1
AW
i/ (P'
C A T O.
A
T R A. GT E D Y.
WRITTEN BY
MR. A D D I S O N.
Marked with the Variations in the
M A N A G E R's BOOK,
;
AT THE
in
Ecce Speftdculum dignum, ad quod refpiriat, intentus open fuo, Deus ! Ecce par Deo dignumy <vir 'fortis cum mala. fortuna compofitus ! ^Non <video, inquam, quid habeat in terris Jupiter pulckriusy Ji converters animum welif, quant ut fpettet Catonem, jam partibus non feme I fraftis, nihilotninus inter ruinas publicas erettum*
Sen. de Divin. Prov.
LONDON:
Printed for J. RIVINGTON and SONS; W. STRAHAN;
-W. OWEN and SON; T. LONGMAN j R. BALDWIN j
L. DAVIS; T. and W. LOWNDES ; S. BLADON; R.
HORSFIELDJ T. CADELL; J.KOBSON; G. ROBINSON j
W. NICOLL j B. LAW, and W. FLEXNEY.
M.DCC.LXXXIV.
Reader Is defired to obferve, that the Paflages omitted in the Reprefentation at the Theatres are here preferved, and marked with inverted Commas, as, in Line 15, Page 17.]
VERSES
To the AUTHOR of the TRAGEDY OF CATO,
WHILE you the fierce divided Britons awe, And Cato with an equal virtue draw; While Envy is itfelf in wonder lofty And faftions ft rive who Jhall applaud you moft ; Forgive the fond ambition of a friend, Who hopes himfelf, not you, to recommend r And joins th* applaufe which all the learn'd beftow On one, to whom a perfect; work they owe. To my * light fcenes I once infcrib'd your name, And impotently ftrove to borrow fama; Soon will that die, which adds thy name to mine: Let me, then, live, join'd a work of thine.
RICHARD STEELE,
* Tender Huflband, dedicated to Mr. Addifca,
THO' Cato mines in Virgil's epic fong, Prefcribing laws among th' Elyjtan throng ; Though Lucan's verfe, exalted by his name, O'er Gods themfelves has rais'd the hero's fame : The Roman ilage did ne'er his image fee, Drawn at full length ; a talk referv'd for thee. By thee we view the finifti'd figure rife, And awful march before our ravifh'd eyes ; We hear his voice, averting virtue's caufe : His fate renew'd our deep attention draws, Excites by turns our various hopes and fears, And all the patriot in thy fcene appears.
A 2 On
[ 4 ]
On TV^r's banks thy thought was firft infpir'd ; 'Twas there, to fome indulgent grove retir'd, Rome^ ancient fortunes rolling in thy mind, Thy happy Mufe this manly, work defign'd : Or in a dream thou faw'fl Rome's genius fland, And, leading Cato in his facred hand, Point out th' immortal fubjecl: to thy lays, And aik this labour, to record his praife. 'Tis done — the hero lives, and charms our age ! While nobler morals grace the Britijk ilage. Great Shakefpeare's ghoft, the folemn ftrain to bear, (Methinks 1 fee the laurel'd (hade appear !) Will hover o'er the fcene, and wond'ring view His fav'rite Brutus rival'd thus by you. Such Roman greatnefs in fuch aftion mines, .Such Roman eloquence a'dorn your lines, That fure the Sibyls books this year foretold, And in fome myilic leaf was feen inroll'd,
Rome, turn thy mournful eyes from Africk^ Ihore, Nor in her fands thy Cafe's tomb explore ! When thrice fix hundred times the circling fun, His annual race mall through the zodiac run, An ifle remote his monument mail rear, And ev'ry generous Bri'ton pay a tear.'
J. HUGHES,
WHAT do we fee ! Is Cato then become A greater name in Britain than in Rome ? Does mankind now admire his virtues more, Though Lucan, Horace, Virgil, wrote before ? How will pofterity this truth explain ? *' Cato begins to live in Anna's reign:5' The world's great chiefs, in council or in arms, Riie in your lines with more exalted charms ; IlJuitrious deeds in diilant nations wrought, And virtues by departed heroes taught ; Raffe in your foul a pure immortal flame, Adorn your life, and confecrate your fame';
To
[ 5 J
To your renown all ages you fubdue, And Ctefar fought, and Cato bled for you.
All Souls College \ Oxon. EDWARD Yo u N c E .
* i ^IS nobly done thus to enrich the ftage,
And raife the thoughts of a degen'rate age ; To mew how endlefs joys from freedom fpring, How life ia bondage is a worthless thing. The inborn greatnefs of your foul we view, You tread the paths frequented by the few ; With fo much ftrength you write and fo much eafe, Virtue and fenfe ' how duril you hope to pleafe r Yet crowds the fentiments of ev'ry line Impartial clap'd, and own'd the work divine. Ev'n the four critics, who malicious came, Eager to cenfure, and refolv'd to blame, Finding the hero regularly rife, Great while he lives, but greater when he dies, Sullen approv'd, too obftinate to melt, And ficken'd with the pleafures which they felt. Not fo the fair their paffions fecret kept, Silent they heard, but as they heard, they wept ; When glorioufly the blooming Marcus dy'd, And Cato told the Gods, Pm fathfied.
See ! how your lays the Eritijh youth inflame » They long to fhoot and ripen into fame, Applauding theatres difiurb their reit, And unborn Caios heave in ev'ry brcail ; Their nightly dreams, their daily thoughts repeat, And pulfes high with fancy'd glories beat. So, griev'd to view the Marathonian fpoils, The young Themijtocks vow'd equal toils ; Did then his fchemes of future honours craw From the long triumphs which with tears he faw.
How (hall 1 your unrival'd worth proclaim, Loft in the fpreading circle of your fame ! We faw you the great William's praife rehearfe, And paint Britannia's joys in Romqn verfe.
A 3 We
[ 6 ]
We heard at diftance, foft enchanting flrains,
From blooming mountains, and Italian plains.
Virgil began in Englijb drefs to mine,
His voice, his looks, his grandeur ftill divine:
From him too foon unfriendly you withdrew,
But brought the, tuneful Ovid to our view.
Then the delightful theme of ev'ry tongue,
Til' immortal Marltfrcugb was your darling fong.
From clime to clime the mighty vi<5tor flew,
From clime to clime as fwiftly you purfue.
Still with the hero's glovv'd the poet's flame,
Still with his conqueits you enlarg'd your fame.
With boundlefs raptures here the mufe could Avell,
And on your Rofamond for ever dwell :
There opening iweets, and ev'ry fragn.-.t flow'r
Luxuriant fmile, a never fading bovv'r !
Next, human follies kindly to expofe,
You change from number?, but not fink in profe ;
Whether in viiionary fcenes you play,
Refine our taltes, or laugh our crimes away.
Now, by the bufkin'd mufe you mine confeft,
The patriot kindles in the poet's breaft.
Such energy of fenfe might pleafure raife,
Tho' unembellifh'd with the charms of phrafe :
Such charms of phrafe would with fuccefs be crown'd,
Tho' nonfenfe flow'd in the melodious found.
The chafleft virgin needs no blufhes fear,
The learn'd themfelves, not uninftru&ed, hear.
The libertine, in pleafures us'd to roll,
And idly {port with an immortal foul,
Here comes, and by the virtuous heathen taught,
Turns pale, and trembles at the dreadful thought.
Whene'er you traverfe vail Numidias plains, What fluggifh Briton in his iile remains ? When Juba feeks the tiger with delight, We beat the thicket, and provoke the fight; By the defcription warm'd, we fondly fweat, And in the chilling call wind pant with heat. What eyes behold not, how the fir earn refines, ^
'Till ky degrees the f oat ing mirror ffiines ?
While
[ 7 ]
While hurricanes in circling eddies playt Tear up thefands^ and ' ftveep whole plains away, We fhrinkr with horror, and confefs our fear, And all the fudden founding ruin hear. When purple robes, diftain'd with blood, deceive, And make poor Marcia beautifully grieve ; When me her fecret thoughts no more conceals, Forgets the woman, and her flame reveals; Well may the prince exult with noble pride, Not for his Libyan crown, but Roman bride.
But T in vain on fingle features dwell, While all the parts of the fair piece excel. So rich the ftore, fo dubious is the feaft, We know not which to pafs, or which to tafte. The mining incidents fo juftly fall, We may the whole new fcenes of tranfport call. Thus jewellers confound our wand'ring eyes, And with variety of gems furprize : Here/apktres, here the Sardian ftone is feen, The topaz yellow, and the jafper green. The coftly brilliant there, confus'dly bright, From num'rous furfaces darts trembling The different colours mingle in a blaze, Silent we Hand, unable where to praife, In pleafure fweetly loft ten thoufand ways.
I
TO O long hath love engrofs'd Britannia's ftage, And fung to foftnefs all our tragic rage : By that alone did empires fall or rife, And fate depended on a fair one's eyes : The fweet infection, mix'd with dang'rous art, Debas'd our manhood, while it footh'd the heart. You fcorn to raife a grief yourfelf mult blame, Nor from our weaknefs fteal a vulgar fame ; A patriot's fall muft juftly melt the mind, And tears flow nobly, Ihed for all mankind.
A How
[• 8 3-
How do our fouls with gen'rous pleafure glow I Our hearts exulting, while our eyes o'erflow, When thy firm hero flands beneath the weight . Of all his fufPrings, venerably great ; Rome's poor remains ftill melt'ring by his fide, - With confcious virtue, and becoming pride.
The aged oak thus rears his head in air, His fap exhaufted, and his branches bare ; 'Midft ilorms and earthquakes he maintains his ftate, Fixt deep in earth, and faften'd by his weight : His naked boughs, ftill lend the mepherds aid, A&d his old trunk projects an aweful (hade.
Amidft the joys triumphant peace bellows, Our patriots fadden at his glorious woes, Awhile they let^he world's great bus'nefs wait, Anxious for Rome, and £gh for Cato's fate. Here taught how ancient heroes rofe to fame, Our Britons crowd, and catch the Roman flame t Where ftates and fenates well might lend an ear, And kings and priefts without a blufli appear.
France boafts no more, but, fearful to engage, Now firil pays homage to her rival's ftage ; Haftes to learn thee, and learning mall fubmit, Alike to Britifo arms, m&-BritiJh wit: No more ihe'll wonder, (fprc'd to do us right,). Who think like Romans, could like Romans fight.
Thy Oxford fmiles this glorious work to fee, And fondly triumphs in a fon like thee. The fenates, confuls, and the Gods of Rome, Like old acquaintance at their native home, la thee we find : each deed, each word expreft, And ev'ry thought that fwell'd a Roman breaft. We trace each hint that could thy foul infpire, With Virgil's judgment, and with Lucan's fire: We know thy worth, and give us leave to boaft, We moil admire, becaufe \ve know thee moft.
THO. TICKELL. Qxon*
SIR,
I 9 I SIR,
HEN yourgen'rous labour firil I view'd,
w
And Cato's hands in his own blood embru'd, That fcene of death fo terrible appears, My foul could only thank you with her tears. Yet with fuch wondrous art your fkilful hand Does all the paffions of the foul command, That ev'n my grief to praife and wonder turn'd, And envy'd the great death which firft I mourn'd.
What pen, but yours, could draw the doubtful itrife Of honour Struggling with the love of life ? Defcribe the patriot, obilinately good, As hov'ring o'er eternity he Itood : The wide, th' unbounded ocean lay before His piercing fight, and Heav'n the diihnt more, Secure of endlefs blifs, with fearlefs eyes, He grafps the dagger, and its point denes, And rufhes out of life to match the glorious prize.
How would oldN Rome rejoice to hear you tell How juft her patriot liv'd, how great he fell I Recount his wondrous probity and truth, And form new J#b& in the Britifo youth. Their gen'rous fowls, when he refigns his breath, Are pleas'd with ruin, and in love with death ; And when her conq'rihg fword Britannia draws, Refolve to perilh, or defend her caufe. Now firft on dlbion's theatre we fee A perfect image of what man mould be ; The glorious chara6ter is now expreft, , Of virtue, dwelling in a human breaft, Drawn at full length by your immortal lines, In Cato's foul, as in her Heav'n, fhe {nines.
All Souls College, DIGBY COTES.
Oxon,
A 5 Left
Left with the Printer by an unknown Hand.
NOW we may fpeak, fmce Cato fpeaks no more ; 'Tis praife at length, 'twas rapture all before ; When crouded theatres with lo's rung, Sent to the fkies, from whence thy genius fprung; Ev'n civil rage a-while in thine was loft, And factions ftrove but to applaud thee moft ; Nor could enjoyment pall our longing tafte, But ev'ry night was dearer than the laft.
As when old Rome, in a malignant hour Depriv'd of fome returning conqueror, Her debt of triumph to the dead difcharg'd, For fame, for treafure, and her bounds enlarged ; And while his godlike figure mov'd along, Alternate paflions fir'd th' adoring throng ; Tears flow'd from ev'ry eye, and Ihouts from ev'ry
tongue :
So in thy pompous lines has Cato far'd» Grac'd with an ample, though a late reward : '; A greater victor we in him revere ; A nobler triumph crowns his image here.
With wonder, as with pleafure, we furvey A theme fo fcanty wrought into a play ; So vaft a pile on fuch foundations plac'd : Like Amman's temple rear'd on Libya's wafte : Behold its glowing paint ! its eafy weight ! Its nice proportions ! and ftupendous height ! How chafte the conduct ! how divine the rage ! A Roman worthy on a Grecian itage !
But where mall Gators praife begin or end ; Inclin'd to melt, and yet untaught to bend, The firmeft patriot, and the gentleft friend ? How great his genius when the trailer crowd Ready to ftrike the blow their fury vow'd ; Quell'd by his look, and lift'ning to his lore, Learn, like his paflions, to rebel no more I
When,
[ -II ]
When, lavifh of his boiling blood, to prove The cure of ilavifh life, and flighted love, Brave Marcus new in early death appears, While Cato counts his wounds, and not his years; Who checking private grief, the public mourns, Commands the pity he~fo greatly fcorns. But when he ilrikes (to crown his gen'rous part) That honeft, ftaunch, impracticable heart ;' No tears, no fobs purfue his panting breath 5 The dying Roman (names the pomp of death. O facred freedom, which the powers beflx/w To feafon bleflings, and to foften woe ; Plant of our growth, and aim of all our cares, The toil of ages, and the crown of wars : If, taught by thee, the poet's wit has flow'd In flrains as precious as his hero's blood ; Pieferve thofe ftrains, an everlafting charm To keep that blood, and thy remembrance warm; Be this thy guardian image ftill fecure, In vain mail force invade, or fraud allure ; Our great Palladium mall perform its part, Fix'd and enfhrin'd in ev'ry Britijh heart.
THE mind to virtue is by verfe fubdu'd ; And the true poet is a public good. This Britain feels, while, by your lines infpir'd, Her free-born fons to glorious thoughts are fir'd. In Rome had you efpous'd the vanquim'd caufe, Inflam'd her fenate> and upheld her laws; Your manly fcenes had liberty reilor'd, And giv'n the juft fuccefs to Cato's fword ; O'er Cafar's arm-s your genius had prevail'd ; And the mufe triumph'd where the patriot fail'd.
AMB» PHILLIPS,
A 6 P R
PROLOGUE,
wake the foul by tender flrokes of art, To raife the genius, and to mend the hearty 5T0 make mankind in confcious virtue bold, Live o'er each fcene, and be what they behold : For this the tragic mufe firft trod the ftage, Commanding tears to ftream through every age ; ^Tyrants no more their favage nature kept, And foes to virtue wondered how they wept. Our author Jhuns by vulgar fprings to move *I'he hero's glory or the virgin's love ; In pitying love vje but our weaknefs foow9 And wild ambition well deferves its woe. fiere tears Jhall flow from a more generous caufe, Such tears as patriots Jhed for dying laws: He bids our breajis with ancient ardour rife, And calls forth Roman drops from BrhjOv'grfT, Virtue confefs'd in human Jhape he draws, What Plato thought , and God-like Cato was : No common objeft to your feght difplays, But what with pleafure Heaven itfelf furveys ; A brave man ftruggling in the Jlorms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling ftate ! While Cato gives his little fenate laws, What bofom beats not in bis country's caufe ? Who fees him aft, but envies every deed ? Who hears him groan, and does not wijb to bleed? Ev'n when proud Caefar, 'midft triumphal cars, *The fpoih of nations, and the pomp of wars, Ignobly vajn, and impotently great? Shew d Rome her CatoV Jigure drawn in flate^ As her dead father's reverend image paft, Vbe pomp was darken d, and the day o'ercaft, ¥he triumphed ceased— tears guflid from every eyt, *Tbe world's great victor pafs'd unheeded by ; tier laft good man dejetted Rome adored, And honoured Ca&far'.r lefs than CatoV fword.
Britons attend : Be worth like this approv'49 And Jhew you have the virtue to be mov'd. With homft /corn the firjl fam'd Cato viewed
Itarning arts from Greece, <wbv*f* fubdl? d.
Our
PROLOGUE. 13
Our fcenes precarioujly fubfift too long On French tranjlation and Italian fong, Dare to haiie fenfe yourfel--ves ; ajjert the ft age, Be juftly warmed with your oivtr native raget Such Plays alone Jhould pleafe a Britifh ear, As Cato'j felf had not difdairid, to hear.
Dramatis
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A C T.I.
Enter Portias and Marcus.
Par. * | AHE dawn is over-caft, the morning low'rs*
And heavily in clouds brings on the day, The great, th' important day, big with the fate
Of Cato and of Rome our father's death
Would fill up all the guilt of civil war, ^
And clofe the fcene of blood. Already Ccefar Has ravag'd more than half the globe, and fees Mankind grown thin by his dellruftive fword : Should he go farther, numbers would be wanting To form new battles, and fupport his crimes. Ye gods, what havock does ambition make Among your works !
Marc. Thy Heady temper, Portius, Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud and Ctefar, In the calm lights of mild philofophy ; I'm tortur'd, ev'n to madnefs, when I think On the proud viftor: ev'ry time he's nam'd Pbarfaiia rifes to my view ! — I fee Th' infulting tyrant prancing o'er the field, Strew'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in flaughter, His horfe's hoofs wet with patrician blood ! O Portius ! is there not fome chofen curfe, Some hidden thunder in the flores of Heav'n, Red with uncommon wrath, to blaft the man Who owes his greatnefs to his country's ruin ?
For. Believe me, Mar.cus, 'tis an impious greatnefs, And mix'd with too much horror to be envy'd j How does the luftre of our father's actions, Through the dark cloud of ills that cover him,
Break
16. C A T O.
Breakout, and burn with more triumphant brightnefsf
His fuff'rings fhine, and fpread a glory round him j
Greatly unfortunate, he fights the caufe
Of honour, virtue, liberty, and Rome.
His fword ne'er fell, but on the guilty head ;
Oppreffion, tyranny, and pow'r ufurp'd,
Draw all the vengeance of his arm upon 'em.
Marc. Who knows not this ? But .what can Cato do Againfl a world, a bafe, degen'rate world, That courts the yoke, and bows the neck to Cttfar? Pent up in Utica, he vainly forms A poor epitome of Roman greatnefs, , And, cover'd with Numidian guards, directs A feeble army, and an empty fenate, Remnants of mighty battles fought in vain. By Heav'n, fuch virtues, join'd with fuch fuccefs, Diftracls my very foul : our father's fortune Would almoft tempt us to renounce his precepts.
Per. Remember what our father oft has told us : The ways of Heav'n are dark and intricate, Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with errors, Our undemanding traces them in vain, Loll and bewilder d in the,fruitlefs fearch ; Nor fees with how much art the windings run, Nor where the regular confufion ends.
Marc. Thefe are fuggeftions of a mind at eafe : O Port/us, didft thou tafle but half the griefs That .wring my foul, thou couldfl not talk thus coldly. Pailion unpicied, and fuccefslefs love, Plant daggers in my heart, and aggravate My other griefs. Were but my Lucia kind—
For. Thou feeft not that thy brother is thy rival ; But I muft hide it, for I know thy temper. Now, Marcus, now thy virtue's on the proof: Put forth thy utmofl ftrength, work ev'ry nerve, And call up all thy father in thy foul : To quell the tyrant, love, and guard thy heart . On this weak fide, where moft our nature fails, Would be a conqueft worthy Cafe's fon.
Marc. Portius, the eounfel which I cannot take, Inftead of healing, but upbraids my wcaknefs.
Fid
C A TO. ij.
Bid me for honour plunge into a war Of thickeft foes, and rum on certain death, Then fhalt thou fee that Marcus is not flow To follow glory, and cqnfefs his father. Love is not to be reafon'd down, or loft in high ambition, or a thirft of greatnefs ; *Tis fecond life, it grows into the foul, Warms ev'ry vein, and beats in ev'ry pulfe, I feel it here : my refolution melts —
For. Behold young Juba, the Numidian prince, With how much care he forms himfelf to glory, And breaks the fiercenefs of his native temper, To copy out our father's bright example. He loves our filter Marcia, greatly loves her ; ' His eyes, his looks, his aftions, all betray it ;' But flill the fmotherd fondnefs burns within him ; 1 When moll it fwells, and labours for a vent,' The fenfe of honour, and defire of fame Drive the big paffion back into his heart. What ! (hall an African, lhall Juba?* heir, Reproach great Cato's fon, and (hew the world A virtue wanting in a Roman foul !
Marc. Portzus, no more ! your words leave flings be-
hind 'em.
Whene'er did Jubay or did Portius, (hew A virtue that has caft me at a diilance, And thrown me out in the purfuits of honour?
Por. Marcus, I know thy gen'rous temper well ; Fling but th' appearance of difhonour on it, It (traight takes fire> and mounts into a blaze.
Marc. A brother's fufPrings claim a brother's pity.
Por. Heav'n knows I pity thee. Behold my eyes Ev'n whilil I fpeak— do they not fwim in tears? Were but my heart as naked to thy view, Marcus would fee it bleed in his behalf.
Marc. Why then doil treat me with rebukes, inflead Of kind condoling cares, and friendly forrow ?
Por. O Marcus ! did I know the way to eafe Thy troubled heart, and mitigate thy pains, Marcus, believe me, I could die to do it.
Marc. Thou bed of brothers, and thou belief friends!
Pardon
!& C A T O.
Pardon a weak, diftemper'd foul, that fwells With fudden guils, and fmks as Toon in calms, The fport of paffions. But Sempronius comes : He muft not find this foftnefs hanging on me. [Ex. Mar. Enter Sempronius.
Sem. Confpiracies no fooner mould be form'd Than executed. What means Portius here ? I like not that cold youth. I muft diflemble, And fpeak a language foreign to my- heart. [Afide*
Good-morrow, Portius ; let us once embrace, Once more embrace, while yet we both are free. 'To-morrow, mould we thus exprefs our friend fhip, Each might receive a flave into his. arms. This fun, perhaps, this morning fun's the laft, That e'er mall rife on Roman liberty.
Par. My father has this morning call'd together To this poor hall, his little Roman fenate, (The leavings of Pharfalia] to confult If yet he can oppofe the mighty torrent That bears down Rome, and all her gods before it, Or muft at length give up the world to Ctefar.
$em. Not all the pomp and majefty of Rome Can raife her fenate more than Cato's prefence. His virtues render our affembly awful, They ftrike with fomething lilce religious fear, And make ev'n Ctffar tremble at the head Of armiss flufh'd with conqueft. O my Portius* Could I but call that wond'rous man my father, Would but thy filter Marcia be propitious To thy friend's vows, I might be blefs'd indeed !
For. Alas, Sempronius ! wouldft thou talk of love To Marcia, whilft her father's life's in danger ; Thou might'ft as well court the pale, trembling veftaly WThen fhe beholds the holy flame expiring.
Sem, The more I fee the wonders of thy race, The more I'm charm'd. Thou muft take heed, my The world has all its eyes on Cato's fon ;- [Portius ;
Thy father's merit fets thee up to view, And ihews thee in the faireft point of light, To make thy virtues or thy faults confpicuous.
Par*
C A T O. 19
For. Well doft thou feem to check my lingering here On this important hour — I'll ftraight away, And while the fathers of the fenate meet In clofe debate, to weigh th' events of war, I'll animate the foldiers drooping courage With love of freedom, and contempt"of life ; I'll thunder in their ears their country's caufe, And try to roufe up all that's Roman in 'em. 'Tis not in mortals to command fuccefs, But we'll do more, Sempronius, we'll deferve it. [Exit,
Sem. Curfe on the {tripling ! how he apes his fire ? Ambitiouily fententious — But I wonder Old Syphax comes not : his Numidian genius Is well difpos'd to mifchief, were he prompt And eager on it; but he mud: be fpurr'd, And ev'ry moment quicken'd to the courfe. —Cato has us'd me iW : he has refus'd His daughter Marc'ia to my ardent vows. Befides, his baffled arms, and ruin'd caufe, Are bars to my ambition. Gofer's favour, That fhow'rs down greatnefs on his friends, will raife me To Rome's firft honours. If I give up Cato, I claim, in my reward, his captive daughter.
But Syphax comes
Enter Syphax. Sj. Semprcnius, all is ready ;
I've founded my Numidians, man by man,
And find them ripe for a revolt : they all
Complain aloud of Cafe's difcipline,
And wait but the command to change their mafler. Semp. Believe me, Syphax, there's no time to walte $
Ev'n whilft we fpeak our conqueror comes on,
And gathers ground upon us ev'ry moment.
Alas ! thou know'ft not C&far's aclive foul,
With what a dreadful courfe he rufhes on
From war to war. In vain has nature form'd
Mountains and oceans to oppofe his paffage ;
He bounds o'er all; victorious in his march,
The Alps and Pyreneans fink before him ;
Through winds and waves, and ftorms he works his way,
Impatient for the battle ; one day more
Will
20 C A T O.
Will fet the vi&or thund'ring at our gates. But, tell me, haft thou yet drawn o'er young Juba ! That ftill would recommend thee more to C&far, And challenge better terms.
Sy. Alas, he's loft !
He's loft, Sempronius ; all his thoughts are full Of Cafo's virtues — But I'll try once more, (For ev'ry inftant I expect him here) If yet I can fubdue thofe ftubborn principles Of faith and honour, and I know not what, That have corrupted his Numidian temper, And ftruck th' infection into all his foul.
Sem. Be fare to prefs upon him ev'ry motive. Jufa's fur render, fmce his father's death, Would give up Africk into C<efar's hands, And make him lord of half the burning zone.
Sj. But is it true, Sempronius, that your fenate Is call'd together? Gods ! thou muft be cautious; Cato has piercing eyes, and will difcern Our frauds, unlefs they're covered thick with art.
Sem. Let me alone, good Sypbax, I'll conceal , My thoughts in paffion, ('tis the fureft way ;) I'll bellow out for Rome, and for my country, And mouthe at C<efary 'till I make the fenate. Your cold hypocrify's a ftale device, • A worn-out trick : would'ft thou be theught in earneft, Cloath thy feign'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury ! Sy. In troth, thou'rt able to inftrucl grey hairs, And teach the wily African deceit.
Sem. Once more be fure to try thy fkill on Mean while I'll haften to my Roman foldiers, Inflame the mutiny, and underhand Blow up their difcontents, 'till they break out Unlook'd for, and difcharge therafelves on Cato. Remember, Sypbax, we muft work in hafte : Oh, think what anxious moments pafs between The birth of plots, and their laft fatal periods. Oh, 'tis a dreadful interval of time, Fill'd up with horror all, and big with death I Deftruclion hangs on ev'ry word we fpeak, On ev'ry thought, 'till the concluding ftroke
Deter*
C A T O. 2i
Determines all, and clofes our defign. [Exit.
Sy. I'll try if yet I can reduce to reafon This headftrong youth, and make him fpurn at Cafo. The time is fhort ; Cafar comes ruihing on us— But hold ! young Juba fees me, and approaches.
\Enter Juba.
. Jub. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone. I have obferv'd of late thy looks are fall'n, O'ercafl with gloomy cares and difcontent. Then tell me, Sypbax, I conjure thee, tell me, What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns, And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince ?
•Sy. JTis not my talent to conceal my thoughts, Or carry fmiles and funmine in my face, When difcontent fits heavy at my heart ; I have not yet fo much the Roman in me.
Jub. Why doft thou caft out fuch ungen'rous terms Againft the lords and fov'reigns of the world ? Doft thou not fee mankind fall down before them, And own ths force of their fuperior virtue ? Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric, Amidli our barren rocks, and burning fands, That does not tremble at the Roman name ?
Sy. Gods ! where's the worth that fets thefe people up Above her own Numidia's tawny fons ? Do they with tougher iinews bend the bow ? Or flies the jav'lin fwifter to its mark, Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm ? Who like our active African inftructs The fiery fteed, and trains him to his hand ? Or guides in troops th' embattled elephant, Laden with war r Thefe, ttosfe are arts, my prince, In which your Zama does not ftoop to Rome.
Jub. Thefe all are virtues of a meaner rank; Perfections that are plac'd in bones and nerves. A Roman foul is bent on higher views : To civilize the rude, unpolifh'd world, Ancl' lay it under the reftraint of laws ; To make man mild, and fociable to man : To cultivate the wild, licentious favage, With wifdom-, difciplirte, and lib'ral arts ;
The
22 C A T O.
The embellilhments of life : virtues like thefe Make human nature mine, reform the foul, And break our fierce barbarians into men.
£y. Patience, kind Heav'ns — excufe an old man's
warmth.
What are thefe wond'rous civilizing arts, This Roman poliih, and this fmooth behaviour, That render man thus traftable and tame ? Are they not only to difguife our pafllons, To fet our looks at variance with -our thoughts, To check the ftarts and fallies of the foul, And break off all its commerce with the tongue : In Ihort to change us into other creatures Than what our nature and the gods defign'd us ?
Jub. To ftrike thee dumb : turn up thy eyes to Cato ; There may'ft thou fee to what a god-like height The Roman virtues lift up mortal man, While good, andjuft, and anxious for his friends, He's ftill feverely bent againft himfelf; ' Renouncing fleep, and reft, and food, and eafe, ' He ftrives with thiril and hunger, toil and heat,' And when his fortune fets before him all The pomps and pleafures that his foul can wifh, His rigid virtue will accept of none.
Sy. Believe me, prince, there's not an African That travel fes our vaft Numidian defarts In quefl of prey, and lives upon his bow, But better pra&ifes thefe boafted virtues. Coarfe are his meals, the fortune of the chace, Amidit the running ftream he flakes his thirft, Toils all the day, and at th' approach of night, On the firft friendly bank he throws him down, Or refts his head upon a rock 'till morn; Then rifes frefh, purfues his wonted game, And if the following day he chance tcwfind A new repaft, or an un tailed fpring, Bleffes his flars, and thinks it luxury.
Jub. Thy prejudices, Sjphax, won't difcern What virtues grow from ignorance and choice, Nor how the hero differs from the brute. ' But grant that others could with equal glory
' Look
C A T O. 23
c Look down on pleafures, and the baits of fenfe,* Where mall we find the man that bears affliction, Great and majeftic in his griefs, like Calo ? * Heav'ns ! with what ftrength, what fteadinefs of mind, ' He triumphs in the midft of all his fuff'rings !' How does he rife againft a load of woes, And thank the Gods that throw the weight upon him ! Sy. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtinefs of foul ; I think the Romans call it Stoicifm. Had not your royal father thought fo highly Of Roman virtue, and of Cato's caufe, He had not fall'n by a flave's hand inglorious : Nor would his ilaughter'd army now have lain On Afric fands, disfigur'd with their wounds, To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia.
Jub. Why dolt thou call my forrows up afrefh ? My father's name brings tears into my eyes.
Sy. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills ! Jub. What wouldft thou have me do ? Sy. Abandon Cafo.
Jub. Syphaxy I mould be more than twice an orphan By fuch a lofs.
Sy. Aye, there's the tie that binds you ! You long to call him father. Marcia's charms Work in your heart unfeen, and plead for Cato. No wonder you are deaf to all I fay.
Jub. Syphaxj your zeal becomes importunate; I've hitherto permitted it to rave, And talk at large ; but learn to keep it in, Left it mould take more freedom than I'll give it. Sy. Sir, your great father never us'd me thus. Alas, iie's dead ! but can you e'er forget The tender forrows, and the pangs of nature, ' The fond embraces, and repeated bl filings, '- Which you drew from him in your laft farewel ? Still muit I cherifti the dear, fad remembrance, At once to torture and to pleafe my foul. The good old king at parting wrung my hand, (His eyes brim-full of tears) then fighing, cry'd,
Pr'ythee be careful of my fon! His grief
" S well'd up fo high, he could not utter more.
24 C A T O.
Jub. Alas ! thy {lory melts away my foul ; That befl of fathers ! how fhall I difcharge The gratitude and duty which T owe him ?
Sy. By laying up his counfels in your heart.
Jub. His counfels bade me yield to thy directions ; Then, Sypbax, chide me in fevereft terms, Vent all thy paffion, and I'll ftand its fhock, Calm and unruffled as a fummer fea, When not a breath of wind flies o'er its furface.
Sy. Alas ! my prince, I'd guide you to your fafety.
Jub. I do believe thou vvouldft ; but tell me how ?
Sy. Fly from the fate that follows Cafor's foes.
Jub. My father fcorn'd to do it.
Sy. And therefore dy'd.
Jub< Better to die ten thoufand thoufand deaths, Than wound my honour.
Sy. Rather fay your love.
Jub. Syphax, I've promis'd to preferve my temper. Why wilt thou urge me to confefs a flame I long have flifled, and would fain conceal ?
Sy. ^Believe me, prince, tho' hard to conquer love, 'Tis eafy to divert and break its force. Abfence might cure it, or a fecond miftrefs Light up another flame, and put out this. The glowing dames of Zama's royal court Have faces fluih'd with more exalted charms ; The fun that rolls his chariot o'er their heads, Works up more fire and colour in their cheeks ; Were you with thefe, my prince, you'd foon forget The pale, unripen'd beauties of the North.
Jub. 'Tis not a fet of features, or complexion, The tincture of a fkin, that I admire: Beauty foon grov*s familiar to the lover, Fades in his eye, and palls upon the fenfe. The virtuous Mar da tow'rs above her.fex : True, fhe is fair, (Oh, how divinely fair !) But flill the lovely maid improves her charms With inward greatnefs, unaffected wifdom, And fanctity of manners ; Cato's foul Shines out in every thing fhe acts or fpeaks, While winning mildnefs and attractive fmiles
B, Dwell
C A T O. 25
Dwell in her looks, and with becoming grace Soften the rigour of her father's virtue.
Sy. How does your tongue grow wanton in her praife ! But on my knees I beg you would confider
Jub. Hah! 'Syfbax, is't not ihe? — She moves this
way :
And with her Lucia, Lucius's fair daughter. My heart beats thick — I pr'ythee, Sjpbax, leave me.
Sy. Ten thoufand curfes faften on 'em both ! Now will this woman, with a fmgle glance, Undo -what I've been laboring all this while.
[Exit Syphax-. Enter Marcia and Lucia.
'Jub. Hail, charming maid ! how does thy beauty
fmooth
The face of war, and make ev'n horror fmile ! At fight of thee my heart makes off its forrovvs ; I feel a dawn of joy break in upon me, And for a while forget th' approach of Ctefar,
Mar. I fliould be griev'd, young prince, to think my
prefcnce
Unbent your thoughts, and flacken'd 'em to arms, While warm with flaughter, our victorious foe Threatens aloud, and calls you to the fiekl.
Jub. O Marcia, let me hope thy kind concerns And gentle wifhes follow me to battle ! The thought will give new vigour to my arm, Add itrength and weight to my defcending fword, And drive it in a tempeil on the foe.
Mar. My pray'rs and wifhes always mail attend The friends of Rome, the glorious c.aufe of virtue, And men approv'd of by the gods and Cato.
Jub. That Juba may deferve thy pious cares, I'll gaze for ever on thy god-like father, Tranfplanting, one by one., into my life, His bright perfections, 'till I mine like him.
Mar. My father never at a time like this, Would lay out his great foul in words, and waHe Such precious moments.
Jub. Thy reproofs are jufl, Thou virtuous maid ; I'll haflen to my troops,
B And
26 C A T O.
And fire their languid fouls with Cato's virtue. If e'er I lead them to the field, when all The war fhall ftand rang'd in its juft array, And dreadful pomp ; then will I think on thee,
0 lovely maid ! then will I think on thee. And in the (hock of charging hofts, remember What glorious deeds mould grace the man, who hopes For Mar da's love. [Exit Juba,
Luc. Marcia, you're too fevere :
How cou'd you chide the young good-natur'd prince, And drive him from you with fo ftern an air. A prince that loves and doats on you to death ?
Mar. 'Tis therefore, Lucia, that I chide him from me. His air^ his voice, his looks, and honeft foul, Speak all fo movingly in his behalf,
1 dare not truft myfelf to hear him talk.
Luc. Why will you fight againft fo fvveet a paflion, And fteel your heart to fuch a world of charms ?
Mar. How, Lucia ! wouldfl thou have me link away In pleafmg dreams, and lofe myfelf in love, When ev'ry moment Cafo's life's at ftake ? C#far comes arm'd with te-rror and revenge, And aims his thunder at my father's head. Should not the fad occafion fvvallovv up My other cares, ' and draw them all into it ?'
Luc. Why have not I this conftancy of mind, Who have fo many griefs to try its force ! Sure, nature form'd me of her fofteft mould, Enfeebled all my foul with tender pallions, And funk me ev'n below my own weak fex : Pity and love, by turns, opprefs my heart.
Mar. Lucia, difburthen all thy cares on me, And let me mare thy moft retir'd diftrefs. Tell me who raifes up this conflict in thee?
Luc. I need not blufh to name them, when I tell thee They're Marcia's brothers, and the fons of Cato.
Mar. They both behold thee with their fitter's eyes, And often have reveal'd their paflion to me. •* But tell me, whofe addrefs thou fav'refl moft? ' I long to know, and yet I dread to hear it.
' Luc. Which is it Marcia wilhes for ?
5 * Mar.
G A T O. 27
* Mar. For neither
* And yet for bath — The youths have equal mare
* In Mania's wifhes, and divide their lifter:* But tell me which of them is Lucia's choice?
' Luc. M'arcia, they both are high in my efteem, ' But in my love — Why wilt thou make me name him ! c Thou know'ft it is a blind and foolifh paffiorv, e Pleas'd and difgufted with it knows not what—
' Mar. O Lucia, I'm perplex'd, Oh, tell me which
* I mult hereafter call my happy brother?'
Luc. Suppofe 'twere Portius, could you blame my
choice ^
O Porttus, thou haft ftol'n away my foul ! ' With what a graceful tehdernefs he loves ! ( And breathes the fofteft, the fmcereft vows ! ' Complacency, and truth, and manly fweetnefs,
* Dwell ever on his tongue, and fmooth his thoughts.* Marcus is c.ver-warm, his fond complaints
Have fo much earneftnefs and paflion in them, I hear him with a fecret kind of horror, And tremble at his vehemence of temper.
Mar. Alas, poor youth ! ' how canlt thou throw him from thee ?
* Lucia, thou know'ft not half the love he bears thee? ' Whene'er he fpeaks ef thee, his heart's in flames,
' He fends out all his foul in ev'ry word,
' And thinks, and talks, and looks like one tranfported.
* Unhappy youth!' How will thy coldnefs raife 7'empefts and ilorms in his afflicted bofom !
I dread the confequence.
Luc. You feem to plead Againft your brother For tins.
Mar. Heav'n forbid ! Had Par tins been the unfuccefsful lover, The fame companion would have falPn on him.
Luc . Was ever virgin love diftreft like mine ! Portius himfelf oft falls in tears before me, As if he mourn'd his rival's ill fuccefs, Then bids me hide the motions of my heart, Nor mew which way it turns. So much he fears ! The fad effects that it will have on Marcus.
B 2 < M*r.
^8 C A T O.
' Mar. He knows too well how eafily he's fir'd, ' And wou'd not plunge his brother in defpair, •' But waits for happier times, and kinder moments.
•' Luc. Alas, too late I find myfelf involv'd '* In endlefs griefs, and labyrinths of woe,
* Born to afflict my Mania's family,
••* And fow diffention in the hearts of brothers.
* Tormenting thought ! it cuts into my foul.' Mar. Let us not, Lucia , aggravate our forrows.,
But to the gods fubmit th' event of things.
-Our lives, difcolour'd with our prefent woes,
May ftill grow bright, and/mile with happier houra.
So the pure limpid ftream, when foul with ftains Of rufhing torrents, and defcending rains, Works itfelf clear,, and as it .runs, refines, 'Till, by degrees^ the floating mirror mines, Reflects each flow'r that on the border grows,, And a new heav'n in its fair bofom ftjowa. \JZxeunt.
C T II.
"•"••»£*•>'
SCENE, the Senate. Lucius, Sejnpronius, and Senators.
R
Let us remember we a,re£ato's friends,
And aft like men who claim that glorious title.
Luc. Cato will focn be here," and open to us Th' occafion of our meeting. Hark! he comes !
[ A found of i rumpets. May all the guardian gods of Rome direct him !
JLiiter Caio.
Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in council ; Cse/ar's approach has fiammon'd us together, And Rome attends her fate from our refolves. How mall we treat this bold afpiring man ? Succefs ftill follows him, and backs his crimes ; Pbarfalia gave him Rome, Egypt has iince Receiv'4 his yoke, and the whole Nile is CV/ir's.
Why
C A T O, 2
Why fhould I mention Juba's overthrow,
And Scipio's death ? Numidia^ burning fands
Still fmoke with blood. 'Tis time we mould decree"
What courfe to take. Our foe advances on us,
And envies us even Libia's fultry defarts.
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts : are they iliil fix'd-
To hold it out and fight it to the laft ?
Or are your hearts fubdued at length, and wrought
By time, and ill fuccefs, to a fubmiffion :
Setnp ro nius, fpe a k .
Sem. My voice is ftill for war. Gods ! can a Roman fenate long debate' Which of the two to choofe, flav'ry or death ! No, let us rife at once, gird on our fwords, And at the head of our remaining troops, Attack the foe, break through the thick array Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him. Perhaps fome arm, more lucky than the reft, May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage.. Rife, fathers, rife ! 'tis Rome demands your help ; Rife, and revenge her flaughter'd citizens, Or mare their fate ! the corps of half her fenate Manure the fields of Fbejfaly* while we Sit here deliberating in cold debates, If we mould facrifice our lives to^honour, Or wear them out in fervitude and chains. Roufe up, for fhame! our brothers of Pharfa.Ha Point at their wounds, and cry aloud — To battle 1 Great Pompey's made complains that we are flow ; And Scipio's ghoft walks unreveng'd amongft us.
Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal Tranfport thee thus beyond the bounds of reafon: True fortitude is 'feen in great exploits That juitice warrants, and that wifdom guides, All elfe is tow'ring fri*hzy and diih-action. Are not the lives of thofe who draw the fword In Rome's defence intrulled to our care ? Should we thus lead them to a field of flaughter, Mighi not th' impartial world with reafon fay, We lavifh'd at our deaths the blood of thoufands> To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious ? Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion.
B 3, L*c
30 CAT O.
Luc . My thoughts, I muft confefs, are turn'd on peace. Already have our quarrels fill'd the world With widows and with orphans : Scytbia mourns Our guilty wars, and earth's remoteft regions Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome : 'Tis time to fheathe the fword, and fpare mankind, It is not C<ffar, but the gods, my fathers, The gods declare againfl us, and repel Our vain attempts. ' To urge the foe to battle,, ' (Prompted by blind revenge and wild defpair) * Were to refufe th' awards of Providence, ' And not to reft in Heav'n's determination.' Already have we Ihewn our love to Rorne> Now let us mew fubmiffion to the gods. We took up arms, not to revenge ourfelves, But free the commonwealth ; when this end fails, Arms have no farther ufe. Our country's caufe, That drew our fwords, now wrefts 'em from our hands* And bids us not delight in Reman blood Unprofitably med. What men could do, Is done already : Heav'n and earth will witnefs, If Rome muft fall, that we are innocent.
' Sem. This fmooth difccurfe, and mild behaviour, oft ' Conceal a traitor— -fomething whifpers me ' All is not right — Cato> beware of Lucius.
[Afide to Cato.*
Caio. Let us appear nor rafh nor diffident ; Immoderate valour fwells into a fault ; And fear admitted into public councils Betrays like treafon. Let us mun Jem both. Fathers, I cannot fee that our affairs Are grown thus defp'rate; we have bulwarks -round us j. Within our walls are troops inur'd to toil In Jtfrtc's heat, and feafon'd to the fun ; Numidia's fpacious kingdom lies behind us, Ready to rife at its young prince's call. While there is hope, do not diftruft the gods : But wait at leaft 'till Gofer's near approach Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late To fue for chains, and own a conqueror.
Why
C A T O. '31
Why mould Rome fall a moment ere her time ?'
No, let us draw her term of freedom out
In its full length, and fpin it to the laft,
So fhall we gain {till one day's liberty :
And let me perifh, but in Cafo's judgment,
A day, an hour of virtuous liberty,
Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.
Enter Marcus.
Mar. Fathers, this moment, as I watch' d the gate, Lodg'd on my poft, a herald is arriv'd From Ctefar's camp, and with him comes old Decius, The Roman knight ; he carries in his looks Impatience, and demands to fpeak with Cato.
Cato. By your permiffion, fathers bid him enter.
[Exit Marcus.
Decins was once my friend, but other profpefts Have loos'd thofe ties, and bound him fait to Cetfar. His meffage may determine our refolves.
Enter Decius.
Dec. Ctffar fends health to Cato— _$
Cato. Cou'd he fend it
To Cato's flaughter'd friends it would be welcome. Are not your orders to addrefs the fenate?
Dec. My bufmefs is with Cato ; Cafar fees The ftraits to which you're driven ; and, as he knows Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life.
Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome. Wou?d he fave Cato, bid him fpare his country. Tell your dictator this ; and tell him, Cato Difdains a life, which he has power to offer.
Dec. Rome and her fenators fubmit to C#far ; Her gen'rals and her confuls are no more, Who check'd his conquefts, and deny'd his triumphs. Why will not Cato be this C<e/ar's friend ?
Cato. Thofe very reafons thou haft urg'd forbid it. Dec. Catot I've orders to expostulate, And reafon with you, as from friend to friend : Think on the ftorm that gathers o'er your head, And threatens ev'ry hour to burft upon it; Still may you ftand high in your country's honours, Do but comply, and make your peace with Ccefart B 4
32 CATC.
Rome will rejoice, and caft its eyes on Gate, As on the fecond of mankind.
Cato. No more : I mufl not think of life on fuch conditions.
Dec. Ceefar is well acquainted with your virtues, And therefore fets this value on your life. Let him but know the price of Cato's friendfhip, And name ydur terms.
Cato. Bid him difband his legions, Reftore the commonwealth to liberty, Submit his actions to the public cenfure, And (land the judgment of a Roman fenate. Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend.
Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your wifdom— -
Cato. Nay, more, tho* Cato's voice was ne'er employ 'd To clear the guilty, and to varnifh crimes, Myfelf \vill mo'int the roitrum in his favour, And ftrlve to gain his pardon from the peopk.
Dec. A ftyle like this, becomes a conqueror.
Cato. Decius, a ftyle, like this, becomes a Romnn*
'Bee. What is a Roman, that is Cafar's foe ?
Cato. Greater than Ceefar: he's a friend to virtue.
Dec. Confider, Cato, you're in Utica, And at the head cf your own little fenate; . You don't now thunder in the Capitol, With all the mouths of Rome to fecond you.
Cato. Let him confider that, who drives us hither ; 'Ti$ C&far's fword has made Rome's fenate little, And thinn'd its ranks. Alas ! thy dazzled eye Beholds this man in a falfe glaring Ught, Which conqueft and fuccefs have thrown upon him ; Did'ft thou but view him right, thou'dft fee him blade With murder, treafon, facrilege, and crimes, That ftrike my foul with horror but to name 'em. I know thou lock'it on me, as on a wretch Befet with ills, and cover' d with misfortunes ; But, by the gods I fwear, millions of worlds Shou'd never buy me to be like that C<efar.
Dec. Does Cato fend this anfvver back to Cat/ar, For all his gen'rous cares and jyoffer'd friendfhip ?
Cato. His cares for me are infolent and vain :
Preftimp-
C A T O. 55
Prefumptuous man ! the gods take care of Cato. Wou'd Cfpfar Ihew the greatnefs of his foul, Bid him employ his care for thefe my friends, And make good ufe of his ill-gotten pow'r, By Ihelt'ring men much better than himfelf.
Dec. Your high unconquer'd heart makes you forget You are a man, you rum on your.deftrucTion. .But I have done. When I relate hereafter The tale of this unhappy embafl'y, All Rome will be in tears. [Exit Decius.
Sent. CatOy we thank thee. The mighty genius of immortal Rcme Speaks in thy voice; thy foul breathes liberty. Csefar will (brink to hear the words thou utter'ft* And fhudder in the midft of all his conquefts.
Luc. The fenate owns its gratitude to Cato, V/ho with fo great a foul confutes its fafety, And guards our lives while he neglects his own.
Sem. Semfrcnizis gives no thanks on this account- Lucius feems fond of life ; but what is life ? 'Tis not taftalk about, and draw frefh air From time to time, or gaze upon the fun ; 'Tis to be free. When liberty is gone, Life grows infipid, and has loft its relifh. Oh, could my dying hand but lodge a fword In dffar's bofom, and revenge my country ! By Heav'ns I could enjoy the pangs of death, And fmile in agony.
Luc. Others-, perhaps, May ferve their country with as warm a zeal, Though 'tis not kindled into fo much rage.
Sem. This fober conduct is a mighty virtue In lukewarm patriots.
Cato. Come ; no more, Sempronius, All here are friends to Rime, and to each other. Let us not weaken ilill the weaker fide By our divilkms.
Sem. Cato, my refentments Are facrific'd to Rome — I ft and reprov'd.
Cato. Fathers, 'tis time you come to a refolve.
Luc, Cuto, we all go into your opinion, B
34 CAT Q.
Catfar's behaviour has convinced the fenate We ought to hold it out till terms arrive.
Sem. We ought to hold it out 'till death ; but, My private voice is drown'd amidft the fenate's.
Cato. Then let us rife, my friends, and ftrive to nil This little interval, this paufe of life, (While yet our liberty and fates are doubtful) With refolution, friendmip, Roman bravery, And all the virtues we can crowd into it j That Heav'n may fay it ought to be prolonged. Fathers, farewel — The younrg Numidian prmce Comes forward,- and expefts to know our counfels.
\Exeunt fenator^. jr .£»/??• J aba.
Juba> the Roman fenate has refolv'd, Till time give better profpefts, ftill to keep The fword unlheath'd, and turn its edge on C<?/ar.
Jub. The refolution fits a Roman fenate; But, Gate, lend me for a while thy patience, And condefcend to hear a young man fpeak,- My father, when fome days before his death He order'd me to march for Utica, (Alas ! I thought not then his death fo near !) Wept o'er me, pre&'d me in his aged arms, And, as his griefs gave way, my fon, faid he,, Whatever fortune fhall befall thy father, Be Cato's friend ; he'll train thee up to great And virtuous deeds ; do but obferve him well, Thoul'tfhun misfortunes, or thoul't learn to bear ?enu
Cato. Juba, thy father vras 2 worthy prince, And merited, alas ! a better fate ; But Heav'n thought otherwife,
Jub. My father's fate, In fpite of all .the fortitude that mines Before my face in C«/o's great example, Subdues my foul, and fills my eyes with tears. Cato. It is an honeft forrow, and becomes thee. Jub. My father drew refpeft from foreign climes : The kings of Afric fought him for their friend ; 4 Kings far remote, that rule, as fame reports,
* Behind the hidden fources of the Nile,
* In diftant worlds, on t'other fide the fun :'
Oft
C AT 0. 35
Oft have their black amba/Tadors appear'd, Loaden with gifts, and fill'd the courts of Zama.
Cato. I am no ftranger to thy father's greatnefs.
Juba. I would not boaft the greatnefs of my father, But point out new alliances to Cato. Had we not better leave this Utica, To arm Numldia in our caufe, and court Th' affiftance of my father's powerful friends ; Did they know Cato, our remoteit kings Would pour embattled multitudes about him ; Their fwarthy holts would darken all our plains, Doubling the native horror of the war, And making death more grim.
Cato. And can'il thou think Cato will fly before the fword of Ceefar ! Reduc'd, like Hannibal, to feek relief From court to court, and wander up and down A vagabond in dfric ?
Jub. Cato, perhaps
I'm too officious ; but my forward cares Wou'd fain preferve a life of fo much value. My heart is wounded, when I fee fuch virtue Afflicted by the weight of fuch misfortunes.
Cato. Thy noblenefs of foul obliges me. But know, young prince, that valour foars abov€ What the world calls misfortune and affliction. Thefe are not ills ; elfe would they never fall On Heav'ns firft fav'rites and the belt of men. The gods, in bounty, work up ftorms about us, That give mankind occafion to exert Their hidden ftrength, and throw out into practice Virtues which fhun the day, and lie conceaPd In the fmooth feafons and the calms of life.
Jub. I'm charm'd whene'er thou< talk'ft ; I pant-for
virtue^ And all my foul endeavours at perfection*
Cato. Doft thou love watchings, abfUnence, and toil. Laborious virtues all ? Learn them from Cato : Succefs and fortune muft thou learn from Ca>far.
The beft good fortune that can foil on Juba,
B6 The
$& C A T - O.
The whole fuccefs at which my heart afpircs., Depends on Cato.
Cato. What does Juba fay ? Thy words confound me.
Jub. I would fain retract them, Give 'em me back again : they aim'd at nothing.
Cato. Tell me thy wifh, young pririce ; make not my A ftranger to thy thoughts. [ear
Jub. Oh ! they're extravagant j Still let me hide them.
Cato. What can Juba afk That Cato will refufe ?
Jub. I fear to name it, Marcia — inherits all her father's virtues* Cato. What would'ft thou fay ? Jub. Cato, thou haft a daughter. Caio. Adieu, young prince j I would not hear a word Should leflen thee in my efteem. Remember *The hand of fate is over us, and Heav'n Exacts feverity from all our thoughts. Jt is not how a time to talk of aught But chains, orconqueft; liberty, or death; [Exit*
Enter Syphax.
Sy. How's this, my prince ! What, cover'd with con- You look as if yon ftern philofopher ». [fufion?
Had juft now chid you. Jub. Syphax , I'm undone ! Sv. I know it well. Jut. Cato thinks meanly of me* Sy. And fo will all mankind. Jub. I've open'd to him The weaknefs of my foul, my love for Marcia.
Sy. Cato's a proper perfon to intruft A love-tale with !
Jub. Oh, I could pierce my heart, My foolifh heart. Was ever wjretch like Juba ?
Sy. Alas, my prince, how are you chang'd of late! I've known young Juba rife before the fun, To beat the thicket where the tyger ilept, Or feek the lion in his dreadful haunts : How did the colour mount into your cheeks,
When
CAT. O. n
When firil you rous'd himNto the chace ! I've feea you» Ev'n in the Lylian dog-days, hunt him down, Then charge him clofe, provoke him to the rage Of fangs and claws, and, ftooping from your horfe, Rivet the panting favage to the ground. Jub. Pr'ythee, no more. By. How would the old king fmile To fee you weigh the paws, when tipp'd with gold, And throw the ihaggy fpoils about your fhoulders !
Jub* Syphax, this old man's talk (tho* honey flow'd In ev'ry word) wou'd now lofe all its fweetnefs. Cato's difpleas'd, and Marcia loft for ever.
Sj. Young prince, I yet cpuld give you good advice, fiflarcia might ftill be yours.
Jub. What fay'ft thou, Syphax ? By Heav'ns, thou turn'ft me all into attention. Sy. Marcia might ftill be yours. Jub. As how, dear Sypbax '? Vtt» ':
Sy. Juba commands £lumi$t?s hardy troops, Mounted on fteeds unus'd to the reftraint Of curbs or bits, and fleeter than the winds. Give but the word, we'll-fnatch this damfel up, And bear her off.
Jub. Can fuch difhoneft thoughts Rife~up in man ? Would'ft thou feduce iny youth . To do an acl that would deltroy my honour ?
$y. Gods, I could tear my hair to hear you talk ! Honour's a fine imaginary notion, That draws in raw and unexperienc'd men To real mifchiefs, while they hunt a fhadow.
Jub. Would'fl thou degrade thy prince into a ruffian ? Sy. The boafted anceftors of thefe great men, Whofe virtues you admire, were all fuch ruffians. This dread of nations, this almighty Rome, That comprehends in her wide empire's bounds All under Heav'n, was founded on a rape ; Your Scipios, C<efars, Pompeys, and your Catos, (The gods on earth) are all the fpurious brood Of violated maids, of ravilh'd Sabines.
Jub. Syphax, I fear that hoary head of thine Abounds too much in our Numidtan wiles.
Sj; Indeed, my prince, you want to know the world. You have not read mankind ; your youth admires The throes and fwellings of a Roman foul, Cato's bold flights, th' extravagance of virtue.
Jub. If knowledge of the world makes man perfidious, May Juba ever live in ignorance I
Sy+ Go, go ; you're young.
Jub. Gods, muft I tamely bear This arrogance unanfwer'd ! Thour't a traitor, A falfe old traitor.
Sy. 1 have gone too far. [J/Me.
Jub. Cato (hall know the bafenefs of thy foul.
Sjr. I muft appeafe this ftorm, or perifh in it. [Afide. Young prince, behold thefe locks, that are grown white Beneath a helmet in your father'? battles.
Jub. Thofe locks 'fhall ne'er protect thy infolence.
Sy. Muft one ram word, th' infirmity of age, Throw down the merit of my better years ? This the reward of a whole life of fervice ! — -Curfe on the boy ! how fteadily he hears me ! [Apde*-
Jub. Is it becaufe the throne of my forefathers Still Hands unfill'd, and that Numidia's crown Hangs doubtful yet whofe head it mall inclofe, Thou thus prefum'ft to treat thy prince with fcorn?
Sy. Why will you rive my heart with fuch expreffions ? Does not old Syphax follow you to war ? What are his aims ? Why does he load with darts His trembling hand, and crufh beneath a cafque His wrinkled brows ? What is it he afpires to r Is- it not this,? to meet the flow remains, His laft poor ebb of blood in your defence ?
Jub. Sypbax, no more ! I would not hear you talk.
Sy. Not hear me talk ! what, when my faith to Juba, My royal matter's fon, is call'd in queftion ? My prince may ftrike me dead, and I'll be dumb ; But whiliil live I muft not hold my tongue, And languiih out old age in his difpleafure.
Jub. Thou know'ft the way too well into ray Keart. I do believe thee loyal to thy prince.
$j. What greater inftance can I give ? I've offer'd
To
C A T O. 39
To do an aftion which my foul abhors, And gain you whom you love, at any price.
Jub. Was this thy motive ? I have been too hafly.
Sy. And 'tis for this my prince has call'd me traitor.
Jub. Sure thou miilak'ft ; I did not call thee fo.
Sy. You did, indeed, my prince, you call'd me traitor* Nay, further, threaten'd you'd complain to Cato. Of what, my prince, would you complain to Cato ? That Syphax loves you, and would facrifice His life, nay, more, his honour, in your fervice.
Jub. Sypbax, I know thou lov'ft me ; but indeed' Thy zeal for Juba carry'd thee too far. Honour's a facred tie, the law of kings, The noble mind's diftinguiming perfection, That aids and ftrengthens virtue where it meets her, And imitates her aftions where me is not : It ought not to be fported with.
Sy. By Heav'ns,
I'm ravifh'd when you talk thus, tho* you chide me ! Alas ! I've hitherto been ns'd to think A blind officious zeal to ferve my king The ruling principle, that ought to burn; And quench all others in a fubjecl's hearth Happy the people who preferve their honour By the fame duties that oblige their prince.
Juki Sypbax, -thou now begin 'ft to fpeak thyfelf,
Numidid's grown a fcorn among the nations,
For breach of public vows. Our Punic faith
Is infamous, and branded to a proverb.
Sypbax, we'll join our cares, to purge away
Our country's crimes, and clear her reputation.
Sy. Believe me, prince, you make old Sypbax weep,
To hear you talk — but 'tis with tears of joy.
If e'er your father's crown adorn your brows,
Numidia will be bleft by Cato's lectures.
Jub. Syphax, thy hand ; we'll mutually forget
The warmth of youth, and frowardnefs of age ;
Thy prince efteems thy worth, and loves thy perfon.
If e'er the fceptre comes into my hand,
Sypbax fhall ftand the fecond in my kingdom.
4o C A T O.
Sy. Why will you overwhelm my age with kindnefs ? My joy grows burdenfome, I (han't fupport it.
Jub. Syphax, farewell. I'll hence, and try to find Some bleft occafion that may fet me .right Jn Cato's thoughts. I'd rather have that man Approve my deeds, than worlds for my admirers. [Exit.
Sy. Young men foon give, and foon forget aftronts ; Old age is flow in' both — A falfe old traitor ! — Thefe words, rafh boy, may chance to coft thee dear. My heart had Hill fome foolifh fondnefs for thee : But hence 1 'tis gone : I give it to the winds : C<e/ar, I'm wholly thine. —
Enter Sempronius. All hail, Sempronius! Well, Cato's fenate is refolv'd to wait The fury of a fiege before it yields.
Sent. Syphax, we both were on the verge of fate : Lucius declar'd for peace, and terms were offer'd To Cato, by a meflenger from Cafar. Shou'd they fubmit ere our defigns are ripe, We both muft perifh in the common wreck, Loft in the gen'ral undiflinguifh'd ruin. Sy. But how Hands Cato ? Sem. Thou haft feen mount Atlas : Whilft ftorms and tempefts thunder on its brows, And oceans break their billows at its feet, It ftands unmov'd, and glories in its height : Such is that haughty man ; his tow'ring foul, 'Midft all the mocks and injuries of fortune, Rifes fuperior,' and looks down on C&far. Sy. But what's this meffenger ? Sem. I've praftis'd with him, And found a means to let the viclor know That Syphax and Semprenius are his friends. But let me now examine in my turn : Is Juba fix'd ?
Sy. Yes — but it is to Cato. I've try'd the force of every reafon on him, Sooth'd and carefs'd ; been angry, footh'd again ; Laid fafety, life, and int'reft in his fight. But all are vain, he fcorns them all for Cato,
Sew,
A T O. 41-
Sem: Come, 'tis no matter ; we mail do without him, He'll make a pretty figure in a triumph, And ferve to trip before the victor's chariot. Sypkax, I now riay hope thou haft fqrfook Thy Jubcfs caufe, and vvifheft Af«r<r/> mine.
Sy. May fhe be thine r.* faft as thou would'ft have her.
Sem. Sypkax, I love that woman ; tho' I curfe Her and myfelf, yet, fpite of me, I love her.
Sy. Make Cato fure, and give up Utica^ Cafar will ne'er refufe thee fuch a trifle. But are thy troops prepar'd for a revolt ? Does the fedition catch from man to man, And run among their ranks ?
Sem. All, all his ready,
The factious leaders are our friends, that fpread Murmurs and difcontents among the foldiers ; They count their toilfome marches, long fatigues* Unufual fallings, and will bear no more This medley of philofophy and war. Within an hour they'll (form the fenate-houfe.
Sy. Mean while I'll draw up my Numidian troops Within the fquare, to exercife their arms. And as I fee occafion, favour thee. I laugh to think how your unmaken Cato Will look aghaft, while unforefeen deftruction v Pours in upon him thus from every fide.
§o, where our wide Nimidian waftes extend, Sudden, th' impetuous hurricanes defcend. Wheel through the air, in circling eddies play, Tear up the fands, and (weep whole plains away. The helplefs traveller, with wild furprife Sees the dry defart all around him rife, And, fmother'd in the duity whirlwind, dies.
{Exeunt,
\
ACT
42 C A T O.
ACT III.
Enter Marcus and Portius,
Marc. f I AHANKS to my ftars, I have not rang'd abo-ut J[ The wilds of life, ere I could find a friend ;. Nature firil pointed out my Povtius to me, And early taught me, by her facred force, To love thy perfon, ere I knew thy merit, Till what was inftinft, grew up into friendfhip.
For. Marcus, the friendfhips of the world are oft Confed'racies in vice, or leagdes of pleafure j Ours has fevereft virtue for his bafis, And fuch a friendmip ends not but with life.
Marc, Portiusy thou know'ft my'foul in all its weaknef«r Then pr'ythee fpare me on its tender fide. Indulge me but in love, my other paflions Shall rife and fall by virtue's niceft rules.
Par. When love's well-tim'd, 'tis not a fault to love. The ftrong, the brave, the virtuous, and the wife, Sink in the foft captivity together. I would not urge thee to difmifs thy paflion, (I know 'twere vain) but to fupprefs its force, Till better times may make it look more graceful.
Marc. Alas ! thou talk'fl like one who never felt Th' impatient throbs and longings of a foul That pants aad reaches after diftant goo^. A lover does not live by vulgar time : Believe me, Portius, in my Lucia's abfence Life hangs upon me, and becomes a burden ; And yet, when I behold the charming maid, I'm ten times more undone ; while hope and fear, And grief, and rage, and love, rife up at once, And with variety of pain diftract me..
Par. What can thy Portius do to give thee help ?
Marc. Portius, thou oft enjoy 'ft the fair-one's prefence •; Then undertake my caufe, and plead it to her With all the flrejigth and heat of eloquence Fraternal love and friendfhip caa infpire_
Tell
C A T O. 43
Tell her thy brother languishes to death, And fades away, and withers in his bloom ; That he forgets his fleep, and loaths his food, That youth, and health, and war are joylefs to him : Defcribe his anxious days, and reftlefs nights, And all the torments that thou fee'ft me fuffer.
Par. Marcus, I beg thee give me not an office That fuits with me fo ill. Thou know'ft my temper.
'Marc. Wilt thou behold me finking in my woes, And wilt thou not reach out a friendly arm, To raife me from amidft this plunge of forrows ?
For. Marcus, thou can'il not afk what I'd refufe. But here, believe me, I've a thoufahd reafons - -
Marc. I know though fay my paflion's out of feafon, That Cato's great example and misfortunes Should both confpire to drive it from my thoughts. But what's all this to one that loves like me ? O Portiust Portius, from my foui I wifh Thou didft but know thyfelf what 'tis to love! Then wouldft thou pity and affift thy brother.
