John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Max. What made Porphyrius so officious be? The action looked as done in scorn of me.

  Val. It did, indeed, some little freedom shew; But somewhat to his services you owe.

  Max. Yet if I thought it his presumption were —

  Plac. Perhaps he did not your displeasure hear.

  Max. My anger was too loud, not to be heard.

  Plac. I’m loth to think he did it not regard.

  Max. How, not regard!

  Val. Placidius, you foment, On too light grounds, my father’s discontent. But when an action does two faces wear, ’Tis justice to believe what is most fair. I think, that, knowing what respect there rests For her late brother in the soldiers’ breasts, He went to serve the emperor; and designed Only to calm the tempest in her mind, Lest some sedition in the camp should rise.

  Max. I ever thought him loyal as he’s wise. Since therefore all the Gods their spite have shewn To rob my age of a successive throne; And you who now remain, The only issue of my former bed, In empire cannot, by your sex, succeed; To bind Porphyrius firmly to the state, I will this day my Cæsar him create: And, daughter, I will give him you for wife.

  Val. O day, the best and happiest of my life!

  Plac. O day, the most accurst I ever knew!

  [Aside.

  Max. See to my son performed each funeral due: Then to the toils of war we will return, And make our enemies our losses mourn. [Exeunt.

  ACT II.

  SCENE I. — The Royal Camp.

  Enter Berenice and Porphyrius.

  Ber. Porphyrius, you too far did tempt your fate, In owning her, the emperor does hate. ’Tis true, your duty to me it became; But, praising that, I must your conduct blame.

  Por. Not to have owned my zeal at such a time, Were to sin higher than your tyrant’s crime.

  Ber. ’Twas too much, my disgrace to accompany; A silent wish had been enough for me.

  Por. Wishes are aids faint servants may supply, Who ask heaven for you what themselves deny. Could I do less than my respect to pay, Where I before had given my heart away?

  Ber. You fail in that respect you seem to bear, When you speak words unfit for me to hear.

  Por. Yet you did once accept those vows I paid.

  Ber. Those vows were then to Berenice made; But cannot now be heard without a sin, When offered to the wife of Maximin.

  Por. Has, then, the change of fortune changed your will? Ah! why are you not Berenice still? To Maximin you once declared your hate; Your marriage was a sacrifice to th’ state: Your brother made it to secure his throne, Which this man made a step to mount it on.

  Ber. Whatever Maximin has been, or is, I am to bear, since heaven has made me his; For wives, who must themselves of power divest, When they love blindly, for their peace love best.

  Por. If mutual love be vowed when faith you plight, Then he, who forfeits first, has lost his right.

  Ber. Husbands a forfeiture of love may make; But what avails the forfeit none can take? As, in a general wreck, The pirate sinks with his ill-gotten gains, And nothing to another’s use remains, So, by his loss, no gain to you can fall: The sea, and vast destruction swallows all.

  Por. Yet he, who from the shore the wreck descries, May lawfully enrich him with the prize.

  Ber. Who sees the wreck, can yet no title plead, Till he be sure the owner first is dead.

  Por. If that be all the claim I want to love, This pirate of your heart I’ll soon remove, And, at one stroke, the world and you set free.

  Ber. Leave to the care of heaven that world and me.

  Por. Heaven as its instrument my courage sends.

  Ber. Heaven ne’er sent those who fight for private ends. We both are bound by trust, and must be true; I to his bed, and to his empire you. For he who to the bad betrays his trust, Though he does good, becomes himself unjust.

  Por. When Brutus did from Cæsar Rome redeem, The act was good.

  Ber. But was not good in him. You see the Gods adjudged it parricide, By dooming the event on Cæsar’s side. ’Tis virtue not to be obliged at all; Or not conspire our benefactor’s fall.

  Por. You doom me then to suffer all this ill, And yet I doom myself to love you still.

  Ber. Dare not Porphyrius suffer then with me, Since what for him, I for myself decree?

  Por. How can I bear those griefs you disapprove?

  Ber. To ease them, I’ll permit you still to love.

  Por. That will but haste my death, if you think fit Not to reward, but barely to permit. Love without hope does like a torture wound, Which makes me reach in pain, to touch the ground.

