John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  And the vain lustre of imagined crowns.

  But, ah! why would you leave me? or how could you

  Absent yourself so long?

  Eub. I’ll give you a most just account of both:

  And something more I have to tell you, which

  I know must cause your wonder; but this place,

  Though almost hid in darkness, is not safe.

  Already I discern some coming towards us [Torches appear.

  With lights, who may discover me. Hermogenes,

  Your lodgings are hard by, and much more private.

  Her. There you may freely speak.

  Leon. Let us make haste;

  For some affairs, and of no small importance,

  Call me another way. [Exeunt.

  SCENE II.

  Enter Palamede and Rhodophil, with Vizor Masques in their Hands, and Torches before them.

  Pala. We shall have noble sport to-night, Rhodophil; this masquerading is a most glorious invention.

  Rho. I believe it was invented first by some jealous lover, to discover the haunts of his jilting mistress; or, perhaps, by some distressed servant, to gain an opportunity with a jealous man’s wife.

  Pala. No, it must be the invention of a woman, it has so much of subtilty and love in it.

  Rho. I am sure ’tis extremely pleasant; for to go unknown, is the next degree to going invisible.

  Pala. What with our antic habits and feigned voices, — Do you know me? and — I know you, — methinks we move and talk just like so many overgrown puppets.

  Rho. Masquerade is only vizor-mask improved; a heightening of the same fashion.

  Pala. No, masquerade is vizor-mask in debauch, and I like it the better for’t: for, with a vizor-mask, we fool ourselves into courtship, for the sake of an eye that glanced; or a hand that stole itself out of the glove sometimes, to give us a sample of the skin: But in masquerade there is nothing to be known, she’s all terra incognita; and the bold discoverer leaps ashore, and takes his lot among the wild Indians and savages, without the vile consideration of safety to his person, or of beauty, or wholesomeness in his mistress.

  Enter Beliza.

  Rho. Beliza, what make you here?

  Bel. Sir, my lady sent me after you, to let you know, she finds herself a little indisposed; so that she cannot be at court, but is retired to rest in her own apartment, where she shall want the happiness of your dear embraces to night.

  Rho. A very fine phrase, Beliza, to let me know my wife desires to lie alone.

  Pala. I doubt, Rhodophil, you take the pains sometimes to instruct your wife’s woman in these elegancies.

  Rho. Tell my dear lady, that since I must be so unhappy as not to wait on her to-night, I will lament bitterly for her absence. ’Tis true I shall be at court, but I will take no divertisement there; and when I return to my solitary bed, if I am so forgetful of my passion as to sleep, I will dream of her; and betwixt sleep and waking, put out my foot towards her side, for midnight consolation; and, not finding her, I will sigh, and imagine myself a most desolate widower.

  Bel. I shall do your commands, sir. [Exit.

  Rho. [Aside.] She’s sick as aptly for my purpose, as if she had contrived it so. Well, if ever woman was a help-mate for man, my spouse is so; for within this hour I received a note from Melantha, that she would meet me this evening in masquerade, in boys’ habit, to rejoice with me before she entered into fetters; for I find she loves me better than Palamede, only because he’s to be her husband. There’s something of antipathy in the word marriage to the nature of love: marriage is the mere ladle of affection, that cools it when ’tis never so fiercely boiling over.

  Pala. Dear Rhodophil, I must needs beg your pardon; there is an occasion fallen out which I had forgot: I cannot be at court to-night.

  Rho. Dear Palamede, I am sorry we shall not have one course together at the herd; but I find your game lies single: Good fortune to you with your mistress.

  [Exit.

  Pala. He has wished me good fortune with his wife; there’s no sin in this then, there’s fair leave given. Well, I must go visit the sick; I cannot resist the temptations of my charity. O what a difference will she find betwixt a dull resty husband and a quick vigorous lover! He sets out like a carrier’s horse, plodding on, because he knows he must, with the bells of matrimony chiming so melancholy about his neck, in pain till he’s at his journey’s end; and, despairing to get thither, he is fain to fortify imagination with the thoughts of another woman: I take heat after heat, like a well-breathed courser, and — But hark, what noise is that? Swords! [Clashing of swords within.] Nay, then, have with you.

