John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series
Page 236
Re-enter Harman Junior, and Isabinda.
Isab. Come, sir, which is the way? I long to see my love.
Har. Jun. You may have your wish, and without stirring hence.
Isab. My love so near? Sure you delight to mock me!
Har. Jun. ’Tis you delight to torture me; behold the man who loves you more than his own eyes; more than the joys of earth, or hopes of heaven.
Isab. When you renewed your friendship with my Towerson, I thought these vain desires were dead within you.
Har. Jun. Smothered they were, not dead; your eyes can kindle no such petty fires, as only blaze a while, and strait go out.
Isab. You know, when I had far less ties upon me, I would not hear you; therefore wonder not if I withdraw, and find the company.
Har. Jun. That would be too much cruelty, to make me wretched, and then leave me so.
Isab. Am I in fault if you are miserable? so you may call the rich man’s wealth, the cause and object of the robber’s guilt. Pray do not persecute me farther: You know I have a husband now, and would be loth to afflict his knowledge with your second folly.
Har. Jun. What wondrous care you take to make him happy! yet I approve your method. Ignorance! oh, ’tis a jewel to a husband; that is, ’tis peace in him, ’tis virtue in his wife, ’tis honour in the world; he has all this, while he is ignorant.
Isab. You pervert my meaning: I would not keep my actions from his knowledge; your bold attempts I would: But yet henceforth conceal your impious flames; I shall not ever be thus indulgent to your shame, to keep it from his notice.
Har. Jun. You are a woman; have enough of love for him and me; I know the plenteous harvest all is his: He has so much of joy, that he must labour under it. In charity, you may allow some gleanings to a friend.
Isab. Now you grow rude: I’ll hear no more.
Har. Jun. You must.
Imb. Leave me.
Har. Jun. I cannot.
Isab. I find I must be troubled with this idle talk some minutes more, but ’tis your last.
Har. Jun. And therefore I’ll improve it: Pray, resolve to make me happy by your free consent. I do not love these half enjoyments, to enervate my delights with using force, and neither give myself nor you that full content, which two can never have, but where both join with equal eagerness to bless each other.
Isab. Bless me, ye kind inhabitants of heaven, from hearing words like these!
Har. Jun. You must do more than hear them. You know you were now going to your bridal-bed. Call your own thoughts but to a strict account, they’ll tell you, all this day your fancy ran on nothing else; ’tis but the same scene still you were to act; only the person changed, — it may be for the better.
Isab. You dare not, sure, attempt this villany.
Har. Jun. Call not the act of love by that gross name; you’ll give it a much better when ’tis done, and woo me to a second.
Isab. Dost thou not fear a heaven?
Har. Jun. No, I hope one in you. Do it, and do it heartily; time is precious; it will prepare you better for your husband. Come —
[Lays hold on her.
Isab. O mercy, mercy! Oh, pity your own soul, and pity mine; think how you’ll wish undone this horrid act, when your hot lust is slaked; think what will follow when my husband knows it, if shame will let me live to tell it him; and tremble at a Power above, who sees, and surely will revenge it.
Har. Jun. I have thought!
Isab. Then I am sure you’re penitent.
Har. Jun. No, I only gave you scope, to let you see, all you have urged I knew: You find ’tis to no purpose either to talk or strive.
Isab. [Running.] Some succour! help, oh help! [She breaks from him.
Har. Jun. [Running after her.] That too is vain, you cannot ‘scape me.[Exit.
Har. Jun. [Within.] Now you are mine; yield, or by force I’ll take it.
Isab. [Within.] Oh, kill me first!
Har. Jun. [Within.] I’ll bear you where your cries shall not be heard.
Isab. [As further off.] Succour, sweet heaven! oh succour me!
SCENE II.
Enter Harman Senior, Fiscal, Van Herring, Beamont, Collins, and Julia.
Beam. You have led us here a fairy’s round in the moonshine, to seek a bridegroom in a wood, till we have lost the bride.
