by Thomas Otway
Th.
Patience! Whats that? The Mistress of tame Fools,
That can in nothing else employ their souls;
No, since Timandra thou canst disapprove,
My just flame for an absent Rivals Love,
I’l find that Rival out, and snatch his breath,
Though ev’ry step I tread, encounter Death.
Pol.
Now Sir y’are brave —
Already y’ave disarm’d Timandra’s charms,
Me-thinks I see you Rev’ling in her Arms;
Let’s then o’th’ Wings of Love and honour fly
To th’ Field, and meet th’ insulting Enemy:
Where through the paths of death and blood, we’l go
To meet your Rival, and his Countrys Foe:
There the remembrance of Timandra’s charms,
Shall add fresh courage to your Conq’ring Arms.
But if Fate the success so order shall,
That by your Rivals Sword you chance to fall:
I then (as honour justly will command,)
Inspir’d by Friendship and Timandra’s Name,
Will bravely stem him, and with this bold hand
Revenge, or fall a Victim to your flame.
Th.
Oh noble generous Youth! whose tender years,
Such gallant courage and such honour wear!
How can my aymes but in my wishes end,
That have so worthy and so brave a Friend?
Embraces him.
Come my Polyndus. —
Pol.
— On my Friend I’le wait,
Through all the Labarinths of Love and Fate.
[Exeunt.
SCENE.
The Tent of a Pavilion Royal; the King and Queen of Sparta, Alcibiades, Tissaphernes, Patroclus, Guards, Ladys, &c.
King.
Now must proud Athens lay her Tryumphs down,
And pay her Glorys Tribute to my Crown;
No more shall stupid Greece her Fetters wear,
Nor make disadvantagious peace for fear;
But she her self must in subjection come,
And humbly at my feet expect her doom.
Tiss.
Yes Sir; all Glorys must when Yours break forth,
Go out, and lose their Beauty, and their Worth;
And like false Angels Vanish and be gone,
Dreading those shapes they durst before put on.
Pat.
Athens, the Worlds great Mistress will not be
Courted with low and vulgar Gallantry.
Her Glory aymes at higher Characters,
Then heavy Gown-men clad in formal Furrs:
Who wins her deeds ‘bove common Fate must do,
And so she’s only Mistress fit for you.
King.
Yes, and I only will enjoy her too.
But noble generous Youth, thou has alone
Things Worthy the Athenian honour done:
To Alcibiades.
Thou like a tow’ring Eagle soard’st above
That lower Orb in which they faintly move;
A flight too high for their dull souls to use,
Which prompted ’em that honour to abuse:
Thinking their baseness they might palliate,
With the dark Cloud of Policy and State.
But let them that black mistery pursue,
By worth and honour Empires greatest grow;
Which when abus’d, their glory does suppress,
As revers’d prospects make the object less.
Alcib.
Yours Sir, like Heav’ns great soul is General;
Dispensing its kind influence on all.
This makes success and Victory repair,
To move with you as in their proper Sphear;
As fragrant dews leave the corrupter earth,
Exhail’d by th’Sun from whom they had their Birth.
King.
The truth of that we by your Lawrels know,
Conquest your Arms, Triumph still waits your brow;
By your success th’ Athenian greatness rose,
Your courage scatter’d their insulting Foes;
And from that height to which by you th’are grown,
’Tis your success alone must throw ’em down
Thus have we made you Gen’ral of our Force;
And all those honours you were rob’d off there,
We’ll make our study to redouble here.
Tiss.
And I, (if that my Malice tell me true,)
As diligently shall his Plagues pursue.
Aside.
Alcib.
Of all my Courage or my Sword shall do,
I the success must to your Vertue owe:
The honour and the justice of your cause,
So glorious are, Fate must from them take Laws:
So You o’re Athens this advantage have,
You Fortune rule, to whom she’s but a Slave.
King.
Enjoy my Tissaphernes now thy ease,
And plant fresh Lawrels in the shades of Peace.
The glorys thou hast won, so num’rous are,
They seem as many as thy age can bear.
But if thy spacious soul thou canst confine,
Within this narrow Mansion of mine:
Be this the utmost of thy wishes bound,
Possess his grateful heart, whose head th’ast Crown’d.
Tiss.
Heav’n knows my Age does feel no sharper sting,
Then to want pow’r to serve so good a King.
But since time tells me that my glass is run,
Setting me backward where I first begun;
Since no way else they can their duty show,
I’le only employ my hands to Heav’n for you:
And what my Sword can’t, may devotion do.
King.
How truly he a glorious Monarch is
That’s Crown’d with blessings so sublime as these!
How can I but in all things happy be,
Propt by such Courage and such Piety?
To me with Gods similitude is giv’n:
’Tis pow’r and vertue that supports their Heav’n.
Our Royal Standard to the City bear,
T’Alarm it to Obedience, or to War;
To Morrow must decide th’ Athenian Fate,
This day to joy and ease we’l Consecrate.
