John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Gom. [Aside.] Pray heaven, he does not make it one!

  Lor. What dost thou mutter to thyself? Hast thou any thing to say against the honesty of that house?

  Gom. Not I, colonel; the walls are very honest stone, and the timber very honest wood, for aught I know; but for the woman, I cannot say, till I know her better: Describe her person, and, if she live in this quarter, I may give you tidings of her.

  Lor. She is of a middle stature, dark-coloured hair, the most bewitching leer with her eyes, the most roguish cast! her cheeks are dimpled when she smiles, and her smiles would tempt an hermit.

  Gom. [Aside.] I am dead, I am buried, I am damned. — Go on, colonel; have you no other marks of her?

  Lor. Thou hast all her marks; but she has a husband, a jealous, covetous, old hunks: Speak! canst thou tell me news of her?

  Gom. Yes; this news, colonel, that you have seen your last of her.

  Lor. If thou help’st me not to the knowledge of her, thou art a circumcised Jew.

  Gom. Circumcise me no more than I circumcise you, colonel Hernando: Once more, you have seen your last of her.

  Lor. [Aside.] I am glad he knows me only by that name of Hernando, by which I went at Barcelona; now he can tell no tales of me to my father. — [To him.] Come, thou wer’t ever good-natured, when thou couldst get by it — Look here, rogue; ’tis of the right damning colour: Thou art not proof against gold, sure! — Do not I know thee for a covetous —

  Gom. Jealous old hunks? those were the marks of your mistress’s husband, as I remember, colonel.

  Lor. Oh the devil! What a rogue in understanding was I, not to find him out sooner![Aside.

  Gom. Do, do, look sillily, good colonel; ’tis a decent melancholy after an absolute defeat.

  Lor. Faith, not for that, clear Gomez; but —

  Gom. But — no pumping, my dear colonel.

  Lor. Hang pumping! I was thinking a little upon a point of gratitude. We two have been long acquaintance; I know thy merits, and can make some interest; — Go to; thou wert born to authority; I’ll make thee Alcaide, Mayor of Saragossa.

  Gom. Satisfy yourself; you shall not make me what you think, colonel.

  Lor. Faith, but I will; thou hast the face of a magistrate already.

  Gom. And you would provide me with a magistrate’s head to my magistrate’s face; I thank you, colonel.

  Lor. Come, thou art so suspicious upon an idle story! That woman I saw, I mean that little, crooked, ugly woman, — for t’other was a lie, — is no more thy wife, — As I’ll go home with thee, and satisfy thee immediately, my dear friend.

  Gom. I shall not put you to that trouble; no, not so much as a single visit; not so much as an embassy by a civil old woman, nor a serenade of twinkledum twinkledum under my windows; nay, I will advise you, out of my tenderness to your person, that you walk not near yon corner-house by night; for, to my certain knowledge, there are blunderbusses planted in every loop-hole, that go off constantly of their own accord, at the squeaking of a fiddle, and the thrumming of a guitar.

  Lor. Art thou so obstinate? Then I denounce open war against thee; I’ll demolish thy citadel by force; or, at least, I’ll bring my whole regiment upon thee; my thousand red locusts, that shall devour thee in free quarters. Farewell, wrought night-cap.

  [Exit Lorenzo.

  Gom. Farewell, Buff. Free quarters for a regiment of red-coat locusts? I hope to see them all in the Red-Sea first! But oh, this Jezabel of mine! I’ll 402 get a physician that shall prescribe her an ounce of camphire every morning, for her breakfast, to abate incontinency. She shall never peep abroad, no, not to church for confession; and, for never going, she shall be condemned for a heretic. She shall have stripes by Troy weight, and sustenance by drachms and scruples: Nay, I’ll have a fasting almanack, printed on purpose for her use, in which

  No Carnival nor Christmas shall appear,

  But lents and ember-weeks shall fill the year.[Exit.

  ACT II.

  SCENE I. — The Queen’s Antechamber.

  Enter Alphonso and Pedro.

  Alph. When saw you my Lorenzo?