Col. I wonder what’s become of her?
Har. Sen. Got together, got together, I warrant you, before this time; you Englishmen are so hot, you cannot stay for ceremonies. A good honest Dutchman would have been plying the glass all this while, and drunk to the hopes of Hans in Kelder till ’twas bed-time.
Beam. Yes, and then have rolled into the sheets, and turned o’ the t’other side to snore, without so much as a parting blow; till about midnight he would have wakened in a maze, and found first he was married by putting forth a foot, and feeling a woman by him; and, it may be, then, instead of kissing, desired yough Fro to hold his head.
Col. And by that night’s work have given her a proof, what she might expect for ever after.
Beam. In my conscience, you Hollanders never get your children, but in the spirit of brandy; you are exalted then a little above your natural phlegm, and only that, which can make you fight, and destroy men, makes you get them.
Fisc. You may live to know, that we can kill men when we are sober.
Beam. Then they must be drunk, and not able to defend themselves.
Jul. Pray leave this talk, and let us try if we can surprise the lovers under some convenient tree: Shall we separate, and look them?
Beam. Let you and I go together then, and if we cannot find them, we shall do as good, for we shall find one another.
Fisc. Pray take that path, or that; I will pursue this.[Exeunt all but the Fiscal.
Fisc. So, now I have diverted them from Harman, I’ll look for him myself, and see how he speeds in his adventure.
Enter Harman Junior.
Har. Jun. Who goes there?
Fisc. A friend: I was just in quest of you, so are all the company: Where have you left the bride?
Har. Jun. Tied to a tree and gagged, and —
Fisc. And what? Why do you stare and tremble? Answer me like a man.
Har. Jun. Oh, I have nothing left of manhood in me! I am turned beast or devil. Have I not horns, and tail, and leathern wings? Methinks I should have by my actions. Oh, I have done a deed so ill, I cannot name it.
Fisc. Not name it, and yet do it? That’s a fool’s modesty: Come, I’ll name it for you: You have enjoyed your mistress.
Har. Jun. How easily so great a villany comes from thy mouth! I have done worse, I have ravished her.
Fisc. That’s no harm, so you have killed her afterwards.
Har. Jun. Killed her! why thou art a worse fiend than I.
Fisc. Those fits of conscience in another might be excusable; but in you, a Dutchman, who are of a race that are born rebels, and live every where on rapine, — would you degenerate, and have remorse? Pray, what makes any thing a sin but law? and, what law is there here against it? Is not your father chief? Will he condemn you for a petty rape? the woman an Amboyner, and, what’s less, now married to an Englishman! Come, if there be a hell, ’tis but for those that sin in Europe, not for us in Asia; heathens have no hell. Tell me, how was’t? Pr’ythee, the history.
Har. Jun. I forced her. What resistance she could make she did, but ’twas in vain; I bound her, as I told you, to a tree.
Fisc. And she exclaimed, I warrant —
Har. Jun. Yes; and called heaven and earth to witness.
Fisc. Not after it was done?
Har. Jun. More than before — desired me to have killed her. Even when I had not left her power to speak, she curst me with her eyes.
Fisc. Nay, then, you did not please her; if you had, she ne’er had cursed you heartily. But we lose time: Since you have done this action, ’tis necessary you proceed; we must have no tales told.
Har. Jun. What do you mean?
Fisc. To dispatch
her immediately; could you be so senseless to ravish her, and let her live? What if her husband should have found her? What if any other English? Come, there’s no dallying; it must be done: My other plot is ripe, which shall destroy them all to-morrow.
Har. Jun. I love her still to madness, and never can consent to have her killed. We’ll thence remove her, if you please, and keep her safe till your intended plot shall take effect; and when her husband’s gone, I’ll win her love by every circumstance of kindness.
