_. I vow. + +_Ast_. You wonder why I am so cautious grown, +In telling what concerns yourself alone: +But spare my vow, and guess what it may be, +That makes the queen deny Candiope: +'Tis neither heat, nor pride, that moves her mind; +Methinks the riddle is not hard to find. + +_Phil_. You seem so great a wonder to intend, +As were, in me, a crime to apprehend. + +_Ast_. 'Tis not a crime to know; but would be one, +To prove ungrateful when your duty's known. + +_Phil_. Why would you thus my easy faith abuse: +I cannot think the queen so ill would chuse. +But stay, now your imposture will appear; +She has herself confessed she loved elsewhere: +On some ignoble choice has placed her heart, +One, who wants quality, and more, desert. + +_Ast_. This, though unjust, you have most right to say; +For, if you'll rail against yourself, you may. + +_Phil_. Dull that I was! +A thousand things now crowd my memory. +That make me know it could be none but I. +Her rage was love; and its tempestuous flame, +Like lightning, showed the heaven from whence it came. +But in her kindness my own shame I see; +Have I dethroned her, then for loving me? +I hate myself for that which I have done, +Much more, discovered, than I did unknown. +How does she brook her strange imprisonment? + +_Ast_. As great souls should, that make their own content. +The hardest term, she for your act could find, +Was only this, O Philocles, unkind! +Then, setting free a sigh, from her fair eyes +She wiped two pearls, the remnant of wild showers, +Which hung like drops upon the bells of flowers: +And thanked the heavens, +Which better did, what she designed, pursue, +Without her crime, to give her power to you. + +_Phil_. Hold, hold! you set my thoughts so near a crown, +They mount above my reach, to pull them down: +Here constancy, ambition there does move; +On each side beauty, and on both sides love. + +_Ast_. Methinks the least you can, is to receive +This love with reverence, and your former leave. + +_Phil_. Think but what difficulties come between! + +_Ast_. 'Tis wondrous difficult to love a queen. + +_Phil_. For pity, cease more reasons to provide, +I am but too much yielding to your side; +And, were my heart but at my own dispose, +I should not make a scruple now to chuse. + +_Ast_. Then if the queen will my advice approve, +Her hatred to you shall expel her love. + +_Phil_. Not to be loved by her as hard would be, +As to be hated by Candiope. + +_Ast_. I leave you to resolve while you have time; +You must be guilty, but may chuse your crime. + [_Exit_ ASTERIA. + +_Phil_. One thing I have resolved; and that I'll do, +Both for my love, and for my honour too; +But then (ingratitude and falsehood weighed), +I know not which would most my soul upbraid. +Fate shoves me headlong down a rugged way; +Unsafe to run, and yet too steep to stay. + [_Exit_ PHIL. + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I.--_The Court_. + +FLORIMEL _in man's habit_. + + +_Flor_. 'Twill be rare now, if I can go through with it, to outdo +this mad Celadon in all his tricks, and get both his mistresses from +him; then I shall revenge myself upon all three, and save my own stake +into the bargain; for I find I do love the rogue, in spite of all his +infidelities. Yonder they are, and this way they must come. If clothes +and a _bon mien_ will take them, I shall do it.--Save you, +Monsieur Florimel! Faith, me thinks you are a very janty fellow, +_poudré et ajusté_, as well as the best of 'em. I can manage +the little comb; set my hat, shake my garniture, toss about my empty +noddle, walk with a courant slur, and at every step peck down my +head: If I should be mistaken for some courtier now, pray where's the +difference? + +_Enter, to her,_ CELADON, OLINDA, _and_ SABINA. + +_Olin_. Never mince the matter! + +_Sab_. You have left your heart behind with Florimel; we know it. + +_Cel_. You know you wrong me: when I am with Florimel, 'tis still +your prisoner, it only draws a longer chain after it. + +_Flo_. Is it e'en so! then farewell, poor Florimel! thy +maidenhead is condemned to die with thee. + +_Cel_. But let's leave this discourse; 'tis all digression, that +does not speak of your beauties. + +_Flo_. Now for me, in the name of impudence!--[_Comes +forward_.] They are the greatest beauties, I confess, that ever I +beheld-- + +_Cel_. How now, what's the meaning of this young fellow? + +_Flo_. And therefore I cannot wonder that this gentleman, who has +the honour to be known to you, should admire you, since I, that am a +stranger-- + +_Cel_. And a very impudent one, as I take it, sir. + +_Flo_. Am so extremely surprised, that I admire, love, am +wounded, and am dying, all in a moment. + +_Cel_. I have seen him somewhere, but where I know +not:--Pry'thee, my friend, leave us; dost thou think, we do not know +our way in court? + +_Flo_. I pretend not to instruct you in your way; you see I do +not go before you; but you cannot possibly deny me the happiness to +wait upon these ladies; me, who-- + +_Cel_. Thee, who shalt be beaten most unmercifully, if thou dost +follow them. + +_Flo_. You will not draw in court, I hope? + +_Cel_. Pox on him, let's walk away faster, and be rid of him. + +_Flo_. O, take no care for me, sir! you shall not lose me; I'll +rather mend my pace, than not wait on you. + +_Olin_. I begin to like this fellow. + +_Cel_. You make very bold here in my seraglio, and I shall find a +time to tell you so, sir. + +_Flo_. When you find a time to tell me on't, I shall find a +time to answer you: But, pray, what do you find in yourself so +extraordinary, that you should serve these ladies better than I? Let +me know what 'tis you value yourself upon, and let them judge betwixt +us. + +_Cel_. I am somewhat more a man than you. + +_Flo_. That is, you are so much older than I:--Do you like a man +ever the better for his age, ladies? + +_Sab_. Well said, young-gentleman. + +_Cel_. Pish, thee! a young raw creature; thou hast ne'er been +under the barber's hands yet. + +_Flo_. No, nor under the surgeon's neither, as you have been. + +_Cel_. 'Slife, what would'st thou be at? I am madder than thou +art. + +_Flo_. The devil you are! I'll tope with you; I'll sing with you; +I'll dance with you;--I'll swagger with you-- + +_Cel_. I'll fight with you. + +_Flo_. Out upon fighting; 'tis grown so common a fashion, that +a modish man condemns it; a man of garniture and feather is above the +dispensation of the sword. + +_Olin_. Uds my life! here's the queen's music just going to us; +you shall decide your quarrel by a dance. + +_Sab_. Who stops the fiddles? + +_Cel_. Base and treble, by your leaves, we arrest you at these +ladies' suits. + +_Flo_. Come on, sirs, play me a jig; you shall see how I'll +baffle him. + +DANCE. + +_Flo_. Your judgment, ladies. + +_Olin_. You, sir; you, sir: This is the rarest gentleman! I could +live and die with him-- + +_Sab_. Lord, how he sweats! please you, sir, to make use of my +handkerchief? + +_Olin_. You and I are merry, and just of an humour, sir; +therefore we two should love one another. + +_Sab_. And you and I are just of an age, sir; and therefore, +methinks, we should not hate one another. + +_Cel_. Then I perceive, ladies, I am a castaway, a reprobate, +with you: Why, 'faith, this is hard luck now, that I should be no less +than one whole hour in getting your affections, and now must lose 'em +in a quarter of it. + +_Olin_. No matter, let him rail; does the loss afflict you, sir? + +_Cel_. No, in faith, does it not; for if you had not forsaken me, +I had you: So the willows may flourish, for any branches I shall rob +'em of. + +_Sab_. However, we have the advantage to have left you; not you +us. + +_Cel_. That's only a certain nimbleness in nature, you women +have, to be first inconstant; but if you had not made the more haste, +the wind was veering too upon my weathercock: The best on't is, +Florimel is worth both of you. + +_Flo_. 'Tis like she'll accept of their leavings. + +_Cel_. She will accept on't, and she shall accept on't: I think I +know more than you of her mind, sir. + +_Enter_ MELISSA. + +_Mel_. Daughters, there's a poor collation within, that waits for +you. + +_Flo_. Will you walk, musty sir? + +_Cel_. No, marry, sir, I will not; I have surfeited of that old +woman's face already. + +_Flo_. Begin some frolic, then; what will you do for her? + +_Cel_. Faith, I am no dog, to show tricks for her; I cannot come +aloft to an old woman. + +_Flo_. Dare you kiss her? + +_Cel_. I was never dared by any man. By your leave, old madam-- +[_He plucks off her ruff_. + +_Mel_. Help! help! do you discover my nakedness? + +_Cel_. Peace, Tiffany! no harm! [_He puts on the ruff_.] +Now, Sir, here's Florimel's health to you. [_Kisses her_. + +_Mel_. Away, sir!--A sweet young man as you are, to abuse the +gift of nature so! + +_Cel_. Good mother, do not commend me so; I am flesh and blood, +and you do not know what you may pluck upon that reverend person of +yours.--Come on, follow your leader. + +[_Gives_ FLORIMEL _the ruff; she puts it on_. + +_Flo_. Stand fair, mother-- + +_Cel_. What, with your hat on? Lie thou there;--and thou, too-- + +[_Plucks off her hat and peruke, and discovers_ FLORIMEL. + +_All_. Florimel! + +_Flo_. My kind mistresses, how sorry I am, I can do you no +further service! I think I had best resign you to Celadon, to make +amends for me. + +_Cel_. Lord! what a misfortune it was, ladies, that the gentleman +could not hold forth to you? + +_Olin_. We have lost Celadon too. + +_Mel_. Come away; this is past enduring. [_Exeunt_ MEL. +_and_ OLIN. + +_Sab_. Well, if ever I believe a man to be a man, for the sake of +a peruke and feather again.-- + +_Flo_. Come, Celadon, shall we make accounts even? Lord! what +a hanging-look was there? indeed, if you had been recreant to your +mistress, or had forsworn your love, that sinner's face had been but +decent; but, for the virtuous, the innocent, the constant Celadon! + +_Cel_. This is not very heroic in you now, to insult over a +man in his misfortunes; but take heed, you have robb'd me of my two +mistresses; I shall grow desperately constant, and all the tempest of +my love will fall upon your head: I shall so pay you!-- + +_Flo_. Who, you pay me! you are a bankrupt, cast beyond all +possibility of recovery. + +_Cel_. If I am a bankrupt, I'll be a very honest one; when I +cannot pay my debts, at least I'll give you up the possession of my +body. + +_Flo_. No, I'll deal better with you; since you are unable to +pay, I'll give in your bond. + +_Enter_ PHILOCLES _with a commanders staff in his hand, +attended_. + +_Phil_. Cousin, I am sorry I must take you from your company +about an earnest business. + +_Flo_. There needs no excuse, my lord; we had despatched our +affairs, and were just parting. + +_Cel_. Will you be going, sir? sweet sir,--damn'd sir!--I have +but one word more to say to you. + +_Flo_. As I am a man of honour, I'll wait on you some other time. + +_Cel_. By these breeches,-- + +_Flo_. Which, if I marry you, I am resolved to wear; put that +into our bargain, and so adieu, sir. + +[_Exit_ FLO. + +_Phil_. Hark you, cousin,--[_They whisper_. You'll see it +exactly executed; I rely upon you. + +_Cel_. I shall not fail, my lord; may the conclusion of it prove +happy to you. [_Exit_ CEL. + +PHILOCLES _solus_. + +Wheree'er I cast about my wandering eyes, +Greatness lies ready in some shape to tempt me. +The royal furniture in every room, +The guards, and the huge waving crowds of people, +All waiting for a sight of that fair queen, +Who makes a present of her love to me: +Now tell me, Stoick! +If all these with a wish might be made thine, +Would'st thou not truck thy ragged virtue for 'em? +If glory was a bait, that angels swallow'd, +How then should souls allied to sense resist it? + +_Enter_ CANDIOPE. + +Ah poor Candiope! I pity her, +But that is all.-- + +_Cand_. O my dear Philocles! +A thousand blessings wait on thee! +The hope of being thine, I think, will put +Me past my meat and sleep with ecstasy, +So I shall keep the fasts of seraphims, +And wake for joy, like nightingales in May. + +_Phil_. Wake, Philocles, wake from thy dream of +glory, +'Tis all but shadow to Candiope: +Canst thou betray a love so innocent? [_Aside_. + +_Cand_. What makes you melancholick? I doubt, +I have displeased you. + +_Phil_. No, my love, I am not displeased with you, +But with myself, when I consider, +How little I deserve you. + +_Cand_. Say not so, my Philocles; a love so true as yours, +That would have left a court, and a queen's favour, +To live in a poor hermitage with me,-- + +_Phil_. Ha! she has stung me to the quick! +As if she knew the falsehood I intended: +But, I thank heaven, it has recall'd my virtue; + [_Aside_. +Oh! my dear, I love you, and you only; [_To her_. +Go in, I have some business for a while; +But I think minutes ages till we meet. + +_Cand_. I knew you had; but yet I could not chuse, +But come and look upon you. [_Exit_ CANDIOPE. + +_Phil_. What barbarous man would wrong so sweet a virtue! + +_Enter the Queen in black, with_ ASTERIA. + +Madam, the states are straight to meet; but why +In these dark ornaments will you be seen? + +_Queen_. They fit the fortune of a captive queen. + +_Phil_. Deep shades are thus to heighten colours set; +So stars in night, and diamonds shine in jet. + +_Queen_. True friends should so in dark afflictions shine, +But I have no great cause to boast of mine. + +_Phil_. You may have too much prejudice for some, +And think them false, before their trials come. +But, madam, what determine you to do? + +_Queen_. I came not here to be advised by you: +But charge you, by that power which once you owned, +And which is still my right, even when unthroned, +That whatsoe'er the states resolve of me, +You never more think of Candiope. + +_Phil_. Not think of her! ah, how should I obey! +Her tyrant eyes have forced my heart away. + +_Queen_. By force retake it from those tyrant eyes, +I'll grant you out my letters of reprise. + +_Phil_. She has too well prevented that design, +By giving me her heart, in change for mine. + +_Queen_. Thus foolish Indians gold for glass forego; +'Twas to your loss you prized your heart so low. +I set its value when you were advanced, +And as my favours grew, its rate enhanced. + +_Phil_. The rate of subjects' hearts by yours must go, +And love in yours has set the value low. + +_Queen_. I stand corrected, and myself reprove; +You teach me to repent my low-placed love: +Help me this passion from my heart to tear!-- +Now rail on him, and I will sit and hear. + +_Phil_. Madam, like you, I have repented too, +And dare not rail on one, I do not know. + +_Queen_. This, Philocles, like strange perverseness shews, +As if whate'er I said you would oppose; +How come you thus concerned for this unknown? + +_Phil_. I only judge his actions by my own. + +_Queen_. I've heard too much, and you too much have said. +O heavens, the secret of my soul's betrayed! +He knows my love, I read it in his face, +And blushes, conscious of his queen's disgrace. + [_Aside_. +Hence quickly, hence, or I shall die with shame. + [_To him._ + +_Phil_. Now I love both, and both with equal flame. +Wretched I came, more wretched I retire: +When two winds blow it, who can quench the fire? + [_Exit_ PHILOCLES. + +_Queen_. O my Asteria! I know not whom to accuse; +But either my own eyes, or you, have told +My love to Philocles. + +_Ast_. Is't possible that he should know it, madam? + +_Queen_. Methinks, you ask that question guiltily. + [_Lays her hand on_ ASTERIA'S _shoulder._ +Confess, for I will know, what was the subject +Of your long discourse i'th' antichamber with him. + +_Ast_. It was business to convince him, madam, +How ill he did, being so much obliged, +To join in your imprisonment. + +_Queen_. Nay, now I am confirmed my thought was true; +For you could give him no such reason +Of his obligements, as my love. + +_Ast_. Because I saw him much a malecontent, +I thought to win him to your interest, madam, +By telling him it was no want of kindness, +Made your refusal of Candiope. +And he, perhaps-- + +_Queen_. What of him now? + +_Ast_. As men are apt, interpreted my words, +To all the advantage he could wrest the sense, +As if I meant you loved him. + +_Queen_. Have I deposited within thy breast +The dearest treasure of my life, my glory, +And hast thou thus betrayed me! +But why do I accuse thy female weakness, +And not my own, for trusting thee! +Unhappy queen, Philocles knows thy fondness, +And needs must think it done by thy command. + +_Ast_. Dear madam, think not so. + +_Queen_. Peace, peace, thou should'st for ever hold thy tongue: +For it has spoke too much for all thy life. [_To her_. +Then Philocles has told Candiope, +And courts her kindness with his scorn of me. +O whither am I fallen! +But I must rouse myself, and give a stop +To all these ills by headlong passion caused. +In hearts resolved weak love is put to flight, +And only conquers, when we dare not fight. +But we indulge our harms, and, while he gains +An entrance, please ourselves into our pains. + +_Enter_ LYSIMANTES. + +_Ast_. Prince Lysimantes, madam. + +_Queen_. Come near, you poor deluded criminal; +See how ambition cheats you: +You thought to find a prisoner here, +But you behold a queen. + +_Lys_. And may you long be so! 'tis true, this act +May cause some wonder in your majesty. + +_Queen_. None, cousin, none; I ever thought you +Ambitious, proud, designing. + +_Lys_. Yet all my pride, designs, and my ambition, +Were taught me by a master, +With whom you are not unacquainted, madam. + +_Queen_. Explain yourself; dark purposes, like yours, +Need an interpretation. + +_Lys_. 'Tis love, I mean. + +_Queen_. Have my low fortunes given thee +This insolence, to name it to thy queen? + +_Lys_. Yet you have heard, love named without offence. +As much below you as you think my passion, +I can look down on yours. + +_Queen_. Does he know it too! +This is the extremest malice of my stars! [_Aside_. + +_Lys_. You see that princes' faults, +(Howe'er they think them safe from public view) +Fly out thro the dark crannies of their closets: +We know what the sun does, +Even when we see him not, in t'other world. + +_Queen_. My actions, cousin, never feared the light. + +_Lys_. Produce him, then, your darling of the dark. +For such an one you have. + +_Queen_. I know no such. + +_Lys_. You know, but will not own him. + +_Queen_. Rebels ne'er want pretence to blacken kings, +And this, it seems, is yours: Do you produce him, +Or ne'er hereafter sully my renown +With this aspersion:--Sure he dare not name him. + [_Aside_. + +_Lys_. I am too tender of your frame; or else-- +Nor are things brought to that extremity: +Provided you accept my passion, +I'll gladly yield to think I was deceived. + +_Queen_. Keep in your error still; I will not buy +Your good opinion at so dear a rate, +And my own misery, by being yours. + +_Lys_. Do not provoke my patience by such scorns. +For fear I break through all, and name him to you. + +_Queen_. Hope not to fright me with your mighty looks; +Know, I dare stem that tempest in your brow, +And dash it back upon you. + +_Lys_. Spite of prudence it will out:--'Tis Philocles! +Now judge, when I was made a property +To cheat myself, by making him your prisoner, +Whether I had not right to take up arms? + +_Queen_. Poor envious wretch! +Was this the venom that swelled up thy breast? +My grace to Philocles mis-deemed my love! + +_Lys_. Tis true, the gentleman is innocent; +He ne'er sinned up so high, not in his wishes; +You know he loves elsewhere. + +_Queen_. You mean your sister. + +_Lys_. I wish some Sibyl now would tell me, +Why you refused her to him. + +_Queen_. Perhaps I did not think him worthy of her. + +_Lys_. Did you not think him too worthy, madam? +This is too thin a veil to hide your passion; +To prove you love him not, yet give her him, +And I'll engage my honour to lay down my arms. + +_Queen_. He is arrived where I would wish-- + [_Aside_. +Call in the company, and you shall see what I will do. + +_Lys_. Who waits without there? [_Exit_ LYS. + +_Queen_. Now hold, my heart, for this one act of honour, +And I will never ask more courage of thee: +Once more I have the means to reinstate myself into my glory. +I feel my love to Philocles within me +Shrink, and pull back my heart from this hard trial. +But it must be, when glory says it must: +As children, wading from some river's bank, +First try the water with their tender feet; +Then, shuddering up with cold, step back again, +And straight a little further venture on, +Till, at the last, they plunge into the deep, +And pass, at once, what they were doubting long: +I'll make the experiment; it shall be done in haste, +Because I'll put it past my power to undo. + +_Enter at one door_ LYSIMANTES, _at the other_ PHILOCLES, +CELADON, CANDIOPE, FLORIMEL, FLAVIA, OLINDA, SABINA, _the three +deputies, and soldiers_. + +_Lys_. In arms! is all well, Philocles? + +_Phil_. No, but it shall be. + +_Queen_. He comes, and with him +The fever of my love returns to shake me. +I see love is not banished from my soul; +He is still there, but is chained up by glory. + +_Ast_. You've made a noble conquest, madam. + +_Queen_. Come hither Philocles: I am first to tell you, +I and my cousin are agreed; he has +Engaged to lay down arms. + +_Phil_. 'Tis well for him he has; for all his party, +By my command, already are surprised, +While I was talking with your majesty. + +_Cel_. Yes, 'faith, I have done him that courtesy; +I brought his followers, under pretence of guarding +it, to a strait place, where they are all coupt up +without use of their arms, and may be pelted to +death by the small infantry o'er the town. + +_Queen_. 'Twas more than I expected, or could hope; +Yet still I thought your meaning honest. + +_Phil_. My fault was rashness, but 'twas full of zeal: +Nor had I e'er been led to that attempt, +Had I not seen, it would be done without me: +But by compliance I preserved the power, +Which I have since made use of for your service. + +_Queen_. And which I purpose so to recompence-- + +_Lys_. With her crown, she means: I knew 'twould come to it. + [_Aside_. + +_Phil_. O heavens, she'll own her love! +Then I must lose Candiope for ever, +And, floating in a vast abyss of glory, +Seek and not find myself!-- + +_Queen_. Take your Candiope; and be as happy +As love can make you both:--How pleased I am, +That I can force my tongue +To speak words, so far distant from my heart! + [_Aside_. + +_Cand_. My happiness is more than I can utter! + +_Lys_. Methinks I could do violence on myself, for taking arms +Against a queen, so good, so bountiful: +Give me leave, madam, in my ecstasy +Of joy, to give you thanks for Philocles:-- +You have preserved my friend, and now he owes not +His fortunes only to your favour; but, +What's more, his life, and, more than that, his love. +I am convinced, she never loved him now; +Since by her free consent, all force removed, +She gives him to my sister. +Flavia was an impostor, and deceived me. [_Aside_. + +_Phil_. As for me, madam, I can only say, +That I beg respite for my thanks; for, on a sudden, +The benefit's so great, it overwhelms me. + +_Ast_. Mark but the faintness of the acknowledgement. + [_To the Queen, aside_. + +_Queen to Ast_.] I have observed it with you, and am pleased, +He seems not satisfied; for I still wish +That he may love me. + +_Phil_. I see Asteria deluded me, +With flattering hopes of the queen's love. +Only to draw me off from Lysimantes: +But I will think no more on't. +I'm going to possess Candiope, +And I am ravished with the joy on't!--ha! +Not ravished neither. +For what can be more charming than that queen! +Behold how night sits lovely on her eye-brows, +While day breaks from her eyes! then a crown too: +Lost, lost, for ever lost; and now 'tis gone, +Tis beautiful.--[_Aside_. + +_Ant_. How he eyes you still! [_To the queen._ + +_Phil_. Sure I had one of the fallen angels' dreams; +All heaven within this hour was mine! [_Aside_. + +_Cand_. What is it, that disturbs you, dear? + +_Phil_. Only the greatness of my joy: +I've ta'en too strong a cordial, love, +And cannot yet digest it. + +_Queen_. Tis done! + [_Clapping her hand on_ ASTERIA, +But this pang more, and then a glorious birth.-- +The tumults of this day, my loyal subjects, +Have settled in my heart a resolution, +Happy for you, and glorious too for me. +First, for my cousin; tho', attempting on my person, +He has incurred the danger of the laws, +I will not punish him. + +_Lys_. You bind me ever to my loyalty. + +_Queen_. Then that I may oblige you more to it, +I here declare you rightful successor, +And heir immediate to my crown: +This, gentlemen--[_To the deputies_. +I hope will still my subjects' discontents, +When they behold succession firmly settled. + +_Dep_. Heaven preserve your majesty! + +_Queen_. As for myself, I have resolved +Still to continue as I am, unmarried: +The cares, observances, and all the duties +Which I should pay an husband, I will place +Upon my people; and our mutual love +Shall make a blessing more than conjugal, +And this the states shall ratify. + +_Lys_. Heaven bear me witness, that I take no joy +In the succession of a crown, +Which must descend to me so sad a way. + +_Queen_. Cousin, no more; my resolution's past +Which fate shall never alter. + +_Phil_. Then I am once more happy; +For, since none must possess her, I am pleased +With my own choice, and will desire no more: +For multiplying wishes is a curse. +That keeps the mind still painfully awake. + +_Queen_. Celadon. +Your care and loyalty have this day obliged me; +But how to be acknowledging, I know not, +Unless you give the means. + +_Cel_. I was in hope your majesty had forgot me; therefore, if +you please, madam, I'll only beg a pardon for having taken up arms +once to-day against you; for I have a foolish kind of conscience, +which I wish many of your subjects had, that will not let me ask a +recompence for my loyalty, when I know I have been a rebel. + +_Queen_. Your modesty shall not serve the turn; ask something. + +_Cel_. Then I beg, madam, you will command Florimel never to be +friends with me. + +_Flo_. Ask again; I grant that without the queen: +But why are you afraid on't? + +_Cel_. Because I am sure, as soon as ever you are, you'll marry +me. + +_Flo_. Do you fear it? + +_Cel_. No, 'twill come with a fear. + +_Flo_. If you do, I will not stick with you for an oath. + +_Cel_. I require no oath till we come to church: and then after +the priest, I hope; for I find it will be my destiny to marry thee. + +_Flo_. If ever I say a word after the black gentleman for thee, +Celadon-- + +_Cel_. Then, I hope, you'll give me leave to bestow a faithful +heart elsewhere. + +_Flo_. Ay, but if you would have one, you must bespeak it, for I +am sure you have none ready made. + +_Cel_. What say you, shall I marry Flavia? + +_Flo_. No, she'll be too cunning for you. + +_Cel_. What say you to Olinda, then? she's tall, and fair, and +bonny. + +_Flo_. And foolish, and apish, and fickle. + +_Cel_. But Sabina there's pretty, and young, and loving, and +innocent. + +_Flo_. And dwarfish, and childish, and fond, and flippant: If you +marry her sister, you will get may-poles; and if you marry her, you +will get fairies to dance about them. + +_Cel_. Nay, then, the case is clear, Florimel; if you take 'em +all from me, 'tis because you reserve me for yourself. + +_Flo_. But this marriage is such a bugbear to me! much might be +if we could invent but any way to make it easy. + +_Cel_. Some foolish people have made it uneasy, by drawing the +knot faster than they need; but we that are wiser will loosen it a +little. + +_Flo_. 'Tis true, indeed, there's some difference betwixt a +girdle and a halter. + +_Cel_. As for the first year, according to the laudable custom of +new-married people, we shall follow one another up into chambers, +and down into gardens, and think we shall never have enough of one +another. So far 'tis pleasant enough, I hope. + +_Flo_. But after that, when we begin to live like husband and +wife, and never come near one another--what then, sir? + +_Cel_. Why, then, our only happiness must be to have one mind, +and one will, Florimel. + +_Flo_. One mind, if thou wilt, but pr'ythee let us have two +wills; for I find one will be little enough for me alone. But how, if +those wills should meet and clash, Celadon? + +_Cel_. I warrant thee for that; husbands and wives keep their +wills far enough asunder for ever meeting. One thing let us be sure to +agree on, that is, never to be jealous. + +_Flo_. No; but e'en love one another as long as we can; and +confess the truth when we can love no longer. + +_Cel_. When I have been at play, you shall never ask me what +money I have lost. + +_Flo_. When I have been abroad, you shall never enquire who +treated me. + +_Cel_. _Item_, I will have the liberty to sleep all night, +without your interrupting my repose for any evil design whatsoever. + +_Flo_. _Item_, Then you shall bid me goodnight before you +sleep. + +_Cel_. Provided always, that whatever liberties we take with +other people, we continue very honest to one another. + +_Flo_. As far as will consist with a pleasant life. + +_Cel_. Lastly, whereas the names of husband and wife hold forth +nothing, but clashing and cloying, and dulness and faintness, in their +signification; they shall be abolished for ever betwixt us. + +_Flo_. And instead of those, we will be married by the more +agreeable names of mistress and gallant. + +_Cel_. None of my privileges to be infringed by thee, Florimel, +under the penalty of a month of fasting nights. + +_Flo_. None of my privileges to be infringed by thee, Celadon, +under the penalty of cuckoldom. + +_Cel_. Well, if it be my fortune to be made a cuckold, I had +rather thou should'st make me one, than any one in Sicily; and, for my +comfort, I shall have thee oftener than any of thy servants. + +_Flo_. Look ye now, is not such a marriage as good as wenching, +Celadon? + +_Cel_. This is very good; but not so good, Florimel. + +_Queen_. Now set we forward to the assembly.--You promise, +cousin, your consent? + +_Lys_. But most unwillingly. + +_Queen_. Philocles, I must beg your voice too. + +_Phil_. Most joyfully I give it. + +_Lys_. Madam, but one word more;-- +Since you are so resolved, +That you may see, bold as my passion was, +'Twas only for your person, not your crown; +I swear no second love +Shall violate the flame I had for you, +But, in strict imitation of your oath, +I vow a single life. + +_Queen_. Now, my Asteria, my joys are full; + [_To_ ASTERIA. +The powers above, that see +The innocent love I bear to Philocles, +Have given its due reward; for by this means +The right of Lysimantes will devolve +Upon Candiope: and I shall have +This great content, to think, when I am dead, +My crown may fall on Philocles's head. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +EPILOGUE, +WRITTEN BY +A PERSON OF HONOUR. + + +Our poet, something doubtful of his fate, +Made choice of me to be his advocate, +Relying on my knowledge in the laws; +And I as boldly undertook the cause. +I left my client yonder in a rant, +Against the envious, and the ignorant, +Who are, he says, his only enemies: +But he condemns their malice, and defies +The sharpest of his censurers to say, +Where there is one gross fault in all his play. +The language is so fitted for each part, +The plot according to the rules of art, +And twenty other things he bid me tell you; +But I cried, e'en go do't yourself for Nelly.[A] +Reason with judges, urged in the defence +Of those they would condemn, is insolence; +I therefore wave the merits of his play, +And think it fit to plead this safer way. +If when too many in the purchase share, +Robbing's not worth the danger nor the care; +The men of business must, in policy, +Cherish a little harmless poetry, +All wit would else grow up to knavery. +Wit is a bird of music, or of prey; +Mounting, she strikes at all things in her way. +But if this birdlime once but touch her wings, +On the next bush she sits her down and sings. +I have but one word more; tell me, I pray, +What you will get by damning of our play? +A whipt fanatic, who does not recant, +Is, by his brethren, called a suffering saint; +And by your hands should this poor poet die, +Before he does renounce his poetry, +His death must needs confirm the party more, +Than all his scribbling life could do before; +Where so much zeal does in a sect appear, +'Tis to no purpose, 'faith, to be severe. +But t'other day, I heard this rhyming fop +Say,--Critics were the whips, and he the top; +For, as a top spins more, the more you baste her, +So, every lash you give, he writes the faster. + +[Footnote A: The epilogue appears to have been spoken by Nell Gwynn.] + + + +PROLOGUE, + +SPOKEN BY MRS BOUTELL TO THE MAIDEN QUEEN, IN MAN'S CLOTHES. + + +_The following prologue and epilogue occur in the "Covent-Garden +Drollery" a publication which contains original copies of several +of Dryden's fugitive pieces. They appear to have been spoken +upon occasion of the male characters in "The Maiden Queen" being +represented by female performers. From our author's connection both +with the play and with Mrs Reeves, who spoke the epilogue, it is +probable he wrote both that and the prologue; and therefore (although +not much worth preserving) we have here added them. From the reference +to Ravenscroft's play of "The Citizen turned Gentleman," in the last +line of the epilogue, it would seem the prologue and epilogue were +written and spoken in 1672_. + +Women, like us, (passing for men,) you'll cry, +Presume too much upon your secrecy. +There's not a fop in town, but will pretend +To know the cheat himself, or by his friend; +Then make no words on't, gallants, 'tis e'en true, +We are condemn'd to look and strut, like you. +Since we thus freely our hard fate confess, +Accept us, these bad times, in any dress. +You'll find the sweet on't: now old pantaloons +Will go as far as, formerly, new gowns; +And from your own cast wigs, expect no frowns. +The ladies we shall not so easily please; +They'll say,--What impudent bold things are these, +That dare provoke, yet cannot do us right, +Like men, with huffing looks, that dare not fight!-- +But this reproach our courage must not daunt; +The bravest soldier may a weapon want; +Let her that doubts us still send her gallant. +Ladies, in us you'll youth and beauty find: +All things--but one--according to your mind: +And when your eyes and ears are feasted here, +Rise up, and make out the short meal elsewhere. + + + +EPILOGUE, + +SPOKEN BY MRS REEVES TO THE MAIDEN QUEEN, IN MAN'S CLOTHES. + + +What think you, sirs, was't not all well enough? +Will you not grant that we can strut and huff? +Men may be proud; but faith, for aught I see, +They neither walk, nor cock, so well as we; +And, for the fighting part, we may in time +Grow up to swagger in heroic rhyme; +For though we cannot boast of equal force, +Yet, at some weapons, men have still the worse. +Why should not then we women act alone? +Or whence are men so necessary grown? +Our's are so old, they are as good as none. +Some who have tried them, if you'll take their oaths, +Swear they're as arrant tinsel as their clothes. +Imagine us but what we represent, +And we could e'en give you as good content. +Our faces, shapes,--all's better then you see, +And for the rest, they want as much as we. +Oh, would the higher powers behind to us, +And grant us to set up a female house! +We'll make ourselves to please both sexes then,-- +To the men women, to the women men. +Here, we presume, our legs are no ill sight, +And they will give you no ill dreams at night: +In dreams both sexes may their passions ease, +You make us then as civil as you please. +This would prevent the houses joining too, +At which we are as much displeased as you; +For all our women most devoutly swear, +Each would be rather a poor actress here, +Then to be made a Mamamouchi [A] there. + +[Footnote A: Alluding to Ravenscroft's play of the "Citizen turned +Gentleman," acted at the Duke's House in 1672 See Vol. IV. pp. 346, +356-7.] + +END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of John Dryden, Vol. II +by Edited by Walter Scott + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN, VOL. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/12166-8.zip b/old/12166-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d9a5557 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12166-8.zip diff --git a/old/12166.txt b/old/12166.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..18545d0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12166.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19329 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of John Dryden, Vol. II +by Edited by Walter Scott + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Works of John Dryden, Vol. II + Now First Collected in Eighteen Volumes. Illustrated With Notes, + Historical, Critical, and Explanatory, and a Life of the Author, + + +Author: Edited by Walter Scott + +Release Date: April 26, 2004 [EBook #12166] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN, VOL. II *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Michel Boto and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +The +Works +Of +John Dryden, + +Now First Collected +_In Eighteen Volumes_. + +Illustrated +With Notes, +Historical, Critical, And Explanatory, +And +A Life Of The Author, +By +Walter Scott, Esq. + +VOL. II. +1808. + + + + +CONTENTS +OF +VOLUME SECOND. + + +Dedication of Mr Congreve's edition of Dryden's + Dramatic Works to the Duke of Newcastle + +The Wild Gallant, a Comedy + Preface + +The Rival Ladies, a Tragi-comedy + Dedication to the Earl of Orrery + +The Indian Queen, a Tragedy + +The Indian Emperor, or the Conquest of Mexico by the Spaniards + Dedication to the Duchess of Monmouth and Buccleuch + Defence of an Essay of Dramatic Poesy + Connection of the Indian Emperor to the Indian Queen + +Secret Love, or the Maiden Queen + Preface + + + + + +THE +WORKS +OF +JOHN DRYDEN. + +VOL. II. + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + + +_Mr Congreve's edition of Dryden's dramatic works, in six volumes +12mo, printed for Tonson in 1735, has been chiefly resorted to for the +text of the Plays in the present edition, although the assistance +of the older copies, in quarto and folio, has been called in, where +difficulties occurred, or improvements were obvious. The preliminary +Dissertations, Dedications, and Prefaces, have been corrected from the +excellent edition of Mr Malone. Congreve appears deeply to have felt +the bequest, left him by his great predecessor, when, "just abandoning +the ungrateful stage" he made it his intreaty, that his successor +would be kind to his remains. Considerable pains have been bestowed +by the present editor in correcting the text. The notes are limited +to the explanation of such passages, as the fashion in language, in +manners, or in literature, has, in the space of a century, rendered +doubtful or obscure._ + + + + +DEDICATION TO MR CONGREVE'S EDITION OF +DRYDEN'S DRAMATIC WORKS. + +TO +HIS GRACE +THE +DUKE OF NEWCASTLE[1], +LORD CHAMBERLAIN OF HIS MAJESTY'S HOUSEHOLD +_&c_. + +[Footnote 1: Thomas Pelham, Duke of Newcastle. No satire ever can +convey such bitter reproof as the high-strained eulogy of this +dedication. This great and wealthy man unblushingly received +Congreve's tribute of praise and gratitude, for his munificence in +directing a splendid monument to be raised over Dryden's remains. But +the incense of the dedicator was wasted on a block, more insensible +than his Grace's workmen could have dug from the quarry. Neither pride +nor shame could induce the Duke to accomplish what vanity had led him +voluntarily to propose; and the dedication, instead of producing a +tomb in honour of Dryden, will remain itself an eternal monument of +the patron's disgrace.] + + +My Lord, +It is the fortune of this edition of the dramatic works of the late +Mr Dryden, to come into the world at a time, when your Grace has just +given order for erecting, at your own expense, a noble monument to his +memory. + +This is an act of generosity, which has something in it so very +uncommon, that the most unconcerned and indifferent persons must be +moved with it. How much more must all such be affected by it, who had +any due regard for the personal merits of the deceased, or are capable +of any taste and distinction for the remains and elegant labours of +one of the greatest men, that our nation has produced! + +That, which distinguisheth actions of pure and elevated generosity, +from those of a mixed and inferior nature, is nothing else but the +absolutely disinterested views of the agent. + +My Lord, this being granted, in how fair a light does your munificence +stand? A munificence to the memory, to the ashes, of a man whom you +never saw--whom you never can see; and who, consequently, never could, +by any personal obligation, induce you to do this deed of bounty; nor +can he ever make you any acknowledgment for it, when it shall be done. + +It is evident, your Grace can have acted thus from no other motive +but your pure regard to merit; from your entire love for learning; and +from that accurate taste and discernment, which, by your studies, you +have so early attained to in the politer arts. + +And these are the qualities, my Lord, by which you are more +distinguished, than by all those other uncommon advantages, with which +you are attended. Your great disposition, your great ability to be +beneficent to mankind, could by no means answer that end, if you were +not possessed of a judgment to direct you in the right application and +just distribution of your good offices. + +You are now in a station, by which you necessarily preside over the +liberal arts, and all the practisers and professors of them. Poetry is +more particularly within your province; and with very good reason +may we hope to see it revive and flourish under your influence and +protection. + +What hopes of reward may not the living deserver entertain, when +even the dead are sought out for, and their very urns and ashes made +partakers of your liberality? + +As I have the honour to be known to you, my Lord, and to have been +distinguished by you by many expressions and instances of your +goodwill towards me, I take a singular pleasure to congratulate you +upon an action so entirely worthy of you. And as I had the happiness +to be very conversant, and as intimately acquainted with Mr Dryden as +the great disproportion in our years could allow me to be, I hope it +will not be thought too assuming in me, if, in love to his memory, and +in gratitude for the many friendly offices, and favourable instructions, +which, in my early youth, I received from him, I take upon me to make +this public acknowledgment to your Grace, for so public a testimony, +as you are pleased to give to the world, of that high esteem, in which +you hold the performances of that eminent man. + +I can, in some degree, justify myself for so doing, by a citation of a +kind of right to it, bequeathed to me by him. And it is, indeed, upon +that pretension, that I presume even to make a dedication of these his +works to you. + +In some very elegant, though very partial, verses, which he did me the +honour to write to me, he recommended it to me to _be kind to his +remains_[2]. + +[Footnote 2: These are the affecting lines referred to. + + Already I am worn with cares and age, + And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage; + Unprofitably kept at heaven's expense, + I live a rent-charge on his providence. + But you, whom every muse and grace adorn, + Whom I foresee to better fortune born, + Be kind to my remains; and, O! defend, + Against your judgment, your departed friend: + Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue, + But shade those laurels which descend to you; + And take, for tribute, what these lines express: + You merit more, nor could my love do less. + +_Epistle to_ MR CONGREVE] + +I was then, and have been ever since, most sensibly touched with that +expression; and the more so, because I could not find in myself the +means of satisfying the passion which I felt in me, to do something +answerable to an injunction laid upon me in so pathetic and so +amicable a manner. + +You, my Lord, have furnished me with ample means of acquitting myself, +both of my duty and obligation to my departed friend. What kinder +office lies in me to do to these, his most valuable and imperishable +remains, than to commit them to the protection, and lodge them under +the roof, of a patron, whose hospitality has extended itself even to +his dust? + +If I would permit myself to run on in the way which so fairly opens +itself before me, I should tire your Grace with reiterated praises and +acknowledgments; and I might possibly (notwithstanding my pretended +right so to do) give some handle to such, who are inclinable to +censure, to tax me of affectation and officiousness, in thanking you, +more than comes to my share, for doing a thing, which is, in truth, of +a public consideration, as it is doing an honour to your country. For +so unquestionably it is, to do honour to him, who was an honour to it. + +I have but one thing to say, either to obviate or to answer such +an objection, if it shall be made to me, which is, that I loved Mr +Dryden. + +I have not touched upon any other public honour or bounty, done by you +to your country. I have industriously declined entering upon a theme +of so extensive a nature; and of all your numerous and continual +largesses to the public, I have only singled out this, as what most +particularly affected me. I confess freely to your Grace, I very much +admire all those other donations, but I much more love this; and I +cannot help it, if I am naturally more delighted with any thing that +is amiable, than with any thing that is wonderful. + +Whoever shall censure me, I dare be confident, you, my Lord, will +excuse me for any thing that I shall say with due regard to a +gentleman, for whose person I had as just an affection as I have +an admiration of his writings. And indeed Mr Dryden had personal +qualities to challenge both love and esteem from all who were truly +acquainted with him. + +He was of a nature exceedingly humane and compassionate; easily +forgiving injuries, and capable of a prompt and sincere reconciliation +with them who had offended him. + +Such a temperament is the only solid foundation of all moral virtues +and sociable endowments. His friendship, where he professed it, +went much beyond his professions; and I have been told of strong and +generous instances of it by the persons themselves who received them, +though his hereditary income was little more than a bare competency. + +As his reading had been very extensive, so was he very happy in a +memory, tenacious of every thing that he had read. He was not more +possessed of knowledge than he was communicative of it. But then his +communication of it was by no means pedantic, or imposed upon the +conversation; but just such, and went so far, as, by the natural turns +of the discourse in which he was engaged, it was necessarily promoted +or required. He was extreme ready and gentle in his correction of +the errors of any writer, who thought fit to consult him; and full as +ready and patient to admit of the reprehension of others, in respect +of his own oversight or mistakes. He was of very easy, I may say, of +very pleasing access; but something slow, and, as it were, diffident +in his advances to others. He had something in his nature, that +abhorred intrusion into any society whatsoever. Indeed, it is to be +regretted, that he was rather blameable in the other extreme; for, +by that means, he was personally less known, and, consequently, +his character might become liable both to misapprehensions and +misrepresentations. + +To the best of my knowledge and observation, he was, of all the men +that ever I knew, one of the most modest, and the most easily to +be discountenanced in his approaches either to his superiors or his +equals. + +I have given your Grace this slight sketch of his personal character, +as well to vindicate his memory, as to justify myself for the love +which I bore to his person; and I have the rather done it, because I +hope it may be acceptable to you to know, that he was worthy of the +distinction you have shewn him, as a man, as well as an author. + +As to his writings, I shall not take upon me to speak of them: For to +say little of them would not be to do them right; and to say all that +I ought to say, would be to be very voluminous. But I may venture to +say, in general terms, that no man hath written in our language +so much, and so various matter, and in so various manners so well. +Another thing I may say very peculiar to him, which is, that his parts +did not decline with his years, but that he was an improving writer +to his last, even to near seventy years of age, improving even in +fire and imagination, as well as in judgment; witness his Ode on St +Cecilia's Day, and his Fables, his latest performances. + +He was equally excellent in verse and in prose. His prose had all the +clearness imaginable, together with all the nobleness of expression; +all the graces and ornaments proper and peculiar to it, without +deviating into the language or diction of poetry. I make this +observation, only to distinguish his style from that of many poetical +writers, who, meaning to write harmoniously in prose, do, in truth, +often write mere blank verse. + +I have heard him frequently own with pleasure, that if he had any +talent for English prose, it was owing to his having often read the +writings of the great Archbishop Tillotson. + +His versification and his numbers he could learn of no body; for he +first possessed those talents in perfection in our tongue. And they, +who have best succeeded in them since his time, have been indebted +to his example; and the more they have been able to imitate him, the +better have they succeeded. + +As his style in prose is always specifically different from his +style in poetry, so, on the other hand, in his poems, his diction is, +wherever his subject requires it, so sublimely and so truly poetical, +that its essence, like that of pure gold, cannot be destroyed. Take +his verses and divest them of their rhymes, disjoint them in their +numbers, transpose their expressions, make what arrangement and +disposition you please of his words, yet shall there eternally be +poetry, and something which will be found incapable of being resolved +into absolute prose; an incontestible characteristic of a truly +poetical genius. + +I will say but one word more in general of his writings, which is, +that what he has done in any one species, or distinct kind, would have +been sufficient to have acquired him a great name. If he had written +nothing but his prefaces, or nothing but his songs or his prologues, +each of them would have entitled him to the preference and distinction +of excelling in his kind. + +But I have forgot myself; for nothing can be more unnecessary than an +attempt to say any thing to your Grace in commendation of the writings +of this great poet; since it is only to your knowledge, taste, and +approbation of them, that the monument, which you are now about to +raise to him, is owing. I will, therefore, my Lord, detain you no +longer by this epistle; and only entreat you to believe, that it is +addressed to your Grace from no other motive than a sincere regard to +the memory of Mr Dryden, and a very sensible pleasure which I take +in applauding an action, by which you are so justly and so singularly +entitled to a dedication of his labours, though many years after his +death, and even though most of them were produced by him many years +before you were born. I am, with the greatest respect, + +MY LORD, + +Your Grace's most obedient, + +And most humble servant, + +WILLIAM CONGREVE. + + + + +THE +WILD GALLANT, +A COMEDY. + + + +THE WILD GALLANT. + +The Editor may be pardoned in bestowing remarks upon Dryden's plays, +only in proportion to their intrinsic merit, and to the attention +which each has excited, either at its first appearance, or when the +public attention has been since directed towards them. In either point +of view, little need be said on the "Wild Gallant." It was Dryden's +first theatrical production, and its reception by no means augured +his future pre-eminence in literature; nor was it more than tolerated, +when afterwards revived under the sanction of his increasing fame. +It was brought upon the stage in February 1662-3, according to the +conjecture of Mr Malone, who observes, that the following lines in the +prologue. + + It should have been but one continued song; + Or, at the least, a dance of three hours long; + + must refer to D'Avenant's opera, called the "Siege of Rhodes," +acted in 1662; and that the expression, "in plays, he finds, you love +_mistakes_," alludes to the blunders of Teague, an Irish footman, +in Sir Robert Howard's play of the "Committee." The "Wild Gallant" was +revived and published in 1669, with a new prologue and epilogue, and +some other alterations, not of a nature, judging from the prologue, to +improve the morality of the piece. That the play had but indifferent +success in the action, the poet himself has informed us, with the +qualifying addition, that it more than once was the divertisement +of Charles II., by his own command. This honourable distinction it +probably acquired by the influence of the Countess of Castlemaine, +then the royal favourite, to whom Dryden addresses some verses on +her encouraging this play.--See Vol. XI p. 18.--The plot is borrowed +avowedly from the Spanish, and partakes of the unnatural incongruity, +common to the dramatic pieces of that nation, as also of the bustle +and intrigue, with which they are usually embroiled. Few modern +audiences would endure the absurd grossness of the deceit practised on +Lord Nonsuch in the fourth act; nor is the plot of Lady Constance, to +gain her lover, by marrying him in the disguise of a heathen divinity, +more grotesque than unnatural.--Yet, in the under characters, some +liveliness of dialogue is maintained; and the reader may be amused +with particular scenes, though, as a whole, the early fate of the play +was justly merited. + +These passages, in which the plot stands still, while the spectators +are entertained with flippant dialogue and repartee, are ridiculed in +the scene betwixt Prince Prettyman and Tom Thimble in the Rehearsal; +the facetious Mr Bibber being the original of the latter personage. +The character of Trice, at least his whimsical humour of drinking, +playing at dice by himself, and quarrelling as if engaged with a +successful gamester, is imitated from the character of Carlo, in +Jonson's "Every Man out of his Humour," who drinks with a supposed +companion, quarrels about the pledge, and tosses about the cups and +flasks in the imaginary brawl. We have heard similar frolics related +of a bon-vivant of the last generation, inventor of a game called +_solitaire_, who used to complain of the hardship of drinking by +himself, because the _toast came too often about_. + +The whole piece seems to have been intended as a sacrifice to popular +taste; and, perhaps, our poet only met a deserved fate, when he +stooped to sooth the depraved appetite, which his talents enabled him +to have corrected and purified. Something like this feeling may be +interred from the last lines of the second epilogue: + +Would you but change, for serious plot and verse, +This motley garniture of fool and farce; +Nor scorn a mode, because 'tis taught at home, +Which dues, like vests,[A] our gravity become; +Our poet yields you should this play refuse, +As tradesmen by the change of fashions lose, +With some content, their fripperies of France, +In hope it may their staple trade advance. + +[Footnote A: This seems to allude to the Polish dress, which, upon +his restoration, Charles wished to introduce into Britain. It was not +altered for the French, till his intimacy with that court was cemented +by pecuniary dependence.] + +In the prologue, the author indulges himself in a display of the terms +of astrology, of which vain science he was a believer and a student. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +It would be a great impudence in me to say much of a comedy, which has +had but indifferent success in the action. I made the town my judges, +and the greater part condemned it: after which, I do not think it +my concernment to defend it with the ordinary zeal of a poet for his +decried poem. Though Corneille is more resolute in his preface before +his _Pertharite_[A], which was condemned more universally than +this; for he avows boldly, that, in spite of censure, his play was +well and regularly written; which is more than I dare say for mine. +Yet it was received at court; and was more than once the divertisement +of his Majesty, by his own command; but I have more modesty than to +ascribe that to my merit, which was his particular act of grace. It +was the first attempt I made in dramatic poetry; and, I find since, a +very bold one, to begin with comedy, which is the most difficult +part of it. The plot was not originally my own; but so altered by me, +(whether for the better or worse I know not) that whoever the author +was, he could not have challenged a scene of it. I doubt not but you +will see in it the uncorrectness of a young writer; which is yet but a +small excuse for him, who is so little amended since. The best apology +I can make for it, and the truest, is only this, that you have, since +that time, received with applause, as bad, and as uncorrect plays from +other men. + +[Footnote A: "Le succes de cette tragedie a ete si malheureux, que +pour m'epargner le chagrin de m'en souvenir, je n'en dirai presque +rien.--J'ajoute ici malgre sa disgrace, que les sentimens en sont +assez vifs et nobles, les vers assez bien tournes, et que la facon +dont le sujet s'explique dans la premiere scene ne manque pas +d'artifice." + +_Examen de Pertharite_.] + + + + +PROLOGUE, + +WHEN IT WAS FIRST ACTED. + +Is it not strange to hear a poet say, +He comes to ask you, how you like the play? +You have not seen it yet: alas! 'tis true; +But now your love and hatred judge, not you: +And cruel factions (bribed by interest) come, +Not to weigh merit, but to give their doom. +Our poet, therefore, jealous of th' event, +And (though much boldness takes) not confident, +Has sent me, whither you, fair ladies, too, +Sometimes upon as small occasions, go; +And, from this scheme, drawn for the hour and day, +Bid me enquire the fortune of his play. + +_The curtain drawn discovers two Astrologers; the prologue is +presented to them_. + +_1 Astrol. reads_, A figure of the heavenly bodies in their +several Apartments, Feb. the 5th, half-an-hour after three afternoon, +from whence you are to judge the success of a new play, called the +Wild Gallant. + +_2 Astrol_. Who must judge of it, we, or these gentlemen? We'll +not meddle with it, so tell your poet. Here are, in this house, the +ablest mathematicians in Europe for his purpose. + + They will resolve the question, ere they part. +_1 Att_. Yet let us judge it by the rules of art; + First Jupiter, the ascendant's lord disgraced, + In the twelfth house, and near grim Saturn placed, + Denote short life unto the play:-- +_2 Ast_. --Jove yet, + In his apartment Sagittary, set + Under his own root, cannot take much wrong. +_1 Ast_. Why then the life's not very short, nor long; +_2 Ast_. The luck not very good, nor very ill; +_Prole_. That is to say, 'tis as 'tis taken still. +_1 Ast_. But, brother, Ptolemy the learned says, + 'Tis the fifth house from whence we judge of plays. + Venus, the lady of that house, I find + Is Peregrine; your play is ill-designed; + It should have been but one continued song, + Or, at the least, a dance of three hours long. +_Ast_. But yet the greatest mischief does remain, + The twelfth apartment bears the lords of Spain; + Whence I conclude, it is your author's lot, + To be endangered by a Spanish plot. +_Prolo_. Our poet yet protection hopes from you, + But bribes you not with any thing that's new; + Nature is old, which poets imitate, + And, for wit, those, that boast their own estate, + Forget Fletcher and Ben before them went, + Their elder brothers, and that vastly spent; + So much, 'twill hardly be repair'd again, + Not, though supplied with all the wealth of Spain, + This play is English, and the growth your own; + As such, it yields to English plays alone. + He could have wish'd it better for your sakes, + But that, in plays, he finds you love mistakes: + Besides, he thought it was in vain to mend, + What you are bound in honour to defend; + That English wit, howe'er despised by some, + Like English valour, still may overcome. + + + + +PROLOGUE, + +WHEN REVIVED. + + +As some raw squire, by tender mother bred, +'Till one-and-twenty keeps his maidenhead; +(Pleased with some sport, which he alone does find; +And thinks a secret to all humankind;) +'Till mightily in love, yet half afraid, +He first attempts the gentle dairy maid: +Succeeding there, and, led by the renown +Of Whetston's park, he comes at length to town; +Where entered, by some school-fellow or friend, +He grows to break glass windows in the end: +His valour too, which with the watch began, +Proceeds to duel, and he kills his man. +By such degrees, while knowledge he did want, +Our unfledged author writ a Wild Gallant. +He thought him monstrous lewd, (I lay my life) +Because suspected with his landlord's wife; +But, since his knowledge of the town began, +He thinks him now a very civil man; +And, much ashamed of what he was before, +Has fairly play'd him at three wenches more. +'Tis some amends his frailties to confess; +Pray pardon him his want of wickedness: +He's towardly, and will come on apace; +His frank confession shows he has some grace. +You baulked him when he was a young beginner, +And almost spoiled a very hopeful sinner; +But if once more you slight his weak endeavour, +For aught I know, he may turn tail forever; + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + +Lord NONSUCH, _an old rich humorous lord_. +Justice TRICE, _his neighbour_. +Mr LOVEBY, _the Wild Gallant_. +Sir TIMOROUS, _a bashful knight_. +FAILER, } _hangers-on of_ Sir TIMOROUS. +BURR, } +BIBBER, _a tailor_. +SETSTONE, _a jeweller_. + +Lady CONSTANCE, Lord NONSUCH'S _daughter_, +Madam ISABELLA, _her cousin_. +Mrs BIBBER, _the tailors wife_. + +_Serjeants, Boy to LOVEBY, Servants, a Bawd and +Whores, Watch and Constable_. + + + +SCENE.--London. + + + +THE +WILD GALLANT. + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_FAILER entering to BURR, who is putting on his +buff-coat_. + + +_Fail_. What! not ready yet, man? + +_Burr_. You do not consider my voyage from Holland last night. + +_Fail_. Pish, a mere ferry; get up, get up: My cousin's maids will +come and blanket thee anon; art thou not ashamed to lie a-bed so long? + +_Burr_. I may be more ashamed to rise; and so you'll say, dear +heart, if you look upon my clothes: the best is, my buff-coat will +cover all. + +_Fail_. Egad, there goes more cunning than one would think to the +putting thy clothes together. Thy doublet and breeches are Guelphs and +Ghibellins to one another; and the stitches of thy doublet are so far +asunder, that it seems to hang together by the teeth. No man could +ever guess to what part of the body these fragments did belong, unless +he had been acquainted with 'em as long as thou hast been. If they +once lose their hold, they can never get together again, except by +chance the rags hit the tallies of one another. He, that gets into thy +doublet, must not think to do it by storm; no, he must win it inch by +inch, as the Turk did Rhodes. + +_Burr_. You are very merry with my wardrobe; but, till I am +provided of a better, I am resolved to receive all visits in this +truckle-bed. + +_Fail_. Then will I first scotch the wheels of it, that it may +not run: Thou hast cattle enough in it to carry it down stairs, and +break thy neck; 'tis got a yard nearer the door already. + +_Enter Boy_. + +_Boy_. Sir, Mr Bibber your tailor's below, and desires to speak +with you. + +_Fail_. He's an honest fellow, and a fashionable; he shall set +thee forth, I warrant thee. + +_Burr_. Ay; but where's the money for this, dear heart? + +_Fail_. Well, but what think you of being put into a suit of +clothes without money? [_Aside_. + +_Burr_. You speak of miracles. + +_Fail_. Do you not know Will Bibber's humour? + +_Burr_. Pr'ythee, what have I to do with his humour? + +_Fail_. Break but a jest, and he'll beg to trust thee for a +suit; nay, he will contribute to his own destruction, and give thee +occasions to make one. He has been my artificer these three years; +and, all the while, I have lived upon his favourable apprehension. +Boy, conduct him up. [_Exit Boy._ + +_Burr_. But what am I the better for this? I ne'er made jest in +all my life. + +_Fail._ A bare clinch will serve the turn; a car-wichet, a +quarter-quibble, or a pun. + +_Burr_. Wit from a Low Country soldier! One, that has conversed +with none but dull Dutchmen these ten years! What an unreasonable +rogue art thou? why, I tell thee, 'tis as difficult to me, as to pay +him ready money. + +_Fail_. Come, you shall be ruled for your own good; I'll +throw the clothes over you to help meditation. And, upon the first +opportunity, start you up, and surprise him with a jest. + +_Burr_. Well, I think this impossible to be done: but, however, +I'll attempt. [_Lies down_, FAILER _covers him_. + +_Fail_. Husht! he's coming up. + +_Enter BIBBER_. + +_Bib_. 'Morrow, Mr Failer: What, I warrant you think I come a +dunning now? + +_Fail_. No, I vow to gad, Will; I have a better opinion of thy +wit, than to think thou would'st come to so little purpose. + +_Bib_. Pretty well that: No, no, my business is to drink my +morning's-draught in sack with you. + +_Fail_. Will not ale serve thy turn, Will? + +_Bib_. I had too much of that last night; I was a little +disguised, as they say. + +_Fail_. Why disguised? Hadst thou put on a clean band, or washed +thy face lately? Those are thy disguises, Bibber. + +_Bib_. Well, in short, I was drunk; damnably drunk with ale; +great hogan-mogan bloody ale: I was porterly drunk, and that I hate of +all things in nature. + +_Burr, rising_.] And of all things in nature I love it best. + +_Bib_. Art thou there, i'faith? and why, old boy? + +_Burr_. Because, when I am porterly drunk, I can carry myself. + +_Bib_. Ha, ha, boy. + +_Fail_. This porter brings sad news to you, Will; you must +trust him for a suit of clothes, as bad as 'tis: Come, he's an honest +fellow, and loves the king. + +_Bib_. Why, it shall be my suit to him, that I may trust him. + +_Burr_. I grant your suit, sir. + +_Fail_. Burr, make haste and dress you; Sir Timorous dines here +to-day: you know him? + +_Burr_. Aye, aye, a good honest young fellow; but no conjurer; he +and I are very kind. + +_Fail_. Egad, we two have a constant revenue out of him: He would +now be admitted suitor to my Lady Constance Nonsuch, my Lord Nonsuch's +daughter; our neighbour here in Fleetstreet. + +_Burr_. Is the match in any forwardness? + +_Fail_. He never saw her before yesterday, and will not be +brought to speak to her this month yet. + +_Burr_. That's strange. + +_Fail_. Such a bashful knight did I never see; but we must move +for him. + +_Bib_. They say, here's a great dinner to be made to-day here, at +your cousin Trice's, on purpose for the interview. + +_Burr_. What, he keeps up his old humour still? + +_Fail_. Yes, certain; he admires eating and drinking well, as +much as ever, and measures every man's wit by the goodness of his +palate. + +_Burr_. Who dines here besides? + +_Fail_. Jack Loveby. + +_Bib_. O, my guest. + +_Burr_. He has ever had the repute of a brave clear-spirited +fellow. + +_Fail_. He's one of your Dear Hearts, a debauchee. + +_Burr_. I love him the better for't: The best heraldry of a +gentleman is a clap, derived to him from three generations. What +fortune has he? + +_Fail_. Good fortune at all games; but no estate: He had one; but +he has made a devil on't long ago. He's a bold fellow, I vow to gad: +A person, that keeps company with his betters; and commonly has gold +in's pockets. Come, Bibber, I see thou longest to be at thy morning's +watering: I'll try what credit I have with the butler. + +_Bib_. Come away, my noble Festus and new customer. + +_Fail_. Now will he drink, till his face be no bigger than a +three-pence. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter LOVEBY and BOY; followed by FRANCES, BIBBER'S wife_. + +_Lov_. Nay, the devil take thee, sweet landlady, hold thy tongue: +Was't not enough thou hast scolded me from my lodging, which, as long +as I rent it, is my castle; but to follow me here to Mr Trice's, +where I am invited; and to discredit me before strangers, for a lousy, +paltry sum of money? + +_Fran_. I tell you truly, Mr Loveby, my husband and I cannot live +by love, as they say; we must have wherewithal, as they say; and pay +for what we take; or some shall smoke fort. + +_Lov_. Smoke! why a piece of hung beef in Holland is not more +smoked, than thou hast smoked me already. Thou knowest I am now +fasting; let me have but fair play; when I have lined my sides with a +good dinner, I'll engage upon reputation to come home again, and thou +shall scold at me all the afternoon. + +_Fran_. I'll take the law on you. + +_Lov_. The law allows none to scold in their own causes: What +dost thou think the lawyers take our money for? + +_Fran_. I hope you intend to deal by my husband like a gentleman, +as they say? + +_Lov_. Then I should beat him most unmercifully, and not pay him +neither. + +_Fran_. Come, you think to fobb me off with your jests, as you +do my husband; but it won't be: yonder he comes, and company with him. +Husband, husband! why, William, I say! + +_Enter BIBBER, BURR, and FAILER, at the other end_. + +_Lov_. Speak softly, and I will satisfy thee. + +_Fran_. You shall not satisfy me, sir; pay me for what you owe +me, for chamber-rent and diet, and many a good thing besides, that +shall be nameless. + +_Lov_. What a stygian woman's this, to talk thus? Hold thy tongue +'till they be gone, or I'll cuckold thy husband. + +_Fran_. You cuckold him--would you durst cuckold him! I will not +hold my tongue, sir. + +_Bib_. Yonder's my guest; what say you, gentlemen? Shall I call +him to go down with us? + +_Lov_. I must make a loose from her, there's no other way. Save +ye, Mr Failer; is your cousin Trice stirring yet? Answer me quickly, +sir, is your cousin Trice yet stirring? + +_Fail_. I'll go and see, sir. Sure the man has a mind to beat me; +but I vow to gad I have no mind to be beaten by him. Come away, Burr. +Will, you follow us. + +_Bib_. I'll be with you immediately. + +[_Exeunt BURR and FAILER_. + +_Lov_. Who was that with Failer, Will? + +_Bib_. A man at arms, that's come from Holland. + +_Lov_. A man out at arms thou mean'st, Will. + +_Bib_. Good, i'faith. + +_Fran_. Aye, aye; you run questing up and down after your +gambols, and your jests, William; and never mind the main chance, +as they say: Pray get in your debts, and think upon your wife and +children. + +_Lov_. Think upon the sack at Carey-house, with the Abricot +flavour, Will. Hang a wife; what is she, but a lawful kind of +manslayer? Every little hug in bed is a degree of murdering thee: and +for thy children, fear 'em not: thy part of 'em shall be taylors, +and they shall trust; and those, thy customers get for thee, shall +be gentlemen, and they shall be trusted by their brethren; and so thy +children shall live by one another. + +_Bib_. Did you mark that, Frances? There was wit now; he call'd +me cuckold to my face, and yet for my heart I cannot be angry with +him. I perceive you love Frances, sir; and I love her the better for +your sake; speak truly, do you not like such a pretty brown kind of +woman? + +_Lov_. I do i'faith, Will; your fair women have no substance in +'em, they shrink in the wetting. + +_Fran_. Well, you may be undone if you will, husband: I hear +there are two or three actions already out against him: You may be the +last, if you think good. + +_Bib_. Tis true she tells me; I love your wit well, sir; but I +must cut my coat according to my cloth. + +_Fran_. Sir, we'll come by our own as we can; if you put us oft' +from week to week thus. + +_Lov_. Nay, but good landlady-- + +_Fran_. Will good landlady set on the pot, as they say; or make +the jack go? then I'll hear you. + +_Bib_. Now she's too much on t'other hand; hold your prating, +Frances; or I'll put you out of your Pater Nosters, with a sorrow to +you. + +_Fran_. I did but lay the law open to him, as they say, whereby +to get our money in: But if you knew how he had used me, husband! + +_Bib_. Has he used you, Frances? put so much more into his bill +for lodging. + +_Lov_. Honest Will, and so he died[A]; I thank thee, little +Bibber, being sober, and, when I am drunk, I will kiss thee for't. + +[Footnote A: This expression seems proverbial.] + +_Bib_. Thank me, and pay me my money, sir; though I could not +forbear my jest, I do not intend to lose by you; if you pay me not the +sooner, I must provide you another lodging; say I give you warning. + +_Lov_. Against next quarter, landlord? + +_Bib_. Of an hour, sir. + +_Lov_. That's short warning, Will. + +_Bib_. By this hand you shall up into the garret, where the +little bed is; I'll let my best room to a better pay-master: you know +the garret, sir? + +_Franc_. Aye, he knows it, by a good token, husband. + +_Lov_. I sweat to think of that garret, Will; thou art not so +unconscionable to put me there? Why, 'tis a kind of little ease[B], to +cramp thy rebellious prentices in; I have seen an usurer's iron chest +would hold two on't: A penny looking-glass cannot stand upright in +the window, that and the brush tills it: the hat-case must be disposed +under the bed, and the comb-case will hang down, from the ceiling to +the floor. If I chance to dine in my chamber, I must stay till I am +empty before I can get out: and if I chance to spill the chamber-pot, +it will overflow it from top to bottom. + +[Footnote B: A kind of dungeon, so called from its construction.] + +_Bib_. Well, for the description of the garret, I'll bate you +something of the bill. + +_Lov_. All, all, good Will; or, to stay thy fury till my rents +come up, I will describe thy little face. + +_Bib_. No, rather describe your own little money; I am sure +that's so little it is not visible. + +_Lov_. You are in the right, I have not a cross at present, as I +am a sinner; an you will not believe me, I'll turn my pockets inside +outward--Ha! What's the meaning of this? my pockets heavy! has my +small officer put in counters to abuse me?--How now! yellow boys, by +this good light? sirrah, varlet, how came I by this gold? Ha! + +_Boy_. What gold do you mean, sir? the devil a piece you had this +morning. In these last three weeks, I have almost forgot what my teeth +were made for; last night good Mrs Bibber here took pity on me, and +crumm'd me a mess of gruel with the children, and I popt and popt my +spoon three or four times to my mouth, before I could find the way +to't. + +_Lov_. 'Tis strange, how I should come by so much money! +[_Aside_.] Has there been nobody about my chamber this morning, +landlady? + +_Boy_. O yes, sir; I forgot to tell you that: This morning a +strange fellow, as ever eyes beheld, would needs come up to you, when +you were asleep; but when he came down again, he said, he had not +waked you. + +_Lov_. Sure this fellow, whoe'er he was, was sent by Fortune to +mistake me into so much money.--Well, this is not the first time my +necessities have been strangely supplied: some Cadua or other has a +kindness for me, that's certain: [_Aside_.]--Well, Mons. Bibber, +from henceforward I'll keep my wit for more refined spirits; you shall +be paid with dirt;--there's money for you. + +_Bib_. Nay, good sir. + +_Lov_. What's your sum? tell it out: will the money burn your +fingers? Sirrah, boy, fetch my suit with the gold-lace at sleeves, +from tribulation. + +[_Gives him gold. Exit Boy_.] Mr Taylor, I shall turn the better +bill-man[A], and knock that little coxcomb of yours, if you do not +answer me what I owe you. + +[Footnote A: Alluding to the ancient weapon called the bill; a +never-failing source of puns in old plays.] + +_Bib_. Pray, sir, trouble not yourself; 'tis nothing; i'feck now +'tis not. + +_Lov_. How nothing, sir? + +_Fran_. An't, please your worship, it was seventeen pounds and +a noble yesterday at noon, your worship knows: And then your worship +came home ill last night, and complained of your worship's head; and +I sent for three dishes of tea for your good worship, and that was six +pence more, and please your worship's honour. + +_Lov_. Well; there's eighteen pieces, tell 'em. + +_Bib_. I say, Frances, do not take 'em. + +_Lov_, What, is all your pleading of necessity come to this? + +_Bib_. Now I see he will pay, he shall not pay. Frances, go home, +and fetch him the whole bag of forty pounds; I'll lend it him, and the +lease of the house too; he shall want for nothing. + +_Lov_. Take the money, or I'll leave your house. + +_Bib_. Nay, rather than displease his worship, take it. [_She +takes it_. + +_Lov_. So, so; go home quietly and suckle my godson, Frances. +[_Exit FRANCES_. + +_Bib_. If you are for the cellar, sir, you know the way. [_Exit +BIBBER_. + +_Lov_. No, my first visit shall be to my mistress, the Lady +Constance Nonsuch. She's discreet, and how the devil she comes to love +me, I know not; yet I am pretty confident she loves me. Well, no woman +can be wiser, than you-know-what will give her leave to be. + +_Enter Lady CONSTANCE, and Madam ISABELLA_. + +_Isa_. Look, look; is not that your servant Loveby? + +_Lov_. Tis she; there's no being seen, 'till I am better habited. +[_Exit_ LOVEBY. + +_Const_. Let him go, and take no notice of him: Poor rogue! he +little thinks I know his poverty. + +_Isa_. And less, that you supply it by an unknown hand. + +_Const_. Aye, and falsified my father's key to do it. + +_Isa_. How can you answer this to your discretion? + +_Const_. Who could see him want, she loves? + +_Enter SETSTONE_. + +_Isa_. O here's Mr Setstone come, your jeweller, madam. + +_Const_. Welcome, Setstone; hast thou performed thy visit +happily, and without discovery? + +_Set_. As you would wish it, madam: I went up to his chamber +without interruption; and there found him drowning his cares, and +pacifying his hunger, with sleep; which advantage I took, and; +undiscovered by him, left the gold divided in his pockets. + +_Const_. Well, this money will furnish him, I hope, that we may +have his company again. + +_Set_. Two hundred and fifty good pounds, madam. Has your father +missed it yet? + +_Const_. No; if he had, we should have all heard on't before now: +But, pray God Monsieur Loveby has no other haunts to divert him, now +he's ransomed! What a kind of woman is his landlady? + +_Set_. Well enough to serve a tailor; or to kiss when he comes +home drunk, or wants money; but far unlikely to create jealousy in +your ladyship. + +_Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Madam, Justice Trice desires your ladyship's excuse, +that he has not yet performed the civilities of his hour to you; he is +dispatching a little business, about which he is earnestly employed. + +_Const_. He's master of his own occasions. [_Exit Servant_. + +_Isa_. We shall see him anon, with his face as red as if it had +been boiled in pump-water: But, when comes this mirror of knighthood, +that is to be presented you for your servant? + +_Const_. Oh, 'tis well thought on; 'faith thou know'st my +affections are otherwise disposed; he's rich, and thou want'st a +fortune; atchieve him, if thou can'st; 'tis but trying, and thou hast +as much wit as any wench in England. + +_Isa_. On condition you'll take it for a courtesy to be rid of an +ass, I care not if I marry him: the old fool, your father, would be so +importunate to match you with a young fool, that, partly for quietness +sake, I am content to take him. + +_Const_. To take him! then you make sure on't. + +_Isa_. As sure, as if the sack posset were already eaten. + +_Const_. But, what means wilt thou use to get him? + +_Isa_. I'll bribe Failer; he's the man. + +_Const_. Why, this knight is his inheritance; he lives upon him: +Do'st thou think he'll ever admit thee to govern him? No, he fears thy +wit too much: Besides, he has already received an hundred pounds, to +make the match between Sir Timorous and me. + +_Isa_. 'Tis all one for that; I warrant you, he sells me the +fee-simple of him. + +_Set_. Your father, madam-- + +_Enter_ NONSUCH. + +_Isa_. The tempest is risen; I see it in his face; he puffs +and blows yonder, as if two of the winds were fighting upwards and +downwards in his belly. + +_Set_. Will he not find your false keys, madam? + +_Isa_. I hope he will have more humanity than to search us. + +_Const_. You are come after us betimes, sir. + +_Non_. Oh child! I am undone; I am robbed, I am robbed; I have +utterly lost all stomach to my dinner. + +_Const_. Robbed! good my lord, how, or of what? + +_Non_. Two hundred and fifty pounds, in fair gold, out of my +study: An hundred of it I was to have paid a courtier this afternoon +for a bribe. + +_Set_. I protest, my lord, I had as much ado to get that parcel +of gold for your lordship-- + +_Non_. You must get me as much more against to-morrow; for then +my friend at court is to pay his mercer. + +_Isa_. Nay, if that be all, there's no such haste: the courtiers +are not so forward to pay their debts. + +_Const_. Has not the monkey been in the study? He may have +carried it away, and dropt it under the garden-window: the grass is +long enough to hide it. + +_Non_. I'll go see immediately. + +_Enter_ FAILER, BURR, TIMOROUS. + +_Fail_. This is the gentleman, my lord. + +_Non_. He's welcome. + +_Fail_. And this the particular of his estate. + +_Non_. That's welcome too. + +_Fail_. But, besides the land here mentioned, he has wealth in +specie. + +_Non_. A very fine young gentleman. + +_Tim_. Now, my lord, I hope there's no great need of wooing: I +suppose my estate will speak for me; yet, if you please to put in a +word-- + +_Non_. That will I instantly. + +_Tim_. I hope I shall have your good word, too, madam, to your +cousin for me. [_To_ ISABELLA. + +_Isa_. Any thing within my power, Sir Timorous. + +_Non_. Daughter, here's a person of quality, and one, that loves +and honours you exceedingly-- + +_Tim_. Nay, good my lord! you discover all at first dash. + +_Non_. Let me alone, sir; have not I the dominion over my own +daughter? Constance, here's a knight in love with you, child. + +_Const_. In love with me, my lord! it is not possible. + +_Non_. Here he stands, that will make it good, child. + +_Tim_. Who, I, my lord? I hope her ladyship has a better opinion +of me than so. + +_Non_. What! are not you in love with my daughter? I'll be sworn +you told me so but even now: I'll eat words for no man. + +_Tim_. If your ladyship will believe all reports, that are raised +on men of quality-- + +_Non_. He told it me with his own mouth, child: I'll eat words +for no man; that's more than ever I told him yet. + +_Fail_. You told him so but just now; fie, Sir Timorous. + +_Non_. He shall have no daughter of mine, an he were a thousand +knights; he told me, he hoped I would speak for him: I'll eat no man's +words; that's more than ever I told him yet. + +_Isa_. You need not keep such a pudder about eating his words; +you see he has eaten 'em already for you. + +_Non_. I'll make him stand to his words, and he shall not marry +my daughter neither: By this good day, I will. [_Exit_ NONSUCH. + +_Const_. 'Tis an ill day to him; he has lost two hundred and +fifty pounds in't. [_To_ ISABELLA. + +_Burr_. He swears at the rate of two thousand pounds a year, if +the Rump act were still in being. + +_Fail_. He's in passion, man; and, besides, he has been a great +fanatic formerly, and now has got a habit of swearing, that he may be +thought a cavalier. + +_Burr_. What noise is that? I think I hear your cousin Trice's +voice. + +_Fail_. I'll go see. [_Exit_ FAIL. + +_Isa_. Come, Sir Timorous, be not discouraged: 'Tis but an old +man's frowardness; he's always thus against rain. + +_Enter_ FAILER. + +_Fail_. O madam, follow me quickly; and if you do not see sport, +melancholy be upon my head. + +[_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. + +_The_ SCENE _changes, and_ TRICE _is discovered playing at +tables by himself, with spectacles on, a bottle, and parmezan by him; +they return and see him, undiscovered by him_. + +_Trice_. Cinque and quatre: My cinque I play here, sir; my quatre +here, sir: Now for you, sir: But first I'll drink to you, sir; upon my +faith I'll do you reason, sir: Mine was thus full, sir! Pray mind your +play, sir:--Size ace I have thrown: I'll play 'em at length, sir. + +--Will you, sir? Then you have made a blot sir; I'll try if I can +enter: I have hit you, sir. + +--I think you can cog a dye, sir. + +--I cog a dye, sir? I play as fair as you, or any man. + +--You lie, sir. + +--How! lie, sir? I'll teach you what 'tis to give a gentleman the lie, +sir. + +[_Throws down the tables_. + +[_They all laugh and discover themselves_. + +_Isa_. Is this your serious business? + +_Trice_. O you rogue, are you there? You are welcome, huswife; +and so are you, Constance, _Fa tol de re tol de re la_. [_Claps +their backs_. + +_Isa_. Pr'ythee be not so rude, Trice. + +_Trice_. Huswife Constance, I'll have you into my larder, and +shew you my provision: I have cockles, dainty fat cockles, that came +in the night; if they had seen the day, I would not have given a fart +for 'em. I would the king had 'em. + +_Const_. He has as good, I warrant you. + +_Trice_. Nay, that's a lie. I could sit and cry for him +sometimes; he does not know what 'tis to eat a good meal in a whole +year. His cooks are asses: I have a delicate dish of ruffs to dinner, +sirrah. + +_Const_. To dinner! + +_Trice_. To dinner! why by supper they had been past their prime. +I'll tell thee the story of 'em: I have a friend-- + +_Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Sir, dinner's upon the table. + +_Trice_. Well, well; I have a friend, as I told you-- + +_Serv_. Dinner stays, sir: 'tis dinner that stays: Sure he will +hear now. + +_Trice_. I have a friend, as I told you-- + +_Isa_. I believe he's your friend, you are so loth to part with +him. + +_Trice_. Away, away;--I'll tell you the story between the +courses. Go you to the cook immediately, sirrah; and bring me word +what we have to supper, before we go to dinner: I love to have the +satisfaction of the day before me. