John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Jul. But love bids me stay.

  Man. Her love’s so like my own, that I should blame

  The brother’s passion in the sister’s flame.

  Rodorick, we shall meet. — He little thinks

  I am as sure this night of Angelina,

  As he of Julia. [Aside. Exit MANUEL.

  Rod. Madam, to what an ecstasy of joy Your goodness raises me! this was an act Of kindness, which no service e’er can pay.

  Jul. Yes, Rodorick, ’tis in your power to quit The debt you owe me.

  Rod. Do but name the way.

  Jul. Then briefly thus; ’tis to be just to me, As I have been to you.

  Rod. You cannot doubt it.

  Jul. You know I have adventured, for your sake,

  A brother’s anger, and the world’s opinion:

  I value neither; for a settled virtue

  Makes itself judge, and, satisfied within,

  Smiles at that common enemy, the world.

  I am no more afraid of flying censures,

  Than heaven of being fired with mounting sparkles.

  Rod. But wherein must my gratitude consist?

  Jul. Answer yourself, by thinking what is fit For me to do.

  Rod. By marriage, to confirm Our mutual love.

  Jul. Ungrateful Rodorick! Canst thou name marriage, while thou entertain’st A hatred so unjust against my brother?

  Rod. But, unkind Julia, you know the causes Of love and hate are hid deep in our stars, And none but heaven can give account of both.

  Jul. Too well I know it: for my love to thee

  Is born by inclination, not by judgment;

  And makes my virtue shrink within my heart,

  As loth to leave it, and as loth to mingle.

  Rod. What would you have me do?

  Jul. Since I must tell thee,

  Lead me to some near monastery; there

  (Till heaven find out some way to make us happy)

  I shall be kept in safety from my brother.

  Rod. But more from me; what hopes can Rodorick

  have,

  That she, who leaves him freely, and unforced,

  Should ever of her own accord return?

  Jul. Thou hast too great assurance of my faith,

  That, in despite of my own self, I love thee.

  Be friends with Manuel, I am thine; ‘till when

  My honour’s. Lead me.

  [Exeunt.

  SCENE III. — The representation of a Street discovered by twilight.

  Enter Don MANUEL, solus.

  Man. This is the time and place, where I expect

  My fugitive mistress; if I meet with her,

  I may forget the wrongs, her brother did me;

  If otherwise, his blood shall expiate them.

  I hope her woman keeps her ignorant

  How all things passed, according to her promise.

  A door opens, — Enter ANGELINA in boy’s clothes. LEONORA behind at the door.

  Leon. I had forgot to tell him of this habit She has put on; but sure he’ll know her in it.

  [Aside.

  Man. Who goes there?

  Ang. ’Tis Don Manuel’s voice; I must run back: The door shut on me? — Leonora! where? — Does she not follow me? I am betrayed.

  Man. What are you?

  Ang. A poor boy.

  Man. Do you belong to Rodorick?

  Ang. Yes, I do.

  Man. Here’s money for you; tell me where’s his sister?

  Ang. Just now I met her coming down the stairs, Which lead into the garden.

  Man. ’Tis well; leave me In silence.

  Ang. With all my heart; was ever such a ‘scape? [Exit running.

  Man. She cannot now be long; sure by the moons shine I shall discover her:

  Enter RODORICK and JULIA.

  This must be she; I’ll seize her.

  Jul. Help me, Roderick.

  Rod. Unhand the lady, villain.

  Man. Roderick! I’m glad we meet alone; now is the time To end our difference.

  Rod. I cannot stay.

  Man. You must.

  Rod. I will not.

  Man. ’Tis base to injure any man; but yet Tis far more base, once done, not to defend it.

  Rod. Is this an hour, for valiant men to fight?

  They love the sun should witness what they do;

  Cowards have courage, when they see not death;

  And fearful hares, that sculk in forms all day,

  Yet fight their feeble quarrels by the moonlight.

  Man. No; light and darkness are but poor distinctions Of such, whose courage comes by fits and starts.

