THE Rival Queens, OR THE DEATH OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT.  
ACTED AT THE Theater-Royal.  
BY Their Majesty's Servants.  
By NAT. LEE, Gent.  
— Naturâ sublimis & acer,  
Nam spirat tragicum satis, & feliciter audet.  Horat. Epist. ad Aug. 
LONDON, Printed for James Magnes and Richard Bentley, at the Posthouse in Russel-street in Covent-Garden, near the Piazza's, 1677.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, JOHN, EARL OF MULGRAVE, Gentleman of His Majesty's Bedchamber, and Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter.  
My Lord,  
WHEN I hear by many Persons, not indifferent Judges, how Poets are censured most, even where they most intent to please; and sometimes by those to whom they address, condemned for Flatterers, Sycophants, little fawning wretches, I confess of all undertakings, there is none more dreadful to me than a Dedication. So nicely cruel are our Judges, that after a Play has been generally applauded on the Stage, the Industrious malice of some after Observers shall damn it for an Epistle, or a Preface. For this Reason, my Lord, Alexander was more to seek for a Patron in my troubled thoughts, than for the Temple of Jupiter Ammon in the spreading wild's, and rolling Sands. 'Tis certain too he must have been lost, had not Fortune, whom I must once, at least, acknowledge kind in my Life, presented me to your Lordship: You were pleased, my Lord, to read it over, Act by Act, and by particular praises, proceeding from the sweetness, rather than the justice, of your temper, lifted me up from my natural Melancholy, and Diffidence, to a bold belief, that what so great an understanding warranted, could not fail of success. And here I were most ungrateful, if I should not satisfy the judging World of the surprise I was in. Pardon me, my Lord, for calling it a surprise, when I was first honoured by waiting upon your Lordship: So much unexpected, and indeed, unusual affability from Persons of your Birth, and Quality; so true an Easiness, such Frankness, without affectation, I never saw. Your constant, but few Friends, show the firmness of your Mind, which never varies, so Godlike a Virtue, that a Prince puts off His Majesty, when he parts with Resolution. In all the happy times, that I attended you, unless business, or accident, interposed, I have observed your Company to be the same. You have traveled through all tempers, Sailed through all humours of the Courts unconstant Sea, you have gained the gallant Prizes, which you sought, your selected, unvaluable Friends: And I am perfectly persuaded, if you traffic but seldom abroad, 'tis for fear of splitting upon Knaves, or Fools. Nor is it Pride, but rather a Delicacy of your Soul, that makes you shun the Sordid part of the World, the lees and Dregs of it, while in the noblest Retirement you enjoy the finer Spirits, and have that just Greatness to be above the baser. How commendable therefore is such Reservation; how admirable such a Solitude! If you are singular in this, we ought to blame the wild, unthinking, dissolute Age; an Age, whose business is senseless Riot, Neronian Gambols, and ridiculous Debauchery; an Age that can produce few Persons, beside your Lordship, who dare be alone. All our hot hours, burnt in Night-Revells, or drowned in Day-dead-sleep; or if we wake, 'tis a point of reeling Honour joggs us to the Field, where, if we live, or die, we are not concerned; for, the Soul was laid out before we went abroad, and our Bodies were after acted, by mere Animal Spirits, without Reason. When I more narrowly Contemplate your Person, methinks I see in your Lordship two of the most famous Characters, that ever Ancient, or Modern, Story could produce; the mighty Scipio, and the retired Cowley. You have certainly the Gravity, Temperance, and Judgement, as well as the Courage, of the first; all which, in your early attempts of War, gave the noblest dawn of Virtue; and will, when occasion presents, answer our expectation, and shine forth at full. Then, for the latter, you possess all his sweetness of humour in peace, all that Halcyon Tranquillity of Mind, where your deep thoughts glide, like silent Waters, without a Wrinkle, your hours move with softest Wings, and rarely any 'larum strikes to discompose you. You have the Philosophy of the first, and which, I confess, of all your qualities, I love most, the Poetry of the latter. I was never more moved at Virgil's Dido, than at a short Poem of your Lordships; where nothing but the shortness can be disliked. As our Churchmen wish there were more Noble Men of their Function, so wish I, in the behalf of depressed Poetry, that there were more Poets of your Lordship's Excellence, and Eminence. If Poetry be a Virtue, she is a ragged one; and never, in any Age, went barer than now. It may be objected, she never deserved less. To that I must not answer; but I am sure, when she merited most, she was always dissatisfied, or she would not have forsaken the most splendid Courts in the World. Virgil, and Horace, Favourites of the mightiest Emperor, retired from him, preferring a Mistress, or a white Boy, and two or three cheerful drinking Friends, in a Country Village, to all the Magnificence of Rome: Or if sometimes they were snatched from their cooler pleasures to an Imperial Banquet, We may see by their Verses in praise of the Country Life, 'twas against their Inclination; Witness, Horace in his Epod. Beat us ille qui procul, etc. part of his sixth satire, his Epistle to Fuscus Aristius; Virgil's Georgic, O Fortunatos nimium bona si, etc. All rendered by Mr. Cowley, so Copiously, and Naturally, as no Age gone before, or coming after, shall equal, though all Heads joined together to out. do him. I speak not of his exactness to a Line, but of the whole. This than may be said, as to the condition of Poets in all times, few ever arrived to a middle Fortune, most have lived at the lowest, none ever mounted to the highest; neither by Birth, for none was ever born a Prince, as no Prince, to my remembrance, was ever born a Poet; nor by Industry, because they were always too much transported by their own thoughts from minding the grave business of a World, not of their humour: Whereas, even Slaves, the Rubbish of the Earth have, by most prodigious Fortune, gained a Sceptre, and with their vile Heads, sullied the glories of a Crown. Praise is the greatest encouragement we Chameleons can pretend to, or rather the Manna that keeps Soul and Body together; we devour it as if it were Angel's Food, and vainly think we grow Immortal. For my own part, I acknowledge, I never received a better satisfaction from the applause of an Audience than I have from your single Judgement. You gaze at Beauties, and wink at Blemishes; and do both so gracefully, that the first discovers the acuteness of your Judgement, the other the excellency of your Nature. And I can affirm, to your Lordship, there is nothing transports a Poet, next to Love, like commending in the right place. Therefore, my Lord, this Play must be yours; and Alexander, whom I have raised from the dead, comes to you with an assurance, answerable to his Character, and your Virtue. You cannot expect him in his Majesty of two thousand Years ago, I have only put his illustrious Ashes in an Urn, which are now offered, with all observance, to your Lordship. By,  
My Lord, Your Lordship's most humble, obliged, and devoted Servant, NAT. LEE.   

Dramatis Personae.  
MEN. By Alexander the Great. Mr. Hart. Clitus, Master of his Horse. Mr. Mohun. Lysimachus, Prince of the Blood. Mr. Griffin. Hephestion, Alexander's Favourite. Mr. Clerk. Cassander, Son of Antipater. Mr. Kenaston, Conspirators. Polypercon, Commander of the Phalanx. Mr. Goodman, Philip Brother to Cassander. Mr. powel. Thessalus, the Median. Mr. Wiltshire. Perdiccas, great Commanders. Mr. Lydall. Eumenes, Mr. Watson. Meleager, Mr. Perin. Aristander, a Soothsayer. Mr. Coysh.  
WOMEN. By Sysigambis, Mother of the Royal Family. Mrs. Corey. Statira, Daughter of Darius Married to Alexander. Mrs. Boutell. Roxana, Daughter of Cohortanus, first Wife of Alexander. Mrs. Martial. Parisatis, Sister to Statira, in Love with Lysimachus. Mrs. Baker.  

Attendants.  
Slaves.  
Ghost.  
Dancers.  
Guards.   
Scene, Babylon.   

To Mr. Lee, on his Alexander.  
THE Blast of common Censure could I fear,  
Before your Play my Name should not appear;  
For 'twill be thought, and with some colour too,  
I pay the Bribe I first received from You:  
That mutual Vouchers for our Fame we stand,  
To play the Game into each other's Hand;  
And as cheap Pennyworths to ourselves afford  
As Bessus, and the Brothers of the Sword.  
Such Libels private Men may well endure,  
When States, and Kings themselves are not secure:  
For ill Men, conscious of their inward guilt,  
Think the best Actions on By-ends are built.  
And yet my silence had not scaped their spite,  
Then envy had not suffered me to write:  
For, since I could not Ignorance pretend,  
Such worth I must or envy or commend.  
So many Candidates there stand for Wit,  
A place in Court is scarce so hard to get;  
In vain they crowd each other at the Door;  
For even Reversions are all begged before:  
Desert, how known so e'er, is long delayed;  
And, then too, Fools and Knaves are better paid.  
Yet, as some Actions bear so great a Name,  
That Courts themselves are just, for fear of shame:  
So has the mighty Merit of your Play  
Extorted praise, and forced itself a Way.  
'Tis here, as 'tis at Sea; who farthest goes,  
Or dares the most, makes all the rest his Foes;  
Yet, when some Virtue much out-grows the rest,  
It shoots too fast, and high, to be oppressed;  
As his Heroic worth struck Envy dumb  
Who took the Dutchman, and who cut the Boom:  
Such praise is yours, while you the Passions move,  
That 'tis no longer feigned; 'tis real Love:  
Where Nature Triumphs over wretched Art;  
We only warm the Head, but you the Heart.  
Always you warm! and if the rising Year,  
As in hot Regions, bring the Sun too near,  
'tis but to make your Fragrant Spices blow,  
Which in our colder Climates will not grow.  
They only think you animate your Theme  
With too much Fire, who are themselves all Phle'me:  
Prizes would be for Lags of slowest pace,  
Were Cripples made the Judges of the Race.  
Despise those Drones, who praise while they accuse  
The too much vigour of your youthful Muse:  
That humble Style which they their Virtue make  
Is in your power; you need but stoop and take.  
Your beauteous Images must be allowed  
By all, but some vile Poets of the Crowd;  
But how should any Sign-post-dawber know  
The worth of Titian, or of Angelo?  
Hard Features every Bungler can command;  
To draw true Beauty shows a Master's Hand.  JOHN DRYDEN.  

PROLOGUE TO ALEXANDER,  Written by Sir Char. Scroop, Baronet. 
HOW hard the Fate is, of that Scribbling Drudge,  
Who writes to all, when yet so few can judge!  
Wit, like Religion, once Divine was thought;  
And the dull Crowd believed, as they were taught:  
Now each Fanatic Fool presumes t'explain  
The Text, and does the sacred Writ profane:  
For, while you Wits each others Fall pursue,  
The Fops usurp the Power belongs to you.  
You think you're challenged in each new Play-bill,  
And here you come for trial of your Skill;  
Where, Fencer-like, you one another hurt,  
While, with your Wounds, you make the Rabble sport.  
Others there are, that have the bruital Will  
To Murder a poor Play, but want the Skill.  
They love to fight, but seldom have the Wit  
To spy the Place, where they may thrust and hit;  
And therefore, like some Bully of the Town,  
ne'er stand to draw, but knock the Poet down.  
With these, like Hogs in Gardens it succeeds,  
They root up all, and know not Flowers from Weeds.  
As for you, Sparks, that hither come each day  
To Act your own, and not to mind our Play;  
Rehearse your usual follies to the Pit,  
And with loud Nonsense drown the Stages Wit:  
Talk of your clothes, your last Debauches tell,  
And witty Bargains to each other sell;  
Gloat on the silly She, who for your sake  
Can Vanity, and Noise, for Love mistake  
Till the Cocquet, sung in the next Lampoon,  
Is by her jealous Friends sent out of Town.  
For, in this Duelling Intriguing) Age,  
The Love you make is like the War you wage;  
You're still prevented ere you come t'engage.  
But 'tis not to such trisling Foes as you,  
The Mighty Alexander deigns to sue:  
You Persians of the Pit he does despise,  
But to the Men of Sense, for Aid, he flies;  
On their experienced Arms he now depends,  
Nor fears he odds, if they but prove his Friends:  
For as he once, a little handful chose,  
The numerous Armies of the World t'oppose,  
So backed by you, who understand the Rules,  
He hopes to rout the Mighty Host of Fools.   

Some Books Printed this Year, 1677. for J. Magnes, and R. Bently.  

Madam Fickle.  
Town Fop.  
Abdellazar.  
The Destruction of Jerusalem, by Titus Vespasian.  
The Fool turned Critic.  
The Happy Slave, First and Second Part in French and English.  
The False Count Brion.  
Moral Essays, by the Metures of the Port-Royal.   

Plays Written by Mr. Lee.  
The Tragedy of Nero.  
Sophonisba, or Hannibal 's Overthrow.  
Glorian, or the Court of Augustus Caesar.  
The Rival Queens, or the Death of Alexander the Great.   

The French Novels.  
L'Heureux Esclave.  
Gallant Escroc.  
Princess Momferrat.  
Le Cercle.  
L'Histoire des Viziers.  
Memoires de Suede.  
Relation D'Espagne.  
Touchant Don John.    

THE Rival Queens, OR ALEXANDER THE GREAT.  

