NEGLECTED VIRTUE: OR, THE Unhappy Conqueror, A PLAY, Acted at the Theatre-Royal, By His MAJESTY's Servants.  
LONDON: Printed for Henry Rhodes, in Fleetstreet, Richard Parker, at the Royal-Exchange, Sam. Briscoe, the Corner-Shop of Charles-street, in Russel-street, Covent-Garden, 1696.  
Fatal Mistake: Or, the Plot Spoiled. A Play. Written by Mr. joseph Haines.   

To the Honourable Sir JOHN SMITH Baronet, And One of the Gentlemen of His Majesty's most Honourable Privy-Chamber.  
SIR,  
THIS Play was given to my Care by a Friend: I promised him not to neglect it in the Difficulties it was to pass through. It has had hitherto but an unpleasant Journey; and I knew no better way to make it Amends, than by taking up its Rest with you; where I am assured its Reception will be the best a truly Noble and Generous Soul can give.  
I beg not your Protection, Sir, from those wide-mouthed Curs, the Critcks: But since they have had their Ends in running it down, 'tis under the Shelter of your Name I desire a poor maimed Thing, that did its best to show them Sport, may lie secure from farther Danger.  
It has been long a received Maxim, That to support the Oppressed, is no less commendable, than to lead the Victor Captive. This Consideration, Sir, with the General good Character the too often detracting World allows you, has encouraged me (I will not say to trouble you, since doing Good is your Diversion) but still to rely upon your unwearied Generosity.  
Both myself, and my Friend, the Author of this Unsuccessful Piece, as we cannot pretend to justify its Defects, so, if it were in our Power, we should not choose to do it in a way so Public, least by an impolitic Defence of its Merit, we should lessen the Greatness of your condescending good Nature, in Protecting so mean a Trifle.  
I have but one Reason to wish it had been better; which is, That its Merit might then, perhaps, have given me a larger Opportunity of Publishing that Respect and Observant Zeal, wherewith I am  
Your most Obliged and Humble Servant, H. Horden. March 14, 169●   

PROLOGUE.  
Writ and Spoke by Mr. Horden.  
AS idle Beggars, when they'd Pity move,  
With borrowed Bastard at their Backs do rove,  
T' incite good Christians Charity and Love,  
So I, that I might have a fair Pretence  
To feed (what some Fools call Extravagance)  
Have begged this spurious Play from Hands unknown.  
I have engaged, the honest Rakes o'th' Town,  
That they will all espouse it as their own.  
But e▪ re 'tis tried, let me its Cudgels choose:  
I first except all Writers for the other House,  
All good Authors, and— no, I'll trust the Beaux:  
For it's so free from Wit they've no Pretention  
To damn one Line for want of Apprehension.  
Besides, each Beau's a Friend; for if it miss,  
He'll not disturb his solemn Face to hiss.  
And good or bad, the Ladies sure will spare  
The generous Poet, for the labouring Player.  
And now your Smiles a double Kindness hold,  
The Poet shares the Praises, I the Gold.  
Guineas, they say, in low condition be,  
Pray Heaven they're low enough to fall to me.  
Yet you who've kept 'em by you, don't repent ye,  
My Guinea Box takes all at Nine and twenty.   

THE EPILOGUE.  Written by Mr. Motteux. Spoken by Mr. Haynes, Acting the Madman. 
OUR Poet made me mad, and I dare say,  
You're all as mad, if you done't like his Play.  
Some are Horn-mad, and some are Bible mad;  
Some mad to write damned Plays, and that's damned bad.  
In short, 'tis a mad World; for now I spy  
A Hundred here, at least, as mad as I  
Thick Plot, thin House, I can't forbear to cry.  
This Fasting time is like to mortify us;  
Three times a Week, at least, you'll not come nigh us:  
Pray do by t' other House, as you do by us.  
'Twas Pride hot as Hell  
Taught 'em first to rebel.  Sings. 
I'll sing no more; I caught this Hoarseness, I'm afraid,  
Dancing at Drapers-Hall last Maquerade.  
Silence in the Court there. Here, Plaintiff, give me Fee,  
I have a Quirk— Defendant, don't agree.  
Each take a Shell, the Oyster is for me.  
What makes that judge there sleep upon the Bench?  
See that Spark yonder Ogle th' Orange-Wench.  
What think you of the Invasion by the French?  
What's here? on every Woman's Head I spy  Starts. 
The Whore of Babylon's Mitred-dress three Stories high.  
See, see, she's here! see 'tis the very same,  
Her Face a Picture, her Commode the Frame.  
What long-curled Main that powdered Thing annoys!  
All you patched Maidens, and old bearded Boys,  
Offa, off, off, with these vain fantastic Toys,  Sings, throws off his Periwig, etc. 
Abstain from Vanities, and vicious Ways,  
Among the Congregation spend your Days.  
Young Women, shun all Sports, but our Religious Plays.  Cants. 
I say, abstain from Flesh— if e'er you can;  
And ogle none— except the precious Man.  
Don't pelt wild Fellows with fond Billets-Doux:  
Leave chatting at York-Building Interviews,  
Nor stoop to peep into the Choc'late House.  
Talk not of Beaux upon your visiting Day,  
Nor borrow of 'em when you lose at Play,  
Then never pay 'em, but the wicked Way.  
Have no Intrigues: Shun Taverns, and Debauches;  
Drink your Tea hot, and leave off Hackney-Coaches.  
East, not in Lent: I say Affliction's good.  

* Here Mr. Hains made several pleasant Digressions, too long to be inserted; and to make place for 'em, omitted some Lines of this Epilogue.   
Affliction's a Horse-Leach, a Flail, a Flageolet, a Flood:  
Hark you, Kid Horden, the first He that hisses,  
(For the She's are our Friends, at least the Misses)  
Challenge him, fight him, kill him, thus, sah, hah!  
But that's the way to be trussed up you'll say.  
Pshaw, are Physicians hanged that kill Folks ev▪ ry Day?  
Let all be kind then. But stay, I'd forgot,  
I think this Horden's guilty of a Plot.  
This Play's a Plot on you— But yet I'm thinking,  
'Tis but to get Recruits for honest Drinking.  
If that Plot takes, I ha'n't been mad in vain;  
Your Smiles can bring me to my Sense again.   

Dramatis Personae.  
PHraates, King of Parthia. 
Mr. powel.  Artaban, his General. 
Mr. Horden.  Memnon, Two Parthian Lords. 
Mr. Dizney.  Castillio, Two Parthian Lords. 
Mr. Mills.  Lysander. 
Mr. Hill.  Tygranes, King of Media. 
Mr.  Castillio, jun. 
Mr. Pinkethman.  Bretton. 
Mr. Bullock.  Lycastes. 
Mr. Harland.   
Mr. Simpson.   

WOMEN.  Thermnsa, Queen of Parthia. 
Mrs. Knight.  Alinda, Daughter to Phraates. 
Mrs. Rogers.  Eudora, Confident to the Queen. 
Mrs. powel.  Emilia, Confident to Alinda. 
Mrs. Mills.  Ariena, Niece to Bretton. 
Mrs. Temple.  Amadine, Daughter to Bretton. 
Mrs. Cross.   
Singers, Guards, and Attendants.  
The SCENE, the Capitol City of Parthia.   
THE Neglected Virtue, etc.  

ACT I.  

