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Ex-Sibris
Frederick
Lyman
Geddes
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B428
ΤΟ
SIR JOHN EYLES, BART.
Member of Parliament for, and Alderman of, the City of
LONDON, and Sub-Governor of the SOUTH-SEA Company.
SIR,
F tragic poetry be, as Mr. Dryden has somewhere
aid, the most excellent and most useful kind of
writing; the more extensively useful the moral of any
ragedy is, the more excellent that piece must be of
s kind.
I hope I shall not be thought to insinuate, that
his, to which I have presumed to prefix your name,
s such: that depends on its fitness to answer the end
f tragedy, the exciting of the passions, in order to
he correcting such of them as are criminal, either in
heir nature, or through their excess. Whether the'
llowing scenes do this in any tolerable degree, is,
ith the deference that becomes one who would not be
hought vain, submitted to your candour and im-
artial judgment.
What I would infer is this, I think, evident truth;
hat tragedy is so far from losing its dignity by being
ccommodated to the circumstances of the generality
A ij
iv
DEDICATION.
of mankind, that it is more truly august, in pro-
portion to the extent of its influence, and the num-
bers that are properly affected by it: as it is more
truly great to be the instrument of good to many who
stand in need of our assistance, than to a very smali
part of that number.
If princes, &c. were alone liable to misfortunes
arising from vice or weakness in themselves or others,
there would be good reason for confining the charac-
ters in tragedy to those of superior rank; but since
the contrary is evident, nothing can be more reason-
able than to proportion the remedy to the disease.
I am far from denying, that tragedies founded or
any instructive and extraordinary events in history,
or well-invented fables, where the persons introduced
are of the highest rank, are without their use, even
to the bulk of the audience. The strong contras
between a Tamerlane and a Bajazet may have its
weight with an unsteady people, and contribute to
the fixing of them in the interest of a prince of the
character of the former; when thro' their own levity,
or the arts of designing men, they are rendered fac-
tious and uneasy, though they have the highest rea-
son to be satisfied. The sentiments and example of
a Cato may inspire his spectators with a just sense of
the value of liberty, when they see that honest pa
triot prefer death to an obligation from a tyrant, whe
DEDICATION.
V
would sacrifice the constitution of his country, and
he liberties of mankind, to his ambition or revenge.
I have attempted, indeed, to enlarge the province of
the graver kind of poetry, and should be glad to see
it carried on by some abler hand. Plays founded on
moral tales in private life may be of admirable use,
by carrying conviction to the mind with such irre-
sistible force as to engage all the faculties and power
of the soul in the cause of virtue, by stifling vice in
its first principles. They who imagine this to be too
much to be attributed to tragedy, must be strangers
to the energy of that noble species of poetry. Shak-
spere, who has given such amazing proofs of his ge-
nius, in that as well as in comedy, in his Hamlet
has the following lines :
Had he the motive and the cause for passion
That I have, he would drown the stage with tears,
And cleave the gen'ral ear with horrid speech:
Make mad the guilty, and appall the free,
Confound the ign'rant, and amaze indeed
The very faculty of eyes and ears.
And farther, in the same speech:
I've heard that guilty creatures at a play
Have, by the very cunning of the scene,
Been so struck to the soul, that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions.
Prodigious! yet strictly just. But I shall not take up
your valuable time with my remarks: only give me
A iij
vi
DEDICATION.
leave just to observe, that he seems so firmly per-
suaded of the power of a well-written piece to pro-
duce the effect here ascribed to it, as to make Hamlet
venture his soul on the event, and rather trust that,
than a messenger from the other world, tho' it as-
sumed, as he expresses it, his noble Father's form,
and assured him, that it was his spirit. I'll have,
says Hamlet, grounds more relative;
the play's the thing,
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.
Such plays are the best answers to them who deny
the lawfulness of the stage.
Considering the novelty of this attempt, I thought
it would be expected from me to say something in its
excuse; and I was unwilling to lose the opportunity
of saying something of the usefulness of tragedy in
general, and what may be reasonably expected from
the farther improvement of this excellent kind of
poetry.
SIR,
I hope you will not think I have said too much of
an art, a mean specimen of which I am ambitious
enough to recommend to your favour and protection.
A mind, conscious of superior worth, as much de-
spises flattery, as it is above it. Had I found in
myself an inclination to so contemptible a vice, I
DEDICATION.
vii
hould not have chosen Sir JOHN EYLES for my pa-
ron. And indeed the best written panegyric, tho'
trictly true, must place you in a light much inferior
o that in which you have long been fixed by the love
nd esteem of your fellow-citizens, whose choice of
ou for one of their representatives in parliament,
as sufficiently declared their sense of your merit.
For hath the knowledge of your worth been confined
the city: the proprietors in the South-Sea Com-
any, in which are included numbers of persons as
onsiderable for their rank, fortune, and understand-
g, as any in the kingdom, gave the greatest proof
f their confidence in your capacity and probity, by
hoosing you Sub-Governor of their Company, at a
me when their affairs were in the utmost confusion,
nd their properties in the greatest danger. Neither is
he court insensible of your importance. I shall not,
erefore, attempt a character so well known, nor
retend to add any thing to a reputation so well esta-
lished.
Whatever others may think of a Dedication, wherein
here is so much said of other things, and so little of
he person to whom it is addressed, I have reason to
elieve that you will the more easily pardon it upon
hat
very account.
I am, Sir,
Your most obedient, humble servant,
GEORGE LILLO.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
THIS Play affects the middle or mercantile part of
life as it once was, but the application of it now must
be among the lowest occupations of society.-The
snares of Millwood would now be nearly ineffectual to
the London Merchant's seduction; general dissipa
tion has taken away our constancy even in our vices.
There is, however, a merit in this play that doe
not fall to the share of many.-The sentiments ar
easy and natural, and the interest such as will be ac
knowledged powerful by all, although the polish o
modern manners should not eagerly desire its per
formance upon the stage.
the stage. Indeed, from the natur
of the principal female character, it is not possibl
that it should ever be among the current amusemen
of the season. Knowing this, the Managers perform
it now and then as an hereditary obligation from pas
times, but then in so vile a way, that nothing but th
powerful pathos of the writing could make it bear
able:-yet badly as we have always seen it acted, w
have never been able to refrain from tears.
The best of Mr. LILLO's dramatic productions
the FATAL CURIOSITY, a play that comes closer
the sublime horrors of Shakspere's MACBETH the
any one produced this century.
Gelf
22
Coakes how de
PROLOGUE.
HE tragic muse, sublime, delights to show
Princes distress'd, and scenes of royal wo;
r awful pomp, majestic, to relate
The fall of nations, or some hero's fate;
"hat scepter'd chiefs may, by example, know
The strange vicissitudes of things below;
What dangers on security attend;
How pride and cruelty in ruin end:
Hence Providence supreme, to know, and own
Humanity adds glory to a throne.
n ev'ry former age, and foreign tongue,
With native grandeur thus the goddess sung.
Jpon our stage, indeed, with wish'd success,
You've sometimes seen her in an humbler dress;
Great only in distress, when she complains
n Southern's, Rowe's, or Otway's moving strains,
The brilliant drops that fall from each bright eye,
The absent pomp, with brighter gems supply.
Forgive us, then, if we attempt to show,
In artless strains, a tale of private wo.
A London 'Prentice ruin'd is our theme,
Drawn from the fam'd old song that bears his name.
We hope your taste is not so high to scorn
A moral tale esteem'd ere you were born ;
X
PROLOGUE.
Which, for a century of rolling years,
Has fill'd a thousand thousand eyes with tears.
If thoughtless youth to warn, and shame the age
From vice destructive, well becomes the stage;
If this example innocence insure,
Prevent our guilt, or by reflection cure,
If Millwood's dreadful crimes, and sad despair,
Commend the virtue of the good and fair ;
Tho' art be wanting, and our numbers fail,
Indulge th' attempt, in justice to the tale.
Dramatis Perfonae.
COVENT-GARDEN.
THOROWGOOD,
BARNWELL, uncle to George,
GEORGE BARNWELL,
TRUEMAN,
BLUNT,
Gaoler,
MARIA,
MILLWOOD,
LUCY,
Men.
-
Mr. Hull.
Mr. Booth.
-
Mr. Farren.
-
Mr. Davies.
-
Mr. Thompson.
-
Mr. Ledger.
-
-
Women.
Mrs. T. Kennedy.
Mrs. Bates.
Mrs. Wilson.
Officers with their Attendants, and Footmen.
SCENE, London, and an adjacent Village.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
ACT I. SCENE 1.
A Room in THOROWGOOD's House. Enter THOROW
GOOD and TRUEMAN.
Trucman.
SIR, the packet from Genoa is arrived. [Gives letters.
Thor. Heaven be prais'd! The storm that threat-
ened our royal mistress, pure religion, liberty, and
laws, is for a time diverted. The haughty and re-
vengeful Spaniard, disappointed of the loan on which
he depended from Genoa, must now attend the slow
returns of wealth from his new world, to supply his
empty coffers, ere he can execute his proposed inva-
sion of our happy island. By this means, time is
gained to make such preparations on our part, as may,
Heaven concurring, prevent his malice, or turn the
meditated mischief on himself.
True. He must be insensible indeed, who is not af-
fected when the safety of his country is concerned.
B
14
A&t I.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Sir, may I know by what means?—If I am not too
bold-
Thor. Your curiosity is laudable; and I gratify it
with the greater pleasure, because from thence you
may learn, how honest merchants, as such, may some-
times contribute to the safety of their country, as they
do at all times to its happiness; that if hereafter you
should be tempted to any action that has the appear-
ance of vice or meanness in it, upon reflecting on the
dignity of our profession, you may, with honest scorn,
reject whatever is unworthy of it.
True. Should Barnwell, or I, who have the benefit
of your example, by our ill conduct bring any impu-
tation on that honourable name, we must be left with-
out excuse.
Thor. You compliment, young man. [Trueman
bows respectfully.] Nay, I am not offended. As the
name of merchant never degrades the gentleman, so
by no means does it exclude him; only take heed not
to purchase the character of complaisant at the ex-
pence of your sincerity.
your sincerity.—But to answer your ques-
tion: The bank of Genoa had agreed, at an excessive
interest, and on good security, to advance the King
of Spain a sum of money sufficient to equip his vast
Armada; of which our peerless Elizabeth (more than
in name the mother of her people) being well in-
formed, sent Walsingham, her wise and faithful se-
cretary, to consult the merchants of this loyal city;
who all agreed to direct their several agents to influ-
ence, if possible, the Genoese to break their contract
A&t I.
15
GEORGE BARNWELL.
with the Spanish court. 'Tis done: the state and
bank of Genoa having maturely weighed, and rightly
judged of their true interest, prefer the friendship of
the merchants of London to that of the monarch, who
proudly stiles himself king of both Indies.
True. Happy success of prudent counsels! What an
expence of blood and treasure is here saved!
"Ex-
"cellent queen; O how unlike those princes, who
"make the danger of foreign enemies a pretence to
oppress their subjects by taxes great, and grievous
"to be borne !
"Thor. Not so our gracious queen! whose richest
"exchequer is her people's love, as their happiness
"her greatest glory.
"True. On these terms to defend us, is to make
"our protection a benefit worthy her who confers it,
and well worth our acceptance." Sir, have you
any commands for me at this time
Thor. Only look carefully over the files, to see whe-,
ther there are any tradesmen's bills unpaid; if there
are, send and discharge 'em. We must not let arti-
ficers lose their time, so useful to the public and their
families, in unnecessary attendance. [Exit Trueman.
Enter MARIA.
Well, Maria, have you given orders for the enter
tainment ? I would have it in some measure worthy
the guests. Let there be plenty, and of the best,
that the courtiers may at least commend our hospita-
lity.
Bij
16
Act 1.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
·
Mar. Sir, I have endeavoured not to wrong your
well-known generosity by an ill-timed parsimony.
Thor. Nay, 'twas a needless caution: I have no
cause to doubt your prudence.
Mar. Sir, I find myself unfit for conversation; I
should but increase the number of the company,
without adding to their satisfaction.
Thor. Nay, my child, this inelancholy must not be
indulged.
Mar. Company will but increase it: I wish you
would dispense with my absence. Solitude best suits
my present temper.
Thor. You are not insensible, that it is chiefly on
your account these noble lords do me the honour so
frequently to grace my board. Should you be ab-
sent, the disappointment may make them repent of
their condescension, and think their labour lost.
Mar. He that shall think his time or honour lost in
visiting you, can set no real value on your daughter's
company, whose only merit is, that she is yours. The
man of quality who chooses to converse with a gen-
tleman and merchant of your worth and character,
may confer honour by so doing, but he loses none.
Thor. Come, come, Maria, I need not tell you, that
a young gentleman may prefer your conversation to
minc, and yet intend me no disrespect at all; for
though he may lose no honour in my company, 'tis
very natural for him to expect more pleasure in yours.
I remember the time when the company of the great-
est and wisest men in the kingdom would have been
A& I.
17
GEORGE
WELL.
insipid and tiresome to me, if it had deprived me of
an opportunity of enjoying your mother's.
Mar. Yours, no doubt, was as agreeable to her;
for generous minds know no pleasure in society but
where 'tis mutual.
Thor. Thou knowest I have no heir, no child, but
thee; the fruits of many years successful industry must
all be thine. Now it would give me pleasure, great as
my love, to see on whom you will bestow it. I am
daily solicited by men of the greatest rank and merit
for leave to address you: but I have hitherto de-
clined it, in hopes that, by observation, I should learn
which way your inclination tends; for, as I know love
to be essential to happiness in the married state, I had
rather my approbation should confirm your choice
than direct it.
Mar. What can I say? How shall I answer, as I
ought, this tenderness, so uncommon even in the best
of parents?
But you are without example: yet, had
you been less indulgent, I had been most wretched.
That I look on the crowd of courtiers that visit here,
with equal esteem, but equal indifference, you have
observed, and I must needs confess; yet, had you as-
serted your authority, and insisted on a parent's right
to be obey'd, I had submitted, and to my duty sacri
ficed my peace.
Thor. From your perfect obedience in every other
instance, I feared as much; and therefore would
leave you without a bias in an affair wherein your
happiness is so immediately concerned.
Bij
18
A&t 1.
GESAN
ANWELL.
Mar. Whether from a want of that just ambition
that would become your daughter, or from some
other cause, I know not; but I find high birth and
titles don't recommend the man who owns them, to
my affections.
Thor. I would not that they should, unless his me-
rit recommends him more. A noble birth and for..
tune, though they make not a bad man good, yet they
are a real advantage to a worthy one, and place his
virtues in the fairest light.
Mar. I cannot answer for my inclinations; but they
shall ever be submitted to your wisdom and autho-
rity. And as you will not compel me to marry where
I cannot love, love shall never make me act contrary
to my duty. Sir, have I your permission to retire ?
Thor. I'll see you to your chamber.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Room in MILLWOOD's House. Enter MILLWOOD
and Lucy.
Mill. How do I look to-day, Lucy ?
