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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works Of John Dryden, Volume 4 (of 18)
+by John Dryden
+
+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, Volume 4 (of 18)
+       Almanzor And Almahide, Marriage-a-la-Mode, The Assignation
+
+Author: John Dryden
+
+Commentator:   Walter Scott
+
+
+Release Date: March 13, 2005 [EBook #15349]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Fred Robinson and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                                 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. IV.
+
+                               LONDON:
+
+            PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET,
+
+                BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH.
+
+
+                                1808.
+
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+                               CONTENTS
+
+                                  OF
+
+                            VOLUME FOURTH.
+
+Almanzor and Almahide, or the Conquest of Granada by the Spaniards, a
+  Tragedy, Part First
+        Epistle Dedicatory to the Duke of York
+        Of Heroic Plays, an Essay
+        Part II
+        Defence of the Epilogue; or an Essay on the Dramatic Poetry of
+          the last Age
+
+
+Marriage-a-la-Mode, a Comedy
+        Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Rochester
+
+
+The Assignation, or Love in a Nunnery, a Comedy
+        Epistle Dedicatory to Sir Charles Sedley, Bart.
+
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+                        ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE:
+
+                               OR, THE
+
+                         CONQUEST OF GRANADA
+
+                                BY THE
+
+                             _SPANIARDS._
+
+                              A TRAGEDY.
+
+
+                  _--Major rerum mihi nascitur ordo;
+                  Majus opus moveo._
+                                   VIRG. AENEID.
+
+
+
+
+                       THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.
+
+
+This play,--for the two parts only constitute an entire drama betwixt
+them,--seems to have been a favourite with Dryden, as well as with the
+public. In the Essay upon Heroic Plays, as well as in the dedication,
+the character of Almanzor is dwelt upon with that degree of
+complacency which an author experiences in analyzing a successful
+effort of his genius. Unquestionably the gross improbability of a
+hero, by his single arm, turning the tide of battle as he lists, did
+not appear so shocking in the age of Dryden, as in ours. There is no
+doubt, that, while personal strength and prowess were of more
+consequence than military skill and conduct, the feats of a single man
+were sometimes sufficient to determine the fate of an engagement, more
+especially when exerted by a knight, sheathed in complete mail,
+against the heartless and half-armed mass, which constituted the
+feudal infantry. Those, who have perused Barbour's History of Robert
+Bruce, Geoffrey de Vinsauf's account of the wars of Richard Coeur de
+Lion, or even the battles detailed by Froissart and Joinville, are
+familiar with instances of breaches defended, and battles decided, by
+the prowess of a single arm. The leader of a feudal army was expected
+by his followers not only to point out the path to victory but to lead
+the way in person. It is true, that the military art had been changed
+in this particular long before the days of Dryden. Complete armour was
+generally laid aside; fire-arms had superseded the use of the lance
+and battle-axe; and, above all, the universal institution of standing
+armies had given discipline and military skill their natural and
+decisive superiority over untaught strength, and enthusiastic valour.
+But the memory of what had been, was still familiar to the popular
+mind, and preserved not only by numerous legends and traditions, but
+also by the cast of the fashionable works of fiction. It is, indeed,
+curious to remark, how many minute remnants of a system of ancient
+manners can be traced long after it has become totally obsolete. Even
+down to the eighteenth century, the portrait of every soldier of rank
+was attired in complete armour, though, perhaps, he never saw a suit
+of mail excepting in the Tower of London; and on the same principle of
+prescriptive custom, Addison was the first poet who ventured to
+celebrate a victorious general for skill and conduct, instead of such
+feats as are appropriated to Guy of Warwick, or Bevis of Hampton. The
+fashion of attributing mighty effects to individual valour being thus
+prevalent, even in circumstances when every one knew the supposition
+to be entirely gratuitous, the same principle, with much greater
+propriety, continued to be applied in works of fiction, where the
+scene was usually carried back to times in which the personal strength
+of a champion really had some efficacy. It must be owned, however,
+that the authors of the French romances carried the influence of
+individual strength and courage beyond all bounds of modesty and
+reason. In the Grand Cyrus, Artamenes, upon a moderate computation,
+exterminates with his own hand, in the course of the work, at least a
+hundred thousand fighting men. These monstrous fictions, however,
+constituted the amusement of the young and the gay[1], in the age of
+Charles II., and from one of these very books Dryden admits his having
+drawn, at least in part, the character of his Moorish warrior. The
+public was, therefore, every way familiarised with such chivalrous
+exploits as those of Almanzor; and if they did not altogether command
+the belief, at least they did not revolt the imagination, of an
+audience: And this must certainly be admitted as a fair apology for
+the extravagance of his heroic achievements.
+
+But, it is not only the actual effects of Almanzor's valour, which
+appear to us unnatural, but also the extraordinary principles and
+motives by which those exertions are guided. Here also, we must look
+back to the Gothic romances, and to those of Scudery and Calprenede.
+In fact, the extravagance of sentiment is no less necessary than the
+extravagance of achievement to constitute a true knight errant; and
+such is Almanzor. Honour and love were the sole deities worshipped by
+this extraordinary race, who, though their memory and manners are
+preserved chiefly in works of fiction, did once exist in real life,
+and actually conducted armies, and governed kingdoms, upon principles
+as strained and hyperbolical as those of the Moorish champion. If
+Almanzor, at the command of his mistress, aids his hated rival to the
+destruction of his own hopes, he only discharges the duty of a good
+knight, who was bound to sacrifice himself, and all his hopes and
+wishes, at the slightest command of her, to whom he had vowed his
+service, and who, in the language of chivalry, was to him as the soul
+is to the body. The reader may recollect the memorable invasion of
+England by James IV. of Scotland, in which he hazarded and actually
+lost his own life, and the flower of his nobility, because the queen
+of France, who called him her knight, had commanded him to march three
+miles on English ground for her sake.
+
+Less can be said to justify the extravagant language in which Almanzor
+threatens his enemies, and vaunts his own importance. This is not
+common in the heroes of romance, who are usually as remarkable for
+their modesty of language as for their prowess; and still more seldom
+does, in real life, a vain-glorious boaster vindicate by his actions
+the threats of his tongue. It is true, that men of a fervent and
+glowing character are apt to strain their speech beyond the modesty of
+ordinary conversation, and display, in their language, the fire which
+glows in their bosoms; but the subject of their effusions is usually
+connected not with their own personal qualities, or feats, but with
+some extraneous object of their pursuit, or admiration. Thus, the
+burst of Hotspur concerning the pursuit of honour paints his
+enthusiastic character; but it would be hard to point out a passage
+indicating that exuberant confidence in his own prowess, and contempt
+of every one else, so liberally exhibited by Almanzor. Instances of
+this defect are but too thickly sown through the piece; for example
+the following rant.
+
+  If from thy hands alone my death can be,
+  I am immortal, and a God to thee.
+  If I would kill thee now, thy fate's so low,
+  That I must stoop ere I can give the blow.
+  But mine is fixed so far above thy crown,
+  That all thy men,
+  Piled on thy back, can never pull it down.
+  But, at my ease, thy destiny I send,
+  By ceasing from this hour to be thy friend.
+  Like heaven, I need but only to stand still;
+  And, not concurring to thy life, I kill.
+  Thou canst no title to my duty bring;
+  I am not thy subject, and my soul's thy king.
+  Farewell! When I am gone,
+  There's not a star of thine dare stay with thee:
+  I'll whistle thy tame fortune after me;
+  And whirl fate with me wheresoe'er I fly,
+  As winds drive storms before them in the sky.
+
+This curious passage did not escape the malicious criticism of Settle,
+who, besides noticing the extravagant egotism of the hero, questions,
+with some probability, whether Abdalla would have chosen to scale
+Almanzor's fate, at the risque of the personal consequences of having
+all his men piled on his own back. In the same scene, Almanzor is so
+unreasonable as to tell his rival,
+
+  --Thou shalt not dare
+  To be so impudent as to despair.
+
+And again,
+
+  What are ten thousand subjects, such as they?
+  If I am scorned, I'll take myself away.
+
+Dryden's apology for these extravagancies seems to be, that Almanzor
+is in a passion. But, although talking nonsense is a common effect of
+passion, it seems hardly one of those consequences adapted to shew
+forth the character of a hero in theatrical representation.
+
+It must be owned, however, that although the part of Almanzor contains
+these and other bombastic passages, there are many also which convey
+what the poet desired to represent--the aspirations of a mind so
+heroic as almost to surmount the bonds of society and even the very
+laws of the universe, leaving us often in doubt whether the vehemence
+of the wish does not even disguise the impossibility of its
+accomplishment.
+
+  Good heaven! thy book of fate before me lay,
+  But to tear out the journal of this day.
+  Or, if the order of the world below
+  Will not the gap of one whole day allow,
+  Give me that minute when she made her vow.
+  That minute, even the happy from their bliss might give,
+  And those, who live in grief, a shorter time would live.
+  So small a link, if broke, the eternal chain
+  Would, like divided waters, join again.
+  It wonnot be; the fugitive is gone,
+  Pressed by the crowd of following minutes on:
+  That precious moment's out of nature fled,
+  And in the heap of common rubbish laid,
+  Of things that once have been, and now decayed.
+
+In the less inflated parts, the ideas are usually as just, as
+ingenious and beautiful; for example.
+
+  No; there is a necessity in fate.
+  Why still the brave bold man is fortunate;
+  He keeps his object ever full in sight,
+  And that assurance holds him firm and right.
+  True, 'tis a narrow path that leads to bliss,               }
+  But right before there is no precipice;                     }
+  Fear makes men look aside, and then their footing miss.     }
+
+The character of Almanzor is well known as the original of Drawcansir,
+in "The Rehearsal," into whose mouth parodies of some of Dryden's most
+extravagant flights have been put by the duke of Buckingham.
+Shaftesbury also, whose family had smarted under Dryden's satire,
+attempts to trace the applause bestowed on the "Conquest of Granada"
+to what he calls "the correspondence and relation between our _Royal
+Theatre_ and popular _Circus_, or _Bear-Garden_. For, in the former of
+these assemblys, 'tis undeniable that, at least, the two upper
+regions, or galleries, contain such spectators as indifferently
+frequent each place of sport. So that 'tis no wonder we hear such
+applause resounded on the victories of an _Almanzor_, when the same
+parties had possibly no later than the day before bestowed their
+applause as freely on the victorious _Butcher_, the hero of another
+stage." _Miscellaneous Reflections. Miscell. 5._
+
+The other personages of the drama sink into Lilliputians, beside
+the gigantic Almanzor, although the under plot of the loves of
+Ozmyn and Benzayda is beautiful in itself, and ingeniously managed.
+The virtuous Almahide is a fit object for the adoration of
+Almanzor; but her husband is a poor pageant of royalty. As
+for Lyndaraxa, her repeated and unparalleled treachery can only be
+justified by the extreme imbecility of her lovers.
+
+The plot of the play is, in part, taken from history. During
+the last years of its existence, Granada, the poor remnant of the
+Moorish empire in Spain, was torn to pieces with intestine discord,
+and assailed without by the sword of the Christians. The history
+of the civil wars of Granada, affirmed to be translated into Spanish
+from the Arabian, gives a romantic, but not altogether fabulous
+account of their discord. But a romance in the French taste,
+called Almahide, seems to have been the chief source from which
+our author drew his plot.
+
+In the conduct of the story there is much brilliancy of event. The
+reader, or spectator, is never allowed to repose on the scene before
+him; and although the changes of fortune are too rapid to be either
+probable, or altogether pleasing, yet they arrest the attention by
+their splendour and importance, and interest us in spite of our more
+sober judgment. The introduction of the ghost of Almanzor's mother
+seems to have been intended to shew how the hero could support even an
+interview with an inhabitant of the other world. At least, the
+professed purpose of her coming might have been safely trusted to the
+virtue of Almahide, and her power over her lover. It afforded an
+opportunity, however, to throw in some fine poetry, of which Dryden
+has not failed to avail himself. Were it not a peculiar attribute of
+the heroic drama, it might be mentioned as a defect, that during the
+siege of the last possession of the Spanish Moors, by an enemy hated
+for his religion, and for his success, the principle of patriotism is
+hardly once alluded to through the whole piece. The fate, or the
+wishes, of Almahide, Lyndaraxa, and Benzayda, are all that interest
+the Moorish warriors around them, as if the Christian was not
+thundering at their gates, to exterminate at once their nation and
+religion. Indeed, so essentially necessary are the encouragements of
+beauty to military achievement, that we find queen Isabella ordering
+to the field of battle a _corps de reserve_ of her maids of honour to
+animate the fighting warriors with their smiles, and counteract the
+powerful charms of the Moorish damsels. Nor is it an inferior fault,
+that, although the characters are called Moors, there is scarce any
+expression, or allusion, which can fix the reader's attention upon
+their locality, except an occasional interjection to Alha, or Mahomet.
+
+If, however, the reader can abstract his mind from the qualities now
+deemed essential to a play, and consider the Conquest of Granada as a
+piece of romantic poetry, there are few compositions in the English
+language, which convey a more lively and favourable display of the
+magnificence of fable, of language, and of action, proper to that
+style of composition. Amid the splendid ornaments of the structure we
+lose sight of occasional disproportion and incongruity; and, at an
+early age particularly, there are few poems which make a more deep
+impression upon the imagination, than the Conquest of Granada.
+
+The two parts of this drama were brought out in the same season,
+probably in winter, 1669, or spring, 1670. They were received with
+such applause, that Langbaine conceives their success to have been the
+occasion of Dryden's undervaluing his predecessors in dramatic
+writing. The Conquest of Granada was not printed till 1672.
+
+
+Footnote:
+1. There is something ludicrous in the idea of a beauty, or a
+   gallant, of that gay and licentious court poring over a work of
+   five or six folio volumes by way of amusement; but such was the
+   taste of the age, that Fynes Morison, in his precepts to
+   travellers, can "think no book better for his pupils' discourse
+   than Amadis of Gaule; for the knights errant and the ladies of
+   court do therein exchange courtly speeches."
+
+
+
+
+                                  TO
+
+                          HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS
+
+                                 THE
+
+                               DUKE[1].
+
+
+SIR,
+
+Heroic poesy has always been sacred to princes, and to heroes. Thus
+Virgil inscribed his AEneids to Augustus Caesar; and of latter ages,
+Tasso and Ariosto dedicated their poems to the house of Este. It is
+indeed but justice, that the most excellent and most profitable kind
+of writing should be addressed by poets to such persons, whose
+characters have, for the most part, been the guides and patterns of
+their imitation; and poets, while they imitate, instruct. The feigned
+hero inflames the true; and the dead virtue animates the living.
+Since, therefore, the world is governed by precept and example, and
+both these can only have influence from those persons who are above
+us; that kind of poesy, which excites to virtue the greatest men, is
+of the greatest use to human kind.
+
+It is from this consideration, that I have presumed to dedicate to
+your royal highness these faint representations of your own worth and
+valour in heroick poetry: Or, to speak more properly, not to dedicate,
+but to restore to you those ideas, which in the more perfect part of
+my characters I have taken from you. Heroes may lawfully be delighted
+with their own praises, both as they are farther incitements to their
+virtue, and as they are the highest returns which mankind can make
+them for it.
+
+And certainly, if ever nation were obliged, either by the conduct, the
+personal[2] valour, or the good fortune of a leader, the English are
+acknowledging, in all of them, to your royal highness. Your whole life
+has been a continued series of heroick actions; which you began so
+early, that you were no sooner named in the world, but it was with
+praise and admiration. Even the first blossoms of your youth paid us
+all that could be expected from a ripening manhood. While you
+practised but the rudiments of war, you out-went all other captains;
+and have since found none to surpass, but yourself alone. The opening
+of your glory was like that of light: You shone to us from afar; and
+disclosed your first beams on distant nations: Yet so, that the lustre
+of them was spread abroad, and reflected brightly on your native
+country. You were then an honour to it, when it was a reproach to
+itself. When the fortunate usurper sent his arms to Flanders, many of
+the adverse party were vanquished by your fame, ere they tried your
+valour.[3] The report of it drew over to your ensigns whole troops and
+companies of converted rebels, and made them forsake successful
+wickedness, to follow an oppressed and exiled virtue. Your reputation
+waged war with the enemies of your royal family, even within their
+trenches; and the more obstinate, or more guilty of them, were forced
+to be spies over those whom they commanded, lest the name of York
+should disband that army, in whose fate it was to defeat the
+Spaniards, and force Dunkirk to surrender. Yet, those victorious
+forces of the rebels were not able to sustain your arms. Where you
+charged in person you were a conqueror. It is true, they afterwards
+recovered courage; and wrested that victory from others which they had
+lost to you; and it was a greater action for them to rally, than it
+was to overcome. Thus, by the presence of your royal highness, the
+English on both sides remained victorious and that army, which was
+broken by your valour, became a terror to those for whom they
+conquered. Then it was, that at the cost of other nations you informed
+and cultivated that valour, which was to defend your native country,
+and to vindicate its honour from the insolence of our encroaching
+neighbours. When the Hollanders, not contented to withdraw themselves
+from the obedience which they owed their lawful sovereign, affronted
+those by whose charity they were first protected; and, being swelled
+up to a pre-eminence of trade, by a supine negligence on our side, and
+a sordid parsimony on their own, dared to dispute the sovereignty of
+the seas, the eyes of three nations were then cast upon you; and by
+the joint suffrage of king and people, you were chosen to revenge
+their common injuries; to which, though you had an undoubted title by
+your birth, you had a greater by your courage. Neither did the success
+deceive our hopes and expectations: The most glorious victory which
+was gained by our navy in that war, was in the first engagement;
+wherein, even by the confession of our enemies, who ever palliate
+their own losses, and diminish our advantages, your absolute triumph
+was acknowledged: You conquered at the Hague, as entirely as at
+London; and the return of a shattered fleet, without an admiral, left
+not the most impudent among them the least pretence for a false
+bonfire, or a dissembled day of public thanksgiving. All our
+achievements against them afterwards, though we sometimes conquered,
+and were never overcome, were but a copy of that victory, and they
+still fell short of their original: somewhat of fortune was ever
+wanting, to fill up the title of so absolute a defeat; or perhaps the
+guardian angel of our nation was not enough concerned when you were
+absent, and would not employ his utmost vigour for a less important
+stake, than the life and honour of a royal admiral.
+
+And if, since that memorable day,[4] you have had leisure to enjoy in
+peace the fruits of so glorious a reputation; it was occasion only has
+been wanting to your courage, for that can never be wanting to
+occasion. The same ardour still incites you to heroick actions, and
+the same concernment for all the interests of your king and brother
+continues to give you restless nights, and a generous emulation for
+your own glory. You are still meditating on new labours for yourself,
+and new triumphs for the nation; and when our former enemies again
+provoke us, you will again solicit fate to provide you another navy to
+overcome, and another admiral to be slain. You will then lead forth a
+nation eager to revenge their past injuries; and, like the Romans,
+inexorable to peace, till they have fully vanquished. Let our enemies
+make their boast of a surprise,[5] as the Samnities did of a
+successful stratagem; but the _Furcae Caudinae_ will never be forgiven
+till they are revenged. I have always observed in your royal highness
+an extreme concernment for the honour of your country; it is a passion
+common to you with a brother, the most excellent of kings; and in your
+two persons are eminent the characters which Homer has given us of
+heroick virtue; the commanding part in Agamemnon, and the executive in
+Achilles. And I doubt not from both your actions, but to have abundant
+matter to fill the annals of a glorious reign, and to perform the part
+of a just historian to my royal master, without intermixing with it
+any thing of the poet.
+
+In the mean time, while your royal highness is preparing fresh
+employments for our pens, I have been examining my own forces, and
+making trial of myself, how I shall be able to transmit you to
+posterity. I have formed a hero, I confess, not absolutely perfect,
+but of an excessive and over-boiling courage; but Homer and Tasso are
+my precedents. Both the Greek and the Italian poet had well
+considered, that a tame hero, who never transgresses the bounds of
+moral virtue, would shine but dimly in an epic poem; the strictness of
+those rules might well give precepts to the reader, but would
+administer little of occasion to the writer. But a character of an
+eccentrick virtue is the more exact image of human life, because he is
+not wholly exempted from its frailties; such a person is Almanzor,
+whom I present, with all humility, to the patronage of your royal
+highness. I designed in him a roughness of character, impatient of
+injuries, and a confidence of himself, almost approaching to an
+arrogance. But these errors are incident only to great spirits; they
+are moles and dimples, which hinder not a face from being beautiful,
+though that beauty be not regular; they are of the number of those
+amiable imperfections which we see in mistresses, and which we pass
+over without a strict examination, when they are accompanied with
+greater graces. And such in Almanzor are a frank and noble openness of
+nature, an easiness to forgive his conquered enemies, and to protect
+them in distress; and, above all, an inviolable faith in his
+affection.
+
+This, sir, I have briefly shadowed to your royal highness, that you
+may not be ashamed of that hero, whose protection you undertake.
+Neither would I dedicate him to so illustrious a name, if I were
+conscious to myself that he did or said any thing which was wholly
+unworthy of it. However, since it is not just that your royal highness
+should defend or own what possibly may be my error, I bring before you
+this accused Almanzor in the nature of a suspected criminal. By the
+suffrage of the most and best he already is acquitted; and by the
+sentence of some, condemned. But as I have no reason to stand to the
+award of my enemies, so neither dare I trust the partiality of my
+friends: I make my last appeal to your royal highness, as to a
+sovereign tribunal. Heroes should only be judged by heroes; because
+they only are capable of measuring great and heroick actions by the
+rule and standard of their own. If Almanzor has failed in any point of
+honour, I must therein acknowledge that he deviates from your royal
+highness, who are the pattern of it. But if at any time he fulfils the
+parts of personal valour, and of conduct, of a soldier, and of a
+general; or, if I could yet give him a character more advantageous
+than what he has, of the most unshaken friend, the greatest of
+subjects, and the best of masters, I should then draw to all the world
+a true resemblance of your worth and virtues; at least, as far as they
+are capable of being copied by the mean abilities of,
+
+  SIR,
+
+    Your royal highness's
+      Most humble, and
+        Most obedient servant,
+          JOHN DRYDEN.
+
+
+Footnotes:
+1. James Duke of York, afterwards James II.
+
+2. Although the valour of the unfortunate James II. seems to have sunk
+   with his good fortune, there is no reason to question his having
+   merited the compliment in the text. The Duke of Buckingham, in his
+   memoirs, has borne witness to the intrepidity with which he
+   encountered the dangers of his desperate naval actions with the
+   Dutch. Captain Carlton, who was also an eye-witness of his
+   deportment on that occasion, says, that while the balls were flying
+   thickly around, the Duke of York was wont to rub his hands, and
+   exclaim chearfully to his captain, "Spragge, Spragge, they follow
+   us fast."
+
+3. When General Lockhart commanded the troops of the Protector in
+   Flanders, the Duke of York was a volunteer in the Spanish army, and
+   was present at the defeat, which the latter received before
+   Dunkirk, 17th of June, 1658.
+
+4. The defeat of the Dutch off Harwich, 3d June, 1665, in which their
+   Admiral, Obdam, was blown up, eighteen of their ships taken, and
+   fourteen destroyed.
+
+5. The author seems to refer to the burning of the English ships at
+   Chatham, by the Dutch Admiral De Ruyter.
+
+
+
+
+                                  OF
+
+                            HEROIC PLAYS.
+
+                              AN ESSAY.
+
+
+Whether heroic verse ought to be admitted into serious plays, is not
+now to be disputed: it is already in possession of the stage, and I
+dare confidently affirm, that very few tragedies, in this age, shall
+be received without it. All the arguments which are formed against it,
+can amount to no more than this, that it is not so near conversation
+as prose, and therefore not so natural. But it is very clear to all
+who understand poetry, that serious plays ought not to imitate
+conversation too nearly. If nothing were to be raised above that
+level, the foundation of poetry would be destroyed. And if you once
+admit of a latitude, that thoughts may be exalted, and that images and
+actions may be raised above the life, and described in measure without
+rhyme, that leads you insensibly from your own principles to mine: you
+are already so far onward of your way, that you have forsaken the
+imitation of ordinary converse. You are gone beyond it; and to
+continue where you are, is to lodge in the open fields, betwixt two
+inns. You have lost that which you call natural, and have not acquired
+the last perfection of art. But it was only custom which cozened us so
+long; we thought, because Shakespeare and Fletcher went no farther,
+that there the pillars of poetry were to be erected; that, because
+they excellently described passion without rhime, therefore rhime was
+not capable of describing it. But time has now convinced most men of
+that error. It is indeed so difficult to write verse, that the
+adversaries of it have a good plea against many, who undertook that
+task, without being formed by art or nature for it. Yet, even they who
+have written worst in it, would have written worse without it: They
+have cozened many with their sound, who never took the pains to
+examine their sense. In fine, they have succeeded; though, it is true,
+they have more dishonoured rhime by their good success, than they have
+done by their ill. But I am willing to let fall this argument: It is
+free for every man to write, or not to write, in verse, as he judges
+it to be, or not to be, his talent; or as he imagines the audience
+will receive it.
+
+For heroic plays, in which only I have used it without the mixture of
+prose, the first light we had of them, on the English theatre, was
+from the late Sir William D'Avenant. It being forbidden him in the
+rebellious times to act tragedies and comedies, because they contained
+some matter of scandal to those good people, who could more easily
+dispossess their lawful sovereign, than endure a wanton jest, he was
+forced to turn his thoughts another way, and to introduce the examples
+of moral virtue, writ in verse, and performed in recitative music. The
+original of this music, and of the scenes which adorned his work, he
+had from the Italian operas; but he heightened his characters, as I
+may probably imagine, from the example of Corneille and some French
+poets. In this condition did this part of poetry remain at his
+majesty's return; when, growing bolder, as being now owned by a public
+authority, he reviewed his "Siege of Rhodes," and caused it be acted
+as a just drama. But as few men have the happiness to begin and finish
+any new project, so neither did he live to make his design perfect:
+There wanted the fulness of a plot, and the variety of characters to
+form it as it ought; and, perhaps, something might have been added to
+the beauty of the style. All which he would have performed with more
+exactness, had he pleased to have given us another work of the same
+nature. For myself and others, who come after him, we are bound, with
+all veneration to his memory, to acknowledge what advantage we
+received from that excellent groundwork which he laid: And, since it
+is an easy thing to add to what already is invented, we ought all of
+us, without envy to him, or partiality to ourselves, to yield him the
+precedence in it.
+
+Having done him this justice, as my guide, I may do myself so much, as
+to give an account of what I have performed after him. I observed
+then, as I said, what was wanting to the perfection of his "Siege of
+Rhodes;" which was design, and variety of characters. And in the midst
+of this consideration by mere accident, I opened the next book that
+lay by me, which was "Ariosto," in Italian; and the very first two
+lines of that poem gave me light to all I could desire;
+
+  _Le donne, i cavalier, l'arme, gli amori,
+  Le cortesie, l'audaci imprese io canto,_ &c.
+
+For the very next reflection which I made was this, that an heroic
+play ought to be an imitation, in little, of an heroic poem; and,
+consequently, that love and valour ought to be the subject of it. Both
+these Sir William D'Avenant had begun to shadow; but it was so, as
+first discoverers draw their maps, with headlands, and promontories,
+and some few outlines of somewhat taken at a distance, and which the
+designer saw not clearly. The common drama obliged him to a plot well
+formed and pleasant, or, as the ancients call it, one entire and great
+action. But this he afforded not himself in a story, which he neither
+filled with persons, nor beautified with characters, nor varied with
+accidents. The laws of an heroic poem did not dispense with those of
+the other, but raised them to a greater height, and indulged him a
+farther liberty of fancy, and of drawing all things as far above the
+ordinary proportion of the stage, as that is beyond the common words
+and actions of human life; and, therefore, in the scanting of his
+images and design, he complied not enough with the greatness and
+majesty of an heroic poem.
+
+I am sorry I cannot discover my opinion of this kind of writing,
+without dissenting much from his, whose memory I love and honour. But
+I will do it with the same respect to him, as if he were now alive,
+and overlooking my paper while I write. His judgment of an heroic poem
+was this: "That it ought to be dressed in a more familiar and easy
+shape; more fitted to the common actions and passions of human life;
+and, in short, more like a glass of nature, shewing us ourselves in
+our ordinary habits and figuring a more practicable virtue to us, than
+was done by the ancients or moderns." Thus he takes the image of an
+heroic poem from the drama, or stage poetry; and accordingly intended
+to divide it into five books, representing the same number of acts;
+and every book into several cantos, imitating the scenes which compose
+our acts.
+
+But this, I think, is rather a play in narration, as I may call it,
+than an heroic poem. If at least you will not prefer the opinion of a
+single man to the practice of the most excellent authors, both of
+ancient and latter ages. I am no admirer of quotations; but you shall
+hear, if you please, one of the ancients delivering his judgment on
+this question; it is Petronius Arbiter, the most elegant, and one of
+the most judicious authors of the Latin tongue; who, after he had
+given many admirable rules for the structure and beauties of an epic
+poem, concludes all in these following words:--
+
+_"Non enim res gestae versibus comprehendendae sunt, quod longe melius
+historici faciunt: sed, per ambages deorumque ministeria,
+praecipitanaus est liber spiritus, ut potius furentis animi vaticinatio
+appareat, quam religiosae orationis, sub testibus, fides."_
+
+In which sentence, and his own essay of a poem, which immediately he
+gives you, it is thought he taxes Lucan, who followed too much the
+truth of history, crowded sentences together, was too full of points,
+and too often offered at somewhat which had more of the sting of an
+epigram, than of the dignity and state of an heroic poem. Lucan used
+not much the help of his heathen deities: There was neither the
+ministry of the gods, nor the precipitation of the soul, nor the fury
+of a prophet (of which my author speaks), in his _Pharsalia_; he
+treats you more like a philosopher than a poet, and instructs you in
+verse, with what he had been taught by his uncle Seneca in prose. In
+one word, he walks soberly afoot, when he might fly. Yet Lucan is not
+always this religious historian. The oracle of Appius and the
+witchcraft of Erictho, will somewhat atone for him, who was, indeed,
+bound up by an ill-chosen and known argument, to follow truth with
+great exactness. For my part, I am of opinion, that neither Homer,
+Virgil, Statius, Ariosto, Tasso, nor our English Spencer, could have
+formed their poems half so beautiful, without those gods and spirits,
+and those enthusiastic parts of poetry, which compose the most noble
+parts of all their writings. And I will ask any man who loves heroic
+poetry (for I will not dispute their tastes who do not), if the ghost
+of Polydorus in Virgil, the Enchanted Wood in Tasso, and the Bower of
+Bliss in Spencer (which he borrows from that admirable Italian) could
+have been omitted, without taking from their works some of the
+greatest beauties in them. And if any man object the improbabilities
+of a spirit appearing, or of a palace raised by magic; I boldly answer
+him, that an heroic poet is not tied to a bare representation of what
+is true, or exceeding probable; but that he may let himself loose to
+visionary objects and to the representation of such things, as,
+depending not on sense, and therefore not to be comprehended by
+knowledge, may give him a freer scope for imagination. It is enough
+that, in all ages and religions, the greatest part of mankind have
+believed the power of magic, and that there are spirits or spectres
+which have appeared. This, I say, is foundation enough for poetry; and
+I dare farther affirm, that the whole doctrine of separated beings,
+whether those spirits are incorporeal substances, (which Mr Hobbes,
+with some reason, thinks to imply a contradiction) or that they are a
+thinner and more aerial sort of bodies, (as some of the fathers have
+conjectured) may better be explicated by poets than by philosophers or
+divines. For their speculations on this subject are wholly poetical;
+they have only their fancy for their guide; and that, being sharper in
+an excellent poet, than it is likely it should in a phlegmatic, heavy
+gownman, will see farther in its own empire, and produce more
+satisfactory notions on those dark and doubtful problems.
+
+Some men think they have raised a great argument against the use of
+spectres and magic in heroic poetry, by saying they are unnatural; but
+whether they or I believe there are such things, is not material; it
+is enough that, for aught we know, they may be in nature; and whatever
+is, or may be, is not properly unnatural. Neither am I much concerned
+at Mr Cowley's verses before "Gondibert," though his authority is
+almost sacred to me: It is true, he has resembled the old epic poetry
+to a fantastic fairy-land; but he has contradicted himself by his own
+example: For he has himself made use of angels and visions in his
+"Davideis," as well as Tasso in his "Godfrey."
+
+What I have written on this subject will not be thought a digression
+by the reader, if he please to remember what I said in the beginning
+of this essay, that I have modelled my heroic plays by the rules of an
+heroic poem. And if that be the most noble, the most pleasant, and the
+most instructive way of writing in verse, and withal the highest
+pattern of human life, as all poets have agreed, I shall need no other
+argument to justify my choice in this imitation. One advantage the
+drama has above the other, namely, that it represents to view what the
+poem only does relate; and, _Segnius irritant animum demissa per
+aures, quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus_, as Horace tells us.
+
+To those who object my frequent use of drums and trumpets, and my
+representations of battles, I answer, I introduced them not on the
+English stage: Shakespeare used them frequently; and though Jonson
+shews no battle in his "Catiline," yet you hear from behind the scenes
+the sounding of trumpets, and the shouts of fighting armies. But, I
+add farther, that these warlike instruments, and even their
+presentations of fighting on the stage, are no more than necessary to
+produce the effects of an heroic play; that is, to raise the
+imagination of the audience and to persuade them, for the time, that
+what they behold on the theatre is really performed. The poet is then
+to endeavour an absolute dominion over the minds of the spectators;
+for, though our fancy will contribute to its own deceit, yet a writer
+ought to help its operation: And that the Red Bull has formerly done
+the same, is no more an argument against our practice, than it would
+be for a physician to forbear an approved medicine, because a
+mountebank has used it with success.
+
+Thus I have given a short account of heroic plays. I might now, with
+the usual eagerness of an author, make a particular defence of this.
+But the common opinion (how unjust soever) has been so much to my
+advantage, that I have reason to be satisfied, and to suffer with
+patience all that can be urged against it.
+
+For, otherwise, what can be more easy for me, than to defend the
+character of Almanzor, which is one great exception that is made
+against the play? 'Tis said, that Almanzor is no perfect pattern of
+heroic virtue, that he is a contemner of kings, and that he is made to
+perform impossibilities.
+
+I must therefore avow, in the first place, from whence I took the
+character. The first image I had of him, was from the Achilles of
+Homer; the next from Tasso's Rinaldo, (who was a copy of the former)
+and the third from the Artaban of Monsieur Calpranede, who has
+imitated both. The original of these, Achilles, is taken by Homer for
+his hero; and is described by him as one, who in strength and courage
+surpassed the rest of the Grecian army; but, withal, of so fiery a
+temper, so impatient of an injury, even from his king and general,
+that when his mistress was to be forced from him by the command of
+Agamemnon, he not only disobeyed it, but returned him an answer full
+of contumely, and in the most opprobrious terms he could imagine; they
+are Homer's words which follow, and I have cited but some few amongst
+a multitude.
+
+  [Greek: Oinobares, kynos ommat' echon, kradien d' elaphoio.]
+                                   --Il. a. v. 225.
+
+  [Greek: Demoboros basileus,] &c. --Il. a. v. 231.
+
+Nay, he proceeded so far in his insolence, as to draw out his sword,
+with intention to kill him;
+
+  [Greek: Elketo d' ek koleoio mega xiphos.]
+                                   --Il. a. v. 194.
+
+and, if Minerva had not appeared, and held his hand, he had executed
+his design; and it was all she could do to dissuade him from it. The
+event was, that he left the army, and would fight no more. Agamemnon
+gives his character thus to Nestor;
+
+  [Greek: All' hod' aner ethelei peri panton emmenai allon,
+  Panton men krateein ethelei, pantessi d' anassein.]
+                                   --Il. a. v. 287, 288
+
+and Horace gives the same description of him in his Art of Poetry.
+
+  _--Honoratum si forte reponis Achillem,
+  Inpiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer,
+  Jura neget sibi nata, nihil non arroget armis._
+
+Tasso's chief character, Rinaldo, was a man of the same temper; for,
+when he had slain Gernando in his heat of passion, he not only refused
+to be judged by Godfrey, his general, but threatened that if he came
+to seize him, he would right himself by arms upon him; witness these
+following lines of Tasso:
+
+  _Venga egli, o mundi, io terro fermo il piede:
+  Giudici fian tra noi la sorte, e l'arme;
+  Fera tragedia vuol che s'appresenti,
+  Per lor diporto, alle nemiche genti._
+
+You see how little these great authors did esteem the point of honour,
+so much magnified by the French, and so ridiculously aped by us. They
+made their heroes men of honour; but so, as not to divest them quite
+of human passions and frailties: they content themselves to shew you,
+what men of great spirits would certainly do when they were provoked,
+not what they were obliged to do by the strict rules of moral virtue.
+For my own part, I declare myself for Homer and Tasso, and am more in
+love with Achilles and Rinaldo, than with Cyrus and Oroondates. I
+shall never subject my characters to the French standard, where love
+and honour are to be weighed by drams and scruples: Yet, where I have
+designed the patterns of exact virtues, such as in this play are the
+parts of Almahide, of Ozmyn, and Benzayda, I may safely challenge the
+best of theirs.
+
+But Almanzor is taxed with changing sides: and what tie has he on him
+to the contrary? He is not born their subject whom he serves, and he
+is injured by them to a very high degree. He threatens them, and
+speaks insolently of sovereign power; but so do Achilles and Rinaldo,
+who were subjects and soldiers to Agamemnon and Godfrey of Bulloigne.
+He talks extravagantly in his passion; but, if I would take the pains
+to quote an hundred passages of Ben Jonson's Cethegus, I could easily
+shew you, that the rhodomontades of Almanzor are neither so irrational
+as his, nor so impossible to be put in execution; for Cethegus
+threatens to destroy nature, and to raise a new one out of it; to kill
+all the senate for his part of the action; to look Cato dead; and a
+thousand other things as extravagant he says, but performs not one
+action in the play.
+
+But none of the former calumnies will stick; and, therefore, it is at
+last charged upon me, that Almanzor does all things; or if you will
+have an absurd accusation, in their nonsense who make it, that he
+performs impossibilities: they say, that being a stranger, he appeases
+two fighting factions, when the authority of their lawful sovereign
+could not. This is indeed the most improbable of all his actions, but
+it is far from being impossible. Their king had made himself
+contemptible to his people, as the history of Granada tells us; and
+Almanzor, though a stranger, yet was already known to them by his
+gallantry in the Juego de torros, his engagement on the weaker side,
+and more especially by the character of his person and brave actions,
+given by Abdalla just before; and, after all, the greatness of the
+enterprise consisted only in the daring, for he had the king's guards
+to second him: But we have read both of Caesar, and many other
+generals, who have not only calmed a mutiny with a word, but have
+presented themselves single before an army of their enemies; which
+upon sight of them has revolted from their own leaders, and come over
+to their trenches. In the rest of Almanzor's actions you see him for
+the most part victorious; but the same fortune has constantly attended
+many heroes, who were not imaginary. Yet, you see it no inheritance to
+him; for, in the first place, he is made a prisoner; and, in the last,
+defeated, and not able to preserve the city from being taken. If the
+history of the late Duke of Guise be true, he hazarded more, and
+performed not less in Naples, than Almanzor is feigned to have done in
+Granada.
+
+I have been too tedious in this apology; but to make some
+satisfaction, I will leave the rest of my play exposed to the
+criticks, without defence.
+
+The concernment of it is wholly passed from me, and ought to be in
+them who have been favourable to it, and are somewhat obliged to
+defend their opinions That there are errors in it, I deny not;
+
+  _Ast opere in tanto fas est obrepere somnum._
+
+But I have already swept the stakes: and, with the common good fortune
+of prosperous gamesters, can be content to sit quietly; to hear my
+fortune cursed by some, and my faults arraigned by others; and to
+suffer both without reply.
+
+
+
+
+                                  ON
+
+                          MR DRYDEN'S PLAY,
+
+                       THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.
+
+
+  The applause I gave among the foolish crowd
+  Was not distinguished, though I clapped aloud:
+  Or, if it had, my judgment had been hid:
+  I clapped for company, as others did.
+  Thence may be told the fortune of your play;
+  Its goodness must be tried another way.
+  Let's judge it then, and, if we've any skill,
+  Commend what's good, though we commend it ill.
+  There will be praise enough; yet not so much,
+  As if the world had never any such:
+  Ben Johnson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Shakespeare, are,
+  As well as you, to have a poet's share.
+  You, who write after, have, besides, this curse,
+  You must write better, or you else write worse.
+  To equal only what was writ before,
+  Seems stolen, or borrowed from the former store.
+  Though blind as Homer all the ancients be,
+  'Tis on their shoulders, like the lame, we see.
+  Then not to flatter th' age, nor flatter you,
+  (Praises, though less, are greater when they're true,)
+  You're equal to the best, out-done by you;
+  Who had out-done themselves, had they lived now.
+
+                                   VAUGHAN[1].
+
+
+Footnote:
+1. John, Lord Vaughan, eldest surviving son of Richard, Earl of
+   Carbery.
+
+
+
+
+                               PROLOGUE
+
+                          TO THE FIRST PART,
+
+                              SPOKEN BY
+
+                           MRS ELLEN GWYN,
+
+              IN A BROAD-BRIMMED HAT, AND WAIST-BELT.[1]
+
+
+  This jest was first of the other house's making,
+  And, five times tried, has never failed of taking;
+  For 'twere a shame a poet should be killed
+  Under the shelter of so broad a shield.
+  This is that hat, whose very sight did win ye
+  To laugh and clap as though the devil were in ye.
+  As then, for Nokes, so now I hope you'll be
+  So dull, to laugh once more for love of me.
+  I'll write a play, says one, for I have got
+  A broad-brimmed hat, and waist-belt, towards a plot.
+  Says the other, I have one more large than that.
+  Thus they out-write each other--with a hat!
+  The brims still grew with every play they writ;
+  And grew so large, they covered all the wit.
+  Hat was the play; 'twas language, wit, and tale:
+  Like them that find meat, drink, and cloth in ale.
+  What dulness do these mongrel wits confess,
+  When all their hope is acting of a dress!
+  Thus, two the best comedians of the age
+  Must be worn out, with being blocks o' the stage;
+  Like a young girl, who better things has known,
+  Beneath their poet's impotence they groan.
+  See now what charity it was to save!
+  They thought you liked, what only you forgave;
+  And brought you more dull sense, dull sense much worse
+  Than brisk gay nonsense, and the heavier curse.
+  They bring old iron, and glass upon the stage,
+  To barter with the Indians of our age.
+  Still they write on, and like great authors show;     }
+  But 'tis as rollers in wet gardens grow               }
+  Heavy with dirt, and gathering as they go.            }
+  May none, who have so little understood,
+  To like such trash, presume to praise what's good!
+  And may those drudges of the stage, whose fate
+  Is damned dull farce more dully to translate,
+  Fall under that excise the state thinks fit
+  To set on all French wares, whose worst is wit.
+  French farce, worn out at home, is sent abroad;
+  And, patched up here, is made our English mode.
+  Henceforth, let poets, ere allowed to write,
+  Be searched, like duelists before they fight,
+  For wheel-broad hats, dull honour, all that chaff,
+  Which makes you mourn, and makes the vulgar laugh:
+  For these, in plays, are as unlawful arms,
+  As, in a combat, coats of mail, and charms.
+
+
+Footnote:
+1. There is a vague tradition, that, in this grotesque dress, (for the
+   brims of the hat were as broad as a cart-wheel,) Nell Gwyn had the
+   good fortune first to attract the attention of her royal lover.
+   Where the jest lay, is difficult to discover: it seems to have
+   originated with the duke of York's players.
+
+
+
+
+                           DRAMATIS PERSONAE
+
+
+  MAHOMET BOABDELIN, _the last king of Granada._
+  _Prince_ ABDALLA, _his brother._
+  ABDELMELECH, _chief of the Abencerrages._
+  ZULEMA, _chief of the Zegrys._
+  ABENAMAR, _an old Abencerrago._
+  SELIN, _an old Zegry._
+  OZMYN, _a brave young Abencerrago, son to Abenamar._
+  HAMET, _brother to Zulema, a Zegry._
+  GOMEL, _a Zegry._
+  ALMANZOR.
+  FERDINAND, _king of Spain._
+  _Duke of_ ARCOS, _his General._
+  _Don_ ALONZO D'AGUILAR, _a Spanish Captain._
+
+  ALMAHIDE, _Queen of Granada._
+  LYNDARAXA, _Sister of_ ZULEMA, _a Zegry Lady._
+  BENZAYDA, _Daughter to_ SELIN.
+  ESPERANZA, _Slave to the Queen._
+  HALYMA, _Slave to_ LYNDARAXA.
+  ISABELLA, _Queen of Spain._
+
+  _Messengers, Guards, Attendants, Men, and Women._
+
+SCENE.--_Granada, and the Christian Camp besieging it._
+
+
+
+
+                        ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE,
+
+                               OR, THE
+
+                         CONQUEST OF GRANADA.
+
+                           THE FIRST PART.
+
+
+ACT I. SCENE I.
+
+  _Enter_ BOABDELIN, ABENAMAR, ABDELMELECH, _and Guards._
+
+_Boab._ Thus, in the triumphs of soft peace, I reign;
+And, from my walls, defy the powers of Spain;
+With pomp and sports my love I celebrate,
+While they keep distance, and attend my state.--
+Parent to her, whose eyes my soul enthral,                 [_To_ ABEN.
+Whom I, in hope, already father call,
+Abenamar, thy youth these sports has known,
+Of which thy age is now spectator grown;
+Judge-like thou sit'st, to praise, or to arraign
+The flying skirmish of the darted cane:
+But, when fierce bulls run loose upon the place,
+And our bold Moors their loves with danger grace,
+Then heat new-bends thy slacken'd nerves again,
+And a short youth runs warm through every vein.
+
+_Aben._ I must confess the encounters of this day
+Warmed me indeed, but quite another way,--
+Not with the fire of youth; but generous rage,
+To see the glories of my youthful age
+So far out-done.
+
+_Abdelm._ Castile could never boast, in all its pride;
+A pomp so splendid, when the lists, set wide,
+Gave room to the fierce bulls, which wildly ran
+In Sierra Ronda, ere the war began;
+Who, with high nostrils snuffing up the wind,
+Now stood the champion of the savage kind.
+Just opposite, within the circled place,
+Ten of our bold Abencerrages race
+(Each brandishing his bull-spear in his hand,)
+Did their proud jennets gracefully command.
+On their steel'd heads their demi-lances wore
+Small pennons, which their ladies' colours bore.
+Before this troop did warlike Ozmyn go;
+Each lady, as he rode, saluting low;
+At the chief stands, with reverence more profound,
+His well-taught courser, kneeling, touched the ground;
+Thence raised, he sidelong bore his rider on,
+Still facing, till he out of sight was gone.
+
+_Boab._ You praise him like a friend; and I confess,
+His brave deportment merited no less.
+
+_Abdelm._ Nine bulls were launched by his victorious arm,
+Whose wary jennet, shunning still the harm,
+Seemed to attend the shock, and then leaped wide:
+Mean while, his dext'rous rider, when he spied
+The beast just stooping, 'twixt the neck and head
+His lance, with never-erring fury, sped.
+
+_Aben._ My son did well, and so did Hamet too;
+Yet did no more than we were wont to do;
+But what the stranger did was more than man.
+
+_Abdelm._ He finished all those triumphs we began.
+One bull, with curled black head, beyond the rest,
+And dew-laps hanging from his brawny chest,
+With nodding front a while did daring stand,
+And with his jetty hoof spurned back the sand;
+Then, leaping forth, he bellowed out aloud:
+The amazed assistants back each other crowd,
+While monarch-like he ranged the listed field;
+Some tossed, some gored, some trampling down he killed.
+The ignobler Moors from far his rage provoke
+With woods of darts, which from his sides he shook.
+Mean time your valiant son, who had before
+Gained fame, rode round to every Mirador;
+Beneath each lady's stand a stop he made,
+And, bowing, took the applauses which they paid.
+Just in that point of time, the brave unknown
+Approached the lists.
+
+_Boab._ I marked him, when alone
+(Observed by all, himself observing none)
+He entered first, and with a graceful pride
+His fiery Arab dextrously did guide,
+Who, while his rider every stand surveyed,
+Sprung loose, and flew into an escapade;
+Not moving forward, yet, with every bound,
+Pressing, and seeming still to quit his ground.
+What after passed
+Was far from the Ventanna where I sate,
+But you were near, and can the truth relate.             [_To_ ABDELM.
+
+_Abdelm._ Thus while he stood, the bull, who saw his foe,
+His easier conquests proudly did forego;
+And, making at him with a furious bound,
+From his bent forehead aimed a double wound.
+A rising murmur ran through all the field,
+And every lady's blood with fear was chilled:
+Some shrieked, while others, with more helpful care,
+Cried out aloud,--Beware, brave youth, beware!
+At this he turned, and, as the bull drew near,
+Shunned, and received him on his pointed spear:
+The lance broke short, the beast then bellowed loud,
+And his strong neck to a new onset bowed.
+The undaunted youth
+Then drew; and, from his saddle bending low,
+Just where the neck did to the shoulders grow,
+With his full force discharged a deadly blow.
+Not heads of poppies (when they reap the grain)
+Fall with more ease before the labouring swain,
+Than fell this head:
+It fell so quick, it did even death prevent,
+And made imperfect bellowings as it went.
+Then all the trumpets victory did sound,
+And yet their clangors in our shouts were drown'd.
+                                            [_A confused noise within.
+
+Boab._ The alarm-bell rings from our Alhambra walls,
+And from the streets sound drums and ataballes.
+                               [_Within, a bell, drums, and trumpets._
+
+  _Enter a Messenger._
+
+How now? from whence proceed these new alarms?
+
+_Mess._ The two fierce factions are again in arms;
+And, changing into blood the day's delight,
+The Zegrys with the Abencerrages fight;
+On each side their allies and friends appear;
+The Macas here, the Alabezes there:
+The Gazuls with the Bencerrages join,
+And, with the Zegrys, all great Gomel's line.
+
+_Boab._ Draw up behind the Vivarambla place;
+Double my guards,--these factions I will face;
+And try if all the fury they can bring,
+Be proof against the presence of their king.             [_Exit_ BOAB.
+
+  _The Factions appear: At the head of the Abencerrages,_ OZMYN; _at
+  the head of the Zegrys,_ ZULEMA, HAMET, GOMEL, _and_ SELIN: ABENAMAR
+  _and_ ABDELMELECH, _joined with the Abencerrages._
+
+_Zul._ The faint Abencerrages quit their ground:
+Press them; put home your thrusts to every wound.
+
+_Abdelm._ Zegry, on manly force our line relies;
+Thine poorly takes the advantage of surprise:
+Unarmed and much out-numbered we retreat;
+You gain no fame, when basely you defeat.
+If thou art brave, seek nobler victory;
+Save Moorish blood; and, while our bands stand by,
+Let two and two an equal combat try.
+
+_Ham._ 'Tis not for fear the combat we refuse,
+But we our gained advantage will not lose.
+
+_Zul._ In combating, but two of you will fall;
+And we resolve we will dispatch you all.
+
+_Ozm._ We'll double yet the exchange before we die,
+And each of ours two lives of yours shall buy.
+
+  ALMANZOR _enters betwixt them, as they stand ready to engage._
+
+_Alm._ I cannot stay to ask which cause is best;
+But this is so to me, because opprest.            [_Goes to the Aben._
+
+  _To them_ BOABDELIN _and his guards, going betwixt them._
+
+_Boab._ On your allegiance, I command you stay;
+Who passes here, through me must make his way;
+My life's the Isthmus; through this narrow line
+You first must cut, before those seas can join.
+What fury, Zegrys, has possessed your minds?
+What rage the brave Abencerrages blinds?
+If of your courage you new proofs would show,
+Without much travel you may find a foe.
+Those foes are neither so remote nor few,
+That you should need each other to pursue.
+Lean times and foreign wars should minds unite;
+When poor, men mutter, but they seldom fight.
+O holy Alha! that I live to see
+Thy Granadines assist their enemy!
+You fight the christians' battles; every life
+You lavish thus, in this intestine strife,
+Does from our weak foundations take one prop,
+Which helped to hold our sinking country up.
+
+_Ozm._ 'Tis fit our private enmity should cease;
+Though injured first, yet I will first seek peace.
+
+_Zul._ No, murderer, no; I never will be won
+To peace with him, whose hand has slain my son.
+
+_Ozm._ Our prophet's curse
+On me, and all the Abencerrages light,
+If, unprovoked, I with your son did fight.
+
+_Abdelm._ A band of Zegrys ran within the place,
+Matched with a troop of thirty of our race.
+Your son and Ozmyn the first squadrons led,
+Which, ten by ten, like Parthians, charged and fled.
+The ground was strowed with canes where we did meet,
+Which crackled underneath our coursers' feet:
+When Tarifa (I saw him ride a part)
+Changed his blunt cane for a steel-pointed dart,
+And, meeting Ozmyn next,--
+Who wanted time for treason to provide,--
+He basely threw it at him, undefied.
+
+_Ozm._ [_Shewing his arms._]
+Witness this blood--which when by treason sought,
+That followed, sir, which to myself I ought.
+
+_Zul._ His hate to thee was grounded on a grudge,
+Which all our generous Zegrys just did judge:
+Thy villain-blood thou openly didst place
+Above the purple of our kingly race.
+
+_Boab._ From equal stems their blood both houses draw,
+They from Morocco, you from Cordova.
+
+_Ham._ Their mongrel race is mixed with Christian breed;
+Hence 'tis that they those dogs in prisons feed.
+
+_Abdelm._ Our holy prophet wills, that charity
+Should even to birds and beasts extended be:
+None knows what fate is for himself designed;
+The thought of human chance should make us kind.
+
+_Gom._ We waste that time we to revenge should give:
+Fall on: let no Abencerrago live.
+                   [_Advancing before the rest of his party._ ALMANZOR
+                    _advancing on the other side, and describing a
+                    line with his sword._
+
+_Almanz._ Upon thy life pass not this middle space;
+Sure death stands guarding the forbidden place.
+
+_Gom._ To dare that death, I will approach yet nigher;
+Thus,--wert thou compassed in with circling fire.       [_They fight._
+
+_Boab._ Disarm them both; if they resist you, kill.
+                        [ALMANZOR, _in the midst of the guards, kills_
+                         GOMEL, _and then is disarmed._
+
+_Almanz._ Now you have but the leavings of my will.
+
+_Boab._ Kill him! this insolent unknown shall fall,
+And be the victim to atone you all.
+
+_Ozm._ If he must die, not one of us will live:
+That life he gave for us, for him we give.
+
+_Boab._ It was a traitor's voice that spoke those words;
+So are you all, who do not sheath your swords.
+
+_Zul._ Outrage unpunished, when a prince is by,
+Forfeits to scorn the rights of majesty:
+No subject his protection can expect,
+Who what he owes himself does first neglect.
+
+_Aben._ This stranger, sir, is he,
+Who lately in the Vivarambla place
+Did, with so loud applause, your triumphs grace.
+
+_Boab._ The word which I have given, I'll not revoke;
+If he be brave, he's ready for the stroke.
+
+_Almanz._ No man has more contempt than I of breath,
+But whence hast thou the right to give me death?
+Obeyed as sovereign by thy subjects be,
+But know, that I alone am king of me.
+I am as free as nature first made man,
+Ere the base laws of servitude began,
+When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
+
+_Boab._ Since, then, no power above your own you know,
+Mankind should use you like a common foe;
+You should be hunted like a beast of prey:
+By your own law I take your life away.
+
+_Almanz._ My laws are made but only for my sake;
+No king against himself a law can make.
+If thou pretend'st to be a prince like me,
+Blame not an act, which should thy pattern be.
+I saw the oppressed, and thought it did belong
+To a king's office to redress the wrong:
+I brought that succour, which thou ought'st to bring,
+And so, in nature, am thy subjects' king.
+
+_Boab._ I do not want your counsel to direct
+Or aid to help me punish or protect.
+
+_Almanz._ Thou want'st them both, or better thou would'st know,
+Than to let factions in thy kingdom grow.
+Divided interests, while thou think'st to sway,
+Draw, like two brooks, thy middle stream away:
+For though they band and jar, yet both combine
+To make their greatness by the fall of thine.
+Thus, like a buckler, thou art held in sight,
+While they behind thee with each other fight.
+
+_Boab._ Away, and execute him instantly!             [_To his Guards._
+
+_Almanz._ Stand off; I have not leisure yet to die.
+
+  _To them, enter_ ABDALLA _hastily._
+
+_Abdal._ Hold, sir! for heaven's sake hold!
+Defer this noble stranger's punishment,
+Or your rash orders you will soon repent.
+
+_Boab._ Brother, you know not yet his insolence.
+
+_Abdal._ Upon yourself you punish his offence:
+If we treat gallant strangers in this sort,
+Mankind will shun the inhospitable court;
+And who, henceforth, to our defence will come,
+If death must be the brave Almanzor's doom?
+From Africa I drew him to your aid,
+And for his succour have his life betrayed.
+
+_Boab._ Is this the Almanzor whom at Fez you knew,
+When first their swords the Xeriff brothers drew?
+
+_Abdal._ This, sir, is he, who for the elder fought,
+And to the juster cause the conquest brought;
+Till the proud Santo, seated on the throne,
+Disdained the service he had done to own:
+Then to the vanquished part his fate he led;
+The vanquished triumphed, and the victor fled.
+Vast is his courage, boundless is his mind,
+Rough as a storm, and humorous as wind:
+Honour's the only idol of his eyes;
+The charms of beauty like a pest he flies;
+And, raised by valour from a birth unknown,
+Acknowledges no power above his own.  [BOABDELIN _coming to_ ALMANZOR.
+
+_Boab._ Impute your danger to our ignorance;
+The bravest men are subject most to chance:
+Granada much does to your kindness owe;
+But towns, expecting sieges, cannot show
+More honour, than to invite you to a foe.
+
+_Almanz._ I do not doubt but I have been to blame:
+But, to pursue the end for which I came,
+Unite your subjects first; then let us go,
+And pour their common rage upon the foe.
+
+_Boab._ [_to the Factions._]
+Lay down your arms, and let me beg you cease
+Your enmities.
+
+_Zul._ We will not hear of peace,
+Till we by force have first revenged our slain.
+
+_Abdelm._ The action we have done we will maintain.
+
+_Selin._ Then let the king depart, and we will try
+Our cause by arms.
+
+_Zul._ For us and victory.
+
+_Boab._ A king entreats you.
+
+_Almanz._ What subjects will precarious kings regard?
+A beggar speaks too softly to be heard:
+Lay down your arms! 'tis I command you now.
+Do it--or, by our prophet's soul I vow,
+My hands shall right your king on him I seize.
+Now let me see whose look but disobeys.
+
+_All._ Long live king Mahomet Boabdelin!
+
+_Almanz._ No more; but hushed as midnight silence go:
+He will not have your acclamations now.
+Hence, you unthinking crowd!--
+                          [_The Common People go off on both parties._
+Empire, thou poor and despicable thing,
+When such as these make or unmake a king!
+
+_Abdal._ How much of virtue lies in one great soul,  [_Embracing him._
+Whose single force can multitudes controul!       [_A trumpet within._
+
+  _Enter a Messenger._
+
+_Messen._ The Duke of Arcos, sir,
+Does with a trumpet from the foe appear.
+
+_Boab._ Attend him; he shall have his audience here.
+
+  _Enter the Duke of_ ARCOS.
+
+_D. Arcos._ The monarchs of Castile and Arragon
+Have sent me to you, to demand this town.
+To which their just and rightful claim is known.
+
+_Boab._ Tell Ferdinand, my right to it appears
+By long possession of eight hundred years:
+When first my ancestors from Afric sailed,
+In Rodrique's death your Gothic title failed.
+
+_D. Arcos._ The successors of Rodrique still remain,
+And ever since have held some part of Spain:
+Even in the midst of your victorious powers,
+The Asturias, and all Portugal, were ours.
+You have no right, except you force allow;
+And if yours then was just, so ours is now.
+
+_Boab._ 'Tis true from force the noblest title springs;
+I therefore hold from that, which first made kings.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Since then by force you prove your title true,
+Ours must be just, because we claim from you.
+When with your father you did jointly reign,
+Invading with your Moors the south of Spain,
+I, who that day the Christians did command,
+Then took, and brought you bound to Ferdinand.
+
+_Boab._ I'll hear no more; defer what you would say;
+In private we'll discourse some other day.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Sir, you shall hear, however you are loth,
+That, like a perjured prince, you broke your oath:
+To gain your freedom you a contract signed,
+By which your crown you to my king resigned,
+From thenceforth as his vassal holding it,
+And paying tribute such as he thought fit;
+Contracting, when your father came to die,
+To lay aside all marks of royalty,
+And at Purchena privately to live,
+Which, in exchange, king Ferdinand did give.
+
+_Boab._ The force used on me made that contract void.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Why have you then its benefits enjoyed?
+By it you had not only freedom then,
+But, since, had aid of money and of men;
+And, when Granada for your uncle held,
+You were by us restored, and he expelled.
+Since that, in peace we let you reap your grain,
+Recalled our troops, that used to beat your plain;
+And more--
+
+_Almanz._ Yes, yes, you did, with wonderous care,
+Against his rebels prosecute the war,
+While he secure in your protection slept;
+For him you took, but for yourself you kept.
+Thus, as some fawning usurer does feed,
+With present sums, the unwary spendthrift's need,
+You sold your kindness at a boundless rate,
+And then o'erpaid the debt from his estate;
+Which, mouldering piecemeal, in your hands did fall,
+Till now at last you come to swoop it all.
+
+_D. Arcos._ The wrong you do my king, I cannot bear;
+Whose kindness you would odiously compare.--
+The estate was his; which yet, since you deny,
+He's now content, in his own wrong, to buy.
+
+_Almanz._ And he shall buy it dear! What his he calls,
+We will not give one stone from out these walls.
+
+_Boab._ Take this for answer, then,--
+Whate'er your arms have conquered of my land,
+I will, for peace, resign to Ferdinand.--
+To harder terms my mind I cannot bring;
+But, as I still have lived, will die a king.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Since thus you have resolved, henceforth prepare
+For all the last extremities of war:
+My king his hope from heaven's assistance draws.
+
+_Almanz._ The Moors have heaven, and me, to assist their cause.
+                                                        [_Exit_ ARCOS.
+
+  _Enter_ ESPERANZA.
+
+_Esper._ Fair Almahide,
+(Who did with weeping eyes these discords see,
+And fears the omen may unlucky be,)
+Prepares a zambra to be danced this night.
+In hope soft pleasures may your minds unite.
+
+_Boab._ My mistress gently chides the fault I made:
+But tedious business has my love delayed,--
+Business which dares the joys of kings invade.
+
+_Almanz._ First let us sally out, and meet the foe.
+
+_Abdal._ Led on by you, we on to triumph go.
+
+_Boab._ Then with the day let war and tumult cease;
+The night be sacred to our love and peace:
+'Tis just some joys on weary kings should wait;
+'Tis all we gain by being slaves to state.                  [_Exeunt._
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+
+  _Enter_ ABDALLA, ABDELMELECH, OZMYN, ZULEMA, _and_ HAMET, _as
+  returning from the sally._
+
+_Abdal._ This happy day does to Granada bring
+A lasting peace, and triumphs to the king!--
+The two fierce factions will no longer jar,
+Since they have now been brothers in the war.
+Those who, apart, in emulation fought,
+The common danger to one body brought;
+And, to his cost, the proud Castilian finds
+Our Moorish courage in united minds.
+
+_Abdelm._ Since to each others aid our lives we owe,
+Lose we the name of faction, and of foe;
+Which I to Zulema can bear no more,
+Since Lyndaraxa's beauty I adore.
+
+_Zul._ I am obliged to Lyndaraxa's charms,
+Which gain the conquest I should lose by arms;
+And wish my sister may continue fair,
+That I may keep a good,
+Of whose possession I should else despair.
+
+_Ozm._ While we indulge our common happiness,
+He is forgot, by whom we all possess;
+The brave Almanzor, to whose arms we owe
+All that we did, and all that we shall do;
+Who, like a tempest, that out-rides the wind,
+Made a just battle ere the bodies joined.
+
+_Abdelm._ His victories we scarce could keep in view,
+Or polish them so fast as he rough-drew.
+
+_Abdal._ Fate, after him, below with pain did move,
+And victory could scarce keep pace above:
+Death did at length so many slain forget,
+And lost the tale, and took them by the great.
+
+  _Enter_ ALMANZOR, _with the Duke of_ ARCOS, _prisoner._
+
+_Hamet._ See, here he comes,
+And leads in triumph him, who did command
+The vanquished army of king Ferdinand.
+
+_Almanz._ [_To the Duke._]
+Thus far your master's arms a fortune find
+Below the swelled ambition of his mind;
+And Alha shuts a misbeliever's reign
+From out the best and goodliest part of Spain.
+Let Ferdinand Calabrian conquests make,
+And from the French contested Milan take;
+Let him new worlds discover to the old,
+And break up shining mountains, big with gold;
+Yet he shall find this small domestic foe,
+Still sharp and pointed, to his bosom grow.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Of small advantages too much you boast;
+You beat the out-guards of my master's host:
+This little loss, in our vast body, shows
+So small, that half have never heard the news.
+Fame's out of breath, ere she can fly so far,
+To tell them all, that you have e'er made war.
+
+_Almanz._ It pleases me your army is so great;
+For now I know there's more to conquer yet.
+By heaven! I'll see what troops you have behind:
+I'll face this storm, that thickens in the wind;
+And, with bent forehead, full against it go,
+'Till I have found the last and utmost foe.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Believe, you shall not long attend in vain:
+To-morrow's dawn shall cover all the plain;
+Bright arms shall flash upon you from afar,
+A wood of lances, and a moving war.
+But I, unhappy, in my bonds, must yet
+Be only pleased to hear of your defeat,
+And with a slave's inglorious ease remain,
+'Till conquering Ferdinand has broke my chain.
+
+_Almanz._ Vain man, thy hopes of Ferdinand are weak!
+I hold thy chain too fast for him to break.
+But, since thou threaten'st us, I'll set thee free,
+That I again may fight, and conquer thee.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Old as I am, I take thee at thy word,
+And will to-morrow thank thee with my sword.
+
+_Almanz._ I'll go, and instantly acquaint the king,
+And sudden orders for thy freedom bring.
+Thou canst not be so pleased at liberty,
+As I shall be to find thou darest be free.
+                   [_Exeunt_ ALMANZOR, ARCOS, _and the rest, excepting
+                    only_ ABDALLA _and_ ZULEMA.
+
+_Abdal._ Of all those Christians who infest this town,
+This duke of Arcos is of most renown.
+
+_Zul._ Oft have I heard, that, in your father's reign,
+His bold adventurers beat the neighbouring plain;
+Then under Ponce Leon's name he fought,
+And from our triumphs many prizes brought;
+Till in disgrace from Spain at length he went,
+And since continued long in banishment.
+
+_Abdal._ But, see, your beauteous sister does appear.
+
+  _Enter_ LYNDARAXA.
+
+_Zul._ By my desire she came to find me here.
+                          [ZULEMA _and_ LYNDARAXA _whisper; then_ ZUL.
+                           _goes out, and_ LYNDAR. _is going after._
+
+_Abdal._ Why, fairest Lyndaraxa, do you fly            [_Staying her._
+A prince, who at your feet is proud to die?
+
+_Lyndar._ Sir, I should blush to own so rude a thing,      [_Staying._
+As 'tis to shun the brother of my king.
+
+_Abdal._ In my hard fortune, I some ease should find,
+Did your disdain extend to all mankind.
+But give me leave to grieve, and to complain,
+That you give others what I beg in vain.
+
+_Lyndar._ Take my esteem, if you on that can live;
+For, frankly, sir, 'tis all I have to give:
+If from my heart you ask or hope for more,
+I grieve the place is taken up before.
+
+_Abdal._ My rival merits you.--
+To Abdelmelech I will justice do;
+For he wants worth, who dares not praise a foe.
+
+_Lyndar._ That for his virtue, sir, you make defence,
+Shows in your own a noble confidence.
+But him defending, and excusing me,
+I know not what can your advantage be.
+
+_Abdal._ I fain would ask, ere I proceed in this,
+If, as by choice, you are by promise his?
+
+_Lyndar._ The engagement only in my love does lie,
+But that's a knot which you can ne'er untie.
+
+_Abdal._ When cities are besieged, and treat to yield,
+If there appear relievers from the field,
+The flag of parley may be taken down,
+Till the success of those without is known;
+
+_Lyndar._ Though Abdelmelech has not yet possest,
+Yet I have sealed the treaty in my breast.
+
+_Abdal._ Your treaty has not tied you to a day;
+Some chance might break it, would you but delay.
+If I can judge the secrets of your heart,
+Ambition in it has the greatest part;
+And wisdom, then, will shew some difference,
+Betwixt a private person, and a prince.
+
+_Lyndar._ Princes are subjects still.--
+Subject and subject can small difference bring:
+The difference is 'twixt subjects and a king.
+And since, sir, you are none, your hopes remove;
+For less than empire I'll not change my love.
+
+_Abdal._ Had I a crown, all I should prize in it,
+Should be the power to lay it at your feet.
+
+_Lyndar._ Had you that crown, which you but wish, not hope,
+Then I, perhaps, might stoop, and take it up.
+But till your wishes and your hopes agree,
+You shall be still a private man with me.
+
+_Abdal._ If I am king, and if my brother die,--
+
+_Lyndar._ Two if's scarce make one possibility.
+
+_Abdal._ The rule of happiness by reason scan;
+You may be happy with a private man.
+
+_Lyndar._ That happiness I may enjoy, 'tis true;
+But then that private man must not be you.
+Where'er I love, I'm happy in my choice;
+If I make you so, you shall pay my price.
+
+_Abdal._ Why would you be so great?
+
+_Lyndar._ Because I've seen,
+This day, what 'tis to hope to be a queen.--
+Heaven, how you all watched each motion of her eye!
+None could be seen while Almahide was by,
+Because she is to be--her majesty!--
+Why would I be a queen? Because my face
+Would wear the title with a better grace.
+If I became it not, yet it would be
+Part of your duty, then, to flatter me.
+These are but half the charms of being great;
+I would be somewhat, that I know not yet:--
+Yes! I avow the ambition of my soul,
+To be that one to live without controul!
+And that's another happiness to me,
+To be so happy as but one can be.
+
+_Abdal._ Madam,--because I would all doubts remove,--
+Would you, were I a king, accept my love?
+
+_Lyndar._ I would accept it; and, to shew 'tis true,
+From any other man as soon as you.
+
+_Abdal._ Your sharp replies make me not love you less;
+But make me seek new paths to happiness.--
+What I design, by time will best be seen:
+You may be mine, and yet may be a queen.
+When you are so, your word your love assures.
+
+_Lyndar._ Perhaps not love you,--but I will be yours.--
+                           [_He offers to take her hand, and kiss it._
+Stay, sir, that grace I cannot yet allow;
+Before you set the crown upon my brow.--
+That favour which you seek,
+Or Abdelmelech, or a king, must have;
+When you are so, then you may be my slave.
+                               [_Exit; but looks smiling back on him._
+
+_Abdal._ Howe'er imperious in her words she were,
+Her parting looks had nothing of severe;
+A glancing smile allured me to command,
+And her soft fingers gently pressed my hand:
+I felt the pleasure glide through every part;
+Her hand went through me to my very heart.
+For such another pleasure, did he live,
+I could my father of a crown deprive.--
+What did I say?--
+Father!--That impious thought has shocked my mind:
+How bold our passions are, and yet how blind!--
+She's gone; and now,
+Methinks, there is less glory in a crown:
+My boiling passions settle, and go down.
+Like amber chafed, when she is near, she acts;
+When farther oft, inclines, but not attracts.
+
+  _Enter_ ZULEMA.
+
+Assist me, Zulema, if thou wouldst be
+That friend thou seem'st, assist me against me.
+Betwixt my love and virtue I am tossed;
+This must be forfeited, or that be lost.
+I could do much to merit thy applause,--
+Help me to fortify the better cause;
+My honour is not wholly put to flight,
+But would, if seconded, renew the fight.
+
+_Zul._ I met my sister, but I do not see
+What difficulty in your choice can be:
+She told me all; and 'tis so plain a case,
+You need not ask what counsel to embrace.
+
+_Abdal._ I stand reproved, that I did doubt at all;
+My waiting virtue staid but for thy call:
+'Tis plain that she, who, for a kingdom, now
+Would sacrifice her love, and break her vow,
+Not out of love, but interest, acts alone,
+And would, even in my arms, lie thinking of a throne.
+
+_Zul._ Add to the rest, this one reflection more:
+When she is married, and you still adore,
+Think then,--and think what comfort it will bring,--
+She had been mine,
+Had I but only dared to be a king!
+
+_Abdal._ I hope you only would my honour try;
+I'm loth to think you virtue's enemy.
+
+_Zul._ If, when a crown and mistress are in place,
+Virtue intrudes, with her lean holy face,
+Virtue's then mine, and not I virtue's foe.
+Why does she come where she has nought to do?
+Let her with anchorites, not with lovers, lie;
+Statesmen and they keep better company.
+
+_Abdal._ Reason was given to curb our head-strong will.
+
+_Zul._ Reason but shews a weak physician's skill;
+Gives nothing, while the raging fit does last,
+But stays to cure it, when the worst is past.
+Reason's a staff for age, when nature's gone;
+But youth is strong enough to walk alone,
+
+_Abdal._ In cursed ambition I no rest should find,
+But must for ever lose my peace of mind.
+
+_Zul._ Methinks that peace of mind were bravely lost;
+A crown, whate'er we give, is worth the cost.
+
+_Abdal._ Justice distributes to each man his right;
+But what she gives not, should I take by might?
+
+_Zul._ If justice will take all, and nothing give,
+Justice, methinks, is not distributive.
+
+_Abdal._ Had fate so pleased, I had been eldest born,
+And then, without a crime, the crown had worn!--
+
+_Zul._ Would you so please, fate yet a way would find;
+Man makes his fate according to his mind.
+The weak low spirit, fortune makes her slave;
+But she's a drudge, when hectored by the brave:
+If fate weaves common thread, he'll change the doom,
+And with new purple spread a nobler loom.
+
+_Abdal._ No more!--I will usurp the royal seat;
+Thou, who hast made me wicked, make me great.
+
+_Zul._ Your way is plain: the death of Tarifa
+Does on the king our Zegrys' hatred draw;
+Though with our enemies in show we close,
+'Tis but while we to purpose can be foes.
+Selin, who heads us, would revenge his son;
+But favour hinders justice to be done.
+Proud Ozmyn with the king his power maintains,
+And, in him, each Abencerrago reigns.
+
+_Abdal._ What face of any title can I bring?
+
+_Zul._ The right an eldest son has to be king.
+Your father was at first a private man,
+And got your brother ere his reign began;
+When, by his valour, he the crown had won,
+Then you were born a monarch's eldest son.
+
+_Abdal._ To sharp-eyed reason this would seem untrue;
+But reason I through love's false optics view.
+
+_Zul._ Love's mighty power has led me captive too;
+I am in it unfortunate as you.
+
+_Abdal._ Our loves and fortunes shall together go;
+Thou shalt be happy, when I first am so.
+
+_Zul._ The Zegrys at old Selin's house are met,
+Where, in close council, for revenge they sit:
+There we our common interest will unite;
+You their revenge shall own, and they your right.
+One thing I had forgot, which may import:
+I met Almanzor coming back from court,
+But with a discomposed and speedy pace,
+A fiery colour kindling all his face:
+The king his prisoner's freedom has denied,
+And that refusal has provoked his pride.
+
+_Abdal._ 'Would he were ours!--
+I'll try to gild the injustice of his cause,
+And court his valour with a vast applause.
+
+_Zul._ The bold are but the instruments o'the wise;
+They undertake the dangers we advise:
+And, while our fabric with their pains we raise,
+We take the profit, and pay them with praise.               [_Exeunt._
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+
+  _Enter_ ALMANZOR _and_ ABDALLA.
+
+_Almanz._ That he should dare to do me this disgrace!--
+Is fool, or coward, writ upon my face?
+Refuse my prisoner!--I such means will use,
+He shall not have a prisoner to refuse.
+
+_Abdal._ He said, you were not by your promise tied;
+That he absolved your word, when he denied.
+
+_Almanz._ He break my promise, and absolve my vow!
+'Tis more than Mahomet himself can do!--
+The word, which I have given, shall stand like fate;
+Not like the king's, that weather-cock of state.
+He stands so high, with so unfixed a mind,
+Two factions turn him with each blast of wind:
+But now, he shall not veer! my word is past;
+I'll take his heart by the roots, and hold it fast.
+
+_Abdal._ You have your vengeance in your hand this hour;
+Make me the humble creature of your power:
+The Granadines will gladly me obey;
+(Tired with so base and impotent a sway)
+And, when I shew my title, you shall see,
+I have a better right to reign than he.
+
+_Almanz._ It is sufficient that you make the claim;
+You wrong our friendship when your right you name.
+When for myself I fight, I weigh the cause;
+But friendship will admit of no such laws:
+That weighs by the lump; and, when the cause is light,
+Puts kindness in to set the balance right.
+True, I would wish my friend the juster side;
+But, in the unjust, my kindness more is tried:
+And all the opposition I can bring,
+Is, that I fear to make you such a king.
+
+_Abdal._ The majesty of kings we should not blame,
+When royal minds adorn the royal name;
+The vulgar, greatness too much idolize,
+But haughty subjects it too much despise.
+
+_Almanz._ I only speak of him,
+Whom pomp and greatness sit so loose about,
+That he wants majesty to fill them out.
+
+_Abdal._ Haste, then, and lose no time!--
+The business must be enterprised this night:
+We must surprise the court in its delight.
+
+_Almanz._ For you to will, for me 'tis to obey:
+But I would give a crown in open day;
+And, when the Spaniards their assault begin,
+At once beat those without, and these within.          [_Exit_ ALMANZ.
+
+  _Enter_ ABDELMELECH.
+
+_Abdelm._ Abdalla, hold!--There's somewhat I intend
+To speak, not as your rival, but your friend.
+
+_Abdal._ If as a friend, I am obliged to hear;
+And what a rival says I cannot fear.
+
+_Abdelm._ Think, brave Abdalla, what it is you do:
+Your quiet, honour, and our friendship too,
+All for a fickle beauty you forego.
+Think, and turn back, before it be too late.
+Behold in me the example of your fate:
+I am your sea-mark; and, though wrecked and lost,
+My ruins stand to warn you from the coast.
+
+_Abdal._ Your counsels, noble Abdelmelech, move
+My reason to accept them, not my love.
+Ah, why did heaven leave man so weak defence,
+To trust frail reason with the rule of sense!
+'Tis over-poised and kicked up in the air,
+While sense weighs down the scale, and keeps it there;
+Or, like a captive king, 'tis borne away,
+And forced to countenance its own rebels' sway.
+
+_Abdelm._ No, no; our reason was not vainly lent;
+Nor is a slave, but by its own consent:
+If reason on his subject's triumph wait,
+An easy king deserves no better fate.
+
+_Abdal._ You speak too late; my empire's lost too far:
+I cannot fight.
+
+_Abdelm._ Then make a flying war;
+Dislodge betimes, before you are beset.
+
+_Abdal._ Her tears, her smiles, her every look's a net.
+Her voice is like a Syren's of the land;
+And bloody hearts lie panting in her hand.
+
+_Abdelm._ This do you know, and tempt the danger still?
+
+_Abdal._ Love, like a lethargy, has seized my will.
+I'm not myself, since from her sight I went;
+I lean my trunk that way, and there stand bent.
+As one, who, in some frightful dream, would shun
+His pressing foe, labours in vain to run;
+And his own slowness, in his sleep, bemoans,
+With thick short sighs, weak cries, and tender groans,
+So I--
+
+_Abdelm._ Some friend, in charity, should shake,
+And rouse, and call you loudly till you wake.
+Too well I know her blandishments to gain,
+Usurper-like, till settled in her reign;
+Then proudly she insults, and gives you cares,
+And jealousies, short hopes, and long despairs.
+To this hard yoke you must hereafter bow,
+Howe'er she shines all golden to you now.
+
+_Abdul._ Like him, who on the ice
+Slides swiftly on, and sees the water near,
+Yet cannot stop himself in his career,
+So am I carried. This enchanted place,
+Like Circe's isle, is peopled with a race
+Of dogs and swine; yet, though their fate I know,
+I look with pleasure, and am turning too.