SCENE I.  Enter Bretton, followed by Curio. Curio. 
INdeed, my Lord, you are too rugged to her.  Bret. 
Pray, Sir, hold your peace.  Cur. 
So sweet a Child as she is, such a Mirror of Beauty.  Bret. 
A Mirror of Folly, is she not?  Cur. 
How can you be angry with her? How can any Wind blow rough upon a Blossom so fair and tender?  Bret. 
Look ye, Cousin, all this is but prating; I'll make her see with my Eyes, hear with my Ears, talk with my Tongue, and taste with my palate: I begot her, bred her, and I will make her.  Cur. 
— A Whore, if you marry her against her Inclination.  Bret. 
Why, is it not a Man I wish her too? a young Man? a handsome Man▪ a rich Man?  Cur. 
— And a wise Man?  Bret. 
No, no; as for Wisdom, we'll let that alone: Besides, none but Fools and Madmen marry now a-days, unless here and there a younger Brother, or a broken Gamester, that ties up with some old rich Widow, to prop up his falling Fortunes.  Cur. 
But, Sir, she is tender yet.  Bret. 
Prithee hold thy Peace— She can endure the Hamper, and why not the Workman that strikes deepest? She's fourteen, and if she is not ready now for rutting.—  Cur. 
But will you allow no liberty for choosing?  Bret. 
Why, I believe the Devil's in the Fellow. Dost thou think, I that have lived a Courtier to the age of sixty and upward, don't know better how to choose than a little piss-taled Girl, that has not yet washed her Mother's Milk off of her Chaps. But I know the reason of her Coyness; there's another in the Wind that hovers over her, a young smock-faced Rogue, not worth a Shilling; and yet she's too young. Cousin, let me tell you, Inclination is a great ripener of a young female Flower. Enter Amadine and Ariena. See, see, here she comes, with her wanton Instructor: I find I must rid my House of that Baggage, or there can never be any Peace in Israel. So, good morrow to you; nay, that's as you deserve too: You know my Mind, therefore let me see you study to deserve it.  Am. 
I shall endeavour to obey you. But, noble Sir—  Bret. 
Hold your Peace, you little Ferret you, let me have none of your set Phrases.  Ari. 
Ud'slife don't be Tongue-tied, Cousin. Hark'ee, you piece of dried Mummy.  Am. 
Nay, give him good Language, Cousin.  Ari. 
give him Ratsbane. Hark'ee, old Sixty odd, do you with that Whey Beard think yourself at years of discretion to dispose of a young brisk Maidenhead, a shriveled piece of Patchment, fit for no use but to have his Skin flea'doff, to engross his cheating Mortgages upon.  Bret. 
Tell me, thou eternal Thunderclap, how darest thou talk thus?  Ar. 
Tell me, old Nestor, first, how darest thou do thus?  Bret. 
Hussey, get out of my House.  Ari. 
I won't; I'll stay to plague you: And if you don't take some milder Course with your Daughter, I'll watch my opportunity, steal her out, and set fire to your House; d'ye hear, I shall so singe your Muzzle, Grandsire Grace beard.  Bret. 
By this Light, I'll have her hanged.  Ari. 
Do, and hang your Daughter too; 'tis ten times better than marrying her to a piece of Logwood. Enter Castilio. ' Odso here he comes, new-combed and powdered, like a Prentice upon a Holiday.  Bret. 
Well, Impudence, he has saved your Bones for this time. Noble Castilio, good morrow to you.  Cast 
Good morrow my Lord: Good morrow Miss Wife, that must be.  Ari. 
Good morrow, noble Sir.  Cast 
Thank you.  Ari. 
How proud am I to see our homely Roof blessed with the Rays of such resplendent Beauty. Fortune is sure distributing her Favours, and sends the greatest to adorn your Servant.  Cast 
Hark'ee, Father that must be, I really believe this young Gentlewoman's mad: The last time I was here, Fool, Booby, Loggerhead, Puppy, and such like Names, she thought too good for me; and now she's all upon the Compliment. What the Devil's the meaning of all this?  Bret. 
Sir, you must forgive; she is a little crazed by Fits. Hussey be gone, or I'll cane you in.  Ari. 
Ah! cruel Sir, will you then drive me from the sight of those dear Eyes, that lovely Face: Open that precious Mouth, from whence there falls Wit faster than the Rheum from Nunkles' Eyes.  Cast 
Why, Father-in Law, beened you ashamed to stand still, and hear your Flesh and Blood, that is to be, abused thus?  Bret. 
Hark'ee, you Whore in imagination, you wellwisher to the Trade of Cuckoldom, thou unlawful Destroyer of Maidenheads, get thee gone presently, or I'll use the so scurvily, that the Punishment of a ducked Scold, a pilloryed Cheat, or a carted Bawd, shall be honourable Punishment to what I'll make thee go through.  Ari. 
Well, well, Uncle, I will be gone; but one Word of Advice before I go. Come hither Cousin, be ruled by me, marry the Man your Father bids you; cuckold him with every Footboy in the Lobby; spend his Estate on Bullies; deal with all sorts of Men, all Languages; make thyself a Mother of Nations.  
Use Husband, Father, both like stubborn Knaves;  
Obtain thy Freedom, and make them the Slaves. Exit.  Cast 
Why, what the Devil has possessed the Woman?  Bret. 
I am struck with astonishment! but 'tis no matter, I'll soon get rid of her.— Come, Nephew, we'll walk in, and leave the Lovers together. Worthy Castilio, I wish you good Success with my Daughter; she's something too young, and that makes her foolish, but you must bear with that. I'll to Court, and hear what News is stirring, and whether these Medians design to block us up till we become Food for one another. Exit Bret. and Cur.  Cast 
Well, Miss, you see how Matters are like to go; your Father designs me for your Mousetrap of Matrimony. Why dost not talk to me, Wench, ha? What, not a Word?— Well, it's no great matter, for if I marry, 'tis not for the sake of the Tongue. A good Estate, with the Tail tagged to it, will do my Business well enough. Well, but, Miss, when shall we marry?  Am. 
When you please, Sir.  Cast 
Why that's well said; I love a Woman that speaks little, and to the purpose. Look'ee, Miss, you are a Lord's Daughter, and I am a Lord's Son, you don't love me, nor I don't much care for you; but what then, there are young Men and Women enough about the Court, and if we can't among 'em all find some to please us, 'tis pity but we were condemned to feed on one Dish all our Life time.  Am. 
Won't you be pleased to follow my Father, Sir?  Cast 
Why, ay, an you will, Sweetheart: I think there's no great occasion for talking more, since we're both agreed of the matter. Enter Lycastes, and Ariene. Who the Devil have we here now! Mrs. Many-minds, and a young brisk Fellow with her: I'm resolved I'll stay; for tho' she be young enough to be a Whore, she has Malice enough to be a Bawd; therefore I'll not trust her.  Ari. 
How now, Grease and Pov●●le, I thought you had been gone by this time.  Cast 
No, Plaster of Paris, I'm here still.  Lyc. 
Dear Amadine!  Am. 
My dear Lycastes, welcome.  Cast 
hay day! What's here to do? Heark'ee, Friend, will you be pleased to keep your distance; this Philley is already provided of a Rider, I can assure you.  
Qui dil vox?  Cast 
What the Devil does he say now? D'ye see Sir, in my own Country Language, I tell you once again, I'm to have the backing of this Colt; therefore pray go about your business.  Lyc, 
Are not you, Sir, Son to the Lord Castilio?  Cast 
Yes, Sir, I am his only Son, his first-born Child, the Prop of his Family, the Staff of his Age, and the Heir to his Estate.  Lyc. 
Why then, Sir, I have News to tell you: I came just now from Court, where I left your Father in an Apoplectic Fit, given over by his Physicians.  Cast 
How! how! my Father given over! Nay then, Miss, your humble Servant: Your Affections and mine are not so fast tied, but an Estate will quickly unloose 'em.  Exit Lyc. 
I thought there was no way but this to get rid of him. Well my dear Amadine, how stands your Father affected?  Am. 
He continues his cruel Resolutions still, to marry to that Coxcomb.  Ariosto, 
And we continue our Resolutions, to make Coxcombs of them both before it comes to that.  Am. 
Nay, for my part, I'll sooner live in a Hovel upon Water and wild Salads, than be forced to marry against my Inclinations.  Lyc. 
My dear, my Fortunes are not so despicable to throw you on so mean a Remedy. Do you but find a means to deceive your watchful Guardians, and I'll find means to secure us from wild Salads and a Hovel, I'll warrant thee.  Enter a Servant. Seru. 
Madam, your Father is returned.  Ari. 
Ud'slife, slip you out at the Garden Door.  Lyc. 
Farewell, my Jewel, keep constant to thy Resolutions, and we may both be happy.  Exit. Am. 
Never doubt me.  Ari. 
No, no; let us alone: If we two young Girls can't cozen one old Fellow, 'tis pity but we were nailed against a Wall with our Heels upward.   

SCENE, The Palace.  Enter King, Memnon, Old Castillio; Guards and Attendants. King. 
Still, Memnon, we withstand their battering Rams,  
Still our strong Walls defy the Median Fury,  
Against all Dangers still my Breast stands firm.  Mem. 
There's Winter, Sir, in all your Parthians Veins,  
Nor will the Soldiers be induced to Flight,  
But basely from your Royal Standard shrink.  King. 
Slaves! do they see the threat'ning Flood overwhelm  
Their Country, and like senseless Brutes, gaze at  
The near approaching Deluge till they're lost?  Mem. 
Your Citizens, whose Coward Souls ne'er knew  
What Valour was, without the Plumes of Fortune,  
Seeing you drove within this last result,  
Into the narrow Bounds of one poor City;  
Disturb their Rest with Dreams of rifled Hoards:  
Their own, their Wives, their Sons and Daughters Fates,  
And like infected Caitiffs spread their Fears  
By their contagious Murmurs through the Streets.  Cast 
Already they have prized your Head, and plot  
Who shall be first to seize the sacred Prey.  
They've told the Stores, the Lordships they shall gain;  
And when the Great, the Royal Oak is struck,  
There's none but hopes a Branch, beneath whose Shade  
Their Revels are designed; and with one Voice,  
They cry, an Artaban, an Artaban,  
Must these Rewards, and their Deliverance bring.  King. 
Is Artaban the Minion of their Hearts?  
Was not that Traitor, Memnon, justly banished?  
He by my Influence first to being rose,  
And nurtured by my warmest Rays grew Great;  
Yet all my best Rewards he did contemn,  
And scorned a meaner Bounty than t'espouse  
My only Daughter, and possess my Throne:  
Fortune and Fate oppress me as they please,  
I never can forgive such Insolence.  Cast 
Sir, Sir, you may yet command what Terms you please,  
The great Tigranes only fights for Love;  
And would you grant Elinda to his Arms,  
He'd quickly lay his conquering Weapons down,  
And bend to pay his Homage at your Feet,  
A double Vassal, Son and Subject both.  Mem. 
If Kings deserve, why may not he deserve her?  
Fame loudly speaks the Largeness of his Soul,  
How brave in Fields, in Courts how amorous!  
Pleasant and Martial, Great, and yet not Proud;  
As free from Passion as th'unkindled Fire:  
Yet urged, can lose his Reins, and let the Beast  
Course it awhile to show he is a Man.  King. 
Must it be said 'twas Arms made Phraates grant  
Offers; in Peace, he almost scorned to hear,  
Oh, this reclaims me, this disturbs that Rest,  
Which liberal Nature by her Charter gives.  
To every Peasant on his Bed of Straw.  Cast 
Sir, Success proclaims Men Great.  
Tigranes till he conquered was not so;  
Now who is greater than Tygranes is?  
What distant Nations do not dread his Strength?  
Even Rome itself, the Empress of the World,  
Glad of a Peace, embraced him as her Friend.  
His Faults to you are meritorious grown,  
And in my Judgement purchase this Alliance.  King. 
There's no resisting of an adverse Fate,  
When wayward Gods contend struggling 'gainst them,  
entangles more, and weaves us in the Toil.  Shouts, drum's and Trumpets within. Enter Lysander. 
What mean these Shouts?  Lys. 
Hail, Gracious Prince, we are at length relieved.  King. 
Whence? or by whom? it is impossible!  Lys. 
The Shades of Night their lowest Ebb had made,  
And flowing Light began to swell the Day,  
When first our Scouts th'incamped Host descried.  
All in Disorder, roused from Sleep,— to Arms;  
To Arms the general Cry: The distant Parts  
Of the wide Wings in Terrors waked, in haste  
They rose, and trembled ere they knew for what,  
Undressed, half-armed, around their Troops they gazed,  
Saw dismal Fear, Distraction in each Eye;  
Some Wonder-struck, like Statues stood, as if  
Gorgonian Charms had petrified their Feet:  
Others for Flight prepared, and all amazed,  
Whilst still the unintelligible Noise increased.  King. 
From whence the Cause?  Lycus. 
That, Sir, deserves your Ear.  
Five hundred Horse led by a valiant Chief,  
To their main Body did their Outguards press,  
Surprised with Thought a greater Strength was near,  
The nighest parts, did crowd, the next, in Hopes  
By Numbers to withstand the Storm, yet this  
Did but facilitate his Victory;  
For still he forward drove, and still they fled,  
Till in the Field the scattered Deaths were strewed  
Thick as Autumnal Leaves before the Wind,  
Until at last, that mighty Host, which but  
Some Hours before our Terror was, in Flight,  
Left us the Field, glad any ways to save  
Their Lives, from the rapacious Victor's Sword,  
Who now approaches to your joyful Gates.  Kin. 
Let's haste to meet him;  
And you, my Lords, witness to what I vow,  
If our Deliverer be a Man, on whom  
My Daughter can her kind Affection▪ place,  
To morrow's Sun this Nuptial Rites shall see,  
And mix our Joys in that Solemnity.  
The End of the First ACT.    

ACT II.  