Lucy. Oh, killingly, madam! A little more red,
and you'll be irresistible.
But why this more than
ordinary care of your dress and complexion? What
new conquest are you aiming at ?
Mill. A conquest would be new indeed.
Lucy. Not to you, who make 'em every day-
-but
A&t I.
19
GEORGE BARNWELL.
}
to me-
Well, 'tis what I'm never to expect—un-
fortunate as I am- But your wit and beauty-
Mill. First made me a wretch, and still continue
me so. Men, however generous or sincere to one
another, are all selfish hypocrites in their affairs with
us; we are no otherwise esteemed or regarded by
them, but as we contribute to their satisfaction.
Lucy. You are certainly, madam, on the wrong
side in this argument. Is not the expence all theirs?
And I am sure it is our own fault if we have not our
share of the pleasure.
Mill. We are but slaves to men.
Lucy. Nay, 'tis they that are slaves most certainly,
for we lay them under contribution.
Mill. Slaves have no property; no, not even in
themselves all is the victor's.
Lucy. You are strangely arbitrary in your princi-
ples, madam.
Mill. I would have my conquest complete, like
those of the Spaniards in the New World; who first
plundered the natives of all the wealth they had, and
then condemned the wretches to the mines for life, to
work for more.
Lucy. Well, I shall never approve of your scheme
of government: I should think it much more politic,
as well as just, to find my subjects an easier employ-
ment.
Mill. It is a general maxim among the knowing
part of mankind, that a woman without virtue, like a
man without honour or honesty, is capable of any
20
A& I.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
action, though never so vile and yet what pains will
they not take, what arts not use, to seduce us from
our innocence, and make us contemptible and wicked,
even in their own opinion? Then is it not just, the
villains, to their cost, should find us so? But guilt
makes them suspicious, and keeps them on their guard;
therefore we can take advantage only of the young
and innocent part of the sex, who having never in-
jured women, apprehend no injury from them.
Lucy. Ay, they must be young indeed.
Mill. Such a one, I think, I have found. As I
have passed through the city, I have often observed
him receiving and paying considerable sums of mo-
ney; from thence I conclude he is employed in af-
fairs of consequence.
Lucy. Is he handsome ?
Mill. Ay, ay, the stripling is well made, and has a
good face.
Lucy. About-
Mill. Eighteen.
Lucy. Innocent, handsome, and about eighteen —
You'll be vastly happy. Why, if you manage well,
you may keep him to yourself these two or three years.
Mill. If I manage well, I shall have done with him
much sooner. Having long had a design on him, and
meeting him yesterday, I made a full stop, and gazing
wishfully in his face, ask'd his name. He blush'd, and
bowing very low, answer'd, George Barnwell.
begged his pardon for the freedom I had taken, and
told him, that he was the person I had long wished to
I
A&t 1.
21
GEORGE BARNWELL.
see, and to whom I had an affair of importance to
communicate at a proper time and place. He named
a tavern; I talked of honour and reputation, and in-
vited him to my house. He swallowed the bait, pro-
mised to come, and this is the time I expect him.
[Knocking at the door.] Somebody knocks--D'ye
hear; I am at home to nobody to-day but him. [Exit
Lucy.] Less affairs must give way to those of more
consequence; and I am strangely mistaken if this
does not prove of great importance to me, and him
too, before I have done with him. Now, after what
manner shall I receive him? Let me consider
What manner of person am I to receive? He is
young, innocent, and bashful; therefore I must take
care not to put him out of countenance at first. "But
"then, if I have any skill in physiognomy, he is amo-
"rous; and, with a little assistance, will soon get
"the better of his modesty." I'll e'en trust to na-
ture, who does wonders in these matters.
"If to
"seem what one is not, in order to be the better
"liked for what one really is; if to speak one thing,
"and mean the direct contrary, be art in a woman—
"I know nothing of nature."
Enter BARNWELL, bowing very low. Lucy at a
distance.
Mill. Sir, the surprise and joy-
Barn. Madam !
Mill. This is such a favour-
Barn. Pardon me, madam.
[Advancing,
£2
A& I.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Mill. So unhop'd for!
[Still advances.
[Barnwell salutes her, and retires in confusion.
To see you here-
Excuse the confusion-
Barn. I fear I am too bold-
Mill. Alas, sir, I may justly apprehend you think
me so. Please, sir, to sit. I am as much at a loss
how to receive this honour as I ought, as I am sur-
prised at your goodness in conferring it.
Barn. I thought you had expected me: I promised
to come.
Mill. That is the more surprising; few men are
such religious observers of their word.
Barn. All who are honest are.
Mill. To one another; but we simple women are
seldom thought of consequence enough to gain a place
in their remembrance.
[Laying her hand on his, as by accident.
Barn. Her disorder is so great, she don't perceive
she has laid her hand on mine. Heav'ns! How she
trembles!-What can this mean?
[Aside.
Mill. The interest I have in all that relates to you,
(the reason of which you shall know hereafter) ex-
cites my curiosity; and were I sure you would pardon
my presumption, I should desire to know your real
sentiments on a very particular subject.
Barn. Madam, you may command my poor thoughts
on any subject, I have none that I would conceal,
Mill. You'll think me bold.
Barn. No, indeed.
Mill. What then are your thoughts of love?
1
A& I.
23
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Barn. If you mean the love of women, I have not
thought of it at all. My youth and circumstances
make such thoughts improper in me yet. But if you
mean the general love we owe to mankind, I think no
one has more of it in his temper than myself. I don't
know that person in the world, whose happiness I
don't wish, and would not promote, were it in my
power. In an especial manner I love my uncle, and
my master; but above all, my friend.
Mill. You have a friend, then, whom you love?
Barn. As he does me, sincerely.
Mill. He is, no doubt, often bless'd with your com-
pany and conversation?
Barn. We live in one house, and both serve the
same worthy merchant.
Mill. Happy, happy youth! Whoe'er thou art, I
envy thee," and so must all, who see and know this
"youth." What have I lost, by being form'd a wo-
man! I hate my sex, my self. Had I been a man, I
might, perhaps, have been as happy in your friend-
ship, as he who now enjoys it is: but as it is
Oh l
Barn. I never observed woman before; or this is,
sure, the most beautiful of her sex. [Aside.] You
seem disordered, madam—May I know the cause ?
Mill. Do not ask me I can never speak it,
whatever is the cause. I wish for things impossible.
I would be a servant, bound to the same master, to
live in one house with you.
Barn. How strange, and yet how kind, her words
24
A&t I.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
and actions are! And the effect they have on me is as
strange. I feel desires I never knew before. I must
be gone, while I have power to go. [Aside.] Madam,
I humbly take my leave.
Mill. You will not, sure, leave me so soon!
Barn. Indeed I must.
Mill. You cannot be so cruel! I have prepared a
poor supper, at which I promised myself your com-
pany.
Barn. I am sorry I must refuse the honour you
designed me: but my duty to my master calls me
hence. I never yet neglected his service. He is so
gentle, and so good a master, that should I wrong
him, though he might forgive me, I should never
forgive myself.
Mill. Am I refused, by the first man, the second
favour I ever stooped to ask? Go then, thou proud
hard-hearted youth; but know, you are the only man
that could be found, who would let me sue twice for
greater favours.
Barn. What shall I do? How shall I go, or stay?
Mill. Yet do not, do not leave me.
I with my
sex's pride would meet your scorn; but when I look
upon you, when I behold those eyes-Oh! spare my
tongue, and let my blushes-this flood of tears too,
that will force its way, declare-what woman's mo-
desty should hide.
Barn. Oh, Heavens! she loves me, worthless as I
Her looks, her words, her flowing tears confess
it. And can I leave her then? Oh, never, never!
am.
Ʌ& I.
25
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Madam, dry up your tears: you shall command me
always; I will stay here for ever, if you would have
ine.
Lucy. So she has wheedled him out of his virtue
of obedience already, and will strip him of all the
rest, one after another, till she has left him as few as
her ladyship, or myself.
Mill. Now you are kind, indeed: but I mean not
to detain you always: I would have you shake off all
slavish obedience to your master; but you may serve
him still.
Lucy. Serve him still! Ay, or he'll have no oppor-
tunity of fingering his cash; and then he'll not serve
your end, I'll be sworn.
[Aside.
Enter BLUNT.
Blunt. Madam, supper's on the table.
Mill. Come, sir, you'll excuse all defects. My
thoughts were too much employed on my guest to
observe the entertainment.
[Exeunt Barnwell and Millwood.
Blunt. What is all this preparation, this elegant
supper, variety of wines, and music, for the enter-
tainment of that young fellow ?
Lucy. So it seems.
Blunt. How is our mistress turned fool at last?
She's in love with him, I suppose.
Lucy. I suppose not. But she designs to make him
in love with her, if she can.
C
26
A&t 1.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
The
Profi lex
Mill
Blunt. What will she get by that? He seems under
age, and cann't be supposed to have much money.
Lucy. But his master has, and that's the same
thing, as she'll manage it.
Blunt. I don't like this fooling with a handsome
young fellow while she's endeavouring to ensnare
him, she may be caught herself.
Lucy. Nay, were she like me, that would certainly
be the consequence; for, I confess, there is something
in youth and innocence that moves me mightily.
Blunt. Yes; so does the smoothness and plumpness
of a partridge move a mighty desire in the hawk to be
the destruction of it.
Lucy. Why, birds are their prey, and men are
ours; though, as you observed, we are sometimes
caught ourselves. But that, I dare say, will never be
the case of our mistress.
Blunt. I wish it may prove so; for you know we
all depend upon her. Should she trifle away her time
with a young fellow that there's nothing to be got by,
we must all starve.
Lucy. There's no danger of that; for I am sure
she has no view in this affair but interest.
Blunt. Well, and what hopes are there of success
in that?
Lucy. The most promising that can be. 'Tis true
the youth has his scruples; but she'll soon teach him
to answer them, by stifling his conscience. Oh, the
lad is in a hopeful way, depend upon't. [Exeunt.
A&t 1.
27
GEORGE BARNWELL.
SCENE III.
Draws, and discovers BARNWELL and MILLWOOD at
Supper. An Entertainment of Music and Singing.
After which they come forward.
Barn. What can I answer? All that I know is, that
you are fair, and I am miserable.
Mill. We are both so, and yet the fault is in our-
selves.
Barn. To ease our present anguish by plunging
into guilt, is to buy a moment's pleasure with an age
of pain.
Mill. I should have thought the joys of love as
lasting as they are great: if ours prove otherwise,
'tis your inconstancy must make them so.
Barn. The law of Heaven will not be reversed,
and that requires us to govern our passions.
Mill. To give us sense of beauty and desires, and
yet forbid us to taste and be happy, is a cruelty to
nature. Have we passions only to torment us ?
·
Barn. To hear you talk, though in the cause of
vice; to gaze upon your beauty, press your hand,
"and see your snow-white bosom heave and fall,"
inflames my wishes; my pulse beats high, my
"senses all are in a hurry," and I am on the rack of
wild desire.. -Yet, for a moment's guilty pleasure,
shall I lose my innocence, my peace of mind, and
hopes of solid happiness?
Cij
28
A& II.
GEORGE BARNWELL..
Mill. Chimeras all!
Barn. I would not-yet must on-
“Reluctant thus the merchant quits his ease,
" And trusts to rocks and sands, and stormy seas;
“In hopes some unknown golden coast to find,
"Commits himself, though doubtful, to the wind,
Longs much for joys to come—yet mourns those left
"behind."
Mill. Along with me, and prove
No joys like woman-kind, no heaven like love.
[Exeunt.
ACT II. SCENE 1.
A Room in THOROWGOOD's House. Enter BARN-
WELL.
Barnwell.
How strange are all things round me! Like some
thief who treads forbidden ground, and fain would
Jurk unseen, fearful I enter each apartment of this
well-known house. To guilty love, as if that were
too little, already have I added breach of trust
A thief! -Can I know myself that wretched thing,
and look my honest friend and injured master in the
face? Though hypocrisy may a while conceal my
guilt, at length it will be known, and public shame
and ruin must ensue. In the mean time, what must
Act II.
29
GEORGE BARNWELL.
be my life? Ever to speak a language foreign to my
heart; hourly to add to the number of my crimes, in
order to conceal 'em. Sure such was the condition
of the grand apostate, when first he lost his purity.
Like me, disconsolate, he wandered; and while yet
in heaven, bore all his future hell about him.
Enter TRUEMAN.
True. Barnwell, Oh, how I rejoice to see you safe!
So will our master and his gentle daughter; who,
during your absence, often inquired after you.
Barn. Would he were gone! His officious love will
pry into the secrets of my soul.
[Aside.
True. Unless you knew the pain the whole family
has felt on your account, you cann't conceive how
much you are beloved. But why thus cold and si-
lent? When my heart is full of joy for your return,
why do you turn away? why thus avoid me? What
have I done? How am I altered since you saw me
last? Or rather, what have you done? and why are
you thus changed? for I am still the same?
Barn. What have I done, indeed!
True. Not speak 1-
nor look upon me!
[Aside.
Barn. By my face he will discover all I would con-
ceal; methinks already I begin to hate him. [Aside.
True. I cannot bear this usage from a friend; one
whom till now I ever found so loving; whom yet I
love; though this unkindness strikes at the root of
friendship, and might destroy it in any breast but
mine.
Cij
30
A&t 11.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Barn. I am not well. [Turning to him.] Sleep has
been a stranger to these eyes since you beheld them
last.
True. Heavy they look indeed, and swoln with
tears;
-now they overflow. Rightly did my sym-
pathising heart forebode last night, when thou wast
absent, something fatal to our peace.
Barn. Your friendship engages you too far. My
troubles, whate'er they are, are mine alone: you
have no interest in them, nor ought your concern for
me give you a moment's pain.
it.
66
True. You speak as if you knew of friendship no-
thing but the name, Before I saw your grief, I felt
"Since we parted last I have slept no more than
you, but pensive in my chamber sat alone, and
spent the tedious night in wishes for your safety
"and return:" e'en now, though ignorant of the
cause, your sorrow wounds me to the heart.
"
Barn. 'Twill not be always thus. Friendship and
all engagements cease, as circumstances and occasions
vary; and since you once may hate me, perhaps it
might be better for us both that now you loved me
less.
True. Sure I but dream! Without a cause would
Barnwell use me thus? Ungenerous and ungrateful
youth, farewell; I shall endeavour to follow your
advice. [Going.] Yet stay, perhaps, I am too rash,
and angry when the cause demands compassion. Some
unforeseen calamity may have befallen him too great
to bear.
A& 11.
31
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Barn. What part am I reduced to act? 'Tis vile
and base to move his temper thus, the best of friends
and men.
True. I am to blame; pr'ythee, forgive me, Barn-
well. Try to compose your ruffled mind; and let
me know the cause that thus transports you from
yourself; my friendly counsel may restore your
peace.
Barn. All that is possible for man to do for man,
your generous friendship may effect; but here even
that's in vain.
•
True. Something dreadful is labouring in your
breast; oh, give it vent, and let me share your grief;
'twill ease your pain, should it admit no cure, and
make it lighter by the part I bear.