Por. What mould I do ! If I difclofe my paflion Our friendfhip's at an end ; if I conceal it, The world will call me falie to a friend and brother.
Marc. But fee where Lucia, at her wonted hour, Amid the cool of yon high marble arch, Enjoys the noon-day breeze 1 Obferve her, Portius ; That face, that fhape, thofe eyes, that heav'n of beauty ! Obferve her well, and blame me if thou canfl.
Par. She fees us, and advances -
Marc. I'll withdraw,
And leave you for a while. Remember, Portius, Thy brother's life depends upon thy tongue. [Exit..
» Enter Lucia.
Luc. Did not I fee your brother Marcus here ? Why did he fly the place, and fhun my prefence ?
Per. O Lucia, language is too faint to (hew His rage of love ; it preys upon his life ; He pines, he fickens, he defpairs, he dies : 1 His pafiions and his virtues lie confus'd, ' And mixt together in fo wild a tumult,
« That
W CAT O:
* That^the whole man is quite disfigur'd in hinT.
' Heavens ! would one think 'twere poflible for lore
* To make fuch ravage in a noBle foul.'
O Lucia ! I'm-diftreft ; my heart bleeds for him : Ev'n now, while thus I Hand bleft in thy prefence, A fecret damp of grief comes o'er my thoughts, And I'm unhappy, tho' thou fmil'ft upon me.
Luc. How wilt thou guard thy honour, in the mock Of love and friendfhip ? Think betimes, my Porting Think how the nuptial tie, that might enfure Our mutual blifs, would raife to fuch a height Thy brother's griefs, as mig'ht perhaps deftroy him.
Per. Alas, poor youth! What doll thou think, my His gen'rous, open, undefigning heart [Lucia %
Has begg'd his rival* to folicit for him ; Then do not ftrike him dead with a denial ; But hold him up in life, and cheer his foul With the faint glimmering of a doubtful hope : Perhaps when we have pafs'd thefe .gloomy hours, And weather'd out the ftorra that beats upon us-— -
Lpt* Noi Perittu, no ; I fee thy fitter's tears, Tliy father's anguifb, and thy brother's death, In rhe purfuit of our ill-fated loves : And, Pcrttus, here I fvvear, to Heav'n I fwear,. To Heav'n and all the powers that judge mankind, Never to mix my plighted hands with thine, While fuch a cloud of mifchiefs hangs about us, But to forget our loves, and drive thee out From all my thoughts as far — as I am able.
Par. What haft thou faid ! I'm thunder- flruck — recall Thofe hafty words, or I am loft for ever.
Luc. Has not the vow already pafs'd my lips ? The gods have heard it, and 'tis feal'd in Heav'n. • May all' the vengeance that was ever pour'd On perjur'd heads overwhelm me, if 1 break it.
Per. Fix'd in aftonifhment, J gaze upon thee, Like one juft blafted by a ftroke from Heav'n> Who pants for breath, and ftiffens, yet alive, In dreadful looks ; a monument of wrath !
4 Luc. At length I've acted my fevereft part, ' I feel the woman breaking in upon me,
1 And
A T O. 45
t And melt about my heart ; my tears will flow. { But oh, I'll think no more ! the hand of fate ' Has torn thee from me, and 1 muft forget thee.
* Par. Hard-hearted cruel maid! ' Luc. Oh, flop thofe founds,
' Thofe killing founds ! Why dofl thou frown upon me*? ' My blood runs cold, my heart forgets to heave, ' And life itfelf goes out at thy difpleafure.
* The gods forbid us to indulge our loves ;
1 But oh ! I cannot bear thy hate, and live.
* For. Talk not of love, thou never knew'il its force.
* I've been deluded, led into a dream
' Of fancy'd bHfs. O Lucia, cruel maid !
' Thy dreadful vow, loaden with death, flill founds
* In my ftunn'd ears. What mall I fay or do ?
* Quick let us part ! Perdition's in thy prefenee,
' And horror dwells about thee ! — Ha ! me faints ?
* Wretch that 1 am, what has my rafhnefs done:!
* Lucia, thou injar'd innocence ! thou be ft
4 And lovelieft of thy fex ! awake, my Lucia,
* Or Portius rumes on his fword to join thee. ' — Her imprecations reach not to the tomb,
* They (hut .not out fociety in death —
* But ah ! me moves, life wanders up and down
* Through all her face, and lights up ev'ry charm.
* Luc. O Portius, was this well — to frown on her
* That lives upon thy fmiles ? To call in doubt
* The faith of one expiring at thy feet,
4 That loves thee more than ever woman lov'd ? 4 — What do I fay ? my half-recover'd fenfe
* Forgets the vow in which my foul is bound.
* Deftru&ion Hands betwixt us ; we muft part.
* Par. Name not the word, my frighted thoughts run
* And ftartle into madnefs at the found.' [back, Luc. 4 What wouldft thou have me do -? Confider well
4 The train of ills our love would draw behind it.1 Think, Portius, think thou feeft thy dying brother Stabb'd at his heart, and all befmear'd with blood, Storming at Heav'n and thee ! Thy awful fire Sternly demands the caufe, th' accurfed caufe, That robs him of his fpn : poor Marcia trembles,
Then
46 C A T O. .
Then tears her hair, and frantic in her griefs > Calls out on Lucia. What could Lucia anfwer, Or how Hand up in fuch a fcene of forrovv r
Par. To my confufion, and eternal grief, I mull approve the fehtence that deftroys me.
The mift that hung about my mind, clears up ;
And now, athwart the terrors that thy vow
Has planted round thee, thou appear'ft more fair,
More amiable, and rifeft in thy charms.
Lovelieft of women ! Heav'n is in thy foul ;
Beauty and virtue mine for ever round thee,
Bright'ning each other: thou art all divine.'
Luc. Portius, no more ; thy words moot thro* my Melt my refolves, and turn me all to love, [heart,
Why are thofe tears of fondnefs in thy eyes ? Why, heaves thy heart ? Why fwells thy foul with for- It foftens me too much — farewel, my Portius ; [row ? Farewel, tho' death is in the word, — for ever !
Par. Stay, Lucia, ftay ! What doft thou fay ? For ever ?
Luc. Have I not fworn ? If, Portius, thy fuccefs Muft throw thy brother on his fate, farewel — Oh, how mall I repeat the word ! for ever.
Per. f Thus o'er the dying lamp th' unileady flame ' Hangs quivering on a point, leaps off by fits, ' And falls again, as loth to quit its hold.' —Thou muft not go, my foul ftill hovers o'er thee, And can't get loofe.
Luc. If the firm Pcrfius makes To hear of parting, think what Lucia fuffers !
Par. 'Tis true, unruffled and ferene, I've m&t The common accidents of life, but here Such an unlook'd-for ftorm o'f ills fails on me, It beats down all my ftrength. I cannot bear it. We muft not part.
Luc « What doft thou fay ? Not part ! Haft thou forgot the vow that I have made ? Are there not heav'ns, and gods, that thunder o'er us ? — But fee thy brother Marcus bends this way : I ficken at the iight. Once more, farewel, Farewel, and know thou wrong'ft me, if thou think'ft Ever was love, or ever grief, like mine. [Exit. Lucia.
Enter
'€ A T O. 47
Enter Marcus.
M??r. , Portius, what hopes ? How (lands fhe ? Am I To life or death ? [doom'd
For. What wouldft thou have me fay ?
Marc. What means this penlive pofture ? Thou ap- Like one amaz'd and terrify'd. [pear'fl
For. I've reafon.
Marc. Thy down-caft looks, and thy diforder'd Tell me iny fate. I afk not the fuccefs [thoughts,
My caufe has found.
For. I'm griev'd I undertook it.
Marc. What ! does the barbarous maid infult my heart, My aching heart, and triumph in my pains ? That I could caft her from my thoughts for ever !
For. Away, you're too fufpicious in your griefs j - Lucia, though fvvornr never to think of love, Compaflionates your pains, and pities-you.
Marc. Compaffionates my pains, and pities me ! What is compaffion, when 'tis void of love ? Fool that I was to choofe fo cold a friend
To urge my caufe ! Compaflionates my pains !
Pr'ythee what art, what rhet'ric didft thou ufe To gain this mighty boon ? — She pities me ! To one that afks the warm returns of love, Companion's cruelty, 'tis fcorn, 'tis death *•
For, Marcus, no more ; haveldeferv'd this treatment ?
Marc. What have I faid ! O Portius, Oh ! forgive mej A foul exafperated in ills falls out With ev'ry thing, its friend, itfelf — but hah ! What means that fhout, big with the founds of war ? What new alarm ?
For. A fecond, louder yet, Swells in the winds, and comes more full upon us.
Marc. Oh, for fome glorious caufe to fall in battle ! Lucia, thou haft undone me ; thy difdain Has broke my heart : 'tis death muft give me eafe.
For. Quick, let us hence. Who knows if Cato's life "Stands fure ? O Marcus, 1 am warm'd, my heart Leaps at the trumpet's voice, and burns for glory.
[Exeunt.
Enter
48 CAT Q,
'Enter Sempronius, with the 'Leaders vf the Mutiny*
Sem. At length the winds are rais'd, "the ftorm blows iBe it your care, my friends, to keep it up [high.
In its full fury, and direct it right, Till it has -fpent itfelf on Cato's head. Mean while I'll herd among his friends, and feem One of the number, that whatever arrive, My friends, and fellow-foldiers may be fafe. [Exit.
\ft Lead. We are all fafe, -Semproniia is our friend. •Sempronius is as 'brave a man as Cato. "But hark ! he -enters. Bear up boldly to him ; 3e fare you beat down, and bind him faft. This day will end our toils, and give us reft.: Fear nothing, for S'empronius is our friend,
Re-enter Sempronius, with Cato, Lucius, Portius, and Marcus.
Cato. Where are thefe bold intrepid fons of war, That greatly turn their backs upon the foe, .And to their general fend a brave defiance ?
Sem. Curfe on their daftard fouls, they ftand aftonifli'd,
[Afuie.
Cato. Perfidious men ! And will you thus difhonour Your paft exploits, and fully all your wars ? Do you confefs 'twas not a zeal for Rome> Nor love of liberty, nor thirlt of hono'ur, Drew you thus far ; but hopes to mare the fpoil Of conquer'd towns, and plunder'd provinces? Pir'd with fuch motives, you do well to join With Cato's foes, and follow Cte/ar's banners. Why did I 'fcape th' envenom'd afpic's rage, And all the fiery monfters of the de(art, To fee this day ? Why could not Cato fall Without your guilt ! Behold, ungrateful men, Behold my bofom naked to your Iwords, And let the man that's injur'd ftrike the blow. Which of you all fufpecls that he. is wrong'd, Or thinks he fuffers greater ills than Cato ? Am I diftinguifli'd from you but by toils, Superior toils, and heavier weight of cares ? Painful pre-eminence !
Sew.
C A T a 49
Sem. By Heav'ns they droop ! Confufion to the villains ; all is loft. [Afide*
* Cato. Have you forgotten Libya's burning wafte, Its barren rocks, parch' d earth, and hills of fand> Its tainted air, and all its broods of poifon ? Who was the firft to explore th' untrodden path, When life was hazarded in ev'ry ftep ?
Or, fainting in the long laborious march, \
When on the banks of an unlook'd-for ftream You funk the river with repeated draughts, Who was the laft in all your hoft that thirfted ?
Sem. If fome penurious fource by chance appear'd, Scanty of waters, when you fcoop'd it dry, And offer'd the full helmet up to Cato, , Did he not dafh th' untafted moifture from him ? Did he not lead you through the mid-day fun, And clouds of duft ? Did not his temples glow In the fame fultry winds, and fcorching heats ?
Cato. Hence, worthlefs men ! hence ! and complain You could not undergo the toil of war, [to Ceefar*
Nor bear the hardships that your leader bore.
Luc. See, Cato, fee the unhappy men ; they weep !• Fear and remorfe, and ferrow for their crime/ Appear in ev'ry look, and plead for mercy.
Cato. Learn to be honeft men, give up your lead«rSj And pardon (hall defcend on all the reft.
Sem. Cato, commit thefe wretches to my care : Firft let 'em each be broken on the rack. Then with what life remains, impal'd and left To writhe at leifure round the bloody ftake, There let 'em hang, and taint the fouthern wind. The partners of their crime will learn obedience, When, they look up and fee their fellow traitors Stuck on a fork, and black'ning in the fun.
' Luc. Sempronius, why, why wilt thou urge the fare
* Of wretched men ?
' Sem. How ! wouldft thou clear rebellion ?
* Lucius (good man) pities the poor offenders
r That would imbrue their hands in Cato'a blood.'
Cato. Forbear, Sempronius ! — fee they fuffer death, But in their deaths remember they are men ;
^ Strain
-5o CAT O.
Strain not the laws to make their tortures grievous. Lucius, the bafe degen'rate age requires Severity, and juflice in its rigour : This awes an impious, bold offending world, Commands obedience, and gives force to laws. When by juft vengeance guilty mortals periih, The gods behold their punifhment with pleafure, And lay th' uplifted thunderbolt afide.
Sem. Cafo, I execute thy will with pleafure.
Cato. Meanwhile we'll facrifice to liberty. Remember, O my friends, the laws, the rights, The gen'rous plan of pow'r deliver'd down, From age to age, by your renown'd forefathers, {So dearly bought, the price of fo much blood :) Oh, kt it never peri in in your hands ! But pioufly tranfmit it to your children. Do thou, great liberty, infpire our fouls, And make our lives in thy pofleflion happy, • Or our deaths glorious in thy juft defence.
[Exeunt Cato, &c.
ift Leader. Sempronius, you have acted like yourfelf. One would have thought you had been half in earneft.
Sem. Villain, Hand off, bafe, grov'ling, worthlefs
wretches, Mongrels in faction, poor faint-hearted traitors !
2.d. Lead. Nay, now you carry it too far, Sempronius ; Throw off the mafk, there are ncne here but friends.
Sem. Know, villains, when fuch paltry flaves prefume To mix in treafon, if the plot fucceeds, They're thrown neglected by : but if it fails, They're fure to die like dogs, as you mail do. Here, take thefe factious monflers, drag 'em forth To fudden death.
i/? Lead. Nay, fmce it comes to this
Sem. Difpatch 'em quick, but firft pluck «out their
tongues, Left with their dying breath they fow fedition.
[Exeunt Guards, with the Leaders. Enter Syphax.
Sj. 0ur firft defign, my friend, has prov'd abortives Still there retaains an after-game to play ;
My
A O. 5!
My troops are mounted ; their Numidian fleeds Snuff up the wind, and long to fcour the defert : Let but Sempronius head us in our flight, We'll force the gate where Marcus keeps his guard, And hew down all that would oppofe our pa'iTage. A day will bring us into C<f/ar's camp*
Sent. Confufion ! I have fail'd of" half my purpofc ; Mania, the charming Marcia's left behind !
Sy. How 1 will Sempronius turn a woman's flave r
Sem. Think not thy friend can ever feel the fofc Unmanly warmth and tendernefs of love. Syphaxy I long to clafp that haughty maid, And bend her ftubborn virtue to my paffion : When I have gone thus far, I'd caft her off.
Sy. Well faid ! that's fpoken like thyfelf, Sempronius. What hinders, then, but that thou find her out, And hurry her away by manly force.
Sem. But how to gain admiflion ? For accefs Is given to none but "Juba, and her brothers.
Sy. Thou malt have Juba^ drefs, and Jura's guards, The doors will open when Numidia's prince Seems to appear before the flaves that watch them.
Sem. Heav'ns, what a thought is there ! Marcia's my How will my bofom fvvell with anxious joy, [own !
\^hen I behold her ftruggling in my arms, With glowing beauty, and diforder'd charms, While fear and anger, with alternate grace, Pant in her breaft, and vary in her face ! So Pluto, feis'd of Proferpine, convey'd To hell's tremendous gloom th' affrighted maid, There grimly fmil'd, pleas'd with the beauteous prize. Nor envy'd Jo<ve his funlhine and his fkies. [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Enter Lucia and Marcia.
Luc.
NOW tell me, Marcia, tell me from thy foul, If thou believ'ft 'tis poffible for woman To fuffer greater ills than Lucia fuffers ?
C 2 Mar.
52 CAT O.
Mar. O Lucia, Lucia, might my big fwoln heart, Vent all its griefs, and give a loofe to forrow, Mar da could anfwer thee in fighs, keep pace With all thy woes, and count out tear for tear.
Luc. I know thou'rt doom'd alike to be belov'd By Juba, and thy father's friend Sempronius : But which of thefe has power to charm like Portius !
Mar. Still I muft beg thee not to name Sempronius, Lucia, I like not that loud boifl'rous man ; Juba to all the brav'ry of a hero Adds fofteft love and more than female fweetnefs ; jfuba might make the proudeft of our fex, Any of womankind, but Marcia, happy.
Luc< And why not, Marcia? Come, you ftrive in vain To hide your thoughts from one who knows too well The inward glowings of a heart in love.
Mar. While Cato lives, his daughter has no right To love or hate, but as his choice diredls.
Luc. But mould this father give you to Sempronius ? Mar. I dare not think he will : but if he fhouldr— Why wilt thou add to all the griefs I fuffer Imaginary ills, and fancy *d tortures ? I. hear the found of feet ! They march this way ! Let us retire, and try if we can drown Each foftcr thought in fenfe of prefent danger : When love once pleads admiflion to our hearts (In fpite of all the virtue we can boaft) The woman that deliberates is loft. [Exeunt.
Enter Sempronius, drejfcd like Juba, with Numidian
Guards.
. Sen. The deer is lodg'd, I've track'd her to her co- Be fure you mind the word, and when I give it [vert. Rufh in at once, and feize upon your prey. Let not her cries or tears have force to move you. —^— How will the young Numidian rave to fee His iniih-efs loft ! If aught could glad my foul, Beyond th' enjoyment of fo bright a prize, 'Twould be to torture that young, gay barbarian. — But hark, what noife ! Death to my hopes ! 'tis he, 'Tis Jubu's felf ! there is but one way left — — He muft be murder'd, and a paffage cut
Through
C A T O. 55
Through thofe his guards — Hah, daftards, do you trem ble !
Or aft like men, or by yon azure Heaven — Enter Juba.
Jub. What do I fee ? Who's this, that dares ufurp The guards and habit of Namibia's prince ?
Sem. One that was born to fcourge thy arrogance, Prefumptuous youth !
Jub. What can this mean ? Scmpronius !
Sem. My fword mail anfxver thee. Have at thy heart.
Jub. Nay, then beware thy own, proud, barbarous man. [^They fight, Sem. falls, tiis guards furrender*
Sem. Curfe on my ftars ! am I then doom'd to fall By a boy's hand, disfigur'd in a vile Numidian drefs, and for a worthlefs woman ? Gods, I'm diftradted 1 this my clofe of life ! Oh, for a peal of thunder that would make Earth, fea, and air, and Heav'n, zndCato tremble ! [Dies.
Jub. With what a fpring his furious foul broke loofe, And left the limbs ftill quiv'ring on the ground ! Hence let us carry off thofe flaves to Cuto, That we may there at length unravel all This dark defign, this myftery of fate.
{Exit Juba, 'with prifoners, &c. Enter Lucia and Marcia.
Luc-, Sure 'twas the clafli of fwords ; my troubled heart Is fo caft do'vn, and funk amidft its forrows, It throbs with fear, and aches at every found.
0 Marcia, mould thy brothers for my fake !• —
1 die away with horror at the thought.
Mar. See, Lucia, fee ! here's blood ! here's blood
and murder I
Hah ! a Numidian I Heav'n preferve the prince ! The face lies muffled up within the garment, But, hah ! death to my fight ! a diadem, And royal robes ! O gods ! 'tis he, 'tis he ! ' Juba, the lovelieft youth that ever warm'd ^
* A virgin's heart,' Juba lies dead before us !
Luc. Now, Marcia, now call up to thy afliftaiue Thy wonted ftrength and conftancy of mind, Thou can'ft not put it to a greater trial,
C 3 Mar.
54 C A T O.
Mar. Lucia, look there, and wonder at my patience ; Have I not caufe to rave, and beat my breaft, To rend m.y heart with grief, and run diftra&ed !
Luc. What can I think or fay to give thee comfort r
Mar. Talk not of comfort, 'tis for lighter ills : Behold a fight that ftrikes all comfort dead.
Enter Juba liflening.
I will indulge my forrows, and give way To all the pangs and fury of defpair ; That man, that belt of men, deferv'd it from me/
Jub. What do I hear ? And was the falfe Semprpnms That beft of men ? Oh, had I fall'n like him, And cou'd have thus been mourn'd, I had been happy.
f Luc. Here will I ftand companion in thy woes, ' And help thee with my tears ; when I behold
* A lofs like thine, I half forget my own.'
Mar. 'Tis not in fate to eafe my lortur'd breaft.
* This emp^ty world, to me a joylefs defart,
* Has nothing left to make poor Mar a a happy.
' Jub. I'm on the rack ! was he fo near her heart ? ' Mur. Oh, he was all made up of love and charms ! Whatever maid could wim, or man admire : Delight of every eye ; when he appear'd, A fecret pleafure gladden'd all that faw him ; But when taik'd, the proudeft Roman blufh'd To hear his virtues, and old age grew wife. ' Jub. I mall run mad '
Mar. O Juba! Juba! Juba! [J/Me.
Jub. What means that voice ? Did me not call on Juba?
Mar. « Why do I think on what he was ! he's dead !
* He's dead, and never knew how much I lov'd him.' Lucia, who knows but his poor bleeding heart, Amidft his agonies, remember'd Marda,
And the laft words he utter'd call'd me cruel ! Alas ! he knew not, haplefs youth, he knew not Mar da's whole foul was full of love and Juba !
Jub. Where am I ? Do I live? or am indeed What Mar da thinks ? All is Elyfeum round me ! [JJide.
Mar. Ye dear remains of the molt lov'd of men, Nor mcdefly nor virtue here forbid
A lafl embrace, while thus
Jub.
c
o.
Jnb. See, Marcia, fee [Throwing htmf elf before her. The happy Juba lives ! He lives to catch That dear embrace, and to return it too With mutual warmth and eagernefs of love.
M#V With pleafure and amaze I ftand tranfported I .' Sure 'tis a dream I dead and alive at once 1' If tbou art Juba, who lies there ?
Jub. A wretch,
Difguis^d like Juba on a curs'd defigir. ' The taTe is long, nor have I heard it out r
* Thy father knows it all.' I could not bear To leave thee in the neighbourhood of death, But flew, in all the hafte of love, to find thee ; I found thee weeping, and confefs this once, Am rapt with joy to fee my Marcia's tears.
Mar. I've been furpris'd in an unguarded hour, But mult not now go back ; the love that lay Half fmother'd in my breaft, has broke through all Its weak reftraints, and burns in its full luilre. I cannot, if I would, conceal it from thee.
' Jub. I'm loft in extafy ; and doft thou love, ' Thou charming maid
' Mar. And doft thou live to afk it ?
' Jub. This, this is life indeed ! life worth preferring, ' Such life as Juba never felt it 'till now !
' Mar. Believe me, prince, before I thought thee dead,
* I did know myfelf how much I lov'd thee. c Jub. O fortunate miftake !
' Mar. O happy Marcia /'
Jub. My joy, my beft belov'd, my only wifh ! How mall I fpeak the tranfport of my foul !
Mar. Lucia, thy arm. ' Oh, let me reft upon it ! ' The vital blood, that had forfook my heart, c Returns again in fuch tumultuous tides,
* It quite o'ercomes me.' Lead to my apartment.— O prince ! I blufh to think what I have faid,
But fate has wrefted the confeflion from me ; Go on, and profper in the paths of honour. Thy virtue will excufe my paifion for thee, And make the gods propitious to our love.
\Exeunt Mar. *»</Luc. C 4
56 CATC.
Jub. I am fo bleft, I fear 'tis all a dream, Portune, thou now haft made amends for all Thy paft unkindnefs : I abfolve my ftars. What tho' Numidia add her conquer'd towns And provinces to fwell the victor's triumph, "Jubn will never at his fate repine :
Let Co-far have the world, if Marcza's mine. [Ext'f,
d march at a diflance. Enter Cato and Lucius.
Luc . I ftand aitcnifh'd ! What, the bold Sempronius, That ftill broke foremoit thro* the crowd of patriots, As with a hurricane of zeal tranfported, And virtuous even to madnefs—
Cato. Truft me, Luciys, Our civil difcords have produc'd fuch crimes, Such monflrous crimes, I am furpriz'd at nothing. . — O Lucius, I am fick of this bad world ! The day-light and the fun grow painful to me.
Enter Portius.
But fee wljere Portius comes : what means this hafle i Why are thy looks thus chang'd ?
For. My heart is griev'd, I bring fuch news as will aifli& my father.
Cato. Has Cafar fhed more Roman blood ?
For. Not To.
The traitor typhax, as within the fquare Ke exercis'd his troops, the fignal given, Flew oft at once with his Numidian horfe To the fouth gate, where Marcus holds the watch j I faw, and calPd to iiop him, but in vain : He tofs'd his arm aloft, and proudly told me, He would not flay and perifh like Sempronius.
Cato. Perfidious man ! But haile, my fon, and fee Thy brother Marcus a<5ts a Roman's part. [Exit Por.
—Lucius, the terrent bears too hard upon me : Juftice gives way to force : the conquer'd world Is Coffer's ! Cato has no bufinefs in, it.
Luc. While pride, opprefUon, and injuitice reign, The world will itill demand her Cato's prefence. In pity to mankind fubmit to Ca/ar, And reconcile thy mighty foul to life,
Cat*.
SATO. 57
Cato. Would Lucius have me live to fwell the number Of Ctf/ar's flaves, or by a bafe fubmiffion Give up the caufe of Rome, and own a tyrant ?
Luc. The victor never will impofe on Cato Ungen'rous terms. His enemies confefs The virtues of humanity are C<e/ar's.
Cato. Curfe on his virtues ! tlr.y' ve undone his country. Such popular humanity is treafon — • — But fee young Juba ; the good youth appears, Full of the guilt of his perfidious fubjefts !
Luc. Alas, poor prince ! his fate deferves companion* Enter Juba.
Jub. I blufh, and am confounded to appear Before thy prefence, Cato.
Cato. What's thy crime ?
Jub. I'm a Numi&an.
Cato. And a brave one, too. Thou haft a Roman foul.
Jub. Haft thou not heard of my falfe countrymen ?
Cato. Alas, young prince ! falfhood and fraud moot up
in ev'ry foil, The product of all climes — Rome has its Qfsfurs.
Jub. JTis generous thus to comfort the diitrefs'd.
Cato. 'Tis juft to give applaufe where 'tis deferv'd : Thy virtue, prince, has ftood the teft of fortune, Like pureft gold, that tortur'd in the furnace, Comes out more bright, and brings forth all its weight.
Jub. What (hall 1 anfwer thee I ' My ravifh'd heart 4 O'crflows with fecret joy :' I'd rather gain Thy praife, O Cato, than Numi'dta's empire. Enter Portius.
P,or. Misfortune on misfortune ! grief on grief ! My brother Marcus
Cato. Hah ! what has he done ? Has he forfook his poft ? Has he giv'n way ? Did he look tamely on, and let 'em pafs ?
For. Scarce had I left my father, but I met him Borne on the Ihieids of his furviving foldiers, Breathlefs and pale, and cover M o'er with wounds. Long, at the head of his few faithful friends, He itood the ihcck of a whole holt of foes,
C 5 Till
58 CATO.
Till obftinately brave, and bent on death, Cppreft with multitudes, he greatly fell. Cato. I'm fatisfy'd. Por. Nor did he fall before
His fword had pierc'd through the falfe heart of Syplax. Yonder he lies. I faw the hoary traitor Grin in the pangs of death, and bite the ground.
Cato. Thanks to the gods, my boy has done his duty. — Portius, when I am dead, be fure you place His urn near mine.
Per. Long may they keep afunder ! Luc. O Cato, arm thy foul with all its patience ; See where the corpfe of thy dead fon approaches ! The citizens and fenators, alarm'd, Have gather'd round it, and attend it weeping.
Cato, meeting the corpfe.
Cato. Welcome, rny fon! Here lay him down, my friends, Full in my fight, that I may view at leifure The. bloody cprfe, and count thofe glorious wounds. — ^-How beautiful is death, when earn'd by virtue! Who would not be that youth ? What pity -is it That we can die but once to ferve our country! —Why fits this fadnefs on your brows, my friends ? I foou'd have blufh'd if Cato's houfe had flood Secure, and flourifh'd in a civil war. <—Portiusy behold thy brother, and remember Thy life is not thy own, when Rome demands it. » Jub. Was ever man like this !
Cato. Alas, my friends, Why mourn you thus ! let not a private lofs Afflift your hearts. 'Tis Rome requires our tears, The miitrefs of tHe world, the feat of empirej The nurfe of heroes, the delight of gods, That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth, And fet the nations free, Rome is no more. P liberty ! O virtue ! O my country!
Jub. Beheld that upright man ! Rome fills his eyes With tears, that flow'd not o'er his own dead fon. [Afifa.
Cato. Whate'er the Roman virtue has fubdu'd, The fun's whole courfe, the day and year are C<r/ar's; For him the felf-devoted Decii dy'd,
The
CAT O. 59
The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquer'd; Ev'n Pcmpey fought for Cafar. O my friends ! How is the toil of fate, the work of ages, The Roman empire, fall'n ! O curft ambition ! Fall'n into C&/ar's hands ? Our great forefathers Had left him nought to conquer but his country.
Jub. While Cato lives Cafar will blufli to fee Mankind enflav'd, and be afham'd of empire.
Cato. Ctfjar afham'd ! Has he not feen Pbarfalia !
Luc. Cato, 'tis time thou fave thyfelf and us.
Cato. Lofe not a thought on me^, I'm out of danger, Heav'n will not leave me in the vidlor's hand. Cafar fhall never fay he conquer'd Cato. But O my friends, your fafety fills my heart With anxious thoughts : a thoufand fecret terrors Rife in my foul. How fhall I fave my friends ? 'Tis now, O Ctefar, I begin to fear thee.
Luc. C<efar has mercy, if we afk it of him.
Cato. Then afk it, I conjure you ! let him know Whate'er was done againft him, Cato did it. Add, if you pleafe, that I requeft it of him, ' That I myielf, with tears, requeft it of him,' The virtue of my friends may pafs unpunifh'd. Juba, my heart is troubled for thy fake. Shou'd I advife thee to regain Numidia, Or feek the conqueror ? —
Jub. If I forfake thee Whilit I have life, may Heav'n abandon Juba !
Cato. Thy virtues, prince, if I forefee aright, Will one day make thee great ; at Rome hereafter, 'Twill be no crime to have been Cato's friend. Portias, draw near: my fon, thou oft haft feen Thy fire eng-.gM in a corrupted ftate, Wreftling with vice and faction : now thou feeft me Spent, overpower'd, defpairing of fuccefs ; Let me advife thee to retreat betimes To thy paternal feat, the Sabine field. Where the great Cenfor toil'd.with his own hands, And all our frugal ancetfors were blefs'd In humble virtues, and a rural life j There live retir'd, pray for the peace of Rome ;
" C 6 Content
60 C A T O.
Content thyfelf to be obfcurely good.
When vice prevails, and impious men bear fway,
The poft of honour is a private ftation.
For. I hope my father does not recommend
A 'life to Portias, that he fcorns himfelf.
Cato. Farewel, my friends ! If there be any of you
Who dare not truft the victor's clemency,
Know there are fhips prepar'd by my command,
(Their fails already op'ning to the winds)
That mail convey you to the wifh'd-for port.
Is there aught elfe, my friends,, I can do for you ?
The conqueror draws near. Once more farewel !
If e'er we meet hereafter, we mall meet
In happier climes, and on a fafer more,
Where Ctefar never mall approach us more.
[Pointing to bis dead f on »
There the brave youth, with love of virtue fir'd, Who greatly in his country's caufe expir'd, Shall know he conquered. > The firm patriot there, Who made the welfare of mankind his care, Tho' ftill by faction, vice, and fortune croft, Shall find the gen'rous labour was not loft. [Exeunt.
ACT V.
Cztofolut, fitting in a thoughtful pojlure : in his hand Plato' s
book on the Immortality of the Soul. A drawn f word on the table by him.
IT muft be To — Plato, thou reafon'ft well — Elfe whence this pleafmg hope, this fond defire, This longing after immortality ? Or whence this fecret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into nought ? Why fhrinks the foul Back on herfelf, and ftartles at deilru&ion ? 'Tis the divinity that, ftirs within us j 'Tjs Heav'n itfelf that points out an hereafter And intimates eternity to man : Eternity ! thou pleafmg, dreadful thought ! Through what variety oT unuy'd being,
Through
CATO. i
Through what new fcenes and changes muft we pafs?
The wide, th' unbounded profpecl lies before me ;
But fhadows, clouds, and darknefs reft upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a power above
(And that there is all nature cries aloud,
Through all her works) he muft delight in virtue;
And that which he delights in muft be happy.
But when ! or where — this world was made for
I'm weary of conjectures — this muft end 'em.
[Laying bis hand on his fivord»
Thus am I doubly arm'd : my death and life,
My bane and antidote are both before me,
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me* I mail never die.
The foul, fecur'd in her exiftence, fmiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. The liars mall fade away, the fun himfelf Grow dim with age, and nature fink in years, But thou ihalt flourifh in immortal youth, Unhurt amidft the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crufh of worlds. What means this heavinefs that hangs upon me ? This lethargy that creeps through all my fenfes? Nature opprefs'd, and harafs'd out with care, Sinks down to reft. This once I'll favour her, That my awaken'd foul may take her flight, Renew'd in all her ftrength, and frefh with life, An offring fit for Heav'n. Let guilt or fear Difturb man's reft, Cato knows neither of 'em, Indiff'rent in his choice to fieep or die.
Enter Portius.
But, hah! how's this, myfon? Why this intrufion? Were not my orders that I would be private ? Why amldifobey'd?
Par. Alas, my father !
What means this fword, this inftrument of death? Let me convey it hence. Cato. Ram youth, forbear!
Por. Oh, let the pray'rs, th' intreaties of your friends, Their tears3 their common danger, wreit it from you !
Cafe*
62 C A T O.
Cato. Wouldft thou betray me ? Wouldft thou give
me up,
A flave, a captive into Cafar's hands ? Retire, and learn obedience to a father, Or know, young man ! —
For. Look not thus ilernly on me ; You know I'd rather die than difobey yon.
Cato. 'Tis well ! again I'm matter of myfelf. Now, Cafarj let thy troops befet our gates, And bar each avenue ; thy gathering fleets O'erfpread the fea, and ftop up ev'ry port ; Cato ihall open to himfelf a pafla'ge, And mock thy hopes
For. O fir I forgive your fon, Whofe grief hangs heavy on him, O my father ! How am I fare it is not the laft time I e'er (hall call you fo ! Be not difpleas'd, Oh, be not angry with me whillt 1 weep, And, in the anguim of my heart, befeech you To quit the dreadful purpofe of your foul !
Cato. Thou haft been ever good and dutiful.
[Embracing him*
Weep not, my fon, all will be well again ; The righteous gods, whom 1 have fought to pleafe, Will fuccour Cato, and preferve his children.
Per. Your words give comfort to my drooping heart.
Cato. Portius, thou may'ft rely upon my conduct ; Thy father will not act what mifbecomes him. But go, my fon, and fee if aught be wanting Among thy father's friends ; fee them embark'd, And tell me if the winds and feas befriend them. My foul is quite weigh'd down with care, and alks The foft refreftiment of a moment's fleep. [Exit.
Per. My thoughts are more at eafe, my heart revives.
Enter Marcia.
O Marcia, O my filter, ftill there's hope 1 Our father will not call away a life So needful to us all, and to his country. He is retir'd to reft, and feems to cherifh * Thoughts full of peace, He has difpatch'd me hence
2 With
CATO. 63
With orders that befpeak a mind compos'd,
And ftudious for the fafety of his friends.
Marda, take care that none difturb his ilumbers. [Exit*
Mar. O ye immortal powers, that guard the juft, Watch round his couch, and foften his repofe, Baniih his forrows, and becalm his foul With eafy dreams; remember all his virtues! And mew mankind that goodnefs is your care.
Enter Lucia.
Luc. Where is your father, Marcia, where is Cato? Mar. Lucia, fpeak low, he is retir'd to reft. Lucia, I feel a gentle dawning hope Rife in my foul. We (hall be happy ftill.
Luc. Alas ! I tremble when I think on Cato? In every view, in every thought, I tremble ! Cato is Hern and awful as a god j He knows not how to wink at human frailty, Or pardon weaknefs that he never felt.
Mar. Though ilern and awful to the foes of Romey He is all goodnefs, Luciat always mild, ' Compalfionate ai-d gentle to his friends. ' Fill'd with domeilic tendernefs, the-beft,* The kindeft father I have ever found him, Eafy and good, and bounteous to my wimes.
Luc. 'Tis his con fen t alone can make us^blefs'd. Marcia, we both are equally involv'd In the fame intricate, perplex'd, diftrefs. The cruel hand of fate that has deltroy'd Thy brother Marcus, whom we both lament — Mar. And ever mail lament, unhappy youth ! Luc. Has fet my foul at large, and now I ftand Loofe of my vow. But who knows Gate's thoughts-? Who knows how yet he may difpofe of Portius, Or how he has determined of thyfelf ?
Mar. Let him but live, commit the reft to heav'n.
Enter Lucius.
Luc. Sweet are the flumbers of the virtuous man I O Marcia, I have feen thy god-like father; Some power invifible fupports his foul, And bears it up in all its wonted greatnefs. A kind refrefhing ileep is fali'n upon him :
Ifavv
64 CATO.
I faw him ftretch'd at eafe, his fancy loft
In pleafing dreams ; as I drew near his couch,
He,fmil'd, and cry'd, C<efar, thou can'ft not hurt me.
Mar. His mind ftill labours with Tome dreadful thought.
' Luc. Lucia, why all this grief, thefe floods of forrow ?
* Dry up thy tears, my child, we all are fafe
* While Cato lives — his prefence will protect us.'
Enter Juba.
Jub. Lucius, the horiemen are return'd from viewing The number, flrength, and poflufe of our foes, Who now encamp within a fhort hour's march ; On the high point of yon bright weftern tower We ken them from afar, the fetting fun Plays on their mining arms and burnifh'd helmets, And covers all the field with gleams of fire.
Luc. Marcia, 'tis time we mould awake thy father. C<efar is ftill difpos'd to give us terms. And waits at diitance 'till he hears from Cato.
' Enter Pcrtius,
Portius, thy looks {peak fomewhat of importance. What tidings deft thou bring ? Methinks I fee Unufual gladneis fparkling in thine eyes.
Par. As I was hafting to the pdrt, where now My father's friends, impatient for a paflage, Accufe the ling'ring wind?, a fail arriv'd From Pompcy's fon, who through the realms of Spain Calls out for vengeance on his father's death, And roufes the whole nation 'up to arms. Were Cato at their head once more might Rome Aflert her rights, and claim her liberty. But, hark ! what means that groan ! Oh, give me way, And let me fly into my father's prefence. [Exit.
Luc. Catoy amidft his {lumbers, thinks on Rome, And in the wild diforder of his foul Mourns o'er his country. Hah! a fecond groan— r* Heav'n guard us all 1 —
Mar. Alas ! 'tis not the voice Of one who fteeps; 'tis agonizing pain, 'Tis death is in that found.—
C A T O. 65
Re-enter Portius.
Par. O fight of woe !
O Marcia, what we fear'd is come to pafs ! Cato is falPn upon his fword. —
Luc. O Portius,
Hide all the horrors of thy mournful tale And let us guefs the reft.
Par. I've rais'd him up,
And plac'd him in his chair, where pale and faint, He gafps for breath, and as his life flows from him, Demands toTee his friends. His fervants weeping, Obfequious to his ordeY, bear him hither.
Mar. O Heav'n ! afliil me in this dreadful hour, To pay the laft fad duties to my father.
' Jub. Thefe are thy triumphs, thy exploits, O Cafar!
' Luc. Now is Rome fall'n indeed !'
[Cato brought on in a chair t
Cato. Here fet me down—
Portius, come near me — Are my friends embark'd? Can any thing be thought of for their fervice I Whilft I yet live, let me not live in vain. — O Lucius, art thou here ? — Thou art too good- Let this our friendfhip live between our children, Make Portius happy in thy daughter Lucia. Alas ! poor man, he weeps \—^Iarcia, my daughter— Oh, bend me forward ! — "Juba loves thee, Marcia. A fenator of Rome, while Rome furviv'd, Would not have match'd his daughter with a king, But Csf/ar's arms have thrown down all diilinclion ; Whoe'er is brave and virtuous, is a Roman — — I'm fick to death — Oh, when mail I get loofe From this vain world, th' abode of guilt and forrow ! And yet, methinks, a beam of light breaks in On my departing foul. Alas, I fear I've been too hafty, O ye powers, that fearch The heart of man, and weigh his inmoil thoughts,
If I have done amifs, impute it not!
The belt may err, 'but you are good, and — Oh ! [Dies*
Luc. There fled the greateft foul that ever warm'd A Roman breaft ; O Cato ! O my friend 1 Thy will fhall be religioufly obferv'd.
But
66 C A T O.
But let us bear this awful corpfe to And lay it in his fight, that it may ftand A fence betwixt us and the vi&or's wrath ; Catot though dead, mall flill protedl his friends,
From hence, let fierce contending nations know What dire efFecls from civil difcord flow. 'Tis this that ihakes our country with 'alarms, And gives up Rcme a prey to Reman arms, Produces fraud, and cruelty, and ftrife, And. robs the guilty world of Gate's life.
\Exeitnt omnes.
EPILOGUE.
EPILOGUE.
I
TffHA T odd fantajlic things r<-ve women do ?
Who wou d not liftfn when young lovers wdo ! But die a maidy yet have the choice of two ! Ladies are often cruel to their coft : To give you pain, them/elves they fiunijh moft. Vows of virginity Jhould well be weigh* d ; Too oft they1 re canceled, thai1 in convents made, ifou'd you revenge fuch rajh refolves — -you may "1
Be fpiteful— and believe the thing we fay, >
We hate you when you're eafely faid nay. 3
How needlefs, if you knew us, were your fears ? Let love have eyes, and beauty 'will have ears. Our hearts are formed as you yourf elves would chufe% Too proud to ajk, too humble to refufe : We give to merit, and to wealth we fell : He fighs with moft fuccefs that fettles well* The ivoes of wedlock with the joys we mix ; 'Tis beft repenting in a coach and fix.
Blame not our (onduct, fence <we but purfue Thofe lively leffons we have learnt from you. Tour breafts no more the Jire of beauty warms9 But wicked wealth ufurps the pow*r of charms. What pains to get the gaudy thing you hate, To fwell in Jhowy and be a wretch in ft ate. At plays you ogle, at the ring you bow ; Ev'n churches are no fanttuaries now. Their golden idols all your vows receive, She is no goddefs that has nought to give. Oh, may once more the happy age appear, When words were artlefs, and the thoughts fincere : When gold and grandeur were unenvy'd things, And courts lefs coveted than groves and fprings : Love then Jhall only mourn when truth complains, And conjiancy feel tranfport in its chains :
63 E P I L O G U-' E,
Sighs eivitbfuccefs their o<w» foft anguijh tellt And eyes Jhall utter nvhat the lips conceal : Virtue again to its bright flatten climb, And beauty fear no enemy but time ; <The fair Jhall liflen to defert alone , And etfry Lucia find a Cato'j /on*
/ JV / 3.
THEO'DOSIUS:
OR, THE
FORCE OF LOVE..
A
TRAGEDY.
WRITTEN BY
NATHANIEL LEE, dent.
Marked with the Variations in the
M A N A G E R's BOOK,
AT THE
in
minus fericulum ex magnafaina quam ex mala.
TACIT,
LONDON:
Priqted for T. LONGMAN, T. LOWNDES, R. WARE,
S.BLADON, T. CASLON, C. CORBETT, and
WHEILDON and Co.
M.DCC.LXXVII*
jj* The Reader is delired to obferve, that the pafTages omitted in the Reprefentation at the Theatres are here preferved, and marked with inverted Commas \ as in the three firfl Lines of Page 6.
PROLOG U E.
g opprefs^d, andfiird at loft with rare, Thus, in a jullen mood, rebukes the a^t : What loads of fame do modern heroes bear, For an inp'oi'ious, long, and laxy war i Wboforfomejkirnijb, sr a fafe retreat, (Not t» be dragged to battle) are calVd great. But, oh! what do ambitieus ftatejmen gain, Who into private cbtjls all nations drain f What fums of gold they hoard, is daily known To all men's ccft, and fotne times to their own. TTnur lawyer too, that like an 0 yes, lay^ts, That drowns-the market higglers irrfhe ftalls, That fee m begot, coatfi'o'.d, and born in brawls, Yet thrives : he and his- croud get what they p/eatef Swarming all term-time through the Strand like bees, They bux, at Weftminirer, and lie for fees. The godly, too, their ways cf getting have ; But none fo much as your fanatic knave : Wifely the wealthicft livings they refufe, Who by tbefattell oijfapnckt 'would fafe j Who witbjhort hair, large ears, and fmall blue bard1, True rogues ! their iwn, not God's elefl, ctmmand. Let pigs, then, be prophane', but broths allow *d-t PoJJets, and cbriftian caudles, may be good Meet-helps, to reinforce a brother's brood: Therefore each female faint he doth advlfe, With groans, and hums, and ha^s, and goggling eyest To rub him down, and make thefpint rlje j While, 'with his zeal, tranfported from the grouna} He mounts, and fanflijies thejijiers round. On poets only no kind Jiar e'er fmilyd: Curflfate has damn'd ""em, ev ry mother's, child j Therefore he warns bis brothers of tbejiage, To write no more for an ungrateful age. Think 'what penurious wifters you have ferv'd 'j Taffo ran mad, and noble Spenfery&arW. Turn then, 'whoe'er tbou art that canji write well^ Thy ink to gall, and in lampoons excel: Forfwear all bonefty, traduce the great, Grow impudent, and rail againft the Jlate', Jiurftingwitbfpleen, abroad thy pajquilsfend, And cbufefome libel-fpreadcrfcr thy ft -end. The wit and want ifTimonpoint thy mindy And for thy fatirt-fitbjecl chaoj'e matkiud.
A z
9R
cJ
a o
II II
IIIU1
•^ ^
s o
s v
U
to
rHEODOSIUS.
A C T
I.
SCENE, aftately temple, which reprefents the Chriftian religion, as in its firft magnificence ', being but lately ejlablijhed at Rome and Conftantinople. Thejide-fcenet Jheiv the horrid tortures, with which the Roman tyrants perfecuted the church ; and the fiat fcene , which is the li mit of the profpett, dif covers an altar richly adorned ; before it Conftantine, fuppofed^ knsels, with commanders about him, gazing at a bloody crofs in the air ; which being encompaffed with many angels, offers itfelf to tvieew> •with thefe word's diftinttly written ; In hoc /igno vin- ces. Inftruments are heard, and many attendants : the minifters at divine fervice walk bujily up and down, till Atticus, the chief of all the priejis, andfuccej/brof St. Chryfoftom, in rich robes, comes forward with the pbi- lofopher Leontine ; the waiters in ranks bowing all the. way before him*
A Chorus heard at a diflance.
PRepare, prepare ! the rites begin 5 Let none unhallow'd enter in ; The temple with new glory flunes ; Adorn the altars, wafh the fhrines, And purge the place from fm.
Attic. O Leontine ! was ever morn like this, Since the celeflial incarnation dawn'd ? I think no day, fince that, fuch glory gave To chriftian altars, as this morning brings.
Leon. Great fucceffor of holy Ck-ryfojhm^
A 3 ' Who
6 THEODOSIUS.
' Who now triumphs above a faint of honour, ' Next in degree to thofe bright fons of Heav'n ; ' Who never fell nor flain'd their orient beams.' What mall I anfwer ? How mail I approach you, Since my converfion, which your breath infpir'd ?
Attic. To. fee this day, the emperor of the eaft Leaves all the pleafures that the earth can yield,
* That nature can beftow, or art invent ;
' Jn his life's fpring, and bloom of gaudy years
* Confined to narrow rooms, and gloomy walks, f Falling and exercifes of devotion,
' Which from his bed at midnight muft awake him,' To undergo the penance of a cloiiler ; Meth'inks, O Leontine! 'tis fomething more Than yet philofophy could. ever reach.
Leon. True, Atticus ; you have amaz'd my reafon.
Attic. Yet more. To our religion's Jailing honour, • Mariana and Flavilla, two young virgins, Imperial born, caft in the faireil mould That e'er the hands of beauty form'd for woman ; ' The mirrors of our court, where chaftity
* And innocence might copy fpotlefs luftre ;' To-day, with Tbeodofius , leave the world.
Leon. Methinks, at fuch a glorious refignation, Th' angelic orders mould at once defcend, ' In all the paint and drapery of Heav'u ;
* With charming voices and with lulling firings,* To' give full grace to fuch triumphant zeal.
Attic. No, Leontine : I fear there is a fault ; • For, when J lall confefs'd the emperor, : ' Whether difguft and melancholy blood,
* From refllefs paffions, urg'd not this divorce :* He only anfwer'd me with fighs and blufhes. 'Tis 'fare, his foul is of the tend'reft make ; Therefore I'll tax him ftridlly : but, my friend, Why mould I give his character to you, Who, when his father fent him into Perjia, Were by that mighty monarch then appointed To breed him with his fon, the prince 7aranes ?
Leon. And what will raife your admiration, is, That two fuch diff'rent tempers ihould agree. You know that Theodofius is compos 'd
THEODOSIUS. 7
Of all the foftnefs that mould make a woman : Judgment, almoft like fear, foreruns his actions ; And he will poife an injury fo long, As if he had rather pardon than revenge it. But the young Perfian prince, quite oppofite, So fiery fierce, that thofe who view him nearly, May fee his haughty foul Hill mounting in his face : Yet did I ftudy thele fo different tempers, Till I at laft had form'd a perfecl union, ' As if two fouls did but inform one body :' A friendfhip that may challenge all the world, And, at the proof, be matchlefs.
Attic. I long to read
This gallant prince, who, as you have inform'd me, Comes from his father's court to fee our emperor.
Leon. So he intended, till he came to Athens, And at my homely board beheld my daughter; Where, as fate order'd, me, who never faw The glories of a court, ' bred up to books, ' In clofets, like a fybil; me, I fay, ' (Long fmce from Perjia brought by me to Athens}' UnfkilPd in charms, but thofe which nature gave her, Wounded this fcornful prince. In ihort he forc'd me To wait him thither, with deep proteftatons, That moment that bereft him of the fight Of Athenais, gave him certain death. But fee, my daughter, honoured with his prefence.
\They retrre. Enter Varanes and Athenais.
Var. 'Tis ftrange, O Athenais! wond'rous all ! Wond'rous the fhrines, and wonderful the altars. The martyrs, tho' but drawn in painted flames, Amaze me with the image of their fufPrings : Saints canoniz'd, that dar'd with Roman tyrants ; Hermits that liv'd in caves, and fed with angels. By Oro/mades, it is wond'rous all ? That bloody crofs, in yonder azure fky,' Above the head of kneeling Conftantine, Infcrib'd about with golden characters, Thou (halt o'ercome in this : if it be true, I fay again, by Heav'n, 'tis wond'rous ftrange*
Athen. O prince ! if thus imagination ftirs you, A fancy rais'd from figures in dead walls,
A 4 How
? T H E O D O ' S I U S«
How would the facred breath Q£ Atticus Infpire your breaft, purge all your drofs away, And drive this Athenais from your foul,
* To make a virgin room, whom yet the mold ' Of your rude fancy cannot comprehend'.
Var. What fays my fair ! Drive Athenais from me !
* Start me not into frenzy, left I rail
* At all religion, and fall out with Heav*n :' And what is me, alas ! that would fupplant thee ? Were fhe the miftrefs of the world, as fair
As winterftars, or fummer fetting funs,
And thou fet by in nature's plaineli drefs,
With that chafte modeft look, when firft I faw thee
The heirefs of a poor philofopher ; [Recorders ready*
I fwear, by all I wifh, by all I love, tofaurife,}
Glory and thee, I would not lofe a thought,
Nor call an eye that way, but rufh to thee,
To thefe lov'd arms, and lofe myfelf for ever.
Athen, Forbear, my lord.
Far. O cruel Athenais \
Why doft thou put me off, who pine to death ? And thruft me from thee, when I mould approach thee ?~ Can there be aught in this ? Curfe then thy birth-right, Thy glorious titles, and ill-fuited greatnefs, Since Athenais fcorns thee : take again Your ill-tim'd honours ; take 'em, take 'em, gods, And change me to fome humble villager, If fo at laft, for toils at fcorching noon, In mowing meadows, or in reaping fields, At night me will but crown me with a fmile, Or reach the bounty of her hand to blefs me.
Athen. When princes fpeak, their fubjects mould be Yet, with humility, I would demand, [filent :
Wherein appears my fcorn, or my averfion ? Have I not for your fake abandon'd home. Where I had vow'd to fpend my calmer days ? But you, perhaps imagine it but little For a poor maid to follow you abroad, Efpecially the daughter of old Leontine 5 Yet I muft tell you, prince •
Var. I cannot bear
Thofe frowns : I have offended, but forgive me ; For who, O Athenais ! that is tofs'd
With
THEODOSIUS. 9
With fuch tempeftuous tides of love as I, Can fleer a fteady courfe ? Retire, my fair.
[ R e co rdc rsflou r tjb*
Hark ! the folemnities are now beginning, And Tbeodojius comes. Hide, hide thy charms ; If to his clouded eyes fuch day^lhould break, The royal youth, who doats to death for love, 1 fear, would forfeit all his vows to Heav'n, And fix upon the world, thy world of beauty. [Exeunt. Enter Theodofius, leading Marina and Flavilla, all three drejfed in white, followed by Pulcheria.
Theo. Farewel, Pulcberia ; and, I pray, no more ; For all thy kind complaints are loft upon me. Have I not fworn the world and I muft part ? Fate has proclaim'd it : therefore weep no more ; 4 Wound not the tend'reft part of Theodofiut, 9 My yielding foul, that would expire in calms ;' Wound me not with thy tears, and I will tell thee, Yet, ere I take my lall farewel for ever, The caufe of all my fufPrings : O my fitter ! A bleeding heart, the ftings of pointed love, What conftitution, foft as mine, can bear ?
Pttlck. My lord, my emperor, my deareft brother, Why, all this while, did you conceal it from me ?
tteo. Becaufe I was afham'd to own my weaknefs : ' I knew thy fharper wit, and ftricler wifdom * Would dart reproofs which I could not endure.' Draw near, O Attic** ! and mark me well ; For never yet did my complaining fpirit Unlade this weighty fecret on him, Nor groan a fyllable of her opprefiion.
Attic. Concealment was a fault ; but fpeak'at large, Make bare the wound, and I will pour in balm.
Theo. 'Tis folly all, and fondnefs— -O remembrance! Why doft thou open thus my wound again, And from my heart call down thofe warmer drops That make me die with fhame ? Hear, then, Pulcheria ; Some few preceding days before I left The Perjlan court, hunting one rooming early, I loft myfelf and all 'the company, Still wand'ring on, as fortune would direct me, I pail a rivulet, and lighted in
A 5 The
io THEODOSIUS.
The fweeteft folitude I ever favv ;
When flrait, as if enchantment had been there,
Two charming voices drew me, till I came
Where divers arbours overlook'd the river.
Upon the ofier bank two women fat,
Who, when their fong was ended, talk'd to one,
Who bathing flood far in the cryftal ftream :
But, Oh, what thought can paint that fair perfection,
Or give a glimpfe of fuch a naked glory !
Not fea-born Venus, in the courts beneath,
When the green nymphs firft kifs'd her coral lips,
All polilh'd, fair,- and wafh'd with orient beauty,
Could in my dazzling fancy, match her brightnefs
Attic. Think where you are.
*Tbeoi O fir, you muft forgive me. The chafle -enthufiaflic form appears As when I faw her ; yet, I fwear, Pulcberia, Had cold Diana been a looker on, She muft have prais'd the virtues of the virgin. ' The fatyrs could not grin,' for {he was veiled : From her naked bofom,
Down to her knees, the nymph was wrapped in lawn : But, Oh, for me, for me, that was too much ! ' Her legs, her arms, her hands," her neck, her breafls, ' So nicely fhap'd, fo matchlefs in their luftre ;' Such all-perfection, that I took whole draughts Of killing love, and ever finee have languifh'd With ling'ring furfeits of her fatal beauty :
' Alas, too fatal fure 1* ^-O At tic us !
Fdrgive me ! for my ilory now is done.
The nymph was drefs'd, and with her two companions^
Having defcry'd me, fhriek'd, and fled away,
Leaving me motionlefs, till Lccvtine,
Th' initruclor of my youth, by chance came in,
And wak'd me from the wonder that entranc'd me.
Attic. Behold, my lord, the man whom you have nam'd The harbinger of prince Varanes here.
Enter Leon tine.
Theo. O Lcor.tine! ten thoufand welcomes meet thee; Thou fofter father of my tender youth, 4 -Wito rear'd the plant, and prun'd it with fuch care ;
' How
THEODOSfUS. ]
* How mall I look upon thee, who am fall'n
' From all the principles of manlier reafon,
' By thee infus'd, to more than woman's weaknefs !'
Now, by the nrojefty divine, that awes
This facred place, I fwear, you moft not kneel :
And tell me, for I have a thoufand things
To afk thee, where, where is my godlike friend ?
Is he arriv'd, and mall I fee his face,
Before I'm cloifter'd from the world for ever ?
Leon. He comes, my lord, with all th' expecting joys Of a young promis'd lover. From his eyes Big hopes look forth, and boiling fancy forms Nothing but Theodofius itill before him ; His thought, his ev'ry word is Theodofius.
Theo. Yet Leontine, yet anfwer me once mote : With tremblings I demand thee. Say — hail thou feen, Oh ! has that heav'nly form Appear'd to thee again ?— Behold, he's dumb : Proceed, then, to the folemn laft farewel ; Never was man fo willing and prepar'd.
Enter Varanes, Aranthes, and Attendants. Far. Where is my friend ? O where is my belov'd, My Tkeodojtus ? Point him out, ye gods, That I may prefs him dead betwixt my arms,. Devour him thus with over-hafty joys, That languifh at his breaft, quite out of breath, And cannot utter more.
Vbeo. Thou mightieft pleafure, And greateft bleffing that kind Heav'n could fend To glad my parting foul, a thoufand welcomes ! Oh, when I look on thee, new ftarts of glory Spring in my breaft, and with a backward bound I run the race of luily youth again.
Var. By Heav'n it joys me too, when I remember Our thoufand paftimes, when we borrowed names, Alcides I, and thou my deareft 'Thefeus ; When thro' the woods we chas'd the foaming boar, With hounds that open'd like Tbejfalian bulls, Like tigers flu'd, and fanded as the fhore, With ears and chefts that dafh'd the morning dew; Driv'n with the fport, as mips are tofs'd in Sorms,
A 6 We
12 THEODOSIUS.
We ran like hinds, and matchlefs was our courfe ;
Now fweeping o'er the limit of a hill ;
Now with a full career come thund'ring down
The precipice, ar J fweat along the vale. [clouds
Theo. O glorious time ! and when the gath'ring Have call'd us home, fay, did we reft, my brother .? When on the ftage, to the admiring court, We ftrove to reprefent Alcides^ fury, In all that raging heat, and pomp of madnefs, With which the ftately Seneca adorn'd him ; So lively drawn, and painted with fuch horror, That we were forc'd to give it o'er, fo loud The virgins fhriek'd, fo fail they dy'd away.
Var. My Tbfodofius ftill ; 'tis my lov'd brother ! And by the gods, we'll fee thofe times again ! Why, then, has rumour wrong'd thee, that reported Chriftianenthufiafm had charm'd thce from us ; That, drawn by priefts, and work'd by melancholy, Thou hadft laid the golden reins of empire down, And fworn thyfelf a votary for ever.
cfheo. 'Tis almoft true, and had not you arriv'd, The folemn buftnefs had by this been ended. This I have made the emprefs of the eaft, My elder fitter ; thefe with me retire,
Devoted to the pow'r whom we adore.
Var. What pow'r is chat, that merits fach oblations ?
I thought the fun more^great and glorious
Than any that e'er mingled with the gods ;
Yet ev'n to him, my father never ofter'd
More than a hecatomb of bulls and horfes.
Now, by thofe golden beams that glad the world,
I fwear, it is too much ; for one of thefe,
But halffo bright, our god would drive no more;
He'd leave the darken'd globe, and in fome cave
Enjoy fuch charms for ever. Attic. My lord, fv-rbear ;
Such language does not fait with our devotions.
Nothing prophane muft dare to murmur here,
Nor ftain the hallow'd beauties of the place.
Yet thus far \ve muft yield, the e-mperor
IK not enough prepar'd to l?ave the world.
ftp*
THEODOSIUS. 13
Var. Thus low, moil rev'rend of this facred place, I bow for pardon, and am half converted, By your permiffion, that my Tkeodojius Return to my embraces. O my brother ! Why doit thou droop ? There will be time enough For pray'r and failing and religious vows ; Let us enjoy, while yet thou art my own, All the magnificence of eaftern courts. I hate to walk a laxy life away: Let's run the race which fate has fet before us, And poft to the dark goal.
* Tbeo. Cruel deitiny i
* Why am not I thus too ? O my Varanes f
' Why are thefe coflly dimes fet before me ?
* Why do thefe founds of pleafure itrike my ears ?
* Why are thefe joys brought to my fick remembrance,
* Who have no appetite ; but am, to fenfe, ' From head to foot, all a dead palfy o'er ?
4 Far. Fear not, my friend, all mail be well
* Again ; for I have thoufand ways, and thoufand flo-
* To raife thee up to pleafure. We'll unlock [ries 4 Our fafteft fecrets, med upon each other
4 Our tendereit cares, and quite unbar thofe doors 4 Which mail be mut to all mankind befide.'
Attic. Silence and rev'rence are the temple's dues : Therefore, while we purfue the facred rites, Be thefe obferv'd, or quit the awful place.
* Imperial fitters, now twin-ftars of Heav'n, 4 Anfwer the fuccefFor of Cbryfojhnt,
* Without leaft refervadon anfwer me,
* By thofe harmonious rules I charg'd ye learn.*
.
Attic. Canft thon, Mftrina, leave the world, The world that is devotion's bane : Where crowns are toft, and fceptres hurl'd, Where luft and proud ambition reign ?
' 2 Prieft.
14 T H E O D O S I U S,
« 2 Prieft. Can you your coftly robes forbear, 1 To live with us in poor attire ? • Can you from courts to cells repair,
* To fing at midnight in our choir ?
< 3 Prieft. Can you forget your golden beds,
' Where you might fleep beyond the morn, ' On marts to lay your royal heads,
' And have your beauteous trefles morn ?
< Attic. Can you refolve to faft all day,
' And weep and groan to be forgiv'n ? ' Can you in broken {lumbers pray,
* And by afRiftion merit heav'n?'
Cbor. Say, votaries, can this be done ?
While we the grace divine implore,
The world has loft, the battle's won,
And fin mail never charm ye more.
Marina \ The gate to blifs does open ftand, finas. I And all my penance is in view ; The world, upon the other hand, Cries out, Oh, do not bid adieu !
' Yet, facred Sir, in thefe extremes,
' Where pomp and pride their glories tell j,
' Where youth and beauty are the themes, « And plead their moving eaufe fo well ;
If auglJt that's vain my thoughts poffefs,
Or any paffions govern here, But what divinity may blefs,
Oh, may I never enter there !
Fla<villa > ' What can pomp or glory do, fngs* 5 * Or what can human charms perfuade ? ' That mind that has a heav'n in view, ' How can it be by earth betray'd ?
• No monarch full of youth and fame,
* The joy of eyes, and nature's pride,
* Should once my thoughts from heaven reclaim,
* Though now he woo'd me for his bride.'
Haite,
T H E O D O S I U S. rs
Hafte, then, OK, hafte, and take us in, For ever lock religion's door;
Secure us from the charms of fin, And let us fee the world no more.
Attlcus 7 Hark, hark ! behold the heav'nly choir : Jings. J They cleave the air in bright attire;
And fee, his lute each angel brings, And, hark ! divinely thus he iings : To the powers divine all glory be given, By men upon earth, and angels in Heaven.
[Scene Jhuts, and all the Priefts, with Marina- <z#</FlavilIa. dif appear.
Pulcb. For ever gone ! for ever parted from me !
0 Tkcodofeus ! till this cruel moment,
1 never knew how tenderly I lov'd 'em ; But on this everlafting feparation, Methinks my foul has left me, and my time Of diffolution points me to the grave.
Tbeo. O my Varanes ! does not now thy temper Bate fomething of its fire? Doft thou not melt In mere companion of my /ifler's fate, And cool thyfelf with one relenting thought ?
Far. Yes my dar'd foul rolls inwar4 ; melancholy, Which I ne'er felt before, now comes upon me, And I begin to loath all human greatnefs : Oh, figh not, then, nor thy hard fate deplore ; For 'tis refolv'd we will be kings no more : We'll fly all courts, and love mall be our guide : Love, that's more worth than all the world befide. Vrinces are barr'd the liberty to roam ; The fetter'd mind ftill languifries at home : In golden bands ihe treads the thoughtful round : Bus'nefs and cares eternally abound ; And when for air the goddefs would unbind, She's clogg'd with fceptres, and to crowns confin'd.
[Exeunt,
i6 T H E O D O S I U S.
ACT II. SCENE, the Palace.
Enter Pulcheria, Julia, and Attendants.
Pulch. ^IPHESE packets for the emperor Honortus :
A Be fwift, let th' agent hafte to Rams > •• I hear, my Juliay that our general Is from the Goths return'd with conqueft home.
Jul. He is. To-day I faw him in the prefence, Sharp to the courtiers, as he ever was, Becaufe they went not with him to the wars : To yon he bows,, and fues to kifs your hand.
Pulcb. He ihall, my deareft Julia : oft I've told thee The fecret of my foul : if e'er I marry, Martian's my hufband ; he's a man, my Julia, "Whom I've lludied long, and found him perfect ; Old Rome, at every glance, looks through his eyes., And kindles the beholders. Some lharp atoms Run through his frame, which I could wilh were out; He fickens at the foftnefs of the emp'ror, An4 fpeaks too freely of our female court, Then fighs, comparing it with what Rome was.