ACT I. SCENE I.  Enter Hephestion, Lysimachús fighting, Clitus parting them. Cly. 
WHAT, are you Madmen! ha— Put up I say  
Then, mischief in the bosoms of ye both.  Lys. 
I have his Sword.  Cly. 
But must not have his Life.  Lys. 
Must not Old Clitus?  Cly. 
Mad Lysimachus, you must not.  Heph. 
Coward Flesh! O feeble Arm,  
He dallied with my point, and when I thrust,  
He frowned, and smiled, and foiled me like a Fencer.  
O Reverend Clitus! Father of the War;  
Most famous Guard of Alexander's Life,  
Take pity on my Youth, and lend a Sword:  
Lysimachus is brave, and will not scorn me;  
Kill me, or let me fight with him again.  Lys. 
There, take thy Sword; and since thou art resolved  
For death, thou hast the noblest from my hand.  Cly. 
Stay thee Lysimachus, Hephestion, hold;  
I bar you both, my Body interposed.  
Now let me see which of you dares to strike;  
By Jove you've stirred the Old Man, that rash Arm  
That first advances, moves against the Gods,  
Against the Wrath of Clitus and the Will  
Of our great King, whose Deputy I stand.  Lys. 
Well, I shall take another time.  Heph. 
And I.  Cly. 
'Tis false;  
Another time, what time? what foolish hour?  
No time shall see a brave Man do amiss.  
And what's the noble Cause that makes this madness?  
What big Ambition blows this dangerous Fire?  
A Cupid's puff, is it not Woman's breath?  
By all our triumphs in the heat of Youth,  
When Towns were sacked, and Beauties prostrate lay,  
When my Blood boiled, and Nature worked me high,  
Clitus ne'er bowed his body to such shame:  
The brave will scorn their Cobweb Arts— The Souls  
Of all that whining, smiling, cozening Sex  
Weigh not one thought of any Man of War.  Lys. 
I must confess our vengeance was ill-timed.  Cly. 
Death! I had rather this right Arm were lost,  
To which I owe my glory, than our King  
Should know your fault— what, on this famous day!  Heph. 
I was to blame.  Cly. 
This memorable day  
When our hot Master, that would tire the World,  
Outride the labouring Sun, and tread the Stars  
When he inclined to rest, comes peaceful on,  
Listening to Songs; while all his Trumpets sleep,  
And plays with Monarchs whom he used to drive;  
Shall we begin disorders, make new broils?  
We that have temper learned, shall we awake  
Hushed Mars, the Lion, that had left to roar?  Lys. 
'Tis true, Old Clitus is an Oracle.  
Put up Hephestion,— did not Passion blind  
My Reason, I on such occasion too  
Could thus have urged.  Heph. 
Why is it then we love?  Cly. 
Because unmanned.—  
Why is not Alexander grown Example?  
O that a Face should thus bewitch a Soul,  
And ruin all that's right and reasonable.  
Talk be my bane, yet the Old Man must talk,  
Not so he loved when he at Issus fought;  
And joined in mighty Duel great Darius,  
Whom from his Chariot flaming all with Gems  
He hurled to Earth and crushed th' imperial Crown,  
Nor could the Gods defend their Images  
Which with the gaudy Coach lay overturned:  
'Twas not the shaft of Love that did the feat,  
Cupid had nothing there to do, but now  
Two Wives he takes, two Rival Queens disturb  
The Court; and while each hand does beauty hold,  
Where is there room for glory?  Heph. 
In his heart.  Cly. 
Well said,  
You are his favourite, and I had forgot  
Who I was talking to, see Sysigambis comes  
Reading a Letter to your Princess; go,  
Now make your claim, while I attend the King.  [Exit. Enter Sysigambis, Parisatis. Par. 
Did you not love my Father? Yes, I see  
You did, his very name but mentioned brings  
The Tears howe'er unwilling to your Eeys.  
I loved him too, he would not thus have forced  
My trembling heart, which your Commands may break,  
But never bend.  Sys. 
Forbear thy lost complaints,  
Urge not a suit which I can never grant.  
Behold the Royal Signet of the King;  
Therefore resolve to be Hephestion's Wife.  Par. 
No, since Lysimachus has won my heart,  
My body shall be Ashes, ere another's.  Sys. 
For sixty rolling years who ever stood.  
The shock of State so unconcerned as I?  
This whom I thought to Govern being young,  
Heaven, as a Plague to Power, has rendered strong;  
Judge my distresses, and my temper prize;  
Who, though unfortunate, would still be wise.  Lys. 
To let you know that misery does sway  [Both kneel. 
An humbler Fate than yours, see at your Feet  
The lost Lysimachus: O mighty Queen  
I have but this to beg, impartial stand;  
And since Hephestion serves by your permission,  
Disdain not me who ask your Royal leave  
To cast a throbbing heart before her feet.  Heph. 
A blessing like possession of the Princess,  
No Services, not Crowns, nor all the Blood  
That circles in our Bodies can deserve,  
Therefore I take all helps, much more the Kings;  
And what your Majesty vouchsafed to give,  
Your word is past, where all my hopes must hang.  Lys. 
There perish too— all words want sense in Love;  
But Love, and I bring such a perfect Passion  
So nobly pure, 'tis worthy of her Eyes,  
Which without blushing she may justly prize.  Heph. 
Such arrogance, should Alexander Woo,  
Would lose him all the Conquest he has won.  Lys. 
Let not a Conquest once be named by you,  
Who this Dispute must to my mercy own.  Sys. 
Rise brave Lysimachus, Hephestion rise,  
'Tis true Hephestion first declared his love;  
And 'tis as true I promised him my aid!  
Your glorious King turned mighty Advocate,  
How noble therefore were the Victory,  
If we could vanquish this disordered Love?  Heph. 
'Twill never be.  Lys. 
No, I will yet love on,  
And hear from Alexander's Mouth, in what  
Hephestion merits more than I  Sys. 
I grieve,  
And fear the boldness which your Love inspires;  
But lest her sight should haste your Enterprise,  
'Tis just I take the Object from your Eyes.  [Exeunt Sys. Par. Lys. 
She's gone, and see the Day, as if her look  
Had kindled it, is lost now she is vanished.  Heph. 
A sudden gloominess and horror comes  
About me.  Lys. 
Let's away to meet the King,  
You know my suit.  Heph. 
Yonder Cassander comes,  
He may inform us.  Lys. 
No, I would avoid him,  
There's something in that busy Face of his  
That shocks my Nature.  Heph. 
Where and what you please.  [Exeunt. Enter Cassander. Cass. 
The Morning rises black, the lowering Sun,  
As if the dreadful business he foreknew,  
Drives heavily his sable Chariot on:  
The Face of Day now blushes Scarlet deep,  
As if it feared the stroke which I intent,  
Like that of Jupiter— Lightning and Thunder:  
The Lords above are angry, and talk big,  
Or rather walk the mighty Cirque like Mourners  
Clad in long Clouds the Robes of thickest Night,  
And seem to groan for Alexander's fall;  
'Tis as Cassander's Soul could wish it were,  
Which whensoe'er it flies at lofty mischief  
Would startle Fate, and make all Heaven concerned.  
A mad Chaldaean in the dead of Night  
Came to my Bedside with a flaming Torch;  
And bellowing o'er me like a Spirit damned,  
He cried, Well had it been for Babylon  
If cursed Cassander never had been born.  Enter Thessalus, Philip, with Letters. Thess. 
My Lord Cassander!  Cass. 
Ha! who's there?  Phil. 
Your Friends.  Cass. 
Welcome dear Thessalus and Brother Philip,  
Papers— with what Contents?  Phil. 
From Macedon,  
A trusty slave arrived— great Antipater  
Writes that your Mother laboured with you long,  
Your Birth was slow, and slow is all your Life.  Cass. 
He writes, dispatch the King— Craterus comes,  
Who in my room must Govern Macedon;  
Let him not live a day— he dies to night,  
And thus my Father, but forestalls my purpose;  
Why am I slow then? if I rode on Thunder  
I must a moment have to fall from Heaven,  
ere I could blast the growth of this Colossus.  Thess. 
The haughty Polyperchon comes this way,  
A Malcontent, one whom I lately wrought,  
That for a slight affront, at Susa given,  
Bears Alexander most pernicious hate.  Cass. 
So when I mocked the Persians that adored him,  
He struck me on the Face, and by the Hair  
He swung me to his Guards to be chastised;  
For which, and for my Father's weighty Cause,  
When I abandon what I have resolved,  
May I again be beaten like a Slave.  
But lo, where Polyperchon comes, now Fire him  [Enter Polyperchon. 
With such complaints, that he may shoot to ruin.  Pol. 
Sure I have found those Friends dare second me;  
I hear fresh murmurs, as I pass along,  
Yet rather than put up, I'll do't alone.  
Did not Pausanias, a Youth, a Stripling,  
A beardless Boy swelled with inglorious wrong,  
For a less cause his Father Philip kill?  
Peace then full heart! move like a Cloud about,  
And when time rip'ns thee to break, O shed  
The stock of all thy Poys'n on his head.  Cass. 
All Nations bow their heads with homage down,  
And kiss the Feet of this exalted Man;  
The Name, the Shout, the Blast from every Mouth  
Is Alexander, Alexander bursts  
Your Cheeks, and with a crack so loud  
It drown's the Voice of Heaven, like Dogs ye fawn,  
The Earth's Commanders fawn, and follow him;  
Mankind starts up to hear his blasphemy,  
And if this Hunter of the Barbarous World  
But wind himself a God, you echo him  
With Universal cry.  Pol. 
I echo him?  
I fawn, or fall like a fat Eastern Slave  
And lick his feet? Boys hoot me from the Palace  
To haunt some Cloister with my senseless walk,  
When thus the noble Soul of Polyperchon  
Let's go the aim of all his actions, Honour.  Thess. 
The King shall flay me, cut me up alive,  
Ply me with Fire and Scourges, rack me worse  
Than once he did Philotas, ere I bow.  Cass. 
Curse on thy Tongue for mentioning Philotas,  
I had rather thou hadst Aristander been;  
And to my Soul's confusion raised up Hell  
With all the Furies brooding upon horrors,  
Than brought Philotas' Murder to remembrance.  Phil. 
I saw him racked, a sight so dismal sad  
My Eyes did ne'er behold.  Cass. 
So dismal! Peace,  
It is unutterable; let me stand  
And think upon the Tragedy you saw:  
By Mars it comes, ay now the Racks set forth,  
Bloody Craterus his inveterate Foe,  
With pitiless Hephestion standing by:  
Philotas like an Angel seized by Fiends  
Is straight disrobed, a Napkin ties his Head,  
His Warlike Arms with shameful Cords are bound,  
And every Slave can now the valiant wound.  Pol. 
Now by the Soul of Royal Philip sled  
I dare pronounce young Alexander, who  
Would be a God, is cruel as a Devil.  Cass. 
Oh, Polyperchon, Philip, Thessalus  
Did not your Eyes rain Blood? your Spirits burst,  
To see your noble fellow Soldier burn,  
Yet without trembling, or a tear endure  
The torments of the damned? O Barbarians,  
Could you stand by, and yet refuse to suffer?  
Ye saw him bruised, torn, to the Bones made bare;  
His Veins wide lanced, and the poor quivering Flesh  
With Pincers from his manly Bosom ripped,  
Till ye discovered the great Heart lie panting.  Pol. 
Why killed we not the King to save Philotas?  Cass. 
Asses! Fools! but Asses will bray, and Fools be angry,  
Why stood ye then like Statues? there's the case,  
The horror of the sight had turned ye Marble.  
So the pale Trojans from their weeping Walls  
Saw the dear body of the Godlike Hector  
Bloody and soiled, dragged on the famous ground,  
Yet senseless stood, nor with drawn Weapons ran  
To save the great remains of that prodigious Man.  Phil. 
Wretched Philotas! bloody Alexander!  Thess. 
Soon after him the great Parmenio fell,  
Stabbed in his Orchard by the Tyrant's doom;  
But where's the need to mention public loss,  
When each receives particular disgrace?  Pol. 
Late I remember to a Banquet called  
After Alcides' Goblet swift had gone  
The giddy round, and wine had made me bold,  
Stirring the Spirits up to talk with Kings  
I saw Craterus with Hephestion enter  
In Persian Robes, to Alexander's health  
They largely drank, then turning Eastward fell  
Flat on the Pavement and adored the Sun,  
Straight to the King they sacred reverence gave  
With solemn words, O Son of Thundering Jove,  
Young Ammon live for ever, then kissed the ground:  
I laughed aloud, and scoffing asked 'em why  
They kissed no harder;— but the King leapt up  
And spurned me to the Earth with this reply;  
Do thou,— whilst with his Foot he pressed my Neck  
Till from my Ears, my Nose, and Mouth the blood  
Gushed forth, and I lay foaming on the Earth,  
For which I wish this Dagger in his heart.  Cass. 
There spoke the Spirit of calisthenes.  
Remember he's a Man, his Flesh as soft  
And penetrable as a Girls: we have seen him wounded,  
A Stone has struck him, yet no Thunderbolt:  
A Pebble felled this Jupiter along,  
A Sword has cut him, a Javelin pierced him,  
Water will drown him, Fire burn him,  
A Surfeit, nay a Fit of Common-sickness  
Brings this Immortal to the Gate of Death.  Pol. 
Why should we more delay the glorious business,  
Are your hearts firm?  Phil. 
Hell cannot be more bent  
To any ruin, than I to the Kings.  Thess. 
And I.  Pol. 
Behold my hand, and if you doubt my truth,  
Tear up my breast and lay my heart upon it.  Cass. 
Join then, O worthy, hearty, noble hands,  
Fit Instruments for such Majestic Souls;  
Remember Hermolaus, and be hushed.  Pol. 
Still, as the Bosom of the desert Night,  
As fatal Planets, or deep plotting Fiends.  Cass. 
To day he comes from Babylon to Susa  
With proud Roxana.  
Ha! who's that,— look here.  Enter the Ghost of King Philip, shaking a Truncheon at 'em, walks over the Stage. Cass. 
Now by the Gods, or Furies which I ne'er  
Believed,— there's one of 'em arrived to shake us.  
What art thou? glaring thing, speak: what! the Spirit  
Of our King Philip, or of Polyphemus?  
Nay, hurl thy Truncheon, second it with Thunder,  
We will abide.— Thessalus, saw you nothing?  Thess. 
Yes, and am more amazed than you can be.  Phil. 
'Tis said that many Prodigies were seen  
This Morn, but none so horrible as this.  Pol. 
What can you fear? though the Earth yawned so wide  
That all the labours of the deep were seen,  
And Alexander stood onth ' other side,  
I'd leap the burning Ditch to give him death,  
Or sink myself for ever. Pray to the business.  Cass. 
As I was saying, this Roxana whom  
To aggravate my hate to him I love,  
Meeting him as he came Triumphant from  
The Indies, kept him Revelling at Susa;  
But as I found, a deep repentance since  
Turns his affections to the Queen Statira,  
To whom he swore, before he could espouse her,  
That he would never Bed Roxana more.  Pol. 
How did the Persian Queens receive the news  
Of his revolt?  Thess. 
With grief incredible:  
Great Sysigambis wept, but the young Queen  
Fell dead amongst her Maids,  
Nor could their care,  
With richest Cordials, for an hour or more,  
Recover Life.  Cass. 
Knowing how much she loved,  
I hoped to turn her all into Medea;  
For when the first gust of her grief was past  
I entered, and with breath prepared did blow  
The dying Sparks into a Towering flame,  
Describing the new love he bears Roxana,  
Conceiving not unlikely that the Line  
Of dead Darius in her Caufe might rise.  
Is any Panthers, Lionesses rage's  
So furious, any Torrents fall so swift  
As a wronged Woman's hate? Thus far it helps  
To give him troubles which perhaps may end him,  
And set the Court in universal uproar;  
But see it rip'ns more than I expected,  
The Scene works up, kill him, or kill thyself;  
So there be mischief any way, 'tis well:  
Now change the Vizor, every one disperse,  
And with a face of friendship meet the King.  [Exeunt. Enter Sysigambis, Statira, Parisatis, Attendants. Stat. 
Give me a Knife, a draught of Poison, flames;  
Swell heart, break, break thou stubborn thing;  
Now, by the sacred Fire, I'll not be held;  
Why do you wish me Life yet stifle me  
For want of Air? pray give me leave to walk.  Sys. 
Is there no reverence to my Person due?  
Darius would have heard me, trust not rumour.  Stat. 
No, he hates,  
He loathes the Beauties which he has enjoyed,  
O, he is false, that great, that glorious Man  
Is Tyrant midst of his triumphant spoils,  
Is bravely false to all the Gods, forsworn;  
Yet, who would think it? no, it cannot be,  
It cannot— What that dear protesting Man!  
He that has warmed my Feet with thousand sighs,  
Then cooled 'em with his tears, died on my Knees,  
Outwept the Morning with his dewy Eyes,  
And groaned, and swore the wondering Stars away?  Sys. 
No, 'tis impossible; believe thy Mother  
That knows him well.  Stat. 
Away, and let me die,  
O 'tis my fondness, and my easy Nature  
That would excuse him; but I know he's false,  
'Tis now the common talk, the news o'th' World,  
False to Statira, false to her that loved him.  
That loved him, cruel Victor as he was,  
And took him bathed all o'er in Persian Blood;  
Kissed the dear cruel Wounds, and washed 'em o'er  
And o'er in Tears,— then bound 'em with my Hair,  
Laid him all Night upon my panting Bosom  
Lulled like a Child, and hushed him with my Songs.  Par. 
If this be true, ah, who will ever trust  
A Man again?  Stat. 
A Man! a Man, my Parisatis  
Thus with thy hand held up, thus let me swear thee.  
By the eternal Body of the Sun,  
Whose Body, O forgive the Blasphemy,  
I loved not half so well as the least part  
Of my dear precious faithless Alexander;  
For I will tell thee, and to warn thee of him,  
Not the Spring's Mouth, nor Breath of Jesamin,  
Nor Violets Infant sweets, nor opening Buds  
Are half so sweet as Alexander's Breast;  
From every Poor of him a perfume falls,  
He kisses softer than a Southern Wind;  
Curls like a Vine, and touches like a God.  Sys. 
When will thy Spirits rest, these transports cease?  Stat. 
Will you not give me leave to warn my Sister?  
As I was saying,— but I told his sweetness;  
Then he will talk, good Gods how he will talk!  
Even when the joy he sighed for is possessed,  
He speaks the kindest words and looks such things,  
Vows with such Passion, swears with so much grace,  
That 'tis a kind of Heaven to be deluded by him.  Par. 
But what was it that you would have me swear?  Stat. 
Alas, I had forgot, let me walk by  
And weep a while, and I shall soon remember.  Sys. 
Have patience Child, and give her liberty;  
Passions like Seas will have their Ebbs and Flows:  
Yet while I see her thus, not all the losses  
We have received since Alexander's Conquest  
Can touch my hardened Soul, her sorrow reigns  
Too fully there.  Par. 
But what if she should kill herself?  Stat. 
Roxana then enjoys my perjured Love:  
Roxana clasps my Monarch in her Arms;  
Dotes on my Conqueror, my dear Lord, my King,  
Devours my Lips, eats him with hungry Kisses:  
She grasps him all, she, the cursed happy she.  
By Heaven I cannot bear it, 'tis too much;  [Rises. 
I'll die, or rid me of the burning torture.  
I will have remedy, I will, I will,  
Or go distracted; Madness may throw off  
The mighty Load, and drown the flaming Passion.  
Madam, draw near, with all that are in presence,  
And list'n to the Vow which here I make.  Sys. 
Take heed my dear Statira, and consider  
What desperate Love enforces you to swear.  Stat. 
Pardon me, for I have considered well;  
And here I bid adieu to all Mankind.  
Farewell ye Cozners of the easy Sex,  
And thou the greatest, falsest Alexander;  
Farewell thou most beloved, thou faithless Dear;  
If I but mention him, the Tears will fall:  
Sure there is not a Letter in his Name,  
But is a Charm, to melt a Woman's Eyes.  Sys. 
Clear up thy griefs, thy King, thy Alexander  
Comes on to Babylon.  Stat. 
Why let him come,  
Joy of all Eyes, but the forlorn Statira's.  Sys. 
Wilt thou not see him?  Stat. 
By Heaven, I never will,  
That is my Vow, my sacred Resolution;  
And when I break it.—  [Kneels. Sys. 
Ah, do not ruin all.  Stat. 
May I again be flattered and deluded,  
May sudden death, and horrid, come instead  
Of what I wish, and take me unprepared.  Sys. 
Still kneel, and with the same Breath call again  
The woeful Imprecation thou hast made.  Stat. 
No, I will publish it through all the Court,  
Then in the Bowers of great Semiramis  
For ever lock my woes from human view.  Sys. 
Yet be persuaded.  Stat. 
Never urge me more,  
Lest driven to rage I should my Life abhor,  
And in your presence put an end to all  
The fast Calamities that round me fall.  Par. 
O angry Heaven, what have the guiltless done?  
And where shall wretched Parisatis run?  Sys. 
Captives in War, our Bodies we resigned,  
But now made free, Love does our Spirits bind.  Stat. 
When to my purposed loneness I retire,  
Your sight I through the Grates shall oft desire,  
And after Alexander's health inquire:  
And if this Passion cannot be removed,  
Ask how my Resolution he approved?  
How much he loves, how much he is beloved:  
Then when I hear that all things please him well,  
Thank the good Gods, and hide me in my Cell.  [Exeunt.  