SCENE I.  Enter Bretton, Curio, Ariene, and Servants. Bret. 
Go! Why 'tis impossible, she could not creep out at the Keyhole, sure; Is she a thing invisible; Gone, and not know it?  Cur. 
You amaze your Servants.  Bret. 
Some Rogue or other has watched her Hour of Itching, and clawed her, clawed her, do you mind me? Some Rascal, I'll warrant that I foster up.  Cur. 
They are all here, Sir.  Brit. 
Let 'em be where they will, they're all Rascals, Sir; and by this Hand, I'll hang 'em all.  Cur. 
Deal calmly; you will not give 'em time to answer.  Bret. 
I'll choke 'em, famish 'em; what say you, Wagtail? you knew her Mind, you were of Council with her; Let me know where she is.  Cur. 
Ask with Discretion  Bret. 
Discretion! Hang Discretion: Pox you, confound you, damn you all. Hussy, let me know where she is.  Ari. 
Would you know of me, Sir?  Bret. 
Of you, Sir! Ay of you, Sir: Why, what are you, Sir?  Ari. 
Your Niece, an't like your Worship.  Bret. 
A Bawd, an't like your Worship; a Lady fairy, to oil the Doors a Nights, that they may open without squeaking.  Ari. 
'Tis very well, Sir.  Bret. 
You lie, 'tis damnable ill, Sir: Hearky ', will you confess yet?  Ari. 
If I were guilty, I'd be hanged first: Is this an Age to confess in?  Bret. 
Tell me the Truth, Ariene, and as I live I'll give thee a new Petticoat.  Ari. 
If you'd give me ten, I would not tell you. A Petticoat! I'd have you know, Sir, Truths are now a-days at a higher Price, than I perceive you are aware of.  Cur. 
Come, Cousin, deal modestly.  Ari. 
Why, I don't pluck my clothes.  Bret. 
What say you, Sirrah, you, and you, are you all dumb?  Port. 
I saw her last Night, an't shall like your Worship.  Bret. 
Did you so, an't shall like your Worship? Where lay she? who lay with her?  Port. 
In truth, not I, Sir; I lay with my Fellow Frederick, in the Flea-Chamber.  Ari. 
I left her by herself in her own Closet; and there I thought she had slept.  Bret. 
Were all the Doors locked?  Port. 
All mine.  Seru. 
And mine; she could not get out that way, unless she leapt the Wall; and I am sure that's higher than any Woman's Courage dares venture at.  Bret. 
Come, come, I say once more, Hussy, you must know.  Ari. 
Why then, Sir, I'll tell you what I know.  Bret. 
ay, do, that's my Ari.  Ari. 
In the the first place, I believe she's gone, because you can't find her. In the second, I believe she's weary of your Tyranny, and therefore gone; and in the third place, I believe she's in Love, where you have no good Liking; and in the fourth place, If I were she, I'd see you hanged before I'd come again.  Bret. 
Was there ever so much Impudence in Woman! Get you out my Doors.  Ari. 
Ay, with all my Heart; if your House was Gold, and she not in it, I should count it nothing but a Cage to whistle in.  Bret. 
If she be above ground I will have her.  Ari. 
I'd live in a Coal-pit then, if I were she.  Bret. 
Go search the House once more, all Corners where 'tis possible she may go out: If I do find your Tricks—  Ari. 
I care not what you find, so you don't find her.  Ex. Seru. Enter Castilio junior. Cast 
Why, how now, Father-in-law, what, I hope you han't got a shame Fit of the Apoplexy too: Look, look, how he struts about, like a new-made Gentleman-Usher. My Lord, your Lordship's most humble Servant; pray how does Miss Wife do?  Bret. 
Oh, Son-in-law, she's quite undone.  Cast 
Why, she is not married yet, is she?  Bret. 
Nay Heaven knows, she may be for aught I know; she is stolen out of the House, and is gone, Heaven knows whither.  Cast 
Humph— Now do I begin to smell out my Father's Apoplectic Fit; I perceive I was not shammed off so for nothing, ask ye, Father that should have been, if your Daughter be gone, there's a Witch at your Elbow knows what Wind will fetch her back again,  Ari. 
Meaning me, Sweet Sir?  Cast 
Yes, you, sweet Lady, pray when went the Gentleman away that was so kind to bring me the News of my Fathers being given over by his Physicians. A Plague of his Message, I'm sure he procured me a good drubbing.  Ari. 
He went just after you, Forsooth.  Bret. 
How! A Man was there! a Man with her!  Ari. 
O, yes, Uncle, the prettiest, sweetest, good humoredst Gentleman I ever saw in all my life.  Bret. 
And how got he in? tell me.  Ari. 
I let him in, Forsooth.  Bret. 
And who was it? tell me, my dear Ariene, tell me, and I protest I'll give thee new clothes from top to bottom.  Ari. 
I'll rather turn Adamite, and bring Fig Leaves into fashion again.  Bret. 
'Slife, I could find in my Heart to murder the Jade.  Cast 
If I an't mistaken, my Lord, they call him, Ly, Ly, Ly, something.  Bret. 
Lycastes.  Cast 
The same, by jupiter.  Bret. 
Oh! Rogue, Dog, Oh! Villain, he has been hankering after herr above this half year.  Enter Servants. Porter drunk. 
How now, what news? is she i'th' House?  Por. 
I'm sure she's not i't ' Cellar; for look ye, Sir, if she had been 〈…〉—  〈◊〉. 
I'm sure thou hast been there.  Por. 
Yes truly, Sir; and I carried the matter very swimmingly; I searched every piece of Wine, yes sure, Sir, every Terse that could but testify, and I drew hard to bolt her out.  Bret. 
Away with him, fling him into the Hayloft. Go Rascals, careless Dogs, get me my Sword, my Pistols, and arm yourselves quickly; I'll to that Rascal's House, I'm sure she's rousled there. Come, Castillio, will you accompany me?  Cast 
Ay, with all my Heart, Sir.  Bret. 
And d'ye hear, Hussey, get you to your Chamber, and let me find you at my return,— or—  Exit Bret. Cast and Servants. Ari. 
Wipe your Beard, Uncle, the Effects of your Anger hangs upon't. Why what a little ill-natured Titt was this to steal away without my Knowledge. Well, I'm resolved I'll follow her, and be an eternal Plague to this old Devil of a Father of hers: Sure Lycastes, will have Wit enough to conceal her; thither I'm certain she's gone. We'll, I'll to my Chamber, and study how to make my escape unknown. I'll teach his anger to dispute with Women.  Exit.  

SCENE the Palace.  The King sitting on a Throne; the Queen and Princess by him. On each side the Throne, Memnon, Castillio, Lysander, Singers in Warlike Habits, A Symphony of Warlike Music, and then a Song. After the Song, the King, etc. rises. King. 
So jove Imperial, from his Throne of Thunder,  
Circled by all the lesser Train of Court,  
Attending Gods speaks the big Voice of Fate.  
Monarchs are joves' on Earth, their Words are Laws,  
And these are mine. In all our— be  
This Day for ever marked a Festival.  
Let smoking Altars Loads of Incense waste,  
Forests of perfumed Trees be rooted up;  
Whence hallowed Herds in spicy Clouds, shall mount;  
And with their victimed Odours Feast the Gods.  
Sound all our Trumpets, beat up all our Drums,  
Music of War; Ring out the Bells of Peace;  
Mankind be glad, whilst the rich Goblet crowned  
With sparkling Gore, launched from the wounded Grape,  
In Healths at ev'ry Table walk the round.  
Nor be it here restrained, our Conduits fill,  
Till from their Heads whole Rivers are poured down,  
And their long Streams reach Neptune's large Bowl.  King drinks, and Trumpets sound. Enter Artaban attended. 
Behold my Lords, here our Deliverer comes.  Art. 
The Gods, the Gods, great Sir, have used my Sword,  
Weak in these Hands, but conquering in theirs,  
To punish the proud Arms of that bold King,  
Who dared aspire their Phraates to attempt.  King. 
By all the Gods, Artaban!  Art. 
The same banished Artaban,  
Led by the Genius that inspires his Soul,  
Once more has taught his Passions to submit,  
And, maugre all your former Threats, is come  
To offer up his Service at your Feet.  King. 
Rise, Noble Man, and let me shroud myself  
Within the generous Covert of thy Breast.  
I'm all o'er shame to be outdone in Honour.  
Canst thou forget my fell Ingratitude?  
(Oh cursed remembrance, how it racks my Soul!)  
That drove thee, as a Criminal, from Court:  
The Words, the Action, every part of that  
Black Deed is in my Thoughts, and does advance  
The brightness of thy Character the more.  Art. 
Let that be blotted, buried, Sir, for ever,  
In the dull Orb of dark Oblivion's Grave.  King. 
Oh, Let me hold thee in my Arms, thou Son  
Of War, elder than Mars, What have I seen  
Those Hands of thine perform. Not he who holds  
heaven's Shaffs of Vengeance could do more.  
Had it not been for him, we had not been.  
Our Kind, our Brave, our Valorous Restorer,  
The Adamantine Locks that keeps, Fates Laws,  
His Sword can break, and change their Sacred Rolls.  
Is not this he, that in the Phrygian Fields,  
When the eager Armies were drawn forth to fight,  
Rod forth, and bid defiance to the Host;  
Then, than the Battles joined, and then thy Sword,  
All crimsoned with their Gore, flung Wounds and Death  
Round all the scattered Troops, and gained the day.  Art. 
My little share in that great Conquest, Sir,  
If any, I derived it all from you.  
'Twas your Example, Sir, that led me on:  
I did but follow where you broke the way.  King. 
Thou art as modest, as thou'rt truly valiant.  
