by John Dryden
Brother! what make you here
About the queen’s apartments?
Which of the ladies are you watching for?
Cel. Any of ‘em, that will do me the good turn, to make me soundly in love.
Ast. Then I’ll bespeak you one, you will be desperately in love with; Florimel: So soon as the queen heard you were returned, she gave you her for mistress.
Cel. Thank her majesty; but, to confess the truth, my fancy lies partly another way.
Ast. That’s strange: Florimel vows you are already in love with her.
Cel. She wrongs me horribly; if ever I saw or spoke with this Florimel —
Ast. Well, take your fortune, I must leave you.
[Exit ASTERIA.
Enter FLORIMEL, sees him, and is running back.
Cel. Nay, i’faith I am got betwixt you and home; you are my prisoner, lady bright, till you resolve me one question.
[She makes signs she is dumb.]
Pox, I think, she’s dumb: what a vengeance dost thou at court, with such a rare face, without a tongue to answer to a kind question? Art thou dumb indeed? then thou canst tell no tales —
[Goes to kiss her.
Flo. Hold, hold, you are not mad!
Cel. Oh, my miss in a mask! have you found your tongue?
Flo. ’Twas time, I think; what had become of me if I had not?
Cel. Me thinks your lips had done as well.
Flo. Ay, if my mask had been over ‘em, as it was when you met me in the walks.
Cel. Well; will you believe me another time? Did not I say, you were infinitely handsome? they may talk of Florimel, if they will, but, i’faith, she must come short of you.
Flo. Have you seen her, then?
Cel. I look’d a little that way, but I had soon enough of her; she is not to be seen twice without a surfeit.
Flo. However, you are beholden to her; they say she loves you.
Cel. By fate she shan’t love me: I have told her a piece of my mind already? Pox o’ these coming women: They set a man to dinner, before he has an appetite. [FLAVIA at the door.
Fla. Florimel, you are call’d within — [Exit.
Cel. I hope in the lord, you are not Florimel!
Flo. Ev’n she, at your service; the same kind and coming Florimel, you have described.
Cel. Why then we are agreed already: I am as kind and coming as you, for the heart of you: I knew, at first, we two were good for nothing but one another.
Flo. But, without raillery, are you in love?
Cel. So horribly much, that, contrary to my own maxims, I think, in my conscience, I could marry you.
Flo. No, no, ’tis not come to that yet; but if you are really in love, you have done me the greatest pleasure in the world.
Cel. That pleasure, and a better too, I have in store for you.
Flo. This animal, call’d a lover, I have long’d to see these two years.
Cel. Sure you walk’d with your mask on all the while; for if you had been seen, you could not have been without your wish.
Flo. I warrant, you mean an ordinary whining lover; but I must have other proofs of love, ere I believe it.
Cel. You shall have the best that I can give you.
Flo. I would have a lover, that, if need be, should hang himself, drown himself, break his neck, poison himself, for very despair: He, that will scruple this, is an impudent fellow if he says he is in love.
Cel. Pray, madam, which of these four things would you have your lover to do? For a man’s but a man; he cannot hang, and drown, and break his neck, and poison himself, all together.
Flo. Well, then, because you are but a beginner, and I would not discourage you, any of these shall serve your turn, in a fair way.
Cel. I am much deceiv’d in those eyes of yours, if a treat, a song, and the fiddles, be not a more acceptable proof of love to you, than any of those tragical ones you have mentioned.
Flo. However, you will grant it is but decent you should be pale, and lean, and melancholick, to shew you are in love: And that I shall require of you when I see you next.
Cel. When you see me next? Why you do not make a rabbit of me, to be lean at twenty-four hours warning? in the mean while, we burn day-light, lose time and love.
Flo. Would you marry me without consideration?
Cel. To chuse, by heaven; for they that think on’t, twenty to one would never do it. Hang forecast! to make sure of one good night is as much in reason, as a man should expect from this ill world.
Flo. Methinks, a few more years and discretion would do well: I do not like this going to bed so early; it makes one so weary before morning.
Cel. That’s much as your pillow is laid, before you go to sleep.
Flo. Shall I make a proposition to you? I will give you a whole year of probation to love me in; to grow reserved, discreet, sober, and faithful, and to pay me all the services of a lover —
Cel. And at the end of it, you’ll marry me?
Flo. If neither of us alter our minds before.
Cel. By this light a necessary clause. But if I pay in all the foresaid services before the day, you shall be obliged to take me sooner into mercy.
Flo. Provided, if you prove unfaithful, then your time of a twelve-month to be prolonged; so many services, I will bate you so many days or weeks; so many faults, I will add to your ‘prenticeship so much more: And of all this, I only to be judge.
Enter PHILOCLES and LYSIMANTES.
Lys. Is the queen this way, madam?
Flo. I’ll see, so please your highness: Follow me, captive.
Cel. March on, conqueror — [She pulls him.
[Exeunt CEL. FLO.
Lys. You’re sure her majesty will not oppose it?
Phil. Leave that to me, my lord.