  Rod. Thou urgest me above my patience; This minute of my life was not my own, But hers, I love beyond it. [They draw, and fight.

  Jul. Help, help! none hear me! Heaven, I think, is deaf too: O Roderick! O brother!

  Enter GONSALVO, and HIPPOLITO.

  Jul. Whoe’er you are, if you have honour, part them! [MANUEL stumbles, and falls.

  Gons. Hold, sir, you are too cruel; he, that kills At such advantage, fears to fight again.

  [Holds RODORICK.

  Man. Cavalier, I may live to thank you for this favour. [Rises.

  Rod. I will not quit you so.

  Man. I’ll breathe, and then —

  Jul. Is there no way to save their lives?

  Hip. Run out of sight, If ’tis concerning you they quarrel.

  [JULIA retires to a corner.

  Hip. Help, help, as you are cavaliers; the lady. For whom you thus contend, is seized by some Night-robbing villains.

  All. Which way took they?

  Hip. ’Twas so dark I could not see distinctly.

  Rod. Let us divide; I this way. [Exit.

  Gons. Down yonder street I’ll take.

  Man. And I down that. [Exeunt severally.

  Hip. Now, madam, may we not lay by our fear? They are all gone.

  Jul. Tis true; but we are here, Exposed to darkness, without guide or aid, But of ourselves.

  Hip. And of ourselves afraid.

  Jul. These dangers, while ’twas light, I could

  despise;

  Then I was bold, but watched by many eyes:

  Ah! could not heaven for lovers find a way,

  That prying people still might sleep by day?

  Enter ANGELINA.

  Hip. Methinks I’m certain I discover some.

  Jul. This was your speaking of them, made them come.

  Hip. There is but one, perhaps he may go by.

  Ang. Where had I courage for this bold disguise,

  Which more my nature than my sex belies?

  Alas! I am betrayed to darkness here;

  Darkness, which virtue hates, and maids most fear:

  Silence and solitude dwell every where:

  Dogs cease to bark; the waves more faintly roar,

  And roll themselves asleep upon the shore:

  No noise but what my footsteps make, and they

  Sound dreadfully, and louder than by day:

  They double too, and every step I take

  Sounds thick, methinks, and more than one could

  make.

  Ha! who are these?

  I wished for company, and now I fear.

  Who are you, gentle people, that go there?

  Jul. His voice is soft as is the upper air,

  Or dying lovers’ words: O pity us.

  Ang. O pity me! take freely as your own

  My gold, my jewels; spare my life alone.

  Hip. Alas, he fears as much as we.

  Jul. What say you, Sir, will you join with us?

  Ang. Yes, madam; but If you would take my sword, you’ll use it better.

  Hip. Ay, but you are a man.

  Ang. Why, so are you.

  Hip. Truly my fear had made me quite forget it.

  Enter GONSALVO.

  Gons. Hippolito! how barbarous was I To leave my boy! Hippolito!

  Hip. Here, here. Now, madam, fear not, you are
safe.

  Jul. What is become, sir, of those gentlemen?

  Gons. Madam, they all went several ways; not like To meet.

  Jul. What will become of me?

  Gons. Tis late, And I a stranger in the town; yet all Your dangers shall be mine.

  Jul. You’re noble, sir.

  Gons. I’ll pawn the hopes of all my love, to see You safe.

  Jul. Whoe’er your mistress be, she has My curses, if she prove not kind.

  Ang. And mine.

  Hip. My sister will repent her, when she knows

  For whom she makes that wish; but I’ll say nothing,

  Till day discovers it. [Aside.] A door opens;

  I hope it is some inn.

  [A door opens, at which a Servant appears.

  Ang. Friend, can you lodge us here?

  Serv. Yes, friend, we can.

  Jul. How shall we be disposed?

  Serv. As nature would;

  The gentleman and you: I have a rule,

  That, when a man and woman ask for lodging,

  They are ever husband and wife.

  Jul. Rude and unmannered!

  Gons. Sir, this lady must be lodged apart.

  Serv. Then the two boys, that are good for nothing But one another, they shall go together.

  Ang. Lie with a man! sweet heaven defend me!