  Ber. If hope, then, to your life so needful be, Hope still.

  Por. Blest news!

  Ber. But hope in heaven, not me.

  Por. Love is too noble such deceits to use: Referring me to heaven, your gift I lose. So princes cheaply may our wants supply, When they give that, their treasurers deny.

  Ber. Love blinds my virtue: — If I longer stay It will grow dark, and I shall lose my way.

  Por. One kiss from this fair hand can be no sin; — ask not that you gave to Maximin. In full reward of all the pains I’ve past, Give me but one.

  Ber. Then let it be your last.

  Por. ’Tis gone! Like soldiers prodigal of their arrears, One minute spends the pay of many years. Let but one more be added to the sum, And pay at once for all my pains to come.

  Ber. Unthrifts will starve, if we beforehand give: [Pulling back her hand.

  I’ll see you shall have just enough to live.

  Enter Erotion.

  Ero. Madam, the emperor is drawing near; And comes, they say, to seek Porphyrius here.

  Ber. Alas!

  Por. I will not ask what he intends; My life, or death, alone on you depends.

  Ber. I must withdraw; but must not let him know [Aside.

  How hard the precepts of my virtue grow! But whate’er fortune is for me designed, Sweet heaven, be still to brave Porphyrius kind! [Exit with Erotion.

  Por. She’s gone unkindly, and refused to cast One glance to feed me for so long a fast.

  Enter Maximin, Placidius, and guards.

  Max. Porphyrius, since the Gods have ravished one, I come in you to seek another son. Succeed him then in my imperial states; Succeed in all, but his untimely fate. If I adopt you with no better grace, Pardon a father’s tears upon my face, And give them to Charinus’ memory: May they not prove as ominous to thee!

  Por. With what misfortunes heaven torments me still! Why must I be obliged to one so ill? [Aside.

  Max. Those offers which I made you, sir, were such, No private man should need to balance much.

  Por. Who durst his thoughts to such ambition lift? [Kneeling.

  The greatness of it made me doubt the gift. The distance was so vast, that to my view It made the object seem at first untrue; And now ’tis near, the sudden excellence Strikes through, and flashes on my tender sense.

  Max. Yet heaven and earth, which so remote appear, [Raising him.

  Are by the air, which flows betwixt them, near; And ‘twixt us two my daughter be the chain, One end with me, and one with you remain.

  Por. You press me down with such a glorious fate, [Kneeling again.

  I cannot rise against the mighty weight. Permit I may retire some little space, And gather strength to bear so great a grace. [Exit bowing.

  Plac. How love and fortune lavishly contend, Which should Porphyrius’ wishes most befriend! The mid-streams his; I, creeping by the side, Am shouldered off by his impetuous tide. [Aside.

  Enter Valerius hastily.

  Val. I hope my business may my haste excuse; For, sir, I bring you most surprising news. The Christian princess in her tent confers With fifty of our learned philosophers; Whom with such eloquence she does persuade, That they are captives to her reasons made. I left them yielding up their vanquished cause, And all the soldiers shouting her applause; Even Apollonius does but faintly speak, Whose voice the murmurs of the assistants break.

  Max.
Conduct this captive Christian to my tent; She shall be brought to speedy punishment. I must in time some remedy provide, [Exit Val.

  Lest this contagious error spread too wide.

  Plac. To infected zeal you must no mercy shew; For, from religion all rebellions grow.

  Max. The silly crowd, by factious teachers brought To think that faith untrue, their youth was taught, Run on in new opinions, blindly bold, Neglect, contemn, and then assault the old. The infectious madness seizes every part, And from the head distils upon the heart. And first they think their prince’s faith not true, And then proceed to offer him a new; Which if refused, all duty from them cast, To their new faith they make new kings at last.

  Plac. Those ills by mal-contents are often wrought, That by their prince their duty may be bought. They head those holy factions which they hate, To sell their duty at a dearer rate. But, sir, the tribune is already here, With your fair captive.

  Max. Bid them both appear.

  Enter St Catherine, Valerius, Apollonius, and Guards.

  See where she comes, with that high air and mein, Which marks, in bonds, the greatness of a queen. What pity ’tis! — but I no charms must see In her, who to our gods is enemy. —— Fair foe of heaven, whence comes this haughty pride, [To her.