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + +_Enter, as from Dinner_, TRICE, TIMOROUS, FAILER, BURR, +CONSTANCE, ISABELLA. + + +_Trice_. Speak thy conscience; was it not well dressed, sirrah? + +_Tim_. What think you of the Park, after our plenteous +entertainment, madam? + +_Isa_. I defy the Park, and all its works. + +_Const_. Come, Mr Trice, we'll walk in your garden. + +[_Exeunt all but_ FAILER _and_ BURR. + +_Fail_. O, one thing I had almost forgot to tell you; one of us +two must ever be near Sir Timorous. + +_Burr_. Why? + +_Fail_. To guard our interest in him from the enemy, madam +Isabella; who, I doubt, has designs upon him. I do not fear her wit, +but her sex; she carries a prevailing argument about her. + +_Enter_ BIBBER _with a Bottle_. + +_Bib_. By this hand, I have alight upon the best wine in your +cousin's cellar; drink but one glass to me, to shew I am welcome, and +I am gone. + +_Fail_. Here then, honest Will; 'tis a cup of forbearance to +thee. + +_Bib_. Thank you, sir, I'll pledge you--now here's to you again. + +_Fail_. Come away; what is't, Will? + +_Bib_. 'Tis what you christened it, a cup of forbearance, sir. + +_Fail_. Why, I drank that to thee, Will, that thou shouldst +forbear thy money. + +_Bib_. And I drink this to you, sir; henceforward I'll forbear +working for you. + +_Fail_. Then say I: + +_Take a little Bibber, +And threw him in the river; +And if he will trust never, +Then there let him lie ever._ + +_Bib_. Then say I: + +_Take a little Failer, +And throw him to the jailor; +And there let him lie, +Till he has paid his tailor._ + +_Burr_. You are very smart upon one another, gentlemen. + +_Fail_. This is nothing between us; I use to tell him of his +title, _Fiery facias_; and his setting dog, that runs into +ale-houses before him, and comes questing out again, if any of the +woots, his customers, be within. + +_Bib_. I'faith 'tis true; and I use to tell him of his two +capon's tails about his hat, that are laid spread-eaglewise to make a +feather; I would go into the snow at any time, and in a quarter of +an hour I would come in with a better feather upon my head; and so +farewel, sir; I have had the better on you hitherto, and for this time +I am resolved to keep it. + +[_Exit_ BIBBER. + +_Fail_. The rogue's too hard for me; but the best on't is, I have +my revenge upon his purse. + +_Enter_ ISABELLA. + +_Isa_. Came not Sir Timorous this way, gentlemen? He left us in +the garden, and said he would look out my Lord Nonsuch, to make his +peace with him. + +_Fail_. Madam, I like not your enquiring after Sir Timorous: I +suspect you have some design upon him: You would fain undermine your +cousin, and marry him yourself. + +_Isa_. Suppose I should design it, what are you the worse for my +good fortune? Shall I make a proposition to you? I know you two carry +a great stroke with him: Make the match between us, and propound to +yourselves what advantages you can reasonably hope: You shall chouse +him of horses, cloaths, and money, and I'll wink at it. + +_Burr_. And if he will not be choused, shall we beat him out +on't? + +_Isa_. For that, as you can agree. + +_Fail_. Give us a handsel of the bargain; let us enjoy you, and +'tis a match. + +_Isa_. Grammercy i'faith, boys; I love a good offer, howe'er the +world goes; but you would not be so base to wrong him that way? + +_Fail_. I vow to gad but I would, madam: In a horse, or a woman, +I may lawfully cheat my own father: Besides, I know the knight's +complexion; he would be sure to follow other women; and all that. + +_Isa_. Nay, if he fought with the sword, he should give me leave +to fight with the scabbard. + +_Burr_. What say you, madam? Is't a bargain? + +_Isa_. 'Tis but a promise; and I have learnt a court trick +for performing any thing [_Aside_]. Well, gentlemen, when I am +married I'll think upon you; you'll grant there's a necessity I should +cuckold him, if it were but to prove myself a wit. + +_Fail_. Nay, there's no doubt you'll cuckold him, and all that; +for look you, he's a person fit for nothing else; but I fear we shall +not have the graffing of the horns; we must have livery and seisin +beforehand of you, or I protest to gad we believe you not. + +_Isa_. I have past my word; is't not sufficient? What! do you +think I would tell a lie to save such a paltry thing as a night's +lodging?--Hark you, sir. [To BURR. + +_Fail_. Now will she attempt Burr; egad, she has found him out +for the weaker vessel. + +_Isa_. I have no kindness for that Failer; we'll strike him out, +and manage Sir Timorous ourselves. + +_Burr_. Indeed we won't. + +_Isa_. Failer's a rook; and, besides, he's such a debauched +fellow-- + +_Burr_. I am ten times worse. + +_Isa_. Leave it, and him that taught it you: You have virtuous +inclinations, and I would not have you ruin yourself. He, that serves +many mistresses, surfeits on his diet, and grows dead to the whole +sex: 'Tis the folly in the world next long ears and braying. + +_Burr_. Now I'm sure you have a mind to me; when a woman once +falls a preaching, the next thing is ever use and application. + +_Isa_. Forbear your rudeness!-- + +_Burr_. Then I am sure you mean to jilt me: You decline Failer, +because he has wit; and you think me such an ass, that you may pack me +off so soon as you are married; no, no, I'll not venture certainties +for uncertainties. + +_Isa_. I can hold no longer;--Mr Failer, what do you think this +fellow was saying of you? + +_Fail_. Of me, madam? + +_Isa_. That you were one of the arrantest cowards in Christendom, +though you went for one of the Dear Hearts; that your name had been +upon more posts than playbills; and that he had been acquainted with +you these seven years, drunk and sober, and yet could never fasten a +quarrel upon you. + +_Burr_. Do you believe this, dear heart? + +_Isa_. If you deny it, I'll take his sword, and force you to +confess it. + +_Fail_. I vow to gad; this will not do, madam: You shall not set +us at variance so easily; neither shall you have Sir Timorous. + +_Isa_. No! then mark my words: I'll marry him in spite of you; +and, which is worse, you shall both work my ends, and I'll discard you +for your pains. + +_Fail_. You shall not touch a bit of him: I'll preserve his +humbles from you, egad; they shall be his keeper's fees[A]. + +[Footnote A: The keeper of a royal forest had for his fees the skin, +head, umbles (_i.e._ inwards), chine, and shoulders. HOLINSHED'S +_Chronicle_, vol. i. p. 104.] + +_Burr_. She shall cut an atom sooner than divide us. +[_Exeunt_ BURR _and_ FAILER. + +_Enter_ CONSTANCE. + +_Const_. I have given 'em the slip in the garden, to come and +overhear thee: No fat overgrown virgin of forty ever offered herself +so dog-cheap, or was more despised; methinks now this should mortify +thee exceedingly. + +_Isa_. Not a whit the more for that: Cousin mine, our sex is not +so easily put out of conceit with our own beauties. + +_Const_. Thou hast lost the opinion of thy honesty, and got +nothing in recompence: Now that's such an oversight in a lady-- + +_Isa_. You are deceived; they think me too virtuous for their +purpose; but I have yet another way to try, and you shall help me. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY, _new habited_. + +_Const_. Mr Loveby, welcome, welcome: Where have you been this +fortnight? + +_Lov_. Faith, madam, out of town, to see a little thing that's +fallen to me upon the death of a grandmother. + +_Const_. You thank death for the windfall, servant: But why are +you not in mourning for her? + +_Lov_. Troth, madam, it came upon me so suddenly, I had not time: +'Twas a fortune utterly unexpected by me. + +_Isa_. Why, was your grandmother so young, you could not look for +her decease? + +_Lov_. Not for that neither; but I had many other kindred, whom +she might have left it to; only she heard I lived here in fashion, and +spent my money in the eye of the world. + +_Const_. You forge these things prettily; but I have heard you +are as poor as a decimated cavalier, and had not one foot of land in +all the world. + +_Lov_. Rivals' tales, rivals' tales, madam. + +_Const_. Where lies your land, sir? + +_Lov_. I'll tell you, madam, it has upon it a very fair manor +house; from one side you have in prospect an hanging garden. + +_Isa_. Who was hanged there? not your grandmother, I hope? + +_Lov_. In the midst of it you have a fountain: You have seen +that at Hampton-court? it will serve to give you a slight image of +it. Beyond the garden you look to a river through a perspective of +fruit-trees; and beyond the river you see a mead so flowery!--Well, I +shall never be at quiet, till we two make hay there. + +_Const_. But where lies this paradise? + +_Lov_. Pox on't; I am thinking to sell it, it has such a +villanous unpleasant name, it would have sounded so harsh in a lady's +ear. But for the fountain, madam-- + +_Const_. The fountain's a poor excuse, it will not hold water; +come, the name, the name. + +_Lov_. Faith, it is come so lately into my hands, that I have +forgot the name on't. + +_Isa_. That's much, now, that you should forget the name, and yet +could make such an exact description of the place. + +_Lov_. If you would needs know, the name's Bawdy.--Sure this +will give a stop to their curiosity. [_Aside_. + +_Isa_. At least you will tell us in what county it lies, that my +cousin may send to enquire about it: come, this shall not serve your +turn; tell us any town that's near it. + +_Lov_. 'Twill be somewhat too far to send; it lies in the very +north of Scotland. + +_Isa_. In good time, a paradise in the Highlands; is't not so, +sir? + +_Const_. It seems you went post, servant: in troth you are a rank +rider, to go to the north of Scotland, stay and take possession, and +return again, in ten days time. + +_Isa_. I never knew your grandmother was a Scotch woman: Is +she not a Tartar too? Pray whistle for her, and let's see her dance; +come--whist, grannee! + +_Const_. Fie, fie, servant; what, no invention in you? all this +while a-studying for a name of your manor? come, come, where lies it? +tell me. + +_Lov_. No, faith, I am wiser than so; I'll discover my seat to no +man; so I shall have some damned lawyer keep a prying into my title, +to defeat me of it. + +_Const_. How then shall I be satisfied, there is such a thing in +nature? + +_Lov_. Tell me what jewel you would wear, and you shall have it: +Enquire into my money, there's the trial. + +_Const_. Since you are so flush, sir, you shall give me a locket +of diamonds, of three hundred pounds. + +_Isa_. That was too severe; you know he has but two hundred and +fifty pounds to bestow. [_To her. + +Lov_. Well, you shall have it, madam: But I cannot higgle; I know +you'll say it did not cost above two hundred pieces. + +_Isa_. I'll be hanged if he does not present you with a parcel of +melted flints set in gold, or Norfolk pebbles. + +_Lov_. Little gentlewoman, you are so keen--Madam, this night +I have appointed business, to-morrow I'll wait upon you with it. +[_Exit_ LOVEBY. + +_Isa_. By that time he has bought his locket, and paid his +landlady, all his money will be gone. But do you mean to prosecute +your plot to see him this evening? + +_Const_. Yes, and that very privately; if my father know it, I am +undone. + +_Enter_ SETSTONE. + +_Isa_. I heard him say, this night he had appointed business. + +_Set_. Why, that was it, madam; according to your order, I put on +a disguise, and found him in the Temple-walks: Having drawn him aside, +I told him, if he expected happiness, he must meet me in a blind +alley, I nam'd to him, on the back side of Mr Trice's house, just at +the close of evening; there he should be satisfied from whom he had +his supplies of money. + +_Const_. And how did he receive the summons? + +_Set_. Like a bold Hector of Troy; without the least doubt or +scruple: But, the jest on't was, he would needs believe that I was the +devil. + +_Const_. Sure he was afraid to come then? + +_Set_. Quite contrary; he told me I need not be so shy, to +acknowledge myself to him; he knew I was the devil; but he had learnt +so much civility, as not to press his friend to a farther discovery +than he was pleased. I should see I had to do with a gentleman; and +any courtesy I should confer on him, he would not be unthankful; for +he hated ingratitude of all things. + +_Const_. 'Twas well carried not to disabuse him: I laugh to +think what sport I shall have anon, when I convince him of his lies, +and let him know I was the devil, to whom he was beholden for his +money: Go, Setstone; and in the same disguise be ready for him. +[_Exit_ SETSTONE. + +_Isa_. How dare you trust this fellow? + +_Const_. I must trust some body: Gain has made him mine, and now +fear will keep him faithful. + +_To them_, BURR, FAILER, TIMOROUS, TRICE, _and_ NONSUCH. + +_Fail_. Pray, my lord, take no pique at it: 'Tis not given to all +men to be confident: Egad, you shall see Sir Timorous will redeem all +upon the next occasion. + +_Non_. A raw miching boy. + +_Isa_. And what are you but an old boy of five and fifty? I never +knew any thing so humoursome--I warrant you, Sir Timorous; I'll speak +for you. + +_Non_. Would'st thou have me be friends with him? for thy sake +he shall only add five hundred a-year to her jointure, and I'll be +satisfied: Come you hither, sir. + +[_Here_ TRICE _and_ NONSUCH _and_ TIMOROUS _talk +privately_; BURR _with_ FAILER _apart_, CONSTANCE +_with_ ISABELLA. + +_Const_. You'll not find your account in this trick to get Failer +beaten; 'tis too palpable and open. + +_Isa_. I warrant you 'twill pass upon Burr for a time: So my +revenge and your interest will go on together. + +_Fail_. Burr, there's mischief a-brewing, I know it by their +whispering, I vow to gad: Look to yourself, their design is on you; +for my part, I am a person that am above 'em. + +_Tim_. to _Trice_. But then you must speak for me, Mr Trice: +and you too, my lord. + +_Non_. If you deny't again, I'll beat you; look to't, boy. + +_Trice_. Come on; I'll make the bargain. + +_Isa_. You were ever good in a flesh-market. + +_Trice_. Come, you little harlotry; what satisfaction can you +give me for running away before the ruffs came in? + +_Const_. Why, I left you to 'em, that ever invite your own belly +to the greatest part of all your feasts. + +_Trice_. I have brought you a knight here, huswife, with a +plentiful fortune to furnish out a table; and what would you more? +Would you be an angel in heaven? + +_Isa_. Your mind's ever upon your belly. + +_Trice_. No: 'tis sometimes upon yours: But, what say'st thou to +sir Timorous, little Constance? + +_Const_. Would you have me married to that king Midas's face? + +_Trice_. Midas me no Midas; he's a wit; he understands eating and +drinking well: _Poeta coquus_, the heathen philosopher could tell +you that. + +_Const_. Come on, sir: what's your will with me? [_Laughs_. + +_Tim_. Why, madam, I could only wish we were a little better +acquainted, that we might not laugh at one another so. + +_Const_. If the fool puts forward, I am undone. + +_Tim_. Fool!--do you know me, madam? + +_Const_. You may see I know you, because I call you by your name. + +_Fail_. You must endure these rebukes with patience, Sir +Timorous. + +_Const_. What, are you planet struck? Look you, my lord, the +gentleman's tongue-tied. + +_Non_. This is past enduring. + +_Fail_. 'Tis nothing, my lord;--courage, Sir Timorous. + +_Non_. I say 'tis past enduring; that's more than ever I told you +yet: Do you come to make a fool of my daughter? + +_Isa_. Why lord-- + +_Non_. Why lady--[_Exit_ NONSUCH. + +_Trice_. Let's follow the old man, and pacify him. + +_Isa_. Now, cousin,--[_Exeunt_ ISA. TRICE, BURR. + +_Const_. Well, Mr Failer, I did not think you, of all the rest, +would have endeavoured a thing so much against my inclination, as +this marriage: if you had been acquainted with my heart, I am sure you +would not. + +_Fail_. What can the meaning of this be? you would not have me +believe you love me; and yet how otherwise to understand you I vow to +gad I cannot comprehend. + +_Const_. I did not say I loved you; but if I should take a fancy +to your person and humour, I hope it is no crime to tell it you. Women +are tied to hard unequal laws: The passion is the same in us, and +yet we are debarred the freedom to express it. You make poor Grecian +beggars of us ladies; our desires must have no language, but only be +fastened to our breasts. + +_Fail_. Come, come; egad I know the whole sex of you: Your love's +at best but a kind: of blind-man's-buff, catching at him that's next +in your way. + +_Const_. Well, sir, I can take nothing ill from you; when 'tis +too late you'll see how unjust you have been to me. I have said too +much already.--[_Is going_. + +_Fail_. Nay stay, sweet madam! I vow to gad my fortune's better +than I could imagine. + +_Const_. No, pray let me go, sir; perhaps I was in jest. + +_Fail_. Really, madam, I look upon you as a person of such worth, +and all that, that I vow to gad I honour you of all persons in the +world; and though I am a person that am inconsiderable in the world, +and all that, madam, for a person of your worth and excellency I +would-- + +_Const_. What would you, sir? + +_Fail_. Sacrifice my life and fortunes, I vow to gad, madam. + +_Enter_ ISABELLA, BURR, _and_ TIMOROUS, _at a distance +from them_. + +_Isa_. There's Failer close in talk with my cousin; he's +soliciting your suit, I warrant you, Sir Timorous: Do but observe with +what passion he courts for you. + +_Burr_. I do not like that kneading of her hand though. + +_Isa_. Come, you are such a jealous coxcomb: I warrant you +suspect there's some amour between 'em; there can be nothing in't, it +is so open: Pray observe. + +_Burr_. But how come you so officious, madam? you, that ere now +had a design upon Sir Timorous for yourself? + +_Isa_. I thought you had a better opinion of my wit, than to +think I was in earnest. My cousin may do what she pleases, but he +shall never pin himself upon me, assure him. + +_Const_. to _Fail_. Sir Timorous little knows how dangerous +a person he has employed in making love.--[Aloud. + +_Burr_. How's this! Pray, my lady Constance, what's the meaning +of that you say to Failer? + +_Fail_. What luck was this, that he should overhear you! Pax +on't! + +_Const_. Mr Burr, I owe you not that satisfaction; what you have +heard you may interpret as you please. + +_Tim_. The rascal has betrayed me. + +_Isa_. In earnest, sir, I do not like it. + +_Fail_. Dear Mr Burr, be pacified; you are a person I have an +honour for; and this change of affairs shall not be the worse for you, +egad, sir. + +_Const_. Bear up resolutely, Mr Failer; and maintain my favours, +as becomes my servant. + +_Burr_. He maintain 'em! go, you Judas; I'll teach you what 'tis +to play fast and loose with a man of war. [Kicks him. + +_Tim_. Lay it on, Burr. + +_Isa_. Spare him not, Burr. + +_Const_. Fear him not, servant. + +_Fail_. Oh, oh! would nobody were on my side! here I am praised, +I vow to gad, into all the colours of the rainbow. + +_Const_. But remember 'tis for me. + +_Burr_. As you like this, proceed, sir; but, come not near me +to-night, while I'm in wrath. + +[_Exeunt_ BURR _and_ TIMOROUS. + +_Const_. Come, sir; how fare you after your sore trial? You bore +it with a most heroic patience. + +_Isa._ Brave man at arms, but weak to Balthazar[A]! + +[Footnote A: Alluding to the old play of Hieronymo.] + +_Fail_. I hope to gad, madam, you'll consider the merit of my +sufferings. I would not have been beaten thus, but to obey that person +in the world-- + +_Const_. Heaven reward you for't; I never shall. + +_Fail_. How, madam! + +_Isa_. Art thou such an ass, as not to perceive thou art abused? +This beating I contrived for you: you know upon what account; and have +yet another or two at your service. Yield up the knight in time, 'tis +your best course. + +_Fail_. Then does not your ladyship love me, madam? + +_Const_. Yes, yes, I love to see you beaten. + +_Isa_. Well, methinks now you have had a hard bargain on't: You +have lost your cully, Sir Timorous, and your friend, Burr, and all to +get a poor beating. But I'll see it mended against next time for you. + +[_Exeunt_ CONSTANCE _and_ ISABELLA, _laughing_. + +_Fail_. I am so much amazed, I vow to gad, I do not understand my +own condition. [_Exit_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY _solus, in the dark, his sword drawn, groping +out his way_. + + +_Lov_. This is the time and place he pointed me, and 'tis +certainly the devil I am to meet; for no mortal creature could have +that kindness for me, to supply my necessities as he has done, +nor could have done it in so strange a manner. He told me he was +a scholar, and had been a parson in the fanatic's times: a shrewd +suspicion it was the devil; or at least a limb of him. If the devil +can send churchmen on his errands, lord have mercy on the laity! Well, +let every man speak as he finds, and give the devil his due; I think +him a very honest and well-natured fellow; and if I hear any man speak +ill of him, except it be a parson, that gets his living by it, I wear +a sword at his service. Yet, for all this, I do not much care to see +him. He does not mean to hook me in for my soul, does he? If he does, +I shall desire to be excused. But what a rogue am I, to suspect a +person, that has dealt so much like a gentleman by me! He comes to +bring me money, and would do it handsomely, that it might not be +perceived. Let it be as 'twill, I'll seem to trust him; and, then, if +he have any thing of a gentleman in him, he wills corn to deceive +me, as much as I would to cozen him, if I were the devil, and he Jack +Loveby. + +_Enter_ FAILER _at the other end of the stage_. + +_Fail_. What will become of me to-night! I am just in the +condition of an out-lying deer, that's beaten from his walk for +offering to rut. Enter I dare not, for Burr. + +_Lov_. I hear a voice, but nothing do I see. Speak, what thou +art? + +_Fail_. There he is, watching for me. I must venture to run by +him; and, when I am in, I hope my cousin Trice will defend me. The +devil would not lie abroad in such a night. + +_Lov_. I thought it was the devil, before he named himself. + +[FAILER _goes to run off, and falls into_ LOVEBY'S _arms_. + +_Lov_. Honest Satan, well encountered! I am sorry, with all my +heart, it is so dark. 'Faith, I should be very glad to see thee at my +lodging; pr'ythee, let's not be such strangers to one another for the +time to come. And what hast thou got under thy cloak there, little +Satan? I warrant thou hast brought me some more money. + +_Fail_. Help, help; thieves! thieves! + +[LOVEBY _lets him go_. + +_Lov_. This is Failer's voice: How the devil was I mistaken! I +must get off, ere company comes in. + +[_Exit_ Loveby. + +_Fail_. Thieves! thieves! + +_Enter_ Trice, Burr, _and_ Timorous, _undressed_. + +_All_. Where! where! + +_Fail_. One was here just now; and it should be Loveby by his +voice, but I have no witness. + +_Trice_. It cannot be; he wants no money. + +_Burr_. Come, sirrah; I'll take pity on you to-night: You shall +lie in the truckle-bed. + +_Trice_. Pox o' this noise! it has disturbed me from such a dream +of eating!--[Exeunt. + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. + +_Enter_ Constance _and_ Isabella. + + +_Const_. Twas ill luck to have the meeting broke last night, just +as Setstone was coming towards him. + +_Isa_. But, in part of recompence, you'll have the pleasure of +putting him on farther straits. O, these little mischiefs are meat and +drink to me. + +_Const_. He shall tell me from whence he has his money: I am +resolved now to try him to the utmost. + +_Isa_. I would devise something for him to do, which he could not +possibly perform. + +_Const_. As I live, yonder he comes, with the jewel in his hand +he promised me. Pr'ythee, leave me alone with him. + +_Isa_. Speed the plough! If I can make no sport, I'll hinder +none. I'll to my knight, Sir Timorous; shortly you shall hear news +from Dametas[A]. + +[Footnote A: A foolish character in Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, who +seems to have become proverbial.] + +[_Exit_ ISABELLA. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY. + +_Lov_. Look you, madam, here's the jewel; do me the favour to +accept it, and suppose a very good compliment delivered with it. + +_Const_. Believe me, a very fair jewel. But why will you be at +this needless charge? What acknowledgment do you expect? You know I +will not marry you. + +_Lov_. How the devil do I know that? I do not conceive myself, +under correction, so inconsiderable a person. + +_Const_. You'll alter your partial opinion, when I tell you, 'tis +not a flash of wit fires me, nor is it a gay out-side can seduce me to +matrimony. + +_Lov_. I am neither fool, nor deformed, so much as to be +despicable. What do I want? + +_Const_. A good estate, that makes every thing handsome: Nothing +can look well without it. + +_Lov_. Does this jewel express poverty? + +_Const_. I conjure you by your love to me, tell me one truth not +minced by your invention, how came you by this jewel? + +_Lov_. 'Tis well I have a voucher. Pray ask your own jeweller, +Setstone, if I did not buy it of him. + +_Const_. How glad you are now, you can tell a truth so near a +lie. But where had you the money, that purchased it? Come--without +circumstances and preambles-- + +_Lov_. Umph--Perhaps, that may be a secret. + +_Const_. Say, it be one; yet he, that loved indeed, could not +keep it from his mistress. + +_Lov_. Why should you be thus importunate? + +_Const_. Because I cannot think you love me, if you will not +trust that to my knowledge, which you conceal from all the world +beside. + +_Lov_. You urge me deeply-- + +_Const_. Come, sweet servant, you shall tell me; I am resolved to +take no denial. Why do you sigh? + +_Lov_. If I be blasted, it must out. + +_Const_. Either tell me, or resolve to take your leave for ever. + +_Lov_. Then know, I have my means,--I know not how. + +_Const_. This is a fine secret. + +_Lov_. Why, then, if you will needs know, 'tis from the devil; I +have money from him, what, and when I please. + +_Const_. Have you sealed a covenant, and given away your soul for +money? + +_Lov_. No such thing intended on my part. + +_Const_. How then? + +_Lov_. I know not yet what conditions he'll propose. I should +have spoke with him last night, but that a cross chance hindered it. + +_Const_. Well, my opinion is, some great lady, that is in love +with you, supplies you still; and you tell me an incredible tale of +the devil, merely to shadow your infidelity. + +_Lov_. Devise some means to try me. + +_Const_. I take you at your word. You shall swear freely to +bestow on me whatever you shall gain this unknown way; and, for a +proof, because you tell me you can have money, what, and when you +please, bring me a hundred pounds ere night.--If I do marry him for +a wit, I'll see what he can do; he shall have none from me. +[_Aside_. + +_Lov_. You overjoy me, madam; you shall have it, an 'twere twice +as much. + +_Const_. How's this? + +_Lov_. The devil a cross that I have, or know where to get; but +I must promise well, to save my credit.--Now, devil, if thou dost +forsake me! + +[_Aside_. + +_Const_. I mistrust you; and, therefore, if you fail, I'll +have your hand to show against you; here's ink and paper. [LOVEBY +_writes_. + +_Enter_ BURR, _and_ TIMOROUS. + +_Burr_. What makes Loveby yonder? He's writing somewhat. + +_Tim_. I'll go see. [_Looks over him_. + +_Lov_. Have you no more manners than to overlook a man when he's +a writing?--Oh! is't you, Sir Timorous? You may stand still; now I +think on't, you cannot read written hand. + +_Burr_. You are very familiar with Sir Timorous. + +_Lov_. So am I with his companions, sir. + +_Burr_. Then there's hopes you and I may be better acquainted. I +am one of his companions. + +_Lov_. By what title? as you are an ass, sir? + +_Const_. No more, Loveby. + +_Lov_. I need not, madam. Alas! this fellow is only the solicitor +of a quarrel, 'till he has brought it to an head; and will leave the +fighting part to the courteous pledger. Do not I know these fellows? +You shall as soon persuade a mastiff to fasten on a lion, as one of +those to engage with a courage above their own: They know well enough +whom they can beat, and who can beat them. + +_Enter _FAILER _at a distance_. + +_Fail_. Yonder they are: Now, would I compound for a reasonable +sum, that I were friends with Burr. If I am not, I shall lose Sir +Timorous. + +_Const_. O, servant, have I spied you? let me run into your arms. + +_Fail_. I renounce my lady Constance: I vow to gad, I renounce +her. + +_Tim_. To your task, Burr. + +_Enter NONSUCH and ISABELLA_. + +_Const_. Hold, gentlemen! no sign of quarrel. + +_Non_. O, friends! I think I shall go mad with grief: I have lost +more money. + +_Lov_. Would I had it: that's all the harm I wish myself. Your +servant, madam; I go about the business. + +_Exit LOVEBY_. + +_Non_. What! does he take no pity on me? + +_Const_. Pr'ythee, moan him, Isabella. + +_Isa_. Alas, alas, poor uncle! could they find in their hearts to +rob him! + +_Non_. Five hundred pounds, out of poor six thousand pounds +a-year! I, and mine, are undone for ever. + +_Fail_. Your own house, you think, is clear, my lord? + +_Const_. I dare answer for all there, as much as for myself. + +_Burr_. Oh, that he would but think that Loveby had it! + +_Fail_. If you'll be friends with me, I'll try what I can +persuade him to. + +_Burr_. Here's my hand, I will, dear heart. + +_Fail_. Your own house being clear, my lord, I am apt to suspect +this Loveby for such a person. Did you mark how abruptly he went out? + +_Non_. He did indeed, Mr Failer. But why should I suspect him? +his carriage is fair, and his means great; he could never live after +this rate, if it were not. + +_Fail_. This still renders him the more suspicious: He has no +land, to my knowledge. + +_Burr_. Well said, mischief. [_Aside_. + +_Const_. My father's credulous, and this rogue has found the +blind side of him; would Loveby heard him! [_To_ ISABELLA. + +_Fail_. He has no means, and he loses at play; so that, for my +part, I protest to gad, I am resolved he picks locks for his living. + +_Burr_. Nay, to my knowledge, he picks locks. + +_Tim_. And to mine. + +_Fail_. No longer ago than last night he met me in the dark, and +offered to dive into my pockets. + +_Non_. That's a main argument for suspicion. + +_Fail_. I remember once, when the keys of the Exchequer were lost +in the Rump-time, he was sent for upon an extremity, and, egad, he +opens me all the locks with the blade-bone of a breast of mutton. + +_Non_. Who, this Loveby? + +_Fail_. This very Loveby. Another time, when we had sate up very +late at ombre in the country, and were hungry towards morning, he +plucks me out (I vow to gad I tell you no lie) four ten-penny nails +from the dairy lock with his teeth, fetches me out a mess of milk, and +knocks me 'em in again with his head, upon reputation. + +_Isa_. Thou boy! + +_Non_. What shall I do in this case? My comfort is, my gold's all +marked. + +_Const_. Will you suspect a gentleman of Loveby's worth, upon the +bare report of such a rascal as this Failer? + +_Non_. Hold thy tongue, I charge thee; upon my blessing hold thy +tongue. I'll have him apprehended before he sleeps; come along with +me, Mr Failer. + +_Fail_. Burr, look well to Sir Timorous; I'll be with you +instantly. + +_Const_. I'll watch you by your favour. [_Aside. +[Exeunt_ NONSUCH _and_ FAILER, CONSTANCE _following them_. + +_Isa_. A word, Sir Timorous. + +_Burr_. [Gets _behind_.] She shall have a course at the +knight, and come up to him, but when she is just ready to pinch, he +shall give such a loose from her, shall break her heart. + +_Isa_. Burr there still, and watching us? There's certainly some +plot in this, but I'll turn it to my own advantage. [_Aside_. + +_Tim. Did you mark Burr's retirement, madam? + +_Isa_ Ay; his guilt, it seems, makes him shun your company. + +_Tim_. In what can he be guilty? + +_Isa_. You must needs know it; he courts your mistress. + +_Tim_. Is he, too, in love with my lady Constance? + +_Isa_. No, no: but, which is worse, he courts me. + +_Tim_. Why, what have I to do with you? You know I care not this +for you. + +_Isa_. Perhaps so; but he thought you did: and good reason for +it. + +_Tim_. What reason, madam? + +_Isa_. The most convincing in the world: He knew my cousin +Constance never loved you: He has heard her say, you were as +invincibly ignorant as a town-fop judging a new play: as shame-faced +as a great overgrown school-boy: in fine, good for nothing but to be +wormed out of your estate, and sacrificed to the god of laughter. + +_Tim_. Was your cousin so barbarous to say this? + +_Isa_. In his hearing. + +_Tim_. And would he let me proceed in my suit to her? + +_Isa_. For that I must excuse him; he never thought you could +love one of my cousin's humour; but took your court to her, only as +a blind to your affection for me; and, being possessed with that +opinion, he thought himself as worthy as you to marry me. + +_Tim_. He is not half so worthy; and so I'll tell him, in a fair +way. + +_Burr_. [_To a Boy entering_.] Sirrah, boy, deliver this +note to madam Isabella; but be not known I am so near. + +_Boy_. I warrant you, sir. + +_Burr_. Now, Fortune, all I desire of thee is, that Sir Timorous +may see it; if he once be brought to believe there is a kindness +between her and me, it will ruin all her projects. + +_Isa_. [_To the Boy_.] From whom? + +_Boy_. From Mr Burr, madam. + +_Isa_. [Reads.] _These for Madam Isabella. Dear rogue, Sir +Timorous knows nothing of our kindness, nor shall for me; seem still +to have designs upon him; it will hide thy affection the better to thy +servant,_ BURR. + +_Isa_. Alas, poor woodcock, dost thou go a-birding? Thou hast +e'en set a springe to catch thy own neck. Look you here, Sir Timorous; +here's something to confirm what I have told you. [_Gives him the +letter_. + +_Tim_. D, e, a, r, _dear_; r, o, g, u, e, _rogue_. +Pray, madam, read it; this written hand is such a damned pedantic +thing, I could never away with it. + +_Isa_. He would fain have robbed you of me: Lord, Lord! to see +the malice of a man. + +_Tim_. She has persuaded me so damnably, that I begin to think +she's my mistress indeed. + +_Isa_. Your mistress? why, I hope you are not to doubt that, at +this time of day. I was your mistress from the first day you ever saw +me. + +_Tim_. Nay, like enough you were so; but I vow to gad now, I was +wholly ignorant of my own affection. + +_Isa_. And this rogue pretends he has an interest in me, merely +to defeat you: Look you, look you, where he stands in ambush, like a +Jesuit behind a Quaker, to see how his design will take. + +_Tim_. I see the rogue: Now could I find in my heart to marry you +in spite to him; what think you on't, in a fair way? + +_Isa_. I have brought him about as I could wish; and now I'll +make my own conditions. [_Aside_.] Sir Timorous, I wish you well; +but he I marry must promise me to live at London: I cannot abide to be +in the country, like a wild beast in the wilderness, with no Christian +soul about me. + +_Tim_. Why, I'll bear you company. + +_Isa_. I cannot endure your early hunting-matches there; to have +my sleep disturbed by break of day, with heigh, Jowler, Jowler! there +Venus, ah Beauty! and then a serenade of deep-mouthed curs, to answer +the salutation of the huntsman, as if hell were broke loose about me: +and all this to meet a pack of gentlemen savages, to ride all day, +like mad-men, for the immortal fame of being first in at the hare's +death: to come upon the spur, after a trial at four in the afternoon, +to destruction of cold meat and cheese, with your lewd company in +boots; fall a-drinking till supper time, be carried to bed, tossed out +of your cellar, and be good for nothing all the night after. + +_Tim_. Well, madam, what is it you would be at? you shall find me +reasonable to all your propositions. + +_Isa_. I have but one condition more to add; for I will be as +reasonable as you; and that is a very poor request--to have all the +money in my disposing. + +_Tim_. How, all the money? + +_Isa_. Ay, for I am sure I can huswife it better for your honour; +not but that I shall be willing to encourage you with pocket-money, or +so, sometimes. + +_Tim_. This is somewhat hard. + +_Isa_. Nay, if a woman cannot do that, I shall think you have +an ill opinion of my virtue: Not trust your own flesh and blood, Sir +Timorous? + +_Tim_. Well, is there any thing more behind? + +_Isa_. Nothing more, only the choice of my own company, my own +hours, and my own actions: These trifles granted me, in all things of +moment, I am your most obedient wife and servant, Isabella. + +_Tim_. Is't a match, then? + +_Isa_. For once I am content it shall; but 'tis to redeem you +from those rascals, Burr and Failer--that way, Sir Timorous, for fear +of spies; I'll meet you at the garden door.--[_Exit_ TIMOROUS.] I +have led all women the way, if they dare but follow me. + _And now march off, if I can scape but spying, + With my drums beating, and my colours flying_. + +[_Exit_. + +_Burr_. So, their wooing's at an end; thanks to my wit. + +_Enter_ FAILER. + +_Fail_. O Burr! whither is it Sir Timorous and Madam Isabella are +gone together? + +_Burr_. Adore my wit, boy; they are parted, never to meet again. + +_Fail_. I saw them meet just now at the garden-door: So ho, ho, +ho, who's within there! Help here quickly, quickly. + +_Enter_ NONSUCH _and two Servants_. + +_Non_. What's the matter? + +_Fail_. Your niece Isabella has stolen away Sir Timorous. + +_Non_. Which way took they? + +_Fail_. Follow me, I'll show you. + +_Non_. Break your necks after him, you idle varlets. + +[_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY. LOVEBY'S _collar unbuttoned, band carelessly +on, hat on the table, as new risen from sleep_. + +_Lov_. Boy! how long have I slept, boy? + +_Enter Boy_. + +_Boy_. Two hours and a half, sir. + +_Lov_. What's a-clock, sirrah? + +_Boy_. Near four, sir. + +_Lov_. Why, there's it: I have promised my lady Constance an +hundred pounds ere night; I had four hours to perform it in, when I +engaged to do it; and I have slept out more than two of them. All +my hope to get this money lies within the compass of that hat there. +Before I lay down, I made bold a little to prick my finger, and write +a note, in the blood of it, to this same friend of mine in t'other +world, that uses to supply me: the devil has now had above two hours +to perform it in; all which time I have slept, to give him the better +opportunity: time enough for a gentleman of his agility to fetch it +from the East Indies, out of one of his temples where they worship +him; or, if he were lazy, and not minded to go so far, 'twere but +stepping over sea, and borrowing so much money out of his own bank at +Amsterdam: hang it, what's an hundred pounds between him and me? +Now does my heart go pit-a-pat, for fear I should not find the money +there: I would fain lift it up to see, and yet I am so afraid of +missing: Yet a plague, why should I fear he'll fail me; the name of a +friend's a sacred thing; sure he'll consider that. Methinks, this hat +looks as if it should have something under it: If one could see the +yellow boys peeping underneath the brims now: Ha! [_Looks under +round about_.] In my conscience I think I do. Stand out o'the way, +sirrah, and be ready to gather up the pieces, that will flush out of +the hat as I take it up. + +_Boy_. What, is my master mad, trow? + +[LOVEBY _snatches up the hat, looks in it hastily, and sees nothing +but the paper_. + +_Low_. Now, the devil take the devil! A plague! was ever man +served so as I am! [_Throws his hat upon the ground_.] To break +the bands of amity for one hundred pieces! Well, it shall be more out +of thy way than thou imaginest, devil: I'll turn parson, and be at +open defiance with thee: I'll lay the wickedness of all people upon +thee, though thou art never so innocent; I'll convert thy bawds and +whores; I'll Hector thy gamesters, that they shall not dare to swear, +curse, or bubble; nay, I'll set thee out so, that thy very usurers and +aldermen shall fear to have to do with thee. + +[_A noise within of_ ISABELLA _and_ FRANCES. + +_Enter_ FRANCES, _thrusting back_ ISABELLA _and_ +TIMOROUS. + +_Franc_. How now, what's the matter? + +_Isa_. Nay, sweet mistress, be not so hard-hearted; all I desire +of you is but harbour for a minute: you cannot, in humanity, deny that +small succour to a gentlewoman. + +_Franc_. A gentlewoman! I thought so; my house, affords no +harbour for gentlewomen: you are a company of proud harlotries: I'll +teach you to take place of tradesmen's wives, with a wannion to you. + +_Lov_. How's this! Madam Isabella! + +_Isa_. Mr Loveby! how happy am I to meet with you in my distress! + +_Lov_. What's the matter, madam? + +_Isa_. I'll tell you, if this gentlewoman will give me leave. + +_Franc_. No, gentlewoman, I will not give you leave; they are +such as we maintain your pride, as they say. [ISABELLA _and_ +LOVEBY _whisper_.] Our husbands trust you, and you must go before +their wives. I am sure my good-man never goes to any of your lodgings, +but he comes home the worse for it, as they say. + +_Lov_. Is that all? pr'ythee, good landlady, for my sake +entertain my friends. + +_Franc_. If the gentleman's worship had come alone, it may be I +might have entertained him; but for your minion! + +_Enter_ NONSUCH, FAILER, BURR, _and Officers. Cry within, Here, +here_. + +_Fail_. My lord, arrest Sir Timorous upon a promise of marriage +to your daughter, and we'll witness it. + +_Tim_. Why, what a strange thing of you's this, madam Isabella, +to bring a man into trouble thus! + +_Fail_. You are not yet married to her? + +_Tim_. Not that I remember. + +_Isa_. Well, Failer, I shall find a time to reward your +diligence. + +_Lov_. If the knight would have owned his action, I should have +taught some of you more manners, than to come with officers into my +lodging. + +_Franc_. I'm glad with all my heart this minx is prevented of her +design: the gentleman had got a great catch of her, as they say. His +old father in the country would have given him but little thanks +for it, to see him bring down a fine-bred woman, with a lute, and a +dressing-box, and a handful of money to her portion. + +_Isa_. Good Mistress Whatdeelack! I know your quarrel to the +ladies; do they take up the gallants from the tradesmen's wives? Lord, +what a grievous thing it is, for a she citizen to be forced to have +children by her own husband! + +_Franc_. Come, come, you're a slanderful huswife, and I squorn +your harlotry tricks, that I do, so I do. + +_Isa_. Steeple-hat your husband never gets a good look when he +comes home, except he brings a gentleman to dinner; who, if he casts +an amorous eye towards you, then, "Trust him, good husband, sweet +husband, trust him for my sake: Verily the gentleman's an honest man, +I read it in his countenance: and if you should not be at home to +receive the money, I know he will pay the debt to me." Is't not so, +mistress? + +_Enter_ BIBBER _in slippers, with a skein of silk about his +neck_. + +_Franc_. Will you see me wronged thus, under my own roof, as they +say, William? + +_Isa_. Nay, 'tis very true, mistress: you let the men, with old +compliments, take up new clothes; I do not mean your wife's clothes, +Mr Merchant-Tailor. + +_Bib_. Good, i'faith! a notable smart gentlewoman! + +_Isa_. Look to your wife, sir, or, in time, she may undo your +trade; for she'll get all your men-customers to herself. + +_Bib_. An' I should be hanged, I can forbear no longer. [_He +plucks out his measure, and runs to_ ISABELLA, _to take measure +of her_. + +_Isa_. How now! what means Prince Pericles by this? + +_Bib_. [_On his knees_.] I must beg your ladyship e'en to +have the honour to trust you but for your gown, for the sake of that +last jest, flowered sattin, wrought tabby, silver upon any grounds; I +shall run mad if I may not trust your ladyship. + +_Franc_. I think you are mad already, as they say, William: You +shall not trust her-- + +[_Plucks him back_. + +_Bib_. Let me alone, Frances: I am a lion when I am angered. + +_Isa_. Pray do not pull your lion by the tail so, mistress--In +these clothes, that he now takes measure of me for, will I marry Sir +Timorous; mark that, and tremble, Failer. + +_Fail_. Never threaten me, madam; you're a person I despise. + +_Isa_. I vow to gad, I'll be even with you, sir. + +[_Exit_. + +_Non_. [_To the Bailiff's_.]--And when you have arrested +him, be sure you search him for my gold. + +_Bailiffs_. [_To_ LOVEBY.] We arrest you, sir, at my Lord +Nonsuch's suit. + +_Lov_. Me, you rascals! + +_Non_. Search him for my gold; you know the marks on't. + +_Lov_. If they can find any marked or unmarked gold about me, +they'll find more than I can. You expect I should resist now; no, no; +I'll hamper you for this. + +_Bail_. There's nothing to be found about him. + +_Fail_. 'Tis no matter, to prison with him; there all his debts +will come upon him. + +_Lov_. What, hurried to durance, like a stinkard! + +_Job_. Now, as I live, a pleasant gentleman; I could find in my +heart to bail him; but I'll overcome myself, and steal away. [_Is +going_. + +_Bail_. Come, sir, we must provide you of another lodging; but I +believe you'll scarce like it. + +_Lov_. If I do not, I ask no favour; pray turn me out of doors. + +_Bib_. Turn him out of doors! What a jest was there? Now, an' I +should be hanged, I cannot forbear bailing him: Stay, officers, I bail +him body and soul for that jest. + +_Fail_. Let us begone in time, Burr. + +[_Exeunt_ BURR, FAILER, _and_ TIMOROUS. + +_Franc_. You shall not bail him. + +_Bib_. I know I am a rogue to do it; but his wit has prevailed +upon me, and a man must not go against his conscience. There, +officers. + +_Lov_. to _Non_. Old man, if it were not for thy daughter-- + +_Non_. Well, well; take your course, sir. + +[_Exeunt_ NONSUCH _and Bailiffs_. + +_Lov_. Come, Will, I'll thank thee at the tavern. Frances, +remember this the next time you come up to make my bed. + +_Franc_. Do your worst, I fear you not, sir. This is twice to +day, William; to trust a gentlewoman, and bail a ragamuffin: I am sure +he called you cuckold but yesterday, and said he would make you one. + +_Lov_. Look you, Frances, I am a man of honour, and, if I said +it, I'll not break my word with you. + +_Bib_. There he was with you again, Frances: An excellent good +jest, i'faith la. + +_Franc_. I'll not endure it, that I won't, so I won't: I'll go to +the justice's worship, and fetch a warrant for him. + +_Lov_. But, landlady, the word cuckold will bear no action in the +law, except you could prove your husband prejudiced by it. Have any +of his customers forsook him for't? Or any mercer refused to trust him +the less, for my calling him so? + +_Franc_. Nay, I know not for the mercers; perhaps the citizens +may take it for no slander among one another, as they say: but for the +gentlemen-- + +_Lov_. Will, have they forsaken thee upon it? + +_Bib_. No, I assure you, sir. + +_Lov_. No, I warrant 'em: A cuckold has the signification of an +honest well-meaning citizen; one, that is not given to jealousies or +suspicions; a just person to his wife, &c.; one that, to speak the +worst of him, does but to her, what he would be content should be done +to her by other men. + +_Franc_. But that another man should be the father of his +children, as they say; I don't think that a civil thing, husband. + +_Lov_. Not civil, landlady! why all things are civil, that are +made so by custom. + +_Bib_. Why may not he get as fine children as I, or any man? + +_Franc_. But if those children, that are none of yours, should +call you father, William! + +_Bib_. If they call me father, and are none of mine, I am the +more beholden to 'em. + +_Franc_. Nay, if that be your humour, husband, I am glad I +know it, that I may please you the better another time, as they say. +[_Exit_ FRANCES. + +_Bib_. Nay, but Frances, Frances! 'tis such another woman. +[_Exit_ BIBBER. + +_Lov_. 'Tis such another man:--My coat and sword, boy, I must go +to Justice Trice's; bring the women; and come after me. [_Exit_ +LOVEBY. + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + +_A Table set with Cards upon it_. + +TRICE _walking: Enter Servant_. + + +_Serv_. Sir, some company is without upon justice-business. + +_Trice_. Saucy rascal, to disturb my meditations. [_Exit +Servant_.--Ay, it shall be he: Jack Loveby, what think'st thou of +a game at piquet, we two, hand to fist? you and I will play one single +game for ten pieces: 'Tis deep stake, Jack, but 'tis all one between +us two: You shall deal, Jack:--Who I, Mr Justice! that's a good +one; you must give me use for your hand then; that's six i'the +hundred.--Come, lift, lift;--mine's a ten; Mr Justice:--mine's a king; +oh ho, Jack, you deal. I have the advantage of this, i'faith, if I can +keep it. [_He deals twelve a piece, two by two, and looks on his +own cards_.] I take seven, and look on this--Now for you, Jack +Loveby. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY _behind_. + +_Lov_. How's this? Am I the man he fights with? + +_Trice_. I'll do you right, Jack; as I am an honest man, you +must discard this; there's no other way: If you were my own brother, I +could do no better for you.--Zounds, the rogue has a quint-major, and +three aces younger hand.--[_Looks on the other cards_.] Stay; +what am I for the point? But bare forty, and he fifty-one: Fifteen, +and five for the point, twenty, and three by aces, twenty-three; +well, I am to play first: one, twenty-three; two, twenty-three; three, +twenty-three; four, twenty-three;--Pox on't, now I must play into his +hand: five:--now you take it, Jack;--five, twenty-four, twenty-five, +twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, and the +cards forty. + +_Lov_. Hitherto it goes well on my side.-- + +_Trice_. Now I deal: How many do you take, Jack? All. Then I am +gone: What a rise is here! Fourteen by aces, and a sixieme-major; I +am gone, without looking into my cards.--[_Takes up an ace and +bites it_.] Ay, I thought so: If ever man play'd with such cursed +fortune, I'll be hanged, and all for want of this damned ace--there's +your ten pieces, with a pox to you, for a rooking beggarly rascal as +you are. + +LOVEBY _enters_. + +_Lov_. What occasion have I given you for these words, sir? Rook +and rascal! I am no more rascal than yourself, sir. + +_Trice_. How's this! how's this! + +_Lov_. And though for this time I put up, because I am a winner-- +[_Snatches the gold_. + +_Trice_. What a devil do'st thou put up? Not my gold, I hope, +Jack? + +_Lov_. By your favour, but I do; and 'twas won fairly: a sixieme, +and fourteen by aces, by your own confession,--What a pox, we don't +make childrens' play, I hope? + +_Trice_. Well, remember this, Jack; from this hour I forswear +playing with you when I am alone; what, will you bate me nothing on't? + +_Lov_. Not a farthing, Justice; I'll be judged by you; if I had +lost, you would have taken every piece on't: What I win, I win--and +there's an end. + +_Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Sir, these people stay without, and will not be answered. + +_Trice_. Well, what's their business? + +_Serv_. Nay, no great matter; only a fellow for getting a wench +with child. + +_Trice_. No great matter, say'st thou? 'Faith, but it is. Is he a +poor fellow, or a gentleman? + +_Serv_. A very poor fellow, sir. + +_Trice_. Hang him, rogue; make his mittimus immediately; must +such as he presume to get children? + +_Lov_. Well considered: A poor lousy rascal, to intrench upon +the game of gentlemen! He might have passed his time at nine-pins, or +shovel-board; that had been fit sport for such as he: Justice, have no +mercy on him. + +_Trice_. No, by the sword of justice will I not. + +_Lov_. Swear'st thou, ungracious boy[A]? That's too much, on the +other hand, for a gentleman. I swear not, I drink not, I curse not, +I cheat not; they are unnecessary vices: I save so much out of those +sins, and take it out in that one necessary vice of wenching. + +[Footnote A: Henry IV. Part 1. Act ii. Scene 4.] + +_Enter_ LOVEBY'S _Boy_. + +_Boy_. Sir, the parties are without, according to your order. + +_Lov_. 'Tis well; bring 'em in, boy. + +_Enter Lady Du_ LAKE, _and two or three Whores_. + +Justice, I recommend this ancient gentlewoman, with these virtuous +ladies, to thy patronage; for her part, she is a person of exemplary +life and behaviour; of singular conduct to break through, and patience +to bear the assaults of fortune: A general benefactress of mankind, +and, in fine, a promoter of that great work of nature, love. + +_Trice_. Or, as the vulgar translation hath it, a very sufficient +and singular good bawd: Is't not so, boy? + +_Lov_. Ay, boy: Now for such a pettifogging fellow as thy clerk +to persecute this lady; pr'ythee think on't: Tis a grievance of the +free-born subject. + +_L. Du Lake_. To see the ingratitude of this generation! That I, +that have spent my youth; set at nought my fortune; and, what is more +dear to me, my honour, in the service of gentlemen; should now, in my +old age, be left to want and beggary, as if I were the vilest and most +unworthy creature upon God's earth! [_Crying_. + +_Lov_. Nay, good mother, do not take it so bitterly. + +_L. Du Lake_. I confess, the unkindness of it troubles me. + +_Lov_. Thou shalt not want, so long as I live.--Look, here's five +pieces of cordial gold, to comfort thy heart with: I won it, e'en now, +off Mr Justice; and I dare say he thinks it well bestowed. + +_Trice_. My money's gone to very pious uses. + +_L. Du Lake_. [_Laying her hand on_ LOVEBY'S _head_.] +Son Loveby, I knew thy father well; and thy grandfather before him. +Fathers they were both to me; and I could weep for joy to see how thou +tak'st after them. [_Weeping again_.] I wish it lay in my power +too to gratify this worthy Justice in my vocation. + +_Trice_. 'Faith, I doubt I am past that noble sin. + +_Lov_. Pr'ythee, good magistrate, drink to her, and wipe sorrow +from her eyes. + +_Trice_. Right reverend, my service to you in canary. [_She +drinks after him, and stays at half a glass_. + +_L. Du Lake_. 'Tis a great way to the bottom; but heaven is +all-sufficient to give me strength for it. [_Drinks it up_.] Why, +God's blessing on your heart, son Trice! I hope 'tis no offence to +call you son? hem!--hem!--Son Loveby, I think my son Trice and I are +much of the same years: let me see, son, if nature be utterly extinct +in you: Are you ticklish, son Trice? [_Tickles him_. + +_Trice_. Are you ticklish, Mother Du Lake? + +[_Tickles her sides. She falls off her chair; he falls off his to +her; they roll one over the other_. + +_Lov_. I would have all London now show me such another sight of +kindness in old age. [_They help each other up_.] Come, a dance, +a dance; call for your clerk, Justice; he shall make one, in sign of +amity. Strike up, fidlers! + +[_They dance a round dance, and sing the tune_. + +_Enter_ ISABELLA _and_ CONSTANCE. + +_Isa_. Are you at that sport, i'faith? Have among you, blind +harpers. [_She falls into the dance_. + +[_At the dance's ending_, LOVEBY _sees_ CONSTANCE. + +_Trice_. Is she come? A pox of all honest women at such a time! + +_Lov_. If she knows who these are, by this light, I am undone. + +_Const_. Oh, servant! I come to mind you of your promise. Come, +produce my hundred pounds; the time's out I set you. + +_Lov_. Not till dark night, upon my reputation! I have not yet +spoke with the gentleman in the black pantaloons; you know he seldom +walks abroad by day-light. Dear madam, let me wait on you to your +coach; and, if I bring it not within this hour, discard me utterly. + +_Const_. You must give me leave to salute the company. What are +they? + +_Lov_. Persons of quality of my acquaintance; but I'll make your +excuse to 'em. + +_Const_. Nay, if they are persons of quality, I shall be rude to +part from 'em so abruptly. + +_Lov_. Why so?--the devil owed me a shame; and now he has paid +me. I must present 'em, whate'er come on't. [_Aside_.]--This, +madam, is my Lady Du Lake--the Lady Springwell--the Lady Hoyden. + +[_She and_ ISABELLA _salute them_. + +_Isa_. What a whiff was there came from my Lady Hoyden; and what +a garlic breath my Lady Springwell had! + +_Trice_. Ha, ha, ha, ha! + +_Lov_. Do not betray me, Justice; if you do--[_Aside_. + +_Isa_. Oh, are you thereabouts, sir? then I smell a rat, i'faith; +but I'll say nothing. [_Aside_. + +_Const_. Ladies, I am an humble servant to you all; and account +it my happiness to have met with so good company at my cousin Trice's. + +_Trice_. Ha, ha, ha! + +_L. Du Lake_. Are these two ladies of your acquaintance, son +Loveby? + +_Lov_. Son, quoth a'! a pox of our relation! [_Aside_. + +_L. Du Lake_. I shall be glad to be better known to your +ladyships. + +_Const_. You too much honour your servants, madam. + +_Isa_. How Loveby fidges up and down! In what pain he is! well, +if these be not they, they call whores, I'll be hanged, though I never +saw one before. [_Aside_. + +_Lov_. Will your ladyship please to go, madam? + +_Const_. I must beg the favour of these ladies first, that I may +know their lodgings, and wait on them. + +_L. Du. Lake_. It will be our duty to pay our respects first to +your ladyship. + +_Const_. I beg your ladyship's pardon, madam-- + +_L. Du Lake_. Your ladyship shall excuse us, madam-- + +_Isa_. Trice. Ha, ha, ha! + +_Low_. Ah, devil grin you! [_Aside_. + +_Trice_. I must go out, and laugh my belly-full. + +[_Exit_ TRICE. + +_Const_. But in earnest, madam, I must have no denial; I beseech +your ladyship instruct me, where I may tender my devoirs. + +_L. Du Lake_. Since your ladyship commands me, madam, I dare +disobey no longer. My lodgings are in St Lucknor's Lane, at the Cat +and Fiddle. + +_Const_. Whereabouts is that lane, servant? + +_Lov_. Faith, madam, I know not that part o'the town.--Lord, how +I sweat for fear! [_Aside_. + +_Const_. And yours, madam, where, I beseech your ladyship? + +_2 Whore_. In Dog and Bitch yard, an't please your ladyship. + +_3 Whore_. And mine in Sodom, so like your ladyship. + +_Const_. How, Loveby! I did not think you would have used me +thus? + +_Lov_. I beseech your ladyship, but hear my justification as I +lead you. + +_Const_. By no means, sir; that were such a rudeness to leave +persons of quality, to wait upon me: Unhand me, sir. + +_Isa_. Ha, ha, ha!--[_Exeunt_ CONST. ISA. + +_Lov_. I am ruined! for ever ruined. Plague, had you no places in +the town to name, but Sodom, and Lucknor's Lane, for lodgings! + +_L. Du Lake_. If any prejudice arise from it, upon my honour, +son, 'twas by mistake, and not intended you: I thought she desired to +have been admitted of the quality. + +_Lov_. I was curst, when I had first to do with you. + +[_Kicks them_. + +_L. Du Lake_. Well, I thank heaven, that has indued me with such +patience. + +[_Exeunt all but_ LOVEBY _and his Boy_. + +_Lov_. I have made a fair hand on't to-day;--both lost my +mistress, and hear no news from my friend below: The world frowns upon +me, and the devil and my mistress have forsaken me: My godfathers and +godmothers have promised well for me: Instead of renouncing them, they +have renounced me. + +_Boy_. Sir, I saw my Lady Constance smile as she went out: I am +confident she's angry but from the teeth outwards: you might easily +make fair weather with her, if you could get the money you promised +her, but there's the devil-- + +_Lov_. Where is he, boy? shew me him quickly. + +_Boy_. Marry, God bless us! I mean, sir, there's the difficulty. + +_Lov_. Damned rogue, to put me in hope so-- + +_Enter_ BIBBER _at the other end_. + +_Lov_. Uds so, look where Bibber is: Now I think on't, he offered +me a bag of forty pounds, and the lease of his house yesterday: But +that's his pocky humour; when I have money, and do not ask him, he +will offer it; but when I ask him, he will not lend a farthing.--Turn +this way, sirrah, and make as though we did not see him. + +_Bib_. Our gentleman, I think, a-talking with his boy there. + +_Lov_. You understand me?-- + +_Boy_. I warrant you, sir. + +_Lov_. No news yet; what an unlucky rascal 'tis! if the rogue +should hereafter be reduced to the raiment of his own shreds, I should +not pity him. + +_Bib_. How's this! + +_Lov_. Now is this rascal hunting after jests, to make himself +the greatest to all that know him. + +_Bib_. This must be me. + +_Boy_. I can hear neither tale nor tidings of him: I have +searched him in all his haunts; amongst his creditors; and in all +companies where they are like to break the least jest. I have visited +the coffee-houses for him; but among all the news there, I heard none +of him. + +_Bib_. Good, i' faith. + +_Lov_. Where's the warrant? I'll put in my own name, since I +cannot find him. + +_Boy_. Sir, I gave it a scrivener at next door, because I could +not write, to fill up the blank place with Mr Bibber's name. + +_Lov_. What an unlucky vermin 'tis! now, for an hundred pound, +could I have gratified him with a waiter's place at the custom-house, +that had been worth to him an hundred pound a-year upon the nail. + +_Bib_. Could you so, could you so, sir? give me your hand, and I +thank you heartily, Mr Loveby. + +_Lov_. Art thou honest Will? faith, 'tis not worth thy thanks, +till it be done: I wish I had the money for thee. + +_Bib_. How much is't, sir? + +_Lov_. An hundred pounds would do it. + +_Bib_. Let me see: forty, I have already by me; take that in +part, sir;--and that, and the lease of my house, would over-do it. + +_Lov_. By all means thy lease, Will: ne'er scruple at that; hang +a piece of parchment, and two bits of soft wax! thou shalt do't, thou +shalt, boy. + +_Bib_. Why, then I will, sir:--But stay, stay: now I think on't, +Frances has one hundred and twenty pieces of old grandam-and-aunt gold +left her, that she would never let me touch: if we could get that, Mr +Loveby! but she'll never part with it. + +_Lov_. Tis but saying the place is for her; a waiting woman's +place in the custom-house: Boy, go, and tell her on't immediately. +[_Exit Boy_ + +_Bib_. Hold a little; she has been very desirous to get a place +in court, that she might take place as the queen's servant. + +_Lov_. She shall have a dresser's place, if thou'lt keep counsel. +The worst on't is, I have never a warrant ready. + +_Bib_. 'Tis all one for that, sir; she can neither write nor +read; 'tis but my telling her 'tis a warrant, and all's well. I can't +but laugh to think how she'll be choused. + +_Lov_. And you too: [_Aside_.] Mum, she's here, Will. + +_Enter_ FRANCES. + +_Franc_. A waiting-woman's place in the custom-house! there's +news for me! thank you, kind Mr Loveby; you have been instrumental, I +hear, of my preferment. + +_Lov_. No, 'tis a dresser's place at court, landlady. + +_Franc_. O gemini! that's better news. + +_Bib_. Aye, but you must make haste and fetch an hundred pieces: +I can assure you five hundred are bidden for it: And the courtiers are +such slippery youths, they are ever for the fairest chapman. + +_Franc_. I'll fetch it presently;--oh how my heart quops now, as +they say: I'll fetch it presently: Sweet Mr Loveby, if the business +can be done, it shall be a good thing in your worship's way, I promise +you: O the father! that it could be done: O sweet father! [Loveby +_plucks out a paper_. + +_Lov_. Here, Mr Bibber, pray put in Madam Bibber's name into the +warrant. + +_Bib_. Madam Bibber! there's joy!--I must call you wife no more, +'tis Madam Bibber now. + +_Franc_. Pray read it, Mr Bibber. + +_Bib_. An order for the admission of the illustrious lady, Madam +Bibber, into her majesty's service. + +_Franc_. Pray give me the paper, I'll have nobody touch it but +myself; I am sure my money pays for it, as they say. These are the +finest words; Madam Bibber! pray, chicken, shew me where Madam is +written, that I may kiss it all over. I shall make bold now to bear +up to those flirting gentlewomen, that sweep it up and down with their +long tails. I thought myself as good as they, when I was as I was; but +now I am as I am. + +_Lov_. Good landlady, dispatch, and bring the money-- + +_Franc_. Truly, in the place of a dresser, I dare be bold to say, +as they say, I shall give their majesties worships good content: I'll +go fetch it. + +[_Exit_ FRANCES. + +_Bib_. We must keep the poor soul in ignorance as long as we +can, sir; for when she has once smoked it, I have no other way but to +retreat into the body of my janizaries, my journey-men; and never come +out into her presence more. Where will you be at nine o'clock, sir, +that we may rejoice over our good fortune? + +_Lov_. Call me at my Lord Nonsuch's house, and I'll go with you. + +_Bib_. We'll have the fiddles, and triumph, i'faith. + +[_Exit_ BIBBER. + +_Lov_. Lord, how eager this vermin was to cheat himself! Well, +I'll after; I long to finger these Jacobus's: Perhaps they may make my +peace again with my mistress. + +[_Exit _LOVEBY. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ FAILER _and_ NONSUCH. [CONSTANCE _and_ ISABELLA +_listening_.] + + +_Fail_. I vow to gad, my lord, Sir Timorous is the most dejected +person in the world, and full of regret for what is past. 'Twas his +misfortune to be drawn in by such a person as Madam Isabella. + +_Non_. Tis well his estate pleads for him; he should ne'er set +foot more within my doors else. + +_Fail_. I'll be security for him for time to come: Leave it to +me to get the licence: All I desire is, your daughter may be ready +to-morrow morning. + +_Non_. Well, let me alone with her. + +[_Exeunt_ FAILER _and_ NONSUCH. + +_Isa_. You heard the dreadful sound, to-morrow, cousin. + +_Const_. I would not throw myself away upon this fool, if I could +help it. + +_Isa_. Better marry a tertian ague than a fool, that's certain; +there's one good day and night in that. + +_Const_. And yet thou art mad for him thyself. + +_Isa_. Nay, the fool is a handsome fool, that's somewhat; but +'tis not that; 'tis a kind of fancy I have taken to a glass coach, and +six Flanders mares; rich liveries, and a good fortune. + +_Const_. Pr'ythee do not mind me of 'em; for though I want 'em +not, yet I find all women are caught with gaieties: One grain more +would turn the balance on his side; I am so vexed at the wild courses +of this Loveby. + +_Isa_. Vexed? why vexed? the worst you can say of him is, he +loves women: And such make the kindest husbands, I'm told. If you had +a sum of money to put out, you would not look so much whether the man +were an honest man, (for the law would make him that) as if he were a +good sufficient pay-master. + +_Enter_ SETSTONE. + +_Const_. As I live, thou art a mad girl. + +_Set_. She must be used as mad folks are then; had into the dark +and cured. + +_Const_. But all this is no comfort to the word, to-morrow. + +_Isa_. Well, what say you, if I put you to-night into the arms of +Loveby? + +_Const_. My condition's desperate, and past thy physic. + +_Isa_. When physic's past, what remains but to send for the +divine? here's little Nicodemus, your father's chaplain: I have spoke +with him already; for a brace of angels he shall make all sure betwixt +you without a license; aye, and prove ten at night a more canonical +hour than ten i'the morning. + +_Const_. I see not which way thou can'st perform it; but if thou +do'st, I have many admirations in store for thee. [_Whispers_. + +_Isa_. Step in, and get a cushion underneath your apron. + +_Const_. O, I must be with child, it seems! + +_Isa_. And Loveby shall bring you to bed to-night, if the devil +be not in the dice: away, make haste;--[_Exit_ CONSTANCE.] +Setstone, be not you far off: I shall have need of you too: I hear my +uncle coming--Methinks I long to be revenged of this wicked +elder, for hindering of my marriage to-day: Hark you, Setstone-- +[_Whispers;_ + +_Set_. Tis impossible, madam; 'twill never take. + +_Isa_. I warrant you; do not I know him? he has not brains +enough, if they were buttered, to feed a blackbird--Nay, no +replies--out of what I have said, you may instruct my cousin too. + +[_Exit_ SETSTONE. + +_Enter_ NONSUCH. + +_Isa_. Oh, are you there, sir? Faith, it was kindly done of you +to hinder me of a good husband this afternoon: And but for one thing, +I would resolve to leave your house. + +_Non_. I'm glad there's any thing will stay thee. + +_Isa_. If I stay, 'tis for love of my cousin Constance, not of +you: I should be loth to leave her in this sad condition. + +_Non_. What condition? + +_Isa_. Nay, I know not; she has not worn her busk this fortnight. +I think she's grown fat o'the sudden. + +_Non_. O devil, devil! what a fright I'm in! + +_Isa_. She has qualms too every morning: ravens mightily for +green fruit; and swoons at the sight of hot meat. + +_Non_. She's with child: I am undone! I am undone! + +_Isa_. I understand nothing of such matters: She's but in the +next room; best call her, and examine her about it. + +_Non_. Why Constance, Constance! + +_Enter_ CONSTANCE, _as with child_. + +_Isa_. Now for a broad-side; turn your prow to him, cousin. + +[_To her_. + +_Non_. Now, gentlewoman! is this possible? + +_Const_. I do not reach your meaning, sir. + +_Non_. Where have you been of late? + +_Const_. I seldom stir without you, sir: These walls most +commonly confine me. + +_Non_. These walls can get no children; nor these hangings; +though there be men wrought in 'em. + +_Isa_. Yet, by your favour, nuncle, children may be wrought +behind the hangings. + +_Non_. O Constance, Constance! How have my grey hairs deserved +this of thee? Who got that belly there? + +_Const_. You, I hope, sir. + +_Non_. Tell me the truth, for I will know it; come, the story. + +_Const_. The story's quickly told, sir; I am with child. + +_Non_. And who is the father? + +_Const_. I do not know, sir. + +_Non_. Not know! went there so many to't? + +_Const_. So far from that, that there were none at all, to my +best knowledge, sir. + +_Non_. Was't got by miracle? Who was the father? + +_Const_. Who got your money, sir, that you have lost? + +_Non_. Nay, Heaven knows who got that. + +_Const_. And, Heaven knows who got this: for, on my conscience, +he, that had your money, was the father on't. + +_Non_. The devil it was as soon. + +_Const_. That's all I fear, sir. + +_Isa_. 'Tis strange;--and yet 'twere hard, sir, to suspect my +cousin's virtue, since we know the house is haunted. + +_Non_. 'Tis true, that nothing can be laid, though under lock and +key, but it miscarries. + +_Isa_. 'Tis not to be believed, what these villainous spirits can +do: they go invisible. + +_Const_. First, they stole away my prayer-book; and, a little +after that, a small treatise I had against temptation; and when they +were gone, you know, sir-- + +_Isa_. If there be such doings, pray heaven we are not all with +child. 'Tis certain, that none live within these walls, but they have +power of: I have reared Toby, the coachman, any time this fortnight. + +_Non_. Out, impudence! A man with child! why 'tis unnatural. + +_Isa_. Ay, so is he that got it. + +_Non_. Thou art not in earnest? + +_Isa_. I would I were not:--Hark! I hear him groan hither. Come +in, poor Toby. + +_Enter_ TOBY, _the coachman, with an urinal_. + +_Non_. How now! what have you there, sirrah? + +_Tob_. An't please your worship, 'tis my water. I had a spice +o'the new disease here i'the house; and so carried it to master +doctor. + +_Non_. Well; and what did he say to you? + +_Tob_. He told me very sad news, an' please you: I am somewhat +bashful to speak on't. + +_Isa_. Out with it, man. + +_Tob_. Why, truly, he told me, the party that owned the water was +with child. + +_Isa_. I told you so, uncle. + +_Non_. To my best remembrance, I never heard of such a thing +before. + +_Tob_. I never stretch out myself to snap my whip, but it goes to +the heart of me. + +_Isa_. Alas, poor Toby! + +_Non_. Begone, and put off your livery, sirrah!--You shall not +stay a minute in my service. + +_Tob_. I beseech your good worship, be good to me; 'twas the +first fault I ever committed in this kind. I have three poor children +by my wife; and if you leave me to the wide world, with a new charge +upon myself-- + +_Non_. Begone! I will not hear a word. + +_Tob_. If I must go, I'll not go alone: Ambrose Tinis, the cook, +is as bad as I am. + +_Non_. I think you'll make me mad. Call the rascal hither! I +must account with him on another score, now I think on't. + +_Enter_ AMBROSE TINIS. + +_Non_. Sirrah, what made you send a pheasant with one wing to the +table yesterday? + +_Amb_. I beseech your worship to pardon me; I longed for't. + +_Isa_. I feared as much. + +_Amb_. And I beseech your worship let me have a boy, to help me +in the kitchen; for I find myself unable to go through with the work. +Besides, the doctor has warned me of stooping to the fire, for fear of +a mischance. + +_Non_. Why, are you with child, sirrah? + +_Amb_. So he tells me; but, if I were put to my oath, I know not +that ever I deserved for't. + +_Non_. Still worse and worse. And here comes Setstone groaning. + +_Enter_ SETSTONE. + +_Set_. O, sir! I have been so troubled with swooning fits; and +have so longed for cherries! + +_Non_. He's poopt too. + +_Isa_. Well, this is not the worst yet: I suspect something more +than I will speak of. + +_Non_. What dost thou suspect, ha! + +_Isa_. Is not your lordship with child, too? + +_Non_. Who, I with child! marry, heaven forbid! What dost thou +see by me, to ground it on? + +_Isa_. You're very round of late;--that's all, sir. + +_Non_. Round! that's only fat, I hope. I have had a very good +stomach of late, I'm sure. + +_Isa_. Alas, and well you may;--You eat for two, sir. + +_Non_. Setstone, look upon me, and tell me true: Do you observe +any alteration in me? + +_Set_. I would not dishearten your ladyship--your lordship, I +would say--but I have observed, of late, your colour goes and comes +extremely. Methinks your lordship looks very sharp, and bleak i'the +face, and mighty puffed i'the body. + +_Non_. O, the devil! Wretched men, that we are all! Nothing +grieves me, but that, in my old age, when others are past +child-bearing, I should come to be a disgrace to my family. + +_Const_. How do you, sir? Your eyes look wondrous dim. Is not +there a mist before 'em? + +_Isa_. Do you not feel a kicking in your belly--When do you look, +uncle? + +_Non_. Uh, uh!--Methinks, I am very sick o'the sudden. + +_Isa_. What store of old shirts have you against the good time? +Shall I give you a shift, uncle? + +_Non_. Here's like to be a fine charge towards! We shall all be +brought to-bed together! Well, if I be with devil, I will have such +gossips: an usurer, and a scrivener, shall be godfathers. + +_Isa_. I'll help you, uncle; and Sawney's two grannies shall be +godmothers. The child shall be christened by the directory; and the +gossips' gifts shall be the gude Scotch kivenant. + +_Const. Set. Non. Tob. Amb_. Uh! uh! uh! + +_Isa_. What rare music's here! + +_Non_. Whene'er it comes from me, 'twill kill me; that's certain. + +_Set_. Best take a vomit. + +_Isa_. An't come upward, the horns will choke him. + +_Non_. Mass! and so they will. + +_Isa_. Your only way, is to make sure o'the man-midwife. + +_Non_. But my child's dishonour troubles me the most. If I could +but see her well married, before I underwent the labour and peril of +child-bearing!--What would you advise, niece? + +_Isa_. That which I am very loth to do. Send for honest Jack +Loveby, and let him know the truth on't: He's a fellow without a +fortune, and will be glad to leap at the occasion. + +_Non_. But why Loveby, of all the world? 'Tis but staying 'till +to-morrow, and then Sir Timorous will marry her. + +_Const_. Uh!--I swell so fast, I cannot hide it 'till to-morrow. + +_Isa_. Why, there's it now! + +_Non_. I'll send for the old alderman, Getwell, immediately: +He'll father the devil's bastard, I warrant you. + +_Isa_. Fie, uncle! my cousin's somewhat too good yet for an +alderman. If it were her third child, she might hearken to you. + +_Non_. Well, since it must be so, Setstone, go you to Loveby; +make my excuse to him for the arrest, and let him know, what fortune +may attend him. + +_Isa_. Mr Setstone, pray acquaint him with my cousin's affection +to him; and prepare him to father the cushion underneath her +petticoat. + +[_Aside to_ SETSTONE. _Exit_.] + +_Set_. I'll bring him immediately. + +_Isa_. When he comes, uncle, pray cover your great belly with +your hat, that he may not see it. + +_Non_. It goes against my heart to marry her to this Loveby; but, +what must be, must be. + +_Enter_ LOVEBY. + +_Const_. O, Mr Loveby! The welcomest man alive! You met Setstone, +I hope, that you came so opportunely? + +_Lov_. No, faith, madam; I came of my own accord. + +_Isa_. 'Tis unlucky; he's not prepared. + +_Lov_. Look you, madam, I have brought the hundred pounds; the +devil was as punctual as three o' clock at a playhouse. Here; 'tis +right, I warrant it, without telling: I took it upon his word. + +[_Gives it_. + +_Const_. Your kindness shall be requited, servant: But I sent for +you upon another business. Pray, cousin, tell it him, for I am ashamed +to do't. + +_Lov_. Ha! 'tis not that great belly, I hope. Is't come to that? + +_Isa_. Hark you, Mr Loveby; a word with you. + +_Lov_. A word with you, madam: Whither is your cousin bound? + +_Isa_. Bound, sir? + +_Lov_. Ay, bound: Look you, she's under sail, with a lusty +fore-wind. + +_Non_. I sent for you, sir; but, to be plain with you, 'twas more +out of necessity than love. + +_Lov_. I wonder, my lord, at your invincible ill-nature. You +forget the arrest, that I passed by: But this it is to be civil to +unthankful persons; 'tis feeding an ill-natured dog, that snarls while +he takes victuals from your hand. + +_Non_. All friends! all friends! No ripping up old stories; you +shall have my daughter. + +_Lov_. Faith, I see your lordship would let lodgings ready +furnished; but I am for an empty tenement. + +_Non_. I had almost forgot my own great belly. If he should +discover that too! [_Claps his hat before it_. + +_Isa. [To Lov_.] You will not hear me, sir. 'Tis all roguery, as +I live. + +_Lov_. Flat roguery, I'll swear! If I had been father on't, nay, +if I had but laid my breeches upon the bed, I would have married her: +But I see we are not ordained for one another. + +[_Is going_. + +_Non_. I beseech you, sir. + +_Lov_. Pray cover, my lord. + +_Isa_. He does his great belly, methinks. + +_Non_. I'll make it up in money to you. + +_Lov_. That cannot tempt me. I have a friend, that shall be +nameless, that will not see me want; and so, your servant. + +[_Exit_ LOVEBY. + +_Isa_. I'll after, and bring him back. + +_Non_. You shall not stir after him;--Does he scorn my daughter? + +_Isa_. Lord, how fretful you are! This breeding makes you so +peevish, uncle. + +_Non_. 'Tis no matter, she shall straight be married to Sir +Timorous. + +_Const_. I am ruined, cousin. + +[_Aside_. + +_Isa_. I warrant you.--My lord, I wish her well married to Sir +Timorous; but Loveby will certainly infect him with the news of her +great belly. + +_Non_. I'll dispatch it, ere he can speak with him. + +_Isa_. Whene'er he comes, he'll see what a _bona roba_ she +is grown. + +_Non_. Therefore, it shall be done i'the evening. + +_Isa_. It shall, my lord. + +_Const_. Shall it? + +[Aside. + +_Isa_. Let me alone, cousin.--And to this effect she shall write +to him, that, to conform to your will, and his modesty, she desires +him to come hither alone this evening. + +_Non_. Excellent wench!--I'll get my chaplain ready. + +[_Exit_ NONSUCH. + +_Const_. How can you hope to deceive my father? + +_Isa_. If I don't, I have hard luck. + +_Const_. You go so strange a way about, your bowl must be well +bias'd to come in. + +_Isa_. So plain a ground, there's not the least rub in't. I'll +meet Sir Timorous in the dark; and, in your room, marry him. + +_Const_. You'll be sure to provide for one. + +_Isa_. You mistake me, cousin:--Oh! here's Setstone again. + +_Enter_ SETSTONE. + +Mr Jeweller, you must again into your devil's shape, and speak with +Loveby. But pray be careful not to be discovered. + +_Set_. I warrant you, madam. I have cozened wiser men than he in +my own shape; and, if I cannot continue it in a worse, let the devil, +I make bold with, e'en make as bold with me. + +_Isa_. You must guide him, by back ways, to my uncle's house, and +so to my cousin's chamber, that he may not know where he is when he +comes there. The rest I'll tell you as we go along. + +[_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter_ TIMOROUS; _after him_ BURR _and_ FAILER. + + +_Tim_. Here, here, read this note; there's news for us. + +_Fail_. Let me see't. [_Reads_. + +_Sir Timorous, Be at the garden-door at nine this evening; there +I'll receive you with my daughter. To gratify your modesty I designed +this way, after I had better considered on it: and pray leave your +caterpillars, Burr and Failer, behind you. Yours,_ Nonsuch. + +There is some trick in this, whate'er it be. But this word, +caterpillars--You see, Burr, Sir Timorous is like to be lured from us. +[_Aside_. + +_Burr_. Is there no prevention? [_Aside_. + +_Fail_. One way there is.--Sir Timorous, pray walk a turn, while +Burr and I confer a little upon this matter.--Look you, Burr, there is +but one remedy in nature, I vow to gad; that is, for you to have a new +Sir Timorous, exceeding this person in bounty to you. Observe, then; +in Sir Timorous' place will I go, and, egad, I'll marry my lady +Constance; and then, from the bowels of friendship, bless thee with a +thousand pounds, besides lodging and diet for thy life, boy. + +_Burr_. Umph, very well thought on.--No, sir! you shall trust +to my bounty; I'll go in his place. Murmur or repine, speak the least +word, or give thy lips the least motion, and I'll beat thee till thou +art not in condition to go. + +_Fail_. I vow to gad, this is extreme injustice.--Was it not my +invention? + +_Burr_. Why, dost thou think thou art worthy to make use of thy +own invention?--Speak another word, d'ye see!--Come, help me quickly +to strip Sir Timorous; his coat may conduce to the deceit.--Sir +Timorous, by your leave. [_Fatts on him_. + +_Tim_. O, Lord! what's the matter?--Murder? murder! + +_Burr_. D'ye open? I have something in my pocket that will serve +for a gag, now I think on't. + +[_Gags, and binds him_. + +So, lie there, knight. Come, sir, and help to make me Sir Timorous; +and, when I am married, remember to increase your manners with my +fortune.--Yet we'll always drink together. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + +_Enter_ CONSTANCE, ISABELLA, _and_ NONSUCH. + + +_Const_. This is just the knight's hour; and lovers seldom come +after their time. + +_Non_. Good night, daughter; I'll to bed, and give you joy +to-morrow morning. [_Exit_. + +_Isa_. I'm glad he's gone: What, your train takes? + +_Const_. Yes, yes; Loveby will come: Setstone has been with him +in disguise; and promised him golden mountains, if he will not be +wanting to his own fortune. + +_Isa_. Is your habit provided too? + +_Const_. All is ready. + +_Isa_. Away then; for this is the place where we must part like +knights errant, that take several paths to their adventures. + +_Const_. 'Tis time, for I hear somebody come along the alley; +without question 'tis Timorous. Farewell; the chaplain stays for me in +the chamber. + +_Isa_. And I'll post after you to matrimony; I have laid a fresh +parson at the next stage, that shall carry me tantivy. + +[_Exit_ CONSTANCE. + +_Enter_ BURR _with_ TIMOROUS'S _coat on_. + +_Burr_. My lady Constance! + +_Isa_. The same: Sir Timorous? + +_Burr_. The same. + +_Isa_. Sir Timorous takes me for my cousin. + +[_Aside_. + +_Burr_. My lady Constance mistakes me for the knight. + +[_Aside_. + +_Isa_. Here, sir; through the dark walk: 'tis but a little way +about--He's my own beyond redemption-- + +[_Aside_. + +_Burr_. The Indies are mine; and a handsome lady into the +bargain. + +[_Excunt_. + +_Enter_ FAILER, _dogging them, as they go off_. + +_Fail_. He shall be hanged, ere he shall get her. Thus far I have +dogged them, and this way I am sure they must pass, ere they come to +the house. The rogue had got the old dog-trick of a statesman; to fish +things out of wiser heads than his own, and never so much as to take +notice of him that gave the counsel-- + +_Enter ISABELLA and BURR again_. + +Now, if I can but give her the hint without his knowledge!--Madam--my +lady Constance! + +_Isa_. What voice is that? + +_Fail_. A word in private, or you are undone--Pray step aside. + +_Burr._ Where are you, madam? + +_Isa_. Immediately, Sir Timorous. + +_Fail_. You are mistaken, madam; 'tis not Sir Timorous, but Burr +in his clothes; he has stripped the knight, gagged him, and locked him +up. + +_Isa_. Failer? + +_Fail_. The same. I could not but prevent your unhappiness, +though I hazard my person in the discovery, I vow to gad, madam. + +_Burr_. Who's that talks to you, my lady Constance? + +_Isa_. A maid of my acquaintance, that's come to take her leave +of me before I marry; the poor soul does so pity me. + +_Burr_. How will that maid lie, thinking of you and me to-night! + +_Isa_. Has he the key about him? [_To FAILER_. + +_Fail_. I think so, madam. + +_Isa_. Could not you possibly pick his pocket, and give me the +key? then let me alone to release Sir Timorous; and you shall be +witness of the wedding. + +_Fail_. Egad, you want your cousin Isabella's wit to bring that +to pass, madam. + +_Isa_. I warrant you, my own wit will serve to fool Burr--and you +too, or I am much deceived. [_Aside_. + +_Fail_. I am a little apprehensive of the rascal's fingers, since +I felt them last; and yet my fear has not power to resist the sweet +temptation of revenge; I vow to gad I'll try, madam. + +_Isa_. Never fear; let me alone to keep him busy. + +_Burr_. Come, madam, and let me take off these tasteless kisses +the maid gave you; may we not join lips before we are married? + +_Isa_. No; fie, Sir Timorous. + +[_They struggle a little, and in that time FAILER picks his pocket +of the key_. + +_Fail_. I have it--here it is--now, shift for yourself, as I'll +do; I'll wait you in the alley. + +[_Exit_. + +_Isa_. Sir Timorous, pray go into my chamber, and make no noise +till I return; I'll but fetch the little man of God, and follow you in +a twinkling. + +_Burr_. There's no light, I hope? + +_Isa_. Not a spark. + +_Burr_. For to light me to the mark-- + +[_Exit_. + +_Isa_. What a scowering have I 'scaped to-night! Fortune, 'tis +thou hast been ingenious for me! Allons, Isabella! Courage! now to +deliver my knight from the enchanted castle. + +[_Exit_. + +_Enter LOVEBY, led by SETSTONE, antickly habited; with a torch in +one hand, and a wand in the other_. + +_Lov_. What art thou, that hast led me this long hour through +lanes and alleys, and blind passages? + +_Set_. I am thy genius; and conduct thee to wealth, fame, and +honour; what thou comest to do, do boldly; fear not; with this rod I +charm thee; and neither elf nor goblin now can harm thee. + +_Lov_. Well, march on; if thou art my genius, thou art bound to +be answerable for me; I'll have thee hanged, if I miscarry. + +_Set_. Fear not, my son. + +_Lov_. Fear not, quotha! then, pr'ythee, put on a more familiar +shape:--one of us two stinks extremely: Pr'ythee, do not come so near +me; I do not love to have my face bleached like a tiffany with thy +brimstone. + +_Set_. Fear not, but follow me. + +_Lov_. 