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diff --git a/16208-8.txt b/16208-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7bdc7d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/16208-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16306 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of John Dryden, Volume 5 (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 5 (of 18) + Amboyna; The state of Innocence; Aureng-Zebe; All for Love + +Author: John Dryden + +Editor: Walter Scott (1771-1832) + +Release Date: July 5, 2005 [EBook #16208] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Fred Robinson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + + + + + + + + + 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. V. + + LONDON: + + PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET, + + BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH. + + + 1808. + + + * * * * * + + + CONTENTS + + OF + + VOLUME FIFTH. + +Amboyna; or the Cruelties of the Dutch to the English Merchants, a + Tragedy + Epistle Dedicatory to Lord Clifford of Chudleigh + + +The State of Innocence, and Fall of Man, an Opera + Epistle Dedicatory to her Royal Highness the Duchess + Preface.--The Author's Apology for Heroic Poetry, and Poetic + Licence + + +Aureng-Zebe, a Tragedy + Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Mulgrave + + +All for Love, or the World Well Lost, a Tragedy + Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Danby + Preface + + + * * * * * + + + AMBOYNA: + + OR, THE + + CRUELTIES OF THE DUTCH + + TO THE + + _ENGLISH MERCHANTS._ + + + A + + TRAGEDY. + + + --_Manet altā mente repostum._ + + + + + AMBOYNA. + + +The tragedy of Amboyna, as it was justly termed by the English of the +seventeenth century, was of itself too dreadful to be heightened by +the mimic horrors of the stage. The reader may be reminded, that by +three several treaties in the years 1613, 1615, and 1619, it was +agreed betwixt England and Holland, that the English should enjoy +one-third of the trade of the spice islands. For this purpose, +factories were established on behalf of the English East India Company +at the Molucca Islands, at Banda, and at Amboyna. At the latter island +the Dutch had a castle, with a garrison, both of Europeans and +natives. It has been always remarked, that the Dutchman, in his +eastern settlements, loses the mercantile probity of his European +character, while he retains its cold-blooded phlegm and avaricious +selfishness. Of this the Amboyna government gave a notable proof. +About the 11th of Feb. 1622, old stile, under pretence of a plot laid +between the English of the factory and some Japanese soldiers to seize +the castle, the former were arrested by the Dutch, and subjected to +the most horrible tortures, to extort confession of their pretended +guilt. Upon some they poured water into a cloth previously secured +round their necks and shoulders, until suffocation ensued; others were +tortured with lighted matches, and torches applied to the most tender +and sensible parts of the body. But I will not pollute my page with +this monstrous and disgusting detail. Upon confessions, inconsistent +with each other, with common sense and ordinary probability, extorted +also by torments of the mind or body, or both, Captain Gabriel +Towerson, and nine other English merchants of consideration, were +executed; and, to add insult to atrocity, the bloody cloth, on which +Towerson kneeled at his death, was put down to the account of the +English Company. The reader may find the whole history in the second +volume of Purchas's "Pilgrim." The news of this horrible massacre +reached King James, while he was negociating with the Dutch concerning +the assistance which they then implored against the Spaniards; and the +affairs of his son-in-law, the Elector Palatine, appeared to render an +union with Holland so peremptorily necessary, that the massacre of +Amboyna was allowed to remain unrevenged. + +But the Dutch war, which was declared in 1672, the object of which +seems to have been the annihilation of the United Provinces as an +independent state, a century sooner than Providence had decreed that +calamitous event, met with great opposition in England, and every +engine was put to work to satisfy the people of the truth of the Lord +Chancellor Shaftesbury's averment, that the "States of Holland were +England's eternal enemies, both by interest and inclination." Dryden, +with the avowed intention of exasperating the nation against the +Dutch, assumed from choice, or by command, the unpromising subject of +the Amboyna massacre as the foundation of the following play. +Exclusive of the horrible nature of the subject, the colours are laid +on too thick to produce the desired effect. The monstrous caricatures, +which are exhibited as just paintings of the Dutch character, +unrelieved even by the grandeur of wickedness, and degraded into +actual brutality, must have produced disgust, instead of an animated +hatred and detestation. For the horrible spectacle of tortures and +mangled limbs exhibited on the stage, the author might plead the +custom of his age. A stage direction in Ravenscroft's alteration of +"Titus Andronicus," bears, "A curtain drawn, discovers the heads and +hands of Demetrius and Chiron hanging up against the wall; their +bodies in chairs, in bloody linen." And in an interlude, called the +"Cruelty of the Spaniards in Peru," written by D'Avenant, "a doleful +pavin is played to prepare the change of the scene, which represents a +dark prison at a great distance; and farther to the view are discerned +racks and other engines of torment, with which the Spaniards are +tormenting the natives and English mariners, who may be supposed to be +lately landed there to discover the coast. Two Spaniards are likewise +discovered sitting in their cloaks, and appearing more solemn in +ruffs, with rapiers and daggers by their sides; the one turning a +spit, while the other is basting an Indian prince, who is roasted at +an artificial fire[1]." The rape of Isabinda is stated by Langbaine to +have been borrowed from a novel in the Decamerone of Cinthio Giraldi. + +This play is beneath criticism; and I can hardly hesitate to term it +the worst production Dryden ever wrote. It was acted and printed in +1673. + + +Footnote: +1. This extraordinary kitchen scene did not escape the ridicule of the + wits of that merry age. + + O greater cruelty yet, + Like a pig upon a spit; + Here lies one there, another boiled to jelly; + Just as the people stare + At an ox in the fair, + Roasted whole, with a pudding in's belly. + + A little further in, + Hung a third by his chin, + And a fourth cut all in quarters. + O that Fox had now been living, + They had been sure of heaven, + Or, at the least, been some of his martyrs. + + + + + TO + + THE RIGHT HONOURABLE + + THE + + LORD CLIFFORD + + OF + + CHUDLEIGH[1]. + + +MY LORD, + +After so many favours, and those so great, conferred on me by your +lordship these many years,--which I may call more properly one +continued act of your generosity and goodness,--I know not whether I +should appear either more ungrateful in my silence, or more +extravagantly vain in my endeavours to acknowledge them: For, since +all acknowledgements bear a face of payment, it may be thought, that I +have flattered myself into an opinion of being able to return some +part of my obligements to you;--the just despair of which attempt, and +the due veneration I have for his person, to whom I must address, have +almost driven me to receive only with a profound submission the +effects of that virtue, which is never to be comprehended but by +admiration; and the greatest note of admiration is silence. It is that +noble passion, to which poets raise their audience in highest +subjects, and they have then gained over them the greatest victory, +when they are ravished into a pleasure which is not to be expressed by +words. To this pitch, my lord, the sense of my gratitude had almost +raised me: to receive your favours, as the Jews of old received their +law, with a mute wonder; to think, that the loudness of acclamation +was only the praise of men to men, and that the secret homage of the +soul was a greater mark of reverence, than an outward ceremonious joy, +which might be counterfeit, and must be irreverent in its tumult. +Neither, my lord, have I a particular right to pay you my +acknowledgements: You have been a good so universal, that almost every +man in the three nations may think me injurious to his propriety, that +I invade your praises, in undertaking to celebrate them alone; and +that I have assumed to myself a patron, who was no more to be +circumscribed than the sun and elements, which are of public benefit +to human kind. + +As it was much in your power to oblige all who could pretend to merit +from the public, so it was more in your nature and inclination. If any +went ill-satisfied from the treasury, while it was in your lordship's +management, it proclaimed the want of desert, and not of friends: You +distributed your master's favour with so equal hands, that justice +herself could not have held the scales more even; but with that +natural propensity to do good, that had that treasure been your own, +your inclination to bounty must have ruined you. No man attended to be +denied: No man bribed for expedition: Want and desert were pleas +sufficient. By your own integrity, and your prudent choice of those +whom you employed, the king gave all that he intended; and gratuities +to his officers made not vain his bounty. This, my lord, you were in +your public capacity of high treasurer, to which you ascended by such +degrees, that your royal master saw your virtues still growing to his +favours, faster than they could rise to you. Both at home and abroad, +with your sword and with your counsel, you have served him with +unbiassed honour, and unshaken resolution; making his greatness, and +the true interest of your country, the standard and measure of your +actions. Fortune may desert the wise and brave, but true virtue never +will forsake itself[2]. It is the interest of the world, that virtuous +men should attain to greatness, because it gives them the power of +doing good: But when, by the iniquity of the times, they are brought +to that extremity, that they must either quit their virtue or their +fortune, they owe themselves so much, as to retire to the private +exercise of their honour;--to be great within, and by the constancy of +their resolutions, to teach the inferior world how they ought to judge +of such principles, which are asserted with so generous and so +unconstrained a trial. + +But this voluntary neglect of honours has been of rare example in the +world[3]: Few men have frowned first upon fortune, and precipitated +themselves from the top of her wheel, before they felt at least the +declination of it. We read not of many emperors like Dioclesian and +Charles the Fifth, who have preferred a garden and a cloister before a +crowd of followers, and the troublesome glory of an active life, which +robs the possessor of his rest and quiet, to secure the safety and +happiness of others. Seneca, with the help of his philosophy, could +never attain to that pitch of virtue: He only endeavoured to prevent +his fall by descending first, and offered to resign that wealth which +he knew he could no longer hold; he would only have made a present to +his master of what he foresaw would become his prey; he strove to +avoid the jealousy of a tyrant,--you dismissed yourself from the +attendance and privacy of a gracious king. Our age has afforded us +many examples of a contrary nature; but your lordship is the only one +of this. It is easy to discover in all governments, those who wait so +close on fortune, that they are never to be shaken off at any turn: +Such who seem to have taken up a resolution of being great; to +continue their stations on the theatre of business; to change with the +scene, and shift the vizard for another part--these men condemn in +their discourses that virtue which they dare not practise: But the +sober part of this present age, and impartial posterity, will do +right, both to your lordship and to them: And, when they read on what +accounts, and with how much magnanimity, you quitted those honours, to +which the highest ambition of an English subject could aspire, will +apply to you, with much more reason, what the historian said of a +Roman emperor, "_Multi diutius imperium tenuerunt; nemo fortius +reliquit._" + +To this retirement of your lordship, I wish I could bring a better +entertainment than this play; which, though it succeeded on the stage, +will scarcely bear a serious perusal; it being contrived and written +in a month, the subject barren, the persons low, and the writing not +heightened with many laboured scenes. The consideration of these +defects ought to have prescribed more modesty to the author, than to +have presented it to that person in the world for whom he has the +greatest honour, and of whose patronage the best of his endeavours had +been unworthy: But I had not satisfied myself in staying longer, and +could never have paid the debt with a much better play. As it is, the +meanness of it will shew; at least, that I pretend not by it to make +any manner of return for your favours; and that I only give you a new +occasion of exercising your goodness to me, in pardoning the failings +and imperfections of, + + MY LORD, + + Your Lordship's + Most humble, most obliged, + Most obedient servant, + JOHN DRYDEN. + + +Footnotes: +1. Sir Thomas Clifford, just then created Lord Clifford of Chudleigh, + and appointed Lord High Treasurer, was one of the six ministers, + the initials of whose names furnished the word _Cabal_, by which + their junto was distinguished. He was the most virtuous and honest + of the junto, but a Catholic; and, what was then synonymous, a warm + advocate for arbitrary power. He is said to have won his promotion + by advising the desperate measure of shutting the Exchequer in + 1671, the hint of which he is said to have stolen from Shaftesbury. + This piece may have been undertaken by his command; for, even at + the very time of the triple alliance, he is reported to have said, + "For all this, we must have another Dutch war." Upon the defection + of Lord Shaftesbury from the court party, and the passing of the + test act, Lord Clifford resigned his office, retired to the + country, and died in September 1673, shortly after receiving this + dedication. + +2. In this case, Dryden's praise, which did not always occur, survived + the temporary occasion. Even in a little satirical effusion, he + tells us, + + Clifford was fierce and brave. + + Clifford had been comptroller and treasurer of the household, and + one of the commissioners of the treasury; he had served in the + Dutch wars. + +3. Alluding to Lord Clifford's resignation of an office he could not + hold without a change of religion. + + + + + PROLOGUE. + + + _This poem was written as far back as 1662, and was then termed a + Satire against the Dutch._ + + As needy gallants in the scriveners' hands, + Court the rich knave that gripes their mortgaged lands, + The first fat buck of all the season's sent, + And keeper takes no fee in compliment: + The dotage of some Englishmen is such + To fawn on those who ruin them--the Dutch. + They shall have all, rather than make a war + With those who of the same religion are. + The Straits, the Guinea trade, the herrings too, + Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you. + Some are resolved not to find out the cheat, + But, cuckold like, love him who does the feat: + What injuries soe'er upon us fall, + Yet, still, The same religion, answers all: + Religion wheedled you to civil war, + Drew English blood, and Dutchmen's now would spare: + Be gulled no longer, for you'll find it true, + They have no more religion, faith--than you; + Interest's the god they worship in their state; + And you, I take it, have not much of that. + Well, monarchies may own religion's name, + But states are atheists in their very frame. + They share a sin, and such proportions fall, + That, like a stink, 'tis nothing to them all. + How they love England, you shall see this day; + No map shews Holland truer than our play: + Their pictures and inscriptions well we know[1]; + We may be bold one medal sure to show. + View then their falsehoods, rapine, cruelty; + And think what once they were, they still would be: + But hope not either language, plot, or art; + 'Twas writ in haste, but with an English heart: + And least hope wit; in Dutchmen that would be + As much improper, as would honesty. + + +Footnote +1. Amongst the pretexts for making war on the states of Holland were + alleged their striking certain satirical medals, and engraving + prints in ridicule of Charles II. See his proclamation of war in + 1671-2. + + + + + DRAMATIS PERSONĘ. + + _Captain_ GABRIEL TOWERSON. + _Mr_ BEAMONT, } _English Merchants, his Friends._ + _Mr_ COLLINS, } + _Captain_ MIDDLETON, _an English Sea Captain._ + PEREZ, _a Spanish Captain._ + HARMAN _Senior, Governor of Amboyna._ + _The Fiscal._ + HARMAN _Junior, Son to the Governor._ + VAN HERRING, _a Dutch Merchant._ + + ISABINDA, _betrothed to_ TOWERSON, _an Indian Lady._ + JULIA, _Wife to_ PEREZ. + _An English Woman._ + _Page to_ TOWERSON. + _A Skipper._ + _Two Dutch Merchants._ + +SCENE--_Amboyna._ + + + + + AMBOYNA. + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_A Castle on the Sea._ + + _Enter_ HARMAN _Senior, the Governor, the Fiscal, and_ VAN HERRING: + _Guards._ + +_Fisc._ A happy day to our noble governor. + +_Har._ Morrow, Fiscal. + +_Van Her._ Did the last ships, which came from Holland to these parts, +bring us no news of moment? + +_Fisc._ Yes, the best that ever came into Amboyna, since we set +footing here; I mean as to our interest. + +_Har._ I wonder much my letters then gave me so short accounts; they +only said the Orange party was grown strong again, since Barnevelt had +suffered. + +_Van Her._ Mine inform me farther, the price of pepper, and of other +spices, was raised of late in Europe. + +_Har._ I wish that news may hold; but much suspect it, while the +English maintain their factories among us in Amboyna, or in the +neighbouring plantations of Seran. + +_Fisc._ Still I have news that tickles me within; ha, ha, ha! I'faith +it does, and will do you, and all our countrymen. + +_Har._ Pr'ythee do not torture us, but tell it. + +_Van Her._ Whence comes this news? + +_Fisc._ From England. + +_Har._ Is their East India fleet bound outward for these parts, or +cast away, or met at sea by pirates? + +_Fisc._ Better, much better yet; ha, ha, ha! + +_Har._ Now am I famished for my part of the laughter. + +_Fisc._ Then, my brave governor, if you're a true Dutchman, I'll make +your fat sides heave with the conceit on't, 'till you're blown like a +pair of large smith's bellows; here, look upon this paper. + +_Har._ [_reading._] _You may remember we did endamage the English +East-India Company the value of five hundred thousand pounds, all in +one year; a treaty is now signed, in which the business is ta'en up +for fourscore thousand._--This is news indeed: would I were upon the +castle-wall, that I might throw my cap into the sea, and my gold chain +after it! this is golden news, boys. + +_Van Her._ This is news would kindle a thousand bonfires, and make us +piss them out again in Rhenish wine. + +_Har._ Send presently to all our factories, acquaint them with these +blessed tidings: If we can 'scape so cheap, 'twill be no matter what +villanies henceforth we put in practice. + +_Fisc._ Hum! why this now gives encouragement to a certain plot, which +I have been long brewing, against these skellum English. I almost have +it here in pericranio, and 'tis a sound one, 'faith; no less than to +cut all their throats, and seize all their effects within this island. +I warrant you we may compound again. + +_Van Her._ Seizing their factories I like well enough, it has some +savour in't; but for this whoreson cutting of throats, it goes a +little against the grain, because 'tis so notoriously known in +Christendom, that they have preserved ours from being cut by the +Spaniards. + +_Har._ Hang them, base English starts, let them e'en take their part +of their own old proverb--Save a thief from the gallows; they would +needs protect us rebels, and see what comes to themselves. + +_Fisc._ You're i'the right on't, noble Harman; their assistance, which +was a mercy and a providence to us, shall be a judgment upon them. + +_Van Her._ A little favour would do well; though not that I would stop +the current of your wit, or any other plot, to do them mischief; but +they were first discoverers of this isle, first traded hither, and +showed us the way. + +_Fisc._ I grant you that; nay more, that, by composition made after +many long and tedious quarrels, they were to have a third part of the +traffic, we to build forts, and they to contribute to the charge. + +_Har._ Which we have so increased each year upon them, we being in +power, and therefore judges of the cost, that we exact whatever we +please, still more than half the charge; and on pretence of their +non-payment, or the least delay, do often stop their ships, detain +their goods, and drag them into prisons, while our commodities go on +before, and still forestall their markets. + +_Fisc._ These, I confess, are pretty tricks, but will not do our +business; we must ourselves be ruined at long run, if they have any +trade here; I know our charge at length will eat us out: I would not +let these English from this isle have cloves enough to stick an orange +with, not one to throw into their bottle-ale. + +_Har._ But to bring this about now, there's the cunning. + +_Fisc._ Let me alone awhile; I have it, as I told you, here; mean time +we must put on a seeming kindness, call them our benefactors and dear +brethren, pipe them within the danger of our net, and then we'll draw +it o'er them: When they're in, no mercy, that's my maxim. + +_Van Her._ Nay, brother, I am not too obstinate for saving Englishmen, +'twas but a qualm of conscience, which profit will dispel: I have as +true a Dutch antipathy to England, as the proudest _he_ in Amsterdam; +that's a bold word now. + +_Har._ We are secure of our superiors there. Well, they may give the +king of Great Britain a verbal satisfaction, and with submissive +fawning promises, make shew to punish us; but interest is their god as +well as ours. To that almighty, they will sacrifice a thousand English +lives, and break a hundred thousand oaths, ere they will punish those +that make them rich, and pull their rivals down. + [_Guns go off within._ + +_Van Her._ Heard you those guns? + +_Har._ Most plainly. + +_Fisc._ The sound comes from the port; some ship arrived salutes the +castle, and I hope brings more good news from Holland. [_Guns again._ + +_Har._ Now they answer them from the fortress. + + _Enter_ BEAMONT _and_ COLLINS. + +_Van Her._ Beamont and Collins, English merchants both; perhaps +they'll certify us. + +_Beam._ Captain Harman van Spelt, good day to you. + +_Har._ Dear, kind Mr Beamont, a thousand and a thousand good days to +you, and all our friends the English. + +_Fisc._ Came you from the port, gentlemen? + +_Col._ We did; and saw arrive, our honest, and our gallant countryman, +brave captain Gabriel Towerson. + +_Beam._ Sent to these parts from our employers of the East India +company in England, as general of the voyage. + +_Fisc._ Is the brave Towerson returned? + +_Col._ The same, sir. + +_Har._ He shall be nobly welcome. He has already spent twelve years +upon, or near, these rich Molucca isles, and home returned with honour +and great wealth. + +_Fisc._ The devil give him joy of both, or I will for him. [_Aside._ + +_Beam._ He's my particular friend; I lived with him, both at Tencrate, +Tydore, and at Seran. + +_Van Her._ Did he not leave a mistress in these parts, a native of +this island of Amboyna? + +_Col._ He did; I think they call her Isabinda, who received baptism +for his sake, before he hence departed. + +_Har._ 'Tis much against the will of all her friends, she loves your +countryman, but they are not disposers of her person; she's beauteous, +rich, and young, and Towerson well deserves her. + +_Beam._ I think, without flattery to my friend, he does. Were I to +chuse, of all mankind, a man, on whom I would rely for faith and +counsel, or more, whose personal aid I would invite, in any worthy +cause, to second me, it should be only Gabriel Towerson; daring he is, +and thereto fortunate; yet soft, and apt to pity the distressed, and +liberal to relieve them: I have seen him not alone to pardon foes, but +by his bounty win them to his love: If he has any fault, 'tis only +that to which great minds can only subject be--he thinks all honest, +'cause himself is so, and therefore none suspects. + +_Fisc._ I like him well for that; this fault of his great mind, as +Beamont calls it, may give him cause to wish he was more wary, when it +shall be too late. [_Aside._ + +_Har._ I was in some small hope, this ship had been of our own +country, and brought back my son; for much about this season I expect +him. Good-morrow, gentlemen; I go to fill a brendice to my noble +captain's health, pray tell him so; the youth of our Amboyna I'll send +before, to welcome him. + +_Col._ We'll stay, and meet him here. + [_Exeunt_ HARMAN, FISCAL, _and_ VAN HERRING. + +_Beam._ I do not like these fleering Dutchmen, they overact their +kindness. + +_Col._ I know not what to think of them; that old fat governor, Harman +van Spelt, I have known long; they say he was a cooper in his country, +and took the measure of his hoops for tuns by his own belly: I love +him not, he makes a jest of men in misery; the first fat merry fool I +ever knew, that was ill-natured. + +_Beam._ He's absolutely governed by this Fiscal, who was, as I have +heard, an ignorant advocate in Rotterdam, such as in England we call a +petty-fogging rogue; one that knows nothing, but the worst part of the +law, its tricks and snares: I fear he hates us English mortally. Pray +heaven we feel not the effects on't. + +_Col._ Neither he, nor Harman, will dare to shew their malice to us, +now Towerson is come. For though, 'tis true, we have no castle here, +he has an awe upon them in his worth, which they both fear and +reverence. + +_Beam._ I wish it so may prove; my mind is a bad prophet to me, and +what it does forbode of ill, it seldom fails to pay me. Here he comes. + +_Col._ And in his company young Harman, son to our Dutch governor. I +wonder how they met. + + _Enter_ TOWERSON, HARMAN _Junior, and a Skipper._ + +_Tow._ [_Entering, to the Skipper._] These letters see conveyed with +speed to our plantation. This to Cambello, and to Hitto this, this +other to Loho. Tell them, their friends in England greet them well; +and when I left them, were in perfect health. + +_Skip._ Sir, you shall be obeyed. [_Exit Skipper._ + +_Beam._ I heartily rejoice that our employers have chose you for this +place: a better choice they never could have made, or for themselves, +or me. + +_Col._ This I am sure of, that our English factories in all these +parts have wished you long the man, and none could be so welcome to +their hearts. + +_Har. Jun._ And let me speak for my countrymen, the Dutch; I have +heard my father say, he's your sworn brother: And this late accident +at sea, when you relieved me from the pirates, and brought my ship in +safety off, I hope will well secure you of our gratitude. + +_Tow._ You over-rate a little courtesy: In your deliverance I did no +more, than what I had myself from you expected: The common ties of our +religion, and those, yet more particular, of peace and strict commerce +betwixt us and your nation, exacted all I did, or could have done. +[_To_ BEAMONT.] For you, my friend, let me ne'er breathe our English +air again, but I more joy to see you, than myself to have escaped the +storm that tossed me long, doubling the Cape, and all the sultry +heats, in passing twice the Line: For now I have you here, methinks +this happiness should not be bought at a less price. + +_Har. Jun._ I'll leave you with your friends; my duty binds me to +hasten to receive a father's blessing. [_Exit_ HARMAN _Junior._ + +_Beam._ You are so much a friend, that I must tax you for being a +slack lover. You have not yet enquired of Isabinda. + +_Tow._ No; I durst not, friend, I durst not. I love too well, and fear +to know my doom; there's hope in doubt; but yet I fixed my eyes on +yours, I looked with earnestness, and asked with them: If aught of ill +had happened, sure I had met it there; and since, methinks, I did not, +I have now recovered courage, and resolve to urge it from you. + +_Beam._ Your Isabinda then-- + +_Tow._ You have said all in that, my Isabinda, if she still be so. + +_Beam._ Enjoys as much of health, as fear for you, and sorrow for your +absence, would permit. [_Music within._ + +_Col._ Hark, music I think approaching. + +_Beam._ 'Tis from our factory; some sudden entertainment I believe, +designed for your return. + + _Enter Amboyners, Men and Women, with Timbrels before them. A + Dance._ + + _After the Dance,_ + + _Enter_ HARMAN _Senior,_ HARMAN _Junior,_ FISCAL, _and_ VAN HERRING. + +_Har. Sen._ [_Embracing_ TOWERSON.] O my sworn brother, my dear +captain Towerson! the man whom I love better than a stiff gale, when I +am becalmed at sea; to whom I have received the sacrament, never to be +false-hearted. + +_Tow._ You ne'er shall have occasion on my part: The like I promise +for our factories, while I continue here: This isle yields spice +enough for both; and Europe, ports, and chapmen, where to vend them. + +_Har. Sen._ It does, it does; we have enough, if we can be contented. + +_Tow._ And, sir, why should we not? What mean these endless jars of +trading nations? 'Tis true, the world was never large enough for +avarice or ambition; but those who can be pleased with moderate gain, +may have the ends of nature, not to want: Nay, even its luxuries may +be supplied from her o'erflowing bounties in these parts; from whence +she yearly sends spices and gums, the food of heaven in sacrifice: +And, besides these, her gems of the richest value, for ornament, more +than necessity. + +_Har. Sen._ You are i'the right; we must be very friends, i'faith we +must; I have an old Dutch heart, as true and trusty as your English +oak. + +_Fisc._ We can never forget the patronage of your Elizabeth, of famous +memory; when from the yoke of Spain, and Alva's pride, her potent +succours, and her well-timed bounty, freed us, and gave us credit in +the world. + +_Tow._ For this we only ask a fair commerce, and friendliness of +conversation here: And what our several treaties bind us to, you +shall, while Towerson lives, see so performed, as fits a subject to an +English king. + +_Har. Sen._ Now, by my faith, you ask too little, friend; we must have +more than bare commerce betwixt us: Receive me to your bosom; by this +beard, I will never deceive you. + +_Beam._ I do not like his oath, there's treachery in that +Judas-coloured beard. [_Aside._ + +_Fisc._ Pray use me as your servant. + +_Van Her._ And me too, captain. + +_Tow._ I receive you both as jewels, which I'll wear in either ear, +and never part with you. + +_Har. Sen._ I cannot do enough for him, to whom I owe my son. + +_Har. Jun._ Nor I, till fortune send me such another brave occasion of +fighting so for you. + +_Har. Sen._ Captain, very shortly we must use your head in a certain +business; ha, ha, ha, my dear captain. + +_Fisc._ We must use your head, indeed, sir. + +_Tow._ Sir, command me, and take it as a debt I owe your love. + +_Har. Sen._ Talk not of debt, for I must have your heart. + +_Van Her._ Your heart, indeed, good captain. + +_Har. Sen._ You are weary now, I know, sea-beat and weary; 'tis time +we respite further ceremony; besides, I see one coming, whom I know +you long to embrace, and I should be unkind to keep you from her arms. + + _Enter_ ISABINDA _and_ JULIA. + +_Isab._ Do I hold my love, do I embrace him after a tedious absence of +three years? Are you indeed returned, are you the same? Do you still +love your Isabinda? Speak before I ask you twenty questions more: For +I have so much love, and so much joy, that if you don't love as well +as I, I shall appear distracted. + +_Tow._ We meet then both out of ourselves, for I am nothing else but +love and joy; and to take care of my discretion now, would make me +much unworthy of that passion, to which you set no bounds. + +_Isab._ How could you be so long away? + +_Tow._ How can you think I was? I still was here, still with you, +never absent in my mind. + +_Har. Jun._ She is a most charming creature; I wish I had not seen +her. [_Aside._ + +_Isab._ Now I shall love your God, because I see that he takes care of +lovers: But, my dear Englishman, I pr'ythee let it be our last of +absence; I cannot bear another parting from thee, nor promise thee to +live three other years, if thou again goest hence. + +_Tow._ I never will without you. + +_Har. Sen._ I said before, we should but trouble ye. + +_Tow._ You make me blush; but if you ever were a lover, sir, you will +forgive a folly, which is sweet, though, I confess, 'ts much +extravagant. + +_Har. Jun._ He has but too much cause for this excess of joy; oh +happy, happy Englishman! but I unfortunate! [_Aside._ + +_Tow._ Now, when you please, lead on. + +_Har. Sen._ This day you shall be feasted at the castle, +Where our great guns shall loudly speak your welcome. +All signs of joy shall through the isle be shewn, +Whilst in full rummers we our friendship crown. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + + _Enter_ ISABINDA, _and_ HARMAN _Junior._ + +_Isab._ This to me, from you, against your friend! + +_Har. Jun._ Have I not eyes? are you not fair? Why does it seem so +strange? + +_Isab._ Come, it is a plot betwixt you: My Englishman is jealous, and +has sent you to try my faith: he might have spared the experiment, +after a three years absence; that was a proof sufficient of my +constancy. + +_Har. Jun._ I heard him say he never had returned, but that his +masters of the East India company preferred him large conditions. + +_Isab._ You do bely him basely. + +_Har. Jun._ As much as I do you, in saying you are fair; or as I do +myself, when I declare I die for you. + +_Isab._ If this be earnest, you have done a most unmanly and +ungrateful part, to court the intended wife of him, to whom you are +most obliged. + +_Har. Jun._ Leave me to answer that: Assure yourself I love you +violently, and, if you are wise, you will make some difference betwixt +Towerson and me. + +_Isab._ Yes, I shall make a difference, but not to your advantage. + +_Har. Jun._ You must, or falsify your knowledge; an Englishman, part +captain, and part merchant; his nation of declining interest here: +Consider this, and weigh against that fellow, not me, but any, the +least and meanest Dutchman in this isle. + +_Isab._ I do not weigh by bulk: I know your countrymen have the +advantage there. + +_Har. Jun._ Hold back your hand, from firming of your faith; you will +thank me in a little time, for staying you so kindly from embarking in +his ruin. + +_Isab._ His fortune is not so contemptible as you would make it seem. + +_Har. Jun._ Wait but one month for the event. + +_Isab._ I will not wait one day, though I were sure to sink with him +the next: So well I love my Towerson, I will not lose another sun, for +fear he should not rise to-morrow. For yourself, pray rest assured, of +all mankind, you should not be my choice, after an act of such +ingratitude. + +_Har. Jun._ You may repent your scorn at leisure. + +_Isab._ Never, unless I married you. + + _Enter_ TOWERSON. + +_Tow._ Now, my dear Isabinda, I dare pronounce myself most happy: +Since I have gained your kindred, all difficulties cease. + +_Isab._ I wish we find it so. + +_Tow._ Why, is aught happened since I saw you last? Methinks a sadness +dwells upon your brow, like that I saw before my last long absence. +You do not speak: My friend dumb too? Nay then, I fear some more than +ordinary cause produces this. + +_Har. Jun._ You have no reason, Towerson, to be sad; you are the happy +man. + +_Tow._ If I have any, you must needs have some. + +_Har. Jun._ No, you are loved, and I am bid despair. + +_Tow._ Time and your services will perhaps make you as happy, as I am +in my Isabinda's love. + +_Har. Jun._ I thought I spoke so plain, I might be understood; but +since I did not, I must tell you, Towerson, I wear the title of your +friend no longer, because I am your rival. + +_Tow._ Is this true, Isabinda? + +_Isab._ I should not, I confess, have told you first, because I would +not give you that disquiet; but since he has, it is too sad a truth. + +_Tow._ Leave us, my dear, a little to ourselves. + +_Isab._ I fear you will quarrel, for he seemed incensed, and +threatened you with ruin. [_To him aside._ + +_Tow._ 'Tis to prevent an ill, which may be fatal to us both, that I +would speak with him. + +_Isab._ Swear to me, by your love, you will not fight. + +_Tow._ Fear not, my Isabinda; things are not grown to that extremity. + +_Isab._ I leave you, but I doubt the consequence. [_Exit_ ISAB. + +_Tow._ I want a name to call you by; friend, you declare you are not, +and to rival, I am not yet enough accustomed. + +_Har. Jun._ Now I consider on it, it shall be yet in your free choice, +to call me one or other; for, Towerson, I do not decline your +friendship, but then yield Isabinda to me. + +_Tow._ Yield Isabinda to you? + +_Har. Jun._ Yes, and preserve the blessing of my friendship; I'll make +my father yours; your factories shall be no more oppressed, but thrive +in all advantages with ours; your gain shall be beyond what you could +hope for from the treaty: In all the traffic of these eastern parts, +ye shall-- + +_Tow._ Hold! you mistake me, Harman, I never gave you just occasion to +think I would make merchandize of love; Isabinda, you know, is mine, +contracted to me ere I went for England, and must be so till death. + +_Har. Jun._ She must not, Towerson; you know you are not strongest in +these parts, and it will be ill contesting with your masters. + +_Tow._ Our masters? Harman, you durst not once have named that word, +in any part of Europe. + +_Har. Jun._ Here I both dare and will; you have no castles in Amboyna. + +_Tow._ Though we have not, we yet have English hearts, and courages +not to endure affronts. + +_Har. Jun._ They may be tried. + +_Tow._ Your father sure will not maintain you in this insolence; I +know he is too honest. + +_Har. Jun._ Assure yourself he will espouse my quarrel. + +_Tow._ We would complain to England. + +_Har. Jun._ Your countrymen have tried that course so often, methinks +they should grow wiser, and desist: But now there is no need of +troubling any others but ourselves; the sum of all is this, you either +must resign me Isabinda, or instantly resolve to clear your title to +her by your sword. + +_Tow._ I will do neither now. + +_Har. Jun._ Then I'll believe you dare not fight me fairly. + +_Tow._ You know I durst have fought, though I am not vain enough to +boast it, nor would upbraid you with remembrance of it. + +_Har. Jun._ You destroy your benefit with rehearsal of it; but that +was in a ship, backed by your men; single duel is a fairer trial of +your courage. + +_Tow._ I'm not to be provoked out of my temper: Here I am a public +person, entrusted by my king and my employers, and should I kill you, +Harman-- + +_Har. Jun._ Oh never think you can, sir. + +_Tow._ I should betray my countrymen to suffer, not only worse +indignities than those they have already borne, but, for aught I know, +might give them up to general imprisonment, perhaps betray them to a +massacre. + +_Har. Jun._ These are but pitiful and weak excuses; I'll force you to +confess you dare not fight; you shall have provocations. + +_Tow._ I will not stay to take them. Only this before I go; if you are +truly gallant, insult not where you have power, but keep your quarrel +secret; we may have time and place out of this island: Meanwhile, I go +to marry Isabinda, that you shall see I dare.--No more, follow me not +an inch beyond this place, no not an inch. Adieu. [_Exit_ TOWERSON. + +_Har. Jun._ Thou goest to thy grave, or I to mine. + [_Is going after him._ + + _Enter_ FISCAL. + +_Fisc._ Whither so fast, mynheer? + +_Har. Jun._ After that English dog, whom I believe you saw. + +_Fisc._ Whom, Towerson? + +_Har. Jun._ Yes, let me go, I'll have his blood. + +_Fisc._ Let me advise you first; you young men are so violently hot. + +_Har. Jun._ I say I'll have his blood. + +_Fisc._ To have his blood is not amiss, so far I go with you; but take +me with you further for the means: First, what's the injury? + +_Har. Jun._ Not to detain you with a tedious story, I love his +mistress, courted her, was slighted; into the heat of this he came; I +offered him the best advantages he could or to himself propose, or to +his nation, would he quit her love. + +_Fisc._ So far you are prudent, for she is exceeding rich. + +_Har. Jun._ He refused all; then I threatened him with my father's +power. + +_Fisc._ That was unwisely done; your father, underhand, may do a +mischief, but it is too gross aboveboard. + +_Har. Jun._ At last, nought else prevailing, I defied him to single +duel; this he refused, and I believe it was fear. + +_Fisc._ No, no, mistake him not, it is a stout whoreson. You did ill +to press him, it will not sound well in Europe; he being here a public +minister, having no means of 'scaping should he kill you, besides +exposing all his countrymen to a revenge. + +_Har. Jun._ That's all one; I'm resolved I will pursue my course, and +fight him. + +_Fisc._ Pursue your end, that's to enjoy the woman and her wealth; I +would, like you, have Towerson despatched,--for, as I am a true +Dutchman, I do hate him,--but I would convey him smoothly out of the +world, and without noise; they will say we are ungrateful else in +England, and barbarously cruel; now I could swallow down the _thing_ +ingratitude and the _thing_ murder, but the names are odious. + +_Har. Jun._ What would you have me do then? + +_Fisc._ Let him enjoy his love a little while, it will break no +squares in the long run of a man's life; you shall have enough of her, +and in convenient time. + +_Har. Jun._ I cannot bear he should enjoy her first; no, it is +determined; I will kill him bravely. + +_Fisc._ Ay, a right young man's bravery, that's folly: Let me alone, +something I'll put in practice, to rid you of this rival ere he +marries, without your once appearing in it. + +_Har. Jun._ If I durst trust you now? + +_Fisc._ If you believe that I have wit, or love you. + +_Har. Jun._ Well, sir, you have prevailed; be speedy, for once I will +rely on you. Farewell. [_Exit_ HARMAN. + +_Fisc._ This hopeful business will be quickly spoiled, if I not take +exceeding care of it.--Stay,--Towerson to be killed, and privately, +that must be laid down as the groundwork, for stronger reasons than a +young man's passion; but who shall do it? No Englishman will, and much +I fear, no Dutchman dares attempt it. + + _Enter_ PEREZ. + +Well said, in faith, old Devil! Let thee alone, when once a man is +plotting villany, to find him a fit instrument. This Spanish captain, +who commands our slaves, is bold enough, and is beside in want, and +proud enough to think he merits wealth. + +_Per._ This Fiscal loves my wife; I am jealous of him, and yet must +speak him fair to get my pay; O, there is the devil for a Castilian, +to stoop to one of his own master's rebels, who has, or who designs to +cuckold him.--[_Aside._]--[_To_ FISCAL.] I come to kiss your hand +again, sir; six months I am in arrear; I must not starve, and +Spaniards cannot beg. + +_Fisc._ I have been a better friend to you, than perhaps you think, +captain. + +_Per._ I fear you have indeed. [_Aside._ + +_Fisc._ And faithfully solicited your business; send but your wife +to-morrow morning early, the money shall be ready. + +_Per._ What if I come myself? + +_Fisc._ Why ye may have it, if you come yourself, captain; but in case +your occasions should call you any other way, you dare trust her to +receive it. + +_Per._ She has no skill in money. + +_Fisc._ It shall be told into her hand, or given her upon honour, in a +lump: but, captain, you were saying you did want; now I should think +three hundred doubloons would do you no great harm; they will serve to +make you merry on the watch. + +_Per._ Must they be told into my wife's hand, too? + +_Fisc._ No, those you may receive yourself, if you dare merit them. + +_Per._ I am a Spaniard, sir; that implies honour: I dare all that is +possible. + +_Fisc._ Then you dare kill a man. + +_Per._ So it be fairly. + +_Fisc._ But what if he will not be so civil to be killed that way? He +is a sturdy fellow, I know you stout, and do not question your valour; +but I would make sure work, and not endanger you, who are my friend. + +_Per._ I fear the governor will execute me. + +_Fisc._ The governor will thank you; 'Tis he shall be your pay-master; +you shall have your pardon drawn up beforehand; and remember, no +transitory sum, three hundred quadruples in your own country gold. + +_Per._ Well, name your man. + + _Enter_ JULIA. + +_Fisc._ Your wife comes, take it in whisper. [_They whisper._ + +_Jul._ Yonder is my master, and my Dutch servant; how lovingly they +talk in private! if I did not know my Don's temper to be monstrously +jealous, I should think, they were driving a secret bargain for my +body; but _cuerpo_ is not to be digested by my Castilian. _Mi Moher_, +my wife, and my mistress! he lays the emphasis on me, as if to cuckold +him were a worse sin, than breaking the commandment. If my English +lover, Beamont, my Dutch love, the Fiscal, and my Spanish husband, +were painted in a piece, with me amongst them, they would make a +pretty emblem of the two nations that cuckold his Catholic majesty in +his Indies. + +_Fisc._ You will undertake it then? + +_Per._ I have served under Towerson as his lieutenant, served him +well, and, though I say it, bravely; yet never have been rewarded, +though he promised largely; 'tis resolved, I'll do it. + +_Fisc._ And swear secresy? + +_Per._ By this beard. + +_Fisc._ Go wait upon the governor from me, confer with him about it in +my name, this seal will give you credit. [_Gives him his seal._ + +_Per._ I go. [_Goes a step or two, while the other approaches his +wife._] What shall I be, before I come again? [_Exit._ + +_Fisc._ Now, my fair mistress, we shall have the opportunity which I +have long desired. [_To_ JULIA. + +_Per._ The governor is now a-sleeping; this is his hour of afternoon's +repose, I'll go when he is awake. [_Returning._ + +_Fisc._ He slept early this afternoon; I left him newly waked. + +_Per._ Well, I go then, but with an aching heart. [_Exit._ + +_Fisc._ So, at length he's gone. + +_Jul._ But you may find he was jealous, by his delay. + +_Fisc._ If I were as you, I would give evident proofs, should cure him +of that disease for ever after. + + _Enter_ PEREZ _again._ + +_Per._ I have considered on't, and if you would go along with me to +the governor, it would do much better. + +_Fisc._ No, no, that would make the matter more suspicious. The devil +take thee for an impertinent cuckold! [_Aside._ + +_Per._ Well, I must go then. [_Exit_ PEREZ. + +_Jul._ Nay, there was never the like of him; but it shall not serve +his turn, we'll cuckold him most furiously. + + _Enter_ PEREZ _again._ + +_Per._ I had forgot one thing; dear sweet-heart, go home quickly, and +oversee our business; it won't go forward without one of us. + +_Fisc._ I warrant you, take no care of your business; leave it to me, +I'll put it forward in your absence: Go, go, you'll lose your +opportunity; I'll be at home before you, and sup with you to-night. + +_Per._ You shall be welcome, but-- + +_Fisc._ Three hundred quadruples. + +_Per._ That's true, but-- + +_Fisc._ But three hundred quadruples. + +_Per._ The devil take the quadruples! + + _Enter_ BEAMONT. + +_Beam._ There's my cuckold that must be, and my fellow swaggerer, the +Dutchman, with my mistress: my nose is wiped to-day; I must retire, +for the Spaniard is jealous of me. + +_Per._ Oh, Mr Beamont, I'm to ask a favour of you. + +_Beam._ This is unusual; pray command it, signior. + +_Per._ I am going upon urgent business; pray sup with me to-night, +and, in the meantime, bear my worthy friend here company. + +_Beam._ With all my heart. + +_Per._ So, now I am secure; though I dare not trust her with one of +them, I may with both; they'll hinder one another, and preserve my +honour into the bargain. [_Exit._ + +_Beam._ Now, Mr Fiscal, you are the happy man with the ladies, and +have got the precedence of traffic here too; you've the Indies in your +arms, yet I hope a poor Englishman may come in for a third part of the +merchandise. + +_Fisc._ Oh, sir, in these commodities, here's enough for both; here's +mace for you, and nutmeg for me, in the same fruit, and yet the owner +has to spare for other friends too. + +_Jul._ My husband's plantation is like to thrive well betwixt you. + +_Beam._ Horn him; he deserves not so much happiness as he enjoys in +you; he's jealous. + +_Jul._ 'Tis no wonder if a Spaniard looks yellow. + +_Beam._ Betwixt you and me, 'tis a little kind of venture that we +make, in doing this Don's drudgery for him; for the whole nation of +them is generally so pocky, that 'tis no longer a disease, but a +second nature in them. + +_Fisc._ I have heard indeed, that 'tis incorporated among them, as +deeply as the Moors and Jews are; there's scarce a family, but 'tis +crept into their blood, like the new Christians. + +_Jul._ Come, I'll have no whispering betwixt you; I know you were +talking of my husband, because my nose itches. + +_Beam._ Faith, madam, I was speaking in favour of your nation: What +pleasant lives I have known Spaniards to live in England. + +_Jul._ If you love me, let me hear a little. + +_Beam._ We observed them to have much of the nature of our flies; they +buzzed abroad a month or two in the summer, would venture about +dog-days to take the air in the Park, but all the winter slept like +dormice; and, if they ever appeared in public after Michaelmas, their +faces shewed the difference betwixt their country and ours, for they +look in Spain as if they were roasted, and in England as if they were +sodden. + +_Jul._ I'll not believe your description. + +_Fisc._ Yet our observations of them in Holland are not much unlike +it. I've known a great Don at the Hague, with the gentleman of his +horse, his major domo, and two secretaries, all dine at four tables, +on the quarters of a single pullet: The victuals of the under servants +were weighed out in ounces, by the Don himself; with so much garlic in +the other scale: A thin slice of bacon went through the family a week +together; for it was daily put into the pot for pottage; was served in +the midst of the dish at dinners, and taken out and weighed by the +steward, at the end of every meal, to see how much it lost; till, at +length, looking at it against the sun, it appeared transparent, and +then he would have whipped it up, as his own fees, at a morsel; but +that his lord barred the dice, and reckoned it to him for a part of +his board wages. + +_Beam._ In few words, madam, the general notion we had of them, was, +that they were very frugal of their Spanish coin, and very liberal of +their Neapolitan. + +_Jul._ I see, gentlemen, you are in the way of rallying; therefore let +me be no hinderance to your sport; do as much for one another as you +have done for our nation. Pray, Mynheer Fiscal, what think you of the +English? + +_Fisc._ Oh, I have an honour for the country. + +_Beam._ I beseech you, leave your ceremony; we can hear of our faults +without choler; therefore speak of us with a true Amsterdam spirit, +and do not spare us. + +_Fisc._ Since you command me, sir, 'tis said of you, I know not how +truly, that for your fishery at home, you're like dogs in the manger, +you will neither manage it yourselves, nor permit your neighbours; so +that for your sovereignty of the narrow seas, if the inhabitants of +them, the herrings, were capable of being judges, they would certainly +award it to the English, because they were then sure to live +undisturbed, and quiet under you. + +_Beam._ Very good; proceed, sir. + +_Fisc._ 'Tis true, you gave us aid in our time of need, but you paid +yourselves with our cautionary towns: And, that you have since +delivered them up, we can never give sufficient commendation, either +to your honesty, or to your wit; for both which qualities you have +purchased such an immortal fame, that all nations are instructed how +to deal with you another time. + +_Beam._ A most grateful acknowledgment; sweet sir, go on. + +_Fisc._ For your trade abroad, if you should obtain it, you are so +horribly expensive, that you would undo yourselves and all +Christendom; for you would sink under your very profit, and the gains +of the universal world would beggar you: You devour a voyage to the +Indies, by the multitude of mouths with which you man your vessels: +Providence has contrived it well, that the Indies are managed by us, +an industrious and frugal people, who distribute its merchandise to +the rest of Europe, and suffer it not to be consumed in England, that +the other members might be starved, while you of Great Britain, as you +call it, like a rickety head, would only swell and grow bigger by it. + +_Jul._ I have heard enough of England; have you nothing to return upon +the Netherlands? + +_Beam._ Faith, very little to any purpose; he has been beforehand with +us, as his countrymen are in their trade, and taken up so many vices +for the use of England, that he has left almost none for the Low +Countries. + +_Jul._ Come, a word, however. + +_Beam._ In the first place, you shewed your ambition when you began to +be a state: For not being gentlemen, you have stolen the arms of the +best families of Europe; and wanting a name, you made bold with the +first of the divine attributes, and called yourselves the High and +Mighty: though, let me tell you, that, besides the blasphemy, the +title is ridiculous; for High is no more proper for the Netherlands, +than Mighty is for seven little rascally provinces, no bigger in all +than a shire in England. For my main theme, your ingratitude, you have +in part acknowledged it, by your laughing at our easy delivery of your +cautionary towns: The best is, we are used by you as well as your own +princes of the house of Orange: We and they have set you up, and you +undermine their power, and circumvent our trade. + +_Fisc._ And good reason, if our interest requires it. + +_Beam._ That leads me to your religion, which is only made up of +interest: At home, you tolerate all worships in them who can pay for +it; and abroad, you were lately so civil to the emperor of Pegu, as to +do open sacrifice to his idols. + +_Fisc._ Yes, and by the same token, you English were such precise +fools as to refuse it. + +_Beam._ For frugality in trading, we confess we cannot compare with +you; for our merchants live like noblemen; your gentlemen, if you have +any, live like boors. You traffic for all the rarities of the world, +and dare use none of them yourselves; so that, in effect, you are the +mill-horses of mankind, that labour only for the wretched provender +you eat: A pot of butter and a pickled herring is all your riches; +and, in short, you have a good title to cheat all Europe, because, in +the first place, you cozen your own backs and bellies. + +_Fisc._ We may enjoy more whenever we please. + +_Beam._ Your liberty is a grosser cheat than any of the rest; for you +are ten times more taxed than any people in Christendom: You never +keep any league with foreign princes; you flatter our kings, and ruin +their subjects; you never denied us satisfaction at home for injuries, +nor ever gave it us abroad. + +_Fisc._ You must make yourselves more feared, when you expect it. + +_Beam._ And I prophecy that time will come, when some generous monarch +of our island will undertake our quarrel, reassume the fishery of our +seas, and make them as considerable to the English, as the Indies are +to you. + +_Fisc._ Before that comes to pass, you may repent your over-lavish +tongue. + +_Beam._ I was no more in earnest than you were. + +_Jul._ Pray let this go no further; my husband has invited both to +supper. + +_Beam._ If you please, I'll fall to before he comes; or, at least, +while he is conferring in private with the Fiscal. [_Aside to her._ + +_Jul._ Their private businesses let them agree; +The Dutch for him, the Englishman for me. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT III. SCENE I. + + _Enter_ PEREZ. + +_Per._ True, the reward proposed is great enough, I want it too; +besides, this Englishman has never paid me since, as his lieutenant, I +served him once against the Turk at sea; yet he confessed I did my +duty well, when twice I cleared our decks; he has long promised me, +but what are promises to starving men? this is his house, he may walk +out this morning. + + _Enter a Page, and another Servant, walking by, not seeing him._ + +These belong to him; I'll hide till they are past. + +_Serv._ He sleeps soundly for a man who is to be married when he +wakes. + +_Page._ He does well to take his time; for he does not know, when he's +married, whether ever he shall have a sound sleep again. + +_Serv._ He bid we should not wake him; but some of us, in good +manners, should have staid, and not have left him quite alone. + +_Page._ In good manners, I should indeed; but I'll venture a master's +anger at any time for a mistress, and that's my case at present. + +_Serv._ I'll tempt as great a danger as that comes to, for good old +English fellowship; I am invited to a morning's draught. + +_Page._ Good-morrow, brother, good-morrow; by that time you have +filled your belly, and I have emptied mine, it will be time to meet at +home again. [_Exeunt severally._ + +_Per._ So, this makes well for my design; he's left alone, unguarded, +and asleep: Satan, thou art a bounteous friend, and liberal of +occasions to do mischief; my pardon I have ready, if I am taken, my +money half beforehand: up, Perez, rouse thy Spanish courage up; if he +should wake, I think I dare attempt him; then my revenge is nobler, +and revenge, to injured men, is full as sweet as profit. [_Exit._ + + +SCENE II. + + _The_ SCENE _drawn, discovers_ TOWERSON _asleep on a Couch in his + Night-gown. A Table by him; Pen, Ink, and Paper on it._ + + _Re-enter_ PEREZ _with a Dagger._ + +_Per._ Asleep, as I imagined, and as fast as all the plummets of +eternal night were hung upon his temples. Oh that some courteous +dęmon, in the other world, would let him know, 'twas Perez sent him +thither! A paper by him too! He little thinks it is his testament; the +last he e'er shall make: I'll read it first. [_Takes it up._] Oh, by +the inscription, 'tis a memorial of what he means to do this day: +What's here? My name in the first line! I'll read it. [_Reads._] +_Memorandum, That my first action this morning shall be, to find out +my true and valiant lieutenant, captain Perez; and, as a testimony of +my gratitude for his honourable services, to bestow on him five +hundred English pounds, making my just excuse, I had it not before +within my power to reward him._ [_Lays down the paper._] And was it +then for this I sought his life? Oh base, degenerate Spaniard! Hadst +thou done it, thou hadst been worse than damned: Heaven took more care +of me, than I of him, to expose this paper to my timely view. Sleep +on, thou honourable Englishman; I'll sooner now pierce my own breast +than thine: See, he smiles too in his slumber, as if his guardian +angel, in a dream, told him, he was secure: I'll give him warning +though, to prevent danger from another hand. + [_Writes on_ TOWERSON'S _paper, then sticks his dagger in it._ + Stick there, that when he wakens, he may know, + To his own virtue he his life does owe. [_Exit_ PEREZ. + + TOWERSON _awakens._ + +_Tow._ I have o'erslept my hour this morning, if to enjoy a pleasing +dream can be to sleep too long. Methought my dear Isabinda and myself +were lying in an arbour, wreathed about with myrtle and with cypress; +my rival Harman, reconciled again to his friendship, strewed us with +flowers, and put on each a crimson-coloured garment, in which we +straightway mounted to the skies; and with us, many of my English +friends, all clad in the same robes. If dreams have any meaning, sure +this portends some good.--What's that I see! A dagger stuck into the +paper of my memorials, and writ below--_Thy virtue saved thy life!_ It +seems some one has been within my chamber whilst I slept: Something of +consequence hangs upon this accident. What, ho! who waits without? +None answer me? Are ye all dead? What, ho! + + _Enter_ BEAMONT. + +_Beam._ How is it, friend? I thought, entering your house, I heard you +call. + +_Tow._ I did, but as it seems without effect; none of my servants are +within reach of my voice. + +_Beam._ You seem amazed at somewhat? + +_Tow._ A little discomposed: read that, and see if I have no occasion; +that dagger was stuck there, by him who writ it. + +_Beam._ I must confess you have too just a cause: I am myself +surprised at an event so strange. + +_Tow._ I know not who can be my enemy within this island, except my +rival Harman; and for him, I truly did relate what passed betwixt us +yesterday. + +_Beam._ You bore yourself in that as it became you, as one who was a +witness to himself of his own courage; and while, by necessary care of +others, you were forced to decline fighting, shewed how much you did +despise the man who sought the quarrel: 'Twas base in him, so backed +as he is here, to offer it, much more to press you to it. + +_Tow._ I may find a foot of ground in Europe to tell the insulting +youth, he better had provoked some other man; but sure I cannot think +'twas he who left that dagger there. + +_Beam._ No, for it seems too great a nobleness of spirit, for one like +him to practise: 'Twas certainly an enemy, who came to take your +sleeping life; but thus to leave unfinished the design, proclaims the +act no Dutchman's. + +_Tow_ That time will best discover; I'll think no further of it. + +_Beam._ I confess you have more pleasing thoughts to employ your mind +at present; I left your bride just ready for the temple, and came to +call you to her. + +_Tow._ I'll straight attend you thither. + + _Enter_ HARMAN _Sen._ FISCAL, _and_ VAN HERRING. + +_Fisc._ Remember, sir, what I advised you; you must seemingly make up +the business. [_To_ HAR. _Sen._ + +_Har. Sen._ I warrant you.--What, my brave bonny bridegroom, not yet +dressed? You are a lazy lover; I must chide you. [_To_ TOWERSON. + +_Tow._ I was just preparing. + +_Har. Sen._ I must prevent part of the ceremony: You thought to go to +her; she is by this time at the castle, where she is invited with our +common friends; for you shall give me leave, if you so please, to +entertain you both. + +_Tow._ I have some reasons, why I must refuse the honour you intend +me. + +_Har. Sen._ You must have none: What! my old friend steal a wedding +from me? In troth, you wrong our friendship. + +_Beam._ [_To him aside._] Sir, go not to the castle; you cannot, in +honour, accept an invitation from the father, after an affront from +the son. + +_Tow._ Once more I beg your pardon, sir. + +_Har. Sen._ Come, come, I know your reason of refusal, but it must not +prevail: My son has been to blame; I'll not maintain him in the least +neglect, which he should show to any Englishman, much less to you, the +best and most esteemed of all my friends. + +_Tow._ I should be willing, sir, to think it was a young man's +rashness, or perhaps the rage of a successless rival; yet he might +have spared some words. + +_Har. Sen._ Friend, he shall ask your pardon, or I'll no longer own +him; what, ungrateful to a man, whose valour has preserved him? He +shall do it, he shall indeed; I'll make you friends upon your own +conditions; he's at the door, pray let him be admitted; this is a day +of general jubilee. + +_Tow._ You command here, you know, sir. + +_Fisc._ I'll call him in; I am sure he will be proud, at any rate, to +redeem your kind opinion of him. [_Exit._ + + FISCAL _re-enters,_ with HARMAN _Junior._ + +_Har. Jun._ Sir, my father, I hope, has in part satisfied you, that +what I spoke was only an effect of sudden passion, of which I am now +ashamed; and desire it may be no longer lodged in your remembrance, +than it is now in my intention to do you any injury. + +_Tow._ Your father may command me to more difficult employments, than +to receive the friendship of a man, of whom I did not willingly +embrace an ill opinion. + +_Har. Jun._ Nothing henceforward shall have power to take from me that +happiness, in which you are so generously pleased to reinstate me. + +_Har. Sen._ Why this is as it should be; trust me, I weep for joy. + +_Beam._ Towerson is easy, and too credulous. I fear 'tis all +dissembled on their parts. [_Aside._ + +_Har. Sen._ Now set we forward to the castle; the bride is there +before us. + +_Tow._ Sir, I wait you. [_Exeunt_ HARMAN _Sen._ TOWERSON, BEAMONT, + _and_ VAN HERRING. + + _Enter Captain_ PEREZ. + +_Fisc._ Now, captain, when perform you what you promised, concerning +Towerson's death? + +_Per._ Never.--There, Judas, take your hire of blood again. + [_Throws him a purse._ + +_Har. Jun._ Your reason for this sudden change? + +_Per._ I cannot own the name of man, and do it. + +_Har. Jun._ Your head shall answer the neglect of what you were +commanded. + +_Per._ If it must, I cannot shun my destiny. + +_Fisc._ Harman, you are too rash; pray hear his reasons first. + +_Per._ I have them to myself, I'll give you none. + +_Fisc._ None? that's hard; well, you can be secret, captain, for your +own sake, I hope? + +_Per._ That I have sworn already, my oath binds me. + +_Fisc._ That's enough: we have now chang'd our minds, and do not wish +his death,--at least as you shall know. [_Aside._ + +_Per._ I am glad on't, for he's a brave and worthy gentleman; I would +not for the wealth of both the Indies have had his blood upon my soul +to answer. + +_Fisc._ [_Aside to_ HARMAN.] I shall find a time to take back our +secret from him, at the price of his life, when he least dreams of it; +meantime 'tis fit we speak him fair. [_To_ PEREZ.] Captain, a reward +attends you, greater than you could hope; we only meant to try your +honesty. I am more than satisfied of your reasons. + +_Per._ I still shall labour to deserve your kindness in any honourable +way. [_Exit_ PEREZ. + +_Har. Jun._ I told you that this Spaniard had not courage enough for +such an enterprise. + +_Fisc._ He rather had too much of honesty. + +_Har. Jun._ Oh, you have ruined me; you promised me this day the death +of Towerson, and now, instead of that, I see him happy! I'll go and +fight him yet; I swear he never shall enjoy her. + +_Fisc._ He shall not, that I swear with you; but you are too rash, the +business can never be done your way. + +_Har. Jun._ I'll trust no other arm but my own with it. + +_Fisc._ Yes, mine you shall, I'll help you. This evening, as he goes +from the castle, we'll find some way to meet him in the dark, and then +make sure of him for getting maidenheads to-night; to-morrow I'll +bestow a pill upon my Spanish Don, lest he discover what he knows. + +_Har. Jun._ Give me your hand, you'll help me. + +_Fisc._ By all my hopes I will: in the mean time, with a feigned mirth +'tis fit we gild our faces; the truth is, that we may smile in +earnest, when we look upon the Englishman, and think how we will use +him. + +_Har. Jun._ Agreed; come to the castle. [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE III.--_The Castle._ + + _Enter_ HARMAN _Senior,_ TOWERSON, _and_ ISABINDA, BEAMONT, COLLINS, + VAN HERRING. _They seat themselves._ + + EPITHALAMIUM. + + _The day is come, I see it rise, + Betwixt the bride and bridegroom's eyes; + That golden day they wished so long, + Love picked it out amidst the throng; + He destined to himself this sun, + And took the reins, and drove him on; + In his own beams he drest him bright, + Yet bid him bring a better night._ + + _The day you wished arrived at last, + You wish as much that it were past; + One minute more, and night will hide + The bridegroom and the blushing bride. + The virgin now to bed does go-- + Take care, oh youth, she rise not so-- + She pants and trembles at her doom, + And fears and wishes thou wouldst come._ + + _The bridegroom comes, he comes apace, + With love and fury in his face; + She shrinks away, he close pursues, + And prayers and threats at once does use. + She, softly sighing, begs delay, + And with her hand puts his away; + Now out aloud for help she cries, + And now despairing shuts her eyes._ + +_Har. Sen._ I like this song, 'twas sprightly; it would restore me +twenty years of youth, had I but such a bride. + + _A Dance._ + + _After the Dance, enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ FISCAL. + +_Beam._ Come, let me have the Sea-Fight; I like that better than a +thousand of your wanton epithalamiums. + +_Har. Jun._ He means that fight, in which he freed me from the +pirates. + +_Tow._ Pr'ythee, friend, oblige me, and call not for that song; 'twill +breed ill blood. [_To_ BEAMONT. + +_Beam._ Pr'ythee be not scrupulous, ye fought it bravely. Young Harman +is ungrateful, if he does not acknowledge it. I say, sing me the +Sea-Fight. + + THE SEA-FIGHT. + + _Who ever saw a noble sight, + That never viewed a brave sea-fight! + Hang up your bloody colours in the air, + Up with your fights, and your nettings prepare; + Your merry mates cheer, with a lusty bold spright, + Now each man his brindice, and then to the fight. + St George, St George, we cry, + The shouting Turks reply: + Oh now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot, + Ply it with culverin and with small shot; + Hark, does it not thunder? no, 'tis the guns roar, + The neighbouring billows are turned into gore; + Now each man must resolve, to die, + For here the coward cannot fly. + Drums and trumpets toll the knell, + And culverins the passing bell. + Now, now they grapple, and now board amain; + Blow up the hatches, they're off all again: + Give them a broadside, the dice run at all, + Down comes the mast and yard, and tacklings fall; + She grows giddy now, like blind Fortune's wheel, + She sinks there, she sinks, she turns up her keel. + Who ever beheld so noble a sight, + As this so brave, so bloody sea-fight!_ + +_Har. Jun._ See the insolence of these English; they cannot do a brave +action in an age, but presently they must put it into metre, to +upbraid us with their benefits. + +_Fisc._ Let them laugh, that win at last. + + _Enter Captain_ MIDDLETON, _and a Woman with him, all pale and + weakly, and in tattered garments._ + +_Tow._ Captain Middleton, you are arrived in a good hour, to be +partaker of my happiness, which is as great this day, as love and +expectation can make it. [_Rising up to salute_ MIDDLETON. + +_Mid._ And may it long continue so! + +_Tow._ But how happens it, that, setting out with us from England, you +came not sooner hither. + +_Mid._ It seems the winds favoured you with a quicker passage; you +know I lost you in a storm on the other side of the Cape, with which +disabled, I was forced to put into St Helen's isle; there 'twas my +fortune to preserve the life of this our countrywoman; the rest let +her relate. + +_Isab._ Alas, she seems half-starved, unfit to make relations. + +_Van Her._ How the devil came she off? I know her but too well, and +fear she knows me too. + +_Tow._ Pray, countrywoman, speak. + +_Eng Wom._ Then thus in brief; in my dear husband's company, I parted +from our sweet native isle: we to Lantore were bound, with letters +from the States of Holland, gained for reparation of great damages +sustained by us; when, by the insulting Dutch, our countrymen, against +all show of right, were dispossessed, and naked sent away from that +rich island, and from Poleroon. + +_Har. Sen._ Woman, you speak with too much spleen; I must not hear my +countrymen affronted. + +_Eng. Wom.._ I wish they did not merit much worse of me, than I can +say of them.--Well, we sailed forward with a merry gale, till near St +Helen's isle we were overtaken, or rather waylaid, by a Holland +vessel; the captain of which ship, whom here I see, the man who +quitted us of all we had in those rich parts before, now fearing to +restore his ill-got goods, first hailed, and then invited us on board, +keeping himself concealed; his base lieutenant plied all our English +mariners with wine, and when in dead of night they lay secure in +silent sleep, most barbarously commanded they should be thrown +overboard. + +_Fisc._ Sir, do not hear it out. + +_Har. Sen._ This is all false and scandalous. + +_Tow._ Pray, sir, attend the story. + +_Eng. Wom._ The vessel rifled, and the rich hold rummaged, they sink +it down to rights; but first I should have told you, (grief, alas, has +spoiled my memory) that my dear husband, wakened at the noise, before +they reached the cabin where we lay, took me all trembling with the +sudden fright, and leapt into the boat; we cut the cordage, and so put +out to sea, driving at mercy of the waves and wind; so scaped we in +the dark. To sum up all, we got to shore, and in the mountains hid us, +until the barbarous Hollanders were gone. + +_Tow._ Where is your husband, countrywoman? + +_Eng. Wom._ Dead with grief; with these two hands I scratched him out +a grave, on which I placed a cross, and every day wept o'er the ground +where all my joys lay buried. The manner of my life, who can express! +the fountain-water was my only drink; the crabbed juice and rhind of +half-ripe lemons almost my only food, except some roots; my house, the +widowed cave of some wild beast. In this sad state, I stood upon the +shore, when this brave captain with his ship approached, whence +holding up and waving both my hands, I stood, and by my actions begged +their mercy; yet, when they nearer came, I would have fled, had I been +able, lest they should have proved those murderous Dutch, I more than +hunger feared. + +_Har. Sen._ What say you to this accusation, Van Herring? + +_Van Her._ 'Tis as you said, sir, false and scandalous. + +_Har. Sen._ I told you so; all false and scandalous. + +_Isab._ On my soul it is not; her heart speaks in her tongue, and were +she silent, her habit and her face speak for her. + +_Beam._ Sir, you have heard the proofs. + +_Fisc._ Mere allegations, and no proofs. Seem not to believe it, sir. + +_Har. Sen._ Well, well, we'll hear it another time. + +_Mid._ You seem not to believe her testimony, but my whole crew can +witness it. + +_Van Her._ Ay, they are all Englishmen. + +_Tow._ That's a nation too generous to do bad actions, and too sincere +to justify them done; I wish their neighbours were of the same temper. + +_Har. Sen._ Nay, now you kindle, captain; this must not be, we are +your friends and servants. + +_Mid._ 'Tis well you are by land, at sea you would be masters: there I +myself have met with some affronts, which, though I wanted power then +to return, I hailed the captain of the Holland ship, and told him he +should dearly answer it, if e'er I met him in the narrow seas. His +answer was, (mark but the insolence) If I should hang thee, Middleton, +up at thy main yard, and sink thy ship, here's that about my neck +(pointing to his gold chain) would answer it when I came into Holland. + +_Har. Jan._ Yes, this is like the other. + +_Tow._ I find we must complain at home; there's no redress to be had +here. + +_Isab._ Come, countrywoman,--I must call you so, since he who owns my +heart is English born,--be not dejected at your wretched fortune; my +house is yours, my clothes shall habit you, even these I wear, rather +than see you thus. + +_Har. Sen._ Come, come, no more complaints; let us go in; I have ten +rummers ready to the bride; as many times shall our guns discharge, to +speak the general gladness of this day. I'll lead you, lady. + [_Takes the Bride by the hand._ + +_Tow._ A heavy omen to my nuptials! + My countrymen oppressed by sea and land, + And I not able to redress the wrong, + So weak are we, our enemies so strong. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I.--_A Wood._ + + _Enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ FISCAL, _with swords, and disguised in + vizards._ + +_Har. Jun._ We are disguised enough; the evening now grows dusk.--I +would the deed were done! + + _Enter_ PEREZ _with a Soldier, and overhears them._ + +_Fisc._ 'Twill now be suddenly, if we have courage in this wild woody +walk, hot with the feast and plenteous bowls, the bridal company are +walking to enjoy the cooling breeze; I spoke to Towerson, as I said I +would, and on some private business of great moment, desired that he +would leave the company, and meet me single here. + +_Har. Jan._ Where if he comes, he never shall return But Towerson +stays too long for my revenge; I am in haste to kill him. + +_Fisc._ He promised me to have been here ere now; if you think +fitting, I'll go back and bring him. + +_Har. Jun._ Do so, I'll wait you in this place. [_Exit_ Fisc. + +_Per._ Was ever villany like this of these unknown assassins? +Towerson, in vain I saved thy sleeping life if now I let thee lose it, +when thou wakest; thou lately hast been bountiful to me, and this way +I'll acknowledge it. Yet to disclose their crimes were dangerous. What +must I do? This generous Englishman will strait be here, and +consultation then perhaps will be too late: I am +resolved.