ACT II. SCENE I.  Noise of Trumpets sounding far off. The Scene draws, and discovers a Battle of Crows, or Ravens, in the Air; an Eagle and a Dragon meet and fight; the Eagle drops down with all the rest of the Birds, and the Dragon flies away. Soldiers walk off, shaking their Heads. The Conspirators come forward. Cass. 
HE comes, the fatal glory of the World,  
The headlong Alexander, with a Guard  
Of thronging Crowns comes on to Babylon,  
Though warned, in spite of all the Powers above,  
Who by these Prodigies foretell his ruin.  Pol. 
Why all this noise, because a King must die?  
Or does Heaven fear because he swayed the Earth,  
His Ghost will war with the high Thunderer?  
Curse on the babbling Fates that cannot see  
A Great Man tumble, but they must be talking.  Cass. 
The Spirit of King Philip, in those Arms  
We saw him wear, passed groaning through the Court,  
His dreadful Eyeballs rolled their horror upwards;  
He waved his Arms, and shook his wondrous Head.  
I've heard that at the crowing of the Cock  
Lions will roar, and Goblins steal away;  
But this Majestic Air stalks steadfast on  
Spite of the Morn that calls him from the East,  
Nor minds the opening of the Ivory Door.  Phil. 
'Tis certain there was never Day like this.  Cass. 
Late as I musing walked behind the Palace  
I met a monstrous Child, that with his Hands  
Held to his Face, which seemed all over Eyes,  
A Silver Bowl, and wept it full of Blood.  
But having spied me, like a Cockatrice,  
He glared a while; then with a shriek so shrill  
As all the Winds had whistled from his Mouth,  
He dashed me with the Gore he held, and vanished.  Pol. 
That which befell me, though 'twas horrid, yet  
When I consider it appears ridiculous;  
For, as I passed through a by vacant place,  
I met two Women very old and ugly,  
That wrung their Hands, and howled, and beat their Breasts  
And cried out Poison: when I asked the cause,  
They took me by the Ears; and with strange force  
Held me to Earth, than laughed and disappeared.  Cass. 
O how I love destruction with a Method  
Which none discern, but those that wove the Plot:  
Like Silkworms we are hid in our own Weft,  
But we shall burst at last through all the strings;  
And when time calls, come forth in a new Form:  
Not Infects, to be trod, but Dragon's winged.  Thess. 
The Face of all the Court is strangely altered:  
There's not a Persian I can meet but stares  
As if he were distracted. Oxyartes  
Statira's Uncle openly declaimed  
Against the Perjury of Alexander.  Phil. 
Others, more fearful, are removed to Susa,  
Dreading Roxana's rage, who comes i'th' Rear  
To Babylon.  Cass. 
It glads my rising Soul  
That we shall see him Racked before he dies:  
I know he loves Statira more than Life,  
And on a Crowd of Kings in Triumph born  
Comes, big with expectation, to enjoy her.  
But when he hears the Oaths which she has ta'en,  
Her last adieu made public to the World,  
Her vowed divorce, how will remorse consume him?  
Prey, like the Bird of Hell, upon his Liver?  Pol. 
To bawk his Longing, and delude his Lust,  
Is more than Death, 'tis Earnest for Damnation.  Cass. 
Then comes Roxana, who must help our Party;  
I know her jealous, bloody, and ambitious.  
Sure 'twas the likeness of her Heart to mine,  
And Sympathy of Natures caused me love her:  
'Tis fixed, I must enjoy her, and no way  
So proper as to make her guilty first.  Pol. 
To see two Rival Queens of different humours,  
With a variety of Torments vex him.  [Enter Lysima, Hephest. Cass. 
Of that anon; but see Lysimachus  
And the young Favourite; sort, sort yourselves,  
And like to other Mercenary Souls  
Adore this Mortal God, that soon must bleed.  Lys. 
Here I will wait the King's approach, and stand  
His utmost anger if he do me wrong.  Heph. 
That cannot be, from Power so absolute  
And high as his.  Lys. 
Well, you and I have done.  Pol. 
How the Court thickens!  [Trumpets sound. Cass. 
Nothing to what it will,— Does he not come  
To hear a thousand thousand Embassies,  
Which, from all Parts, to Babylon are brought,  
As if the Parliament of the whole World  
Had met; and he came on a God, to give  
The infinite Assembly glorious audience.  Enter Clitus, Aristander in his Robes, with a Wand. Arist. 
Haste Reverend Clitus, haste, and stop the King.  Clyt. 
He is already entered: then the Press  
Of Princes that attend so thick about him  
Keep all that would approach at certain distance.  Arist. 
Though he were hemmed with Deities I'd speak to him,  
And turn him back from this Highway to Death.  Clyt. 
Here place yourself, within his Trumpets sound.  
Lo, the Caldean Priests appear, behold  
The sacred Fire, Nearchus and Eumenes  
With their white Wands, and dressed in Eastern Robes,  
To soothe the King, who loves the Persian mode:  
But see the Master of the World appears.  Enter Alexander, all kneel but Clitus. Heph. 
O Son of Jupiter live for ever.  Alex. 
Rise all, and thou my second self, my Love;  
O my Hephestion, raise thee from the Earth  
Up to my Breast, and hide thee in my Heart,  
Art thou grown cold? why hang thine Arms at distance?  
Hugg me, or else by Heaven thou lov'st me not.  Heph. 
Not Love, my Lord? break not the Heart you framed  
And moulded up to such an Excellence;  
Then stamped on it your own Immortal Image.  
Not love the King? Such is not Woman's love,  
So fond a friendship, such a sacred flame,  
As I must doubt to find in Breasts above.  Alex. 
Thou dost, thou lov'st me, Crown of all my Wars,  
Thou dearer to me than my Groves of Laurel,  
I know thou lov'st thy Alexander more  
Than Clitus does the King: no Tears Hephestion,  
I read thy Passion in thy Manly Eyes;  
And glory in those Planets of my Life  
Above the Rival Lights that shine in Heaven.  Lys. 
I see that Death must wait me, yet I'll on.  Alex. 
I'll tell thee Friend, and mark it all ye Princes,  
Though never mortal Man arrived to such  
A height as I, yet I would forfeit all;  
Cast all my Purples, and my conquered Crowns,  
And die to save this Darling of my Soul.  
Give me thy Hand, share all my Sceptres while  
I live; and when my hour of Fate is come,  
I leave thee, what thou meritest more than I, the World.  Lys. 
Dread Sir, I cast me at your Royal Feet.  Alex. 
What, my Lysimachus, whose Veins are rich  
With our illustrious Blood? my Kinsman, rise;  
Is not that Clitus?  Clyt. 
Your old faithful Soldier.  Alex. 
Come to my hands, thus double Arm the King;  
And now methinks I stand like the dread God,  
Who while his Priests and I quaffed sacred Blood,  
Acknowledged me his Son. My Lightning thou;  
And thou my mighty Thunder,— I have seen  
Thy glittering Sword outfly Celestial Fire:  
And when I cried Be gone, and execute,  
I've seen him run swifter than starting Hinds,  
Nor bent the tender Grass beneath his Feet:  
Swifter than Shadows fleeting o'er the Fields,  
Nay, even the Winds, with all their stock of Wings,  
Have puffed behind, as wanting Breath to reach him.  Lys. 
But if your Majesty.—  Clyt. 
Who would not lose  
The last dear drop of Blood, for such a King?  Alex. 
Witness my elder Brothers of the Sky,  
How much I love a Soldier.— O my Clitus,  
Was it not when we passed the Granicus  
Thou didst preserve me from unequal force?  
It was when Spithridates, and Rhesaces,  
Fell both upon me, with two dreadful strokes,  
And clove my tempered Helmet quite in sunder;  
Then I remember, than thou didst me service:  
I think my Thunder split him to the Navel.  Clyt. 
To your great self you owe that Victory,  
And sure your Arms did never gain a nobler.  Alex. 
By Heaven they never did, for well thou knowest,  
And I am prouder to have passed that Stream,  
Than that I drove a Million o'er the Plain.  
Can none remember? Yes, I know all must,  
When glory, like the dazzling Eagle, stood  
Perched on my Beaver in the Granick Flood.  
When fortune's self my Standard trembling boar,  
And the pale Fates stood frighted on the Shore,  
When the Immortals on the Billows rode,  
And I myself appeared the leading God.  Arist. 
But all the honours which your Youth has won  
Are lost, unless you fly from Babylon:  
Haste with your Chiefs, to Susa take your way,  
Fly for your life, destructive is your stay.  
This Morning having viewed the angry Sky,  
And marked the Prodigies that threatened high,  
To our bright God I did for succour fly;  
But, Oh.  Alex. 
What fears thy Reverend Bosom shake?  
Or dost thou from some Dream of horror wake?  
If so, come grasp me with thy shaking Hand,  
Or fall behind while I the danger stand.  Arist. 
To Orosmades Cave I did repair  
Where I atoned the dreadful God with Prayer:  
But as I prayed I heard long groans within,  
And shrieks, as of the damned that howl for Sin:  
I knew the Omen, and I feared to stay,  
But prostrate on the trembling Pavement lay;  
When he bodes happiness, he answers mild,  
'Twas so of old, and the great Image smiled;  
But now in abrupt Thunder he replied  
Loud as rent Rocks, or roaring Seas, he cried,  
All Empire's Crown, Glory of Babylon,  
Whose Head stands wrapped in Clouds, must tumble down.  Alex. 
If Babylon must fall, what is't to me?  
Or can I help immutable Decree?  
Down then vast Frame with all thy lofty Towers,  
Since 'tis so ordered by Almighty Powers;  
Pressed by the Fates, unloose your golden Bars,  
'Tis great to fall the envy of the Stars.  Enter Perdiccas, Meleager. Mele. 
O horrrour!  Perd. 
Dire Portents!  Alex. 
Out with 'em then,  
What are you Ghosts, ye empty shapes of Men?  
If so, the Mysteries of Hell unfold,  
Be all the Scrowls of Destiny unrowled?  
Open the brazen Leaves, and let it come;  
Point with a Thunderbolt your Monarch's doom.  Perd. 
As Meleager, and myself in Field,  
Your Persian Horse about the Army wheeled:  
We heard a noise, as of a rushing Wind,  
And a thick Storm the Eye of Day did blind:  
A croaking noise resounded through the Air,  
We looked, and saw big Ravens battling there:  
Each Bird of Night appeared himself a Cloud,  
They met, and fought, and their Wounds reigned black Blood.  Mele. 
All, as for honour, did their Lives expose;  
Their Talons clashed, and Beaks gave mighty blows,  
Whilst dreadful sounds did our seared sense assail,  
As of small Thunder, or huge Scythian Hail.  Perd. 
Our Augurs shook, when with a horrid groan,  
We thought that all the Clouds had tumbled down.  
Soldiers, and Chiefs, who can the wonder tell,  
Struck to the ground, promisevously fell;  
While the dark Birds, each ponderous as a Shield,  
For fifty Furlongs hid the fatal Field.  Alex. 
Be witness for me, all ye Powers Divine,  
If ye be angry, 'tis no fault of mine;  
Therefore let Furles face me, with a Band  
From Hell, my Virtue shall not make a stand;  
Though all the Curtains of the Sky be drawn,  
And the Stars wink, young Ammon shall go on;  
While my Statira shines, I cannot stray,  
Love lifts his Torch to light me on my way,  
And her bright Eyes create another Day.  Lys. 
ere you remove be pleased, dread Sir, to hear  
A Prince allied to you by Blood.  Alex. 
Speak quickly.  Lys. 
For all that I have done for you in War,  
I beg, the Princess Parisatis.  Alex. 
Ha,—  
Is not my word already past? Hephestion,  
I know he hates thee, but he shall not have her;  
We heard of this before.— Lysimachus,  
I here command, you nourish no design,  
To prejudice my Person in the Man  
I love, and will prefer to all the World.  Lys. 
I never failed to obey your Majesty,  
Whilst you commanded what was in my power,  
Nor could Hephestion fly more swift to serve,  
When you commanded us to storm a Town,  
Or fetch a Standard from the Enemy:  
But when you charge me not to love the Princess,  
I must confess, I disobey you, as  
I would the Gods themselves, should they command.  Alex. 
You should, brave Sir, hear me, and then be dumb,  
When by my order, cursed Calisthenes,  
Was as a Traitor doomed to live in torments:  
Your pity sped him in despite of me.  
Think not I have forgot your insolence;  
No, though I pardoned it, yet if again  
Thou dar'st to cross me with another Crime,  
The Bolts of Fury shall be doubled on thee.  
In the mean time think not of Parisatis;  
For if thou dost, by Jupiter Ammon,  
By my own Head, and by King Philip's Soul,  
I'll not respect that Blood of mine thou sharest,  
But use thee as the vilest Macedonian.  Lys. 
I doubted not at first but I should meet  
Your indignation, yet my Soul's resolved,  
And I shall never quit so brave a Prize,  
While I can draw a Bow, or lift a Sword.  Alex. 
Against my Life, ha? was it so? how now?  
'Tis said that I am rash, of hasty humour;  
But I appeal to the Immortal Gods,  
If ever petty poor Provincial Lord  
Had temper like to mine? My Slave, whom I  
Could tread to Clay, dares utter bloody threats.  Clyt. 
Contain yourself, dread Sir, the noble Prince,  
I see it in his Countenance, would die,  
To justify his truth, but love makes many faults.  Lys. 
I meant his Minion there should feel my Arm,  
Love asks his blood, nor shall he live to laugh  
At my destruction.  Alex. 
Now be thy own Judge,  
I pardon thee for my old Clytus' sake;  
But if once more thou mention thy rash Love,  
Or dar'st attempt Hephestion's precious Life,  
I'll pour such storms of indignation on thee,  
Philot as rack, Calisthenes' disgrace,  
Shall be delight to what thou shalt endure.  Enter Sysigambis, Parisatis. Heph. 
My Lord, the Queen comes to congratulate  
Your safe arrival.  Alex. 
O thou best of Women,  
Source of my joy, blessed Parent of my Love.  Sys. 
Permit me kneel, and give those adorations  
Which from the Persian Family are due:  
Have you not raised us from our ruins high,  
And when no Hand could help, nor any Eye  
Behold us with a Tear, yours pitied me.  
You, like a God, snatched us from sorrow's Gulf,  
Fixed us in Thrones above our former state.  Par. 
Which, when a Soul forgets, advanced so nobly,  
May it be drowned in deeper misery.  Alex. 
To meet me thus, was generously done;  
But still there wants to crown my happiness  
Life of my Empire, Treasure of my Soul!  
My dear Statira! O that Heavenly Beam,  
Warmth of my Brain, and Firer of my Heart;  
Had she but shot to see me, had she met me,  
By this time I had been amongst the Gods;  
If any Ecstasy can make a height,  
Or any Rapture hurl us to the Heavens.  Clyt. 
Now, who shall dare to tell him the Queen's Vow?  Alex. 
How fares my Love? ha,- neither answer me!  
Ye raise my wonder, Darkness overwhelm me  
If Royal Sysigambis does not weep.  
Trembling, and horror, pierce me cold as Ice.  
Is she not well? what, none, none answer me?  
Or is it worse? Keep down ye rising Sighs,  
And murmur in the hollow of my Breast:  
Run to my Heart, and gather more sad Wind;  
That when the voice of Fate shall call you forth,  
Ye may, at one rush, from the Seat of Life,  
Blow the Blood out, and burst me like a Bladder.  Heph. 
I would relate it, but my courage fails me.  Alex. 
If she be dead,— That if's impossible;  
And let none here affirm it for his Soul:  
For he that dares but think so damned a Lie,  
I'll have his body straight impaled before me;  
And glut my Eyes upon his bleeding Entrails.  Cass. 
How will this Engine of unruly Passion  
Roar, when we have reigned him to the Mouth with Poison?  Alex. 
Why stand you all, as you were rooted here,  
Like senseless Trees, while to the stupid Grove  
I, like a wounded Lion, groan my griefs,  
And none will answer,— what, not my Hephestion?  
If thou hast any love for Alexander,  
If ever I obliged thee by my care  
When my quick sight has watched thee in the War;  
Or if to see thee bleed I sent forth cries,  
And, like a Mother, washed thee with my tears.  
If this be true, if I deserve thy Love,  
Ease me, and tell the cause of my disaster.  Heph. 
Your mourning Queen, (which I had told before,  
Had you been calm,) has no Disease but Sorrow;  
Which was occasioned first by jealous Pangs:  
She heard, (for what can scape a watchful Lover?)  
That you at Susa, breaking all your Vows,  
Relapsed, and conquered by Roxana's Charms,  
Gave up yourself devoted to her Arms.  Alex. 
I know that subtle Creature in my Riot,  
My Reason gone, seduced me to her Bed;  
But when I waked, I shook the Circe off,  
Though that Enchantress held me by the Arm,  
And wept, and gazed with all the force of Love;  
Nor grieved I less for that which I had done,  
Than when at Thais suit, enraged with Wine,  
I set the famed Persepolis on Fire.  Heph. 
Your Queen Statira took it so to heart,  
That, in the Agony of Love, she swore  
Never to see your Majesty again;  
With dreadful Imprecations she confirmed  
Her Oath, and I much fear that she will keep it.  Alex. 
Ha! did she swear? did that sweet Creature swear?  
I'll not believe it, no, she is all softness;  
All melting, mild, and calm as a rocked Infant,  
Nor can you wake her into cries; by Heaven,  
She is the Child of Love, and she was born in smiles.  Par. 
ay, and my weeping Mother, heard her swear.  Sys. 
And with such fierceness she did aggravate  
The foulness of your fault, that I could wish  
Your Majesty would blot her from your breast.  Alex. 
Blot her? forget her? hurl her from my bosom  
For ever, lose the Star that guilds my Life,  
Guide of my Days, and Goddess of my Nights!  
No, she shall stay with me in spite of Vows,  
My soul, and body both are twisted with her:  
The God of Love empties his golden Quiver,  
Shoots every Grain of her into my heart;  
She is all mine, by Heaven I feel her here  
Panting, and warm, the dearest, O Statira!  Sys. 
Have patience, Son, and trust to Heaven and me;  
If my Authority, or the remembrance  
Of dead Darius, or her Mother's Soul  
Can work upon her, the again is yours.  Alex. 
O, Mother help me, help your wounded Son,  
And move the Soul of my offended Dear;  
But fly, haste, ere the sad Procession's made.  
Spend not a thought in a reply.— Be gone,  
If you would have me live— and Parisatis,  
Hang thou about her Knees, wash 'em with Tears:  
Nay haste, the breath of Gods, and eloquence  
Of Angels go along with you— O my heart!  [Exeunt Sys. and Par. Lys. 
Now let your Majesty, who feel the Torments,  
And sharpest Pangs of Love, encourage mine.  Alex. 
Ha.—  Clyt. 
Are you a Madman? is this a time?  Lys. 
Yes, for I see he cannot be unjust to me,  
Lest something worse befall himself.  Alex. 
Why dost thou tempt me thus to thy undoing?  
Death thou shouldst have, were it not courted so:  
But know, to thy confusion, that my word,  
Like destiny, admits not a reverse;  
Therefore, in Chains, thou shalt behold the Nuptials  
Of my Hephestion.— Guards take him Prisoner.  Lys. 
I shall not easily resign my Sword,  
Till I have died it in my Rival's blood.  [Fight. Alex. 
I charge you, kill him not, take him alive;  
The dignity of Kings is now concerned,  
And I will find a way to tame this Beast.  Clyt. 
Kneel, for I see the Lightning in his Eyes.  Lys. 
I neither hope, nor ask a pardon of him;  
But if he should restore my Sword, I would,  
With a new violence, run against my Rival.  Alex. 
Sure we, at last, shall conquer this fierce Lion:  
Hence from my sight, and bear him to a Dungeon:  
Perdiccas give this Lion to a Lion;  
None speak for him, fly, stop his Mouth, away.  Clyt. 
The King's extremely moved.  Eum. 
I dare not speak.  Clyt. 
This comes of Love, and Women, 'tis all madness;  
Yet were I heated now with Wine I should  
Be preaching to the King for this rash Fool.  Alex. 
Come hither Clitus, and my dear Hephestion;  
Lend me your Arms, help, for I'm sick o'th' sudden:  
I fear betwixt Statira's cruel Love,  
And fond Roxana's Arts, your King will fall.  Clyt. 
Better the Persian Race were all undone.  Heph. 
Look up, my Lord, and bend not thus your Head,  
As you would leave the Empire of the World  
Which you with toil have won.  Alex. 
Would I had not,  
There's no true joy in such unwieldy Fortune.  
Eternal gazer's lasting troubles make,  
All find my spots, but few my brightness take.  
Stand off, and give me air,—  
Why was I born a Prince, proclaimed a God?  
Yet have no liberty to look abroad?  
Thus Palaces in prospect bar the Eye,  
Which pleased, and free, would o'er the Cottage fly;  
O'er flowery Lands to the gay distant Sky.  
Farewell than Empire, and the Racks of Love;  
By all the Gods, I will to wild's remove,  
Stretched like a Sylvan God on Grass lie down,  
And quite forget that e'er I wore a Crown.   