Barn. Vain supposition! my woes increase by being
observed; should the cause be known, they would
exceed all bounds.
True. So well I know thy honest heart, guilt can-
not harbour there.
Barn. Oh, torture insupportable !
[Aside.
True. Then why am I excluded? Have I a thought
I would conceal from you?
Barn. If still you urge me on this hated subject,
I'll never enter more beneath this roof, nor see your
face again.
True. 'Tis strange—but I have done, say but you
hate me not.
Barn. Hate you! I am not that monster yet.
True. Shall our friendship still continue ?
Lendship
તેને
3.2
A& II.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Barn. It's a blessing I never was worthy of, yet
now must stand on terms; and but upon conditions
can confirm it.
True. What are they?
Barn. Never hereafter, though you should wonder
at my conduct, desire to know more than I am wil-
ling to reveal.
True.. 'Tis hard; but upon any conditions I must
be your friend.
Barn. Then, as much as one lost to himself can be
another's, I am yours.
[Embracing.
True. Be ever so, and may Heaven restore your
peace!
"Barn. Will yesterday return? We have heard
"the glorious sun, that till then incessant roll'd,
"once stopp'd his rapid course, and once went back.
"The dead have risen, and parched rocks pour'd
"forth a liquid stream to quench a people's thirst.
"The sea divided, and form'd walls of water, while
a
whole nation pass'd in safety through its sandy
"bosom. Hungry lions have refus'd their prey;
"and men unhurt have walk'd amidst consuming
"flames; but never yet did time, once past, return.”
True. "Though the continued chain of time has
"never once been broke, nor ever will, but unin-
"terrupted must keep on its course, till lost in eter-
"nity, it ends where it first began; yet as Heaven
،
can repair whatever evils time can bring upon us,
"we ought never to despair." But business requires
our attendance; business, the youth's best preserva-
Аa II.
33
GEORGE BARNWELL.
tive from ill, as idleness his worst of snares.
you go with me?
Will
Barn. I'll take a little time to reflect on what has
past, and follow you. [Exit Trueman.] I might have
trusted Trueman, and engaged him to apply to my
uncle to repair the wrong I have done my master;
but what of Millwood? "Must I expose her too? Ung
generous and base! Then Heaven requires it not."
<
Senue of
Friendsday
But Heaven requires that I forsake her. What Sense of
4
never to see her more? Does Heaven require that?
"I hope I may see her, and Heaven not be offended.
"Presumptuous hope! Dearly already have I proved
my frailty. Should I once more tempt Heaven, I
may be left to fall, never to rise again. Yet," shall
I leave her, for ever leave her, and not let her know
the cause? She who loves me with such a boundless
passion! Can cruelty be duty? I judge of what she
then must feel, by what I now endure. The love of
life, and fear of shame, opposed by inclination strong
as death or shame, like wind and tide in raging con-
flict meet, when neither can prevail, keep me in
doubt. How then can I determine ?
Enter THOROWGOOD.
Thor. Without a cause assign'd, or notice given, to
absent yourself last night was a fault, young man,
and I came to chide your for it, but hope I am pre-
vented. That modest blush, the confusion so visible
in your face, speak grief and shame. When we have
offended Heaven, it requires no more; and shall
34
Act II.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
man, who needs himself to be forgiven, be harder to
appease? If my pardon or love be of moment to your
peace, look up secure of both.
Barn. This goodness has o'ercome me. [Aside.]
Oh, sir, you know not the nature and extent of my
offence; and I should abuse your mistaken bounty to
receive it. Though I had rather die than speak my
shame; though racks could not have forced the
guilty secret from my breast, your kindness has.
Thor. Enough, enough, whate'er it be; this con-
cern shews you're convinced, and I am satisfied.
How painful is the sense of guilt to an ingenuous
mind? Some youthful folly, which it were prudent
not to inquire into. "When we consider the frail
"condition of humanity, it may raise our pity, not
"our wonder, that youth should go astray; when
"C reason, weak at the best, opposed to inclination,
"scarce formed, and wholly unassisted by experi-
ence, faintly contends, or willingly becomes the
"slave of sense. The state of youth is much to be
❝deplored, and the more so, because they see it not ;
"being then to danger most exposed, when they are
"least prepared for their defence."
[Aside.
Barn. It will be known, and you'll recall your
pardon and abhor me.
Thor. I never will. Yet be upon your guard in
this gay thoughtless season of your life; "when the
6C
sense of pleasure's quick, and passions high, the
"voluptuous appetites, raging and fierce, demand
"the strongest curb; take heed of a relapse :" when
A&t 11.
35
GEORGE BARNWELL.
mistake
vice becomes habitual, the very power of leaving it is
lost.
Barn. Hear me, on my knees, confess
Thor. Not a syllable more upon this subject; it
were not mercy, but cruelty, to hear what must give
you such torment to reveal.
Barn. This generosity amazes and distracts me.
Thor. This remorse makes thee dearer to me than
if thou hadst never offended. Whatever is your
fault, of this I am certain, 'twas harder for you to
offend, than me to pardon. [Exit Thorowgood.
Barn. Villain, villain, villain ! basely to wrong so
excellent a man. Should I again return to folly ì—
Detested thought 1-But what of Millwood then-
Why, I renounce her;-I give her up--The strug-
gle's over, and virtue has prevailed. Reason may
convince, but gratitude compels. This unlooked-
for generosity has sav'd me from destruction. [Going.
Enter a Footman.
Foot. Sir, two ladies from your uncle in the country
desire to see you.
Barn. Who should they be. [Aside.] Tell them
I'll wait upon ’ėm.
Barn. Methinks I dread to see 'em.-
-Now
every thing alarms me.- Guilt, what a coward
hast thou made me !
86
CTV
A&t II.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
SCENE 11.
Another Room in THOROWGOOD's House.
MILLWOOD, LUCY, and a Footman.
Enter
Foot. Ladies, he'll wait upon you immediately.
Mill. 'Tis very well.--I thank you. [Exit Foot.
Enter BARNWELL.
Barn. Confusion! Millwood !
Mill. That angry look tells me that here I am an
unwelcome guest; I feared as much; the unhappy
are so every where.
Barn. Will nothing but my utter ruin content you?
Mill. Unkind and cruel! Lost myself, your happi-
ness is now my only care.
Barn. How did you gain admission ?
Mill. Saying we were desired by your uncle to visit,
and deliver a message to you, we were received by
the family without suspicion, and with much respect
conducted here.
Barn. Why did you come at all
Mill. I never shall trouble you more. I'm come to
take my leave for ever. Such is the malice of my
fate: I go hopeless, despairing ever to return. This
hour is all I have left: one short hour is all I have
to bestow on love and you, for whom I thought the
longest life too short.
Barn. Then we are met to part for ever?
A&t 11.
37
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Mill. It must be so. Yet think not that time or
absence shall ever put a period to my grief, or make
me love you less. Tho' I must leave you, yet con-
demn me not.
Barn. Condemn you! No, I approve your resolu-
tion, and rejoice to hear it; 'tis just-
-'tis neces-
sary,—I have well weigh'd and found it so.
Lucy. I am afraid the young man has more sense
than she thought he had.
[Aside.
Barn. Before you came, I had determin'd never to
see you more.
Mill. Confusion!
[Aside.
Lucy. Ay, we are all out; this is a turn so unex-
pected, that I shall make nothing of my part; they
must e'en play the scene betwixt themselves. [Aside.
Mill. 'Twas some relief to think, tho' absent, you
would love me still; but to find, "tho' fortune had
"been indulgent, that you, more cruel and incon-
"stant," you had resolved to cast me off—This, as
I never could expect, I have not learnt to bear.
Barn. I am sorry to hear you blame me in a reso-
lution that so well becomes us both.
Mill. I have reason for what I do, but you have
none.
Barn. Can we want a reason for parting, who have
so many to wish we never had met
Mill. Look on me, Barnwell. Am I deform'd or
old, that satiety so soon succeeds enjoyment? Nay,
look again; am I not she, whom yesterday you
thought the fairest and the kindest of her sex; whose
D
זי
38
GEORGE BARNWELL.
A& II.
hand, trembling with ecstasy, you press'd and mould-
ed thus, while on my eyes you gazed with such de-
light, as if desire increased by being fed ?
Barn. No more; let me repent my former follies,
if possible, without remembering what they were.
Mill. Why?
Barn. Such is my frailty, that 'tis dangerous.
Mill. Where is the danger, since we are to part?
Barn. The thought of that already is too painful.
Mill. If it be painful to part, then I may hope, at
least, you do not hate me?
Barn. No-no-
my heart!
Barn. I do I do
I never said I did
Ob,
Mill. Perhaps you pity me?
Indeed I do.
Mill. You'll think upon me?
Barn. Doubt it not, while I can think at all.
Mill. You may judge an embrace at parting too
great a favour-though it would be the last. [He
draws back.] A look shall then suffice--Farewell-
for ever.
[Exeunt Millwood and Lucy.
Barn. If to resolve to suffer be to conquer,—I
have conquer’d——————Painful victory I
Re-enter MILLWOOD and Lucy.
Mill. One thing I had forgot ;-I never must re-
turn to my own house again. This I thought proper
to lẹt you know, lest your mind should change, and
you should seek in vain to find me there. Forgive
2
A& II.
39
GEORGE BARNWELL.
me this second intrusion; I only came to give you this
caution, and that, perhaps, was needless.
Barn. I hope it was; yet it is kind, and I must
thank you for it.
Mill. My friend, your arm. [To Lucy.] Now, I
am gone for ever.
[Going.
Barn. One thing more-Sure there's no danger in
my knowing where you go? If you think otherwise-
Mill. Alas!
[Weeping.
Lucy. We are right, I find; that's my cue. [Aside.]
Ah, dear sir! she's going she knows not whither;
but go she must.
་
Barn. Humanity obliges me to wish you well: why
will you thus expose yourself to needless troubles?
Lucy. Nay, there's no help for it: she must quit the
town immediately, and the kingdom as soon as pos-
sible. It was no small matter, you may be sure, that
could make her resolve to leave you.
Mill. No more, my friend; since he for whose
dear sake alone I suffer, and am content to suffer, is
kind and pities me; where'er I wander, thro' wilds
and deserts benighted and forlorn, that thought shall
give me comfort.
Barn. For my sakel—Oh, tell me how, which way
am I so curs'd to bring such ruin on thee?
Mill. No matter; I am contented with my lot.
Barn. Leave me not in this uncertainty.
Mill. I have said too much.
Barn. How, how am I the cause of your undoing?
Mill. To know it will but increase your troubles.
Dij
·40
A& II.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Barn. My troubles cann't be greater than they
are.
Lucy. Well, well, sir, if she won't satisfy you, I
will.
Barn. I am bound to you beyond expression.
Mill. Remember, sir, that I desired you not to
hear it.
Barn. Begin, and ease my racking expectation.
Lucy. Why, you must know, my lady here was an
only child, and her parents dying while she was
young, left her and her fortune (no inconsiderable
one, I assure you) to the care of a gentleman who
has a good estate of his own.
Mill. Ay, ay, the barbarous man is rich enough;
but what are riches when compar'd to love?
Lucy. For a while he perform'd the office of a
faithful guardian, settled her in a house, hir'd her
servants. But you have seen in what manner she
liv'd, so I need say no more of that.
Mill. How I shall live hereafter, Heaven knows!
Lucy. All things went on as one could wish; till
some time ago, his wife dying, he fell violently in
love with his charge, and would fain have marry'd
her. Now the man is neither old nor ugly, but a
good personable sort of a man, but I don't know
how it was, she could never endure him. In short,
her ill usage so provoked him, that he brought in an
account of his executorship, wherein he makes her
debtor to him.
Mill. A trifle in itself, but more than enough to
Dull L
& Luay
situállust
*
A& II.
41
GEORGE BARNWELL.
}
ruin me, whom, by this unjust account, he had
stripp'd of all before.
Lucy. Now, she having neither money nor friend,
except me, who am as unfortunate as herself, he
compell'd her to pass his account, and give bond for
the sum he demanded; but still provided handsomely
for her, and continued his courtship, till being in-
form'd by his spies (truly I suspect some in her own
family), that you were entertain'd at her house, and
staid with her all night, he came this morning raving
and storming like a madman, talks no more of mar-
riage (so there's no hope of making up matters that
way), but vows her ruin, unless she'll allow him the
same favour that he supposes she granted you.
Barn. Must she be ruin'd, or find her refuge in
another's arms?
Mill. He gave me but an hour to resolve in; that's
happily spent with you- And now I go--
Barn. To be expos'd to all the rigours of the va-
rious seasons; the summer's parching heat, and win-
ter's cold; unhoused, to wander, friendless, thro' the
unhospitable world, in misery and want; attended
with fear and danger, and pursued by malice and re-
venge. Wouldst thou endure all this for me, and
can I do nothing, nothing, to prevent it?
Lucy. 'Tis really a pity there can be no way found
out.
Barn. Oh, where are all my resolutions now ?
“Like early vapours, or the morning dew, chas'd by
Diij
49
A&t II.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
"the sun's warm beams, they're vanish'd and lost,
as tho' they had never been.”
Lucy. Now I advised her, sir, to comply with the
gentleman; "that would not only put an end to her
"troubles, but make her fortune at once."
Barn. Tormenting fiend, away! I had rather pe-
rish, nay, see her perish, than have her saved by him.
I will, myself, prevent her ruin, though with my
own. A moment's patience; I'll return immedi-
ately.
[Exit Barnwell.
Lucy. 'Twas well you came, or, by what I can per-
ceive, you had lost him.
Mill. That, I must confess, was a danger I did not
foresee; I was only afraid he should have come with-
out money. You know, a house of entertainment,
like mine, is not kept without expence.
Lucy. That's very true; but then you should be
reasonable in your demands; 'tis pity to discourage
a young man.
Mill. Leave that to me.
Re-enter BARNWELL, with a Bag of Money.
Barn. What am I about to do?—Now you, who
boast your reason all-sufficient, suppose yourselves
in my condition, and determine for me; whether 'tis
right to let her suffer for my faults, or, by this small
addition to my guilt, prevent the ill effects of what
is past.
Lucy. These young sinners think every thing in
the ways of wickedness so strange! But I could
A& 11.
43
GEORGE BARNWELL.
will not
yeyot
-
tell him, that this is nothing but what's very com-
mon; for one vice as naturally begets another, as a
But he'll find out that himself, if he
father a son.
lives long enough.
[side.
Barn. Here, take this, and with it purchase your
deliverance; return to your house, and live in peace
and safety.
Mill. So, I may hope to see you there again?
Barn. Answer me not, but fly, lest, in the agonies
of my remorse, I take again what is not mine to give,
and abandon thee to want and misery.
Mill. Say but you'll come.
Barn. You are my fate, my Heaven or my hell;
only leave me now, dispose of me hereafter as you
please.
[Exeunt Millwood and Lucy.