--Lieutenant, you have heard, as well as I, the bloody +purpose of these men? + +_Sold._ I have, and tremble at the mention of it. + +_Per._ Dare you adventure on an action, as brave as theirs is base? + +_Sold._ Command my life. + +_Per._ No more. Help me despatch that murderer, ere his accomplice +comes: the men I know not; but their design is treacherous and bloody. + +_Sold._ And he, they mean to kill, is brave himself, and of a nation I +much love. + +_Per._ Come on then. [_Both draw. To_ HAR.] Villain, thou diest, thy +conscience tells thee why; I need not urge the crime. + [_They assault him._ + +_Har. Jun._ Murder! I shall be basely murdered; help! + + _Enter_ TOWERSON. + +_Tow._ Hold, villains! what unmanly odds is this? Courage, whoe'er +thou art; I'll succour thee. [TOWERSON _fights with_ PEREZ, _and_ + HARMAN _with the Lieutenant, and + drive them off the stage._ + +_Har. Jun._ Though, brave unknown, night takes thee from my knowledge, +and I want time to thank thee now, take this, and wear it for my sake; +[_Gives him a ring._] Hereafter I'll acknowledge it more largely. + [_Exit._ + +_Tow._ That voice I've heard; but cannot call to mind, except it be +young Harman's. Yet, who should put his life in danger thus? This ring +I would not take as salary, but as a gage of his free heart who left +it; and, when I know him, I'll restore the pledge. Sure 'twas not far +from hence I made the appointment: I know not what this Dutchman's +business is, yet, I believe, 'twas somewhat from my rival. It shall go +hard, but I will find him out, and then rejoin the company. [_Exit._ + + _Re-enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ FISCAL. + +_Fisc._ The accident was wondrous strange: Did you neither know your +assassinates, nor your deliverer? + +_Har. Jun._ 'Twas all a hurry; yet, upon better recollecting of +myself, the man, who freed me, must be Towerson. + +_Fisc._ Hark, I hear the company walking this way; will you withdraw? + +_Har. Jun._ Withdraw, and Isabinda coming! + +_Fisc._ The wood is full of murderers; every tree, methinks, hides one +behind it. + +_Har. Jun._ You have two qualities, my friend, that sort but ill +together; as mischievous as hell could wish you, but fearful in the +execution. + +_Fisc._ There is a thing within me, called a conscience which is not +quite o'ercome; now and then it rebels a little, especially when I am +alone, or in the dark. + +_Har. Jun._ The moon begins to rise, and glitters through the trees. + +_Isab._ [_Within._] Pray let us walk this way; that farther lawn, +between the groves, is the most green and pleasant of any in this +isle. + +_Har. Jun._ I hear my siren's voice, I cannot stir from hence.--Dear +friend, if thou wilt e'er oblige me, divert the company a little, and +give me opportunity a while to talk alone with her. + +_Fisc._ You'll get nothing of her, except it be by force. + +_Har. Jun._ You know not with what eloquence love may inspire my +tongue: The guiltiest wretch, when ready for his sentence, has +something still to say. + +_Fisc._ Well, they come; I'll put you in a way, and wish you good +success; but do you hear? remember you are a man, and she a woman; a +little force, it may be, would do well. + + _Enter_ ISABINDA, BEAMONT, MIDDLETON, COLLINS, HARMAN _Senior; and_ + JULIA. + +_Isab._ Who saw the bridegroom last? + +_Har. Sen._ He refused to pledge the last rummer; so I am out of +charity with him. + +_Beam._ Come, shall we backward to the castle? I'll take care of you, +lady. + +_Jul_ Oh, you have drunk so much, you are past all care. + +_Col._ But where can be this jolly bridegroom? Answer me that; I will +have the bride satisfied. + +_Fisc._ He walked alone this way; we met him lately. + +_Isab._ I beseech you, sir, conduct us. + +_Har. Jun._ I'll bring you to him, madam. + +_Fisc._ [_To_ HAR. _Jun._] Remember, now's your time; if you o'erslip +this minute, fortune perhaps will never send another. + +_Har. Jun._ I am resolved. + +_Fisc._ Come, gentlemen, I'll tell you such a pleasant accident, +you'll think the evening short. + +_Jul._ I love a story, and a walk by moonshine. + +_Fisc._ Lend me your hand then, madam. [_Takes her by the one hand._ + +_Beam._ But one, I beseech you then; I must not quit her so. + [_Takes her by the other hand. Exeunt._ + + _Re-enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ ISABINDA. + +_Isab._ Come, sir, which is the way? I long to see my love. + +_Har. Jun._ You may have your wish, and without stirring hence. + +_Isab._ My love so near? Sure you delight to mock me! + +_Har. Jun._ 'Tis you delight to torture me; behold the man who loves +you more than his own eyes; more than the joys of earth, or hopes of +heaven. + +_Isab._ When you renewed your friendship with my Towerson, I thought +these vain desires were dead within you. + +_Har. Jun._ Smothered they were, not dead; your eyes can kindle no +such petty fires, as only blaze a while, and strait go out. + +_Isab._ You know, when I had far less ties upon me, I would not hear +you; therefore wonder not if I withdraw, and find the company. + +_Har. Jun._ That would be too much cruelty, to make me wretched, and +then leave me so. + +_Isab._ Am I in fault if you are miserable? so you may call the rich +man's wealth, the cause and object of the robber's guilt. Pray do not +persecute me farther: You know I have a husband now, and would be loth +to afflict his knowledge with your second folly. + +_Har. Jun._ What wondrous care you take to make him happy! yet I +approve your method. Ignorance! oh, 'tis a jewel to a husband; that +is, 'tis peace in him, 'tis virtue in his wife, 'tis honour in the +world; he has all this, while he is ignorant. + +_Isab._ You pervert my meaning: I would not keep my actions from his +knowledge; your bold attempts I would: But yet henceforth conceal your +impious flames; I shall not ever be thus indulgent to your shame, to +keep it from his notice. + +_Har. Jun._ You are a woman; have enough of love for him and me; I +know the plenteous harvest all is his: He has so much of joy, that he +must labour under it. In charity, you may allow some gleanings to a +friend. + +_Isab._ Now you grow rude: I'll hear no more. + +_Har. Jun._ You must. + +_Imb._ Leave me. + +_Har. Jun._ I cannot. + +_Isab._ I find I must be troubled with this idle talk some minutes +more, but 'tis your last. + +_Har. Jun._ And therefore I'll improve it: Pray, resolve to make me +happy by your free consent. I do not love these half enjoyments, to +enervate my delights with using force, and neither give myself nor you +that full content, which two can never have, but where both join with +equal eagerness to bless each other. + +_Isab._ Bless me, ye kind inhabitants of heaven, from hearing words +like these! + +_Har. Jun._ You must do more than hear them. You know you were now +going to your bridal-bed. Call your own thoughts but to a strict +account, they'll tell you, all this day your fancy ran on nothing +else; 'tis but the same scene still you were to act; only the person +changed,--it may be for the better. + +_Isab._ You dare not, sure, attempt this villany. + +_Har. Jun._ Call not the act of love by that gross name; you'll give +it a much better when 'tis done, and woo me to a second. + +_Isab._ Dost thou not fear a heaven? + +_Har. Jun._ No, I hope one in you. Do it, and do it heartily; time is +precious; it will prepare you better for your husband. Come-- + [_Lays hold on her._ + +_Isab._ O mercy, mercy! Oh, pity your own soul, and pity mine; think +how you'll wish undone this horrid act, when your hot lust is slaked; +think what will follow when my husband knows it, if shame will let me +live to tell it him; and tremble at a Power above, who sees, and +surely will revenge it. + +_Har. Jun._ I have thought! + +_Isab._ Then I am sure you're penitent. + +_Har. Jun._ No, I only gave you scope, to let you see, all you have +urged I knew: You find 'tis to no purpose either to talk or strive. + +_Isab._ [_Running._] Some succour! help, oh help! + [_She breaks from him._ + +_Har. Jun._ [_Running after her._] That too is vain, you cannot 'scape +me. [_Exit._ + +_Har. Jun._ [_Within._] Now you are mine; yield, or by force I'll take +it. + +_Isab._ [_Within._] Oh, kill me first! + +_Har. Jun._ [_Within._] I'll bear you where your cries shall not be +heard. + +_Isab._ [_As further off._] Succour, sweet heaven! oh succour me! + + +SCENE II. + + _Enter_ HARMAN _Senior,_ FISCAL, VAN HERRING, BEAMONT, COLLINS, + _and_ JULIA. + +_Beam._ You have led us here a fairy's round in the moonshine, to seek +a bridegroom in a wood, till we have lost the bride. + +_Col._ I wonder what's become of her? + +_Har. Sen._ Got together, got together, I warrant you, before this +time; you Englishmen are so hot, you cannot stay for ceremonies. A +good honest Dutchman would have been plying the glass all this while, +and drunk to the hopes of Hans in Kelder till 'twas bed-time. + +_Beam._ Yes, and then have rolled into the sheets, and turned o' the +t'other side to snore, without so much as a parting blow; till about +midnight he would have wakened in a maze, and found first he was +married by putting forth a foot, and feeling a woman by him; and, it +may be, then, instead of kissing, desired yough Fro to hold his head. + +_Col._ And by that night's work have given her a proof, what she might +expect for ever after. + +_Beam._ In my conscience, you Hollanders never get your children, but +in the spirit of brandy; you are exalted then a little above your +natural phlegm, and only that, which can make you fight, and destroy +men, makes you get them. + +_Fisc._ You may live to know, that we can kill men when we are sober. + +_Beam._ Then they must be drunk, and not able to defend themselves. + +_Jul._ Pray leave this talk, and let us try if we can surprise the +lovers under some convenient tree: Shall we separate, and look them? + +_Beam._ Let you and I go together then, and if we cannot find them, we +shall do as good, for we shall find one another. + +_Fisc._ Pray take that path, or that; I will pursue this. + [_Exeunt all but the_ FISCAL. + +_Fisc._ So, now I have diverted them from Harman, I'll look for him +myself, and see how he speeds in his adventure. + + _Enter_ HARMAN _Junior._ + +_Har. Jun._ Who goes there? + +_Fisc._ A friend: I was just in quest of you, so are all the company: +Where have you left the bride? + +_Har. Jun._ Tied to a tree and gagged, and-- + +_Fisc._ And what? Why do you stare and tremble? Answer me like a man. + +_Har. Jun._ Oh, I have nothing left of manhood in me! I am turned +beast or devil. Have I not horns, and tail, and leathern wings? +Methinks I should have by my actions. Oh, I have done a deed so ill, I +cannot name it. + +_Fisc._ Not name it, and yet do it? That's a fool's modesty: Come, +I'll name it for you: You have enjoyed your mistress. + +_Har. Jun._ How easily so great a villany comes from thy mouth! I have +done worse, I have ravished her. + +_Fisc._ That's no harm, so you have killed her afterwards. + +_Har. Jun._ Killed her! why thou art a worse fiend than I. + +_Fisc._ Those fits of conscience in another might be excusable; but in +you, a Dutchman, who are of a race that are born rebels, and live +every where on rapine,--would you degenerate, and have remorse? Pray, +what makes any thing a sin but law? and, what law is there here +against it? Is not your father chief? Will he condemn you for a petty +rape? the woman an Amboyner, and, what's less, now married to an +Englishman! Come, if there be a hell, 'tis but for those that sin in +Europe, not for us in Asia; heathens have no hell. Tell me, how was't? +Pr'ythee, the history. + +_Har. Jun._ I forced her. What resistance she could make she did, but +'twas in vain; I bound her, as I told you, to a tree. + +_Fisc._ And she exclaimed, I warrant-- + +_Har. Jun._ Yes; and called heaven and earth to witness. + +_Fisc._ Not after it was done? + +_Har. Jun._ More than before--desired me to have killed her. Even when +I had not left her power to speak, she curst me with her eyes. + +_Fisc._ Nay, then, you did not please her; if you had, she ne'er had +cursed you heartily. But we lose time: Since you have done this +action, 'tis necessary you proceed; we must have no tales told. + +_Har. Jun._ What do you mean? + +_Fisc._ To dispatch her immediately; could you be so senseless to +ravish her, and let her live? What if her husband should have found +her? What if any other English? Come, there's no dallying; it must be +done: My other plot is ripe, which shall destroy them all to-morrow. + +_Har. Jun._ I love her still to madness, and never can consent to have +her killed. We'll thence remove her, if you please, and keep her safe +till your intended plot shall take effect; and when her husband's +gone, I'll win her love by every circumstance of kindness. + +_Fisc._ You may do so; but t'other is the safer way: But I'll not +stand with you for one life. I could have wished that Towerson had +been killed before I had proceeded to my plot; but since it cannot be, +we must go on; conduct me where you left her. + +_Har. Jun._ Oh, that I could forget both act and place! [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE III. + + SCENE _drawn, discovers_ ISABINDA _bound. + + Enter_ TOWERSON. + +_Tow._ Sure I mistook the place; I'll wait no longer: +Something within me does forebode me ill; +I stumbled when I entered first this wood; +My nostrils bled three drops; then stopped the blood, +And not one more would follow.-- +What's that, which seems to bear a mortal shape, [_Sees_ ISA. +Yet neither stirs nor speaks? or, is it some +Illusion of the night? some spectre, such +As in these Asian parts more frequently appear? +Whate'er it be, I'll venture to approach it. [_Goes near._ +My Isabinda bound and gagged! Ye powers, +I tremble while I free her, and scarce dare +Restore her liberty of speech, for fear +Of knowing more. [_Unbinds her, and ungags her._ + +_Isab._ No longer bridegroom thou, nor I a bride; +Those names are vanished; love is now no more; +Look on me as thou would'st on some foul leper; +And do not touch me; I am all polluted, +All shame, all o'er dishonour; fly my sight, +And, for my sake, fly this detested isle, +Where horrid ills so black and fatal dwell, +As Indians could not guess, till Europe taught. + +_Tow._ Speak plainer, I am recollected now: +I know I am a man, the sport of fate; +Yet, oh my better half, had heaven so pleased, +I had been more content, to suffer in myself than thee! + +_Isab._ What shall I say! That monster of a man, +Harman,--now I have named him, think the rest,-- +Alone, and singled like a timorous hind +From the full herd, by flattery drew me first, +Then forced me to an act, so base and brutal! +Heaven knows my innocence: But, why do I +Call that to witness! +Heaven saw, stood silent: Not one flash of lightning +Shot from the conscious firmament, to shew its justice: +Oh had it struck us both, it had saved me! + +_Tow._ Heaven suffered more in that, than you, or I, +Wherefore have I been faithful to my trust, +True to my love, and tender to the opprest? +Am I condemned to be the second man, +Who e'er complained he virtue served in vain? +But dry your tears, these sufferings all are mine. +Your breast is white, and cold as falling snow; +You, still as fragrant as your eastern groves; +And your whole frame as innocent, and holy, +As if your being were all soul and spirit, +Without the gross allay of flesh and blood. +Come to my arms again! + +_Isab._ O never, never! +I am not worthy now; my soul indeed +Is free from sin; but the foul speckled stains +Are from my body ne'er to be washed out, +But in my death. Kill me, my love, or I +Must kill myself; else you may think I was +A black adultress in my mind, and some +Of me consented. + +_Tow._ Your wish to die, shews you deserve to live. +I have proclaimed you guiltless to myself. +Self-homicide, which was, in heathens, honour, +In us, is only sin. + +_Isab._ I thought the Eternal Mind +Had made us masters of these mortal frames; +You told me, he had given us wills to chuse, +And reason to direct us in our choice; +If so, why should he tie us up from dying, +When death's the greater good? + +_Tow._ Can death, which is our greatest enemy, be good? +Death is the dissolution of our nature; +And nature therefore does abhor it most, +Whose greatest law is--to preserve our beings. + +_Isab._ I grant, it is its great and general law: +But as kings, who are, or should be, above laws, +Dispense with them when levelled at themselves; +Even so may man, without offence to heaven, +Dispense with what concerns himself alone. +Nor is death in itself an ill; +Then holy martyrs sinned, who ran uncalled +To snatch their martyrdom; and blessed virgins, +Whom you celebrate for voluntary death, +To free themselves from that which I have suffered. + +_Tow._ They did it, to prevent what might ensue; +Your shame's already past. + +_Isab._ It may return, +If I am yet so mean to live a little longer. + +_Tow._ You know not; heaven may give you succour yet; +You see it sends me to you. + +_Isab._ 'Tis too late, +You should have come before. + +_Tow._ You may live to see yourself revenged. +Come, you shall stay for that, then I'll die with you, +You have convinced my reason, nor am I +Ashamed to learn from you. +To heaven's tribunal my appeal I make; +If as a governor he sets me here, +To guard this weak-built citadel of life, +When 'tis no longer to be held, I may +With honour quit the fort. But first I'll both +Revenge myself and you. + +_Isab._ Alas! you cannot take revenge; your countrymen +Are few, and those unarmed. + +_Tow._ Though not on all the nation, as I would, +Yet I at least can take it on the man. + +_Isab._ Leave me to heaven's revenge, for thither I +Will go, and plead, myself, my own just cause. +There's not an injured saint of all my sex, +But kindly will conduct me to my judge, +And help me tell my story. + +_Tow._ I'll send the offender first, though to that place +He never can arrive: Ten thousand devils, +Damned for less crimes than he, +And Tarquin in their head, way-lay his soul, +To pull him down in triumph, and to shew him +In pomp among his countrymen; for sure +Hell has its Netherlands, and its lowest country +Must be their lot. + + _Enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ FISCAL. + +_Har. Jun._ 'Twas hereabout I left her tied. The rage of love renews +again within me. + +_Fisc._ She'll like the effects on't better now. By this time it has +sunk into her imagination, and given her a more pleasing idea of the +man, who offered her so sweet a violence. + +_Isab._ Save me, sweet heaven! the monster comes again! + +_Har. Jun._ Oh, here she is.--My own fair bride,--for so you are, not +Towerson's,--let me unbind you; I expect that you should bind yourself +about me now, and tie me in your arms. + +_Tow._ [_Drawing._] +No, villain, no! hot satyr of the woods, +Expect another entertainment now. +Behold revenge for injured chastity. +This sword heaven draws against thee, +And here has placed me like a fiery cherub, +To guard this paradise from any second violation. + +_Fisc._ We must dispatch him, sir, we have the odds; And when he's +killed, leave me t'invent the excuse. + +_Har. Jun._ Hold a little: As you shunned fighting formerly with me, +so would I now with you. The mischiefs I have done are past recal. +Yield then your useless right in her I love, since the possession is +no longer yours; so is your honour safe, and so is hers, the husband +only altered. + +_Tow._ You trifle; there's no room for treaty here: +The shame's too open, and the wrong too great. +Now all the saints in heaven look down to see +The justice I shall do, for 'tis their cause; +And all the fiends below prepare thy tortures. + +_Isab._ If Towerson would, think'st thou my soul so poor, +To own thy sin, and make the base act mine, +By chusing him who did it? Know, bad man, +I'll die with him, but never live with thee. + +_Tow._ Prepare; I shall suspect you stay for further help, +And think not this enough. + +_Fisc._ We are ready for you. + +_Har. Jun._ Stand back! I'll fight with him alone. + +_Fisc._ Thank you for that; so, if he kills you, I shall have him +single upon me. [_All three fight._ + +_Isab._ Heaven assist my love! + +_Har. Jun._ There, Englishman, 'twas meant well to thy heart. + [TOWERSON _wounded._ + +_Fisc._ Oh you can bleed, I see, for all your cause. + +_Tow._ Wounds but awaken English courage. + +_Har. Jun._ Yet yield me Isabinda, and be safe. + +_Tow._ I'll fight myself all scarlet over first; +Were there no love, or no revenge, +I could not now desist, in point of honour. + +_Har. Jun._ Resolve me first one question: +Did you not draw your sword this night before, +To rescue one opprest with odds? + +_Tow._ Yes, in this very wood: I bear a ring, +The badge of gratitude from him I saved. + +_Har. Jun._ This ring was mine; I should be loth to kill +The frank redeemer of my life. + +_Tow._ I quit that obligation. But we lose time. +Come, ravisher! [_They fight again,_ TOW. _closes with_ HARM, _and + gets him down; as he is going to kill him, the_ + FISC. _gets over him._ + +_Fisc._ Hold, and let him rise; for if you kill him, +At the same instant you die too. + +_Tow._ Dog, do thy worst, for I would so be killed; +I'll carry his soul captive with me into the other world. + [_Stabs_ HARMAN. + +_Har. Jun._ O mercy, mercy, heaven! [_Dies._ + +_Fisc._ Take this, then; in return. + [_As he is going to stab him,_ ISAB. _takes hold of his + hand._ + +_Isab._ Hold, hold; the weak may give some help. + +_Tow._ [_Rising._] Now, sir, I am for you. + +_Fisc._ [_Retiring._] +Hold, sir, there is no more resistance made. +I beg you, by the honour of your nation, +Do not pursue my life; I tender you my sword. + [_Holds his sword by the point to him._ + +_Tow._ Base beyond example of any country, but thy own! + +_Isab._ Kill him, sweet love, or we shall both repent it. + +_Fisc._ [_Kneeling to her._] Divinest beauty! Abstract of all that's +excellent in woman, can you be friend to murder? + +_Isab._ 'Tis none to kill a villain, and a Dutchman. + +_Fisc._ [_Kneeling to_ TOWERSON.] Noble Englishman, give me my life, +unworthy of your taking! By all that is good and holy here I swear, +before the governor to plead your cause; and to declare his son's +detested crime, so to secure your lives. + +_Tow._ Rise, take thy life, though I can scarce believe thee; +If for a coward it be possible, become an honest man. + + _Enter_ HARMAN _Senior,_ VAN HERRING, BEAMONT, COLLINS, JULIA, _the + Governors Guard._ + +_Fisc._ [_To_ HAR.] +Oh, sir, you come in time to rescue me; +The greatest villain, who this day draws breath, +Stands here before your eyes: behold your son, +That worthy, sweet, unfortunate young man, +Lies there, the last cold breath yet hovering +Betwixt his trembling lips. + +_Tow._ Oh, monster of ingratitude! + +_Har._ Oh, my unfortunate old age, whose prop +And only staff is gone, dead ere I die! +These should have been his tears, and I have been +That body to be mourned. + +_Beam._ I am so much amazed, I scarce believe my senses. + +_Fisc._ And will you let him live, who did this act? +Shall murder, and of your own son, +And such a son, go free; He lives too long, +By this one minute which he stays behind him. + +_Isab._ Oh, sir, remember, in that place you hold, +You are a common father to us all; +We beg but justice of you; hearken first +To my lamented story. + +_Fisc._ First hear me, sir. + +_Tow._ Thee, slave! thou livest but by the breath I gave thee. +Didst thou but now plead on thy knees for life, +And offer'dst to make known my innocence +In Harman's injuries? + +_Fisc._ I offered to have cleared thy innocence, +Who basely murdered him!--But words are needless; +Sir, you see evidence before your eyes, +And I the witness, on my oath to heaven, +How clear your son, how criminal this man. + +_Col._ Towerson could do nothing but what was noble. + +_Beam._ We know his native worth. + +_Fisc._ His worth! Behold it on the murderer's hand; +A robber first, he took degrees in mischief, +And grew to what he is: Know you that diamond, +And whose it was? See if he dares deny it. + +_Tow._ Sir, it was your son's, that freely I acknowledge; +But how I came by it-- + +_Har._ No, it is too much, I'll hear no more. + +_Fisc._ The devil of jealousy, and that of avarice, both, I believe, +possest him; or your son was innocently talking with his wife, and he +perhaps had found them; this I guess, but saw it not, because I came +too late. I only viewed the sweet youth just expiring, and Towerson +stooping down to take the ring; she kneeling by to help him: when he +saw me, he would, you may be sure, have sent me after, because I was a +witness of the fact. This on my soul is true. + +_Tow._ False as that soul, each word, each syllable; +The ring he put upon my hand this night, +When in this wood unknown, and near this place, +Without my timely help he had been slain. + +_Fisc._ See this unlikely story! +What enemies had he, who should assault him? +Or is it probable that very man, +Who actually did kill him afterwards, +Should save his life so little time before? + +_Isab._ Base man, thou knowest the reason of his death; +He had committed on my person, sir, +An impious rape; first tied me to that tree, +And there my husband found me, whose revenge +Was such, as heaven and earth will justify. + +_Har._ I know not what heaven will, but earth shall not. + +_Beam._ Her story carries such a face of truth, +Ye cannot but believe it. + +_Col._ The other, a malicious ill-patched lie. + +_Fisc._ Yes, you are proper judges of his crime, +Who, with the rest of your accomplices, +Your countrymen, and Towerson the chief, +Whom we too kindly used, would have surprised +The fort, and made us slaves; that shall be proved, +More soon than you imagine; I found it out +This evening. + +_Tow._ Sure the devil has lent thee all his stock of falsehood, and +must be forced hereafter to tell truth. + +_Beam._ Sir, it is impossible you should believe it. + +_Har._ Seize them all. + +_Col._ You cannot be so base. + +_Har._ I'll be so just, 'till I can hear your plea +Against this plot; which if not proved, and fully, +You are quit; mean time, resistance is but vain. + +_Tow._ Provided that we may have equal hearing, +I am content to yield, though I declare, +You have no power to judge us. [_Gives his sword._ + +_Beam._ Barbarous, ungrateful Dutch! + +_Har._ See them conveyed apart to several prisons, +Lest they combine to forge some specious lie +In their excuse. +Let Towerson and that woman too be parted. + +_Isab._ Was ever such a sad divorce made on a bridal night! +But we before were parted, ne'er to meet. +Farewell, farewell, my last and only love! + +_Tow._ Curse on my fond credulity, to think +There could be faith or honour in the Dutch!-- +Farewell my Isabinda, and farewell, +My much wronged countrymen! remember yet, +That no unmanly weakness in your sufferings +Disgrace the native honour of our isle: + For you I mourn, grief for myself were vain; + I have lost all, and now would lose my pain. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I.--_A Table set out._ + + _Enter_ HARMAN, FISCAL, VAN HERRING, _and two Dutchmen: They sit. + Boy, and Waiters, Guards._ + +_Har._ My sorrow cannot be so soon digested for losing of a son I +loved so well; but I consider great advantages must with some loss be +bought; as this rich trade which I this day have purchased with his +death: yet let me lie revenged, and I shall still live on, and eat and +drink down all my griefs. Now to the matter, Fiscal. + +_Fisc._ Since we may freely speak among ourselves, all I have said of +Towerson was most false. You were consenting, sir, as well as I, that +Perez should be hired to murder him, which he refusing when he was +engaged, 'tis dangerous to let him longer live. + +_Van. Her._ Dispatch him; he will be a shrewd witness against us, if +he returns to Europe. + +_Fisc._ I have thought better, if you please,--to kill him by form of +law, as accessary to the English plot, which I have long been forging. + +_Har._ Send one to seize him strait. [_Exit a Messenger._] But what +you said, that Towerson was guiltless of my son's death, I easily +believe, and never thought otherwise, though I dissembled. + +_Van Her._ Nor I; but it was well done to feign that story. + +_1 Dutch._ The true one was too foul. + +_2 Dutch._ And afterwards to draw the English off from his +concernment, to their own, I think 'twas rarely managed that. + +_Har._ So far, 'twas well; now to proceed, for I would gladly know, +whether the grounds are plausible enough of this pretended plot. + +_Fisc._ With favour of this honourable court, give me but leave to +smooth the way before you. Some two or three nights since, (it matters +not,) a Japan soldier, under captain Perez, came to a centinel upon +the guard, and in familiar talk did question him about this castle, of +its strength, and how he thought it might be taken; this discourse the +other told me early the next morning: I thereupon did issue private +orders, to rack the Japanese, myself being present. + +_Har._ But what's this to the English? + +_Fisc._ You shall hear: I asked him, when his pains were strongest on +him, if Towerson, or the English factory, had never hired him to +betray the fort? he answered, (as it was true) they never had; nor was +his meaning more in that discourse, than as a soldier to inform +himself, and so to pass the time. + +_Van Her._ Did he confess no more? + +_Fisc._ You interrupt me. I told him, I was certainly informed the +English had designs upon the castle, and if he frankly would confess +their plot, he should not only be released from torment, but +bounteously rewarded: Present pain and future hope, in fine, so +wrought upon him, he yielded to subscribe whatever I pleased; and so +he stands committed. + +_Har._ Well contrived; a fair way made, upon this accusation, to put +them all to torture. + +_2 Dutch._ By his confession, all of them shall die, even to their +general, Towerson. + +_Har._ He stands convicted of another crime, for which he is to +suffer. + +_Fisc._ This does well to help it though: For Towerson is here a +person publicly employed from England, and if he should appeal, as +sure he will, you have no power to judge him in Amboyna. + +_Van Her._ But in regard of the late league and union betwixt the +nations, how can this be answered? + +_1 Dutch._ To torture subjects to so great a king, a pain never heard +of in their happy land, will sound but ill in Europe. + +_Fisc._ Their English laws in England have their force; and we have +ours, different from theirs at home. It is enough, they either shall +confess, or we will falsify their hands to make them. Then, for the +apology, let me alone; I have it writ already to a title, of what they +shall subscribe; this I will publish, and make our most unheard of +cruelties to seem most just and legal. + +_Har._ Then, in the name of him, who put it first into thy head to +form this damned false plot, proceed we to the execution of it. And to +begin; first seize we their effects, rifle their chests, their boxes, +writings, books, and take of them a seeming inventory; but all to our +own use.--I shall grow young with thought of this, and lose my son's +remembrance! + +_Fisc._ Will you not please to call the prisoners in? At least inquire +what torments have extorted. + +_Har._ Go thou and bring us word. [_Exit_ FISCAL.] Boy, give me some +tobacco, and a stoup of wine, boy. + +_Boy._ I shall, sir. + +_Har._ And a tub to leak in, boy; when was this table without a +leaking vessel? + +_Van Her._ That's an omission. + +_1 Dutch._ A great omission. 'Tis a member of the table, I take it so. + +_Har._ Never any thing of moment was done at our council-table without +a leaking tub, at least in my time; great affairs require great +consultations, great consultations require great drinking, and great +drinking a great leaking vessel. + +_Van Her._ I am even drunk with joy already, to see our godly business +in this forwardness. + + _Enter_ FISCAL. + +_Har._ Where are the prisoners? + +_Fisc._ At the door. + +_Har._ Bring them in; I'll try if we can face them down by impudence, +and make them to confess. + + _Enter_ BEAMONT _and_ COLLINS, _guarded._ + +You are not ignorant of our business with you: the cries of your +accomplices have already reached your ears; and your own consciences, +above a thousand summons, a thousand tortures, instruct you what to +do. No farther juggling, nothing but plain sincerity and truth to be +delivered now; a free confession will first atone for all your sins +above, and may do much below to gain your pardons. Let me exhort you, +therefore, be you merciful, first to yourselves and make +acknowledgment of your conspiracy. + +_Beam._ What conspiracy? + +_Fisc._ Why la you, that the devil should go masked with such a +seeming honest face! I warrant you know of no such thing. + +_Har._ Were not you, Mr Beamont, and you, Collins both accessary to +the horrid plot, for the surprisal of this fort and island? + +_Beam._ As I shall reconcile my sins to heaven, in my last article of +life, I am innocent. + +_Col._ And so am I. + +_Har._ So, you are first upon the negative. + +_Beam._ And will be so till death. + +_Col._ What plot is this you speak of? + +_Fisc._ Here are impudent rogues! now after confession of two +Japanese, these English starts dare ask what plot it is! + +_Har._ Not to inform your knowledge, but that law may have its course +in every circumstance, Fiscal, sum up their accusation to them. + +_Fisc._ You stand accused, that new-year's day last past, there met at +captain Towerson's house, you present, and many others of your +factory: There, against law and justice, and all ties of friendship, +and of partnership betwixt us, you did conspire to seize upon the +fort, to murder this our worthy governor; and, by the help of your +plantations near, of Jacatra, Banda, and Loho, to keep it for +yourselves. + +_Beam._ What proofs have you of this? + +_Fisc._ The confession of two Japanese, hired by you to attempt it. + +_Beam._ I hear they have been forced by torture to it. + +_Har._ It matters not which way the truth comes out; take heed, for +their example is before you. + +_Beam._ Ye have no right, ye dare not torture us; we owe you no +subjection. + +_Fisc._ That, sir, must be disputed at the Hague; in the mean time we +are in possession here. + +_2 Dutch._ And we can make ourselves to be obeyed. + +_Van Her._ In few words, gentlemen, confess. There is a beverage ready +for you else, which you will not like to swallow. + +_Col._ How is this? + +_Har._ You shall be muffled up like ladies, with an oiled cloth put +underneath your chins, then water poured above; which either you must +drink, or must not breathe. + +_1 Dutch._ That is one way, we have others. + +_Har._ Yes, we have two elements at your service, fire, as well as +water; certain things called matches to be tied to your finger-ends, +which are as sovereign as nutmegs to quicken your short memories. + +_Beam._ You are inhuman, to make your cruelty your pastime: nature +made me a man, and not a whale, to swallow down a flood. + +_Har._ You will grow a corpulent gentleman like me; I shall love you +the better for it; now you are but a spare rib. + +_Fisc._ These things are only offered to your choice; you may avoid +your tortures, and confess. + +_Col._ Kill us first; for that we know is your design at last, and +'tis more mercy now. + +_Beam._ Be kind, and execute us while we bear the shapes of men, ere +fire and water have destroyed our figures; let me go whole out of the +world, I care not, and find my body when I rise again, so as I need +not be ashamed of it. + +_Har._ 'Tis well you are merry; will you yet confess? + +_Beam._ Never. + +_Har._ Bear them away to torture. + +_Van. Her._ We will try your constancy. + +_Beam._ We will shame your cruelty; if we deserve our tortures, 'tis +first for freeing such an infamous nation, that ought to have been +slaves, and then for trusting them as partners, who had cast off the +yoke of their lawful sovereign. + +_Har._ Away, I'll hear no more.--Now who comes the next? + [_Exeunt the English with a Guard._ + +_Fisc._ Towerson's page, a ship-boy, and a woman. + +_Har._ Call them in. [_Exit a Messenger._ + +_Van Her._ We shall have easy work with them. + +_Fisc._ Not so easy as you imagine, they have endured the beverage +already; all masters of their pain, no one confessing. + +_Har._ The devil's in these English! those brave boys would prove +stout topers if they lived. + + _Enter Page, a Boy, and a Woman, led as from torture._ + +Come hither, ye perverse imps; they say you have endured the water +torment, we will try what fire will do with you: You, sirrah, confess; +were not you knowing of Towerson's plot, against this fort and island? + +_Page._ I have told your hangman no, twelve times within this hour, +when I was at the last gasp; and that is a time, I think, when a man +should not dissemble. + +_Har._ A man! mark you that now; you English boys have learnt a trick +of late, of growing men betimes; and doing men's work, too, before you +come to twenty. + +_Van Her._ Sirrah, I will try if you are a salamander and can live in +the fire. + +_Page._ Sure you think my father got me of some Dutchwoman, and that I +am but of a half-strain courage; but you shall find that I am all over +English as well in fire as water. + +_Boy._ Well, of all religions, I do not like your Dutch. + +_Fisc._ No? and why, young stripling? + +_Boy._ Because your penance comes before confession. + +_Har._ Do you mock us, sirrah? To the fire with him. + +_Boy._ Do so; all you shall get by it is this; before I answered no; +now I'll be sullen and will talk no more. + +_Har._ Best cutting off these little rogues betime; if they grow men, +they will have the spirit of revenge in them. + +_Page._ Yes, as your children have that of rebellion. Oh that I could +but live to be governor here, to make your fat guts pledge me in that +beverage I drunk, you Sir John Falstaff of Amsterdam! + +_Boy._ I have a little brother in England, that I intend to appear to +when you have killed me; and if he does not promise me the death of +ten Dutchmen in the next war, I'll haunt him instead of you. + +_Har._ What say you, woman? Have compassion of yourself, and confess; +you are of a softer sex. + +_Wom._ But of a courage full as manly; there is no sex in souls; would +you have English wives shew less of bravery than their children do? To +lie by an Englishman's side, is enough to give a woman resolution. + +_Fisc._ Here is a hen of the game too, but we shall tame you in the +fire. + +_Wom._ My innocence shall there be tried like gold, till it come out +the purer. When you have burnt me all into one wound, cram gunpowder +into it, and blow me up, I'll not confess one word to shame my +country. + +_Har._ I think we have got here the mother of the Maccabees; away with +them all three. [_Exeunt the English guarded._] I'll take the pains +myself to see these tortured. + [_Exeunt_ HARMAN, VAN HERRING, _and the two + Dutchmen with the English: Manet_ FISCAL. + + _Enter_ JULIA _to the_ FISCAL. + +_Jul._ Oh you have ruined me! you have undone me, in the person of my +husband! + +_Fisc._ If he will needs forfeit his life to the laws, by joining with +the English in a plot, it is not in me to save him; but, dearest +Julia, be satisfied, you shall not want a husband. + +_Jul._ Do you think I'll ever come into a bed with him, who robbed me +of my dear sweet man? + +_Fisc._ Dry up your tears; I am in earnest; I will marry you; i'faith +I will; it is your destiny. + +_Jul._ Nay if it be my destiny--but I vow I'll never be yours but upon +one condition. + +_Fisc._ Name your desire, and take it. + +_Jul._ Then save poor Beamont's life. + +_Fisc._ This is the most unkind request you could have made; it shews +you love him better: therefore, in prudence, I should haste his death. + +_Jul._ Come, I'll not be denied; you shall give me his life, or I'll +not love you; by this kiss you shall, child. + +_Fisc._ Pray ask some other thing. + +_Jul._ I have your word for this, and if you break it, how shall I +trust you for your marrying me? + +_Fisc._ Well, I will do it to oblige you. But to prevent her new +designs with him, I'll see him shipped away for England strait. + [_Aside._ + +_Jul._ I may build upon your promise, then? + +_Fisc._ Most firmly: I hear company. + + _Enter_ HARMAN, VAN HERRING, _and the two Dutchmen, with_ TOWERSON + _prisoner._ + +_Har._ Now, captain Towerson, you have had the privilege to be +examined last; this on the score of my old friendship with you, though +you have ill deserved it. But here you stand accused of no less crimes +than robbery first, then murder, and last, treason: What can you say +to clear yourself? + +_Tow._ You're interested in all, and therefore partial: +I have considered on it, and will not plead, +Because I know you have no right to judge me; +For the last treaty betwixt our king and you +Expressly said, that causes criminal +Were first to be examined, and then judged, +Not here, but by the Council of Defence; +To whom I make appeal. + +_Fisc._ This court conceives that it has power to judge you, derived +from the most high and mighty states, who in this island are supreme, +and that as well in criminal as civil causes. + +_1 Dutch._ You are not to question the authority of the court, which +is to judge you. + +_Tow._ Sir, by your favour, I both must, and will: +I'll not so far betray my nation's right; +We are not here your subjects, but your partners: +And that supremacy of power, you claim, +Extends but to the natives, not to us: +Dare you, who in the British seas strike sail, +Nay more, whose lives and freedom are our alms, +Presume to sit and judge your benefactors? +Your base new upstart commonwealth should blush, +To doom the subjects of an English king, +The meanest of whose merchants would disdain +The narrow life, and the domestic baseness, +Of one of those you call your Mighty States. + +_Fisc._ You spend your breath in railing; speak to the purpose. + +_Har._ Hold yet: Because you shall not call us cruel, +Or plead I would be judge in my own cause, +I shall accept of that appeal you make, +Concerning my son's death; provided first, +You clear yourself from what concerns the public; +For that relating to our general safety, +The judgment of it cannot be deferred, +But with our common danger. + +_Tow._ Let me first +Be bold to question you: What circumstance +Can make this, your pretended plot, seem likely? +The natives, first, you tortured; their confession, +Extorted so, can prove no crime in us. +Consider, next, the strength of this your castle; +Its garrison above two hundred men, +Besides as many of your city burghers, +All ready on the least alarm, or summons, +To reinforce the others; for ten English, +And merchants they, not soldiers, with the aid +Of ten Japanners, all of them unarmed, +Except five swords, and not so many muskets,-- +The attempt had only been for fools or madmen. + +_Fisc._ We cannot help your want of wit; proceed. + +_Tow._ Grant then we had been desperate enough +To hazard this; we must at least forecast, +How to secure possession when we had it. +We had no ship nor pinnace in the harbour, +Nor could have aid from any factory: +The nearest to us forty leagues from hence, +And they but few in number: You, besides +This fort, have yet three castles in this isle, +Amply provided for, and eight tall ships +Riding at anchor near; consider this, +And think what all the world will judge of it. + +_Har._ Nothing but falsehood is to be expected +From such a tongue, whose heart is fouled with treason. +Give him the beverage. + +_Fisc._ 'Tis ready, sir. + +_Har._ Hold; I have some reluctance to proceed +To that extremity: He was my friend, +And I would have him frankly to confess: +Push open that prison door, and set before him +The image of his pains in other men. + + _The_ SCENE _opens, and discovers the English tortured, and the + Dutch tormenting them._ + +_Fisc._ Now, sir, how does the object like you? + +_Tow._ Are you men or devils! D'Alva, whom you +Condemn for cruelty, did ne'er the like; +He knew original villany was in your blood. +Your fathers all are damned for their rebellion; +When they rebelled, they were well used to this. +These tortures ne'er were hatched in human breasts; +But as your country lies confined on hell, +Just on its marches, your black neighbours taught ye; +And just such pains as you invent on earth, +Hell has reserved for you. + +_Har._ Are you yet moved? + +_Tow._ But not as you would have me. +I could weep tears of blood to view this usage; +But you, as if not made of the same mould, +See, with dry eyes, the miseries of men, +As they were creatures of another kind, +Not Christians, nor allies, nor partners with you, +But as if beasts, transfixed on theatres, +To make you cruel sport. + +_Har._ These are but vulgar objects; bring his friend, +Let him behold his tortures; shut that door. [_The Scene closed._ + + _Enter_ BEAMONT, _led with matches tied to his hands._ + +_Tow._ [_Embracing him._] +Oh my dear friend, now I am truly wretched! +Even in that part which is most sensible, +My friendship: +How have we lived to see the English name +The scorn of these, the vilest of mankind! + +_Beam._ Courage, my friend, and rather praise we heaven, +That it has chose two, such as you and me, +Who will not shame our country with our pains, +But stand, like marble statues, in their fires, +Scorched and defaced, perhaps, not melted down. +So let them burn this tenement of earth; +They can but burn me naked to my soul; +That's of a nobler frame, and will stand firm, +Upright, and unconsumed. + +_Fisc._ Confess; if you have kindness, save your friend. + +_Tow._ Yes, by my death I would, not my confession: +He is so brave, he would not so be saved; +But would renounce a friendship built on shame. + +_Har._ Bring more candles, and burn him from the wrists up to the +elbows. + +_Beam._ Do; I'll enjoy the flames like Scęvola; +And, when one's roasted, give the other hand. + +_Tow._ Let me embrace you while you are a man. +Now you must lose that form; be parched and rivelled, +Like a dried mummy, or dead malefactor, +Exposed in chains, and blown about by winds. + +_Beam._ Yet this I can endure. +Go on, and weary out two elements; +Vex fire and water with the experiments +Of pains far worse than death. + +_Tow._ Oh, let me take my turn! +You will have double pleasure; I'm ashamed +To be the only Englishman untortured. + +_Van. Her._ You soon should have your wish, but that we know +In him you suffer more. + +_Har._ Fill me a brim-full glass: +Now, captain, here's to all your countrymen; +I wish your whole East India company +Were in this room, that we might use them thus. + +_Fisc._ They should have fires of cloves and cinnamon; +We would cut down whole groves to honour them, +And be at cost to burn them nobly. + +_Beam._ Barbarous villains! now you show yourselves + +_Har._ Boy, take that candle thence, and bring it hither; +I am exalted, and would light my pipe +Just where the wick is fed with English fat. + +_Van Her._ So would I; oh, the tobacco tastes divinely after it. + +_Tow._ We have friends in England, who would weep to see +This acted on a theatre, which here +You make your pastime. + +_Beam._ Oh, that this flesh were turned a cake of ice, +That I might in an instant melt away, +And become nothing, to escape this torment! +There is not cold enough in all the north +To quench my burning blood. [FISCAL _whispers_ HARMAN. + +_Har._ Do with Beamont as you please, so Towerson die. + +_Fisc._ You'll not confess yet, captain? + +_Tow._ Hangman, no; +I would have don't before, if e'er I would: +To do it when my friend has suffered this, +Were to be less than he. + +_Fisc._ Free him. [_They free_ BEAMONT. +Beamont, I have not sworn you should not suffer. +But that you should not die; thank Julia for it. +But on your life do not delay this hour +To post from hence! so to your next plantation; +I cannot suffer a loved rival near me. + +_Beam._ I almost question if I will receive +My life from thee: 'Tis like a cure from witches; +'Twill leave a sin behind it. + +_Fisc._ Nay, I'm not lavish of my courtesy; +I can on easy terms resume my gift. + +_Har._ Captain, you're a dead man; I'll spare your torture for your +quality; prepare for execution instantly. + +_Tow._ I am prepared. + +_Fisc._ You die in charity, I hope? + +_Tow._ I can forgive even thee: +My innocence I need not name, you know it. +One farewell kiss of my dear Isabinda, +And all my business here on earth is done. + +_Har._ Call her; she's at the door. [_Exit_ FISC. + +_Tow._ [_To_ BEAM. _embracing._] +A long and last farewell! I take my death +With the more cheerfulness, because thou liv'st +Behind me: Tell my friends, I died so as +Became a Christian and a man; give to my brave +Employers of the East India company, +The last remembrance of my faithful service; +Tell them, I seal that service with my blood; +And, dying, wish to all their factories, +And all the famous merchants of our isle, +That wealth their generous industry deserves; +But dare not hope it with Dutch partnership. +Last, there's my heart, I give it in this kiss: [_Kisses him._ +Do not answer me; friendship's a tender thing, +And it would ill become me now to weep. + +_Beam._ Adieu! if I would speak, I cannot-- [_Exit._ + + _Enter_ ISABINDA. + +_Isab._ Is it permitted me to see your eyes +Once more, before eternal night shall close them? + +_Tow._ I summoned all I had of man to see you; +'Twas well the time allowed for it was short; +I could not bear it long: 'Tis dangerous, +And would divide my love 'twixt heaven and you. +I therefore part in haste; think I am going +A sudden journey, and have not the leisure +To take a ceremonious long farewell. + +_Isab._ Do you still love me? + +_Tow._ Do not suppose I do; +'Tis for your ease, since you must stay behind me, +To think I was unkind; you'll grieve the less. + +_Har._ Though I suspect you joined in my son's murder, +Yet, since it is not proved, you have your life. + +_Isab._ I thank you for't, I'll make the noblest use +Of your sad gift; that is, to die unforced: +I'll make a present of my life to Towerson, +To let you see, though worthless of his love, +I would not live without him. + +_Tow._ I charge you, love my memory, but live. + +_Har._ She shall be strictly guarded from that violence +She means against herself. + +_Isab._ Vain men! there are so many paths to death, +You cannot stop them all: o'er the green turf, +Where my love's laid, there will I mourning sit, +And draw no air but from the damps that rise +Out of that hallowed earth; and for my diet, +I mean my eyes alone shall feed my mouth. +Thus will I live, till he in pity rise, +And the pale shade take me in his cold arms, +And lay me kindly by him in his grave. + + _Enter_ COLLINS, _and then_ PEREZ, JULIA _following him._ + +_Har._ No more; your time's now come, you must away. + +_Col._ Now, devils, you have done your worst with tortures; death's a +privation of pain, but they were a continual dying. + +_Jul._ Farewell, my dearest! I may have many husbands, +But never one like thee. + +_Per._ As you love my soul, take hence that woman.-- +My English friends, I'm not ashamed of death, +While I have you for partners; I know you innocent, +And so am I, of this pretended plot; +But I am guilty of a greater crime; +For, being married in another country, +The governor's persuasions, and my love +To that ill woman, made me leave the first, +And make this fatal choice. +I'm justly punished; for her sake I die: +The Fiscal, to enjoy her, has accused me. +There is another cause; +By his procurement I should have killed-- + +_Fisc._ Away with him, and stop his mouth. [_He is led off._ + +_Tow._ I leave thee, life, with no regret at parting; +Full of whatever thou could'st give, I rise +From thy neglected feast, and go to sleep: +Yet, on this brink of death, my eyes are opened, +And heaven has bid me prophecy to you, +The unjust contrivers of this tragic scene:-- +_An age is coming, when an English monarch +With blood shall pay that blood which you have shed: +To save your cities from victorious arms, +You shall invite the waves to hide your earth[1], +And, trembling, to the, tops of houses fly, +While deluges invade your lower rooms: +Then, as with waters you have swelled our bodies, +With damps of waters shall your heads be swoln: +Till, at the last, your sapped foundations fall, +And universal ruin swallows all._ + [_He is led out with the English; the Dutch + remain._ + +_Van. Her._ Ay, ay, we'll venture both ourselves and children for such +another pull. + +_1 Dutch._ Let him prophecy when his head's off. + +_2 Dutch._ There's ne'er a Nostradamus of them all shall fright us +from our gain. + +_Fisc._ Now for a smooth apology, and then a fawning letter to the +king of England; and our work's done. + +_Har._ 'Tis done as I would wish it: +Now, brethren, at my proper cost and charges, +Three days you are my guests; in which good time +We will divide their greatest wealth by lots, +While wantonly we raffle for the rest: +Then, in full rummers, and with joyful hearts, +We'll drink confusion to all English starts. [_Exeunt._ + + +Footnote: +1. During the French invasion of 1672, the Dutch were obliged to adopt + the desperate defence of cutting their dykes, and inundating the + country. + + + + +EPILOGUE + + + A poet once the Spartans led to fight, + And made them conquer in the muse's right; + So would our poet lead you on this day, + Showing your tortured fathers in his play. + To one well-born the affront is worse, and more, + When he's abused, and baffled by a boor: + With an ill grace the Dutch their mischiefs do, + They've both ill-nature and ill-manners too. + Well may they boast themselves an ancient nation, + For they were bred ere manners were in fashion; + And their new commonwealth has set them free, + Only from honour and civility. + Venetians do not more uncouthly ride[1], + Than did their lubber state mankind bestride; + Their sway became them with as ill a mien, + As their own paunches swell above their chin: + Yet is their empire no true growth, but humour, + And only two kings' touch can cure the tumour[2]. + As Cato did his Afric fruits display, + So we before your eyes their Indies lay: + All loyal English will, like him, conclude, + Let Cęsar live, and Carthage be subdued[3]! + + +Footnotes: +1. The situation of Venice renders it impossible to bring horses into + the town; accordingly, the Venetians are proverbially bad riders. + +2. The poet alludes to the king's evil, and to the joint war of France + and England against Holland. + +3. Allusions to Cato,--who presented to the Roman Senate the rich figs + of Africa, and reminded them it was but three days sail to the + country which produced such excellent fruit,--were fashionable + during the Dutch war. The Lord Chancellor Shaftesbury had set the + example, by applying to Holland the favourite maxim of the Roman + philosopher, _Delenda est Carthago._ When that versatile statesman + afterwards fled to Holland, he petitioned to be created a burgess + of Amsterdam, to ensure him against being delivered up to England. + The magistrates conferred on him the freedom desired, with the + memorable words, "_Ab nostra Carthagine nondum deleta, salutem + accipe._" + + + * * * * * + + + THE + + STATE OF INNOCENCE, + + AND + + FALL OF MAN. + + + AN + + OPERA. + + + --_Utinam modņ dicere possem + Carmina digna deā: Certe est dea carmine digna._ + OVID. MET. + + + + + THE STATE OF INNOCENCE, &c. + + +The "Paradise Lost" of Milton is a work so extraordinary in conception +and execution, that it required a lapse of many years to reconcile the +herd of readers, and of critics, to what was almost too sublime for +ordinary understandings. The poets, in particular, seemed to have +gazed on its excellencies, like the inferior animals on Dryden's +immortal Hind; and, incapable of fully estimating a merit, which, in +some degree, they could not help feeling, many were their absurd +experiments to lower it to the standard of their own comprehension. +One author, deeming the "Paradise Lost" deficient in harmony, was +pleased painfully to turn it into rhyme; and more than one, conceiving +the subject too serious to be treated in verse of any kind, employed +their leisure in humbling it into prose. The names of these +well-judging and considerate persons are preserved by Mr Todd in his +edition of Milton's Poetical Works. + +But we must not confound with these effusions of gratuitous folly an +alteration, or imitation, planned and executed by John Dryden; +although we may be at a loss to guess the motives by which he was +guided in hazarding such an attempt. His reverence for Milton and his +high estimation of his poetry, had already called forth the well-known +verses, in which he attributes to him the joint excellencies of the +two most celebrated poets of antiquity; and if other proofs of his +veneration were wanting, they may be found in the preface to this very +production. Had the subject been of a nature which admitted its being +actually represented, we might conceive, that Dryden, who was under +engagements to the theatre, with which it was not always easy to +comply, might have been desirous to shorten his own labour, by +adopting the story sentiments, and language of a poem, which he so +highly esteemed and which might probably have been new to the +generality of his audience. But the _costume_ of our first parents, +had there been no other objection, must have excluded the "State of +Innocence" from the stage, and accordingly it was certainly never +intended for representation. The probable motive, therefore, of this +alteration, was the wish, so common to genius, to exert itself upon a +subject in which another had already attained brilliant success, or, +as Dryden has termed a similar attempt, the desire to shoot in the bow +of Ulysses. Some circumstances in the history of Milton's immortal +poem may have suggested to Dryden the precise form of the present +attempt. It is reported by Voltaire, and seems at length to be +admitted, that the original idea of the "Paradise Lost" was supplied +by an Italian Mystery, or religious play, which Milton witnessed when +abroad[1]; and it is certain, that he intended at first to mould his +poem into a dramatic form[2]. It seems, therefore, likely, that +Dryden, conscious of his own powers, and enthusiastically admiring +those of Milton, was induced to make an experiment upon the forsaken +plan of the blind bard, which, with his usual rapidity of conception +and execution, he completed in the short space of one month. The +spurious copies which got abroad, and perhaps the desire of testifying +his respect for his beautiful patroness, the Duchess of York, form his +own apology for the publication. It is reported by Mr Aubrey that the +step was not taken without Dryden's reverence to Milton being +testified by a personal application for his permission. The aged poet, +conscious that the might of his versification could receive no +addition even from the flowing numbers of Dryden, is stated to have +answered with indifference--"Ay, you may _tag_ my verses, if you +will." + +The structure and diction of this opera, as it is somewhat improperly +termed, being rather a dramatic poem, strongly indicate the taste of +Charles the Second's reign, for what was ingenious, acute, and +polished, in preference to the simplicity of the true sublime. The +judgment of that age, as has been already noticed, is always to be +referred rather to the head than to the heart; and a poem, written to +please mere critics, requires an introduction and display of art, to +the exclusion of natural beauty.--This explains the extravagant +panegyric of Lee on Dryden's play: + + --Milton did the wealthy mine disclose, + And rudely cast what you could well dispose; + He roughly drew, on an old-fashioned ground, + A chaos; for no perfect world was found, + Till through the heap your mighty genius shined: + He was the golden ore, which you refined. + He first beheld the beauteous rustic maid, + And to a place of strength the prize conveyed: + You took her thence; to Court this virgin brought, + Dressed her with gems, new-weaved her hard-spun thought, + And softest language sweetest manners taught; + Till from a comet she a star did rise, + Not to affright, but please, our wondering eyes. + +Doubtless there were several critics of that period, who held the +heretical opinion above expressed by Lee. And the imitation was such +as to warrant that conclusion, considering the school in which it was +formed. The scene of the consultation in Pandemonium, and of the +soliloquy of Satan on his arrival in the newly-created universe, would +possess great merit, did they not unfortunately remind us of the +majestic simplicity of Milton. But there is often a sort of Ovidian +point in the diction which seems misplaced. Thus, Asmodeus tells us, +that the devils, ascending from the lake of fire, + + Shake off their slumber _first_, and _next_ their fear. + +And, with Dryden's usual hate to the poor Dutchmen, the council of +Pandemonium are termed, + + _Most High and Mighty_ Lords, who better fell + From heaven, to rise _States General_ of hell. + +There is one inconvenience, which, as this poem was intended for +perusal only, the author, one would have thought, might have easily +avoided. This arises from the stage directions, which supply the place +of the terrific and beautiful descriptions of Milton. What idea, +except burlesque, can we form of the expulsion of the fallen angels +from heaven, literally represented by their tumbling down upon the +stage? or what feelings of terror can be excited by the idea of an +opera hell, composed of pasteboard and flaming rosin? If these follies +were not actually to be produced before our eyes, it could serve no +good purpose to excite the image of them in our imaginations. They are +circumstances by which we feel, that scenic deception must be rendered +ridiculous; and ought to be avoided, even in a drama intended for +perusal only, since they cannot be mentioned without exciting +ludicrous combinations.--Even in describing the primitive state of our +first parents, Dryden has displayed some of the false and corrupted +taste of the court of Charles. Eve does not consent to her union with +Adam without coquettish apprehensions of his infidelity, which +circumstances rendered rather improbable; and even in the state of +innocence, she avows the love of sway and of self, which, in a loose +age, is thought the principal attribute of her daughters. It may be +remembered that the Adam of Milton, when first experiencing the powers +of slumber, thought, + + I then was passing to my former state + Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve. + +The Eve of Dryden expresses the same apprehensions of annihilation +upon a very different occasion. These passages form a contrast highly +favourable to the simplicity and chastity of Milton's taste. The +school logic, employed by Adam and the angels in the first scene of +the fourth act, however misplaced, may be paralleled if not justified, +by similar instances in the "Paradise Lost." + +On the other hand, the "State of Innocence" contains many passages of +varied and happy expression peculiar to our great poet; and the speech +of Lucfier in Paradise (Act third, scene first), approaches in +sublimity to his prototype in Milton, Indeed, altered as this poem was +from the original, in order to accommodate it to the taste of a +frivolous age, it still retained too much fancy to escape the raillery +of the men of wit and fashion, more disposed to "laugh at +extravagance, than to sympathise with feelings of grandeur." The +"Companion to the Theatre" mentions an objection started by the more +nice and delicate critics, against the anachronism and absurdity of +Lucifer conversing about the world, its form and vicissitudes, at a +time previous to its creation, or, at least, to the possibility of his +knowing any thing of it. But to this objection, which applies to the +"Paradise Lost" also, it is sufficient to reply, that the measure of +intelligence, competent to supernatural beings, being altogether +unknown to us, leaves the poet at liberty to accommodate its extent to +the purposes in which he employs them, without which poetic license, +it would be in vain to introduce them. Dryden, moved by this, and +similar objections, has prefixed to the drama, "An Apology for Heroic +Poetry," and the use of what is technically called "the machinery" +employed in it. + +Upon the whole, it may be justly questioned, whether Dryden shewed his +judgment in the choice of a subject which compelled an immediate +parallel betwixt Milton and himself, upon a subject so exclusively +favourable to the powers of the former. Indeed, according to Dennis, +notwithstanding Dryden's admiration of Milton, he evinced sufficiently +by this undertaking, what he himself confessed twenty years +afterwards, that he was not sensible of half the extent of his +excellence. In the "Town and Country Mouse," Mr Bayes is made to term +Milton "a rough unhewen fellow;" and Dryden himself, even in the +dedication to the Translation from Juvenal, a work of his advanced +life, alleges, that, though he found in that poet a true sublimity, +and lofty thoughts, clothed with admirable Grecisms, he did not find +the elegant turn of words and expression proper to the Italian poets +and to Spenser. In the same treatise, he undertakes to excuse, but not +to justify Milton, for his choice of blank verse, affirming that he +possessed neither grace nor facility in rhyming. A consciousness of +the harmony of his own numbers, and a predilection for that kind of +verse, in which he excelled, seemed to have encouraged him to think he +could improve the "Paradise Lost." Baker observes but too truly, that +the "State of Innocence" recals the idea reprobated by Marvell in his +address to Milton: + + Or if a work so infinite be spanned, + Jealous I was, lest some less skilful hand, + Such as disquiet always what is well, + And by ill-imitating would excel, + Might hence presume the whole creation's day + To change in scenes, and shew it in a play. + +The "State of Innocence" seems to have been undertaken by Dryden +during a cessation of his theatrical labours, and was first published +in 1674, shortly after the death of Milton, which took place on the +8th of November in the same year. + + +Footnotes: +1. The Adamo of Andreini; for an account of which, see Todd's Milton, + Vol. I. the elegant Hayley's Conjectures on the Origin of Paradise + Lost, and Walker's Memoir on Italian Tragedy. The Drama of Andreini + opens with a grand chorus of angels, who sing to this purpose: + + Let the rainbow be the fiddle-stick to the fiddle of heaven, + Let the spheres be the strings, and the stars the musical notes; + Let the new-born breezes make the pauses and sharps, + And let time be careful to beat the measure. + +2. See a sketch of his plan in Johnson's Life of Milton, and in the + authorities above quoted. + + + + + TO + + HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, + + THE + + DUCHESS[1]. + + +MADAM, + +Ambition is so far from being a vice in poets, that it is almost +impossible for them to succeed without it. Imagination must be raised, +by a desire of fame, to a desire of pleasing; and they whom, in all +ages, poets have endeavoured most to please, have been the beautiful +and the great. Beauty is their deity, to which they sacrifice, and +greatness is their guardian angel, which protects them. Both these, +are so eminently joined in the person of your royal highness, that it +were not easy for any but a poet to determine which of them outshines +the other. But I confess, madam, I am already biassed in my choice. I +can easily resign to others the praise of your illustrious family, and +that glory which you derive from a long-continued race of princes, +famous for their actions both in peace and war: I can give up, to the +historians of your country, the names of so many generals and heroes +which crowd their annals, and to our own the hopes of those which you +are to produce for the British chronicle. I can yield, without envy, +to the nation of poets, the family of Este, to which Ariosto and Tasso +have owed their patronage, and to which the world has owed their +poems. But I could not, without extreme reluctance, resign the theme +of your beauty to another hand. Give me leave, madam, to acquaint the +world, that I am jealous of this subject; and let it be no dishonour +to you, that, after having raised the admiration of mankind, you have +inspired one man to give it voice. But, with whatsoever vanity this +new honour of being your poet has filled my mind, I confess myself too +weak for the inspiration: the priest was always unequal to the oracle: +the god within him was too mighty for his breast: he laboured with the +sacred revelation, and there was more of the mystery left behind, than +the divinity itself could enable him to express. I can but discover a +part of your excellencies to the world; and that, too, according to +the measure of my own weakness. Like those who have surveyed the moon +by glasses, I can only tell of a new and shining world above us, but +not relate the riches and glories of the place. 'Tis therefore that I +have already waved the subject of your greatness, to resign myself to +the contemplation of what is more peculiarly yours. Greatness is +indeed communicated to some few of both sexes; but beauty is confined +to a more narrow compass: 'tis only in your sex, 'tis not shared by +many, and its supreme perfection is in you alone. And here, madam, I +am proud that I cannot flatter; you have reconciled the differing +judgments of mankind; for all men are equal in their judgment of what +is eminently best. The prize of beauty was disputed only till you were +seen; but now all pretenders have withdrawn their claims: there is no +competition but for the second place; even the fairest of our island, +which is famed for beauties, not daring to commit their cause against +you to the suffrage of those, who most partially adore them. Fortune +has, indeed, but rendered justice to so much excellence, in setting it +so high to public view; or, rather, Providence has done justice to +itself, in placing the most perfect workmanship of heaven, where it +may be admired by all beholders. Had the sun and stars been seated +lower, their glory had not been communicated to all at once, and the +Creator had wanted so much of his praise, as he had made your +condition more obscure: but he has placed you so near a crown, that +you add a lustre to it by your beauty. You are joined to a prince, who +only could deserve you; whose conduct, courage, and success in war; +whose fidelity to his royal brother, whose love for his country, whose +constancy to his friends, whose bounty to his servants, whose justice +to merit, whose inviolable truth, and whose magnanimity in all his +actions, seem to have been rewarded by heaven by the gift of you. You +are never seen but you are blest; and I am sure you bless all those +who see you. We think not the day is long enough when we behold you; +and you are so much the business of our souls, that while you are in +sight, we can neither look nor think on any else. There are no eyes +for other beauties; you only are present, and the rest of your sex are +but the unregarded parts that fill your triumph. Our sight is so +intent on the object of its admiration, that our tongues have not +leisure even to praise you: for language seems too low a thing to +express your excellence; and our souls are speaking so much within, +that they despise all foreign conversation. Every man, even the +dullest, is thinking more than the most eloquent can teach him how to +utter. Thus, madam, in the midst of crowds, you reign in solitude; and +are adored with the deepest veneration, that of silence. 'Tis true, +you are above all mortal wishes; no man desires impossibilities, +because they are beyond the reach of nature. To hope to be a god, is +folly exalted into madness; but, by the laws of our creation, we are +obliged to adore him, and are permitted to love him too at human +distance. 'Tis the nature of perfection to be attractive, but the +excellency of the object refines the nature of the love. It strikes an +impression of awful reverence; 'tis indeed that love which is more +properly a zeal than passion. 'Tis the rapture which anchorites find +in prayer, when a beam of the divinity shines upon them; that which +makes them despise all worldly objects; and yet 'tis all but +contemplation. They are seldom visited from above, but a single vision +so transports them, that it makes up the happiness of their lives. +Mortality cannot bear it often: it finds them in the eagerness and +height of their devotion; they are speechless for the time that it +continues, and prostrate and dead when it departs. That ecstacy had +need be strong, which, without any end, but that of admiration has +power enough to destroy all other passions. You render mankind +insensible to other beauties, and have destroyed the empire of love in +a court which was the seat of his dominion. You have subverted (may I +dare to accuse you of it?) even our fundamental laws; and reign +absolute over the hearts of a stubborn and free-born people, tenacious +almost to madness of their liberty. The brightest and most victorious +of our ladies make daily complaints of revolted subjects, if they may +be said to be revolted, whose servitude is not accepted; for your +royal highness is too great, and too just a monarch, either to want or +to receive the homage of rebellious fugitives. Yet, if some few among +the multitude continue stedfast to their first pretensions, 'tis an +obedience so lukewarm and languishing, that it merits not the name of +passion; their addresses are so faint, and their vows so hollow to +their sovereigns, that they seem only to maintain their faith out of a +sense of honour: they are ashamed to desist, and yet grow careless to +obtain. Like despairing combatants, they strive against you as if they +had beheld unveiled the magical shield of your Ariosto, which dazzled +the beholders with too much brightness. They can no longer hold up +their arms; they have read their destiny in your eyes: + + _Splende lo scudo, a guisa di piropo; + E luce altra non é tanto lucente: + Cader in terra a lo splendor fu d'vopo, + Con gli occhi abbacinati, e senza mente._ + +And yet, madam, if I could find in myself the power to leave this +argument of your incomparable beauty, I might turn to one which would +equally oppress me with its greatness; for your conjugal virtues have +deserved to be set as an example, to a less degenerate, less tainted +age. They approach so near to singularity in ours, that I can scarcely +make a panegyric to your royal highness, without a satire on many +others. But your person is a paradise, and your soul a cherubim +within, to guard it. If the excellence of the outside invite the +beholders, the majesty of your mind deters them from too bold +approaches, and turns their admiration into religion. Moral +perfections are raised higher by you in the softer sex; as if men were +of too coarse a mould for heaven to work on, and that the image of +divinity could not be cast to likeness in so harsh a metal. Your +person is so admirable, that it can scarce receive addition, when it +shall be glorified: and your soul, which shines through it, finds it +of a substance so near her own, that she will be pleased to pass an +age within it, and to be confined to such a palace. + +I know not how I am hurried back to my former theme; I ought and +purposed to have celebrated those endowments and qualities of your +mind, which were sufficient, even without the graces of your person, +to render you, as you are, the ornament of the court, and the object +of wonder to three kingdoms. But all my praises are but as a bull-rush +cast upon a stream; if they sink not, 'tis because they are borne up +by the strength of the current, which supports their lightness; but +they are carried round again, and return on the eddy where they first +began. I can proceed no farther than your beauty; and even on that too +I have said so little, considering the greatness of the subject, that, +like him who would lodge a bowl upon a precipice, either my praise +falls back, by the weakness of the delivery, or stays not on the top, +but rolls over, and is lost on the other side. I intended this a +dedication; but how can I consider what belongs to myself, when I have +been so long contemplating on you! Be pleased then, madam, to receive +this poem, without entitling so much excellency as yours, to the +faults and imperfections of so mean a writer; and instead of being +favourable to the piece, which merits nothing, forgive the presumption +of the author; who is, with all possible veneration, + + Your Royal Highness's + Most obedient, most humble, + Most devoted servant, + JOHN DRYDEN. + + +Footnote: +1. Mary of Este, daughter of the Duke of Modena, and second wife to + James Duke of York, afterwards James II. She was married to him by + proxy in 1673, and came over in the year following. Notwithstanding + her husband's unpopularity, and her own attachment to the Roman + Catholic religion, her youth, beauty, and innocence secured her + from insult and slander during all the stormy period which preceded + her accession to the crown. Even Burnet, reluctantly, admits the + force of her charms, and the inoffensiveness of her conduct. But + her beauty produced a more lasting effect on the young and gallant, + than on that austere and stubborn partizan; and its force must be + allowed, since it was extolled even when Mary was dethroned and + exiled. Granville, Lord Lansdowne, has praised her in "The Progress + of Beauty;" and I cannot forbear transcribing some of the verses, + on account of the gallant spirit of the author, who scorned to + change with fortune, and continued to admire and celebrate, in + adversity, the charms which he had worshipped in the meridian of + prosperity. + + And now, my muse, a nobler flight prepare, + And sing so loud, that heaven and earth may hear. + Behold from Italy an awful ray + Of heavenly light illuminates the day; + Northward she bends, majestically bright, + And here she fixes her imperial light. + Be bold, be bold, my muse, nor fear to raise + Thy voice to her who was thy earliest praise[a]. + What though the sullen fates refuse to shine, + Or frown severe on thy audacious line; + Keep thy bright theme within thy steady sight, + The clouds shall fly before thy dazzling light, + And everlasting day direct thy lofty flight. + Thou, who hast never yet put on disguise, + To flatter faction, or descend to vice, + Let no vain fear thy generous ardour tame, + But stand erect, and sound as loud as fame. + As when our eye some prospect would pursue, + Descending from a hill looks round to view, + Passes o'er lawns and meadows, till it gains + Some favourite spot, and fixing there remains; + With equal ardour my transported muse + Flies other objects, this bright theme to chuse. + Queen of our hearts, and charmer of our sight! + A monarch's pride, his glory and delight! + Princess adored and loved! if verse can give + A deathless name, thine shall for ever live; + Invoked where'er the British lion roars, + Extended as the seas that guard the British shores. + The wise immortals, in their seats above, + To crown their labours still appointed love; + Phoebus enjoyed the goddess of the sea, + Alcides had Omphale, James has thee. + O happy James! content thy mighty mind, + Grudge not the world, for still thy queen is kind; + To be but at whose feet more glory brings, + Than 'tis to tread on sceptres and on kings. + Secure of empire in that beauteous breast, + Who would not give their crowns to be so blest? + Was Helen half so fair, so formed for joy, + Well chose the Trojan, and well burned was Troy. + But ah! what strange vicissitudes of fate, + What chance attends on every worldly state! + As when the skies were sacked, the conquered gods, + Compelled from heaven, forsook their blessed abodes; + Wandering in woods, they hid from den to den, + And sought their safety in the shapes of men; + As when the winds with kindling flames conspire, + The blaze increases as they fan the fire; + From roof to roof the burning torrent pours, + Nor spares the palace nor the loftiest towers; + Or as the stately pine, erecting high + Her lofty branches shooting to the sky, + If riven by the thunderbolt of Jove, + Down falls at once the pride of all the grove; + Level with lowest shrubs lies the tall head, + That, reared aloft, as to the clouds was spread, + So-- + But cease, my muse, thy colours are too faint; + Shade with a veil those griefs thou can'st not paint. + That sun is set!