+                                   [LYNDARAXA _passes over the Stage._
+
+_Abdelm._ Fly, fly, before the allurements of her face,
+Ere she return with some resistless grace,
+And with new magic cover all the place.
+
+_Abdal._ I cannot, will not,--nay, I would not fly:
+I'll love, be blind, be cozened till I die;
+And you, who bid me wiser counsel take,
+I'll hate, and, if I can, I'll kill you for her sake.
+
+_Abdelm._ Even I, that counselled you, that choice approve:
+I'll hate you blindly, and her blindly love.
+Prudence, that stemmed the stream, is out of breath:
+And to go down it is the easier death.
+
+  LYNDARAXA _re-enters, and smiles on_ ABDALLA.       [_Exit_ ABDALLA.
+
+_Abdelm._ That smile on Prince Abdalla seems to say,
+You are not in your killing mood to day:
+Men brand, indeed, your sex with cruelty,
+But you are too good to see poor lovers die.
+This god-like pity in you I extol;
+And more, because, like heaven's, 'tis general.
+
+_Lyndar._ My smile implies not that I grant his suit:
+'Twas but a bare return of his salute.
+
+_Abdelm._ It said, you were engaged, and I in place;
+But, to please both, you would divide the grace.
+
+_Lyndar._ You've cause to be contented with your part,
+When he has but the look, and you the heart.
+
+_Abdelm._ In giving but that look, you give what's mine:
+I'll not one corner of a glance resign.
+All's mine; and I am covetous of my store:
+I have not love enough, I'll tax you more.
+
+_Lyndar._ I gave not love; 'twas but civility:
+He is a prince; that's due to his degree.
+
+_Abdelm._ That prince you smiled on is my rival still,
+And should, if me you loved, be treated ill.
+
+_Lyndar._ I know not how to show so rude a spite.
+
+_Abdelm._ That is, you know not how to love aright;
+Or, if you did, you would more difference see
+Betwixt our souls, than 'twixt our quality.
+Mark, if his birth makes any difference,
+If to his words it adds one grain of sense.
+That duty, which his birth can make his due,
+I'll pay, but it shall not be paid by you:
+For, if a prince courts her whom I adore,
+He is my rival, and a prince no more.
+
+_Lyndar._ And when did I my power so far resign.
+That you should regulate each look of mine?
+
+_Abdelm._ Then, when you gave your love, you gave that power.
+
+_Lyndar._ 'Twas during pleasure, 'tis revoked this hour.
+Now, call me false, and rail on womankind,--
+'Tis all the remedy you're like to find.
+
+_Abdelm._ Yes, there's one more;
+I'll hate you, and this visit is my last.
+
+_Lyndar._ Do't, if you can; you know I hold you fast:
+Yet, for your quiet, would you could resign
+Your love, as easily as I do mine.
+
+_Abdelm._ Furies and hell, how unconcerned she speaks!
+With what indifference all her vows she breaks!
+Curse on me, but she smiles!
+
+_Lyndar._ That smile's a part of love, and all's your due:
+I take it from the prince, and give it you.
+
+_Abdelm._ Just heaven, must my poor heart your May-game prove,
+To bandy, and make children's play in love?            [_Half crying._
+Ah! how have I this cruelty deserved?
+I, who so truly and so long have served!
+And left so easily! oh cruel maid!
+So easily! it was too unkindly said.
+That heart, which could so easily remove,
+Was never fixed, nor rooted deep in love.
+
+_Lyndar._ You lodged it so uneasy in your breast,
+I thought you had been weary of the guest.
+First, I was treated like a stranger there;
+But, when a household friend I did appear,
+You thought, it seems, I could not live elsewhere.
+Then, by degrees, your feigned respect withdrew;
+You marked my actions, and my guardian grew.
+But I am not concerned your acts to blame:
+My heart to yours but upon liking came;
+And, like a bird, whom prying boys molest,
+Stays not to breed, where she had built her nest.
+
+_Abdelm._ I have done ill,
+And dare not ask you to be less displeased;
+Be but more angry, and my pain is eased.
+
+_Lyndar._ If I should be so kind a fool, to take
+This little satisfaction which you make,
+I know you would presume some other time
+Upon my goodness, and repeat your crime.
+
+_Abdelm._ Oh never, never, upon no pretence;
+My life's too short to expiate this offence.
+
+_Lyndar._ No, now I think on't, 'tis in vain to try;
+'Tis in your nature, and past remedy.
+You'll still disquiet my too loving heart:
+Now we are friends 'tis best for both to part.   [_He takes her hand._
+
+_Abdelm._ By this--Will you not give me leave to swear?
+
+_Lyndar._ You would be perjured if you should, I fear:
+And, when I talk with Prince Abdalla next,
+I with your fond suspicions shall be vext.
+
+_Abdelm._ I cannot say I'll conquer jealousy,
+But, if you'll freely pardon me, I'll try.
+
+_Lyndar._ And, till you that submissive servant prove,
+I never can conclude you truly love.
+
+  _To them, the_ KING, ALMAHIDE, ABENAMAR, ESPERANZA, _Guards,
+  Attendants._
+
+_Boab._ Approach, my Almahide, my charming fair,
+Blessing of peace, and recompence of war.
+This night is yours; and may your life still be
+The same in joy, though not solemnity.
+
+                          THE ZAMBRA DANCE.
+
+                                SONG.
+
+        I.
+
+    _Beneath a myrtle shade,
+  Which love for none, but happy lovers made,
+  I slept; and straight my love before me brought
+  Phyllis, the object of my waking thought.
+  Undressed she came my flames to meet,
+  While love strewed flowers beneath her feet;
+  Flowers which, so pressed by her, became more sweet._
+
+        II.
+
+    _From the bright vision's head
+  A careless veil of lawn was loosely spread:_
+  _From her white temples fell her shaded hair
+  Like cloudy sunshine, not too brown nor fair;
+  Her hands, her lips, did love inspire;
+  Her every grace my heart did fire:
+  But most her eyes, which languished with desire._
+
+        III.
+
+    _Ah, charming fair, said I,
+  How long can you my bliss and yours deny?
+  By nature and by love, this lonely shade
+  Was for revenge of suffering lovers made.
+  Silence and shades with love agree;
+  Both shelter you and favour me:
+  You cannot blush, because I cannot see._
+
+        IV.
+
+    _No, let me die, she said,
+  Rather than lose the spotless name of maid!--
+  Faintly, methought, she spoke; for all the while
+  She bid me not believe her, with a smile.
+  Then die, said I: She still denied;
+  And is it thus, thus, thus, she cried,
+  You use a harmless maid?--and so she died!_
+
+        V.
+
+    _I waked, and straight I knew,
+  I loved so well, it made my dream prove true:
+  Fancy, the kinder mistress of the two,
+  Fancy had done what Phyllis would not do!
+  Ah, cruel nymph, cease your disdain,
+  While, I can dream you scorn in vain,--
+  Asleep or waking you must ease my pain._
+                         [After the dance, a tumultuous noise of drums
+                          and trumpets.
+
+  _To them_ OZMYN; _his sword drawn._
+
+_Ozm._ Arm, quickly arm; yet all, I fear, too late;
+The enemy's already at the gate.
+
+_Boab._ The Christians are dislodged; what foe is near?
+
+_Ozm._ The Zegrys are in arms, and almost here:
+The streets with torches shine, with shoutings ring,
+And Prince Abdalla is proclaimed the king.
+What man could do, I have already done,
+But bold Almanzor fiercely leads them on.
+
+_Aben._ The Alhambra yet is safe in my command;        [_To the King._
+Retreat you thither, while their shock we stand.
+
+_Boab._ I cannot meanly for my life provide;
+I'll either perish in't, or stem this tide.
+To guard the palace, Ozmyn, be your care:
+If they o'ercome, no sword will hurt the fair.
+
+_Ozm._ I'll either die; or I'll make good the place.
+
+_Abdelm._ And I with these will bold Almanzor face.
+                       [_Exeunt all but the Ladies. An alarum within._
+
+_Almah._ What dismal planet did my triumphs light!
+Discord the day, and death does rule the night:
+The noise my soul does through my senses wound.
+
+_Lyndar._ Methinks it is a noble, sprightly sound,
+The trumpet's clangor, and the clash of arms!
+This noise may chill your blood, but mine it warms.
+                            [_Shouting and clashing of swords within._
+We have already passed the Rubicon;
+The dice are mine; now, fortune, for a throne!
+                   [_A shout within, and clashing of swords afar off._
+The sound goes farther off, and faintly dies;
+Curse of this going back, these ebbing cries!
+Ye winds, waft hither sounds more strong and quick;
+Beat faster, drums, and mingle deaths more thick.
+I'll to the turrets of the palace go,
+And add new fire to those that fight below:
+Thence, hero-like, with torches by my side,
+(Far be the omen, though) my love will guide.
+No; like his better fortune I'll appear,
+With open arms, loose veil, and flowing hair,
+Just flying forward from my rolling sphere:
+My smiles shall make Abdalla more than man;
+Let him look up, and perish if he can.                        [_Exit._
+
+  _An alarum nearer: Then Enter_ ALMANZOR _and_ SELIN, _at the head of
+  the Zegrys_; OZMYN _Prisoner._
+
+_Almanz._ We have not fought enough; they fly too soon;
+And I am grieved the noble sport is done.
+This only man, of all whom chance did bring      [_Pointing to_ OZMYN.
+To meet my arms, was worth the conquering.
+His brave resistance did my fortune grace;
+So slow, so threatning forward he gave place.
+His chains be easy, and his usage fair.
+
+_Selin._ I beg you would commit him to my care.
+
+_Almanz._ Next, the brave Spaniard free without delay;
+And with a convoy send him safe away.                 [_Exit a Guard._
+
+  _To them_ HAMET _and others._
+
+_Hamet._ The king by me salutes you; and, to show
+That to your valour he his crown does owe,
+Would from your mouth I should the word receive,
+And that to these you would your orders give.
+
+_Almanz._ He much o'er-rates the little I have done.
+              [ALMANZOR _goes to the door, and there seems to give out
+               orders, by sending people several ways._
+
+_Selin_ to _Ozmyn._ Now, to revenge the murder of my son,
+To morrow for thy certain death prepare;
+This night I only leave thee to despair.
+
+_Ozmyn._ Thy idle menaces I do not fear:
+My business was to die or conquer here.
+Sister, for you I grieve I could no more:
+My present state betrays my want of power;
+But, when true courage is of force bereft,
+Patience, the only fortitude, is left.             [_Exit with_ SELIN.
+
+_Almah._ Ah, Esperanza, what for me remains
+But death, or, worse than death, inglorious chains!
+
+_Esper._ Madam, you must not to despair give place;
+Heaven never meant misfortune to that face.
+Suppose there were no justice in your cause,
+Beauty's a bribe that gives her judges laws.
+That you are brought to this deplored estate,
+Is but the ingenious flattery of your fate;
+Fate fears her succour, like an alms, to give;
+And would you, God-like, from yourself should live.
+
+_Almah._ Mark but how terribly his eyes appear!
+And yet there's something roughly noble there,
+Which, in unfashioned nature, looks divine,
+And, like a gem, does in the quarry shine.
+                      [ALMANZOR _returns; she falls at his feet, being
+                       veiled._
+
+_Almah._ Turn, mighty conqueror, turn your face this way,
+Do not refuse to hear the wretched pray!
+
+_Almanz._ What business can this woman have with me?
+
+_Almah._ That of the afflicted to the Deity.
+So may your arms success in battle find;
+So may the mistress of your vows be kind,
+If you have any; or, if you have none,
+So may your liberty be still your own!
+
+_Almanz._ Yes, I will turn my face, but not my mind:
+You bane and soft destruction of mankind,
+What would you have with me?
+
+_Almah._ I beg the grace                                 [_Unveiling._
+You would lay by those terrors of your face.
+Till calmness to your eyes you first restore,
+I am afraid, and I can beg no more.
+
+_Almanz._ [_Looking fixedly on her._]
+Well; my fierce visage shall not murder you.
+Speak quickly, woman; I have much to do.
+
+_Almah._ Where should I find the heart to speak one word?
+Your voice, sir, is as killing as your sword.
+As you have left the lightning of your eye,
+So would you please to lay your thunder by.
+
+_Almanz._ I'm pleased and pained, since first her eyes I saw,
+As I were stung with some tarantula.
+Arms, and the dusty field, I less admire,
+And soften strangely in some new desire;
+Honour burns in me not so fiercely bright,
+But pale as fires when mastered by the light:
+Even while I speak and look, I change yet more,
+And now am nothing that I was before.
+I'm numbed, and fixed, and scarce my eye-balls move:
+I fear it is the lethargy of love!
+'Tis he; I feel him now in every part:
+Like a new lord he vaunts about my heart;
+Surveys, in state, each corner of my breast,
+While poor fierce I, that was, am dispossessed.
+I'm bound; but I will rouse my rage again;
+And, though no hope of liberty remain,
+I'll fright my keeper when I shake my chain.
+You are--                                                  [_Angrily._
+
+_Almah._ I know I am your captive, sir.
+
+_Almanz._ You are--You shall--And I can scarce forbear--
+
+_Almah._ Alas!
+
+_Almanz._ 'Tis all in vain; it will not do:                  [_Aside._
+I cannot now a seeming anger show:
+My tongue against my heart no aid affords;
+For love still rises up, and choaks my words.
+
+_Almah._ In half this time a tempest would be still.
+
+_Almanz._ 'Tis you have raised that tempest in my will.
+I wonnot love you; give me back my heart;
+But give it, as you had it, fierce and brave.
+It was not made to be a woman's slave,
+But, lion-like, has been in desarts bred,
+And, used to range, will ne'er be tamely led.
+Restore its freedom to my fettered will,
+And then I shall have power to use you ill.
+
+_Almah._ My sad condition may your pity move;
+But look not on me with the eyes of love:--
+I must be brief, though I have much to say.
+
+_Almanz._ No, speak; for I can hear you now all day.
+Her sueing sooths me with a secret pride:                   [_Softly._
+A suppliant beauty cannot be denied:                         [_Aside._
+Even while I frown, her charms the furrows seize;
+And I'm corrupted with the power to please.
+
+_Almah._ Though in your worth no cause of fear I see,
+I fear the insolence of victory;
+As you are noble, sir, protect me then
+From the rude outrage of insulting men.
+
+_Almanz._ Who dares touch her I love? I'm all o'er love:
+Nay, I am love; love shot, and shot so fast,
+He shot himself into my breast at last.
+
+_Almah._ You see before you her, who should be queen,
+Since she is promised to Boabdelin.
+
+_Almanz._ Are you beloved by him? O wretched fate,
+First that I love at all; then, loved too late!
+Yet, I must love!
+
+_Almah._ Alas, it is in vain;
+Fate for each other did not us ordain.
+The chances of this day too clearly show
+That heaven took care that it should not be so.
+
+_Almanz._ Would heaven had quite forgot me this one day!
+But fate's yet hot--
+I'll make it take a bent another way.
+                      [_He walks swiftly and discomposedly, studying._
+I bring a claim which does his right remove;
+You're his by promise, but you're mine by love.
+'Tis all but ceremony which is past;
+The knot's to tie which is to make you fast.
+Fate gave not to Boabdelin that power;
+He wooed you but as my ambassador.
+
+_Almah._ Our souls are tied by holy vows above.
+
+_Almanz._ He signed but his: but I will seal my love.
+I love you better, with more zeal than he.
+
+_Almah._ This day
+I gave my faith to him, he his to me.
+
+_Almanz._ Good heaven, thy book of fate before me lay,
+But to tear out the journal of this day:
+Or, if the order of the world below
+Will not the gap of one whole day allow,
+Give me that minute when she made her vow!
+That minute, ev'n the happy from their bliss might give;
+And those, who live in grief, a shorter time would live.
+So small a link, if broke, the eternal chain
+Would, like divided waters, join again.--
+It wonnot be; the fugitive is gone,
+Prest by the crowd of following minutes on:
+That precious moment's out of nature fled,
+And in the heap of common rubbish laid,
+Of things that once have been, and are decayed.
+
+_Almah._ Your passion, like a fright, suspends my pain;
+It meets, o'erpowers, and beats mine back again:
+But as, when tides against the current flow,
+The native stream runs its own course below,
+So, though your griefs possess the upper part,
+My own have deeper channels in my heart.
+
+_Almanz._ Forgive that fury which my soul does move;
+'Tis the essay of an untaught first love:
+Yet rude, unfashioned truth it does express;
+'Tis love just peeping in a hasty dress.
+Retire, fair creature, to your needful rest;
+There's something noble labouring in my breast:
+This raging fire, which through the mass does move,
+Shall purge my dross, and shall refine my love.
+                                   [_Exeunt_ ALMAHIDE _and_ ESPERANZA.
+She goes, and I like my own ghost appear;
+It is not living when she is not here.
+
+  _To him_ ABDALLA _as King, attended._
+
+_Abdal._ My first acknowledgments to heaven are due;
+My next, Almanzor, let me pay to you.
+
+_Almanz._ A poor surprise, and on a naked foe,
+Whatever you confess, is all you owe;
+And I no merit own, or understand
+That fortune did you justice by my hand:
+Yet, if you will that little service pay
+With a great favour, I can shew the way.
+
+_Abdal._ I have a favour to demand of you;
+That is, to take the thing for which you sue.
+
+_Almanz._ Then, briefly, thus: when I the Albayzyn won,
+I found the beauteous Almahide alone,
+Whose sad condition did my pity move;
+And that compassion did produce my love.
+
+_Abdal._ This needs no suit; in justice, I declare.
+She is your captive by the right of war.
+
+_Almanz._ She is no captive then; I set her free;
+And, rather than I will her jailor be,
+I'll nobly lose her in her liberty.
+
+_Abdal._ Your generosity I much approve;
+But your excess of that shows want of love.
+
+_Almanz._ No, 'tis the excess of love which mounts so high,
+That, seen far off, it lessens to the eye.
+Had I not loved her, and had set her free,
+That, sir, had been my generosity;
+But 'tis exalted passion, when I show
+I dare be wretched, not to make her so:
+And, while another passion fills her breast,
+I'll be all wretched rather than half blest.
+
+_Abdal._ May your heroic act so prosperous be,
+That Almahide may sigh you set her free.
+
+  _Enter_ ZULEMA.
+
+_Zul._ Of five tall towers which fortify this town,
+All but the Alhambra your dominion own:
+Now, therefore, boldly I confess a flame,
+Which is excused in Almahide's name.
+If you the merit of this night regard,
+In her possession I have my reward.
+
+_Almanz._ She your reward! why, she's a gift so great,
+That I myself have not deserved her yet;
+And therefore, though I won her with my sword,
+I have, with awe, my sacrilege restored.
+
+_Zul._ What you deserve
+I'll not dispute, because I do not know;
+This only I will say, she shall not go.
+
+_Almanz._ Thou, single, art not worth my answering:
+But take what friends, what armies thou canst bring;
+What worlds; and, when you are united all,
+Then will I thunder in your ears,--She shall.
+
+_Zul._ I'll not one tittle of my right resign.--
+Sir, your implicit promise made her mine;
+When I, in general terms, my love did show,
+You swore our fortunes should together go.
+
+_Abdal._ The merits of the cause I'll not decide,
+But, like my love, I would my gift divide.
+Your equal titles then no longer plead;
+But one of you, for love of me, recede.
+
+_Almanz._ I have receded to the utmost line,
+When, by my free consent, she is not mine:
+Then let him equally recede with me,
+And both of us will join to set her free.
+
+_Zul._ If you will free your part of her, you may;
+But, sir, I love not your romantic way.
+Dream on, enjoy her soul, and set that free;
+I'm pleased her person should be left for me.
+
+_Almanz._ Thou shalt not wish her thine; thou shalt not dare
+To be so impudent, as to despair.
+
+_Zul._ The Zegrys, sir, are all concerned to see
+How much their merit you neglect in me.
+
+_Hamet._ Your slighting Zulema, this very hour
+Will take ten thousand subjects from your power.
+
+_Almanz._ What are ten thousand subjects such as they?
+If I am scorned--I'll take myself away.
+
+_Abdal._ Since both cannot possess what both pursue,
+I grieve, my friend, the chance should fall on you;
+But when you hear what reason I can urge--
+
+_Almanz._ None, none that your ingratitude can purge.
+Reason's a trick, when it no grant affords;
+It stamps the face of majesty on words.
+
+_Abdal._ Your boldness to your services I give:
+Now take it, as your full reward,--to live.
+
+_Almanz._ To live!
+If from thy hands alone my death can be,
+I am immortal, and a god to thee.
+If I would kill thee now, thy fate's so low,
+That I must stoop ere I can give the blow:
+But mine is fixed so far above thy crown,
+That all thy men,
+Piled on thy back, can never pull it down:
+But, at my ease, thy destiny I send,
+By ceasing from this hour to be thy friend.
+Like heaven, I need but only to stand still.
+And, not concurring to thy life, I kill.
+Thou canst no title to my duty bring;
+I'm not thy subject, and my soul's thy king.
+Farewell. When I am gone,
+There's not a star of thine dare stay with thee:
+I'll whistle thy tame fortune after me;
+And whirl fate with me wheresoe'er I fly,
+As winds drive storms before them in the sky.                 [_Exit._
+
+_Zul._ Let not this insolent unpunished go;
+Give your commands; your justice is too slow.
+                     [ZULEMA, HAMET, _and others are going after him._
+
+_Abdal._ Stay, and what part he pleases let him take:
+I know my throne's too strong for him to shake.
+But my fair mistress I too long forget;
+The crown I promised is not offered yet.
+Without her presence all my joys are vain,
+Empire a curse, and life itself a pain.                     [_Exeunt._
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+
+  _Enter_ BOABDELIN, ABENAMAR, _and Guards._
+
+_Boab._ Advise, or aid, but do not pity me:
+No monarch born can fall to that degree.
+Pity descends from kings to all below;
+But can, no more than fountains, upward flow.
+Witness, just heaven, my greatest grief has been,
+I could not make your Almahide a queen.
+
+_Aben._ I have too long the effects of fortune known,
+Either to trust her smiles, or fear her frown.
+Since in their first attempt you were not slain,
+Your safety bodes you yet a second reign.
+The people like a headlong torrent go,
+And ev'ry dam they break, or overflow;
+But, unopposed, they either lose their force,
+Or wind, in volumes, to their former course.
+
+_Boab._ In walls we meanly must our hopes inclose,
+To wait our friends, and weary out our foes:
+While Almahide
+To lawless rebels is exposed a prey,
+And forced the lustful victor to obey.
+
+_Aben._ One of my blood, in rules of virtue bred!
+Think better of her, and believe she's dead.
+
+  _Enter_ ALMANZOR.
+
+_Boab._ We are betrayed, the enemy is here;
+We have no farther room to hope or fear.
+
+_Almanz._ It is indeed Almanzor whom you see,
+But he no longer is your enemy.
+You were ungrateful, but your foes were more;
+What your injustice lost you, theirs restore.
+Make profit of my vengeance while you may,
+My two-edged sword can cut the other way.--
+I am your fortune, but am swift like her,
+And turn my hairy front if you defer:
+That hour, when you deliberate, is too late;
+I point you the white moment of your fate.
+
+_Aben._ Believe him sent as prince Abdalla's spy;
+He would betray us to the enemy.
+
+_Almanz_, Were I, like thee, in cheats of state grown old,
+(Those public markets, where, for foreign gold,
+The poorest prince is to the richest sold)
+Then thou mightst think me fit for that low part;
+But I am yet to learn the statesman's art.
+My kindness and my hate unmasked I wear;
+For friends to trust, and enemies to fear.
+My heart's so plain,
+That men on every passing through may look,
+Like fishes gliding in a crystal brook;
+When troubled most, it does the bottom shew,
+'Tis weedless all above, and rockless all below.
+
+_Aben._ Ere he be trusted, let him then be tried;
+He may be false, who once has changed his side.
+
+_Almanz._ In that you more accuse yourselves than me;
+None who are injured can inconstant be.
+You were inconstant, you, who did the wrong;
+To do me justice does to me belong.
+Great souls by kindness only can be tied;
+Injured again, again I'll leave your side.
+Honour is what myself, and friends, I owe;
+And none can lose it who forsake a foe.
+Since, then, your foes now happen to be mine,
+Though not in friendship, we'll in interest join:
+So while my loved revenge is full and high,
+I'll give you back your kingdom by the by.
+
+_Boab._ That I so long delayed what you desire,      [_Embracing him._
+Was, not to doubt your worth, but to admire.
+
+_Almanz._ This counsellor an old man's caution shows,
+Who fears that little, he has left, to lose:
+Age sets a fortune; while youth boldly throws.
+But let us first your drooping soldiers cheer;
+Then seek out danger, ere it dare appear:
+This hour I fix your crown upon your brow;
+Next hour fate gives it, but I give it now.                 [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+  _Enter_ LYNDARAXA.
+
+_Lyndar._ O, could I read the dark decrees of fate,
+That I might once know whom to love, or hate!
+For I myself scarce my own thoughts can guess,
+So much I find them varied by success.
+As in some weather-glass, my love I hold;
+Which falls or rises with the heat or cold.--
+I will be constant yet, if fortune can;
+I love the king,--let her but name the man.
+
+  _Enter_ HALYMA.
+
+_Hal._ Madam, a gentleman, to me unknown,
+Desires that he may speak with you alone.
+
+_Lyndar._ Some message from the king.--Let him appear.
+
+  _Enter_ ABDELMELECH; _who throws off his disguise.--She starts._
+
+_Abdelm._ I see you are amazed that I am here:
+But let at once your fear and wonder end.
+In the usurper's guards I found a friend,
+Who led me safe to you in this disguise.
+
+_Lyndar._ Your danger brings this trouble in my eyes.--
+But what affair this 'venturous visit drew?
+
+_Abdelm._ The greatest in the world,--the seeing you.
+
+_Lyndar._ The courage of your love I so admire,
+That, to preserve you, you shall straight retire.
+                                         [_She leads him to the door._
+Go, dear! each minute does new dangers bring;
+You will be taken, I expect the king.
+
+_Abdelm._ The king!--the poor usurper of an hour:
+His empire's but a dream of kingly power.--
+I warn you, as a lover and a friend,
+To leave him, ere his short dominion end:
+The soldier I suborned will wait at night,
+And shall alone be conscious of your flight.
+
+_Lyndar._ I thank you, that you so much care bestow;
+But, if his reign be short, I need not go.
+For why should I expose my life, and yours,
+For what, you say, a little time assures?
+
+_Abdelm_, My danger in the attempt is very small;
+And, if he loves you, yours is none at all.
+But, though his ruin be as sure as fate,
+Your proof of love to me would come too late.
+This trial I in kindness would allow;
+'Tis easy; if you love me, show it now.
+
+_Lyndar._ It is because I love you, I refuse;
+For all the world my conduct would accuse,
+If I should go with him I love away;
+And, therefore, in strict virtue, I will stay.
+
+_Abdelm._ You would in vain dissemble love to me;
+Through that thin veil your artifice I see.
+You would expect the event, and then declare;
+But do not, do not drive me to despair:
+For, if you now refuse with me to fly,
+Rather than love you after this, I'll die;
+And, therefore, weigh it well before you speak;
+My king is safe, his force within not weak.
+
+_Lyndar._ The counsel, you have given me, may be wise;
+But, since the affair is great, I will advise.
+
+_Abdelm._ Then that delay I for denial take.              [_Is going._
+
+_Lyndar._ Stay; you too swift an exposition make.
+If I should go, since Zulema will stay,
+I should my brother to the king betray.
+
+_Abdelm._ There is no fear; but, if there were, I see
+You value still your brother more than me.--
+Farewell! some ease I in your falsehood find;
+It lets a beam in, that will clear my mind:
+My former weakness I with shame confess,
+And, when I see you next, shall love you less.      [_Is going again._
+
+_Lyndar._ Your faithless dealings you may blush to tell:   [_Weeping._
+This is a maid's reward, who loves too well.--       [_He looks back._
+Remember that I drew my latest breath,
+In charging your unkindness with my death.
+
+_Abdelm._ [_coming back_]
+Have I not answered all you can invent,
+Even the least shadow of an argument?
+
+_Lyndar._ You want not cunning what you please to prove,
+But my poor heart knows only how to love;
+And, finding this, you tyrannize the more:
+'Tis plain, some other mistress you adore;
+And now, with studied tricks of subtlety,
+You come prepared to lay the fault on me.       [_Wringing her hands._
+But, oh, that I should love so false a man!
+
+_Abdelm._ Hear me, and then disprove it, if you can.
+
+_Lyndar._ I'll hear no more; your breach of faith is plain:
+You would with wit your want of love maintain.
+But, by my own experience, I can tell,
+They, who love truly, cannot argue well.--
+Go faithless man!
+Leave me alone to mourn my misery;
+I cannot cease to love you, but I'll die.
+                                         [_Leans her head on his arm._
+
+_Abdelm._ What man but I so long unmoved could hear        [_Weeping._
+Such tender passion, and refuse a tear!--
+But do not talk of dying any more,
+Unless you mean that I should die before.
+
+_Lyndar._ I fear your feigned repentance comes too late;
+I die, to see you still thus obstinate:
+But yet, in death my truth of love to show,
+Lead me; if I have strength enough, I'll go.
+
+_Abdelm._ By heaven, you shall not go! I will not be
+O'ercome in love or generosity.
+All I desire, to end the unlucky strife,
+Is but a vow, that you will be my wife.
+
+_Lyndar._ To tie me to you by a vow is hard;
+It shows, my love you as no tie regard.--
+Name any thing but that, and I'll agree.
+
+_Abdelm._ Swear, then, you never will my rival's be.
+
+_Lyndar._ Nay, pr'ythee, this is harder than before.--
+Name any thing, good dear, but that thing more.
+
+_Abdelm._ Now I too late perceive I am undone;
+Living and seeing, to my death I run.
+I know you false, yet in your snares I fall;
+You grant me nothing, and I grant you all.
+
+_Lyndar._ I would grant all; but I must curb my will,
+Because I love to keep you jealous still.
+In your suspicion I your passion find;
+But I will take a time to cure your mind.
+
+_Halyma._ O, madam, the new king is drawing near!
+
+_Lyndar._ Haste quickly hence, lest he should find you here!
+
+_Abdelm._ How much more wretched than I came, I go!
+I more my weakness and your falsehood know;
+And now must leave you with my greatest foe!           [_Exit_ ABDELM.
+
+_Lyndar._ Go!--How I love thee heaven can only tell:
+And yet I love thee, for a subject, well.--
+Yet whatsoever charms a crown can bring,
+A subject's greater than a little king.
+I will attend till time this throne secure;
+And, when I climb, my footing shall be sure.--       [_Music without._
+Music! and, I believe, addressed to me.
+
+                                SONG.
+
+        I.
+
+  _Wherever I am, and whatever I do,
+    My Phyllis is still in my mind;
+  When angry, I mean not to Phyllis to go,
+    My feet, of themselves, the way find:
+  Unknown to myself I am just at her door,
+  And, when I would rail, I can bring out no more
+    Than, Phyllis too fair and unkind!_
+
+        II.
+
+  _When Phyllis I see, my heart bounds in my breast,
+    And the love I would stifle is shown;
+  But asleep, or awake, I am never at rest,
+    When from my eyes Phyllis is gone.
+  Sometimes a sad dream does delude my sad mind;
+  But, alas! when I wake, and no Phyllis I find,
+    How I sigh to myself all alone!_
+
+        III.
+
+  _Should a king be my rival in her I adore,
+    He should offer his treasure in vain:
+  O, let me alone to be happy and poor,
+    And give me my Phyllis again!
+  Let Phyllis be mine, and but ever be kind,
+  I could to a desart with her be confined,
+    And envy no monarch his reign._
+
+        IV.
+
+  _Alas! I discover too much of my love,
+    And she too well knows her own power!
+  She makes me each day a new martyrdom prove,
+    And makes me grow jealous each hour:
+  But let her each minute torment my poor mind,
+  I had rather love Phyllis, both false and unkind.
+    Than ever be freed from her power._
+
+  _Enter_ ABDALLA, _with guards._
+
+_Abdal._ Now, madam, at your feet a king you see;
+Or, rather, if you please, a sceptered slave:
+'Tis just you should possess the power you gave.
+Had love not made me yours, I yet had been
+But the first subject to Boabdelin.
+Thus heaven declares the crown I bring your due;
+And had forgot my title, but for you.
+
+_Lyndar._ Heaven to your merits will, I hope, be kind;
+But, sir, it has not yet declared its mind.
+'Tis true, it holds the crown above your head;
+But does not fix it 'till your brother's dead.
+
+_Abdal._ All, but the Alhambra, is within my power;
+And that my forces go to take this hour.
+
+_Lyndar._ When, with its keys, your brother's head you bring,
+I shall believe you are indeed a king.
+
+_Abdal._ But since the events of all things doubtful are,
+And, of events, most doubtful those of war;
+I beg to know before, if fortune frown,
+Must I then lose your favour with my crown?
+
+_Lyndar._ You'll soon return a conqueror again;
+And, therefore, sir, your question is in vain.
+
+_Abdul._ I think to certain victory I move;
+But you may more assure it, by your love.
+That grant will make my arms invincible.
+
+_Lyndar._ My prayers and wishes your success foretell.--
+Go then, and fight, and think you fight for me;
+I wait but to reward your victory.
+
+_Abdal._ But if I lose it, must I lose you too?
+
+_Lyndar._ You are too curious, if you more would know.
+I know not what my future thoughts will be:
+Poor women's thoughts are all _extempore_.
+Wise men, indeed,
+Beforehand a long chain of thoughts produce;
+But ours are only for our present use.
+
+_Abdal._ Those thoughts, you will not know, too well declare.
+You mean to wait the final doom of war.
+
+_Lyndar._ I find you come to quarrel with me now;
+Would you know more of me than I allow?
+Whence are you grown that great divinity,
+That with such ease into my thoughts can pry?
+Indulgence does not with some tempers suit;
+I see I must become more absolute.
+
+_Abdal._ I must submit,
+On what hard terms soe'er my peace be bought.
+
+_Lyndar._ Submit!--you speak as you were not in fault.--
+'Tis evident the injury is mine;
+For why should you my secret thoughts divine?
+
+_Abdal._ Yet if we might be judged by reason's laws--
+
+_Lyndar._ Then you would have your reason judge my cause!--
+Either confess your fault, or hold your tongue;
+For I am sure I'm never in the wrong.
+
+_Abdal._ Then I acknowledge it.
+
+_Lyndar._ Then I forgive.
+
+_Abdal._ Under how hard a law poor lovers live!
+Who, like the vanquished, must their right release,
+And with the loss of reason buy their peace.--               [_Aside._
+Madam, to show that you my power command,
+I put my life and safety in your hand:--
+Dispose of the Albayzyn as you please,
+To your fair hands I here resign the keys.
+
+_Lyndar._ I take your gift, because your love it shows,
+And faithful Selin for alcade chuse.
+
+_Abdal._ Selin, from her alone your orders take.--
+This one request, yet, madam, let me make,
+That, from those turrets, you the assault will see;
+And crown, once more, my arms with victory.
+                                           [_Exeunt, leading her out._
+                             [SELIN _remains with_ GAZUL _and_ REDUAN,
+                              _his servants._
+
+_Selin._ Gazul, go tell my daughter that I wait--
+You Reduan, bring the prisoner to his fate.  [_Exeunt_ GAZ. _and_ RED.
+Ere of my charge I will possession take,
+A bloody sacrifice I mean to make:
+The manes of my son shall smile this day,
+While I, in blood, my vows of vengeance pay.
+
+  _Enter at one door_ BENZAYDA, _with_ GAZUL; _at the other,_ OZMYN
+  _bound, with_ REDUAN.
+
+_Selin._ I sent, Benzayda, to glad your eyes:
+These rites we owe your brother's obsequies.--
+You two [_To_ GAZ. _and_ RED.] the cursed Abencerrago bind:
+You need no more to instruct you in my mind.
+                            [_They bind him to a corner of the stage._
+
+_Benz._ In what sad object am I called to share?
+Tell me, what is it, sir, you here prepare?
+
+_Selin._ 'Tis what your dying brother did bequeath;
+A scene of vengeance, and a pomp of death!
+
+_Benz._ The horrid spectacle my soul does fright:
+I want the heart to see the dismal sight.
+
+_Selin._ You are my principal invited guest,
+Whose eyes I would not only feed, but feast:
+You are to smile at his last groaning breath,
+And laugh to see his eye-balls roll in death;
+To judge the lingering soul's convulsive strife,
+When thick short breath catches at parting life.
+
+_Benz._ And of what marble do you think me made?
+
+_Selin._ What! can you be of just revenge afraid?
+
+_Benz._ He killed my brother in his own defence.
+Pity his youth, and spare his innocence.
+
+_Selin._ Art thou so soon to pardon murder won?
+Can he be innocent, who killed my son?
+Abenamar shall mourn as well as I;
+His Ozmyn, for my Tarifa, shall die.
+But since thou plead'st so boldly, I will see
+That justice, thou would'st hinder, done by thee.
+Here, [_Gives her his sword._] take the sword, and do a sister's part:
+Pierce his, fond girl, or I will pierce thy heart.
+
+_Ozm._ To his commands I join my own request;
+All wounds from you are welcome to my breast:
+Think only, when your hand this act has done,
+It has but finished what your eyes begun.
+I thought, with silence, to have scorned my doom;
+But now your noble pity has o'ercome;
+Which I acknowledge with my latest breath,--
+The first whoe'er began a love in death.
+
+_Benz._ to _Selin._ Alas, what aid can my weak hand afford?
+You see I tremble when I touch a sword:
+The brightness dazzles me, and turns my sight;
+Or, if I look, 'tis but to aim less right.
+
+_Ozm._ I'll guide the hand which must my death convey;
+My leaping heart shall meet it half the way.
+
+_Selin_ to _Benz._ Waste not the precious time in idle breath.
+
+_Benz._ Let me resign this instrument of death.
+          [_Giving the sword to her father, and then pulling it back._
+Ah, no! I was too hasty to resign:
+'Tis in your hand more mortal than in mine.
+
+  _Enter_ HAMET.
+
+_Hamet._ The king is from the Alhambra beaten back,
+And now preparing for a new attack;
+To favour which, he wills, that instantly
+You reinforce him with a new supply.
+
+_Selin_ to _Benz._ Think not, although my duty calls me hence,
+That with the breach of yours I will dispense.
+Ere my return, see my commands you do:
+Let me find Ozmyn dead, and killed by you.--
+Gazul and Reduan, attend her still;
+And, if she dares to fail, perform my will.
+                                          [_Exeunt_ SELIN _and_ HAMET.
+                         [BENZAYDA _looks languishing on him, with her
+                          sword down_; GAZUL _and_ REDUAN _standing
+                          with drawn swords by her._
+
+_Ozm._ Defer not, fair Benzayda, my death:
+Looking on you,
+I should but live to sigh away my breath.
+My eyes have done the work they had to do:
+I take your image with me, which they drew;
+And, when they close, I shall die full of you.
+
+_Benz._ When parents their commands unjustly lay,
+Children are privileged to disobey;
+Yet from that breach of duty I am clear,
+Since I submit the penalty to bear.
+To die, or kill you, is the alternative;
+Rather than take your life, I will not live.
+
+_Ozm._ This shows the excess of generosity;
+But, madam, you have no pretence to die.
+I should defame the Abencerrages race,
+To let a lady suffer in my place.
+But neither could that life, you would bestow,
+Save mine; nor do you so much pity owe
+To me, a stranger, and your house's foe.
+
+_Benz._ From whencesoe'er their hate our houses drew,
+I blush to tell you, I have none for you.
+'Tis a confession which I should not make,
+Had I more time to give, or you to take:
+But, since death's near, and runs with so much force,
+We must meet first, and intercept his course.
+
+_Ozm._ Oh, how unkind a comfort do you give!
+Now I fear death again, and wish to live.
+Life were worth taking, could I have it now;
+But 'tis more good than heaven can e'er allow
+To one man's portion, to have life and you.
+
+_Benz._ Sure, at our births,
+Death with our meeting planets danced above,
+Or we were wounded by a mourning love!--             [_Shouts within._
+
+_Red._ The noise returns, and doubles from behind;
+It seems as if two adverse armies joined.--
+Time presses us.
+
+_Gaz._ If longer you delay,
+We must, though loth, your father's will obey.
+
+_Ozm._ Haste, madam, to fulfil his hard commands.
+And rescue me from their ignoble hands.
+Let me kiss yours, when you my wound begin,
+Then easy death will slide with pleasure in.
+
+_Benz._ Ah, gentle soldiers, some short time allow!
+                                                 [_To_ GAZ. _and_ RED.
+My father has repented him ere now;
+Or will repent him, when he finds me dead.
+My clue of life is twined with Ozmyn's thread.
+
+_Red._ 'Tis fatal to refuse her, or obey.--
+But where is our excuse? what can we say?
+
+_Benz._ Say any thing.
+Say, that to kill the guiltless you were loth;
+Or if you did, say, I would kill you both.
+
+_Gaz._ To disobey our orders is to die.--
+I'll do't,--who dares oppose it?
+
+_Red._ That dare I.   [REDUAN _stands before_ OZMYN, _and fights with_
+                       GAZUL. BENZAYDA _unbinds_ OZMYN, _and gives him
+                       her sword._
+
+_Benz._ Stay not to see the issue of the fight;     [RED. _kills_ GAZ.
+But haste to save yourself by speedy flight.
+                                     [OZMYN _kneels to kiss her hand._
+
+_Ozm._ Did all mankind against my life conspire.
+Without this blessing I would not retire.--
+But madam, can I go and leave you here?
+Your father's anger now for you I fear:
+Consider you have done too much to stay.
+
+_Benz._ Think not of me, but fly yourself away.
+
+_Red._ Haste quickly hence; the enemies are nigh!
+From every part I see the soldiers fly.
+The foes not only our assailants beat,
+But fiercely sally out on their retreat,
+And, like a sea broke loose, come on amain.
+
+  _Enter_ ABENAMAR, _and a party with their swords drawn, driving in
+  some of the enemies._
+
+_Aben._ Traitors, you hope to save yourselves in vain!--
+Your forfeit lives shall for your treason pay;
+And Ozmyn's blood shall be revenged this day.
+
+_Ozm._ No, sir, your Ozmyn lives; and lives to own
+                                            [_Kneeling to his father._
+A father's piety to free his son.
+
+_Aben._ My Ozmyn!--O, thou blessing of my age!       [_Embracing him._
+And art thou safe from their deluded rage!--
+Whom must I praise for thy deliverance?
+Was it thy valour, or the work of chance?
+
+_Ozm._ Nor chance, nor valour, could deliver me;
+But 'twas a noble pity set me free.--
+My liberty, and life,
+And what your happiness you're pleased to call,
+We to this charming beauty owe it all.
+
+_Aben._ Instruct me, visible divinity!--                    [_To her._
+Instruct me by what name to worship thee!
+For to thy virtue I would altars raise,
+Since thou art much above all human praise.
+But see,--
+
+  _Enter_ ALMANZOR, _his sword bloody, leading in_ ALMAHIDE _attended
+  by_ ESPERANZA.
+
+My other blessing, Almahide, is here!--
+I'll to the king, and tell him she is near:
+You, Ozmyn, on your fair deliverer wait,
+And with your private joys the public celebrate.
+                                      [_Exeunt_ ABEN. OZM. _and_ BENZ.
+
+_Almanz._ The work is done; now, madam, you are free;
+At least, if I can give you liberty:
+But you have chains which you yourself have chose;
+And, O, that I could free you too from those!
+But you are free from force, and have full power
+To go, and kill my hopes and me, this hour.--
+I see, then, you will go; but yet my toil
+May he rewarded with a looking while.
+
+_Almah._ Almanzor can from every subject raise
+New matter for our wonder and his praise.
+You bound and freed me; but the difference is,
+That showed your valour; but your virtue this.
+
+_Almanz._ Madam, you praise a funeral victory,
+At whose sad pomp the conqueror must die.
+
+_Almah._ Conquest attends Almanzor every where;
+I am too small a foe for him to fear:
+But heroes still must be opposed by some,
+Or they would want occasion to o'ercome.
+
+_Almanz._ Madam, I cannot on bare praises live:
+Those, who abound in praises, seldom give.
+
+_Almah._ While I to all the world your worth make known,
+May heaven reward the pity you have shown!
+
+_Almanz._ My love is languishing, and starved to death;
+And would you give me charity--in breath?
+Prayers are the alms of churchmen to the poor:
+They send's to heaven, but drive us from their door.
+
+_Almah._ Cease, cease a suit
+So vain to you, and troublesome to me,
+If you will have me think that I am free.
+If I am yet a slave, my bonds I'll bear;
+But what I cannot grant, I will not hear.
+
+_Almanz._ You will not hear!--You must both hear and grant;
+For, madam, there's an impudence in want.
+
+_Almah._ Your way is somewhat strange to ask relief
+You ask with threatening, like a begging thief.--
+Once more, Almanzor, tell me, am I free?
+
+_Almanz._ Madam, you are, from all the world,--but me!--
+But as a pirate, when he frees the prize
+He took from friends, sees the rich merchandize,
+And, after he has freed it, justly buys;
+So, when I have restored your liberty--
+But then, alas, I am too poor to buy!
+
+_Almah._ Nay, now you use me just as pirates do:
+You free me; but expect a ransom too.
+
+_Almanz._ You've all the freedom that a prince can have;
+But greatness cannot be without a slave.
+A monarch never can in private move,
+But still is haunted with officious love.
+So small an inconvenience you may bear;
+'Tis all the fine fate sets upon the fair.
+
+_Almah._ Yet princes may retire, whene'er they please,
+And breathe free air from out their palaces:
+They go sometimes unknown, to shun their state;
+And then, 'tis manners not to know or wait.
+
+_Almanz._ If not a subject then, a ghost I'll be;
+And from a ghost, you know, no place is free.
+Asleep, awake, I'll haunt you every where;
+From my white shroud groan love into your ear:
+When in your lover's arms you sleep at night,
+I'll glide in cold betwixt, and seize my right:
+And is't not better, in your nuptial bed,
+To have a living lover than a dead?
+
+_Almah._ I can no longer bear to be accused,
+As if what I could grant you, I refused.
+My father's choice I never will dispute;
+And he has chosen ere you moved your suit.
+You know my case; if equal you can be,
+Plead for yourself, and answer it for me.
+
+_Almanz._ Then, madam, in that hope you bid me live;
+I ask no more than you may justly give:
+But in strict justice there may favour be,
+And may I hope that you have that for me?
+
+_Almah._ Why do you thus my secret thoughts pursue,
+Which, known, hurt me, and cannot profit you?
+Your knowledge but new troubles does prepare,
+Like theirs who curious in their fortunes are.
+To say, I could with more content be yours,
+Tempts you to hope; but not that hope assures.
+For since the king has right,
+And favoured by my father in his suit,
+It is a blossom which can bear no fruit.
+Yet, if you dare attempt so hard a task,
+May you succeed; you have my leave to ask.
+
+_Almanz._ I can with courage now my hopes pursue,
+Since I no longer have to combat you.
+That did the greatest difficulty bring;
+The rest are small, a father and a king!
+
+_Almah._ Great souls discern not when the leap's too wide,
+Because they only view the farther side.
+Whatever you desire, you think is near;
+But, with more reason, the event I fear.
+
+_Almanz._ No; there is a necessity in fate,
+Why still the brave bold man is fortunate:
+He keeps his object ever full in sight,
+And that assurance holds him firm and right.
+True, 'tis a narrow path that leads to bliss,
+But right before there is no precipice:
+Fear makes men look aside, and then their footing miss.
+
+_Almah._ I do your merit all the right I can;
+Admiring virtue in a private man:
+I only wish the king may grateful be,
+And that my father with my eyes may see.
+Might I not make it as my last request,--
+Since humble carriage suits a suppliant best,--
+That you would somewhat of your fierceness hide--
+That inborn fire--I do not call it pride?
+
+_Almanz._ Born, as I am, still to command, not sue,
+Yet you shall see that I can beg for you;
+And if your father will require a crown,
+Let him but name the kingdom, 'tis his own.
+I am, but while I please, a private man;
+I have that soul which empires first began.
+From the dull crowd, which every king does lead,
+I will pick out whom I will chuse to head:
+The best and bravest souls I can select,
+And on their conquered necks my throne erect.               [_Exeunt._
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+
+  ABDALLA _alone, under the walls of the Albayzyn._
+
+_Abdal._ While she is mine, I have not yet lost all,
+But in her arms shall have a gentle fall:
+Blest in my love, although in war o'ercome,
+I fly, like Antony from Actium,
+To meet a better Cleopatra here.--
+You of the watch! you of the watch! appear.
+
+_Sold._ [_above._] Who calls below? What's your demand?
+
+_Abdal._ 'Tis I:
+Open the gate with speed; the foe is nigh.
+
+_Sold._ What orders for admittance do you bring?
+
+_Abdal._ Slave, my own orders; look, and know the king.
+
+_Sold._ I know you; but my charge is so severe,
+That none, without exception, enter here.
+
+_Abdal._ Traitor, and rebel! thou shalt shortly see
+Thy orders are not to extend to me.
+
+_Lyndar._ [_above._] What saucy slave so rudely does exclaim,
+And brands my subject with a rebel's name?
+
+_Abdal._ Dear Lyndaraxa, haste; the foes pursue.
+
+_Lyndar._ My lord, the Prince Abdalla, is it you?
+I scarcely can believe the words I hear;
+Could you so coarsely treat my officer?
+
+_Abdal._ He forced me; but the danger nearer draws:
+When I am entered, you shall know the cause.
+
+_Lyndar._ Entered! Why, have you any business here?
+
+_Abdal._ I am pursued, the enemy is near.
+
+_Lyndar._ Are you pursued, and do you thus delay
+To save yourself? Make haste, my lord, away.
+
+_Abdal._ Give me not cause to think you mock my grief:
+What place have I, but this, for my relief?
+
+_Lyndar._ This favour does your handmaid much oblige,
+But we are not provided for a siege:
+My subjects few; and their provision thin;
+The foe is strong without, we weak within.
+This to my noble lord may seem unkind,
+But he will weigh it in his princely mind;
+And pardon her, who does assurance want
+So much, she blushes when she cannot grant.
+
+_Abdal._ Yes, you may blush; and you have cause to weep.
+Is this the faith you promised me to keep?
+Ah yet, if to a lover you will bring
+No succour, give your succour to a king.
+
+_Lyndar._ A king is he, whom nothing can withstand;
+Who men and money can with ease command.
+A king is he, whom fortune still does bless;
+He is a king, who does a crown possess.
+If you would have me think that you are he,
+Produce to view your marks of sovereignty;
+But if yourself alone for proof you bring,
+You are but a single person, not a king.
+
+_Abdal._ Ungrateful maid, did I for this rebel?
+I say no more; but I have loved too well.
+
+_Lyndar._ Who but yourself did that rebellion move:
+Did I e'er promise to receive your love?
+Is it my fault you are not fortunate?
+I love a king, but a poor rebel hate.
+
+_Abdal._ Who follow fortune, still are in the right;
+But let me be protected here this night.
+
+_Lyndar._ The place to-morrow will be circled round;
+And then no way will for your flight be found.
+
+_Abdal._ I hear my enemies just coming on;        [_Trampling within._
+Protect me but one hour, till they are gone.
+
+_Lyndar._ They'll know you have been here; it cannot be;
+That very hour you stay, will ruin me:
+For if the foe behold our interview,
+I shall be thought a rebel too, like you.
+Haste hence; and, that your flight may prosperous prove,
+I'll recommend you to the powers above.    [_Exit_ LYND. _from above._
+
+_Abdal._ She's gone: Ah, faithless and ungrateful maid!--
+I hear some tread; and fear I am betrayed.
+I'll to the Spanish king; and try if he,
+To countenance his own right, will succour me:
+There is more faith in Christian dogs, than thee.             [_Exit._
+
+  _Enter_ OZMYN, BENZAYDA, _and_ ABENAMAR.
+
+_Benz._ I wish
+(To merit all these thanks) I could have said,
+My pity only did his virtue aid;
+'Twas pity, but 'twas of a love-sick maid.
+His manly suffering my esteem did move;
+That bred compassion, and compassion love.
+
+_Ozm._ O blessing sold me at too cheap a rate!
+My danger was the benefit of fate.                   [_To his father._
+But that you may my fair deliverer know,
+She was not only born our house's foe,
+But to my death by powerful reasons led;
+At least, in justice, she might wish me dead.
+
+_Aben._ But why thus long do you her name conceal?
+
+_Ozm._ To gain belief for what I now reveal:
+Even thus prepared, you scarce can think it true,
+The saver of my life from Selin drew
+Her birth; and was his sister whom I slew.
+
+_Aben._ No more; it cannot, was not, must not be:
+Upon my blessing, say not it was she.
+The daughter of the only man I hate!
+Two contradictions twisted in a fate!
+
+_Ozm._ The mutual hate, which you and Selin bore,
+Does but exalt her generous pity more.
+Could she a brother's death forgive to me,
+And cannot you forget her family?
+Can you so ill requite the life I owe,
+To reckon her, who gave it, still your foe?
+It lends too great a lustre to her line,
+To let her virtue ours so much out-shine.
+
+_Aben._ Thou gav'st her line the advantage which they have,
+By meanly taking of the life they gave.
+Grant that it did in her a pity shew;
+But would my son be pitied by a foe?
+She has the glory of thy act defaced:
+Thou kill'dst her brother; but she triumphs last:
+Poorly for us our enmity would cease;
+When we are beaten, we receive a peace.
+
+_Benz._ If that be all in which you disagree,
+I must confess 'twas Ozmyn conquered me.
+Had I beheld him basely beg his life,
+I should not now submit to be his wife;
+But when I saw his courage death controul,
+I paid a secret homage to his soul;
+And thought my cruel father much to blame,
+Since Ozmyn's virtue his revenge did shame.
+
+_Aben._ What constancy can'st thou e'er hope to find
+In that unstable, and soon conquered mind?
+What piety can'st thou expect from her,
+Who could forgive a brother's murderer?
+Or, what obedience hop'st thou to be paid,
+From one who first her father disobeyed?
+
+_Ozm._ Nature, that bids us parents to obey,
+Bids parents their commands by reason weigh;
+And you her virtue by your praise did own,
+Before you knew by whom the act was done.
+
+_Aben._ Your reasons speak too much of insolence;
+Her birth's a crime past pardon or defence.
+Know, that as Selin was not won by thee,
+Neither will I by Selin's daughter be.
+Leave her, or cease henceforth to be my son:
+This is my will; and this I will have done.              [_Exit_ ABEN.
+
+_Ozm._ It is a murdering will,
+That whirls along with an impetuous sway,
+And, like chain-shot, sweeps all things in its way.
+He does my honour want of duty call;
+To that, and love, he has no right at all.
+
+_Benz._ No, Ozmyn, no; it is a much less ill
+To leave me, than dispute a father's will:
+If I had any title to your love,
+Your father's greater right does mine remove:
+Your vows and faith I give you back again,
+Since neither can be kept without a sin.
+
+_Ozm._ Nothing but death my vows can give me back:
+They are not yours to give, nor mine to take.
+
+_Benz._ Nay, think not, though I could your vows resign,
+My love or virtue could dispense with mine.
+I would extinguish your unlucky fire,
+To make you happy in some new desire:
+I can preserve enough for me and you,
+And love, and be unfortunate, for two.
+
+_Ozm._ In all that's good and great
+You vanquish me so fast, that in the end
+I shall have nothing left me to defend.
+From every post you force me to remove;
+But let me keep my last entrenchment, love.
+
+_Benz._ Love then, my Ozmyn; I will be content     [_Giving her hand._
+To make you wretched by your own consent:
+Live poor, despised, and banished for my sake,
+And all the burden of my sorrows take;
+For, as for me, in whatsoe'er estate,
+While I have you, I must be fortunate.
+
+_Ozm._ Thus then, secured of what we hold most dear,
+(Each other's love) we'll go--I know not where.
+For where, alas, should we our flight begin?
+The foe's without; our parents are within.
+
+_Benz._ I'll fly to you, and you shall fly to me;
+Our flight but to each other's arms shall be.
+To providence and chance permit the rest;
+Let us but love enough, and we are blest.                   [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+  _Enter_ BOABDELIN, ABENAMAR, ABDELMELECH, _Guards:_ ZULEMA _and_
+  HAMET, _Prisoners._
+
+_Abdelm._ They are Lyndaraxa's brothers; for her sake,
+Their lives and pardon my request I make.
+
+_Boab._ Then, Zulema and Hamet, live; but know,
+Your lives to Abdelmelech's suit you owe.
+
+_Zul._ The grace received so much my hope exceeds,
+That words come weak and short to answer deeds.
+You've made a venture, sir, and time must shew,
+If this great mercy you did well bestow.
+
+_Boab._ You, Abdelmelech, haste before 'tis night,
+And close pursue my brother in his flight.
+                           [_Exeunt_ ABDELMELECH, ZULEMA, _and_ HAMET.
+
+  _Enter_ ALMANZOR, ALMAHIDE, _and_ ESPERANZA.
+
+But see, with Almahide
+The brave Almanzor comes, whose conquering sword
+The crown, it once took from me, has restored.
+How can I recompence so great desert!
+
+_Almanz._ I bring you, sir, performed in every part,
+My promise made; your foes are fled or slain;
+Without a rival, absolute you reign.
+Yet though, in justice, this enough may be,
+It is too little to be done by me:
+I beg to go,
+Where my own courage and your fortune calls,
+To chase these misbelievers from our walls.
+I cannot breathe within this narrow space;
+My heart's too big, and swells beyond the place.
+
+_Boab._ You can perform, brave warrior, what you please;
+Fate listens to your voice, and then decrees.
+Now I no longer fear the Spanish powers;
+Already we are free, and conquerors.
+
+_Almanz._ Accept, great king, to-morrow, from my hand,
+The captive head of conquered Ferdinand.
+You shall not only what you lost regain,
+But o'er the Biscayan mountains to the main,
+Extend your sway, where never Moor did reign.
+
+_Aben._ What, in another, vanity would seem,
+Appears but noble confidence in him;
+No haughty boasting, but a manly pride;
+A soul too fiery, and too great to guide:
+He moves excentric, like a wandering star,
+Whose motion's just, though 'tis not regular.
+
+_Boab._ It is for you, brave man, and only you,
+Greatly to speak, and yet more greatly do.
+But, if your benefits too far extend,
+I must be left ungrateful in the end:
+Yet somewhat I would pay,
+Before my debts above all reckoning grow,
+To keep me from the shame of what I owe.
+But you
+Are conscious to yourself of such desert,
+That of your gift I fear to offer part.
+
+_Almanz._ When I shall have declared my high request,
+So much presumption there will be confest,
+That you will find your gifts I do not shun;
+But rather much o'er-rate the service done.
+
+_Boab._ Give wing to your desires, and let 'em fly,
+Secure they cannot mount a pitch too high.
+So bless me, Alha, both in peace and war,
+As I accord, whate'er your wishes are.
+
+_Almanz._ Emboldened by the promise of a prince,
+                                    [_Putting one knee to the ground._
+I ask this lady now with confidence.
+
+_Boab._ You ask the only thing I cannot grant.
+                            [_The King and_ ABENAMAR _look amazedly on
+                             each other._
+But, as a stranger, you are ignorant
+Of what by public fame my subjects know;
+She is my mistress.
+
+_Aben._ --And my daughter too.
+
+_Almanz._ Believe, old man, that I her father knew:
+What else should make Almanzor kneel to you?--
+Nor doubt, sir, but your right to her was known:
+For had you had no claim but love alone,
+I could produce a better of my own.
+
+_Almah._ [_softly to him._]
+Almanzor, you forget my last request:
+Your words have too much haughtiness expressed.
+Is this the humble way you were to move?
+
+_Almanz._ [_to her._]
+I was too far transported by my love.
+Forgive me; for I had not learned to sue
+To any thing before, but heaven and you.--
+Sir, at your feet, I make it my request--              [_To the King._
+                   [_First line kneeling: second, rising, and boldly._
+Though, without boasting, I deserve her best;
+For you her love with gaudy titles sought,
+But I her heart with blood and dangers bought.
+
+_Boab._ The blood, which you have shed in her defence,
+Shall have in time a fitting recompence:
+Or, if you think your services delayed,
+Name but your price, and you shall soon be paid.
+
+_Almanz._ My price!--why, king, you do not think you deal
+With one who sets his services to sale?
+Reserve your gifts for those who gifts regard;
+And know, I think myself above reward.
+
+_Boab._ Then sure you are some godhead; and our care
+Must be to come with incense and with prayer.
+
+_Almanz._ As little as you think yourself obliged,
+You would be glad to do't, when next besieged.
+But I am pleased there should be nothing due;
+For what I did was for myself, not you.
+
+_Boab._ You with contempt on meaner gifts look down;
+And, aiming at my queen, disdain my crown.
+That crown, restored, deserves no recompence.
+Since you would rob the fairest jewel thence.
+Dare not henceforth ungrateful me to call;
+Whate'er I owed you, this has cancelled all.
+
+_Almanz._ I'll call thee thankless, king, and perjured both:
+Thou swor'st by Alha, and hast broke thy oath.
+But thou dost well; thou tak'st the cheapest way;
+Not to own services thou canst not pay.
+
+_Boab._ My patience more than pays thy service past;
+But now this insolence shall be thy last.
+Hence from my sight! and take it as a grace,
+Thou liv'st, and art but banished from the place.
+
+_Almanz._ Where'er I go, there can no exile be;
+But from Almanzor's sight I banish thee:
+I will not now, if thou wouldst beg me, stay;
+But I will take my Almahide away.
+Stay thou with all thy subjects here; but know,
+We leave thy city empty when we go.        [_Takes_ ALMAHIDE'S _hand._
+
+_Boab._ Fall on; take; kill the traitor.
+                        [_The Guards fall on him; he makes at the King
+                         through the midst of them, and falls upon
+                         him; they disarm him, and rescue the King._
+
+_Almanz._ --Base and poor,
+Blush that thou art Almanzor's conqueror.
+                           [ALMAHIDE _wrings her hands, then turns and
+                            veils her face._
+Farewell, my Almahide!
+Life of itself will go, now thou art gone,
+Like flies in winter, when they lose the sun.
+                           [ABENAMAR _whispers the King a little, then
+                            speaks aloud._
+
+_Aben._ Revenge, and taken so secure a way,
+Are blessings which heaven sends not every day.
+
+_Boab._ I will at leisure now revenge my wrong;
+And, traitor, thou shalt feel my vengeance long:
+Thou shalt not die just at thy own desire,
+But see my nuptials, and with rage expire.
+
+_Almanz._ Thou darest not marry her while I'm in sight:
+With a bent brow thy priest and thee I'll fright;
+And in that scene,
+Which all thy hopes and wishes should content,
+The thought of me shall make thee impotent.
+                                           [_He is led off by Guards._
+
+_Boab._ As some fair tulip, by a storm oppressed,         [_To_ ALMAH.
+Shrinks up, and folds its silken arms to rest;
+And, bending to the blast, all pale and dead,
+Hears, from within, the wind sing round its head,--
+So, shrouded up, your beauty disappears:
+Unveil, my love, and lay aside your fears.
+The storm, that caused your fright, is passed and done.
+                          [ALMAHIDE _unveiling, and looking round for_
+                           ALMANZOR.
+
+_Almah._ So flowers peep out too soon, and miss the sun.
+                                                  [_Turning from him._
+
+_Boab._ What mystery in this strange behaviour lies?
+
+_Almah._ Let me for ever hide these guilty eyes,
+Which lighted my Almanzor to his tomb;
+Or, let them blaze, to show me there a room.
+
+_Boab._ Heaven lent their lustre for a nobler end;
+A thousand torches must their light attend,
+To lead you to a temple and a crown.
+Why does my fairest Almahide frown?
+Am I less pleasing then I was before,
+Or, is the insolent Almanzor more?
+
+_Almah._ I justly own that I some pity have,
+Not for the insolent, but for the brave.
+
+_Aben._ Though to your king your duty you neglect,
+Know, Almahide, I look for more respect:
+And, if a parent's charge your mind can move,
+Receive the blessing of a monarch's love.
+
+_Almah._ Did he my freedom to his life prefer,
+And shall I wed Almanzor's murderer?
+No, sir; I cannot to your will submit;
+Your way's too rugged for my tender feet.
+
+_Aben._ You must be driven where you refuse to go;
+And taught, by force, your happiness to know.
+
+_Almah._ To force me, sir, is much unworthy you,
+                                                [_Smiling scornfully._
+And, when you would, impossible to do.
+If force could bend me, you might think, with shame,
+That I debase the blood from whence I came.
+My soul is soft, which you may gently lay
+In your loose palm; but, when 'tis pressed to stay,
+Like water, it deludes your grasp, and slips away.
+
+_Boab._ I find I must revoke what I decreed:
+Almanzor's death my nuptials must precede.
+Love is a magic which the lover ties;
+But charms still end when the magician dies.
+Go; let me hear my hated rival's dead;                [_To his Guard._
+And, to convince my eyes, bring back his head.
+
+_Almah._ Go on: I wish no other way to prove
+That I am worthy of Almanzor's love.
+We will in death, at least, united be:
+I'll shew you I can die as well as he.
+
+_Boab._ What should I do! when equally I dread
+Almanzor living and Almanzor dead!--
+Yet, by your promise, you are mine alone.
+
+_Almah._ How dare you claim my faith, and break your own?
+
+_Aben._ This for your virtue is a weak defence:
+No second vows can with your first dispense.
+Yet, since the king did to Almanzor swear,
+And in his death ungrateful may appear,
+He ought, in justice, first to spare his life,
+And then to claim your promise as his wife.
+
+_Almah._ Whate'er my secret inclinations be,
+To this, since honour ties me, I agree:
+Yet I declare, and to the world will own,
+That, far from seeking, I would shun the throne.
+And with Almanzor lead a humble life:
+There is a private greatness in his wife.
+
+_Boab._ That little love I have, I hardly buy;
+You give my rival all, while you deny:
+Yet, Almahide, to let you see your power,
+Your loved Almanzor shall be free this hour.
+You are obeyed; but 'tis so great a grace,
+That I could wish me in my rival's place.
+                                        [_Exeunt_ KING _and_ ABENAMAR.
+
+_Almah._ How blessed was I before this fatal day,
+When all I knew of love, was to obey!
+'Twas life becalmed, without a gentle breath;
+Though not so cold, yet motionless as death.
+A heavy quiet state; but love, all strife,
+All rapid, is the hurricane of life.
+Had love not shewn me, I had never seen
+An excellence beyond Boabdelin.
+I had not, aiming higher, lost my rest;
+But with a vulgar good been dully blest:
+But, in Almanzor, having seen what's rare,
+Now I have learnt too sharply to compare;
+And, like a favourite quickly in disgrace,
+Just knew the value ere I lost the place.
+
+  _To her_ ALMANZOR, _bound and guarded._
+
+_Almanz._ I see the end for which I'm hither sent,
+To double, by your sight, my punishment.
+There is a shame in bonds I cannot bear;
+Far more than death, to meet your eyes I fear.
+
+_Almah._ That shame of long continuance shall not be:
+                                                     [_Unbinding him._
+The king, at my entreaty, sets you free.
+
+_Almanz._ The king! my wonder's greater than before;
+How did he dare my freedom to restore?
+He like some captive lion uses me;
+He runs away before he sets me free,
+And takes a sanctuary in his court:
+I'll rather lose my life than thank him for't.
+
+_Almah._ If any subject for your thanks there be,
+The king expects them not, you owe them me.
+Our freedoms through each other's hands have past;
+You give me my revenge in winning last.
+
+_Almanz._ Then fate commodiously for me has done;
+To lose mine there where I would have it won.
+
+_Almah._ Almanzor, you too soon will understand,
+That what I win is on another's hand.
+The king (who doomed you to a cruel fate)
+Gave to my prayers both his revenge and hate;
+But at no other price would rate your life,
+Than my consent and oath to be his wife.
+
+_Almanz._ Would you, to save my life, my love betray?
+Here; take me; bind me; carry me away;
+Kill me! I'll kill you if you disobey.               [_To the Guards._
+
+_Almah._ That absolute command your love does give,
+I take, and charge you by that power to live.
+
+_Almanz._ When death, the last of comforts, you refuse,
+Your power, like heaven upon the damned, you use;
+You force me in my being to remain,
+To make me last, and keep me fresh for pain.
+When all my joys are gone,
+What cause can I for living longer give,
+But a dull, lazy habitude to live?
+
+_Almah._ Rash men, like you, and impotent of will,
+Give chance no time to turn, but urge her still;
+She would repent; you push the quarrel on,
+And once because she went, she must be gone.
+
+_Almanz._ She shall not turn; what is it she can do,
+To recompense me for the loss of you?
+
+_Almah_, Heaven will reward your worth some better way:
+At least, for me, you have but lost one day.
+Nor is't a real loss which you deplore;
+You sought a heart that was engaged before.
+'Twas a swift love which took you in his way;
+Flew only through your heart, but made no stay:
+'Twas but a dream, where truth had not a place;
+A scene of fancy, moved so swift a pace,
+And shifted, that you can but think it was;--
+Let then, the short vexatious vision pass.
+
+_Almanz._ My joys, indeed, are dreams; but not my pain:
+'Twas a swift ruin, but the marks remain.
+When some fierce fire lays goodly buildings waste,
+Would you conclude
+There had been none, because the burning's past?
+
+_Almah._ It was your fault that fire seized all your breast;
+You should have blown up some to save the rest:
+But 'tis, at worst, but so consumed by fire,
+As cities are, that by their fall rise higher.
+Build love a nobler temple in my place;
+You'll find the fire has but enlarged your space.
+
+_Almanz._ Love has undone me; I am grown so poor,
+I sadly view the ground I had before,
+But want a stock, and ne'er can build it more.
+
+_Almah._ Then say what charity I can allow;
+I would contribute if I knew but how.
+Take friendship; or, if that too small appear,
+Take love,--which sisters may to brothers bear.
+
+_Almanz._ A sister's love! that is so palled a thing,
+What pleasure can it to a lover bring?
+'Tis like thin food to men in fevers spent;
+Just keeps alive, but gives no nourishment.
+What hopes, what fears, what transports can it move?
+'Tis but the ghost of a departed love.
+
+_Almah._ You, like some greedy cormorant, devour
+All my whole life can give you in an hour.
+What more I can do for you is to die,
+And that must follow, if you this deny.
+Since I gave up my love, that you might live,
+You, in refusing life, my sentence give.
+
+_Almanz._ Far from my breast be such an impious thought!
+Your death would lose the quiet mine had sought.
+I'll live for you, in spite of misery;
+But you shall grant that I had rather die.
+I'll be so wretched, filled with such despair,
+That you shall see, to live was more to dare.
+
+_Almah._ Adieu, then, O my soul's far better part!
+Your image sticks so close,
+That the blood follows from my rending heart.
+A last farewell!
+For, since a last must come, the rest are vain,
+Like gasps in death, which but prolong our pain.
+But, since the king is now a part of me,
+Cease from henceforth to be his enemy.
+Go now, for pity go! for, if you stay,
+I fear I shall have something still to say.
+Thus--I for ever shut you from my sight.                     [_Veils._
+
+_Almanz._ Like one thrust out in a cold winters night,
+Yet shivering underneath your gate I stay;
+One look--I cannot go before 'tis day.--
+                                        [_She beckons him to be gone._
+Not one--Farewell: Whate'er my sufferings be
+Within, I'll speak farewell as loud as she:
+I will not be out-done in constancy.--          [_She turns her back._
+Then like a dying conqueror I go;
+At least I have looked last upon my foe.
+I go--but, if too heavily I move,
+I walk encumbered with a weight of love.
+Fain I would leave the thought of you behind,
+But still, the more I cast you from my mind,
+You dash, like water, back, when thrown against the wind.     [_Exit._
+
+  _As he goes off, the_ KING _meets him with_ ABENAMAR; _they stare at
+  each other without saluting._
+
+_Boab._ With him go all my fears: A guard there wait,
+And see him safe without the city gate.
+
+  _To them_ ABDELMELECH.
+
+Now, Abdelmelech, is my brother dead?
+
+_Abdelm._ Th' usurper to the Christian camp is fled;
+Whom as Granada's lawful king they own,
+And vow, by force, to seat him on the throne.
+Mean time the rebels in the Albayzyn rest;
+Which is in Lyndaraxa's name possest.
+
+_Boab._ Haste and reduce it instantly by force.
+
+_Abdelm._ First give me leave to prove a milder course.
+She will, perhaps, on summons yield the place.
+
+_Boab._ We cannot to your suit refuse her grace.
+                         [_One enters hastily, and whispers_ ABENAMAR.
+
+_Aben._ How fortune persecutes this hoary head!
+My Ozmyn is with Selin's daughter fled.
+But he's no more my son:
+My hate shall like a Zegry him pursue,
+'Till I take back what blood from me he drew.
+
+_Boab._ Let war and vengeance be to-morrow's care;
+But let us to the temple now repair.
+A thousand torches make the mosque more bright:
+This must be mine and Almahide's night.
+Hence, ye importunate affairs of state,
+You should not tyrannize on love, but wait.
+Had life no love, none would for business live;
+Yet still from love the largest part we give;
+And must be forced, in empire's weary toil,
+To live long wretched, to be pleased a while.               [_Exeunt._
+
+
+                              EPILOGUE.
+
+  Success, which can no more than beauty last,
+  Makes our sad poet mourn your favours past:
+  For, since without desert he got a name,
+  He fears to lose it now with greater shame.
+  Fame, like a little mistress of the town,
+  Is gained with ease, but then she's lost as soon:
+  For, as those tawdry misses, soon or late,
+  Jilt such as keep them at the highest rate;
+  And oft the lacquey, or the brawny clown,
+  Gets what is hid in the loose-bodied gown,--
+  So, fame is false to all that keep her long;
+  And turns up to the fop that's brisk and young.
+  Some wiser poet now would leave fame first;
+  But elder wits are, like old lovers, cursed:
+  Who, when the vigour of their youth is spent,
+  Still grow more fond, as they grow impotent.
+  This, some years hence, our poet's case may prove;
+  But yet, he hopes, he's young enough to love.
+  When forty comes, if e'er he live to see
+  That wretched, fumbling age of poetry,
+  'Twill be high time to bid his muse adieu:--
+  Well may he please himself, but never you.
+  Till then, he'll do as well as he began,
+  And hopes you will not find him less a man.
+  Think him not duller for this year's delay;
+  He was prepared, the women were away;
+  And men, without their parts, can hardly play.
+  If they, through sickness, seldom did appear,
+  Pity the virgins of each theatre:
+  For, at both houses, 'twas a sickly year!
+  And pity us, your servants, to whose cost,
+  In one such sickness, nine whole months are lost.
+  Their stay, he fears, has ruined what he writ:
+  Long waiting both disables love and wit.
+  They thought they gave him leisure to do well;
+  But, when they forced him to attend, he fell!
+  Yet, though he much has failed, he begs, to-day,
+  You will excuse his unperforming play:
+  Weakness sometimes great passion does express;
+  He had pleased better, had he loved you less.
+
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+                        ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE:
+
+                               OR, THE
+
+                         CONQUEST OF GRANADA
+
+                                BY THE
+
+                             _SPANIARDS._
+
+                              A TRAGEDY.
+
+                           THE SECOND PART.
+
+
+                   _--Stimulos dedit aemula virtus._
+                                   LUCAN.
+
+
+
+
+                               PROLOGUE
+
+                         TO THE SECOND PART.
+
+
+They, who write ill, and they, who ne'er durst write,
+Turn critics, out of mere revenge and spite:
+A playhouse gives them fame; and up there starts,
+From a mean fifth-rate wit, a man of parts.
+(So common faces on the stage appear;
+We take them in, and they turn beauties here.)
+Our author fears those critics as his fate;
+And those he fears, by consequence must hate,
+For they the traffic of all wit invade,
+As scriveners draw away the bankers' trade.
+Howe'er, the poet's safe enough to day,
+They cannot censure an unfinished play.
+But, as when vizard-mask appears in pit,
+Straight every man, who thinks himself a wit,
+Perks up, and, managing his comb with grace,
+With his white wig sets off his nut-brown face;
+That done, bears up to th' prize, and views each limb,
+To know her by her rigging and her trim;
+Then, the whole noise of fops to wagers go,--
+"Pox on her, 'tmust be she;" and--"damme, no!"--
+Just, so, I prophesy, these wits to-day
+Will blindly guess at our imperfect play;
+With what new plots our Second Part is filled,
+Who must be kept alive, and who be killed.
+And as those vizard-masks maintain that fashion,
+To soothe and tickle sweet imagination;
+So our dull poet keeps you on with masking,
+To make you think there's something worth your asking.
+But, when 'tis shown, that, which does now delight you,
+Will prove a dowdy, with a face to fright you.
+
+
+
+
+                        ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE,
+
+                               OR, THE
+
+                         CONQUEST OF GRANADA.
+
+                           THE SECOND PART.
+
+
+ACT I
+
+SCENE I.--_A Camp._
+
+  _Enter_ KING FERDINAND, QUEEN ISABELLA, ALONZO D'AGUILAR;
+  _Attendants, Men and Women._
+
+_K. Ferd._ At length the time is come, when Spain shall be
+From the long yoke of Moorish tyrants free.
+All causes seem to second our design,
+And heaven and earth in their destruction join.
+When empire in its childhood first appears,
+A watchful fate o'ersees its tender years;
+Till, grown more strong, it thrusts and stretches out,
+And elbows all the kingdoms round about:
+The place thus made for its first breathing free,
+It moves again for ease and luxury;
+Till, swelling by degrees, it has possessed
+The greater space, and now crowds up the rest;
+When, from behind, there starts some petty state,
+And pushes on its now unwieldy fate;
+Then down the precipice of time it goes,
+And sinks in minutes, which in ages rose.
+
+_Q. Isabel._ Should bold Columbus in his search succeed,
+And find those beds in which bright metals breed;
+Tracing the sun, who seems to steal away,
+That, miser-like, he might alone survey
+The wealth which he in western mines did lay,--
+Not all that shining ore could give my heart
+The joy, this conquered kingdom will impart;
+Which; rescued from these misbelievers' hands,
+Shall now, at once, shake off its double bands:
+At once to freedom and true faith restored,
+Its old religion and its ancient lord.
+
+_K. Ferd._ By that assault which last we made, I find,
+Their courage is with their success declined:
+Almanzor's absence now they dearly buy,
+Whose conduct crowned their arms with victory.
+
+_Alonzo._ Their king himself did their last sally guide;
+I saw him, glistering in his armour, ride
+To break a lance in honour of his bride:
+But other thoughts now fill his anxious breast;
+Care of his crown his love has dispossest.
+
+  _To them_ ABDALLA.
+
+_Q. Isabel._ But see, the brother of the Moorish king:
+He seems some news of great import to bring.
+
+_K. Ferd._ He brings a spacious title to our side:
+Those, who would conquer, must their foes divide.
+
+_Abdal._ Since to my exile you have pity shown,
+And given me courage yet to hope a throne;
+While you without our common foes subdue,
+I am not wanting to myself or you;
+But have, within, a faction still alive,
+Strong to assist, and secret to contrive,
+And watching each occasion to foment
+The people's fears into a discontent;
+Which, from Almanzor's loss, before were great,
+And now are doubled by their late defeat:
+These letters from their chiefs the news assures.
+                                         [_Gives letters to the_ KING.
+
+_K. Ferd._ Be mine the honour, but the profit yours.
+
+  _To them the_ DUKE OF ARCOS, _with_ OZMYN _and_ BENZAYDA,
+  _Prisoners._
+
+_K. Ferd._ That tertia of Italians did you guide,
+To take their post upon the river side?
+
+_D. Arcos._ All are according to your orders placed:
+My chearful soldiers their intrenchments haste;
+The Murcian foot hath ta'en the upper ground,
+And now the city is beleaguered round.
+
+_K. Ferd._ Why is not then their leader here again?
+
+_D. Arcos._ The master of Alcantara is slain;
+But he, who slew him, here before you stands:
+It is that Moor whom you behold in bands.
+
+_K. Ferd._ A braver man I had not in my host;
+His murderer shall not long his conquest boast:
+But, Duke of Arcos, say, how was he slain?
+
+_D. Arcos._ Our soldiers marched together on the plain;
+We two rode on, and left them far behind,
+Till, coming where we found the valley wind,
+We saw these Moors; who, swiftly as they could,
+Ran on to gain the covert of a wood.
