John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

My corps had been the bulwark of my king.

  His glorious end was a patched work of fate,

  Ill sorted with a soft effeminate life;

  It suited better with my life than his,

  So to have died: Mine had been of a piece,

  Spent in your service, dying at your feet.

  Seb. The more effeminate and soft his life,

  The more his fame, to struggle to the field,

  And meet his glorious fate. Confess, proud spirit,

  (For I will have it from thy very mouth)

  That better he deserved my love than thou?

  Dor. O, whither would you drive me? I must grant, —

  Yes, I must grant, but with a swelling soul, —

  Henriquez had your love with more desert.

  For you he fought, and died: I fought against you;

  Through all the mazes of the bloody field,

  Hunted your sacred life; which that I missed

  Was the propitious error of my fate,

  Not of my soul: My soul’s a regicide.

  Seb. [More calmly.]

  Thou might’st have given it a more gentle name.

  Thou meant’st to kill a tyrant, not a king:

  Speak, didst thou not, Alonzo?

  Dor. Can I speak!

  Alas, I cannot answer to Alonzo! —

  No, Dorax cannot answer to Alonzo;

  Alonzo was too kind a name for me.

  Then, when I fought and conquered with your arms,

  In that blest age, I was the man you named:

  Till rage and pride debased me into Dorax,

  And lost, like Lucifer, my name above.

  Seb. Yet twice this day I owed my life to Dorax.

  Dor. I saved you but to kill you: There’s my grief.

  Seb. Nay, if thou can’st be grieved, thou can’st repent;

  Thou could’st not be a villain, though thou would’st:

  Thou own’st too much, in owning thou hast erred;

  And I too little, who provoked thy crime.

  Dor. O stop this headlong torrent of your goodness!

  It comes too fast upon a feeble soul,

  Half drowned in tears before: Spare my confusion;

  For pity spare; and say not first, you erred;

  For yet I have not dared, through guilt and shame,

  To throw myself beneath your royal feet. — [Falls at his feet.

  Now spurn this rebel, this proud renegade;

  ’Tis just you should, nor will I more complain.

  Seb. Indeed thou should’st not ask forgiveness first;

  But thou prevent’st me still, in all that’s noble. [Taking him up.

  Yes, I will raise thee up with better news.

  Thy Violante’s heart was ever thine;

  Compelled to wed, because she was my ward,

  Her soul was absent when she gave her hand;

  Nor could my threats, or his pursuing courtship,

  Effect the consummation of his love:

  So, still indulging tears, she pines for thee,

  A widow, and a maid.

  Dor. Have I been cursing heaven, while heaven blest me?

  I shall run mad with extacy of joy:

  What! in one moment, to be reconciled

  To heaven, and to my king, and to my love! —

  But pity is my friend, and stops me short,

  For my unhappy rival: — Poor Henriquez!

  Seb. Art thou so generous, too, to pity him?

  Nay, then, I was unjust to love him better.

  Here let me ever hold thee in my arms;[Embracing him.

  And all our quarrels be but such as these,

  Who shall love best, and closest shall embrace.

  Be what Henriquez was, — be my Alonzo.

  Dor. What, my Alonzo, said you? my Alonzo!

  Let my tears thank you, for I cannot speak;

  And, if I could,

  Words were not made to vent such thoughts as mine.

  Seb. Some strange reverse of fate must sure attend

  This vast profusion, this extravagance

  Of heaven, to bless me thus. ’Tis gold so pure,

  It cannot bear the stamp, without alloy. —

  Be kind, ye powers! and take but half away:

  With ease the gifts of fortune I resign;

  But let my love and friend be ever mine.[Exeunt.

  ACT V.

  SCENE I.

  The Scene is, a Room of State.

  Enter Dorax and Antonio.

  Dor. Joy is on every face, without a cloud;

  As, in the scene of opening paradise,

  The whole creation danced at their new being,

  Pleased to be what they were, pleased with each other,

  Such joy have I, both in myself and friends;

  And double joy that I have made them happy.

  Ant. Pleasure has been the business of my life;

  And every change of fortune easy to me,

  Because I still was easy to myself.

  The loss of her I loved would touch me nearest;

  Yet, if I found her, I might love too much,

  And that’s uneasy pleasure.

  Dor. If she be fated

  To be your wife, your fate will find her for you:

  Predestinated ills are never lost.

  Ant. I had forgot

  To inquire before, but long to be informed,

  How, poisoned and betrayed, and round beset,

  You could unwind yourself from all these dangers,

  And move so speedily to our relief?

  Dor. The double poisons, after a short combat,

  Expelled each other in their civil war,

  By nature’s benefit, and roused my thoughts

  To guard that life which now I found attacked.

  I summoned all my officers in haste,

  On whose experienced faith I might rely;

  All came resolved to die in my defence,

  Save that one villain who betrayed the gate.

  Our diligence prevented the surprise

  We justly feared: So Muley-Zeydan found us

  Drawn up in battle, to receive the charge.

  Ant. But how the Moors and Christian slaves were joined,

  You have not yet unfolded.

  Dor. That remains.