What have I done? Were my resolutions founded
on reason, and sincerely made? Why then has Hea-
ven suffer'd me to fall? I sought not the occasion
and if my heart deceives me not, compassion and ge-
nerosity were my motives. "Is virtue inconsistent
"with itself, or are vice and virtue only empty names;
❝or do they depend on accidents, beyond our power
"to produce, or to prevent; wherein we have no
"C part, and yet must be determined by the event?"
But why should I attempt to reason? All is confu-
sion, horror, and remorse. I find I am lost, cast
down from all my late-erected hope, and plunged
again in guilt, yet scarce know how or why:
Such undistinguish'd horrors make my brain,
Like hell, the seat of darkness and of pain.
[Exit.
44
Л& III.
GEORGE BARNWELL..
ACT III. SCENE I.
A Room in THOROWGOOD's House.
THOROWGOOD
and TRUEMAN discovered (with Account Books) sit-
ting at a Table.
"Thorowgood.
"METHINKS I would not have you only learn the
« method of merchandise, and practise it hereafter,
"merely as a means of getting wealth: it will be
"well worth your pains to study it as a science, to
"see how it is founded in reason and the nature of
"things; how it promotes humanity, as it has open'd,
"and yet keeps up an intercourse between nations,
far remote from one another in situation, customs,
" and religion; promoting arts, industry, peace, and
"plenty; by mutual benefits diffusing mutual love
" from pole to pole.
"True. Something of this I have consider'd, and
hope, by your assistance, to extend my thoughts
"much farther. I have observ'd those countries
❝ where trade is promoted and encouraged, do not
"make discoveries to destroy, but to improve man-
"kind by love and friendship; to tame the fierce,
"and polish the most savage; to teach them the ad-
vantage of honest traffic, by taking from them,
❝ with their own consent, their useless superfluities,
"and giving them, in return, what, from their ig-
66
& III.
45
GEORGE BARNWELL.
❝norance in manual arts, their situation, or some
"other accident, they stand in need of.
"Thor. 'Tis justly observ'd: the populous east,
"luxuriant, abounds with glittering gems, bright
"pearls, aromatic spices, and health-restoring drugs:
"the late-found western world's rich earth glows
"with unnumber'd veins of gold and silver ore. On
every climate, and on every country, Heaven has
"bestow'd some good peculiar to itself. It is the in-
"dustrious merchant's business to collect the various
"blessings of each soil and climate; and, with the
product of the whole, to enrich his native coun-
"
64
try."Well, I have examin'd your accounts;
they are not only just, as I have always found them,
but regularly kept, and fairly enter'd. I commend
your diligence. Method in business is the surest
guide: he who neglects it, frequently stumbles,
"and always wanders perplex'd, uncertain, and in
"danger." Are Barnwell's accounts ready for my
inspection? He does not use to be the last on these
occasions.
True. Upon receiving your orders he retir'd, I
thought in some confusion. If you please, I'll go and
hasten him. I hope he has not been guilty of any
neglect.
Thor. I'm now going to the Exchange; let him know
at my return I expect to find him ready.
[Exeunt.
Enter MARIA with a book. Sits and reads.
Mar. How forcible is truth! The weakest mind,
46
Aa III.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
inspired with love of that, fixed and collected in itself,
with indifference beholds the united force of earth and
hell opposing. Such souls are raised above the sense
of pain, or so supported that they regard it not. The
martyr cheaply purchases his Heaven; small are his
sufferings, great is his reward. Not so the wretch who
combats love with duty; whose mind, weakened and
dissolved by the soft passion, feeble and hopeless, op-
poses his own desires-What is an hour, a day, a
year of pain, to a whole life of tortures such as
these ?
Enter TRUEMAN.
1
True. Oh, Barnwell! Oh, my friend! how art thou
fallen!
Mar. Ha! Barnwell! What of him? Speak, say,
what of Barnwell?
True. 'Tis not to be conceal'd; I've news to tell of
him, that will afflict your generous father, yourself,
and all who know him.
Mar. Defend us, Heaven!
True. I cannot speak it. See there. [Gives a letter.
<
Mar. [Reads.] I know my absence will surprise
my honoured master and yourself; and the more,
when you shall understand that the reason of my
withdrawing, is my having embezzled part of the
cash with which I was entrusted. After this, 'tis
needless to inform you, that I intend never to return
again. Though this might have been known, by ex-
amining my accounts, yet to prevent that unnecessary
A& III.
47
GEORGE BARNWELL,
trouble, and to cut off all fruitless expectations of
my return, I have left this from the lost
GEORGE BARNWELL.'
True. Lost indeed! Yet how he should be guilty of
what he there charges himself withal, raises my won-
der equal to my grief. Never had youth a higher
sense of virtue. Justly he thought, and as he thought
he practised; never was life more regular than his.--
An understanding uncommon at his years, an open,
generous manliness of temper, his manners easy, un-
affected, and engaging.
Mar. This, and much more you might have said
with truth. He was the delight of every eye, and joy
of every heart that knew him.
True. Since such he was, and was my friend, can I
support his loss? See, the fairest, happiest maid this
wealthy city boasts, kindly condescends to weep for
thy unhappy fate, poor, ruined Barnwell !
Mar. Trueman, do you think a soul so delicate as
his, so sensible of shame, can e'er submit to live a
slave to vice?
True. Never, never. So well I know him, I'm sure
this act of his, so contrary to his nature, must have
been caused by some unavoidable necessity.
Mar. Is there no means yet to preserve him?
True. Oh, that there were! but few men recover
their reputation lost, a merchant never. Nor would
he, I fear, though I should find him, ever be brought
to look his injured master in the face.
48
A&t III.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Mar. I fear as much, and therefore would never
have my father know it.
True. That's impossible.
Mar. What's the sum?
True. 'Tis considerable; I've marked it here, to
shew it, with the letter, to your father, at his return.
Mar. If I should supply the money, could you so
dispose of that and the account, as to conceal this un-
happy mismanagement from my father?
True. Nothing more easy. But can you intend it?
-Will you save a helpless wretch from ruin ?—Oh,
'twere an act worthy such exalted virtue as Maria's!
Sure Heaven, in mercy to my friend, inspired the ge-
nerous thought.
Mar. Doubt not but I would purchase so great a
happiness at a much dearer price. But how shall he
be found?
True. Trust to my diligence for that.. In the mean
time, I'll conceal his absence from your father, or
find such excuses for it, that the real cause shall ne-
ver be suspected.
Mar. In attempting to save from shame, one whom
we hope may yet return to virtue, to Heaven, and
you, the only witnesses of this action, I appeal, whe-
ther I do any thing misbecoming my sex and cha-
raster.
True. Earth must approve the deed, and Heaven,
I doubt not, will reward it.
Mar. If Heaven succeeds it, I am well rewarded.
I
A& III.
49
GEORGE BARNWELL.
A virgin's fame is sullied by suspicion's lightest
breath: and, therefore, as this must be a secret from
my father and the world, for Barnwell's sake, for
mine, let it be so to him.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Room in MILLWOOD's House. Enter LUCY and
BLUNT.
Lucy. Well, what do you think of Millwood's con-
duct now?
Blunt. I own it is surprising: I don't know which
to admire most, her feigned, or his real passion; tho
I have sometimes been afraid that her avarice would
discover her. But his youth and want of experience
make it the easier to impose on him.
Lucy. No, it is his love. To do him justice, not-
withstanding his youth, he don't want understanding.
But you men are much easier imposed on in these af-
fairs, than your vanity will allow you to believe. Let
me see the wisest of you all as much in love with me
as Barnwell is with Millwood, and I'll engage to make
as great a fool of him.
Blunt. And, all circumstances considered, to make
as much money of him too?
Lucy. I cann't answer for that. Her artifice, in
making him rob his master at first, and the various
stratagems by which she has obliged him to conti-
E
50
A& III,
GEORGE BARNWELL.
1
nue that coursé, astonish even me, who know her so
well.
Blunt. But then you are to consider that the money
was his master's.
Lucy. There was the difficulty of it. Had it been
his own, it had been nothing.
Were the world his,
But those golden days
she might have it for a smile.
are done; he's ruined, and Millwood's hopes of far-
ther profits there, are at an end.
Blunt. That's no more than we all expected.
Lucy. Being called by his master to make up his
accounts, he was forced to quit his house and ser-
vice, and wisely flies to Millwood for relief and en-
tertainment.
Blunt. I have not heard of this before: how did
she receive him?
Lucy. As you would expect. She wondered what
he meant, was astonished at his impudence, and, with
an air of modesty peculiar to herself, swore so hear-
tily that she never saw him before, that she put me
out of countenance.
Blunt. That's much indeed! But how did Barnwell
behave?
Lucy. He grieved; and at length, enraged at this
barbarous treatment, was preparing to be gone; and
making towards the door, shewed a sum of money,
which he had brought from his master's, the last he
is ever likely to have from thence.
Blunt. But then, Millwood-
Lucy. Ay, she, with her usual address, returned to
Дa 111.
51
GEORGE BARNWELL.
her old arts of lying, swearing, and dissembling; hung
on his neck, wept, and swore 'twas meant in jest.
The amorous youth melted into tears, threw the mo
ney into her lap, and swore he had rather die than
think her false.
Blunt. Strange infatuation
Lucy. But what ensued was stranger still. As doubts
and fears, followed by reconcilement, [ever increase
love where the passion is sincere; so in him it caused
so wild a transport of excessive fondness, such joy,
such grief, such pleasure, and such anguish, that na-
ture seemed sinking with the weight, and his charmed
soul disposed to quit his breast for hers. Just then,
when every passion with lawless anarchy prevailed,
and reason was in the raging tempest lost, the cruel,
artful Millwood prevailed upon the wretched youth
to promise -what I tremble but to think of.
Blunt. I am amazed! What can it be?
Lucy. You will be more so, to hear it is to attempt
the life of his nearest relation, and best benefactor.
Blunt. His uncle whom we have often heard him
speak of as a gentleman of a large estate, and fair cha-
racter, in the country where he lives!
Lucy. The same. She was no sooner possessed of
the last dear purchase of his ruin; but her avarice,
insatiate as the grave, demanded this horrid sacrifice.
Barnwell's near relation, " and unsuspected virtue,
"must give too easy means to seize this good man's
"treasure;" whose blood must seal the dreadful ses
cret, and prevent the terrors of her guilty fears.
E ij
52
A& III.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Blunt. Is it possible she could persuade him to do
an act like that? He is by nature honest, grateful,
compassionate, and generous; "and though his love,
❝and her artful persuasions, have wrought him to
"practise what he most abhors; yet we all can wit-
"ness for him, with what reluctance he has still com-
"plied: so many tears he shed o'er each offence, as
"might, if possible, sanctify theft, and make a merit
❝ of a crime."
Lucy. 'Tis true, at the naming of the murder of his
uncle he started into rage; and, breaking from her
arms (where she till then had held him with well-dis-
sembled love, and false endearments), called her
cruel, monster, devil, and told her she was born for
his destruction. She thought it not for her purpose
to meet his rage with her rage, but affected a most
passionate fit of grief, railed at her fate, and cursed
her wayward stars, that still her wants should force
her to press him to act such deeds, as she must needs
abhor as well as he. She told him necessity had no
law, and love no bounds; that therefore he never
truly loved, but meant, in her necessity, to for-
sake her. Then she kneeled, and swore, that since by
his refusal he had given her cause to doubt his love,
she never would see him more, unless, to prove it
true, he robbed his uncle to supply her wants, and
murdered him to keep it from discovery.
Blunt. I am astonished. What said he ?
Lucy. Speechless he stood; but in his face you
might have read, that various passions tore his very
A&t 111.
ઠેછે
GEORGE BARNWELL.
ven,
soul. Oft he in anguish threw his eyes towards hea-
and then as often bent their beams on her;"
then wept and groaned, and beat his troubled breast:
at length, with horror not to be express'd, he cried,
-Thou cursed fair, have I not given dreadful
proofs of love? What drew me from my youthful
innocence, and stained my then unspotted soul, but
love? What caused me to rob my worthy, gentle
master, but cursed love? What makes me now a fu-
gitive from his service, loathed by myself, and
scorned by all the world, but love? What fills my
eyes with tears, my soul with torture never felt on this
side death before? Why love, love, love! And why,
above all, do I resolve (for, tearing his hair, he cried,
I do resolve) to kill my uncle ?'
Blunt. Was she not moved? It makes me weep to
hear the sad relation.
Lucy. Yes-with joy, that she had gained her point.
She gave him no time to cool, but urged him to at-
tempt it instantly. He's now gone. If he performs
it, and escapes, there's more money for her; if not,
he'll ne'er return, and then she's fairly rid of him.
Blunt. 'Tis time the world were rid of such a
monster.
Lucy. If we don't use our endeavours to prevent
the murder, we are as bad as she.
Blunt. I am afraid it is too late.
Lucy. Perhaps not.
makes me hate her.
Her barbarity to Barnwell
We have run too great a length
E i
54
▲& III.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
with her already. I did not think her or myself so
wicked, as I find, upon reflection, we are.
Blunt. 'Tis true, we have been all too much so.
But there is something so horrid in murder, that all
other crimes seem nothing when compared to that:
I would not be involved in the guilt of it for all the
world.
Lucy. Nor I, Heaven knows.
Therefore let us
clear ourselves, by doing all that is in our power to
prevent it. I have just thought of a way that to me
seems probable. Will you join with me to detect
this cursed design?
Blunt. With all my heart. He who knows of a
murder intended to be committed, and does not dis-
cover it, in the eye of the law and reason, is a mur-
derer.
Lucy. Let us lose no time; I'll acquaint you with
the particulars as we go.
[Exeunt.
1: ཡང བྱང བས ཐ ཀ བ ཞེས སོ
X
P
SCENE III.
A Walk at some Distance from a Country Seat. Enter
BARNWELL.
Barn. A dismal gloom obscures the face of day.
Either the sun has slipped behind a cloud, or jour-
neys down the west of heaven with more than com-
mon speed, to avoid the sight of what I am doomed
to act. Since I set forth on this accurs'd design,
I
A& III.
55
GEORGE BARNWELL.
que
where'er I tread, methinks, the solid earth trembles
beneath my feet. Murder my uncle !" Yonder
"limpid stream, whose hoary fall has made a natu-
"ral cascade, as I passed by, in doleful accents
"seemed to murmur-Murder! The earth, the
"air, and water seem'd concern'd. But that's not
66
strange the world is punish'd, and nature feels a
"shock, when Providence permits a good man's fall.,
"Just Heaven! then what should I feel for him that
"was" my father's only brother, and since his death
has been to me a father; that took me up an infant
and an orphan, reared me with tenderest care, and
still indulged me with most paternal fondness? Yet
here I stand his destined murderer-I stiffen with
horror at my own impiety-'Tis yet unperformed-
What if I quit my bloody purpose, and fly the place?
[Going, then stops.]—But whither, oh, whither shall
I fly? My master's once friendly doors are ever shut
against me; and without money Millwood will never
see me more; and she has got such firm possession
of my heart, and governs there with such despotic
sway, that life is not to be endured without her.