'Faith, I have no great mind to't; I am somewhat godly at +present; but stay a month longer, and I'll be proud, and fitter for +thee. In the mean time, pr'ythee, stay thy stomach with some Dutchman; +an Hollander, with butter, will fry rarely in hell. + +_Set_. Mortal, 'tis now too late for a retreat; go on, and live; +step back, and thou art mine. + +_Lorn_. So I am, however, first or last; but for once I'll trust +thee. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +_The scene opens, and discovers CONSTANCE, and a Parson by her; she +habited like Fortune. + +Enter again_. + + +_Set_. Take here the mighty queen of good and ill, Fortune; first +marry, then enjoy thy fill Of lawful pleasures; but depart ere morn; +Slip from her bed, or else thou shalt be torn Piecemeal by fiends; +thy blood caroused in bowls, And thy four quarters blown to the top of +Paul's. + +_Lov_. By your favour, I'll never venture. Is marrying the +business? I'll none, I thank you. + +[_Here CONSTANCE whispers SETSTONE_. + +_Set_. Fortune will turn her back if twice denied. + +_Lav_. Why, she may turn her girdle too on t'other side[A]. This +is the devil; I will not venture on her. + +[Footnote A: A usual expression of indifference for a man's +displeasure.] + +_Set_. Fear not; she swears thou shalt receive no harm. + +_Lov_. Ay, if a man durst trust her; but the devil is got into +such an ill name of lying-- + +_Set_. Whene'er you are not pleased, it shall be lawful to sue +out your divorce. + +_Lov_. Ay, but where shall I get a lawyer? there you are +aforehand with me; you have retained most of them already. For the +favours I have received, I am very much her servant; but, in the way +of matrimony, Mr Parson there can tell you 'tis an ordinance, and must +not be entered into without mature deliberation; besides, marriages, +you know, are made in heaven; and that I am sure this was not. + +_Set_. She bids you then, at least, restore that gold, which she, +too lavishly, poured out on you, unthankful man. + +_Lov_. Faith, I have it not at present; 'tis all gone, as I am a +sinner; but, 'tis gone wickedly; all spent in the devil her father's +service. + +_Set_. Where is the grateful sense of all your favours? Come, +fiends, with flesh-hooks, tear the wretch in pieces, And bear his soul +upon your leather wings, Below the fountain of the dark abyss. + +_Lov_. What, are you a-conjuring? If you are good at that sport, +I can conjure as well as you--[_Draws his sword_. + +_Const_. Hold; for Heaven's sake, hold! I am no spirit; touch but +my hand; ghosts have no flesh and blood. [_Discovering_. + +_Lov_. My lady Constance! I began to suspect it might be a trick, +but never could imagine you the author. It seems you are desirous I +should father this _hans en kelder_ here? + +_Const_. I know not how, without a blush, to tell you, it was a +cheat I practised for your love. + +_Set_. A mere tympany, sir, raised by a cushion; you see 'tis +gone already. + +_Const_. Setstone was sent to have acquainted you; but, by the +way, unfortunately missed you. + +_Lev_. Twas you, then, that supplied me all this while with +money? pretty familiar, I hope to make thee amends ere I sleep +to-night. Come, parson, pr'ythee make haste and join us. I long to be +out of her debt, poor rogue. + +[_The parson takes them to the side of the stage; they turn their +backs to the audience, while he mumbles to them_. + +_Set_. I'll be the clerk; Amen--give you joy, Mr Bridegroom, and +Mrs Bride. + +_Lov. Const_. Thanks, honest Setstone. + +[_BIBBER, FRANCES, and music without--they play_. + +_Music_. God give your worship a good even, Mr Loveby. + +_Const_. Hark! what noise is that! Is this music of your +providing, Setstone? + +_Set_. Alas, madam, I know nothing of it. + +_Lov_. We are betrayed to your father; but the best on't is, he +comes too late to hinder us--fear not, madam, I'll bear you through +them all. + +[_As they rush out, BIBBER, FRANCES, and Music are entering in; +BIBBER and FRANCES are beaten down.--Exeunt LOVEBY; CONSTANCE, +SETSTONE, and Parson_. + +_All cry out_. Oh the devil! the devil! the devil! + +_Bib_. Lord bless us, where are you, Frances! + +_Fran_. Here, William! this is a judgment, as they say, upon +you, William, for trusting wits, and calling gentlemen to the tavern, +William. + +_Bib_. No; 'twas a judgment upon you, for desiring preferment at +court, Frances. Let's call up the watch, and Justice Trice, to have +the house searched. + +_Fran_. Ay, ay; there's more devils there, I warrant you. +[_Exeunt_. + +_Enter LOVEBY, CONSTANCE, and SETSTONE again_. + +_Lov_. It was certainly Will Bibber and his wife, with music; +for, now I remember myself, I 'pointed him this hour at your father's +house: but we frighted them worse than they frighted us. + +_Const_. Our parson ran away too, when they cried out the devil! + +_Lov_. He was the wiser; for if the devil had come indeed, he has +preached so long against him, it would have gone hard with him. + +_Set_. Indeed, I have always observed parsons to be more fearful +of the devil than other people. + +_Lov_. Oh, the devil's the spirit, and the parson's the flesh; +and betwixt those two there must be a war; yet, to do them both right, +I think in my conscience they quarrel only like lawyers for their +fees, and meet good friends in private, to laugh at their clients. + +_Const_. I saw him run in at my cousin Isabella's chamber door, +which was wide open; I believe she's returned: We'll fetch a light +from the gallery, and give her joy. + +_Lov_. Why, is she married, madam? + +_Const_. I'll tell you as we go. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE III. + +_BURR and the Parson enter, meeting in the dark_. + + +_Burr_. My lady Constance, are you come again? That's well; I +have waited sufficiently for you in the dark. + +_Par_. Help, help, help, good Christian people! the devil, the +devil's here. + +_Burr_. 'Tis I, madam; what do you mean? + +_Par_. Avoid, Satan! avoid, avoid. + +_Burr_. What have I here, the hairy woman? + +_Enter LOVEBY, and CONSTANCE with the light_. + +Ha! yonder's my lady Constance! who have I got? a stone priest, by +this good light. How's this, Loveby too! + +_Lov_. Burr a-beating my reverend clergy? What makes you here at +this unseasonable hour? I'll know your business. [_Draws_. + +_Burr_. Will you, sir? [_They fight_. + +_Const. Set. Par_. Help, murder, murder! + +_Enter, at one door, TRICE drunk, with the Watch; BIBBER and FRANCES +following; at the other, NONSUCH and Servants, and FAILER_. + +_Non_. Murder, murder! beat down their weapons. Will you +murder Sir Timorous, Mr Loveby?--[_They disarm both_.] Sir +Timorous?--ha, Burr! Thieves, thieves!--sit down, good Mr Justice, and +take their examinations. Now I shall know how my money went. + +_Trice_. They shall have justice, I warrant them. [_Goes to +sit, and misses the chair_. + +_Bib_. The justice is almost dead drunk, my lord. + +_Fran_. But an't please your worship, my lord, this is not the +worst sight that we have seen here to-night in your worship's house; +we met three or four hugeous ugly devils, with eyes like saucers, that +threw down my husband, that threw down me, that made my heart so panck +ever since, as they say!-- + +_Non_. The devil again in my house? + +_Lov_. Nay, here he was, that's certain; he brought me hither, I +know not how myself, and married me; Mr Setstone there can justify it: +But the best is, I have a charm about me, that will lay him yet ere +midnight. + +_Fail_. And I vow to gad, my lord, I know as little how I came +hither as any man. + +_Burr_. Nor I. + +_Trice_. Nor I. + +_Lot_. No, I dare swear do'st thou not, Mr Justice. + +_Trice_. But I wonder how the devil durst come into our ward, +when he knows I have been at the duties of--my family--this evening. + +_Enter one of the Watch, with_ TIMOROUS _and_ ISABELLA. + +_Watch_. An please your worship, I met this couple in the street +late, and so, seeing them to be a man and woman, I brought them along +with me, upon suspicion of felony together. + +_Fran_. This is the proud minx, that sought shelter in my house +this afternoon, Mr Justice. + +_Fail_. Sir Timorous and Madam Isabella! I vow to gad, we are +undone, Burr.-- + +_Isa_. Do not you know me, Mr Justice? + +_Lov_. Justice is blind, he knows nobody. + +_Isa_. My name is Isabella. + +_Fran_. No, thy name is Jezebella; I warrant you, there's none +but rogues and papists would be abroad at this time of night. + +_Bib_. Hold, Frances.-- + +_Trice_. She's drunk, I warrant her, as any beast. I wonder, +woman, you do not consider what a crying sin drunkenness is: Whom do +you learn it from in our parish? I am sure you never see me worse. + +_Isa_. Burr and Failer, acknowledge yourselves a couple of +recreant knights: Sir Timorous is mine: I have won him in fair field +from you. + +_Const_. Give you joy, cousin, give you joy! + +_Lov_. Married! + +_Isa_. And in Diana's grove, boy. + +_Lov_. Why, 'tis fine, by Heaven; 'tis wondrous fine; as the poet +goes on sweetly. + +_Tim_. I am sure they had gagged me, and bound me, and stripped +me almost stark naked, and locked me up as fast as a butterfly, 'till +she came and made me a man again; and therefore I have reason to love +her the longest day I have to live. + +_Isa_. Ay, and the longest night too, or you are to blame. And +you have one argument I love you, if the proverb be true, for I took +you almost in your bare shirt. + +_Burr_. So much for us, Failer! + +_Const_. Well, my lord, it had as good out at first as at last: +I must beg your lordship's blessing for this gentleman and myself. +[_Both kneel_. + +_Non_. Why, you are not married to him, I hope! he's married to +the devil. + +_Lov_. 'Twas a white devil of your lordship's getting, then; Mr +Setstone and the reverend here can witness it. + +_Set. Par_. We must speak truth, my lord. + +_Non_. Would I had another child for your sake! you should ne'er +see a penny of my money. + +_Lov_. Thank you, my lord; but methinks 'tis much better as it +is. + +_Isa_. Come, nuncle, 'tis in vain to hold out, now 'tis past +remedy: 'Tis like the last act of a play, when people must marry; and +if fathers will not consent then, they should throw oranges at them +from the galleries. Why should you stand off, to keep us from a dance? + +_Non_. But there's one thing still that troubles me; that's her +great belly, and my own too. + +_Const_. Nay, for mine, my lord, 'tis vanished already; 'twas but +a trick to catch the old one. + +_Lov_. But I'll do my best; she shall not be long without +another. + +_Isa_. But as for your great belly, nuncle, I know no way to rid +you on't, but by taking out your guts. + +_Lov_. 'Tis such a pretty smart rascal, 'tis well I am pleased +with my own choice: but I could have got such Hectors, and poets, and +gamesters, out of thee!-- + +_Const_. No, no; two wits could never have lived well together; +want would have so sharpened you upon one another. + +_Isa_. A wit should naturally be joined to a fortune; by the same +reason your vintners feed their hungry wines. + +_Const_. And if Sir Timorous and I had married, we two fortunes +must have built hospitals with our money; we could never have spent it +else. + +_Lov_. Or what think you of paying courtiers' debts with it? + +_Isa_. Well, to shew I am in charity with my enemies, I'll make +a motion: While we are in town, let us hire a large house, and live +together: Burr and Failer-- + +_Fail_. Shall be utterly discarded; I knew 'twould come to that, +I vow to gad. + +_Isa_. Shall be our guests. + +[_BURR and FAILER throw up their caps, and cry, Vive Madam +ISABELLA!_ + +_Lov_. And Bibber shall make our wedding clothes without +trusting. + +_Bib_. No, henceforward I'll trust none but landed men, and such +as have houses and apple-trees in the country, now I have got a place +in the custom-house. + +_Fran_. Nothing vexes me, but that this flirting gentlewoman +should go before me; but I'll to the herald's office, and see whether +the queen's majesty's dresser, should not take place of any knight's +wife in Christendom. + +_Bib_. Now all will out--no more, good Frances. + +_Fran_. I will speak, that I will, so I will: What! shall I be a +dresser to the queen's majesty, and nobody must know on't? I'll +send Mr Church-warden word on't; and, gentlemen, when you come to St +Bride's church (if ever you come to church, gentlemen), you shall see +me in the pew that's next the pulpit; thank Mr Loveby's worship for +it. + +_Lov_. Spare your thanks, good landlady; for the truth is, they +came too late, the place is gone; and so is yours, Will; but you shall +have two hundred pounds for one, if that will satisfy you. + +_Fran_. This is bitter news, as they say. + +_Lov_. Cheer up thy wife, Will. Where are the fiddles? A dance +should do it. + +_Bib_. I'll run and call them. + +_Isa_. I have found out that, will comfort her: Henceforward I +christen her by the name of Madam Bibber. + +_All_. A Madam Bibber, a Madam Bibber! + +_Fran_. Why, I thank you, sweet gentlemen and ladies; this is a +cordial to my drooping spirits: I confess I was a little eclipsed; but +I'll cheer up with abundance of love, as they say. Strike up, fiddles. + +_Lov_. That's a good wench. + +DANCE. + +_Trice_. This music and a little nod has recovered me. I'll in, +and provide for the sack posset. + +_Non_. To bed, to bed; 'tis late. Son Loveby, get me a boy +to-night, and I'll settle three thousand a-year upon him the first day +he calls me grandsire. + +_Lov_. I'll do my best, To make the bargain sure before I sleep. +Where love and money strike, the blow goes deep. + +[_Exeunt omnes_. + + + +EPILOGUE, + +WHEN IT WAS FIRST ACTED. + + +The _Wild Gallant_ has quite played out his game; +He's married now, and that will make him tame; +Or if you think marriage will not reclaim him, +The critics swear they'll damn him, but they'll tame him. +Yet, though our poet's threatened most by these, +They are the only people he can please: +For he, to humour them, has shown to-day, +That which they only like, a wretched play: +But though his play be ill, here have been shown +The greatest wits, and beauties of the town; +And his occasion having brought you here, +You are too grateful to become severe. +There is not any person here so mean, +But he may freely judge each act and scene: +But if you bid him chuse his judges, then, +He boldly names true English gentlemen: +For he ne'er thought a handsome garb or dress +So great a crime, to make their judgment less: +And with these gallants he these ladies joins, +To judge that language, their converse refines. +But if their censures should condemn his play, +Far from disputing, he does only pray +He may Leander's destiny obtain: +Now spare him, drown him when he comes again. + + + +EPILOGUE, + +WHEN REVIVED. + + +Of all dramatic writing, comic wit, +As 'tis the best, so 'tis most, hard to hit. +For it lies all in level to the eye, +Where all may judge, and each defect may spy. +Humour is that, which every day we meet, +And therefore known as every public street; +In which, if e'er the poet go astray, +You all can point, 'twas there he lost his way. +But, what's so common, to make pleasant too, +Is more than any wit can always do. +For 'tis like Turks, with hen and rice to treat; +To make regalios out of common meat. +But, in your diet, you grow savages: +Nothing but human flesh your taste can please; +And, as their feasts with slaughtered slaves began, +So you, at each new play, must have a man. +Hither you come, as to see prizes fought; +If no blood's drawn, you cry, the prize is naught. +But fools grow wary now; and, when they see +A poet eyeing round the company, +Straight each-man for himself begins to doubt; +They shrink like seamen when a press comes out. +Few of them will be found for public use, +Except you charge an oaf upon each house, +Like the train bands, and every man engage +For a sufficient fool, to serve the stage. +And when, with much ado, you get him there, +Where he in all his glory should appear, +Your poets make him such rare things to say, +That he's more wit than any man i' th' play: +But of so ill a mingle with the rest, +As when a parrot's taught to break a jest. +Thus, aiming to be fine, they make a show, +As tawdry squires in country churches do. +Things well considered, 'tis so hard to make +A comedy, which should the knowing take, +That our dull poet, in despair to please, +Does humbly beg, by me, his writ of ease. +'Tis a land-tax, which he's too poor to pay; +You therefore must some other impost lay. +Would you but change, for serious plot and verse, +This motely garniture of fool and farce, +Nor scorn a mode, because 'tis taught at home, +Which does, like vests, our gravity become, +Our poet yields you should this play refuse: +As tradesmen, by the change of fashions, lose, +With some content, their fripperies of France, +In hope it may their staple trade advance. + + + + +THE RIVAL LADIES, + +A TRAGI-COMEDY + + + +THE RIVAL LADIES. + + +This play, like that which preceded it, is a drama of intrigue, +borrowed from the Spanish, and claiming merit only in proportion to +the diversity and ingenuity of the incidents represented. On this +point every reader can decide for himself; and it would be an invidious +task to point out blemishes, where, to own the truth, there are but +few beauties. The ease with which the affections of almost every +female in the drama are engrossed by Gonsalvo, and afterwards +transferred to the lovers, upon whom the winding up of the plot made +it necessary to devolve them, will, it is probable, strike every +reader as unnatural. In truth, when the depraved appetite of the +public requires to be gratified by trick and bustle, instead of nature +and sentiment, authors must sacrifice the probable, as well as the +simple, process of events. + +The author seems principally to have valued himself on this piece, +because it contains some scenes executed in rhyme, in what was then +called the heroic manner. Upon this opinion, which Dryden lived to +retract, I have ventured to offer my sentiments in the Life of the +Author. In other respects, though not slow in perceiving and avouching +his own merit, our author seems to consider the "Rival Ladies" as no +very successful dramatic effort. + +The "Rival Ladies" is supposed to have been first acted in 1663, and +was certainly published in the year following. Of its success we know +nothing particular. It is probable, the flowing verse, into which some +part of the dialogue is thrown, with the strong point and antithesis, +which distinguishes Dryden's works, and particularly his argumentative +poetry, tended to redeem the credit of the author of the "Wild +Gallant." + + + +THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ROGER, EARL OF ORRERY[1]. + +[Footnote 1: This distinguished person was fifth son of Richard Boyle, +known by the title of the great Earl of Cork. His first title was Lord +Broghill, under which he distinguished himself in Ireland. +Cromwell, although his lordship was a noted royalist, and in actual +correspondence with the exiled monarch, had so much confidence in +his honour and talents, that he almost compelled him to act as lord +lieutenant of that kingdom, under the stipulation that he was to come +under no oaths, and only to act against the rebel Irish, then the +common enemy. He was instrumental in the restoration, and created earl +of Orrery by Charles II, in 1660, He deserved Dryden's panegyric in +every respect, except as a poet--the very character, however, in which +he is most complimented, and perhaps was best pleased to be so. He +wrote, 1st, The Art of War--2d, Parthenissa, a romance--3d, Some +Poems--4th; Eight Plays--5th, State Tracts.] + + +My Lord, + +This worthless present was designed you long before it was a play; +when it was only a confused mass of thoughts, tumbling over one +another in the dark; when the fancy was yet in its first work, +moving the sleeping images of things towards the light, there to be +distinguished, and then either chosen or rejected by the judgment; it +was yours, my lord, before I could call it mine. And, I confess, in +that first tumult of my thoughts, there appeared a disorderly kind of +beauty in some of them, which gave me hope, something, worthy my lord +of Orrery, might be drawn from them: But I was then in that eagerness +of imagination, which, by overpleasing fanciful men, flatters them +into the danger of writing; so that, when I had moulded it into that +shape it now bears, I looked with such disgust upon it, that the +censures of our severest critics are charitable to what I thought +(and still think) of it myself: It is so far from me to believe this +perfect, that I am apt to conclude our best plays are scarcely so; for +the stage being the representation of the world, and the actions in +it, how can it be imagined, that the picture of human life can be more +exact than life itself is? He may be allowed sometimes to err, who +undertakes to move so many characters and humours, as are requisite in +a play, in those narrow channels which are proper to each of them; to +conduct his imaginary persons through so many various intrigues and +chances, as the labouring audience shall think them lost under every +billow; and then, at length, to work them so naturally out of their +distresses, that, when the whole plot is laid open, the spectators may +rest satisfied, that every cause was powerful enough to produce the +effect it had; and that the whole chain of them was with such due +order linked together, that the first accident would naturally beget +the second, till they all rendered the conclusion necessary. + +These difficulties, my lord, may reasonably excuse the errors of +my undertaking; but for this confidence of my dedication, I have an +argument, which is too advantageous for me not to publish it to the +world. It is the kindness your lordship has continually shown to all +my writings. You have been pleased, my lord, they should sometimes +cross the Irish seas, to kiss your hands; which passage (contrary +to the experience of others) I have found the least dangerous in the +world. Your favour has shone upon me at a remote distance, without the +least knowledge of my person; and (like the influence of the heavenly +bodies) you have done good, without knowing to whom you did it. It is +this virtue in your lordship, which emboldens me to this attempt; for, +did I not consider you as my patron, I have little reason to desire +you for my judge; and should appear with as much awe before you in the +reading, as I had when the full theatre sat upon the action. For, who +could so severely judge of faults as he, who has given testimony he +commits none? Your excellent poems have afforded that knowledge of it +to the world, that your enemies are ready to upbraid you with it, as +a crime for a man of business to write so well. Neither durst I have +justified your lordship in it, if examples of it had not been in the +world before you; if Xenophon had not written a romance, and a certain +Roman, called Augustus Caesar, a tragedy, and epigrams. But their +writing was the entertainment of their pleasure; yours is only a +diversion of your pain. The muses have seldom employed your thoughts, +but when some violent fit of the gout has snatched you from affairs +of state; and, like the priestess of Apollo, you never come to deliver +his oracles, but unwillingly, and in torment. So that we are obliged +to your lordship's misery for our delight: You treat us with the cruel +pleasure of a Turkish triumph, where those, who cut and wound their +bodies, sing songs of victory as they pass, and divert others with +their own sufferings. Other men endure their diseases; your lordship +only can enjoy them. Plotting and writing in this kind are certainly +more troublesome employments than many which signify more, and are of +greater moment in the world: The fancy, memory, and judgment, are then +extended (like so many limbs) upon the rack; all of them reaching +with their utmost stress at nature; a thing so almost infinite and +boundless, as can never fully be comprehended, but where the images of +all things are always present. Yet I wonder not your lordship succeeds +so well in this attempt; the knowledge of men is your daily practice +in the world; to work and bend their stubborn minds, which go not all +after the same grain, but each of them so particular a way, that +the same common humours, in several persons, must be wrought upon by +several means. Thus, my lord, your sickness is but the imitation of +your health; the poet but subordinate to the statesman in you; you +still govern men with the same address, and manage business with the +same prudence; allowing it here (as in the world) the due increase and +growth, till it comes to the just height; and then turning it when it +is fully ripe, and nature calls out, as it were, to be delivered. +With this only advantage of ease to you in your poetry, that you +have fortune here at your command; with which wisdom does often +unsuccessfully struggle in the world. Here is no chance, which you +have not foreseen; all your heroes are more than your subjects, they +are your creatures; and though they seem to move freely in all the +sallies of their passions, yet you make destinies for them, which +they cannot shun. They are moved (if I may dare to say so) like the +rational creatures of the Almighty Poet, who walk at liberty, in their +own opinion, because their fetters are invisible; when, indeed, the +prison of their will is the more sure for being large; and, instead of +an absolute power over their actions, they have only a wretched desire +of doing that, which they cannot chuse but do[1]. + +[Footnote 1: The earl of Orrery was author of several plays. If the +reader is not disposed to admit, that his habit of composing them, +when tormented by the gout, enhanced their value, it may be allowed to +apologise for their faults.] + +I have dwelt, my lord, thus long upon your writing, not because you +deserve not greater and more noble commendations, but because I am not +equally able to express them in other subjects. Like an ill swimmer, +I have willingly staid long in my own depth; and though I am eager of +performing more, yet am loth to venture out beyond my knowledge: for +beyond your poetry, my lord, all is ocean to me. To speak of you as a +soldier, or a statesman, were only to betray my own ignorance; and I +could hope no better success from it, than that miserable rhetorician +had, who solemnly declaimed before Hannibal, of the conduct of armies, +and the art of war. I can only say, in general, that the souls of +other men shine out at little crannies; they understand some one +thing, perhaps, to admiration, while they are darkened on all the +other parts; but your lordship's soul is an entire globe of light, +breaking out on every side; and, if I have only discovered one beam +of it, it is not that the light falls unequally, but because the body, +which receives it, is of unequal parts. + +The acknowledgment of which is a fair occasion offered me, to retire +from the consideration of your lordship to that of myself. I here +present you, my lord, with that in print, which you had the goodness +not to dislike upon the stage; and account it happy to have met you +here in England; it being, at best, like small wines, to be drunk out +upon the place, and has not body enough to endure the sea. + +I know not whether I have been so careful of the plot and language as +I ought; but, for the latter, I have endeavoured to write English, as +near as I could distinguish it from the tongue of pedants, and that +of affected travellers. Only I am sorry, that (speaking so noble a +language as we do) we have not a more certain measure of it, as they +have in France, where they have an academy erected for that purpose, +and endowed with large privileges by the present king. I wish we might +at length leave to borrow words from other nations, which is now a +wantonness in us, not a necessity; but so long as some affect to speak +them, there will not want others, who will have the boldness to write +them. + +But I fear, lest, defending the received words, I shall be accused for +following the new way, I mean, of writing scenes in verse. Though, to +speak properly, it is not so much a new way amongst us, as an old +way new revived; for, many years before Shakspeare's plays, was the +tragedy of Queen Gorboduc, in English verse, written by that famous +Lord Buckhurst, afterwards earl of Dorset, and progenitor to that +excellent person, who (as he inherits his soul and title) I wish may +inherit his good fortune[1]. But, supposing our countrymen had not +received this writing till of late; shall we oppose ourselves to the +most polished and civilised nations of Europe? Shall we, with the same +singularity, oppose the world in this, as most of us do in pronouncing +Latin? Or do we desire that the brand, which Barclay has (I hope +unjustly) laid upon the English, should still continue? _Angli suos +ac sua omnia impense mirantur; caeteras nationes despectui habent_. +All the Spanish and Italian tragedies, I have yet seen, are writ in +rhyme. For the French, I do not name them, because it is the fate of +our countrymen to admit little of theirs among us, but the basest of +their men, the extravagancies of their fashions, and the frippery of +their merchandise. Shakspeare (who, with some errors not to be avoided +in that age, had undoubtedly a larger soul of poesy than ever any of +our nation) was the first who, to shun the pains of continual rhyming, +invented[A] that kind of writing which we call blank verse, but the +French, more properly, _prose mesure_; into which the English +tongue so naturally slides, that, in writing prose, it is hardly to be +avoided. And therefore, I admire some men should perpetually stumble +in a way so easy, and, inverting the order of their words, constantly +close their lines with verbs, which, though commended sometimes in +writing Latin, yet we were whipt at Westminster if we used it twice +together. I knew some, who, if they were to write in blank verse, +_Sir, I ask your pardon_, would think it sounded more heroically +to write, _Sir, I your pardon ask_. I should judge him to have +little command of English, whom the necessity of a rhyme should force +often upon this rock; though sometimes it cannot easily be avoided; +and indeed this is the only inconvenience with which rhyme can be +charged. This is that which makes them say, rhyme is not natural; it +being only so, when the poet either makes a vicious choice of words, +or places them, for rhyme sake, so unnaturally as no man would in +ordinary speaking; but when it is so judiciously ordered, that the +first word in the verse seems to beget the second, and that the next, +till that becomes the last word in the line, which, in the negligence +of prose, would be so; it must then be granted, rhyme has all the +advantages of prose, besides its own. But the excellence and dignity +of it were never fully known till Mr Waller taught it; he first made +writing easily an art; first shewed us to conclude the sense, most +commonly in distichs, which, in the verse of those before him, runs +on for so many lines together, that the reader is out of breath to +overtake it. This sweetness of Mr Waller's lyric poesy was afterwards +followed in the epic by Sir John Denham, in his Cooper's-Hill, a poem +which, your Lordship knows, for the majesty of the style, is, and +ever will be, the exact standard of good writing. But if we owe the +invention of it to Mr Waller, we are acknowledging for the noblest use +of it to Sir William D'Avenant, who at once brought it upon the stage, +and made it perfect, in the Siege of Rhodes. + +[Footnote 1: The tragedy of Ferrex and Perrex (which is the proper +title) was written by Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, afterwards +earl of Dorset, and Thomas Norton, a barrister at law. In Sackville's +part of the play, which comprehends the two last acts, there is some +poetry worthy of the author of the sublime Introduction to the Mirror +of Magistrates. While both the authors were out of England, one +William Griffiths published a spurious copy, under the title of +Gorboduc, the name of one of the principal personages, who is not, +however, _queen_, but _king_, of England, But, what was a +wider mistake, considering Dryden's purpose of mentioning the work, it +is not written in rhyme, but in blank verse, excepting the choruses, +which are in stanzas of six lines. The name of the queen is Videna. +Sir Philip Sydney says, "Gorboduc is full of stately speeches and well +sounding phrases, climbing up to the height of Seneca his style, and +as full of notable morality, which it doth most delightfully teach, +and thereby obtain the very end of poetry."] + +[Footnote A: This is a mistake. Marlow, and several other dramatic +authors, used blank verse before the days of Shakspeare.] + +The advantages which rhyme has over blank verse are so many, that +it were lost time to name them. Sir Philip Sidney, in his Defence +of Poesy, gives us one, which, in my opinion, is not the least +considerable; I mean the help it brings to memory, which rhyme so +knits up, by the affinity of sounds, that, by remembering the last +word in one line, we often call to mind both the verses. Then, in the +quickness of repartees (which in discoursive scenes fall very often), +it has so particular a grace, and is so aptly suited to them, that the +sudden smartness of the answer, and the sweetness of the rhyme, set +off the beauty of each other. But that benefit which I consider most +in it, because I have not seldom found it, is, that it bounds and +circumscribes the fancy. For imagination in a poet is a faculty so +wild and lawless, that, like an high-ranging spaniel, it must have +clogs tied to it, lest it out-run the judgment. The great easiness of +blank verse renders the poet too luxuriant; he is tempted to say many +things, which might better be omitted, or at least shut up in fewer +words; but when the difficulty of artful rhyming is interposed, where +the poet commonly confines his sense to his couplet, and must contrive +that sense into such words, that the rhyme shall naturally follow +them, not they the rhyme; the fancy then gives leisure to the judgment +to come in, which, seeing so heavy a tax imposed, is ready to cut off +all unnecessary expences. This last consideration has already answered +an objection which some have made, that rhyme is only an embroidery of +sense, to make that, which is ordinary in itself, pass for excellent +with less examination. But certainly, that, which most regulates the +fancy, and gives the judgment its busiest employment, is like to bring +forth the richest and clearest thoughts. The poet examines that most, +which he produceth with the greatest leisure, and which, he knows, +must pass the severest test of the audience, because they are aptest +to have it ever in their memory; as the stomach makes the best +concoction, when it strictly embraces the nourishment, and takes +account of every little particle as it passes through. But, as the +best medicines may lose their virtue, by being ill applied, so is it +with verse, if a fit subject be not chosen for it. Neither must the +argument alone, but the characters and persons, be great and +noble; otherwise, (as Scaliger says of Claudian) the poet will +be _ignobitiore materia depressus_. The scenes, which, in my +opinion, most commend it, are those of argumentation and discourse, on +the result of which the doing or not doing some considerable action +should depend. + +But, my lord, though I have more to say upon this subject, yet I must +remember, it is your lordship to whom I speak; who have much better +commended this way by your writing in it, than I can do by writing for +it. Where my reasons cannot prevail, I am sure your lordship's example +must. Your rhetoric has gained my cause; at least the greatest part of +my design has already succeeded to my wish, which was to interest so +noble a person in the quarrel, and withal to testify to the world how +happy I esteem myself in the honour of being, + +MY LORD, + +Your Lordship's most humble, +and most obedient servant, +JOHN DRYDEN. + + + +PROLOGUE + +'Tis much desired, you judges of the town +Would pass a vote to put all prologues down; +For who can show me, since they first were writ, +They e'er converted one hard-hearted wit? +Yet the world's mended well; in former days +Good prologues were as scarce as now good plays. +For the reforming poets of our age, +In this first charge, spend their poetic rage: +Expect no more when once the prologue's done; +The wit is ended ere the play's begun. +You now have habits, dances, scenes, and rhymes; +High language often; ay, and sense, sometimes. +As for a clear contrivance, doubt it not; +They blow out candles to give light to th' plot. +And for surprise, two bloody-minded men +Fight till they die, then rise and dance again. +Such deep intrigues you're welcome to this day: +But blame yourselves, not him who writ the play; +Though his plot's dull, as can be well desired, +Wit stiff as any you have e'er admired: +He's bound to please, not to write well; and knows, +There is a mode in plays as well as clothes; +Therefore, kind judges-- + + +_Second Prologue enters_. + +2.--Hold; would you admit +For judges all you see within the pit? + +1. Whom would he then except, or on what score? + +2. All, who (like him) have writ ill plays before; +For they, like thieves condemned, are hangmen made, +To execute the members of their trade. +All that are writing now he would disown, +But then he must except--even all the town; +All cholerick, losing gamesters, who, in spite, +Will damn to day, because they lost last night; +All servants, whom their mistress' scorn upbraids; +All maudlin lovers, and all slighted maids; +All, who are out of humour, or severe; +All, that want wit, or hope to find it here. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + +DON GONSALVO DE PERALTA, _a young gentleman newly arrived from the +Indies, in love with_ JULIA. +DON RODORIGO DE SYLVA, _in love with the same lady_. +DON MANUEL DE TORRES, _brother to_ JULIA. + +JULIA, _elder sister to_ DON MANUEL, _promised to_ RODORIGO. +HONORIA, _younger sister to_ DON MANUEL, _disguised in the +habit of a man, and going by the name of_ HIPPOLITO, _in love +with_ GONSALVO. +ANGELINA, _sister to_ DON RODORIGO, _in man's habit, likewise +in love with_ GONSALVO, _and going by the name of_ AMIDEO. + +_Servants, Robbers, Seamen, and Masquers_. + + +SCENE--_Alicant_. + + + +THE RIVAL LADIES. + +ACT I. + +SCENE I--_A Wood_. + +_Enter_ GONSALVO _and a Servant_. + + +_Gon_. Nay, 'twas a strange as well as cruel storm, +To take us almost in the port of Sevile, +And drive us up as far as Barcelona; +The whole plate fleet was scattered, some part wrecked; +There one might see the sailors diligent +To cast o'erboard the merchant's envied wealth, +While he, all pale and dying, stood in doubt, +Whether to ease the burden of the ship, +By drowning of his ingots, or himself. + +_Serv_. Fortune, sir, is a woman everywhere, +But most upon the sea. + +_Gons_. Had that been all, +I should not have complained; but, ere we could +Repair our ship, to drive us back again, +Was such a cruelty-- + +_Serv_. Yet that short time you staid at Barcelona +You husbanded so well, I think you left +A mistress there. + +_Gons_. I made some small essays +Of love; what might have been I cannot tell: +But, to leave that, upon what part of Spain +Are we now cast? + +_Serv_. Sir, I take that city to be Alicant. + +_Gons_. Some days must of necessity be spent +In looking to our ship; then back again +For Sevile. + +_Serv_. There you're sure you shall be welcome. + +_Gons_. Aye, if my brother Rodoric be returned +From Flanders; but 'tis now three years since I +Have heard from him, and, since I saw him, twelve. + +_Serv_. Your growth, and your long absence in the Indies, +Have altered you so much, he'll scarcely know you. + +_Gons_. I'm sure I should not him, and less my sister; +Who, when I with my uncle went this voyage, +Was then one of those little prating girls, +Of whom fond parents tell such tedious stories: +Well, go you back. + +_Serv_. I go, sir. + +_Gons_. And take care +None of the seamen slip ashore. + +_Serv_. I shall, sir. [_Exit Servant_. + +_Gons_. I'll walk a little while among these trees, +Now the fresh evening air blows from the hills, +And breathes the sweetness of the orange flowers +Upon me, from the gardens hear the city. + +_Robbers within_. + +_1 Rob_. I say, make sure, and kill him. + +_Hip_. For heaven's dear sake have pity on my youth. + +[_Within_. + +_Gons_. Some violence is offered in the wood +By robbers to a traveller: Whoe'er +Thou art, humanity obliges me +To give thee succour. + +_Hip_. Help! ah cruel men! [_Within_. + +_Gons_. This way, I think, the voice came; 'tis not far. [_Exit_. + +_The_ SCENE _draws, and discovers_ HIPPOLITO _bound to a +tree, and two Robbers by him with drawn swords_. + +_2 Rob_. Strip him, and let him go. + +_1 Rob_. Dispatch him quite; off with his doublet quickly. + +_Hip_. Ah me, unfortunate! + +_Enter_ GONSALVO, _seizes the sword of one of them, and runs +him through; then, after a little resistance, disarms the other_. + +_2 Rob_. If you have mercy in you, spare my life; +I never was consenting to a deed +So black as murder, though my fellow urged me: +I only meant to rob, and I am punished +Enough, in missing of my wicked aim. + +_Gons_. Do they rob angels here? This sweet youth has +A face so like one, which I lately saw, +It makes your crime of kin to sacrilege: +But live; and henceforth +Take nobler courses to maintain your life: +Here's something that will rescue you from want, +'Till you can find employment. +[_Gives him gold, and unbinds_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Hip_. What strange adventure's this! How little hoped I, +When thus disguised I stole from Barcelona, +To be relieved by brave Gonsalvo here? [_Aside_. + +_2 Rob_. That life, you have preserved, shall still be yours; +And that you may perceive, how much my nature +Is wrought upon by this your generous act, +That goodness, you have shown to me, I'll use +To others for your sake, if you dare trust me +A moment from your sight. + +_Gons_. Nay, take your sword; +I will not so much crush a budding virtue, +As to suspect. [_Gives him his sword. Exit Robber_. +--Sweet youth, you shall not leave me, +Till I have seen you safe. + +_Hip_. You need not doubt it: +Alas! I find I cannot, if I would: +I am but freed to be a greater slave: [_Aside_. +How much am I obliged, sir, to your valour! + +_Gons_. Rather to your own sweetness, pretty youth; +You must have been some way preserved, though I +Had not been near; my aid did but prevent +Some miracle more slowly setting out +To save such excellence. + +_Hip_. How much more gladly could I hear those words, +If he, that spoke them, knew he spoke to me! [_Aside_. + +_Enter the Robber again with Don_ MANUEL, _and_ +JULIA, _bound_. + +My brother and my sister prisoners too! +They cannot sure discover me through this +Disguise; however, I'll not venture it. + [_Steps behind the trees_. + +_2 Rob_. This gentleman and lady + [_To_ GONS. _privately_. +My fellows bound. [_Exit Robber_. + +_Man_. We must prepare to die; +This is the captain of the Picarons. + +_Jul_. Methinks he looks like one; I have a strange +Aversion to that man; he's fatal to me. + +_Gons_. I ne'er saw excellence in womankind + [_Stares on her_. +Till now, and yet discern it at the first: +Perfection is discovered in a moment; +He, that ne'er saw the sun before, yet knows him. + +_Jul_. How the villain stares upon me! + +_Gons_. Wonder prepares my soul, and then love enters: +But wonder is so close pursued by love, +That, like a fire, it warms as soon as born. + +_Man_. If we must die, what need these circumstances? + +_Jul_. Heaven defend me from him! + +_Gons_. Why, madam, can you doubt a rudeness from me? +Your very fears and griefs create an awe, +Such majesty they bear; methinks, I see +Your soul retired within her inmost chamber. +Like a fair mourner sit in state, with all +The silent pomp of sorrow round about her. + +_Man_. Your language does express a man, bred up +To worthier ways than those you follow now. + +_Gons_. What does he mean? [_Aside_. + +_Man_. If (as it seems) you love; love is a passion, +Which kindles honour into noble acts: +Restore my sister's liberty; oblige her, +And see what gratitude will work. + +_Gons_. All this is stranger yet. + +_Man_. Whate'er a brother's power +To-morrow can do for you, claim it boldly. + +_Gons_. I know not why you think yourselves my prisoners; +This lady's freedom is a thing too precious +To be disposed by any but herself: +But value this small service as you please, +Which you reward too prodigally, by +Permitting me to pay her more. + +_Jul_. Love from an outlaw? from a villain, love? +If I have that power on thee, thou pretend'st, +Go and pursue thy mischiefs, but presume not +To follow me:--Come, brother. [_Ex_. Jul. _and_ Man. + +_Gons_. Those foul names of outlaw and of villain +I never did deserve: They raise my wonder. [_Walks_. +Dull that I was, not to find this before! +She took me for the captain of the robbers; +It must be so; I'll tell her her mistake. + +[_Goes out hastily, and returns immediately_. + +She's gone, she's gone, and who or whence she is +I cannot tell; methinks, she should have left +A track so bright, I might have followed her; +Like setting suns, that vanish in a glory. +O villain that I am! O hated villain! + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO _again_. + +_Hip_. I cannot suffer you to wrong yourself +So much; for, though I do not know your person, +Your actions are too fair, too noble, sir, +To merit that foul name. + +_Gons_. Pr'ythee, do not flatter me; I am a villain; +That admirable lady said I was. + +_Hip_. I fear, you love her, sir. + +_Gons_. No, no, not love her: +Love is the name of some more gentle passion; +Mine is a fury, grown up in a moment +To an extremity, and lasting in it; +An heap of powder set on fire, and burning +As long as any ordinary fuel. + +_Hip_. How could he love so soon? and yet, alas! +What cause have I to ask that question, +Who loved him the first minute that I saw him? +I cannot leave him thus, though I perceive +His heart engaged another way. [_Aside_. + +Sir, can you have such pity on my youth, [To Him. +On my forsaken and my helpless youth, +To take me to your service? + +_Gons_. Would'st thou serve +A madman? how can he take care of thee, +Whom fortune and his reason have abandoned? +A man, that saw, and loved, and disobliged, +Is banished, and is mad, all in a moment. + +_Hip_. Yet you alone have title to my service; +You make me yours by your preserving me: +And that's the title heaven has to mankind. + +_Gons_. Pr'ythee, no more. + +_Hip_. I know your mistress too. + +_Gons_. Ha! dost thou know the person I adore? +Answer me quickly; speak, and I'll receive thee: +Hast thou no tongue? + +_Hip_. Why did I say I knew her? +All I can hope for, if I have my wish +To live with him, is but to be unhappy. [Aside. + +_Gons_. Thou false and lying boy, to say thou knew'st +her; +Pr'ythee, say something, though thou cozen'st me. + +_Hip_. Since you will know, her name is Julia, sir, +And that young gentleman you saw, her brother, +Don Manuel de Torres. + +_Gons_. Say I should take thee, boy, and should +employ thee +To that fair lady, would'st thou serve me faithfully? + +_Hip_. You ask me an hard question: I can die +For you; perhaps I cannot woo so well. + +_Gons_. I knew thou would'st not do't. + +_Hip_. I swear I would: +But, sir, I grieve to be the messenger +Of more unhappy news; she must be married +This day to one Don Roderick de Sylva, +Betwixt whom and her brother there has been. +A long (and it was thought a mortal) quarrel, +But now it must for ever end in peace: +For, happening both to love each others sisters, +They have concluded it in a cross marriage; +Which, in the palace of Don Rodorick, +They went to celebrate from their countryhouse, +When, taken by the thieves, you rescued them. + +_Gons_. Methinks I am grown patient on a sudden, +And all my rage is gone: like losing gamesters, +Who fret and storm, and swear at little losses; +But, when they see all hope of fortune vanished, +Submit, and gain a temper by their ruin. + +_Hip_. Would you could cast this love, which troubles you, +Out of your mind! + +_Gons_. I cannot, boy; but since +Her brother, with intent to cozen me, +Made me the promise of his best assistance, +I'll take some course to be revenged of him. + +[_Is going out_. + +But stay--I charge thee, boy, discover not +To any, who I am. + +_Hip_. Alas, I cannot, sir; I know you not. + +_Gons_. Why, there's it; I am mad again; Oh love! + +_Hip_. Oh love! [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter two Servants of Don_ RODORICK'S, _placing +chairs, and talking as they place them_. + + +_1 Serv_. Make ready quickly there; Don Manuel +And his fair sister, that must be our lady, +Are coming in. + +_2 Serv_. They have been long expected; +'Tis evening now, and the canonic hours +For marriage are past. + +_1 Serv_. The nearer bedtime, +The better still; my lord will not defer it: +He swears, the clergy are no fit judges +Of our necessities. + +_2 Serv_. Where is my lord? + +_1 Serv_. Gone out to meet his bride. + +_2 Serv_. I wonder that my lady Angelina +Went not with him; she's to be married too. + +_1 Serv_. I do not think she fancies much the man: +Only, to make the reconcilement perfect +Betwixt the families, she's passive in it; +The choice being but her brother's, not her own. + +_2 Serv_. Troth, were't my case, I cared not who +chose for me. + +_1 Serv_. Nor I; 'twould save the process of a tedious +passion, +A long law-suit of love, which quite consumes +An honest lover, ere he gets possession: +I would come plump, and fresh, and all my self, +Served up to my bride's bed like a fat fowl, +Before the frost of love had nipped me through. +I look on wives as on good dull companions, +For elder brothers to sleep out their time with; +All, we can hope for in the marriage-bed, +Is but to take our rest; and what care I, +Who lays my pillow for me? + +_Enter a Poet with verses_. + +_1 Serv_. Now, what's your business, friend? + +_Poet_. An epithalamium, to the noble bridegrooms. + +_1 Serv_. Let me see; what's here? as I live, + [_Takes it_. +Nothing but downright bawdry: Sirrah, rascal, +Is this an age for ribaldry in verse; +When every gentleman in town speaks it +With so much better grace, than thou canst write it? +I'll beat thee with a stave of thy own rhymes. + +_Poet_. Nay, good sir--[_Runs off, and Exit_. + +_2 Serv_. Peace, they are here. + +[_Enter_ Don RODORICK, _Don_ MANUEL, JULIA, _and Company_. + +_1 Serv_. My lord looks sullenly, and fain would +hide it. + +_2 Serv_. Howe'er he weds Don Manuel's sister, yet +I fear he's hardly reconciled to him. + +_Jul_. I tremble at it still. + +_Rod_. I must confess +Your danger great; but, madam, since 'tis past, +To speak of it were to renew your fears. +My noble brother, welcome to my breast. +Some, call my sister; say, Don Manuel, +Her bridegroom, waits. + +_Man_. Tell her, in both the houses +There now remains no enemy but she. + +_Rod_. In the mean time let's dance; madam, I +hope You'll grace me with your hand.-- + +[_Enter_ LEONORA, _woman to_ ANGELINA; _takes the two men aside_. + +_Leon_. O sir, my lady Angelina-- + +_Rod_. Why comes she not? + +_Leon_. Is fallen extremely sick. + +_Both_. How? + +_Leon_. Nay, trouble not yourselves too much; +These fits are usual with her, and not dangerous. + +_Rod_. O rarely counterfeited. + [_Aside_. + +_Man_. May not I see her? + +_Leon_. She does, by me, deny herself that honour. + [_As she speaks, steals a note into his hand_. +I shall return, I hope, with better news; +In the mean time she prays, you'll not disturb +The company. + [_Exit _LEONORA. + +_Rod_. This troubles me exceedingly. + +_Man_. A note put privately into my hand +By Angelina's woman? She's my creature: +There's something in't; I'll read it to myself.-- +[_Aside_. + +_Rod_. Brother, what paper's that? + +_Man_. Some begging verses, +Delivered me this morning on my wedding. + +_Rod_. Pray, let me see them. + +_Man_. I have many copies, +Please you to entertain yourself with these. +[_Gives him another paper_. MANUEL _reads_. + +SIR, +_My lady feigns this sickness to delude you: +Her brother hates you still; and the plot is, +That he shall marry first your sister, +And then deny you his_.-- + +_Yours_, LEONORA. + +POSTSCRIPT. + +_Since I writ this, I have so wrought upon her, +(Who, of herself, is timorous enough) +That she believes her brother will betray her, +Or else be forced to give her up to you; +Therefore, unknown to him, she means to fly: +Come to the garden door at seven this evening, +And there you may surprise her; mean time, I +Will keep her ignorant of all things, that +Her fear may still increase_. + +_Enter_ LEONORA _again_. + +_Rod_. How now? How does your lady? + +_Leon_. So ill, she cannot possibly wait on you. + +_Man_. Kind heaven, give me her sickness! + +_Rod_. Those are wishes: +What's to be done? + +_Man_. We must defer our marriages. + +_Rod_. Leonora, now! [_Aside to her_ + +_Leon_. My lady, sir, has absolutely charged, +Her brother's should go forward. + +_Rod_. Absolutely! + +_Leon_. Expressly, sir; because, she says, there are +So many honourable persons here, +Whom to defraud of their intended mirth, +And of each others company, were rude: +So, hoping your excuse--[_Exit_ LEONORA. + +_Rod_. That privilege of power, which brothers have +In Spain, I never used, therefore submit +My will to hers; but with much sorrow, sir, +My happiness should go before, not wait +On yours: Lead on. + +_Man_. Stay, sir; though your fair sister, in respect +To this assembly, seems to be content +Your marriage should proceed, we must not want +So much good manners as to suffer it. + +_Rod_. So much good manners, brother? + +_Man_.--I have said it. +Should we, to show our sorrow for her sickness, +Provoke our easy souls to careless mirth, +As if our drunken revels were designed +For joy of what she suffers? + +_Rod_. 'Twill be over +In a few days. + +_Man_. Your stay will be the less. + +_Rod_. All things are now in readiness, and must not +Be put off, for a peevish humour thus. + +_Man_. They must; or I shall think you mean not fairly. + +_Rod_. Explain yourself. + +_Man_. That you would marry first, +And afterwards refuse me Angelina. + +_Rod_.--Think so. + +_Man_. You are-- + +_Rod_. Speak softly. + +_Man_. A foul villain. + +_Rod_. Then-- + +_Man_. Speak softly. + +_Rod_. I'll find a time to tell you, you are one. + +_Man_. 'Tis well. +Ladies, you wonder at our private whispers, + [_To the company_. +But more will wonder when you know the cause; +The beauteous Angelina is fallen ill; +And, since she cannot with her presence grace +This day's solemnity, the noble Roderick +Thinks fit it be deferred, 'till she recover; +Then, we both hope to have your companies. + +_Lad_. Wishing her health, we take our leaves. + [_Exeunt company_. +_Rod_. Your sister yet will marry me. + +_Man_. She will not: Come hither, Julia. + +_Jul_. What strange afflicting news is this you tell us? + +_Man_. 'Twas all this false man's plot, that when he had +Possest you, he might cheat me of his sister. + +_Jul_. Is this true, Roderick?--Alas, his silence +Does but too much confess it: How I blush +To own that love, I cannot yet take from thee! +Yet for my sake be friends. + +_Man_. 'Tis now too late: +I am by honour hindered. + +_Rod_. I by hate. + +_Jul_. What shall I do? + +_Man_. Leave him, and come away; +Thy virtue bids thee. + +_Jul_. But love bids me stay. + +_Man_. Her love's so like my own, that I should blame +The brother's passion in the sister's flame. +Rodorick, we shall meet.--He little thinks +I am as sure this night of Angelina, +As he of Julia. [_Aside. Exit_ MANUEL. + +_Rod_. Madam, to what an ecstasy of joy +Your goodness raises me! this was an act +Of kindness, which no service e'er can pay. + +_Jul_. Yes, Rodorick, 'tis in your power to quit +The debt you owe me. + +_Rod_. Do but name the way. + +_Jul_. Then briefly thus; 'tis to be just to me, +As I have been to you. + +_Rod_. You cannot doubt it. + +_Jul_. You know I have adventured, for your sake, +A brother's anger, and the world's opinion: +I value neither; for a settled virtue +Makes itself judge, and, satisfied within, +Smiles at that common enemy, the world. +I am no more afraid of flying censures, +Than heaven of being fired with mounting sparkles. + +_Rod_. But wherein must my gratitude consist? + +_Jul_. Answer yourself, by thinking what is fit +For me to do. + +_Rod_. By marriage, to confirm +Our mutual love. + +_Jul_. Ungrateful Rodorick! +Canst thou name marriage, while thou entertain'st +A hatred so unjust against my brother? + +_Rod_. But, unkind Julia, you know the causes +Of love and hate are hid deep in our stars, +And none but heaven can give account of both. + +_Jul_. Too well I know it: for my love to thee +Is born by inclination, not by judgment; +And makes my virtue shrink within my heart, +As loth to leave it, and as loth to mingle. + +_Rod_. What would you have me do? + +_Jul_. Since I must tell thee, +Lead me to some near monastery; there +(Till heaven find out some way to make us happy) +I shall be kept in safety from my brother. + +_Rod_. But more from me; what hopes can Rodorick +have, +That she, who leaves him freely, and unforced, +Should ever of her own accord return? + +_Jul_. Thou hast too great assurance of my faith, +That, in despite of my own self, I love thee. +Be friends with Manuel, I am thine; 'till when +My honour's. Lead me. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE III.--_The representation of a Street discovered +by twilight_. + +_Enter Don_ MANUEL, _solus_. + + +_Man_. This is the time and place, where I expect +My fugitive mistress; if I meet with her, +I may forget the wrongs, her brother did me; +If otherwise, his blood shall expiate them. +I hope her woman keeps her ignorant +How all things passed, according to her promise. + +_A door opens,--Enter_ ANGELINA _in boy's clothes_. +LEONORA _behind at the door_. + +_Leon_. I had forgot to tell him of this habit +She has put on; but sure he'll know her in it. + +[_Aside_. + +_Man_. Who goes there? + +_Ang_. 'Tis Don Manuel's voice; I must run back: +The door shut on me?--Leonora! where?--Does +she not follow me? I am betrayed. + +_Man_. What are you? + +_Ang_. A poor boy. + +_Man_. Do you belong to Rodorick? + +_Ang_. Yes, I do. + +_Man_. Here's money for you; tell me where's his +sister? + +_Ang_. Just now I met her coming down the stairs, +Which lead into the garden. + +_Man_. 'Tis well; leave me +In silence. + +_Ang_. With all my heart; was ever such a 'scape? +[_Exit running_. + +_Man_. She cannot now be long; sure by the moons shine +I shall discover her: + +_Enter_ RODORICK _and_ JULIA. + +This must be she; I'll seize her. + +_Jul_. Help me, Roderick. + +_Rod_. Unhand the lady, villain. + +_Man_. Roderick! +I'm glad we meet alone; now is the time +To end our difference. + +_Rod_. I cannot stay. + +_Man_. You must. + +_Rod_. I will not. + +_Man_. 'Tis base to injure any man; but yet +Tis far more base, once done, not to defend it. + +_Rod_. Is this an hour, for valiant men to fight? +They love the sun should witness what they do; +Cowards have courage, when they see not death; +And fearful hares, that sculk in forms all day, +Yet fight their feeble quarrels by the moonlight. + +_Man_. No; light and darkness are but poor distinctions +Of such, whose courage comes by fits and starts. + +_Rod_. Thou urgest me above my patience; +This minute of my life was not my own, +But hers, I love beyond it. [_They draw, and fight_. + +_Jul_. Help, help! none hear me! +Heaven, I think, is deaf too: +O Roderick! O brother! + +_Enter_ GONSALVO, _and_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Jul_. Whoe'er you are, if you have honour, part +them! [MANUEL _stumbles, and falls_. + +_Gons_. Hold, sir, you are too cruel; he, that kills +At such advantage, fears to fight again. + +[_Holds_ RODORICK. + +_Man_. Cavalier, I may live to thank you for this +favour. [_Rises_. + +_Rod_. I will not quit you so. + +_Man_. I'll breathe, and then-- + +_Jul_. Is there no way to save their lives? + +_Hip_. Run out of sight, +If 'tis concerning you they quarrel. + +[JULIA _retires to a corner_. + +_Hip_. Help, help, as you are cavaliers; the lady. +For whom you thus contend, is seized by some +Night-robbing villains. + +_All_. Which way took they? + +_Hip_. 'Twas so dark I could not see distinctly. + +_Rod_. Let us divide; I this way. [_Exit_. + +_Gons_. Down yonder street I'll take. + +_Man_. And I down that. [_Exeunt severally_. + +_Hip_. Now, madam, may we not lay by our fear? +They are all gone. + +_Jul_. Tis true; but we are here, +Exposed to darkness, without guide or aid, +But of ourselves. + +_Hip_. And of ourselves afraid. + +_Jul_. These dangers, while 'twas light, I could +despise; +Then I was bold, but watched by many eyes: +Ah! could not heaven for lovers find a way, +That prying people still might sleep by day? + +_Enter_ ANGELINA. + +_Hip_. Methinks I'm certain I discover some. + +_Jul_. This was your speaking of them, made them +come. + +_Hip_. There is but one, perhaps he may go by. + +_Ang_. Where had I courage for this bold disguise, +Which more my nature than my sex belies? +Alas! I am betrayed to darkness here; +Darkness, which virtue hates, and maids most fear: +Silence and solitude dwell every where: +Dogs cease to bark; the waves more faintly roar, +And roll themselves asleep upon the shore: +No noise but what my footsteps make, and they +Sound dreadfully, and louder than by day: +They double too, and every step I take +Sounds thick, methinks, and more than one could +make. +Ha! who are these? +I wished for company, and now I fear. +Who are you, gentle people, that go there? + +_Jul_. His voice is soft as is the upper air, +Or dying lovers' words: O pity us. +Ang. O pity me! take freely as your own +My gold, my jewels; spare my life alone. + +_Hip_. Alas, he fears as much as we. + +_Jul_. What say you, +Sir, will you join with us? + +_Ang_. Yes, madam; but +If you would take my sword, you'll use it better. + +_Hip_. Ay, but you are a man. + +_Ang_. Why, so are you. + +_Hip_. Truly my fear had made me quite forget it. + +_Enter GONSALVO_. + +_Gons_. Hippolito! how barbarous was I +To leave my boy! Hippolito! + +_Hip. _Here, here. +Now, madam, fear not, you are safe. + +_Jul_. What is become, sir, of those gentlemen? + +_Gons_. Madam, they all went several ways; not like +To meet. + +_Jul_. What will become of me? + +_Gons_. Tis late, +And I a stranger in the town; yet all +Your dangers shall be mine. + +_Jul_. You're noble, sir. + +_Gons_. I'll pawn the hopes of all my love, to see +You safe. + +_Jul_. Whoe'er your mistress be, she has +My curses, if she prove not kind. + +_Ang_. And mine. + +_Hip_. My sister will repent her, when she knows +For whom she makes that wish; but I'll say nothing, +Till day discovers it. [_Aside_.] A door opens; +I hope it is some inn. + +[_A door opens, at which a Servant appears_. + +_Ang_. Friend, can you lodge us here? + +_Serv_. Yes, friend, we can. + +_Jul_. How shall we be disposed? + +_Serv_. As nature would; +The gentleman and you: I have a rule, +That, when a man and woman ask for lodging, +They are ever husband and wife. + +_Jul_. Rude and unmannered! + +_Gons_. Sir, this lady must be lodged apart. + +_Serv_. Then the two boys, that are good for nothing +But one another, they shall go together. + +_Ang_. Lie with a man! sweet heaven defend me! + +_Hip_. Alas, friend, I ever lie alone. + +_Serv_. Then to save trouble, sir, because 'tis late, +One of the youths shall be disposed with you. + +_Ang_. Who, I! not for the world. + +_Hip_. Neither of us; for, though I would not lodge with you +Myself, I never can endure he should. + +_Ang_. Why then, to end the difference, if you please. +I and that lady will be bed-fellows. + +_Hip_. No, she and I will lodge together rather. + +_Serv_. You are sweet youths indeed; not for the world +You would not lodge with men! none but the lady +Would serve your turn. + +_Aug_. Alas, I had forgot I am a boy; +I am so lately one. [_Aside_. + +_Serv_. Well, well; all shall be lodged apart. + +_Gons_. to Hip. I did not think you harboured wanton +thoughts; +So young, so bad? + +_Hip_. I can make no defence, +But must be shamed by my own innocence. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I.--_A Chamber_. + +[_Enter_ GONSALVO, HIPPOLITO, _and_ ANGELINA _as_ AMIDEO _at a +distance_. + + +_Gon_. Hippolito, what is this pretty youth, +That follows us? + +_Hip_. I know not much of him: +Handsome you see, and of graceful fashion; +Of noble blood, he says, and I believe him; +But in some deep distress; he'll tell no more, +And I could cry for that, which he has told. +So much I pity him. + +_Gon_. My pretty youth, +Would I could do thee any service. + +_Ang_. Sir, +The greatest you can do me, is accepting mine. + +_Hip_. How's this? methinks already I begin +To hate this boy, whom but even now I moaned, +You serve my master? Do you think I cannot +Perform all duties of a servant better, +And with more care, than you? + +_Ang_. Better you may, +But never with more care: +Heaven, which is served with angels, yet admits +Poor man to pay his duty, and receives it. + +_Hip_. Mark but, my lord, how ill behaved a youth, +How very ugly, what a dwarf he is. + +_Ang_. My lord, I yet am young enough to grow, +And 'tis the commendation of a boy, +That he is little. [_Cries_. + +_Gons_. Pr'ythee, do not cry; +Hippolito, 'twas but just now you praised him, +And are you changed so soon? + +_Hip_. On better view. + +_Gons_. What is your name, sweet heart? + +_Hip_. Sweet heart! since I +Have served you, you ne'er called me so. + +_Ang_. O, ever, +Ever call me by that kind name; I'll own +No other, because I would still have that. + +_Hip_. He told me, sir, his name was Amideo; +Pray, call him by't. + +_Gons_. Come, I'll employ you both; +Reach me my belt, and help to put it on. + +_Amid_. I run, my lord. + +_Hip_. You run? it is my office. + +[_They both take it up, and strive for it;_ +HIPPOLITO _gets it, and puts it on_. + +_Amid_. Look you, my lord, he puts it on so aukwardly; +[_Crying_. +The sword does not sit right. + +_Hip_. Why, where's the fault? + +_Amid_. I know not that; but I am sure 'tis wrong. + +_Gons_.The fault is plain, 'tis put on the wrong shoulder. + +_Hip_. That cannot be, I looked on Amideo's, +And hung it on that shoulder his is on. + +_Amid_. Then I doubt mine is so. + +_Gons_. It is indeed: +You're both good boys, and both will learn in time. +Hippolito, go you and bring me word, +Whether that lady, we brought in last night, +Be willing to receive a visit from, me. + +_Hip_. Now, Amideo, since you are so forward +To do all service, you shall to the lady. + +_Amid_. No, I'll stay with my master, he bid you. + +_Hip_. It mads me to the heart to leave him here: +But I will be revenged. [_Aside_. +My lord, I beg +You would not trust this boy with any thing +Till my return; pray, know him better first. [_Exit_. + +_Gons_. 'Twas my unhappiness to meet this lady +Last night; because it ruined my design +Of walking by the house of Roderick: +Who knows but through some window I had spied +Fair Julia's shadow passing by the glass; +Or if some others, I would think it hers; +Or if not any, I would see the place +Where Julia lives. O Heaven, how small a blessing +Will serve to make despairing lovers happy! + +_Amid_. Unhappy Angelina, thou art lost: +Thy lord loves Julia. [_Aside_. + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO _and_ JULIA. + +_Jul_.--Where is thy master? +I long to give him my acknowledgments +For my own safety, and my brother's both. +Ha! Is it he? [_Looks_. + +_Gons_. Can it be Julia? +Could night so far disguise her from my knowledge! + +_Jul_. I would not think thee him, I see thou art: +Pr'ythee disown thyself in pity to me: +Why should I be obliged by one I hate? + +_Gons_. I could say something in my own defence; +But it were half a crime to plead my cause, +When you would have me guilty. + +_Amid_. How I fear +The sweetness of those words will move her pity! +I'm sure they would do mine. + +_Gons_. You took me for a robber, but so far +I am from that-- + +_Jul_. O, pr'ythee, be one still, +That I may know some cause for my aversion. + +_Gons_. I freed you from them, and more gladly did it-- + +_Jul_. Be what thou wilt, 'tis now too late to tell me: +The blackness of that image, I first fancied, +Has so infected me, I still must hate thee. + +_Hip_. Though (if she loves him) all my hopes are ruined, +It makes me mad to see her thus unkind. [_Aside_. +Madam, what see you in this gentleman, +Deserves your scorn or hatred? love him, or +Expect just Heaven should strangely punish you. + +_Gons_. No more: Whate'er she does is best; and if +You would be mine, you must, like me, submit +Without dispute. + +_Hip_. How can I love you, sir, and suffer this? +She has forgot that, which, last night, you did +In her defence. + +_Jul_. O call that night again; +Pitch her with all her darkness round: then set me +In some far desert, hemmed with mountain wolves +To howl about me: This I would endure, +And more, to cancel my obligements to him. + +_Gons_. You owe me nothing, madam; if you do, +I make it void; and only ask your leave +To love you still; for, to be loved again +I never hope; + +_Jul_. If that will clear my debt, enjoy thy wish; +Love me, and long, and desperately love me. +I hope thou wilt, that I may plague thee more: +Mean time, take from me that detested object; +Convey thy much loathed person from my sight. + +_Gons_. Madam, you are obeyed. +Hippolito and Amideo, wait +Upon fair Julia; look upon her for me +With dying eyes, but do not speak one word +In my behalf; for, to disquiet her, +Even happiness itself were bought too dear. + +[_Goes farther off, towards the end of the stage_. + +My passion swells too high; +And, like a vessel struggling in a storm, +Requires more hands than one to steer her upright; +I'll find her brother out. +[_Exit_. + +_Jul_. That boy, I see, he trusts above the other: +He has a strange resemblance with a face +That I have seen, but when, or where, I know not. +I'll watch till they are parted; then, perhaps, +I may corrupt that little one to free me. + +[_Aside. Exit_. + +_Amid_. Sweet Hippolito, let me speak with you. + +_Hip_. What would you with me? + +_Amid_. Nay, you are so fierce; +By all that's good, I love and honour you, +And, would you do but one poor thing I'll ask you, +In all things else you ever shall command me. +Look you, Hippolito, here's gold and jewels; +These may be yours. + +_Hip_. To what end dost thou show +These trifles to me? or how cam'st thou by them? +Not honestly, I fear. + +_Amid_. I swear I did: +And you shall have them; but you always press +Before me in my master's service so-- + +_Hip_. And always will. + +_Amid_. But, dear Hippolito, +Why will you not give way, that I may be +First in his favour, and be still employed? +Why do you frown? 'tis not for gain I ask it; +Whatever he shall give me shall be yours, +Except it be some toy you would not care for, +Which I should keep for his dear sake, that gave it. + +_Hip_. If thou wouldst offer both the Indies to me, +The eastern quarries, and the western mines, +They should not buy one look, one gentle smile +Of his from me; assure thy soul they should not, +I hate thee so. + +_Amid_. Henceforth I'll hate you worse. +But yet there is a woman whom he loves, +A certain Julia, who will steal his heart +From both of us; we'll join at least against +The common enemy. + +_Hip_. Why does he fear my lord should love a +woman? +The passion of this boy is so like mine, +That it amazes me. [_Aside_. + +_Enter a Servant_. + +_Serv_. Young gentleman, +Your master calls for you. + +_Hip_. I'll think upon't-- + +[_Exuent_ HIPPOLITO _and Serv_ + +_Enter_ JULIA _to_ AMIDEO. + +_Jul_. Now is the time, he is alone. + +_Amid_. Here comes +The saint, my lord adores; love, pardon me +The fault, I must commit. + +_Jul_. Fair youth, I am +A suitor to you. + +_Amid_. So am I to you. + +_Jul_. You see me here a prisoner. + +_Amid_. My request +Is, I may set you free; make haste, sweet madam; +Which way would you go? + +_Jul_. To the next +Religious house. + +_Amid_. Here through the garden, madam; +How I commend your holy resolution! [_Exeunt_. + +_Enter_ DON MANUEL _in the street, and a Servant +with him_. + +_Man_. Angelina fled to a monastery, say you? + +_Serv_. So 'tis given out: I could not see her woman: +But, for your sister, what you heard is true; +I saw her at the inn: +They told me, she was brought in late last night; +By a young cavalier, they showed me there. + +_Man_. This must be he that rescued me: +What would I give to see him! + +_Serv_. Fortune is +Obedient to your wishes; he was coming +To find out you; I waited on him to +The turning of the street, and stepped before +To tell you of it. + +_Man_. You o'erjoy me. + +_Serv_. This, sir, is he. + +_Enter_ GONSALVO. DON MANUEL _is running to +embrace him, and stops_. + +_Man_.--The captain of the robbers! + +_Gons_. As such, indeed, you promised me your +sister. + +_Man_. I promised all the interest I should have; +Because I thought, before you came to claim it, +A husband's right would take my title from me. + +_Gons_. I come to see if any manly virtue +Can dwell with falsehood: Draw, thou'st injured me. + +_Man_. You say already I have done you wrong, +And yet would have me right you by a greater. + +_Gons_. Poor abject thing! + +_Man_. Who doubts another's courage +Wants it himself; but I, who know my own, +Will not receive a law from you to fight, +Or to forbear: for then I grant your courage +To master mine, when I am forced to do +What of myself I would not. + +_Gons_. Your reason? + +_Man_. You saved my life. + +_Gons_. I'll quit that debt, to be +In a capacity of forcing you +To keep your promise with me; for I come +To learn, your sister is not yet disposed. + +_Man_. I've lost all privilege to defend my life; +And, if you take it now, 'tis no new conquest; +Like fish, first taken in a river, then +Bestowed in ponds to catch a second time. + +_Gons_. Mark but how partially you plead your +cause, +Pretending breach of honour if you fight, +Yet think it none to violate your word. + +_Man_. I cannot give my sister to a robber. + +_Gons_. You shall not; I am none, but born of blood +As noble as yourself; my fortunes equal +At least with yours, my reputation yet, +I think, unstained. + +_Man_. I wish, sir, it may prove so; +I never had so strong an inclination +To believe any man as you--But yet-- + +_Gons_. All things shall be so clear, there shall be left +No room for any scruple. I was born +In Seville, of the best house in that city; +My name Gonsalvo de Peralta: Being +A younger brother, 'twas my uncle's care +To take me with him in a voyage to +The Indies, where since dying, he has left me +A fortune not contemptible; returning +From thence with all my wealth in the plate fleet, +A furious storm almost within the port +Of Seville took us, scattered all the navy. +My ship, by the unruly tempest borne +Quite through the Streights, as far as Barcelona, +There first cast anchor; there I stept ashore: +Three days I staid, in which small time I made +A little love, which vanished as it came. + +_Man_. But were you not engaged to her you +courted? + +_Gons_. Upon my honour, no; what might have been +I cannot tell: But ere I could repair +My beaten ship, or take fresh water in, +One night, when there by chance I lay aboard, +A wind tore up my anchor from the bottom, +And with that violence it brought me thither, +Has thrown me in this port. + +_Mon_. But yet our meeting in the wood was +strange. + +_Gons_. For that I'll satisfy you as we walk. + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Hip_. O sir, how glad am I to find you!-- + + [_Whispers_. + +_Man_. That boy I have seen somewhere, or one +like him, +But where, I cannot call to mind. + +_Hip_. I found it out, and got before them-- +And here they are-- + +_Enter AMIDEO and JULIA_. + +_Man_. My sister! as I could have wished it. + +_Amid_. O! we are caught! + +_Jul_. I did expect as much: +Fortune has not forgot that I am Julia. + +_Man_. Sister, I'm glad you're happily returned; +'Twas kindly done of you thus to prevent +The trouble of my search. + +_Jul_. I would not have you +Mistake my love to Roderick so much, +To think I meant to fall into your hands. +My purpose is for the next nunnery; +There I'll pray for you: So farewell. + +_Man_. Stay, Julia, you must go with me. + +_Jul_. Lead, lead; +You think I am your prisoner now. + +_Gons_. If you will needs to a religious house, +Leave that fair face behind; a worse will serve +To spoil with watching, and with fasting there. + +_Man_. Pr'ythee, no more of this; the only way +To make her happy is to force it on her. +Julia, prepare yourself strait to be married. + +_Jul_. To whom? + +_Man_. You see your bridegroom: And you know +My father's will, who, with his dying breath +Commanded, you should pay as strict obedience +To me, as formerly to him: If not, +Your dowry is at my dispose. + +_Jul_. O, would +The loss of that dispense with duty in me, +How gladly would I suffer it! and yet, +If I durst question it, methinks 'tis hard! +What right have parents over children, more +Than birds have o'er their young? yet they impose +No rich-plumed mistress on their feathered sons; +But leave their love, more open yet and free +Than all the fields of air, their spacious birthright. + +[_GONSALVO seems to beg MANUEL + not to be harsh_. + +_Man_. Nay, good Gonsalvo, trouble not yourself, +There is no other way; when 'tis once done, +She'll thank me for't. + +_Jul_. I ne'er expected other usage from you; +A kind brother you have been to me, +And to my sister: You have sent, they say, +To Barcelona, that my aunt should force her +To marry the old Don you brought her. + +_Hip_. Who could, that once had seen Gonsalvo's. +face? +Alas, she little thinks I am so near! [_Aside_. + +_Man_. Mind not what she says. +A word with you--[_To GONSALVO._ + +_Amid_. Don Manuel eyes me strangely; the best is, +he never saw me yet but at a distance: +My brother's jealousy (who ne'er intended +I should be his) restrained our nearer converse. [_Aside_. + +_Jul_. My pretty youth, I am enforced to trust thee +[_To AMIDEO_. +With my most near concerns; friends I have none, +If thou deny'st to help me. + +_Amid_. Any thing +To break your marriage with my master. + +_Jul_. Go to Roderick, and tell him my condition: +But tell it him as from thyself, not me. + +_Amid_. That you are forced to marry? + +_Jul_. But do not ask him +To succour me; if of himself he will not, +I scorn a love that must be taught its duty. + +_Man_. What youth is that? I mean the little one. + +_Gons_. I took him up last night. + +_Man_. A sweet-faced boy, +I like him strangely: Would you part with him? + +_Amid_. Alas, sir, I am good for nobody, +But for my master. + +_Hip_. Sir, I'll do your errand +Another time, for letting Julia go. [_To AMIDEO_. + +_Man_. Come, sir. + +_Gons_. I beg your pardon for a moment, +I'll but dispatch some business in my ship, +And wait you presently: + +_Man_. We'll go before; +I'll make sure Roderick shall never have her; +And 'tis at least some pleasure to destroy +His happiness, who mined first my joy. + +[_Exeunt all but GONSALVO; who, before he goes, whispers HIPPOLITO_. + +_Gons_. Against her will fair Julia to possess, +Is not to enjoy, but ravish happiness: +Yet women pardon force, because they find +The violence of love is still most kind: +Just like the plots of well built comedies, +Which then please most, when most they do surprise: +But yet constraint love's noblest end destroys, +Whose highest joy is in another's joys: +Where passion rules, how weak does reason prove! +I yield my cause, but cannot yield my love. [_Exit_. + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_A great room in DON MANUEL'S house_. + + +_HIPPOLITO solus_. + +My master bid me speak for him to Julia: +Hard fate, that I am made a confident +Against myself! +Yet, though unwillingly I took the office, +I would perform it well: But how can I +Prove lucky to his love, who to my own +Am so unfortunate? he trusts his passion +Like him, that ventures all his stock at once +On an unlucky hand. + +_Enter AMIDEO_. + +_Amid_. Where is the lady Julia? + +_Hip_. What new treason +Against my master's love have you contrived +With her? + +_Amid_. I shall not render you account. + +_Enter JULIA_. + +_Jul_. I sent for him; yet if he comes, there's danger; +Yet if he does not, I for ever lose him. +What can I wish? and yet I wish him here, +Only to take the care of me from me. +Weary with sitting out a losing hand, +Twill be some ease to see another play it. +Yesterday I refused to marry him, +To-day I run into his arms unasked; +Like a mild prince encroached upon by rebels, +Love yielded much, till honour asked for all. +How now, where's Roderick? [_Sees AMIDEO_. +I mean Gonsalvo. [_Sees HIPPOLITO_. + +_Hip_. You would do well to meet him-- + +_Amid_. Meet him! you shall not do't: I'll throw myself, +Like a young fawning spaniel, in your way +So often, you shall never move a step, +But you shall tread on me. + +_Jul_. You need not beg me: +I would as soon meet a syren, as see him. + +_Hip_. His sweetness for those frowns no subject finds: +Seas are the field of combat for the winds: +But when they sweep along some flowery coast, +Their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost. + +_Jul_. 'Tis that which makes me more unfortunate; +Because his sweetness must upbraid my hate. +The wounds of fortune touch me not so near; +I can my fate, but not his virtue, bear. +For my disdain with my esteem is raised; +He most is hated when he most is praised: +Such an esteem, as like a storm appears, +Which rises but to shipwreck what it bears. + +_Hip_. Infection dwells upon my kindness, sure, +Since it destroys even those whom it would cure. + +[_Cries, and exit_. + +_Amid_. Still weep, Hippolito; to me thy tears +Are sovereign, as those drops the balm-tree sweats.-- +But, madam, are you sure you shall not love him? +I still fear.-- + +_Jul_. Thy fear will never let thee be a man. + +_Amid_. Indeed I think it won't. + +_Jul_. We are now +Alone; what news from Roderick? + +_Amid_. Madam, he begs you not to fear; he has +A way, which, when you think all desperate, +Will set you free. + +_Jul_. If not, I will not live +A moment after it. + +_Amid_. Why? there's some comfort. + +_Jul_. I strongly wish, for what I faintly hope: +Like the day-dreams of melancholy men, +I think and think on things impossible, +Yet love to wander in that golden maze. + +_Enter DON MANUEL, HIPPOLITO, and company_. + +_Amid_. Madam, your brother's here. + +_Man_. Where is the bridegroom? + +_Hip_. Not yet returned, sir, from his ship. + +_Man_. Sister, all this good company is met, +To give you joy. + +_Jul_. While I am compassed round +With mirth, my soul lies hid in shades of grief, +Whence, like the bird of night, with half shut eyes, +She peeps, and sickens at the sight of day. [_Aside_. + +_Enter Servant_. + +_Serv_. Sir, some gentlemen and ladies are without, +Who, to do honour to this wedding, come +To present a masque. + +_Man_. Tis well; desire them +They would leave put the words, and fall to dancing. +The poetry of the foot takes most of late. + +_Serv_. The poet, sir, will take that very ill; +He's at the door, with the argument o'the masque +In verse. + +_Man_. Which of the wits is it that made it? + +_Serv_. None of the wits, sir; 'tis one of the poets. + +_Man_. What subject has he chose? + +_Serv_. The rape of Proserpine. + +_Enter GONSALVO_. + +_Man_. Welcome, welcome, you have been long +expected. + +_Gons_. I staid to see the unlading of some rarities, +Which are within-- +Madam, your pardon that I was so long absent. + +_Jul_. You need not ask it for your absence, sir. + +_Gons_. Still cruel, Julia? + +_Jul_. The danger's here, and Roderick not here: +I am not grieved to die; but I am grieved +To think him false. [_Aside_. + +_Man_. Bid him begin. [_The music plays_. + +A _Cupid_ descends in swift motion, and speaks +these verses. + +_Cup_. _Thy conquests, Proserpine, have stretched too far; +Amidst heavens peace thy beauty makes a war: +For when, last night, I to Jove's palace went, +(The brightest part of all the firmament) +Instead of all those gods, whose thick resort +Filled up the presence of the thunderers court; +There Jove and Juno all forsaken sate, +Pensive, like kings in their declining state: +Yet (wanting power) they would preserve the show, +By hearing prayers from some few men below: +Mortals to Jove may their devotions pay; +The gods themselves to Proserpine do pray. +To Sicily the rival powers resort; +'Tis Heaven wherever Ceres keeps her court. +Phoebus and Mercury are both at strife, +The courtliest of our gods who want a wife. +But Venus, whate'er kindness she pretends, +Yet (like all females envious of their friends), +Has, by my aid, contrived a black design, +The god of hell should ravish Proserpine: +Beauties, beware; Venus will never bear +Another Venus shining in her sphere_. + +After Cupid's speech, Venus and Ceres descend in the slow machines; +Ceres drawn by dragons, Venus by swans. + +After them Phoebus and Mercury descend in swift motion. Then Cupid +turns to Julia, and speaks. + +_Cup_. _The rival deities are come to woo +A Proserpine, who must be found below: +Would you, fair nymph, become, this happy hour, +In name a goddess, as you are in power? +Then to this change the king of shades will owe +A fairer Proserpine than heaven can show_. + +[_Julia, first whispered by AMIDEO, goes into the dance, performed +by Cupid, Phoebus, Mercury, Ceres, Venus, and JULIA. Towards the end +of the dance, RODORICK, in the habit of Pluto, rises from below in +a black chariot, all flaming, and drawn by black horses; he ravishes +Julia, who personated Proserpine, and as he is carrying her away, his +vizard fails off: HIPPOLITO first discovers him_. + +_Hip_. A rape, a rape! 