  [Exit Pala.

  Re-enter Palamede, with Rhodophil; and Doralice in man’s habit.

  Rho. Friend, your relief was very timely, otherwise I had been oppressed.

  Pala. What was the quarrel?

  Rho. What I did was in rescue of this youth.

  Pala. What cause could he give them?

  Dor. The cause was nothing but only the common cause of fighting in masquerades: They were drunk, as I was sober.

  Rho. Have they not hurt you?

  Dor. No; but I am exceeding ill with the fright on’t.

  Pala. Let’s lead him to some place, where he may refresh himself.

  Rho. Do you conduct him then.

  Pala. [Aside.] How cross this happens to my design of going to Doralice! for I am confident she was sick on purpose that I should visit her. Hark you, Rhodophil, could not you take care of the stripling? I am partly engaged to-night.

  Rho. You know I have business; but come, youth, if it must be so.

  Dor. to Rho. No, good sir, do not give yourself that trouble; I shall be safer, and better pleased with your friend here.

  Rho. Farewell, then; once more I wish you a good adventure.

  Pala. Damn this kindness! now must I be troubled with this young rogue, and miss my opportunity with Doralice.

  [Exit Rho. alone; Pala. with Dor.

  SCENE III.

  Enter Polydamus.

  Poly. Argaleon counselled well to banish him:

  He has, I know not what,

  Of greatness in his looks, and of high fate,

  That almost awes me; but I fear my daughter,

  Who hourly moves me for him; and I marked,

  She sighed when I but named Argaleon to her.

  But see, the maskers: Hence, my cares, this night!

  At least take truce, and find me on my pillow.

  Enter the Princess in masquerade, with Ladies. At the other end, Argaleon and Gentlemen in masquerade; then Leonidas leading Amalthea. The King sits. A Dance. After the Dance,

  Amal. to Leon. That’s the princess;

  I saw the habit ere she put it on.

  Leon. I know her by a thousand other signs;

  She cannot hide so much divinity.

  Disguised, and silent, yet some graceful motion

  Breaks from her, and shines round her like a glory. [Goes to Palmyra.

  Amal. Thus she reveals herself, and knows it not;

  Like love’s dark lanthorn, I direct his steps,

  And yet he sees not that, which gives him light.

  Palm. I know you; but, alas! Leonidas,

  Why should you tempt this danger on yourself?

  Leon. Madam, you know me not, if you believe;

  I would not hazard greater for your sake.

  But you, I fear, are changed.

  Palm. No, I am still the same;

  But there are many things became Palmyra,

  Which ill become the princess.

  Leon, I ask nothing

  Which honour will not give you leave to grant:

  One hour’s short audience, at my father’s house,

  You cannot sure refuse me.

  Palm. Perhaps I should, did I consult strict virtue;

  But something must be given to love and you.

  When would you I should come?

  Leon. This evening, with the speediest
opportunity.

  I have a secret to discover to you,

  Which will surprise and please you.

  Palm. ’Tis enough.

  Go now; for we may be observed and known.

  I trust your honour; give me not occasion

  To blame myself, or you.

  Leon. You never shall repent your good opinion. [Kisses her hand, and Exit.

  Arga. I cannot be deceived; that is the princess:

  One of her maids betrayed the habit to me.

  But who was he with whom she held discourse?

  ’Tis one she favours, for he kissed her hand.

  Our shapes are like, our habits near the same;

  She may mistake, and speak to me for him.

  I am resolved; I’ll satisfy my doubts,

  Though to be more tormented.

  SONG.

  I.

  Whilst Alexis lay prest

  In her arms he loved best,

  With his hands round her neck,

  And his head on her breast,

  He found the fierce pleasure too hasty to stay,

  And his soul in the tempest just flying away.

  II.

  When Cælia saw this,

  With a sigh and a kiss,

  She cried, — O, my dear, I am robbed of my bliss!

  ’Tis unkind to your love, and unfaithfully done,

  To leave me behind you, and die all alone.

  III.

  The youth, though in haste,

  And breathing his last,

  In pity died slowly, while she died more fast;

  Till at length she cried, — Now, my dear, now let us go;

  Now die, my Alexis, and I will die too!

