Complete Works of Thomas Otway

by Thomas Otway

  What is it for my honour I have done?

  My love and folly only I’ve disclos’d,

  And nothing but my weaknesses expos’d.

  The golden days where are they to be found,

  So much expected, when this head was Crown’d?

  Whose tears have I dry’d up? or in what face

  Can I the fruits of any good act trace?

  Know I what years Heaven has for me decreed?

  And of these few, how few are to succeed?

  And yet how many have I spent in wast!

  But now to honor I’le make greater hast.

  Alas! ’tis but one blow and all is past.

  Enter Berenice, pressing from Rut. and Paul.

  Ber.

  Let me alone, your counsels all are weak.

  See him I must, he’s here, and I will speak.

  Has Titus then forsook me? is it true?

  Must we too part, does he command it too?

  Tit.

  Oh! stop the deluge, which so fiercely flows;

  This is no time t’ allay each others woes.

  Enough I feel my own afflictions smart,

  And need not those dear tears to damp my heart.

  But if we neither can our griefs command,

  Yet with such honour let ’em be sustain’d.

  As the whole World to hear it told shall smart;

  For dearest Berenice we must part.

  And now I would not a dispute maintain,

  Whether I lov’d, but whether I must Reign.

  Ber.

  Reign (Cruel) then and satisfie your pride,

  And for your Cruelties be deifi’d.

  I’le ne’r dispute it farther, I but stay’d

  Till Titus who so many vows had made,

  Of such a Love as nothing could impair.

  Should come himself and tell how false they were,

  Now I believ’t, enough I’ve heard you tell,

  And I am gone — eternally farewell,

  Eternally — Ah, Sir, con-ider now,

  How harsh that word is and how dreadful too.

  Consider, Oh the Miseries they bear,

  That are for ever rob’d of all that-s dear.

  From this sad Moment never more to meet,

  Is it for day to dawn and day to set,

  In which I must not find my hopes still -oung,

  Nor yet once see my Titus all day long?

  Heav — s how I wildly rave — to lose my pains

  O- him ungra-eful that my tears d-sdains!

  Of all those days of absence I shall count,

  With him, the number will to nothing mount.

  Tit.

  Doubt it not, Madam, there will be no need

  To count the days that shall your loss suceed.

  I hope e-re long that you will hear from -ame,

  How very wretched and how just I am.

  My heart bleeds now, I feel the drops run down

  Nor can it be long dying when you ‘re gone.

  Ber.

  Ah why, Sir, must we part if this be true?

  My cl-ims to Marriage I’le no more renew.

  Will -ome accept of nothing but my death?

  Or why d’ ye envy me the air you breath?

  Tit.

  M-dam, you are too powerful every way

  Shall I withstand it? no, for ever stay.

  Then I from bliss must always be debarr’d,

  And on my heart for ever keep a guard.

  With fears through all my cours- of Glory move,

  L-st e-re aware I lose my self and Love.

  Ev’n -ow my heart is from my bosom stray’d,

  And a-l its swellings on a sudden laid.

  Bent thus to you by all Loves softest pow’rs,

  And only this remembers that ’tis yours.

  Ber

  O Titus, whilst this charming tale you tell

  D’ye see the Romans ready to reb-l?

  Tit.

  How they will look on the affront who knows,

  If on — they -urmur and then fall to blows:

  Must I in Battel j-stifie my Ca-se;

  Or if they should submit and set their Laws;

  How must I be expos’d another day;

  And for their Patience too, how largely pay!

  With Grievances and wild Demands still c — st,

  Shall I dare plead th- Laws that break ‘-m first?

  Ber.

  How much you are an Empe-or now I find,

  -Tis plain in your unsteady anxious mind

  You weigh your Peoples Rights to your own -ears

  But never value Berenices tears?

  Tit.

  Not value ’em Why are you so unjust?

  Now by the honour of my Father’s dust,

  By Heav’n and all the gods that govern there,

  If to me any thing be half so dear;

  May I be as a Slave, depos’d and serve,

  Or else forlorn in some wild Desart starve,

  Till I’m as wretched as my ills deserve.

  Ber.

  Laws you may change, why will you for their sake,

  Into your brest eternal sorrows take?

  Rome has her Priviledges, have not you

  Your Int’rests, your Rights as sacred too?

  Say, speak.

  Tit.

  Alas! how do you rend my brest!

  I know indeed I never can have rest;

  And yet the Laws of Rome I cannot change,

  Do, break my heart and take your full Revenge.

  Ber.

  How weak a Guard does now your Honor keep!

  You are an Emperor, and yet you weep

  Tit.

  I grant it, I am sensible I do,

  I weep, alas! I sigh and tremble too.

  For when to Empire first I did attain,

  Rome made me swear I would her Rights maintain.

  I did, and must perform what I then vow’d,

  Others before me to the Yoke have bow’d:

  And ’tis their Honor: yet in leaving you;

  All their Austerest Laws I shall out-do.

  And an Example leave so brave and great,

  As none shall ever after imitate.

  Ber.

  To your Barbarity there’s nothing hard,

  Go on, and Infamy be your reward.

