by Thomas Otway
As not to love agen would be a crime.
Drax.
Sir, that’s a thing I cannot now discourse;
Love rarely Conquers with a sudden force.
Nor must I that acknowledge as my due,
Which was perhaps a Complement to you:
If any thing in me he can approve,
I may believe it gallantry, not Love.
Alcib.
I shall no more your modesty offend.
Pardon a forward Zeal to serve my Friend.
But if ought add a blessing, ‘twill to see
You made as happy as you have made me.
Exeunt.
Enter Tissaphernes and Patroclus.
Tiss.
D’you understand, Patroclus, what y’ave done?
Have you consider’d that you are my Son?
Patr.
Sir, ’tis a title I am proud of. —
Tiss.
How can you then descend to things so base,
That blot my Glory, and my Name deface?
Whilst thus your blinded folly so adores,
The only Traytor that my soul abhorrs?
Patr.
How Sir, I doat upon the man you hate!
No, I had never thoughts so impious yet,
By all my hopes, if any wretch there be
So unhappy to be held your enemy,
Rather then in my Breast his image bear,
I’d raze it from my heart, or stab it there.
Tiss.
Stay least you should pronounce too rash a doom:
Believe it is a blow will wound you home.
But I will try —
What gen’rous resolution you express,
Know then you must hate Alcibiades.
Patr.
Protect me heav’n! can you command that I
Should break that knot you did so lately tye!
Was’t not your love that did our friendship joyn?
Did not your kind imbraces second mine?
Tiss.
Embraces! Love! and kindness! what are these?
The outward varnish that our hearts disguise.
Hast thou so long with Courts conversant been,
The various turns of power and greatness seen,
And hast thou not this mistery yet found,
Always to smile in’s face we mean to wound?
Come you must hate him, nay and kill him too.
Patr.
Oh let me rather beg my death from you.
Can you command me Sir to wound a heart,
Whereof I do profess so great a part?
In that I should prove a self-murderer:
Peircing his Breast I stab m’ own image there.
Tiss.
Come lay these idle boyish scruples down,
Do as becomes your Vertue and my Son.
Can you behold him rev’ling in my place,
And turning all my honours to disgrace.
And can you of so little value prize
The honour of your blood, not to shed his?
Patr.
Oh Sir, no farther urge this horrid Theam,
‘Twill blast your gloryes and your wreathes defame.
Do but look on that like you would destroy,
See if it ben’t as spotless and serene
As that which in their heav’n blest Saints enjoy,
Pure and untouch’t but with a thought of sin.
By all th’ endearments of a filial love,
[kneels.
And if that charm cannot your pitty move,
By my dear Mothers ghost, whose dying prayer
Bequeath’d me her chief treasure to your care,
This unjust cruel enmity lay down,
And do not in his friend destroy your Son.
On the past brav’ry of your youth look back,
There the bright paths of all your Triumphs track:
Think what ‘twill be those gloryes to exchange,
For a base brutal infamous revenge.
Oh Sir recal, recal the dire decree,
Tis such a deed as fate will shrink to see.
Tiss.
Then ’tis the bitter to be done by me.
Give this unmanly Childish pitty o’re,
Or ne’re presume to call me Father more.
Patr.
Then see how I resigne that int’rest here:
[rises.
Thus all the bonds of duty cancel’d are.
Whilst such black horrours in your soul I see,
Y’are not my Father, but my enemy.
Now against me let all your vengeance come,
Thus thus my breast for your revenge has room.
Brave Alcibiades. —
No, since such barbarous mischiefs you dare do,
I’l dye for him, but scorn to live for you.
Why don’t you strike Sir? is your rage grown faint?
Tiss.
I fear I’ve too much trifl’d with this boy;
Curse on his honour, ‘twill my hopes destroy.
But I’l smooth all in time. Oh my dear Son,
Now art thou worthy to be cal’d my own.
None but a heart that’s truly noble cou’d
Ever deserve a Title to my blood.
No, may ye both in your brave friendship be
As truly happy, as I am in thee.
That’s curst. —
[aside
Patr.
Is then my father kind? can he approve
Our friendship? does he once more crown our love?
Oh Sir, let thus m’ acknowledgment be giv’n,
As we for blessings offer thanks to heav’n.
[kneels.
Tiss.
Rise, rise thou comfort of my Age, I now
Have understood all I could wish to know.
Alas, in this disguise I did but try
The strength and vertue of thy constancy.
’Tis a refreshment to this heavy head,
To prove that vertue which my self have bred.
Thus blest in peace I’l to my Grave descend.
As the declining Sun goes down at night,
Pleas’d with the rising of an off-spring light.
Patr.