ACT III.  Enter Eumenes, Philip, Thessalus, Perdiccas, Lysimachus, Guards. Eum. 
FArewell, brave Spirit, when you come above,  
Commend us to Philotas, and the rest  
Of our great Friends.  Thes. 
Perdiccas, you are grown  
In trust, be thankful for your noble Office.  Perd. 
As noble as you sentence me, I'd give  
This Arm that Thessalus were so employed.  Lys. 
Cease these untimely jars, farewell to all,  
Fight for the King as I have done, and then  
You may be worthy of a death like mine.— Lead on.  Enter Parisatis. Par. 
Ah my Lysimachus, where are you going?  
Whither? to be devoured? O barbarous Prince!  
Could you expose your life to the King's rage,  
And yet remember mine was tied to yours?  Lys. 
The Gods preserve you ever from the ills  
That threaten me; live, Madam, to enjoy  
A nobler fortune, and forget this wretch:  
I ne'er had worth, nor is it possible  
That all the blood which I shall lose this day,  
Should merit this rich sorrow from your eyes.  Par. 
The King, I know, is bent to thy destruction;  
Now by command they forced me from his knees:  
But take this satisfaction in thy death,  
No Power, Command, my Mothers, Sister's tears,  
Shall cause me to survive thy cruel loss.  Lys. 
Live, Princess, live; howe'er the King disdains me,  
Perhaps unarmed, and fighting for your sake,  
I may perform what shall amaze the World,  
And force him yet to give you to my arms.  
Away Perdiccas;— dear Eumenes, take  
The Princess to your charge.  Exeunt Perd. Lys. Guards. Eum. 
O cruelty!  Par. 
Lead me, Eumenes, lead me from the light,  
Where I may wait till I his ruin hear,  
Then free my Soul to meet him in the Air.  Exeunt. Phil. 
See where the jealous proud Roxana comes,  
A haughty vengeance gathers up her brow.  Thes. 
Peace, they have raised her to their ends; observe.  Enter Roxana, Cassander, Polipercon. Rox. 
O you have ruined me, I shall be mad;  
Said you so passionate, is't possible?  
So kind to her, and so unkind to me?  Cas. 
More than your utmost fancy can invent:  
He swooned thrice at hearing of her Vow,  
And when our care as oft had brought back life,  
He drew his Sword, and offered at his breast.  Pol. 
Then railed on you with such unheard of curses.  Rox. 
Away, be gone, and give a whirlwind room,  
Or I will blow you up like dust; avaunt:  
Madness but meanly represents my toil.  
Roxana, and Statira, they are names  
That must for ever jar; eternal discord,  
Fury, revenge, disdain, and indignation  
Tear my swollen breast, make way for fire and tempest.  
My brain is burst, debate and reason quenched,  
The storm is up, and my hot bleeding heart  
Splits with the rack, while passions like the winds  
Rise up to Heaven and put out all the Stars.  
What saving hand, O what Almighty arm  
Can raise me sinking?  Cas. 
Let your own arm save you,  
'Tis in your power, your beauty is Almighty:  
Let all the Stars go out, your Eyes can light 'em:  
Wake then, bright Planet that should rule the world,  
Wake like the Moon, from your too long Eclipse,  
And we with all the Instruments of War,  
Trumpets and Drums, will help your Glorious Labour.  Pol. 
Put us to act, and with a violence,  
That fits the Spirit of a most wronged woman:  
Let not Medea's dreadful vengeance stand  
A pattern more, but draw your own so fierce,  
It may for ever be Original.  Cas. 
Touch not, but dash, with strokes so bravely bold,  
Till you have formed a face of so much horror,  
That gaping Furies may run frighted back;  
That Envy may devour herself for madness,  
And sad Medusa's head be turned to Stone.  Rox. 
Yes, we will have revenge, my Instruments:  
For there is nothing you have said of me,  
But comes far short, wanting of what I am.  
When in my nonage I at Zogdia lived,  
Amongst my She-companions I would reign;  
Drew 'em from idleness, and little arts  
Of coining looks, and laying snares for Lovers;  
Broke all their Glasses, and their Tires tore:  
Taught 'em, like Amazons, to ride and chase  
Wild Beasts in Deserts, and to Master men.  Cas. 
Her looks, her words, her every motion fires me.  Rox. 
But when I heard of Alexander's Conquests,  
How with a handful he had Millions slain,  
Spoiled all the East, their Queens his Captives made,  
Yet with what Chastity, and God like temper  
He saw their Beauties, and with pity bowed;  
Methought I hung upon my Father's lips,  
And wished him tell the wondrous tale again:  
Left all my sports, the Woman now returned,  
And sighs uncalled would from my bosom fly;  
And all the night, as my Adraste told me,  
In slumbers groaned and murmured, Alexander.  Cas. 
Curse on the name! but I will soon remove  
That bar of my Ambition and my Love.  Rox. 
At last to Zogdia this Triumpher came,  
And covered o'er with Laurels forced our City:  
At night I by my Father's order stood,  
With fifty Virgins, waiting at a Banquet.  
But oh how glad was I to hear his Court,  
To feel the pressure of his glowing hand,  
And taste the dear, the false-protesting lips.  Cas. 
Wormwood, and Hemlock henceforth grow about 'em:  Rox. 
Gods! that a man should be so great and base!  
What said he not when in the Bridal Bed  
He clasped my yielding body in his arms:  
When with his fiery lips devouring mine,  
And moulding with his hand my throbbing breast,  
He swore the Globes of Heaven and Earth were vile  
To those rich Worlds; and talked, and kissed, and loved,  
And made me shame the morning with my blushes.  Cas. 
Yet after this prove false!  Pol. 
Horrid perjury!  Cas. 
Not to be matched.  Pol. 
O you must find revenge.  Cas. 
A person of your Spirit be thus slighted!  
For whose desire all Earth should be too little.  Rox. 
And shall the Daughter of Darius hold him?  
That puny Girl, that Ape of my ambition?  
That cried for milk, when I was nursed in blood!  
Shall she, made up of watery Element,  
A Cloud, shall she embrace my proper God?  
While I am cast like Lightning from his hand!  
No, I must scorn to prey on common things;  
Though hurled to Earth by this disdainful Jove,  
I will rebound to my own Orb of fire,  
And with the wrack of all the heavens' expire.  Cas. 
Now you appear yourself;  
'Tis noble anger.  Rox. 
May the Illustrious blood that fills my womb,  
And ripens to be perfect Godhead born,  
Come forth a Fury, may Barsina's Bastard  
Tread it to Hell, and rule as Sovereign Lord,  
When I permit Statira to enjoy  
Roxana's right, and strive not to destroy.  Enter Sysigambis, Statira, in mourning. Cas. 
Behold her going to fulfil her Vow;  
Old Sysigambis whom the King engaged,  
Resists and awes her with Authority.  Rox. 
'Twas rashly vowed indeed, and I should pity her.  Sys. 
O my Statira, how has passion changed thee!  
Think if you drive the King to such extremes,  
What in his fury may he not denounce  
Against the poor remains of lost Darius.  Stat. 
I know, I know he will be kind to you,  
And to my mourning Sister, for my sake;  
And tell him, how with my departing breath  
I railed not, but spoke kindly of his person,  
Nay wept to think of our divided Loves,  
And sobbing sent a last forgiveness to him.  Rox. 
Grant, Heaven, some ease to this distracted wretch!  
Let her not linger out a life in torments,  
Be these her last words, and at once dispatch her.  Sys. 
No, by the Everlasting fire I swear,  
By my Darius' Soul, I never more  
Will dare to look on Alexander's face,  
If you refuse to see him.  Rox. 
Curse on that cunning tongue, I fear her now,  Cas. 
No, she's resolved.  Stat. 
I cast me at your feet,  
To bathe 'em with my tears; or if you please,  
I'll let out life, and wash 'em with my blood;  
But still conjure you not to rack my Soul,  
Nor hurry my wild thoughts to perfect madness.  
Should now Darius awful Ghost appear,  
And my pale Mother stand beseeching by,  
I would persist to death, and keep my Vow.  Rox. 
She shows a certain bravery of Soul,  
Which I should praise in any but my Rival.  Sys. 
die then, rebellious wretch, thou art not now  
That soft beloved, nor dost thou share my blood.  
Go hide thy bafeness in thy lovely Grot,  
Ruin thy Mother, and thy Royal House,  
Pernicious Creature! shed the innocent  
Blood, and Sacrifice to the King's wrath  
The lives of all thy people; fly, be gone,  
And hide thee where bright Virtue never shone:  
The day will shun thee, nay the Stars that view  
Mischiefs and Murders, deeds to thee not new,  
Will start at this;— Go, go, thy crimes deplore,  
And never think of Sysigambis more.  Exit. Rox. 
Madam, I hope you will a Queen forgive,  
Roxana weeps to see Statira grieve:  
How noble is the brave resolve you make,  
To quit the world for Alexander's sake?  
Vast is your mind, you dare thus greatly die,  
And yield the King to one so mean as I:  
'Tis a revenge will make the Victor smart,  
And much I fear your death will break his heart.  Stat. 
You counterfeit a fear, and know too well  
How much your Eyes all Beauties else excel:  
Roxana, who though not a Princess born,  
In Chains could make the mighty Victor mourn.  
Forgetting power, when Wine had made him warm,  
And senseless, yet even than you knew to charm:  
Preserve him by those arts that cannot fail,  
While I the loss of what I loved bewail.  Rox. 
I hope your Majesty will give me leave  
To wait you to the Grove, where you would grieve;  
Where like the Turtle, you the loss will moan  
Of that dear Mate, and murmur all alone.  Stat. 
No, proud Triumpher o'er my falling state,  
Thou shalt not stay to fill thee with my Fate:  
Go to the Conquest which your wiles may boast,  
And tell the world you left Statira lost.  
Go seize my faithless Alexander's hand,  
Both hand and heart were once at my command:  
Grasp his loved neck, die on his fragrant breast,  
Love him like me, which cannot be expressed,  
He must be happy, and you more then blessed.  
While I in darkness hide me from the day,  
That with my mind I may his form survey,  
And think so long, till I think life away.  Rox. 
No, sickly Virtue, no,  
Thou shalt not think, nor thy Love's loss bemoan,  
Nor shall past pleasures through thy fancy run;  
That were to make thee blessed as I can be,  
But thy no thought I must, I will decree;  
As thus I'll torture thee till thou art mad,  
And then no thought to purpose can be had.  Stat. 
How frail, how cowardly is woman's mind?  
We shriek at Thunder, dread the rustling wind,  
And glittering Swords the brightest eyes will blind.  
Yet when strong Jealousy inflames the Soul,  
The weak will roar, and Calms to Tempest's roll.  
Rival, take heed, and tempt me not too far;  
My blood may boil, and blushes show a War.  Rox. 
When you retire to your Romantic Cell,  
I'll make thy solitary Mansion Hell;  
Thou shalt not rest by day, nor sleep by night,  
But still Roxana shall thy Spirit fright:  
Wanton, in Dreams, if thou dar'st dream of bliss,  
Thy roving Ghost may think to steal a kiss;  
But when to his sought Bed, thy wandering air  
Shall for the happiness it wished repair,  
How will it groan to find thy Rival there?  
How ghastly wilt thou look, when thou shalt see,  
Through the drawn Curtains, that Great man and me,  
Wearied with laughing joys, shot to the Soul,  
While thou shalt grinning stand, and gnash thy teeth, and howl.  Stat. 
O barbarous rage! my tears I cannot keep,  
But my full Eyes in spite of me will weep.  Rox. 
The King and I in various Pictures drawn,  
Clasping each other, shaded o'er with Lawn,  
Shall be the daily Presents I will send,  
To help thy sorrow to her Journeys end.  
And when we hear at last thy hour draws nigh,  
My Alexander, my dear Love and I,  
Will come and hasten on thy lingering Fates,  
And smile, and kiss thy Soul out, through the Grates.  Stat. 
'Tis well, I thank thee; thou hast waked a rage,  
Whose boiling now no temper can assuage:  
I meet thy tides of Jealousy with more,  
Dare thee to dwell, and dash thee o'er and o'er.  Rox. 
What would you dare?  Stat. 
Whatever you dare do,  
My warring thoughts the bloodiest tracts pursue,  
I am by Love a Fury made, like you:  
Kill, or be killed, thus acted by despair.  Rox. 
Sure the disdained Statira does not dare.  Stat. 
Yes, towering proud Roxana, but I dare.  Rox. 
I tower indeed o'er thee;  
Like a fair Wood, the shade of Kings I stand,  
While thou, sick Weed, dost but infect the Land.  Stat. 
No, like an Ivy I will curl thee round,  
Thy sapless Trunk of all its pride confound,  
Then dry, and withered, bend thee to the ground.  
What Sysigambis threats, objected fears,  
My Sister's sighs, and Alexander's tears,  
Could not effect, thy Rival rage has done;  
My Soul, whose start at breach of oaths begun,  
Shall to thy ruin violated run.  
I'll see the King in spite of all I swore,  
Though cursed that thou mayst never see him more.  Enter Perdiccas, Alexander, Sysigambis, Attendants, etc. Perd. 
Madam, your Royal Mother, and the King.  Alex. 
O my Statira! O my angry dear!  
Turn thine Eyes on me, I would talk to them:  
What shall I say to work upon thy Soul?  
Where shall I throw me? whither shall I fall?  Stat. 
For me you shall not fall.  Alex. 
For thee I will:  
Before thy feet I'll have a Grave dug up,  
And perish quick, be buried straight alive:  
Give but as the Earth grows heavy on me,  
A tender look, and a relenting word;  
Say but, 'twas pity that so great Great a man,  
Who had ten thousand deaths in Battles scaped,  
For one poor fault so early should remove,  
And fall a Martyr to the God of Love.  Rox. 
Is then Roxana's love and life so poor,  
That for another you can choose to die,  
Rather than live for her? what have I done?  
How am I altered since at Susa last  
You swore, and sealed it with a thousand kisses,  
Rather than lose Roxana's smallest charm,  
You would forgo the Conquest of the world?  Alex. 
Madam, you best can tell what Magic drew  
Me to your charms, but let it not be told  
For your own sake; take, take that Conquered World,  
Dispose of Crowns and Sceptres as you please,  
Let me but have the freedom for an hour,  
To make account with this wronged Innocence.  Stat. 
You know, my Lord, you did commit a fault,  
I ask but this, repeat your crime no more.  Alex. 
O never, never.  Rox. 
Am I rejected then?  Alex. 
Exhaust my Treasures,  
Take all the Spoils of the far conquered Indies;  
But for the ease of my afflicted Soul,  
Go where I never may behold thee more.  Rox. 
Yes, I will go, ungrateful as thou art!  
Bane to my life! thou torment of my days!  
Thou murderer of the world! for as thy Sword  
Has cut the lives of thousand thousand men,  
So will thy tongue undo all womankind.  
But I'll be gone; this last disdain has cured me,  
And I am now grown so indifferent,  
I could behold you kiss without a pang,  
Nay take a Torch, and light you to your Bed:  
But do not trust me, no, for if you do,  
By all the Furies, and the flames of Love,  
By Love, which is the hottest burning Hell,  
I'll set you both on fire to blaze for ever.  Exit. Stat. 
O Alexander, is it possible? Good Gods,  
That guilt can show so lovely!— yet I pardon,  
Forgive thee all, by thy dear life I do.  Alex. 
Ha! Pardon! saidst thou, Pardon me?  Sys. 
Now all thy Mother's blessings fall about thee.  
My best, my most beloved, my own Statira.  Alex. 
Is it then true that thou hast pardoned me?  
And is it given me thus to touch thy hand,  
And fold thy body in my longing arms?  
To gaze upon thy Eyes, my happier Stars?  
To taste thy lip, and thy dear balmy breath,  
While every sigh comes forth so fraught with sweets,  
'Tis incense to be offered to a God.  Stat. 
Yes, dear Impostor, 'tis most true that I  
Have pardoned thee; and 'tis as true that while  
I stand in view of thee, thy eyes will wound,  
Thy tongue will make me wanton as thy wishes;  
And while I feel thy hand, my body glows:  
Therefore be quick, and take your last adieu,  
These your last sighs, and these your parting tears;  
Farewell, farewell, a long and last farewell.  Alex. 
O my Hephestion, bear me or I sink.  Stat. 
Nay, you may take,— Heaven how my heart throbs,  
You may, you may, if yet you think me worthy,  
Take from these trembling lips a parting kiss.  Alex. 
No, let me starve first;— why, Statira, why?  
What is the meaning of all this?— O Gods!  
I know the cause, my working brain divines:  
You'll say you pardoned but with this reserve,  
Never to make me blessed, as I have been,  
To slumber by the side of that false man,  
Nor give a Heaven of beauty to a Devil.  
Think you not thus? speak Madam.  Sys. 
She is not worthy, Son, of so much sorrow:  
Speak comfort to him, speak, my dear Statira,  
I ask thee by those tears; Ah canst thou e'er  
Pretend to Love, yet with dry eyes behold him!  Alex. 
Silence more dreadful than severest sounds:  
Would she but speak, though Death, eternal Exile  
Hung at her lips, yet while her tongue pronounces,  
There must be Music even in my undoing.  Stat. 
Still my loved Lord, I cannot see you thus;  
Nor can I ever yield to share your Bed:  
O I shall find Roxana in your arms,  
And taste her kisses left upon your lips:  
Her cursed embraces have defiled your body.  
Nor shall I find the wonted sweetness there,  
But artificial smells, and aching odours.  Alex. 
Yes, obstinate, I will; Madam, you shall,  
You shall, in spite of this resistless passion,  
Be served; but you must give me leave to think  
You never loved:— O could I see you thus!  
Hell has not half the tortures that you raise.  Clyt. 
Never did passions combat thus before.  Alex. 
O I shall burst,  
Unless you give me leave to rave a while.  Sys. 
Yet ere destruction sweeps us both away,  
Relent, and break through all to pity him.  Alex. 
Yes, I will shake this Cupid from my arms,  
If all the rages of the Earth can fright him;  
Drown him in the deep bowl of Hercules;  
Make the World drunk, and then like Aeolus,  
When he gave passage to the struggling winds,  
I'll strike my Spear into the reeling Globe  
To let it blood; set Babylon in a blaze,  
And drive this God of flames with more consuming fire.  Stat. 
My presence will but force him to extremes;  
Besides, 'tis death to me to see his pains:  
Yet stand resolved never to yield again.  
Permit me to remove.  Alex. 
I charge ye stay her;  
For if she pass, by all the Hells I feel,  
Your Souls, your naked Ghosts shall wait upon her.  
O turn thee! Turn! thou barbarous brightness, turn!  
Hear my last words, and see my utmost pang:  
But first kneel with me, all my Soldiers, kneel,  [Alderman kneel. 
Yet lower,— prostrate to the Earth:— Ah Mother, what  
Will you kneel too? Then let the Sun stand still  
To see himself out-worshiped; not a face  
Be shown that is not washed all o'er in tears,  
But weep as if you here beheld me slain.  Sys. 
Hast thou a heart? or art thou Savage turned?  
But if this posture cannot move your mercy,  
I never will speak more.  Alex. 
O my Statira!  
I swear, my Queen, I'll not outlive thy hate,  
My Soul is still as death:— But one thing more,  
Pardon my last extremities,— the transports  
Of a deep wounded breast, and all is well.  Stat. 
Rise, and may Heaven forgive you all, like me.  Alex. 
You are too gracious;— Clitus, bear me hence,  
When I am laid in Earth, yield her the world.  
There's something here heaves, and is cold as Ice,  
That stops my breath;— Farewell, O Gods! for ever.  Stat. 
Hold off, and let me run into his arms,  
My dearest, my all Love, my Lord, my King;  
You shall not die, if that the soul and body  
Of thy Statira can restore thy life:  
Give me thy wonted kindness, bend me, break me  
With thy embraces.  Alex. 
O the killing joy!  
O ecstasy! my heart will burst my breast,  
To leap into thy bosom; but by Heaven  
This night I will revenge me of thy beauties,  
For the dear rack I have this day endured:  
For all the sighs and tears that I have spent,  
I'll have so many thousand burning Loves;  
So swell thy lips, so fill me with thy sweetness,  
Thou shalt not sleep, nor close thy wandering Eyes:  
The smiling hours shall all be loved away,  
We'll surfeit all the night, and languish all the day.  Stat. 
Nor shall Roxana—  Alex. 
Let her not be named.—  
O Mother! how shall I requite your goodness?  
And you, my fellow Warriors, that could weep  
For your lost King:— But I invite you all,  
My equals in the Throne as in the Grave,  
Without distinction to the Riot come,  
To the King's Banquet.—  Clyt. 
I beg your Majesty  
Would leave me out.  Alex. 
None, none shall be excused;  
All Revel out the day, 'tis my command;  
Gay as the Persian God ourselves will stand,  
With a Crowned Goblet in our lifted hand.  
Young Ammon and Statira shall go round,  
While antic Measures beat the burdened ground,  
And to the vaulted Skies our Clangors sound.  Exeunt.  

