by John Dryden
SONG. Miss STAGELDOIR.
How happy the lover!
How easy his chain,
How pleasing his pain,
How sweet to discover
He sighs not in vain.
For love every creature
Is form’d by his nature;
No joys are above
The pleasures of love.
Arth.
And what are these fantastic fairy joys,
To love like mine? False joys, false welcomes all.
Be gone, ye sylvan trippers of the green,
Fly after night, and overtake the moon.
[Singers vanish.
This goodly tree seems queen of all the grove.
The ringlets round her trunk declare her guilty
Of many midnight sabbaths revell’d here.
Her will I first attempt.
[Arthur strikes at the Tree, and cuts it; blood spouts out of it, a groan follows, then a shrick.
Good heav’n, what monstrous prodigies are these!
Blood follows from my blow; the wounded rind
Spouts on my sword, and sanguine dyes the plain.
[He strikes again: a voice of Emmeline from behind.
Em.
[from behind.]
Forbear, if thou hast pity, ah, for∣bear!
These groans proceed not from a senseless plant,
No spouts of blood run welling from a tree.
Arth.
Speak what thou art; I charge thee speak thy being.
[Emmeline breaks out of the tree, showing her arm bloody.
Em.
Whom thou hast hurt, unkind and cruel, see.
Arth.
’Tis she: amazement roots me to the ground!
Em.
By cruel charms, dragg’d from my peaceful bower,
Fierce Osmond clos’d me in this bleeding bark;
So that whatever sword, or sounding axe,
Shall violate this plant, must pierce my flesh,
And, when that falls I die. —
Arth.
If this be true,
O never, never to be ended charm,
At least by me! Yet all may be illusion.
Break up, ye thick’ning fogs, and filmy mists,
All that bely my sight, and cheat my sense;
For reason still pronounces, ’tis not she,
And thus resolv’d —
[Lifts up his sword, as going to strike.
Em.
Do, strike, barbarian, strike;
And strew my mangled limbs, with every stroke.
Wound me, and doubly kill me, with unkindness,
That, by thy hand I fell.
Arth.
O love! O Merlin! whom should I believe?
Em.
Believe thyself, thy youth, thy love, and me;
Disarm thy hand, that mine may meet it bare.
Arth.
If falling for the first created fair
Was Adam’s fault, great grandsire, I forgive thee;
Eden was lost, as all thy sons would lose it.
[Going toward Emmeline, and pulling off his gaunt•••
Enter PHILIDEL running.
Phil.
Hold, poor deluded mortal, hold thy hand;
Which, if thou giv’st, is plighted to a fiend.
For proof, behold the virtue of this wand;
[Strikes Emmeline with a wand, who straight descends: Grimbald appears in her place.
Now see to whose embraces thou wert falling.
Behold the maiden modesty of Grimbald!
Arth.
Horror seizes me,
To think what headlong ruin I have tempted.
Phil.
Haste to thy work; a noble stroke or two
Ends all the charms, and disenchants the grove.
I’ll hold thy mistress bound.
[Chains Grimbald.
Arth.
Then here’s for earnest;
[Strikes twice or thrice, the tree sinks amidst thunder and lightning, and the bridge breaks down.
’Tis finish’d, and the dusk, that yet remains,
Is but the native horror of the wood.
On yon proud towers, before this day be done,
My glittering banners shall be wav’d against the setting sun.
[Exit Arthur.
Phil.
Come on, my surly slave; come stalk along,
And drag thy chain.
Grim.
I’ll champ and foam upon’t, till the blue venom.
Work upwards to thy hands, and loose their hold.
Phil.
Know’st thou this pow’rful wand? ’tis lifted up;
A second stroke wou’d send thee to the centre,
Benumb’d and dead, as far as souls can die.
Grim.
I wou’d thou wou’d’st, to rid me of my sense.
SONG. PHILIDEL.
Iopeans fill the skies,
The monster is in chains;
Beneath my feet he lies,
Virtue triumphant reigns!
CHORUS.
Victory! Victory! Vice is in chains;
Victory! Victory! Virtue reigns.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. A Camp.
Enter OSMOND, as affrighted.
Osm.
Grimbald made prisoner, and my grove destroy’d!
Now what can save me — Hark the drums and trumpets!
[Drums and trumpets within.
Arthur is marching onward to the fort.
I have but one recourse, and that’s to Oswald;
But will he fight for me, whom I have injur’d?
No, not for me, but for himself he must;
I’ll urge him with the last necessity:
Better give up my mistress than my life.
And freed I’ll help him with my utmost art,
And try t’unravel fate.
[Exit Osmond.
Enter ARTHUR, CONON, AURELIUS, and SOLDIERS.
Con.
Now there remains but this one labour more;
And if we have the hearts of true-born Britons,
The forcing of that castle crowns the day.
Aur.
The works are weak, the garrison but thin,
Arth.
Then, where you see them clust’ring most, 〈◊〉 motion,
And staggering in their ranks, there press ‘em home;
For that’s a coward’s heap — How’s this, a sally?
Enter OSWALD, GUILLAMAR, and SOLDIERS, on the other side.