Such mystick wayes fate does our loves confirm,
As rooted Trees stand faster by a storm.
After this shock our friendship’s more secure,
As Gold try’d in the fire comes forth more pure.
[Exit.
Tiss.
There’s some foundation yet for my design;
The Captiv’s brave, I’l try to make him mine.
Unwearied I will let my fury range,
And leave no heart unsearcht to find revenge.
[Exit.
SCENE A DARK TENT.
Theramnes in Chains.
The.
How sweet a quietude’s in fetters found!
That it seems almost freedom to be bound.
Though thus confin’d, my agile thoughts may fly
Through all the Region of variety.
Here in a trice I can the World run o’re,
And finish whole years labours in an hour.
But oh my Mistress! my Timandra lost!
That is the only bitterness I taste.
This outward fetter but my Body chains,
But that the freedom of my Soul detains.
Why by my Rivals Sword did I not fall;
So bravely have embrac’d one death for all?
Yet why should I court such an abject hate?
Courage is the supporter of the great.
Methinks I’ve something yet to do, might prove
Becoming both my courage and my love.
I’l — hah this does my busie thoughts prevent.
[Enter Tiss.
Is that old friend for a Tormenter sent?
Good Sir, upon what message are your come?
Am I then destin’d to some harder doom?
; Tiss.
No, I am come to give your sorrows ease:
I know you hate Sir Alcibiades:
Nay and I know you love Timandra too.
The.
Well Sir, all this I know as well as you.
Tiss.
Come if you dare be brave, be’t on this theam:
Dare you Sir ravish her and murder him?
The.
For what dark ends do you this question bring?
Dare! ‘sdeath, old Sir, I dare do any thing.
Tiss.
That word then all my former doubts secures,
Be only res’lute, and Timandra’s yours.
My stratagems so subtly I will lay,
That to your arms your Mistress I’l betray.
Thus then, as the first step to our design,
Your guards I’l with adulterated wine
Secure; so they Charm’d in a Lethargy,
I’l from your bonds and prison set you free.
Then when some happy moment shall present
Timandra left ungarded in her tent,
Both of us thither in disguise will move,
To end your rival and compleat your love.
For when your fill of bliss you have enjoy’d,
And your full pleasures with themselves are cloy’d:
I thither will alar’m our enemy,
Where by both Swords he shall be sure to dye.
And the next night (the watch-word given by me)
You may, scape through the Guards to liberty.
The.
Revenge! my love enjoy’d, and freedom too!
Then in the name of Pluto be it so.
What stupid ignorance the World possest,
That only fury plac’t i’th’ youthful breast!
No ’tis in age alone great Spirits are young:
The Soul’s but infant when the Body’s strong.
These hoary heads like grisly Comets are,
Which always threaten ruin death and war.
Tiss.
Alas such tame Souls know but half a growth,
I’l make my age a step to a new youth:
Such murders and such cruelties maintain,
I’l from the blood I shed grow young again.
The.
Let’s in the name of horrour then go on;
Methinks I long to have the bus’ness done:
Something like Conscience else may all defeat,
You know Sir I’m but a raw villain yet.
Tiss.
Conscience! a trick of State, found out by those
That wanted power to support their Laws;
A bug-bear name to startle fools, but we
That know the weakness of the fallacie,
Know better how to use what nature gave.
That Soul’s no Soul which to it self’s a slave.
Who any thing for Conscience sake deny,
Do nothing else but give themselves the lye.
[Exeunt.
SCENE THE CAMP.
Enter Patroclus and Draxilla.
Patr.
Why Madam do you fly a lovers pray’r?
Is cruelty the priviledge o’th fair?
Drax.
You cannot Sir i’th’ Camp be beauties slave,
Where honour’s th’ only. Mistress of the brave.
Patr.
But ’tis a rugged honour got in Arms,
When not made soft by beauties sweeter charms.
That melts our rage into a kind desire,
Whilst love refines it in his purer fire.
Drax.
Lovers whose flights so sublime pitches choose,
Oft soar too high, and so their quarry loose.
But you Sir know to moderate your height,
Missing your game can eas’ly slack the flight.
Patr.
Such faint essays may fit a common flame,
But my desires have a far nobler Aime,
Religious honour, and a zeal that’s true,
Rais’d by that Deity to which I sue.
Drax.
Those who to deities their offerings pay,
Make their addresses in an humbler way.
Not in a confidence of what they give,
But modest hopes of what they shall receive.
Patr.
I in my offerings no assurance have,
Though an ambition to become your slave.
Drax.
Yes, but when once admitted to that place,
You’l still be looking for some acts of grace.
Patr.
Some little favours pitty can’t deny,
You are too noble to use cruelty.