ACT IU.  Enter Clitus in his Macedonian habit; Hephestion, Eumenes, Meleager, etc. in Persian Robes. Clyt. 
AWay, I will not wear these Persian Robes;  
Nor ought the King be angry for the reverence  
I owe my Country, sacred are her Customs,  
Which honest Clitus shall preserve to death.  
O let me rot in Macedonian rags,  
Rather than shine in fashions of the East.  
Then for the Adorations he requires,  
Rost my old body in eternal flames,  
Or let him Cage me, like Calisthenes.  Eum. 
Dear Clitus, be persuaded.  Heph. 
You know the King  
Is Godlike, full of all the richest Virtues  
That ever Royal heart possessed; yet you  
Perverse, but to one humour will oppose him.  Clyt. 
Call you it humour! 'tis a pregnant one,  
By Mars there's venom in it, burning pride;  
And though my life should follow, rather than  
Bear such a hot ambition in my bowels,  
I'd rip 'em up to give the poison vent.  Mel. 
Was not that Jupiter whom we adore  
A man? but for his more than human acts,  
Advanced to Heaven, and worshipped for its Lord!  Heph. 
By all his Thunder, and his sovereign Power,  
I'll not believe the Earth yet ever felt  
An arm like Alexander's; not that God  
You named, though riding in a Car of fire,  
And drawn by flying Horses winged with Lightning,  
Could in a space more short do greater deeds,  
Drive all the Nations, and lay waste the World.  Clyt. 
There's not a man of War amongst you all  
That loves the King like me; yet I'll not flatter,  
Nor soothe his vanity, 'tis blamable,  
And when the wine works, Clitus thoughts will out,  Heph. 
Then go not to the Banquet.  Clyt. 
I was called,  
My Minion, was I not, as well as you?  
I'll go, my Friends, in this old Habit thus,  
And laugh, and drink the King's health heartily;  
And while you blushing bow your heads to earth,  
And hide'em in the dust, I'll stand upright,  
Straight as a Spear, the Pillar of my Country,  
And be by so much nearer to the Gods—  
But see, the King and all the Court appear.  Enter Alexander, Sysigambis, Statira, Parisatis, etc. Par. 
Spare him, O spare Lysimachus his life;  
I know you will, Kings should delight in mercy.  Alex. 
Shield me, Statira, shield me from her sorrow.  Par. 
O save him, save him, ere it be too late;  
Speak the kind word before the gaping Lion  
Swallow him up; let not your Soldier perish,  
But for one rashness which despair did cause.  
I'll follow thus for ever on my knees,  
And make your way so slippery with tears,  
You shall not pass.— Sister, do you conjure him.  Alex. 
O Mother, take her, take her from me,  (kneels. 
Her watery eyes assault my very Soul,  
They shake my best resolve.—  Stat. 
Did not I break  
Through all for you? nay now my Lord you must.  Sys. 
Nor would I make my Son so bold a prayer,  
Had I not first consulted for his Honour.  Alex. 
Honour! what Honour! has not Statira said it?  
Were I the King of the blue Firmament,  
And the bold Titans should again make War,  
Though my resistless Arrows were made ready,  
By all the Gods she should arrest my hand.  
Fly then, even thou his Rival so beloved,  
Fly with old Clitus, snatch him from the jaws  
Of the devouring Beast, bring him adorned  
To the King's Banquet, fit for loads of Honour.  Exeunt Heph. Eum. Par. Stat. 
O my loved Lord! let me embrace your knees,  
I am not worthy of this mighty passion:  
You are too good for Goddesses themselves;  
No woman, not the Sex, is worth a grain  
Of this illustrious life of my dear Master.  
Why are you so Divine to cause such fondness?  
That my heart leaps, and beats, and fain would out,  
To make a dance of Joy about your feet.  Alex. 
Excellent woman! no, 'tis impossible  
To say how much I love thee:— Ha! again!  
Such Ecstasies life cannot carry long;  
The day comes on so fast, and beamy joy  
Darts with such fierceness on me, night will folo  
A pale Crowned head flew lately glaring by me,  
With two dead hands, which threw a Crystal Globe  
From high, that shattered in a thousand pieces.  
But I will lose these boding Dreams in wine;  
Then warm and blushing for my Queen's embraces,  
Bear me with all my heat to thy loved bosom.  Stat. 
Go, my best Love, and cheer your drooping Spirits;  
Laugh with your Friends, and talk your grief away,  
While in the Bower of great Semiramis,  
I dress your Bed with all the sweets of Nature,  
And crown it as the Altar of my Love;  
Where I will lay me down and softly mourn,  
But never close my eyes till your return.  Ex. Stat. Sysig. Alex. 
Is she not more than mortal man can wish!  
Diana's Soul, cast in the flesh of Venus!  
By Jove 'tis ominous, our parting is;  
Her face looked pale too, as she turned away:  
And when I wrung her by the Rosy fingers,  
Methought the strings of my great heart did crack.  
What should it mean?— Forward, Laomedon.  Roxana meets him, with Cassand. Polip. Phil. and Thess. 
Why Madam gaze you thus?  Rox. 
For a last look,  (she holds his hand. 
And that the memory of Roxana's wrongs  
May be for ever printed in your mind.  Alex. 
O Madam, you must let me pass.  Rox. 
I will;  
But I have sworn that you shall hear me speak,  
And mark me well, for Fate is in my breath:  
Love on the Mistress you adore to death:  
Still hope; but I fruition will destroy:  
Languish for pleasures, you shall ne'er enjoy.  
Still may Statira's Image draw your sight,  
Like those deluding Fires that walk at night;  
Lead you through fragrant Grots, and flowery Groves,  
And charm you through deep Grass with sleeping Loves;  
That when your fancy to its height does rise,  
The light you loved may vanish from your eyes,  
Darkness, Despair, and Death your wandering Soul surprise.  Alex. 
Away; lead, Meleager, to the Banquet.  Ex. cum suis. Rox. 
So unconcerned! O I could tear my flesh,  
Or him, or you, nay all the world to pieces.  Cas. 
Still keep this Spirit up, preserve it still,  
Lose not a grain, for such Majestic Atoms  
First made the world, and must preserve its greatness.  Rox. 
I know I am whatever thou canst say;  
My Soul is pent, and has not elbow room;  
'Tis swelled with this last slight, beyond all bounds:  
O that it had a space might answer to  
Its infinite desire, where I might stand  
And hurl the Spheres about like sportive Balls.  Cas. 
We are your Slaves, admirers of your fury;  
Command Cassander to obey your pleasure,  
And I will on, swift as my nimble Eye  
Scales Heaven when I am angry with the Fates.  
No Age, nor Sex, nor dignity of blood,  
No ties of Law or Nature, not the life  
Imperial, though guarded with the Gods,  
Shall bar Cassander's vengeance, he shall die.  Rox. 
Ha! shall he die? shall I consent to kill him?  
To see him clasped in the cold arms of death,  
Whom I with such an eagerness have loved?  
Do I not bear his Image in my womb?  
Which while I meditate, and roll revenge,  
Starts in my body like a fatal pulse,  
And strikes compassion through my bleeding bowels.  Pol. 
These scruples which your Love would raise might pass,  
Were not the Empire of the world considered:  
How will the glorious Infant in your womb,  
When time shall teach his tongue, be bound to curse you,  
If now you strike not for his Coronation!  Cas. 
If Alexander lives, you cannot reign,  
Nor shall your Child; old Sysigambis head  
Will not be idle:— sure destruction waits  
Both you and yours; let not your anger cool,  
But give the word, say Alexander bleeds,  
Draw dry the veins of all the Persian Race,  
And hurl a ruin o'er the East, 'tis done.  Pol. 
Behold the Instruments of this great work.  Phil. 
Behold your forward Slave.  Thes. 
I'll execute.  Rox. 
And when this ruin is accomplished, where  
Shall cursed Roxana fly with this dear load?  
Where shall she find a refuge from the arms  
Of all the Successors of this great man?  
No barbarous Nation will receive a guilt  
So much transcending theirs, but drive me out:  
The wildest Beasts will hunt me from their Dens,  
And Birds of prey molest me in the Grave.  Cas. 
No, you shall live, pardon the insolence  
Which this Almighty Love enforces from me,  
You shall live safer, nobler than before,  
In your Cassander's arms.  Rox. 
Disgraced Roxana, whither wilt thou fall!  
I ne'er was truly wretched till this moment;  
There's not one mark of former Majesty,  
To awe my Slave that offers at my Honour.  Cas. 
Madam, I hope you'll not impute my passion  
To want of that respect which I must bear you;  
Long I have Loved—  Rox. 
Peace, most audacious Villain!  
Or I will stab this passion in thy throat.  
What, shall I leave the bosom of a Deity  
To clasp a clod, a moving piece of Earth,  
Which a Mole heaves? so far art thou beneath me.  Cas. 
Your Majesty shall hear no more my folly.  Rox. 
Nor dare to meet my Eyes; for if thou dost,  
With a Love-glance thy plots are all unravelled,  
And your kind thoughts of Alexander told;  
Whose life, in spite of all his wrongs to me,  
Shall be for ever sacred and untouched.  Cas. 
I know, dread Madam, that Cassander's life  
Is in your hands so cast to do you service.  Rox. 
You thought, perhaps, because I practised charms  
To gain the King, that I had loose desires:  
No, 'tis my pride that gives me height of pleasure,  
To see the man by all the world admired,  
Bowed to my bosom, and my Captive there:  
Then my veins swell, and my arms grasp the Poles,  
My breasts grow bigger with the vast delight,  
'Tis length of Rapture, and an age of Fury.  Cas. 
By your own life, the greatest oath I swear,  
Cassander's passion from this time is dumb.  Rox. 
No, if I were a wanton, I would make  
Princes the Victims of my raging fires:  
I, like the changing Moon, would have the Stars  
My followers, and mantled Kings by night  
Should wait my call; fine Slaves to quench my flame,  
Who lest in Dreams they should reveal the deed,  
Still as they came, successively should bleed.  Cas. 
To make atonement for the highest crime,  
I beg your Majesty will take the life  
Of Queen Statira as a Sacrifice.  Rox. 
Rise, thou hast made me ample expiation:  
Yes, yes, Statira, Rival thou must die,  
I know this night is destined for my ruin,  
And Alexander from the glorious Revels  
Flies to thy arms.  Phil. 
The Bowers of Semiramis are made  
The Scene this night of their new kindled Loves.  Rox. 
Methinks I see her yonder, O the torment!  
Busy for bliss, and full of expectation:  
She adorns her head, and her eyes give new lustre;  
Languishes in her Glass, tries all her looks;  
Steps to the door and listens for his coming;  
Runs to the Bed, and kneels, and weeps, and wishes,  
Then lays the Pillow easy for his head,  
Warms it with sighs, and moulds it with her kisses.  
O I am lost, torn with imagination!  
Kill me, Cassander, kill me instantly,  
That I may haunt her with a thousand Devils.  Cas. 
Why d'ye stop to end her while you may?  
No time so proper, as the present now:  
While Alexander feasts with all his Court,  
Give me your Eunuchs, half your Zogdian Slaves,  
I'll do the deed; nor shall a waiter 'scape,  
That serves your Rival, to relate the news.  Pol. 
She was committed to Eumenes' charge:  Rox. 
Eumenes dies, and all that are about her:  
Nor shall I need your aid, you'll Love again;  
I'll head the Slaves myself, with this drawn Dagger,  
To carry death that's worthy of a Queen.  
A common Fate ne'er rushes from my hand,  
'Tis more than life to die by my command.  
And when she sees  
That to my arm her ruin she must owe,  
Her thankful head will straight be bended low,  
Her heart shall leap half way to meet the blow.  Ex. Rox. Cas. 
Go thy ways, Somele;— she scorns to sin  
Beneath a God:— we must be swift, the ruin  
We intent, who knows, she may discover.  Pol. 
It must be acted suddenly, to night  
Now at the Banquet Philip holds his Cup.  Phil. 
And dares to execute,— propose his Fate.  Cas. 
Observe in this small Viol certain death;  
It holds a poison of such deadly force,  
Should Esculaepius drink it, in five hours  
(For then it works) the God himself were mortal.  
I drew it from Nonarris horrid Spring,  
A drop infused in Wine, will seal his death,  
And send him howling to the lowest shades.  Phil. 
Would it were done.  Cas. 
O we shall have him tear  
(Ere yet the Moon has half her Journey rode)  
The world to Atoms; for it scatters pains  
All sorts, and through all nerves, veins, arteries,  
Even with extremity of frost it burns:  
Drives the distracted Soul about her house,  
Which runs to all the pores, the doors of life,  
Till she is forced for air to leave her dwelling.  Pol. 
By Pluto's self the work is wondrous brave.  Cas. 
Now separate, Philip and Thessalus  
Hast to the Banquet; at his second call,  
Give him the fatal draught that crowns the night,  
While Polipercon and myself retire.  [Exeunt omnes praeter Cassand.] 
Yes, Alexander, now thou payest me well,  
Blood for a blow is Interest indeed:  
Methinks I am grown taller with the Murder,  
And standing straight on this Majestic pile,  
I hit the Clouds, and see the world below me.  
O 'tis the worst of racks to a brave Spirit  
To be born base, a Vassal, a cursed Slave:  
Now by the project labouring in my brain,  
'Tis nobler far to be the King of Hell,  
To head Infernal Legions, Chiefs below,  
To let 'em lose for earth, to call 'em in  
And take account of what dark deeds are done,  
Then be a Subject-God in Heaven unblessed,  
And without mischief have Eternal rest.  Exit. The Scene draws, Alexander is seen standing on a Throne with all his Commanders about him, holding Goblets in their hands. Alex. 
To our Immortal health, and our fair Queens;  
All drink it deep, and while it flies about,  
Mars and Bellona join to make us Music.  
A hundred Bulls be offered to the Sun,  
White as his beams.— Speak the big voice of War,  
Beat all our Drums, and blow our Silver Trumpets,  
Till we provoke the Gods to act our pleasure  Sound while they drink. 