'tis Roderick, 'tis Roderick! + +_Rod_. Then I must have recourse to this. [_Draws_. + +_Jul_. O heavens! + +[_DON MANUEL and GONSALVO draw, and a Servant; the two that acted +Phoebus and Mercury return to assist RODORICK, and are beat back by +MANUEL and a Servant, while GONSALVO attacks RODORICK_. + +_Gons_. Unloose thy hold, foul villain. + +_Rod_. No, I'll grasp her +Even after death. + +_Jul_. Spare him, or I'll die with him. + +_Gons_. Must ravishers and villains live, while I +In vain implore her mercy? + +[_Thrusts at him, and hurts JULIA in the arm_. + +_Jul_. Oh, I am murdered! + +_Gons_. Wretched that I am, +What have I done? To what strange punishment +Will you condemn this guilty hand? And yet +My eyes were guilty first--For they could look +On nothing else but you; and my unlucky hand +Too closely followed them!-- + +_Enter MANUEL again_. + +_Man_. The powers above are just, that thou still livest, +For me to kill. + +_Rod_. You'll find no easy task on't +Alone; come both together, I defy you! +Curse on this disguise, that has betrayed me +Thus cheaply to my death.-- + +_Man_. Under a devil's shape, thou could'st not be +Disguised. + +_Jul_. Then, must he die?-- +Yet, I'll not bid my Roderick farewell; +For they take leave, who mean to be long absent. + +_Gons_. Hold, sir! I have had blood enough already; +And must not murder Julia again +In him she loves. Live, sir; and thank this lady. + +_Rod_. Take my life, and spare my thanks. + +_Man_. Though you +Forgive him, let me take my just revenge. + +_Gons_. Leave that distinction to our dull divines: +That ill, I suffer to be done, I do. + +_Hip_. My heart bleeds for him: to see his virtue +O'ercome so fatally, against such odds +Of fortune, and of love!-- + +_Man_. Permit his death, and Julia will be yours. + +_Jul_. Permit it not, and Julia will thank you. + +_Gons_. Who e'er could think, that one kind word from Julia +Should be preferred to Julia herself? +Could any man think it a greater good +To save a rival, than possess a mistress? +Yet this I do! these are thy riddles, love!-- +What fortune gives me, I myself destroy; +And feed my virtue, but to starve my joy. +Honour sits on me like some heavy armour, +And with its stiff defence, encumbers me; +And yet, when I would put it off, it sticks +Like Hercules's shirt; heats me at once; +And poisons me! + +_Man_. I find myself grow calm by thy example; +My panting heart heaves less and less, each pulse; +And all the boiling spirits scatter from it. +Since thou desirest he should not die, he shall not, +'Till I on nobler terms can take his life. + +_Rod_. The next turn may be yours.--Remember, +I owed this danger to your wilfulness: +Once, you might easily have been mine, and would +not. [_Exit_ RODORICK. + +_Man_. Lead out my sister, friend; her hurt's so +small, +'Twill scarce disturb the ceremony. +Ladies, once more your pardons. + + [_Leads out the Company. Exeunt_. + +_Manent_ JULIA, GONSALVO, AMIDEO, _and_ HIPPOLITO. GONSALVO +_offers his hand,_ JULIA _pulls back hers_. + +_Jul_. This hand would rise in blisters, should'st +thou touch it!-- +My Roderick's displeased with me, and thou, +Unlucky man, the cause. Dare not so much +As once to follow me. [_Exit_ JULIA. + +_Gons_. Not follow her! Alas, she need not bid me! +Oh, how could I presume to take that hand, +To which mine proved so fatal! +Nay, if I might, should I not fear to touch it?-- +murderer's touch would make it bleed afresh! + +_Amid_. I think, sir, I could kill her for your sake. + +_Gons_. Repent that word, or I shall hate thee +Strangely: +Harsh words from her, like blows from angry kings, +Though they are meant affronts, are construed favours. + +_Hip_. Her inclinations and aversions +Are both alike unjust; and both, I hope, +Too violent to last: Chear up yourself; +for if I live, (I hope I shall not long) [_Aside_. +She shall be yours. + +_Amid_. 'Twere much more noble in him, +To make a conquest of himself, than her. +She ne'er can merit him; and, hadst not thou +A mean low soul, thou wouldst not name her to him. + +_Hip_. Poor child, who would'st be wise above thy years! +Why dost thou talk, like a philosopher, +Of conquering love, who art not yet grown up, +To try the force of any manly passion? +The sweetness of thy mother's milk is yet +Within thy veins, not soured and turned by love. + +_Gons_. Thou hast not field enough in thy young breast, +To entertain such storms to struggle in. + +_Amid_. Young as I am, I know the power of love; +Its less disquiets, and its greater cares, +And all that's in it, but the happiness. +Trust a boy's word, sir, if you please, and take +My innocence for wisdom; Leave this lady; +Cease to persuade yourself you are in love, +And you will soon be freed. Not that I wish +A thing, so noble as your passion, lost +To all the sex: Bestow it on some other; +You'll find many as fair, though none so cruel.-- +Would I could be a lady for your sake! + +_Hip_. If I could be a woman, with a wish, +You should not be without a rival long. + +_Amid_. A cedar, of your stature, would not cause +Much jealousy. + +_Hip_. More than a shrub of yours. + +_Gons_. How eagerly these boys fall out for nothing!-- +Tell me, Hippolito, wert thou a woman, +Who would'st thou be? + +_Hip_. I would be Julia, sir, +Because you love her. + +_Amid_. I would not be she, +Because she loves not you. +_Hip_. True, Amideo; +And, therefore, I would wish myself a lady, +Who, I am sure, does infinitely love him. + +_Amid_. I hope that lady has a name? + +_Hip_. She has: +And she is called Honoria, sister to +This Julia, and bred up at Barcelona; +Who loves him with a flame so pure and noble, +That, did she know his love to Julia, +She would beg Julia to make him happy. + +_Gons_. This startles me! + +_Amid_. Oh, sir, believe him not: +They love not truly, who, on any terms, +Can part with what they love. + +_Gons_. I saw a lady +At Barcelona, of what name I know not, +Who, next to Julia, was the fairest creature +My eyes did e'er behold: But, how camest thou +To know her? + +_Hip_. Sir, some other time I'll tell you. + +_Amid_. It could not be Honoria, whom you saw; +For, sir, she has a face so very ugly, +That, if she were a saint for holiness, +Yet no man would seek virtue there. + +_Hip_. This is the lyingest boy, sir;--I am sure +He never saw Honoria; for her face, +'Tis not so bad to frighten any man-- +None of the wits have libelled it. + +_Amid_. Don Roderick's sister, Angelina, does +So far exceed her, in the ornaments +Of wit and beauty, though now hid from sight, +That, like the sun, (even when eclipsed) she casts +A yellowness upon all other faces. + +_Hip_. I'll not say much of her, but only this, +Don Manuel saw not with my eyes, if e'er +He loved that Flanders shape; that lump of earth, +And phlegm together. + +_Amid_. You have often seen her, +It seems, by your description of her person: +But I'll maintain on any Spanish ground, +Whate'er she be, yet she is far more worthy +To have my lord her servant, than Honoria. + +_Hip_. And I'll maintain Honoria's right against her, +In any part of all the world. + +_Gons_. You go +Too far, to quarrel on so slight a ground. + +_Hip_. O pardon me, my lord, it is not slight: +I must confess, I am so much concerned, +I shall not bear it long. + +_Amid_. Nor I, assure you. + +_Gons_. I will believe what both of you have said, +That Honoria, and Angelina, +Both equally are fair. + +_Amid_. Why did you name +Honoria first? + +_Gons_. And, since you take their parts so eagerly +Henceforth I'll call you by those ladies' names: +You, my Hippolito, shall be Honoria; +And you, my Amideo, Angelina. + +_Amid_. Then all my services, I wish, may make +You kind to Angelina, for my sake. + +_Hip_. Put all my merits on Honoria's score, +And think no maid could ever love you more. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + + +MANUEL _solus_. + +_Man_. Thus I provide for others' happiness, +And lose my own. 'Tis true, I cannot blame +Thy hatred, Angelina, but thy silence. +Thy brother's hatred made thine just; but yet +'Twas cruel in thee not to tell me so. +Conquest is noble, when an heart stands out; +But mine, which yielded, how could'st thou betray? +That heart, of which thou could'st not be deprived +By any force or power, beside thy own; +Like empires, to that fatal height arrived, +They must be ruined by themselves alone. +My guarded freedom cannot be a prize +To any scornful face a second time; +For thy idea, like a ghost, would rise, +And fright my thoughts from such another crime. + +_Enter a Servant, with a letter_. + +_Man_. From whom? + +_Serv_. Sir, the contents will soon resolve you. + +[_He read_. + +_Man_. Tell Roderick, he has prevented me +In my design of sending to him first. +I'll meet him, single, at the time and place; +But, for my friend, tell him, he must excuse me: +I'll hazard no man in my quarrel, but +Myself alone.--[_Exit Servant_. +Who's within there? + +_Enter a Servant_. + +Go, call my sister, and Gonsalvo, hither. + [_Exit Servant_. +'Twas pushed so far, that, like two armies, we +Were drawn so closely up, we could not part +Without engagement.--But they must not know it. + +_Enter JULIA, GONSALVO, and AMIDEO_. + +I have some business calls me hence, and know not +When I shall return: But, ere I go, +That power I have, by my dead father's will, +Over my sister, I bequeath to you: [_To GONS_. +She, and her fortunes, both be firmly yours; +And this when I revoke, let cowardice +Blast all my youth, and treason taint my age. + +_Gons_. Sir-- + +_Man_. Nay, good, no thanks; I cannot stay-- + [_Exit MANUEL_. + +_Gons_. There's something more than ordinary in this; +Go, Amideo, quickly follow him, +And bring me word which way he takes. + +_Amid_. I go, sir. [_Exit AMID. JULIA kneels_. + +_Gons_. Madam, when you implore the powers divine, +You have no prayers in which I will not join, +Though made against myself. [_Kneels with her_. + +_Jul_. In vain I sue, +Unless my vows may be conveyed by you. + +_Gons_. Conveyed by me! My ill success in love +Shews me, too sure, I have few friends above. +How can you fear your just desires to want? +When the gods pray, they both request and grant. + +_Jul_. Heaven has resigned my fortune to your hand, +If you, like heaven, the afflicted understand. + +_Gons_. The language of the afflicted is not new; +Too well I learned it, when I first saw you. + +_Jul_. In spite of me, you now command my fate; +And yet the vanquished seeks the victor's hate; +Even in this low submission, I declare, +That, had I power, I would renew the war. +I'm forced to stoop, and 'twere too great a blow +To bend my pride, and to deny me too. + +_Gons_. You have my heart; dispose it to your will; +If not, you know the way to use it ill. + +_Jul_. Cruel to me, though kind to your desert, +My brother gives my person, not my heart; +And I have left no other means to sue, +But to you only, to be freed from you. + +_Gons_. From such a suit how can you hope success, +Which, given, destroys the giver's happiness? + +_Jul_. You think it equal you should not resign +That power you have, yet will not leave me mine; +Yet on my will I have the power alone, +And, since you cannot move it, move your own. +Your worth and virtue my esteem may win, +But women's passions from themselves begin; +Merit may be, but force still is, in vain. + +_Gons_. I would but love you, not your love constrain; +And though your brother left me to command, +He placed his thunder in a gentle hand. + +_Jul_. Your favour from constraint has set me free, +But that secures not my felicity; +Slaves, who, before, did cruel masters serve, +May fly to deserts, and in freedom starve. +The noblest part of liberty they lose, +Who can but shun, and want the power to chuse. + +_Gons_. O whither would your fatal reasons move! +You court my kindness, to destroy my love. + +_Jul_. You have the power to make my happiness, +By giving that, which you can ne'er possess. + +_Gons_. Give you to Roderick? there wanted yet +That curse, to make my miseries complete. + +_Jul_. Departing misers bear a nobler mind; +They, when they can enjoy no more, are kind; +You, when your love is dying in despair, +Yet want the charity to make an heir. + +_Gons_. Though hope be dying, yet it is not dead; +And dying people with small food are fed. + +_Jul_. The greatest kindness dying friends can have, +Is to dispatch them, when we cannot save. + +_Gons_. Those dying people, could they speak' at all, +That pity of their friends would murder call: +For men with horror dissolution meet; +The minutes even of painful life are sweet. + +_Jul_. But I'm by powerful inclination led; +And streams turn seldom to their fountain head. + +_Gons_. No; 'tis a tide which carries you away; +And tides may turn, though they can never stay. + +_Jul_. Can you pretend to love, and see my grief +Caused by yourself, yet give me no relief? + +_Gons_. Where's my reward? + +_Jul_. The honour of the flame. + +_Gons_. I lose the substance, then, to gain the name. + +_Jul_. I do too much mistress' power betray; +Must slaves be won by courtship to obey? +Thy disobedience does to treason rise, +Which thou, like rebels, would'st with love disguise. +I'll kill myself, and, if thou can'st deny +To see me happy, thou shalt see me die. + +_Gons_. O stay! I can with less regret bequeath +My love to Roderick, than you to death: +And yet-- + +_Jul_. What new objection can you find? + +_Gons_. But are you sure you never shall be kind? + +_Jul_. Never. + +_Gons_. What! never? + +_Jul_. Never to remove. + +_Gons_. Oh fatal never to souls damned in love! + +_Jul_. Lead me to Roderick. + +_Gons_. If it must be so-- + +_Jul_. Here, take my hand, swear on it thou wilt go. + +_Gons_. Oh balmy sweetness! but 'tis lost to me, + [_He kisses her hand_. +Like food upon a wretch condemned to die: +Another, and I vow to go:--Once more; +If I swear often, I shall be foreswore. +Others against their wills may haste their fate; +I only toil to be unfortunate: +More my own foe than all my stars could prove; +They give her person, but I give her love. +I must not trust myself--Hippolito! + +_Enter_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Hip_. My lord! + +_Gons_. Quickly go find Don Roderick out: +Tell him, the lady Julia will be walking +On the broad rock, that lies beside the port, +And there expects to see him instantly. +In the mean time I'll call for Amideo. + +_Jul_. You'll keep your promise to Don Roderick? + +_Gons_. Madam, since you bring death, I welcome it; +But to his fortune, not his love, submit. + [_Exit_ GONSALVO. + +_Hip_. I dare not ask what I too fain would hear: +But, like a tender mother, hope and fear, +My equal twins, my equal care I make, +And keep hope quiet, lest that fear should wake. + [_Aside. Exit_ HIPPOLITO. + +_Jul_. So, now I'm firmly at my own dispose; +And all the lets, my virtue caused, removed: +Now, Roderick, I come-- + +_Enter_ GONSALVO _again_. + +_Gons_. Madam, my boy's not yet returned. + +_Jul_. No matter, we'll not stay for him. + +_Gon_. Pray make not too much haste. + + [_Exeunt JUL. and GONS_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter DON RODORICK, and a Servant_. + + +_Rod_. Have you bespoke a vessel, as I bid you? + +_Serv_. I have done better; for I have employed +Some, whom I know, this day to seize a ship; +Which they have done, clapping the men within her +All under hatches, with such speed and silence, +That, though she rides at anchor in the port +Among the rest, the change is not discovered. + +_Rod_. Let my best goods and jewels be embarked +With secrecy: We'll put to sea this night. +Have you yet found my sister, or her woman? + +_Serv_. Neither, sir; but in all probability +She is with Manuel. + +_Rod_. Would God the meanest man in Alicant +Had Angelina, rather than Don Manuel! +I never can forgive, much less forget, +How he (the younger soldier) was preferred +To that command of horse, which was my due. + +_Serv_. And, after that, by force disseized you of +Your quarters-- + +_Rod_. Should I meet him seven years hence +At the altar, I would kill him there:--I had +Forgot to tell you, the design we had, +To carry Julia by force away, +Will now be needless: she'll come to the rock +To see me; you, unseen, shall stand behind, +And carry her into the vessel. + +_Serv_. Shall I not help you to dispatch Don Manuel? + +_Rod_. I neither doubt my valour nor my fortune: +But if I die, revenge me: Presently +About your business; I must to the rock, +For fear I come too late. [_Exeunt severally_. + + +SCENE III.--_Through a rock is discovered a navy of +ships riding at a distance_. + +_Enter AMIDEO_. + + +_Amid_. Thus far, unseen by Manuel, I have traced him; +He can be gone no farther than the walk +Behind the rock: I'll back, and tell my master. + +_Enter HIPPOLITO at the other end_. + +_Hip_. This is the place, where Roderick must expect +His Julia:--How! Amideo here! + +_Amid_. Hippolito! + +_Hip_. This were so fit a time +For my revenge, had I the courage, now! +My heart swells at him, and my breath grows short; +But whether fear or anger choaks it up, +I cannot tell. + +_Amid_. He looks so ghastfully, +Would I were past him; yet I fear to try it, +Because my mind misgives me he will stop me. +By your leave, Hippolito. + +_Hip_. Whither so fast? + +_Amid_. You'll not presume to hinder my lord's business? +He shall know it. + +_Hip_. I'll make you sure, before, +For telling any tales: Do you remember, +Since you defended Angelina's beauty +Against Honoria's; nay, and would maintain it. + +_Amid_. And so I will do still; (I must feign courage, +There is no other way.) [_Aside_. + +_Hip_. I'll so revenge +That injury! (if my heart fails me not.) + +_Amid_. Come, confess truly, for, I know, it fails you. +What would you give to avoid fighting now? + +_Hip_. No, 'tis your heart that fails. + +_Amid_. I scorn the danger; +Yet, what compassion on your youth might do, +I cannot tell; and, therefore, do not work +Upon my pity; for I feel already +My stout heart melts. + +_Hip_. Oh! Are you thereabout? +Now I am sure you fear; and you shall fight. + +_Amid_. I will not fight. + +_Hip_. Confess, then, Angelina +Is not so fair as is Honoria. + +_Amid_. I do confess; now are you satisfied? + +_Hip_. There's more behind; confess her not so worthy +To be beloved, nor to possess Gonsalvo, +As fair Honoria is. + +_Amid_. That's somewhat hard. + +_Hip_. But you must do't, or die. + +_Amid_. Well, life is sweet; +She's not so worthy: Now, let me be gone. + +_Hip_. No, never to my master; swear to quit +His service, and no more to see his face. + +_Amid_. I fain would save my life, but that, which you +Propose, is but another name to die. +I cannot live without my master's sight. + +_Hip_. Then you must fight with me for him. + +_Amid_. I would +Do any thing with you, but fighting for him. + +_Hip_. Nothing but that will serve. + +_Amid_. Lay by our swords, +And I'll scratch with you for him. + +_Hip_. That's not manly. + +_Amid_. Well, since it must be so, I'll fight:--Unbutton. + +[_HIPPOLITO unbuttons slowly_. + +How many buttons has he? I'll be one +Behind him still. [_Aside_. + +[_Unbuttons one by one after him. HIPPOLITO makes more haste_. + +You are so prodigal! if you loved my master, +You would not tear his doublet so:--How's this! +Two swelling breasts! a woman, and my rival! +The stings of jealousy have given me courage, +Which nature never gave me: +Come on, thou vile dissembler of thy sex; +Expect no mercy; either thou or I +Must die upon this spot: Now for Gonsalvo-- +Sa--Sa-- + +_Hip_. This courage is not counterfeit; ah me! +What shall I do? for pity, gentle boy-- + +_Amid_. No pity; such a cause as ours +Can neither give nor take it: If thou yieldest, +I will not spare thee; therefore, fight it out. +[_Tears open his doublet_. + +_Hip_. Death to my hopes! a woman! and so rare +A beauty, that my lord must needs doat on her. +I should myself, if I had been a man: +But, as I am, her eyes shoot death at me. + +_Amid_. Come, have you said your prayers? + +_Hip_. For thy confusion,-- +Thou ravenous harpy, with an angel's face,-- +Thou art discovered, thou too charming rival; +I'll be revenged upon those fatal eyes. + +_Amid_. I'll tear out thine. + +_Hip_. I'll bite out hungry morsels +From those plump cheeks, but I will make them +thinner. + +_Amid_. I'd beat thee to the blackness of a Moor. +But that the features of thy face are such, +Such damnable, invincible good features, +That as an Ethiop thou would'st still be loved. + +_Hip_. I'll quite unbend that black bow o'er thine eyes; +I'll murder thee, and Julia shall have him, +Rather than thou. + +_Amid_. I'll kill both thee and her, +Rather than any one but I shall have him. + +_Hip_. Come on, thou witch. + +_Amid_. Have at thy heart, thou Syren. + +[_They draw and fight awkwardly, not coming near one another_. + +_Amid_. I think I paid you there. + +_Hip_. O stay a little, +And tell me in what corner of thy heart +Gonsalvo lies, that I may spare that place. + +_Amid_. He lies in the last drop of all my blood, +And never will come out, but with my soul. + +_Hip_. Come, come, we dally; +Would one of us were dead, no matter which! + [_They fight nearer_. + +_Enter Don_ MANUEL. + +_Man_. The pretty boys, that serve Gonsalvo, fighting! +I come in time to save the life of one. + + [HIPPOLITO _gets_ AMIDEO _down in closing: + MANUEL takes away their swords_. + +_Hip_. For goodness' sake, hinder not my revenge. + +_Amid_. The noble Manuel has saved my life: +Heavens, how unjustly have I hated him. [_Aside_. + +_Man_. What is it, gentle youths, that moves you thus? +I cannot tell what causes you may find; +But, trust me, all the world, in so much sweetness, +Would be to seek where to begin a quarrel: +You seem the little Cupids in the song, +Contending for the honey-bag. + +_Hip_. 'Tis well +You're come; you may prevent a greater mischief: +Here 'tis Gonsalvo has appointed Roderick-- + +_Man_.To fight? + +_Hip_. What's worse: to give your sister to him. +Won by her tears, he means to leave her free, +And to redeem her misery with his: +At least so I conjecture. + +_Man_. 'Tis a doubtful +Problem; either he loves her violently, +Or not at all. + +_Amid_. You have betrayed my master:-- + +[_To_ HIPPOLITO. _Aside_. + +_Hip_. If I have injured you, I mean to give you +The satisfaction of a gentlewoman. + +_Enter_ GONSALVO _and_ JULIA. + +_Man_. Oh, they are here; now I shall be resolved. + +_Jul_. My brother Manuel! what fortune's this! + +_Man_. I'm glad I have prevented you. + +_Gons_. With what +Variety my fate torments me still! +Never was man so dragged along by virtue; +But I must follow her. + +_Jul_. Noble Gonsalvo, +Protect me from my brother. + +_Gons_. Tell me, sir, +When you bestowed your sister on me, did not +You give her freely up to my dispose? + +_Man_. 'Tis true, I did; but never with intent +You should restore her to my enemy. + +_Gons_. 'Tis past; 'tis done: She undermined my soul +With tears; as banks are sapped away by streams. + +_Man_. I wonder what strange blessing she expects +From the harsh nature of this Rodorick; +A man made up of malice and revenge. + +_Jul_. If I possess him, I may be unhappy; +But if I lose him, I am surely so. +Had you a friend so desperately sick, +That all physicians had forsook his cure; +All scorched without, and all parched up within, +The moisture that maintained consuming nature +Licked up, and in a fever fried away; +Could you behold him beg, with dying eyes, +A glass of water, and refuse it him, +Because you knew it ill for his disease? +When he would die without it, how could you +Deny to make his death more easy to him? + +_Man_. Talk not to me of love, when honour suffers. +The boys will hiss at me. + +_Gons_. I suffer most: +Had there been 'choice, what would I not have chose? +To save my honour I my love must lose: +But promises, once made, are past debate, +And truth's of more necessity than fate. + +_Man_. I scarce can think your promise absolute; +There might some way be thought on, if you would, +To keep both her and it. + +_Gons_. No, no; my promise was no trick of state: +I meant to be made truly wretched first, +And then to die; and I'll perform them both. + +_Man_. Then that revenge, I meant on Rodorick, +I'll take on you. [_Draws_. + +_Gons_.--I draw with such regret, +As merchants throw their wealth into the sea, +To save their sinking vessels from a wreck. + +_Man_. I find I cannot lift my hand against thee: +Do what thou wilt; but let not me behold it. + [_Goes off a little way_. +I'll cut this gordian knot I cannot loose: +To keep his promise, Rodorick shall have her, +But I'll return and rescue her by force; +Then giving back what he so frankly gave, +At once my honour and his love I'll save. +[_Exit MANUEL_. + +_Enter RODORICK_. + +_Rod_. How! Julia brought by him?--Who sent +for me? + +_Gons_. 'Twas I. + +_Rod_. I know your business then; 'tis fighting. + +_Gons_. You're mistaken; 'tis something that I +fear. + +_Rod_. What is't? + +_Gons_. Why,--'twill not out: Here, take her; +And deserve her: but no thanks; +For fear I should consider what I give, +And call it back.-- + +_Jul_. O my dear Rodorick! + +_Gons_. O cruel Julia! +For pity shew not all your joy before me; +Stifle some part of it one minute longer, +'Till I am dead. + +_Jul_. My Rodorick shall know, +He owes his Julia to you; thank him, love; +In faith I take it ill you are so slow. + +_Rod_. You know he has forbid me; and, beside, +He'll take it better from your mouth than mine; +All that you do must needs be pleasing to him. + +_Jul_. Still sullen and unkind! + +_Rod_. Why, then, in short, +I do not understand the benefit. + +_Gons_. Not to have Julia in thy free possession? + +_Rod_. Not brought by you; not of another's leaving. + +_Jul_. Speak softly, Rodorick: Let not these hear thee; +But spare my shame for the ill choice I made, +In loving thee. + +_Rod_. I will speak loud, and tell thee, +Thou com'st, all cloyed and tired with his embraces, +To proffer thy palled love to me; his kisses +Do yet bedew thy lips; the very print, +His arms made round thy body, yet remains. + +_Gons_. O barbarous jealousy! + +_Jul_. 'Tis an harsh word: +I am too pure for thee; but yet I love thee. + +[_Offers to take his hand_. + +_Rod_. Away, foul impudence. + +_Gons_. Madam, you wrong +Your virtue, thus to clear it by submission. + +_Jul_. Whence grows this boldness, sir? did I ask you +To be my champion? + +_Rod_. He chose to be your friend, and not your husband: +Left that dull part of dignity to me; +As often the worst actors play the kings. + +_Jul_. This jealousy is but excess of passion, +Which grows up, wild, in every lover's breast; +But changes kind when planted in an husband. + +_Rod_. Well, what I am, I am; and what I will be, +When you are mine, my pleasure shall determine. +I will receive no law from any man. + +_Jul_. This strange unkindness of my Rodorick +I owe to thee, and thy unlucky love; +Henceforth go lock it up within thy breast; +'Tis only harmless while it is concealed, +But, opened, spreads infection like a vault. +Go, and my curse go with thee!-- + +_Gons_. I cannot go 'till I behold you happy:-- +--Here, Rodorick, receive her on thy knees; +Use her with that respect, which thou would'st pay +Thy guardian angel, if he could be seen. +--Do not provoke my anger by refusing.-- +I'll watch thy least offence to her; each word, +Nay, every sullen look;-- +And, as the devils, who are damned to torments, +Yet have the guilty souls their slaves to punish; +So, under me, while I am wretched, thou +Shalt be tormented.-- + +_Rod_. Would'st thou make me the tenant of thy lust, +To toil, and for my labour take the dregs, +The juicy vintage being left for thee? +No: she's an infamous, lewd prostitute: +I loath her at my soul. + +_Gons_. I can forbear +No longer: swallow down thy lie, foul villain. + +[_They fight off the stage. Exeunt_. + +_Jul_. Help, help! + +_Amid_. Here is that witch, whose fatal beauty +Began the mischief; she shall pay for all. + +[_Goes to kill JULIA_. + +_Hip_. I hate her for it more than thou canst do; +But cannot see her die, my master loves. + +[_Goes between with her sword_. + +_Enter_ GONSALVO, _following_ RODORICK, _who falls_. + +_Rod_. So, now I am at rest:-- +I feel death rising higher still, and higher, +Within my bosom; every breath I fetch +Shuts up my life within a shorter compass, +And, like the vanishing sound of bells, grows less +And less each pulse, 'till it be lost in air. + +[_Swoons away_. + +_Gons_. Down at your feet, much injured innocence, +I lay that sword, which-- + +_Jul_. Take it up again; +It has not done its work 'till I am killed: +For ever, ever, thou hast robbed me of +That man, that only man, whom I could love: +Dost thou thus court thy mistress? thus oblige her? +All thy obligements have been fatal yet, +Yet the most fatal now would most oblige me. +Kill me:--yet I am killed before in him. +I lie there on the ground; cold, cold, and pale: +That death, I die in Roderick, is far +More pleasant than that life, I live in Julia.-- +--See how he stands--when he is bid dispatch me! +How dull! how spiritless! that sloth possest +Thee not, when thou didst kill my Roderick. + +_Gons_. I'm too unlucky to converse with men: +I'll pack together all my mischiefs up, +Gather with care each little remnant of them, +That none of them be left behind: Thus loaded, +Fly to some desert, and there let them loose, +Where they may never prey upon mankind. +But you may make my journey shorter:--Take +This sword; 'twill shew you how:-- + +_Jul_.I'll gladly set you on your way:-- +[_Takes his sword_. + +_Enter three of_ RODORICK'S _servants_. + +_1 Serv_. Make haste; he's now unarmed, we may with ease +Revenge my master's death. + +_Jul_. Now these shall do it. + +_Gons_. I'll die by none but you.-- + +_Hip_. O here, take my sword, sir. + +_Amid_. He shall have mine. + +[_Both give their swords_ to GONSALVO. + +_Enter MANUEL_. + +_Man_. Think not of death. +We'll live and conquer. + +[_They beat them off_. + +_Man_. These fellows, though beat off, will strait return +With more; we must make haste to save ourselves. + +_Hip_. 'Tis far to the town, +And, ere you reach it, you will be discovered. + +_Gons_. My life's a burden to me, were not Julia's +Concerned; but, as it is, she, being present, +Will be found accessary to his death. + +_Man_. See where a vessel lies, not far from shore; +And near at hand a boat belonging to her; +Let's haste aboard, and what with prayers and gifts +Buy our concealment there:--Come, Julia. + +_Gons_. Alas, she swoons away upon the body. + +_Man_. The night grows on apace; we'll take her in +Our arms, and bear her hence. + +[_Exeunt GONSALVO, and the boys, with MANUEL, carrying JULIA_. + +_The Servants enter again_. + +_1 Serv_. They are all gone, we may return with safety: +Help me to bear the body to the town. + +_2 Serv_. He stirs, and breathes a little; there may be +Some hope. + +_3 Serv_. The town's far off, and the evening cold. +Let's carry him to the ship. + +_1 Serv_. Haste then away: +Things, once resolved, are ruined by delay. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + +_The Scene lying in a Carrack_. + +_Enter a Pirate and the Captain_. + + +_Pir_. Welcome a ship-board, captain; you staid +long. + +_Capt_. No longer than was necessary for shifting +trades; to change me from a robber to a pirate. + +_Pir_. There's a fair change wrought in you since +yesterday morning; then you talked of nothing but +repentance, and amendment of life. + +_Capt_. 'Faith, I have considered better on't: for, +conversing a whole day together with honest men, +I found them all so poor and beggarly, that a civil +person would be ashamed to be seen with them:--but +you come from Don Roderick's cabin; what hopes +have you of his life? + +_Pir_. No danger of it, only loss of blood had +made him faint away; he called for you. + +_Capt_. Well, are his jewels and his plate brought +in? + +_Pir_. They are.--When hoist we sails? + +_Capt_. At the first break of day: When we are +got out clear, we'll seize on Roderick and his men: +They are not many, but fear may make them desperate. + +_Pir_. We may take them, when they are laid to +sleep. + +_Capt_. 'Tis well advised. + +_Pir_. I forgot to tell you, sir, that a little before +Don Roderick was brought in, a company of gentlemen +(pursued it seems by justice) procured our +boat to row them hither. Two of them carried a +very fair lady betwixt them, who was either dead, +or swooned. + +_Capt_. We'll sell them altogether to the Turk,--at +least I'll tell them so. [_Aside_. + +_Pir_. Pray, sir, let us reserve the lady to our own +uses; it were a shame to good catholicks to give +her up to infidels. + +_Capt_. Don Roderick's door opens; I'll speak to +him. + +_The Scene draws, and discovers the Captains cabin; +RODORICK on a bed, and two Servants by him_. + +_Capt_. How is it with the brave Don Roderick? +Do you want any thing? + +_Rod_. I have too much +Of that I would not, love; +And what I would have, that I want, revenge. +I must be set ashore. + +_Capt_. That you may, sir; +But our own safety must be thought on first. + +[_One enters, and whispers the Captain_. + +_Capt_. I come:--Seignior, think you are lord +here, and command all freely. + +[_Exeunt Captain and Pirates_. + +_Rod_. He does well to bid me think so: I am of opinion +We are fallen into huckster's hands. + +_1 Serv_. Indeed he talked suspiciously enough; +He half denied to land us. + +_Rod_. These, Pedro, are your confiding men-- + +_2 Serv_. I think them still so. + +_Rod_. Would I were from them. + +_2 Serv_. 'Tis impossible +To attempt it now; you have not strength enough +To walk. + +_Rod_. That venture must be mine: We're lost, +If we stay here to-morrow. + +_2 Serv_. I hope better. + +_1 Serv_. One whom I saw among 'em, to my knowledge, +Is a notorious robber. + +_2 Serv_. He looked so like a gentleman, I could +not know him then. + +_Rod_. What became of Julia when I fell? + +_1 Serv_. We left her weeping over you, till we +Were beaten off; but she, and those with her, +Were gone when we returned. + +_Rod_. Too late I find, +I wronged her in my thoughts. I'm every way +A wretched man:-- +Something we must resolve on, ere we sleep; +Draw in the bed, I feel the cold. + +[_Bed drawn in. Exeunt_. + + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter GONSALVO, MANUEL, HIPPOLITO and +AMIDEO_. + + +_Hip_. Nay, 'tis too true; for, peeping through a chink, +I saw Don Roderick lying on a bed, +Not dead, as we supposed, but only hurt; +So waited on as spoke him master here. + +_Man_. Was there ever so fatal an adventure! +To fly into that very ship, for refuge, +Where the only person, we would shun, commands! +This mischief is so strange, it could not happen, +But was the plot and juggle of our fate, +To free itself, and cast the blame on us. + +_Gons_. This is not yet our fortune's utmost malice; +The gall remains behind. This ship was that, +Which yesterday was mine; I can see nothing +Round me, but what's familiar to my eyes; +Only the persons new: Which makes me think, +Twas seized upon by Roderick, to revenge +Himself on me. + +_Man_. Tis wonderful indeed. + +_Amid_. The only comfort is, we are not known; +For when we entered it was dark. + +_Hip_. That comfort +Is of as short continuance as the night; +The day will soon discover us. + +_Man_. Some way must be invented to get out. + +_Hip_. Fair Julia, sadly pining by herself. +Sits on her bed; tears falling from her eyes, +As silently as dews in dead of night. +All we consult of must be kept from her: +That moment, that she knows of Roderick's life, +Dooms us to certain death. + +_Man_. 'Tis well considered. + +_Gons_. For my part, were not you and she concerned, +I look upon my life, like an estate, +So charged with debts, it is not worth the keeping. +We cannot long be undiscovered by them; +Let us then rush upon them on the sudden, +(All hope of safety placed in our despair) +And gain quick victory, or speedy death. + +_Man_. Consider first, the impossibility +Of the attempt; four men, and two poor boys, +(Which, added to our number, make us weaker) +Against ten villains, more resolved for death, +Than any ten among our holiest priests. +Stay but a little longer, till they all +Disperse to rest within their several cabins; +Then more securely we may set upon them, +And kill them half, before the rest can wake: +By this means too, the boys are useful for us, +For they can cut the throats of sleeping men. + +_Hip_. Now have I the greatest temptation in the world to reveal, +Thou art a woman. [_To AMIDEO_. + +_Amid_. If 'twere not for thy beauty, my master should know, +What a man he keeps. [_To HIPPOLITO_. + +_Hip_. Why should we have recourse to desperate ways, +When safer may be thought on? +'Tis like giving the extreme unction. +In the beginning of a sickness; +Can you imagine to find all asleep? +The wicked joy, of having such a booty +In their possession, will keep some awake; +And some, no doubt, will watch with wounded +Roderick. + +_Amid_. What would your wisdom now propose? + +_Hip_. To say +That some of us are sea-sick; (your complexion +Will make the excuse for us who are less fair:) +So, by good words and promises, procure +We may be set ashore, ere morning come. + +_Amid_. O, the deep reasons of the grave Hippolito!-- +As if 'twere likely, in so calm a season, +We should be sick so soon; or, if we were, +Whom should we chuse among us to go tell it? +For whoe'er ventures out must needs be known: +Or, if none knew us, can you think that pirates +Will let us go upon such easy terms, +As promising rewards?--Let me advise you. + +_Hip_. Now, we expect an oracle. + +_Amid_. Here are bundles, +Of canvas and of cloth, you see lie by us; +In which one of us shall sew up the rest, +Only some breathing place, for air, and food: +Then call the pirates in, and tell them, we, +For fear, had drowned ourselves: And when we come +To the next port, find means to bring us out. + +_Hip_. Pithily spoken!-- +As if you were to bind up marble statues, +Which only bore the shapes of men without, +And had no need of ever easing nature. + +_Gons_. There's but one way left, that's this;-- +You know the rope, by which the cock-boat's tied, +Goes down by the stern, and now, we are at anchor, +There sits no pilot to discover us; +My counsel is, to go down by the ladder, +And, being once there, unloose, and row to shore. + +_Man_. This, without doubt, were best; but there lies ever +Some one, or more, within the boat, to watch it. + +_Gons_. I'll slide down first, and run the venture of it; +You shall come after me, if there be need, +To give me succour. + +_Man_. 'Tis the only way. + +_Gons_. Go in to Julia, then, and first prepare her, +With knowledge of the pirates, and the danger +Her honour's in, among such barbarous people. + +_Man_. Leave it to me. + +_Amid_. Hippolito and Julia, +My rivals, like two pointed rocks appear; +And I, through both, must to Gonsalvo steer. [_Aside_. + +[_Exeunt all but HIPPOLITA_. + +_Hip_. As from some steep and dreadful precipice +The frighted traveller casts down his eyes, +And sees the ocean at so great a distance, +It looks as if the skies were sunk below him; +Yet if some neighbouring shrub (how weak soe'er) +Peeps up, his willing eyes stop gladly there, +And seem to ease themselves, and rest upon it: +So, in my desperate state, each little comfort +Preserves me from despair. Gonsalvo strove not +With greater care to give away his Julia, +Than I have done to part with my Gonsalvo; +Yet neither brought to pass our hateful wish. +Then, we may meet, since different ways we move, +Chasing each other in the maze of love. + [_Exit_. + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter Don RODORICK, carried by two Servants_. + + +_1 Serv_. It was the only way that could be thought on, +To get down by the ladder to the boat. + +_2 Serv_. You may thank me for that invention. + +_Rod_. What a noise is here, when the least breath's +As dangerous as a tempest. + +_2 Serv_. If any of those rogues should hear him talk, +In what a case were we? + +_Rod_. O, patience! patience!-- +This ass brays out for silence. + +_Enter, at the other end, MANUEL, leading JULIA, +GONSALVO, HIPPOLITO, and AMIDEO_. + +_Gons_. Hark! what noise is that? go softly. + + [_They meet on the middle of the stage_. + +_Rod_. Who's here? I am betrayed! and nothing grieves me, +But I want strength to die with honour. + +_Jul_. Roderick! +Is it thy voice, my love?--Speak, and resolve me, +Whether thou livest, or I am dead with thee? + +_Man_. Kill him, and force our way. + +_Rod_. Is Manuel there? +Hold up my arm, that I may make one thrust +At him, before I die. + +_Gons_. Since we must fall, +We'll sell our lives as dearly as we can. + +_1 Serv_. And we'll defend our master to the last. + [_Fight_. + +_Enter Pirates, without their Captain_. + +_1 Pirate_. What's the meaning of this uproar?--Quarrelling +Amongst yourselves at midnight? + +_2 Pirate_. We are come in a fit time to decide the +difference. + +_Man_. Hold, gentlemen! we're equally concerned. + [_To RODORICK'S Servants_. +We for our own, you for your master's safety; +If we join forces, we may then resist them, +If not, both sides are ruined. + +_1 Serv_. We agree. + +_Gons_. Come o'er on our side then. [_They join_. + +_1 Pirate_. A mischief on our captain's drowsiness; +We're lost, for want of him! [_They fight_. + +_Gons_. Dear madam, get behind; while you are safe, +We cannot be o'ercome. [_To JULIA_. + +[_They drive off the Pirates, and follow them off. +RODORICK remains on the ground_. + +_Rod_. I had much rather my own life were lost, +Than Manuel's were preserved. + +_Enter the Pirates, retreating before GONSALVO, &c_. + +_1 Pirate_. All's lost! they fight like devils, and our captain +Yet sleeping in his bed. + +_2 Pirate_. Here lies Don Roderick; +If we must die, we'll not leave him behind. + +[_Goes to kill him_. + +_Jul_. O, spare my Roderick's life; and, in exchange, +Take mine! I put myself within your power, +To save or kill. + +_1 Pirate_. So, here's another pawn, +For all our safeties. + +_Man_. Heaven! what has she done? + +_Gons_. Let go the lady, or expect no mercy!--The +least drop of her blood is worth all yours. +And mine together. + +_1 Pirate_. I am glad you think so:-- +Either deliver up your sword, or mine +Shall pierce her heart this moment. + +_Gons_. Here, here, take it. + +_Man_. You are not mad, to give away all hopes + +[_MANUEL holds him_ + +Of safety and defence, from us, from her, +And from yourself, at once! + +_Gons_. When she is dead, +What is there worth defending? + +_Man_. Will you trust +A pirate's promise, sooner than your valour? + +_Gons_. Any thing, rather than see her in danger. + +_1 Pirate_. Nay, if you dispute the matter!-- + +[_Holds his sword to her breast_. + +_Gons_. I yield, I yield!--Reason to love must bow: +Love, that gives courage, can make cowards too! + +[_Gives his sword_. + +_Jul_. O, strange effect of a most generous passion! + +_Rod_. His enemies themselves must needs admire it. + +_Man_. Nay, if Gonsalvo makes a fashion of it, +'Twill be valour to die tamely. [_Gives his_. + +_Hip_. I am for dying too with my dear master. + +_Amid_. My life will go as easily as a fly's; +The least fillip does it in this fright. + +_1 Pirate_. One call our captain up: Tell him, he +deserves little of the booty. + +_Jul_. It has so much prevailed upon my soul, +I ever must acknowledge it. [_To GONS_. + +_Rod_. Julia has reason, if she love him; yet, +I find I cannot bear it. [_Aside_. + +_Gons_. Say but, you love me; I am more than +paid. + +_Jul_. You ask that only thing, I cannot give;-- +Were I not Roderick's first, I should be yours; +My violent love for him, I know, is faulty; +Yet passion never can be placed so ill, +But that to change it is the greater crime. +Inconstancy is such a guilt, as makes +That very love suspected, which it brings; +It brings a gift, but 'tis of ill-got wealth, +The spoils of some forsaken lover's heart. +Love, altered once, like blood let out before, +Will lose its virtue, and can cure no more. + +_Gons_. In those few minutes which I have to live, +To be called yours, is all I can enjoy. +Roderick receives no prejudice by that; +I would but make some small acquaintance here, +For fear I never should enquire you out +In that new world, which we are going to. + +_Amid_. Then, I can hold no longer;--You desire, +In death, to be called hers; and all I wish, +Is, dying, to be yours. + +_Hip_. You'll not discover? [_Aside_. + +_Amid_. See here the most unfortunate of women, +That Angelina, whom you all thought lost; +And lost she was indeed, when she beheld +Gonsalvo first. + +_All_. How?--Angelina! + +_Rod_. Ha! +My sister! + +_Amid_. I thought to have fled love in flying Manuel, +But love pursued me in Gonsalvo's shape: +For him, I ventured all that maids hold dear; +The opinion of my modesty, and virtue, +My loss of fortune, and my brother's love. +For him, I have exposed myself to dangers, +Which, great themselves, yet greater would appear, +If you could see them through a woman's fear. +But why do I my right by dangers prove? +The greatest argument for love is love: +That passion, Julia, while he lives, denies, +He should refuse to give her when he dies: +Yet grant he did his life to her bequeath, +May I not claim my share of him in death? +I only beg, when all the glory's gone, +The heatless beams of a departing sun. + +_Gons_. Never was passion, hid so modestly, +So generously revealed. + +_Man_. We're now a chain of lovers linked in death; +Julia goes first, Gonsalvo hangs on her, +And Angelina holds upon Gonsalvo, +As I on Angelina. + +_Hip_. Nay, here's Honoria too:--You +look on me with wonder in your eyes, +To see me here, and in this strange disguise. + +_Jul_. What new miracle is this? Honoria! + +_Man_. I left you with my aunt at Barcelona, +And thought, ere this, you had been married to +The rich old man, Don Estevan de Gama. + +_Hip_. I ever had a strange aversion for him: +But when Gonsalvo landed there, and made +A kind of courtship, (though, it seems, in jest,) +It served to conquer me; which Estevan +Perceiving, pressed my aunt to haste the marriage. +What should I do? My aunt importuned me +For the next day: Gonsalvo, though I loved him, +Knew not my love; nor was I sure his courtship +Was not the effect of a bare gallantry. + +_Gons_. Alas! how grieved I am, that slight address +Should make so deep impression on your mind, +In three days time! + +_Hip_. That accident, in which +You saved my life, when first you saw me, caused it, +Though now the story be too long to tell. +Howe'er it was, hearing that night, you lay +Aboard your ship, thus, as you see, disguised, +In clothes belonging to my youngest nephew, +I rose ere day, resolved to find you out, +And, if I could, procure to wait on you +Without discovery of myself: but fortune +Crossed all my hopes. + +_Gons_. It was that dismal night +Which tore my anchor up, and tossed my ship, +Past hope of safety, many days together, +Until at length it threw me on this port. + +_Hip_. I will not tell you what my sorrows were, +To find you gone; but there was now no help. +Go back again, I durst not; but, in fine, +Thought best, as fast as my weak legs would bear me, +To come to Alicant, and find my sister, +Unknown to any else: But, being near +The city, I was seized upon by thieves, +From whom you rescued me.--The rest you know. + +_Gons_. I know too much indeed for my repose. + +_Enter Captain_. + +_Capt_. Do you know me? + +_Gons_. Now I look better on thee, +Thou seemest a greater villain than I thought thee. + +_Jul_ 'Tis he! + +_Hip_. That bloody wretch, that robbed us in +The woods. + +_Gons_. Slave! darest thou lift thy hand against me? +Darest thou touch any one whom he protects, +Who gave thee life? But I accuse myself, +Not thee: The death of all these guiltless persons +Became my crime, that minute when I spared thee. + +_Capt_. It is not all your threats can alter me +From what I have resolved. + +_Gons_. Begin, then, first +With me. + +_Capt_. I will, by laying here my sword. +[_Lays his sword at Gonsalvo's feet_. + +_All_. What means this sudden change? + +_Capt_. Tis neither new, nor sudden.--From that time +You gave me life, I watched how to repay it; +And Roderick's servant gave me speedy means +To effect my wish: For, telling me, his master +Meant a revenge on you, and on Don Manuel, +And then to seize on Julia, and depart, +I proffered him my aid to seize a vessel; +And having, by enquiry, found out yours, +Acquainted first the captain with my purpose, +To make a seeming mastery of the ship. + +_Man_. How durst he take your word? + +_Capt_. That I secured, +By letting him give notice to the ships +That lay about: This done, knowing the place +You were to fight on was behind the rock, +Not far from thence, I, and some chosen men, +Lay out of sight, that, if foul play were offered, +We might prevent it: +But came not in; because, when there was need, +Don Manuel, who was nearer, stepped before me. + +_Gons_. Then the boat, which seemed +To lie by chance, hulling not far from shore, +Was placed by your direction there? + +_Capt_. It was. + +_Gons_. You're truly noble; and I owe much more +Than my own life and fortunes to your worth. + +_Capt_. 'Tis time I should restore their liberty +To such of yours, as yet are seeming prisoners. +I'll wait on you again. [_Exit Captain_. + +_Rod_. My enemies are happy; and the storm, +Prepared for them, must break upon my head. + +_Gons_. So far am I from happiness, heaven knows +My griefs are doubled! +I stand engaged in hopeless love to Julia; +In gratitude to these:-- +Here I have given my heart, and here I owe it. + +_Hip_. Dear master, trouble not yourself for me; +I ever made your happiness my own; +Let Julia witness with what faith I served you. +When you employed me in your love to her, +I gave your noble heart away, as if +It had been some light gallant's, little worth: +Not that I loved you less than Angelina, +But myself less than you. + +_Gons_. Wonder of honour! +Of which my own was but a fainter shadow. +When I gave Julia, whom I could not keep, +You fed a fire within, with too rich fuel, +In giving it your heart to prey upon; +The sweetest offering that was ever burnt +Since last the Phoenix died. + +_Hip_. If Angelina knew, like me, the pride +Of noble minds, which is to give, not take, +Like me she would be satisfied, her heart +Was well bestowed, and ask for no return. + +_Amid_. Pray, let my heart alone; you'll use it as +The gipsies do our money; +If they once touch it, they have power upon't. + +_Enter the Servant, who appeared in the first act with GONSALVO_. + +_Serv_. O, my dear lord, Gonsalvo de Peralta! + +_Rod_. De Peralta, said you? You amaze me! + +_Gons_. Why?--Do you know that family in Seville? + +_Rod_. I am myself the elder brother of it. + +_Gons_. Don Rodorick de Peralta! + +_Rod_. I was so, +Until my mother died, whose name, de Sylva, +I chose, (our custom not forbidding it) +Three years ago, when I returned from Flanders: +I came here to possess a fair estate, +Left by an aunt, her sister; for whose sake +I take that name; and liked the place so well, +That never since have I returned to Seville. + +_Gons_. 'Twas then that change of name, which caused my letters +All to miscarry. What an happy tempest +Was this, which would not let me rest at Seville, +But blew me farther on, to see you here! + +_Amid_. Brother, I come to claim a sister's share: +But you're too near me, to be nearer now. + +_Gons_. In my room, let me beg you to receive +Don Manuel. + +_Amid_. I take it half unkindly, +You give me from yourself so soon: Don Manuel, +I know, is worthy, and, but yesterday, +Preserved my life; but, it will take some time +To change my heart. + +_Man_. I'll watch it patiently, as chemists do +Their golden birth; and, when 'tis changed, receive it +With greater care than they their rich elixir, +Just passing from one vial to another. + +_Rod_. Julia is still my brother's, though I lose her. + +_Gons_. You shall not lose her; Julia was born +For none but you; +And I for none but my Honoria: +Julia is yours by inclination; +And I, by conquest, am Honoria's. + +_Hon_. 'Tis the most glorious one that e'er was made: +And I no longer will dispute my happiness. + +_Rod_. Julia, you know my peevish jealousies; +I cannot promise you a better husband +Than you have had a servant. + +_Jul_. I receive you +With all your faults. + +_Rod_. And think, when I am froward, +My sullen humour punishes itself: +I'm like a day in March, sometimes o'ercast +With storms, but then the after clearness is +The greater. The worst is, where I love most, +The tempest falls most heavy. + +_Jul_. Ah! what a little time to love is lent! +Yet half that time is in unkindness spent. + +_Rod_. That you may see some hope of my amendment, +I give my friendship to Don Manuel, ere +My brother asks, or he himself desires it. + +_Man_. I'll ever cherish it. + +_Gons_. Since, for my sake, you become friends, my care +Shall be to keep you so. You, captain, shall +Command this carrack, and, with her, my fortunes. +You, my Honoria, though you have an heart +Which Julia left, yet think it not the worse; +'Tis not worn out, but polished by the wearing. +Your merit shall her beauty's power remove; +Beauty but gains, obligement keeps our love. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +THE +INDIAN QUEEN, +A +TRAGEDY, + + +WRITTEN BY THE +HON. SIR ROBERT HOWARD, +AND +MR DRYDEN. + + + +THE INDIAN QUEEN + +The plays of Sir Robert Howard were tolerated by his contemporaries, +on account of the rank, gallantry, and loyalty, of the author; at +least, we are now unable to discover any better reason for their +success. The Committee, alone, kept possession of the stage till our +time; and that solely supported by the humours of Teague, an honest +blundering Irish footman, such as we usually see in a modern farce. +From a hint, given by Langbaine, Sir Robert Howard seems to have been +suspected of frequent plagiarisms. At any rate it is certain, that, in +the composition of the Indian Queen, he was so fortunate, as to have +the assistance of our great poet, who was bound to him by ties of +personal obligation. + +It is, of course, difficult even to guess at the share which Dryden +had in the Indian Queen. Several of the characters have a strong +resemblance to others, which he afterwards drew in bolder colours. +Thus, Montezuma, who, like the hero of an ancient romance, bears +fortune to any side which he pleases to espouse, is justly pointed out +by Settle, as the prototype of Almanzor; though we look in vain for +the glowing language, which, though sometimes bordering on burlesque, +suits so well the extravagant character of the Moorish hero. Zempoalla +strongly resembles Nourmuhal in Aureng-Zebe; both shewing that high +spirit of pride, with which Dryden has often invested his female +characters. The language of the Indian Queen possesses, in general, +greater ease, and a readier flow of verse, than Sir Robert Howard +appears to have possessed, when unassisted. Of this he seems, +himself, to have been sensible; and alludes to Dryden's acknowledged +superiority, when maintaining against him the cause of dramatic blank +verse, as preferable to rhyme[1]. Besides general hints towards the +conception of the characters, and a superintendance of the dialogue, +it is probable, that Dryden wrote some entire scenes of the following +piece. In the third act particularly, the passage respecting the +incantation, which resembles that in the Indian Emperor, has strong +traces of our author's manner. + +[Footnote 1: "But writing the epistle in so much haste, I had almost +forgot one argument, or observation, which that author (Dryden) has +most good fortune in. It is in his Epistle Dedicatory, before his +essay of _Dramatic Poesie_; where, speaking of rhyme in plays, he +desires it may be observed, that none are violent against it, but such +as have not attempted it, or who have succeeded ill in the attempt: +Which, as to myself, and him, I easily acknowledge;--for, I confess, +none has written in that way better than himself, nor few worse than +I." + +_Introduction to the Great Favourite, or the Duke of Lerma_.] + +The Indian Queen was acted in 1664; and received, says Langbaine, with +great applause. It was printed in 1665. + + + +Prologue + +_As the music plays a soft air, the curtain rises slowly, and +discovers an Indian Boy and Girl sleeping under two plantain-trees; +and, when the curtain is almost up, the music turns into a tune +expressing an alarm, at which the Boy awakes, and speaks; + + +_Boy_. WAKE, wake, Quevira! our soft rest must cease, +And fly together with our country's peace! +No more must we sleep under plantain shade, +Which neither heat could pierce, nor cold invade; +Where bounteous nature never feels decay, +And opening buds drive falling fruits away. + +_Que_. Why should men quarrel here, where all possess +As much as they can hope for by success?-- +None can have most, where nature is so kind, +As to exceed man's use, though not his mind. + +_Boy_. By ancient prophecies we have been told, +Our world shall be subdued by one more old;-- +And, see, that world already hither come. + +_Que_. If these be they, we welcome then our doom! +Their looks are Such, that mercy flows from thence, +More gentle than our native innocence. + +_Boy_. Why should we then fear these, our enemies, +That rather seem to us like deities? + +_Que_. By their protection, let us beg to live; +They came not here to conquer, but forgive.-- +If so, your goodness may your power express, +And we shall judge both best by our success. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + +_The Inca of Peru_. +MONTEZUMA, _his General_. +ACACIS, _son to_ ZEMPOALLA. +TRAXALLA, _General to_ ZEMPOALLA. +GARUCCA, _a faithful subject to_ AMEXIA. +_The God of Dreams_. +ISMERON, _one of the prophets, a conjuror_. +_Officers and Soldiers. +Peruvians and Mexicans. +Priests_. + +AMEXIA, _the lawful queen of Mexico_. +ZEMPOALLA, _the usurping Indian Queen_. +ORAZIA,_daughter to the Inca_. +_Attendants of Ladies_. + + + +THE +INDIAN QUEEN. + + +ACT I. SCENE I. + + +_Enter Inca,_ ORAZIA, MONTEZUMA, ACACIS, _prisoners, with +Peruvians_. + + +_Inca_. Thrice have the Mexicans before us fled, +Their armies broke, their prince in triumph led; +Both to thy valour, brave young man, we owe; +Ask thy reward, but such as it may show +It is a king thou hast obliged, whose mind +Is large, and, like his fortune, unconfined. + +_Mont_. Young, and a stranger, to your court I +came, +There, by your favour, raised to what I am: +I conquer, but in right of your great fate, +And so your arms, not mine, are fortunate. + +_Inca_. I am impatient, till this debt be paid. +Which still encreases on me while delayed; +A bounteous monarch to himself is kind: +Ask such a gift as may for ever bind +Thy service to my empire, and to me. + +_Mont_. What can this gift, he bids me ask him, be! +Perhaps he has perceived our mutual fires, +And now, with ours, would crown his own desires; +'Tis so, he sees my service is above +All other payments but his daughter's love. + +[_Aside_. + +_Inca_. So quick to merit, and to take so slow? +I first prevent small wishes, and bestow +This prince, his sword and fortunes, to thy hand; +He's thine unasked; now make thy free demand. + +_Mont_. Here, prince, receive this sword, as only due + +[_Gives_ ACACIS _his sword_. + +To that excess of courage shown in you.-- +When you, without demand, a prince bestow, +Less than a prince to ask of you were low. + +_Inca_. Then ask a kingdom; say, where thou wilt +reign. + +_Mont_. I beg not empires, those my sword can gain; +But, for my past and future service too, +What I have done, and what I mean to do; +For this of Mexico which I have won, +And kingdoms I will conquer yet unknown; +I only ask from fair Orazia's eyes +To reap the fruits of all my victories. + +_1 Peru_. Our Inca's colour mounts into his face. + +_2 Peru_. His looks speak death. + +_Inca_. Young man of unknown race, +Ask once again; so well thy merits plead, +Thou shall not die for that which thou hast said; +The price of what thou ask'st, thou dost not know; +That gift's too high. + +_Mont_. And all besides too low. + +_Inca_. Once more I bid thee ask. + +_Mont_. Once more I make +The same demand. + +_Inca_. The Inca bids thee take +Thy choice, what towns, what kingdoms thou would'st have. + +_Mont_. Thou giv'st me only what before I gave. +Give me thy daughter. + +_Inca_. Thou deserv'st to die. +O thou great author of our progeny, +Thou glorious sun, dost thou not blush to shine, +While such base blood attempts to mix with thine! + +_Mont_. That sun, thou speak'st of, did not hide his face, +When he beheld me conquering with his race. + +_Inca_. My fortunes gave thee thy success in fight! +Convey thy boasted valour from my sight; +I can o'ercome without thy feeble aid. + +[_Exeunt Inca_, ORAZIA, _and Peruvians_. + +_Mont_. And is it thus my services are paid? +Not all his guards-- + +[_Offers to go,_ ACACIS _holds him_. + +_Aca_. Hold, sir. + +_Mont_. Unhand me. + +_Aca_. No, I must your rage prevent +From doing what your reason would repent; +Like the vast seas, your mind no limits knows, +Like them, lies open to each wind that blows. + +_Mont_. Can a revenge, that is so just, be ill? + +_Aca_. It is Orazia's father, you would kill. + +_Mont_. Orazia! how that name has charmed my sword! + +_Aca_. Compose these wild distempers in your breast; +Anger, like madness, is appeased by rest. + +_Mont_. Bid children sleep, my spirits boil too high; +But, since Orazia's father must not die, +A nobler vengeance shall my actions guide; +I'll bear the conquest to the conquered side, +Until this Inca for my friendship sues, +And proffers what his pride does now refuse. + +_Aca_. Your honour is obliged to keep your trust. + +_Mont_. He broke that bond, in ceasing to be just. + +_Aca_. Subjects to kings should more obedience pay. + +_Mont_. Subjects are bound, not strangers, to obey. + +_Aca_. Can you so little your Orazia prize, +To give the conquest to her enemies? +Can you so easily forego her sight? +I, that hold liberty more dear than light, +Yet to my freedom should my chains prefer, +And think it were well lost to stay with her. + +_Mont_. How unsuccessfully I still o'ercome! +I brought a rival, not a captive, home; +Yet I may be deceived; but 'tis too late +To clear those doubts, my stay brings certain fate. +[_Aside_. +Come, prince, you shall to Mexico return, +Where your sad armies do your absence mourn; +And in one battle I will gain you more +Than I have made you lose in three before. + +_Aca_. No, Montezuma, though you change your side, +I, as a prisoner, am by honour tied. + +_Mont_. You are my prisoner, and I set you free. + +_Aca_. 'Twere baseness to accept such liberty. + +_Mont_. From him, that conquered you, it should be sought. + +_Aca_. No, but from him, for whom my conqueror fought. + +_Mont_. Still you are mine, his gift has made you so. + +_Aca_. He gave me to his general, not his foe. + +_Mont_. How poorly have you pleaded honour's laws! +Yet shun the greatest in your country's cause. + +_Aca_. What succour can the captive give the free. + +_Mont_. A needless captive is an enemy. +In painted honour you would seem to shine; +But 'twould be clouded, were your wrongs like mine. + +_Aca_. When choler such unbridled power can +have, +Thy virtue seems but thy revenge's slave: +If such injustice should my honour stain, +My aid would prove my nation's loss, not gain. + +_Mont_. Be cozened by thy guilty honesty, +To make thyself thy country's enemy. + +_Aca_. I do not mean in the next fight to stain +My sword in blood of any Mexican, +But will be present in the fatal strife, +To guard Orazia's and the Inca's life. + +_Mont_. Orazia's life, fond man! First guard thy +own; +Her safety she must owe to me alone. + +_Aca_. Your sword, that does such wonders, cannot +be, +In an ill cause, secure of victory. + +_Mont_. Hark, hark! [_Noise of trampling_. + +_Aca_. What noise is this invades my ear? +Fly, Montezuma! fly, the guards are near: +To favour your retreat, I'll freely pay +That life, which you so frankly gave this day. + +_Mont_. I must retire; but those, that follow me, +Pursue their deaths, and not their victory. + + [_Exit_ MONT. + +_Aca_. Our quarrels kinder than our friendships +prove: +You for my country fight, I for your love. + +_Enter_ INCA _and Guards_. + +_Inca_. I was to blame to leave this madman free; +Perhaps he may revolt to the enemy, +Or stay, and raise some fatal mutiny. + +_Aca_. Stop your pursuits, for they must pass +through me. + +_Inca_. Where is the slave? + +_Aca_. Gone. + +_Inca_. Whither? + +_Aca_. O'er the plain; +Where he may soon the camp, or city, gain. + +_Inca_. Curse on my dull neglect! +And yet I do less cause of wonder find, +That he is gone, than that thou stayest behind. + +_Aca_. My treatment, since you took me, was so free, +It wanted but the name of liberty. +I with less shame can still your captive live, +Than take that freedom, which you did not give. + +_Inca_. Thou brave young man, that hast thy years outdone, +And, losing liberty, hast honour won, +I must myself thy honour's rival make, +And give that freedom, which thou would'st not take. +Go, and be safe.-- + +_Aca_. But that you may be so-- +Your dangers must be past before I go. +Fierce Montezuma will for fight prepare, +And bend on you the fury of the war, +Which, by my presence, I will turn away, +If fortune gives my Mexicans the day. + +_Inca_. Come, then, we are alike to honour just, +Thou to be trusted thus, and I to trust. + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II.--_Mexico_. + +_Enter_ ZEMPOALLA, TRAXALLA, _and attendants_. + + +_Zemp_. O my Acacis! +Does not my grief, Traxalla, seem too rude, +Thus to press out before my gratitude +Has paid my debts to you?--yet it does move +My rage and grief, to see those powers above +Punish such men, as, if they be divine, +They know will most adore, and least repine. + +_Trax_. Those, that can only mourn when they are crost, +May lose themselves with grieving for the lost. +Rather to your retreated troops appear, +And let them see a woman void of fear: +The shame of that may call their spirits home. +Were the prince safe, we were not overcome, +Though we retired: O, his too youthful heat, +That thrust him where the dangers were so great! +Heaven wanted power his person to protect +From that, which he had courage to neglect: +But since he's lost, let us draw forth, and pay +His funeral rites in blood; that we or they +May, in our fates, perform his obsequies, +And make death triumph when Acacis dies. + +_Zemp_. That courage, thou hast shown in fight, seems less +Than this, amidst despair to have excess: +Let thy great deeds force fate to change her mind: +He, that courts fortune boldly, makes her kind. + +_Trax_. If e'er Traxalla so successful proves, +May he then say he hopes, as well as loves; +And that aspiring passion boldly own, +Which gave my prince his fate, and you his throne? +I did not feel remorse to see his blood +Flow from the spring of life into a flood; +Nor did it look like treason, since to me +You were a sovereign much more great than he. + +_Zemp_. He was my brother, yet I scorned to pay +Nature's mean debts, but threw those bonds away; +When his own issue did my hopes remove, +Not only from his empire, but his love. +You, that in all my wrongs then bore a part, +Now need not doubt a place within my heart: +I could not offer you my crown and bed, +Till fame and envy with long time were dead; +But fortune does now happily present +Occasions, fit to second my intent. +Your valour may regain the public love, +And make the people's choice their queen's approve. + +[_Shout_. + +Hark, hark, what noise is this, that strikes my ear! + +_Trax_. 'Tis not a sound that should beget a fear; +Such shouts as these have I heard often fly +From conquering armies, crowned with victory. + +_Zemp_. Great God of vengeance, here I firmly vow, +Make but my Mexicans successful now, +And with a thousand feasts thy flames I'll feed; +And that I take shall on the altars bleed; +Princes themselves shall fall, and make thy shrine, +Died with their blood, in glorious blushes shine. + +_Enter a Messenger_. + +_Trax_. How now! +What news is this that makes thy haste a flight? + +_Mess_. Such as brings victory without a fight. +The prince Acacis lives-- + +_Zemp_. Oh, I am blest!-- + +_Mess_. Reserve some joy till I have told the rest. +He's safe, and only wants his liberty: +But that great man, that carries victory +Where'er he goes; that mighty man, by whom +In three set battles we were overcome; +Ill used (it seems) by his ungrateful king, +Does to our camp his fate and valour bring. +The troop gaze on him, as if some bright star +Shot to their aids; call him the god of war: +Whilst he, as if all conquest did of right +Belong to him, bids them prepare to fight; +Which if they should delay one hour, he swears +He'll leave them to their dangers, or their fears, +And shame, which is the ignoble coward's choice. +At this the army seemed to have one voice, +United in a shout, and called upon +The god-like stranger, "Lead us, lead us on." +Make haste, great sir, lest you should come too late, +To share with them in victory, or fate. + +_Zemp_. My general, go; the gods be on our side; +Let valour act, but let discretion guide. + +[_Exit_ TRAX. + +Great god of vengeance, +I see thou dost begin to hear me now: +Make me thy offering, if I break my vow. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + +_Enter_ INCA _and_ ORAZIA, _as pursued in a battle_. + + +_Oraz_. O fly, sir, fly; like torrents your swift foes +Come rolling on-- + +_Inca_. The gods can but destroy. +The noblest way to fly is that death shows; +I'll court her now, since victory's grown coy. + +_Oraz_. Death's winged to your pursuit, and yet you wait +To meet her-- + +_Inca_. Poor Orazia, time and fate +Must once o'ertake me, though I now should fly. + +_Oraz_. Do not meet death; but when it comes, then die. + +_Enter three Soldiers_. + +_3 Sold_. Stand, sir, and yield yourself, and that fair prey. + +_Inca_. You speak to one, unpractised to obey. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA. + +_Mont_. Hold, villains, hold, or your rude lives shall be +Lost in the midst of your own victory: +These have I hunted for;--nay, do not stare; +Be gone, and in the common plunder share. + +[_Exeunt Soldiers_. + +How different is my fate, from theirs, whose fame +From conquest grows! from conquest grows my shame. + +_Inca_. Why dost thou pause? thou canst not give me back, +With fruitless grief, what I enjoyed before; +No more than seas, repenting of a wreck, +Can with a calm our buried wealth restore. + +_Mont_. 'Twere vain to own repentance, since I know +Thy scorn, which did my passions once despise, +Once more would make my swelling anger flow, +Which now ebbs lower than your miseries: +The gods, that in my fortunes were unkind, +Gave me not sceptres, nor such gilded things; +But, whilst I wanted crowns, enlarged my mind +To despise sceptres, and dispose of kings. + +_Inca_. Thou art but grown a rebel by success, +And I, that scorned Orazia should be tied +To thee my slave, must now esteem thee less: +Rebellion is a greater guilt than pride. + +_Mont_. Princes see others' faults, but not their own; +'Twas you that broke that bond, and set me free: +Yet I attempted not to climb your throne, +And raise myself; but level you to me. + +_Oraz_. O, Montezuma, could thy love engage +Thy soul so little, or make banks so low +About thy heart, that thy revenge and rage, +Like sudden floods, so soon should overflow? +Ye gods, how much I was mistaken here! +I thought you gentle as the gall-less dove; +But you as humoursome as winds appear, +And subject to more passions than your love. + +_Mont_. How have I been betrayed by guilty rage, +Which, like a flame, rose to so vast a height, +That nothing could resist, nor yet assuage, +Till it wrapt all things in one cruel fate. +But I'll redeem myself, and act such things, +That you shall blush Orazia was denied; +And yet make conquest, though with wearied wings, +Take a new flight to your own fainting side. + +_Inca_. Vain man, what foolish thoughts fill thy swelled mind! +It is too late our ruin to recall; +Those, that have once great buildings undermined, +Will prove too weak to prop them in their fall. + +_Enter_ TRAXALLA, _with the former soldiers_. + +_1 Sold_. See, mighty sir, where the bold stranger stands, +Who snatched these glorious prisoners from our hands. + +_Trax_. 'Tis the great Inca; seize him as my prey, +To crown the triumphs of this glorious day. + +_Mont_. Stay your bold hands from reaching at what's mine, +If any title springs from victory; +You safer may attempt to rob a shrine, +And hope forgiveness from the deity. + +_Enter_ ACACIS. + +_Trax_. O, my dear prince, my joys to see you live +Are more than all that victory can give. + +_Aca_. How are my best endeavours crost by fate! +Else you had ne'er been lost, or found so late. +Hurried by the wild fury of the fight, +Far from your presence, and Orazia's sight, +I could not all that care and duty show, +Which, as your captive, mighty prince, I owe. + +_Inca_. You often have preserved our lives this day, +And one small debt with many bounties pay. +But human actions hang on springs, that be +Too small, or too remote, for us to see. +My glories freely I to yours resign, +And am your prisoner now, that once were mine. + +_Mont_. These prisoners, sir, are mine by right of war; +And I'll maintain that right, if any dare. + +_Trax_. Yes, I would snatch them from thy weak defence; +But that due reverence, which I owe my prince, +Permits me not to quarrel in his sight; +To him I shall refer his general's right. + +_Mont_. I knew too well what justice I should find +From an armed plaintiff, and a judge so kind. + +_Aca_. Unkindly urged, that I should use thee so; +Thy virtue is my rival, not my foe; +The prisoners fortune gave thee shall be thine. + +_Trax_. Would you so great a prize to him resign? + +_Aca_. Should he, who boldly for his prey designed +To dive the deepest under swelling tides, +Have the less title if he chance to find +The richest jewel that the ocean hides? +They are his due-- +But in his virtue I repose that trust, +That he will be as kind as I am just: +Dispute not my commands, but go with haste, +Rally our men, they may pursue too fast, +And the disorders of the inviting prey +May turn again the fortune of the day. + +[_Exit_ TRAX. + +_Mont_. How gentle all this prince's actions be! +Virtue is calm in him, but rough in me. + +_Aca_. Can Montezuma place me in his breast? + +_Mont_. My heart's not large enough for such a guest. + +_Aca_. See, Montezuma, see, Orazia weeps. + +[ORAZ. _weeps_. + +_Mont_. Acacis! is he deaf, or, waking, sleeps? +He does not hear me, sees me not, nor moves; +How firm his eyes are on Orazia fixt! +Gods, that take care of men, let not our loves +Become divided by their being mixt. + +_Aca_. Weep not, fair princess, nor believe you are +A prisoner, subject to the chance of war; +Why should you waste the stock of those fair eyes, +That from mankind can take their liberties? +And you, great sir, think not a generous mind +To virtuous princes dares appear unkind, +Because those princes are unfortunate, +Since over all men hangs a doubtful fate: +One gains by what another is bereft; +The frugal deities have only left +A common bank of happiness below, +Maintained, like nature, by an ebb and flow. + +[_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +ZEMPOALLA _appears seated upon a throne, frowning +upon her attendants; then comes down and speaks. + + +Zemp_. No more, you, that above your prince's +dare proclaim, +With your rebellious breath, a stranger's name. + +_1 Peru_. Dread empress-- + +_Zemp_. Slaves, perhaps you grieve to see +Your young prince glorious, 'cause he sprang from me; +Had he been one of base Amexia's brood, +Your tongues, though silent now, had then been +loud. + +_Enter TRAXALLA_. + +Traxalla, welcome; welcomer to me +Than what thou bring'st, a crown and victory. + +_Trax_. All I have done is nothing; fluttering +fame +Now tells no news, but of the stranger's name, +And his great deeds; 'tis he, they cry, by whom +Not men, but war itself is overcome; +Who, bold with his success, dares think to have +A prince to wear his chains, and be his slave. + +_Zemp_. What prince? + +_Trax_. The great Peruvian Inca, that of late +In three set battles was so fortunate, +Till this strange man had power to turn the tide, +And carry conquest into any side. + +_Zemp_. Would you permit a private man to have +The great Peruvian Inca for his slave? +Shame to all princes! was it not just now +I made a sacred, and a solemn vow, +To offer up (if blest with victory) +The prisoners that were took? and they shall die. + +_Trax_. I soon had snatched from this proud stranger's hand +That too great object for his bold demand; +Had not the prince, your son, to whom I owe +A kind obedience, judged it should be so. + +_Zemp_. I'll hear no more; go quickly take my guards, +And from that man force those usurped rewards; +That prince, upon whose ruins I must rise, +Shall be the gods', but more my sacrifice: +They, with my slaves, in triumph shall be tied, +While my devotion justifies my pride: +Those deities, in whom I place my trust, +Shall see, when they are kind, that I am just. [_Exit_. + +_Trax_. How gladly I obey! +There's something shoots from my enlivened frame, +Like a new soul, but yet without a name, +Nor can I tell what the bold guest will prove; +It must be envy, or it must be love: +Let it be either, 'tis the greatest bliss +For man to grant himself, all he dares wish; +For he, that to himself himself denies, +Proves meanly wretched, to be counted wise. +[_Exit_ TRAXALLA. + +SCENE III. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA _and_ ACACIS. + +_Aca_. You wrong, me, my best friend, not to believe +Your kindness gives me joy; and when I grieve, +Unwillingly my sorrows I obey: +Showers sometimes fall upon a shining day. + +_Mont._. Let me, then, share your griefs, that in +your fate +Would have took part. + +_Aca_. Why should you ask me that? +Those must be mine, though I have such excess; +Divided griefs increase, and not grow less. + +_Mont_. It does not lessen fate, nor satisfy +The grave, 'tis true, when friends together die; +And yet they are unwilling to divide. + +_Aca_. To such a friend nothing can be denied. +You, when you hear my story, will forgive +My grief, and rather wonder that I live; +Unhappy in my title to a throne, +Since blood made way for my succession: +Blood of an uncle too, a prince so free +From being cruel, it taught cruelty. +His queen Amexia then was big with child; +Nor was he gentler than his queen was mild; +Th'impatient people longed for what should come +From such a father, bred in such a womb; +When false Traxalla, weary to obey, +Took with his life their joys and hopes away. +Amexia, by the assistance of the night, +When this dark deed was acted, took her flight; +Only with true Garucca for her aid: +Since when, for all the searches that were made, +The queen was never heard of more: Yet still +This traitor lives, and prospers by the ill: +Nor does my mother seem to reign alone, +But with this monster shares the guilt and throne. +Horror choaks up my words: now you'll believe, +'Tis just I should do nothing else but grieve. + +_Mont_. Excellent prince! +How great a proof of virtue have you shown, +To be concerned for griefs, though not your own! + +_Aca_. Pray, say no more. + +_Enter a Messenger hastily_. + +_Mont_. How now, whither so fast? + +_Mess_. O sir, I come too slow with all my haste! +The fair Orazia-- + +_Mont_. Ha, what dost thou say? + +_Mess_. Orazia with the Inca's forced away +Out of your tent; Traxalla, in the head +Of the rude soldiers, forced the door, and led, +Those glorious captives, who on thrones once shined, +To grace the triumph, that is now designed. [_Exit_. + +_Mont_. Orazia forced away!--what tempests roll +About my thoughts, and toss my troubled soul! +Can there be gods to see, and suffer this? +Or does mankind make his own fate or bliss; +While every good and bad happens by chance, +Not from their orders, but their ignorance?-- +I will pull a ruin on them all, +And turn their triumph to a funeral. + +_Aca_. Be temperate, friend. + +_Mont_. You may as well advise +That I should have less love, as grow more wise. + +_Aca_. Yet stay--I did not think to have revealed +A secret, which my heart has still concealed; +But, in this cause since I must share with you, +'Tis fit you know--I love Orazia too: +Delay not then, nor waste the time in words, +Orazia's cause calls only for our swords. + +_Mont_. That ties my hand, and turns from thee that rage +Another way, thy blood should else assuage: +The storm on our proud foes shall higher rise, +And, changing, gather blackness as it flies: +So, when winds turn, the wandering waves obey, +And all the tempest rolls another way. + +_Aca_. Draw then a rival's sword, as I draw mine. +And, like friends suddenly to part, let's join + In this one act, to seek one destiny; + Rivals with honour may together die. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT III. SCENE I. + +ZEMPOALLA _appears seated upon her Slaves in triumph, +and the Indians, as to celebrate the victory, +advance in a warlike dance; in the midst of which +triumph_, ACACIS _and_ MONTEZUMA _fall in upon +them_. + +ZEMPOALLA _descends from her triumphant throne, +and_ ACACIS _and_ MONTEZUMA _are brought in before +her. + +Zemp_. Shame of my blood, and traitor to thy own: +Born to dishonour, not command a throne! +Hast thou, with envious eyes, my triumph seen? +Or couldst not see thy mother in thy queen? +Couldst thou a stranger above me prefer? + +_Aca_. It was my honour made my duty err; +I could not see his prisoners forced away, +To whom I owed my life, and you the day. + +_Zemp_. Is that young man the warrior so renowned? + +_Mont_. Yes, he, that made thy men thrice quit their ground. +Do, smile at Montezuma's chains; but know, +His valour gave thee power to use him so. + +_Trax_. Grant that it did, what can his merits be, +That sought his vengeance, not our victory? +What has thy brutish fury gained us more, +Than only healed the wounds, it gave before? +Die then, for, whilst thou liv'st, wars cannot cease; +Thou may'st bring victory, but never peace. +Like a black storm thou roll'st about us all, +Even to thyself unquiet, till thy fall. + [_Draws to kill him_. + +_Aca_. Unthankful villain, hold! + +_Trax_. You must not give +Him succour, sir. + +_Aca_. Why then, I must not live. +Posterity shall ne'er report, they had +Such thankless fathers, or a prince so bad. + +_Zemp_. You're both too bold to will or to deny: +On me alone depends his destiny. +Tell me, audacious stranger, whence could rise +The confidence of this rash enterprise? + +_Mont_. First tell me, how you dared to force from me +The fairest spoils of my own victory? + +_Zemp_. Kill him--hold, must he die?--why, let him die;-- +Whence should proceed this strange diversity. +In my resolves? +Does he command in chains? What would he do, +Proud slave, if he were free, and I were so? +But is he bound, ye gods, or am I free? +'Tis love, 'tis love, that thus disorders me. +How pride and love tear my divided soul! +For each too narrow, yet both claim it whole: +Love, as the younger, must be forced away.-- +Hence with the captives, general, and convey +To several prisons that young man, and this +Peruvian woman. + +_Trax_. How concerned she is! +I must know more. + +_Mont_. Fair princess, why should I +Involve that sweetness in my destiny? +I could out-brave my death, were I alone +To suffer, but my fate must pull yours on. +My breast is armed against all sense of fear; +But where your image lies, 'tis tender there. + +_Inca_. Forbear thy saucy love, she cannot be +So low, but still she is too high for thee. + +_Zemp_. Be gone, and do as I command; away! + +_Mont_. I ne'er was truly wretched till this day. + +_Oraz_. Think half your sorrows on Orazia fall, +And be not so unkind to suffer all: +Patience, in cowards, is tame hopeless fear, +But, in brave minds, a scorn of what they bear. + [_Exit Inca_, MONTEZUMA, ORAZIA, _and_ TRAXALLA. + +_Zemp_. What grief is this which in your face appears? + +_Aca_. The badge of sorrow, which my soul still wears. + +_Zemp_. Though thy late actions did my anger move, +It cannot rob thee of a mother's love. +Why shouldst thou grieve? +Grief seldom joined with blooming youth is seen; +Can sorrow be where knowledge scarce has been? +Fortune does well for heedless youth provide, +But wisdom does unlucky age misguide; +Cares are the train of present power and state, +But hope lives best that on himself does wait: +O happiest fortune if well understood, +The certain prospect of a future good! + +_Aca_. What joy can empire bring me, when I know +That all my greatness to your crimes I owe: + +_Zemp_. Yours be the joy, be mine the punishment. + +_Aca_. In vain, alas, that wish to Heaven is sent +For me, if fair Orazia must not live. + +_Zemp_. Why should you ask me what I cannot +give? +She must be sacrificed: Can I bestow +What to the gods, by former vows, I owe? + +_Aca_. O plead not vows; I wish you had not shown +You slighted all things sacred for a throne. + +_Zemp_. I love thee so, that, though fear follows still, +And horror urges, all that have been ill, +I could for thee +Act o'er my crimes again; and not repent, +Even when I bore the shame and punishment. + +_Aca_. Could you so many ill acts undertake, +And not perform one good one for my sake? + +_Zemp_. Prudence permits not pity should be shown +To those, that raised the war to shake my throne. + +_Aca_. As you are wise, permit me to be just; +What prudence will not venture, honour must; +We owe our conquest to the stranger's sword, +Tis just his prisoners be to him restored. +I love Orazia; but a nobler way, +Than for my love my honour to betray. + +_Zemp_. Honour is but an itch of youthful blood, +Of doing acts extravagantly good; +We call that virtue, which is only heat +That reigns in youth, till age finds out the cheat. + +_Aca_. Great actions first did her affections move, +And I, by greater, would regain her love. + +_Zemp_. Urge not a suit which I must still deny; +Orazia and her father both shall die: +Begone, I'll hear no more. + +_Aca_. You stop your ears-- +But though a mother will not, Heaven will hear; +Like you I vow, when to the powers divine +You pay her guiltless blood, I'll offer mine. [_Exit_. + +_Zemp_. She dies, this happy rival, that enjoys +The stranger's love, and all my hopes destroys; +Had she triumphed, what could she more have done, +Than robbed the mother, and enslaved the son? +Nor will I, at the name of cruel, stay: +Let dull successive monarchs mildly sway: +Their conquering fathers did the laws forsake, +And broke the old, ere they the new could make, +I must pursue my love; yet love, enjoyed, +Will, with esteem, that caused it first, grow less: +But thirst and hunger fear not to be cloyed, +And when they be, are cured by their excess. + +_Enter_ TRAXALLA. + +_Trax_. Now I shall see, what thoughts her heart +conceals; +For that, which wisdom covers, love reveals. [_Aside_. +Madam, the prisoners are disposed. + +_Zemp_. They are? +And how fares our young blustering man of war? +Does he support his chains with patience yet? + +_Trax_. He, and the princess, madam-- + +_Zemp_. Are they met? + +_Trax_. No: but from whence is all this passion +grown? + +_Zemp_. 