+This we observed; and, having crossed their way,
+The lady, out of breath, was forced to stay:
+The man then stood, and straight his faulchion drew;
+Then told us, we in vain did those pursue,
+Whom their ill fortune to despair did drive,
+And yet, whom we should never take alive.
+Neglecting this, the master straight spurred on;
+But the active Moor his horse's shock did shun,
+And, ere his rider from his reach could go,
+Finished the combat with one deadly blow.
+I, to revenge my friend, prepared to fight;
+But now our foremost men were come in sight,
+Who soon would have dispatched him on the place,
+Had I not saved him from a death so base,
+And brought him to attend your royal doom.
+
+_K. Ferd._ A manly face, and in his age's bloom;
+But, to content the soldiers, he must die:
+Go, see him executed instantly.
+
+_Q. Isabel._ Stay; I would learn his name before he go:
+You, Prince Abdalla, may the prisoner know.
+
+_Abdal._ Ozmyn's his name, and he deserves his fate;
+His father heads the faction which I hate:
+But much I wonder, that with him I see
+The daughter of his mortal enemy.
+
+_Benz._ 'Tis true, by Ozmyn's sword my brother fell;
+But 'twas a death he merited too well.
+I know a sister should excuse his fault;
+But you know too, that Ozmyn's death he sought,
+
+_Abdal._ Our prophet has declared, by the event,
+That Ozmyn is reserved for punishment;
+For, when he thought his guilt from danger clear,
+He, by new crimes, is brought to suffer here.
+
+_Benz._ In love, or pity, if a crime you find,
+We two have sinned above all human kind.
+
+_Ozm._ Heaven in my punishment has done a grace;
+I could not suffer, in a better place:
+That I should die by Christians it thought good,
+To save your father's guilt, who sought my blood.           [_To her._
+
+_Benz._ Fate aims so many blows to make us fall,
+That 'tis in vain to think to ward them all:
+And, where misfortunes great and many are,
+Life grows a burden, and not worth our care.
+
+_Ozm._ I cast it from me, like a garment torn,
+Ragged, and too indecent to be worn:
+Besides, there is contagion in my fate,                    [_To_ BENZ.
+It makes your life too much unfortunate.--
+But, since her faults are not allied to mine,
+In her protection let your favour shine.
+To you, great queen, I make this last request,
+(Since pity dwells in every royal breast)
+Safe, in your care, her life and honour be:
+It is a dying lover's legacy.
+
+_Benz._ Cease, Ozmyn, cease so vain a suit to move;
+I did not give you on those terms my love.
+Leave me the care of me; for, when you go,
+My love will soon instruct me what to do.
+
+_Q. Isabel._ Permit me, sir, these lovers' doom to give:
+My sentence is, they shall together live.
+The courts of kings
+To all distressed should sanctuaries be,
+But most to lovers in adversity.
+Castile and Arragon,
+Which long against each other war did move,
+My plighted lord and I have joined by love;
+And, if to add this conquest heaven thinks good,
+I would not have it stained with lovers' blood.
+
+_K. Ferd._ Whatever Isabella shall command
+Shall always be a law to Ferdinand.
+
+_Benz._ The frowns of fate we will no longer fear.
+Ill fate, great queen, can never find us here.
+
+_Q. Isabel._ Your thanks some other time I will receive:
+Henceforward safe in my protection live.
+Granada is for noble loves renowned:
+Her best defence is in her lovers found.
+Love's an heroic passion, which can find
+No room in any base degenerate mind:
+It kindles all the soul with honour's fire,
+To make the lover worthy his desire.
+Against such heroes I success should fear,
+Had we not too an host of lovers here.
+An army, of bright beauties come with me;
+Each lady shall her servant's actions see:
+The fair and brave on each side shall contest;
+And they shall overcome, who love the best.                 [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE II.--_The Alhambra._
+
+  _Enter_ ZULEMA.
+
+_Zul._ True, they have pardoned me; but do they know
+What folly 'tis to trust a pardoned foe?
+A blush remains in a forgiven face:
+It wears the silent tokens of disgrace.
+Forgiveness to the injured does belong;
+But they ne'er pardon, who have done the wrong.
+My hopeful fortunes lost! and, what's above
+All I can name or think, my ruined love!
+Feigned honesty shall work me into trust,
+And seeming penitence conceal my lust.
+Let heaven's great eye of Providence now take
+One day of rest, and ever after wake.
+
+  _Enter_ BOABDELIN, ABENAMAR, _and Guards._
+
+_Boab._ Losses on losses! as if heaven decreed
+Almanzor's valour should alone succeed.
+
+_Aben._ Each sally we have made, since he is gone,
+Serves but to pull our speedy ruin on.
+
+_Boab._ Of all mankind, the heaviest fate he bears,
+Who the last crown of sinking empire wears.
+No kindly planet of his birth took care:
+Heaven's outcast, and the dross of every star!
+                                         [_A tumultuous noise within._
+
+  _Enter_ ABDELMELECH.
+
+What new misfortunes do these cries presage?
+
+_Abdelm._ They are the effects of the mad people's rage.
+All in despair tumultuously they swarm:
+The fairest streets already take the alarm;
+The needy creep from cellars under ground;
+To them new cries from tops of garrets sound;
+The aged from the chimneys seek the cold;
+And wives from windows helpless infants hold.
+
+_Boab._ See what the many-headed beast demands.--      [_Exit_ ABDELM.
+Cursed is that king, whose's honour's in their hands.
+In senates, either they too slowly grant,
+Or saucily refuse to aid my want;
+And, when their thrift has ruined me in war,
+They call their insolence my want of care.
+
+_Aben._ Cursed be their leaders, who that rage foment,
+And veil, with public good, their discontent:
+They keep the people's purses in their hands,
+And hector kings to grant their wild demands;
+But to each lure, a court throws out, descend,
+And prey on those they promised to defend.
+
+_Zul._ Those kings, who to their wild demands consent,
+Teach others the same way to discontent.
+Freedom in subjects is not, nor can be;
+But still, to please them, we must call them free.
+Propriety, which they their idol make,
+Or law, or law's interpreters, can shake.
+
+_Aben._ The name of commonwealth is popular;
+But there the people their own tyrants are.
+
+_Boab._ But kings, who rule with limited command,
+Have players' sceptres put into their hand.
+Power has no balance, one side still weighs down,
+And either hoists the commonwealth or crown;
+And those, who think to set the scale more right,
+By various turnings but disturb the weight.
+
+_Aben._ While people tug for freedom, kings for power,
+Both sink beneath some foreign conqueror:
+Then subjects find too late they were unjust,
+And want that power of kings, they durst not trust.
+
+  _To them_ ABDELMELECH.
+
+_Abdelm._ The tumult now is high, and dangerous grown:
+The people talk of rendering up the town;
+And swear that they will force the king's consent.
+
+_Boab._ What counsel can this rising storm prevent?
+
+_Abdelm._ Their fright to no persuasions will give ear:
+There's a deaf madness in a people's fear.
+
+  _Enter a Messenger._
+
+_Mess._ Their fury now a middle course does take;
+To yield the town, or call Almanzor back.
+
+_Boab._ I'll rather call my death.--
+Go and bring up my guards to my defence:
+I'll punish this outrageous insolence.
+
+_Aben._ Since blind opinion does their reason sway,
+You must submit to cure them their own way.
+You to their fancies physic must apply;
+Give them that chief on whom they most rely.
+Under Almanzor prosperously they fought;
+Almanzor, therefore, must with prayers be brought.
+
+  _Enter a second Messenger._
+
+_2 Mess._ Haste all you can their fury to assuage:
+You are not safe from their rebellious rage.
+
+  _Enter a third Messenger._
+
+_3 Mess._ This minute, if you grant not their desire,
+They'll seize your person, and your palace fire.
+
+_Abdelm._ Your danger, sir, admits of no delay.
+
+_Boab._ In tumults people reign, and kings obey.--
+Go and appease them with the vow I make,
+That they shall have their loved Almanzor back.         [_Exit_ ABDEL.
+Almanzor has the ascendant o'er my fate;
+I'm forced to stoop to one I fear and hate:
+Disgraced, distressed, in exile, and alone,
+He's greater than a monarch on his throne:
+Without a realm, a royalty he gains;
+Kings are the subjects over whom he reigns.
+                                    [_A shout of acclamations within._
+
+_Aben._ These shouts proclaim the people satisfied.
+
+_Boab._ We for another tempest must provide.
+To promise his return as I was loth,
+So I want power now to perform my oath.
+Ere this, for Afric he is sailed from Spain.
+
+_Aben._ The adverse winds his passage yet detain;
+I heard, last night, his equipage did stay
+At a small village, short of Malaga.
+
+_Boab._ Abenamar, this evening thither haste;
+Desire him to forget his usage past:
+Use all your rhetoric, promise, flatter, pray.
+
+  _To them_ ALMAHIDE, _attended._
+
+_Aben._ Good fortune shows you yet a surer way:
+Nor prayers nor promises his mind will move;
+'Tis inaccessible to all, but love.
+
+_Boab._ Oh, thou hast roused a thought within my breast,
+That will for ever rob me of my rest.
+Ah jealousy, how cruel is thy sting!
+I, in Almanzor, a loved rival bring!
+And now, I think, it is an equal strife,
+If I my crown should hazard, or my wife.
+Where, marriage, is thy cure, which husbands boast,
+That in possession their desire is lost?
+Or why have I alone that wretched taste,
+Which, gorged and glutted, does with hunger last?
+Custom and duty cannot set me free,
+Even sin itself has not a charm for me.
+Of married lovers I am sure the first,
+And nothing but a king could be so curst.
+
+_Almah._ What sadness sits upon your royal heart?
+Have you a grief, and must not I have part?
+All creatures else a time of love possess;
+Man only clogs with cares his happiness:
+And, while he should enjoy his part of bliss,
+With thoughts of what may be, destroys what is.
+
+_Boab._ You guess aright; I am oppressed with grief,
+And 'tis from you that I must seek relief.          [_To the company._
+Leave us; to sorrow there's a reverence due:
+Sad kings, like suns eclipsed, withdraw from view.
+                       [_The Attendants go off, and chairs are set for
+                        the King and Queen._
+
+_Almah._ So, two kind turtles, when a storm is nigh,
+Look up, and see it gathering in the sky:
+Each calls his mate, to shelter in the groves,
+Leaving, in murmur, their unfinished loves:
+Perched on some drooping branch, they sit alone,
+And coo, and hearken to each other's moan.
+
+_Boab._ Since, Almahide, you seem so kind a wife,
+                                            [_Taking her by the hand._
+What would you do to save a husband's life?
+
+_Almah._ When fate calls on that hard necessity,
+I'll suffer death, rather than you shall die.
+
+_Boab._ Suppose your country should in danger be;
+What would you undertake to set it free?
+
+_Almah._ It were too little to resign my breath:
+My own free hand should give me nobler death.
+
+_Boab._ That hand, which would so much for glory do,
+Must yet do more; for it must kill me too.
+You must kill me, for that dear country's sake;
+Or, what's all one, must call Almanzor back.
+
+_Almah._ I see to what your speech you now direct;
+Either my love or virtue you suspect.
+But know, that, when my person I resigned,
+I was too noble not to give my mind.
+No more the shadow of Almanzor fear;
+I have no room, but for your image, here.
+
+_Boab._ This, Almahide, would make me cease to mourn,
+Were that Almanzor never to return:
+But now my fearful people mutiny;
+Their clamours call Almanzor back, not I.
+Their safety, through my ruin, I pursue;
+He must return, and must be brought by you.
+
+_Almah._ That hour, when I my faith to you did plight,
+I banished him for ever from my sight.
+His banishment was to my virtue due;
+Not that I feared him for myself, but you.
+My honour had preserved me innocent:
+But I would, your suspicion to prevent;
+Which, since I see augmented in your mind,
+I yet more reason for his exile find.
+
+_Boab._ To your entreaties he will yield alone.
+And on your doom depend my life and throne.
+No longer, therefore, my desires withstand;
+Or, if desires prevail not, my command.
+
+_Almah._ In his return, too sadly I foresee
+The effects of your returning jealousy.
+But your command I prize above my life;
+'Tis sacred to a subject and a wife:
+If I have power, Almanzor shall return.
+
+_Boab._ Cursed be that fatal hour when I was born!
+                              [_Letting go her hand, and starting up._
+You love, you love him; and that love reveal,
+By your too quick consent to his repeal.
+My jealousy had but too just a ground;
+And now you stab into my former wound.
+
+_Almah._ This sudden change I do not understand.
+Have you so soon forgot your own command?
+
+_Boab._ Grant that I did the unjust injunction lay,
+You should have loved me more than to obey.
+I know you did this mutiny design;
+But I'll your love-plot quickly countermine.
+Let my crown go; he never shall return;
+I, like a phoenix, in my nest will burn.
+
+_Almah._ You please me well; that in one common fate
+You wrap yourself, and me, and all your state.
+Let us no more of proud Almanzor hear:
+'Tis better once to die, than still to fear;
+And better many times to die, than be
+Obliged, past payment, to an enemy.
+
+_Boab._ 'Tis better; but you wives have still one way:
+Whene'er your husbands are obliged, you pay.
+
+_Almah._ Thou, heaven, who know'st it, judge my innocence!--
+You, sir, deserve not I should make defence.
+Yet, judge my virtue by that proof I gave,
+When I submitted to be made your slave.
+
+_Boab._ If I have been suspicious or unkind,
+Forgive me; many cares distract my mind:
+Love, and a crown!
+Two such excuses no one man e'er had;
+And each of them enough to make me mad:
+But now my reason reassumes its throne,
+And finds no safety when Almanzor's gone.
+Send for him then; I'll be obliged, and sue;
+'Tis a less evil than to part with you.
+I leave you to your thoughts; but love me still!
+Forgive my passion, and obey my will.               [_Exit_ BOABDELIN.
+
+  ALMAHIDE _solus._
+
+My jealous lord will soon to rage return;
+That fire, his fear rakes up, does inward burn.
+But heaven, which made me great, has chose for me,
+I must the oblation for my people be.
+I'll cherish honour, then, and life despise;
+What is not pure, is not for sacrifice.
+Yet for Almanzor I in secret mourn!
+Can virtue, then, admit of his return?
+Yes; for my love I will by virtue square;
+My heart's not mine, but all my actions are.
+I'll like Almanzor act; and dare to be
+As haughty, and as wretched too, as he.
+What will he think is in my message meant?
+I scarcely understand my own intent:
+But, silk-worm like, so long within have wrought,
+That I am lost in my own web of thought.             [_Exit_ ALMAHIDE.
+
+
+ACT II.
+
+SCENE I.--_A Wood._
+
+  _Enter_ OZMYN _and_ BENZAYDA.
+
+_Ozm._ 'Tis true, that our protection here has been
+The effect of honour in the Spanish queen;
+But, while I as a friend continue here,
+I to my country must a foe appear.
+
+_Benz._ Think not, my Ozmyn, that we here remain
+As friends, but prisoners to the power of Spain.
+Fortune dispenses with your country's right;
+But you desert your honour in your flight.
+
+_Ozm._ I cannot leave you here, and go away;
+My honour's glad of a pretence to stay.
+                         [_A noise within,_--Follow, follow, follow!--
+
+  _Enter_ SELIN, _his sword drawn, as pursued._
+
+_Selin._ I am pursued, and now am spent and done;
+My limbs suffice me not with strength to run.
+And, if I could, alas! what can I save?
+A year, the dregs of life too, from the grave.
+                                           [_Sits down on the ground._
+Here will I sit, and here attend my fate,
+With the same hoary majesty and state,
+As Rome's old senate for the Gauls did wait.
+
+_Benz._ It is my father; and he seems distressed.
+
+_Ozm._ My honour bids me succour the oppressed;
+That life he sought, for his I'll freely give;
+We'll die together, or together live.
+
+_Benz._ I'll call more succour, since the camp is near,
+And fly on all the wings of love and fear.               [_Exit_ BENZ.
+
+  _Enter_ ABENAMAR, _and four or five Moors. He looks and finds_
+  SELIN.
+
+_Aben._ You've lived, and now behold your latest hour.
+
+_Selin._ I scorn your malice, and defy your power.
+A speedy death is all I ask you now;
+And that's a favour you may well allow.
+
+_Ozm._ [_shewing himself._]
+Who gives you death, shall give it first to me;
+Fate cannot separate our destiny.--               [_Knows his father._
+My father here! then heaven itself has laid
+The snare, in which my virtue is betrayed.
+
+_Aben._ Fortune, I thank thee! thou hast kindly done,
+To bring me back that fugitive, my son;
+In arms too? fighting for my enemy!--
+I'll do a Roman justice,--thou shalt die!
+
+_Ozm._ I beg not you my forfeit life would save;
+Yet add one minute to that breath you gave.
+I disobeyed you, and deserve my fate;
+But bury in my grave two houses' hate.
+Let Selin live; and see your justice done
+On me, while you revenge him for his son:
+Your mutual malice in my death may cease,
+And equal loss persuade you both to peace.
+
+_Aben._ Yes, justice shall be done on him and thee.--
+Haste and dispatch them both immediately.             [_To a soldier._
+
+_Ozm._ If you have honour,--since you nature want,--
+For your own sake my last petition grant;
+And kill not a disarmed, defenceless foe,
+Whose death your cruelty, or fear, will show.
+My father cannot do an act so base:--
+My father!--I mistake;--I meant, who was.
+
+_Aben._ Go, then, dispatch him first who was my son!
+
+_Ozm._ Swear but to save his life, I'll yield my own.
+
+_Aben._ Nor tears, nor prayers, thy life, or his, shall buy.
+
+_Ozm._ Then, sir, Benzayda's father shall not die!--
+                                      [_Putting himself before_ SELIN.
+And, since he'll want defence when I am gone,
+I will, to save his life, defend my own.
+
+_Aben._ This justice, parricides, like thee, should have!--
+                         [ABEN. _and his party attack them both._ OZM.
+                          _parries his father's thrusts, and thrusts
+                          at the others._
+
+  _Enter_ BENZAYDA, _with_ ABDALLA, _the Duke of_ ARCOS, _and
+  Spaniards._
+
+_Benz._ O, help my father! and my Ozmyn save!
+
+_Abdal._ Villains, that death you have deserved is near!
+
+_Ozm._ Stay, prince! and know, I have a father here!--
+                                            [_Stops_ ABDALLA'S _hand._
+I were that parricide, of whom he spoke,
+Did not my piety prevent your stroke.
+
+_D. Arcos._ to _Aben._
+Depart, then, and thank heaven you had a son.
+
+_Aben._ I am not with these shows of duty won.
+
+_Ozm._ to his _Father._
+Heaven knows, I would that life, you seek, resign;
+But, while Benzayda lives, it is not mine.
+Will you yet pardon my unwilling crime?
+
+_Aben._ By no entreaties, by no length of time,
+Will I be won; but, with my latest breath,
+I'll curse thee here, and haunt thee after death.
+                                       [_Exit_ ABEN. _with his party._
+
+_Ozm._ Can you be merciful to that degree,       [_Kneeling to_ SELIN.
+As to forgive my father's faults in me?
+Can you forgive
+The death of him I slew in my defence,
+And from the malice separate the offence?
+I can no longer be your enemy:
+In short, now kill me, sir, or pardon me.     [_Offers him his sword._
+In this your silence my hard fate appears.
+
+_Selin._ I'll answer you, when I can speak for tears.
+But, till I can,
+Imagine what must needs be brought to pass;           [_Embraces him._
+My heart's not made of marble, nor of brass.
+Did I for you a cruel death prepare,
+And have you, have you made my life your care!
+There is a shame contracted by my faults,
+Which hinders me to speak my secret thoughts.
+And I will tell you--when the shame's removed--
+You are not better by my daughter loved.--
+Benzayda be yours.--I can no more.
+
+_Ozm._ Blessed be that breath which does my life restore!
+                                               [_Embracing his knees._
+
+_Benz._ I hear my father now; these words confess
+That name, and that indulgent tenderness.
+
+_Selin._ Benzayda, I have been too much to blame;
+But let your goodness expiate my shame:
+You Ozmyn's virtue did in chains adore,
+And part of me was just to him before.--
+My son!--
+
+_Ozm._ My father!--
+
+_Selin._ Since by you I live,
+I, for your sake, your family forgive.
+Let your hard father still my life pursue,
+I hate not him, but for his hate to you;
+Even that hard father yet may one day be
+By kindness vanquished, as you vanquished me;
+Or, if my death can quench to you his rage,
+Heaven makes good use of my remaining age.
+
+_Abdal._ I grieve your joys are mingled with my cares;
+But all take interest in their own affairs;
+And, therefore, I must ask how mine proceed.
+
+_Selin._ They now are ripe, and but your presence need:
+For Lyndaraxa, faithless as the wind,
+Yet to your better fortunes will be kind;
+For, hearing that the Christians own your cause,
+From thence the assurance of a throne she draws.
+And since Almanzor, whom she most did fear,
+Is gone, she to no treaty will give ear;
+But sent me her unkindness to excuse.
+
+_Abdal._ You much surprise me with your pleasing news.
+
+_Selin._ But, sir, she hourly does the assault expect,
+And must be lost if you her aid neglect:
+For Abdelmelech loudly does declare,
+He'll use the last extremities of war,
+If she refuse the fortress to resign.
+
+_Abdal._ The charge of hastening this relief be mine.
+
+_Selin._ This while I undertook, whether beset,
+Or else by chance, Abenamar I met;
+Who seemed, in haste, returning to the town.
+
+_Abdal._ My love must in my diligence be shown.--
+And [_To_ ARCOS.] as my pledge of faith to Spain, this hour
+I'll put the fortress in your master's power.
+
+_Selin._ An open way from hence to it there lies,
+And we with ease may send in large supplies,
+Free from the shot and sallies of the town.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Permit me, sir, to share in your renown;
+First to my king I will impart the news,
+And then draw out what succours we shall use.
+                                                [_Exit Duke of_ ARCOS.
+
+_Abdal._ [_Aside._]
+Grant that she loves me not, at least I see
+She loves not others, if she loves not me.--
+'Tis pleasure, when we reap the fruit of pain:
+'Tis only pride, to be beloved again.
+How many are not loved, who think they are!
+Yet all are willing to believe the fair;
+And, though 'tis beauty's known and obvious cheat,
+Yet man's self-love still favours the deceit.           [_Exit_ ABDAL.
+
+_Selin._ Farewell, my children! equally so dear,
+That I myself am to myself less near:
+While I repeat the dangers of the war,
+Your mutual safety be each other's care.
+Your father, Ozmyn, till the war be done,
+As much as honour will permit, I'll shun:
+If by his sword I perish, let him know
+It was, because I would not be his foe.
+
+_Ozm._ Goodness and virtue all your actions guide;
+You only err in choosing of your side.
+That party I, with honour, cannot take;
+But can much less the care of you forsake:
+I must not draw my sword against my prince,
+But yet may hold a shield in your defence.
+Benzayda, free from danger, here shall stay,
+And for a father and a lover pray.
+
+_Benz._ No, no! I gave not on those terms my heart,
+That from my Ozmyn I should ever part:
+That love I vowed, when you did death attend,
+'Tis just that nothing but my death should end.
+What merchant is it, who would stay behind,
+His whole stock ventured to the waves and wind?
+I'll pray for both, but both shall be in sight;
+And heaven shall hear me pray, and see you fight.
+
+_Selin._ No longer, Ozmyn, combat a design,
+Where so much love, and so much virtue join.
+
+_Ozm._ [_To_ BENZ.]
+Then conquer, and your conquest happy be,
+Both to yourself, your father, and to me.--
+With bended knees our freedom we'll demand
+Of Isabel, and mighty Ferdinand:
+Then while the paths of honour we pursue,
+We'll interest heaven for us, in right of you.              [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE II.--_The Albayzyn._
+
+  _An alarm within; then Soldiers running over the stage. Enter_
+  ABDELMELECH, _victorious, with Soldiers._
+
+_Abdelm._ 'Tis won, 'tis won! and Lyndaraxa, now,
+Who scorned to treat, shall to a conquest bow.
+To every sword I free commission give;
+Fall on, my friends, and let no rebel live.
+Spare only Lyndaraxa; let her be
+In triumph led, to grace my victory.
+Since by her falsehood she betrayed my love,
+Great as that falsehood my revenge shall prove.--
+
+  _Enter_ LYNDARAXA, _as frightened, attended by women._
+
+Go, take the enchantress, bring her to me bound!
+
+_Lyndar._ Force needs not, where resistance is not found:
+I come, myself, to offer you my hands;
+And, of my own accord, invite your bands.
+I wished to be my Abdelmelech's slave;
+I did but wish,--and easy fortune gave.
+
+_Abdelm._ O, more than woman false!--but 'tis in vain.--
+Can you ere hope to be believed again?
+I'll sooner trust the hyaena, than your smile;
+Or, than your tears, the weeping crocodile.
+In war and love none should be twice deceived;
+The fault is mine if you are now believed.
+
+_Lyndar._ Be overwise, then, and too late repent;
+Your crime will carry its own punishment.
+I am well pleased not to be justified;
+I owe no satisfaction to your pride.
+It will be more advantage to my fame,
+To have it said, I never owned a flame.
+
+_Abdelm._ 'Tis true, my pride has satisfied itself:
+I have at length escaped the deadly shelf.
+The excuses you prepare will be in vain,
+Till I am fool enough to love again.
+
+_Lyndar._ Am I not loved?
+
+_Abdelm._ I must with shame avow,
+I loved you once;--but do not love you now.
+
+_Lyndar._ Have I for this betrayed Abdalla's trust?
+You are to me, as I to him, unjust.                        [_Angrily._
+
+_Abdelm._ 'Tis like you have done much for love of me,
+Who kept the fortress of my enemy.
+
+_Lyndar._ 'Tis true, I took the fortress from his hand;
+But, since, have kept it in my own command.
+
+_Abdelm._ That act your foul ingratitude did show.
+
+_Lyndar._ You are the ungrateful, since 'twas kept for you.
+
+_Abdelm._ 'Twas kept indeed; but not by your intent:
+For all your kindness I may thank the event.
+Blush, Lyndaraxa, for so gross a cheat:
+'Twas kept for me,--when you refused to treat!          [_Ironically._
+
+_Lyndar._ Blind man! I knew the weakness of the place:
+It was my plot to do your arms this grace.
+Had not my care of your renown been great,
+I loved enough to offer you to treat.
+She, who is loved, must little lets create;
+But you bold lovers are to force your fate.
+This force, you used, my maiden blush will save;
+You seemed to take, what secretly I gave.
+I knew we must be conquered; but I knew
+What confidence I might repose in you.
+I knew, you were too grateful to expose
+My friends, and soldiers, to be used like foes.
+
+_Abdelm._ Well, though I love you not, their lives shall be
+Spared out of pity and humanity.--
+Alferez, [_To a Soldier._] go, and let the slaughter cease.
+                                                  [_Exit the Alferez._
+
+_Lyndar._ Then must I to your pity owe my peace?
+Is that the tenderest term you can afford?
+Time was, you would have used another word.
+
+_Abdelm._ Then, for your beauty I your soldiers spare:
+For, though I do not love you, you are fair.
+
+_Lyndar._ That little beauty why did heaven impart,
+To please your eyes, but not to move your heart!
+I'll shroud this gorgon from all human view,
+And own no beauty, since it charms not you!
+Reverse your orders, and your sentence give;
+My soldiers shall not from my beauty live.
+
+_Abdelm._ Then, from your friendship they their lives shall gain;
+Tho' love be dead, yet friendship does remain.
+
+_Lyndar._ That friendship, which from withered love does shoot,
+Like the faint herbage on a rock, wants root.
+Love is a tender amity, refined:
+Grafted on friendship it exalts the kind.
+But when the graff no longer does remain,
+The dull stock lives, but never bears again.
+
+_Abdelm._ Then, that my friendship may not doubtful prove,--
+Fool that I am to tell you so!--I love.
+You would extort this knowledge from my breast,
+And tortured me so long that I confest.
+Now I expect to suffer for my sin;
+My monarchy must end, and yours begin.
+
+_Lyndar._ Confess not love, but spare yourself that shame,
+And call your passion by some other name.
+Call this assault, your malice, or your hate;
+Love owns no acts so disproportionate.
+Love never taught this insolence you shew,
+To treat your mistress like a conquered foe.
+Is this the obedience which my heart should move!
+This usage looks more like a rape than love.
+
+_Abdelm._ What proof of duty would you I should give?
+
+_Lyndar._ 'Tis grace enough to let my subjects live!
+Let your rude soldiers keep possession still;
+Spoil, rifle, pillage,--any thing but kill.
+In short, sir, use your fortune as you please;
+Secure my castle, and my person seize;
+Let your true men my rebels hence remove;
+I shall dream on, and think 'tis all your love!
+
+_Abdelm._ You know too well my weakness and your power:
+Why did heaven make a fool a conqueror!
+She was my slave, 'till she by me was shewn
+How weak my force was, and how strong her own.
+Now she has beat my power from every part,
+Made her way open to my naked heart:                  [_To a Soldier._
+Go, strictly charge my soldiers to retreat:
+Those countermand who are not entered yet.
+On peril of your lives leave all things free.         [_Exit Soldier._
+Now, madam, love Abdalla more than me.
+I only ask, in duty you would bring
+The keys of our Albayzyn to the king:
+I'll make your terms as gentle as you please.
+                [_Trumpets sound a charge within, and soldiers shout._
+What shouts, and what new sounds of war are these?
+
+_Lyndar._ Fortune, I hope, has favoured my intent,           [_Aside._
+Of gaining time, and welcome succours sent.
+
+  _Enter the Alferez._
+
+_Alferez._ All's lost, and you are fatally deceived:
+The foe is entered, and the place relieved.
+Scarce from the walls had I drawn off my men,
+When, from their camp, the enemy rushed in,
+And prince Abdalla entered first the gate.
+
+_Abdelm._ I am betrayed, and find it now too late.
+When your proud soul to flatteries did descend,             [_To her._
+I might have known it did some ill portend.
+The weary seaman stormy weather fears,
+When winds shift often, and no cause appears.
+You by my bounty live--
+Your brothers, too, were pardoned for my sake,
+And this return your gratitude does make.
+
+_Lyndar._ My brothers best their own obligement know;
+Without your charging me with what they owe.
+But, since you think the obligement is so great,
+I'll bring a friend to satisfy my debt.             [_Looking behind._
+
+_Abdelm._ Thou shalt not triumph in thy base design;
+Though not thy fort, thy person shall be mine.
+                  [_He goes to take her: She runs and cries out help._
+
+  _Enter_ ABDALLA, _Duke of_ ARCOS, _and Spaniards._  ABDELMELECH
+  _retreats fighting, and is pursued by the adverse party off the
+  stage. The alarm within._
+
+  _Enter again_ ABDALLA _and the Duke of_ ARCOS, _with_ LYNDARAXA.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Bold Abdelmelech twice our Spaniards faced,
+Though much out-numbered; and retreated last.
+
+_Abdal._ Your beauty, as it moves no common fire,     [_To_ LYNDARAXA.
+So it no common courage can inspire.
+As he fought well, so had he prospered too,
+If, madam, he, like me, had fought for you.
+
+_Lyndar._ Fortune, at last, has chosen with my eyes;
+And, where I would have given it, placed the prize.
+You see, sir, with what hardship I have kept
+This precious gage, which in my hands you left.
+But 'twas the love of you which made me fight,
+And gave me courage to maintain your right.
+Now, by experience, you my faith may find,
+And are to thank me that I seemed unkind.
+When your malicious fortune doomed your fall,
+My care restrained you then from losing all;
+Against your destiny I shut the gate,
+And gathered up the shipwrecks of your fate;
+I, like a friend, did even yourself withstand,
+From throwing all upon a losing hand.
+
+_Abdal._ My love makes all your acts unquestioned go,
+And sets a sovereign stamp on all you do.
+Your love I will believe with hood-winked eyes;--
+In faith, much merit in much blindness lies.
+But now, to make you great as you are fair,
+The Spaniards an imperial crown prepare.
+
+_Lyndar._ That gift's more welcome, which with you I share.
+Let us no time in fruitless courtship lose,
+But sally out upon our frighted foes.
+No ornaments of power so please my eyes,
+As purple, which the blood of princes dies.                 [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE III.--_The Alhambra._
+
+  BOABDELIN, ABENAMAR, ALMAHIDE, _and Guards, &c. The Queen wearing a
+  scarf._
+
+_Aben._ My little journey has successful been,
+The fierce Almanzor will obey the queen.
+I found him, like Achilles on the shore,
+Pensive, complaining much, but threatening more;
+And, like that injured Greek, he heard our woes,
+Which, while I told, a gloomy smile arose
+From his bent brows: And still, the more he heard,
+A more severe and sullen joy appeared.
+But, when he knew we to despair were driven,
+Betwixt his teeth he muttered thanks to heaven.
+
+_Boab._ How I disdain this aid! which I must take,
+Not for my own, but Almahide's sake.
+
+_Aben._ But when he heard it was the queen who sent,
+That her command repealed his banishment,
+He took the summons with a greedy joy,
+And asked me how she would his sword employ:
+Then bid me say, her humblest slave would come,
+From her fair mouth with joy to take his doom.
+
+_Boab._ Oh that I had not sent you! though it cost
+My crown! though I, and it, and all were lost!
+
+_Aben._ While I, to bring this news, came on before,
+I met with Selin--
+
+_Boab._ I can hear no more.
+
+  _Enter_ HAMET.
+
+_Hamet._ Almanzor is already at the gate,
+And throngs of people on his entrance wait.
+
+_Boab._ Thy news does all my faculties surprise;
+He bears two basilisks in those fierce eyes;
+And that tame daemon, which should guard my throne,
+Shrinks at a genius greater than his own.
+                              [_Exit_ BOAB. _with_ ABEN. _and Guards._
+
+  _Enter_ ALMANZOR; _seeing_ ALMAHIDE _approach him, he speaks._
+
+_Almanz._ So Venus moves, when to the Thunderer,
+In smiles or tears, she would some suit prefer;
+When with her cestus girt,
+And drawn by doves, she cuts the liquid skies,
+And kindles gentle fires where'er she flies:
+To every eye a goddess is confest,
+By all the heavenly nation she is blest,
+And each with secret joy admits her to his breast.--
+Madam your new commands I come to know,
+If yet you can have any where I go.                  [_To her bowing._
+If to the regions of the dead they be,
+You take the speediest course to send by me.
+
+_Almah._ Heaven has not destined you so soon to rest:
+Heroes must live to succour the distrest.
+
+_Almanz._ To serve such beauty all mankind should live;
+And, in our service, our reward you give.
+But stay me not in torture, to behold
+And ne'er enjoy. As from another's gold
+The miser hastens, in his own defence,
+And shuns the sight of tempting excellence;
+So, having seen you once so killing fair,
+A second sight were but to move despair.
+I take my eyes from what too much would please,
+As men in fevers famish their disease.
+
+_Almah._ No; you may find your cure an easier way,
+If you are pleased to seek it,--in your stay.
+All objects lose by too familiar view,
+When that great charm is gone, of being new;
+By often seeing me, you soon will find
+Defects so many, in my face and mind,
+That to be freed from love you need not doubt;
+And, as you looked it in, you'll look it out.
+
+_Almanz._ I rather, like weak armies, should retreat,
+And so prevent my more entire defeat.
+For your own sake in quiet let me go;
+Press not too far on a despairing foe:
+I may turn back, and armed against you move,
+With all the furious train of hopeless love.
+
+_Almah._ Your honour cannot to ill thoughts give way,
+And mine can run no hazard by your stay.
+
+_Almanz._ Do you then think I can with patience see
+That sovereign good possessed, and not by me?
+No; I all day shall languish at the sight,
+And rave on what I do not see all night;
+My quick imagination will present
+The scenes and images of your content.
+
+_Almah._ These are the day-dreams which wild fancy yields,
+Empty as shadows are, that fly o'er fields.
+Oh, whither would this boundless fancy move!
+'Tis but the raging calenture of love.
+Like a distracted passenger you stand,
+And see, in seas, imaginary land,
+Cool groves, and flowery meads; and while you think
+To walk, plunge in, and wonder that you sink.
+
+_Almanz._ Love's calenture too well I understand;
+But sure your beauty is no fairy-land!
+Of your own form a judge you cannot be;
+For, glow-worm like, you shine, and do not see.
+
+_Almah._ Can you think this, and would you go away?
+
+_Almanz._ What recompence attends me, if I stay?
+
+_Almah._ You know I am from recompence debarred,
+But I will grant your merit a reward;
+Your flame's too noble to deserve a cheat,
+And I too plain to practise a deceit.
+I no return of love can ever make,
+But what I ask is for my husband's sake;
+He, I confess, has been ungrateful too,
+But he and I are ruined if you go:
+Your virtue to the hardest proof I bring;--
+Unbribed, preserve a mistress and a king.
+
+_Almanz._ I'll stop at nothing that appears so brave:
+I'll do't, and now I no reward will have.
+You've given my honour such an ample field,
+That I may die, but that shall never yield.
+Spite of myself I'll stay, fight, love, despair;
+And I can do all this, because I dare.
+Yet I may own one suit--
+That scarf, which, since by you it has been borne,
+Is blessed, like relicks which by saints were worn.
+
+_Almah._ Presents like this my virtue durst not make,
+But that 'tis given you for my husband's sake.     [_Gives the scarf._
+
+_Almanz._ This scarf to honourable rags I'll wear,
+As conquering soldiers tattered ensigns bear;
+But oh, how much my fortune I despise,
+Which gives me conquest, while she love denies!             [_Exeunt._
+
+
+ACT III.
+
+SCENE I.--_The Alhambra._
+
+  _Enter_ ALMAHIDE _and_ ESPERANZA.
+
+_Esper._ Affected modesty has much of pride;
+That scarf he begged, you could not have denied;
+Nor does it shock the virtue of a wife,
+When given that man, to whom you owe your life.
+
+_Almah._ Heaven knows, from all intent of ill 'twas free,
+Yet it may feed my husband's jealousy;
+And for that cause I wish it were not done.
+
+  _To them_ BOABDELIN, _and walks apart._
+
+See, where he comes, all pensive and alone;
+A gloomy fury has o'erspread his face:
+'Tis so! and all my fears are come to pass.
+
+_Boab._ Marriage, thou curse of love, and snare of life,      [_Aside_
+That first debased a mistress to a wife!
+Love, like a scene, at distance should appear,
+But marriage views the gross-daubed landscape near.
+Love's nauseous cure! thou cloyest whom thou should'st please;
+And, when thou cur'st, then thou art the disease.
+When hearts are loose, thy chain our bodies ties;
+Love couples friends, but marriage enemies.
+If love like mine continues after thee,
+'Tis soon made sour, and turned by jealousy;
+No sign of love in jealous men remains,
+But that which sick men have of life--their pains.
+
+_Almah._ Has my dear lord some new affliction had?  [_Walking to him._
+Have I done any thing that makes him sad?
+
+_Boab._ You! nothing: You! But let me walk alone.
+
+_Almah._ I will not leave you till the cause be known:
+My knowledge of the ill may bring relief.
+
+_Boab._ Thank ye; you never fail to cure my grief!
+Trouble me not, my grief concerns not you.
+
+_Almah._ While I have life, I will your steps pursue.
+
+_Boab._ I'm out of humour now; you must not stay.
+
+_Almah._ I fear it is that scarf I gave away.
+
+_Boab._ No, 'tis not that; but speak of it no more:
+Go hence! I am not what I was before.
+
+_Almah._ Then I will make you so; give me your hand!
+Can you this pressing and these tears withstand?
+
+_Boab._ Oh heaven, were she but mine, or mine alone!
+                                   [_Sighing, and going off from her._
+Ah, why are not the hearts of women known!
+False women to new joys unseen can move;
+There are no prints left in the paths of love,
+All goods besides by public marks are known;
+But what we most desire to keep, has none.
+
+_Almah._ Why will you in your breast your passion crowd,
+                                                   [_Approaching him._
+Like unborn thunder rolling in a cloud?
+Torment not your poor heart, but set it free,
+And rather let its fury break on me.
+I am not married to a god; I know,
+Men must have passions, and can bear from you.
+I fear the unlucky present I have made!
+
+_Boab._ O power of guilt! how conscience can upbraid!
+It forces her not only to reveal,
+But to repeat what she would most conceal!
+
+_Almah._ Can such a toy, and given in public too--
+
+_Boab._ False woman, you contrived it should be so.
+That public gift in private was designed
+The emblem of the love you meant to bind.
+Hence from my sight, ungrateful as thou art!
+And, when I can, I'll banish thee my heart.              [_She weeps._
+
+  _To them_ ALMANZOR _wearing the Scarf. He sees her weep._
+
+_Almanz._ What precious drops are those,
+Which silently each other's track pursue,
+Bright as young diamonds in their infant dew?
+Your lustre you should free from tears maintain,
+Like Egypt, rich without the help of rain.
+Now cursed be he who gave this cause of grief;
+And double cursed, who does not give relief!
+
+_Almah._ Our common fears, and public miseries,
+Have drawn these tears from my afflicted eyes.
+
+_Almanz._ Madam, I cannot easily believe
+It is for any public cause you grieve.
+On your fair face the marks of sorrow lie;
+But I read fury in your husband's eye:
+And, in that passion, I too plainly find
+That you're unhappy, and that he's unkind.
+
+_Almah._ Not new-made mothers greater love express
+Than he, when with first looks their babes they bless;
+Not Heaven is more to dying martyrs kind,
+Nor guardian angels to their charge assigned.
+
+_Boab._ O goodness counterfeited to the life!
+O the well-acted virtue of a wife!
+Would you with this my just suspicions blind?
+You've given me great occasion to be kind!
+The marks, too, of your spotless love appear;
+Witness the badge of my dishonour there.
+                                    [_Pointing to_ ALMANZOR'S _scarf._
+
+_Almanz._ Unworthy owner of a gem so rare!
+Heavens! why must he possess, and I despair?
+Why is this miser doomed to all this store;
+He, who has all, and yet believes he's poor?
+
+_Almah._ [_to_ ALMANZ.]
+You're much too bold, to blame a jealousy
+So kind in him, and so desired by me.
+The faith of wives would unrewarded prove,
+Without those just observers of our love.
+The greater care the higher passion shows;
+We hold that clearest we most fear to lose.
+Distrust in lovers is too warm a sun,
+But yet 'tis night in love when that is gone;
+And in those climes which most his scorching know,
+He makes the noblest fruits and metals grow.
+
+_Almanz._ Yes; there are mines of treasure in your breast,
+Seen by that jealous sun, but not possest.
+He, like a devil, among the blest above,
+Can take no pleasure in your heaven of love.
+Go, take her; and thy causeless fears remove;          [_To the King._
+Love her so well, that I with rage may die:
+Dull husbands have no right to jealousy:
+If that's allowed, it must in lovers be.
+
+_Boab._ The succour, which thou bring'st me, makes thee bold:
+But know, without thy aid, my crown I'll hold;
+Or, if I cannot, I will fire the place,
+Of a full city make a naked space.
+Hence, then, and from a rival set me free!
+I'll do, I'll suffer any thing but thee.
+
+_Almanz._ I wonnot go; I'll not be forced away:
+I came not for thy sake; nor do I stay.
+It was the queen who for my aid did send;
+And 'tis I only can the queen defend:
+I, for her sake, thy sceptre will maintain;
+And thou, by me, in spite of thee, shalt reign.
+
+_Boab._ Had I but hope I could defend this place
+Three days, thou should'st not live to my disgrace
+So small a time;
+Might I possess my Almahide alone,
+I would live ages out ere they were gone.
+I should not be of love or life bereft;
+All should be spent before, and nothing left.
+
+_Almah._ [_to_ BOAB.] As for your sake I for Almanzor sent,
+So, when you please, he goes to banishment.
+You shall, at last, my loyalty approve:
+I will refuse no trial of my love.
+
+_Boab._ How can I think you love me, while I see
+That trophy of a rival's victory?
+I'll tear it from his side.
+
+_Almanz._ I'll hold it fast
+As life, and when life's gone, I'll hold this last;
+And if thou tak'st it after I am slain,
+I'll send my ghost to fetch it back again.
+
+_Almah._ When I bestowed that scarf, I had not thought,
+Or not considered it might be a fault;
+But, since my lord's displeased that I should make
+So small a present, I command it back.
+Without delay the unlucky gift restore;
+Or, from this minute, never see me more.
+
+_Almanz._ The shock of such a curse I dare not stand:
+                  [_Pulling it off hastily, and presenting it to her._
+Thus I obey your absolute command.        [_She gives it to the King._
+Must he the spoils of scorn'd Almanzor wear?--
+May Turnus' fate be thine, who dared to bear
+The belt of murdered Pallas! from afar
+Mayest thou be known, and be the mark of war!
+Live, just to see it from thy shoulders torn
+By common hands, and by some coward worn.          [_An alarm within._
+
+  _Enter_ ABDELMELECH, ZULEMA, HAMET, ABENAMAR; _their swords drawn._
+
+_Abdelm._ Is this a time for discord or for grief?
+We perish, sir, without your quick relief.
+I have been fooled, and am unfortunate;
+The foes pursue their fortune and our fate.
+
+_Zul._ The rebels with the Spaniards are agreed.
+
+_Boab._ Take breath; my guards shall to the fight succeed.
+
+_Aben._ [_to_ ALMANZOR.]
+Why stay you, sir? the conquering foe is near:
+Give us their courage, and give them our fear.
+
+_Hamet._ Take arms, or we must perish in your sight.
+
+_Almanz._ I care not: perish: for I will not fight,
+I wonnot lift an arm in his defence:
+And yet I wonnot stir one foot from hence.
+I to your king's defence his town resign;
+This only spot, whereon I stand, is mine.--
+Madam, be safe, and lay aside your fear,               [_To the Queen_
+You are as in a magic circle here.
+
+_Boab._ To our own valour our success we'll owe.
+Haste, Hamet, with Abenamar to go;
+You two draw up, with all the speed you may,
+Our last reserves, and yet redeem the day.
+                          [_Exeunt_ HAMET _and_ ABENAMAR _one way, the
+                           King the other, with_ ABDELMELECH, _&c.
+                           Alarm within._
+
+  _Enter_ ABDELMELECH, _his sword drawn._
+
+_Abdelm._ Granada is no more! the unhappy king
+Venturing too far, ere we could succour bring,
+Was by the duke of Arcos prisoner made,
+And, past relief, is to the fort conveyed.
+
+_Almanz._ Heaven, thou art just! go, now despise my aid.
+
+_Almah._ Unkind Almanzor, how am I betrayed!
+Betrayed by him in whom I trusted most!
+But I will ne'er outlive what I have lost.
+Is this your succour, this your boasted love!
+I will accuse you to the saints above!
+Almanzor vowed he would for honour fight,
+And lets my husband perish in my sight.
+                                   [_Exeunt_ ALMAHIDE _and_ ESPERANZA.
+
+_Almanz._ Oh, I have erred; but fury made me blind;
+And, in her just reproach, my fault I find!
+I promised even for him to fight, whom I--
+But since he's loved by her, he must not die.
+Thus, happy fortune comes to me in vain,
+When I myself must ruin it again.
+
+  _To him_ ABENAMAR, HAMET, ABDELMELECH, ZULEMA, _Soldiers._
+
+_Aben._ The foe has entered the Vermillion towers;
+And nothing but the Alhambra now is ours.
+
+_Almanz._ Even that's too much, except we may have more;
+You lost it all to that last stake before.
+Fate, now come back; thou canst not farther get;
+The bounds of thy libration here are set.
+Thou know'st this place,
+And, like a clock wound up, strik'st here for me;
+Now, Chance, assert thy own inconstancy,
+And, Fortune, fight, that thou may'st Fortune be!--
+They come: here, favoured by the narrow place,      [_A noise within._
+I can, with few, their gross battalion face.
+By the dead wall, you, Abdelmelech, wind;
+Then charge, and their retreat cut off behind.              [_Exeunt._
+                                                   [_An alarm within._
+
+  _Enter_ ALMANZOR _and his Party, with_ ABDALLA _prisoner._
+
+_Almanz._ You were my friend: and to that name I owe      [_To_ ABDAL.
+The just regard, which you refused to show.
+Your liberty I frankly would restore,
+But honour now forbids me to do more.
+Yet, sir, your freedom in your choice shall be,
+When you command to set your brother free.
+
+_Abdal._ The exchange, which you propose, with joy I take;
+An offer easier than my hopes could make.
+Your benefits revenge my crimes to you,
+For I my shame in that bright mirror view.
+
+_Almanz._ No more; you give me thanks you do not owe:
+I have been faulty, and repent me now.
+But, though our penitence a virtue be,
+Mean souls alone repent in misery;
+The brave own faults when good success is given,
+For then they come on equal terms to heaven.                [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE II.--_The Albayzyn._
+
+  _Enter_ OZMYN _and_ BENZAYDA.
+
+_Benz._ I see there's somewhat which you fear to tell;
+Speak quickly, Ozmyn, is my father well?
+Why cross you thus your arms, and shake your head?
+Kill me at once, and tell me he is dead.
+
+_Ozm._ I know not more than you; but fear not less;
+Twice sinking, twice I drew him from the press:
+But the victorious foe pursued so fast,
+That flying throngs divided us at last.
+As seamen parting in a general wreck,
+When first the loosening planks begin to crack;
+Each catches one, and straight are far disjoined,
+Some borne by tides, and others by the wind;
+So, in this ruin, from each other rent,
+With heaved-up hands we mutual farewells sent:
+Methought his eyes, when just I lost his view,
+Were looking blessings to be sent to you.
+
+_Benz._ Blind queen of Chance, to lovers too severe,
+Thou rulest mankind, but art a tyrant there!
+Thy widest empire's in a lover's breast:
+Like open seas, we seldom are at rest.
+Upon thy coasts our wealth is daily cast;
+And thou, like pirates, mak'st no peace to last.
+
+  _To them_ LYNDARAXA, _Duke of Arcos, and Guards._
+
+_D. Arcos._ We were surprised when least we did suspect,
+And justly suffered by our own neglect.
+
+_Lyndar._ No; none but I have reason to complain!
+So near a kingdom, yet 'tis lost again!
+O, how unequally in me were joined
+A creeping fortune, with a soaring mind!
+O lottery of fate! where still the wise
+Draw blanks of fortune, and the fools the prize!
+These cross, ill-shuffled lots from heaven are sent,
+Yet dull Religion teaches us content;
+But when we ask it where the blessing dwells,
+It points to pedant colleges, and cells;
+There shows it rude, and in a homely dress,
+And that proud Want mistakes for happiness.       [_A trumpet within._
+
+  _Enter_ ZULEMA.
+
+Brother! what strange adventure brought you here?
+
+_Zul._ The news I bring will yet more strange appear.
+The little care you of my life did show,
+Has of a brother justly made a foe;
+And Abdelmelech who that life did save,
+As justly has deserved that life he gave.
+
+_Lyndar._ Your business cools, while tediously it stays
+On the low theme of Abdelmelech's praise.
+
+_Zul._ This I present from Prince Abdalla's hands.
+                                [_Delivers a letter, which she reads._
+
+_Lyndar._ He has proposed, (to free him from his bands)
+That, with his brother, an exchange be made.
+
+_D. Arcos._ It proves the same design which we had laid.
+Before the castle let a bar be set;
+And when the captives on each side are met,
+With equal numbers chosen for their guard,
+Just at the time the passage is unbarred,
+Let both at once advance, at once be free.
+
+_Lyndar._ The exchange I will myself in person see.
+
+_Benz._ I fear to ask, yet would from doubt be freed,--
+Is Selin captive, sir, or is he dead?
+
+_Zul._ I grieve to tell you what you needs must know,--
+He is a prisoner to his greatest foe;
+Kept with strong guards in the Alhambra tower;
+Without the reach even of Almanzor's power.
+
+_Ozm._ With grief and shame I am at once opprest.
+
+_Zul._ You will be more, when I relate the rest.
+To you I from Abenamar am sent,                           [_To_ OZMYN.
+And you alone can Selin's death prevent.
+Give up yourself a prisoner in his stead;
+Or, ere to-morrow's dawn, believe him dead.
+
+_Benz._ Ere that appear, I shall expire with grief.
+
+_Zul._ Your action swift, your counsel must be brief.
+
+_Lyndar._ While for Abdalla's freedom we prepare,
+You in each other's breast unload your care.
+                               [_Exeunt all but_ OZMYN _and_ BENZAYDA.
+
+_Benz._ My wishes contradictions must imply;
+You must not go; and yet he must not die.
+Your reason may, perhaps, the extremes unite;
+But there's a mist of fate before my sight.
+
+_Ozm._ The two extremes too distant are, to close;
+And human wit can no mid way propose.
+My duty therefore shows the nearest way
+To free your father, and my own obey.
+
+_Benz._ Your father, whom, since yours, I grieve to blame,
+Has lost, or quite forgot, a parent's name;
+And, when at once possessed of him and you,
+Instead of freeing one, will murder two.
+
+_Ozm._ Fear not my life; but suffer me to go:
+What cannot only sons with parents do!
+'Tis not my death my father does pursue;
+He only would withdraw my love from you.
+
+_Benz._ Now, Ozmyn, now your want of love I see;
+For would you go, and hazard losing me?
+
+_Ozm._ I rather would ten thousand lives forsake;
+Nor can you e'er believe the doubt you make.
+This night I with a chosen band will go,
+And, by surprise, will free him from the foe.
+
+_Benz._ What foe! ah whither would your virtue fall!
+It is your father whom the foe you call.
+Darkness and rage will no distinction make,
+And yours may perish for my father's sake.
+
+_Ozm._ Thus, when my weaker virtue goes astray.
+Yours pulls it back, and guides me in the way:
+I'll send him word, my being shall depend
+On Selin's life, and with his death shall end.
+
+_Benz._ 'Tis that, indeed, would glut your father's rage:
+Revenge on Ozmyn's youth, and Selin's age.
+
+_Ozm._ Whate'er I plot, like Sysiphus, in vain
+I heave a stone, that tumbles down again.
+
+_Benz._ This glorious work is then reserved for me:
+He is my father, and I'll set him free.
+These chains my father for my sake does wear:
+I made the fault; and I the pains will bear.
+
+_Ozm._ Yes; you no doubt have merited these pains;
+Those hands, those tender limbs, were made for chains!
+Did I not love you, yet it were too base
+To let a lady suffer in my place.
+Those proofs of virtue you before did show,
+I did admire; but I must envy now.
+Your vast ambition leaves no fame for me,
+But grasps at universal monarchy.
+
+_Benz._ Yes, Ozmyn, I shall still this palm pursue;
+I will not yield my glory even to you.
+I'll break those bonds in which my father's tied,
+Or, if I cannot break them, I'll divide.
+What, though my limbs a woman's weakness show,
+I have a soul as masculine as you;
+And when these limbs want strength my chains to wear,
+My mind shall teach my body how to bear.                 [_Exit_ BENZ.
+
+_Ozm._ What I resolve, I must not let her know;
+But honour has decreed she must not go.
+What she resolves, I must prevent with care;
+She shall not in my fame or danger share.
+I'll give strict order to the guards which wait,
+That, when she comes, she shall not pass the gate.
+Fortune, at last, has run me out of breath;
+I have no refuge but the arms of death:
+To that dark sanctuary I will go;
+She cannot reach me when I lie so low.                        [_Exit._
+
+
+SCENE III.--_The Albayzyn._
+
+  _Enter, on one side_, ALMANZOR, ABDALLA, ABDELMELECH, ZULEMA, HAMET.
+  _On the other side, the Duke of_ ARCOS, BOABDELIN, LYNDARAXA, _and
+  their Party. After which the bars are opened; and at the same time_
+  BOABDELIN _and_ ABDALLA _pass by each other, each to his Party;
+  when_ ABDALLA _is passed on the other side, the Duke of_ ARCOS
+  _approaches the bars, and calls to_ ALMANZOR.
+
+_D. Arcos._ The hatred of the brave with battles ends,
+And foes, who fought for honour, then are friends.
+I love thee, brave Almanzor, and am proud
+To have one hour when love may be allowed.
+This hand, in sign of that esteem, I plight;
+We shall have angry hours enough to fight.         [_Giving his hand._
+
+_Almanz._ The man who dares, like you, in fields appear,
+And meet my sword, shall be my mistress here.
+If I am proud, 'tis only to my foes;
+Rough but to such who virtue would oppose.
+If I some fierceness from a father drew,
+A mother's milk gives me some softness too.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Since first you took, and after set me free,
+(Whether a sense of gratitude it be,
+Or some more secret motion of my mind,
+For which I want a name that's more than kind)
+I shall be glad, by whate'er means I can,
+To get the friendship of so brave a man;
+And would your unavailing valour call,
+From aiding those whom heaven has doomed to fall.
+We owe you that respect,
+Which to the gods of foes besieged was shown,
+To call you out before we take your town.
+
+_Almanz._ Those whom we love, we should esteem them too,
+And not debauch that virtue which we woo.
+Yet, though you give my honour just offence,
+I'll take your kindness in the better sense;
+And, since you for my safety seem to fear,
+I, to return your bribe, should wish you here.
+But, since I love you more than you do me,
+In all events preserve your honour free;
+For that's your own, though not your destiny.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Were you obliged in honour by a trust,
+I should not think my own proposals just;
+But since you fight for an unthankful king,
+What loss of fame can change of parties bring?
+
+_Almanz._ It will, and may with justice too be thought,
+That some advantage in that change I sought.
+And though I twice have changed for wrongs received,
+That it was done for profit none believed.
+The king's ingratitude I knew before;
+So that can be no cause of changing more.
+If now I stand, when no reward can be,
+'Twill show the fault before was not in me.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Yet there is a reward to valour due,
+And such it is as may be sought by you;
+That beauteous queen, whom you can never gain,
+While you secure her husband's life and reign.
+
+_Almanz._ Then be it so; let me have no return
+                       [_Here_ LYNDARAXA _comes near, and hears them._
+From him but hatred, and from her but scorn.
+There is this comfort in a noble fate,
+That I deserve to be more fortunate.
+You have my last resolve; and now, farewell:
+My boding heart some mischief does foretell;
+But what it is, heaven will not let me know.
+I'm sad to death, that I must be your foe.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Heaven, when we meet, if fatal it must be
+To one, spare him, and cast the lot on me.             [_They retire._
+
+_Lyndar._ Ah, what a noble conquest were this heart!
+I am resolved I'll try my utmost art:
+In gaining him, I gain that fortune too,
+Which he has wedded, and which I but woo.
+I'll try each secret passage to his mind,
+And love's soft bands about his heart-strings wind.
+Not his vowed constancy shall 'scape my snare;
+While he without resistance does prepare,
+I'll melt into him ere his love's aware.
+                     [_She makes a gesture of invitation to_ ALMANZOR,
+                      _who returns again_.
+
+_Lyndar._ You see, sir, to how strange a remedy
+A persecuted maid is forced to fly:
+Who, much distressed, yet scarce has confidence
+To make your noble pity her defence.
+
+_Almanz._ Beauty, like yours, can no protection need;
+Or, if it sues, is certain to succeed.
+To whate'er service you ordain my hand,
+Name your request, and call it your command.
+
+_Lyndar._ You cannot, sir, but know, that my ill fate
+Has made me loved with all the effects of hate:
+One lover would, by force, my person gain;
+Which one, as guilty, would by force detain.
+Rash Abdelmelech's love I cannot prize,
+And fond Abdalla's passion I despise.
+As you are brave, so you are prudent too;
+Advise a wretched woman what to do.
+
+_Almanz._ Have courage, fair one, put your trust in me;
+You shall, at least, from those you hate, be free.
+Resign your castle to the king's command,
+And leave your love concernments in my hand.
+
+_Lyndar._ The king, like them, is fierce, and faithless too;
+How can I trust him who has injured you?
+Keep for yourself, (and you can grant no less)
+What you alone are worthy to possess.
+Enter, brave sir; for, when you speak the word,
+These gates will open of their own accord;
+The genius of the place its lord will meet,
+And bend its tow'ry forehead to your feet.
+That little citadel, which now you see,
+Shall, then, the head of conquered nations be;
+And every turret, from your coming, rise
+The mother of some great metropolis.
+
+_Almanz._ 'Tis pity, words, which none but gods should hear,
+Should lose their sweetness in a soldier's ear:
+I am not that Almanzor whom you praise;
+But your fair mouth can fair ideas raise:--
+I am a wretch, to whom it is denied
+To accept, with honour, what I wish with pride;
+And, since I light not for myself, must bring
+The fruits of all my conquests to the king.
+
+_Lyndar._ Say rather to the queen, to whose fair name
+I know you vow the trophies of your fame.
+I hope she is as kind as she is fair;
+Kinder than inexperienced virgins are
+To their first loves; (though she has loved before,
+And that first innocence is now no more:)
+But, in revenge, she gives you all her heart,
+(For you are much too brave to take a part.)
+Though, blinded by a crown, she did not see
+Almanzor greater than a king could be,
+I hope her love repairs her ill-made choice:
+Almanzor cannot be deluded twice.
+
+_Almanz._ No, not deluded; for none count their gains,
+Who, like Almanzor, frankly give their pains.
+
+_Lyndar._ Almanzor, do not cheat yourself, nor me;
+Your love is not refined to that degree:
+For, since you have desires, and those not blest,
+Your love's uneasy, and at little rest.
+
+_Almanz._ 'Tis true, my own unhappiness I see;
+But who, alas, can my physician be?
+Love, like a lazy ague, I endure,
+Which fears the water, and abhors the cure.
+
+_Lyndar._ 'Tis a consumption, which your life does waste,
+Still flattering you with hope, till help be past;
+But, since of cure from her you now despair,
+You, like consumptive men, should change your air:
+Love somewhere else; 'tis a hard remedy,
+But yet you owe yourself so much, to try.
+
+_Almanz._ My love's now grown so much a part of me,
+That life would, in the cure, endangered be:
+At least, it like a limb cut off would show;
+And better die than like a cripple go.
+
+_Lyndar._ You must be brought like madmen to their cure,
+And darkness first, and next new bonds endure:
+Do you dark absence to yourself ordain,
+And I, in charity, will find the chain.
+
+_Almanz._ Love is that madness which all lovers have;
+But yet 'tis sweet and pleasing so to rave:
+'Tis an enchantment, where the reason's bound;
+But Paradise is in the enchanted ground;
+A palace, void of envy, cares and strife,
+Where gentle hours delude so much of life.
+To take those charms away, and set me free,
+Is but to send me into misery;
+And prudence, of whose cure so much you boast,
+Restores those pains, which that sweet folly lost.
+
+_Lyndar._ I would not, like philosophers, remove,
+But show you a more pleasing shape of love.
+You a sad, sullen, froward love did see;
+I'll show him kind, and full of gaiety.
+In short, Almanzor, it shall be my care
+To show you love; for you but saw despair.
+
+_Almanz._ I, in the shape of love, despair did see;
+You, in his shape, would show inconstancy.
+
+_Lyndar._ There's no such thing as constancy you call;
+Faith ties not hearts; 'tis inclination all.
+Some wit deformed, or beauty much decayed,
+First constancy in love a virtue made.
+From friendship they that land-mark did remove,
+And falsely placed it on the bounds of love.
+Let the effects of change be only tried;
+Court me, in jest, and call me Almahide:
+But this is only counsel I impart,
+For I, perhaps, should not receive your heart.
+
+_Almanz._ Fair though you are
+As summer mornings, and your eyes more bright
+Than stars that twinkle in a winter's night;
+Though you have eloquence to warm and move
+Cold age, and praying hermits, into love;
+Though Almahide with scorn rewards my care,--
+Yet, than to change, 'tis nobler to despair.
+My love's my soul; and that from fate is free;
+'Tis that unchanged and deathless part of me.
+
+_Lyndar._ The fate of constancy your love pursue!
+Still to be faithful to what's false to you.
+                              [_Turns from him, and goes off angrily._
+
+_Almanz._ Ye gods, why are not hearts first paired above,
+But some still interfere in others' love!
+Ere each for each by certain marks are known,
+You mould them up in haste, and drop them down;
+And, while we seek what carelessly you sort,
+You sit in state, and make our pains your sport.
+                                              [_Exeunt on both sides._
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+
+  _Enter_ ABENAMAR, _and Soldier._
+
+_Aben._ Haste and conduct the prisoner to my sight.
+                    [_Exit Soldier, and immediately enters with_ SELIN
+                     _bound._
+
+_Aben._ Did you, according to my orders, write?            [_To_ SELIN
+And have you summoned Ozmyn to appear?
+
+_Selin._ I am not yet so much a slave to fear,
+Nor has your son deserved so ill of me,
+That by his death or bonds I would be free.
+
+_Aben._ Against thy life thou dost the sentence give;
+Behold how short a time thou hast to live.
+
+_Selin._ Make haste, and draw the curtain while you may;
+You but shut out the twilight of my day.
+Beneath the burden of my age I bend:
+You kindly ease me ere my journey's end.
+                      [_To them a Soldier with_ OZMYN; OZMYN _kneels._
+
+_Aben._ to _Selin._ It is enough, my promise makes you free;
+Resign your bonds, and take your liberty.
+
+_Ozm._ Sir, you are just, and welcome are these bands;
+'Tis all the inheritance a son demands.
+
+_Selin._ Your goodness, O my Ozmyn, is too great;
+I am not weary of my fetters yet:
+Already, when you move me to resign,
+I feel them heavier on your feet than mine.
+
+  _Enter another Soldier._
+
+_Sold._ A youth attends you in the outer room,
+Who seems in haste, and does from Ozmyn come.
+
+_Aben._ Conduct him in.--
+
+_Ozm._ Sent from Benzayda, I fear, to me.
+
+  _To them_ BENZAYDA, _in the habit of a man._
+
+_Benz._ My Ozmyn here!
+
+_Ozm._ Benzayda! 'tis she!--
+Go youth, I have no business for thee here;
+Go to the Albayzyn, and attend me there.
+I'll not be long away; I pray thee go,
+By all our love and friendship--
+
+_Benz._ Ozmyn, no:
+I did not take on me this bold disguise,
+For ends so low, to cheat your watchmen's eyes.
+When I attempted this, it was to do
+An action, to be envied even by you;
+But you, alas, have been too diligent,
+And what I purposed fatally prevent!
+Those chains, which for my father I would bear,
+I take with less content to find you here;
+Except your father will that mercy show,
+That I may wear them both for him and you.
+
+_Aben._ I thank thee, fortune! thou hast, in one hour,
+Put all I could have asked thee in my power.
+My own lost wealth thou giv'st not only back,
+But driv'st upon my coast my pirate's wreck.
+
+_Selin._ With Ozmyn's kindness I was grieved before,
+But yours, Benzayda, has' undone me more.
+
+_Aben._ to a _Soldier._
+Go fetch new fetters, and the daughter bind.
+
+_Ozm._ Be just at least, sir, though you are not kind:
+Benzayda is not as a prisoner brought,
+But comes to suffer for another's fault.
+
+_Aben._ Then, Ozmyn, mark, that justice which I do,
+I, as severely, will exact from you:
+The father is not wholly dead in me;
+Or you may yet revive it, if it be.
+Like tapers new blown out, the fumes remain,
+To catch the light, and bring it back again.
+Benzayda gave you life, and set you free;
+For that, I will restore her liberty.
+
+_Ozm._ Sir, on my knees I thank you.
+
+_Aben._ Ozmyn, hold;
+One part of what I purpose is untold:
+Consider, then, it on your part remains,
+When I have broke, not to resume your chains.
+Like an indulgent father, I have paid
+All debts, which you, my prodigal, have made.
+Now you are clear, break off your fond design,
+Renounce Benzayda, and be wholly mine.
+
+_Ozm._ Are these the terms? Is this the liberty?
+Ah, sir, how can you so inhuman be?
+My duty to my life I will prefer;
+But life and duty must give place to her.
+
+_Aben._ Consider what you say, for, with one breath,
+You disobey my will, and give her death.
+
+_Ozm._ Ah, cruel father, what do you propose!
+Must I then kill Benzayda, or must lose?
+I can do neither; in this wretched state.
+The least that I can suffer is your hate;
+And yet that's worse than death: Even while I sue,
+And choose your hatred, I could die for you.
+Break quickly, heart, or let my blood be spilt
+By my own hand, to save a father's guilt.
+
+_Benz._ Hear me, my lord, and take this wretched life,
+To free you from the fear of Ozmyn's wife.
+I beg but what with ease may granted be,
+To spare your son, and kill your enemy;
+Or, if my death's a grace too great to give,
+Let me, my lord, without my Ozmyn live.
+Far from your sight and Ozmyn's let me go,
+And take from him a care, from you a foe.
+
+_Ozm._ How, my Benzayda! can you thus resign
+That love, which you have vowed so firmly mine?
+Can you leave me for life and liberty?
+
+_Benz._ What I have done will show that I dare die;
+But I'll twice suffer death, and go away,
+Rather than make you wretched by my stay:
+By this my father's freedom will be won;
+And to your father I restore a son.
+
+_Selin._ Cease, cease, my children, your unhappy strife,
+Selin will not be ransomed by your life.
+Barbarian, thy old foe defies thy rage;                    [_To_ ABEN.
+Turn, from their youth, thy malice to my age.
+
+_Benz._ Forbear, dear father! for your Ozmyn's sake,
+Do not such words to Ozmyn's father speak.
+
+_Ozm._ Alas, 'tis counterfeited rage; he strives
+But to divert the danger from our lives:
+For I can witness, sir, and you might see,
+How in your person he considered me.
+He still declined the combat where you were;
+And you well know it was not out of fear.
+
+_Benz._ Alas, my lord, where can your vengeance fall?
+Your justice will not let it reach us all.
+Selin and Ozmyn both would sufferers be;
+And punishment's a favour done to me.
+If we are foes, since you have power to kill,
+'Tis generous in you not to have the will;
+But, are we foes? Look round, my lord, and see;
+Point out that face which is your enemy.
+Would you your hand in Selin's blood embrue?
+Kill him unarmed, who, armed, shunned killing you?
+Am I your foe? Since you detest my line,
+That hated name of Zegry I resign:
+For you, Benzayda will herself disclaim;
+Call me your daughter, and forget my name.
+
+_Selin._ This virtue would even savages subdue;
+And shall it want the power to vanquish you?
+
+_Ozm._ It has, it has; I read it in his eyes;
+'Tis now not anger, 'tis but shame denies;
+A shame of error, that great spirits find,
+When keeps down virtue struggling in the mind.
+
+_Aben._ Yes, I am vanquished! The fierce conflict's past,
+And shame itself is now o'ercome at last.
+'Twas long before my stubborn mind was won;
+But, melting once, I on the sudden run;
+Nor can I hold my headlong kindness more,
+Than I could curb my cruel rage before.
+                                 [_Runs to_ BENZ., _and embraces her._
+Benzayda, 'twas your virtue vanquished me;
+That could alone surmount my cruelty.
+                                  [_Runs to_ SELIN, _and unbinds him._
+Forgive me, Selin, my neglect of you;
+But men, just waking, scarce know what they do.
+
+_Ozm._ O father!
+
+_Benz._ Father!
+
+_Aden._ Dare I own that name!
+Speak, speak it often, to remove my shame.    [_They all embrace him._
+O Selin, O my children, let me go!
+I have more kindness than I yet can show.
+For my recovery I must shun your sight;
+Eyes used to darkness cannot bear the light.
+                                    [_He runs in, they following him._
+
+
+SCENE II.--_The Albayzyn._
+
+  _Enter_ ALMANZOR, ABDELMELECH, _Soldiers._
+
+_Almanz._ 'Tis war again, and I am glad 'tis so;
+Success shall now by force and courage go.
+Treaties are but the combat of the brain,
+Where still the stronger lose, and weaker gain.
+
+_Abdelm._ On this assault, brave sir, which we prepare,
+Depends the sum and fortune of the war.
+Encamped without the fort the Spaniard lies,
+And may, in spite of us, send in supplies.
+Consider yet, ere we attack the place,
+What 'tis to storm it in an army's face.
+
+_Almanz._ The minds of heroes their own measures are,
+They stand exempted from the rules of war.
+One loose, one sally of the hero's soul,
+Does all the military art controul;
+While timorous wit goes round, or fords the shore,
+He shoots the gulph, and is already o'er;
+And, when the enthusiastic fit is spent,
+Looks back amazed at what he underwent.                     [_Exeunt._
+                                                  [_An alarum within._
+
+  _Re-enter_ ALMANZOR _and_ ABDELMELECH, _with their Soldiers._
+
+_Abdelm._ They fly, they fly; take breath and charge again.
+
+_Almanz._ Make good your entrance, and bring up more men.
+I feared, brave friend, my aid had been too late.
+
+_Abdelm._ You drew us from the jaws of certain fate.
+At my approach,
+The gate was open, and the draw-bridge down;
+But, when they saw I stood, and came not on,
+They charged with fury on my little band,
+Who, much o'erpowered, could scarce the shock withstand.
+
+_Almanz._ Ere night we shall the whole Albayzyn gain.
+But see, the Spaniards march along the plain
+To its relief; you, Abdelmelech, go,
+And force the rest, while I repulse the foe.         [_Exit_ ALMANZOR.
+
+  _Enter_ ABDALLA, _and some few Soldiers, who seem fearful._
+
+_Abdal._ Turn cowards, turn! there is no hope in flight;
+You yet may live, if you but dare to fight.
+Come, you brave few, who only fear to fly,
+We're not enough to conquer, but to die.
+
+_Abdelm._ No, prince, that mean advantage I refuse;
+'Tis in your power a nobler fate to choose.
+Since we are rivals, honour does command
+We should not die, but by each other's hand.
+Retire; and, if it prove my destiny                     [_To his men._
+To fall, I charge you let the prince go free.
+                                 [_The Soldiers depart on both sides._
+
+_Abdal._ O, Abdelmelech, that I knew some way
+This debt of honour, which I owe, to pay!
+But fate has left this only means for me,
+To die, and leave you Lyndaraxa free.
+
+_Abdelm._ He, who is vanquished and is slain, is blest;
+The wretched conqueror can ne'er have rest;
+But is reserved a harder fate to prove.
+Bound in the fetters of dissembled love.
+
+_Abdal._ Now thou art base, and I deserve her more;
+Without complaint I will to death adore.
+Dar'st thou see faults, and yet dost love pretend?
+I will even Lyndaraxa's crimes defend.
+
+_Abdelm._ Maintain her cause, then, better than thy own,--
+Than thy ill got, and worse defended throne.
+                                       [_They fight,_ ABDALLA _falls._
+
+_Abdelm._ Now ask your life.
+
+_Abdal._ 'Tis gone; that busy thing,
+The soul, is packing up, and just on wing,
+Like parting swallows, when they seek the spring:
+Like them, at its appointed time, it goes,
+And flies to countries more unknown than those.
+
+  _Enter_ LYNDARAXA _hastily, sees them, and is going out again._
+  ABDELMELECH _stops her._
+
+_Abdelm._ No, you shall stay, and see a sacrifice,
+Not offered by my sword, but by your eyes.
+From those he first ambitious poison drew,
+And swelled to empire from the love of you.
+Accursed fair!
+Thy comet-blaze portends a prince's fate;
+And suffering subjects groan beneath thy weight.
+
+_Abdal._ Cease, rival, cease!
+I would have forced you, but it wonnot be;
+I beg you now, upbraid her not for me.
+You, fairest, to my memory be kind!                      [_To_ LYNDAR.
+Lovers like me your sex will seldom find.
+When I usurped a crown for love of you,
+I then did more, than, dying, now I do.
+I'm still the same as when my love begun;
+And, could I now this fate foresee or shun,
+Would yet do all I have already done.                         [_Dies._
+                             [_She puts her handkerchief to her eyes._
+
+_Abdelm._ Weep on, weep on, for it becomes you now;
+These tears you to that love may well allow.
+His unrepenting soul, if it could move
+Upward in crimes, flew spotted with your love;
+And brought contagion to the blessed above.
+
+_Lyndar._ He's gone, and peace go with a constant mind!
+His love deserved I should have been more kind;
+But then your love and greater worth I knew:
+I was unjust to him, but just to you.
+
+_Abdelm._ I was his enemy, and rival too,
+Yet I some tears to his misfortune owe:
+You owe him more; weep then, and join with me:
+So much is due even to humanity.
+
+_Lyndar._ Weep for this wretch, whose memory I hate!
+Whose folly made us both unfortunate!
+Weep for this fool, who did my laughter move!
+This whining, tedious, heavy lump of love!
+
+_Abdelm._ Had fortune favoured him, and frowned on me,
+I then had been that heavy fool, not he:
+Just this had been my funeral elegy.
+Thy arts and falsehood I before did know,
+But this last baseness was concealed till now;
+And 'twas no more than needful to be known;
+I could be cured by such an act alone.
+My love, half blasted, yet in time would shoot;
+But this last tempest rends it to the root.
+
+_Lyndar._ These little piques, which now your anger move,
+Will vanish, and are only signs of love.
+You've been too fierce; and, at some other time,
+I should not with such ease forgive your crime:
+But, in a day of public joy like this,
+I pardon, and forget whate'er's amiss.
+
+_Abdelm._ These arts have oft prevailed, but must no more:
+The spell is ended, and the enchantment o'er.
+You have at last destroyed, with much ado,
+That love, which none could have destroyed, but you.
+My love was blind to your deluding art;
+But blind men feel, when stabbed so near the heart.
+
+_Lyndar._ I must confess there was some pity due;
+But I concealed it out of love to you.
+
+_Abdelm._ No, Lyndaraxa; 'tis at last too late:
+Our loves have mingled with too much of fate.
+I would, but cannot now, myself deceive:
+O that you still could cheat, and I believe!
+
+_Lyndar._ Do not so light a quarrel long pursue:
+You grieve your rival was less loved than you.
+'Tis hard, when men of kindness must complain!
+
+_Abdelm._ I'm now awake, and cannot dream again.
+
+_Lyndar._ Yet hear--
+
+_Abdelm._ No more; nothing my heart can bend:
+That queen, you scorned, you shall this night attend.
+Your life the king has pardoned for my sake;
+But on your pride I some revenge must take.
+See now the effects of what your arts designed!
+Thank your inconstant and ambitious mind.
+'Tis just that she, who to no love is true,
+Should be forsaken, and contemned, like you.
+
+_Lyndar._ All arts of injured women I will try:
+First I will be revenged; and then I'll die.
+But like some falling tower,
+Whose seeming firmness does the sight beguile,
+So hold I up my nodding head a while,
+Till they come under; and reserve my fall,
+That with my ruins I may reach them all,
+
+_Abdelm._ Conduct her hence.                [_Exit_ LYNDAR. _guarded._
+
+  _Enter a Soldier._
+
+_Sold._ Almanzor is victorious without fight;
+The foes retreated when he came in sight.
+Under the walls, this night, his men are drawn,
+And mean to seek the Spaniard with the dawn.
+
+_Abdelm._ The sun's declined:
+Command the watch be set without delay,
+And in the fort let bold Benducar stay.--                [_Exit Sold._
+I'll haste to court, where solitude I'll fly,
+And herd, like wounded deer, in company.
+But oh, how hard a passion to remove,
+When I must shun myself, to 'scape from love!                 [_Exit._
+
+
+SCENE III.--_A Gallery in the Alhambra._
+
+  ZULEMA, HAMET.
+
+_Hamet._ I thought your passion for the queen was dead,
+Or that your love had, with your hopes, been fled.
+
+_Zul._ 'Twas like a fire within a furnace pent:
+I smothered it, and kept it long from vent;
+But, fed with looks, and blown with sighs so fast,
+It broke a passage through my lips at last.
+
+_Hamet._ Where found you confidence your suit to move?
+Our broken fortunes are not fit to love.
+Well; you declared your love:--What followed then?
+
+_Zul._ She looked as judges do on guilty men,
+When big with fate they triumph in their dooms,
+And smile before the deadly sentence comes.
+Silent I stood, as I were thunder-struck;
+Condemned and executed with a look.
+
+_Hamet._ You must, with haste, some remedy prepare:
+Now you are in, you must break through the snare.
+
+_Zul._ She said, she would my folly yet conceal;
+But vowed my next attempt she would reveal.
+
+_Hamet._ 'Tis dark; and in this lonely gallery,
+Remote from noise, and shunning every eye,
+One hour each evening she in private mourns,
+And prays, and to the circle then returns.
+
+_Zul._ These lighted tapers show the time is nigh.
+Perhaps my courtship will not be in vain:
+At least, few women will of force complain.
+
+  _At the other end of the Gallery, enter_ ALMANZOR _and_ ESPERANZA.