In bowls of Nectar, and replying Thunder.  Enter Hephestion, Clitus, leading in Lysimachus in his Shirt bloody, Perdiccas, Guard. Clyt. 
Long live the King, and Conquest crown his Arms  
With Laurels ever green; Fortune's his Slave,  
And kisses all that fight upon his side.  Alex. 
Did I not give command you should preserve  
Lysimachus?  Heph. 
You did.  Alex. 
What then portend those bloody marks?  Heph. 
Your mercy flew too late; Perdiccas had,  
According to the dreadful charge you gave,  
Already placed the Prince in a lone Court,  
Unarmed, all but his hands, on which he wore  
A pair of Gauntlets; such was his desire,  
To show in death the difference betwixt  
The blood of the Aeacideses, and common men.  Clyt. 
At last the door of an old Lion's den  
Being drawn up, the horrid Beast appeared:  
The flames which from his eyes shot gloomy red,  
Made the Sun start, as the spectators thought,  
And round 'em cast a day of blood and death.  Heph. 
When we arrived, just as the valiant Prince  
Cried out, O Parisatis take my life,  
'Tis for thy sake I go undaunted thus  
To be devoured by this most dreadful creature.  Clyt. 
Then walking forward, the large Beast diseryed  
His prey, and with a roar that made us pale,  
Flew fiercely on him; but the active Prince  
Starting aside, avoided his first shock,  
With a slight hurt, and as the Lion turned,  
Thrust Gauntlet, arm and all, into his throat,  
And with Herculean force tore forth by th' roots  
The foaming bloody tongue; and while the Savage,  
Faint with that loss, sunk to the blushing Earth  
To plough it with his teeth, your conquering Soldier  
leapt on his back, and dashed his skull to pieces.  Alex. 
By all my Laurels 'twas a Godlike act,  
And 'tis my Glory, as it shall be thine,  
That Alexander could not pardon thee.  
O my brave Soldier! think not all the prayers  
Of the lamenting Queens could move my Soul,  
Like what thou hast performed; grow to my breast.  embraces him. Lys. 
However Love did hurry my wild arm,  
When I was cool my fev'rish blood did bate,  
And as I went to death, I blessed the King.  Alex. 
Lysimachus, we both have been transported,  
But from this hour be certain of my heart:  
A Lion be the Impress of thy Shield,  
And that Gold Armour we from Porcus won  
The King presents thee; but retire to Bed,  
Thy toils ask rest.  Lys. 
I have no wounds to hinder  
Of any moment; or if I had, though mortal,  
I'd stand to Alexander's health, till all  
My veins were dry, and fill 'em up again  
With that rich blood which makes the God's Immortal.  Alex. 
Hephestion, thy hand, embrace him close;  
Though next my heart you hang the Jewel there,  
For scarce I know whether my Queen be dearer,  
Thou shalt not rob me of my Glory, Youth,  
That must to Ages flourish.— Parisatis  
Shall now be his that serves me best in War.  
Neither reply; but mark the charge I give,  
And live as Friends.— Sound, Sound my Army's Honour;  
Health to their bodies, and eternal Fame  
Wait on their memory, when those are ashes;  
Live all you must, 'tis a God gives you life.  (Sound. [Lysimachus offers Clitus a Persian Robe, and he refuses it.] Clyt. 
O vanity!  Alex. 
Ha! what says Clitus?  
Who am I?  Clyt. 
The Son of good King Philip.  Alex. 
No, 'tis false,  
By all my Kindred in the Skies  
Jove made my Mother pregnant.  Clyt. 
I ha' done.  Here follows an Entertainment of Indian Singers and Dancers: The Music flourishes. Alex. 
Hold, hold, Clitus, take the Robe.  Clyt. 
Sir, the Wine,  
The weather's hot; besides you know my humour.  Alex. 
O 'tis not well, I'd burn rather than be  
So fingular and froward.  Cylt. 
So would I  
Burn, hang, or drown; but in a better cause  
I'll drink, or fight, for Sacred Majesty,  
With any here.— Fill me another Bowl;  
Will you excuse me?  Alex. 
You will be excused;  
But let him have his humour, he is old.  Clyt. 
So was your Father, Sir,— This to his memory.  
Sound all the Trumpets there.  Alex. 
They shall not sound  
Till the King drinks;— by Mars I cannot taste  
A moment's rest for all my years of blood,  
But one or other will oppose my pleasure.  
Sure I was formed for War, eternal War;  
All, all are Alexander's Enemies,  
Which I could tame;— yes, the Rebellious world  
Should feel my wrath:— But let the sports go on.  The Indians Dance. Lys. 
Nay Clitus, you that could advise—  Alex. 
Forbear;  
Let him persist, be positive, and proud,  
Sullen, and dazzled, amongst the Nobler Souls,  
Like an Infernal Spirit that had stole  
From Hell, and mingled with the laughing Gods.  Clyt. 
When Gods grow hot, where is the difference  
'Twixt them and Devils?— fill me Greek wine, yet fuller,  
For I want Spirits.  Alex. 
Ha! let me hear a Song.  Clyt. 
Music for Boys:— Clitus would hear the groans  
Of dying persons, and the Horses neighings;  
Or if I must be tortured with shrill voices,  
Give me the cries of Matrons in sacked Towns.  Heph. 
Lysimachus, the King looks sad, let us awake him:  
Health to the Son of Jupiter Ammon;  
Every man take his Goblet in his hand,  
Kneel all, and kiss the Earth with adoration.  Alex. 
Sound, sound, that all the Universe may hear,  
That I could speak like Jove, to tell abroad  
The kindness of my people.— Rise, O rise,  
My hands, my arms, my heart is ever yours.  [Comes from his Throne, all kiss his hand.] Clyt. 
I did not kiss the Earth, nor must your hand,  
I am unworthy, Sir.  Alex. 
I know thou art,  
Thou enviest my great Honour:— Sit, my Friends,  
Nay I must have a room:— Now let us talk  
Of War, for what more fits a Soldier's mouth?  
And speak, speak freely, or ye do not love me,  
Who think you was the bravest General  
That ever led an Army to the Field?  Heph. 
I think the Sun himself ne'er saw a Chief  
So truly great, so fortunately brave,  
As Alexander; not the famed Alcides,  
Nor fierce Achilles, who did twice destroy,  
With their all-conquering Arms, the famous Troy.  Lys. 
Such was not Cyrus.  Alex. 
O you flatter me.  Clyt. 
They do indeed, and yet you love 'em for it,  
But hate old Clitus, for his hardy Virtue.  
Come, shall I speak a man more brave than you,  
A better General, and more expert Soldier?  Alex. 
I should be glad to learn, instruct me, Sir.  Clyt. 
Your Father Philip,— I have seen him March,  
And fought beneath his dreadful Banner, where  
The stoutest at this Table would ha' trembled.  
Nay frown not, Sir, you cannot look me dead.  
When Greeks joined Greeks, than was the tug of War,  
The laboured Battle sweat, and Conquest bled.  
Why should I fear to speak a truth more noble,  
Then ere your Father Jupiter Ammon told you;  
Philip fought men, but Alexander women.  Alex. 
Spite! by the Gods, proud spite! and burning envy!  
Is then my Glory come to this at last,  
To vanquish women? Nay he said, the stoutest here  
Would tremble at the dangers he has seen.  
In all the sicknesses and wounds I bore,  
When from my reins the Javelins head was cut,  
Lysimachus, Hephestion, speak, Perdiccas,  
Did I tremble? O the cursed Liar!  
Did I once shake or groan? or bear myself  
Beneath my Majesty, my dauntless courage?  Heph. 
Wine has transported him.  Alex. 
No, 'tis plain, mere malice:—  
I was a woman too at Oxydrace,  
When planting at the walls a Scaling-Ladder,  
I mounted spite of showers of Stones, Bars, Arrows,  
And all the lumber which they thundered down,  
When you beneath cried out, and spread your arms,  
That I should leap amongst you; did I so?  Lys. 
Turn the discourse, my Lord, the old man raved.  Alex. 
Was I a woman, when like Mercury  
I left the walls to fly amongst my Foes?  
And like a baited Lion, died myself  
All over with the blood of those bold Hunters:  
Till spent with toil, I battled on my knees,  
Plucked forth the Darts that made my Shield a Forest,  
And hurled 'em back with most unconquered fury.  Clyt. 
'Twas all Bravado, for before you leapt,  
You saw that I had burst the Gates in sunder.  Alex. 
Did I then turn me like a Coward round  
To seek for succour? Age cannot be so base;  
That thou wert young again, I would put off  
My Majesty to be more terrible,  
That liké an Eagle I might strike this Hare  
Trembling to Earth: shake thee to dust, and tear  
Thy heart for this bold Lie, thou feeble dotard.  Clyt. 
What do you pelt me like a Boy with Apples?  He tosses Fruit at him as they rise: 
Kill me, and bury the disgrace I feel.  
I know the reason that you use me so,  
Because I saved your life at Granniccus,  
And when your back was turned, opposed my breast  
To bold Rhesaces' Sword; you hate me for't,  
You do, proud Prince.  Alex. 
Away, your breath's too hot.  (flings him from him. Clyt. 
You hate the Benefactor, though you took  
The Gift, your life, from this dishonoured Clitus,  
Which is the blackest, worst ingratitude.  Alex. 
Go, leave the Banquet; thus far I forgive thee.  Clyt. 
Forgive yourself for all your Blasphemies,  
The riots of a most debauched, and blotted life,  
Philotas' murder—  Alex. 
Ha! what said the Traitor?  Lys. 
Eumenes, let us force him hence.  Clyt. 
Away.  Heph. 
You shall not tarry;  
Drag him to the door.  Clyt. 
No, let him send me, if I must be gone,  
To Philip, Attalus, Calisthenes,  
To great Parmenio, and his slaughtered Sons:  
Parmenio, who did many brave exploits  
Without the King,— the King without him nothing.  Alex. 
Give me a Javelin.  (takes one from the Guards. Heph. 
Hold, Sir.  Alex. 
Off, Sirrah, lest  
At once I strike it through his heart and thine.  Lys. 
O sacred Sir, have but a moment's patience.  Alex. 
Preach patience to another Lion;— what,  
Hold my arms? I shall be murdered here,  
Like poor Darius, by my own barbarous Subjects.  
Perdiccas, sound my Trumpets to the Camp,  
Call all my Soldiers to the Court; nay haste,  
For there is Treason plotting 'gainst my life,  
And I shall perish ere they come to rescue.  Lys. and Heph. 
Let us all die, ere think so damned a deed.  (kneel. Alex. 
Where is the Traitor?  Clyt. 
Sure there's none about you;  
But here stands honest Clitus, whom the King  
Invited to his Banquet.  Alex. 
Be gone, and sup with Philip,  strikes him through. 
Parmenio, Attalus, Calisthenes,  
And let bold Subjects learn by thy sad Fate,  
To tempt the patience of a man above 'em.  Clyt. 
The rage of wine is drowned in gushing blood;  
O Alexander, I have been too blame,  
Hate me not after death, for I repent  
That so I urged your noblest, sweetest nature.  Alex. 
What's this I hear? say on, my dying Soldier.  Clyt. 
I should ha' killed myself, had I but lived  
To be once sober:— Now I fall with honour,  
My own hand would ha' brought foul death; O pardon.  (die. Alex. 
Then I am lost, what has my vengeance done?  
Who is it thou hast slain? Clitus; what was he?  
Thy faithful Subject, worthiest Counsellor,  
Who for the saving of thy life has now  
A noble recompense; for one rash word,  
For a forgetfulness which wine did work,  
The poor, the honest Clitus thou hast slain!  
Are these the Laws of Hospitality?  
Thy Friends will shun thee now, and stand at distance,  
Nor dare to speak their minds, nor eat with thee,  
Nor drink, lest by thy madness they die too.  Heph. 
Guards, take the body hence.  Alex. 
None dare to touch him,  
For we must never part; cruel Hephestion,  
And you, Lysimachus, that had the power,  
Yet would not hold me.  Lys. 
Dear Sir, we did.  Alex. 
I know it;  
Ye held me like a Beast, to let me go  
With greater violence:— O you have undone me!  
Excuse it not, you that could stop a Lion,  
Could not turn me; you should have drawn your Swords,  
And barred my rage with their advancing points;  
Made Reason glitter in my dazzled eyes,  
Till I had seen what ruin did attend me.  
That had been noble, that had showed a Friend,  
Clitus would so have done to save your lives.  Lys. 
When men shall hear how highly you were urged—  Alex. 
No, you have let me stain my rising virtue,  
Which else had ended brighter than the Sun.  
Death, Hell, and Furies! you have sunk my Glory:  
O I am all a blot, which Seas of tears,  
And my heart's blood, can never wash away;  
Yet 'tis but just I try, and on the point  
Still reaking hurl my black polluted breast.  Heph. 
O sacred Sir, this must not be.  Eum. 
Forgive my pious hands.  Lys. 
And mine, that dare disarm my Master.  Alex. 
Yes, cruel men, you now can show your strength;  
Here's not a Slave but dares oppose my Justice;  
Yet I will render all endeavours vain  
That tend to save my life:— here I will lie  (falls. 
Close to his bleeding side, thus kissing him,  
These pale dead lips that have so oft advised me,  
Thus bathing o'er his Reverend face in tears,  
Thus clasping his cold body in my arms,  
Till death, like him, has made me stiff and horrid.  Heph. 
What shall we do?  Lys. 
I know not, my wounds bleed afresh  
With striving with him; Perdiccas, lends your arm.  Ex. Per. Lys. Heph. 
Call Aristander hither,  
Or Meleager, let's force him from the body.  Cries without, Arm, Arm, Treason, Treason, Enter Perdiccas bloody. Perd. 
Hast, all take Arms; Hephestion, where's the King?  Heph. 
There, by old Clitus side, whom he has slain.  Perd. 
Then misery on misery will fall,  
Like rolling billows to advance the storm.  
Rise, sacred Sir, and hast to aid the Queen,  
Roxana filled with furious jealousy,  
Came with a Guard of Zogdean Slaves unmarked,  
And broke upon me with such sudden rage,  
That all are perished who resistance made:  
I only with these wounds through clashing Spears  
Have forced my way, to give you timely notice.  Alex. 
What says Perdiccas? is the Queen in danger?  Perd. 
She dies unless you turn her Fate, and quickly;  
Your distance from the Palace asks more speed,  
And the ascent to th' flying Grove is high.  Alex. 
Thus from the Grave I rise to save my Love,  
All draw your Swords, with wings of Lightning move;  
When I rush on, sure none will dare to stay,  
'Tis Beauty calls, and Glory shows the way.  Exeunt.  