  Ped. I had a glimpse of him; but he shot by me,

  Like a young hound upon a burning scent;

  He’s gone a harlot-hunting.

  Alph. His foreign breeding might have taught him better.

  Ped. ’Tis that has taught him this.

  What learn our youth abroad, but to refine

  The homely vices of their native land?

  Give me an honest home-spun country clown

  Of our own growth; his dulness is but plain,

  But theirs embroidered; they are sent out fools,

  But come back fops.

  Alph. You know what reasons urged me;

  But now, I have accomplished my designs,

  I should be glad he knew them. His wild riots

  Disturb my soul; but they would sit more close,

  Did not the threatened downfal of our house,

  In Torrismond, o’erwhelm my private ills.

  Enter Bertran, attended, and whispering with a Courtier, aside.

  Bert. I would not have her think, he dared to love her;

  If he presume to own it, she’s so proud,

  He tempts his certain ruin.

  Alph. [To Ped.] Mark how disdainfully he throws his eyes on us.

  Our old imprisoned king wore no such looks.

  Ped. O! would the general shake off his dotage to the usurping queen,

  And re-enthrone good venerable Sancho,

  I’ll undertake, should Bertran sound his trumpets,

  And Torrismond but whistle through his fingers,

  He draws his army off.

  Alph. I told him so;

  But had an answer louder than a storm.

  Ped. Now, plague and pox on his smock-loyalty!

  I hate to see a brave bold fellow sotted,

  Made sour and senseless, turned to whey by love;

  A drivelling hero, fit for a romance. —

  O, here he comes! what will their greetings be?

  Enter Torrismond, attended; Bertran and he meet and jostle.

  Bert. Make way, my lords, and let the pageant pass.

  Tor. I make my way, where’er I see my foe;

  But you, my lord, are good at a retreat.

  I have no Moors behind me.

  Bert. Death and hell!

  Dare to speak thus when you come out again.

  Tor. Dare to provoke me thus, insulting man!

  Enter Teresa.

  Ter. My lords, you are too loud so near the queen;

  You, Torrismond, have much offended her.

  ’Tis her command you instantly appear,

  To answer your demeanour to the prince. [Exit Teresa; Bertran, with his company, follow her.

  Tor. O, Pedro, O, Alphonso, pity me!

  A grove of pikes,

  Whose polished steel from far severely shines,

  Are not so dreadful as this beauteous queen.

  Alph. Call up your courage timely to your aid,

  And, like a lion, pressed upon the toils,

  Leap on your hunters. Speak your actions boldly;

  There is a time when modest virtue is

  Allowed to praise itself.

  Ped. Heart! you were hot enough, too hot, but now;

  Your fury then boiled upward to a foam;

  But since this message came, you sink and settle,

  As if cold water had been poured upon you.

  Tor. Alas! thou know’st not what it is to love!

  When we behold an angel, not to fear,

  Is to be impudent: No, I am resolved,

  Like a led victim, to my death I’ll go,

  And, dying, bless the hand, that gave the blow.[Exeunt.

  The Scene draws, and shews the Queen sitting in state; Bertran standing next to her; then Teresa, &c. She rises, and comes to the front.

  Leonora. [To Bert.]

  I blame not you, my lord; my father’s wi
ll,

  Your own deserts, and all my people’s voice,

  Have placed you in the view of sovereign power.

  But I would learn the cause, why Torrismond,

  Within my palace-walls, within my hearing,

  Almost within my sight, — affronts a prince,

  Who shortly shall command him.

  Bert. He thinks you owe him more than you can pay;

  And looks as he were lord of human kind.

  Enter Torrismond, Alphonso, Pedro. Torrismond bows low, then looks earnestly on the Queen, and keeps at Distance.

  Teresa. Madam, the general. —

  Leo. Let me view him well.

  My father sent him early to the frontiers;

  I have not often seen him; if I did,

  He passed unmarked by my unheeding eyes: —

  But where’s the fierceness, the disdainful pride,

  The haughty port, the fiery arrogance? —

  By all these marks, this is not, sure, the man.