Fisc. You may do so; but t’other is the safer way: But I’ll not stand with you for one life. I could have wished that Towerson had been killed before I had proceeded to my plot; but since it cannot be, we must go on; conduct me where you left her.
Har. Jun. Oh, that I could forget both act and place![Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Scene drawn, discovers Isabinda bound.
Enter Towerson.
Tow. Sure I mistook the place; I’ll wait no longer:
Something within me does forebode me ill;
I stumbled when I entered first this wood;
My nostrils bled three drops; then stopped the blood,
And not one more would follow. —
What’s that, which seems to bear a mortal shape,[Sees Isa.
Yet neither stirs nor speaks? or, is it some
Illusion of the night? some spectre, such
As in these Asian parts more frequently appear?
Whate’er it be, I’ll venture to approach it.[Goes near.
My Isabinda bound and gagged! Ye powers,
I tremble while I free her, and scarce dare
Restore her liberty of speech, for fear
Of knowing more.[Unbinds her, and ungags her.
Isab. No longer bridegroom thou, nor I a bride;
Those names are vanished; love is now no more;
Look on me as thou would’st on some foul leper;
And do not touch me; I am all polluted,
All shame, all o’er dishonour; fly my sight,
And, for my sake, fly this detested isle,
Where horrid ills so black and fatal dwell,
As Indians could not guess, till Europe taught.
Tow. Speak plainer, I am recollected now:
I know I am a man, the sport of fate;
Yet, oh my better half, had heaven so pleased,
I had been more content, to suffer in myself than thee!
Isab. What shall I say! That monster of a man,
Harman, — now I have named him, think the rest, —
Alone, and singled like a timorous hind
From the full herd, by flattery drew me first,
Then forced me to an act, so base and brutal!
Heaven knows my innocence: But, why do I
Call that to witness!
Heaven saw, stood silent: Not one flash of lightning
Shot from the conscious firmament, to shew its justice:
Oh had it struck us both, it had saved me!
Tow. Heaven suffered more in that, than you, or I,
Wherefore have I been faithful to my trust,
True to my love, and tender to the opprest?
Am I condemned to be the second man,
Who e’er complained he virtue served in vain?
But dry your tears, these sufferings all are mine.
Your breast is white, and cold as falling snow;
You, still as fragrant as your eastern groves;
And your whole frame as innocent, and holy,
As if your being were all soul and spirit,
Without the gross allay of flesh and blood.
Come to my arms again!
Isab. O never, never!
I am not worthy now; my soul indeed
Is free from sin; but the foul speckled stains
Are from my body ne’er to be washed out,
But in my death. Kill me, my love, or I
Must kill myself; else you may think I was
A black adultress in my mind, and some
Of me consented.
Tow. Your wish to die, shews you deserve to live.
I have proclaimed you guiltless to myself.
Self-homicide, which was, in heathens, honour,
In us, is only sin.
Isab. I thought the Eternal Mind
Had made us masters of these mortal frames;
You told me, he had given us wills to chuse,
And reason to direct us in our choice;
If so, why should he tie us up from dying,
When death’s the greater good?
Tow. Can death, which is our greatest enemy, be good?
Death is the dissolution of our nature;
And nature therefore does abhor it most,
Whose greatest law is — to preserve our beings.
Isab. I grant, it is its great and general law:
But as kings, who are, or should be, above laws,
Dispense with them when levelled at themselves;
Even so may man, without offence to heaven,
Dispense with what concerns himself alone.
Nor is death in itself an ill;
Then holy martyrs sinned, who ran uncalled
To snatch their martyrdom; and blessed virgins,
Whom you celebrate for voluntary death,
To free themselves from that which I have suffered.
Tow. They did it, to prevent what might ensue;
Your shame’s already past.
Isab. It may return,
If I am yet so mean to live a little longer.
Tow. You know not; heaven may give you succour yet;
You see it sends me to you.
Isab. ’Tis too late,
You should have come before.
Tow. You may live to see yourself revenged.