Ay, there's the cause of all my sin and sorrow: 'tis
more than love, it is the fever of the soul, and mad-
ness of desire. In vain does nature, reason, con-
science, all oppose it; the impetuous passion bears
down all before it, and drives me on to lust, to theft,
and murder. Oh, conscience! feeble guide to vir-
tue, thou only shew'st us when we go astray, but
wantest power to stop us in our course!- Hal in
56
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Act III.
yonder shady walk I see my uncle-He's alone-
Now for my disguise. [Plucks out a vizor.]—This is
his hour of private meditation. Thus daily he pre-
pares his soul for Heaven; while I— But what
have I to do with Heaven? Ha! no struggles, con-
science-
Hence, hence remorse, and every thought that's good;
The storm that lust began, must end in blood.
[Puts on the vizor, draws a pistol, and exit.
SCENE IV.
A close Walk in a Wood. Enter Uncle.
Unc. If I were superstitious, I should fear somé
danger lurked unseen, or death were nigh. A heavy
melancholy clouds my spirits. My imagination is
filled with ghastly forms of dreary graves, and bodies
changed by death; when the pale lengthened vi-
sage attracts each weeping eye, and fills the musing
soul at once with grief and horror, pity and aversion.
-I will indulge the thought. The wise man pre-
pares himself for death, by making it familiar to his
mind. When strong reflections hold the mirror near,
and the living in the dead behold their future self,
how does each inordinate passion and desire cease, or
sicken at the view! The mind scarce moves; the
blood, curdling and chilled, creeps slowly through
the veins fixed, still, and motionless we stand, so
A&t III.
57
GEORGE BARNWELL.
like the solemn object of our thoughts, we are almost
at present what we must be hereafter; till curiosity
awakes the soul, and sets it on enquiry.
Enter BARNWELL, at a distance.
Oh, death! thou strange, mysterious power, seen
every day, yet never understood, but by the incom-
municative dead, what art thou? The extensive mind
of man, that with a thought circles the earth's vast
globe, sinks to the centre, or ascends above the stars;
that worlds exotic finds, or thinks it finds, thy thick
clouds attempts to pass in vain; lost and bewildered
in the horrid gloom, defeated, she returns more
doubtful than before, of nothing certain but of labour
lost.
[During this speech, Barnwell sometimes presents the
pistol, and draws it back again.
Barn. Oh! 'tis impossible.
[Throwing down the pistol.
[Uncle starts, and attempts to draw his sword.]
Unc. A man so near me armed and masked-
Barn. Nay then, there's no retreat.
[Plucks a poignard from his bosom, and stabs him.
Unc. Oh! I am slain. All gracious Heaven, re-
gard the prayer of thy dying servant; bless, with the
choicest blessings, my dearest nephew; forgive my
murderer, and take my fleeting soul to endless mercy.
[Barnwell throws off his mask, runs to him, and,
kneeling by him, raises and chafes him.
Barn. Expiring saint! Oh, murdered, martyred
58
Å& ÎIÌ.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
uncle! lift up your dying eyes, and view your nephew
in your murderer—
upon mel-Let indignation lighten from your
eyes, and blast me ere you die.
Oh, do not look so tenderly
By Heaven, he
Tears, tears, for
weeps, in pity of my woes.
blood!
The murdered, in the agonies of death,
weeps for his murderer.
with you-
Oh, speak your pious
purpose; pronounce my pardon then, and take me
He would, but cannot -Oh, why,
with such fond affection, do you press my murdering
[Uncle sighs and dies.]—
hand ?—
"What, will
56 you kiss me”, Life, that hovered on his lips but
till he had sealed my pardon, in that sigh expired.—
He's gone for ever, "and, oh! I follow
"
away upon his uncle's dead body.]".
-[Swoons
-Do I still
breathe, and taint with my infectious breath the
wholesome air?- Let Heaven from its high
throne, in justice or in mercy now look down on that
dear murdered saint, and me the murderer, and if
his vengeance spares, let pity strike and end my
wretched being.
Murder the worst of crimes,
and parricide the worst of murders, and this the
worst of parricides. "Cain, who stands on record
"from the birth of time, and must to its last final
"period, as accursed, slew a brother favoured above
"him: detested Nero, by another's hand, dispatched
"a mother that he feared and hated: but I, with my
"own hand, have murdered a brother, mother, fa-
"ther, and a friend most loving and beloved.-
"This execrable act of mine is without a parallel.-
A& IV.
59
GEORGE BARNWELL.
"Oh, may it ever stand alone, the last of murders, as
"it is the worst!
"The rich man thus, in torment and despair,
"Preferr'd his vain, his charitable pray'r.
"The fool, his own soul lost, would fain be wise
"For others' good, but Heav'n his suit denies.
"By laws and means well-known we stand or fall;
"And one eternal rule remains for all."
Oh, may it ever stand alone accurst,
The last of murders, as it is the worst.
[Exit.
ACT IV. SCENE 1.
A Room in THOROWGOOD's House. Enter MARIA,
meeting TRUEMan.
Maria.
"How falsely do they judge, who censure or ap-
"plaud, as we are afflicted or rewarded here. I know
"I am unhappy; yet cannot charge myself with any
"crime, more than the common frailties of our kind,
"that should provoke just Heaven to mark me out
"for sufferings so uncommon and severe. Falsely
“to accuse ourselves, Heaven must abhor. Then it
«is just and right that innocence should suffer; for
"Heaven must be just in all its ways. Perhaps by
"that we are kept from moral evils, much worse
« than penal, or more improved in virtue. Or may
not the lesser ills that we sustain be made the means
$6
Go
Aat in
GEORGE BARNWELL.
"of greater good to others? Might all the joyle
"days and sleepless nights that I have passed, būt
"purchase peace for thee.
"Thou dear, dear cause of all my grief and pain;
"Small were the loss, and infinite the gain,
Though to the grave in secret love I pine,
“So life and fame, and happiness were thine.”
What news of Barnwell?
True. None; I have sought him with the greatest
diligence, but all in vain.
Mar. Does my father yet suspect the cause of his
absence?
True. All appeared so just and fair to him, it is not
possible he ever should. But his absence will no longer
be concealed. Your father is wise; and though he
seems to hearken to the friendly excuses I would make
for Barnwell, yet I am afraid he regards them only
as such, without suffering them to influence his
judgment.
"Mar. How does the unhappy youth defeat all
s our designs to serve him? yet I can never repent
"what we have done. Should he return, 'twill make
"his reconciliation with my father easier, and pre-
serve him from future reproach of a malicious un-
forgiving world.”
66
44
Enter THOROWGOOD and Lucy.
Thor. This woman here has given me a sad, and,
'bating some circumstances, too probable an account
of Barnwell's defection.
Lucy. I am sorry, sir, that my frank confession of
Vast 61.
&
IV.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
y former unhappy course of life, should cause you
to suspect my truth on this occasion.
Thor. It is not that; your confession has in it all.
the appearance of truth. Among many other parti-
culars, she informs me, that Barnwell has been influ-
enced to break his trust, and wrong me at several
times of considerable sums of money. Now, as I
know this to be false, I would fain doubt the whole
of her relation, too dreadful to be willingly be-
lieved.
Mar. Sir, your pardon; I find myself on a sudden
so indisposed that I must retire.
"Providence op-
poses all attempts to save him." Poor ruined Barn-
[Aside. Exit.
well! Wretched, lost Maria !
Thor. How am I distressed on every side! Pity for
that unhappy youth, fear for the life of a much valued
friend- -and then my child-the only joy and hope
of my declining life Her melancholy increases
hourly, and gives me painful apprehensions of her -
loss Oh, Trueman, this person informs me that
your friend, at the instigation of an impious woman,
is gone to rob and murder his venerable uncle.
True. Oh, execrable deed! I am blasted with the
horror of the thought.
Lucy. This delay may ruin all.
Thor. What to do or think, I know not.
That he
ever wronged me, I know is false; the rest may be
so too; there's all my hope.
True. Trust not to that; rather suppose all true,
than lose a moment's time.
Even now the horrid
F
62
A& IV.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
deed may be doing-dreadful imagination!or it
may be done, and we be vainly debating on the means
to prevent what is already past.
Thor. This earnestness convinces me, that he
knows more than he has yet discovered. What, ho!
without there who waits
Enter a Servant.
Order the groom to saddle the swiftest horse, and
prepare to set out with speed; an affair of life and
death demands his diligence. [Exit Servant.] For you,
whose behaviour on this occasion I have no time to
commend as it deserves, I must engage your further
assistance. Return, and observe this Millwood till I
come. I have your directions, and will follow you
as soon as possible. [Exit Lucy.] Trueman, you, I
am sure, will not be idle on this occasion.
[Exit Thorowgood.
True. He only who is a friend can judge of my dis-
tress.
SCENE II.
[Exit,
MILLWOOD'S House. Enter MILLWOOD.
Mill. I wish I knew the event of his design. The
attempt without success would ruin him. Well;
what have I to apprehend from that? I fear too
much. The mischief being only intended, his friends,
A&t IV.
63
GEORGE BARNWELL.
through pity of his youth, turn all their rage on me.
I should have thought of that before. Suppose the
deed done; then, and then only, I shall be secure.-
Or what if he returns without attempting it at all 1-
. Enter BARNWELL bloody.
But he is here, and I have done him wrong. His
bloody hands shew he has done the deed, but shew
he wants the prudence to conceal it.
Barn. Where shall I hide me? Whither shall I
fly, to avoid the swift unerring hand of justice?
Mill. Dismiss your fears: though thousands had
pursued you to the door, yet being entered here, you
are as safe as innocence. I have a cavern, by art so
cunningly contrived, that the piercing eyes of jealousy
and revenge may search in vain, nor find the entrance
to the safe retreat. There will I hide you, if any
danger's near.
Barn. Oh, hide me-from myself, if it be possi-
ble; for while I bear my conscience in my bosom,
though I were hid where man's eye never saw, nor
light e'er dawned, 'twere all in vain. For, oh, that
inmate, that impartial judge, will try, convict, and
sentence me for murder, and execute me with never-
ending torments. Behold these hands, all crimsoned
o'er with my dear uncle's blood. Here's a sight to
make a statue start with horror, or turn a living man
into a statue !
Mill. Ridiculous! Then it seems you are afraid of
Fij
64
A& IV.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
your own shadow, or, what's less than a shadow,
your conscience.
Barn. Though to man unknown I did the accursed
act, what can we hide from Heaven's all-seeing eye ?
Mill. No more of this stuff. What advantage have
you made of his death? or what advantage may yet
be made of it? Did you secure the keys of his trea-
sure, which, no doubt, were about him? What gold,
what jewels, or what else of value have you brought
me?
Barn. Think you I added sacrilege to murder?-
Oh, had you seen him as his life flowed from him in
a crimson flood, and heard him praying for me by
the double name of nephew and of murderer-(alas,
alas, he knew not then, that his nephew was his mur-
derer 1)-how would you have wished, as I did,
though you had a thousand years of life to come, to
have given them all to have lengthened his one hour!
But being dead, I fled the sight of what my hands
had done; nor could I, to have gained the empire of
the world, have violated, by theft, his sacred corpse.
Mill. Whining, preposterous, canting villain! to
murder your uncle, rob him of life, nature's first,
last, dear prerogative, after which there's no injury,
then fear to take what he no longer wanted, and
bring to me your penury and guilt. Do you think
I'll hazard my reputation, nay, my life, to entertain
you?
Barn. Oh, Millwood !· -this from thee ?- -But
I have done. If you hate me, if you wish me dead,
A&i IV.
65
GEORGE BARNWELL.
then are you happy; for, oh, 'tis sure my grief will
quickly end me.
Mili. In his madness he will discover all, and in-
volve me in his ruin. We are on a precipice from
whence there's no retreat for both-Then to pre-
serve myself- -[Pauses.]—There is no other way.
'Tis dreadful, but reflection comes too late when
danger's pressing, and there's no room for choice.
It must be done. [Aside. Rings a bell, enter a
Servant.] Fetch me an officer, and seize this villain.
He has confessed himself a murderer. Should I let
him escape, I might justly be thought as bad as he.
[Exit Servant.
Barn. Oh, Millwood! sure you do not, you cannot
mean it. Stop the messenger; upon my knees, I beg
you'd call him back. 'Tis fit I die indeed, but not
by you. I will this instant deliver myself into the
hands of justice, indeed I will; for death is all I
wish. But thy ingratitude so tears my wounded
soul, 'tis worse ten thousand times than death with
torture.
Mill. Call it what you will; I am willing to live,
and live secure, which nothing but your death can
warrant.
Barn. If there be a pitch of wickedness that sets
the author beyond the reach of vengeance, you must
be secure. But what remains for me, but a dismal
dungeon, hard galling fetters, an awful trial, and an
ignominious death, justly to fall unpitied and ab-
Fiij
66
A& IV.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
horred : "After death to be suspended between
"heaven and earth, a dreadful spectacle, the warn
❝ing and horror of a gaping crowd !" This I could
bear, nay, wish not to avoid, had it but come from
any hand but thine.
Enter BLUNT, Officer, and Attendants.
Mill. Heaven defend me! Conceal a murderer 1
Here, sir, take this youth into your custody. I ac-
cuse him of murder, and will appear to make good
my charge.
[They seize him.
Barn. To whom, of what, or how shall I complain ?
I'll not accuse her. The hand of Heaven is in it, and
this the punishment of lust and parricide.
"Yet
"Heaven, that justly cuts me off, still suffers her to
live; perhaps to punish others. Tremendous
"mercy! So fiends are cursed with immortality to
"be the executioners of Heaven."
Be warn'd, ye youths, who see my sad despair:
Avoid lewd women, false as they are fair.
"By reason guided, honest joys pursue:
"The fair, to honour and to virtue true,
"Just to herself, will ne'er be false to you.”
By my example learn to shun my fate:
(How wretched is the man who's wise too late!)
Ere innocence, and fame, and life be lost,
Here purchase wisdom cheaply, at my cost.
[Exeunt Barnwell, Officer, and Attendants.
Mill. Where's Lucy? Why is she absent at such a
time?
▲& IV.
67
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Blunt. Would I had been so too! Lucy will soon
be here; and I hope to thy confusion, thou devil!
Mill. Insolent1-This to me?
Blunt. The worst that we know of the devil is, that
he first seduces to sin, and then betrays to punish-
ment.
66
[Exit.
Mill. They disapprove of my conduct then," and
mean to take this opportunity to set up for them-
"selves.
My ruin is resolved. -I see my dan-
ger, but scorn both it and them. I was not born to
fall by such weak instruments.
[Going.
Enter THOROWGOOD.
Thor. Where is the scandal of her own sex, and
curse of ours?
Mill. What means this insolence? Whom do you
seek?
Thor. Millwood.
Mill. Well, you have found her then. I am Mill-
wood.
Thor. Then you are the most impious wretch that
e'er the sun beheld.
Mill. From your appearance I should have expected
wisdom and moderation, but your manners belie your
aspect. What is your business here? I know you
not.
Thor. Hereafter you may know me better; I am
Barnwell's master.
