John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Hip. It is my duty, sir. [Exit Hip.

  Prosp. True, he has seen a woman, yet he lives! — Perhaps I took the moment of his birth Amiss: Perhaps my art itself is false. — On what strange grounds we build our hopes and fears! Man’s life is all a mist! and, in the dark, Our fortunes meet us. If fate be not, then what can we foresee? Or how can we avoid it, if it be? If by free will in our own paths we move, How are we bounded by decrees above? Whether we drive, or whether we are driven, If ill, ’tis ours: if good, the act of heaven. [Exit.

  SCENE VI. — A Cave.

  Enter Hippolito and Ferdinand.

  Ferd. Your pity, noble youth, doth much oblige me. Indeed, ’twas sad to lose a father so.

  Hip. Ay, and an only father too; for sure You said, you had but one.

  Ferd. But one father! He’s wondrous simple. [Aside.

  Hip. Are such misfortunes frequent in your world, Where many men live?

  Ferd. Such are we born to. — But, gentle youth, as you have questioned me, So give me leave to ask you, what you are?

  Hip. Do not you know?

  Ferd. How should I?

  Hip. I well hoped I was a man, but, by your ignorance Of what I am, I fear it is not so. — Well, Prospero! this is now the second time You have deceived me.

  Ferd. Sir, there is no doubt You are a man: But I would know, of whence?

  Hip. Why, of this world; I never was in yours.

  Ferd. Have you a father?

  Hip. I was told I had one, And that he was a man; yet I have been So much deceived, I dare not tell’t you for A truth: But I have still been kept a prisoner, For fear of women.

  Ferd. They, indeed, are dangerous; For, since I came, I have beheld one here, Whose beauty pierced my heart.

  Hip. How did she pierce? You seem not hurt.

  Ferd. Alas! the wound was made by her bright eyes, And festers by her absence. But, to speak plainer to you, sir, I love her.

  Hip. Now, I suspect that love’s the very thing, That I feel too! — Pray tell me truly, sir, Are you not grown unquiet since you saw her?

  Ferd. I take no rest.

  Hip. Just, just, my disease. — Do you not wish, you do not know for what?

  Ferd. O, no! I know too well for what I wish.

  Hip. There, I confess, I differ from you, sir: But you desire she may be always with you?

  Ferd. I can have no felicity without her.

  Hip. Just my condition. — Alas, gentle sir! I’ll pity you, and you shall pity me.

  Ferd. I love so much, that, if I have her not, I find I cannot live.

  Hip. How! do you love her, And would you have her too? That must not be: For none but I must have her.

  Ferd. But perhaps we do not love the same: All beauties are not pleasing alike to all.

  Hip. Why, are there more fair women, sir, Besides that one I love?

  Ferd. That’s a strange question. There are many more, Besides that beauty which you love.

  Hip. I will have all Of that kind, if there be a hundred of them.

  Ferd. But, noble youth, you know not what you say.

  Hip. Sir, they are things I love, I cannot be Without them! — O, how I rejoice! — More women!

  Ferd. Sir, if you love, you must be tied to one.

  Hip. Tied! How tied to her?

  Ferd. To love none but her.

  Hip. But, sir, I find it is against my nature. I must love where I like; and, I believe, I may like all, — All that are fair. Come, bring me to this woman, For I must have her.

  Ferd. His simplicity Is such, that I can scarce be angry with him. — [Aside.

  Perhaps, sweet youth, when you behold her, you Will find you do not love her.

  Hip. I find already I love, because she is another woman.

  Ferd. You cannot love two women both at once.

  Hip. Sure ’tis my duty to love all who do Resemble her, whom I’ve already seen. I’ll have as many as I can, that are So good, and angel-like, as she I love; And will have yours.

  Ferd. Pretty youth, you cannot.

  Hip. I can do any thing for that I love.

  Ferd. I may, perhaps, by force, restrain you from it.

  Hip. Why, do so, if you can. But either promise me To love no woman, or you must try your force.

  Ferd. I cannot help it, I must love.

  Hip. Well, you may love; For Prospero taught me friendship too. You shall Love me, and other men, if you can find them; But all the angel women shall be mine.

  Ferd I must break off this conference, or he Will urge me else beyond what I can bear. — [Aside.