  Or, is it frenzy does your mind misguide To scorn our worship, and new gods to find?

  S. Cath. Nor pride, nor frenzy, but a settled mind, Enlightened from above, my way does mark.

  Max. Though heaven be clear, the way to it is dark.

  S. Cath. But where our reason with our faith does go, We’re both above enlightened, and below. But reason with your fond religion fights, For many gods are many infinites: This to the first philosophers was known, Who, under various names, adored but one; Though your vain poets, after, did mistake, Who every attribute a god did make; And so obscene their ceremonies be, As good men loath, and Cato blushed to see.

  Max. War is my province! — Priest, why stand you mute? You gain by heaven, and, therefore, should dispute.

  Apol. In all religions, as in ours, there are Some solid truths, and some things popular. The popular in pleasing fables lie; The truths, in precepts of morality. And these to human life are of that use, That no religion can such rules produce.

  S. Cath. Then let the whole dispute concluded be Betwixt these rules, and christianity.

  Apol. And what more noble can your doctrine preach, Than virtue, which philosophy does teach? To keep the passions in severest awe, To live to reason, nature’s greatest law; To follow virtue, as its own reward; And good and ill, as things without regard.

  S. Cath. Yet few could follow those strict rules they gave; For human life will human frailties have; And love of virtue is but barren praise, Airy as fame; nor strong enough to raise The actions of the soul above the sense. Virtue grows cold without a recompence. We virtuous acts as duty do regard; Yet are permitted to expect reward.

  Apol. By how much more your faith reward assures, So much more frank our virtue is than yours.

  S. Cath. Blind men! you seek e’en those rewards you blame: But ours are solid; yours an empty name. Either to open praise your acts you guide, Or else reward yourselves with secret pride.

  Apol. Yet still our moral virtues you obey; Ours are the precepts, though applied your way.

  S. Cath. ’Tis true, your virtues are the same we teach; But in our practice they much higher reach. You but forbid to take another’s due, But we forbid even to desire it too: Revenge of injuries you virtue call; But we forgiveness of our wrongs extol: Immodest deeds you hinder to be wrought, But we proscribe the least immodest thought. So much your virtues are in ours refined, That yours but reach the actions, ours the mind.

  Max. Answer, in short, to what you heard her speak. [To Apol.

  Apol. Where truth prevails, all arguments are weak. To that convincing power I must give place; And with that truth that faith I will embrace.

  Max. O traitor to our gods — but more to me! Dar’st thou of any faith but of thy prince’s be? But sure thou rav’st; thy foolish error find: Cast up the poison that infects thy mind, And shun the torments thou art sure to feel.

  Apol. Nor fire, nor torture, nor revenging steel Can on my soul the least impression make: How gladly, truth, I suffer for thy sake! Once I was ignorant of what was so; But never can abandon truth I know. My martyrdom I to thy crown prefer; Truth is a cause for a philosopher.

  S. Cath. Lose not that courage which heaven does inspire;

  [To Apol.

  But fearless go to be baptised in fire. Think ’tis a triumph, not a danger near: Give him your blood; but give him not a tear. Go, and prepare my seat; and hovering be Near that bright space, which is reserved for me.

  Max. Hence with the traitor; bear him to his fate.

  Apol. Tyrant, I fear thy pity, not thy hate: A life eternal I by death obtain.

  Max. Go, carry him, where he that life may gain. [Exeunt Apol. Val. and Guards.

  Plac. From this enchantress all these ills are come: You are not safe till you pronounce her doom. Each hour she lives a legion sweeps away; She’ll make your army martyrs in a day.

  Max. ’Tis just: This Christian sorceress shall die. Would I had never proved her sorcery! Not that her charming tongue this change has bred; I fear ’tis something that her eyes have said. I love; and am ashamed it should be seen. [Aside.

  Plac. Sir, shall she die?

  Max. Consider, she’s a queen.

  Plac. Those claims in Cleopatra ended were.

  Max. How many Cleopatra’s live in her!

  [Aside.

  Plac. When you condemned her, sir, she was a queen.

  Max. No, slave! she only was a captive then.