  We knew their interest was the same with ours:

  And, though I hated more than death Sebastian,

  I could not see him die by vulgar hands;

  But, prompted by my angel, or by his,

  Freed all the slaves, and placed him next myself,

  Because I would not have his person known.

  I need not tell the rest, the event declares it.

  Ant. Your conquests came of course; their men were raw,

  And yours were disciplined. — One doubt remains,

  Why you industriously concealed the king,

  Who, known, had added courage to his men?

  Dor. I would not hazard civil broils betwixt

  His friends and mine; which might prevent our combat.

  Yet, had he fallen, I had dismissed his troops;

  Or, if victorious, ordered his escape. —

  But I forgot a new increase of joy

  To feast him with surprise; I must about it:

  Expect my swift return.[Exit.

  Enter a Servant.

  Serv. Here’s a lady at the door, that bids me tell you, she is come to make an end of the game, that was broken off betwixt you.

  Ant. What manner of woman is she? Does she not want two of the four elements? has she any thing about her but air and fire?

  Serv. Truly, she flies about the room as if she had wings instead of legs; I believe she’s just turning into a bird: — A house bird I warrant her: — And so hasty to fly to you, that, rather than fail of entrance, she would come tumbling down the chimney, like a swallow.

  Enter Morayma.

  Ant. [Running to her, and embracing her.] Look, if she be not here alread
y! — What, no denial it seems will serve your turn? Why, thou little dun, is thy debt so pressing?

  Mor. Little devil, if you please: Your lease is out, good master conjurer, and I am come to fetch your soul and body; not an hour of lewdness longer in this world for you.

  Ant. Where the devil hast thou been? and how the devil didst thou find me here?

  Mor. I followed you into the castle-yard, but 422 there was nothing but tumult and confusion: and I was bodily afraid of being picked up by some of the rabble; considering I had a double charge about me, — my jewels, and my maidenhead.

  Ant. Both of them intended for my worship’s sole use and property.

  Mor. And what was poor little I among them all?

  Ant. Not a mouthful a-piece: ’Twas too much odds, in conscience!

  Mor. So, seeking for shelter, I naturally ran to the old place of assignation, the garden-house; where, for the want of instinct, you did not follow me.

  Ant. Well, for thy comfort, I have secured thy father; and I hope thou hast secured his effects for us.

  Mor. Yes, truly, I had the prudent foresight to consider, that, when we grow old, and weary of solacing one another, we might have, at least, wherewithal to make merry with the world; and take up with a worse pleasure of eating and drinking, when we were disabled for a better.

  Ant. Thy fortune will be even too good for thee; for thou art going into the country of serenades and gallantries, where thy street will be haunted every night with thy foolish lovers, and my rivals, who will be sighing and singing, under thy inexorable windows, lamentable ditties, and call thee cruel, and goddess, and moon, and stars, and all the poetical names of wicked rhime; while thou and I are minding our business, and jogging on, and laughing at them, at leisure minutes, which will be very few; take that by way of threatening.

  Mor. I am afraid you are not very valiant, that you huff so much beforehand. But, they say, your 423 churches are fine places for love-devotion; many a she-saint is there worshipped.

  Ant. Temples are there, as they are in all other countries, good conveniences for dumb interviews. I hear the protestants are not much reformed in that point neither; for their sectaries call their churches by the natural name of meeting-houses. Therefore I warn thee in good time, not more of devotion than needs must, good future spouse, and always in a veil; for those eyes of thine are damned enemies to mortification.

  Mor. The best thing I have heard of Christendom is, that we women are allowed the privilege of having souls; and I assure you, I shall make bold to bestow mine upon some lover, whenever you begin to go astray; and, if I find no convenience in a church, a private chamber will serve the turn.

  Ant. When that day comes, I must take my revenge, and turn gardener again; for I find I am much given to planting.

  Mor. But take heed, in the mean time, that some young Antonio does not spring up in your own family; as false as his father, though of another man’s planting.

  Re-enter Dorax, with Sebastian and Almeyda, Sebastian enters speaking to Dorax, while in the mean time Antonio presents Morayma to Almeyda.

  Seb. How fares our royal prisoner, Muley-Zeydan?

  Dor. Disposed to grant whatever I desire,

  To gain a crown, and freedom. Well I know him,

  Of easy temper, naturally good,

  And faithful to his word.

  Seb. Yet one thing wants,

  To fill the measure of my happiness;

  I’m still in pain for poor Alvarez’ life.

  Dor. Release that fear, the good old man is safe;

  I paid his ransom,

  And have already ordered his attendance.

  Seb. O bid him enter, for I long to see him.

  Enter Alvarez with a Servant, who departs when Alvarez is entered.

  Alv. Now by my soul, and by these hoary hairs, [Falling down, and embracing the King’s knees.

  I’m so o’erwhelmed with pleasure, that I feel

  A latter spring within my withering limbs,

  That shoots me out again.

  Seb. Thou good old man,[Raising him.

  Thou hast deceived me into more, more joys,

  Who stood brim-full before.

  Alv. O my dear child, —

  I love thee so, I cannot call thee king, —

  Whom I so oft have dandled in these arms!