-- + + _Progress of Beauty._ + + The beauty, which inspired the romantic and unchanging admiration + of Granville, may be allowed to justify some of the flights of + Dryden's panegyric. I fear enough will still remain to justify the + stricture of Johnson, who observes, that Dryden's dedication is an + "attempt to mingle earth and heaven, by praising human excellence + in the language of religion." + + At the date of this address, the Duchess of York was only in her + sixteenth year. + + Footnote: + a. He had written verses to the Earl of Peterborough, on the Duke + of York's marriage with the Princess of Modena, before he was + twelve years old. + + + + + TO + + MR DRYDEN, + + ON HIS + + POEM OF PARADISE. + + + Forgive me, awful poet, if a muse, + Whom artless nature did for plainness chuse, + In loose attire presents her humble thought, + Of this best poem that you ever wrought. + This fairest labour of your teeming brain + I would embrace, but not with flatt'ry stain. + Something I would to your vast virtue raise, + But scorn to daub it with a fulsome praise; + That would but blot the work I would commend, + And shew a court-admirer, not a friend. + To the dead bard your fame a little owes, + For Milton did the wealthy mine disclose, + And rudely cast what you could well dispose: + He roughly drew, on an old fashioned ground, + A chaos; for no perfect world was found, + Till through the heap your mighty genius shined: + He was the golden ore, which you refined. + He first beheld the beauteous rustic maid, + And to a place of strength the prize conveyed: + You took her thence; to court this virgin brought, + Drest her with gems, new weaved her hard-spun thought, + And softest language sweetest manners taught; + Till from a comet she a star doth rise, + Not to affright, but please, our wondering eyes. + Betwixt you both is trained a nobler piece, + Than e'er was drawn in Italy or Greece. + Thou from his source of thoughts even souls dost bring, + As smiling gods from sullen Saturn spring. + When night's dull mask the face of heaven does wear, + 'Tis doubtful light, but here and there a star, + Which serves the dreadful shadows to display, + That vanish at the rising of the day; + But then bright robes the meadows all adorn, + And the world looks as it were newly born. + So, when your sense his mystic reason cleared, + The melancholy scene all gay appeared; + Now light leapt up, and a new glory smiled, + And all throughout was mighty, all was mild. + Before this palace, which thy wit did build, + Which various fancy did so gaudy gild, + And judgment has with solid riches filled, + My humbler muse begs she may sentry stand, + Amongst the rest that guard this Eden land. + But there's no need, for ev'n thy foes conspire + Thy praise, and, hating thee, thy work admire. + On then, O mightiest of the inspired men! + Monarch of verse! new themes employ thy pen. + The troubles of majestic Charles set down; + Not David vanquished more to reach a crown. + Praise him as Cowley did that Hebrew king: + Thy theme's as great; do thou as greatly sing. + Then thou may'st boldly to his favour rise, + Look down, and the base serpent's hiss despise; + From thund'ring envy safe in laurel sit, + While clam'rous critics their vile heads submit, + Condemned for treason at the bar of wit. + + NAT. LEE. + + + + + THE + + AUTHOR'S APOLOGY + + FOR + + HEROIC POETRY, AND POETIC LICENCE. + + +To satisfy the curiosity of those, who will give themselves the +trouble of reading the ensuing poem, I think myself obliged to render +them a reason why I publish an opera which was never acted. In the +first place, I shall not be ashamed to own, that my chiefest motive +was, the ambition which I acknowledged in the Epistle. I was desirous +to lay at the feet of so beautiful and excellent a princess, a work, +which, I confess, was unworthy her, but which, I hope, she will have +the goodness to forgive. I was also induced to it in my own defence; +many hundred copies of it being dispersed abroad without my knowledge, +or consent: so that every one gathering new faults, it became at +length a libel against me; and I saw, with some disdain, more nonsense +than either I, or as bad a poet, could have crammed into it, at a +month's warning; in which time it was wholly written, and not since +revised. After this, I cannot, without injury to the deceased author +of "Paradise Lost," but acknowledge, that this poem has received its +entire foundation, part of the design, and many of the ornaments, from +him. What I have borrowed will be so easily discerned from my mean +productions, that I shall not need to point the reader to the places: +And truly I should be sorry, for my own sake, that any one should take +the pains to compare them together; the original being undoubtedly one +of the greatest, most noble, and most sublime poems, which either this +age or nation has produced. And though I could not refuse the +partiality of my friend, who is pleased to commend me in his verses, I +hope they will rather be esteemed the effect of his love to me, than +of his deliberate and sober judgment. His genius is able to make +beautiful what he pleases: Yet, as he has been too favourable to me, I +doubt not but he will hear of his kindness from many of our +contemporaries for we are fallen into an age of illiterate, +censorious, and detracting people, who, thus qualified, set up for +critics. + +In the first place, I must take leave to tell them, that they wholly +mistake the nature of criticism, who think its business is principally +to find fault. Criticism, as it was first instituted by Aristotle, was +meant a standard of judging well; the chiefest part of which is, to +observe those excellencies which should delight a reasonable reader. +If the design, the conduct, the thoughts, and the expressions of a +poem, be generally such as proceed from a true genius of poetry, the +critic ought to pass his judgement in favour of the author. It is +malicious and unmanly to snarl at the little lapses of a pen, from +which Virgil himself stands not exempted. Horace acknowledges, that +honest Homer nods sometimes: He is not equally awake in every line; +but he leaves it also as a standing measure for our judgments, + + --Non, _ubi plura nitent in carmine, paucis_ + Offendi _maculis, quas aut incuria fudit, + Aut humana parłm cavit natura._-- + +And Longinus, who was undoubtedly, after Aristotle the greatest critic +amongst the Greeks, in his twenty-seventh chapter, [Greek: PERI +HUPSOUS], has judiciously preferred the sublime genius that sometimes +errs, to the middling or indifferent one, which makes few faults, but +seldom or never rises to any excellence. He compares the first to a +man of large possessions, who has not leisure to consider of every +slight expence, will not debase himself to the management of every +trifle: Particular sums are not laid out, or spared, to the greatest +advantage in his economy; but are sometimes suffered to run to waste, +while he is only careful of the main. On the other side, he likens the +mediocrity of wit, to one of a mean fortune, who manages his store +with extreme frugality, or rather parsimony; but who, with fear of +running into profuseness, never arrives to the magnificence of living. +This kind of genius writes indeed correctly. A wary man he is in +grammar, very nice as to solecism or barbarism, judges to a hair of +little decencies, knows better than any man what is not to be written, +and never hazards himself so far as to fall, but plods on +deliberately, and, as a grave man ought, is sure to put his staff +before him. In short, he sets his heart upon it, and with wonderful +care makes his business sure; that is, in plain English, neither to be +blamed nor praised.--I could, says my author, find out some blemishes +in Homer; and am perhaps as naturally inclined to be disgusted at a +fault as another man; but, after all, to speak impartially, his +failings are such, as are only marks of human frailty: they are little +mistakes, or rather negligences, which have escaped his pen in the +fervour of his writing; the sublimity of his spirit carries it with me +against his carelessness; and though Apollonius his "Argonauts," and +Theocritus his "Idyllia," are more free from errors, there is not any +man of so false a judgment, who would chuse rather to have been +Apollonius or Theocritus, than Homer. + +It is worth our consideration a little, to examine how much these +hypercritics in English poetry differ from the opinion of the Greek +and Latin judges of antiquity; from the Italians and French, who have +succeeded them; and, indeed, from the general taste and approbation of +all ages. Heroic poetry, which they condemn, has ever been esteemed, +and ever will be, the greatest work of human nature: In that rank has +Aristotle placed it; and Longinus is so full of the like expressions, +that he abundantly confirms the other's testimony. Horace as plainly +delivers his opinion, and particularly praises Homer in these verses: + + _Trojani Belli scriptorem, maxime Lolli, + Dum tu declamas Romę, Pręneste relegi: + Qui quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non, + Plenius ac melius Chrysippo et Crantore dicit._ + +And in another place, modestly excluding himself from the number of +poets, because he only writ odes and satires, he tells you a poet is +such an one, + + --_Cui mens divinior, atque os + Magna soniturum._ + +Quotations are superfluous in an established truth; otherwise I could +reckon up, amongst the moderns, all the Italian commentators on +Aristotle's book of poetry; and, amongst the French, the greatest of +this age, Boileau and Rapin; the latter of which is alone sufficient, +were all other critics lost, to teach anew the rules of writing. Any +man, who will seriously consider the nature of an epic poem, how it +agrees with that of poetry in general, which is to instruct and to +delight, what actions it describes, and what persons they are chiefly +whom it informs, will find it a work which indeed is full of +difficulty in the attempt, but admirable when it is well performed. I +write not this with the least intention to undervalue the other parts +of poetry: for Comedy is both excellently instructive, and extremely +pleasant; satire lashes vice into reformation, and humour represents +folly so as to render it ridiculous. Many of our present writers are +eminent in both these kinds; and, particularly, the author of the +"Plain Dealer," whom I am proud to call my friend, has obliged all +honest and virtuous men, by one of the most bold, most general, and +most useful satires, which has ever been presented on the English +theatre. I do not dispute the preference of Tragedy; let every man +enjoy his taste: but it is unjust, that they, who have not the least +notion of heroic writing, should therefore condemn the pleasure which +others receive from it, because they cannot comprehend it. Let them +please their appetites in eating what they like; but let them not +force their dish on all the table. They, who would combat general +authority with particular opinion, must first establish themselves a +reputation of understanding better than other men. Are all the flights +of heroic poetry to be concluded bombast, unnatural, and mere madness, +because they are not affected with their excellencies? It is just as +reasonable as to conclude there is no day, because a blind man cannot +distinguish of light and colours. Ought they not rather, in modesty, +to doubt of their own judgments, when they think this or that +expression in Homer, Virgil, Tasso, or Milton's "Paradise," to be too +far strained, than positively to conclude, that it is all fustian, and +mere nonsense? It is true, there are limits to be set betwixt the +boldness and rashness of a poet; but he must understand those limits, +who pretends to judge as well as he who undertakes to write: and he +who has no liking to the whole, ought, in reason, to be excluded from +censuring of the parts. He must be a lawyer before he mounts the +tribunal; and the judicature of one court, too, does not qualify a man +to preside in another. He may be an excellent pleader in the Chancery, +who is not fit to rule the Common Pleas. But I will presume for once +to tell them, that the boldest strokes of poetry, when they are +managed artfully, are those which most delight the reader. + +Virgil and Horace, the severest writers of the severest age, have made +frequent use of the hardest metaphors, and of the strongest +hyperboles; and in this case the best authority is the best argument; +for generally to have pleased, and through all ages, must bear the +force of universal tradition. And if you would appeal from thence to +right reason, you will gain no more by it in effect, than, first, to +set up your reason against those authors; and, secondly, against all +those who have admired them. You must prove, why that ought not to +have pleased, which has pleased the most learned, and the most +judicious; and, to be thought knowing, you must first put the fool +upon all mankind. If you can enter more deeply, than they have done, +into the causes and resorts of that which moves pleasure in a reader, +the field is open, you may be heard: But those springs of human nature +are not so easily discovered by every superficial judge: It requires +philosophy, as well as poetry, to sound the depth of all the passions; +what they are in themselves, and how they are to be provoked: And in +this science the best poets have excelled. Aristotle raised the fabric +of his poetry from observation of those things, in which Euripides, +Sophocles, and Ęschylus pleased: He considered how they raised the +passions, and thence has drawn rules for our imitation. From hence +have sprung the tropes and figures, for which they wanted a name, who +first practised them, and succeeded in them. Thus I grant you, that +the knowledge of nature was the original rule; and that all poets +ought to study her, as well as Aristotle and Horace, her interpreters. +But then this also undeniably follows, that those things, which +delight all ages, must have been an imitation of nature; which is all +I contend. Therefore is rhetoric made an art; therefore the names of +so many tropes and figures were invented; because it was observed they +had such and such effect upon the audience. Therefore catachreses and +hyperboles have found their place amongst them; not that they were to +be avoided, but to be used judiciously, and placed in poetry, as +heightenings and shadows are in painting, to make the figure bolder, +and cause it to stand off to sight. + + _Nec retia cervis + Ulla dolum meditantur;_ + +says Virgil in his Eclogues: and speaking of Leander, in his Georgics, + + _Nocte natat cęca serus freta, quem super ingens + Porta tonat cęli, et scopulis illisa reclamant + Ęquora:_ + +In both of these, you see, he fears not to give voice and thought to +things inanimate. + +Will you arraign your master, Horace, for his hardness of expression, +when he describes the death of Cleopatra, and says she did--_asperos +tractare serpentes, ut atrum corpore combiberet cenenum,_--because the +body, in that action, performs what is proper to the mouth? + +As for hyperboles, I will neither quote Lucan, nor Statius, men of an +unbounded imagination, but who often wanted the poize of judgment. The +divine Virgil was not liable to that exception; and yet he describes +Polyphemus thus: + + _--Graditurque per ęquor + Jam medium; necdum fluctus latera ardua tinxit._ + +In imitation of this place, our admirable Cowley thus paints Goliah: + + The valley, now, this monster seemed to fill; + And we, methought, looked up to him from our hill: + +where the two words, _seemed_ and _methought_, have mollified the +figure; and yet if they had not been there, the fright of the +Israelites might have excused their belief of the giant's stature[1]. + +In the eighth of the Ęneids, Virgil paints the swiftness of Camilla +thus: + + _Ilia vel intactę segetis per summa volaret + Gramina, nec teneras cursu lęsisset aristas; + Vel mare per medium, fluctu suspensa tumenti, + Ferret iter, celeres nec tingeret ęquore plantas._ + +You are not obliged, as in history, to a literal belief of what the +poet says; but you are pleased with the image, without being cozened +by the fiction. + +Yet even in history, Longinus quotes Herodotus on this occasion of +hyperboles. The Lacedemonians, says he, at the straits of Thermopylę, +defended themselves to the last extremity; and when their arms failed +them, fought it out with their nails and teeth; till at length, (the +Persians shooting continually upon them) they lay buried under the +arrows of their enemies. It is not reasonable, (continues the critic) +to believe, that men could defend themselves with their nails and +teeth from an armed multitude; nor that they lay buried under a pile +of darts and arrows; and yet there wants not probability for the +figure: because the hyperbole seems not to have been made for the sake +of the description; but rather to have been produced from the +occasion. + +It is true, the boldness of the figures is to be hidden sometimes by +the address of the poet; that they may work their effect upon the +mind, without discovering the art which caused it. And therefore they +are principally to be used in passion; when we speak more warmly, and +with more precipitation than at other times: For then, _Si vis me +flere, dolendum est primum ipsi tibi;_ the poet must put on the +passion he endeavours to represent: A man in such an occasion is not +cool enough, either to reason rightly, or to talk calmly. Aggravations +are then in their proper places; interrogations, exclamations, +hyperbata, or a disordered connection of discourse, are graceful +there, because they are natural. The sum of all depends on what before +I hinted, that this boldness of expression is not to be blamed, if it +be managed by the coolness and discretion which is necessary to a +poet. + +Yet before I leave this subject, I cannot but take notice how +disingenuous our adversaries appear: All that is dull, insipid, +languishing, and without sinews, in a poem, they call an imitation of +nature: They only offend our most equitable judges, who think beyond +them; and lively images and elocution are never to be forgiven. + +What fustian, as they call it, have I heard these gentlemen find out +in Mr Cowley's Odes! I acknowledge myself unworthy to defend so +excellent an author, neither have I room to do it here; only in +general I will say, that nothing can appear more beautiful to me, than +the strength of those images which they condemn. + +Imaging is, in itself, the very height and life of poetry. It is, as +Longinus describes it, a discourse, which, by a kind of enthusiasm, or +extraordinary emotion of the soul, makes it seem to us, that we behold +those things which the poet paints, so as to be pleased with them, and +to admire them. + +If poetry be imitation, that part of it must needs be best, which +describes most lively our actions and passions; our virtues and our +vices; our follies and our humours: For neither is comedy without its +part of imaging; and they who do it best are certainly the most +excellent in their kind. This is too plainly proved to be denied: But +how are poetical fictions, how are hippocentaurs and chimeras, or how +are angels and immaterial substances to be imaged; which, some of +them, are things quite out of nature; others, such whereof we can have +no notion? This is the last refuge of our adversaries; and more than +any of them have yet had the wit to object against us. The answer is +easy to the first part of it: The fiction of some beings which are not +in nature, (second notions, as the logicians call them) has been +founded on the conjunction of two natures, which have a real separate +being. So hippocentaurs were imaged, by joining the natures of a man +and horse together; as Lucretius tells us, who has used this word of +_image_ oftener than any of the poets: + + _Nam certč ex vivo centauri non fit imago, + Nulla fuit quoniam talis natura animai: + Verłm ubi equi atque hominis, casu, convenit imago, + Hęrescit facilč extemplņ,_ &c. + +The same reason may also be alleged for chimeras and the rest. And +poets may be allowed the like liberty, for describing things which +really exist not, if they are founded on popular belief. Of this +nature are fairies, pigmies, and the extraordinary effects of magic; +for it is still an imitation, though of other men's fancies: and thus +are Shakespeare's "Tempest," his "Midsummer Night's Dream," and Ben +Jonson's "Masque of Witches" to be defended. For immaterial +substances, we are authorised by Scripture in their description: and +herein the text accommodates itself to vulgar apprehension, in giving +angels the likeness of beautiful young men. Thus, after the pagan +divinity, has Homer drawn his gods with human faces: and thus we have +notions of things above us, by describing them like other beings more +within our knowledge. + +I wish I could produce any one example of excellent imaging in all +this poem. Perhaps I cannot; but that which comes nearest it, is in +these four lines, which have been sufficiently canvassed by my +well-natured censors: + + Seraph and cherub, careless of their charge, + And wanton, in full ease now live at large: + Unguarded leave the passes of the sky, + And all dissolved in hallelujahs lie. + +I have heard (says one of them) of anchovies _dissolved_ in sauce; but +never of an angel _in hallelujahs._ A mighty witticism! (if you will +pardon a new word,) but there is some difference between a laugher and +a critic. He might have burlesqued Virgil too, from whom I took the +image. _Invadunt urbem, somno vinoque sepultam._ A city's being +buried, is just as proper on occasion, as an angel's being dissolved +in ease, and songs of triumph. Mr Cowley lies as open too in many +places: + + Where their vast courts the mother waters keep, &c. + +For if the mass of waters be the mothers, then their daughters, the +little streams, are bound, in all good manners, to make courtesy to +them, and ask them blessing. How easy it is to turn into ridicule the +best descriptions, when once a man is in the humour of laughing, till +he wheezes at his own dull jest! but an image, which is strongly and +beautifully set before the eyes of the reader, will still be poetry, +when the merry fit is over, and last when the other is forgotten. + +I promised to say somewhat of Poetic Licence, but have in part +anticipated my discourse already. Poetic Licence, I take to be the +liberty which poets have assumed to themselves, in all ages, of +speaking things in verse, which are beyond the severity of prose. It +is that particular character, which distinguishes and sets the bounds +betwixt _oratio soluta_, and poetry. This, as to what regards the +thought, or imagination of a poet, consists in fiction: but then those +thoughts must be expressed; and here arise two other branches of it; +for if this licence be included in a single word, it admits of tropes; +if in a sentence or proposition, of figures; both which are of a much +larger extent, and more forcibly to be used in verse than prose. This +is that birth-right which is derived to us from our great forefathers, +even from Homer down to Ben; and they, who would deny it to us, have, +in plain terms, the fox's quarrel to the grapes--they cannot reach it. + +How far these liberties are to be extended, I will not presume to +determine here, since Horace does not. But it is certain that they are +to be varied, according to the language and age in which an author +writes. That which would be allowed to a Grecian poet, Martial tells +you, would not be suffered in a Roman; and it is evident, that the +English does more nearly follow the strictness of the latter, than the +freedoms of the former. Connection of epithets, or the conjunction of +two words in one, are frequent and elegant in the Greek, which yet Sir +Philip Sidney, and the translator of Du Bartas, have unluckily +attempted in the English; though this, I confess, is not so proper an +instance of poetic licence, as it is of variety of idiom in languages. + +Horace a little explains himself on this subject of _Licentia +Poetica_, in these verses: + + _--Pictoribus atque Poetis + Quidlibet audendi semper fuit ęqua potestas: ... + Sed non, ut placidis coeant immitia, non ut + Serpentes avibus geminentur, tigribus hędi._ + +He would have a poem of a piece; not to begin with one thing, and end +with another: He restrains it so far, that thoughts of an unlike +nature ought not to be joined together. That were indeed to make a +chaos. He taxed not Homer, nor the divine Virgil, for interesting +their gods in the wars of Troy and Italy; neither, had he now lived, +would he have taxed Milton, as our false critics have presumed to do, +for his choice of a supernatural argument; but he would have blamed my +author, who was a Christian, had he introduced into his poem heathen +deities, as Tasso is condemned by Rapin on the like occasion; and as +Camoėns, the author of the "Lusiads," ought to be censured by all his +readers, when he brings in Bacchus and Christ into the same adventure +of his fable. + +From that which has been said, it may be collected, that the +definition of wit (which has been so often attempted, and ever +unsuccessfully by many poets,) is only this: That it is a propriety of +thoughts and words; or, in other terms, thoughts and words elegantly +adapted to the subject. If our critics will join issue on this +definition, that we may _convenire in aliquo tertio_; if they will +take it as a granted principle, it will be easy to put an end to this +dispute. No man will disagree from another's judgment concerning the +dignity of style in heroic poetry; but all reasonable men will +conclude it necessary, that sublime subjects ought to be adorned with +the sublimest, and consequently often, with the most figurative +expressions. In the mean time I will not run into their fault of +imposing my opinions on other men, any more than I would my writings +on their taste: I have only laid down, and that superficially enough, +my present thoughts; and shall be glad to be taught better by those +who pretend to reform our poetry. + + +Footnote: +1. With all this mitigation, the passage seems horrible bombast. + + + + + THE + + STATE OF INNOCENCE, + + AND + + FALL OF MAN. + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_Represents a Chaos, or a confused Mass of Matter; the Stage + is almost wholly dark: A Symphony of warlike Music is heard for some + time; then from the Heavens, (which are opened) fall the rebellious + Angels, wheeling in Air, and seeming transfixed with Thunderbolts: + The bottom of the Stage being opened, receives the Angels, who fall + out of sight. Tunes of Victory are played, and an Hymn sung; Angels + discovered above, brandishing their Swords: The Music ceasing, and + the Heavens being closed, the Scene shifts, and on a sudden + represents Hell: Part of the Scene is a Lake of Brimstone, or + rolling Fire; the Earth of a burnt Colour: The fallen Angels appear + on the Lake, lying prostrate; a Tune of Horror and Lamentation is + heard._ + + LUCIFER, _raising himself on the Lake._ + +_Lucif._ Is this the seat our conqueror has given? +And this the climate we must change for heaven? +These regions and this realm my wars have got; +This mournful empire is the loser's lot: +In liquid burnings, or on dry, to dwell, +Is all the sad variety of hell. +But see, the victor has recalled, from far, +The avenging storms, his ministers of war: +His shafts are spent, and his tired thunders sleep, +Nor longer bellow through the boundless deep. +Best take the occasion, and these waves forsake, +While time is given.--Ho, Asmoday, awake, +If thou art he! But ah! how changed from him, +Companion of my arms! how wan! how dim! +How faded all thy glories are! I see +Myself too well, and my own change in thee. + +_Asm._ Prince of the thrones, who in the fields of light +Led'st forth the embattled seraphim to fight; +Who shook the power of heaven's eternal state, +Had broke it too, if not upheld by fate; +But now those hopes are fled: Thus low we lie, +Shut from his day, and that contended sky, +And lost, as far as heavenly forms can die; +Yet, not all perished: We defy him still, +And yet wage war, with our unconquered will. + +_Lucif._ Strength may return. + +_Asm._ Already of thy virtue I partake, +Erected by thy voice. + +_Lucif._ See on the lake +Our troops, like scattered leaves in autumn, lie; +First let us raise ourselves, and seek the dry, +Perhaps more easy dwelling. + +_Asm._ From the beach +Thy well-known voice the sleeping gods will reach, +And wake the immortal sense, which thunder's noise +Had quelled, and lightning deep had driven within them. + +_Lucif._ With wings expanded wide, ourselves we'll rear, +And fly incumbent on the dusky air.-- +Hell, thy new lord receive! +Heaven cannot envy me an empire here. [_Both fly to dry Land._ + +_Asm._ Thus far we have prevailed; if that be gain, +Which is but change of place, not change of pain. +Now summon we the rest. + +_Lucif._ Dominions, Powers, ye chiefs of heaven's bright host, +(Of heaven, once your's; but now in battle lost) +Wake from your slumber! Are your beds of down? +Sleep you so easy there? Or fear the frown +Of him who threw you hence, and joys to see +Your abject state confess his victory? +Rise, rise, ere from his battlements he view +Your prostrate postures, and his bolts renew, +To strike you deeper down. + +_Asm._ They wake, they hear, +Shake off their slumber first, and next their fear; +And only for the appointed signal stay. + +_Lucif._ Rise from the flood, and hither wing your way. + +_Mol._ [_From the Lake._] +Thine to command; our part is to obey. + [_The rest of the Devils rise up, and fly to the + Land._ + +_Lucif._ So, now we are ourselves again an host, +Fit to tempt fate, once more, for what we lost; +To o'erleap the etherial fence, or if so high +We cannot climb, to undermine his sky, +And blow him up, who justly rules us now, +Because more strong: Should he be forced to bow. +The right were ours again: 'Tis just to win +The highest place; to attempt, and fail, is sin. + +_Mol._ Changed as we are, we're yet from homage free; +We have, by hell, at least gained liberty: +That's worth our fall; thus low though we are driven, +Better to rule in hell, than serve in heaven. + +_Lucif._ There spoke the better half of Lucifer! + +_Asm._ 'Tis fit in frequent senate we confer, +And then determine how to steer our course; +To wage new war by fraud, or open force. +The doom's now past; submission were in vain. + +_Mol._ And were it not, such baseness I disdain; +I would not stoop, to purchase all above, +And should contemn a power, whom prayer could move, +As one unworthy to have conquered me. + +_Beelzebub._ Moloch, in that all are resolved, like thee. +The means are unproposed; but 'tis not fit +Our dark divan in public view should sit; +Or what we plot against the Thunderer, +The ignoble crowd of vulgar devils hear. + +_Luci._ A golden palace let be raised on high; +To imitate? No, to outshine the sky! +All mines are ours, and gold above the rest: +Let this be done; and quick as 'twas exprest. + + _A Palace rises, where sit, as in council,_ LUCIFER, ASMODAY, + MOLOCH, BELIAL, BEELZEBUB, _and_ SATAN. + +Most high and mighty lords, who better fell +From heaven, to rise states-general of hell, +Nor yet repent, though ruined and undone, +Our upper provinces already won, +Such pride there is in souls created free, +Such hate of universal monarchy; +Speak, for we therefore meet: +If peace you chuse, your suffrages declare; +Or means propound, to carry on the war. + +_Mol._ My sentence is for war; that open too: +Unskilled in stratagems, plain force I know: +Treaties are vain to losers; nor would we, +Should heaven grant peace, submit to sovereignty. +We can no caution give we will adore; +And he above is warned to trust no more. +What then remains but battle? + +_Satan._ I agree +With this brave vote; and if in hell there be +Ten more such spirits, heaven is our own again: +We venture nothing, and may all obtain. +Yet who can hope but well, since even success +Makes foes secure, and makes our danger less? +Seraph and cherub, careless of their charge, +And wanton, in full ease now live at large; +Unguarded leave the passes of the sky, +And all dissolved in hallelujahs lie. + +_Mol._ Grant that our hazardous attempt prove vain; +We feel the worst, secured from greater pain: +Perhaps we may provoke the conquering foe +To make us nothing; yet, even then, we know, +That not to be, is not to be in woe. + +_Belial._ That knowledge which, as spirits, we obtain, +Is to be valued in the midst of pain: +Annihilation were to lose heaven more; +We are not quite exiled where thought can soar. +Then cease from arms; +Tempt him not farther to pursue his blow, +And be content to bear those pains we know. +If what we had, we could not keep, much less +Can we regain what those above possess. + +_Beelzebub._ Heaven sleeps not; from one wink a breach would be +In the full circle of eternity. +Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased; +Heaven, unprovoked, at length may be appeased. +By war we cannot scape our wretched lot; +And may, perhaps, not warring, be forgot. + +_Asm._ Could we repent, or did not heaven well know +Rebellion, once forgiven, would greater grow, +I should, with Belial, chuse ignoble ease; +But neither will the conqueror give peace, +Nor yet so lost in this low state we are, +As to despair of a well-managed war. +Nor need we tempt those heights which angels keep, +Who fear no force, or ambush, from the deep. +What if we find some easier enterprise? +There is a place,--if ancient prophecies +And fame in heaven not err,--the blest abode +Of some new race, called Man, a demi-god, +Whom, near this time, the Almighty must create; +He swore it, shook the heavens, and made it fate. + +_Lucif._ I heard it; through all heaven the rumour ran, +And much the talk of this intended Man: +Of form divine; but less in excellence +Than we; endued with reason lodged in sense: +The soul pure fire, like ours, of equal force; +But, pent in flesh, must issue by discourse: +We see what is; to Man truth must be brought +By sense, and drawn by a long chain of thought: +By that faint light, to will and understand; +For made less knowing, he's at more command. + +_Asm._ Though heaven be shut, that world, if it be made, +As nearest heaven, lies open to invade: +Man therefore must be known, his strength, his state, +And by what tenure he holds all of fate. +Him let us then seduce, or overthrow; +The first is easiest, and makes heaven his foe. +Advise, if this attempt be worth our care. + +_Belial._ Great is the advantage, great the hazards are. +Some one (but who that task dares undertake?) +Of this new creature must discovery make. +Hell's brazen gates he first must break, then far +Must wander through old night, and through the war +Of antique chaos; and, when these are past, +Meet heaven's out-guards, who scout upon the waste: +At every station must be bid to stand, +And forced to answer every strict demand. + +_Mol._ This glorious enterprise-- [_Rising up._ + +_Lucif._ Rash angel, stay; + [_Rising, and laying his sceptre on_ MOLOCH'S + _head._ +That palm is mine, which none shall take away. +Hot braves, like thee, may fight; but know not well +To manage this, the last great stake of hell. +Why am I ranked in state above the rest, +If, while I stand of sovereign power possest, +Another dares, in danger, farther go? +Kings are not made for ease, and pageant-show. +Who would be conqueror, must venture all: +He merits not to rise, who dares not fall. + +_Asm._ The praise, and danger, then, be all your own. + +_Lucif._ On this foundation I erect my throne: +Through brazen gates, vast chaos, and old night, +I'll force my way, and upwards steer my flight; +Discover this new world, and newer Man; +Make him my footstep to mount heaven again: +Then, in the clemency of upward air, +We'll scour our spots, and the dire thunder scar, +With all the remnants of the unlucky war, +And once again grow bright, and once again grow fair. + +_Asm._ Meantime the youth of hell strict guard may keep, +And set their centries to the utmost deep, +That no etherial parasite may come +To spy our ills, and tell glad tales at home. + +_Lucif._ Before yon brimstone lake thrice ebb and flow, +(Alas, that we must measure time by woe!) +I shall return, (my mind presages well) +And outward lead the colonies of hell. +Your care I much approve; what time remains, +Seek to forget, at least divert your pains +With sports and music, in the vales and fields, +And whate'erjoy so sad a climate yields. + + _Betwixt the first Act and the second, while the Chiefs sit in the + palace, may be expressed the sports of the Devils; as flights, and + dancing in grotesque figures: And a song, expressing the change of + their condition; what they enjoyed before, and how they fell bravely + in battle, having deserved victory by their valour, and what they + would have done if they had conquered._ + + +ACT II. + +SCENE 1.--_A Champaign Country._ + + ADAM, _as newly created, laid on a bed of moss and flowers, by a + rock._ + +_Adam._ What am I? or from whence? For that I am [_Rising._ +I know, because I think; but whence I came, +Or how this frame of mine began to be, +What other being can disclose to me? +I move, I see, I speak, discourse, and know; +Though now I am, I was not always so. +Then that, from which I was, must be before, +Whom, as my spring of being, I adore. +How full of ornament is all I view, +In all its parts! and seems as beautiful as new: +O goodly-ordered work! O Power Divine, +Of thee I am, and what I am is thine! + + RAPHAEL _descends to_ ADAM, _in a cloud._ + +_Raphael._ First of mankind, made o'er the world to reign, +Whose fruitful loins an unborn kind contain, +Well hast thou reasoned: Of himself is none +But that Eternal Infinite and One, +Who never did begin, who ne'er can end; +On Him all beings, as their source, depend. +We first, who of his image most partake, +Whom he all spirit, immortal, pure, did make; +Man next; whose race, exalted, must supply +The place of those, who, falling, lost the sky. + +_Adam._ Bright minister of heaven, sent here below +To me, who but begin to think and know; +If such could fall from bliss, who knew and saw, +By near admission, their creator's law, +What hopes have I, from heaven remote so far, +To keep those laws, unknowing when I err? + +_Raphael._ Right reason's law to every human heart +The Eternal, as his image, will impart: +This teaches to adore heaven's Majesty; +In prayer and praise does all devotion lie: +So doing, thou and all thy race are blest. + +_Adam._ Of every creeping thing, of bird, and beast, +I see the kinds: In pairs distinct they go; +The males their loves, their lovers females know: +Thou nam'st a race which must proceed from me, +Yet my whole species in myself I see: +A barren sex, and single, of no use, +But full of forms which I can ne'er produce. + +_Raphael._ Think not the Power, who made thee thus, can find +No way like theirs to propagate thy kind: +Meantime, live happy in thyself alone; +Like him who, single, fills the etherial throne. +To study nature will thy time employ: +Knowledge and innocence are perfect joy. + +_Adam._ If solitude were best, the All-wise above +Had made no creature for himself to love. +I add not to the power he had before; +Yet to make me, extends his goodness more. +He would not be alone, who all things can; +But peopled heaven with angels, earth with man. + +_Raphael._ As man and angels to the Deity, +So all inferior creatures are to thee. +Heaven's greatness no society can bear; +Servants he made, and those thou want'st not here. + +_Adam._ Why did he reason in my soul implant, +And speech, the effect of reason? To the mute, +My speech is lost; my reason to the brute. +Love and society more blessings bring +To them, the slaves, than power to me, their king. + +_Raphael._ Thus far to try thee; but to heaven 'twas known, +It was not best for man to be alone; +An equal, yet thy subject, is designed, +For thy soft hours, and to unbend thy mind. +Thy stronger soul shall her weak reason sway; +And thou, through love, her beauty shalt obey; +Thou shalt secure her helpless sex from harms, +And she thy cares shall sweeten with her charms. + +_Adam._ What more can heaven bestow, or man require? + +_Raphael._ Yes, he can give beyond thy own desire. +A mansion is provided thee, more fair +Than this, and worthy heaven's peculiar care: +Not framed of common earth, nor fruits, nor flowers +Of vulgar growth, but like celestial bowers: +The soil luxuriant, and the fruit divine, +Where golden apples on green branches shine, +And purple grapes dissolve into immortal wine; +For noon-day's heat are closer arbours made, +And for fresh evening air the opener glade. +Ascend; and, as we go, +More wonders thou shalt know. + +_Adam._ And, as we go, let earth and heaven above +Sound our great Maker's power, and greater love. + [_They ascend to soft music, and a song is sung._ + + _The Scene changes, and represents, above, a Sun gloriously rising + and moving orbicularly: at a distance, below, is the Moon; the part + next the Sun enlightened, the other dark. A black Cloud comes + whirling from the adverse part of the Heavens, bearing_ LUCIFER _in + it; at his nearer approach the body of the Sun is darkened._ + +_Lucif._ Am I become so monstrous, so disfigured, +That nature cannot suffer my approach, +Or look me in the face, but stands aghast; +And that fair light which gilds this new-made orb, +Shorn of his beams, shrinks in? accurst ambition! +And thou, black empire of the nether world, +How dearly have I bought you! But, 'tis past; +I have already gone too far to stop, +And must push on my dire revenge, in ruin +Of this gay frame, and man, my upstart rival, +In scorn of me created. Down, my pride, +And all my swelling thoughts! I must forget +Awhile I am a devil, and put on +A smooth submissive face; else I in vain +Have past through night and chaos, to discover +Those envied skies again, which I have lost. +But stay; far off I see a chariot driven, +Flaming with beams, and in it Uriel, +One of the seven, (I know his hated face) +Who stands in presence of the eternal throne, +And seems the regent of that glorious light. + + _From that part of the Heavens where the Sun appears, a Chariot is + discovered drawn with white Horses, and in it_ URIEL, _the Regent of + the Sun. The Chariot moves swiftly towards_ LUCIFER, _and at_ + URIEL'S _approach the Sun recovers his light._ + +_Uriel._ Spirit, who art thou, and from whence arrived? +(For I remember not thy face in heaven) +Or by command, or hither led by choice? +Or wander'st thou within this lucid orb, +And, strayed from those fair fields of light above, +Amidst this new creation want'st a guide, +To reconduct thy steps? + +_Lucifer._ Bright Uriel, +Chief of the seven! thou flaming minister, +Who guard'st this new-created orb of light, +(The world's eye that, and thou the eye of it) +Thy favour and high office make thee known: +An humble cherub I, and of less note, +Yet bold, by thy permission, hither come, +On high discoveries bent. + +_Uriel._ Speak thy design. + +_Lucifer._ Urged by renown of what I heard above, +Divulged by angels nearest heaven's high King, +Concerning this new world, I came to view +(If worthy such a favour) and admire +This last effect of our great Maker's power: +Thence to my wondering fellows I shall turn, +Full fraught with joyful tidings of these works, +New matter of his praise, and of our songs. + +_Uriel._ Thy business is not what deserves my blame, +Nor thou thyself unwelcome; see, fair spirit, +Below yon sphere (of matter not unlike it) +There hangs the ball of earth and water mixt, +Self-centered and unmoved. + +_Lucifer._ But where dwells man? + +_Uriel._ On yonder mount; thou see'st it fenced with rocks, +And round the ascent a theatre of trees, +A sylvan scene, which, rising by degrees, +Leads up the eye below, nor gluts the sight +With one full prospect, but invites by many, +To view at last the whole: There his abode, +Thither direct thy flight. + +_Lucifer._ O blest be thou, +Who to my low converse has lent thy ear, +And favoured my request! Hail, and farewell. + [_Flies downward out of sight._ + +_Uriel._ Not unobserved thou goest, whoe'er thou art; +Whether some spirit on holy purpose bent, +Or some fallen angel from below broke loose, +Who com'st, with envious eyes and curst intent, +To view this world and its created lord: +Here will I watch, and, while my orb rolls on, +Pursue from hence thy much suspected flight, +And, if disguised, pierce through with beams of light. + [_The Chariot drives forward out of sight._ + + +SCENE II.--_Paradise._ + + _Trees cut out on each side, with several Fruits upon them; a + Fountain in the midst: At the far end the prospect terminates in + Walks._ + +_Adam._ If this be dreaming, let me never wake; +But still the joys of that sweet sleep partake. +Methought--but why do I my bliss delay, +By thinking what I thought? Fair vision, stay; +My better half, thou softer part of me, +To whom I yield my boasted sovereignty, +I seek myself, and find not, wanting thee. [_Exit._ + + _Enter_ EVE. + +_Eve._ Tell me, ye hills and dales, and thou fair sun, +Who shin'st above, what am I? Whence begun? +Like myself, I see nothing: From each tree +The feathered kind peep down to look on me; +And beasts with up-cast eyes forsake their shade, +And gaze, as if I were to be obeyed. +Sure I am somewhat which they wish to be, +And cannot; I myself am proud of me. +What's here? another firmament below, [_Looks into a fountain._ +Spread wide, and other trees that downward grow! +And now a face peeps up, and now draws near, +With smiling looks, as pleased to see me here. +As I advance, so that advances too, +And seems to imitate whate'er I do: +When I begin to speak, the lips it moves; +Streams drown the voice, or it would say, it loves. +Yet when I would embrace, it will not stay: [_Stoops down to embrace._ +Lost ere 'tis held; when nearest, far away. +Ah, fair, yet false! ah, Being, formed to cheat, +By seeming kindness, mixt with deep deceit! + + _Enter_ ADAM. + +_Adam._ O virgin, heaven-begot, and born of man, +Thou fairest of thy great Creator's works! +Thee, goddess, thee the Eternal did ordain, +His softer substitute on earth to reign; +And, wheresoe'er thy happy footsteps tread, +Nature in triumph after thee is led! +Angels with pleasure view thy matchless grace, +And love their Maker's image in thy face. + +_Eve._ O, only like myself,(for nothing here +So graceful, so majestic does appear:) +Art thou the form my longing eyes did see, +Loosed from thy fountain, and come out to me? +Yet sure thou art not, nor thy face the same, +Nor thy limbs moulded in so soft a frame; +Thou look'st more sternly, dost more strongly move, +And more of awe thou bear'st, and less of love. +Yet pleased I hear thee, and above the rest, +I, next myself, admire and love thee best. + +_Adam._ Made to command, thus freely I obey, +And at thy feet the whole creation lay. +Pity that love thy beauty does beget; +What more I shall desire, I know not yet. +First let us locked in close embraces be, +Thence I, perhaps, may teach myself and thee. + +_Eve._ Somewhat forbids me, which I cannot name; +For, ignorant of guilt, I fear not shame: +But some restraining thought, I know not why, +Tells me, you long should beg, I long deny. + +_Adam._ In vain! my right to thee is sealed above; +Look round and see where thou canst place thy love: +All creatures else are much unworthy thee; +They matched, and thou alone art left for me. +If not to love, we both were made in vain; +I my new empire would resign again, +And change with my dumb slaves my nobler mind, +Who, void of reason, more of pleasure find. +Methinks, for me they beg; each silently +Demands thy grace, and seems to watch thy eye. + +_Eve._ I well foresee, whene'er thy suit I grant, +That I my much-loved sovereignty shall want: +Or like myself some other may be made, +And her new beauty may thy heart invade. + +_Adam._ Could heaven some greater master-piece devise, +Set out with all the glories of the skies, +That beauty yet in vain he should decree. +Unless he made another heart for me. + +_Eve._ With how much ease I, whom I love, believe! +Giving myself, my want of worth I grieve. +Here, my inviolable faith I plight, +So, thou be my defence, I, thy delight. [_Exeunt, he leading her._ + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_Paradise._ + + LUCIFER. + +_Lucif._ Fair place! yet what is this to heaven, where I +Sat next, so almost equalled the Most High? +I doubted, measuring both, who was more strong; +Then, willing to forget time since so long, +Scarce thought I was created: Vain desire +Of empire in my thoughts still shot me higher, +To mount above his sacred head: Ah why, +When he so kind, was so ungrateful I? +He bounteously bestowed unenvied good +On me: In arbitrary grace I stood: +To acknowledge this, was all he did exact; +Small tribute, where the will to pay was act. +I mourn it now, unable to repent, +As he, who knows my hatred to relent, +Jealous of power once questioned: Hope, farewell; +And with hope, fear; no depth below my hell +Can be prepared: Then, Ill, be thou my good; +And, vast destruction, be my envy's food. +Thus I, with heaven, divided empire gain; +Seducing man, I make his project vain, +And in one hour destroy his six days pain. +They come again, I must retire. + + _Enter_ ADAM _and_ EVE. + +_Adam._ Thus shall we live in perfect bliss, and see, +Deathless ourselves, our numerous progeny. +Thou young and beauteous, my desires to bless; +I, still desiring, what I still possess. + +_Eve._ Heaven, from whence love, our greatest blessing, came, +Can give no more, but still to be the same. +Thou more of pleasure may'st with me partake; +I, more of pride, because thy bliss I make. + +_Adam._ When to my arms thou brought'st thy virgin love, +Fair angels sung our bridal hymn above: +The Eternal, nodding, shook the firmament, +And conscious nature gave her glad consent. +Roses unbid, and every fragrant flower, +Flew from their stalks, to strew thy nuptial bower: +The furred and feathered kind the triumph did pursue, +And fishes leaped above the streams, the passing pomp to view. + +_Eve._ When your kind eyes looked languishing on mine, +And wreathing arms did soft embraces join, +A doubtful trembling seized me first all o'er; +Then, wishes; and a warmth, unknown before: +What followed was all ecstasy and trance; +Immortal pleasures round my swimming eyes did dance, +And speechless joys, in whose sweet tumult tost, +I thought my breath and my new being lost. + +_Lucif._ O death to hear! and a worse hell on earth! [_Aside._ +What mad profusion on this clod-born birth! +Abyss of joys, as if heaven meant to shew +What, in base matters, such a hand could do: +Or was his virtue spent, and he no more +With angels could supply the exhausted store, +Of which I swept the sky? +And wanting subjects to his haughty will, +On this mean work employed his trifling skill? + +_Eve._ Blest in ourselves, all pleasures else abound; +Without our care behold the unlaboured ground +Bounteous of fruit; above our shady bowers +The creeping jessamin thrusts her fragrant flowers; +The myrtle, orange, and the blushing rose, +With bending heaps so nigh their blooms disclose, +Each seems to swell the flavour which the other blows: +By these the peach, the guava, and the pine, +And, creeping 'twixt them all, the mantling vine +Does round their trunks her purple clusters twine. + +_Adam._ All these are ours, all nature's excellence, +Whose taste or smell can bless the feasted sense; +One only fruit, in the mid garden placed,-- +The Tree of Knowledge,--is denied our taste; +(Our proof of duty to our Maker's will:) +Of disobedience, death's the threatened ill. + +_Eve._ Death is some harm, which, though we know not yet, +Since threatened, we must needs imagine great: +And sure he merits it, who disobeys +That one command, and one of so much ease. + +_Lucif._ Must they then die, if they attempt to know? +He sees they would rebel, and keeps them low. +On this foundation I their ruin lay, +Hope to know more shall tempt to disobey. +I fell by this, and, since their strength is less, +Why should not equal means give like success? + +_Adam._ Come, my fair love, our morning's task we lose; +Some labour even the easiest life would chuse: +Ours is not great: the dangling boughs to crop, +Whose too luxuriant growth our alleys stop, +And choke the paths: This our delight requires, +And heaven no more of daily work desires. + +_Eve._ With thee to live, is paradise alone: +Without the pleasure of thy sight, is none. +I fear small progress will be made this day; +So much our kisses will our task delay. [_Exeunt._ + +_Lucif._ Why have not I, like these, a body too, +Formed for the same delights which they pursue! +I could (so variously my passions move) +Enjoy, and blast her in the act of love. +Unwillingly I hate such excellence; +She wronged me not; but I revenge the offence, +Through her, on heaven, whose thunder took away +My birth-right skies! Live happy whilst you may, +Blest pair; y'are not allowed another day! [_Exit._ + + GABRIEL _and_ ITHURIEL _descend, carried on bright clouds, and + flying cross each other, then light on the ground._ + +_Gab._ Ithuriel, since we two commissioned are +From heaven the guardians of this new made pair, +Each mind his charge; for, see, the night draws on, +And rising mists pursue the setting sun. + +_Ithu._ Blest is our lot to serve; our task we know: +To watch, lest any, from the abyss below +Broke loose, disturb their sleep with dreams; or worse, +Assault their beings with superior force. + [URIEL _flies down from the Sun._ + +_Uriel._ Gabriel, if now the watch be set, prepare, +With strictest guard, to shew thy utmost care. +This morning came a spirit, fair he seemed, +Whom, by his face, I some young cherub deemed; +Of man he much inquired, and where his place, +With shews of zeal to praise his Maker's grace; +But I, with watchful eyes, observed his flight, +And saw him on yon steepy mount alight; +There, as he thought, unseen, he laid aside +His borrowed mask, and re-assumed his pride: +I marked his looks, averse to heaven and good; +Dusky he grew, and long revolving stood +On some deep, dark design; thence shot with haste, +And o'er the mounds of Paradise he past: +By his proud port, he seemed the Prince of Hell; +And here he lurks in shades 'till night: Search well +Each grove and thicket, pry in every shape, +Lest, hid in some, the arch hypocrite escape. + +_Gab._ If any spirit come to invade, or scout +From hell, what earthy fence can keep him out? +But rest secure of this, he shall be found, +And taken, or proscribed this happy ground. + +_Ithu._ Thou to the east, I westward walk the round, +And meet we in the midst. + +_Uriel._ Heaven your design +Succeed; your charge requires you, and me mine. + [URIEL _flies forward out of sight; the two Angels + exeunt severally._ + + _A Night-piece of a pleasant Bower:_ ADAM _and_ EVE _asleep in it._ + + _Enter_ LUCIFER. + +_Lucif._ So, now they lie secure in love, and steep +Their sated senses in full draughts of sleep. +By what sure means can I their bliss invade? +By violence? No, for they are immortal made. +Their reason sleeps, but mimic fancy wakes, +Supplies her part, and wild ideas takes, +From words and things, ill sorted and misjoined; +The anarchy of thought, and chaos of the mind: +Hence dreams, confused and various, may arise; +These will I set before the woman's eyes; +The weaker she, and made my easier prey; +Vain shows and pomp the softer sex betray. + [LUCIFER _sits down by_ EVE, _and seems to whisper + in her ear._ + + _A Vision, where a tree rises loaden with fruit; four Spirits rise + with it, and draw a canopy out of the tree; other Spirits dance + about the tree in deformed shapes; after the dance an Angel enters, + with a Woman, habited like_ EVE. + +_Angel._ [_Singing._] +Look up, look up, and see, +What heaven prepares for thee; +Look up, and this fair fruit behold, +Ruddy it smiles, and rich with streaks of gold. +The loaded branches downward bend, +Willing they stoop, and thy fair hand attend. +Fair mother of mankind, make haste +And bless, and bless thy senses with the taste. + +_Woman._ No, 'tis forbidden; I +In tasting it shall die. + +_Angel._ Say, who enjoined this harsh command? + +_Woman._ 'Twas heaven; and who can heaven withstand? + +_Angel._ Why was it made so fair, why placed in sight? +Heaven is too good to envy man's delight. +See, we before thy face will try +What thou so fearest, and will not die. + [_The Angel takes the fruit, and gives to the Spirits + who danced; they immediately put off their deformed + shapes, and appear Angels._ + +_Angel._ [_Singing._] +Behold what a change on a sudden is here! +How glorious in beauty, how bright they appear! +Prom spirits deformed they are deities made, +Their pinions at pleasure the clouds can invade, + [_The Angel gives to the Woman, who eats._ +Till equal in honour they rise, +With him who commands in the skies; +Then taste without fear, and be happy and wise. + +_Woman._ Ah, now I believe! such a pleasure I find, +As enlightens my eyes, and enlivens my mind. + [_The Spirits, who are turned Angels, fly up when + they have tasted._ +I only repent, +I deferred my content. + +_Angel._ Now wiser experience has taught you to prove, +What a folly it is, +Out of fear to shun bliss. +To the joy that's forbidden we eagerly move; +It inhances the price, and increases the love. + +_Chorus of both._ To the joy, &c. + + _Two Angels descend; they take the Woman each by the hand, and fly + up with her out of sight. The Angel who sung, and the Spirits who + held the canopy, at the same instant sink down with the tree._ + + _Enter_ GABRIEL _and_ ITHURIEL _to_ LUCIFER, _who remains._ + +_Gab._ What art thou? speak thy name and thy intent. +Why here alone? and on what errand sent? +Not from above; no, thy wan looks betray +Diminished light, and eyes unused to day. + +_Lucif._ Not to know me, argues thyself unknown: +Time was, when, shining next the imperial throne, +I sat in awful state; while such as thou +Did in the ignoble crowd at distance bow. + +_Gab._ Think'st thou, vain spirit, thy glories are the same? +And seest not sin obscures thy god-like frame? +I know thee now by thy ungrateful pride, +That shews me what thy faded looks did hide, +Traitor to Him who made and set thee high, +And fool, that Power which formed thee to defy. + +_Lucif._ Go, slaves, return, and fawn in heaven again: +Seek thanks from him whose quarrel you maintain. +Vile wretches! of your servitude to boast; +You basely keep the place I bravely lost. + +_Ithu._ Freedom is choice of what we will and do: +Then blame not servants, who are freely so. +'Tis base not to acknowledge what we owe. + +_Lucif._ Thanks, howe'er due, proclaim subjection yet; +I fought for power to quit the upbraided debt. +Whoe'er expects our thanks, himself repays, +And seems but little, who can want our praise. + +_Gab._ What in us duty, shews not want in him; +Blest in himself alone, +To whom no praise we, by good deeds, can add; +Nor can his glory suffer from our bad. +Made for his use; yet he has formed us so, +We, unconstrained, what he commands us do. +So praise we him, and serve him freely best; +Thus thou, by choice, art fallen, and we are blest. + +_Ithu._ This, lest thou think thy plea, unanswered, good. +Our question thou evad'st: How didst thou dare +To break hell bounds, and near this human pair +In nightly ambush lie? + +_Lucif._ Lives there, who would not seek to force his way, +From pain to ease, from darkness to the day? +Should I, who found the means to 'scape, not dare +To change my sulphurous smoke for upper air? +When I, in fight, sustained your Thunderer, +And heaven on me alone spent half his war, +Think'st thou those wounds were light? Should I not seek +The clemency of some more temperate clime, +To purge my gloom; and, by the sun refined, +Bask in his beams, and bleach me in the wind? + +_Gab._ If pain to shun be all thy business here, +Methinks thy fellows the same course should steer. +Is their pain less, who yet behind thee stay? +Or thou less hardy to endure than they? + +_Lucif._ Nor one, nor t'other; but, as leaders ought, +I ventured first alone, first danger sought, +And first explored this new-created frame, +Which filled our dusky regions with its fame; +In hopes my fainting troops to settle here, +And to defend against your Thunderer, +This spot of earth; or nearer heaven repair, +And forage to his gates from middle air. + +_Ithu._ Fool! to believe thou any part canst gain +From Him, who could'st not thy first ground maintain. + +_Gab._ But whether that design, or one as vain, +To attempt the lives of these, first drew thee here, +Avoid the place, and never more appear +Upon this hallowed earth; else prove our might. + +_Lucif._ Not that I fear, do I decline the fight: +You I disdain; let me with Him contend, +On whom your limitary powers depend. +More honour from the sender than the sent: +Till then, I have accomplished my intent; +And leave this place, which but augments my pain, +Gazing to wish, yet hopeless to obtain. [_Exit, they following him._ + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I.--_Paradise._ + + ADAM _and_ EVE. + +_Adam._ Strange was your dream, and full of sad portent; +Avert it, heaven, if it from heaven were sent! +Let on thy foes the dire presages fall; +To us be good and easy, when we call. + +_Eve._ Behold from far a breaking cloud appears, +Which in it many winged warriors bears: +Their glory shoots upon my aching sense; +Thou, stronger, mayest endure the flood of light, +And while in shades I chear my fainting sight, +Encounter the descending Excellence. [_Exit._ + + _The Cloud descends with six Angels in it, and when it is near the + ground, breaks, and on each side discovers six more: They descend + out of the Cloud._ RAPHAEL _and_ GABRIEL _discourse with_ ADAM, _the + rest stand at a distance._ + +_Raph._ First of mankind, that we from heaven are sent, +Is from heaven's care thy ruin to prevent. +The Apostate Angel has by night been here, +And whispered through thy sleeping consort's ear +Delusive dreams. Thus warned by us, beware, +And guide her frailty by thy timely care. + +_Gab._ These, as thy guards from outward harms, are sent; +Ills from within thy reason must prevent. + +_Adam._ Natives of heaven, who in compassion deign +To want that place where joys immortal reign, +In care of me; what praises can I pay, +Descended in obedience; taught to obey? + +_Raph._ Praise Him alone, who god-like formed thee free, +With will unbounded as a deity; +Who gave thee reason, as thy aid, to chuse +Apparent good, and evil to refuse. +Obedience is that good; this heaven exacts, +And heaven, all-just, from man requires not acts, +Which man wants power to do: Power then is given +Of doing good, but not compelled by heaven. + +_Gab._ Made good, that thou dost to thy Maker owe; +But to thyself, if thou continuest so. + +_Adam._ Freedom of will of all good things is best; +But can it be by finite man possest? +I know not how heaven can communicate +What equals man to his Creator's state. + +_Raph._ Heaven cannot give his boundless power away, +But boundless liberty of choice he may; +So orbs from the first Mover motion take, +Yet each their proper revolutions make. + +_Adam._ Grant heaven could once have given us liberty; +Are we not bounded now, by firm decree, +Since whatsoe'er is pre-ordained must be? +Else heaven for man events might pre-ordain, +And man's free will might make those orders vain. + +_Gab._ The Eternal, when he did the world create, +All other agents did necessitate: +So what he ordered, they by nature do; +Thus light things mount, and heavy downward go. +Man only boasts an arbitrary state. + +_Adam._ Yet causes their effects necessitate +In willing agents: Where is freedom then? +Or who can break the chain which limits men +To act what is unchangeably forecast, +Since the first cause gives motion to the last? + +_Raph._ Heaven, by fore-knowing what will surely be, +Does only, first, effects in causes see, +And finds, but does not make, necessity. +Creation is of power and will the effect, +Foreknowledge only of his intellect. +His prescience makes not, but supposes things; +Infers necessity to be, not brings. +Thus thou art not constrained to good or ill; +Causes, which work the effect, force not the will. + +_Adam._ The force unseen, and distant, I confess; +But the long chain makes not the bondage less. +Even man himself may to himself seem free; +And think that choice, which is necessity. + +_Gab._ And who but man should judge of man's free state? + +_Adam._ I find that I can chuse to love or hate, +Obey or disobey, do good or ill; +Yet such a choice is but consent, not will. +I can but chuse what he at first designed, +For he, before that choice, my will confined. + +_Gab._ Such impious fancies, where they entrance gain, +Make heaven, all-pure, thy crimes to pre-ordain. + +_Adam._ Far, far from me be banished such a thought, +I argue only to be better taught. +Can there be freedom, when what now seems free +Was founded on some first necessity? +For whate'er cause can move the will t'elect, +Must be sufficient to produce the effect; +And what's sufficient must effectual be: +Then how is man, thus forced by causes, free? + +_Raph._ Sufficient causes only work the effect, +When necessary agents they respect. +Such is not man; who, though the cause suffice, +Yet often he his free assent denies. + +_Adam._ What causes not, is not sufficient still. + +_Gab._ Sufficient in itself; not in thy will. + +_Raph._ When we see causes joined to effects at last, +The chain but shews necessity that's past. +That what's done is: (ridiculous proof of fate!) +Tell me which part it does necessitate? +I'll cruise the other; there I'll link the effect. +O chain, which fools, to catch themselves, project! + +_Adam._ Though no constraint from heaven, or causes, be, +Heaven may prevent that ill he does foresee; +And, not preventing, though he does not cause, +He seems to will that men should break his laws. + +_Gab._ Heaven may permit, but not to ill consent; +For, hindering ill, he would all choice prevent. +'Twere to unmake, to take away the will. + +_Adam._ Better constrained to good, than free to ill. + +_Raph._ But what reward or punishment could be, +If man to neither good nor ill were free? +The eternal justice could decree no pain +To him whose sins itself did first ordain; +And good, compelled, could no reward exact: +His power would shine in goodness, not thy act. +Our task is done: Obey; and, in that choice, +Thou shalt be blest, and angels shall rejoice. + [RAPHAEL _and_ GABRIEL _fly up in the Cloud: + the other Angels go off._ + +_Adam._ Hard state of life! since heaven foreknows my will, +Why am I not tied up from doing ill? +Why am I trusted with myself at large, +When he's more able to sustain the charge? +Since angels fell, whose strength was more than mine, +'Twould show more grace my frailty to confine. +Fore-knowing the success, to leave me free, +Excuses him, and yet supports not me. + + _To him_ EVE. + +_Eve._ Behold, my heart's dear lord, how high the sun +Is mounted, yet our labour not begun. +The ground, unhid, gives more than we can ask; +But work is pleasure when we chuse our task. +Nature, not bounteous now, but lavish grows; +Our paths with flowers she prodigally strows; +With pain we lift up our entangled feet, +While cross our walks the shooting branches meet. + +_Adam._ Well has thy care advised; 'tis fit we haste; +Nature's too kind, and follows us too fast; +Leaves us no room her treasures to possess, +But mocks our industry with her excess; +And, wildly wanton, wears by night away +The sign of all our labours done by day. + +_Eve._ Since, then, the work's so great, the hands so few, +This day let each a several task pursue. +By thee, my hands to labour will not move, +But, round thy neck, employ themselves in love. +When thou would'st work, one tender touch, one smile +(How can I hold?) will all thy task beguile. + +_Adam._ So hard we are not to our labour tied, +That smiles, and soft endearments are denied; +Smiles, not allowed to beasts, from reason move, +And are the privilege of human love: +And if, sometimes, each others eyes we meet, +Those little vacancies from toil are sweet. +But you, by absence, would refresh your joys, +Because perhaps my conversation cloys. +Yet this, would prudence grant, I could permit. + +_Eve._ What reason makes my small request unfit? + +_Adam._ The fallen archangel, envious of our state, +Pursues our beings with immortal hate; +And, hopeless to prevail by open force, +Seeks hid advantage to betray us worse; +Which when asunder will not prove so hard; +For both together are each other's guard. + +_Eve._ Since he, by force, is hopeless to prevail, +He can by fraud alone our minds assail: +And to believe his wiles my truth can move, +Is to misdoubt my reason, or my love. + +_Adam._ Call it my care, and not mistrust of thee; +Yet thou art weak, and full of art is he; +Else how could he that host seduce to sin, +Whose fall has left the heavenly nation thin? + +_Eve._ I grant him armed with subtilty and hate; +But why should we suspect our happy state? +Is our perfection of so frail a make, +As every plot can undermine or shake? +Think better both of heaven, thyself, and me: +Who always fears, at ease can never be. +Poor state of bliss, where so much care is shown, +As not to dare to trust ourselves alone! + +_Adam._ Such is our state, as not exempt from fall; +Yet firm, if reason to our aid we call: +And that, in both, is stronger than in one; +I would not,--why would'st thou, then, be alone? + +_Eve._ Because, thus warned, I know myself secure, +And long my little trial to endure, +To approve my faith, thy needless fears remove, +Gain thy esteem, and so deserve thy love. +If all this shake not thy obdurate will, +Know that, even present, I am absent still: +And then what pleasure hop'st thou in my stay, +When I'm constrained, and wish myself away? + +_Adam._ Constraint does ill with love and beauty suit; +I would persuade, but not be absolute. +Better be much remiss, than too severe; +If pleased in absence thou wilt still be here. +Go; in thy native innocence proceed, +And summon all thy reason at thy need. + +_Eve._ My soul, my eyes delight! in this I find +Thou lov'st; because to love is to be kind. [_Embracing him._ +Seeking my trial, I am still on guard: +Trials, less sought, would find us less prepared. +Our foe's too proud the weaker to assail, +Or doubles his dishonour if he fail. [_Exit._ + +_Adam._ In love, what use of prudence can there be? +More perfect I, and yet more powerful she. +Blame me not, heaven; if thou love's power hast tried, +What could be so unjust to be denied? +One look of hers my resolution breaks; +Reason itself turns folly when she speaks: +And awed by her, whom it was made to sway, +Flatters her power, and does its own betray. [_Exit._ + + _The middle part of the Garden is represented, where four Rivers + meet: On the right side of the Scene is placed the Tree of Life; on + the left, the Tree of Knowledge._ + + _Enter_ LUCIFER. + +_Lucif._ Methinks the beauties of this place should mourn; +The immortal fruits and flowers, at my return, +Should hang their withered heads; for sure my breath +Is now more poisonous, and has gathered death +Enough, to blast the whole creation's frame. +Swoln with despite, with sorrow, and with shame, +Thrice have I beat the wing, and rode with night +About the world, behind the globe of light, +To shun the watch of heaven; such care I use: +(What pains will malice, raised like mine, refuse? +Not the most abject form of brutes to take.) +Hid in the spiry volumes of the snake, +I lurked within the covert of a brake, +Not yet descried. But see, the woman here +Alone! beyond my hopes! no guardian near. +Good omen that: I must retire unseen, +And, with my borrowed shape, the work begin. [_Retires._ + + _Enter_ EVE. + +_Eve._ Thus far, at least, with leave; nor can it be +A sin to look on this celestial tree: +I would not more; to touch, a crime may prove: +Touching is a remoter taste in love. +Death may be there, or poison in the smell, +(If death in any thing so fair can dwell:) +But heaven forbids: I could be satisfied, +Were every tree but this, but this denied. + + _A Serpent enters on the Stage, and makes directly to the Tree of + Knowledge, on which winding himself, he plucks an Apple; then + descends, and carries it away._ + +Strange sight! did then our great Creator grant +That privilege, which we, their masters, want, +To these inferior brings? Or was it chance? +And was he blest with bolder ignorance? +I saw his curling crest the trunk enfold: +The ruddy fruit, distinguished o'er with gold. +And smiling in its native wealth, was torn +From the rich bough, and then in triumph borne: +The venturous victor marched unpunished hence, +And seemed to boast his fortunate offence. + + _To her_ LUCIFER, _in a human Shape._ + +_Lucif._ Hail, sovereign of this orb! formed to possess +The world, and, with one look, all nature bless. +Nature is thine; thou, empress, dost bestow +On fruits, to blossom; and on flowers, to blow. +They happy, yet insensible to boast +Their bliss: More happy they who know thee most. +Then happiest I, to human reason raised, +And voice, with whose first accents thou art praised. + +_Eve._ What art thou, or from whence? For on this ground, +Beside my lord's, ne'er heard I human sound. +Art thou some other Adam, formed from earth, +And comest to claim an equal share, by birth, +In this fair field? Or sprung of heavenly race? + +_Lucif._ An humble native of this happy place, +Thy vassal born, and late of lowest kind, +Whom heaven neglecting made, and scarce designed, +But threw me in, for number, to the rest, +Below the mounting bird and grazing beast; +By chance, not prudence, now superior grown. + +_Eve._ To make thee such, what miracle was shown? + +_Lucif._ Who would not tell what thou vouchsaf'st to hear? +Sawest thou not late a speckled serpent rear +His gilded spires to climb on yon' fair tree? +Before this happy minute I was he. + +_Eve._ Thou speak'st of wonders: Make thy story plain. + +_Lucif._ Not wishing then, and thoughtless to obtain +So great a bliss, but led by sense of good, +Inborn to all, I sought my needful food: +Then, on that heavenly tree my sight I cast; +The colour urged my eye, the scent my taste. +Not to detain thee long,--I took, did eat: +Scarce had my palate touched the immortal meat, +But, on a sudden, turned to what I am, +God-like, and, next to thee, I fair became; +Thought, spake, and reasoned; and, by reason found +Thee, nature's queen, with all her graces crowned. + +_Eve._ Happy thy lot; but far unlike is mine: +Forbid to eat, not daring to repine. +'Twas heaven's command; and should we disobey, +What raised thy being, ours must take away. + +_Lucif._ Sure you mistake the precept, or the tree: +Heaven cannot envious of his blessings be. +Some chance-born plant he might forbid your use, +As wild, or guilty of a deadly juice; +Not this, whose colour, scent divine, and taste, +Proclaim the thoughtful Maker not in haste. + +_Eve._ By all these signs, too well I know the fruit, +And dread a Power severe and absolute. + +_Lucif._ Severe, indeed; even to injustice hard; +If death, for knowing more, be your reward: +Knowledge of good, is good, and therefore fit; +And to know ill, is good, for shunning it. + +_Eve._ What, but our good, could he design in this, +Who gave us all, and placed in perfect bliss? + +_Lucif._ Excuse my zeal, fair sovereign, in your cause, +Which dares to tax his arbitrary laws. +'Tis all his aim to keep you blindly low, +That servile fear from ignorance may flow: +We scorn to worship whom too well we know. +He knows, that, eating, you shall godlike be; +As wise, as fit to be adored, as he. +For his own interest he this law has given; +Such beauty may raise factions in his heaven. +By awing you he does possession keep, +And is too wise to hazard partnership. + +_Eve._ Alas, who dares dispute with him that right? +The Power, which formed us, must be infinite. + +_Luc._ Who told you how your form was first designed? +The sun and earth produce, of every kind, +Grass, flowers, and fruits; nay, living creatures too: +Their mould was base; 'twas more refined in you: +Where vital heat, in purer organs wrought, +Produced a nobler kind raised up to thought; +And that, perhaps, might his beginning be: +Something was first; I question if 'twere he. +But grant him first, yet still suppose him good, +Not envying those he made, immortal food. + +_Eve._ But death our disobedience must pursue. + +_Lucif._ Behold, in me, what shall arrive to you. +I tasted; yet I live: Nay, more; have got +A state more perfect than my native lot. +Nor fear this petty fault his wrath should raise: +Heaven rather will your dauntless virtue praise, +That sought, through threatened death, immortal good: +Gods are immortal only by their food. +Taste, and remove +What difference does 'twixt them and you remain; +As I gained reason, you shall godhead gain. + +_Eve._ He eats, and lives, in knowledge greater grown: [_Aside._ +Was death invented then for us alone? +Is intellectual food to man denied, +Which brutes have with so much advantage tried? +Nor only tried themselves, but frankly, more, +To me have offered their unenvied store? + +_Lucif._ Behold, and all your needless doubts remove; +View well this tree, (the queen of all the grove) +How vast her hole, how wide her arms are spread, +How high above the rest she shoots her head, +Placed in the midst: would heaven his work disgrace, +By planting poison in the happiest place? + +Haste; you lose time and godhead by delay. [_Plucking the fruit._ + +_Eve._ 'Tis done; I'll venture all, and disobey. [_Looking about her._ +Perhaps, far hid in heaven, he does not spy, +And none of all his hymning guards are nigh. +To my dear lord the lovely fruit I'll bear; +He, to partake my bliss, my crime shall share. [_Exit hastily._ + +_Lucif._ She flew, and thanked me not, for haste: 'Twas hard, +With no return such counsel to reward. +My work is done, or much the greater part; +She's now the tempter to ensnare his heart. +He, whose firm faith no reason could remove, +Will melt before that soft seducer, love. [_Exit._ + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I.