  Sweet youth, some other time we will speak Farther concerning both our loves; at present I am indisposed with weariness and grief, And would, if you’re so pleased, retire a while.

  Hip. Some other time be it; but, sir, remember, That I both seek and much entreat your friendship; For, next to women, I find I can love you.

  Ferd. I thank you, sir, I will consider of it. [Exit Ferd.

  Hip. This stranger does insult, and comes into My world, to take those heavenly beauties from me, Which, I believe, I am inspired to love. — And yet he said, he did desire but one: He would be poor in love, but I’ll be rich. — I now perceive that Prospero was cunning; For when he frightened me from womankind, Those precious things he for himself designed. [Exit.

  ACT IV.

  SCENE I.

  Cypress trees and a Cave.

  Enter Prospero and Miranda.

  Prosp. Your suit has pity in’t, and has prevailed. Within this cave he lies, and you may see him: But yet take heed; let prudence be your guide: You must not stay, your visit must be short. — [She’s going.

  One thing I had forgot; insinuate into his mind A kindness to that youth, whom first you saw; I would have friendship grow betwixt them.

  Mir. You shall be obeyed in all things.

  Prosp. Be earnest to unite their very souls.

  Mir. I shall endeavour it.

  Prosp. This may secure Hippolito from that dark danger, which My art forebodes; for friendship does provide A double strength to oppose the assaults of fortune. [Exit Prosp.

  Enter Ferdinand.

  Ferd. To be a prisoner where I dearly love, Is but a double tie, a link of fortune Joined to the chain of love; but not to see her, And yet to be so near her, there’s the hardship! — I feel myself as on a rack, stretched out And nigh the ground, on which I might have ease, Yet, cannot reach it.

  Mir. Sir! — my lord! — where are you?

  Ferd. Is it your voice, my love? or do I dream?

  Mir. Speak softly, it is I.

  Ferd. O heavenly creature! Ten times more gentle than your fathers cruel! — How, on a sudden, all my griefs are vanished!

  Mir. How do you bear your prison?

  Ferd. ’Tis my palace, While you are here, and love and silence wait Upon our wishes; do but think we chuse it, And ’tis what we would chuse.

  Mir. I’m sure what I would. But how can I be certain that you love me? Look to’t; for I will die when you are false. I’ve heard my father tell of maids, who died, And haunted their false lovers with their ghosts.

  Ferd. Your ghost must take another form to fright me, This shape will be too pleasing. — Do I love you? O, heaven! O, earth! bear witness to this sound, If I prove false! —

  Mir. O, hold! you shall not swear, For heaven will hate you if you prove forsworn.

  Ferd. Did I not love, I could no more endure This undeserved captivity, than I Could wish to gain my freedom, with the loss Of you.

  Mir. I am a fool, to weep at what I’m glad of: But I have a suit to you, And that, sir, shall Be now the only trial of your love.

  Ferd. You’ve said enough, never to be denied, Were it my life; for you have far o’er-bid The price of all that human life is worth.

  Mir. Sir, ’tis to love one for my sake, who, for His own, deserves all the respect which you Can ever pay him.

  Ferd. You mean your father: Do not think his usage Can make me hate him; when he gave you being
, He then did that, which cancelled all these wrongs.

  Mir. I meant not him; for that was a request, Which, if you love, I should not need to urge.

  Ferd. Is there another whom I ought to love; And love him for your sake?

  Mir. Yes, such a one, Who, for his sweetness and his goodly shape, (If I, who am unskilled in forms, may judge) I think can scarce be equalled: ’Tis a youth, A stranger, too, as you are.

  Ferd. Of such a graceful feature! and must I, For your sake, love him?

  Mir. Yes, sir: Do you scruple To grant the first request I ever made? He’s wholly unacquainted with the world, And wants your conversation. You should have Compassion on so mere a stranger.

  Ferd. Those need compassion whom you discommend, Not whom you praise.

  Mir. Come, you must love him for my sake: — You shall!

  Ferd. Must I for yours, and cannot for my own? Either you do not love, or think that I don’t: But, when you bid me love him, I must hate him.

  Mir. Have I so far offended you already, That he offends you only for my sake? — Yet sure you would not hate him, if you saw Him as I’ve done, so full of youth and beauty.