  Long since my fears your falshood had displ-y’d;

  Nor would I at your Sute have stay’d.

  Would I the base Indignities had born,

  Of a rude People, publick Hate and Scorn?

  No, to this breach I would have spurr’d you on,

  And I am pleas’d it is already don-.

  No longer shall the fear of me prevail;

  Alas! you must not think to hear me rail

  Or Heav’n invoke, its vengeance to prepare;

  No, for if Heav’n vouchsafe to hear my Pray’r,

  I beg no memory may there remain,

  Of either your Injustice, or my Pain.

  [Kneel-.

  But the sad Berenice before she dies,

  Is sure to have Revenge if you have eyes.

  Nor, Titus, need I go to find it far,

  No further than that heart, I have it there:

  [Points to his brest.

  Within your sel- shall rise your dreadfull’st foe;

  My past Integrities, my Torments now;

  WHICH you, ungrateful perjur’d Man, have bred,

  My blood which in your Palace I shall shed.

  Sufficient terrors to your Soul shall give,

  And ‘-is to them that my Revenge I’ll leave.

  [Exit furio-sly

  Paul.

  Thus, Sir, at least the Conquest you have won,

  The Q-een you see’s contented to be gone.

  Tit.

  Curse on thy Roman Rudeness, that canst see

  Such tears, unmov’d, and mock such Misery!

  Oh! I am lost, and ’tis in vain to strive,


  If Berenice dies, I cannot live.

  Fly and prevent that Fate to which she’s gone.

  Bid her but live, tell her the World’s her own.

  [Exit Rut.

  Paul.

  Sir, if I might advise, you should not send,

  Rather command her women to attend;

  They better can her Melancholy chear:

  The worst is past, and now ’tis mean to fear.

  I saw your melting Pity when she wept,

  And my rough heart but very hardly scap’d.

  Yet look a little farther and you — find

  That spite of all your fortune yet is kind.

  What triumphs the whole WORLD prepares, you’ll see,

  And then hereafter think how great you’ll be.

  Tit.

  WHO for Barbarity would be ador’d!

  I hate my self, Nero so much abhor’d,

  That bloody Tyrant, whom I b-ush to name;

  WAS never half so cruel as I am.

  No, I’ll pursue the Queen, she loves me still,

  WILL pardon me when at her feet I kneel:

  Let’s go, and let proud Rome say what it will.

  Paul.

  How Sir?

  Tit.

  By Heav’n I know not what I say:

  Excess of Sorrow drives my mind astray.

  Paul.

  O follow where your full Renown does lead,

  Your last adieus Report abroad has spread.

  Rome that did mourn, does now new triumphs frame,

  The Temples fume with Offerings to your name:

  The people wild in the applause y’have won

  With Laurel Wreaths to crown, your Statues run.

  Tit.

  By that their Salvage natures they betray,

  For so wild beasts roar o’r their murder’d prey.

  WHO would have sense the sweets of power to prize!

  Since most in danger when we highest rise:

  For who by Greatness e’r did happy grow?

  None but the heavy Slave is truly so.

  WHO travels all his life in one dull road,

  And drudging on in quiet, loves his load.

  Seeking no farther than the needs of Life,

  Knows what’s his own, and so exempt from strife,

  And cherishes his homely careful wife.

  Lives by the Clod, and thinks of nothing higher;

  Has all, because he cannot much desire.

  Had I been born so low, I had been blest

  Of what I love, without controul possest.

  Never had Honour or Ambition known,

  Nor ever to be Great, had been undone.

  [Shout within.

  Paul.

  The Tribunes, Sir, and Senate with their state,

  I’th’ name of all the Empire for you wait,

  They’r follow’d too by an impatient throng,

  WHO seem to murmur, you delay so long.

  Tit.

  Toyle me no more, disperse that clamorous Rout:

  Tell ’em they shall no more have cause to doubt;

  The Queens departure they’ll to morrow see,

  And me as wretched as they’d have me be.

  Take this Paulinus: bear it to the Queen,

  [Writes on a Tablet.

  For -hould we meet, I must relapse again;

  I h’ve bid her here eternally adieu,

  Stay while she reads it, and her troubles view,

  And bring me faithful word, as thou art true.

  Hold! oh my Heart! yet go, it must be done,

  For what’s necessity, we cannot shun.

  Would I had never known what ’tis to live,

  Or a new Being to my self could give.

  Som- monstrous and unheard of Shape now find,

  As S-lvage, and as Barbarous as my mind.

  Anti-chus!

  Enter Antiochus, Attendants, Arsaces.

  Ant.

  My last Adieu to pay,

  I come, and dare in Rome no longer stay.

  My griefs, and my afflictions, grow so high;

  If not by absence slacken’d, I must dye.

  Tit.

  What reason have the happy to repine?

  Now Berenice for ever will be thine.

  WITH all her charms receive her to thy brest,

  And be of all I ever lov’d, possest.

  Ant.

  It is beneath you, Sir, to mock my pain:

  I ever kneel to Berenice again!