O, Artaban! What was't could make me hate thee?  
'Twas madness, by the Gods, 'twas madness all,  
To rob myself of my Right Hand, my Life,  
My Battles, Sieges, Victories, and Fame;  
I ne'er could end thy Praises, 'tis a Theme  
Years would want time to finish; but in part  
Of what I owe thee for Reward, take this:  
Alinda's thine, and Hymen bless your Loves.  Gives Alinda. Arta. 
The bounteous Gift's so vast, I blush to think  
How far my humbler Merit it exceeds.  
Oh! I'm all Ecstasy, through every Poor  
The balmy Joy creeps to besiege my Heart,  
And drowns the Expressions of my Gratitude.  Queen. 
Oh! I'm undone; it must not, shan't be.  To Eudora. Art. 
Say, brightest Pattern of the Deities, speak,  
And let me know what Dowries you expect.  
Tho' to no Crowns my abject State was born,  
No joyful Subjects at my Birth could sing  
An Io Pean to their Infant King;  
But brought into the World, have always lived  
The Son of Fortune in the Broils of War:  
Yet, thanks to Fate, the Kingdom's in my Sword.  
Name in what fertile Soil you'll have a Throne;  
Be it beyond the Alps, or there where runs  
Pactolus Streams oe'r Sands of shining Gold.  
I'll lead my conquering Bands where the bold Foot  
Of Warrior never trod, oe'r Hills of Snow,  
Where Summer's Suns ne'er made a cheerful Day.  
Or changing Climates farther Eastward go;  
Where Nature in her Fire, expiring lies,  
And the parched Earth gapes for a blast of Air:  
Nay search lost Paradise, and place ye there.  Alind. 
O, Artaban! thy Love's a Throne to me;  
Enjoying that in some wild Rural Seat,  
Which mimmick Art did never cultivate,  
Close by the Mossy Head of some sweet Spring,  
Whence gentle Streams their murmuring Cadence make  
Through flowery Meads, Green Lanes and whispering Groves,  
I'd rather live with thee than in gay Courts,  
Those busy Markets of Revenge and Hate.  Art. 
Oh, I have gained the prosperous point of Love;  
Enjoyment scarce its Measures can increase:  
So well agreed, so well our Hearts are joined,  
ere Marriage-bonds admit the nearer Ties.  King. 
Thy Virtues do deserve her best returns.  
Nor can she love thee more than I admire.  Queen. 
'Tis time that we retire, my Lord, the General,  
By his late Action tired, may want Refreshment.  King. 
ere long we'll meet again; in the mean while,  
United Joys through all the City smile.  Ex. am. praet. Q. and Eud. Queen. 
O, my Eudora, faithful Confident,  
To thee I dare disrobe my covered Soul,  
And lay my naked Thoughts before thy view;  
Which did I not believe, I'd never tell thee  
That Artaban's the Object of my Flame.  
Gods! I confess, that at the first sight I loved,  
The poisonous Arrow▪ flew like Lightning through  
My Veins, and left it's sulphurous Tincture there.  Eud. 
When such Resolves in Royal Breasts are sent,  
Thy're Pledges of their own Accomplishment.  Queen. 
Oh, my Eudora, didst thou mark the Lovers?  
Did you behold their interchanged Delights?  
How their Lips moved? their swelling Veins boiled o'er?  
Their throbbing Hearts Love's loud Alarms beat,  
As if they'd leave the Lodgings they had got;  
And in the presence with each other join.  Eud. 
Where's the bright, Lamp of Reason, Madam, now,  
Which shone so clear within your Honour's Breast?  
If they too fiercely love, it cannot last.  Queen. 
By all the Sulphur of the flaming Deep,  
It sha'n't, not an hour, a minute more.  Eud. 
Then Madam, know, I hate Alinda with  
As great a force as you love Artaban.  
This, amongst others, take a Reason for't:  
My Heart burnt once with Fires, as fierce as yours,  
It's Object not unworthy, but unhappy:  
Pressed with Alinda's Charms, told her his Griefs.  
She scorned, and he, too great to bear it, died.  
Revenge has since buoyd up my Life, and now  
I'll strive to act it both for you and me.  Queen. 
The means to the way.  Eud. 
Leave that to me. But stay,  
Here's Memnon coming, he's your Lover, Madam,  
And may be made a useful Engine here.  
Screw up his towering Hopes, and put Ambition  
Into the Scale to lift him to our Ends.  Enter Memnon. Mem. 
May I approach you, Madam?  Quee. 
Draw near, my Lord, how do the Lovers do?  Mem. 
They're happy, sure.  Quee. 
They shall not long be so:  
How know you that?  Aside. Mem. 
Despairing Memnon's only wretched are,  
Where Love meets Love, there's an Elysium there.  Quee. 
You always had a mastery o'er my Heart,  
But yet, the Way's too rough to climb a Throne;  
Till that be smoothed, you know my vowed Resolve.  Mem. 
If done, may I have leave to hope?  Quee. 
You may.  Mem. 
Then shall this Sword before the next Day's Light,  
Give Death to Phraates, and Life to me.  Eud. 
Methinks, my Lord, 'twould be ill seasoned then,  
The very time the Nuptials are performed:  
And should the King be slain, the General  
May in Alinda's name claim Sicily.  Quee. 
Could we contrive how to divert the Match,  
Then Courage makes a Queen, and Crown your own.  Mem. 
The Cornerstone is laid, the Art's to raise  
The Structure; let me think.  Eud. 
Is the Highpriest to marry 'em?  Mem. 
Yes.  Quee. 
He is your Brother.  Mem. 
And with his Life would serve me.  
I left him in the Temple now, preparing  
All things in order to receive the King,  
Who comes in private to consult the Oracle.  Quee. 
If you could now engage him how to work  
The Jealous King in fear of th' angry Aug'ries:  
'Tis for your sake and mine, Memnon, be quick;  
I long to see thy Temples in a Crown.  Mem. 
You are my Queen, and I in all obey.  Ex. Mem. Quee. 
Choose they who will the smother Ways to tread,  
Where the dull beaten Paths of Virtue lead;  
My Soul's above my Sex, the common Road  
Befits not me, I'll travail like a God:  
Where I find none, these Hands shall make my way,  
And Pleasure only shall oblige my stay.  
In flowing Ecstasies consume the Night,  
My Life shall be the measure of Delight;  
So may the Hours of all those Lovers be,  
Who live, and love, and dare to act like me.  Ex. Quee. Eud. Enter Artabandas and Alinda. A Chamber of State. Artab. 
My dear Alinda, oh, my Life, my Soul,  
My Happiness, my every Bliss to me;  
What happy Influence ruled the Skies to day?  
How comes your Father, once the cruel Phraates,  
So kind, so gentle, and so bounteous now?  Alin. 
Is there amongst th' Inhabitants above,  
A God that bears a Domination there,  
That can,  
Knowing thy Virtues, which their Hands did make.  
So near their own Original, neglect  
A Care of thee, thou ow'st it all to them.  Artab. 
Thou art all Goodness, perfect Charity;  
Nor does the Aetherial Maid that bears that Name,  
With half thy Beams, and brightened Beauties shine;  
Oh! I could look, and love, and gaze, and live,  
And bask myself within these Rays for ever:  
Thy Eye's my Sphere of Light, thy Breast my Globe;  
My Garden's in thy Face, and in thy Heart my Love  Alin. 
These are your Infant Raptures, Gentle Strains,  
An uncloyed Fancy makes a Posy of,  
For some short time the pleasant Flowers are Sweet,  
Beauteous to th' Eye, and Odorous to the Scent;  
But when the Noon of Life is past, the Toy's  
Withered, laid by, forgot, and seen no more.  Artab. 
Best of thy kindest Sex, restrain these Fears;  
Our Hours too precious are for Thoughts like these.  
They should be all Delight and Ecstasy,  
No saucy Care intrude it's Ravenous Look,  
No dread it's paler Face, no Jealousy  
It's yellow Locks to discompose us now.  Alin. 
Then banished let 'em be, it shall be so.  
Thus in thy manly Breast I'll lay my Head,  
And in a gentle Sigh thus kindly breathe  
Soft as a whispering Evenings Summer's Glade,  
The next approach unto thy Listening Ear.  Artab. 
Oh my Alinda! thy kind gentle Words  
Set all my Veins on Fire; the Lambent Flames  
Their liquid Streams through all my Arteries send:  
Oh! I could chide the tardy Day, the tedious Night,  
Which stand between me and my utmost Joys.  
Fly, fly, you Minutes, lay your Crutches by,  
Huddle to Hours, you Hours to Days, and bring  
Life and Enjoyment to my longing Arms.  Alin. 
This Day has done its share, we owe it much,  
And may be pleased to treat it whilst it's here;  
These little Let's pay our Delights increase  
In Expectation, there's its Pleasure found.  Artab. 
This is thinn Diet to the Hungry Soul.  Alin. 
It is spare Dyet's Meals that make us feed the better,  
Whilst the palled Stomach nauseous Surfeits feel.  Artab. 
Oh! who could surfeit in enjoying thee?  
Thou art a Counterpoison to all Ills:  
Misfortunes stand avaunt when thou art near.  Alin. 
Enough, my Lord, the Evening is far spent:  
Indeed it's time to part.  Artab. 
But till to Morrow;  
Then we shall join to separate no more:  
So have I seen two Sister-Streams that spread,  
Their Silver Currents from one Fountain's Head,  
Kiss, and take each their several way, through all  
The fertile Soil where their soft Murmurs fall,  
Till having run their Course, they kindly greet,  
And in the Sea, their twined Embraces meet.  Ex. severally. 
The End of the Second Act.    