Beyond my hopes to meet ‘em on the square.
Osw.
Brave Britons, hold; and thou their famous chief,
[Advancing.
Attend what Saxon Oswald will propose.
He owns your victory; but whether owing
To valour, or to fortune, that he doubts.
If Arthur dares ascribe it to the first,
And singled from a croud, will tempt a conquest,
This Oswald offers, let our troops retire,
And hand to hand let us decide our strife:
This if refus’d, bear witness earth and heav’n,
Thou steal’st a crown and mistress undeserv’d.
Arth.
I’ll not usurp thy title of a robber,
Nor will upbraid thee, that before I proffer’d
This single combat, which thou did’st avoid;
So glad I am, on any terms to meet thee,
And not discourage thy repenting shame.
As once Aeneas, my fam’d Ancestor,
Betwixt the Trojan and Rutilian bands,
Fought for a crown, and bright Lavinia’s bed;
So will I meet thee, hand to hand oppos’d:
My auguting mind assures the same success.
[To his men.]
Hence out of view; if I am slain or yield,
Renounce me, Britons, for a recreant knight;
And let the Saxon peacefully enj
oy
His former footing in our famous isle.
To ratify these terms, I swear —
Osw.
You need not;
Your honour is of force, without your oath.
I only add, that if I fall, or yield,
Your’s be the crown, and Emmeline.
Arth.
That’s two crowns.
No more; we keep the looking heav’n and sun
Too long in expectation of our arms.
[both armies go off the stage.
[Arthur and Oswald fight. Oswald retreats. Enter Osmond from among the trees, and with his wand strikes Arthur’s sword out of his hand, and exit. Oswald pursues Arthur. Merlin enters, and gives Arthur his sword, and exit. They close, and Arthur in the fall disarms Oswald.]
Arth.
Confess thyself o’ercome, and ask thy life.
Osw.
’Tis not worth asking, when ’tis in thy power.
Arth.
Then take it as my gift.
Osw.
A wretched gift,
With loss of empire, liberty, and love.
[A concert of trumpets within, proclaiming Arthur’s victory; while they sound, Arthur and Oswald seem to confer.
’Tis too much bounty to a vanquish’d foe;
Yet not enough to make me fortunate.
Arth.
Thy life, thy liberty, thy honour safe,
Lead back thy Saxons to their ancient Elb:
I wou’d restore thee fruitful Kent, the gift
Of Vortigern for Hengist’s ill-bought aid,
But that my Britons brook no foreign power,
To lord it in a land, sacred to freedom,
And of its rights tenacious to the last.
Osw.
Nor more than thou hast offer’d wou’d I take;
I would refuse all Britain held in homage;
And own no other masters but the gods.
Enter on one side, Merlin, Emmeline, and Matilda, Co∣non, Aurelius, with British soldiers, bearing King Ar∣thur’s standard displayed. On the other side, Guillam•… and Osmond, with Saxon soldiers, dragging their colours on the ground.
[Arth. going to Emme, and embracing her.
Arth.
At length, at length, I have thee in my arms.
Em.
We are so fitted for each other’s hearts,
That heav’n had erred, in making of a third,
To get betwixt, and intercept our loves.
Osw.
Were there but this, this only sight to see,
The price of Britain should not buy my stay.
Mer.
Take hence that monster of ingratitude,
And in that loathsome dungeon plunge him deep,
Where he plung’d noble Oswald.
Osm.
That indeed is fittest for me,
For there I shall be near my kindred fiends,
And spare my Grimbald’s pains to bear me to ‘em.
[Is carried off.
Mer.
[to Arth.]
Arthur, thou hast acquir’d immortal fame,
And of three Christian worthies, art the first:
And now at once to treat thy sight and soul,
Behold what rolling ages shall produce:
The wealth, the loves, the glories, of our isle.
Nor thou, brave Saxon Prince,
[to Oswald]
disdain our triumph:
Britons and Saxons shall be once one people;
One common tongue, one common faith, shall bind
Our jarring bands, in a perpetual peace.
Merlin waves his wand; the scene changes, and discovers the British ocean in a storm. Aeolus in a cloud above.
Enter NEPTUNE.
Ye blust’ring brethren of the skies,
Whose breath has ruffl’d all the wat’ry plain,
Retire and let Britannia rise,
In triumph o’er the main.
Serene and calm, and void of fear,
The queen of islands must appear.
[Aeolus ascends, and the four winds fly off; Britannia rises from the sea.
Enter VENUS and CUPID.
SONG. — Miss PHILLIPS.
Fairest isle, all isles excelling,
Seat of pleasures and of loves;
Venus here will chuse her dwelling,
And for sake her Cyprian groves.
Cupid, from his fav’rite nation,
Care and Envy will remove;
Jealousy, that poisons passion,
And Despair that dies for love.
Gentle murmurs, sweet complaining,
Sighs that blow the fire of love;
Soft repulses, kind disdaining,
Shall be all the pains you prove.
Every swain shall pay his duty,
Grateful every nymph shall prove;
And as these excel in beauty,
Those shall be renown’d for love.