+
+_Hamet._ Almanzor, and with him
+The favourite slave of the sultana queen.
+
+_Zul._ Ere they approach, let us retire unseen,
+And watch our time when they return again:
+Then force shall give, if favour does deny;
+And, that once done, we'll to the Spaniards fly.
+                                           [_Exeunt_ ZUL. _and_ HAMET.
+
+_Almanz._ Now stand; the apartment of the queen is near;
+And, from this place, your voice will reach her ear.
+                                                [ESPERANZA _goes out._
+
+                         SONG, IN TWO PARTS.
+
+        I.
+
+  He. _How unhappy a lover am I,
+        While I sigh for my Phillis in vain;
+      All my hopes of delight
+      Are another man's right,
+        Who is happy, while I am in pain!_
+
+        II.
+
+  She. _Since her honour allows no relief,
+         But to pity the pains which you bear,
+       'Tis the best of your fate
+       In a hopeless estate,
+         To give o'er, and betimes to despair._
+
+        III.
+
+  He. _I have tried the false med'cine in vain;
+        For I wish what I hope not to win:
+      From without, my desire
+      Has no food to its fire;
+        But it burns and consumes me within._
+
+        IV.
+
+  She. _Yet, at least, 'tis a pleasure to know
+         That you are not unhappy alone:
+       For the nymph you adore
+       Is as wretched, and more;
+         And counts all your sufferings her own._
+
+        V.
+
+  He. _O ye gods, let me suffer for both;
+        At the feet of my Phyllis I'll lie:
+      I'll resign up my breath,
+      And take pleasure in death
+         To be pitied by her when I die._
+
+        VI.
+
+  She. _What her honour denied you in life,
+         In her death she will give to your love.
+       Such flame as is true
+       After fate will renew,
+         For the souls to meet closer above._
+
+  _Enter_ ESPERANZA _again, after the Song._
+
+_Almanz._ Accept this diamond, till I can present
+Something more worthy my acknowledgement.
+And now farewell: I will attend, alone,
+Her coming forth; and make my sufferings known.     [_Exit_ ESPERANZA.
+A hollow wind comes whistling through that door,
+And a cold shivering seizes me all o'er;
+My teeth, too, chatter with a sudden fright:--
+These are the raptures of too fierce delight,
+The combat of the tyrants, hope and fear;
+Which hearts, for want of field-room, cannot bear.
+I grow impatient;--this, or that's the room:--
+I'll meet her;--now methinks, I her her come.
+                        [_He goes to the door; the Ghost of his Mother
+                         meets him: He starts back: The Ghost stands
+                         in the door._
+Well may'st thou make thy boast, whate'er thou art!
+Thou art the first e'er made Almanzor start.
+My legs
+Shall bear me to thee in their own despite:
+I'll rush into the covert of thy night,
+And pull thee backward, by the shroud, to light;
+Or else I'll squeeze thee, like a bladder, there,
+And make thee groan thyself away to air.         [_The Ghost retires._
+So, thou art gone! Thou canst no conquest boast:
+I thought what was the courage of a ghost.--
+The grudging of my ague yet remains;
+My blood, like icicles, hangs in my veins,
+And does not drop:--Be master of that door,
+We two will not disturb each other more.
+I erred a little, but extremes may join;
+That door was hell's, but this is heaven's and mine.
+             [_Goes to the other door, and is met again by the Ghost._
+Again! by heaven, I do conjure thee, speak!
+What art thou, spirit? and what dost thou seek?
+                    [_The Ghost comes on softly after the conjuration;
+                     and_ ALMANZOR _retires to the middle of the
+                     stage._
+
+_Ghost._ I am the ghost of her who gave thee birth;
+The airy shadow of her mouldering earth.
+Love of thy father me through seas did guide;
+On seas I bore thee, and on seas I died.
+I died; and for my winding sheet a wave
+I had, and all the ocean for my grave.
+But, when my soul to bliss did upward move,
+I wandered round the crystal walls above;
+But found the eternal fence so steeply high,
+That, when I mounted to the middle sky,
+I flagged, and fluttered down, and could not fly.
+Then, from the battlements of the heavenly tower,
+A watchman angel bid me wait this hour;
+And told me, I had yet a task assigned,
+To warn that little pledge I left behind;
+And to divert him, ere it were too late,
+From crimes unknown, and errors of his fate.
+
+_Almanz._ Speak, holy shade; thou parent-form, speak on!    [_Bowing._
+Instruct thy mortal-elemented son;
+For here I wander, to myself unknown.
+But O, thou better part of heavenly air,
+Teach me, kind spirit, since I'm still thy care,
+My parents' names:
+If I have yet a father, let me know
+To whose old age my humble youth must bow,
+And pay its duty, if he mortal be,
+Or adoration, if a mind, like thee.
+
+_Ghost._ Then, what I may, I'll tell.--
+From ancient blood thy father's lineage springs,
+Thy mother's thou deriv'st from stems of kings.
+A Christian born, and born again that day,
+When sacred water washed thy sins away.
+Yet, bred in errors, thou dost misemploy
+That strength heaven gave thee, and its flock destroy.
+
+_Almanz._ By reason, man a godhead may discern,
+But how he should be worshipped cannot learn.
+
+_Ghost._ Heaven does not now thy ignorance reprove,
+But warns thee from known crimes of lawless love.
+That crime thou knowest, and, knowing, dost not shun,
+Shall an unknown and greater crime pull on:
+But if, thus warned, thou leav'st this cursed place,
+Then shalt thou know the author of thy race.
+Once more I'll see thee; then my charge is done.
+Far hence, upon the mountains of the moon,
+Is my abode; where heaven and nature smile,
+And strew with flowers the secret bed of Nile.
+Blessed souls are there refined, and made more bright,
+And, in the shades of heaven, prepared for light.       [_Exit Ghost._
+
+_Almanz._ O heaven, how dark a riddle's thy decree,
+Which bounds our wills, yet seems to leave them free!
+Since thy fore-knowledge cannot be in vain,
+Our choice must be what thou didst first ordain.
+Thus, like a captive in an isle confined,
+Man walks at large, a prisoner of the mind:
+Wills all his crimes, while heaven the indictment draws,
+And, pleading guilty, justifies the laws.
+Let fate be fate; the lover and the brave
+Are ranked, at least, above the vulgar slave.
+Love makes me willing to my death to run;
+And courage scorns the death it cannot shun.
+
+  _Enter_ ALMAHIDE _with a taper._
+
+_Almah._ My light will sure discover those who talk.--
+Who dares to interrupt my private walk?
+
+_Almanz._ He, who dares love, and for that love must die,
+And, knowing this, dares yet love on, am I.
+
+_Almah._ That love which you can hope, and I can pay,
+May be received and given in open day:
+My praise and my esteem you had before;
+And you have bound yourself to ask no more.
+
+_Almanz._ Yes, I have bound myself; but will you take
+The forfeit of that bond, which force did make?
+
+_Almah._ You know you are from recompence debarred;
+But purest love can live without reward.
+
+_Almanz._ Pure love had need be to itself a feast;
+For, like pure elements, 'twill nourish least.
+
+_Almah._ It therefore yields the only pure content;
+For it, like angels, needs no nourishment.
+To eat and drink can no perfection be;
+All appetite implies necessity.
+
+_Almanz._ 'Twere well, if I could like a spirit live;
+But, do not angels food to mortals give?
+What if some demon should my death foreshow,
+Or bid me change, and to the Christians go;
+Will you not think I merit some reward,
+When I my love above my life regard?
+
+_Almah._ In such a case your change must be allowed:
+I would myself dispense with what you vowed.
+
+_Almanz._ Were I to die that hour when I possess,
+This minute shall begin my happiness.
+
+_Almah._ The thoughts of death your passion would remove;
+Death is a cold encouragement to love.
+
+_Almanz._ No; from my joys I to my death would run,
+And think the business of my life well done:
+But I should walk a discontented ghost,
+If flesh and blood were to no purpose lost.
+
+_Almah._ You love me not, Almanzor; if you did,
+You would not ask what honour must forbid.
+
+_Almanz._ And what is honour, but a love well hid?
+
+_Almah._ Yes, 'tis the conscience of an act well done,
+Which gives us power our own desires to shun;
+The strong and secret curb of headlong will;
+The self-reward of good, and shame of ill.
+
+_Almanz._ These, madam, are the maxims of the day,
+When honour's present, and when love's away.
+The duty of poor honour were too hard,
+In arms all day, at night to mount the guard.
+Let him, in pity, now to rest retire;
+Let these soft hours be watched by warm desire.
+
+_Almah._ Guards, who all day on painful duty keep,
+In dangers are not privileged to sleep.
+
+_Almanz._ And with what dangers are you threatened here?
+Am I, alas! a foe for you to fear?
+See, madam, at your feet this enemy;                        [_Kneels._
+Without your pity and your love I die.
+
+_Almah._ Rise, rise, and do not empty hopes pursue;
+Yet think that I deny myself, not you.
+
+_Almanz._ A happiness so high I cannot bear:
+My love's too fierce, and you too killing fair.
+I grow enraged to see such excellence!--
+If words, so much disordered, give offence,
+My love's too full of zeal to think of sense.
+Be you like me; dull reason hence remove,
+And tedious forms, and give a loose to love.
+Love eagerly; let us be gods to-night;
+And do not, with half yielding, clash delight.
+
+_Almah._ Thou strong seducer, opportunity!
+Of womankind, half are undone by thee!
+Though I resolve I will not be misled,
+I wish I had not heard what you have said!
+I cannot be so wicked to comply;
+And, yet, am most unhappy to deny!
+Away!
+
+_Almanz._ I will not move me from this place:
+I can take no denial from that face!
+
+_Almah._ If I could yield,--but think not that I will,--
+You and myself I in revenge should kill;
+For I should hate us both, when it were done,
+And would not to the shame of life be won.
+
+_Almanz._ Live but to-night, and trust to-morrow's mind:
+Ere that can come, there's a whole life behind.
+Methinks, already crowned with joys I lie,
+Speechless and breathless, in an ecstasy!
+Not absent in one thought: I am all there:
+Still close, yet wishing still to be more near.
+
+_Almah._ Deny your own desires; for it will be
+Too little now to be denied by me.
+Will he, who does all great, all noble seem,
+Be lost and forfeit to his own esteem?
+Will he, who may with heroes claim a place,
+Belie that fame, and to himself be base?
+Think how august and godlike you did look,
+When my defence, unbribed, you undertook;
+But, when an act so brave you disavow,
+How little, and how mercenary now!
+
+_Almanz._ Are, then, my services no higher prized?
+And can I fall so low, to be despised?
+
+_Almah._ Yes; for whatever may be bought, is low;
+And you yourself, who sell yourself, are so.
+Remember the great act you did this day:
+How did your love to virtue then give way!
+When you gave freedom to my captive lord,--
+That rival who possessed what you adored,--
+Of such a deed what price can there be made?
+Think well; is that an action to be paid?
+It was a miracle of virtue shown;
+And wonders are with wonder paid alone.
+And would you all that secret joy of mind,
+Which great souls only in great actions find,
+All that, for one tumultuous minute lose?
+
+_Almanz_, I would that minute before ages chuse.
+Praise is the pay of heaven for doing good;
+But love's the best return for flesh and blood.
+
+_Almah._ You've moved my heart so much, I can deny
+No move; but know, Almanzor, I can die.
+Thus far my virtue yields; if I have shown
+More love than what I ought, let this atone. [_Going to stab herself._
+
+_Almanz._ Hold, hold!
+Such fatal proofs of love you shall not give:
+Deny me; hate me; both are just,--but live!
+Your virtue I will ne'er disturb again;
+Nor dare to ask, for fear I should obtain.
+
+_Almah._ 'Tis generous to have conquered your desire;
+You mount above your wish, and lose it higher.
+There's pride in virtue, and a kindly heat;
+Not feverish, like your love, but full as great.
+Farewell; and may our loves hereafter be
+But image-like, to heighten piety.
+
+_Almanz._ 'Tis time I should be gone.--
+Alas! I am but half converted yet;
+All I resolve, I with one look forget;
+And, like a lion, whom no arts can tame,
+Shall tear even those, who would my rage reclaim. [_Exeunt severally._
+                            [ZULEMA _and_ HAMET _watch_ ALMANZOR; _and
+                             when he is gone, go in after the Queen._
+
+  _Enter_ ABDELMELECH _and_ LYNDARAXA.
+
+_Lyndar._ It is enough, you've brought me to this place:
+Here stop, and urge no further my disgrace.
+Kill me; in death your mercy will be seen,
+But make me not a captive to the queen.
+
+_Abdelm._ 'Tis therefore I this punishment provide:
+This only can revenge me on your pride.
+Prepare to suffer what you shun in vain;
+And know, you now are to obey, not reign.
+
+  _Enter_ ALMAHIDE _shrieking; her hair loose; she runs over the
+  stage._
+
+_Almah._ Help, help, O heaven, some help!
+
+  _Enter_ ZULEMA _and_ HAMET.
+
+_Zul._ Make haste before,
+And intercept her passage to the door.
+
+_Abdelm._ Villains, what act are you attempting here!
+
+_Almah._ I thank thee, heaven! some succour does appear.
+                       [_As_ ABDELMELECH _is going to help the Queen,_
+                        LYNDARAXA _pulls out his sword, and holds it._
+
+_Abdelm._ With what ill fate my good design is curst!
+
+_Zul._ We have no time to think; dispatch him first.
+
+_Abdelm._ O for a sword!  [_They make at_ ABDELMELECH; _he goes off at
+                           one door, while the Queen escapes at the
+                           other._
+
+_Zul._ Ruined!
+
+_Hamet._ Undone!
+
+_Lyndar._ And, which is worst of all,
+He is escaped.
+
+_Zul._ I hear them loudly call.
+
+_Lyndar._ Your fear will lose you; call as loud as they:
+I have not time to teach you what to say.
+The court will in a moment all be here;
+But second what I say, and do not fear.
+Call help; run that way; leave the rest to me.
+                    [ZUL. _and_ HAMET _retire, and within cry,_--Help!
+
+  _Enter, at several doors, the King_, ABENAMAR, SELIN, OZMYN,
+  ALMANZOR, _with Guards attending_ BOABDELIN.
+
+_Boab._ What can the cause of all this tumult be?
+And what the meaning of that naked sword?
+
+_Lyndar._ I'll tell, when fear will so much breath afford.--
+The queen and Abdelmelech--'Twill not out--
+Even I, who saw it, of the truth yet doubt,
+It seems so strange.
+
+_Almanz._ Did she not name the queen?
+Haste; speak.
+
+_Lyndar._ How dare I speak what I have seen?--
+With Hamet, and with Zulema I went,
+To pay both theirs, and my acknowledgment
+To Almahide, and by her mouth implore
+Your clemency, our fortunes to restore.
+We chose this hour, which we believed most free,
+When she retired from noise and company.
+The ante-chamber past, we gently knocked,
+Unheard it seems, but found the lodgings locked,
+In duteous silence while we waited there,
+We first a noise, and then long whispers hear;
+Yet thought it was the queen at prayers alone,
+Till she distinctly said,--If this were known,
+My love, what shame, what danger would ensue!
+Yet I,--and sighed,--could venture more for you!
+
+_Boab._ O heaven, what do I hear!
+
+_Almanz._ Let her go on.
+
+_Lyndar._ And how,--then murmured in a bigger tone
+Another voice,--and how should it be known?
+This hour is from your court attendants free;
+The king suspects Almanzor, but not me.
+
+_Zul._ I find her drift; Hamet, be confident;          [_At the door._
+Second her words, and fear not the event.
+
+  ZULEMA _and_ HAMET _enter. The King embraces them._
+
+_Boab._ Welcome, my only friends;--behold in me,
+O kings, behold the effects of clemency!
+See here the gratitude of pardoned foes!
+That life, I gave them, they for me expose!
+
+_Hamet._ Though Abdelmelech was our friend before,
+When duty called us, he was so no more.
+
+_Almanz._ Damn your delay!--you torturers, proceed!
+I will not hear one word but Almahide.
+
+_Boab._ When you, within, the traitor's voice did hear,
+What did you then?
+
+_Zul._ I durst not trust my ear;
+But, peeping through the key-hole, I espied
+The queen, and Abdelmelech by her side;
+She on the couch, he on her bosom lay;
+Her hand about his neck his head did stay,
+And from his forehead wiped the drops away.
+
+_Boab._ Go on, go on, my friends, to clear my doubt;
+I hope I shall have life to hear you out.
+
+_Zul_ What had been, sir, you may suspect too well;
+What followed, modesty forbids to tell:
+Seeing what we had thought beyond belief,
+Our hearts so swelled with anger and with grief,
+That, by plain force, we strove the door to break.
+He, fearful, and with guilt, or love, grown weak,
+Just as we entered, 'scaped the other way;
+Nor did the amazed queen behind him stay.
+
+_Lyndar._ His sword, in so much haste, he could not mind;
+But left this witness of his crime behind.
+
+_Boab._ O proud, ungrateful, faithless womankind!
+How changed, and what a monster am I made!
+My love, my honour, ruined and betrayed!
+
+_Almanz._ Your love and honour! mine are ruined worse:--
+Furies and hell!--What right have you to curse?
+Dull husband as you are,
+What can your love, or what your honour, be?
+I am her lover, and she's false to me.
+
+_Boab._ Go; when the authors of my shame are found,
+Let them be taken instantly and bound:
+They shall be punished as our laws require:
+'Tis just, that flames should be condemned to fire.
+This, with the dawn of morning shall be done.
+
+_Aben._ You haste too much her execution.
+Her condemnation ought to be deferred;
+With justice, none can be condemned unheard.
+
+_Boab._ A formal process tedious is, and long;
+Besides, the evidence is full and strong.
+
+_Lyndar._ The law demands two witnesses; and she
+Is cast, for which heaven knows I grieve, by three.
+
+_Ozm._ Hold, sir! since you so far insist on law,
+We can from thence one just advantage draw:
+That law, which dooms adultresses to die,
+Gives champions, too, to slandered chastity.
+
+_Almanz._ And how dare you, who from my bounty live,
+Intrench upon my love's prerogative?
+Your courage in your own concernments try;
+Brothers are things remote, while I am by.
+
+_Ozm._ I knew not you thus far her cause would own,
+And must not suffer you to fight alone:
+Let two to two in equal combat join;
+You vindicate her person, I her line.
+
+_Lyndar._ Of all mankind, Almanzor has least right
+In her defence, who wrong'd his love, to fight.
+
+_Almanz._ 'Tis false: she is not ill, nor can she be;
+She must be chaste, because she's loved by me.
+
+_Zul._ Dare you, what sense and reason prove, deny?
+
+_Almanz._ When she's in question, sense and reason lie.
+
+_Zul._ For truth, and for my injured sovereign,
+What I have said, I will to death maintain.
+
+_Ozm._ So foul a falsehood, whoe'er justifies,
+Is basely born, and, like a villain, lies.
+In witness of that truth, be this my gage.
+                                      [_Takes a ring from his finger._
+
+_Hamet._ I take it; and despise a traitor's rage.
+
+_Boab._ The combat's yours.--A guard the lists surround;
+Then raise a scaffold in the encompassed ground,
+And, by it, piles of wood; in whose just fire,
+Her champions slain, the adultress shall expire.
+
+_Aben._ We ask no favour, but what arms will yield.
+
+_Boab._ Choose, then, two equal judges of the field:
+Next morning shall decide the doubtful strife,
+Condemn the unchaste, or quit the virtuous wife.
+
+_Almanz._ But I am both ways cursed:
+For Almahide must die, if I am slain;
+Or for my rival I the conquest gain.                        [_Exeunt._
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+
+  ALMANZOR _solus._
+
+I have outfac'd myself; and justified,
+What I knew false, to all the world beside.
+She was as faithless as her sex could be;
+And, now I am alone, she's so to me.
+She's fallen! and, now, where shall we virtue find?
+She was the last that stood of womankind.
+Could she so holily my flames remove,
+And fall that hour to Abdelmelech's love?
+Yet her protection I must undertake;
+Not now for love, but for my honour's sake,
+That moved me first, and must oblige me still:
+My cause is good, however her's be ill.
+I'll leave her, when she's freed; and let it be
+Her punishment, she could be false to me.
+
+  _To him_ ABDELMELECH, _guarded._
+
+_Abdelm._ Heaven is not heaven, nor are there deities
+There is some new rebellion in the skies.
+All that was good and holy is dethroned,
+And lust and rapine are for justice owned.
+
+_Almanz._ 'Tis true; what justice in that heaven can be,
+Which thus affronts me with the sight of thee?
+Why must I be from just revenge debarred?
+Chains are thy arms, and prisons are thy guard:
+The death, thou diest, may to a husband be
+A satisfaction; but 'tis none to me.
+My love would justice to itself afford;
+But now thou creep'st to death below my sword.
+
+_Abdelm._ This threatening would show better were I free.
+
+_Almanz._ No; wert thou freed, I would not threaten thee;
+This arm should then--but now it is too late!
+I could redeem thee to a nobler fate.
+As some huge rock,
+Rent from its quarry, does the waves divide,
+So I
+Would souse upon thy guards, and dash them wide:
+Then, to my rage left naked and alone,
+Thy too much freedom thou should'st soon bemoan:
+Dared like a lark, that, on the open plain
+Pursued and cuffed, seeks shelter now in vain;
+So on the ground wouldst thou expecting lie,
+Not daring to afford me victory.
+But yet thy fate's not ripe; it is decreed,
+Before thou diest, that Almahide be freed.
+My honour first her danger must remove,
+And then revenge on thee my injured love.         [_Exeunt severally._
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+  _The_ SCENE _changes to the Vivarambla, and appears
+  filled with Spectators; a Scaffold hung with black._
+
+  _Enter the_ QUEEN _guarded, with_ ESPERANZA.
+
+_Almah._ See how the gazing people crowd the place,
+All gaping to be filled with my disgrace.           [_A shout within._
+That shout, like the hoarse peals of vultures, rings,
+When over fighting fields they beat their wings.--
+Let never woman trust in innocence,
+Or think her chastity its own defence;
+Mine has betrayed me to this public shame,
+And virtue, which I served, is but a name.
+
+_Esper._ Leave then that shadow, and for succour fly
+To Him we serve, the Christian's Deity.
+Virtue's no god, nor has she power divine:
+But He protects it, who did first enjoin.
+Trust then in Him; and from his grace implore
+Faith to believe, what rightly we adore.
+
+_Almah._ Thou Power unknown, if I have erred, forgive!
+My infancy was taught what I believe.
+But if the Christians truly worship thee,
+Let me thy Godhead in thy succour see:
+So shall thy justice in my safety shine,
+And all my days, which thou shalt add, be thine!
+
+  _Enter the_ KING, ABENAMAR, LYNDARAXA, BENZAYDA: _then_ ABDELMELECH
+  _guarded; and after him_ SELIN _and_ ALABEZ, _as Judges of the
+  Field._
+
+_Boab._ You, judges of the field, first take your place.--
+The accusers and accused bring face to face.
+Set guards, and let the lists be opened wide;
+And may just heaven assist the juster side!
+
+_Almah._ What! not one tender look, one passing word?
+Farewell, my much unkind, but still loved lord!
+Your throne was for my humble fate too high,
+And therefore heaven thinks fit that I should die.
+My story be forgot, when I am dead,
+Lest it should fright some other from your bed;
+And, to forget me, may you soon adore
+Some happier maid,--yet none could love you more.
+But may you never think me innocent,
+Lest it should cause you trouble to repent.
+
+_Boab._ 'Tis pity so much beauty should not live;            [_Aside._
+Yet I too much am injured, to forgive.            [_Goes to his seat._
+
+  _Trumpets: Then enter two Moors, bearing two naked swords before the
+  accusers_ ZULEMA _and_ HAMET, _who follow them. The Judges seat
+  themselves; the_ QUEEN _and_ ABDELMELECH _are led to the Scaffold._
+
+_Alabez._ Say for what end you thus in arms appear;
+What are your names, and what demand you here?
+
+_Zul._ The Zegrys' ancient race our lineage claims;
+And Zulema and Hamet are our names.
+Like loyal subjects in these lists we stand,
+And justice in our king's behalf demand.
+
+_Hamet._ For whom, in witness of what both have seen,
+Bound by our duty, we appeach the queen
+And Abdelmelech, of adultery.
+
+_Zul._ Which, like true knights, we will maintain, or die.
+
+_Alabez._ Swear on the Alcoran your cause is right,
+And Mahomet so prosper you in fight.
+                        [_They touch their foreheads with the Alcoran,
+                         and bow._
+
+  _Trumpets on the other side of the Stage; two Moors, as before, with
+  bare swords before_ ALMANZOR _and_ OZMYN.
+
+_Selin._ Say for what end you thus in arms appear;
+What are your names, and what demand you here?
+
+_Almanz._ Ozmyn is his, Almanzor is my name;
+We come as champions of the queen's fair fame.
+
+_Ozm._ To prove these Zegrys, like false traitors, lie;
+Which, like true knights, we will maintain, or die.
+
+_Selin._ [_to_ ALMAH.]
+Madam, do you for champions take these two,
+By their success to live or die?
+
+_Almah._ I do.
+
+_Selin._ Swear on the Alcoran your cause is right;
+And Mahomet so prosper you in fight.         [_They kiss the Alcoran._
+                        [OZMYN _and_ BENZAYDA _embrace, and take leave
+                         in dumb show; while_ LYNDARAXA _speaks to her
+                         Brother._
+
+_Lyndar._ If you o'ercome, let neither of them live,
+But use with care the advantages I give:
+One of their swords in fight shall useless be;
+The bearer of it is suborned by me.      [_She and_ BENZAYDA _retire._
+
+_Alabez._ Now, principals and seconds, all advance,
+And each of you assist his fellow's chance.
+
+_Selin._ The wind and sun we equally divide,
+So let the event of arms the truth decide.
+The chances of the fight, and every wound,
+The trumpets, on the victor's part, resound.
+                          [_The Trumpets sound;_ ALMANZOR _and_ ZULEMA
+                           _meet and fight;_ OZMYN _and_ HAMET. _After
+                           some passes, the sword of_ OZMYN _breaks;
+                           he retires, defending himself, and is
+                           wounded; the Zegrys' Trumpets sound their
+                           advantage._ ALMANZOR, _in the mean time,
+                           drives_ ZULEMA _to the farther end of the
+                           Stage, till, hearing the Trumpets of the
+                           adverse Party, he looks back, and sees_
+                           OZMYN'S _misfortune; he makes at_ ZULEMA
+                           _just as_ OZMYN _falls, in retiring, and_
+                           HAMET _is thrusting at him._
+
+_Hamet._ [_to_ OZMYN, _thrusting._]
+Our difference now shall soon determined be.
+
+_Almanz._ Hold, traitor, and defend thyself from me.
+                    [HAMET _leaves_ OZMYN _(who cannot rise), and both
+                     he and_ ZULEMA _fall on_ ALMANZOR, _and press
+                     him; he retires, and_ HAMET, _advancing first, is
+                     run through the body, and falls. The Queen's
+                     Trumpets sound._ ALMANZOR _pursues_ ZULEMA.
+
+_Lyndar._ I must make haste some remedy to find:--
+Treason, Almanzor, treason! look behind.
+                    [ALMANZOR _looks behind him to see who calls, and_
+                     ZULEMA _takes the advantage, and wounds him; the
+                     Zegrys' Trumpets sound;_ ALMANZOR _turns upon_
+                     ZULEMA, _and wounds him; he falls. The Queens
+                     Trumpets sound._
+
+_Almanz._ Now triumph in thy sister's treachery.      [_Stabbing him._
+
+_Zul._ Hold, hold! I have enough to make me die,
+But, that I may in peace resign my breath,
+I must confess my crime before my death.
+Mine is the guilt; the queen is innocent:
+I loved her, and, to compass my intent,
+Used force, which Abdelmelech did prevent.
+The lie my sister forged; but, O! my fate
+Comes on too soon, and I repent too late.
+Fair queen, forgive; and let my penitence
+Expiate some part of--                                        [_Dies._
+
+_Almah._ Even thy whole offence!
+
+_Almanz._ [_to the Judges._]
+If aught remains in the sultana's cause,
+I here am ready to fulfil the laws.
+
+_Selin._ The law is fully satisfied, and we
+Pronounce the queen and Abdelmelech free.
+
+_Abdelm._ Heaven, thou art just!
+                    [_The Judges rise from their seats, and go before_
+                     ALMANZOR _to the Queens Scaffold; he unbinds_
+                     _the Queen and_ ABDELMELECH; _they all go off,
+                     the People shouting, and the Trumpets sounding
+                     the while._
+
+_Boab._ Before we pay our thanks, or show our joy,
+Let us our needful charity employ.
+Some skilful surgeon speedily be found,
+To apply fit remedies to Ozmyn's wound.
+
+_Benz._ [_running to OZM._]
+That be my charge: my linen I will tear;
+Wash it with tears, and bind it with my hair.
+
+_Ozm._ With how much pleasure I my pains endure,
+And bless the wound which causes such a cure!
+                               [_Exit_ OZM. _led by_ BENZ. _and_ ABEN.
+
+_Boab._ Some from the place of combat bear the slain.--
+Next Lyndaraxa's death I should ordain:
+But let her, who this mischief did contrive,
+For ever banished from Granada live.
+
+_Lyndar._ Thou shouldst have punished more, or not at all:
+By her thou hast not ruined, thou shalt fall.
+The Zegrys shall revenge their branded line,
+Betray their gate, and with the Christians join.             [_Aside._
+                       [_Exit_ LYNDARAXA _with_ ALABEZ; _the bodies of
+                        her Brothers are borne after her._
+
+  ALMANZOR, ALMAHIDE, _and_ ESPERANZA, _re-enter to the King._
+
+_Almah._ The thanks thus paid, which first to heaven were due,
+My next, Almanzor, let me pay to you:
+Somewhat there is of more concernment too,
+Which 'tis not fit you should in public know.
+First let your wounds be dressed with speedy care,
+And then you shall the important secret share.
+
+_Almanz._ Whene'er you speak,
+Were my wounds mortal, they should still bleed on;
+And I would listen till my life were gone:
+My soul should even for your last accent stay,
+And then shout out, and with such speed obey,
+It should not bait at heaven to stop its way.          [_Exit_ ALMANZ.
+
+_Boab._ 'Tis true, Almanzor did her honour save,
+But yet what private business can they have?
+Such freedom virtue will not sure allow;
+I cannot clear my heart, but must my brow.                   [_Aside._
+                                            [_He approaches_ ALMAHIDE.
+Welcome again, my virtuous, loyal wife;
+Welcome to love, to honour, and to life!
+                               [_Goes to salute her, she starts back._
+You seem
+As if you from a loathed embrace did go!
+
+_Almah._ Then briefly will I speak, since you must know
+What to the world my future acts will show:
+But hear me first, and then my reasons weigh.
+'Tis known, how duty led me to obey
+My father's choice; and how I since did live,
+You, sir, can best your testimony give.
+How to your aid I have Almanzor brought,
+When by rebellious crowds your life was sought;
+Then, how I bore your causeless jealousy,
+(For I must speak) and after set you free,
+When you were prisoner in the chance of war:
+These, sure, are proofs of love.
+
+_Boab._ I grant they are.
+
+_Almah._ And could you then, O cruelly unkind!
+So ill reward such tenderness of mind?
+Could you, denying what our laws afford
+The meanest subject, on a traitor's word,
+Unheard, condemn, and suffer me to go
+To death, and yet no common pity show!
+
+_Boab._ Love filled my heart even to the brim before;
+And then, with too much jealousy, boiled o'er.
+
+_Almah._ Be't love or jealousy, 'tis such a crime,
+That I'm forewarned to trust a second time.
+Know, then, my prayers to heaven shall never cease,
+To crown your arms in war, your wars with peace;
+But from this day I will not know your bed:
+Though Almahide still lives, your wife is dead;
+And with her dies a love so pure and true,
+It could be killed by nothing but by you.               [_Exit_ ALMAH.
+
+_Boab._ Yes; you will spend your life in prayers for me,
+And yet this hour my hated rival see.
+She might a husband's jealousy forgive;
+But she will only for Almanzor live.
+It is resolved; I will myself provide
+That vengeance, which my useless laws denied;
+And, by Almanzor's death, at once remove
+The rival of my empire, and my love.                     [_Exit_ BOAB.
+
+  _Enter_ ALMAHIDE, _led by_ ALMANZOR, _and followed by_ ESPERANZA;
+  _she speaks, entering._
+
+_Almah._ How much, Almanzor, to your aid I owe,
+Unable to repay, I blush to know;
+Yet, forced by need, ere I can clear that score,
+I, like ill debtors, come to borrow more.
+
+_Almanz._ Your new commands I on my knees attend:
+I was created for no other end.
+Born to be yours, I do by nature serve,
+And, like the labouring beast, no thanks deserve.
+
+_Almah._ Yet first your virtue to your succour call,
+For in this hard command you'll need it all.
+
+_Almanz._ I stand prepared; and whatsoe'er it be,
+Nothing is hard to him, who loves like me.
+
+_Almah._ Then know, I from your love must yet implore
+One proof:--that you would never see me more.
+
+_Almanz._ I must confess,                            [_Starting back._
+For this last stroke I did no guard provide;
+I could suspect no foe was near that side.
+From winds and thickening clouds we thunder fear,
+None dread it from that quarter which is clear;
+And I would fain believe, 'tis but your art
+To shew
+You knew where deepest you could wound my heart.
+
+_Almah._ So much respect is to your passion due,
+That sure I could not practise arts on you.
+But that you may not doubt what I have said,
+This hour I have renounced my husband's bed:
+Judge, then, how much my fame would injured be,
+If, leaving him, I should a lover see.
+
+_Almanz._ If his unkindness have deserved that curse,
+Must I, for loving well, be punished worse?
+
+_Almah._ Neither your love nor merits I compare,
+But my unspotted name must be my care.
+
+_Almanz._ I have this day established its renown.
+
+_Almah._ Would you so soon, what you have raised, throw down?
+
+_Almanz._ But, madam, is not yours a greater guilt,
+To ruin him, who has that fabric built?
+
+_Almah._ No lover should his mistress' prayers withstand,
+Yet you contemn my absolute command.
+
+_Almanz._ 'Tis not contempt,
+When your command is issued out too late;
+'Tis past my power, and all beyond is fate.
+I scarce could leave you, when to exile sent,
+Much less when now recalled from banishment;
+For if that heat your glances cast were strong,
+Your eyes, like glasses, fire, when held so long.
+
+_Almah._ Then, since you needs will all my weakness know,
+I love you; and so well, that you must go.
+I am so much obliged, and have withal
+A heart so boundless and so prodigal,
+I dare not trust myself, or you, to stay,
+But, like frank gamesters, must forswear the play.
+
+_Almanz._ Fate, thou art kind to strike so hard a blow:
+I am quite stunned, and past all feeling now.
+Yet--can you tell me you have power and will
+To save my life, and at that instant kill?
+
+_Almah._ This, had you staid, you never must have known;
+But, now you go, I may with honour own.
+
+_Almanz._ But, madam, I am forced to disobey:
+In your defence my honour bids me stay.
+I promised to secure your life and throne,
+And, heaven be thanked, that work is yet undone.
+
+_Almah._ I here make void that promise which you made,
+For now I have no farther need of aid.
+That vow, which to my plighted lord was given,
+I must not break, but may transfer to heaven:
+I will with vestals live:
+There needs no guard at a religious door;
+Few will disturb the praying and the poor.
+
+_Almanz._ Let me but near that happy temple stay,
+And through the grates peep on you once a day;
+To famished hope I would no banquet give:
+I cannot starve, and wish but just to live.
+Thus, as a drowning man
+Sinks often, and does still more faintly rise,
+With his last hold catching whate'er he spies;
+So, fallen from those proud hopes I had before,
+Your aid I for a dying wretch implore.
+
+_Almah._ I cannot your hard destiny withstand,
+
+  BOABDELIN, _and Guards above._
+
+But slip, like bending rushes, from your hand.
+Sink all at once, since you must sink at last.
+
+_Almanz._ Can you that last relief of sight remove,
+And thrust me out the utmost line of love!
+Then, since my hopes of happiness are gone,
+Denied all favours, I will seize this one.
+                                   [_Catches her hand, and kisses it._
+
+_Boab._ My just revenge no longer I'll forbear:
+I've seen too much; I need not stay to hear.              [_Descends._
+
+_Almanz._ As a small shower
+To the parched earth does some refreshment give,
+So, in the strength of this, one day I'll live:
+A day,--a year,--an age,--for ever, now;
+                      [_Betwixt each word he kisses her hand by force;
+                       she struggling._
+I feel from every touch a new soul flow.
+                                        [_She snatches her hand away._
+My hoped eternity of joy is past!
+'Twas insupportable, and could not last.
+Were heaven not made of less, or duller joy,
+'Twould break each minute, and itself destroy.
+
+  _Enter King and Guards, below._
+
+_Boab._ This, this, is he, for whom thou didst deny
+To share my bed:--Let them together die.
+
+_Almah._ Hear me, my lord.
+
+_Boab._ Your flattering arts are vain:
+Make haste, and execute what I ordain.               [_To the Guards._
+
+_Almanz._ Cut piece-meal in this cause,
+From every wound I should new vigour take,
+And every limb should new Almanzors make.
+                        [_He puts himself before the Queen; the Guards
+                         attack him, with the King._
+
+  _Enter_ ABDELMELECH.
+
+_Abdelm._ What angry god, to exercise his spite,       [_To the King._
+Has arm'd your left hand, to cut off your right?
+                                  [_The King turns, the fight ceases._
+The foes are entered at the Elvira gate:
+False Lyndaraxa has the town betrayed,
+And all the Zegrys give the Spaniards aid.
+
+_Boab._ O mischief, not suspected nor foreseen!
+
+_Abdelm._ Already they have gained the Zacatin,
+And thence the Vivarambla place possest,
+While our faint soldiers scarce defend the rest.
+The duke of Arcos does one squadron head,
+The next by Ferdinand himself is led.
+
+_Almah._ Now, brave Almanzor, be a god again;
+Above our crimes and your own passions reign.
+My lord has been by jealousy misled,
+To think I was not faithful to his bed.
+I can forgive him, though my death he sought,
+For too much love can never be a fault.
+Protect him, then; and what to his defence
+You give not, give to clear my innocence.
+
+_Almanz._ Listen, sweet heaven, and all ye blessed above,
+Take rules of virtue from a mortal love!
+You've raised my soul; and if it mount more high,
+'Tis as the wren did on the eagle fly.
+Yes, I once more will my revenge neglect,
+And, whom you can forgive, I can protect.
+
+_Boab._ How hard a fate is mine, still doomed to shame!
+I make occasions for my rival's fame!      [_Exeunt. An alarm within._
+
+  _Enter_ FERDINAND, ISABELLA, _Don_ ALONZO D'AGUILAR; _Spaniards and
+  Ladies._
+
+_K. Ferd._ Already more than half the town is gained,
+But there is yet a doubtful fight maintained.
+
+_Alonz._ The fierce young king the entered does attack,
+And the more fierce Almanzor drives them back.
+
+_K. Ferd._ The valiant Moors like raging lions fight;
+Each youth encouraged by his lady's sight.
+
+_Q. Isabel._ I will advance with such a shining train,
+That Moorish beauties shall oppose in vain.
+Into the press of clashing swords we'll go,
+And, where the darts fly thickest, seek the foe.
+
+_K. Ferd._ May heaven, which has inspired this generous thought,
+Avert those dangers you have boldly sought!
+Call up more troops; the women, to our shame,
+Will ravish from the men their part of fame.
+                                      [_Exeunt_ ISABELLA _and Ladies._
+
+  _Enter_ ALABEZ, _and kisses the King's hand._
+
+_Alabez._ Fair Lyndaraxa, and the Zegry line,
+Have led their forces with your troops to join;
+The adverse part, which obstinately fought,
+Are broke, and Abdelmelech prisoner brought.
+
+_K. Ferd._ Fair Lyndaraxa, and her friends, shall find
+The effects of an obliged and grateful mind.
+
+_Alabez._ But, marching by the Vivarambla place,
+The combat carried a more doubtful face:
+In that vast square the Moors and Spaniards met,
+Where the fierce conflict is continued yet;
+But with advantage on the adverse side,
+Whom fierce Almanzor does to conquest guide.
+
+_K. Ferd._ With my Castilian foot I'll meet his rage;
+                  [_Is going out: Shouts within are heard,_--Victoria!
+                   Victoria!
+But these loud clamours better news presage.
+
+  _Enter the_ DUKE OF ARCOS, _and Soldiers; their Swords drawn and
+  bloody._
+
+_D. Arcos._ Granada now is yours; and there remain
+No Moors, but such as own the power of Spain.
+That squadron, which their king in person led,
+We charged, but found Almanzor on their head:
+Three several times we did the Moors attack,
+And thrice with slaughter did he drive us back:
+Our troops then shrunk; and still we lost more ground,
+'Till from our queen we needful succour found:
+Her guards to our assistance bravely flew,
+And with fresh vigour did the fight renew:
+At the same time
+Did Lyndaraxa with her troops appear,
+And, while we charged the front, engaged the rear:
+Then fell the king, slain by a Zegry's hand.
+
+_K. Ferd._ How could he such united force withstand?
+
+_D. Arcos._ Discouraged with his death, the Moorish powers
+Fell back, and, falling back, were pressed by ours;
+But as, when winds and rain together crowd,
+They swell till they have burst the bladdered cloud;
+And first the lightning, flashing deadly clear,
+Flies, falls, consumes, kills ere it does appear,--
+So from his shrinking troops, Almanzor flew,
+Each blow gave wounds, and with each wound he slew:
+His force at once I envied and admired,
+And rushing forward, where my men retired,
+Advanced alone.
+
+_K. Ferd._ You hazarded too far
+Your person, and the fortune of the war.
+
+_D. Arcos._ Already both our arms for fight did bare,
+Already held them threatening in the air,
+When heaven (it must be heaven) my sight did guide
+To view his arm, upon whose wrist I spied
+A ruby cross in diamond bracelets tied;
+And just above it, in the brawnier part,
+By nature was engraved a bloody heart:
+Struck with these tokens, which so well I knew,
+And staggering back some paces, I withdrew:
+He followed, and supposed it was my fear;
+When, from above, a shrill voice reached his ear:--
+"Strike not thy father!"--it was heard to cry;
+Amazed, and casting round his wondrous eye,
+He stopped; then, thinking that his fears were vain,
+He lifted up his thundering arm again:
+Again the voice withheld him from my death;
+"Spare, spare his life," it cried, "who gave thee breath!"
+Once more he stopped; then threw his sword away;
+"Blessed shade," he said, "I hear thee, I obey
+Thy sacred voice;" then, in the sight of all,
+He at my feet, I on his neck did fall.
+
+_K. Ferd._ O blessed event!
+
+_D. Arcos._ The Moors no longer fought;
+But all their safety by submission sought:
+Mean time my son grew faint with loss of blood,
+And on his bending sword supported stood;
+Yet, with a voice beyond his strength, he cried,
+"Lead me to live or die by Almahide."
+
+_K. Ferd._ I am not for his wounds less grieved than you:
+For, if what now my soul divines prove true,
+This is that son, whom in his infancy
+You lost, when by my father forced to fly.
+
+_D. Arcos._ His sister's beauty did my passion move,
+(The crime for which I suffered was my love.)
+Our marriage known, to sea we took our flight:
+There, in a storm, Almanzor first saw light.
+On his right arm a bloody heart was graved,
+(The mark by which, this day, my life was saved:)
+The bracelets and the cross his mother tied
+About his wrist, ere she in childbed died.
+How we were captives made, when she was dead,
+And how Almanzor was in Afric bred,
+Some other hour you may at leisure hear,
+For see, the queen in triumph does appear.
+
+  _Enter_ QUEEN ISABELLA, LYNDARAXA, _Ladies, Moors and Spaniards
+  mixed as Guards,_ ABDELMELECH, ABENAMAR, SELIN, _Prisoners._
+
+_K. Ferd._ [_embracing Q. Isabel._]
+All stories which Granada's conquest tell,
+Shall celebrate the name of Isabel.
+Your ladies too, who, in their country's cause,
+Led on the men, shall share in your applause;
+And, for your sakes, henceforward I ordain,
+No lady's dower shall questioned be in Spain,
+Fair Lyndaraxa, for the help she lent,
+Shall, under tribute, have this government.
+
+_Abdelm._ O heaven, that I should live to see this day!
+
+_Lyndar._ You murmur now, but you shall soon obey.
+I knew this empire to my fate was owed;
+Heaven held it back as long as e'er it could;
+For thee, base wretch, I want a torture yet--            [_To_ ABDELM.
+I'll cage thee; thou shalt be my Bajazet.
+I on no pavement but on thee will tread;
+And, when I mount, my foot shall know thy head.
+
+_Abdelm._ (_Stabbing her with a poniard._)
+This first shall know thy heart.
+
+_Lyndar._ O! I am slain!
+
+_Abdelm._ Now, boast thy country is betrayed to Spain.
+
+_K. Ferd._ Look to the lady!--Seize the murderer!
+
+_Abdelm._ (_Stabbing himself._)
+I do myself that justice I did her.
+Thy blood I to thy ruined country give,                  [_To_ LYNDAR.
+But love too well thy murder to out-live.
+Forgive a love, excused by its excess,
+Which, had it not been cruel, had been less.
+Condemn my passion, then, but pardon me,
+And think I murdered him who murdered thee.                   [_Dies._
+
+_Lyndar._ Die for us both; I have not leisure now;
+A crown is come, and will not fate allow:
+And yet I feel something like death is near,
+My guards, my guards,--
+Let not that ugly skeleton appear!
+Sure destiny mistakes; this death's not mine;
+She dotes, and meant to cut another line.
+Tell her I am a queen;--but 'tis too late;
+Dying, I charge rebellion on my fate.
+Bow down, ye slaves:--                                [_To the Moors._
+Bow quickly down, and your submission show.--             [_They bow._
+I'm pleased to taste an empire ere I go.                      [_Dies._
+
+_Selin._ She's dead, and here her proud ambition ends.
+
+_Aben._ Such fortune still such black designs attends.
+
+_K. Ferd._ Remove those mournful objects from our eyes,
+And see performed their funeral obsequies.
+                                        [_The bodies are carried off._
+
+  _Enter_ ALMANZOR _and_ ALMAHIDE, OZMYN _and_ BENZAYDA; ALMAHIDE
+  _brought in a chair;_ ALMANZOR _led betwixt Soldiers._ ISABELLA
+  _salutes_ ALMAHIDE _in dumb show._
+
+_D. Arcos._ (_Presenting_ ALMANZOR _to the King._)
+See here that son, whom I with pride call mine;
+And who dishonours not your royal line.
+
+_K. Ferd._ I'm now secure, this sceptre, which I gain,
+Shall be continued in the power of Spain;
+Since he, who could alone my foes defend,
+By birth and honour is become my friend;
+Yet I can own no joy, nor conquest boast,                [_To_ ALMANZ.
+While in this blood I see how dear it cost.
+
+_Almanz._ This honour to my veins new blood will bring;
+Streams cannot fail, fed by so high a spring.
+But all court-customs I so little know,
+That I may fail in those respects I owe.
+I bring a heart which homage never knew;
+Yet it finds something of itself in you:
+Something so kingly, that my haughty mind
+Is drawn to yours, because 'tis of a kind.
+
+_Q. Isabel._ And yet that soul, which bears itself so high,
+If fame be true, admits a sovereignty.
+This queen, in her fair eyes, such fetters brings,
+As chain that heart, which scorns the power of kings.
+
+_Almah._ Little of charm in these sad eyes appears;
+If they had any, now 'tis lost in tears.
+A crown, and husband, ravished in one day!--
+Excuse a grief, I cannot choose but pay.
+
+_Q. Isabel._ Have courage, madam; heaven has joys in store,
+To recompence those losses you deplore.
+
+_Almah._ I know your God can all my woes redress;
+To him I made my vows in my distress:
+And, what a misbeliever vowed this day,
+Though not a queen, a Christian yet shall pay.
+
+_Q. Isabel._ (_Embracing her._)
+That Christian name you shall receive from me,
+And Isabella of Granada be.
+
+_Benz._ This blessed change we all with joy receive;
+And beg to learn that faith which you believe.
+
+_Q. Isabel._ With reverence for those holy rites prepare;
+And all commit your fortunes to my care.
+
+_K. Ferd._ to _Almah._
+You, madam, by that crown you lose, may gain,
+If you accept, a coronet of Spain,
+Of which Almanzor's father stands possest.
+
+_Q. Isabel._ to _Almah._
+May you in him, and he in you, be blest!
+
+_Almah._ I owe my life and honour to his sword;
+But owe my love to my departed lord.
+
+_Almanz._ Thus, when I have no living force to dread,
+Fate finds me enemies amongst the dead.
+I'm now to conquer ghosts, and to destroy
+The strong impressions of a bridal joy.
+
+_Almah._ You've yet a greater foe than these can be,--
+Virtue opposes you, and modesty.
+
+_Almanz._ From a false fear that modesty does grow,
+And thinks true love, because 'tis fierce, its foe.
+'Tis but the wax whose seals on virgins stay:
+Let it approach love's fire, 'twill melt away:--
+But I have lived too long; I never knew,
+When fate was conquered, I must combat you.
+I thought to climb the steep ascent of love;
+But did not think to find a foe above.
+'Tis time to die, when you my bar must be,
+Whose aid alone could give me victory;
+Without,
+I'll pull up all the sluices of the flood,
+And love, within, shall boil out all my blood.
+
+_Q. Isabel._ Fear not your love should find so sad success,
+While I have power to be your patroness.
+I am her parent now, and may command
+So much of duty as to give her hand.   [_Gives him_ ALMAHIDE'S _hand._
+
+_Almah._ Madam, I never can dispute your power,
+Or as a parent, or a conqueror;
+But, when my year of widowhood expires,
+Shall yield to your command, and his desires.
+
+_Almanz._ Move swiftly, sun, and fly a lover's pace;
+Leave weeks and months behind thee in thy race!
+
+_K. Ferd._ Mean time, you shall my victories pursue,
+The Moors in woods and mountains to subdue.
+
+_Almanz._ The toils of war shall help to wear each day,
+And dreams of love shall drive my nights away.--
+Our banners to the Alhambra's turrets bear;
+Then, wave our conquering crosses in the air,
+And cry, with shouts of triumph,--Live and reign,
+Great Ferdinand and Isabel of Spain!                        [_Exeunt._
+
+
+                              EPILOGUE.
+
+  They, who have best succeeded on the stage,
+  Have still conformed their genius to their age.
+  Thus Jonson did mechanic humour show,
+  When men were dull, and conversation low.
+  Then comedy was faultless, but 'twas coarse:
+  Cobb's tankard was a jest, and Otter's horse[1].
+  And, as their comedy, their love was mean;
+  Except, by chance, in some one laboured scene,
+  Which must atone for an ill-written play.
+  They rose, but at their height could seldom stay.
+  Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped;
+  And they have kept it since, by being dead.
+  But, were they now to write, when critics weigh
+  Each line, and every word, throughout a play,
+  None of them, no not Jonson in his height,
+  Could pass, without allowing grains for weight.
+  Think it not envy, that these truths are told;
+  Our poet's not malicious, though he's bold.
+  'Tis not to brand them, that their faults are shown,
+  But, by their errors, to excuse his own.
+  If love and honour now are higher raised,
+  'Tis not the poet, but the age is praised.
+  Wit's now arrived to a more high degree;
+  Our native language more refined and free.
+  Our ladies and our men now speak more wit
+  In conversation, than those poets writ.
+  Then, one of these is, consequently, true;
+  That what this poet writes comes short of you,
+  And imitates you ill (which most he fears),
+  Or else his writing is not worse than theirs.
+  Yet, though you judge (as sure the critics will),
+  That some before him writ with greater skill,
+  In this one praise he has their fame surpast,
+  To please an age more gallant than the last.
+
+
+Footnote:
+1. The characters alluded to are Cobb, the water bearer, in "Every Man
+   in his Humour;" and Captain Otter, in "Epicene, or the Silent
+   Woman," whose humour it was to christen his drinking cups by the
+   names of Horse, Bull, and Bear.]
+
+
+
+
+                               DEFENCE
+
+                                  OF
+
+                            THE EPILOGUE;
+
+                                 OR,
+
+                   AN ESSAY ON THE DRAMATIC POETRY
+                           OF THE LAST AGE.
+
+
+The promises of authors, that they will write again, are, in effect, a
+threatening of their readers with some new impertinence; and they, who
+perform not what they promise, will have their pardon on easy terms.
+It is from this consideration, that I could be glad to spare you the
+trouble, which I am now giving you, of a postscript, if I were not
+obliged, by many reasons, to write somewhat concerning our present
+plays, and those of our predecessors on the English stage. The truth
+is, I have so far engaged myself in a bold epilogue to this play,
+wherein I have somewhat taxed the former writing, that it was
+necessary for me either not to print it, or to show that I could
+defend it. Yet I would so maintain my opinion of the present age, as
+not to be wanting in my veneration for the past: I would ascribe to
+dead authors their just praises in those things wherein they have
+excelled us; and in those wherein we contend with them for the
+pre-eminence, I would acknowledge our advantages to the age, and claim
+no victory from our wit. This being what I have proposed to myself, I
+hope I shall not be thought arrogant when I enquire into their errors:
+For we live in an age so sceptical, that as it determines little, so
+it takes nothing from antiquity on trust; and I profess to have no
+other ambition in this essay, than that poetry may not go backward,
+when all other arts and sciences are advancing. Whoever censures me
+for this inquiry, let him hear his character from Horace:
+
+  _Ingeniis non ille favet, plauditque sepultis,
+  Nostra sed impugnat; nos nostraque lividus odit._
+
+  He favours not dead wits, but hates the living.
+
+It was upbraided to that excellent poet, that he was an enemy to the
+writings of his predecessor Lucilius, because he had said, _Lucilium
+lutulentum fluere_, that he ran muddy; and that he ought to have
+retrenched from his satires many unnecessary verses. But Horace makes
+Lucilius himself to justify him from the imputation of envy, by
+telling you that he would have done the same, had he lived in an age
+which was more refined:
+
+  _Si foret hoc nostrum fato delapsus in aevum,
+  Detereret sibi multa, recideret omne quod, ultra
+  Perfectum traheretur, &c._
+
+And, both in the whole course of that satire, and in his most
+admirable Epistle to Augustus, he makes it his business to prove, that
+antiquity alone is no plea for the excellency of a poem; but that, one
+age learning from another, the last (if we can suppose an equality of
+wit in the writers,) has the advantage of knowing more and better than
+the former And this, I think, is the state of the question in dispute.
+It is therefore my part to make it clear, that the language, wit, and
+conversation of our age, are improved and refined above the last; and
+then it will not be difficult to infer, that our plays have received
+some part of those advantages.
+
+In the first place, therefore, it will be necessary to state, in
+general, what this refinement is, of which we treat; and that, I
+think, will not be defined amiss, "An improvement of our Wit, Language
+and Conversation; or, an alteration in them for the better."
+
+To begin with Language. That an alteration is lately made in ours, or
+since the writers of the last age (in which I comprehend Shakespeare,
+Fletcher, and Jonson), is manifest. Any man who reads those excellent
+poets, and compares their language with what is now written, will see
+it almost in every line; but that this is an improvement of the
+language or an alteration for the better, will not so easily be
+granted. For many are of a contrary opinion that the English tongue
+was then in the height of its perfection; that from Jonson's time to
+ours it has been in a continual declination, like that of the Romans
+from the age of Virgil to Statius, and so downward to Claudian; of
+which, not only Petronius, but Quintilian himself so much complains,
+under the person of _Secundus_, in his famous dialogue _De Causis
+corruptae Eloquentiae_.
+
+But, to shew that our language is improved, and that those people have
+not a just value for the age in which they live, let us consider in
+what the refinement of a language principally consists: that is,
+"either in rejecting such old words, or phrases, which are ill
+sounding, or improper; or in admitting new, which are more proper,
+more sounding, and more significant."
+
+The reader will easily take notice, that when I speak of rejecting
+improper words and phrases, I mention not such as are antiquated by
+custom only and, as I may say, without any fault of theirs. For in
+this case the refinement can be but accidental; that is, when the
+words and phrases, which are rejected, happen to be improper. Neither
+would I be understood, when I speak of impropriety of language, either
+wholly to accuse the last age, or to excuse the present, and least of
+all myself; for all writers have their imperfections and failings: but
+I may safely conclude in the general, that our improprieties are less
+frequent, and less gross than theirs. One testimony of this is
+undeniable, that we are the first who have observed them; and,
+certainly, to observe errors is a great step to the correcting of
+them. But, malice and partiality set apart, let any man, who
+understands English, read diligently the works of Shakespeare and
+Fletcher, and I dare undertake, that he will find in every page either
+some solecism of speech, or some notorious flaw in sense[1]; and yet
+these men are reverenced, when we are not forgiven. That their wit is
+great, and many times their expressions noble, envy itself cannot
+deny.
+
+  _--Neque ego illis detrahere ausim
+  Haerentem capiti multa cum laude coronam._
+
+But the times were ignorant in which they lived. Poetry was then, if
+not in its infancy among us, at least not arrived to its vigour and
+maturity: Witness the lameness of their plots; many of which,
+especially those which they writ first (for even that age refined
+itself in some measure), were made up of some ridiculous incoherent
+story, which in one play many times took up the business of an age. I
+suppose I need not name "Pericles, Prince of Tyre," nor the historical
+plays of Shakespeare: besides many of the rest, as the "Winter's
+Tale," "Love's Labour Lost," "Measure for Measure," which were either
+grounded on impossibilities, or at least so meanly written, that the
+comedy neither caused your mirth, nor the serious part your
+concernment[2]. If I would expatiate on this subject, I could easily
+demonstrate, that our admired Fletcher, who wrote after him, neither
+understood correct plotting, nor that which they call "the decorum of
+the stage." I would not search in his worst plays for examples: He who
+will consider his "Philaster," his "Humorous Lieutenant," his
+"Faithful Shepherdess," and many others which I could name, will find
+them much below the applause which is now given them. He will see
+Philaster wounding his mistress, and afterwards his boy, to save
+himself; not to mention the Clown, who enters immediately, and not
+only has the advantage of the combat against the hero, but diverts you
+from your serious concernment, with his ridiculous and absurd
+raillery. In his "Humorous Lieutenant," you find his Demetrius and
+Leontius staying in the midst of a routed army, to hear the cold mirth
+of the Lieutenant; and Demetrius afterwards appearing with a pistol in
+his hand, in the next age to Alexander the Great[3]. And for his
+Shepherd, he falls twice into the former indecency of wounding women.
+But these absurdities, which those poets committed, may more properly
+be called the age's fault than theirs. For, besides the want of
+education and learning, (which was their particular unhappiness) they
+wanted the benefit of converse: But of that I shall speak hereafter,
+in a place more proper for it. Their audiences knew no better; and
+therefore were satisfied with what they brought. Those, who call
+theirs the golden age of poetry, have only this reason for it, that
+they were then content with acorns before they knew the use of bread;
+or that [Greek: Alis druos] was become a proverb. They had many who
+admired them, and few who blamed them; and certainly a severe critic
+is the greatest help to a good wit: he does the office of a friend,
+while he designs that of an enemy; and his malice keeps a poet within
+those bounds, which the luxuriancy of his fancy would tempt him to
+overleap.
+
+But it is not their plots which I meant principally to tax; I was
+speaking of their sense and language; and I dare almost challenge any
+man to shew me a page together which is correct in both. As for Ben
+Jonson, I am loth to name him, because he is a most judicious writer;
+yet he very often falls into these errors: and I once more beg the
+reader's pardon for accusing him of them. Only let him consider, that
+I live in an age where my least faults are severely censured; and that
+I have no way left to extenuate my failings, but by showing as great
+in those whom we admire:
+
+  _Caedimus, inque vicem praebemus crura sagittis._
+
+I cast my eyes but by chance on Catiline; and in the three or four
+last pages, found enough to conclude that Jonson writ not correctly.
+
+  --Let the long-hid seeds
+  Of treason, in thee, now shoot forth in deeds
+  Ranker than horror.
+
+In reading some bombast speeches of Macbeth, which are not to be
+understood, he used to say that it was horror; and I am much afraid
+that this is so.
+
+  Thy parricide late on thy only son,
+  After his mother, to make empty way
+  For thy last wicked nuptials, worse than they
+  That blaze that act of thy incestuous life,
+  Which gained thee at once a daughter and a wife.
+
+The sense is here extremely perplexed; and I doubt the word _they_ is
+false grammar.
+
+  --And be free
+  Not heaven itself from thy impiety.
+
+A synchysis, or ill-placing of words, of which Tully so much complains
+in oratory.
+
+  The waves and dens of beasts could not receive
+  The bodies that those souls were frighted _from_.
+
+The preposition in the end of the sentence; a common fault with him,
+and which I have but lately observed in my own writings.
+
+  What all the several ills that visit earth,
+  Plague, famine, fire, could not reach _unto_,
+  The sword, nor surfeits, let thy fury do.
+
+Here are both the former faults: for, besides that the preposition
+_unto_ is placed last in the verse, and at the half period, and is
+redundant, there is the former synchysis in the words "the sword, nor
+surfeits" which in construction ought to have been placed before the
+other.
+
+Catiline says of Cethegus, that for his sake he would
+
+  _Go on upon_ the gods, kiss lightning, wrest
+  The engine from the Cyclops, and _give fire
+  At face of a full cloud_, and stand _his ire_.
+
+To "go on upon," is only to go on twice[4]. To "give fire at face of a
+full cloud," was not understood in his own time; "and stand _his
+ire_," besides the antiquated word _ire_, there is the article _his_,
+which makes false construction: and giving fire at the face of a
+cloud, is a perfect image of shooting, however it came to be known in
+those days to Catiline.
+
+  --Others there are,
+  Whom envy to the state draws and pulls on,
+  For contumelies received; and such are sure _ones_.
+
+_Ones_, in the plural number: but that is frequent with him; for he
+says, not long after,
+
+  Caesar and Crassus, if they be ill men,
+  Are mighty _ones_.
+  Such men, _they_ do not succour more the cause, &c.
+
+_They_ redundant.
+
+  Though heaven should speak with all _his_ wrath at once,
+  We should stand upright and _unfeared_.
+
+_His_ is ill syntax with _heaven_; and by _unfeared_ he means
+_unafraid_: Words of a quite contrary signification.
+
+"The ports are open." He perpetually uses ports for gates; which is an
+affected error in him, to introduce Latin by the loss of the English
+idiom; as, in the translation of Tully's speeches, he usually does.
+
+Well-placing of words, for the sweetness of pronunciation was not
+known till Mr Waller introduced it; and, therefore, it is not to be
+wondered if Ben Jonson has many such lines as these:
+
+"But being bred up in his father's needy fortunes; brought up in's
+sister's prostitution," &c.
+
+But meanness of expression one would think not to be his error in a
+tragedy, which ought to be more high and sounding than any other kind
+of poetry; and yet, amongst others in "Catiline," I find these four
+lines together:
+
+  So Asia, thou art cruelly even
+  With us, for all the blows thee given;
+  When we, whose virtues conquered thee,
+  Thus by thy vices ruined be.
+
+_Be_ there is false English for _are_; though the rhyme hides it.
+
+But I am willing to close the book, partly out of veneration to the
+author, partly out of weariness to pursue an argument which is so
+fruitful in so small a compass. And what correctness, after this, can
+be expected from Shakespeare or from Fletcher, who wanted that
+learning and care which Jonson had? I will, therefore, spare my own
+trouble of enquiring into their faults; who, had they lived now, had
+doubtless written more correctly. I suppose it will be enough for me
+to affirm, (as I think I safely may) that these, and the like errors,
+which I taxed in the most correct of the last age, are such into which
+we do not ordinarily fall. I think few of our present writers would
+have left behind them such a line as this:
+
+  Contain your spirit in more stricter bounds.
+
+But that gross way of two comparatives was then ordinary; and,
+therefore, more pardonable in Jonson.
+
+As for the other part of refining, which consists in receiving new
+words and phrases, I shall not insist much on it. It is obvious that
+we have admitted many, some of which we wanted, and therefore our
+language is the richer for them, as it would be by importation of
+bullion: Others are rather ornamental than necessary; yet, by their
+admission, the language is become more courtly, and our thoughts are
+better drest. These are to be found scattered in the writers of our
+age, and it is not my business to collect them. They, who have lately
+written with most care, have, I believe, taken the rule of Horace for
+their guide; that is, not to be too hasty in receiving of words, but
+rather stay till custom has made them familiar to us:
+
+  _Quern penes arbitrium est, et jus, et norma loquendi._
+
+For I cannot approve of their way of refining, who corrupt our English
+idiom by mixing it too much with French: That is a sophistication of
+language not an improvement of it; a turning English into French,
+rather than a refining of English by French. We meet daily with those
+fops, who value themselves on their travelling, and pretend they
+cannot express their meaning in English, because they would put off to
+us some French phrase of the last edition; without considering, that,
+for aught they know, we have a better of our own. But these are not
+the men who are to refine us; their talent is to prescribe fashions,
+not words: at best, they are only serviceable to a writer, so as
+Ennius was to Virgil. He may _aurum ex stercore colligere:_ For it is
+hard if, amongst many insignificant phrases, there happen not
+something worth preserving; though they themselves, like Indians, know
+not the value of their own commodity.
+
+There is yet another way of improving language, which poets especially
+have practised in all ages; that is, by applying received words to a
+new signification; and this, I believe, is meant by Horace, in that
+precept which is so variously construed by expositors:
+
+  _Dixeris egregie, notum si callida verbum
+  Reddiderit junctura novum._
+
+And, in this way, he himself had a particular happiness; using all the
+tropes, and particular metaphors, with that grace which is observable
+in his Odes, where the beauty of expression is often greater than that
+of thought; as, in that one example, amongst an infinite number of
+others, "_Et vultus nimium lubricus aspici._"
+
+And therefore, though he innovated a little, he may justly be called a
+great refiner of the Roman tongue. This choice of words, and
+heightening of their natural signification, was observed in him by the
+writers of the following ages; for Petronius says of him, "_Et Horatii
+curiosa felicitas._" By this graffing, as I may call it, on old words,
+has our tongue been beautified by the three before-mentioned poets,
+Shakespeare, Fletcher, and Jonson, whose excellencies I can never
+enough admire; and in this they have been followed, especially by Sir
+John Suckling and Mr Waller, who refined upon them. Neither have they,
+who succeeded them, been wanting in their endeavours to adorn our
+mother tongue: But it is not so lawful for me to praise my living
+contemporaries, as to admire my dead predecessors.
+
+I should now speak of the refinement of Wit; but I have been so large
+on the former subject, that I am forced to contract myself in this. I
+will therefore only observe to you, that the wit of the last age was
+yet more incorrect than their language. Shakespeare, who many times
+has written better than any poet, in any language, is yet so far from
+writing wit always, or expressing that wit according to the dignity of
+the subject, that he writes, in many places, below the dullest writers
+of ours, or any precedent age. Never did any author precipitate
+himself from such height of thought to so low expressions, as he often
+does. He is the very Janus of poets; he wears almost every where two
+faces; and you have scarce begun to admire the one, ere you despise
+the other. Neither is the luxuriance of Fletcher, which his friends
+have taxed in him, a less fault than the carelessness of Shakespeare.
+He does not well always; and, when he does, he is a true
+Englishman,--he knows not when to give over. If he wakes in one scene,
+he commonly slumbers in another; and, if he pleases you in the first
+three acts, he is frequently so tired with his labour, that he goes
+heavily in the fourth, and sinks under his burden in the fifth.
+
+For Ben Jonson, the most judicious of poets, he always writ properly,
+and as the character required; and I will not contest farther with my
+friends, who call that wit: it being very certain, that even folly
+itself, well represented, is wit in a larger signification; and that
+there is fancy, as well as judgment, in it, though not so much or
+noble: because all poetry being imitation, that of folly is a lower
+exercise of fancy, though perhaps as difficult as the other; for it is
+a kind of looking downward in the poet, and representing that part of
+mankind which is below him.
+
+In these low characters of vice and folly, lay the excellency of that
+inimitable writer; who, when at any time he aimed at wit in the
+stricter sense, that is, sharpness of conceit, was forced either to
+borrow from the ancients, as to my knowledge he did very much from
+Plautus; or, when he trusted himself alone, often fell into meanness
+of expression. Nay, he was not free from the lowest and most groveling
+kind of wit, which we call clenches, of which "Every Man in his
+Humour" is infinitely full; and, which is worse, the wittiest persons
+in the drama speak them. His other comedies are not exempt from them.
+Will you give me leave to name some few? Asper, in which character he
+personates himself, (and he neither was nor thought himself a fool)
+exclaiming against the ignorant judges of the age, speaks thus:
+
+  How monstrous and detested is't, to see
+  A fellow, that has neither art nor brain,
+  Sit like an _Aristarchus_, or _stark-ass_,
+  Taking men's lines, with a _tobacco face_,
+  In _snuff_, &c.
+
+And presently after: "I marvel whose wit 'twas to put a prologue in
+yond Sackbut's mouth. They might well think he would be out of tune,
+and yet you'd play upon him too."--Will you have another of the same
+stamp? "O, I cannot abide these limbs of _sattin_, or rather _Satan_."
+
+But, it may be, you will object that this was Asper, Macilente, or
+Carlo Buffone; you shall, therefore, hear him speak in his own person,
+and that in the two last lines, or sting of an epigram. It is
+inscribed to _Fine Grand_, who, he says, was indebted to him for many
+things which he reckons there; and concludes thus:
+
+  Forty things more, dear _Grand_, which you know true,
+  For which, or pay me quickly, or I'll pay you.
+
+This was then the mode of wit, the vice of the age, and not Ben
+Jonson's; for you see, a little before him, that admirable wit, Sir
+Philip Sidney, perpetually playing with his words. In his time, I
+believe, it ascended first into the pulpit, where (if you will give me
+leave to clench too) it yet finds the benefit of its clergy; for they
+are commonly the first corrupters of eloquence, and the last reformed
+from vicious oratory; as a famous Italian has observed before me, in
+his Treatise of the Corruption of the Italian Tongue; which he
+principally ascribes to priests and preaching friars.
+
+But, to conclude with what brevity I can, I will only add this, in
+defence of our present writers, that, if they reach not some
+excellencies of Ben Jonson, (which no age, I am confident, ever shall)
+yet, at least, they are above that meanness of thought which I have
+taxed, and which is frequent in him.
+
+That the wit of this age is much more courtly, may easily be proved,
+by viewing the characters of gentlemen which were written in the last.
+First, for Jonson:--True-wit, in the "Silent Woman," was his
+master-piece; and Truewit was a scholar-like kind of man, a gentleman
+with an allay of pedantry, a man who seems mortified to the world, by
+much reading. The best of his discourse is drawn, not from the
+knowledge of the town, but books; and, in short, he would be a fine
+gentleman in an university. Shakespeare shewed the best of his skill
+in his Mercutio; and he said himself, that he was forced to kill him
+in the third act, to prevent being killed by him. But, for my part, I
+cannot find he was so dangerous a person: I see nothing in him but
+what was so exceeding harmless, that he might have lived to the end of
+the play, and died in his bed, without offence to any man.
+
+Fletcher's Don John is our only bugbear; and yet I may affirm, without
+suspicion of flattery, that he now speaks better, and that his
+character is maintained with much more vigour in the fourth and fifth
+acts, than it was by Fletcher in the three former. I have always
+acknowledged the wit of our predecessors, with all the veneration
+which becomes me; but, I am sure, their wit was not that of gentlemen;
+there was ever somewhat that was ill-bred and clownish in it, and
+which confessed the conversation of the authors.
+
+And this leads me to the last and greatest advantage of our writing,
+which proceeds from conversation. In the age wherein those poets
+lived, there was less of gallantry than in ours; neither did they keep
+the best company of theirs. Their fortune has been much like that of
+Epicurus, in the retirement of his gardens; to live almost unknown,
+and to be celebrated after their decease. I cannot find that any of
+them had been conversant in courts, except Ben Jonson; and his genius
+lay not so much that way, as to make an improvement by it. Greatness
+was not then so easy of access, nor conversation so free, as now it
+is. I cannot, therefore, conceive it any insolence to affirm, that, by
+the knowledge and pattern of their wit who writ before us, and by the
+advantage of our own conversation, the discourse and raillery of our
+comedies excel what has been written by them. And this will be denied
+by none, but some few old fellows who value themselves on their
+acquaintance with the Black Friars; who, because they saw their plays,
+would pretend a right to judge ours. The memory of these grave
+gentlemen is their only plea for being wits. They can tell a story of
+Ben Jonson, and, perhaps, have had fancy enough to give a supper in
+the Apollo, that they might be called his sons[5]: And, because they
+were drawn in to be laughed at in those times, they think themselves
+now sufficiently entitled to laugh at ours. Learning I never saw in
+any of them; and wit no more than they could remember. In short, they
+were unlucky to have been bred in an unpolished age, and more unlucky
+to live to a refined one. They have lasted beyond their own, and are
+cast behind ours; and, not contented to have known little at the age
+of twenty, they boast of their ignorance at threescore.
+
+Now, if they ask me, whence it is that our conversation is so much
+refined? I must freely, and without flattery, ascribe it to the court;
+and, in it, particularly to the king, whose example gives a law to it.
+His own misfortunes, and the nation's, afforded him an opportunity,
+which is rarely allowed to sovereign princes, I mean of travelling,
+and being conversant in the most polished courts of Europe; and,
+thereby, of cultivating a spirit which was formed by nature to receive
+the impressions of a gallant and generous education. At his return, he
+found a nation lost as much in barbarism as in rebellion: And, as the
+excellency of his nature forgave the one, so the excellency of his
+manners reformed the other. The desire of imitating so great a pattern
+first awakened the dull and heavy spirits of the English from their
+natural reservedness; loosened them from their stiff forms of
+conversation, and made them easy and pliant to each other in
+discourse. Thus, insensibly, our way of living became more free; and
+the fire of the English wit, which was before stifled under a
+constrained, melancholy way of breeding, began first to display its
+force, by mixing the solidity of our nation with the air and gaiety of
+our neighbours[6]. This being granted to be true, it would be a wonder
+if the poets, whose work is imitation, should be the only persons in
+three kingdoms who should not receive advantage by it; or, if they
+should not more easily imitate the wit and conversation of the present
+age than of the past.
+
+Let us therefore admire the beauties and the heights of Shakespeare,
+without falling after him into a carelessness, and, as I may call it,
+a lethargy of thought, for whole scenes together. Let us imitate, as
+we are able, the quickness and easiness of Fletcher, without proposing
+him as a pattern to us, either in the redundancy of his matter, or the
+incorrectness of his language. Let us admire his wit and sharpness of
+conceit; but let us at the same time acknowledge, that it was seldom
+so fixed, and made proper to his character, as that the same things
+might not be spoken by any person in the play. Let us applaud his
+scenes of love; but let us confess, that he understood not either
+greatness or perfect honour in the parts of any of his women. In fine,
+let us allow, that he had so much fancy, as when he pleased he could
+write wit; but that he wanted so much judgment, as seldom to have
+written humour, or described a pleasant folly. Let us ascribe to
+Jonson, the height and accuracy of judgment in the ordering of his
+plots, his choice of characters, and maintaining what he had chosen to
+the end: But let us not think him a perfect pattern of imitation,
+except it be in humour; for love, which is the foundation of all
+comedies in other languages, is scarcely mentioned in any of his
+plays: And for humour itself, the poets of this age will be more wary
+than to imitate the meanness of his persons. Gentlemen will now be
+entertained with the follies of each other; and, though they allow
+Cobb and Tib to speak properly, yet they are not much pleased with
+their tankard, or with their rags: And surely their conversation can
+be no jest to them on the theatre, when they would avoid it in the
+street.
+
+To conclude all, let us render to our predecessors what is their due,
+without confining ourselves to a servile imitation of all they writ;
+and, without assuming to ourselves the title of better poets, let us
+ascribe to the gallantry and civility of our age the advantage which
+we have above them, and, to our knowledge of the customs and manners
+of it, the happiness we have to please beyond them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The bold Epilogue, which is here defended with so much animation, and
+the censure which it threw on the fathers of the stage, seems to have
+given great offence. It is thus severely assailed by Rochester:
+
+  But does not Dryden find even Jonson dull?
+  Beaumont and Fletcher incorrect, and full
+  Of lewd lines, as he calls them? Shakespeare's style
+  Stiff and affected? to his own, the while,
+  Allowing all the justice that his pride
+  So arrogantly had to these denied:
+  And may I not have leave impartially
+  To search and censure Dryden's works, and try
+  If those gross faults, his choice pen doth commit,
+  Proceed from want of judgment, or of wit?
+  Or if his lumpish fancy doth refuse
+  Spirit and grace to his loose slattern muse?
+  Five hundred verses, every morning writ,
+  Prove him no more a poet than a wit.
+
+It is a bold, perhaps a presumptuous task, to attempt to separate the
+true from the false criticism in the foregoing essay; for who is
+qualified to be umpire betwixt Shakespeare and Dryden? Nevertheless,
+our knowledge of the manners of the respective ages which these
+extraordinary men adorned, and the remoteness of our own from both,
+may enable us, with impartiality at least, to sift the grounds of
+Dryden's censure. The nature of the stage in the days of Shakespeare
+has been ascertained, by the sedulous exertions of his commentators. A
+variety of small theatres, all of them accessible to the lowest of the
+people, poor and rude in all the arts of decoration, were dispersed
+through London when Shakespeare and Jonson wrote for the stage. It was
+a natural consequence, that the writings of these great men were
+biassed by the taste of those, for whom they wrote;
+
+  For those, who live to please, must please, to live.
+
+Art was not demanded; and when used by Jonson, he complains it was not
+duly appreciated. Men of a middle rank were then probably worse
+educated than our mere vulgar. But the good old time bore rough and
+manly spirits, who came prepared with a tribute of tears and laughter,
+to bursts of pathos, or effusions of humour, although incapable of
+receiving the delights which a cultivated mind derives from the
+gradual developement of a story, the just dependence of its parts upon
+each other, the minute beauties of language, and the absence of every
+thing incongruous or indecorous. Dryden, on the other hand, wrote for
+a stage patronized by a monarch and his courtiers, who were professed
+judges of dramatic composition; while the rigour of religious
+prejudice, and perhaps a just abhorrence of the licentious turn of the
+drama, banished from the theatres a great proportion of the middle
+classes, always the most valuable part of an audience; because, with a
+certain degree of cultivation, they unite an unhacknied energy of
+feeling. Art, therefore, became, in the days of Dryden, not only a
+requisite qualification, but even the principal attribute of the
+dramatic poet. He was to address himself to the heads and judgments of
+his audience, on the acuteness of which they piqued themselves; not to
+their feelings, stupified, probably, by selfish dissipation. Even the
+acquisition and exercise of critical knowledge tends to blunt the
+sense of natural beauties, as a refined harmonist becomes indifferent
+to the strains of simple melody. Hence the sacrifices which
+Shakespeare made, without being aware, to the taste of his age, were
+amply compensated by his being called upon, and, as it were,
+compelled, by the nature of his audience, to rouse them with his
+thunder, and to melt them with his dew. I question much if the age of
+Charles II. would have borne the introduction of Othello or Falstaff.
+We may find something like Dryden's self-complacent opinion expressed
+by the editor of Corneille, where he civilly admits, "_Corneille etoit
+inegal comme Shakespeare, et plein de genie comme lui: mais le genie
+de Corneille etoit a celui de Shakespeare ce qu' un seigneur est a
+l'egard d'un homme de peuple, ne avec le meme esprit que lui._" In
+other words, the works of the one retain the rough, bold tints of
+nature and originality, while those of the other are qualified by the
+artificial restraints which fashion imposes upon the _homme de
+condition_. It is, therefore, unjustly, that Dryden dwells so long on
+Shakespeare's irregularities, amongst which I cannot help suspecting
+he includes some of his greatest beauties. While we do not defend his
+quibbles and carwitchets, as Bibber would have termed them, we may
+rejoice that he purchased, at so slight a sacrifice, the power and
+privilege of launching into every subject with a liberty as unbounded
+as his genius;
+
+  As there is music, uninformed by art,
+  In those wild notes, which, with a merry heart,
+  The birds in unfrequented shades express,
+  Which better taught at home, yet please us less.
+
+
+Footnotes:
+1. In mitigation of the censure which must be passed on our author for
+   this hasty and ill-considered judgment, let us remember the very
+   inaccurate manner in which Shakespeare's plays were printed in the
+   early editions.