'Twas a mistake. + +_Trax_. I find this rash unknown +Is dangerous; and, if not timely slain, +May plunge your empire in new wars again. + +_Zemp_. Thank ye; I shall consider. + +_Trax_. Is that all? +The army doat on him, already call +You cruel; and, for aught I know, they may +By force unchain, and crown him in a day. + +_Zemp_. You say, I have already had their curse +For his bad usage; should I use him worse? + +_Trax_. Yet once you feared his reputation might +Obscure the prince's in the people's sight. + +_Zemp_. Time will inform us best what course to +steer, +But let us not our sacred vows defer: +The Inca and his daughter both shall die. + +_Trax_. He suffers justly for the war; but why +Should she share his sad fate? A poor pretence, +That birth should make a crime of innocence. + +_Zemp_. Yet we destroy the poisonous viper's young, +Not for themselves, but those from whom they +sprung. + +_Trax_. O no, they die not for their parents' sake, +But for the poisonous seed which they partake. +Once more behold her, and then let her die, +If in that face or person you can see +But any place to fix a cruelty. +The heavens have clouds, and spots are in the moon; +But faultless beauty shines in her alone. + +_Zemp_. Beauty has wrought compassion in your +mind! + +_Trax_. And you to valour are become as kind. +To former services there's something due, +Yet be advised-- + +_Zemp_. Yes, by myself, not you. + +_Trax_. Princes are sacred. + +_Zemp_. True, whilst they are free: +But power once lost, farewell their sanctity: +'Tis power, to which the gods their worship owe, +Which, uncontrouled, makes all things just below: +Thou dost the plea of saucy rebels use; +They will be judge of what their prince must chuse: +Hard fate of monarchs, not allowed to know +When safe, but as their subjects tell them so. +Then princes but like public pageants move, +And seem to sway, because they sit above. [_Exit_. + +_Trax_. She loves him; in one moment this new +guest +Has drove me out from this false woman's breast; +They, that would fetter love with constancy, +Make bonds to chain themselves, but leave him free +With what impatience I her falsehood bear! +Yet do myself that, which I blame in her; +But interest in my own cause makes me see +That act unjust in her, but just in me. [_Exit_. + + +SCENE II. + +ISMERON _asleep.--Enter_ ZEMPOALLA. + + +_Zemp_. Ho, Ismeron, Ismeron! +He stirs not; ha, in such a dismal cell +Can gentle sleep with his soft blessings dwell? +Must I feel tortures in a human breast, +While beasts and monsters can enjoy their rest? +What quiet they possess in sleep's calm bliss! +The lions cease to roar, the snakes to hiss, +While I am kept awake, +Only to entertain my miseries. +Or if a slumber steal upon my eyes, +Some horrid dream my labouring soul benumbs +And brings fate to me sooner than it comes. +Fears most oppress when sleep has seized upon +The outward parts, and left the soul alone. +What envied blessings these cursed things enjoy! +Next to possess, 'tis pleasure to destroy. +Ismeron! ho, Ismeron, Ismeron! [_Stamps_. + +_Ism_. Who's that, that with so loud and fierce a call +Disturbs my rest? + +_Zemp_. She, that has none at all, +Nor ever must, unless thy powerful art +Can charm the passions of a troubled heart. + +_Ism_. How can you have a discontented mind, +To whom the gods have lately been so kind? + +_Zemp_. Their envious kindness how can I enjoy, +When they give blessings, and the use destroy? + +_Ism_. Dread empress, tell the cause of all your grief; +If art can help, be sure of quick relief. + +_Zemp_. I dreamed, before the altar that I led +A mighty lion in a twisted thread; +I shook to hold him in so slight a tie, +Yet had not power to seek a remedy: +When, in the midst of all my fears, a clove, +With hovering wings, descended from above, +Flew to the lion, and embraces spread, +With wings, like clasping arms, about his head, +Making that murmuring noise that cooing doves +Use, in the soft expression of their loves; +While I, fixed by my wonder, gazed to see +So mild a creature with so fierce agree: +At last the gentle dove turned from his head, +And, pecking, tried to break the slender thread, +Which instantly she severed, and released +From that small bond the fierce and mighty beast, +Who presently turned all his rage on me, +And, with his freedom, brought my destiny. + +_Ism_. Dread empress, this strange vision you relate +Is big with wonder, and too full of fate, +Without the god's assistance, to expound. +In those low regions, where sad night hangs round +The drowsy vaults, and where moist vapours steep +The god's dull brows, that sways the realm of sleep; +There all the informing elements repair, +Swift messengers of water, fire, and air, +To give account of actions, whence they came, +And how they govern every mortal frame; +How, from their various mixture, or their strife, +Are known the calms and tempests of our life: +Thence souls, when sleep their bodies overcome, +Have some imperfect knowledge of their doom. +From those dark caves those powers shall strait appear; +Be not afraid, whatever shapes they wear. + +_Zemp_. There's nothing, thou canst raise, can make me start; +A living form can only shake my heart. + +_Ism_. _You twice ten hundred deities, + To whom we daily sacrifice; + You powers, that dwell with fate below, + And see what men are doomed to do; + Where elements in discord dwell; + Thou god of sleep, arise and tell + Great Zempoalla what strange fate + Must on her dismal vision wait._ + +_Zemp_. How slow these spirits are! Call, make them rise, +Or they shall fast from flame and sacrifice. + +_Ism_. Great empress, +Let not your rage offend what we adore, +And vainly threaten, when we must implore. +Sit silently, and attend-- +While my powerful charms I end. + + _By the croaking of the toad, + In their caves that make abode; + Earthy Dun that pants for breath, + With her swelled sides full of death; + By the crested adders' pride, + That along the clifts do glide; + By thy visage fierce and black; + By the death's-head on thy back; + By the twisted serpents placed + For a girdle round thy waist; + By the hearts of gold that deck + Thy breast, thy shoulders, and thy neck: + From thy sleepy mansion rise, + And open thy unwilling eyes, + While bubbling springs their music keep, + That use to lull thee in thy sleep._ + +_God of Dreams rises_. + +_God_. Seek not to know what must not be revealed; +Joys only flow where fate is most concealed: +Too busy man would find his sorrows more, +If future fortunes he should know before; +For, by that knowledge of his destiny, +He would not live at all, but always die. +Enquire not, then, who shall from bonds be freed, +Who 'tis shall wear a crown, and who shall bleed: +All must submit to their appointed doom; +Fate and misfortune will too quickly come: +Let me no more with powerful charms be pressed; +I am forbid by fate to tell the rest. + +[_The god descends_. + +_Zemp_. Stay, cozener, thou, that hat'st clear truth like light, +And usest words dark as thy own dull night. +You tyrant gods, do you refuse to free +The soul, you gave, from its perplexity? +Why should we in your mercies still believe, +When you can never pity, though we grieve? +For you have bound yourselves by harsh decrees; +And those, not you, are now the deities. + [_Sits down sad_. + +_Ism_. She droops under the weight of rage and care: +You spirits, that inhabit in the air, +With all your powerful charms of music, try +To bring-her soul back to its harmony. + +SONG SUNG BY AERIAL SPIRITS. + + _Poor mortals, that are clogged with earth below, + Sink under love and care, + While we, that dwell in air, + Such heavy passions never know. + Why then should mortals be + Unwilling to be free + From blood, that sullen cloud, + Which shining souls does shroud? + Then they'll shew bright, + And like us light, + When leaving bodies with their care, + They slide to us and air_. + +_Zemp_. Death on these trifles! Cannot your art find +Some means, to ease the passions of the mind? +Or, if you cannot give a lover rest, +Can you force love into a scornful breast? + +_Ism_. Tis reason only can make passions less; +Art gives not new, but may the old increase; +Nor can it alter love in any breast, +That is with other flames before possessed. + +_Zemp_. If this be all your slighted arts can do, +I'll kindle other flames, since I must burn, +And all their temples into ashes turn. + +_Ism_. Great queen-- + +_Zemp. If you would have this sentence staid, +Summon their godheads quickly to your aid, +And presently compose a charm, that may +Love's flames into the stranger's breast convey, +The captive stranger, he whose sword and eyes +Wheree'er they strike, meet ready victories: +Make him but burn for me, in flames like mine, +Victims shall bleed, and feasted altars shine: +If not-- + Down go your temples, and your gods shall see + They have small use of their divinity. [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I.--_The scene opens, and discovers_ MONTEZUMA +_sleeping in prison_. + +_Enter_ TRAXALLA _leading in_ ORAZIA. + + +_Trax_. Now take your choice, and bid him live or die; +To both shew pity, or shew cruelty: +'Tis you that must condemn, I'll only act; +Your sentence is more cruel than my fact. + +_Oraz_. You are most cruel, to disturb a mind, +Which to approaching fate was so resigned. + +_Trax_. Reward my passion, and you'll quickly prove +There's none dare sacrifice what I dare love. +Next to thee, stranger; wake, and now resign +The bold pretences of thy love to mine, +Or in this fatal minute thou shalt find-- + +_Mont_. Death, fool; in that thou may'st be just and kind: +'Twas I that loved Orazia, yet did raise +The storm, in which she sinks: Why dost thou gaze, +Or stay thy hand from giving that just stroke, +Which, rather than prevent, I would provoke? +When I am dead, Orazia may forgive; +She never must, if I dare wish to live. + +_Oraz_. Hold, hold--O Montezuma, can you be +So careless of yourself, but more of me? +Though you have brought me to this misery, +I blush to say I cannot see you die. + +_Mont_. Can my approaching fate such pity move? +The gods and you at once forgive and love. + +_Trax_. Fond fool, thus to mis-spend that little breath +I lent thee to prevent, not hasten, death: +Let her thank you she was unfortunate, +And you thank her for pulling on your fate; +Prove to each other your own destinies. [_Draws_. + +_Enter_ ZEMPOALLA _hastily, and sets a dagger to_ +ORAZIA'S _breast._ + +_Zemp_. Hold, hold, Traxalla, or Orazia dies.-- +O, is't Orazia's name that makes you stay? +'Tis her great power, not mine, that you obey. +Inhuman wretch, dar'st thou the murderer be +Of him, that is not yet condemned by me? + +_Trax_. The wretch, that gave you all the power you have, +May venture sure to execute a slave; +And quench a flame your fondness would have burn, +Which may this city into ashes turn, +The nation in your guilty passion lost; +To me ungrateful, to your country most: +But this shall be their offering, I their priest. + +_Zemp_. The wounds, thou giv'st, I'll copy on her breast: +Strike, and I'll open here a spring of blood, +Shall add new rivers to the crimson flood. +How his pale looks are fixed on her!--'tis so. +Oh, does amazement on your spirits grow? +What, is your public love Orazia's grown? +Could'st thou see mine, and yet not hide thy own? +Suppose I should strike first, would it not breed +Grief in your public heart to see her bleed? + +_Trax_. She mocks my passion; in her sparkling eyes +Death, and a close dissembled fury lies: +I dare not trust her thus. [_Aside_.]--If she must die, +The way to her loved life through mine shall lie. + +[_He puts her by, and steps before_ ORAZIA; _and +she runs before_ MONTEZUMA. + +_Zemp_. And he, that does this stranger's fate design, +Must, to his heart, a passage force through mine. + +_Trax_. Can fair Orazia yet no pity have? +'Tis just she should her own preserver save. + +_Zemp_. Can Montezuma so ungrateful prove +To her, that gave him life, and offers love? + +_Oraz_. Can Montezuma live, and live to be +Just to another, and unjust to me? +You need not be ungrateful; can she give +A life to you, if you refuse to live?-- +Forgive my passion; I had rather see +You dead, than kind to any thing but me. + +_Mont_. O, my Orazia! +To what new joys and knowledge am I brought! +Are death's hard lessons by a woman taught? +How to despise my fate I always knew; +But ne'er durst think, at once, of death and you: +Yet since you teach this generous jealousy, +I dare not wish your life, if I must die. +How much your love my courage does exceed! +Courage alone would shrink to see you bleed! + +_Zemp_. Ungrateful stranger! thou shalt please thy eyes, +And gaze upon Orazia while she dies!-- +I'll keep my vow!--It is some joy to see, +That my revenge will prove my piety. + +_Trax_. Then both shall die!--We have too long withstood, +By private passions urged, the public good. + +_Zemp_. Sure he dissembles; and, perhaps, may prove +My ruin, with his new ambitious love: +Were but this stranger kind, I'd cross his art, +And give my empire, where I gave my heart. +[_Aside_. Yet, thou ungrateful man, +Let thy approaching ruin make thee wise. + +_Mont_. Thee, and thy love, and mischief, I despise! + +_Zemp_. What shall I do? Some way must yet be tried;-- +What reason can she use whom passions guide! + +[_Aside. Trax_. Some black designs are hatching now:--False eyes +Are quick to see another's treacheries. + +[_Aside. Zemp_. Rash stranger, thus to pull down thy own fate! + +_Mont_. You, and that life you offer me, I hate. + +_Enter Jailor_. + +_Zemp_. Here, jailor, take--What title must he have? +Slave, slave!--Am I then captive to a slave?-- +Why art thou thus unwilling to be free? + +_Mont_. Death will release me from these chains, and thee. + +_Zemp_. Here, jailor, take this monster from my sight, +And keep him where it may be always night. +Let none come near him; if thou dost, expect +To pay thy life, the price of the neglect. + +_Mont_. I scorn thy pity, and thy cruelty; +And should despise a blessing sent from thee. + +_Zemp_. O, horror to my soul! take him away!-- +My rage, like dammed-up streams, swelled by some stay, +Shall, from this opposition, get new force, +And leave the bound of its old easy course.-- +Come, my Traxalla, let us both forgive, +And in these wretches' fates begin to live. +The altars shall be crowned with funeral boughs, +Peace-offerings paid,--but with unquiet vows. + [_Exeunt_ ZEMP. _and_ TRAX. + +_Oraz_. How are things ordered, that the wicked should +Appear more kind and gentle than the good? +Her passion seems to make her kinder prove, +And I seem cruel through excess of love: +She loves, and would prevent his death; but I, +That love him better, fear he should not die. +My jealousy, immortal as my love, +Would rob my grave below, and me above, +Of rest.--Ye gods, if I repine, forgive! +You neither let me die in peace, nor live. + +_Enter_ ACACIS, _Jailor, and Indian_. + +_Jail_. They are just gone, sir. + +_Aca_. 'Tis well: Be faithful to my just design, +And all thy prince's fortune shall be thine. + [_Exit_ ACACIS. + +_Ind_. This shall to the empress. [_Exit Indian_. + +_Oraz_. What can this mean!-- +'Twas Prince Acacis, if I durst believe +My sight; but sorrow may like joy deceive: +Each object different from itself appears, +That comes not to the eyes, but through their tears. + +_Enter_ ACACIS, _bringing in_ MONTEZUMA. +Ha!-- + +_Aca_. Here, sir, wear this again;--[_Gives a sword_. +Now follow me. + +_Mont_. So, very good;-- +I dare not think, for I may guess amiss; +None can deceive me while I trust in this. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter_ ORAZIA, _conducted by two Indians with their +swords drawn;_ MONTEZUMA, ACACIS _whispering +another Indian_. + + +_Aca_. Think what a weight upon thy faith I lay. + +_Ind_. I ne'er did more unwillingly obey. + +_Aca_. First, Montezuma, take thy liberty; +Thou gavest me freedom, here I set thee free: +We're equal now. Madam, the danger's great +Of close pursuit; to favour your retreat, +Permit we two a little while remain +Behind, while you go softly o'er the plain. + +_Oraz_. Why should I go before?--What's your intent?-- +Where is my father?--Whither am I sent? + +_Aca_. Your doubts shall soon be cleared. Conduct her on. + [_Exit_ ORAZIA. + +So, Montezuma, we are now alone. +That which my honour owed thee I have paid; +As honour was, so love must be obeyed. +I set Orazia, as thy captive, free; +But, as my mistress, ask her back from thee. + +_Mont_. Thou hast performed what honour bid thee do: +But friendship bars what honour prompts me to.-- +Friends should not fight. + +_Aca_. If friendship we profess, +Let us secure each others happiness: +One needs must die, and he shall happy prove +In her remembrance, t'other in her love. +My guards wait near; and, if I fail, they must +Give up Orazia, or betray their trust. + +_Mont_. Suppose thou conquer'st, would'st thou wander o'er +The south-sea sands, or the rough northern shore, +That parts thy spacious kingdom from Peru, +And, leaving empire, hopeless love pursue? + +_Aca_. By which of all my actions could you guess, +Though more your merit, that my love was less? +What prize can empire with Orazia bear? +Or, where love fills the breast, what room for fear? + +_Mont_. Let fair Orazia then the sentence give, +Else he may die whom she desires to live. + +_Aca_. Your greater merits bribe her to your side; +My weaker title must by arms be tried. + +_Mont_. Oh, tyrant love! how cruel are thy laws! +I forfeit friendship, or betray thy cause: +That person, whom I would defend from all +The world, that person by my hand must fall. + +_Aca_. Our lives we to each others friendship owe; +But love calls back what friendship did bestow: +Love has its cruelties, but friendship none; +And we now fight in quarrels not our own. [_Fight. + +Enter_ ORAZIA. + +_Oraz_. What noise is this?-- +Hold, hold! what cause could be so great, to move +This furious hatred?-- + +_Mont_. 'Twas our furious love.-- + +_Aca_. Love, which I hid till I had set you free, +And bought your pardon with my liberty; +That done, I thought, I less unjustly might +With Montezuma, for Orazia, fight; +He has prevailed, and I must now confess +His fortune greater, not my passion less; +Yet cannot yield you, till his sword remove +A dying rival, that holds fast his love. + +_Oraz_. Whoever falls, 'tis my protector still, +And then the crime's as great, to die as kill.-- +Acacis, do not hopeless love pursue; +But live, and this soft malady subdue. + +_Aca_. You bid me live, and yet command me die! +I am not worth your care;--Fly, madam, fly! +(While I fall here unpitied) o'er this plain, +Free from pursuit, the faithless mountains gain; +And these I charge, +As they would have me think their friendship true, +Leave me alone, to serve, and follow you: +Make haste, fair princess, to avoid that fate, +Which does for your unhappy father wait. + +_Oraz_. Is he then left to die, and shall he see +Himself forsaken, ere his death, by me? + +_Mont_. That would you do? + +_Oraz_. To prison I'll return, +And there, in fetters, with my father mourn. + +_Mont_. That saves not his, but throws your life +away. + +_Oraz_. Duty shall give what nature once must +pay. + +_Aca_. Life is the gift, which heaven and parents +give, +And duty best preserves it, if you live. + +_Oraz_. I should but further from my fountain fly, +And, like an unfed stream, run on and die: +Urge me no more, and do not grieve to see +Your honour rivalled by my piety. +[_She goes softly of, and often looks back_. + +_Mont_. If honour would not, shame would lead the way; +I'll back with her. + +_Aca_. Stay, Montezuma, stay!-- +Thy rival cannot let thee go alone, +My love will bear me, though my blood is gone. + +[_As they are going off,_ + +_Enter_ ZEMPOALLA, TRAXALLA, _the Indian that +went to tell her, and the rest, and seize them_. + +_Zemp_. Seize them!-- + +_Aca_. Oh, Montezuma, thou art lost. + +_Mont_. No more, proud heart, thy useless courage boast!-- +Courage, thou curse of the unfortunate! +That canst encounter, not resist, ill fate. + +_Zemp_. Acacis bleeds!-- +What barbarous hand has wounded thus my son? + +_Mont_. 'Twas I; by my unhappy sword 'twas done.-- +Thou bleed'st, poor prince, and I am left to grieve +My rival's fall. + +_Trax_. He bleeds, but yet may live. + +_Aca_. Friendship and love my failing strength renew; +I dare not die, when I should live for you; +My death were now my crime, as it would be +My guilt to live when I have set you free: +Thus I must still remain unfortunate, +Your life and death are equally my fate. + +ORAZIA _comes back_. + +_Oraz_. A noise again!--alas, what do I see! +Love, thou didst once give place to piety: +Now, piety, let love triumph awhile;-- +Here, bind my hands: Come, Montezuma, smile +At fortune; since thou sufferest for my sake, +Orazia will her captive's chains partake. + +_Mont_. Now, fate, thy worst. + +_Zemp_. Lead to the temple straight, +A priest and altar for these lovers wait: +They shall be joined, they shall. + +_Trax_. And I will prove +Those joys in vengeance, which I want in love. + +_Aca_. I'll quench your thirst with blood, and will destroy +Myself, and, with myself, your cruel joy. +Now, Montezuma, since Orazia dies, +I'll fall before thee, the first sacrifice; +My title in her death shall exceed thine, +As much as, in her life, thy hopes did mine: +And when with our mixed blood the altar's dyed, +Then our new title let the gods decide. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + +_The Scene opens, and discovers the Temple of the Sun, +all of gold, and four Priests, in habits of white and +red feathers, attending by a bloody altar, as ready +for sacrifice. + +Then enter the Guards_, ZEMPOALLA, _and_ TRAXALLA; +_Inca_, ORAZIA, _and_ MONTEZUMA,_ bound. As soon +as they are placed, the Priest sings_. + + +SONG. + + _You to whom victory we owe, + Whose glories rise + By sacrifice, + And from our fates below; + Never did your altars shine + Feasted with blood so near divine; + Princes to whom we bow, + As they to you:-- + Thus you can ravish from a throne, + And, by their loss of power, declare your own._ + +_Zemp_. Now to inflict those punishments, that are +Due to the authors of invasive war; +Who, to deceive the oppressed world, like you, +Invent false quarrels to conceal the true. + +_Inca_. My quarrel was the same, that all the gods +Must have to thee, if there be any odds +Betwixt those titles that are bad or good, +To crowns descended, or usurped by blood:-- +Swell not with this success; 'twas not to thee, +But to this man, the gods gave victory. + +_Mont_. Since I must perish by my own success, +Think my misfortunes more, my crimes the less; +And so, forgiving, make me pleased to die, +Thus punished for this guilty victory. + +_Inca_. Death can make virtue easy; I forgive: +That word would prove too hard, were I to live; +The honour of a prince would then deny, +But in the grave all our distinctions die. + +_Mont_. Forgive me one thing yet; to say, I love, +Let it no more your scorn and anger move; +Since, dying in one flame, my ashes must +Embrace and mingle with Orazia's dust. + +_Inca_. Name thy bold love no more, lest that last breath, +Which should forgive, I stifle with my death. + +_Oraz_. Oh, my dear father! Oh, why may not I, +Since you gave life to me, for you now die? + +_Mont_. 'Tis I, that wrought this mischief, ought to fall +A just and willing sacrifice for all. +Now, Zempoalla, be both just and kind, +And, in my fate, let me thy mercy find: +Be grateful, then, and grant me that esteem, +That as alive, so dead, I may redeem. + +_Oraz_. O, do not for her cruel mercy move; +None should ask pity but from those they love. + +[_Weeps_. + +_Inca_. Fond girl! to let thy disobedient eyes +Show a concern for him, whom I despise. + +_Oraz_. How love and nature may divide a breast, +At once by both their powers severely prest! +Yet, sir, since love seems less, you may forgive; +I would not have you die, nor have him live; +Yet if he dies, alas! what shall I do? +I cannot die with him, and live with you. + +_Mont_. How vainly we pursue this generous strife, +Parting in death more cruel than in life!-- +Weep not, we both shall have one destiny; +As in one flame we lived, in one we'll die. + +_Trax_. Why do we waste in vain these precious hours? +Each minute of his life may hazard ours: +The nation does not live whilst he enjoys +His life, it is his safety that destroys. +He shall fall first, and teach the rest to die. + +_Zemp_. Hold!-- +Who is it that commands;--ha! you, or I?-- +Your zeal grows saucy!--sure, you may allow +Your empress freedom first to pay her vow. + +_Trax_. She may allow--a justice to be done +By him, that raised his empress to her throne. + +_Zemp_. You are too bold,-- + +_Trax_. And you too passionate. + +_Zemp_. Take heed, with his, you urge not your own fate.-- +For all this pity is now due to me. + +_Mont_. I hate thy offered mercy more than thee. + +_Trax_. Why will not then the fair Orazia give +Life to herself, and let Traxalla live? + +_Mont_. Orazia will not live, and let me die; +She taught me first this cruel jealousy. + +_Oraz_. I joy that you have learned it!-- +That flame not like immortal love appears. +Where death can cool its warmth, or kill its fears. + +_Zemp_. What shall I do? am I so quite forlorn, +No help from my own pride, nor from his scorn! +My rival's death may more effectual prove; +He, that is robbed of hope, may cease to love:-- +Here, lead these offerings to their deaths. + +_Trax_. Let none +Obey but he, that will pull on his own! + +_Zemp_. Tempt me not thus; false and ungrateful too! + +_Trax_. Just as ungrateful, and as false, as you. + +_Zemp_. 'Tis thy false love that fears her destiny. + +_Trax_. And your false love that fears to have him die. + +_Zemp_. Seize the bold traitor! + +_Trax_. What a slighted frown +Troubles your brow! feared nor obeyed by none; +Come, prepare for sacrifice. + +_Enter_ ACACIS _weakly_. + +_Aca_. Hold, hold! such sacrifices cannot be +Devotions, but a solemn cruelty: +How can the gods delight in human blood? +Think them not cruel, if you think them good. +In vain we ask that mercy, which they want, +And hope that pity, which they hate to grant. + +_Zemp_. Retire, Acacis;-- +Preserve thyself, for 'tis in vain to waste +Thy breath for them: The fatal vow is past. + +_Aca_. To break that vow is juster than commit +A greater crime, by your preserving it. + +_Zemp_. The gods themselves their own will best express +To like the vow, by giving the success. + +_Aca_. If all things by success are understood, +Men, that make war, grow wicked to be good: +But did you vow, those that were overcome, +And he that conquered, both, should share one doom? +There's no excuse; for one of these must be +Not your devotion, but your cruelty. + +_Trax_. To that rash stranger, sir, we nothing owe; +What he had raised, he strove to overthrow: +That duty lost, which should our actions guide, +Courage proves guilt, when merits swell to pride. + +_Aca_. Darest thou, who didst thy prince's life betray, +Once name that duty, thou hast thrown away? +Like thy injustice to this stranger shown, +To tax him with a guilt, that is thy own?-- +Can you, brave soldiers, suffer him to die, +That gave you life, in giving victory? +Look but upon this stranger, see those hands, +That brought you freedom, fettered up in bands. +Not one looks up,-- +Lest sudden pity should their hearts surprise, +And steal into their bosoms through their eyes. + +_Zemp_. Why thus, in vain, are thy weak spirits prest? +Restore thyself to thy more needful rest. + +_Aca_. And leave Orazia!-- + +_Zemp_. Go, you must resign: +For she must be the gods'; not yours, nor mine. + +_Aca_. You are my mother, and my tongue is tied +So much by duty, that I dare not chide.-- +Divine Orazia! +Can you have so much mercy to forgive? +I do not ask it with design to live, +But in my death to have my torments cease: +Death is not death, when it can bring no peace. + +_Oraz_. I both forgive, and pity;-- + +_Aca_. O, say no more, lest words less kind destroy +What these have raised in me of peace and joy: +You said, you did both pity and forgive; +You would do neither, should Acacis live. +By death alone the certain way appears, +Thus to hope mercy, and deserve your tears. + +[_Stabs himself_. + +_Zemp_. O, my Acacis! +What cruel cause could urge this fatal deed?-- + +[_Weeps_. + +He faints!--help, help! some help! or he will bleed +His life, and mine, away!-- +Some water there!--Not one stirs from his place! +I'll use my tears to sprinkle on his face. + +_Aca_. Orazia,-- + +_Zemp_. Fond child! why dost thou call upon her name? +I am thy mother. + +_Aca_. No, you are my shame. +That blood is shed that you had title in, +And with your title may it end your sin!-- +Unhappy prince, you may forgive me now, +Thus bleeding for my mother's cruel vow. + +_Inca_. Be not concerned for me; +Death's easier than the changes I have seen: +I would not live to trust the world again. + +_Mont_. Into my eyes sorrow begins to creep; +When hands are tied, it is no shame to weep. + +_Aca_. Dear Montezuma, +I may be still your friend, though I must die +Your rival in her love: Eternity +Has room enough for both; there's no desire, +Where to enjoy is only to admire: +There we'll meet friends, when this short storm is past. + +_Mont_. Why must I tamely wait to perish last? + +_Aca_. Orazia weeps, and my parched soul appears +Refreshed by that kind shower of pitying tears; +Forgive those faults my passion did commit, +'Tis punished with the life that nourished it; +I had no power in this extremity +To save your life, and less to see you die. +My eyes would ever on this object stay, +But sinking nature takes the props away. +Kind death, +To end with pleasures all my miseries, +Shuts up your image in my closing eyes. + +[_Dies_. + +_Enter a Messenger_. + +_Mess_. To arms, to arms! + +_Trax_. From whence this sudden fear? + +_Mess_. Stand to your guard, my lord, the danger's near: +From every quarter crowds of people meet, +And, leaving houses empty, fill the street. + +[_Exit Mess_. + +_Trax_. Fond queen, thy fruitless tears a while defer; +Rise, we must join again--Not speak, nor stir! +I hear the people's voice like winds that roar, +When they pursue the flying waves to shore. + +_Enter Second Messenger_. + +_2 Mess_. Prepare to fight, my lord; the banished queen, +With old Garucca, in the streets are seen. + +_Trax_. We must go meet them or it be too late; +Yet, madam, rise; have you no sense of fate? + +_Enter third Messenger_. + +_3 Mess_. King Montezuma their loud shouts proclaim, +The city rings with their new sovereign's name; +The banished queen declares he is her son, +And to his succour all the people run. + + [ZEMPOALLA _rises_. + +_Zemp_. Can this be true? O love! O fate! have I +Thus doated on my mortal enemy? + +_Trax_. To my new prince I thus my homage pay; +Your reign is short, young king-- + +_Zemp_. Traxalla, stay-- +'Tis to my hand that he must owe his fate, +I will revenge at once my love and hate. + +[_She sets a dagger to_ MONTEZUMA'S _breast_. + +_Trax_. Strike, strike, the conquering enemy is near. +My guards are passed, while you detain me here. + +_Zemp_. Die then, ungrateful, die; Amexia's son +Shall never triumph on Acacis' throne. +Thy death must my unhappy flames remove: +Now where is thy defence--against my love? + +[_She cuts the cords, and gives him the dagger_. + +_Trax_. Am I betrayed? +[_He draws and thrusts at_ MONTEZUMA, +_he puts it by and kills him_. + +_Mont_. So may all rebels die: +This end has treason joined with cruelty. + +_Zemp_. Live thou whom I must love, and yet must hate; +She gave thee life, who knows it brings her fate. + +_Mont_. Life is a trifle which I would not take, +But for Orazia's and her father's sake: +Now, Inca, hate me, if thou canst; for he, +Whom thou hast scorned, will die, or rescue thee. + +_As he goes to attack the guards with_ TRAXALLA'S +_sword, enter_ AMEXIA, GARUCCA, _Indians, driving +some of the other party before them_. + +_Gar_. He lives; ye gods, he lives! great queen, see here +Your coming joys, and your departing fear. + +_Amex_. Wonder and joy so fast together flow, +Their haste to pass has made their passage slow; +Like struggling waters in a vessel pent, +Whose crowding drops choak up the narrow vent. +My son!-- + +[_She embraces him_. + +_Mont_. I am amazed! it cannot be +That fate has such a joy in store for me. + +_Amex_. Can I not gain belief that this is true? + +_Mont_. It is my fortune I suspect, not you. + +_Gar_. First ask him if he old Garucca know. + +_Mont_. My honoured father! let me fall thus low. + +_Gar_. Forbear, great prince; 'tis I must pay to you +That adoration, as my sovereign's due: +For, from my humble race you did not spring; +You are the issue of our murdered king, +Sent by that traitor to his blest abode, +Whom, to be made a king, he made a god: +The story is too full of fate to tell, +Or what strange fortune our lost queen befel. + +_Amex_. That sad relation longer time will crave; +I lived obscure, he bred you in a cave, +But kept the mighty secret from your ear, +Lest heat of blood to some strange course should steer +Your youth. + +_Mont_. I owe him all, that now I am; +He taught me first the noble thirst of fame. +Shewed me the baseness of unmanly fear, +Till the unlicked whelp I plucked from the rough bear, +And made the ounce and tyger give me way, +While from their hungry jaws I snatched the prey: +'Twas he that charged my young arms first with toils, +And drest me glorious in my savage spoils. + +_Gar_. You spent in shady forest all the day, +And joyed, returning, to shew me the prey, +To tell the story, to describe the place, +With all the pleasures of the boasted chace; +Till fit for arms, I reaved you from your sport, +To train your youth in the Peruvian court: +I left you there, and ever since have been +The sad attendant of my exiled queen. + +_Zemp_. My fatal dream comes to my memory; +That lion, whom I held in bonds, was he, +Amexia was the dove that broke his chains; +What now but Zempoalla's death remains? + +_Mont_. Pardon, fair princess, if I must delay +My love a while, my gratitude to pay. +Live, Zempoalla--free from dangers live, +For present merits I past crimes forgive: +Oh, might she hope Orazia's pardon, too! + +_Oraz_. I would have none condemned for loving you; +In me her merit much her fault o'erpowers; +She sought my life, but she preserved me yours. + +_Amex_. Taught by my own, I pity her estate, +And wish her penitence, but not her fate. + +_Inca_. I would not be the last to bid her live; +Kings best revenge their wrongs, when they forgive. + +_Zemp_. I cannot yet forget what I have been: +Would you give life to her, that was a queen? +Must you then give, and must I take? there's yet +One way, that's by refusing, to be great: +You bid me live--bid me be wretched too; +Think, think, what pride, unthroned, must undergo: +Look on this youth, Amexia, look, and then +Suppose him yours, and bid me live again; +A greater sweetness on these lips there grows, +Than breath shut out from a new-folded rose: +What lovely charms on these cold cheeks appear! +Could any one hate death, and see it here? +But thou art gone-- + +_Mont_. O that you would believe +Acacis lives in me, and cease to grieve. + +_Zemp_. Yes, I will cease to grieve, and cease to be. +His soul stays watching in his wound for me; +All that could render life desired is gone, +Orazia has my love, and you my throne, +And death, Acacis--yet I need not die, +You leave me mistress of my destiny; +In spite of dreams, how am I pleased to see, +Heaven's truth, or falsehood, should depend on me! +But I will help the Gods; +The greatest proof of courage we can give, +Is then to die when we have power to live. [_Kills herself_. + +_Mont_. How fatally that instrument of death +Was hid-- + +_Amex_. She has expired her latest breath. + +_Mont_. But there lies one, to whom all grief is due. + +_Oraz_. None e'er was so unhappy and so true. + +_Mont_. Your pardon, royal sir. + +_Inca_. You have my love. [_Gives him ORAZIA_. + +_Amex_. The gods, my son, your happy choice approve. + +_Mont_. Come, my Orazia, then, and pay with me, +[_Leads her to ACACIS_. +Some tears to poor Acacis' memory; +So strange a fate for men the gods ordain, +Our clearest sunshine should be mixt with rain; +How equally our joys and sorrows move! +Death's fatal triumphs, joined with those of love. +Love crowns the dead, and death crowns him that lives, +Each gains the conquest, which the other gives. +[_Exeunt omnes_. + + +EPILOGUE. + +SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA. + + +You see what shifts we are enforced to try, +To help out wit with some variety; +Shows may be found that never yet were seen, +'Tis hard to find such wit as ne'er has been: +You have seen all that this old world can do, +We, therefore, try the fortune of the new, +And hope it is below your aim to hit +At untaught nature with your practised wit: +Our naked Indians, then, when wits appear, +Would as soon chuse to have the Spaniards here. +'Tis true, you have marks enough, the plot, the show, +The poet's scenes, nay, more, the painter's too; +If all this fail, considering the cost, +'Tis a true voyage to the Indies lost: +But if you smile on all, then these designs, +Like the imperfect treasure of our minds, +Will pass for current wheresoe'er they go, +When to your bounteous hands their stamps they owe. + + + + +THE +INDIAN EMPEROR +OR, +THE CONQUEST OF MEXICO +BY +THE SPANIARDS. + +BEING THE SEQUEL OF +THE INDIAN QUEEN. + + +Dum relego, scripsisse pudet, quia plurima cerno, + Me quoque, qui feci, judice, digna limi. OVID. + + + +TO THE +MOST EXCELLENT +AND MOST ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCESS, +ANNE, +DUCHESS OF MONMOUTH AND BUCCLEUCH, +WIFE TO THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS +AND HIGH-BORN PRINCE, +JAMES, +DUKE OF MONMOUTH[A]. + +[Footnote A: Anne Scott, duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth, was the +last scion of a race of warriors, more remarkable for their exploits +in the field, than their address in courts, or protection of +literature. She was the heiress of the Scotts, barons and earls of +Buccleuch; and became countess, in her own right, upon the death of +her elder sister, lady Mary, who married the unfortunate Walter +Scott, earl of Tarras, and died without issue in 1662. In 1665, Anne, +countess of Buccleuch, married James Fitzroy, duke of Monmouth, eldest +natural son of Charles II. They were afterwards created duke and +duchess of Buccleuch. She was an accomplished and high-spirited lady, +distinguished for her unblemished conduct in a profligate court. +It was her patronage which first established Dryden's popularity; a +circumstance too honourable to her memory to be here suppressed.] + + +May it please Your Grace, +The favour which heroic plays have lately found upon our theatres, has +been wholly derived to them from the countenance and approbation they +have received at court. The most eminent persons for wit and honour +in the royal circle having so far owned them, that they have judged +no way so fit as verse to entertain a noble audience, or to express +a noble passion; and among the rest which have been written in this +kind, they have been so indulgent to this poem, as to allow it no +inconsiderable place. Since, therefore, to the court I owe its fortune +on the stage; so, being now more publicly exposed in print, I humbly +recommend it to your grace's protection, who by all knowing persons +are esteemed a principal ornament of the court. But though the rank +which you hold in the royal family might direct the eyes of a poet to +you, yet your beauty and goodness detain and fix them. High objects, +it is true, attract the sight; but it looks up with pain on craggy +rocks and barren mountains, and continues not intent on any object, +which is wanting in shades and greens to entertain it. Beauty, in +courts, is so necessary to the young, that those, who are without it, +seem to be there to no other purpose than to wait on the triumphs of +the fair; to attend their motions in obscurity, as the moon and stars +do the sun by day; or, at best, to be the refuge of those hearts which +others have despised; and, by the unworthiness of both, to give and +take a miserable comfort. But as needful as beauty is, virtue and +honour are yet more: The reign of it without their support is unsafe +and short, like that of tyrants. Every sun which looks on beauty +wastes it; and, when it once is decaying, the repairs of art are of as +short continuance, as the after-spring, when the sun is going +further off. This, madam, is its ordinary fate; but yours, which is +accompanied by virtue, is not subject to that common destiny. Your +grace has not only a long time of youth in which to flourish, but +you have likewise found the way, by an untainted preservation of your +honour, to make that perishable good more lasting: And if beauty, like +wines, could be preserved, by being mixed and embodied with others of +their own natures, then your grace's would be immortal, since no +part of Europe can afford a parallel to your noble lord in masculine +beauty, and in goodliness of shape. To receive the blessings and +prayers of mankind, you need only to be seen together: We are ready +to conclude, that you are a pair of angels sent below to make virtue +amiable in your persons, or to sit to poets when they would pleasantly +instruct the age, by drawing goodness in the most perfect and alluring +shape of nature. But though beauty be the theme on which poets love to +dwell, I must be forced to quit it as a private praise, since you have +deserved those which are more public: For goodness and humanity, which +shine in you, are virtues which concern mankind; and, by a certain +kind of interest, all people agree in their commendation, because the +profit of them may extend to many. It is so much your inclination to +do good, that you stay not to be asked; which is an approach so nigh +the Deity, that human nature is not capable of a nearer. It is my +happiness, that I can testify this virtue of your grace's by my +own experience; since I have so great an aversion from soliciting +court-favours, that I am ready to look on those as very bold, who +dare grow rich there without desert. But I beg your grace's pardon for +assuming this virtue of modesty to myself, which the sequel of this +discourse will no way justify: For in this address I have already +quitted the character of a modest man, by presenting you this poem as +an acknowledgment, which stands in need of your protection; and which +ought no more to be esteemed a present, than it is accounted bounty +in the poor, when they bestow a child on some wealthy friend, who +will better breed it up. Offsprings of this nature are like to be so +numerous with me, that I must be forced to send some of them abroad; +only this is like to be more fortunate than his brothers, because I +have landed him on a hospitable shore. Under your patronage Montezuma +hopes he is more safe than in his native Indies; and therefore comes +to throw himself at your grace's feet, paying that homage to your +beauty, which he refused to the violence of his conquerors. He begs +only, that when he shall relate his sufferings, you will consider +him as an Indian Prince, and not expect any other eloquence from his +simplicity, than what his griefs have furnished him withal. His story +is, perhaps, the greatest which was ever represented in a poem of this +nature; the action of it including the discovery and conquest of a new +world. In it I have neither wholly followed the truth of the history, +nor altogether left it; but have taken all the liberty of a poet, +to add, alter, or diminish, as I thought might best conduce to +the beautifying of my work: it being not the business of a poet to +represent historical truth, but probability. But I am not to make +the justification of this poem, which I wholly leave to your grace's +mercy. It is an irregular piece, if compared with many of Corneille's, +and, if I may make a judgment of it, written with more flame than art; +in which it represents the mind and intentions of the author, who is +with much more zeal and integrity, than design and artifice, + +MADAM, +Your Grace's most obedient, +And most obliged servant, +JOHN DRYDEN, +_October_ 12. 1667. + + + +Betwixt 1664, when our author assisted Sir Robert Howard in composing +the preceding play, and the printing of the Indian Emperor in 1668, +some disagreement had arisen betwixt them. Sir Robert appears to have +given the first provocation, by prefixing to his tragedy of the Duke +of Lerma, or Great Favourite, in 1668, some remarks, which drew down +the following severe retort. It is therefore necessary to mention the +contents of the offensive preface. + +Sir Robert Howard begins, as one taking leave of the drama and +dramatic authors, "his too long acquaintances;" and unwilling again to +venture "into the civil wars of Censure, + +_Ubi--Nullos habitura triumphos_." + +He states his unwilling interference to be owing to the "unnecessary +understanding" of some, who endeavoured to apply as strict rules to +poetry as mathematics, which rendered it incumbent on him to justify +his having written some scenes of his tragedy in blank verse. In the +next paragraph, Dryden is expressly pointed out as the author of the +Essay on Dramatic Poetry; and is ridiculed for attempting to prove, +not that rhyme is more natural in a dialogue on the stage supposed to +be spoken _extempore_, but grander and more expressive. In like +manner, Sir Robert unfortunately banters our author for drawing from +Seneca an instance of a lofty mode of expressing so ordinary a thing +as _shutting a door_[A], instead of giving an example to the same +effect in English. + +[Footnote A: + +Reserate clusos regii postes laris. + +Howard's mistranslation of this passage seems to have been +inadvertent. In the Essay it is rendered, + +"Set wide the palace gates."] + +The author of the Duke of Lerma proceeds to attack the unities; +arguing, because it is impossible that the stage can represent exactly +a house, or that the time of acting can be extended to twenty-four +hours; therefore it is needless there should be any limitation +whatever as to time or place, since otherwise it must be inferred, +that there are degrees in impossibility, and that one thing may be +more impossible than another. + +The whole tone of the preface is that of one who wished to have it +supposed, that he was writing concerning a subject rather beneath his +notice, and only felt himself called forth to do so by the dogmatism +of those who laid down confident rules or laws in matters so trifling. +This affectation of supercilious censure appears deeply to have +provoked Dryden, and prompted the acrimony of the following Defence, +which he prefixed to a second edition of the Indian Emperor published +in 1668, probably shortly after the offence had been given. The angry +friends were afterwards reconciled; and Dryden, listening more to +the feelings of former kindness than of recent passion, cancelled the +_Defence_, which was never afterwards reprinted, till Congreve +collected our author's dramatic works. It is worthy of preservation, +as it would be difficult to point out deeper contempt and irony, +couched under language so temperate, cold, and outwardly respectful. + + + +A +DEFENCE +OF AN +ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY; +BEING +AN ANSWER TO THE PREFACE +OF THE +GREAT FAVOURITE, OR THE DUKE OF LERMA. + + +The former edition of "the Indian Emperor" being full of faults, which +had escaped the printer, I have been willing to overlook this second +with more care: and though I could not allow myself so much time as +was necessary, yet by that little I have done, the press is freed +from some errors which it had to answer for before. As for the more +material faults of writing, which are properly mine, though I see many +of them, I want leisure to amend them. It is enough for those who +make one poem the business of their lives, to leave that correct: yet, +excepting Virgil, I never met with any which was so in any language. + +But while I was thus employed about this impression, there came to my +hands a new printed play, called, "The Great Favourite, or, The Duke +of Lerma;" the author of which, a noble and most ingenious person, has +done me the favour to make some observations and animadversions upon +my Dramatic Essay. I must confess he might have better consulted his +reputation, than by matching himself with so weak an adversary. But +if his honour be diminished in the choice of his antagonist, it is +sufficiently recompensed in the election of his cause: which being the +weaker, in all appearance, as combating the received opinions of +the best ancient and modern authors, will add to his glory, if he +overcome; and to the opinion of his generosity, if he be vanquished, +since he engages at so great odds; and, so like a cavalier, undertakes +the protection of the weaker party. I have only to fear, on my +own behalf, that so good a cause as mine may not suffer by my ill +management, or weak defence; yet I cannot in honour but take the glove +when it is offered me; though I am only a champion by succession, +and no more able to defend the right of Aristotle and Horace, than an +infant Dimock[A] to maintain the title of a king. + +[Footnote A: The family of Dimock, or Dymock, are hereditary champions +of England; and, as such, obliged to maintain the king's title in +single combat against all challengers.] + +For my own concernment in the controversy, it is so small, that I can +easily be contented to be driven from a few notions of dramatic poesy; +especially by one, who has the reputation of understanding all things: +and I might justly make that excuse for my yielding to him, which the +philosopher made to the emperor; why should I offer to contend with +him, who is master of more than twenty legions of arts and sciences? +But I am forced to fight, and therefore it will be no shame to be +overcome. + +Yet I am so much his servant, as not to meddle with any thing which +does not concern me in his preface: therefore I leave the good sense +and other excellencies of the first twenty lines, to be considered by +the critics. As for the play of "The Duke of Lerma," having so much +altered and beautified it as he has done, it can justly belong to none +but him. Indeed they must be extremely ignorant, as well as envious, +who would rob him of that honour; for you see him putting in his claim +to it, even in the first two lines: + + Repulse upon repulse, like waves thrown back, + That slide to hung upon obdurate rocks. + +After this, let detraction do its worst; for if this be not his, it +deserves to be. For my part, I declare for distributive justice; and +from this, and what follows, he certainly deserves those advantages, +which he acknowledges to have received from the opinion of sober men. + +In the next place, I must beg leave to observe his great address in +courting the reader to his party: For, intending to assault all poets, +both ancient and modern, he discovers not his whole design at once, +but seems only to aim at me, and attacks me on my weakest side, my +defence of verse. + +To begin with me, he gives me the compellation of "The Author of a +Dramatic Essay;" which is a little discourse in dialogue, for the most +part borrowed from the observations of others: therefore, that I may +not be wanting to him in civility, I return his compliment, by calling +him, "The Author of the Duke of Lerma." + +But (that I may pass over his salute) he takes notice of my great +pains to prove rhyme as natural in a serious play, and more effectual +than blank verse. Thus indeed I did state the question; but he tells +me, "I pursue that which I call natural in a wrong application; For +'tis not the question, whether rhyme, or not rhyme, be best, or most +natural for a serious subject, but what is nearest the nature of that +it represents." + +If I have formerly mistaken the question, I must confess my ignorance +so far, as to say I continue still in my mistake: But he ought to have +proved that I mistook it; for it is yet but _gratis dictum_; I +still shall think I have gained my point, if I can prove that rhyme is +best, or most natural for a serious subject. As for the question as he +states it, whether rhyme be nearest the nature of what it represents, +I wonder he should think me so ridiculous as to dispute, whether prose +or verse be nearest to ordinary conversation. + +It still remains for him to prove his inference; that, since verse +is granted to be more remote than prose from ordinary conversation, +therefore no serious plays ought to be writ in verse: and when he +clearly makes that good, I will acknowledge his victory as absolute as +he can desire it. + +The question now is, which of us two has mistaken it; and if it appear +I have not, the world will suspect, "what gentleman that was, who was +allowed to speak twice in parliament, because he had not yet spoken to +the question[A];" and perhaps conclude it to be the same, who, as it +is reported, maintained a contradiction _in terminis_, in the +face of three hundred persons. + +[Footnote A: A sneer which Sir Robert aims at Dryden. Dryden had +written twice on the question of rhyming tragedies.] + +But to return to verse, whether it be natural or not in plays, is a +problem which is not demonstrable of either side: It is enough for me, +that he acknowledges he had rather read good verse than prose: for +if all the enemies of verse will confess as much, I shall not need +to prove that it is natural. I am satisfied if it cause delight; for +delight is the chief, if not the only, end of poesy: Instruction can +be admitted but in the second place, for poesy only instructs as it +delights. It is true, that to imitate well is a poet's work; but to +affect the soul, and excite the passions, and, above all, to move +admiration (which is the delight of serious plays), a bare imitation +will not serve. The converse, therefore, which a poet is to imitate, +must be heightened with all the arts and ornaments of poesy; and must +be such as, strictly considered, could never be supposed spoken by any +without premeditation. + +As for what he urges, that "a play will still be supposed to be a +composition of several persons speaking _extempore_, and that good +verses are the hardest things which can be imagined to be so spoken;" +I must crave leave to dissent from his opinion, as to the former part +of it: For, if I am not deceived, a play is supposed to be the work +of the poet, imitating, or representing, the conversation of several +persons: and this I think to be as clear, as he thinks the contrary. + +But I will be bolder, and do not doubt to make it good, though a +paradox, that one great reason why prose is not to be used in serious +plays, is, because it is too near the nature of converse: There may be +too great a likeness; as the most skilful painters affirm, that there +may be too near a resemblance in a picture: To take every lineament +and feature is not to make an excellent piece, but to take so much +only as will make a beautiful resemblance of the whole: and, with an +ingenious flattery of nature, to heighten the beauties of some parts, +and hide the deformities of the rest. For so says Horace, + + _Ut pictura poesis erit. &c.-- + Haec amat obscurum, vult haec sub luce videri, + Judicis argutum quae formidat acumen. + Et quae + Desperat tractata nitescere posse, relinquit._ + +In "Bartholomew Fair," or the lowest kind of comedy, that degree of +heightening is used, which is proper to set off that subject: It is +true the author was not there to go out of prose, as he does in his +higher arguments of comedy, "The Fox" and "Alchemist;" yet he does so +raise his matter in that prose, as to render it delightful; which +he could never have performed, had he only said or done those very +things, that are daily spoken or practised in the fair: for then the +fair itself would be as full of pleasure to an ingenious person as the +play, which we manifestly see it is not. But he hath made an excellent +lazar of it; the copy is of price, though the original be vile. You +see in "Catiline" and "Sejanus," where the argument is great, he +sometimes ascends to verse, which shews he thought it not unnatural in +serious plays; and had his genius been as proper for rhyme as it +was for humour, or had the age in which he lived attained to as much +knowledge in verse as ours, it is probable he would have adorned those +subjects with that kind of writing. + +Thus Prose, though the rightful prince, yet is by common consent +deposed, as too weak for the government of serious plays: and he +failing, there now start up two competitors; one, the nearer in blood, +which is Blank Verse; the other, more fit for the ends of government, +which is Rhyme. Blank Verse is, indeed, the nearer Prose, but he is +blemished with the weakness of his predecessor. Rhyme (for I will +deal clearly) has somewhat of the usurper in him; but he is brave, and +generous, and his dominion pleasing. For this reason of delight, +the ancients (whom I will still believe as wise as those who so +confidently correct them) wrote all their tragedies in verse, though +they knew it most remote from conversation. + +But I perceive I am falling into the danger of another rebuke from my +opponent; for when I plead that the ancients used verse, I prove not +that they would have admitted rhyme, had it then been written. All +I can say is only this, that it seems to have succeeded verse by the +general consent of poets in all modern languages; for almost all their +serious plays are written in it; which, though it be no demonstration +that therefore they ought to be so, yet at least the practice first, +and then the continuation of it, shews that it attained the end, which +was to please; and if that cannot be compassed here, I will be the +first who shall lay it down: for I confess my chief endeavours are +to delight the age in which I live. If the humour of this be for low +comedy, small accidents, and raillery, I will force my genius to obey +it, though with more reputation I could write in verse. I know I am +not so fitted by nature to write comedy: I want that gaiety of humour +which is required to it. My conversation is slow and dull; my humour +saturnine and reserved: In short, I am none of those who endeavour to +break jests in company, or make repartees. So that those, who decry my +comedies, do me no injury, except it be in point of profit: reputation +in them is the last thing to which I shall pretend. I beg pardon for +entertaining the reader with so ill a subject; but before I quit that +argument, which was the cause of this digression, I cannot but take +notice how I am corrected for my quotation of Seneca, in my defence of +plays in verse. My words are these: "Our language is noble, full, and +significant; and I know not why he, who is a master of, it, may not +clothe ordinary things in it as decently as in the Latin, if he use +the same diligence in his choice of words." One would think, "unlock +a door," was a thing as vulgar as could be spoken; yet Seneca could +make it sound high and lofty in his Latin. + +"_Reserate clusos regii postes laris_." + +But he says of me, "That being filled with the precedents of the +ancients, who writ their plays in verse, I commend the thing, +declaring our language to be full, noble, and significant, and +charging all defects upon the _ill placing of words_, which I +prove by quoting Seneca loftily expressing such an ordinary thing as +_shutting a door_." + +Here he manifestly mistakes; for I spoke not of the placing, but +of the choice of words; for which I quoted that aphorism of +Julius Caesar, _Delectus verborum est origo eloquentiae_; but +_delectus verborum_ is no more Latin for the _placing of +words_, than _reserate_ is Latin for _shut the door_, +as he interprets it, which I ignorantly construed _unlock_ or +_open_ it. + +He supposes I was highly affected with the sound of those words, and +I suppose I may more justly imagine it of him; for if he had not been +extremely satisfied with the sound, he would have minded the sense a +little better. + +But these are now to be no faults; for ten days after his book is +published, and that his mistakes are grown so famous, that they are +come back to him, he sends his _Errata_[A] to be printed, and +annexed to his play; and desires, that, instead of _shutting_, +you would read _opening_, which, it seems, was the printer's +fault. I wonder at his modesty, that he did not rather say it was +Seneca's or mine; and that, in some authors, _reserate_ was to +_shut_ as well as to _open_, as the word _barach_, say +the learned, is both to _bless_ and _curse_. + +[Footnote A: This erratum has been suffered to remain in the edition +of the Knight's plays now before us, published in 1692.] + +Well, since it was the printer, he was a naughty man to commit +the same mistake twice in six lines: I warrant you _delectus +verborum_, for _placing of words_, was his mistake too, though +the author forgot to tell him of it: If it were my book, I assure you +I should. For those rascals ought to be the proxies of every gentleman +author, and to be chastised for him, when he is not pleased to own an +error. Yet since he has given the _errata_, I wish he would have +enlarged them only a few sheets more, and then he would have spared +me the labour of an answer: For this cursed printer is so given to +mistakes, that there is scarce a sentence in the preface without some +false grammar, or hard sense in it; which will all be charged upon the +poet, because he is so good-natured as to lay but three errors to the +printer's account, and to take the rest upon himself, who is better +able to support them. But he needs not apprehend that I should +strictly examine those little faults, except I am called upon to do +it: I shall return therefore to that quotation of Seneca, and answer, +not to what he writes, but to what he means. I never intended it as +an argument, but only as an illustration of what I had said before +concerning the election of words; and all he can charge me with is +only this, that if Seneca could make an ordinary thing sound well in +Latin by the choice of words, the same, with the like care, might be +performed in English: If it cannot, I have committed an error on the +right hand, by commending too much the copiousness and well-sounding +of our language, which I hope my countrymen will pardon me; at least +the words which follow in my Dramatic Essay will plead somewhat in my +behalf; for I say there, that this objection happens but seldom in +a play; and then, too, either the meanness of the expression may be +avoided, or shut out from the verse by breaking it in the midst. + +But I have said too much in the defence of verse; for, after all, +it is a very indifferent thing to me whether it obtain or not. I am +content hereafter to be ordered by his rule, that is, to write it +sometimes because it pleases me, and so much the rather, because he +has declared that it pleases him. But he has taken his last farewell +of the muses, and he has done it civilly, by honouring them with the +name of "his long acquaintances," which is a compliment they have +scarce deserved from him. For my own part, I bear a share in +the public loss; and how emulous soever I may be of his fame and +reputation, I cannot but give this testimony of his style, that it is +extremely poetical, even in oratory; his thoughts elevated sometimes +above common apprehension; his notions politic and grave, and tending +to the instruction of princes, and reformation of states; that +they are abundantly interlaced with variety of fancies, tropes, and +figures, which the critics have enviously branded with the name of +obscurity and false grammar. + +"Well, he is now fettered in business of more unpleasant nature:" The +muses have lost him, but the commonwealth gains by it; the corruption +of a poet is the generation of a statesman. + +"He will not venture again into the civil wars of censure, +_ubi--nullos habitura triumphos_:" If he had not told us he +had left the muses, we might have half suspected it by that word +_ubi_, which does not any way belong to them in that place: +the rest of the verse is indeed Lucan's, but that _ubi_, I will +answer for it, is his own. Yet he has another reason for this disgust +of poesy; for he says immediately after, that "the manner of plays +which are now in most esteem is beyond his power to perform:" to +perform the manner of a thing, I confess, is new English to me. +"However, he condemns not the satisfaction of others, but rather their +unnecessary understanding, who, like Sancho Panza's doctor, prescribe +too strictly to our appetites; for," says he, "in the difference of +tragedy and comedy, and of farce itself, there can be no determination +but by the taste, nor in the manner of their composure." + +We shall see him now as great a critic as he was a poet; and the +reason why he excelled so much in poetry will be evident, for it will +appear to have proceeded from the exactness of his judgment. "In +the difference of tragedy, comedy, and farce itself, there can be no +determination but by the taste." I will not quarrel with the obscurity +of his phrase, though I justly might; but beg his pardon if I do +not rightly understand him. If he means that there is no essential +difference betwixt comedy, tragedy, and farce, but what is only made +by the people's taste, which distinguishes one of them from the other, +that is so manifest an error, that I need not lose time to contradict +it. Were there neither judge, taste, nor opinion in the world, yet +they would differ in their natures; for the action, character, and +language of tragedy, would still be great and high; that of comedy, +lower and more familiar. Admiration would be the delight of one, and +satire of the other. + +I have but briefly touched upon these things, because, whatever his +words are, I can scarce imagine, that "he, who is always concerned for +the true honour of reason, and would have no spurious issue fathered +upon her," should mean any thing so absurd as to affirm, "that there +is no difference betwixt comedy and tragedy but what is made by the +taste only;" unless he would have us understand the comedies of my +lord L. where the first act should be pottages, the second fricassees, +&c. and the fifth a _chere entiere_ of women. + +I rather guess he means, that betwixt one comedy or tragedy and +another, there is no other difference, but what is made by the liking +or disliking of the audience. This is indeed a less error than the +former, but yet it is a great one. The liking or disliking of the +people gives the play the denomination of good or bad, but does not +really make or constitute it such. To please the people ought to be +the poet's aim, because plays are made for their delight; but it does +not follow that they are always pleased with good plays, or that the +plays which please them are always good. The humour of the people is +now for comedy; therefore, in hope to please them, I write comedies +rather than serious plays: and so far their taste prescribes to +me. But it does not follow from that reason, that comedy is to be +preferred before tragedy in its own nature; for that, which is so in +its own nature, cannot be otherwise, as a man cannot but be a rational +creature: But the opinion of the people may alter, and in another age, +or perhaps in this, serious plays may be set up above comedies. + +This I think a sufficient answer; if it be not, he has provided me of +an excuse: it seems, in his wisdom, he foresaw my weakness, and has +found out this expedient for me, "That it is not necessary for poets +to study strict reason, since they are so used to a greater latitude +than is allowed by that severe inquisition, that they must infringe +their own jurisdiction, to profess themselves obliged to argue well." + +I am obliged to him for discovering to me this back door; but I am not +yet resolved on my retreat; for I am of opinion, that they cannot be +good poets, who are not accustomed to argue well. False reasonings and +colours of speech are the certain marks of one who does not understand +the stage: for moral truth is the mistress of the poet as much as of +the philosopher; poesy must resemble natural truth, but it must be +ethical. Indeed, the poet dresses truth, and adorns nature, but does +not alter them: + +_Ficta voluptatis causa sint proxima veris_. + +Therefore, that is not the best poesy, which resembles notions of +things, that are not, to things that are: though the fancy may be +great, and the words flowing, yet the soul is but half satisfied when +there is not truth in the foundation. This is that which makes Virgil +be preferred before the rest of poets. In variety of fancy, and +sweetness of expression, you see Ovid far above him; for Virgil +rejected many of those things which Ovid wrote. "A great wit's great +work is to refuse," as my worthy friend Sir John Berkenhead has +ingeniously expressed it: you rarely meet with any thing in Virgil but +truth, which therefore leaves the strongest impression of pleasure in +the soul. This I thought myself obliged to say in behalf of poesy; and +to declare, though it be against myself, that when poets do not argue +well, the defect is in the workmen, not in the art. + +And now I come to the boldest part of his discourse, wherein he +attacks not me, but all the ancients and moderns; and undermines, as +he thinks, the very foundations on which Dramatic Poesy is built. I +could wish he would have declined that envy which must of necessity +follow such an undertaking, and contented himself with triumphing over +me in my opinions of verse, which I will never hereafter dispute with +him; but he must pardon me if I have that veneration for Aristotle, +Horace, Ben Jonson, and Corneille, that I dare not serve him in such +a cause, and against such heroes, but rather fight under their +protection, as Homer reports of little Teucer, who shot the Trojans +from under the large buckler of Ajax Telamon. + +[Greek: Stae d ax up Aiantos sachei Telamoniadao] +He stood beneath his brother's ample shield; +And covered there, shot death through all the field. + +The words of my noble adversary are these: + +"But if we examine the general rules laid down for plays by strict +reason, we shall find the errors equally gross; for the great +foundation which is laid to build upon, is nothing as it is generally +stated, as will appear upon the examination of the particulars." + +These particulars in due time shall be examined. In the mean while, +let us consider what this great foundation is, which he says is +nothing, as it is generally stated. I never heard of any other +foundation of Dramatic Poesy than the imitation of nature; neither was +there ever pretended any other by the ancients or moderns, or me, who +endeavour to follow them in that rule. This I have plainly said in +my definition of a play; that it is a just and lively image of human +nature, &c. Thus the foundation, as it is generally stated, will stand +sure, if this definition of a play be true; if it be not, he ought to +have made his exception against it, by proving that a play is not an +imitation of nature, but somewhat else, which he is pleased to think +it. + +But 'tis very plain, that he has mistaken the foundation for that +which is built upon it, though not immediately: for the direct and +immediate consequence is this; if nature be to be imitated, then there +is a rule for imitating nature rightly, otherwise there may be an +end, and no means conducing to it. Hitherto I have proceeded by +demonstration; but as our divines, when they have proved a Deity, +because there is order, and have inferred that this Deity ought to be +worshipped, differ afterwards in the manner of the worship; so, having +laid down, that nature is to be imitated, and that proposition proving +the next, that then there are means which conduce to the imitating of +nature, I dare proceed no farther positively; but have only laid down +some opinions of the ancients and moderns, and of my own, as means +which they used, and which I thought probable for the attaining of +that end. Those means are the same which my antagonist calls the +foundations, how properly the world may judge; and to prove that this +is his meaning, he clears it immediately to you, by enumerating +those rules or propositions against which he makes his particular +exceptions; as, namely, those of time and place, in these words: +"First, we are told the plot should not be so ridiculously contrived, +as to crowd two several countries into one stage; secondly, to cramp +the accidents of many years or days into the representation of two +hours and an half; and, lastly, a conclusion drawn, that the only +remaining dispute is, concerning time, whether it should be contained +in twelve or twenty-four hours; and the place to be limited to that +spot of ground where the play is supposed to begin: and this is called +nearest nature; for that is concluded most natural, which is most +probable, and nearest to that which it presents." + +Thus he has only made a small mistake, of the means conducing to the +end for the end itself, and of the superstructure for the foundation: +But he proceeds: + +"To shew therefore upon what ill grounds they dictate laws for +Dramatic Poesy," &c. He is here pleased to charge me with being +magisterial, as he has done in many other places of his preface; +therefore, in vindication of myself, I must crave leave to say, that +my whole discourse was sceptical, according to that way of reasoning +which was used by Socrates, Plato, and all the academics of old, which +Tully and the best of the ancients followed, and which is imitated by +the modest inquisitions of the Royal Society. That it is so, not +only the name will shew, which is, _An Essay_, but the frame and +composition of the work. You see it is a dialogue sustained by persons +of several opinions, all of them left doubtful, to be determined by +the readers in general; and more particularly deferred to the accurate +judgment of my Lord Buckhurst, to whom I made a dedication of my +book. These are my words in my epistle, speaking of the persons whom I +introduced in my dialogue: "'Tis true they differed in their opinions, +as 'tis probable they would: neither do I take upon me to reconcile, +but to relate them, leaving your lordship to decide it in favour of +that part which you shall judge most reasonable." And after that, in +my advertisement to the reader, I said this: "The drift of the ensuing +discourse is chiefly to vindicate the honour of our English writers +from the censure of those who unjustly prefer the French before them. +This I intimate, lest any should think me so exceeding vain, as to +teach others an art, which they understand much better than myself." +But this is more than necessary to clear my modesty in that point: and +I am very confident, that there is scarce any man who has lost so much +time, as to read that trifle, but will be my compurgator, as to that +arrogance whereof I am accused. The truth is, if I had been naturally +guilty of so much vanity as to dictate my opinions; yet I do not find +that the character of a positive or self-conceited person is of such +advantage to any in this age, that I should labour to be publicly +admitted of that order. + +But I am not now to defend my own cause, when that of all the ancients +and moderns is in question. For this gentleman, who accuses me of +arrogance, has taken a course not to be taxed with the other extreme +of modesty. Those propositions, which are laid down in my discourse +as helps to the better imitation of nature, are not mine (as I +have said), nor were ever pretended so to be, but derived from the +authority of Aristotle and Horace, and from the rules and examples +of Ben Jonson and Corneille. These are the men with whom properly he +contends, and against "whom he will endeavour to make it evident, that +there is no such thing as what they all pretend." + +His argument against the unities of place and time is this: "That 'tis +as impossible for one stage to present two rooms or houses truly, +as two countries or kingdoms; and as impossible that five hours or +twenty-four hours should be two hours, as that a thousand hours or +years should be less than what they are, or the greatest part of time +to be comprehended in the less: for all of them being impossible, they +are none of them nearest the truth, or nature of what they present; +for impossibilities are all equal, and admit of no degree." + +This argument is so scattered into parts, that it can scarce be united +into a syllogism; yet, in obedience to him, _I will abbreviate_, +and comprehend as much of it as I can in few words, that my answer to +it may be more perspicuous. I conceive his meaning to be what follows, +as to the unity of place: (if I mistake, I beg his pardon, professing +it is not out of any design to play the _Argumentative Poet_.) If +one stage cannot properly present two rooms or houses, much less two +countries or kingdoms, then there can be no unity of place. But one +stage cannot properly perform this: therefore there can be no unity of +place. + +I plainly deny his minor proposition; the force of which, if I mistake +not, depends on this, that the stage being one place cannot be two. +This indeed is as great a secret, as that we are all mortal; but to +requite it with another, I must crave leave to tell him, that though +the stage cannot be two places, yet it may properly represent them +successively, or at several times. His argument is indeed no more than +a mere fallacy, which will evidently appear when we distinguish place, +as it relates to plays, into real and imaginary. The real place is +that theatre, or piece of ground, on which the play is acted. The +imaginary, that house, town, or country where the action of the drama +is supposed to be, or, more plainly, where the scene of the play is +laid. Let us now apply this to that Herculean argument, "which if +strictly and duly weighed, is to make it evident, that there is no +such thing as what they all pretend." 