ACT. III.  

SCENE I. A Temple.  Enter King and Queen. King. 
THAT Day the Valiant Stranger does Alinda Wed,  
The Parthian Monarch's Blood shall be untimely shed  
Away vain Oracles: shall Priests persuade me  
To forfeit Honour, and betray my Friend?  
No, I'm resolved, let Fate pursue its course,  
I'll never break my Vow.  
Ha! You shadowy Phantoms, Airy Nothings; where,  
Oh whither are you fled, you spiteful Sons of Fear!  
Night's dismal Haunters! Groans, and no more  
Sad Dying Groans in lifeless Figures cast:  
Here, Thermusa, Memnon, Guards  Enter Ther. Mem. Lycast. and Guards. 
Come fling yourselves about me,  
And be my Shields, my Towers, my Bulwarks of Defence  
Against the Legions of the Prince of Darkness.  
Where's the Queen? Come hither Memnon, Lycastes,  
Oh! I'm one piece of Terror, cold as Ice;  
My Veins all frozen, like a Northern Sea,  
Their Spring, and Fall, forget.  Quee. 
You're frighted sure, my Lord.  King. 
Dost thou not see  
Yond horrid Skeleton, how its Gumless Jaws  
Chatters; without his Eyes he stares, he shakes  
His fleshless Fist, and Rattles as he walks?  Quee. 
You fancy, Sir; there's nothing there.  King. 
Ha! Nothing! nothing! why then 'tis gone:  
'thas spied the Horses of the Sun bound o'er yond Mount,  
Clapped on its Shroud, and dropped into the Grave.  
By all my Fears the Gods have spoke the Truth,  
And I must die to morrow.  Quee. 
How, to morrow!  King. 
Yes, thou bright Partner of my Bed, to morrow.  Quee. 
Ye Gods forbid; your Majesty's in health.  King. 
'Tis an immutable Decree, I must  
To all my Glories, Honours, Crowns, Contents,  
Friends, Loves, and dearest Happiness on Earth  
For ever, oh for ever, bid a faint  
A— last, a parting sad Adieu to morrow.  Quee. 
Some Melancholy Priest, my Lord, hath had  
Too near Admittance to thy Royal Ear;  
Spoke his false Dreams, and raised these causeless Fears.  
Like Phraates, shake them from you; by Heavens  
There's something in my Woman's Breast which holds  
More Courage than to bend to any Tale of theirs.  Mem. 
Oh how the Poison works.  Aside. King. 
When Heaven speaks we should regard its words;  
Nor have they told me aught, but what from them  
In Sacred Oracles they learned, which still declare  
Fortune's Reversed, Event preposterous,  
Hurled into Being, e'er their Cause is known:  
Strange Truths ripped from the Womb of Time  
E'er well Conceived.  Quee. 
Tell me, what is't they've said?  King. 
Oh horror! how I tremble to relate it!  
That Day Alinda does the Valiant Stranger Wed,  
Phraates Blood shall be untimely shed.  
Is it not strange?  Quee. 
Most wonderful, indeed.  King. 
And to confirm the Truth, glad of my doom  
My Uncle as I stood,  
Whom I had long ago confined to Earth,  
Left his cold Bed, and stole the form of Life.  Mem. 
Fate or his Fancy works with us.  Aside: Quee. 
But still the Gods are kind, thus to foretell,  
When yet you may prevent the fatal Sentence.  
Stay the intended Match.—  King. 
Oh Name it not.  
Heaven ne'er can wink at so much Perjury,  
Such black Ingratitude, and cruel spite:  
What when I've trained them up to hope their hands  
In Contract joined, and on the brink of Joy:  
When their full Veins are swelled to all Love's heights:  
It cannot be— Sound all, sound all to Horse,  
By all my Honours, I grow Resolute;  
My Blood it stirs, 'tis warm, 'tis hot, it burns;  
Give me my Arms, I'll mount, and brave to's Face  
This King of Terrors, in the Field of Mars.  Quee. 
Hold my Lord and be advised: If Phraates Life  
Be so valued in His Eyes, shall not  
Thermusa's Groans be heard, her Tears regarded?  Weeps 
Grant her at least your pity, Sir, who is resolved  
When her Lord dies, not to survive the hour.  Mem. 
Oh how the Crocodile can weep.  Aside. King. 
Help me, ye Gods, to bear this last Assault.  Quee. 
Besides you may reward great Amanda.  
Give him a frown t'enlarge his narrower Fate;  
Load him with Honours, Offices, and Trusts;  
Put in the Balance all your Friendship's Store;  
Choose where he will 'mongst the Parthian Court,  
A Mistress that may suit his haughty mind;  
Sure this may satisfy his ambitious Thirst.  King. 
Oh spare me—  Quee. 
I cannot:  
Gods, Kings, and every petty Mannored Lord  
Will call you Fool and Coward thus to give,  
In spite of their Advice, your Life and Crowns,  
Your Daughter, Fame, and me, and all at once,  
For an Alliance you should rather scorn.  King. 
Thou movest me Queen: by all the living Gods,  
He's dead that doth advise the contrary.  
Go raise the Court, draw all my Guards about me,  
I'll stand this shock of Fortune e'er I fall.  
Hast Memnon, and secure the Princess safe.  
At her own Lodgings, whilst that you dispatch  
A swift Express to the great King Tygranes;  
Invite him to Alinda's Arms and Peace;  
Here take my Royal Signet, and begone:  
Thus will I close with what my Stars advised,  
Laugh the old Ghost to scorn in years to come,  
When tired with Age, I'm pleased t' accept a Tomb.  Enter Artabandas hastily with his Sword in Hand, as from Bed. Artab. 
Ha! Royal Phraates, can you think of Tombs,  
Whilst your Artaban is your Guard? this Sword  
Shall screen your Person from advancing Ills;  
Your Subjects Treasons, and your Foes designs:  
Death if sees me shall start back for fear,  
And seek some other Prey to gorge his Lust:  
Speak, speak the danger you are in— ha! mute,  
What is the meaning of all this— not yet—  Quee. 
The King is discomposed, 'twere well to leave him.  Artab. 
By all the Laurels, all the Kindnesses  
I've in his Service reaped, I will not stir  
A foot, till first I know his Enemy.  King. 
Look round thee Artaban;  
See what all Parthia can afford that's worth  
Thy Favours, I will give the same, and more  
To hold thee to my Breast, and keep thee there.  Artab. 
Already you have given me more than in  
Th'expanded Arms of the wild Deeps lie hid,  
More than th' Entrails of the Earth can buy,  
The opulent World is indigent to me,  
Whilst I enjoy the blessed Alinda's Love.  King. 
Oh, that—  Artab. 
Yes, that's beyond them all, not Heaven  
Could add a Grain the Treasure to increase.  King. 
'Tis this alone cannot be thine—  Artab. 
Not mine?  
Oh all ye Powers above! not mine, my Lord?  
Rather say kindly that my Life's not so;  
It's easier Torture to endure the worst,  
The complicated Strokes of every Ill:  
Fires, Plagues, Diseases, Sores, and Sicknesses,  
Wounds, Racks, Dishonour, Deaths and Hell,  
Than hear the sound of such a killing Word;  
Sure, Sir, you do it but to try me, your Brows  
Thus clouded in Storms, cover the Shine  
That warms the Generative Seeds of all  
My future Bliss, and my increasing Hopes;  
Put on the Daylight of your Eyes again.  K. 
For ever I could smile upon thee, see  
Thee mounted in my Throne on my Right-hand,  
Share all my Empire with me; nay, Content  
Would fill my Soul to be thy Subject made;  
And this without Alinda ask, and by  
The Powers that guide the World it shall be thine.  Artab. 
And this without her I would ne'er accept!  K. 
I am too poor to give thee more, yet must,  
Tho' urged by all the Gods, deny thee her.  K. turns to Q. Artab. 
My Friend, why stand you hushed, silent as Night,  
As Infant-Winds in secret Caverns locked,  
And tell me not whence is this sudden change?  To the Lords. Quee. 
'Tis brave to be Resolved, shake not your Mind,  
His haughty Fierceness by degrees will cool,  
And Prudence, Sir, to Temper bring him back.  Aside. Artab. 
Is that the Reason, 'tis plain Forgery,  
Mere tampering with the Skies to bribe their Voice,  
And speak my Ruin;— hear Phraates, hear King,  
If all the former Services I have done  
Your Empire, with the weight of those I'm yet  
To do, may e'er Conjure you, hear me now.  Kneeling pulls K. Robes. K. 
I will be dragged no more: if you are Wise,  
Accept my offers, for 'tis all I grant.  Artab. 
Can you so soon forget your Artaban,  
Him, who but yesterday you loved so well?  
Has he so little Interest in your Breast,  
That a vile Sorcerer, Priest or Devil  
By Charms or Inchantations thrust  
His Image thence? oh my too rigid Fate!  K. 
Forbear, and be my Friend, thy Suit's unpleasant,  
And ne'er can change my Mind; so cease it now,  
Or see my Face no more.  Arta. 
Ha! Ingrate!  
Pardon my Love, I call thy Father so—  Aside. 
Look o'er my Breast, and see the Scars it wears;  
These Seams torn to defend thy tottering Throne,  
And tell me, tell me, deluded fearful King,  
Have I deserved such Infamous Returns?  K. 
Provoke me not, I can be passionate.  Arta. 
Be as thou wilt, I shall regard it not,  
Thou'st done thy worst, and I defy thee now;  
Oh heavens', 'tis something sacred in thy Face,  
Some Features of my dear Alinda there,  
Which holds my injured Hands more than the Guards.  K. 
Against my Person; seize the Traitor.  The Guards draw about. Artab. 
— Stand off.  
I know not how to yield, nor will learn now.  Quee. 
Oh Heavens! how he looks, a brave disdain—  
striketh like the Darts of Lightning through his Eyes,  
And kindles in my Breast Increasing Flames.  Aside. K. 
Sure I have power to tame him; kill him:  
What will he cut his way to reach my Head?  The Guards fight, and some fall. Quee. 
Hold, let him live to see his Punishment.  They come behind him and disarm him. K. 
Well, now I hope you'll beg your forfeit Life.  Arta. 
First thou shalt hack me into Atoms.  K. 
Accept it as my Favour then.  Arta. 
Nor thus:  
My conscious Breast would still Reproach this Arm  
For all my ill-spent Youth, the Harvest of my Life;  
My wreathed Laurels wither on this Brow,  
Which I have gathered at so vast expense,  
And often purchased at so dear a rate.  K. 
Then for Alinda's sake I grant it.  Arta. 
Alinda's Name can charm my utmost Rage,  
And Death itself would be a Life for her.  K. 
But with Reserve you never see her more.  Arta. 
Must it be so, then know thy Interest King,  
Keep this bold Lion whilst he is in thy toil,  
For if he ranges once abroad again,  
By all the violent Sufferings which I feel,  
Not all thy Huntsmen with their Warring Spears,  
Thy Guards, thy Armies, shall e'er withstand his force;  
But in despite of thee will seize his Right,  
And from thy Bosom, tear it to his own.  K. 
Gods! shall I bear this? thus to be braved,  
Thus dared and threatened to my very Face,  
I'th' midst of all my Court, by one disarmed,  
Whom with a blast of Breath I could to Death,  
To vilest Torments in my anger doom?  
Go bear him off, and if he does presume  
To tread on this forbidden Ground again  
His Life shall pay the forfeit of his Crime.  K. Exit hastily. Arta. 
And am I thus Rewarded? O Heavens!  
Who would your Votaries be? Oh seeble Virtue,  
How thin, how lean, how starved are thy Returns?  
Farewell your Courts, I'll trouble you no more,  
Let Cowards if you please your helps Implore.  Bore off by the Guards. 
The End of the Third Act.    

ACT IU.  

SCENE I. A Town.  Enter Bretton, Lycastes, Castilio junior, with Officers. Lyc. 
MY Lord, I cannot help complaining at the injust manner of your Proceedings; I do assure you, Sir, I am as much concerned for the loss of your Daughter as you can be, and on my Honour will join with you in the search of her:  Cast jun. 
Pish, pish, ne'er mind him, my Lord, he's a cunning Warrener, and has more Burrows than one I dare engage for him.  Brett. 
I am resolved I will not leave a House unsearched in the whole City till I've found her.  Lyc. 
I will assist your Lordship, but for you, Sir, I'll call you to an account some other time.  Cast jun. 
Prithee what care I what thou dost, what the Devil, when a Man's mere's broke out of his Ground, won't you allow him the liberty of looking after her?  Enter Amadine in Boy's clothes. Am. 
So, Heaven be thanked, I'm got safe hitherto, let me but come once to the Arms of my dear Lycastes and I am happy; ha! bless me, what do I see! my Father and his Myrmydons! what will become of me? If I offer to go 'twill show suspicious, I must stand the brunt let what will come on't.  Brett. 
How now, what Boy is that? come hither Sirrah.  Am. 
Then what a most glorious Sight 'twill be, to see me riding upon one of the Horns o'th' Moon; To have my Palace made of Amber, and a hundred little twinkling Stars for my Attendance.  Brett. 
What a Devil is the Boy mad?  Cast jun. 
I don't know that, but I am sure his Discourse is above my Understanding.  Brett. 
Harke'e Child, dost thou dwell here in the City?  Am. 
Yes an't please you Sir, but I am going to remove my Habitation: I have an Authority from jove to be a Cloud-maker, and juno has promised me an Apartment in her own Court.  Lyc. 
Alas, the poor Child's Lunatic; I think 'twere well to send him to the Hospital of Madfolks till we can learn what Family he is of.  Am. 
Heaven grant you would, for I'm sure I shall be mad outright, unless I escape these watchful Dragons.  Brett. 
Nay, nay, look ye, my Passion is not so great as to lessen my Charity, and indeed I think myself bound in duty, as I am in Authority, to succour the Unfortunate.  Enter Ariene like an Amazon. 
hay day, what the Devil have we here?  Cast jun. 
Gad I don't know, it's half Fish half Flesh I believe.  Lyc. 
I suppose 'tis one of the Amazonian Ladies lately arrived at Court.  Ari. 
Ha! I find the House is beset, Lycastes there, and my Cousin not among 'em? then do I begin to fear every thing has not happened right.  Am. 
Well, I'll be going; pray Gentlemen, if juno, jove, or Mercury inquire for me, tell 'em I am but just gone to Cupid's Palace, and will attend 'em in Counsel immediately.  Brett. 
Here, one of you take the Boy; let him be kept safe in the Hospital, till further enquiry be made of him.  Cast jun. 
Ay, ay, don't let us be troubled with other people's Madness.  Exit Amadine. Ari. 
As I live 'tis she: now Brain assist me, and if I find not some way to fit this Politician, may I die a Maid when my Mind's brimful of Matrimony. Your Servant, Sir.  Cast jun. 
Your Servant, Sir, or Madam; or Madam, and Sir; for by my troth you may be both for ought I know: Pray, what would you have with me?  Ari. 
You have lost a Mistress if I am not mistaken, Sir.  Cast jun. 
No faith Child, I'll answer for thee thou art not mistaken in that; but I'm much mistaken if you can tell me how to get her again.  Ari. 
Indeed Sir but I can.  Brett. 
How, how's that, Madam? Pray take pity on a poor fond Father, that has lost an only Child.  Ari. 
Your Daughter left you Sir this very moment.  Brett. 
If that be the best of ' your Intelligence pray do you leave us too; what the Devil have we not been in search of her these 8 hours?  Ari. 
Why that same little thing you thought a mad Boy was Amadine your Daughter.  Brett. 
What, you know her then?  Ari. 
Yes, 'twas I helped her to make her Escape; but I having since considered what a great Grief so loving a Father must of necessity have for so sweet a Daughter, thought it my Duty to acquaint you where she was, that you might justly punish her Disobedience.  Enter Simpson. Brett. 
How now Cousin, what News bring you? have you heard aught of my Daughter yet?  Coz. 
Only this, Sir; we took her clothes with a young Youth, who said the Person that left them had a Suit of his in the Room of 'em.  Cast jun. 
Prithee peace, the lost Sheep's heard of, come, come, Father-in-law, let's make haste after her, for who knows as mad as she pretends to be, but she may have wit enough to give us the goe-by once again.  Brett. 
A●, ay, come Co en and Gentlemen, Mr. Lycastes, we discharge you, and for you, Madam, for this singular Favour, I shall be very proud you would command my House.  Cast jun. 
And do me the Honour too Dame at my Wedding.  Ari. 
How now Lycastes, what's the occasion of your Melancholy?  Lyc. 
You have undone me.  Ari. 
What in letting you know where to find your lost Mistress?  Lyc. 
In letting me know I have for ever lost her.  Ari. 
Never trouble thyself for that, but take my word for it thou shalt have her.  Lyc. 
How!  Ari. 
Ariena says it, and it shall be so.  Lyc. 
Ariena!  Ari. 
The very same; come, come, we have no time for Talking, we must be at the Heels of 'em, and if I don't perform my Promise to thee, may I be sixty odd before any Man makes his Address to me.  Exeunt. Enter Artaban, solus, Disguised. Arta. 
The Great Alcides, when of old surprised,  
Amongst the Lydian Dames his Warlike Limbs,  
Wrapped in soft Silks, and those unconquered Hands  
Wielding the Distaff, which that Sword had born,  
Blushed less in his, than I in this Disguise.  
Oh Phraates, I again will see thy Court,  
Tho' my vowed Death should meet these forward sleps;  
'Tis better far to feel, than fear our Fate.  
Oh Alinda!  
For thee my Armour to these Weeds are changed,  
For thee my Resolution's barred, for thee  
My very Rage luxuriant grown, is stopped,  
Like the great Thunderer, tho' his mounted Arms  
Charged with Destruction, aiming at his Foes,  
By a kind Goddess, whose prevailing Charms  
Are far more powerful than his angry Bolts.   