  Hip. Alas, friend, I ever lie alone.

  Serv. Then to save trouble, sir, because ’tis late, One of the youths shall be disposed with you.

  Ang. Who, I! not for the world.

  Hip. Neither of us; for, though I would not lodge with you Myself, I never can endure he should.

  Ang. Why then, to end the difference, if you please. I and that lady will be bed-fellows.

  Hip. No, she and I will lodge together rather.

  Serv. You are sweet youths indeed; not for the world You would not lodge with men! none but the lady Would serve your turn.

  Aug. Alas, I had forgot I am a boy; I am so lately one. [Aside.

  Serv. Well, well; all shall be lodged apart.

  Gons. to Hip. I did not think you harboured wanton thoughts; So young, so bad?

  Hip. I can make no defence, But must be shamed by my own innocence. [Exeunt.

  ACT II.

  SCENE I. — A Chamber.

  [Enter GONSALVO, HIPPOLITO, and ANGELINA as AMIDEO at a distance.

  Gon. Hippolito, what is this pretty youth, That follows us?

  Hip. I know not much of him:

  Handsome you see, and of graceful fashion;

  Of noble blood, he says, and I believe him;

  But in some deep distress; he’ll tell no more,

  And I could cry for that, which he has told.

  So much I pity him.

  Gon. My pretty youth, Would I could do thee any service.

  Ang. Sir, The greatest you can do me, is accepting mine.

  Hip. How’s this? methinks already I begin

  To hate this boy, whom but even now I moaned,

  You serve my master? Do you think I cannot

  Perform all duties of a servant better,

  And with more care, than you?

  Ang. Better you may,

  But never with more care:

  Heaven, which is served with angels, yet admits

  Poor man to pay his duty, and receives it.

  Hip. Mark but, my lord, how ill behaved a youth, How very ugly, what a dwarf he is.

  Ang. My lord, I yet am young enough to grow, And ’tis the commendation of a boy, That he is little. [Cries.

  Gons. Pr’ythee, do not cry; Hippolito, ’twas but just now you praised him, And are you changed so soon?

  Hip. On better view.

  Gons. What is your name, sweet heart?

  Hip. Sweet heart! since I Have served you, you ne’er called me so.

  Ang. O, ever, Ever call me by that kind name; I’ll own No other, because I would still have that.

  Hip. He told me, sir, his name was Amideo; Pray, call him by’t.

  Gons. Come, I’ll employ you both; Reach me my belt, and help to put it on.

  Amid. I run, my lord.

  Hip. You run? it is my office.

  [They both take it up, and strive for it; HIPPOLITO gets it, and puts it on.

  Amid. Look you, my lord, he puts it on so aukwardly; [Crying. The sword does not sit right.

  Hip. Why, where’s the fault?

  Amid. I know not that; but I am sure ’tis wrong.

  Gons.The fault is plain, ’tis put on the wrong shoulder.

  Hip. That cannot be, I looked on Amideo’s, And hung it on that shoulder his is on.

  Amid. Then I doubt mine is so.

  Gons. It is indeed:

  You’re both good boys, and both will learn in time.

  Hippolito, go you and bring me word,

  Whether that lady, we brought in last night,

  Be willing to receive a visit from, me.

  Hip. Now, Amideo, since you are so forward To do all service, you shall to the lady.

  Amid. No, I’ll stay with my master, he bid you.

  Hip. It mads me to the heart to leave him here:

  But I will be revenged. [Aside.

  My lord, I beg

  You would not trust this boy with any thing

  Till my return; pray, know him better first. [Exit.

  Gons. ’Twas my unhappiness to meet this lady

  Last night; because it ruined my design

  Of walking by the house of Roderick:

  Who knows but through some window I had spied

  Fair Julia’s shadow passing by the glass;

  Or if some others, I would think it hers;

  Or if not any, I would see the place

  Where Julia lives. O Heaven, how small a blessing

  Will serve to make despairing lovers happy!

  Amid. Unhappy Angelina, thou art lost: Thy lord loves Julia. [Aside.