Exeunt Om. praet. Tiss.
Tiss.
Ungrateful King! thy shallow aymes pursue,
But my brisk Up-start Fav’rite, have at you.
Was it for this my active Youth I spent
In War? and knew no dwelling but a Tent!
Have I for this through Invious Mountains pass’t?
Demolish’t Cities, and lay’d Kingdoms wast
Still in his Cause unwearied courage shown?
And almost hid his head in Crowns I won!
Upon my Breast receiv’d so many Scarrs,
They seem a War describ’d in Characters!
And must the harvest of my toyle and blood,
Upon a fawning Rebel be bestow’d?
Who having false to his own Country been,
Comes here to play his Treasons o’re agen?
Must he at last tumble my Trophies down,
And Revel in the Glorys I have won?
Whilst from my Honours, they me disengage
With a dull Complement to feeble Age.
What ayles this hardy hand, that yet it shou’d
Tremble at death, or start at reeking blood?
Me thinks this Dagger I as firmly hold,
[Draws a Dagger.
And with a strength as resolute and bold,
As he who kindly would its point impart,
A present to an envy’d Fav’rites heart;
And I fond Youth will try to work thy fall,
Though with my own I Crown thy Funeral.
Envy and Malice from your Mansions flie,
&
nbsp; Resign your horrour and your Snakes to me;
For I’le act mischiefs yet to you unknown;
Nay, you shall all be Saints when I come down.
Finis Actus Primi.
ACT SECOND.
SCENE FIRST. A GROVE ADJOYNING TO THE SPARTAN CAMP.
Timandra and Draxilla.
Tim.
WHAT uncouth Roads Afflicted Lovers pass!
How strange prepost’rous steps their Sorrows trace!
Oh Alcibiades, if thou art just,
Forgive th’excess of Love that bred distrust.
Driven by that, disguis’d I hither came,
Yet here and ev’ry where my grief’s the same.
But kind Draxilla’s Friendship can dispel,
The thickest Clouds that on sad Bosoms dwell,
That does alleviate my griefs, and give
My wearied soul a soft and kind Reprieve;
Which ever to forget, would be as hard,
And as impossible, as to Reward.
Drax.
The serving you, my happiness secures
I’m only somthing by my being yours;
Since equally with yours, my hopes were crost,
When in your Lover I a Brother lost;
Then like an Orphan destitute and bare
Of all but Misery and sad despair,
Your Kindness gave my yeelding spirits rest,
And rais’d me to a dwelling in your breast:
Then ought I not in all my soul resign,
To ease her griefs that kindly pitty’d mine?
Tim.
In that I did what honour urg’d me to.
Drax.
And honour tells me Gratitude is due.
Tim.
But how grows Gratitude to that degree,
To be afflicted thus, and weep for me.
Drax.
Alas, that is the least that I could do,
To our worst Enemies our Tears we owe.
Friendship to such a noble height should rise,
As their devotion does in Sacrifice;
Who think they shew a zeal remiss and small,
Except themselves as nobler Victims fall.
With as great courage could I for you dye,
And my Triumphant Soul to Heav’n should fly;
There I again my Friendship would renew,
And lay up chiefest joyes in store for you.
Tim.
What vast and boundless flights does Friendship take!
Beyond what search can see, or fancy track!
’Tis the improvement of the part divine,
When souls in their Seraphick transports joyn;
In souls united, so we friendship see,
As many glorys make a Diety.
Enter Alcibiades from the back part of the Scenes.
Drax.
Madam, yonder he comes who must retrieve
Your drooping hopes, and your faint joyes revive.
Tim.
My Alcibiades! how I begin
To think my misplac’t jealousy did sin!
Go meet him, seem all troubled, and in tears,
And with the tale I taught thee wound his ears:
Mean while I will with-draw my self this way,
Nor would my swelling passion let me stay.
Goes to the Door.
Alcib.
What ayrie Visions o’re my eyes there move,
Like the good genius of an absent Love!
Where e’re I turn me, I me-thinks espy,
Timandra’s Image softly gliding by.
Such fond Ambition, Love his Slaves does teach,
To make ’em fancy what they cannot reach.
For oh Divine One! —
How sickly joyes, honour and greatness grant,
When thee the glory of my soul I want!
Drax.
My Lord! —
Alcib.
— Guard me, ye pow’rs Draxilla here,
And weeping too! Oh my Prophetick fear!
What is’t your coming here would seem to tell?
Relate, oh quickly, is my Princess well?
Drax.
Oh Sir! In that unhappy fatal Night,
When to the Spartan Camp you took your flight,
When by the cruel Senate you were drove,
Both to forsake your Country and your Love,
Timandra, and my self, and we were sate
In her Apartment, grieving for your fate:
No sooner with sad Jealousies opprest,
Her wearied soul in sleep sought after rest,
But grief new Scenes of misery brought in,
And plaid in Dreams its horrours o’re agen:
Sometimes her tender Arms she’d forward stretch,
Then fiercely at the empty ayr would catch:
Wearied with grief, she then would milder be,
And in a hallow sigh send out, Ah Me!