SCENE II. The Palace Garden.  Enter King and Tygranes Discoursing. King. 
The Clouds, my Lord, must be discharged, before  
The joyful Sun can fairly guild the Sky;  
Allow her leave to weep and tell me, Sir,  
How she received your Person.  Tygr. 
As I approached,  
Her careless Tresses half dishevelled hung  
Like Sheaves, with which the Wind had been too bold;  
Her Head on her bent Arm its burden le'nt,  
Whilst from her Eyes those Diamond quarries run,  
The teary Streams that Dewed her Rosal Cheeks,  
Which as they fell bending to kiss her Lips,  
Her Sighs drove back, to seek their Grave below.  King. 
The Part's too passionate you act, my Lord.  Tygr. 
The Queen of Sorrow ne'er was Dressed like her,  
So Beautiful she seemed, so full of Grace  
Amidst her Griefs, she might have charmed a God.  
She dried her Eyes, and with a mournful Look  
Beheld me fallen at her Princely Feet.  King. 
Could she be Cruel then?  Tygr. 
Myself, my Heart,  
And Empire, were the Offerings which I made,  
But these, alas! too mean for her Acceptance,  
She with Scorn denied; begged me to desist  
My tedious Suit, and give her leave to die.  King. 
She's unworthy of you, Sir, but must  
With my Commands to so much Virtue yield.  Tygr. 
Thus on my Knees I beg you, Sir, to use  
Your utmost Kindness: All the Endearments, which  
A Father's Breast can to his Child's convey,  
To charm her Favours in behalf of me.  King. 
Pray doubt it not, nor do I question by degrees  
T'effect your Ends. She must have time to wean  
This Darling from her Bosom, her Mind will turn;  
The Wind that veres to every point of th' Sphere,  
Is not more changeable than Woman's Will;  
Yet when 'tis settled in some Corner Rests,  
And plays the Sovereign there.  Tygr. 
May that blessed Season,  
Spring of my Hopes, and Summer of my Life,  
On Time's sost Wings fly swiftly to my Aid.  Discover themselves.  

SCENE III. A Garden.  King. 
What still a weeping? hath thy Father's care  
No other Influence than this? The Great  
Tygranes, whom I have chose the Partner of thy Bed,  
Waits with a Crown, to adorn thy Virgin Brows.  Alind. 
Oh Royal Sir! My King, my Father, hear me!  
By all the Loves you ever bore my Mother,  
By all the Virgin's Angels Vows, by those  
Their Images on Earth do chastely make,  
Be not so strict, so hard, so harsh, to use  
Authority to bend my sixt Resolves,  
Which like the Centre of the Earth stands firm,  
But loosened once will into pieces burst,  
And in Eternal Ruins break to Dust.  King. 
These are but feeble Reasons t'avert my Ends,  
Nor should they move with you; Methinks a Throne  
Should overrule these little lets, whose Spots,  
If such some Fools esteem them, by its Rays,  
Like Tapers in the Sunshine, are not seen.  Alind. 
The boasted Grandeur of the Universe,  
Were it together heaped upon one Man,  
Were he a Person where all Beauties met,  
All Virtues kept their Bank, Learning and Arts,  
By Nature all his own, would never tempt  
My Heart in prejudice of him, to whom already  
All that's mine, is given away.  Tygr. 
Oh Madam, be not so unkind, but bless me  
(Thus on my Knees I beg it) with one Smile,  Kneels. 
And dart a Cordial Balsam to my Wounds.  Alind. 
This Posture, Sir, becomes you not, pray rise,  
And let me beg you hear me. Hear  
A Harmless, Weeping, Mourning, Dying Wretch,  
If ever you intent to enjoy your aims,  
A Mistress that is Rind, Content, or Greatness,  
Or what you value most, think not of me,  
For in heavens' Face, I Vow—  King. 
Hold— hear my Vow first—  
By the dread Majesty of Kings I swear;  
If you consent not to Tygrane's Love,  
I'll search thy Artaban throughout the World,  
And all the God's shall never save his Head.  Exit King. Alind. 
O Unmerciful! Oh Cruel Phraates!  
Can your hard Heart no more of Pity hold?  
Is all your Kindness, all your Oaths forgot?  
Good Gods! Tygranes hear,  
By all the Honours, all the Virtues, which  
You're feigned the Master of, by these my Tears,  
Which ever will disturb you, should I be forced,  
Should I be drove, or ravished to your Bed,  
Constrain me not by Importunities,  
To forfeit all my Vows.—  Tygr. 
Oh Madam! Words like these stab to the Soul,  
Feed on my Entrails, Riot on my Heart,  
And with a Vulture's Rage my Vitals tear.  Alind. 
If such their Influence be, why do you stay  
Within their Reach? The Fire of Love  
In narrow Limits pent, grows fierce in its Restraint;  
Which did it rove at Large, 'twould wasle,  
And by degrees, in Lambent Flames expire.  
Would you but be advised, my Lord, in this,  
Tho' to some dismal Cave, dark as the Night,  
Where Horror, and dire Mischief keep their Cells,  
Brooding on Midnight Tragedies to come,  
I was confined, with patience I would bear  
The happier Doom, and thank the giving Gods.  Tygr. 
Oh heavens'! is there No pleasure in a Throne?  
To Rule not only Subjects, but their King?  
To see the bowing Heads, and bended Knees,  
The Adoring Crowds that wait your Steps?  Alind. 
Alas! poor sounding Nothings: only fit to blind  
The distant Gazers with an Awe of Power,  
And keep the Knot of Duty fast; I should  
Be tired to hear, and see its empty noise.  Tygr. 
Choose then throughout my Realms, a Palace fit  
To please, or entertain your Sight: I'll leave  
My State, and all the Ornaments of Power  
To be your Servant, or your Vassal there.  Alind. 
I would not rob the World of such a Prince,  
Yet, if I should, you'd soon repent the Change.  Tygr. 
Oh! Never— Never—  Alind. 
Yes, to hear me talk  
Sad melancholy loving Tales of Artaban,  
Which I could never help, would grieve you, Sir.  Tygr. 
By heavens' you raise  
A Fire, nought but his Blood shall ever quench;  
If all my Empires, Crowns, may be a price  
Sufficient for the Purchase, I will buy his Fate.  Alind. 
And mine They're so entwined together,  
Nor Life, nor Death can make a separation.  Tygr. 
Will nothing move you? O, ere I Storm, display  
The Glorious Banners of your peaceful Eyes;  
Speak a sweet Parley from your Mouth, and bless  
Me with the sounds of Peace—  Alind. 
I can no more—  Going off. Tygr. 
By Artaban, I do Conjure you stay,  
If all my Interest can't Entreat, I'll use  
My Rival's Name, to oblige a parting Look.  Exit Alind. Tygr. Kisses her Hand as Artab. Enters. 
But to Enjoy her all my own; gather  
The luscious Fruit ripe, from the Noble Stock;  
For this ye Gods! give me Expressions, which  
No Tongue e'er spoke, or ever Heart conceived.  Artaban discovers himself. Art. 
Hold Sir, you must not, dare not harbour such  
A thought so Impious to another's Right.  Tygr. 
Why, who art thou—  Art. 
His Friend who thou so basely hast disseized,  
Great Artaban commanded me to tell thee:  
Alinda, mark me, never shall be thine.  Tygr. 
I'd give a Kingdom for that traitor's Head.  Art. 
Thou'st tremble at his Sight, turn pale with fear,  
Tho' Armies were before thee, Tower's thy Shield,  
Mountains and Seas your Separation made;  
For well thou know'st, he'd force, he'd break, he'd seal,  
He'd leap them all, to reach at thee—  Tygr. 
Base Miscreant—  
Although thy forfeit Life is in my Power,  
Yet will I spare it, that thou mayst go back,  
And let him know to morrow is the Day,  
I'll in Alinda's Arms, my Bliss complete.  Art. 
By all the Gods, you ne'er shall see its light;  
'Tis Artaban that speaks the Oracle.  Puts off the Disguise. Tygr. 
Thanks to Almighty Powers thou'rt in my view;  Art. 
And to my Stars, I've found thee, this blessed hour  
So oft as I have sought, so oft thou'st fled:  
Ignobly, basely hid thy Coward Face,  
Amongst the common Rout, that makes thy Guard,  
Or led them in their speed to avoid my rage.  Tygr. 
Proud boasting Man, thou art almost too bad  
To fall by any but a Villain's hand;  
My Face would wear more Scarlet than my Sword,  
Tho covered with thy Blood, to take thy Life.  Art. 
That Life of mine is sacred, placed so high  
In the large Throne of Fame; thy little Arm  
Can never rise to touch it; as well thou may'st  
Great jove in yonder Starry Seat Attempt,  
And from his Fellow-Gods, discard him thence,  
Battle his Winds, and stand his Thunderbolts.  Tygr. 
Draw then, thou proud, thou boasting Fool, and know,  
Instead of Bulls, and common Offerings,  
Which every poor Plebeian Marriage grace,  
In thy hot Blood I'll treat the Deities.  They fight, Tygr. falls. Art. 
There lie Revenge; next for my injured Love,  
That in Alinda's presence, I will meet  
And Sacrifice my Life beneath her Feet.  Exit. Art. one way, King Enters the others. Tygr. 
Oh! I am slain; Life's tottering burden sinks,  
And I must die without Revenge—  King. 
By Heavens thou shalt not—  
Oh! he's gone: The Royal Soul is fled,  
Loosed from its Cage, to flutter in the Air,  
And mount the Noble Mansion of the Skies.  
But thus in Tears I will not mourn thy loss;  
Give order that the City shut the Gates,  
Search every House, guard every Passage,  
On pain of Death, to find the Murderer out,  
Were he my first, my dearest only Son,  
Born to Inherit my Imperial Crown,  
I would not spare him: No, the Wretch should die,  
Tho all Mankind should to his Succour fly—  
Entreating Gods to save him, I'd deny.  Exeunt.   

ACT V.  