Enter Marcian and Lucius. Ha ! who are thefe that dare prophane this place With more than barb'rous infolence ?
Marc . At your feet, , Behold, I caft the fcourge of thefe offenders, And kneel to kifs your hand.
Pulcb. Put up your fword ; And, ere I bid you welcome from the wars, Be fare you clear your honour of this rudenefs, Or, Martian, leave the court.
Marc, Thus, then, madam : The emperor receiv d me with affection, Embraced me for myconqueils, and retir'd,; When on a fudden, all the gilded flies That buz about the court, came flutt'ring round me ; This, with affected cringes, and minc'd words, » Begs me to tell my tale of victories ;
Which
T H E Q J> O S J U S. 17
Which done, he thanks me, fiips Behind his fellow,
Whifpers him in the ear, then fmiles and liftens,
While I relate my ftory once again :
A third comes in, and afks me the fame favour ;
Whereon they laugh, while I, ftill ignorant,
Go on; but one behind, more impudent,
Strikes on my moulder, then they laugh'd outright;
But then, I, gueffing the abufe too late,
Return'd my knight behind a box o' th' ear,
Then drew, and briefly told them they were rafcals :
They, laughing ftill, cry'd out, the general's muftyj
Whereon I drove 'em, madam, as you faw.
This is, in ihort, the truth ; I leave the judgment
To your own juftice : if I have done ill,
Sentence m«,, and I'll leave the court for ever.
Pulcb. Firft; you are welcome, Mar dan ^ from thewarsj And ftill, whene'er occafion calls for arms, Heav'n fend the emperor a general, Renown'd as Marcian ! As to what is paft, I think the world will rather praife than cenfure Pulcheria, when me pardons you the aft ion.
Marc. Gods, gods, and thou great founder of old Rome f What is become of all that mighty fpirit, That rais'd our empire to a pitch fo high ? * Where is it pent ? What but almighty power ' Could thus confine it, that but fome few atoms ' Now run through all the Eaft and Occident?'
Pulcb. Speak calmly, Marcian' • •
Marc. Who can be temperate,
That thinks as I do, madam ? Why, here's a fellow ; I have feen him fight againft a troop of Vandals In your defence, as if he lov'd to bleed :
Come to my arms, my dear ! th<?u canft not talk,
But haft a foul above the proudeft of 'em,
0 madam ! when he has been all over blood,
And hack'd with wounds that feem'd to mouth his praifes,
1 have fe^n him fmile ftill as he pufh'd death from him, And with his actions rally diftant fate.
* Pulch. He has a noble form.' s Marc. Yet ev'n this man, That fought fo bravely in his country's caufe,
This
i8 T M E O D O S I U S.
This excellent man, this morning, in the prefence>
Did I fee wrong'd before the emperor,
Scorn'd and defpis'd, becaufe he could not cringe,
Nor plant his feet as fome of them could do.
' One faid his cloaths were not well made, and damn 'd
* His taylor Another faid he look'd
' As if he had not loft his maidenhead.' If things are fuffer'd to be thus, down all Authority, pre-eminence, degree, and virtue ; Let Rome be never mention'd ; no, i' th' name Of all the gods, be me forgotten ever ! Effeminate Perjians, and the Lydian foftnefs Make all your fights : Mar cian mall out no more ; For, by my arms, it makes a woman of me, And my fwol'n eyes run o'er, to think this worth, This fuller honour than the whole court holds, Should be ridiculous to knaves and fools ; ' Should ftarve for want of what is neceflary ' To life's convenience, when luxurious bawds ' Are fo o'er-grown with fat, and cramm'd with riot, ' That they can hardly walk without an engine.' Pulch. Why did not you inform the emperor ? Marc. Becaufe he will not hear me. Alas, good man, He flies from this bad world ; and ftill when wars A nd dangers come, he runs to his devotions, To your new thing, I know not what you call it, Which Conftantine began.
Pulch. Mow, Martian! are not you Of that religion which the emp'ror owns ?
Marc. No, madam; if you'll fee my honefl thought, I am not of their principle that take A wrong ; fo far f.om bearing with a foe, I would itrike firft, like old Rome. ' I would forth, Elbow the neighbouring nations round about, Invade, enlarge ray empire to the bounds Of the too narrow univerfe. Yes, I own That I defpife your holy innovations. I'm for the Roman gods, for funeral piles, For mounting eagles, and the fancied greatnefs Of our forefathers.' Methinks my heated fpirit Could utter things worth lofing of my head.
Pulch. Speak freely, Martian^ for I know thee honefl:.
Marc*
THEODOSIUS. 19
Marc. O madam ! long, long may the emp'ror live ! But I muft fay his gentle difpofition, Suits not, alas ! the oriental fway: Bid him but look on Pharamond-, O gods ! Awake him with the image of that fpirit, Which, like a pyramid reversed, is grown Ev'n from a point, to the moil dreadful greatnefs. His very name already makes the world; AndfUJl in perfon heading his fierce fquadrons, Like the firft Co-far o'er the hardy Gauls, He feems another thunder-bolt of war.' Pulch. I oft have have blam'd my brother molt for this, That to my hand he leavs the ftate affairs ; And how that founds, you know
Marc. Forgive me, madam ; I think that all the greatnefs of your fex, Rome's Clelia, and the fam'd Semiramisy * With all the Amazonian valour too/ Meet in Pulcheria ; yet, I fay, forgive me, If with reluctance I behold a woman Sit at the empire's helm, and fteer the world.
Pulch. Iftandrebuk'd
Marc. ( Mark but the growing French ; The moft aufpicious omen of their greatnefs That I can guefs, is their late Salique law, Blefs'd by their priefts, the Salii, and pronounc'd To tfand for ever ; which excludes all women From the imperia1 crown.' But, Oh! I fpeak Theleait of all thofe infinite grievances, Which make the fubjedb murmur : in the army, Tho' I proceeded ftill like Hannibal, Andpunifh'd every mutineer with death; Yet, Oh ! it ftabb'd me through and through the foul To pafs the wretches doom, becaufe I knew Wiih juftice they complain'd ; for hard they fought, And with their blood earn'd that forbidden bread, Which fome at court, and great ones, tho' unnam'd, Caft to their hounds, while the poor foldiers rcarv'd—
Pulch. Your pity, too, in mournful fellovvihip, No doubt might footh their murmurs.
Marc. Yes, it did ; That I might put them once again in heart,
I faid,
20 THEODOSIUS.
I faid, 'twas, true, the emp'ror was to blame,
Who dealt too coldly with his faithful fervants,
And paid their great arrears by fecond-hands :
I promis'd too, when we return'd to court,
Things mould be mended—-
But how, O gods, forgive my blood this tranfpoit,
To the eternal fiiame of female counfels,
And to the blaft of ^beodofius* name,
Whom never warlike chronicle mall mention, >
* Oh, let me fpeak with a Roman fpirit!' We were receiv'd like undone prodigals,
By curs'd ungrateful ftewards, with cold looks, Who yet got all by thofe poor wretches ruin, Like malefaftors at the hands of juftice. I blufh, I almoftweep with burlh'ng rage: If thus receiv'd, how paid our long arrears ? Why, as intruded miters pay the rights Of helplefs widows, or the orphan's tears. O foldier ! for to thee, to thee I fpeak it, Bawds for the drudgery of citizens wives, x Would better pay debilitated ftallions.' Madam, I've faid, perhaps, too much : if fb, It matter: not ; for he who lies, like me, On the hard ground, is fure to fall no further.
Pulch* I've given you patient hearing, honelt Martian? And, as far as I can fee into your temper, ' I fpeak my ferioas judgmeat in cold blood, 4 With ftrifteft confutation on the matter,' I think this feeming plain and honeft Marciant An exquifite and moft notorious traitor. Marc. Ha ! traitor !
Pulcb. Yes, a moft notorious traitor. [world,
' Marc. Your grandfather, whofe frown could awe the
* Wrould not have call'd me fo or if he had- —
' Pulch. You would have taken it' -—But to the
bus'nefs ;
Was't not enough, O Heav'n thou know'rl;, too much ! At firil to own yourfelf an infidel, A bold contemner, ev'n to blafphemy, Of that religion which we all profefs, For which your heart's beft blood can ne'er fu{Ece, But you muil dare, with a feditious army,
Thus
THEGDOSIUS. 21
Thus to confpire againft the emperor ?
I mention not your impudence to me,
Taxing the folly of my government
Ev'n to my face ; fuch an irreverence,
As fureno barb'rous Vandal would have urg'd;
Befides your libelling all the court, as if
You had engrofs'd the whole world's honefty,
And flatt'rers, fools, and fycophants, and knaves,
Such was your language, did inhabit there.
Marc. You wreft my honeft meaning, by the gods - You do ; ' and if you thus go on, I feel « My ftruggling fpirit will no longer bear it.'
Pulcb. I thought the meaning of all rational men Should ftill be gather'd out of their difcourfe ; Nor are you fo imprudent, without thinking, To vent fuch words, tho' now you fain would hide it. You find the guilt, and baulk the accufation. But think not you mail 'fcape fo eafily: Once more I do confront you as a traitor; And, as I am entrufted with full pow'r, Diveft you, in the name of Fbeodojjus, Of all your offices, commiffions, honours ; Command you leave the court within three days, Loyal, plain-dealing, honeft Martian.
Marc. Gods ! gods !
Pulcb. ' What now? Ha! does the traitor murmur?
* If in three days — mark me — 'tis I that doom thee—?"
* Ram, inconfiderate man, a wretch beneath
* The torments I could execute upon thee!'. If after three days fpace thou'rt found in court, Thou dy'ft ; thy head, thy head mall pay the forfeit.
* Now rage, now rail, and curfe the court;
* Saucily dare t' abufe the beft of princes,
* And let thy lavvlefs tongue lafh all it can ;
Do, like a madman, rave; deplore thy fortune,
* While pages laugh at thee.' Then hafte to th' army, Grow popular, and lead the multitude ;
Preach up thy wrong?, and drive the giddy beaft To kick at C&far* Nay, if thou weep'ft, I'm gone. O Julia! if I ftay, I fhall weep too. Yet 'jtis but juft that I the heart mould fee Of him who once raufl lord it over me* [jffide.
[Exeunt Pulch, and Julia. Luc,
22
THEODOSIUS.
Luc. Why do you droop, fir ? — Come, no more o'this : You are, and mail be flill our general. Say but the word, I'll fill the Hippodrome With fquadrons that mail make the emp'ror tremble ; We'll fire the court about his ears. Methinks, like Junius Brutus, I have watch'd An opportunity, and now it comes : Few words and I are friends ; but, noble Martian, If yet thou are not more than general, Ere dead of night, fay Lucius is a coward.
Marc . I charge thee, in the name of all the godsr Come back : I charge thee, by the name of friend. All's well, and I rejoice I am no general. But, hufh ! within three days we muft be gone; And then, my friend, farewel to ceremony ! We'll fly to fome far diflant, lonely village, 'Forget our former (late, and breed with (laves ; And when night comes, With bodies coarfely fill'd, and vacant fouls, Sleep like the laboured hinds, and never think ; For if I think again, I mail go mad.
Enter Leontine and Athenais.
Therefore, no thought. But fee, we're interrupted. O court! O emperor! — Yet let death threaten ; I'll find a time; 'till then, be flill, my foul— - ' No general now ; a member of thy country, 4 But moft corrupt: therefore to be cut off; * Loyal, plain-dealing, honeft Martian ; 'Aflave, a traitor! O ye eternal gods! ?— • [Exeunt*
Leon. So, Athenais, now our compliment To the young Perjian prince is at an end : What then remains, but that we take our leave, And bid him everlaflingly farewel ;
Atben. My lord !
Leon. I fay that decency requires We mould be gone ; nor can you ftay with honour.
Athen. Moft true, my lord.
Leon. The court is now at peace, The emp'ror's fillers are retir'd for ever, And he himfelf compos'd : what hinders then, But that we bid adieu to prince Varanes?
Ah, fir ! why will you break my heart ? 3 Leon.
THEODOSIUS. 23
Leon. I would not.
Thou art the only comfort of my age : Like an old tree, I Hand amongfl the ftorms ; Thou art the only limb that I have left me ; [She kneels. My dear green branch ! And how I prize thee, child, Heav'n only knows. Why doll thou kneel and weep ?
Athen. Becaufe you are fo good, and will, I hope, Forgive my fault, who firil occafion'd it.
Leon. I charg'd thee to receive and hear the prince.
Athen. You did, and, O my lord, I heard too much, Too much, I fear, for my eternal quiet !
Leon. Rife, Athenais ; credit him who bears More years than thou : Varanes has deceived thee.
Athen. How do we differ then ? You j udge the prince Impious and bafe ; while 1 take Heav'n to witnefs, I mink him the moft virtuous of men : Therefore, take heed, my lord, how you accufe him Before you make the trial. Alas, Varanes! If thou art falfe, there's no fuch thing on earth As folid goodnefs, or fubftantial honour. A thoufand times, my lord, he has fworn to give me (And I believe his oaths) his crown and empire, That day I make him mailer of my heart.
Leon. That day he'll make thee miilrefs of his power, Which carries a foul name among the vulgar.' No, Athenais, let me fee thee dead, Borne a pale corpfe, and gently laid in earth ; So 1 may fay, Ihe's chaile, and dy'd a virgin, Rather than view thee with thefe wounded eyes, Seated upon the throne of Ifdigerdes, The blaft of common tongues, the nobles fcorn, Thy father's curfe, that is, the prince's whore.
At ben. O horrid fuppofition ! how I detefl it ! Be witnefs, Heav'n, that fees my fecret thoughts !
Have I for thjs, my lord, been taught by you
The nicefljuftice, and fevered virtue ;
To fear no death, to know no end of life,
And with long fearch difcern the highefl good?
No, Athenais : when the day beholds thee
So fcandaloufly rais'd, pride caft thee down,
The fcorn of honour, and the people's prey J*
To, cruel Leontine, not to redeem
That
*4 T H E O D O S I U 3.
That aged head from the defcending ax, Not tho* I few thy trembling body rack'd, Thy wrinkles all about thee filPd with blood, Would I for empire, to the man t love, Be made the object of unlawful pleafure.
Leon. Oh, greatly faid ! And by the blood which Which runs as rich as any Athens holds, [warms me,, It would improve the virtue of the world, Jf ev'ry day a thoufancl votaries, And thoufand virgins, came from far to hear thee!
Athen. Look down, ye pow'rs, take notice, we obey The rigid principles ye have infus'd ; Yet, O my noble father ! to convince you, Since you will have it fo, propofe a marriage ; Tho' with the thought I'm cover'd o'er with blufhes ; Not that I doubt the prince ? that were to doubt The Heav'ns themfelves. I know he is all truth :
But modefty *•*• '
The virgin's troublefome and conftant gueft, That, that alone forbids •
Leon. I wifti to Hcav'n There prove no greater bar to my relief. Behold the prince. I will retire a while, And, when occafion calls, come to thy aid. [Ex. Leom Enter Varanes and Aranthes.
Var. To fix her on the throne, to me feems little. Were I a god, yet would I raife her higher ; This is the nature of thy prince. But, Oh! As to the world, thy jndgment foars above me, Andl amdar'd, with this gigantic honour; Glory forbids her profpecl to a crown, Nor muft (he gaze that way : my haughty foul, That day when fhe afcends the throne of Cynw, Will leave my body pale, and to the ftars Retire in blufhes, and quite loft for ever.
Aran. What do you purpofe then ?
Var. I know not what. But fee, fhe comes, the glory of my arms, The only bus'nefs of my inftant thought, My foul's beft joy, and all my true repofe. I fwear I cannot bear thefe ftrange defires, •Thefe ftrong impulfes, which will fhortly leave me Dead at thy feet— -
Atken.
1" H E O D O S I U S. «c
Athen. What have you found, my lord, In me fo harfh or cruel, that you fear To fpeak your griefs ?
Far. Firft, let me kneel and fwear, And on thy hand feal my religious vow \ Strait let the breath of gods blow me from earth* Swept from the book of fame, forgotten ever, If I prefer thee not, O Athen&is! To all the Perfian greatnefs.
Athen. I believe you ; For I have heard you fwear as much before.
Far. Haft thou ? Oh, why then did I fwear again ? But that my love knew nothing worthier of thee, And could no better way exprefs my pafTion.
Athen. O rife, my lord !
Far. I will do every thing Which Atbenais bids : if there be more In nature to convince thee of my love, Whifper it, Oh, fome god ! into my ear, And on her breaft, thus to her lift'hing foul, I'll breathe the infpiration. Wilt thou not fpeak f What, but one figh, no more ! can that fufftce For all my vaft expence of prodigal lov$ ?
* O Athenais ! what mail I fay of 4o>
* To gain the thing I wifh ?
' Athen. What's that, my lord ?
' Far. Thus to approach thee ftiU j thus to beho!4
* Yet there is more * [thee—
Athen. My lord, I dare not hear you.
Far. Why doft thou frown at what thou doft not know ? 'Tis an imagination which ne'er pierc'd thee ; Vet, as 'tis raviihing, 'tis full of honour.
Athen. I muft not doubt you, fit: but, Oh! I trenu To think, if IJdigerdes mould behold you, (fc>le
Should hear you thus protefting to a maid Of no degree, but virtue, in the world——
Far. No more of this, no more: for I difdain All pomp when thou art by. Far oe the noife Of kings and courts from us, whofe gentle foujs Our kinder ftarshave fteer'd another way. Free as the fore ft birds we'll pair together, Withoac rememb'ring who our fathers were ;
B Fly
26 T H E O D O S I U S.
Fly to the arbours, grots, and flowery meads,
And in foft murmurs interchange our fouls ;
Together drink the chryftal of the ftream,
Or tafte the yellow fruit which autumn yields ;
And when the golden ev'ning calls us home,
Wi ng to our downy neft, and fleep till morn. [me,
Athen. Ah, prince, no more ! forbear, forbear to charm Since I am doom'd to leave you, fir, for ever.
Far. Hold, Atbenais — -—
Athen. I know your royal temper, And that high honour reigns within your breaft, Wnich would difdain to wafte fo many hours With one of humble blood compar'd to you ; Unlefs rtrong paffion fway'd your thoughts to love hen Therefore receive, O prince ! arid take it kindly, For none on earth but you could win it from me, Receive the gift of my eternal love : 'Tis all I can bellow, nor is it little ; For fure a heart fo coldly chafte as mine, No charms but yours, my lord, could e'er have warm'd.
far. Well have you made amends by this laft comfort, For the cold dart you mot at me before, For this lalt goodnefs, O my Athenais ! (For now, methinks, I ought to call you mine) I empty all my foul in thanks before you. Yet, Oh, one fear remains ! like death it chills me; Why my relenting love did talk of parting! [fworn
Athen. Look there, and ceafe your wonder : 1 have T' obey my father, and he calls me hence— Enter Leontine.
Far . Ha, Leontine! by which of all my aftions Have I fo deeply injur'd thee, to merit The fmarteft wound revenge could form to end me ?
Leon. Anfweti me now, O prince ! for virtue prompts And honefty will dally now no longer. [roe,
What can the end of all this palfion be ? Glory requires the ftricl account, and afks What you intend at laft to Atbenais? •
Var. How, Leontine!
Leon. You faw her, fir, at Athens, faid you lov*d her, I charg'd her humbly to receive the honour, And hear your pajSion. Has Ihe not, fir, obey -d me ?
Far.
THEODOSIUS, 27
Var. She has; I thank the gods ; but whither would'll
Leon. Having refolv'd to vifit Thecdofius, [thou ?
You fvvore you would not go without my daughter ; Whereon I gave command that me mould follow.
Var. Yes, Leontine, my old remembrancer, Moft learn'd of all philofophers, you did.
Leon. Thus long me has attended ; you have feen her, Sounded her virtues, and her imperfections ; Therefore, dread fir, forgive this bolder charge Which honour founds ; and now let me demand you—
Var. Now help, Aranibes, or I'm dalh'd forever.
Aran. Whatever happens, fir, difdain the marriage.
Leon. Can your high thoughts fo far forget themfelves, T'admit this humble virgin for your bride?
Var. Ha!
Atben. He blulhes, gods, and Hammers at the q-ueftion !
Leon. Why do you walk, and chafe yourfelf my lord ? The bulineis is not much.
Var. How, Leontine /
Not much ! I know that me deferves a crown ; Yet 'tis to reafon much, tho* not to love. And fure the world would blufh to fee the daughter Of a philofopher upon the throne of Cyrus.
Atben. Undone for ever !
Leon. Is this your anfwer, fir ?
Var. Why dolt thou urge me thus, and pufti me to The very brink of glory ? Where, alas ! I look, and tremble at the vaft defcent ; Yet, even there, to the vaft bottom, down My ram adventurer, love, would have me leap, And grafp my Aibenah with my ruin.
Leon. 'Tis well, my lord*— — — — —
Var. Why doft thou then provoke me ! I thought that Perjicts court had ftore of honour To fatisfy the height of thy ambition. Befides, old man, my love is too well grown, To want a tutor for his good behaviour : What he will do, he of himfelf will do, And not be taught by you
Leon. I know he will not ; Fond tears away ! I know, I know he will not ;
B 2 But
-2S ¥ H K O D O S I U S.
But he would buy, with his old man's preferment. My daughter's fliame.
Var. Away, I fay ! my foul difdains the motion.
Leon. The motion of a marriage ; yes, I fee it : Your angry looks, and haughty words, betray it ; I found it at the firft. I thank you, fir, You have at laft rewarded your old tutor For all his cares, his watchings, fervices-. Yet, let me tell you, fir, this humble maid, This daughter of a poor philofopher, Shall, if (he pleafe, be feated on a throne As high as that of the immortal Cyrus.
Var. I think that age, and deep philofophy, Have crack'd thy brain : Farewel. old Leontine^ Retire to reft ; and when this brawling humour Is rock'd afleep, I'll meet my Athenaitt And clear the accounts of love, which thou haft blotted
[Exit
Leon. Old Leonttne ! perhaps I'm mad indeed. But hold, my heart, and let that folid virtue, Which I fo long ador'd, ftill keep the reins. O Athenats \ But I will not chide thee : Fate is in all our aclions j and, methinks, At leaft a father judges fo, it has Rebuk'd-thee fmartl) for thy eafmefs : There is a kind of mournful eloquence In thy dumb grief, which fhames all clam'rous forrow
Athen. ' Alas, my breaftis full of death ; methinks * I fear ev'n you
* Leon. Why fhouldft thpu fear thy father ?
* Athen. Becaufe you have the figure of a mar* !* Is there, O fpeak, a pofiibility
To be forgiv'n ?
Lecn. Thy father does forgive thee, And honour will ; but on this hard condition, Never to fee him more— —
Atken. See him ! O Heavens !
Leon. Unlefs it be, my daughter, to upbraid him t Not though he mould repent, and ftrait return,
Nay, proffer thec his crown No more of that.
Honour too cries, revenge, revenge thy wrongs, Revenge thyfclf, revenge thy injur'd father.
T H' E O P Q S I U Si 29
For 'tis revenge fo wife, fo glorious too, As all the world (hall praife
dtben. Oh, give me leave ; For yet t am all tendernefs : the woman, The weak, the mild, the fond, the coward woman,. Dares not look forth.; but runs about my bi*eaitr And vifits all the warmer manfrons there, Where me fo oft has harbour'd falfe Faranes ! Cruel Varanes / falfe, forfworn Vcrtines /
Leon. Is this forgetting him ? Is this the courfe Which honour bios thee take ?
Athen, Ah, fir, allow A litte time, for love to make his way r. Hardly he won the place, and many fighs, And many tears, and thoufand oaths it colt him, And, Oh ! I find he will not be difiodg'd Without a groan at parting hence for eve* No, no ! he vows he will not yet be 'ras'd Without whole floods of grief at his farevvel Which thus I facrifice : and, Oh ! I fwear, Had he prov'd true, I would as eafily Have empty'd all my blood, and dy'd to ferve him, As now I med thefe' drops, or vent theft? fighs, To fhew how well, how perfe&ly I lov'd him.
Leon. No woman, fure, but thou, fo low in fortune, Therefore "the nobler is thy fair example, Would thus have griev'd, becaufe a prince ridorrd '.her^; Nor will it be beliey'd in after-times, That there was ever fuch a nvaid in being : Yet do I ftill advife, preferve thy vjrtue ; And fince he does difdain thee for his bride, Scorn thou to be
Atben. Hold, fir, Oh, hold, forbear ;. For my nice foul abhors the very found : Yet with the mame of that, and the deiire Of an immortal n?.me, I am infpir'd ! All kinder thoughts, are fied for ever from me 5: All tendernefs, as iff ne'er had lov'd, Has left my bofom colder than the grave.
Lion. O Atbenais ! on; 'tis bright before thee, Purfue the track, and thou lhalt be a itar.
&hen. Q,L&ontinst I fvvear, my noblejather,
B 3 ' TOati
jo T H E O D O S I U S
That I will ilarve e'er once forego my virtue :
And thus Jet's join to contradict the world r
That empire could not tempt a poor old man
To fell his prince the honour of his daughter :
And me too match'd the fpirit of her father ;
Tho' humbly born, and yet more humbly bred,
She for her fame refused a royal bed ;
Who, though me lov'd, yet did put off the hour,
Nor could hgr virtue be betray'd by pow'r.
Patterns like thefe will guilty courts improve,
And teach the fair to blufh at confcious love.
« Then let all maids for honour come in view,]
* If any maid can more for glory do.' [Exeunt.
ACT III.
Enter Varanes and Aranthes,
Var. jT^IOME to my arms, my faithful, dear Aranthes,
\^4 Soft counsellor, companion of my youth ; If I had longer been alone, moil fure, With the diftra&ion that furrounds my heart, My hand would have rebelPd againft its mailer, And done a murder here.
' Aran. The gods forbid !
' Var. I fwear I prefs thee with as hearty joy, ' As ever fearful bride embrac'd her man,
* When from a dream of death me wak'd, a$d found ' Her lover fafe and fieeping by her fide.'
Aran. The caufe, my lord ?
far. Early thou knovv'il laft night I went to reft : But long, my friend, ere flumber clos'd my eyes, Long was the combat fought 'twixt love and glory ; The fever of my paflion burnt me up ; My pangs grew ilronger, and my rack was doubled : ' My bed was all afloat with the cold drops
* That mortal pain wrang from my labouring .limbs,
* My groans more deep than others dying gafps ;' Therefore I charge thce, haile to her apartment ',
* I do
THEODOSIUS. 31
* I do conjure thee, tell her, tell her all
' My fears can urge, or fondnefs can invent.
* "Tell her how I repent, fay any thing ;
* For any thing I'll do to quench my fires ;' Say, I will marry her now on the inftant : Say all that I would fay ; yet in the end
My love fhall make it more than gods can utter.
Aran. My lord, both Leontine and me are gone From their apartment • •
Var. Ha ! gone, fay'ft thou ! whither ?
Aran. That was my whole employment all this day. But, fir, I grieve to fpeak it, they have left No track behind for care to find 'em out; Nor is it pofiible —
Var. It is, it mail ; I'll ftruggle with impossibilities To find my Atkenais : not the walls Of Athens •, nor of Thebes, fhall hide her from me. I'll bring the force of all my father's arms, And lay 'em waile, but I'll redeem my love.
0 Leontine ! morofe old Leontine ! Thou mere philofopher ! O cruel fage, Who, for one hafly word, one choleric doubt, Haft turn'd the fcale : though in thfc facred balance My life, my glot^ an<V my empire hung !
Aran. Moil fure, my lord, they are retired to Athens*
1 will fend poft to-night
Var. No, no, Arantbes : Prepare my chariots : for I'll go in perfon. I fwear, till now, till I began to fear Some other might enjoy my Atbenais, I fwear I did not know how much I lov'd her. But let's away : I'll to the emperor ; Thou to the hafty management of my bus'nefs : * Prepare ; to-day I'll go, to-day I'll find her : ' No more ; I'll take my leave of 'Theodofius, f And meet thee on the Hippodrome. Away :' Let the wild hurry of the matter's love Make quick thy apprehenfion : haile, and leave me.
{Exeunt.
B 4 SCENE
32 THEODOSIUS.
SCENE, Pulcheria, Atticus, Leontine; ^jvtgiriss lead* ing Athenais in proceffion, after her bapi'ifm, to It cc»~ firmed*
Atticus fags.
* O Cbryfoftom ! look down and fee,
* An off'ring worthy Heav'n and thee !
* So rich the riftim, bright and fair,
* That me on earth appears a ftar : ' dor, * Eudofia is the virgin's name,
' And after-times mall fing her fame,
* Atticus Lead her votaries, lead her in,
' Her holy birth does now begin. ' if Votary. In humble weeds, but clean array,
* Your hours fhall fwcetly pafs away, ' And when the rites divine are pad,
' To pleafant gardens you fhall haft<s.
* K.d P*tary. Where many a flowVy bed we have,
* That emblem ftill to each a grave ;
' And when within the itream we look., 4 With tears we ufe to (well the brook :*' ' Bat, Oh, when in the liquid glafs,
* Our Heav'n appears, we figh to pafs;
* Cher* For Heav^ alone we are defign'd,
* And all things bring our Heav'n to mind.*
Athen, O princess ! O moil worthy of the world. That is fubmitted by its emperor \Kneeh*
To your moil wife and providential fway ! What Greek or Roman eloquence can paint The rapture and devotion of my foul ! J am adopted yours ; you are my goddefs, That have new form'd, new moulded my conceptions^
And by the platform of a work divine,
New fram'd, new built me to your own defires ;
Thrown all the lumber of my paffions out,
And made my heart a man (ion of perfection !
Clean as an anchorite's grot or votary's cell,
And fpotlefs as the glories of his fleps
Whom we far oft adore.' Pubb. Rife, Eudofia, And let me fold my chriilian in my arms : With this dear pledge of an eternal love,
T fcal
T H E O D" O*5"I'trs:'-' 3j.v
I'feal thee, O Eudefa! mine for ever. Accept, bell charge, the vows of my afFe£lio« : •' For, by the facred friendfhip that I give thee, I think that Heav'n by miracle did fend thee, To cafe my cares, to help me in my counfels, To be my filter, partner in my bed, And equally, through my whole courfe of life, - To be the better-part of thy Pdc-keria? And (hare my griefs and jpys. Athen. No, < madam, no ; ;
Excufe the cares that this fad wretch mu ft bring you £ • 4 Oh, rather let me leave the world for ever ;J Or, if I mull partake your royal fecrets,
* if you refolve tQ load me with fuch honour,' Let it be far from cities, far from courts, Where I may fly all human converfation ; Where I' may never fee, nor hear, nor name, Nor think, nor dream, O Heav'n ! if pofiible,'- Of mankind more. -
* P-uIcb. What now ! in tears, Eudofia-?:
* Aihc~. Far from the guilt of palaces, Oh, fend mel - f Drive me, Oh, drive me from the traitor man !
* So I might 'fcape that monilep, let me dwell ' In lions haunts, or in fome tiger's den :
* •PJace~me-on fome fteep, craggy, ruin'd rock, <> „
* That bellies out, juft dropping in the ocean : „ - .
* Bury me in the hollow of its womb,-
* Where, ftarving on my cold and flinty bed, . ' I 'may from far, with giddy apprehenfion,
' 'See infinite fathoms down the rambling deep 5 - 4 Yet -not e'en there, in that vaft whirl of 'death, - 4 Can there be found fo terrible a rum, { As man, falfe man, fmiling, <leftruclive man,'
Pulcb. Then thou haft lov'd,, Eudofia. © my filler ! '• Still nearer to my heart, fo much the dearer: Becaufe our fates are like, and, hand in hand, Our fortunes lead us thro' the maze of life : I'.m glad that thou hafl lov'd ; nay, lovM with danger; : Since thou haft 'fcap'dthe ruin.— «*Methink«, it lightens -"
* The weight of my calamities, that thou -
* (In all things elfe fo perfed and divine) ; 4 Art yet a-kin to my infirmity,*
34 T H E O D O S I U S.
' And bear'ft thy part in love's melodious ill.
' Love, that like bane perfum'd infects the mind,
' That fad delight that charms all woman-kind.*
Athen. Yes, madam, I confefs that love has charm'd But never mall again. * No, I renounce him ; [me, Infpire me, all the wrongs of abus'd women, All you that have been cozen'd by falfe men ; See what a ftricl example I will make : But for the perjuries of one I will revenge ye For all that's paft, that's prefent, and to come. Pulcb. ' Oh, thou far more than the moft mafculine
virtue !
' Where our Aftrea, where, Oh, drowning brightnefs, 4 Where haft thou been fo long ? Let me again 4 Proteft my admiration, and my love ; ' Let me declare aloud, while thou art here, * While fuch clear virtue mines within our circle, 1 Vice (hall no more appear within the palace, 4 But hide her dazzl'd eyes, and this be call'd 4 The holy court : 'but,' lo the emp'ror comes. Beauty like thine may drive that far away,
That has fo long entranc'd lift foul My Idrd — —
Enttr Theodofius and Attendants. Theo. If yet, alas ! I might but hope to fee her ; But, Oh, forgive me, Heav'n, this wilder ftart, That thus would reach impoiiibility: No, no, I never muft behold her more ; As well my Atticus might raife the dead, As Leontine mould charm that form in view.
Pukh. My lord, I come to give your grief a cure, With purer flames to draw that cruel fire That tortur'd you fo long— Behold this virgin The daughter of your tutor Leontine. *rheo. Ah!
' Pulcb. She is your filter's charge, and made a chrif- ' And Athenais is Eudojia now, [tian,
" Be fure a fairer never grac'd religion, ' And for her virtue' me tranfcends example.*
<I'heo. Oh, all you Weft above, how can this be ? Am I awake ? Or is this pofiible ? [A then, kneels.
Pulcb. She kneels, my lord. Will not you go and raife her ?
THEODOSIUS. 35
Tkeo. Nay, do thou raife her ; for I'm rooted here : Yet if laborious love and melancholy Have not o'erccme me, and quite turn'd me mad, It mull be me, that naked dazzling fweetnefs ! The very figure of that morning ftar, That, dropping pearls, and medding dewy beams, Fled from the greedy waves when I approach'd. Anfwer me, Leontine; am I dillracled ?
Or is this true ? ' By thee in all encounters
f I will be rul'd, in temperance and wildnefs, * When reafon clalhes with extravagance.
« But fpeak'
Leon. 'Tis true, my lord; this is my daughter, Whom I conceal 'd in Perjia from all eyes But yours, when chance directed you that way.
Tbeo. He fays 'tis true : why then this heartlefs car- <Tbis laxy J'pirit.1 ' [riage ?
Oh, were 1 proof againft the darts of love, ;j^fo And cold to beauty as the marble lover That lies, without a thought, upon his tomb ; Would not this glorious dawn of life run through me, And waken death itfelf ?' Why am I flow then ? What hinders now, but that, in fpite of rules, I burit through all the bands of death that hold me.
[He kneels,
And fly with fuch a hafte to that appearance, As bury'd faints mall make at the lait fummons ?
Athen. The emp'ror at my feet ! O fir ! forgive m°. ; Drown me not thus with everlaliing ihame. Both Heav'n and earth mull bluih at fuch a view. Nor can I bear it longer
Leon. My lord, (he is unworthy
Tbeo. Ha ! what fay'ft thou, Leontine ? ' Unworthy ! O thou atheift to perfection ! * All that the blooming earth cou'd fend forth fair ; ' All that the gaudy Heavens cou'd dropdown glorious!' Unworthy, fay 'ft thou ! Wert thou not her father, I fwear I would revenge — But hafte, and tell me ; For love like mine will bear no fecond thought ; Can all the honours of the Orient, Thus facrific'd with the molt pure affection, With fpotlefs thoughts, and languifhing defires,
B 6 * Obtain,
36 T H E O D O S I U £.
Obtain, O Leontine ! (the crown at laft) To thee I fpeak, thy daughter to my bride ?
Lean. My l©rd, the honour bears fuch eitimation, It calls the blood into my aged cheeks, And quite o'erwhelms my daughter with confufion ; Who, with her body proflrate on the earth, Ought to adore you for the proffer'd glory.
Tbt9* Let me embrace and thank thee, O kind
Heav'n !
O Atticus ! Pulcherta ! O my father ! Was ever change like mine ? Run through the ftreets ? ' Who waits there r' Run, and, loud as fame can ipeak, With trumpet founds proclaim your emperor's joy. ' And, as of old, on the great feftival
* Of her they call the mother of the gods,
* Let all work ceafe, at leaft an oaken garland
* Crown each Plebeian head; let fprightly bow!s
* Be dol'd about, and the tofs'd cymbals found ; ' Tell 'em their much lamented 1'he.cdofius
' By miracle is brought from death to life ;
4 His melancholy's gone, and now once more „
* He mail appear at the itate's helm again ;
' Nor fear a wreck while this bright ftar directs us ; ' For while fhe mines, no fands, no cowring rocks
* Shall lie unfeen, but I will cut my way
' Secure as Neptune thro' the higheft ftream, ' And to the port in fafety fleer the world.'
Atben. Alas, my lord, confider my extra&ion, With all my other wanfs
Tbeo. Peace, emprefs, peace ! No more the daughter of old Leontine; A chriftian now, and partner of the eaft.
Athen. My father has difpos'd me, you command me ; What can I anfwer then, but my obedience ?
Tkeo. Attend her, dear P-ulcberia ; and, Oh, tell her, To-morrow, if (he pleafe, I will be happy. Oh, why fo kmg mould I my joys delay ?
[Exeunt Pule. **r^Athei£.
Time, imp thy wings, let not thy minutes flay, $ut to a moment change the tedious day. -^ The-4ay ! 'twill be an age before to-morrow : ' An age, a death, a vaft eternity, "• Where we fiiall cold, and ^ait enjoyment He.9
Ertir
THEODOSIUS. 57
Enter Varanes and Aranthes. Var. 0 Theodofius ! ^Tbeo. Ha! my brother here ! Why doft thou come to make my blifs run o'er ?
* What is there more to wim ? Fortune can find ' No flaw in fiich a glut of happinefs,
* To let one mifery in' O my Varanes /
Thou that of late didit feem to walk on clouds, Now give a loofe, let go the flacken'd reins, Let us drive down the precipice of joy,
As if that all the winds of Heav'n were for us.
Var. My lord, I'm glarl to find the gale is turn'd ; And give you joy of this auspicious fortune. Plough on your way, with all your ftreamers out j With all your glorious flags and garlands ride Triumphant on — And leave me to the waves, The fands, the winds, the rocks, the fure deftm&ion, And ready gulphs that gape to fwallow me.
Theo.. It was thy hand that drew me from the grave, Who had been dead by this time to ambition, To crowns, to titles, and my flighted greatnefs. But ftiJl, as if each work of thine deferv'd
The fmile of Heav'n Thy Tbtodofius met
With fomething dearer than his diadem,
With all that's worth a wifh, that's worth a life ;
I met with that which made me leave the world.
Var. And I, Oh turn of chance 1 Oh cuafed fortune ! Have loft at once ail that could make me happy. ' Oh, ye too partial pow'rs ! but now no more : ' The gods, my dear, my moft-lov'd Theodofius, ' Doubie all thofe joys, that thou haft met, upon thee f
* For fure thou art moft worthy, worthy more
* Than Jove in ail his prodigality
* Can e'er beftow in blefTmgs on mankind.* And, Oh, methinks my foul is ftrangely mov'd, Takes it the more unkindly of her ftars, That thou and I cannot be bleft together :
For I muft leave thee, friend ! this night muft leave thee,
To go in doubtful fearch of what, perhaps,
I ne'er fhali find ; if fo my cruel fate
Has order'd it: why then farewel for ever :
For I fhall never, never fee thee more.
jS THEODOSIUS.
Theo. How fenfible my tender foul is grown Of what you utter! O my gallant friend !
brother! O Varanes ! do not judge By what I fpeak, for fighs will interrupt me : Judge by my tears, judge by thefeftrid embraces, And by my laft refolve : though I have met With what in filence I fo long ador'd ; Though in the rapture of protefting joys, I had fet down to-morrow for my nuptiars ; ' And Atticus to-night prepares the temple.' Yet, my Varanes y I will rob my foul Of all her health, of my imperial bride, And wander with thee in 'the fearch of that On which thy life depends
Far. If this I fuffer, Conclude me then begotten of a hind, And bred in wilds : no, Theodojius, no ; I charge thee by our friendmip, and conjure thee, By all the gods, to mention this no more. Perhaps, dear friend, I mall be fooner here Than you expect, or I myfelf imagine ; What mofl I grieve is, that I cannot wait To fee your nuptials : yet my foul is with you, And all my adorations to your bride.
Theo. What, my Varanes ! will you be fo cruel As not to fee my bride before you go ? Or are you angry at your rival's charms, Who has already ravim'd half my heart, That once was all your own ?
Var. You know I am diforder'd ! My melancnoly will not fuit her bleil condition.
[Exit Theod.
And the gods know ; fince thou, my Atkenais, Art fled from thefe fick eyes, all oth^r women To my pall'dfoul feem like the ghoft of beauty, And haunt my mem'ry with the lofs of thee.
Enter Athenais, Theodofius leading he/\
Theo. Behold, my lord, th' occafion of my joy.
Var. O ye immortal gods ! Aranthes ! Oh ! Look there, and wonder : ha ! is't poflible ?
Athen. My lord, the emp'ror fays you are his friend, JHe charges, me to ufe my^ntereit,
And
THEODOSIUS. 3.
And beg of you to ftay, at leail fo long
As our efpoufals will be folem izing ;
J told him I was honour'd once to know you ;
But that fo ilightly, as I could not warrant
The grant of any thing that I mould afk you. •
Var. O heaven and earth ! O Atbenais / why, Why dolt thou ufe me thus ? Had I the world, Thou know'it it mould be thine
Athen'. I know not that
But yet, to make fure work, one half of it
Is mine already, fir, without your giving.
My lord, the prince is obilinate, his glory
Scorns to be mov'd by the weak breath of woman :
He is all hero, bent for-higher views,
Therefore 'tis noble, fir, to let him go :
If not for him, my lord, yet for myielf,
1 muit intreat the favour to retire. [Exit. Athen. c5V.
Var. Death and defpair ! Confufion ! Hell and furies !
Theo. ' Heav'n guard thy health, and flill preferve
thy virtue/
What ihould this mean ? I fear the confequence, For 'tis too plain they know each other well.
Var. Undone, Aranthcs ! loft, undone for ever ! I fee my doom, I read it with broad eyes, As plain as if I faw .the book of fate : Yet I will mutter all my fpirits up, Digeft my griefs, fwallow the rifmg paflions ; Yes, I will ftand the fhock of all the gods Well as I can, and ftruggle for my life.
Tbeo. You mufe, my lord ; and if you'll give me leave To judge your thoughts, they feem employed at prefent About my bride — ' I guefs you know her too.'
Var. His bride ! O gods, give me a moment's par I mud confefs, the fight of Atbenais, [tience,
Where I fo little did expecl: to fee her, So grac'd, and fo adorn'd, did raife my wonder : But what exceeds all admiration, is, That you mould talk of making her your bride ; 5Tis fuch a blind effeft of monftrous fortune, That though I well remember you affirm'd it, I cannot yet believe
Theo. Then now believe me : By all the pow'rs divine I will efpoufe her,
Var.
4o T H E 0 D 0 S I U S;
Far. Ha! I fhall leap the bounds. Come,
my lord, B/ all thefe powers you nam'd, I fay you muft not.
Theo. I fay, I will ; and who mall bar my pleafure ?- Yet more, I fpeak the judgment of my foul. Weigh but with fortune merit in the balance, And Atbenais lofes by the marriage.
Far. Relentlefs fates ! malicious cruel pow'rs ! Oh, for what crime do you thus rack your creature ?r Sir, I muft tell you, this unkingly meannefs Suits the profeflion of an anchorite well ; But in an Oriental emperor It gives offence ; nor can you, without fcandal,. Without the notion of a grov'ling fpirit, Efpoufe the daughter of old Leontine, Whofe utmoil glory is to have been my tutor.-
Tfa. He has fo well acquitted-that employment,. Breeding you up to fuch a gallant height Of full perfection, and imperial greatnefs* That ev'n for this refpecl, if for no other, , I will efleem him worthy while I live.
Far. My lord, you'll pardon me a little freedom; ; For I, muft boldly urge in fuch a caufe, Who ever flatters you, though ne'er fo near Related to your blood, mould -be fufpefted.
Thee. If friendmip would admit a cold fufpicion, . After what 1 have heard and feen to-day. Of all mankind I fhouk* fufpeft Faranes.
Far. He has Hung me to the heart; my groans will
choak me, Unlefs my ftruggling paffion gets a vent.
Out with it then 1 can no raore diflemblC'
Yes, yes, my lord : fince you reduce me to ,
The laft neceffity, I .muft confefs it ;
I muft avow my flame for Atkenais ;
J am all fire, iny paffion eats me up, ;
It grov/s incorp'rate with my fiefla and blood :
My pangs redouble ; now they cleave my heart I
O Athenais ! O Eudofia ! Oh ! ^
' Tho* plain as day I fee my own deftrudion, , « Yet to my death, and, Oh, let all the gods * Bear witnefs ! Hill I fwear J will adore tbe«- 1*'
Wee,
THEODOSIU5. 41
. Alas, Varanes ! which of us two the Heav'ns, Have mark'd for death, is yet above the ftars ; But, while we live, let us preferve our friendihip Sacred and juft, as we have ever done. This onty mean in two fuch hard extremes Remains for both : to-morrow you (hall fee her, With all advantage, in her own apartment ; Take your own time, fay all you can to gain her ; If you can win her^ lead her into Perfia ; If not, confent that I efpoufe her here.
Var. Still worfe and worfe ! O Theodc/ius / Oh, I cannot fpeak for fighs : my death is feal'd By his laft fweetnefs : had you been lei's good, I might have hop'd. But now my doom's at hand. Go then, and take her, take her to the temple : The gods too give you joy ! O Atbenais ! Why does my image mock my foolifh forrow ?
0 Tbeodcjius, do not fee my tears :
Away, and leave me ; leave me to the grave.
<Tkeo. Farewel ! let's leave the rffus to the Heav'ns ;
1 will prepare your way with all that honour
Can urge in your behalf, tho* to my ruin. [Ex. Thtfo.
Par. Oh, I could tear my limbs, and eat my flefli \ £ool that I was, fond, proud, vain -glorious fool ! Damn'd be all courts, and trebly damn'd ambition \ Blafted be thy remembrance ! Curfes on thee ! And plagues on plagues fall on thofe fools that feek thee !
Aran. Have comfort, fir— —
Var. Away, and leave me, villain ! Traitor, who wrought me nrft to my deftruftion t Yet ftay, and help, help me to curfe my pride, Help me to wifli that I had ne'er been royal, That I had never heard the name of Cyrus. ' That my firft brawl in court had been my laft.* Oh> that I had been born fome happy fwain, And never known a life fo great, fo vain ! Where I extremes might not be forc'd to choofe, And, bleft with fome mean wife, no crown could lofe ; Where the dear partner of my little Hate, *~)
With all her fmiling offspring at the gate, >
BlelTing my labours, might my coming; wait: 3
Where
42 THEODOSIUS.
Where in our humble beds all fafe might lie,
And not in curfed courfe for glory die.— [Exeunt.
< S ON G. ' J.
* Hail to the myrtle (hade ,
' All hail to the nymphs of the fields 5
* Kings would not here invade
' Thofe pleafures that virtue yields. ' Cbor. Beauty here opens her arms,
' To foften the languifhing mind ; ' And Phillis unlocks her charms :
* Ah, Phillis ; ah, why fo kind !
' II.
* Phillis, thou foul of love,
* Thou joy of the neighb'ring fwains ;
* Phillis that crowns the grove,
' And Phillis that gilds the plains. « Char. Phillis, that ne'er had the Hull,
' To paint and to patch and be fine ; ' Yet Phillis, whofe eyes can kill, ' Whom nature had made divine,
« III.
* Phillis, whofe charming fong,
* Makes labour and pains a delight, ' Phillis that makes the day young,
* And fhortens the live-long night. « C&r. Phillis, whofe lips like May,
* Still laughs at the fweets that they bring; ' Where love never knows decay,
* But fets with eternal fpring.'
ACT
T H E O D O S I U S. 43
ACT IV.
Enter Marcian, and Lucius at a diftance*
•
Marc. 1 1^ H E gen'ral of the Oriental armies,
\_ Was a commiffion large as fate could give. 'Tis gone. * Why, what care IPO fortune, fortune,
* Thou laughing emprefs of this bufy world,
* Martian defies thee now.'
Why, what a thing is a difcarded favourite !
* He, who but now, though longing to retire,
* Cou'd not for bufy waiters be alone,
s Throng'd in his chamber, haunted to his clofet ' With a full croud, and an eternal court.' When once the favour of his prince is turn'd, Shunn'd as a ghoft, the clouded man appears, And all the gaudy worihippers forfake him. ' So fares it now with me, where'er I come,
* As if I were another Catiline,
' The courtiers rife, and no man will fit near me,
* As if the plague were on me, all men fly me.*
0 Lucius ! Lucius ! if thou leav'ft me too,
1 think, I think, I could not bear it ;
But like a flave, my fpirit, broke with fuff'ring,
Should on thefe coward knees fall down, and beg
Once to be great again Luc. Forbid it, Heaven,
That e'er the noble Marcian condefcend
To afk of any, but th' immortal gods !
Nay, I vow, if yet your fpirit dare,
Spite of the court, you mail be great as C&far.
6 Marc. No, Lucius, no ; the gods repel that humour. Yet iince we are alone, and muft e'er long Leave this bad court, let us like veterans
Speak out Thou fay'lt, alas ! as great as Crf/ar*
But where's his greatnefs ? Where is his ambition ?
If any fparks of virtue yet remain
In this poor figure of the Roman glory ;
I fay, if any be, how dim they mine,
Compar'd with what his great forefathers were.
* How
44 THEODOSIUS.
How mould he lighten then, or awe the world,
Whofe foul in courts is but a lambent fire ?
And fcarce, O Rofoe f a glow-worm in the field,
Soft, young, religious, godlike qualities,
For one that fnould recover the loil empire,
And wade thro* feas of blood, and walk o'er mountain*
Of flaughter'd bodies to immortal honour.'
Luc. Poor heart ! he pin'd awhile ago for loVe ~
Marc. And for his miftrefs vow'd to leave the world j. But fome new chance, it feems, has charxg'd his mind. A marriage ! but to whom, or whence fhe came, None knows ; but yet a marriage is prOclairn'd ; Pageants prepar'd ; the arches are adorn'd, ' 7'he ftatues crown'd ; the Hippodrome does groan ' Beneath the burden of the mounted warriors.' The theatre is open'd too, where he And the hot Perjian mean to act their follies. Gods ! gods ! Is this the image of our C^/ars ? Is this the model of our Romulus ? Oh, why fo poorly have you ftamp'd Rome'^glory •!"
« Not Rome's but yours Is this man-, fit -to. bear it T
' This waxen portraiture of majefty,
' Which every warmer palTion does melt down,
* And makes him fonder than it woman's longing..
Luc. Thus much I know* to the eternal Ihama Of the imperial blosd ; this upftart empreis, This fine new queen, is fprung from a&jeft parents ; Nay, bafely born ! But that's all one to him i He likes and loves, and therefore marries her.
Marc. Shall I not fpeak ? Shall I not tell him of it > I feel this big-fwoln throbbing Roman fpirit Will burft, unlefsvl utter what I ought.
Enter Pulcheria with a paper in her hand, and Julia.. Pulcberia here ! why ihe's the fcourge of Marc/an \ I tremtxle, too, whenever me approaches :
* And my heart dances an unufual meafure.
* Spise of myfelfl blufh, and cannot ftir,
*• While fhe is here' — What Lucius, can this mean ?.- *• 'Tis faid, Calphurnia. had the heart of Oarfar, ' Auguftus doated on the fubtle Lwiat ' Why then mould not I worfllip that fair angel ? '• Oh, didit thou mark her when, her fury light'ned,
T II E O D O S I U S. 45
% She feem'd all goddefs ; nay her frowns became her;
* There was a beauty in her very wildnefs,
* Were I a man, born great as our firft founder, ' Sprung from the blood divine— but I am cad
"' Beyond all poffibility of hope.'
Pulcb. Come hither, Martian, read this paper o'er, And mark the ftrange negleft of 7'heodcjtus. He figns whate'er I bring ; perhaps you've heard To-morrow he intends to wed a maid of Athens t New-made a chriilian, and new-nam'd Eudofiat Whom he more dearly prizes than his empire : Yet in this paper he hath fet his hand, And feal'd it too with the imperial fignet, That me mall lofe her head to-morrow morning* Mare. 'Tis not for me to judge; yet this feems ftrange. Pulcb. I know he rather would commit a murder On his own perfon, than permit a vein Of her to bleed ; yet, Martian, what might follow, If I were envious of this virgin's honour, By his rafh paffing whatfoe'er I offer Without a view ? Ha ! but T had forgot : Julia, let's Jiafte from this infectious perfott *•> I had forgot that Martian was a traitor : Yet, by the pow'rs divine, I fwear 'tis pity. That one fo form'd by nature for all honour^ All titles, greatnefs, dignities imperial, The noblelt perfon, and the braveft courage^ Should not be honeft. Julia, is't not pity {'
0 Martian, Martian ! I could weep to think Virtue mould lofe itfelf as thine has done; Repent, rafh man, if yet 'tis not too late, And mend thy errors ; fo farewel for ever,
[.E^tf/Pulch. WJfel, Marc. Farewel for ever: No, madam, ere I go,
1 am refolv'd to fpeak, and you fhall hear me ; Then, if you pleafe, take off this traitor's head ; End rny commiffion and my life together.
Luc. Perhaps you'll doubt of what I'm going to fay j But by your life, my lord, I think 'tis true: Pulcheria loves this traitor ! ' Did you mark her ?
* At firft me had forgot your banifhment ;
* Makes you her counfellor, and tells her fecrets.
* As
46 THEQDOSIUS
' As to a friend ; nay, leaves them in your hand,
* And fays, 'tis pity that you are not honed ! f With fuch defcription of your gallantry
f As none but love could make; then taking leave, f Through the dark lafhes of her darting eyes, Methought flie'fhot her foul at ev'ry glance ; ' Still looking back, as if me had a mind
* That you mould know fhe left her heart behind her,
Marc. Alas ; thou doft not know her, nor do I : Nor can the wit of all mankind conceive her. But let's away. This paper is of ufe.
Luc. I guefs your purpofe : He is a boy, and as a boy you'll ufe him : There is no other way.
Marc. Yes, if he be not
Quite dead with flcep, for ever loft to honour, Marcian with this mall roufe him. O my Lucius ! Methinks the ghofts of the great <Theodofiusy And thund'ring Conjlantine, appear before me : They charge me as a foldier to chaftife him, To lafh him with keen words from lazy love, And (hew him how they trod the paths of honour.
[Exeunt.
SCENE, Theodofius lying on a couch, with two boys dreft like Cupids, finging to him as hejleeps.
< S O N G
« Happy day ! ah, happy day ! • That Car/ar's beams did firft difplay,
' So peaceful was the happy day. ' The gods themfelves did all look down, f * The royal infant's birth to crown, « So pleas'd they fcarce did on the guilty frown.
Happy day ! ah, happy day ! ' And, Oh, thrice happy hour ! ' That made fuch goodnefs mafter of fuch pow'r :
' For thus the gods declare to men, ' "No day like this mall ever come again.
« Enter
THEODOSIUS. 47
* Enter Marcian nvitb an order. € Tbeo. Ha, what rafh thing art thou, who fett'ft fo
* A value on thy life, thus to prefume [fmall
* Againft the fatal orders I have given, ' Thus to entrench on Carfar's folitude, f And urge me to thy ruin?
« Marc. Mighty C<e/ar, ' I have tranfgrefs'd, and for my pardon bow
* To thee, as to the gods when I offend :
' Nor can I doubt your mercy, when you know
* The nature of my crime. I am commiifion^d
c From all the earth to give thee thanks and praifes, ' Thou darling of mankind ! whofeconqu'ring arms ' Already drown the glory of great Julius,
* Whofe deeper reach in laws and policy
* Makes wife Auguftus envy thee in Heav'n ;
f * What mean the fates by fuch prodigious virtue ?
* When fcarce the manly down yet lhades thy face,
* With conqueiV thus to over-run the world;
s And make barbarians tremble ? O ye gods ! ' Should delUny now end thee in thy bloom, ' Methinks I fee thee mourn'd above the lofs
* Qflov'dGermanzcus, thy funerals,
' Like his, are folemniz'd with tears and blood.
'Theo. How, Marcian!
' Marc. Yes, the raging multitude, ' Like torrents, fet no bound to their mad grief; ' Shave their wives heads, and tear off their own hair ;
* With wild defpair they bring their infants out
* To brawl their parents forrow in the ftreets:
' Trade is no more, all courts of juiHce ftopp'd;
' With ftones they dam the windows of their temples,
' Pull down their altars, break their houfehold gods;
' And Hill the univerfal groan is this,
' Conflantinople^ loft, cur empire's ruin'd :
' Since he is gone, that father of his country;
* Since he is.dead, O life, where is thy pleafure ?
* O Rome ! O conquered world, where is thy glory?
' Vbeo. I know thee well, thy cuftom and thy manners; ' Thou doll upbraid me ; but no more of this, ' Not for thy life — . • • . f Marc. What's life without my honour ? -
3 • Could
S T H E O £> 0 S 1 V &
Could yow transform yoarfelf into a. gorgon, Or make that beardlefs face like Jupiter's, 1 would be heard in fpite of all your thunder. O pow'r of guilt ! you fear to ftand the teft Which virtue brings ; like fores your vices fhake Before this Rom an -healer ; but, by the gods, Before I go, I'll rip the malady, And let the venom flow before your eyes* This is a debt to the great Theo^isjitts^ The grands-father of your illuftrious blood J And then farewell for ever.
' Thso. Prefuming Martian ! What canft thou urge againft my innocence? Through the whole courfeof all my harmlefs youth, Ev'n to this hour, 1 cannot call to mind One wicked aft which I have done to fhatne me*
' Marc. This may be true ; yet if you give the fway To other hands, and your poor fuhjcfts fuffer, Your negligence to them is as the caufe* O Tbeeddfat / credit me, who know The world, and hear how foldiers cenfure kings j In after-times, if thus you mould go on, Your memory by warriors will be fcorn'd, As much as faro or Caligula, loath'd, They will defpife your floth and backward eafe* More than they hate the others cruelty. And what a thing, ye gods, is fcorn or pity? Heap on me, HeaVn, the hate of all mankind ; Load me with malice, envy, deteftation ; Let me be horrid to all apprehenfion, And the world munme, fo I 'fcape but fcorn.
' ¥beo. Pr'ythee no more.
' Marc. Nay, when the legions make comparifonsj And fay, thus cruel Nero once refolv'd On Galta's infurre&ion, for revenge, To give all Frame as plunder to the army, To poifon the whole fenate at a feaft, To burn the city, turn the wild beads out, Bears, lions, tigers, on the multitude ; That fo obftructing thofe thatquench'd the fire, He might at once deftroy rebellious Rome.
THEODOSIUS. 49
« Tbeo. Oh, cruelty! Why tell'ft thou me of this? •* Am I of fuch a barb'rous bloody temper ?
' Marc. Yet fome will fay, this ftiew'd he had a fpirit,
* However fierce, avenging and pernicious,
* That favour'd of a Roman ; but for you,
*• What can your partial fycophants invent, ' To make you room among the emperors,
* Whofe utmoft is the fmalleil: part of Nero,
* A petty player, one that can aft a hero,
* And never be one ? O ye immortal gods !
* Is this the old Cafarian majefty ?
* Now, in the name of our great Romulus,
* Why fmg you not, and fiddle too, as he did ; ' Why have you not, like Nero, a Pbenafcus,
* One to take care of your celeitial voice ?
' Lye on your back, my lord, and on your flomach ' Lay a thin plate of lead ; abftain from fruits;
* And when the bus'nefs of the ftage is done,
* Retire with your loofe friends, to coftly banquets, ' While the lean army groans upon the ground.
' Theo. Leave me, I fay, left I chaftife thee :
* Hence, begone, I fay
* Marc. Not till you have heard me out »
* Build too, like him, a palace lin'd with gold, '• As long and large as that of th' Efquiline?
« Inclofe a pool, too, in it, like the fea,
* And, at the empire's coft, let navies meet ;
* Adorn your ftarry chambers, too with gems ; ' Contrive the plated cielings to turn round,
' With pipes to call ambroiial oils upon you ;
* Confume, with this prodigious vanity',
' In mere perfumes, and odorous diftillations, ' Offeflerces, at once, four hundred millions; ' Let naked virgins wait you at your table, ' And wanton cupids dance and clap their wings. ' No matter what becomes of the poor foldiers,
* So they perform the drudgery they are fit for: ' Why let 'em ftarve for want of their arrears,
' Drop as they go, and lie, like dogs, in ditches.
* Tbeo. Come, you are a traitor «
' Marc, Go to, you are a boy—
' Or, by the gods— *
C v
50 T H E O D O S I U S.
* Theo. If arrogance like this,
* And to the emp'rors face, mould 'fcape unpunim'd, ' I'll write myfelfa coward — die, then, villain,
* A death too glorious ibr fo bad a man, <* By Tbeodo/tus' hand.
\They fight, Marcian difarms him, but is wounded.
* Marc. Now, fir, where are you ?
' What, in the name of all our 'Roman fpirits,
' Now charms my hand from giving thee thy fate?
•' Has he not cut me off from all my honours,
' Torn my commiffions, iham'd me to the earth,
' Baniih'd the court, a vagabond for ever ?
« Does not the foldier hourly1 afk it from me,
•' Sigh their own wrongs, and beg me to revenge 'em ?
' What hinders now, but that I mount the throne,
* And make to that this purple youth my footftool ?
* The armies court me^ and my country's caufe ;
* The inj uries of Rome and Greece perfuade me.
' Shew but this Roman blood which he has drawn,
* They'll make me emperor whether I will or no ;
* Did not, for lefs than this, the latter Brutus,
-' Becaufehe thought Rome wrong'd, in perfon head,
* Againft his friend, a black confpiracy, ' And ftab' the majefty of all the world ?
f Theo. Aft as you pleafe, I am within your power. ' Marc. Did not the former Brutus, for the crime
* Of Sextusy drive old Tarquin from his kingdom ;
* And mall this prince too, by permitting others ' To aft their wicked wills and lawlefs pleafures,
* Ravim from the empire its dear health,
* Well-being, happinefs, and ancient glory, ' Go on in this dilhonourable reft.
•' Shall he, I fay, dream on, while the flarv'd troops
* Lie cold and waking in the winter camp ;
* And, like pin'd birds, for want of fuitenance,
* Feed on the haws and berries of the field?
* Oh, temper, temper me, ye gracious gods !
* Give to my hand forbearance, to my heart
* Its conftant loyalty I would but make him,
* Rouze him a little from this death of honour,
* And mew him what he mould be. [A/iJe.
You accufe me,
« As
T H E O D O S I U S. 51
* As if I were fome monfter moil unheard ofj e Firlt, as the ruin of the -army ; then
* Of taking your commiffion ; but, by Heav'n,
* I fwear, O Martian ! this I never did, , ' NOT e'er intended it : nor fay I this
* To alter thyilern ufage; for with what
' Thou'ft faid, and done, and brought to my remembrance,
* I grow already weary of my life.
' Marc. My lord, I take your word — you do not know
* The wounds which rage within your country's bowels ; ' The horrid ufage of the fuff'ring foldier :
' But why will not our 1'heodojlus know ? ' If you intruit the government to others
* That aft thefe crimes, who but yourfelPs to blame ? ' Be witnefles, ye gods, of my plain dealing,
' Of Martian's honefty, howe'er degraded.
* I thank you for my banifhment; but, alas!
* My lofs is little to what foon will follow :
* Reflect but on yourfelf, and your own joys ; ' Let not this lethargy for ever hold you.
' 'Twas rumour'd through the city that you .lov'd, ' That your efpoufals fhould be folemniz'd j
* When, on a fudden, here, you fend your orders ' ' That this bright favourite, the lov'd Eudojla,
f Should lofe her head.
* Theo. O Heav'n and earth ! What fay'ft thou, ' That I have feal'd the death of my Eudofta?
' Marc. JTis your own hand and fignet : yet I fwear,
* Tho' you have giv?n to female hands your fway, ' And therefore I as well as the whole army,
* For ever ought to curfe all womankind,
' Yet when the virgin came, as me was doom'd, ^ ,
* And on the fcaffold, for thatpurpofe rais'd,
' Without the walls appear'd before the army—
* Theo. What, on a fcaffold? Ha ! before the army ? ' Marc. How quickly was the tide of fury turn'd
To foft compaffion and relenting tears : but when the Sever'd the brightefl beauty of the earth [axe«
From that fair body, had you heard the groan, Which, like a peal of diftant thunder, ran Through all the armed holt, you would have thought By the immediate darknefs that fell round us,
C 2 '' Whole
$z THEODOSIUS.
' Whole nature was concern'd at fuch a fufPring, -* And all the gods were angry.
' Theo. O Pulcheria ! ' Cruel, ambitious fitter, this mufl be ' Thy doing! O fupport me, noble Marcian ! ' Now, now's the time, if thou dar'ft itrike; behold,
* J offer thee my breaft ; with my lall breath
* 'I'll thank thee too, if now thou draw'ft my blood.
* Were I to live, thy counfel mould direft me;
* But 'tis too late [He fivoont.
' Marc. He faints! What, hoa, there, Lucius!
* Enter Lucius.
' My lord, the emperor, Eudofia lives ! 4 Sfee's here, or will be in a minute, moment,
* Quick as a thought (lie calls you to the temple.
« O Lucius, help r- I've gone too far— but fee,
* He breathes again — Eudcfea has awak'd him.
' Fbco. Did you not name Eudofia ? ' Marc. Yes, me lives ;
* I did but feign the ftory of her death,
« To find how near you plac'd her to your heart : ' And may the gods rain all their plagues upon me, < If ever I rebuke you thus again: ' Yet 'tis molt certain that you fign'd her death,
* Not knowing what the wife Pulcheria offer'd, « Who left it in my hand to flartle you :
* But, by my life and fame, I did not think
' It would have touch'd your life. O pardon me, « Dear prince, my lord, my emp'ror, royal mailer !