  Bert. Yet this is he, who filled your court with tumult,

  Whose fierce demeanour, and whose insolence,

  The patience of a god could not support.

  Leo. Name his offence, my lord, and he shall have

  Immediate punishment.

  Bert. ’Tis of so high a nature, should I speak it,

  That my presumption then would equal his.

  Leo. Some one among you speak.

  Ped. Now my tongue itches.[Aside.

  Leo. All dumb! On your allegiance, Torrismond,

  By all your hopes, I do command you, speak.

  Tor. [Kneeling.]

  O seek not to convince me of a crime,

  Which I can ne’er repent, nor can you pardon;

  Or, if you needs will know it, think, oh think,

  That he who, thus commanded, dares to speak,

  Unless commanded, would have died in silence.

  But you adjured me, madam, by my hopes!

  Hopes I have none, for I am all despair;

  Friends I have none, for friendship follows favour;

  Desert I’ve none, for what I did was duty: —

  Oh that it were! — that it were duty all!

  Leo. Why do you pause? proceed.

  Tor. As one, condemned to leap a precipice,

  Who sees before his eyes the depth below,

  Stops short, and looks about for some kind shrub

  To break his dreadful fall. — so I —

  But whither am I going? If to death,

  He looks so lovely sweet in beauty’s pomp,

  He draws me to his dart. — I dare no more.

  Bert. He’s mad, beyond the cure of hellebore.

  Whips, darkness, dungeons, for this insolence.

  Tor. Mad as I am, yet I know when to bear.

  Leo. You’re both too bold. — You, Torrismond, withdraw,

  I’ll teach you all what’s owing to your queen. —

  For you, my lord, —

  The priest to-morrow was to join our hands;

  I’ll try if I can live a day without you. —

  So both of you depart, and live in peace.

  Alph. Who knows which way she points?

  Doubling and turning like an hunted hare; —

  Find out the meaning of her mind who can.

  Pedr. Who ever found a woman’s? backward and forward,

  The whole sex in every word. In my conscience, when she was getting, her mother was thinking of a riddle.

  [Exeunt all but the Queen and Teresa.

  Leo. Haste, my Teresa, haste, and call him back.

  Ter. Whom, madam?

  Leo. Him.

  Ter. Prince Bertran?

  Leo. Torrismond;

  There is no other he.

  Ter. [Aside.] A rising sun,

  Or I am much deceived.[Exit Teresa.

  Leo. A change so swift what heart did ever feel!

  It rushed upon me like a mighty stream,

  And bore me, in a moment, far from shore.

  I loved away myself; in one short hour

  Already am I gone an age of passion.

  Was it his youth, his valour, or success?

  These might, perhaps, be found in other men:

  ’Twas that respect, that awful homage, paid me;

  That fearful love, which trembled in his eyes,

  And with a silent earthquake shook his soul.

  But, when he spoke, what tender words he said!

  So softly, that, like flakes of feathered snow,

  They melted as they fell. —

  Enter Teresa with Torrismond.

  Ter. He waits your pleasure.

  Leo. ’Tis well; retire. — Oh heavens, that I must speak

  So distant from my heart! — [Aside.

  [To Tor.] How now! What boldness brings you back again?

  Tor. I heard ’twas your command.

  Leo. A fond mistake,

  To credit so unlikely a command;

  And you return, full of the same presumption,

  To affront me with your love!

  Tor. If ’tis presumption, for a wretch condemned,

  To throw himself beneath his judge’s feet:

  A boldness more than this I never knew;

  Or, if I did, ’twas only to your foes.

  Leo. You would insinuate your past services,

  And those, I grant, were great; but you confess

  A fault committed since, that cancels all.

  Tor. And who could dare to disavow his crime,

  When that, for which he is accused and seized,

  He bears about him still! My eyes confess it;

  My every action speaks my heart aloud:

  But, oh, the madness of my high attempt

  Speaks louder yet! and all together cry, —

  I love and I despair.

  Leo. Have you not heard,

  My father, with his dying voice, bequeathed

  My crown and me to Bertran? And dare you,

  A private man, presume to love a queen?