Mill. Then you are master to a villain, which, I
think, is not much to your credit.
68
▲& IŸ.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
throws the Chuy
Thor. Had he been as much above thy arts, as my
credit is superior to thy malice, I need not have
blushed to own him.
Mill. My arts! I don't understand you, sir; if he
has done amiss, what's that to me? Was he my ser-
vant, or yours? you should have taught him better.
Thor. Why should I wonder to find such uncom-
mon impudence in one arrived to such a height of
wickedness? "When innocence is banished, mo-
"desty soon follows." Know, sorceress, I'm not
ignorant of any of the arts by which you first de-
ceived the unwary youth. I know how, step by
step, you've led him on, reluctant and unwilling,
from crime to crime, to this last horrid act, which
you contrived, and by your cursed wiles even forced
him to commit.
Mill. Hal Lucy has got the advantage, and ac-
cused me first. Unless I can turn the accusation, and
fix it upon her and Blunt, I am lost.
[Aside.
Thor. Had I known your cruel design sooner, it
had been prevented. To see you punished, as the
law directs, is all that now remains. "Poor satis-
faction! for he, innocent as he is, compared to you,
must suffer too. "But Heaven, who knows our
frame, and graciously distinguishes between frailty
"and presumption, will make a difference, though
man cannot, who sees not the heart, but only
"judges by the outward action."
Mill. I find, sir, we are both unhappy in our ser-
vants. I was surprised at such ill treatment without
Act IV.
69
GEORGE BARNWELL.
cause from a gentleman of your appearance, and
therefore too hastily returned it; for which I ask
your pardon. I now perceive you have been so far
imposed on, as to think me engaged in a former corre-
spondence with your servant, and some way or other
accessary to his undoing.
Thor. I charge you as the cause, the sole cause of
all his guilt, and all his suffering, of all he now en-
dures, and must endure, till a violent and shameful
death shall put a dreadful period to his life and mise-
ries together.
Mill. 'Tis very strange. But who's secure from
scandal and detraction? So far from contributing to
his ruin, I never spoke to him till since this fatal ac-
cident, which I lament as much as you. 'Tis true, I
have a servant, on whose account he hath of late fre-
quented my house. If she has abused my good opi-
nion of her, am I to blame? Has not Barnwell done
the same by you?
Thor. I hear you; play go on.
Mill. I have been informed he had a violent passion
for her, and she for him: but till now I always
thought it innocent. I know her poor, and given to
expensive pleasures. Now, who can tell but she may
have influenced the amorous youth to commit this
murder to supply her extravagancies ?—It must be
I now recollect a thousand circumstances that
confirm it. I'll have her, and a man-servant whom
I suspect as an accomplice, secured immediately. I
hope, sir, you will lay aside your ill-grounded suspi-
so.
70
A& IV.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
cions of me, and join to punish the real contrivers of
[Offers to go.
this bloody deed.
Thor. Madam, you pass not this way I see your
design, but shall protect them from your malice.
Mill. I hope you will not use your influence, and
the credit of your name, to screen such guilty
wretches. Consider, sir, the wickedness of per-
suading a thoughtless youth to such a crime.
Thor. I do
done.
and of betraying him when it was
Mill. That which you call betraying him may con-
vince you of my innocence. She who loves him,
though she contrived the murder, would never have
delivered him into the hands of justice, as I, struck
with horror at his crimes, have done.
Thor. How should an unexperienced youth escape
her snares?"The powerful magic of her wit and
"form might betray the wisest to simple dotage, and
"fire the blood that age had froze long since." Even
I, that with just prejudice came prepared, had by her
artful story been deceived, but that my strong con-
viction of her guilt makes even a doubt impossible.
[Aside.] Those whom subtilly you would accuse, you
know are your accusers; and, which proves unan-
swerably their innocence and your guilt, they accused
you before the deed was done, and did all that was
in their power to prevent it.
Mill. Sir, you are very hard to be convinced; but
I have a proof, which, when produced, will silence
all objections.
[Exit Millwood.
A& IV.
71
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Enter LUCY, TRUEMAN, BLUNT, Officers, &c.
Lucy. Gentlemen, pray place yourselves, some on
one side of that door, and some on the other; watch
her entrance, and act as your prudence shall direct
you. This way, [To Thorowgood.] and note her
behaviour. I have observed her; she's driven to the
last extremity, and is forming some desperate reso-
lution. I guess at her design.
Re-enter MILLWOOD with a Pistol; TRUEMAN se-
cures her.
True. Here thy power of doing mischief ends, de-
ceitful, cruel, bloody woman!
Mill. Fool, hypocrite, villain, man! thou canst
not call me that.
True. To call thee woman were to wrong thy sex,
thou devil!
Mill. That imaginary being is an emblem of thy
cursed sex collected. A mirror, wherein each par-
ticular man may see his own likeness, and that of all
mankind.
Thor. Think not, by aggravating the faults of
others, to extenuate thy own, of which the abuse of
such uncommon perfections of mind and body is not
the least.
Mill. If such I had, well may I curse your bar-
barous sex, who robbed me of 'em ere I knew their
worth; then left me, too late, to count their value by
their loss. Another and another spoiler came, and
72
A& IV.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
NOT MEALLY
all my gain was poverty and reproach. My soul dis-
dain'd, and yet disdains, dependance and contempt.
Riches, no matter by what means obtained, I saw
secured the worst of men from both. I found it
therefore necessary to be rich, and to that end I sum-
moned all my arts. You call 'em wicked, be it so,
they were such as my conversation with your sex had
furnished me withal.
Thor. Sure none but the worst of men conversed
with thee.
Mill. Men of all degrees, and all professions, I
have known, yet found no difference, but in their se
veral capacities; all were alike wicked to the utmost
of their power.
"In pride, contention, avarice,
"cruelty, and revenge, the reverend priesthood were
"my unerring guides. From suburb magistrates,
"who live by ruined reputations, as the unhospitable
"natives of Cornwall do by shipwrecks, I learned,
"that to charge my innocent neighbours with my
"crimes, was to merit their protection: for to screen
"the guilty is the less scandalous, when many are
"suspected; and detraction, like darkness and death,
"blackens all objects, and levels all distinction.
“Such are your venal magistrates, who favour noné
"but such as by their office they are sworn to pu-
"nish.
With them, not to be guilty is the worst of
"crimes, and large fees, privately paid, are every
"needful virtue.
"Thor. Your practice has sufficiently discovered
your contempt of laws, both human and divine;
را
A& IV..
78
GEORGE BARNWELL.
}
“no wonder then that you should hate the officers of
"both.
"Mill." I know you, and I hate you all; I ex-
pect no mercy, and I ask for none; I followed my
inclinations, and that the best of you do every day.
"All actions seem alike natural and indifferent to
"man and beast, who devour, or are devoured, as
"they meet with others weaker or stronger than
"themselves.
"Thor. What pity it is a mind so comprehensive,
"daring, and inquisitive, should be a stranger to
"religion's sweet and powerful charms I
"Mill. I am not fool enough to be an atheist,
"though I have known enough of men's hypocrisy
"to make a thousand simple women so. Whatever
"religion is in itself, as practis'd by mankind, it has
"caused the evils you say it was designed to cure.
“War, plague, and famine have not destroyed so
66 many of the human race, as this pretended piety
"has done; and with such barbarous cruelty, as if
"the only way to honour Heaven were to turn the
હા present world into hell.
"Thor. Truth is truth, though from an enemy,
"and spoken in malice. You bloody, blind, and
"superstitious bigots, how will you answer this?
"Mill." What are your laws, of which you make
your boast, but the fool's wisdom, and the coward's
valour, the instrument and screen of all your vil-
lanies? By them you punish in others what you act
yourselves, or would have acted, had you been in
G
74
A&t VR
GEORGE BARNWELL.
their circumstances. The judge, who condemns the
poor man for being a thief, had been a thief him-
self had he been poor. Thus you go on deceiving
and being deceived, harassing, plaguing, and de-
stroying one another. But women are your univeṛ-
sal prey.
}
Women, by whom you are, the source of joy,
With cruel arts you labour to destroy :
A thousand ways our ruin you pursue,
Yet blame in us those arts first taught by you.
Oh, may from hence each violated maid,
By flattering, faithless, barb'rous man betray'd,
When robb'd of innocence, and virgin fame,
From your destruction raișe a nobler name,
T’avenge their sex's wrongs devote their mind,
And future Millwoods prove to plague mankind.
[Exeunt.
ACT V." SCENE 1.
"A Room in a Prison. Enter THOROWGOOD,
BLUNT, and Lucy.
"Thorowgood.
"I HAVE recommended to Barnwell a reverend di-
1
"vine, whose judgment and integrity I am well ac-
"quainted with. Nor has Millwood been neglected;
"but she, unhappy woman, still obstinate, refuses
"his assistance.
1
A& V.
75
GEORGE BARNWELL.
"Lucy. This pious charity to the afflicted well be-
"comes your character; yet pardon me, sir, if I
"wonder you were not at their trial.
"Thor. I knew it was impossible to save him; and
"I and my family bear so great a part in his distress,
"that to have been present would but have aggra-
"vated our sorrows without relieving his.
"Blunt. It was mournful indeed. Barnwell's
"youth and modest deportment, as he passed, drew
"tears from every eye. When placed at the bar,
"and arraigned before the reverend judges, with
66
many tears and interrupting sobs, he confessed and
"aggravated his offences, without accusing, or once
"reflecting on Millwood, the shameless author of
"his ruin. But she, dauntless and unconcerned,
stood by his side, viewing with visible pride and
contempt the vast assembly, who, all with sym-
"pathizing sorrow, wept for the wretched youth.
"Millwood, when called upon to answer, loudly in-
"sisted upon her innocence, and made an artful and
"a bold defence; but finding all in vain, the impar-
"tial jury and the learned bench concurring to find
"her guilty, how did she curse herself, poor Barn-
"well, us, her judges, all mankind. But what
"could that avail? She was condemned, and is this
"day to suffer with him.
"Thor. The time draws on.
"Barnwell, as you are Millwood.
I am going to visit.
"Lucy. We have not wronged her, yet I dread
"this interview. She's proud, impatient, wrathful,
Gij
76
A& V.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
"and unforgiving. To be the branded instruments
"of vengeance, to suffer in her shame, and sympa-
"thize with her in all she suffers, is the tribute we
"must pay for our former ill-spent lives, and long
"confederacy with her in wickedness.
€6
"Thor. Happy for you it ended when it did. What
you
have done against Millwood I know proceeded
"from a just abhorrence of her crimes, free from in-
"terest, malice, or revenge. Proselytes to virtue
"should be encouraged; pursue your proposed
"reformation, and know me hereafter for your
"friend.
"Lucy. This is a blessing as unhoped for as un-
"merited. But Heaven, that snatched us from im-
pending ruin, sure intends you as its instrument
❝ to secure us from apostacy.
64
"Thor. With gratitude to împute your deliverance
"to Heaven is just. Many less virtuously disposed
"than Barnwell was, have never fallen in the man-
ner he has done. May not such owe their safety
"rather to Providence than to themselves? With
"pity and compassion let us judge him. Great were
"his faults, but strong was the temptation. Let his
"ruin teach us diffidence, humanity, and circum-
"spection for if we, who wonder at his fate, had
like him been tried, like him perhaps we had
"fallen."
:
[Exeunt.
A& V.
77
GEORGE BARNWELL.
SCENE II.
▲ Dungeon, a Table, and a Lamp. BARNWELL read-
ing. Enter THOROWGOOD at a distance.
Thor. There see the bitter fruits of passion's de-
tested reign, and sensual appetite indulged; severe
reflections, penitence, and tears.
Barn. My honoured, injured master, whose good-
ness has covered me a thousand times with shame,
forgive this last unwilling disrespect. Indeed I saw
you not.
Thor. 'Tis well; I hope you are better employed
in viewing of yourself; "your journey's long, your
"time for preparation almost spent." I sent a re-
verend divine to teach you to improve it, and should
be glad to hear of his success.
Barn. The word of truth, which he recommended
for my constant companion in this my sad retirement,
has at length removed the doubts I laboured under.
From thence I've learned the infinite extent of hea-
venly mercy; that my offences, though great, are
not unpardonable; and that 'tis not my interest only,
but my duty, to believe and to rejoice in my hope.
So shall Heaven receive the glory, and future peni-
tents the profit of my example.
Thor. Proceed.
Barn. 'Tis wonderful that words should charm
despair, speak peace and pardon to a murderer's con-
science; but truth and mercy flow in every sentence,
G iij
78
Act V.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
attended with force and energy divine. How shall I
describe my present state of mind I hope in doubt,
and trembling I rejoice; I feel my grief increase,
even as my fears give way. Joy and gratitude now
supply more tears than the horror and auguish of de-
spair before.
" for ever.
Thor. These are the genuine signs of true repent-
ance; the only preparatory, the certain way to ever-
lasting peace. "Oh, the joy it gives to see a soul
"formed and prepared for Heaven! For this the
"faithful minister devotes himself to meditation, ab-
"stinence, and prayer, shunning the vain delights
❝of sensual joys, and daily dies, that others may live
For this he turns the sacred volumes
"o'er, and spends his life in painful search of truth.
"The love of riches and the lust of power, he looks
(( upon with just contempt and detestation; he only
" counts for wealth the souls he wins, and his high-
"est ambition is to serve mankind. If the reward
"of all his pains be to preserve one soul from wan-
"dering, or turn one from the error of his ways,
"how does he then rejoice, and own his little labours
"overpaid."
Barn. What do I owe for all your generous kind.
ness? But though I cannot, Heaven can and will re-
ward you.
Thor. To see thee thus, is joy too great for words.
Farewell.-Heaven strengthen thee :-Farewell.
Barn. Oh, sir, there's something I would say, if
my sad swelling heart would give me leave.
1
A&L V.
79
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Thor, Give it vent awhile, and try.
Barn. I had a friend-'tis true I am unworthy-yet
methinks your generous example might persuade—
Could not I see him once, before I go from whence
there's no return?
Thor. He's coming, and as much thy friend as
ever. I will not anticipate his sorrow; too soon he'll
see the sad effect of this contagious ruin. This tor-
rent of domestic misery bears too hard upon me. I
must retire to indulge a weakness I find impossible to
overcome. [Aside.] Much loved-and much lamented
youth!-Farewell.-Heaven strengthen thee.
Eternally farewell.
Barn. The best of masters and of men-Farewell.
While I live let me not want your prayers.
Thor. Thou shalt not. Thy peace being made with
Heaven, death is already vanquished. Bear a little
longer the pains that attend this transitory life, and
cease from pain for ever. [Exit Thorowgood.
Barn. Perhaps I shall. I find a power within, that
bears my soul above the fears of death, and, spite of
conscious shame and guilt, gives me a taste of plea-
sure more than mortal.
Enter TRUEMAN and Keeper.
Keep. Sir, there's the prisoner.
[Exit Keeper.
Barn. Trueman I-My friend, whom I so wished
to see, yet now he's here, I dare not look upon him.