ACT V.  Statira is discovered sleeping in the Bower of Semiramis. The Spirits of Queen Statira her Mother, and Darius, appear standing on each side of her, with Daggers threatening her. They Sing. Dar. 
IS Innocence so void of cares,  
That it can undisturbed sleep,  
Amidst the noise of horrid Wars,  
That make Immortal Spirits weep?  Stat. 
No boding Crows, nor Ravens come,  
To warn her of approaching doom?  Dar. 
She walks, as she dreams, in a Garden of Flowers,  
And her hands are employed in the beautiful Bowers:  
She dreams of the man that is far from the Grove,  
And all her soft Fancy still runs on her Love.  Stat. 
She nods o'er the Brooks that run purling along,  
And the Nightingales lull her more fast with a Song.  Dar. 
But see the sad endwhich the Gods have decreed.  Stat. 
This Poniard's thy Fate.  Dar. 
My Daughter must bleed.  Chor. 
Awake then, Statira, awake, for alas you must die:  
Ere an hour be past, you must breathe out your last,  Dar. 
And be such another as I,  Stat. 
As I,  Chor. 
And be such another as I,  Statira sola. Stat. 
Bless me ye Powers above, and guard my Virtue!  
I saw, nor was't a Dream, I saw and heard  
My Royal Parents, there I saw 'em stand;  
My eyes beheld their precious Images:  
I heard their Heavenly voices; where, O where  
Fled you so fast, Dear shades, from my embraces?  
You told me this,— This hour should be my last,  
And I must bleed;— Away, 'tis all Delusion!  
Do not I wait for Alexander's coming?  
None but my loving Lord can enter here;  
And will he kill me?— hence, fantastic shadows!  
And yet me thinks he should not stay thus long!  
Why do I tremble thus? if I but stir,  
The motion of my Robes makes my heart leap.  
When will the dear man come, that all my doubts  
May vanish in his breast? that I may hold him  
Fast as my fears can make me, hug him close  
As my fond Soul can wish, give all my breath  
In sighs, and kisses; swoon, die away with Rapture!  
But hark, I hear him:—  (noise within. 
Fain I would hide my blushes,  
I hear his tread, but dare not go to meet him.  Enter Roxana with Slaves, and a Dagger. Rox. 
At length we have conquered this stupendious height,  
These flying Groves, whose wonderful ascent  
Leads to the Clouds.  Stat. 
Then all he Vision's true,  (retires. 
And I must die, lose my dear Lord for ever:  
That, that's the murder.  Rox. 
Shut the Brazen Gate,  
And make it fast with all the massy Bars:  
I know the King will fly to her relief,  
But we have time enough:— where is my Rival?  
Appear Statira, now no more a Queen,  
Roxana calls, where is your Majesty?  Stat. 
And what is she who with such Towering pride,  
Would awe a Princess that is born above her?  Rox. 
I like the Port Imperial Beauty bears,  
It shows thou hast a Spirit fit to fall  
A Sacrifice to fierce Roxana's wrongs.  
Be sudden then, put forth these Royal Breasts,  
Where our false Master has so often languished,  
That I may change their milky Innocence  
To blood, and die me in a deep Revenge.  Stat. 
No, barbarous woman! though I durst meet death:  
As boldly as our Lord, with a resolve  
At which thy Coward heart would tremble:  
Yet I disdain to stand the Fate you offer,  
And therefore fearless of thy dreadful threats,  
Walk thus regardless by thee.  Rox. 
Ha! so stately!  
This sure will sink you.  Stat. 
No, Roxana, no;  
The blow you give will strike me to the Stars,  
But sink ny murderess in Eternal ruin.  Rox. 
Who told you this?  Stat. 
A thousand Spirits tell me:  
There's not a God but whispers in my ear,  
This death will crown me with Immortal Glory;  
To die so fair, so innocent, so young,  
Will make me company for Queens above.  Rox. 
Preach on.  Stat. 
While you the burden of the Earth,  
Fall to the Deep so heavy with thy Guilt,  
That Hell itself must groan at thy reception;  
While foulest Fiends shun thy society,  
And thou shalt walk alone, forsaken Fury.  Rox. 
Heaven witness for me, I would spare thy life,  
If any thing but Alexander's Love  
Were in debate; come give me back his heart,  
And thou shalt live, live Empress of the world.  Stat. 
The world is less than Alexander's Love,  
Yet could I give it, 'tis not in my power:  
This I dare promise, if you spare my life,  
Which I disdain to beg, he shall speak kindly.  Rox. 
Speak! is that all?  Stat. 
Perhaps at my request,  
And for a gift so noble as my life,  
Bestow a kiss.  Rox. 
A kiss! no more?  Stat. 
O Gods!  
What shall I say to work her to my end?  
Fain I would see him:— yes, a little more,  
Embrace you, and for ever be your Friend.  Rox. 
Oh the provoking word! Your Friend! Thou diest:  
Your Friend! what must I bring you then together?  
Adorn your Bed, and see you softly laid?  
By all my pangs, and labours of my Love,  
This has thrown off all that was sweet and gentle;  
Therefore—.  Stat. 
Yet hold thy hand advanced in air;  
I see my death is written in thy eyes,  
Therefore wreak all thy lust of Vengeance on me,  
Wash in my blood, and steep thee in my gore;  
Feed like a Vulture, tear my bleeding heart.  
But O Roxana! that there may appear  
A glimpse of Justice for thy Cruelty,  
A grain of Goodness, for a mass of Evil,  
Give me my Death in Alexander's presence.  Rox. 
Not for the Rule of Heaven:— are you so cunning?  
What you would have him mourn you as you fall?  
Take your farewell, and taste such healing kisses,  
As might call back your Soul? No, thou shalt fall  
Now, and when Death has seized thy beauteous limbs,  
I'll have thy body thrown into a Well,  
Buried beneath a heap of Stones for ever.  Enter a Slave. Slau. 
Madam, the King with all his Captains and his Guards  
Are forcing ope' the doors, he threatens thousand deaths  
To all that stop his entrance, and I believe  
Your Eunuchs will obey him.  Rox. 
Then I must haste.  (stabs her. Stat. 
What is the King so near?  
And shall I die so tamely, thus defenceless?  
O ye good Gods! will you not help my weakness?  Rox. 
They are far off.  (stabbing her. Stat. 
Alas! they are indeed.  Enter Alexander, Cassander, Polipercon, Guards and Attendants. Alex. 
Oh Harpy! thou shalt reign the Queen of Devils.  Rox. 
Do, strike, behold my bosom swells to meet thee;  
'Tis full of thine, of veins that run ambition,  
And I can brave whatever Fate you bring.  Alex. 
Call our Physicians, haste, I'll give an Empire  
To save her:— Oh my Soul, alas Statira!  
These wounds,— Oh Gods, are these my promised joys!  Stat. 
My cruel Love, my weeping Alexander,  Enter Physicians. 
Would I had died before you entered here,  
For now I ask my heart a hundred questions;  
What must I lose my life, my Lord, for ever?  Alex. 
Ha! Villains, are they mortal?— what, retire!  
Raise your dashed Spirits from the Earth, and say,  
Say she shall live, and I will make you Kings.  
Give me this one, this poor, this only life,  
And I will pardon you for all the wounds  
Which your Arts widen, all Diseases, Deaths,  
Which your damned Drugs throw through the lingering world.  Rox. 
Rend not your temper, see a general silence  
Confirms the bloody pleasure which I sought;  
She dies.—  Alex. 
And dar'st thou, Monster, think to scape?  Stat. 
My life is on the wing, my Love, my Lord,  
Come to my arms, and take the last adieu:  
Here let me lie, and languish out my Soul.  Alex. 
Answer me, Father, wilt thou take her from me?  
What is the black, sad hour at last arrived,  
That I must never clasp her body more?  
Never more bask in her Eyes-shine again,  
Nor view the Loves that played in those dear beams,  
And shot me with a thousand thousand smiles.  Stat. 
Farewell, my dear, my life, my most loved Lord,  
I swear by Orosmades 'tis more pleasure,  
More satisfaction that I thus die yours,  
Then to have lived another's:— Grant me one thing.  Alex. 
All, all;— but speak, that I may execute  
Before I follow thee.  Stat. 
Leave not the Earth  
Before Heaven calls you: spare Roxana's life,  
'Twas Love of you that caused her give me death.  
And, O sometimes amidst your Revels think  
Of your poor Queen, and e'er the cheerful Bowl  
Salute your lips, crown it with one rich tear,  
And I am happy.  (dies. Alex. 
Close not thy eyes;  
Things of Import I have to speak before  
Thou tak'st thy Journey:— tell the Gods, I'm coming  
To give 'em an account of life and death,  
And many other hundred thousand policies,  
That much concern the Government of Heaven.—  
O she is gone! the talking Soul is mute!  
She's hushed, no voice, no Music now is heard!  
The Bower of Beauty is more still than Death;  
The Roses fade, and the melodious Bird  
That waked their sweets, has left 'em now for ever.  Rox. 
'Tis certain now you never shall enjoy her;  
Therefore Roxana may have leave to hope  
You will at last be kind for all my sufferings,  
My torments, racks, for this last dreadful murder,  
Which furious Love of thee did bring upon me.  Alex. 
O thou vile creature! bear thee from my sight,  
And thank Statira that thou art alive:  
Else thou hadst perished; yes, I would ha' rent  
With my just hands that Rock, that Marble heart;  
I would have dived through Seas of blood to find it,  
To tear the cruel Quarry from its Centre.  Rox. 
O take me to your arms, and hide my blushes,  
I Love you, spite of all your cruelties;  
There is so much Divinity about you,  
I tremble to approach; yet here's my hold,  
Nor will I leave the Sacred Robe, for such  
Is every thing that touches that blessed Body:  
I'll kiss it as the Relic of a God,  
And Love shall grasp it with these dying hands.  Alex. 
O that thou wert a man, that I might drive  
Thee round the world, and scatter thy Contagion,  
As Gods hurl mortal Plagues when they are angry.  Rox. 
Do, drive me, hue me into smallest pieces,  
My dust shall be inspired with a new fondness;  
Still the Love-motes shall play before your eyes,  
Where e'er you go, however you despise.  Alex. 
Away, there's not a glance that flies from thee,  
But like a Basilisk comes winged with death.  Rox. 
O speak not such harsh words, my Royal Master,  (kneels. 
Look not so dreadful on your kneeling Servant;  
But take, dear Sir, O take me into Grace,  
By the dear Babe, the burden of my womb,  
That weighs me down, when I would follow faster.  
My knees are weary, and my force is spent:  
O do not frown, but clear that angry brow!  
Your eyes will blast me, and your words are bolts  
That strike me dead; the little wretch I bear,  
Leaps frighted at your wrath, and dies within me.  Alex. 
O thou hast touched my Soul so tenderly,  
That I will raise thee, though thy hands are ruin.  
Rise, cruel woman, rise, and have a care,  
O do not hurt that unborn Innocence,  
For whose dear sake I now forgive thee all.  
But hast, be gone, fly, fly from these sad eyes  
Fly with thy pardon, lest I call it back;  
Though I forgive thee, I must hate thee ever.  Rox. 
I go, I fly, for ever from thy sight.  
My mortal Injuries have turned my mind,  
And I could curse myself for being kind.  
If there be any Majesty above,  
That has Revenge in store for perjured Love,  
Send Heaven the swiftest ruin on his head,  
Strike the Destroyer, lay the Victor dead;  
Kill the Triumpher, and avenge my wrong  
In height of Pomp, while he is warm and young,  
Bolted with Thunder let him rush along.  
And when in the last pangs of life he lies,  
Grant I may stand to dart him with my eyes;  
Nay after death  
Pursue his spotted Ghost, and shoot him as he flies.  Exit. Alex. 
O my fair Star! I shall be shortly with thee;  
For I already feel the sad effects  
Of those most fatal Imprecations.  
What means this deadly dew upon my forehead?  
My heart too heaves,  Cas. 
It will anon be still—  (aside 
The poison works.  Pol. 
I'll see the wished effect  (aside. 
ere I remove, and gorge me with Revenge.  Enter Perdiccas and Lysimachus. Perd. 
I beg your Majesty will pardon me,  
A fatal Messenger;  
Great Sysigambis hearing Statira's death,  
Is now no more.  
Her last words gave the Princess to the brave  
Lysimachus; but that which most will strike you,  
Your dear Hephestion, having drank too largely  
At your last Feast, is of a surfeit dead.  Alex. 
How, dead! Hephestion dead! alas the dear  
Unhappy Youth!— But he sleeps happy,  
I must wake for ever:— This object, this,  
This face of fatal Beauty,  
Will stretch my lids with vast, Eternal tears.—  
Who had the care of poor Hephestion's life?  Lys. 
Philarda, the Arabian Artist.  Alex. 
Fly, Meleager, hang him on a Cross:  
That for Hephestion.—  
But here lies my Fate; Hephestion, Clitus,  
All my Victories for ever folded up:  
In this dear body my Banners lost,  
My Standards Triumphs gone!  
O when shall I be mad?— Give order to  
The Army that they break their Shields, Swords, Spears;  
Pound their bright Armour into dust away.  
Is there not cause to put the World in mourning?  
Tear all your Robes:— he dies that is not naked  
Down to the waist, all like the Sons of sorrow.  
Burn all the Spires that seem to kiss the Sky;  
Beat down the Battlements of every City:  
And for the Monument of this loved Creature,  
Root up those Bowers, and pave 'em all with Gold:  
Draw dry the Ganges, make the Indies poor;  
To build her Tomb, no Shrines nor Altars spare,  
But strip the shining Gods to make it rare.  Exit. Cas. 
Ha! whither now? follow him, Polipercon.  Ex. Pol. 
I find Cassander's Plot grows full of Death;  
Murder is playing her great Masterpiece,  
And the sad Sister's sweat, so fast I urge 'em.  
O how I hug myself for this Revenge!  
My fancy's great in mischief; for methinks  
The night grows darker, and the labouring Ghosts,  
For fear that I should find new Tortures out,  
Run o'er the old with most prodigious swiftness.  
I see the fatal Fruit betwixt the Teeth,  
The Sieve brimful, and the swift Stone stand still.  Enter Polipercon. 
What, does it work?  Pol. 
Speak softly.  Cas. 
Well.  Pol. 
It does;  
I followed him, and saw him swiftly walk  
Toward the Palace; oft times looking back,  
With watery eyes, and calling out, Statira.  
He stumbled at the Gate, and fell along;  
Nor was he raised with ease by his Attendants,  
But seemed a greater load then ordinary,  
As much more as the Dead outweigh the Living.  Cas. 
Said he nothing?  Pol. 
When they took him up,  
He sighed, and entered with a strange wild look,  
Embraced the Princes round, and said he must  
Dispatch the business of the world in haste.  Enter Philip and Thessalus. Phil. 
Back, back, all scatter:— with a dreadful shout  
I heard him cry, I am but a dead man.  Thes. 
The poison tears him with that height of horror,  
That I could pity him.  Pol. 
Peace;— where shall we meet?  Cas. 
In Saturn's Field.  
Methinks I see the frighted Deities,  
Ramming more bolts in their big-bellyed Clouds,  
And firing all the heavens' to drown his noise.  
Now we should laugh.— But go, disperse yourselves,  
While each Soul here, that fills his noble Vessel,  
Swells with the murder, works with ruin o'er:  
And from the dreadful deed this Glory draws,  
We killed the greatest man that ever was.  The Scene draws, Enter Alexander and all his Attendants. Alex. 
Search there, nay probe me, search my wounded reins;  
Pull, draw it out.  Lys. 
We have searched, but find no hurt.  Alex. 
O I am shot, a forked burning Arrow  
Sticks cross my shoulders, the sad Venom flies  
Like Lightning through my flesh, my blood, my marrow.  Lys. 
This must be Treason.  Perd. 
Would I could but guests.  Alex. 
Ha! what a change of Torments I endure?  
A bolt of Ice runs hizzing through my bowels.  
'Tis sure the arm of Death, give me a Chair;  
Cover me, for I freeze, my teeth chatter,  
And my knees knock together.  Perd. 
Heaven bless the King!  Alex. 
Ha! who talks of Heaven?  
I am all Hell, I burn, I burn again.  
The War grows wondrous hot, hay for the Tigris;  
Bear me, Bucephalus, amongst the Billows:  
O 'tis a noble beast! I would not change him  
For the best Horse the Sun has in his Stable:  
For they are hot, their Mangers full of coals,  
Their Mains are flakes of Lightning, curls of Fire,  
And their red Tails like Meteor's whisk about.  Lys. 
Help all, Eumenes, help, I cannot hold him.  Alex. 
Ha, ha, ha, I shall die with laughter.  
Parmenio, Clitus, dost thou see yond fellow?  
That ragged Soldier, thar poor tattered Greek?  
See how he puts to flight the gaudy Persians,  
With nothing but a rusty Helmet on, through which  
The grizly bristles of his pushing Beard  
Drive 'em like Pikes.— Ha, ha, ha.  Perd. 
How wild he talks?  Lys. 
Yet warring in his wildness.  (come: Alex. 
Sound, sound, keep your Ranks close, ay now they  
O the brave din, the noble clank of Arms!  
Charge, Charge apace, and let the Phalanx move.  
Darius comes,— ha! let me in, none dare  
To cross my fury;— Philotas is unhorsed;— Ay, 'tis Darius,  
I see, I know him by the sparkling Plumes,  
And his Gold Chariot drawn by ten white Horses:  
But like a Tempest thus I pour upon him.—  
He bleeds, with that last blow I brought him down;  
He tumbles, take him, snatch the Imperial Crown.—  
They fly, they fly,— follow, follow,— Victoria, Victoria,  
Victoria,— O let me sleep.  Perd. 
Let's raise him softly, and bear him to his Bed.  Alex. 
Hold, the least motion gives me sudden death;  
My vital Spirits are quite parched, burnt up,  
And all my smoky Entrails turned to ashes.  Lys. 
When you the brightest Star that ever shone:  
Shall set, it must be night with us for ever.  Alex. 
Let me embrace you all before I die:  
Weep not, my dear Companions, the good Gods  
Shall send you in my stead a nobler Prince,  
One that shall lead you forth with matchless conduct.  Lys. 
Break not our hearts with such unkind expressions.  Perd. 
We will not part with you, nor change for Mars.  Alex. 
Perdiccas, take this Ring,  
And see me laid in the Temple of  
Jupiter Ammon.  Lys. 
To whom does your dread Majesty bequeath  
The Empire of the World?  Alex. 
To him that is most worthy.  Perd. 
When will you, sacred Sir, that we should give  
To your great memory those Divine Honours,  
Which such exalted Virtue does deserve?  Alex. 
When you are all most happy, and in peace.  
Your hands,— O Father, if I have discharged  (rises. 
The duty of a man to Empire born;  
If by unwearied toil I have deserved  
The vast renown of thy adopted Son,  
Accept this Soul, which thou didst first inspire,  
And with this sigh, thus gives thee back again.  (dies. Lys. 
Eumenes, cover the fallen Majesty,  
If there be Treason let us find it out:  
Lysimachus stands forth to lead you on,  
And swears by those most honoured dear Remains,  
He will not taste the joys which Beauty brings,  
Till we revenge the greatest, best of Kings.   
FINIS.   