+
+2. Mr Malone has judiciously remarked, that Dryden seems to have been
+   ignorant of the order in which Shakespeare wrote his plays; and
+   there will be charity in believing, that he was not intimately
+   acquainted with those he so summarily and unjustly censures.
+
+3. In these criticisms, we see the effects of the refinement which our
+   stage had now borrowed from the French. It is probable, that, in
+   the age of heroic plays, any degree of dulness, or extravagance,
+   would have been tolerated in the dialogue, rather than an offence
+   against the decorum of the scene.
+
+4. Jonson seems to have used it for to _go on against_.
+
+5. The Apollo was Ben Jonson's favourite club-room in the Devil
+   Tavern. The custom of adopting his admirers and imitators, by
+   bestowing upon them the title of Son, is often alluded to in his
+   works. In Dryden's time, the fashion had so far changed, that the
+   poetical progeny of old Ben seem to have incurred more ridicule
+   than honour by this ambitious distinction. Oldwit, in Shadwell's
+   play, called Bury Fair, is described as "a paltry old-fashioned wit
+   and punner of the last age, that pretends to have been one of Ben
+   Jonson's sons, and to have seen plays at the Blackfriars."
+
+6. This passage, though complimentary to Charles, contains much sober
+   truth: Having considerable taste for the Belles Lettres, he
+   cultivated them during his exile, and was naturally swayed by the
+   French rules of composition, particularly as applicable to the
+   Theatre. These he imported with him at his Restoration; and hence
+   arose the Heroic Drama, so much cultivated by our author.
+
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+                         MARRIAGE A-LA-MODE:
+
+                              A COMEDY.
+
+             _--Quicquid sum ego, quamvis
+             Infra Lucili censum ingeniumque, tamen me
+             Cum magnis vixisse, invita fatebitur usque
+             Invidia, et fragili quaerens illidere dentem,
+             Offendet solido._
+                                   HORAT. SERM.
+
+
+
+
+                         MARRIAGE A-LA-MODE
+
+ Marriage a-la-mode was one of Dryden's most successful comedies. A
+venerable praiser of the past time, in a curious letter printed in the
+Gentleman's Magazine for 1745, gives us this account of its first
+representation. "This comedy, acted by his Majesty's servants at the
+Theatre-Royal, made its first appearance with extraordinary lustre.
+Divesting myself of the old man, I solemnly declare, that you have
+seen no such acting, no, not in any degree since. The players were
+then, 1673, on a court establishment, seventeen men, and eight women."
+_Gent. Mag._ Vol. xv. p. 99. From a copy of verses, to which this
+letter is annexed, we learn the excellence of the various performers
+by whom the piece was first presented. They are addressed to a young
+actress.
+
+  Henceforth, in livelier characters excel,
+  Though 'tis great merit to act folly well;
+  Take, take from Dryden's hand Melantha's part,
+  The gaudy effort of luxuriant art,
+  In all imagination's glitter drest;
+  What from her lips fantastic Montfort caught,
+  And almost moved the thing the poet thought.
+    These scenes, the glory of a comic age,
+  (It decency could blanch each sullied page)
+  Peruse, admire, and give unto the stage;
+  Or thou, or beauteous Woffington, display
+  What Dryden's self, with pleasure, might survey.
+  Even he, before whose visionary eyes,
+  Melantha, robed in ever-varying dies,
+  Gay fancy's work, appears, actor renowned.
+  Like Roscius, with theatric laurels crowned,
+  Cibber will smile applause, and think again
+  Of Harte, and Mohun, and all the female train,
+  Coxe, Marshal, Dryden's Reeve, Bet Slade, and Charles's reign.
+
+Mrs Monfort, who, by her second marriage, became Mrs Verbruggen, was
+the first who appeared in the highly popular part of Melantha, and the
+action and character appear to have been held incomparable by that
+unquestionable judge of the humour of a coquette, or coxcomb, the
+illustrious Colley Cibber. "Melantha" says Cibber, "is as finished an
+impertinent as ever fluttered in a drawing-room; and seems to contain
+the most complete system of female foppery that could possibly be
+crowded into the tortured form of a fine lady. Her language, dress,
+motion, manners, soul, and body, are in a continual hurry to be
+something more than is necessary or commendable. And, though I doubt
+it will be a vain labour to offer you a just likeness of Mrs Monfort's
+action, yet the fantastic expression is still so strong in my memory,
+that I cannot help saying something, though fantastically, about it.
+The first ridiculous airs, that break from her, are upon a gallant
+never seen before, who delivers her a letter from her father,
+recommending him to her good graces as an honourable lover. Here, now,
+one would think she might naturally shew a little of the sex's decent
+reserve, though never so slightly covered. No, sir, not a tittle of
+it: Modesty is a poor-souled country gentlewoman; she is too much a
+court lady to be under so vulgar a confusion. She reads the letter,
+therefore, with a careless dropping lip, and an erected brow, humming
+it hastily over, as if she were impatient to outgo her father's
+commands, by making a complete conquest of him at once; and, that the
+letter might not embarrass the attack, crack! she crumbles it at once
+into her palm, and pours down upon him her whole artillery of airs,
+eyes, and motion; down goes her dainty diving body to the ground, as
+it she were sinking under the conscious load of her own attractions;
+then launches into a flood of fine language and compliment, still
+playing her chest forward in fifty falls and risings, like a swan upon
+waving water; and, to complete her impertinence, she is so rapidly
+fond of her own wit, that she will not give her lover leave to praise
+it. Silent assenting bows, and vain endeavours to speak, are all the
+share of the conversation he is admitted to, which, at last, he is
+removed from by her engagement to half a score of visits, which she
+swims from him to make, with a promise to return in a twinkling."
+_Cibber's Apology_, p. 99.
+
+By this lively sketch, some judgment may be formed of the effect
+produced by the character of Melantha, when ably represented; but, to
+say the truth, we could hardly have drawn the same deduction from a
+simple perusal of the piece. Of the French phrases, which the affected
+lady throws into her conversation, some have been since naturalized,
+as _good graces_, _minuet_, _chagrin_, _grimace_, _ridicule_, and
+others. Little can be said of the tragic part of the drama. The sudden
+turn of fortune in the conclusion is ridiculed in "The Rehearsal."
+
+The researches of Mr Malone have ascertained that "Marriage A-la-Mode"
+was first acted in 1673, in an old theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields,
+occupied by the King's company, after that in Drury-Lane had been
+burned, and during its re-building. The play was printed in the same
+year.
+
+
+
+
+                                  TO
+
+                         THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
+
+                                 THE
+
+                        EARL OF ROCHESTER[1].
+
+
+MY LORD,
+
+I humbly dedicate to your Lordship that poem, of which you were
+pleased to appear an early patron, before it was acted on the stage. I
+may yet go farther, with your permission, and say, that it received
+amendment from your noble hands ere it was fit to be presented. You
+may please likewise to remember, with how much favour to the author,
+and indulgence to the play, you commended it to the view of his
+Majesty, then at Windsor, and, by his approbation of it in writing,
+made way for its kind reception on the theatre. In this dedication,
+therefore, I may seem to imitate a custom of the ancients, who offered
+to their gods the firstlings of the flock, (which, I think, they
+called _Ver sacrum_) because they helped them to increase. I am sure,
+if there be any thing in this play, wherein I have raised myself
+beyond the ordinary lowness of my comedies, I ought wholly to
+acknowledge it to the favour of being admitted into your lordship's
+conversation. And not only I, who pretend not to this way, but the
+best comic writers of our age, will join with me to acknowledge, that
+they have copied the gallantries of courts, the delicacy of
+expression, and the decencies of behaviour, from your lordship, with
+more success, than if they had taken their models from the court of
+France. But this, my lord, will be no wonder to the world, which knows
+the excellency of your natural parts, and those you have acquired in a
+noble education. That which, with more reason, I admire, is that being
+so absolute a courtier, you have not forgot either the ties of
+friendship, or the practice of generosity. In my little experience of
+a court, (which, I confess, I desire not to improve) I have found in
+it much of interest, and more of detraction: Few men there have that
+assurance of a friend, as not to be made ridiculous by him when they
+are absent. There are a middling sort of courtiers, who become happy
+by their want of wit; but they supply that want by an excess of malice
+to those who have it. And there is no such persecution as that of
+fools: They can never be considerable enough to be talked of
+themselves; so that they are safe only in their obscurity, and grow
+mischievous to witty men, by the great diligence of their envy, and by
+being always present to represent and aggravate their faults. In the
+mean time, they are forced, when they endeavour to be pleasant, to
+live on the offals of their wit whom they decry; and either to quote
+it, (which they do unwillingly) or to pass it upon others for their
+own. These are the men who make it their business to chace wit from
+the knowledge of princes, lest it should disgrace their ignorance. And
+this kind of malice your lordship has not so much avoided, as
+surmounted. But if by the excellent temper of a royal master, always
+more ready to hear good than ill; if by his inclination to love you;
+if by your own merit and address; if by the charms of your
+conversation, the grace of your behaviour, your knowledge of
+greatness, and habitude in courts, you have been able to preserve
+yourself with honour in the midst of so dangerous a course; yet at
+least the remembrance of those hazards has inspired you with pity for
+other men, who, being of an inferior wit and quality to you, are yet
+persecuted, for being that in little, which your lordship is in
+great[2]. For the quarrel of those people extends itself to any thing
+of sense; and if I may be so vain to own it, amongst the rest of the
+poets, has sometimes reached to the very borders of it, even to me. So
+that, if our general good fortune had not raised up your lordship to
+defend us, I know not whether any thing had been more ridiculous in
+court than writers. It is to your lordship's favour we generally owe
+our protection and patronage; and to the nobleness of your nature,
+which will not suffer the least shadow of your wit to be contemned in
+other men. You have been often pleased, not only to excuse my
+imperfections, but to vindicate what was tolerable in my writings from
+their censures; and, what I never can forget, you have not only been
+careful of my reputation, but of my fortune. You have been solicitous
+to supply my neglect of myself; and to overcome the fatal modesty of
+poets, which submits them to perpetual wants, rather than to become
+importunate with those people who have the liberality of kings in
+their disposing, and who, dishonouring the bounty of their master,
+suffer such to be in necessity who endeavour at least to please him;
+and for whose entertainment he has generously provided, if the fruits
+of his royal favour were not often stopped in other hands. But your
+lordship has given me occasion, not to complain of courts whilst you
+are there. I have found the effects of your mediation in all my
+concernments; and they were so much the more noble in you, because
+they were wholly voluntary. I, became your lordship's, (if I may
+venture on the similitude) as the world was made, without knowing him
+who made it; and brought only a passive obedience to be your creature.
+This nobleness of yours I think myself the rather obliged to own,
+because otherwise it must have been lost to all remembrance: For you
+are endowed with that excellent quality of a frank nature, to forget
+the good which you have done.
+
+But, my lord, I ought to have considered, that you are as great a
+judge, as you are a patron; and that in praising you ill, I should
+incur a higher note of ingratitude, than that I thought to have
+avoided. I stand in need of all your accustomed goodness for the
+dedication of this play; which, though perhaps it be the best of my
+comedies, is yet so faulty, that I should have feared you for my
+critic, if I had not, with some policy, given you the trouble of being
+my protector. Wit seems to have lodged itself more nobly in this age,
+than in any of the former; and people of my mean condition are only
+writers, because some of the nobility, and your lordship in the first
+place, are above the narrow praises which poesy could give you. But,
+let those who love to see themselves exceeded, encourage your lordship
+in so dangerous a quality; for my own part, I must confess, that I
+have so much of self-interest, as to be content with reading some
+papers of your verses, without desiring you should proceed to a scene,
+or play; with the common prudence of those who are worsted in a duel,
+and declare they are satisfied, when they are first wounded. Your
+lordship has but another step to make, and from the patron of wit, you
+may become its tyrant; and oppress our little reputations with more
+ease than you now protect them. But these, my lord, are designs, which
+I am sure you harbour not, any more than the French king is contriving
+the conquest of the Swissers. It is a barren triumph, which is not
+worth your pains; and would only rank him amongst your slaves, who is
+already,
+
+  MY LORD,
+
+    Your Lordship's most obedient,
+      And most faithful servant,
+        JOHN DRYDEN.
+
+
+Footnotes:
+1. The patron, whom Dryden here addresses, was the famous John Wilmot,
+   Earl of Rochester, the wittiest, perhaps, and most dissolute, among
+   the witty and dissolute courtiers of Charles II. It is somewhat
+   remarkable, and may be considered as a just judgment upon the poet,
+   that he was, a few years afterwards, way-laid and severely beaten
+   by bravoes, whom Lord Rochester employed to revenge the share which
+   Dryden is supposed to have had in the Essay on Satire. The reader
+   is referred to the life of the author for the particulars of this
+   occurrence, which is here recalled to his recollection, as a
+   striking illustration of the inutility, as well as meanness, of ill
+   applied praise; since even the eulogy of Dryden, however liberally
+   bestowed and beautifully expressed, failed to save him from the
+   most unmanly treatment at the hands of the worthless and heartless
+   object, on whom it was wasted. It is melancholy to see Dryden, as
+   may be fairly inferred from his motto, piqueing himself on being
+   admitted into the society of such men as Rochester, and enjoying
+   their precarious favour. Mr Malone has remarked, that even in the
+   course of the year 1673, when this dedication came forth, Rochester
+   entertained the perverse ambition of directing the public favour,
+   not according to merit, but to his own caprice. Accordingly, he
+   countenanced Settle in his impudent rivalry of Dryden, and wrote a
+   prologue to the "Empress of Morocco," when it was exhibited at
+   Whitehall. Perhaps, joined to a certain envy of Dryden's talents,
+   the poet's intimacy with Sheffield Earl of Mulgrave gave offence to
+   Rochester. It is certain they were never afterwards reconciled; and
+   even after Rochester's death, Dryden only mentions his once valued
+   patron, as "a man of quality whose ashes he will not
+   disturb."--_Essay on the Origin and Progress of Satire_, prefixed
+   to Juvenal. It would seem, however, that this dedication was very
+   favourably received by Rochester, since a letter of Dryden's to
+   that nobleman is still extant, in which he acknowledges a
+   flattering return of compliment from his Lordship in exchange for
+   it.
+
+2. When this play was acted for the first time in 1673. But about
+   1675, Rochester contrived to give such offence as even the
+   excellent temper of his royal master was unable to digest. This was
+   by writing a lampoon called "The Insipids," in which the person and
+   character of Charles are treated with most merciless and irreverent
+   severity. It begins thus:
+
+     Chaste, pious, prudent, Charles the Second,
+       The miracle of thy Restoration
+     May like to that of quails be reckoned,
+       Rained on the Israelitish nation;
+     The wished-for blessing, from heaven sent,
+     Became their curse and punishment.
+
+   For this satiric effusion the author was banished from the court.
+
+
+
+
+                              PROLOGUE.
+
+
+  Lord, how reformed and quiet are we grown,
+  Since all our braves and all our wits are gone!
+  Fop-corner now is free from civil war,
+  White-wig and vizard make no longer jar.
+  France, and the fleet, have swept the town so clear,
+  That we can act in peace, and you can hear.
+  'Twas a sad sight, before they marched from home,
+  To see our warriors in red waistcoats come,
+  With hair tucked up, into our tireing-room.
+  But 'twas more sad to hear their last adieu:
+  The women sobbed, and swore they would be true;
+  And so they were, as long as e'er they could,
+  But powerful guinea cannot be withstood,
+  And they were made of play-house flesh and blood.
+  Fate did their friends for double use ordain;
+  In wars abroad they grinning honour gain,
+  And mistresses, for all that stay, maintain.
+  Now they are gone, 'tis dead vacation here,
+  For neither friends nor enemies appear.
+  Poor pensive punk now peeps ere plays begin,
+  Sees the bare bench, and dares not venture in;
+  But manages her last half-crown with care,
+  And trudges to the Mall, on foot, for air.
+  Our city friends so far will hardly come,
+  They can take up with pleasures nearer home;
+  And see gay shows, and gaudy scenes elsewhere;
+  For we presume they seldom come to hear.
+  But they have now ta'en up a glorious trade,
+  And cutting Morecraft[1] struts in masquerade.
+  There's all our hope, for we shall shew to-day
+  A masking ball, to recommend our play;
+  Nay, to endear them more, and let them see
+  We scorn to come behind in courtesy,
+  We'll follow the new mode which they begin,
+  And treat them with a room, and couch within:
+  For that's one way, howe'er the play fall short,
+  To oblige the town, the city, and the court.
+
+
+Footnote:
+1. In the conclusion of Beaumont and Fletcher's play of "The Scornful
+   Lady," Morecraft, an usurer, turns a cutter, or, as we now say, a
+   buck. Dryden seems to allude to Ravenscroft's play of "The Citizen
+   turned Gentleman," a transmigration somewhat resembling that of
+   cutting Morecraft. This play was now acting by the Duke's company
+   in Dorset Gardens, which, from its situation, says Mr Malone, was
+   much frequented by citizens, as here insinuated.
+
+
+
+
+                          DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
+
+  POLYDAMAS, _Usurper of Sicily._
+  LEONIDAS, _the rightful Prince, unknown._
+  ARGALEON, _favourite to_ POLYDAMAS.
+  HERMOGENES, _foster-father to_ LEONIDAS.
+  EUBULUS, _his friend and companion._
+  RHODOPHIL, _captain of the guards._
+  PALAMEDE, _a courtier._
+
+  PALMYRA, _daughter to the Usurper._
+  AMALTHEA, _sister to_ ARGALEON.
+  DORALICE, _wife to_ RHODOPHIL.
+  MELANTHA, _an affected lady._
+  PHILOTIS, _woman to_ MELANTHA.
+  BELIZA, _woman to_ DORALICE.
+  ARTEMIS, _a court lady._
+
+SCENE,--_Sicily._
+
+
+
+
+                         MARRIAGE A-LA-MODE.
+
+
+ACT I.
+
+SCENE I.--_Walks near the Court._
+
+  _Enter_ DORALICE _and_ BELIZA.
+
+_Dor._ Beliza, bring the lute into this arbour; the walks are empty: I
+would try the song the princess Amalthea bade me learn.
+                                              [_They go in, and sing._
+
+        I.
+
+  _Why should a foolish marriage vow,
+    Which long ago was made,
+  Oblige us to each other now,
+    When passion is decayed?
+  We loved, and we loved, as long as we could,
+    'Till our love was loved out in us both;
+  But our marriage is dead, when the pleasure is fled:
+    'Twas pleasure first made it an oath._
+
+        II.
+
+  _If I have pleasures for a friend,
+    And further love in store,
+  What wrong has he, whose joys did end,
+    And who could give no more?_
+  _'Tis a madness that he
+  Should be jealous of me,
+  Or that I should bar him of another:
+  For all we can gain,
+  Is to give ourselves pain,
+  When neither can hinder the other._
+
+  _Enter_ PALAMEDE, _in a riding-habit, and hears the Song. Re-enter_
+  DORALICE _and_ BELIZA.
+
+_Bel._ Madam, a stranger.
+
+_Dor._ I did not think to have had witnesses of my bad singing.
+
+_Pala._ If I have erred, madam, I hope you'll pardon the curiosity of
+a stranger; for I may well call myself so, after five years absence
+from the court: but you have freed me from one error.
+
+_Dor._ What's that, I beseech you?
+
+_Pala._ I thought good voices, and ill faces, had been inseparable;
+and that to be fair, and sing well, had been only the privilege of
+angels.
+
+_Dor._ And how many more of these fine things can you say to me?
+
+_Pala._ Very few, madam; for if I should continue to see you some
+hours longer, you look so killingly that I should be mute with wonder.
+
+_Dor._ This will not give you the reputation of a wit with me. You
+travelling monsieurs live upon the stock you have got abroad, for the
+first day or two: to repeat with a good memory, and apply with a good
+grace, is all your wit; and, commonly, your gullets are sewed up, like
+cormorants. When you have regorged what you have taken in, you are the
+leanest things in nature.
+
+_Pala._ Then, madam, I think you had best make that use of me; let me
+wait on you for two or three days together, and you shall hear all I
+have learnt of extraordinary in other countries; and one thing which I
+never saw 'till I came home, that is, a lady of a better voice, better
+face, and better wit, than any I have seen abroad. And, after this, if
+I should not declare myself most passionately in love with you, I
+should have less wit than yet you think I have.
+
+_Dor._ A very plain, and pithy declaration. I see, sir, you have been
+travelling in Spain or Italy, or some of the hot countries, where men
+come to the point immediately. But are you sure these are not words of
+course? For I would not give my poor heart an occasion of complaint
+against me, that I engaged it too rashly, and then could not bring it
+off.
+
+_Pala._ Your heart may trust itself with me safely; I shall use it
+very civilly while it stays, and never turn it away, without fair
+warning to provide for itself.
+
+_Dor._ First, then, I do receive your passion with as little
+consideration, on my part, as ever you gave it me, on yours. And now,
+see what a miserable wretch you have made yourself!
+
+_Pala._ Who, I miserable? Thank you for that. Give me love enough, and
+life enough, and I defy Fortune.
+
+_Dor._ Know, then, thou man of vain imagination, know, to thy utter
+confusion, that I am virtuous.
+
+_Pala._ Such another word, and I give up the ghost.
+
+_Dor._ Then, to strike you quite dead, know that I am married too.
+
+_Pala._ Art thou married? O thou damnable virtuous woman!
+
+_Dor._ Yes, married to a gentleman; young, handsome rich, valiant, and
+with all the good qualities that will make you despair, and hang
+yourself.
+
+_Pala._ Well, in spite of all that, I'll love you: Fortune has cut us
+out for one another; for I am to be married within these three days;
+married, past redemption to a young, fair, rich, and virtuous lady;
+and it shall go hard but I will love my wife as little, as, I
+perceive, you do your husband.
+
+_Dor._ Remember, I invade no propriety: my servant you are, only 'till
+you are married.
+
+_Pala._ In the meantime, you are to forget you have a husband.
+
+_Dor._ And you, that you are to have a wife.
+
+_Bel._ [_aside, to her Lady._] O madam, my lord's just at the end of
+the walks! and, if you make not haste, will discover you.
+
+_Dor._ Some other time, new servant, we'll talk further of the
+premises; in the mean while, break not my first commandment, that is,
+not to follow me.
+
+_Pala._ But where, then, shall I find you again?
+
+_Dor._ At court. Yours, for two days, sir.
+
+_Pala._ And nights, I beseech you, madam.
+                                       [_Exeunt_ DORALICE _and_ BELIZ.
+
+_Pala._ Well, I'll say that for thee, thou art a very dexterous
+executioner; thou hast done my business at one stroke: yet I must
+marry another--and yet I must love this; and if it lead me into some
+little inconveniencies, as jealousies, and duels, and death, and so
+forth--yet, while sweet love is in the case, Fortune, do thy worst,
+and avaunt, mortality!
+
+  _Enter_ RHODOPHIL, _who seems speaking to one within._
+
+_Rho._ Leave 'em with my lieutenant, while I fetch new orders from the
+king.--How? Palamede!                                [_Sees_ PALAMEDE.
+
+_Pala._ Rhodophil!
+
+_Rho._ Who thought to have seen you in Sicily?
+
+_Pala._ Who thought to have found the court so far from Syracuse?
+
+_Rho._ The king best knows the reason of the progress. But, answer me,
+I beseech you, what brought you home from travel?
+
+_Pala._ The commands of an old rich father.
+
+_Rho._ And the hopes of burying him?
+
+_Pala._ Both together, as you see, have prevailed on my good nature.
+In few words, my old man has already married me; for he has agreed
+with another old man, as rich and as covetous as himself; the articles
+are drawn, and I have given my consent, for fear of being
+disinherited; and yet know not what kind of woman I am to marry.
+
+_Rho._ Sure your father intends you some very ugly wife, and has a
+mind to keep you in ignorance till you have shot the gulf.
+
+_Pala._ I know not that; but obey I will, and must.
+
+_Rho._ Then I cannot chuse but grieve for all the good girls and
+courtezans of France and Italy. They have lost the most kind-hearted,
+doting, prodigal humble servant, in Europe.
+
+_Pala._ All I could do, in these three years I staid behind you, was
+to comfort the poor creatures for the loss of you. But what's the
+reason that, in all this time, a friend could never hear from you?
+
+_Rho._ Alas, dear Palamede! I have had no joy to write, nor indeed to
+do any thing in the world to please me. The greatest misfortune
+imaginable is fallen upon me.
+
+_Pala._ Pr'ythee, what's the matter?
+
+_Rho._ In one word, I am married: wretchedly married; and have been
+above these two years. Yes, faith, the devil has had power over me, in
+spite of my vows and resolutions to the contrary.
+
+_Pala._ I find you have sold yourself for filthy lucre; she's old, or
+ill conditioned.
+
+_Rho._ No; none of these: I'm sure she's young; and, for her humour,
+she laughs, sings, and dances eternally; and, which is more, we never
+quarrel about it, for I do the same.
+
+_Pala._ You're very unfortunate indeed: then the case is plain, she is
+not handsome.
+
+_Rho._ A great beauty too, as people say.
+
+_Pala._ As people say? why, you should know that best yourself.
+
+_Rho._ Ask those, who have smelt to a strong perfume two years
+together, what's the scent.
+
+_Pala._ But here are good qualities enough for one woman.
+
+_Rho._ Ay, too many, Palamede. If I could put them into three or four
+women, I should be content.
+
+_Pala._ O, now I have found it! you dislike her for no other reason
+but because she's your wife.
+
+_Rho._ And is not that enough? All that I know of her perfections now,
+is only by memory. I remember indeed, that about two years ago I loved
+her passionately; but those golden days are gone, Palamede: Yet I
+loved her a whole half year, double the natural term of any mistress;
+and I think, in my conscience, I could have held out another quarter,
+but then the world began to laugh at me, and a certain shame, of being
+out of fashion, seized me. At last, we arrived at that point, that
+there was nothing left in us to make us new to one another. Yet still
+I set a good face upon the matter, and am infinite fond of her before
+company; but when we are alone, we walk like lions in a room; she one
+way, and I another. And we lie with our backs to each other, so far
+distant, as if the fashion of great beds was only invented to keep
+husband and wife sufficiently asunder.
+
+_Pala._ The truth is, your disease is very desperate; but, though you
+cannot be cured you may be patched up a little: you must get you a
+mistress, Rhodophil. That, indeed, is living upon cordials; but, as
+fast as one fails, you must supply it with another. You're like a
+gamester who has lost his estate; yet, in doing that, you have learned
+the advantages of play, and can arrive to live upon't.
+
+_Rho._ Truth is, I have been thinking on't, and have just resolved to
+take your counsel; and, faith, considering the damned disadvantages of
+a married man, I have provided well enough, for a poor humble sinner,
+that is not ambitious of great matters.
+
+_Pala._ What is she, for a woman?
+
+_Rho._ One of the stars of Syracuse, I assure you: Young enough, fair
+enough; and, but for one quality, just such a woman as I could wish.
+
+_Pala._ O friend, this is not an age to be critical in beauty. When we
+had good store of handsome women, and but few chapmen, you might have
+been more curious in your choice; but now the price is enhanced upon
+us, and all mankind set up for mistresses, so that poor little
+creatures, without beauty, birth, or breeding, but only impudence, go
+off at unreasonable rates: And a man, in these hard times, snaps at
+them, as he does at broad gold; never examines the weight, but takes
+light or heavy, as he can get it.
+
+_Rho._ But my mistress has one fault, that's almost unpardonable; for,
+being a town-lady, without any relation to the court, yet she thinks
+herself undone if she be not seen there three or four times a day with
+the princess Amalthea. And, for the king, she haunts and watches him
+so narrowly in a morning, that she prevents even the chemists, who
+beset his chamber, to turn their mercury into his gold.
+
+_Pala._ Yet, hitherto, methinks, you are no very unhappy man.
+
+_Rho._ With all this, she's the greatest gossip in nature; for,
+besides the court, she's the most eternal visitor of the town; and yet
+manages her time so well, that she seems ubiquitary. For my part, I
+can compare her to nothing but the sun; for, like him, she takes no
+rest, nor ever sets in one place, but to rise in another.
+
+_Pala._ I confess, she had need be handsome, with these qualities.
+
+_Rho._ No lady can be so curious of a new fashion, as she is of a new
+French word: she's the very mint of the nation; and as fast as any
+bullion comes out of France, coins it immediately into our language.
+
+_Pala._ And her name is--
+
+_Rho._ No naming; that's not like a cavalier: Find her, if you can, by
+my description; and I am not so ill a painter that I need write the
+name beneath the picture.
+
+_Pala._ Well, then, how far have you proceeded in your love?
+
+_Rho._ 'Tis yet in the bud, and what fruit it may bear I cannot tell;
+for this insufferable humour, of haunting the court, is so
+predominant, that she has hitherto broken all her assignations with
+me, for fear of missing her visits there.
+
+_Pala._ That's the hardest part of your adventure. But, for aught I
+see, fortune has used us both alike: I have a strange kind of mistress
+too in court, besides her I am to marry.
+
+_Rho._ You have made haste to be in love, then; for, if I am not
+mistaken, you are but this day arrived.
+
+_Pala._ That's all one: I have seen the lady already, who has charmed
+me; seen her in these walks, courted her, and received, for the first
+time, an answer that does not put me into despair.
+
+  _To them_ ARGALEON, AMALTHEA, _and_ ARTEMIS.
+
+I'll tell you more at leisure my adventures. The walks fill apace, I
+see. Stay, is not that the young lord Argaleon, the king's favourite?
+
+_Rho._ Yes, and as proud as ever, as ambitious, and as revengeful.
+
+_Pala._ How keeps he the king's favour with these qualities?
+
+_Rho._ Argaleon's father helped him to the crown: besides, he gilds
+over all his vices to the king, and, standing in the dark to him, sees
+all his inclinations, interests, and humours, which he so times and
+soothes, that, in effect, he reigns.
+
+_Pala._ His sister Amalthea, who, I guess, stands by him, seems not to
+be of his temper.
+
+_Rho._ O, she's all goodness and generosity.
+
+_Arga._ Rhodophil, the king expects you earnestly.
+
+_Rho._ 'Tis done, my lord, what he commanded: I only waited his return
+from hunting. Shall I attend your lordship to him?
+
+_Arga._ No; I go first another way.                   [_Exit hastily._
+
+_Pala._ He seems in haste, and discomposed.
+
+_Amal._ [_to_ RHOD. _after a short whisper._] Your friend? then he
+must needs be of much merit.
+
+_Rho._ When he has kissed the king's hand, I know he'll beg the honour
+to kiss yours. Come, Palamede.
+                        [_Exeunt_ RHODO. _and_ PALA. _bowing to_ AMAL.
+
+_Arte._ Madam, you tell me most surprising news.
+
+_Amal._ The fear of it, you see,
+Has discomposed my brother; but to me,
+All, that can bring my country good, is welcome.
+
+_Arte._ It seems incredible, that this old king,
+Whom all the world thought childless,
+Should come to search the farthest parts of Sicily,
+In hope to find an heir.
+
+_Amal._ To lessen your astonishment, I will
+Unfold some private passages of state,
+Of which you are yet ignorant: Know, first,
+That this Polydamus, who reigns, unjustly
+Gained the crown.
+
+_Arte._ Somewhat of this I have confusedly heard.
+
+_Amal._ I'll tell you all in brief: Theagenes,
+Our last great king,
+Had, by his queen, one only son, an infant
+Of three years old, called, after him, Theagenes.
+The general, this Polydamus, then married;
+The public feasts for which were scarcely past,
+When a rebellion in the heart of Sicily
+Called out the king to arms.
+
+_Arte._ Polydamus
+Had then a just excuse to stay behind.
+
+_Amal._ His temper was too warlike to accept it.
+He left his bride, and the new joys of marriage,
+And followed to the field. In short, they fought,
+The rebels were o'ercome; but in the fight
+The too bold king received a mortal wound.
+When he perceived his end approaching near,
+He called the general, to whose care he left
+His widow queen, and orphan son; then died.
+
+_Arte._ Then false Polydamus betrayed his trust?
+
+_Amal._ He did; and, with my father's help,--for which
+Heaven pardon him!--so gained their soldiers' hearts,
+That, in a few days, he was saluted king:
+And when his crimes had impudence enough
+To bear the eye of day,
+He marched his army back to Syracuse.
+But see how heaven can punish wicked men,
+In granting their desires: The news was brought him,
+That day he was to enter it, that Eubulus,
+Whom his dead master had left governor,
+Was fled, and with him bore away the queen,
+And royal orphan; but, what more amazed him,
+His wife, now big with child, and much detesting
+Her husband's practices, had willingly
+Accompanied their flight.
+
+_Arte._ How I admire her virtue!
+
+_Amal._ What became
+Of her, and them, since that, was never known;
+Only, some few days since, a famous robber
+Was taken with some jewels of vast price,
+Which, when they were delivered to the king,
+He knew had been his wife's; with these, a letter,
+Much torn and sullied, but which yet he knew
+To be her writing.
+
+_Arte._ Sure, from hence he learned
+He had a son?
+
+_Amal._ It was not left so plain:
+The paper only said, she died in child-bed;
+But when it should have mentioned son or daughter,
+Just there it was torn off.
+
+_Arte._ Madam, the king.
+
+  _To them_ POLYDAMUS, ARGALEON, _Guard and Attendants._
+
+_Arga._ The robber, though thrice racked, confessed no more.
+But that he took those jewels near this place.
+
+_Poly._ But yet the circumstances strongly argue,
+That those, for whom I search, are not far off.
+
+_Arga._ I cannot easily believe it.
+
+_Arte._ No,
+You would not have it so.                                    [_Aside._
+
+_Poly._ Those, I employed, have in the neighbouring hamlet,
+Amongst the fishers' cabins, made discovery
+Of some young persons, whose uncommon beauty,
+And graceful carriage, make it seem suspicious
+They are not what they seem: I therefore sent
+The captain of my guards, this morning early,
+With orders to secure and bring them to me.
+
+  _Enter_ RHODOPHIL _and_ PALAMEDE.
+
+O, here he is.--Have you performed my will?
+
+_Rho._ Sir, those, whom you commanded me to bring,
+Are waiting in the walks.
+
+_Poly._ Conduct them hither.
+
+_Rho._ First, give me leave
+To beg your notice of this gentleman.
+
+_Poly._ He seems to merit it. His name and quality?
+
+_Rho._ Palamede, son to lord Cleodemus of Palermo,
+And new returned from travel.
+                         [PALAMEDE _approaches, and kneels to kiss the
+                          Kings hand._
+
+_Poly._ You are welcome.
+I knew your father well, he was both brave
+And honest; we two once were fellow soldiers
+In the last civil wars.
+
+_Pala._ I bring the same unquestion'd honesty
+And zeal to serve your majesty; the courage
+You were pleased to praise in him,
+Your royal prudence, and your people's love,
+Will never give me leave to try, like him,
+In civil wars; I hope it may in foreign.
+
+_Poly._ Attend the court, and it shall be my care
+To find out some employment, worthy you.
+Go, Rhodophil, and bring in those without.  [_Exeunt_ RHO. _and_ PALA.
+
+  RHODOPHIL _returns again immediately, and with him enter_
+  HERMOGENES, LEONIDAS, _and_ PALMYRA.
+
+Behold two miracles!      [_Looking earnestly on_ LEON. _and_ PALMYRA.
+Of different sexes, but of equal form:
+So matchless both, that my divided soul
+Can scarcely ask the gods a son or daughter,
+For fear of losing one. If from your hands,
+You powers, I shall this day receive a daughter,
+Argaleon, she is yours; but, if a son,
+Then Amalthea's love shall make him happy.
+
+_Arga._ Grant, heaven, this admirable nymph may prove
+That issue, which he seeks!
+
+_Amal._ Venus Urania, if thou art a goddess,
+Grant that sweet youth may prove the prince of Sicily!
+
+_Poly._ Tell me, old man, and tell me true, from whence    [_To_ HERM.
+Had you that youth and maid?
+
+_Her._ From whence you had
+Your sceptre, sir: I had them from the gods.
+
+_Poly._ The gods then have not such another gift.
+Say who their parents were.
+
+_Her._ My wife, and I.
+
+_Arga._ It is not likely, a virgin, of so excellent a beauty,
+Should come from such a stock.
+
+_Amal._ Much less, that such a youth, so sweet, so graceful,
+Should be produced from peasants.
+
+_Her._ Why, nature is the same in villages,
+And much more fit to form a noble issue,
+Where it is least corrupted.
+
+_Poly._ He talks too like a man that knew the world,
+To have been long a peasant. But the rack
+Will teach him other language. Hence with him!
+                     [_As the Guards are carrying him away, his peruke
+                      falls off._
+Sure I have seen that face before. Hermogenes!
+'Tis he, 'tis he, who fled away with Eubulus,
+And with my dear Eudoxia.
+
+_Her._ Yes, sir, I am Hermogenes;
+And if to have been loyal be a crime,
+I stand prepared to suffer.
+
+_Poly._ If thou would'st live, speak quickly,
+What is become of my Eudoxia?
+Where is the queen and young Theagenes?
+Where Eubulus? and which of these is mine?
+                                      [_Pointing to_ LEON. _and_ PALM.
+
+_Her._ Eudoxia is dead, so is the queen,
+The infant king, her son, and Eubulus.
+
+_Poly._ Traitor, 'tis false: Produce them, or--
+
+_Her._ Once more
+I tell you, they are dead; but leave to threaten,
+For you shall know no further.
+
+_Poly._ Then prove indulgent to my hopes, and be
+My friend for ever. Tell me, good Hermogenes,
+Whose son is that brave youth?
+
+_Her._ Sir, he is yours.
+
+_Poly._ Fool that I am! thou see'st that so I wish it,
+And so thou flatter'st me.
+
+_Her._ By all that's holy!
+
+_Poly._ Again. Thou canst not swear too deeply.--
+Yet hold, I will believe thee:--Yet I doubt.
+
+_Her._ You need not, sir.
+
+_Arga._ Believe him not; he sees you credulous,
+And would impose his own base issue on you,
+And fix it to your crown.
+
+_Amal._ Behold his goodly shape and feature, sir;
+Methinks he much resembles you.
+
+_Arga._ I say, if you have any issue here,
+It must be that fair creature;
+By all my hopes I think so.
+
+_Amal._ Yes, brother, I believe you by your hopes,
+For they are all for her.
+
+_Poly._ Call the youth nearer.
+
+_Her._ Leonidas, the king would speak with you.
+
+_Poly._ Come near, and be not dazzled with the splendour,
+And greatness of a court.
+
+_Leon._ I need not this encouragement;
+I can fear nothing but the gods.
+And, for this glory, after I have seen
+The canopy of state spread wide above
+In the abyss of heaven, the court of stars,
+The blushing morning, and the rising sun,
+What greater can I see?
+
+_Poly._ This speaks thee born a prince; thou art, thyself,
+                                                     [_Embracing him._
+That rising sun, and shalt not see, on earth,
+A brighter than thyself. All of you witness,
+That for my son I here receive this youth,
+This brave, this--but I must not praise him further,
+Because he now is mine.
+
+_Leon._ I wo'not, sir, believe                            [_Kneeling._
+That I am made your sport;
+For I find nothing in myself, but what
+Is much above a scorn. I dare give credit
+To whatsoe'er a king, like you, can tell me.
+Either I am, or will deserve to be, your son.
+
+_Arga._ I yet maintain it is impossible
+This young man should be yours; for, if he were,
+Why should Hermogenes so long conceal him,
+When he might gain so much by his discovery?
+
+_Her._ I staid a while to make him worthy, sir,
+Of you.                                                [_To the King._
+But in that time I found
+Somewhat within him, which so moved my love,
+I never could resolve to part with him.
+
+_Leon._ You ask too many questions, and are                [_To_ ARGA.
+Too saucy for a subject.
+
+_Arga._ You rather over-act your part, and are
+Too soon a prince.
+
+_Leon._ Too soon you'll find me one.
+
+_Poly._ Enough, Argaleon!
+I have declared him mine; and you, Leonidas,
+Live well with him I love.
+
+_Arga._ Sir, if he be your son, I may have leave
+To think your queen had twins. Look on this virgin;
+Hermogenes would enviously deprive you
+Of half your treasure.
+
+_Her._ Sir, she is my daughter.
+I could, perhaps, thus aided by this lord,
+Prefer her to be yours; but truth forbid
+I should procure her greatness by a lie!
+
+_Poly._ Come hither, beauteous maid: Are you not sorry
+Your father will not let you pass for mine?
+
+_Palm._ I am content to be what heaven has made me.
+
+_Poly._ Could you not wish yourself a princess then?
+
+_Palm._ Not to be sister to Leonidas.
+
+_Poly._ Why, my sweet maid?
+
+_Palm._ Indeed I cannot tell;
+But I could be content to be his handmaid.
+
+_Arga._ I wish I had not seen her.                           [_Aside._
+
+_Palm._ I must weep for your good fortune;                 [_To_ LEON.
+Pray, pardon me, indeed I cannot help it.
+Leonidas,--alas! I had forgot,
+Now I must call you prince,--but must I leave you?
+
+_Leon._ I dare not speak to her; for, if I should,
+I must weep too.                                             [_Aside._
+
+_Poly._ No, you shall live at court, sweet innocence,
+And see him there. Hermogenes,
+Though you intended not to make me happy,
+Yet you shall be rewarded for the event.
+Come, my Leonidas, let's thank the gods;
+Thou for a father, I for such a son.
+                                   [_Exeunt all but_ LEON. _and_ PALM.
+
+_Leon._ My dear Palmyra, many eyes observe me,
+And I have thoughts so tender, that I cannot
+In public speak them to you: Some hours hence,
+I shall shake off these crowds of fawning courtiers,
+And then--                                               [_Exit_ LEON.
+
+_Palm._ Fly swift, you hours! you measure time for me in vain,
+'Till you bring back Leonidas again.
+Be shorter now; and, to redeem that wrong,
+When he and I are met, be twice as long!                      [_Exit._
+
+
+ACT II. SCENE I.
+
+  _Enter_ MELANTHA _and_ PHILOTIS.
+
+_Phil._ Count Rhodophil's a fine gentleman indeed, madam; and, I
+think, deserves your affection.
+
+_Mel._ Let me die but he's a fine man; he sings and dances _en
+Francois_, and writes the _billets doux_ to a miracle.
+
+_Phil._ And those are no small talents, to a lady that understands,
+and values the French air, as your ladyship does.
+
+_Mel._ How charming is the French air! and what an _etourdi bete_ is
+one of our untravelled islanders! When he would make his court to me,
+let me die but he is just AEsop's ass, that would imitate the courtly
+French in his addresses; but, instead of those, comes pawing upon me,
+and doing all things so _mal a droitly_.
+
+_Phil._ 'Tis great pity Rhodophil's a married man, that you may not
+have an honourable intrigue with him.
+
+_Mel._ Intrigue, Philotis! that's an old phrase; I have laid that word
+by; amour sounds better. But thou art heir to all my cast words, as
+thou art to my old wardrobe. Oh, count Rhodophil! Ah _mon cher_! I
+could live and die with him.
+
+  _Enter_ PALAMEDE, _and a Servant._
+
+_Serv._ Sir, this is my lady.
+
+_Pala._ Then this is she that is to be divine, and nymph, and goddess,
+and with whom I am to be desperately in love.
+                                  [_Bows to her, delivering a letter._
+This letter, madam, which I present you from your father, has given me
+both the happy opportunity, and the boldness, to kiss the fairest
+hands in Sicily.
+
+_Mel._ Came you lately from Palermo, sir?
+
+_Pala._ But yesterday, madam.
+
+_Mel._ [Reading the letter.] _Daughter, receive the bearer of this
+letter, as a gentleman whom I have chosen to make you happy._ [O
+Venus, a new servant sent me! and let me die but he has the air of a
+_gallant homme_!] _His father is the rich lord Cleodemus, our
+neighbour: I suppose you'll find nothing disagreeable in his person or
+his converse; both which he has improved by travel. The treaty is
+already concluded, and I shall be in town within these three days; so
+that you have nothing to do but to obey your careful father._
+
+[_To_ PALA.] Sir, my father, for whom I have a blind obedience, has
+commanded me to receive your passionate addresses; but you must also
+give me leave to avow, that I cannot merit them from so accomplished a
+cavalier.
+
+_Pala._ I want many things, madam, to render me accomplished; and the
+first and greatest of them is your favour.
+
+_Mel._ Let me die, Philotis, but this is extremely French; but yet
+Count Rhodophil--a gentleman, sir, that understands the _grand monde_
+so well, who has haunted the best conversations, and who, in short,
+has voyaged, may pretend to the good graces of a lady.
+
+_Pala._ [_Aside._] Hey-day! _Grand monde! Conversation! voyaged!_ and
+_good graces!_ I find my mistress is one of those that run mad in new
+French words.
+
+_Mel._ I suppose, sir, you have made the tour of France; and, having
+seen all that's fine there, will make a considerable reformation in
+the rudeness of our court: For let me die, but an unfashioned,
+untravelled, mere Sicilian, is a _bete_; and has nothing in the world
+of an _honnete homme_.
+
+_Pala._ I must confess, madam, that--
+
+_Mel._ And what new minuets have you brought over with you? their
+minuets are to a miracle! and our Sicilian jiggs are so dull and sad
+to them!
+
+_Pala._ For minuets, madam--
+
+_Mel._ And what new plays are there in vogue? And who danced best in
+the last grand ballet? Come, sweet servant, you shall tell me all.
+
+_Pala._ [_aside._] Tell her all? Why, she asks all, and will hear
+nothing.--To answer in order, madam, to your demands--
+
+_Mel._ I am thinking what a happy couple we shall be! For you shall
+keep up your correspondence abroad, and every thing that's new writ,
+in France, and fine, I mean all that's delicate, and _bien tourne_, we
+will have first.
+
+_Pala._ But, madam, our fortune--
+
+_Mel._ I understand you, sir; you'll leave that to me: For the
+_menage_ of a family, I know it better than any lady in Sicily.
+
+_Pala._ Alas, madam, we--
+
+_Mel._ Then, we will never make visits together, nor see a play, but
+always apart; you shall be every day at the king's levee, and I at the
+queen's; and we will never meet, but in the drawing-room.
+
+_Phil._ Madam, the new prince is just passed by the end of the walk.
+
+_Mel._ The new prince, sayest thou? Adieu, dear servant; I have not
+made my court to him these two long hours. O, it is the sweetest
+prince! so _obligeant_, _charmant_, _ravissant_, that--Well, I'll make
+haste to kiss his hands, and then make half a score visits more, and
+be with you again in a twinkling.          [_Exit running, with_ PHIL.
+
+_Pala._ [_solus._] Now heaven, of thy mercy, bless me from this
+tongue! it may keep the field against a whole army of lawyers, and
+that in their own language, French gibberish. It is true, in the
+day-time, it is tolerable, when a man has field room to run from it;
+but to be shut up in a bed with her, like two cocks in a pit, humanity
+cannot support it. I must kiss all night in my own defence, and hold
+her down, like a boy at cuffs, and give her the rising blow every time
+she begins to speak.
+
+  _Enter_ RHODOPHIL.
+
+But here comes Rhodophil. It is pretty odd that my mistress should so
+much resemble his: The same newsmonger, the same passionate lover of a
+court, the same--But, Basta, since I must marry her. I'll say nothing,
+because he shall not laugh at my misfortune.
+
+_Rho._ Well, Palamede, how go the affairs of love? You have seen your
+mistress?
+
+_Pala._ I have so.
+
+_Rho._ And how, and how? has the old Cupid, your father, chosen well
+for you? is he a good woodman?
+
+_Pala._ She's much handsomer than I could have imagined: In short, I
+love her, and will marry her.
+
+_Rho._ Then you are quite off from your other mistress?
+
+_Pala._ You are mistaken; I intend to love them both, as a reasonable
+man ought to do: For, since all women have their faults and
+imperfections, it is fit that one of them should help out the other.
+
+_Rho._ This were a blessed doctrine, indeed, if our wives would hear
+it; but they are their own enemies: If they would suffer us but now
+and then to make excursions, the benefit of our variety would be
+theirs; instead of one continued, lazy, tired love, they would, in
+their turns, have twenty vigorous, fresh, and active lovers.
+
+_Pala._ And I would ask any of them, whether a poor narrow brook, half
+dry the best part of the year, and running ever one way, be to be
+compared to a lusty stream, that has ebbs and flows?
+
+_Rho._ Ay, or is half so profitable for navigation?
+
+  _Enter_ DORALICE, _walking by, and reading._
+
+_Pala._ Ods my life, Rhodophil, will you keep my counsel?
+
+_Rho._ Yes: Where's the secret?
+
+_Pala._ There it is: [_Shewing_ DOR.] I may tell you, as my friend,
+_sub sigillo_, &c. this is that very lady, with whom I am in love.
+
+_Rho._ By all that's virtuous, my wife!                      [_Aside._
+
+_Pala._ You look strangely: How do you like her? Is she not very
+handsome?
+
+_Rho._ Sure he abuses me. [_Aside._]--Why the devil do you ask my
+judgment?
+
+_Pala._ You are so dogged now, you think no man's mistress handsome
+but your own. Come, you shall hear her talk too; she has wit, I assure
+you.
+
+_Rho._ This is too much, Palamede.                      [_Going back._
+
+_Pala._ Pr'ythee do not hang back so: Of an old tried lover, thou art
+the most bashful fellow!                       [_Pulling him forward._
+
+_Dor._ Were you so near, and would not speak, dear husband?
+                                                        [_Looking up._
+
+_Pala._ Husband, quoth a! I have cut out a fine piece of work for
+myself.                                                      [_Aside._
+
+_Rho._ Pray, spouse, how long have you been acquainted with this
+gentleman?
+
+_Dor._ Who? I acquainted with this stranger? To my best knowledge, I
+never saw him before.
+
+  _Enter_ MELANTHA _at the other end._
+
+_Pala._ Thanks, fortune, thou hast helped me.                [_Aside._
+
+_Rho._ Palamede, this must not pass so. I must know your mistress a
+little better.
+
+_Pala._ It shall be your own fault else. Come, I'll introduce you.
+
+_Rho._ Introduce me! where?
+
+_Pala._ There. To my mistress.
+                          [_Pointing to_ MELANTHA, _who swiftly passes
+                           over the stage._
+
+_Rho._ Who? Melantha! O heavens, I did not see her.
+
+_Pala._ But I did: I am an eagle where I love; I have seen her this
+half hour.
+
+_Dor._ [_Aside._] I find he has wit, he has got off so readily; but it
+would anger me, if he should love Melantha.
+
+_Rho._ [_Aside._] Now, I could even wish it were my wife he loved; I
+find he's to be married to my mistress.
+
+_Pala._ Shall I run after, and fetch her back again, to present you to
+her?
+
+_Rho._ No, you need not; I have the honour to have some small
+acquaintance with her.
+
+_Pala._ [_Aside._] O Jupiter! what a blockhead was I, not to find it
+out! my wife, that must be, is his mistress. I did a little suspect it
+before. Well, I must marry her, because she's handsome, and because I
+hate to be disinherited by a younger brother, which I am sure I shall
+be, if I disobey; and yet I must keep in with Rhodophil, because I
+love his wife.--[_To_ RHO.] I must desire you to make my excuse to
+your lady, if I have been so unfortunate to cause any mistake; and,
+withal, to beg the honour of being known to her.
+
+_Rho._ O, that is but reason.--Hark you, spouse, pray look upon this
+gentleman as my friend; whom, to my knowledge, you have never seen
+before this hour.
+
+_Dor._ I am so obedient a wife, sir, that my husband's commands shall
+ever be a law to me.
+
+  _Enter_ MELANTHA _again, hastily, and runs to embrace_ DORALICE.
+
+_Mel._ O, my dear, I was just going to pay my devoirs to you; I had
+not time this morning, for making my court to the king, and our new
+prince. Well, never nation was so happy, and all that, in a young
+prince; and he is the kindest person in the world to me, let me die if
+he is not.
+
+_Dor._ He has been bred up far from court, and therefore--
+
+_Mel._ That imports not: Though he has not seen the _grand monde_, and
+all that, let me die but he has the air of the court most absolutely.
+
+_Pala._ But yet, madam, he--
+
+_Mel._ O, servant, you can testify that I am in his good graces. Well,
+I cannot stay long with you, because I have promised him this
+afternoon to--But hark you, my dear, I'll tell you a secret.
+                                                   [_Whispers to_ DOR.
+
+_Rho._ The devil's in me, that I must love this woman.       [_Aside._
+
+_Pala._ The devil's in me, that I must marry this woman.     [_Aside._
+
+_Mel._ [_Raising her voice._] So the prince and I--But you must make a
+secret of this, my dear; for I would not for the world your husband
+should hear it, or my tyrant, there, that must be.
+
+_Pala._ Well, fair impertinent, your whisper is not lost, we hear you.
+                                                             [_Aside._
+
+_Dor._ I understand then, that--
+
+_Mel._ I'll tell you, my dear, the prince took me by the hand, and
+pressed it _a la derobbee_, because the king was near, made the _doux
+yeux_ to me, and, _ensuite_, said a thousand gallantries, or let me
+die, my dear.
+
+_Dor._ Then I am sure you--
+
+_Mel._ You are mistaken, my dear.
+
+_Dor._ What, before I speak?
+
+_Mel._ But I know your meaning. You think, my dear, that I assumed
+something of _fierte_ into my countenance, to _rebute_, him; but,
+quite contrary, I regarded him,--I know not how to express it in our
+dull Sicilian language,--_d'un air enjouee_; and said nothing but _ad
+autre, ad autre,_ and that it was all _grimace_, and would not pass
+upon me.
+
+  _Enter_ ARTEMIS: MELANTHA _sees her, and runs away from_ DORALICE.
+
+[_To_ ARTEMIS.] My dear, I must beg your pardon, I was just making a
+loose from Doralice, to pay my respects to you. Let me die, if I ever
+pass time so agreeably as in your company, and if I would leave it for
+any lady's in Sicily.
+
+_Arte._ The princess Amalthea is coming this way.
+
+  _Enter_ AMALTHEA: MELANTHA _runs to her._
+
+_Mel._ O, dear madam! I have been at your lodging in my new _galeche_,
+so often, to tell you of a new amour, betwixt two persons whom you
+would little suspect for it, that, let me die if one of my
+coach-horses be not dead, and another quite tired, and sunk under the
+fatigue.
+
+_Amal._ O, Melantha, I can tell you news; the prince is coming this
+way.
+
+_Mel._ The prince? O sweet prince! He and I are to--and I forgot it.--
+Your pardon, sweet madam, for my abruptness.--Adieu, my dear
+servant,--Rhodophil.--Servant, servant, servant all.  [_Exit running._
+
+_Amal._ Rhodophil, a word with you.                       [_Whispers._
+
+_Dor._ [_To PALA._] Why do you not follow your mistress, sir?
+
+_Pala._ Follow her? Why, at this rate she'll be at the Indies within
+this half hour.
+
+_Dor._ However, if you cannot follow her all day, you will meet her at
+night, I hope?
+
+_Pala._ But can you, in charity, suffer me to be so mortified, without
+affording me some relief? If it be but to punish that sign of a
+husband there, that lazy matrimony, that dull insipid taste, who
+leaves such delicious fare at home, to dine abroad on worse meat, and
+pay dear for it into the bargain.
+
+_Dor._ All this is in vain: Assure yourself, I will never admit of any
+visit from you in private.
+
+_Pala._ That is to tell me, in other words, my condition is desperate.
+
+_Dor._ I think you in so ill a condition, that I am resolved to pray
+for you, this very evening, in the close walk behind the terrace; for
+that's a private place, and there I am sure nobody will disturb my
+devotions. And so, good-night, sir.                           [_Exit._
+
+_Pala._ This is the newest way of making an appointment I ever heard
+of. Let women alone to contrive the means; I find we are but dunces to
+them. Well, I will not be so prophane a wretch as to interrupt her
+devotions; but, to make them more effectual, I'll down upon my knees,
+and endeavour to join my own with them.                       [_Exit._
+
+_Amal._ [_To_ RHO.] I know already they do not love each other; and
+that my brother acts but a forced obedience to the king's commands; so
+that if a quarrel should arise betwixt the prince and him, I were most
+miserable on both sides.
+
+_Rho._ There shall be nothing wanting in me, madam, to prevent so sad
+a consequence.
+
+  _Enter the King and_ LEONIDAS; _the King whispers_ AMALTHEA.
+
+[_To himself._] I begin to hate this Palamede, because he is to marry
+my mistress: Yet break with him I dare not, for fear of being quite
+excluded from her company. It is a hard case, when a man must go by
+his rival to his mistress: But it is, at worst, but using him like a
+pair of heavy boots in a dirty journey; after I have fouled him all
+day, I'll throw him off at night.                             [_Exit._
+
+_Amal._ [_To the King._] This honour is too great for me to hope.
+
+_Poly._ You shall this hour have the assurance of it.--
+Leonidas, come hither; you have heard,
+I doubt not, that the father of this princess
+Was my most faithful friend, while I was yet
+A private man; and when I did assume
+This crown, he served me in the high attempt.
+You see, then, to what gratitude obliges me;
+Make your addresses to her.
+
+_Leon._ Sir, I am yet too young to be a courtier;
+I should too much betray my ignorance,
+And want of breeding to so fair a lady.
+
+_Amal._ Your language speaks you not bred up in desarts,
+But in the softness of some Asian court,
+Where luxury and ease invent kind words,
+To cozen tender virgins of their hearts.
+
+_Poly._ You need not doubt,
+But in what words soe'er a prince can offer
+His crown and person, they will be received.
+You know my pleasure, and you know your duty.
+
+_Leon._ Yes, sir, I shall obey, in what I can.
+
+_Poly._ In what you can, Leonidas? Consider,
+He's both your king, and father, who commands you.
+Besides, what is there hard in my injunction?
+
+_Leon._ 'Tis hard to have my inclination forced.
+I would not marry, sir; and, when I do,
+I hope you'll give me freedom in my choice.
+
+_Poly._ View well this lady,
+Whose mind as much transcends her beauteous face,
+As that excels all others.
+
+_Amal._ My beauty, as it ne'er could merit love,
+So neither can it beg: And, sir, you may
+Believe, that what the king has offered you,
+I should refuse, did I not value more
+Your person than your crown.
+
+_Leon._ Think it not pride,
+Or my new fortunes swell me to contemn you;
+Think less, that I want eyes to see your beauty;
+And, least of all, think duty wanting in me
+To obey a father's will: But--
+
+_Poly._ But what, Leonidas?
+For I must know your reason; and be sure
+It be convincing too.
+
+_Leon._ Sir, ask the stars,
+Which have imposed love on us, like a fate,
+Why minds are bent to one, and fly another?
+Ask, why all beauties cannot move all hearts?
+For though there may
+Be made a rule for colour, or for feature,
+There can be none for liking.
+
+_Poly._ Leonidas, you owe me more
+Than to oppose your liking to my pleasure.
+
+_Leon._ I owe you all things, sir; but something, too,
+I owe myself.
+
+_Poly._ You shall dispute no more; I am a king,
+And I will be obeyed.
+
+_Leon._ You are a king, sir, but you are no god;
+Or, if you were, you could not force my will.
+
+_Poly._ [_Aside._] But you are just, ye gods; O you are just,
+In punishing the crimes of my rebellion
+With a rebellious son!
+Yet I can punish him, as you do me.--
+Leonidas, there is no jesting with
+My will: I ne'er had done so much to gain
+A crown, but to be absolute in all things.
+
+_Amal._ O, sir, be not so much a king, as to
+Forget you are a father: Soft indulgence
+Becomes that name. Tho' nature gives you power
+To bind his duty, 'tis with silken bonds:
+Command him, then, as you command yourself;
+He is as much a part of you, as are
+Your appetite and will, and those you force not,
+But gently bend, and make them pliant to your reason.
+
+_Poly._ It may be I have used too rough a way.--
+Forgive me, my Leonidas; I know
+I lie as open to the gusts of passion,
+As the bare shore to every, beating surge:
+I will not force thee now; but I entreat thee,
+Absolve a father's vow to this fair virgin;
+A vow, which hopes of having such a son
+First caused.
+
+_Leon._ Show not my disobedience by your prayers;
+For I must still deny you, though I now
+Appear more guilty to myself than you:
+I have some reasons, which I cannot utter,
+That force my disobedience; yet I mourn
+To death, that the first thing, you e'er enjoined me,
+Should be that only one command in nature,
+Which I could not obey.
+
+_Poly._ I did descend too much below myself,
+When I entreated him.--Hence, to thy desart!
+Thou'rt not my son, or art not fit to be.
+
+_Amal._ Great sir, I humbly beg you, make not me          [_Kneeling._
+The cause of your displeasure. I absolve
+Your vow; far from me be such designs;
+So wretched a desire of being great,
+By making him unhappy. You may see
+Something so noble in the prince's nature,
+As grieves him more, not to obey, than you,
+That you are not obeyed.
+
+_Poly._ Then, for your sake,
+I'll give him one day longer to consider,
+Not to deny; for my resolves are firm
+As fate, that cannot change.                  [_Exeunt King and_ AMAL.
+
+_Leon._ And so are mine.
+This beauteous princess, charming as she is,
+Could never make me happy: I must first
+Be false to my Palmyra, and then wretched.
+But, then, a father's anger!
+Suppose he should recede from his own vow,
+He never would permit me to keep mine.
+
+  _Enter_ PALMYRA; ARGALEON _following her, a little after._
+
+See, she appears!
+I'll think no more of any thing, but her.
+Yet I have one good hour ere I am wretched.
+But, oh! Argaleon follows her! so night
+Treads on the footsteps of a winter's sun,
+And stalks all black behind him.
+
+_Palm._ O, Leonidas,
+For I must call you still by that dear name,
+Free me from this bad man.
+
+_Leon._ I hope he dares not be injurious to you.
+
+_Arga._ I rather was injurious to myself,
+Than her.
+
+_Leon._ That must be judged, when I hear what you said.
+
+_Arga._ I think you need not give yourself that trouble:
+It concerned us alone.
+
+_Leon._ You answer saucily, and indirectly:
+What interest can you pretend in her?
+
+_Arga._ It may be, sir, I made her some expressions
+Which I would not repeat, because they were
+Below my rank, to one of hers.
+
+_Leon._ What did he say, Palmyra?
+
+_Palm._ I'll tell you all: First, he began to look,
+And then he sighed, and then he looked again;
+At last, he said, my eyes wounded his heart:
+And, after that, he talked of flames and fires,
+And such strange words, that I believed he conjured.
+
+_Leon._ O my heart!--Leave me, Argaleon.
+
+_Arga._ Come, sweet Palmyra,
+I will instruct you better in my meaning:
+You see he would be private.
+
+_Leon._ Go yourself,
+And leave her here.
+
+_Arga._ Alas, she's ignorant,
+And is not fit to entertain a prince.
+
+_Leon._ First learn what's fit for you; that's to obey.
+
+_Arga._ I know my duty is to wait on you.
+A great king's son, like you, ought to forget
+Such mean converse.
+
+_Leon._ What? a disputing subject?
+Hence, or my sword shall do me justice on thee.
+
+_Arga._ Yet I may find a time--                              [_Going._
+
+_Leon._ What's that you mutter,                    [_Going after him._
+To find a time?--
+
+_Arga._ To wait on you again--
+In the mean while I'll watch you.                           [_Softly._
+                                [_Exit, and watches during the scene._
+
+_Leon._ How precious are the hours of love in courts!
+In cottages, where love has all the day,
+Full, and at ease, he throws it half away.
+Time gives himself, and is not valued, there;
+But sells at mighty rates, each minute, here:
+There, he is lazy, unemployed, and slow;
+Here, he's more swift; and yet has more to do.
+So many of his hours in public move,
+That few are left for privacy and love.
+
+_Palm._ The sun, methinks, shines faint and dimly, here;
+Light is not half so long, nor half so clear:
+But, oh! when every day was yours and mine,
+How early up! what haste he made to shine!
+
+_Leon._ Such golden days no prince must hope to see,
+Whose every subject is more blessed than he.
+
+_Palm._ Do you remember, when their tasks were done,
+How all the youth did to our cottage run?
+While winter-winds were whistling loud without,
+Our cheerful hearth was circled round about:
+With strokes in ashes, maids their lovers drew;
+And still you fell to me, and I to you.
+
+_Leon._ When love did of my heart possession take,
+I was so young, my soul was scarce awake:
+I cannot tell when first I thought you fair;
+But sucked in love, insensibly as air.
+
+_Palm._ I know too well when, first my love began,
+When at our wake you for the chaplet ran:
+Then I was made the lady of the May,
+And, with the garland, at the goal did stay:
+Still, as you ran, I kept you full in view;
+I hoped, and wished, and ran, methought, for you.
+As you came near, I hastily did rise,
+And stretched my arm outright, that held the prize.
+The custom was to kiss whom I should crown;
+You kneeled, and in my lap your head laid down:
+I blushed, and blushed, and did the kiss delay;
+At last my subjects forced me to obey:
+But, when I gave the crown, and then the kiss,
+I scarce had breath to say, Take that,--and this.
+
+_Leon._ I felt, the while, a pleasing kind of smart;
+That kiss went, tingling, to my very heart.
+When it was gone, the sense of it did stay;
+The sweetness clinged upon my lips all day,
+Like drops of honey, loth to fall away.
+
+_Palm._ Life, like a prodigal, gave all his store
+To my first youth, and now can give no more.
+You are a prince; and, in that high degree,
+No longer must converse with humble me.
+
+_Leon._ 'Twas to my loss the gods that title gave;
+A tyrant's son is doubly born a slave:
+He gives a crown; but, to prevent my life
+From being happy, loads it with a wife.
+
+_Palm._ Speak quickly; what have you resolved to do?
+
+_Leon._ To keep my faith inviolate to you.
+He threatens me with exile, and with shame,
+To lose my birthright, and a prince's name;
+But there's a blessing which he did not mean,
+To send me back to love and you again.
+
+_Palm._ Why was not I a princess for your sake?
+But heaven no more such miracles can make:
+And, since that cannot, this must never be;
+You shall not lose a crown for love of me.
+Live happy, and a nobler choice pursue;
+I shall complain of fate, but not of you.
+
+_Leon._ Can you so easily without me live?
+Or could you take the counsel, which you give?
+Were you a princess, would you not be true?
+
+_Palm._ I would; but cannot merit it from you.
+
+_Leon._ Did you not merit, as you do, my heart,
+Love gives esteem, and then it gives desert.
+But if I basely could forget my vow,
+Poor helpless innocence, what would you do?
+
+_Palm._ In woods, and plains, where first my love began,
+There would I live, retired from faithless man:
+I'd sit all day within some lonely shade,
+Or that close arbour which your hands have made:
+I'd search the groves, and every tree, to find
+Where you had carved our names upon the rind:
+Your hook, your scrip, all that was yours, I'd keep,
+And lay them by me when I went to sleep.
+Thus would I live: And maidens, when I die,
+Upon my hearse white true-love-knots should tie;
+And thus my tomb should be inscribed above,
+_Here the forsaken Virgin rests from love._
+
+_Leon._ Think not that time or fate shall e'er divide
+Those hearts, which love and mutual vows have tied.
+But we must part; farewell, my love.
+
+_Palm._ Till when?
+
+_Leon._ Till the next age of hours we meet again.
+Meantime, we may,
+When near each other we in public stand,
+Contrive to catch a look, or steal a hand:
+Fancy will every touch and glance improve;
+And draw the most spirituous parts of love.
+Our souls sit close, and silently within,
+And their own web from their own entrails spin;
+And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such,
+That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.             [_Exeunt._
+
+
+ACT III. SCENE I.
+
+  _Enter_ RHODOPHIL, _meeting_ DORALICE _and_ ARTEMIS; RHODOPHIL _and_
+  DORALICE _embrace._
+
+_Rho._ My own dear heart!
+
+_Dor._ My own true love! [_She starts back._] I had forgot myself to
+be so kind; indeed, I am very angry with you, dear; you are come home
+an hour after you appointed: if you had staid a minute longer, I was
+just considering whether I should stab, hang, or drown myself.
+                                                     [_Embracing him._
+
+_Rho._ Nothing but the king's business could have hindered me; and I
+was so vexed, that I was just laying down my commission, rather than
+have failed my dear.                               [_Kisses her hand._
+
+_Arte._ Why, this is love as it should be betwixt man and wife: such
+another couple would bring marriage into fashion again. But is it
+always thus betwixt you?
+
+_Rho._ Always thus! this is nothing. I tell you, there is not such a
+pair of turtles in Sicily; there is such an eternal cooing and kissing
+betwixt us, that indeed it is scandalous before civil company.
+
+_Dor._ Well, if I had imagined I should have been this fond fool, I
+would never have married the man I loved: I married to be happy, and
+have made myself miserable by over-loving. Nay, and now my case is
+desperate; for I have been married above these two years, and find
+myself every day worse and worse in love: nothing but madness can be
+the end on't.
+
+_Arte._ Doat on, to the extremity, and you are happy.
+
+_Dor._ He deserves so infinitely much, that, the truth is, there can
+be no doating in the matter; but, to love well, I confess, is a work
+that pays itself: 'Tis telling gold, and, after, taking it for one's
+pains.
+
+_Rho._ By that I should be a very covetous person; for I am ever
+pulling out my money, and putting it into my pocket again.
+
+_Dor._ O dear Rhodophil!
+
+_Rho._ O sweet Doralice!                      [_Embracing each other._
+
+_Arte._ [_Aside._] Nay, I am resolved, I'll never interrupt lovers:
+I'll leave them as happy as I found them.              [_Steals away._
+
+_Rho._ What, is she gone?                               [_Looking up._
+
+_Dor._ Yes; and without taking leave.
+
+_Rho._ Then there's enough for this time.         [_Parting from her._
+
+_Dor._ Yes, sure, the scene is done, I take it.
+
+  _They walk contrary ways on the stage; he, with his hands in his
+  pockets, whistling; she singing a dull melancholy tune._
+
+_Rho._ Pox o'your dull tune, a man can't think for you.
+
+_Dor._ Pox o'your damned whistling; you can neither be company to me
+yourself, nor leave me to the freedom of my own fancy.
+
+_Rho._ Well, thou art the most provoking wife!
+
+_Dor._ Well, thou art the dullest husband, thou art never to be
+provoked.
+
+_Rho._ I was never thought dull till I married thee; and now thou hast
+made an old knife of me; thou hast whetted me so long, till I have no
+edge left.
+
+_Dor._ I see you are in the husband's fashion; you reserve all your
+good humours for your mistresses, and keep your ill for your wives.
+
+_Rho._ Prythee leave me to my own cogitations; I am thinking over all
+my sins, to find for which of them it was I married thee.
+
+_Dor._ Whatever your sin was, mine's the punishment.
+
+_Rho._ My comfort is, thou art not immortal; and, when that blessed,
+that divine day comes of thy departure, I'm resolved I'll make one
+holiday more in the almanack for thy sake.
+
+_Dor._ Ay, you had need make a holiday for me, for I am sure you have
+made me a martyr.
+
+_Rho._ Then, setting my victorious foot upon thy head, in the first
+hour of thy silence, (that is, the first hour thou art dead, for I
+despair of it before) I will swear by thy ghost,--an oath as terrible
+to me as Styx is to the gods,--never more to be in danger of the banes
+of matrimony.
+
+_Dor._ And I am resolved to marry the very same day thou diest, if it
+be but to show how little I'm concerned for thee.
+
+_Rho._ Pray thee, Doralice, why do we quarrel thus a-days? ha! this is
+but a kind of heathenish life, and does not answer the ends of
+marriage. If I have erred, propound what reasonable atonement may be
+made before we sleep, and I will not be refractory; but withal
+consider, I have been married these three years, and be not too
+tyrannical.
+
+_Dor._ What should you talk of a peace a-bed, when you can give no
+security for performance of articles?
+
+_Rho._ Then, since we must live together, and both of us stand upon
+our terms, as to matters of dying first, let us make ourselves as
+merry as we can with our misfortunes. Why, there's the devil on't! if
+thou could'st make my enjoying thee but a little easy, or a little
+more unlawful, thou should'st see what a termagant lover I would
+prove. I have taken such pains to enjoy thee, Doralice, that I have
+fancied thee all the fine women of the town--to help me out: But now
+there's none left for me to think on, my imagination is quite jaded.
+Thou art a wife, and thou wilt be a wife, and I can make thee another
+no longer.                                                [_Exit_ RHO.
+
+_Dor._ Well, since thou art a husband, and wilt be a husband, I'll try
+if I can find out another. 'Tis a pretty time we women have on't, to
+be made widows while we are married. Our husbands think it reasonable
+to complain, that we are the same, and the same to them, when we have
+more reason to complain, that they are not the same to us. Because
+they cannot feed on one dish, therefore we must be starved. 'Tis
+enough that they have a sufficient ordinary provided, and a table
+ready spread for them: If they cannot fall too, and eat heartily, the
+fault is theirs; and 'tis pity, methinks, that the good creature
+should be lost, when many a poor sinner would be glad on't.
+
+  _Enter_ MELANTHA _and_ ARTEMIS _to her._
+
+_Mel._ Dear, my dear, pity me, I am so _chagrin_ to day, and have had
+the most signal affront at court! I went this afternoon to do my
+devoir to princess Amalthea, found her, conversed with her, and helped
+to make her court some half an hour; after which, she went to take the
+air, chose out two ladies to go with her, that came in after me, and
+left me most barbarously behind her.
+
+_Arte._ You are the less to be pitied, Melantha, because you subject
+yourself to these affronts, by coming perpetually to court, where you
+have no business nor employment.
+
+_Mel._ I declare, I had rather of the two be rallied nay, _mal
+traitee_ at court, than be deified in the town; for, assuredly,
+nothing can be so _ridicule_ as a mere town lady.
+
+_Dor._ Especially at court. How I have seen them crowd and sweat in
+the drawing-room on a holiday-night! For that's their time to swarm
+and invade the presence. O, how they catch at a bow, or any little
+salute from a courtier, to make show of their acquaintance! and,
+rather than be thought to be quite unknown, they court'sy to one
+another; but they take true pains to come near the circle, and press
+and peep upon the princess, to write letters into the country how she
+was dressed, while the ladies, that stand about, make their court to
+her with abusing them.
+
+_Arte._ These are sad truths, Melantha; and therefore I would e'en
+advise you to quit the court, and live either wholly in the town, or,
+if you like not that, in the country.
+
+_Dor._ In the country! nay, that's to fall beneath the town, for they
+live upon our offals here. Their entertainment of wit is only the
+remembrance of what they had when they were last in town;--they live
+this year upon the last year's knowledge, as their cattle do all
+night, by chewing the cud of what they eat in the afternoon.
+
+_Mel._ And they tell, for news, such unlikely stories! A letter from
+one of us is such a present to them, that the poor souls wait for the
+carrier's-day with such devotion, that they cannot sleep the night
+before.
+
+_Arte._ No more than I can, the night before I am to go a journey.
+
+_Dor._ Or I, before I am to try on a new gown.
+
+_Mel._ A song, that's stale here, will be new there a twelvemonth
+hence; and if a man of the town by chance come amongst them, he's
+reverenced for teaching them the tune.
+
+_Dor._ A friend of mine, who makes songs sometimes, came lately out of
+the west, and vowed he was so put out of countenance with a song of
+his; for, at the first country gentleman's he visited, he saw three
+tailors cross legged upon the table in the hall, who were tearing out
+as loud as ever they could sing,
+
+  --After the pangs of a desperate lover, &c.
+
+And that all day he heard of nothing else, but the daughters of the
+house, and the maids, humming it over in every corner, and the father
+whistling it.
+
+_Arte._ Indeed, I have observed of myself, that when I am out of town
+but a fortnight, I am so humble, that I would receive a letter from my
+tailor or mercer for a favour.
+
+_Mel._ When I have been at grass in the summer, and am new come up
+again, methinks I'm to be turned into ridicule by all that see me; but
+when I have been once or twice at court, I begin to value myself
+again, and to despise my country acquaintance.
+
+_Arte._ There are places where all people may be adored, and we ought
+to know ourselves so well as to choose them.
+
+_Dor._ That's very true; your little courtier's wife, who speaks to
+the king but once a month, need but go to a town lady, and there she
+may vapour and cry,--"The king and I," at every word. Your town lady,
+who is laughed at in the circle, takes her coach into the city, and
+there she's called Your honour, and has a banquet from the merchant's
+wife, whom she laughs at for her kindness. And, as for my finical cit,
+she removes but to her country house, and there insults over the
+country gentlewoman that never comes up, who treats her with furmity
+and custard, and opens her dear bottle of _mirabilis_ beside, for a
+gill-glass of it at parting.
+
+_Arte._ At last, I see, we shall leave Melantha where we found her;
+for, by your description of the town and country, they are become more
+dreadful to her than the court, where she was affronted. But you
+forget we are to wait on the princess Amalthea. Come, Doralice.
+
+_Dor._ Farewell, Melantha.
+
+_Mel._ Adieu, my dear.
+
+_Arte._ You are out of charity with her, and therefore I shall not
+give your service.
+
+_Mel._ Do not omit it, I beseech you; for I have such a _tendre_ for
+the court, that I love it even from the drawing-room to the lobby, and
+can never be _rebutee_ by any usage. But hark you, my dears; one thing
+I had forgot, of great concernment.
+
+_Dor._ Quickly then, we are in haste.
+
+_Mel._ Do not call it my service, that's too vulgar; but do my _baise
+mains_ to the princess Amalthea; that is _spirituelle_!
+
+_Dor._ To do you service, then, we will _prendre_ the _carosse_ to
+court, and do your _baise mains_ to the princess Amalthea, in your
+phrase _spirituelle_.                [_Exeunt_ ARTEMIS _and_ DORALICE.
+
+  _Enter_ PHILOTIS, _with a paper in her hand._
+
+_Mel._ O, are you there, minion? And, well, are not you a most
+precious damsel, to retard all my visits for want of language, when
+you know you are paid so well for furnishing me with new words for my
+daily conversation? Let me die, if I have not run the risque already
+to speak like one of the vulgar, and if I have one phrase left in all
+my store, that is not thread-bare _et use_, and fit for nothing but to
+be thrown to peasants.
+
+_Phil._ Indeed, Madam, I have been very diligent in my vocation; but
+you have so drained all the French plays and romances, that they are
+not able to supply you with words for your daily expence.
+
+_Mel._ Drained? What a word's there! _Epuisee_, you sot you. Come,
+produce your morning's work.
+
+_Phil._ 'Tis here, madam.                          [_Shows the paper._
+
+_Mel._ O, my Venus! fourteen or fifteen words to serve me a whole day!
+Let me die, at this rate I cannot last till night. Come, read your
+works: Twenty to one, half of them will not pass muster neither.
+
+Phil. _Sottises._                                            [_Reads._
+
+Mel. _Sottises: bon._ That's an excellent word to begin withal; as,
+for example, he or she said a thousand _sottises_ to me. Proceed.
+
+Phil. _Figure:_ As, what a _figure_ of a man is there! _Naive, and
+naivete._
+
+_Mel._ _Naive!_ as how?
+
+_Phil._ Speaking of a thing that was naturally said, it was so
+_naive;_ or, such an innocent piece of simplicity 'twas such a
+_naivete._
+
+_Mel._ Truce with your interpretations. Make haste.
+
+Phil. _Foible, chagrin, grimace, embarrasse, double entendre,
+equivoque, ecclaircissement, suitte, beveue, facon, penchant, coup
+d'etourdy,_ and _ridicule._
+
+_Mel._ Hold, hold; how did they begin?
+
+_Phil._ They began at _sottises_, and ended _en ridicule_.
+
+_Mel._ Now, give me your paper in my hand, and hold you my glass,
+while I practise my postures for the day. [MELANTHA _laughs in the
+glass._] How does that laugh become my face?
+
+_Phil._ Sovereignly well, madam.
+
+_Mel._ Sovereignly? Let me die, that's not amiss. That word shall not
+be yours; I'll invent it, and bring it up myself: My new point gorget
+shall be yours upon't. Not a word of the word, I charge you.
+
+_Phil._ I am dumb, madam.
+
+_Mel._ That glance, how suits it with my face?
+                                        [_Looking in the glass again._
+
+_Phil._ 'Tis so _languissant_!
+
+_Mel._ _Languissant!_ that word shall be mine too, and my last Indian
+gown thine for't. That sigh?                           [_Looks again._
+
+_Phil._ 'Twill make a man sigh, madam. 'Tis a mere _incendiary_.