--_Paradise._ + + EVE, _with a bough in her hand._ + +_Eve._ Methinks I tread more lightly on the ground; +My nimble feet from unhurt flowers rebound: +I walk in air, and scorn this earthly seat; +Heaven is my palace; this my base retreat. +Take me not, heaven, too soon; 'twill be unkind +To leave the partner of my bed behind. +I love the wretch; but stay, shall I afford +Him part? already he's too much my lord. +'Tis in my power to be a sovereign now; +And, knowing more, to make his manhood bow. +Empire is sweet; but how if heaven has spied? +If I should die, and He above provide +Some other Eve, and place her in my stead? +Shall she possess his love, when I am dead? +No; he shall eat, and die with me, or live: +Our equal crimes shall equal fortune give. + + _Enter_ ADAM. + +_Adam._ What joy, without your sight, has earth, in store! +While you were absent, Eden was no more. +Winds murmured through the leaves your long delay, +And fountains, o'er the pebbles, chid your stay: +But with your presence cheered, they cease to mourn, +And walks wear fresher green at your return. + +_Eve._ Henceforth you never shall have cause to chide; +No future absence shall our joys divide: +'Twas a short death my love ne'er tried before, +And therefore strange; but yet the cause was more. + +_Adam._ My trembling heart forebodes some ill; I fear +To ask that cause which I desire to hear. +What means that lovely fruit? what means, alas! +That blood, which flushes guilty in your face? +Speak--do not--yet, at last, I must be told. + +_Eve._ Have courage, then: 'tis manly to be bold. +This fruit--why dost thou shake? no death is nigh: +'Tis what I tasted first; yet do not die. + +_Adam._ Is it--(I dare not ask it all at first; +Doubt is some ease to those who fear the worst:) +Say, 'tis not-- + +_Eve._ 'Tis not what thou needst to fear: +What danger does in this fair fruit appear? +We have been cozened; and had still been so, +Had I not ventured boldly first to know. +Yet, not I first; I almost blush to say, +The serpent eating taught me first the way. +The serpent tasted, and the godlike fruit +Gave the dumb voice; gave reason to the brute. + +_Adam._ O fairest of all creatures, last and best +Of what heaven made, how art them dispossest +Of all thy native glories! fallen! decayed! +(Pity so rare a frame so frail was made) +Now cause of thy own ruin; and with thine, +(Ah, who can live without thee!) cause of mine. + +_Eve._ Reserve thy pity till I want it more: +I know myself much happier than before; +More wise, more perfect, all I wish to be, +Were I but sure, alas! of pleasing thee. + +_Adam._ You've shown, how much you my content design: +Yet, ah! would heaven's displeasure pass like mine! +Must I without you, then, in wild woods dwell? +Think, and but think, of what I loved so well? +Condemned to live with subjects ever mute; +A savage prince, unpleased, though absolute? + +_Eve._ Please then yourself with me, and freely taste, +Lest I, without you, should to godhead haste: +Lest, differing in degree, you claim too late +Unequal love, when 'tis denied by fate. + +_Adam._ Cheat not yourself with dreams of deity; +Too well, but yet too late, your crime I see: +Nor think the fruit your knowledge does improve; +But you have beauty still, and I have love. +Not cozened, I with choice my life resign: +Imprudence was your fault, but love was mine. + [_Takes the fruit and eats it._ + +_Eve._ O wondrous power of matchless love exprest! [_Embracing him._ +Why was this trial thine, of loving best? +I envy thee that lot; and could it be, +Would venture something more than death for thee. +Not that I fear, that death the event can prove; +Ware both immortal, while so well we love. + +_Adam._ Whate'er shall be the event, the lot is cast; +Where appetites are given, what sin to taste? +Or if a sin, 'tis but by precept such; +The offence so small, the punishment's too much. +To seek so soon his new-made world's decay: +Nor we, nor that, were fashioned for a day. + +_Eve._ Give to the winds thy fear of death, or ill; +And think us made but for each other's will. + +_Adam._ I will, at least, defer that anxious thought, +And death, by fear, shall not be nigher brought: +If he will come, let us to joys make haste; +Then let him seize us when our pleasure's past. +We'll take up all before; and death shall find +We have drained life, and left a void behind. [_Exeunt._ + + _Enter_ LUCIFER. + +_Lucif._ 'Tis done: +Sick Nature, at that instant, trembled round; +And mother Earth sighed, as she felt the wound. +Of how short durance was this new-made state! +How far more mighty than heaven's love, hell's hate! +His project ruined, and his king of clay: +He formed an empire for his foe to sway. +Heaven let him rule, which by his arms he got; +I'm pleased to have obtained the second lot. +This earth is mine; whose lord I made my thrall: +Annexing to my crown his conquered ball. +Loosed from the lakes my regions I will lead, +And o'er the darkened air black banners spread: +Contagious damps, from hence, shall mount above, +And force him to his inmost heaven's remove. + [_A clap of thunder is heard._ +He hears already, and I boast too soon; +I dread that engine which secured his throne. +I'll dive below his wrath, into the deep, +And waste that empire, which I cannot keep. [_Sinks down._ + + RAPHAEL _and_ GABRIEL _descend._ + +_Raph._ As much of grief as happiness admits +In heaven, on each celestial forehead sits: +Kindness for man, and pity for his fate, +May mix with bliss, and yet not violate. +Their heavenly harps a lower strain began; +And, in soft music, mourned the fall of man. + +_Gab._ I saw the angelic guards from earth ascend, +(Grieved they must now no longer man attend:) +The beams about their temples dimly shone; +One would have thought the crime had been their own. +The etherial people flocked for news in haste, +Whom they, with down-cast looks, and scarce saluting past: +While each did, in his pensive breast, prepare +A sad account of their successless care. + +_Raph._ The Eternal yet, in majesty severe, +And strictest justice, did mild pity bear: +Their deaths deferred; and banishment, (their doom,) +In penitence foreseen, leaves mercy room. + +_Gab._ That message is thy charge: Mine leads me hence; +Placed at the garden's gate, for its defence, +Lest man, returning, the blest place pollute, +And 'scape from death, by life's immortal fruit. + [_Another clap of thunder. Exeunt severally._ + + _Enter_ ADAM _and_ EVE, _affrighted._ + +_Adam._ In what dark cavern shall I hide my head? +Where seek retreat, now innocence is fled? +Safe in that guard, I durst even hell defy; +Without it, tremble now, when heaven is nigh. + +_Eve._ What shall we do? or where direct our flight? +Eastward, as far as I could cast my sight, +From opening heavens, I saw descending light. +Its glittering through the trees I still behold; +The cedar tops seem all to burn with gold. + +_Adam._ Some shape divine, whose beams I cannot bear! +Would I were hid, where light could not appear. +Deep into some thick covert would I run, +Impenetrable to the stars or sun, +And fenced from day, by night's eternal skreen; +Unknown to heaven, and to myself unseen. + +_Eve._ In vain: What hope to shun his piercing sight, +Who from dark chaos struck the sparks of light? + +_Adam._ These should have been your thoughts, when, parting hence, +You trusted to your guideless innocence. +See now the effects of your own wilful mind: +Guilt walks before us; death pursues behind. +So fatal 'twas to seek temptations out: +Most confidence has still most cause to doubt. + +_Eve._ Such might have been thy hap, alone assailed; +And so, together, might we both have failed. +Cursed vassalage of all my future kind! +First idolized, till love's hot fire be o'er, +Then slaves to those who courted us before. + +_Adam._ I counselled you to stay; your pride refused: +By your own lawless will you stand accused. + +_Eve._ Have you that privilege of only wise, +And would you yield to her you so despise? +You should have shown the authority you boast, +And, sovereign-like, my headlong will have crost: +Counsel was not enough to sway my heart; +An absolute restraint had been your part. + +_Adam._ Even such returns do they deserve to find, +When force is lawful, who are fondly kind. +Unlike my love; for when thy guilt I knew, +I shared the curse which did that crime pursue. +Hard fate of love! which rigour did forbear, +And now 'tis taxed, because 'twas not severe. + +_Eve._ You have yourself your kindness overpaid; +He ceases to oblige, who can upbraid. + +_Adam._ On women's virtue, who too much rely, +To boundless will give boundless liberty. +Restraint you will not brook; but think it hard +Your prudence is not trusted as your guard: +And, to yourselves so left, if ill ensues, +You first our weak indulgence will accuse. +Curst be that hour, +When, sated with my single happiness, +I chose a partner, to controul my bliss! +Who wants that reason which her will should sway, +And knows but just enough to disobey. + +_Eve._ Better with brutes my humble lot had gone; +Of reason void, accountable for none: +The unhappiest of creation is a wife, +Made lowest, in the highest rank of life: +Her fellow's slave; to know, and not to chuse: +Curst with that reason she must never use. + +_Adam._ Add, that she's proud, fantastic, apt to change, +Restless at home, and ever prone to range: +With shows delighted, and so vain is she, +She'll meet the devil, rather than not see. +Our wise Creator, for his choirs divine, +Peopled his heaven with souls all masculine.-- +Ah! why must man from woman take his birth? +Why was this sin of nature made on earth? +This fair defect, this helpless aid, called wife; +The bending crutch of a decrepid life? +Posterity no pairs from you shall find, +But such as by mistake of love are joined: +The worthiest men their wishes ne'er shall gain; +But see the slaves they scorn their loves obtain. +Blind appetite shall your wild fancies rule; +False to desert, and faithful to a fool. + [_Turns in anger from her, and is going off._ + +_Eve._ Unkind! wilt thou forsake me, in distress, [_Kneeling._ +For that which now is past me to redress? +I have misdone, and I endure the smart, +Loth to acknowledge, but more loth to part. +The blame be mine; you warned, and I refused: +What would you more? I have myself accused. +Was plighted faith so weakly sealed above, +That, for one error, I must lose your love? +Had you so erred, I should have been more kind, +Than to add pain to an afflicted mind. + +_Adam._ You're grown much humbler than you were before; +I pardon you; but see my face no more. + +_Eve._ Vain pardon, which includes a greater ill; +Be still displeased, but let me see you still. +Without your much-loved sight I cannot live; +You more than kill me, if you so forgive. +The beasts, since we are fallen, their lords despise; +And, passing, look at me with glaring eyes: +Must I then wander helpless, and alone? +You'll pity me, too late, when I am gone. + +_Adam._ Your penitence does my compassion move; +As you deserve it, I may give my love. + +_Eve._ On me, alone, let heaven's displeasure fall; +You merit none, and I deserve it all. + +_Adam._ You all heaven's wrath! how could you bear a part, +Who bore not mine, but with a bleeding heart? +I was too stubborn, thus to make you sue; +Forgive me--I am more in fault than you. +Return to me, and to my love return; +And, both offending, for each other mourn. + + _Enter_ RAPHAEL. + +_Raph._ Of sin to warn thee I before was sent; +For sin, I now pronounce thy punishment: +Yet that much lighter than thy crimes require; +Th' All-good does not his creatures' death desire: +Justice must punish the rebellious deed; +Yet punish so, as pity shall exceed. + +_Adam._ I neither can dispute his will, nor dare: +Death will dismiss me from my future care, +And lay me softly in my native dust, +To pay the forfeit of ill-managed trust. + +_Eve._ Why seek you death? consider, ere you speak, +The laws were hard, the power to keep them, weak. +Did we solicit heaven to mould our clay? +From darkness to produce us to the day? +Did we concur to life, or chuse to be? +Was it our will which formed, or was it He? +Since 'twas his choice, not ours, which placed us here, +The laws we did not chuse why should we bear? + +_Adam._ Seek not, in vain, our Maker to accuse; +Terms were proposed; power left us to refuse. +The good we have enjoyed from heaven's free will, +And shall we murmur to endure the ill? +Should we a rebel son's excuse receive, +Because he was begot without his leave? +Heaven's right in us is more: first, formed to serve; +The good, we merit not; the ill, deserve. + +_Raph._ Death is deferred, and penitence has room +To mitigate, if not reverse the doom: +But, for your crime, the Eternal does ordain +In Eden you no longer shall remain. +Hence, to the lower world, you are exiled; +This place with crimes shall be no more defiled. + +_Eve._ Must we this blissful paradise forego? + +_Raph._ Your lot must be where thorns and thistles grow, +Unhid, as balm and spices did at first; +For man, the earth, of which he was, is cursed. +By thy own toil procured, thou food shalt eat; [_To_ ADAM. +And know no plenty, but from painful sweat. +She, by a curse, of future wives abhorred, +Shall pay obedience to her lawful lord; +And he shall rule, and she in thraldom live, +Desiring more of love than man can give. + +_Adam._ Heaven is all mercy; labour I would chuse; +And could sustain this paradise to lose: +The bliss, but not the place: Here, could I say, +Heaven's winged messenger did pass the day; +Under this pine the glorious angel staid: +Then, show my wondering progeny the shade. +In woods and lawns, where-e'er thou didst appear, +Each place some monument of thee should bear. +I, with green turfs, would grateful altars raise, +And heaven, with gums, and offered incense, praise. + +_Raph._ Where-e'er thou art, He is; the Eternal Mind +Acts through all places; is to none confined: +Fills ocean, earth, and air, and all above, +And through the universal mass does move. +Thou canst be no where distant: Yet this place +Had been thy kingly seat, and here thy race, +From all the ends of peopled earth had come +To reverence thee, and see their native home. +Immortal, then; now sickness, care, and age, +And war, and luxury's more direful rage, +Thy crimes have brought, to shorten mortal breath, +With all the numerous family of death. + +_Eve._ My spirits faint, while I these ills foreknow, +And find myself the sad occasion too. +But what is death? + +_Raph._ In vision thou shalt see his griesly face, +The king of terrors, raging in thy face. +That, while in future fate thou shar'st thy part, +A kind remorse, for sin, may seize thy heart. + + _The_ SCENE _shifts, and discovers deaths of several sorts. A Battle + at Land, and a Naval Fight._ + +_Adam._ O wretched offspring! O unhappy state +Of all mankind, by me betrayed to fate! +Born, through my crime, to be offenders first; +And, for those sins they could not shun, accurst. + +_Eve._ Why is life forced on man, who, might he chuse, +Would not accept what he with pain must lose? +Unknowing, he receives it; and when, known, +He thinks it his, and values it, 'tis gone. + +_Raph._ Behold of every age; ripe manhood see, +Decrepid years, and helpless infancy: +Those who, by lingering sickness, lose their breath; +And those who, by despair, suborn their death: +See yon mad fools, who for some trivial right, +For love, or for mistaken honour, fight: +See those, more mad, who throw their lives away +In needless wars; the stakes which monarchs lay, +When for each other's provinces they play. +Then, as if earth too narrow were for fate, +On open seas their quarrels they debate: +In hollow wood they floating armies bear; +And force imprisoned winds to bring them near. + +_Eve._ Who would the miseries of man foreknow? +Not knowing, we but share our part of woe: +Now, we the fate of future ages bear, +And, ere their birth, behold our dead appear. + +_Adam._ The deaths, thou show'st, are forced and full of strife, +Cast headlong from the precipice of life. +Is there no smooth descent? no painless way +Of kindly mixing with our native clay? + +_Raph._ There is; but rarely shall that path be trod, +Which, without horror, leads to death's abode. +Some few, by temperance taught, approaching slow, +To distant fate by easy journies go: +Gently they lay them down, as evening sheep +On their own woolly fleeces softly sleep. + +_Adam._ So noiseless would I live, such death to find; +Like timely fruit, not shaken by the wind, +But ripely dropping from the sapless bough, +And, dying, nothing to myself would owe. + +_Eve._ Thus, daily changing, with a duller taste +Of lessening joys, I, by degrees, would waste: +Still quitting ground, by unperceived decay, +And steal myself from life, and melt away. + +_Raph._ Death you have seen: Now see your race revive, +How happy they in deathless pleasures live; +Far more than I can show, or you can see, +Shall crown the blest with immortality. + + _Here a Heaven descends, full of Angels, and blessed Spirits, with + soft Music, a Song and Chorus._ + +_Adam._ O goodness infinite! whose heavenly will +Can so much good produce from so much ill! +Happy their state! +Pure, and unchanged, and needing no defence +From sins, as did my frailer innocence. +Their joy sincere, and with no sorrow mixt: +Eternity stands permanent and fixt, +And wheels no longer on the poles of time; +Secure from fate, and more secure from crime. + +_Eve._ Ravished with joy, I can but half repent +The sin, which heaven makes happy in the event. + +_Raph._ Thus armed, meet firmly your approaching ill; +For see, the guards, from yon' far eastern hill, +Already move, nor longer stay afford; +High in the air they wave the flaming sword, +Your signal to depart; now down amain +They drive, and glide, like meteors, through the plain. + +_Adam._ Then farewell all; I will indulgent be +To my own ease, and not look back to see. +When what we love we ne'er must meet again, +To lose the thought is to remove the pain. + +_Eve._ Farewell, you happy shades! +Where angels first should practise hymns, and string +Their tuneful harps, when they to heaven would sing. +Farewell, you flowers, whose buds, with early care, +I watched, and to the chearful sun did rear: +Who now shall bind your stems? or, when you fall, +With fountain streams your fainting souls recal? +A long farewell to thee, my nuptial bower, +Adorned with every fair and fragrant flower! +And last, farewell, farewell my place of birth! +I go to wander in the lower earth, +As distant as I can; for, dispossest, +Farthest from what I once enjoyed, is best. + +_Raph._ The rising winds urge the tempestuous air; +And on their wings deformed winter bear: +The beasts already feel the change; and hence +They fly to deeper coverts, for defence: +The feebler herd before the stronger run; +For now the war of nature is begun: +But, part you hence in peace, and, having mourned your sin, +For outward Eden lost, find Paradise within. [_Exeunt._ + + + * * * * * + + + AURENG-ZEBE. + + + A + + TRAGEDY. + + + --_Sed, cum fregit subsellia versu, + Esurit, intactam Paridi nisi vendat Agaven._ + JUV. + + + + + AURENG-ZEBE. + + +"Aureng-Zebe," or the Ornament of the Throne, for such is the +interpretation of his name, was the last descendant of Timur, who +enjoyed the plenitude of authority originally vested in the Emperor of +India. His father, Sha-Jehan, had four sons, to each of whom he +delegated the command of a province. Dara-Sha, the eldest, +superintended the district of Delhi, and remained near his father's +person; Sultan-Sujah was governor of Bengal, Aureng-Zebe of the Decan, +and Morat Bakshi of Guzerat. It happened, that Sha-Jehan being +exhausted by the excesses of the Haram, a report of his death became +current in the provinces, and proved the signal for insurrection and +discord among his children. Morat Bakshi possessed himself of Surat, +after a long siege, and Sultan-Sujah, having declared himself +independent in Bengal, advanced as far as Lahor, with a large army. +Dara-Sha, the legitimate successor of the crown, was the only son of +Sha-Jehan, who preferred filial duty to the prospect of +aggrandisement. He dispatched an army against Sultan-Sujah, checked +his progress, and compelled him to retreat. But Aureng-Zebe, the third +and most wily of the brethren, had united his forces to those of Morat +Bakshi, and advancing against Dara-Sha, totally defeated him, and +dissipated his army. Aureng-Zebe availed himself of the military +reputation and treasures, acquired by his success, to seduce the +forces of Morat Bakshi, whom he had pretended to assist, and, seizing +upon his person at a banquet, imprisoned him in a strong fortress. +Meanwhile, he advanced towards Agra, where his father had sought +refuge, still affecting to believe that the old emperor was dead. The +more pains Sha-Jehan took to contradict this report, the more +obstinate was Aureng-Zebe in refusing to believe that he was still +alive. And, although the emperor dispatched his most confidential +servants to assure his dutiful son that he was yet in being, the +incredulity of Aureng-Zebe could only be removed by a personal +interview, the issue of which was Sha-Jehan's imprisonment and speedy +death. During these transactions Dara-Sha, who, after his defeat, had +fled with his treasures to Lahor, again assembled an army, and +advanced against the conqueror; but, being deserted by his allies, +defeated by Aureng-Zebe, and betrayed by an Omrah, whom he trusted in +his flight, he was delivered up to his brother, and by his command +assassinated. Aureng-Zebe now assumed the throne, and advanced against +Sultan-Sujah, his sole remaining brother; he seduced his chief +commanders, routed the forces who remained faithful, and drove him out +of Bengal into the Pagan countries adjacent, where, after several +adventures, he perished miserably in the mountains. Aureng-Zebe also +murdered one or two nephews, and a few other near relations; but, in +expiation of his complicated crimes, renounced the use of flesh, fish, +and wine, living only upon barley-bread vegetables, and confections, +although scrupling no excesses by which he could extend and strengthen +his usurped power[1]. + +Dr Johnson has supposed, that, in assuming for his subject a living +prince, Dryden incurred some risque; as, should Aureng-Zebe have +learned and resented the freedom, our Indian trade was exposed to the +consequences of his displeasure. It may, however, be safely doubted, +whether a monarch, who had actually performed the achievements above +narrated, would have been scandalized by those imputed to him in the +text. In other respects, the distance and obscurity of the events gave +a poet the same authority over them, as if they had occurred in the +annals of past ages; a circumstance in which Dryden's age widely +differed from ours, when so much has our intimacy increased with the +Oriental world, that the transactions of Delhi are almost as familiar +to us as those of Paris. + +The tragedy of "Aureng-Zebe" is introduced by the poet's declaration +in the prologue, that his taste for heroic plays was now upon the +wane: + + But he has now another taste of wit; + And, to confess a truth, though out of time, + Grows weary of his long-loved mistress, Rhyme. + Passion's too fierce to be in fetters bound, + And nature flies him, like enchanted ground, + What verse can do, he has performed in this, + Which he presumes the most correct of his. + +Agreeably to what might be expected from this declaration, the verse +used in "Aureng-Zebe" is of that kind which may be most easily applied +to the purposes of ordinary dialogue. There is much less of ornate +structure and emphatic swell, than occurs in the speeches of Almanzor +and Maximin; and Dryden, though late, seems to have at length +discovered, that the language of true passion is inconsistent with +that regular modulation, to maintain which, the actor must mouth each +couplet in a sort of recitative. The ease of the verse in +"Aureng-Zebe," although managed with infinite address, did not escape +censure. In the "just remonstrance of affronted _That_," transmitted +to the Spectator, the offended conjunction is made to plead, "What +great advantage was _I_ of to Mr Dryden, in his "Indian Emperor?" + + You force me still to answer you in _that,_ + To furnish out a rhime to Morat. + +And what a poor figure would Mr Bayes have made, without his _Egad, +and all that_?" But, by means of this easy flow of versification in +which the rhime is sometimes almost lost by the pause being +transferred to the middle of the line, Dryden, in some measure +indemnified himself for his confinement, and, at least, muffled the +clank of his fetters. Still, however, neither the kind of verse, nor +perhaps the poet, himself, were formed for expressing rapid and ardent +dialogue; and the beauties of "Aureng-Zebe" will be found chiefly to +consist in strains of didactic morality, or solemn meditation. The +passage, descriptive of life, has been distinguished by all the +critics, down to Dr Johnson: + + _Aur._ When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat; + Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit; + Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay: + To-morrow's falser than the former day; + Lies worse; and, while it says, We shall be blest + With some new joys, cuts off what we possest. + Strange cozenage! none would live past years again, + Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain; + And from the dregs of life think to receive + What the first sprightly running could not give. + I'm tired with waiting for this chemic gold, + Which fools us young, and beggars us when old. + +Nor is the answer of Nourmahal inferior in beauty: + + _Nour._ 'Tis not for nothing that we life pursue; + It pays our hopes with something still that's new; + Each day's a mistress, unenjoyed before; + Like travellers, we're pleased with seeing more. + Did you but know what joys your way attend, + You would not hurry to your journey's end. + +It might be difficult to point out a passage in English poetry, in +which so common and melancholy a truth is expressed in such beautiful +verse, varied with such just illustration. The declamation on virtue, +also, has great merit, though, perhaps, not equal to that on the +vanity of life: + + _Aur._ How vain is virtue, which directs our ways + Through certain danger to uncertain praise! + Barren, and airy name! thee fortune flies, + With thy lean train, the pious and the wise. + Heaven takes thee at thy word, without regard; + And let's thee poorly be thy own reward. + The world is made for the bold impious man, + Who stops at nothing, seizes all he can. + Justice to merit does weak aid afford; + She trusts her balance, and neglects her sword. + Virtue is nice to take what's not her own; + And, while she long consults, the prize is gone. + +To this account may be added the following passage from Davies' +"Dramatic Miscellanies." + +"Dryden's last and most perfect rhiming tragedy was 'Aureng-Zebe.' In +this play, the passions are strongly depicted, the characters well +discriminated, and the diction more familiar and dramatic than in any +of his preceding pieces. Hart and Mohun greatly distinguished +themselves in the characters of Aureng-Zebe, and the Old Emperor. Mrs +Marshall was admired in Nourmahal, and Kynaston has been much extolled +by Cibber, for his happy expression of the arrogant and savage +fierceness in Morat. Booth, in some part of this character, says the +same critical historian, was too tame, from an apprehension of raising +the mirth of the audience improperly. + +"Though I pay great deference to Cibber's judgment, yet I am not sure +whether Booth was not in the right. And I cannot help approving the +answer which this actor gave to one, who told him, he was surprised, +that he neglected to give a spirited turn to the passage in question: + + _Nour._ 'Twill not be safe to let him live an hour. + _Mor._ I'll do it to shew my arbitrary power. + +"'Sir,' said Booth, 'it was not through negligence, but by design, +that I gave no spirit to that ludicrous bounce of Morat. I know very +well, that a laugh of approbation may be obtained from the +understanding few, but there is nothing more dangerous than exciting +the laugh of simpletons, who know not where to stop. The majority is +not the wisest part of the audience, and therefore I will run no +hazard.' + +"The court greatly encouraged the play of 'Aureng-Zebe.' The author +tells us, in his dedication, that Charles II. altered an incident in +the plot, and pronounced it to be the best of all Dryden's tragedies. +It was revived at Drury-Lane about the year 1726, with the public +approbation: The Old Emperor, Mills; Wilkes, Aureng-Zebe; Booth, +Morat; Indamora, Mrs Oldfield; Melesinda, the first wife of Theophilus +Cibber, a very pleasing actress, in person agreeable, and in private +life unblemished. She died in 1733."--Vol. I. p. 157. + +The introduction states all that can be said in favour of the +management of the piece; and it is somewhat amusing to see the anxiety +which Dryden uses to justify the hazardous experiment, of ascribing to +emperors and princesses the language of nature and of passion. He +appears with difficulty to have satisfied himself, that the decorum of +the scene was not as peremptory as the etiquette of a court. +"Aureng-Zebe" was received with the applause to which it is certainly +entitled. It was acted and printed in 1676. + + +Footnote: +1. Voyages de Tavernier, seconde partie; livre seconde. + + + + + TO + + THE RIGHT HONOURABLE + + JOHN, + + EARL OF MULGRAVE, + + GENTLEMAN OF HIS MAJESTY'S BED-CHAMBER, + + AND KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER + + OF THE GARTER[1]. + + +MY LORD, + +It is a severe reflection which Montaigne has made on princes, that we +ought not, in reason, to have any expectations of favour from them; +and that it is kindness enough, if they leave us in possession of our +own. The boldness of the censure shows the free spirit of the author: +And the subjects of England may justly congratulate to themselves, +that both the nature of our government, and the clemency of our king, +secure us from any such complaint. I, in particular, who subsist +wholly by his bounty, am obliged to give posterity a far other account +of my royal master, than what Montaigne has left of his. Those +accusations had been more reasonable, if they had been placed on +inferior persons: For in all courts, there are too many, who make it +their business to ruin wit; and Montaigne, in other places, tells us, +what effects he found of their good natures. He describes them such, +whose ambition, lust, or private interest, seem to be the only end of +their creation. If good accrue to any from them, it is only in order +to their own designs: conferred most commonly on the base and +infamous; and never given, but only happening sometimes on +well-deservers. Dulness has brought them to what they are; and malice +secures them in their fortunes. But somewhat of specious they must +have, to recommend themselves to princes, (for folly will not easily +go down in its own natural form with discerning judges,) and diligence +in waiting is their gilding of the pill; for that looks like love, +though it is only interest. It is that which gains them their +advantage over witty men; whose love of liberty and ease makes them +willing too often to discharge their burden of attendance on these +officious gentlemen. It is true, that the nauseousness of such company +is enough to disgust a reasonable man; when he sees, he can hardly +approach greatness, but as a moated castle; he must first pass through +the mud and filth with which it is encompassed. These are they, who, +wanting wit, affect gravity, and go by the name of solid men; and a +solid man is, in plain English, a solid, solemn fool. Another disguise +they have, (for fools, as well as knaves, take other names, and pass +by an _alias_) and that is, the title of honest fellows. But this +honesty of theirs ought to have many grains for its allowance; for +certainly they are no farther honest, than they are silly: They are +naturally mischievous to their power; and if they speak not +maliciously, or sharply, of witty men, it is only because God has not +bestowed on them the gift of utterance. They fawn and crouch to men of +parts, whom they cannot ruin; quote their wit when they are present, +and, when they are absent steal their jests; but to those who are +under them, and whom they can crush with ease, they shew themselves in +their natural antipathy; there they treat wit like the common enemy, +and giving no more quarter, than a Dutchman would to an English vessel +in the Indies; they strike sail where they know they shall be +mastered, and murder where they can with safety. + +This, my lord, is the character of a courtier without wit; and +therefore that which is a satire to other men, must be a panegyric to +your lordship, who are a master of it. If the least of these +reflections could have reached your person, no necessity of mine could +have made me to have sought so earnestly, and so long, to have +cultivated your kindness. As a poet, I cannot but have made some +observations on mankind; the lowness of my fortune has not yet brought +me to flatter vice; and it is my duty to give testimony to virtue. It +is true, your lordship is not of that nature, which either seeks a +commendation, or wants it. Your mind has always been above the +wretched affectation of popularity. A popular man is, in truth, no +better than a prostitute to common fame, and to the people. He lies +down to every one he meets for the hire of praise; and his humility is +only a disguised ambition. Even Cicero himself, whose eloquence +deserved the admiration of mankind, yet, by his insatiable thirst of +fame, he has lessened his character with succeeding ages; his action +against Catiline may be said to have ruined the consul, when it saved +the city; for it so swelled his soul, which was not truly great, that +ever afterwards it was apt to be over-set with vanity. And this made +his virtue so suspected by his friends, that Brutus, whom of all men +he adored, refused him a place in his conspiracy. A modern wit has +made this observation on him; that, coveting to recommend himself to +posterity, he begged it as an alms of all his friends, the historians, +to remember his consulship: And observe, if you please, the oddness of +the event; all their histories are lost, and the vanity of his request +stands yet recorded in his own writings. How much more great and manly +in your lordship, is your contempt of popular applause, and your +retired virtue, which shines only to a few; with whom you live so +easily and freely, that you make it evident, you have a soul which is +capable of all the tenderness of friendship, and that you only retire +yourself from those, who are not capable of returning it. Your +kindness, where you have once placed it, is inviolable; and it is to +that only I attribute my happiness in your love. This makes me more +easily forsake an argument, on which I could otherwise delight to +dwell; I mean, your judgment in your choice of friends; because I have +the honour to be one. After which I am sure you will more easily +permit me to be silent, in the care you have taken of my fortune; +which you have rescued, not only from the power of others, but from my +worst of enemies, my own modesty and laziness; which favour, had it +been employed on a more deserving subject, had been an effect of +justice in your nature; but, as placed on me, is only charity. Yet, +withal, it is conferred on such a man, as prefers your kindness +itself, before any of its consequences; and who values, as the +greatest of your favours, those of your love, and of your +conversation. From this constancy to your friends, I might reasonably +assume, that your resentments would be as strong and lasting, if they +were not restrained by a nobler principle of good nature and +generosity; for certainly, it is the same composition of mind, the +same resolution and courage, which makes the greatest friendships, and +the greatest enmities. And he, who is too lightly reconciled, after +high provocations, may recommend himself to the world for a Christian, +but I should hardly trust him for a friend. The Italians have a +proverb to that purpose, "To forgive the first time, shows me a good +Catholic; the second time, a fool." To this firmness in all your +actions, though you are wanting in no other ornaments of mind and +body, yet to this I principally ascribe the interest your merits have +acquired you in the royal family. A prince, who is constant to +himself, and steady in all his undertakings; one with whom that +character of Horace will agree, + + _Si fractus illabatur orbis, + Impavidum ferient ruinę_[2];-- + +such an one cannot but place an esteem, and repose a confidence on +him, whom no adversity, no change of courts, no bribery of interests, +or cabals of factions, or advantages of fortune, can remove from the +solid foundations of honour and fidelity: + + _Ille meos, primus qui me sibi junxit, amores + Abstulit; ille habeat secum, servetque sepulcro._ + +How well your lordship will deserve that praise, I need no inspiration +to foretell. You have already left no room for prophecy: Your early +undertakings have been such, in the service of your king and country, +when you offered yourself to the most dangerous employment, that of +the sea; when you chose to abandon those delights, to which your youth +and fortune did invite you, to undergo the hazards, and, which was +worse, the company of common seamen, that you have made it evident, +you will refuse no opportunity of rendering yourself useful to the +nation, when either your courage or conduct shall be required[3]. The +same zeal and faithfulness continue in your blood, which animated one +of your noble ancestors to sacrifice his life in the quarrels of his +sovereign[4]; though, I hope, both for your sake, and for the public +tranquillity, the same occasion will never be offered to your +lordship, and that a better destiny will attend you. But I make haste +to consider you as abstracted from a court, which (if you will give me +leave to use a term of logic) is only an adjunct, not a propriety of +happiness. The academics, I confess, were willing to admit the goods +of fortune into their notion of felicity; but I do not remember, that +any of the sects of old philosophers did ever leave a room for +greatness. Neither am I formed to praise a court, who admire and covet +nothing, but the easiness and quiet of retirement. I naturally +withdraw my sight from a precipice; and, admit the prospect be never +so large and goodly, can take no pleasure even in looking on the +downfal, though I am secure from the danger. Methinks, there is +something of a malignant joy in that excellent description of +Lucretius; + + _Suave, mari magno turbantibus ęquora ventis, + E terrā magnum alterius spectare laborem; + Non quia vexari quenquam est jucunda voluptas, + Sed, quibus ipse malis careas, quia cernere suave est._ + +I am sure his master Epicurus, and my better master Cowley, preferred +the solitude of a garden, and the conversation of a friend, to any +consideration, so much as a regard, of those unhappy people, whom, in +our own wrong, we call the great. True greatness, if it be any where +on earth, is in a private virtue; removed from the notion of pomp and +vanity, confined to a contemplation of itself, and centering on +itself: + + _Omnis enim per se Divūm natura necesse est + Immortali ęvo summā cum pace fruatur; + --curā semota, metuque, + Ipsa suis pollens opibus_[5]. + +If this be not the life of a deity, because it cannot consist with +Providence, it is, at least, a god-like life. I can be contented, (and +I am sure I have your lordship of my opinion) with an humbler station +in the temple of virtue, than to be set on the pinnacle of it: + + _Despicere unde queas alios, passimque videre + Errare, atque viam palantes quęrere vitę._ + +The truth is, the consideration of so vain a creature as man, is not +worth our pains. I have fool enough at home, without looking for it +abroad; and am a sufficient theatre to myself of ridiculous actions, +without expecting company, either in a court, a town, or a play-house. +It is on this account that I am weary with drawing the deformities of +life, and lazars of the people, where every figure of imperfection +more resembles me than it can do others. If I must be condemned to +rhyme, I should find some ease in my change of punishment. I desire to +be no longer the Sisyphus of the stage; to roll up a stone with +endless labour, (which, to follow the proverb, gathers no moss) and +which is perpetually falling down again. I never thought myself very +fit for an employment, where many of my predecessors have excelled me +in all kinds; and some of my contemporaries, even in my own partial +judgement have outdone me in Comedy. Some little hopes I have yet +remaining, and those too, considering my abilities, may be vain, that +I may make the world some part of amends, for many ill plays, by an +heroic poem. Your lordship has been long acquainted with my design; +the subject of which you know is great, the story English, and neither +too far distant from the present age, nor too near approaching it. +Such it is in my opinion, that I could not have wished a nobler +occasion to do honour by it to my king, my country, and my friends; +most of our ancient nobility being concerned in the action[6]. And +your lordship has one particular reason to promote this undertaking, +because you were the first who gave me the opportunity of discoursing +it to his majesty, and his royal highness: They were then pleased, +both to commend the design, and to encourage it by their commands. But +the unsettledness of my condition has hitherto put a stop to my +thoughts concerning it. As I am no successor to Homer in his wit, so +neither do I desire to be in his poverty. I can make no rhapsodies nor +go a begging at the Grecian doors, while I sing the praises of their +ancestors. The times of Virgil please me better, because he had an +Augustus for his patron; and, to draw the allegory nearer you, I am +sure I shall not want a Mecęnas with him. It is for your lordship to +stir up that remembrance in his majesty, which his many avocations of +business have caused him, I fear, to lay aside; and, as himself and +his royal brother are the heroes of the poem, to represent to them the +images of their warlike predecessors; as Achilles is said to be roused +to glory, with the sight of the combat before the ships. For my own +part, I am satisfied to have offered the design, and it may be to the +advantage of my reputation to have it refused me. + +In the mean time, my lord, I take the confidence to present you with a +tragedy, the characters of which are the nearest to those of an heroic +poem. It was dedicated to you in my heart, before it was presented on +the stage. Some things in it have passed your approbation, and many +your amendment. You were likewise pleased to recommend it to the +king's perusal, before the last hand was added to it, when I received +the favour from him, to have the most considerable event of it +modelled by his royal pleasure. It may be some vanity in me to add his +testimony then, and which he graciously confirmed afterwards, that it +was the best of all my tragedies; in which he has made authentic my +private opinion of it; at least, he has given it a value by his +commendation, which it had not by my writing. + +That which was not pleasing to some of the fair ladies in the last act +of it, as I dare not vindicate, so neither can I wholly condemn, till +I find more reason for their censures. The procedure of Indamora and +Melesinda seems yet, in my judgment, natural, and not unbecoming of +their characters. If they, who arraign them, fail not more, the world +will never blame their conduct; and I shall be glad, for the honour of +my country, to find better images of virtue drawn to the life in their +behaviour, than any I could feign to adorn the theatre. I confess, I +have only represented a practical virtue, mixed with the frailties and +imperfections of human life. I have made my heroine fearful of death, +which neither Cassandra nor Cleopatra would have been; and they +themselves, I doubt it not, would have outdone romance in that +particular. Yet their Mandana (and the Cyrus was written by a lady,) +was not altogether so hard-hearted: For she sat down on the cold +ground by the king of Assyria, and not only pitied him, who died in +her defence; but allowed him some favours, such, perhaps, as they +would think, should only be permitted to her Cyrus[7]. I have made my +Melesinda, in opposition to Nourmahal, a woman passionately loving of +her husband, patient of injuries and contempt, and constant in her +kindness, to the last; and in that, perhaps, I may have erred, because +it is not a virtue much in use. Those Indian wives are loving fools, +and may do well to keep themselves in their own country, or, at least, +to keep company with the Arrias and Portias of old Rome: Some of our +ladies know better things. But, it may be, I am partial to my own +writings; yet I have laboured as much as any man, to divest myself of +the self-opinion of an author; and am too well satisfied of my own +weakness, to be pleased with any thing I have written. But, on the +other side, my reason tells me, that, in probability, what I have +seriously and long considered may be as likely to be just and natural, +as what an ordinary judge (if there be any such among those ladies) +will think fit, in a transient presentation, to be placed in the room +of that which they condemn. The most judicious writer is sometimes +mistaken, after all his care; but the hasty critic, who judges on a +view, is full as liable to be deceived. Let him first consider all the +arguments, which the author had, to write this, or to design the +other, before he arraigns him of a fault; and then, perhaps, on second +thoughts, he will find his reason oblige him to revoke his censure. +Yet, after all, I will not be too positive. _Homo sum, humani ą me +nihil alienum puto._ As I am a man, I must be changeable; and +sometimes the gravest of us all are so, even upon ridiculous +accidents. Our minds are perpetually wrought on by the temperament of +our bodies; which makes me suspect, they are nearer allied, than +either our philosophers or school-divines will allow them to be. I +have observed, says Montaigne, that when the body is out of order, its +companion is seldom at his ease. An ill dream, or a cloudy day, has +power to change this wretched creature, who is so proud of a +reasonable soul, and make him think what he thought not yesterday. And +Homer was of this opinion, as Cicero is pleased to translate him for +us: + + _Tales sunt hominum mentes, quali pater ipse + Jupiter auctiferā lustravit lampade terras._ + +Or, as the same author, in his "Tusculan Questions," speaks, with more +modesty than usual, of himself: _Nos in diem vivimus; quodcunque +animos nostros probabilitate percussit, id dicimus._ It is not +therefore impossible but that I may alter the conclusion of my play, +to restore myself into the good graces of my fair critics; and your +lordship, who is so well with them, may do me the office of a friend +and patron, to intercede with them on my promise of amendment. The +impotent lover in Petronius, though his was a very unpardonable crime, +yet was received to mercy on the terms I offer. _Summa excusationis +meę hęc est: Placebo tibi, si culpam emendare permiseris._ + +But I am conscious to myself of offering at a greater boldness, in +presenting to your view what my meanness can produce, than in any +other error of my play; and therefore make haste to break off this +tedious address, which has, I know not how, already run itself into so +much of pedantry, with an excuse of Tully's, which he sent with his +books "De Finibus," to his friend Brutus: _De ipsis rebus autem, +sępenumerņ, Brute, vereor ne reprehendar, cum hęc ad te scribam, qui +tum in poesi,_ (I change it from _philosophiā_) _tum in optimo genere +poeseos tantum processeris. Quod si facerem quasi te erudiens, jure +reprehenderer. Sed ab eo plurimłm absum: Nec, ut ea cognoscas quę tibi +notissima sunt, ad te mitto; sed quią facillimč in nomine tuo +acquiesco, et quia te habeo ęquissimum eorum studiorum, quę mihi +communia tecum sunt, ęstimatorem et judicem._ Which you may please, my +lord, to apply to yourself, from him, who is, + + Your Lordship's + Most obedient, + Humble servant, + DRYDEN. + + +Footnotes: +1. John Sheffield, earl of Mulgrave, afterwards created marquis of + Normanby, and at length duke of Buckingham, made a great figure + during the reigns of Charles II. of his unfortunate successor, of + William the Third, and of Queen Anne. His bravery as a soldier, and + abilities as a statesman, seem to have been unquestioned; but for + his poetical reputation, he was probably much indebted to the + assistance of those wits whom he relieved and patronized. As, + however, it has been allowed a sufficient proof of wisdom in a + monarch, that he could chuse able ministers, so it is no slight + commendation to the taste of this rhyming peer, that in youth he + selected Dryden to supply his own poetical deficiencies, and in age + became the friend and the eulogist of Pope. We may observe, + however, a melancholy difference betwixt the manner in which an + independent man of letters is treated by the great, and that in + which they think themselves entitled to use one to whom their + countenance is of consequence. In addressing Pope, Sheffield + contents himself with launching out into boundless panegyric, while + his praise of Dryden, in his "Essay on Poetry," is qualified by a + gentle sneer at the "Hind and Panther," our bard's most laboured + production. His lordship is treating of satire: + + The laureat here may justly claim our praise, + Crowned by Mack Flecnoe with immortal bays; + Yet once his Pegasus has borne dead weight, + Rid by some lumpish minister of state. + + Lord Mulgrave, to distinguish him by his earliest title, certainly + received considerable assistance from Dryden in "The Essay on + Satire," which occasioned Rochester's base revenge; and was + distinguished by the name of the _Rose-Alley Satire_, from the + place in which Dryden was way-laid and beaten by the hired bravoes + of that worthless profligate. It is probable, that the patronage + which Dryden received from Mulgrave, was not entirely of an empty + and fruitless nature. It is at least certain, that their friendship + continued uninterrupted till the death of our poet. The "Discourse + upon Epic Poetry" is dedicated to Lord Mulgrave, then duke of + Buckingham, and in high favour with Queen Anne, for whom he is + supposed to have long cherished a youthful passion. After the grave + of Dryden had remained twenty years without a memorial, this + nobleman had the honour to raise the present monument at his own + expence; being the latest, and certainly one of the most honourable + acts of his life. + + Mr Malone, from Macky's "Secret Services," gives the following + character of Sheffield, duke of Buckingham:--"He is a nobleman of + learning and good natural parts, but of no principles. Violent for + the high church, yet seldom goes to it. Very proud, insolent, and + covetous, and takes all advantages. In paying his debts unwilling, + and is neither esteemed nor beloved; for notwithstanding his great + interest at court, it is certain he has none in either house of + parliament, or in the country. He is of a middle stature, of a + brown complexion, with a sour lofty look." Swift sanctioned this + severe character, by writing on the margin of his copy of Macky's + book, "_This character is the truest of any._" To so bitter a + censure, let us contrast the panegyric of Pope: + + Muse, 'tis enough; at length thy labour ends, + And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends; + Let crowds of critics now my verse assail, + Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail, + This more than pays whole years of thankless pain-- + Time, health, and fortune, are not lost in vain. + Sheffield approves; consenting Phoebus bends, + And I and Malice from this hour are friends. + + It may be worth the attention of the great to consider the value of + that genius, which can hand them down to posterity in an + interesting and amiable point of view, in spite of their own + imbecilities, errors, and vices. While the personal character of + Mulgrave has nothing to recommend it, and his poetical effusions + are sunk into oblivion, we still venerate the friend of Pope, and + the protector of Dryden. + + Sheffield, duke of Buckingham, marquis of Normanby, and earl of + Mulgrave, was born in 1649, and died in 1720. He was therefore + twenty-seven years old when he received this dedication. + +2. On perusing such ill applied flattery, I know not whether we ought + to feel most for Charles II. or for Dryden. + +3. The earl of Mulgrave, in the Dutch war of 1672, served as a + volunteer on board the Victory, commanded by the earl of Ossory. He + behaved with distinguished courage himself, and has borne witness + to that of his unfortunate admiral, James Duke of York. His + intrepid coolness appears from a passage in his Memoirs, containing + the observations he made during the action, on the motion of cannon + bullets in the recoil, and their effect when passing near the human + body. His bravery was rewarded by his promotion to command the + Katharine, the second best ship in the fleet. This vessel had been + captured by the Dutch during the action, but was retaken by the + English crew before she could be carried into harbour. Lord + Mulgrave had a picture of the Katherine at his house in St James's + Park.--See CARLETON'S _Memoirs_, p. 5. + +4. In 1548-9, there were insurrections in several counties of England, + having for their object the restoration of the Catholic religion, + and the redress of grievances. The insurgents in Northamptonshire + were 20,000 strong, headed by one Ket, a tanner, who possessed + himself of Norwich. The earl of Northampton, marching rashly and + hastily against him, at the head of a very inferior force, was + defeated with loss. In the rout lord Sheffield, ancestor of the + earl of Mulgrave, and the person alluded to in the text, fell with + his horse into a ditch, and was slain by a butcher with a club. The + rebels were afterwards defeated by the earl of Warwick.--DUGDALE'S + _Baron_, vol. ii. p. 386. HOLLINSHED, p. 1035.] + +5. The entire passage of Lucretius is somewhat different from this + quotation: + + _Quę bene, et eximie quamvis disposta ferantur, + Longe sunt tamen a verā ratione repulsa. + Omnia enim per se Divum natura necesse est + Immortali ęvo summā cum pace fruatur, + Semota a nostris rebus, sejunctaque longč. + Nam privata dolore omni, privata periclis, + Ipsa suis pollens opibus, nihil indiga nostri, + Nec bene promeritis capitur, nec tangitur ira._ + LIB. II. + + Dryden ingeniously applies, to the calm of philosophical + retirement, the Epicurean tranquillity of the Deities of Lucretius. + +6. The subject of this intended poem, was probably the exploits of the + Black Prince. See Life. + +7. An incident in "Artčmenes, ou Le Grand Cyrus," a huge romance, + written by Madame Scuderi. + + + + + PROLOGUE. + + + Our author, by experience, finds it true, + 'Tis much more hard to please himself than you; + And out of no feigned modesty, this day + Damns his laborious trifle of a play: + Not that its worse than what before he writ, + But he has now another taste of wit; + And, to confess a truth, though out of time, + Grows weary of his long-loved mistress, Rhyme. + Passion's too fierce to be in fetters bound, + And nature flies him like enchanted ground: + What verse can do, he has performed in this, + Which he presumes the most correct of his; + But spite of all his pride, a secret shame + Invades his breast at Shakespeare's sacred name: + Awed when he hears his godlike Romans rage, + He, in a just despair, would quit the stage; + And to an age less polished, more unskilled, + Does, with disdain, the foremost honours yield. + As with the greater dead he dares not strive, + He would not match his verse with those who live: + Let him retire, betwixt two ages cast, + The first of this, and hindmost of the last. + A losing gamester, let him sneak away; + He bears no ready money from the play. + The fate, which governs poets, thought it fit + He should not raise his fortunes by his wit. + The clergy thrive, and the litigious bar; + Dull heroes fatten with the spoils of war: + All southern vices, heaven be praised, are here: + But wit's a luxury you think too dear. + When you to cultivate the plant are loth, + 'Tis a shrewd sign 'twas never of your growth; + And wit in northern climates will not blow, + Except, like orange-trees, 'tis housed from snow. + There needs no care to put a playhouse down, + 'Tis the most desart place of all the town: + We and our neighbours, to speak proudly, are, + Like monarchs, ruined with expensive war; + While, like wise English, unconcerned you sit, + And see us play the tragedy of wit. + + + + + DRAMATIS PERSONĘ. + + + _The Old Emperor._ + AURENG-ZEBE, _his Son._ + MORAT, _his younger Son._ + ARIMANT, _Governor of Agra._ + DIANET, } + SOLYMAN, } + MIR BABA, } _Indian Lords, or Omrahs, of several + ABAS, } Factions._ + ASAPH CHAN, } + FAZEL CHAN, } + + NOURMAHAL, _the Empress._ + INDAMORA, _a Captive Queen._ + MELESINDA, _Wife to Morat._ + ZAYDA, _favourite Slave to the Empress._ + + +SCENE--_Agra,_ in the year 1660. + + + + + AURENG-ZEBE. + + +ACT I. SCENE I. + + _Enter_ ARIMANT, ASAPH CHAN, _and_ FAZEL CHAN. + +_Arim._ Heaven seems the empire of the east to lay +On the success of this important day: +Their arms are to the last decision bent, +And fortune labours with the vast event: +She now has in her hand the greatest stake, +Which for contending monarchs she can make. +Whate'er can urge ambitious youth to fight, +She pompously displays before their sight; +Laws, empire, all permitted to the sword, +And fate could ne'er an ampler scene afford. + +_Asaph._ Four several armies to the field are led, +Which, high in equal hopes, four princes head: +Indus and Ganges, our wide empire's bounds, +Swell their dyed currents with their natives' wounds: +Each purple river winding, as he runs, +His bloody arms about his slaughtered sons. + +_Fazel._ I well remember you foretold the storm, +When first the brothers did their factions form: +When each, by cursed cabals of women, strove +To draw the indulgent king to partial love. + +_Arim._ What heaven decrees, no prudence can prevent. +To cure their mad ambition, they were sent +To rule a distant province each alone: +What could a careful father more have done? +He made provision against all, but fate, +While, by his health, we held our peace of state. +The weight of seventy winters prest him down, +He bent beneath the burden of a crown: +Sickness, at last, did his spent body seize, +And life almost sunk under the disease: +Mortal 'twas thought, at least by them desired, +Who, impiously, into his years inquired: +As at a signal, strait the sons prepare +For open force, and rush to sudden war: +Meeting, like winds broke loose upon the main, +To prove, by arms, whose fate it was to reign. + +_Asaph._ Rebels and parricides! + +_Arim._ Brand not their actions with so foul a name: +Pity at least what we are forced to blame. +When death's cold hand has closed the father's eye, +You know the younger sons are doomed to die. +Less ills are chosen greater to avoid, +And nature's laws are by the state's destroyed. +What courage tamely could to death consent, +And not, by striking first, the blow prevent? +Who falls in fight, cannot himself accuse, +And he dies greatly, who a crown pursues. + + _To them_ SOLYMAN AGA. + +_Solym._ A new express all Agra does affright: +Darah and Aureng-Zebe are joined in fight; +The press of people thickens to the court, +The impatient crowd devouring the report. + +_Arim._ T' each changing news they changed affections bring, +And servilely from fate expect a king. + +_Solym._ The ministers of state, who gave us law, +In corners, with selected friends, withdraw: +There, in deaf murmurs, solemnly are wise; +Whispering, like winds, ere hurricanes arise. +The most corrupt are most obsequious grown, +And those they scorned, officiously they own. + +_Asaph._ In change of government, +The rabble rule their great oppressors' fate; +Do sovereign justice, and revenge the state. + +_Solym._ The little courtiers, who ne'er come to know +The depth of factions, as in mazes go, +Where interests meet and cross so oft, that they, +With too much care, are wildered in their way. + +_Arim._ What of the emperor? + +_Solym._ Unmoved, and brave, he like himself appears, +And, meriting no ill, no danger fears: +Yet mourns his former vigour lost so far, +To make him now spectator of a war: +Repining that he must preserve his crown +By any help or courage but his own: +Wishes, each minute, he could unbeget +Those rebel sons, who dare usurp his seat; +To sway his empire with unequal skill, +And mount a throne, which none but he can fill. + +_Arim._ Oh! had he still that character maintained, +Of valour, which, in blooming youth, he gained! +He promised in his east a glorious race; +Now, sunk from his meridian, sets apace. +But as the sun, when he from noon declines, +And, with abated heat, less fiercely shines, +Seems to grow milder as he goes away, +Pleasing himself with the remains of day; +So he, who, in his youth, for glory strove, +Would recompense his age with ease and love. + +_Asaph._ The name of father hateful to him grows, +Which, for one son, produces him three foes. + +_Fazel._ Darah, the eldest, bears a generous mind, +But to implacable revenge inclined: +Too openly does love and hatred show; +A bounteous master, but a deadly foe. + +_Solym._ From Sujah's valour I should much expect, +But he's a bigot of the Persian sect; +And by a foreign interest seeks to reign, +Hopeless by love the sceptre to obtain. + +_Asaph._ Morat's too insolent, too much a brave; +His courage to his envy is a slave. +What he attempts, if his endeavours fail +To effect, he is resolved no other shall. + +_Arim._ But Aureng-Zebe, by no strong passion swayed, +Except his love, more temperate is, and weighed: +This Atlas must our sinking state uphold; +In council cool, but in performance bold: +He sums their virtues in himself alone, +And adds the greatest, of a loyal son: +His father's cause upon his sword he wears, +And with his arms, we hope, his fortune bears. + +_Solym._ Two vast rewards may well his courage move, +A parent's blessing, and a mistress' love. +If he succeed, his recompence, we hear, +Must be the captive queen of Cassimere. + + _To them_ ABAS. + +_Abas._ Mischiefs on mischiefs, greater still, and more! +The neighbouring plain with arms is covered o'er: +The vale an iron-harvest seems to yield, +Of thick-sprung lances in a waving field. +The polished steel gleams terribly from far, +And every moment nearer shows the war. +The horses' neighing by the wind is blown, +And castled-elephants o'er-look the town. + +_Arim._ If, as I fear, Morat these powers commands, +Our empire on the brink of ruin stands: +The ambitious empress with her son is joined, +And, in his brother's absence, has designed +The unprovided town to take with ease, +And then the person of the king to seize. + +_Solym._ To all his former issue she has shown +Long hate, and laboured to advance her own. + +_Abas._ These troops are his. +Surat he took; and thence, preventing fame, +By quick and painful marches hither came. +Since his approach, he to his mother sent, +And two long hours in close debate were spent. + +_Arim._ I'll to my charge, the citadel, repair, +And show my duty by my timely care. + + _To them the Emperor, with a letter in his hand: After him, an + Ambassador, with a train following._ + +_Asaph._ But see, the emperor! a fiery red +His brows and glowing temples does o'erspread; +Morat has some displeasing message sent. + +_Amb._ Do not, great sir, misconstrue his intent; +Nor call rebellion what was prudent care, +To guard himself by necessary war: +While he believed you living, he obeyed; +His governments but as your viceroy swayed: +But, when he thought you gone +To augment the number of the blessed above, +He deemed them legacies of royal love: +Nor armed, his brothers' portions to invade, +But to defend the present you had made. + +_Emp._ By frequent messages, and strict commands, +He knew my pleasure to discharge his bands: +Proof of my life my royal signet made; +Yet still he armed, came on, and disobeyed. + +_Amb._ He thought the mandate forged, your death concealed; +And but delayed, till truth should be revealed. + +_Emp._ News of my death from rumour he received; +And what he wished, he easily believed: +But long demurred, though from my hand he knew +I lived, so loth he was to think it true. +Since he pleads ignorance to that command, +Now let him show his duty, and disband. + +_Amb._ His honour, sir, will suffer in the cause; +He yields his arms unjust, if he withdraws: +And begs his loyalty may be declared, +By owning those he leads to be your guard. + +_Emp._ I, in myself, have all the guard I need! +Bid the presumptuous boy draw off with speed: +If his audacious troops one hour remain, +My cannon from the fort shall scour the plain. + +_Amb._ Since you deny him entrance, he demands +His wife, whom cruelly you hold in bands: +Her, if unjustly you from him detain, +He justly will, by force of arms, regain. + +_Emp._ O'er him and his a right from Heaven I have; +Subject and son, he's doubly born my slave. +But whatsoe'er his own demerits are, +Tell him, I shall not make on women war. +And yet I'll do her innocence the grace, +To keep her here, as in the safer place. +But thou, who dar'st this bold defiance bring, +May'st feel the rage of an offended king. +Hence, from my sight, without the least reply! +One word, nay one look more, and thou shalt die. [_Exit Ambassador._ + + _Re-enter_ ARIMANT. + +_Arim._ May heaven, great monarch, still augment your bliss +With length of days, and every day like this! +For, from the banks of Gemna news is brought, +Your army has a bloody battle fought: +Darah from loyal Aureng-Zebe is fled, +And forty thousand of his men lie dead. +To Sujah next your conquering army drew; +Him they surprised, and easily o'erthrew. + +_Emp._ 'Tis well. + +_Arim._ But well! what more could at your wish be done, +Than two such conquests gained by such a son? +Your pardon, mighty sir; +You seem not high enough your joys to rate; +You stand indebted a vast sum to fate, +And should large thanks for the great blessing pay. + +_Emp._ My fortune owes me greater every day; +And should my joy more high for this appear, +It would have argued me, before, of fear. +How is heaven kind, where I have nothing won, +And fortune only pays me with my own? + +_Arim._ Great Aureng-Zebe did duteous care express, +And durst not push too far his good success; +But, lest Morat the city should attack, +Commanded his victorious army back; +Which, left to march as swiftly as they may, +Himself comes first, and will be here this day, +Before a close-formed siege shut up his way. + +_Emp._ Prevent his purpose! hence, with all thy speed! +Stop him; his entrance to the town forbid. + +_Arim._ How, sir? your loyal, your victorious son? + +_Emp._ Him would I, more than all the rebels, shun. + +_Arim._ Whom with your power and fortune, sir, you trust. +Now to suspect is vain, as 'tis unjust. +He comes not with a train to move your fear, +But trusts himself to be a prisoner here. +You knew him brave, you know him faithful now: +He aims at fame, but fame from serving you. +'Tis said, ambition in his breast does rage: +Who would not be the hero of an age? +All grant him prudent: Prudence interest weighs, +And interest bids him seek your love and praise. +I know you grateful; when he marched from hence, +You bade him hope an ample recompence: +He conquered in that hope; and, from your hands, +His love, the precious pledge he left, demands. + +_Emp._ No more; you search too deep my wounded mind, +And show me what I fear, and would not find. +My son has all the debts of duty paid: +Our prophet sends him to my present aid. +Such virtue to distrust were base and low: +I'm not ungrateful--or I was not so! +Inquire no farther, stop his coming on: +I will not, cannot, dare not, see my son. + +_Arim._ 'Tis now too late his entrance to prevent, +Nor must I to your ruin give consent; +At once your people's heart, and son's, you lose, +And give him all, when you just things refuse. + +_Emp._ Thou lov'st me, sure; thy faith has oft been tried, +In ten pitched fields not shrinking from my side, +Yet giv'st me no advice to bring me ease. + +_Arim._ Can you be cured, and tell not your disease? +I asked you, sir. + +_Emp._ Thou shouldst have asked again: +There hangs a secret shame on guilty men. +Thou shouldst have pulled the secret from my breast, +Torn out the bearded steel, to give me rest; +At least, thou should'st have guessed-- +Yet thou art honest, thou couldst ne'er have guessed. +Hast thou been never base? did love ne'er bend +Thy frailer virtue, to betray thy friend? +Flatter me, make thy court, and say, It did; +Kings in a crowd would have their vices hid. +We would be kept in count'nance, saved from shame, +And owned by others who commit the same. +Nay, now I have confessed. +Thou seest me naked, and without disguise: +I look on Aureng-Zebe with rival's eyes. +He has abroad my enemies o'ercome, +And I have sought to ruin him at home. + +_Arim._ This free confession shows you long did strive; +And virtue, though opprest, is still alive. +But what success did your injustice find? + +_Emp._ What it deserved, and not what I designed. +Unmoved she stood, and deaf to all my prayers, +As seas and winds to sinking mariners. +But seas grow calm, and winds are reconciled: +Her tyrant beauty never grows more mild; +Prayers, promises, and threats, were all in vain. + +_Arim._ Then cure yourself, by generous disdain. + +_Emp._ Virtue, disdain, despair, I oft have tried, +And, foiled, have with new arms my foe defied. +This made me with so little joy to hear +The victory, when I the victor fear. + +_Arim._ Something you swiftly must resolve to do, +Lest Aureng-Zebe your secret love should know. +Morat without does for your ruin wait; +And would you lose the buckler of your state? +A jealous empress lies within your arms, +Too haughty to endure neglected charms. + +Your son is duteous, but, as man, he's frail, +And just revenge o'er virtue may prevail. + +_Emp._ Go then to Indamora; say, from me, +Two lives depend upon her secrecy. +Bid her conceal my passion from my son: +Though Aureng-Zebe return a conqueror, +Both he and she are still within my power. +Say, I'm a father, but a lover too; +Much to my son, more to myself I owe. +When she receives him, to her words give law, +And even the kindness of her glances awe. +See, he appears! [_After a short whisper,_ ARIMANT _departs._ + + _Enter_ AURENG-ZEBE, DIANET, _and_ Attendants.