* Droop not becaufe I utter'd fome rain words,
* And was a madman by th' immortal gods,
* I love you as my foul : whate'er I faid,
' My thoughts were otherwife; believe thefe tears,
* Which do not ufe to flow ; all (hnJl be well :
* I fvvear that there are feeds in that fweet temper,
* T' atone for all the crimes in this bad age.
« Theo. I thank thee — firft, for my Eudofia s life. ' What, but my love, could have call'd back that life, ' Which thou haft made me hate? And, Oh! methought
* 'Twashard, dear Martian , very hard from thee, ' From him I ever rev'renc'd as my father,
' To hear fo harfh a meffage- But no more ;
< We're friends — thy hand — Nay, if thou wilt not rife,
'j < And
T H E O D O S I U S. 53
* And let me fold my arms about thy neck,
* I'll not believe thy love — In this forgive me : ' Firft let me wed Eudofia, and we'll out;
* We will, my general, and make amends
' For all that's paft — Glory and arms, ye call,
* And Martian leads me on
* Marc. Let me not reft, then-—
' 7~ fpmife her ilraight; I'll ftrike you at a heat;
* May this great humour get large growth within your
* And be encourag'd by the embold'ning gods.
* Oh, what a fight will this be to the foldieri
* To fee me bring you drefs'din mining armour,
* To head the fhouting fquadrons O ye gods !
' Methinks I hear the echoing cries of joy,
4 The found of trumpets, and the beat of drums— -
' I fee each ftarving foldier bound from earth,
' As if fome god by miracle had rais'd him,
4 And, with beholding you, grow fat again.
' Nothing but gazing eyes, and opening mouths,
4 Cheeks red with joy, and lifted hands about you j
4 Some wiping the glad tears that trickle down
* With broken lo's, and with fobbing raptures,
* Crying, to arms ! he's come, our emp'ror's come 4 To win the world ! — Why, is not this far better
' Than lolling in a lady's lap, and fleeping,
* FafUng or praying? Come, come, you mail be merry y ' And for Endo/ia, me is yours already ;
* Martian has faidit, fir, ihe mall be yours.
* Tbeo. O Martian ! O my brother, father, all I ' Thou beft of friends, moft faithful counfellor,
* I'H find a match for thee too, ere I reft,
' To make thee love me ; for 'when thou art with me,
* I'm ftrong and well, but when thou'rt gone, I'rns
' nothing. [Exeunt Marcian nnd Lucius.'
Enter Athenais, meeting Theodofius. Alas, Eudcfia ! tell me what to fay; For my full heart can fcarce bring forth a word Of that which I have fworn to fee perform'd.. Athen. I'm perfectly obedient to your pleafurc. T'beo. Well then, I come to tell thee, that Varanes, Of all mankind, is neareft to my heart. I love him, dear Eudojia^ and.to prove,
C 3 That
54 THEODOSIUS.
That love on trial, all my blood's too little;
Ev^n thee, if I were fure to die this moment,
(As Heav'n alon.e can tell how far my fate
Is off) O thou, my foul's moil tender joy,
With my lalt breath I would bequeath him thee. [hfrn.1 Athen, Then you arepleas'd, my lord, to yield me to ^Theo. No, my Eudcjtay no, I will not yield thee
While I have life ; for worlds I will not yield thee :
Yet, thus far I'm engag'd to let thee know,
He loves thee, Athenais, more than ever ;
He langui/hes, defpairs, and dies like me;
And I have pafs'd my word that he mail fee thee.
Athen. Ah, fir ! what have you done againft yourfelf
And me ?
' Why will you truil me, who am now afraid
* To truft myfelf ?— ^Why do you leave me naked ' To an afiault, who made proof my virtue
* With this fure guard, never to fee him more.' For, Oh! with trembling agonies I fpeakit,
I cannot fee a prince whom once I lov'd, BathM in his grief, and gafping at my feet,
* In all the violent trances of defpair,' Without a forrow that perhaps may end me.
Theo. Oh, ye feverer pow'rts ! too cruel f^te! Did ever love tread fuch a maze before ? Yet, Atbenais, ilill I trull thy. virtue: But if thy bleeding heart cannot refrain, Give, give thyfelfaway; yet Mill remember,
That moment *TbeodoJius is no more
[Exit Theodofius.
Athen. Now, glory, now, if ever thou didit work
In woman's mind, affifl me f Oh, my heart!
' Why doft thou throb, as if thou wert a breaking ? ' Down, down, I fay; think on thy injuries, ' Thy wrongs, thy wrongs ? — 'Tis well — my eyes are dry, 4 And all within my bofom now is Hill.'
Enter Varanes, leaning on Aranthes. Ha ! is this he ? Or is't Varanes' ghofl ? He looks as if he had befpoke his grave, Trembling and pale : I muft not dare to view him : For, Oh, I feel his melancholy here, And fear I ihall too foon partake his ficknefs.
Var.
T H E O D O S I U S. #
far. Thus to the angry gods, offending mortals, Made fenfible, by fome fevere affliction, How all their crimes are regifler'd in Heav'n,
* In that nice court, where no rafh word efcapes,
* But ev'n extravagant thoughts are all fet down :* Thus the poor penitents with fear approach
The rev'rend ihrines, and thus for mercy bow ; [Kneels. Thus melting -too, they waih the hallow'd earth,
And groan to be forgiven
O emprefs! O EuJyJiaJ'fuch you're now: Thefe are your titles, and I mull not dare Ever to call you Atkenais more.
At ben. Rife, rife, my lord, let me intreat you, rife; J will not hear you in that humble poilure ; Rife, or I mull withdraw' The world will bluftv For you and me, Ihould it behold a prince, Sprung from immortal Cyrus t on his knees Before the daughter of a poor philcfopher.
Var. 'Tis juft, ye righteous gods, my doom is j.ufl;v. Nor will I ft rive to deprecate her anger. If poilible, I'll aggravate my crimes, That me may rage till flie has broke my heart j JPor all I now defire — * and let the gods,
* Thofe cruel gods, that join to my undoing, ' Be witneffes to this unnatural wifh,'
Is to fall dead without a wound before her.
Aiken. Oh, ye known founds ! but I mull Heel my foul.
'• Methinks thefe robes, my Delia, are too heavy.* Var. Not worth a word, a look, or one regard ! Is then the nature "of my fault fo heinous, That when I come to take my eternal leave, You'll not vouchfafe to view me ? This is fcorn Which the fair foul of gentle Atkenais
Would ne'er have harboured
Oh, for the fake of him, whom you, ere long, Shall hold as faft as now your wifhes from him,'
Give me a patient hearing; for however
I talk of death, and feem to loath my life,
I would delib'rate with ray fate a while,
With fnatching glances eye thee to the laft,
C 4 Paufe
56 THEODOSIUS.
Paufe o'er a lofs like that of Atkenais,
And parley with my ruin, Athen. Speak, my lord ;
T© hear you is the emperor's command,
And, for that caufe, I readily obey.
Var. The emperor, the emperor's command !
And for that caufe me readily obeys !
I thank you, Madam, that, on any terms,
You cor-defcend to hear me
Know, then, Eudofia; Ah, rather let me call thee-
By the lov'd name of Athenais ftiil ! That name that I fo often have invok'd, And which was once aufpicious to my vows, - So oft at midnight iigh'd among the groves j The rivers murmur, and the echo's burden, Which every bird could fing, and wind did bear* By that dear name, I make this protection, By all that's good on earth, or blefs'd in Heav'n,'
I fwear I love thee more, far more than ever.
With confcious blufhes too, here, help me, gods ;
Help me to tell her, tho' to my confufion,
And everlafting fhame; yet I muft tell her,
I lay the Per/tan crown before her feet.
Atben. My lord, I thank you; and t' exprefs thofc
As nobly as you offer 'em, I return [thanks,
The gift you make ; nor will I now upbraid you
With the example of the emperor ;
Not but I know 'tis that that draws you on,
Thus to defcend beneath your majefty,
And (well the daughter of a poor philofopher
With hopes of being great.
Yar. Ah, madam ! Ah, you wrong me ! by the gods,
I had repented, ere I knew the emp'rer
Athen. You find, perhaps, too late, that Atbenais>
However flighted for her birth and fortune,
Has fomething in her perfon and her virtue,
Worth the regard of emperors themfelves :
And, to return the compliment you gave
My father, Leontine, that poor philosopher,
Whofe utmofl glory is t' have been your tutor,
I here proteft, by virtue and by glory,
J (Wear, by Hcav'u, and all the pow'rs divine,
Th' aban-
THEODOSIUS, 57
Th' abandon'd daughter of that poor old man Shall ne'er be feated on the throne of Cyrus.
Far. Oh, death to all my hopes ! what haft thou fworn, To turn me wild ? Ah, curfed throne ofCyrut ! Would thou hadft been o'erturn'd, and laid in duft ; His crown too thunderftruck ; my father ; all The P erf an race, like poor Darius, ruin'd, Blotted, and fwept for ever from the world, When firft ambition blafted thy remembrance—
Aii>en. O Heav'n ! I had forgot the bafe affront Ofter'd by this proud man ; a wrong fo great, It is remov'd beyond all hope of mercy ; He had defign'd to bribe my father's virtue,
And by unlawful means
Fly from my fight, left I become a fury,. And break thofe rules of temp'rance I propos'&;> Fly, fly, Faranes ! fly this facred place, Where virtue and religion are profefs'd ;
* This city will not harbour infidels,
' Traitors to chaftity, licentious princes :
* Begone, I fay; thou canft not here be fafe;' Fly to imperial libertines abroad ;
In foreign courts thou'lt find a thoufa/id beauties That will comply for gold •: for gold they'll weep,, For gold be fond, as Athenais was, And charm thee ftill, as if they lov'd indeed. Thou'lt find enough companions too for riot ; Luxuriant all, and royal as thyfelf, Tho' thy loud vices mould refound to Heav'n.. Art thou not gone yet ? * Var+ No, I am charm'd to hear you. Oh ! from my foul I do confefs myfelf The very blot of honour — I am more black Than thou, in all thy heat of juft revenger With all thy glorious eloquence, can make me»- 4 Atkenf Away, Varanes ! Var. Yes, madam, I am going Nay, by the gods, I do not aik thee pardon, Nor, while I live, will I implore thy mercy -T But, when I'm dead, if, as thou dofl return With happy ^heodofi^s from the temple ; If, as thou, g«'ft in triumph through the ftreete, C 5
58 T Ji E O D O S I U S.
Thou chance to meet the cold Faranes there, Borne by his friends to his eternal home, Stop then, O Athenais ! and behold me ; Say, as thou hang'il about the emp'ror's neck, Alas, my lord ! this fight is worth our pity. If to thofe pitying words thou add a tear,
Or giVe one parting groan if pofiible,
If the good gods will grant my foul the freedom,
I'll leave my fhroud, and wake from death to thank thee.
Athen. He makes my refolution from the bottom j My bleeding heart too fpeaks in his behalf, And fays, my virtue has been too fevere.
Far. Farewel, O emprefs ! no Atbenais now : - . I will not call thee by that tender name, Since cold defpair begins to freeze my t^ofoom, And all my pow'rs are now refolv'd on death. '• 'Tis faid, that from my youth I have been ram,
* Choleric and hot ; but let the gods now judge ' By mylaft wiih, if ever patient man
* Did calmly bear fo great a lofs as mine.'
Since 'tis fo doom'd by fate, you muft be wedUed ; For your own peace, when I am laid in earth, forget that e'er Faranes had a being ; Turn all your foul to Theodofius'' bofom. Continue, gods, their days, and make them long ; Lucina, wait upon their fruitful Hymen, And many children, beauteous as the mother, And pious as the father, make 'em fmile.
Athen. O Heav'ns!
Far. Farewel I'll trouble you no more ;
The malady that's lodg'd within grows ilronger : I feel the mock of my approaching fate ; My heart too trembles at his diilant march ; Nor canT utter more, if you mould afk me. Thy aim, Aranthes — Oh, farewel for ever ! —
AtJoen. Faranes t ftay ; and ere you go for ever, Let ''me unfold my heart.
Far. O Athenais !
What further cruelty hail thou in Here To add to what I fuffer ?
Atken, Since 'tis doom'd
That
THEODOSIUS.
That we muft part, let's part as lovers mould ; As thofe that have lov'd long, and loved well.
Far. Art thou fo good ! O Athenais, Oh !
Athen. Firft, from my foul, I pity and forgive you: I pardon you that hafty little error, Which yet has been the caufe of both our ruins. Ar.d let this forrow witnefs for my heart, How eagerly I wilh it had not been ; And fmce I cannot keep it, take it all ; Take all the love, O prince ! I ever bore you :
* Or, if 'tis poifible, I'll give you more ;
* Your noble carriage forces this confeffion : ' I rage, I burn, I bleed, I die for love !
' I am diitradted with this world of paffion.
* far. Gods ! cruel gods ! take notice, I forgive you.
* Atben. Alas, my lord ! my weaker, tender fex ' Has not your manly patience, cannot curb
' This fury in ; therefore I let it loofe ; ' Spite of my rigid duty, I will fpeak
* VVith all the dearnefsof a dying lover :'
Farewel, moft lovely, and moft lov'd of men s-
Why comes this dying palenefs o'er thy face ? Why wander thus thy eyes? Why dolt thou bend, As if the fatal weight of death were on thee ?
Far. Speak yet a little more ; for, by the gods, . And as I prize thofe bleiTed, happy moments, J fwear, O Atbenais ! all is welh '*s
Oh, never better ! .
Athen. I doubt thee, dear Farancs ; Yet, if thou dy'il, I mail not long be from thee. Once more, farevvel, and take thefe lail embraces. Oh, I could crufh him to my heart ! Farewel ; And as a dying pledge of my laft love, Take this, which all thy pray'rs could never charm. What have I done ? Oh, lead me, lead me, Delia ! Ah, prince,, farewel ! angels protect and guard thee !
Far. Turn back, O Athenais ! ^and behold me; Hear my lait words, and then farewel for ever. Thou haft undone ine more by this confeflion : You fay, you fwear you love me more than ever ; Yet I muft fee you marry 'd to another : Can there be any plague, or hell like this !
C 6 O Atbt-
60 T H E O D O $ I U S.
O Atbenais ! whither fhall I turn me ?
YouVe brought me back to life : but, Oh ! what life ?
To a life more terrible than thoufand deaths.
Like one that had been buried in a trance,
With racking ftarts he wakes, and gazes round, ^
Forc'd by defpair, his whirling limbs to wound, >
* And bellow like a fpirit under ground ;J .S
Still urg'd by fate to turn, to tofs, and rave,
Tormented, dafh'd, and broken in the grave.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
Athenais dreffdin imperial robes, and crowd d. A table, <witb a bciul cf poifon. Delia attending.
Atben. A Midnight marriage ! mutt I to the temple, ' JLA. Thus, at the murd'rer's hour? 'Tis won-
d'rous ilrange !
Butib, thou fay'ft, any father has commanded; And that's a mighty reafon.
Delia. The emp'ror, in companion to the prince, Who would, perhaps, fly to extravagance, If he in public mould refolve to efpoufe you, Contriv'd, by this clofe marriage, to deceive him,
Atben. *' ''Tis well ; retire" 4 Go fetch thy lute, and fmg thofe lines I gave thee.'
[Exit Delia.
So, now I am alone; yet my foul makes; For where this dreadful draught may carry me, The Heav'ns can only tell : yet I'm refolv'd To drink it off, in fpite of confequence. Whifperhim, Oh, fome angel ! what I'm doing j By fympathy of foul let him too tremble, To hear my wond'rous faith, my wond'rous love, Whofe fpirit, not content wish an ovation Of ling'ring fate, with triumph thus refolv'd, Thus, in the rapid chariot of the foul, To mount and dare as never woman dar'd. [Drinks. 'Tis done< — haHe, Delia, haftc — come, bring thy lute.
T H E O D O S I U S. 61
And fmg my waftage to immortal joys. Methinks I can't but fmile at my own bravery; Thus from my loweft fortune rais'd to empire, Crown'd and adorn'd, worfhipp'd by half the earth, While a young monarch dies for my embraces : Yet now to wave the glories of the world*
O my Varanes ! tho' my birth's unequal,
My virtue, fure, has richly recompens'd,
And quite out-gone example !
'SONG.
* Ah, cruel bloody fair !
' What canft thou now do more ? '/ •• ' Alas, 'tis all too late
' Philander to reftore ! ' Why mould the heavenly pow'rs perfuade ' Poor mortals to believe,
' That they guard us here,
* And reward us there,
* Yet all our joys deceive ?
' Her poignard then me took, ' And held it in her hand ;
* And, with a dying look,
« Cry'd, thus I fate command : *• Philander, ah, my love ! I come ' To meet thy made belo\y ; ' Ah, I come ! fhe cry'd, ' With a wound fo wide, ' There needs no fecond blow.
' In purple waves her blood
' Ran dreaming dovvar- the floor ;
' Unmov'd me faw the flood,
' And blefs'd her dying hour : « Philander, ah, Philander! ftill
' The bleeding Pbillis cry*d ;
* She wept a while^,
' And fhe forc'd a fmile, 4 Then clos'd her eyes and dyM.'
Enter Pulcheria.
Pulcb. How fares my dear Eudofia ! Ha! thoulook'ft, Or eiie the tapers cheat my fight, like one
That's
62 THEOBOSIUS.
That's fitter for thy tomb, than Gofer's bed : A fatal forrcnv dims thy fhaded eyes, And, in defpite of all thy ornaments, Thou feem'il to me the ghoit of Athenais.
Atben. And what's the punifhment, my dear Pulcherla% What torments are allotted thofe fad fpirits, Who, groaning with the burden of defpair, No longer will endure the cares of life, But boldly fet themfelves at liberty, Thro' the dark caves of death to wander on, Like wilder'd travellers without a guide, Eternal rovers in the gloomy maze, Where fcarce the twilight of an infant moon, By a faint glimmer check'ring thro' the trees, Reflects to difmal view the walking ghoils, And never hope to reach the ble^jed fields :* Pulch. No more o* that ; Atticus*,fa?L\\ refolve thee. But fee, he waits thee from the emjperor ; Thy father too attends.
Enter Leontine, Atticus, &c.
Leon. Come, Athenais — Ha ! what now, in tears ? Oh, fall of honour ! but, no more : I charge thee, I charge thee, as thou ever^hop'ft my blefiing, Or fear'fl my curfe, to banilh from thy foul All thoughts, if poflible, the memory Of that ungrateful prince that has undone thee. Attend me to the temple' on this inftant, To make the emp'ror thine, this night to v/ed him, ' And lie within his arms.'
Atben. Yes, fir, I'll go
Let me but dry my eyes, and I will go ; Eudofia, this unhappy bride, mail go : Thus, like a viclim, crown'd, and doom'd to bleed, I'll wait you to the altar, wed the emp'ror, ' And, if he pleafes, lie within his arms.' * Leon. Thou art my child again.
Athen. But do not, fir, imagine, any charms Or threat'nings mail compel me Never to think of poor Varanes more : No, my Varanes, no — — While I have breath I will remember thee : To thee alone I will my thoughts confine,,
T- HEODOSIUS. 63
<\nd all my meditations mail be thine : The image of thy woes my foul mall fill; Fate, and my end, and thy remembrance ftill. As in fome poplar ihade, the nightingale, With piercing moans, does her loft young bewail, Which the rough hind obferving as they lay Warm in their downy neft, had itol'n away ; But me, in mournful founds/, does ftill complain, *> Sings all the night, tho' all her fongs are vain, And ftill renews her miferable ftrain.' J
Yes, my Varanes, till my death comes on,
Shall fad Eudojla thy dear lofs bemoan. [Exeunt-
Enter Varanes. Far. JTis night, dead night ; and weary nature lies
So fail, as if me never were to rife :
No breath of wind now whifpers thro' the trees ;
No noife at land, nor murmur in the feas : Lean wolves forget to howl at night's pale noon ; No wakeful dogs bark at the filent moon, Nor bay the ghofts that glide with horror by, To view the caverns where their bodies lie : The ravens perch, and no prefages give, Nor to the windows of the dying cleave : The owls forget to fcream : no midnight found Calls drowfy Ecbq from the hollow ground : In vaults the walking fires extinguifh'd lie; The ftars, Heav'n's centry, wink, and feem to die.'
Such univerfal filence fpreads below,
Thro* the vail ihades where I am dcom'd to go :
Nor mall I need a violence to wound ;
The ilorm is here, that drives me on the ground ;
Sure means to make the foul and body part,
A burning fever, and a broken heart.
What, hoa, Aranthes !
Enter Aranthes.
I fent thee to th' apartment of Aihenais.* •—
' I fent thee,' did I not, * to be adniitced ?' Aran. You did, my lord ; but, oh,
I fear to give you an account ! Var. Alas,
Aranthes ! I am got on t'other iide
Of this bad world, and now am paft all fear.
4 O ye
64 T H E O D O S I U S.
O ye avenging gods ! is there a plague
Among your hoarded bolts, and heaps of vengeance,
Beyond the mighty lofs of Athenais?
'Tis contradiction — Speak then, fpeak, Aranthes\
For all misfortune, if compared with that,
Will make Varanes fmile
Aran. My lord, the emprels,
Crown'd, and adorn'd with the imperial robes, .
At this dead time of night, with filent pomp, As they defign'd from all to keep it fecret, But chiefly, fure, from you ? I fay, the emprefs Is now conduced by the general, AtticuSy and her father, to the temple, There to efpoufe the emp'ror Tbeodofius.
Var. Say'ft thou ? Is't certain ? Ha i
Aran. Molt certain, fir ! I faw them in prcceflion.
Var. Give me thy fword. Malicious fate I O fortune \
0 giddy chance ! O turn of love and greatnefs ! Marry'd — She has kept her promife now indeed j And, Oh ! her pointed fame, and nice revenge, Have reach'd their end. No, my Aranthes, no;
1 will not flay the lazy execution
Of a flow fever. Give me thy hand, and fwear
By all the love and duty that thou ow'ft me,
T' obferve the laft commands that I mall give thee :
Stir not againfl my purpofe, as thou fear'ft
My anger and difdain ; nor dare t' oppofe me
With troublefome, unneceflary, formal reafons ;
For what my thought has doom'd, my hand mall feal.
I charge thee, hold it ftedfaft to my heart,
Fix'd as the fate that throws me on the point.
Tho' I have liv'd a Per/tan, I will fall
As fair, as fearlefs, and as full refolv'd,
As any Greek or Reman of them all.
Aran. What you command is terrible, but facred ; And to atone for this too cruel duty, My lord, I'll follow you
Var. I charge thee not :
But, when I'm dead, take the attending flaves, And bear rne, with my blood diflilling down. Straight to the temple : lay me, O Aranthet !' Lay my cold corie at Atkinaif feet,
And
THEODOSIUS. 65
And fay, Oh, why ! why do my eyes run o'er ? Say, with my lateft gafp I groan'd for pardon. Juft here, my friend, hold faft, and fix the fword; I feel the art'ry where the life blood lies ; It heaves againft the point — Now, O ye gods ! Jf for the greatly wretched you have room, Prepare my place ; for dauntlefs, lo, I come. The force of love thus makes the mortal wound, And Atbenais fends me to the ground. [Kills him/elf. * S C E N E, the outwardpart of the Temple.
' Enter Pulcheria and Julia at one door, Marcian and * Lucius at anatber.
' Pukb. Look, Julia, fee, the penfiveMam'tfa comes :
• 'Tis to my wilh j I mail no longer lofe him,
• Left he mould leave the court indeed. He looks
* As if fome mighty fecret work'd within him,
' And labour'd for a vent — Infpire me, woman !
• That what my foul defires above the world,
• May feem impos'd and forc'd on my affections.
' Luc. I fay (he loves you, and me ftays to hear it
• From your own mouth — Now, in the name
' Of all the gods at once, my lord, why are you filent ? « Take heed, fir, mark your opportunity ;
* For if the woman lays it in your way,
• And you o'erfee it, fhe is loft for ever.
* Marc. Madam, I come to take my eternal leave?
• Your doom has baniih'd me, and I obey.
* The court and I fliake hands, and now we part, 4 Never to fee each other more ; the court
* Where I was born, and bred a gentleman ;
* No more, till your illuftrious bounty rais'd me, ' And drew the earth-born vapour to the clouds ; ' But, as the gods ordain'd it, I have loft,
' I know not how, through ignorance, your grace ; ' And now the exhalation of my glory ' Is quite confum'd, and vanifli'd into air,
' Pulcb. Proceed, fir.
' Marc. Yet let thofe gods that doom*d me'to difpleafe ' Be witnefles how much I honour you — [yOQt
* Thus worihipping, I fwear, by your bright felf,
* I leave this infamous court with more content
' Than
66
T H E O D O S I U S,
* Than fools and fiatt'rers feek it: but, O Heav*n !
* 1 cannot go, if ftill your hate purfues me; ' Yes, I declare, it is impofiible
' To go to banifhment without your pardon.
* Pukh. You have it, Martian: is there ought befide,
* That you would fpeak ; for I am free to hear [ders,
* Marc. Since I {hall never fee you more, what hin- ' But my lafl words ihould here protefl the truth ?
* Know then, imperial princefs, matchlefs woman, ' Since firft you call your eyes upon my meannefs,
' EVn fill you rais'd me to my envy'd height, ' I have in fecret lovMyou -
* Pulcb.. Is this Martian ?
4 Marc. You frown : but I am (Till prepar'd for all :• I fay i lov'd you, and I love you ftill, Mere than my' life,, and equal to my glory ,. Methinks, the warring fpirit that infpires This frame, the very genius of old Rome, That makes me talk without the fear of death, And drives my daring foul to a£ls of honour, Flames in your eyes ; our thoughts, too, are akin^ Ambitious, fierce, and burn alike for glory.. Now, by the gods, I lov'd you in your fury, In all the thunder that quite riv'd my hopes, I lov'd you moft, ev'n when you diddcitroy me. Madam, I've fpoke my heart, and could fay more^ But that I fee it grieves you ; your high blood Frets at the arrogance and faucy pride Of this bold vagabond — May the gods forgive me— Farewel — a worthier general may fucceed me; But none more faithful to the emp'ror's intereft,. Than him you're pleas'd to call die-traitor Martian. ' Pulch. Come back; you've fubtilly play'd your part,
indeed :
' For firft, the emp'ror, whom you lately fchool'd, ' Reitores you your commiffion ; next, commands you, ' As you're a fubjeft, not to leave the court ; 5 Next, but O Heav'n ! which way mall I exprefs ' His cruel pleafure; he that is fo m;ld 4 In all things elfe, yet obiUnate in this,
* Spite of my tears, my birth, and my difdain,
*• Commands me, as I dread his high difpleafure,
* O Martian! to receive you. as my huiband.
' Marc.
THEODOSIUS. 67
' Marc. Ha, Lucius! what, what does my fate intend? * Luc. Purfueher, fir; 'ti&as I faid ; fhe yields,
* And rages that you follow her no failer.
' Pulcb. Is then, at laft, my great authority, ' And my intrufted pow'r, declined to this?
* Yet, Oh, my fate ! what way can I avoid it ?
* He charg'd me, ftraight to wait him to the temple,
* And there refolve, O Martian! on this marriage.
* Now, generous foldier-, as your truly noble,
* Oh, .help me forth, loft in this labyrinth ;
* Help me to loofe this more than Gordian knot,
* And make me and yourfelf for ever happy.
' Marc. Madam, I'll fpeak as briefly as I can,
* And as a foldier ought ; the only way
* To help this knot, is yet to tie it facter.
* Since, then, the emp'ror has refclv'd you mine, ' For which I will for ever thank the gods,
' And make this holiday throughout my life,
* I take him at his word, and claim his promife; 1 The empire of the world mail not redeem you.
' Nay, weep not, madam : though my out&de's rough,
* Yet, bythofeeyes, your foldier has a heart, ' Compaffionate and tender as a virgin's ;
* Ev'n now it bleeds to feethofe falling forrowsj ' Perhaps this grief may move the emperor
* To arepejitance: come, then, to the trial;
* For, by my arms, my life, and dearer honour, ' If you go back, when giv'n me by his hand,
* In diftant wars my fate I will deplore,
' And Martian's name mall ne'er be heard of more.
[Exeunt. SCENE, the Temple. -
Theodofius, Athenais, Atticus, joining their hands * Marcian, Pulcheria, Lucius, Julia, Delia, and Le- ontine.
Attic. The more than Gordian knot is ty'd,
Which Death's ftrong arm fliall ne'er divide; For when to blifs ye wafted are, Your fpirits fhall be wedded there. Waters are loft, and fires will die ; . But love alone can fate defy.
Enter
68 T H E O B O S I U £.
Enter Aranthes, with tbelody of Varanes.
Aran. Where is the emprefs ? Where fnall I find Eu- By fate I'm fent to tell that cruel beauty, \^fi
She has rob'd the world of fame ; her eyes have giv.'n A blaft to the big blofTom of the war: Behold him there, nipp'd in his flow'ry morn, Compeird to break his p.dfciife of a day, A day that conqueft would have made her boafl : Behold her laurel wither'd to the root, Canker'd and kill'd by Atbenais* fcorn.
At ben. Dead, dead, Varanes!
Tbeo. ' O ye eternal pow'rs
* That guide the world ! why do you fhock our reafoft
* With afts like thefe, that lay our thoughts in duit ?
* Forgive me, Heav'n, this ftart, or elevate
* Imagination more, and make it nothing.' Alas, alas, Varanes! But, fpeak, Aranthes,
The manner of his fate; * groans choak my words——
* But fpeak, and we will anfwer thee with tears.'
Aran. His fever would, no doubt, by this, have done, What, fome few minutes paft, his fword performed. He heard from me your progrefs to the temple, How you defign'd, at midnight to deceive him By a clandeftine marriage : but, my lord, Had you beheld his racks at my relation ; Or had your emprefs feen him in thofe torments, When from his dying eyes, fwol'n to the brim, The big round drops roll'd down his manly face ; When from his hollow'd breaft, a murm'ring croud Of groans rufh'd forth, and echo'd, AH is well ; Then, had you feen him, O ye cruel gods I Rum on the fword I held agai'nft his breaft, And dye it to the hilts, with thefe laft words Bear me to Athenais
Athen.,Gi\t me way, my lord ; I have moft ilriclly kept my promiie with you : I am your bride, and you can afk no more ; Or, if you did, I'm paft the pow'r to give But here, Oh, here ! on his cold bloody breaft, Thus let me breathe my lair. [mean ?
Tbeo. O emprefs ! what, what can this tranfport Are thefe our nuptials ; thefe my prcwnis'd joys ?
Atkc*.
THEODOSIUS. 69
Atbsn. Forgive me, fir, this laft refpeft I pay Thefe fad remains — And, O thou mighty fpirit ! If yet thou art not mingled with the liars, Look down, and hear the wretched Atbenais, When thou malt know, before I gave confent To this indecent marriage, I had taken Into my veins a cold and deadly draught,
* Which foon would render me, alas ! unfit € For the warm joys of an imperial lover,
* And make me ever thine, yet keep my word
' With Tbeodo/tusS Wilt thou not forgive me ? Theo. Poifon'd, to free thee from the emperor !
0 Atbenais, thou haft done a deed
That tears my heart ! ' What have I done againft thee, That thou ihouldft brand me thus with infamy, And everlafting fliame ? Thou might'ft have made Thy choice, without this cruel aft of death. I left thee to thy will, and in requital, Thou haft murder'd all my fame.' Atben. O pardon me !
1 lay my dying body at your feet,
And beg, my lord, with my laftfighs in treat you,
T'impute the fault, if 'tis a fault, to love,
And the ingratitude of Atbenais
To her too cruel ftars : remember, too,
I begg'd you would not let m« fee the prince,
Prefaging what has happen'd; yet my word,
As to our nuptials, was inviolable.
T'beo. Ha ! me is going ! — ' fee, her languiming eyes ' Draw in their beams !' the fleep of death is on her,
Athen, ' Farewel, my lord.' Alas, alas, faranes : T' embrace thee now is not irrrmodefty ; Or, if it were, I think my bleeding heart Would make me criminal in death to clafp thee, ' Break all the tender niceties of honour, ' To fold thee thus, and warm thee into life ; ' For, Oh, what man, like him, could woman move !* O prince belov'd ! O fpirit moft divine ! Thus by my death I give thee all my love, And fcal my foul and body ever thine [Dies.
<Tbeo. O Mar dan! O Puhberia ! did not thepow'r Whom we adore plant all his thunder bolts
Againft
70 THEODOSIUS.
Againft felf-murderers, I would perifh too : l3ut, as I am, I fwear to leave the empire. To thee, my fifter, I bequeath the world ; And yet, a gift more great, the gallant Marcian. On, then, my friend, now mew thy Roman fpint ! As to her fex fair Atkenais was, Be thou to thine a pattern of true honour. Thus we'll atone for all the prefent crimes, That yet it may be faid, in after times, No age with fuch examples could compare, So great, fo good, fo virtuous, and fo fair.
[Exeunt.
EPILOGUE,
E P I LOG U E.
CJ^HRICE happy they, that never 'wrote before ;
-* How pleas V and hold they qmt the fafer Jhore /
Likefome new capl^.t of the city bands,
^hat, with big IOORS, in FinPoury commands :
Svocird-with / uge ale, he cries, teat, beat the drum ;
Pox o* th~e French king ' Uds-bud, let him come :
Give me ten thoitfand -gd-coats, and alloo !
Willfirk his Crequ* and his Conde too.
Thus the young fcnl biers mankind's fenfe difdain\
For ignorance is fure to make 'em vain ;
But, far from vanity, or dangerous pride, Oitr cautious poet courts you to his fed e ;
Per why jkcidd you bejcorn'd, to whom are due
All the good days that ever authors knew ?
If ever gay, 'tis you that make 'em fine : T
I he pit and boxes make the poet dine, ?•
And he fear ce drinks but of the critics wine. •*
Old writers JbouJd not for vain glory ft rive,
But. like old miflrejjes, think how to thrive ;
Be' fond ofev'ry thing their keepers fay,
At leaft, till they can live without a play ;
Like one who knows the trade, and has been bit ; T
She doats and fawns upon her wealthy cit, r
.Andfwears Jhe loves him, merely for his wit. ^
Another, more untaught than a Walloon, O
Antic and ugly, like an old baboon. >•
She j wears, is an acco?nplijh'd beau-garcfon : «J
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All hearts in city, town, and court , Jhe feres ; V
Tpung callow lords, lean knights, and driveling fquires* ^
She in refeftlefs flat? ry finds her ends,
Gives thanks for fools , and makes ye all her friends*
So Jhould wife poets foot h an aukward age ;
For they are proftitutes tfpon the ft age.
¥0 ft and on points werefoolijh and ill-bred.
As for a lady to be nice in bed :
TCour wills alone muft their performance meafure,
And you may turn 'em ev'ry way for pleafure.
FINIS.
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THE
SIEGE
O F
DAMASCUS.
TRAGEDY.
By JOHN HUGHES, Efq.
Marked with the Variations of the
MANAGER'S BOOK,
AT THE
in
L 0 -AT 2) 0 If:
PRINTED FOR C.BATHURST, J.RIVlfcGTON AND SONS, T. LONGMAN, T. LOWNDES, T, CASLON, W. N1COLL, AND S. BLADON,
MtDCCtLXXVlIi
s Tke Reader is defired to obferve, that the Paflages omitted in the Reprefentation at the Theatre are here preferved, and marked with tingle inverted Commas j as at Line 26 to 29, in Page 13.
T O T H E
RIGHT HONOURABLE
EARL COPPER.
My L O R D,
MY obligations to your Lordfhip are fo great and fingular, fo much exceeding all ac knowledgment, and yet fo highly demanding all that I can ever make, that nothing has been a greater uneafmefs to me than to think that I have not publickly owned them fooner. The honour of having been admitted to your Lordfhip' s ac quaintance and converfation, and the pleafure I have fometimes had of fharing in your private hours and retirement from the town, were a hap- pinefs fufficient of itfelf to require from me the utmoft returns of gratitude. But your Lordfhip was foon pleafed to add to this, your generous care of providing for one who had given you no follicitation ; and before I could a(k, or even ex pected it, to honour me with an employment, which, though valuable on other account^ be- A 2 came
4 DEDICATION,
came moft fo to me, by the fmgle circumftance of its placing me near your Lordfhip. But I am not to bound my acknowledgments here : When your Lordfhip withdrew from public bufinefs, your care of me did not ceafe, till you had recom mended me to your fucceflbr, the. preterit Lord Chancellor. So that my having fince had the fe licity to be continued in the fame employment, under a patron to whom I have many obligations, and who has particularly (hewn a pleafure in en couraging the lovers of learning and arts, is an additional obligation, for which I am originally indebted to your Lordfhip.
And yet I have faid nothing as I ought of your Lordfhip's favours, unle/s I could defcribe a thou- fand agreeable circum fiances which attend and heighten them. To give is an adl: of power com mon to the great ; but to double any gift by the manner of beftowing it, is an art known only to the moft elegant minds, and a pleafure tafted by none but perfons of the moft refined humanity.
As for the Tragedy I now humbly dedicate to your Lordfhip, part of it was written in the neigh- bourhood of your Lordfhip's pleafant feat in the country ; where it had the good fortune to grow up under your early approbation and encourage ment; and I perfuade myfelf it will now be re ceived
DEDICATION. 5
ceived by your Lordfhip with that indulgence, the exercife of which is natural to you, and is not the leaft of thofe diftinguifhing virtues by which you have gained an unfought popularity, and without either ftudy or defign have made yourfelf one of the moft beloved perfons of the age in which you live. Here, my LORD, I have a large fubjecl: be fore me, if I were capable of purfuing it, and if I were not acquainted with your Lordfhip's particu lar delicacy, by which you are not more careful to deferve the greateft praifes, than you are nice in receiving even the leaft. I (hall therefore only prefume to add, that I am, with the greateft zeal,
My L 0 R A
Tour Lord/hip's moft obliged, Moft dutiful^ and
Devoted bumble feruant9 Feb. 6, 1719-20,
JOHN HUGHES;
INTRODUCTION.
TH E time of the following a&ion is about two years after Mahomet's death, under the next fucceeding Caliph, Abubeker. The Saracen Caliphs were fupremeboth in fpiritual and tempo ral affairs; and Abubeker, following the fleps of Mahomet, had made a considerable progrefs in pro pagating his new fuperftition by the fword. He had fent a numerous army into Syria, under the command of Caled, a bold and bloody Arabian, who had conquered feveral towns. The fpirit of en- thufiafm, newly poured forth among them, a&ed in its utmoft vigour ; and the perfuafion, that they who turned their backs in fight were accurfed of God, and that they who fell in battle paiTed imme diately into Paradife, made them an overmatch for all the forces, which the Grecian Emperor Heraclius could fend againft them. It was a very important period of time, and the eyes of the whole world were fixed with terror on thefe fuccefsful favages, who committed all their barbarities under the name of religion ; and foon after, by extending their con- quefts over the Grecian empire, and thro' Perfia and Egypt, laid the foundation of that mighty empire of the Saracens, which lafted for feveral centuries; to which the Turks of later years fucceeded.
The Saracens were now fat down before Damaf- cus, the capital city of Syria, when the action of this Tragedy begins. This was about the year of our Lord 634. All who have written of thofe times reprefent the ftate of Chriftianity in great confufion, very much corrupted, and divided with controverfies and difputes, which, together with an univerfal depravity of manners, and the decay of good policy and ancient difcipline in ths em pire, gave a mighty advantage to Mahomet and his followers, and prepared the way for their amazing fuccefs.
PRQ^
PROLOGUE.
*s the Mufe here trfd her magic arts, To raife your fancies, and engage your hearts.
When o'er this little fpot Jhe Jhakes her wand,
Towns, cities, nations, rife at her command :
And armies march obedient to her call,
New ftaies are formed, jand ancient empires fall.
To 'vary your inftruttion and delight,
Paft ages roll renew* d before yourjtght.
His awful form the Greek and Roman wears,
Wak'dfrom his Jlumber of two thoufand years ;
And man's whole race, reft or' d to joy and pain,
Aft all their little greatnefs o'er again. No common woes to-night we fet to view;
Important is the time, the ftory new.
Our opening fcenes jhall to your Jight difclofe
How fpiritual Dragooning frft arofe ;
Claims drawn from Heav'n by a Barbarian LorJ>
And Faith fir ft propagated by the fword.
In rocky Araby this poft began,
And fwiftly o'er the neighbour country ran: • ' ,;
By faction weakened, and difunion broke 9
Degenerate provinces admit the yoke.
Nor ftopp'd their progrefs, till refiftlefs grown,
Th' enthujiafts made all Afia's world their ewtt. .. ^
Britons, be warn'd ; let e'en your pleafures here Convey fome moral to th' attentive ear. Beware left blejfings long poffeft difpleafe ; Nor grow fupine with liberty and eafe. Your country's glory be your conftant aim, Her fafety all is yours ; think yours her fame. Unite at home — forego int eft ine jars ; Then f corn the rumours of religious wars ; Speak loud in thunder from your guarded Jhores9 And tell the continent, thefea is yours. Speak on,-- and fay , by war, you'll peace maintain, Till brighteft years, referv'dfor G E O R G E's reign, Advance, and jhine in their appointed round ; Arts then Jhall fiourijh, plenteous joys abound, And, chear'd by him, each loyal Muft Jh all fing, Tht happifft ijland, and the greateft KING.
A 4. Dramatis
iiii^lliili
*-" s ^> °3 -°
<coO^ (J<i
( 9 ) THE
SIEGE of DAMASCUS.
A C T I. SCENE,/** City.
Enter Eumenes, followed by a crowd of peoplt*
'£tan. T'LL hear no more. Be gone!
JL Or flop your clamorous mouths, that ftill are
open
To bawl fedition, and con fume our corn. If you will follow me, fend home your women, And follow to the walls ; there earn your fafety^ As brave men fhou'd — pity your wives and children ? Yes, I do pity them, Heav'n knows I do, E'en more than you ; nor will I yield 'em up, Tho' at your own requeft, a prey to ruffians— Herbis, what news !
Enter Herbis.
Herb. News !— We're betray 'd, deferted ; The works are but half mann'd ; the Saracens Perceive it, and pour on fuch crowds, they blunt Our weapons, and have drain'd our flores of death. What will you next ?
Bum. I've fent a frefh recruit ; The valiant Phocyas leads 'em on — whofe deeds, In, early youth affert his noble race; A more than common ardor feems to warm His breaft, as if he lov'd and courted danger.
Herb. 1 fear 'twill be too late.
Eum. [Ajtde.] I fear it too: And tho' I brav'd it to the trembling crowd, I've caught th' infection, and I dread thj event.
A 5 Wou'd
10 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Wou'd I had treated, — but 'tis now too late. — Come, Herbis. [Exeunf*
[A noife is heard 'without, of officers giving orders.
1 Off. Help there ! more help ! all to the Eaftern gate !
2 Off. Look where they cling aloft like cluiter'd bees t Here, archers, ply your bows.
1 Off. Down with the ladders. What, will you let them mount ?
2 Off. .Aloft there ! give the fignal, you that wait In St. Mark's tower.
I Off. Is the town afleep ? Ring out th' alarum bell !
[Bell rings, and the citizens run to and fro in con- fufeon. A great Jhout. Enter Herbis.
Herb. So — the tide turns ; Phocyas has driv'n it back.. The gate once more is ours.
Enter Eumenes, Phocyas, Artamon, C3V.
Eum. Brave Phocyas, thanks ! mine and the people'*
thanks ! [People Jhout, and cry, A Phocyas ! fcsV. Yet, that we may not lofe this breathing fpace, Hang out the flag of truce. >rou, Artamon, Hafle with a trumpet to th' Arabian chiefs, And let them know, that, hoftages exchang'd, I'd meet them now upon the eaftern plain.
[Exit Artamon.
Pho. What means Eumenes ?
Eum. Phocyas, 1 wou'd try By friendly treaty, if on terms of peace They'll yet withdraw their powers.
Pho. On terms of peace ?
What peace can you exped from bands of robbers ? What terms from-fiaves, but flav'ry — You know TheCe wretches fight not at the call of honour; For injur'd rights, or birth, or jealous greatnefs, That fets the princes of the world in arms. Bafe-born, and flarv'd amidft their ftony deferts, Long have they view'd from far with wilhing eyes> Our fruitful vales ; our fig-trees, olives., vines, Our cedars, palms, and all the verdant wealth That crowns fair Lebanon's afpiring brows. Here have the locuils pitch'd, nor will they leave
Thefe
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS, u
Thefe tailed fvveets, thefe blooming fields of plenty,
For barren fands, and native poverty,
'Till driv'n away by force, Eum. What can we do ?
Our people in defpair, our foldiers harrafs'd
With daily toil, and conftant nightly watch ;
Our hope of fuccours from the Emperor
Uncertain ; Eutyches not yet returned,
That went to afk them ; one brave army beaten ;
ThJ Arabians numerous, cruel, flufh'd with conqueft.
- Herb. Befides,you know what frenzy fires their minds
Of their new, faith, and drives them on to danger. Eum. True ; — they pretend the gates of Paradife
Stand ever open to receive the fouls
Of all that die in fighting for their caufe.
Pbo. Then wou'd I fend their fouls to Paradife,
And give their bodies to our Syrian eagles.
Our ebb of fortune is not yet fo low To leave us defperate. Aids may foon arrive ; Mean time, in fpite of their late bold attack, The city ftill is ours ; their force repell'd, And therefore weaker ; proud of this fuccefs, Our foldiers too have gain'd redoubled courage, And long to meet them on the open plain. What hinders, then, but we repay this outrage, And fally on their camp ?
Eum. No — let us firft
Believe th* occafion fair, by this advantage, To purchafe their retreat on eafy terms : That failing we the better ftand acquitted To our own citizens. Howe'er, brave Phocyas, Cherim this ardor in the foldiery, And in our abfence form what force thou canfh Then, if thefe hungry blood-hou-nds of the war Shou'd ftill be deaf to peace, at our return Our vviden'd gates ihall pour a fudden flood Of vengeance on them, and chaftife their fcorn.
\Exeunt.
A6 SCENE
12 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
SCENE changes to a plain before the city. A pr9- fpett of tents at a diftance.
Caled, Abudah, Daran.
Dar. To treat, ray chiefs ? — What ! are we mer chants, then,
That only come to traffic with thefe Syrians, And poorly cheapen conqueft on conditions ? No; we were fent to fight the Caliph's battles, Till ev'ry iron neck bend to obedience. Another ftorm makes this proud city ours ; What need to treat? — I am for war and plunder.
Cal. Why, fo am I — and but to fave the lives Of Muffulmans, not Chriftians, wou'd not treat. J hate thefe Chriftian dogs ; and "'tis our talk, As thou obferv'ft, to fight ; our law enjoins it, Heav'n too is promis'd only to the valiant. Oft' has our Prophet faid, the happy plains Above, lie ftretch'd beneath the blaze of fwords.
Abu. Yet Daran's loth to truft that Heav'n for pay ; This earth, it feems, has gifts that pleafe him more.
Cal. Check n.ot his zeal, Abudah.
Abu. No ; I praife it.
Yet I cou'd wifh that zeal had better motives* Has victory no fruits but blood and plunder ? That we were fentto fight, 'tis true ; but wherefore \ For conqueft, not deftruftion. That obtain'd, The more we fpare, the Caliph has more fubjedls, And Heav'n is better ferv'd. \A parky.] But fee, they come.
Emer Eumenes, Herbis, Artamon;
CaL Well, Chriftians, we are met— and War awhile, At your requeft, has flilPd its angry voice, To hear what you'll propofe*
Eum. We come to know, After fo many troops you've loft in vain, If you'll draw off in peace, and fave the reft.
Herb. Or rather to know firft — for yet we know not — Why on your heads you call our pointed arrows, In our own juft defence ? What means this vifit ?
And
T.HE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 13
And why we fee fo many thoufand tents Rife in the air, and whiten all our fields ?
Cal. Is that a queftion now ?• — you had our fum-
mons,
When firft we march'd againft you, to furrender. " Two moons have wafted fince, and now the third Is in its wane. 'Tis true, drawn off awhile, At Aiznadin we met and fought the powers Sent by your Emperor to raife our liege. Vainly you thought us gone ; we gain'd a conqueft. You fee we are return'd ; our hearts, our caufe, Our fwords the fame.
Herb. But why thofe fwords were drawn, And what's that caufe, inform us.
Eum. Speak your wrongs,
If wrongs you have receiv'd, and by what mean* They may be now repair'd.
Abu. Then, Chriftians, hear ! And Heav'n infpire you to embrace its truth t Not wrongs t'avenge, but to eftablifh. right Our fwords were drawn : For fuch is Heav'n's com mand
Immutable. By us great Mahomet, And his fucceffor, holy Abubeker, Invite you to the faith.
' Art. [AJide.] So — then, it feems ' There's no harm meant ; we're only to be beaten * Into a new religion — If that's all, ' I find I am already half a convert.'
Eum. Now, in the name of Heav'n, what Faith is
this
That ftalks gigantic forth thus arm'd with terrors. As if it meant to ruin, not to fave ? That leads embattled legions to the field, And marks its progrefs out with blood and flaughter ?
Herb. Bold frontlefs men ! that impudently dare To blend religion with the wSrft of crimes ! And facrilegioufly ufurp that name, To cover frauds, and juftify oppreffion !
Eum. ^Where are your priefts ? What dodors of your
law Have you e'er fent, t'inftruft us in its precepts £
5 To
14 THE S'lEGE OF DAMASCUS,
To folve our doubts, and fatisfy our reafon, And kindly lead us thro* the wilds of error To thefe new traits of truth ? — This wou'd be friend-
(hip, And well might claim our thanks.
CaL Friendihip like th\
With fcorn had been receivV; your numerous vices, Your claming feds, your mutSial rage and flrife Have driv'n religion, and her angel-guards, jLike out-cafts, fiom among you. In her flead, Ufurping iujsteritition bears the f\vay, And reigns in mimic ftate, 'midil idol (hews, And pageantry of pow'r. Who does not mark Your lives ? Rebellious to your own great prophet WKo mildly taught you — therefore Mahomet Has brought the (word to govern you by force, ' Nor will accept obedience fo precarious.'
Eum. O folemn truths ! tho' from an impious tongue! \AJide.
That we're unworthy of our holy Faith, To Heav'n with grief and conicious fhame we own. But what are you, that thus arraign our vices, And confecrate your own ? Vile hypocrites I Are you not fons of rapine, foes to peace, Bafe robbers, murderers—
da/. Chriftian, no —
Eum. Then fay,
Why have you ravag'd all our peaceful borders ?, Plunder'd our towns ? and by what claim e'en now You tread this ground «*
Herb. What claim, but that of hunger? The claim of ravenous wolves, that leave their dens To prowl at midnight round fome fleeping village, Or watch the (hepherd's folded flock for prey ?
Cal. Blafphemers, knx)w, your fields^and towns are
ours.
Our prophet has beftow'd 'em on the faithful, And Heav'n itfelf has ratify'd the grant.
Eum, Oh ! now indeed you boaft a noble title ! What cou'd your prophet grant '? a hireling flave I Not e'en the mules arid camels which he drove
Weic
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS 15:
Were his to give ; and yet the bold impoflor Has canton'd out the kingdoms of the earth, In frantick fits of vifionary power, To footh his pride, and bribe his fellow-madmen !
Cal. Was it for this you fent to a(k a parley, T'affront our Faith, and to traduce our Prophet? Well might we anfwer you with quick revenge For fuch indignities. — Ye.t hear once more, Hear this our laft demand; and this accepted, We yet withdraw our war. Be Chriftians ftill, But fwear to live with us in firm alliance. To yield us aids, and pay us annual tribute.
Eum, No; -Should we grant you aid, we mull be
rebels ;
And tribute is the flavifh badge of conqueft. Yet fince, on juft and honourable terms, We aflc but for our own — ten fitken velts, Weighty with pearl and gems, we'll fend your Caliph ; Two, *Caled, mail be thine; two- thine, Abudah. To each inferior captain we decree A turbant fpun from our Damafcus' flax, White as the fnovvs of heav'n ; to every foldier A fcimitar. This, and of folid gold Ten ingots, be the price to buy your abfence.
CaL This, and much more, e'en all your mining
wealth, Will foon be ours ; ' look round your Syrian fron-
' tiers !
* See, in how many towns our hoifled flags
* Are waving in che wind ; Sachna, and Hawran, ' Proud Tadmor, Aracah, and ftubborn B"ofra
' Have bow'd beneath the yoke; — behold our march
* O'er half your land> like flame thro' fields of har-
* veft.
* And laft view Aiznadin, that vale of blood !
' There feek the fouls of forty thoufand Greeks ' That, freih from life, yet hover o'er their bodies,
* Then think, and then I'efolve. ' Herb. Prefumptuous men !
« What tho' you yet can boaft fqccefsful guilt,
* Is conqueft only yours \ Or dare you hope
10 • Thafe
16 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
' That you fhall ftill pour on the fwelling tide, ' Like fome proud river that has left its banks, * Nor ever know repulfe ?
f Earn. Have you forgot ? ' Not twice feven years are pafl fince e'en your Pro-
« phet,
' Bold as he was, and boafting aid divine, ' Was by the Tribe of Corefh forc'd to fly, « Poorly to fly, to fave his wretched life, ' From Mecca to Medina ?
' Abu* No; — forgot? ' We well remember how Medina fkreen'd • That holy head, preferv'd for better days," ' And ripening years of glory !'
Dar. Why* my chiefs>
Will you wafle time ; in offering terms defpis'd To thefe idolaters > — Words are but air, Blows wou'd plead better.
CaL Daran, thou fay'ft true. Chriftiarrs, here end our truce. Behold once more The fword of Heav'n is drawn ! nor mall be flieath'd But in the bowels of Damafcus.
Eum* That,
Or fpeedy vengeance, and deftru&ion due To the proud menacers, as Heav'n fees fit I
{Exeunt feverattj*
SCENE changes to a garden.
Eud. All's hufh'd around ! — No more the fliouts of
foldiers
And clafh of arms tumultuous fill the air. ,
Methinks this interval of terror feems Like that when the loud thunder juft has rolPd O'er our affrighted heads, and in the heav'ns A momentary filence but prepares A fecond and a louder clap to follow.
Enter Phocyas.
O no — my hero comes, with better omens, And every gloomy thought is now no more.
Pbo. Where is the treafure of my foul ? — Eudocia, Behold me here impatient, like the mifer
That
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 17
That often fteals in fecret to his gold,
And counts with trembling joy, and jealous tranfport,
The mining heaps which he itill fears to lofe.
Eud. Welcome, thou brave, thou belt deferving
lover !
How do I doubly (hare the common fafety, Since 'tis a debt to thee ! — but tell me, Phocyas, Doll thou bring peace ? — Thou doft, and I am happy !
Pbo. Not yet, Eudocia; 'tis decreed by Heav'n I muft do more to merit thy efteem. Peace, like a frighted dove, has wing'd her flight To diftant hills, beyond thefe hoftile tents ; And thro* 'em we muft thither force our way, If we would call the lovely wanderer back To her forfaken home.
' Eud. Falfe flattering hope ! ' Vanifh'd fo foon ! — alas, my faithful fears
* Return, and tell me, we muft ftill be wretched t
* Pbo. Not fo, my fair ; if thou but gently fmtfe, ' Infpiring valour, and prefaging conqueft,
* Thefe barbarous foes to peace and love mail fooix ' Be chas'd, like fiends before the morning light,
* And all be calm again.' Eud. Is the truce ended ?
Muft war, alas, renew its bloody rage ? And Phocyas ever be expos'd to danger ?
Pbo. Think for whofe fake danger itfelf ha* tfcarms, Difmifs thy fears ; the lucky hour comes on, Full fraught with joys, when my big foul no more Shall labour with this fecret of my paffion, To hide it from thy jealous father's eyes. Juft now, by iignals from the plain, I've learn'd That the proud foe refufe us terms of honour ; A fally is refolv'd ; the citizens And foldiers, kindled into fudden fury, Prefs all in crowds, and beg I'll lead 'em on. O my Eudocia ! if I now fucceed — Bid I fay if— I muft, I will ; the caufe Is love, 'tis liberty, it is Eudocia ! — e What then mail hinder, fince our mutual faith ' Is pledg'd, and thou confenting to my blifs,
' But
i8 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
c But I may boldly alk thee of Eumenes,
* Nor fear a rival's more prevailing claim ?'
Eud. May blelfings ftill attend thy arms! — Me-
thinks
I've caught the flame of thy heroic ardor ! And now I fee thee crown'd with palm and olive ; The foldiers bring thee back with fongs of triumph And loud applauding Ihouts ; thy refcu'd country Refounds thy praife ; ' our Emperor Heraclius
* Decrees the honours for a city fav'd,' And pillars rife of monumental brafs Infcrib'd — To Phocyas the Deliverer.
Pho. The honours and rewards which thou haft nam'd,
Are bribes too little for my vaft ambition.
My foul is full of thee ! — Thou art my all
Of fame, of triumph, and of future fortune.
'Twas love of thee firft fent me forth in arms,
My fervice is all thine, to thee devoted,
And thou alone canft make e'en conqueft plea/ing. ' Eud. O do not wrong thy merit, nor reftrain it To narrow bounds ; but know, I beft am pleas'd •<> To mare thee with thy country. O my Phocyas I With confcious blufhes oft I've heard thy vows, And drove to hide, yet more reveal'd my heart ; But 'tis thy virtue juftifies my choice, And what at firft was weaknefs, now is glory. Pho. ' Forgive me, thou fair pattern of ail good- • nefs!
' If in the tranfport of unbounded paffion,
* I flill am loft to ev'ry thought but thee. ' Yet fure to love thee thus is ev'ry virtue ;
' Nor need I more perfection.' — Hark ! I'm call'd.
[ Trumpet founds. Eud. Then go — and Heav'n with all its angels
guard thee. Pho. Farewel ! — for thee once more I draw the
fvvord.
Now to the field to gain the glorious prize ; 'Tis victory— the word; Eudocia's eyes. [Exeunt.
ACT
- THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 19
A C T II. S C E N E tbe governor' t palace. Eumenes, Herbis.
Herb. QTILL I muft fay, 'twas wrong, 'twas
k5 wrong, Eumenes, And mark th' event !
Earn. What could I lefs ? You faw 'Twas vain t'oppofe it, whilft his eager valour, Impatient of reftraint —
Herb. His eager valour ?
His rafhnefs, his hot youth, his valour's fever! Muft we, whofe bufinefs is to keep our walls, And manage warily our little ftrength, Muft we at once lavifh away our blood, Becaufe his pulfe beats high, and his mad courage Wants to be breath'd in fome new enterprize ? — You fhou'd not have confented.
Eum. You forgot.
'Twas not my voice alone ; you faw the people (And fure fuch fudden inftincls are from Heav'n !) Rofe all at once to follow him, as if One foul infpir'd 'em, and that foul were Phocyas.
Herb. I had indeed forgot ; and alk your pardon. I took you for Eumenes, and I thought That in Damafcus you had chief command.
Eum. What doft thou mean ?
Herb. Nay, who's forgetful now ? You fay, the people — Yes, that very people, That coward tribe that prefs'd you to furrender ! Well may they fpurn at loft authority ; Whom they lil^e better, better they'll obey.
Eum. O I cou'd curfe the giddy changeful flaves, But that the thought of this hour's great event Poffefles all my foul. — If we are beaten ! —
tisrb. The poifon works \ 'tis well— I'll give him more, [A/Me.
True,
20 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.-
True, if we're beaten, who fhall anfwer that ? Shall you, or 1 1 — Are you the governor ? — Or fay we conquer, whofe is then the praife ?
Eum. I know thy friendly fears ; that thou and I Muft ftoop beneath a beardlefs rifmg hero; And in Heraclius' court it fhall be faid, Damafcus, nay perhaps the empire too, Ow'd its deliverance.to a boy. — Why be it, So that he now return with vidlory ; 'Tis honour greatly won, and let him wear it. Yet I cou'd wifh I needed lefs his fervice. Were Eutyches return'd —
Herb. [Afide.} That, that's my torture. I fe~nt my fon to th' Emperor's court, in hopes His merit at this time might raife his fortunes j But Phocyas — Curfe upon his forward virtues !— • Js reaping all this field of fame alone, Or leaves him fcarce the gleanings of a harveft.
Eum, Sec, Artamon with hafty ftrides returning ; He comes alone !• — O friend, thy fears were juft. What are we now, and what is loft Damafcus ? Enter Artamon.
Art. Joy to Eumencs !
Eum. Joy ? — is't poffible ? Doft thou bring news of victory ?
Art. The fun
Is fet in blood, and from the weftern ikies Has feen three thoufand flaughter'd Arabs fall.
Herb. Is Phocyas fafe ?
.Art. He is, and crown'd with triumph. > Herb. \_Afide. "\ My fears indeed were juft.
[Shout* a Phocyas, a Phpcyas !
Eum. What noife is that ?
Herb. The people worfhiping their new divinity* Shortly they'll build him temples. »
Eum. Tell us, foldier,
Since thou haft fhar'd the glory of this action, Tell us how it began.
Art. At firft the foe
Seem'd much furpriz'd ; but taking foon th' alarm Gather'd fome hafty troops, andraarch'd to meet us.
The
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 21
The captain of thefe bands look'd wild and fierce,
His head unarm'd as if in fcorn of danger,
And naked to the wafte ; as he drew near
He rais'd his arm and mook a pond'rous lance ;
When all at once, as at a fignal giv'n,
We heard the Tecbir, to thefe Arabs call
Their fhouts of onfet, when with loud appeal
They challenge Heav'n, as if demanding conqueft.
The battle join'd, and thro* the barbarous hoft
Fight, fight, and Paradife was all the cry.
At laft our leaders met ; and gallant Phocyas —
But what are words to tell the mighty wonders
We faw him then perform ?— Their chief unhors'd,
The Saracens foon broke their ranks and fled ;
And had not a thick evening fog arofe
* (Which fure the devil rais'd up to fave his friends !'
The ilaughter had been double— But behold i .
The hero comes.
Enter Phocyas, Eumenes meeting him.
Eum. Joy to brave Phocyas ! Eumenes gives him back the joy he fent. The welcome news has reached this place before thee. How mall thy country pay the debt me owes thee?
Pbo. By taking this as earneft of a debt Which I owe her, and fain wou'd better pay.
Herb. In fpite of envy, I muft praife him too.
Phocyas, thou haft done bravely, and 'tis fit Succefsful virtue take a time to reft.
* Fortune is fickle, and may change ; be/ides, « What mall we gain, if from a mighty ocean
* By iluices we draw off fome little ftreams?' If thoufands fall, ten thoufands more remain. Nor ought we hazard worth fo great as thine Againft fuch odds ; fuffice what's done already : And let us now, in hope of better days,
Keep wary watch, and wait th' expected fuccours. Pho. What! — to be coop'd whole months within
our walls ?
To ruft at home, and ficken with inaction ? The courage of our men will droop and die,
*z THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
If not kept up by daily exercife. >
Again the beaten foe may force our gates ; And vidory, if flighted thus, take wing, And fly where fhe may find a better welcome.
Art. [AJide.] It muft be fo — he hates him ! on my
foul,
This Herbis is a foul old envious knave. Methinks Eumenes too might better thank him.
Eum. [fo Herbis ajlde.'} Urge him no more ;— • I'll think of thy late warning. And thou (halt fee I'll yet be governor.
A letter brought in. Phocyas [looking on //.] 'Tis to Eumenes.
Eum. Ha ! from Eutyches.
[Reads.] 'The Emperor, awaken* J rwith the danger ¥hat threatens his dominions, and the lofs At Aiznadin, has drained his garrifons 70 raife afecond army. In few hours W^e Jhall begin our march. Sergius brings this, And*vjill inf orm you further.— '
Herb. [Aftde.] Heav'n, Ithankthee? 'Tis e'en beyond my hopes.
Eum. But where is Sergius !
Mejfenger. The letter, faften'd to an arrow's head, Was fhot into the town»
Eum. I fear he's taken— O Phocyas, Herbis, Artamon ! my friends ! You all are marers in this news ; the florin Is blowing o'er, that hung like night upon us, And threaten'd deadly ruin— Hafte, proclaim , The welcome tidings loud thro' all the city. Let fparkling lights be feen from every turret To tell our joy, and fpread their blaze to Heav'n ! Prepare for feafts ; danger mail wait at diftance, And fear be now no more. The jolly foldier And citizen (hall meet o'er their full bowls, Forget their toils, and laugh their cares away, And mirth and triumphs clofe this happy day.
[Exeunt Herb, and Art.
Pbo, And may fucceeding days prove yet more happy !
Well
THE^IEGE OF DAMASCUS. 23
Well dcftitnou bid the voice of triumph found Thro* all 6ur ftreets ; our city calls thee father ^ , And fay, Eomenes, doft thou not perceive A father's tranfport rife within thy breaft, Whilft in this aft thou art the hand of Heav*n To deal forth bleffings, and diltribute joy ?
Eum. The bleffings Heav'n beftows are freely fent, And fhou'd be freely fhar'd.
Pho. -True — Generous minds Redoubled feel the pleafures they impart. For me, if I've deferv'd by arms or counfels, By hazards gladly fought, and greatly profper'd, Whate'er Pve added to the public flock, With joy I fee it in Eumenes' hands, And wifti but to receive my (hare from thee.
Eum. I cannot, if I wou'd, withhold thy mare. What thou haft done is thine ; the fame thy own ; And virtuous aftions will reward themfelves.
Pho. Fame — What is that, if courted for herfelf ? Lefs than a vifion ; a mere found, an echo, That calls with mimick voice thro' woods and laby rinths ,
Her cheated lovers ; loft and heard by fits, But never fix'd ; a feeming nymph, yet nothing. Virtue indeed is a fubftantial good, A real beauty ; yet with weary fteps Thro' rugged ways, by long laborious fervice, When we have trac'd, and woo'd, and won the dame, May we not then expeft the dower (he brings ?
Eum. Well — afk that dower ; fay, can Damafcus
pay it ?
Her riches mall be tax'd, name but the fum, Her merchants with fome collly gems mail grace thee. Nor can Heraclius fail to grant thee honours, Proportion'd to thy birth and thy defert.