True. Oh, Barnwell! Barnwell!
[Weeps,
80
A& V.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Barn. Mercy! Mercy! gracious Heaven! For
death, but not for this, I was prepared.
True. What have I suffered since I saw thee last!
What pain has absence given me!—But, oh, to see
thee thus l-
Barn. I know it is dreadful! I feel the anguish of
thy generous soul-But I was born to murder all who
love me!
[Both weep.
True. I came not to reproach you; I thought to
bring you comfort; but I'm deceiv'd, for I have
none to give. I came to share thy sorrow, but can-
not bear my own.
Barn. My sense of guilt indeed you cannot know;
'tis what the good and innocent, like you, can ne'er
conceive: but other griefs at present I have none,
but what I feel for you. In your sorrow I read you
love me still; but yet, methinks, 'tis strange, when
I consider what I am.
True. No more of that; I can remember nothing
but thy virtues, thy honest, tender friendship, our
former happy state, and present misery. Oh, had
you trusted me when first the fair seducer tempted
you, all might have been prevented.
Barn. Alas, thou knowest not what a wretch I've
been. Breach of friendship was my first and least
offence. So far was I lost to goodness, so devoted
to the author of my ruin, that had she insisted on
my murdering thee,- -I think—I should have
done it.
True. Pr'ythee, aggravate thy faults no more.
2
A& V.
81
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Barn. I think I should? Thus good and generous
as you are, I should have murdered you!
True. We have not yet embraced, and may be in-
terrupted. Come to my arms.
Barn. Never, never will I taste such joys on earth;
never will I so soothe my just remorse. Are those
honest arms and faithful bosom fit to embrace and to
support a murderer? These iron fetters only shall
clasp, and flinty pavement bear me; [throwing him-
self on the ground.] even these too good for such a
bloody monster.
True. Shall fortune sever those whom friendship
joined
Thy miseries cannot lay thee so low, but
love will find thee.
Here will we offer to stern cala-
mity; this place the altar, and ourselves the sacri-
fice. Our mutual groans shall echo to each other
through the dreary vault; our sighs shall number
the moments as they pass, and mingling tears com-
municate such anguish, as words were never made
to express.
Barn. Then be it so. [Rising.] Since you propose
an intercourse of wo, pour all your griefs into my
breast, and in exchange take mine. [Embracing.]
Where's now the anguish that you promised? You've
taken mine, and make me no return. Sure peace and
comfort dwell within these arms, and sorrow cann't
approach me while I am here. "This too is the
"work of Heaven; which having before spoke peace
"and pardon to me, now sends thee to confirm it.”
82
A& V
GEORGE BARNWELL.
"
Gree
Knowin
Oh, take, take some of the joy that overflows my
breast!
True. I do, I do. Almighty power! how hast thou
made us capable to bear at once the extremes of
pleasure and of pain.
Keep. Sir.
Enter Keeper.
True. I come.
[Exit Keeper.
Barn. Must you leave me? Death would soon have
parted us for ever.
True. Oh, my Barnwell! there's yet another task
behind. Again your heart must bleed for others'
woes.
Barn. To meet and part with you I thought was all
What is there more for me to
I had to do on earth.
do or suffer
•
True. I dread to tell thee, yet it must be known!
Maria-
Barn. Our master's fair and virtuous daughter ?-
True. The same.
Barn. No misfortune, I hope, has reached that
maid! Preserve her, Heaven, from every ill, to shew
mankind that goodness is your care!
True. Thy, thy misfortunes, my unhappy friend,
have reached her. Whatever you and I have felt,
and more, if more be possible, she feels for
you.
Barn. "I know he doth abhor a lie, and would
A&t V.
83
GEORGE BARNWELL.
"not trifle with his dying friend." This is indeed
the bitterness of death.
[Aside.
True. You must remember (for we all observed it)
for some time past, a heavy melancholy weighed her
down. Disconsolate she seemed, and pined and lan-
guished from a cause unknown; till, hearing of your
dreadful fate, the long-stifled flame blazed out;
"she wept, and wrung her hands, and tore her hair,”
and in the transport of her grief discovered her own
lost state, while she lamented yours.
Barn. "Will all the pain I feel restore thy ease,
"lovely unhappy maid! [Weeping.]" Why did you
not let me die, and never know it?
True. It was impossible. She makes no secret of
her passion for you; she is determined to see you ere
you die, and waits for me to introduce her.
[Exit Trueman.
Barn. Vain, busy thoughts, be still! What avails
it to think on what I might have been! I now am-
what I've made myself.
scene.
Enter TRUEMAN and MARIA.
True. Madam, reluctant I lead you to this dismal
This is the seat of misery and guilt. Here
awful justice reserves her public victims. This is the
entrance to a shameful death.
Mar. To this sad place then no improper guest,
the abandoned lost Maria brings despair, and sees the
subject and the cause of all this world of wo. Silent
and motionless he stands, as if his soul had quitted
84
GEORGE BARNWELL.
A& V.
her abode, and the lifeless form alone was left be-
hind, "
yet that so perfect, that beauty and death,
"ever at enmity, now seem united there."
Barn. "I groan, but murmur not." Just Hea、
ven! I am your own; do with me what you please.
Mar. Why are your streaming eyes still fix'd be-
low, as though thou'dst give the greedy earth thy
sorrows, and rob me of my due? Were happiness
within your power, you should bestow it where you
pleased; but in your misery I must and will partake.
CC
Barn. Oh, say not so, but fly, abhor, and leave me
to my fate! Consider what you are, "how vast your
« fortune, and how bright your fame. Have pity on
your youth, your beauty, and unequalled virtue;
"for which so many noble peers have sighed in
"vain." Bless with your charms some honourable
lord. "Adorn with your beauty, and by your ex-
"ample improve, the English court, that justly
"claims such merit:" so shall I quickly be to you-
as though I had never been.
เ
Mar. When I forget you, I must be so indeed.
Reason, choice, virtue, all forbid it. Let women,
like Millwood, if there are more such women, smile
in prosperity, and in adversity forsake. Be it the
pride of virtue to repair, or to partake, the ruin such
have made.
True. Lovely, ill-fated maid!
"such generous distress before?
"Was there ever
How must this
pierce his grateful heart, and aggravate his woes!”
Barn. Ere I knew guilt or shame, when fortune.
Act V.
85
GEORGE BARNWELL.
smiled, and when my youthful hopes were at the
highest; if then to have raised my thoughts to you,
had been presumption in me never to have been par-
doned, think how much beneath yourself you conde→
scend to regard me now !
"Mar. Let her blush, who proffering love, invades
"the freedom of your sex's choice, and meanly sues
"in hopes of a return. Your inevitable fate hath
"rendered hope impossible as vain. Then why
"should I fear to avow a passion so just and so dis-
" interested?
"True. If any should take occasion from Mill-
"wood's crimes to libel the best and fairest part of
"the creation, here let them see their error. The
"most distant hopes of such a tender passion from so
"bright a maid, might add to the happiness of the
"most happy, and make the greatest proud: yet
"here 'tis lavished in vain. Though by the rich pre-
"sent the generous donor is undone, he on whom it
"is bestowed receives no benefit.
"Barn. So the aromatic spices of the east, which
"all the living covet and esteem, are with unavailing
"kindness wasted on the dead."
Mar. Yes, fruitless is my love, and unavailing all
my sighs and tears. Can they save thee from ap-
proaching death ?-from such a death?
Oh sorrow
insupportable !——————“Oh, terrible idea!
“misery and distress, who sees the first, last object
"of her love, for whom alone she'd live, for whom
H
What is her
86
A&t V.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Maria to nick justifiend
she'd die a thousand thousand deaths, if it were
“possible, expiring in her arms! Yet she is happy
when compared to me. Were millions of worlds
❝ mine, I'd gladly give them in exchange for her
• condition. The most consummate wo is light to
"mine. The last of curses to other miserable maids,
" is all I ask for my relief, and that's denied me.
"True. Time and reflection cure all ills.
F6
ș Mar. All but this. His dreadful catastrophe
"virtue herself abhors. To give a holiday to suburb
slaves, and passing entertain the savage herd, who
"elbowing each other for a sight, pursue and press
upon
him like his fate 1-A mind with piety and
resolution armed may smile on death: -But pub-
lic ignominy, everlasting shame, shame the death
of souls, to die a thousand times, and yet survive
" even death itself in never-dying infamy-Is this to
"be endured ?Can I who live in him, and must
❝ each hour of my devoted life feel all these woes re-
newed- Can I endure this?
“True. Grief has so impaired her spirits, she pants
as in the agonies of death."
Barn. Preserve her, Heaven, and restore her
peace, nor let her death be added to my crimes. [Bell
tolls.] I am summoned to my fate.
Enter Keeper.
Keep. Sir, the officers attend you. Millwood is al-
ready summoned.
A&t V.
87
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Barn. Tell 'em, I'm ready. And now, my friend,
farewell. [Embracing.] Support and comfort, the best
you can, this mourning fair.-No more-Forget not
to pray for me. [Turning to Maria.] Would you;
bright excellence, permit me the honour of a chaste
embrace, the last happiness this world could give were
mine. [She inclines towards him, they embrace.] Exalted
goodness! Oh, turn your eyes from earth and me to
Heaven, where virtue, like yours, is ever heard! Pray
for the peace of my departing soul. Early my racë
of wickedness began, and soon I reached the summit.
"Ere nature has finished her work, and stamped me
man, just at the time when others begin to stray,
"my course is finished. Though short my span of
"life, and few my days; yet count my crimes for
(C years, and I have lived whole ages." Thus justice,
in compassion to mankind, cuts off a wretch like me;
by one such example to secure thousands from future
ruin.
"Justice and mercy are in Heaven the same
❝its utmost severity is mercy to the whole; thereby
"to cure man's folly and presumption, which elsë
"would render even infinite mercy vain and inefs
"fectual."
If any youth, like you, in future times
Shall mourn my fate, tho' he abhors my crimes;
Or tender maid, like you, my tale shall hear,
And to my sorrows give a pitying tèar ;
To each such melting eye and throbbing heart;
Would gracious Heaven this benefit impart,
༼ཚེ་འམ་ང་
Hij
88
A& V.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Never to know my guilt, nor feel my pain,
Then must you own, you ought not to complain,
Since you nor weep, nor shall I die in vain.
[Exeunt Barnwell and Officers.
"SCENE III.
"The Place of Execution. The Gallows and Ladder at
"the farther End of the Stage. A Crowd of Specta-
"tors, BLUNT and LUCY,
"L
"Lucy. Heavens! what a throng!
“ Blunt. How terrible is death when thus pre-
"pared!
"Lucy. Support them, Heaven! Thou only canst
support them; all other help is vain.
"Officer. [Within.] Make way there; make way,
"and give the prisoners room.
"Lucy. They are here: observe them well. How
"humble and composed young Barnwell seems! but
"Millwood looks wild, ruffled with passion, con-
"founded, and amazed.
"Enter BARNWELL, MILLWOOD, Officers, and Exe-
"cutioners.
"Barn. See, Millwood, see, our journey's at an
❝end! Life, like a tale that's told, is passed away.
"That short, but dark and unknown passage, death,
"is all the space between us and endless joys, or
❝ woes eternal.
66
A& V.
85
GEORGE BARNWELL.
"Mill. Is this the end of all my flattering hopes?
"Were youth and beauty given me for a curse, and
"wisdom only to ensure my ruin? They were, they
"were. Heaven, thou hast done thy worst. Or, if
"thou hast in store some untried plague, somewhat
"that's worse than shame, despair, and death, unpi-
"tied death, confirmed despair, and soul-confound-
❝ing shame; something that men and angels cann't
"describe, and only fiends, who bear it, can con-
"ceive; now, pour it now on this devoted head, that
"I may feel the worst thou canst inflict, and bid de-
“fiance to thy utmost power.
“Barn. Yet ere we pass the dreadful gulf of death,
66 yet ere you're plunged in everlasting wo, Oh,
"bend your stubborn knees, and harder heart, hum-
"bly to deprecate the wrath divine! Who knows,
" but Heaven, in your dying moments, may bestow
"that grace and mercy which your life despised
"Mill. Why name you mercy to a wretch like me ?
" Mercy is beyond my hope, almost beyond my wish.
"I cann❜t repent, nor ask to be forgiven.
"Barn. Oh, think what 'tis to be for ever, ever
❝ miserable, nor with vain pride oppose a power that
" is able to destroy you!
"Mill. That will destroy me; I feel it will. A
"deluge of wrath is pouring on my soul. Chains,
darkness, wheels, racks, sharp-stinged scorpions,
“molten lead, and whole seas of sulphur, are light to
what I feel.
6:
H #
go
A& V.
GEORGE BARNWELL
cr
"Barn. Oh, add not to your vast account despair;
"a sin more injurious to Heaven, than all you've yet
"committed.
"Mill. Oh, I have sinned beyond the reach of
66 mercy!
"Barn. Oh, say not so; 'tis blasphemy to think
"it. As yon bright roof is higher than the earth,
"so, and much more, does Heaven's goodness pass
"our apprehension. Oh, what created being shall
presume
to circumscribe mercy that knows no
66
❝ bounds!
«Mill. This yields no hope. Though pity may
"be boundless, yet 'tis free. I was doomed before
"the world began to endless pains, and thou to joys
❝ eternal.
"Barn. Oh, gracious Heaven! extend thy pity to
"her; let thy rich mercy flow in plenteous streams
"to chase her fears, and heal her wounded soul.
'
«Mill. It will not be: your prayers are lost in air,
❝or else returned perhaps with double blessings to
"your bosom; they help not me,
"Barn. Yet hear me, Millwood.
«Mill, Away, I will not hear thee: I tell thee,
"youth, I am by Heaven devoted a dreadful instance
"of its power to punish. [Barnwell seems to pray.] If
"thou wilt pray, pray for thyself, not me. How
doth his fervent soul mount with his words, and
both ascend to heaven! that heaven, whose gates
are shut with adamantine bars against my prayers,
a
AЯ V.
91
GEORGE BARNWELL.
"had I the will to pray. I cannot bear it. Sure 'tis
"the worst of torments to behold others enjoy that
"bliss which we must never taste.
"Officer. The utmost limit of your time's expired.
"Mill. Encompassed with horror, whither must I
go?
? I would not live-nor die-That I could
"cease to be-or ne'er had been!
66
"Barn. Since peace and comfort are denied her
"here, may she find mercy where she least expects
"it, and this be all her hell! From our example
may all be taught to fly the first approach of vice:
"but if overtaken,
"By strong temptation, weakness, or surprise,
“Lament their guilt, and by repentance rise.
"Th'impenitent alone die unforgiven:
"To sin's like man, and to forgive like Heaven.
"Enter TRUEMAN.
"Lucy. Heart-breaking sight!-Oh, wretched,
"wretched Millwood!
"True. How is she disposed to meet her fate?
"Blunt. Who can describe unutterable wo?
"Lucy. She goes to death encompassed with hor.
" ror, loathing life, and yet afraid to die. No tongue
"can tell her anguish and despair.