  Ferd. O, poison to my hopes! — When he did visit me, and I did mention This beauteous creature to him, he then did tell Me, he would have her. [Aside.

  Mir. Alas! what mean you?

  Ferd. It is too plain: Like most of her frail sex, She’s false, but has not learned the art to hide it. Nature has done her part, she loves variety: — Why did I think that any woman could Be innocent, because she’s young? No, no! Their nurses teach them change, when, with two nipples, They do divide their liking. [Aside.

  Mir. I fear I have offended you, and yet I meant no harm: But, if you please to hear me, — [A noise within.

  Hark, sir! now I am sure my father comes, I know his steps: Dear love! retire a while; I fear I’ve staid too long.

  Ferd. Too long indeed, and yet not long enough: Oh, jealousy! Oh, love! how you distract me! [Exit Ferd.

  Mir. He appears displeased with that young man, I know Not why: But, ‘till I find from whence his hate proceeds, I must conceal it from my father’s knowledge; For he will think that guiltless I have caused it, And suffer me no more to see my love.

  Enter Prospero.

  Prosp. Now I have been indulgent to your wish; You have seen the prisoner?

  Mir. Yes.

  Prosp. And he spoke to you?

  Mir. He spoke; but he received short answers from me.

  Prosp. How like you his converse?

  Mir. At second sight, A man does not appear so rare a creature.

  Prosp. I find she loves him much, because she hides it. Love teaches cunning even to innocence. — [Aside.

  Well, go in.

  Mir. Forgive me, truth! for thus disguising thee. If I can make him think, I do not love The stranger much, he’ll let me see him oftener. [Exit Mir.

  Prosp. Stay, stay! —— I had forgot to ask her, What she has said of young Hippolito. — Oh, here he comes! and, with him, my Dorinda: I’ll not be seen; let their loves grow in secret. [Exit.

  SCENE II.

  Enter Hippolito and Dorinda.

  Hip. But why are you so sad?

  Dor. But why are you so joyful?

  Hip. I have within me All, all the various music of the woods. Since last I saw you, I have heard brave news! I will tell you, and make you joyful for me.

  Dor. Sir, when I saw you first, I, through my eyes, Drew something in, I know not what it is; But still it entertains me with such thoughts, As make me doubtful whether joy becomes me.

  Hip. Pray believe me, As I’m a man, I’ll tell you blessed news: I’ve heard, there are more women in the world, As fair as you are too.

  Dor. Is this your news? You see it moves not me.

  Hip. And I will have them all.

  Dor. What will become of me then?

  Hip. I’ll have you too. — But are not you acquainted with these women?

  Dor. I never saw but one.

  Hip. Is there but one here? — This is a base poor world, I’ll go to the other; I’ve heard men have abundance of them there. — But, pray, where’s that one woman?

  Dor. Who, my sister?

  Hip. Is she your sister? I’m glad of that. You shall Help me to her, and I will love you for it. [Offers to take her hand.

  Dor. Away! I will not have you touch my hand. — My father’s counsel, which enjoined reservedness, Was not in vain, I see. [Aside.

  Hip. What makes you shun me?

  Dor. You need not care, you’ll have my sister’s hand.

  Hip. Why, must not he, who touches hers, touch yours?

  Dor. You mean to love her too?

  Hip. Do not you love her? Then why should I not do so?

  Dor. She’s my sister; And, therefore, I must love her: But you cannot Love both of us.

  Hip. I warrant you I can: — Oh, that you had more sisters!

  Dor. You may love her, But then I’ll not love you.

  Hip. O, but you must; One is enough for you, but not for me.

  Dor. My sister told me, she had seen another; A man like you, and she liked only him: Therefore, if one must be enough for her, He is that one, and then you cannot have her.

  Hip. If she like him, she may like both of us.

  Dor. But how if I should change, and like that man: Would you be willing to permit that change?

  Hip. No, for you liked me first.

  Dor. So you did me.

  Hip. But I would never have you see that man; I cannot bear it.

  Dor. I’ll see neither of you.

  Hip. Yes, me you may, for we are now acquainted: But he’s the man, of whom your father warned you; O, he’s a terrible, huge, monstrous creature! I’m but a woman to him.