  Enter HIPPOLITO and JULIA.

  Jul. — Where is thy master?

  I long to give him my acknowledgments

  For my own safety, and my brother’s both.

  Ha! Is it he? [Looks.

  Gons. Can it be Julia? Could night so far disguise her from my knowledge!

  Jul. I would not think thee him, I see thou art: Pr’ythee disown thyself in pity to me: Why should I be obliged by one I hate?

  Gons. I could say something in my own defence; But it were half a crime to plead my cause, When you would have me guilty.

  Amid. How I fear The sweetness of those words will move her pity! I’m sure they would do mine.

  Gons. You took me for a robber, but so far I am from that —

  Jul. O, pr’ythee, be one still, That I may know some cause for my aversion.

  Gons. I freed you from them, and more gladly did it —

  Jul. Be what thou wilt, ’tis now too late to tell me: The blackness of that image, I first fancied, Has so infected me, I still must hate thee.

  Hip. Though (if she loves him) all my hopes are ruined,

  It makes me mad to see her thus unkind. [Aside.

  Madam, what see you in this gentleman,

  Deserves your scorn or hatred? love him, or

  Expect just Heaven should strangely punish you.

  Gons. No more: Whate’er she does is best; and if You would be mine, you must, like me, submit Without dispute.

  Hip. How can I love you, sir, and suffer this? She has forgot that, which, last night, you did In her defence.

  Jul. O call that night again;

  Pitch her with all her darkness round: then set me

  In some far desert, hemmed with mountain wolves

  To howl about me: This I would endure,

  And more, to cancel my obligements to him.

  Gons. You owe me nothing, madam; if you do,

  I make it void; and only ask your leave

  To love you still; for, to be loved again

  I never hope;

  Jul. If that will clear my debt, enjoy thy wish;
r />   Love me, and long, and desperately love me.

  I hope thou wilt, that I may plague thee more:

  Mean time, take from me that detested object;

  Convey thy much loathed person from my sight.

  Gons. Madam, you are obeyed.

  Hippolito and Amideo, wait

  Upon fair Julia; look upon her for me

  With dying eyes, but do not speak one word

  In my behalf; for, to disquiet her,

  Even happiness itself were bought too dear.

  [Goes farther off, towards the end of the stage.

  My passion swells too high;

  And, like a vessel struggling in a storm,

  Requires more hands than one to steer her upright;

  I’ll find her brother out.

  [Exit.

  Jul. That boy, I see, he trusts above the other:

  He has a strange resemblance with a face

  That I have seen, but when, or where, I know not.

  I’ll watch till they are parted; then, perhaps,

  I may corrupt that little one to free me.

  [Aside. Exit.

  Amid. Sweet Hippolito, let me speak with you.

  Hip. What would you with me?

  Amid. Nay, you are so fierce;

  By all that’s good, I love and honour you,

  And, would you do but one poor thing I’ll ask you,

  In all things else you ever shall command me.

  Look you, Hippolito, here’s gold and jewels;

  These may be yours.

  Hip. To what end dost thou show These trifles to me? or how cam’st thou by them? Not honestly, I fear.

  Amid. I swear I did: And you shall have them; but you always press Before me in my master’s service so —

  Hip. And always will.

  Amid. But, dear Hippolito,

  Why will you not give way, that I may be

  First in his favour, and be still employed?

  Why do you frown? ’tis not for gain I ask it;

  Whatever he shall give me shall be yours,

  Except it be some toy you would not care for,

  Which I should keep for his dear sake, that gave it.

  Hip. If thou wouldst offer both the Indies to me,

  The eastern quarries, and the western mines,

  They should not buy one look, one gentle smile

  Of his from me; assure thy soul they should not,

  I hate thee so.

  Amid. Henceforth I’ll hate you worse.

  But yet there is a woman whom he loves,

  A certain Julia, who will steal his heart

  From both of us; we’ll join at least against

  The common enemy.

  Hip. Why does he fear my lord should love a

  woman?

  The passion of this boy is so like mine,

  That it amazes me. [Aside.