--AURENG-ZEBE _kneels + to his Father, and kisses his hand._ + +_Aur._ My vows have been successful as my sword; +My prayers are heard, you have your health restored. +Once more 'tis given me to behold your face; +The best of kings and fathers to embrace. +Pardon my tears; 'tis joy which bids them flow, +A joy which never was sincere till now. +That, which my conquest gave, I could not prize; +Or 'twas imperfect till I saw your eyes. + +_Emp._ Turn the discourse: I have a reason why +I would not have you speak so tenderly. +Knew you what shame your kind expressions bring, +You would, in pity, spare a wretched king. + +_Aur._ A king! you rob me, sir, of half my due; +You have a dearer name,--a father too. + +_Emp._ I had that name. + +_Aur._ What have I said or done, +That I no longer must be called your son? +'Tis in that name, heaven knows, I glory more, +Than that of prince, or that of conqueror. + +_Emp._ Then you upbraid me; I am pleased to see +You're not so perfect, but can fail, like me. +I have no God to deal with. + +_Aur._ Now I find, +Some sly court-devil has seduced your mind; +Filled it with black suspicions not your own, +And all my actions through false optics shown. +I ne'er did crowns ambitiously regard; +Honour I sought, the generous mind's reward. +Long may you live! while you the sceptre sway, +I shall be still most happy to obey. + +_Emp._ Oh, Aureng-Zebe! thy virtues shine too bright, +They flash too fierce: I, like the bird of night, +Shut my dull eyes, and sicken at the sight. +Thou hast deserved more love than I can show; +But 'tis thy fate to give, and mine to owe. +Thou seest me much distempered in my mind; +Pulled back, and then pushed forward to be kind. +Virtue, and--fain I would my silence break, +But have not yet the confidence to speak. +Leave me, and to thy needful rest repair. + +_Aur._ Rest is not suiting with a lover's care. +I have not yet my Indamora seen. [_Is going._ + +_Emp._ Somewhat I had forgot; come back again: +So weary of a father's company? + +_Aur._ Sir, you were pleased yourself to license me. + +_Emp._ You made me no relation of the fight; +Besides, a rebel's army is in sight. +Advise me first: Yet go-- +He goes to Indamora; I should take [_Aside._ +A kind of envious joy to keep him back. +Yet to detain him makes my love appear;-- +I hate his presence, and his absence fear. [_Exit._ + +_Aur._ To some new clime, or to thy native sky, +Oh friendless and forsaken Virtue, fly! +Thy Indian air is deadly to thee grown: +Deceit and cankered malice rule thy throne. +Why did my arms in battle prosperous prove, +To gain the barren praise of filial love? +The best of kings by women is misled, +Charmed by the witchcraft of a second bed. +Against myself I victories have won, +And by my fatal absence am undone. + + _To him_ INDAMORA, _with_ ARIMANT. + +But here she comes! +In the calm harbour of whose gentle breast, +My tempest-beaten soul may safely rest. +Oh, my heart's joy! whate'er my sorrows be, +They cease and vanish in beholding thee! +Care shuns thy walks; as at the cheerful light, +The groaning ghosts and birds obscene take flight. +By this one view, all my past pains are paid; +And all I have to come more easy made. + +_Ind._ Such sullen planets at my birth did shine, +They threaten every fortune mixt with mine. +Fly the pursuit of my disastrous love, +And from unhappy neighbourhood remove. + +_Aur._ Bid the laborious hind, +Whose hardened hands did long in tillage toil, +Neglect the promised harvest of the soil. +Should I, who cultivated love with blood, +Refuse possession of approaching good? + +_Ind._ Love is an airy good, opinion makes; +Which he, who only thinks he has, partakes: +Seen by a strong imagination's beam, +That tricks and dresses up the gaudy dream: +Presented so, with rapture 'tis enjoyed; +Raised by high fancy, and by low destroyed. + +_Aur._ If love be vision, mine has all the fire, +Which, in first dreams, young prophets does inspire: +I dream, in you, our promised paradise: +An age's tumult of continued bliss. +But you have still your happiness in doubt; +Or else 'tis past, and you have dreamt it out. + +_Ind._ Perhaps not so. + +_Aur._ Can Indamora prove +So altered? Is it but, perhaps you love? +Then farewell all! I thought in you to find +A balm, to cure my much distempered mind. +I came to grieve a father's heart estranged; +But little thought to find a mistress changed. +Nature herself is changed to punish me; +Virtue turned vice, and faith inconstancy. + +_Ind._ You heard me not inconstancy confess: +'Twas but a friend's advice to love me less. +Who knows what adverse fortune may befal? +Arm well your mind: hope little, and fear all. +Hope, with a goodly prospect, feeds your eye; +Shows, from a rising ground, possession nigh; +Shortens the distance, or o'erlooks it quite; +So easy 'tis to travel with the sight. + +_Aur._ Then to despair you would my love betray, +By taking hope, its last kind friend, away. +You hold the glass, but turn the perspective, +And farther off the lessened object drive. +You bid me fear: In that your change I know; +You would prepare me for the coming blow. +But, to prevent you, take my last adieu; +I'll sadly tell my self you are untrue, +Rather than stay to hear it told by you. [_Going._ + +_Ind._ Stay, Aureng-Zebe, I must not let you go,-- +And yet believe yourself your own worst foe; +Think I am true, and seek no more to know, +Let in my breast the fatal secret lie; +'Tis a sad riddle, which, if known, we die. [_Seeming to pause._ + +_Aur._ Fair hypocrite, you seek to cheat in vain; +Your silence argues you ask time to feign. +Once more, farewell! The snare in sight is laid, +'Tis my own fault if I am now betrayed. [_Going again._ + +_Ind._ Yet once more stay; you shall believe me true, +Though in one fate I wrap myself and you. +Your absence-- + +_Arim._ Hold! you know the hard command, +I must obey: You only can withstand +Your own mishap. I beg you, on my knee, +Be not unhappy by your own decree. + +_Aur._ Speak, madam; by (if that be yet an oath) +Your love, I'm pleased we should be ruined both. +Both is a sound of joy. +In death's dark bowers our bridals we will keep; +And his cold hand +Shall draw the curtain, when we go to sleep. + +_Ind._ Know then, that man, whom both of us did trust, +Has been to you unkind, to me unjust. +The guardian of my faith so false did prove, +As to solicit me with lawless love: +Prayed, promised, threatened, all that man could do; +Base as he's great; and need I tell you who? + +_Aur._ Yes; for I'll not believe my father meant: +Speak quickly, and my impious thoughts prevent. + +_Ind._ You've said; I wish I could some other name! + +_Arim._ My duty must excuse me, sir, from blame. +A guard there! + + _Enter Guards._ + +_Aur._ Slave, for me? + +_Arim._ My orders are +To seize this princess, whom the laws of war +Long since made prisoner. + +_Aur._ Villain! + +_Arim._ Sir, I know +Your birth, nor durst another call me so. + +_Aur._ I have redeemed her; and, as mine, she's free. + +_Arim._ You may have right to give her liberty; +But with your father, sir, that right dispute; +For his commands to me were absolute, +If she disclosed his love, to use the right +Of war, and to secure her from your sight. + +_Aur._ I'll rescue her, or die. [_Draws._ +And you, my friends, though few, are yet too brave, +To see your general's mistress made a slave. [_All draw._ + +_Ind._ Hold, my dear love! if so much power there lies, +As once you owned, in Indamora's eyes, +Lose not the honour you have early won, +But stand the blameless pattern of a son. +My love your claim inviolate secures; +'Tis writ in fate, I can be only yours. +My sufferings for you make your heart my due; +Be worthy me, as I am worthy you. + +_Aur._ I've thought, and blessed be you who gave me time; + [_Putting up his Sword._ +My virtue was surprised into a crime. +Strong virtue, like strong nature, struggles still; +Exerts itself, and then throws off the ill. +I to a son's and lover's praise aspire, +And must fulfil the parts which both require. +How dear the cure of jealousy has cost! +With too much care and tenderness you're lost. +So the fond youth from hell redeemed his prize, +Till, looking back, she vanished from his eyes! [_Exeunt severally._ + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + + _Betwixt the Acts, a warlike Tune is played, shooting of Guns and + shouts of Soldiers are heard, as in an Assault._ + + AURENG-ZEBE, ARIMANT, ASAPH CHAN, FAZEL CHAN, _and_ SOLYMAN. + +_Aur._ What man could do, was by Morat performed; +The fortress thrice himself in person stormed. +Your valour bravely did the assault sustain, +And filled the moats and ditches with the slain; +'Till, mad with rage, into the breach he fired, +Slew friends and foes, and in the smoke retired. + +_Arim._ To us you give what praises are not due; +Morat was thrice repulsed, but thrice by you. +High, over all, was your great conduct shown; +You sought our safety, but forgot your own. + +_Asaph._ Their standard, planted on the battlement, +Despair and death among the soldiers sent; +You the bold Omrah tumbled from the wall, +And shouts of victory pursued his fall. + +_Fazel._ To you alone we owe this prosperous day; +Our wives and children rescued from the prey: +Know your own interest, sir; where'er you lead, +We jointly vow to own no other head. + +_Solym._ Your wrongs are known. Impose but your commands, +This hour shall bring you twenty thousand hands. + +_Aur._ Let them, who truly would appear my friends, +Employ their swords, like mine, for noble ends. +No more: Remember you have bravely done; +Shall treason end what loyalty begun? +I own no wrongs; some grievance I confess; +But kings, like gods, at their own time redress. +Yet, some becoming boldness I may use; +I've well deserved, nor will he now refuse. [_Aside._ +I'll strike my fortunes with him at a heat, +And give him not the leisure to forget. + [_Exit, attended by the Omrahs._ + +_Arim._ Oh! Indamora, hide these fatal eyes! +Too deep they wound whom they too soon surprise; +My virtue, prudence, honour, interest, all +Before this universal monarch fall. +Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; +Who can tread sure on the smooth slippery way? +Pleased with the passage, we slide swiftly on, +And see the dangers which we cannot shun. + + _To him_ INDAMORA. + +_Ind._ I hope my liberty may reach thus far; +These terrace walks within my limits are. +I came to seek you, and to let you know, +How much I to your generous pity owe. +The king, when he designed you for my guard, +Resolved he would not make my bondage hard: +If otherwise, you have deceived his end; +And whom he meant a guardian, made a friend. + +_Arim._ A guardian's title I must own with shame; +But should be prouder of another name. + +_Ind._ And therefore 'twas I changed that name before; +I called you friend, and could you wish for more? + +_Arim._ I dare not ask for what you would not grant. +But wishes, madam, are extravagant; +They are not bounded with things possible: +I may wish more than I presume to tell. +Desire's the vast extent of human mind; +It mounts above, and leaves poor hope behind. +I could wish-- + +_Ind._ What? + +_Arim._ Why did you speak? you've dashed my fancy quite, +Even in the approaching minute of delight. +I must take breath, +Ere I the rapture of my wish renew, +And tell you then,--it terminates in you. + +_Ind._ Have you considered what the event would be? +Or know you, Arimant, yourself, or me? +Were I no queen, did you my beauty weigh, +My youth in bloom, your age in its decay? + +_Arim._ I, my own judge, condemned myself before; +For pity aggravate my crime no more! +So weak I am, I with a frown am slain; +You need have used but half so much disdain. + +_Ind._ I am not cruel yet to that degree; +Have better thoughts both of yourself and me. +Beauty a monarch is, +Which kingly power magnificently proves, +By crowds of slaves, and peopled empire loves: +And such a slave as you what queen would lose? +Above the rest, I Arimant would chuse, +For counsel, valour, truth, and kindness too; +All I could wish in man, I find in you. + +_Arim._ What lover could to greater joy be raised? +I am, methinks, a god, by you thus praised. + +_Ind._ To what may not desert like yours pretend? +You have all qualities, that fit a friend. + +_Arim._ So mariners mistake the promised coast; +And, with full sails, on the blind rocks are lost. +Think you my aged veins so faintly beat, +They rise no higher than to friendship's heat? +So weak your charms, that, like a winter's night, +Twinkling with stars, they freeze me, while they light? + +_Ind._ Mistake me not, good Arimant; I know +My beauty's power, and what my charms can do. +You your own talent have not learned so well; +But practise one, where you can ne'er excel. +You can, at most, +To an indifferent lover's praise pretend; +But you would spoil an admirable friend. + +_Arim._ Never was amity so highly prized, +Nor ever any love so much despised. +Even to myself ridiculous I grow, +And would be angry, if I knew but how. + +_Ind._ Do not. Your anger, like your love, is vain; +Whene'er I please, you must be pleased again. +Knowing what power I have your will to bend, +I'll use it; for I need just such a friend. +You must perform, not what you think is fit; +But to whatever I propose submit. + +_Arim._ Madam, you have a strange ascendant gained; +You use me like a courser, spurred and reined: +If I fly out, my fierceness you command, +Then sooth, and gently stroke me with your hand. +Impose; but use your power of taxing well; +When subjects cannot pay, they soon rebel. + +_Enter the Emperor, unseen by them._ + +_Ind._ My rebel's punishment would easy prove; +You know you're in my power, by making love. + +_Arim._ Would I, without dispute, your will obey, +And could you, in return, my life betray? + +_Emp._ What danger, Arimant, is this you fear? +Or what love-secret, which I must not hear? +These altered looks some inward motion show: +His cheeks are pale, and yours with blushes glow. [_To her._ + +_Ind._ 'Tis what, with justice, may my anger move; +He has been bold, and talked to me of love. + +_Arim._ I am betrayed, and shall be doomed to die. [_Aside._ + +_Emp._ Did he, my slave, presume to look so high? +That crawling insect, who from mud began, +Warmed by my beams, and kindled into man? +Durst he, who does but for my pleasure live, +Intrench on love, my great prerogative? +Print his base image on his sovereign's coin? +'Tis treason if he stamp his love with mine. + +_Arim._ 'Tis true, I have been bold, but if it be +A crime-- + +_Ind._ He means, 'tis only so to me. +You, sir, should praise, what I must disapprove. +He insolently talked to me of love; +But, sir, 'twas yours, he made it in your name; +You, if you please, may all he said disclaim. + +_Emp._ I must disclaim whate'er he can express; +His groveling sense will show my passion less: +But stay,--if what he said my message be, +What fear, what danger, could arrive from me? +He said, he feared you would his life betray. + +_Ind._ Should he presume again, perhaps I may. +Though in your hands he hazard not his life, +Remember, sir, your fury of a wife; +Who, not content to be revenged on you, +The agents of your passion will pursue. + +_Emp._ If I but hear her named, I'm sick that day; +The sound is mortal, and frights life away.-- +Forgive me, Arimant, my jealous thought: +Distrust in lovers is the tenderest fault. +Leave me, and tell thyself, in my excuse, +Love, and a crown, no rivalship can bear; +And precious things are still possessed with fear. + [_Exit_ ARIMANT, _bowing._ +This, madam, my excuse to you may plead; +Love should forgive the faults, which love has made. + +_Ind._ From me, what pardon can you hope to have, +Robbed of my love, and treated as a slave? + +_Emp._ Force is the last relief which lovers find; +And 'tis the best excuse of woman-kind. + +_Ind._ Force never yet a generous heart did gain; +We yield on parley, but are stormed in vain. +Constraint in all things makes the pleasure less; +Sweet is the love which comes with willingness. + +_Emp._ No; 'tis resistance that inflames desire, +Sharpens the darts of love, and blows his fire. +Love is disarmed, that meets with too much ease; +He languishes, and does not care to please: +And therefore 'tis, your golden fruit you guard +With so much care,--to make possession hard. + +_Ind._ Was't not enough, you took my crown away, +But cruelly you must my love betray? +I was well pleased to have transferred my right, +And better changed your claim of lawless might, +By taking him, whom you esteemed above +Your other sons, and taught me first to love. + +_Emp._ My son by my command his course must steer: +I bade him love, I bid him now forbear. +If you have any kindness for him still, +Advise him not to shock a father's will. + +_Ind._ Must I advise? +Then let me see him, and I'll try to obey. + +_Emp._ I had forgot, and dare not trust your way. +But send him word, +He has not here an army to command: +Remember, he and you are in my hand. + +_Ind._ Yes, in a father's hand, whom he has served, +And, with the hazard of his life, preserved. +But piety to you, unhappy prince, +Becomes a crime, and duty an offence; +Against yourself you with your foes combine, +And seem your own destruction to design. + +_Emp._ You may be pleased your politics to spare; +I'm old enough, and can myself take care. + +_Ind._ Advice from me was, I confess, too bold: +You're old enough; it may be, sir, too old. + +_Emp._ You please yourself with your contempt of age; +But love, neglected, will convert to rage. +If on your head my fury does not turn, +Thank that fond dotage which so much you scorn; +But, in another's person, you may prove, +There's warmth for vengeance left, though not for love. + + _Re-enter_ ARIMANT. + +_Arim._ The empress has the antichambers past, +And this way moves with a disordered haste: +Her brows the stormy marks of anger bear. + +_Emp._ Madam, retire; she must not find you here. + [_Exit_ INDAMORA _with_ ARIMANT. + + _Enter_ NOURMAHAL _hastily._ + +_Nour._ What have I done, that Nourmahal must prove +The scorn and triumph of a rival's love? +My eyes are still the same; each glance, each grace, +Keep their first lustre, and maintain their place; +Not second yet to any other face. + +_Emp._ What rage transports you? Are you well awake? +Such dreams distracted minds in fevers make. + +_Nour._ Those fevers you have given, those dreams have bred, +By broken faith, and an abandoned bed. +Such visions hourly pass before my sight, +Which from my eyes their balmy slumbers fright, +In the severest silence of the night; +Visions, which in this citadel are seen,-- +Bright glorious visions of a rival queen. + +_Emp._ Have patience,--my first flames can ne'er decay; +These are but dreams, and soon will pass away; +Thou know'st, my heart, my empire, all is thine. +In thy own heaven of love serenely shine; +Fair as the face of nature did appear, +When flowers first peep'd, and trees did blossoms bear, +And winter had not yet deformed the inverted year; +Calm as the breath which fans our eastern groves, +And bright as when thy eyes first lighted up our loves. +Let our eternal peace be sealed by this, +With the first ardour of a nuptial kiss. [_Offers to kiss her._ + +_Nour._ Me would you have,--me your faint kisses prove, +The dregs and droppings of enervate love? +Must I your cold long-labouring age sustain, +And be to empty joys provoked in vain? +Receive you, sighing after other charms, +And take an absent husband in my arms? + +_Emp._ Even these reproaches I can bear from you; +You doubted of my love, believe it true: +Nothing but love this patience could produce, +And I allow your rage that kind excuse. + +_Nour._ Call it not patience; 'tis your guilt stands mute; +You have a cause too foul to bear dispute. +You wrong me first, and urge my rage to rise: +Then I must pass for mad; you, meek and wise. +Good man! plead merit by your soft replies. +Vain privilege poor women have of tongue; +Men can stand silent, and resolve on wrong. + +_Emp._ What can I more? my friendship you refuse. +And even my mildness, as my crime, accuse. + +_Nour._ Your sullen silence cheats not me, false man; +I know you think the bloodiest things you can. +Could you accuse me, you would raise your voice, +Watch for my crimes, and in my guilt rejoice: +But my known virtue is from scandal free, +And leaves no shadow for your calumny. + +_Emp._ Such virtue is the plague of human life; +A virtuous woman, but a cursed wife. +In vain of pompous chastity you're proud; +Virtue's adultery of the tongue, when loud. +I, with less pain, a prostitute could bear, +Than the shrill sound of--"_Virtue! virtue!_" hear. +In unchaste wives +There's yet a kind of recompensing ease; +Vice keeps them humble, gives them care to please; +But against clamorous virtue, what defence? +It stops our mouths, and gives your noise pretence. + +_Nour._ Since virtue does your indignation raise, +'Tis pity but you had that wife you praise: +Your own wild appetites are prone to range, +And then you tax our humours with your change. + +_Emp._ What can be sweeter than our native home? +Thither for ease and soft repose we come: +Home is the sacred refuge of our life; +Secured from all approaches, but a wife. +If thence we fly, the cause admits no doubt; +None but an inmate foe could force us out: +Clamours our privacies uneasy make; +Birds leave their nests disturbed, and beasts their haunts forsake. + +_Nour._ Honour's my crime, that has your loathing bred; +You take no pleasure in a virtuous bed. + +_Emp._ What pleasure can there be in that estate, +Which your unquietness has made me hate? +I shrink far off, +Dissembling sleep, but wakeful with the fright; +The day takes off the pleasure of the night. + +_Nour._ My thoughts no other joys but power pursue; +Or, if they did, they must be lost in you. +And yet the fault's not mine, +Though youth and beauty cannot warmth command; +The sun in vain shines on the barren sand. + +_Emp._ 'Tis true, of marriage-bands I'm weary grown; +Love scorns all ties, but those that are his own. +Chains, that are dragged, must needs uneasy prove, +For there's a godlike liberty in love. + +_Nour._ What's love to you? +The bloom of beauty other years demands, +Nor will be gathered by such withered hands: +You importune it with a false desire, +Which sparkles out, and makes no solid fire. +This impudence of age, whence can it spring? +All you expect, and yet you nothing bring: +Eager to ask, when you are past a grant; +Nice in providing what you cannot want. +Have conscience; give not her you love this pain; +Solicit not yourself and her in vain: +All other debts may compensation find; +But love is strict, and will be paid in kind. + +_Emp._ Sure, of all ills, domestic are the worst; +When most secure of blessings, we are curst. +When we lay next us what we hold most dear, +Like Hercules, envenomed shirts we wear, +And cleaving mischiefs. + +_Nour._ What you merit, have; +And share, at least, the miseries you gave. +Your days I will alarm, I'll haunt your nights. +And, worse than age, disable your delights. +May your sick fame still languish till it die, +All offices of power neglected lie, +And you grow cheap in every subject's eye! +Then, as the greatest curse that I can give, +Unpitied be deposed, and, after, live! [_Going off._ + +_Emp._ Stay, and now learn, +How criminal soe'er we husbands are, +'Tis not for wives to push our crimes too far. +Had you still mistress of your temper been, +I had been modest, and not owned my sin. +Your fury hardens me; and whate'er wrong +You suffer, you have cancelled by your tongue. +A guard there!--Seize her; she shall know this hour, +What is a husband's and a monarch's power. [_Guard seizes her._ + + _Enter_ AURENG-ZEBE. + +_Nour._ I see for whom your charter you maintain; +I must be fettered, and my son be slain, +That Zelyma's ambitious race may reign. +Not so you promised, when my beauty drew +All Asia's vows; when, Persia left for you, +The realm of Candahar for dower I brought; +That long-contended prize for which you fought. + +_Aur._ The name of stepmother, your practised art, +By which you have estranged my father's heart, +All you have done against me, or design, +Shows your aversion, but begets not mine. +Long may my father India's empire guide, +And may no breach your nuptial vows divide! + +_Emp._ Since love obliges not, I from this hour +Assume the right of man's despotic power; +Man is by nature formed your sex's head, +And is himself the canon of his bed: +In bands of iron fettered you shall be,-- +An easier yoke than what you put on me. + +_Aur._ Though much I fear my interest is not great, +Let me your royal clemency intreat. [_Kneeling._ +Secrets of marriage still are sacred held; +Their sweet and bitter by the wise concealed. +Errors of wives reflect on husbands still, +And, when divulged, proclaim you've chosen ill; +And the mysterious power of bed and throne +Should always be maintained, but rarely shown. + +_Emp._ To so perverse a sex all grace is vain; +It gives them courage to offend again: +For with feigned tears they penitence pretend, +Again are pardoned, and again offend; +Fathom our pity when they seem to grieve, +Only to try how far we can forgive; +Till, launching out into a sea of strife, +They scorn all pardon, and appear all wife. +But be it as you please; for your loved sake, +This last and fruitless trial I will make: +In all requests your right of merit use; +And know, there is but one I can refuse. + [_He signs to the Guards, and they remove from + the Empress._ + +_Nour._ You've done enough, for you designed my chains; +The grace is vanished, but the affront remains. +Nor is't a grace, or for his merit done; +You durst no farther, for you feared my son. +This you have gained by the rough course you prove; +I'm past repentance, and you past my love. [_Exit._ + +_Emp._ A spirit so untamed the world ne'er bore. + +_Aur._ And yet worse usage had incensed her more. +But since by no obligement she is tied, +You must betimes for your defence provide. +I cannot idle in your danger stand, +But beg once more I may your arms command: +Two battles your auspicious cause has won; +My sword can perfect what it has begun, +And from your walls dislodge that haughty son. + +_Emp._ My son, your valour has this day been such, +None can enough admire, or praise too much: +But now, with reason, your success I doubt; +Her faction's strong within, his arms without. + +_Aur._ I left the city in a panic fright; +Lions they are in council, lambs in fight. +But my own troops, by Mirzah led, are near; +I, by to-morrow's dawn, expect them here: +To favour them, I'll sally out ere day, +And through our slaughtered foes enlarge their way. + +_Emp._ Age has not yet +So shrunk my sinews, or so chilled my veins, +But conscious virtue in my breast remains: +But had I now +That strength, with which my boiling youth was fraught, +When in the vale of Balasor I fought, +And from Bengal their captive monarch brought; +When elephant 'gainst elephant did rear +His trunk, and castles jostled in the air; +My sword thy way to victory had shown, +And owed the conquest to itself alone. + +_Aur._ Those fair ideas to my aid I'll call, +And emulate my great original; +Or, if they fail, I will invoke, in arms, +The power of love, and Indamora's charms. + +_Emp._ I doubt the happy influence of your star; +To invoke a captive's name bodes ill in war. + +_Aur._ Sir, give me leave to say, whatever now +The omen prove, it boded well to you. +Your royal promise, when I went to fight, +Obliged me to resign a victor's right: +Her liberty I fought for, and I won, +And claim it, as your general, and your son. + +_Emp._ My ears still ring with noise; I'm vexed to death, +Tongue-killed, and have not yet recovered breath; +Nor will I be prescribed my time by you. +First end the war, and then your claim renew; +While to your conduct I my fortune trust, +To keep this pledge of duty is but just. + +_Aur._ Some hidden cause your jealousy does move, +Or you could ne'er suspect my loyal love. + +_Emp._ What love soever by an heir is shown, +He waits but time to step into the throne; +You're neither justified, nor yet accused; +Meanwhile, the prisoner with respect is used. + +_Aur._ I know the kindness of her guardian such, +I need not fear too little, but too much. +But, how, sir, how have you from virtue swerved? +Or what so ill return have I deserved? +You doubt not me, nor have I spent my blood, +To have my faith no better understood: +Your soul's above the baseness of distrust: +Nothing but love could make you so unjust. + +_Emp._ You know your rival then; and know 'tis fit, +The son should to the father's claim submit. + +_Aur._ Sons may have rights which they can never quit. +Yourself first made that title which I claim: +First bade me love, and authorised my flame. + +_Emp._ The value of my gift I did not know: +If I could give, I can resume it too. + +_Aur._ Recall your gift, for I your power confess. +But first take back my life, a gift that's less. +Long life would now but a long burthen prove: +You're grown unkind, and I have lost your love. +My grief lets unbecoming speeches fall: +I should have died, and not complained at all. + +_Emp._ Witness, ye powers, +How much I suffered, and how long I strove +Against the assaults of this imperious love! +I represented to myself the shame +Of perjured faith, and violated fame; +Your great deserts, how ill they were repaid; +All arguments, in vain, I urged and weighed: +For mighty love, who prudence does despise, +For reason showed me Indamora's eyes. +What would you more? my crime I sadly view, +Acknowledge, am ashamed, and yet pursue. + +_Aur._ Since you can love, and yet your error see, +The same resistless power may plead for me. +With no less ardour I my claim pursue: +I love, and cannot yield her even to you. + +_Emp._ Your elder brothers, though o'ercome, have right: +The youngest yet in arms prepared to fight. +But, yielding her, I firmly have decreed, +That you alone to empire shall succeed. + +_Aur._ To after-ages let me stand a shame, +When I exchange for crowns my love or fame! +You might have found a mercenary son, +To profit of the battles he had won. +Had I been such, what hindered me to take +The crown? nor had the exchange been yours to make. +While you are living, I no right pretend; +Wear it, and let it where you please descend. +But from my love, 'tis sacrilege to part: +There, there's my throne, in Indamora's heart. + +_Emp._ 'Tis in her heart alone that you must reign: +You'll find her person difficult to gain. +Give willingly what I can take by force: +And know, obedience is your safest course. + +_Aur._ I'm taught, by honour's precepts, to obey: +Fear to obedience is a slavish way. +If aught my want of duty could beget, +You take the most prevailing means, to threat. +Pardon your blood, that boils within my veins; +It rises high, and menacing disdains. +Even death's become to me no dreadful name: +I've often met him, and have made him tame: +In fighting fields, where our acquaintance grew, +I saw him, and contemned him first for you. + +_Emp._ Of formal duty make no more thy boast: +Thou disobey'st where it concerns me most. +Fool! with both hands thus to push back a crown, +And headlong cast thyself from empire down! +Though Nourmahal I hate, her son shall reign: +Inglorious thou, by thy own fault, remain. +Thy younger brother I'll admit this hour: +So mine shall be thy mistress, his thy power. [_Exit._ + +_Aur._ How vain is virtue, which directs our ways +Through certain danger to uncertain praise! +Barren, and airy name! thee fortune flies, +With thy lean train, the pious and the wise. +Heaven takes thee at thy word, without regard, +And lets thee poorly be thy own reward. +The world is made for the bold impious man, +Who stops at nothing, seizes all he can. +Justice to merit does weak aid afford; +She trusts her balance, and neglects her sword. +Virtue is nice to take what's not her own; +And, while she long consults, the prize is gone. + + _To him_ DIANET. + +_Dia._ Forgive the bearer of unhappy news: +Your altered father openly pursues +Your ruin; and, to compass his intent, +For violent Morat in haste has sent. +The gates he ordered all to be unbarred, +And from the market-place to draw the guard. + +_Aur._ How look the people in this turn of state? + +_Dia._ They mourn your ruin as their proper fate; +Cursing the empress: For they think it done +By her procurement, to advance her son. +Him too, though awed, they scarcely can forbear: +His pride they hate, his violence they fear. +All bent to rise, would you appear their chief, +Till your own troops come up to your relief. + +_Aur._ Ill treated, and forsaken, as I am, +I'll not betray the glory of my name: +'Tis not for me, who have preserved a state, +To buy an empire at so base a rate. + +_Dia._ The points of honour poets may produce; +Trappings of life, for ornament, not use: +Honour, which only does the name advance, +Is the mere raving madness of romance. +Pleased with a word, you may sit tamely down; +And see your younger brother force the crown. + +_Aur._ I know my fortune in extremes does lie; +The sons of Indostan must reign, or die; +That desperate hazard courage does create, +As he plays frankly, who has least estate; +And that the world the coward will despise, +When life's a blank, who pulls not for a prize. + +_Dia._ Of all your knowledge, this vain fruit you have, +To walk with eyes broad open to your grave. + +_Aur._ From what I've said, conclude, without reply, +I neither would usurp, nor tamely die. +The attempt to fly, would guilt betray, or fear: +Besides, 'twere vain; the fort's our prison here. +Somewhat I have resolved. +Morat, perhaps, has honour in his breast; +And, in extremes, both counsels are the best. +Like emp'ric remedies, they last are tried, +And by the event condemned, or justified. +Presence of mind, and courage in distress, +Are more than armies, to procure success. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT III. SCENE I. + + ARIMANT, _with a letter in his hand:_ INDAMORA. + +_Arim._ And I the messenger to him from you? +Your empire you to tyranny pursue: +You lay commands, both cruel and unjust, +To serve my rival, and betray my trust. + +_Ind._ You first betrayed your trust, in loving me; +And should not I my own advantage see? +Serving my love, you may my friendship gain; +You know the rest of your pretences vain. +You must, my Arimant, you must be kind: +'Tis in your nature, and your noble mind. + +_Arim._ I'll to the king, and straight my trust resign. + +_Ind._ His trust you may, but you shall never mine. +Heaven made you love me for no other end, +But to become my confidant and friend: +As such, I keep no secret from your sight, +And therefore make you judge how ill I write: +Read it, and tell me freely then your mind; +If 'tis indited, as I meant it, kind. + +_Arim._ _I ask not heaven my freedom to restore,_ [_Reading._ +_But only for your sake_--I'll read no more: +And yet I must-- +_Less for my own, than for your sorrow sad_-- [_Reading._ +Another line, like this, would make me mad-- +Heaven! she goes on--yet more--and yet more kind! [_As reading._ +Each sentence is a dagger to my mind. +_See me this night_-- [_Reading._ +_Thank fortune, who did such a friend provide, +For faithful Arimant shall be your guide._ +Not only to be made an instrument, +But pre-engaged without my own consent! + +_Ind._ Unknown to engage you still augments my score, +And gives you scope of meriting the more. + +_Arim._ The best of men +Some interest in their actions must confess; +None merit, but in hope they may possess. +The fatal paper rather let me tear, +Than, like Bellerophon, my own sentence bear. + +_Ind._ You may; but 'twill not be your best advice: +'Twill only give me pains of writing twice. +You know you must obey me, soon or late: +Why should you vainly struggle with your fate? + +_Arim._ I thank thee, heaven, thou hast been wondrous kind! +Why am I thus to slavery designed, +And yet am cheated with a freeborn mind? +Or make thy orders with my reason suit, +Or let me live by sense a glorious brute-- [_She frowns._ +You frown, and I obey with speed, before +That dreadful sentence comes, _See me no more:_ +See me no more! that sound, methinks, I hear +Like the last trumpet thundering in my ear. + + _Enter_ SOLYMAN. + +_Solym._ The princess Melesinda, bathed in tears, +And tossed alternately with hopes and fears, +If your affairs such leisure can afford, +Would learn from you the fortunes of her lord. + +_Arim._ Tell her, that I some certainty may bring, +I go this minute to attend the king. + +_Ind._ This lonely turtle I desire to see: +Grief, though not cured, is eased by company. + +_Arim._ [_To_ SOLYM.] +Say, if she please, she hither may repair, +And breathe the freshness of the open air. [_Exit_ SOLYM. + +_Ind._ Poor princess! how I pity her estate, +Wrapt in the ruins of her husband's fate! +She mourned Morat should in rebellion rise; +Yet he offends, and she's the sacrifice. + +_Arim._ Not knowing his design, at court she staid; +'Till, by command, close prisoner she was made. +Since when, +Her chains with Roman constancy she bore, +But that, perhaps, an Indian wife's is more. + +_Ind._ Go, bring her comfort; leave me here alone. + +_Arim._ My love must still he in obedience shown. [_Exit_ ARIM. + + _Enter_ MELESINDA, _led by_ SOLYMAN, _who retires afterwards._ + +_Ind._ When graceful sorrow in her pomp appears, +Sure she is dressed in Melesinda's tears. +Your head reclined, (as hiding grief from view) +Droops, like a rose, surcharged with morning dew. + +_Mel._ Can flowers but droop in absence of the sun, +Which waked their sweets? And mine, alas! is gone. +But you the noblest charity express: +For they, who shine in courts, still shun distress. + +_Ind._ Distressed myself, like you, confined, I live: +And, therefore, can compassion take and give. +We're both love's captives, but with fate so cross, +One must be happy by the other's loss. +Morat, or Aureng-Zebe, must fall this day. + +_Mel._ Too truly Tamerlane's successors they; +Each thinks a world too little for his sway. +Could you and I the same pretences bring, +Mankind should with more ease receive a king: +I would to you the narrow world resign, +And want no empire while Morat was mine. + +_Ind._ Wished freedom, I presage, you soon will find; +If heaven be just, and be to virtue kind. + +_Mel._ Quite otherwise my mind foretels my fate: +Short is my life, and that unfortunate. +Yet should I not complain, would heaven afford +Some little time, ere death, to see my lord. + +_Ind._ These thoughts are but your melancholy's food; +Raised from a lonely life, and dark abode: +But whatsoe'er our jarring fortunes prove, +Though our lords hate, methinks we two may love. + +_Mel._ Such be our loves as may not yield to fate; +I bring a heart more true than fortunate. [_Giving their hands._ + + _To them,_ ARIMANT. + +_Arim._ I come with haste surprising news to bring: +In two hours time, since last I saw the king, +The affairs of court have wholly changed their face: +Unhappy Aureng-Zebe is in disgrace; +And your Morat, proclaimed the successor, +Is called, to awe the city with his power. +Those trumpets his triumphant entry tell, +And now the shouts waft near the citadel. + +_Ind._ See, madam, see the event by me foreshown: +I envy not your chance, but grieve my own. + +_Mel._ A change so unexpected must surprise: +And more, because I am unused to joys. + +_Ind._ May all your wishes ever prosperous be! +But I'm too much concerned the event to see. +My eyes too tender are, +To view my lord become the public scorn.-- +I came to comfort, and I go to mourn. [_Taking her leave._ + +_Mel._ Stay, I'll not see my lord, +Before I give your sorrow some relief; +And pay the charity you lent my grief. +Here he shall see me first, with you confined; +And, if your virtue fail to move his mind, +I'll use my interest that he may be kind. +Fear not, I never moved him yet in vain. + +_Ind._ So fair a pleader any cause may gain. + +_Mel._ I have no taste, methinks, of coming joy; +For black presages all my hopes destroy. +"Die!" something whispers,--"Melesinda, die! +Fulfil, fulfil, thy mournful destiny!"-- +Mine is a gleam of bliss, too hot to last; +Watry it shines, and will be soon o'ercast. [IND. _and_ MEL. _retire._ + +_Arim._ Fortune seems weary grown of Aureng-Zebe, +While to her new-made favourite Morat, +Her lavish hand is wastefully profuse: +With fame and flowing honours tided in, +Borne on a swelling current smooth beneath him. +The king, and haughty empress, to our wonder, +If not atoned, yet seemingly at peace, +As fate for him that miracle reserved. + + _Enter, in triumph, Emperor,_ MORAT, _and Train._ + +_Emp._ I have confessed I love. +As I interpret fairly your design, +So look not with severer eyes on mine. +Your fate has called you to the imperial seat: +In duty be, as you in arms are, great; +For Aureng-Zebe a hated name is grown, +And love less bears a rival than the throne. + +_Mor._ To me, the cries of fighting fields are charms: +Keen be my sabre, and of proof my arms, +I ask no other blessing of my stars: +No prize but fame, nor mistress but the wars. +I scarce am pleased I tamely mount the throne:-- +Would Aureng-Zebe had all their souls in one! +With all my elder brothers I would fight, +And so from partial nature force my right. + +_Emp._ Had we but lasting youth, and time to spare, +Some might be thrown away on fame and war; +But youth, the perishing good, runs on too fast, +And, unenjoyed, will spend itself to waste; +Few know the use of life before 'tis past. +Had I once more thy vigour to command, +I would not let it die upon my hand: +No hour of pleasure should pass empty by; +Youth should watch joys, and shoot them as they fly. + +_Mor._ Methinks, all pleasure is in greatness found. +Kings, like heaven's eye, should spread their beams around, +Pleased to be seen, while glory's race they run: +Rest is not for the chariot of the sun. +Subjects are stiff-necked animals; they soon +Feel slackened reins, and pitch their rider down. + +_Emp._ To thee that drudgery of power I give: +Cares be thy lot: Reign thou, and let me live. +The fort I'll keep for my security; +Business and public state resign to thee. + +_Mor._ Luxurious kings are to their people lost: +They live, like drones, upon the public cost. +My arms from pole to pole the world shall shake, +And, with myself, keep all mankind awake. + +_Emp._ Believe me, son, and needless trouble spare; +'Tis a base world, and is not worth our care: +The vulgar, a scarce animated clod, +Ne'er pleased with aught above them, prince or God. +Were I a God, the drunken globe should roll, +The little emmetts with the human soul +Care for themselves, while at my ease I sat, +And second causes did the work of fate; +Or, if I would take care, that care should be +For wit that scorned the world, and lived like me. + + _To them,_ NOURMAHAL, ZAYDA, _and Attendants._ + +_Nour._ My dear Morat, [_Embracing her son._ +This day propitious to us all has been: +You're now a monarch's heir, and I a queen. +Your faithful father now may quit the state, +And find the ease he sought, indulged by fate. +Cares shall not keep him on the throne awake, +Nor break the golden slumbers he would take. + +_Emp._ In vain I struggled to the gaol of life, +While rebel-sons, and an imperious wife, +Still dragged me backward into noise and strife. + +_Mor._ Be that remembrance lost; and be it my pride +To be your pledge of peace on either side. + + _To them,_ AURENG-ZEBE. + +_Aur._ With all the assurance innocence can bring, +Fearless without, because secure within, +Armed with my courage, unconcerned I see +This pomp; a shame to you, a pride to me. +Shame is but where with wickedness 'tis joined; +And, while no baseness in this breast I find, +I have not lost the birth-right of my mind. + +_Emp._ Children, the blind effect of love and chance, +Formed by their sportive parents' ignorance, +Bear from their birth the impressions of a slave; +Whom heaven for play-games first, and then for service gave: +One then may be displaced, and one may reign, +And want of merit render birth-right vain. + +_Mor._ Comes he to upbraid us with his innocence? +Seize him, and take the preaching Brachman hence. + +_Aur._ Stay, sir!--I from my years no merit plead: [_To his Father._ +All my designs and acts to duty lead. +Your life and glory are my only end; +And for that prize I with Morat contend. + +_Mor._ Not him alone: I all mankind defy. +Who dares adventure more for both than I? + +_Aur._ I know you brave, and take you at your word: +That present service, which you vaunt, afford. +Our two rebellious brothers are not dead: +Though vanquished, yet again they gather head. +I dare you, as your rival in renown, +March out your army from the imperial town: +Chuse whom you please, the other leave to me; +And set our father absolutely free. +This, if you do, to end all future strife, +I am content to lead a private life; +Disband my army, to secure the state, +Nor aim at more, but leave the rest to fate. + +_Mor._ I'll do it.--Draw out my army on the plain! +War is to me a pastime, peace a pain. + +_Emp._ Think better first.-- [_To_ MOR. +You see yourself enclosed beyond escape, [_To_ AUR. +And, therefore, Proteus-like, you change your shape; +Of promise prodigal, while power you want, +And preaching in the self-denying cant. + +_Mor._ Plot better; for these arts too obvious are, +Of gaming time, the master-piece of war. +Is Aureng-Zebe so known? + +_Aur._ If acts like mine, +So far from interest, profit, or design, +Can show my heart, by those I would be known: +I wish you could as well defend your own. +My absent army for my father fought: +Yours, in these walls, is to enslave him brought. +If I come singly, you an armed guest, +The world with ease may judge whose cause is best. + +_Mor._ My father saw you ill designs pursue; +And my admission showed his fear of you. + +_Aur._ Himself best knows why he his love withdraws: +I owe him more than to declare the cause. +But still I press, our duty may be shown +By arms. + +_Mor._ I'll vanquish all his foes alone. + +_Aur._ You speak, as if you could the fates command, +And had no need of any other hand. +But, since my honour you so far suspect, +'Tis just I should on your designs reflect. +To prove yourself a loyal son, declare +You'll lay down arms when you conclude the war. + +_Mor._ No present answer your demand requires; +The war once done, I'll do what heaven inspires; +And while this sword this monarchy secures, +'Tis managed by an abler arm than yours. + +_Emp._ Morat's design a doubtful meaning bears: [_Aside._ +In Aureng-Zebe true loyalty appears. +He, for my safety, does his own despise; +Still, with his wrongs, I find his duty rise. +I feel my virtue struggling in my soul, +But stronger passion does its power controul.-- +Yet be advised your ruin to prevent: [_To_ AUR. _aside._ +You might be safe, if you would give consent. + +_Aur._ So to your welfare I of use may be, +My life or death are equal both to me. + +_Emp._ The people's hearts are yours; the fort yet mine: +Be wise, and Indamora's love resign. +I am observed: Remember, that I give +This my last proof of kindness--die, or live. + +_Aur._ Life, with my Indamora, I would chuse; +But, losing her, the end of living lose. +I had considered all I ought before; +And fear of death can make me change no more. +The people's love so little I esteem, +Condemned by you, I would not live by them. +May he, who must your favour now possess, +Much better serve you, and not love you less. + +_Emp._ I've heard you; and, to finish the debate, [_Aloud._ +Commit that rebel prisoner to the state. + +_Mor._ The deadly draught he shall begin this day: +And languish with insensible decay. + +_Aur._ I hate the lingering summons to attend; +Death all at once would be the nobler end. +Fate is unkind! methinks, a general +Should warm, and at the head of armies fall; +And my ambition did that hope pursue, +That so I might have died in fight for you. [_To his Father._ + +_Mor._ Would I had been disposer of thy stars! +Thou shouldst have had thy wish, and died in wars. +'Tis I, not thou, have reason to repine, +That thou shouldst fall by any hand, but mine. + +_Aur._ When thou wert formed, heaven did a man begin; +But the brute soul, by chance, was shuffled in. +In woods and wilds thy monarchy maintain, +Where valiant beasts, by force and rapine, reign. +In life's next scene, if transmigration be, +Some bear, or lion, is reserved for thee. + +_Mor._ Take heed thou com'st not in that lion's way! +I prophecy, thou wilt thy soul convey +Into a lamb, and be again my prey.-- +Hence with that dreaming priest! + +_Nour._ Let me prepare +The poisonous draught: His death shall be my care. +Near my apartment let him prisoner be, +That I his hourly ebbs of life may see. + +_Aur._ My life I would not ransom with a prayer: +'Tis vile, since 'tis not worth my father's care. +I go not, sir, indebted to my grave: +You paid yourself, and took the life you gave. [_Exit._ + +_Emp._ O that I had more sense of virtue left, [_Aside._ +Or were of that, which yet remains, bereft! +I've just enough to know how I offend, +And, to my shame, have not enough to mend. +Lead to the mosque.-- + +_Mor._ Love's pleasures, why should dull devotion stay? +Heaven to my Melesinda's but the way. + [_Exeunt Emperor,_ MORAT, _and train._ + +_Zayd._ Sure Aureng-Zebe has somewhat of divine, +Whose virtue through so dark a cloud can shine. +Fortune has from Morat this day removed +The greatest rival, and the best beloved. + +_Nour._ He is not yet removed. + +_Zayd._ He lives, 'tis true; +But soon must die, and, what I mourn, by you. + +_Nour._ My Zayda, may thy words prophetic be! + [_Embracing her eagerly._ +I take the omen; let him die by me! +He, stifled in my arms, shall lose his breath; +And life itself shall envious be of death. + +_Zayd._ Bless me, you powers above! + +_Nour._ Why dost thou start? +Is love so strange? Or have not I a heart? +Could Aureng-Zebe so lovely seem to thee, +And I want eyes that noble worth to see? +Thy little soul was but to wonder moved: +My sense of it was higher, and I loved. +That man, that god-like man, so brave, so great-- +But these are thy small praises I repeat. +I'm carried by a tide of love away: +He's somewhat more than I myself can say, + +_Zayd._ Though all the ideas you can form be true, +He must not, cannot, be possessed by you. +If contradicting interests could be mixt, +Nature herself has cast a bar betwixt; +And, ere you reach to this incestuous love, +You must divine and human rights remove. + +_Nour._ Count this among the wonders love has done: +I had forgot he was my husband's son. + +_Zayd._ Nay, more, you have forgot who is your own: +For whom your care so long designed the throne. +Morat must fall, if Aureng-Zebe should rise. + +_Nour._ 'Tis true; but who was e'er in love, and wise? +Why was that fatal knot of marriage tied, +Which did, by making us too near, divide? +Divides me from my sex! for heaven, I find, +Excludes but me alone of womankind. +I stand with guilt confounded, lost with shame, +And yet made wretched only by a name. +If names have such command on human life, +Love sure's a name that's more divine than wife. +That sovereign power all guilt from action takes, +At least the stains are beautiful it makes. + +_Zayd._ The incroaching ill you early should oppose: +Flattered, 'tis worse, and by indulgence grows. + +_Nour._ Alas! and what have I not said or done? +I fought it to the last,--and love has won. +A bloody conquest, which destruction brought, +And ruined all the country where he fought. +Whether this passion from above was sent, +The fate of him heaven favours to prevent; +Or as the curse of fortune in excess, +That, stretching, would beyond its reach possess; +And, with a taste which plenty does deprave, +Loaths lawful good, and lawless ill does crave-- + +_Zayd._ But yet, consider-- + +_Nour._ No, 'tis loss of time: +Think how to further, not divert my crime. +My artful engines instantly I'll move, +And chuse the soft and gentlest hour of love. +The under-provost of the fort is mine.-- +But see, Morat! I'll whisper my design. + + _Enter_ MORAT _with_ ARIMANT, _as talking: Attendants._ + +_Arim._ And for that cause was not in public seen, +But stays in prison with the captive queen. + +_Mor._ Let my attendants wait; I'll be alone: +Where least of state, there most of love is shewn. + +_Nour._ My son, your business is not hard to guess; [_To_ MORAT. +Long absence makes you eager to possess: +I will not importune you by my stay; +She merits all the love which you can pay. [_Exit with_ ZAYDA. + + _Re-enter_ ARIMANT, _with_ MELESINDA; _then exit._ MORAT _runs to_ + MELESINDA, _and embraces her._ + +_Mor._ Should I not chide you, that you chose to stay +In gloomy shades, and lost a glorious day? +Lost the first fruits of joy you should possess +In my return, and made my triumph less? + +_Mel._ Should I not chide, that you could stay and see +Those joys, preferring public pomp to me? +Through my dark cell your shouts of triumph rung: +I heard with pleasure, but I thought them long. + +_Mor._ The public will in triumphs rudely share, +And kings the rudeness of their joys must bear: +But I made haste to set my captive free, +And thought that work was only worthy me. +The fame of ancient matrons you pursue, +And stand a blameless pattern to the new. +I have not words to praise such acts as these: +But take my heart, and mould it as you please. + +_Mel._ A trial of your kindness I must make, +Though not for mine so much as virtue's sake. +The queen of Cassimere-- + +_Mor._ No more, my love; +That only suit I beg you not to move. +That she's in bonds for Aureng-Zebe I know, +And should, by my consent, continue so; +The good old man, I fear, will pity shew. +My father dotes, and let him still dote on; +He buys his mistress dearly, with his throne. + +_Mel._ See her; and then be cruel if you can. + +_Mor._ 'Tis not with me as with a private man. +Such may be swayed by honour, or by love; +But monarchs only by their interest move. + +_Mel._ Heaven does a tribute for your power demand: +He leaves the opprest and poor upon your hand; +And those, who stewards of his pity prove, +He blesses, in return, with public love: +In his distress some miracle is shewn; +If exiled, heaven restores him to his throne: +He needs no guard, while any subject's near, +Nor, like his tyrant neighbours, lives in fear: +No plots the alarm to his retirement give: +'Tis all mankind's concern that he should live. + +_Mor._ You promised friendship in your low estate, +And should forget it in your better fate. +Such maxims are more plausible than true; +But somewhat must be given to love and you. +I'll view this captive queen; to let her see, +Prayers and complaints are lost on such as me. + +_Mel._ I'll bear the news: Heaven knows how much I'm pleased, +That, by my care, the afflicted may be eased. + + _As she is going off, enter_ INDAMORA. + +_Ind._ I'll spare your pains, and venture out alone, +Since you, fair princess, my protection own. +But you, brave prince, a harder task must find; + [_To_ MORAT _kneeling, who takes her up._ +In saving me, you would but half be kind. +An humble suppliant at your feet I lie; +You have condemned my better part to die. +Without my Aureng-Zebe I cannot live; +Revoke his doom, or else my sentence give. + +_Mel._ If Melesinda in your love have part,-- +Which, to suspect, would break my tender heart,-- +If love, like mine, may for a lover plead, +By the chaste pleasures of our nuptial bed, +By all the interest my past sufferings make, +And all I yet would suffer for your sake; +By you yourself, the last and dearest tie-- + +_Mor._ You move in vain; for Aureng-Zebe must die. + +_Ind._ Could that decree from any brother come? +Nature herself is sentenced in your doom. +Piety is no more, she sees her place +Usurped by monsters, and a savage race. +From her soft eastern climes you drive her forth, +To the cold mansions of the utmost north. +How can our prophet suffer you to reign, +When he looks down, and sees your brother slain? +Avenging furies will your life pursue: +Think there's a heaven, Morat, though not for you. + +_Mel._ Her words imprint a terror on my mind. +What if this death, which is for him designed, +Had been your doom, (far be that augury!) +And you, not Aureng-Zebe, condemned to die? +Weigh well the various turns of human fate, +And seek, by mercy, to secure your state. + +_Ind._ Had heaven the crown for Aureng-Zebe designed, +Pity for you had pierced his generous mind. +Pity does with a noble nature suit: +A brother's life had suffered no dispute. +All things have right in life; our prophet's care +Commands the beings even of brutes to spare. +Though interest his restraint has justified, +Can life, and to a brother, be denied? + +_Mor._ All reasons, for his safety urged, are weak: +And yet, methinks, 'tis heaven to hear you speak. + +_Mel._ 'Tis part of your own being to invade-- + +_Mor._ Nay, if she fail to move, would you persuade? + [_Turning to_ INDA. +My brother does a glorious fate pursue; +I envy him, that he must fall for you. +He had been base, had he released his right: +For such an empire none but kings should fight. +If with a father he disputes this prize, +My wonder ceases when I see those eyes. + +_Mel._ And can you, then, deny those eyes you praise? +Can beauty wonder, and not pity raise? + +_Mor._ Your intercession now is needless grown; +Retire, and let me speak with her alone. + [MELESINDA _retires, weeping, to the side of the Stage._ +Queen, that you may not fruitless tears employ, + [_Taking_ INDAMORA'S _hand._ +I bring you news to fill your heart with joy: +Your lover, king of all the east shall reign; +For Aureng-Zebe to-morrow shall be slain. + +_Ind._ The hopes you raised, you've blasted with a breath: + [_Starting back._ +With triumphs you began, but end with death. +Did you not say my lover should be king? + +_Mor._ I, in Morat, the best of lovers bring. +For one, forsaken both of earth and heaven, +Your kinder stars a nobler choice have given: +My father, while I please, a king appears; +His power is more declining than his years. +An emperor and lover, but in shew; +But you, in me, have youth and fortune too: +As heaven did to your eyes, and form divine, +Submit the fate of all the imperial line; +So was it ordered by its wise decree, +That you should find them all comprised in me. + +_Ind._ If, sir, I seem not discomposed with rage, +Feed not your fancy with a false presage. +Farther to press your courtship is but vain; +A cold refusal carries more disdain. +Unsettled virtue stormy may appear; +Honour, like mine, serenely is severe; +To scorn your person, and reject your crown, +Disorder not my face into a frown. [_Turns from him._ + +_Mor._ Your fortune you should reverently have used: +Such offers are not twice to be refused. +I go to Aureng-Zebe, and am in haste +For your commands; they're like to be the last. + +_Ind._ Tell him, +With my own death I would his life redeem; +But less than honour both our lives esteem. + +_Mor._ Have you no more? + +_Ind._ What shall I do or say? +He must not in this fury go away.-- [_Aside._ +Tell him, I did in vain his brother move; +And yet he falsely said, he was in love: +Falsely; for, had he truly loved, at least +He would have given one day to my request. + +_Mor._ A little yielding may my love advance: +She darted from her eyes a sidelong glance, +Just as she spoke; and, like her words, it flew: +Seemed not to beg, what yet she bid me do. [_Aside._ +A brother, madam, cannot give a day; [_To her._ +A servant, and who hopes to merit, may. + +_Mel._ If, sir-- [_Coming to him._ + +_Mor._ No more--set speeches, and a formal tale, +With none but statesmen and grave fools prevail. +Dry up your tears, and practice every grace, +That fits the pageant of your royal place. [_Exit._ + +_Mel._ Madam, the strange reverse of fate you see: +I pitied you, now you may pity me. [_Exit after him._ + +_Ind._ Poor princess! thy hard fate I could bemoan, +Had I not nearer sorrows of my own. +Beauty is seldom fortunate, when great: +A vast estate, but overcharged with debt. +Like those, whom want to baseness does betray, +I'm forced to flatter him, I cannot pay. +O would he be content to seize the throne! +I beg the life of Aureng-Zebe alone. +Whom heaven would bless, from pomp it will remove, +And make their wealth in privacy and love. [_Exit._ + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + + AURENG-ZEBE _alone._ + +Distrust, and darkness, of a future state, +Make poor mankind so fearful of their fate. +Death, in itself, is nothing; but we fear, +To be we know not what, we know not where. [_Soft music._ +This is the ceremony of my fate: +A parting treat; and I'm to die in state. +They lodge me, as I were the Persian King: +And with luxuriant pomp my death they bring. + + _To him,_ NOURMAHAL. + +_Nour._ I thought, before you drew your latest breath, +To smooth your passage, and to soften death; +For I would have you, when you upward move, +Speak kindly of me, to our friends above: +Nor name me there the occasion of our fate; +Or what my interest does, impute to hate. + +_Aur._ I ask not for what end your pomp's designed; +Whether to insult, or to compose my mind: +I marked it not; +But, knowing death would soon the assault begin, +Stood firm collected in my strength within: +To guard that breach did all my forces guide, +And left unmanned the quiet sense's side. + +_Nour._ Because Morat from me his being took, +All I can say will much suspected look: +'Tis little to confess, your fate I grieve; +Yet more than you would easily believe. + +_Aur._ Since my inevitable death you know, +You safely unavailing pity shew: +'Tis popular to mourn a dying foe. + +_Nour._ You made my liberty your late request; +Is no return due from a grateful breast? +I grow impatient, 'till I find some way, +Great offices, with greater, to repay. + +_Aur._ When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat; +Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit; +Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay: +To-morrow's falser than the former day; +Lies worse, and, while it says, we shall be blest +With some new joys, cuts off what we possest. +Strange cozenage! None would live past years again, +Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain; +And, from the dregs of life, think to receive, +What the first sprightly running could not give. +I'm tired with waiting for this chemic gold, +Which fools us young, and beggars us when old. + +_Nour._ 'Tis not for nothing that we life pursue; +It pays our hopes with something still that's new: +Each day's a mistress, unenjoyed before; +Like travellers, we're pleased with seeing more. +Did you but know what joys your way attend, +You would not hurry to your journey's end. + +_Aur._ I need not haste the end of life to meet; +The precipice is just beneath my feet. + +_Nour._ Think not my sense of virtue is so small: +I'll rather leap down first, and break your fall. +My Aureng-Zebe, (may I not call you so?) [_Taking him by the hand._ +Behold me now no longer for your foe; +I am not, cannot be your enemy: +Look, is there any malice in my eye? +Pray, sit.-- [_Both sit._ +That distance shews too much respect, or fear; +You'll find no danger in approaching near. + +_Aur._ Forgive the amazement of my doubtful state: +This kindness from the mother of Morat! +Or is't some angel, pitying what I bore, +Who takes that shape, to make my wonder more? + +_Nour._ Think me your better genius in disguise; +Or any thing that more may charm your eyes. +Your guardian angel never could excel +In care, nor could he love his charge so well. + +_Aur._ Whence can proceed so wonderful a change? + +_Nour._ Can kindness to desert, like yours, be strange? +Kindness by secret sympathy is tied; +For noble souls in nature are allied. +I saw with what a brow you braved your fate; +Yet with what mildness bore your father's hate. +My virtue, like a string, wound up by art +To the same sound, when yours was touched, took part, +At distance shook, and trembled at my heart. + +_Aur._ I'll not complain, my father is unkind, +Since so much pity from a foe I find. +Just heaven reward this act! + +_Nour._ 'Tis well the debt no payment does demand; +You turn me over to another hand. +But happy, happy she, +And with the blessed above to be compared, +Whom you yourself would, with yourself, reward: +The greatest, nay, the fairest of her kind, +Would envy her that bliss, which you designed. + +_Aur._ Great princes thus, when favourites they raise, +To justify their grace, their creatures praise. + +_Nour._ As love the noblest passion we account, +So to the highest object it should mount. +It shews you brave when mean desires you shun; +An eagle only can behold the sun: +And so must you, if yet presage divine +There be in dreams,--or was't a vision mine? + +_Aur._ Of me? + +_Nour._ And who could else employ my thought? +I dreamed, your love was by love's goddess sought; +Officious Cupids, hovering o'er your head, +Held myrtle wreaths; beneath your feet were spread +What sweets soe'er Sabean springs disclose, +Our Indian jasmine, or the Syrian rose; +The wanton ministers around you strove +For service, and inspired their mother's love: +Close by your side, and languishing, she lies, +With blushing cheeks, short breath, and wishing eyes +Upon your breast supinely lay her head, +While on your face her famished sight she fed. +Then, with a sigh, into these words she broke, +(And gathered humid kisses as she spoke) +Dull, and ungrateful! Must I offer love? +Desired of gods, and envied even by Jove: +And dost thou ignorance or fear pretend? +Mean soul! and darest not gloriously offend? +Then, pressing thus his hand-- + +_Aur._ I'll hear no more. [_Rising up._ +'Twas impious to have understood before: +And I, till now, endeavoured to mistake +The incestuous meaning, which too plain you make. + +_Nour._ And why this niceness to that pleasure shewn, +Where nature sums up all her joys in one; +Gives all she can, and, labouring still to give, +Makes it so great, we can but taste and live: +So fills the senses, that the soul seems fled, +And thought itself does, for the time, lie dead; +Till, like a string screwed up with eager haste, +It breaks, and is too exquisite to last? + +_Aur._ Heavens! can you this, without just vengeance, hear? +When will you thunder, if it now be clear? +Yet her alone let not your thunder seize: +I, too, deserve to die, because I please.[1] + +_Nour._ Custom our native royalty does awe; +Promiscuous love is nature's general law: +For whosoever the first lovers were, +Brother and sister made the second pair, +And doubled, by their love, their piety. + +_Aur._ Hence, hence, and to some barbarous climate fly, +Which only brutes in human form does yield, +And man grows wild in nature's common field. +Who eat their parents, piety pretend;[2] +Yet there no sons their sacred bed ascend. +To vail great sins, a greater crime you chuse; +And, in your incest, your adultery lose. + +_Nour._ In vain this haughty fury you have shewn. +How I adore a soul, so like my own! +You must be mine, that you may learn to live; +Know joys, which only she who loves can give. +Nor think that action you upbraid, so ill; +I am not changed, I love my husband still[3]; +But love him as he was, when youthful grace, +And the first down began to shade his face: +That image does my virgin-flames renew, +And all your father shines more bright in you. + +_Aur._ In me a horror of myself you raise; +Cursed by your love, and blasted by your praise. +You find new ways to prosecute my fate; +And your least-guilty passion was your hate. + +_Nour._ I beg my death, if you can love deny. + [_Offering him a dagger._ + +_Aur._ I'll grant you nothing; no, not even to die. + +_Nour._ Know then, you are not half so kind as I. + [_Stamps with her foot._ + + _Enter Mutes, some with swords drawn, one with a cup._ + +You've chosen, and may now repent too late. +Behold the effect of what you wished,--my hate. + [_Taking the cup to present him._ +This cup a cure for both our ills has brought; +You need not fear a philtre in the draught. + +_Aur._ All must be poison which can come from thee; + [_Receiving it from her._ +But this the least. To immortal liberty +This first I pour, like dying Socrates; [_Spilling a little of it._ +Grim though he be, death pleases, when he frees. + + _As he is going to drink, Enter_ MORAT _attended._ + +_Mor._ Make not such haste, you must my leisure stay; +Your fate's deferred, you shall not die to-day. + [_Taking the cup from him._ + +_Nour._ What foolish pity has possessed your mind, +To alter what your prudence once designed? + +_Mor._ What if I please to lengthen out his date +A day, and take a pride to cozen fate? + +_Nour._ 'Twill not be safe to let him live an hour. + +_Mor._ I'll do't, to show my arbitrary power. + +_Nour._ Fortune may take him from your hands again, +And you repent the occasion lost in vain. + +_Mor._ I smile at what your female fear foresees; +I'm in fate's place, and dictate her decrees.-- +Let Arimant be called. [_Exit one of his Attendants._ + +_Aur._ Give me the poison, and I'll end your strife; +I hate to keep a poor precarious life. +Would I my safety on base terms receive, +Know, sir, I could have lived without your leave. +But those I could accuse, I can forgive; +By my disdainful silence, let them live. + +_Nour._ What am I, that you dare to bind my hand? [_To_ MORAT. +So low, I've not a murder at command! +Can you not one poor life to her afford, +Her, who gave up whole nations to your sword? +And from the abundance of whose soul and heat, +The o'erflowing served to make your mind so great? + +_Mor._ What did that greatness in a woman's mind? +Ill lodged, and weak to act what it designed? +Pleasure's your portion, and your slothful ease: +When man's at leisure, study how to please, +Soften his angry hours with servile care, +And, when he calls, the ready feast prepare. + +From wars, and from affairs of state abstain; +Women emasculate a monarch's reign; +And murmuring crowds, who see them shine with gold, +That pomp, as their own ravished spoils, behold. + +_Nour._ Rage choaks my words: 'Tis womanly to weep: [_Aside._ +In my swollen breast my close revenge I'll keep; +I'll watch his tenderest part, and there strike deep. [_Exit._ + +_Aur._ Your strange proceeding does my wonder move; +Yet seems not to express a brother's love. +Say, to what cause my rescued life I owe. + +_Mor._ If what you ask would please, you should not know. +But since that knowledge, more than death, will grieve, +Know, Indamora gained you this reprieve. + +_Aur._ And whence had she the power to work your change? + +_Mor._ The power of beauty is not new or strange. +Should she command me more, I could obey; +But her request was bounded with a day. +Take that; and, if you spare my farther crime, +Be kind, and grieve to death against your time. + + _Enter_ ARIMANT. + +Remove this prisoner to some safer place: +He has, for Indamora's sake, found grace; +And from my mother's rage must guarded be, +Till you receive a new command from me. + +_Arim._ Thus love, and fortune, persecute me still, +And make me slave to every rival's will. [_Aside._ + +_Aur._ How I disdain a life, which I must buy +With your contempt, and her inconstancy! +For a few hours my whole content I pay: +You shall not force on me another day. [_Exit with_ ARI. + + _Enter_ MELESINDA. + +_Mel._ I have been seeking you this hour's long space, +And feared to find you in another place; +But since you're here, my jealousy grows less: +You will be kind to my unworthiness. +What shall I say? I love to that degree, +Each glance another way is robbed from me. +Absence, and prisons, I could bear again; +But sink, and die, beneath your least disdain. + +_Mor._ Why do you give your mind this needless care, +And for yourself, and me, new pains prepare? +I ne'er approved this passion in excess: +If you would show your love, distrust me less. +I hate to be pursued from place to place; +Meet, at each turn, a stale domestic face. +The approach of jealousy love cannot bear; +He's wild, and soon on wing, if watchful eyes come near. + +_Mel._ From your loved presence how can I depart? +My eyes pursue the object of my heart. + +_Mor._ You talk as if it were our bridal night: +Fondness is still the effect of new delight, +And marriage but the pleasure of a day: +The metal's base, the gilding worn away. + +_Mel._ I fear I'm guilty of some great offence, +And that has bred this cold indifference. + +_Mor._ The greatest in the world to flesh and blood: +You fondly love much longer than you should. + +_Mel._ If that be all which makes your discontent, +Of such a crime I never can repent. + +_Mor._ Would you force love upon me, which I shun? +And bring coarse fare, when appetite is gone? + +_Mel._ Why did I not in prison die, before +My fatal freedom made me suffer more? +I had been pleased to think I died for you, +And doubly pleased, because you then were true: +Then I had hope; but now, alas! have none. + +_Mor._ You say you love me; let that love be shown. +'Tis in your power to make my happiness. + +_Mel._ Speak quickly! To command me is to bless. + +_Mor._ To Indamora you my suit must move: +You'll sure speak kindly of the man you love. + +_Mel._ Oh, rather let me perish by your hand, +Than break my heart, by this unkind command! +Think, 'tis the only one I could deny; +And that 'tis harder to refuse, than die. +Try, if you please, my rival's heart to win; +I'll bear the pain, but not promote the sin. +You own whate'er perfections man can boast, +And, if she view you with my eyes, she's lost. + +_Mor._ Here I renounce all love, all nuptial ties: +Henceforward live a stranger to my eyes: +When I appear, see you avoid the place, +And haunt me not with that unlucky face. + +_Mel._ Hard as it is, I this command obey, +And haste, while I have life, to go away: +In pity stay some hours, till I am dead, +That blameless you may court my rival's bed. +My hated face I'll not presume to show; +Yet I may watch your steps where'er you go. +Unseen, I'll gaze; and, with my latest breath, +Bless, while I die, the author of my death. [_Weeping._ + + _Enter Emperor._ + +_Emp._ When your triumphant fortune high appears, +What cause can draw these unbecoming tears? +Let cheerfulness on happy fortune wait, +And give not thus the counter-time to fate. + +_Mel._ Fortune long frowned, and has but lately smiled: +I doubt a foe so newly reconciled. +You saw but sorrow in its waning form, +A working sea remaining from a storm; +When the now weary waves roll o'er the deep, +And faintly murmur ere they fall asleep. + +_Emp._ Your inward griefs you smother in your mind; +But fame's loud voice proclaims your lord unkind. + +_Mor._ Let fame be busy, where she has to do; +Tell of fought fields, and every pompous show. +Those tales are fit to fill the people's ears; +Monarchs, unquestioned, move in higher spheres. + +_Mel._ Believe not rumour, but yourself; and see +The kindness 'twixt my plighted lord and me. [_Kissing_ MORAT. +This is our state; thus happily we live; +These are the quarrels which we take and give. +I had no other way to force a kiss. [_Aside to_ MORAT. +Forgive my last farewell to you and bliss. [_Exit._ + +_Emp._ Your haughty carriage shows too much of scorn, +And love, like hers, deserves not that return. + +_Mor._ You'll please to leave me judge of what I do, +And not examine by the outward show. +Your usage of my mother might be good: +I judged it not. + +_Emp._ Nor was it fit you should. + +_Mor._ Then, in as equal balance weigh my deeds. + +_Emp._ My right, and my authority, exceeds. +Suppose (what I'll not grant) injustice done; +Is judging me the duty of a son? + +_Mor._ Not of a son, but of an emperor: +You cancelled duty when you gave me power. +If your own actions on your will you ground, +Mine shall hereafter know no other bound. +What meant you when you called me to a throne? +Was it to please me with a name alone? + +_Emp._ 'Twas that I thought your gratitude would know +What to my partial kindness you did owe; +That what your birth did to your claim deny, +Your merit of obedience might supply. + +_Mor._ To your own thoughts such hope you might propose; +But I took empire not on terms like those. +Of business you complained; now take your ease; +Enjoy whate'er decrepid age can please; +Eat, sleep, and tell long tales of what you were +In flower of youth,--if any one will hear. + +_Emp._ Power, like new wine, does your weak brain surprise, +And its mad fumes, in hot discourses, rise: +But time these giddy vapours will remove; +Meanwhile, I'll taste the sober joys of love. + +_Mor._ You cannot love nor pleasures take, or give; +But life begin, when 'tis too late to live. +On a tired courser you pursue delight, +Let slip your morning, and set out at night. +If you have lived, take thankfully the past; +Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last. +If you have not enjoyed what youth could give, +But life sunk through you, like a leaky sieve, +Accuse yourself, you lived not while you might; +But, in the captive queen resign your right. +I've now resolved to fill your useless place; +I'll take that post, to cover your disgrace, +And love her, for the honour of my race. + +_Emp._ Thou dost but try how far I can forbear, +Nor art that monster, which thou wouldst appear; +But do not wantonly my passion move; +I pardon nothing that relates to love. +My fury does, like jealous forts, pursue +With death, even strangers who but come to view. + +_Mor._ I did not only view, but will invade. +Could you shed venom from your reverend shade, +Like trees, beneath whose arms 'tis death to sleep; +Did rolling thunder your fenced fortress keep, +Thence would I snatch my Semele, like Jove, +And 'midst the dreadful wrack enjoy my love. + +_Emp._ Have I for this, ungrateful as thou art! +When right, when nature, struggled in my heart; +When heaven called on me for thy brother's claim, +Broke all, and sullied my unspotted fame? +Wert thou to empire, by my baseness, brought, +And wouldst thou ravish what so dear I bought? +Dear! for my conscience and its peace I gave;-- +Why was my reason made my passion's slave? +I see heaven's justice; thus the powers divine +Pay crimes with crimes, and punish mine by thine. + +_Mor._ Crimes let them pay, and punish as they please; +What power makes mine, by power I mean to seize. +Since 'tis to that they their own greatness owe +Above, why should they question mine below? [_Exit._ + +_Emp._ Prudence, thou vainly in our youth art sought, +And, with age purchased, art too dearly bought: +We're past the use of wit, for which we toil; +Late fruit, and planted in too cold a soil. +My stock of fame is lavished and decayed; +No profit of the vast profusion made. +Too late my folly I repent; I know +My Aureng-Zebe would ne'er have used me so. +But, by his ruin, I prepared my own; +And, like a naked tree, my shelter gone, +To winds and winter-storms must stand exposed alone. [_Exit._ + + _Enter_ AURENG-ZEBE _and_ ARIMANT. + +_Arim._ Give me not thanks, which I will ne'er deserve; +But know, 'tis for a noble price I serve. +By Indamora's will you're hither brought: +All my reward in her command I sought. +The rest your letter tells you.--See, like light, +She comes, and I must vanish, like the night. [_Exit._ + + _Enter_ INDAMORA. + +_Ind._ 'Tis now, that I begin to live again; +Heavens, I forgive you all my fear and pain: +Since I behold my Aureng-Zebe appear, +I could not buy him at a price too dear. +His name alone afforded me relief, +Repeated as a charm to cure my grief. +I that loved name did, as some god, invoke, +And printed kisses on it, while I spoke. + +_Aur._ Short ease, but long, long pains from you I find; +Health, to my eyes; but poison, to my mind. +Why are you made so excellently fair? +So much above what other beauties are, +That, even in cursing, you new form my breath; +And make me bless those eyes which give me death! + +_Ind._ What reason for your curses can you find? +My eyes your conquest, not your death, designed. +If they offend, 'tis that they are too kind. + +_Aur._ The ruins they have wrought, you will not see; +Too kind they are, indeed, but not to me. + +_Ind._ Think you, base interest souls like mine can sway? +Or that, for greatness, I can love betray? +No, Aureng-Zebe, you merit all my heart, +And I'm too noble but to give a part. +Your father, and an empire! Am I known +No more? Or have so weak a judgment shown, +In chusing you, to change you for a throne? + +_Aur._ How, with a truth, you would a falsehood blind! +'Tis not my father's love you have designed; +Your choice is fix'd where youth and power are join'd. + +_Ind._ Where youth and power are joined!