At last she rose, and ‘bout the Chamber walkt;
Sometimes she started, then stood still and talkt:
Anon, repeat some short and pithy pray’r;
Agen grow wild, and tear her pretious hair;
Till having so wrought sorrow to that height.
That her soul grew too tender for the weight:
E’re I my courage could collect to go,
And give a hindrance to the fatall blow,
She with her Dagger stab’d her self, and said,
Thus dy’d Timandra that unhappy Maid.
Alcib.
Ye Gods! Is’t thus your Justice you dispence
To lay th’reward of Guilt on Innocence?
What though these Sacriledgious hands have thrown
Your Images, those Pageant Glorys down!
Must you revenge on her I lov’d transfer?
You might have plagu’d me, so y’ad pitty’d her.
But thus I’le send my soul, where it may tell
She lov’d too rashly, but not lov’d too well;
Oh Sister! do not hinder me my death;
Sighs are the only use I’ve left of breath:
Offers to fall on his Sword, but is hindred by Draxilla.
One blow will put an end to grief and Me.
Enter Timandra.
Tim.
That Sir you must not do, nor must I see.
[Al. starts.
Why fly you back? nay, if you shun me now,
I shall grow apt to think my fears too true.
Alcib.
Oh Heavens! does then my dear Timandra live!
The Joy’s too mighty for me to receive;
This was the greatest bliss Heav’n had to give.
How rashly did my impious rage prophane
Your Goodness! oh but wash away that stain,
Then I with Victims will your Altars load,
And have a Sacrifice for ev’ry God.
Till by those holy fires, this black offence
Be purg’d and purify’d to Innocence.
But dearest, how could you so cruel be,
To let such bliss be drest in misery?
To tell me you were dead!
How could you think but th’horror of that breath,
Must damp my Soul, and chill me into death.
Tim.
Alas, my fears could find out no relief,
But thus t’assault you in the garb of grief;
This tryal of your Faith my Joy secures,
As Thunders usher in refreshing show’rs.
Alcib.
Let us no longer then to doubts give way,
But hast to th’Consummation of our Joy,
So with our bright united flames, dispell
Those anxious mists that on our bosoms dwell,
Being of no other Jealousie possess,
But which shall kindest prove, and love the best.
Tim.
And when our faithful happy hearts shall be
Firmier united by that sacred tye,
How in an endless Roa
d of bliss well move,
Steering our motions by our perfect Love!
There we with pleasure will recount each woe
Which we have pass’t, and others undergoe.
There we’ll reflect o’th’ various hopes and fears,
The mournful sighs and the impatient tears
Of distrest Lovers, whilst we’ll kindly thence,
Through a strange mystical Intelligence,
Give ’em Redresses by our influence:
Till so by ours, —
Their full-grown Joyes receive a happy birth,
As Planets in their kind Conjunctions bless the Earth.
Alcib.
Then my Timandra to our Bliss let’s fly,
There’s but one minute more to Extasy.
[Exeunt.
Enter Queen and Ardella.
Queen.
Oh my Ardella, whither shall I turn?
I’m all o’re flame, in ev’ry part I burn.
Ar.
Your Majesty —
Queen.
— Fool, Majesty! what’s that?
Th’ Ill-natur’d pageant mockery of fate;
When her ungrateful sportive pow’r she’d show,
Raising us high —
To barr us of the benefits below.
But I’le her servile Policy despise,
And make her stoop to Loves great Victories.
Th’ Almighty Pow’r of Heav’n came down from thence,
To tast the sweets of Am’rous Excellence:
Why then should Princes that are Gods below,
Think that a sin which Heav’n is proud to do?
Ard.
But Madam, is it not a cruel thing,
T’abuse a Loving Husband and kind King?
Qu.
Dull Girle, thou knowst now what a Husband is.
Alas, they never reach the height of bliss,
But ignorantly with Loves Magick play,
Till they raise Spirits they want pow’r to lay.
In that brave Alcibiades there swarm,
So many graces, he’s all over charm;
Such killing Ayres in each part of him move,
His Brow darts Majesty, and his Eye Love:
Oh my Ardella, I am lost in thought!
I fain wou’d have thee — yet ’tis false, I’d not.
Ard.
Madam, your Royal pleasure but relate,
I’le be as faithful, and as firm as Fate.
Qu.
Art thou then skilful in Loves subtle arts,
Cunningly to lay Ambuscades for hearts?
Canst thou express a melting kind desire,
And give a feeling draught of Loves soft fire?
Ard.
Madam, so subt’ly I’le his heart betray,
As one, who by some great Magicians pow’r,
Is hurry’d through the Regions in an hour,
And for return again, can find no way.
Qu.
My better Angel! fly then swift as time,
Or thought; thou ‘gainst a Queen in gaining him.