John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  San. Well, and now I remember myself, I was laid for dead too, for just about half a year.

  Lop. [To Dal.] This is the wrong lord; he can say nothing but what the other lord has said before him.

  Dal. Then he’s the likelier to be the true Conde; for he’s a fool, father.

  Carl. You see, senor, he does not remember what became of him, as I said before.

  San. How would you have a man remember, when he was laid for dead?

  Carl. But I recovered, rogue, and pursued the enemy.

  San. And I recovered, and pursued them too, for above an hundred miles together, at full speed.

  Lop. That’s further than you needed, by threescore miles; for ’tis but forty from the place of battle to the city.

  Carl. Yes, at full speed upon the same horse, and never drew bit neither.

  San. [To Dal.] Help me, dear Dalinda! I am bogged, you see.

  Dal. [To him.] That’s with pursuing your enemies too far; but I’ll help you out again. — [To Lop.] Pray, sir, let me examine them a little.

  Lop. You’ll make nothing of that first Conde.

  Dal. Yes, a son-in-law, I warrant you. — [To them.] Which of you two promised me marriage?

  Both. I did.

  Dal. [To Carl.] And did you enjoy me?

  Carl. Heaven forbid, madam! What, before marriage?

  Dal. [To San.] And what did you?

  San. I did enjoy her; so I did: and there I was before you, for a false Conde, as you are.

  Carl. Speak for yourself, madam, and clear your reputation from that scandalous companion.

  Dal. [ With her fan before her face.] I must confess, the true Conde has enjoyed me; the more my frailty.

  Lop. The matter mends on that side. San Now, goodman Goose-cap, who’s the most a man of honour, he, who has enjoyed a fair lady, or he, who has only licked his lips, and gone without her? — Carl. [Aside.] I see she takes his part; this is all a lie contrived betwixt them.

  Enter a Messenger.

  Mess. [To Dal.] Madam, I am sent to you on a sad errand from the late Conde Don Alonzo, who was killed in the last battle.

  Lop. You are mistaken, friend; for here he stands alive and well. [Pointing to Sancho.] And, for fear of failing, here’s a counterpart of him. — [Pointing to Carlos.

  Mess. Do not abuse yourself, senor; neither of these is the true Conde: I took him from under the horses’ feet, and he had only life enough to say, Remember me to my fair Dalinda.

  Lop. [To San.] What does your lordship say to this?

  San. He was fairly killed, I must confess; but I can give you a better account of his lordship afterwards.

  Lop. You? why, who are you?

  San. Nay, I am he too.

  Mess. Y ou see he’s a counterfeit; and so is the other.

  Lop. ’Tis too true.

  Dal. Did the Conde leave me nothing in his will?

  Mess. Not a cross, madam.

  Dal. There’s the same payment for your news; be gone, poor fellow. — [Exit Messenger.

  Carl. At least I have the satisfaction that he’s discovered as well as I am. [Throwing off some part of Ids disguise.] Now, Sancho, you are welcome to the discovery of your fine intrigue.

  Lop. Then, Sancho, I make good my word to you; since the Conde is dead, you stand fairest for my daughter; — and you, cousin Carlos, with your wit and your poverty, are in statu quo. — Come away, son-in-law, and leave the forsaken lover to make himself a willow garland.

  [Exeunt Sancho, Lopez, and Dalinda.

  Carl. Yet if I could hinder Sancho from marrying her, I should make myself some satisfaction. I’ll think on’t further; and something comes into my head already. [Stands musing.

  Enter Alphonso.

  Alph. Now, Carlos, what make you here in this disguise? I have been looking for you at least half an hour.

  Carl. Only a masquerade, sir; an innocent diversion in times of peace.

  Alph. No, Carlos, these are times of war, not peace.

  I must abruptly tell you what is past:

  I am Ramirez’s son, not Veramond’s;

  I love Victoria, and for her am banished.