'Tis impossible, he says, for +one stage to present two rooms or houses: I answer, 'tis neither +impossible, nor improper, for one real place to represent two or more +imaginary places, so it be done successively; which, in other words, +is no more than this, that the imagination of the audience, aided by +the words of the poet, and painted scenes, may suppose the stage to +be sometimes one place, sometimes another; now a garden, or wood, and +immediately a camp: which I appeal to every man's imagination, if it +be not true. Neither the ancients nor moderns, as much fools as he is +pleased to think them, ever asserted that they could make one place +two; but they might hope, by the good leave of this author, that the +change of a scene might lead the imagination to suppose the place +altered: so that he cannot fasten those absurdities upon this scene +of a play, or imaginary place of action, that it is one place, and yet +two. And this being so clearly proved, that 'tis past any shew of a +reasonable denial, it will not be hard to destroy that other part of +his argument, which depends upon it, namely, that 'tis as impossible +for a stage to represent two rooms or houses, as two countries or +kingdoms: for his reason is already overthrown, which was, because +both were alike impossible. This is manifestly otherwise; for 'tis +proved that a stage may properly represent two rooms or houses; for +the imagination being judge of what is represented, will in reason be +less choked with the appearance of two rooms in the same house, or +two houses in the same city, than with two distant cities in the same +country, or two remote countries in the same universe. Imagination in +a man, or reasonable creature, is supposed to participate of reason, +and when that governs, as it does in the belief of fiction, reason +is not destroyed, but misled, or blinded; that can prescribe to the +reason, during the time of the representation, somewhat like a weak +belief of what it sees and hears; and reason suffers itself to be so +hood-winked, that it may better enjoy the pleasures of the fiction: +But it is never so wholly made a captive, as to be drawn headlong into +a persuasion of those things which are most remote from probability: +It is in that case a free-born subject, not a slave; it will +contribute willingly its assent, as far as it sees convenient, but +will not be forced. Now, there is a greater vicinity in nature betwixt +two rooms, than betwixt two houses; betwixt two houses, than betwixt +two cities; and so of the rest: Reason, therefore, can sooner be led, +by imagination, to step from one room into another, than to walk to +two distant houses, and yet rather to go thither, than to fly like +a witch through the air, and be hurried from one region to another. +Fancy and Reason go hand in hand; the first cannot leave the last +behind: And though Fancy, when it sees the wide gulph, would venture +over, as the nimbler, yet it is with-held by Reason, which will refuse +to take the leap, when the distance over it appears too large. If Ben +Jonson himself will remove the scene from Rome into Tuscany in +the same act, and from thence return to Rome, in the scene which +immediately follows, reason will consider there is no proportionable +allowance of time to perform the journey, and, therefore, will choose +to stay at home. So, then, the less change of place there is, the +less time is taken up in transporting the persons of the drama, with +analogy to reason; and in that analogy, or resemblance of fiction to +truth, consists the excellency of the play. + +For what else concerns the unity of place, I have already given my +opinion of it in my Essay, that there is a latitude to be allowed to +it, as several places in the same town or city, or places adjacent to +each other in the same country; which may all be comprehended under +the larger denomination of one place; yet with this restriction, +that the nearer and fewer those imaginary places are, the greater +resemblance they will have to truth; and reason, which cannot make +them one, will be more easily led to suppose them so. + +What has been said of the unity of place, may easily be applied to +that of time: I grant it to be impossible, that the greater part of +time should be comprehended in the less, that twenty-four hours should +be crowded into three: But there is no necessity of that supposition; +for as _place_, so time relating to a play, is either imaginary +or real: The real is comprehended in those three hours, more or less, +in the space of which the play is represented; the imaginary is that +which is supposed to be taken up in the representation, as twenty-four +hours, more or less. Now, no man ever could suppose, that twenty-four +real hours could be included in the space of three; but where is +the absurdity of affirming, that the feigned business of twenty-four +imagined hours, may not more naturally be represented in the compass +of three real hours, than the like feigned business of twenty-four +years, in the same proportion of real time? For the proportions are +always real, and much nearer, by his permission, of twenty-four to +three, than of four thousand to it. + +I am almost fearful of illustrating any thing by similitude, lest he +should confute it for an argument; yet I think the comparison of +a glass will discover very aptly the fallacy of his argument, both +concerning time and place. The strength of his reason depends on this, +that the less cannot comprehend the greater. I have already answered, +that we need not suppose it does; I say not that the less can +comprehend the greater, but only, that it may represent it. As in +a glass, or mirror, of half-a-yard diameter, a whole room, and many +persons in it, may be seen at once; not that it can comprehend that +room, or those persons, but that it represents them to the sight. + +But the author of the "Duke of Lerma" is to be excused for his +declaring against the unity of time; for, if I be not much mistaken, +he is an interested person;--the time of that play taking up so many +years, as the favour of the Duke of Lerma continued; nay, the second +and third act including all the time of his prosperity, which was a +great part of the reign of Philip the Third: For in the beginning of +the second act he was not yet a favourite, and, before the end of +the third, was in disgrace. I say not this with the least design of +limiting the stage too servilely to twenty-four hours, however he be +pleased to tax me with dogmatising on that point, In my dialogue, as I +before hinted, several persons maintained their several opinions: One +of them, indeed, who supported the cause of the French poesy, said how +strict they were in that particular; but he who answered, in behalf of +our nation, was willing to give more latitude to the rule, and cites +the words of Corneille himself, complaining against the severity of +it, and observing, what beauties it banished from the stage, p. 44. +of my Essay. In few words, my own opinion is this, (and I willingly +submit it to my adversary, when he will please impartially to consider +it) that the imaginary time of every play ought to be contrived into +as narrow a compass, as the nature of the plot, the quality of the +persons, and variety of accidents will allow. In comedy, I would +not exceed twenty-four or thirty hours; for the plot, accidents, and +persons, of comedy are small, and may be naturally turned in a little +compass: But in tragedy, the design is weighty, and the persons great; +therefore, there will naturally be required a greater space of time in +which to move them. And this, though Ben Jonson has not told us, yet +it is manifestly his opinion: For you see that to his comedies +he allows generally but twenty-four hours; to his two tragedies, +"Sejanus," and "Catiline," a much larger time, though he draws both +of them into as narrow a compass as he can: For he shews you only the +latter end of Sejanus's favour, and the conspiracy of Catiline already +ripe, and just breaking out into action. + +But as it is an error, on the one side, to make too great a +disproportion betwixt the imaginary time of the play, and the real +time of its representation; so, on the other side, it is an oversight +to compress the accidents of a play into a narrower compass than that +in which they could naturally be produced. Of this last error the +French are seldom guilty, because the thinness of their plots prevents +them from it; but few Englishmen, except Ben Jonson, have ever made +a plot, with variety of design in it, included in twenty-four hours, +which was altogether natural. For this reason, I prefer the "Silent +Woman" before all other plays, I think justly, as I do its author, in +judgment, above all other poets. Yet, of the two, I think that error +the most pardonable, which in too strait a compass crowds together +many accidents, since it produces more variety, and, consequently, +more pleasure to the audience; and, because the nearness of proportion +betwixt the imaginary and real time, does speciously cover the +compression of the accidents. + +Thus I have endeavoured to answer the meaning of his argument; for, as +he drew it, I humbly conceive that it was none,--as will appear by his +proposition, and the proof of it. His proposition was this: + +"If strictly and duly weighed, it is as impossible for one stage to +present two rooms, or houses, as two countries, or kingdoms," &c. +And his proof this: "For all being impossible, they are none of them +nearest the truth or nature of what they present." + +Here you see, instead of proof or reason, there is only _petitio +principii_. For, in plain words, his sense is this: Two things +are as impossible as one another, because they are both equally +impossible: But he takes those two things to be granted as impossible, +which he ought to have proved such, before he had proceeded to prove +them equally impossible: He should have made out first, that it was +impossible for one stage to represent two houses, and then have gone +forward to prove, that it was as equally impossible for a stage to +present two houses, as two countries. + +After all this, the very absurdity, to which he would reduce me, is +none at all: For he only drives at this, that, if his argument +be true, I must then acknowledge that there are degrees in +impossibilities, which I easily grant him without dispute; and, if I +mistake not, Aristotle and the School are of my opinion. For there are +some things which are absolutely impossible, and others which are only +so _ex parte_; as it is absolutely impossible for a thing _to +be_, and _not to be_ at the same time: But for a stone to move +naturally upward, is only impossible _ex parte materiae_; but it +is not impossible for the first mover to alter the nature of it. + +His last assault, like that of a Frenchman, is most feeble; for +whereas I have observed, that none have been violent against verse, +but such only as have not attempted it, or have succeeded ill in their +attempt, he will needs, according to his usual custom, improve my +observation to an argument, that he might have the glory to confute +it, But I lay my observation at his feet, as I do my pen, which I have +often employed willingly in his deserved commendations, and now most +unwillingly against his judgment. For his person and parts, I honour +them as much as any man living, and have had so many particular +obligations to him, that I should be very ungrateful, if I did not +acknowledge them to the world. But I gave not the first occasion +of this difference in opinions. In my epistle dedicatory, before my +"Rival Ladies," I had said somewhat in behalf of verse, which he was +pleased to answer in his preface to his plays. That occasioned my +reply in my essay; and that reply begot this rejoinder of his, in +his preface to the "Duke of Lenna." But as I was the last who took +up arms, I will be the first to lay them down. For what I have here +written, I submit it wholly to him; and if I do not hereafter answer +what may be objected against this paper, I hope the world will not +impute it to any other reason, than only the due respect which I have +for so noble an opponent. + + + +THE INDIAN EMPEROR. + + +The Indian Emperor is the first of Dryden's plays which exhibited, in +a marked degree, the peculiarity of his stile, and drew upon him the +attention of the world. Without equalling the extravagancies of the +Conquest of Granada, and the Royal Martyr, works produced when our +author was emboldened, by public applause, to give full scope to +his daring genius, the following may be considered as a model of the +heroic drama, A few words, therefore, will not be here misplaced, on +the nature of the kind of tragedies, in which, during the earlier part +of his literary career, our author delighted and excelled. + +The heroic, or rhyming, plays, were borrowed from the French, to whose +genius they are better suited than to the British. An analogy may be +observed between all the different departments of the belles lettres; +and none seem more closely allied, than the pursuits of the dramatic +writer, and those of the composer of romances or novels. Both deal in +fictitious adventure; both write for amusement; and address themselves +nearly to the same class of admirers. Nay, although the pride of the +dramatist may be offended by the assertion, it would seem, that the +nature of his walk is often prescribed by the successful impression +of a novel upon the public mind. If we laugh over low adventures in a +novel, we soon see low comedy upon the stage: If we are horror-struck +with a tale of robbers and murder in our closet, the dagger and the +green carpet will not long remain unemployed in the theatre; and if +ghosts haunt our novels, they soon stalk amongst our scenes. Under +this persuasion, we have little doubt that the heroic tragedies were +the legitimate offspring of the French romances of Calprenede and +Scuderi. Such as may deign to open these venerable and neglected +tomes, will be soon convinced of their extreme resemblance to the +heroic drama. A remarkable feature in both, is the ideal world which +they form for themselves. Every sentiment is lofty, splendid, and +striking; and no apology is admitted for any departure from the +dignity of character, however natural or impressive. The beauty of the +heroine, and the valour of the hero, must be alike resistless; and the +moving spring, through the whole action, is the overbearing passion +of love. Their language and manners are as peculiar to themselves, +as their prowess and susceptibility. The pastoral Arcadian does not +differ more widely from an ordinary rustic, than these lofty +persons do from the princes and kings of this world. Neither is any +circumstance of national character, or manners, allowed as an apology +for altering the established character, which must be invariably +sustained by the persons of the heroic drama. The religion, and +the state of society of the country where the scene is laid, may be +occasionally alluded to as authority for varying a procession, or +introducing new dresses and decorations; but, in all other respects, +an Indian Inca, attired in feathers, must hold the same dignity of +deportment, and display the same powers of declamation, and ingenuity +of argument, with a Roman emperor in his purple, or a feudal warrior +in his armour; for the rule and decorum of this species of composition +is too peremptory, to give way either to the current of human +passions, or to the usages of nations. Gibbon has remarked, that the +kings of the Gepidae, and the Ostrogoths in Corneille's tragedy +of Attila, are profound politicians, and sentimental lovers;--a +description which, with a varying portion of pride, courtesy, and +heroism, will apply to almost all the characters in plays drawn upon +this model. + +It is impossible to conceive any thing more different from the old +English drama, than the heroic plays which were introduced by Charles +II. The former, in labouring to exhibit a variety and contrast of +passions, tempers, or humours, frequently altogether neglected the +dignity of the scene. In the heroical tragedy, on the other hand, +nothing was to be indecorous, nothing grotesque: The personages were +to speak, not as men, but as heroes; to whom, as statuaries have +assigned a superiority of stature, so these poets have given an +uniform grandeur of feeling and of expression. It may be thought, that +this monotonous splendour of diction would have palled upon an English +audience, less pleased generally with refinement, however elegant, +than with bursts of passion, and flights of novelty. But Dryden felt +his force in the line which he chose to pursue and recommend. The +indescribable charms of his versification gratified the ear of the +public, while their attention was engaged by the splendour of his +images, and the matchless ingenuity of his arguments. It must also +be admitted, that, by their total neglect of the unities, our ancient +dramatic authors shocked the feelings of the more learned, and +embarrassed the understanding of the less acute, among the spectators. +We do not hold it treason to depart from the strict rules respecting +time and place, inculcated by the ancients, and followed in the heroic +plays. But it will surely be granted to us, that, where they can be +observed, without the sacrifice of great beauties, or incurring such +absurdities as Dennis has justly charged upon Cato, the play will be +proportionally more intelligible on the stage, and more pleasing in +the closet. And although we willingly censure the practice of driving +argument, upon the stage, into metaphysical refinement, and rendering +the contest of contrasted passions a mere combat in logic, yet we must +equally condemn those tragedies, in which the poet sketches out the +character with a few broken common-places, expressive of love, of +rage, or of grief, and leaves the canvas to be filled up by the actor, +according to his own taste, power, and inclination. + +The Indian Emperor is an instance, what beautiful poetry may be united +to, we had almost said thrown away upon, the heroic drama. The very +first scene exhibits much of those beauties, and their attendant +deformities. A modern audience would hardly have sate in patience +to hear more than the first extravagant and ludicrous supposition of +Cortez: + + As if our old world modestly withdrew; + And here, in private, had brought forth a new. + +But had they condemned the piece for this uncommon case of +parturition, they would have lost the beautiful and melodious verses, +in which Cortez, and his followers, describe the advantages of the +newly discovered world; and they would have lost the still more +exquisite account, which, immediately after, Guyomar gives of the +arrival of the Spanish fleet. Of the characters little need be said; +they stalk on, in their own fairy land, in the same uniform livery, +and with little peculiarity of discrimination. All the men, from +Montezuma down to Pizarro, are brave warriors; and only vary, in +proportion to the mitigating qualities which the poet has infused into +their military ardour. The women are all beautiful, and all deeply +in love; differing from each other only, as the haughty or tender +predominates in their passion. But the charm of the poetry, and the +ingenuity of the dialogue, render it impossible to peruse, without +pleasure, a drama, the faults of which may be imputed to its +structure, while its beauties are peculiar to Dryden. + +The plot of the Indian Emperor is certainly of our author's own +composition; since even the malignant assiduity of Langbaine has been +unable to point out any author from whom it is borrowed. The play was +first acted in 1665, and received with great applause. + + + +CONNECTION +OF +THE INDIAN EMPEROR +TO +THE INDIAN QUEEN [A]. + +[Footnote A: This argument was printed, and dispersed amongst the +audience upon the first night of representation. Hence Bayes is made +to say, in the Rehearsal, that he had printed many reams, to instil +into the audience some conception of his plot.] + + +The conclusion of the Indian Queen (part of which poem was wrote +by me) left little matter for another story to be built on, there +remaining but two of the considerable characters alive, viz. Montezuma +and Orazia. Thereupon the author of this thought it necessary to +produce new persons from the old ones; and considering the late Indian +Queen, before she loved Montezuma, lived in clandestine marriage +with her general Traxalla, from those two he has raised a son and two +daughters, supposed to be left young orphans at their death. On the +other side, he has given to Montezuma and Orazia, two sons and a +daughter; all now supposed to be grown up to mens' and womens' estate; +and their mother, Orazia, (for whom there was no further use in the +story,) lately dead. + +So that you are to imagine about twenty years elapsed since the +coronation of Montezuma; who, in the truth of the history, was a great +and glorious prince; and in whose time happened the discovery and +invasion of Mexico, by the Spaniards, under the conduct of Hernando +Cortez, who, joining with the Traxallan Indians, the inveterate +enemies of Montezuma, wholly subverted that flourishing empire;--the +conquest of which is the subject of this dramatic poem. + +I have neither wholly followed the story, nor varied from it; and, as +near as I could, have traced the native simplicity and ignorance of +the Indians, in relation to European customs;--the shipping, armour, +horses, swords, and guns of the Spaniards, being as new to them, as +their habits and their language were to the Christians. + +The difference of their religion from ours, I have taken from the +story itself; and that which you find of it in the first and fifth +acts, touching the sufferings and constancy of Montezuma in his +opinions, I have only illustrated, not altered, from those who have +written of it. + + + +PROLOGUE + + +Almighty critics! whom our Indians here +Worship, just as they do the devil--for fear; +In reverence to your power, I come this day, +To give you timely warning of our play. +The scenes are old, the habits are the same +We wore last year, before the Spaniards came[A]. +Now, if you stay, the blood, that shall be shed +From this poor play, be all upon your head. +We neither promise you one dance, or show; +Then plot, and language, they are wanting too: +But you, kind wits, will those light faults excuse, +Those are the common frailties of the muse; +Which, who observes, he buys his place too dear; +For 'tis your business to be cozened here. +These wretched spies of wit must then confess, +They take more pains to please themselves the less. +Grant us such judges, Phoebus, we request, +As still mistake themselves into a jest; +Such easy judges, that our poet may +Himself admire the fortune of his play; +And, arrogantly, as his fellows do, +Think he writes well, because he pleases you. +This he conceives not hard to bring about, +If all of you would join to help him out: +Would each man take but what he understands, +And leave the rest upon the poet's hands. + +[Footnote A: Alluding to the Indian Queen, in which the scene is laid +before the arrival of the Spaniards in America, and which was acted in +1664, as this was in 1665.] + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + +INDIAN MEN. + +MONTEZUMA, _Emperor of Mexico_. +ODMAR, _his eldest son_. +GUYOMAR, _his younger son_. +ORBELLAN, _son of the late Indian Queen by TRAXALLA_. +_High Priest of the Sun_. + +WOMEN. + +CYDARIA, _MONTEZUMA'S daughter_. +ALMERIA, } _Sisters; and daughters to the late_ +ALIBECH, } _Indian Queen_. + +SPANIARDS. + +CORTEZ, _the Spanish General_. +VASQUEZ, } _Commanders under him_. +PIZARRO, } + + +SCENE--_Mexico, and two leagues about it_. + + + +THE INDIAN EMPEROR. + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_A pleasant Indian country_. + +_Enter_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _with Spaniards and Indians +of their party_. + + +_Cort_. On what new happy climate are we thrown, +So long kept secret, and so lately known; +As if our old world modestly withdrew, +And here in private had brought forth a new? + +_Vasq._ Corn, oil, and wine, are wanting to this ground, +In which our countries fruitfully abound; +As if this infant world, yet unarrayed, +Naked and bare in Nature's lap were laid. +No useful arts have yet found footing here, +But all untaught and savage does appear. + +_Cort._ Wild and untaught are terms which we alone +Invent, for fashions differing from our own; +For all their customs are by nature wrought, +But we, by art, unteach what nature taught. + +_Piz_. In Spain, our springs, like old men's children, be +Decayed and withered from their infancy: +No kindly showers fall on our barren earth, +To hatch the season in a timely birth: +Our summer such a russet livery wears, +As in a garment often dyed appears. + +_Cort_. Here nature spreads her fruitful sweetness round, +Breathes on the air, and broods upon the ground: +Here days and nights the only seasons be; +The sun no climate does so gladly see: +When forced from hence, to view our parts, he mourns; +Takes little journies, and makes quick returns. + +_Vasq_. Methinks, we walk in dreams on Fairy-land, +Where golden ore lies mixt with common sand; +Each downfal of a flood, the mountains pour +From their rich bowels, rolls a silver shower. + +_Cort_. Heaven from all ages wisely did provide +This wealth, and for the bravest nation hide, +Who, with four hundred foot and forty horse, +Dare boldly go a new-found world to force. + +_Piz_. Our men, though valiant, we should find too few, +But Indians join the Indians to subdue; +Taxallan, shook by Montezuma's powers, +Has, to resist his forces, called in ours. + +_Vasq_. Rashly to arm against so great a king, +I hold not safe; nor is it just to bring +A war, without a fair defiance made. + +_Piz_. Declare we first our quarrel; then invade. + +_Cort_. Myself, my king's ambassador, will go; +Speak, Indian guide, how far to Mexico? + +_Ind_. Your eyes can scarce so far a prospect make, +As to discern the city on the lake; +But that broad causeway will direct your way, +And you may reach the town by noon of day. + +_Cort_. Command a party of our Indians out, +With a strict charge, not to engage, but scout: +By noble ways we conquest will prepare; +First, offer peace, and, that refused, make war. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II.--_A Temple_. + +_The High Priest with other Priests. To them an +Indian_. + + +_Ind_. Haste, holy priest, it is the king's command. + +_High Pr_. When sets he forward? + +_Ind_. He is near at hand. + +_High Pr_. The incense is upon the altar placed, +The bloody sacrifice already past; +Five hundred captives saw the rising sun, +Who lost their light, ere half his race was run. +That which remains we here must celebrate; +Where, far from noise, without the city gate, +The peaceful power that governs love repairs, +To feast upon soft vows and silent prayers. +We for his royal presence only stay, +To end the rites of this so solemn day. + +[_Exit Ind_. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA; _his eldest son_, ODMAR; _his +daughter_, CYDARIA; ALMERIA, ALIBECH, ORBELLAN, +_and Train. They place themselves_. + +_High Pr_. On your birthday, while we sing +To our gods and to our king, +Her, among this beauteous quire, +Whose perfections you admire, +Her, who fairest does appear, +Crown her queen of all the year, +Of the year and of the day, +And at her feet your garland lay. + +_Odm_. My father this way does his looks direct; +Heaven grant, he give it not where I suspect! + +[MONTEZUMA _rises, goes about the Ladies, and +at length stays at_ ALMERIA, _and bows_. + +_Mont_. Since my Orazia's death, I have not seen +A beauty, so deserving to be queen +As fair Almeria. + +_Alm_. Sure he will not know + [_To her brother and sister, aside_. +My birth I to that injured princess owe, +Whom his hard heart not only love denied, +But in her sufferings took unmanly pride. + +_Alib_. Since Montezuma will his choice renew, +In dead Orazia's room electing you, +'Twill please our mother's ghost that you succeed +To all the glories of her rival's bed. + +_Alm_. If news be carried to the shades below, +The Indian queen will be more pleased, to know, +That I his scorns on him, who scorned her, pay. + +_Orb_. Would you could right her some more noble way! + +[_She turns to him, who is kneeling all this while_. + + +_Mont_. Madam, this posture is for heaven designed, +[_Kneeling_. +And what moves heaven I hope may make you kind. + +_Alm_. Heaven may be kind; the gods uninjured live. +And crimes below cost little to forgive: +By thee, inhuman, both my parents died; +One by thy sword, the other by thy pride. + +_Mont_. My haughty mind no fate could ever bow, +Yet I must stoop to one, who scorns me now: +Is there no pity to my sufferings due? + +_Alm_. As much as what my mother found from you. + +_Mont_. Your mother's wrongs a recompence shall meet; +I lay my sceptre at her daughter's feet. + +_Alm_. He, who does now my least commands obey, +Would call me queen, and take my power away. + +_Odm_. Can he hear this, and not his fetters break? +Is love so powerful, or his soul so weak? +I'll fright her from it.--Madam, though you see +The king is kind, I hope your modesty +Will know, what distance to the crown is due. + +_Alm_. Distance and modesty prescribed by you! + +_Odm_. Almeria dares not think such thoughts as these. + +_Alm_. She dares both think and act what thoughts she please. +Tis much below me on his throne to sit; +But when I do, you shall petition it. + + +_Odm_. If, sir, Almeria does your bed partake, +I mourn for my forgotten mother's' sake. + +_Mont_. When parents' loves are ordered by a son, +Let streams prescribe their fountains where to run. + +_Odm_. In all I urge, I keep my duty still, +Not rule your reason, but instruct your will. + +_Mont_. Small use of reason in that prince is shown, +Who follows others, and neglects his own. + +[ALMERIA _to_ ORBELLAN _and_ ALIBECH, _who are this while +whispering to her_. + +_Alm_. No, he shall ever love, and always be +The subject of my scorn and cruelty. + +_Orb_. To prove the lasting torment of his life, +You must not be his mistress, but his wife. +Few know what care an husband's peace destroys, +His real griefs, and his dissembled joys. + +_Alm_. What mark of pleasing vengeance could be shown, +If I, to break his quiet, lose my own? + +_Orb_. A brother's life upon your love relics, +Since I do homage to Cydaria's eyes: +How can her father to my hopes be kind, +If in your heart he no example find? + +_Alm_. To save your life I'll suffer any thing, +Yet I'll not flatter this tempestuous king; +But work his stubborn soul a nobler way, +And, if he love, I'll force him to obey. +I take this garland, not as given by you, + [_To MONT_. +But as my merit and my beauty's due. +As for the crown, that you, my slave, possess, +To share it with you would but make me less. + +_Enter_ GUYOMAR _hastily_. + +_Odm_. My brother Guyomar! methinks I spy +Haste in his steps, and wonder in his eye. + +_Mont_. I sent thee to the frontiers; quickly tell +The cause of thy return; are all things well? + +_Guy_. I went, in order, sir, to your command, +To view the utmost limits of the land: +To that sea-shore where no more world is found, +But foaming billows breaking on the ground; +Where, for a while, my eyes no object met, +But distant skies, that in the ocean set; +And low-hung clouds, that dipt themselves in rain, +To shake their fleeces on the earth again. +At last, as far as I could cast my eyes +Upon the sea, somewhat, methought, did rise, +Like blueish mists, which, still appearing more, +Took dreadful shapes, and moved towards the shore. + +_Mont_. What forms did these new wonders represent? + +_Guy_. More strange than what your wonder can invent. +The object, I could first distinctly view, +Was tall straight trees, which on the waters flew; +Wings on their sides, instead of leaves, did grow, +Which gathered all the breath the winds could blow: +And at their roots grew floating palaces, +Whose outblowed bellies cut the yielding seas. + +_Mont_. What divine monsters, O ye gods, were these, +That float in air, and fly upon the seas! +Came they alive, or dead, upon the shore? + +_Guy_. Alas, they lived too sure; I heard them roar. +All turned their sides, and to each other spoke; +I saw their words break out in fire and smoke. +Sure 'tis their voice, that thunders from on high, +Or these the younger brothers of the sky. +Deaf with the noise, I took my hasty flight; +No mortal courage can support the fright. + +_High Pr_. Old prophecies foretel our fall at hand, +When bearded men in floating castles land. +I fear it is of dire portent. + +_Mont_. Go see +What it foreshows, and what the gods decree. +Meantime proceed we to what rites remain.-- +Odmar, of all this presence does contain, +Give her your wreath, whom you esteem most fair. + +_Odm_. Above the rest I judge one beauty rare, +And may that beauty prove as kind to me, + [_He gives_ ALIBECH _the wreath_. +As I am sure fair Alibech is she. + +_Mont_. You, Guyomar, must next perform your part. + +_Guy_. I want a garland, but I'll give a heart: +My brother's pardon I must first implore, +Since I with him fair Alibech adore. + +_Odm_. That all should Alibech adore, 'tis true; +But some respect is to my birthright due. +My claim to her by eldership I prove. + +_Guy_. Age is a plea in empire, not in love. + +_Odm_. I long have staid for this solemnity, +To make my passion public. + +_Guy_. So have I. + +_Odm_. But from her birth my soul has been her slave; +My heart received the first wounds which she save: +I watched the early glories of her eyes, +As men for daybreak watch the eastern skies. + +_Guy_. It seems my soul then moved the quicker pace; +Yours first set out, mine reached her in the race. + +_Mont_. Odmar, your choice I cannot disapprove; +Nor justly, Guyomar, can blame your love. +To Alibech alone refer your suit, +And let her sentence finish your dispute. + +_Alib_. You think me, sir, a mistress quickly won. +So soon to finish what is scarce begun: +In this surprise should I a judgment make, +'Tis answering riddles ere I'm well awake: +If you oblige me suddenly to chuse, +The choice is made, for I must both refuse: +For to myself I owe this due regard, +Not to make love my gift, but my reward. +Time best will show, whose services will last. + +_Odm_. Then judge my future service by my past. +What I shall be, by what I was, you know: +That love took deepest root, which first did grow. + +_Guy_. That love, which first was set, will first decay; +Mine, of a fresher date, will longer stay. + +_Odm_. Still you forget my birth. + +_Guy_. But you, I see, +Take care still to refresh my memory. + +_Mont_. My sons, let your unseemly discord cease, +If not in friendship, live at least in peace. +Orbellan, where you love, bestow your wreath. + +_Orb_. My love I dare not, even in whispers, breathe. + +_Mont_. A virtuous love may venture any thing. + +_Orb_. Not to attempt the daughter of my king. + +_Mont_. Whither is all my former fury gone? +Once more I have Traxalla's chains put on, +And by his children am in triumph led: +Too well the living have revenged the dead! + +_Alm_. You think my brother born your enemy; +He's of Traxalla's blood, and so am I. + +_Mont_. In vain I strive. +My lion-heart is with love's toils beset; +Struggling I fall still deeper in the net. +Cydaria, your new lover's garland take, +And use him kindly for your father's sake. + +_Cyd_. So strong an hatred does my nature sway. +That, spite of duty, I must disobey: +Besides, you warned me still of loving two; +Can I love him, already loving you? + +_Enter a Guard hastily_. + +_Mont_. You look amazed, as if some sudden fear +Had seized your hearts; is any danger near? + +_1 Guard_. Behind the covert, where this temple stands, +Thick as the shades, there issue swarming bands +Of ambushed men, whom, by their arms and dress, +To be Taxallan enemies I guess. + +_2 Guard_. The temple, sir, is almost compassed round. + +_Mont_. Some speedy way for passage must be found. +Make to the city by the postern gate, +I'll either force my victory, or fate; +A glorious death in arms I'll rather prove, +Than stay to perish tamely by my love. + +[_Exeunt_. + +_An alarm within. Enter_ MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, ALIBECH, +ORBELLAN, CYDARIA, ALMERIA, _as pursued by Taxallans_. + +_Mont_. No succour from the town? + +_Odm_. None, none is nigh. + +_Guy_. We are inclosed, and must resolve to die. + +_Mont_. Fight for revenge, now hope of life is past +But one stroke more, and that will be my last. + +_Enter_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _to the Taxallans_: CORTEZ +_stays them, just falling on_. + +_Cort_. Contemned? my orders broke even in my sight? +Did I not strictly charge, you should not fight? + +[_To his Indians_. + +_Ind_. Your choler, general, does unjustly rise, +To see your friends pursue your enemies. +The greatest and most cruel foes we have, +Are these, whom you would ignorantly save. +By ambushed men, behind their temple laid, +We have the king of Mexico betrayed. + +_Cort_. Where, banished virtue, wilt thou shew thy face, +If treachery infects thy Indian race? +Dismiss your rage, and lay your weapons by: +Know I protect them, and they shall not die. + +_Ind_. O wondrous mercy, shewn to foes distrest! + +_Cort_. Call them not so, when once with odds opprest; +Nor are they foes my clemency defends, +Until they have refused the name of friends: +Draw up our Spaniards by themselves, then fire +Our guns on all, who do not strait retire. + +[_To_ VASQ. + +_Ind_. O mercy, mercy! at thy feet we fall, + [_Indians kneeling_. +Before thy roaring Gods destroy us all: +See, we retreat without the least reply; +Keep thy Gods silent! if they speak we die. + +[_The Taxallans retire_. + +_Mont_. The fierce Taxatlans lay their weapons down, +Some miracle in our relief is shewn. + +_Guy_. These bearded men in shape and colour be +Like those I saw come floating on the sea. + +[MONT. _kneels to_ CORT. + +_Mont_. Patron of Mexico, and God of wars, +Son of the sun, and brother of the stars-- + +_Cort_. Great monarch, your devotion you misplace. + +_Mont_. Thy actions shew thee born of heavenly race. +If then thou art that cruel God, whose eyes +Delight in blood, and human sacrifice, +Thy dreadful altars I with slaves will store, +And feed thy nostrils with hot reeking gore; +Or if that mild and gentle God thou be, +Who dost mankind below with pity see, +With breath of incense I will glad thy heart; +But if, like us, of mortal seed thou art, +Presents of choicest fowls, and fruits I'll bring, +And in my realms thou shalt be more than king. + +_Cort_. Monarch of empires, and deserving more +Than the sun sees upon your western shore; +Like you a man, and hither led by fame, +Not by constraint, but by my choice, I came; +Ambassador of peace, if peace you chuse, +Or herald of a war, if you refuse. + +_Mont_. Whence, or from whom, dost thou these offers bring? + +_Cort_. From Charles the Fifth, the world's most potent king. + +_Mont_. Some petty prince, and one of little fame, +For to this hour I never heard his name: +The two great empires of the world I know, +That of Peru, and this of Mexico; +And since the earth none larger does afford, +This Charles is some poor tributary lord. + +_Cort_. You speak of that small part of earth you know; +But betwixt us and you wide oceans flow, +And watry desarts of so vast extent, +That passing hither four full moons we spent. + +_Mont_. But say, what news, what offers dost thou bring +From so remote, and so unknown a king? + +[_While_ VASQUEZ _speaks_, CORTEZ _spies the ladies +and goes to them, entertaining_ CYDARIA _with +courtship in dumb shew_. + +_Vasq_. Spain's mighty monarch, to whom heaven thinks fit, +That all the nations of the earth submit, +In gracious clemency, does condescend +On these conditions to become your friend. +First, that of him you shall your sceptre hold; +Next, you present him with your useless gold: +Last, that you leave those idols you implore, +And one true deity with him adore. + +_Mont_. You speak your prince a mighty emperor, +But his demands have spoke him proud and poor; +He proudly at my free-born sceptre flies, +Yet poorly begs a metal I despise. +Gold thou mayest take, whatever thou canst find, +Save what for sacred uses is designed: +But, by what right pretends your king to be +The sovereign lord of all the world and me? + +_Piz_. The sovereign priest-- +Who represents on earth the power of heaven, +Has this your empire to our monarch given. + +_Mont_. Ill does he represent the powers above, +Who nourishes debate, not preaches love; +Besides, what greater folly can be shewn? +He gives another what is not his own. + +_Vasq_. His power must needs unquestioned be below, +For he in heaven an empire can bestow. + +_Mont_. Empires in heaven he with more ease may give, +And you, perhaps, would with less thanks receive; +But heaven has need of no such viceroy here, +Itself bestows the crowns that monarchs wear. + +_Piz_. You wrong his power, as you mistake our end, +Who came thus far religion to extend. + +_Mont_. He, who religion truly understands, +Knows its extent must be in men, not lands. + +_Odm_. But who are those that truth must propagate +Within the confines of my father's state? + +_Vasq_. Religious men, who hither must be sent +As awful guides of heavenly government; +To teach you penance, fasts, and abstinence, +To punish bodies for the soul's offence. + +_Mont_. Cheaply you sin, and punish crimes with ease, +Not as the offended, but the offenders please; +First injure heaven, and, when its wrath is due, +Yourselves prescribe it how to punish you. + +_Odm_. What numbers of these holy men must come? + +_Piz_. You shall not want, each village shall have some; +Who, though the royal dignity they own, +Are equal to it, and depend on none. + +_Guy_. Depend on none! you treat them sure in state, +For 'tis their plenty does their pride create. + +_Mont_. Those ghostly kings would parcel out my power, +And all the fatness of my land devour. +That monarch sits not safely on his throne +Who bears, within, a power that shocks his own. +They teach obedience to imperial sway, +But think it sin if they themselves obey. + +_Vasq_. It seems, then, our religion you accuse, +And peaceful homage to our king refuse. + +_Mont_. Your Gods I slight not, but will keep my own; +My crown is absolute, and holds of none. +I cannot in a base subjection live, +Nor suffer you to take, though I would give. + +_Cort_. Is this your answer, sir? + +_Mont_.--This, as a prince, +Bound to my people's and my crown's defence, +I must return; but, as a man, by you +Redeemed from death, all gratitude is due. + +_Cort_. It was an act my honour bound me to: +But what I did, were I again to do, +I could not do it on my honour's score, +For love would now oblige me to do more. +Is no way left that we may yet agree? +Must I have war, yet have no enemy? + +_Vasq_. He has refused all terms of peace to take. + +_Mont_. Since we must fight, hear, heavens, what prayers I make! +First, to preserve this ancient state and me, +But if your doom the fall of both decree, +Grant only he, who has such honour shewn, +When I am dust, may fill my empty throne! + +_Cort_. To make me happier than that wish can do, +Lies not in all your Gods to grant, but you; +Let this fair princess but one minute stay, +A look from her will your obligements pay. + +[_Exeunt_ MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, ORBELLAN, ALMERIA, and +ALIBECH. + +_Mont_. to _Cyd_. Your duty in your quick return be shewn.-- +Stay you, and wait my daughter to the town. +[_To his guards_. + +[CYDARIA _is going, but turns and looks back upon_ CORTEZ, _who +is looking on her all this while_. + +_Cyd_. My father's gone, and yet I cannot go; +Sure I have something lost or left behind! + +[_Aside_. + +_Cort_. Like travellers who wander in the snow, +I on her beauty gaze 'till I am blind. + +[_Aside_. + +_Cyd_. Thick breath, quick pulse, and heaving of my heart, +All signs of some unwonted change appear: +I find myself unwilling to depart, +And yet I know not why I would be here. +Stranger, you raise such torments in my breast, +That when I go, (if I must go again) +I'll tell my father you have robbed my rest, +And to him of your injuries complain. + +_Cort_. Unknown, I swear, those wrongs were which I wrought, +But my complaints will much more just appear, +Who from another world my freedom brought, +And to your conquering eyes have lost it here. + +_Cyd_. Where is that other world, from whence you came? + +_Cort_. Beyond the ocean, far from hence it lies. + +_Cyd_. Your other world, I fear, is then the same, +That souls must go to when the body dies. +But what's the cause that keeps you here with me, +That I may know what keeps me here with you? + +_Cort_. Mine is a love which must perpetual be, +If you can be so just as I am true. + +_Enter_ ORBELLAN. + +_Orb_. Your father wonders much at your delay. + +_Cyd_. So great a wonder for so small a stay! + +_Orb_. He has commanded you with me to go. + +_Cyd_. Has he not sent to bring the stranger too? + +_Orb_. If he to-morrow dares in fight appear, +His high-placed love perhaps may cost him dear. + +_Cort_. Dares!--that word was never spoke to Spaniard yet, +But forfeited his life, who gave him it; +Haste quickly with thy pledge of safety hence, +Thy guilt's protected by her innocence. + +_Cyd_. Sure in some fatal hour my love was born, +So soon o'ercast with absence in the morn! + +_Cort_. Turn hence those pointed glories of your eyes; +For if more charms beneath those circles rise, +So weak my virtue, they so strong appear, +I shall turn ravisher to keep you here. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I.--_The Magician's Cave_. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA, _and High-Priest_. + + +_Mont_. Not that I fear the utmost fate can do, +Come I the event of doubtful war to know; +For life and death are things indifferent; +Each to be chose as either brings content: +My motive from a nobler cause does spring, +Love rules my heart, and is your monarch's king; +I more desire to know Almeria's mind, +Than all that heaven has for my state designed. + +_High Pr_. By powerful charms, which nothing can withstand, +I'll force the Gods to tell what you demand. + +CHARM. + +Thou moon, that aidest us with thy magic might, +And ye small stars, the scattered seeds of light, +Dart your pale beams into this gloomy place, +That the sad powers of the infernal race +May read above what's hid from human eyes, +And in your walks see empires fall and rise. +And ye, immortal souls, who once were men, +And now, resolved to elements again, +Who wait for mortal frames in depths below, +And did before what we are doomed to do; +Once, twice, and thrice, I wave my sacred wand, +Ascend, ascend, ascend at my command. + +[_An earthy spirit rises_. + +_Spir_. In vain, O mortal men, your prayers implore +The aid of powers below, which want it more: +A God more strong, who all the Gods commands, +Drives us to exile from our native lands; +The air swarms thick with wandering deities, +Which drowsily, like humming beetles, rise +From our loved earth, where peacefully we slept, +And, far from heaven, a long possession kept. +The frighted satyrs, that in woods delight, +Now into plains with pricked-up ears take flight; +And scudding thence, while they their horn-feet ply, +About their sires the little silvans cry. +A nation loving gold must rule this place, +Our temples ruin, and our rites deface: +To them, O king, is thy lost sceptre given. +Now mourn thy fatal search, for since wise heaven +More ill than good to mortals does dispense, +It is not safe to have too quick a sense. + +[_Descends_. + +_Mont_. Mourn they, who think repining can remove +The firm decrees of those, who rule above; +The brave are safe within, who still dare die: +Whene'er I fall, I'll scorn my destiny. +Doom as they please my empire not to stand, +I'll grasp my sceptre with my dying hand. + +_High Pr_. Those earthy spirits black and envious are; +I'll call up other Gods, of form more fair: +Who visions dress in pleasing colour still, +Set all the good to shew, and hide the ill. +Kalib, ascend, my fair-spoke servant rise, +And sooth my heart with pleasing prophesies. + +KALIB ascends all in white, in shape of a woman, +and sings. + +_Kal_. _I looked and saw within the book of fate, + Where, many days did lowr, + When lo one happy hour + Leapt up, and smiled to save thy sinking state; + A day shall come when in thy power + Thy cruel foes shall be; + Then shall thy land be free, + And thou in peace shalt reign. + But take, O take that opportunity, + Which, once refused, will never come again._ + +[Descends. + +_Mont_. I shall deserve my fate, if I refuse +That happy hour which heaven allots to use: +But of my crown thou too much care dost take; +That which I value more, my love's at stake. + +_High Pr_. Arise, ye subtle spirits, that can spy, +When love is entered in a female's eye; +You, that can read it in the midst of doubt, +And in the midst of frowns can find it out; +You, that can search those many cornered minds, +Where women's crooked fancy turns and winds; +You, that can love explore, and truth impart, +Where both lie deepest hid in woman's heart, +Arise-- + +[_The ghosts of_ TRAXALLA _and_ ACACIS _arise; they stand +still, and point at_ MONTEZUMA. + +_High Pr_. I did not for these ghastly visions send; +Their sudden coming does some ill portend. +Begone,--begone,--they will not disappear! +My soul is seized with an unusual fear. + + +_Mont_. Point on, point on, and see whom you can fright. +Shame and confusion seize these shades of night! +Ye thin and empty forms, am I your sport? + [_They smile_. +If you were flesh-- +You know you durst not use me in this sort. + +[_The ghost of the Indian Queen rises betwixt the +ghosts, with a dagger in her breast_. + +_Mont_. Ha! +I feel my hair grow stiff, my eye-balls roll! +This is the only form could shake my soul. + +_Ghost_. The hopes of thy successful love resign; +Know, Montezuma, thou art only mine; +For those, who here on earth their passion shew +By death for love, receive their right below. +Why dost thou then delay my longing arms? +Have cares, and age, and mortal life such charms? +The moon grows sickly at the sight of day, +And early cocks have summoned me away: +Yet I'll appoint a meeting place below, +For there fierce winds o'er dusky vallies blow, +Whose every puff bears empty shades away, +Which guidless in those dark dominions stray. +Just at the entrance of the fields below, +Thou shalt behold a tall black poplar grow; +Safe in its hollow trunk I will attend, +And seize thy spirit when thou dost descend. + +[_Descends_. + +_Mont_. I'll seize thee there, thou messenger of fate.-- +Would my short life had yet a shorter date! +I'm weary of this flesh which holds us here, +And dastards manly souls with hope and fear; +These heats and colds still in our breast make war, +Agues and fevers all our passions are. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II. + +CYDARIA _and_ ALIBECH, _betwixt the two armies_. + + +_Alib_. Blessings will crown your name, if you prevent +That blood, which in this battle will be spent; +Nor need you fear so just a suit to move, +Which both becomes your duty and your love. + +_Cyd_. But think you he will come? their camp is near, +And he already knows I wait him here. + +_Alib_. You are too young your power to understand, +Lovers take wing upon the least command; +Already he is here. + +_Enter_ CORTEZ _and_ VASQUEZ _to them_. + +_Cort_. Methinks, like two black storms on either hand, +Our Spanish army and your Indians stand; +This only space betwixt the clouds is clear, +Where you, like day, broke loose from both appear. + +_Cyd_. Those closing skies might still continue bright, +But who can help it, if you'll make it night? +The Gods have given you power of life and death, +Like them to save, or ruin, with a breath. + +_Cort_. That power they to your father did dispose, +'Twas in his choice to make us friends or foes. + +_Alib_. Injurious strength would rapine still excuse, +By offering terms the weaker must refuse; +And such as these your hard conditions are, +You threaten peace, and you invite a war. + +_Cort_. If for myself to conquer here I came, +You might perhaps my actions justly blame: +Now I am sent, and am not to dispute +My prince's orders, but to execute. + +_Alib_. He, who his prince so blindly does obey, +To keep his faith his virtue throws away. + +_Cort_. Monarchs may err; but should each private +breast +Judge their ill acts, they would dispute their best. + +_Cyd_. Then all your care is for your prince, I see; +Your truth to him out-weighs your love to me: +You may so cruel to deny me prove, +But never after that pretend to love. + +_Cort_. Command my life, and I will soon obey; +To save my honour I my blood will pay. + +_Cyd_. What is this honour which does love controul? + +_Cort_. A raging fit of virtue in the soul; +A painful burden which great minds must bear, +Obtained with danger, and possest with fear. + +_Cyd_. Lay down that burden if it painful grow; +You'll find, without it, love will lighter go. + +_Cort_. Honour, once lost, is never to be found. + +_Alib_. Perhaps he looks to have both passions crowned; +First dye his honour in a purple flood, +Then court the daughter in the father's blood. + +_Cort_. The edge of war I'll from the battle take, +And spare her father's subjects for her sake. + +_Cyd_. I cannot love you less when I'm refused. +But I can die to be unkindly used; +Where shall a maid's distracted heart find rest. +If she can miss it in her lover's breast? + +_Cort_. I till to-morrow will the fight delay; +Remember you have conquered me to-day. + +_Alib_. This grant destroys all you have urged before; +Honour could not give this, or can give more. +Our women in the foremost ranks appear; +March to the fight, and meet your mistress there: +Into the thickest squadrons she must run, +Kill her, and see what honour will be won. + +_Cyd_. I must he in the battle, but I'll go +With empty quiver, and unbended bow; +Not draw an arrow in this fatal strife, +For fear its point should reach your noble life. + +_Enter_ PIZARRO. + +_Cort_. No more: your kindness wounds me to the death: +Honour, be gone! what art thou but a breath? +I'll live, proud of my infamy and shame, +Graced with no triumph but a lover's name; +Men can but say, love did his reason blind, +And love's the noblest frailty of the mind.-- +Draw off my men; the war's already done. + +_Piz_. Your orders come too late, the fight's begun; +The enemy gives on, with fury led, +And fierce Orbellan combats at their head. + +_Cort_. He justly fears, a peace with me would +prove +Of ill concernment to his haughty love; +Retire, fair excellence! I go to meet +New honour, but to lay it at your feet. + +[_Exeunt_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, _and_ PIZARRO.] + +_Enter_ ODMAR _and_ GUTOMAR, _to_ ALIBECH _and_ +CYDARIA. + +_Odm_. Now, madam, since a danger does appear +Worthy my courage, though below my fear; +Give leave to him, who may in battle die, +Before his death, to ask his destiny. + +_Guy_. He cannot die, whom you command to live; +Before the fight, you can the conquest give; +Speak, where you'll place it? + +_Alib_. Briefly, then, to both, +One I in secret love, the other loathe; +But where I hate, my hate I will not show, +And he, I love, my love shall never know; +True worth shall gain me, that it may be said, +Desert, not fancy, once a woman led. +He who, in fight, his courage shall oppose, +With most success, against his country's foes, +From me shall all that recompence receive, +That valour merits, or that love can give. +'Tis true, my hopes and fears are all for one, +But hopes and fears are to myself alone. +Let him not shun the danger of the strife; +I but his love, his country claims his life. + +_Odm_. All obstacles my courage shall remove. + +_Guy_. Fall on, fall on. + +_Odm_. For liberty! + +_Guy_. For love! + +[_Exeunt, the women following_. + + +SCENE III.--_Changes to the Indian country_. + +_Enter_ Montezuma, _attended by the Indians_. + + +_Mont_. Charge, charge! their ground the faint Taxallans yield! +Bold in close ambush, base in open field. +The envious devil did my fortune wrong:-- +Thus fought, thus conquered I, when I was young. + +[_Exit_. + +_Alarm. Enter CORTEZ bloody_. + +_Cort_. Furies pursue these false Taxallans' flight; +Dare they be friends to us, and dare not fight? +What friends can cowards be, what hopes appear +Of help from such, who, where they hate, show fear! + +_Enter_ PIZARRO _and_ VASQUEZ. + +_Piz_. The field grows thin; and those, that now remain, +Appear but like the shadows of the slain. + +_Vasq_. The fierce old king is vanished from the place, +And, in a cloud of dust, pursues the chase. + +_Cort_. Their eager chase disordered does appear, +Command our horse to charge them in the rear: + [_To_ PIZARRO. +You to our old Castilian foot retire, [_To_ VASQ. +Who yet stand firm, and at their backs give fire. + [_Exeunt severally._ + + +SCENE IV. + +_Enter_ ODMAR _and_ GUTOMAR, _meeting each other in the +battle_. + +_Odm_. Where hast thou been, since first the fight began, +Thou less than woman in the shape of man? + +_Guy_. Where I have done what may thy envy move, +Things worthy of my birth, and of my love. + +_Odm_. Two bold Taxallans with one dart I slew, +And left it sticking ere my sword I drew. + +_Guy_. I sought not honour on so base a train, +Such cowards by our women may be slain; +I felled along a man of bearded face, +His limbs all covered with a shining case: +So wondrous hard, and so secure of wound, +It made my sword, though edged with flint, re-bound. + +_Odm_. I killed a double man; the one half lay +Upon the ground, the other ran away. + +[_Guns go off within. + +Enter_ Montezuma, _out of breath, with him_ Alibech, _and an +Indian_. + +_Mont_. All is lost!-- +Our foes with lightning and with thunder fight; +My men in vain shun death by shameful flight: +For deaths invisible come winged with fire, +They hear a dreadful noise, and strait expire. +Take, gods! that soul, ye did in spite create, +And made it great, to be unfortunate: +Ill fate for me unjustly you provide, +Great souls are sparks of your own heavenly pride: +That lust of power we from your godheads have, +You're bound to please those appetites you gave. + +_Enter_ Vasquez _and_ Pizarro, _with Spaniards._ + +_Vasq_. Pizarro, I have hunted hard to-day, +Into our toils, the noblest of the prey; +Seize on the king, and him your prisoner make, +While I, in kind revenge, my taker take. + +[Pizarro, _with two, goes to attack the king_. Vasquez, _with +another, to seize_ Alibech. + +_Guy_. Their danger is alike;--whom shall I free? + +_Odm_. I'll follow love! + +_Guy_. I'll follow piety! + +[Odmar _retreats from_ Vasquez, _with_ Alibech, _off the +stage_; Guyomar _fights for his father_. + +_Guy_. Fly, sir! while I give back that life you gave; +Mine is well lost, if I your life can save. + +[Montezuma _fights off_; Guyomar, _making his retreat, stays_. + +_Guy_. Tis more than man can do to scape them all; +Stay, let me see where noblest I may fall. + +[_He runs at_ Vasquez, _is seized behind and taken_. + +_Vasq_. Conduct him off, +And give command, he strictly guarded be. + +_Guy_. In vain are guards, death sets the valiant free. + + +[_Exit_ Guyomar, _with guards_. + +_Vasq_. A glorious day! and bravely was it fought; +Great fame our general in great dangers sought; +From his strong arm I saw his rival run, +And, in a crowd, the unequal combat shun. + +_Enter_ Cortez _leading_ Cydaria, _who seems crying and +begging of him_. + +_Cort_. Man's force is fruitless, and your gods would fail +To save the city, but your tears prevail; +I'll of my fortune no advantage make, +Those terms, they had once given, they still may take. + +_Cyd_. Heaven has of right all victory designed, +Where boundless power dwells in a will confined; +Your Spanish honour does the world excel. + +_Cort_. Our greatest honour is in loving well. + +_Cyd_. Strange ways you practise there, to win a heart; +Here love is nature, but with you 'tis art. + +_Cort_. Love is with us as natural as here, +But fettered up with customs more severe. +In tedious courtship we declare our pain, +And, ere we kindness find, first meet disdain. + +_Cyd_. If women love, they needless pains endure; +Their pride and folly but delay their cure. + +_Cort_. What you miscall their folly, is their care; +They know how fickle common lovers are: +Their oaths and vows are cautiously believed, +For few there are but have been once deceived. + +_Cyd_. But if they are not trusted when they vow, +What other marks of passion can they show? + +_Cort_. With feasts, and music, all that brings delight, +Men treat their ears, their palates, and their sight. + +_Cyd_. Your gallants, sure, have little eloquence, +Failing to move the soul, they court the sense: +With pomp, and trains, and in a crowd they woo, +When true felicity is but in two; +But can such toys your women's passions move? +This is but noise and tumult, 'tis not love. + +_Cort_. I have no reason, madam, to excuse +Those ways of gallantry, I did not use; +My love was true, and on a nobler score. + +_Cyd_. Your love, alas! then have you loved before? + +_Cort_. 'Tis true I loved, but she is dead, she's dead; +And I should think with her all beauty fled, +Did not her fair resemblance live in you, +And, by that image, my first flames renew. + +_Cyd_. Ah! happy beauty, whosoe'er thou art! +Though dead, thou keep'st possession of his heart; +Thou makest me jealous to the last degree, +And art my rival in his memory: +Within his memory! ah, more than so, +Thou livest and triumph'st o'er Cydaria too. + +_Cort_. What strange disquiet has uncalmed your breast, +Inhuman fair, to rob the dead of rest!-- +Poor heart! she slumbers in her silent tomb; +Let her possess in peace that narrow room. + +_Cyd_. Poor heart!--he pities and bewails her death!-- +Some god, much hated soul, restore thy breath, +That I may kill thee; but, some ease 'twill be, +I'll kill myself for but resembling thee. + +_Cort_. I dread your anger, your disquiet fear, +But blows, from hands so soft, who would not bear? +So kind a passion why should I remove? +Since jealousy but shows how well we love. +Yet jealousy so strange I never knew; +Can she, who loves me not, disquiet you? +For in the grave no passions fill the breast, +'Tis all we gain by death, to be at rest. + +_Cyd_. That she no longer loves, brings no relief; +Your love to her still lives, and that's my grief. + +_Cort_. The object of desire once ta'en away, +'Tis then not love, but pity, which we pay. + +_Cyd_. 'Tis such a pity I should never have, +When I must lie forgotten in the grave; +I meant to have obliged you, when I died, +That, after me, you should love none beside.-- +But you are false already. + +_Cort_. If untrue, +By heaven! my falsehood is to her, not you. + +_Cyd_. Observe, sweet heaven, how falsely he does swear!-- +You said, you loved me for resembling her. + +_Cort_. That love was in me by resemblance bred, +But shows you cheared my sorrows for the dead. + +_Cyd_. You still repeat the greatness of your grief. + +_Cort_. If that was great, how great was the relief! + +_Cyd_. The first love still the strongest we account. + +_Cort_. That seems more strong which could the first surmount: +But if you still continue thus unkind, +Whom I love best, you, by my death, shall find. + +_Cyd_. If you should die, my death shall yours pursue; +But yet I am not satisfied you're true. + +_Cort_. Hear me, ye gods! and punish him you hear, +If aught within the world I hold so dear. + +_Cyd_. You would deceive the gods and me; she's dead, +And is not in the world, whose love I dread.-- +Name not the world; say, nothing is so dear. + +_Cort_. Then nothing is,--let that secure your fear. + +_Cyd_. 'Tis time must wear it off, but I must go. +Can you your constancy in absence show? + +_Cort_. Misdoubt my constancy, and do not try, +But stay, and keep me ever in your eye. + +_Cyd_. If as a prisoner I were here, you might +Have then insisted on a conqueror's right, +And staid me here; but now my love would be +The effect of force, and I would give it free. + +_Cort_. To doubt your virtue, or your love, were sin! +Call for the captive prince, and bring him in. + +_Enter_ Guyomar, _bound and sad_. + +You look, sir, as your fate you could not bear: +[_To_ Guy. +Are Spanish fetters, then, so hard to wear? +Fortune's unjust, she ruins oft the brave, +And him, who should be victor, makes the slave. + +_Guy_. Son of the sun! my fetters cannot be +But glorious for me, since put on by thee; +The ills of love, not those of fate, I fear; +These can I brave, but those I cannot bear: +My rival brother, while I'm held in chains, +In freedom reaps the fruit of all my pains. + +_Cort_. Let it be never said that he, whose breast +Is filled with love, should break a lover's rest.-- +Haste! lose no time!--your sister sets you free:-- +And tell the king, my generous enemy, +I offer still those terms he had before, +Only ask leave his daughter to adore. + +_Guy_. Brother, (that name my breast shall ever own, + [_He embraces him_. +The name of foe be but in battles known;) +For some few days all hostile acts forbear, +That, if the king consents, it seem not fear: +His heart, is noble, and great souls must be +Most sought and courted in adversity.-- +Three days, I hope, the wished success will tell. + +_Cyd_. Till that long time,-- + +_Cort_. Till that long time, farewell. + +[_Exeunt severally_. + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_A Chamber Royal_. + +_Enter_ ODMAR _and_ ALIBECH. + + +_Odm_. The gods, fair Alibech, had so decreed, +Nor could my valour against fate succeed; +Yet though our army brought not conquest home, +I did not from the fight inglorious come: +If, as a victor, you the brave regard, +Successless courage, then, may hope reward; +And I, returning safe, may justly boast, +To win the prize which my dear brother lost. + +_Enter_ GUYOMAR _behind him_. + +_Guy_. No, no, thy brother lives! and lives to be +A witness, both against himself and thee; +Though both in safety are returned again, +I blush to ask her love for vanquished men. + +_Odm_. Brother, I'll not dispute but you are brave; +Yet I was free, and you, it seems, a slave. + +_Guy_. Odmar, 'tis true that I was captive led; +As publicly 'tis known, as that you fled: +But of two shames, if she must one partake, +I think the choice will not be hard to make. + +_Odm_. Freedom and bondage in her choice remain; +Darest thou expect she will put on thy chain? + +_Guy_. No, no, fair Alibech, give him the crown, +My brother is returned with high renown: +He thinks by flight his mistress must be won, +And claims the prize, because he best did run. + +_Alib_. Your chains were glorious, and your flight was wise, +But neither have o'ercome your enemies: +My secret wishes would my choice decide, +But open justice bends to neither side. + +_Odm_. Justice already does my right approve, +If him, who loves you most, you most should love. +My brother poorly from your aid withdrew, +But I my father left, to succour you. + +_Guy_. Her country she did to herself prefer, +Him who fought best, not who defended her; +Since she her interest, for the nation's, waved, +Then I, who saved the king, the nation saved. +You, aiding her, your country did betray; +I, aiding him, did her commands obey. + +_Odm_. Name it no more; in love there is a time +When dull obedience is the greatest crime. +She to her country's use resigned your sword, +And you, kind lover, took her at her word; +You did your duty to your love prefer, +Seek your reward from duty, not from her. + +_Guy_. In acting what my duty did require, +'Twas hard for me to quit my own desire; +That fought for her, which, when I did subdue, +'Twas much the easier task I left to you. + +_Alib_. Odmar a more than common love has shown, +And Guyomar's was greater, or was none; +Which I should chuse, some god direct my breast. +The certain good, or the uncertain best.-- +I cannot chuse,--you both dispute in vain,-- +Time and your future acts must make it plain; +First raise the siege, and set your country free, +I, not the judge, but the reward, will be. + +_To them, Enter_ MONTEZUMA, _talking with_ ALMERIA +_and_ ORBELLAN. + +_Mont_. Madam, I think, with reason, I extol +The virtue of the Spanish general; +When all the gods our ruin have foretold, +Yet generously he does his arms withhold, +And, offering peace, the first conditions make. + +_Alm_. When peace is offered, 'tis too late to take; +For one poor loss, to stoop to terms like those!-- +Were we o'ercome, what could they worse impose? +Go, go, with homage your proud victors meet! +Go, lie like dogs beneath your masters' feet! +Go, and beget them slaves to dig their mines, +And groan for gold, which now in temples shines! +Your shameful story shall record of me, +The men all crouched, and left a woman free! + +_Guy_. Had I not fought, or durst not fight again, +I my suspected counsel should refrain; +For I wish peace, and any terms prefer, +Before the last extremities of war. +We but exasperate those we cannot harm, +And fighting gains us but to die more warm: +If that be cowardice, which dares not see +The insolent effects of victory, +The rape of matrons, and their childrens cries,-- +Then I am fearful, let the brave advise. + +_Odm_. Keen cutting swords, and engines killing far, +Have prosperously begun a doubtful war: +But now our foes with less advantage fight, +Their strength decreases with our Indians' fright. + +_Mont_. This noble vote does with my wish comply,-- +I am for war. + +_Alm_. And so am I. + +_Orb_. And I. + +_Mont_. Then send to break the truce, and I'll take care +To chear the soldiers, and for fight prepare. + +[_Exeunt_ MONT. ODM. GUY. _and_ ALIB. + +_Alm_. to _Orb_. 'Tis now the hour which all to rest allow, +And sleep sits heavy upon every brow; +In this dark silence softly leave the town, + [GUYOMAR _returns, and hears them_. +And to the general's tent,--'tis quickly known,-- +Direct your steps: You may despatch him: strait, +Drowned in his sleep, and easy for his fate: +Besides, the truce will make the guards more slack. + +_Orb_. Courage, which leads me on, will bring me back.-- +But I more fear the baseness of the thing: +Remorse, you know, bears a perpetual sting. + +_Alm_. For mean remorse no room the valiant find, +Repentance is the virtue of weak minds; +For want of judgment keeps them doubtful still, +They may repent of good, who can of ill; +But daring courage makes ill actions good, +'Tis foolish pity spares a rival's blood; +You shall about it strait. + +[_Exeunt_ ALM. _and_ ORB. + +_Guy_. Would they betray +His sleeping virtue, by so mean a way!-- +And yet this Spaniard is our nation's foe,-- +I wish him dead,--but cannot wish it so;-- +Either my country never must be freed, +Or I consenting to so black a deed.-- +Would chance had never led my steps this way! +Now if he dies, I murder him, not they;-- +Something must be resolved ere 'tis too late;-- +He gave me freedom, I'll prevent his fate. + +[_Exit_. + + +SCENE II.--_A Camp_. + +_Enter CORTEZ alone, in a night-gown_. + + +_Cort_. All things are hushed, as nature's self lay dead; +The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head; +The little birds, in dreams, their songs repeat, +And sleeping flowers beneath the night-dew sweat. +Even lust and envy sleep; yet love denies +Rest to my soul, and slumber to my eyes.-- +Three days I promised to attend my doom, +And two long days and nights are yet to come:-- +'Tis sure the noise of some tumultuous fight, + [_Noise within_. +They break the truce, and sally out by night. + +_Enter_ ORBELLAN, _flying in the dark, his sword +drawn_. + +_Orb_. Betrayed! pursued! O, whither shall I fly? +See, see! the just reward of treachery!-- +I'm sure among the tents, but know not where; +Even night wants darkness to secure my fear. + +[_Comes near_ CORTEZ, _who hears him_. + +_Cort_. Stand! who goes there? + +_Orb_. Alas, what shall I say?-- + [_Aside_. +A poor Taxallan that mistook his way, +And wanders in the terrors of the night. + +_Cort_. Soldier, thou seem'st afraid; whence comes thy fright? + +_Orb_. The insolence of Spaniards caused my fear, +Who in the dark pursued me entering here. + +_Cort_. Their crimes shall meet immediate punishment, +But stay thou safe within the general's tent. + +_Orb_. Still worse and worse. + +_Cort_. Fear not, but follow me; +Upon my life I'll set thee safe and free. + +[CORTEZ _leads him in, and returns. +To him_ VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _and Spaniards with Torches_. + +_Vasq_. O sir, thank heaven, and your brave Indian friend, +That you are safe; Orbellan did intend +This night to kill you sleeping in your tent: +But Guyomar his trusty slave has sent, +Who, following close his silent steps by night, +Till in our camp they both approached the light, +Cried-_Seize the traitor, seize the murtherer_! +The cruel villain fled I know not where; +But far he is not, for he this way bent. + +_Piz_. The enraged soldiers seek, from tent to tent, +With lighted torches, and in love to you, +With bloody vows his hated life pursue. + +_Vasq_. This messenger does, since he came, relate, +That the old king, after a long debate, +By his imperious mistress blindly led, +Has given Cydaria to Orbellan's bed. + +_Cort_. Vasquez, the trusty slave with you retain; +Retire a while, I'll call you back again. + [_Exeunt_ VASQ. _and_ PIZ. + CORTEZ _at his tent door_. +Indian, come forth; your enemies are gone, +And I, who saved you from them, here alone. + + _Enter ORBELLAN, holding his face aside_. + +You hide your face, as you were still afraid: +Dare you not look on him, who gave you aid? + +_Orb_. Moon, slip behind some cloud, some tempest, rise, +And blow out all the stars that light the skies, +To shrowd my shame! + +_Cort_. In vain you turn aside, +And hide your face; your name you cannot hide: +I know my rival and his black design. + +_Orb_. Forgive it, as my passion's fault, not mine. + +_Cort_. In your excuse your love does little say; +You might, howe'er, have took a fairer way. + +_Orb_. 'Tis true, my passion small defence can make; +Yet you must spare me for your honour's sake, +That was engaged to set me safe and free. + +_Cort_. 'Twas to a stranger, not an enemy: +Nor is it prudence to prolong thy breath, +When all my hopes depend upon thy death; +Yet none shall tax me with base perjury: +Something I'll do, both for myself and thee; +With vowed revenge my soldiers search each tent, +If thou art seen, none can thy death prevent; +Follow my steps with silence and with haste. + + +SCENE III. + +_They go out, the Scene changes to the Indian Country, they +return_. + +_Cort_. Now you are safe, you have my outguards past. + +_Orb_. Then here I take my leave. + +_Cort_. Orbellan, no; +When you return, you to Cydaria go: +I'll send a message. + +_Orb_. Let it be exprest; +I am in haste. + +_Cort_. I'll write it in your breast. + +[_Draws_. + +_Orb_. What means my rival? + +_Cort_. Either fight or die, +I'll not strain honour to a point too high; +I saved your life, and keep it if you can, +Cydaria shall be for the bravest man; +On equal terms you shall your fortune try, +Take this, and lay your flint-edged weapon by; + [_Gives him a sword_. +I'll arm you for my glory, and pursue +No palm, but what's to manly virtue due. +Fame, with my conquest, shall my courage tell. +This you shall gain, by placing love so well. + +_Orb_. Fighting with you, ungrateful I appear. + +_Cort_. Under that shadow, thou would'st hide thy fear: +Thou would'st possess thy love at thy return, +And in her arms my easy virtue scorn. + +_Orb_. Since we must fight, no longer let's delay; +The moon shines clear, and makes a paler day. + +[_They fight_, ORBELLAN_ is wounded in the hand, + his sword falls out of it_. + +_Cort_. To courage, even of foes, there's pity due; +It was not I, but fortune, vanquished you: + [_Throws his sword again_. +Thank me with that, and so dispute the prize, +As if you fought before Cydaria's eyes. + +_Orb_. I would not poorly such a gift requite; +You gave me not this sword to yield, but fight: + [_He strives to hold it, but cannot_. +But see, where yours has forced its bloody way; +My wounded hand my heart does ill obey. + +_Cort_. Unlucky honour, that controul'st my will? +Why have I vanquished, since I must not kill? +Fate sees thy life lodged in a brittle glass, +And looks it through, but to it cannot pass. + + +_Orb_. All I can do is frankly to confess,-- +I wish I could, but cannot, love her less: +To swear I would resign her, were but vain, +Love would recal that perjured breath again; +And in my wretched case, 'twill be more just, +Not to have promised, than deceive your trust. +Know, if I live once more to see the town, +In bright Cydaria's arms my love I'll crown. + +_Cort_. In spite of that, I give thee liberty, +And with thy person leave thy honour free; +But to thy wishes move a speedy pace, +Or death will soon o'ertake thee in the chase.-- +To arms, to arms; fate shows my love the way, +I'll force the city on thy nuptial day. + +[_Exeunt severally_. + + +SCENE IV.--Mexico. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, ALMERIA. + + +_Mont_. It moves my wonder, that in two days space, +This early famine spreads so swift a pace. + +_Odm_. 'Tis, sir, the general cry; nor seems it strange, +The face of plenty should so swiftly change: +This city never felt a siege before, +But from the lake received its daily store; +Which now shut up, and millions crowded here, +Famine will soon in multitudes appear. + +_Mont_. The more the number, still the greater shame. + +_Alm_. What if some one should seek immortal fame, +By ending of the siege at one brave blow? + +_Mont_. That were too happy! + +_Alm_. Yet it may be so. +What if the Spanish general should be slain? + +_Guy_. Just heavens I hope, does otherwise ordain. + +[_Aside_. + +_Mont_. If slain by treason, I lament his death. + +_Enter_ ORBELLAN, _and whispers his sister_. + +_Odm_. Orbellan seems in haste, and out of breath. + +_Mont_. Orbellan, welcome; you are early here, +A bridegroom's haste does in your looks appear. + +[ALMERIA _aside to her brother_. + +_Alm_. Betrayed! no, 'twas thy cowardice and fear; +He had not 'scaped with life, had I been there: +But since so ill you act a brave design, +Keep close your shame;--fate makes the next turn mine. + +_Enter_ ALIBECH _and_ CYDARIA. + +_Alib_. O sir, if ever pity touched your breast, +Let it be now to your own blood exprest: +In tears your beauteous daughter drowns her sight, +Silent as dews that fall in dead of night. + +_Cyd_. To your commands I strict obedience owe, +And my last act of it I come to show: +I want the heart to die before your eyes, +But grief will finish that which fear denies. + +_Alm_. Your will should by your father's precept move. + +_Cyd_. When he was young, he taught me truth in love. + +_Alm_. He found more love than he deserved, 'tis true, +And that, it seems, is lucky too to you; +Your father's folly took a headstrong course, +But I'll rule yours, and teach you love by force. + +_Enter Messenger_. + +_Mess_. Arm, arm, O king! the enemy comes on, +A sharp assault already is begun; +Their murdering guns play fiercely on the walls. + +_Odm_. Now, rival, let us run where honour calls. + +_Guy_. I have discharged what gratitude did owe, +And the brave Spaniard is again my foe. + +[_Exeunt_ ODMAR _and_ GUYOMAR. + +_Mont_. Our walls are high, and multitudes defend: +Their vain attempt must in their ruin end; +The nuptials with my presence shall be graced. + +_Alib_. At least but stay 'till the assault be past. + +_Alm_. Sister, in vain you urge him to delay, +The king has promised, and he shall obey. + +_Enter second Messenger_. + +_2 Mess_. From several parts the enemy's repelled, +One only quarter to the assault does yield. + +_Enter third Messenger_. + +_3 Mess_. Some foes are entered, but they are so few, +They only death, not victory, pursue. + +_Orb_. Hark, hark, they shout! +From virtue's rules I do too meanly swerve, +I, by my courage, will your love deserve. + +[_Exit_. + +_Mont_. Here, in the heart of all the town, I'll stay; +And timely succour, where it wants, convey. + +_A noise within. Enter_ ORBELLAN, _Indians driven +in_, CORTEZ _after them, and one or two Spaniards_. + +_Cort_. He's found, he's found! degenerate coward, stay: +Night saved thee once, thou shalt not scape by day. + +[_Kills_ ORBELLAN. + +_Orb_. O, I am killed-- + +[_Dies_. + +_Enter_ GUYOMAR _and_ ODMAR. + +_Guy_. Yield, generous stranger, and preserve your life; +Why chuse you death in this unequal strife? + +[_He is beset_. + +[ALMERIA _and_ ALIBECH _fall on_ ORBELLAN'S _body_. + +_Cort_. What nobler fate could any lover meet? +I fall revenged, and at my mistress' feet. + +[_They fall on him, and bear him down_, GUYOMAR _takes his sword_. + +_Alib_. He's past recovery; my dear brother's slain, +Fate's hand was in it, and my care is vain. + +_Alm_. In weak complaints you vainly waste your breath: +They are not tears that can revenge his death. +Despatch the villain strait. + +_Cort_. The villain's dead. + +_Alm_. Give me a sword, and let me take his head. + +_Mont_. Though, madam, for your brother's loss I grieve, +Yet let me beg-- + +_Alm_. His murderer may live? + +_Cyd_. 'Twas his misfortune, and the chance of war. + +_Cort_. It was my purpose, and I killed him fair: +How could you so unjust and cruel prove, +To call that chance, which was the act of love? + +_Cyd_. I called it any thing to save your life: +Would he were living still, and I his wife! +That wish was once my greatest misery: +But 'tis a greater to behold you die. + +_Alm_. Either command his death upon the place, +Or never more behold Almeria's face. + +_Guy_. You by his valour once from death were freed: +Can you forget so generous a deed? + +[_To_ MONTEZUMA. + +_Mont_. How gratitude and love divide my breast! +Both ways alike my soul is robbed of rest. +But--let him die--Can I his sentence give? +Ungrateful, must he die, by whom I live? +But can I then Almeria's tears deny? +Should any live whom she commands to die? + +_Guy_. Approach who dares: He yielded on my word; +And, as my prisoner, I restore his sword. + [_Gives his sword_. +His life concerns the safety of the state, +And I'll preserve it for a calm debate. + +_Mont_. Dar'st thou rebel, false and degenerate boy? +That being, which I gave, I thus destroy. + +[_Offers to kill him_, ODMAR _steps between_. + +_Odm_. My brother's blood I cannot see you spill, +Since he prevents you but from doing ill. +He is my rival, but his death would be +For him too glorious, and too base for me. + +_Guy_. Thou shalt not conquer in this noble strife: +Alas, I meant not to defend my life: +Strike, sir, you never pierced a breast more true; +'Tis the last wound I e'er can take for you. +You see I live but to dispute your will; +Kill me, and then you may my prisoner kill. + +_Cort_. You shall not, generous youths, contend for me: +It is enough that I your honour see: +But that your duty may no blemish take, +I will myself your father's captive make: + [_Gives his sword to_ MONTEZUMA. +When he dares strike, I am prepared to fall: +The Spaniards will revenge their general. + +_Cyd_. Ah, you too hastily your life resign, +You more would love it, if you valued mine! + +_Cort_. Despatch me quickly, I my death forgive; +I shall grow tender else, and wish to live; +Such an infectious face her sorrow wears, +I can bear death, but not Cydaria's tears. + +_Alm_. Make haste, make haste, they merit death all three: +They for rebellion, and for murder he. +See, see, my brother's ghost hangs hovering there +O'er his warm blood, that steams into the air; +Revenge, revenge, it cries. + +_Mont_. And it shall have; +But two days respite for his life I crave: +If in that space you not more gentle prove, +I'll give a fatal proof how well I love. +'Till when, you, Guyomar, your prisoner take; +Bestow him in the castle on the lake: +In that small time I shall the conquest gain +Of these few sparks of virtue which remain; +Then all, who shall my headlong passion see, +Shall curse my crimes, and yet shall pity me. + +[_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I.--_A prison_. + +_Enter_ ALMERIA _and an Indian; they speak entering_. + + +_Ind_. A dangerous proof of my respect I show. + +_Alm_. Fear not, Prince Guyomar shall never know: +While he is absent let us not delay; +Remember 'tis the king thou dost obey. + +_Ind_. See where he sleeps. + +[CORTEZ _appears chained and laid asleep_. + +_Alm_.--Without, my coming wait; +And, on thy life, secure the prison gate. + +[_Exit Indian_. + +[_She plucks out a dagger, and approaches him_. + +Spaniard, awake: thy fatal hour is come: +Thou shalt not at such ease receive thy doom. +Revenge is sure, though sometimes slowly paced: +Awake, awake, or, sleeping, sleep thy last. + +_Cort_. Who names revenge? + +_Alm_.--Look up, and thou shalt see. + +_Cort_. I cannot fear so fair an enemy. + +_Alm_. No aid is nigh, nor canst thou make defence: +Whence can thy courage come? + +_Cort_.--From innocence. + +_Alm_. From innocence? let that then take thy part. +Still are thy looks assured--have at thy heart! + [_Holds up the dagger_. +I cannot kill thee; sure thou bear'st some charm, + [_Goes back_. +Or some divinity holds back my arm. +Why do I thus delay to make him bleed? + [_Aside_. +Can I want courage for so brave a deed? +I've shook it off; my soul is free from fear. + [_Comes again_. +And I can now strike any where--but here: +His scorn of death, how strangely does it move! +A mind so haughty who could chuse but love! + [_Goes off_. +Plead not a charm, or any god's command, +Alas, it is thy heart that holds thy hand: +In spite of me I love, and see, too late, +My mother's pride must find my mother's fate. +--Thy country's foe, thy brother's murderer,-- +For shame, Almeria, such mad thoughts forbear: +It w'onnot be,--if I once more come on, + [_Coming on again_. +I shall mistake the breast, and pierce my own. + +[_Comes with her dagger down_. + +_Cort_. Does your revenge maliciously forbear +To give me death, 'till 'tis prepared by fear? +If you delay for that, forbear or strike, +Foreseen and sudden death are both alike. + +_Alm_. To show my love would but increase his pride: +They have most power, who most their passions hide. + [_Aside_. +Spaniard, I must confess, I did expect +You could not meet your death with such neglect; +I will defer it now, and give you time: +You may repent, and I forget your crime. + +_Cort_. Those, who repent, acknowledge they do ill: +I did not unprovoked your brother kill. + +_Alm_. Petition me, perhaps I may forgive. + +_Cort_. Who begs his life does not deserve to live. + +_Alm_. But if 'tis given, you'll not refuse to take? + +_Cort_. I can live gladly for Cydaria's sake. + +_Alm_. Does she so wholly then possess your mind? +What if you should another lady find, +Equal to her in birth, and far above +In all that can attract, or keep your love, +Would you so doat upon your first desire, +As not to entertain a nobler fire? + +_Cort_. I think that person hardly will be found, +With gracious form and equal virtue crowned: +Yet if another could precedence claim, +My fixed desires could find no fairer aim. + +_Alm_. Dull ignorance! he cannot yet conceive: +To speak more plain, shame will not give me leave. + [_Aside_. +--Suppose one loved you, whom even kings adore: + [_To him_. +Who, with your life, your freedom would restore, +And add to that the crown of Mexico: +Would you, for her, Cydaria's love forego? + +_Cort_. Though she could offer all you can invent, +I could not of my faith, once vowed, repent. + +_Alm_. A burning blush has covered all my face; +Why am I forced to publish my disgrace? +What if I love? you know it cannot be, +And yet I blush to put the case--'twere me. +If I could love you with a flame so true, +I could forget what hand my brother slew-- +--Make out the rest--I am disordered so, +I know not farther what to say or do: +--But answer me to what you think I meant. + +_Cort_. Reason or wit no answer can invent: +Of words confused who can the meaning find? + +_Alm_. Disordered words show a distempered mind. + +_Cort_. She has obliged me so, that could I chuse, +I would not answer what I must refuse. [_Aside_. + +_Alm_. His mind is shook--suppose I loved you, speak, +Would you for me Cydaria's fetters break? + +_Cort_. Things, meant in jest, no serious answer need. + +_Alm_. But, put the case that it were so indeed. + +_Cort_. If it were so,--which but to think were pride,-- +My constant love would dangerously be tried: +For since you could a brother's death forgive, +He, whom you save, for you alone should live: +But I, the most unhappy of mankind, +Ere I knew yours, have all my love resigned: +'Tis my own loss I grieve, who have no more: +You go a-begging to a bankrupt's door. +Yet could I change, as sure I never can, +How could you love so infamous a man? +For love, once given from her, and placed in you, +Would leave no ground I ever could be true. + +_Alm_. You construed me aright--I was in jest: +And, by that offer, meant to sound your breast; +Which since I find so constant to your love, +Will much my value of your worth improve. +Spaniard, assure yourself you shall not be +Obliged to quit Cydaria for me: +'Tis dangerous though to treat me in this sort, +And to refuse my offers, though in sport. [_Exit_. + +_Cort_. In what a strange condition am I left? +More than I wish I have, of all I wish bereft! +In wishing nothing, we enjoy still most; +For even our wish is, in possession, lost: +Restless, we wander to a new desire, +And burn ourselves, by blowing up the fire: +We toss and turn about our feverish will, +When all our ease must come by lying still: +For all the happiness mankind can gain +Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain. + [_Goes in, and the scene closes upon him_. + + +SCENE II.--_Chamber-royal_. + +_Enter_ MONTEZUMA, ODMAR, GUYOMAR, _and_ +ALIBECH. + + +_Mont_. My ears are deaf with this impatient crowd. + +_Odm_. Their wants are now grown mutinous and loud: +The general's taken, but the siege remains; +And their last food our dying men sustains. + +_Guy_. One means is only left. I to this hour +Have kept the captive from Almeria's power; +And though, by your command, she often sent +To urge his doom, do still his death prevent. + +_Mont_. That hope is past: Him I have oft assailed; +But neither threats nor kindness have prevailed; +Hiding our wants, I offered to release +His chains, and equally conclude a peace: +He fiercely answered, I had now no way +But to submit, and without terms obey: +I told him, he in chains demanded more +Than he imposed in victory before: +He sullenly replied, he could not make +These offers now; honour must give, not take. + +_Odm_. Twice have I sallied, and was twice beat back: +What desp'rate course remains for us to take! + +_Mont_. If either death or bondage I must chuse, +I'll keep my freedom, though my life I lose. + +_Guy_. I'll not upbraid you, that you once refused +Those means, you might have then with honour used; +I'll lead your men, perhaps bring victory: +They know to conquer best, who know to die. + [_Exeunt_ MONTEZUMA _and_ ODMAR. + +_Alib_. Ah me, what have I heard! stay, Guyomar, +What hope you from this sally you prepare? + +_Guy_. A death, with honour, for my country's good: +A death, to which yourself designed my blood. + +_Alib_. You heard, and I well know the town's distress, +Which sword and famine both at once oppress: +Famine so fierce, that what's denied man's use, +Even deadly plants, and herbs of poisonous juice, +Wild hunger seeks; and, to prolong our breath, +We greedily devour our certain death: +The soldier in th' assault of famine falls: +And ghosts, not men, are watching on the walls. +As callow birds-- +Whose mother's killed in seeking of the prey, +Cry in their nest, and think her long away; +And at each leaf that stirs, each blast of wind, +Gape for the food, which they must never find: +So cry the people in their misery. + +_Guy_. And what relief can they expect from me? + +_Alib_. While Montezuma sleeps, call in the foe: +The captive general your design may know: +His noble heart, to honour ever true, +Knows how to spare as well as to subdue. + +_Guy_. What I have heard I blush to hear: And grieve, +Those words you spoke I must your words believe. +I to do this! I, whom you once thought brave, +To sell my country, and my king enslave? +All I have done by one foul act deface, +And yield my right to you, by turning base? +What more could Odmar wish that I should do, +To lose your love, than you persuade me to? +No, madam, no, I never can commit +A deed so ill, nor can you suffer it: +'Tis but to try what virtue you can find +Lodged in my soul. + +_Alib_. I plainly speak my mind; +Dear as my life my virtue I'll preserve, +But virtue you too scrupulously serve: +I loved not more than now my country's good, +When for its service I employed your blood: +But things are altered, I am still the same, +By different ways still moving to one fame; +And by disarming you, I now do more +To save the town, than arming you before. + +_Guy_. Things good or ill by circumstances be, +In you 'tis virtue, what is vice in me. + +_Alib_. That ill is pardoned, which does good procure. + +_Guy_. The good's uncertain, but the ill is sure. + +_Alib_. When kings grow stubborn, slothful, or unwise, +Each private man for public good should rise. + +_Guy_. Take heed, fair maid, how monarchs you accuse: +Such reasons none but impious rebels use: +Those, who to empire by dark paths aspire, +Still plead a call to what they most desire; +But kings by free consent their kingdoms take, +Strict as those sacred ties which nuptials make; +And whate'er faults in princes time reveal, +None can be judge where can be no appeal. + +_Alib_. In all debates you plainly let me see +You love your virtue best, but Odmar me: +Go, your mistaken piety pursue: +I'll have from him what is denied by you; +With my commands you shall no more be graced. +Remember, sir, this trial was your last. + +_Guy_. The gods inspire you with a better mind; +Make you more just, and make you then more kind! +But though from virtue's rules I cannot part, +Think I deny you with a bleeding heart: +'Tis hard with me whatever choice I make; +I must not merit you, or must forsake: +But, in this strait, to honour I'll be true, +And leave my fortune to the gods and you. + +_Enter Messenger privately_. + +_Mess_. Now is the time; be aiding to your fate; +From the watch-tower, above the western-gate, +I have discerned the foe securely lie, +Too proud to fear a beaten enemy: +Their careless chiefs to the cool grottoes run, +The bowers of kings, to shade them from the sun. + +_Guy_. Upon thy life disclose thy news to none; +I'll make the conquest or the shame my own. + [_Exeunt_ GUYOMAR _and Messenger_. + +_Enter_ ODMAR. + +_Alib_. I read some welcome message in his eye: +Prince Odmar comes: I'll see if he'll deny.