Come, you shall stay for that, then I’ll die with you,
You have convinced my reason, nor am I
Ashamed to learn from you.
To heaven’s tribunal my appeal I make;
If as a governor he sets me here,
To guard this weak-built citadel of life,
When ’tis no longer to be held, I may
With honour quit the fort. But first I’ll both
Revenge myself and you.
Isab. Alas! you cannot take revenge; your countrymen
Are few, and those unarmed.
Tow. Though not on all the nation, as I would,
Yet I at least can take it on the man.
Isab. Leave me to heaven’s revenge, for thither I
Will go, and plead, myself, my own just cause.
There’s not an injured saint of all my sex,
But kindly will conduct me to my judge,
And help me tell my story.
Tow. I’ll send the offender first, though to that place
He never can arrive: Ten thousand devils,
Damned for less crimes than he,
And Tarquin in their head, way-lay his soul,
To pull him down in triumph, and to shew him
In pomp among his countrymen; for sure
Hell has its Netherlands, and its lowest country
Must be their lot.
Enter Harman Junior, and Fiscal.
Har. Jun. ’Twas hereabout I left her tied. The rage of love renews again within me.
Fisc. She’ll like the effects on’t better now. By this time it has sunk into her imagination, and given her a more pleasing idea of the man, who offered her so sweet a violence.
Isab. Save me, sweet heaven! the monster comes again!
Har. Jun. Oh, here she is. — My own fair bride, — for so you are, not Towerson’s, — let me unbind you; I expect that you should bind yourself about me now, and tie me in your arms.
Tow. [Drawing.]
No, villain, no! hot satyr of the woods,
Expect another entertainment now.
Behold revenge for injured chastity.
This sword heaven draws against thee,
And he
re has placed me like a fiery cherub,
To guard this paradise from any second violation.
Fisc. We must dispatch him, sir, we have the odds; And when he’s killed, leave me t’invent the excuse.
Har. Jun. Hold a little: As you shunned fighting formerly with me, so would I now with you. The mischiefs I have done are past recal. Yield then your useless right in her I love, since the possession is no longer yours; so is your honour safe, and so is hers, the husband only altered.
Tow. You trifle; there’s no room for treaty here:
The shame’s too open, and the wrong too great.
Now all the saints in heaven look down to see
The justice I shall do, for ’tis their cause;
And all the fiends below prepare thy tortures.
Isab. If Towerson would, think’st thou my soul so poor,
To own thy sin, and make the base act mine,
By chusing him who did it? Know, bad man,
I’ll die with him, but never live with thee.
Tow. Prepare; I shall suspect you stay for further help,
And think not this enough.
Fisc. We are ready for you.
Har. Jun. Stand back! I’ll fight with him alone.
Fisc. Thank you for that; so, if he kills you, I shall have him single upon me.[All three fight.
Isab. Heaven assist my love!
Har. Jun. There, Englishman, ’twas meant well to thy heart.[Towerson wounded.
Fisc. Oh you can bleed, I see, for all your cause.
Tow. Wounds but awaken English courage.
Har. Jun. Yet yield me Isabinda, and be safe.
Tow. I’ll fight myself all scarlet over first;
Were there no love, or no revenge,
I could not now desist, in point of honour.
Har. Jun. Resolve me first one question:
Did you not draw your sword this night before,
To rescue one opprest with odds?
Tow. Yes, in this very wood: I bear a ring,
The badge of gratitude from him I saved.
Har. Jun. This ring was mine; I should be loth to kill
The frank redeemer of my life.
Tow. I quit that obligation. But we lose time.
Come, ravisher! [They fight again, Tow. closes with Harm, and gets him down; as he is going to kill him, the Fisc. gets over him.
Fisc. Hold, and let him rise; for if you kill him,
At the same instant you die too.
Tow. Dog, do thy worst, for I would so be killed;
I’ll carry his soul captive with me into the other world. [Stabs Harman.