Scene, A Mad-House.  Enter two Keepers. 1 st. Keep. 
Go, carry mad Bess some Meat; she roars like Thunder; and d'ye hear, tie the Parson up: The Moon's in the full, and he has a thousand Pigs in's Brains.  Enter Lycastes. Lyc. 
Save you, Gentlemen; was there not a little Boy brought in here lately?  1 st. Keep. 
Yes, Sir, but for what reason Heaven knows; the Boy seems to me as much in his Wits as I am.  Lyc. 
He is so, Sir, but the Child is under the Care of an Unhappy Father that is stark mad; I have often endeavoured by force, to bring him to the College of Lunatics, but could not; therefore I was forced to use this Stratagem; for he loves the Boy entirely, and will follow him any whither.  1 st. Keep. 
Well, Sir, what of this?  Lyc. 
Why therefore I sent the Boy that we might have an opportunity of getting him hither in order to secure him.  1 st. Keep. 
Oh, Sir, let us alone for that.  Lyc. 
There is the Child's Brother with him too, Sir, as mad as the Father; therefore I desire you to take particular care of both, and there's your Entrance-Money, I'll see the rest paid.  1st. 
I'll warrant you, Sir, we have those as mad as he.  Lyc. 
One thing I had forgot, Sir, when he finds himself Trapaned, he'll almost murder the Child; therefore I desire you'd let me have him with me.  1st. 
With all my heart, Sir; here, bring the Boy that came in last.  Enter one with Amadine. Seru. 
Here's the Boy, Sir.  1 st. e K. 
Here Child, here's a Gentleman come to set you at liberty.  Aman. 
As I live Lycastes, O happy Deliverance!  Lyc. 
Come my pretty Rogue, your Father's near us; therefore we had best make haste left we should be seen.  1st. K. 
No, no, Sir, never fear that; here Boy, show the Gentleman out at the Backdoor.  Lyc. 
Your Servant, Sir.  Ex. Lyc. and Amad. Enter an English Madman. 1st. K. 
Why how now? Who let this English Madman loose? A Pox on him for coming hither; could he not have kept in his own Country.  E. Mad. 
Give me some Drink.  1st. K. 
Give you some Halter; there's a great many of your Countrymen I'm sure deserve it.  E. Mad. 
Give me a thousand Pots, come down on your Knees you Rogues and pledge me. One, two, three and four, we shall be merry within this hour.  Exeunt. 1st. K. 
Go, go lock him up: How now, who comes here?  Enter Bretton and Cast jun. Brett. 
Save you, save you, Sir.  1st. K. 
And you, Sir; have you any business with me?  Cast 
Yes, Sir, we come to look after a Boy and no Boy; a Wife of mine that should have been; but as the Stars will have it, I'm like to find nothing of the matter.  1st. K. 
Oh, these I find are the Gentleman told me of: D'ye hear, go and secure their Swords.  The Servants snatch their Swords from their Sides. Brett. 
Why how now, what the Devil do you entertain Thiefs in a Mad-House.  1st. K. 
Go fetch me a couple of strong Cords—  Cast jun. 
Cords! What apox, I hope you don't design to Hang us for your Robbery?  Enter Servants with Cords. 1st. K. 
Go, in the first place bind that old Gentleman.  Brett. 
How, how, bind me? Hark'e, Sirrah, leave prating and bring me the Boy that was sent in just now.  1st. K. 
Poor Gentleman, what pity 'tis a Man of his Years should fall under such a Misfortune; d'ye hear, Sir, pray make less stir, and get you to your Chamber.  Brett. 
My Chamber! A Pox o' my Chamber; Prithee where's the Boy?  1st. K. 
Hark'e, Sir; either go in, and quietly, or we have Whips: Do you hear, Sir, Whips?  Brett. 
Whips?  1st. K. 
Ay, Whips.  Cast jun. 
Oh Lord, O Lord, what a Mad Puppy was I to come into a Mad-House? 'Tis ten to one but for their diversion they may whip me too.  1st. K. 
Go Lash him soundly.  Brett. 
Hold, hold, is the Devil in you? I will go in, Sir, I'll go in very civilly; but good Sir, let none of your tormentors come to me; you have a good-natured Face, those Fellows look like Dragons.  1st. K. 
Well, Sir, be Civil, and you shall have any thing; but for these two Days you must Eat nothing, 'twill ease your Fits, Sir.  Brett. 
'Twill starve me, Sir, but I must bear it with a Christian Patience.  They bind him 1 saint. K. 
Come Sir, now for you; I'll warrant you'll say you are not Mad neither; here bring the Whips.  Cast jun. 
Hold, hold, Sir, you're mightily mistaken in me; not Mad Sir, alack a-day I'm very Mad; I was Born Mad: Why you shall hardly find an English Man madder than I; only there's this difference between us, I know when I'm well, and that I'm sure they'll never do.  Enter Lyc. Amadine, Ariena. Lyc. 
Your Servant, Sir, I must entreat you to unbind this Gentlewoman, and pardon me for making you an Instrument to procure my Happiness. This Boy (as you think) is that Old Gentleman's Daughter, whom I have long Loved, and by your industrious Care in detaining him, have at last Married.  Brett. 
How, Married!  Am. 
Yes, Sir, and ask your Blessing.  Cast jun. 
Married! Well, well, I don't care; I'd rather be persuaded out of my Wife than my Wits: I have been Mad only for a small time, he that Marries, perhaps may be Mad all days of his Life: Much good may do you, I say.  Brett. 
Nay, I dare not be angry; for it seems I'm bound to my Good Behaviour: But, Sir, since you are pleased to make bold with my Daughter against my Will, you won't allow me to be Mad without my Knowledge: And tho' your bound yourself, pray, Sir, be pleased to free me.  Lyc. 
You have your freedom, Sir.  Brett. 
And you have my Daughter, Sir.  Lyc. 
And that Gentleman has the liberty of choosing where he pleases: Ha, ha, ha.  Cast jun. 
What dost Laugh at now, dost know? Why as great a Fool as I am, I an't Married yet, 'Igad I believe your Money can no more keep you from being a Cuckold, than mine can me from being a Fool, as you think me.  Lyc. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Cast jun. 
Ay, ay, Laugh on, Laugh on, some rich Men wear Asses Ears, and some wear Horns, and 'gad I don't know which is the more ugly sight o' the two.  Lyc. 
Sir, I desire you to accept of this as part of my acknowledgement for the Service you have done me.  1st. K. 
Faith, Sir, I'm very glad 'thas proved to your advantage.  Brett. 
'Igad I begin to have a little liking to the business myself too, for I'm rid of a certain trouble that the Child and that Fool would have brought upon me.  Cast jun. 
So, so, I had like to have been made a Madman just now, but since they failed in that, they're resolved to make a Fool of me.  Ari. 
Have you forgot your Niece, Sir, Ariena.  Brett. 
Amadine! What I warrant you had a hand in the Plot too.  Ari. 
Yes, by my troth.  Brett. 
No doubt on't, I always thought you'd make me Mad at last: But come now let's go, your Servant Landlord that had like to have been.  Cast jun. 
And I will never think I have miscarried,  
As long as I can say I am not Married.  Exeunt.  