-- +Odmar, I come to tell you pleasing news; +I begged a thing, your brother did refuse. + +_Odm_. The news both pleases me, and grieves me +too; +For nothing, sure, should be denied to you: +But he was blessed who might commanded be; +You never meant that happiness to me. + +_Alib_. What he refused, your kindness might bestow, +But my commands, perhaps, your burden grow. + +_Odm_. Could I but live till burdensome they prove, +My life would be immortal as my love. +Your wish, ere it receive a name, I grant. + +_Alib_. 'Tis to relieve your dying country's want; +All hopes of succour from your arms is past, +To save us now you must our ruin haste; +Give up the town, and, to oblige him more. +The captive general's liberty restore. + +_Odm_. You speak to try my love; can you forgive +So soon, to let your brother's murderer live? + +_Alib_. Orbellan, though my brother, did disgrace, +With treacherous deeds, our mighty mother's race; +And to revenge his blood, so justly spilt, +What is it less than to partake his guilt? +Though my proud sister to revenge incline, +I to my country's good my own resign. + +_Odm_. To save our lives, our freedom I betray-- +Yet, since I promised it, I will obey; +I'll not my shame nor your commands dispute; +You shall behold your empire's absolute. [_Exit_. + +_Alib_. I should have thanked him for his speedy grant, +And yet, I know not how, fit words I want: +Sure I am grown distracted in my mind;-- +That joy, this grant should bring, I cannot find: +The one, denying, vexed my soul before; +And this, obeying, has disturbed me more: +The one, with grief, and slowly, did refuse, +The other, in his grant, much haste did use: +--He used too much--and, granting me so soon, +He has the merit of the gift undone: +Methought with wondrous ease he swallowed down +His forfeit honour, to betray the town: +My inward choice was Guyomar before, +But now his virtue has confirmed me more-- +I rave, I rave, for Odmar will obey, +And then my promise must my choice betray. +Fantastic honour, thou hast framed a toil +Thyself, to make thy love thy virtue's spoil. [_Exit_. + + +SCENE III. + +_A pleasant grotto discovered; in it a fountain spouting; +round about it Vasquez, Pizarro, and other +Spaniards, lying carelessly unarmed, and by them +many Indian women, one of which sings the following +song. + + +SONG. + +Ah fading joy! how quickly art thou past! +Yet we thy ruin haste. +As if the cares of human life were few, +We seek out new: +And follow fate, which would too fast pursue. + +See, how on every bough the birds express, +In their sweet notes, their happiness. +They all enjoy, and nothing spare; +But on their mother nature lay their care: +Why then should man, the lord of all below, +Such troubles chuse to know, +As none of all his subjects undergo? + +Hark, hark, the waters, fall, fall, fall, +And with a murmuring sound +Dash, dash, upon the ground, +To gentle slumbers call. + +_After the song two Spaniards arise, and dance a saraband with +castanietas: At the end of which Guyomar and his Indians enter, and, +ere the Spaniards can recover their swords, seize them_. + +_Guy_. Those, whom you took without, in triumph bring; +But see these strait conducted to the king. + +_Piz_. Vasquez, what now remains in these extremes? + +_Vasq_. Only to wake us from our golden dreams. + +_Piz_. Since by our shameful conduct we have lost +Freedom, wealth, honour, which we value most, +I wish they would our lives a period give: +They live too long, who happiness out-live. + +[_Spaniards are led out_. + +_1 Ind_. See, sir, how quickly your success is spread; +The king comes marching in the army's head. + +_Enter Montezuma, Alibech, Odmar discontented_. + +_Mont_. Now all the Gods reward and bless my son. [_Embracing_. +Thou hast this day thy father's youth outdone. + +_Alib_. Just heaven all happiness upon him shower, +Till it confess its will beyond its power. + +_Guy_. The heavens are kind, the Gods propitious +be, +I only doubt a mortal deity: +I neither fought for Conquest, nor for fame, +Your love alone can recompence my flame. + +_Alib_. I gave my love to the most brave in war; +But that the king must judge. + +_Mont_.--'Tis Guyomar. + +[_Soldiers shout_, A Guyomar, &c. + +_Mont_. This day your nuptials we will celebrate; +But guard these haughty captives 'till their fate: +Odmar, this night to keep them be your care, +To-morrow for their sacrifice prepare. + +_Alib_. Blot not your conquest with your cruelty. + +_Mont_. Fate says, we are not safe unless they die: +The spirit, that foretold this happy day, +Bid me use caution and avoid delay: +Posterity be juster to my fame; +Nor call it murder, when each private man +In his defence may justly do the same: +But private persons more than monarchs can: + All weigh our acts, and whate'er seems unjust, + Impute not to necessity, but lust. + +[_Exeunt_ MONTEZUMA, GUYOMAR _and_ ALIBECH. + +_Odm_. Lost and undone! he had my father's voice, +And Alibech seemed pleased with her new choice: +Alas, it was not new! too late I see, +Since one she hated, that it must be me. +--I feel a strange temptation in my will +To do an action, great at once and ill: +Virtue, ill treated, from my soul is fled; +I by revenge and love am wholly led: +Yet conscience would against my rage rebel-- +Conscience, the foolish pride of doing well! +Sink empire, father perish, brother fall, +Revenge does more than recompence you all. +Conduct the prisoners in. + +_Enter_ VASQUEZ, _and_ PIZARRO. + +Spaniards, you See your own deplored estate: +What dare you do to reconcile your fate? + +_Vasq_. All that despair, with courage joined, can do. + +_Odm_. An easy way to victory I'll shew; +When all are buried in their sleep or joy, +I'll give you arms, burn, ravish, and destroy; +For my own share one beauty I design; +Engage your honour that she shall be mine. + +_Piz_. I gladly swear. + +_Vasq_.--And I; but I request +That, in return, one, who has touched my breast, +Whose name I know not, may be given to me. + +_Odm_. Spaniard, 'tis just; she's yours, whoe'er she +be. + +_Vasq_. The night comes on: if fortune bless the bold, +I shall possess the beauty. + +_Piz_. I the gold. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE IV.--_A Prison_. + +CORTEZ _discovered bound:_ ALMERIA _talking with him_. + + +_Alm_. I come not now your constancy to prove; +You may believe me when I say I love. + +_Cort_. You have too well instructed me before +In your intentions, to believe you more. + +_Alm_. I'm justly plagued by this your unbelief, +And am myself the cause of my own grief: +But to beg love, I cannot stoop so low; +It is enough that you my passion know: +'Tis in your choice; love me, or love me not; +I have not yet my brother's death forgot. + [_Lays hold on the dagger_. + +_Cort_. You menace me and court me in a breath: +Your Cupid looks as dreadfully as death. + +_Alm_. Your hopes, without, are vanished into smoke: +Your captains taken, and your armies broke. + +_Cort_. In vain you urge me with my miseries: +When fortune falls, high courages can rise; +Now should I change my love, it would appear +Not the effect of gratitude, but fear. + +_Alm_. I'll to the king, and make it my request, +Or my command, that you may be releast; +And make you judge, when I have set you free, +Who best deserves your passion, I, or she. + +_Cort_. You tempt my faith so generous a way, +As without guilt might constancy betray: +But I'm so far from meriting esteem, +That, if I judge, I must myself condemn; +Yet having given my worthless heart before, +What I must ne'er possess, I will adore: +Take my devotion then this humbler way; +Devotion is the love which heaven we pay. + [_Kisses her hand_. + +_Enter_ CYDARIA. + +_Cyd_. May I believe my eyes! what do I see! +Is this her hate to him, his love to me! +'Tis in my breast she sheaths her dagger now. +False man, is this thy faith? is this thy vow? + [_To him_. + +_Cort_. What words, dear saint, are these I hear you use? +What faith, what vows, are those which you accuse? + +_Cyd_. More cruel than the tyger o'er his spoil; +And falser than the weeping crododile: +Can you add vanity to guilt, and take +A pride to hear the conquests, which you make? +Go, publish your renown; let it be said, +You have a woman, and that loved, betrayed. + +_Cort_. With what injustice is my faith accused! +Life, freedom, empire, I at once refused; +And would again ten thousand times for you. + +_Alm_. She'll have too great content to find him true; +And therefore, since his love is not for me, +I'll help to make my rival's misery. [_Aside_. +Spaniard, I never thought you false before: + [_To him_. +Can you at once two mistresses adore? +Keep the poor soul no longer in suspence, +Your change is such as does not need defence. + +_Cort_. Riddles like these I cannot understand. + +_Alm_. Why should you blush? she saw you kiss my hand. + +_Cyd_. Fear not; I will, while your first love's denied, +Favour your shame, and turn my eyes aside; +My feeble hopes in her deserts are lost: +I neither can such power nor beauty boast: +I have no tie upon you to be true, +But that, which loosened yours, my love to you. + +_Cort_. Could you have heard my words! + +_Cyd_.--Alas, what needs +To hear your words, when I beheld your deeds? + +_Cort_. What shall I say? the fate of love is such, +That still it sees too little or too much. +That act of mine, which does your passion move, +Was but a mark of my respect, not love. + +_Alm_. Vex not yourself excuses to prepare: +For one, you love not, is not worth your care. + +_Cort_. Cruel Almeria, take that life you gave; +Since you but worse destroy me, while you save. + +_Cyd_. No, let me die, and I'll my claim resign; +For while I live, methinks, you should be mine. + +_Cort_. The bloodiest vengeance, which she could pursue, +Would be a trifle to my loss of you. + +_Cyd_. Your change was wise: for, had she been denied, +A swift revenge had followed from her pride: +You from my gentle nature had no fears, +All my revenge is only in my tears. + +_Cort_. Can you imagine I so mean could prove, +To save my life by changing of my love? + +_Cyd_. Since death is that which naturally we shun, +You did no more than I, perhaps, had done. + +_Cort_. Make me not doubt, fair soul, your constancy; +You would have died for love, and so would I. + +_Alm_. You may believe him; you have seen it proved. + +_Cort_. Can I not gain belief how I have loved? +What can thy ends, malicious beauty, be: +Can he, who kill'd thy brother, live for thee? + +[_A noise of clashing of swords_. +[VASQUEZ _within, Indians against him_. + +_Vasq_. Yield, slaves, or die; our swords shall force our way. + [_Within_. + +_Ind_. We cannot, though o'er-powered, our trust betray. + [_Within_. + +_Cort_. 'Tis Vasquez's voice, he brings me liberty. + +_Vasq_. In spite of fate I'll set my general free; + [_Within_. +Now victory for us, the town's our own. + +_Alm_. All hopes of safety and of love are gone: +As when some dreadful thunder-clap is nigh, +The winged fire shoots swiftly through the sky, +Strikes and consumes, ere scarce it does appear, +And by the sudden ill prevents the fear: +Such is my state in this amazing woe, +It leaves no power to think, much less to do. +--But shall my rival live, shall she enjoy +That love in peace, I laboured to destroy? [_Aside_. + +_Cort_. Her looks grow black as a tempestuous wind; +Some raging thoughts are rolling in her mind. + +_Alm_. Rival, I must your jealousy remove, +You shall, hereafter, be at rest for love. + +_Cyd_. Now you are kind. + +_Alm_.--He whom you love is true: +But he shall never be possest by you. + +[_Draws her dagger, and runs towards her_. + +_Cort_. Hold, hold, ah barbarous woman! fly, oh fly! + +_Cyd_. Ah pity, pity, is no succour nigh! + +_Cort_. Run, run behind me, there you may be sure, +While I have life, I will your life secure. + [CYDARIA _gets behind him_. + +_Alm_. On him, or thee,--light vengeance any where +[_She stabs and hurts him_. +--What have I done? I see his blood appear! + +_Cyd_. It streams, it streams from every vital part: +Was there no way but this to find his heart? + +_Alm_. Ah! cursed woman, what was my design! +This weapon's point shall mix that blood with mine! + +[_Goes to stab herself, and being within his reach +he snatches the dagger_. + +_Cort_. Now neither life nor death are in your +power. + +_Alm_. Then sullenly I'll wait my fatal hour. + +_Enter_ VASQUEZ _and_ PIZARRO, _with drawn swords_. + +_Vasq_. He lives, he lives. + +_Cort_.--Unfetter me with speed; +Vasquez, I see you troubled that I bleed: +But 'tis not deep, our army I can head. + +_Vasq_. You to a certain victory are led; +Your men, all armed, stand silently within: +I with your freedom did the work begin. + +_Piz_. What friends we have, and how we came so strong, +We'll softly tell you as we march along. + +_Cort_. In this safe place let me secure your fear: + [_To_ CYDARIA. +No clashing swords, no noise can enter here. +Amidst our arms as quiet you shall be, +As Halcyons brooding on a winter sea. + +_Cyd_. Leave me not here alone, and full of fright, +Amidst the terrors of a dreadful night: +You judge, alas, my courage by your own; +I never durst in darkness be alone: +I beg, I throw me humbly at your feet. + +_Cort_. You must not go where you may dangers meet. +The unruly sword will no destinction make; +And beauty will not there give wounds, but take. + +_Alm_. Then stay and take me with you; tho' to be +A slave to wait upon your victory. +My heart unmoved can noise and horror bear: +Parting from you is all the death I fear. + +_Cort_. Almeria, 'tis enough I leave you free: +You neither must stay here, nor go with me. + +_Aim_. Then take my life, that will my rest restore: +'Tis all I ask, for saving yours before. + +_Cort_. That were a barbarous return of love. + +_Alm_. Yet, leaving it, you more inhuman prove. +In both extremes I some relief should find; +Oh! either hate me more, or be more kind. + +_Cort_. Life of my soul, do not my absence mourn: +But chear your heart in hopes of my return. + [_To_ CYD. +Your noble father's life shall be my care; +And both your brothers I'm obliged to spare. + +_Cyd_. Fate makes you deaf, while I in vain implore;-- +My heart forebodes, I ne'er shall see you more: +I have but one request,--when I am dead, +Let not my rival to your love succeed. + +_Cort_. Fate will be kinder than your fears foretell; +Farewell, my dear. + +_Cyd_.--A long and last farewell: +--So eager to employ the cruel sword? +Can you not one, not one last look afford! + +_Cort_. I melt to womanish tears, and if I stay, +I find my love, my courage will betray; +Yon tower will keep you safe, but be so kind +To your own life, that none may entrance find. + +_Cyd_. Then lead me there.--[_He leads her_. +For this one minute of your company, +I go, methinks, with some content to die. + +[_Exeunt_ CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _and_ CYDARIA. + +_Alm_. Farewell, O too much lov'd, since lov'd in vain! +What dismal fortune does for me remain! +Night and despair my fatal footsteps guide; +That chance may give the death which he denied. + [_Exit_. + +CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, _and_ SPANIARDS _return again_. + +_Cort_. All I hold dear I trust to your defence; + [_To_ Piz. +Guard her, and on your life, remove not hence. + [_Exeunt_ CORTEZ _and_ VASQUEZ. +_Piz_. I'll venture that.-- +The Gods are good; I'll leave her to their care, +Steal from my post, and in the plunder share. + [_Exit_. + + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I.--_A chamber royal, an Indian hammock discovered in it_. + +_Enter_ ODMAR _with soldiers_, GUYOMAR, _and_ ALIBECH +_bound_. + +_Odm_. Fate is more just than you to my desert, +And in this act you blame, heaven takes my part. + +_Guy_. Can there be gods, and no revenge provide? + +_Odm_. The gods are ever of the conquering side: +She's now my queen; the Spaniards have agreed, +I to my father's empire shall succeed. + +_Alib_. How much I crowns contemn, I let thee see, +Chusing the younger, and refusing thee. + +_Guy_. Were she ambitious, she'd disdain to own +The pageant pomp of such a servile throne; +A throne, which thou by parricide dost gain, +And by a base submission must retain. + +_Alib_. I loved thee not before; but, Odmar, know, +That now I hate thee, and despise thee too. + +_Odm_. With too much violence you crimes pursue, +Which if I acted, 'twas for love of you. +This, if it teach not love, may teach you fear: +I brought not sin so far, to stop it here. +Death in a lover's mouth would sound but ill: +But know, I either must enjoy, or kill. + +_Alib_. Bestow, base man, thy idle threats elsewhere, +My mother's daughter knows not how to fear. +Since, Guyomar, I must not be thy bride, +Death shall enjoy what is to thee denied. + +_Odm_. Then take thy wish-- + +_Guy_. Hold, Odmar, hold: +My right in Alibech I will resign; +Rather than see her die, I'll see her thine. + +_Alib_. In vain thou wouldst resign, for I will be, +Even when thou leav'st me, constant still to thee: +That shall not save my life: Wilt thou appear +Fearful for her, who for herself wants fear? + +_Odm_. Her love to him shows me a surer way: +I by her love her virtue must betray.--[_Aside_. +Since, Alibech, you are so true a wife, [_To her_. +'Tis in your power to save your husband's life: +The gods, by me, your love and virtue try; +For both will suffer, if you let him die. + +_Alib_. I never can believe you will proceed +To such a black, and execrable deed. + +_Odm_. I only threatened you; but could not prove +So much a fool, to murder what I love: +But in his death I some advantage see: +Worse than it is I'm sure it cannot be. +If you consent, you with that gentle breath +Preserve his life: If not, behold his death. + [_Holds his sword to his breast_. + +_Alib_. What shall I do! + +_Guy_. What, are your thoughts at strife +About a ransom to preserve my life? +Though to save yours I did my interest give, +Think not, when you were his, I meant to live. + +_Alib_. O let him be preserved by any way: +But name not the foul price which I must pay. + [_To_ ODM. + +_Odm_. You would, and would not,--I'll no longer stay. + [_Offers again to kill him_. + +_Alib_. I yield, I yield; but yet, ere I am ill, +An innocent desire I would fulfil: +With Guyomar I one chaste kiss would leave, +The first and last he ever can receive. + +_Odm_. Have what you ask: That minute you agree +To my desires, your husband shall be free. + [_They unbind her, she goes to her husband_. + +_Guy_. No, Alibech, we never must embrace. + [_He turns from her_. +Your guilty kindness why do you misplace? +'Tis meant to him, he is your private choice; +I was made yours but by the public voice. +And now you leave me with a poor pretence, +That your ill act is for my life's defence. + +_Alib_. Since there remains no other means to try, +Think I am false; I cannot see you die. + +_Guy_. To give for me both life and honour too, +Is more, perhaps, than I could give for you. +You have done much to cure my jealousy, +But cannot perfect it unless both die! +For since both cannot live, who stays behind +Must be thought fearful, or, what's worse, unkind. + +_Alib_. I never could propose that death you chuse; +But am, like you, too jealous to refuse. + [_Embracing him_. +Together dying, we together show +That both did pay that faith, which both did owe. + +_Odm_. It then remains I act my own design: +Have you your wills, but I will first have mine. +Assist me, soldiers-- + [_They go to bind her: She cries out_. + +_Enter_ VASQUEZ, _and two Spaniards_. + +_Vasq_. Hold, Odmar, hold! I come in happy time +To hinder my misfortune, and your crime. + +_Odm_. You ill return the kindness I have shown. + +_Vasq_. Indian, I say, desist. + +_Odm_. Spaniard, be gone. + +_Vasq_. This lady I did for myself design: +Dare you attempt her honour, who is mine? + +_Odm_. You're much mistaken; this is she, whom I +Did with my father's loss, and country's buy: +She, whom your promise did to me convey, +When all things else were made your common prey. + +_Vasq_. That promise made, excepted one for me; +One whom I still reserved, and this is she. + +_Odm_. This is not she; you cannot be so base. + +_Vasq_. I love too deeply to mistake the face: +The vanquished must receive the victor's laws. + +_Odm_. If I am vanquished, I myself am cause. + +_Vasq_. Then thank yourself for what you undergo. + +_Odm_. Thus lawless might does justice overthrow. + +_Vasq_. Traitors, like you, should never justice name. + +_Odm_. You owe your triumphs to that traitor's shame. +But to your general I'll my right refer. + +_Vasq_. He never will protect a ravisher: +His generous heart will soon decide our strife; +He to your brother will restore his wife. +It rests we two our claim in combat try, +And that with this fair prize the victor fly. + +_Odm_. Make haste, +I cannot suffer to be long perplext; +Conquest is my first wish, and death my next. + [_They fight, the Spaniards and Indians fight_. + +_Alib_. The gods the wicked by themselves o'erthrow: +All fight against us now, and for us too! + [_Unbinds her husband_. + +[_The two Spaniards and three Indians kill each +other,_ VASQUEZ _kills_ ODMAR, GUYOMAR _runs +to his brothers sword_. + +_Vasq_. Now you are mine; my greatest foe is slain. + [_To_ AL. + +_Guy_. A greater still to vanquish does remain. + +_Vasq_. Another yet! +The wounds, I make, but sow new enemies, +Which from their blood, like earth-born brethren, rise. + +_Guy_. Spaniard, take breath: Some respite I'll afford, +My cause is more advantage than your sword. + +_Vasq_. Thou art so brave--could it with honour be, +I'd seek thy friendship more than victory. + +_Guy_. Friendship with him, whose hand did Odmar kill! +Base as he was, he was my brother still: +And since his blood has washed away his guilt. +Nature asks thine for that which thou hast spilt. +[_They fight a little and breathe_, ALIBECH _takes +up a sword and comes on_. + +_Alib_. My weakness may help something in the strife. + +_Guy_. Kill not my honour to preserve my life: + [_Staying her_. +Rather than by thy aid I'll conquest gain, +Without defence I poorly will be slain. + +[_She goes back, they fight again_, VASQUEZ _falls_. + +_Guy_. Now, Spaniard, beg thy life, and thou shalt live. + +_Vasq_. 'Twere vain to ask thee what thou canst not give; +My breath goes out, and I am now no more; +Yet her, I loved, in death I will adore. [_Dies_. + +_Guy_. Come, Alibech, let us from hence remove. +This is a night of horror, not of love. +From every part I hear a dreadful noise, +The vanquished crying, and the victor's joys. +I'll to my father's aid and country's fly, +And succour both, or in their ruin die. [_Exeunt_. + + +SCENE II.--_A Prison_. + +MONTEZUMA, _Indian High Priest, bound_; PIZARRO, _Spaniards +with swords drawn, a Christian Priest_. + +_Piz_. Thou hast not yet discovered all thy store. + +_Mont_. I neither can nor will discover more; +The gods will punish you, if they be just; +The gods will plague your sacrilegious lust. + +_Chr. Priest_. Mark how this impious heathen justifies +His own false gods, and our true God denies: +How wickedly he has refused his wealth, +And hid his gold, from christian hands, by stealth: +Down with him, kill him, merit heaven thereby. + +_Ind. High Pr_. Can heaven be author of such cruelty? + +_Piz_. Since neither threats nor kindness will prevail, +We must by other means your minds assail; +Fasten the engines; stretch 'em at their length, +And pull the straitened cords with all your strength. +[_They fasten them to the rack, and then pull them_. + +_Mont_. The gods, who made me once a king, shall know, +I still am worthy to continue so: +Though now the subject of your tyranny, +I'll plague you worse than you can punish me. +Know, I have gold, which you shall never find; +No pains, no tortures, shall unlock my mind. + +_Chr. Pr_. Pull harder yet; he does not feel the rack. + +_Mont_. Pull 'till my veins break, and my sinews crack. + +_Ind. High Pr_. When will you end your barbarous cruelty? +I beg not to escape, I beg to die. + +_Mont_. Shame on thy priesthood, that such prayers can bring! +Is it not brave, to suffer with thy king? +When monarchs suffer, gods themselves bear part; +Then well mayest thou, who but my vassal art: +I charge thee, dare not groan, nor shew one sign; +Thou at thy torments dost the least repine. + +_Ind. High Pr_. You took an oath, when you received the crown, +The heavens should pour their usual blessings down; +The sun should shine, the earth its fruits produce, +And nought be wanting to your subjects' use: +Yet we with famine were opprest, and now +Must to the yoke of cruel masters bow. + +_Mont_. If those above, who made the world, could be +Forgetful of it, why then blamest thou me? + +_Chr. Pr_, Those pains, O prince, thou sufferest now, are light +Compared to those, which, when thy soul takes flight, +Immortal, endless, thou must then endure, +Which death begins, and time can never cure. + +_Mont_. Thou art deceived; for whensoe'er I die, +The Sun, my father, bears my soul on high: +He lets me down a beam, and mounted there, +He draws it back, and pulls me through the air: +I in the eastern parts, and rising sky, +You in heaven's downfal, and the west must lie. + +_Chr. Pr_. Fond man, by heathen ignorance misled, +Thy soul destroying when thy body's dead: +Change yet thy faith, and buy eternal rest. + +_Ind. High Pr_. Die in your own, for our belief is best. + +_Mont_. In seeking happiness you both agree, +But in the search, the paths so different be, +That all religions with each other fight, +While only one can lead us in the right. +But till that one hath some more certain mark, +Poor human kind must wander in the dark; +And suffer pain eternally below, +For that, which here we cannot come to know. + +_Chr. Pr_. That, which we worship, and which you believe, +From nature's common hand we both receive: +All, under various names, adore and love +One Power immense, which ever rules above. +Vice to abhor, and virtue to pursue, +Is both believed and taught by us and you: +But here our worship takes another way-- + +_Mont_. Where both agree, 'tis there most safe to stay: +For what's more vain than public light to shun, +And set up tapers, while we see the sun? + +_Chr. Pr_. Though nature teaches whom we should adore, +By heavenly beams we still discover more. + +_Mont_. Or this must be enough, or to mankind +One equal way to bliss is not designed; +For though some more may know, and some know less, +Yet all must know enough for happiness. + +_Chr. Pr_. If in this middle way you still pretend +To stay, your journey never will have end. + +_Mont_. Howe'er, 'tis better in the midst to stay, +Than wander farther in uncertain way. + +_Chr. Pr_. But we by martyrdom our faith avow. + +_Mont_. You do no more than I for ours do now. +To prove religion true-- +If either wit or sufferings would suffice, +All faiths afford the constant and the wise: +And yet even they, by education swayed, +In age defend what infancy obeyed. + +_Chr. Pr_. Since age by erring childhood is misled, +Refer yourself to our unerring head. + +_Mont_. Man, and not err! what reason can you give? + +_Chr. Pr_. Renounce that carnal reason, and believe. + +_Mont_. The light of nature should I thus betray, +'Twere to wink hard, that I might see the day. + +_Chr. Pr_. Condemn not yet the way you do not know; +I'll make your reason judge what way to go. + +_Mont_. 'Tis much too late for me new ways to take, +Who have but one short step of life to make. + +_Piz_. Increase their pains, the cords are yet too slack. + +_Chr. Pr_. I must by force convert him on the rack. + +_Ind. High Pr_. I faint away, and find I can no more: +Give leave, O king, I may reveal thy store, +And free myself from pains, I cannot bear. + +_Mont_. Think'st thou I lie on beds of roses here, +Or in a wanton bath stretched at my ease? +Die, slave, and with thee die such thoughts as these. +[_High Priest turns aside, and dies_. + +_Enter_ CORTEZ _attended by Spaniards, he speaks entering_. + +_Cort_. On pain of death, kill none but those who fight; +I much repent me of this bloody night: +Slaughter grows murder when it goes too far, +And makes a massacre what was a war: +Sheath all your weapons, and in silence move, +'Tis sacred here to beauty, and to love. +Ha--[_Sees_ MONT. +What dismal sight is this, which takes from me +All the delight, that waits on victory! + [_Runs to take him off the rack_. +Make haste: How now, religion, do you frown? +Haste, holy avarice, and help him down. +Ah, father, father, what do I endure + [_Embracing_ MONT. +To see these wounds my pity cannot cure! + +_Mont_. Am I so low that you should pity bring, +And give an infant's comfort to a king? +Ask these, if I have once unmanly groaned; +Or aught have done deserving to be moaned. + +_Cort_. Did I not charge, thou shouldst not stir from hence? + [_To_ Piz. +But martial law shall punish thy offence. +And you, [_To the Christian Priest_. +Who saucily teach monarchs to obey, +And the wide world in narrow cloisters sway; +Set up by kings as humble aids of power, +You that which bred you, viper-like, devour, +You enemies of crowns-- + +_Chr. Pr_. Come, let's away, +We but provoke his fury by our stay. + +_Cort_. If this go free, farewell that discipline, +Which did in Spanish camps severely shine: +Accursed gold, 'tis thou hast caused these crimes; +Thou turn'st our steel against thy parent climes! +And into Spain wilt fatally be brought, +Since with the price of blood thou here art bought. + +[_Exeunt Priest and_ PIZARRO. +[CORTEZ _kneels by_ MONTEZUMA, _and weeps_. + +_Cort_. Can you forget those crimes they did commit? + +_Mont_. I'll do what for my dignity is fit: +Rise, sir, I'm satisfied the fault was theirs: +Trust me, you make me weep to see your tears: +Must I chear you? + +_Cort_. Ah heavens! + +_Mont_. You're much to blame; +Your grief is cruel, for it shows my shame, +Does my lost crown to my remembrance bring: +But weep not you, and I'll be still a king. +You have forgot, that I your death designed, +To satisfy the proud Almeria's mind: +You, who preserved my life, I doomed to die. + +_Cort_. Your love did that, and not your cruelty. + +_Enter a Spaniard_. + +_Span_. Prince Guyomar the combat still maintains, +Our men retreat, and he their ground regains: +But once encouraged by our general's sight, +We boldly should renew the doubtful fight. + +_Cort_. Remove not hence, you shall not long attend; + [_To_ MONTEZUMA. +I'll aid my soldiers, yet preserve my friend. + +_Mont_. Excellent man! [_Exeunt_ CORTEZ, &c. +But I, by living, poorly take the way +To injure goodness, which I cannot pay. + +_Enter_ ALMERIA. + +_Alm_. Ruin and death run armed through every street; +And yet that fate, I seek, I cannot meet: +What guards misfortunes are and misery! +Death, that strikes all, yet seems afraid of me. + +_Mont_. Almeria here! Oh turn away your face! +Must you be witness too of my disgrace? + +_Alm_. I am not that Almeria whom you knew, +But want that pity I denied to you: +Your conqueror, alas, has vanquished me; +But he refuses his own victory: +While all are captives in your conquered state, +I find a wretched freedom in his hate. + +_Mont_. Couldst thou thy love on one who scorned thee lose? +He saw not with my eyes, who could refuse: +Him, who could prove so much unkind to thee, +I ne'er will suffer to be kind to me. + +_Alm_. I am content in death to share your fate; +And die for him I love, with him I hate. + +_Mont_. What shall I do in this perplexing strait! +My tortured limbs refuse to bear my weight: + [_Endeavouring to walk, not being able_. +I cannot go to death to set me free; +Death must be kind, and come himself to me. + +_Alm_. I've thought upon't: I have affairs below, + [ALM. _musing_. +Which I must needs despatch before I go: +Sir, I have found a place where you may be, [_To him_. +(Though not preserved) yet, like a king, die free; +The general left your daughter in the tower, +We may a while resist the Spaniards' power, +If Guyomar prevail. + +_Mont_. Make haste and call; +She'll hear your voice, and answer from the wall. + +_Alm_. My voice she knows and fears, but use your own; +And, to gain entrance, feign you are alone. + [ALM. _steps behind_. + +_Mont_. Cydaria! + +_Alm_. Louder. + +_Mont_. Daughter! + +_Alm_. Louder yet. + +_Mont_. Thou canst not, sure, thy father's voice forget. + +[_He knocks at the door, at last_ CYDARIA _looks over the balcony_. + +_Cyd_. Since my love went, I have been frighted so, +With dismal groans, and noises from below; +I durst not send my eyes abroad, for fear +Of seeing dangers, which I yet but hear. + +_Mont_. Cydaria! + +_Cyd_. Sure, 'tis my father calls. + +_Mont_. Dear child, make haste; +All hope of succour, but from thee, is past: +As when, upon the sands, the traveller +Sees the high sea come rolling from afar, +The land grow short, he mends his weary pace, +While death behind him covers all the place: +So I, by swift misfortunes, am pursued, +Which on each other are, like waves, renewed. + +_Cyd_. Are you alone? + +_Mont_. I am. + +_Cyd_. I'll strait descend; +Heaven did you here for both our safeties send. + +[CYDARIA _descends and opens the door_, ALMERIA _rushes betwixt +with_ MONTEZUMA. + +_Cyd_. Almeria here! then I am lost again. +[_Both thrust_. + +_Alm_. Yield to my strength, you struggle but in vain. +Make haste and shut, our enemies appear. + +[CORTEZ _and Spaniards appear at the other end_. + +_Cyd_. Then do you enter, and let me stay here. + +[_As she speaks,_ ALMERIA _overpowers her, thrusts +her in, and shuts_. + +_Cort_. Sure I both heard her voice and saw her face: +She's like a vision vanished from the place. +Too late I find my absence was too long; +My hopes grow sickly, and my fears grow strong. + +[_He knocks a little, then_ MONTEZUMA, CYDARIA, _and_ +ALMERIA, _appear above_. + +_Alm_. Look up, look up, and see if you can know +Those, whom in vain you think to find below. + +_Cyd_. Look up, and see Cydaria's lost estate. + +_Mont_. And cast one look on Montezuma's fate. + +_Cort_. Speak not such dismal words as wound my ear; +Nor name death to me, when Cydaria's there. +Despair not, sir; who knows but conquering Spain +May part of what you lost restore again? + +_Mont_. No, Spaniard; know, he who, to empire born, +Lives to be less, deserves the victor's scorn: +Kings and their crowns have but one destiny: +Power is their life; when that expires, they die. + +_Cyd_. What dreadful words are these! + +_Mont_. Name life no more; +'Tis now a torture worse than all I bore; +I'll not be bribed to suffer life, but die, +In spite of your mistaken clemency. +I was your slave, and I was used like one; +The shame continues when the pain is gone: +But I'm a king while this is in my hand--[_His sword_. +He wants no subjects, who can death command: +You should have tied him up, t'have conquered me; +But he's still mine, and thus he sets me free. +[_Stabs himself_. + +_Cyd_. Oh, my dear father! + +_Alm_. When that is forced, there yet remain two more. + [_The Soldiers break open the first door, and go in_. +We shall have time enough to take our way, +Ere any can our fatal journey stay. + +_Mont_. Already mine is past: O powers divine, +Take my last thanks: no longer I repine; +I might have lived my own mishap to mourn, +While some would pity me, but more would scorn! +For pity only on fresh objects stays, +But with the tedious sight of woes decays. +Still less and less my boiling spirits flow; +And I grow stiff, as cooling metals do. +Farewell, Almeria. [_Dies_. + +_Cyd_. He's gone, he's gone, +And leaves poor me defenceless here alone. + +_Alm_. You shall not long be so: Prepare to die, +That you may bear your father company. + +_Cyd_. O name not death to me! you fright me so, +That with the fear I shall prevent the blow: +I know, your mercy's more than to destroy +A thing so young, so innocent as I. + +_Cort_. Whence can proceed thy cruel thirst of blood, +Ah, barbarous woman? Woman! that's too good, +Too mild for thee: There's pity in that name, +But thou hast lost thy pity with thy shame. + +_Alm_. Your cruel words have pierced me to the heart; +But on my rival I'll revenge my smart. + +_Cort_. Oh stay your hand; and, to redeem my fault, +I'll speak the kindest words-- +That tongue e'er uttered, or that heart e'er thought. +Dear--lovely--sweet-- + +_Alm_. This but offends me more; +You act your kindness on Cydaria's score. + +_Cyd_. For his dear sake let me my life receive. + +_Alm_. Fool, for his sake alone you must not live: +Revenge is now my joy; he's not for me, +And I'll make sure he ne'er shall be for thee. + +_Cyd_. But what's my crime? + +_Alm_. 'Tis loving where I love. + +_Cyd_. Your own example does my act approve. + +_Alm_. 'Tis such a fault I never can forgive. + +_Cyd_. How can I mend, unless you let me live? +I yet am tender, young, and full of fear, +And dare not die, but fain would tarry here. + +_Cort_. If blood you seek, I will my own resign: +O spare her life, and in exchange take mine! + +_Alm_. The love you shew but hastes her death the more. + +_Cort_. I'll run, and help to force the inner door. +[_Is going in haste_. + +_Alm_. Stay, Spaniard, stay; depart not from my eyes: +That moment that I lose your sight, she dies. +To look on you, I'll grant a short reprieve. + +_Cort_. O make your gift more full, and let her live! +I dare not go; and yet how dare I stay!-- +Her I would save, I murder either way. + +_Cyd_. Can you be so hard-hearted to destroy +My ripening hopes, that are so near to joy? +I just approach to all I would possess: +Death only stands 'twixt me and happiness. + +_Alm_. Your father, with his life, has lost his throne: +Your country's freedom and renown is gone. +Honour requires your death; you must obey. + +_Cyd_. Do you die first, and shew me then the way. + +_Alm_. Should you not follow, my revenge were lost. + +_Cyd_. Then rise again, and fright me with your ghost. + +_Alm_. I will not trust to that; since death I chuse, +I'll not leave you that life which I refuse: +If death's a pain, it is not less to me; +And if 'tis nothing, 'tis no more to thee. +But hark! the noise increases from behind; +They're near, and may prevent what I designed; +Take there a rival's gift. [_Stabs her_. + +_Cort_. Perdition seize thee for so black a deed. + +_Alm_. Blame not an act, which did from love proceed: +I'll thus revenge thee with this fatal blow; + [_Stabs herself_. +Stand fair, and let my heart-blood on thee flow. + +_Cyd_. Stay, life, and keep me in the cheerful light! +Death is too black, and dwells in too much night. +Thou leav'st me, life, but love supplies thy part, +And keeps me warm, by lingering in my heart: +Yet dying for him, I thy claim remove; +How dear it costs to conquer in my love! +Now strike: That thought, I hope, will arm my breast. + +_Alm_. Ah, with what differing passions am I prest! + +_Cyd_. Death, when far off, did terrible appear; +But looks less dreadful as he comes more near. + +_Alm_. O rival, I have lost the power to kill; +Strength hath forsook my arm, and rage my will: +I must surmount that love which thou hast shown; +Dying for him is due to me alone. +Thy weakness shall not boast the victory, +Now thou shalt live, and dead I'll conquer thee: +Soldiers, assist me down. + +[_Exeunt from above, led by Soldiers, and enter both, led by_ CORTEZ. + +_Cort_. Is there no danger then? [_To_ CYDARIA. + +_Cyd_. You need not fear +My wound; I cannot die when you are near. + +_Cort_. You, for my sake, life to Cydaria give; + [_To_ ALM. +And I could die for you, if you might live. + +_Alm_. Enough, I die content, now you are kind; +Killed in my limbs, reviving in my mind: +Come near, Cydaria, and forgive my crime. + [CYDARIA _starts back_. +You need not fear my rage a second time: +I'll bathe your wounds in tears for my offence. +That hand, which made it, makes this recompence. + [_Ready to join their hands_. +I would have joined you, but my heart's too high: +You will, too soon, possess him when I die. + +_Cort_. She faints; O softly set her down. + +_Alm_. 'Tis past! +In thy loved bosom let me breathe my last. +Here, in this one short moment that I live, +I have whate'er the longest life could give. [_Dies_. + +_Cort_. Farewell, thou generous maid: Even victory, +Glad as it is, must lend some tears to thee; +Many I dare not shed, lest you believe [_To_ CYD. +I joy in you less than for her I grieve. + +_Cyd_. But are you sure she's dead? +I must embrace you fast, before I know, +Whether my life be yet secure, or no: +Some other hour I will to tears allow, +But, having you, can shew no sorrow now. + +_Enter_ GUYOMAR _and_ ALIBECH _bound, with Soldiers_. + +_Cort_. Prince Guyomar in bonds! O friendship's shame! +It makes me blush to own a victor's name. +[_Unbinds him,_ CYDARIA, ALIBECH. + +_Cyd_. See, Alibech, Almeria lies there; +But do not think 'twas I that murdered her. + +[ALIBECH _kneels, and kisses her dead sister_. + +_Cort_. Live, and enjoy more than your conqueror: +[_To_ GUYOMAR. +Take all my love, and share in all my power. + +_Guy_. Think me not proudly rude, if I forsake +Those gifts I cannot with my honour take: +I for my country fought, and would again, +Had I yet left a country to maintain: +But since the gods decreed it otherwise, +I never will on its dear ruins rise. + +_Alib_. Of all your goodness leaves to our dispose, +Our liberty's the only gift we chuse: +Absence alone can make our sorrows less; +And not to see what we can ne'er redress. + +_Guy_. Northward, beyond the mountains, we will go, +Where rocks lie covered with eternal snow, +Thin herbage in the plains and fruitless fields, +The sand no gold, the mine no silver yields: +There love and freedom we'll in peace enjoy; +No Spaniards will that colony destroy. +We to ourselves will all our wishes grant; +And, nothing coveting, can nothing want. + +_Cort_. First your great father's funeral pomp provide: +That done, in peace your generous exiles guide; +While I loud thanks pay to the powers above, +Thus doubly blest, with conquest, and with love. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +EPILOGUE + +BY A MERCURY. + + +To all and singular in this full meeting, +Ladies and gallants, Phoebus sends ye greeting. +To all his sons, by whate'er title known, +Whether of court, or coffee-house, or town; +From his most mighty sons, whose confidence +Is placed in lofty sound, and humble sense, +Even to his little infants of the time, +Who write new songs, and trust in tune and rhyme: +Be't known, that Phoebus (being daily grieved +To see good plays condemned, and bad received) +Ordains, your judgment upon every cause, +Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws. +He first thinks fit no sonnetteer advance +His censure, farther than the song or dance. +Your wit burlesque may one step higher climb, +And in his sphere may judge all doggrel rhyme: +All proves, and moves, and loves, and honours too; +All that appears high sense, and scarce is low. +As for the coffee-wits, he says not much; +Their proper business is to damn the Dutch: +For the great dons of wit-- +Phoebus gives them full privilege alone, +To damn all others, and cry up their own. +Last, for the ladies, 'tis Apollo's will, +They should have power to save, but not to kill: +For love and he long since have thought it fit, +Wit live by beauty, beauty reign by wit. + + + + + +SECRET LOVE; +OR, THE +MAIDEN QUEEN. + + _Vitiis nemo sine nascitur; optimus ille +Qui minimis urgetur_. HORAT. + + + +THE MAIDEN QUEEN + +The Maiden Queen is said, by Langbaine, to be founded upon certain +passages in "The Grand Cyrus," and in "Ibrahim, the illustrious +Bassa." Few readers will probably take the trouble of consulting +these huge volumes, for the purpose of ascertaining the truth of +this charge. Even our duty, as editors, cannot impel us to the task; +satisfied, as we are, that, since these ponderous folios at that time +loaded every toilette, Dryden can hardly have taken more from such +well-known sources, than the mere outline of the story. Indeed, to +a certain degree, the foundation of the plot, upon a story in the +"Cyrus," is admitted by the author. The character of the queen is +admirably drawn, and the catastrophe is brought very artfully forward; +the uncertainty, as to her final decision, continuing till the last +moment. In this, as in all our author's plays, some passages of +beautiful poetry occur in the dialogue; as, for example, the scene in +act 3d betwixt Philocles and Candiope. The characters, excepting that +of the Maiden Queen herself, are lame and uninteresting. Philocles, in +particular, has neither enough of love to make him despise ambition, +nor enough of ambition to make him break the fetters of love. We might +have admired him, had he been constant; or sympathised with him, had +he sinned against his affections, and repented; but there is nothing +interesting in the vacillations of his indecision. The comic part of +the play contains much of what was thought wit in the reign of Charles +II.; for marriage is railed against, and a male and female rake join +in extolling the pleasures of a single life, even while the usage of +the theatre compels them, at length, to put on the matrimonial +chains. It is surprising, that no venturous author, in that gay age, +concluded, by making such a couple happy in their own way. The novelty +of such a catastrophe would have insured its success; and, unlike to +the termination of the loves of Celadon and Florimel, it would have +been strictly in character. + +The Maiden Queen was first acted in 1667; and printed, as the poet has +informed us, by the command of Charles himself, who graced it with the +title of HIS play. Dryden mentions the excellence of the acting, so it +was probably received very favourably. + + + +PREFACE + + +It has been the ordinary practice of the French poets, to dedicate +their works of this nature to their king; especially when they have +had the least encouragement to it, by his approbation of them on the +stage. But, I confess, I want the confidence to follow their example, +though, perhaps, I have as specious pretences to it, for this piece, +as any they can boast of; it having been owned in so particular a +manner by his majesty, that he has graced it with the title of his +play, and thereby rescued it from the severity (that I may not say +malice) of its enemies. But though a character so high and undeserved +has not raised in me the presumption to offer such a trifle to his +most serious view, yet I will own the vanity to say, that after this +glory which it has received from a sovereign prince, I could not send +it to seek protection from any subject. Be this poem, then, sacred to +him, without the tedious form of a dedication, and without presuming +to interrupt those hours which he is daily giving to the peace and +settlement of his people. + +For what else concerns this play, I would tell the reader, that it is +regular, according to the strictest of dramatic laws; but that it is +a commendation which many of our poets now despise, and a beauty which +our common audiences do not easily discern. Neither indeed do I value +myself upon it; because, with all that symmetry of parts, it may want +an air and spirit (which consists in the writing) to set it off. 'Tis +a question variously disputed, whether an author may be allowed as a +competent judge of his own works. As to the fabric and contrivance +of them, certainly he may; for that is properly the employment of +the judgment; which, as a master-builder, he may determine, and that +without deception, whether the work be according to the exactness of +the model; still granting him to have a perfect idea of that pattern +by which he works, and that he keeps himself always constant to the +discourse of his judgment, without admitting self-love, which is +the false surveyor of his fancy, to intermeddle in it. These +qualifications granted (being such as all sound poets are presupposed +to have within them), I think all writers, of what kind soever, may +infallibly judge of the frame and contexture of their works. But +for the ornament of writing, which is greater, more various, and +_bizarre_ in poesy than in any other kind, as it is properly the +child of fancy; so it can receive no measure, or at least but a very +imperfect one, of its own excellences or failures from the judgment. +Self-love (which enters but rarely into the offices of the judgment) +here predominates; and fancy (if I may so speak), judging of itself, +can be no more certain, or demonstrative of its own effects, than two +crooked lines can be the adequate measure of each other. What I +have said on this subject may, perhaps, give me some credit with my +readers, in my opinion of this play, which I have ever valued above +the rest of my follies of this kind; yet not thereby in the least +dissenting from their judgment, who have concluded the writing of this +to be much inferior to my "Indian Emperor." But the argument of that +was much more noble, not having the allay of comedy to depress it; yet +if this be more perfect, either in its kind, or in the general +notion of a play, it is as much as I desire to have granted for the +vindication of my opinion, and what as nearly touches me, the sentence +of a royal judge. Many have imagined the character of Philocles to +be faulty; some for not discovering the queen's love, others for his +joining in her restraint: But though I am not of their number, who +obstinately defend what they have once said, I may, with modesty, take +up those answers which have been made for me by my friends; namely, +that Philocles, who was but a gentleman of ordinary birth, had no +reason to guess so soon at the queen's passion; she being a person +so much above him, and, by the suffrages of all her people, already +destined to Lysimantes: Besides, that he was prepossessed (as the +queen somewhere hints it to him) with another inclination, which +rendered him less clear-sighted in it, since no man, at the same time, +can distinctly view two different objects; and if this, with any +shew of reason, may be defended, I leave my masters, the critics, to +determine, whether it be not much more conducing to the beauty of my +plot, that Philocles should be long kept ignorant of the queen's love, +than that with one leap he should have entered into the knowledge of +it, and thereby freed himself, to the disgust of the audience, from +that pleasing labyrinth of errors which was prepared for him. As for +that other objection, of his joining in the queen's imprisonment, it +is indisputably that which every man, if he examines himself, would +have done on the like occasion. If they answer, that it takes from +the height of his character to do it; I would enquire of my overwise +censors, who told them I intended him a perfect character, or, indeed, +what necessity was there he should be so, the variety of images being +one great beauty of a play? It was as much as I designed, to shew one +great and absolute pattern of honour in my poem, which I did in the +person of the queen: all the defects of the other parts being set +to shew, the more to recommend that one character of virtue to the +audience. But neither was the fault of Philocles so great, if the +circumstances be considered, which, as moral philosophy assures +us, make the essential differences of good and bad; he himself +best explaining his own intentions in his last act, which was the +restoration of his queen; and even before that, in the honesty of his +expressions, when he was unavoidably led by the impulsions of his love +to do it. That which with more reason was objected as an indecorum, +is the management of the last scene of the play, where Celadon and +Florimel are treating too lightly of their marriage in the presence of +the queen, who likewise seems to stand idle, while the great action of +the drama is still depending. This I cannot otherwise defend, than by +telling you, I so designed it on purpose, to make my play go off more +smartly; that scene being, in the opinion of the best judges, the most +divertising of the whole comedy. But though the artifice succeeded, I +am willing to acknowledge it as a fault, since it pleased his majesty, +the best judge, to think it so. + +I have only to add, that the play is founded on a story in the +"Cyrus," which he calls the Queen of Corinth; in whose character, +as it has been affirmed to me, he represents that of the famous +Christina, queen of Sweden. This is what I thought convenient to write +by way of preface to "The Maiden Queen;" in the reading of which I +fear you will not meet with that satisfaction, which you have had in +seeing it on the stage; the chief parts of it, both serious and comic, +being performed to that height of excellence, that nothing but a +command, which I could not handsomely disobey, could have given me the +courage to have made it public. + + + +PROLOGUE. + + +I. + +He who writ this, not without pains and thought, +From French and English theatres has brought +The exactest rules, by which a play is wrought. + +II. + +The unities of action, place, and time; +The scenes unbroken; and a mingled chime +Of Jonson's humour, with Corneille's rhyme. + +III. + +But while dead colours he with care did lay, +He fears his wit, or plot, he did not weigh, +Which are the living beauties of a play. + +IV. + +Plays are like towns, which, howe'er fortified +By engineers, have still some weaker side, +By the o'er-seen defendant unespied. + +V. + +And with that art you make approaches now; +Such skilful fury in assaults you show, +That every poet without shame may bow. + +VI. + +Ours, therefore, humbly would attend your doom, +If, soldier-like, he may have terms to come, +With flying colours, and with beat of drum. + +_The Prologue goes out, and stays while a tune is played, after +which he returns again_. + + + +SECOND PROLOGUE. + + +I had forgot one half, I do protest, +And now am sent again to speak the rest. +He bows to every great and noble wit; +But to the little Hectors of the pit +Our poet's sturdy, and will not submit. +He'll be beforehand with 'em, and not stay +To see each peevish critic stab his play; +Each puny censor, who, his skill to boast, +Is cheaply witty on the poet's cost. +No critic's verdict should, of right, stand good, +They are excepted all, as men of blood; +And the same law shall shield him from their fury, +Which has excluded butchers from a jury. +You'd all be wits-- +But writing's tedious, and that way may fail; +The most compendious method is to rail: +Which you so like, you think yourselves ill used, +When in smart prologues you are not abused. +A civil prologue is approved by no man; +You hate it, as you do a civil woman: +Your fancy's palled, and liberally you pay +To have it quickened ere you see a play; +Just as old sinners, worn from their delight, +Give money to be whipped to appetite. +But what a pox keep I so much ado +To save our poet? He is one of you; +A brother judgment, and, as I hear say, +A cursed critic as e'er damned a play. +Good savage gentlemen, your own kind spare; +He is, like you, a very wolf or bear; +Yet think not he'll your ancient rights invade, +Or stop the course of your free damning trade; +For he (he vows) at no friend's play can sit, +But he must needs find fault, to shew his wit: +Then, for his sake, ne'er stint your own delight; +Throw boldly, for he sits to all that write; +With such he ventures on an even lay, +For they bring ready money into play. +Those who write not, and yet all writers nick, +Are bankrupt gamesters, for they damn on tick. + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + +LYSIMANTES, _first Prince of the Blood_. +PHILOCLES, _the Queen's favourite_. +CELADON, _a courtier_. + +_Queen of Sicily_. +CANDIOPE, _Princess of the Blood_. +ASTERIA, _the Queen's confident_. +FLORIMEL, _a maid of honour_. +FLAVIA, _another maid of honour_. +OLINDA, SABINA, _Sisters_. +MELISSA, _mother to_ OLINDA _and_ SABINA. + +_Guards, Pages of Honour, Soldiers_. + + +SCENE--_Sicily_. + + + +SECRET LOVE +OR THE +MAIDEN QUEEN. + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_Walks near the Court_. + +_Enter_ CELADON _and_ ASTERIA, _meeting each other, he in +a riding habit; they embrace_. + + +_Cel_. Dear Asteria!-- + +_Ast_. My dear brother, welcome! A thousand welcomes! Methinks, +this year, you have been absent, has been so tedious:--I hope, as you +have made a pleasant voyage, so you have brought your good humour back +again to court? + +_Cel_. I never yet knew any company I could not be merry in, +except it were an old woman's. + +_Ast_. Or at a funeral. + +_Cel_. Nay, for that you shall excuse me; for I was never merrier +than I was at a creditor's of mine, whose book perished with him. +But what new beauties have you at court? How do Melissa's two fair +daughters? + +_Ast_. When you tell me which of them you are in love with, I'll +answer you. + +_Cel_. Which of them, naughty sister! what a question's there? +With both of them; with each and singular of them. + +_Ast_. Bless me!--You are not serious? + +_Cel_. You look, as if it were a wonder to see a man in love. Are +they not handsome? + +_Ast_. Ay; but both together-- + +_Cel_. Ay, and both asunder; why, I hope there are but two of +them; the tall singing and dancing one, and the little innocent one? + +_Ast_. But you cannot marry both? + +_Cel_. No, nor either of them, I trust in Heaven: but I can keep +them company; I can sing and dance with them, and treat them; and +that, I take it, is somewhat better than musty marrying them. Marriage +is poor folks' pleasure, that cannot go to the cost of variety; but I +am out of danger of that with these two, for I love them so equally, I +can never make choice between them. Had I but one mistress, I might go +to her to be merry, and she, perhaps, be out of humour; there were a +visit lost: But here, if one of them frown upon me, the other will be +the more obliging, on purpose to recommend her own gaiety; besides a +thousand things that I could name. + +_Ast_. And none of them to any purpose. + +_Cel_. Well, if you will not be cruel to a poor lover, you might +oblige me, by carrying me to their lodgings. + +_Ast_. You know I am always busy about the queen. + +_Cel_. But once or twice only; 'till I am a little flushed in my +acquaintance with other ladies, and have learned to prey for myself. I +promise you I'll make all the haste I can to end the trouble, by being +in love somewhere else. + +_Ast_. You would think it hard to be denied now? + +_Cel_. And reason good. Many a man hangs himself for the loss of +one mistress: How do you think, then, I should bear the loss of two; +especially in a court, where, I think, beauty is but thin sown? + +_Ast_. There's one Florimel, the queen's ward, a new beauty, as +wild as you, and a vast fortune. + +_Cel_. I am for her before the world. Bring me to her, and I'll +release you of your promise for the other two. + +_Enter a Page_. + +_Page_. Madam, the queen expects you. + +_Cel_. I see you hold her favour; adieu, sister:--you have a +little emissary there, otherwise I would offer you my service. + +_Ast_. Farewell, brother; think upon Florimel. + +_Cel_. You may trust my memory for a handsome woman: I'll think +upon her, and the rest too; I'll forget none of them. [_Exit_ +ASTERIA. + + +SCENE II. + +_Enter a Gentleman walking over the stage hastily; After him_ +FLORIMEL _and_ FLAVIA _masked_. + + +_Fla_. Phormio! Phormio! you will not leave us? + +_Gent_. In faith, I have a little business. + +[_Exit Gent_. + +_Cel_. Cannot I serve you in the gentleman's room, ladies? + +_Fla_. Which of us would you serve? + +_Cel_. Either of you, or both of you. + +_Fla_. Why, could you not be constant to one? + +_Cel_. Constant to one!--I have been a courtier, a soldier, and a +traveller, to good purpose, if I must be constant to one: Give me some +twenty, some forty, some a hundred mistresses! I have more love than +any woman can turn her to. + +_Flo_. Bless us! let us be gone, cousin: We two are nothing in +his hands. + +_Cel_. Yet, for my part, I can live with as few mistresses as any +man. I desire no superfluities; only for necessary change or so, as I +shift my linen. + +_Flo_. A pretty odd kind of fellow this; he fits my humour +rarely. [_Aside_. + +_Fla_. You are as inconstant as the moon. + +_Flo_. You wrong him, he's as constant as the sun; he would see +all the world in twenty-four hours. + +_Cel_. 'Tis very true, madam; but, like him, I would visit, and +away. + +_Flo_. For what an unreasonable thing it were, to stay long, be +troublesome, and hinder a lady of a fresh lover. + +_Cel_. A rare creature this! [_Aside_]--Besides, madam, how +like a fool a man looks, when, after all his eagerness of two minutes +before, he shrinks into a faint kiss, and a cold compliment.--Ladies +both, into your hands I commit myself; share me betwixt you. + +_Fla_. I'll have nothing to do with you, since you cannot be +constant to one. + +_Cel_. Nay, rather than lose either of you, I'll do more; I'll be +constant to an hundred of you. Or, if you will needs fetter me to one, +agree the matter between yourselves; and the most handsome take me. + +_Flo_. Though I am not she, yet since my mask is down, and you +cannot convince me, have a good faith of my beauty, and for once I +take you for my servant. + +_Cel_. And for once I'll make a blind bargain with you. Strike +hands; is't a match, mistress? + +_Flo_. Done, servant. + +_Cel_. Now I am sure I have the worst on't: For you see the worst +of me, and that I do not of you, 'till you shew your face.--Yet, now I +think on't, you must be handsome. + +_Flo_. What kind of beauty do you like? + +_Cel_. Just such a one as yours. + +_Flo_. What's that? + +_Cel_. Such an oval face, clear skin, hazel eyes, thick brown +eye-brows, and hair as you have, for all the world. + +_Fla_. But I can assure you, she has nothing of all this. + +_Cel_. Hold thy peace, envy; nay, I can be constant an I set +on't. + +_Flo_. 'Tis true she tells you. + +_Cel_. Ay, ay, you may slander yourself as you please: Then you +have,--let me see. + +_Flo_. Ill swear, you shall not see. + +_Cel_. A turned up nose, that gives an air to your face:--Oh, +I find I am more and more in love with you!--a full nether lip, an +out-mouth, that makes mine water at it; the bottom of your cheeks a +little blub, and two dimples when you smile: For your stature, 'tis +well; and for your wit, 'twas given you by one that knew it had been +thrown away upon an ill face.--Come, you're handsome, there's no +denying it. + +_Flo_. Can you settle your spirits to see an ugly face, and not +be frighted? I could find in my heart to lift up my mask, and disabuse +you. + +_Cel_. I defy your mask:--Would you would try the experiment! + +_Flo_. No, I won't; for your ignorance is the mother of your +devotion to me. + +_Cel_. Since you will not take the pains to convert me, I'll make +bold to keep my faith. A miserable man, I am sure, you have made me. + +_Fla_. This is pleasant. + +_Cel_. It may be so to you, but it is not to me; for aught I see, +I am going to be the most constant Maudlin,-- + +_Flo_. 'Tis very well, Celadon; you can be constant to one you +have never seen, and have forsaken all you have seen? + +_Cel_. It seems, you know me then:--Well, if thou should'st +prove one of my cast mistresses, I would use thee most damnably, for +offering to make me love thee twice. + +_Flo_. You are i'the right: An old mistress, or servant, is an +old tune; the pleasure on't is past, when we have once learned it. + +_Fla_. But what woman in the world would you wish her like? + +_Cel_. I have heard of one Florimel, the queen's ward; would she +were as like her for beauty, as she is for humour! + +_Fla_. Do you hear that, cousin? [_To_ FLOR. _aside_. + +_Flo_. Florimel's not handsome: Besides she's inconstant; and +only loves for some few days. + +_Cel_. If she loves for shorter time than I, she must love by +winter days and summer nights, i'faith. + +_Flo_. When you see us together, you shall judge. In the mean +time, adieu, sweet servant. + +_Cel_. Why, you won't be so inhuman to carry away my heart, and +not so much as tell me where I may hear news on't? + +_Flo_. I mean to keep it safe for you; for, if you had it, you +would bestow it worse: Farewell, I must see a lady. + +_Cel_. So must I too, if I can pull off your mask. + +_Flo_. You will not be so rude, I hope. + +_Cel_. By this light, but I will! + +_Flo_. By this leg, but you shan't. + +[_Exeunt_ FLO. _and_ FLA. _running_. + + +SCENE III. + +_Enter_ PHILOCLES, _and meets him going out_. + + +_Cel_. How! my cousin, the new favourite!--[_Aside_. + +_Phil_. Dear Celadon! most happily arrived.-- +I hear you've been an honour to your country +In the Calabrian wars; and I am glad +I have some interest in it. + +_Cel_. But in you +I have a larger subject for my joys: +To see so rare a thing as rising virtue, +And merit, understood at court. + +_Phil_. Perhaps it is the only act, that can +Accuse our queen of weakness. + +_Enter_ LYSIMANTES, _attended_. + +_Lys_. O, my lord Philocles, well overtaken! +I came to look you. + +_Phil_. Had I known it sooner, +My swift attendance, sir, had spared your trouble.-- +Cousin, you see prince Lysimantes [_To_ CEL. +Is pleased to favour me with his commands: +I beg you'll be no stranger now at court. + +_Cel_. So long as there be ladies there, you need +Not doubt me. [_Exit_ CELADON. + +_Phil_. Some of them will, I hope, make you a convert. + +_Lys_. My lord Philocles, I'm glad we are alone; +There is a business, that concerns me nearly, +In which I beg your love. + +_Phil_. Command my service. + +_Lys_. I know your interest with the queen is great; +(I speak not this as envying your fortune, +For, frankly, I confess you have deserved it; +Besides, my birth, my courage, and my honour, +Are all above so base a vice,)-- + +_Phil._ I know, my lord, you are first prince o'the blood; +Your country's second hope: +And that the public vote, when the queen weds, +Designs you for her choice. + +_Lys_. I am not worthy, +Except love makes desert; +For doubtless she's the glory of her time: +Of faultless beauty, blooming as the spring +In our Sicilian groves; matchless in virtue, +And largely souled where'er her bounty gives, +As, with each breath, she could create new Indies. + +_Phil_. But jealous of her glory,-- + +_Lys_. You are a courtier; and, in other terms, +Would you say, she is averse from marriage, +Lest it might lessen her authority. +But whensoe'er she does, I know the people +Will scarcely suffer her to match +With any neighbouring prince, whose power might bend +Our free Sicilians to a foreign yoke. + +_Phil_. I love too well my country to desire it. + +_Lys_. Then, to proceed, (as you well know, my lord,) +The provinces have sent their deputies, +Humbly to move her, she would chuse at home; +And, (for she seems averse from speaking with them,) +By my appointment, have designed these walks, +Where well she cannot shun them.--Now, if you +Assist their suit, by joining yours to it, +And by your mediation I prove happy, +I freely promise you-- + +_Phil_. Without a bribe, command my utmost in it:-- +And yet, there is a thing, which time may give me +The confidence to name,-- + +_Lys_. 'Tis yours whatever:-- +But, tell me true, does she not entertain +Some deep and settled thoughts against my person? + +_Phil_. I hope, not so; but she, of late, is froward; +Reserved, and sad, and vexed at little things; +Which her great soul, ashamed of, strait shakes off, +And is composed again. + +_Lys_. You are still near the queen; and all our actions +Come to princes' eyes, as they are represented +By them, that hold the mirror. + +_Phil_. Here she comes, and with her the deputies: +I fear all is not right. + +_Enter Queen, Deputies after her;_ ASTERIA, _Guard,_ FLAVIA, +OLINDA, _and_ SABINA. _Queen turns back to the Deputies, and +speaks entering_. + +_Queen_. And I must tell you, +It is a saucy boldness, thus to press +On my retirements. + +_1 Dep_. Our business being of no less concern, +Than is the peace and quiet of your subjects;-- +And that delayed,-- + +_2 Dep_. We humbly took this time +To represent your people's fears to you. + +_Queen_. My people's fears! who made them statesmen? +They much mistake their business, if they think, +It is to govern. +The rights of subjects, and of sovereigns, +Are things distinct in nature:--Theirs is to +Enjoy propriety, not empire. + +_Lys_. If they have erred, 'twas but an over-care; +An ill-timed duty. + +_Queen_. Cousin, I expect +From your near blood, not to excuse, but check them. +They would impose a ruler upon their lawful queen: +For what's an husband else? + +_Lys_. Far, madam, be it from the thoughts +Of any, who pretends to that high honour, +To wish for more than to be reckoned +As the most graced, and first of all your servants. + +_Queen_. These are the insinuating promises +Of those, who aim at power. But tell me, cousin, +(For you are unconcerned, and may be judge,) +Should that aspiring man compass his ends, +What pawn of his obedience could he give me, +When kingly power were once invested in him? + +_Lys_. What greater pledge than love! When those fair eyes +Cast their commanding beams, he, that could be +A rebel to your birth, must pay them homage. + +_Queen_. All eyes are fair, +That sparkle with the jewels of a crown: +But now I see my government is odious; +My people find I am not fit to reign, +Else they would never-- + +_Lys_. So far from that, we all acknowledge you +The bounty of the gods to Sicily: +More than they are you cannot make our joys; +Make them but lasting in a successor. + +_Phil_. Your people seek not to impose a prince; +But humbly offer one to your free choice: +And such a one he is--may I have leave +To speak some little of his great deserts?-- + +_Queen_. I'll hear no more.-- +For you, attend to-morrow at the council: +[_To the Deputies_. +There you shall have my firm resolves:--meantime, +My cousin, I am sure, will welcome you. + +_Lys_. Still more and more mysterious: But I have +Gained one of her women that shall unriddle it.-- + [_Aside_. +Come, gentlemen. + +_All Dep_. Heaven preserve your majesty! + [_Exeunt_ LYS. _and Dep_. + +_Queen_. Philocles, you may stay. + +_Phil_. I humbly wait your majesty's commands. + +_Queen_. Yet, now I better think on't, you may go. + +_Phil_. Madam! + +_Queen_. I have no commands;--or, what's all one, +You, no obedience. + +_Phil_. How! no obedience, madam? +I plead no other merit; 'tis the charter +By which I hold your favour, and my fortunes. + +_Queen_. My favours are cheap blessings, like rain and sunshine, +For which we scarcely thank the gods, because +We daily have them. + +_Phil_. Madam, your breath, which raised me from the dust, +May lay me there again: +But fate nor time can ever make me lose +The sense of your indulgent bounties to me. + +_Queen_. You are above them now, grown popular:-- +Ah, Philocles! could I expect from you +That usage!--no tongue but yours +To move me to a marriage?--[_Weeps_. +The factious deputies might have some end in't, +And my ambitious cousin gain a crown: +But what advantage could there come to you? +What could you hope from Lysimantes' reign, +That you can want in mine? + +_Phil_. You yourself clear me, madam. Had I sought +More power, this marriage sure was not the way. +But, when your safety was in question, +When all your people were unsatisfied, +Desired a king,--nay more, designed the man,-- +It was my duty then,-- + +_Queen_. Let me be judge of my own safety. +I am a woman; +But danger from my subjects cannot fright me. + +_Phil_. But Lysimantes, madam, is a person,-- + +_Queen_. I cannot love. +Shall I,--I, who was born a sovereign queen, +Be barred of that, which God and nature gives +The meanest slave, a freedom in my love?-- +Leave me, good Philocles, to my own thoughts; +When next I need your counsel, I'll send for you. + +_Phil_. I'm most unhappy in your high displeasure; +But, since I must not speak, madam, be pleased +To peruse this, and therein read my care. + +[_He plucks out a paper, and presents it to her; but drops, unknown +to him, a picture. Exit_ PHI. + +_Queen_. [_reads_.] A catalogue of such persons,-- +What's this he has let fall, Asteria? + [_Spies the box_. + +_Ast_. Your majesty?-- + +_Queen_. Take that up; it fell from Philocles. + +[_She takes it up, looks on it, and smiles_. + +_Queen_. How now, what makes you merry? + +_Ast_. A small discovery I have made, madam. + +_Queen_. Of what? + +_Ast_. Since first your majesty graced Philocles, +I have not heard him named for any mistress, +But now this picture has convinced me. + +_Queen_. Ha! let me see it.-- + [_Snatches it from her_. +Candiope, prince Lysimantes' sister! + +_Ast_. Your favour, madam, may encourage him,-- +And yet he loves in a high place for him: +A princess of the blood; and, what is more, +Beyond comparison the fairest lady +Our isle can boast. + +_Queen_. How!--she the fairest +Beyond comparison!--'Tis false! you flatter her; +She is not fair. + +_Ast_. I humbly beg forgiveness on my knees, +If I offended you:--But next yours, madam, +Which all must yield to. + +_Queen_. I pretend to none. + +_Ast_. She passes for a beauty. + +_Queen_. Ay, she may pass:--But why do I speak of her?-- +Dear Asteria, lead me, I am not well o' the sudden. + [_She faints_. + +_Ast_. Who's near there?--help the queen! + +[_The guards are coming_. + +_Queen_. Bid them away: 'Twas but a qualm, +And 'tis already going. + +_Ast_. Dear madam, what's the matter? +You are of late so altered, I scarce know you. +You were gay humoured, and you now are pensive; +Once calm, and now unquiet:-- +Pardon my boldness, that I press thus far +Into your secret thoughts: I have, at least, +A subject's share in you. + +_Queen_. Thou hast a greater. +That of a friend:--But I am froward, say'st thou? + +_Ast_. It ill becomes me, madam, to say that. + +_Queen_. I know I am:--Pr'ythee, forgive me for it,-- +I cannot help it;--but thou hast +Not long to suffer it. + +_Ast_. Alas! + +_Queen_. I feel my strength each day and hour consume, +Like lilies wasting in a lymbeck's heat. +Yet a few days, +And thou shalt see me lie, all damp and cold, +Shrouded within some hollow vault, among +My silent ancestors. + +_Ast_. O dearest madam! +Speak not of death; or think not, if you die, +That I will stay behind. + +_Queen_. Thy love has moved me;--I, for once, will have +The pleasure to be pitied. I'll unfold +A thing so strange, so horrid of myself-- + +_Ast_. Bless me, sweet heaven!-- +So horrid, said you, madam? + +_Queen_. That sun, who with one look surveys the globe, +Sees not a wretch like me!--And could the world +Take a right measure of my state within, +Mankind must either pity me, or scorn me. + +_Ast_. Sure none could do the last. + +_Queen_. Thou longest to know it, +And I to tell thee, but shame stops my mouth. +First, promise me thou wilt excuse my folly; +And, next, be secret. + +_Ast_. Can you doubt it, madam? + +_Queen_. Yet you might spare my labour:-- +Can you not guess? + +_Ast_. Madam, please you, I'll try. + +_Queen_. Hold, Asteria!-- +I would not have you guess; for should you find it, +I should imagine that some other might, +And then I were most wretched:-- +Therefore, though you should know it, flatter me, +And say you could not guess it. + +_Ast_. Madam, I need not flatter you, I cannot--and yet, +Might not ambition trouble your repose? + +_Queen_. My Sicily, I thank the Gods, contents me. +But, since I must reveal it, know,--'tis love: +I, who pretended so to glory, am +Become the slave of love. + +_Ast_. I thought your majesty had framed designs +To subvert all your laws; become a tyrant, +Or vex your neighbours, with injurious wars; +Is this all, madam? + +_Queen_. Is not this enough? +Then, know, I love below myself; a subject; +Love one, who loves another, and who knows not +That I love him. + +_Ast_. He must be told it, madam. + +_Queen_. Not for the world, Asteria: +Whene'er he knows it, I shall die for shame. + +_Ast_. What is it, then, that would content you? + +_Queen_. Nothing, but that I had not lov'd. + +_Ast_. May I not ask, without offence, who 'tis? + +_Queen_. Ev'n that confirms me, I have loved amiss; +Since thou canst know I love, and not imagine +It must be Philocles. + +_Ast_. My cousin is, indeed, a most deserving person; +Valiant, and wise; handsome, and well-born. + +_Queen_. But not of royal blood: +I know his fate, unfit to be a king. +To be his wife, I could forsake my crown; but not my glory: +Yet--would he did not love Candiope; +Would he loved me--but knew not of my love, +Or e'er durst tell me his. + +_Ast_. In all this labyrinth, +I find one path, conducting to our quiet. + +_Queen_. O tell me quickly then! + +_Ast_. Candiope, as princess of the blood, +Without your approbation cannot marry: +First, break his match with her, by virtue of +Your sovereign authority. + +_Queen_. I fear, that were to make him hate me, +Or, what's as bad, to let him know, I love him: +Could you not do it of yourself? + +_Ast_. I'll not be wanting to my pow'r: +But if your majesty appears not in it, +The love of Philocles will soon surmount +All other difficulties. + +_Queen_. Then, as we walk, we'll think what means are best; +Effect but this, and thou shar'st half my breast. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I--_The Queens Apartment_. + + +ASTERIA _alone_. + +Nothing thrives that I have plotted; +For I have sounded Philocles, and find +He is too constant to Candiope: +Her too I have assaulted, but in vain, +Objecting want of quality in Philocles. +I'll to the queen, and plainly tell her, +She must make use of her authority +To break the match. + +_Enter_ CELADON _looking about him_. + +Brother! what make you here +About the queen's apartments? +Which of the ladies are you watching for? + +_Cel_. Any of 'em, that will do me the good turn, to make me +soundly in love. + +_Ast_. Then I'll bespeak you one, you will be desperately in love +with; Florimel: So soon as the queen heard you were returned, she gave +you her for mistress. + +_Cel_. Thank her majesty; but, to confess the truth, my fancy +lies partly another way. + +_Ast_. That's strange: Florimel vows you are already in love with +her. + +_Cel_. She wrongs me horribly; if ever I saw or spoke with this +Florimel-- + +_Ast_. Well, take your fortune, I must leave you. + +[_Exit_ ASTERIA. + +_Enter_ FLORIMEL, _sees him, and is running back_. + +_Cel_. Nay, i'faith I am got betwixt you and home; you are my +prisoner, lady bright, till you resolve me one question. + +[_She makes signs she is dumb_.] + +Pox, I think, she's dumb: what a vengeance dost thou at court, with +such a rare face, without a tongue to answer to a kind question? Art +thou dumb indeed? then thou canst tell no tales-- + +[_Goes to kiss her_. + +_Flo_. Hold, hold, you are not mad! + +_Cel_. Oh, my miss in a mask! have you found your tongue? + +_Flo_. 'Twas time, I think; what had become of me if I had not? + +_Cel_. Me thinks your lips had done as well. + +_Flo_. Ay, if my mask had been over 'em, as it was when you met +me in the walks. + +_Cel_. Well; will you believe me another time? Did not I say, +you were infinitely handsome? they may talk of Florimel, if they will, +but, i'faith, she must come short of you. + +_Flo_. Have you seen her, then? + +_Cel_. I look'd a little that way, but I had soon enough of her; +she is not to be seen twice without a surfeit. + +_Flo_. However, you are beholden to her; they say she loves you. + +_Cel_. By fate she shan't love me: I have told her a piece of +my mind already? Pox o' these coming women: They set a man to dinner, +before he has an appetite. [FLAVIA _at the door_. + +_Fla_. Florimel, you are call'd within--[_Exit_. + +_Cel_. I hope in the lord, you are not Florimel! + +_Flo_. Ev'n she, at your service; the same kind and coming +Florimel, you have described. + +_Cel_. Why then we are agreed already: I am as kind and coming +as you, for the heart of you: I knew, at first, we two were good for +nothing but one another. + +_Flo_. But, without raillery, are you in love? + +_Cel_. So horribly much, that, contrary to my own maxims, I +think, in my conscience, I could marry you. + +_Flo_. No, no, 'tis not come to that yet; but if you are really +in love, you have done me the greatest pleasure in the world. + +_Cel_. That pleasure, and a better too, I have in store for you. + +_Flo_. This animal, call'd a lover, I have long'd to see these +two years. + +_Cel_. Sure you walk'd with your mask on all the while; for if +you had been seen, you could not have been without your wish. + +_Flo_. I warrant, you mean an ordinary whining lover; but I must +have other proofs of love, ere I believe it. + +_Cel_. You shall have the best that I can give you. + +_Flo_. I would have a lover, that, if need be, should hang +himself, drown himself, break his neck, poison himself, for very +despair: He, that will scruple this, is an impudent fellow if he says +he is in love. + +_Cel_. Pray, madam, which of these four things would you have +your lover to do? For a man's but a man; he cannot hang, and drown, +and break his neck, and poison himself, all together. + +_Flo_. Well, then, because you are but a beginner, and I would +not discourage you, any of these shall serve your turn, in a fair way. + +_Cel_. I am much deceiv'd in those eyes of yours, if a treat, a +song, and the fiddles, be not a more acceptable proof of love to you, +than any of those tragical ones you have mentioned. + +_Flo_. However, you will grant it is but decent you should be +pale, and lean, and melancholick, to shew you are in love: And that I +shall require of you when I see you next. + +_Cel_. When you see me next? Why you do not make a rabbit of me, +to be lean at twenty-four hours warning? in the mean while, we burn +day-light, lose time and love. + +_Flo_. Would you marry me without consideration? + +_Cel_. To chuse, by heaven; for they that think on't, twenty to +one would never do it. Hang forecast! to make sure of one good night +is as much in reason, as a man should expect from this ill world. + +_Flo_. Methinks, a few more years and discretion would do well: +I do not like this going to bed so early; it makes one so weary before +morning. + +_Cel_. That's much as your pillow is laid, before you go to +sleep. + +_Flo_. Shall I make a proposition to you? I will give you a whole +year of probation to love me in; to grow reserved, discreet, sober, +and faithful, and to pay me all the services of a lover-- + +_Cel_. And at the end of it, you'll marry me? + +_Flo_. If neither of us alter our minds before. + +_Cel_. By this light a necessary clause. But if I pay in all +the foresaid services before the day, you shall be obliged to take me +sooner into mercy. + +_Flo_. Provided, if you prove unfaithful, then your time of a +twelve-month to be prolonged; so many services, I will bate you so +many days or weeks; so many faults, I will add to your 'prenticeship +so much more: And of all this, I only to be judge. + +_Enter_ PHILOCLES _and_ LYSIMANTES. + +_Lys_. Is the queen this way, madam? + +_Flo_. I'll see, so please your highness: Follow me, captive. + +_Cel_. March on, conqueror--[_She pulls him_. + +[_Exeunt_ CEL. FLO. + +_Lys_. You're sure her majesty will not oppose it? + +_Phil_. Leave that to me, my lord. + +_Lys_. Then, tho' perhaps my sister's birth might challenge +An higher match, +I'll weigh your merits, on the other side, +To make the balance even. + +_Phil_. I go, my lord, this minute. + +_Lys_. My best wishes wait on you. + [_Exit_ LYSIMANTES. + +_Enter the Queen and_ ASTERIA. + +_Queen_. Yonder he is; have I no other way? + +_Ast_. O madam, you must stand this brunt: +Deny him now, and leave the rest to me: +I'll to Candiope's mother, +And, under the pretence of friendship, work +On her ambition to put off a match +So mean as Philocles. + +_Queen_. You may approach, sir; [_To_ PHIL. +We two discourse no secrets. + +_Phil_. I come, madam, to weary out your royal +bounty. + +_Queen_. Some suit, I warrant, for your cousin Celadon. +Leave his advancement to my care. + +_Phil_. Your goodness still prevents my wishes.-- +Yet I have one request, +Might it not pass almost for madness, and +Extreme ambition in me-- + +_Queen_. You know you have a favourable judge; +It lies in you not to ask any thing +I cannot grant. + +_Phil_. Madam, perhaps, you think me too faulty: +But love alone inspires me with ambition, +Tho' but to look on fair Candiope were an excuse for both. + +_Queen_. Keep your ambition, and let love alone: +That I can cloy, but this I cannot cure. +I have some reasons (invincible to me) which must forbid +Your marriage with Candiope. + +_Phil_. I knew I was not worthy. + +_Queen_. Not for that, Philocles; you deserve all things, +And, to shew I think it, my admiral, I hear, is dead; +His vacant place (the best in all my kingdom,) +I here confer on you. + +_Phil_. Rather take back all you had giv'n before, +Than not give this; +For believe, madam, nothing is so near +My soul, as the possession of Candiope. + +_Queen_. Since that belief would be to your disadvantage, +I will not entertain it. + +_Phil_. Why, madam, can you be thus cruel to me? +To give me all things, which I did not ask, +And yet deny that only thing, I beg: +And so beg, that I find I cannot live +Without the hope of it. + +_Queen_. Hope greater things; +But hope not this. Haste to o'ercome your love; +It is but putting a short-liv'd passion to a violent death. + +_Phil_. I cannot live without Candiope; +But I can die, without a murmur, +Having my doom pronounced from your fair mouth. + +_Queen_. If I am to pronounce it, live, my Philocles, +But live without, (I was about to say) [_Aside_. +Without his love, but that I cannot do; +Live Philocles without Candiope. + +_Phil_. Madam, could you give my doom so quickly, +And knew it was irrevocable! +'Tis too apparent, +You, who alone love glory, and whose soul +Is loosened from your senses, cannot judge +What torments mine, of grosser mould, endures. + +_Queen_. I cannot suffer you +To give me praises, which are not my own: +I love like you, and am yet much more wretched, +Than you can think yourself. + +_Phil_. Weak bars they needs must be, that fortune puts +'Twixt sovereign power, and all it can desire. +When princes love, they call themselves unhappy; +Only, because the word sounds handsome in a lover's mouth; +But you can cease to be so when you please, +By making Lysimantes fortunate. + +_Queen_. Were he indeed the man, you had some reason; +But 'tis another, more without my power, +And yet a subject too. + +_Phil_. O, madam, say not so: +It cannot be a subject, if not he; +It were to be injurious to yourself +To make another choice. + +_Queen_. Yet, Lysimantes, set by him I love, +Is more obscured, than stars too near the sun: +He has a brightness of his own, +Not borrowed of his father's, but born with him. + +_Phil_. Pardon me if I say, whoe'er he be, +He has practis'd some ill arts upon you, madam; +For he, whom you describe, I see, is born +But from the lees o' the people. + +_Queen_. You offend me, Philocles. +Whence had you leave to use those insolent terms, +Of him I please to love? One, I must tell you, +(Since foolishly I have gone thus far) +Whom I esteem your equal, +And far superior to prince Lysimantes; +One, who deserves to wear a crown-- + +_Phil_. Whirlwinds bear me hence, before I live +To that detested day!