Drax.
See Sir the Queen, I beg you Sir forbear.
[Exeunt.
Patr.
Madam this way —
Enter Queen and Ardella.
Qu.
Did he then suffer no surprize shew
Of alteration? let’s the progress know.
Ard.
In order Madam t’your command I went,
And met him coming from the Royal Tent:
Where after th’ usual Ceremonies past,
E’re I would feast I gave him first a taste,
Told him how much his courage you approv’d,
That he in no mean path of glory mov’d,
Who in his Arms had so successful been,
T’engage a Monarch and oblige a Queen.
Then nearer came, and whisper’d something more,
Began to intimate loves mighty pow’r.
He briskly took the hint, and readily
Began to urge some pretty things to me.
By which encourag’d I to th’ bus’ness drew,
Told him in fine it only was his due
To be admir’d by all, and lov’d by you.
Qu.
And did not then his alter’d looks betray
Some extasie? some marks of lively joy?
Ard.
No Madam, he knew better policy,
Talk’t of your honour, and his loyalty,
Fine smoothing terms to cloak a passion in.
But if your Majesty —
Qu.
— What? —
Ard.
— Had but seen
How much his carriage did his words deceive,
When with a gentle sigh he took his leave,
As if he languish’d till the minute came.
Qu.
Dost thou then think he entertains my flame?
Lets to my Tent and wait his coming there,
Such swarms of love within my Breast there are,
The heat’s too furious for my Soul to bear.
What would I give but for a taste of bliss!
Oh the choice sweets of a stol’n happiness?
ACT FOURTH.
SCENE I.
Alcibiades Solus.
Alci.
UNDER what fatal Planet was I born!
Sure at my birth the Heavens themselves did mourn.
Disjoynted nature did her course forbear,
And held within her Womb a civil War.
I who but now did fame and Conquest bring,
And added to the glories of a King,
Must see my Trophyes all thrown down agen,
By the base passions of a lustful Queen.
Why was I not born to a common fate,
Free from the glorious troubles of the great,
So in some humble Cell my years have spent,
Blest with a private peaceable content.
The vulgar mortal feels not fortunes harms,
The highest structures still are shook with storms.
See too she’s here; what shall I do or speak?
Fate has beset me, and I’ve no way to take.
Enter Queen.
Qu.
My Lord you something discompos’d appear,
Surely there’s nothing that can fright you here.
Alci.
Majesty Madam is a thing divine.
Qu.
If that disturb you Sir, I’le lay by mine.
Methinks I apprehend a greater pride,
To view the man whose glories spread so wide.
Alci.
Madam you on ’em set too high a price.
Qu.
Perhaps I see not Sir with common eyes.
They best of honour judge that honour have.
I find a secret in me says y’are brave.
You need not Sir unfold it, you can guess,
Alci.
How craftily she would her lust express,
And set her ills off with a winning dress.
What’s to be done, which way shall I conclude?
I must abuse my King, or must be rude.
I cannot speak —
Qu.
— My Lord! let’s sit a while,
Won’t you vouchsafe your visitant a smile?
Alci.
Smiles Madam were too insolent a joy.
Qu.
Fye! put these formal complements away,
Ardella sing that Song I heard to day.
SONG.
The brightest Goddess of the Sky,
How did she panting sighing lye,
And languishing desire to dye
For the Triumphant God of war,
Amidst his Trophies did appear,
As charming rough as she was fair.
2.
Their loves were blest, they had a Son,
The little Cupid, who has shown
More conquest then his Sire e’re won.
He grew the mightiest God above,
By which we him a Rebel prove
To heav’n, that dares be so to Love.
3.
How soft the delights, and how charming the joy,
Where love and injoyment each other support!
Let the Cynical fool call pleasure a toy,
Who ne’re fame i’th’ Camp had, nor love in the Court:
O so kindly the Combates each other succeed,
Where ’tis Triumph to dye, and a Pleasure to bleed.
Alci.
The Air is charming. —
Qu.
— Retire.
[Exit Ardella.
No lively Symptoms of a growing fire!
I’l urge him further —
My Lord, your
Y’are ill; Cold drops upon your brows appear;
I’l wipe ’em off, come Sir, your fears remove,
You need not blush to tell me you love.
I’l do it for you, nay I will do,
Blush for my self for you.
Sure this will take wonder mean,
Is love so strange? —
Alci.
— Oh name that agen,
Could you such wrong to royal do?
Think what’s to heav’n and to your vertue due.
Qu.
Must I be hated then? and Sir by you?
[angerly.
Pish, why d’you talk of heav’n and now?
[mildly.
Alci.
Not new-made mothers to their infants bear