  What, when I gave thee lost, to find thee living!

  ’Tis like a father, who himself had ‘scaped

  A falling house, and, after anxious search,

  Hears from afar his only son within;

  And digs through rubbish, till he drags him out,

  To see the friendly light.

  Such is my haste, so trembling is my joy,

  To draw thee forth from underneath thy fate.

  Seb. The tempest is o’erblown, the skies are clear,

  And the sea charmed into a calm so still,

  That not a wrinkle ruffles her smooth face.

  Alv. Just such she shows before a rising storm;

  And therefore am I come with timely speed,

  To warn you into port.

  Alm. My soul forebodes

  Some dire event involved in those dark words,

  And just disclosing in a birth of fate.[Aside.

  Alv. Is there not yet an heir of this vast empire,

  Who still survives, of Muley-Moluch’s branch?

  Dor. Yes, such a one there is a captive here,

  And brother to the dead.

  Alv. The powers above

  Be praised for that! My prayers for my good master,

  I hope, are heard.

  Seb. Thou hast a right in heaven.

  But why these prayers for me?

  Alv. A door is open yet for your deliverance. —

  Now you, my countrymen, and you, Almeyda,

  Now all of us, and you, my all in one,

  May yet be happy in that captive’s life.

  Seb. We have him here an honourable hostage

  For terms of peace; what more he can contribute

  To make me blest, I know not.

  Ah. Vastly more;

  Almeyda may be settled in the throne,

  And you review your native clime with fame.

  A firm alliance and eternal peace,

  The glorious crown of honourable war,

  Are all included in that prince’s life.

  Let this fair queen be given to Muley-Zeydan,

  And make her love the sanction of your league.

  Seb. No more of that; his life’s in my dispose,

  And prisoners are not to insist on terms;

  Or, if they were, yet he demands not these.

  Alv. You should exact them.

  Alm. Better may be made,

  These cannot: I abhor the tyrant’s race, —

  My parents’ murderers, my throne’s usurpers.

  But, at one blow, to cut off all dispute,

  Know this, thou busy, old, officious man, —

  I am a Christian; now be wise no more;

  Or, if thou wouldst be still thought wise, be silent.

  Alv. O, I perceive you think your interest touched:

  ’Tis what before the battle I observed;

  But I must speak, and will.

  Seb. I pr’ythee, peace;

  Perhaps she thinks they are too near of blood.

  Alv. I wish she may not wed to blood more near.

  Seb. What if I make her mine?

  Alv. Now heaven forbid!

  Seb. Wish rather heaven may grant;

  For, if I could deserve, I have deserved her:

  My toils, my hazards, and my subjects’ lives,

  Provided she consent, may claim her love;

  And, that once granted, I appeal to these,

  If better I could chuse a beauteous bride.

  Ant. The fairest of her sex.

  Mor. The pride of nature.

  Dor. He only merits her, she only him;

  So paired, so suited in their minds and perso
ns,

  That they were framed the tallies for each other.

  If any alien love had interposed,

  It must have been an eye-sore to beholders,

  And to themselves a curse.

  Alv. And to themselves

  The greatest curse that can be, were to join.

  Seb. Did not I love thee past a change to hate,

  That word had been thy ruin; but no more,

  I charge thee, on thy life, perverse old man!

  Alv. Know, sir, I would be silent if I durst:

  But if, on shipboard, I should see my friend

  Grown frantic in a raging calenture,

  And he, imagining vain flowery fields,

  Would headlong plunge himself into the deep, —

  Should I not hold him from that mad attempt,

  Till his sick fancy were by reason cured?

  Seb. I pardon thee the effects of doting age,

  Vain doubts, and idle cares, and over-caution;

  The second nonage of a soul more wise,

  But now decayed, and sunk into the socket;

  Peeping by fits, and giving feeble light.

  Alv. Have you forgot?

  Seb. Thou mean’st my father’s will,

  In bar of marriage to Almeyda’s bed.

  Thou seest my faculties are still entire,

  Though thine are much impaired. I weighed that will,

  And found ’twas grounded on our different faiths;

  But, had he lived to see her happy change,

  He would have cancelled that harsh interdict,

  And joined our hands himself.

  Alv. Still had he lived and seen this change,

  He still had been the same.

  Seb. I have a dark remembrance of my father:

  His reasonings and his actions both were just;

  And, granting that, he must have changed his measures.

  Alv. Yes, he was just, and therefore could not change.

  Seb. ’Tis a base wrong thou offer’st to the dead.

  Alv. Now heaven forbid,

  That I should blast his pious memory!

  No, I am tender of his holy fame;

  For, dying, he bequeathed it to my charge.

  Believe, I am; and seek to know no more,

  But pay a blind obedience to his will;

  For, to preserve his fame, I would be silent.

  Seb. Crazed fool, who would’st be thought an oracle,

  Come down from off the tripos, and speak plain.

  My father shall be justified, he shall:

  ’Tis a son’s part to rise in his defence,

  And to confound thy malice, or thy dotage.

  Alv. It does not grieve me, that you hold me crazed;

  But, to be cleared at my dead master’s cost,