SCENE, Flat-Palace.  Enter Thermusa and Eudora. Ther. 
The heartless King's Inexorable grown,  
Nor will he alter his Decree: I saw  
The dying Ceremonies fixed; the Axe,  
The Scaffold, the Procession, Guards, and all  
The Cursed Attendants of the Train of Death:  
Oh my Eadora! Now Night thickens on us;  
All its pitchy Clouds, gather apace,  
Inveloping my sight, that I scarce see  
The fatal Path, I tread, yet I must on,  
And whilst Lysander Acts his Part, do ours.  Eudor. 
I saw him with your Guards, march toward the Marketplace,  
The Season suits with our Designs.  Ther. 
Let's call the deadly Sisters to our Aid  
Hell's rankest Monsters, Envy, and Hate  
Be Death itself amongst our Train; Nay, Love,  
The worst when angered, of the black Retinue,  
And then advise who first must feel our rage.  Eudor. 
Mercy and Pity banish from your Eyes.  Ther. 
Alas! They're gone for want of room, my Breast  
Is full of every Manly Virtue now,  
And I can strike, where, when, or whom the Fates  
Or my own Will, the guide of fate enjoins.  Eudor. 
Then, Madam, 'tis the King must fall, and next  
The Princess, by Memnon him, and her by me.  Enter Memnon. Ther. 
Oh thou my best, my Bosom Councillor!  
I hold thee near my Heart— And you my Lord  
Must share it too; 'tis time the Stroke was made;  
Why should we keep our Happiness aloof,  
Stand shivering near the brink of flow'ring Joys,  
When we may plunge into the Depths at once;  
My Sword, my Heart, all that is Memnon's, Madam,  
Dispose, and order as you please, I'll fly to obey.  Ther. 
This binds me to thy Interest, this alone,  
The highest Token of thy Love, engages more  
Than all the formal Oaths, the Tears, the Sighs,  
Which Whining poor Romantic Lovers make.  Mem. 
You add New Courage to my hands, my hopes  
Thus winged, can mount me above the reach of fears,  
Danger, or Death, or any faint Remorse,  
Not an Avenging Angel should do more,  
To serve Heaven's Pleasure, than I'll act for you,  
The Goddess of my Life, and Heaven alone to me.  Eudor. 
'Tis then this hour, my Lord, may crown you both,  
'Tis time to act; occasion hates delay,  
Stars may tell Tales, and our Designs betray.  Mem. 
Think on the Method, Madam, and 'tis done.  Ther. 
That we'll consult within, give me your hand;  
Thus shall we shoot the mighty Gulf of Fate,  
Escape the Shelves, and weather all the Storms,  
The Oceon of our Ends so dangerous made,  
In these secure, as on the Continent we stand,  
And may behold the battling Billows war;  
Their angry Waves in swelling pride arise,  
As if our safety they'd a mind to attack,—  
Dash at our feet, and break their little spite.  Exeunt. Enter King with the Princess at his Knees. Alien. 
Oh my dread Lord! could you but see my heart,  
As you might hear its Cries, the mangled Piece  
Bleeding, and torn, 'twou'd fright, if not affect  
Your eyes, to some compassion— Oh! relen—  King, 
Hold thy hands, trouble me no more,  
By all the Gods, I will not hear thee— What?  
In my own Court, whence I'd Proscribed the Wretch  
On Penalty of Life, not only to  
Return, but with a Villain's Insolence  
T'attempt to Fight, to Murder my best Friend;  
Nay, more a Royal Head: By heavens' I'll not  
Bear this; the Dignity of Monarchs, and the Rules,  
The Interest of State, will ne'er admit it.  
Leave me, I say—  Alien. 
O Sir, I cannot:—  
About your Knees I'll curl these Arms, my Tears  
Shall wash their roots, and I will grow—  
For ever here, you shall not stir, or move—  
Without their burden. Oh be patient—  
Think what you're doing, whilst your anger dooms  
The best, the bravest of Mankind to Death;  
Think of his Services, his Laurels, Sir,  
His Courage, Fortune, Youth, and Virtue's prize:  
And can you yet be cruel? O no! I see  
The Parent in your eyes; Love smiles beneath your Frown:  
Send, and recall the fatal Orders.  King, 
Again— A way— I am resolved—  Alin. 
Oh let it be to think—  
That if you thus persist, What will become—  
Of your unhappy Daughter? You've oft said,  
Nay, swore you loved her, Sir: And can you see  
Her plunged in so much sorrow, weltering in pains  
Worse than the flames of Sulphur can inflict?  
Oh Gods! my Father can't be such a Rock.  King, 
Unhand me, I grow unwieldy with thy weight;  
And shall with fury throw thee hence; canst thou  
Take part with any Enemy of mine?  
By heavens' you'd make a Woman of me,  
Bring down my Purposes t'obey your Will,  
My Interest, turn and vere, as you shall sigh:  
Nay, all my Reason in your Tears immerge;  
By all my Power you shall not; I'll by Phraa es still,  
Lord of myself, and your pity shall ne'er  
Stagger my mind, my soul's above its cry,  
'Tis Justice moves me, and the Slave shall die.  Exit the King, leaves Alind. on the ground. Alind. 
Oh, help me Gods!  
I cry, yet 'tis in vain, your ears, your eyes  
Are deaf, and blind, to poor Alinda's prayers:  
Oh barbarous Father, cruel King; cursed Stars,  
That influence thus my Fate.—  
O passion! tame thy follies, bate thy tears,  
Why are these needless Offerings made?  
To woes like thine, thy Life can only be  
Their proper Sacrifice- then die Alinda, die—  Rises. The Drums beat a dead March; and Trumpets sound without. 
Oh Gods! what is't I hear? Death's dismal sound;  
The fatal March that leads my Artaban away,  
To take his last farewell of Earth, and me:  
Oh! Horror and Distraction to my ears;  
My Artaban, my Artaban, my Lord! Raving.  
O mount not yet,—  
That fiery Chariot, ere you seat me there,  
Placed by your side, we'll travel o'er yond Roads,  
Those azure Mountains touch, bate with the Stars,  
Contemn the despicable World beneath,  
And in the silver beams of chaste Latona's night,  
We'll find a bed to crown our Nuptial-joys;  
But oh! where am I?—  
My Senses start; This Cordial-drop which my long jealous fears  
Prepared for hopeless Love, this healing Balm  
Shall be my sovereign Cure. T'outlive my Artaban,  
Is more than all my Woman's strength can bear:  
I must make haste, I dare no longer stay;  
Love calls, and the great Summons I obey.  Exit. Town, a Scaffold behind the Flat-Palace. The Scene opens, and discovers Artaban led away by a Procession of Guards, bound to a Scaffold, as he is going,— Art. 
And must I still be bound, cruel Phraates?  
Amidst thy Guards, dost thou yet fear my Arms,  
These naked Arms should pull thee from thy Throne?  
No.— Sit thee there, I envy not thy Place,  
Nor would I choose to Live, alas! in Death  
What is it makes Men tremble so? to me  
'Tis welcome as the Harbour to the Seamen,  
When Beat and even drove a Wreck to the Shore;  
I see no Horror in it, but a calm Recess  
From the loud Clamorous Billows which disturb  
The flow's and ebbs of Life, sure 'tis the Form,  
The Manner makes them shake; to me 'tis nothing,  
I've seen it in as different Shapes, as e'er  
The Eye of Man beheld, nay, this the worst  
I fearl'sly can view, with the premised  
Formalities, the Mockeries, the Pomp,  
The pageant Infamy of my Fate,  
And thus to fall is not my Grief; oh Gods!  
You bear me Witness that I speak a truth;  
Lead on!—  
This is the Pedestal by which I mount  As he ascends the Scaffold. 
To yond'r Throne of Brightness, this the Car  
In which as Conquer'rs, to Triumph ride—  
I go to meet a Palace in the Stars—  
I'm ready to obey your Warrant, Sir.  To the Captain. Capt. 
What sounds are these?  The Trumpets sound as from without; enter Lysander and mounts the Stage; the People shout a Pardon. Art. 
Who is't I see, Lysander?  
What's the Message?  Lys. 
'Tis from the Queen, with which she bids you clear  
Your passage to Alinda's arms.—  Art. 
Ha! Alinda, saidst thou?  
Yes, I will live to see her—  Capt. 
Hold your Orders, Sir.  The Capt. opposes him; Art fights clears the Stage, and drives the Guards before him. Art. 
I bear them in my hand—  The Scene changes, the King's Apartment. Enter the King, solus. King, 
Oh Heavens! what mean these Ghostly Fear  
Why do I stiffen, as if my Destiny  
Was drawing on!— I beg for ease, and yet  
Your loads oppress; nay, though I strive to shake  
You hence, your Darts still goad me;  
My pains increase; But where's the hidden Wound?  
Oh! that's within, a throbbing conscious Guilt  
That spite of all Resolves upbraids me, with  
A Life ill-spent, discovers to my view,  
The History of past, and present Crimes;  
Tells me of Death, of large Accounts to come,  
And Punishments unknown: What makes you thus  
Disturb me? Why at present, when i'm well?  
I have not leisure to contemplate now;  
My veins are full of youth, my hands are vigorous,  
The sounding voice of War delights my ears,  
Bea'ties bright Charms, yet appetites my eyes,  
Avaunt, and when the reverend Marks of Age  
My Wintered Head shall snow, the Crutch support  
My falling steps, I call you to my thoughts,  
Sum up my Farwel-Exit to the World,  
And sink into a Grave of Peace: Oh Gods!  
Are you still here? Sure there's something else  
Than barely Apprehensions force in this:  
My Soul, by its eternal Beams, sees more,  
Than to the Elements of Sense she speaks at large,  
Pointing the Effects, but never marks the Cause.  
If I must die, Oh all the Powers above!  
Pronounce my Doom, 'twill be some ease to know  
The utmost Malice of my boding Stars.  Enter Thermusa as the King speaks. Ther. 
Why is my Lord disturbed?—  King. 
I'm feeling for the cause,  
As Men at Midnight when they've lost their way.  Ther. 
'Tis strange you should not know it, Sir, and yet  
Let Rebel Fancy so usurp your sense.  King. 
'Tis true, I don't  
Only a mist of things sits hovering here,  
Sad melancholy Thoughts, faint Chimaeras,  
Such as disturb our Careful Nights, and creep  
In Slumbers to our Brains, flashes of Light,  
Which soon in smoky Shades evaporate,  
And nothing leave but sulphurous shine behind.  Ther. 
'Tis much beneath you, Sir, to give them head.  King. 
Thou dost not know, Thermusa, what a weight  
A tainted Conscience bears; thou'rt Innocent,  
Thy Hand unspotted; Nay, thy Heart is free,  
Mine both are deeply plunged in Murderous Gore.  Ther. 
Granting they have been so; Whence do they now  
So terrible appear?  King. 
There I'm to seek—  
But yet as Clouds before a Showers approach,  
Ruffle, and Crowd thick in a Grove of dark,  
These do so too, which makes my trembling Heart  
Presage impending dangers near my Head.  Ther. 
Your vanquished Spirits like a Coward rout,  
Fly, ere they know for what, till tired they'll stand  
And miss the cause, they rally then again.  King. 
Oh Empire! had I felt thy weight before,  
Ambition to my Arms the burden bore;  
Not all thy glittering Robes, Sceptre, or Fame,  
Thy boasted Grandeur, and Eternal Name,  
Should ere my Soul in such a Scarlet died,  
To glut the hunger of thy towering Pride.  
Oh! What can wash it white? Rivers and Seas,  
Are all too shallow for such Blots as these.  
The Watery Element hath not a Flood,  
To cleanse the Stain of Paricidial Blood.  Enter Memnon behind and stabs him, he falls. 
Oh, I faint—  
Upon thy Bosom let me lean a while;  
Oh my profetick fears!  
Must all my Glories hence their period date?  
Are there no bars to stop prevailing fate?  
Then down vast Pile, sink to thy funeral Dust,  
Your Ruin speaks, th' Almighty Gods are Just.  Dies. Mem. 
My ready Hands have your Commands performed,  
And thus I run to clasp my bliss—  Ther. 
Hold off—  Mem. 
How, Madam! Have not my Actions purchased yet  
Your favours?  Ther. 
They have, and I'll reward them,  Falls on the Dead Body, as the Guards enter. 
Guards, seize the Traitor.  
Oh my dear Murdered Lord—  Mem. 
Am I betrayed? Then Love I blow thee hence;  
Spirit of Hate drawn from the Lees of Nature,  
Assist me now, whilst thus I act Revenge—  Stabs the Queen, Guards seize him. Ther. 
Cursed Villain!  
But thus thou shalt not brag thy Treachery,  
Bear him away, and let the Murderer taste  
The subtlest Pains e'er tortured Wretch yet felt,  
Worse than the Damned partake, or Devils invent.  Mem. 
They're Merciful to thee, nor shall I find,  
In Hell a Fury worse than Womankind.  Carried off by the Guards. Enter Artaban, Lysander and Guards. Art. 
What is the meaning of this Scene of Horror.  Queen. 
Oh Artaban! ere to the Shades of everlasting Night  
My Soul its Journey makes. Hear me,  
● must be short my Summons calls me hence;  
Love was the cause of this, and Love to thee,  
Thou best, thou most deserving of Mankind;  
For thee, Great Phraates fell by my Command;  
For thee, I met my Fate by Memnon's hand;  
Alinda was the next that must have fell;  
Forgive me, and my Death will prove a Blessing.  Dies. Art. 
Alinda! Was she meant a Sacrifice?  
What barbarous hand would crop so sweet a Flower?  
But Oh, her very Name has chilled my Blood:  
Lysander, my kind dearest best of Friends,  
If thou wouldst have me Live, Conduct me to her.  Enter Emillia. Emill. 
Oh, Sir, this Scene of horror you behold,  
Comes short of what must follow your poor Alinda.  Art. 
Ha! my heart bodes horror.  Em. 
Denied your Life by her remorseless Father,  
In wild Despair she took a fatal Draught,  
That will with racking Torments end her Life.  Art. 
Oh Gods! my fears prove true.  Enter Alinda led by two Women. Alin. 
I burn, I burn, I'm all one Funeral Pile;  
A flaming Bolt shoots through my hissing Veins;  
Not as young Phaeton's Wheels that drove the  
Sun and set the World on Fire.  Art. 
Why was I born  
To see this Day! What will the Gods do with me.  Alin. 
Oh for a Rock of Ice, a Bed of Snow  
To lull my pains, and hush my sleeping Fever:  
Here, take me quick, throw me into the Sea,  
Pour Oceans o'er me, Plunge me, Sink me, Drown me,  
If all the Waters of the Deep can quench  
My blazing Mines of Fire.  Art. 
No pitying God  
No aiding Power to drop these lovely Ruins.  Alin. 
Stand off, and let me go, I'll mount the Pole,  
Drive round the Northern Wain, and freeze to a Star.  
Oh 'tis a Glorious Chariot, ha, ha, ha.  
Sherumna, Phraates, Artaban, look there,  
Yonder's my Love, Oh 'tis a fine▪ old Gentleman.  
See how the Grizly Frost, and Reverend Icicles  
Hang on his hoary Beard a front of Snow,  
Soft as the Down of Doves, and Cool as Charity.  Art. 
Answer my aching Heart, speak Life my Fairest.  Alin. 
Nay, I have choice of Lovers, if that old dull  
Winter Fool don't like me, he has a Rival  
Will be more kind, kind Death: Yes, he'll be  
Kind indeed; no angry Kings will hinder me  
From his Embracing Arms; he has a Nuptial-Bed  
Prepared for poor Alinda.  Art. 
Sweetest Innocence.  
Yet speak to thy mourning Artaban.  Alin. 
Ha, my dear Artaban, and art thou come,  
To hand thy poor Alinda to her Grave!  
'Tis kind, 'tis wondrous kind; but how more kindly  
Had our Stars smiled, might I have Lived, my  
Artaban! What a long thousand thousand Years of Love  
Which those dear Arms had given me, have I lost!  
But I am not so poor; what Earth has robbed me off,  
The Gods will give me back: There we shall meet  
No Rival Queens, nor Tyrant Fathers part us,  
There I shall mount to everlasting Joys,  
To Love Heaven and Artaban.  Dies. Art. 
She's Dead, she's Dead, that Sovereign of my Soul  
Has left the World and me; and dares this Traitor,  
This Rebel heart outlive the fatal Blow?  
No; Love's fair Martyr, thou hast reached Heaven before me;  
But thus I'll post to follow that  Falls on his Sword. 
The Eternal Gordian's tied; so now no Tyrant's Sword  
Shall cut these 〈◊〉 of Love: Ah my Alinda,  
I'll find the out 〈◊〉 the blessed Walk above:  
In that last Part, 〈◊〉 Love can never stray,  
Thy own ●●●ght Beams, fair Saint, shall light thy way.  Cast Sen. 
Farewell, young Hero: Was ever Faithful Pair like this?  
When these  
Last Wounds the Seals of Truth and Love they give,  
How have they Died, to show us how to Live.  
FINIS.