Pho. And can Eumenes think I wou'd be brib'd By tram, by fordid gold, to venal virtue ? What ! ferve my country for the fame mean hire, That can corrupt each villain to betray her ? " Why is me fav'd from thefe Arabian fpoilers, If to be ftripp'd by her own fons ? — forgive me
24 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
If the thought glows on my cheeks ; * I know
* 'Twas mention'd, but to prove how much I fcorn it.*
As for Heraclius, if he own my conduct,
I fhall indulge an honeft pride in honours
Which I have ftrove to merit. Yes, Eumenes,
I have ambition — yet the vail reward
That fweJ4s my hopes, and equals all my wilhes
Is in thy gift alone — it is Eudocia.
Eum. Eudocia? Phocyas, I am yet thy friend, And therefore will not hold thee long in doubt. Thou muft not think of her —
Pbo. Not think of her ? Impoffible ! — She's ever prefent to me, My life, my foul ! She animates niy being, And kindles up my thoughts to worthy aft ions. And why, Eumenes, why not think of her ? Is not my rank —
Eum. Forbear — what need a herald To tell me who thou art ? — Yet once again— Since thou wilt force me to a repetition, I fay, thou muft not think of her.
Pbo. Yet hear me ;
Why wilt thou judge, ere I can plead my caufe ? Eum. Why wilt thou plead in vain ? haft thou not
heard My choice has deftin'd her to Eutyches ?
Pbo. And has ihe then confented to that choice ? Eum. Has me confented ?— What is her confent? Is me not mine I
Pbo. She is — and in that title E'en kings with envy may behold thy wealth, And think their kingdoms poor ! — and yet, Eumenes, Shall (he, by being thine, be barr'd a privilege Which e'en the meaneft of her fex may claim ? Thou wilt not force her ?
Eum. Who has told thee fo ? I'd force her to be happy.
Pbo. That thou canft not. What happinefs fubfifts in lofs of freedom > The gueft conftrain'd but murmurs at the banquet, Nor thanks his holt, but ftarves amidft abundance.
THE SIEGE OFDAMASCUS. 25
Eum. 'Tis well, young man — Why then I'll learn
from thee
To be a very tame, obedient father. Thou haft already taught my child her duty. I find the fource of all her difobedience, Her hate of me, her fcorn of Eutyches ; ' Ha ! Is't not fo?— come tell me; I'll forgive thee. ' Haft thou not found her a moft ready fcholar? ' I know thou haft' — why, what a dull old wretch Was I, to think I ever had a daughter ?
Pho. I'm forry that Eumenes thinks —
Bum. No— forry! Sorry for what ? then thou dofi own thou'ft wrong'd
me !
That's fomevvhat yet — curfe on my ftupid blindnefs ! For had I eyes I might have feen it fooner. Was this the fpring of thy romantic bravery, Thy boaftful merit, thy officious fervice ?
Pho. It was — with pride I own it — 'twas Eudocia ! I have ferv'd thee in ferving her, thou know'ft it, And thought I might have found a better treatment. Why wilt thou force me thus to be a braggard, And tell thee that which thou fhou'dft tell thyfelf ? It grates my foul — I am not wont to talk thus. But I recall my words — I have done nothing, And wou'd difclaim all merit but my love.
Eum. O no — fay on, that thou hail favM Damaf-
cus;
Is it not fo ? — Look o'er her battlements, See, if the flying foe have left their camp ! Why are our gates yet clos'd, if thou haft freed us ? 'Tis true, thou fought'ft a Ikirmiih — what of that? Had Eutyches been prefent —
Pho. Eutyches!
Why wilt thou urge my temper with that trifler ? O let him come ! that in yon fpacious plain We may together charge the thicket! ranks, Rufh on to battle, wounds, and glorious death, And prove who 'twas that beft deferv'd Eudocia;
Eum. That will be feen ere long — but fince I find Thou arrogantly wouldft ufurp dominion,
B Believ'il
26 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Believ'ft thyfelf the guardian Genius here,
And that our fortunes hang upon thy fvvord ;
Be that firfl try'd — for know, that from this moment
Thou heje haft no command— farewell ! — So ftay,
Or hence and join the foe — thou haft thy choice.
{Exit Eumenes. Pho. Spurn'd and degraded! — proud ungrateful
man
Am I a bubble, then, blown up by thee, And tofs'd into the air to make thee fport f Hence to the- foe ! 'tis well — Eudocia,
0 I will Tee thee, thou wrong'd excellence ! But now to fpeak thy wrongs, or my difgrace; Impoffible — O rather let me walk
Like a dumb ghoft, and burft my heart in filence.
Exit. SCENE, the garden.
Enter Eudocia. Eud. Why muft we meet by Health, like guilty
lovers !
Eut 'twill not long be fo— What joy 'twill be To own my hero in his ripen'd honours, And hear applauding crowds pronounce me bleft !— ' Sure he'll be here — See ! the fair rifing moon,
* Ere day's remaining twilight fcarce is fpent,
c Hangs up her ready lamp, and with mild luftre
• Drives back the hovering ihades !' Come, Pho-
cyas, come ;
This gentle feafon is a friend to love, And now methinks I cou'd, with equal paflion, Meet thine, and tell thee all my fecret foul.
Enter Phocyas. He hears me — O my Phocyas I — What ! — not an*
fwer! —
Art thou not he ? or art fome fhadow ? — fpeak. Pho. I am indeed a fhadow — I am nothing — Eud. What doft thou mean ? — for now I know thee,
Phocyas.
Pho. And never can be thine. It will have vent — O barbarous, curft — but hold—
1 had forgot, — it was Eudocia's father ! —
O cou'd
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 27
O cou'd I too forget how he has us'd me !
Eud. I fear to alk thee —
Pho, Doft thou fear ?— -Alas ! Then thou wilt pity me— O generous maid ! Thou haft charm'd down the rage that fwell'd «iy
heart,
And chok'd my voice — now I can fpeak to thee. And yet 'tis worfe than death what I have fuffer'd ; It is the death of honour ! — Yet that's little ; 'Tis more, Eudocia, 'tis the lofs of thee I
Eud. Haft thou not conquer'd ? — What are all thefe
mouts, This voice of general joy, heard far around ?
* What are thefe fires, that caft their glimmering
« light ' Againft the fky ?' Are not all thefe thy triumph ?
Pho. O name not triumph ! talk no more of cpn-
queft !
It is indeed a night of general joy, But not to me ; Eudocia, I am come To take a laft farewell of thee for ever.
Eud. A laft farewell !
Pho. Yes j — how wilt thou hereafter Look on a wretch defpis'd, revil'd, camier*d, Stript of command, like a bafe beaten coward ? ' Thy cruel father — I have told too much ; —
* I fhou'd not but for this have felt the wounds
' I got in fight f6r him — now, now they bleed.
* But I have done — and now thou haft my ftory, ' Is there a creature fo accurft as Phocyas ?
' Eud. And can it be ? — Is this then thy reward ? ' O Phocyas ! never wou'dft thou tell me yet
* That thou hadft wounds ; now I muft feel them too. ' For is it not for me thou haft borne this ?
' What elfe could be thy crime ? — wert thou a traitor,
* Hadft thou betray'd us, fold us to the foe —
e Pbo. Wou'd I be yet a traitor, I have leave ; f Nay, I am dar'd to it with mocking fcorn. ^
* My crime indeed was alking thee ; that only ' Has cancell'd all, if I had any merit;
* The city now is fafe, my fervice flighted,
B 2 * And
2* THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
* And I discarded like an ufelefs thing,' Nay, bid be gone — and, if I like that better, Seek out new friends, and join yon barbarous hoft.
Eud. ( Hold—let me think a while— [Walks afJe, t —Tho' my heart bleed,
* I wou'd not have him fee thefe dropping tears'-*-. And wilt thou go, then, Phocyas?
Pho. To my grave : Where can I bury elfe this foul difgrace ?
* Alas ! that queftion mews how poor I am,
* How very much a wretch ; for if I go,
* It is from thee, thou only joy of life :
* And death will then be welcome.' Eud. Art thou fure
Thou haft been us'd thus ?— Art thou quite undone ?
Pho. Yes, very fure — What doft thou mean ?
Eud. That then, it is a time for me—' O Heav'n !
that I
' Alone am grateful, to this wondrous man !' — To own thee Phocyas, thus — [Giving her band.] nay,
glory in thee,
And mew without a blufh, how much I love. We mufl not part —
Pbo. Then am I rich again ! [Embracing her.
0 no — we will not part ! — confirm it, Heav'n ! Now thou (halt fee now I will bend my fpirit, With what foft patience I will bear my wrongs, Till I have wearied out thy father's fcorn.
Yet I have worfe to tell thee — Eutyches —
Eud. Why wilt thou name him ?
Pbo. Now, e'en now he's coming ! Juft hov'ring o'er thee like a bird of prey. Thy father vows— for I muft tell thee all — 'Twas this that wrung my heart, and rack'd my brain, K'cn to diftra&ion '.-—vows thee to his bed ; Nay, thrcaten'd force, if thou refufe obedience. -End. Force ? — threaten'd force .?— my father I— where is nature ? Is that, too, baniih'd from his heart ? — O then
1 have no father — How have I deferv'd this ? —
[Weeping.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. *9
No home, but am henceforth an out-caft orphan ; For I will wander to earth's utmoft bounds, Ere give my hand to that decefted contract. O fave me, Phocyas ! thou haft fav'd my fathar— Muft I yet call him fo, this cruel father — How wilt thou now deliver poor Eudocia?' Pho. See ! how we're join'd in exile, how our fate Confpires to warn us both to leave this city ! Thou know'ft the Emperor is now at Antioch ; I have an uncle there, who, when the Perfian, As now the Saracen, had nigh o'er-run The ravaged empire, did him fignal fervice. And nobly was rewarded. There, Eudocia, Thou might'fl be fafe, and I may meet with juftice. EuJ. There — any where, fo we may fly this place.
* See, Phocyas, what thy wrongs and mine have
• wrought
* In a weak woman's frame ! for I have courage
* To mare thy exile now thro' ev'ry danger.' Danger is only here, and dwells with guilt, With bafe ingratitude, and hard oppreflion.
Y&o. Then let us lofe no time, but hence thrs
night.
The gates I can command, and will provide The means of our efcape. Some fire hours hence ('Twill then be turn'd of midnight) we may meet In the piazza of Honoria's convent.
EuJ. I know it well ; the place is moil fecure, And near adjoining to this garden wall. There thou malt find me — O protect us, Heav'n \
Pho. Fear not ; — thy innocence will be our guard.
* I've thought already how to fhape our courfe ;' Some pitying angel will attend thy fteps, Guide thee unfeen, and charm the ileeping foe, Till thou art fafe !— O I have fuffer'd nothing! Thus gaining thee, and this great generous proof, How bleft I am in my Eudocia's love !
My only joy, farewell !
Eud. Farewell, my Phocyas ! I've now no friend but thee— yet thee I'll call Friend, father, lover, guardian I — Thou art all.
[Exeunt. 63 ACT
30 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS,
ACT III. SCENE Caled'j tent.
Caled attended, Sergius brought in bound with cords*
Cal. T\ /T E R C Y ! What's that ?— Look yonder on
JVI the field
Of our late fight !— Go, talk of mercy there. Will the dead hear thy voice ?
Serg. O fpare me yet !
Cal. Thou wretch !-*-Spare thee ? to what ? to
live in torture ?
Are not thy limbs all bruis'd, thy bones disjointed 5 To force thee to confefs ? And wou'dft thou drag, Like a cruuVd ferpent, a vile mangled being ? My eyes abhor a coward Hence, and die I
Serg. O, I have told thee all— When nrft purfu'd, I fix'd my letters on an arrow's point, And (hot them o'er the walls—
Cal. Haft thou told all ?
Well, then thou malt have mercy to requite thee; Behold, I'll fend thee forward on thy errand. Strike off his head ; then caft it o'er the gates ; There let thy tongue tell o'er its tale again.
Serg. O bloody Saracen !-r-
[Exit iergius, dragged away fy guards % Enter Abudah.
Cal. Abudah, welcome !
Abu O Caled ! What an evening was the lait !
Cal. Name it no more ; remembrance fickens with
it,
And therefore deep is banifh'd from this night ; Nor mail to-morrow's fun open his eye Upon our mame, ere doubly we've redeem'd it. Have all the captains notice ?
Abu. I have walk'd
The rounds to-night, ere the 1 aft hour of prayer, From tent to tent, and warn'd them to be ready. What muft be done ?
Cat.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 31
Cat. Thou know'ft th' important news, Which we have intercepted by this flave, Of a new army's march. The time now calls, While thefe foft Syrians are diffolv'd in riot, FooPd with fuccefs, and not fufpecling danger,,. ' Neglectful of their watch, or elfe fait bound ' In chains of fleep, companion of debauches,* To form a new attack ere break of day. So, like the wounded leopard, mail we rum From out our covert on thefe drovvfy hunters, And feize 'em, unprepared to fcape our vengeance.
Abu. Great captain of the armies of the faithful \ I know thy mighty and unconquer'd fpirit. Yet hear me, Caled ; hear, and weigh my doubts. Our angry prophet frowns upon our vices, And viiits us in blood. Why elfe did terrors Unknown before feize all- our ftouteil bands? The angel of deilrudion was abroad ; « The archers of the tribe of Thoal fled, ' So long renown'd, or fpent their fhafts in vain ; ' The feather'd .flights err'd thro' the boundlefs air, ' Or the death turn'd on him that drew the bow I" What can this bode ? — Let me fpeak plainer yet ; Is it to propagate th' unfpotted law We fight ? 'tis well ; it is a noble caufe ! But much I fear infection is among us ; A boundlefs luft of rapine guides our troops. We learn the Chriftian vices we chaftife, And, tempted with the pleafures of the foil, More than with diftant hopes of Paradife, I fear, may.foon — but Oh ! avert it Heav'n ! Fall e'en a prey to our own fpoils and conquefts.
Cal. No— thou miftak'ft; thy pious zeal deceives
thee.
Our prophet only chides our fluggard valour* Thou faw'ft how in the vale of Honan once The troops, as now defeated, fled confus'd E'en to the gates of Mecca's holy city; 'Till Mahomet himfelf there itop'd their entrance, A javelin in his hand, and turn'd them back Upon the foe ; they fought again, and conquer'd.
B 4 Behold
32 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Behold how we may beft appeafe his wrath ! His own example points us out the way.
Aku. Well— be it then re&lv'd. Th' indulgent
hour
Of better fortune is, I hope, at hand. And yet, fince Fhocyas has appear'd its champion, \ How has this city rais'd its drooping head 1 As if fome charm prevail'd where-e'er he fought; Our flrength feems wither'd, and our feeble weapons Forgot their wonted triumph — were he abfent— —
CaL I would have fought him out in the lait ac tion
To fingle fight, and put that charm to proof, Had not a foul and fudden mift arofe Kre I arriv'd, to have reflor'd the combat. But let it be — 'tis paft. We yet may meet, And 'twill be known whofe arm is then the ftrongcit. Enter Daran.
Dar. Hearth to the race of Ifmael ! and days More profp'rous than the laft — a Chriftian captive Is fall'n within my watch, and waits his doom.
Cat. Bring forth the Have ! — O thou keen vultur*
death !
Do we then feed thee only thus by morfels ? Whole armies never can fuffice thy hunger.
Daran goes^out, and re-enters with Phocyas. Whence, and what art thou ! — Of Damafcus ?— «
Daran,
Where didft thou find this dumb and fullen thing, That feems to lour defiance to our anger ?
Dar. Marching in circuit, with the horfe thou
gav'ft me,
T* obferve the city gates, I faw from far Two perfons ifTue forth ; the one advanc'd, And ere he could retreat, my horfemen feiz'd him ; The other was a woman, and had fled, Upon a fignal giv'n at our approach, And got within, the gate. Wou'dft thou know more> Himfelf, if he will fpeak, can beft inform thec.
CaL Have I not feen thy face ?
Abu. [fa Caied.] He hears thee not ;
His
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 33
His eyes are fix'd on earth; fome deep diflrefs Is at his heart. This is no common captive.
Cal. A lion in the toils ! We foon mall tame
him.
Still art thou dumb ! — Nay, 'tis in vain to caft Thy gloomy looks To oft around this place, Or frown upon thy bonds — thou can It not 'fcape.
Pbo. Then be it fo — the worft is paft already, And life is now not worth a moment's paufe. Do you not know me yet ? — think of the man You have moft caufe to curfe, and I am he,
Cal. Ha ! Phocyas !
Abu. Phocyas !— -Mahomet, we thank thee ! Now thou doft fmile again. x
« Dar. [4/t</e.] O devil, devil! •' And I not know him ! — 'twas but yefterday * He kill'd my horfe, and drove me from the field. ' Now I'm reveng'd ! No; hold you there, not yet, ' Not while he lives.' • ,
Cal. \_AfiJs. ,] This is indeed a prize ! — Is it becaufe thou know'ft: what flaughter'd heaps There yet unbury'd lie without the camp, Whofe ghofts have all this night, palling the Zorat, C^all'd from that bridge of death on thee to follow, That now thou'rt here to anfwer to their cry ? Howe'er it be, thou know'ft thy welcome—
Pbo. Yes,
Thou proud, blood-thirfty Arab ! — Well I know What to expect from thee ; I know ye all. How mould the authors of diftrefs and ruin Be raov'd to pity ? that's a human paffion ; No — in your hungry eyes, that look revenge, I read my doom. Where are your racks, your tor tures ?
I'm ready — lead me to 'em ; I can1)ear The worft of ills from you. You're not my friends. My countrymen. — Yet were ye men, I cou'd Unfold a itory — but no more — Eumenes, Thou haft thy wifh, and I am now a worm !
Abu* [to Caled afide.~\ Leader of armies, hear him ! for my mind
B 5 Prelate*
34 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Prefages good accruing to our caufe
By this event. v .•
Cat. I tell thee then, thou wrong'ft us, To think our hearts thus fteel, or our ears deaf To all that thou may'ft utter. Speak, difclofe The fecrec woe that throbs within thy breaft. Now, by the filent hours of night ! we'll hear thee, And mute attention fhall await thy words.
Pho, This is. not then the palace in Damafcus ! If ye will hear, then I indeed have wrong'd you. How can this be ? — When he for whom I've fought^ Fought againft you, has yet refus'd to hear me! You feem furpris'd. — It was ingratitude That drove me out an exile from thofe walls, Which I fo late defended.
Jbu. Can it be ? Are thefe thy Chriftian friends ?
CaL 'Tis well—we thank 'em. They help us to fubdue themfelves. — But who Was that companion of thy flight ? — A woman, So Daran faid—
Pho. 'Tis there I am moft wretched—
0 I am torn from all my foul held dear,
And my life's blood flows out.upon the wound \ That woman — 'twas for her— How mail I fpeak
it! —
Eudocia, O farewell! — I'll tell you, then, As faft as thefe heart-rending fighs will let me ;
1 lov'd the daughter of the proud Eumenes, And long in fecret woo'd her ; not unwelcome To her my vifits; but I fear'd her father, Who oft had prefs'd her to detefted nuptials, And therefore durft not, till this night of joy, Avow to him my courtfhip. Now I thought her Mine, by a double claim, of mutual vows, And fervice yielded at his greateft need.
When as I mov'd my fuit, with four difdain He mock'd my fervice, and forbade my love ; Degraded me from the command I bore, And with defiance bade me feek the foe. How has his curfe prevail'd I— The generous maid
Was
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 35
Was won by my diftrefs to leave the city; And cruel fortune made me thus your prey. Abu. [djtde.] My foul is mov'd. — Thou wert a man,
O prophet !
Forgive, if 'tis a crime, a human forrow For injur'd worth, tho' in an enemy!
Pbo. Now — fmce you've heard my ftory, fet me free, That I may'fave her yet, dearer than life, From a tyrannic father's threaten'd force; Gold, gems and purple veils mall pay my ranfom; Nof mall my peaceful fword henceforth be drawn In fight, nor break its truce with you for ever.
Cal. No , — there's one way, a better, and but one, To fave thyfelf, and make fome reparation For all the numbers thy bold hand has flain.
Pbo. O name it quickly, and my foul will blefs thee ! Cal. Embrace our faith, and lhare with us,our for tunes.
Pbo. Then I am loft again ! Cal. What! when we offer Not freedom only, but to raife thee high To greatnefs, oonqueft, glory3 heav'nly blifs !
Pbo* To fmk me down to infamy, perdition, Here and hereafter ! make my name a curfe Tt) prefent times ! to ev'ry future age A proverb and a fcorn ! — take back thy mercy, And know I now difdain it.
Cal. As thou wilt .
The time's too precious to be wafted longer In words with thee. Thou know'ft thy doom — Fare*
well. Abu. [To Caled, aftde*] Hear me yet, Caled ! grant
him fome fhort fpace ;
Perhaps at length he will accept thy bounty. Try him at leaft—
Cal. Well— be it fa, then. Daran, Guard well thy charge. — Thou haft an .hour to live;. If thou art wife, thou may'ft prolong that term ; If not — why — Fare thee well, and think, of death*
[Exeunt Caled , and Abudah. B 6 Eh*
36 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Pho. [Daran waiting at a dijtanee.~\ Farewell, and think of death I Was it not fo? Do murderers then preach morality ? — But how to think of what the living know not, And the dead cannot, or elfe may not tell ?— What art thou, O thou great myfterious terror I The way to thee we know ; difeafes, famine, Sword, fire, and all thy ever-open gates That day and night itand ready to receive us. But what's beyond them ? — Who will draw that veil ? Yet death's not there— No ; 'tis a point of time, The verge, 'twixt mortal and immortal being. Jt mocks our thought! On this fide all is life; And when we've reached it, in that very inftant 3Tis paft the thinking of !—O ! if it be The pangs, the throes, the agonizing ftrugglc When foul and body part, fure I have felt it, And there's no more to fear.
Dar. [AJide.] Suppofe I now
Difpatch him?— Right— What need to ftay for orders? I wifh I durit!— Yet what I dare I'll do. Your jewels, Chrillian-— You'll not need thefe trifles—
[Searching him.
Pho. I pr'ythee, flave, ftand off— My foul's too bufy To lofe a thought on thee.
Enter A bud ah. Alu. What's this?— forbear! Who gave thee leave to ufe this infolence?
[Takes the jewels from himy and lays 'em on a table. Dar. [AJide.] Deny'd my booty? — Curfes on his
head!
Was not the founder of our law a robber ? * Why 'twas for. that I left my country's gods, ' Menaph and Uzza. Better flill be Pagan, ' Than ftarve with a new faith.*
Abu. What? — Doft thou mutter ? Daran, withdraw ; and better learn thy duty.
[Exit Daran.
Phocyas, perhaps thou know'ft me not— Pbo. I know
name Abudah, and thy office here
The
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 37
The fecond in command. What more thou arj; Indeed I cannot tell.
Abu. True ; for thou yet Know'ft not I am thy friend.
Pho. Is't poffible ?— Thou fpeak'ft me fair.
Abu. What doft thou think of life ?
Pho. I think not of it; death was in my thoughts, On hard conditions, life were but a load, And I would lay it down.
Abu. Art thou refolv'd?
Pho. I am, unlefs thou bring'ft me better terms Than thofe I have rejected.
Abu. Think again. Caled, by me, once more renews that offer.
Pho. Thou fay'ft thou art my friend ; why doft thou
try To make the fettled temper of my breaft ?
My foul hath juft difcharg'd her cumbrous train
Of hopes and fears, prepared to take her voyage
To other feats, where me may reft in peace ;
And now thou calPft me back, to beat again
The painful roads of life.' — Tempt me no more To be a wretch, for I defpife the offer.
* Abu. The general knows thee brave, and 'tis for
that ' He feeks alliance with thy noble virtues.
' Pbo. He knows me brave ! — Why does he then thus treat me ?
No ; he believes I am fo poor of foul,
That barely for the privilege to live,
I would be bought his flave. But go and tell him,
The little fpace of life his fcorn bequeath'd me
Was lent in vain, and he may take the forfeit.' j
Abu. Why wilt thou wed thyfelf to mifery, When our faith courts thee to eternal bleffings ? When truth itfelf is, like a feraph, come To loofe thy bond§ ?— * The light divine, whofe beams ' Pierc'd tiro' the gloom of Hera's facred cave, 4 And there illumin'd the great Mahomet,' Arabia's morning flar, now flunes on thee,
Arifc,
38 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Arife, falute with joy the gueft from Heav'n, Follow her fteps, and be no more a captive.
Pbo. But whither muft I follow? — anfwertha-t. Is me a gueit from heav'n ? what marks divine, What figns, what wonders vouch her boafted miflion?
Abu. What wonders ? turn thy eyes to Mecca !
mark
How from Caaba firft, that hallow'd temple, Her glory dawn'd ! — then look how fwift its courfe> As when the fun. beams mooting through a cloud Drive o'er the meadow's face the flying (hades ! Have not the nations bent before our fwords, Like ripen'd corn before the reaper's fleel ? Why is all this ? Why does fuccefs dill wait Upon our law, if not to mew that Heav'n Firft fent it forth, and owns it ftill by conqaeil?
Pbo. Doft thou afk why is this ? — O why, indeed '? Where is the man can read Heav'n's fecretcounfeJs? Why did I conquer in another caufe, Yet now am here? —
Abu. I'll tell thee — thy good angel Has feiz'd thy hand unfcen, and fnatch'd thee out From fwift deftruction; know, ere day (hall dawn, Darriafcus will in blood lament its fall; We've heard what army is defign'd to march Too late to. fave her. Now, e'en now, our force Is juft preparing for a frefh aflault. Now too thou might'ft revenge thy wrongs— fo Caled Charg'd me to fay ; and more, that he invites thee ; Thou know'ft the terms — to mare with him the con-
que'ft. Pbo. Conqueft ! — Revenge !— Hold, let me think—
O horror!.
Revenge ! — O what revenge ? Bleed on, my wounds ;. For thus to be reveng'd, were it not worfe Than all that I can fuffer ? — But Eudocia — Where will (he, then— Shield her, ye pitying pow'rs>. And let me die in peace !
Abu. Hear me once more. 'Tis all I have to offer ; mark me now \ Caled has fworn Eudocia ihall be fafe.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 39
Pho. Ha! fafe! — but how ? a wretched captive, tool
Abu. He fwears fhe (hall be free, me lhall be thine.
Pho. Then I am loft, indeed—' O cruel bounty! * How can I be at once both curs'd and happy ?'
Abu. The time draws near, and I muft quickly leave
thee;
But firft reflecl, that in this fatal night Slaughter and rapine may be loos'd abroad. And while they roam with undiftinguifh'd rage, Should Ihe thou lov'ft — well may 'ft thou ftart — be
made,
Perhaps unknown, fome barb'*ous foldier's prey. Should fhe then fall a facrifice to luft, Or brutal fury —
Pho, O — this pulls my heart-ftrings ! [Falls.
Earth, open — fave me, fave me from that thought, ^There's ruin in it, 'twill, it will undo me.
Abu. Nay, do not plunge thyfelf in black defpair; Look up, poor wretch, thou art not fhipwreck'd yet, Behold an anchor; am not I thy friend? ' Yet hear me and be bleft.'
Pho. [rifing,~\ Hah ! who, what art thou ? [Raving. My friend? that's well; but hold — are all friends
honeft ? What's to be done? — Hum, hark ! what voice is that?
'Abu. There is no voice ; 'tis yet the dead of night, The guards, without, keep filent watch around us.
Pho. Again — it calls — 'tis fhe — O lead me to her— -
Abu. Thy paffion mocks thee with imagin'd founds.
Pho. Sure 'twas Eudocia's voice cry'd out— .Forbear. What mail I do ?— O Heav'n !
Abu. Heav'n fhews thee what. Nay, now it is too late ; fee Caled comes With anger on his brow ; quickly withdraw To the next tent, and there —
Pho. [Raving.] What do I fee? Damafcus ! conqueft ! ruin ! rapes and murder ! Villains ! — Is there no way — O fave her, fave her f
[Exit with Abudah. Enter Caled «#</Daran.
Par. Behold, on thy approach they ihift tteir ground.
4o THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Cal. 'Tis as thou fay'ft, he trifles with my mercy,
Dar. Speak, ihall I fetch his head ?
Cal. No, flay thou here,
I cannot fpare thee yet. Raphan, go thou. [To an officer, But hold — I've thought again— he mall not die. Go, tell him he mail live, till he has feen Damafcus fink in flame, 'till he behold That flave, the woman-idol he adores, Or giv'n a prize to fome brave Muffulman, Or flain before his face; then if he fue For death as for a boon— perhaps we'll grant it.
[Exit Raphan,
Dar. The captains wait thy orders.
Cal. Are the troops Ready to march ?
Dar. They are.
* [ 7 'he captains pafs fy as they are named*
Cal. ' Where's Abu-Taleb > ' Alcorafh ?— O, your valiant tribes, I thank 'em,
• Fled from their ilarfdard 1 will they now redeem it ?
• Omar and Serjabil ? — 'tis well, I fee 'em.
• You know your duty. You, Abdorraman,
' Mull charge with Raphan.' Mourn, thou haughty- city !
The bow is bent, nor can 'ft thou 'fcape thy doom. Who turns his back henceforth, our prophet curfe him I Dar. But who commands the trufty bands of Mecca? Thou know'ft. their leader fell in the laft fight.
Cal. 'Tis true; thou, Daran, well deierv'ft that
charge ;
I've mark'd what a keen hatred, like my own, Dwells in thy breaft againft thefe chriftian dogs. Dar. Thou doll me right. Cal. And therefore I'll reward it. Be that command now thine. And here— this fabre, Blefs'd in the field by Mahomet himfelf At Chaibar's profperous fight, mall aid thy arm. Dar. Thanks, my good chief: with this I'll better thank thee. [Taking the/cimitar.
Cal. Myfelf will lead the troops of the .black
ftandard, And at the eailern gate begin the florm.
Dar.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 41
Dar. But why do we not move ? 'twill foon be day. Methinks I'm cold, and would grow warm with action.
CaL Then hafte and tell Abudah O tkou'rt
welcome,
Enter Abudah.
Thy charge awaits thee. Where's the ftubborn cap tive ?
Abu. Indeed he's brave, I left him for a moment In the next tent. He's fcarcely yet himfelf.
CaL But is he ours ?
Abu. The threats of death are nothing ; Tho' thy lall meflage fhook his foul, as winds On the bleak hills bend down fome lofty pine ; Yet ftill he held his root; till I found means, Abating fomewhat of thy firft demand, If not to make him wholly ours, at leaft To gain fufficient to our end. , CaL Say how ?
Abu, Oft he inclined, oft flatted back ; at laft, When juft cpnfenting, for a while he paus'd, Stood fix'd in thought, and lift his eyes to Heav'n ; Then, as with frefh recover'd force, cry'd out,
Renounce my faith? Never 1 anfwer'd, no,
That now he mould not do it.
CaL How?
Abu. Yet hear.
For fmce I faw him now fo loft in pafiion, That muft be left to his more temperate thoughts. Mean time I urg'd, conjur'd, at laft conitrain'd him By all he held moft dear, nay, by the voice Of Providence, that call'd him now to fave, With her he lov'd, perhaps the lives of thoufands, No longer to refift his better fate, But join his arms in prefent action with us, And fwear he would be faithful.
CaL What, no more ? Then he's a Chriftian ftill.
Abu. Have patience yet : For if by him we can furprife the city—
CaL Say'ftthou?
Abu. Hear what's agreed ; but on the terms That ev'ry unrefifting life be fpar'd.
I mail
42 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
I mall command fome chofen faithful bands ; Phocyas will guide us to the gate, from whence He late efcap'd, nor do we doubt but there With eafe to gain admittance.
CaL This is fomething. .And yet I do not like this haljf-ally— - Is he not flill a Chriftian ?•- but no matter Mean time I will attack the eafterrr gate ; Who firlt fucceeds gives entrance to the reft. Hear, all ! — Prepare ye now for boldeii deeds, And know the prophet will reward your valour* Think -that ye all to certain triumph move ; Who falls in fight yet meets the prize above* .There, in the gardens of eternal fpring, While birds of Paradife around you fing, Each with his blooming Beauty by his fide, Shall drink j«ch wines that in full rivers glide, Breathe fragrant gales o'er fields of fpice that blow, And gather fruits immortal as they grow j Ecftatic blifs mail your whole powers employ, A-nd ev'ry fenfc be loft in ev'ry joy. [Exeunt*
ACT IV. SCENE A great fquare in tie city> before the governor's palace.
Enter Abudah, Saracen captains and foldiers ; with Eumenes, Herbis, and others of the Chriftians un armed*
IT muft be fo — Farewell, devoted walls ! — To be furpris'd thus !— - Hell and all ye
fiends, How did ye watch this minute for deftruction !
Herb. We've been betray'd by riot and debauch : Curfe on the traitor guard ! Eum. The guard above, Did that fleep too ?
tnVU*
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 43
Abu. Chriftians, complain no more. What you have alk'd is granted. Are ye men, And dare ye queftion thus, with bold impatience, Eternal Juftice !— Know, the doom from Heav'n Falls on your towers, refiftlefs as the bolt That fires the cedars on your mountain tops. Be meek, and learn with humble awe to bear The mitigated ruin. Worfe had follow'd, Had ye oppos'dioiir numbers. Now you're fafej Quarter and liberty are giv'n to all ; And little do you think how much ye owe To one brave enemy, whom yet ye know not.
Enter Artamon haftily. * Art. All's loft !- Ha ! Who are thefe ?
Sum. All's loft, indeed.
Yield up thy fvvord, if thou would'ft (hare our fafety. Thou com'it too late to bring us news.
Art. O no.
The news I bring is from the eaftern guard. Caled has forc'd the gate, and but he's here.
[A cry without.] Fly, fly; they follow— quarter, mercy, quarter*! [Several perfons as purfutd run over the ft age.
Cal. [without.] No quarter! Kill, I fayj are they not Chriftians ?
More blood ! our prophet afks it.
He enters with Daran, £sfr. What, Abudah?
Well met !-— but wherefore are thefe looks of peace ? Why fleeps thy fword ?
Abu. Caled, our taik is over. • Behold the chiefs ; they have refign'd the palace.
Cal. And fworn t' obey our law ?
Abu. No.
Cal. Then fall on.
Abu. Hold yet, and hear me— Heav'n by me has
fpar'd
The fword its cruel tafk. On eafy terms We've gain'd a bloodlefs conqueit.
Cal. I renounce it.
Curfe on thofe terms ; the city's mine by ftorra. Fall on, I fav
44 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Abu. Nay then, I fwear ye {hall not.
Cal. Ha !— Who am I ?
Abu. The general, and I know What reverence is your due.
[Caled gives Jigns to his men to fall on. > Nay, he who ftirs,
Firft makes his way thro* me. My honour's pledg'd ; Rob me of that who dares. \Fbty flop.] I know thee,
Caled,
Chief in command ; bold, valiant, wife, and faith ful ;
But yet remember I'm a Muffulman ; Nay, more, thou know'ft, companion of the prophet, And what we vow is facred.
Cal. Thou'rt a Chriftian, 1 fwear thou art, and haft betray'd the faith. Curfe on thy new allies !
Abu. No more this ftrife
But ill befeems the fervants of the Caliph,
And cafts reproach — Chriftians, withdraw a while j
I pledge my life to anfwer the conditions —
\Exiunt Eumenes, Herbis, &t* Why, Caled, do we thus expofe ourfelves A fcorn to nations that defpife our law ? Thou call 'ft me Chriftian — What ! Is it becaufc • I prize my plighted faith, that I'm a Chriftian ? Come, 'tis not well, and if —
Cal. What terms are yielded ?
Abu. Leave to depart, to all that will ; an oath Firft giv'n, no more to aid the war again ft us, An unn^flefted march. Each citizen To take his goods, not more than a mule's burden ; The chiefs fix mules, and ten the governor. Befides fome few flight arms for their defence Againft the mountain robbers,
CaL Now, by Mahomet, Thou haft equip'd an army.
Abu. Canft thoa doubt The greater part far will choofe to ftay, Receive our law, or pay th' accuftom'd tribute ? What fear we then from a few wretched bands
SIEGE of DAMASCUS,
? SMITH
/no£ neat
no CYA s.
T& lo«r _
i j'ti/'hdid/^ flau ?y, iff?. fy '• wwndej £
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 45
Of fcatter'd fugitives ?— Befides, thou know'ft What towns of ftrength remain yet unfubdu'd. Let us appear this once like generous victors, So future conquefls mall repay this bounty, And willing provinces e'en court fubje&ion.
Cat. Well — be it on thy head, if worfe befall ? This once I yield — but fee it then proclaim'd Thro' allDamafcus, that who will depart Muft leave the place this inftant — Pafs, move on.
[Exeunt*
SCENE II. Fheoutjide of a nunnery.
End. Darknefs is fled ; and yet the morning light Gives me more fears than did night's deadly gloom. Within, without, all, all are foes — €) Phocyas, Thou art perhaps at reft; wou'd I were too!
[After a pauff.
This place has holy charms ; rapine and murder Dare not approach it, but are avv'd to diftance. I've heard that e'en thefe infidels have fpar'd Walls facred to deevotion — World, farewell ! Here will I hide me, 'till the friendly grave Open its arms and Ihelter me for ever. [Ji#7/.,
Enter Phocyas.
Pbo. Did I not hear the murmurs of a voice, This way ? — a woman's, too ? — and feem'd complain ing ? Hark! — No— O torture ! Whither fhall I turn me?
* I've fearch'd the palace rooms in vain ; and now,
* I know not why, fome inftincl: brought me hither. — ' 'Twas here laft night we met. Dear, dear Eudocia! Might I once more — [Going out, he meets her entring.
Eud. Who calls the loft Eudocia? Sure 'tis a friendly voice.
Pho. 'Tis me— O rapture !
Eud, Is't poilible — my Phocyas !
Pho. My Eudocia! Do I yet call thee mine ?
Eud. Do I yet fee thee ?
Yet hear thee fpeak ? — O how haft thou efcap'd From barbarous fwords, and men that know not mercy ?
46 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Pho. I've borne a thoufand deaths fince our laft
parting.
But wherefore do I talk of death ? — for now, Methinks, I'm rais'd almoft to life immortal, And feel I'm bleft beyond the pow'r of change.
Euet. O yet beware left fome event unknown
Again mould part us.
Pho. \_AJide > ,"] Heav'n avert the omen ! None can, my fair, none mail.
Eud. Alas ! thy tranfport Makes thee forget : Is not the city taken ?
Pho. It is.
Eud. And are we not befet with foes ?
Pho. There are no foes — or none to thee No
danger.
' Eud. No foes ?
* Pho. I know not how to tell thee yet
But think, Eudocia, that my matchlefs love And wondrous caufes preordain'd, confpiring, For thee have triumph'd o'er the fierceft foes, And turn'd 'em friends.
s Eud. Amazement ! Friends ? — O all ye guardian Powers ! — Say on — O lead me, Lead me thro' this dark maze of Providence Which thou haft trod, that I may trace thy fteps With iilent awe, and wormip as I pafs.
* Pho. Enquire no more — thou malt know all here-
f after—
• Let me conduct thee hence—
* Eud. O whither next ?
' To what far diftant home ? — But 'tis enough,
' That, favour'd thus of Heav'n, thou art my guide.
• And as we journey on the painful way,
• Say wilt thou then beguile the paffing hours, ' And open all the wonders of thy ftory ?'
Pho. Indulge no more thy melancholy thoughts ; Damafcus is thy home.
Eud. And yet thou fay 'ft Is no longer ours ! — Where is my father ?
Pbo. To mew thee, too, how Fate feems every way
fcn. s 'To
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 47
To guard thy fafety, e'en thy father now, Wert thou within his pow'r, would ftand defeated Of his tyrannic vow. Thou know*ft laft night What hope of aids flatter'd this foolifli city : At break of day th' Arabian fcouts had feiz'd A fecond courier, and from him 'tis learn'd That on their march the army mutiny'd, And Eutyches was flain. ' End. And yet, that now Is of the leaft importance to my peace. But anfwer me ; fay, where is now my father ?' Pbo. Or gone, or juft preparing to depart. JEW. What ! Is our doom revers'd ? And is he then The wretched fugitive ? —
Pho. Thou heav'nly maid ! To free thee, then, from ev'ry anxious thought, Know, I've once more, wrong'd as I am, e'en fav'd Thy father's threaten'd life, nay, fav'd Damafcus From blood and (laughter, and from total ruin. Terms are obtain'd, and general freedom granted To all that will, to leave in peace the city.
Eud. Is't poifible — f now trufl me I could chida ' thee.
* 'Tis much unkind to hold me thus in doubt;' I pr'ythee clear thefe wonders.
* Pbo. 'Twill furprife thee, ' When thou malt know —
' Eiid. What?
' Pbo. To what deadly gulphs f Of horror and defpair, what cruel ftraits ' Of agonizing thought I have been driv'n ' This night, ere my perplex'd bewilder'd foul
* Could find its way — thou £aidft that thou would'ft
' chide; , -^
* I fear thou wilt ; indeed I have done that
I could have wifh'd t* avoid — but for a caufe So lovely, fo belov'd.
* Eud. What doft thou mean ?
I'll not indulge a thought that thou could'fl do One ad unworthy of thyfelf, thy honour, And that firm zeal againil thcfe foes of Heav'n,
' Which
THE SIEGE OP DAMASCUS.
Which won my heart at firft to (hare in all Thy dangers and thy fame, and wiih thee mine. Thou couldft not fave thy life by means inglorious.
* Pbo. Alas ! thou know'ft me not — I'm man, frail
* man,
To error born ; and who that's man is perfect ? To fave my life ? O .no, well was it rifk'd For thee ! had it been loft, 'twere not too much, And thou but fafej — O what wouldft thou have
• faid,
If I had rifk'd my foul to fave Eudocia ?
' Eud. Ha ! fpeak — O no, be dumb— it cannot
'be!
And yet thy looks are changed, thy lips grow pale. Why doft thou make ?— alas ! I tremble too ! Thou couldft not, haft not fworn to Mahomet ? ' Pbo. No — I mould firft have dy'd — nay, giv'n
« up thee.
* End. O Phocyas ! Was it well to try me thus !— - And yet another deadly fear fucceeds.
How came thefe wretches hither ? Who revived
Their fainting arms to unexpected triumph f
For while thou fought'ft, and fought'ft the Chri&
' tian caufe,
Thefe batter'd walls were rocks impregnable, Their tow'rs of adamant. But O, I fear Some act of thine.' Pbo. Oh ! I muft tell thee all. But pr'ythee do not frown on me, Eudocia ! I found the wakeful foe in midnight council Refolv'd ere day to make^a frefh attack, Keen for revenge, and hungry after (laughter. Could my rack'd foul bear that, and think of thee ! Nay, think of thee expos'd a helplefs prey To fome fierce ruffian's violating arms ? O, had the world been mine in that extreme I (hculd have giv'n whole provinces away,
Nay all and thought it little for thy ranfom !
Eud. For this then Oh thou haft betray'd
the city ? Diftruftful in the righteous Pow'rs above,
6 That
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 49
That ftill proteft the chafte and innocent : And to avert a feign'd uncertain danger, Thou haft brought certain ruin on thy country !
Pbo. No, thou forget'ft the friendly terms the
fword, Which threaten'd to have fill'd thefe ftreets with
blood,
Is (heath 'd in peace ; thy father, thou, and all The citizens are fafe, uncaptiv'd, free.
Eud. Safe? free? O no — life, freedom, ev'ry
good,
Turns to a curfe, if fought by wicked means. Yet fure it cannot be ! are thefe the terms On which we meet ? — No — we can never meet On terms like thefe ; the hand of death itfelf Could not have torn us from each others arms -joa Like this dire aft, this more than fatal blow ! In death, the foul and body only part To meet again, and be divorc'd no more ; But now.
Pho. Ha ! Lightning blaft me ! Strike me, Ye vengeful bolts ! if this is my reward I Are thefe my hop'd for joys ? Is this the welcome The wretched Phocyas meets, from her he lov'd
e More than life, fame, e'en to his foul's diftrac-
tion ?
Eud. Hadft thou not help'd the flaves of Mahomet, To fpread their impious conquefts o'er thy country, What welcome was-there in Eudocia's power She had withheld from Phocyas ? ' but alas !
* 'Tis thou haft blafted all our joys for ever,
* And cut down hope like a poor mort-lived flower,
* Never to grow again !' Pbo. Cruel Eudocia!
If in my heart's deep anguifti I've been forc'd
A while from what I was doft thou rejeft me ?
Think of the caufe
Eud. The caufe ! There is no caufe ! Not univerfal nature could afford A caufe for this. What were dominion, pomp, The wealth of nations, nay, of all the world,
C « The
50 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
* The world itfelf, or what a thoufand worlds,* If weigh'd with faith unfpotted, heav'nly truth, Thoughts free from guilt, the empire of the mind, And all the triumphs of a godlike breaft
Firm and unmov'd in the great caufe of virtue ?
Pho. How fhall I anfwer thee ? — My foul is aw'd, And trembling owns th' eternal force of reafon ! But oh ! can nothing then atone, or plead For pity from thee ?
Eud. Canft thou yet undo
The deed that's done, recall the time that's paft r ' O call back yefterday, call back lail night,
* Tho' with its fears, its dangers, its diftrefs ;' Bid the fair hours of innocence return, When, in the loweft ebb of changeful fortune, Thou wert more glorious in Eudocia's eyes
Than all the pride of monarchs ! but that deed—
Pfoo. No more thou waken 'ft in my tortur'd
heart The cruel, confcious worm that flings to madnefs.
0 I'm undone !— - — I know it, and can bear To be undone for thee ; but not to lofe thee.
Eud, Poor wretch ! — —I pity thee !— — but art thou Phocyas !
The man I lov'd ?- 1 could have dy'd with thee
Ere thou didft this ; then we had gone together,
A glorious pair, and foar'd above the ftars,
' Bright as the ftars themfelves ; and as we pafs'd
* The heav'nly roads and milky ways of light,
* Had heard the bleft inhabitants with wonder
* Applaud our fpotlefs love.' But never, never Wijl I be made the curft reward of treafon,
To feal thy doom, to bind a hellifh league, And to infure thy everlafting woe.
Pbo. What league ? — 'tis ended — I renounce it— thus — [Knetls.
1 bend to Heav'n and thee O thou divine,
Thou matchlefs image of all-perfecl goodnefs ! Do thou but pity yet the wretched Phocyas, Heav'n will relent, and all may yet be well.
Eud.
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 51
End. No— we muft part. 'Twill aflc whole years
of forrow
To purge away this guilt. Then do not think Thy Jofs in me is worth one dropping tear ; But, if thou wouldft be reconcil'd to Heav'n, Firft facrifice to Heav'n that fatal paffion Which caus'd thy fall— Farewell: e Forget the loft —
« But how fliall I aflc that ? 1 would have faid,
' For thy foul's peace,' forget the loft Eudocia:
Canft thou forget her ? Oh ! the killing torture,
To think 'twas love, excefs of love, divorc'd us I
Farewell for ftill I cannot fpeak that word,
Thefe tears fpeak for me— O farewell. — [Exit.
Pho. [Raving.] Forever! Return, return and fpeak it; fay forever!
She's gone and now me joins the fugitives.
And yet (he did not pronounce my doom
O hear, all- gracious Heav'n ! wilt thou at once Forgive, and O infpire me to fome acl: This day, that may in part redeem what's paft ! Profper this day, or let it be my laft. [Exit.
A C T V. S C E N E an open place in tkt city.
Enter Caled and Daran meeting*
Cat. QOLDIER, what news ? thou look'ft as i5 thou wert angry.
Dar. And, durft I fay it, fo, my chief, I am, I've fpoke • if it offends, my head is thine, Take it, and I am filent.
Cal. No ; fay on.
I know thee honeft, and perhaps I guefs What knits thy brow in frowns
Dar. Is this, my leader,
A conquer'd city ! View yon vale of palms :
Behold the vanquifh'd Chriftian triumphs ftill, Rich in his flight, and mocks thy barren war.
C 2 Cal.
53 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS,
Cal. The vale of palms !
Dar. Beyond thofe hills, the place Where they agreed this day to meet and halt, To gather all their forces ; there, difguis'd, Juft now I've vievy'd their camp — O I could curfe My eyes for what they've feen.
Cal. What haft thou feen ?
Dar. Why, all Damafcus ; — All its foul, its life, Its heart's blood, all its treafure, piles of plate, Croffes enrich'd with gems, arras and filks, And vefts of gold, unfolded to the fun, That rival all his luilre.
Cal. How!
Dar. 'Tis true.
The bees are wifely bearing off their honey, And foon the empty hive will be our own.
Cal. So forward too ? Curfe on this foolim treaty.
Dar. Forward — it looks as they had been fore warn 'd.
By Mahomet, the land wears not the face Of war, but trade ; and thou wouldft fwear its mer chants
Were fending forth their loaded caravans To all the neighbouring countries.
* Cal. [Aftde.] Ha ! this Harts
A lucky thought of Mahomet's firft exploit, When he purfu'd the caravan of Coram, And from a thoufand mif-believing flavcs Wrefted their ill-heap'd goods, transferr'd to thrive
In holier hands, and propagate the faith.
[ToDaran.] 'Tis faid, the Emperor had a ward-
' robe here ' Of coftly filks.
* Dar. That, too, they have remov'd.'
Cal. Dogs ! infidels ! 'tis more than was allow'd. Dar. And mail we not purfue 'em — Robbers!
thieves !
That fteal away themfelves, and all they're worth, And wrong the valiant foldier of his due.
Cal. [Aftde.] The caliph mall know this— he fliall, Abudah.
This
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 53
This is thy coward bargain- 1 renounce it.
Daran, we'll flop their march, and make a fearch.
Dar. And ft rip ?
Cat. And kill.
Dar. That's well. And yet I fear Abudah's Chriitian friend.
Col. If poflible,
He mould not know of this ; no, nor Abudah. By the feven heav'ns ! his foul's a Chriftian too, And 'tis by kindred inftindt he thus faves Their curfed lives, and taints our caufe with mercy*
Dar. I knew my general would not fuffer this : Therefore I've troops prepar'd without the gate, Juft mounted for purfuit. Our Arab horfe Will in few minutes reach the place ; yet Itill
I muft repeat my doubts that devil Phocyas
Will know it foon 1 met him near the gate,
My nature fickens at him, and forebodes I know not what of ill..
CaL No more- ; away
With thy cold fears we'll march this very inftant,
And quickly make this thriftlefs conqueft good : The fword too has been wrong'd, and thirits for blood. [Exeunt.
SCENE A valley full of tents \ baggage and harnefs lying up and down among ft them. *The prof- peft terminating with palm-trees and hills at a dif- tance.
Eumenes, with officers, attendants, and crowds of the people of Damafcus.
Eum. [Entering.} Sleep on — and angels be thy
guard ! — foft fl umber
Has gently ilole her from her griefs awhile. Let none approach the tent.— Are out-guards plac'd On yonder hills ? [To an officer,
i Off. They are.
Eum. \ftriking his breaft.] Damafcus ! Oh
Still are than here .? Let me intreat you, friends,
C 3 To
54 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
To keep ftrift order ; I have no command, And can but now advife you.
i Cit. You r.re ftill Our head and leader.
' 2 Cit. We refolve t' obey you.'
3 Cit. We're all prepared to follow you.
Eutn. I thank you.
TJhe fun will foon go clown upon our forrows, And 'till to-morrow's dawn this is our home : Mean while, each, as he can, forget his lofs, And bear the preftnt lot.-
Officer. Sir, I have mark'd
The'camp's extent ; 'tis ftretch'd quite thro' the val ley. I think that more than half the city's here.
Eum. The profpeft gives me much relief. I'm
pleas'd
My honeft countrymen, t' obferve your numbers j And yet it fills my eyes with tears 'Tis faid The mighty Perfian wept, when he furveyM His numerous army, but to think 'em mortal ; Yet he then flourifh'd in profperity.
Alas ! what's that ? Prosperity ? a harlot
That fmiles but to betray ? O mining ruin ! Thou nurfe of paffions, and thou bane of virtue ! O felf-deftroying moafter I that art blind. Yet putt'ft our reason's eyes, that ftill mould guide
thee,
Then plungeft down fome precipice unfeen, And art no more !— Hear me, all-gracious Heav'n 1 Let me wear out my fmall remains of life Obfcure, content with humble poverty, Or in affliction's hard but wholefome fchool,
If it muft be I'll learn to know myfelf,
And that's more worth than empire. But, O Heav'n, Curfe me no more with proud profperity ! It has undone me ! — Herbis, where, my friend, Haft thou been this long hour ?
Enter Herbis. On yonder fummit,
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 55
To take a farewel profpecl of Damafcus.
Eum. And is it worth a look ?
Herb. No I've forgot it.
All our poflefiions are a grafp of air : We're cheated whilft we think we hold them faft ; And when they're gone, we know that they were no thing. But I've a deeper wound.
Eum. Poor good old man ! 'Tis true; — thy fon — there thou'rt indeed unhappy*
Enter Artamon. What, Artamon ? art thou here, too ?
Art. Yes, fir.
I never boafted much of my religion, Yet I've fome honour and a foldier's pride : I like not thefe new lords.
Eum. Thou'rt brave and honeft. Nay, we'll not yet defpair. A time may come When from thefe brute barbarians we may wreft Once more our pleafant feats. — Alas ! how foon The flatterer Hope is ready with his fong To charm us to forgetfulnefs ! — No more — Let that be left to Heav'n ; — See, Herbis, fee, Methinks we've here a goodly city yet ! Was it not thus our great forefathers liv'd, In better times ? — in humble fields an4 tents, With all their flocks and herds, their moving
wealth ?
See too! where our own Pharphar winds his ftream Thro' the long vale, as if to follow us, And kindly offers his cool wholfome draughts, To eafe us in our march ! Why, this is plenty.
Enter Eudocia.
My daughter ? — wherefore haft thou left thy tent ? What breaks fo foon thy reft ?
Eud. Reft is not there,
Or I have fought in vain, and cannot find ito Oh no— we're wanderers, it is our. doom : There is no reft for us. Eum. Thou art not well.
C A
56 THE STEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Eud. * I would, if poflible, avoid myfelf.' I'm better now near you.
Eum. Near me ? alas !
The tender vine fo wreaths its folded arms Around Tome falling elm ! — it wounds my heart To think thou fbllow'ft but to mare my my ruin. I have loft all but thee.
Eud. O fay not fo.
You have loft nothing ; no you have preferv'd,.
Immortal wealth, your faith inviolate
To Heav'n and to your country. Have you not
Refus'd to join with profp'rous wicked men,
And hold from them a falfe inglorious greatnefs ?
Ruin is yonder, in Damafcus now
The feat abhorr'd of curfed infidels.
Infernal error, like a plague, has fpread
Contagion thro' its guilty palaces,
And we are fled from death.
Eum. Heroic maid !
Thy words are balfam to my griefs. Eudocia, I never knew thee till this day ; I knew not How many virtues I had wrong'd in thee.
Eud. If you talk thus you have not yet forgiv'n me.
Eum. Forgiv'n thee? — why, for thee it is, thee
only
I think Heav'n yet may look with pity on us ; Yes, we muft all forgive each other now.
Poor Herbis, too we both have been to blame,
O Phocyas but it cannot be recall'd*
Yet were he here, we'd afk him pardon too. My child 1 meant not to provoke thy tears.
Eud. [Ajtde.] O why is he not here ? Why do I fee Thoufands of happy wretches, that but feenv Undone, yet ftill are bleft in innocence, And why was he not one r
Enter an Officer.
I Off". Where is Eumencs ?
Eum. What means thy breathlefs hafte ?
i Of. I fear there's danger ; For as I kept my watch, I fpy'd afar
Thick
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 57
Thick clouds of dull, and on a nearer view Perceiv'd a body of Arabian horfe Moving this way. I faw them wind the hill,. And then loft fight of 'em.
Herb. I faw 'em, too,
Where the roads meet on t'other fide thefe hills, But took them for fome band of Chriftian Arabs Croffing the country. — This way did they move ?
1 Off. With utmoft fpeed.
Eum. If they are Chriftian Arabs, They come as friends j if other, we're fecure By the late terms. Retire awhile, Eudocia, Till I return, [Exit Eudociav
P1L to the guard myfelf. Soldier, lead on the way.
Enter another Officer*.
2 Ojf. Arm, arm ! we're ruin'd I The foe is in the camp..
Eum.. So foon ? 2 Of. They've quitted
Their horfes, and with fword in hand have forc'ct Our guard : they fay they come for plunder.
Eum. Villains !.
Sure Caled knows not of this treachery. Come on — we can fight ftill. We'll make 'em knowr What 'tis to urge the wretched to defpair. [Exeunt* [A noife of fighting is heard for fome time* Enter Daran, with a party of Saracenyo/^V/v., Dar. Let the fools fight at diftance.— Here's the
har.veft.
Reap, reap, my countrymen ! — ' Ay, there — firft clear
' Thofe further tents.'
[Exeunt. foUiers bearing off 'baggage ', &O. [Looking between the tents.'} What's here, a woman ?-— Fair t » '',.
She feems, and well atdr'd ! — -Itfhall be fo,
I'll ftrip her firft, and then
[Exit ; and returns nvith Eudocia.- Eud. [Struggling.] Mercy, O fpare me !
C 5 HeIP>
53 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Help, fave me !-— What, no help — Barbarian ! mon-
fter! Heav'n, hear my cries.
Dar. Woman, thy cries are vain, No help is near.
Enttr Phocyas.
Pbo. Villain, thou ly'ft ! take that To loofe thy hold— \Pujhing at htm with bis f pear.
Dar. ' What, thou ? my evil fpirit ! ' Is't thou that haunt'ft me Hill ? — but thus I thank * thee, [Offering to ftrikc with bis fcimitar.
' It will not be* Lightning for ever blaft
This coward arm that fails me ! — O vile Syrian,
[Falls.
I'm kill'd— O curfe [Dies.
Pho. ' Die then ; thy curfes choke thee ! '
Eudocia !
Eud. Phocyas! O aftonifhment !
Then is it thus that Heav'n has heard my pray'rs ? I tremble flill — and fcarce have power to aik thee How thou art here ? * or whence this fudden outrage ? ' Pbo. [Walking aftde.} The blood ebbs back that ' fill'd my heart, and now
* Again her parting farewell awes my foul,
* As if 'twere fate, and not to be revok'd.
,* Will (he not now upbraid me ? See thy friends !
* Are thefe, are thefe the villains thou haft trulted ?
* Eud. What means this murmur'd forrow to thy-
« felf?
* Is it in vain that thou haft refcued me
* From favage hands ?— Say, what's th' approaching
' danger ?
' Pbo. Sure ev'ry angel watches o'er thy fafety ! ' Thou feeft 'tis death £ approach thee without awe,
* And barbarifm itfelf cannot profane thee.
• Eud. Th'ou doft not anfwer,' whence are thefe
alarms ? Pbo. Some flores remov'd, and not allow'd by
treaty,
Have drawn the Saracens to make a fearch. perhaps 'twill quickly be agreed— but Oh !
c Thou
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 59
Thou know'ft, Eudocia, I'm a banifti'd man, And 'tis a crime I'm here once more before thee; Elfe, might I fpeak, 'twere better for the prefent If thou wouldft leave this place.
Eud. No I've a father,
(And mall I leave him ?) whom we both have wrong'd, ' Or he had not been thus driv'n out, expos'd, * The humble tenant of this fhelt'ring vale
' For one poor night's repofe.' And yet, alas !'
For this laft aft how would I thank thee, PJiocyas ?— I've nothing now but pray'rs and tears to give, Cold fruitlefs thanks — But 'tis fome comfort yet That fate allows this fhort reprieve, that thus We may behold each other, and once more May mourn our woes, ere yet we part. — —
Pho. For ever !
'Tis then refolv'd it was thy cruel fenfence ;
And I am here to execute that doom.
Eud. What doft thou mean ?
Pho. [Kneeling.} Thus at thy feet
Eud. O rife !
Pbo. Never — No, here I'll lay my burthen down 5 I've try'd its weight, nor can fupport it longer. Take thy laft look ; if yet thy eyes can bear To look upon a wretch accurft, caft off By Heav'n and thee- — a little longer yet And I am mingled with my kindred duft, By thee forgotten and the world,
Eud. Forbear !
O cruel man ! why wilt thou rack me thus ? Didft thou not mark — thou didft, when laft we part ed,
The pangs, the ftrugglings of my fuffering foul ? That nothing but the hand of Heav'n itfelf Could e'er divide me from thee r — Doft thou now Reproach me thus ? Or can 'it thou have a thought That I can e'er forget thee ?
Pbo. [Rifing.~\ Have a care ! I'll not be tortur'd more with thy falfe pity ; No, I renounce it. See, I am prepar'd.
[Shewing a dagger. C 6 Thy
60 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Thy cruelty is mercy now Farewell.
And Death is now but a releafe from torment.
Eud. Hold — Stay thee yet— O madnefs of de-
fpair ! And wouldft thou die ? Think, ere thou leap the
gulph,
When thou hail trod that dark, that unknown way, Canrt thou return ? What if the change prove worfe,, O think, if then
Pho. No Thought's my deadlieft foe ;
*Tis Hngring racks, and flow confuming fires, And therefore to the grave I'd fly to fhun it.
End. O fatal error — -Like a reftlefs ghoft, It will purfue and haunt thee ftill, e'en there, Perhaps in forms more frightful. ' Death's a name
* By which poorgueffing mortals aredeceiv'd,
* 'Tis no where to be found. Thou fly'ft in vain ' From life, to meet again with that thou fly'ft.' How wilt thou curfe thy rafhnefs then ? How ftart, And fh udder, and (hrink back ? yet how avoid To put on thy new being ?
Pho. So ! I thank thee !
For now I'm quite undone— I gave up all
For thee before, but this ; this bofom friend,
My laft referve. — There^— [T'/jrows away the dagger.-
Tell me now, Eudocia,
Cut off from hope, deny'd the food of life,
And yet forbid to die, what am I now ?
Or what will Fate do with me ?
End. Oh—— [ 'Turns arway weeping.
Pho. Thou weep'ft \
Canil thou Ihed tears, and yet not melt to mercy? O fay, ere yet returning madnefs feize me, Is there in all futurity no profpecl, No diftant comfort ? Not a glimmering light To guide me thro' this maze ? Or muft I now Sit down in darknefs and defpair for ever ?
[Here they both continue filent for fome time* Still art thou filent ? — Speak, difclofe my doom, J That's now fufpended in this awful moment ! O fpeak — for now my pafiions wait thy voice ;
z , My
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 61
My beating heart grows calm, my blood ftands ilifl, . Scarcely I live, or only live to hear thee.
Eud. If yet— But can it be I — I fear — O Phoayas, Let me be filent ftill I
Pho. Hear then this laft,
This only pray'r !- - Heav'n will confent to this. Let me but follow thee, where-e'er thou goeft, But fee thee, hear thy voice ; be thou my angel, , To guide and govern my returning ileps, 'Till long contrition and unweary'd duty Shall expiate my guilt. Then fay, Eudocia, If lik%e a foul anneal'd in purging fires, After whole years thou feeft me white again,. When thou, ev'n thou malt think.
Eud. No more -- This makes My firmeil thoughts, and if --
[Here a cry is heard of perfons JIaughte red in the camp*. • - What Ihrieks of death !
I fear the treacherous foe — Again ! and louder ! • >'i Then they've begun a fatal harveft ! - Hafte, Prevent — O wouldft thou fee me more with comfort, Fly, fave 'em, fave the threaten 'd lives of Chrif-
My father and his friends ! — I dare not ftay - Heav'n be my guide to ihun this gathering ruin.
[Exit Eudocia.
Afoflf/Thocyas. Enter Caled. Cat. [Entering.'] So — Slaughter, do thy work! — — Thefe hands look well. [Looking on his hands. The jovial hunter, ere he quits the field, Firft figns him in the flag's warm vital ilream With ftains like thefe, to mew 'twas gallant fport. Phocyas ! Thou'rt met ! — But whether thou art here .
[ Comes forward*
A friend or foe I know not ; if a friend* Which is Eumenes' tent ?
Pho. Hold, -- 'pafs no further., Cal. Say'ft thou, not pafs ? Pho. No -- on thy life no further. Cal, What, doft thou frown tool — fure thou know'il me not I
Ph.
62 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
Pho. Not know thee ? — Yes, too well I know thee
now,
O murd'rous friend ! Why all this wafle of blood ? Didft thou not promife. .
Cat. Promife !— — Infolence ! 'Tis well, 'tis well — ' For now I know thee too. ' Perfidious mungrel flave ! Thoil double traitor ! ' Falfe to thy firft and to thy latter vows !
• Villain !'
Pho. ' That's well— Go on — I fvvear I thank thee.
* Speak it again, and ftrike it thro* my ear !»
A villain! Yes, thou mad'ft me fo, thou devil! And mind'ft me now what to demand from thee. Give, give me back my former felf, my honour, My country's fair efteem, my friends, my all— Thou canft not — O thou robber ! — Give me then Revenge, or death ! The laft I well deferve, That yielded up my foul's beft wealth to thee, For which accurft be thou, and curft thy prophet ! CaL Hear'ft thou this, Mahomet I — Blafpheming
mouth !
For this thou foon malt chew the bitter fruit Of Zacon's tree, the food of friends below.
Go— — fpeed thee thither.-
[Pufhing at him with bis lance, which Phocyas
puts by and kills him. Pho. Go thou firit thyfelf. CaL [Falling.} O dog ! Thou gnaw'ft my heart ! —
falfe Mahomet !
Is this, is this then my reward for — O — [Dies,
" Pho. ¥ hanks to the Gods I have reveng'd my
" country." [Exit Phocyas.
Several parties o/*Chriftians and Saracens pafs over the
further part of the ft age fghting. The former are
beaten. At laft Eumenes rallies them, and makes a.
ftand. Then enter Ahudah attended.
Alu. Forbear, forbear, and fheath the bloody
fword ! Eum. Abudah ! is this well?
Abu. No 1 muft own
You've caufe.—O MuiTulmans, look here, behold
Where,
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 63
Where, like a broken fpear, your arm of war Is thrown to earth !
Eum. Ha! Caled?
Abu. Dumb and breathlefs. Then thus has Heav'n chaftis'd us in thy fall, And thee for violated faith ; farewel, Thou great, but cruel man !
Eum. This thirft of blood In his own blood is quench'd.