--has he a name? + +_Aur._ You would be told; you glory in your shame: +There's music in the sound; and, to provoke +Your pleasure more, by me it must be spoke. +Then, then it ravishes, when your pleased ear +The sound does from a wretched rival hear. +Morat's the name your heart leaps up to meet, +While Aureng-Zebe lies dying at your feet. + +_Ind._ Who told you this? + +_Aur._ Are you so lost to shame? +Morat, Morat, Morat! You love the name +So well, your every question ends in that; +You force me still to answer you, Morat. +Morat, who best could tell what you revealed; +Morat, too proud to keep his joy concealed. + +_Ind._ Howe'er unjust your jealousy appear, +It shows the loss of what you love, you fear; +And does my pity, not my anger move: +I'll fond it, as the forward child of love. +To show the truth of my unaltered breast, +Know, that your life was given at my request, +At least reprieved. When heaven denied you aid, +She brought it, she, whose falsehood you upbraid. + +_Aur._ And 'tis by that you would your falsehood hide? +Had you not asked, how happy had I died! +Accurst reprieve! not to prolong my breath; +It brought a lingering, and more painful death, +I have not lived since first I heard the news; +The gift the guilty giver does accuse. +You knew the price, and the request did move, +That you might pay the ransom with your love. + +_Ind._ Your accusation must, I see, take place;-- +And am I guilty, infamous, and base? + +_Aur._ If you are false, those epithets are small; +You're then the things, the abstract of them all. +And you are false: You promised him your love,-- +No other price a heart so hard could move. +Do not I know him? Could his brutal mind +Be wrought upon? Could he be just, or kind? +Insultingly, he made your love his boast; +Gave me my life, and told me what it cost. +Speak; answer. I would fain yet think you true: +Lie; and I'll not believe myself, but you. +Tell me you love; I'll pardon the deceit, +And, to be fooled, myself assist the cheat. + +_Ind._ No; 'tis too late; I have no more to say: +If you'll believe I have been false, you may. + +_Aur._ I would not; but your crimes too plain appear: +Nay, even that I should think you true, you fear. +Did I not tell you, I would be deceived? + +_Ind._ I'm not concerned to have my truth believed. +You would be cozened! would assist the cheat! +But I'm too plain to join in the deceit: +I'm pleased you think me false, +And, whatsoe'er my letter did pretend, +I made this meeting for no other end. + +_Aur._ Kill me not quite, with this indifference! +When you are guiltless, boast not an offence. +I know you better than yourself you know: +Your heart was true, but did some frailty shew: +You promised him your love, that I might live; +But promised what you never meant to give. +Speak, was't not so? confess; I can forgive. + +_Ind._ Forgive! what dull excuses you prepare, +As if your thoughts of me were worth my care! + +_Aur._ Ah traitress! Ah ingrate! Ah faithless mind! +Ah sex, invented first to damn mankind! +Nature took care to dress you up for sin; +Adorned, without; unfinished left, within. +Hence, by no judgment you your loves direct; +Talk much, ne'er think, and still the wrong affect. +So much self-love in your composure's mixed, +That love to others still remains unfixed: +Greatness, and noise, and shew, are your delight; +Yet wise men love you, in their own despite: +And finding in their native wit no ease, +Are forced to put your folly on, to please. + +_Ind._ Now you shall know what cause you have to rage; +But to increase your fury, not assuage: +I found the way your brother's heart to move. +Yet promised not the least return of love. +His pride and brutal fierceness I abhor; +But scorn your mean suspicions of me more. +I owed my honour and my fame this care: +Know what your folly lost you, and despair. [_Turning from him._ + +_Aur._ Too cruelly your innocence you tell: +Shew heaven, and damn me to the pit of hell. +Now I believe you; 'tis not yet too late: +You may forgive, and put a stop to fate; +Save me, just sinking, and no more to rise. [_She frowns._ +How can you look with such relentless eyes? +Or let your mind by penitence be moved, +Or I'm resolved to think you never loved. +You are not cleared, unless you mercy speak: +I'll think you took the occasion thus to break. + +_Ind._ Small jealousies, 'tis true, inflame desire; +Too great, not fan, but quite blow out the fire: +Yet I did love you, till such pains I bore, +That I dare trust myself and you no more. +Let me not love you; but here end my pain: +Distrust may make me wretched once again. +Now, with full sails, into the port I move, +And safely can unlade my breast of love; +Quiet, and calm: Why should I then go back, +To tempt the second hazard of a wreck? + +_Aur._ Behold these dying eyes, see their submissive awe; +These tears, which fear of death could never draw: +Heard you that sigh? from my heaved heart it past, +And said,--"If you forgive not, 'tis my last." +Love mounts, and rolls about my stormy mind, +Like fire, that's borne by a tempestuous wind. +Oh, I could stifle you, with eager haste! +Devour your kisses with my hungry taste! +Rush on you! eat you! wander o'er each part, +Raving with pleasure, snatch you to my heart! +Then hold you off, and gaze! then, with new rage, +Invade you, till my conscious limbs presage +Torrents of joy, which all their banks o'erflow! +So lost, so blest, as I but then could know! + +_Ind._ Be no more jealous! [_Giving him her hand._ + +_Aur._ Give me cause no more: +The danger's greater after, than before; +If I relapse, to cure my jealousy, +Let me (for that's the easiest parting) die. + +_Ind._ My life! + +_Aur._ My soul! + +_Ind._ My all that heaven can give! +Death's life with you; without you, death to live. + + _To them,_ ARIMANT, _hastily._ + +_Arim._ Oh, we are lost, beyond all human aid! +The citadel is to Morat betrayed. +The traitor, and the treason, known too late; +The false Abas delivered up the gate: +Even while I speak, we're compassed round with fate. +The valiant cannot fight, or coward fly; +But both in undistinguished crowds must die. + +_Aur._ Then my prophetic fears are come to pass: +Morat was always bloody; now, he's base: +And has so far in usurpation gone, +He will by parricide secure the throne. + + _To them, the Emperor._ + +_Emp._ Am I forsaken, and betrayed, by all? +Not one brave man dare, with a monarch, fall? +Then, welcome death, to cover my disgrace! +I would not live to reign o'er such a race. +My Aureng-Zebe! [_Seeing_ AURENG-ZEBE. +But thou no more art mine; my cruelty +Has quite destroyed the right I had in thee. +I have been base, +Base even to him from whom I did receive +All that a son could to a parent give: +Behold me punished in the self-same kind; +The ungrateful does a more ungrateful find. + +_Aur._ Accuse yourself no more; you could not be +Ungrateful; could commit no crime to me. +I only mourn my yet uncancelled score: +You put me past the power of paying more. +That, that's my grief, that I can only grieve, +And bring but pity, where I would relieve; +For had I yet ten thousand lives to pay, +The mighty sum should go no other way. + +_Emp._ Can you forgive me? 'tis not fit you should. +Why will you be so excellently good? +'Twill stick too black a brand upon my name: +The sword is needless; I shall die with shame. +What had my age to do with love's delight, +Shut out from all enjoyments but the sight? + +_Arim._ Sir, you forget the danger's imminent: +This minute is not for excuses lent. + +_Emp._ Disturb me not;-- +How can my latest hour be better spent? +To reconcile myself to him is more, +Than to regain all I possessed before. +Empire and life are now not worth a prayer; +His love, alone, deserves my dying care. + +_Aur._ Fighting for you, my death will glorious be. + +_Ind._ Seek to preserve yourself, and live for me. + +_Arim._ Lose then no farther time. +Heaven has inspired me with a sudden thought, +Whence your unhoped for safety may be wrought, +Though with the hazard of my blood 'tis bought. +But since my life can ne'er be fortunate, +'Tis so much sorrow well redeemed from fate. +You, madam, must retire, +(Your beauty is its own security,) +And leave the conduct of the rest to me. +Glory will crown my life, if I succeed; +If not, she may afford to love me dead. [_Aside._ + +_Aur._ My father's kind, and, madam, you forgive; +Were heaven so pleased, I now could wish to live. +And I shall live. +With glory and with love, at once, I burn: +I feel the inspiring heat, and absent god return. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + + INDAMORA _alone._ + +_Ind._ The night seems doubled with the fear she brings, +And o'er the citadel new-spreads her wings. +The morning, as mistaken, turns about, +And all her early fires again go out. +Shouts, cries, and groans, first pierce my ears, and then +A flash of lightning draws the guilty scene, +And shows me arms, and wounds, and dying men. +Ah, should my Aureng-Zebe be fighting there, +And envious winds, distinguished to my ear, +His dying groans and his last accents bear! + + _To her,_ MORAT, _attended._ + +_Mor._ The bloody business of the night is done, +And, in the citadel, an empire won. +Our swords so wholly did the fates employ, +That they, at length, grew weary to destroy, +Refused the work we brought, and, out of breath, +Made sorrow and despair attend for death. +But what of all my conquest can I boast? +My haughty pride, before your eyes, is lost: +And victory but gains me to present +That homage, which our eastern world has sent. + +_Ind._ Your victory, alas, begets my fears: +Can you not then triumph without my tears? +Resolve me; (for you know my destiny +Is Aureng-Zebes) say, do I live or die? + +_Mor._ Urged by my love, by hope of empire fired, +'Tis true, I have performed what both required: +What fate decreed; for when great souls are given, +They bear the marks of sovereignty from heaven. +My elder brothers my fore-runners came; +Rough-draughts of nature, ill designed, and lame: +Blown off, like blossoms never made to bear; +Till I came, finished, her last-laboured care. + +_Ind._ This prologue leads to your succeeding sin: +Blood ended what ambition did begin. + +_Mor._ 'Twas rumour'd,--but by whom I cannot tell,-- +My father 'scaped from out the citadel; +My brother too may live. + +_Ind._ He may? + +_Mor._ He must: +I kill'd him not: and a less fate's unjust. +Heaven owes it me, that I may fill his room, +A phoenix-lover, rising from his tomb; +In whom you'll lose your sorrows for the dead; +More warm, more fierce, and fitter for your bed. + +_Ind._ Should I from Aureng-Zebe my heart divide, +To love a monster, and a parricide? +These names your swelling titles cannot hide. +Severe decrees may keep our tongues in awe; +But to our thoughts, what edict can give law? +Even you yourself, to your own breast, shall tell +Your crimes; and your own conscience be your hell. + +_Mor._ What business has my conscience with a crown? +She sinks in pleasures, and in bowls will drown. +If mirth should fail, I'll busy her with cares, +Silence her clamorous voice with louder wars: +Trumpets and drums shall fright her from the throne, +As sounding cymbals aid the labouring moon. + +_Ind._ Repelled by these, more eager she will grow, +Spring back more strongly than a Scythian bow. +Amidst your train, this unseen judge will wait; +Examine how you came by all your state; +Upbraid your impious pomp; and, in your ear, +Will hollow,--"Rebel, tyrant, murderer!" +Your ill-got power wan looks and care shall bring, +Known but by discontent to be a king. +Of crowds afraid, yet anxious when alone, +You'll sit and brood your sorrows on a throne. + +_Mor._ Birth-right's a vulgar road to kingly sway; +'Tis every dull-got elder brother's way. +Dropt from above, he lights into a throne; +Grows of a piece with that he sits upon; +Heaven's choice, a low, inglorious, rightful drone. +But who by force a sceptre does obtain, +Shows he can govern that, which he could gain. +Right comes of course, whate'er he was before; +Murder and usurpation are no more. + +_Ind._ By your own laws you such dominion make, +As every stronger power has right to take: +And parricide will so deform your name, +That dispossessing you will give a claim. +Who next usurps, will a just prince appear, +So much your ruin will his reign endear. + +_Mor._ I without guilt would mount the royal seat; +But yet 'tis necessary to be great. + +_Ind._ All greatness is in virtue understood: +'Tis only necessary to be good. +Tell me, what is't at which great spirits aim, +What most yourself desire? + +_Mor._ Renown and fame, +And power, as uncontrouled as is my will. + +_Ind._ How you confound desires of good and ill. +For true renown is still with virtue joined; +But lust of power lets loose the unbridled mind. +Yours is a soul irregularly great, +Which, wanting temper, yet abounds with heat, +So strong, yet so unequal pulses beat; +A sun, which does, through vapours, dimly shine; +What pity 'tis, you are not all divine! +New moulded, thorough lightened, and a breast +So pure, to bear the last severest test; +Fit to command an empire you should gain +By virtue, and without a blush to reign. + +_Mor._ You show me somewhat I ne'er learnt before; +But 'tis the distant prospect of a shore, +Doubtful in mists; which, like enchanted ground, +Flies from my sight, before 'tis fully found. + +_Ind._ Dare to be great, without a guilty crown; +View it, and lay the bright temptation down: +'Tis base to seize on all, because you may; +That's empire, that, which I can give away: +There's joy when to wild will you laws prescribe, +When you bid fortune carry back her bribe: +A joy, which none but greatest minds can taste; +A fame, which will to endless ages last. + +_Mor._ Renown, and fame, in vain, I courted long, +And still pursued them, though directed wrong. +In hazard, and in toils, I heard they lay; +Sailed farther than the coast, but missed my way: +Now you have given me virtue for my guide; +And, with true honour, ballasted my pride. +Unjust dominion I no more pursue; +I quit all other claims, but those to you. + +_Ind._ Oh be not just by halves! pay all you owe: +Think there's a debt to Melesinda too. +To leave no blemish on your after-life, +Reward the virtue of a suffering wife. + +_Mor._ To love, once past, I cannot backward move; +Call yesterday again, and I may love. +'Twas not for nothing I the crown resigned; +I still must own a mercenary mind; +I, in this venture, double gains pursue, +And laid out all my stock, to purchase you. + + _To them,_ ASAPH CHAN. + +Now, what success? does Aureng-Zebe yet live? + +_Asaph._ Fortune has given you all that she can give. +Your brother-- + +_Mor._ Hold; thou showest an impious joy, +And think'st I still take pleasure to destroy: +Know, I am changed, and would not have him slain. + +_Asaph._ 'Tis past; and you desire his life in vain. +He, prodigal of soul, rushed on the stroke +Of lifted weapons, and did wounds provoke: +In scorn of night, he would not be concealed; +His soldiers, where he fought, his name revealed. +In thickest crowds, still Aureng-Zebe did sound; +The vaulted roofs did Aureng-Zebe rebound; +Till late, and in his fall, the name was drowned. + +_Ind._ Wither that hand which brought him to his fate, +And blasted be the tongue which did relate! + +_Asaph._ His body-- + +_Mor._ Cease to enhance her misery: +Pity the queen, and show respect to me. +'Tis every painter's art to hide from sight, +And cast in shades, what, seen, would not delight.-- +Your grief in me such sympathy has bred, [_To her._ +I mourn, and wish I could recal the dead. +Love softens me; and blows up fires, which pass +Through my tough heart, and melt the stubborn mass. + +_Ind._ Break, heart; or choak, with sobs, my hated breath! +Do thy own work: admit no foreign death. +Alas! why do I make this useless moan? +I'm dead already, for my soul is gone. + + _To them,_ MIR BABA. + +_Mir._ What tongue the terror of this night can tell, +Within, without, and round the citadel! +A new-formed faction does your power oppose; +The fight's confused, and all who meet are foes: +A second clamour, from the town, we hear; +And the far noise so loud, it drowns the near. +Abas, who seemed our friend, is either fled, +Or, what we fear, our enemies does head: +Your frighted soldiers scarce their ground maintain. + +_Mor._ I thank their fury; we shall fight again: +They rouse my rage; I'm eager to subdue: +'Tis fatal to with-hold my eyes from you. [_Exit with the two Omrahs._ + + _Enter_ MELESINDA. + +_Mel._ Can misery no place of safety know? +The noise pursues me wheresoe'er I go, +As fate sought only me, and, where I fled, +Aimed all its darts at my devoted head. +And let it; I am now past care of life; +The last of women; an abandoned wife. + +_Ind._ Whether design or chance has brought you here, +I stand obliged to fortune, or to fear: +Weak women should, in danger, herd like deer. +But say, from whence this new combustion springs? +Are there yet more Morats? more fighting kings? + +_Mel._ Him from his mother's love your eyes divide, +And now her arms the cruel strife decide. + +_Ind._ What strange misfortunes my vext life attend! +Death will be kind, and all my sorrows end. +If Nourmahal prevail, I know my fate. + +_Mel._ I pity, as my own, your hard estate: +But what can my weak charity afford? +I have no longer interest in my lord: +Nor in his mother, he: she owns her hate +Aloud, and would herself usurp the state. + +_Ind._ I'm stupified with sorrow, past relief +Of tears; parched up, and withered with my grief. + +_Mel._ Dry mourning will decays more deadly bring, +As a north wind burns a too forward spring. +Give sorrow vent, and let the sluices go. + +_Ind._ My tears are all congealed, and will not flow. + +_Mel._ Have comfort; yield not to the blows of fate. + +_Ind._ Comfort, like cordials after death, comes late. +Name not so vain a word; my hopes are fled: +Think your Morat were kind, and think him dead. + +_Mel._ I can no more-- +Can no more arguments, for comfort, find: +Your boding words have quite o'erwhelmed my mind. + [_Clattering of weapons within._ + +_Ind._ The noise increases, as the billows roar, +When rolling from afar they threat the shore. +She comes; and feeble nature now, I find, +Shrinks back in danger, and forsakes my mind. +I wish to die, yet dare not death endure; +Detest the medicine, yet desire the cure. +I would have death; but mild, and at command: +I dare not trust him in another's hand. +In Nourmahal's, he would not mine appear; +But armed with terror, and disguised with fear. + +_Mel._ Beyond this place you can have no retreat: +Stay here, and I the danger will repeat. +I fear not death, because my life I hate; +And envious death will shun the unfortunate. + +_Ind._ You must not venture. + +_Mel._ Let me: I may do +Myself a kindness, in obliging you. +In your loved name, I'll seek my angry lord; +And beg your safety from his conquering sword: +So his protection all your fears will ease, +And I shall see him once, and not displease. [_Exit._ + +_Ind._ O wretched queen! what power thy life can save? +A stranger, and unfriended, and a slave! + + _Enter_ NOURMAHAL, ZAYDA, _and_ ABAS, _with Soldiers._ + +Alas, she's here! [INDAMORA _retires._ + +_Nour._ Heartless they fought, and quitted soon their ground, +While ours with easy victory were crowned. +To you, Abas, my life and empire too, +And, what's yet dearer, my revenge, I owe. + +_Abas._ The vain Morat, by his own rashness wrought, +Too soon discovered his ambitious thought; +Believed me his, because I spoke him fair, +And pitched his head into the ready snare: +Hence 'twas I did his troops at first admit; +But such, whose numbers could no fears beget: +By them the emperor's party first I slew, +Then turned my arms the victors to subdue. + +_Nour._ Now let the head-strong boy my will controul! +Virtue's no slave of man; no sex confines the soul: +I, for myself, the imperial seat will gain, +And he shall wait my leisure for his reign.-- +But Aureng-Zebe is no where to be found, +And now, perhaps, in death's cold arms he lies! +I fought, and conquered, yet have lost the prize. + +_Zayd._ The chance of war determined well the strife, +That racked you, 'twixt the lover and the wife. +He's dead, whose love had sullied all your reign, +And made you empress of the world in vain. + +_Nour._ No; I my power and pleasure would divide: +The drudge had quenched my flames, and then had died. +I rage, to think without that bliss I live, +That I could wish what fortune would not give: +But, what love cannot, vengeance must supply; +She, who bereaved me of his heart, shall die. + +_Zayd._ I'll search: far distant hence she cannot be. [_Goes in._ + +_Nour._ This wondrous master-piece I fain would see; +This fatal Helen, who can wars inspire, +Make kings her slaves, and set the world on fire. +My husband locked his jewel from my view; +Or durst not set the false one by the true. + + _Re-enter_ ZAYDA, _leading_ INDAMORA. + +_Zayd._ Your frighted captive, ere she dies, receive; +Her soul's just going else, without your leave. + +_Nour._ A fairer creature did my eyes ne'er see! +Sure she was formed by heaven, in spite to me! +Some angel copied, while I slept, each grace, +And moulded every feature from my face. +Such majesty does from her forehead rise, +Her cheeks such blushes cast, such rays her eyes, +Nor I, nor envy, can a blemish find.-- +The palace is, without, too well designed: +Conduct me in, for I will view thy mind. [_To her._ +Speak, if thou hast a soul, that I may see, +If heaven can make, throughout, another me. + +_Ind._ My tears and miseries must plead my cause; [_Kneeling._ +My words, the terror of your presence awes: +Mortals, in sight of angels, mute become; +The nobler nature strikes the inferior dumb. + +_Nour._ The palm is, by the foe's confession, mine; +But I disdain what basely you resign. +Heaven did, by me, the outward model build; +Its inward work, the soul, with rubbish filled. +Yet, oh! the imperfect piece moves more delight; +'Tis gilded o'er with youth, to catch the sight. +The gods have poorly robbed my virgin bloom, +And what I am, by what I was, o'ercome. +Traitress! restore my beauty and my charms, +Nor steal my conquest with my proper arms. + +_Ind._ What have I done thus to inflame your hate? +I am not guilty, but unfortunate. + +_Nour._ Not guilty, when thy looks my power betray, +Seduce mankind, my subject, from my sway, +Take all my hearts and all my eyes away? +My husband first; but that I could forgive; +He only moved, and talked, but did not live. +My Aureng-Zebe!--for I dare own the name, +The glorious sin, and the more glorious flame,-- +Him from my beauty have thy eyes misled, +And starved the joys of my expected bed. + + +_Ind._ His love so sought, he's happy that he's dead. +O had I courage but to meet my fate, +That short dark passage to a future state, +That melancholy riddle of a breath! + +_Nour._ That something, or that nothing, after death: +Take this, and teach thyself. [_Giving a Dagger._ + +_Ind._ Alas! + +_Nour._ Why dost thou shake? +Dishonour not the vengeance I designed: +A queen, and own a base Plebeian mind! +Let it drink deep in thy most vital part; +Strike home, and do me reason in thy heart. + +_Ind._ I dare not. + +_Nour._ Do't, while I stand by and see, +At my full gust, without the drudgery. +I love a foe, who dares my stroke prevent, +Who gives me the full scene of my content; +Shows me the flying soul's convulsive strife, +And all the anguish of departing life. +Disdain my mercy, and my rage defy; +Curse me with thy last breath, and make me see +A spirit, worthy to have rivalled me. + +_Ind._ Oh, I desire to die, but dare not yet! +Give me some respite, I'll discharge the debt. +Without my Aureng-Zebe I would not live. + +_Nour._ Thine, traitress! thine! that word has winged thy fate, +And put me past the tedious forms of hate: +I'll kill thee with such eagerness and haste, +As fiends, let loose, would lay all nature waste. + [INDAMORA _runs back: As_ NOURMAHAL _is running + to her, clashing of swords is heard within._ + +_Sold._ Yield, you're o'erpowered: Resistance is in vain. [_Within._ + +_Mor._ Then death's my choice: Submission I disdain. [_Within._ + +_Nour._ Retire, ye slaves! Ah, whither does he run [_At the door._ +On pointed swords? Disarm, but save my son. + + _Enter_ MORAT _staggering, and upheld by Soldiers._ + +_Mor._ She lives! and I shall see her once again! +I have not thrown away my life in vain. + [_Catches hold of_ INDAMORA'S _gown, and falls by + her: She sits._ +I can no more; yet even in death I find +My fainting body biassed by my mind: +I fall toward you; still my contending soul +Points to your breast, and trembles to its pole. + + _To them_ MELESINDA, _hastily casting herself on the other side of_ + MORAT. + +_Mel._ Ah woe, woe, woe! the worst of woes I find! +Live still; Oh live; live e'en to be unkind!-- +With half-shut eyes he seeks the doubtful day; +But, ah! he bends his sight another way. +He faints! and in that sigh his soul is gone; +Yet heaven's unmoved, yet heaven looks careless on. + +_Nour._ Where are those powers which monarchs should defend? +Or do they vain authority pretend +O'er human fates, and their weak empire show, +Which cannot guard their images below? +If, as their image, he was not divine, +They ought to have respected him as mine. +I'll waken them with my revenge; and she, +Their Indamora, shall my victim be, +And helpless heaven shall mourn in vain, like me. + [_As she is going to stab_ INDAMORA, MORAT + _raises himself, and holds her hand._ + +_Mor._ Ah, what are we, +Who dare maintain with heaven this wretched strife, +Puft with the pride of heaven's own gift, frail life? +That blast which my ambitious spirit swelled, +See by how weak a tenure it was held! +I only stay to save the innocent; +Oh envy not my soul its last content! + +_Ind._ No, let me die; I'm doubly summoned now; +First by my Aureng-Zebe, and since by you. +My soul grows hardy, and can death endure; +Your convoy makes the dangerous way secure. + +_Mel._ Let me at least a funeral marriage crave, +Nor grudge my cold embraces in the grave. +I have too just a title in the strife; +By me, unhappy me, he lost his life: +I called him hither, 'twas my fatal breath, +And I the screech-owl that proclaimed his death. [_Shout within._ + +_Abas._ What new alarms are these? I'll haste and see. [_Exit._ + +_Nour._ Look up and live; an empire shall be thine. + +_Mor._ That I condemned, even when I thought it mine.-- +Oh, I must yield to my hard destinies, [_To_ IND. +And must for ever cease to see your eyes! + +_Mel._ Ah turn your sight to me, my dearest lord! +Can you not one, one parting look afford? +Even so unkind in death:--but 'tis in vain; +I lose my breath, and to the winds complain. +Yet 'tis as much in vain your cruel scorn; +Still I can love, without this last return. +Nor fate, nor you, can my vowed faith controul; +Dying, I follow your disdainful soul: +A ghost, I'll haunt your ghost; and, where you go, +With mournful murmurs fill the plains below. + +_Mor._ Be happy, Melesinda; cease to grieve, +And for a more deserving husband live:-- +Can you forgive me? + +_Mel._ Can I! Oh, my heart! +Have I heard one kind word before I part? +I can, I can forgive: Is that a task +To love like mine? Are you so good to ask! +One kiss--Oh, 'tis too great a blessing this! [_Kisses him._ +I would not live to violate the bliss, + + _Re-enter_ ABAS. + +_Abas._ Some envious devil has ruined us yet more: +The fort's revolted to the emperor; +The gates are opened, the portcullis drawn, +And deluges of armies from the town +Come pouring in: I heard the mighty flaw, +When first it broke; the crowding ensigns saw, +Which choked the passage; and, what least I feared, +The waving arms of Aureng-Zebe appeared, +Displayed with your Morat's: +In either's flag the golden serpents bear +Erected crests alike, like volumes rear, +And mingle friendly hissings in the air. +Their troops are joined, and our destruction nigh. + +_Neur._ 'Tis vain to fight, and I disdain to fly. +I'll mock the triumphs which our foes intend, +And spite of fortune, make a glorious end. +In poisonous draughts my liberty I'll find, +And from the nauseous world set free my mind. [_Exit._ + + _At the other end of the Stage enter_ AURENG-ZEBE, DIANET, _and + Attendants._ AURENG-ZEBE _turns back, and speaks entering._ + +_Aur._ The lives of all, who cease from combat, spare; +My brother's be your most peculiar care: +Our impious use no longer shall obtain; +Brothers no more by brothers shall be slain.-- + [_Seeing_ INDAMORA _and_ MORAT. +Ha! do I dream? Is this my hoped success? +I grow a statue, stiff and motionless. +Look, Dianet; for I dare not trust these eyes; +They dance in mists, and dazzle with surprise. + +_Dia._ Sir, 'tis Morat; dying he seems, or dead; +And Indamora's hand-- + +_Aur._ Supports his head. [_Sighing._ +Thou shalt not break yet, heart, nor shall she know +My inward torments by my outward show: +To let her see my weakness were too base; +Dissembled quiet sit upon my face: +My sorrow to my eyes no passage find, +But let it inward sink, and drown my mind. +Falsehood shall want its triumph: I begin +To stagger, but I'll prop myself within. +The specious tower no ruin shall disclose, +Till down at once the mighty fabric goes, + +_Mor._ In sign that I die yours, reward my love, [_To_ IND. +And seal my passport to the blessed above. [_Kissing her hand._ + +_Ind._ Oh stay; or take me with you when you go; +There's nothing now worth living for below. + +_Mor._ I leave you not; for my expanded mind +Grows up to heaven, while it to you is joined: +Not quitting, but enlarged! A blazing fire, +Fed from the brand. [_Dies._ + +_Mel._ Ah me! he's gone! I die! [_Swoons._ + +_Ind._ Oh, dismal day! +Fate, thou hast ravished my last hope away! + [_She turns, and sees_ AURENG-ZEBE _standing + by her, and starts._ +O heaven! my Aureng-Zebe--What strange surprise! +Or does my willing mind delude my eyes, +And shows the figure always present there? +Or liv'st thou? am I blessed, and see thee here? + +_Aur._ My brother's body see conveyed with care, + [_Turning from her, to her Attendants._ +Where we may royal sepulture prepare. +With speed to Melesinda bring relief: +Recal her spirits, and moderate her grief-- [_Half turning to_ IND. +I go, to take for ever from your view, +Both the loved object, and the hated too. + [_Going away after the bodies, which are + carried off._ + +_Ind._ Hear me! yet think not that I beg your stay; + [_Laying hold of him._ +I will be heard, and, after, take your way. +Go; but your late repentance shall be vain: + [_He struggles still: she lets him go._ +I'll never, never see your face again. [_Turning away._ + +_Aur._ Madam, I know whatever you can say: +You might be pleased not to command my stay. +All things are yet disordered in the fort; +I must crave leave your audience may be short. + +_Ind._ You need not fear I shall detain you long: +Yet you may tell me your pretended wrong. + +_Aur._ Is that the business? then my stay is vain. + +_Ind._ How are you injured? + +_Aur._ When did I complain? + +_Ind._ Leave off your forced respect, +And show your rage in its most furious form: +I'm armed with innocence to brave the storm. +You heard, perhaps, your brother's last desire, +And, after, saw him in my arms expire; +Saw me, with tears, so great a loss, bemoan; +Heard me complaining my last hopes were gone. + +_Aur._ "Oh stay, or take me with you when you go, +There's nothing now worth living for below." +Unhappy sex! whose beauty is your snare: +Exposed to trials; made too frail to bear. +I grow a fool, and show my rage again: +'Tis nature's fault; and why should I complain? + +_Ind._ Will you yet hear me? + +_Aur._ Yes, till you relate +What powerful motives did your change create. +You thought me dead, and prudently did weigh +Tears were but vain, and brought but youth's decay. +Then, in Morat, your hopes a crown designed; +And all the woman worked within your mind.-- +I rave again, and to my rage return, +To be again subjected to your scorn. + +_Ind._ I wait till this long storm be over-blown. + +_Aur._ I'm conscious of my folly: I have done.-- +I cannot rail; but silently I'll grieve. +How did I trust! and how did you deceive! +Oh, Arimant, would I had died for thee! +I dearly buy thy generosity. + +_Ind._ Alas, is he then dead? + +_Aur._ Unknown to me, +He took my arms; and, while I forced my way +Through troops of foes, which did our passage stay, +My buckler o'er my aged father cast, +Still fighting, still defending as I past, +The noble Arimant usurped my name; +Fought, and took from me, while he gave me, fame. +To Aureng-Zebe, he made his soldiers cry, +And, seeing not, where he heard danger nigh, +Shot, like a star, through the benighted sky, +A short, but mighty aid: At length he fell. +My own adventures 'twere lost time to tell; +Or how my army, entering in the night, +Surprised our foes; The dark disordered fight: +How my appearance, and my father shown, +Made peace; and all the rightful monarch own. +I've summed it briefly, since it did relate +The unwelcome safety of the man you hate. + +_Ind._ As briefly will I clear my innocence: +Your altered brother died in my defence. +Those tears you saw, that tenderness I showed, +Were just effects of grief and gratitude. +He died my convert. + +_Aur._ But your lover too: +I heard his words, and did your actions view; +You seemed to mourn another lover dead: +My sighs you gave him, and my tears you shed. +But, worst of all, +Your gratitude for his defence was shown: +It proved you valued life, when I was gone. + +_Ind._ Not that I valued life, but feared to die: +Think that my weakness, not inconstancy. + +_Aur._ Fear showed you doubted of your own intent: +And she, who doubts, becomes less innocent. +Tell me not you could fear; +Fear's a large promiser; who subject live +To that base passion, know not what they give. +No circumstance of grief you did deny; +And what could she give more, who durst not die? + +_Ind._ My love, my faith. + +_Aur._ Both so adulterate grown, +When mixed with fear, they never could be known. +I wish no ill might her I love befal; +But she ne'er loved, who durst not venture all. +Her life and fame should my concernment be; +But she should only be afraid for me. + +_Ind._ My heart was yours; but, oh! you left it here, +Abandoned to those tyrants, hope and fear; +If they forced from me one kind look, or word, +Could you not that, not that small part afford? + +_Aur._ If you had loved, you nothing yours could call; +Giving the least of mine, you gave him all. +True love's a miser; so tenacious grown, +He weighs to the least grain of what's his own; +More delicate than honour's nicest sense, +Neither to give nor take the least offence. +With, or without you, I can have no rest: +What shall I do? you're lodged within my breast: +Your image never will be thence displaced; +But there it lies, stabbed, mangled, and defaced. + +_Ind._ Yet to restore the quiet of your heart, +There's one way left. + +_Aur._ Oh, name it. + +_Ind._ 'Tis to part. +Since perfect bliss with me you cannot prove, +I scorn to bless by halves the man I love. + +_Aur._ Now you distract me more: Shall then the day, +Which views my triumph, see our loves decay? +Must I new bars to my own joy create? +Refuse myself what I had forced from fate? +What though I am not loved? +Reason's nice taste does our delights destroy: +Brutes are more blessed, who grossly feed on joy. + +_Ind._ Such endless jealousies your love pursue, +I can no more be fully blessed than you. +I therefore go, to free us both from pain: +I prized your person, but your crown disdain. +Nay, even my own-- +I give it you; for, since I cannot call +Your heart my subject, I'll not reign at all. [_Exit._ + +_Aur._ Go: Though thou leav'st me tortured on the rack, +'Twixt shame and pride, I cannot call thee back.-- +She's guiltless, and I should submit; but oh! +When she exacts it, can I stoop so low? +Yes; for she's guiltless; but she's haughty too. +Great souls long struggle ere they own a crime: +She's gone; and leaves me no repenting time. +I'll call her now; sure, if she loves, she'll stay; +Linger at least, or not go far away. + [_Looks to the door, and returns._ +For ever lost! and I repent too late. +My foolish pride would set my whole estate, +Till, at one throw, I lost all back to fate. + + _To him the Emperor, drawing in_ INDAMORA: _Attendants._ + +_Emp._ It must not be, that he, by whom we live, +Should no advantage of his gift receive. +Should he be wholly wretched? he alone, +In this blessed day, a day so much his own? [_To_ IND. +I have not quitted yet a victor's right: +I'll make you happy in your own despite. +I love you still; and, if I struggle hard +To give, it shows the worth of the reward. + +_Ind._ Suppose he has o'ercome; must I find place +Among his conquered foes, and sue for grace? +Be pardoned, and confess I loved not well? +What though none live my innocence to tell, +I know it: Truth may own a generous pride: +I clear myself, and care for none beside. + +_Aur._ Oh, Indamora, you would break my heart! +Could you resolve, on any terms, to part? +I thought your love eternal: Was it tied +So loosely, that a quarrel could divide? +I grant that my suspicions were unjust; +But would you leave me, for a small distrust? +Forgive those foolish words-- [_Kneeling to her._ +They were the froth my raging folly moved, +When it boiled up: I knew not then I loved; +Yet then loved most. + +_Ind._ [_To_ AUR.] +You would but half be blest! [_Giving her hand, smiling._ + +_Aur._ Oh do but try +My eager love: I'll give myself the lie. +The very hope is a full happiness, +Yet scantly measures what I shall possess. +Fancy itself, even in enjoyment, is +But a dumb judge, and cannot tell its bliss. + +_Emp._ Her eyes a secret yielding do confess, +And promise to partake your happiness. +May all the joys I did myself pursue, +Be raised by her, and multiplied on you! + + _A Procession of Priests, Slaves following, and, last,_ MELESINDA + _in white._ + +_Ind._ Alas! what means this pomp? + +_Aur._ 'Tis the procession of a funeral vow, +Which cruel laws to Indian wives allow, +When fatally their virtue they approve; +Cheerful in flames, and martyrs of their love. + +_Ind._ Oh, my foreboding heart! the event I fear: +And see! sad Melesinda does appear. + +_Mel._ You wrong my love; what grief do I betray? +This is the triumph of my nuptial day, +My better nuptials; which, in spite of fate, +For ever join me to my dear Morat. +Now I am pleased; my jealousies are o'er: +He's mine; and I can lose him now no more. + +_Emp._ Let no false show of fame, your reason blind. + +_Ind._ You have no right to die; he was not kind. + +_Mel._ Had he been kind, I could no love have shown: +Each vulgar virtue would as much have done. +My love was such, it needed no return; +But could, though he supplied no fuel, burn. +Rich in itself, like elemental fire, +Whose pureness does no aliment require. +In vain you would bereave me of my lord; +For I will die:--Die is too base a word, +I'll seek his breast, and, kindling by his side, +Adorned with flames, I'll mount a glorious bride. [_Exit._ + + _Enter_ NOURMAHAL, _distracted, with_ ZAYDA. + +_Zay._ She's lost, she's lost! but why do I complain, +For her, who generously did life disdain! +Poisoned, she raves-- +The envenomed body does the soul attack; +The envenomed soul works its own poison back. + +_Nour._ I burn, I more than burn; I am all fire. +See how my mouth and nostrils flame expire! +I'll not come near myself-- +Now I'm a burning lake, it rolls and flows; +I'll rush, and pour it all upon my foes. +Pull, pull that reverend piece of timber near: +Throw't on--'tis dry--'twill burn-- +Ha, ha! how my old husband crackles there! +Keep him down, keep him down; turn him about: +I know him,--he'll but whiz, and strait go out. +Fan me, you winds: What, not one breath of air? +I'll burn them all, and yet have flames to spare. +Quench me: Pour on whole rivers. 'Tis in vain: +Morat stands there to drive them back again: +With those huge billows in his hands, he blows +New fire into my head: My brain-pan glows. +See! see! there's Aureng-Zebe too takes his part; +But he blows all his fire into my heart[4]. + +_Aur._ Alas, what fury's this? + +_Nour._ That's he, that's he! + [_Staring upon him, and catching at him._ +I know the dear man's voice: +And this my rival, this the cursed she. +They kiss; into each other's arms they run: +Close, close, close! must I see, and must have none? +Thou art not hers: Give me that eager kiss. +Ungrateful! have I lost Morat for this? +Will you?--before my face?--poor helpless I +See all, and have my hell before I die! [_Sinks down._ + +_Emp._ With thy last breath thou hast thy crimes confest: +Farewell; and take, what thou ne'er gav'st me, rest. +But you, my son, receive it better here: + [_Giving him_ INDAMORA'S _hand._ +The just rewards of love and honour wear. +Receive the mistress, you so long have served; +Receive the crown, your loyalty preserved. +Take you the reins, while I from cares remove, +And sleep within the chariot which I drove. [_Exeunt._ + + +Footnotes: +1. --_Magne regnator deum, + Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides? + Ecquando sęva fulmen emittes manu, + Si nunc serenum est? + --Me velox cremet, + Transactus ignis. Sum nocens, merui mori, + Placui novercę._--Hippolitus apud Senecam. + + See Langbaine, on this play. + +2. In Dryden's time it was believed, that some Indian tribes devoured + the bodies of their parents; affirming, they could shew no greater + mark of respect, than to incorporate their remains with their own + substance. + +3. Langbaine traces this speech also to Seneca's Hippolitus. + + _--Thesei vultus amo; + Illos priores quos tulit quondam puer, + Cum prima puras barba signaret genas._ + +4. I wish the duty of an editor had permitted me to omit this + extravagant and ludicrous rhapsody. + + + + +EPILOGUE + + + A pretty task! and so I told the fool, + Who needs would undertake to please by rule: + He thought, that if his characters were good, + The scenes entire, and freed from noise and blood; + The action great, yet circumscribed by time, + The words not forced, but sliding into rhyme, + The passions raised, and calm by just degrees, + As tides are swelled, and then retire to seas; + He thought, in hitting these, his business done, + Though he, perhaps, has failed in every one: + But, after all, a poet must confess, + His art's like physic, but a happy guess. + Your pleasure on your fancy must depend: + The lady's pleased, just as she likes her friend. + No song! no dance! no show! he fears you'll say: + You love all naked beauties, but a play. + He much mistakes your methods to delight; + And, like the French, abhors our target-fight: + But those damned dogs can ne'er be in the right. + True English hate your Monsieur's paltry arts, + For you are all silk-weavers in your hearts[1]. + Bold Britons, at a brave Bear-Garden fray, + Are roused: And, clattering sticks, cry,--Play, play, play![2] + Meantime, your filthy foreigner will stare, + And mutters to himself,--_Ha! gens barbare!_ + And, gad, 'tis well he mutters; well for him; + Our butchers else would tear him limb from limb. + 'Tis true, the time may come, your sons may be + Infected with this French civility: + But this, in after ages will be done: + Our poet writes an hundred years too soon. + This age comes on too slow, or he too fast: + And early springs are subject to a blast! + Who would excel, when few can make a test + Betwixt indifferent writing and the best? + For favours, cheap and common, who would strive, + Which, like abandoned prostitutes, you give? + Yet, scattered here and there, I some behold, + Who can discern the tinsel from the gold: + To these he writes; and, if by them allowed, + 'Tis their prerogative to rule the crowd. + For he more fears, like a presuming man, + Their votes who cannot judge, than theirs who can. + + +Footnotes: +1. Enemies, namely, like the English silk-weavers to the manufactures + of France. + +2. Alluding to the prize-fighting with broad-swords at the + Bear-Garden: an amusement sufficiently degrading, yet more manly, + and less brutal than that of boxing, as now practised. We have + found, in the lowest deep, a lower still. + + + * * * * * + + + ALL FOR LOVE; + + OR, + + THE WORLD WELL LOST. + + + A + + TRAGEDY. + + + + + ALL FOR LOVE. + + +The prologue to the preceding play has already acquainted us, that +Dryden's taste for Rhyming, or Heroic Plays, was then upon the wane; +and, accordingly "Aureng-Zebe" was the last tragedy which he formed +upon that once admired model. "Henceforth a series of new times +began," for, when given up by the only writer, whose command of +flowing and powerful numbers had rendered it impressive, that +department of the drama was soon abandoned by the inferior class of +play-writers, to whom it presented multiplied difficulties, without a +single advantage. The new taste, which our author had now decidedly +adopted, was founded upon the stile of Shakespeare, of whose works he +appears always to have been a persevering student, and, at length, an +ardent admirer. Accordingly, he informs us, in the introduction, that +this play is professedly written in imitation of "the divine +Shakespeare." As if to bring this more immediately under the eye of +the reader, he has chosen a subject upon which his immortal original +had already laboured; and, perhaps, the most proper introduction to +"All for Love" may be a parallel betwixt it and Shakespeare's "Antony +and Cleopatra." + +The first point of comparison is the general conduct, or plot, of the +tragedy. And here Dryden, having, to use his own language, undertaken +to shoot in the bow of Ulysses, imitates the wily Antinous in using +art to eke out his strength, and suppling the weapon before he +attempted to bend it. + +Shakespeare, with the license peculiar to his age and character, had +diffused the action of his play over Italy, Greece, and Egypt; but +Dryden, who was well aware of the advantage to be derived from a +simplicity and concentration of plot, has laid every scene in the city +of Alexandria. By this he guarded the audience from that vague and +puzzling distraction which must necessarily attend a violent change of +place. It is a mistake to suppose, that the argument in favour of the +unities depends upon preserving the deception of the scene; they are +necessarily connected with the intelligibility of the piece. It may be +true, that no spectator supposes that the stage before him is actually +the court of Alexandria; yet, when he has once made up his mind to let +it pass as such during the representation, it is a cruel tax, not +merely on his imagination, but on his powers of comprehension, if the +scene be suddenly transferred to a distant country. Time is lost +before he can form new associations, and reconcile their bearings with +those originally presented to him, and if he be a person of slow +comprehension, or happens to lose any part of the dialogue, announcing +the changes, the whole becomes unintelligible confusion. In this +respect, and in discarding a number of uninteresting characters, the +plan of Dryden's play must be unequivocally preferred to that of +Shakespeare in point of coherence, unity, and simplicity. It is a +natural consequence of this more artful arrangement of the story, that +Dryden contents himself with the concluding scene of Antony's history +instead of introducing the incidents of the war with Cneius Pompey, +the negociation with Lepidus, death of his first wife, and other +circumstances, which, in Shakespeare, only tend to distract our +attention from the main interest of the drama. The union of time, as +necessary as that of place to the intelligibility of the drama, has, +in like manner, been happily attained; and an interesting event is +placed before the audience with no other change of place, and no +greater lapse of time, than can be readily adapted to an ordinary +imagination. + +But, having given Dryden the praise of superior address in managing +the story, I fear he must be pronounced in most other respects +inferior to his grand prototype. Antony, the principal character in +both plays, is incomparably grander in that of Shakespeare. The +majesty and generosity of the military hero is happily expressed by +both poets; but the awful ruin of grandeur, undermined by passion, and +tottering to its fall, is far more striking in the Antony of +Shakespeare. Love, it is true, is the predominant; but it is not the +sole ingredient in his character. It has usurped possession of his +mind, but is assailed by his original passions, ambition of power, and +thirst for military fame. He is, therefore, often, and it should seem +naturally represented, as feeling for the downfall of his glory and +power, even so intensely as to withdraw his thoughts from Cleopatra, +unless considered as the cause of his ruin. Thus, in the scene in +which he compares himself to "black Vesper's pageants," he runs on in +a train of fantastic and melancholy similes, having relation only to +his fallen state, till the mention of Egypt suddenly recalls the idea +of Cleopatra. But Dryden has taken a different view of Antony's +character, and more closely approaching to his title of "All for +Love."--"He seems not now that awful Antony." His whole thoughts and +being are dedicated to his fatal passion; and though a spark of +resentment is occasionally struck out by the reproaches of Ventidius, +he instantly relapses into love-sick melancholy. The following +beautiful speech exhibits the romance of despairing love, without the +deep and mingled passion of a dishonoured soldier, and dethroned +emperor: + + _Ant._ [_Throwing himself down._] + Lie there, thou shadow of an emperor; + The place, thou pressest on thy mother earth, + Is all thy empire now: Now, it contains thee; + Some few days hence, and then 'twill be too large, + When thou'rt contracted in the narrow urn, + Shrunk to a few cold ashes; then, Octavia, + For Cleopatra will not live to see it, + Octavia then will have thee all her own, + And bear thee in her widowed hand to Cęsar; + Cęsar will weep, the crocodile will weep, + To see his rival of the universe + Lie still and peaceful there. I'll think no more on't. + Give me some music; look that it be sad: + I'll sooth my melancholy, 'till I swell, + And burst myself with sighing-- [_Soft music._ + 'Tis somewhat to my humour: Stay, I fancy + I'm now turned wild, a commoner of nature; + Of all forsaken, and forsaking all; + Live in a shady forest's sylvan scene, + Stretched at my length beneath some blasted oak, + I lean my head upon the mossy bark, + And look just of a piece, as I grew from it: + My uncombed locks, matted like misletoe, + Hang o'er my hoary face; a murmuring brook + Runs at my foot. + + _Ven._ Methinks I fancy + Myself there too. + + _Ant._ The herd come jumping by me, + And, fearless, quench their thirst, while I look on, + And take me for their fellow-citizen. + +Even when Antony is finally ruined, the power of jealousy is called +upon to complete his despair, and he is less sensible to the idea of +Cęsar's successful arms, than to the risque of Dolabella's rivalling +him in the affections of Cleopatra. It is true, the Antony of +Shakespeare also starts into fury, upon Cleopatra permitting Thyreus +to kiss her hand; but this is not jealousy; it is pride offended, that +she, for whom he had sacrificed his glory and empire, should already +begin to court the favour of the conqueror, and vouchsafe her hand to +be saluted by a "jack of Cęsars." Hence Enobarbus, the witness of the +scene, alludes immediately to the fury of mortified ambition and +falling power: + + 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp, + Than with an old one dying-- + +Having, however, adopted an idea of Antony's character, rather +suitable to romance than to nature, or history, we must not deny +Dryden the praise of having exquisitely brought out the picture he +intended to draw. He has informed us, that this was the only play +written to please himself; and he has certainly exerted in it the full +force of his incomparable genius. Antony is throughout the piece what +the author meant him to be; a victim to the omnipotence of love, or +rather to the infatuation of one engrossing passion[1]. + +In the Cleopatra of Dryden, there is greatly less spirit and +originality than in Shakespeare's. The preparation of the latter for +death has a grandeur which puts to shame the same scene in Dryden, and +serves to support the interest during the whole fifth act, although +Antony has died in the conclusion of the fourth. No circumstance can +more highly evince the power of Shakespeare's genius, in spite of his +irregularities; since the conclusion in Dryden, where both lovers die +in the same scene, and after a reconciliation, is infinitely more +artful and better adapted to theatrical effect. + +In the character of Ventidius, Dryden has filled up, with ability, the +rude sketches, which Shakespeare has thrown off in those of Scęva and +Eros. The rough old Roman soldier is painted with great truth; and the +quarrel betwixt him and Antony, in the first act, is equal to any +single scene that our author ever wrote, excepting, perhaps, that +betwixt Sebastian and Dorax; an opinion in which the judgment of the +critic coincides with that of the poet. It is a pity, as has often +been remarked, that this dialogue occurs so early in the play, since +what follows is necessarily inferior in force. Dryden, while writing +this scene, had unquestionably in his recollection the quarrel betwixt +Brutus and Cassius, which was justly so great a favourite in his time, +and to which he had referred as inimitable in his prologue to +"Aureng-Zebe.[2]" + +The inferior characters are better supported in Dryden than in +Shakespeare. We have no low buffoonery in the former, such as +disgraces Enobarbus, and is hardly redeemed by his affecting +catastrophe. Even the Egyptian Alexas acquires some respectability, +from his patriotic attachment to the interests of his country, and +from his skill as a wily courtier. He expresses, by a beautiful image, +the effeminate attachment to life, appropriated to his character and +country: + + O, that I less could fear to lose this being, + Which, like a snow-ball in my coward hand, + The more 'tis grasped, the faster melts away. + +The Octavia of Dryden is a much more important personage than in the +"Antony and Cleopatra" of Shakespeare. She is, however, more cold and +unamiable; for, in the very short scenes in which the Octavia of +Shakespeare appears, she is placed in rather an interesting point of +view. But Dryden has himself informed us, that he was apprehensive the +justice of a wife's claim upon her husband would draw the audience to +her side, and lessen their interest in the lover and the mistress. He +seems accordingly to have studiedly lowered the character of the +injured Octavia, who, in her conduct towards her husband, shews much +duty and little love; and plainly intimates, that her rectitude of +conduct flows from a due regard to her own reputation, rather than +from attachment to Antony's person, or sympathy with him in his +misfortunes. It happens, therefore, with Octavia, as with all other +very good selfish kind of people; we think it unnecessary to feel any +thing for her, as she is obviously capable of taking very good care of +herself. I must not omit, that her scolding scene with Cleopatra, +although anxiously justified by the author in the preface, seems too +coarse to be in character, and is a glaring exception to the general +good taste evinced throughout the rest of the piece. + +It would be too long a task to contrast the beauties of these two +great poets in point of diction and style. But the reader will +doubtless be pleased to compare the noted descriptions of the voyage +of Cleopatra down the Cydnus. It is thus given in Shakespeare: + + The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, + Burned on the water: The poop was beaten gold; + Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that + The winds were love-sick with them: The oars were silver; + Which, to the tune of flutes, kept stroke, and made + The water which they beat, to follow faster, + As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, + It beggared all description: she did lie + In her pavilion (cloth of gold, of tissue), + O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see, + The fancy outwork nature; on each side her, + Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, + With diverse coloured fans, whose wind did seem + To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, + And what they undid, did. + Her gentlewomen, like the Nereids, + So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, + And made their bends adornings: At the helm + A seeming mermaid steers: The silken tackle + Swells with the touches of those flower-soft hands + That yarely frame the office. From the barge + A strange invisible perfume hits the sense + Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast + Her people out upon her; and Antony, + Enthroned in the market-place, did sit alone, + Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, + Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, + And made a gap in nature. + _Antony and Cleopatra_, Act i. Scene 2. + +The parallel passage in Dryden runs thus: + + The tackling silk, the streamers waved with gold, + The gentle winds were lodged in purple sails: + Her nymphs, like Nereids, round her couch were placed; + Where she, another sea-born Venus, lay, + + _Dola._ No more: I would not hear it, + + _Ant._ O, you must! + She lay, and leant her cheek upon her hand, + And cast a look so languishingly sweet, + As if secure of all beholders hearts, + Neglecting she could take them: Boys, like Cupids, + Stood fanning, with their painted wings, the winds + That played about her face! But if she smiled, + A darting glory secured to blaze abroad: + That men's desiring eyes were never wearied, + But hung upon the object: To soft flutes + The silver oars kept time; and while they played, + The hearing gave new pleasure to the sight; + And both to thought. 'Twas heaven, or somewhat more; + For she so charmed all hearts, that gazing crowds + Stood panting on the shore, and wanted breath + To give their welcome voice. + Then, Dolabella, where was then thy soul? + Was not thy fury quite disarmed with murder? + Didst thou not shrink behind me from those eyes, + And whisper in my ear, Oh, tell her not + That I accused her of my brother's death? + +In judging betwixt these celebrated passages, we feel almost afraid to +avow a preference of Dryden, founded partly upon the easy flow of the +verse, which seems to soften with the subject, but chiefly upon the +beauty of the language and imagery, which is flowery without +diffusiveness, and rapturous without hyperbole. I fear Shakespeare +cannot be exculpated from the latter fault; yet I am sensible, it is +by sifting his beauties from his conceits that his imitator has been +enabled to excel him. + +It is impossible to bestow too much praise on the beautiful passages +which occur so frequently in "All for Love." Having already given +several examples of happy expression of melancholy and tender +feelings, I content myself with extracting the sublime and terrific +description of an omen presaging the downfall of Egypt. + + _Serap._ Last night, between the hours of twelve and one, + In a lone isle of the temple while I walked, + A whirlwind rose, that, with a violent blast, + Shook all the dome: The doors around me clapt; + The iron wicket, that defends the vault, + Where the long race of Ptolemies is laid, + Burst open, and disclosed the mighty dead. + From out each monument, in order placed, + An armed ghost starts up: The boy-king last + Reared his inglorious head. A peal of groans + Then followed, and a lamentable voice + Cried,--"Egypt is no more!" My blood ran back, + My shaking knees against each other knocked; + On the cold pavement down I fell entranced, + And so, unfinished, left the horrid scene. + +Having quoted so many passages of exquisite poetry, and having set +this play in no unequal opposition to that of Shakespeare, it is, +perhaps, unnecessary to mention by what other poets the same subject +has been treated. Daniel, Mary countess of Pembroke, May, and Sir +Charles Sedley, each produced a play on the fortunes of Anthony. Of +these pieces I have never read the three former, and will assuredly +never read the last a second time[3]. + +"All for Love," as the most laboured performance of our author, +received the full tribute of applause and popularity which had often +graced his less perfect and more hurried performances. Davies gives us +the following account of its first representation. + +"In Dryden's "All for Love," Booth's dignified action and forcible +elocution, in the part of Antony, attracted the public to that heavy, +though, in many parts, well written play, six night's successively, +without the assistance of pantomime, or farce, which, at that time, +was esteemed something extraordinary.--But, indeed, he was well +supported by an Oldfield, in his Cleopatra, who, to a most harmonious +and powerful voice, and fine person, added grace and elegance of +gesture. When Booth and Oldfield met in the second act, their dignity +of deportment commanded the applause and approbation of the most +judicious critics. When Antony said to Cleopatra, + + You promised me your silence, and you break it + Ere I have scarce begun,-- + +this check was so well understood by Oldfield, and answered with such +propriety of behaviour, that, in Shakespeare's phrase; her "bendings +were adornings." + +"The elder Mills acted Ventidius with the true spirit of a rough and +generous old soldier. To render the play as acceptable to the public +as possible, Wilkes took the trifling part of Dolabella, nor did +Colley Cibber disdain to appear in Alexas. These parts would scarcely +be accepted now by third-rate actors. Still to add more weight to the +performance, Octavia was a short character of a scene or two, in which +Mrs Porter drew not only respect, but the more affecting approbation +of tears from the audience. Since that time, "All for Love" has +gradually sunk into forgetfulness." + +If this last observation be true, it is, under Mr Davies' favour, a +striking illustration of the caprice of the public taste. The play of +"All for Love" was first acted and printed in 1678. + + +Footnotes: +1. Dryden has himself, in the prologue, alluded to this predominance + of sentiment in his hero's character. + + His hero, whom you wits his bully call, + Bates of his mettle, and scarce rants at all; + He's somewhat lewd; but a well meaning mind, + Weeps much, fights little, but is wondrous kind. + +2. But, spite of all his pride, a secret shame + Invades his breast at Shakespeare's sacred name: + Awed, when he hears his god-like Romans rage, + He, in a just despair, would quit the stage, + And, to an age less polished, more unskilled, + Does, with disdain, the foremost honours yield. + +3. Lest any reader should have anticipated better things of "Sedley's + noble muse," the Lisideius of our author's dialogue on dramatic + poetry, I subjoin a specimen, taken at hazard: + + Gape, hell, and to thy dismal bottom take + The lost Antonius; this was our last stake: + Warned by my ruin, let no Roman more, + Set foot on the inhospitable shore. + Cowards and traitors filled this impious land, + Faithless and fearful, without heart or hand, + Some ran to Cęsar, like a headlong tide, + The rest their fear made useless on our side. + + "This passion, with the death of a dear friend, would go nigh to + make one sad;" yet some of the authors of the day held a very + different doctrine. Shadwell, in his dedication to "A true Widow," + tells Sedley, "You have in that Mulberry Garden shewn the true wit, + humour, and satire of a comedy; and, in Antony and Cleopatra, the + true spirit of a tragedy; the only one, except two of Jonson's and + one of Shakespeare's, wherein Romans are made to speak and do like + Romans. There are to be found the true characters of Antony and + Cleopatra, as they were; whereas a French author would have made + the Egyptian and Roman both become French under his pen. And even + our English authors are too much given to make history (in these + plays) romantic and impossible; but, in this play, the Romans are + true Romans, and their style is such; and I dare affirm, that there + is not in any play of this age so much of the spirit of the classic + authors, as in your Antony and Cleopatra." I cannot help suspecting + that much of this hyperbolical praise of Sedley was obliquely + designed to mortify Dryden. + + + + + TO + + THE RIGHT HONOURABLE + + THOMAS, EARL OF DANBY, + + VISCOUNT LATIMER, AND BARON OSBORNE OF + KIVETON IN YORKSHIRE; + + LORD HIGH TREASURER OF ENGLAND, + ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S MOST HONOURABLE PRIVY + COUNCIL, AND KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE + ORDER OF THE GARTER[1]. + + +MY LORD, + +The gratitude of poets is so troublesome a virtue to great men, that +you are often in danger of your own benefits: For you are threatened +with some epistle, and not suffered to do good in quiet, or to +compound for their silence whom you have obliged. Yet, I confess, I +neither am or ought to be surprised at this indulgence; for your +lordship has the same right to favour poetry, which the great and +noble have ever had: + + _Carmen amat, quisquis carmine digna gerit._ + +There is somewhat of a tie in nature betwixt those who are born for +worthy actions, and those who can transmit them to posterity; and +though ours be much the inferior part, it comes at least within the +verge of alliance; nor are we unprofitable members of the +commonwealth, when we animate others to those virtues, which we copy +and describe from you. + +It is indeed their interest, who endeavour the subversion of +governments, to discourage poets and historians; for the best which +can happen to them, is, to be forgotten: But such who, under kings, +are the fathers of their country, and by a just and prudent ordering +of affairs preserve it, have the same reason to cherish the +chroniclers of their actions, as they have to lay up in safety the +deeds and evidences of their estates; for such records are their +undoubted titles to the love and reverence of after-ages. Your +lordship's administration has already taken up a considerable part of +the English annals; and many of its most happy years are owing to it. +His majesty, the most knowing judge of men, and the best master, has +acknowledged the ease and benefit he receives in the incomes of his +treasury, which you found not only disordered, but exhausted. All +things were in the confusion of a chaos, without form or method if not +reduced beyond it, even to annihilation; so that you had not only to +separate the jarring elements, but (if that boldness of expression +might be allowed me) to create them. Your enemies had so embroiled the +management of your office, that they looked on your advancement as the +instrument of your ruin. And as if the clogging of the revenue, and +the confusion of accounts, which you found in your entrance, were not +sufficient, they added their own weight of malice to the public +calamity, by forestalling the credit which should cure it. Your +friends on the other side were only capable of pitying, but not of +aiding you; no farther help or counsel was remaining to you, but what +was founded on yourself; and that indeed was your security; for your +diligence, your constancy, and your prudence, wrought more surely +within, when they were not disturbed by any outward motion. The +highest virtue is best to be trusted with itself; for assistance only +can be given by a genius superior to that which it assists; and it is +the noblest kind of debt, when we are only obliged to God and nature. +This then, my lord, is your just commendation, that you have wrought +out yourself a way to glory, by those very means that were designed +for your destruction: You have not only restored, but advanced the +revenues of your master, without grievance to the subject; and, as if +that were little yet, the debts of the exchequer, which lay heaviest +both on the crown, and on private persons, have by your conduct been +established in a certainty of satisfaction.[2] An action so much the +more great and honourable, because the case was without the ordinary +relief of laws; above the hopes of the afflicted, and beyond the +narrowness of the treasury to redress, had it been managed by a less +able hand. It is certainly the happiest, and most unenvied part of all +your fortune, to do good to many, while you do injury to none; to +receive at once the prayers of the subject, and the praises of the +prince; and, by the care of your conduct, to give him means of +exerting the chiefest (if any be the chiefest) of his royal virtues, +his distributive justice to the deserving, and his bounty and +compassion to the wanting. The disposition of princes towards their +people cannot be better discovered than in the choice of their +ministers; who, like the animal spirits betwixt the soul and body, +participate somewhat of both natures, and make the communication which +is betwixt them. A king, who is just and moderate in his nature, who +rules according to the laws, whom God has made happy by forming the +temper of his soul to the constitution of his government, and who +makes us happy, by assuming over us no other sovereignty than that +wherein our welfare and liberty consists; a prince, I say, of so +excellent a character, and so suitable to the wishes of all good men, +could not better have conveyed himself into his people's +apprehensions, than in your lordship's person; who so lively express +the same virtues, that you seem not so much a copy, as an emanation of +him. Moderation is doubtless an establishment of greatness; but there +is a steadiness of temper which is likewise requisite in a minister of +state; so equal a mixture of both virtues, that he may stand like an +isthmus betwixt the two encroaching seas of arbitrary power, and +lawless anarchy. The undertaking would be difficult to any but an +extraordinary genius, to stand at the line, and to divide the limits; +to pay what is due to the great representative of the nation, and +neither to enhance, nor to yield up, the undoubted prerogatives of the +crown. These, my lord, are the proper virtues of a noble Englishman, +as indeed they are properly English virtues; no people in the world +being capable of using them, but we who have the happiness to be born +under so equal, and so well poised a government;--a government which +has all the advantages of liberty beyond a commonwealth, and all the +marks of kingly sovereignty, without the danger of a tyranny. Both my +nature, as I am an Englishman, and my reason, as I am a man, have bred +in me a loathing to that specious name of a republic; that mock +appearance of a liberty, where all who have not part in the +government, are slaves; and slaves they are of a viler note, than such +as are subjects to an absolute dominion. For no Christian monarchy is +so absolute, but it is circumscribed with laws; but when the executive +power is in the law-makers, there is no farther check upon them; and +the people must suffer without a remedy, because they are oppressed by +their representatives. If I must serve, the number of my masters, who +were born my equals, would but add to the ignominy of my bondage. The +nature of our government, above all others, is exactly suited both to +the situation of our country, and the temper of the natives; an island +being more proper for commerce and for defence, than for extending its +dominions on the Continent; for what the valour of its inhabitants +might gain, by reason of its remoteness, and the casualties of the +seas, it could not so easily preserve: And, therefore, neither the +arbitrary power of One, in a monarchy, nor of Many, in a commonwealth, +could make us greater than we are. It is true, that vaster and more +frequent taxes might be gathered, when the consent of the people was +not asked or needed; but this were only by conquering abroad, to be +poor at home; and the examples of our neighbours teach us, that they +are not always the happiest subjects, whose kings extend their +dominions farthest. Since therefore we cannot win by an offensive war, +at least a land war, the model of our government seems naturally +contrived for the defensive part; and the consent of a people is +easily obtained to contribute to that power which must protect it. +_Felices nimium, bona si sua nórint, Angligenę!