Lys. Then, tho’ perhaps my sister’s birth might challenge
An higher match,
I’ll weigh your merits, on the other side,
To make the balance even.
Phil. I go, my lord, this minute.
Lys. My best wishes wait on you. [Exit LYSIMANTES.
Enter the Queen and ASTERIA.
Queen. Yonder he is; have I no other way?
Ast. O madam, you must stand this brunt:
Deny him now, and leave the rest to me:
I’ll to Candiope’s mother,
And, under the pretence of friendship, work
On her ambition to put off a match
So mean as Philocles.
Queen. You may approach, sir; [To PHIL. We two discourse no secrets.
Phil. I come, madam, to weary out your royal bounty.
Queen. Some suit, I warrant, for your cousin Celadon. Leave his advancement to my care.
Phil. Your goodness still prevents my wishes. —
Yet I have one request,
Might it not pass almost for madness, and
Extreme ambition in me —
Queen. You know you have a favourable judge; It lies in you not to ask any thing I cannot grant.
Phil. Madam, perhaps, you think me too faulty: But love alone inspires me with ambition, Tho’ but to look on fair Candiope were an excuse for both.
Queen. Keep your ambition, and let love alone:
That I can cloy, but this I cannot cure.
I have some reasons (invincible to me) which must forbid
Your marriage with Candiope.
Phil. I knew I was not worthy.
Queen. Not for that, Philocles; you deserve all things,
And, to shew I think it, my admiral, I hear, is dead;
His vacant place (the best in all my kingdom,)
I here confer on you.
Phil. Rather take back all you had giv’n before,
Than not give this;
For believe, madam, nothing is so near
My soul, as the possession of Candiope.
Queen. Since that belief would be to your disadvantage, I will not entertain it.
Phil. Why, madam, can you be thus cruel to me?
>
To give me all things, which I did not ask,
And yet deny that only thing, I beg:
And so beg, that I find I cannot live
Without the hope of it.
Queen. Hope greater things; But hope not this. Haste to o’ercome your love; It is but putting a short-liv’d passion to a violent death.
Phil. I cannot live without Candiope; But I can die, without a murmur, Having my doom pronounced from your fair mouth.
Queen. If I am to pronounce it, live, my Philocles,
But live without, (I was about to say) [Aside.
Without his love, but that I cannot do;
Live Philocles without Candiope.
Phil. Madam, could you give my doom so quickly,
And knew it was irrevocable!
’Tis too apparent,
You, who alone love glory, and whose soul
Is loosened from your senses, cannot judge
What torments mine, of grosser mould, endures.
Queen. I cannot suffer you
To give me praises, which are not my own:
I love like you, and am yet much more wretched,
Than you can think yourself.
Phil. Weak bars they needs must be, that fortune puts
‘Twixt sovereign power, and all it can desire.
When princes love, they call themselves unhappy;
Only, because the word sounds handsome in a lover’s mouth;
But you can cease to be so when you please,
By making Lysimantes fortunate.
Queen. Were he indeed the man, you had some reason; But ’tis another, more without my power, And yet a subject too.
Phil. O, madam, say not so:
It cannot be a subject, if not he;
It were to be injurious to yourself
To make another choice.
Queen. Yet, Lysimantes, set by him I love,
Is more obscured, than stars too near the sun:
He has a brightness of his own,
Not borrowed of his father’s, but born with him.
Phil. Pardon me if I say, whoe’er he be,
He has practis’d some ill arts upon you, madam;
For he, whom you describe, I see, is born
But from the lees o’ the people.
Queen. You offend me, Philocles.
Whence had you leave to use those insolent terms,
Of him I please to love? One, I must tell you,
(Since foolishly I have gone thus far)
Whom I esteem your equal,
And far superior to prince Lysimantes;
One, who deserves to wear a crown —
Phil. Whirlwinds bear me hence, before I live
To that detested day! — That frown assures me
I have offended, by my over-freedom;
But yet, methinks, a heart so plain and honest,
And zealous of your glory, might hope your pardon for it.
Queen. I give it you; but, When you know him better, You’ll alter your opinion; he’s no ill friend of yours.
Phil. I well perceive,
He has supplanted me in your esteem;
But that’s the least of ills this fatal wretch
Has practised — Think, for heaven’s sake, madam, think,
If you have drunk no philtre.
Queen. Yes, he has given me a philtre; But I have drunk it only from his eyes.
Phil. Hot irons thank ‘em for’t! [Softly, or turning from her.
Queen. What’s that you mutter? Hence from my sight! I know not whether I ever shall endure to see you more.
Phil. But hear me, madam.
Queen. I say, begone. — See me no more this day. —
I will not hear one word in your excuse:
Now, sir, be rude again; and give laws to your queen.
[Exit PHILOCLES bowing.
Asteria, come hither.
Was ever boldness like to this of Philocles?
Help me to reproach him, for I resolve
Henceforth no more to love him.
Ast. Truth is, I wondered at your patience, madam: Did you not mark his words, his mein, his action, How full of haughtiness, how small respect?