  IV.

  Thus entranced they did lie,

  Till Alexis did try

  To recover new breath, that again he might die:

  Then often they died; but the more they did so,

  The nymph died more quick, and the shepherd more slow.

  Another Dance. After it, Argaleon re-enters, and stands by the Princess.

  Palm. Leonidas, what means this quick return? [To Arga.

  Arga. O heaven! ’tis what I feared.

  Palm. Is aught of moment happened since you went?

  Arga. No, madam; but I understood not fully

  Your last commands.

  Palm. And yet you answered to them.

  Retire; you are too indiscreet a lover:

  I’ll meet you where I promised. [Exit.

  Arga. O my curst fortune! what have I discovered!

  But I will be revenged. [Whispers to the King.

  Poly. But are you certain you are not deceived?

  Arga. Upon my life.

  Poly. Her honour is concerned.

  Somewhat I’ll do; but I am yet distracted,

  And know not where to fix. I wished a child,

  And heaven, in anger, granted my request.

  So blind we are, our wishes are so vain,

  That what we most desire, proves most our pain. [Exeunt.

  SCENE IV.

  An Eating-house. Bottles of Wine on the table. Palamede, and Doralice, in Man’s Habit.

  Dor. [Aside.] Now cannot I find in my heart to discover myself, though I long he should know me.

  Pala. I tell thee, boy, now I have seen thee safe, I must be gone: I have no leisure to throw away on thy raw conversation; I am a person that understands better things, I.

  Dor. Were I a woman, oh how you would admire me! cry up every word I said, and screw your face into a submissive smile; as I have seen a dull gallant act wit, and counterfeit pleasantness, when he whispers to a great person in a play-house; smile, and look briskly, when the other answers, as if something of extraordinary had past betwixt them, when, heaven knows, there was nothing else but, — What a clock does your lordship think it is? And my lord’s repartee is, — It is almost park-time: or, at most, — Shall we out of the pit, and go behind the scenes for an act or two — And yet such fine things as these would be wit in a mistress’s mouth.

  Pala. Ay, boy; there dame Nature’s in the case: He, who cannot find wit in a mistress, deserves to find nothing else, boy. But these are riddles to thee, child, and I have not leisure to instruct thee; I have affairs to dispatch, great affairs; I am a man of business.

  Dor. Come, you shall not go: You have no affairs but what you may dispatch here, to my knowledge.

  Pala. I find now, thou art a boy of more understanding than I thought thee; a very lewd wicked boy: O’ my conscience, thou would’st debauch me, and hast some evil designs upon my person.

  Dor. You are mistaken, sir; I would only have you shew me a more lawful reason why you would leave me, than I can why you should not, and I’ll not stay you; for I am not so young, but I understand the necessities of flesh and blood, and the pressing occasions of mankind, as well as you.

  Pala. A very forward and understanding boy! thou art in great danger of a page’s wit, to be brisk at fourteen, and dull at twenty. But I’ll give thee no further account; I must, and will go.

  Dor. My life on it, your mistress is not at home.

  Pala. This imp will make me very angry. — I tell thee, young sir, she is at home, and at home for me; and, which is more, she is a-bed for me, and sick for me.

  Dor. For you only?

  Pala. Aye, for me only.

  Dor. But how do you know she’s sick a-bed?

  Pala. She sent her husband word so.

  Dor. And are you such a novice in love, to believe a wife’s message to her husband?

  Pala. Why, what the devil should be her meaning else?

  Dor. It may be, to go in masquerade, as well as you; to observe your haunts, and keep you company without your knowledge.

  Pala. Nay, I’ll trust her for that: She loves me too well, to disguise herself from me.

  Dor. If I were she, I would disguise on purpose to try your wit; and come to my servant like a riddle, — Read me, and take me.

  Pala. I could know her in any shape: My good genius would prompt me to find out a handsome woman: There’s something that would attract me to her without my knowledge.

  Dor. Then you make a load-stone of your mistress?

  Pala. Yes, and I carry steel about me, which has been so often touched, that it never fails to point to the north pole.