EPILOGUE to Alexander the Great,  
WHAT e'er they mean, yet ought they to be cursed,  
Who this Censorious Age did polish first:  
Who the best Play, for one poor Error blame,  
As Priests against our Lady's Arts declaim,  
And for one Patch, both Soul and Body damn.  
But what does more provoke the Actor's rage,  
(For we must show the grievance of the Stage)  
Is, that our Women who adorn each Play  
Bred at our cost, become at length your Prey:  
While green, and sour, likes Trees we bear 'em all,  
But when they're mellow straight to you they fall:  
You watch 'em bare and squab, and let 'em rest;  
But with the first young down, you snatch the Nest.  
Pray leave these poaching tricks, if you are wise,  
ere we take out our Letters of Reprize.  
For we have vowed to find a sort of Toys  
Known to black Friars, a Tribe of choopping Boys:  
If once they come, they'll quickly spoil your sport;  
There's not one Lady will receive your Court:  
But for the Youth in Petticoats run wild,  
With oh the archest Wagg, the sweetest Child.  
The panting Breasts, white Hands and little Feet  
No more shall your palled thoughts with pleasure meet.  
The Woman in Boys clothes, all Boy shall be,  
And never raise your thoughts above the Knee.  
Well, if our Women knew how false you are,  
They would stay here, and this new trouble spare:  
Poor Souls, they think all Gospel you relate,  
Charmed with the noise of sett'ling an Estate:  
But when, at last, your Appetites are full,  
And the tired Cupid grows, with action, dull;  
You'll find some trick to cut off the Entail,  
And send 'em back to us, all worn and stale.  
Perhaps they'll find our Stage, while they have ranged  
To some vile canting Conventicle, changed:  
Where, for the Sparks who once resorted there  
With their curled Wigs that scented all the Air,  
They'll see grave Blockheads with short greasy Hair.  
Green-Aprons, steeple-Hats, and Collar-Bands;  
Dull sniveling Rogues that wring, not clap, their Hands:  
Where, for gay Punks that drew the shining Crowd,  
And Misses that, in Vizard, laughed aloud;  
They'll hear young Sister's sigh, see Matrons old  
To their chop't Cheeks their pick'led Kerchers hold;  
Whose Zeal too, might persuade, in spite to you,  
Our flying Angels, to augment their Crew:  
While Farringdon their Hero struts about 'em,  
And ne'er a damning Critic dares to flout 'em.  
FINIS.