  Carl. Just my own condition: I have had a revolution in my small affairs too; I am banished, and going to look for the next commodious tree to make a wry face upon it.

  Alph. I know you brave; and, if you love me still,

  Follow my fortune: yours shall be my care.

  Our army lies encamped without the walls;

  Your regiment is quartered in the town:

  I think I can with ease revolt the troops,

  Because they love me; and, with their assistance,

  Release my father, and redeem my mistress;

  While you and yours, at an appointed signal,

  Procure me entrance.

  Carl. Right; and force the gate —

  Alph. That’s all I ask: I think myself as worthy

  To wed Victoria as this foreign prince.

  But, if you find reluctance to this action,

  Now speak, that I may seek some other friend.

  Carl. No, sir; I shall never break with you for so small a matter as a rebellion, I warrant you. For my soldiers, they’ll never flinch, when there’s a town to plunder.

  Alph. The signal and the time shall be concerted; Victoria be the word —

  That happy name our bold attempt shall bless,

  And give an omen of assured success.

  [Exeunt severally.

  ACT IV.

  SCENE I. — A Street, with a Temple at a distance.

  Enter Garcia, with a Letter in his hand;

  Ximena, and Celidea.

  Gar. May I believe you, ’tis Victoria’s hand?

  For ’tis a strange request.

  Xim. So may it move your noble mind to pity,

  As what the paper tells you is most true.

  She gave it me; and, with a thousand sighs,

  Begged me to recommend her life, her love,

  And all her hopes of happiness, to you.

  Gar. To break my marriage off, renounce her bed,

  To stand excluded from my promised bliss,

  And as my proper act to do all this?

  Disdainful, faithless, and ungrateful maid!

  Cel. Disdainful, and ungrateful; but not faithless,

  Because she never vowed nor promised love,

  But only to Alphonso.

  Xim. They loved not as a brother and a sister,

  But as the fair and brave each other love;

  For sympathy of souls inspired their passion.

  Gar. That sympathy, which made him love

  Victoria,

  Has caused the same effect of love in me.

  Cel. But not in her: she loved him first, my lord;

  And you besieged a town already his.

  As you for her, others may die for you;

  And plead that argument to hope your love,

  If the same reason hold.

  Gar. No doubt it would,

  Were not my soul already prepossessed.

  Cel. So is Victoria’s soul for her Alphonso,

  And that’s her plea for constancy to him.

  Gar. My reason is convinced, but not my passion;

  For I must love, and, loving, must enjoy.

  Cel. Others must not enjoy, and yet must love.

  Xim. You cannot wed Victoria but by force;

  And force can only make her person yours.

  Think what a fatal doom you pass on her,

  To make yourself half happy.

  Gar. When she’s mine,

  I will pursue her with so dear a passion,

  So chafe her coldness with my warm embraces,

  That she shall melt at length, hard as she is;

  And run like stubborn metal.

  Cel. No, my lord;

  Victoria is not formed of steel, but marble,

  Which is not made to melt, but flies the fire,

  And neither yields nor softens to the f
lames.

  Gain her esteem at least, her love is hopeless.

  Gar. Esteem! a scanty, mean reward of passion,

  That pays not half the value of the loss!

  Cel. Pay scorn with scorn, and make revenge a pleasure;

  So generous minds should do, and so should I.

  What needs there more?

  You see who loves you not, and —

  Xim. And she would say, you may behold who loves you;

  But maiden bashfulness has tied her tongue:

  Look on her eyes, they speak.

  Cel. [Softly.] A language that they never spoke before.

  Xim. Mark how she whispers, like a western wind,

  Which trembles through the forest; she, whose eyes

  Meet ready victory where’er they glance;

  Whom gazing crowds admire, whom nations court,

  And (did her praise become a mother’s mouth)

  One who could change the worship of all climates,

  And make a new religion where she comes;

  Unite the differing faith of all the world,

  To idolise her face.