+
+_Mel._ Take my guimp petticoat for that truth. If thou hast most of
+these phrases, let me die but I could give away all my wardrobe, and
+go naked for them.
+
+_Phil._ Go naked? Then you would be a Venus, madam. O Jupiter! what
+had I forgot? This paper was given me by Rhodophil's page.
+
+_Mel._ [_Reading the letter._] Beg the favour from you.--Gratify my
+passion--so far--assignation--in the grotto--behind the terrace--clock
+this evening--Well, for the _billets doux_ there is no man in Sicily
+must dispute with Rhodophil; they are so French, so _gallant_, and so
+_tendre_, that I cannot resist the temptation of the assignation. Now,
+go you away, Philotis; it imports me to practise what to say to my
+servant when I meet him. [_Exit_ PHILOTIS.] Rhodophil, you'll wonder
+at my assurance to meet you here;--let me die, I am so out of breath
+with coming, that I can render you no reason of it.--Then he will make
+this _repartee_; Madam, I have no reason to accuse you for that which
+is so great a favour to me.--Then I reply, But why have you drawn me
+to this solitary place? Let me die, but I am apprehensive of some
+violence from you.--Then says he, Solitude, madam, is most fit for
+lovers; but by this fair hand--Nay, now I vow you're rude, sir. O fy,
+fy, fy; I hope you'll be honourable?--You'd laugh at me if I should,
+madam.--What, do you mean to throw me down thus? Ah me! ah! ah! ah!
+
+  _Enter_ POLYDAMAS, LEONIDAS, _and Guards._
+
+O Venus! the king and court. Let me die, but I fear they have found my
+foible, and will turn me into _ridicule_.            [_Exit, running._
+
+_Leon._ Sir, I beseech you.
+
+_Poly._ Do not urge my patience.
+
+_Leon._ I'll not deny,
+But what your spies informed you of is true:
+I love the fair Palmyra; but I loved her
+Before I knew your title to my blood.
+
+  _Enter_ PALMYRA _guarded._
+
+See, here she comes, and looks, amidst her guards,
+Like a weak dove under the falcon's gripe.
+O heaven, I cannot bear it.
+
+_Poly._ Maid, come hither.
+Have you presumed so far, as to receive
+My son's affections?
+
+_Palm._ Alas, what shall I answer? To confess it
+Will raise a blush upon a virgin's face;
+Yet I was ever taught 'twas base to lie.
+
+_Poly._ You've been too bold, and you must love no more.
+
+_Palm._ Indeed I must; I cannot help my love;
+I was so tender when I took the bent,
+That now I grow that way.
+
+_Poly._ He is a prince, and you are meanly born.
+
+_Leon._ Love either finds equality, or makes it:
+Like death, he knows no difference in degrees,
+But plains, and levels all.
+
+_Palm._ Alas! I had not rendered up my heart,
+Had he not loved me first; but he preferred me
+Above the maidens of my age and rank,--
+Still shunned their company, and still sought mine.
+I was not won by gifts, yet still he gave;
+And all his gifts, though small, yet spoke his love.
+He picked the earliest strawberries in woods,
+The clustered filberds, and the purple grapes;
+He taught a prating stare to speak my name;
+And, when he found a nest of nightingales,
+Or callow linnets, he would show them me,
+And let me take them out.
+
+_Poly._ This is a little mistress, meanly born,
+Fit only for a prince's vacant hours,
+And then, to laugh at her simplicity,
+Not fix a passion there. Now hear my sentence.
+
+_Leon._ Remember, ere you give it, 'tis pronounced
+Against us both.
+
+_Poly._ First, in her hand
+There shall be placed a player's painted sceptre,
+And, on her head, a gilded pageant crown:
+Thus shall she go,
+With all the boys attending on her triumph;
+That done, be put alone into a boat,
+With bread and water only for three days;
+So on the sea she shall be set adrift,
+And who relieves her dies.
+
+_Palm._ I only beg that you would execute
+The last part first: Let me be put to sea;
+The bread and water for my three days life
+I give you back, I would not live so long;
+But let me 'scape the shame.
+
+_Leon._ Look to me, piety; and you, O Gods, look to my piety!
+Keep me from saying that, which misbecomes a son;
+But let me die before I see this done.
+
+_Poly._ If you for ever will abjure her sight,
+I can be yet a father; she shall live.
+
+_Leon._ Hear, O you powers! is this to be a father?
+I see 'tis all my happiness and quiet
+You aim at, sir; and take them:
+I will not save even my Palmyra's life
+At that ignoble price; but I'll die with her.
+
+_Palm._ So had I done by you,
+Had fate made me a princess.--Death, methinks,
+Is not a terror now:
+He is not fierce, or grim, but fawns, and sooths me,
+And slides along, like Cleopatra's aspick,
+Offering his service to my troubled breast.
+
+_Leon._ Begin what you have purposed when you please;
+Lead her to scorn, your triumph shall be doubled.
+As holy priests,
+In pity, go with dying malefactors,
+So I will share her shame.
+
+_Poly._ You shall not have your will so much; first part them,
+Then execute your office.
+
+_Leon._ No; I'll die
+In her defence.                                    [_Draws his sword._
+
+_Palm._ Ah, hold, and pull not on
+A curse, to make me worthy of my death:
+Do not by lawless force oppose your father,
+Whom you have too much disobeyed for me.
+
+_Leon._ Here, take it, sir, and with it pierce my heart:
+                         [_Presenting his sword to his Father upon his
+                          knees._
+You have done more in taking my Palmyra.
+You are my father; therefore I submit.
+
+_Poly._ Keep him from any thing he may design
+Against his life, while the first fury lasts;
+And now perform what I commanded you.
+
+_Leon._ In vain; if sword and poison be denied me,
+I'll hold my breath and die.
+
+_Palm._ Farewell, my last Leonidas; yet live,
+I charge you, live, 'till you believe me dead.
+I cannot die in peace, if you die first;
+If life's a blessing, you shall have it last.
+
+_Poly._ Go on with her, and lead him after me.
+
+  _Enter_ ARGALEON _hastily, with_ HERMOGENES.
+
+_Arga._ I bring you, sir, such news as must amaze you,
+And such as will prevent you from an action,
+Which would have rendered all your life unhappy. [HERMOGENES _kneels._
+
+_Poly._ Hermogenes, you bend your knees in vain,
+My doom's already past.
+
+_Her._ I kneel not for Palmyra, for I know
+She will not need my prayers; but for myself:
+With a feigned tale I have abused your ears,
+And, therefore, merit death: but since, unforced,
+I first accuse myself, I hope your mercy.
+
+_Poly._ Haste to explain your meaning.
+
+_Her._ Then, in few words, Palmyra is your daughter.
+
+_Poly._ How can I give belief to this impostor?
+He, who has once abused me, often may.
+I'll hear no more.
+
+_Arga._ For your own sake, you must.
+
+_Her._ A parent's love,--for I confess my crime,--
+Moved me to say, Leonidas was yours;
+But when I heard Palmyra was to die,
+The fear of guiltless blood so stung my conscience,
+That I resolved, even with my shame, to save
+Your daughter's life.
+
+_Poly._ But how can I be certain, but that interest,
+Which moved you first to say your son was mine,
+Does not now move you too, to save your daughter?
+
+_Her._ You had but then my word; I bring you now
+Authentic testimonies. Sir, in short,
+                         [_Delivers on his knees a jewel, and letter._
+If this will not convince you, let me suffer.
+
+_Poly._ I know this jewel well; 'twas once my mother's,
+                                        [_Looking first on the jewel._
+Which, marrying, I presented to my wife.
+And this, O this is my Eudocia's hand.
+_This was the pledge of love given to Eudocia,_                [Reads.
+_Who, dying, to her young Palmyra leaves it;_
+_And this, when you, my dearest lord, receive,
+Own her, and think on me, dying Eudocia._
+Take it; 'tis well there is no more to read.               [_To_ ARGA.
+My eyes grow full, and swim in their own light.   [_He embraces_ PALM.
+
+_Palm._ I fear, sir, this is your intended pageant.
+You sport yourself at poor Palmyra's cost;
+But if you think to make me proud,
+Indeed I cannot be so: I was born
+With humble thoughts, and lowly, like my birth.
+A real fortune could not make me haughty,
+Much less a feigned.
+
+_Poly._ This was her mother's temper.
+I have too much deserved thou shouldst suspect
+That I am not thy father; but my love
+Shall henceforth show I am. Behold my eyes,
+And see a father there begin to flow:
+This is not feigned, Palmyra.
+
+_Palm._ I doubt no longer, sir; you are a king,
+And cannot lie: Falsehood's a vice too base
+To find a room in any royal breast.
+I know, in spite of my unworthiness,
+I am your child; for when you would have killed me,
+Methought I loved you then.
+
+_Arga._ Sir, we forget the prince Leonidas;
+His greatness should not stand neglected thus.
+
+_Poly._ Guards, you may now retire; Give him his sword,
+And leave him free.
+
+_Leon._ Then the first use I make of liberty
+Shall be, with your permission, mighty sir,
+To pay that reverence to which nature binds me.
+                                              [_Kneels to_ HERMOGENES.
+
+_Arga._ Sure you forget your birth, thus to misplace
+This act of your obedience; you should kneel
+To nothing but to heaven, and to a king.
+
+_Leon._ I never shall forget what nature owes,
+Nor be ashamed to pay it; though my father
+Be not a king, I know him brave and honest,
+And well deserving of a worthier son.
+
+_Poly._ He bears it gallantly.
+
+_Leon._ Why would you not instruct me, sir, before,        [_To_ HERM.
+Where I should place my duty?
+From which, if ignorance have made me swerve,
+I beg your pardon for an erring son.
+
+_Palm._ I almost grieve I am a princess, since
+It makes him lose a crown.
+
+_Leon._ And next, to you, my king, thus low I kneel,
+To implore your mercy; if in that small time
+I had the honour to be thought your son,
+I paid not strict obedience to your will.
+I thought, indeed, I should not be compelled,
+But thought it as your son; so what I took
+In duty from you, I restored in courage;
+Because your son should not be forced.
+
+_Poly._ You have my pardon for it.
+
+_Leon._ To you, fair princess, I congratulate
+Your birth; of which I ever thought you worthy:
+And give me leave to add, that I am proud
+The gods have picked me out to be the man,
+By whose dejected fate yours is to rise;
+Because no man could more desire your fortune,
+Or franklier part with his, to make you great.
+
+_Palm._ I know the king, though you are not his son,
+Will still regard you as my foster-brother,
+And so conduct you downward from a throne,
+By slow degrees, so unperceived and soft,
+That it may seem no fall: Or, if it be,
+May fortune lay a bed of down beneath you!
+
+_Poly._ He shall be ranked with my nobility,
+And kept from scorn by a large pension given him.
+
+_Leon._ You are all great and royal in your gifts;          [_Bowing._
+But at the donor's feet I lay them down:
+Should I take riches from you, it would seem
+As I did want a soul to bear that poverty,
+To which the gods designed my humble birth:
+And should I take your honours without merit,
+It would appear, I wanted manly courage
+To hope them, in your service, from my sword.
+
+_Poly._ Still brave, and like yourself.
+The court shall shine this night in its full splendour,
+And celebrate this new discovery.
+Argaleon, lead my daughter: As we go,
+I shall have time to give her my commands,
+In which you are concerned.                [_Exeunt all but_ LEONIDAS.
+
+_Leon._ Methinks, I do not want
+That huge long train of fawning followers,
+That swept a furlong after me.
+'Tis true I am alone;
+So was the godhead, ere he made the world,
+And better served himself, than served by nature.
+And yet I have a soul
+Above this humble fate. I could command,
+Love to do good, give largely to true merit,
+All that a king should do: But though these are not
+My province, I have scene enough within,
+To exercise my virtue.
+All that a heart, so fixed as mine, can move,
+Is, that my niggard fortune starves my love.                  [_Exit._
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+  PALAMEDE _and_ DORALICE _meet: She, with a book in her hand, seems
+  to start at the sight of him._
+
+_Dor._ 'Tis a strange thing that no warning will serve your turn; and
+that no retirement will secure me from your impertinent addresses! Did
+not I tell you, that I was to be private here at my devotions?
+
+_Pala._ Yes; and you see I have observed my cue exactly: I am come to
+relieve you from them. Come, shut up, shut up your book; the man's
+come who is to supply all your necessities.
+
+_Dor._ Then, it seems, you are so impudent to think it was an
+assignation? This, I warrant, was your lewd interpretation of my
+innocent meaning.
+
+_Pala._ Venus forbid, that I should harbour so unreasonable a thought
+of a fair young lady, that you should lead me hither into temptation.
+I confess, I might think indeed it was a kind of honourable challenge,
+to meet privately without seconds, and decide the difference betwixt
+the two sexes; but heaven forgive me, if I thought amiss.
+
+_Dor._ You thought too, I'll lay my life on't, that you might as well
+make love to me, as my husband does to your mistress.
+
+_Pala._ I was so unreasonable to think so too.
+
+_Dor._ And then you wickedly inferred, that there was some justice in
+the revenge of it; or, at least, but little injury for a man to
+endeavour to enjoy that, which he accounts a blessing, and which is
+not valued as it ought by the dull possessor. Confess your
+wickedness,--did you not think so?
+
+_Pala._ I confess I was thinking so, as fast as I could; but you think
+so much before me, that you will let me think nothing.
+
+_Dor._ 'Tis the very thing that I designed; I have forestalled all
+your arguments, and left you without a word more, to plead for mercy.
+If you have any thing farther to offer, ere sentence pass--Poor
+animal, I brought you hither only for my diversion.
+
+_Pala._ That you may have, if you'll make use of me the right way; but
+I tell thee, woman, I am now past talking.
+
+_Dor._ But it may be, I came hither to hear what fine things you could
+say for yourself.
+
+_Pala._ You would be very angry, to my knowledge, if I should lose so
+much time to say many of them.--By this hand you would!
+
+_Dor._ Fye, Palamede, I am a woman of honour.
+
+_Pala._ I see you are; you have kept touch with your assignation: And
+before we part, you shall find that I am a man of honour. Yet I have
+one scruple of conscience--
+
+_Dor._ I warrant you will not want some naughty argument, or other, to
+satisfy yourself.--I hope you are afraid of betraying your friend?
+
+_Pala._ Of betraying my friend! I am more afraid of being betrayed by
+you to my friend. You women now are got into the way of telling first
+yourselves: A man, who has any care of his reputation, will be loth to
+trust it with you.
+
+_Dor._ O, you charge your faults upon our sex! You men are like cocks;
+you never make love, but you clap your wings, and crow when you have
+done.
+
+_Pala._ Nay, rather you women are like hens; you never lay, but you
+cackle an hour after, to discover your nest.--But I'll venture it for
+once.
+
+_Dor._ To convince you that you are in the wrong, I'll retire into the
+dark grotto, to my devotion, and make so little noise, that it shall
+be impossible for you to find me.
+
+_Pala._ But if I find you--
+
+_Dor._ Ay, if you find me--But I'll put you to search in more corners
+than you imagine.                    [_She runs in, and he after her._
+
+  _Enter_ RHODOPHIL _and_ MELANTHA.
+
+_Mel._ Let me die, but this solitude, and that grotto are scandalous;
+I'll go no further; besides, you have a sweet lady of your own.
+
+_Rho._ But a sweet mistress, now and then, makes my sweet lady so much
+more sweet.
+
+_Mel._ I hope you will not force me?
+
+_Rho._ But I will, if you desire it.
+
+_Pala._ [_Within._] Where the devil are you, madam? 'Sdeath, I begin
+to be weary of this hide and seek: If you stay a little longer, till
+the fit's over, I'll hide in my turn, and put you to the finding me.
+[_He enters, and sees_ RHODOPHIL _and_ MELANTHA.] How! Rhodophil and
+my mistress!
+
+_Mel._ My servant, to apprehend me! this is _surprenant au dernier_.
+
+_Rho._ I must on; there's nothing but impudence can help me out.
+
+_Pala._ Rhodophil, how came you hither in so good company?
+
+_Rho._ As you see, Palamede; an effect of pure friendship; I was not
+able to live without you.
+
+_Pala._ But what makes my mistress with you?
+
+_Rho._ Why, I heard you were here alone, and could not in civility but
+bring her to you.
+
+_Mel._ You'll pardon the effects of a passion which I may now avow for
+you, if it transported me beyond the rules of _bienseance._
+
+_Pala._ But, who told you I was here? they, that told you that, may
+tell you more, for aught I know.
+
+_Rho._ O, for that matter, we had intelligence.
+
+_Pala._ But let me tell you, we came hither so very privately, that
+you could not trace us.
+
+_Rho._ Us! what us? you are alone.
+
+_Pala._ Us! the devil's in me for mistaking:--me, I meant. Or us, that
+is, you are me, or I you, as we are friends: That's us.
+
+_Dor._ Palamede, Palamede!                                  [_Within._
+
+_Rho._ I should know that voice; who's within there, that calls you?
+
+_Pala._ Faith, I can't imagine; I believe the place is haunted.
+
+_Dor._ Palamede, Palamede, all-cocks hidden.                [_Within._
+
+_Pala._ Lord, Lord, what shall I do?--Well, dear friend, to let you
+see I scorn to be jealous, and that I dare trust my mistress with you,
+take her back, for I would not willingly have her frighted, and I am
+resolved to see who's there; I'll not be daunted with a bugbear,
+that's certain:--Prithee, dispute it not, it shall be so; nay do not
+put me to swear, but go quickly: There's an effort of pure friendship
+for you now.
+
+  _Enter_ DORALICE, _and looks amazed, seeing them._
+
+_Rho._ Doralice! I am thunder-struck to see you here.
+
+_Pala._ So am I! quite thunder-struck. Was it you, that called me
+within?--I must be impudent.
+
+_Rho._ How came you hither, spouse?
+
+_Pala._ Ay, how came you hither? And, which is more, how could you be
+here without my knowledge?
+
+_Dor._ [_To her husband._] O, gentlemen, have I caught you i'faith!
+have I broke forth in ambush upon you! I thought my suspicions would
+prove true.
+
+_Rho._ Suspicions! this is very fine, spouse! Prithee, what
+suspicions?
+
+_Dor._ O, you feign ignorance: Why, of you and Melantha; here have I
+staid these two hours, waiting with all the rage of a passionate,
+loving wife, but infinitely jealous, to take you two in the manner;
+for hither I was certain you would come.
+
+_Rho._ But you are mistaken, spouse, in the occasion; for we came
+hither on purpose to find Palamede, on intelligence he was gone
+before.
+
+_Pala._ I'll be hanged then, if the same party, who gave you
+intelligence I was here, did not tell your wife you would come hither.
+Now I smell the malice on't on both sides.
+
+_Dor._ Was it so, think you? nay, then, I'll confess my part of the
+malice too. As soon as ever I spied my husband and Melantha come
+together, I had a strange temptation to make him jealous in revenge;
+and that made me call Palamede, Palamede! as though there had been an
+intrigue between us.
+
+_Mel._ Nay, I avow, there was an appearance of an intrigue between us
+too.
+
+_Pala._ To see how things will come about!
+
+_Rho._ And was it only thus, my dear Doralice?             [_Embrace._
+
+_Dor._ And did I wrong n'own Rhodophil, with a false suspicion?
+                                                     [_Embracing him._
+
+_Pala._ [_Aside._] Now I am confident we had all four the same design:
+'Tis a pretty odd kind of game this, where each of us plays for double
+stakes: This is just thrust and parry with the same motion; I am to
+get his wife, and yet to guard my own mistress. But I am vilely
+suspicious, that, while I conquer in the right wing, I shall be routed
+in the left; for both our women will certainly betray their party,
+because they are each of them for gaining of two, as well as we; and I
+much fear.
+
+  If their necessities and ours were known,
+  They have more need of two, than we of one.
+                                     [_Exeunt, embracing one another._
+
+
+ACT IV. SCENE I.
+
+  _Enter_ LEONIDAS, _musing;_ AMALTHEA, _following him._
+
+_Amal._ Yonder he is; and I must speak or die;
+And yet 'tis death to speak: yet he must know
+I have a passion for him, and may know it
+With a less blush; because to offer it
+To his low fortunes, shows I loved before,
+His person, not his greatness.
+
+_Leon._ First scorned, and now commanded from the court!
+The king is good; but he is wrought to this
+By proud Argaleon's malice.
+What more disgrace can love and fortune join
+To inflict upon one man? I cannot now
+Behold my dear Palmyra: She, perhaps, too,
+Is grown ashamed of a mean ill-placed love.
+
+_Amal._ Assist me, Venus, for I tremble when
+I am to speak, but I must force myself.                      [_Aside._
+Sir, I would crave but one short minute with you,
+And some few words.
+
+_Leon._ The proud Argaleon's sister!                         [_Aside._
+
+_Amal._ Alas! it will not out; Shame stops my mouth.
+                                                             [_Aside._
+Pardon my error, sir; I was mistaken,
+And took you for another.
+
+_Leon._ In spite of all his guards, I'll see Palmyra;        [_Aside._
+Though meanly born, I have a kingly soul.
+
+_Amal._ I stand upon a precipice, where fain
+I would retire, but love still thrusts me on:
+Now I grow bolder, and will speak to him.                    [_Aside._
+Sir, 'tis indeed to you that I would speak,
+And if--
+
+_Leon._ O, you are sent to scorn my fortunes?
+Your sex and beauty are your privilege;
+But should your brother--
+
+_Amal._ Now he looks angry, and I dare not speak.
+I had some business with you, sir,
+But 'tis not worth your knowledge.
+
+_Leon._ Then 'twill be charity to let me mourn
+My griefs alone, for I am much disordered.
+
+_Amal._ 'Twill be more charity to mourn them with you:
+Heaven knows I pity you.
+
+_Leon._ Your pity, madam,
+Is generous, but 'tis unavailable.
+
+_Amal._ You know not till 'tis tried.
+Your sorrows are no secret; you have lost
+A crown, and mistress.
+
+_Leon._ Are not these enough?
+Hang two such weights on any other soul,
+And see if it can bear them.
+
+_Amal._ More; you are banished, by my brother's means,
+And ne'er must hope again to see your princess;
+Except as prisoners view fair walks and streets,
+And careless passengers going by their grates,
+To make them feel the want of liberty.
+But, worse than all,
+The king this morning has enjoined his daughter
+To accept my brother's love.
+
+_Leon._ Is this your pity?
+You aggravate my griefs, and print them deeper,
+In new and heavier stamps.
+
+_Amal._ 'Tis as physicians show the desperate ill,
+To endear their art, by mitigating pains
+They cannot wholly cure: When you despair
+Of all you wish, some part of it, because
+Unhoped for, may be grateful; and some other--
+
+_Leon._ What other?
+
+_Amal._ Some other may--
+My shame again has seized me, and I can go                   [_Aside._
+No farther.
+
+_Leon._ These often failing sighs and interruptions
+Make me imagine you have grief like mine:
+Have you ne'er loved?
+
+_Amal._ I? never!--'Tis in vain:
+I must despair in silence.                                   [_Aside._
+
+_Leon._ You come, as I suspected then, to mock,
+At least observe, my griefs: Take it not ill,
+That I must leave you.                                    [_Is going._
+
+_Amal._ You must not go with these unjust opinions.
+Command my life and fortunes: you are wise;
+Think, and think well, what I can do to serve you.
+
+_Leon._ I have but one thing in my thoughts and wishes:
+If, by your means, I can obtain the sight
+Of my adored Palmyra; or, what's harder,
+One minute's time, to tell her, I die hers--       [_She starts back._
+I see I am not to expect it from you;
+Nor could, indeed, with reason.
+
+_Amal._ Name any other thing! Is Amalthea
+So despicable, she can serve your wishes
+In this alone?
+
+_Leon._ If I should ask of heaven,
+I have no other suit.
+
+_Amal._ To show you, then, I can deny you nothing,
+Though 'tis more hard to me than any other,
+Yet I will do it for you.
+
+_Leon._ Name quickly, name the means! speak, my good angel!
+
+_Amal._ Be not so much o'erjoyed; for, if you are,
+I'll rather die than do't. This night the court
+Will be in masquerade;
+You shall attend on me; in that disguise
+You may both see and speak to her,
+If you dare venture it.
+
+_Leon._ Yes; were a god her guardian,
+And bore in each hand thunder, I would venture.
+
+_Amal._ Farewell, then; two hours hence I will expect you:--
+My heart's so full, that I can stay no longer.                [_Exit._
+
+_Leon._ Already it grows dusky: I'll prepare
+With haste for my disguise. But who are these?
+
+  _Enter_ HERMOGENES _and_ EUBULUS.
+
+_Her._ 'Tis he; we need not fear to speak to him.
+
+_Eub._ Leonidas?
+
+_Leon._ Sure I have known that voice.
+
+_Her._ You have some reason, sir: 'tis Eubulus,
+Who bred you with the princess; and, departing,
+Bequeathed you to my care.
+
+_Leon._ My foster-father! let my knees express
+My joys for your return!                                  [_Kneeling._
+
+_Eub._ Rise, sir; you must not kneel.
+
+_Leon._ E'er since you left me,
+I have been wandering in a maze of fate,
+Led by false fires of a fantastic glory,
+And the vain lustre of imagined crowns.
+But, ah! why would you leave me? or how could you
+Absent yourself so long?
+
+_Eub._ I'll give you a most just account of both:
+And something more I have to tell you, which
+I know must cause your wonder; but this place,
+Though almost hid in darkness, is not safe.
+Already I discern some coming towards us            [_Torches appear._
+With lights, who may discover me. Hermogenes,
+Your lodgings are hard by, and much more private.
+
+_Her._ There you may freely speak.
+
+_Leon._ Let us make haste;
+For some affairs, and of no small importance,
+Call me another way.                                        [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+  _Enter_ PALAMEDE _and_ RHODOPHIL, _with Vizor Masques in their
+  Hands, and Torches before them._
+
+_Pala._ We shall have noble sport to-night, Rhodophil; this
+masquerading is a most glorious invention.
+
+_Rho._ I believe it was invented first by some jealous lover, to
+discover the haunts of his jilting mistress; or, perhaps, by some
+distressed servant, to gain an opportunity with a jealous man's wife.
+
+_Pala._ No, it must be the invention of a woman, it has so much of
+subtilty and love in it.
+
+_Rho._ I am sure 'tis extremely pleasant; for to go unknown, is the
+next degree to going invisible.
+
+_Pala._ What with our antic habits and feigned voices,--_Do you know
+me?_ and--_I know you,_--methinks we move and talk just like so many
+overgrown puppets.
+
+_Rho._ Masquerade is only vizor-mask improved; a heightening of the
+same fashion.
+
+_Pala._ No, masquerade is vizor-mask in debauch, and I like it the
+better for't: for, with a vizor-mask, we fool ourselves into
+courtship, for the sake of an eye that glanced; or a hand that stole
+itself out of the glove sometimes, to give us a sample of the skin:
+But in masquerade there is nothing to be known, she's all _terra
+incognita_; and the bold discoverer leaps ashore, and takes his lot
+among the wild Indians and savages, without the vile consideration of
+safety to his person, or of beauty, or wholesomeness in his mistress.
+
+  _Enter_ BELIZA.
+
+_Rho._ Beliza, what make you here?
+
+_Bel._ Sir, my lady sent me after you, to let you know, she finds
+herself a little indisposed; so that she cannot be at court, but is
+retired to rest in her own apartment, where she shall want the
+happiness of your dear embraces to night.
+
+_Rho._ A very fine phrase, Beliza, to let me know my wife desires to
+lie alone.
+
+_Pala._ I doubt, Rhodophil, you take the pains sometimes to instruct
+your wife's woman in these elegancies.
+
+_Rho._ Tell my dear lady, that since I must be so unhappy as not to
+wait on her to-night, I will lament bitterly for her absence. 'Tis
+true I shall be at court, but I will take no divertisement there; and
+when I return to my solitary bed, if I am so forgetful of my passion
+as to sleep, I will dream of her; and betwixt sleep and waking, put
+out my foot towards her side, for midnight consolation; and, not
+finding her, I will sigh, and imagine myself a most desolate widower.
+
+_Bel._ I shall do your commands, sir.                         [_Exit._
+
+_Rho._ [_Aside._] She's sick as aptly for my purpose, as if she had
+contrived it so. Well, if ever woman was a help-mate for man, my
+spouse is so; for within this hour I received a note from Melantha,
+that she would meet me this evening in masquerade, in boys' habit, to
+rejoice with me before she entered into fetters; for I find she loves
+me better than Palamede, only because he's to be her husband. There's
+something of antipathy in the word _marriage_ to the nature of love:
+marriage is the mere ladle of affection, that cools it when 'tis never
+so fiercely boiling over.
+
+_Pala._ Dear Rhodophil, I must needs beg your pardon; there is an
+occasion fallen out which I had forgot: I cannot be at court to-night.
+
+_Rho._ Dear Palamede, I am sorry we shall not have one course together
+at the herd; but I find your game lies single: Good fortune to you
+with your mistress.                                           [_Exit._
+
+_Pala._ He has wished me good fortune with his wife; there's no sin in
+this then, there's fair leave given. Well, I must go visit the sick; I
+cannot resist the temptations of my charity. O what a difference will
+she find betwixt a dull resty husband and a quick vigorous lover! He
+sets out like a carrier's horse, plodding on, because he knows he
+must, with the bells of matrimony chiming so melancholy about his
+neck, in pain till he's at his journey's end; and, despairing to get
+thither, he is fain to fortify imagination with the thoughts of
+another woman: I take heat after heat, like a well-breathed courser,
+and--But hark, what noise is that? Swords! [_Clashing of swords
+within._] Nay, then, have with you.                      [_Exit_ PALA.
+
+  _Re-enter_ PALAMEDE, _with_ RHODOPHIL; _and_ DORALICE _in man's
+  habit._
+
+_Rho._ Friend, your relief was very timely, otherwise I had been
+oppressed.
+
+_Pala._ What was the quarrel?
+
+_Rho._ What I did was in rescue of this youth.
+
+_Pala._ What cause could he give them?
+
+_Dor._ The cause was nothing but only the common cause of fighting in
+masquerades: They were drunk, as I was sober.
+
+_Rho._ Have they not hurt you?
+
+_Dor._ No; but I am exceeding ill with the fright on't.
+
+_Pala._ Let's lead him to some place, where he may refresh himself.
+
+_Rho._ Do you conduct him then.
+
+_Pala._ [_Aside._] How cross this happens to my design of going to
+Doralice! for I am confident she was sick on purpose that I should
+visit her. Hark you, Rhodophil, could not you take care of the
+stripling? I am partly engaged to-night.
+
+_Rho._ You know I have business; but come, youth, if it must be so.
+
+_Dor._ to _Rho._ No, good sir, do not give yourself that trouble; I
+shall be safer, and better pleased with your friend here.
+
+_Rho._ Farewell, then; once more I wish you a good adventure.
+
+_Pala._ Damn this kindness! now must I be troubled with this young
+rogue, and miss my opportunity with Doralice.
+                               [_Exit_ RHO. _alone;_ PALA. _with_ DOR.
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+  _Enter_ POLYDAMUS.
+
+_Poly._ Argaleon counselled well to banish him:
+He has, I know not what,
+Of greatness in his looks, and of high fate,
+That almost awes me; but I fear my daughter,
+Who hourly moves me for him; and I marked,
+She sighed when I but named Argaleon to her.
+But see, the maskers: Hence, my cares, this night!
+At least take truce, and find me on my pillow.
+
+  _Enter the Princess in masquerade, with Ladies. At the other end,_
+  ARGALEON _and Gentlemen in masquerade; then_ LEONIDAS _leading_
+  AMALTHEA. _The King sits. A Dance. After the Dance,_
+
+_Amal._ to _Leon._ That's the princess;
+I saw the habit ere she put it on.
+
+_Leon._ I know her by a thousand other signs;
+She cannot hide so much divinity.
+Disguised, and silent, yet some graceful motion
+Breaks from her, and shines round her like a glory.
+                                                   [_Goes to_ PALMYRA.
+
+_Amal._ Thus she reveals herself, and knows it not;
+Like love's dark lanthorn, I direct his steps,
+And yet he sees not that, which gives him light.
+
+_Palm._ I know you; but, alas! Leonidas,
+Why should you tempt this danger on yourself?
+
+_Leon._ Madam, you know me not, if you believe;
+I would not hazard greater for your sake.
+But you, I fear, are changed.
+
+_Palm._ No, I am still the same;
+But there are many things became Palmyra,
+Which ill become the princess.
+
+_Leon_, I ask nothing
+Which honour will not give you leave to grant:
+One hour's short audience, at my father's house,
+You cannot sure refuse me.
+
+_Palm._ Perhaps I should, did I consult strict virtue;
+But something must be given to love and you.
+When would you I should come?
+
+_Leon._ This evening, with the speediest opportunity.
+I have a secret to discover to you,
+Which will surprise and please you.
+
+_Palm._ 'Tis enough.
+Go now; for we may be observed and known.
+I trust your honour; give me not occasion
+To blame myself, or you.
+
+_Leon._ You never shall repent your good opinion.
+                                         [_Kisses her hand, and Exit._
+
+_Arga._ I cannot be deceived; that is the princess:
+One of her maids betrayed the habit to me.
+But who was he with whom she held discourse?
+'Tis one she favours, for he kissed her hand.
+Our shapes are like, our habits near the same;
+She may mistake, and speak to me for him.
+I am resolved; I'll satisfy my doubts,
+Though to be more tormented.
+
+                                SONG.
+
+        I.
+
+  _Whilst Alexis lay prest
+    In her arms he loved best,
+  With his hands round her neck,
+    And his head on her breast,
+  He found the fierce pleasure too hasty to stay,
+  And his soul in the tempest just flying away._
+
+        II.
+
+  _When Caelia saw this,
+  With a sigh and a kiss,
+  She cried,--O, my dear, I am robbed of my bliss!
+  'Tis unkind to your love, and unfaithfully done,
+  To leave me behind you, and die all alone._
+
+        III.
+
+  _The youth, though in haste,
+  And breathing his last,
+  In pity died slowly, while she died more fast;
+  Till at length she cried,--Now, my dear, now let us go;
+  Now die, my Alexis, and I will die too!_
+
+        IV.
+
+  _Thus entranced they did lie,
+  Till Alexis did try
+  To recover new breath, that again he might die:
+  Then often they died; but the more they did so,
+  The nymph died more quick, and the shepherd more slow._
+
+  _Another Dance. After it,_ ARGALEON _re-enters, and stands by the
+  Princess._
+
+_Palm._ Leonidas, what means this quick return?            [_To_ ARGA.
+
+_Arga._ O heaven! 'tis what I feared.
+
+_Palm._ Is aught of moment happened since you went?
+
+_Arga._ No, madam; but I understood not fully
+Your last commands.
+
+_Palm._ And yet you answered to them.
+Retire; you are too indiscreet a lover:
+I'll meet you where I promised.                               [_Exit._
+
+_Arga._ O my curst fortune! what have I discovered!
+But I will be revenged.                       [_Whispers to the King._
+
+_Poly._ But are you certain you are not deceived?
+
+_Arga._ Upon my life.
+
+_Poly._ Her honour is concerned.
+Somewhat I'll do; but I am yet distracted,
+And know not where to fix. I wished a child,
+And heaven, in anger, granted my request.
+So blind we are, our wishes are so vain,
+That what we most desire, proves most our pain.             [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE IV.
+
+  _An Eating-house. Bottles of Wine on the table._ PALAMEDE, _and_
+  DORALICE, _in Man's Habit._
+
+_Dor._ [_Aside._] Now cannot I find in my heart to discover myself,
+though I long he should know me.
+
+_Pala._ I tell thee, boy, now I have seen thee safe, I must be gone: I
+have no leisure to throw away on thy raw conversation; I am a person
+that understands better things, I.
+
+_Dor._ Were I a woman, oh how you would admire me! cry up every word I
+said, and screw your face into a submissive smile; as I have seen a
+dull gallant act wit, and counterfeit pleasantness, when he whispers
+to a great person in a play-house; smile, and look briskly, when the
+other answers, as if something of extraordinary had past betwixt them,
+when, heaven knows, there was nothing else but,--What a clock does
+your lordship think it is? And my lord's _repartee_ is,--It is almost
+park-time: or, at most,--Shall we out of the pit, and go behind the
+scenes for an act or two--And yet such fine things as these would be
+wit in a mistress's mouth.
+
+_Pala._ Ay, boy; there dame Nature's in the case: He, who cannot find
+wit in a mistress, deserves to find nothing else, boy. But these are
+riddles to thee, child, and I have not leisure to instruct thee; I
+have affairs to dispatch, great affairs; I am a man of business.
+
+_Dor._ Come, you shall not go: You have no affairs but what you may
+dispatch here, to my knowledge.
+
+_Pala._ I find now, thou art a boy of more understanding than I
+thought thee; a very lewd wicked boy: O' my conscience, thou would'st
+debauch me, and hast some evil designs upon my person.
+
+_Dor._ You are mistaken, sir; I would only have you shew me a more
+lawful reason why you would leave me, than I can why you should not,
+and I'll not stay you; for I am not so young, but I understand the
+necessities of flesh and blood, and the pressing occasions of mankind,
+as well as you.
+
+_Pala._ A very forward and understanding boy! thou art in great danger
+of a page's wit, to be brisk at fourteen, and dull at twenty. But I'll
+give thee no further account; I must, and will go.
+
+_Dor._ My life on it, your mistress is not at home.
+
+_Pala._ This imp will make me very angry.--I tell thee, young sir, she
+is at home, and at home for me; and, which is more, she is a-bed for
+me, and sick for me.
+
+_Dor._ For you only?
+
+_Pala._ Aye, for me only.
+
+_Dor._ But how do you know she's sick a-bed?
+
+_Pala._ She sent her husband word so.
+
+_Dor._ And are you such a novice in love, to believe a wife's message
+to her husband?
+
+_Pala._ Why, what the devil should be her meaning else?
+
+_Dor._ It may be, to go in masquerade, as well as you; to observe your
+haunts, and keep you company without your knowledge.
+
+_Pala._ Nay, I'll trust her for that: She loves me too well, to
+disguise herself from me.
+
+_Dor._ If I were she, I would disguise on purpose to try your wit; and
+come to my servant like a riddle,--Read me, and take me.
+
+_Pala._ I could know her in any shape: My good genius would prompt me
+to find out a handsome woman: There's something that would attract me
+to her without my knowledge.
+
+_Dor._ Then you make a load-stone of your mistress?
+
+_Pala._ Yes, and I carry steel about me, which has been so often
+touched, that it never fails to point to the north pole.
+
+_Dor._ Yet still my mind gives me, that you have met her disguised
+to-night, and have not known her.
+
+_Pala._ This is the most pragmatical conceited little fellow, he will
+needs understand my business better than myself. I tell thee, once
+more, thou dost not know my mistress.
+
+_Dor._ And I tell you once more, that I know her better than you do.
+
+_Pala._ The boy's resolved to have the last word. I find I must go
+without reply.                                                [_Exit._
+
+_Dor._ Ah mischief, I have lost him with my fooling. Palamede,
+Palamede!
+
+  _He returns. She plucks off her peruke, and puts it on again when he
+  knows her._
+
+_Pala._ O heavens! is it you, madam?
+
+_Dor._ Now, where was your good genius, that would prompt you to find
+me out?
+
+_Pala._ Why, you see I was not deceived; you yourself were my good
+genius.
+
+_Dor._ But where was the steel, that knew the load-stone? Ha?
+
+_Pala._ The truth is, madam, the steel has lost its virtue: and,
+therefore, if you please, we'll new touch it.
+
+  _Enter_ RHODOPHIL; _and_ MELANTHA _in Boys habit._ RHODOPHIL _sees_
+  PALAMEDE _kissing_ DORALICE'S _hand._
+
+_Rho._ Palamede again! am I fallen into your quarters? What? Engaging
+with a boy? Is all honourable?
+
+_Pala._ O, very honourable on my side. I was just chastising this
+young villain; he was running away, without paying his share of the
+reckoning.
+
+_Rho._ Then I find I was deceived in him.
+
+_Pala._ Yes, you are deceived in him: 'tis the archest rogue, if you
+did but know him.
+
+_Mel._ Good Rhodophil, let us get off _a-la derobbee_, for fear I
+should be discovered.
+
+_Rho._ There's no retiring now; I warrant you for discovery. Now have
+I the oddest thought, to entertain you before your servant's face, and
+he never the wiser; it will be the prettiest juggling trick, to cheat
+him when he looks upon us.
+
+_Mel._ This is the strangest caprice in you.
+
+_Pala._ [_to_ DORALICE.] This Rhodophil's the unluckiest fellow to me!
+this is now the second time he has barred the dice when we were just
+ready to have nicked him; but if ever I get the box again--
+
+_Dor._ Do you think he will not know me? Am I like myself?
+
+_Pala._ No more than a picture in the hangings.
+
+_Dor._ Nay, then he can never discover me, now the wrong side of the
+arras is turned towards him.
+
+_Pala._ At least, it will be some pleasure to me, to enjoy what
+freedom I can while he looks on; I will storm the out-works of
+matrimony even before his face.
+
+_Rho._ What wine have you there, Palamede?
+
+_Pala._ Old Chios, or the rogue's damn'd that drew it.
+
+_Rho._ Come,--to the most constant of mistresses! that, I believe, is
+yours, Palamede.
+
+_Dor._ Pray spare your seconds; for my part I am but a weak brother.
+
+_Pala._ Now,--to the truest of turtles! that is your wife, Rhodophil,
+that lies sick at home, in the bed of honour.
+
+_Rho._ Now let us have one common health, and so have done.
+
+_Dor._ Then, for once, I'll begin it. Here's to him that has the
+fairest lady of Sicily in masquerade to night.
+
+_Pala._ This is such an obliging health, I'll kiss thee, dear rogue,
+for thy invention.                                      [_Kisses her._
+
+_Rho._ He, who has this lady, is a happy man, without dispute,--I'm
+most concerned in this, I am sure.                           [_Aside._
+
+_Pala._ Was it not well found out, Rhodophil?
+
+_Mel._ Ay, this was _bien trouvee_ indeed.
+
+_Dor._ [_to_ MELANTHA.] I suppose I shall do you a kindness, to
+enquire if you have not been in France, sir?
+
+_Mel._ To do you service, sir.
+
+_Dor._ O, monsieur, _votre valet bien humble_.        [_Saluting her._
+
+_Mel._ _Votre esclave, monsieur, de tout mon coeur._
+                                              [_Returning the salute._
+
+_Dor._ I suppose, sweet sir, you are the hope and joy of some thriving
+citizen, who has pinched him self at home, to breed you abroad, where
+you have learned your exercises, as it appears, most awkwardly, and
+are returned, with the addition of a new-laced bosom and a clap, to
+your good old father, who looks at you with his mouth, while you spout
+French with your man monsieur.
+
+_Pala._ Let me kiss thee again for that, dear rogue.
+
+_Mel._ And you, I imagine, are my young master, whom your mother durst
+not trust upon salt-water, but left you to be your own tutor at
+fourteen, to be very brisk and _entreprenant_, to endeavour to be
+debauched ere you have learned the knack of it, to value yourself upon
+a clap before you can get it, and to make it the height of your
+ambition to get a player for your mistress.
+
+_Rho._ [_embracing_ MELANTHA.] O dear young bully thou hast tickled
+him with a _repartee_, i'faith.
+
+_Mel._ You are one of those that applaud our country plays, where
+drums, and trumpets, and blood, and wounds, are wit.
+
+_Rho._ Again, my boy? Let me kiss thee most abundantly.
+
+_Dor._ You are an admirer of the dull French poetry, which is so thin,
+that it is the very leaf-gold of wit, the very wafers and whip'd cream
+of sense, for which a man opens his mouth, and gapes, to swallow
+nothing: And to be an admirer of such profound dulness, one must be
+endowed with a great perfection of impudence and ignorance.
+
+_Pala._ Let me embrace thee most vehemently.
+
+_Mel._ I'll sacrifice my life for French poetry.         [_Advancing._
+
+_Dor._ I'll die upon the spot for our country wit.
+
+_Rho._ [_to_ MELANTHA.] Hold, hold, young Mars! Palamede, draw back
+your hero.
+
+_Pala._ 'Tis time; I shall be drawn in for a second else at the wrong
+weapon.
+
+_Mel._ O that I were a man, for thy sake!
+
+_Dor._ You'll be a man as soon as I shall.
+
+  _Enter a Messenger to_ RHODOPHIL.
+
+_Mess._ Sir, the king has instant business with you;
+I saw the guard drawn up by your lieutenant,
+Before the palace-gate, ready to march.
+
+_Rho._ 'Tis somewhat sudden; say that I am coming.  [_Exit Messenger._
+Now, Palamede, what think you of this sport?
+This is some sudden tumult; will you along?
+
+_Pala._ Yes, yes, I will go; but the devil take me if ever I was less
+in humour. Why the pox could they not have staid their tumult till
+to-morrow? Then I had done my business, and been ready for them. Truth
+is, I had a little transitory crime to have committed first; and I am
+the worst man in the world at repenting, till a sin be thoroughly
+done: But what shall we do with the two boys?
+
+_Rho._ Let them take a lodging in the house, 'till the business be
+over.
+
+_Dor._ What, lie with a boy? For my part, I own it, I cannot endure to
+lie with a boy.
+
+_Pala._ The more's my sorrow, I cannot accommodate you with a better
+bed-fellow.
+
+_Mel._ Let me die, if I enter into a pair of sheets with him that
+hates the French.
+
+_Dor._ Pish, take no care for us, but leave us in the streets; I
+warrant you, as late as it is, I'll find my lodging as well as any
+drunken bully of them all.
+
+_Rho._ I'll light in mere revenge, and wreak my passion,
+On all that spoil this hopeful assignation.                  [_Aside._
+
+_Pala._ I'm sure we light in a good quarrel:
+Rogues may pretend religion, and the laws;
+But a kind mistress is the good old cause.                  [_Exuent._
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+  _Enter_ PALMYRA, EUBULUS, _and_ HERMOGENES.
+
+_Palm._ You tell me wonders; that Leonidas
+Is prince Theagenes, the late king's son.
+
+_Eub._ It seems as strange to him, as now to you,
+Before I had convinced him; but, besides
+His great resemblance to the king his father,
+The queen his mother lives, secured by me
+In a religious house, to whom, each year,
+I brought the news of his increasing virtues.
+My last long absence from you both was caused
+By wounds, which in my journey I received,
+When set upon by thieves; I lost those jewels
+And letters, which your dying mother left.
+
+_Herm._ The same he means, which, since, brought to the king,
+Made him first know he had a child alive:
+'Twas then my care of prince Leonidas,
+Caused me to say he was the usurper's son;
+Till after, forced by your apparent danger,
+I made the true discovery of your birth,
+And once more hid my prince's.
+
+  _Enter_ LEONIDAS.
+
+_Leon._ Hermogenes, and Eubulus, retire;
+Those of our party, whom I left without,
+Expect your aid and counsel.                [_Exeunt_ HERM. _and_ EUB.
+
+_Palm._ I should, Leonidas, congratulate
+This happy change of your exalted fate;
+But, as my joy, so you my wonder move.
+Your looks have more of business than of love;
+And your last words some great design did shew.
+
+_Leon._ I frame not any to be hid from you;
+You, in my love, all my designs may see.
+But what have love and you designed for me?
+Fortune, once more, has set the balance right;
+First, equalled us in lowness; then, in height.
+Both of us have so long, like gamesters, thrown,
+Till fate comes round, and gives to each his own.
+As fate is equal, so may love appear:
+Tell me, at least, what I must hope, or fear.
+
+_Palm._ After so many proofs, how can you call
+My love in doubt? Fear nothing, and hope all.
+Think what a prince, with honour, may receive,
+Or I may give, without a parent's leave.
+
+_Leon._ You give, and then restrain the grace you shew;
+As ostentatious priests, when souls they woo,
+Promise their heaven to all, but grant to few.
+But do for me, what I have dared for you:
+I did no argument from duty bring;
+Duty's a name, and love's a real thing.
+
+_Palm._ Man's love may, like wild torrents, overflow;
+Woman's as deep, but in its banks must go.
+My love is mine, and that I can impart;
+But cannot give my person, with my heart.
+
+_Leon._ Your love is then no gift:
+For, when the person it does not convey,
+'Tis to give gold, and not to give the key.
+
+_Palm._ Then ask my father.
+
+_Leon._ He detains my throne;
+Who holds back mine, will hardly give his own.
+
+_Palm._ What then remains?
+
+_Leon._ That I must have recourse
+To arms, and take my love and crown, by force.
+Hermogenes is forming the design;
+And with him all the brave and loyal join.
+
+_Palm._ And is it thus you court Palmyra's bed?
+Can she the murderer of her parent wed?
+Desist from force: So much you well may give
+To love, and me, to let my father live.
+
+_Leon._ Each act of mine my love to you has shewn;
+But you who tax my want of it, have none.
+You bid me part with you, and let him live;
+But they should nothing ask, who nothing give.
+
+_Palm._ I give what virtue, and what duty can,
+In vowing ne'er to wed another man.
+
+_Leon._ You will be forced to be Argaleon's wife.
+
+_Palm._ I'll keep my promise, though I lose my life.
+
+_Leon._ Then you lose love, for which we both contend;
+For life is but the means, but love's the end.
+_Palm._ Our souls shall love hereafter.
+
+_Leon._ I much fear,
+That soul, which could deny the body here
+To taste of love, would be a niggard there.
+
+_Palm._ Then 'tis past hope: our cruel fate, I see,
+Will make a sad divorce 'twixt you and me.
+For, if you force employ, by heaven I swear,
+And all blessed beings,--
+
+_Leon._ Your rash oath forbear.
+
+_Palm._ I never--
+
+_Leon._ Hold once more. But yet, as he,
+Who 'scapes a dangerous leap, looks back to see;
+So I desire, now I am past my fear,
+To know what was that oath you meant to swear.
+
+_Palm._ I meant, that if you hazarded your life,
+Or sought my father's, ne'er to be your wife.
+
+_Leon._ See now, Palmyra, how unkind you prove!
+Could you, with so much ease, forswear my love?
+
+_Palm._ You force me with your ruinous design.
+
+_Leon._ Your father's life is more your care, than mine.
+
+_Palm._ You wrong me: 'Tis not, though it ought to be;
+You are my care, heaven knows, as well as he.
+
+_Leon._ If now the execution I delay,
+My honour, and my subjects, I betray.
+All is prepared for the just enterprise;
+And the whole city will to-morrow rise.
+The leaders of the party are within,
+And Eubulus has sworn that he will bring,
+To head their arms, the person of their king.
+
+_Palm._ In telling this, you may be guilty too;
+I therefore must discover what I know:
+What honour bids you do, nature bids me prevent;
+But kill me first, and then pursue your black intent.
+
+_Leon._ Palmyra, no; you shall not heed to die;
+Yet I'll not trust so strict a piety.
+Within there!
+
+  _Enter_ EUBULUS.
+
+Eubulus, a guard prepare;
+Here, I commit this prisoner to your care.
+                 [_Kisses_ PALMYRA'S _hand, then gives it to_ EUBULUS.
+
+_Palm._ Leonidas, I never thought these bands
+Could e'er be given me by a lover's hands.
+
+_Leon._ Palmyra, thus your judge himself arraigns;        [_Kneeling._
+He, who imposed these bands, still wears your chains:
+When you to love or duty false must be,
+Or to your father guilty, or to me,
+These chains, alone, remain to set you free.
+                                          [_Noise of swords clashing._
+
+_Poly._ [_within._]
+Secure these, first: then search the inner room.
+
+_Leon._ From whence do these tumultuous clamours come?
+
+  _Enter_ HERMOGENES, _hastily._
+
+_Herm._ We are betrayed; and there remains alone
+This comfort, that your person is not known.
+
+  _Enter the King,_ ARGALEON, RHODOPHIL, PALAMEDE, _Guards; some like
+  citizens, as prisoners._
+
+_Poly._ What mean these midnight consultations here,
+Where I like an unsummoned guest appear?
+
+_Leon._ Sir--
+
+_Arga._ There needs no excuse; 'tis understood;
+You were all watching for your prince's good.
+
+_Poly._ My reverend city friends, you are well met!
+On what great work were your grave wisdoms set?
+Which of my actions were you scanning here?
+What French invasion have you found to fear?
+
+_Leon._ They are my friends; and come, sir, with intent,
+To take their leaves, before my banishment.
+
+_Poly._ Your exile in both sexes friends can find:
+I see the ladies, like the men, are kind.           [_Seeing_ PALMYRA.
+
+_Palm._ Alas, I came but--                                [_Kneeling._
+
+_Poly._ Add not to your crime
+A lie: I'll hear you speak some other time.
+How? Eubulus! nor time, nor thy disguise,
+Can keep thee undiscovered from my eyes.
+A guard there! seize them all.
+
+_Rho._ Yield, sir; what use of valour can be shewn?
+
+_Pala._ One, and unarmed, against a multitude!
+
+_Leon._ Oh for a sword!   [_He reaches at one of the Guards' halberds,
+                           and is seized behind._
+I wonnot lose my breath
+In fruitless prayers; but beg a speedy death.
+
+_Palm._ O spare Leonidas, and punish me!
+
+_Poly._ Mean girl, thou want'st an advocate for thee.
+Now the mysterious knot will be untied;
+Whether the young king lives, or where he died:
+To-morrow's dawn shall the dark riddle clear,
+Crown all my joys, and dissipate my fear.                   [_Exeunt._
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+
+  PALAMEDE, STRATO. PALAMEDE _with a letter in his hand._
+
+_Pala._ This evening, sayest thou? will they both be here?
+
+_Stra._ Yes, sir, both my old master, and your mistress's father. The
+old gentlemen ride hard this journey; they say, it shall be the last
+time they will see the town; and both of them are so pleased with this
+marriage, which they have concluded for you, that I am afraid they
+will live some years longer to trouble you, with the joy of it.
+
+_Pala._ But this is such an unreasonable thing, to impose upon me to
+be married to-morrow; 'tis hurrying a man to execution, without giving
+him time to say his prayers.
+
+_Stra._ Yet, if I might advise you, sir, you should not delay it; for
+your younger brother comes up with them, and is got already into their
+favours. He has gained much upon my old master, by finding fault with
+innkeepers' bills, and by starving us, and our horses, to shew his
+frugality; and he is very well with your mistress's father, by giving
+him recipes for the spleen, gout and scurvy, and other infirmities of
+old age.
+
+_Pala._ I'll rout him, and his country education: Pox on him, I
+remember him before I travelled, he had nothing in him but mere
+jockey; used to talk loud, and make matches, and was all for the crack
+of the field: Sense and wit were as much banished from his discourse,
+as they are when the court goes out of town to a horse race. Go now
+and provide your master's lodgings.
+
+_Stra._ I go, sir.                                            [_Exit._
+
+_Pala._ It vexes me to the heart, to leave all my designs with
+Doralice unfinished; to have flown her so often to a mark, and still
+to be bobbed at retrieve: If I had once enjoyed her, though I could
+not have satisfied my stomach with the feast, at least I should have
+relished my mouth a little; but now--
+
+  _Enter_ PHILOTIS.
+
+_Phil._ Oh, sir, you are happily met; I was coming to find you.
+
+_Pala._ From your lady. I hope.
+
+_Phil._ Partly from her; but more especially from myself: She has just
+now received a letter from her father, with an absolute command to
+dispose herself to marry you to-morrow.
+
+_Pala._ And she takes it to the death?
+
+_Phil._ Quite contrary: The letter could never have come in a more
+lucky minute; for it found her in an ill-humour with a rival of yours,
+that shall be nameless, about the pronunciation of a French word.
+
+_Pala._ Count Rhodophil? never disguise it, I know the amour: But I
+hope you took the occasion to strike in for me?
+
+_Phil._ It was my good fortune to do you some small service in it; for
+your sake I discommended him all over,--clothes, person, humour,
+behaviour, every thing; and, to sum up all, told her, it was
+impossible to find a married man that was otherwise; for they were all
+so mortified at home with their wives' ill humours, that they could
+never recover themselves to be company abroad.
+
+_Pala._ Most divinely urged!
+
+_Phil._ Then I took occasion to commend your good qualities; as the
+sweetness of your humour, the comeliness of your person, your good
+mein, your valour; but, above all, your liberality.
+
+_Pala._ I vow to Gad I had like to have forgot that good quality in
+myself, if thou hadst not remembered me of it: Here are five pieces
+for thee.
+
+_Phil._ Lord, you have the softest hand, sir, it would do a woman good
+to touch it: Count Rhodophil's is not half so soft; for I remember I
+felt it once, when he gave me ten pieces for my new-years-gift.
+
+_Pala._ O, I understand you, madam; you shall find my hand as soft
+again as Count Rhodophil's: There are twenty pieces for you. The
+former was but a retaining fee; now I hope you'll plead for me.
+
+_Phil._ Your own merits speak enough. Be sure only to ply her with
+French words, and I'll warrant you'll do your business. Here are a
+list of her phrases for this day: Use them to her upon all occasions
+and foil her at her own weapon; for she's like one of the old Amazons,
+she'll never marry, except it be the man who has first conquered her.
+
+_Pala._ I'll be sure to follow your advice: But you'll forget to
+further my design.
+
+_Phil._ What, do you think I'll be ungrateful?--But however, if you
+distrust my memory, put some token on my finger to remember it by:
+That diamond there would do admirably.
+
+_Pala._ There 'tis; and I ask your pardon heartily for calling your
+memory into question: I assure you I'll trust it another time, without
+putting you to the trouble of another token.
+
+  _Enter_ PALMYRA _and_ ARTEMIS.
+
+_Art._ Madam, this way the prisoners are to pass; Here you may see
+Leonidas.
+
+_Palm._ Then here I'll stay, and follow him to death.
+
+  _Enter_ MELANTHA, _hastily._
+
+_Mel._ O, here's her highness! Now is my time to introduce myself, and
+to make my court to her, in my new French phrases. Stay, let me read
+my catalogue--_Suite_, _figure_, _chagrin_, _naivete_, and _let me
+die_, for the parenthesis of all.
+
+_Pala._ [_Aside._] Do, persecute her; and I'll persecute thee as fast
+in thy own dialect.
+
+_Mel._ Madam, the princess! let me die, but this is a most horrid
+spectacle, to see a person, who makes so grand a figure in the court,
+without the _suite_ of a princess, and entertaining your _chagrin_ all
+alone:--_Naivete_ should have been there, but the disobedient word
+would not come in.                                           [_Aside._
+
+_Palm._ What is she, Artemis?
+
+_Art._ An impertinent lady, madam; very ambitious of being known to
+your highness.
+
+_Pala._ [_To_ MELANTHA.] Let me die, madam, if I have not waited you
+here these two long hours, without so much as the _suite_ of a single
+servant to attend me; entertaining myself with my own _chagrin_ till I
+had the honour of seeing your ladyship, who are a person that makes so
+considerable a figure in the court.
+
+_Mel._ Truce with your _douceurs_, good servant; you see I am
+addressing to the princess; pray do not _embarrass_ me--_Embarrass_
+me! what a delicious French word do you make me lose upon you too!
+[_To the Princess._] Your highness, madam, will please to pardon the
+_beveue_ which I made, in not sooner finding you out to be a princess:
+But let me die if this _eclaircissement_, which is made this day of
+your quality, does not ravish me; and give me leave to tell you--
+
+_Pala._ But first give me leave to tell you, madam, that I have so
+great a _tendre_ for your person, and such a _penchant_ to do you
+service, that--
+
+_Mel._ What, must I still be troubled with your _sottises_? (There's
+another word lost, that I meant for the princess, with a mischief to
+you!) But your highness, madam--
+
+_Pala._ But your ladyship, madam--
+
+  _Enter_ LEONIDAS, _guarded and led over the stage._
+
+_Mel._ Out upon him, how he looks, madam! now he's found no prince, he
+is the strangest figure of a man; how could I make that _coup
+d'etourdi_ to think him one?
+
+_Palm._ Away, impertinent!--my dear Leonidas!
+
+_Leon._ My dear Palmyra!
+
+_Palm._ Death shall never part us; my destiny is yours.
+                                        [_He is led off, she follows._
+
+_Mel._ Impertinent! Oh I am the most unfortunate person this day
+breathing: That the princess should thus _rompre en visiere_, without
+occasion. Let me die, but I'll follow her to death, till I make my
+peace.
+
+_Pala._ [_Holding her._] And let me die, but I'll follow you to the
+infernals, till you pity me.
+
+_Mel._ [_Turning towards him angrily._] Ay, 'tis long of you that this
+_malheur_ is fallen upon me; your impertinence has put me out of the
+good graces of the princess, and all that, which has ruined me, and
+all that, and, therefore, let me die, but I'll be revenged, and all
+that.
+
+Pala. _Facon, facon,_ you must and shall love me, and all that; for my
+old man is coming up, and all that; and I am _desespere au dernier_,
+and will not be disinherited, and all that.
+
+_Mel._ How durst you interrupt me so _mal apropos_, when you knew I
+was addressing to the princess?
+
+_Pala._ But why would you address yourself so much _a contretemps_
+then?
+
+_Mel._ Ah, _mal peste!_
+
+_Pala._ Ah, _j'enrage!_
+
+Phil. _Radoucissez vous, de grace, madame; vous etes bien en colere
+pour peu de chose. Vous n'entendez pas la raillerie gallante._
+
+Mel. _Ad autres, ad autres_: He mocks himself of me,[1] he abuses me:
+Ah me unfortunate!                                           [_Cries._
+
+_Phil._ You mistake him, madam, he does but accommodate his phrase to
+your refined language. _Ah qu'il est un cavalier accompli!_ Pursue
+your point, sir--                                           [_To him._
+
+Pala. _Ah qu'il fait beau dans ces boccages;_ [Singing.] _Ah que le
+ciet donne un beau jour!_ There I was with you, with a _minuet._
+
+_Mel._ Let me die now, but this singing is fine, and extremely French
+in him: [_Laughs._] But then, that he should use my own words, as it
+were in contempt of me, I cannot bear it.                   [_Crying._
+
+Pala. _Ces beaux sejours, ces doux ramages_--                [Singing.
+
+Mel. _Ces beaux sejours, ces doux ramages._ [Singing after him.] _Ces
+beaux sejours nous invitent a l'amour!_ Let me die, but he sings _en
+cavalier_, and so humours the cadence!                    [_Laughing._
+
+Pala. _Foy, ma Clymene, voy sous ce chene._ [Singing again.]
+_S'entrebaiser ces oiseaux amoreux!_ Let me die now, but that was
+fine. Ah, now, for three or four brisk Frenchmen, to be put into
+masking habits, and to sing it on a theatre, how witty it would be!
+and then to dance helter skelter to a _chanson a boire: Toute la
+terre, toute la terre est a moi!_ What's matter though it were made
+and sung two or three years ago in _cabarets_, how it would attract
+the admiration, especially of every one that's an _eveille!_
+
+_Mel._ Well; I begin to have a _tendre_ for you; but yet, upon
+condition, that--when we are married, you--
+                                      [PAL. _sings, while she speaks._
+
+_Phil._ You must drown her voice: If she makes her French conditions,
+you are a slave for ever.
+
+_Mel._ First, you will engage--that--
+
+_Pala._ Fa, la, la, la, &c.                                 [_Louder._
+
+_Mel._ Will you hear the conditions?
+
+_Pala._ No; I will hear no conditions; I am resolved to win you _en
+Francois_: To be very airy, with abundance of noise, and no sense: Fa
+la, la, la, &c.
+
+_Mel._ Hold, hold: I am vanquished with your _gayete d'esprit._ I am
+yours, and will be yours, _sans nulle reserve, ni condition_: And let
+me die, if I do not think myself the happiest nymph in Sicily--My
+dear French dear, stay but a _minuite_, till I _raccommode_ myself
+with the princess; and then I am yours, _jusqu' a la mort. Allons
+donc._--                                            [Exeunt MEL. PHIL.
+
+_Palu._ [_Solus, fanning himself with his hat._] I never thought
+before that wooing was so laborious an exercise; if she were worth a
+million, I have deserved her; and now, methinks too, with taking all
+this pains for her, I begin to like her. 'Tis so; I have known many,
+who never cared for hare nor partridge, but those they caught
+themselves would eat heartily: The pains, and the story a man tells of
+the taking them, makes the meat go down more pleasantly. Besides, last
+night I had a sweet dream of her, and, gad, she I have once dreamed
+of, I am stark mad till I enjoy her, let her be never so ugly.
+
+  _Enter_ DORALICE.
+
+_Dor._ Who's that you are so mad to enjoy, Palamede?
+
+_Pala._ You may easily imagine that, sweet Dorarlice.
+
+_Dor._ More easily than you think I can: I met just now with a certain
+man, who came to you with letters from a certain old gentleman,
+y'cleped your father; whereby I am given to understand, that to-morrow
+you are to take an oath in the church to be grave henceforward, to go
+ill-dressed and slovenly, to get heirs for your estate, and to dandle
+them for your diversion; and, in short, that love and courtship are to
+be no more.
+
+_Pala._ Now have I so much shame to be thus apprehended in the manner,
+that I can neither speak nor look upon you; I have abundance of grace
+in me, that I find: But if you have any spark of true friendship in
+you, retire with me a little into the next room, that hath a couch or
+bed in it, and bestow your charity upon a dying man! A little comfort
+from a mistress, before a man is going to give himself in marriage, is
+as good as a lusty dose of strong-water to a dying malefactor: it
+takes away the sense of hell and hanging from him.
+
+_Dor._ No, good Palamede, I must not be so injurious to your bride:
+'Tis ill drawing from the bank to-day, when all your ready money is
+payable to-morrow.
+
+_Pala._ A wife is only to have the ripe fruit, that falls of itself;
+but a wise man will always preserve a shaking for a mistress.
+
+_Dor._ But a wife for the first quarter is a mistress.
+
+_Pala._ But when the second comes--
+
+_Dor._ When it does come, you are so given to variety, that you would
+make a wife of me in another quarter.
+
+_Pala._ No, never, except I were married to you: married people can
+never oblige one another; for all they do is duty, and consequently
+there can be no thanks: But love is more frank and generous than he is
+honest; he's a liberal giver, but a cursed pay-master.
+
+_Dor._ I declare I will have no gallant; but, if I would, he should
+never be a married man; a married man is but a mistress's
+half-servant, as a clergyman is but the king's half-subject: For a man
+to come to me that smells of the wife! 'Slife, I would as soon wear
+her old gown after her, as her husband.
+
+_Pala._ Yet 'tis a kind of fashion to wear a princess's cast shoes;
+you see the country ladies buy them, to be fine in them.
+
+_Dor._ Yes, a princess's shoes may be worn after her, because they
+keep their fashion, by being so very little used; but generally a
+married man is the creature of the world the most out of fashion: his
+behaviour is dumpish; his discourse, his wife and family; his habit so
+much neglected, it looks as if that were married too; his hat is
+married, his peruke is married, his breeches are married,--and, if we
+could look within his breeches, we should find him married there too.
+
+_Pala._ Am I then to be discarded for ever? pray do but mark how that
+word sounds: for ever! it has a very damn'd sound, Doralice.
+
+_Dor._ Ay, for ever! it sounds as hellishly to me, as it can do to
+you, but there's no help for it.
+
+_Pala._ Yet, if we had but once enjoyed one another!--but then once
+only, is worse than not at all: It leaves a man with such a lingering
+after it.
+
+_Dor._ For aught I know, 'tis better that we have not; we might upon
+trial have liked each other less, as many a man and woman, that have
+loved as desperately as we, and yet, when they came to possession,
+have sighed and cried to themselves, Is this all?
+
+_Pala._ That is only, if the servant were not found a man of this
+world; but if, upon trial, we had not liked each other, we had
+certainly left loving; and faith, that's the greater happiness of the
+two.
+
+_Dor._ 'Tis better as 'tis; we have drawn off already as much of our
+love as would run clear; after possessing, the rest is but jealousies,
+and disquiets, and quarrelling, and piecing.
+
+_Pala._ Nay, after one great quarrel, there's never any sound piecing;
+the love is apt to break in the same place again.
+
+_Dor._ I declare I would never renew a love; that's like him, who
+trims an old coach for ten years together; he might buy a new one
+better cheap.
+
+_Pala._ Well, madam, I am convinced, that 'tis best for us not to have
+enjoyed; but, gad, the strongest reason is, because I can't help it.
+
+_Dor._ The only way to keep us new to one another is never to enjoy,
+as they keep grapes, by hanging them upon a line; they must touch
+nothing, if you would preserve them fresh.
+
+_Pala._ But then they wither, and grow dry in the very keeping;
+however, I shall have a warmth for you, and an eagerness, every time I
+see you; and, if I chance to out-live Melantha--
+
+_Dor._ And if I chance to out-live Rhodophil--
+
+_Pala._ Well, I'll cherish my body as much as I can, upon that hope.
+'Tis true, I would not directly murder the wife of my bosom; but, to
+kill her civilly, by the way of kindness, I'll put as fair as another
+man: I'll begin to-morrow night, and be very wrathful with her; that's
+resolved on.
+
+_Dor._ Well, Palamede, here's my hand, I'll venture to be your second
+wife, for all your threatenings.
+
+_Pala._ In the mean time I'll watch you hourly, as I would the
+ripeness of a melon; and I hope you'll give me leave now and then to
+look on you, and to see if you are not ready to be cut yet.
+
+_Dor._ No, no, that must not be, Palamede, for fear the gardener
+should come and catch you taking up the glass.
+
+  _Enter_ RHODOPHIL.
+
+_Rho._ [_Aside._] Billing so sweetly! now I am confirmed in my
+suspicions; I must put an end to this ere it go farther--[_To_
+DORALICE.] Cry you mercy, spouse, I fear I have interrupted your
+recreations.
+
+_Dor._ What recreations?
+
+_Rho._ Nay, no excuses, good spouse; I saw fair hand conveyed to lip,
+and prest, as though you had been squeezing soft wax together for an
+indenture. Palamede, you and I must clear this reckoning: why would
+you have seduced my wife?
+
+_Pala._ Why would you have debauched my mistress?
+
+_Rho._ What do you think of that civil couple, that played at a game,
+called Hide and Seek, last evening in the grotto?
+
+_Pala._ What do you think of that innocent pair, who made it their
+pretence to seek for others, but came, indeed, to hide themselves
+there?
+
+_Rho._ All things considered, I begin vehemently to suspect, that the
+young gentleman I found in your company last night, was a certain
+youth of my acquaintance.
+
+_Pala._ And I have an odd imagination, that you could never have
+suspected my small gallant, if your little villainous Frenchman had
+not been a false brother.
+
+_Rho._ Further arguments are needless; draw off; I shall speak to you
+now by the way of _bilbo_.             [_Claps his hand to his sword._
+
+_Pala._ And I shall answer you by the way of Dangerfield[2].
+                                             [_Claps his hand on his._
+
+_Dor._ Hold, hold; are not you two a couple of mad fighting fools, to
+cut one another's throats for nothing?
+
+_Pala._ How for nothing? He courts the woman I must marry.
+
+_Rho._ And he courts you, whom I have married.
+
+_Dor._ But you can neither of you be jealous of what you love not.
+
+_Rho._ Faith, I am jealous, and this makes me partly suspect that I
+love you better than I thought.
+
+_Dor._ Pish! a mere jealousy of honour.
+
+_Rho._ Gad, I am afraid there's something else in't; for Palamede has
+wit, and, if he loves you, there's something more in ye than I have
+found: Some rich mine, for aught I know, that I have not yet
+discovered.
+
+_Pala._ 'Slife, what's this? Here's an argument for me to love
+Melantha; for he has loved her, and he has wit too, and, for aught I
+know, there may be a mine; but, if there be, I am resolved I'll dig
+for it.
+
+_Dor._ [_To_ RHODOPHIL.] Then I have found my account in raising your
+jealousy. O! 'tis the most delicate sharp sauce to a cloyed stomach;
+it will give you a new edge, Rhodophil.
+
+_Rho._ And a new point too, Doralice, if I could be sure thou art
+honest.
+
+_Dor._ If you are wise, believe me for your own sake: Love and
+religion have but one thing to trust to; that's a good sound faith.
+Consider, if I have played false, you can never find it out by any
+experiment you can make upon me.
+
+_Rho._ No? Why, suppose I had a delicate screwed gun; if I left her
+clean, and found her foul, I should discover, to my cost, she had been
+shot in.
+
+_Dor._ But if you left her clean, and found her only rusty, you would
+discover, to your shame, she was only so for want of shooting.
+
+_Pala._ Rhodophil, you know me too well to imagine I speak for fear;
+and therefore, in consideration of our past friendship, I will tell
+you, and bind it by all things holy, that Doralice is innocent.
+
+_Rho._ Friend, I will believe you, and vow the same for your Melantha;
+but the devil on't is, how shall we keep them so?
+
+_Pala._ What dost think of a blessed community betwixt us four, for
+the solace of the women, and relief of the men? Methinks it would be a
+pleasant kind of life: Wife and husband for the standing dish, and
+mistress and gallant for the desert.
+
+_Rho._ But suppose the wife and mistress should both long for the
+standing dish, how should they be satisfied together?
+
+_Pala._ In such a case they must draw lots; and yet that would not do
+neither, for they would both be wishing for the longest cut.
+
+_Rho._ Then I think, Palamede, we had as good make a firm league, not
+to invade each other's propriety.
+
+_Pala._ Content, say I. From henceforth let all acts of hostility
+cease betwixt us; and that, in the usual form of treaties, as well by
+sea as land, and in all fresh waters.
+
+_Dor._ I will add but one _proviso_, that whoever breaks the league,
+either by war abroad, or neglect at home, both the women shall revenge
+themselves by the help of the other party.
+
+_Rho._ That's but reasonable. Come away, Doralice; I have a great
+temptation to be sealing articles in private.
+
+_Pala._ Hast thou so?                    [_Claps him on the shoulder._
+
+  "Fall on, Macduff,
+  And cursed be he that first cries, Hold, enough."
+
+  _Enter_ POLYDAMAS, PALMYRA, ARTEMIS, ARGALEON: _After them_ EUBULUS
+  _and_ HERMOGENES, guarded.
+
+_Palm._ Sir, on my knees I beg you--
+
+_Poly._ Away, I'll hear no more.
+
+_Palm._ For my dead mother's sake; you say you loved her,
+And tell me I resemble her. Thus she
+Had begged.
+
+_Poly._ And thus I had denied her.
+
+_Palm._ You must be merciful.
+
+_Arga._ You must be constant.
+
+_Poly._ Go, bear them to the torture; you have boasted
+You have a king to head you; I would know
+To whom I must resign.
+
+_Eub._ This is our recompence
+For serving thy dead queen.
+
+_Herm._ And education
+Of thy daughter.
+
+_Arga._ You are too modest, in not naming all
+His obligations to you: Why did you
+Omit his son, the prince Leonidas?
+
+_Poly._ That imposture
+I had forgot; their tortures shall be doubled.
+
+_Herm._ You please me; I shall die the sooner.
+
+_Eub._ No; could I live an age, and still be racked,
+I still would keep the secret.               [_As they are going off,_
+
+  _Enter_ LEONIDAS, _guarded._
+
+_Leon._ Oh, whither do you hurry innocence!
+If you have any justice, spare their lives;
+Or, if I cannot make you just, at least
+I'll teach you to more purpose to be cruel.
+
+_Palm._ Alas, what does he seek!
+
+_Leon._ Make me the object of your hate and vengeance:
+Are these decrepid bodies, worn to ruin,
+Just ready of themselves to fall asunder.
+And to let drop the soul,--
+Are these fit subjects for a rack and tortures?
+Where would you fasten any hold upon them?
+Place pains on me,--united fix them here,--
+I have both youth, and strength, and soul to bear them;
+And, if they merit death, then I much more,
+Since 'tis for me they suffer.
+
+_Herm._ Heaven forbid
+We should redeem our pains, or worthless lives,
+By our exposing yours.
+
+_Eub._ Away with us. Farewell, sir:
+I only suffer in my fears for you.
+
+_Arga._ So much concerned for him! Then my                   [_Aside._
+Suspicion's true.                                [_Whispers the King._
+
+_Palm._ Hear yet my last request for poor Leonidas,
+Or take my life with his.
+
+_Arga._ Rest satisfied, Leonidas is he.                [_To the King._
+
+_Poly._ I am amazed: What must be done?
+
+_Arga._ Command his execution instantly:
+Give him not leisure to discover it;
+He may corrupt the soldiers.
+
+_Poly._ Hence with that traitor, bear him to his death:
+Haste there, and see my will performed.
+
+_Leon._ Nay, then, I'll die like him the gods have made me.
+Hold, gentlemen, I am--                   [ARGALEON _stops his mouth._
+
+_Arga._ Thou art a traitor; 'tis not fit to hear thee.
+
+_Leon._ I say, I am the--                   [_Getting loose a little._
+
+_Arga._ So; gag him, and lead him off.    [_Again stopping his mouth._
+                            [LEONIDAS, HERMOGENES, EUBULUS, _led off;_
+                             POLYDAMAS _and_ ARGALEON _follow._
+
+_Palm._ Duty and love, by turns, possess my soul
+And struggle for a fatal victory.
+I will discover he's the king:--Ah, no!
+That will perhaps save him;
+But then I'm guilty of a father's ruin.
+What shall I do, or not do? Either way
+I must destroy a parent, or a lover.
+Break heart; for that's the least of ills to me,
+And death the only cure.                                    [_Swoons._
+
+_Arte._ Help, help the princess.
+
+_Rho._ Bear her gently hence, where she may
+Have more succour.           [_She is borne off;_ ARTE. _follows her._
+                             [_Shouts within, and clashing of swords._
+
+_Pala._ What noise is that?
+
+  _Enter_ AMALTHEA, _running._
+
+_Amal._ Oh, gentlemen, if you have loyalty,
+Or courage, show it now! Leonidas,
+Broke on the sudden from his guards, and snatching
+A sword from one, his back against the scaffold,
+Bravely defends himself, and owns aloud
+He is our long-lost king; found for this moment,
+But, if your valour helps not, lost for ever.
+Two of his guards, moved by the sense of virtue,
+Are turned for him, and there they stand at bay
+Against an host of foes.
+
+_Rho._ Madam, no more;
+We lose time; my command, or my example,
+May move the soldiers to the better cause.
+You'll second me?                                          [_To_ PALA.
+
+_Pala._ Or die with you: No subject e'er can meet
+A nobler fate, than at his sovereign's feet.                [_Exeunt._
+                             [_Clashing of swords within, and shouts._
+
+  _Enter_ LEONIDAS, RHODOPHIL, PALAMEDE, EUBULUS, HERMOGENES, _and
+  their Party, victorious;_ POLYDAMAS _and_ ARGALEON, _disarmed._
+
+_Leon._ That I survive the dangers of this day,
+Next to the gods, brave friends, be yours the honour;
+And, let heaven witness for me, that my joy
+Is not more great for this my right restored,
+Than 'tis, that I have power to recompense
+Your loyalty and valour. Let mean princes,
+Of abject souls, fear to reward great actions;
+I mean to shew,
+That whatsoe'er subjects, like you, dare merit,
+A king, like me, dares give.
+
+_Rho._ You make us blush, we have deserved so little.
+
+_Pala._ And yet instruct us how to merit more.
+
+_Leon._ And as I would be just in my rewards,
+So should I in my punishments; these two,
+This, the usurper of my crown, the other,
+Of my Palmyra's love, deserve that death,
+Which both designed for me.
+
+_Poly._ And we expect it.
+
+_Arga._ I have too long been happy, to live wretched.
+
+_Poly._ And I too long have governed, to desire
+A life without an empire.
+
+_Leon._ You are Palmyra's father; and as such,
+Though not a king, shall have obedience paid
+From him who is one. Father, in that name
+All injuries forgot, and duty owned.                  [_Embraces him._
+
+_Poly._ O, had I known you could have been this king,
+Thus god-like, great and good, I should have wished
+To have been dethroned before. 'Tis now I live,
+And more than reign; now all my joys flow pure,
+Unmixed with cares, and undisturbed by conscience.
+
+  _Enter_ PALMYRA, AMALTHEA, ARTEMIS, DORALICE, _and_ MELANTHA.
+
+_Leon._ See, my Palmyra comes! the frighted blood
+Scarce yet recalled to her pale cheeks,
+Like the first streaks of light broke loose from darkness,
+And dawning into blushes.--Sir, you said                   [_To_ POLY.
+Your joys were full; Oh, would you make mine so!
+I am but half restored without this blessing.
+
+_Poly._ The gods, and my Palmyra, make you happy,
+As you make me!                         [_Gives her hand to_ LEONIDAS.