Mer.
Those who next enter are our valiant Britons,
Who shall by sea and land repel our foes,
[A march, while the British sailors and grena∣diers come to the front of the stage.
Now look above, and in Heav’n’s high abyss,
Behold what fame attends those future heroes.
[The Order of the Garter descends.
SONG. — By Mr. WILLIAMES.
I.
St. George, the patron of our isle.
A soldier, and a saint,
On that auspicious Order smile,
Which love and arms will plant.
II.
Our natives not alone appear
To court this martial prize;
But foreign Kings adopted here,
Their crowns at home despise.
III.
Our Sovereign high, in awful state,
His honours shall bestow;
And see his scepter’d subjects wait
On his commands below.
FINIS.
CLEOMENES, THE SPARTAN HERO
A TRAGEDY.
CONTENTS
PREFACE.
TO MR. DRYDEN ON HIS CLEOMENES.
PROLOGUE.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.
EPILOGUE.
TO THE EARL OF ROCHESTER, KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, ETC.
It is enough for your lordship to be conscious to yourself of having performed a just and honourable action, in redeeming this play from the persecution of my enemies; but it would be ingratitude in me not to publish it to the world.
That it has appeared on the stage, is principally owing to you: that it has succeeded, is the approbation of your judgment by that of the public. It is just the inversion of an Act of Parliament. Your lordship first signed it, and then it was passed amongst the Lords and Commons. The children of old men are generally observed to be short-lived, and of a weakly constitution. How this may prove, I know not, but hitherto it has promised well; and if it survive to posterity, it will carry the noble fame of its patron along with it; or, rather, it will be carried by yours to after-ages. Ariosto, in his “Voyage of Astolpho to the Moon,” has given us a fine allegory of two swans; who, when Time had thrown the writings of many poets into the river of oblivion, were ever in a readiness to secure the best, and bear them aloft into the temple of immortality. Whether this poem be of that number, is left to the judgment of the swan who has preserved it; and, though I can claim little from his justice, I may presume to value myself upon his charity. It will be told me, that I have mistaken the Italian poet, who means only that some excellent writers, almost as few in number as the swans, have rescued the memory of their patrons from forgetfulness and time; when a vast multitude of crows and vultures, that is, bad scribblers, parasites, and flatterers, oppressed by the weight of the names which they endeavoured to redeem, were for
ced to let them fall into Lethe, where they were lost for ever. If it be thus, my lord, the table would be turned upon me; but I should only fail in my vain attempt; for, either some immortal swan will be more capable of sustaining such a weight, or you, who have so long been conversant in the management of great affairs, are able with your pen to do justice to yourself, and, at the same time, to give the nation a clearer and more faithful insight into those transactions wherein you have worthily sustained so great a part; for, to your experience in State affairs, you have also joined no vulgar erudition, which all your modesty is not able to conceal: for, to understand critically the delicacies of Horace is a height to which few of our noblemen have arrived; and that this is your deserved commendation, I am a living evidence, as far, at least, as I can be allowed a competent judge on that subject. Your affection to that admirable Ode, which Horace writes to his Maecenas, and which I had the honour to inscribe to you, is not the only proof of this assertion. You may please to remember that, in the late happy conversation which I had with your lordship at a noble relation’s of yours, you took me aside, and pleased yourself with repeating to me one of the most beautiful pieces in that author. It was the Ode to Barine, wherein you were so particularly affected with that elegant expression, Juvenumque prodis publica cura. There is indeed the virtue of a whole poem in those words; that curiosa félicitas, which Petronius so justly ascribes to our author. The barbarity of our language is not able to reach it; yet, when I have leisure, I mean to try how near I can raise my English to his Latin; though in the meantime, I cannot but imagine to myself, with what scorn his sacred manes would look on so lame a translation as I could make. His recaldtrat undique tutus might more easily be applied to me than he himself applied it to Augustus Cæsar. I ought to reckon that day as very fortunate to me, and distinguish it, as the ancients did, with a whiter stone; because it furnished me with an occasion of reading my “Cleomenes” to a beautiful assembly of ladies where your lordship’s three fair daughters were pleased to grace it with their presence; and, if I may have leave to single out any one in particular, there was your admirable daughterin-law, shining, not like a star, but a constellation of herself, a more true and brighter Berenice. Then it was, that, whether out of your own partiality, and indulgence to my writings, or out of complaisance to the fair company, who gave the first good omen to my success by their approbation, your lordship was pleased to add your own, and afterwards to represent it to the queen, as wholly innocent of those crimes which were laid unjustly to its charge. Neither am I to forget my charming patroness, though she will not allow my public address to her in a dedication, but protects me unseen, like my guardian-angel, and shuns my gratitude, like a fairy, who is bountiful by stealth, and conceals the giver when she bestows the gift; but my Lady Silviust has been juster to me, and pointed out the goddess at whose altar I was to pay my sacrifice and thanks-offering; and, had she been silent, yet my Lord Chamberlain himself, in restoring my play without any alteration, avowed to me that I had the most earnest solicitress, as well as the fairest, and that nothing could be refused to my Lady Hyde.