Abu. Bear hence his clay Back to Damafcus. ' Cafl a mantle firft ' O'er this fad fight. So mould we hide his faults. — •' Now hear, ye fervants of the prophet, hear! A greater death than this demands your tears, For know, your lord the Caliph is no more ! Good Abubeker has brcath'd out his fpirit To him that gave it. Yet your Caliph lives, Lives now in Ornar. Se«j behold his fignet, Appointing me, fuch is his will, to lead His faithful armies warring here in Syria. Alas ! — Foreknowledge fure of this event Guided his choice ! — Obey me then your chief. For you, O Chriftians ! know, with fpeed I came, On the firil notice of this foul defign, Or to prevent it, or repair your wrongs. Your goods mail be untouch'd, your perfons fafe, Nor mail our troops, henceforth, on pain of death, Moleft your march. •>— If more you afk, 'tis granted.
Eum. Still juft and brave ! thy virtues would adorft A purer faith ! Thou better than thy feel, That dar'ft decline from that to ads of mercy ! Pardon, Abudah, if thy honeft heart Makes us e'en wifh thee ours.
Abu. [Ajide.~\ O Power fupreme, That mad'ft my heart, and know'ft its inmoft frame \ If yet I err, O lead me into truth,
Or pardon unknown error ! Now, Eumenes,
Friends as we may be, let us part in peace.
[ Exeunt federally. Enter Eudocia ^and Artamon.
f J5W. Alas ! but is my father fafe ?
* Art.
64 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS;
' Art. Heav'n knows. ' I left him juft preparing to engage ; ' When doubtful of th' event he bad me hafte
* To warn his deareft daughter of the danger,.
* And aid your fpeedy flight.
' Eud. My flight? But whither? « O no — if he is loft. '
Art. ' I hope not fo.
c The noife is ceas'd. , Perhaps they're beaten off. ' We foon mail know: — here's one that can inform ' us.'
Enter Officer. Soldier, thy looks fpeak well. What fays thy tongue ?•'
Off. The foe's withdrawn ; Abudah has been here*, And has renew'd the terms. Caled is kill'd.
Art. Hold— firft, thank Heav'n for that 1: Where is Eumenes?
Off". I left him well ; by his command I came To iearch you out, and let you know this news... I've more ; but that
Art. Is bad, perhaps ; fo fays
This fudden paufe. Well, be it fo ; let's know it*. 'Tis but life's checker'd lot.
Off". Eumenes mourns A friend's unhappy fall ; Herbis is flam ;.. A fettled gloom feem'd to hang heavy on him,. Th' effect of grief, 'tis thought, for his loft fon. When, on the fijft attack, like one that fought The welcome means of death, with defperate valour He prefs'd the foe, and met the fate he wifh'd.
Art. See, where Eumenes comes ! — What's this ?
He feems To lead fome wounded friend — Alas ! 'tis —
\^They withdraw to one fide of the. Ji age. Enter Eumenes leading in Phocyas with an arrow in his breaft.
Eum. Give me thy wound ! O I could bear it for
thee :
This goodnefs melts my heart. What ! in a moment* Forgetting all thy wrongs, in kind embraces T'exchange forgivenefs thus !
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 65
Pho. Moments are few, And muft not now be wafted. O Eumenes, Lend me thy helping hand a little farther.
0 where, where is me ? [They advance* Bum. Look, look here, Eudocia !
Behold a fight that calls for all our tears.
Eud. Phocyas, and wounded! — O what cruel
hand — Pho. No, 'twas a kind one — Spare thy tears, Eu-
dpcia !
For mine are tears of joy.— > Eud. Is't pofiible ? Pho. 'Tis done — the Pow'rs fupreme have heard
my pray'r,
And profper'd me with fome fair deeds this day. I've fought once more, and for my friends, my coun try. By me the treacherous chiefs are flain : a while
1 ftopp'd the foe, till, warn'd by me before Of this their fudden march, Abudah came :
But firft this random (haft had reach'd my breaft. Life's mingled fcene is o'er — 'Tis thus that Heav'n At once chaftifes, and \ hope accepts me; And now I wake as from the fleep of death.
Eud. What fhall I fay to th.ee, to give thee com* fort?
Pho. Say only thou forgiv'ft me — O Eudocia ! No longer now my dazzled eyes behold thee Thro' paffion's mifts ; my foul now gazes on thee* And fees thee lovelier in unfading charms, Bright as, the mining angel Hoft that flood ! WhilftI— But there, it fm arts—
Eud. Look down, look down, Ye pitying Pow'rs ! and heal this pious forrow !
£umt 'Tis not too late, we hope, to give thee
help.
See ! yonder is my tent. We'll lead thee thither ; Come, enter there, and let thy wound be drefs'd. Perhaps it is not mortal.
Pho. No ! not mortal ! No flattery now. By all my hopes hereafter.
For
66 THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.
For the world's empire I'd not lofe this death ! Alas ! I but keep in my fleeting breath A few ihort moments, till I have conjur'd you That to the world you witnefs my remorfc For my paft errors, and defend my fame. For know — foon as this pointed iteel's drawn out Life follows thro' the wound. Eud. What doit thou fay ? O touch not yet the broken fprings of life ? A 'thoufand tender thoughts rife in my foul. How mail I give them words ? ' O, till this hour ' I fcarce have tailed woe ! — this is indeed *' To part—But oh'—
Pho. No more — Death is now painful ! But fay, my friends, whilft I have breath to aflc, (For ftill methinks all your concerns are mine) Whither have you defign'd to bend your journey ?
Eum. Conftantinople is my laft retreat, If Heav'n indulge my wifh ; there I've refolv'd To wear out the dark winter of my life, An old man's ftock of days, I hope not many.
End. There will 1 dedicate myfelf to Heav'n. O Phocyas, for thy fake, no rival elfe Shall e'er poflefs my heart. My father too Confents to this my vow. ' My vital flame There, like a taper on the holy altar, Shall wafte away ; till Heav'n relenting hear Inceflant pray'rs for thee and for myfelf, And wing my foul to meet with thine in blifs. For in that thought I find a fudden hope, As if infpir'd, fprings in my breaft, and tells mt That thy repenting frailty is forgiv'n,' And we mall meet again, to part no more. ^
Pbo. [Plucking out the arrow.] Then all is done— 'twas the laft pang — at length I've giv'n up thee, and the world now is— nothing.
{£>/>/. £«m. Alas ! ' he fails. Help, Artamon, fupport
' him.
' Look, how he bleeds ! Let's lay him gently down ;' Night gathers fail upon him— So — look up, Or fpeak, if thou haft life— Nay then— My daughter !
She
THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. 67
She faints — 'Help there, and bear her to the tent.'
[Eudocia faints.
drt. [Weeping afide.'] I thank ye, eyes I This is
but decent tribute. My heart was full before.
Eum. O Phocyas, Phocyas ! Alas ! he hears not now, nor fees my forrows ! Yet will I mourn for thee, thou gallant youth ! As for a fon — fo let me call thee now ! A much-wrong'd friend ! and an unhappy hero ! A fruitlefs zeal, yet all I now can ihew !. Tears vainly flow for errors learnt too late, When timely caution fliould prevent our fate.
P I-
EPILOGUE.
TXfJL L L Jirs ; you've feen, his paffion to approve*.
A defperate lower give up all for love, All but bis faith, — Methinks now I can 'fpy, Among you airy /parks, fome who would cry. Phoo,, pox,— for that— what neea of fuch a pother ? For one faith left, he would have got another. *True : 'twas your very cafe. Juft what y,ou fay t Our rebel fools were ripe for, t'other day j ^Tho' d if appointed now, they're wifer grown, And, with much grief— -are fore1 d to keep, their own. *£hefe generous madmen gratis fought their ruin, And fet no price, not they ! on their undoing. For gain, indeed, we've others would not dally y Or with ft ale principles ft and jhilli — Jhall 1 — You'll find all their religion, in 'Change- Alley v *There all pur fix, by better means or werfet logo's rule, put money in thy purfe. for t bo* you Differ Jtill in /peculation, For <wty — each head is wifer than the nation r 'fbo* point* of faith for e*uer will divide you, And bravely you declare — none e'er Jhall ride you*, In prafiice all agree, and every man Devoutly Jirives to get what wealth he can : All parties at this golden altar bow, Gain, pow'rful gain's the new religion now.
But leave we this — Since in this circle f mils So many Jhining beauties of our ifle, Who to more generous ends direft their aim* And Jhew us virtue in its fair eft frame ; 5"0 thefe with pride the author bid me fay, ^Twas for your fex he chiefly wrote this play ^ And if in one bright character you find Superior honour, and a noble mind, Know from the life. Eudocia's charms he drew* And hopes the piece Jhall live, that copies you*. Sure of fuccefs, he cannot mifs his end, If evjry Britijh heroine prove his friend.
FINIS.
DOUGLAS.
TRAGEDY,
B Y
MR. HOME.
Marked with the Variations ifl the
MANAGER'S BOOK,
AT THE
Cfceatre * Bogai in
Non egofum ^ates^ fed prifci confcius csvl.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR T. LOWNDES; VV. NICOLL; ANR S. BLADON.
M.DCC.LX^iXIV.
%* Th-e Reader Is defiredto obferve, that the paflages omitted in the Reprefentation at the Theatre, are here preferred, and marked with inverted Commas ; as at Line 20 to 28 in Page 6.
PROLOGUE.
jN ancient times, when Britain*) trade was arms,
And the lov'd mufic of her youth, alarms / A god-like race fu/tain'd fair England 'sfame: Who has not heard of gallant PERC Y'J name ? Ay , and ^DOUGLAS? Such illufirious foes In rival Rome and Carthage never refe! From age to age bright Jhone the Britifh/r/, And every hero ivas a hero's fire. When powerful fate decreed one warrior*: doom, Up fprung the phcenix from his parent's tomb. But whiljl t h of e generous rivals fought and fell > *Tb of e generous rivals lov^d each other well ? Vho* many a Bloody field was lofl and <won, ' Nothing in hate, in honour all was done. When PERCY wrong d defy'd his prince or peers, "* Fajl came /^Do-uc^LAS, with his Scottish /pears i And, when proud DOUG LAS made his Kinghiffoe, ForDovGLAS, PERCY lent his Englifh bow. Expelled their native home by adverfe fate, *They knock' d alternate et each other's gate : *Then llaz?dthe caftle, at the mid tight hour, For him whcfe arms had jhook its firmeft tovj'r.
This night a DOUGLAS your protection claims ; A wife ! a mother! Pity's f oft eft names; *The Jlory of her woes indulgent hear, And grant your fuppliant all Jhe begs, a tear. In confidence Jhe begs ; and hopes to find Each Englifh breajl, like noble PERCY'/, kind.
A 2 DRAMATIS
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DOUGLAS.
\ A
A O E D Y.
A C T I.
*The Court of a Caftlefurrounded with
Enter Lady Randolph.
YE woods and wilds, whofe melancholy gloom Accords with my foul's fadnefs, and draws for tL The voice of forrow from my burfting heart, Farewel a while ; I will not leave you long ; . For in your fnades I deem ibme fpirit dwells, Who from the chiding ilream, or groaning oak> Still hears, and anfwers to Matilda's moan. O Douglas ! Douglas ! if departed ghoftfr Are e'er permitted to review this world, Within the circle of that wood tkou art, And with the paffion of immortals hear'ft My lamentation ^ hear'ft thy wretched wife Weep for her hufband ilain, her infant loft.
A 3 My
6 D O . U G "L A S.
My brother's timelefs death I feem to mourn;
Who perifhed with thee on this fatal day.
To thee I life my voice ; to thee addrefs
The plaint which mortal ear has never heard.
O disregard me not; tho' I am call'd
Another's now, my heart is wholly thine.
Incapable of change, affection lies
Buried, my Douglas, in thy bloody grave.
But Randolph comes, whom fate has made my Lord,
To chide my anguifh, and defraud the dead.
Enter Lord Randolph. Lord Rand. Again thefe weeds of woe ! fay, doft
thou well
To feed a pafiion which con fumes thy life ? The living claim forne duty: vainly thou Beftow'ft "thy cares upon the filent dead.
Lady Rand. Silent, alas! is he for whom I inourn : Childlefs, without memorial of his name, Pie only now in my remembrance lives.
* This fatal day ftirs my time-fettled forrow, ' Troubles afreih the fountain of my heart.'
Lord Rand. ' When was it pure of fadnefs! Thefe
' black weeds
*• Exprefs the wonted colour of thy mind, ' For ever dark and difmal. Seven long y«ars
* Are pafs'd, firice we were join'd by facreA ties:
* Clouds .-ill the while have hung upon thy brow, ' Nor broke nor parted by one gleam of joy.' Time, that wears out the trace of deepeft anguifh,
* As the fea fmooths the prints made in the fand,' Has paft o'er thee in vain.
' Lady Rand. If time to come
Should prove as ineffectual, yet, my Lord,
Thou.canft not blame me. When ourScottifn youth
Vy'd with each other for rny lucklefs love,
Oft 1 befough't them, I implor'd them all
Not to afTail me with my father's aid,
Nor blend their better defliny with mine.
For melancholy had congeaPd my blood,
And froze affection in my chilly b-reafl.
( At
DOUGLAS. 7
At laft my Sire, rous'd with the bafe attempt To force me from him, which thou rend'red'ft vain, To his own daughter bow'd his hoary head, Befought me to commiferate his age, And vow'd he mould not, could not die in peace, Unlefs he faw me wedded and fecur'd From violence and outrage. Then, my Lord! In my extreme diilrefs I call'd on thee, Thee I befpake, profefs'd my firong defire To lead a fingle, folitary life, And begg'd thy Noblenefs not to demand Her for a wife whofe heart was dead to love. How thou perfifted'il after this, thou know 'ft, And muft confefs tHat I am noc unjuft, Nor more to thee than to myfelf injurious. ' Lord Rand. That I confefs ; yet ever m uit regret The grief I cannot cure. Would thou vvert not Composed of grief and tendernefs alone, But hadfl a fpark of other paflions in thee, Pride, anger, vanity, the ftrong defire Of admiration, dear to woman-kind ; Thefe might contend with, and allay thy grief, As meeting tides and currents fmooth our firth. ' Lady^tf/z^. To fuch a caufe the human mind oft owes
* Its tranfient calm, a calm I envy not.
' Lord Rand.' Sure thou art not the daughter of Sir Malcolm ?
Strong was his rage, eternal hisrefentment ;
For when thy brother fell, he fmiPd to hear
That Douglas' fon in the fame field was flaia.
Lady Rand. Oh ! rake not «p the allies of my fathers :
Implacable refentment was their crime,
And grievous has the expiation been.
Contending with the Douglas, gallant lives
Of either houfe were loft; my ancefcors
Compell'd, at lait, to leave their ancient feat
On Tiviot's plealant banks ; and now, of them
No heir is left. Had they not been fo ftern,
I had not been the laft of all my race.
Lord Rand. Thy grief wrefls to its purpofes my words,
I sever afk'd of th'ee that ardent love,
A 4 Which
8 DOUGLAS,
Which in the breafts of fancy's children burns.
Decent afrHlion, and complacent kindnefs
Were all 1 wifh'd for; but I wiih'd in vain,
Hence with the lefs regret my eyes behold
The ftorm of war that gathers o'er this land ;
If 1 mould perilh by the DanHh fword,
Matilda would not ihed one tear the more.
Lady Rand. Thou doft not think fo : woeful as I am,
I love thy merit, and eileem thy virtues.
But whither go'ft thou now ? Lord Rand. Strait to the camp,
Where every warrior on the tip- toe Hands
Of expectation, and impatient afks
Each who arrives, if he is come to tell
The Danes are landed.
Lady Rand. O, may adverfe winds,
Far from the coaft of Scotland, drive their fleet I
And every foldier cf both hefts return
In peace and fafety to his pleafant home !
Lord Rand. Thou fpeak'ft a woman's, hear a warrior's wiih;
Right from their native land, the fiormy north,
May the wind blow, till every keel is nVd
Immoveablein Caledonia** ftrand!
Then (hall our woes repent their bold iuvafion,
And roving armies Chun the fatal more.
' Lady -Rand. War I deteft : but war with foreign foes, Whofe manners, language, and whofelooks are itrange. Is not fo horrid, nor to me fo hateful, As that which with our neigh hours oft we wage. A river here, there an ideal line, By fancy drawn, divides the filler kingdoms. On each fide dwells a people fimilar, As twins are to each other ; valiant both : Both for their valour famous through the world. Yet will they not unite their kindred arms, And, if they mufthave war, wage diflant war, But with each other fight in cruel conflid. Gallant in firife, and noble in their ire, The battle is their palliine. They go forth Gay in the morning, as to fuminer fport;
« When
DOUGLAS. 9
* When evening comes, the glory of the morn, ' The youthful warrior is a clod of clay.
' Thus fall the prime of either haplefs land;
* And fuch the fruit of Scotch and Englifh wars.
' Lord Rand. I'll hear no more: this melody would make e A foldier drop his fvvord, and doff his arms,
* Sit down and weep the conquefts he has made ;
* Yea, (like a monk,) iing reft and peace in heaven
* To fouls of warriors in his battles flain.' Lady, farewel : I leave thee not alone ; Yonder comes one whofe love makes duty light.
Enter Anna.
Anna. Forgive the ralhnefs of your Anna's love Urg'd by affection, I have thus prefum'd To interrupt your folitary thoughts ; And warn you of the hours that you neglect, And lofe in fadnefs.
Lady Rand1. So to lofe my hours Is all the ufe [ wifh to make of time.
Anna* To blame thee, Lady, fuits not with m But fure I am, fince death firftprey'd on man, Never did iifter thus a brother mourn. What had your forrows been if you had loft,. In early youth, the huiband of your heart?
Lady Rand. Oh!.
Anna. Have I diftrefs'd you with oflTcious love,, And ill-tim'd mention of your brother's fate? Forgive me, Lady: humble tho' I am, The mind I bear partakes not of my fortune : So fervently I love you, that to dry Thefe piteous tears, I'd throw my life away.
Lady Rand. What power directed thy UBecnfciou>,
tongue To fpeak as thou haft don,e ? .to name— —
Anna. I know not :
But fince my words have made my miftrefs tremble, I will fpeak fo no more ; .but filent mix , .
My tears with her's.
Lady Rand. No, thou malt not be filent. I'll trull thy faithful love, and thoa Paalt be
A 5 Hence-
io DOUGLAS.
Henceforth th* inftrufled partner of my woes, But what avails it? Can thy feeble pity Rollback the flood of never-ebbirg time? Compel the earth and ocean to give up Their dead alive ?
Jlnna. What means my noble miftrefs?
Lady Rand. Didfl thou not afk what had my forrows
been ?
If I in early youth had loft a hufband? In the cold bofom of the earth is lodg'd, Mangled with wounds, the hufband of my youth; And in fome cavern of the ocean lies My child and his. — —
Anna. O ! Lady, moft rever'd ! The tale wrapt up in your amazing words Deign to unfold.
Lady R axe/. Alas, an ancient feud, Hereditary evil, was the fource Of my misfortunes. Ruling fate decreed, That my brave brother fhould in battle fave The life of Douglas' fon, our houfe's foe : The youthful warriors vow'd eternal frie.ndm.ip. To fee the vaunted fitter of his friend Impatient Douglas to Balarmo came,
U.nder a borrow'd name. My heart he gained ;
Kor did I longrefufe the hand lie begg'd :
My brother's prefence authoriz'd our marriage.
Three weeks, three little weeks, with wings of down,
Had o'er us flown, when my lov'd Lord was call'd
To fight his father's tattles ; and with him,
In fpite of all my tears, did Malcolm go.
Scarce were they gone, when my ftern Sire was tolqt
That the faife itranger was Lord Douglas' fon.
Frantic with rage, the Baron drew his fword,
And queft-on'd-me. Alone, forfaken, faint,
Kneeling beneath his fword, fault'ring 1 took
An oath equivocal, that I ne'er would
Wed one of Douglas' name. Sincerity
Thou firft of virtues, let no mortal leave
Thy onward path ! altho* the ea^th ihaU gape,
And
DOUGLAS. i
And from the gulph of hell deftruction cry To take diflimulation's winding way.
Anna, Alas ! how few of woman's fearful kind Durft own a truth fo hardy ?
Lady Rand. The firft truth ' Js eafieit to avow. This moral learn
This precious moral — from my tragic tale
In a few days the dreadful tidings came That Douglas and my brother both were {lain.
My lord \ my life ! my hufband ! Mighty heaven \
What had I done to merit fuch affliction ?
Anna. My deareft Lady ! many a tale of tears I've liften'd to ; but never did I hear A tale Ib fad as this.
Lady Rand. In the firft days
Of my diftrafting grief, I found myfelf
As women with to be who love their lords.
But who durft tell my father ? The goqd prieft
Who join'd our hands, my brother's ancient tutor,
With his lov'd Malcolm, in the battle fell:
They too alone were privy to the marriage.
On iilence and concealment I refolv'd,
Till time mould make my father's fortune mine.
That very night on which my fon was born,
My nurfe, the only confidant I had,
Set out with him to reach her filler's houfe :
But nurfe, nor infant, have I ever feen
Or heard of, Aana, iince that fatal hour.
' My murder'd child 1 had thy fond mother fear'd
' Thelofs ofthee, me had loud fame; defy'd,
* Defpis'd her father's rage, her father's grief,
* And wander'd with thee thro* the fcornmg world.' Anna. Not feen nor heard of* then perhaps he lives. Lady Rand. No. It was dark December j wind and
rain
Had beat all night. Acrofs the Carron lay The deftin'd roud; and in its (welling flood My faithful fervant perilh'd with my child, ' P haplefs fon ! of a moft haplefs fire ! .
* But they are both at reft; and I alor>e
* Dwell in this world ©f woe, condemu'd to walk, .
A 6 * Like
12 DOUGLAS.
* Like a guilt-troubl'd gholl, my painful rounds:* Nor has defpiteful file permitted me
The comfort of a folitary forrovv.
Tho' dead to love, I was compelPd to wed
Randolph, who fnatch'd me from a villain's arms j
And Randolph now pofTefTes the domains
That by Sir Malcolm's death on me devolv'd;
Domains, that mould to Douglas' fon have giv'n
A Baron's title, and a Baron's power. Such were my Toothing thoughts, while I bewail'd The flaughter'd father of a fon unborn. And when that fon came, like a ray from heav'n, Which mines and difappears ! alas ! my child! How long did thy fond mother grafp the hope Of having thee, (he knew not how, reitor'd. Year after year hath worn her hope away; But left ftill undiminim'd her defire.'
* Anna. The hand, that fpins th' uneven thread of
life,
* May fmoo,th the length that's yet to come of your's.
* Lady Rand. Not in this world : 1 have confider'd
well
' Its various evils, and on whom they fall. ' Alas ! how oft does goodnefs wound itfelf ? 4 And iweet afjfeclion prove the fpring of woe.'
0 ! had I died when my lov'd hufband fell ! Had fome good angel op'd to me the book Of providence, and let me read my life, My hearthad broke when I beheld the Aim Of ills, which one by one I have endur'd.
Anna. That power, whofe minifters good angels are, Hath ihut the book in mercy to mankind. But we muft leave this theme: Glenalvon comes:
1 fawhim bend on you his thoughtful eyes And hitherwards he {lowly ftalks his way.
Lady Rand. I will avoid him. An ungracious pej fon Is doubly irkfome in an hour like this.
Anna. Why fpeaks my Lady thus of Randolph's heir? Lady Rand. Becaufe he's not the heir of Randolph's
virtues. Subtle and ihrewd, he offers to mankind
An
DOUGLAS. 15
An artificial image of himfelf :
And he with eafe can vary to the tafte
Of different men, its features. ' Self-deny'd,
' And matter of his appetites he feems :
' But his fierce nature, like a fox chain'd up,
* Watches to feize unfeen the wiuVd-for prey.
* Never were vice and virtue pois'd fo ill,
* As in Glenalvon's unrelenting mind.' Yet is he brave and politic in war, And Hands aloft in thefe unruly times. Why I defcribe him thus I'll tell hereafter;
Stay and detain him till I reach the caille. [Exit.
Anna. O happinefs ! where art thou to be found I I fee thou dwelleft not with birth and beauty, Tho* grac'd with grandeur, and in wealth array 'd : Nor doll thou, it would feeni, with virtue dwell* Elfe had this gentle lady mifs'd thee not*
Enter Glenalvon.
Glen. What doll: thou mufe on, meditating maid? Like fome entranc'd and vifionary feer On earth thou ftand'ft, thy thoughts afcend to heav'n.
Anna. Wou'd that I were, e'en as thou fay 'ft, a feer, To have my doubts by heav'nly vifion clear'd \
Glen. What doft thou duubt of? what haft thou to do With fubje&s intricate ? Thy youth, thy beauty, Cannot be queftion'd : think of thefe good gifts, And then thy contemplations will be pleafing.
Anna. Let women view yon monument of woe, Then boaft of beauty, who fo fair as me* But I muft follow ; this revolving day Awakes the memory of her antient woes. [Exit.
Glen. So ! — Lady Randolph fhuns me ! by and by I'll woo her as the lion wooshis brides. The deed's a- doing now, that makes me lord Of thefe rich valleys, and a chief of power, The feafon is moft apt ; my founding fteps Will not be heard amidft the din of arms. Randolph has liv'd too long : his better fate Had theafcendant once, and kept me down : When I had feiz'd the dame, by chance he came,
Refcu'4,
j4 DOUGLAS.
Refcu'd, and had the Lady for his labour;
I 'fcap'd unknown : a ilender confolation !
Heaven is rny witnefs that I do not love
To fow in peril, and let others reap
The jocund harveft. Yet I am not fafe ;
By love, or fomething like it, ftung, inflam'd,
Madly I blabb'd my paffion to his wife,
And (he has threaten'd t© acquaint him of it.
The way of woman's will I do not know :
But well I know the Baron's wrath is deadly.
I will not live in fear ; ' the man I dread
' Is as a Dane to me ;' he is the man
Who ftands betwixt me and my chief defire.
No bar but be ; me has no kinfman near;
No brother in his filler's quarrel bold ;
And for the righteous caufe, a ftranger's caufe,
I know no chief that will defy Glenalvoiu [Exitt
ACT
D Stranger |
O U G ACT . A Court, ^w it bin. Oh |
L A II. &c. Mercy ! |
S, Mercy ! |
Enter Servants, and a Stranger at one doory and Lady Randolph and Anna at another.
Lady Randolph.
WHAT means this clamour? Stranger! fpeak fee u re ;
Haft thou been wrong'd ? have thefe rude men prefum'd To vex the weary traveller on his way ?
Firjl Ser<v. By us no ftranger ever furrer'd wrong, This man with outcry wild has call'd us forth ; So fore afraid he cannot fpeak his fears.
Enter Lord Randolph and Norval, 'with their fiuords
drawn and bloody.
Lady Rand. Not vain the Stranger's fears ! how fares my Lord ?
Lord^aW. That it fares well, thanks to this gallant
youth,
Whofe valour fav'd me from a wretched death ; As down the winding dale I walk'd alone, At the crofs way four armed men attack'd me : Rovers, I judge, from the licentious camp, Who would have quickly laid Lord Randolph k)w> Had not this brave and generous Stranger come, Like my good angel in the hour of fate, And, mocking danger, made my foes his own. They turn'cl upon him ; but his active arm Struck to the ground, from whence they rofe no more, The nerceft two ; the others fled amain, And left him mafter of the bloody field. Speak Lady Randolph : upon Beauty's tongue Dwell accents pleafing to the brave and bold. Speak, nobfe Dame, and thank him for thy Lord.
Lady
,6 DOUGLAS.
Lady Rand. My Lord, I cannot fpeak what now I feel* My heart o'erflovvs with gratitude to heav'n, And to this noble youth, who, all unknown To you and yours, deliberated not, Nor paus*d at peril, but, humanely brave, Fought on your fide, againft fuch fearful odds. Have you yet learn'd of him, whom we mould thank? Whom call the faviour of Lord Randolph's life ?
Lord Rand. I afk'd thatqueftion, and he anfwer'dnot: But I mull know who my deliverer is. [7*0 the Stranger.
Nor<v. A low-born man, of parentage obfcure, Who nought can boaft but his defire to be A foldier, and to gain a name in arms.
Lord Rand. Whoe'er thou art, thy fpirit is ennobled By the great King of Kings \ thou art ordain'd And flamp'd a hero by the fovereign hand Of Nature ! blufh not, flower of modefty As well as valour, to declare thy birth.
Nor<v. My name is Norval : on the Grampian hills My father feeds hi$ flocks ; a frugal fwain, Whofe conftant cares were to increafe his {lore* And keep his only fon, myfelf, at home- For 1 had heard of battles, and I long'd To follow to the field fome warlike Lord ; And heaven foon granted what my Sire deny'd. This moon which rofe lail night, round as my Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light, A band of fierce Barbarians from the hills, Rufh'd like a torrent down upon the vale, Sweeping our flocks and herds* The mepherds fledi For fafety and for fuecour. I alone, With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows, Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd The road he took, then hafted to my friends f, Wlrom, with a troop of fifty chofen men, I met advancing. The purfuit I led, Till we o'ertook the fpoil-encumber'd foe: We fought and conquer'd. Ere a fword was drawn, An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief, Who wore that day the arms- which now I wear. Returning home in triumph, I difduin'd
The
JJ O IT G JL A S .
5) <9 UGJLAS
/ly
B O U G L A S. 17
I
The fbepherd's flothful life : and having heard That our good King had fummon'd his bold Peers To lead their warriors to the Carron fide, I left my father's houfe, and took with me
A chofen fervant to conduct my ileps ;
Yon trembling coward, who forfook his mafter. Journeying with this intent, I paft thefe towers, And, heaven directed, came this day to do The happy deed that gilds my humble name.
Lord Rand. He is as wife as brave. Was ever tale With fuch a gallant modeily rehears'd ? My brave deliverer ! thou malt enter now A nobler lift, and in a monarch's fight Contend with princes for the prize of fame* I will prefent thee to our Scoctim King, Whofe'valiant fpirit ever valour lov'd. Ha ! my Matilda ! wherefore ftarts that tear?
Lady Rand. 1 cannot fay ; for various affections. And llrangely mingled, in my boforn fwell ; Yet each of them may well command a tear. I joy that thou art fafe, and I admire "Him and his fortunes. who hath wrought thy fafety j Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own, Obfcure and friendlefs, he the army fought, Bent upon peril, in the range of death Refolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his fword To gain diftin&ion which his birth deny'd. In this attempt unknown he might have perifh'd, And gain'd, with all his valour, but oblivion. Now grac'd by thee, his virtue ferves no more Beneath defptiir. The foldier now of hope He Hands confpicuous ; fame and great renown Are brought within the comp:tfs of his fword. On this my mind reflected, whilft you fpoke, And blefs'd the wonder-working hand of heaven.
Lord Rand. Pious and grateful ever are thy thoughts ! My deeds lhall follow where thou pomt'ft the way. Next to myfelf, and equal to G'lenalvon, In honour and command fhall Norval be.
Norv. I know not how to thank you. Rude I am In fpeech and manners : never till this h^ur
Stood
iS DOUGLAS
Stood I in fuch a prefence : yet my Lord,
There's fomething in my breaft which makes me bold
To fay, that Norval ne'er will fhame thy fayour.
Lady Rand. I will be fworn thou wilt not. Thou malt be My knight ; and ever, as thou didft to-day, With happy valour guard the life of Randolph.
Lord Rand. Well haft thou fpoke. Let me forbid , reply. (To Norval^
We are thy debtors {till ; thy high defert O'ertops our gratitude. I muft proceed, As was at firft intended, to the camp. Some of my train, I fee, are fpeeding hither, Impatient, doubtlefs, of their Lord's delay. Go with me, Norval, and thine eyes mall fe"e The chofen warriors of thy native land, Who languifh for the fight, and beat the air With brandifh'd fwords.
Now. Let us be gone, my Lord.
Lord Rand. [To Lady Randolph.] About the time
that the declining fun
Shall his broad orbit o'er yon hills fufpend, Expecl us to return. This night once more Within thefe walls I reft : my tent I pitch To-morrow in the field. Prepare the feaft. Free is his heart who for his country fights ; He in the eve of battle may refign Himfelf to focial pleafure ; fweeteft then, When danger to a foldier's foal endears The human joy that never may return.
[Exeunt Lord Randolph and NorvaJ. Lady Rand. His parting words have ftruck a fatal
truth.
.O Douglas ! Douglas ! tender was the time When we two parted, ne'er to meet again i How many years of anguifh and defpair Has heav'n annex'd to thofe fwift-paffing hours Of love and fondnefs ! ' Then my bofom's flame ' Oft, as blown back by the rude breath of fear, ' Return 'd, and with redoubled ardour blaz'd.'
May gracious heav'n pour the fweet balm of peace
Into
DOUGLAS. 19
Into the wounds that fetter in your bread ! For earthly confolation cannot cure them.
Lady Rand, One only cure can heaven itfelf befto\v; A grave — that bed in which the weary reft. Wretch that I am ! Alas ! why am I fo ? At every happy parent I repine ! How bier! the mother of yon gallant Norval ! She for a living hufband bore her pains, And heard him blefs her when a man was born : She nurs'd her fmiling. infant on her breaft ; Tended the child, and rear'd the pleafing boy : She, with affection's triumph, faw the youth In grace and comelinefs furpafs his peers : Whilft I to a dead hufband bore a fon, And to the roaring waters gave my child.
Anna. Alas ! alas ! why will you thus refume Your grief afrefti ? I thought that gallant youth Would for a while have won you from your woe. On him intent you gaz'd, with a look Much more delighted, than your penfive eye Has deign'd on other objects to bellow.
Lady £*»</. Delighted, fay 'ft thou? Oh! even there
mine eye
Found fuel for my life-confuming forrow. I thought that, had the fon of Douglas Hv'd, He might have been like this young gallant ftranger, And pair'd with him in features and in fliape ; In all endowments, as in years, I deem, My boy with blooming Norval might have number'd. Whilft thus I mus'd, a fpark from fancy fell On my fad heart, and kindled up a fondnefs For this young ftranger, wandering from his home, And like an orphan caft upon "my care. I will protect thee (faid 1 to myfelf) With all my power, and grace with all my favour.
Anna. Sure heav'n will blefs fo generous a refolve* Vou mult, my noble Dame, exert your power : You muft awake : devices will be fram'd, " And arrows pointed at the breaft of Norval.
Lady Rand. Glenalvon's falfe and crafty head will work
Againft
20 DOUGLAS.
Againft a rival in his kinfman's love, If I deter him not : I only can. Boid as he is, Glenalvon wiil beware How he pulls down the fabric that I raife, I'll be the artift of young Norval's fortune. 'Tis pleafing to admire ! moft apt was I To this affeftion in my better days ; Tho* now I feem to you ihrunk up, retir'd Within the narrow cornpafs of my woe. Have you not fometimcs feen an early flower Open its bud, and fpread its filken leaves, To catch fweet airs, and odours to beftovv ; Then, by the keen blaft nipt, pull in its leaves And, tho' ftill living, die to fcent and beauty I Emblem of me: affliction, like a ftorm, Hath kill'd the forward bloflbm of my heart.*
Enter Glenalvon ..
Where is my deareft kinfman, noble Ran dolph ? Lady Rand. Have you not heard, Glenalvon, of the
Glen. I have : and that the villains may not 'fcape-, With a ftrong band I have begirt the wood. If they lurk there, alive they fhall be taken, And torture force from them th* important fecret, Whether fome foe of Randolph hir'd their fwords, Or if -
Lady Rand. That care becomes a kiafman's love. I have a counfel for Glenalvon's ear. [Exit Anna.
Glen. To him your counfels always are commands.
Lady Rand. I have not found fo : thou art known to me.
Glen. Knotvn f
Lady Rand. And moft certain is my caufe of know ledge.
Ghn. What do you know? By Heav'n You much amaze me. No created being, Yourfelf except. cUrftthus accoft Glenalvon.
Lady
DOUGLAS. 21
Lady Rand. Is guilt fo bold ! and doft thou make a
merit
Of thy pretended meeknefs ! This to me, Who, with a gentlenefs which duty blames, Have hitherto conceal'd what, ifdivulg'd, Would make thee nothing; or, what's worfe than that, An outcaft beggar, and unpity'd too ! For mortals fhudder at a crime like thine.
Glen. Thy virtue awes me. Firft of womankind ! Permit me yet to fay, that the fond man, Whom love tranfports beyond ftrid virtue's bounds, If he is brought by love to mifery, In fortune ruin'd, as in mind forlorn, "Unpity'd cannot be. Pity's the alms Which on fuch beggars fraely is beilow'd : For mortals know that love is Hill their lord, And o'er their vain refolves advances itill : As fire, when kindled by our ihepherds, moves . , Thro' the dry heath againft the fanning wind.
Lady Rand. Referve thefe accents for fome other ear. To love's apology I liften not.
Mark thou my words ; for it is meet thou mould'ft. His brave deliverer Randolph here retains. Perhaps his prefence may not pleafe thee well : But, at thy peril, pra&ife ought againft him : Let not thy jealoufy attempt to make And loofen the good root he has in Randolph ; Whofe favourites, I know, thou haft fupplanted. Thou look'ft at me, as if thou fain would'ft pry Into my heart. 'Tis open as my fpeech. I give this early caution, and put on t!he curb, before thy temper breaks away. The friendlefs ftranger my prote&ion claims : His friend I am, and be not thou his foe. [Exit,
Glen. Child that I was, to ftart at my own fhadow, And be the mallow fool of coward 'confcience! I am not what I have been ; what I mould be. The darts of deftiny have almoft pierc'd My marble heart. Had I one grain of faith In holy legends, and religious tales, I ihould conclude there was an arm above,
That
22 DOUGLAS.
That fought againfl me, and malignant turn'd,
To catch myfelf, the fubtle fnare I fet.
Why, rape and murder are not fimple means !
Th' imperfect rape to Randolph gave a fpoufe ;
And the intended murder introduc'd
A favourite to hide the fun from me ;
And, worftofall, a rival. Burning hell!
This were thy centre, if I thought me lov'd him !
*Tis certain me contemns me ; nay, commands me,
And waves the flag of her difpleafure o'er me,
In his behalf. And (hall I thus be brav'd ?
Curb'd, as me calls it, by dame chaftity ?
Infernal fiends, if any fiends there are
More fierce than hate, ambition, and revenge,
Rife up and fill my bofom with your fires,
* And policy remerfelefs ! Chance may fpoil
* A fingle aim ; but perfeverance muft
* Profper at laft. For chance and fate are words i ' Perfiftive wifdom is the fate of man.'
Darkly a project peers upon my mind,
Like the red moon when riling in the eaft,
Crofs'd and divided by ftrange-colour'd clouds.
I'll feek the flave who came with Norval hither,
And for his cowardice was fpurned from him.
I've known a follower's rankled bofom breed
Venom moft fatal to his heedlefs Lord, [Exit*
V
ACT
DOUGLAS. 23
ACT III.
A Court) &c/ as before.
Entsr Anna.
THY vaflals, Grief! great Nature's order break, And change the noon-tide to the midnight hour* Whilft Lady Randolph ileeps, I will walk forth, And tafte the air that breathes on yonder bank. Sweet may her flumbers be ! Ye miniflers Of gracious heaven who love the human race, Angels and feraphs who delight in goodnefs ! Forfake your fkies, and to her couch defcend ! There from her fancy chace thofe difmal forms That haunt her waking ; her fad fpirit charm With images celeftial, fuch,as pleafe The blefs'd above upon their golden beds.
Enter Servant.
Strv. One of the vile aflaflins is fecnred. We found the villain lurking in the wood : % ,
With dreadful imprecations he denies All knowledge of the crime. But this is not His firft eflay ; thefe jewels were conceaPd In the moft fecret places of his garment ; Belike the fpoils of fome that he has murder'd.
Anna. Let me look on them. Ha ! here is a heart, The chofen creft of Douglas* valiant name ! Thefe are no vulgar jewels. Guard the wretch.
[Exit Anna*
Enter Servants with the Prifoner.
Prif. I know no more than does the child unborrt Of what you charge me with,
Firfi Serv. You fay fo, Sir ! Bat torture foon lhall make you fpcak the truth.
Behold
34 DOUGLAS.
Behold the Lady of Lord Randolph comes: Prepare yourfelf to meet her juft revenge.
Enter Lady Randolph and Anna.
Anna. Summon your utrnoft fortitude, before You fpeak with him. Your dignity, your fame, Are now at flake. Think of the fatal fecret, Which in a moment from your lips may fly.
Lady Rand. Thou malt behold me, with a defp'rate
heart, Hear how my infant perim'd. See, he kneels.
[The pr •// one." kneels.
Prif. Heav'n blefs that countenance, fo fwcet and
mild!
A judge like thee makes innocence more bold. O fave me, Lady, from thefe cruel men Who have attack'd and feiz'd me ; who accufe Me of intended murder. As I hope For mercy at the judgment-feat of Heav'n, The tender lamb, that never nipt the grafs, Is not more innocent than I of murder.
Lady Rand. Of this man's guilt what proof can ye produce ?
firft Serv. We found him lurking in the hollow
Glynn.
When view'd and call'd upon, amaz'd, he fled. We overtook him, and inquired from whence -And what he was ; he faid, he came from far, And was upon his journey to the camp. Not fatisfy'd with this, we fearch'd his cloaths, And found thele jewels, whofe rich value plead Moft powerfully againft him. Hard he feems, And old in villainy. Permit us try His ftubbornnefs a-gainft the torture's force.
Prif. O gentle Lady 1 by your Lord's dear life ! Which thefe weak hands, I fwear, did ne'er affail ; And by your childrens welfare, fpare my age 1 Let not the iron tear my antient joints, And my grey hairs bring to the grave with pain.
i Lady
DOUGLAS. 25
Lady Rand. Account for thefe : thine own they can- no c be':
For thefe, I lay ; be ftedfaft to the truth ; petedted falfhood is moll certain death.
[Anna removes the Servants, and returns,
Prif. Alas ! I'm fore befet ! let never man, For lake of lucre, fin sgainil his foul ! Eternal juRice is in this moll juft ! I, guiltlefs now, mu ft former guilt reveal.
Lady Rand. O ! Anna hear ! once more, I charge
thee, fpeak
The truth direct : for thefe to me foretell And certify a par: of thy narration ; With which if the remainder tallies not, An inilant and a dreadful death abides thee.
Prif. Then, thus adjur'd, I'll fpeak to thee as juft As if you were the minifter of heaven, Sent down to fearch the fecret fins of men. Some eighteen years ago, I rented land Of brave Sir Malcolm, then Balarmo's Lord ; But falling to decay, his fervants feiz'd All that I had, and then turn'd me and mine, (Four helplefs infants, and their weeping mother) Out to the mercy of the winter winds. A little hovel by the river's fide Receiv'd us ; there hard labour, and the (kill In fifhing, which was formerly my fport, Supported life. Whilft thus we poorly liv'd, One ftormy night, as I remember well, The wind and rain beat hard upon our roof: Red came the river down, and loud and oft The angry fpirit of the water mriek'd. At the dead hour of night was heard .the cry Of one in jeopardy. 1 rofe, and ran To where the circling eddy of a pool, Beneath the ford, us'd oft to bring within My reach whatever floating thing the ftream Had caught. The voice was ceas'd ; the perfon loft : But looking fad and earneil on the waters, By the moon's light I faw, whirl 'd round and round, B ' Abalket;
*£ DOUGLAS.
A bafket : foon I drew it to the bank, And neltled curious there an infant lay,
Lady Rand. Was he alive ?
Prif, He was.
Lady Rand. Inhuman that thou art ! How could'it thou kill what waves and tempeils fpar'd?
Prif. I am not fo inhuman.
Lady Rand. Didft thou not?
Anna. My noble miftrefs, you are mov'd too much : This man has not the afpeft of ftern murder : Let him go on, and you, I hope, will hear Cood tidings of your kinfman's long loft .child.
Prif. The needy man, who has known better days, One whom diftrefs has fpited at the world, Is he whom tempting fiends would pitch upon To do fuch deeds, as make the profperous men Lift up their hands and wonder who could do them. And fuch a man was I ; a man declin'd, Who faw no end of black adverfity : Yet, for the wealth of kingdoms, I would not Have touch'd that infant with a hand of harm.
Lady Rand. Ha! doft thou fay fo,? Then perhaps he lives !
Prif. Not many days ago he was alive.
Lady Rand. O ! heav'nly Pow'r ! did he then die fo lately ?
Prif. I did not fay he died : I hope he lives. Not many days ago thefe eyes beheld Him, flourishing in youth, and health, and beauty.
Lady Rand. Where is he now ?
Prif. Alas ! I know not where.
Lady Rand. Oh ! fate, 1 fear thee flill. Thou rid-
dler, fpeak -Direft and clear : elfe I will fearch thy foul.
' Anna. Permit me, ever honour'd ! keen impatience, « Tho' hard to be reftrain'd, defeats itfelf. — '
Lady Rand. Purfue thy ftory with a faithful tongue, To the laft hour that thou didft keep the child.
Prif. Fear not my faith, tho' I muft fpeak my fliame. Within the cradle where the infaut lay, Was ftow'd a mighty ftore of gold and jewels :
I Tempted
DOUGLAS. 27
Tempted by which, we did refolve to hide,
From all the world, this wonderful event,
And like a peafant breed the noble child.
That none might mark the change of our eftate,
We left the country, traveiPd to the North,
Bought flocks and herds, and gradually brought fortlv
Our fecret wealth. But God's all-feeing eye
Beheld our avarice, and fmote us fore.
For, ons by one, all our own children dy'd,
And he, the Stranger, fole remain'd the heir
Of what, indeed, was his. Fain then, would I,
Who with a father's fondnefs lov'd the boy,
Have trufted him, now in the dawn of youth,
With his own fecret : but my anxious wife,
Foreboding evil, never would confent.
Meanwhile the ftripling grew in years and beauty;
And, as we oft oblerv'd, he bore himfelf
Not as the offspring of our cottage blood ;
For nature will break out : mild wkh the mild,
But with the forward he was fierce as fire,
And night and day he talk'd of war and arms.
I fet myfelf againft his warlike bent .;
But all in vain : for when a defperate band
Of robbers from the favage mountains came
Lady Rand. Eternal Providence ! What is thy name ?
Prif. My name is Norval : and my name he bears.
Lady Rand. 'Tis he ! 'tis he himfelf! it is my fon ! O ! fovereign mercy ! 'Twas my child I faw ! No wonder, Anna, that my bofom burn'd.
Anna. Juft are your transports : f ne'er was woman's « heart
* Prov'd with fuch fierce extremes. High fated Dame !' But yet remember that you are beheld
By fervile eyes ; yourgeftures may be feen Impaffion'd ftrange ; perhaps your words o'erheard.
Lady Rand. Well doil thou counfeJ, Anna : heav'a
beftow On me that wifdom which my Hate requires !
« Anna. The moments of deliberation pafs,
* And foon you muft refolve. This ufeful man
£ 2 < Muft
2* DOUGLAS.
* Muft be difmifs'd in fafety, ere my Lord *
* Shall with his brave deliverer return.' Prif. If I, amidft ailonifliment and fear,
Have of your words and geflures rightly j udg'd, Thou art the daughter of my ancient mailer ; The child I refcu'd from the flood is thine.
Lady Rand. With thee diiftmulation now were vain, I am indeed the daughter of Sir Malcolm ; The child thou refcu'dil from the flood is mine.
Prif. Blefs'd be the hour that made me a poor mm ! My poverty hath fav'd my mailer's houfe !
Lady Rand. Thy words furprize me : fure thou dofl,
not feign :
The tear ftands in thine eye : fuch love from thee Sir Malcolm's houfe deferv'd not ; if aright Thou told'il the flory of thy own diilrefs.
Prif. Sir Malcolm of our Barons was the flower ; The fafteft friend, the befl, the kindeit mafter : But ah ! he knew not of my fad eftate. After that battle, where his gallant fon, Your own brave brother, fell, the good old Lord Grew defperate and recklefs of the world ; And never, as he erft was wont, went forth To overlook the conduct of his fervants. By them I was thruil out, and them I blame ; May he'av'n fo judge me, as I j udg'd my mailer! And God fo love me as I love his race.
Lady Rand. His race (hall yet reward thee. On thy
faith
Depends the fate of thy lov'd matter's houfe. Remembreil thou a little lonely hut, That like a holy hermitage appears Among the clifts of Carron ?
Prif. 1 remember The cottage of the clifts.
Lady Rand. 'Tis that I mean : There dwells a man, of venerable age, 'Who in my father's fervice fpent his youth: Tell him I fent thee, and with him remain, Till I malbcail upon thee to declare, Before the King and Nobles, what thou now
3 To
DOUGLAS. 29
To me haft told. No more but this, and thou -Shalt live in honour all thy future days : Thy fon fo long {hall call thee father ftill, ' And all the land (hall blefs the man who fav'd The fon of Douglas, and Sir Malcolm's heir. Remember well my words : if thou fhould'ft meet Him whom thcu call'ft thy fon, ftill call him fo, And mention nothing of his nobler father.
Prif. Fear not that I mould mar fo fair an'harveft, By putting in rny fickle ere 'tis ripe. Why did i leave my home, and anrient dame ? To find the youth to tell him all I knew, And make him wear thefe jewels in his arms ; Which might, I thought, be challeng'd, and fo bring To light the fecret of his noble birth.
\Lady Randolph goes towards the Servants.
Lady Rand. This man is not th' ailaffin you fufpected, Tho* chance combin'd fome likelihoods againil him. He is the faithful bearer of the jewels To their right owner, whom in hafte he feeks. }Tis meet that you fhould put him on his way, Since your miftaken zeal hath dragg'd him hither.
[Exeunt Stranger and Servants. My faithful Anna doft thou mare my joy ? I know thou doft. Unparallel'd event ! Reaching from heav'n to earth, Jehovah's arm Snatch'd from the waves, and brings to me my fon ! Judge of the widow, and the orphan's father ; Accept a widow's and a mother's thanks For fuch a gift ! What does my Anna think Of the young eaglet of a valiant neft ? Hew foon he gaz'd on bright and burning arms, Spurn'd the low dunghill where his fate had thrown him, And tower'd up to the region of his fire !
dnna. How fondly did your eyes devour the bey ! Myfterious nature, with the unfee./cord Of powerful inftincl, drew you to your own.
Lady Rand. The ready ftory of his birUi believed Supprefs'd my fancy quite ; nor did he owe To any likenefs my fo fudden favour : . But now 1 long to fee his face again,
B.-3 Examine
30 DOUGLAS.
Examine every feature, and find out The lineaments of Douglas, or my own. But moil of all I long to let him know Who his true parents are, to clafp his neck, And tell him all the ftory of his father.
Anna. With wary caution you muft bear yourfelf In public, left your tendernefs break forth, And in obfervers ftir conjectures ilrange. ' For, if a cherub in the fhape of woman * Should walk this world, yet defamation would, ' Like a vile cur, bark at the angel's train *
To-day the Baron ftarted at your tears.
Lady Rand. He did fo, Anna ! well thy Miftrefs
knows,
If the leuft circumfhnce, mote of offence, Should touch the Baron's eye, his fight would be With jealoufy diforder'd. But the more It does behove me inftant to declare The birth of Doug'a?, and afTert his rights. This night I purpofe with my fon to meet, Reveal the fecret, and confuit with him : For wife he is, or my fond judgment errs,
As he does now, fo look'd his noble father, . ^
' Array'd in nature's eafe : his mien, his fpeech-,
Were fweetly fimple, and full oft deceiv'd
Thofe trivial mortals who feem always wife.
But, when the matter match'd his mighty mind,
Up rofe the Hero : on his piercing eye
Sat obfervation : on each glance of thought
Decifion follow'd, as the thunder-bolt
Purfues the flafti.
Anna. That demon haunts 'you flill :
Beheld Glenalvon.
Lady Rand. Now I mnn him not.
•This day I-brav'd h:m in behalf of Norval :
Perhaps too far : at lead my nicer fears
For Douglas thus interpret.
Enter Glenalvon.
Ghn. Noble Dame ! The hov'riner Dane at laft his men hath landed :
No
DOUGLAS, 31
No band of pirates j but a mighty hoft,
That come to fettle where their valour conquers ;
To win a country, or to lofe themfelves.
Lady Rand. But whence comes this intelligence,
Glenalvon ?
-G!en» A nimble courier fent from yonder camp, To haften up the chieftains of the north, Inform M me, as he paft, that the fierce Dane Had on the eaftern coall of Lothian landed, * Near to that place where the Tea rock immenfe, ' Amazing Bafs, looks o'er a fertile land.
' Lady Rand. Then mult this weilern army march
' to join
' The warlike troops that guard Edina's tow'rs. ' Glen. Beyond all queitionr. If impairing time" Has not eirac'd the image of a place Once perfect in my breaft, there is a wild Which lies to weftward of that mighty rocky And feems by nature formed for the camp, Of water-wafted armies, whofe chief ftrength Lies in firm foot, unflank'd with warlike horfe: If martial Ikill directs the Danifh lords, There inacceflible their army lies To our fwift-fcow'ring horfe, the bloody field Muft man to man, and foot to foot, be fought/ Lady Rand. How many mothers mall bewail their
fons !
How many widows weep their hufbands flain ! Ye dames of Denmark ! ev'n for you 1 feei, Who fadly fitting on the fea-beat fhore, Long look for lords that never mall return.
Glen. Oft has th' unconqner'd Caledonian fword". Widow'd the north. The children of the flain Come,, as I hope, to meet their father's fate. Themonfter war, with her infernal brood, Loud yelling fury, and life-ending pain, Are objecbs iuited to Glenalvon's foul. Scorn is more grievous than the pains of death : Reproach more piercing than the pointed fvvord.
Lady Rand. 1 feorn thee not, but when I ought to fccrn ;.
B 4 Nor
32 DOUGLAS.
Nor e'er reproach, but when infuhed virtue Againfl audacious vice afTerts herfelf. I own thy worth, Glenalvon ; none mere apt Than I to praife thine eminence in arms, And be the echo of thy martial fame. No longer vainly feed a guilty palTion : Go and purfue a lawful miftrefs, Glory. Upon the Danifh crefts redeem thy faulr, And ht thy valour be the mield of Randolph.
Glen. One inltant ilay, and hear an alter'd man. When beauty pleads for virtue, vice abafh'd Flies its own colours, and goes o'er to virtue. J am your convert ; time will mew how truly : Yet one immediate proof I mean to give. That youth i for whom your ardent ze?.l to-day Somewhat too haughtily dcfy'd your fluve, Amidft the mock ot'aimies I'll defend, V7,i
And turn death from him with a guardian arm. 4 Sedate by ufe, my boforn maddens not ' At the tumultuous uproar of the field.'
Lady Rand. Aft thus, Glenaivon, and .1 am thy
friend ;
But that's thy leatf reward. Believe me, Sir, The truly generous is the truly wife; And he who loves not others, lives unbleft.
[Exit Lady Randolph and Anna,
Glen. Amen ! and virtue is iis own reward !
J think that I have hit the very tone
In which me loves to fpeak. Honey 'd aiTent,
How pleafant art thou to the talle of man,
And woman alfo ! flattery direct
Rarely difgufts. They little know mankind
Who doubt its operation : 'tis my key,
And opes the wicket of the human heart.
How f..r I have fucceeded now I know not,
Yet I incline to think her ftormy viitue
Is lull'd awhile : 'Tis her alone I fear :
While (he in Randolph live, and live in faith
And amity, uncertain is^my tenure.
4 Fate o'er my head fufp'ends difgrace and death,
« By that weak hair, a peevifh female's will,
« I am
0 O U G L A S. 33
c I am not idle : but the ebbs and flows ' Of fortune's tide cannot be calculated.' That flave of Norval's I have found moil apt. J fhew'dhim gold, and he has pawn'd his foul ; To fay and fvvear whatever I fuggeft. Norval, I'm told, has that alluring look, 'Twixt man and woman, which I have obferv'd . ; To charm the nicer and fa ntaftic dames, Who are, like Lady Randolph, full of virtue. In raifmg Randolph's jealoufy I may But point him to the truth. He feidom errs Who think the worft he can of womankind.
[Exit.
B ACT
34 DOUGLAS.
ACT IV.
Flourijb of Trumpets. Enter Lord Randolph.
Lard Randolph. ff 1
SUMM ON an hundred horfe, by break of day, To wait our pleafure at the calHe-gate.
Enter Lady Randolph.
Lady "Rand. Alas ! my Lord ! I've heard unwelcome
news : The Danes are landed.
Lord Rand. Ay, no inroad this Of the Northumbrian bent to take a fpoil : / No fporiive war, no tournament e/Tay Of forne young knight refolv'd to break a fpear, .And flain with hoiiile blood his maiden arms. The Danes are landed ; we mufl beat them back, Or live the (laves of Denmark.
Lady Rand. Dreadful times !
Lord Rand. The fencelefs villages are all forfaken ; The trembling mothers and their children lodg'd In wall- girt to.vers and caftles ; whillt the men Retire indignant. Yet, like broken waves, They but retire more awful to return.
Lady Rand. Immenfe, as fame reports, the Danifli hoft ^
Lord Rand. Were it as numerous as loud fame re ports, An army knit like ours would pierce it thro* :
Brothers,
D O U G L A S. 35
Brothers, that fhrink not from each other's fide, And fond companions, fill our warlike files : For his dear offspring, and the wife he-loves, The hufband, and the fearlefs father arm. In vulgar breafts heroic ardour burns, And the poor peafaut mates his daring lord.
Lady Rand. Men's minds are temper'd, like their
fwords, for war ;
f Lovers of danger, on definition's brink '• They joy to rear ereft their daring forms. '• Hence, early graves ; hence, the lone widow's life ;; ' And the fad mother's grief-embitter'd age.' Where is our gallant guefl ?
Lord Rand* Down in the vale I left him, managing a fiery fteed, Whofe ftubbornnefs had foil'd the ilrength-and fkill- Of every rider, But behold he comes,, lii earneft convention with Glenalvon.
Entw Norval and Glenalvont
Glenalvon ! with the lark arife : go forth, And lead my troops that lie in yonder, vale : Private I travel to the royal camp : Norval, thou goefl with m« But i^iy, young man.! Where didit thou learn fo to difcourfe of war, And in fuch terms as I o'erhcard to-day ? 'War is no village fcience, nor its phrafe A language taught amongit the fnepherd fvvairr^
Nor-v. Small is thefkillmy Lord delights to praife\, Jn him he favours Hear from whence it came; Beneath a mountain's brow, the moll remote And inacceflible, by fhepherds trod, Jn a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand,, A hermit liv'd ; a melancholy man, Who was the wonder of our wand'ring fwains. Auftere and lonely, cruel to himfelf, Did they report him : the cold earth his bed, Water his drink, his food the mepherds' alms. I went to fee him, and my heart was touch'd With rev.'rence and with pity. Mild he fpake, £ 6
3$ DOUGLAS.
And, ent'ring on difcourfe, fuch flories told
As made me oft revifit his fad cell.
For he had been a foldier in his youth ;
And fought in famous battles^ when the Peers
Of Furore, by the bold Godfrcdo led
Againft th' ufurping I-ntidel difplay'd
The bleffed Crofs, and won the Holy Land.
Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire
His fpeech tfruck from me, the old man would (hake
His ye^rs away, and aft his young encounters :
Then, having ihew'd his wounds, he'd fit him down*
And «11 the live-long day difcourfe of war.
To help my fancy, »n the fmooth green turf
He cut the figures of the marftial'd hoits }
Defcrib'd the motions, and explain 'd the ufe
Of the dtepcolumn, and the Icngthen'd line,
The fquare, the crvfcent, and the phalanx firm.
For all that Saracen or Chriftian knew
Cf war's vaft art, was to this heimit known.
Lord RanJ. Why did this foldier in a defert hide Thofe qualities that mould have grac'd a camp?
Now. That too at 1 aft I learn'd. Unhappy man ! Returning homewards by Medina's port, Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won, A ruc'e and boiit'rcu- captain of the fea ' Fallen 'd a cjua'rel on him. Fieice they fought ; Th? Granger Tell, and with his dying bieatfe l."e L'r'dh.s name and lineage ! Mighty Power! 1 he foldier cried, my brother ! Oh 1 my brother !
Lady Rand. His brother !
Norv. Yes ; of the fame parents born ; His only brother. They exchang'd forgiveness^ And happy, in my mind, was he that died : For many deaths has the furvivor fuffer'd. In the wild defej t on a rock he fits, Or on forhe namelefs fiream's untrodden banks, And ruminates all day his dreadful fate. At limes, alas ! not in his perfect mind ! 'Holds dialogues with his lov'd brother's ghoft ; And oft each night forfakes his ful'en ccuch, Tc mak? u.d orifcns for h'm he Hew.
Ladv
DOUGLAS. 37
Lady Rand. To what myfterious woes are mortals
born !
In this dire tragedy were there no more Unhappy perfons? did the parents live?
Norv. No; they were dead : kind heav'n had clos'd
their eyes Before their fon had (lied his brother's blood.
Lord Rand. Hard is his fate ; for he was not to blame ! There is a deltiny in this ftrange world, Which oft decrees an undeferved doom : Let ichoolmen tell us why. — From whence thefe founds ?
[Trumpets at a dijiancs.
Enter an Officer.
Of. My Lord, the trumpets of the troops of Lorn : The valiant leader hails the noble Randolph.
Lord Rand. Mine antient gueil! does he the war riors lead ? Has Denmark rous'd the brave old Knight ;to arms?
Ojf. No: worn with warfare, he reiigns the (word. His eldeft hope, the valiant John of Lorn, Now leads his kindred bands.
Lord Rand. Glenalvon, go. With hofpitality's moll flrong requeft In treat the chief. [Exit Glenalvon.
Of. My Lord, requefts are vain. He urges on, impatient of delay, Stung with the tidings of the foe's approach. [Exit.
Lord Rand. May victory fit on the warrior's plume 1 BTavelt of men! his flocks and herds are fufe; Remote from war's alarms his pafture lie, By mountains inacceffible fecur'd ; Yet foremoft he into the plain defcends, Eager to bleed in battles not his own. Such were the heroes of the antient world ; Contemners they of indolence and gain j But ftill for love of glory, and of arms, Prone to encounter peril, and to lift Againft each ilrong antagonift the fpear. I'll go and prefj the hero to my bread. '[Exit.
Lady
$8 DOUGLAS.
Lady Rand. Thefoldier'sloftinefs, the pride and pomp Inveiting awful war, Norval, I fee, Tranfport thy youthful mind.
Norif. Ah ! mould they not ? Bleft be the hour I left my father's houfe! 1 might have been a mepherd all my days, And iiole obfcurely to apea&nt's grave. Now, if I live, with mighty chiefs I itand ; And, if I fall, with noble duftl lie.
Lady Rand. There is a generous fpirk in thy breafly That could have well fuftain'd a prouder fortune. * This way with me, unxler you Threading beech,' Since lucky chance has left us heie alone, Unfeen, unheard, by human eye or ear, I will amaze thee with a wond'rous tale.
Nor<v. Let there be danger, Lady, with the fecrer,, That I may hug it to my grateful heart, And prove my faith. Command my fsvord, my life : Thefe are the fole porTeffions of poor Norval.
Lady Rand. Know'ft thou thefe gems?
NOTTS. Duril I believe mine eyes, I'd fay I knew them, and they were my father's.
Lady Rand. Thy father's, fay 'it thou ! ah 1 they were- thy father's!.
Nor<v. I faw them once,, and curioufly inquir'd Of both my parents, whence fuch fplendor came? But I was check'd, and more could never learn.
Lady Rand. Then learn of me,: thou art not Norvar^ fon.
Nor<v. Not Norval's fon !
Lady Rand. Nor of a mepherd fprung.
.Afor<z/. Lady, who am I then ?
Lady Rand. Noble thou art; For noble was thy Sire !
Ncrv. I will believe-—-—— O! tell me farther! Say who was my father?
Lady.#rfW. Douglas!
Nor<v. Lord Douglas, whom to-day I faw?
Lady Rand. His younger brother.
Ncrv. And in yonder camp?
Lady Rand* Alas !
'DOUGLAS. 39
Norv. You make me tremble Sighs and tears I
Lives my brave father ?
Lady Rand. Ah ! too brave indeed ! He fell in battle ere thyfelf was born.
Now. Ah me unhappy ! ere I fa\v the light ? But does my mother liver I may conclude, From my own fate, her portion has been forrow.
Lady Rand. She lives ; but waftes her life in conftant
woe, Weeping her hufband flain, her infant loft.
Nor<v. You tlvat are fkill'd fo well in the fad {lory Of my unhappy parents, and with tears Bewail their deftiny, now have companion Upon the offspring of the friends you lov'd ! :A,
O! tell me who, and where my mother is ! Opprefs'd by a bafe world, perhaps me bends Beneath the weight of other ills than grief; And, defolate, implores of heav'n the aid Her fon mould give. It is, it muft be fo — Your countenance confeiles that ihe's wretched. O ! tell me her condition ! Can the fword — Who (hall refill me in a parent's caufe?
Lady Rand. Thy virtue ends her woe ! My fon! myr fon !
Norv. Art thou my mother ?
Lady Rand. I am thy mother, and the wife of Douglas ! [Falls upon bis tiecL
Norv. O heav'n and earth, how wondrous is my fate"! Art thou my mother? -Ever let me kneel!
Lady Rand. Image of Douglas ! Fruit of fatal love ! All that I owe thy Sire, I pay to thee.
Nor<v. Refpect and admiration ftill poflefs me. Checking the love and fondnefs of a fon. Yet 1 was filial to my humble parents. But did my Sire furpafs the reft of men, As thou excelleft all of womankind ?
Lady Rand. Arife, my fon! In me thou deft behold The poor remains of beauty once admir'd: The autumn of my days is come already ; For forrow made my fummer hafte away. Yet in, my prime I equalPd not thy father 5
His
40 DOUGLAS.
His eyes were like the eagle's, yet fometimes Liker the dove's; and, as he pleas'd, he won All hearts with foftnefs, or with fpirit aw'd.
Nor-v. How did he fall ? Sure 'twas a bloody field . 4 When Douglas died. O I have much to aflc !
Lady Rand. Hereafter thou ihalt hear the lengthen'd
tale
Of all thy father's and thy mother's woes. .At prefent this : thou art the rightful heir Of yonder caftle, and the wide domains Which now Lord Randolph, as myhufband, holds. But thou malt iiot be wrong'd ; I have the power To right thee ftill : before the King I'll kneel, And call Lord Douglas to protect his blood.