  Gar. And well she may:

  Her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, her shape, her features,

  Seem to be drawn by Love’s own hand; by Love,

  Himself in love: but oh! ’tis now too late,

  My eyes have drank a poison in before;

  A former basilisk has seen me first. —

  Yet know, fair princess, if there were a part

  In all my breast, that could receive a wound,

  Your eyes could only give it.

  Cel. So, helpless friends, when safe themselves ashore,

  Behold a vessel driven against a rock;

  They sigh, they weep, they counsel, and they pray,

  They stretch their unassisting hands in vain;

  But none will plunge into the raging main,

  To save the sinking passenger from death.

  Xim. Already see the joyless bride appears.

  Grief, rage, disdain, distraction, and despair

  Are equal in my daughters’ different fates;

  In one, to be constrained to be your wife;

  In one, to be refused.

  Enter Veramond, and Victoria led as to marriage: a Train follows: and after it a Guard.

  Cel. Great nature, break thy chain, that links together

  The fabric of this globe, and make a chaos

  Like that within my soul! O heaven unkind!

  That gives us passions strong and unconfined,

  And leaves us reason for a vain defence;

  Too powerful rebels, and too weak a prince.

  [Garcia, Ximena, Celidea, mix with the Train, which walk as in procession towards the temple.

  Enter, on the sudden, Alphonso and Carlos, at the head of the party; the Soldiers attack the Guards and King, and drive them off the Stage: Alphonso fights with Garcia, grapples with him, and gets him under; in the meantime, Ximena, Victoria, and Celidea retire to a corner of the Stage: when Garcia is fallen, Celidea runs, and kneels to Alphonso.,

  Cel. Oh, spare him, spare the noble Garcia’s life,

  Or take the forfeit in the loss of mine!

  How happy should I be to die for him,

  Who will not live for me!

  Alph. [To Gar.] Rise, and be safe;

  If you have any thanks to pay, reserve them

  To give this royal maid.

  Gar. Vict. [Rising.] You’d been more kind

  To take my life, for I would throw it off:

  Dishonoured as I am, ’tis worn to rags,

  Nor worth a prince’s wearing.

  [Exit GARCIA, followed by Celidea.

  Re-enter Veramond, disarmed, and led by

  Carlos.

  Vera. Ungrateful traitor!

  Alph. Hold thy peace, old man!

  I do not love to insult on thy misfortunes,

  Though thou hast brought this ruin on thyself.

  Vera. Avenging heaven —

  Alph. I pr’ythee, curse me not,

  Because I held thee for my father once.

  Vera. Then would I were thy father, that my curse

  Might take the surer place, and —

  Alph. Guard him hence,

  But use no violence to his royal person. —

  Call back the soldiers, Carlos, from the spoil.

  I have my wish in having my Victoria,

  And would no more of him, nor what is his.

  [Carlos restores Veramond his sword with respect, and conducts him off; Ximena follows him: Alphonso waits on them to the door, and returns.

  Vict. What have you done, Alphonso?

  Alph. What I ought;

  Obtained the glorious prize for which I fought,

  Redeemed you from a father’s tyranny,

  And from a hated rival set you free.

  Remove, my fair, from this unhappy place;

  The scene of sorrows, sufferings, and disgrace:

  To my victorious camp with me remove,

  The scene of triumph, and rewarded love.

  Viet. Mars has been present with your arms to-day,

  But Love and Hymen have been far away.

  You forced me from a rival’s power, I know;

  But then you forced me from a father’s too.

  Alph. What words are these? I feel my vital heat

  Forsake my limbs, my curdled blood retreat.

  Too much amazed to speak, in this surprise,

  With silent grief, on yours I fix my eyes;

  To learn the reasons of your change from thence;

  To read your cruel doom, and my offence.

  Vict. Your arms, and glorious action, I approve;

  Esteem your honour, and embrace your love.