  No, -h-uld I stay to see you when you part,

  Tho I am sure the sight would break my heart,

  Yet -he, as still my prayers have been deny’d,

  Tho I but beg’d one blessing ere I dy’d,

  Even then -ith scorn would throw me from her side.

  Tit.

  Oh Heaven! she’s entring, from her Charms lets fly,

  I know my weakness; if I stay, I dye.

  Meet, and prevent her —

  [Ex. Titus.

  Enter Berenice, &c.

  Ber.

  How h- hasts away!

  Ingrateful! Dearest Perjur’d Titus, stay.

  [kneels.

  Afflictions catch him, great as those I bear.

  My Lord, at last I have receiv’d my Doom:

  ’Tis seal’d; but ere I part from you and Rome,

  I ask, and I your pardon would receive:

  Can you the wrongs which I have done, forgive?

  Ant.

  I never any Injuries did find;

  No, Berenice has always been too kind.

  With one soft word, how suddenly I’m lost,

  And have no sense of my disgraces past!

  But must I then for ever lose you so?

  I am no Roman, nor was ere your foe.

  No, rather here continue, and be Great,

  Whilst I live ever hopeless at your feet.

  Ber.

  Should I stay here and my wrongs tamely bear

  From him that shuns, and flies me every where?

  I have a nobler mind, and you shall see

  I can disdain and scorn as much as he:

  For tho ’tis true, I never can be yours;

  Both Rome and him my heart this hour abjures.

  Ant.

  To banish him your heart, whilst you prepare,

  WHAT will you do with all the Love that’s there?

  There’s no one Mortal can deserve it all,

  And sure a little to my share might fall.

  Ber.

  Oh of that killing Subject, talk no more,

  I would have lov’d you, if I could, before.

  Love for another struck me with his Dart,

  And ’tis not in my power to force my heart.

  Ant.

  When first my Passion was disdain’d for him,

  You kept me yet alive with your esteem.

  But now at last his breach of Faith you see,

  And bear it nobly too: how can it be

  T’ your self so Just, and yet so hard to me?

  Ber.

  What cruel storms, and fierce assaults you make,

  To batter down a heart you cannot take!

  Till you have broke it. Will you not give o’r?

  No, rather let me go, and hear no more.

  Antio.

  O stay, since of the Victory you are secure,

  Pitty the pains and anguish I endure;

  [Kneels

  In wounds which you and none but you can cure.

  Look back, whilst at your feet my self I cast,

  And think the sigh that’s coming is my last.

  My heart it’s -ad eternal farewell takes:

  Be but so kind to see me when it breaks.

  Ber.

  Rise, rise my Lord. The Emperor’s return’d.

  Conduct me hence, let me not more be scorn’d.

  Enter Titus.

  Tit.

  How am I lost! resolve on what I will,

  Spite of my self I
wander this way still.

  Why would you Berenice my presence shun?

  Ber.

  No! I’le hear nothing, I’ve resolv’d on flight,

  And will be gone. Why come you in my sight?

  Why come you thus t’exasperate my despair?

  Are you yet not content? I know you are.

  Tit.

  If ever yet my heart was dear to yours;

  By all our plighted vows, those softest hours

  In which for ever to be true I swore,

  I beg that you-d afford me yet one more.

  Ber.

  I till to morrow had your leave to stay;

  But my resolves are to be gone to day.

  And I depart.

  Tit.

  No journey must you take.

  Would you poor Titus in his griefs forsake?

  No! Stay —

  Ber.

  I stay! Ungrateful as you are.

  For what? a Peoples rude affronts to bear.

  That with the sound of my misfortune rend

  The Clouds, and shouts to Heaven in Vollys send?

  Does not their cruel joy yet reach your ears,

  Whilst I alone Torment my self in tears?

  By what offence or crime are they thus mov’d?

  Alas! what have I done, but too much Lov’d?

  Tit.

  D’you mind the voice of an outragious throng?

  I ever thought your constancy more strong.

  Never believ’d your heart so weak could be,

  Whose powerful charms had captivated me.

  Ber.

  All that I see distraction does create,

  These rich Apartments and this Pompous State.

  These Places where I spent my happiest hours,

  And plighted all my Vows, false Man, to yours.

  All, as most vile Impostors I detest,

  How strangely, Titus, might we have been blest!

  Tit.

  This art to torture souls where did you learn?

  Or was it in your nature with you born?

  Oh Berenice! how you destroy me!

  Atendants, bring your Chair nearer.

  Ber.

  No,

  Return and to your famous Senate go;

  That for your cruelties applaud you so.

  Have you not honour to your full delight?

  Have you not promis’d to forget me quite?

  What more in expiation can you do?

  Have you not ever sworn to hate me too?

  Tit.

  Can you do any thing to make me hate?

  Or can I ever Berenice forget?

  This hard suspition was unjustly urg’d,

  ‘Gainst a poor heart too much before surcharg’d

  Oh Madam! know me better, and recall

  The wrong, since first I at your feet did fall.

  Count all the single days and minutes past,

  Where in my vows and my desires I prest.

  And at this time your greatest Conquest know,

  For you were never so belov’d as now.

  Nor ever —

  Ber.

  Still your Love you’d have me own,