+
+_Palm._ Now all my prayers are heard:
+I may be dutiful, and yet may love.
+Virtue and patience have at length unravelled
+The knots, which fortune tyed.
+
+_Mel._ Let me die, but I'll congratulate his majesty: How admirably
+well his royalty becomes him! Becomes! that is _lui sied_, but our
+damned language expresses nothing.
+
+_Pala._ How? Does it become him already? 'Twas but just now you said,
+he was such a figure of a man.
+
+_Mel_ True, my dear, when he was a private man he was a figure; but
+since he is a king, methinks he has assumed another figure: He looks
+so grand, and so august!                         [_Going to the King._
+
+_Pala._ Stay, stay; I'll present you when it is more convenient. I
+find I must get her a place at court; and when she is once there, she
+can be no longer ridiculous; for she is young enough, and pretty
+enough, and fool enough, and French enough, to bring up a fashion
+there to be affected.
+
+_Leon._ [_To_ RHODOPHIL.]
+Did she then lead you to this brave attempt?
+[_To_ AMALTHEA.] To you, fair Amalthea, what I am,
+And what all these, from me, we jointly owe:
+First, therefore, to your great desert we give
+Your brother's life; but keep him under guard
+Till our new power be settled. What more grace
+He may receive, shall from his future carriage
+Be given, as he deserves.
+
+_Arga._ I neither now desire, nor will deserve it;
+My loss is such as cannot be repaired,
+And, to the wretched, life can be no mercy.
+
+_Leon._ Then be a prisoner always: Thy ill fate
+And pride will have it so: But since in this I cannot,
+Instruct me, generous Amalthea, how
+A king may serve you.
+
+_Amal._ I have all I hope,
+And all I now must wish; I see you happy.
+Those hours I have to live, which heaven in pity
+Will make but few, I vow to spend with vestals:
+The greatest part in prayers for you; the rest
+In mourning my unworthiness.
+Press me not farther to explain myself;
+'Twill not become me, and may cause your trouble.
+
+_Leon._ Too well I understand her secret grief,              [_Aside._
+But dare not seem to know it.--Come, my fairest;        [_To_ PALMYRA.
+Beyond my crown I have one joy in store,
+To give that crown to her whom I adore.                     [_Exeunt._
+
+
+                              EPILOGUE.
+
+  Thus have my spouse and I informed the nation,
+  And led you all the way to reformation;
+  Not with dull morals, gravely writ, like those,
+  Which men of easy phlegm with care compose,--
+  Your poets, of stiff words and limber sense,
+  Born on the confines of indifference;
+  But by examples drawn, I dare to say,
+  From most of you who hear and see the play.
+  There are more Rhodophils in this theatre,
+  More Palamedes, and some few wives, I fear:
+  But yet too far our poet would not run;
+  Though 'twas well offered, there was nothing done.
+  He would not quite the women's frailty bare,
+  But stript them to the waist, and left them there:
+  And the men's faults are less severely shown,
+  For he considers that himself is one.--
+  Some stabbing wits, to bloody satire bent,
+  Would treat both sexes with less compliment;
+  Would lay the scene at home; of husbands tell,
+  For wenches, taking up their wives i' the Mall;
+  And a brisk bout, which each of them did want,
+  Made by mistake of mistress and gallant.
+  Our modest author thought it was enough
+  To cut you off a sample of the stuff:
+  He spared my shame, which you, I'm sure, would not,
+  For you were all for driving on the plot:
+  You sighed when I came in to break the sport,
+  And set your teeth when each design fell short.
+  To wives and servants all good wishes lend,
+  But the poor cuckold seldom finds a friend.
+  Since, therefore, court and town will take no pity,
+  I humbly cast myself upon the city.
+
+
+Footnotes:
+1. _He mocks himself of me_.] Melantha, like some modern coxcombs,
+   uses the idiom as well as the words of the French language.
+
+2. _Dangerfield._] A dramatic bully, whose sword and habit became
+   proverbial. "This gentleman, appearing with his mustaccios,
+   according to the Turkish manner, Cordubee hat, and strange
+   out-of-the-way clothes, just as if one had been dressed up to act
+   Captain Dangerfield in the play, &c." _Life of Sir Dudley North._
+
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+                                 THE
+
+                             ASSIGNATION;
+
+                                 OR,
+
+                          LOVE IN A NUNNERY.
+
+                                  A
+
+                               COMEDY.
+
+
+                      _Successum dea dira negat_
+                                   VIRG.
+
+
+
+
+                           THE ASSIGNATION.
+
+This play was unfortunate in the representation. It is needless, at
+the distance of more than a century, to investigate the grounds of the
+dislike of an audience, who, perhaps, could at the very time have
+given no good reason for their capricious condemnation of a play, not
+worse than many others which they received with applause. The author,
+in the dedication, hints at the "lameness of the action;" but, as the
+poet and performers are nearly equally involved in the disgrace of a
+condemned piece, it is a very natural desire on either side to assign
+the cause of its failure to the imperfections of the other; of which
+there is a ludicrous representation in a dialogue betwixt the player
+and the poet in "Joseph Andrews." Another cause of its unfavourable
+reception seems to have been, its second title of "Love in a Nunnery."
+Dryden certainly could, last of any man, have been justly suspected of
+an intention to ridicule the Duke of York and the Catholic religion;
+yet, as he fell under the same censure for the "Spanish Friar," it
+seems probable that such suspicions were actually entertained. The
+play certainly contains, in the present instance, nothing to justify
+them. In point of merit, "The Assignation" seems pretty much on a
+level with Dryden's other comedies; and certainly the spectators, who
+had received the blunders of Sir Martin Mar-all with such unbounded
+applause, might have taken some interest in those of poor Benito.
+Perhaps the absurd and vulgar scene, in which the prince pretends a
+fit of the cholic, had some share in occasioning the fall of the
+piece. This inelegant _jeu de theatre_ is severely ridiculed in the
+"Rehearsal."
+
+To one person, the damnation of this play seems to have afforded
+exquisite pleasure. This was Edward Ravenscroft, once a member of the
+Middle Temple,--an ingenious gentleman, of whose taste it may be held
+a satisfactory instance, that he deemed the tragedy of "Titus
+Andronicus" too mild for representation, and generously added a few
+more murders, rapes, and parricides, to that charnel-house of
+horrors[1]. His turn for comedy being at least equal to his success in
+the blood-stained buskin, Mr Ravenscroft translated and mangled
+several of the more farcical French comedies, which he decorated with
+the lustre of his own great name. Amongst others which he thus
+appropriated, were the most extravagant and buffoon scenes in
+Moliere's "_Bourgeois Gentilhomme_;" in which Monsieur Jourdain is,
+with much absurd ceremony, created a Turkish Paladin; and where
+Moliere took the opportunity to introduce an _entree de ballet_,
+danced and sung by the Mufti, dervises, and others, in eastern habits.
+Ravenscroft's translation, entitled "The Citizen turned Gentleman,"
+was acted in 1672, and printed in the same year; the jargon of the
+songs, like similar nonsense of our own day, seems to have been well
+received on the stage. Dryden, who was not always above feeling
+indignation at the bad taste and unjust preferences of the age,
+attacked Ravenscroft in the prologue to "The Assignation," as he had
+before, though less directly, in that of "Marriage a-la-Mode." Hence
+the exuberant and unrepressed joy of that miserable scribbler broke
+forth upon the damnation of Dryden's performance, in the following
+passage of a prologue to another of his pilfered performances, called
+"The Careless Lovers," acted, according to Langbaine, in the vacation
+succeeding the fall of "The Assignation," in 1673:
+
+  An author did, to please you, let his wit run,
+  Of late, much on a serving man and cittern;
+  And yet, you would not like the serenade,--
+  Nay, and you damned his nuns in masquerade:
+  You did his Spanish sing-song too abhor;
+  _Ah! que locura con tanto rigor!_
+  In fine, the whole by you so much was blamed,
+  To act their parts, the players were ashamed[2].
+  Ah, how severe your malice was that day!
+  To damn, at once, the poet and his play[3]:
+  But why was your rage just at that time shown,
+  When what the author writ was all his own?
+  Till then, he borrowed from romance, and did translate[4];
+  And those plays found a more indulgent fate.
+
+Ravenscroft, however, seems to have given the first offence; for, in
+the prologue to "The Citizen turned Gentleman," licensed 9th August
+1672, we find the following lines, obviously levelled at "The Conquest
+of Granada," and other heroic dramas of our author:
+
+  Then shall the knight, that had a knock in's cradle,
+  Such as Sir Martin and Sir Arthur Addle[5],
+  Be flocked unto, as the great heroes now
+  In plays of rhyme and noise, with wondrous show:--
+  Then shall the house, to see these Hectors kill and slay,
+  That bravely fight out the whole plot of the play,
+  Be for at least six months full every day.
+
+Langbaine, who quotes the lines from the prologue to Ravenscroft's
+"Careless Lovers," is of opinion, that he paid Dryden too
+great a compliment in admitting the originality of "The Assignation,"
+and labours to shew, that the characters are imitated from
+the "Romance Comique" of Scarron, and other novels of the
+time. But Langbaine seems to have been unable to comprehend,
+that originality consists in the mode of treating a subject, more
+than in the subject itself.
+
+"The Assignation" was acted in 1672, and printed in 1673.
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+1. In the prologue to this beautified edition, Ravenscroft modestly
+   tells us:
+
+     Like other poets, he'll not proudly scorn
+     To own, that he but winnowed Shakespeare's corn:
+     So far was he from robbing him of's treasure,
+     That he did add his own, to make full measure.
+
+2. This looks as if there had been some ground for Dryden's censure
+   upon the actors.
+
+3. A flat parody on the lines in Dryden's prologue, referring to
+   Mamamouchi:
+
+     Grimace and habit sent you pleased away:
+     You damned the poet, but cried up the play.
+
+4. It is somewhat remarkable, that the censure contained in what is
+   above printed like verses, recoils upon the head of the author, who
+   never wrote a single original performance. Langbaine, the
+   persecutor of all plagiarism, though he did not know very well in
+   what it consisted, threatens to "pull off Ravenscroft's disguise,
+   and discover the politic plagiary that lurks under it. I know,"
+   continues the biographer, "he has endeavoured to shew himself
+   master of the art of swift writing, and would persuade the world,
+   that what he writes is _extempore_ wit, and written _currente
+   calamo_. But I doubt not to shew, that though he would be thought
+   to imitate the silk-worm, that spins its web from its own bowels,
+   yet I shall make him appear like the leech, that lives upon the
+   blood of other men, drawn from the gums; and, when he is rubbed
+   with salt, spews it up again."
+
+5. Sir Martin Mar-all we are acquainted with. Sir Arthur Addle is a
+   similar character, in a play called "Sir Solomon, or, The Cautious
+   Coxcomb," attributed to one John Caryll.
+
+
+
+
+                                  TO
+
+                       MY MOST HONOURED FRIEND,
+
+                     SIR CHARLES SEDLEY, BART[1].
+
+
+SIR,
+
+The design of dedicating plays is as common and unjust, as that of
+desiring seconds in a duel. It is engaging our friends, it may be, in
+a senseless quarrel where they have much to venture, without any
+concernment of their own[2]. I have declared thus much beforehand, to
+prevent you from suspicion, that I intend to interest either your
+judgment or your kindness, in defending the errors of this comedy. It
+succeeded ill in the representation, against the opinion of many of
+the best judges of our age, to whom you know I read it, ere it was
+presented publicly. Whether the fault was in the play itself, or in
+the lameness of the action, or in the number of its enemies, who came
+resolved to damn it for the title, I will not now dispute. That would
+be too like the little satisfaction which an unlucky gamester finds in
+the relation of every cast by which he came to lose his money. I have
+had formerly so much success, that the miscarriage of this play was
+only my giving Fortune her revenge; I owed it her, and she was
+indulgent that she exacted not the payment long before. I will
+therefore deal more reasonably with you, than any poet has ever done
+with any patron: I do not so much as oblige you for my sake, to pass
+two ill hours in reading of my play. Think, if you please, that this
+dedication is only an occasion I have taken, to do myself the greatest
+honour imaginable with posterity; that is, to be recorded in the
+number of those men whom you have favoured with your friendship and
+esteem. For I am well assured, that, besides the present satisfaction
+I have, it will gain me the greatest part of my reputation with after
+ages, when they shall find me valuing myself on your kindness to me; I
+may have reason to suspect my own credit with them, but I have none to
+doubt of yours. And they who, perhaps, would forget me in my poems,
+would remember me in this epistle.
+
+This was the course which has formerly been practised by the poets of
+that nation, who were masters of the universe. Horace and Ovid, who
+had little reason to distrust their immortality, yet took occasion to
+speak with honour of Virgil, Varius, Tibullus, and Propertius, their
+contemporaries; as if they sought, in the testimony of their
+friendship, a farther evidence of their fame. For my own part, I, who
+am the least amongst the poets, have yet the fortune to be honoured
+with the best patron, and the best friend. For, (to omit some great
+persons of our court, to whom I am many ways obliged, and who have
+taken care of me even amidst the exigencies of a war[3]) I can make my
+boast to have found a better Maecenas in the person of my Lord
+Treasurer Clifford[4], and a more elegant Tibullus in that of Sir
+Charles Sedley. I have chosen that poet to whom I would resemble you,
+not only because I think him at least equal, if not superior, to Ovid
+in his elegies; nor because of his quality, for he was, you know, a
+Roman knight, as well as Ovid; but for his candour, his wealth, his
+way of living, and particularly because of this testimony which is
+given him by Horace, which I have a thousand times in my mind applied
+to you:
+
+  _Non tu corpus eras sine pectore: Dii tibi formam,
+  Dii tibi divitias dederant, artemque fruendi.
+  Quid voveat dulci nutricula majus alumno,
+  Quam sapere, et fari possit quae sentiat, et cui
+  Gratia, forma, valetudo contingat abunde;
+  Et mundus victus, non deficiente crumena?_
+
+Certainly the poets of that age enjoyed much happiness in the
+conversation and friendship of one another. They imitated the best way
+of living, which was, to pursue an innocent and inoffensive pleasure,
+that which one of the ancients called _eruditam voluptatem_. We have,
+like them, our genial nights, where our discourse is neither too
+serious nor too light, but always pleasant, and, for the most part,
+instructive; the raillery, neither too sharp upon the present, nor too
+censorious on the absent; and the cups only such as will raise the
+conversation of the night, without disturbing the business of the
+morrow[5]. And thus far not only the philosophers, but the fathers of
+the church, have gone, without lessening their reputation of good
+manners, or of piety. For this reason, I have often laughed at the
+ignorant and ridiculous descriptions which some pedants have given of
+the wits, as they are pleased to call them; which are a generation of
+men as unknown to them, as the people of Tartary, or the Terra
+Australia, are to us. And therefore as we draw giants and
+anthropophagi in those vacancies of our maps, where we have not
+travelled to discover better; so those wretches paint lewdness,
+atheism, folly, ill-reasoning, and all manner of extravagancies
+amongst us, for want of understanding what we are. Oftentimes it so
+falls out, that they have a particular pique to some one amongst us,
+and then they immediately interest heaven in their quarrel; as it is
+an usual trick in courts, when one designs the ruin of his enemy, to
+disguise his malice with some concernment of the kings; and to revenge
+his own cause, with pretence of vindicating the honour of his master.
+Such wits as they describe, I have never been so unfortunate as to
+meet in your company; but have often heard much better reasoning at
+your table, than I have encountered in their books. The wits they
+describe, are the fops we banish: For blasphemy and atheism, if they
+were neither sin nor ill manners, are subjects so very common, and
+worn so threadbare, that people, who have sense, avoid them, for fear
+of being suspected to have none. It calls the good name of their wit
+in question as it does the credit of a citizen when his shop is filled
+with trumperies and painted titles, instead of wares: We conclude them
+bankrupt to all manner of understanding; and that to use blasphemy, is
+a kind of applying pigeons to the soles of the feet; it proclaims
+their fancy, as well as judgment, to be in a desperate condition. I am
+sure, for your own particular, if any of these judges had once the
+happiness to converse with you,--to hear the candour of your opinions;
+how freely you commend that wit in others of which you have, so large
+a portion yourself; how unapt you are to be censorious; with how much
+easiness you speak so many things, and those so pointed, that no other
+man is able to excel, or perhaps to reach by study;--they would,
+instead of your accusers, become your proselytes. They would reverence
+so much sense, and so much good nature in the same person; and come,
+like the satyr, to warm themselves at that fire, of which they were
+ignorantly afraid when they stood at a distance. But you have too
+great a reputation to be wholly free from censure: it is a fine which
+fortune sets upon all extraordinary persons, and from which you should
+not wish to be delivered until you are dead. I have been used by my
+critics much more severely, and have more reason to complain, because
+I am deeper taxed for a less estate. I am, ridiculously enough,
+accused to be a contemner of universities; that is, in other words, an
+enemy of learning; without the foundation of which, I am sure, no man
+can pretend to be a poet. And if this be not enough, I am made a
+detractor from my predecessors, whom I confess to have been my masters
+in the art. But this latter was the accusation of the best judge, and
+almost the best poet, in the Latin tongue. You find Horace
+complaining, that, for taxing some verses in Lucilius, he himself was
+blamed by others, though his design was no other than mine now, to
+improve the knowledge of poetry; and it was no defence to him, amongst
+his enemies, any more than it is for me, that he praised Lucilius
+where he deserved it; _pagina laudatur eadem_. It is for this reason I
+will be no more mistaken for my good meaning: I know I honour Ben
+Jonson more than my little critics, because, without vanity I may own,
+I understand him better[6]. As for the errors they pretend to find in
+me, I could easily show them, that the greatest part of them are
+beauties; and for the rest, I could recriminate upon the best poets of
+our nation, if I could resolve to accuse another of little faults,
+whom, at the same time, I admire for greater excellencies. But I have
+neither concernment enough upon me to write any thing in my own
+defence, neither will I gratify the ambition of two wretched
+scribblers, who desire nothing more than to be answered. I have not
+wanted friends, even among strangers, who have defended me more
+strongly, than my contemptible pedant could attack me[7]. For the
+other, he is only like Fungoso in the play, who follows the fashion at
+a distance, and adores the Fastidious Brisk of Oxford[8]. You can bear
+me witness, that I have not consideration enough for either of them to
+be angry. Let Maevius and Bavius admire each other; I wish to be hated
+by them and their fellows, by the same reason for which I desire to be
+loved by you. And I leave it to the world, whether their judgment of
+my poetry ought to be preferred to yours; though they are as much
+prejudiced by their malice, as I desire you should be led by your
+kindness, to be partial to,
+
+  SIR,
+
+    Your most humble,
+      And most faithful servant,
+        JOHN DRYDEN.
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+1. Sir Charles Sedley, noted among "the mob of gentlemen who wrote
+   with ease," was so highly applauded for his taste and judgment,
+   that Charles said, "Nature had given him a patent to be Apollo's
+   viceroy." Some account has been given of this celebrated courtier,
+   in the introduction to the Essay on Dramatic Poetry. Dryden was at
+   this time particularly induced to appeal to the taste of the first
+   among the gay world, by the repeated censures which had been
+   launched against him from the groves of Academe. Mr Malone gives
+   the titles of three pamphlets which had appeared against Dryden.
+   1. The Censure of the Rota, on Mr Dryden's Conquest of Granada,
+   printed at Oxford. 2. A Description of the Academy of the Athenian
+   Virtuoso, with a discourse held there in vindication of Mr Dryden's
+   Conquest of Granada, against the Author of the Censure of the Rota.
+   3. A Friendly Vindication of Mr Dryden, from the Author of the
+   Censure of the Rota, printed at Cambridge. Thus assailed by the
+   grave and the learned, censured for the irregularities of his gay
+   patrons, which he countenanced although he did not partake, and
+   stigmatized as a detractor of his predecessors, and a defamer of
+   classical learning, it was natural for Dryden to appeal to the most
+   accomplished of those amongst whom he lived, and to whose taste he
+   was but too strongly compelled to adapt his productions. Sedley,
+   therefore, as a man of wit and gallantry, is called upon to support
+   our author against the censures of pedantic severity. Whatever may
+   be thought of the subject, the appeal is made with all Dryden's
+   spirit and elegance, and his description of the attic evenings
+   spent with Sedley and his gay associates, glosses over, and almost
+   justifies, their occasional irregularities. We have but too often
+   occasion to notice, with censure, the licentious manners of the
+   giddy court of Charles; let us not omit its merited commendation.
+   If the talents of the men of parts of that period were often
+   ill-directed, and ill-rewarded, let not us, from whom that
+   gratitude is justly due, forget that they were called forth and
+   stimulated to exertion, by the countenance and applause of the
+   great. We, at least, who enjoy the fruit of these exertions, ought
+   to rejoice, that the courtiers of Charles possessed the taste to
+   countenance and applaud the genius which was too often perverted
+   by the profligacy of their example, and left unrewarded amid their
+   selfish prodigality.
+
+2. At this period, seconds in a duel fought, as well as principals.
+
+3. The second Dutch war, then raging.
+
+4. To whom the tragedy of "Amboyna" is dedicated.
+
+5. It is impossible to avoid contrasting this beautiful account of
+   elegant dissipation with the noted freak of Sir Charles Sedley, to
+   whom it is addressed. In June 1663, being in company with Lord
+   Buckhurst and Sir Thomas Ogle, in a tavern in Bowstreet, and having
+   become furious with intoxication, they not only exposed themselves,
+   by committing the grossest indecencies in the balcony, in the sight
+   of the passengers; but, a mob being thus collected, Sedley stripped
+   himself naked, and proceeded to harangue them in the grossest and
+   most impious language. The indignation of the populace being
+   excited, they attempted to burst into the house, and a desperate
+   riot ensued, in which the orator and his companions had nearly paid
+   for their frolic with their lives. For this riot they were indicted
+   in the Court of Common Pleas, and heavily fined; Sedley in the sum
+   of L. 500. When the Lord Chief Justice, Sir Robert Hyde, to repress
+   his insolence, asked him if he had ever read the "Complete
+   Gentleman?" Sedley answered, that he had read more books than his
+   lordship; a repartee which exhibits more effrontery than wit. The
+   culprits employed Killigrew and another courtier to solicit a
+   mitigation of the fine; but, in the true spirit of court
+   friendship, they begged it for themselves, and extorted every
+   farthing.
+
+6. Our author here shortly repeats what he has said at more length in
+   his Defence of the Epilogue to the second part of the Conquest of
+   Granada.
+
+7. The pedant Mr Malone conjectures to be Matthew Clifford, Master of
+   the Charter-house, one of the Duke of Buckingham's colleagues in
+   writing "The Rehearsal." But the _pedant_ is obviously the same
+   with the Fastidious Brisk _of Oxford_, mentioned in the following
+   sentence, which can hardly apply to Clifford, who was educated at
+   Cambridge. One Leigh is said by Wood to have written the Censure of
+   the Rota; and as he was educated at Oxford and the book printed
+   there, he may be "the contemptible pedant," though his profession
+   was that of a player in the duke's company.
+
+8. Fungoso and Sir Fastidious Brisk are two characters in "Every Man
+   Out of his Humour;" the former of whom is represented as copying
+   the dress and manners of the latter. Dryden seems only to mean,
+   that one of those pamphleteers was the servile imitator of the
+   other.
+
+
+
+
+                              PROLOGUE.
+
+
+  Prologues, like bells to churches, toll you in
+  With chiming verse, till the dull plays begin;
+  With this sad difference though, of pit and pew,
+  You damn the poet, but the priest damns you:
+  But priests can treat you at your own expence,
+  And gravely call you fools without offence.
+  Poets, poor devils, have ne'er your folly shown,
+  But, to their cost, you proved it was their own:
+  For, when a fop's presented on the stage,
+  Straight all the coxcombs in the town engage;
+  For his deliverance and revenge they join,
+  And grunt, like hogs, about their captive swine.
+  Your poets daily split upon this shelf,--
+  You must have fools, yet none will have himself.
+  Or if, in kindness, you that leave would give,
+  No man could write you at that rate you live:
+  For some of you grow fops with so much haste,
+  Riot in nonsense, and commit such waste,
+  'Twould ruin poets should they spend so fast.
+  He, who made this, observed what farces hit,
+  And durst not disoblige you now with wit.
+  But, gentlemen, you over-do the mode;
+  You must have fools out of the common road.
+  Th' unnatural strained buffoon is only taking;
+  No fop can please you now of God's own making.
+  Pardon our poet, if he speaks his mind;
+  You come to plays with your own follies lined:
+  Small fools fall on you, like small showers, in vain;
+  Your own oiled coats keep out all common rain.
+  You must have Mamamouchi[1], such a fop
+  As would appear a monster in a shop;
+  He'll fill your pit and boxes to the brim,
+  Where, rain'd in crowds, you see yourselves in him.
+  Sure there's some spell, our poet never knew,
+  In _Hullibabilah de_, and _Chu, chu, chu_;
+  But _Marababah sahem_[2] most did touch you;
+  That is, Oh how we love the Mamamouchi!
+  Grimace and habit sent you pleased away:
+  You damned the poet, and cried up the play.
+    This thought had made our author more uneasy,
+  But that he hopes I'm fool enough to please ye.
+  But here's my grief,--though nature, joined with art,
+  Have cut me out to act a fooling part,
+  Yet, to your praise, the few wits here will say,
+  'Twas imitating you taught Haynes to play.
+
+
+Footnotes:
+1. See the introductory remarks on the "Citizen turned Gentleman," of
+   Ravenscroft, where the jest turns on Jorden's being created a
+   _Mamamouchi_, or Turkish paladin, as it is interpreted.
+
+2. _Trickman._ I told him she was woundrous beautiful. Then said he,
+   _Marababa sahem_, Ah how much in love am I!
+
+   _Jorden._ Marababa sahem, means, how much in love am I?
+
+   _Trick._ Yes.
+
+   _Jorden._ I am beholden to you for telling me, for I ne'er could
+   have thought that Marababa sahem, should signify, Ah how much in
+   love am I. Ah this Turkish is an admirable language!
+                                  _Citizen turned Gentleman_, Act. IV.
+
+   In the same piece, we are presented with a grand chorus of Turks
+   and Dervises, who sing, "_Hu la baba la chou ba la baba la da._"
+
+
+
+
+                          DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
+
+
+  _Duke of Mantua._
+  _Prince_ FREDERICK, _his son._
+  AURELIAN, _a Roman Gentleman._
+  CAMILLO, _his friend._
+  MARIO, _Governor of Rome._
+  ASCANIO, _page of honour to the Prince._
+  BENITO, _Servant to_ AURELIAN.
+  VALERIO, _confidant to the Duke._
+  FABIO, _Servant to_ MARIO.
+
+  SOPHRONIA, _Abbess of the Torr' di Specchi._
+  LUCRETIA, _a Lady designed to be a Nun._
+  HIPPOLITA, _a Nun._
+  LAURA,   }
+  VIOLETTA } _Sisters, nieces to_ MARIO.
+  FRONTONA, _lets Lodgings._
+
+
+_SCENE--Rome._
+
+
+
+
+                                 THE
+
+                             ASSIGNATION;
+
+                                 OR,
+
+                          LOVE IN A NUNNERY.
+
+
+ACT I.
+
+SCENE I.--_A Room, a great glass placed._
+
+  _Enter_ BENITO, _with a guitar in his hand._
+
+_Ben._ [_Bowing to the glass._] Save you, sweet signior Benito; by my
+faith I am glad to see you look so bonnily to-day. Gad, sir, every
+thing becomes you to a miracle: your peruke, your clothes, your hat,
+your shoe-ties; and, gad, sir, let me tell you, you become every
+thing; you walk with such a grace, and you bow so pliantly!
+
+_Aurelian._ [_Within._] Benito, where are you, sirrah?
+
+_Ben._ Sirrah! That my damned master should call a man of my
+extraordinary endowments, sirrah! A man of my endowments? Gad, I ask
+my own pardon, I mean a person of my endowments; for a man of my parts
+and talents, though he be but a _valet de chambre_, is a person; and
+let me tell my master--Gad, I frown too, as like a person as any
+jack-gentleman of them all; but, gad, when I do not frown, I am an
+absolute beauty, whatever this glass says to the contrary; and, if
+this glass deny it, 'tis a base lying glass; so I'll tell it to its
+face, and kick it down into the bargain.
+
+_Aur._ [_Within._] Why, Benito, how long shall we stay for you?
+
+_Ben._ I come, sir.--What the devil would he have? But, by his favour,
+I'll first survey my dancing and my singing. [_He plays on his guitar,
+and dances and sings to the glass._] I think that was not amiss: I
+think so. Gad, I can dance [_Lays down the guitar._] and play no
+longer, I am in such a rapture with myself. What a villanous fate have
+I! With all these excellencies, and a profound wit, and yet to be a
+serving-man!
+
+  _Enter_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO.
+
+_Aur._ Why, you slave, you dog, you son of twenty fathers, am I to be
+served at this rate eternally? A pox of your conceited coxcomb!
+
+_Cam._ Nay, pr'ythee, Aurelian, be not angry.
+
+_Aur._ You do not know this rogue, as I do, Camillo. Now, by this
+guitar, and that great looking-glass, I am certain how he has spent
+his time. He courts himself every morning in that glass at least an
+hour; there admires his own person, and his parts, and studies
+postures and grimaces, to make himself yet more ridiculous than he was
+born to be.
+
+_Cam._ You wrong him, sure.
+
+_Aur._ I do; for he is yet more fool than I can speak him. I never
+sent him on a message, but he runs first to that glass, to practise
+how he may become his errand. Speak, is this a lie, sirrah?
+
+_Ben._ I confess, I have some kindness for the mirror.
+
+_Aur._ The mirror! there's a touch of his poetry too; he could not
+call it a glass. Then the rogue has the impudence to make sonnets, as
+he calls them; and, which is greater impudence, he sings them too;
+there's not a street in all Rome which he does not nightly disquiet
+with his villanous serenade: with that guitar there, the younger
+brother of a cittern, he frights away the watch; and for his violin,
+it squeaks so lewdly, that Sir Tibert[1] in the gutter mistakes him
+for his mistress. 'Tis a mere cat-call.
+
+_Cam._ Is this true, Benito?
+
+_Ben._ to _Cam._ [_Aside._] My master, sir, may say his pleasure; I
+divert myself sometimes with hearing him. Alas, good gentleman, 'tis
+not given to all persons to penetrate into men's parts and qualities;
+but I look on you, sir, as a man of judgment, and therefore you shall
+hear me play and sing.          [_He takes up the guitar, and begins._
+
+_Aur._ Why, you invincible sot you, will nothing mend you? Lay it
+down, or--
+
+_Ben._ to _Cam._ Do ye see, sir, this enemy to the muses? he will not
+let me hold forth to you. [_Lays down the guitar._] O envy and
+ignorance, whither will you!--But, gad, before I'll suffer my parts to
+be kept in obscurity--
+
+_Aur_, What will you do, rascal?
+
+_Ben._ I'll take up the guitar, and suffer heroically.
+                                            [_He plays,_ AUR. _kicks._
+
+_Aur._ What? do you mutiny?
+
+_Ben._ Ay, do, kick till your toes ache; I'll be baffled in my music
+by ne'er a foot in Christendom.
+
+_Aur._ I'll put you out of your tune, with a vengeance to you.
+    [_As_ AURELIAN _kicks harder,_ BENITO _sings faster, and sometimes
+     cries out._
+
+_Cam._ holding _Aur._ Nay, then, 'tis time to stickle[2]. Hold,
+Aurelian, pr'ythee spare Benito, you know we have occasion for him.
+
+_Aur._ I think that was well kicked.
+
+_Ben._ And I think that was well sung too.
+
+_Cam._ Enough, Aurelian.
+
+_Ben._ No, sir; let him proceed to discourage virtue and see what will
+come on it.
+
+_Cam._ Now to our business. But we must first instruct Benito.
+
+_Aur._ Be ruled by me, and do not trust him. I prophesy he'll spoil
+the whole affair; he has a worm in his head as long as a conger, a
+brain so barren of all sense, and yet so fruitful of foolish plots,
+that if he does not all things his own way, yet at least he'll ever be
+mingling his designs with yours, and go halves with you; so that, what
+with his ignorance, what with his plotting, he'll be sure to ruin you
+with an intention to serve you. For my part, I had turned him off long
+since, but that my wise father commanded the contrary.
+
+_Cam._ Still you speak, as if what we did were choice, and not
+necessity. You know their uncle is suspicious of me, and consequently
+jealous of all my servants; but if we employ yours, who is not
+suspected, because you are a stranger, I doubt not to get an
+assignation with the younger sister.
+
+_Aur._ Well, use your own way, Camillo: but if it ever succeed with
+his management--
+
+_Cam._ You must understand then, Benito, that this old Signior Mario
+has two nieces, with one of which I am desperately in love, and--
+
+_Ben._ [_Aside to him._] I understand you already, sir, and you desire
+love reciprocal. Leave your business in my hands; and, if it succeed
+not, think me no wiser than my master.
+
+_Cam._ Pray take me with you. These sisters are great beauties, and
+vast fortunes; but, by a clause in their father's will, if they marry
+without their uncle's consent, are to forfeit all. Their uncle, who is
+covetous and base to the last degree, takes advantage of this clause;
+and, under pretence of not finding fit matches for them, denies his
+consent to all who love them.
+
+_Ben._ Denies them marriage! Very good, sir.
+
+_Cam._ More than this, he refuses access to any suitor, and immures
+them in a mean apartment on the garden side, where he barbarously
+debars them from all human society.
+
+_Ben._ Uses them most barbarously! Still better and better.
+
+_Cam._ The younger of these sisters, Violetta, I have seen often in
+the garden, from the balcony in this chamber, which looks into it;
+have divers times shot tickets on the point of an arrow, which she has
+taken; and, by the signs she made me, I find they were not ill
+received.
+
+_Ben._ I'll tell you now, just such an amour as this had I once with a
+young lady, that--
+
+_Aur._ Quote yourself again, you rogue, and my feet shall renew their
+acquaintance with your buttocks.
+
+_Cam._ Dear Benito, take care to convey this ticket to Violetta; I saw
+her just now go by to the next chapel: be sure to stand ready to give
+her holy water, and slip the ticket into the hand of her woman
+Beatrix; and take care the elder sister, Laura, sees you not, for she
+knows nothing of our amour.
+
+_Ben._ A word to the wise. Have you no service to Laura?    [_To_ AUR.
+
+_Aur._ None that I shall trouble you withal; I'll see first what
+returns you make from this voyage, before I put in my venture with
+you. Away; begone, Mr Mercury.
+
+_Ben._ I fly, Mr Jupiter.                                     [_Exit._
+
+_Aur._ This lady, Laura, I have seen from your balcony, and was seen
+by her. Methought, too, she looked with a languishing eye upon me, as
+who should say, Are you a man, and have no pity for a poor distressed
+virgin? For my part, I never found so much disposition in myself to
+love any woman at first sight. Handsome she is; of that I am certain.
+
+_Cam._ And has wit, I dare assure you; but I have not heard she has
+admitted of any gallantry.
+
+_Aur._ Her hour is not come yet; she has not met with a man to love;
+when that happens, (as I am resolved to push my fortune) you shall see
+that, as her love warms, her virtue will melt down, and dissolve in
+it; for there's no such bawd to a woman, as her own wit is.
+
+_Cam._ I look upon the assignation as certain; will you promise me to
+go? You and Benito shall walk in the garden, while I search the nymph
+within the shade. One thing I had forgot to tell you, that our general
+of the church, the Duke of Mantua, and the prince his son, are just
+approaching the gates of Rome. Will you go see the ceremony of their
+entrance?
+
+_Aur._ With all my heart. They say he has behaved himself gallantly
+against the French, at their return from Naples. Besides, I have a
+particular knowledge of young prince Frederick, ever since he was last
+at our Venetian carnivals.
+
+_Cam._ Away, then, quickly; lest we miss the solemnity.     [_Exeunt._
+
+  _Enter_ LAURA _and_ VIOLETTA, _striving about a letter, which_
+  LAURA _holds._
+
+_Vio._ Let it go, I say.
+
+_Lau._ I say, let you go.
+
+_Vio._ Nay, sweet sister Laura.
+
+_Lau._ Nay, dear Violetta, it is in vain to contend; I am resolved
+I'll see it.                        [_Plucks the paper from_ VIOLETTA.
+
+_Vio._ But I am resolved you shall not read it. I know not what
+authority this is which you assume, or what privilege a year or two
+can give you, to use this sovereignty over me.
+
+_Lau._ Do you rebel, young gentlewoman? I'll make you know I have a
+double right over you. One, as I have more years, and the other, as I
+have more wit.
+
+_Vio._ Though I am not all air and fire, as you are, yet that little
+wit I have will serve to conduct my affairs without a governess.
+
+_Lau._ No, gentlewoman, but it shall not. Are you fit, at fifteen, to
+be trusted with a maidenhead? It is as much as your betters can manage
+at full twenty.
+
+  _For 'tis of a nature so subtile,
+    That, if it's not luted with care,
+  The spirit will work through the bottle,
+    And vanish away into air.
+
+  To keep it, there nothing so hard is,
+    'Twill go betwixt waking and sleeping;
+  The simple too weak for a guard is,
+    And no wit would be plagued with the keeping._
+
+_Vio._ For aught I see, you are as little to be trusted with your
+madness, as I with my simplicity; and, therefore, pray restore my
+letter.
+
+_Lau._ [_Reading it._] What's here? An humble petition for a private
+meeting? Are you twittering at that sport already, mistress novice?
+
+_Vio._ How! I a novice at ripe fifteen? I would have you to know, that
+I have killed my man before I was fourteen, and now am ready for
+another execution.
+
+_Lau._ A very forward rose-bud: You open apace, gentlewoman. I find
+indeed your desires are quick enough; but where will you have cunning
+to carry on your business with decency and secrecy? Secrecy, I say,
+which is a main part of chastity in our sex. Where wit, to be sensible
+of the delicacies of love? the tenderness of a farewell-sigh for an
+absence? the joy of a return? the zeal of a pressing hand? the
+sweetness of little quarrels, caused and cured by the excess of love?
+and, in short, the pleasing disquiets of the soul, always restless,
+and wandering up and down in a paradise of thought, of its own making?
+
+_Vio._ If I understood not thus much before, I find you are an
+excellent instructor; and that argues you have had a feeling of the
+cause in your time too, sister.
+
+_Lau._ What have I confessed before I was aware! She'll find out my
+inclination to that stranger, whom I have only seen, and to whom I
+have never spoken--[_Aside._] No, good Violetta, I never was in love;
+all my experience is from plays and romances. But, who is this man, to
+whom you have promised an assignation?
+
+_Vio._ You'll tell my uncle.
+
+_Lau._ I hate my uncle more than you do.
+
+_Vio._ You know the man, 'tis signior Camillo: His birth and fortunes
+are equal to what I can expect; and he tells me his intentions are
+honourable.
+
+_Lau._ Have I not seen him lately in his balcony, which looks into our
+garden, with another handsome gentleman in his company, who seems a
+stranger?
+
+_Vio._ They are the same. Do you think it a reasonable thing, dear
+Laura, that my uncle should keep us so strictly, that we must be
+beholden to hearsay, to know a young gallant is in the next house to
+us?
+
+_Lau._ 'Tis hard, indeed, to be mewed like hawks, and never manned: To
+be locked in like nuns here.
+
+_Vio._ They, that look for nun's flesh in me, shall be mistaken.
+
+_Lau._ Well, what answer have you returned to this letter?
+
+_Vio._ That I would meet him at eight this evening, in the close walk
+in the garden, attended only by Beatrix, my woman.
+
+_Lau._ Who comes with him?
+
+_Vio._ Only his friend's man, Benito; the same who brought me the
+letter which you took from me.
+
+_Lau._ Stay, let me think a little. Does Camillo, or this Benito, know
+your maid Beatrix?
+
+_Vio._ They have never talked with her; but only seen her.
+
+_Lau._ 'Tis concluded then. You shall meet your servant, but I'll be
+your Beatrix: I'll go instead of her, and counterfeit your
+waiting-woman; in the dark I may easily pass for her. By this means I
+shall be present to instruct you, for you are yet a callow maid: I
+must teach you to peck a little; you may come to prey for yourself in
+time.
+
+_Vio._ A little teaching will serve my turn: If the old one left me to
+myself, I could go near to get my living.
+
+_Lau._ I find you are eager, and baiting to be gone already, and I'll
+not hinder you when your hour approaches. In the mean time, go in, and
+sigh, and think fondly and ignorantly of your approaching pleasures:
+
+  Love, in young hearts, is like the must of wine;
+  'Tis sweetest then; but elder 'tis more fine.             [_Exeunt._
+
+
+ACT II.
+
+SCENE I.--_The front of a Nunnery._
+
+  _Prince_ FREDERICK, AURELIAN, CAMILLO, _and_ ASCANIO, _the Prince's
+  Page._
+
+_Fred._ My father's ancient, and may repose himself, if he pleases,
+after the ceremony of his entrance; but we, who are younger, should
+think it a sin to spend any part of day-light in a chamber. What are
+your ways of living here?
+
+_Cam._ Why, sir, we pass our time, either in conversation alone, or in
+love alone, or in love and conversation together.
+
+_Fred._ Come, explain, explain, my counsel learned in the laws of
+living.
+
+_Cam._ For conversation alone; that's either in going to court, with a
+face of business, and there discoursing of the affairs of Europe, of
+which Rome, you know, is the public mart; or, at best, meeting the
+virtuosi, and there wearying one another with rehearsing our own works
+in prose and poetry.
+
+_Fred._ Away with that dry method, I will have none on't. To the next.
+
+_Cam._ Love alone, is either plain wenching, where every courtezan is
+your mistress, and every man your rival; or else, what's worse, plain
+whining after one woman: that is, walking before her door by day, and
+haunting her street by night, with guitars, dark-lanthorns, and
+rondaches[3].
+
+_Aur._ Which, I take it, is, or will he our case, Camillo.
+
+_Fred._ Neither of these will fit my humour: If your third prove not
+more pleasant, I shall stick to the old Almain recreation; the divine
+bottle, and the bounteous glass, that tuned up old Horace to his odes.
+
+_Aur._ You shall need to have no recourse to that; for love and
+conversation will do your business: that is, sir, a most delicious
+courtezan,--I do not mean down-right punk,--but punk of more than
+ordinary sense in conversation; punk in ragou, punk, who plays on the
+lute, and sings; and, to sum up all, punk, who cooks and dresses up
+herself, with poignant sauce, to become a new dish every time she is
+served up to you.
+
+_Fred._ This I believe, Aurelian, is your method of living, you talk
+of it so savourily.
+
+_Aur._ There is yet another more insipid sort of love and
+conversation: As, for example, look you there, sir; the courtship of
+our nuns. [_Pointing to the Nunnery._] They talk prettily; but, a pox
+on them, they raise our appetites, and then starve us. They are as
+dangerous as cold fruits without wine, and are never to be used but
+where there are abundance of wenches in readiness, to qualify them.
+
+_Cam._ But yet they are ever at hand, and easy to come by; and if
+you'll believe an experienced sinner, easiness in love is more than
+half the pleasure of it.
+
+_Fred._ This way of chatting pleases me; for debauchery, I hate it;
+and to love is not in my nature, except it be my friends. Pray, what
+do you call that nunnery?
+
+_Cam._ 'Tis a house of Benedictines, called the _Torre di Specchi_,
+where only ladies of the best quality are professed.
+                      [LUCRETIA _and_ HIPPOLITA _appear at the grate._
+
+_Aur._ Look you yonder, sir, are two of the pretty magpies in white
+and black. If you will lull yourself into a Platonic dream, you may;
+but consider your sport will be dull when you play without stakes.
+
+_Fred._ No matter, I'll fool away an hour of courtship; for I never
+was engaged in a serious love, nor I believe can be. Farewell,
+gentlemen; at this time I shall dispense with your attendance;--nay,
+without ceremony, because I would be incognito.
+
+_Cam._ Come then, Aurelian, to our own affairs.
+                                     [_Exeunt_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO.
+
+  _The Prince and_ ASCANIO _approach._
+
+_Fred._ [_To_ LUCRETIA.] For what crime, fair creature, were you
+condemned to this perpetual prison?
+
+_Luc._ For chastity and devotion, and two or three such melancholy
+virtues: They first brought me hither, and must now keep me company.
+
+_Fred._ I should rather have guessed it had been murder, and that you
+are veiled for fear of doing more mischief with those eyes; for,
+indeed, they are too sharp to be trusted out of the scabbard.
+
+_Luc._ Cease, I beseech you, to accuse my eyes, till they have done
+some execution on your heart.
+
+_Fred._ But I am out of reach, perhaps.
+
+_Luc._ Trust not to that; they may shoot at a distance, though they
+cannot strike you near at hand.
+
+_Fred._ But if they should kill, you are ne'er the better: There's a
+grate betwixt us, and you cannot fetch in the dead quarry.
+
+_Luc._ Provided we destroy the enemy, we do not value their dead
+bodies: But you, perhaps, are in your first error, and think we are
+rather captives than warriors; that we come like prisoners to the
+grate, to beg the charity of passengers for their love.
+
+_Fred._ [_To_ ASCANIO.] Enquire, as dextrously as you can, what is the
+name and quality of this charming creature.
+
+_Luc._ [_To_ HIPPOLITA.] Be sure, if the page approaches you, to get
+out of him his master's name.
+                            [_The Prince and_ LUCRETIA _seem to talk._
+
+_Hip._ [_To_ ASCANIO.] By that short whisper, which I observed you
+took with your master, I imagine, Mr Page, you come to ask a certain
+question of me.
+
+_Asca._ By this thy question, and by that whisper with thy lady, (O
+thou nymph of devotion!) I find I am to impart a secret, and not to
+ask one: Therefore, either confess thou art yet a mere woman under
+that veil, and, by consequence, most horribly inquisitive, or thou
+shalt lose thy longing, and know nothing of my master.
+
+_Hip._ By my virginity, you shall tell first.
+
+_Asca._ You'll break your oath, on purpose to make the forfeit.
+
+_Hip._ Your master is called--
+
+_Asca._ Your lady is ycleped--
+
+_Hip._ For decency, in all matters of love, the man should offer
+first, you know.
+
+_Asca._ That needs not, when the damsel is so willing.
+
+_Hip._ But I have sworn not to discover first, that her name is madam
+Lucretia; fair, as you see, to a miracle, and of a most charming
+conversation; of royal blood, and niece to his holiness; and, if she
+were not espoused to heaven, a mistress for a sovereign prince.
+
+_Asca._ After these encomiums, 'twere vain for me to praise my master:
+He is only poor prince Frederick, otherwise called the prince of
+Mantua; liberal, and valiant, discreet and handsome, and, in my simple
+judgment, a fitter servant for your lady, than his old father, who is
+a sovereign.
+
+_Hip._ Dare you make all this good, you have said of your master?
+
+_Asca._ Yes, and as much more of myself to you.
+
+_Hip._ I defy you upon't, as my lady's second.
+
+_Asca._ As my master's, I accept it. The time?
+
+_Hip._ Six this evening.
+
+_Asca._ The place?
+
+_Hip._ At this grate.
+
+_Asca._ The weapons?
+
+_Hip._ Hands, and it may be lips.
+
+_Asca._ 'Tis enough: Expect to hear from me.
+                     [_They withdraw, and whisper to their Principals.
+                      After the whisper._
+
+_Fred._ [_To_ LUCRETIA.] Madam, I am glad I know my enemy; for since
+it is impossible to see, and not admire you, the name of Lucretia is
+the best excuse for my defeat.
+
+_Luc._ Persons, like prince Frederick, ought not to assault religious
+houses, or to pursue chastity and virtue to their last retreat.
+
+_Fred._ A monastery is no retreat for chastity; 'tis only a hiding
+place for bad faces, where they are thrust in crowds together, like
+heaps of rubbish out of the way, that the world may not be peopled
+with deformed persons: And that such, who are out of play themselves,
+may pray for a blessing on their endeavours, who are getting handsome
+children, and carrying on the work for public benefit.
+
+_Luc._ Then you would put off heaven with your leavings, and use it
+like them, who play at cards alone; take the courts for yourselves,
+and give the refuse to the gentlemen.
+
+_Fred._ You mistake me, madam; I would so contrive it, that heaven and
+we might be served at once. We have occasion for wit and beauty; now
+piety and ugliness will do as well for heaven: that plays at one game,
+and we at another; and therefore heaven may make its hand with the
+same cards that we put out.
+
+_Luc._ I could easily convince you, if the argument concerned me; hut
+I am one of those, whom, for want of wit and beauty, you have
+condemned to religion; and therefore am your humble servant, to pray
+for your handsome wife and children.
+
+_Fred._ Heaven forbid, madam, that I should condemn you, or indeed any
+handsome woman, to be religious! No, madam; the occasions of the world
+are great and urgent for such as you; and, for my part, I am of
+opinion, that it is as great a sin for a beauty to enter into a
+nunnery, as for an ugly woman to stay out of it.
+
+_Luc._ The cares of the world are not yet upon you; but as soon as
+ever you come to be afflicted with sickness, or visited with a wife,
+you'll be content I should pray for you.
+
+_Fred._ Any where rather than in a cloyster; for, truly, I suppose,
+all your prayers there will be how to get out of it; and, upon that
+supposition, madam, I am come to offer you my service for your
+redemption. Come, faith, be persuaded, the church shall lose nothing
+by it: I'll take you out, and put in two or three crooked apostles in
+your place.                                      [_Bell rings within._
+
+_Luc._ Hark, the bell rings; I must leave you: 'tis a summons to our
+devotion.
+
+_Fred._ Will you leave me for your prayers, madam? You may have enough
+of them at any time, but remember you cannot have a man so easily.
+
+_Luc._ Well, I'll say my beads for you, and that's but charity; for I
+believe I leave you in a most deplorable condition.   [_Exeunt Women._
+
+_Fred._ Not deplorable neither, but a little altered: If I could be in
+love, as I am sure I cannot, it should be with her, for I like her
+conversation strangely.
+
+_Asca._ Then, as young as I am, sir, I am beforehand with you; for I
+am in love already. I would fain make the first proof of my manhood
+upon a nun: I find I have a mighty grudging to holy flesh.
+
+_Fred._ I'll ply Lucretia again, as soon as ever her devotion's over.
+Methinks these nuns divide their time most admirably; from love to
+prayers, from prayers to love; that is, just so much sin, just so much
+godliness.
+
+_Asca._ Then I can claim that sister's love by merit. Half man, half
+boy; for her half flesh, half spirit.                       [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE II.--_A Street._
+
+  AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO.
+
+_Aur._ I'll proceed no farther, if Benito goes: I know his folly will
+produce some mischief.
+
+_Cam._ But Violetta desired me, in her note, to bring him, on purpose
+to pass the time with her woman, Beatrix.
+
+_Aur._ That objection's easily removed: I'll supply Benito's place;
+the darkness will prevent discovery; and, for my discourse, I'll
+imitate the half wit and patched breeding of a _valet de chambre._
+
+_Cam._ But how shall we get rid of him?
+
+_Aur._ Let me alone for that.
+
+  _Enter_ BENITO.
+
+_Ben._ Come, are we ready, gallants? The clock's upon the stroke of
+eight.
+
+_Aur._ But we have altered our resolution; we go another way to-night.
+
+_Ben._ I hope you have not broke my assignation?
+
+_Aur._ Why do you hope so?
+
+_Ben._ Because my reputation is engaged in't: I've stipulated, upon
+mine honour, that you shall come.
+
+_Aur._ I shall beat you, if you follow me. Go, sirrah, and adjourn to
+the great looking-glass, and let me hear no more from you till
+to-morrow morning.
+
+_Ben._ Sir, my fidelity, and, if I may be so vain, my discretion, may
+stand you in some stead.
+
+_Aur._ Well, come along then; they are brave fellows, who have
+challenged us; you shall have fighting enough, sir.
+
+_Ben._ How, sir, fighting?
+
+_Aur._ You may escape with the loss of a leg, or an arm, or some such
+transitory limb.
+
+_Ben._ No, sir; I have that absolute obedience to your commands, that
+I will bridle my courage, and stay at home.                   [_Exit._
+
+_Cam._ You took the only way to be rid of him. There's the wall;
+behind yon pane of it we'll set up the ladder.              [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE III.--_A Night-piece of a Garden._
+
+  _Enter_ LAURA _and_ VIOLETTA.
+
+_Vio._ Remember your waiting-woman's part, Laura.
+
+_Lau._ I warrant you, I'll wait on you by night, as well as I governed
+you by day.
+
+_Vio._ Hark, I hear footsteps; and now, methinks, I see something
+approaching us.
+
+_Lau._ They are certainly the men whom we expect.
+
+  _Enter_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO.
+
+_Cam._ I hear womens' voices.
+
+_Aur._ We are right, I warrant you.
+
+_Cam._ Violetta, my love!
+
+_Vio._ My dear Camillo!
+
+_Cam._ Speak those words again; my own name never sounded so sweetly
+to me, as when you spoke it, and made me happy by adding _dear_ to it.
+
+_Vio._ Speak softly then; I have stolen these few minutes from my
+watchful uncle and my sister, and they are as full of danger as they
+are of love. Something within me checks me too, and says, I was too
+forward in venturing thus to meet you.
+
+_Cam._ You are too fearful rather; and fear's the greatest enemy to
+love.
+
+_Vio._ But night will hide my blushes, when I tell you, I love you
+much, or I had never trusted my virtue and my person in your hands.
+
+_Cam._ The one is sacred, and the other safe; but this auspicious
+minute is our first of near converse. May I not hope that favour,
+which strangers, in civility, may claim, even from the most reserved?
+                                                   [_Kisses her hand._
+
+_Vio._ I fear you'll censure me.
+
+_Cam._ Yes, as the blest above tax heaven for making them so happy.
+                                             [_They walk further off._
+
+_Aur._ [_Stepping towards_ LAURA.] Damsel of darkness, advance, and
+meet my flames!
+
+_Lau._ [_Stepping forward._] Right trusty valet, heard, but yet
+unseen, I have advanced one step on reputation.
+
+_Aur._ Now, by laudable custom, I am to love thee vehemently.
+
+_Lau._ We should do well to see each other first: You know 'tis ill
+taking money without light.
+
+_Aur._ O, but the coin of love is known by the weight only, and you
+may feel it in the dark: Besides, you know 'tis prince-like to love
+without seeing.
+
+_Lau._ But then you may be served as princes are sometimes.
+
+_Aur._ Let us make haste, however, and despatch a little love out of
+the way: We may do it now with ease, and save ourselves a great deal
+of trouble, if we take it in time, before it grows too fast upon our
+hands.
+
+_Lau._ Fye, no; let us love discreetly: we must manage our passion,
+and not love all our love out at one meeting, but leave some for
+another time.
+
+_Aur._ I am for applying the plaster while the wound is green; 'twill
+heal the better.                             [_Takes her by the hand._
+
+_Lau._ Let go my hand! What crime has the poor wretch committed, that
+you press it thus? I remember no mischief it has done you.
+
+_Aur._ O, 'tis a heinous malefactor, and is pressed by law, because it
+will confess nothing. Come, withdraw a little farther, we have urgent
+business with one another.
+
+_Lau._ 'Twere a shame to quit my ground upon the first charge; yet if
+you please to take a truce a little, I will consent to go behind the
+lovers, and listen with you.
+
+_Aur._ I wonder you deferred the proposition so long. I were neither
+true valet, nor you true woman, if we could not eves-drop.
+                  [_They retire behind the other two, who come forward
+                   upon the Stage._
+
+_Cam._ [_Kissing_ VIOLETTA'S _hand._] Give me another yet, and then--
+
+_Vio._ And then will you be satisfied?
+
+_Cam._ And then I'll ask a thousand more, and ne'er be satisfied.
+Kisses are but thin nourishment; they are too soon digested, and
+hungry love craves more.
+
+_Vio._ You feed a wolf within you.
+
+_Cam._ Then feast my love with a more solid diet. He makes us now a
+miser's feast, and we forbear to take our fill. The silent night, and
+all these downy hours, were made for lovers: Gently they tread, and
+softly measure time, that no rude noise may fright the tender maid,
+from giving all her soul to melting joys.
+
+_Vio._ You do not love me; if you did, you would not
+Thus urge your satisfaction in my shame;
+At best, I see you would not love me long,
+For they, who plunder, do not mean to stay.
+
+_Cam._ I haste to take possession of my own.
+
+_Vio._ Ere heaven and holy vows have made it so?
+
+_Cam._ Then witness, heaven, and all these twinkling stars--
+
+_Vio._ Hold, hold, you are distempered with your love;
+Time, place, and strong desires, now swear, not you.
+
+_Cam._ Is not love love, without a priest and altars?
+The temples are inanimate, and know not
+What vows are made in them; the priest stands ready
+For his hire, and cares not what hearts he couples;
+Love alone is marriage.
+
+_Vio._ I never will receive these midnight vows:
+But when I come hereafter to your arms,
+I'll bring you a sincere, full, perfect bliss;
+Then you will thank me that I kept it so,
+And trust my faith hereafter.
+
+_Lau._ There is your destiny, lover mine: I am to be honest by
+infection; my lady will none, you see.
+
+_Aur._ Truth is, they are a lost couple, unless they learn grace by
+our example. Come, shall we begin first, and shame them both?
+                                       [_Takes her by the hand again._
+
+_Lau._ You will never be warned of this hand, Benito.
+
+_Aur._ Oh, it is so soft, as it were made on purpose to take hearts,
+and handle them without hurting! These taper fingers too, and even
+joints so supple, that methinks I mould them as they pass through
+mine: nay, in my conscience, though it be nonsense to say it, your
+hand feels white too.
+
+_Lau._ Methinks yours is not very hard, for a serving-man's. But
+where, in the name of wonder, have you learned to talk so courtly? You
+are a strange _valet de chambre_.
+
+_Aur._ And you are as strange a waiting-woman: You have so stabbed me
+with your repartees to-night, that I should be glad to change the
+weapon, to be revenged on you.
+
+_Lau._ These, I suppose, are fragments, which you learned from your
+wild master, Aurelian: many a poor woman has passed through his hands
+with these very words. You treat me just like a serving-man, with the
+cold meat which comes from your master's table.
+
+_Aur._ You could never have suspected me for using my master's wit, if
+you had not been guilty of purloining from your lady. I am told, that
+Laura, your mistress's sister, has wit enough to confound a hundred
+Aurelians.
+
+_Lau._ I shall do your commendations to Laura for your compliment.
+
+_Aur._ And I shall not fair to revenge myself, by informing Aurelian
+of yours.
+
+  _Enter_ BENITO _with a Guitar._
+
+_Ben._ The poor souls shall not lose by the bargain, though my foolish
+gadding masters have disappointed them. That ladder of ropes was
+doubtless left there by the young lady in hope of them.
+
+_Vio._ Hark, I hear a noise in the garden.
+
+_Lau._ I fear we are betrayed.
+
+_Cam._ Fear nothing, madam, but stand close.
+
+_Ben._ Now, Benito, is the time to hold forth thy talent, and to set
+up for thyself. Yes, ladies, you shall be serenaded, and when I have
+displayed my gifts, I'll retire in triumph over the wall, and hug
+myself for the adventure.                    [_He fums on the Guitar._
+
+_Vio._ Let us make haste, sister, and get into covert; this music will
+raise the house upon us immediately.
+
+_Lau._ Alas, we cannot; the damn'd musician stands just in the door
+where we should pass.
+
+_Ben._ singing.
+    _Eveillez vous, belles endormies;
+    Eveillez vous: car il est jour:
+  Mettez la tete a la fenestre,
+  Vous entendrez parler d'amour._
+
+_Aur._ [_aside to_ CAM.] Camillo, this is my incorrigible rogue; and I
+dare not call him, Benito, for fear of discovering myself not to be
+Benito.
+
+_Cam._ The alarm is already given through the house. Ladies, you must
+be quick: Secure yourselves and leave us to shift.    [_Exeunt Women._
+
+_Within._ This way, this way.
+
+_Aur._ I hear them coming; and, as ill luck will have it, just by that
+quarter where our ladder is placed.
+
+_Cam._ Let us hide in the dark walk till they are past.
+
+_Aur._ But then Benito will be caught, and, being known to be my man,
+will betray us.
+
+_Ben._ I hear some in the garden: Sure they are the ladies, that are
+taken with my melody. To it again, Benito; this time I will absolutely
+enchant them.                                           [_Fums again._
+
+_Aur_: He is at it again. Why, Benito, are you mad?
+
+_Ben._ Ah, madam! are you there? This is such a favour to your poor
+unworthy servant.                                            [_Sings._
+
+  _But still between kissing Amyntas did say,
+  Fair Phillis, look up, and you'll turn night to day._
+
+_Aur._ Come away, you insufferable rascal; the house is up, and will
+be upon us immediately.
+
+_Ben._ O gemini, is it you, sir?
+
+_Within._ This way; follow, follow.
+
+_Aur._ Leave your scraping and croaking, and step with us into this
+arbour.
+
+_Ben._ Scraping and croaking! 'Sfoot, sir, either grant I sing and
+play to a miracle, or I'll justify my music, though I am caught, and
+hanged for it.
+
+  _Enter_ MARIO, _and Servants._
+
+_Mar._ Where is this serenading rascal? If I find him, I'll make him
+an example to all midnight caterwaulers, of which this fidler is the
+loudest.
+
+_Ben._ O that I durst but play my tune out, to convince him! Soul of
+harmony! Is this lewd?                      [_Plays and sings softly._
+
+_Cam._ Peace, dear Benito: We must flatter him.
+
+_Ben._ [_singing softly._] _Mettez le tete:_ The notes which follow
+are so sweet, sir, I must sing them, though it be my ruin--_Parler
+d'amour._                      [LAURA _and_ VIOLETTA _in the Balcony._
+
+_Lau._ Yes, we are safe, sister; but they are yet in danger.
+
+_Vio._ They are just upon them.
+
+_Lau._ We must do something: Help, help! thieves, thieves! we shall be
+murdered.
+
+_Mar._ Where? Where are they?
+
+_Lau._ Here, sir, at our chamber-door, and we are run into the balcony
+for shelter: Dear uncle, come and help us.
+
+_Mar._ Back again quickly: I durst have sworn they had been in the
+garden. 'Tis an _ignis fatuus_, I think, that leads us from one place
+to another.                             [_Exit_ MARIO, _and Servants._
+
+_Vio._ They are gone. My dear Camillo, make haste, and preserve
+yourself.
+
+_Cam._ May our next meeting prove more propitious!
+
+_Aur._ [_To_ BENTIO.] Come, sirrah, I shall make you sing another note
+when you are at home.
+
+_Ben._ Such another word, and I'll sing again.
+
+_Aur._ Set the ladder, and mount first, you rogue.
+
+_Ben._ Mount first yourself, and fear not my delaying.
+If I am caught, they'll spare me for my playing.
+                                              [_Sings as he goes off._
+  _Vouz entendrez parler d'amour._                          [_Exeunt._
+
+
+ACT III.
+
+SCENE I.--_The Front of the Nunnery._
+
+  ASCANIO, _and_ HIPPOLITA, _at the Grate._
+
+_Hip._ I see you have kept touch, brother.
+
+_Asca._ As a man of honour ought, sister, when he is challenged. And
+now, according to the laws of duel, the next thing is to strip, and,
+instead of seconds, to search one another.
+
+_Hip._ We will strip our hands, if you please, brother; for they are
+the only weapons we must use.
+
+_Asca._ That were to invite me to my loss, sister; I could have made a
+full meal in the world, and you would have me take up with hungry
+commons in the cloyster. Pray mend my fare, or I am gone.
+
+_Hip._ O, brother, a hand in a cloyster is fare like flesh in Spain;
+'tis delicate, because 'tis scarce. You may be satisfied with a hand,
+as well as I am pleased with the courtship of a boy.
+
+_Asca._ You may begin with me, sister, as Milo did; by carrying a calf
+first, you may learn to carry an ox hereafter. In the mean time
+produce your hand, I understand nun's flesh better than you imagine:
+Give it me, you shall see how I will worry it. [_She gives her hand._]
+Now could not we thrust out our lips, and contrive a kiss too?
+
+_Hip._ Yes, we may; but I have had the experience of it: It will be
+but half flesh, half iron.
+
+_Asca._ Let's try, however.
+
+_Hip._ Hold, Lucretia's here.
+
+_Asca._ Nay, If you come with odds upon me, 'tis time to call seconds.
+                                                      [ASCANIO _hems._
+
+  _The Prince and_ LUCRETIA _appear._
+
+_Luc._ Sir, though your song was pleasant, yet there was one thing
+amiss in it,--that was, your rallying of religion.
+
+_Fred._ Do you speak well of my friend Love, and I'll try to speak
+well of your friend Devotion.
+
+_Luc._ I can never speak well of love: 'Twas to avoid it that I
+entered here.
+
+_Fred._ Then, madam, you have met your man; for, to confess the truth
+to you, I have but counterfeited love, to try you; for I never yet
+could love any woman: and, since I have seen you, and do not, I am
+certain now I shall 'scape for ever.
+
+_Luc._ You are the best man in the world, if you continue this
+resolution. Pray, then, let us vow solemnly these two things: the
+first, to esteem each other better than we do all the world besides;
+the next, never to change our amity to love.
+
+_Fred._ Agreed, madam. Shall I kiss your hand on it?
+
+_Luc._ That is too like a lover; or if it were not, the narrowness of
+the grate will excuse the ceremony.
+
+_Hip._ No, but it will not, to my knowledge: I have tried every bar
+many a fair time over; and at last have found out one, where a hand
+may get through, and be gallanted.
+
+_Luc._ [_giving her hand._] There, sir, 'tis a true one.
+
+_Fred._ [_kissing it._] This, then, is a seal to our perpetual
+friendship, and defiance to all love.
+
+_Luc._ That seducer of virtue.
+
+_Fred._ That disturber of quiet.
+
+_Luc._ That madness of youth.
+
+_Fred._ That dotage of old age.
+
+_Luc._ That enemy to good humour.
+
+_Fred._ And, to conclude all, that reason of all unreasonable actions.
+
+_Asca._ This doctrine is abominable; do not believe it, sister.
+
+_Hip._ No; if I do, brother, may I never have comfort from sweet youth
+at my extremity.
+
+_Luc._ But remember one article of our friendship, that though we
+banish love, we do not mirth, nor gallantly; for I declare, I am for
+all extravagancies, but just loving.
+
+_Fred._ Just my own humour; for I hate gravity and melancholy next to
+love.
+
+_Asca._ Now it comes into my head, the duke of Mantua makes an
+entertainment to night in masquerade: If you love extravagancy so
+well, madam, I'll put you into the head of one; lay by your nunship
+for an hour or two, and come amongst us in disguise.
+
+_Fred._ My boy is in the right, madam. Will you venture? I'll furnish
+you with masking-habits.
+
+_Hip._ O my dear sister, never refuse it; I keep the keys, you know:
+I'll warrant you we will return before we are missed. I do so long to
+have one fling into the sweet world again, before I die. Hang it, at
+worst, it is but one sin more, and then we will repent for all
+together.
+
+_Asca._ But if I catch you in the world, sister, I'll make you have a
+better opinion of the flesh and the devil for ever after.
+
+_Luc._ If it were known, I were lost for ever.
+
+_Fred._ How should it be known? You have her on your side, there, that
+keeps the keys: And, put the worst, that you are taken in the world,
+the world is a good world to stay in; and there are certain occasions
+of waking in a morning, that may be more pleasant to you than your
+matins.
+
+_Luc._ Fye, friend, these extravagancies are a breach of articles in
+our friendship. But well, for once, I'll venture to go out: Dancing
+and singing are but petty transgressions.
+
+_Asca._ My lord, here is company approaching; we shall be discovered.
+
+_Fred._ Adieu, then, _jusqu' a revoir_; Ascanio shall be with you
+immediately, to conduct you.
+
+_Asca._ How will you disguise, sister? Will you be a man or a woman?
+
+_Hip._ A woman, brother page, for life: I should have the strangest
+thoughts if I once wore breeches.
+
+_Asca._ A woman, say you? Here is my hand, if I meet you in place
+convenient, I'll do my best to make you one.                [_Exeunt._
+
+  _Enter_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO.
+
+_Cam._ But why thus melancholy, with hat pulled down, and the hand on
+the region of the heart, just the reverse of my friend Aurelian, of
+happy memory?
+
+_Aur._ Faith, Camillo, I am ashamed of it, but cannot help it.
+
+_Cam._ But to be in love with a waiting-woman! with an eater of
+fragments, a simperer at lower end of a table, with mighty golls,
+rough-grained, and red with starching, those discouragers and abaters
+of elevated love!
+
+_Aur._ I could love deformity itself, with that good humour. She, who
+is armed with gaiety and wit, needs no other weapon to conquer me.
+
+_Cam._ We lovers are the great creators of wit in our mistresses. For
+Beatrix, she is a mere utterer of yes and no, and has no more sense
+than what will just dignify her to be an arrant waiting-woman; that
+is, to lie for her lady, and take your money.
+
+_Aur._ It may be, then, I found her in the exaltation of her wit; for
+certainly women have their good and ill days of talking, as they have
+of looking.
+
+_Cam._ But, however, she has done you the courtesy to drive out Laura;
+and so one poison has expelled the other.
+
+_Aur._ Troth, not absolutely neither; for I dote on Laura's beauty,
+and on Beatrix's wit: I am wounded with a forked arrow, which will not
+easily be got out.
+
+_Cam._ Not to lose time in fruitless complaints, let us pursue our new
+contrivance, that you may see your two mistresses, and I my one.
+
+_Aur._ That will not now be difficult: This plot's so laid, that I
+defy the devil to make it miss. The woman of the house, by which they
+are to pass to church, is bribed; the ladies are by her acquainted
+with the design; and we need only to be there before them, and expect
+the prey, which will undoubtedly fall into the net.
+
+_Cam._ Your man is made safe, I hope, from doing us any mischief?
+
+_Aur._ He has disposed of himself, I thank him, for an hour or two:
+The fop would make me believe, that an unknown lady is in love with
+him, and has made him an assignation.
+
+_Cam._ If he should succeed now, I should have the worse opinion of
+the sex for his sake.
+
+_Aur._ Never doubt but he will succeed: Your brisk fool, that can make
+a leg, is ever a fine gentleman among the ladies, because he is just
+of their talent, and they understand him better than a wit.
+
+_Cam._ Peace, the ladies are coming this way to the chapel, and their
+jailor with them: Let them go by without saluting, to avoid suspicion;
+and let us go off to prepare our engine.
+
+  _Enter_ MARIO, LAURA, _and_ VIOLETTA.
+
+_Aur._ I must have a look before we go. Ah, you little divine rogue!
+I'll be with you immediately.        [_Exeunt_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO.
+
+_Vio._ Look you, sister, there are our friends, but take no notice.
+
+_Lau._ I saw them. Was not that Aurelian with Camillo?
+
+_Vio._ Yes.
+
+_Lau._ I like him strangely. If his person were joined with Benito's
+wit, I know not what would become of my poor heart.
+
+  _Enter_ FABIO, _and whispers with_ MARIO.
+
+_Mar._ Stay, nieces, I'll but speak a word with Fabio, and go with you
+immediately.
+
+_Vio._ I see, sister, you are infinitely taken with Benito's wit; but
+I have heard he is a very conceited coxcomb.
+
+_Lau._ They, who told you so, were horribly mistaken. You shall be
+judge yourself, Violetta; for, to confess frankly to you, I have made
+him a kind of an appointment.
+
+_Vio._ How! have you made an assignation to Benito? A serving-man! a
+trencher-carrying rascal!
+
+_Lau._ Good words, Violetta! I only sent to him from an unknown lady
+near this chapel, that I might view him in passing by, and see if his
+person were answerable to his conversation.
+
+_Vio._ But how will you get rid of my uncle?
+
+_Lau._ You see my project; his man Fabio is bribed by me, to hold him
+in discourse.
+
+  _Enter_ BENITO, _looking about him._
+
+_Vio._ In my conscience this is he. Lord, what a monster of a man is
+there! with such a workiday rough-hewn face too! for, faith, heaven
+has not bestowed the finishing upon it.
+
+_Lau._ It is impossible this should be Benito; yet he stalks this way.
+From such a piece of animated timber, sweet heaven deliver me!
+
+_Ben._ [_Aside._] This must of necessity be the lady who is in love
+with me. See, how she surveys my person! certainly one wit knows
+another by instinct. By that old gentleman, it should be the lady
+Laura too. Hum! Benito, thou art made for ever.
+
+_Lau._ He has the most unpromising face, for a wit, I ever saw; and
+yet he had need have a very good one, to make amends for his face. I
+am half cured of him already.
+
+_Ben._ What means all this surveying, madam? You bristle up to me, and
+wheel about me, like a turkey-cock that is making love: Faith, how do
+you like my person, ha?
+
+_Lau._ I dare not praise it, for fear of the old compliment, that you
+should tell me, it is at my service. But, pray, is your name Benito?
+
+_Ben._ Signior Benito, at your service, madam.
+
+_Lau._ And have you no brother, or any other of your name; one that is
+a wit, attending on signior Aurelian?
+
+_Ben._ No, I can assure your ladyship; I myself am the only wit, who
+does him the honour,--not to attend him, but--to bear him company.
+
+_Lau._ But sure it was another you, that waited on Camillo in the
+garden, last night?
+
+_Ben._ It was no other me, but me signior Benito.
+
+_Lau._ 'Tis impossible.
+
+_Ben._ 'Tis most certain.
+
+_Lau._ Then I would advise you to go thither again, and look for the
+wit which you have left there, for you have brought very little along
+with you. Your voice, methinks, too, is much altered.
+
+_Ben._ Only a little overstrained, or so, with singing.
+
+_Lau._ How slept you, after your adventure?
+
+_Ben._ Faith, lady, I could not sleep one wink, for dreaming of you.
+
+_Lau._ Not sleep for dreaming? When the place falls, you shall be
+bull-master-general at court.
+
+Ben. _Et tu, Brute!_ Do you mistake me for a fool too? Then, I find
+there's one more of that opinion besides my master.
+
+_Vio._ Sister, look to yourself, my uncle is returning.
+
+_Lau._ I am glad on't: He has done my business: He has absolutely
+cured me. Lord, that I could be so mistaken!
+
+_Vio._ I told you what he was.
+
+_Lau._ He was quite another thing last night: Never was man so altered
+in four-and-twenty hours. A pure clown, mere elementary earth, without
+the least spark of soul in him!
+
+_Ben._ But, tell me truly, are not you in love with me? Confess the
+truth: I love plain-dealing: You shall not find me refractory.
+
+_Lau._ Away, thou animal! I have found thee out for a high and mighty
+fool, and so I leave thee.
+
+_Mar._ Come, now I am ready for you; as little devotion, and as much
+good huswifery as you please. Take example by me: I assure you, nobody
+debauches me to church, except it be in your company.       [_Exeunt._
+
+  _Manet_ BENITO.
+
+_Ben._ I am undone for ever; What shall I do with myself? I'll run
+into some desart, and there I'll hide my opprobrious head. No, hang
+it, I wont neither; all wits have their failings sometimes, and have
+the fortune to be thought fools once in their lives. Sure this is but
+a copy of her countenance; for my heart is true to me, and whispers to
+me, she loves me still. Well, I'll trust in my own merits, and be
+confident.                   [_A noise of throwing down water within._
+
+  _Enter_ MARIO, FABIO, LAURA, _and_ VIOLETTA.
+
+_Lau._ [_Shaking her clothes._] O, sir, I am wet quite through my
+clothes, and am not able to endure it.
+
+_Vio._ Was there ever such an insolence?
+
+_Mar._ Send in to see who lives there: I'll make an example of them.
+
+  _Enter_ FRONTONA.
+
+_Fab._ Here is the woman of the house herself, sir.
+
+_Fron._ Sir, I submit, most willingly, to any punishment you shall
+inflict upon me: For, though I intended nothing of an affront to these
+sweet ladies, yet I can never forgive myself the misfortune, of which
+I was the innocent occasion.
+
+_Vio._ O, I am ready to faint away!
+
+_Fron._ Alas, poor sweet lady, she's young and tender, sir. I beseech
+you, give me leave to repair my offence, with offering myself, and
+poor house, for her accommodation.
+
+_Ben._ I know that woman: There's some villanous plot in this, I'll
+lay my life on't. Now, Benito, cast about for thy credit, and recover
+all again.
+
+_Mar._ Go into the coach, nieces, and bid the coachman drive apace. As
+for you, mistress, your smooth tongue shall not excuse you.
+
+_Lau._ By your favour, sir, I'll accept of the gentlewoman's civility;
+I cannot stir a step farther.
+
+_Fron._ Come in, sweet buds of beauty, you shall have a fire in an
+inner chamber; and if you please to repose yourself a while, sir, in
+another room, they shall come out, and wait on you immediately.
+
+_Mar._ Well, it must be so.
+
+_Fron_. [_Whispering the Ladies._] Your friends are ready in the
+garden, and will be with you as soon as we have shaken off your uncle.
+
+_Ben._ A cheat, a cheat! a rank one! I smell it, old sir, I smell it.
+
+_Mar._ What's the matter with the fellow? Is he distracted?
+
+_Ben._ No, 'tis you are more likely to be distracted but that there
+goes some wit to the being mad; and you have not the least grain of
+wit, to be gulled thus grossly.
+
+_Fron._ What does the fellow mean?
+
+_Ben._ The fellow means to detect your villany, and to recover his
+lost reputation of a wit.
+
+_Fron._ Why, friend, what villany? I hope my house is a civil house.
+
+_Ben._ Yes, a very civil one; for my master lay in of his last clap
+there, and was treated very civilly, to my knowledge.
+
+_Mar._ How's this, how's this?
+
+_Fron._ Come, you are a dirty fellow, and I am known to be a person
+that--
+
+_Ben._ Yes, you are known to be a person that--
+
+_Fron._ Speak your worst of me; what person am I known to be?
+
+_Ben._ Why, if you will have it, you are little better than a
+procuress: You carry messages betwixt party and party:--And, in one
+word, sir, she's as arrant a fruit-woman as any is about Rome.
+
+_Mar._ Nay, if she be a fruit-woman, my nieces shall not enter her
+doors.
+
+_Ben._ You had best let them enter, you do not know how they may
+fructify in her house: For I heard her, with these ears, whisper to
+them, that their friends were within call.
+
+_Mar._ This is palpable, this is manifest; I shall remember you, lady
+fruiterer; I shall have your baskets searched when you bring oranges
+again.--Come away, nieces; and thanks, honest fellow, for thy
+discovery.                                [_Exeunt_ MARIO _and Women._
+
+Ben. _Hah couragio! Il diavolo e morto:_ Now, I think I have tickled
+it; this discovery has reinstated me into the empire of my wit again.
+Now, in the pomp of this achievement, will I present myself before
+madam Laura, with a--Behold, madam, the happy restoration of Benito!
+
+  _Enter_ AURELIAN, CAMILLO, _and_ FRONTONA, _over-hearing him,_
+
+Oh, now, that I had the mirror, to behold myself in the fulness of my
+glory! and, oh, that the domineering fop, my master, were in presence,
+that I might triumph over him! that I might even contemn the wretched
+wight, the mortal of a grovelling soul, and of a debased
+understanding. [_He looks about him, and sees his master._] How the
+devil came these three together? Nothing vexes me, but that I must
+stand bare to him, after such an enterprise as this is.
+
+_Aur._ Nay, put on, put on again, sweet sir; why should you be
+uncovered before the fop your master, the wretched wight, the mortal
+of a grovelling soul?
+
+_Ben._ Ay, sir, you may make bold with yourself at your own pleasure:
+But, for all that, a little bidding would make me take your counsel,
+and be covered, as affairs go now.
+
+_Aur._ If it be lawful for a man of a debased understanding to confer
+with such an exalted wit, pray what was that glorious achievement,
+which wrapt you into such an ecstasy?
+
+_Ben._ 'Tis a sign you know well how matters go, by your asking me so
+impertinent a question.
+
+_Aur._ [_Putting off his hat to him._] Sir, I beg of you, as your most
+humble master, to be satisfied.
+
+_Ben._ Your servant, sir; at present I am not at leisure for
+conference. But hark you, sir, by the way of friendly advice, one
+word: Henceforward, tell me no more of the adventure of the garden,
+nor of the great looking-glass.
+
+_Aur._ You mean the mirror.
+
+_Ben._ Yes, the mirror; tell me no more of that, except you could
+behold in it a better, a more discreet, or a more able face for
+stratagem, than I can, when I look there.