  Alph. My soul recovers, as a gentle shower

  Refreshes and revives’ a drooping flower.

  I’m yours so much, so little am my own,

  Your smiles are life, and death is in your frown.

  Vict. But, oh! a hard request is yet behind,

  Which, for my sake, endure with equal mind.

  Your debt of honour you have cleared this day;

  But mine, of duty, still remains to pay;

  Restore my liberty, and let me go

  To make a full discharge of all I owe.

  Alph. What debts, but those of love, have you to clear?

  Are you not free, are you not sovereign here?

  And were you not a slave, before I broke

  Your fatal chains, and loosed you from the yoke?

  Vict. ’Tis true, I was; but that captivity,

  Though hard to bear, was more becoming me.

  A slave I am; but nature made me so,

  Slave to my father, not my father’s foe:

  Since, then, you have declared me free, this hour

  I put myself within a parent’s power.

  Alph. Cruel Victoria! would you go from hence,

  And leave a desolate, despairing prince?

  Is this the freedom you demand from me?

  Are these the vows, and this the constancy?

  Put off the mask; for I too well perceive

  Whom you resolve to love, and whom to leave.

  Go, teach me at my own expense, to find

  What change a day can make in womankind.

  Vict. Think not a day, nor all my life, can make

  Victoria’s heart her steadfast love forsake.

  I plighted you my faith; and I renew

  My vows once more, to love but only you.

  Alph. You vowed no time our fortune should divide;

  And well ’twas kept, like all your vows beside,

  When e’en this hour you went to be a bride.

  Vict. I went; but was securely first prepared;

  For this was my redemption, or my guard.

  [Pulls out a dagger.

  Let this your causeless jealousy remove;

  And learn no more to doubt Victoria’s love.
/>   Alph. That fatal proof I never did desire.

  Vict. And yet a proof more fatal you require,

  Which would with infamy my name pursue;

  To fly my father, and to follow you.

  Alph. Your love you forfeit, if you go away.

  Vict. I forfeit my obedience, if I stay.

  Alph. Y ou may, transfer your duty, and be mine.

  Vict. Y es, when my father shall his claim resign;

  For, when the nuptial knot our love assures,

  All, that was his before, is, after, yours.

  Alph. Then, when you vowed your love, you falsely swore.

  Vict. I love you much, but love my honour more.

  Alph. You hate my rival, yet you take the way

  To make you his inevitable prey.

  Vict. Beasts fear not more to be the hunters’ spoil.

  Alph. Then, sure, you would not run into the toil.

  How ill your actions with your words agree!

  Vict. This friend is still at hand to set me free.

  [Holding up the dagger.

  Alph. Let me not live to see that fatal hour!

  Rather return into your father’s power;

  Rather return into his arms again

  For whom your lost Alphonso you disdain.

  If one must die, to set your honour free,

  You have already cast the lot on me.

  Death is the only way to clear my fame,

  Which must be branded with a coward’s name,

  If basely I resign Victoria’s charms,

  And tamely give you to my rival’s arms.

  Vict. To give me to my father is no crime.

  Alph. ’Tis still the same; your father gives you him.

  Ungrateful woman!

  Vict. More ungrateful man!

  More than I ought I give, and all I can;

  But if my duty I prefer to you,

  Be satisfied with all that love can do.

  Alph. Not satisfied; but yet your will shall be

  Like fate’s inviolable law to me.

  Since my unhappy stars will have it so,

  Depart from hence, and leave your father’s foe.

  Go, then; but quickly go; for, while you stay,

  As on a rack I find myself decay,

  And every moment looks a part of me away.

  Vict. I wish I with my duty could dispense;

  Heaven knows how loath I am to part from hence.

  So from the seal is softened wax disjoined;

  So from the mother plant, the tender rind.

  But take the latest pledge that love can give;

  Have courage, and for your Victoria live.

  [She offers him her hand, he kisses it. Exit

  Victoria, he looking after her.