Norv. The blood of Douglas will protect itfelf.
Lady&z/u/. But we mail need both friends and fa vour, boy,
To wreft thy lands and lordfhip from the gripe Of Randolph and his kinfman. Yet I think My tale will move each gentle heart to pity, My life incline the virtuous to believe.
Nwv. To be the fon of Douglas is to me Inheritance enough. Declare my birth, And in the field I'll feek for fame and fortune.
Lady Rand. Thou doft not know \vh.it perils and
injuftice
Await the poor man's valour. O 1 my fon ! The nobleft blood of all the land's abafh'd, Having no lacquey but pale poverty. Too long haft thou been thus attended, Douglas ! Too long haft thou been deem'd a peafmt's child. The wanton heir of fome inglorious chief Perhaps has fcorn'd thee, in the youthful fports ; Whijft thy indignant fpirit fwell'd in vain ! Sach contumely thou no more ihalt bear : But how I purpofe to redrefs thy wrongs Muit be hereafter told. Prudence direcis Thnt we fhould part before yon chiefs return. Redre, and from thy ruftic follower's hand Receive a billet, which thy mother's care, Anxious to fee thee, dictated before
This
D O U G L A S. 41
This cafual opportunity arofe Of private conference. Its purport mark ; For, as I there appoint, we meet again. Leave me, my fon ! and frame thy manners fUll To NorvaPs, not to noble Douglas' ftate.
Norv. I will remember. Where is Norval now ? That good old man.
Lady Rand. At hand conceal'd he lies, An ufeful witnefs. Butbewace, my fon, Of yon Glenalvon ; in his guilty breall Refides a villain's fhrewdnefs, ever prone *
To falfe conjecture. He hath griev'd my heart.
Nor-v. Has he indeed? Then let yon falfe Glenalvon Beware of me. [Exit.
Lady Rand. Therel>uHl the fmother'd flame I O ! thou all righteous and eternal King I Who father of the fatherlefs artcalPd, Protect my fon ! — Thy infpiracion, Lord ! Hath filpd his bofom with that facred fire, Which in the breafts of his forefathers buni'd : Set him on high like them, that he may thine The flar andgiory of his native land ! Then let the minifter of death defcend, And bear my willing fpirit to its place. Yonder they come. How do bad women fiad Unchanging afpects to conceal their guilt? When I, by reafon, and byjuftice urg'd, Full hardly can difTemble with thefe men In nature's pious caufe.
Enter Lord Randolph and Glenalvon.
Lord Rand. Yon gallant chief, Of arms enamour'd, all repofe difclaims.
Lady Rand. Be not, my Lord, by his example fway'd : Arrange the bulinefs of to-morrow now, And, when you enter, fpeak of war no more. [Exit*
Lord Rand. 'Tis fo, by heav'n ! her mien, her voice,
her eye, And her impatience to be gone, confirm it.
Glen.
42 DOUGLAS.
Glen. He parted from her now: behind the mounf, lAmongft the trees, I faw him glide along.
LwaRand. For fad, fequeftred virtue fhe's renownM i
Glen. Moil true, my Lord.
Lord Rand. Yet this diftinguifh'd Dame Invites a youth, the acquaintance of a day, Alone to meet her at the midnight hour. This aflignation [Jbcws a letter'] the a/Tallin freed, Her manifeft affedion for the youth,- Might breed fufpicion in a hufband's brain, Whofe gentle comfort all for love had wedded ; Much more in mine. Matilda never lov'd me. Let no man, after me, a woman wed, Whofe heart he knows he has not; tho' ihe brings A mine of gold, a kingdom for her dowry. For let her feem, like the night's fhadowy queen, Cold and contemplative ; — he cannot trull her : She may, Ihe will, bring fliame and forrow on him ; The worit of furrows, and the worft of fhames !
Glen. Yield not, my Lord, to fuch afHicling thoughts ; But let the fpritof an hufband fleep, Till your own fenies made a mre conclufion. This biliet rauil to blooming Norval go : At the next turn awaits my trufty fpy ; I'll give it him refitted for his matter. • In the clofe thicket take yourfecret ftand; The moon fhines bright, and your own eyes may judge Of their behaviour.
Lord Rand. Thou doft counfel well. Glen. Permit me now to make one flight efTay, Of all the trophies which vain mortals boaft,. By wit, by valour, or by wifciom won, The firft and faireft in a young man's eyer Is woman's captive heart. Successful love With glorious flames intoxicates the mind.! And the proud conqueror in triumph moves Air-born, exalted above vulgar men.
Lord Rand. And what avails this maxim? Glen. Much, my Lord! Withdraw a little j I'll accoft young Norval, And with ironical derifive counfel
Explore
DOUGLAS. 43
K.vplore his fpirit. If he is no more Than humble Norval, by thy favour rais'd, Brave as he is, he'll mrink aftonim'd from me : But if he be the fav'rite of the fair, Lov'd by the firil of Cabdonia's dames, He'll turn upon me, as the lion turns Upon the hunter's fpear.
Lord Rand. 'Tis fhrewdly thought.
Gkn. V/hen we grow loud, draw near. But let my
Lord His riling wrath reftrain [Exit Randolph.
• 'Tis ftrange, by heav'n !
That me mould run full tilt her fond career, To one fo little known. She too that feem'd Pure as the winter itream, when ice embofs'd Whitens its courfe. Even 1 did think her chafle Whofe charity exceeds not. Precious fexJ Whofe deeds lafcivious pafs Glenalvon's thoughts !
[Norval appears*
His port I love ; he's in a proper mood *- To chide the thunder, if at him it roar'd. Has Norval feen the troops ?
Nor<v. The fetting fun, With yellow radiance lightened all the vale, And as the warriors mov'd, each polifh'd helm, Corflet, or fpear, glanc'd back his gilded beams. The hill they climb'd, and halting at its top, Of more than mortal fizz, tow 'ring, they feem'd, An hoft angelic, clad in burning Jirms.
Glen. Thou talk'ft it well; no leader of our hoft, In founds more lofty, fpeaks of glorious war.
Nor<v. If I mall 'e'er acquire a leader's name, My fpeech will be lefs ardent. Novelty Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration Vents itfelf freely; fince no part is mine Of praife pertaining to the great in arms.
Glen. You wrong yourfelf, brave Sir; your martial
deeds
Have rank'd you with the great: but mark me, Norval: Lord Randolph's favour now exalts your youth Above his veterans of v£amo.us iervice.
Let
44 DOUGLAS.
Let me, who know the foldiers, counfel you. Give them all honour; feem not to command; Elfe they will fcarcely brook your late fprung power, Which nor alliance props, ncr birth adorns.
Norv. Sir, I have been acculiom'd all my days To h'ear and fpeak the plain and funple truth: And tho' I have been told, that there are men Who borrow friendfhip's tongue to fpeak their fcorn, Yet in fuch language I am little {kili'd. Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counfel, Although it founded harfhly. Why remind Me of my birth obfcure? Why flur my power With fuch contemptuous terms?
Glen. I did not mean To gall your pride, which now I fee is great.
Ncrv. My pride !
Glen. Supprefs it as you wifh to profper. Your pride's exceffive. Yet for Randolph's fake I will not leave you to its ram direction. If thus you fwell, and frown at high-born men, Think you they will endure a fliepherd's fcorn?
Nor<v. A fhepherd's fcorn !
Glen. Yes, ifyouprefume To bend on foldiers thefe difdainful eyes, What will become of you ?
Nor*v. If this were told \Aflde »
Haft thou no fears for thy prefumptuous felf ?
Glen. Ha! Doll thou threaten me?
Nor<v. Didft thou not hear ?
Glen. Unwillingly I did; a noble foe Had not been queition'd thus. But fuch as thee
Nor<v. Whom doll thou t&ink me ?
Ghn. Norval.
Norv. So I am— And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes?
Glen. A peafant's fon, a wand'nng beggar-boy; At bed no more, even if he fpeaks the truth.
Norv. Falfe as thou art, doft thou fufpect my truth ?
Glen. Thy truth ! thou'rt all a lie; and falfe as hell Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'ft to Randolph.
Norv,
DOUGLAS. 45
Now. If I were chain'd, unarm'd, and bedrid old, Perhaps I fhould revile: But as I am I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval Is of a race who ilrivps not but with deeds, Did I not fear to freeze thy mallow valour, And make thee fink too foon beneath my fword, I'd tell thee — what thou art. I kiuw thee well.
Glen. Doll thou not know Glenalvon, born to com mand Ten thoufand ilaves like thee ?
Norv. Villain, no more : Draw and defend thy life. I did-defign To have defy'd thee in another caufe : But heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee. Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs.
Enter Lord Randolph.
Lord&z«</. Hold, I command you both. The man
that Itirs Makes me his foe.
Nor<v. Another voice than thine That threat had vainly founded, noble Randolph. Glen. Hear him, my Lord; he's wond'rous con-
defcending ! Mark the humility of mepherd Norval !
Nor-v. Now you may fcoffin fafety. [Sheaths hisfaord. Lord Rand. Speak not thus, Taunting each other; but unfold to me The caufe of quarrel, then I judge betwixt you. Nor<v. Nay, my good Lord, tho' I revere you
much,
My caufe I plead not, nor demand your judgment. I bliifh to fpeak; I will not, cannot fpeak Th* opprobrious words that I from him have borne. To the liege-lord of my dear native land I owe a fubjecVs homage; but even him And his high arbitration I'd reject. Within rny bofom reigns another lord ; Honour, ible judge and umpire of itfelf. If my free fpeech offend you, noble Randolph.
Revokq
46 DOUGLAS.
Revoke your favours, and let Norval go Hence as he came, alone, but not dilhonour'd.
Lord Rand. Thus far I'll mediate with impartial
voice.
The antient foe of Caledonia's land Now waves his banners o'er her frighted fields. Sufpend your purpofe, till your country's arms Repel the bold invader; then decide The private quarrel.
Glen. I agree to this.
Norv. And I.
Enter Servant.
Serv. The banquet waits.
Lord Rand. We come. [Exit Randolph and Servant.
Glen. Norval,
Let not our variance mar the focial hour, Nor wrong the hofpitality of Randolph. Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate, Shall itain my countenance. Smooth thou thy brow ; Nor let ourftrife difturb the gentle Dame.
Nor--j. Think not fo lightly, Sir, of my refentment ; When we contend again, our ftrife is mortal.
\Exeunt*
A C T
DOUGLAS. 47
ACT V.
Wood.
Enter Douglas.
HIS is the place, the centre of the grove. A Here Hands the oak, the monarch of the wood. How fweet and folemn is this midnight fcene ! The filver moon, unclouded, holds her way Thro* flues where I could count each little ftar. The fanning weft wind fcarcely ftirs the leaves ; - The river, rufhing o'er its pebble bed, Impofes filence with a ftilly found. In fuch a place as this, at fuch an hoar, »
If anc-eitry can be in ought believ'd, Defcending fpirits have convers'd with man, And told the fecrets of the world unknown.
Enter Old Norval.
/
Norv. 'Tis he. But what if he mould chide me
hence ;
His juft reproach I fear. [Douglas turns and fees him* Forgive, forgive,
Canft thou forgive the man, thefelfifh man, Who bred Sir Malcolm's heir a fhepherd's fon.
Doug. Kneel not to me : thou art my father ftill : Thy wifh'd-for prefence now compleats my joy. Welcome to me, my fortunes thon lhalt mare, And ever honour'dwith thy Douglas live.
Norv. And doft thou call me father? O my
fon! I think that I could die to make amends.
For
43 DOUGLAS.
Fof the great wrong I did thee. 'Twas my crime Which in the wildernefs fo long conceaPd The bloilcm of thy youth.
Doug. Not worfe the fruit, That in the wildernefs the blolTom blow'd. Amongft the fhepherds, in the humble cot, J learn'd fome lefTons, which I'll not forget When J inhabit yonder lofty towers. I, who was once a fwain, will ever prove The poor man's friend ; and, when my vaffals '^ow, Norval fhall frnooth the crefted pride of Douglas.
Now. Let me but live to fee thine exaltation ! t Yet grievous are my fears. O leave this place, And thofe unfriendly towers.
Doug. Why ihould I leave them ?
Nrrv. Lord Randolph and his kinfman feek your life,
Doug. How know'lt thou that?
Nor<v. I will inform you how. When evening caine, 1 left the fecret place Appointed for me by your mother's care, And fondly troa in each accuftom'd path That to the caftle leads. Whilft thus I rang'd, 1 was alarm'd with unexpected founds Of earneft voices. On the perfons came; Unfeen I lurk'd, and overheard them name Each other as they talk'd, Lord Randolph this, And that Glenal von : ftillofyou theyfpoke, And of the Lady : threatening was their fpeech, Tho' but imperfeftly my ear could hear it. *Twas flrange, they faid, a wonderful difcov'ry ; And ever and anon they vow'd revenge.
Doug. Revenge ! for what ?
Norn;. For being what you are; Sir Malcolm's heir : how elfe have you offended ? When they were gone, I hy'd me to my cottage, And there fat mufmg how I bell might find Means to inform you of their wicked purpofe. But I could think of none: at laft, perplex'd, I iiTu'd forth, encompaffing the tower With many a weary ftep, and wifhful look. Now Provideace hath brought you to my fight,
Let
DOUGLAS. 49
Let not your too courageous fpirit fcorn rl'he caution which I give.
Doug. I fcorn it not.
My mother warn'd me of Glenalvon's bafenefs : But I will not fufpeft the noble Randolph. In our encounter with the vile aiTaffins, I rnark'd his brave demeanor : him I'll truft.
Norv. I fear you will too far.
Daug. Here in this place I wait my mother's coming ; me mail know What thou haft told : her counfel I will follow ; And cautious ever are a mother's counfels. You mull depart ; your prefence may prevent Our interview,
Norv. My ble fling reft upon thee I O may heav'n's hand, which fav'd thee from the wave, And from the fword of foes, be near thee ftill ; Turning mifchance, if ought hangs o'er thy head, All upon mine ! [Exit,
Doug* He loves me like a parent ; And mult "not, (hall not lofe the fon he loves, Altho' his fon has found a nobler father. Eventful day ! how haft thou chang'd my ftate \ Once on the cold, and winter-maded fide Of a bleak hill, mifchance had rooted me> Never to thrive, child of another foil: Tranfplanted now to the gay funny vale, Like the green thorn of May my fortune flowers. Ye glorious ftars ! high heav'n's refplendent hoft i To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd, Hear and record my foul's unalter'd wilh I Dead or alive, let me but be renown'd ! May heav'n infpire fome fierce gigantic Dane, To give a bold defiance to our hoil ! Before he fpeaks it out I will accept : Like Douglas conquer, or like Douglas die.
Enter Lady Randolph.
Lady "Rand. My fon ! I heard a voice——- Dong. The voice was mine.
C Ladv
50 DOUGLAS.
Lady Rand. Didft thou complain aloud to nature's
ear,
That thus in dufky fhades, at midnight hours, By ilealth the mother and the fon fhould meet ?
[Embracing him*
Doug. No ; on this happy day, this better birch-day, My thoughts and words are all of hope and joy.
Lady Rand. Sad fear and melancholy ftill divide The empire of my breaft with hope and joy. Now hear what 1 advife.
Doug. Firft let me tell What may the tenor of your counfel change.
Lady Rand. My heart forebodes fome evil !
Dtwg. 'Tis not good.
At eve, unfeen by Randolph and Glenalvon,
The good old Norval in the grove o'erheard
Their converfation : oft they mention'd me •
With dreadful threatnings ; you they fometimes nam'd.
'Twas flrange, they faid, a wonderful difcovery ;
And ever and anon they vow'd revenge.
Lady Rand. Defend us, gracious God : we are be-
tray'd:
They have found ©ut the fecret of thy birth ; It muft be fo. That is the great difcovery. Sir Malcolm's heir is come to claim his own ; And he will be reveng'd. Perhaps even now, Arrn'd and prepar'd for murder, they but wait A darker and more filent hour, to break Into the chamber where they think thou fleep'ft. This moment, this, heav'n hathordam'd to fave thce ! Fly to the camp, my fon !
Doug. And leave you here ? No ; to the caftle let us go together, Call up the ancient fervants of your houfe, Who in their youth did eat your father's bread. Then tell them loudly that I am your fon. If in the breafls of men one fpark remains Of facred love, fidelity, or pity, Some in your caufe will arm. I afk but few To drive thofe fpoilers from my father's houfe.
Lady
DOUGLAS. 51
Lady Rand, O Nature, Nature ! what can check thy
force ?
Thou genuine offspring of the daring Douglas! But rufh not on deftru&ion : five thyfelf, And I am fafe. To me they mean no harm. Tny (lay but rifks thy precious life in vain. That winding path conducts thee to the river. Crofs where thou feeft a broad and beaten way, Which running eaftward leads thee to the camp. Inftant demand admittance to Lord Douglas. Shew him theie jewels, which his brother wore. Thy look, thy voice, will make him feel the truth, Which I by certain proof will foon confirm.
Doug. I yield me and obey : but yet my heart Bleeds at this parting. Something bids me ftay And guard a mother's life. Oft have I read Of wondrous deeds by one bold arm atchiev'd. Our foes are two : no more : let me go forth, And fee if any fhield can guard Glenalvon.
Lady Rand, If thou regard'ft thy mother, or reverMr Thy father's memory, think of this no more. One thing I have to fay before we part ; Long wert thou loft ; and thou art found, my child, Jn a moft fearful feafon. War and battle I have great caufe to 'dread. Too well I fee Which way the current of thy temper fets : To-day I've found thee. Oh ! my long loft hope ! If thou to giddy valour giv'll the rein, To-morrow I may lofe my fon for ever. The love of thee, before thou faw'ft the light, Suftain'd my life when thy brave father fell. If thou malt fall, I have nor love nor hop3 In this wafte world ! my fon, remember me !
Doug, What (hall I fay ? how can I give you comfort f The God of battles of my life difpofe As may be beft for you ! for whofe dear fake I will not bear myfelf as I refolv'd. But, yet confider, as no vulgar name That which I boaft founds amongft martial men> How will inglorious caution fuit my claim .? The poft of fate unlhrinking I maintain. C z
52 D O if G L A S.
My country's foes muft witnefs who I am. On the invaders heads I'll prove my birth, 'Till friends and foes confefs the genuine ftrain. If in this Ihife I fall, blame not your fon, Who, if he lives not honour'd, mull not live.
Lady Rand, I will not utter what my boibm feels. Too well I love that valour which I warn. Farewel, my fon! my councils are but vain.
• [Embracing* And, as high heav'n hath wili'd it, all mult be.
[Separate.
Gaze not on me, thou wilt miftake the path j I'll point it out again.
[Juft as they are fcparating, enter from the ^voood Lent Randolph and Glenalvon.j
Lord Raad. Not in her prcfence. Now
Glen. I'm prepared.
Lord Rand. No : I command thee flay.1 I go alone : it never mall be faid That I took odds to combat mortal man. The nobleft vengeance is the moil compleat.
[Exit Lord Randolph.
[Glenalvon makes fome Jieps to the fame Jide of tie ft age, liftcns, and /peaks.
Glen. Demons of death, come fettle on my fword, Arid to a double daughter guide it home ! The lover and the hufband both muft die.
[Lord Randolph lebind tkefcenes* Lord Rand. Draw, villain ! draw. Doug. Affail me not, Lord Randolph ; Not as thou lov'ft thyfeif. \ClaJbing cffvjordi.
[Glenalvon running out. Now is the time.
Enter Lady Randolph at the oppojite -fide of tie ftagc, faint andbreatblefs.
Lady Rand. Lord Randolph, hear me ; all ihall be
thine own : But fpare ! Gh, fpare my fon !
DOUGLAS.
Enter Douglas, *with afword in each band*
Doug. My mother's voice I I can protect thee Hill.
Lady Rand. He lives, he lives : For this, for this to heav'n eternal praife I But fare I faw thee fall*
Doug. It was Glenalvon.
Juft as my arm had mafter'd Randolph's Avord, The villain came behind me ; but I flew him.
Lady Rand. Behind thee ! Ah, thou'rt wounded !
O my child, How pale thou look'ft ! and fiiall I lofe thee now ?
Doug. Do not defpair ; I feel a little faintnefs ; I hope it will not laft: [Leans upon his fwird.
Lady Rand. There is no hope ! And we muft part I the hand of death is on thee ! O my beloved child ! O Douglas,' Douglas !
Doug. Too foon we part j I have not long been.
Douglas..
O defliny ! hardly thou deal 'ft with me : Clouded and hid, a ftranger to myfelf, In low and poor obfcurity I liv'd.
Lady Rand. Has Heav'n prefer.v'd thet for an encL like this ?
Doug. O had I fall'a as my brave fathers fell. Turning with great effort the tide of battle ! Like them I mould have fmil'd and welcorn'd death., But thus to peri ill. by a villain's hand ! Cut off from nature's and from glory's courfey Which never mortal was fo fond to run.
Lady Rand^ Hear juftice ! hear !' ftretch-thy 'ing arm . [ -Douglas
Dougi Unknown Tdie ; no tongue fhali fpeak Some noble fpirits, judging by themfelves, May yet conjecture what I might have prov'd, And think life only wanting to my fame : But who mail comfort thee ?
Lady Rand, Defpair ! defpair ! C 3
54 DOUGLAS.
Doug. O had it pleas'd high heav'n to let me lire A little while !— My eyes that gaze on thee Grow dim apace ! my mother— Oh, my mother !
[Dies.
Enter Lord Randolph and Anna.
Lord Rand. Thy words, the words of truth, have
pierc'd my heart.
I am the itain of knighthoqd and of arms. Oh ! if my brave deliverer furvives The traitor's fword ^
Anna. Alas 1 look there, my Lord.
Lord Rand. The mother and her fon ! How curft I
am
Was I the caufe ? No : I was not the caufe. Yon matchlefs villain did feduce my foul To frantic jealoufy.
Anna. My Lady lives: The agony of grief hath but fuppreft Awhile her powers.
Lord Rand. But my deliverer's dead!
The world did once efteem Lord Randolph well.
Sincere of heart, for fpotlefs honour fam'd '•
And, in my early days, glory I gain'd
Beneath the holy banner of the crofs.
Now pad the noon of life, fliames comes upon me :
Reproach, and infamy, and public hate,
Are near at hand : for ail mankind will think
That Randolph bafely ftabb'd Sir Macolm's heir.'
\Lady Randolph recovering.
Lady Rand. Where am I now ? ilill in this wretched
world ? Grief cannot b;eak a heart fo hard as mine.
My youth was worn in anguilh : but youth's ftrength,
With hope's affiftance, bore the brunt of forrow ;
And train'd me oa to be the object now,
On which Omnipotence difplays itfelf,
Making a fpe&acle, a tale of me,
"To awe its v..Hal, man.'
Lord
DOUGLAS. 5$
Lord Rand. O tnifery ! Amidfl thy raving grief I muft proclaim My innocence.
Lady Rand. Thy innocence !
Lord Rand. My guilt Is innocence compar'd with what thou think'fl it.
Lady Rand. Of thee I think not : what have I to do With thee or any thing? My fon ! my fon ! My beautiful ! my brave ! how proud was I Of thee, and of thy valour! My fond heart O'erflow'd this day with tranfport, when 1 thought Of growing old amidft a race of thine, Who might make up to me their father's childhood, And bear my brother's and my hufpand's name ; Now all my hopes are dead! A little while Was I a wife ! a mother not fo long ! What am I now? — I know. . .But I (hall be That only whilft I pleafe ; for fuch a fon And fuch a hufband drive me to my fate, [Runs. out.
Lord Rand. Follow her, Anna : I myfelf would follow J5m in this rage me muft abhor my prefeuce.
[Exit Anna*
Enter Old Norval.
Ncrv. I hear the voice of woe ; h,eaven guard my child!
Lord Rand. Already is the idle gaping crowd, The fpiteful vulgar come to gaze on Beg6ne.
Ncrv. I fear thee not. Twill not go. Here 1*11 remain. I'm an accomplice, With thee in mtirder. Yes, my iins did hejp To crufh down to the ground this lovely planet* O nobleft youth that ever yet was born ! Sweeteil and beft, gentleft and braveft fpirit, That ever blefs'4 the world ! Wretch that { am, Who faw that nobie fpirit fwell and rife Above the narrcw limits that confin'd it ! Yet never was by all tfiy virtues won To do thee juftice, and reveal the fecret,
Which,
56 DOUGLAS.
Which, timely known, had raisM thee far above The villain's fnare! Oh! I am punifh'd now ; Thefe are the hairs that mould have ftrew'd the ground, And not the locks of Douglas.
[Tears his hair, and throws himfelf
upon the body of Douglas. Lord Rand. I know thee now: « thy boldnefs I for-
' give !
' My creft is fallen.' For thee I will appoint A place of reft, if grief will let thee reft. I will reward, although I cannot punifh. Curft, curit Glenalvon, he efcap'd too well, Tho' {lain and baffled by the hand he hated. Foaming with rage and fury to the laft> Curling his conqueror, the felon died*
Enter Anna.
Anna. My Lord ! my Lord !
Lord Rand. Speak : I can hear of horrojv
Anna. Horror indeed I
Lord Rand. Matilda?
Anna. Is no more j
She ran, me flew like lightning up the hilrV Nor halted till the precipice fhe gain'd. Beneath whofe low'fing top. the river falls Jng.ulph'd in rifted rocks : thither me came, As fearlefs as the eagle lights upon it,
And headlong
LordRanJ. 'Twas I ! alas! 'twas/I
That iiU'd her breaft with fury ; drove her down The precipice of death! Wretch that I am !
Anna. O had you feen her laft defpairing look!: Upon the brink me ftood, and caft her eyes Down on the deep : then lifting up her head, And her white hands to heaven, feeming to fay,. Why am I fopcM to this ? fhe plung'd herfelf Into the empty ak.
Lord Rand. I will not vent, In vain complaints, the pafiion of my foul. Peace in this word I never can enjoy.
. $ Tliefe
DOUGLAS.
Thefe wounds the gratitude of Randolph gave. They fpeak aloud, and with the voice of fate Denounce my doom. I amrefolv'd. I'll go Strait to the battle, where the man that makes Me turn afide mud threaten worfe than death. Thou, faithful to thy miitrefs, take this ring, Full warrant of my power. Let every rite With coft and pomp upon their funerals wait : For Randolph hopes he never fhall return.
[Exeunt
57
I-
EPILOGUE.
A N Epilogue I ajffd') but not one word
Our Bard will write. He <vowst 'tis moft abfttrd With comic wit to contradict the ftrain Of Tragedy y and make your forrows ^vain. Sadly be fays, that pity is the beftt The nobleft pajfivn of the human breaft : For when its f acred ft reenns the heart oVr/foiv, In gujhes phafurt with the tide of woe i And when its wa<vti retire > like tkofe of Nth > They leave behind them fucb a golden foil. That there the virtues without culture grow, There thefweet blojjoms ofajfetticn blow. Thefe 'were his words :—rvoid ofdelujive art I felt them ; for hefpoke them from his heart* Nor will I now attempt with witty folly 9 To chafe away celeftial melancholy.
F I N I $.
'i1 H £
TRAGEDY
•o £
Z A R A.
•As it is Acted at tJte
THEATRES R O Y A L
•I tf
DRURY-LANE,
A N 0
COVEN T- G A fc D E N.
By AARON M i L, L» Elq.
- -• .. - - .. . . - - . . .. - - f .I.
*%.* To this Editi'o'n is nowfirft ttddt-d the Ccw/V 'CkorvJfc-3) or Intcrludts-, dcfigried by Mr-. HI-LL to be lung ^between eac.h Aft.
L "0 N D D N-, Printed for ,T. LOV/KDII.S-;, in ••F/eet-Sfrerti
£
vl
TV bh R o V A L H i G H -N g 5 s tbe
\
PR I N C E,
i-»-AI
? .-.• -,-i ti»*\
!-V
ITE R $, who mean no in? reft t bcrt their «rAr ; Of unfapeneling minds, an bfadfaft hearts > Difclaiming hopes, will empty y^r/«^ neglect j Nor need PERMISSION — to addrefs rejpefi*
Frank, as the manly faith qf Ancient time, Let truth, for once, approach the 'g**eat» in Nor public benefit, mifgukkd, y?r<iy, Becaufe a private *wijher points its way*.
tf wond'ring, fore, your Greatnefs condefcendj To aik, What's H E, ov/fo, /^«j, uncoil* d, attends ? Smile, at a/wtor, who, in courta, untrac'd, Pleas'd, if aV/^V, thus, c-zt; »j hiis humble tajh.-—
Vow*d an tmen-vier, of the bufy Great ; Too plain forjtatt'ry, and, too calm for ///'</ to be happy ; who furveys, ttnkno--wn, The pow'rlefs cottage, arid the peacelefs throne ; A filcntyr<^/V<5 to His oiwt contrail \ Of a.£t\ve pajfiznf, but, unyielding yW; Engrcftd by N O purfuits, amus'J, by ^// j But, ^f^, as adders, to ambitions call : ToQ^m-, for po-iv'r, (QT prejudice,} towifi,. And, fa/elf, lodging Liberty WITH IK.
Pardon, Gr**/ Prince! th* unfamionable flrain,, That iliuns to dedicate -> nor feeks to grin- :• That (felf-fffigning) knows no narrow view ; And, &*/ iv* ptllic blefiings, courts, ev'n YOU !
A q
Late,
yi £V kis Roal ffibnts tie P R IN c
Lafe, a bold tracer of your meafuSd mind, (While, by the mournful SCENE, to grief inclined,) I faiV your eloquence of eyes ccnfefs Soft Jenfe of BELVIDERA'S deep diftrefs, Prophetic, thence, fwre-dtenfd the rifmg years ; A.od£«//Va HAPPY NATION, in YOUR tears !
Oh ! — ncbly touch'dt — th* infpiring//^tf/W chufey Snatch, from the jab le <wa<ve> the finking MUSE 1 Charming, be charm'd ! theyfog^'s anguilh heal .- And teach a languid people bow to feel.
her fullyW, ihatl TRAGIC/O--WV impart, And reach three k ngdoms in their Prince's btart / Ligbtnefs, dHlUim'd, (hall £/#/& itfelf aao^y ;
And reas'nin^; SENSE refumc forgotten fway. Love, courage, loyalty,, tafte, honour, tiuth, Flafh'd (fonv &£/ctnet re-charm our Hft'ning ycuth 5 And, <virtuett (by YOUR influence fornid) iuUain The future glories of their/o«W*r's reign.
Nor, let due care of a pretexted ftagf, [ .,
Mis^udg'd Qnufemfnl, but fpare hours engage: Strong, ferious TRUTHS, the manly mitfe difp lays ; And. Jeads charm'd reafca through thofe_/£?ou'rjr ways. While, HISTORY'S cold care butfa&s enrolls, The MUSE (peifuafive) faves the piclur'dy<7«/r / Beyond all Egypt's GUMS, embalms mankind : And (lamps the living features of the MIND.
^Tims can ejeft the fons of po-w*r, from fame; And. //', who gains a <vyorldy. may LOSE his name. But chcrljh'd arts infure immortal breath : And bid their prop* d defenders tread on death !
Look back, lov'd Prince ! on ages, funk in Jkade t d/^7, what DARKNESS, abfent genius made! ink on the dead f&re-fll&rs of your place / lnk en the ilern firft founds rs of your race \
And, where loft ftorj ilecps, in iilent night ;
Charge to tfceir want of t^t their want of LIGHT.
When,
To his Rcyal Tlighnefs the PRINCE. vii
When, in your riCmg grove, (no cbnverfe nigh) BLACK EDWARD'S awful buft demands your eye, IThixk, from <vahat caufe, blind chronicles DBF A ME The grofs-tcld to\v'rings.? of that dreadful name ! Search him, thro* FANCY : and SUPPOSE him, mown By the long glories, to the MUSES kncxjivn : Shining, dijdQs>d\— o'ertrampling dvattf's controll ! And, opening, backward, All his depth of 'foul !
Then — breathe a confciousy?^, to mourn his fate, " Whoy^r^Vno writers % like his (pirit, *grtat / - ; • » To limn his living tfotiy&ts — pail fame rtuffiv? And build HIM honours > they rtfcrve for You \
lam, <witb profound
**
Your ROTA L HIGHNESSES
• '^.-^. C .) $fa
Mojt bumble, and olcfant
'
A. HILL.
A CO-
i» J
A COMIC CHORUS;
0 R,
INTERLUDES:
Defigned to be Tung between the Aeb of ZAR A.
PROLOGUE,
By Mr* BEARD, and Mrs. CLIVE,/™/* of pcftt Entrants*
She. CO 5/>— JTMT'IY a «&«f of your w*r/.
He, Who luctid break it, when fummou* d fy you ?•— »
She. Ytnjine tkat—kttt pray, barveyou beardt
What it isjou are fummcnd to do ? He. Not a •word — but expefted tofet - Something new, in the mufical <way.
She. ^%, this Author has cajl you, and me^
As a Prologue, itfeems, to his play. He. What ibex is its tuneful ne.ws,
Kobin Hood> of the Greenwood tvee ?
Or, av£#/ gscd old ballad of fame
Has be biuii into Tra-ge-dy? %bo* bf rails again fi fongs, he thought ft*
'Moft gravely to urge, and implore us9 » aid of his tragical <wit, fo erect our/ehes init « chorus 1 \Lavghi*£*
p R o L o 6 tr E. «
He. A chorus / what's that — a compojtng
Of groans, to the rants of his madnefs ? She. No — he hinders the boxes from dozing,
By mixing feme fpirir withfadnefs. He. So, then 'tis our tajk, J/uppo/f,
To fing fobcr fenfe into reliih, Strike up, at each tragical clofe,
And unheeded moral embellijh. She. 'Tivas the cuftom, you know, once in Greece.
And, y/*here, 'tis not witty, 'tis new He. Well then, whtnyoufindan aft ceaf?,[ Turning to the Soxes.
She. And, Gentlemen, t-oo [To the Men.
If I give not the beaux good advice,, \J\lerrily,.
Let me dwindle to recitative ! He. Nor will 7 to the belles be more nice,
When I catch 'em, but here, to receive. She. If therms ought to be learnt from the play ,.
I Jhallfet in a nook, here, behind, Popping out, in the good ancient way,
Now and thin, with a piece of my mind. He, But fuppofi, that no moral^owV rife,
Worth the ears of the brave, or the fairf She. Why, we9// then give the word — and advife < ' «•
Face about, audftand all, as ye
»
A COMIC CHORUS, &c. After the Firft A C T.
Song in duet.
He* "T""* HE Subatfs a bridegroom — ihejlavts are fet free, J[ And none mult prefume to \ve&r fetters, but he-! Before honey-moon, Love's fiddles in tune ;
So we think, (filly fouls !) 'tis always to be : For the man, that is blind — how fhou'd he FORESEE!
She. I hate thefe hot blades, who h fiercely begin ; To baidk a rais'd bofet is a cowardly fin 1 The maid that is ivi/e, let her always procure,
Rather a grave ^ than a fpirited woer : What fhje Jofes, at breakfafl, at fupper flie'll w/»» But youf amorous violence never endures ;
For, to dance, without doors. Is the way to be Aweary, before we get in. He. Pray how does it happen, that paffion, fo gay,. .
Blooms, fades, and falls away,.
Like the ro/e, of this morn, that at night mull decay ? WOMAN, I fear, Does one thing appear,
But is found q^ite another, when look'd on, too near.'- Sbe. Ah — no —
Not— fo *Tis the fault of yoir M E N, who, 'v/ifojatngs of aefirty.
Set your palates onfre,
And dreanv not, that eating — will appetite tire i So, refolve in your beat, To do nothing, butra/,.
^iH, afes ! on a fudden,.- youj?:ep o*er your meat I Therefore, learn, O ye fair /•
f/e\ And, you lovers t take care
*?£/. That you truft not, before-hand^— ffe.. That you truft not, at all. SAe. Man was born to deceive. tfe. Woman form'd to believe. Mctb. Trull not one of us all !
ground,, is the way not to fait,
Aftw
A COMIC CHORUS, &c. *i After the Second ACT.
Mrs. Clive (fola) to a flute.,
I.
OH Jealoufy ! thou bane of bleeding love ! Ah ! how unhappy, we ! Boom'd by the partial powers, above,.
Eternal flaves, to thee !'
Not more unftaid, than lovr.rs* hearts, the owW/ This moment, dying — and the next, unkind: Ah ! wavering, weak defires of frail mankind L With pleading paflion ever to purfue, Yet triumph, only to undo*
2. Go to the deeps, below, thou joylefs /««£/'
And never rife again, to fow despair ; Nor you, ye heedlefs/#.>r occafions lend,.
To blaji your blooming hopes., and bring on care;. Never conclude your innocence fecure,
Prudence, -alone, makes h<ve endure..
[As Jhe is going cjf, he meets far, and put's her beck^
detaining her, while he jings, what follows*. He. Ever, ever, doubt, the fair - \nforro-iv. Mourning, as if they felt cmnpajjion^ Yet, what they *w:ep far to day — to-morrow, ^f£
They'll be the firft to laugh in to /#/£/<?/?;. None are betray'dif they truft not the charmer ;;
Jealoufy^«flr</j the weak, from falling ; Wou'd you never catch— you muft, oft,, alarm hei%. Hearts to deceive is a woman's calling...
[After the fcng he lets her go, and they join* in duet. She. Come,' — let us be friends^ and no longer abuje,. condemn, and accufe,,
each otheri,
Mi. Wou.'d;you have us, agree-,. you muft, fairly, confef^ the love, we carefs,
. we Imother.v . • A 6 She,.
xii A C O MIC C H O R tf S, &c,
She. I am Ibth to think that
H\ Yet, you know, it is true J
Sbc. • Well,— what if 1 doT
no matter.
He* Cou'd you teach us a way, to love on, without flrife t Sve.. Suit the//r/? part of life,.
to the latin-.
Hcf JTis anhoneft advice, for, when love is newblovtn,, gay colours ars fliown,
too glaring. She. T&eri alas! for/«wwww/ - com«s a
and blows 'em away,.
moll fearing!
After the Third A C TV Bj Mr. Bea/d aKar.
MARK, O, ye beauties! — gay, and young, Mark the piainfal fwoesrB.nd *wccfingt That, from forc'd concealment fprUng,.
Puniih-thefin of jf&etf keeping. '9"i^fth<fen— nor «v^/a willing heart,
When the /<re/*r, /<n» V, alarms it ;: Bftt — \Qfcctb the pleafmg^wrr,
Whifper the gJowing loijk, that warms it. She that wou'd bide the gentle flame,
Do«s but teacLher Sape, to laagui/h ; She, that boldly TELI^S her aim,,
.{[•lies from the pntk that lead* to aTigmJh* Not that too far, your tn»ft fhou'M go ;.
Att that yony/iy — co AUL dtfcover ;
All, tksPtyoti Xo but t<an fhould know,
Owe of *em j<?«, and oT»e your /over-.
fa$6e meets him*, going ojjp,^ She, Ah ! than, thoa wert always a traitor^
Thou giv'ft thy advice, to bttray ; Ah! forro'd &jna,.rc?<*w, by nature,
leader> of lov^ the wrong >vay»
4- Wou'd
A COMIC CHORUS, fefr.
Wou'd "women let ivomett<a.dvife 'em,
They cou'd not fo eafilyy?r^y. *Tis trufting to lovers, fupplies 'em
With will, and excuje, to betray. She's/;?/?, who, in guard of her paffion,
Far, far, from eonfejjing her pain,. Keeps f.lenct) in fpice of thef*/hio*t
Nor fuffcr her gv/, to EXPLAIN.
XiU
After the Fourth A C T.
ELL> what do yon /£/»£— of thefefoprows, and* , joys, Thefe calms, and thefe whirlwinds—this ulence, and noifc ?
Which love, in the bofom of man* employ*,? He. For my part, wou'd lowers be govern 'd by me> Not one of you women fo wife? d for , fhou'd b»,
Since, here, we a /w^f o£ your mifchief fee. 5^. Why, what wou'd you do, to efcape the diitrefs ? He. I wou'd Jo—I wou'd do— by my foul,, I can?r guefs— ^^. Poor wretch ! by iny foul ! I imagin'd ^o lefs. Come, come — let me tell you, thefe tempefts of love,, Po but blow up -ftefire, its brilkneft to prove, Which elfe wou'd — you know— *od too lazily move. Were women like legs — ^of a make to lie ItilJ^ Men wou'd fleep, and groxv dull — bat vur afyo'liite witt Sets life all a whirling — like wheeh ia a mill.
He. Ambition, in woman, like valour in mart, Tempts danger ^-from which,, they'd be fafe, if they tan %. And once get yem in — get 'em <?«/ how you can. \
She. Pray, what will you give me, to teach you the mof, To keep your wife fleas'd, either healthy,, or fick f He. The man, who bits that, fure \ mull touch to the quick I S'be. Learn this — and depend on a life, without pain, Say nothing to war her, yet let her complain ; Submit to yvwffot*, — and difturb not her rtign : Be mofJ when ihe'syJi^— and be pleaf-d when ftie'« gay} Believe her, and truft her — and give her — her wty $ For wajit of this rule— there's the de<vil to pay<> , For want of this r*h% there's the dewl to pay*
f *fr I PROLOGUE,
Written by COLLEY GIBBER, Efg; Spoken by Mr. GIBBER.
French, however mercurial they may feemy Extinguijh half their fire, by critic phlegm : While Englifh writers nature1 s freedom claim, And warm their fcenes with an ungcvern' *d 'Jlamt .• tfTis ft range that Nature never Jhould infpire A Racine'/ judgment, with a Shakefpeare'j/Vv/"
However, to-night — (to promife much 'we're loth) But — -you've a chance, to have a tafte of both. From Englifh plays, Zara'/ French author /rV, Confefs V his Mufe, beyond h erf elf , infpir'd; From racked Othello'/ rage, he raised his ftyle, And Snatch1 d the brand, that lights this tragic pile :. - ZzTn'sJitccefs his utmojl hopes ouffleiv, And a twice twentieth weeping-audience drew.
As for our Englifh friend, he leaves to you± Whatever may feem to his performance due ; No views of gain, his hopes or fears engage ^ He gives a child of leifure to the ft age :. Willing to try, //yet, forfaken Nature, Can charm with any one remembered feature.
^husfar, the author fpeaks - but now, the player, • With trembling heart, prefers his humble prayer. *To-night, the great eji venture of my life, Js loft, or fav'd as You receive — a wife : If time, you think, may ripen her, to merit, With gentle fmiles, fupport her wav'ring fpirit. Zara in France, at cnce, an aclrefs rais'd, Warm'd into (kill, by being kindrjrpraisM : O / cou*d fuch wonders here from favour flow, flew would our Zara'/ heart, av.A$ tranjjicrt gtcw /
PROLOGUE. xr
But Jhe, alas ! by jufter fears opprefs'd,. Begs but your bare endurance, at the beft. Her unjkill 'd tongue would JtmpJe Nature fpeak, Nor flares her bounds, for falje applaufes break. Amidft a thoufand faults, her bejt pretence
^To pleafe is unprejuming innocence.
When a cbafte heart's diftrejs your grief demand's + One feler.t tear outweighs a thoufand hands. If ' Jhe conveys the pleajlng paffions, RIGHT, " Guard and Support her, this decifive night ;
If Jhe MISTAKES cr, fnds her Rrength too frhall, •,
Let inter pcfing pity — — break her fall. In you it refts, to fa<ve her, or dejiroy, If fie draws tears from you, \weep-r-for Joy,
»
:
-
4
«
JPER.
PERSONS REPRESENTED
At a&ed at the Theatre-Royal in Cerent-Garden, 177$.
Oftnan, Sulta* of Jerufalemt Mr. Lee.
na"' 'f. °f *<tl°i, * tbe \ Jfr, Barry. tftian £wgs of Jerujalem, 3
Orafmin, Minifter to the Sultan, Mr. Leftrange.
Me lido r, an Ojfiter of the Seraglio, Mr. Branfby.
At Dmry-Lane, 1775'.
lu/Ignan, ..---... Mr. Garrick.
€fman, ........ Mr. Reddifh.
Kereftan, .....'.. Mr. Packer.
Chatillon, - - - - . - - i Mr. Aickin.
O/afmin, - ... \ - - Mr. Hurft.
Melidor, .... . ... Mr. Wheeler..
Selima, ..... •* .. — Mrs. Reddifh.
Zara, .---... . - Miff Yoqpge.
*
THE
TRAGEDY
* -, OF
&&fc
,
-. .VW&4 <i">':
Z* A. R A.
91
ACT I. SCENE C"
„ r * ,. ,.,* ?:£i<i- /•
ZaramFSehimu
Selima. . , . • _
r moves my wonder, young and beauteous Zara* r JL Whence thefe new ientiments infpire your heart I Your peace of mind increafes with your charms ; Tears, now, no longer fhade your eyes foft luftre ; You meditate, no more, thofe happy climes, To which Nere/lan will return to guide you : You taik no more of that gay nation, now, Where men adore their wives, and woman's powar Draws rev'rence from a polifliM people'* foftnefo ; Their hu(haod&' equals, and their lovers' queens 1
* 9P*~
18 Z A R A.
Free without fcandal ; wife, without rellraint j The.ir virtue, due to nature, not to fear ! 'Why have you ceas'd to wilh this happy change ? A barr'd Seraglio ! — fad, unfocial life ! Scorn'd, and a flave! All this has loft its terror : And Syria rivals, now, the banks of Seine !
Zara. Joys, which we do not know, we do not wifh ; My fate's bound in, by S ion's facred wall ; Clos'd, from my infancy, within this palace, Cttftom has learnt, from time,' the power toplee/e. I claim no mare ih the remoter world, The Sultan's property, his will my law ; Unknowing all, but him, his power, his fame j To live his fubje<5l, is my only hope, All, elfe, an empty dream. — •
Selima. Have you forgot
Abfent Nereftan, then? Whofe gcn'rous friernlfhip, So nobly vow'd redemption from your chains ! How oft have you admir'd his dauntlefs foul ! Ofman, his conqu'ror, .by his courage charm'd, Trailed his faith, and, on his word, releas'd him :
Tho* not returned, in time we, yet, expect him.
Nor had his noble journey other motive, Than to procure pur ranfoin : — And is this, This dear/ warm hope — become an idle dream ?
Zara. Since after two long years, he not returns, 'Tis plain, his pro'mife ftretch'd beyond his power: A ftranger, and a flave, unknown like him, Propofing much, means little ;— talks, and vows^
Delighted with a profpeft of efcape :
He promis'd to redeem ten Chriftians more, And free us all, from flavery ! — I own I once admir'd th* unprofitable zeal, But, now, it charms no longer.— •
Selima. What if yet,
.He, faithful, fhou'd return, and hold his vow ! Wou'd you not, then
Zara. No matter — Time is paft ; And every thing is chang'd — ~
Z A R A. 14
But, whence comes this ?
Zara. Go — 'twere too much to tell the€ Zara's fate $ The Sultan's fecrets, all, are facred hers : But my fond heart delights to mix with thirrfe. — Some three months part, when thou, and other flaves, Were forc'd to quit fair Jordan's flow'ry bank ; Heav'n, to cut fhort the anguifh of my days, Rais'd me, to comfort, by a powerful hand I This mighty Qfman !
Selima. What of him ?
Zara. This Sultan ! Thi$ conqu'ror of the Chriftians ! loves—
Selima. Whom?
7,ara. Zara |
Thou blumeft, and I guefs, thy thoughts accufe me 5 But, know me better —'twas unjuft fufpicion : All Emperor, as he is, I cannot ftoop To honours, that bring fhame and bafenefs with 'em : Reafon, and pride, thofe props of modefty, Suftain my guarded heart, and ftrengthen virtue ; Rather than fink to infamy, let chains l,;j;
Embrace n e with a joy ; fuch love denies : ^
No 1 mall, now, aflonifii thee ; His greatnefs
Submits^ to own a pure, and honeft flame ;
Among the ftiining crowds, which !:-ve, to pleafe hinij
His whole regard is fix'd en Me, alone : ;
He offers marriage — and its rites, now, wait,
To crown me Emprefs of this Eailern world.
Seliftia. Ycur virtue, and your charms, de&rve it
All:
My heart is not furpriz'd, but itruck, to hear it ; If, to.be Ewprefs) can compleat your happinefs, I rank rnyfelf, with joy, among your flaves.
Zara. Be, #ill, my equal— and enjoy my blefr
fings : For, thou partaking, they will blefs me more.
Selima. Alas! but heaven! will it permit this mar riage ?
Will not this grandeur, falfely call'd a blifs, Plant bitternefs, and root it, in your heart ? Have you forgot, you are of ChriiUan blood ?
Zara.
30 2 A R A. ,
Zara. Ah me! What haft thou faid? Why wouttft
thou, thus,
Recall my wavering thoughts ? — How know I, what, Or whence I am ? Heaven kept h, hid, in darknefs, Conceal'd me from myfelf, and from my blood.
Selima. Nereftan, wliowas born a Chriftian, here, Aflerts, that you, like him, had Chriftian parent? j Befides — tb*t crofs, which, from your in£ant years, Has been preferv'd, was found upon your, bofom, As if defign'd by heaven, a pledge of faith, Due to the God,, you purpofe to forfake f
Zara. Can my fond heart, on fuch a feeble proof* Embrace a faith, abhor'd by him J love ? J fee, too plain ly, cuftom forms us all^ Our thoughts, our morals, our moft fix'd belief, Are confequences of our place of birth : Born beyond Ganges, I had been a Pagan, In France a Chriftian ; — I am, here, a Saracen t *Tis but tvjlruflion, all J Our parents' hand Writes, on our heart, the firft, faint characters, Whic£ time, re- tracing, deepens into ftrength, That nothing can eflace, but death, or heaven !— Thou wert not made a pxts'ner in. this place, 'Till, after rcafon, borrowing force from years, Had lent its luftre, to enlighten faith : — For me, who in my cradle was their flave, Thy Chriftian doctrines were, too lately, taught me : Yet, far from having loft the rev'rence due, This crofs, as often as it meets my eye, Strikes thro* my heart a kind of awful f«ar J I honour, from my foul, the Chriftian laws, Thofe laws, which., foft'ning nature, by humanity, Melt nations into brotherhood ;— no doubt, Chriftians are happy ; and, 'tis juft to love, 'em.,
Selima. Why have you, then, declar'd yourfelf their
foe*
Why will you join your hand, with this proud Ofman's ? Who owes his triumph to the Chriftians' ruin !
Zara. Ah \-Who could//^/ the offer, of his .heart ? Nay — for I inea» to tell thee all my weaknefs ;
Perhaps,.
ZARA. 2f
Perhaps, I had, ere now, profefs'd thy faith,
But Ofman /wVme~- and I've &/? it all : —
J think, on none, but Ofman— my pleased heart,
Fill'd with the blefljng, to be lov'd, by him,
Wants room for other happinefs : — place thou,
Before thy eyes, his merit, and his fame,
His youth, yet, blooming but in manhood's dawn !
How many conquer'd kings have fwelPd his pow'r]
Think, too, how lovely ! now his brow becomes
This wreath of early glories !— Oh ! my friend !
I talk not of a fceptre, which he gives me :
No— to be eharm'd with that, were thanks, too humble I
Offenfive tribute, and, too poor, for love !
'Twas Ofman, won my heart, not Ofman's crown :
1 love not, in him, aught, befides himfelf.
Thou think'il, perhaps, that thefe are ilarts of paflion }
But, had the will of Heav'n, lefs bent to blefs him,
Doom'd Ofman to my Chains, and me, to fill
The throne, that Oftnan fits on— ruin and wretchednefsj
Catch and confume my wifhes, but I wou'd—
To raifs me, to my j elf, Jefcend to him.
Sslima. Hark ! the wiih'd mufic founds 'Tis to*—
he comes—- [Exit Selima.
Zara. My heart prevented him, and found him near ; Abfent, two whole long days, the flow-pac'd hour, At laft, is come — and gives him, to Jfiy wiihes !
Enter Ofman, vtading a Paper ^ which fa re~Jttn>trt 19 Orafrain.
Ofman. Wait my return— or, fliou'd there be a caufc, That may require my prefence— do not fear To enter— ever mindful) that my eatw
[Exit Orafmin»
Follows my peoptis happinefs. — At length, Cares have releas'd my heart— to love and Zara.
Zara. 'Twas not in cruel abfence, to deprive m6 Of your imperial image - every where, You reign, triumphant : memory fuppljes Reflexion, with your pow'r 5 and you, like heaven*
ft* Z A R A.
Are always ,prefent— and arc, always -gracious.'
Ofman. The Sultans, my great anceik>rs, bequcatli'4 Their empire to me, but their tafte they gave not ; Their laws, their lives, their loves, delight not me* I know, our prophet (miles on am'rous wifhes ; And opens a wide field, to vaft de£re : I know, that, at my will, I might poflefsi That, wafting tendernefs, in wild prefufion, I might look down, to my furroun.ded feet, And blefs contending beauties. — I might fpeak> Serenely flothful, from within my palace, And bid my pleafure, be my people's few. But, fweet, as foftnefs is, its end is cruel ; I can look round, and count a hundred Unconquer'd, by themfelves, and flaves to others : Hence was Jerufalem, to Chriftians, loft ; But, heaven, to blaft that unbelieving race> Taught me, to be a king, by thinking like one. Hence from the diftant Euxine, to the Nile, The trumpet's voice has wok'd the world to war-; Yet, amidft arms, and death, fly power has reach'd me ; ; .For, thou difdain'ft, like met a languid love ; . . Glory, and Zara, join — and charm, together.
Zara. I hear at once, with bkilhes, and, with joy, This paflion, fo unlike your country's cuftoms.
Ofman. Paflion, lik« mine, difdains my country's The jealoufy, the faintnefs, the diftruft, [cuftoms,
The proudv fupc/rior, coldnefs, of the.eaft: I know to love you, Zaw, with efteem ; To truft your virtue, and to court your foul. Nobly confiding, I unveil my heart, And dare inform you, that, *tis all your owft •: My joys muft, a/I, be yours— oni.y my fares Shall lie, conceaPd, within— and reach not Zara.
Zara. Oblig'd, by this eXcefs of tendtrnefs, How low, how wretched, was the lot of Zara ! Too poor with aught, but thanks, to pay fuch blcihngs !
Ofman. . Not fo— I Jove— and wou'd be lov'd again ; Let me confefs it, I poiTeis a foul,
That what it wilhes, wilhes, ard. vtly-.
1 mow d
£ A R A. 23
t Ciou'd believt, you hated, had you power
To /ow, with moderation : 'tis ray aim,
In every thing, to reach fupreme perfection.
If, with an equal flame, I touch your heart,
Marriage attends your fmile— But know, 'twill make
Me wretched, if it makes not Zara happy.
Zara. Ah ! Sir, if fuch a heart, as gen'rous Ofman's, Can, from my will, fubmit to take its blifs, What mortal, ever, was decreed fo happy ! Pardon the pride, with which I own my joy j Thus, wholly, to poftefs the man, I love ! To know, and to confefs, his will my fate ! To be the happy work of his dear hands 1 To be KJ .
%nter Orafmin.
Ofman. Already interrupted ! What > Who? Whence?
Orafmin, This moment, Sir, there is arrived That ChrilHan ftave, who, licens'd, on his faith,
Went hence, to France and, now return'd, prays
audience.
Zara. [Aftde.'] O! heaven!
Ofman. Admit him— What ?— Why comes he not ?—
Orafmin. He waits without. No Chriftian dares
approach This 'place, long facred to the Sultan*s privacies.
Ofman. Go — bring him with thee — monarche, like
the fun,
Shine but in vain, unwarming, if unfeen; With forms, and rev'rence, let the great approach us i Not the unhappy $ — every place, alike,
Gives the diftrefs'd a privilege to enter .•
[Exit Orafmin*
I think, with horror, on thefe dreadful maxims, Which harden kings, ihfenfibly, to tyrants*
Re-enter Orafmin, with Nereftan. Kereflan* Imperial Sultan 1 honour 'd, even by fbes !
34 2 A * A,
See me, return'd, regardful of my vow,
And punctual to difcharge a Chriftian's duty I
I bring the ranfom of the captive, Zara,
Fair Selima, the partner of her fortune,
And of ten Chriftian captives, prisoners, here.
You promis'd, Sultan, if I (hou'd return,
To grant their rated liberty -.-—Behold,
I am return'd, and they are yours no more.
I wou'd have ftretch'd my purpofe, to myfelf,
But fortune has deny'd it ; — my poor all
SuiSc'd, no further ; and a noble poverty
Is, now, my whole poffeffion t— I redeem
The promis'd Chriitians ; for I taught 'em hope.
But, for myfelf, I come, again, your Have,
To wait the fuller hand of future charity*
Ofman. Chriftian ! I muft confefs, thy courage charms
me;
But let thy pride be taught, it treads too high, When it prefumes to climb above my mercy* Go» ranfomlefs, thyfelf — and carry back Their unaccepted ranfoms, join'd with gifts, ph. to reward thy purpofe :— inftead of ten, Demand a hundred Chriftians : they are thine : Take *em — and bid 'em teach their haughty country, They left fome virtue, among Saracens.— Be Lufignan, alone excepted— He Who boalb the blood of kings, and dares lay claint To my Jerufalem— that claim his guilt ! Such is the law of ftates ; had 7 been vanquilh'd, Thus haci be faid of me : — I mourn his lot, Who mu£, in fetters, loft to daylight, pine, And figh away old age, in grief, and pain.— For Zara — but to name her, as a captive, Were to difhonour language ;-^-fhe's a prize, Above thy purchafe ;~all the Chriftian realms, With all their kings to guide 'em, would unite In vain, to force her from me^Go, retire—
Nereftan* For Zara's ranfom, with her own confent, I had your royal word— For Lufignan— Unhappy, poor, old man— •
Z A R A. 25
Ofman. Was I not heard ? Have I not told thee, Chriftian, all my will ? What, if I prais'd thee ! — This prefumptuous virtue, Compelling my efteern, provokes my pride : Be gone — and, when to-morrow's fun fhall rife On my dominions, be not found— too near me,
[Exit NereHaa.
Zara. [JfiJe.] Aflifl him, heaven ! Ofman. Zara, retire a moment — ArTiime, throughout my palace, fovereign empire, While I give orders, to prepare the pomp; That waits, to crown the miftrefs of my throne,
[Leads hir out, and returns* Orafmin ! didft thou mark th> imperious flave ? What cou'd he mean ? — he figh'd — and, as he went, Turn'd, and look'd back at Zara !— did'ft thou mark it ?• Orafmin. Alas ! my fovereign mafter ! let not jealoufy Strike high enough, to reach your noble heart.
Ofman. Jealouiy, faid'll thou ? I difdain it ;— No ! — Diitruit is poor ; and a mifplac'd fufpicion • Invites, and jutlifics, the fallhood fear'd.— - Yet, as I love with warmth — fo, I couJ4 hate ! But Zara is above difguife and art :— My love is ftronger, nobler, than my power. Jealous ! — I was not jealous ! — if I was, I am not — no — my heart — but, let us drown Remembrance of the word, and of the image : My heart is fill'd with a diviner flame, — Ga— and prepare for the approaching nuptials j Zara to careful empire joins delight, I muft allot one hour to thoughts of itate, Then, all the fmiling day is love, and Zara's.
[Exit Orafmiii..
Monarchs, by forms of pompous mifery, prefs'd, In proud, unfocial mifery, unblefs'd,
, but for love's foft influence, curfe their throne,
And, among crowded millions, live, alone. End of the FIRST A c T.
'B ACT
26 Z A R A.
A C T II. S C E N E I. Nereflan, Chatillon.
Chat. ]i>TATCHLESS Nereftan ! generous, and
iVl great!
You, who have broke the chains of hopelefs Haves ! You, chriftian faviour ! by a faviour fent ! Appear, be known, enjoy your due delight ; The grateful weepers wait, to clafp your knees, They throng, to kifs the happy hand, that fav'd 'em : Indulg« the kind Impatience of their eyes, And, at their head, command their hearts, for ever.
Nereftan. llluftrious Chatillon ! this praife o'erwhelms
me ;
What have I done, beyond a chriftian 's duty > Beyond, what You woird, in my place, have done ?
Chatillon. True — It is ev'ry honeft chriftian's duty ; Nay, 'tis the blefFmg of fuch minds as ours, For others' good to facrifice our own. — Yet, happy they, to whom Heav'n grants the power, To execute, like you, that duty's call ! For us — the relicks of abandon'd war, Forgot in France, and, in Jerufalem, Left, to grow old, in fetters ; — Ofman's father Confign'd us to the gloom of a damp dungeon, Where, but for you, we mutt have groan'd out life ; And native France have blefs'd our eyes no more.
Nereftan. The will of gracious heaven, that foften'd
Ofman,
Infpir'd me, for your fakes ; — But, with our joy, Flows, mix'd, a bitter fadnefs— I had hop'd, To fave, from their perverfion, a young beauty, Who, in her infant innocence, with me, Was made a flave by cruel Noradin ; When, fprinkling Syria, with the blood of chriflians, Csefarea's walls law Lufignan, furpriz'd, And the proud crefcent rife, in bloody triumph : From tliis Seraglio, having, young, efcap'd,
Fate,
ZARA. 27
Fate, three years fince, reftor'd me to my chains ; Then, fent to Paris, on my plighted faith, I flatter'd my fond hope, with vain refolves, To guide the lovely Zara to that court, Where Lewis has eftablifh'd virtue's throne ; — But Ofman will detain her— yet, not Ofman ; Zara, herfelf, forgets me is a chriftian, And loves the tyrant Sultan '. — Let that pafs: I mourn a difappointment, ftill, more cruel ; The prop of all our chriftian hope is loft !
Chatillon. Difpofe me, at your will — I am your own.
Nereftan. Oh, Sir, great Lufignan, fo long their
captive,
That laft, of an heroic race of kings ! That warrior ! whofe paft fame has filPd the world ! Ofman refufes, to my fighs, for ever !
Chatillon. Nay, then, we have been all redeemed in
vain ;
Perim, that foldier, who wou'd quit his chains, And leave his noble chief, behind, in fetters. Alas ! you know him not, as I have known him ; Thank heav'n, that plac'd your birth fo far remov'd From thofe detefted days of blood, and woe ; But I, lefs happy, was condemned to fee Thy walls, Jerufalem, beat down — and all Our pious fathers' labours loft, in ruins 1 Heav'n ! had you feen the very Temple rifled ! The facred fepulchre, itfelf, profan'd ! Fathers with children, mingled, flame together ! And our laft king, opprefs'd with age and arms, Murder'd — and bleeding, o'er his murder'd fons ! Then, Lufignan, fole remnant of his race, Rallying our fated few, amidft the flames, Fearlefs, beneath the crulh of falling towers, The conqu'rors and the conquered, groans and death ! Dreadful — and, waving in his hand his fword, Red with the blood of infidels — cry'd out, This way, ye faithful chriftians ! follow Mi?—
Nereftan. How full of glory was that brave retreat !
B 2 C-hatilfan,
28 2 A R A.
, Cbetillon. 'Twas heav'n, no doubt, that fav'd, and
led him on ;
Pointed his path ; and march'd cur guardian guide : We reach'd Caefarea — there, the general voice Chofe Lufignan, thenceforth, to give us laws ; Alas ! 'twas vain — Caefarea cou'd not ftand, When Sion's felf was fallen ! — we were betray'd ; And Lu/ignan condemn'd, to length of life, In chains, in damps, and. darknefs, and defpair : Yet, great, amidft his miferies, he look'd, As if he could not feel his fate, himfelf, But as it reach'd his followers : — And mall we, For whom our gen'rous leader fuffer'd this, Be, vi'ely, fafe ? and dare be blefs'd without him ?
Nereftan. Oh ! I fhou'd hate the liberty he ihaPd not ; I knew, too well, the miferies you defcribe, For I was born amidft 'em — Chains, ^nd death, Caefarea loft, and Saracens triumphant, Were the firft objects which my eyes e'er look'd on. Hurried, an infant, among other infants, Snatch'd from the bofoms of their bleeding mothers, A temple fav'd us, till the flaughter ceasM 5 Then were we fent to this ill-fated city, Here, in the palace of our former kings, To learn, from Saracens, their hated faith,
And be completely wretched. Zara, too,
Shar'd this captivity ; we, both, grew up, So near each other, that a tender friendihip Endear'd her to my wimes :— My fond heart — Pardon its weaknefs ! bleeds, to fee her loft, And, for a barb'rous tyrant, quit her God !
Cbatillon. Such is the Saracens', too fatal, policy ! Watchful feducers, ftill, of infant weaknefs : Happy, that Tou9 fo young, efcap'd their hands !
But, let us think May not this Zara's int'reft,
Loving the Sultan, and, by him belov'd, For Lufignan procure fome fofter fentence ? The wife, and juft, \vith innocence, may draw Their own advantage, from the guilt of others.
N ere/tan. How ihall I gain admiffion to her prefence ?
OfmaR
Z A R A. 2$
Ofman has banifhM me — but that's a trifle ;
Will the feraglio's portals open to me ?
Or, cou'd I find that, eafy, to my hopes,
What profpect of fuccefs, from an apoftate ?
On whom I cannot look, without difdain ;
And who will read her mame upon my brow ?
The hardeft trial of a gen'rous mind
Is, to court favours, from a hand it fcorns.
Cbatillon. Think, it is Lufignan we feek to ferve., Nereftan. Well— it fhall be attempted— Harlt! who's this ?
Are my eyes falfe ? or, is it, really, Hie ?
Enter Zara.
Zara. Start not, my worthy friend ! I come to feek
you;
The Sultan has permitted it ; Fear nothing :— But, to confirm my heart, which trembles, near you, Soften that angry air, nor look reproach ; Why Ihould we fear each other, both, miftaking? Aflbciates, from our birth, one prifon held us, One friendihip taught affliction, to be calm ; Till heav'n thought fit to favour your efcape, And call' you to the fields of happier France ; .: j; Thence, once again, it was my lot to find you, A pris'ner here ; where, hid, amongft a crowd Of undiitinguifh'd ilaves, with lefs reilraint,
I mar'd'your frequent converfe ;
It pleas'd your pity, mail I fay, your friendihip ? Or, rather, (hall I call it £gnerous charity ? To form that noble purpofe, to redeem Diftrefsful Zara — you procur'd my ranfom, And, with a greatnefs that out-foar'd a crown, Return'd,. yourfelf a (lave, to give me freedom ! But heaven has call our -fate, for different climes ; Here, in Jerusalem, I fix, for ever: Yet, among all the mine, that marks my fortune, I (hall, with frequent tears, remember yours ; Your goodnefs will, for ever, footh my heart> B 3
30 Z A R A.
And keep your image, ftill, a dweller, there, Warm'd, by your great example, to protect That faith, that lifts humanity fo high, I'll be a mother to diftreisful Chrittians.