+
+_Aur._ But, to the business; What is this famous enterprise?
+
+_Ben._ Be satisfied, without troubling me farther, the business is
+done, the rogues are defeated, and your mistress is secured: If you
+would know more, demand it of that criminal [_Pointing to_ FRON.], and
+ask her, how she dares appear before you, after such a signal
+treachery, or before me, after such an overthrow?
+
+_Fron._ I know nothing, but only that, by your master's order, I was
+to receive the two ladies into my house, and you prevented it.
+
+_Ben._ By my master's order? I'll never believe it. This is your
+stratagem, to free yourself, and deprive me of my reward.
+
+_Cam._ I'll witness what she says is true.
+
+_Ben._ I am deaf to all asseverations, that make against my honour.
+
+_Aur._ I'll swear it then. We two were the two rogues, and you the
+discoverer of our villany.
+
+_Ben._ Then, woe, woe, to poor Benito! I find my abundance of wit has
+ruined me.
+
+_Aur._ But come a little nearer: I would not receive a good office
+from a servant, but I would reward him for his diligence.
+
+_Ben._ Virtue, sir, is its own reward: I expect none from you.
+
+_Aur._ Since it is so, sir, you shall lose no further time in my
+service: Henceforward, pray know me for your humble servant; for your
+master I am resolved to be no longer.
+
+_Ben._ Nay, rather than so, sir, I beseech you let a good, honest,
+sufficient beating atone the difference.
+
+_Aur._ 'Tis in vain.
+
+_Ben._ I am loth to leave you without a guide.
+
+_Aur._ He's at it again! do you hear, Camillo?
+
+_Cam._ Pr'ythee, Aurelian, be mollified, and beat him.
+
+_Fron._ Pray, sir, hear reason, and lay it on, for my sake.
+
+_Aur._ I am obdurate.
+
+_Cam._ But what will your father say, if you part with him?
+
+_Aur._ I care not.
+
+_Ben._ Well, sir, since you are so peremptory, remember I have offered
+you satisfaction, and so long my conscience is at ease. What a devil,
+before I'll offer myself twice to be beaten, by any master in
+Christendom, I'll starve, and that is my resolution; and so your
+servant that was, sir.                                        [_Exit._
+
+_Aur._ I am glad I am rid of him; he was my evil genius, and was
+always appearing to me, to blast my undertakings: Let me send him
+never so far off, the devil would be sure to put him in my way, when I
+had any thing to execute. Come, Camillo, now we have changed the dice,
+it may be we shall have better fortune.                     [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+  _Enter the Duke of Mantua in masquerade,_ FREDERICK, VALERIO, _and
+  others. On the other side, enter_ LUCRETIA, HIPPOLITA, _and_
+  ASCANIO.
+
+_Luc._ [_To_ ASCA.] The prince I know already, by your description of
+his masking habit; but, which is the duke, his father?
+
+_Asca._ He whom you see talking with the prince, and looking this way.
+I believe he has observed us.
+
+_Luc._ If he has not, I am resolved we'll make ourselves as remarkable
+as we can: I'll exercise my talent of dancing.
+
+_Hip._ And I mine of singing.
+
+_Duke._ [_To_ FRED.] Do you know the company which came in last?
+
+_Fred._ I cannot possibly imagine who they are.--At least I will not
+tell you.                                                    [_Aside._
+
+_Duke._ There's something very uncommon in the air of one of them.
+
+_Fred._ Please you, sir, I'll discourse with her, and see if I can
+satisfy your highness.
+
+_Duke._ Stay, there's a dance beginning, and she seems as if she would
+make one.
+
+                           SONG AND DANCE.
+
+  _Long betwixt love and fear Phyllis, tormented,
+  Shunned her own wish, yet at last she consented:
+  But loth that day should her blushes discover,
+    Come, gentle night, she said,
+    Come quickly to my aid,
+    And a poor shamefaced maid
+    Hide from her lover._
+
+  _Now cold as ice I am, now hot as fire,
+  I dare not tell myself my own desire;
+  But let day fly away, and let night haste her:
+    Grant, ye kind powers above,
+    Slow hours to parting love;
+    But when to bless we move,
+    Bid them fly faster._
+
+  _How sweet it is to love, when I discover
+  That fire, which burns my heart, warming my lover!
+  'Tis pity love so true should be mistaken:
+    But if this night he be
+    False or unkind to me,
+    Let me die, ere I see
+    That I'm forsaken._
+
+_Duke_ [_After the dance._] My curiosity redoubles; I must needs hail
+that unknown vessel, and enquire whither she's bound, and what freight
+she carries.
+
+_Fred._ She's not worth your trouble, sir: She'll either prove some
+common courtezan in disguise, or, at best, some homely person of
+honour, that only dances well enough to invite a sight of herself, and
+would look ill enough to fright you.
+
+_Duke._ That's maliciously said; all I see of her is charming, and I
+have reason to think her face is of the same piece; at least I'll try
+my fortune.
+
+_Fred._ What an unlucky accident is this! If my father should discover
+her, she's ruined: If he does not, yet I have lost her conversation
+to-night.
+
+  _Duke approaches_ LUCRETIA.
+
+_Asca._ 'Tis the duke himself, who comes to court you.
+
+_Luc._ Peace, I'll fit him; for I have been informed, to the least
+tittle, of his actions since he came to town.
+
+_Duke._ [_To_ Luc.] Madam, the duke of Mantua, whom you must needs
+imagine to be in this company, has sent me to you, to know what kind
+of face there is belonging to that excellent shape, and to those
+charming motions, which he observed so lately in your dancing.
+
+_Luc._ Tell his highness, if you please, that there is a face within
+the mask, so very deformed, that, if it were discovered, it would
+prove the worst visor of the two; and that, of all men, he ought not
+to desire it should be exposed, because then something would be found
+amiss in an entertainment, which he has made so splendid and
+magnificent.
+
+_Duke._ The duke, I am sure, would be very proud of your compliment,
+but it would leave him more unsatisfied than before; for, he will find
+in it so much of gallantry, as, being added to your other graces, will
+move him to a strange temptation of knowing you.
+
+_Luc._ I should still have the same reason to refuse him; for 'twere a
+madness, when I had charmed him by my motion and converse, to hazard
+the loss of that conquest by my eyes.
+
+_Duke._ I am on fire 'till I discover her. [_Aside._]--At least,
+madam, tell me of what family you are.
+
+_Luc._ Will you be satisfied, if I tell you I am of the Colonne? You
+have seen Julia of that house?
+
+_Duke._ Then you are she.
+
+_Luc._ Have I not her stature most exactly?
+
+_Duke._ As near as I remember.
+
+_Luc._ But, by your favour, I have nothing of her shape; for, if I may
+be so vain to praise myself, she's a little thicker in the shoulders,
+and, besides, she moves ungracefully.
+
+_Duke._ Then you are not she again.
+
+_Luc._ No, not she: But you have forgotten Emilia of the Ursini, whom
+the duke saluted yesterday at her balcony, when he entered. Her air
+and motion--
+
+_Duke._ Are the very same with yours. Now I am sure I know you.
+
+_Luc._ But there's too little of her to make a beauty: My stature is
+more advantageous.
+
+_Duke._ You have cozened me again.
+
+_Luc._ Well, I find at last I must confess myself: What think you of
+Eugenia Beata? The duke seemed to be infinitely pleased last night,
+when my brother presented me to him at the Belvidere.
+
+_Duke._ Now I am certain you are she, for you have both her stature
+and her motion.
+
+_Luc._ But, if you remember yourself a little better, there's some
+small difference in our wit; for she has indeed the air and beauty of
+a Roman lady, but all the dulness of a Dutch woman.
+
+_Duke._ I see, madam, you are resolved to conceal yourself, and I am
+as fully resolved to know you.
+
+_Luc._ See which of our resolutions will take place.
+
+_Duke._ I come from the duke, and can assure you, he is of an humour
+to be obeyed.
+
+_Luc._ And I am of an humour not to obey him. But why should he be so
+curious?
+
+_Duke._ If you would have my opinion, I believe he is in love with
+you.
+
+_Luc._ Without seeing me?
+
+_Duke._ Without seeing all of you: Love is love, let it wound us from
+what part it please; and if he have enough from your shape and
+conversation, his business is done, the more compendiously, without
+the face.
+
+_Luc._ But the duke cannot be taken with my conversation, for he never
+heard me speak.
+
+_Duke._ [_Aside._] 'Slife, I shall discover myself.--Yes madam, he
+stood by _incognito_, and heard me speak with you: But--
+
+_Luc._ I wish he had trusted to his own courtship, and spoke himself;
+for it gives us a bad impression of a prince's wit, when we see fools
+in favour about his person.
+
+_Duke._ Whatever I am, I have it in commission from him to tell you,
+he's in love with you.
+
+_Luc._ The good old gentleman may dote, if he so pleases; but love,
+and fifty years old, are stark nonsense.
+
+_Duke._ But some men, you know, are green at fifty.
+
+_Luc._ Yes, in their understandings.
+
+_Duke._ You speak with great contempt of a prince, who has some
+reputation in the world.
+
+_Luc._ No; 'tis you that speak with contempt of him, by saying he is
+in love at such an age.
+
+_Duke._ Then, madam, 'tis necessary you should know him better for his
+reputation; and that shall be, though he violate the laws of
+masquerade, and force you.
+
+_Fred._ I suspected this from his violent temper. [_Aside._] Sir, the
+emperor's ambassador is here in masquerade, and I believe this to be
+his lady: It were well if you inquired of him, before you forced her
+to discover.
+
+_Duke._ Which is the ambassador?
+
+_Fred._ That farthermost.                     [_Duke retires farther._
+
+_Fred._ to _Luc._ Take your opportunity to escape, while his back is
+turned, or you are ruined. Ascanio, wait on her.
+
+_Luc._ I am so frighted, I cannot stay to thank you.
+                                       [_Exeunt_ LUC. ASCA. _and_ HIP.
+
+_Duke_ to _Fred._ 'Tis a mistake, the ambassador knows nothing of her:
+I'm resolved I'll know it of herself, ere she shall depart.--Ha! Where
+is she? I left her here.
+
+_Fred._ [_Aside._] Out of your reach, father mine, I hope.
+
+_Duke._ She has either shifted places, or else slipped out of the
+assembly.
+
+_Fred._ I have looked round: She must be gone, sir.
+
+_Duke._ She must not be gone, sir. Search for her every where: I will
+have her.
+
+_Fred._ Has she offended your highness?
+
+_Duke._ Peace, with your impertinent questions. Come hither, Valerio.
+
+_Val._ Sir?
+
+_Duke._ O, Valerio, I am desperately in love: That lady, with whom you
+saw me talking, has--But I lose time; she's gone; haste after her,--
+find her,--bring her back to me.
+
+_Val._ If it be possible.
+
+_Duke._ It must be possible; the quiet of my life depends upon it.
+
+_Val._ Which way took she?
+
+_Duke._ Go any way,--every way; ask no questions: I know no more, but
+that she must,--must be had.                          [_Exit_ VALERIO.
+
+_Fred._ Sir, the assembly will observe, that--
+
+_Duke._ Damn the assembly; 'tis a dull insignificant crowd, now she is
+not here: Break it up, I'll stay no longer.
+
+_Fred._ [_Aside._] I hope she's safe, and then this fantastic love of
+my father's will make us sport to-momorrow.                 [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+  _Enter_ LUCRETIA, ASCANIO, _and_ HIPPOLITA.
+
+_Luc._ Now that we are safe at the gate of our convent, methinks the
+adventure was not unpleasant.
+
+_Hip._ And now that I am out of danger, brother, I may tell you what a
+novice you are in love, to tempt a young sister into the wide world,
+and not to show her the difference betwixt that and her cloister. I
+find I may venture safely with you another time.
+
+_Asca._ O, sister, you play the brazen-head with me,--you give me
+warning when time's past. But that was no fit opportunity: I hate to
+snatch a morsel of love, and so away. I am for a set-meal, where I may
+enjoy my full gust; but, when I once fall on, you shall find me a
+brave man upon occasion.
+
+_Luc._ 'Tis time we were in our cells. Quick, Hippolita; where's the
+key?
+
+_Hip._ Here, in my pocket--No, 'tis in my other pocket:--Ha, 'tis not
+there neither. I am sure I put it in one of them.
+
+_Luc._ What should we do, if it should be lost now?
+
+_Hip._ I have searched myself all over, and cannot find it.
+
+_Asca._ A woman can never search herself all over; let me search you,
+sister.
+
+_Luc._ Is this a time for raillery? Oh, sweet heaven! speak comfort
+quickly; have you found it?              [_Here_ ASCANIO _slips away._
+
+_Hip._ Speak you comfort, madam, and tell me you have it, for I am too
+sure that I have none on't.
+
+_Luc._ O, unfortunate that we are! day's breaking; the handicrafts'
+shops begin to open.                                 [_Clock strikes._
+
+_Hip._ The clock strikes two: Within this half hour we shall be called
+up to our devotions. Now, good Ascanio--Alas, he's gone too! we are
+left miserable and forlorn.
+
+_Luc._ We have not so much as one place in the town for a retreat.
+
+_Hip._ O, for a miracle in our time of need! that some kind
+good-natured saint would take us up, and heave us over the wall into
+our cells.
+
+_Luc._ Dear sister, pray, for I cannot: I have been so sinful in
+leaving my cloister for the world, that I am ashamed to trouble my
+friends above to help me.
+
+_Hip._ Alas, sister, with what face can I pray then! Yours were but
+little vanities, but I have sinned swingingly against my vow; yes,
+indeed, sister, I have been very wicked,--for I wished the ball might
+be kept perpetually in our cloister, and that half the handsome nuns
+in it might be turned to men, for the sake of the other.
+
+_Luc._ Well, if I were free from this disgrace, I would never more set
+foot beyond the cloister, for the sake of any man.
+
+_Hip._ And here I vow, if I get safe within my cell, I will not think
+of man again these seven years.
+
+  _Re-enter_ ASCANIO.
+
+_Asca._ Hold, Hippolita, and make no more rash vows: If you do, as I
+live, you shall not have the key.
+
+_Hip._ The key! why, have you it, brother?
+
+_Luc._ He does but mock us. I know you have it not, Ascanio.
+
+Asca. _Ecce signum;_ here it is for you.
+
+_Hip._ O, sweet brother, let me kiss you.
+
+_Asca._ Hands off, sweet sister, you must not be forsworn; you vowed
+you would not think of a man these seven years.
+
+_Hip._ Aye, brother, but I was not so hasty but I had wit enough to
+cozen the saint to whom I vowed; for you are but a boy, brother, and
+will not be a man these seven years.
+
+_Luc._ But where did you find the key, Ascanio?
+
+_Asca._ To confess the truth, madam, I stole it out of Hippolita's
+pocket, to take the print of it in wax; for I'll suppose you'll give
+my master leave to wait on you in the nunnery-garden, after your
+abbess has walked the rounds.
+
+_Luc._ Well, well, good-morrow. When you have slept, come to the grate
+for a letter to your lord. Now will I have the headach, or the megrim,
+or some excuse; for I'm resolved I'll not rise to prayers.
+
+_Hip._ Pray, brother, take care of our masking-habits, that they may
+be forthcoming another time.
+
+_Asca._ Sleep, sleep, and dream of me, sister: I'll make it good, if
+you dream not too unreasonably.
+
+_Luc._ Thus dangers in our love make joys more dear;
+And pleasure's sweetest when 'tis mixed with fear.          [_Exeunt._
+
+
+ACT IV.
+
+SCENE I.--_A Dressing-chamber._
+
+  _The Masking-habits of_ LUCRETIA _and_ HIPPOLITA _laid in a
+  Chair.--Enter_ FREDERICK _and_ ASCANIO.
+
+_Fred._ I never thought I should have loved her. Is't come to this,
+after all my boastings and declarations against it? Sure I loved her
+before, and did not know it, till I feared to lose her: There's the
+reason. I had never desired her, if my father had not. This is just
+the longing of a woman: She never finds the appetite in herself, till
+she sees the meat on another's plate. I'm glad, however, you took the
+impression of the key; but 'twas not well to fright them.
+
+_Asca._ Sir, I could not help it; but here's the effect on't: the
+workman sat up all night to make it.                   [_Gives a key._
+
+_Fred._ This key will admit me into the seraglio of the godly. The
+monastery has begun the war, in sallying out upon the world; and
+therefore 'tis but just that the world should make reprisals on the
+monastery.
+
+_Asca._ Alas, sir, you and Lucretia do but skirmish; 'tis I and
+Hippolita that make the war: 'Tis true, opportunity has been wanting
+for a battle, but the forces have been stoutly drawn up on both sides.
+As for your concernment, I come just now from the monastery; and have
+orders from your Platonic mistress to tell you, she expects you this
+evening in the garden of the nunnery; withal, she delivered me this
+letter for you.
+
+_Fred._ Give it me.
+
+_Asca._ O, sir, the duke your father!
+                       [_The Prince takes the letter, and, thinking to
+                        put it up hastily, drops it._
+
+  _Enter Duke._
+
+_Duke._ Now, Frederick, not abroad yet?
+
+_Fred._ Your last night's entertainment left me so weary, sir, that I
+overslept myself this morning.
+
+_Duke._ I rather envy you than blame you: Our sleep is certainly the
+most pleasant portion of our lives. For my own part, I spent the night
+waking and restless.
+
+_Fred._ Has any thing of moment happened to discompose your highness?
+
+_Duke._ I'll confess my follies to you: I am in love with a lady I saw
+last night in masquerade.
+
+_Fred._ 'Tis strange she should conceal herself.
+
+_Duke._ She has, from my best search; yet I took exact notice of her
+masking habit, and described it to those whom I employed to find her.
+
+_Fred._ [_Aside._] 'Sdeath, it lies there unremoved, and, if he turns
+himself, full in his eye. Now, now, 'twill be discovered.
+
+_Duke._ For 'twas extremely remarkable. I remember very well, 'twas a
+loose long robe, streaked black and white, girt with a large silver
+ribband, and the vizor was a Moor's face.
+
+_Fred._ [_Running to the chair where the habits are sits down._] Sir,
+I beg pardon of your highness for this rudeness; I am--O, Oh!--
+
+_Duke._ What's the matter?
+
+_Fred._ I am taken so extremely ill o' the sudden, that I am forced to
+sit before you.
+
+_Duke._ Alas, what's your distemper?
+
+_Fred._ A most violent griping, which pulls me together on a heap.
+
+_Duke._ Some cold, I fear, you took last night. [_Runs to the door._]
+Who waits there? Call physicians to the prince.
+
+_Fred._ Ascanio, remove these quickly.
+                           [ASCANIO _takes away the habits, and Exit._
+
+_Duke._ [_Returning._] How do you find yourself?
+
+_Fred._ [_Arising._] Much better, sir: That which pained me is
+removed. As it came unexpectedly, so it went as suddenly.
+
+  _Enter_ VALERIO.
+
+_Duke._ The air, perhaps, will do you good. If you have health, you
+may see those troops drawn out, which I design for Milan.
+
+_Fred._ Shall I wait your highness?
+
+_Duke._ No, leave me here with Valerio; I have a little business,
+which dispatched, I'll follow you immediately.--Well, what success,
+Valerio?                                            [_Exit_ FREDERICK.
+
+_Val._ Our endeavours are in vain, sir; there has been inquiry made
+about all the palaces in Rome, and neither of the masking habits can
+be discovered.
+
+_Duke._ Yet it must be a woman of quality. What paper's that at my
+foot?
+
+_Val._ [_Taking up the letter._] 'Tis sealed, sir, and directed to the
+prince.
+
+_Duke._ [_Taking the letter._] 'Tis a woman's, hand. Has he got a
+mistress in town so soon? I am resolved to open it, though I do not
+approve my own curiosity.                       [_Opens and reads it._
+
+_Now my fear is over, I can laugh at my last night's adventure. I find
+that at fifty all men grow incorrigible, and lovers especially; for,
+certainly, never any creature could be worse treated than your
+father;_ [How's this, Valerio? I am amazed.] _and yet the good, old,
+out-of-fashion gentleman heard himself rallied and bore it with all
+the patience of a Christian prince._ [Now, 'tis plain, the lady in
+masquerade is a mistress of my son's, and the undutiful wretch was in
+the plot to abuse me.] _Ascanio will tell you the latter part of our
+misfortune, how hardly we got into the cloister._ [A nun, too! Oh, the
+devil!] _When we meet next, pray provide to laugh heartily; for there
+is subject sufficient for a plentiful fit, and fop enough to spare for
+another time._
+                                   LUCRETIA.
+
+_Val._ Lucretia! now the mystery is unfolded.
+
+_Duke._ Do you know her?
+
+_Val._ When I was last at Rome I saw her often; she is near kinswoman
+to the present Pope; and, before he placed her in this nunnery of
+Benedictines, was the most celebrated beauty of the town.
+
+_Duke._ I know I ought to hate this woman, because she has affronted
+me thus grossly; but yet, I cannot help it, I must love her.
+
+_Val._ But, sir, you come on too much disadvantage to be your son's
+rival.
+
+_Duke._ I am deaf to all considerations: Pr'ythee do not think of
+giving a madman counsel. Pity me, and cure me, if thou canst; but
+remember, there's but one infallible medicine,--that's enjoyment.
+
+_Val._ I had forgot to tell you, sir, that the governor, Don Mario, is
+without, to wait on you.
+
+_Duke._ Desire him to come in.
+
+  _Enter Don_ MARIO.
+
+_Mar._ I am come, sir, to beg a favour from your highness; and 'tis on
+the behalf of my sister Sophronia, abbess of the Torr' di Specchi.
+
+_Val._ Sir, she's abbess of that very monastery where your mistress is
+inclosed.                                        [_Aside to the Duke._
+
+_Duke._ I should be glad to serve any relation of yours, Don Mario.
+
+_Mar._ Her request is, that you would be pleased to grace her chapel
+this afternoon. There will be music, and some little ceremony, in the
+reception of my two nieces, who are to be placed on pension there.
+
+_Duke._ Your nieces, I hear, are fair, and great fortunes.
+
+_Mar._ Great vexations, I'm sure they are; being daily haunted by a
+company of wild fellows, who buzz about my house like flies.
+
+_Duke._ Your design seems reasonable: women in hot countries are like
+oranges in cold; to preserve them, they must be perpetually housed.
+I'll bear you company to the monastery.--Come, Valerio; this
+opportunity is happy beyond our expectation.                [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE II.
+
+  _Enter_ CAMILLO _and_ AURELIAN.
+
+_Cam._ He has smarted sufficiently for this offence. Pr'ythee, dear
+Aurelian, forgive him. He waits without, and appears penitent; I'll be
+responsible for his future carriage.
+
+_Aur._ For your sake, then, I receive him into grace.
+
+_Cam._ [_At the door._] Benito, you may appear; your peace is made.
+
+  _Enter_ BENITO.
+
+_Aur._ But it must be upon conditions.
+
+_Ben._ Any conditions, that are reasonable; for, as I am a wit, sir, I
+have not eaten--
+
+_Aur._ You are in the path of perdition already; that's the principal
+of our conditions, you are to be a wit no more.
+
+_Ben._ Pray, sir, if it be possible, let me be a little wit still.
+
+_Aur._ No, sir; you can make a leg, and dance; those are no talents of
+a wit: you are cut out for a brisk fool, and can be no other.
+
+_Ben._ Pray, sir, let me think I am a wit, or my heart will break.
+
+_Cam._ That you will naturally do, as you are a fool.
+
+_Aur._ Then no farther meddling with adventures, or contrivances of
+your own; they are all belonging to the territories of wit, from
+whence you are banished.
+
+_Ben._ But what if my imagination should really furnish me with some--
+
+_Aur._ Not a plot, I hope?
+
+_Ben._ No, sir, no plot; but some expedient then, to mollify the word,
+when your invention has failed you?
+
+_Aur._ Think it a temptation of the devil, and believe it not.
+
+_Ben._ Then farewell all the happiness of my life.
+
+_Cam._ You know your doom, Benito; and now you may take your choice,
+whether you will renounce wit, or eating.
+
+_Ben._ Well, sir, I must continue my body, at what rate soever; and
+the rather, because now there's no farther need of me in your
+adventures; for I was assured by Beatrix, this morning, that her two
+mistresses are to be put in pension, in the nunnery of Benedictines,
+this afternoon.
+
+_Cam._ Then I am miserable.
+
+_Aur._ And you have deferred the telling it, till it is past time to
+study for prevention.
+
+_Cam._ Let us run thither immediately, and either perish in't, or free
+them. You'll assist me with your sword?
+
+_Aur._ Yes, if I cannot do it to more purpose with my counsel. Let us
+first play the fairest of our game; 'tis time enough to snatch when we
+have lost it.                                               [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE III.--_A Chapel._
+
+  _The_ DUKE, VALERIO, _Attendants. At the other door,_ LAURA,
+  VIOLETTA, BEATRIX, MARIO. _Instrumental and vocal music; in the time
+  of which, enter_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO. _After the music, enter_
+  SOPHRONIA, LUCRETIA, HIPPOLITA, _and other Nuns._
+
+_Duke._ [_To_ VALERIO, _who had whispered to him._] I needed not those
+marks to know her. She's one continued excellence; she's all over
+miracle.
+
+_Soph._ [_To the_ DUKE.] We know, sir, we are not capable by our
+entertainment, of adding any thing to your pleasures; and therefore we
+must attribute this favour of your presence, to your piety and
+devotion.
+
+_Duke._ You have treated me with harmony so excellent, that I believed
+myself among a choir of angels; especially when I beheld so fair a
+troop behind you.
+
+_Soph._ Their beauty, sir, is wholly dedicated to heaven, and is no
+way ambitious of a commendation, which, from your mouth, might raise a
+pride in any other of the sex.
+
+_Cam._ I am impatient, and can bear no longer. Let what will happen--
+
+_Aur._ Do you not see your ruin inevitable? Draw in a holy place! and
+in the presence of the Duke!
+
+_Mar._ I do not like Camillo's being here: I must cut short the
+ceremony.                                       [_Whispers_ SOPHRONIA.
+
+_Soph._ [_To_ LAURA _and_ VIOLETTA.] Come, fair cousins, we hope to
+make the cloisteral life so pleasing, that it may be an inducement to
+you to quit the wicked world for ever.
+
+_Vio._ [_Passing by_ CAMILLO.] Take that, and read it at your leisure.
+                                      [_Conveys a note into his hand._
+
+_Cam._ A ticket, as I live, Aurelian.
+
+_Aur._ Steal off, and be thankful: if that be my Beatrix with Laura,
+she's most confoundedly ugly. If ever we had come to love-work, and a
+candle had been brought us, I had fallen back from that face, like a
+buck-rabbit in coupling.             [_Exeunt_ CAMILLO _and_ AURELIAN.
+
+_Soph._ Daughters, the time of our devotion calls us.--All happiness
+to your highness.
+
+_Luc._ [_To_ HIPPOLITA.] Little thinks my venerable old love there,
+that his mistress in masquerade is so near him. Now do I even long to
+abuse that fop-gravity again.
+
+_Hip._ Methinks, he looks on us.
+
+_Luc._ Farewell, poor love; I am she, I am, for all my demure looks,
+that treated thee so inhumanly last night.
+                                 [_She is going off, after_ SOPHRONIA.
+
+_Duke._ [_following her._] Stay, lady; I would speak with you.
+
+_Luc._ Ah!                                               [_Shrieking._
+
+_Soph._ How now, daughter? What's the meaning of that indecent noise
+you make?
+
+_Luc._ [_Aside._] If I speak to him, he will discover my voice, and
+then I am ruined.
+
+_Duke._ If your name be Lucretia, I have some business of concernment
+with you.
+
+_Luc._ [_To_ SOPHRONIA.] Dear madam, for heaven's sake make haste into
+the cloister; the duke pursues me on some ill design.
+
+_Soph._ [_To the_ DUKE.] 'Tis not permitted, sir, for maids, once
+entered into religion, to hold discourses here of worldly things.
+
+_Duke._ But my discourses are not worldly, madam;
+I had a vision in the dead of night,
+Which shewed me this fair virgin in my sleep,
+And told me, that from her I should be taught
+Where to bestow large alms, and great endowments,
+On some near monastery.
+
+_Soph._ Stay, Lucretia;
+The holy vision's will must be obeyed. [_Exeunt_ SOPHRONIA _and Nuns._
+
+_Luc._ [_Aside._] He does not know me, sure; and yet I fear religion
+is the least of his business with me.
+
+_Duke._ I see, madam, beauty will be beauty in any habit;
+Though, I confess, the splendour of a court
+Were a much fitter scene for yours, than is
+A cloistered privacy.
+
+_Luc._ [_counterfeiting her voice._]
+The world has no temptations for a mind
+So fixed and raised above it;
+This humble cell contains and bounds my wishes:
+My charity gives you my prayers, and that's
+All my converse with human kind.
+
+_Duke._ Since when, madam, have the world and you been upon these
+equal terms of hostility? Time was, you have been better friends.
+
+_Luc._ No doubt I have been vain, and sinful; but the remembrance of
+those days cannot be pleasant to me now, and therefore, if you please,
+do not refresh their memory.
+
+_Duke._ Their memory! you speak as if they were ages past.
+
+_Luc._ You think me still what I was once--a vain, fond, giddy
+creature: I see, sir, whither your discourses tend, and therefore take
+my leave.
+
+_Duke._ Yes, madam, I know you see whither my discourses tend, and
+therefore 'twill not be convenient that you should take your leave.
+Disguise yourself no farther; you are known, as well as you knew me in
+masquerade.
+
+_Luc._ I am not used enough to the world to interpret riddles;
+therefore, once more, heaven keep you.
+
+_Duke._ This will not do; your voice, your mien, your stature, betray
+you for the same I saw last night: you know the time and place.
+
+_Luc._ You were not in this chapel, and I am bound by vow to stir no
+farther.
+
+_Duke._ But you had too much wit to keep that vow.
+
+_Luc._ If you persist, sir, in this raving madness, I can bring
+witness of my innocence.                                  [_Is going._
+
+_Duke._ To save that labour, see if you know that hand, and let that
+justify you.                                      [_Shows her letter._
+
+_Luc._ What do I see! my ruin is inevitable.
+
+_Duke._ You know you merit it:
+You used me ill, and now are in my power.
+
+_Luc._ But you, I hope, are much too noble to
+Destroy the fame of a poor silly woman?
+
+_Duke._ Then, in few words,--for I am bred a soldier,
+And must speak plain,--it is your love I ask;
+If you deny, this letter is produced;
+You know the consequence.
+
+_Luc._ I hope I do not;
+For though there are appearances against me,
+Enough to give you hope I durst not shun you,
+Yet, could you see my heart, 'tis a white virgin-tablet,
+On which no characters of earthly love
+Were ever writ: And, 'twixt the prince and me,
+If there were any criminal affection,
+May heaven this minute--
+
+_Duke._ Swear not; I believe you:
+For, could I think my son had e'er enjoyed you,
+I should not be his rival. Since he has not,
+I may have so much kindness for myself,
+To wish that happiness.
+
+_Luc._ You ask me what I must not grant,
+Nor, if I loved you, would: you know my vow of chastity.
+
+_Duke._ Yet again that senseless argument?
+The vows of chastity can ne'er be broken,
+Where vows of secrecy are kept. Those I'll swear with you.
+But 'tis enough at present, you know my resolution.
+I would persuade, not force, you to my love;
+And to that end I give you this night's respite.
+Consider all, that you may fear or hope;
+And think that on your grant, or your denial,
+Depends a double welfare, yours and mine.                     [_Exit._
+
+_Luc._ A double ruin, rather, if I grant;
+For what can I expect from such a father,
+When such a son betrays me! Could I think,
+Of all mankind, that Frederick would be base?
+And, with the vanity of vulgar souls,
+Betray a virgin's fame? One, who esteemed him,
+And I much fear did more than barely so--
+
+But I dare note examine myself farther, for fear of confessing to my
+own thoughts, a tenderness of which he is unworthy.
+
+  _Enter_ HIPPOLITA.
+
+_Hip._ I watched till your old gallant was gone, to bring you news of
+your young one. A mischief on these old dry lovers! they are good for
+nothing but tedious talking; well, yonder's the prince at the grate; I
+hope I need say no more to you.
+
+_Luc._ I'll come when I've recovered myself a little. I am a wretched
+creature, Hippolita! the letter I writ to the prince--
+
+_Hip._ I know it,--is fallen into his father's hands by accident. He's
+as wretched as you too. Well, well, it shall be my part to bring you
+together; and then, if two young people, that have opportunity, can be
+wretched and melancholy--I'll go before, and meet Ascanio.    [_Exit._
+
+_Luc._ I am half unwilling to go, because I must be accessary to her
+assignation with Ascanio; but, for once, I'll meet the prince in the
+garden-walk: I am glad, however, that he is less criminal than I
+thought him.                                                [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE IV.--_The Nunnery-Garden._
+
+  HIPPOLITA, ASCANIO, _meeting_ LAURA _and_ VIOLETTA.
+
+_Hip._ I hear some walking this way.--Who goes there?
+
+_Lau._ We are the two new pensioners, Laura and Violetta.
+
+_Hip._ Go in, to your devotion: These undue hours of walking savour
+too much of worldly thoughts.
+
+_Lau._ Let us retire to the arbour, where, by this time, I believe,
+our friends are.--Good-night, sister.
+
+_Hip._ Good angels guard you. [_Exeunt_ LAU. _and_ VIO.] Now, brother,
+the coast is clear, and we have the garden to ourselves. Do you
+remember how you threatened me? But that's all one, how good soever
+the opportunity may be, so long as we two resolve to be virtuous.
+
+_Asca._ Speak for yourself, sister, for I am wickedly inclined. Yet, I
+confess, I have some remorse when I consider you are in religion.
+
+_Hip._ We should do very well to consider that, both of us; for,
+indeed, what should young people do, but think of goodness and
+religion; especially when they love one another, and are alone too,
+brother?
+
+_Asca._ A curse on't! here comes my lord, and Lucretia. We might have
+accomplished all, and been repenting by this time; yet who the devil
+would have thought they should have come so soon--Ah!
+                                                    [_Sets his teeth._
+
+_Hip._ Who the devil would have put it to the venture? This is always
+the fault of you raw pages: You, that are too young, never use an
+opportunity; and we, that are elder, can seldom get one.--Ah!
+                                                    [_Sets her teeth._
+
+  _Enter_ FREDERICK _and_ LUCRETIA.
+
+_Luc._ I believe, indeed, it troubled you to lose that letter.
+
+_Fred._ So much, madam, that I can never forgive myself that
+negligence.
+
+_Luc._ Call it not so, 'twas but a casuality, though, I confess, the
+consequence is dangerous; and therefore have not both of us reason to
+defy love, when we see a little gallantry is able to produce so much
+mischief?
+
+_Fred._ [_Aside._] Now cannot I, for my heart, bring out one word
+against this love.
+
+_Luc._ Come, you are mute upon a subject, that is both easy and
+pleasant. A man in love is so ridiculous a creature--
+
+_Fred._ Especially to those that are not.
+
+_Luc._ True; for to those that are, he cannot be so: They are like the
+citizens of Bethlehem, who never find out one another's madness,
+because they are all tainted. But for such ancient fops, as, with
+reverence, your father is, what reason can they have to be in love?
+
+_Fred._ Nay, your old fop's unpardonable, that's certain. But--
+
+_Luc._ But what? Come, laugh at him.
+
+_Fred._ But I consider he is my father, I can't laugh at him.
+
+_Luc._ But, if it were another, we should see how you would insult
+over him.
+
+_Fred._ Ay, if it were another--And yet I don't know neither, 'tis no
+part of good nature to insult: A man may be overtaken with a passion,
+or so; I know it by myself.
+
+_Luc._ How, by yourself! You are not in love, I hope?--Oh that he
+would confess first now!                                     [_Aside._
+
+_Fred._ But, if I were, I should be loth to be laughed at.
+
+_Luc._ Since you are not in love, you may the better counsel me: What
+shall we do with this same troublesome father of yours?
+
+_Fred._ Any thing, but love him.
+
+_Luc._ But you know he has me at a bay; my letter is in his
+possession, and he may produce it to my ruin: Therefore, if I did
+allow him some little favour, to mollify him--
+
+_Fred._ How, madam? Would you allow him favours? I can never consent
+to it: Not the least look or smile; they are all too precious, though
+they were to save his life.
+
+_Luc._ What, not your father? Oh that he would confess he loved me
+first!                                                       [_Aside._
+
+_Fred._ What have I done? I shall betray myself, and confess my love
+to be laughed at, by this hard-hearted woman. [_Aside._] 'Tis true,
+madam, I had forgot; he is, indeed, my father, and therefore you may
+use him as kindly as you please.
+
+_Luc._ He's insensible: Now he enrages me. [_Aside._] What if he
+proposes to marry me? I am not yet professed, and 'twould be much to
+my advantage.
+
+_Fred._ Marry you! I had rather die a thousand deaths, than suffer it.
+
+_Luc._ This begins to please me.                             [_Aside._
+But why should you be so much my enemy?
+
+_Fred._ Your enemy, madam! Why, do you desire it?
+
+_Luc._ Perhaps I do.
+
+_Fred._ Do it, madam, since it pleases you so well.
+
+_Luc._ But you had rather die, than suffer it.
+
+_Fred._ No, I have changed my mind: I'll live, and not be concerned at
+it.
+
+_Luc._ Do you contradict yourself so soon? Then know, sir, I did
+intend to do it; and I am glad you have given me advice so agreeable
+to my inclinations.
+
+_Fred._ Heaven! that you should not find it out! I delivered your
+letter on purpose to my father, and 'twas my business, now, to come
+and mediate for him.
+
+_Luc._ Pray, then, carry him the news of his good success. Adieu,
+sweet prince!
+
+_Fred._ Adieu, dear madam.
+
+_Asca._ Hey day! what will this come to? They have cozened one another
+into a quarrel; just like friends in fencing, a chance thrust comes,
+and then they fall to it in earnest.
+
+_Hip._ You and I, brother, shall never meet upon even terms, if this
+be not pieced.--Face about, madam; turn quickly to your man, or, by
+all that's virtuous, I'll call the abbess.
+
+_Asca._ I must not be so bold with you, sir; but, if you please, you
+may turn towards the lady: and, I suppose, you would be glad I durst
+speak to you with more authority, to save the credit of your
+willingness.
+
+_Fred._ Well, I'll shew her I dare stay, if it be but to confront her
+malice.
+
+_Luc._ I am sure I have done nothing to be ashamed of, that I should
+need to run away.
+
+_Asca._ Pray give me leave, sir, to ask you but one question; Why were
+you so unwilling that she should be married to your father?
+
+_Fred._ Because then her friendship must wholly cease.
+
+_Asca._ But you may have her friendship, when she is married to him.
+
+_Fred._ What! when another has enjoyed her?
+
+Asca. _Victoria, Victoria_! he loves you, madam; let him deny it, if
+he can.
+
+_Luc._ Fye, fye, loves me, Ascanio! I hope he would not forswear
+himself, when he has railed so much against it.
+
+_Fred._ I hope I may love your mind, madam; I may love spiritually.
+
+_Hip._ That's enough, that's enough: Let him love the mind without the
+body, if he can.
+
+_Asca._ Ay, ay, when the love is once come so far, that spiritual mind
+will never leave pulling, and pulling, till it has drawn the beastly
+body after it.
+
+_Fred._ Well, madam, since I must confess it,--though I expect to be
+laughed at, after my railing against love,--I do love you all over,
+both soul and body.
+
+_Asca._ Lord, sir, what a tigress have you provoked! you may see she
+takes it to the death, that you have made this declaration.
+
+_Hip._ I thought where all her anger was: Why do you not rail, madam?
+Why do you not banish him? the prince expects it; he has dealt
+honestly, he has told you his mind, and you may make your worst on't.
+
+_Luc._ Because he does expect it, I am resolved, I'll neither satisfy
+him nor you: I will neither rail nor laugh: Let him make his worst of
+that, now.
+
+_Fred._ If I understand you right, madam, I am happy beyond either my
+deserts or expectation.
+
+_Luc._ You may give my words what interpretation you please, sir; I
+shall not envy you their meaning in the kindest sense. But we are near
+the jessamine walk, there we may talk with greater freedom, because
+'tis farther from the house.
+
+_Fred._ I wait you, madam.                                  [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE V.
+
+  AURELIAN, _with a dark lanthorn._ CAMILLO _and_ BENITO.
+
+_Cam._ So, we are safe got over into the nunnery-garden; for what's to
+come, trust love and fortune.
+
+_Aur._ This must needs be the walk she mentioned; yet, to be sure,
+I'll hold the lanthorn while you read the ticket.
+
+_Cam._ [Reads.] _I prepared this ticket, hoping to see you in the
+chapel: Come this evening over the garden wall, on the right hand,
+next the Tiber._
+
+_Aur._ We are right, I see.
+
+Cam. _Bring only your discreet Benito with you, and I will meet you
+attended by my faithful Beatrix._
+                                   VIOLETTA.
+
+_Ben._ Discreet Benito! Did you hear, sir?
+
+_Aur._ Mortify thyself for that vain thought; and, without enquiring
+into the mystery of these words, which I assure thee were not meant to
+thee, plant thyself by that ladder without motion, to secure our
+retreat; and be sure to make no noise.
+
+_Ben._ But, sir, in case that--
+
+_Aur._ Honest Benito, no more questions: _Basta_ is the word.
+Remember, thou art only taken with us, because thou hast a certain
+evil daemon, who conducts thy actions, and would have been sure, by
+some damned accident or other, to have brought thee hither to disturb
+us.
+
+_Cam._ I hear whispering not far from us, and I think 'tis Violetta's
+voice.
+
+_Aur._ [_To_ BEN.] Retire to your post; avoid, good Satan.
+                                                          [_Exit_ BEN.
+
+  _Enter_ LAURA, _with a dark lanthorn hid, and_ VIOLETTA.
+
+_Cam._ Ours is the honour of the field, madam; we are here before you.
+
+_Vio._ Softly, dear friend; I think I hear some walking in the garden.
+
+_Cam._ Rather, let us take this opportunity for your escape from
+hence; all things are here in readiness.
+
+_Vio._ This is the second time we ever have met; let us discourse, and
+know each other better first; that's the way to make sure of some love
+beforehand; for, as the world goes, we know not how little we may have
+when we are married.
+
+_Cam._ Losses of opportunity are fatal in war, you know, and love's a
+kind of warfare.
+
+_Vio._ I shall keep you yet a while from close fighting.
+
+_Cam._ But, do you know what an hour in love is worth? 'Tis more
+precious than an age of ordinary life; 'tis the very quintessence and
+extract of it.
+
+_Vio._ I do not like your chemical preparation of love; yours is all
+spirit, and will fly too soon; I must see it fixed, before I trust
+you. But we are near the arbour: Now our out-guards are set, let us
+retire a little, if you please; there we may walk more freely.
+                                                              [_Exit._
+
+_Aur._ [_To_ LAU.] My lady's woman, methinks you are very reserved
+to-night: Pray, advance into the lists; though I have seen your
+countenance by day, I can endure to hear you talk by night. Be
+cunning, and set your wit to show, which is your best commodity: It
+will help the better to put off that drug, your face.
+
+_Lau._ The coarsest ware will serve such customers as you are: Let it
+suffice, Mr Serving-man, that I have seen you too. Your face is the
+original of the ugliest vizors about town; and for wit, I would advise
+you to speak reverently of it, as a thing you are never like to
+understand.
+
+_Aur._ Sure, Beatrix, you came lately from looking in your glass, and
+that has given you a bad opinion of all faces; but since when am I
+become so notorious a fool?
+
+_Lau._ Since yesterday; for t'other night you talked like a man of
+sense: I think your wit comes to you, as the sight of owls does, only
+in the dark.
+
+_Aur._ Why, when did you discourse by day with me?
+
+_Lau._ You have a short memory. This afternoon in the great street. Do
+you remember when you talked with Laura?
+
+_Aur._ But what was that to Beatrix?
+
+_Lau._ [_Aside._] 'Slife, I had forgot that I am Beatrix. But pray,
+when did you find me out to be so ugly?
+
+_Aur._ This afternoon, in the chapel.
+
+_Lau._ That cannot be; for I well remember you were not there, Benito:
+I saw none but Camillo, and his friend, the handsome stranger.
+
+_Aur._ [_Aside_] Curse on't, I have betrayed myself.
+
+_Lau._ I find you are an impostor: you are not the same Benito: your
+language has nothing of the serving-man.
+
+_Aur._ And yours, methinks, has not much of the waiting-woman.
+
+_Lau._ My lady is abused, and betrayed by you: But I am resolved, I'll
+discover who you are. [_Holds out a lanthorn to him._] How! the
+stranger?
+
+_Aur._ Nay, madam, if you are good at that, I'll match you there too.
+[_Holds out his lanthorn._] O prodigy! Is Beatrix turned to Laura?
+
+_Lau._ Now the question is, which of us two is the greatest cheat?
+
+_Aur._ That's hardly to be tried, at so short warning: Let's marry one
+another, and then, twenty to one, in a twelvemonth we shall know.
+
+_Lau._ Marry! Are you at that so soon, signior? Benito and Beatrix, I
+confess, had some acquaintance; but Aurelian and Laura are mere
+strangers.
+
+_Aur._ That ground I have gotten as Benito, I am resolved I'll keep as
+Aurelian. If you will take state upon you, I have treated you with
+ceremony already; for I have wooed you by proxy.
+
+_Lau._ But you would not be contented to bed me so; or give me leave
+to put the sword betwixt us.
+
+_Aur._ Yes, upon condition you'll remove it.
+
+_Lau._ Pray let our friends be judge of it; if you please, we'll find
+them in the arbour.
+
+_Aur._ Content; I am then sure of the verdict, because the jury is
+bribed already.                                             [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE VI.
+
+  BENITO _meeting_ FREDERICK, ASCANIO, LUCRETIA, _and_ HIPPOLITA.
+
+_Ben._ Knowing my own merits, as I do, 'tis not impossible, but some
+of these harlotry nuns may love me. Oh, here's my master! now if I
+could but put this into civil terms, so as to ask his leave, and not
+displease him--
+
+_Asca._ I hear one talking, sir, just by us.
+
+_Ben._ I am stolen from my post, sir, but for one minute only, to
+demand permission of you, since it is not in our articles, that if any
+of these nuns should cast an eye, or so--
+
+_Fred._ 'Slife, we are betrayed; but I'll make this rascal sure.
+                                             [_Draws and runs at him._
+
+_Ben._ Help! murder, murder!                              [_Runs off._
+
+  _Enter_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO; LAURA _and_ VIOLETTA _after them._
+
+_Aur._ That was Benito's voice: We are ruined.
+
+_Cam._ O, here they are, we must make our way.
+                  [AUR. _and the Prince make a pass or two confusedly,
+                   and fight off the stage. The Women shriek._
+
+_Asca._ Never fear, ladies.--Come on, sir; I am your man.
+
+_Cam._ [_Stepping back._] This is the prince's page, I know his
+voice.--Ascanio?
+
+_Asca._ Signior Camillo?
+
+_Cam._ If the prince be here, 'tis Aurelian is engaged with him. Let
+us run in quickly, and prevent the mischief.
+                         [_All go off. A little clashing within. After
+                          which they all re-enter._
+
+_Fred._ [_To_ AUR.] I hope you are not wounded.
+
+_Aur._ No, sir; but infinitely grieved, that--
+
+_Fred._ No more; 'twas a mistake: But which way can we escape? the
+abbess is coming; I see the lights.
+
+_Luc._ You cannot go by the gate, then. Ah me, unfortunate!
+
+_Cam._ But over the wall you may: We have a ladder ready.--Adieu,
+ladies.--Curse on this ill luck, when we had just persuaded them to go
+with us!
+
+_Fred._ Farewell, sweet Lucretia.
+
+_Lau._ Good-night, Aurelian.
+
+_Aur._ Ay, it might have proved a good one: Faith, shall I stay yet,
+and make it one, in spite of the abbess, and all her works?
+
+_Lau._ The abbess is just here; you will be
+Caught in the spiritual trap, if you should tarry.
+
+_Aur._ That will be time enough, when we two marry.
+                                                  [_Exeunt severally._
+
+
+ACT V. SCENE I.
+
+  _Enter_ SOPHRONIA, LUCRETIA, LAURA, _and_ VIOLETTA.
+
+_Soph._ By this, then, it appears you all are guilty;
+Only your ignorance of each others crimes
+Caused first that tumult, and this discovery.
+Good heavens, that I should live to see this day!
+Methinks these holy walls, the cells, the cloisters,
+Should all have struck a secret horror on you:
+And when, with unchaste thoughts,
+You trod these lonely walks, you should have looked,
+The venerable ghost of our first foundress
+Should, with spread arms, have met you in her shroud,
+And frighted you from sin.
+
+_Luc._ Alas! you need not aggravate our crimes;
+We know them to be great beyond excuse,
+And have no hope, but only from your mercy.
+
+_Lau._ Love is, indeed, no plea within these walls;
+But, since we brought it hither, and were forced,
+Not led by our own choice, to this strict life--
+
+_Vio._ Too hard for our soft youth, and bands of love,
+Which we before had knit--
+
+_Lau._ Pity your blood,
+Which runs within our veins; and since heav'n puts it
+In your sole power to ruin or to save,
+Protect us from the sordid avarice
+Of our domestic tyrant, who deserves not
+That we should call him uncle, or your brother.
+
+_Soph._ If, as I might, with justice I should punish,
+No penance could be rigorous enough;
+But I am willing to be more indulgent.
+None of you are professed: And, since I see
+You are not fit for higher happiness,
+You may have what you think the world can give you.
+
+_Luc._ Let us adore you, madam!
+
+_Soph._ You, Lucretia,
+I shall advise within.
+
+_Vio._ But for us, madam?
+
+_Soph._ For you, dear nieces, I have long considered
+The injuries you suffer from my brother,
+And I rejoice it is in me to help you:
+I will endeavour, from this very hour,
+To put you both into your lovers' hands,
+Who, by your own confession, have deserved you;
+But so as (though 'tis done by my connivance)
+It shall not seem to be with my consent.
+
+_Lau._ You do an act of noble charity,
+And may just heaven reward it!
+
+  _Enter_ HIPPOLITA, _and whispers_ LUCRETIA.
+
+_Soph._ Oh, you're a faithful portress of a cloister!
+What is't you whisper to Lucretia?
+On your obedience tell me.
+
+_Luc._ Since you must know, madam,
+I have received a courtship from the prince
+Of Mantua. The rest Hippolita may speak.
+
+_Hip._ His page, Ascanio, is at the grate,
+To know, from him, how you had scaped this danger;
+And brings with him those habits--
+
+_Soph._ I find that here has been a long commerce. What habits?
+
+_Luc._ I blush to tell you, madam; they were masking habits, in which
+we went abroad.
+
+_Soph._ O strange impiety! Well, I conclude
+You are no longer for religious clothing;
+You would infect our order.
+
+_Luc._ [_Kneeling._] Madam, you promised us forgiveness.
+
+_Soph._ I have done; for 'tis indeed too late to chide.
+
+_Hip._ With Ascanio there are two gentlemen; Aurelian and Camillo, I
+think they call themselves, who came to me, recommended from the
+prince, and desired to speak with Laura and Violetta.
+
+_Soph._ I think they are your lovers, nieces.
+
+_Vio._ Madam, they are.
+
+_Hip._ But, for fear of discovery from your uncle, Mario, whose house,
+you know, joins to the monastery, are both in masquerade.
+
+_Soph._ This opportunity must not be lost. [_To_ LAURA _and_ VIOLETTA.
+You two shall take the masking habits instantly,
+And, in them, scape your jealous uncle's eyes.
+When you are happy, make me so, by hearing your success.
+                                [_Kisses them. Exeunt_ LAU. _and_ VIO.
+
+_Luc._ A sudden thought is sprung within my mind,
+Which, by the same indulgence you have shown,
+May make me happy too. I have not time
+To tell you now, for fear I lose this opportunity.
+When I return from speaking with Ascanio,
+I shall declare the secrets of my love,
+And crave your farther help.
+
+_Soph._ In all that virtue will permit, you shall not fail to find it.
+                                                     [_Exit_ LUCRETIA.
+
+_Hip._ Madam, the foolish fellow, whom we took, grows troublesome;
+what shall we do with him?
+
+_Soph._ Send for the magistrate; he must be punished--
+Yet, hold; that would betray the other secret.
+Let him be strait turned out, on this condition,
+That he presume not ever to disclose
+He was within these walls. I'll speak with him.
+Come, and attend me to him.                         [_Exit_ SOPHRONIA.
+
+_Hip._ You fit to be an abbess! We, that live out of the world,
+should, at least, have the common sense of those that live far from
+town; if a pedlar comes by them once a year, they will not let him go,
+without providing themselves with what they want.
+                                              [_Exit after_ SOPHRONIA.
+
+
+SCENE II.--_The Street._
+
+  _Enter_ AURELIAN, CAMILLO, LAURA, VIOLETTA; _all in Masking-habits._
+
+_Cam._ This generosity of the abbess is never to be forgot; and it is
+the more to be esteemed, because it was the less to be expected.
+
+_Vio._ At length, my Camillo, I see myself safe within your arms; and
+yet, methinks, I can never be enough secure of you; for now, I have
+nothing else to fear, I am afraid of you; I fear your constancy. They
+say possession is so dangerous to lovers, that more of them die of
+surfeits than of fasting.
+
+_Lau._ You'll be rambling too, Aurelian; I do not doubt it, if I would
+let you; but I'll take care to be as little a wife, and as much a
+mistress to you, as is possible: I'll be sure to be always pleasant,
+and never suffer you to be cloyed.
+
+_Aur._ You are certainly in the right: Pleasantness of humour makes a
+wife last in the sweetmeat, when it will no longer in the fruit. But,
+pray, let's make haste to the next honest priest that can say grace to
+us, and take our appetites while they are coming.
+
+_Cam._ That way leads to the Austin-Friars; there lives a father of my
+acquaintance.
+
+_Lau._ I have heard of him; he has a mighty stroke at matrimonies, and
+mumbles them over as fast, as if he were teaching us to forget them
+all the while.
+
+  _Enter_ BENITO, _and overhears the last speech._
+
+_Ben._ _Cappari_; that is the voice of madam Laura. Now, Benito, is
+the time to repair the lost honour of thy wit, and to blot out the
+last adventure of the nunnery.
+
+_Vio._ That way I hear company; let us go about by this other street,
+and shun them.
+
+_Ben._ That voice I know too; 'tis the younger sister's, Violetta's,
+Now have these two most treacherously conveyed themselves out of the
+nunnery, for my master and Camillo, and given up their persons to
+those lewd rascals in masquerade; but I'll prevent them. Help there!
+thieves and ravishers! villainous maskers! stop, robbers! stop,
+ravishers!
+
+_Cam._ We are pursued that way, let's take this street.
+
+_Lau._ Save yourselves, and leave us.
+
+_Cam._ We'll rather die, than leave you.
+
+  _Enter, at several doors, Duke of_ MANTUA _and Guards, and Don_
+  MARIO _and Servants, with Torches._
+
+_Aur._ So, now the way is shut up on both sides. We'll die merrily,
+however:--have at the fairest.
+                         [AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO _fall upon the Duke's
+                          Guards, and are seized behind by_ MARIO'S
+                          _Servants. At the drawing of Swords,_ BENITO
+                          _runs off._
+
+_Duke._ Are these insolencies usually committed in Rome by night? It
+has the fame of a well-governed city; and methinks, Don Mario, it does
+somewhat reflect on you to suffer these disorders.
+
+_Mar._ They are not to be hindered in the Carnival: You see, sir, they
+have assumed the privilege of maskers.
+
+_Lau._ [_To_ AUR.] If my uncle know us, we are ruined; therefore be
+sure you do not speak.
+
+_Duke._ How then can we be satisfied this was not a device of masking,
+rather than a design of ravishing?
+
+_Mar._ Their accuser is fled, I saw him run at the beginning of the
+scuffle; but I'll examine the ladies.
+
+_Vio._ Now we are lost.       [_Duke coming near_ LAURA, _takes notice
+                               of her habit._
+
+_Duke._ [_Aside._] 'Tis the same, 'tis the same; I know Lucretia by
+her habit: I'm sure I am not mistaken.--Now, sir, you may cease your
+examination, I know the ladies.
+
+_Aur._ [_To_ CAM.] How the devil does he know them?
+
+_Cam._ 'Tis alike to us; they are lost both ways.
+
+_Duke._ [_Taking_ LAURA _aside._] Madam, you may confess yourself to
+me. Whatever your design was in leaving the nunnery, your reputation
+shall be safe. I'll not discover you, provided you grant me the
+happiness I last requested.
+
+_Lau._ I know not, sir, how you could possibly come to know me, or of
+my design in quitting the nunnery; but this I know, that my sister and
+myself are both unfortunate, except your highness be pleased to
+protect us from our uncle; at least, not to discover us.
+
+_Duke._ His holiness, your uncle, shall never be acquainted with your
+flight, on condition you will wholly renounce my son, and give
+yourself to me.
+
+_Lau._ Alas, sir, for whom do you mistake me?
+
+_Duke._ I mistake you not, madam: I know you for Lucretia. You forget
+that your disguise betrays you.
+
+_Lau._ Then, sir, I perceive I must disabuse you: If you please to
+withdraw a little, that I may not be seen by others, I will pull off
+my mask, and discover to you, that Lucretia and I have no resemblance,
+but only in our misfortunes.
+
+_Duke._ 'Tis in vain, madam, this dissembling: I protest, if you pull
+off your mask, I will hide my face, and not look upon you, to convince
+you that I know you.
+
+  _Enter_ BENITO.
+
+_Ben._ So, now the fray is over, a man may appear again with
+safety.--Oh, the rogues are caught, I see, and the damsels delivered.
+This was the effect of my valour at the second hand.
+
+_Aur._ Look, look, Camillo! it was my perpetual fool that caused all
+this; and now he stands yonder, laughing at his mischief, as the devil
+is pictured, grinning behind the witch upon the gallows.
+
+_Ben._ [_To_ MARIO.] I see, sir, you have got your women, and I am
+glad on't: I took them just flying from the nunnery.
+
+_Duke._ [_To_ LAU.] You see that fellow knows you too.
+
+_Mar._ Were these women flying from a nunnery?
+
+_Ben._ These women? heyday! then, it seems, you do not know they are
+your nieces.
+
+_Duke._ His nieces, say you? Take heed, fellow, you shall he punished
+severely, if you mistake.
+
+_Cam._ Speak to Benito in time, Aurelian.
+
+_Aur._ The devil's in him; he's running down-hill full speed, and
+there's no stopping him.
+
+_Mar._ My nieces?
+
+_Ben._ Your nieces? Why, do you doubt it? I praise heaven I never met
+but with two half-wits in my life, and my master's one of them; I will
+not name the other at this time.
+
+_Duke._ I say, they are not they.
+
+_Ben._ I am sure they are Laura and Violetta; and that those two
+rogues were running away with them, and that, I believe, with their
+consent.
+
+_Vio._ Sister, 'tis in vain to deny ourselves; you see our ill fortune
+pursues us unavoidably. [_Turning up her mask._] Yes, sir, we are
+Laura and Violetta, whom you have made unhappy by your tyranny.
+
+_Lau._ [_Turning up her mask._] And these two gentlemen are no
+ravishers, but--
+
+_Ben._ How, no ravishers? Yes, to my knowledge they are--[_As he
+speaks,_ AURELIAN _pulls off his mask._] No ravishers, as madam Laura
+was saying; but two as honest gentlemen as e'er broke bread. My own
+dear master, and so forth!     [_Runs to_ AUR. _who thrusts him back._
+
+  _Enter_ VALERIO, _and whispers the Duke, giving him a paper; which
+  he reads, and seems pleased._
+
+_Mar._ Aurelian and Camillo! I'll see you in safe custody; and, for
+these fugitives, go, carry them to my sister, and desire her to have a
+better care of her kinswomen.
+
+_Vio._ We shall live yet to make you refund our portions. Farewell,
+Camillo; comfort yourself; remember there's but a wall betwixt us.
+
+_Lau._ And I'll cut through that wall with vinegar, but I'll come to
+you, Aurelian.
+
+_Aur._ I'll cut through the grates with aquafortis, but I'll meet you.
+Think of these things, and despair, and die, old gentleman.
+                           [AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO _are carried off on
+                            one side, and_ LAURA _and_ VIOLETTA _on
+                            the other._
+
+_Ben._ All things go cross to men of sense: Would I had been born with
+the brains of a shop-keeper, that I might have thriven without knowing
+why I did so. Now, must I follow my master to the prison, and, like an
+ignorant customer that comes to buy, must offer him my backside, tell
+him I trust to his honesty, and desire him to please himself, and so
+be satisfied.                                                 [_Exit._
+
+_Duke._ [_To_ VAL.] I am overjoyed; I'll see her immediately: Now my
+business with Don Mario is at an end, I need not desire his company to
+introduce me to the abbess; this assignation from Lucretia shows me a
+nearer way.--Noble Don Mario, it was my business, when this accident
+happened in the street, to have made you a visit; but now I am
+prevented by an occasion which calls me another way.
+
+_Mar._ I receive the intention of that honour as the greatest
+happiness that could befal me: In the meantime, if my attendance--
+
+_Duke._ By no means, sir, I must of necessity go in private; and
+therefore, if you please, you shall omit the ceremony.
+
+_Mar._ A happy even to your highness.--Now will I go to my sister, the
+abbess, before I sleep, and desire her to take more care of her flock,
+or, for all our relation, I shall make complaint, and endeavour to
+ease her of her charge.                                       [_Exit._
+
+_Duke._ So, now we are alone, what said Lucretia?
+
+_Val._ When first I pressed her to this assignation,
+She spoke like one in doubt what she should do;
+She demurred much upon the decency of it,
+And somewhat too she seemed to urge, of her
+Engagement to the prince: In short, sir,
+I perceived her wavering, and closed with the opportunity.
+
+_Duke._ O, when women are once irresolute, betwixt the former love and
+the new one, they are sure to come over to the latter. The wind, their
+nearest likeness, seldom chops about to return into the old corner.
+
+_Val._ In conclusion, she consented to the interview; and for the
+rest, I urged it not, for I suppose she will hear reason sooner from
+your mouth than mine.
+
+_Duke._ Her letter is of the same tenor with her discourse, full of
+doubts and doubles; like a hunted hare when she is near tired. The
+garden, you say, is the place appointed?
+
+_Val._ It is, sir; and the next half hour the time. But, sir, I fear
+the prince your son will never bear the loss of her with patience.
+
+_Duke._ 'Tis no matter; let the young gallant storm to-night,
+to-morrow he departs from Rome.
+
+_Val._ That, sir, will be severe.
+
+_Duke._ He has already received my commands to travel into Germany. I
+know it stung him to the quick, but he's too dangerous a rival: the
+soldiers love him too; when he's absent they will respect me more. But
+I defer my happiness too long; dismiss my guards there.
+                                                     [_Exeunt Guards._
+
+  The pleasures of old age brook no delay;
+  Seldom they come, and soon they fly away.                 [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE III.
+
+  _Enter_ FREDERICK _and_ ASCANIO.
+
+_Fred._ 'Tis true, he is my father; but when nature
+Is dead in him, why should it live in me?
+What have I done that I am banished Rome,
+The world's delight, and my soul's joy, Lucretia,
+And sent to reel with midnight beasts in Almain!
+I cannot, will not, bear it.
+
+_Asca._ I'm sure you need not, sir; the army is all yours; they wish a
+youthful monarch, and will resent your injuries.
+
+_Fred._ Heaven forbid it! and yet I cannot lose Lucretia.
+There's something I would do, and yet would shun
+The ill, that must attend it.
+
+_Asca._ You must resolve, for the time presses. She told me, this
+hour, she had sent for your father: what she means I know not, for she
+seemed doubtful, and would not tell me her intention.
+
+_Fred._ If she be false--yet, why should I suspect her? Yet why should
+I not? She's a woman; that includes ambition and inconstancy; then,
+she's tempted high: 'twere unreasonable to expect she should be
+faithful: Well, something I have resolved, and will about it
+instantly; and if my friends prove faithful, I shall prevent the
+worst.
+
+  _Enter_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO, _guarded._
+
+Aurelian and Camillo? How came you thus attended?
+
+_Cam._ You may guess at the occasion, sir; pursuing the adventure
+which brought us to meet you in the garden, we were taken by Don
+Mario.
+
+_Aur._ And, as the devil would have it, when both we and our
+mistresses were in expectation of a more pleasing lodging.
+
+_Fred._ Faith, that's very hard, when a man has charged and primed,
+and taken aim, to be hindered of his shoot.--Soldiers, release these
+gentlemen, I'll answer it.
+
+_Cap._ Sir, we dare not disobey our orders.
+
+_Fred._ I'll stand betwixt you and danger. In the mean time take this,
+as an acknowledgment of the kindness you do me.
+
+_Cap._ Ay, marry, there's rhetoric in gold: who can deny these
+arguments: Sir, you may dispose of our prisoners as you please; we'll
+use your name, if we are called in question.
+
+_Fred._ Do so. Goodnight, good soldiers. [_Exeunt soldiers._] Now,
+gentlemen, no thanks; you'll find occasion instantly to reimburse me
+of my kindness.
+
+_Cam._ Nothing but want of liberty could have hindered us from serving
+you.
+
+_Fred._ Meet me within this half hour, at our monastery; and if, in
+the mean time, you can pick up a dozen of good fellows, who dare
+venture their lives bravely, bring them with you.
+
+_Aur._ I hope the cause is bad too, otherwise we shall not deserve
+your thanks. May it be for demolishing that cursed monastery!
+
+_Fred._ Come, Ascanio, follow me.                 [_Exeunt severally._
+
+
+SCENE IV.--_The Nunnery Garden._
+
+  _Enter_ DUKE _and_ LUCRETIA.
+
+_Luc._ In making this appointment,
+I go too far, for one of my profession;
+But I have a divining soul within me,
+Which tells me, trust reposed in noble natures
+Obliges them the more.
+
+_Duke._ I come to be commanded, not to govern:
+Those few soft words, you sent me, have quite altered
+My rugged nature; if it still be violent,
+'Tis only fierce and eager to obey you;
+Like some impetuous flood, which, mastered once,
+With double force bends backward.
+The place of treaty shows you strongest here;
+For still the vanquished sues for peace abroad,
+While the proud victor makes his terms at home.
+
+_Luc._ That peace, I see, will not be hard to make,
+When either side shows confidence of noble dealing
+From the other.
+
+_Duke._ And this, sure, is our case, since both are met alone.
+
+_Luc._ 'Tis mine, sir, more than yours.
+To meet you single, shows I trust your virtue;
+But you appear distrustful of my love.
+
+_Duke._ You wrong me much; I am not.
+
+_Luc._ Excuse me, sir, you keep a curb upon me;
+You awe me with a letter, which you hold
+As hostage of my love; and hostages
+Are ne'er required but from suspected faith.
+
+_Duke._ We are not yet in terms of perfect peace;
+Whene'er you please to seal the articles,
+Your pledge shall be restored.
+
+_Luc._ That were the way to keep us still at distance;
+For what we fear, we cannot truly love.
+
+_Duke._ But how can I be then secure, that, when
+Your fear is o'er, your love will still continue?
+
+_Luc._ Make trial of my gratitude; you'll find
+I can acknowledge kindness.
+
+_Duke._ But that were to forego the faster hold,
+To take a loose, and weaker.
+Would you not judge him mad, who held a lion
+In chains of steel, and changed them for a twine?
+
+_Luc._ But love is soft,
+Not of the lion's nature, but the dove's;
+An iron chain would hang too heavy on a tender neck.
+
+_Duke._ Since on one side there must be confidence,
+Why may not I expect, as well as you,
+To have it plac'd in me? Repose your trust
+Upon my royal word.
+
+_Luc._ As 'tis the privilege of womankind,
+That men should court our love,
+And make the first advances; so it follows,
+That you should first oblige; for 'tis our weakness
+Gives us more cause of fear, and therefore you,
+Who are the stronger sex, should first secure it.
+
+_Duke._ But, madam, as you talk of fear from me,
+I may as well suspect design from you.
+
+_Luc._ Design! of giving you my love more freely;
+Of making you a title to my heart,
+Where you by force would reign.
+
+_Duke._ O that I could believe you! But your words
+Are not enough disorder'd for true love;
+They are not plain, and hearty, as are mine;
+But full of art, and close insinuation:
+You promise all, but give me not one proof
+Of love before; not the least earnest of it.
+
+_Luc._ And what is then this midnight conversation?
+These silent hours divided from my sleep?
+Nay, more, stolen from my prayers with sacrilege,
+And here transferred to you? This guilty hand,
+Which should be used in dropping holy beads,
+But now bequeathed to yours? This heaving heart,
+Which only should be throbbing for my sins,
+But which now beats uneven time for you?
+These are my arts! and these are my designs!
+
+_Duke._ I love you more, Lucretia, than my soul;
+Nay, than yours too; for I would venture both,
+That I might now enjoy you; and if what
+You ask me, did not make me fear to lose you,
+Though it were even my life, you should not be denied it.
+
+_Luc._ Then I will ask no more.
+Keep still my letter, to upbraid me with it:
+To say, when I am sullied with your lust,
+And fit to be forsaken,--Go, Lucretia,
+To your first love; for this, for this, I leave you.
+
+_Duke._ Oh, madam, never think that day can come!
+
+_Luc._ It must, it will; I read it in your looks;
+You will betray me, when I'm once engaged.
+
+_Duke._ If not my faith, your beauty will secure you.
+
+_Luc._ My beauty is a flower upon the stalk,
+Goodly to see; but, gathered for the scent,
+And once with eagerness pressed to your nostrils,
+The sweets drawn out, 'tis thrown with scorn away.
+But I am glad I find you out so soon;
+I simply loved, and meant (with shame I own it)
+To trust my virgin honour in your hands.
+I asked not wealth for hire; and, but by chance,
+(I wonder that I thought on't) begged one trial,
+And, but for form, to have pretence to yield,
+And that you have denied me. Farewell! I could
+Have loved you, and yet, perhaps, I--
+
+_Duke._ O speak, speak out, and do not drown that word;
+It seemed as if it would have been a kind one;
+And yours are much too precious to be lost.
+
+_Luc._ Perhaps--I cannot yet leave loving you.
+There 'twas. But I recalled it in my mind,
+And made it false before I gave it air.
+Once more, farewell--I wo'not,--
+Now I can say I wo'not, wo'not love you.                     [_Going._
+
+_Duke._ You shall; and this shall be the seal of my affection.
+                                                  [_Gives the letter._
+There take it, my Lucretia: I give it with more joy,
+Than I with grief received it.
+
+_Luc._ Good night; I'll thank you for't some other time.
+
+_Duke._ You'll not abuse my love?
+
+_Luc._ No; but secure my honour.
+
+_Duke._ I'll force it from your hands.               [LUCRETIA _runs._
+
+_Luc._ Help, help, or I am ravished! help, for heaven's sake!
+
+  HIPPOLITA, LAURA, _and_ VIOLETTA, _within, at several places._
+
+_Within._ Help, help Lucretia! they bear away Lucretia by force.
+
+_Duke._ I think there's a devil in every corner.
+
+  _Enter_ VALERIO.
+
+_Val._ Sir, the design was laid on purpose for you, and all the women
+placed to cry. Make haste away; avoid the shame, for heaven's sake.
+
+_Duke._ [_going._] O, I could fire this monastery!
+
+  _Enter_ FREDERICK _and_ ASCANIO.
+
+  [FREDERICK, _entering, speaks as to some behind him._]
+
+_Fred._ Pain of your lives, let none of you presume to enter but
+myself.
+
+_Duke._ My son!--O, I could burst with spite, and die with shame, to
+be thus apprehended! this is the baseness and cowardice of guilt: an
+army now were not so dreadful to me as that son, o'er whom the right
+of nature gives me power.
+
+_Fred._ Sir, I am come--
+
+_Duke._ To laugh at first, and then to blaze abroad,
+The weakness and the follies of your father.
+
+_Val._ Sir, he has men in arms attending him.
+
+_Duke._ I know my doom then. You have taken a popular occasion; I am
+now a ravisher of chastity, fit to be made prisoner first, and then
+deposed.
+
+_Fred._ You will not hear me, sir.
+
+_Duke._ No, I confess I have deserved my fate;
+For, what had these grey hairs to do with love?
+Or, if the unseemly folly would possess me,
+Why should I chuse to make my son my rival?
+
+_Fred._ Sir, you may add, you banished me from Rome,
+And, from the light of it, Lucretia's eyes.
+
+_Duke._ Nay, if thou aggravat'st my crimes, thou giv'st
+Me right to justify them: thou doubly art my slave,
+Both son and subject. I can do thee no wrong,
+Nor hast thou right to arraign or punish me:
+But thou inquir'st into thy father's years;
+Thy swift ambition could not stay my death,
+But must ride post to empire. Lead me now;
+Thy crimes have made me guiltless to myself,
+And given me face to bear the public scorn.
+You have a guard without?
+
+_Fred._ I have some friends.
+
+_Duke._ Speak plainly your intent.
+I love not a sophisticated truth,
+With an allay of lie in't.
+
+_Fred._ [_Kneeling._]
+This is not, sir, the posture of a rebel,
+But of a suppliant; if the name of son
+Be too much honour to me.
+What first I purpos'd, I scarce know myself.
+Love, anger, and revenge, then rolled within me,
+And yet, even then, I was not hurried farther
+Than to preserve my own.
+
+_Duke._ Your own! What mean you?
+
+_Fred._ My love, and my Lucretia, which I thought,
+In my then boiling passion, you pursued
+With some injustice, and much violence;
+This led me to repel that force by force.
+'Twas easy to surprise you, when I knew
+Of your intended visit.
+
+_Duke._ Thank my folly.
+
+_Fred._ But reason now has reassumed its place,
+And makes me see how black a crime it is
+To use a force upon my prince and father.
+
+_Duke._ You give me hope you will resign Lucretia.
+
+_Fred._ Ah no; I never can resign her to you:
+But, sir, I can my life; which, on my knees,
+I tender, as the atoning sacrifice:
+Or if your hand (because you are a father)
+Be loth to take away that life you gave,
+I will redeem your crime, by making it
+My own: So you shall still be innocent, and I
+Die blessed, and unindebted for my being.
+
+_Duke._ O Frederick, you are too much a son,         [_Embracing him._
+And I too little am a father: you,
+And you alone, have merited Lucretia;
+'Tis now my only grief,
+I can do nothing to requite this virtue:
+For to restore her to you,
+Is not an act of generosity,
+But a scant, niggard justice; yet I love her
+So much, that even this little, which I do,
+Is like the bounty of an usurer;
+High to be priz'd from me,
+Because 'tis drawn from such a wretched mind.
+
+_Fred._ You give me now a second, better life;    [_Kissing his hand._
+But,--that the gift may be more easy to you,--
+Consider, sir, Lucretia did not love you,--
+I fear to say, ne'er would.
+
+_Duke._ You do well to help me to o'ercome that difficulty:
+I'll weigh that, too, hereafter. For a love,
+So violent as mine, will ask long time,
+And much of reason, to effect the cure.
+My present care shall be to make you happy;
+For that will make my wish impossible,
+And then the remedies will be more easy.
+
+  _Enter_ SOPHRONIA, LUCRETIA, VIOLETTA, LAURA, HIPPOLITA.
+
+_Soph._ I have, with joy, o'erheard this happy change,
+And come with blessings to applaud your conquest
+Over the greatest of mankind, yourself.
+
+_Duke._ I hope 'twill be a full and lasting one.
+
+_Luc._ Thus, let me kneel, and pay my thanks and duty,    [_Kneeling._
+Both to my prince and father.
+
+_Duke._ Rise, rise, too charming maid, for yet I cannot
+Call you my daughter: that first name, Lucretia,
+Hangs on my lips, and would be still pronounced.
+Look not too kindly on me; one sweet glance,
+Perhaps, would ruin both: therefore, I'll go
+And try to get new strength to bear your eyes.
+'Till then, farewell. Be sure you love my Frederick,
+And do not hate his father.                [_Exeunt Duke and_ VALERIO.
+
+_Fred._ [_At the door._] Now, friends, you may appear.
+
+  _Enter_ AURELIAN, CAMILLO, BENITO.
+
+Your pardon, madam, that we thus intrude
+On holy ground: yourself best know it could not
+Be avoided, and it shall be my care it be excused.
+
+_Soph._ Though sovereign princes bear a privilege
+Of entering when they please within our walls,
+In others 'tis a crime past dispensation;
+And therefore, to avoid a public scandal,
+Be pleased, sir, to retire, and quit this garden.
+
+_Aur._ We shall obey you, madam; but that we may do it with less
+regret, we hope you will give these ladies leave to accompany us.
+
+_Soph._ They shall.
+And, nieces, for myself, I only ask you
+To justify my conduct to the world,
+That none may think I have betrayed a trust,
+But freed you from a tyranny.
+
+_Lau._ Our duty binds us to acknowledge it.
+
+_Cam._ And our gratitude to witness it.
+
+_Vio._ With a holy and lasting remembrance of your favour.
+
+_Fred._ And it shall be my care, either by reason to bend your uncle's
+will, or, by my father's interest, to force your dowry from his hands.
+
+_Ben._ [_To_ AUR.] Pray, sir, let us make haste over these walls
+again; these gardens are unlucky to me; I have lost my reputation of
+music in one of them, and of wit in the other.
+
+_Aur._ [_To_ LAU.] Now, Laura, you may take your choice betwixt the
+two Benito's, and consider whether you had rather he should serenade
+you in the garden, or I in bed to-night.
+
+_Lau._ You may be sure I shall give sentence for Benito; for the
+effect of your serenading would be to make me pay the music nine
+months hence.
+
+_Hip._ [_To_ ASCA.] You see, brother, here's a general gaol-delivery:
+there has been a great deal of bustle and disturbance in the cloister
+to-night; enough to distract a soul which is given up, like me, to
+contemplation: and therefore, if you think fit, I could even be
+content to retire, with you, into the world; and, by way of penance,
+to marry you; which, as husbands and wives go now, is a greater
+mortification than a nunnery.
+
+_Asca._ No, sister; if you love me, keep to your monastery: I'll come
+now and then to the grate, and beg you a recreation. But I know myself
+so well, that if I had you one twelvemonth in the world, I should run
+myself into a cloister, to be rid of you.
+
+_Soph._ Nieces, once more farewell. Adieu, Lucretia:
+My wishes and my prayers attend you all.
+
+_Luc._ to _Fred._ I am so fearful,
+That, though I gladly run to your embraces,
+Yet, venturing in the world a second time,
+Methinks I put to sea in a rough storm,
+With shipwrecks round about me.
+
+_Fred._ My dear, be kinder to yourself and me,
+And let not fear fright back our coming joys;
+For we, at length, stand reconciled to fate:
+And now to fear, when to such bliss we move,
+Were not to doubt our fortune, but our love.                [_Exeunt._
+
+
+                              EPILOGUE.
+
+  Some have expected, from our bills to-day,
+  To find a satire in our poet's play.
+  The zealous route from Coleman-street did run,
+  To see the story of the Friar and Nun;
+  Or tales, yet more ridiculous to hear,
+  Vouched by their vicar of ten pounds a-year,--
+  Of Nuns, who did against temptation pray,
+  And discipline laid on the pleasant way:
+  Or that, to please the malice of the town,        }
+  Our poet should in some close cell have shown     }
+  Some sister, playing at content alone:            }
+  This they did hope; the other side did fear;
+  And both, you see, alike are cozened here.
+  Some thought the title of our play to blame;
+  They liked the thing, but yet abhorred the name:
+  Like modest punks, who all you ask afford,
+  But, for the world, they would not name that word.
+  Yet, if you'll credit what I heard him say,
+  Our poet meant no scandal in his play;
+  His Nuns are good, which on the stage are shown,
+  And, sure, behind our scenes you'll look for none.
+
+
+Footnotes:
+1. A common name for a cat, being that by which the representative of
+   the feline race is distinguished in the History of Reynard the Fox.
+   See Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet._
+
+2. _Stickle._ To interfere.
+
+3. _Rondaches._ Targets or bucklers. These were a part of the
+   equipment of a serenader. See that of Quevedo's Night Adventurer.
+
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+                      END OF THE FOURTH VOLUME.
+
+
+                              EDINBURGH:
+
+                     Printed by James Ballantyne.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works Of John Dryden, Volume 4 (of
+18), by John Dryden
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