  Tor. That, that’s the wound! I see you set so high,

  As no desert or services can reach. —

  Good heavens, why gave you me a monarch’s soul,

  And crusted it with base plebeian clay?

  Why gave you me desires of such extent,

  And such a span to grasp them? Sure, my lot

  By some o’er-hasty angel was misplaced

  In fate’s eternal volume! — But I rave,

  And, like a giddy bird in dead of night,

  Fly round the fire that scorches me to death.

  Leo. Yet, Torrismond, you’ve not so ill deserved,

  But I may give you counsel for your cure.

  Tor. I cannot, nay, I wish not to be cured.

  Leo. [Aside.] Nor I, heaven knows!

  Tor. There is a pleasure, sure,

  In being mad, which none but madmen know!

  Let me indulge it; let me gaze for ever!

  And, since you are too great to be beloved,

  Be greater, greater yet, and be adored.

  Leo. These are the words which I must only hear

  From Bertran’s mouth; they should displease from you:

  I say they should; but women are so vain,

  To like the love, though they despise the lover.

  Yet, that I may not send you from my sight

  In absolute despair, — I pity you.

  Tor. Am I then pitied! I have lived enough! —

  Death, take me in this moment of my joy;

  But, when my soul is plunged in long oblivion,

  Spare this one thought! let me remember pity,

  And, so deceived, think all my life was blessed.

  Leo. What if I add a little to my alms?

  If that would help, I could cast in a tear

  To your misfortunes.

  Tor. A tear! You have o’erbid all my past sufferings,

  And all my future too!

  Leo. Were I no
queen —

  Or you of royal blood —

  Tor. What have I lost by my forefathers’ fault!

  Why was not I the twentieth by descent

  From a long restive race of droning kings?

  Love! what a poor omnipotence hast thou,

  When gold and titles buy thee?

  Leo. [Sighs.] Oh, my torture! —

  Tor. Might I presume, — but, oh, I dare not hope

  That sigh was added to your alms for me!

  Leo. I give you leave to guess, and not forbid you

  To make the best construction for your love:

  Be secret and discreet; these fairy favours

  Are lost, when not concealed. — provoke not Bertran. —

  Retire: I must no more but this, — Hope, Torrismond.[Exit.

  Tor. She bids me hope; oh heavens, she pities me!

  And pity still foreruns approaching love,

  As lightning does the thunder! Tune your harps,

  Ye angels, to that sound; and thou, my heart,

  Make room to entertain thy flowing joy.

  Hence, all my griefs and every anxious care;

  One word, and one kind glance, can cure despair.[Exit.

  SCENE II. — A Chamber. A Table and Wine set out.

  Enter Lorenzo.

  Lor. This may hit; ’tis more than barely possible; for friars have free admittance into every house. This jacobin, whom I have sent to, is her confessor; and who can suspect a man of such reverence for a pimp? I’ll try for once; I’ll bribe him high; for commonly none love money better than they, who have made a vow of poverty.

  Enter Servant.

  Serv. There’s a huge, fat, religious gentleman coming up, sir. He says he’s but a friar, but he’s big enough to be a pope; his gills are as rosy as a turkey cock’s; his great belly walks in state before him, like an harbinger; and his gouty legs come limping after it: Never was such a ton of devotion seen.

  Lor. Bring him in, and vanish.[Exit Servant.

  Enter Father Dominick.

  Lor. Welcome, father.

  Dom. Peace be here: I thought I had been sent for to a dying man; to have fitted him for another world.

  Lor. No, faith, father, I was never for taking such long journeys. Repose yourself, I beseech you, 411 sir, if those spindle legs of yours will carry you to the next chair.

  Dom. I am old, I am infirm, I must confess, with fasting.

  Lor. ’Tis a sign by your wan complexion, and your thin jowls, father. Come, to our better acquaintance: — here’s a sovereign remedy for old age and sorrow.

  [Drinks.

  Dom. The looks of it are indeed alluring: I’ll do you reason.[Drinks.

  Lor. Is it to your palate, father?