Queen. And he to use me thus, he whom I favoured, Nay more, he whom I loved?
Ast. A man, methinks, of vulgar parts and presence!
Queen. Or, allow him something handsome, valiant, Or so — Yet this to me! —
Ast. The workmanship of inconsiderate favour,
The creature of rash love; one of those meteors
Which monarchs raise from earth,
And people, wondering how they came so high,
Fear, from their influence, plagues, and wars, and famine.
Queen. Ha!
Ast. One, whom, instead of banishing a day,
You should have plumed of all his borrowed honours,
And let him see what abject things they are,
Whom princes often love without desert.
Queen. What has my Philocles deserved from thee,
That thou shouldst use him thus?
Were he the basest of mankind, thou couldst not
Have given him ruder language.
Ast. Did not your majesty command me? Did not yourself begin?
Queen. I grant I did, but I have right to do it:
I love him, and may rail; in you ’tis malice;
Malice in the most high degree; for never man
Was more deserving than my Philocles.
Or, do you love him, ha! and plead that title?
Confess, and I’ll forgive you —
For none can look on him, but needs must love.
Ast. I love him, madam! I beseech your majesty, Have better thoughts of me.
Queen. Dost thou not love him then?
Good heaven, how stupid, and how dull is she?
How most invincibly insensible!
No woman does deserve to live,
That loves not Philocles.
Ast. Dear madam, recollect yourself; alas!
How much distracted are your thoughts; and how
Disjointed all your words!
The sibyl’s leaves more orderly were laid.
Where is that harmony of mind, that prudence,
Which guided all you did? that sense of glory,
Which raised you high above the rest of kings,
As kings are o’er the level of mankind?
Queen. Gone, gone, Asteria; all is gone,
Or lost within me, far from any use.
Sometimes I struggle, like the sun in clouds,
But straight I am o’ercast.
Ast. I grieve to see it.
Queen. Then thou hast yet the goodness To pardon what I said? Alas! I use myself much worse than thee. Love rages in great souls, For there his power most opposition finds; High trees are shook, because they dare the winds. [Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — The Court Gallery.
PHILOCLES solus.
’Tis true, she banished me but for a day;
But favourites, once declining, sink apace.
Yet fortune, stop — this is the likeliest place
To meet Asteria, and by her convey
My humble vows to my offended queen.
Ha! She comes herself; unhappy man,
Where shall I hide? — [Is going out.
Enter Queen and ASTERIA.
Queen. Is not that Philocles, Who makes such haste away? Philocles, Philocles! —
Phil. I feared she saw me. [Coming back.
Queen. How now, sir, am I such a bugbear, That I scare people from me?
Phil. ’Tis true, I should more carefully have shunned
The place where you might be; as, when it thunders,
Men reverently quit the open air,
Because the angry gods are then abroad.
Queen. What does he mean, Asteria? I do not understand him.
Ast. Your majesty forgets, you banished him Your presence for this day. [To her so
ftly.
Queen. Ha! banished him! ’tis true indeed; But, as thou sayest, I had forgot it quite.
Ast. That’s very strange, scarce half an hour ago.
Queen. But love had drawn his pardon up so soon, That I forgot he e’er offended me.
Phil. Pardon me, that I could not thank you sooner; Your sudden grace, like some swift flood poured in On narrow banks, o’erflowed my spirits.
Queen. No: ’tis for me to ask your pardon, Philocles,
For the great injury I did you,
In not remembering I was angry with you:
But I’ll repair my fault,
And rouse my anger up against you yet.
Phil. No, madam, my forgiveness was your act of grace, And I lay hold of it.
Queen. Princes sometimes may pass Acts of oblivion, in their own wrong.
Phil. ’Tis true, but not recal them.
Queen. But, Philocles, since I have told you there is one
I love, I will go on, and let you know
What passed this day betwixt us; be our judge,
Whether my servant have dealt well with me.
Phil. I beseech your majesty, excuse me: Any thing more of him may make me Relapse too soon, and forfeit my late pardon.
Queen. But you’ll be glad to know it.
Phil. May I not hope, then, You have some quarrel to him?
Queen. Yes, a great one.
But first to justify myself:
Know, Philocles, I have concealed my passion
With such care from him, that he knows not yet
I love, but only that I much esteem him.
Phil. O stupid wretch, That, by a thousand tokens, could not guess it!
Queen. He loves elsewhere, and that has blinded him.
Phil. He’s blind indeed!
So the dull beasts in the first paradise,
With levelled eyes, gazed each upon their kind;
There fixed their love, and ne’er looked up to view
That glorious creature man, their sovereign lord.
Queen. Y’are too severe on little faults; but he
Has crimes, untold,
Which will, I fear, move you much more against him.
He fell this day into a passion with me,
And boldly contradicted all I said.
Phil. And stands his head upon his shoulders yet? How long shall this most insolent —
Queen. Take heed you rail not; You know you are but on your good behaviour.
Phil. Why then I will not call him traitor,
But only rude, audacious, and impertinent,
To use his sovereign so — I beg your leave
To wish, you have at least imprisoned him.