_ And yet there are not +wanting malecontents amongst us, who, surfeiting themselves on too +much happiness, would persuade the people that they might be happier +by a change. It was indeed the policy of their old forefather, when +himself was fallen from the station of glory, to seduce mankind into +the same rebellion with him, by telling him he might yet be freer than +he was; that is, more free than his nature would allow, or, if I may +so say, than God could make him. We have already all the liberty which +free-born subjects can enjoy, and all beyond it is but licence. But if +it be liberty of conscience which they pretend, the moderation of our +church is such, that its practice extends not to the severity of +persecution; and its discipline is withal so easy, that it allows more +freedom to dissenters than any of the sects would allow to it. In the +mean time, what right can be pretended by these men to attempt +innovation in church or state? Who made them the trustees, or, to +speak a little nearer their own language, the keepers of the liberty +of England? If their call be extraordinary, let them convince us by +working miracles; for ordinary vocation they can have none, to disturb +the government under which they were born, and which protects them. He +who has often changed his party, and always has made his interest the +rule of it, gives little evidence of his sincerity for the public +good; it is manifest he changes but for himself, and takes the people +for tools to work his fortune. Yet the experience of all ages might +let him know, that they, who trouble the waters first, have seldom the +benefit of fishing; as they who began the late rebellion, enjoyed not +the fruit of their undertaking, but were crushed themselves by the +usurpation of their own instrument. Neither is it enough for them to +answer, that they only intend a reformation of the government, but not +the subversion of it: on such pretence all insurrections have been +founded; it is striking at the root of power, which is obedience. +Every remonstrance of private men has the seed of treason in it; and +discourses, which are couched in ambiguous terms, are therefore the +more dangerous, because they do all the mischief of open sedition, yet +are safe from the punishment of the laws. These, my lord, are +considerations, which I should not pass so lightly over, had I room to +manage them as they deserve; for no man can be so inconsiderable in a +nation, as not to have a share in the welfare of it; and if he be a +true Englishman, he must at the same time be fired with indignation, +and revenge himself as he can on the disturbers of his country. And to +whom could I more fitly apply myself than to your lordship, who have +not only an inborn, but an hereditary loyalty? The memorable constancy +and sufferings of your father, almost to the ruin of his estate, for +the royal cause, were an earnest of that, which such a parent and such +an institution would produce in the person of a son. But so unhappy an +occasion of manifesting your own zeal, in suffering for his present +majesty, the providence of God, and the prudence of your +administration, will, I hope, prevent; that, as your father's fortune +waited on the unhappiness of his sovereign, so your own may +participate of the better fate which attends his son. The relation, +which you have by alliance to the noble family of your lady, serves to +confirm to you both this happy augury. For what can deserve a greater +place in the English chronicle, than the loyalty and courage, the +actions and death, of the general of an army, fighting for his prince +and country? The honour and gallantry of the earl of Lindsey is so +illustrious a subject, that it is fit to adorn an heroic poem; for he +was the proto-martyr of the cause, and the type of his unfortunate +royal master[3]. + +Yet after all, my lord, if I may speak my thoughts, you are happy +rather to us than to yourself; for the multiplicity, the cares, and +the vexations of your employment, have betrayed you from yourself, and +given you up into the possession of the public. You are robbed of your +privacy and friends, and scarce any hour of your life you can call +your own. Those, who envy your fortune, if they wanted not +good-nature, might more justly pity it; and when they see you watched +by a crowd of suitors, whose importunity it is impossible to avoid, +would conclude, with reason, that you have lost much more in true +content, than you have gained by dignity; and that a private gentleman +is better attended by a single servant, than your lordship with so +clamorous a train. Pardon me, my lord, if I speak like a philosopher +on this subject; the fortune, which makes a man uneasy, cannot make +him happy; and a wise man must think himself uneasy, when few of his +actions are in his choice. + +This last consideration has brought me to another, and a very +seasonable one for your relief; which is, that while I pity your want +of leisure, I have impertinently detained you so long a time. I have +put off my own business, which was my dedication, till it is so late, +that I am now ashamed to begin it; and therefore I will say nothing of +the poem, which I present to you, because I know not if you are like +to have an hour, which, with a good conscience, you may throw away in +perusing it; and for the author, I have only to beg the continuance of +your protection to him, who is, + + My Lord, + + Your Lordship's most obliged, + Most humble, and + Most obedient, servant, + JOHN DRYDEN. + + +Footnotes: +1. The person, to whom these high titles now belonged, was Sir Thomas + Osburne, a Baronet of good family, and decayed estate; part of + which had been lost in the royal cause. He was of a bold undaunted + character, and stood high for the prerogative. Hence he was thought + worthy of being sworn into the Privy Council during the + administration of the famous CABAL; and when that was dissolved by + the secession of Shaftesbury and the resignation of Clifford, he + was judged a proper person to succeed the latter as Lord High + Treasurer. He was created Earl of Danby, and was supposed to be + deeply engaged in the attempt to new-model our Constitution on a + more arbitrary plan; having been even heard to say, when sitting in + judgment, that a new proclamation from the Crown was superior to an + old act of Parliament. Nevertheless, he was persecuted as well by + the faction of the Duke of York, to whom he was odious for having + officiously introduced the famous Popish plot to the consideration + of parliament, as by the popular party, who hated him as a + favourite minister. Accordingly, in 1678, he was impeached by a + vote of the House of Commons, and in consequence, notwithstanding + the countenance of the King, was deprived of all his offices, and + finally committed to the tower, where he remained for four years. + Sir John Reresby has these reflections on Lord Danby's greatness + and sudden fall: "It was but a few months before, that few things + were transacted at court, but with the privity or consent of this + great man; the King's brother, and favourite mistress, were glad to + be fair with him, and the general address of all men of business + was to him, who was not only treasurer, but prime minister also, + who not only kept the purse, but was the first, and greatest + confident in all affairs of state. But now he is neglected of + all, forced to hide his head as a criminal, and in danger of losing + all he has got, and his life therewith: His family, raised from + privacy to the degree of Marquis, (a patent was then actually + passing to invest him with that dignity) is now on the brink of + falling below the humble stand of a yeoman; nor would almost the + meanest subject change conditions with him now, whom so very lately + the greatest beheld with envy." _Memoirs_, p. 85. + + As he was obnoxious to all parties, Lord Danby would probably have + been made a sacrifice, had not the disturbances, which arose from + the various plots of the time, turned the attention of his enemies + to other subjects. He was liberated in 1683-4, survived the + Revolution, was created Duke of Leeds, and died in 1712. His + character was of the most decided kind; he was fertile in + expedients and had always something new to substitute for those + which failed; a faculty highly acceptable to Charles, who loved to + be relieved even were it but in idea, from the labour of business, + and the pressure of difficulty. In other points, he was probably + not very scrupulous, since even Dryden found cause to say at + length, that + + Danby's matchless impudence + Helped to support the knave. + +2. This alludes to the stop of payments in exchequer, in 1671-2; a + desperate measure recommended by Clifford, to secure money for the + war against Holland. + +3. The Earl of Lindsey was general in chief for King Charles I. at the + breaking out of the civil war. As an evil omen of the royal cause, + he was mortally wounded and made prisoner at the battle of + Edgehill, the very first which was fought betwixt the king and + parliament. Clarendon says, "He had very many friends, and very few + enemies, and died generally lamented." His son Montague Bertie, + Earl of Lindsey, was a sufferer in the same cause. Lord Danby was + married to the Lady Bridget, the second daughter of that nobleman. + + + + + PREFACE. + + +The death of Antony and Cleopatra is a subject which has been treated +by the greatest wits of our nation, after Shakespeare; and by all so +variously, that their example has given me the confidence to try +myself in this bow of Ulysses amongst the crowd of shooters; and, +withal, to take my own measures, in aiming at the mark. I doubt not +but the same motive has prevailed with all of us in this attempt; I +mean the excellency of the moral: For the chief persons represented, +were famous patterns of unlawful love; and their end accordingly was +unfortunate. All reasonable men have long since concluded, that the +hero of the poem ought not to be a character of perfect virtue, for +then he could not, without injustice, be made unhappy; nor yet +altogether wicked, because he could not then be pitied. I have +therefore steered the middle course; and have drawn the character of +Antony as favourably as Plutarch, Appian, and Dion Cassius would give +me leave; the like I have observed in Cleopatra. That which is wanting +to work up the pity to a greater heighth, was not afforded me by the +story; for the crimes of love, which they both committed, were not +occasioned by any necessity, or fatal ignorance, but were wholly +voluntary; since our passions are, or ought to be, within our power. +The fabric of the play is regular enough, as to the inferior parts of +it; and the unities of time, place, and action, more exactly observed, +than perhaps the English theatre requires. Particularly, the action is +so much one, that it is the only of the kind without episode, or +underplot; every scene in the tragedy conducing to the main design, +and every act concluding with a turn of it. The greatest error in the +contrivance seems to be in the person of Octavia; for, though I might +use the privilege of a poet, to introduce her into Alexandria, yet I +had not enough considered, that the compassion she moved to herself +and children, was destructive to that which I reserved for Antony and +Cleopatra; whose mutual love being founded upon vice, must lessen the +favour of the audience to them, when virtue and innocence were +oppressed by it. And, though I justified Antony in some measure, by +making Octavia's departure to proceed wholly from herself; yet the +force of the first machine still remained; and the dividing of pity, +like the cutting of a river into many channels, abated the strength of +the natural stream. But this is an objection which none of my critics +have urged against me; and therefore I might have let it pass, if I +could have resolved to have been partial to myself. The faults my +enemies have found, are rather cavils concerning little and not +essential decencies; which a master of the ceremonies may decide +betwixt us. The French poets, I confess, are strict observers of these +punctilios: They would not, for example, have suffered Cleopatra and +Octavia to have met; or, if they had met, there must have only passed +betwixt them some cold civilities, but no eagerness of repartee, for +fear of offending against the greatness of their characters, and the +modesty of their sex. This objection I foresaw, and at the same time +contemned; for I judged it both natural and probable, that Octavia, +proud of her new-gained conquest, would search out Cleopatra to +triumph over her; and that Cleopatra thus attacked, was not of a +spirit to shun the encounter: And it is not unlikely, that two +exasperated rivals should use such satire as I have put into their +mouths; for, after all, though the one were a Roman, and the other a +queen, they were both women. It is true, some actions, though natural, +are not fit to be represented; and broad obscenities in words, ought +in good manners to be avoided: expressions therefore are a modest +clothing of our thoughts, as breeches and petticoats are of our +bodies. If I have kept myself within the bounds of modesty, all beyond +it is but nicety and affectation; which is no more but modesty +depraved into a vice. They betray themselves, who are too quick of +apprehension in such cases, and leave all reasonable men to imagine +worse of them, than of the poet. + +Honest Montaigne goes yet farther: _Nous ne sommes que ceremonie; la +ceremonie nous emporte, et laissons la substance des choses: Nous nous +tenons aux branches, et abandonnons le tronc et le corps. Nous avons +appris aux dames de rougir, oyans seulement nommer ce qu'elles ne +craignent aucunement ą faire; Nous n'esons appeller ą droict nos +membres, et ne craignons pas de les employer ą toute sorte de +debauche. La ceremonie nous defend d'exprimer par paroles les choses +licites et naturelles, et nous l'en croyons; la raison nous defend de +n'en faire point d'illicites et mauvaises, et personne ne l'en croit._ +My comfort is, that by this opinion my enemies are but sucking +critics, who would fain be nibbling ere their teeth are come. + +Yet, in this nicety of manners does the excellency of French poetry +consist. Their heroes are the most civil people breathing; but their +good breeding seldom extends to a word of sense; all their wit is in +their ceremony; they want the genius which animates our stage; and +therefore it is but necessary, when they cannot please, that they +should take care not to offend. But as the civillest man in the +company is commonly the dullest, so these authors, while they are +afraid to make you laugh or cry, out of pure good manners, make you +sleep. They are so careful not to exasperate a critic, that they never +leave him any work; so busy with the broom, and make so clean a +riddance, that there is little left either for censure or for praise: +For no part of a poem is worth our discommending, where the whole is +insipid; as when we have once tasted of palled wine, we stay not to +examine it glass by glass. But while they affect to shine in trifles, +they are often careless in essentials. Thus, their Hippolitus is so +scrupulous in point of decency, that he will rather expose himself to +death, than accuse his step-mother to his father; and my critics I am +sure will commend him for it: But we of grosser apprehensions are apt +to think, that this excess of generosity is not practicable, but with +fools and madmen. This was good manners with a vengeance; and the +audience is like to be much concerned at the misfortunes of this +admirable hero. But take Hippolitus out of his poetic fit, and I +suppose he would think it a wiser part, to set the saddle on the right +horse, and chuse rather to live with the reputation of a plain-spoken +honest man, than to die with the infamy of an incestuous villain.[1] +In the mean time we may take notice, that where the poet ought to have +preserved the character as it was delivered to us by antiquity, when +he should have given us the picture of a rough young man, of the +Amazonian strain, a jolly huntsman, and both by his profession and his +early rising a mortal enemy to love, he has chosen to give him the +turn of gallantry sent him to travel from Athens to Paris, taught him +to make love, and transformed the Hippolitus of Euripides into +Monsieur Hippolite. I should not have troubled myself thus far with +French poets, but that I find our _Chedreux_[2] critics wholly form +their judgments by them. But for my part, I desire to be tried by the +laws of my own country; for it seems unjust to me, that the French +should prescribe here, till they have conquered. Our little +sonetteers, who follow them, have too narrow souls to judge of poetry. +Poets themselves are the most proper, though I conclude not the only +critics. But till some genius, as universal as Aristotle, shall arise, +one who can penetrate into all arts and sciences, without the practice +of them, I shall think it reasonable that the judgment of an artificer +in his own art should be preferable to the opinion of another man; at +least where he is not bribed by interest, or prejudiced by malice. And +this, I suppose, is manifest by plain inductions: For, first, the +crowd cannot be presumed to have more than a gross instinct, of what +pleases or displeases them: Every man will grant me this; but then, by +a particular kindness to himself, he draws his own stake first, and +will be distinguished from the multitude, of which other men may think +him one. But, if I come closer to those who are allowed for witty men, +either by the advantage of their quality, or by common fame, and +affirm that neither are they qualified to decide sovereignly +concerning poetry, I shall yet have a strong party of my opinion; for +most of them severally will exclude the rest, either from the number +of witty men, or at least of able judges. But here again they are all +indulgent to themselves; and every one who believes himself a wit, +that is, every man, will pretend at the same time to a right judgeing. +But to press it yet farther, there are many witty men, but few poets; +neither have all poets a taste of tragedy. And this is the rock on +which they are daily splitting. Poetry, which is a picture of nature, +must generally please; but it is not to be understood that all parts +of it must please every man; therefore is not tragedy to be judged by +a witty man, whose taste is only confined to comedy. Nor is every man +who loves tragedy, a sufficient judge of it; he must understand the +excellencies of it too, or he will only prove a blind admirer, not a +critic. From hence it comes that so many satires on poets, and +censures of their writings, fly abroad. Men of pleasant conversation, +(at least esteemed so) and endued with a trifling kind of fancy, +perhaps helped out with some smattering of Latin, are ambitious to +distinguish themselves from the herd of gentlemen, by their poetry; + + _Rarus enim fermč; sensus communis in illā + Fortunā._ + +And is not this a wretched affectation, not to be contented with what +fortune has done for them, and sit down quietly with their estates, +but they must call their wits in question, and needlessly expose their +nakedness to public view? Not considering that they are not to expect +the same approbation from sober men, which they have found from their +flatterers after the third bottle. If a little glittering in discourse +has passed them on us for witty men, where was the necessity of +undeceiving the world? Would a man who has an ill title to an estate, +but yet is in possession of it; would he bring it of his own accord, +to be tried at Westminster? We who write, if we want the talent, yet +have the excuse that we do it for a poor subsistence; but what can be +urged in their defence, who, not having the vocation of poverty to +scribble, out of mere wantonness take pains to make themselves +ridiculous? Horace was certainly in the right, where he said, "That no +man is satisfied with his own condition." A poet is not pleased, +because he is not rich; and the rich are discontented, because the +poets will not admit them of their number. Thus the case is hard with +writers: If they succeed not, they must starve; and if they do, some +malicious satire is prepared to level them, for daring to please +without their leave. But while they are so eager to destroy the fame +of others, their ambition is manifest in their concernment; some poem +of their own is to lie produced, and the slaves are to be laid flat +with their faces on the ground, that the monarch may appear in the +greater majesty[3]. + +Dionysius and Nero had the same longing, but with all their power they +could never bring their business well about. 'Tis true, they +proclaimed themselves poets by sound of trumpet; and poets they were, +upon pain of death to any man who durst call them otherwise. The +audience had a fine time on't, you may imagine; they sat in a bodily +fear, and looked as demurely as they could: for it was a hanging +matter to laugh unseasonably; and the tyrants were suspicious, as they +had reason, that their subjects had them in the wind; so, every man, +in his own defence, set as good a face upon the business as he could. +It was known before-hand that the monarchs were to be crowned +laureats; but when the show was over, and an honest man was suffered +to depart quietly, he took out his laughter which he had stifled; with +a firm resolution never more to see an emperor's play, though he had +been ten years a making it. In the mean time the true poets were they +who made the best markets, for they had wit enough to yield the prize +with a good grace, and not contend with him who had thirty legions[4]. +They were sure to be rewarded, if they confessed themselves bad +writers, and that was somewhat better than to be martyrs for their +reputation. Lucan's example was enough to teach them manners; and +after he was put to death, for overcoming Nero, the emperor carried it +without dispute for the best poet in his dominions. No man was +ambitious of that grinning honour; for if he heard the malicious +trumpeter proclaiming his name before his betters, he knew there was +but one way with him. Mecęnas took another course, and we know he was +more than a great man, for he was witty too: But finding himself far +gone in poetry, which Seneca assures us was not his talent, he thought +it his best way to be well with Virgil and with Horace; that at least +he might be a poet at the second hand; and we see how happily it has +succeeded with him; for his own bad poetry is forgotten, and their +panegyricks of him still remain. But they who should be our patrons, +are for no such expensive ways to fame; they have much of the poetry +of Mecęnas, but little of his liberality. They are for persecuting +Horace and Virgil, in the persons of their successors; for such is +every man, who has any part of their soul and fire, though in a less +degree. Some of their little zanies yet go farther; for they are +persecutors even of Horace himself; as far as they are able, by their +ignorant and vile imitations of him; by making an unjust use of his +authority and turning his artillery against his friends. But how would +he disdain to be copied by such hands! I dare answer for him, he would +be more uneasy in their company, than he was with Crispinus, their +forefather, in the Holy Way; and would no more have allowed them a +place amongst the critics, than he would Demetrius the mimic, and +Tigellius the buffoon; + + --_Demetri, teque, Tigelli, + Discipulorum inter jubeo plorare cathedras._ + +With what scorn would he look down on such miserable translators, who +make doggrel of his Latin, mistake his meaning, mis-apply his +censures, and often contradict their own? He is fixed as a landmark to +set out the bounds of poetry: + + --_Saxum antiquum, ingens,-- + Limes agro positus, litem ut discerneret arvis._ + +But other arms than theirs, and other sinews are required, to raise +the weight of such an author; and when they would toss him against +their enemies, + + _Genua labant, gelidus concrevit frigore sanguis. + Tum lapis ipse, viri vacuum per inane volutus, + Nec spatium evasit totum, nec pertulit ictum_[5]. + +For my part, I would wish no other revenge, either for myself, or the +rest of the poets, from this rhyming judge of the twelve-penny +gallery, this legitimate son of Sternhold, than that he would +subscribe his name to his censure, or (not to tax him beyond his +learning) set his mark: For, should he own himself publicly, and come +from behind the lion's skin, they, whom he condemns, would be thankful +to him, they, whom he praises, would chuse to be condemned; and the +magistrates, whom he has elected, would modestly withdraw from their +employment, to avoid the scandal of his nomination[6]. The sharpness +of his satire, next to himself, falls most heavily on his friends, and +they ought never to forgive him for commending them perpetually the +wrong way, and sometimes by contraries. If he have a friend, whose +hastiness in writing is his greatest fault, Horace would have taught +him to have minced the matter, and to have called it readiness of +thought, and a flowing fancy; for friendship will allow a man to +christen an imperfection by the name of some neighbour virtue; + + _Vellem in amicitiā sic erraremus; et isti + Errori nomen virtus posuisset honestum._ + +But he would never have allowed him to have called a slow man hasty, +or a hasty writer a slow drudge[7], as Juvenal explains it: + + --_Canibus pigris, scabieque vetustā + Lęvibus, et siccę lambentibus ora lucernę, + Nomen erit, Pardus, Tygris, Leo; si quid adhuc est + Quod fremit in terris violentius_[8]. + +Yet Lucretius laughs at a foolish lover, even for excusing the +imperfections of his mistress: + + _Nigra [Greek: melichroos] est, immunda et foetida [Greek: akosmos]. + Balba loqui non quit, [Greek: traulizei]; muta pudens est, &c._ + +But to drive it _ad Ęthiopem cygnum_ is not to be endured. I leave him +to interpret this by the benefit of his French version on the other +side, and without farther considering him, than I have the rest of my +illiterate censors, whom I have disdained to answer, because they are +not qualified for judges. It remains that I acquaint the reader, that +I have endeavoured in this play to follow the practice of the +ancients, who, as Mr Rymer has judiciously observed, are and ought to +be our masters[9]. Horace likewise gives it for a rule in his art of +poetry. + + --_Vos exemplaria Gręca + Nocturnā versate manu, versate diurnā._ + +Yet, though their models are regular, they are too little for English +tragedy; which requires to be built in a larger compass. I could give +an instance in the "Oedipus Tyrannus," which was the master piece of +Sophocles; but I reserve it for a more fit occasion, which I hope to +have hereafter. In my style, I have professed to imitate the divine +Shakespeare; which that I might perform more freely, I have +disincumbered myself from rhyme. Not that I condemn my former way, but +that this is more proper to my present purpose. I hope I need not to +explain myself, that I have not copied my author servilely: Words and +phrases must of necessity receive a change in succeeding ages; but it +is almost a miracle that much of his language remains so pure; and +that he who began dramatic poetry amongst us, untaught by any, and, as +Ben Jonson tells us, without learning, should by the force of his own +genius perform so much, that in a manner he has left no praise for any +who come after him. The occasion is fair, and the subject would be +pleasant to handle the difference of styles betwixt him and Fletcher, +and wherein, and how far they are both to be imitated. But since I +must not be over-confident of my own performance after him, it will be +prudence in me to be silent. Yet, I hope, I may affirm, and without +vanity, that, by imitating him, I have excelled myself throughout the +play; and particularly, that I prefer the scene betwixt Antony and +Ventidius in the first act, to any thing which I have written in this +kind. + + +Footnotes: +1. That the reader may himself judge of the justice of Dryden's + censure, I subjoin the argument on this knotty point, as it is + stated by Hippolytus and his mistress in the 5th act of the + "Phedre" of Racine. + + Aricie. + + _Quoi vous pouvés vous taire en ce peril extreme? + Vous laissés dans l'erreur un pere qui vous uime? + Cruel, si de mes pleurs meprisant le pouvoir, + Vous consentéz sans peine a ne me plus revoir, + Partes, separés vous de la triste Aricie, + Mais du moins en partaut assurés votre vie. + Defendés votre honneur d' un reproche honteux, + Et forcés votre pere a revoquer ses vęux; + Il en est tems encore. Pourguoi, par quel caprice, + Laissés vous le champ libre a votre accusatrice? + Ecclaircissés Thesée._ + + Hippolyte. + + _Hé que nai-je point dit? + Ai-je du mettre au jour l'opprobre de son lit? + Devois-je en lui faisant un recit trop sincere, + D'un indigne rougeur couvrir le front d'un pere? + Vous seul avés percé ce mystere odieux, + Mon coeur pour s'epancher, n'a que vous et les dieux: + Je n'ai pu vous cacher, jugés si je vous aime, + Tout ce que je voulois me cacher a moi-meme. + Mais songés sous quel sceau je vous l'ai révélé; + Oubliés, si se peut, que je vous ai parlé, + Madame; et que jamais une bouche si pure + Ne s'ouvre pour conter cette horrible avanture. + Sur l'equité des dieux osons nous confier, + Ils ont trop d'interet a me justifier, + Et Phédre tot ou tard de son crime punie, + N'en saśroit eviter la juste ignominié._ + +2. _Chedreux_ was the name of the fashionable periwigs of the day, and + appears to have been derived from their maker. A French + _peruqirier_, in one of Shadwell's comedies, says, "You talke of de + Chedreux; he is no bodie to me. Dere is no man can travaille vis + mee. Monsieur Wildish has got my peruke on his head. Let me see, + here is de haire, de curie, de brucle, ver good, ver good. If dat + foole Chedreux make de peruke like me, I vil be hanga." Bury Fair, + Act I. Scene II. It appears from the letter of the literary veteran + in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1745, that our author, as he + advanced in reputation, assumed the fashionable _Chedreux_ periwig. + +3. This passage though, doubtless applicable to many of the men of + rank at the court of Charles II., was particularly levelled at Lord + Rochester with whom our author was now on bad terms. It is hardly + fair to enquire how far this description of the discourse and + talents of a person of wit and honour agrees with that given in the + dedication to Marriage a-la-Mode, when, in compliment to the same + nobleman, we are told, that, "Wit seems to have lodged itself more + nobly in this age, than in any of the former; and that his lordship + had but another step to make, from the patron of wit, to become its + tyrant." This last observation seems to have been made in the + spirit of prophecy. + +4. Such is said to have been the answer of a philosopher to a friend, + who upbraided him with giving up a dispute to the Emperor Adrian. + +5. This passage alludes to an imitation of Horace, quaintly entitled + an "Allusion to the Tenth Satire of his First Book" which was the + production of Rochester. As however it appeared without a name, it + may have been for a time imputed to some of the inferior wits, whom + his Lordship patronized. It contains a warm attack on Dryden, part + of which has been already quoted. Dryden probably knew the real + author of this satire, although he chose to impute it to one of the + "Zanies" of the great. At least it seems unlikely that he should + take Crown for the author, as has been supposed by Mr Malone; for + in the imitation we have these lines: + + For by that rule I might as well admit + Crown's heavy scenes for poetry and wit. + + Crown could hardly be charged as author of a poem, in which this + sarcasm occurred. + +6. Alluding probably to the concluding lines of the Satire. + + I loath the rabble; 'tis enough for me + If Sedley, Shadwell, Shepherd, Wycherley, + Godolphin, Butler, Buckhurst, Buckingham, + And some few more whom I omit to name, + Approve my sense; I count their censure fame. + +7. Dryden alludes to the censure past on himself, where it is said, + + Five hundred verses in a morning writ. + Prove him no more a poet than a wit. + +8. This refers to the characters of Shadwell and Wycherley, which + according to Dryden, the satirist seems to have misunderstood. + + Of all our modern wits, none seems to me + Once to have touched upon true comedy, + But hasty Shadwell and slow Wycherley; + Shadwell's unfinished works do yet impart + Great proofs of force of nature, none of art. + With just bold strokes he dashes here and there, + Shewing great mastery with little care; + But Wycherley earns hard whate'er he gains, + He wants no judgment, and he spares no pains; + He frequently excels, and, at the least, + Makes fewer faults than any of the rest. + +9. "I have chiefly considered the fable, or plot, which all conclude + to be the soul of a tragedy, which, with the ancients, is all ways + to be found a reasonable soul, but with us, for the most part, a + brutish, and often worse than brutish. + + "And certainly there is not required much learning, or that a man + must be some Aristotle and doctor of subtilties, to form a right + judgement in this particular; common sense suffices; and rarely + have I known women-judges mistaken in these points, where they have + patience to think; and left to their own heads, they decide with + their own sense. But if people are prepossessed, if they will judge + of Rollo by Othello, and one crooked line by another, we can never + have a certainty." + + The tragedies of the last age considered, in a letter to Fleetwood + Shepherd, by Thomas Rymer, Edit. 1678, p. 4. + + + + + PROLOGUE. + + + What flocks of critics hover here to-day, + As vultures wait on armies for their prey, + All gaping for the carcase of a play! + With croaking notes they bode some dire event, + And follow dying poets by the scent. + Ours gives himself for gone; you've watched your time: + He fights this day unarmed,--without his rhyme;-- + And brings a tale which often has been told; + As sad as Dido's; and almost as old. + His hero, whom you wits his bully call, + Bates of his mettle, and scarce rants at all: + He's somewhat lewd; but a well-meaning mind; + Weeps much; fights little; but is wond'rous kind. + In short, a pattern, and companion fit, + For all the keeping tonies of the pit. + I could name more: a wife, and mistress too; + Both (to be plain) too good for most of you: + The wife well-natured, and the mistress true. + Now, poets, if your fame has been his care, + Allow him all the candour you can spare. + A brave man scorns to quarrel once a-day; + Like Hectors, in at every petty fray. + Let those find fault whose wit's so very small, + They've need to show that they can think at all; + Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow; + He who would search for pearls, must dive below. + Fops may have leave to level all they can; + As pigmies would be glad to lop a man. + Half-wits are fleas; so little and so light, + We scarce could know they live, but that they bite. + But, as the rich, when tired with daily feasts, + For change, become their next poor tenant's guests; + Drink hearty draughts of ale from plain brown bowls, + And snatch the homely rasher from the coals: + So you, retiring from much better cheer, + For once, may venture to do penance here. + And since that plenteous autumn now is past, + Whose grapes and peaches have indulged your taste, + Take in good part, from our poor poet's board, + Such rivelled fruits as winter can afford. + + + + + DRAMATIS PERSONĘ. + + + MARK ANTONY. + VENTIDIUS, _His General._ + DOLABELLA, _his Friend._ + ALEXAS, _the Queen's Eunuch._ + SERAPION, _Priest of Isis._ + MYRIS, _another Priest._ + _Servants to_ ANTONY. + + CLEOPATRA, _Queen of Ęgypt._ + OCTAVIA, ANTONY'S _Wife._ + CHARMION, } CLEOPATRA'S _Maids._ + IRAS, } + ANTONY'S _two little Daughters._ + +SCENE.--_Alexandria._ + + + + + ALL FOR LOVE; + + OR, THE + + WORLD WELL LOST. + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_The Temple of_ ISIS. + + _Enter_ SERAPION, MYRIS, _Priests of_ ISIS. + +_Ser._ Portents and prodigies have grown so frequent, +That they have lost their name. Our fruitful Nile +Flowed ere the wonted season, with a torrent +So unexpected, and so wondrous fierce, +That the wild deluge overtook the haste +Even of the hinds that watched it: Men and beasts +Were borne above the tops of trees, that grew +On the utmost margin of the water-mark. +Then, with so swift an ebb the flood drove backward, +It slipt from underneath the scaly herd: +Here monstrous phocę; panted on the shore; +Forsaken dolphins there, with their broad tails +Lay lashing the departing waves: hard by them, +Sea-horses floundring in the slimy mud, +Tossed up their heads, and dashed the ooze about them. + + _Enter_ ALEXAS _behind them._ + +_Myr._ Avert these omens, Heaven! + +_Ser._ Last night, between the hours of twelve and one, +In a lone aisle of the temple while I walked, +A whirlwind rose, that, with a violent blast, +Shook all the dome: the doors around me clapt; +The iron wicket, that defends the vault, +Where the long race of Ptolemies is laid, +Burst open, and disclosed the mighty dead. +From out each monument, in order placed, +An armed ghost starts up: the boy-king last +Reared his inglorious head. A peal of groans +Then followed, and a lamentable voice +Cried, Egypt is no more. My blood ran back, +My shaking knees against each other knocked; +On the cold pavement down I fell entranced, +And so unfinished left the horrid scene. + +_Alex._ And dreamed you this? or did invent the story, + [_Shewing himself._ +To frighten our Egyptian boys withal, +And train them up, betimes, in fear of priesthood? + +_Serap._ My lord, I saw you not, +Nor meant my words should reach your ears; but what +I uttered was most true. + +_Alex._ A foolish dream, +Bred from the fumes of indigested feasts, +And holy luxury. + +_Serap._ I know my duty: +This goes no farther. + +_Alex._ 'Tis not fit it should; +Nor would the times now bear it, were it true. +All southern, from yon hills, the Roman camp +Hangs o'er us black and threatning, like a storm +Just breaking on our heads. + +_Serap._ Our faint Egyptians pray for Antony; +But in their servile hearts they own Octavius. + +_Myr._ Why then does Antony dream out his hours, +And tempts not fortune for a noble day, +Which might redeem what Actium lost? + +_Alex._ He thinks 'tis past recovery. + +_Serap._ Yet the foe +Seems not to press the siege. + +_Alex._ O, there's the wonder. +Mecęnas and Agrippa, who can most +With Cęsar, are his foes. His wife Octavia, +Driven from his house, solicits her revenge; +And Dolabella, who was once his friend, +Upon some private grudge, now seeks his ruin: +Yet still war seems on either side to sleep. + +_Serap._ 'Tis strange that Antony, for some days past, +Has not beheld the face of Cleopatra; +But here, in Isis temple, lives retired, +And makes his heart a prey to black despair. + +_Alex._ 'Tis true; and we much fear he hopes by absence +To cure his mind of love. + +_Serap._ If he be vanquished, +Or make his peace, Egypt is doomed to be +A Roman province; and our plenteous harvests +Must then redeem the scarceness of their soil. +While Antony stood firm, our Alexandria +Rivalled proud Rome, (dominion's other seat) +And Fortune striding, like a vast Colossus, +Could fix an equal foot of empire here. + +_Alex._ Had I my wish, these tyrants of all nature, +Who lord it o'er mankind, should perish,--perish, +Each by the other's sword; but, since our will +Is lamely followed by our power, we must +Depend on one; with him to rise or fall. + +_Serap._ How stands the queen affected? + +_Alex._ O she dotes, +She dotes, Serapion, on this vanquished man, +And winds herself about his mighty ruins; +Whom would she yet forsake, yet yield him up, +This hunted prey, to his pursuer's hands, +She might preserve us all: but 'tis in vain-- +This changes my designs, this blasts my counsels, +And makes me use all means to keep him here, +Whom I could wish divided from her arms, +Far as the earth's deep centre. Well, you know +The state of things; no more of your ill omens +And black prognostics; labour to confirm +The people's hearts. + + _Enter_ VENTIDIUS, _talking aside with a Gentleman of_ ANTONY'S. + +_Serap._ These Romans will o'erhear us. +But, who's that stranger? By his warlike port, +His fierce demeanour, and erected look, +He's of no vulgar note. + +_Alex._ O 'tis Ventidius, +Our emperor's great lieutenant in the East, +Who first showed Rome that Parthia could be conquered. +When Antony returned from Syria last, +He left this man to guard the Roman frontiers. + +_Serap._ You seem to know him well. + +_Alex._ Too well. I saw him in Cilicia first, +When Cleopatra there met Antony: +A mortal foe he was to us, and Egypt. +But,--let me witness to the worth I hate,-- +A braver Roman never drew a sword; +Firm to his prince, but as a friend, not slave. +He ne'er was of his pleasures; but presides +O'er all his cooler hours, and morning counsels: +In short, the plainness, fierceness, rugged virtue, +Of an old true-stampt Roman lives in him. +His coming bodes I know not what of ill +To our affairs. Withdraw, to mark him better; +And I'll acquaint you why I sought you here, +And what's our present work. + [_They withdraw to a corner of the stage; and_ + VENTIDIUS, _with the other, comes forward to + the front._ + +_Vent._ Not see him, say you? +I say, I must, and will. + +_Gent._ He has commanded, +On pain of death, none should approach his presence. + +_Vent._ I bring him news will raise his drooping spirits, +Give him new life. + +_Gent._ He sees not Cleopatra. + +_Vent._ Would he had never seen her! + +_Gent._ He eats not, drinks not, sleeps not, has no use +Of any thing, but thought; or, if he talks, +'Tis to himself, and then 'tis perfect raving: +Then he defies the world, and bids it pass; +Sometimes he gnaws his lip, and curses loud +The boy Octavius; then he draws his mouth +Into a scornful smile, and cries,--"Take all, +The world's not worth my care." + +_Vent._ Just, just his nature. +Virtue's his path; but sometimes 'tis too narrow +For his vast soul; and then he starts out wide, +And bounds into a vice, that bears him far +From his first course, and plunges him in ills: +But, when his danger makes him find his fault, +Quick to observe, and full of sharp remorse, +He censures eagerly his own misdeeds, +Judging himself with malice to himself, +And not forgiving what as man he did, +Because his other parts are more than man.-- +He must not thus be lost. [ALEXAS _and the Priests come forward._ + +_Alex._ You have your full instructions, now advance; +Proclaim your orders loudly. + +_Serap._ Romans, Egyptians, hear the queen's command. +Thus Cleopatra bids: Let labour cease; +To pomp and triumphs give this happy day, +That gave the world a lord: 'tis Antony's. +Live, Antony; and Cleopatra live! +Be this the general voice sent up to heaven, +And every public place repeat this echo. + +_Vent._ Fine pageantry! [_Aside._ + +_Serap._ Set before your doors +The images of all your sleeping fathers, +With laurels crowned; with laurels wreath your posts, +And strew with flowers the pavement; let the priests +Do present sacrifice; pour out the wine, +And call the gods to join with you in gladness. + +_Vent._ Curse on the tongue that bids this general joy! +Can they be friends of Antony, who revel +When Antony's in danger? Hide, for shame, +You Romans, your great grandsires' images, +For fear their souls should animate their marbles, +To blush at their degenerate progeny. + +_Alex._ A love, which knows no bounds to Antony, +Would mark the day with honours, when all heaven +Laboured for him, when each propitious star +Stood wakeful in his orb, to watch that hour, +And shed his better influence. Her own birth-day +Our queen neglected, like a vulgar fate, +That passed obscurely by. + +_Vent._ Would it had slept, +Divided far from his; till some remote +And future age had called it out, to ruin +Some other prince, not him! + +_Alex._ Your emperor, +Though grown unkind, would be more gentle, than +To upbraid my queen for loving him too well. + +_Vent._ Does the mute sacrifice upbraid the priest? +He knows him not his executioner. +O, she has decked his ruin with her love, +Led him in golden bands to gaudy slaughter, +And made perdition pleasing: She has left him +The blank of what he was; +I tell thee, eunuch, she has quite unmanned him: +Can any Roman see, and know him now, +Thus altered from the lord of half mankind, +Unbent, unsinewed, made a woman's toy, +Shrunk from the vast extent of all his honours, +And crampt within a corner of the world? +O, Antony! +Thou bravest soldier, and thou best of friends! +Bounteous as nature; next to nature's God! +Couldst thou but make new worlds, so wouldst thou give them, +As bounty were thy being: rough in battle, +As the first Romans, when they went to war; +Yet, after victory, more pitiful +Than all their praying virgins left at home! + +_Alex._ Would you could add, to those more shining virtues, +His truth to her who loves him. + +_Vent._ Would I could not! +But wherefore waste I precious hours with thee? +Thou art her darling mischief, her chief engine, +Antony's other fate. Go, tell thy queen, +Ventidius is arrived, to end her charms. +Let your Egyptian timbrels play alone, +Nor mix effeminate sounds with Roman trumpets. +You dare not fight for Antony; go pray, +And keep your coward's holiday in temples. [_Exeunt_ ALEX. SERAP. + + _Re-enter the Gentleman of_ M. ANTONY. + +_2 Gent._ The emperor approaches, and commands, +On pain of death, that none presume to stay. + +_1 Gent._ I dare not disobey him. [_Going out with the other._ + +_Vent._ Well, I dare. +But I'll observe him first unseen, and find +Which way his humour drives: the rest I'll venture. [_Withdraws._ + + _Enter_ ANTONY, _walking with a disturbed motion before he speaks._ + +_Ant._ They tell me, 'tis my birth-day, and I'll keep it +With double pomp of sadness. +'Tis what the day deserves, which gave me breath. +Why was I raised the meteor of the world, +Hung in the skies, and blazing as I travelled, +Till all my fires were spent; and then cast downward, +To be trod out by Cęsar? + +_Vent._ [_Aside._] On my soul, +'Tis mournful, wondrous mournful! + +_Ant._ Count thy gains. +Now, Antony, wouldst thou be born for this! +Glutton of fortune, thy devouring youth +Has starved thy wanting age. + +_Vent._ How sorrow shakes him! [_Aside._ +So, now the tempest tears him up by the roots, +And on the ground extends the noble ruin. + [ANT. _having thrown himself down._ +Lie there, thou shadow of an emperor; +The place, thou pressest on thy mother earth, +Is all thy empire now: now it contains thee; +Some few days hence, and then 'twill be too large. +When thou'rt contracted in thy narrow urn, +Shrunk to a few cold ashes; then Octavia, +(For Cleopatra will not live to see it) +Octavia then will have thee all her own, +And bear thee in her widowed hand to Cęsar; +Cęsar will weep, the crocodile will weep, +To see his rival of the universe +Lie still and peaceful there. I'll think no more on't. + +_Ant._ Give me some music; look that it be sad: +I'll sooth my melancholy, till I swell, +And burst myself with sighing.-- [_Soft music._ +'Tis somewhat to my humour: stay, I fancy +I'm now turned wild, a commoner of nature; +Of all forsaken, and forsaking all; +Live in a shady forest's sylvan scene, +Stretched at my length beneath some blasted oak, +I lean my head upon the mossy bark, +And look just of a piece as I grew from it; +My uncombed locks, matted like misletoe, +Hang o'er my hoary face; a murm'ring brook +Runs at my foot. + +_Vent._ Methinks, I fancy +Myself there too. + +_Ant._ The herd come jumping by me, +And, fearless, quench their thirst, while I look on, +And take me for their fellow-citizen. +More of this image, more; it lulls my thoughts. [_Soft music again._ + +_Vent._ I must disturb him; I can hold no longer. + [_Stands before him._ + +_Ant._ [_Starting up._] Art thou Ventidius? + +_Vent._ Are you Antony? +I'm liker what I was, than you to him +I left you last. + +_Ant._ I'm angry. + +_Vent._ So am I. + +_Ant._ I would be private: leave me. + +_Vent._ Sir, I love you, +And therefore will not leave you. + +_Ant._ Will not leave me! +Where have you learnt that answer? Who am I? + +_Vent._ My emperor; the man I love next heaven: +If I said more, I think 'twere scarce a sin: +You're all that's good, and godlike. + +_Ant._ All that's wretched. +You will not leave me then? + +_Vent._ 'Twas too presuming +To say I would not; but I dare not leave you: +And, 'tis unkind in you to chide me hence +So soon, when I so far have come to see you. + +_Ant._ Now thou hast seen me, art thou satified? +For, if a friend, thou hast beheld enough; +And, if a foe, too much. + +_Vent._ Look, emperor, this is no common dew, [_Weeping._ +I have not wept this forty years; but now +My mother comes afresh into my eyes; +I cannot help her softness. + +_Ant._ By heaven, he weeps! poor good old man, he weeps! +The big round drops course one another down +The furrows of his cheeks.--Stop them, Ventidius, +Or I shall blush to death: they set my shame, +That caused them, full before me. + +_Vent._ I'll do my best. + +_Ant._ Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends: +See, I have caught it too. Believe me, 'tis not +For my own griefs, but thine.--Nay, father! + +_Vent._ Emperor. + +_Ant._ Emperor! Why, that's the style of victory; +The conqu'ring soldier, red with unfelt wounds, +Salutes his general so: but never more +Shall that sound reach my ears. + +_Vent._ I warrant you. + +_Ant._ Actium, Actium! Oh!-- + +_Vent._ It sits too near you. + +_Ant._ Here, here it lies; a lump of lead by day, +And, in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers, +The hag that rides my dreams.-- + +_Vent._ Out with it; give it vent. + +_Ant._ Urge not my shame. +I lost a battle,-- + +_Vent._ So has Julius done. + +_Ant._ Thou favour'st me, and speak'st not half thou think'st; +For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly: +But Antony-- + +_Vent._ Nay, stop not. + +_Ant._ Antony,-- +Well, thou wilt have it,--like a coward, fled, +Fled while his soldiers fought; fled first, Ventidius. +Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee leave. +I know thou cam'st prepared to rail. + +_Vent._ I did. + +_Ant._ I'll help thee.--I have been a man, Ventidius. + +_Vent._ Yes, and a brave one; but-- + +_Ant._ I know thy meaning. +But I have lost my reason, have disgraced +The name of soldier, with inglorious ease. +In the full vintage of my flowing honours, +Sat still, and saw it prest by other hands. +Fortune came smiling to my youth, and wooed it, +And purple greatness met my ripened years. +When first I came to empire, I was borne +On tides of people, crowding to my triumphs; +The wish of nations, and the willing world +Received me as its pledge of future peace; +I was so great, so happy, so beloved, +Fate could not ruin me; till I took pains, +And worked against my fortune, chid her from me, +And turned her loose; yet still she came again. +My careless days, and my luxurious nights, +At length have wearied her, and now she's gone, +Gone, gone, divorced for ever. Help me, soldier, +To curse this madman, this industrious fool, +Who laboured to be wretched: Pr'ythee curse me. + +_Vent._ No. + +_Ant._ Why? + +_Vent._ You are too sensible already +Of what you've done, too conscious of your failings; +And, like a scorpion, whipt by others first +To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge. +I would bring balm, and pour it in your wounds, +Cure your distempered mind, and heal your fortunes. + +_Ant._ I know thou would'st. + +_Vent._ I will. + +_Ant._ Ha, ha, ha, ha! + +_Vent._ You laugh. + +_Ant._ I do, to see officious love +Give cordials to the dead. + +_Vent._ You would be lost then? + +_Ant._ I am. + +_Vent._ I say you are not. Try your fortune. + +_Ant._ I have, to the utmost. Dost thou think me desperate, +Without just cause? No, when I found all lost +Beyond repair, I hid me from the world, +And learnt to scorn it here; which now I do +So heartily, I think it is not worth +The cost of keeping. + +_Vent._ Cęsar thinks not so: +He'll thank you for the gift he could not take. +You would be killed like Tully, would you? do, +Hold out your throat to Cęsar, and die tamely. + +_Ant._ No, I can kill myself; and so resolve. + +_Vent._ I can die with you too, when time shall serve; +But fortune calls upon us now to live, +To fight, to conquer. + +_Ant._ Sure thou dream'st, Ventidius. + +_Vent._ No; 'tis you dream; you sleep away your hours +In desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy. +Up, up, for honour's sake; twelve legions wait you, +And long to call you chief: By painful journeys, +I led them, patient both of heat and hunger, +Down from the Parthian marches to the Nile. +'Twill do you good to see their sun-burnt faces, +Their scarred cheeks, and chopt hands: there's virtue in them. +They'll sell those mangled limbs at dearer rates +Than yon trim bands can buy. + +_Ant._ Where left you them? + +_Vent._ I said in Lower Syria. + +_Ant._ Bring them hither; +There may be life in these. + +_Vent._ They will not come. + +_Ant._ Why didst thou mock my hopes with promised aids, +To double my despair? They're mutinous. + +_Vent._ Most firm and loyal. + +_Ant._ Yet they will not march +To succour me. Oh trifler! + +_Vent._ They petition +You would make haste to head them. + +_Ant._ I'm besieged. + +_Vent._ There's but one way shut up: How came I hither? + +_Ant._ I will not stir. + +_Vent._ They would perhaps desire +A better reason. + +_Ant._ I have never used +My soldiers to demand a reason of +My actions. Why did they refuse to march? + +_Vent._ They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. + +_Ant._ What was't they said? + +_Vent._ They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. +Why should they fight indeed, to make her conquer, +And make you more a slave? to gain you kingdoms, +Which, for a kiss, at your next midnight feast, +You'll sell to her? Then she new-names her jewels, +And calls this diamond such or such a tax; +Each pendant in her ear shall be a province. + +_Ant._ Ventidius, I allow your tongue free licence +On all my other faults; but, on your life, +No word of Cleopatra: she deserves +More worlds than I can lose. + +_Vent._ Behold, you Powers, +To whom you have entrusted human kind! +See Europe, Afric, Asia, put in balance, +And all weighed down by one light, worthless woman! +I think the Gods are Antonies, and give, +Like prodigals, this nether world away +To none but wasteful hands. + +_Ant._ You grow presumptuous. + +_Vent._ I take the privilege of plain love to speak. + +_Ant._ Plain love! plain arrogance, plain insolence! +Thy men are cowards; thou, an envious traitor; +Who, under seeming honesty, hast vented +The burden of thy rank o'erflowing gall. +O that thou wert my equal; great in arms +As the first Cęsar was, that I might kill thee +Without a stain to honour! + +_Vent._ You may kill me; +You have done more already,--called me traitor. + +_Ant._ Art thou not one? + +_Vent._ For showing you yourself, +Which none else durst have done? but had I been +That name, which I disdain to speak again, +I needed not have sought your abject fortunes, +Come to partake your fate, to die with you. +What hindered me to have led my conquering eagles +To fill Octavius' bands? I could have been +A traitor then, a glorious, happy traitor, +And not have been so called. + +_Ant._ Forgive me, soldier; +I've been too passionate. + +_Vent._ You thought me false; +Thought my old age betrayed you: Kill me, sir, +Pray, kill me; yet you need not, your unkindness +Has left your sword no work. + +_Ant._ I did not think so; +I said it in my rage: Pr'ythee, forgive me: +Why didst thou tempt my anger, by discovery +Of what I would not hear? + +_Vent._ No prince but you +Could merit that sincerity I used, +Nor durst another man have ventured it; +But you, ere love misled your wandering eyes, +Were sure the chief and best of human race, +Framed in the very pride and boast of nature; +So perfect, that the gods, who formed you, wondered +At their own skill, and cried,--A lucky hit +Has mended our design. Their envy hindered, +Else you had been immortal, and a pattern, +When heaven would work for ostentation sake, +To copy out again. + +_Ant._ But Cleopatra-- +Go on; for I can bear it now. + +_Vent._ No more. + +_Ant._ Thou dar'st not trust my passion, but thou may'st; +Thou only lov'st, the rest have flattered me. + +_Vent._ Heaven's blessing on your heart for that kind word! +May I believe you love me? Speak again. + +_Ant._ Indeed I do. Speak this, and this, and this. [_Hugging him._ +Thy praises were unjust; but, I'll deserve them, +And yet mend all. Do with me what thou wilt; +Lead me to victory! thou know'st the way. + +_Vent._ And, will you leave this-- + +_Ant._ Pr'ythee, do not curse her, +And I will leave her; though, heaven knows, I love +Beyond life, conquest, empire; all, but honour: +But I will leave her. + +_Vent._ That's my royal master; +And, shall we fight? + +_Ant._ I warrant thee, old soldier. +Thou shalt behold me once again in iron; +And at the head of our old troops, that beat +The Parthians, cry aloud--Come, follow me! + +_Vent._ O now I hear my emperor! in that word +Octavius fell. Gods, let me see that day, +And, if I have ten years behind, take all: +I'll thank you for the exchange. + +_Ant._ Oh, Cleopatra! + +_Vent._ Again? + +_Ant._ I've done: In that last sigh, she went. +Cęsar shall know what 'tis to force a lover +From all he holds most dear. + +_Vent._ Methinks, you breathe +Another soul: Your looks are more divine; +You speak a hero, and you move a god. + +_Ant._ O, thou hast fired me; my soul's up in arms, +And mans each part about me: Once again, +That noble eagerness of fight has seized me; +That eagerness, with which I darted upward +To Cassius' camp: In vain the steepy hill +Opposed my way; in vain a war of spears +Sung round my head, and planted all my shield; +I won the trenches, while my foremost men +Lagged on the plain below. + +_Vent._ Ye gods, ye gods, +For such another honour! + +_Ant._ Come on, my soldier! +Our hearts and arms are still the same: I long +Once more to meet our foes; that thou and I, +Like time and death, marching before our troops, +May taste fate to them; mow them out a passage, + And, entering where the foremost squadrons yield, + Begin the noble harvest of the field. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + + _Enter_ CLEOPATRA, IRAS, _and_ ALEXAS. + +_Cleo._ What shall I do, or whither shall I turn? +Ventidius has o'ercome, and he will go. + +_Alex._ He goes to fight for you. + +_Cleo._ Then he would see me, ere he went to fight: +Flatter me not: If once he goes, he's lost, +And all my hopes destroyed. + +_Alex._ Does this weak passion +Become a mighty queen? + +_Cleo._ I am no queen: +Is this to be a queen, to be besieged +By yon insulting Roman, and to wait +Each hour the victor's chain? These ills are small; +For Antony is lost, and I can mourn +For nothing else but him. Now come, Octavius, +I have no more to lose; prepare thy bands; +I'm fit to be a captive: Antony +Has taught my mind the fortune of a slave. + +_Iras._ Call reason to assist you. + +_Cleo._ I have none, +And none would have: My love's a noble madness, +Which shows the cause deserved it. Moderate sorrow +Fits vulgar love, and for a vulgar man: +But I have loved with such transcendent passion, +I soared, at first, quite out of reason's view, +And now am lost above it. No, I'm proud +'Tis thus: Would Antony could see me now! +Think you he would not sigh, though he must leave me? +Sure he would sigh; for he is noble-natured, +And bears a tender heart: I know him well. +Ah, no, I know him not; I knew him once, +But now 'tis past. + +_Iras._ Let it be past with you: +Forget him, madam. + +_Cleo._ Never, never, Iras. +He once was mine; and once, though now 'tis gone, +Leaves a faint image of possession still. + +_Alex._ Think him inconstant, cruel, and ungrateful. + +_Cleo._ I cannot: If I could, those thoughts were vain. +Faithless, ungrateful, cruel, though he be, +I still must love him. + + _Enter_ CHARMION. + +Now, what news, my Charmion? +Will he be kind? and will he not forsake me? +Am I to live, or die? nay, do I live? +Or am I dead? for when he gave his answer, +Fate took the word, and then I lived or died. + +_Char._ I found him, madam-- + +_Cleo._ A long speech preparing? +If thou bring'st comfort, haste, and give it me, +For never was more need. + +_Iras._ I know he loves you. + +_Cleo._ Had he been kind, her eyes had told me so, +Before her tongue could speak it: Now she studies, +To soften what he said; but give me death, +Just as he sent it, Charmion, undisguised, +And in the words he spoke. + +_Char._ I found him, then, +Encompassed round, I think, with iron statues; +So mute, so motionless his soldiers stood, +While awfully he cast his eyes about, +And every leader's hopes or fears surveyed: +Methought he looked resolved, and yet not pleased. +When he beheld me struggling in the crowd, +He blushed, and bade make way. + +_Alex._ There's comfort yet. + +_Char._ Ventidius fixed his eyes upon my passage, +Severely, as he meant to frown me back, +And sullenly gave place: I told my message, +Just as you gave it, broken and disordered; +I numbered in it all your sighs and tears, +And while I moved your pitiful request, +That you but only begged a last farewell, +He fetched an inward groan; and every time +I named you, sighed, as if his heart were breaking. +But, shunned my eyes, and guiltily looked down: +He seemed not now that awful Antony, +Who shook an armed assembly with his nod; +But, making show as he would rub his eyes, +Disguised and blotted out a falling tear. + +_Cleo._ Did he then weep? And was I worth a tear? +If what thou hast to say be not as pleasing, +Tell me no more, but let me die contented. + +_Char._ He bid me say,--He knew himself so well, +He could deny you nothing, if he saw you; +And therefore-- + +_Cleo._ Thou wouldst say, he would not see me? + +_Char._ And therefore begged you not to use a power, +Which he could ill resist; yet he should ever +Respect you, as he ought. + +_Cleo._ Is that a word +For Antony to use to Cleopatra? +Oh that faint word, _respect_! how I disdain it! +Disdain myself, for loving after it! +He should have kept that word for cold Octavia. +Respect is for a wife: Am I that thing, +That dull insipid lump, without desires, +And without power to give them? + +_Alex._ You misjudge; +You see through love, and that deludes your sight; +As, what is straight, seems crooked through the water: +But I, who bear my reason undisturbed, +Can see this Antony, this dreaded man, +A fearful slave, who fain would run away, +And shuns his master's eyes: If you pursue him, +My life on't, he still drags a chain along, +That needs must clog his flight. + +_Cleo._ Could I believe thee!-- + +_Alex._ By every circumstance I know he loves. +True, he's hard prest, by interest and by honour; +Yet he but doubts, and parleys, and casts out +Many a long look for succour. + +_Cleo._ He sends word, +He fears to see my face. + +_Alex._ And would you more? +He shows his weakness, who declines the combat, +And you must urge your fortune. Could he speak +More plainly? To my ears, the message sounds-- +Come to my rescue, Cleopatra, come; +Come, free me from Ventidius; from my tyrant: +See me, and give me a pretence to leave him!-- +I hear his trumpets. This way he must pass. +Please you, retire a while; I'll work him first, +That he may bend more easy. + +_Cleo._ You shall rule me; +But all, I fear, in vain. [_Exit with_ CHAR. _and_ IRAS. + +_Alex._ I fear so too; +Though I concealed my thoughts, to make her bold; +But 'tis our utmost means, and fate befriend it! [_Withdraws._ + + _Enter Lictors with Fasces; one bearing the Eagle; then enter_ + ANTONY _with_ VENTIDIUS, _followed by other Commanders._ + +_Ant._ Octavius is the minion of blind chance, +But holds from virtue nothing. + +_Vent._ Has he courage? + +_Ant._ But just enough to season him from coward. +O, 'tis the coldest youth upon a charge, +The most deliberate fighter! if he ventures, +(As in Illyria once, they say, he did, +To storm a town) 'tis when he cannot chuse; +When all the world have fixt their eyes upon him; +And then he lives on that for seven years after; +But, at a close revenge he never fails. + +_Vent._ I heard you challenged him. + +_Ant._ I did, Ventidius. +What think'st thou was his answer? 'Twas so tame!-- +He said, he had more ways than one to die; +I had not. + +_Vent._ Poor! + +_Ant._ He has more ways than one; +But he would chuse them all before that one. + +_Vent._ He first would chuse an ague, or a fever. + +_Ant._ No; it must be an ague, not a fever; +He has not warmth enough to die by that. + +_Vent._ Or old age and a bed. + +_Ant._ Ay, there's his choice. +He would live, like a lamp, to the last wink, +And crawl upon the utmost verge of life. +O, Hercules! Why should a man like this, +Who dares not trust his fate for one great action, +Be all the care of heaven? Why should he lord it +O'er fourscore thousand men, of whom each one +Is braver than himself? + +_Vent._ You conquered for him: +Philippi knows it; there you shared with him +That empire, which your sword made all your own. + +_Ant._ Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings +I bore this wren, 'till I was tired with soaring, +And now he mounts above me[1]. +Good heavens, is this,--is this the man who braves me? +Who bids my age make way? Drives me before him, +To the world's ridge, and sweeps me off like rubbish? + +_Vent._ Sir, we lose time; the troops are mounted all. + +_Ant._ Then give the word to march: +I long to leave this prison of a town, +To join thy legions; and, in open field, +Once more to show my face. Lead, my deliverer. + + _Enter_ ALEXAS. + +_Alex._ Great emperor, +In mighty arms renowned above mankind, +But, in soft pity to the opprest, a god; +This message sends the mournful Cleopatra +To her departing lord. + +_Vent._ Smooth sycophant! + +_Alex._ A thousand wishes, and ten thousand prayers, +Millions of blessings wait you to the wars; +Millions of sighs and tears she sends you too, +And would have sent +As many dear embraces to your arms, +As many parting kisses to your lips; +But those, she fears, have wearied you already. + +_Vent._ [_Aside._] False crocodile! + +_Alex._ And yet she begs not now, you would not leave her; +That were a wish too mighty for her hopes, +Too presuming for her low fortune, and your ebbing love; +That were a wish for her more prosperous days, +Her blooming beauty, and your growing kindness. + +_Ant._ [_Aside._] Well, I must man it out:--What would the queen? + +_Alex._ First, to these noble warriors, who attend +Your daring courage in the chase of fame,-- +Too daring, and too dangerous for her quiet,-- +She humbly recommends all she holds dear, +All her own cares and fears,--the care of you. + +_Vent._ Yes, witness Actium. + +_Ant._ Let him speak, Ventidius. + +_Alex._ You, when his matchless valour bears him forward, +With ardour too heroic, on his foes, +Fall down, as she would do, before his feet; +Lie in his way, and stop the paths of death; +Tell him, this god is not invulnerable; +That absent Cleopatra bleeds in him; +And, that you may remember her petition, +She begs you wear these trifles, as a pawn, +Which, at your wisht return, she will redeem + [_Gives jewels to the Commanders._ +With all the wealth of Egypt: +This to the great Ventidius she presents, +Whom she can never count her enemy, +Because he loves her lord. + +_Vent._ Tell her, I'll none on't; +I'm not ashamed of honest poverty; +Not all the diamonds of the east can bribe +Ventidius from his faith. I hope to see +These, and the rest of all her sparkling store, +Where they shall more deservingly be placed. + +_Ant._ And who must wear them then? + +_Vent._ The wronged Octavia. + +_Ant._ You might have spared that word. + +_Vent._ And he that bribe. + +_Ant._ But have I no remembrance? + +_Alex._ Yes, a dear one; +Your slave, the queen-- + +_Ant._ My mistress. + +_Alex._ Then your mistress; +Your mistress would, she says, have sent her soul, +But that you had long since; she humbly begs +This ruby bracelet, set with bleeding hearts, +The emblems of her own, may bind your arm. [_Presenting a bracelet._ + +_Vent._ Now, my best lord,--in honour's name, I ask you, +For manhood's sake, and for your own dear safety,-- +Touch not these poisoned gifts, +Infected by the sender; touch them not; +Myriads of bluest plagues lie underneath them, +And more than aconite has dipt the silk. + +_Ant._ Nay, now you grow too cynical, Ventidius: +A lady's favours may be worn with honour. +What, to refuse her bracelet! on my soul, +When I lie pensive in my tent alone, +'Twill pass the wakeful hours of winter nights, +To tell these pretty beads upon my arm, +To count for every one a soft embrace, +A melting kiss at such and such a time; +And now and then the fury of her love, +When--And what harm's in this? + +_Alex._ None, none, my lord, +But what's to her, that now 'tis past for ever. + +_Ant._ [_Going to tie it._] +We soldiers are so awkward--help me tie it. + +_Alex._ In faith, my lord, we courtiers too are awkward +In these affairs: so are all men indeed: +Even I, who am not one. But shall I speak? + +_Ant._ Yes, freely. + +_Alex._ Then, my lord, fair hands alone +Are fit to tie it; she, who sent it, can. + +_Vent._ Hell, death! this eunuch pandar ruins you. +You will not see her? [ALEXAS _whispers an Attendant, who goes out._ + +_Ant._ But to take my leave. + +_Vent._ Then I have washed an Ęthiop. You're undone; +You're in the toils; you're taken; you're destroyed: +Her eyes do Cęsar's work. + +_Ant._ You fear too soon. +I'm constant to myself: I know my strength; +And yet she shall not think me barbarous neither, +Born in the depths of Afric: I'm a Roman, +Bred to the rules of soft humanity. +A guest, and kindly used, should bid farewell. + +_Vent._ You do not know +How weak you are to her, how much an infant; +You are not proof against a smile, or glance; +A sigh will quite disarm you. + +_Ant._ See, she comes! +Now you shall find your error.--Gods, I thank you: +I formed the danger greater than it was, +And now 'tis near, 'tis lessened. + +_Vent._ Mark the end yet. + + _Enter_ CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, _and_ IRAS. + +_Ant._ Well, madam, we are met. + +_Cleo._ Is this a meeting? +Then, we must part? + +_Ant._ We must. + +_Cleo._ Who says we must? + +_Ant._ Our own hard fates. + +_Cleo._ We make those fates ourselves. + +_Ant._ Yes, we have made them; we have loved each other +In our mutual ruin. + +_Cleo._ The gods have seen my joys with envious eyes; +I have no friends in heaven; and all the world, +As 'twere the business of mankind to part us, +Is armed against my love: even you yourself +Join with the rest; you, you are armed against me. + +_Ant._ I will be justified in all I do +To late posterity, and therefore hear me. +If I mix a lie +With any truth, reproach me freely with it; +Else, favour me with silence. + +_Cleo._ You command me, +And I am dumb. + +_Vent._ I like this well: he shews authority. + +_Ant._ That I derive my ruin +From you alone-- + +_Cleo._ O heavens! I ruin you! + +_Ant._ You promised me your silence, and you break it +Ere I have scarce begun. + +_Cleo._ Well, I obey you. + +_Ant._ When I beheld you first, it was in Egypt. +Ere Cęsar saw your eyes, you gave me love, +And were too young to know it; that I settled +Your father in his throne, was for your sake; +I left the acknowledgment for time to ripen. +Cęsar stept in, and, with a greedy hand, +Plucked the green fruit, ere the first blush of red, +Yet cleaving to the bough. He was my lord, +And was, beside, too great for me to rival; +But, I deserved you first, though he enjoyed you. +When, after, I beheld you in Cilicia, +An enemy to Rome, I pardoned you. + +_Cleo._ I cleared myself-- + +_Ant._ Again you break your promise. +I loved you still, and took your weak excuses, +Took you into my bosom, stained by Cęsar, +And not half mine: I went to Egypt with you, +And hid me from the business of the world, +Shut out enquiring nations from my sight, +To give whole years to you. + +_Vent._ Yes, to your shame be't spoken. [_Aside._ + +_Ant._ How I loved, +Witness, ye days and nights, and all ye hours, +That danced away with down upon your feet, +As all your business were to count my passion! +One day past by, and nothing saw but love; +Another came, and still 'twas only love: +The suns were wearied out with looking on, +And I untired with loving. +I saw you every day, and all the day; +And every day was still but as the first, +So eager was I still to see you more. + +_Vent._ 'Tis all too true. + +_Ant._ Fulvia, my wife, grew jealous, +As she indeed had reason; raised a war +In Italy, to call me back. + +_Vent._ But yet +You went not. + +_Ant._ While within your arms I lay, +The world fell mouldering from my hands each hour, +And left me scarce a grasp--I thank your love for't. + +_Vent._ Well pushed: that last was home. + +_Cleo._ Yet may I speak? + +_Ant._ If I have urged a falsehood, yes; else, not. +Your silence says, I have not. Fulvia died; +(Pardon, you gods, with my unkindness died.) +To set the world at peace, I took Octavia, +This Cęsar's sister; in her pride of youth, +And flower of beauty, did I wed that lady, +Whom blushing I must praise, because I left her. +You called; my love obeyed the fatal summons: +This raised the Roman arms; the cause was yours. +I would have fought by land, where I was stronger; +You hindered it: yet, when I fought at sea, +Forsook me fighting; and (Oh stain to honour! +Oh lasting shame!) I knew not that I fled; +But fled to follow you. + +_Vent._ What haste she made to hoist her purple sails! +And, to appear magnificent in flight, +Drew half our strength away. + +_Ant._ All this you caused. +And, would you multiply more ruins on me? +This honest man, my best, my only friend, +Has gathered up the shipwreck of my fortunes; +Twelve legions I have left, my last recruits, +And you have watched the news, and bring your eyes +To seize them too. If you have aught to answer, +Now speak, you have free leave. + +_Alex._ [_Aside._] She stands confounded: +Despair is in her eyes. + +_Vent._ Now lay a sigh in the way to stop his passage: +Prepare a tear, and bid it for his legions; +'Tis like they shall be sold. + +_Cleo._ How shall I plead my cause, when you, my judge, +Already have condemned me? shall I bring +The love you bore me for my advocate? +That now is turned against me, that destroys me; +For love, once past, is, at the best, forgotten; +But oftener sours to hate: 'twill please my lord +To ruin me, and therefore I'll be guilty. +But, could I once have thought it would have pleased you, +That you would pry, with narrow searching eyes +Into my faults, severe to my destruction, +And watching all advantages with care, +That serve to make me wretched? Speak, my lord, +For I end here. Though I deserve this usage, +Was it like you to give it? + +_Ant._ O you wrong me, +To think I sought this parting, or desired +To accuse you more than what will clear myself, +And justify this breach. + +_Cleo._ Thus low I thank you; +And, since my innocence will not offend, +I shall not blush to own it. + +_Vent._ After this, +I think she'll blush at nothing. + +_Cleo._ You seem grieved, +(And therein you are kind) that Cęsar first +Enjoyed my love, though you deserved it better: +I grieve for that, my lord, much more than you; +For, had I first been yours, it would have saved +My second choice: I never had been his, +And ne'er had been but yours. But Cęsar first, +You say, possessed my love. Not so, my lord: +He first possessed my person; you, my love: +Cęsar loved me; but I loved Antony. +If I endured him after, 'twas because +I judged it due to the first name of men; +And, half constrained, I gave, as to a tyrant, +What he would take by force. + +_Vent._ O Syren! Syren! +Yet grant that all the love she boasts were true, +Has she not ruined you? I still urge that, +The fatal consequence. + +_Cleo._ The consequence indeed; +For I dare challenge him, my greatest foe, +To say it was designed: 'tis true, I loved you, +And kept you far from an uneasy wife,-- +Such Fulvia was. +Yes, but he'll say, you left Octavia for me;-- +And, can you blame me to receive that love, +Which quitted such desert, for worthless me? +How often have I wished some other Cęsar, +Great as the first, and as the second young, +Would court my love, to be refused for you! + +_Vent._ Words, words; but Actium, sir; remember Actium. + +_Cleo._ Even there, I dare his malice. True, I counselled +To fight at sea; but I betrayed you not. +I fled, but not to the enemy. 'Twas fear; +Would I had been a man, not to have feared! +For none would then have envied me your friendship, +Who envy me your love. + +_Ant._ We are both unhappy: +If nothing else, yet our ill fortune parts us. +Speak; would you have me perish by my stay? + +_Cleo._ If, as a friend, you ask my judgment, go; +If, as a lover, stay. If you must perish-- +'Tis a hard word--but stay. + +_Vent._ See now the effects of her so boasted love! +She strives to drag you down to ruin with her; +But, could she 'scape without you, oh how soon +Would she let go her hold, and haste to shore, +And never look behind! + +_Cleo._ Then judge my love by this. [_Giving_ ANTONY _a writing._ +Could I have borne +A life or death, a happiness or woe, +From yours divided, this had given me means. + +_Ant._ By Hercules, the writing of Octavius! +I know it well: 'tis that proscribing hand, +Young as it was, that led the way to mine, +And left me but the second place in murder.-- +See, see, Ventidius! here he offers Egypt, +And joins all Syria to it, as a present; +So, in requital, she forsake my fortunes, +And join her arms with his. + +_Cleo._ And yet you leave me! +You leave me, Antony; and yet I love you, +Indeed I do: I have refused a kingdom; +That is a trifle; +For I could part with life, with any thing, +But only you. O let me die but with you! +Is that a hard request? + +_Ant._ Next living with you, +'Tis all that heaven can give. + +_Alex._ He melts; we conquer. [_Aside._ + +_Cleo._ No; you shall go: your interest calls you hence; +Yes; your dear interest pulls too strong, for these +Weak arms to hold you here. [_Takes his hand._ +Go; leave me, soldier; +(For you're no more a lover:) leave me dying: +Push me, all pale and panting, from your bosom, +And, when your march begins, let one run after, +Breathless almost for joy, and cry--she's dead: +The soldiers shout; you then, perhaps, may sigh, +And muster all your Roman gravity: +Ventidius chides; and strait your brow clears up, +As I had never been. + +_Ant._ Gods, 'tis too much; too much for man to bear. + +_Cleo._ What is't for me then, +A weak forsaken woman, and a lover?-- +Here let me breathe my last: envy me not +This minute in your arms: I'll die apace, +As fast as e'er I can; and end your trouble. + +_Ant._ Die! rather let me perish; loosened nature +Leap from its hinges, sink the props of heaven, +And fall the skies, to crush the nether world! +My eyes, my soul, my all!-- [_Embraces her._ + +_Vent._ And what's this toy, +In balance with your fortune, honour, fame? + +_Ant._ What is't, Ventidius? it out-weighs them all; +Why, we have more than conquered Cęsar now: +My queen's not only innocent, but loves me. +This, this is she, who drags me down to ruin! +But, could she 'scape without me, with what haste +Would she let slip her hold, and make to shore, +And never look behind! +Down on thy knees, blasphemer as thou art, +And ask forgiveness of wronged innocence. + +_Vent._ I'll rather die, than take it. Will you go? + +_Ant._ Go! Whither? Go from all that's excellent! +Faith, honour, virtue, all good things forbid, +That I should go from her, who sets my love +Above the price of kingdoms. Give, you gods, +Give to your boy, your Cęsar, +This rattle of a globe to play withal, +This gewgaw world, and put him cheaply off: +I'll not be pleased with less than Cleopatra. + +_Cleo._ She's wholly yours. My heart's so full of joy, +That I shall do some wild extravagance +Of love, in public; and the foolish world, +Which knows not tenderness, will think me mad. + +_Vent._ O women! women! women! all the gods +Have not such power of doing good to man, +As you of doing harm. [_Exit._ + +_Ant._ Our men are armed:-- +Unbar the gate that looks to Cęsar's camp: +I would revenge the treachery he meant me; +And long security makes conquest easy. +I'm eager to return before I go; +For, all the pleasures I have known beat thick +On my remembrance.--How I long for night! +That both the sweets of mutual love may try, +And triumph once o'er Cęsar ere we die. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT III. SCENE I. + + _At one door, enter_ CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, IRAS, _and_ ALEXAS, _a + Train of Egyptians: at the other,_ ANTONY _and Romans. The entrance + on both sides is prepared by music; the trumpets first sounding on_ + ANTONY'S _part: then answered by timbrels, &c. on_ CLEOPATRA'S. + CHARMION _and_ IRAS _hold a laurel wreath betwixt them. A Dance of + Egyptians. After the ceremony,_ CLEOPATRA _crowns_ ANTONY. + +_Ant._ I thought how those white arms would fold me in, +And strain me close, and melt me into love; +So pleased with that sweet image, I sprung forwards, +And added all my strength to every blow. + +_Cleo._ Come to me, come, my soldier, to my arms! +You've been too long away from my embraces; +But, when I have you fast, and all my own, +With broken murmurs, and with amorous sighs, +I'll say, you were unkind, and punish you, +And mark you red with many an eager kiss. + +_Ant._ My brighter Venus! + +_Cleo._ O my greater Mars! + +_Ant._ Thou join'st us well, my love! +Suppose me come from the Phlegręan plains, +Where gasping giants lay, cleft by my sword, +And mountain tops pared off each other blow, +To bury those I slew. Receive me, goddess! +Let Cęsar spread his subtile nets; like Vulcan, +In thy embraces I would be beheld +By heaven and earth at once; +And make their envy what they meant their sport. +Let those, who took us, blush; I would love on, +With awful state, regardless of their frowns, +As their superior god. +There's no satiety of love in thee: +Enjoyed, thou still art new; perpetual spring +Is in thy arms; the ripened fruit but falls, +And blossoms rise to fill its empty place; +And I grow rich by giving. + + _Enter_ VENTIDIUS, _and stands apart._ + +_Alex._ O, now the danger's past, your general comes! +He joins not in your joys, nor minds your triumphs; +But, with contracted brows, looks frowning on, +As envying your success. + +_Ant._ Now, on my soul, he loves me; truly loves me: +He never flattered me in any vice, +But awes me with his virtue: even this minute, +Methinks, he has a right of chiding me. +Lead to the temple: I'll avoid his presence; +It checks too strong upon me. [_Exeunt the rest._ + [_As_ ANTONY _is going,_ VENTIDIUS _pulls him by + the robe._ + +_Vent._ Emperor! + +_Ant._ 'Tis the old argument; I pr'ythee, spare me. [_Looking back._ + +_Vent._ But this one hearing, emperor. + +_Ant._ Let go +My robe; or, by my father Hercules-- + +_Vent._ By Hercules' father, that's yet greater, +I bring you somewhat you would wish to know. + +_Ant._ Thou see'st we are observed; attend me here, +And I'll return. [_Exit._ + +_Vent._ I am waning in his favour, yet I love him; +I love this man, who runs to meet his ruin; +And sure the gods, like me, are fond of him; +His virtues lie so mingled with his crimes, +As would confound their choice to punish one, +And not reward the other. + + _Enter_ ANTONY. + +_Ant._ We can conquer, +You see, without your aid. +We have dislodged their troops; +They look on us at distance, and, like curs +'Scaped from the lion's paws, they bay far off, +And lick their wounds, and faintly threaten war. +Five thousand Romans, with their faces upward, +Lie breathless on the plain. + +_Vent._ 'Tis well; and he, +Who lost them, could have spared ten thousand more. +Yet if, by this advantage, you could gain +An easier peace, while Cęsar doubts the chance +Of arms-- + +_Ant._ O think not on't, Ventidius! +The boy pursues my ruin, he'll no peace; +His malice is considerate in advantage. +O, he's the coolest murderer! so staunch, +He kills, and keeps his temper. + +_Vent._ Have you no friend +In all his army, who has power to move him? +Mecęnas, or Agrippa, might do much. + +_Ant._ They're both too deep in Cęsar's interests. +We'll work it out by dint of sword, or perish. + +_Vent._ Fain I would find some other. + +_Ant._ Thank thy love. +Some four or five such victories as this +Will save thy farther pains. + +_Vent._ Expect no more; Cęsar is on his guard: +I know, sir, you have conquered against odds; +But still you draw supplies from one poor town, +And of Egyptians: he has all the world, +And, at his beck, nations come pouring in, +To fill the gaps you make. Pray, think again. + +_Ant._ Why dost thou drive me from myself, to search +For foreign aids? to hunt my memory, +And range all o'er a waste and barren place, +To find a friend? the wretched have no friends. +Yet I had one, the bravest youth of Rome, +Whom Cęsar loves beyond the love of women: +He could resolve his mind, as fire does wax, +From that hard rugged image melt him down, +And mould him in what softer form he pleased. + +_Vent._ Him would I see; that man, of all the world; +Just such a one we want. + +_Ant._ He loved me too; +I was his soul; he lived not but in me: +We were so closed within each others breasts, +The rivets were not found, that joined us first. +That does not reach us yet: we were so mixt, +As meeting streams, both to ourselves were lost; +We were one mass; we could not give or take, +But from the same; for he was I, I he. + +_Vent._ He moves as I would wish him. [_Aside._ + +_Ant._ After this, +I need not tell his name;--'twas Dolabella. + +_Vent._ He's now in Cęsar's camp. + +_Ant._ No matter where, +Since he's no longer mine. He took unkindly, +That I forbade him Cleopatra's sight, +Because I feared he loved her: he confest, +He had a warmth, which, for my sake, he stifled; +For 'twere impossible that two, so one, +Should not have loved the same. When he departed, +He took no leave; and that confirmed my thoughts. + +_Vent._ It argues, that he loved you more than her, +Else he had staid; but he perceived you jealous, +And would not grieve his friend: I know he loves you. + +_Ant._ I should have seen him, then, ere now. + +_Vent._ Perhaps +He has thus long been labouring for your peace. + +_Ant._ Would he were here! + +_Vent._ Would you believe he loved you? +I read your answer in your eyes, you would. +Not to conceal it longer, he has sent +A messenger from Cęsar's camp, with letters. + +_Ant._ Let him appear. + +_Vent._ I'll bring him instantly. + [_Exit_ VENTIDIUS, _and re-enters immediately with_ + DOLABELLA. + +_Ant._ 'Tis he himself! himself, by holy friendship! + [_Runs to embrace him._ +Art thou returned at last, my better half? +Come, give me all myself! +Let me not live, +If the young bridegroom, longing for his night, +Was ever half so fond. + +_Dola._ I must be silent, for my soul is busy +About a noble work: she's new come home, +Like a long-absent man, and wanders o'er +Each room, a stranger to her own, to look +If all be safe. + +_Ant._ Thou hast what's left of me; +For I am now so sunk from what I was, +Thou find'st me at my lowest water-mark. +The rivers that ran in, and raised my fortunes, +Are all dried up, or take another course: +What I have left is from my native spring; +I've still a heart that swells, in scorn of fate, +And lifts me to my banks. + +_Dola._ Still you are lord of all the world to me. + +_Ant._ Why, then I yet am so; for thou art all. +If I had any joy when thou wert absent, +I grudged it to myself; methought I robbed +Thee of thy part. But, oh, my Dolabella! +Thou hast beheld me other than I am. +Hast thou not seen my morning chambers filled +With sceptered slaves, who waited to salute me? +With eastern monarchs, who forgot the sun, +To worship my uprising? menial kings +Ran coursing up and down my palace-yard, +Stood silent in my presence, watched my eyes, +And, at my least command, all started out, +Like racers to the goal[2]. + +_Dola._ Slaves to your fortune. + +_Ant._ Fortune is Cęsar's now; and what am I? + +_Vent._ What you have made yourself; I will not flatter. + +_Ant._ Is this friendly done? + +_Dola._ Yes; when his end is so, I must join with him; +Indeed I must, and yet you must not chide: +Why am I else your friend? + +_Ant._ Take heed, young man, +How thou upbraid'st my love: The queen has eyes, +And thou too hast a soul. Canst thou remember, +When, swelled with hatred, thou beheld'st her first +As accessary to thy brother's death? + +_Dola._ Spare my remembrance; 'twas a guilty day, +And still the blush hangs here. + +_Ant._ To clear herself, +For sending him no aid, she came from Egypt. +Her galley down the silver Cydnos rowed, +The tackling silk, the streamers waved with gold; +The gentle winds were lodged in purple sails: +Her nymphs, like Nereids, round her couch were placed; +Where she, another sea-born Venus, lay. + +_Dola._ No more: I would not hear it. + +_Ant._ O, you must! +She lay, and leant her cheek upon her hand, +And cast a look so languishingly sweet, +As if, secure of all beholders' hearts, +Neglecting, she could take them: boys, like Cupids, +Stood fanning, with their painted wings, the winds, +That played about her face: but if she smiled, +A darting glory seemed to blaze abroad, +That men's desiring eyes were never wearied, +But hung upon the object: To soft flutes +The silver oars kept time; and while they played, +The hearing gave new pleasure to the sight; +And both to thought. 'Twas heaven, or somewhat more: +For she so charmed all hearts, that gazing crowds +Stood panting on the shore, and wanted breath +To give their welcome voice. +Then, Dolabella, where was then thy soul? +Was not thy fury quite disarmed with wonder? +Didst thou not shrink behind me from those eyes +And whisper in my ear,--Oh, tell her not +That I accused her of my brother's death? + +_Dola._ And should my weakness be a plea for yours? +Mine was an age when love might be excused, +When kindly warmth, and when my springing youth +Made it a debt to nature. Yours-- + +_Vent._ Speak boldly. +Yours, he would say, in your declining age, +When no more heat was left but what you forced, +When all the sap was needful for the trunk, +When it went down, then you constrained the course, +And robbed from nature, to supply desire; +In you (I would not use so harsh a word) +'Tis but plain dotage. + +_Ant._ Ha! + +_Dola._ 'Twas urged too home.-- +But yet the loss was private, that I made; +'Twas but myself I lost: I lost no legions; +I had no world to lose, no people's love. + +_Ant._ This from a friend? + +_Dola._ Yes, Antony, a true one; +A friend so tender, that each word I speak +Stabs my own heart, before it reach your ear. +O, judge me not less kind, because I chide! +To Cęsar I excuse you. + +_Ant._ O ye gods! +Have I then lived to be excused to Cęsar? + +_Dola._ As to your equal. + +_Ant._ Well, he's but my equal: +While I wear this, he never shall be more. + +_Dola._ I bring conditions from him. + +_Ant._ Are they noble? +Methinks thou shouldst not bring them else; yet he +Is full of deep dissembling; knows no honour +Divided from his interest. Fate mistook him; +For nature meant him for an usurer: +He's fit indeed to buy, not conquer kingdoms. + +_Vent._ Then, granting this, +What power was theirs, who wrought so hard a temper +To honourable terms? + +_Ant._ It was my Dolabella, or some god. + +_Dola._ Not I; nor yet Mecęnas, nor Agrippa: +They were your enemies; and I, a friend, +Too weak alone; yet 'twas a Roman's deed. + +_Ant._ 'Twas like a Roman done: show me that man, +Who has preserved my life, my love, my honour; +Let me but see his face. + +_Vent._ That task is mine, +And, heaven, thou know'st how pleasing. [_Exit_ VENT. + +_Dola._ You'll remember +To whom you stand obliged? + +_Ant._ When I forget it, +Be thou unkind, and that's my greatest curse. +My queen shall thank him too. + +_Dola._ I fear she will not. + +_Ant._ But she shall do it: The queen, my Dolabella! +Hast thou not still some grudgings of thy fever? + +_Dola._ I would not see her lost. + +_Ant._ When I forsake her, +Leave me, my better stars! for she has truth +Beyond her beauty. Cęsar tempted her, +At no less price than kingdoms, to betray me; +But she resisted all: and yet thou chidest me +For loving her too well. Could I do so? + +_Dola._ Yes; there's my reason. + + _Re-enter_ VENTIDIUS, _with_ OCTAVIA, _leading_ ANTONY'S _two little + Daughters._ + +_Ant._ Where?--Octavia there! [_Starting back._ + +_Vent._ What, is she poison to you? a disease? +Look on her, view her well, and those she brings: +Are they all strangers to your eyes? has nature +No secret call, no whisper they are yours? + +_Dola._ For shame, my lord, if not for love, receive them +With kinder eyes. If you confess a man, +Meet them, embrace them, bid them welcome to you. +Your arms should open, even without your knowledge, +To clasp them in; your feet should turn to wings, +To bear you to them; and your eyes dart out, +And aim a kiss, ere you could reach the lips. + +_Ant._ I stood amazed, to think how they came hither. + +_Vent._ I sent for them; I brought them in, unknown. +To Cleopatra's guards. + +_Dola._ Yet, are you cold? + +_Octav._ Thus long I have attended for my welcome; +Which, as a stranger, sure I might expect. +Who am I? + +_Ant._ Cęsar's sister. + +_Octav._ That's unkind. +Had I been nothing more than Cęsar's sister, +Know, I had still remained in Cęsar's camp: +But your Octavia, your much injured wife, +Though banished from your bed, driven from your house, +In spite of Cęsar's sister, still is yours. +'Tis true, I have a heart disdains your coldness, +And prompts me not to seek what you should offer; +But a wife's virtue still surmounts that pride. +I come to claim you as my own; to show +My duty first; to ask, nay beg, your kindness: +Your hand, my lord; 'tis mine, and I will have it. [_Taking his hand._ + +_Vent._ Do, take it; thou deserv'st it. + +_Dola._ On my soul, +And so she does: she's neither too submissive, +Nor yet too haughty; but so just a mean +Shows, as it ought, a wife and Roman too. + +_Ant._ I fear, Octavia, you have begged my life. + +_Octav._ Begged it, my lord? + +_Ant._ Yes, begged it, my ambassadress; +Poorly and basely begged it of your brother. + +_Octav._ Poorly and basely I could never beg: +Nor could my brother grant. + +_Ant._ Shall I, who, to my kneeling slave, could say, +Rise up, and be a king; shall I fall down +And cry,--forgive me, Cęsar! shall I set +A man, my equal, in the place of Jove, +As he could give me being? No; that word, +Forgive, would choke me up, +And die upon my tongue. + +_Dola._ You shall not need it. + +_Ant._ I will not need it. Come, you've all betrayed me,-- +My friend too!--to receive some vile conditions. +My wife has bought me, with her prayers and tears; +And now I must become her branded slave. +In every peevish mood, she will upbraid +The life she gave: if I but look awry, +She cries,--I'll tell my brother. + +_Octav._ My hard fortune +Subjects me still to your unkind mistakes. +But the conditions I have brought are such, +You need not blush to take: I love your honour, +Because 'tis mine; it never shall be said, +Octavia's husband was her brother's slave. +Sir, you are free; free, even from her you loath; +For, though my brother bargains for your love, +Makes me the price and cement of your peace, +I have a soul like yours; I cannot take +Your love as alms, nor beg what I deserve. +I'll tell my brother we are reconciled; +He shall draw back his troops, and you shall march +To rule the East: I may be dropt at Athens; +No matter where. I never will complain, +But only keep the barren name of wife, +And rid you of the trouble. + +_Vent._ Was ever such a strife of sullen honour! } +Both scorn to be obliged. } + } +_Dola._ O, she has touched him in the tenderest part; } +See how he reddens with despite and shame, } _Apart._ +To be out-done in generosity! } + } +_Vent._ See, how he winks! how he dries up a tear, } +That fain would fall! } + +_Ant._ Octavia, I have heard you, and must praise +The greatness of your soul; +But cannot yield to what you have proposed: +For I can ne'er be conquered but by love; +And you do all for duty. You would free me, +And would be dropt at Athens; was't not so? + +_Octav._ It was, my lord. + +_Ant._ Then I must be obliged +To one who loves me not; who, to herself, +May call me thankless and ungrateful man:-- +I'll not endure it; no. + +_Vent._ I am glad it pinches there. [_Aside._ + +_Octav._ Would you triumph o'er poor Octavia's virtue? +That pride was all I had to bear me up; +That you might think you owed me for your life, +And owed it to my duty, not my love. +I have been injured, and my haughty soul +Could brook but ill the man, who slights my bed. + +_Ant._ Therefore you love me not. + +_Octav._ Therefore, my lord, +I should not love you. + +_Ant._ Therefore you would leave me? + +_Octav._ And therefore I should leave you--if I could. + +_Dola._ Her soul's too great, after such injuries, +To say she loves; and yet she lets you see it. +Her modesty and silence plead her cause. + +_Ant._ O, Dolabella, which way shall I turn? +I find a secret yielding in my soul; +But Cleopatra, who would die with me, +Must she be left? pity pleads for Octavia; +But does it not plead more for Cleopatra? + +_Vent._ Justice and pity both plead for Octavia; +For Cleopatra, neither. +One would be ruined with you; but she first +Had ruined you: The other, you have ruined, +And yet she would preserve you. +In every thing their merits are unequal. + +_Ant._ O, my distracted soul! + +_Octav._ Sweet heaven compose it!-- +Come, come, my lord, if I can pardon you, +Methinks you should accept it. Look on these; +Are they not yours? or stand they thus neglected, +As they are mine? go to him, children, go; +Kneel to him, take him by the hand, speak to him; +For you may speak, and he may own you too, +Without a blush; and so he cannot all +His children: go, I say, and pull him to me, +And pull him to yourselves, from that bad woman. +You, Agrippina, hang upon his arms; +And you, Antonia, clasp about his waist: +If he will shake you off, if he will dash you +Against the pavement, you must bear it, children; +For you are mine, and I was born to suffer. + [_Here the Children go to him, &c._ + +_Vent._ Was ever sight so moving?--Emperor! + +_Dola._ Friend! + +_Octav._ Husband! + +_Both Child._ Father! + +_Ant._ I am vanquished: take me, +Octavia; take me, children; share me all. [_Embracing them._ +I've been a thriftless debtor to your loves, +And run out much, in riot, from your stock; +But all shall be amended. + +_Octav._ O blest hour! + +_Dola._ O happy change! + +_Vent._ My joy stops at my tongue; +But it has found two channels here for one, +And bubbles out above. + +_Ant._ [_To_ OCTAV.] +This is thy triumph; lead me where thou wilt; +Even to thy brother's camp. + +_Octav._ All there are yours. + + _Enter_ ALEXAS _hastily._ + +_Alex._ The queen, my mistress, sir, and yours-- + +_Ant._ 'Tis past.--Octavia, you shall stay this night; +To-morrow, Cęsar and we are one. + [_Ex. leading_ OCTAV. DOL. _and the Children follow._ + +_Vent._ There's news for you; run, my officious eunuch, +Be sure to be the first; haste forward: +Haste, my dear eunuch, haste. [_Exit._ + +_Alex._ This downright fighting fool, this thick-skulled hero, +This blunt unthinking instrument of death, +With plain dull virtue has out-gone my wit. +Pleasure forsook my earliest infancy; +The luxury of others robbed my cradle, +And ravished thence the promise of a man +Cast out from nature, disinherited +Of what her meanest children claim by kind, +Yet greatness kept me from contempt: that's gone: +Had Cleopatra followed my advice, +Then he had been betrayed, who now forsakes. +She dies for love; but she has known its joys: +Gods, is this just, that I, who know no joys, +Must die, because she loves? + + _Enter_ CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, IRAS, _and Train._ + +Oh, madam, I have seen what blasts my eyes! +Octavia's here. + +_Cleo._ Peace with that raven's note. +I know it too; and now am in +The pangs of death. + +_Alex._ You are no more a queen; +Egypt is lost. + +_Cleo._ What tell'st thou me of Egypt? +My life, my soul is lost! Octavia has him!-- +O fatal name to Cleopatra's love! +My kisses, my embraces now are hers; +While I--But thou hast seen my rival; speak. +Does she deserve this blessing? Is she fair? +Bright as a goddess? and is all perfection +Confined to her? It is. Poor I was made +Of that coarse matter, which, when she was finished, +The gods threw by for rubbish. + +_Alex._ She's indeed a very miracle. + +_Cleo._ Death to my hopes, a miracle! + +_Alex._ A miracle; [_Bowing._ +I mean of goodness; for in beauty, madam, +You make all wonders cease. + +_Cleo._ I was too rash: +Take this in part of recompense. But, oh, [_Giving a ring._ +I fear thou flatterest me. + +_Char._ She comes! she's here! + +_Iras._ Fly, madam, Cęsar's sister! + +_Cleo._ Were she the sister of the thunderer Jove, +And bore her brother's lightning in her eyes, +Thus would I face my rival. + + _Meets_ OCTAVIA _with_ VENTIDIUS. OCTAVIA _bears up to her. Their + Trains come up on either side._ + +_Octav._ I need not ask if you are Cleopatra; +Your haughty carriage-- + +_Cleo._ Shows I am a queen: +Nor need I ask you, who you are. + +_Octav._ A Roman: +A name, that makes and can unmake a queen. + +_Cleo._ Your lord, the man who serves me, is a Roman. + +_Octav._ He was a Roman, till he lost that name, +To be a slave in Egypt; but I come +To free him thence. + +_Cleo._ Peace, peace, my lover's Juno. +When he grew weary of that household-clog, +He chose my easier bonds. + +_Octav._ I wonder not +Your bonds are easy; you have long been practised +In that lascivious art: He's not the first, +For whom you spread your snares: Let Cęsar witness. + +_Cleo._ I loved not Cęsar; 'twas but gratitude +I paid his love: The worst your malice can, +Is but to say, the greatest of mankind +Has been my slave. The next, but far above him +In my esteem, is he whom law calls yours, +But whom his love made mine. + +_Octav._ I would view nearer [_Coming up close to her._ +That face, which has so long usurped my right, +To find the inevitable charms, that catch +Mankind so sure, that ruined my dear lord. + +_Cleo._ O, you do well to search; for had you known +But half these charms, you had not lost his heart. + +_Octav._ Far be their knowledge from a Roman lady, +Far from a modest wife! Shame of your sex, +Dost thou not blush, to own those black endearments, +That make sin pleasing? + +_Cleo._ You may blush, who want them. +If bounteous nature, if indulgent heaven +Have given me charms to please the bravest man, +Should I not thank them? should I be ashamed, +And not be proud? I am, that he has loved me; +And, when I love not him, heaven change this face +For one like that. + +_Octav._ Thou lov'st him not so well. + +_Cleo._ I love him better, and deserve him more. + +_Octav._ You do not; cannot: You have been his ruin. +Who made him cheap at Rome, but Cleopatra? +Who made him scorned abroad, but Cleopatra? +At Actium, who betrayed him? Cleopatra. +Who made his children orphans, and poor me +A wretched widow? only Cleopatra. + +_Cleo._ Yet she, who loves him best, is Cleopatra. +If you have suffered, I have suffered more. +You bear the specious title of a wife, +To gild your cause, and draw the pitying world +To favour it: the world condemns poor me; +For I have lost my honour, lost my fame, +And stained the glory of my royal house, +And all to bear the branded name of mistress. +There wants but life, and that too I would lose +For him I love. + +_Octav._ Be't so then; take thy wish. [_Exit with her Train._ + +_Cleo._ And 'tis my wish, +Now he is lost for whom alone I lived. +My sight grows dim, and every object dances, +And swims before me, in the maze of death. +My spirits, while they were opposed, kept up; +They could not sink beneath a rival's scorn: +But now she's gone, they faint. + +_Alex._ Mine have had leisure +To recollect their strength, and furnish counsel, +To ruin her, who else must ruin you. + +_Cleo._ Vain promiser! +Lead me, my Charmion; nay, your hand too, Iras. +My grief has weight enough to sink you both. +Conduct me to some solitary chamber, +And draw the curtains round; +Then leave me to myself, to take alone +My fill of grief: + There I till death will his unkindness weep; + As harmless infants moan themselves asleep. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + + _Enter_ ANTONY _and_ DOLABELLA. + +_Dola._ Why would you shift it from yourself, on me? +Can you not tell her, you must part? + +_Ant._ I cannot. +I could pull out an eye, and bid it go, +And t'other should not weep. Oh, Dolabella, +How many deaths are in this word, _depart_! +I dare not trust my tongue to tell her so: +One look of hers would thaw me into tears, +And I should melt, till I were lost again. + +_Dola._ Then let Ventidius; +He's rough by nature. + +_Ant._ Oh, he'll speak too harshly; +He'll kill her with the news: Thou, only thou. + +_Dola._ Nature has cast me in so soft a mould, +That but to hear a story, feigned for pleasure, +Of some sad lover's death, moistens my eyes, +And robs me of my manhood. I should speak +So faintly, with such fear to grieve her heart, +She'd not believe it earnest. + +_Ant._ Therefore,--therefore +Thou only, thou art fit: Think thyself me; +And when thou speak'st, (but let it first be long) +Take off the edge from every sharper sound, +And let our parting he as gently made, +As other loves begin: Wilt thou do this? + +_Dola._ What you have said, so sinks into my soul, +That, if I must speak, I shall speak just so. + +_Ant._ I leave you then to your sad task: Farewell. +I sent her word to meet you. [_Goes to the door, and comes back._ +I forgot; +Let her be told, I'll make her peace with mine: +Her crown and dignity shall be preserved, +If I have power with Cęsar.--O, be sure +To think on that. + +_Dola._ Fear not, I will remember. + [ANTONY _goes again to the door, and comes back._ + +_Ant._ And tell her, too, how much I was constrained; +I did not this, but with extremest force: +Desire her not to hate my memory, +For I still cherish hers;--insist on that. + +_Dola._ Trust me, I'll not forget it. + +_Ant._ Then that's all. [_Goes out, and returns again._ +Wilt thou forgive my fondness this once more? +Tell her, though we shall never meet again, +If I should hear she took another love, +The news would break my heart.--Now I must go; +For every time I have returned, I feel +My soul more tender; and my next command +Would be, to bid her stay, and ruin both. [_Exit._ + +_Dola._ Men are but children of a larger growth; +Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, +And full as craving too, and full as vain; +And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room, +Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing; +But, like a mole in earth, busy and blind, +Works all her folly up, and casts it outward +To the world's open view: Thus I discovered, +And blamed the love of ruined Antony; +Yet wish that I were he, to be so ruined. + + _Enter_ VENTIDIUS _above._ + +_Vent._ Alone, and talking to himself? concerned too? +Perhaps my guess is right; he loved her once, +And may pursue it still. + +_Dola._ O friendship! friendship! +Ill canst thou answer this; and reason, worse: +Unfaithful in the attempt; hopeless to win; +And, if I win, undone: mere madness all. +And yet the occasion's fair. What injury +To him, to wear the robe which he throws by? + +_Vent._ None, none at all. This happens as I wish, +To ruin her yet more with Antony. + + _Enter_ CLEOPATRA, _talking with_ ALEXAS; CHARMION, IRAS _on the + other side._ + +_Dola._ She comes! What charms have sorrow on that face! +Sorrow seems pleased to dwell with so much sweetness; +Yet, now and then, a melancholy smile +Breaks loose, like lightning in a winter's night, +And shows a moment's day. + +_Vent._ If she should love him too! her eunuch there! +That porc'pisce bodes ill weather. Draw, draw nearer, +Sweet devil, that I may hear. + +_Alex._ Believe me; try. + [DOLABELLA _goes over to_ CHARMION _and_ IRAS; + _seems to talk with them._ +To make him jealous; jealousy is like +A polished glass held to the lips when life's in doubt; +If there be breath, 'twill catch the damp, and show it. + +_Cleo._ I grant you, jealousy's a proof of love, +But 'tis a weak and unavailing medicine; +It puts out the disease, and makes it show, +But has no power to cure. + +_Alex._ 'Tis your last remedy, and strongest too: +And then this Dolabella, who so fit +To practise on? He's handsome, valiant, young, +And looks as he were laid for nature's bait, +To catch weak woman's eyes. +He stands already more than half suspected +Of loving you: the least kind word or glance, +You give this youth, will kindle him with love: +Then, like a burning vessel set adrift, +You'll send him down amain before the wind, +To fire the heart of jealous Antony. + +_Cleo._ Can I do this? Ah, no; my love's so true, +That I can neither hide it where it is, +Nor show it where it is not. Nature meant me +A wife; a silly, harmless, household dove, +Fond without art, and kind without deceit; +But Fortune, that has made a mistress of me, +Has thrust me out to the wide world, unfurnished +Of falsehood to be happy. + +_Alex._ Force yourself. +The event will be, your lover will return, +Doubly desirous to possess the good, +Which once he feared to lose. + +_Cleo._ I must attempt it; +But oh with what regret! [_Exit_ ALEX. _She comes up to_ DOLABELLA. + +_Vent._ So, now the scene draws near; they're in my reach. + +_Cleo._ [_To_ DOL.] +Discoursing with my women! might not I +Share in your entertainment? + +_Char._ You have been +The subject of it, madam. + +_Cleo._ How! and how? + +_Iras._ Such praises of your beauty! + +_Cleo._ Mere poetry. +Your Roman wits, your Gallus and Tibullus, +Have taught you this from Cytheris and Delia. + +_Dola._ Those Roman wits have never been in Egypt; +Cytheris and Delia else had been unsung: +I, who have seen--had I been born a poet, +Should choose a nobler name. + +_Cleo._ You flatter me. +But, 'tis your nation's vice: All of your country +Are flatterers, and all false. Your friend's like you. +I'm sure, he sent you not to speak these words. + +_Dola._ No, madam; yet he sent me-- + +_Cleo._ Well, he sent you-- + +_Dola._ Of a less pleasing errand. + +_Cleo._ How less pleasing? +Less to yourself, or me? + +_Dola._ Madam, to both; +For you must mourn, and I must grieve to cause it. + +_Cleo._ You, Charmion, and your fellow, stand at distance.-- +Hold up my spirits. [_Aside._]--Well, now your mournful matter; +For I'm prepared, perhaps can guess it too. + +_Dola._ I wish you would; for 'tis a thankless office, +To tell ill news: And I, of all your sex, +Most fear displeasing you. + +_Cleo._ Of all your sex, +I soonest could forgive you, if you should. + +_Vent._ Most delicate advances! woman! woman! +Dear, damned, inconstant sex! + +_Cleo._ In the first place, +I am to be forsaken; is't not so? + +_Dola._ I wish I could not answer to that question. + +_Cleo._ Then pass it o'er, because it troubles you: +I should have been more grieved another time. +Next, I'm to lose my kingdom--farewell, Egypt. +Yet, is there any more? + +_Dola._ Madam, I fear +Your too deep sense of grief has turned your reason. + +_Cleo._ No, no, I'm not run mad; I can bear fortune: +And love may be expelled by other love, +As poisons are by poisons. + +_Dola._ You o'erjoy me, madam, +To find your griefs so moderately borne. +You've heard the worst; all are not false like him. + +_Cleo._ No; heaven forbid they should. + +_Dola._ Some men are constant. + +_Cleo._ And constancy deserves reward, that's certain. + +_Dola._ Deserves it not; but give it leave to hope. + +_Vent._ I'll swear thou hast my leave. I have enough: +But how to manage this! Well, I'll consider. [_Exit._ + +_Dola._ I came prepared +To tell you heavy news; news, which I thought +Would fright the blood from your pale cheeks to hear: +But you have met it with a cheerfulness, +That makes my task more easy; and my tongue, +Which on another's message was employed, +Would gladly speak its own. + +_Cleo._ Hold, Dolabella. +First tell me, were you chosen by my lord? +Or sought you this employment? + +_Dola._ He picked me out; and, as his bosom-friend, +He charged me with his words. + +_Cleo._ The message then +I know was tender, and each accent smooth, +To mollify that rugged word, _depart_. + +_Dola._ Oh, you mistake: He chose the harshest words; +With fiery eyes, and with contracted brows, +He coined his face in the severest stamp; +And fury shook his fabric, like an earthquake; +He heaved for vent, and burst like bellowing Ętna, +In sounds scarce human,--Hence away for ever! +Let her begone, the blot of my renown, +And bane of all my hopes! + [_All the time of this speech,_ CLEOPATRA _seems + more and more concerned, till she sinks quite + down._ +Let her be driven, as far as men can think, +From man's commerce! she'll poison to the center. + +_Cleo._ Oh, I can bear no more! + +_Dola._ Help, help:--Oh wretch! O cursed, cursed wretch! +What have I done! + +_Char._ Help, chafe her temples, Iras. + +_Iras._ Bend, bend her forward quickly. + +_Char._ Heaven be praised, +She comes again. + +_Cleo._ O let him not approach me. +Why have you brought me back to this loathed being, +The abode of falsehood, violated vows, +And injured love? For pity, let me go; +For, if there be a place of long repose, +I'm sure I want it. My disdainful lord +Can never break that quiet; nor awake +The sleeping soul, with hollowing in my tomb +Such words as fright her hence.--Unkind, unkind! + +_Dola._ Believe me, 'tis against myself I speak; [_Kneeling._ +That sure desires belief; I injured him: +My friend ne'er spoke those words. Oh, had you seen +How often he came back, and every time +With something more obliging and more kind, +To add to what he said; what dear farewells; +How almost vanquished by his love he parted, +And leaned to what unwillingly he left! +I, traitor as I was, for love of you, +(But what can you not do, who made me false!) +I forged that lie; for whose forgiveness kneels +This self-accused, self-punished criminal. + +_Cleo._ With how much ease believe we what we wish! +Rise, Dolabella; if you have been guilty, +I have contributed, and too much love +Has made me guilty too. +The advance of kindness, which I made, was feigned, +To call back fleeting love by jealousy; +But 'twould not last. Oh, rather let me lose, +Than so ignobly trifle with his heart. + +_Dola._ I find your breast fenced round from human reach, +Transparent as a rock of solid crystal; +Seen through, but never pierced. My friend, my friend! +What endless treasure hast thou thrown away; +And scattered, like an infant, in the ocean, +Vain sums of wealth, which none can gather thence! + +_Cleo._ Could you not beg +An hour's admittance to his private ear? +Like one, who wanders through long barren wilds; +And yet foreknows no hospitable inn +Is near to succour hunger, +Eats his fill, before his painful march: +So would I feed a while my famished eyes +Before we part; for I have far to go, +If death be far, and never must return. + + VENTIDIUS, _with_ OCTAVIA, _behind._ + +_Vent._ From hence you may discover--Oh, sweet, sweet! +Would you indeed? the pretty hand in earnest? + +_Dola._ I will, for this reward. [_Takes her hand._ +Draw it not back, +'Tis all I e'er will beg. + +_Vent._ They turn upon us. + +_Octav._ What quick eyes has guilt! + +_Vent._ Seem not to have observed them, and go on. + + _They enter._ + +_Dola._ Saw you the emperor, Ventidius? + +_Vent._ No. +I sought him; but I heard that he was private, +None with him but Hipparchus, his freedman. + +_Dola._ Know you his business? + +_Vent._ Giving him instructions, +And letters to his brother Cęsar. + +_Dola._ Well, +He must be found. [_Exeunt_ DOLA. _and_ CLEO. + +_Octav._ Most glorious impudence! + +_Vent._ She looked, methought, +As she would say,--take your old man, Octavia; +Thank you, I'm better here.-- +Well, but what use +Make we of this discovery? + +_Octav._ Let it die. + +_Vent._ I pity Dolabella; but she's dangerous: +Her eyes have power beyond Thessalian charms, +To draw the moon from heaven; for eloquence, +The sea-green Syrens taught her voice their flattery; +And, while she speaks, night steals upon the day, +Unmarked of those that hear: Then she's so charming +Age buds at sight of her, and swells to youth: +The holy priests gaze on her when she smiles; +And with heaved hands, forgetting gravity, +They bless her wanton eyes: even I, who hate her, +With a malignant joy behold such beauty; +And, while I curse, desire it. Antony +Must needs have some remains of passion still, +Which may ferment into a worse relapse, +If now not fully cured. I know, this minute, +With Cęsar he's endeavouring her peace. + +_Octav._ You have prevailed:--But for a farther purpose [_Walks off._ +I'll prove how he will relish this discovery. +What, make a strumpet's peace! it swells my heart: +It must not, shall not be. + +_Vent._ His guards appear. +Let me begin, and you shall second me. + + _Enter_ ANTONY. + +_Ant._ Octavia, I was looking you, my love: +What, are your letters ready? I have given +My last instructions. + +_Octav._ Mine, my lord, are written. + +_Ant._ Ventidius. [_Drawing him aside._ + +_Vent._ My lord? + +_Ant._ A word in private.-- +When saw you Dolabella? + +_Vent._ Now, my lord, +He parted hence; and Cleopatra with him. + +_Ant._ Speak softly.--'Twas by my command he went, +To bear my last farewell. + +_Vent._ It looked indeed [_Aloud._ +Like your farewell. + +_Ant._ More softly.--My farewell? +What secret meaning have you in those words +Of--my farewell? He did it by my order. + +_Vent._ Then he obeyed your order. I suppose [_Aloud._ +You bid him do it with all gentleness, +All kindness, and all--love. + +_Ant._ How she mourned, +The poor forsaken creature! + +_Vent._ She took it as she ought; she bore your parting +As she did Cęsar's, as she would another's, +Were a new love to come. + +_Ant._ Thou dost belie her; [_Aloud._ +Most basely, and maliciously belie her. + +_Vent._ I thought not to displease you; I have done. + +_Octav._ You seem disturbed, my lord. [_Coming up._ + +_Ant._ A very trifle. +Retire, my love. + +_Vent._ It was indeed a trifle. +He sent-- + +_Ant._ No more. Look how thou disobeyest me; [_Angrily._ +Thy life shall answer it. + +_Octav._ Then 'tis no trifle. + +_Vent._ [_To_ OCTAV.] +'Tis less; a very nothing: You too saw it, +As well as I, and therefore 'tis no secret. + +_Ant._ She saw it! + +_Vent._ Yes: She saw young Dolabella-- + +_Ant._ Young Dolabella! + +_Vent._ Young, I think him young, +And handsome too; and so do others think him. +But what of that? He went by your command, +Indeed 'tis probable, with some kind message; +For she received it graciously; she smiled; +And then he grew familiar with her hand, +Squeezed it, and worried it with ravenous kisses; +She blushed, and sighed, and smiled, and blushed again; +At last she took occasion to talk softly, +And brought her cheek up close, and leaned on his; +At which, he whispered kisses back on hers; +And then she cried aloud,--That constancy +Should be rewarded. + +_Octav._ This I saw and heard. + +_Ant._ What woman was it, whom you heard and saw +So playful with my friend! +Not Cleopatra? + +_Vent._ Even she, my lord. + +_Ant._ My Cleopatra? + +_Vent._ Your Cleopatra; +Dolabella's Cleopatra; +Every man's Cleopatra[3]. + +_Ant._ Thou liest. + +_Vent._ I do not lie, my lord. +Is this so strange? Should mistresses be left, +And not provide against a time of change? +You know she's not much used to lonely nights. + +_Ant._ I'll think no more on't. +I know 'tis false, and see the plot betwixt you.-- +You needed not have gone this way, Octavia. +What harms it you that Cleopatra's just? +She's mine no more. I see, and I forgive: +Urge it no farther, love. + +_Octav._ Are you concerned, +That she's found false? + +_Ant._ I should be, were it so; +For, though 'tis past, I would not that the world +Should tax my former choice, that I loved one +Of so light note; but I forgive you both. + +_Vent._ What has my age deserved, that you should think +I would abuse your ears with perjury? +If heaven be true, she's false. + +_Ant._ Though heaven and earth +Should witness it, I'll not believe her tainted. + +_Vent._ I'll bring you, then, a witness +From hell, to prove her so.--Nay, go not back; + [_Seeing_ ALEXAS _just entering, and starting back._ +For stay you must and shall. + +_Alex._ What means my lord? + +_Vent._ To make you do what most you hate,--speak truth. +You are of Cleopatra's private counsel, +Of her bed-counsel, her lascivious hours; +Are conscious of each nightly change she makes, +And watch her, as Chaldęans do the moon, +Can tell what signs she passes through, what day. + +_Alex._ My noble lord! + +_Vent._ My most illustrious pandar, +No fine set speech, no cadence, no turned periods, +But a plain home-spun truth, is what I ask: +I did, myself, o'erhear your queen make love +To Dolabella. Speak; for I will know, +By your confession, what more past betwixt them; +How near the business draws to your employment; +And when the happy hour. + +_Ant._ Speak truth, Alexas; whether it offend +Or please Ventidius, care not: Justify +Thy injured queen from malice: Dare his worst. + +_Octav._ [_Aside._] +See, how he gives him courage! how he fears +To find her false! and shuts his eyes to truth, +Willing to be misled! + +_Alex._ As far as love may plead for woman's frailty, +Urged by desert and greatness of the lover, +So far, divine Octavia, may my queen +Stand even excused to you, for loving him, +Who is your lord: so far, from brave Ventidius, +May her past actions hope a fair report. + +_Ant._ 'Tis well, and truly spoken: mark, Ventidius. + +_Alex._ To you, most noble emperor, her strong passion +Stands not excused, but wholly justified. +Her beauty's charms alone, without her crown, +From Ind and Meroe drew the distant vows +Of sighing kings; and at her feet were laid +The sceptres of the earth, exposed on heaps, +To chuse where she would reign: +She thought a Roman only could deserve her, +And, of all Romans, only Antony; +And, to be less than wife to you, disdained +Their lawful passion. + +_Ant._ 'Tis but truth. + +_Alex._ And yet, though love, and your unmatched desert, +Have drawn her from the due regard of honour, +At last heaven opened her unwilling eyes +To see the wrongs she offered fair Octavia, +Whose holy bed she lawlessly usurped. +The sad effects of this improsperous war +Confirmed those pious thoughts. + +_Vent._ [_Aside._] O, wheel you there? +Observe him now; the man begins to mend, +And talk substantial reason.--Fear not, eunuch; +The emperor has given thee leave to speak. + +_Alex._ Else had I never dared to offend his ears +With what the last necessity has urged +On my forsaken mistress; yet I must not +Presume to say, her heart is wholly altered. + +_Ant._ No, dare not for thy life, I charge thee dare not +Pronounce that fatal word! + +_Octav._ Must I bear this? Good heaven, afford me patience. [_Aside._ + +_Vent._ On, sweet eunuch; my dear half man, proceed. + +_Alex._ Yet Dolabella +Has loved her long; he, next my godlike lord, +Deserves her best; and should she meet his passion, +Rejected, as she is, by him she loved-- + +_Ant._ Hence from my sight! for I can bear no more: +Let furies drag thee quick to hell; let all +The longer damned have rest; each torturing hand +Do thou employ, till Cleopatra comes; +Then join thou too, and help to torture her! + [_Exit_ ALEXAS, _thrust out by_ ANTONY. + +_Octav._ 'Tis not well, +Indeed, my lord, 'tis much unkind to me, +To show this passion, this extreme concernment, +For an abandoned, faithless prostitute. + +_Ant._ Octavia, leave me; I am much disordered: +Leave me, I say. + +_Octav._ My lord! + +_Ant._ I bid you leave me. + +_Vent._ Obey him, madam: best withdraw a while. +And see how this will work. + +_Octav._ Wherein have I offended you, my lord, +That I am bid to leave you? Am I false, +Or infamous? Am I a Cleopatra? +Were I she, +Base as she is, you would not bid me leave you: +But hang upon my neck, take slight excuses, +And fawn upon my falsehood. + +_Ant._ 'Tis too much, +Too much, Octavia; I am prest with sorrows +Too heavy to be borne; and you add more: +I would retire, and recollect what's left +Of man within, to aid me. + +_Octav._ You would mourn, +In private, for your love, who has betrayed you. +You did but half return to me: your kindness +Lingered behind with her. I hear, my lord, +You make conditions for her, +And would include her treaty. Wonderous proofs +Of love to me! + +_Ant._ Are you my friend, Ventidius? +Or are you turned a Dolabella too, +And let this Fury loose? + +_Vent._ Oh, be advised, +Sweet madam, and retire. + +_Octav._ Yes, I will go; but never to return. +You shall no more be haunted with this Fury. +My lord, my lord, love will not always last, +When urged with long unkindness and disdain: +Take her again, whom you prefer to me; +She stays but to be called. Poor cozened man! +Let a feigned parting give her back your heart, +Which a feigned love first got; for injured me, +Though my just sense of wrongs forbid my stay, +My duty shall be yours. +To the dear pledges of our former love, +My tenderness and care shall be transferred, +And they shall cheer, by turns, my widowed nights: +So, take my last farewell; for I despair +To have you whole, and scorn to take you half. [_Exit._ + +_Vent._ I combat heaven, which blasts my best designs: +My last attempt must be to win her back; +But Oh, I fear in vain. [_Exit._ + +_Ant._ Why was I framed with this plain honest heart, +Which knows not to disguise its griefs and weakness. +But bears its workings outward to the world? +I should have kept the mighty anguish in, +And forced a smile at Cleopatra's falsehood: +Octavia had believed it, and had staid. +But I am made a shallow-forded stream, +Seen to the bottom: all my clearness scorned, +And all my faults exposed.--See where he comes. + + _Enter_ DOLABELLA. + +Who has profaned the sacred name of friend, +And worn it into vileness! +With how secure a brow, and specious form, +He gilds the secret villain! Sure that face +Was meant for honesty; but heaven mis-matched it, +And furnished treason out with Nature's pomp, +To make its work more easy. + +_Dola._ O, my friend! + +_Ant._ Well, Dolabella, you performed my message? + +_Dola._ I did, unwillingly. + +_Ant._ Unwillingly? +Was it so hard for you to bear our parting? +You should have wished it. + +_Dola._ Why? + +_Ant._ Because you love me. +And she received my message, with as true, +With as unfeigned a sorrow, as you brought it? + +_Dola._ She loves you, even to madness. + +_Ant._ Oh, I know it. +You, Dolabella, do not better know +How much she loves me. And should I +Forsake this beauty? This all-perfect creature? + +_Dola._ I could not, were she mine. + +_Ant._ And yet you first +Persuaded me: How come you altered since? + +_Dola._ I said at first I was not fit to go: +I could not bear her sighs, and see her tears, +But pity must prevail: And so, perhaps, +It may again with you; for I have promised, +That she should take her last farewell: And, see, +She comes to claim my word. + + _Enter_ CLEOPATRA. + +_Ant._ False Dolabella! + +_Dola._ What's false, my lord? + +_Ant._ Why, Dolabella's false, +And Cleopatra's false; both false and faithless. +Draw near, you well-joined wickedness, you serpents +Whom I have in my kindly bosom warmed, +Till I am stung to death. + +_Dola._ My lord, have I +Deserved to be thus used? + +_Cleo._ Can heaven prepare +A newer torment? Can it find a curse +Beyond our separation? + +_Ant._ Yes, if fate +Be just, much greater: Heaven should be ingenious +In punishing such crimes. The rolling-stone, +And gnawing vulture, were slight pains, invented +When Jove was young, and no examples known +Of mighty ills; but you have ripened sin, +To such a monstrous growth, 'twill pose the gods, +To find an equal torture. Two, two such!-- +Oh there's no farther name,--two such! to me, +To me, who locked my soul within your breasts, +Had no desires, no joys, no life, but you; +When half the globe was mine, I gave it you +In dowry with my heart; I had no use, +No fruit of all, but you: A friend and mistress, +Was what the world could give. Oh, Cleopatra! +Oh Dolabella! how could you betray +This tender heart, which with an infant fondness +Lay lulled betwixt your bosoms, and there slept, +Secure of injured faith? + +_Dola._ If she has wronged you, +Heaven, hell, and you, revenge it. + +_Ant._ If she has wronged me! +Thou would'st evade thy part of guilt; but swear +Thou lov'st not her. + +_Dola._ Not so as I love you. + +_Ant._ Not so! Swear, swear, I say, thou dost not love her. + +_Dola._ No more than friendship will allow. + +_Ant._ No more? +Friendship allows thee nothing: Thou art perjured-- +And yet thou didst not swear thou lov'dst her not; +But not so much, no more. Oh, trifling hypocrite, +Who darest not own to her, thou dost not love, +Nor own to me, thou dost! Ventidius heard it; +Octavia saw it. + +_Cleo._ They are enemies. + +_Ant._ Alexas is not so: He, he confest it; +He, who, next hell, best knew it, he avowed it +Why do I seek a proof beyond yourself? [_To_ DOLA. +You, whom I sent to bear my last farewell, +Returned, to plead her stay. + +_Dola._ What shall I answer? +If to have loved be guilt, then I have sinned; +But if to have repented of that love, +Can wash away my crime, I have repented. +Yet, if I have offended past forgiveness, +Let her not suffer: She is innocent. + +_Cleo._ Ah, what will not a woman do, who loves! +What means will she refuse, to keep that heart, +Where all her joys are placed! 'Twas I encouraged, +'Twas I blew up the fire that scorched his soul, +To make you jealous, and by that regain you. +But all in vain; I could not counterfeit: +In spite of all the dams, my love broke o'er, +And drowned my heart again; fate took the occasion; +And thus one minute's feigning has destroyed +My whole life's truth. + +_Ant._ Thin cobweb arts of falsehood; +Seen, and broke through at first. + +_Dola._ Forgive your mistress. + +_Cleo._ Forgive your friend. + +_Ant._ You have convinced yourselves. +You plead each other's cause: What witness have you, +That you but meant to raise my jealousy? + +_Cleo._ Ourselves, and heaven. + +_Ant._ Guilt witnesses for guilt. Hence, love and friendship! +You have no longer place in human breasts, +These two have driven you out: Avoid my sight! +I would not kill the man whom I have loved, +And cannot hurt the woman; but avoid me: +I do not know how long I can be tame; +For, if I stay one minute more, to think +How I am wronged, my justice and revenge +Will cry so loud within me, that my pity +Will not be heard for either. + +_Dola._ Heaven has but +Our sorrow for our sins; and then delights +To pardon erring man: Sweet mercy seems +Its darling attribute, which limits justice; +As if there were degrees in infinite, +And infinite would rather want perfection, +Than punish to extent. + +_Ant._ I can forgive +A foe; but not a mistress, and a friend. +Treason is there in its most horrid shape, +Where trust is greatest; and the soul, resigned, +Is stabbed by its own guards: I'll hear no more; +Hence from my sight, for ever! + +_Cleo._ How? for ever! +I cannot go one moment from your sight, +And must I go for ever? +My joys, my only joys, are centered here: +What place have I to go to? My own kingdom? +That I have lost for you: Or to the Romans? +They hate me for your sake: Or must I wander +The wide world o'er, a helpless, banished woman, +Banished for love of you; banished from you? +Ay, there's the banishment! Oh hear me; hear me. +With strictest justice: For I beg no favour; +And if I have offended you, then kill me, +But do not banish me. + +_Ant._ I must not hear you. +I have a fool within me, takes your part; +But honour stops my ears. + +_Cleo._ For pity hear me! +Would you cast off a slave who followed you? +Who crouched beneath your spurn?--He has no pity! +See, if he gives one tear to my departure; +One look, one kind farewell: Oh iron heart! +Let all the gods look down, and judge betwixt us. +If he did ever love! + +_Ant._ No more: Alexas! + +_Dola._ A perjured villain! + +_Ant._ [_To_ CLEO.] Your Alexas; yours. + +_Cleo._ O 'twas his plot; his ruinous design, +To engage you in my love by jealousy. +Hear him; confront him with me; let him speak. + +_Ant._ I have; I have. + +_Cleo._ And if he clear me not-- + +_Ant._ Your creature! one, who hangs upon your smiles! +Watches your eye, to say or to unsay, +Whate'er you please! I am not to be moved. + +_Cleo._ Then must we part? Farewell, my cruel lord! +The appearance is against me; and I go, +Unjustified, for ever from your sight. +How I have loved, you know; how yet I love, +My only comfort is, I know myself: +I love you more, even now you are unkind, +Than when you loved me most; so well, so truly, +I'll never strive against it; but die pleased, +To think you once were mine. + +_Ant._ Good heaven, they weep at parting. +Must I weep too? that calls them innocent. +I must not weep; and yet I must, to think +That I must not forgive.-- +Live, but live wretched; 'tis but just you should, +Who made me so: Live from each other's sight: +Let me not hear you meet. Set all the earth, +And all the seas, betwixt your sundered loves: +View nothing common but the sun and skies. +Now, all take several ways; + And each your own sad fate, with mine, deplore; + That you were false, and I could trust no more. [_Exeunt severally._ + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + + _Enter_ CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, _and_ IRAS. + +_Char._ Be juster, heaven; such virtue punished thus, +Will make us think that chance rules all above, +And shuffles, with a random hand, the lots, +Which man is forced to draw. + +_Cleo._ I could tear out these eyes, that gained his heart, +And had not power to keep it. O the curse +Of doting on, even when I find it dotage! +Bear witness, gods, you heard him bid me go; +You, whom he mocked with imprecating vows +Of promised faith!--I'll die; I will not bear it. +You may hold me-- [_She pulls out her Dagger, and they hold her._ +But I can keep my breath; I can die inward, +And choke this love. + + _Enter_ ALEXAS. + +_Iras._ Help, O Alexas, help! +The queen grows desperate; her soul struggles in her, +With all the agonies of love and rage, +And strives to force its passage. + +_Cleo._ Let me go. +Art thou there, traitor!--O, +O for a little breath, to vent my rage! +Give, give me way, and let me loose upon him. + +_Alex._ Yes, I deserve it, for my ill-timed truth. +Was it for me to prop +The ruins of a falling majesty? +To place myself beneath the mighty flaw, +Thus to be crushed, and pounded into atoms, +By its o'erwhelming weight? 'Tis too presuming +For subjects to preserve that wilful power, +Which courts its own destruction. + +_Cleo._ I would reason +More calmly with you. Did not you o'er-rule, +And force my plain, direct, and open love, +Into these crooked paths of jealousy? +Now, what's the event? Octavia is removed; +But Cleopatra's banished. Thou, thou villain, +Hast pushed my boat to open sea; to prove, +At my sad cost, if thou canst steer it back. +It cannot be; I'm lost too far; I'm ruined: +Hence, thou impostor, traitor, monster, devil!-- +I can no more: Thou, and my griefs, have sunk +Me down so low, that I want voice to curse thee. + +_Alex._ Suppose some shipwrecked seaman near the shore, +Dropping and faint, with climbing up the cliff, +If, from above, some charitable hand +Pull him to safety, hazarding himself, +To draw the other's weight; would he look back, +And curse him for his pains? The case is yours; +But one step more, and you have gained the height. + +_Cleo._ Sunk, never more to rise. + +_Alex._ Octavia's gone, and Dolabella banished. +Believe me, madam, Antony is yours. +His heart was never lost; but started off +To jealousy, love's last retreat and covert; +Where it lies hid in shades, watchful in silence, +And listening for the sound that calls it back. +Some other, any man, ('tis so advanced) +May perfect this unfinished work, which I +(Unhappy only to myself) have left +So easy to his hand. + +_Cleo._ Look well thou do't; else-- + +_Alex._ Else, what your silence threatens.--Antony +Is mounted up the Pharos; from whose turret, +He stands surveying our Egyptian gallies, +Engaged with Cęsar's fleet. Now death or conquest! +If the first happen, fate acquits my promise; +If we o'ercome, the conqueror is yours. [_A distant shout within._ + +_Char._ Have comfort, madam: Did you mark that shout? + [_Second shout nearer._ + +_Iras._ Hark! they redouble it. + +_Alex._ 'Tis from the port. +The loudness shows it near: Good news, kind heavens! + +_Cleo._ Osiris make it so! + + _Enter_ SERAPION. + +_Serap._ Where, where's the queen? + +_Alex._ How frightfully the holy coward stares! +As if not yet recovered of the assault, +When all his gods, and, what's more dear to him, +His offerings, were at stake. + +_Serap._ O horror, horror! +Egypt has been; our latest hour is come: +The queen of nations, from her ancient seat, +Is sunk for ever in the dark abyss: +Time has unrolled her glories to the last, +And now closed up the volume. + +_Cleo._ Be more plain: +Say, whence thou comest; though fate is in thy face, +Which from thy hagard eyes looks wildly out, +And threatens ere thou speakest. + +_Serap._ I came from Pharos; +From viewing (spare me, and imagine it) +Our land's last hope, your navy-- + +_Cleo._ Vanquished? + +_Serap._ No; +They fought not. + +_Cleo._ Then they fled. + +_Serap._ Nor that. I saw, +With Antony, your well-appointed fleet +Row out; and thrice he waved his hand on high, +And thrice with cheerful cries they shouted back: +'Twas then false Fortune, like a fawning strumpet, +About to leave the bankrupt prodigal, +With a dissembled smile would kiss at parting, +And flatter to the last; the well-timed oars +Now dipt from every bank, now smoothly run +To meet the foe; and soon indeed they met, +But not as foes. In few, we saw their caps +On either side thrown up; the Egyptian gallies, +Received like friends, past through, and fell behind +The Roman rear: And now, they all come forward, +And ride within the port, + +_Cleo._ Enough, Serapion: +I've heard my doom.--This needed not, you gods: +When I lost Antony, your work was done; +'Tis but superfluous malice.--Where's my lord? +How bears he this last blow? + +_Serap._ His fury cannot be expressed by words: +Thrice he attempted headlong to have fallen +Full on his foes, and aimed at Cęsar's galley: +With-held, he raves on you; cries,--He's betrayed. +Should he now find you-- + +_Alex._ Shun him; seek your safety, +Till you can clear your innocence. + +_Cleo._ I'll stay. + +_Alex._ You must not; haste you to your monument, +While I make speed to Cęsar. + +_Cleo._ Cęsar! No, +I have no business with him. + +_Alex._ I can work him +To spare your life, and let this madman perish. + +_Cleo._ Base fawning wretch! would'st thou betray him too? +Hence from my sight! I will not hear a traitor; +'Twas thy design brought all this ruin on us.-- +Serapion, thou art honest; counsel me: +But haste, each moment's precious. + +_Serap._ Retire; you must not yet see Antony. +He who began this mischief, +'Tis just he tempt the danger; let him clear you: +And, since he offered you his servile tongue, +To gain a poor precarious life from Cęsar, +Let him expose that fawning eloquence, +And speak to Antony. + +_Alex._ O heavens! I dare not; +I meet my certain death. + +_Cleo._ Slave, thou deservest it,-- +Not that I fear my lord, will I avoid him; +I know him noble: when he banished me, +And thought me false, he scorned to take my life; +But I'll be justified, and then die with him. + +_Alex._ O pity me, and let me follow you. + +_Cleo._ To death, if thou stir hence. Speak, if thou canst, +Now for thy life, which basely thou wouldst save; +While mine I prize at this. Come, good Serapion. + [_Exeunt_ CLEO. SERAP. CHAR. _and_ IRAS. + +_Alex._ O that I less could fear to lose this being, +Which, like a snow-ball in my coward hand, +The more 'tis grasped, the faster melts away. +Poor reason! what a wretched aid art thou! +For still, in spite of thee, +These two long lovers, soul and body, dread +Their final separation. Let me think: +What can I say, to save myself from death? +No matter what becomes of Cleopatra. + +_Ant._ Which way? where? [_Within._ + +_Vent._ This leads to the monument. [_Within._ + +_Alex._ Ah me! I hear him; yet I'm unprepared: +My gift of lying's gone; +And this court-devil, which I so oft have raised, +Forsakes me at my need. I dare not stay; +Yet cannot far go hence. [_Exit._ + + _Enter_ ANTONY _and_ VENTIDIUS. + +_Ant._ O happy Cęsar! thou hast men to lead: +Think not 'tis thou hast conquered Antony; +But Rome has conquered Egypt. I'm betrayed. + +_Vent._ Curse on this treacherous train! +Their soil and heaven infect them all with baseness: +And their young souls come tainted to the world +With the first breath they draw. + +_Ant._ The original villain sure no God created; +He was a bastard of the sun, by Nile, +Aped into man; with all his mother's mud +Crusted about his soul. + +_Vent._ The nation is +One universal traitor; and their queen +The very spirit and extract of them all. + +_Ant._ Is there yet left +A possibility of aid from valour? +Is there one god unsworn to my destruction? +The least unmortgaged hope? for, if there be, +Methinks I cannot fall beneath the fate +Of such a boy as Cęsar. +The world's one half is yet in Antony; +And from each limb of it, that's hewed away, +The soul comes back to me. + +_Vent._ There yet remain +Three legions in the town. The last assault +Lopt off the rest: if death be your design,-- +As I must wish it now,--these are sufficient +To make a heap about us of dead foes, +An honest pile for burial. + +_Ant._ They are enough. +We'll not divide our stars; but, side by side, +Fight emulous, and with malicious eyes +Survey each other's acts: So every death +Thou giv'st, I'll take on me, as a just debt, +And pay thee back a soul. + +_Vent._ Now you shall see I love you. Not a word +Of chiding more. By my few hours of life, +I am so pleased with this brave Roman fate, +That I would not be Cęsar, to outlive you. +When we put off this flesh, and mount together, +I shall be shown to all the etherial crowd,-- +Lo, this is he who died with Antony! + +_Ant._ Who knows, but we may pierce through all their troops, +And reach my veterans yet? 'tis worth the tempting, +To o'erleap this gulph of fate, +And leave our wandering destinies behind. + + _Enter_ ALEXAS, _trembling._ + +_Vent._ See, see, that villain! +See Cleopatra stampt upon that face, +With all her cunning, all her arts of falsehood! +How she looks out through those dissembling eyes! +How he sets his countenance for deceit, +And promises a lie, before he speaks! +Let me dispatch him first. [_Drawing._ + +_Alex._ O spare me, spare me! + +_Ant._ Hold; he's not worth your killing.--On thy life, +Which thou may'st keep, because I scorn to take it, +No syllable to justify thy queen; +Save thy base tongue its office. + +_Alex._ Sir, she is gone, +Where she shall never be molested more +By love, or you. + +_Ant._ Fled to her Dolabella! +Die, traitor! I revoke my promise; die! [_Going to kill him._ + +_Alex._ O hold! she is not fled. + +_Ant._ She is: my eyes +Are open to her falsehood; my whole life +Has been a golden dream of love and friendship; +But, now I wake, I'm like a merchant, roused +From soft repose, to see his vessel sinking, +And all his wealth cast over. Ungrateful woman! +Who followed me, but as the swallow summer, +Hatching her young ones in my kindly beams, +Singing her flatteries to my morning wake: +But, now my winter comes, she spreads her wings +And seeks the spring of Cęsar. + +_Alex._ Think not so: +Her fortunes have, in all things, mixt with yours. +Had she betrayed her naval force to Rome, +How easily might she have gone to Cęsar, +Secure by such a bribe! + +_Vent._ She sent it first, +To be more welcome after. + +_Ant._ 'Tis too plain; +Else would she have appeared, to clear herself. + +_Alex._ Too fatally she has: she could not bear +To be accused by you; but shut herself +Within her monument; looked down and sighed; +While, from her unchanged face, the silent tears +Dropt, as they had not leave, but stole their parting. +Some undistinguished words she inly murmured; +At last, she rais'd her eyes; and, with such looks +As dying Lucrece cast-- + +_Ant._ My heart forebodes-- + +_Vent._ All for the best:--Go on. + +_Alex._ She snatched her poniard, +And, ere we could prevent the fatal blow, +Plunged it within her breast; then turned to me: +Go, bear my lord, said she, my last farewell; +And ask him, if he yet suspect my faith. +More she was saying, but death rushed betwixt. +She half pronounced your name with her last breath, +And buried half within her. + +_Vent._ Heaven be praised! + +_Ant._ Then art thou innocent, my poor dear love? +And art thou dead? +O those two words! their sound should be divided: +Hadst thou been false, and died; or hadst thou lived, +And hadst been true--But innocence and death! +This shows not well above. Then what am I, +The murderer of this truth, this innocence! +Thoughts cannot form themselves in words so horrid +As can express my guilt! + +_Vent._ Is't come to this? the gods have been too gracious; +And thus you thank them for it! + +_Ant._ [_To_ ALEX.] Why stayest thou here? +Is it for thee to spy upon my soul, +And see its inward mourning? Get thee hence; +Thou art not worthy to behold, what now +Becomes a Roman emperor to perform. + +_Alex._ He loves her still: +His grief betrays it. Good! the joy to find +She's yet alive, completes the reconcilement. +I've saved myself, and her. But, oh! the Romans! +Fate comes too fast upon my wit, +Hunts me too hard, and meets me at each double. [_Aside. Exit._ + +_Vent._ Would she had died a little sooner though! +Before Octavia went, you might have treated: +Now 'twill look tame, and would not be received. +Come, rouse yourself, and let's die warm together. + +_Ant._ I will not fight: there's no more work for war. +The business of my angry hours is done. + +_Vent._ Cęsar is at your gates. + +_Ant._ Why, let him enter; +He's welcome now. + +_Vent._ What lethargy has crept into your soul? + +_Ant._ 'Tis but a scorn of life, and just desire +To free myself from bondage. + +_Vent._ Do it bravely. + +_Ant._ I will; but not by fighting. O, Ventidius! +What should I fight for now? my queen is dead. +I was but great for her; my power, my empire, +Were but my merchandise to buy her love; +And conquered kings, my factors. Now she's dead, +Let Cęsar, take the world,-- +An empty circle, since the jewel's gone +Which made it worth my strife: my being's nauseous; +For all the bribes of life are gone away. + +_Vent._ Would you be taken? + +_Ant._ Yes, I would be taken; +But, as a Roman ought,--dead, my Ventidius: +For I'll convey my soul from Cęsar's reach, +And lay down life myself. 'Tis time the world +Should have a lord, and know whom to obey. +We two have kept its homage in suspence, +And bent the globe, on whose each side we trod, +Till it was dented inwards. Let him walk +Alone upon't: I'm weary of my part. +My torch is out; and the world stands before me, +Like a black desert at the approach of night: +I'll lay me down, and stray no farther on. + +_Vent._ I could be grieved, +But that I'll not out-live you: chuse your death; +For, I have seen him in such various shapes, +I care not which I take: I'm only troubled, +The life I bear is worn to such a rag, +'Tis scarce worth giving. I could wish, indeed, +We threw it from us with a better grace; +That, like two lions taken in the toils, +We might at last thrust out our paws, and wound +The hunters that inclose us. + +_Ant._ I have thought on it. +Ventidius, you must live. + +_Vent._ I must not, sir. + +_Ant._ Wilt thou not live, to speak some good of me? +To stand by my fair fame, and guard the approaches +From the ill tongues of men? + +_Vent._ Who shall guard mine, +For living after you? + +_Ant._ Say, I command it. + +_Vent._ If we die well, our deaths will speak themselves, +And need no living witness. + +_Ant._ Thou hast loved me, +And fain I would reward thee. I must die; +Kill me, and take the merit of my death, +To make thee friends with Cęsar. + +_Vent._ Thank your kindness. +You said I loved you; and, in recompence, +You bid me turn a traitor:--Did I think +You would have used me thus? that I should die +With a hard thought of you? + +_Ant._ Forgive me, Roman. +Since I have heard of Cleopatra's death, +My reason bears no rule upon my tongue, +But lets my thoughts break all at random out. +I've thought better; do not deny me twice. + +_Vent._ By heaven I will not. +Let it not be to out-live you. + +_Ant._ Kill me first, +And then die thou; for 'tis but just thou serve +Thy friend, before thyself. + +_Vent._ Give me your hand. +We soon shall meet again. Now, farewell, emperor!-- [_Embrace._ +Methinks that word's too cold to be my last: +Since death sweeps all distinctions, farewell, friend! +That's all-- +I will not make a business of a trifle: +And yet I cannot look on you, and kill you; +Pray turn your face. + +_Ant._ I do: strike home, be sure. + +_Vent._ Home, as my sword will reach. [_Kills himself._ + +_Ant._ O thou mistak'st; +That wound was none of thine: give it me back: +Thou robb'st me of my death. + +_Vent._ I do indeed; +But think 'tis the first time I e'er deceived you, +If that may plead my pardon.--And you, gods, +Forgive me, if you will; for I die perjured, +Rather than kill my friend. [_Dies._ + +_Ant._ Farewell! Ever my leader, even in death! +My queen and thou have got the start of me, +And I'm the lag of honour.--Gone so soon? +Is death no more? he used him carelessly, +With a familiar kindness: ere he knocked, +Ran to the door, and took him in his arms, +As who should say--You're welcome at all hours, +A friend need give no warning. Books had spoiled him; +For all the learned are cowards by profession. +'Tis not worth +My farther thought; for death, for aught I know, +Is but to think no more. Here's to be satisfied. + [_Falls on his sword._ +I've mist my heart. O unperforming hand! +Thou never could'st have erred in a worse time. +My fortune jades me to the last; and death, +Like a great man, takes state, and makes me wait +For my admittance.-- [_Trampling within._ +Some, perhaps, from Cęsar: +If he should find me living, and suspect +That I played booty with my life! I'll mend +My work, ere they can reach me. [_Rises upon his knees._ + + _Enter_ CLEOPATRA, CHARMION, _and_ IRAS. + +_Cleo._ Where is my lord? where is he? + +_Char._ There he lies, +And dead Ventidius by him. + +_Cleo._ My fears were prophets; I am come too late. +O that accursed Alexas! [_Runs to him._ + +_Ant._ Art thou living? +Or am I dead before I knew, and thou +The first kind ghost that meets me? + +_Cleo._ Help me seat him. +Send quickly, send for help! [_They place him in a chair._ + +_Ant._ I am answered. +We live both. Sit thee down, my Cleopatra: +I'll make the most I can of life, to stay +A moment more with thee. + +_Cleo._ How is it with you? + +_Ant._ 'Tis as with a man +Removing in a hurry; all packed up, +But one dear jewel that his haste forgot; +And he, for that, returns upon the spur: +So I come back for thee. + +_Cleo._ Too long, ye heavens, you have been cruel to me: +Now show your mended faith, and give me back +His fleeting life! + +_Ant._ It will not be, my love; +I keep my soul by force. +Say but, thou art not false. + +_Cleo._ 'Tis now too late +To say I'm true: I'll prove it, and die with you. +Unknown to me, Alexas feigned my death: +Which, when I knew, I hasted to prevent +This fatal consequence. My fleet betrayed +Both you and me. + +_Ant._ And Dolabella-- + +_Cleo._ Scarce esteemed before he loved; but hated now. + +_Ant._ Enough: my life's not long enough for more. +Thou say'st, thou wilt come after: I believe thee; +For I can now believe whate'er thou sayest, +That we may part more kindly. + +_Cleo._ I will come: +Doubt not, my life, I'll come, and quickly too: +Cęsar shall triumph o'er no part of thee. + +_Ant._ But grieve not, while thou stayest, +My last disastrous times: +Think we have had a clear and glorious day; +And heaven did kindly to delay the storm, +Just till our close of evening. Ten years love, +And not a moment lost, but all improved +To the utmost joys,--what ages have we liv'd? +And now to die each others; and, so dying, +While hand in hand we walk in groves below, +Whole troops of lovers' ghosts shall flock about us, +And all the train be ours. + +_Cleo._ Your words are like the notes of dying swans, +Too sweet to last. Were there so many hours +For your unkindness, and not one for love? + +_Ant._ No, not a minute.--This one kiss--more worth +Than all I leave to Cęsar. [_Dies._ + +_Cleo._ O, tell me so again, +And take ten thousand kisses for that word. +My lord, my lord! speak, if you yet have being; +Sign to me, if you cannot speak; or cast +One look! Do any thing, that shows you live. + +_Iras._ He's gone too far to hear you; +And this you see, a lump of senseless clay, +The leavings of a soul. + +_Char._ Remember, madam, +He charged you not to grieve. + +_Cleo._ And I'll obey him. +I have not loved a Roman, not to know +What should become his wife; his wife, my Charmion! +For 'tis to that high title I aspire; +And now I'll not die less. Let dull Octavia +Survive, to mourn him dead: My nobler fate +Shall knit our spousals with a tie, too strong +For Roman laws to break. + +_Iras._ Will you then die? + +_Cleo._ Why should'st thou make that question? + +_Iras._ Cęsar is most merciful. + +_Cleo._ Let him be so +To those that want his mercy: My poor lord +Made no such covenant with him, to spare me +When he was dead. Yield me to Cęsar's pride? +What! to be led in triumph through the streets, +A spectacle to base plebeian eyes; +While some dejected friend of Antony's, +Close in a corner, shakes his head, and mutters +A secret curse on her, who ruined him! +I'll none of that. + +_Char._ Whatever you resolve, +I'll follow, even to death. + +_Iras._ I only feared +For you; but more should fear to live without you. + +_Cleo._ Why, now, 'tis as it should be. Quick, my friends, +Despatch; ere this, the town's in Cęsar's hands: +My lord looks down concerned, and fears my stay, +Lest I should be surprised; +Keep him not waiting for his love too long. +You, Charmion, bring my crown and richest jewels; +With them, the wreath of victory I made +(Vain augury!) for him, who now lies dead: +You, Iras, bring the cure of all our ills. + +_Iras._ The aspicks, madam? + +_Cleo._ Must I bid you twice? [_Ex._ CHAR. _and_ IRAS. +'Tis sweet to die, when they would force life on me, +To rush into the dark abode of death, +And seize him first; if he be like my love, +He is not frightful, sure. +We're now alone, in secresy and silence; +And is not this like lovers? I may kiss +These pale, cold lips; Octavia does not see me: +And, oh! 'tis better far to have him thus, +Than see him in her arms.--O welcome, welcome! + + _Enter_ CHARMION _and_ IRAS. + +_Char._ What must be done? + +_Cleo._ Short ceremony, friends; +But yet it must be decent. First, this laurel +Shall crown my hero's head: he fell not basely, +Nor left his shield behind him.--Only thou +Could'st triumph o'er thyself; and thou alone +Wert worthy so to triumph. + +_Char._ To what end +These ensigns of your pomp and royalty? + +_Cleo._ Dull, that thou art! why,'tis to meet my love; +As when I saw him first, on Cydnos' bank, +All sparkling, like a goddess: so adorned, +I'll find him once again; my second spousals +Shall match my first in glory. Haste, haste, both, +And dress the bride of Antony. + +_Char._ 'Tis done. + +_Cleo._ Now seat me by my lord. I claim this place; +For I must conquer Cęsar too, like him, +And win my share of the world.--Hail, you dear relicks +Of my immortal love! +O let no impious hand remove you hence; +But rest for ever here! Let Egypt give +His death that peace, which it denied his life.-- +Reach me the casket. + +_Iras._ Underneath the fruit the aspick lies. + +_Cleo._ Welcome, thou kind deceiver! [_Putting aside the leaves._ +Thou best of thieves; who, with an easy key, +Dost open life, and, unperceived by us, +Even steal us from ourselves; discharging so +Death's dreadful office, better than himself; +Touching our limbs so gently into slumber, +That death stands by, deceived by his own image, +And thinks himself but sleep. + +_Serap._ The queen, where is she? [_Within._ +The town is yielded, Cęsar's at the gates. + +_Cleo._ He comes too late to invade the rights of death. +Haste, bare my arm, and rouse the serpent's fury. + [_Holds out her arm, and draws it back._ +Coward flesh, +Would'st thou conspire with Cęsar to betray me, +As thou wert none of mine? I'll force thee to it, +And not be sent by him, +But bring myself, my soul, to Antony. + [_Turns aside, and then shows her arm bloody._ +Take hence; the work is done. + +_Serap._ Break ope the door, [_Within._ +And guard the traitor well. + +_Char._ The next is ours. + +_Iras._ Now, Charmion, to be worthy +Of our great queen and mistress. [_They apply the aspicks._ + +_Cleo._ Already, death, I feel thee in my veins: +I go with such a will to find my lord, +That we shall quickly meet. +A heavy numbness creeps through every limb, +And now 'tis at my head: My eye-lids fall, +And my dear love is vanished in a mist. +Where shall I find him, where? O turn me to him, +And lay me on his breast!--Cęsar, thy worst; +Now part us, if thou canst. [_Dies._ + [IRAS _sinks down at her feet, and dies;_ CHARMION + _stands behind her chair, as dressing her head._ + + _Enter_ SERAPION, _two Priests,_ ALEXAS _bound, Egyptians._ + +_Priest._ Behold, Serapion, what havock death has made! + +_Serap._ 'Twas what I feared.-- +Charmion, is this well done? + +_Char._ Yes, 'tis well done, and like a queen, the last +Of her great race: I follow her. [_Sinks down; dies._ + +_Alex._ 'Tis true, +She has done well: Much better thus to die, +Than live to make a holiday in Rome. + +_Serap._ See, how the lovers sit in state together, +As they were giving laws to half mankind! +The impression of a smile, left in her face, +Shows she died pleased with him for whom she lived. +And went to charm him in another +Cęsar's just entering: grief has now no leisure. +Secure that villain, as our pledge of safety, +To grace the imperial triumph.--Sleep, blest pair, +Secure from human chance, long ages out, +While all the storms of fate fly o'er your tomb; + And fame to late posterity shall tell, + No lovers lived so great, or died so well. [_Exeunt._ + + +Footnotes: +1. There was anciently some foolish idea about a wren soaring on an + eagle's back. Colley Cibber, as Dr Johnson observed, converted the + wren into a linnet: + + Perched on the eagle's towering wing, + The lowly linnet loves to sing. + +2. Approach there--Ay, you kite!-- + --Now, gods and devils! + Authority melts from me: of late, when I cried ho! + Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth + And cry, your will.--Have you no ears? + I am Antony yet.-- + + The same idea, which bursts from Shakespeare's Antony in a + transport of passion, is used by Dryden's hero. The one is goaded + by the painful feeling of lost power; to the other, absorbed in his + sentimental distresses, it only occurs as a subject of melancholy, + but not of agitating reflection. + +3. Imitated, or rather copied, from Shakespeare. + + _Don John._ I came hither to tell you, and circumstances shortened + (for she hath been too long a talking of) the lady is disloyal. + + _Claudia._ Who? Hero? + + _Don John._ Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero. + + + + + EPILOGUE. + + + Poets, like disputants, when reasons fail, + Have one sure refuge left--and that's to rail. + Fop, coxcomb, fool, are thundered through the pit; + And this is all their equipage of wit. + We wonder how the devil this difference grows, + Betwixt our fools in verse, and yours in prose: + For, 'faith, the quarrel rightly understood, + 'Tis civil war with their own flesh and blood. + The thread-bare author hates the gaudy coat; + And swears at the gilt coach, but swears a-foot; + For 'tis observed of every scribbling man, + He grows a fop as fast as e'er he can; + Prunes up, and asks his oracle, the glass, + If pink and purple best become his face. + For our poor wretch, he neither rails nor prays; + Nor likes your wit just as you like his plays; + He has not yet so much of Mr Bayes. + He does his best; and if he cannot please, + Would quietly sue out his _writ of ease_. + Yet, if he might his own grand jury call, + By the fair sex he begs to stand or fall. + Let Cęsar's power the men's ambition move, + But grace you him, who lost the world for love! + Yet if some antiquated lady say, + The last age is not copied in his play; + Heaven help the man who for that face must drudge, + Which only has the wrinkles of a judge. + Let not the young and beauteous join with those; + For should you raise such numerous hosts of foes, + Young wits and sparks he to his aid must call; + 'Tis more than one man's work to please you all. + + + * * * * * + + + END OF THE FIFTH VOLUME. + + + Edinburgh: + + Printed by James Ballantyne & Co. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of John Dryden, Volume 5 (of +18), by John Dryden + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN *** + +***** This file should be named 16208-8.txt or 16208-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/2/0/16208/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Fred Robinson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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