  S. Cath. My joyful sentence you defer too long.

  Max. I never knew that life was such a wrong. But if you needs will die, — it shall be so. — Yet think it does from your perverseness flow. Men say, indeed, that I in blood delight; But you shall find — haste, take her from my sight! — For Maximin I have too much confest; And, for a lover, not enough exprest. Absent, I may her martyrdom decree; But one look more will make that martyr me. [Exit St Catharine, guarded.

  Plac. What is it, sir, that shakes your mighty mind?

  Max. Somewhat I am ashamed that thou shouldst find.

  Plac. If it be love, which does your soul possess ——

  Max. Are you my rival, that so soon you guess?

  Plac. Far, mighty prince, be such a crime from me; [Kneeling.

  Which, with the pride, includes impiety. Could you forgive it, yet the gods above Would never pardon me a Christian love.

  Max. Thou liest: — There’s not a God inhabits there, But for this Christian would all heaven forswear. Even Jove would try more shapes her love to win,} And in new birds, and unknown beasts, would sin:} At least, if Jove could love like Maximin.}

  Plac. A captive, sir, who would a martyr die?

  Max. She courts not death, but shuns captivity. Great gifts, and greater promises I’ll make: And what religion is’t, but they can shake? She shall live high; — Devotion in distress Is born, but vanishes in happiness. [Exit Max.

  Plac. [Solus.] His son forgot, his empress unappeased — How soon the tyrant with new love is seized! Love various minds does variously inspire: He stirs, in gentle natures, gentle fire, Like that of incense on the altars laid; But raging flames tempestuous souls invade; A fire, which every windy passion blows; With pride it mounts, and with revenge it glows. But I accursed, who servilely must move, And sooth his passion, for his daughters love! Small hope, ’tis true, attends my mighty care; But of all passions love does last despair. [Exit.

  ACT III.

  SCENE I. — The Royal Pavilion.

  Enter Maximin, Placidius, Guards, and Attendants.

  Max. This love, that never could my youth engage, Peeps out his coward head to dare my age. Where hast thou been thus long, thou sleeping form, That wak’st, like drowsy seamen, in a storm? A sullen hour thou chusest for thy birth: My l
ove shoots up in tempests, as the earth Is stirred and loosened in a blust’ring wind, Whose blasts to waiting flowers her womb unbind.

  Plac. Forgive me, if I say your passions are So rough, as if in love you would make war. But love is soft —— And with soft beauty tenderly complies; In lips it laughs, and languishes in eyes.

  Max. There, let it laugh; or, like an infant, weep: I cannot such a supple passion keep. Mine, stiff with age, and stubborn as my arms, Walks upright; stoops not to, but meets her charms.

  Plac. Yet fierceness suits not with her gentle kind; They brave assaults, but may be undermined.

  Max. Till I in those mean arts am better read, Court thou, and fawn, and flatter in my stead.

  Enter St Catharine.

  She comes; and now, methinks, I could obey; Her form glides through me, and my heart gives way: This iron heart, which no impression took From wars, melts down, and runs, if she but look. [Exit Maximin.

  Plac. Madam, I from the emperor am come, To applaud your virtue, and reverse your doom. He thinks, whatever your religion be, This palm is owing to your constancy.

  S. Cath. My constancy from him seeks no renown; Heaven, that proposed the course, will give the crown.

  Plac. But monarchs are the gods’ vicegerents here; Heaven gives rewards; but what it gives they bear: From heaven to you the Egyptian crown is sent, Yet ’tis a prince who does the gift present.

  S. Cath. The deity I serve, had he thought fit, Could have preserved my crown unconquered yet: But when his secret Providence designed To level that, he levelled too my mind; Which, by contracting its desires, is taught The humble quiet of possessing nought.

  Plac. To stoicks leave a happiness so mean: Your virtue does deserve a nobler scene. You are not for obscurity designed, But, like the sun, must cheer all human kind.

  S. Cath. No happiness can be, where is no rest: Th’ unknown, untalked of man is only blest. He, as in some safe cliff, his cell does keep, From whence he views the labours of the deep: The gold-fraught vessel, which mad tempests beat, He sees now vainly make to his retreat; And when, from far, the tenth wave does appear, Shrinks up in silent joy, that he’s not there.