  Dor. I will see him, Except you’ll promise not to see my sister.

  Hip. Yes, for your sake, I needs must see your sister.

  Dor. But she’s a terrible, huge creature too! If I were not her sister, she would eat me; Therefore take heed.

  Hip. I heard that she was fair, And like you.

  Dor. No, indeed, she’s like my father, With a great beard; ‘twould fright you to look on her: Therefore that man and she may go together, They are fit for nobody but one another.

  Hip. [Looking in.] Yonder he comes with glaring eyes; fly! fly! Before he sees you.

  Dor. Must we part so soon?

  Hip. You’re a lost woman if you see him.

  Dor. I would not willingly be lost, for fear You should not find me. I’ll avoid him. [Exit Dor.

  Hip. She fain would have deceived me, but I know Her sister must be fair, for she’s a woman; All of a kind, that I have seen, are like To one another: All the creatures of The rivers and the woods are so.

  Enter Ferdinand.

  Ferd. O, well encountered! you are the happy man! You’ve got the hearts of both the beauteous women.

  Hip. How, sir! pray, are you sure on’t?

  Ferd. One of them charged me to love you for her sake.

  Hip. Then I must have her.

  Ferd. No, not till I am dead.

  Hip. How dead? what’s that? — But whatsoe’er it be, I long to have her.

  Ferd. Time and my grief may make me die.

  Hip. But, for a friend, you should make haste; I ne’er Asked any thing of you before.

  Ferd. I see your ignorance, And, therefore, will instruct you in my meaning. The woman, whom I love, saw you, and loved you; Now, sir, if you love her, you’ll cause my death.

  Hip. Be sure I’ll do it then.

  Ferd. But I am your friend; And I request you that you would not love her.

  Hip. When friends request unreasonable things, Sure they’re to be denied. You say she’s fair; And I must love all who are fair: for, to tell you A secret, sir, which I have lately found Within myself, they’re all made for me.

  Ferd. That’s but a fond conceit: You’re made for one, And one for you.

  Hip. You cannot tell me, sir; I know I’m made f
or twenty hundred women, (I mean, if there so many be i’the world,) So that, if I once see her, I shall love her.

  Ferd. Then do not see her.

  Hip. Yes, sir, I must see her: For I would fain have my heart beat again, Just as it did when I first saw her sister.

  Ferd. I find I must not let you see her then.

  Hip. How will you hinder me?

  Ferd. By force of arms.

  Hip. By force of arms! My arms, perhaps, may be as strong as yours.

  Ferd. He’s still so ignorant, that I pity him, And fain would avoid force. [Aside.] — Pray do not see her, She was mine first; you have no right to her.

  Hip. I have not yet considered what is right; But, sir, I know my inclinations are To love all women; and I have been taught, That to dissemble what I think is base. In honour, then, of truth, I must declare, That I do love, and I will see your woman.

  Ferd. Would you be willing I should see and love Your woman, and endeavour to seduce her From that affection, which she vowed to you?

  Hip. I would not you should do it, but if she Should love you best, I cannot hinder her. But, sir, for fear she should, I will provide Against the worst, and try to get your woman.

  Ferd. But I pretend no claim at all to yours; Besides, you are more beautiful than I, And fitter to allure unpractised hearts: Therefore I once more beg you will not see her.

  Hip. I’m glad you let me know I have such beauty; If that will get me women, they shall have it As far as ere ‘twill go: I’ll never want them.

  Ferd. Then, since you have refused this act of friendship, Provide yourself a sword, for we must fight.

  Hip. A sword! what’s that?

  Ferd. Why such a thing as this.

  Hip. What should I do with it?

  Ferd. You must stand thus, And push against me, while I push at you, ‘Till one of us fall dead.

  Hip. This is brave sport: But we have no swords growing in our world.

  Ferd. What shall we do then to decide our quarrel?

  Hip. We’ll take the sword by turns, and fight with it.

  Ferd. Strange ignorance! [Aside.] — You must defend your life, And so must I. But since you have no sword, Take this: [Gives him his sword.] For in a corner of my cave I found a rusty one; perhaps ’twas his, Who keeps me pris’ner here: That I will fit: When next we meet, prepare yourself to fight.