  Dor. Yet still my mind gives me, that you have met her disguised to-night, and have not known her.

  Pala. This is the most pragmatical conceited little fellow, he will needs understand my business better than myself. I tell thee, once more, thou dost not know my mistress.

  Dor. And I tell you once more, that I know her better than you do.

  Pala. The boy’s resolved to have the last word. I find I must go without reply. [Exit.

  Dor. Ah mischief, I have lost him with my fooling. Palamede, Palamede!

  He returns. She plucks off her peruke, and puts it on again when he knows her.

  Pala. O heavens! is it you, madam?

  Dor. Now, where was your good genius, that would prompt you to find me out?

  Pala. Why, you see I was not deceived; you yourself were my good genius.

  Dor. But where was the steel, that knew the load-stone? Ha?

  Pala. The truth is, madam, the steel has lost its virtue: and, therefore, if you please, we’ll new touch it.

  Enter Rhodophil; and Melantha in Boys habit. Rhodophil sees Palamede kissing Doralice’s hand.

  Rho. Palamede again! am I fallen into your quarters? What? Engaging with a boy? Is all honourable?

  Pala. O, very honourable on my side. I was just chastising this young villain; he was running away, without paying his share of the reckoning.

  Rho. Then I find I was deceived in him.

  Pala. Yes, you are deceived in him: ’tis the archest rogue, if you did but know him.

  Mel. Good Rhodophil, let us get off a-la derobbée, for fear I should be discovered.

  Rho. There’s no retiring now; I warrant you for discovery. Now have I
the oddest thought, to entertain you before your servant’s face, and he never the wiser; it will be the prettiest juggling trick, to cheat him when he looks upon us.

  Mel. This is the strangest caprice in you.

  Pala. [to Doralice.] This Rhodophil’s the unluckiest fellow to me! this is now the second time he has barred the dice when we were just ready to have nicked him; but if ever I get the box again —

  Dor. Do you think he will not know me? Am I like myself?

  Pala. No more than a picture in the hangings.

  Dor. Nay, then he can never discover me, now the wrong side of the arras is turned towards him.

  Pala. At least, it will be some pleasure to me, to enjoy what freedom I can while he looks on; I will storm the out-works of matrimony even before his face.

  Rho. What wine have you there, Palamede?

  Pala. Old Chios, or the rogue’s damn’d that drew it.

  Rho. Come, — to the most constant of mistresses! that, I believe, is yours, Palamede.

  Dor. Pray spare your seconds; for my part I am but a weak brother.

  Pala. Now, — to the truest of turtles! that is your wife, Rhodophil, that lies sick at home, in the bed of honour.

  Rho. Now let us have one common health, and so have done.

  Dor. Then, for once, I’ll begin it. Here’s to him that has the fairest lady of Sicily in masquerade to night.

  Pala. This is such an obliging health, I’ll kiss thee, dear rogue, for thy invention.

  [Kisses her.

  Rho. He, who has this lady, is a happy man, without dispute, — I’m most concerned in this, I am sure.

  [Aside.

  Pala. Was it not well found out, Rhodophil?

  Mel. Ay, this was bien trouvée indeed.

  Dor. [to Melantha.] I suppose I shall do you a kindness, to enquire if you have not been in France, sir?

  Mel. To do you service, sir.

  Dor. O, monsieur, votre valet bien humble. [Saluting her.

  Mel. Votre esclave, monsieur, de tout mon cœur. [Returning the salute.

  Dor. I suppose, sweet sir, you are the hope and joy of some thriving citizen, who has pinched him self at home, to breed you abroad, where you have learned your exercises, as it appears, most awkwardly, and are returned, with the addition of a new-laced bosom and a clap, to your good old father, who looks at you with his mouth, while you spout French with your man monsieur.

  Pala. Let me kiss thee again for that, dear rogue.

  Mel. And you, I imagine, are my young master, whom your mother durst not trust upon salt-water, but left you to be your own tutor at fourteen, to be very brisk and entreprenant, to endeavour to be debauched ere you have learned the knack of it, to value yourself upon a clap before you can get it, and to make it the height of your ambition to get a player for your mistress.