--That frown assures me +I have offended, by my over-freedom; +But yet, methinks, a heart so plain and honest, +And zealous of your glory, might hope your pardon for it. + +_Queen_. I give it you; but, +When you know him better, +You'll alter your opinion; he's no ill friend of yours. + +_Phil_. I well perceive, +He has supplanted me in your esteem; +But that's the least of ills this fatal wretch +Has practised--Think, for heaven's sake, madam, think, +If you have drunk no philtre. + +_Queen_. Yes, he has given me a philtre; +But I have drunk it only from his eyes. + +_Phil_. Hot irons thank 'em for't! + [_Softly, or turning from her_. + +_Queen_. What's that you mutter? +Hence from my sight! I know not whether +I ever shall endure to see you more. + +_Phil_. But hear me, madam. + +_Queen_. I say, begone.--See me no more this day.-- +I will not hear one word in your excuse: +Now, sir, be rude again; and give laws to your queen. + [_Exit_ PHILOCLES _bowing_. +Asteria, come hither. +Was ever boldness like to this of Philocles? +Help me to reproach him, for I resolve +Henceforth no more to love him. + +_Ast_. Truth is, I wondered at your patience, madam: +Did you not mark his words, his mein, his action, +How full of haughtiness, how small respect? + +_Queen_. And he to use me thus, he whom I favoured, +Nay more, he whom I loved? + +_Ast_. A man, methinks, of vulgar parts and presence! + +_Queen_. Or, allow him something handsome, valiant, +Or so--Yet this to me!-- + +_Ast_. The workmanship of inconsiderate favour, +The creature of rash love; one of those meteors +Which monarchs raise from earth, +And people, wondering how they came so high, +Fear, from their influence, plagues, and wars, and famine. + +_Queen_. Ha! + +_Ast_. One, whom, instead of banishing a day, +You should have plumed of all his borrowed honours, +And let him see what abject things they are, +Whom princes often love without desert. + +_Queen_. What has my Philocles deserved from thee, +That thou shouldst use him thus? +Were he the basest of mankind, thou couldst not +Have given him ruder language. + +_Ast_. Did not your majesty command me? +Did not yourself begin? + +_Queen_. I grant I did, but I have right to do it: +I love him, and may rail; in you 'tis malice; +Malice in the most high degree; for never man +Was more deserving than my Philocles. +Or, do you love him, ha! and plead that title? +Confess, and I'll forgive you-- +For none can look on him, but needs must love. + +_Ast_. I love him, madam! I beseech your majesty, +Have better thoughts of me. + +_Queen_. Dost thou not love him then? +Good heaven, how stupid, and how dull is she? +How most invincibly insensible! +No woman does deserve to live, +That loves not Philocles. + +_Ast_. Dear madam, recollect yourself; alas! +How much distracted are your thoughts; and how +Disjointed all your words! +The sibyl's leaves more orderly were laid. +Where is that harmony of mind, that prudence, +Which guided all you did? that sense of glory, +Which raised you high above the rest of kings, +As kings are o'er the level of mankind? + +_Queen_. Gone, gone, Asteria; all is gone, +Or lost within me, far from any use. +Sometimes I struggle, like the sun in clouds, +But straight I am o'ercast. + +_Ast_. I grieve to see it. + +_Queen_. Then thou hast yet the goodness +To pardon what I said? +Alas! I use myself much worse than thee. +Love rages in great souls, +For there his power most opposition finds; +High trees are shook, because they dare the winds. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_The Court Gallery_. + + +PHILOCLES _solus_. + +'Tis true, she banished me but for a day; +But favourites, once declining, sink apace. +Yet fortune, stop--this is the likeliest place +To meet Asteria, and by her convey +My humble vows to my offended queen. +Ha! She comes herself; unhappy man, +Where shall I hide?--[_Is going out_. + +_Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA. + +_Queen_. Is not that Philocles, +Who makes such haste away? Philocles, Philocles!-- + +_Phil_. I feared she saw me. [_Coming back_. + +_Queen_. How now, sir, am I such a bugbear, +That I scare people from me? + +_Phil_. 'Tis true, I should more carefully have shunned +The place where you might be; as, when it thunders, +Men reverently quit the open air, +Because the angry gods are then abroad. + +_Queen_. What does he mean, Asteria? +I do not understand him. + +_Ast_. Your majesty forgets, you banished him +Your presence for this day. [_To her softly_. + +_Queen_. Ha! banished him! 'tis true indeed; +But, as thou sayest, I had forgot it quite. + +_Ast_. That's very strange, scarce half an hour ago. + +_Queen_. But love had drawn his pardon up so soon, +That I forgot he e'er offended me. + +_Phil_. Pardon me, that I could not thank you sooner; +Your sudden grace, like some swift flood poured in +On narrow banks, o'erflowed my spirits. + +_Queen_. No: 'tis for me to ask your pardon, Philocles, +For the great injury I did you, +In not remembering I was angry with you: +But I'll repair my fault, +And rouse my anger up against you yet. + +_Phil_. No, madam, my forgiveness was your act of grace, +And I lay hold of it. + +_Queen_. Princes sometimes may pass +Acts of oblivion, in their own wrong. + +_Phil_. 'Tis true, but not recal them. + +_Queen_. But, Philocles, since I have told you there is one +I love, I will go on, and let you know +What passed this day betwixt us; be our judge, +Whether my servant have dealt well with me. + +_Phil_. I beseech your majesty, excuse me: +Any thing more of him may make me +Relapse too soon, and forfeit my late pardon. + +_Queen_. But you'll be glad to know it. + +_Phil_. May I not hope, then, +You have some quarrel to him? + +_Queen_. Yes, a great one. +But first to justify myself: +Know, Philocles, I have concealed my passion +With such care from him, that he knows not yet +I love, but only that I much esteem him. + +_Phil_. O stupid wretch, +That, by a thousand tokens, could not guess it! + +_Queen_. He loves elsewhere, and that has blinded him. + +_Phil_. He's blind indeed! +So the dull beasts in the first paradise, +With levelled eyes, gazed each upon their kind; +There fixed their love, and ne'er looked up to view +That glorious creature man, their sovereign lord. + +_Queen_. Y'are too severe on little faults; but he +Has crimes, untold, +Which will, I fear, move you much more against him. +He fell this day into a passion with me, +And boldly contradicted all I said. + +_Phil_. And stands his head upon his shoulders yet? +How long shall this most insolent-- + +_Queen_. Take heed you rail not; +You know you are but on your good behaviour. + +_Phil_. Why then I will not call him traitor, +But only rude, audacious, and impertinent, +To use his sovereign so--I beg your leave +To wish, you have at least imprisoned him. + +_Queen_. Some people may speak ill, and yet mean well: +Remember you were not confined; and yet +Your fault was great. In short, I love him, +And that excuses all; but be not jealous; +His rising shall not be your overthrow, +Nor will I ever marry him. + +_Phil_. That's some comfort yet; +He shall not be a king. + +_Queen_. He never shall. But you are discomposed; +Stay here a little; I have somewhat for you, +Shall shew, you still are in my favour. + +[_Exeunt Queen and_ ASTERIA. + +_Enter to him_ CANDIOPE, _weeping_. + +_Phil_. How now, in tears, my fair Candiope? +So, through a watry cloud, +The sun, at once, seems both to weep and shine. +For what forefather's sin do you afflict +Those precious eyes? For sure you have +None of your own to weep. + +_Cand_. My crimes both great and many needs must shew, +Since heaven will punish them with losing you. + +_Phil_. Afflictions, sent from heaven without a cause, +Make bold mankind enquire into its laws. +But heaven, which moulding beauty takes such care, +Makes gentle fates on purpose for the fair: +And destiny, that sees them so divine, +Spins all their fortunes in a silken twine: +No mortal hand so ignorant is found, +To weave coarse work upon a precious ground. + +_Cand_. Go preach this doctrine in my mother's ears. + +_Phil_. Has her severity produced these tears? + +_Cand_. She has recalled those hopes she gave before, +And strictly bids me ne'er to see you more. + +_Phil_. Changes in froward age are natural; +Who hopes for constant weather in the fall? +'Tis in your power your duty to transfer, +And place that right in me, which was in her. + +_Cand_. Reason, like foreign foes, would ne'er o'ercome, +But that I find I am betrayed at home; +You have a friend, that fights for you within. + +_Phil_. Let reason ever lose, so love may win. + +_Enter Queen with a picture in her hand, and_ ASTERIA + +_Queen_. See there, Asteria, +All we have done succeeds still to the worse; +We hindered him from seeing her at home, +Where I but only heard they loved; and now +She comes to court, and mads me with the sight on't. + +_Ast_. Dear madam, overcome yourself a little, +Or they'll perceive how much you are concerned. + +_Queen_. I struggle with my heart-- +But it will have some vent. +Cousin, you are a stranger at the court. [_To_ CAND. + +_Cand_. It was my duty, I confess, +To attend oftner on your majesty. + +_Queen_. Asteria, mend my cousin's handkerchief; +It sits too narrow there, and shows too much +The broadness of her shoulders--Nay, fie, Asteria, +Now you put it too much backward, and discover +The bigness of her breasts. + +_Cand_. I beseech your majesty, +Give not yourself this trouble. + +_Queen_. Sweet cousin, you shall pardon me; +A beauty such as yours +Deserves a more than ordinary care, +To set it out. +Come hither, Philocles, do but observe, +She has but one gross fault in all her shape, +That is, she bears up here too much, +And the malicious workman has left it +Open to your eye. + +_Phil_. Where, and please your majesty? +Methinks 'tis very well. + +_Queen_. Do not you see it? Oh how blind is love! + +_Cand_. And how quick-sighted malice! [_Aside_. + +_Queen_. But yet, methinks, those knots of sky do not +So well with the dead colour of her face. + +_Ast_. Your majesty mistakes, she wants no red. + +[_The Queen here plucks out her glass, and looks +sometimes on herself, sometimes on her rival_. + +_Queen_. How do I look to-day, Asteria? +Methinks, not well. + +_Ast_. Pardon me, madam, most victoriously. + +_Queen_. What think you, Philocles? come, do not +flatter. + +_Phil_. Paris was a bold man, who presumed, +To judge the beauty of a goddess. + +_Cand_. Your majesty has given the reason why +He cannot judge; his love has blinded him. + +_Queen_. Methinks, a long patch here, beneath her eye, +Might hide that dismal hollowness. +What think you, Philocles? + +_Cand_. Beseech you, madam, ask not his opinion: +What my faults are it is no matter; +He loves me with them all. + +_Queen_. Ay, he may love; but when he marries you, +Your bridal shall be kept in some dark dungeon. +Farewell, and think of that, too easy maid! +I blush, thou sharest my blood. + +[_Exeunt Queen and_ ASTERIA. + +_Cand_. Inhuman queen! +Thou canst not be more willing to resign +Thy part in me, than I to give up mine. + +_Phil_. Love, how few subjects do thy laws fulfil, +And yet those few, like us, thou usest ill! + +_Cand_. The greatest slaves, in monarchies, are they, +Whom birth sets nearest to imperial sway; +While jealous power does sullenly o'erspy, +We play, like deer, within the lion's eye. +'Would I for you some shepherdess had been, +And, but each May, ne'er heard the name of queen! + +_Phil_. If you were so, might I some monarch be, +Then, you should gain what now you lose by me; +Then, you in all my glories should have part, +And rule my empire, as you rule my heart. + +_Cand_. How much our golden wishes are in vain! +When they are past, we are ourselves again. + +_Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA _above_. + +_Queen_. Look, look, Asteria, yet they are not gone. +Hence we may hear what they discourse alone. + +_Phil_. My love inspires me with a generous thought, +Which you, unknowing in those wishes, taught. +Since happiness may out of courts be found, +Why stay we here on this enchanted ground; +And chuse not rather with content to dwell +(If love and joy can find it) in a cell? + +_Cand_. Those who, like you, have once in courts been great, +May think they wish, but wish not, to retreat. +They seldom go, but when they cannot stay; +As losing gamesters throw the dice away. +Even in that cell, where you repose would find, +Visions of court will haunt your restless mind; +And glorious dreams stand ready to restore +The pleasing shapes of all you had before. + +_Phil_. He, who with your possession once is blest, +On easy terms will part with all the rest. +All my ambition will in you be crowned; +And those white arms shall all my wishes bound. +Our life shall be but one long nuptial day, +And, like chafed odours, melt in sweets away; +Soft as the night our minutes shall be worn, +And chearful as the birds, that wake the morn. + +_Cand_. Thus hope misleads itself in pleasant way, +And takes more joys on trust, than love can pay: +But, love with long possession once decayed, +That face, which now you court, you will upbraid. + +_Phil_. False lovers broach these tenets, to remove +The fault from them, by placing it on love. + +_Cand_. Yet grant, in youth you keep alive your fire, +Old age will come, and then it must expire: +Youth but a while does at love's temple stay, +As some fair inn, to lodge it on the way. + +_Phil_. Your doubts are kind; but, to be satisfied +I can be true, I beg I may be tried. + +_Cand_. Trials of love too dear the making cost; +For if successless, the whole venture's lost. +What you propose, brings wants and care along. + +_Phil_. Love can bear both. + +_Cand_. But is your love so strong? + +_Phil_. They do not want, who wish not to have more; +Who ever said an anchoret was poor? + +_Cand_. To answer generously, as you have done, +I should not by your arguments be won: +I know, I urge your ruin by consent; +Yet love too well, that ruin to prevent. + +_Phil_. Like water given to those whom fevers fry, +You kill but him, who must without it die. + +_Cand_. Secure me, I may love without a crime; +Then, for our flight, appoint both place and time. + +_Phil_. The ensuing hour my plighted vows shall be; +The time's not long; or only long to me. + +_Cand_. Then, let us go where we shall ne'er be seen +By my hard mother. + +_Phil_. Or my cruel queen. + +[_Exeunt_ PHIL. _and_ CAND. + +_Queen above_. O, Philocles, unkind to call me cruel! +So false Aeneas did from Dido fly; +But never branded her with cruelty. +How I despise myself for loving so! + +_Ast_. At once you hate yourself, and love him too. + +_Queen_. No, his ingratitude has cured my wound: +A painful cure indeed! + +_Ast_. And yet not sound. +His ignorance of your true thoughts +Excuses this; you did seem cruel, madam. + +_Queen_. But much of kindness still mixed with it. +Who could mistake so grossly, not to know +A Cupid frowning, when he draws his bow? + +_Ast_. He's going now to smart for his offence. + +_Queen_. Should he, without my leave, depart from +hence? + +_Ast_. No matter; since you hate him, let him go. + +_Queen_. But I my hate by my revenge will show: +Besides, his head's a forfeit to the state. + +_Ast_. When you take that, I will believe you hate. +Let him possess, and then he'll soon repent; +And so his crime will prove his punishment. + +_Queen_. He may repent; but he will first possess. + +_Ast_. O, madam, now your hatred you confess: +If his possessing her your rage does move, +'Tis jealousy, the avarice of love. + +_Queen_. No more, Asteria. +Seek Lysimantes out, bid him set his guards +Through all the court and city. +Prevent their marriage first; then stop their flight. +Some fitting punishments I will ordain, +But speak not you of Philocles again: +'Tis bold to search, and dangerous to find, +Too much of heaven's, or of a prince's mind. +[_Queen descends, and exit_. + +_As the Queen has done speaking,_ FLAVIA _is going +hastily over the stage;_ ASTERIA _sees her_. + +_Ast_. Flavia, Flavia, whither so fast? + +_Fla_. Did you call, Asteria? + +_Ast_. The queen has business with Prince Lysimantes; +Speak to any gentleman in the court, to fetch him. +[_Exit_ ASTERIA _from above_. + +_Fla_. I suspect somewhat, but I'll watch you close; +Prince Lysimantes has not chose in me +The worst spy of the court-- +Celadon! what makes he here? + +_Enter_ CELADON, OLINDA, _and_ SABINA; _they walk over the +stage together, he seeming to court them_. + +_Olind_. Nay, sweet Celadon-- + +_Sab_. Nay, dear Celadon. + +_Fla_. O ho! I see his business now; 'tis with Melissa's two +daughters: Look, look, how he peeps about, to see if the coast be +clear; like an hawk that will not plume, if she be looked on. + +[_Exeunt_ CEL. OLIND. _and_ SAB. + +So--at last he has trussed his quarry. + +_Enter_ FLORIMEL. + +_Flo_. Did you see Celadon this way? + +_Fla_. If you had not asked the question, I should have thought +you had come from watching him; he's just gone off with Melissa's +daughters. + +_Flo_. Melissa's daughters! he did not court 'em, I hope? + +_Fla_. So busily, he lost no time: While he was teaching the one +a tune, he was kissing the other's hand. + +_Flo_. O fine gentleman! + +_Fla_. And they so greedy of him! did you never see two fishes +about a bait, tugging it this way and t'other way? for my part, I +looked at least he should have lost a leg or arm i'the service.--Nay, +never vex yourself, but e'en resolve to break with him. + +_Flo_. No, no, 'tis not come to that yet; I'll correct him first, +and then hope the best from time. + +_Fla_. From time! believe me, there's little good to be +expected from him. I never knew the old gentleman with the scythe and +hour-glass bring any thing but grey hair, thin cheeks, and loss of +teeth: You see Celadon loves others. + +_Flo_. There's the more hope he may love me among the rest: Hang +it, I would not marry one of these solemn fops; they are good for +nothing, but to make cuckolds. Give me a servant, that is an high +flier at all games, that is bounteous of himself to many women; and +yet, whenever I pleased to throw out the lure of matrimony, should +come down with a swing, and fly the better at his own quarry. + +_Fla_. But are you sure you can take him down when you think +good? + +_Flo_. Nothing more certain. + +_Fla_. What wager will you venture upon the trial? + +_Flo_. Any thing. + +_Fla_. My maidenhead to yours. + +_Flo_. That's a good one; who shall take the forfeit? + +_Fla_. I'll go and write a letter, as from these two sisters, to +summon him immediately; it shall be delivered before you. I warrant, +you see a strange combat betwixt the flesh and the spirit: If he +leaves you to go to them, you'll grant he loves them better? + +_Flo_. Not a jot the more: A bee may pick of many flowers, and +yet like some one better than all the rest. + +_Fla_. But then your bee must not leave his sting behind him. + +_Flo_. Well; make the experiment however: I hear him coming, and +a whole noise of fidlers at his heels. Hey-day, what a mad husband +shall I have!-- + +_Enter CELADON_. + +_Fla_. And what a mad wife will he have! Well, I must go a little +way, but I'll return immediately, and write it: You'll keep him in +discourse the while? [_Exit_ FLA. + +_Cel_. Where are you, madam? What, do you mean to run away thus? +Pray stand to't, that we may despatch this business. + +_Flo_. I think you mean to watch me, as they do witches, to +make me confess I love you. Lord, what a bustle have you kept this +afternoon? What with eating, singing, and dancing, I am so wearied, +that I shall not be in case to hear any more love this fortnight. + +_Cel_. Nay, if you surfeit on't before trial, Lord have mercy +upon you, when I have married you. + +_Flo_. But what king's revenue, do you think, will maintain this +extravagant expence? + +_Cel_. I have a damnable father, a rich old rogue, if he would +once die! Lord, how long does he mean to make it ere he dies! + +_Flo_. As long as ever he can, I'll pass my word for him. + +_Cel_. I think, then, we had best consider him as an obstinate +old fellow, that is deaf to the news of a better world; and ne'er stay +for him. + +_Flo_. But e'en marry; and get him grandchildren in abundance, +and great-grandchildren upon them, and so inch him and shove him out +of the world by the very force of new generations--if that be the way, +you must excuse me. + +_Cel_. But dost thou know what it is to be an old maid? + +_Flo_. No, nor hope I shan't these twenty years. + +_Cel_. But when that time comes, in the first place, thou wilt +be condemned to tell stories, how many men thou mightst have had; and +none believe thee: Then thou growest forward, and impudently weariest +all thy friends to solicit man for thee. + +_Flo_. Away with your old common-place-wit: I am resolved to grow +fat, and look young till forty, and then slip out of the world, with +the first wrinkle, and the reputation of five and twenty. + +_Cel_. Well, what think you now of a reckoning betwixt us? + +_Flo_. How do you mean? + +_Cel_. To discount for so many days of my years service, as I +have paid in this morning. + +_Flo_. With all my heart. + +_Cel_. _Imprimis_, for a treat. + _Item_, For my glass coach. + _Item_, For sitting bare, and wagging your fan. +And lastly, and principally, for my fidelity to you this long hour +and half. + +_Flo_. For this I bate you three weeks of your service; now hear +your bill of faults; for your comfort 'tis a short one. + +_Cel_. I know it. + +_Flo_. _Imprimis_, _item_, and sum total, for keeping +company with Melissa's daughters. + +_Cel_. How the pox came you to know of that? Gad, I believe +the devil plays booty against himself, and tells you of my sins. +[_Aside_. + +_Flo_. The offence being so small, the punishment shall be but +proportionable; I will set you back only half a year. + +_Cel_. You're most unconscionable: When then do you think we +shall come together? There's none but the old patriarchs could live +long enough to marry you at this rate. What, do you take me for some +cousin of Methusalem's, that I must stay an hundred years, before I +come to beget sons and daughters? + +_Flo_. Here's an impudent lover! he complains of me without ever +offering to excuse himself; _item_, a fortnight more for that. + +_Cel_. So, there's another puff in my voyage, has blown me back +to the north of Scotland. + +_Flo_. All this is nothing to your excuse for the two sisters. + +_Cel_. 'Faith, if ever I did more than kiss them, and that but +once-- + +_Flo_. What could you have done more to me? + +_Cel_. An hundred times more; as thou shalt know, dear rogue, at +time convenient. + +_Flo_. You talk, you talk; could you kiss them, though but once, +and ne'er think of me? + +_Cel_. Nay, if I had thought of thee, I had kissed them over a +thousand times, with the very force of imagination. + +_Flo_. The gallants are mightily beholden to you; you have found +them out a new way to kiss their mistresses, upon other women's lips. + +_Cel_. What would you have? You are my Sultana Queen, the +rest are but in the nature of your slaves; I may make some slight +excursions into the enemy's country for forage, or so, but I ever +return to my head quarters. + +_Enter one with a letter_. + +_Cel_. To me? + +_Mess_. If your name be Celadon. [_CEL. reads softly_. + +_Flo_. He is swallowing the pill; presently we shall see the +operation. + +_Cel. to the page_.] Child, come hither, child; here's money for +thee: So, begone quickly, good child, before any body examines thee: +Thou art in a dangerous place, child--[_Thrusts him out_.] +Very good; the sisters send me word, they will have the fiddles this +afternoon, and invite me to sup there!--Now, cannot I forbear, an I +should be damned, tho' I have scap'd a scouring so lately for it. Yet +I love Florimel better than both of them together; there's the riddle +on't: But only for the sweet sake of variety.--[_Aside_.] Well, +we must all sin, and we must all repent, and there's an end on't. + +_Flo_. What is it, that makes you fidge up and down so? + +_Cel_. 'Faith, I am sent for by a very dear friend, and 'tis upon +a business of life and death. + +_Flo_. On my life, some woman? + +_Cel_. On my honour, some man; do you think I would lie to you? + +_Flo_. But you engaged to sup with me. + +_Cel_. But I consider it may be scandalous to stay late in +your lodgings. Adieu, dear miss! If ever I am false to thee again!-- +[_Exit_ CELADON. + +_Flo_. See what constant metal you men are made of! He begins to +vex me in good earnest. Hang him, let him go and take enough of 'em: +And yet, methinks, I can't endure he should neither. Lord, that such a +mad-cap as I should ever live to be jealous! I must after him. + Some ladies would discard him now, but I + A fitter way for my revenge will find; + I'll marry him, and serve him in his kind. + +[_Exit_ FLO. + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I,--_The Walks_. + +MELISSA, _after her_ OLINDA _and_ SABINA. + + +_Mel_. I must take this business up in time: This wild fellow +begins to haunt my house again. Well, I'll be bold to say it, 'tis +as easy to bring up a young lion without mischief, as a maidenhead of +fifteen, to make it tame for an husband's bed. Not but that the young +man is handsome, rich, and young, and I could be content he should +marry one of them; but to seduce them both in this manner:--Well, I'll +examine them apart, and if I can find out which he loves, I'll offer +him his choice.--Olinda, come hither, child. + +_Olin_. Your pleasure, madam? + +_Met_. Nothing but for your good, Olinda; what think you of +Celadon? + +_Olin_. Why I think he's a very mad fellow; but yet I have some +obligements to him: he teaches me new airs of the guitar, and talks +wildly to me, and I to him. + +_Mel_. But tell me in earnest, do you think he loves you? + +_Olin_. Can you doubt it? There were never two so cut out for one +another; we both love singing, dancing, treats, and music. In short, +we are each other's counterpart. + +_Mel_. But does he love you seriously? + +_Olin_. Seriously?--I know not that; if he did, perhaps I should +not love him: But we sit and talk, and wrangle, and are friends; when +we are together, we never hold our tongues; and then we have always a +noise of fiddles at our heels; he hunts me merrily, as the hound does +the hare; and either this is love, or I know it not. + +_Mel_. Well, go back, and call Sabina to me. + +[_OLINDA goes behind_. + +This is a riddle past my finding out: Whether he loves her, or no, +is the question; but this, I am sure of, she loves him:--O my little +favourite, I must ask you a question concerning Celadon: is he in love +with you? + +_Sab_. I think, indeed, he does not hate me; at least, if a man's +word may be taken for it. + +_Mel_. But what expressions has he made you? + +_Sab_. Truly, the man has done his part: He has spoken civilly to +me, and I was not so young but I understood him. + +_Mel_. And you could be content to marry him? + +_Sab_. I have sworn never to marry: besides he's a wild young +man; yet, to obey you, mother, I would be content to be sacrificed. + +_Mel_. No, no, we would but lead you to the altar. + +_Sab_. Not to put off the gentleman neither; for if I have him +not, I am resolved to die a maid, that's once, mother. + +_Mel_. Both my daughters are in love with him, and I cannot yet +find he loves either of them. + +_Olin_. Mother, mother, yonder's Celadon in the walks. + +_Mel_. Peace, wanton; you had best ring the bells for joy. Well, +I'll not meet him, because I know not which to offer him; yet he seems +to like the youngest best: I'll give him opportunity with her. Olinda, +do you make haste after me. + +_Olin_. This is something hard though. + +[_Exit_ MEL. + +_Enter_ CELADON. + +_Cel_. You see, ladies, the least breath of yours brings me to +you: I have been seeking you at your lodgings, and from thence came +hither after you. + +_Sab_. 'Twas well you found us. + +_Cel_. Found you! half this brightness betwixt you two was enough +to have lighted me; I could never miss my way: Here's fair Olinda has +beauty enough for one family; such a voice, such a wit, so noble a +stature, so white a skin!-- + +_Olin_. I thought he would be particular at last. [_Aside_. + +_Cel_. And young Sabina, so sweet an innocence, such a rose-bud +newly blown. This is my goodly palace of love, and that my little +withdrawing room. A word, madam.--[_To_ SAB. + +_Olin_. I like not this--[_Aside_.] Sir, if you are not too +busy with my sister, I would speak with you. + +_Cel_. I come, madam. + +_Sab_. Time enough, sir; pray finish your discourse--and as you +were a saying, sir,-- + +_Olin_. Sweet sir,-- + +_Sab_. Sister, you forget, my mother bid you make haste. + +_Olin_. Well, go you, and tell her I am coming. + +_Sab_. I can never endure to be the messenger of ill news; but, +if you please, I'll send her word you won't come. + +_Olin_. Minion, minion, remember this--[_Exit OLIN_. + +_Sab_. She's horribly in love with you. + +_Cel_. Lord, who could love that walking steeple! She's so high, +that every time she sings to me, I am looking up for the bell that +tolls to church.--Ha! give me my little fifth-rate, that lies so +snug. She! hang her, a Dutch-built bottom: She's so tall, there's no +boarding her. But we lose time--madam, let me seal my love upon +your mouth. [_Kiss_] Soft and sweet, by heaven! sure you wear +rose-leaves between your lips. + +_Sab_. Lord, Lord, what's the matter with me! my breath grows so +short, I can scarce speak to you. + +_Cel_. No matter, give me thy lips again, and I'll speak for +thee. + +_Sab_. You don't love me-- + +_Cel_. I warrant thee; sit down by me, and kiss again,--She warms +faster than Pygmalion's image. [_Aside_]--[_Kiss_.]--Ay +marry, sir, this was the original use of lips; talking, eating, and +drinking came in by and by. + +_Sab_. Nay, pray be civil; will you be at quiet? + +_Cel_. What, would you have me sit still, and look upon you, like +a little puppy-dog, that's taught to beg with his fore-leg up? + +_Enter_ FLORIMEL. + +_Flo_. Celadon the faithful! in good time, sir,-- + +_Cel_. In very good time, Florimel; for heaven's sake, help me +quickly. + +_Flo_. What's the matter? + +_Cel_. Do you not see? here's a poor gentlewoman in a swoon! +(Swoon away.) I have been rubbing her this half hour, and cannot bring +her to her senses. + +_Flo_. Alas! how came she so? + +_Cel_. Oh barbarous! do you stay to ask questions? run, for +charity. + +_Flo_. Help, help! alas! poor lady--[_Exit_ FLO. + +_Sab_. Is she gone? + +_Cel_. Ay, thanks be to my wit, that helped me at a pinch; I +thank heaven, I never pumpt for a lye in all my life yet. + +_Sab_. I am afraid you love her, Celadon! + +_Cel_. Only as a civil acquaintance, or so; but, however, to +avoid slander, you had best be gone before she comes again. + +_Sab_. I can find a tongue as well as she. + +_Cel_. Ay, but the truth is, I am a kind of scandalous person, +and for you to be seen in my company--stay in the walks, by this kiss +I'll be with you presently. + +_Enter_ FLORIMEL _running_. + +_Flo_. Help, help!--I can find nobody. + +_Cel_. Tis needless now, my dear; she's recovered, and gone off; +but so wan and weakly,-- + +_Flo_.Umph! I begin to smell a rat.--What was your business here, +Celadon? + +_Cel_. Charity, Christian charity; you saw I was labouring for +life with her. + +_Flo_. But how came you hither?--Not that I care this, but only +to be satisfied. [_Sings_. + +_Cel_. You are jealous, in my conscience! + +_Flo_. Who, I jealous!--then I wish this sigh may be the last +that ever I may draw. [_Sighs_. + +_Cel_. But why do you sigh, then? + +_Flo_. Nothing but a cold, I cannot fetch my breath well. But +what will you say, if I wrote the letter you had, to try your faith? + +_Cel_. Hey day! this is just the devil and the sinner; you lay +snares for me, and then punish me for being taken: Here's trying a +man's faith indeed!--What, do you think I had the faith of a stock, or +of a stone? Nay, an you go to tantalize a man--I love upon the square, +I can endure no tricks to be used to me. + +[OLINDA _and_ SABINA _at the door peeping_. + +_Olin_. and _Sab_. Celadon! Celadon! + +_Flo_. What voices are those? + +_Cel_. Some comrades of mine, that call me to play.--Pox on them, +they'll spoil all. [_Aside_. + +_Flo_. Pray, let's see them. + +_Cel_. Hang them, tatterdemallions! they are not worth your +sight.--Pray, gentlemen, begone; I'll be with you immediately. + +_Sab_. No; we'll stay here for you. + +_Flo_. Do your gentlemen speak with treble voices? I am resolved +to see what company you keep. + +_Cel_. Nay, good my dear. + +[_He lays hold of her to pull her back, she lays hold of_ OLINDA, +_by whom_ SABINA _holds; so that, he pulling, they all come +in_. + +_Flo_. Are these your comrades? [Sings.] _'Tis Strephon +calls, what would my love?_ Why do you not roar out, like a great +bass-viol, _Come follow to the myrtle-grove_.--Pray, sir, which +of these fair ladies is it, for whom you were to do the courtesy? for +it were unconscionable to leave you to them both:--What, a mans but a +man, you know. + +_Olin_. The gentleman may find an owner. + +_Sab_. Though not of you. + +_Flo_. Pray, agree whose the lost sheep is, and take him. + +_Cel_. 'Slife, they'll cry me anon, and tell my marks. + +_Flo_. Troth, I pity your highness there; I perceive he has left +you for the little one: Methinks he should have been afraid to break +his neck, when he fell so high as from you to her. + +_Sab_. Well, my drolling lady, I may be even with you. + +_Flo_. Not this ten years, by the growth, yet. + +_Sab_. Can flesh and blood endure this! + +_Flo_. How now, my amazon _in decimo sexto_! + +_Olin_. Do you affront my sister? + +_Flo_. Ay; but thou art so tall, I think I shall never affront +thee. + +_Sab_. Come away, sister; we shall be jeered to death else. +[_Exeunt_ OLIN. _and_ SAB. + +_Flo_. Why do you look that way? You can't forbear leering after +the forbidden fruit.--But whene'er I take a wencher's word again! + +_Cel_. A wencher's word!--Why should you speak so contemptibly +of the better half of mankind? I'll stand up for the honour of my +vocation. + +_Flo_. You are in no fault, I warrant!--'Ware my busk[A]. + +[Footnote A: The now almost forgotten _busk_ was a small slip of +steel or wood, used to stiffen the stays. Florimel threatens to employ +it as a rod of chastisement.] + +_Cel_. Not to give a fair lady the lie, I am in fault; but +otherwise--Come, let us be friends, and let me wait on you to your +lodgings. + +_Flo_. This impudence shall not save you from my table-book. +_Item_, A month more for this fault. [_They walk to the +door_. + +_1 Sold. [within.]_ Stand!-- + +_2 Sold_. Stand, give the word! + +_Cel_. Now, what's the meaning of this, trow?--guards set! + +_1 Sold_. Give the word, or you cannot pass:--These are they, +brother; let's in and seize them. + +_The two Soldiers enter_. + +_1 Sold_. Down with him! + +_2 Sold_. Disarm him!_Cel_. How now, rascals?-- + [_Draws, and beats one off, and catches the other_. +Ask your life, you villain. +_2 Sold_. Quarter! quarter! + +_Cel_. Was ever such an insolence? + +_2 Sold_. We did but our duty;--here we were set to take a +gentleman and lady, that would steal a marriage without the queen's +consent, and we thought you had been they. [_Exit Sold_. + +_Flo_. Your cousin Philocles, and the princess Candiope, on my +life! for I heard the queen give private orders to Lysimantes, and +name them twice or thrice. + +_Cel_. I know a score or two of madcaps here hard by, whom I can +pick up from taverns, and gaming-houses, and bordels; those I'll bring +to aid him,--Now, Florimel, there's an argument for wenching: Where +would you have had so many honest men together, upon the sudden, for a +brave employment? + +_Flo_. You'll leave me then, to take my fortune? + +_Cel_. No:--If you will, I'll have you into the places aforesaid, +and enter you into good company. + +_Flo_. 'Thank you, sir; here's a key, will let me through this +back-door to my own lodgings. + +_Cel_. If I come off with life, I'll see you this evening; if +not,--adieu, Florimel! + +_Flo_. If you come not, I shall conclude you are killed; or +taken, to be hanged for a rebel to-morrow morning: and then I'll +honour your memory with a lampoon, instead of an epitaph. + +_Cel_. No, no! I trust better in my fate: I know I am reserved to +do you a courtesy. [_Exit_ CEL. + +[_As_ FLORIMEL _is unlocking the door to go out,_ FLAVIA +_opens it against her, and enters to her, followed by a Page_. + +_Fla_. Florimel, do you hear the news? + +_Flo_. I guess they are in pursuit of Philocles. + +_Fla_. When Lysimantes came with the queen's orders, +He refused to render up Candiope; +And, with some few brave friends he had about him, +Is forcing of his way through all the guards. + +_Flo_. A gallant fellow!--I'll in, will you with me?-- +Hark! the noise comes this way! + +_Fla_. I have a message from the queen to Lysimantes.-- +I hope I may be safe among the soldiers. + +_Flo_. Oh, very safe!--Perhaps some honest fellow in the tumult +may take pity of thy maidenhead, or so.--Adieu! [_Exit_ FLO. + +_Page_. The noise comes nearer, madam. + +_Fla_. I am glad on't.--This message gives me the opportunity of +speaking privately with Lysimantes. + +_Enter_ PHILOCLES _and_ CANDIOPE, _with three Friends, +pursued by_ LYSIMANTES, _and Soldiers_. + +_Lys_. What is it renders you thus obstinate? You have no hope of +flight, and to resist is full as vain. + +_Phil_. I'll die rather than yield her up. + +_Fla_. My lord! + +_Lys_. How now? some new message from the queen?-- +Retire a while to a convenient distance. + +[_To the Soldiers_. LYS. _and_ FLAV. _whisper_. + +_Lys_. O Flavia, 'tis impossible! the queen in love with Philocles! + +_Fla_. I have suspected it before; but now +My ears and eyes are witnesses. +This hour I overheard her, to Asteria, +Making such sad complaints of her hard fate!-- +For my part, I believe, you lead him back +But to his coronation. + +_Lys_. Hell take him first! + +_Fla_. Presently after this she called for me, +And bid me run, and, with strict care, command you, +On peril of your life, he had no harm: +But, sir, she spoke it with so great concernment, +Methought I saw love, anger, and despair, +All combating at once upon her face. + +_Lys_. Tell the queen,--I know not what, +I am distracted so.-- +But go, and leave me to my thoughts.-- + [_Exit_ FLAVIA. +Was ever such amazing news, +Told in so strange and critical a moment?-- +What shall I do?-- +Does she love Philocles, who loves not her; +And loves not Lysimantes, who prefers her +Above his life?--What rests, but that I take +This opportunity, which she herself +Has given me, to kill this happy rival!-- +Assist me, soldiers! + +_Phil_. They shall buy me dearly. + +_Cand_. Ah me, unhappy maid! + +_Enter _CELADON, _with his Friends, unbuttoned and reeling_. + +_Cel_. Courage, my noble cousin! I have brought A band of blades, +the bravest youths of Syracuse; Some drunk, some sober, all resolved +to run Your fortune to the utmost.--Fall on, mad boys! + +_Lys_. Hold a little!--I'm not secure of victory against these +desperate ruffians. + +_Cel_. No, but I'll secure you! They shall cut your throat +for such another word of them. Ruffians, quoth a'! call gamesters, +whoremasters, and drunkards, ruffians! + +_Lys_. Pray, gentlemen, fall back a little. + +_Cel_. O ho, are they gentlemen now with you!--Speak first to +your gentlemen soldiers to retire; And then I'll speak to my gentlemen +ruffians. [CEL. _signs to his party_. There's your disciplined +men now.--[_They sign, and the Soldiers retire on both sides_. +Come, gentlemen, let's lose no time: While they are talking, let's +have one merry main before we die, for mortality sake. + +_1 Fr_. Agreed! here's my cloak for a table. + +_2 Fr_. And my hat for a box. + +[_They lie down and throw_. + +_Lys_. Suppose I killed him! +'Twould but exasperate the queen the more: +He loves not her, nor knows he she loves him:-- +sudden thought is come into my head,-- +So to contrive it, that this Philocles, +And these his friends, shall bring to pass that for me, +Which I could never compass.--True, I strain +A point of honour; but then her usage to me-- +It shall be so.-- +Pray, Philocles, command your soldiers off; +As I will mine: I've somewhat to propose, +Which you perhaps may like. + +_Can_. I will not leave him. + +_Lys_. 'Tis my desire you should not. + +_Phil_. Cousin, lead off your friends. + +_Cel_. One word in your ear, coz:--Let me advise you, either make +your own conditions, or never agree with him: his men are poor rogues, +they can never stand before us. + +[_Exeunt all but_ Lys. Phil. _and_ Cand. + +_Lys_. Suppose some friend, ere night, +Should bring you to possess all you desire; +And not so only, but secure forever +The nation's happiness? + +_Phil_. I would think of him, +As some god or angel. + +_Lys_. That god or angel you and I may be to one another. +We have betwixt us +An hundred men; the citadel you govern: +What were it now to seize the queen? + +_Phil_. O impiety! to seize the queen!-- +To seize her, said you? + +_Lys_. The word might be too rough,--I meant, secure her. + +_Phil_. Was this your proposition?-- +And had you none to make it to but me? + +_Lys_. Pray hear me out, ere you condemn me!-- +I would not the least violence were offered +Her person. Two small grants is all I ask; +To make me happy in herself, and you +In your Candiope. + +_Cand_. And will not you do this, my Philocles?-- +Nay, now my brother speaks but reason. + +_Phil_. Interest makes all seem reason, that leads to it. +Interest, that does the zeal of sects create, +To purge a church, and to reform a state. + +_Lys_. In short, the queen hath sent to part you two:-- +What more she means to her, I know not. + +_Phil_. To her, alas!--Why, will not you protect her? + +_Lys_. With you I can; but where's my power alone? + +_Cand_. You know she loves me not: You lately heard her, +How she insulted over me: How she +Despised that beauty, which you say I have.-- +I see, she purposes my death. + +_Phil_. Why do you fright me with it? +'Tis in your brother's power to let us 'scape, +And then you run no danger. + +_Lys_. True, I may; +But then my head must pay the forfeit of it. + +_Phil_. O wretched Philocles! whither would love +Hurry thee headlong? + +_Lys_. Cease these exclamations. +There's no danger on your side: 'tis but to +Live without my sister; resolve that, +And you have shot the gulf. + +_Phil_. To live without her! Is that nothing, think you? +The damned in hell endure no greater pain, +Than seeing heaven from far with hopeless eyes. + +_Cand_. Candiope must die, and die for you:-- +See it not unrevenged at least. + +_Phil_. Ha, unrevenged! On whom should I revenge it?-- +But yet she dies, and I may hinder it? +'Tis I then murder my Candiope:-- +And yet, should I take arms against my queen! +That favoured me, raised me to what I am?-- +Alas! it must not be. + +_Lys_. He cools again.--[_Aside_. +True, she once favoured you; +But now I am informed. +She is besotted on an upstart wretch +So far, that she intends to make him master +Both of her crown and person. + +_Phil_. Knows he that! +Then, what I dreaded most is come to pass.--[_Aside_. +I am convinced of the necessity; +Let us make haste to raze +That action from the annals of her reign: +No motive but her glory could have wrought me. +I am a traitor to her, to preserve her +From treason to herself: Yet heaven knows, +With what a heavy heart +Philocles turns reformer. But have care +This fault of her strange passion take no air. +Let not the vulgar blow upon her fame. + +_Lys_. I will be careful:--Shall we go, my lord? + +_Phil_. Time wastes apace; each first prepare his men.-- +Come, my Candiope. [_Exeunt_ PHIL. _and_ CAND. + +_Lys_. This ruins him forever with the queen; +The odium's half his, the profit all my own. +Those who, like me, by others' help would climb, +To make them sure, must dip them in their crime. [_Exit_. + + +SCENE II.--_The Queen's apartments_. + +_Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA. + + +_Queen_. No more news yet from Philocles? + +_Ast_. None, madam, since Flavia's return. + +_Queen_. O, my Asteria! if you loved me, sure +You would say something to me of my Philocles! +I could speak ever of him. + +_Ast_. Madam, you commanded me no more to name him to you. + +_Queen_. Then I command you now, speak of nothing else:-- +I charge you here, on your allegiance, tell me +What I should do with him? + +_Ast_. When you gave orders that he should be taken, +You seemed resolved how to dispose of him. + +_Queen_. Dull Asteria! not to know, +Mad people never think the same thing twice!-- +Alas! I'm hurried restless up and down:-- +I was in anger once, and then I thought +I had put into shore: +But now a gust of love blows hard against me, +And bears me off again. + +_Ast_. Shall I sing the song, you made of Philocles, +And called it _Secret Love_? + +_Queen_. Do; for that's all kindness. And while thou singest it, +I can think nothing but what pleases me. + +SONG. + +_I feed a flame within, which so torments me, +That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me: +'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love if, +That I had rather die, than once remove it. + +Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it; +My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it. +Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses, +But they fall silently, like dew on roses. + +Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel, +My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel: +And while I suffer this to give him quiet, +My faith rewards my love, though he deny it. + +On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me; +While I conceal my love no frown can fright me: +To be more happy, I dare not aspire; +Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher_. + +_Queen_. Peace!--Methinks I hear the noise +Of clashing swords, and clattering arms below. + +_Enter_ FLAVIA. + +Now; what news, that you press in so rudely? + +_Fla_. Madam, the worst that can be:-- +Your guards upon the sudden are surprised, +Disarmed; some slain; all scattered. + +_Queen_. By whom? + +_Fla_. Prince Lysimantes, and Lord Philocles. + +_Queen_. It cannot be; Philocles is a prisoner. + +_Fla_. What my eyes saw,-- + +_Queen_. Pull them out; they are false spectacles. + +_Ast_. O, virtue! impotent and blind as fortune! +Who would be good, or pious, if this queen, +Thy great example, suffers! + +_Queen_. Peace, Asteria! accuse not virtue; +She has but given me a great occasion +Of showing what I am, when fortune leaves me. + +_Ast_. Philocles to do this! + +_Queen_. Ay, Philocles!--I must confess 'twas hard!-- +But there's a fate in kindness, +Still to be least returned, where most 'tis given.-- +Where's Candiope? + +_Fla_. Philocles was whispering to her. + +_Queen_. Hence, screech-owl!--Call my guards quickly there!-- +Put them apart in several prisons!-- +Alas! I had forgot, I have no guards, +But those which are my jailors. +Never 'till now unhappy queen! +The use of power, till lost, is seldom known; +Now, I should strike, I find my thunder gone. +[_Exeunt Queen and_ FLAV. + +PHILOCLES _enters, and meets_ ASTERIA _going out_. + +_Phil_. Asteria, where's the queen? + +_Ast_. Ah, my lord! what have you done? +I came to seek you. + +_Phil_. Is it from her you come? + +_Ast_. No; but on her behalf:--Her heart's too great, +In this low ebb of fortune, to entreat. + +_Phil_. Tis but a short eclipse, +Which past, a glorious day will soon ensue.-- +But I would ask a favour too from you. + +_Ast_. When conquerors petition, they command: +Those, that can captive queens, who can withstand? + +_Phil_. She, with her happiness, might mine create; +Yet seems indulgent to her own ill fate: +But she in secret hates me, sure; for why, +If not, should she Candiope deny? + +_Ast_. If you dare trust my knowledge of her mind, +She has no thoughts of you that are unkind. + +_Phil_. I could my sorrows with some patience bear, +Did they proceed from any one but her: +But from the queen! whose person I adore, +By duty much, by inclination more. + +_Ast_. He is inclined already; did he know, +That she loved him, how would his passion grow! [_Aside_. + +_Phil_. That her fair hand with destiny combines! +Fate ne'er strikes deep, but when unkindness joins: +For, to confess the secret of my mind, +Something so tender for the queen I find, +That even Candiope can scarce remove, +And, were she lower, I should call it love. + +_Ast_. She charged me, not this secret to betray; +But I best serve her, if I disobey. +For, if he loves, 'twas for her interest done; +If not, he'll keep it secret for his own. [_Aside._ + +_Phil_. Why are you in obliging me so slow? + +_Ast_. The thing's of great importance, you would know; +And you must first swear secresy to all. + +_Phil_. I swear. + +_Ast_. Yet hold; your oath's too general: +Swear that Candiope shall never know. + +_Phil_. I swear. + +_Ast_. No; not the queen herself. + +_Phil_. I vow. + +_Ast_. You wonder why I am so cautious grown, +In telling what concerns yourself alone: +But spare my vow, and guess what it may be, +That makes the queen deny Candiope: +'Tis neither heat, nor pride, that moves her mind; +Methinks the riddle is not hard to find. + +_Phil_. You seem so great a wonder to intend, +As were, in me, a crime to apprehend. + +_Ast_. 'Tis not a crime to know; but would be one, +To prove ungrateful when your duty's known. + +_Phil_. Why would you thus my easy faith abuse: +I cannot think the queen so ill would chuse. +But stay, now your imposture will appear; +She has herself confessed she loved elsewhere: +On some ignoble choice has placed her heart, +One, who wants quality, and more, desert. + +_Ast_. This, though unjust, you have most right to say; +For, if you'll rail against yourself, you may. + +_Phil_. Dull that I was! +A thousand things now crowd my memory. +That make me know it could be none but I. +Her rage was love; and its tempestuous flame, +Like lightning, showed the heaven from whence it came. +But in her kindness my own shame I see; +Have I dethroned her, then for loving me? +I hate myself for that which I have done, +Much more, discovered, than I did unknown. +How does she brook her strange imprisonment? + +_Ast_. As great souls should, that make their own content. +The hardest term, she for your act could find, +Was only this, O Philocles, unkind! +Then, setting free a sigh, from her fair eyes +She wiped two pearls, the remnant of wild showers, +Which hung like drops upon the bells of flowers: +And thanked the heavens, +Which better did, what she designed, pursue, +Without her crime, to give her power to you. + +_Phil_. Hold, hold! you set my thoughts so near a crown, +They mount above my reach, to pull them down: +Here constancy, ambition there does move; +On each side beauty, and on both sides love. + +_Ast_. Methinks the least you can, is to receive +This love with reverence, and your former leave. + +_Phil_. Think but what difficulties come between! + +_Ast_. 'Tis wondrous difficult to love a queen. + +_Phil_. For pity, cease more reasons to provide, +I am but too much yielding to your side; +And, were my heart but at my own dispose, +I should not make a scruple now to chuse. + +_Ast_. Then if the queen will my advice approve, +Her hatred to you shall expel her love. + +_Phil_. Not to be loved by her as hard would be, +As to be hated by Candiope. + +_Ast_. I leave you to resolve while you have time; +You must be guilty, but may chuse your crime. + [_Exit_ ASTERIA. + +_Phil_. One thing I have resolved; and that I'll do, +Both for my love, and for my honour too; +But then (ingratitude and falsehood weighed), +I know not which would most my soul upbraid. +Fate shoves me headlong down a rugged way; +Unsafe to run, and yet too steep to stay. + [_Exit_ PHIL. + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I.--_The Court_. + +FLORIMEL _in man's habit_. + + +_Flor_. 'Twill be rare now, if I can go through with it, to outdo +this mad Celadon in all his tricks, and get both his mistresses from +him; then I shall revenge myself upon all three, and save my own stake +into the bargain; for I find I do love the rogue, in spite of all his +infidelities. Yonder they are, and this way they must come. If clothes +and a _bon mien_ will take them, I shall do it.--Save you, +Monsieur Florimel! Faith, me thinks you are a very janty fellow, +_poudre et ajuste_, as well as the best of 'em. I can manage +the little comb; set my hat, shake my garniture, toss about my empty +noddle, walk with a courant slur, and at every step peck down my +head: If I should be mistaken for some courtier now, pray where's the +difference? + +_Enter, to her,_ CELADON, OLINDA, _and_ SABINA. + +_Olin_. Never mince the matter! + +_Sab_. You have left your heart behind with Florimel; we know it. + +_Cel_. You know you wrong me: when I am with Florimel, 'tis still +your prisoner, it only draws a longer chain after it. + +_Flo_. Is it e'en so! then farewell, poor Florimel! thy +maidenhead is condemned to die with thee. + +_Cel_. But let's leave this discourse; 'tis all digression, that +does not speak of your beauties. + +_Flo_. Now for me, in the name of impudence!--[_Comes +forward_.] They are the greatest beauties, I confess, that ever I +beheld-- + +_Cel_. How now, what's the meaning of this young fellow? + +_Flo_. And therefore I cannot wonder that this gentleman, who has +the honour to be known to you, should admire you, since I, that am a +stranger-- + +_Cel_. And a very impudent one, as I take it, sir. + +_Flo_. Am so extremely surprised, that I admire, love, am +wounded, and am dying, all in a moment. + +_Cel_. I have seen him somewhere, but where I know +not:--Pry'thee, my friend, leave us; dost thou think, we do not know +our way in court? + +_Flo_. I pretend not to instruct you in your way; you see I do +not go before you; but you cannot possibly deny me the happiness to +wait upon these ladies; me, who-- + +_Cel_. Thee, who shalt be beaten most unmercifully, if thou dost +follow them. + +_Flo_. You will not draw in court, I hope? + +_Cel_. Pox on him, let's walk away faster, and be rid of him. + +_Flo_. O, take no care for me, sir! you shall not lose me; I'll +rather mend my pace, than not wait on you. + +_Olin_. I begin to like this fellow. + +_Cel_. You make very bold here in my seraglio, and I shall find a +time to tell you so, sir. + +_Flo_. When you find a time to tell me on't, I shall find a +time to answer you: But, pray, what do you find in yourself so +extraordinary, that you should serve these ladies better than I? Let +me know what 'tis you value yourself upon, and let them judge betwixt +us. + +_Cel_. I am somewhat more a man than you. + +_Flo_. That is, you are so much older than I:--Do you like a man +ever the better for his age, ladies? + +_Sab_. Well said, young-gentleman. + +_Cel_. Pish, thee! a young raw creature; thou hast ne'er been +under the barber's hands yet. + +_Flo_. No, nor under the surgeon's neither, as you have been. + +_Cel_. 'Slife, what would'st thou be at? I am madder than thou +art. + +_Flo_. The devil you are! I'll tope with you; I'll sing with you; +I'll dance with you;--I'll swagger with you-- + +_Cel_. I'll fight with you. + +_Flo_. Out upon fighting; 'tis grown so common a fashion, that +a modish man condemns it; a man of garniture and feather is above the +dispensation of the sword. + +_Olin_. Uds my life! here's the queen's music just going to us; +you shall decide your quarrel by a dance. + +_Sab_. Who stops the fiddles? + +_Cel_. Base and treble, by your leaves, we arrest you at these +ladies' suits. + +_Flo_. Come on, sirs, play me a jig; you shall see how I'll +baffle him. + +DANCE. + +_Flo_. Your judgment, ladies. + +_Olin_. You, sir; you, sir: This is the rarest gentleman! I could +live and die with him-- + +_Sab_. Lord, how he sweats! please you, sir, to make use of my +handkerchief? + +_Olin_. You and I are merry, and just of an humour, sir; +therefore we two should love one another. + +_Sab_. And you and I are just of an age, sir; and therefore, +methinks, we should not hate one another. + +_Cel_. Then I perceive, ladies, I am a castaway, a reprobate, +with you: Why, 'faith, this is hard luck now, that I should be no less +than one whole hour in getting your affections, and now must lose 'em +in a quarter of it. + +_Olin_. No matter, let him rail; does the loss afflict you, sir? + +_Cel_. No, in faith, does it not; for if you had not forsaken me, +I had you: So the willows may flourish, for any branches I shall rob +'em of. + +_Sab_. However, we have the advantage to have left you; not you +us. + +_Cel_. That's only a certain nimbleness in nature, you women +have, to be first inconstant; but if you had not made the more haste, +the wind was veering too upon my weathercock: The best on't is, +Florimel is worth both of you. + +_Flo_. 'Tis like she'll accept of their leavings. + +_Cel_. She will accept on't, and she shall accept on't: I think I +know more than you of her mind, sir. + +_Enter_ MELISSA. + +_Mel_. Daughters, there's a poor collation within, that waits for +you. + +_Flo_. Will you walk, musty sir? + +_Cel_. No, marry, sir, I will not; I have surfeited of that old +woman's face already. + +_Flo_. Begin some frolic, then; what will you do for her? + +_Cel_. Faith, I am no dog, to show tricks for her; I cannot come +aloft to an old woman. + +_Flo_. Dare you kiss her? + +_Cel_. I was never dared by any man. By your leave, old madam-- +[_He plucks off her ruff_. + +_Mel_. Help! help! do you discover my nakedness? + +_Cel_. Peace, Tiffany! no harm! [_He puts on the ruff_.] +Now, Sir, here's Florimel's health to you. [_Kisses her_. + +_Mel_. Away, sir!--A sweet young man as you are, to abuse the +gift of nature so! + +_Cel_. Good mother, do not commend me so; I am flesh and blood, +and you do not know what you may pluck upon that reverend person of +yours.--Come on, follow your leader. + +[_Gives_ FLORIMEL _the ruff; she puts it on_. + +_Flo_. Stand fair, mother-- + +_Cel_. What, with your hat on? Lie thou there;--and thou, too-- + +[_Plucks off her hat and peruke, and discovers_ FLORIMEL. + +_All_. Florimel! + +_Flo_. My kind mistresses, how sorry I am, I can do you no +further service! I think I had best resign you to Celadon, to make +amends for me. + +_Cel_. Lord! what a misfortune it was, ladies, that the gentleman +could not hold forth to you? + +_Olin_. We have lost Celadon too. + +_Mel_. Come away; this is past enduring. [_Exeunt_ MEL. +_and_ OLIN. + +_Sab_. Well, if ever I believe a man to be a man, for the sake of +a peruke and feather again.-- + +_Flo_. Come, Celadon, shall we make accounts even? Lord! what +a hanging-look was there? indeed, if you had been recreant to your +mistress, or had forsworn your love, that sinner's face had been but +decent; but, for the virtuous, the innocent, the constant Celadon! + +_Cel_. This is not very heroic in you now, to insult over a +man in his misfortunes; but take heed, you have robb'd me of my two +mistresses; I shall grow desperately constant, and all the tempest of +my love will fall upon your head: I shall so pay you!-- + +_Flo_. Who, you pay me! you are a bankrupt, cast beyond all +possibility of recovery. + +_Cel_. If I am a bankrupt, I'll be a very honest one; when I +cannot pay my debts, at least I'll give you up the possession of my +body. + +_Flo_. No, I'll deal better with you; since you are unable to +pay, I'll give in your bond. + +_Enter_ PHILOCLES _with a commanders staff in his hand, +attended_. + +_Phil_. Cousin, I am sorry I must take you from your company +about an earnest business. + +_Flo_. There needs no excuse, my lord; we had despatched our +affairs, and were just parting. + +_Cel_. Will you be going, sir? sweet sir,--damn'd sir!--I have +but one word more to say to you. + +_Flo_. As I am a man of honour, I'll wait on you some other time. + +_Cel_. By these breeches,-- + +_Flo_. Which, if I marry you, I am resolved to wear; put that +into our bargain, and so adieu, sir. + +[_Exit_ FLO. + +_Phil_. Hark you, cousin,--[_They whisper_. You'll see it +exactly executed; I rely upon you. + +_Cel_. I shall not fail, my lord; may the conclusion of it prove +happy to you. [_Exit_ CEL. + +PHILOCLES _solus_. + +Wheree'er I cast about my wandering eyes, +Greatness lies ready in some shape to tempt me. +The royal furniture in every room, +The guards, and the huge waving crowds of people, +All waiting for a sight of that fair queen, +Who makes a present of her love to me: +Now tell me, Stoick! +If all these with a wish might be made thine, +Would'st thou not truck thy ragged virtue for 'em? +If glory was a bait, that angels swallow'd, +How then should souls allied to sense resist it? + +_Enter_ CANDIOPE. + +Ah poor Candiope! I pity her, +But that is all.-- + +_Cand_. O my dear Philocles! +A thousand blessings wait on thee! +The hope of being thine, I think, will put +Me past my meat and sleep with ecstasy, +So I shall keep the fasts of seraphims, +And wake for joy, like nightingales in May. + +_Phil_. Wake, Philocles, wake from thy dream of +glory, +'Tis all but shadow to Candiope: +Canst thou betray a love so innocent? [_Aside_. + +_Cand_. What makes you melancholick? I doubt, +I have displeased you. + +_Phil_. No, my love, I am not displeased with you, +But with myself, when I consider, +How little I deserve you. + +_Cand_. Say not so, my Philocles; a love so true as yours, +That would have left a court, and a queen's favour, +To live in a poor hermitage with me,-- + +_Phil_. Ha! she has stung me to the quick! +As if she knew the falsehood I intended: +But, I thank heaven, it has recall'd my virtue; + [_Aside_. +Oh! my dear, I love you, and you only; [_To her_. +Go in, I have some business for a while; +But I think minutes ages till we meet. + +_Cand_. I knew you had; but yet I could not chuse, +But come and look upon you. [_Exit_ CANDIOPE. + +_Phil_. What barbarous man would wrong so sweet a virtue! + +_Enter the Queen in black, with_ ASTERIA. + +Madam, the states are straight to meet; but why +In these dark ornaments will you be seen? + +_Queen_. They fit the fortune of a captive queen. + +_Phil_. Deep shades are thus to heighten colours set; +So stars in night, and diamonds shine in jet. + +_Queen_. True friends should so in dark afflictions shine, +But I have no great cause to boast of mine. + +_Phil_. You may have too much prejudice for some, +And think them false, before their trials come. +But, madam, what determine you to do? + +_Queen_. I came not here to be advised by you: +But charge you, by that power which once you owned, +And which is still my right, even when unthroned, +That whatsoe'er the states resolve of me, +You never more think of Candiope. + +_Phil_. Not think of her! ah, how should I obey! +Her tyrant eyes have forced my heart away. + +_Queen_. By force retake it from those tyrant eyes, +I'll grant you out my letters of reprise. + +_Phil_. She has too well prevented that design, +By giving me her heart, in change for mine. + +_Queen_. Thus foolish Indians gold for glass forego; +'Twas to your loss you prized your heart so low. +I set its value when you were advanced, +And as my favours grew, its rate enhanced. + +_Phil_. The rate of subjects' hearts by yours must go, +And love in yours has set the value low. + +_Queen_. I stand corrected, and myself reprove; +You teach me to repent my low-placed love: +Help me this passion from my heart to tear!-- +Now rail on him, and I will sit and hear. + +_Phil_. Madam, like you, I have repented too, +And dare not rail on one, I do not know. + +_Queen_. This, Philocles, like strange perverseness shews, +As if whate'er I said you would oppose; +How come you thus concerned for this unknown? + +_Phil_. I only judge his actions by my own. + +_Queen_. I've heard too much, and you too much have said. +O heavens, the secret of my soul's betrayed! +He knows my love, I read it in his face, +And blushes, conscious of his queen's disgrace. + [_Aside_. +Hence quickly, hence, or I shall die with shame. + [_To him._ + +_Phil_. Now I love both, and both with equal flame. +Wretched I came, more wretched I retire: +When two winds blow it, who can quench the fire? + [_Exit_ PHILOCLES. + +_Queen_. O my Asteria! I know not whom to accuse; +But either my own eyes, or you, have told +My love to Philocles. + +_Ast_. Is't possible that he should know it, madam? + +_Queen_. Methinks, you ask that question guiltily. + [_Lays her hand on_ ASTERIA'S _shoulder._ +Confess, for I will know, what was the subject +Of your long discourse i'th' antichamber with him. + +_Ast_. It was business to convince him, madam, +How ill he did, being so much obliged, +To join in your imprisonment. + +_Queen_. Nay, now I am confirmed my thought was true; +For you could give him no such reason +Of his obligements, as my love. + +_Ast_. Because I saw him much a malecontent, +I thought to win him to your interest, madam, +By telling him it was no want of kindness, +Made your refusal of Candiope. +And he, perhaps-- + +_Queen_. What of him now? + +_Ast_. As men are apt, interpreted my words, +To all the advantage he could wrest the sense, +As if I meant you loved him. + +_Queen_. Have I deposited within thy breast +The dearest treasure of my life, my glory, +And hast thou thus betrayed me! +But why do I accuse thy female weakness, +And not my own, for trusting thee! +Unhappy queen, Philocles knows thy fondness, +And needs must think it done by thy command. + +_Ast_. Dear madam, think not so. + +_Queen_. Peace, peace, thou should'st for ever hold thy tongue: +For it has spoke too much for all thy life. [_To her_. +Then Philocles has told Candiope, +And courts her kindness with his scorn of me. +O whither am I fallen! +But I must rouse myself, and give a stop +To all these ills by headlong passion caused. +In hearts resolved weak love is put to flight, +And only conquers, when we dare not fight. +But we indulge our harms, and, while he gains +An entrance, please ourselves into our pains. + +_Enter_ LYSIMANTES. + +_Ast_. Prince Lysimantes, madam. + +_Queen_. Come near, you poor deluded criminal; +See how ambition cheats you: +You thought to find a prisoner here, +But you behold a queen. + +_Lys_. And may you long be so! 'tis true, this act +May cause some wonder in your majesty. + +_Queen_. None, cousin, none; I ever thought you +Ambitious, proud, designing. + +_Lys_. Yet all my pride, designs, and my ambition, +Were taught me by a master, +With whom you are not unacquainted, madam. + +_Queen_. Explain yourself; dark purposes, like yours, +Need an interpretation. + +_Lys_. 'Tis love, I mean. + +_Queen_. Have my low fortunes given thee +This insolence, to name it to thy queen? + +_Lys_. Yet you have heard, love named without offence. +As much below you as you think my passion, +I can look down on yours. + +_Queen_. Does he know it too! +This is the extremest malice of my stars! [_Aside_. + +_Lys_. You see that princes' faults, +(Howe'er they think them safe from public view) +Fly out thro the dark crannies of their closets: +We know what the sun does, +Even when we see him not, in t'other world. + +_Queen_. My actions, cousin, never feared the light. + +_Lys_. Produce him, then, your darling of the dark. +For such an one you have. + +_Queen_. I know no such. + +_Lys_. You know, but will not own him. + +_Queen_. Rebels ne'er want pretence to blacken kings, +And this, it seems, is yours: Do you produce him, +Or ne'er hereafter sully my renown +With this aspersion:--Sure he dare not name him. + [_Aside_. + +_Lys_. I am too tender of your frame; or else-- +Nor are things brought to that extremity: +Provided you accept my passion, +I'll gladly yield to think I was deceived. + +_Queen_. Keep in your error still; I will not buy +Your good opinion at so dear a rate, +And my own misery, by being yours. + +_Lys_. Do not provoke my patience by such scorns. +For fear I break through all, and name him to you. + +_Queen_. Hope not to fright me with your mighty looks; +Know, I dare stem that tempest in your brow, +And dash it back upon you. + +_Lys_. Spite of prudence it will out:--'Tis Philocles! +Now judge, when I was made a property +To cheat myself, by making him your prisoner, +Whether I had not right to take up arms? + +_Queen_. Poor envious wretch! +Was this the venom that swelled up thy breast? +My grace to Philocles mis-deemed my love! + +_Lys_. Tis true, the gentleman is innocent; +He ne'er sinned up so high, not in his wishes; +You know he loves elsewhere. + +_Queen_. You mean your sister. + +_Lys_. I wish some Sibyl now would tell me, +Why you refused her to him. + +_Queen_. Perhaps I did not think him worthy of her. + +_Lys_. Did you not think him too worthy, madam? +This is too thin a veil to hide your passion; +To prove you love him not, yet give her him, +And I'll engage my honour to lay down my arms. + +_Queen_. He is arrived where I would wish-- + [_Aside_. +Call in the company, and you shall see what I will do. + +_Lys_. Who waits without there? [_Exit_ LYS. + +_Queen_. Now hold, my heart, for this one act of honour, +And I will never ask more courage of thee: +Once more I have the means to reinstate myself into my glory. +I feel my love to Philocles within me +Shrink, and pull back my heart from this hard trial. +But it must be, when glory says it must: +As children, wading from some river's bank, +First try the water with their tender feet; +Then, shuddering up with cold, step back again, +And straight a little further venture on, +Till, at the last, they plunge into the deep, +And pass, at once, what they were doubting long: +I'll make the experiment; it shall be done in haste, +Because I'll put it past my power to undo. + +_Enter at one door_ LYSIMANTES, _at the other_ PHILOCLES, +CELADON, CANDIOPE, FLORIMEL, FLAVIA, OLINDA, SABINA, _the three +deputies, and soldiers_. + +_Lys_. In arms! is all well, Philocles? + +_Phil_. No, but it shall be. + +_Queen_. He comes, and with him +The fever of my love returns to shake me. +I see love is not banished from my soul; +He is still there, but is chained up by glory. + +_Ast_. You've made a noble conquest, madam. + +_Queen_. Come hither Philocles: I am first to tell you, +I and my cousin are agreed; he has +Engaged to lay down arms. + +_Phil_. 'Tis well for him he has; for all his party, +By my command, already are surprised, +While I was talking with your majesty. + +_Cel_. Yes, 'faith, I have done him that courtesy; +I brought his followers, under pretence of guarding +it, to a strait place, where they are all coupt up +without use of their arms, and may be pelted to +death by the small infantry o'er the town. + +_Queen_. 'Twas more than I expected, or could hope; +Yet still I thought your meaning honest. + +_Phil_. My fault was rashness, but 'twas full of zeal: +Nor had I e'er been led to that attempt, +Had I not seen, it would be done without me: +But by compliance I preserved the power, +Which I have since made use of for your service. + +_Queen_. And which I purpose so to recompence-- + +_Lys_. With her crown, she means: I knew 'twould come to it. + [_Aside_. + +_Phil_. O heavens, she'll own her love! +Then I must lose Candiope for ever, +And, floating in a vast abyss of glory, +Seek and not find myself!-- + +_Queen_. Take your Candiope; and be as happy +As love can make you both:--How pleased I am, +That I can force my tongue +To speak words, so far distant from my heart! + [_Aside_. + +_Cand_. My happiness is more than I can utter! + +_Lys_. Methinks I could do violence on myself, for taking arms +Against a queen, so good, so bountiful: +Give me leave, madam, in my ecstasy +Of joy, to give you thanks for Philocles:-- +You have preserved my friend, and now he owes not +His fortunes only to your favour; but, +What's more, his life, and, more than that, his love. +I am convinced, she never loved him now; +Since by her free consent, all force removed, +She gives him to my sister. +Flavia was an impostor, and deceived me. [_Aside_. + +_Phil_. As for me, madam, I can only say, +That I beg respite for my thanks; for, on a sudden, +The benefit's so great, it overwhelms me. + +_Ast_. Mark but the faintness of the acknowledgement. + [_To the Queen, aside_. + +_Queen to Ast_.] I have observed it with you, and am pleased, +He seems not satisfied; for I still wish +That he may love me. + +_Phil_. I see Asteria deluded me, +With flattering hopes of the queen's love. +Only to draw me off from Lysimantes: +But I will think no more on't. +I'm going to possess Candiope, +And I am ravished with the joy on't!--ha! +Not ravished neither. +For what can be more charming than that queen! +Behold how night sits lovely on her eye-brows, +While day breaks from her eyes! then a crown too: +Lost, lost, for ever lost; and now 'tis gone, +Tis beautiful.--[_Aside_. + +_Ant_. How he eyes you still! [_To the queen._ + +_Phil_. Sure I had one of the fallen angels' dreams; +All heaven within this hour was mine! [_Aside_. + +_Cand_. What is it, that disturbs you, dear? + +_Phil_. Only the greatness of my joy: +I've ta'en too strong a cordial, love, +And cannot yet digest it. + +_Queen_. Tis done! + [_Clapping her hand on_ ASTERIA, +But this pang more, and then a glorious birth.-- +The tumults of this day, my loyal subjects, +Have settled in my heart a resolution, +Happy for you, and glorious too for me. +First, for my cousin; tho', attempting on my person, +He has incurred the danger of the laws, +I will not punish him. + +_Lys_. You bind me ever to my loyalty. + +_Queen_. Then that I may oblige you more to it, +I here declare you rightful successor, +And heir immediate to my crown: +This, gentlemen--[_To the deputies_. +I hope will still my subjects' discontents, +When they behold succession firmly settled. + +_Dep_. Heaven preserve your majesty! + +_Queen_. As for myself, I have resolved +Still to continue as I am, unmarried: +The cares, observances, and all the duties +Which I should pay an husband, I will place +Upon my people; and our mutual love +Shall make a blessing more than conjugal, +And this the states shall ratify. + +_Lys_. Heaven bear me witness, that I take no joy +In the succession of a crown, +Which must descend to me so sad a way. + +_Queen_. Cousin, no more; my resolution's past +Which fate shall never alter. + +_Phil_. Then I am once more happy; +For, since none must possess her, I am pleased +With my own choice, and will desire no more: +For multiplying wishes is a curse. +That keeps the mind still painfully awake. + +_Queen_. Celadon. +Your care and loyalty have this day obliged me; +But how to be acknowledging, I know not, +Unless you give the means. + +_Cel_. I was in hope your majesty had forgot me; therefore, if +you please, madam, I'll only beg a pardon for having taken up arms +once to-day against you; for I have a foolish kind of conscience, +which I wish many of your subjects had, that will not let me ask a +recompence for my loyalty, when I know I have been a rebel. + +_Queen_. Your modesty shall not serve the turn; ask something. + +_Cel_. Then I beg, madam, you will command Florimel never to be +friends with me. + +_Flo_. Ask again; I grant that without the queen: +But why are you afraid on't? + +_Cel_. Because I am sure, as soon as ever you are, you'll marry +me. + +_Flo_. Do you fear it? + +_Cel_. No, 'twill come with a fear. + +_Flo_. If you do, I will not stick with you for an oath. + +_Cel_. I require no oath till we come to church: and then after +the priest, I hope; for I find it will be my destiny to marry thee. + +_Flo_. If ever I say a word after the black gentleman for thee, +Celadon-- + +_Cel_. Then, I hope, you'll give me leave to bestow a faithful +heart elsewhere. + +_Flo_. Ay, but if you would have one, you must bespeak it, for I +am sure you have none ready made. + +_Cel_. What say you, shall I marry Flavia? + +_Flo_. No, she'll be too cunning for you. + +_Cel_. What say you to Olinda, then? she's tall, and fair, and +bonny. + +_Flo_. And foolish, and apish, and fickle. + +_Cel_. But Sabina there's pretty, and young, and loving, and +innocent. + +_Flo_. And dwarfish, and childish, and fond, and flippant: If you +marry her sister, you will get may-poles; and if you marry her, you +will get fairies to dance about them. + +_Cel_. Nay, then, the case is clear, Florimel; if you take 'em +all from me, 'tis because you reserve me for yourself. + +_Flo_. But this marriage is such a bugbear to me! much might be +if we could invent but any way to make it easy. + +_Cel_. Some foolish people have made it uneasy, by drawing the +knot faster than they need; but we that are wiser will loosen it a +little. + +_Flo_. 'Tis true, indeed, there's some difference betwixt a +girdle and a halter. + +_Cel_. As for the first year, according to the laudable custom of +new-married people, we shall follow one another up into chambers, +and down into gardens, and think we shall never have enough of one +another. So far 'tis pleasant enough, I hope. + +_Flo_. But after that, when we begin to live like husband and +wife, and never come near one another--what then, sir? + +_Cel_. Why, then, our only happiness must be to have one mind, +and one will, Florimel. + +_Flo_. One mind, if thou wilt, but pr'ythee let us have two +wills; for I find one will be little enough for me alone. But how, if +those wills should meet and clash, Celadon? + +_Cel_. I warrant thee for that; husbands and wives keep their +wills far enough asunder for ever meeting. One thing let us be sure to +agree on, that is, never to be jealous. + +_Flo_. No; but e'en love one another as long as we can; and +confess the truth when we can love no longer. + +_Cel_. When I have been at play, you shall never ask me what +money I have lost. + +_Flo_. When I have been abroad, you shall never enquire who +treated me. + +_Cel_. _Item_, I will have the liberty to sleep all night, +without your interrupting my repose for any evil design whatsoever. + +_Flo_. _Item_, Then you shall bid me goodnight before you +sleep. + +_Cel_. Provided always, that whatever liberties we take with +other people, we continue very honest to one another. + +_Flo_. As far as will consist with a pleasant life. + +_Cel_. Lastly, whereas the names of husband and wife hold forth +nothing, but clashing and cloying, and dulness and faintness, in their +signification; they shall be abolished for ever betwixt us. + +_Flo_. And instead of those, we will be married by the more +agreeable names of mistress and gallant. + +_Cel_. None of my privileges to be infringed by thee, Florimel, +under the penalty of a month of fasting nights. + +_Flo_. None of my privileges to be infringed by thee, Celadon, +under the penalty of cuckoldom. + +_Cel_. Well, if it be my fortune to be made a cuckold, I had +rather thou should'st make me one, than any one in Sicily; and, for my +comfort, I shall have thee oftener than any of thy servants. + +_Flo_. Look ye now, is not such a marriage as good as wenching, +Celadon? + +_Cel_. This is very good; but not so good, Florimel. + +_Queen_. Now set we forward to the assembly.--You promise, +cousin, your consent? + +_Lys_. But most unwillingly. + +_Queen_. Philocles, I must beg your voice too. + +_Phil_. Most joyfully I give it. + +_Lys_. Madam, but one word more;-- +Since you are so resolved, +That you may see, bold as my passion was, +'Twas only for your person, not your crown; +I swear no second love +Shall violate the flame I had for you, +But, in strict imitation of your oath, +I vow a single life. + +_Queen_. Now, my Asteria, my joys are full; + [_To_ ASTERIA. +The powers above, that see +The innocent love I bear to Philocles, +Have given its due reward; for by this means +The right of Lysimantes will devolve +Upon Candiope: and I shall have +This great content, to think, when I am dead, +My crown may fall on Philocles's head. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +EPILOGUE, +WRITTEN BY +A PERSON OF HONOUR. + + +Our poet, something doubtful of his fate, +Made choice of me to be his advocate, +Relying on my knowledge in the laws; +And I as boldly undertook the cause. +I left my client yonder in a rant, +Against the envious, and the ignorant, +Who are, he says, his only enemies: +But he condemns their malice, and defies +The sharpest of his censurers to say, +Where there is one gross fault in all his play. +The language is so fitted for each part, +The plot according to the rules of art, +And twenty other things he bid me tell you; +But I cried, e'en go do't yourself for Nelly.[A] +Reason with judges, urged in the defence +Of those they would condemn, is insolence; +I therefore wave the merits of his play, +And think it fit to plead this safer way. +If when too many in the purchase share, +Robbing's not worth the danger nor the care; +The men of business must, in policy, +Cherish a little harmless poetry, +All wit would else grow up to knavery. +Wit is a bird of music, or of prey; +Mounting, she strikes at all things in her way. +But if this birdlime once but touch her wings, +On the next bush she sits her down and sings. +I have but one word more; tell me, I pray, +What you will get by damning of our play? +A whipt fanatic, who does not recant, +Is, by his brethren, called a suffering saint; +And by your hands should this poor poet die, +Before he does renounce his poetry, +His death must needs confirm the party more, +Than all his scribbling life could do before; +Where so much zeal does in a sect appear, +'Tis to no purpose, 'faith, to be severe. +But t'other day, I heard this rhyming fop +Say,--Critics were the whips, and he the top; +For, as a top spins more, the more you baste her, +So, every lash you give, he writes the faster. + +[Footnote A: The epilogue appears to have been spoken by Nell Gwynn.] + + + +PROLOGUE, + +SPOKEN BY MRS BOUTELL TO THE MAIDEN QUEEN, IN MAN'S CLOTHES. + + +_The following prologue and epilogue occur in the "Covent-Garden +Drollery" a publication which contains original copies of several +of Dryden's fugitive pieces. They appear to have been spoken +upon occasion of the male characters in "The Maiden Queen" being +represented by female performers. From our author's connection both +with the play and with Mrs Reeves, who spoke the epilogue, it is +probable he wrote both that and the prologue; and therefore (although +not much worth preserving) we have here added them. From the reference +to Ravenscroft's play of "The Citizen turned Gentleman," in the last +line of the epilogue, it would seem the prologue and epilogue were +written and spoken in 1672_. + +Women, like us, (passing for men,) you'll cry, +Presume too much upon your secrecy. +There's not a fop in town, but will pretend +To know the cheat himself, or by his friend; +Then make no words on't, gallants, 'tis e'en true, +We are condemn'd to look and strut, like you. +Since we thus freely our hard fate confess, +Accept us, these bad times, in any dress. +You'll find the sweet on't: now old pantaloons +Will go as far as, formerly, new gowns; +And from your own cast wigs, expect no frowns. +The ladies we shall not so easily please; +They'll say,--What impudent bold things are these, +That dare provoke, yet cannot do us right, +Like men, with huffing looks, that dare not fight!-- +But this reproach our courage must not daunt; +The bravest soldier may a weapon want; +Let her that doubts us still send her gallant. +Ladies, in us you'll youth and beauty find: +All things--but one--according to your mind: +And when your eyes and ears are feasted here, +Rise up, and make out the short meal elsewhere. + + + +EPILOGUE, + +SPOKEN BY MRS REEVES TO THE MAIDEN QUEEN, IN MAN'S CLOTHES. + + +What think you, sirs, was't not all well enough? +Will you not grant that we can strut and huff? +Men may be proud; but faith, for aught I see, +They neither walk, nor cock, so well as we; +And, for the fighting part, we may in time +Grow up to swagger in heroic rhyme; +For though we cannot boast of equal force, +Yet, at some weapons, men have still the worse. +Why should not then we women act alone? +Or whence are men so necessary grown? +Our's are so old, they are as good as none. +Some who have tried them, if you'll take their oaths, +Swear they're as arrant tinsel as their clothes. +Imagine us but what we represent, +And we could e'en give you as good content. +Our faces, shapes,--all's better then you see, +And for the rest, they want as much as we. +Oh, would the higher powers behind to us, +And grant us to set up a female house! +We'll make ourselves to please both sexes then,-- +To the men women, to the women men. +Here, we presume, our legs are no ill sight, +And they will give you no ill dreams at night: +In dreams both sexes may their passions ease, +You make us then as civil as you please. +This would prevent the houses joining too, +At which we are as much displeased as you; +For all our women most devoutly swear, +Each would be rather a poor actress here, +Then to be made a Mamamouchi [A] there. + +[Footnote A: Alluding to Ravenscroft's play of the "Citizen turned +Gentleman," acted at the Duke's House in 1672 See Vol. IV. pp. 346, +356-7.] + +END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of John Dryden, Vol. II +by Edited by Walter Scott + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN, VOL. 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