Ncrgfta*. How I — YQU protect the Chriftians ! jevf
who can
Abjuie their laving truth ! — and, coldlyy^Tee Great Lufignan, their chief, die flow, in chains ?
Zara. To bring him freedom, you behold me here, You will, this moment, meet his eyes, in joy.
Cbatillcn. Shall I, then, live, to blefs that happy
hour ? . Ne reft an. Can Chriftians owe fo dear a gift to Zara ?
Zara. Hopelefs, I gathered courage, to intreat The Sultan, for his liberty — amaz'd, So foon, to gain the happinefs, I wifh'd 1 See ! where they bring the good, old chief, grown dim With age, by pain, and forrows, haften'd on !
Ckatilion, How is my heart difTolvM/with fudden joy I
Zara. J long to view his venerable face, But tears, I know not why, eclipfe my fight ! J feel, methinks, redoubled pity for him j But I, alas ! myfelf, have been a flave ; And, when we pity woes, which we JTis but a partial virtue !
Nereftan. Amazement I — Whence this greatnefs, in an infidel.
Enter LuTignan, led in ly two guards*
Lufignan. Where am I I what forgiving angel's voice Has call'd me, to revifit long-loft day ? Am I with Chriflians ?— I am weak— forgive me, And guide my trembling ileps. — I'm full of years, Yet, mifery has worn me, more than age. [Seating kim/elf*} Am J, in truth, at liberty ?
Chatillon. You are ; And every Chriftian's grief takes end, with yours.
an* O, Light l—O ! dearer, far, than light! that voice !
Chatillon J
2 A R A. x 31
Chatillon ! is it you ? — my fellow martyr !
And, {hall our wretchednefs, indeed, have end ?
In what place are we now ?— my feeble eyes,
Difus'd to day-light, long, in vain, to find you. Chatillon. This was the palace of your royal fathers,
'Tis, now, the fon of Noradin's feraglio.
Zara. The mailer of this place. — the mighty Ofman !
DiiUnguifhes, and loves to cherifh, virtue ;
This gen'rous Frenchman, yet, a ftranger to you,
Drawn from his native foil, from peace, and reft,
Brought the vow'd ranfoms of ten Chriftian flaves,
Himielf, contented, to remain a captive :
But Ofman, charm'd by greatnefs, like his own,
To equal, what he lov'd, has giv'n him you.
Lufignan. So, gen'rous France infpires her focial Sons !
They have been, ever, dear, and ufeful to me !
Wou'd I were nearer to him Noble Sir !
[Nereftan approaches.
How have I merited, that you, for me,
Shou'd pafs fuch diftant feas, to bring me blefiings,
And hazard your own fafety, for my fake ?
Nereftan. My Name, Sir, is Nereilan — born, in Syrh, I wore the chains of flavery, from my birth ; Till, quitting the proud crefcent, for the court, Where warlike Lewis reigns, beneath his eye, I learnt the trade of arms : — the rank I hold, Was but the kind diftindtion which he gave me, To tempt my courage, to deferve regard. Your fight, unhappy prince, wou'd charm his eye; That beft, and greateft monarch, will behold, With grief, and joy, thofe venerable wounds, And print embraces, where your fetters bound you : All Paris will revere the crofs's martyr; 1'aris, the refuge, Hill, of ruin'd kings !
Lufignan. Alas ! in times, long pad, I've feen it$
glory :
When Philip,' the victorious, liv'd — I fought, A bread, with Montmorency, and Melun, D'Eftaing, De Neile, and the far-famous Courcy;— - Names, which were, then, the praife, and dread, of war !
B 4 But,
32 Z A K A.
But, what have I to do, at Paris, nmv? \ Hand upon the brink of the cold grave ; That way, my journey lies — to find, I hope, The king of kings, and move remembrance, there, Of all my woes, long-fuffer'd, for his fake. — You, gen'rous witnefTes of my laft hour, While I yet Jive, afHlt my humble prayers, And join the resignation of my foul. Nereiian ! Chatillon ! and you— fair mourner \ V7hofe tears do honour to an old man's forrows ! Pity a father, the unhappieft, fure, That ever felt the hand of angry heav'n ! My eyes, tho' dying, ftill, can furnifh tears : Half my long life they flow'd, and, ftill, will flow ! A daughter, and three fons, my heart's proud hopes, Were, all, torn from me, in their tend'reft years ; My friend Ghatillon knows, and can remember •
Chatillon. Wou'd I were able, to forget your woe.
Lufignan. Thou vvert a pris'ner, with me, in Caefarca, And, there, beheld'fl my wife, and two dear Tons, Perith, in flames — they did not need the grave. Their foes wou'd have deny'd 'em ! — I beheld it ; Hujband! m& father! helplefs, I beheld it! Deny'd the mournful privilege to die ! If ye are faints in heaven, as, fure, ye are ! Look, with an eye of pity, on that brother, Tffat filler, whom you left !— If I have, yet, Or fon, or daughter: — for, -in early chains, Far from their loft, and unaffiiling father, I heard, that they were fent, with numbers more, To this Seraglio ; hence to be difpers'd, In namelefs remnants, o'er the eaft, and fpread Our Chriftian miferies, round a faithlefs world.
Chatillon. JTwas true for, in the horrors of that day,
I match 'd your infant daughter from her cradle ; But, finding ev'ry hope of flight was vain, Scarce had I fprinkled, from a public fountain, Thofe facred drops, which warn the foul from fin ; When, from my bleeding arms, fierce Saracens Forc'd the loft innocent, who, fmiliog, lay,
And
Scene 3 .
Z A' R A. w
And pointed, playful, at the fwarthy fpoilers ! With her, your youngeft, then, your only fon, Whofe little life had reach'd the fourth, fad year, And, juft, giv'n fenfe, to feel his own misfortunes, Was order'd to this city.
Nereftan. I, too, hither,. . Juft, at that fatal age, from loft Ojcfarea, Came, in that crowd of undiftinguifh'd Chriftians.— ..
Lufignan. Ton ?. — Qamejou thence? — Alas ! who knows
but you
Might, heretofore, have feen my two, poor- children ? [Looking up.~\ Hah! Madam ! that fmall ornament you,
wear,.
Its form a ftranger to this country's fafhion,, How long has it been your's ?.
Zara. From my firft birth, Sir —
Ah ! what ! you feem furpriz'd '.—Why fjiould '/£// move yoa?
Lufignan. Wou!d you confide it to my trembling, hands ?
Zara, To what new wonder am I now refery'd? ©h ! Sir, , what mean you B
Lufegnan, Providence ! and heaven ! G, failing eyes ! deceive ye not my hope ?.. Can this^be poffible ?— Y.es, yes— 'tis me I
This little crofs^ 1 know it,i by fure marks ;
Oh ! take me,, Heav'n ! while. I can die with joy?— t
Zara. O ! do not, Sir, diftrafl me!— rifing thoughts,, And hopes, and fears, overwhelm me ! .
Lujtgnan. Tell me, yet, Has it remain 'd, for ever, in your hands ? What !— Both, brought captives, from Csefarea hither.?
Zara. Both, both
Nereftan. Oh, heaven ! have I' then found a father ?
Lujignan. Their, voice ! their looks ! The living images of their dear mother ! O, thou ! who, thus, ca,nft blefs.my life's laft fan4! Strengthen my heart, too feeble for this joy. Madam! Nereftan ! —Help me, Chatillon ! [#£%• Nereftan ! if thou eught'ft to own that name,..
Shines
34 Z A R A.
Shines there, upon thy breaft, a noble fear, Which, ere Casfarea fell, from a fierce hand, Surprifmg us, by night, my child receiv'd ?
Nereftan, Blefs'd hand ! — I bear it, Sir— tKe mark is there !
Lufignan. Merciful heaven !
Nerejian. {Kneeling.'} O, Sir !— O, Zara, kneel.—
Zara. [Kneeling.'] My father ? — Oh! —
Lufignan. O, my loft children !
Both. Oh ! [bracing your
Lujignan. My fon ! my daughter I loft, in em- J wou'd now die, left this fhou'd prove a dream.
Ckatlllon. How touch'd is my glad heart, to fee their Joy !
Lufignan. Again, I find you — dear, in 'wretcbednefs » O, my brave fon — and, thou, my namelefs daughter I Now, diffipate all doubt, remove all dread : Has heaven, that gives me back my children — giv'n 'em, Such as I loft 'em ? — Gome they, Chriftians, to me ? — One weeps — and one declines a confcious eye ! Your filence fpeaks— too well I underftand it.
Zara. I cannot, Sir, deceive you— Ofman's laws Were mine - and Ofman is not Chriftian. —
Lujignan. Oh ! my mifguided child ! — at that fad
word,
The little life, yet mine, had left me, quite, But that my death might fix thee, loft, for ever. Full iixty years, I fought the Chriftians' caufe, Saw tiieir doom'd temple fall, their power deftroy'd : Twenty, a captive, in a dungeon's depth, Yet, never, for myfelf, my tears fought heaven;: All for ?ny chjldren refe my rruitlefs prayers :. Yet, what avails a father's wretched joy ? I have a daughter gain'd, and kearfn an enemy. But, 'tis my guilt, not her's — thy father's prifon Depriv'd thee of thy faith — yet, do not lofe it :. — Reclaim thy birthright — think upon the blood Of twenty Chriftian kings, that fills thy veins j 'Tis heroes' bl^od — the blood of faints, and martyrs ! What vvcu'd thy mother feel, to fee thee, thus ?
She,,
Z A R A. 35
She, and thy murder'd brothers !— think, they call thee ;
Think, that thou fee'ft 'em, ftretch their bloody arms,
And weep, to win thee, from their murderers' bofom.
Kv'n, in the place, where thou betrafft thy God,
He dfd, my child, to fave thee.— Turn thy eyes,
And fee ; for thou art near> his facred fepulchre ;
Thou can'ft riot move a ftep, but where he trod!
Thou trembleft — Oh ! admit me to thy foul',
Kill not thy aged, thy afHicled father ;
Take aot, thus foon, again, the life thou gav'ft him ;
Shame not thy mother — nor betray thy God. —
'Tis paft —Repentance dawns, in thy fweet eyes ;
I fee bright truth, defcending to thy heart,
And now, my long-loll child, is found,, for ever.
Nerejlan. O ! doubly blefs'd ! a fitter, and a foul,. To be redeem'd, together L
Zara. O F my father !
Dear author of my life ! inform me, teach me, What fhou'd my duty do ?
Lufignan. By one Ihort word, To dry up all my tears, and make life welcome, Say, thou art Chriltian
Zara.. Sir— I am a Chriftian.
Lujignan, Receive her, gracious heaven I and blefjj her^ for it.
Enter Orafmin^
Orafmtn. Madam, the Sultan order'd me, to tell you,, 1" hat he expects, you, inftant, quit this place, And bid your laft farewell, to thefe vile Chriftians : You, captive Frenchmen, follow me ; — for youx It is my tafe, to anfwer. •
Chatillon, Still, new Miferies ! How cautious man fnou'd be, ta fay, I'm happy !
Lufignan. Thefe are the times, when men of virtue
prove, Tha 'us the mind, not blood, infures. their firmnefs.
Zor* Alas I Sir— Oh!—
36 Z A R A.
Lufignan. 6, you !— I dare not name you : Farewell — but, come what may, be fare, remember, You keep the fatal fecret I—for the reft, Leave all to heaven, — be faithful, and be bleft.
End of tke SECOND ACT.
. A C T III. SCENE L Ofman, and Orafmin.
O/man. f\ R A S M IN I this alarm was falfe, and
\J' groundlefs ;
Lewis, no longer, turns his arms, on me : The French, grown weary,, by a length of woes, Wifli not, at once,, to quit their fruitful plains, And fandfii, on Arabia's defart fands. Their mips, 'tis true, have fpread the Syrian feas ; And Lewis, hovering,, o'er the coaft of Cyprus, Alarms the fears of Aila.; — But, I've learnt, That, fleering wide, from our unmenac'd ports, He points his thunder, at th' Egyptian fhore. There, let him war, and wafte my enemies ;
Their mutual conflict will but fix my throne. •
fceteafe thofe Chriftians — I reftore their freedom ; 'Twill pleafe their mailer, nor can weaken me : Tranfport 'em, at my coft, to find their king ; I;wiih, to have him knsvj me : carry thither This Luiignan, whom, tell him, I rcilore, Becaufe I cannot feaj his fame in arms; But love him, for his virtue^, and his blood. Tell him, my father haying concjuer'd, twice, Condemned him to perpetual chains ; but I Ifave fet Jiim/hv?, that I might triumph more.
Orafmin. The Chriftians gain an army, in his name. . i I cannot fear a./wW.— •
Qrafmin*
Z A R A. 3jr'
Ora/min. But, Sir, — fhou'd Lewis
Ofman. Tell Lewis, and the world — it flail be Co : Zara propos'd it, and my heart approves : Thy ftatefman's reafon is too dull, for love ! Why wilt thou force me, to confefs it all ? Tho' I, to Lewis, fend back Luiignai\, I give him but to Zara — I have griev'd her ; And ow'd her the atonement of this joy. Thy falfe advices, which, but now, mifled My anger, to confine thofe helplefs Chriftians, Gave her a pain, I feel, for her and me : But I talk on, and wafte the fmiling moments. For one long hour, I yet, defer my nuptials ; But, 'tis not toft, that hour ! 'twill all be her's ! She wou'd employ it, in a" conference,
With that Nereflan, whom thou know'ft That
Chriftian !
Qrafmin. And have you, Sir, indulg'd that ftrange defire ?_
O/man. What mean'ft thou ? they were infant flaves
together ;
Friends mould part, kind, who are to meet no more ; When Zara afks, I will refufe her nothing. Reftraint was never made for thofe, we love ; Down with thefe rigours, of the proud feraglio j 1 hate its laws — where blind aufterity $inks virtue, to neceffity. — My blood ' $
Difclaims your Afian jealoufy ; — I hold The fierce, free, plainnefs, of my Scythian anceftors, Their open confidence, their honeft hate, Their love, unfearing, and their anger, told. Go— the good Chriftian waits— conduct him to her ; Zara expects theer— What me wills, obey.
\Exit Ofmair.
Qrafmin. Ho! ChrifUaft ! enters-wait, a momen.t, herd;.
£to- NereHan.
Zara will foon approach— I go, to find her.
[Exit Orafmiiu
3.S Z A R A.
Nerefiatf. In what a Hate, in what a place, I leave her! O, faith ! O, father ! O ! my poor, loft filler ! She's here !- —
Enter Zarav
Thank heaven r it is not, then, unlawful, To fee you, yet, once more, my lovely filler ! Not all fo happy ! — We, who met, but now, Shall never meet again — for Lulignan — We mall be orphans, flill, and want a father.
Zara. Forbid it, heaven !
Nerefian. His laft, fad hour's at hand.
That flow of joy, which folio w'd our difcovery^ Too flrong, and fudden, for his age's weaknefs, Walling his fpirits, dry'd the fource of life, And nature yields him up, to time's demand : Shall he not die, in peace ?— Oh ! let no doubt Difturb his parting moments, with diftruft; Let me, when I return, to clofe his eyes, Compofe his mind's impatience, too, and tell him, You are confirm'd a Chrillian.— -
Zara. Oh ! may his foul enjoy, in earth, and KeaVeji, Eternal reft ! nor let one thought, one figh, One bold complaint, of mine, recall his cares ! But, you have injur'd me, who, ftill, can doubr.?~ What ! am I not your fitter ? and mall you Refufe me credit ? you fuppofe me light ? You, who ihould judge my honour, by your own ! Shall you diftruft a truth, I dar'd avow, And ftamp apoftate, on a filler's heart !
Nerejlari. Ah ! do not mifconceive me I — if I err'd, Affe&ion, not diilruft, mifled my fear ; Your will may be a Chriftian, yet, not you ; There is a facred mark — zjign, of faith, A pledge, of promife, that muft firm your claim j. Wafh you from guilt, and open heaven before you. Swear, fwear, by all the woes, we all have borne, By all the martyr'd faists, who call you daughter;
That
- •
Z A R A. 39
That you confent, this day, to feal our faith, By that myfterious rite, which waits your call.
Zara. I fwear, by Heaven, and all its holy hoft, Its faints, its martyrs, its attefting angels, And the dread prefence of its living author, To have no faith, but yours ; — to die a Chriftian I Now, tell me, what this myftic faith requires ?
Nereftan. To hate the happinefs of Qjman's throne,, And love that God, who, thro' his maze of woes, Has brought us all, unhoping, thus, together ; For me — I am a foldier, uninftrufted, Nor daring to inftrud, tho' ftrong in faith : But I will bring th' ambafiador of heaven * To clear your views, and lift you to your God : Be it your talk, to gain admiffion for him. — But where ? from whom ? — Oh! thou immortal power, t Whence can we hope it, in this curs'd feraglio ? Who M this flave of Ofman ? — yes, this flave ! Does me not boaft the blood of twenty kings ? Is not her race the fame, with that of Lewis ? Is Jhe not Lufignan's unhappy daughter? A Chriilian ? and my filler ?— yet, a flave ! A willing flave ! — I dare not fpeak, more plainly.
Zara. Cruel ! go on — Alas 1 you know not me-!' At once, a ftranger, to my fecret fate, My pains, my fears, my wifties, and my power : I am— I will be, Chriftian — will receive This holy prieft,. with his myfterious blefling ; I wifl not do* nor fuffer, aught, unworthy Myfelf, my father, or my father's race. — But, tell me — nor be tender, on this point 5. What punifhment your Chriftian laws decree,. For an unhappy wretch, who, to herfelf, Unknown, and, all abandoned, by the world, Loft, and enlrav'd, has, in her fov'reign matter, found a protedor, generous, as great, Has toucK'd his heart, and giv'n him, all her own ?
Nertfan. The punifhment of fuch a flave, Jbou'4 be Death, in this world— and pain, in that to come.
ft Z A R A.
Zara. I am that Have — ftrike here—and fave my (hame.
Nereftan. Deflru&ion to my hopes !— Can it be you ?
Z*ara. It is — ador'd by Ofman, I adore him : This hour, the nuptial rites will make us, one.
Nereftan. Whatt marry Ofman ! — Let the world grow
dark,.
That the extinguifiiM fun may hide thy fhame t Cou'd it be thus, it were no crime to kill thee.
Zarat. Strike, ftrike — I love him— yes,, by heav'n ! 1 love him.
Nercftan. Death is thy due; — but not thy due from me ;
Yet, were the honour of our houfe no bar
My father's fame, and the too gentle laws
Of that religion, which tllou haft difgrac'd —
Did not the God, thou quit'fl, hold back my arm,
Not there — I cou'd not there ; — but, by my foul,
I. wou'd rulh, defp'rate, to the Sultan's breail,
And plunge my fword in his proud heart who damns thee.
Oh ! fhame ! fhame ! fliame ! at fuch a time, as this !
When Lewis, that awak'ner of the world,
Beneath the lifted crofs, makes Egypt pale,
And draws the f,vord of heaven, to fpread our faith !;
No<w, to fubmit to fee my filler, doom'd
A bofom flave, to him, whofe tyrant heart
But meafures glory, by the Chriflian's woe;
Yes — I will dare acquaint our father with it ;;
Departing Lufignan may live fo long,
As juft, to hear, thy fhame, and die, to 'fcape it;
Zara. Stay — my too angry brother^— flay— perhaps, Zara has refolution, great as thine: JTis cruel— and unkind ! — Thy words are crimes ; My iveaknefs but misfortune ! Doll thou fuffer ? I fufrer more ; — Oh ! wou'd to heavep, this blood Of twenty boafled kings, would flop, at once, And ftagnate in my hearft! — It, then, no more Would rufh, in boiling fevers, thro' my veins, And ev'ry trembling drop be fill'd with Ofman. How has he 70o>V me ! how has he obliged me ! Lowe tbet. to him ! what has he not done,
ZARA. 41
To jufiify his boundlefs pow'r of charming !
For «£, he ibftens the fevere decrees
Of his own faith ; — and is it juft that mine
Should bid me hate him, but becaufe he loves me ?
No — I will be a Chriftian — but preferve
My gratitude as facred as my faith :
If I have death to fear, for Ofman's fake,
It muft be from his coldnefs, not his /o-ve.
Nereftan. I muft, at once, condemn and pity thee ; I cannot point thee out, which way to go, But providence will lend its light to guide thee. That facred rite, which thou malt, now, receive, Will ftrengthen and fupport thy feeble heart, To live, an innocent ; or die, a martyr : Here, then, begin performance of thy vow; Here, in the trembling horrors of thy foul, Promife thy king, thy father, and thy God, Not to accompHih thefe detefted nuptials, Till, firft, the rev'rend prieft has clear'd your eyes, Taught you to know, and giv'n you claim to heav'ft. Promife me this—
Zara. So blefs me, heaven ! I do.— Go — haften the good prieft, I will expe£l him ; But, firft, return — cheer my expiring father, Tell him, I am, and will be, all he wimes me : Teil him, to give him life, 'twere joy to die.
Nertftan. I go — farewell — farewell, unhappy filler !
[Exit Nereftaa.
Zara. I am alone — and, now, be juft, my heart I And tell me, wilt thou dare betray thy God ! What am I ? what am I about to be ? Daughter of Lufignan ? — or wife to Ofman ? Am J a lover, moft ? or, moft, a Chriftian ? Wou'd Selima were come ! and, yet, 'tis juft, All friends fhou'd fly her, who forfakes herfelf : What mail I do ?— What heart has ftrength to bear Thefe double weights of duty ? — help me, heaven ! To thy hard laws I render up my foul : But, Oh I demand it back— for, now, 'tis Ofman's.
4* Z A R A.
Enter Ofman,
Ofman. SKIne out, appear, be found, my lovely
Zaia !
Impatient eyes attend — the rites exped thee ; And my devoted heart, no longer, brooks This diftance from its foft'ner 1-r-all the lamps Of nuptial love are lighted, and burn pure, As if they drew their brightnefs from thy blufhes ; The holy mofque is fill'd with fragrant fumes, Which- emulate the fweetnefs of thy breathing : My proftrate people, all, confirm my choice, And fend their fouls fo heaven, in prayer, for bleflings,. Thy envious rivals, confcious of thy right, Approve fuperior charms, and join to praife thee ; The throne, that waits thee, feems to fhine more
richly,
As all its gems, with animated luflre, Fe^r'd to look dim, beneath the eyes of Zara ! Come, my flow love ! the ceremonies wait thee ; Come, and begin, from this dear hour, my triumph.
Zara* Oh! what a wretch am I? O, grief! Oh» love !
Ofman. Come come
Zara. Where mail I hide my bluihes?
Of man. Blumes ? — here, in my bofom, hide 'em.— -
Zara. My Lord?
Oftnan. Nay, Zara — give me thy hand, and come—
7,ara. Inftruft me, heaven ! What I mou'd fay— Alas ! I cannot fpeak :
Ofman. Away this modeft, fweet, relu&afft^
trifling But doubles rny defires, aad thy own beauties !
Zara. Ah, me !
Ojman. Nay— but thou (hould'ft not be too cruel—
Zara. I can, no longer, bear it — Oh ! my Lord—
Ofman. Ha !— what !— whence ?— how £.—
Z A R A. 45
Zara. My Lord ! my Sovereign !
Heaven knows, this marriage vvou'd have been a blifs, Above my humble hopes ! — yet, witnefs love ! Not from the grandeur of your throne, that blifs, But, from the pride of calling Ofman, mine. Wou'd, you had been no Emperor ! and I, Poffefs'd of power, and charms, deferving_y0« / That, flighting Afia's thrones, I might, alone, Have left a profter'd world, to follow you, Through defarts, uninhabited by men, And blefs'd, with ample room, for peace, and love I But, as it is thefe Chriftians
Ofman. Chriilians ! what ! How {tart two images into thy thoughts, So diftant as the Chriftians, and my love \
Zara. That good, old Chriftian, rev'rend Lufignan, Now, dying, ends his life, and woes, together !
Ofman. Weil ! let him die— What has thy heart to feel, Thus preffing, and thus tender, from the death Of an old, wretched Chriftian ?— Thank our Prophet, Thou art no Chriftian !— educated, here, Thy happy youth was taught our better faith : Sweet, as thy pity mines, 'tis, now, mis--tim'd , What ! tho' an aged fuiPrer dies, unhappy, Why fhou'd his foreign fate difturb our joys ?
Zara. Sir, if you love me, and wou'd have me thinly That, I am, truly dear
Ofman. Heaven ! if I love —
Zara. Permit me— —
Off/fan. What ?
Zara. To defire
Ofman. Speak out
Zara. The nuptial rites May be deferr'd, till
Ofman. What ?— Is th^t the voice Of Zara?
Zara . Oh ! I cannot bear his frown !
Ofman* Of Zara !
Zara. It is dreadful to my heart, To give you but a feeming caufe, for anger ; ^
44. Z A R A.
Pardon my grief — Alas ! I cannot bear it ; There is a painful terror in your eye, That pierces to my foul — hid, from your fight, I go, to make a moment's truce, with tears, And gather force, to fpeak of my defpair.
\Exit d f orders a t
Ofman. I fland, immoveable, like fenfelefs marble I Horror had frozen my fufpended tongue : And an aftoniih'd filence robb'd my will Of power, to tell her, that fhe mock'd my foul ! Spose me to me ? — fure, I mifunderftood her ! Cou'd it be me, ihe left ? — What have I feen I
Enter Orafmin*
Orafmin ! What a change is here ! — She's gone. And I permitted it, I know not how !
Orafmin. Perhaps, you but accufe the charming fault Of innocence, too modeft, oft, in love.
Ofman. But why, and whence, thofe tears ?— thofe
looks ! that flight !
That grief ! fo ftrongly ftamp'd on every feature ! If it has been that Frenchman ! — What a thought ! How low, how horrid, a fufpicion, that ! The dreadful flalh, at once, gives light, and kills me | My too bold confidence, repell'd my caution ; An infidel ! — a flave ! — a heart, like mine, Reduc'd, to fufFer, from fo vile a rival ! But, tell me, did'ft thou mark 'em, at their parting ? Did'ft thou obferve the language of their eyes ? Hide nothing from me — Is my love bet ray 'd ? Tell me my whole difgrace : nay, if thou -.rembleft, 1 hear thy pity fpeak, though thou art filent.
Orafmin, I tremble at the pangs, I fee you fuffer j Let not your angry apprehenfion urge Your faithful flave, to irritate your anguifh ; I did, 'tis true, obferve fome parting tears ; But, there are tears, of charity, and grief: I cannot think, there was a caufe, deferving This Agony of paflion
Ofmanu
Z A R A.
45
O/man. Why, no — I thank thee Oraimin, thou art wife ! It cou'd net be, That I fhou'd ftand, expos'd, to fuch an infult: Thou know'ft, had Zara meant me the offence, She wants not wifdom, to have bid it, better j How rightly did'ft thou judge ! — Zara lhall know it : And thank thy honed fervice — After all, Might flie not have fome caufe for tears, which I Claim no concern in — but the grief it gives her ? What an unlikely fear — from a poor flave ! Who goes, to-morrow, and, no doubt, who wiihes, Js[ay, who refolves to fee thefe climes no more !
Orafmin. Why did you, Sir, againfl our country's
cuftom,
Indulge him, with a fecond leave to come ? He faid, he ihou'd return, once more, to fee her.
Ofman. Return ! the traitor ! he return '.-—Dares he Preibme, to prefs a fecond interview ? Wou'd he be feen again ? — He fhall be feen ; But dead; — I'll puniili the audacious flave, To teach the faithlefs Fair, to feel my anger : Bej#///, my tranfports ; violence is blind : 1 know, my heart, at once, is fierce, and weak ; I feel, that I defcend, below myfelf ; Zara can never juilly be fufpecled ; Her fweetnefs was not form'd to cove* treafon : Yet, Ofman muft not ftoop to woman's follies. Their tears, complaints, regrets, and reconcilements, V/ith all their light, capricious, roll of changes, Are arts,, too vulgar, to be try'd on me. It wou'd become me, better, to refume The empire of my will : — Rather than fall Beneath myfelf, I muft, how dear foe'er It cofts me, . rife — till I look down, on Zara ! Av/ay — but mark me — thefe Seraglio doors, Againfl: all Chriftians, be they, henceforth, fhut, Clofe, as the dark retreats of filent death. — What have I done, juft heav'n ! thy rage to move, That thou fhould'ft fmk me down, fo kw, to love ?
End of the THIRD ACT.
46 ZARA.
A C T IV. S C E N E J.
Zara, Seliina.
Selima.
AH ! Madam, how, at once, I grieve your fate, And, how admire your virtue ! — Heaven permits, And heaven will give you itrength, to bear misfortune ; To break thefe chains, fo ftrong, and, yet, fo dear.
Zara. Oh I that. I could fupport the fatal ftruggle!
Selima. Th' Eternal aids your weaknefs, fees your will ; Direcis your purpofe, and rewards your forrows.
Zara. Never had wretch more caufe, to hope, he does.
Selima. What ! tho', you here, no more, behold your
father !
There is a Father to be found, above, Who can reilore that father to his daughter.
Zara. But, I have planted pain, in Ofman's bofom 5 He loves me, ev'n to death J— and I reward him, With anguifh, and defpair : — How bafe ; how cruel ! But I delerv'd him not, I (hou'd have been Too happy, and the hand of heaven repell'd me.
Selima. What ! will you, then, regret the glorious lofs, And hazard, thus, a vicl'ry, bravely won ?
Zara. Inhuman vicVry ! — thou doft not know, This love,, fo povv'rful, this fole joy of life, This firft, be ft hope of earthly happinefs, Is, yet, lefs pow'rfd, in my heart, than heaven ! To him, who made that heart, I offer it ; There, there, I iacrifice my bleeding paflion : I pour, before him, ev'ry guilty tear ; I teg him, to efface the fond impreiTion, And fill with his own image, all my foul ; But, while I weep, and figh, repent, and pray, Remembrance brings the object of my love, And ev'ry light illuuon floats before him.
I fee,
Z A R A.
47
I fee, I hear him, and, again, he charms!
Fills my glad foul, and mines, 'twixt me, and heav'n !
Oh I all ye royal anceftors ! Oh, father /
Mother ! you ChrilHans, and the Chriftians* God !
You, who deprive me of this gen'rous lover !
If you permit me not to live for him,
Let me n.-t live at all, and I am blcfe'd :
Let me die, innocent ; let his dear hand
Clofe the fad ey^-s of her, he ftoop'd to love,
And I acquit my fate, and aik no more.
But he forgives me not regardlef?, now,
Whether, or how, I live, or, when I die. He quits me, fcorns me — and I, yet live on, And talk of death, as diflant. .
Se/ima. Ah ! defpair not, Truft your Eternal Helper, and be happy.
Zara. Why what has Ofman done, that he, too,
mou'd not ?
Has heaven, fo nobly, form'd his heart, to hate it ? Gen'rous, and juft, beneficent, and brave, Were he but Chriftian — What can man be, more ? I wifh, methinks, this reverend prieft were come, To free me from thefe doubts, which fhake my foul : Yet, know not, why I mould not dare to hope, That heav'n, whofe mercy all confefs, and feel, Will pardon, and approve, th' alliance wiih'd : Perhaps, it feats me on the throne of Syria, To tax my pow'r, for thefe good Chriftians' comfort. Thou know'ft the mighty Saladine, who, firft, Conquer'd this empire, from my father's race, Who, like my Ofman, charm'd th' admiring world, D*ew breath, tho' Syrian, from a Chriftian mother.
Selima. What mean you, Madam I Ah ! you do not fee
Zara. Yes, yes —I fee it all ; I am not blind : I fee, my country, and my race, condemn me ; I fee, that, fpite of all, 1 Hill love Ofman. What ! if I, now, go throw me at his feet, And tell him, there, fmcerely, what I am.
Selima.
48 Z A R A.
Selima. Confider - that might coft your brother's life, Expoie the Chriftians, and betray you all.
Lara. You do not know the noble heart of Ofman.
Se'ima. I know him the protector of a faith, Sworn enemy to ours ; - The more he loves, The left will he permit you, to profefs Opinions, which he hates : to-night, the prieft, In private, introduced, attends you, here; You promis'cj him admiflion -
Zara. Wou'd I had not ! I promised, too., to keep this fatal fecret ; My father's nrg'd command required it, twigs ; I muft obey* .all dangerous, as it is : Compell'd'to filence, Ofman is enrag'd, Sufpicion follows, and I lofe his love.
Ofman. Madam ! there was a time, when my charm'd
heart
Made it a virtue, to be loft, in love ; When, without bluihing, I indulg'd my flame ; And ev'ry day, ftill, made you dearer to me. You taught me, Madam, to believe, my love Rewarded, and returned — nor was that hope, Methinks, too bold for reafon : Emperors, Who chufe to figh, devoted, at the feet f
Of beauties, whom the world conceive their flaves, Have fortune's claim, at leaft, to fure fuccefs : But, 'twere prophane to think of pow'r, in love. Dear, as my paflion makes you, I decline PoiTefTion of her charms, whofe heart's another's ;' You will not find me a weak, jealous, lover, By coarfe reproaches giving pain to you, And ihaming my own greatnefs — wounded deeply, Yet fhunning, and difdaining, low complaint, I come - to tell you -
Zara. Give my trembling heart A moment's refpite — <-.
OJman. That unwilling coldnefs,
i Is
Z A R A. 4?
Is the juft prize of your capricious lightnefs ;
Your ready arts may fpare the fruitless pains,
Of colouring deceit with fair pretences ;
I would not wifh to hear your flight excufes ;
I cherifli ignorance, to fave my brumes.
Ofman, in ev'ry trial, ihall remember,
That he is Emperor — Whate'er I fuffer,
'Tis due to honour, that I give up you,
And, to my injur'd bofom, take defpair,
Rather than, fhamefully, poflefs you, fighing,
Convinced, thofe fighs were, never, meant for me.-*
Go, Madam— you are free — from Ofman's pow'r —
Expect no wrongs, but fee his face no more,
Zara. At laft, 'tis come — the fear'd, the murd'ring moment
Is come— and I am curs'd by earth and Tieaven !
[Throws kerf elf on the ground. If it is true, that I am lov'd no more ;— -
If you
Ofman, It is too true, my fame requires itf It is too true, that I, unwilling, leave you : That I, at once, renounce you, and adore— — Zara ! — - — you weep !
Zara. If I am doom'd to lofe you, If I muft wander o'er an empty world, Unloving, and unlov'd— — Oh! yet, dojuflice
To the afflicted do not wrong me doubly ;
Punifh me, if 'tis needful to your peace,
But fay not, I deferv'd it -This, at leaft,
Believe for, not the greatnefs of your foul
Is truth, more pure, and facred no regret
Can touch my bleeding heart, for I have loft The rank, of her, you raife to mare your throne : I know, I never 'ought to have been there ; My fate, and my defects require, I lofe you : But ah ! my heart was, never, known to Ofman, May heaven, that punilhes, for ever hate me, If I regret the lofs of aught, but you. Ofman. Rife— rife — This means not love ?
\Rayes C
50 Z A R A.
Zara. Strike — Strike me, heaven! Qjman. What ! is it love, to force yourfelf to wound The heart, you wifh to gladden ? — But I find, Lovers leaft know them/elves ; for, I believ'd, That I .had taken back the power I gave you ; Yet, fee ! — you did but weep, and have refum'd me I Proud, as I am — I muft confefs, one wifti Evades my power— the bleffing to forget you. Zara — Thy tears were form'd to teach difdain,
That foftnefs can difarm it. 'Tis decreed,
I muft, for ever, love — but, from what caufe, Jf thy confenting heart partakes my fires, Art thou relu&ant to a bleffing, meant me ? Speak ? Is it levity — or, is it fear ? Fear of a power, that, but for bleffing the, Hadi without joy, been painful. — Is it artifice ? Oh ! fpare the needlefs pains — Art was not made For Zara; — ArtJ however innocent, Looks like deceiving — I abhorr'd it ever.
Zara. Alas ! I have no art, not ev'n enough, To .hide this love, and this diftrefs, you give me.
Ofman. New riddles! Speak, with piainnefs to nay
foul; What can'ft thou mfean ?
Zara. I have no power to fpeak i*. Ofman. Is it fome fecret, dangerous to my ftate ? Is it fome Chriftian plot, grown ripe, againft ine ?
7.ara. Lives there a wretch, fo vile, as to betray you ! Ofman is blefs'd, beyond the reach of fear ; Fear.>, and misfortunes, threaten only Zara. Ofman. Why threaten Zara ? Zara. Per in it me, at your feet, Thus, trembling, to befeech a favour from you.
Ofman. A favour !— Oh ; you guide the will of
Ofman.
Zara. Ah ! wou'd to heaven, our duties were united, Firm, as our thoughts and wilhes ! — But this day, But this one fad, unhappy day, permit me, Alone, and far-divided, from your eye, To cover my diitrefs, left you, too tender,
Shou'd
2 A R A. 5t
Shou'd fee, and (hare it with me; — from to-morrow, I will not have a thought, conceal'd from you.
Ofman. What ftrange difquiet ! from what ftranger
caufe ?
Zara. If I am, really, blefs'd with Ofman's love, He will not, then, refufe this humble prayer.
Ofman. If it mult be, it muft. — Be pleas'd — my will Takes purpofe, from your wifhes ; — and, confent Depends not on my choice, but your decree : Go — but remember, how he loves, who thus, Finds a delight in pain, becaufe you give it.
Zara. It gives me more than Pain, to make you feel
it.
Ofman. And — can yon, Zara, leave me ? Zara. Alas ! my lord ! [Exit Zara..
Ofman. [Aloni\ It fhou'd be, yet, methinks, too foon
to fly me !
Too foon, as yet, to wrong my eafy faith ; The more I think, the lefs I can conceive, What hidden caufe fhou'd raife fuch ftrange defpair ! Now, when her hopes have wings, and ev*ry wifh Is courted to be lively ! — When I love, And joy, and empire, prtfs her to their bofom ; When, not alone belov'd, but, ev'n, a lover : Profeffing, and accepting ; blefs'd, and blefling ; To fee her eyes, through tears, fliine myftic love ! *Tis madnefs I and I were unworthy power, To fuffer, longer, the capricious infult I Yet, was I blamelefs ? — No — I was too ralh ; I have felt jealoufy, and fpoke it, to her ; I have diftrufted her — and ftill me loves : Gen'rous atonement, that! and 'tis my duty To expatiate, by a length of foft indulgence, The tranfports of a rage, which, ftill, was love. Henceforth, I, never, will fufpect her falfe ; Nature's plain power of charming dwells about her, And innocence gives force to ev'ry word : I owe full confidence to all, me looks, For, in her eye, mines truth, and ev'ry beam Shoots confirmation round her:— I rcmark'd,
C 2 Ev'n,
p £ A R A.
Ev'n, while flie vve^t, her foul, a thoufand times, Sprung to her lips, and longM to leap to mine, ,With honeil, ardent, utt'rance of her love. "Who can poffefs a heart, fo low, fo bafe, To look fuch tendernefs, and, yet, have none ?
Enter Melidor, with Orafmin.
Melidor. This letter, great difpofer of the world 1 AddrefsM to Zara, and, in private, brought, Your faithful guards, this moment, intercepted, And, humbly, offer, to your fovereign eye.
Ofman. Come nearer ; give it me. — To Zara. — Rife 1 Bring it with Ipeed — Shame on your flatt'ring diftance — [jldwancing, and fnatching the letter* Be honeft - and approach me, like a fubjeft, Who ferves the Prince, yet, not forgets the man.
Melidor. One of the ChriiHan flaves, whom, late, your
bounty
Releas'd from bondage, fought, with heedful guile, Unnotic'd, to deliver it — Difcover'd He waits, in chains, his doom, from your decree.
Ofman. Leave me — I tremble, as if fomething fatal, Were meant me, from this letter — ihou'd I read it ?
Orafmin. Who knows, but it contains feme happy
truth, That may remove all doubts, and calm your heart ?
Ofman. Be it, as 'twill— it Jhall be read — my hands Have apprehenfion, that outreaches mine ! Why Ihou'd they tremble, thus ? — 'Tis done — and now,
[Opens the letter. Fate be thy call obey'd — Orafhiin, mark
" There is a fecret paffage, tow'rd the mofque,
" That way, you might efcape ; and, unperceiv'd,
** Fly your obfervers, and fulfil our hope ;
" Defpife the danger, and depend on me,
** Who wait you, but to die, if you deceive."
Hell ! tortures ! death ! and woman ! — What ? Orafrnin ? I Are
Z A R A. S3
Are we awake ? Heard'ft thou ? Can this be Zara ?
Orafmin. Wou'd I had loft all fenfe-for ,vhat I heard Has cover'd my affli^ed heart with horror !
Ofman. Thou fee'ft how I am treated ?
Orafmin. Monftrous treafon !
To an affront, like this, you cannot — muft not— Remain, infenfible— You, who, but now, From the moft flight fufpicion, felt fuch pain, Muft, in the horror of fo black a guilt, Find an effectual cure, and banifhlove.
Ofman. Seek her this inftant— go — Orafmin, fly^ Shew her this letter— bid her read, and tremble : Then, in the rifing horrors of her guilt, Stab her unfaithful breaft — .and let her die. Say, while thou ftrik'ft— — Stay, ftay— return, and pity
rne :
I will think, firft, a moment—Let that Chriftian Be, ftrait, confronted with her— Stay — I will, I will — I know not what ! — Wou'd, I were dead ! Wou'd, I haddy'd, unconfcious of this mame !
Orafmin. Never did Prince receive fo bold a wrong.
Ofman. See ! here, detected, this infernal fecret \ This fountain of her tears-, which my weak heart Miftook for marks of tendernefs and pain ! Why ! what a reach has woman, to deceive 1 Under how fine a veii, of grief, and fear, Did flie propofe retirement, 'till to-morrow ! And I, blind dotard ! gave the fool's confent, Sooth'd her, and fufter'd her to go ! — She parted, DifTolv'd in tears ; and parted, to betray me !
Orafmin. Refieciion ferves but to confirm her guilt : At length, refume yourfelf ; awaken thought; AfTert your greatnefs ; and refolve, like Ofman.
Ofman. Nereftan, too — Was this the boafted honour Of that proud Chriftian ? whom Jerufalem Grew loud, in praifing ! whofe half-envy'd virtue I wonder'd at, myfelf \ and felt difdain, Tte be but, equal, to;a Chriftian's greatnefs ! And does he thank me thus — bafe infidel ! Honeft, pretending, pious, praying, villain ! •
C 3 Yet,
54 Z A R A, }
Yet, Zara is, a thoufand times, more bafe, More. hypocrite,, than he ! — a flave ! a wretch ! So lovvj fo loft, that, ev'n the vileft labours, In which he lay, condemn'd, could never fink him, Beneath his native infamy— Did fhe not know, What I.have done, what fuffer'd — for her fake?
O raj mm. Cou'd you, my gracious lord ! forgive my
zeal, You wou'd ~
OJ'TMH. I know it — Thou art right — I'll fee her — I'll tax her, -in thy prefence ; — I'll upbraid her — . Til let her learn — Go — find, and bring her, to me.
Qryfmln. Alas ! my lord, diforder'd as you are, What can you wifh to fay ?
Ofinau. I know not, now :-— But 'I refolve to fee her — left me think, Her falfhood has, perhaps, the power to grieve me.
Orafmin. Believe me, Sir, your threat'nings, your
complaints,
What will they all produce, but Zara's tears, To quench this fancy'd anger ! your loft heart, SeduQ'd, againft itfelf, will fearch but reafons, To jullify the guilt, which gives it pain : Rather conceal, from Zara, this difcovery : And let feme trufty flave convey the letter, Reclos'd, to her own hand— then, mall you learn, Spite of her frauds, difguife, and artifice, The firmnefs, or abafement, of her foul.
Ofman. Thy counfel charms me ! We'll about it, now : 'Twill be fome recompence, at leaft, to fee Her bluihes, when detected.
Orafmin. Oh ! my Lord, I doubt you, in the trial for, your heart
OJman. Diftruit me not my love, indeed, is weak,
.But, honour, and difdain, more ftrong than Zara: Here, take this fatal letter — chufe a flave, Whom, yet, fhe never faw, and who retains
His try'd fidelity-. — Difpatch be gone
[Exit Orafmin. Now, whither mall I turn my eyes, and fteps,
Z A R A. 5S
The fureft way, to fhun her ; and give time For this difcovering trial ? — Heav'n ! {he's here !
Enter Zara.
So, Madam ! fortune wi 1 befriend my caufe,
And fre« me from your fetters : — You are met,
Moll aptly, to difpel a new-ris'n doubt,
That claims the fineft of your arts, to glofs it.
Unhappy, each, by other, it is time,
To end our mutual pain, that both may reft :
You want not generofity, but love :
My pride forgotten, my obtruded throne,
My favours, cares, refpeft, and tendernefs,
Touching your gratitude, provok'd regard ;
fTill, by a length of benefits, befieg'd,
Your heart fubmitted, and you, thought 'twas love ;
But, you deceiv'd yourfelf, and injured me.
There is, I'm told, an objecl, more deferving
Your love, than Ofman — I wou'd know his name :
Be juft, nor trifle with my anger : tell me,
Kpw, while expiring pity flruggles, faint ;
While I have yet, perhaps, the pow'r to pardon :
Give up the bold invader of my claim,
And let him die, to faye thee. — Thou art known ;
Think, and refolve While I yet fpeak, renounce him ;
While yet the thunder rolls, fufpended, ftay it ; Let thy voice charm me, and recall my foul, That turns, averfe, and dwells no more on Zara.
Zara. Can it be Ofman, fpeaks ? and fpeaks to Zara? I, earn, cruel ! learn, that this afflicted heart, This heart, which heaven delights to prove,' by tortures, Did it not love, has pride, and pow'r, to fliun you : Alas ! you will not know me ! What have I To fear, but that unhappy love, you queilion ? That love, which, only, cou'd outweigh the /hame, I feel, while I defcend, to weep my wrongs. I know not, whether heaven, that frowns upon me, Has deflin'd my unhappy days, for your's ; But, be my fate, or blefs'd, or curs'd, I fwear, By honour, dearer ev'n than life, or love, C 4.
56 Z A R A.
Cou'd Zara be* but miitrefs of herfelf, She wou'd, with cold regard, look down oh kings, And, you alone excepted, fly 'em all : Wou'd you learn more, and open all my heart ? Know then, that, fpite of this renewed injuftice, J do not — :cannot— wiih to love you lefs : That, long before you look'd fo low, as Zara, She gave her heart to Ofman — Yours, before Your benefits had bought her, or your eye Had thrown diftindtion round her ; never had, Nor ever will acknowledge, other lover. • And, to this facred truth, attefting heaven ! I call thy dreadful notice ! If my heart Deferves reproach, 'tis for, but not from Ofman.
Ofman* What! does me, yet, prefume to fwea*
finceriry !
Oh ! boldnefs' of unblufhing perjury t Had I not feen, had I not read, fuch proof, Of her light falfhood, as extinguifh'd doubt, I cou'd not be a man, and not believe her.
Zara. Alas ! my Lord, what cruel fears have feiz'd
you? What harih, myfterious words were thofer 1 heard ?
Ofman'. 'What fears mould Ofman feel, fince Zara loves him ?
Zara. 1 cannot live, and anfwer to your voice, In that reproachful tone !— Your angry eye Trembles with fury, while you talk of love ;
Ofman. Since Zara LOVES him !
Zara* Is it poffible,
Ofman ihould difbelive it? — Again, again Your late-repented violence returns ; Alas ! what killing frowns you dart againft me \ Can it be kind ? Can it be juft, to doubt me ?
Ofman. No- — I can doubt no longer— — You*may retire. [&«> Zara-
Re-enter Orafmia. Orafmia! (he's perfidious, ev'n beyond „ ^
ZARA. 5
Her fex's undifcover'd power of feeming : She's at the topmofl point of fhamelefs artifice ; . An emprefa, at deceiving !— Soft, and eafy, Deftroying like a plague, in calm tranquillity : She's innocent, fhe fwears — So is the fire ; Itfoines, in harmlefs diftance, bright, and pleafing,
Confuming nothing, till.it, firft, embraces.
Say ? Haft thou chos'n a flave ? — Is he initrudled ? Hafte, to detect her vilenefs, and my wrongs.
Orafmin. Punctual, I have obey'd your whole command ; But, have you arm'd, my Lord, your injur'd heart, With coldnefs, and indiff'rence ? Can you hrar, All, painlefs'and unmovM, the falfe one's frame ? Ofman. Orafmin ! I adore her, more than ever1/ Orafmin. My Lord 1 my Emperor! forbid it, heaven !: Ofman. I have difcern'd a gleam of diftant hope ; This hateful Chriftian, the light growth of France, Proud, young, vain, amorous, conceited, raih, Has mifconceiv'd fome charitable glance, And judg'd it love, in Zara : He, alone, Then, has offended me. — Is it her fault,. Jf thofe, fhe charms, are indrfcreet and daring ? Zara, perhaps, expected not this letter ; And I, with rafhnefs, groundlefs, as its writer's, Took fire, at my own fancy, and have wrong'd her.. Now, hear me, with attention — Soon as night Has thrown her welcome fhadows o'er the palace j. ' '\ When this Nereftan, this ungrateful Ghriltian, Shall lurk, in expectation, near our walls, Be watchful, that our guards furprize, and feiae him ; Then, bound in fetters, and o'erwhelm'd with. fhame>: Conduft the daring traitor to my prefence jj.3 But, above all, be fure, you hurt not Zaras^ii Mindful to what fupreme excefs, I love. iwo'/ to;i »rTl J feel, I mult confefs, a kind of fhame, And blufh, at my own tendernefs ;.— but, faith, Howe'er it feems deceiv'd, were weak, as I am, Cou'd it admit ditfruft, to blot its face, And give appearance, way, till proof takes place,
JEW of the FOURTH ACT,
58 Z A R A. £
ACTV. SCENE I.
Zara, Selima. Zara. O O O T H me, no longer, with this vain
To a reclufe, like me, who dares, henceforth, Prefume admiffion ! — the Seraglio's Jbut — Barr'd, and unpaflable — as death , to time! My brojther ne'er muft hope to fee me, more :-— How now ! what unknown flave accofts us, here !
Enter Melidor.
• ?r * :! :*TJ»1^
Melidor. This letter, trufted to nay hands, receive, In fecret witnefs, I am, wholly, yours.
[Zara reads the letter. Selima. [djide.] Thou, everlaiting ruler of the
world !
Shed thy- wifh'd mercy on our hopelefs tears ; Redeem us from the hands of hated infidels, And fave my princefs from the breaft of Ofman. Zara. I wiih, my friend, the comfort of your
council. \\
Selima. Retire — you fhall be call'd— wait near— Go,
leave us: \w [Exit Melidor.
Zara. Read this — -and tell me> what I ought to
anfwer > For I would, gladly hear my brother's voice.
Selima. Say rather, you wouM hear the voice of
heavjn. 'Tis not your brother, calls you, but your God.
Zara. I know it, nor refift his awful will ; Thou know'ft that, I have bound my foul, by Oath > But, can I — ought I — to engage myfelf, My brother, and the Chriftians in this danger ?
Selima. 'Tis not their danger, that alarms your fear ; Your love fpeaks loudeft, to your ihrinking foul •„
I knew
ZARA. 59
I know your heart, of ftrength, to hazard all,.
But, it has let in traitors, who furrender,
On poor pretence of fafety : — Learn, at lead,
To underiland, the weaknefs that deceives you t
You tremble, to offend your haughty lover,
Whom wrongs, and outrage, but endear the more ;
Yes — you are blind to Ofman's cruel nature,
That Tartar's fiercenefs, that obfcures his bounties :
This tiger, favage, in his tendernefs,
Courts, with contempt, and threatens, amidft foftnefs ;
Yet, cannot your neglected heart efface
His fated, fix'd impreffion !
Zara. What reproach
Can I, with juftice, make him ? 1, indeed,
Have given him caufe to hate me ! — Was not his throne, was not his temple, ready ? Did not he court his flave, to be a queen ? And have not I declin'd it ? — I, who ought To tremble, confcious of affronted power I Have not I triumph'd o'er his pride, and love I Seen him fubmit his own high will, to mine ? And facrifice his wimes, to my weaknefs ?
Selima. Talk we, no more, of this unhappy paffion : What refolution will your virtue take ?
Zara. All things combine, to fink me to defpair ; From the Seraglio, death, alone, will free me. J long to fee the ChriftiansJ happy climes ; Yet, in the moment, while I form that prayer* I figh a fecret wilh, to languifh,, here : How fad a ftate is mine ! my reftlefs fouj All ign'rant, what to do, or what to wifhZ My only perfeft fenfe is, that of pain. O, guardian heav'n 1 protect my brother's life : For I will meet him, and fulfil his prayer. Then, when, from Solyma's unfriendly walls,. His abfence fhall unbind his filler's tongue, Ofman mail learn the fecret of my birth, My faith un&aken, and my deathlefs Jove i He will approve my choice, and pity me. I'll fend my brother word, he may expeft me;
60 Z A R A.
Call in the faithful flave— God of my fathers !
[Exit Selima. Let thy hand fave me, and thy will direft,
Enter Selima, and Melidor.
Go . — tell the Chriftian, who intrufted thee,
That Zara's heart is nVd, nor ihrinks at danger ^ And, that my faithful friend will, at the hour, Expe£l, and introduce him, to his wifh. Away— the Sultan comes ; he muft not find us.
[Exeunt Zara and Selima.
Enter Ofman, *WOrafmin.
Ofman. Swifter, ye hours, move on ; my fury glows Impatient, and wou'd pufh the wheels of time : How now ! What meflage doft thou bring ? Speak
boldly
What anfwer gave me, to the letter, fent her ?
Melidor. She blufti'd, and trembled, and grew pale,
and paus'd ;
Then blufh'd, and read it ; and, again-, grew pale ; And wept, and fmil'd, and doubted, and refolv'd : For, after all this race of vary'd paflions, When ihe had fent me out, and call'd me back, Tell him (me cry'd) who has intrufted thee, That Zara's heart is fix'd, nor fhrinks at danger; And, that my faithful friend will, at the hour, Expect, and introduce him, to his wiih.
Ofman. Enough— be gone— I have no ear for more. —
[To the fl&ve> Leave me, thou1, too, Orafmin. — Leave me life,
[To Orafmin,
Eor, ev'ry mortal afpeft moves my hate : Leave me, to my diftraftion — I grow mad, And cannot bear the vifage of a friend. Leave me, to rage, defpair, and fhame, and wrongs ; Leave me, to feek rflyfelf— and Ihun mankind.
[Alone.]
ZARA. fa
[ Alone. ]
Who am I ?—Heav'n ! Who am I ? What refolve I ? Zara ! Nereftan ! Sound thefe words, like names Decreed to join !— Why paufe I ?•— Perifh Zara— Wou'd, I cou'd tear her image from my heart : — 'Twere happier, not to live, at all, than live Her fcorn, the fport of an ungrateful falfe one ! And fink the fovereign, in a woman's property.
Re-enter Orafmin.
Orafmin ! — Friend ! return — I cannot bear
This abfence, from thy reafon : 'Twas unkind,
'Twas cruel, to obey me, thus diftrefs'd,
And wanting pow'r to think, when I had loft thee.
How goes the hour ? Has he appear'd ? This rival !
Periih the fhameful found— This villain Chriftian !
Has he appear'd, below ?
Orafmin. Silent, and dark, Th* unbreathing world is hufh'd, as if it heard, And Kftened to, your forrows. • :
Ofman. O, treach'rous night! - «:x. Thou lend'ft thy ready veil, to ev'ry treafon, And teeming mifchiefs thrive, beneath thy fhade. --tO Orafmm ! Prophet ! Reafon ! Truth ! and Love 1 After fuch length of benefits, to wrong me! How have I over-rated, how miftaken, The merit of her beauty ! — Did I not Forget T was a monarch ? Did I remember, That Zara was a flave ? — I gave up all ; Gave up tranquillity, drftincHon, pride, 'Yi And fell, the Ihameful victim of my love !
Orajmin. Sir ! fovereign ! fultan ! rny imperial mafter ! Refteft on your own greatnefs, and difdain The diilant provocation.—
Ofman. Heard'ft thou nothing ?
Orafmin. My Lord ?
Ofmcn.- A voice, like dying groans'?
Orafmin. I liften, -but can hear nothing,
Ofman. Again !~ look out— he comes—
Qrafmin*
62 Z A R A.
Orafmin. Nor tread of mortal foot— nor voice I hear: The ftill Seraglio lies, profoundly plung'd, In death-like filence ! nothing Mrs. — The air Is foft, as infants' fleep, no breathing wind Steals, thro' the ftiadows, to awaken night.
Ofman. Horrors, a thoufand times more dark than
thefe,
Benight my fufF 'ring foul— Thou doft not know To what excefs of tendernefs, I lov'd her: I knew no happinefs, but what me gave me, Nor cou'd have felt a mis'ry, but for her ! Pity this weaknefs — mine are tears, Orafmin ! That fall not oft, nor lightly.
Orafmtn. Tears ! — Oh, heaven !
Ofman. The firft, which, ever, yet, unmanned my
, eyes !
O ! pity Zara — pity me — Orafmin, Thefe but forerun the tears of deftin'd blood.
Orafmin. Oh, my unhappy Lord! 1 tremble for
Ofman. Do tremble at my fuff 'rings, at my love ;
At my revenge, too, tremble — for, 'tis due, And will not be deluded. /. ^
Orafmin. Hark ! I hear The fteps of men, along the neighb'ring wall ! —
Ofman. FJy— feize him 'tis Nereftan ! wait no
chains, But, drag him down, to my impatient eye.
>. «iii ttffiii \Exi* Orafmin.
Enter Zara, and Selima, i* the dark.
Zara. Where art thou, Selima ? Give me thy hand ; It is fo dark, I tremble, as I ftep, With fears, and ftartings, never felt, 'till now !
Ofman. Damnation ! 'tis her voice ! the well-known
found,
That has, fo often, charm'd me into bafenefs I Oh! the perfidious hypocrite !•— me goes,
Z A R A. 63
To meet th> inviting infidel ! now, now,
[Drawing a dagger.
Revenge, (land firm, and intercept his wifhes : — Revenge ! On whom ?— no matter — Earth, and heaven, Wou'd blufh, fliou'd I forbear : Now — Zara, now ;
[Drops the dagger.
I muft not — cannot ftrike, the ftarting Heel, Unwilling, flies my handj and fhuns to wound her. Zara. This is the private path — come nearer, lead
me — • Are we not notic'd, think'ft thou ?
Selima. Fear not, Madam ; It cannot, now, be long, ere we mail meet him.
Ofman. That word has giv'n me, back, my ebbing rage— [Recovers the dagger.
Zara. I walk in terror, and my heart forebodes : Who's there ? — Nereftan ! Is it you? — Oh ! welcome — Ofman. [Stabbing far.] This to thy heart — 'Tis not
the traitor meets thee, 'Tis the betray'd— who writes it, in thy blood.
Zara. O, gracious heaven I receive my parting foul.
[Dies. Ofman. Soul ? — then Revenge has reach'd thee — I will,
now,
Hafte, from this fatal place— I cannot leave her \ Whom did I ftrike ? Was this the ad of love ? Swallow me, earth ! — She's filent— Zara's dead ! And mould I live, to fee returning day, 'Twill (hew me but her blood ! — mew me, left joylefs, In a wide, empty world, with nothing round me, But penitence, and pain — and, yet, 'twas juft i—
Hark ! Deftiny has fent her lover to me,
To fill my vengeance, and reftore my joy..
Enter Orafmin with Nereftan.
Approach, thou wretch ! thou more than curs'd ! come
near
Thou ! who, in gratitude, for freedom gain'd, Haft giv'n me miferies, beyond thy own !
64 Z A R A.
Thou heart of hero, with a traitor's foul ! Go — reap thy due reward, prepare to fuffer, Whate'er inventive malice can inflict, To make thee feel thy death, and perifli, flow. Are my commands obey'd ?
Orafmin. All is prepar'd.
Ofman. Thy wanton eyes look round, in fearch of her, Whofe love, defcending to a flave, like thee, From my diihonour'd hand, receiv'd her doom : See! where fhe lies
Nereftan. O, fatal, rafli, miflake !
Ofman. Dolt thou behold her, flave ?
Nereftan. Unhappy filler !
Ofman. Sifter! Did'ft thou fay filter? If thou
did'ft, Blefs me with deafnefs, heaven !
Nereftan. Tyrant ! I did- •
She 'was my filter — All, that, now, is left thee,
Difpatch From my diftracled heart, drain, next.
The remnant of the royal, Chriftian, blood :
Old Lufignan* expiring, in my arms,
Sent his too wretched fon, with his lait blefling,
To his, now, murder'd daughter !
Wou'd I had feen the bleeding innocent !
I wou'd have liv'd, to fpeak to her, in death ;
Wou'd have awaken'd in her languid heart,
A livelier fenfe of her abandoned God :
That Gcd, who, Jeft by her, forfook her, too,
And gave the poor, loft, fufPrer, to thy rage.
Ofman. Thy fifter ? Lufignan, her father—
Selima \ Can this be true ; — and have I wrong'd thee, Zara ?
Selima. Thy love was all th0 cloud, 'twixt her, and 4 heav'n !
Ofman. Be dumb for thou art bafe to add dif~
traction,
To my, already, more than bleeding heart : And was thy love fincere ?— What, then, remains ?
Nereftan* Why fhou'd a tyrant hefitate, on murder ! There, now, remaijas, but mine, of all the blood,
Which,
2 A R A. 65
Which, through^thy father's cruel reign, and thine,
Has, never, ceas'd to ftream, on Syria's fands ;.
Reftore a wretch to his unhappy race ;
Nor hope, that torments, after fuch a fcene,
Can force one feeble groan, to feaft thy anger.
I wafte my fruitlefs words, in empty air ;
The tyrant, o'er the bleeding wound, he made,
Hangs his unmoving eye, and heeds not me.
Ofman. O, Zara !—
Orafmin. Alas ! my lord, return whither wou'd
grief Tranfport your gen'rous heart ? — This Chriftian dog—
Ofman. Take off his fetters, and obferve my will: To him, and all his friends, give inftant liberty : Pour a profufion of the richeft gifts On thefe unhappy Chriftians ; and, when heap'd, With vary'd benefits, and charg'd, with riches, Give 'em fafe conduct, to the neareft port.
Orafmin. But, Sir
Ofman. Reply not, but obey.— Fly — nor difpute thy mailer's laft command, Thy prince, who orders — and thy friend, who loves
thee!
Go — lofe no time— farewell — be gone— and thou I Unhappy warrior ! — yet, lefs loft, than I ! — Hafte, from our bloody land— and, to thy own, Convey this poor, pale, objecl of my rage : Thy King, and all his Chriftian?, when they hear Thy miferies, mall mourn 'em, with their tears ; But, if thou tell'ft 'em mine, and tell'ft 'em, truly, They, who fhall hate my crime, mall pity me. Take, too, this poignard, with thee, which my hand Has ftain'd with blood, far dearer than my own ; Tell 'em — with this, I murder'd, her, I lov'd ; The nobleft, and moft virtuous, among women I The foul of innocence, and pride of truth 1 Tell 'em, I laid my empire at her feet ; Tell 'em, I plung'd my dagger in her blood ; Tell 'em, I fo ador'd— and, thus reveng'd her.
[Stabs bimfelf. Rev'rence
66 Z . A R A., ^
Rev'rence this heroe — and conduct him fafe. [£/>/.
Nereftan. Direft me, Great infpirer of the foul ! How fhou'dl aft, how judge, in this diilrefs ? Amazing grandeur 1 and detefted rage ! Ev'n I, amidft my tears, admire this foe, And mourn his death, who liv'd to give me woe.
.
\ .. . jO .
, .
• . ' .
t ' • <>f tfa FIFTH ACT,
» «av
i'.\ 4* .
B P
EPILOGUE,
Spoken by Mrs. C L I V E.
HERE, take afurfeit, Sirs, of being jealous, And fliun the pains, that plague thofe Turkifh
fellows ; Where LOVE and DEATH join hands, their darts con
founding, Save us, good hearfn ! from this new way of WOUND
ING
Curs'd climate ! — where, to CARDS, a lone-left Woman Has only, one of her black guards, to fummon ! Sighs, and Jits mop*d, with her tame beaft to gaze at : And, that cold treat, is all the game Jhe plays at / For — -Jhould Jhe once, fame abler hand be trying, Poignard'j the word ! and, thefirjl deal is — DYING !
'Slife ! Jhou'd the bloody whim get grwnd, in Britain Where woman'.* FREEDOM has fuch heights, to Jit on ; Daggers, PROVOK'D, woifd bring on DESOLATION : And, murder'd belles un-people half the nation /— —
Fain wou'd I hope this Play, to move compaffion ; And live, to hunt SUSPICION out of Fajhion. - FOUR motives, Jirongly recommend, to lowers, Hate of this weakneis, that our fcene difcewrs :
Firfl thm—Awoman WILL, or WON'T — depend on '/ . If Jhe will do't, fie WILL -.—and, there' s an end on't. But, if Jhe won't— Jince fafe and found your truft is, Fear is AFFRONT : and jealoufy INJUSTICE.
Next,— /& who bids his dear do, what me pleafes, Blunts wedlock's edge ; and, all its torture cafes : for— not to feel your faff* rings, is the fame, As not to fuffer \-Allthe difference— name.
Thirdly—
EPILOGUE,
Thirdly— The jealous hujband wrongs his honour y, No wife goes lame, without fome hurt upon her : ^ the malicious world willftill be gueffing, y eft, dines out, di/likcs her oven cook's dreffing..
Fourthly, tfWlaftly, — to conclude my Ie8urey Ifjduivoii'J-Fix tb* in cbnftant wife— RESPECT tier. She ivho perceives her virtues OVER-RATED, Will fear to have tb* account more juilly ftaicd : dnd, borrowing, from her pride* the good wife's SEEMING,, Greiv RtALLY SUCH— »t6 merit ywr efteetning*
'
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