"True. Heaven be better to her than her fears.-
"May she prove a warning to others, a monument
"of mercy in herself.
"Lucy. Oh, sorrow insupportable! Break, break,
heart!"
my
• A
92
AQ V
GEORGE BARNWELL.
True. In vain,
With bleeding hearts, and weeping eyes, we show,
A humane, gen'rous sense of others' wo;
Unless we mark what drew their ruin on,
And, by avoiding that
prevent our own.
{
[Exeunt omnes.
EPILOGUE.
WRITTEN BY COLLEY CIBBER, ESQ.
Spoken by MARIA.
SINCE fate has robb'd me of the hapless youth,
For whom my heart had hoarded up its truth;
By all the laws of love and honour, now,
I'm free again to choose-
-and one of you.
But soft―With caution first I'll round me peep :
Maids, in my case, should look before they leap.
Here's choice enough, of various sorts and hue,
The cit, the wit, the rake cock'd up in cue,
The fair spruce mercer, and the tawny Jew.
Suppose I search the sober gallery?.
No;
There's none but 'prentices, and cuckolds all-a-row;
And these, I doubt, are those that make them so.
[Pointing to the Boxes.
'Tis very well, enjoy the jest.
But you,
Fine powder'd sparks,—nay, I am told 'tis true,-
Your happy spouses- —can make cuckolds too.
94
EPILOGUE.
'Twixt you and them the diff'rence this, perhaps :
The cit's ashamed whene'er his duck he traps;
But you, when Madam's tripping, let her fall,
Cock up your hats, and take no shame at all.
What if some favour'd poet I could meet,
Whose love would lay his laurels at my feet.
No Painted passions real love abhors-
His flame would prove the suit of creditors.
Not to detain you then with longer pause,
In short, my heart to this conclusion draws;
I yield it to the hand that's loudest in applause.
THE END.
F
THE
PREFACE.
THOUGH it be dangerous to raise too great an expectation,
especially in works of this nature, where we are to please an
unsatiable audience; yet 'tis reasonable to prepossess them in
favour of an author, and therefore both the Prologue and Epi-
logue informed you that Œdipus was the most celebrated piece
of all antiquity: that Sophocles, not only the greatest wit, but
one of the greatest men in Athens, made it for the stage at the
public cost, and that it had the reputation of being his master-
piece, not only amongst the seven of his which are still re-
maining, but of the greater number which are perished. Aris-
totle has more than once admired it in his book of poetry;
Horace has mentioned it; Lucullus, Julius Cæsar, and other
noble Romans, have written on the same subject, though their
poems are wholly lost; but Seneca's is still preserved
In our
own age, Corneille has attempted it, and it appears by his pre-
face, with great success: but a judicious reader will easily ob-
serve how much the copy is inferior to the original. He tells
you himself, that he owes a great part of his success to the
happy episode of Theseus and Dirce; which is the same thing
as if we should acknowledge, that we were indebted for our
good fortune to the underplot of Adrastus, Eurydice, and
Creon. The truth is, he miserably failed in the character of
his hero. If he desired that Edipus should be pitied, he should
have made him a better man. He forgot that Sophocles had
taken care to shew him in his first entrance, a just, a merciful,
successful, a religious prince: and, in short, a father of his
a
A ij
iv
PREFACE.
country instead of these, he has drawn him suspicious, a
signing, more anxious of keeping the Theban crown, than so-
licitous for the safety of his people; hectored by Theseus, con-
temned by Dirce, and scarce maintaining a second part in his
own tragedy. This was an error in the first concoction: and
therefore never to be mended in the second or third. He intro-
duced a greater hero than Edipus himself; for when Theseus
was once there, that companion of Hercules must yield to
none. The poet was obliged to furnish him with business, to
make him an equipage suitable to his dignity, and, by follow-
ing him too close, to lose his other King of Brentford in the
crowd. Seneca, on the other side, as if there were no such
thing as nature to be minded in a play, is always running after
pompous expression, pointed sentences, and philosophical no-
tions, more proper for the study than the stage. The French-
man followed a wrong scent, and the Roman was absolutely at,
cold hunting. All we could gather out of Corneille was, that
an episode must be, but not his way; and Seneca supplied us
with no new hint, but only a relation which he makes of his Ti-
resias raising the ghost of Laius; which is here performed in
view of the audience; the rites and ceremonies so far his, as he
agreed with antiquity, and the religion of the Greeks: but
himself was beholden to Homer's Tiresias in the Odysses
some of them, and the rest have been collect from Hod
dore's Æthiopiques, and Lucan's Erictho. Sophocles, indeed,
is admirable every where; and therefore we have followed him
as close as possibly we could. But the Athenian theatre (whe-
ther more perfect than ours, is not now disputed) had a per-
fection differing from ours. You see there in every act a sin-
gle scene, (or two at most) which manage the business of the
play, and after that succeeds the chorus, which commonly
takes up more time in singing, than there has been employed
in speaking. The principal person appears almost constantly
through the play; but the inferior parts seldom above once in
PREFACE.
the whole tragedy. The conduct of our stage is much more
difficult, where we are obliged never to lose any considerable
character which we have once presented. Custom likewise
has obtained, that we must form an under-plot of second per-
sons, which must be depending on the first, and their bye-
walks must be like those in a labyrinth, which all of them lead
into the great parterre; or like so many several lodging cham-
bers, which have their outlets into the same gallery. Perhaps,
after all, if we could think so, the ancient method, as it is the
easiest, is also the most natural, and the best. For variety, as
it is managed, is too often subject to breed distraction; and
while we would please too many ways, for want of art in the
conduct, we please in none. But we have given you more already
than was necessary for a preface, and, for aught we know, may
gain no more by our instructions, than that politic nation is like
to do, who have taught their enemies to fight so long, that at
last they are in a condition to invade them.
OEDIPUS.
THERE is a proverb, which says, that two heads are
better than one-In designing, perhaps, it may be
so; in executing, such a co-operation seems to for-
bid the proper assimilation of parts.
This Play is written by DRYDEN and LEE, and
their several parts of the production are known. To
DRYDEN We owe the entire first and third acts, with
the plan and arrangement of the whole; LEE fur-
nished out the remainder.
The Fable, if it can ever please, will please from
its being ancient-Sophocles presented this subject to
the audiences of ancient Greece, and its interest must
there have been powerful-But to a modern the
whole play is founded upon an ideal criminality—for
we consider the heart as indispensably necessary to
constitute either crime or merit; and no more affix
the imputation of guilt to unconscious offence, than
we do of virtue to unintended good.
In the play of OEDIPUS, we behold a man in-
volved by a fatality which he has no power to shun,
murdering his father, and incestuously embracing
OEDIPUS.
vii
his mother; whom conviction plunges in despair,
whom feeling hurries into phrenzy.-The other in-
cidents are arrayed with suitable barbarity; they are
such as the mind loaths to imagine, and the sensi-
bilities of man shrink from beholding.
With the incurable defects therefore of historic
truth to treat, and circumstances too well known to be
any way softened, this composition will be found,
from its sentiments and language, among the best
productions of these authors. It but seldom makes
its appearance upon the modern stage, and is hasting,
with all its mythological brethren, to that repose, which
only solitary curiosity disturbs in the silent though
classic ground of the library.—
Ibant obscuri sola sub nocte per umbram,
Perque domos ditis vacuas et inania regna.
J
PROLOGUE.
WHEN Athens all the Grecian states did guide,
And Greece gave laws to all the world beside,
Then Sophocles and Socrates did sit,
Supreme in wisdom one, and one in wit:
And wit from wisdom differ'd not in those,
But as 'twas sung in verse, or said in prose.
Then OEdipus, on crowded theatres,
Drew all admiring eyes, and list'ning ears:
The pleas'd spectator shouted every line,
The noblest, manliest, and the best design!
And every critic of each learned age,
By this just model has reform'd the stage.
Now, should it fail, (as Heav'n avert our fear!}
Damn it in silence, lest the world should hear.
For were it known this poem did not please,
You might set up for perfect savages:
Your neighbours would not look on you as men ;
But think the nation all turn'd Pićts again.
Faith, as you manage matters, 'tis not fit,
You should suspect yourselves of too much wit.
Drive not the jest too far, but spare this piece?
And, for this once, be not more wise than Greece.
See twice; do not pell-mell to damning fall,
Like true-born Britons, who ne'er think at all.
PROLOGUE.
ix
Pray, be advis'd; and though at Mons you won,
On pointed cannon do not always run.
With some respect to ancient wits proceed:
You take the four first councils for your creed,
But when you lay tradition wholly by,
And on the private spirit alone rely,
You turn fanatics in your poetry.
If, notwithstanding all that we can say,
You needs will have your penn'worths of the play,
And come resolv'd to damn, because you pay,
Record it, in memorial of the fact,
The first play bury'd since the woollen act.
B
Dramatis Personae.
OEDIPUS,
Men.
DIOCLES,
PYRACMON,
ADRASTUS,
CREON,
PHORBAS,
TIRESIAS,
DYMAS,
HÆMON,
ÆGEON,
ALCANDER,
Ghost of LAIUS.
Women.
JOCASTA,
EURYDICE.
MANTO.
Priests, Citizens, Attendants, &c.
SCENE, Thebes.
OEDIPUS.
A
TRAGEDY.
BY DRYDEN AND LEE.
ADAPTED FOR
THEATRICAL REPRESENTATION,
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE-ROYAL, DRURY-LANE.
REGULATED FROM THE PROMPT-BOOKS,
By Permission of the Managers.
"The Lines distinguished by inverted Commas, are omitted in the Representation.
LONDON:
Printed for the Proprietors, under the Direction of
JOHN BELL, British Library, STRAND,
Bookseller to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.
MDCCXCI.
OE DIPUS.
ACT I. SCENE I.
The Curtain rises to a plaintive tune, representing the mi-
series of Thebes; dead bodies appear at a distance in
the streets; some faintly go over the stage, others drop.
Enter ALCANDER, DIOCLES, and PYRACMON.
Alcander.
METHINKS We stand on ruins; nature shakes
About us, and the universal frame
So loose, that it but wants another push
To leap from off its hinges.
Dioc. "No sun to cheer us; but a bloody globe
"That rolls above; a bald and beamless fire;
"His face o'er-grown with scurf." The sun's sick
too;
Shortly he'll be an earth.
Pyr. Therefore the seasons
Lie all confus'd; and, by the Heav'ns neglected,
Forget themselves. "Blind winter meets the summer
"In his mid-way, and, seeing not his livery,
Bij
12
A&t 1.
OEDIPUS.
"Has driven him head-long back: and the raw damps
"With flaggy wings fly heavily about,
"Scattering their pestilential colds and rheums
"Through all the lazy air.”
Alc. Hence murrains follow'd
On bleating flocks, and on the lowing herds:
At last, the malady
Grew more domestic, and the faithful dog
Dy'd at his master's feet.
Dioc. And next his master:
"For all those plagues which earth and air had
brooded,
"First on inferior creatures try'd their force;
"And last they seiz❜d on man."
Pyr. "And then a thousand deaths at once ad-
vanc'd,
"And every dart took place. All was so sudden,
"That scarce a first man fell-One but began
"To wonder, and straight fell a wonder too;
"A third, who stoop'd to raise his dying friend,
"Dropp'd in the pious act."-Heard you that groan ?
[Groan within.
Dioc. A troop of ghosts took flight together there :
"Now Death's grown riotous, and will play no mora
"For single stakes; but families and tribes."
How are we sure we breathe not now our last,
And that, next minute,
Our bodies, cast into some common pit,
Shall not be built upon, and overlaid
By half a people ?
1
A& I.
T3
OEDIPUS.
Alc. There's a chain of causes
Link'd to effects; invincible necessity,
That whate'er is, could not but so have been;
That's my security.
Enter CREON.
Cré. So had it need, when all our streets lie co-
ver'd
With dead and dying men;
And Earth exposes bodies on the pavements
More than she hides in graves.
Betwixt the bride and bridegroom have I seen
The nuptial torch do common offices
Of marriage and of death.
Dioc. Now OEdipus
(If he returns from war, our other plague)
Will scarce find half he left, to grace his triumphs.
Pyr. A feeble Pæan will be sung before him.
Alc. He would do well to bring the wives and chil-
dren
Of conquer'd Argians, to renew his Thebes.
Cre. May funerals meet him at the city gates,
With their detested omen.
Dioc. Of his children.
Cre. Nay, though she be my sister, of his wife.
Alc. Oh, that our Thebes might once again behold
A monarch Theban born!
Dioc. We might have had one.
Pyr. Yes, had the people pleas'd.
Cre. Come, you're my friends-
B iij
14
A& L
OEDIPUS.
The queen, my sister, after Laius' death,
Fear'd to lie single, and supply'd his place
With a young successor.
Dioc. He much resembles
Her former husband too.
Alc. I always thought so.
Pyr. When twenty winters more have grizzl'd his
black locks,
He will be very Laius.
Cre. So he will:
Mean time she stands provided of a Laius
More young and vigorous too, by twenty springs.
These women are such cunning purveyors!
Mark, where their appetites have once been pleas'd,
The same resemblance in a younger lover
Lies brooding in their fancies the same pleasures,
And urges their remembrance to desire.
Dioc. Had merit, not her dotage, been consider'd,
Then Creon had been king: but OEdipus!
A stranger l-
Cre. That word, stranger, I confess,
Sounds harshly in my ears.
Dioc. We are your creatures.
The people prone, as in all general ills,
To sudden change; the king in wars abroad;
The queen a woman weak and unregarded;
Euridice, the daughter of dead Laius,
A princess young, and beauteous, and unmarried.
Methinks, from these disjointed propositions.
Something might be produc’d.
វ
Aal.
15
OEDIPUS.
Cre. The gods have done
Their part, by sending this commodious plague.
But, oh, the princess! her hard heart is shut,
By adamantine locks, against my love.
Alc. Your claim to her is strong; you are be
troth'd.
Pyr. True, in her nonage.
"Alc. But that let's remov’d.”.
Dioc. I heard the prince of Argos, young Adrastus,
When he was hostage here-
Cre. Oh, name him not! the bane of all my hopes;
That hot-brain'd, headlong warrior, has the charms
Of youth, and somewhat of a lucky rashness,
To please a woman yet more fool than he.
That thoughtless sex is caught by outward form,
And empty noise, and loves itself in man.
Alc. But since the war broke out about our frontiers,
He's now a foe to Thebes.
Cre. But is not so to her. See, she appears;
Once more I'll prove my fortune: you insinuate
Kind thoughts of me into the multitude;
Lay load upon the court; gull them with freedom;
And you shall see them toss their tails, and gad,
As if the breeze had stung them.
Dioc. We'll about it. [Exeunt Alc. Dioc. and Pyr.
Enter EURY DICE.
Cre. Hail, royal maid; thou bright Eurydice!
A lavish planet reign'd when thou wert born;
OEDIPUS.
A&t I.
And made thee of such kindred-mould to heav'n,
Thou seem'st more heav'n's than ours.
Eur. Cast round your eyes;
Where late the streets were so thick sown with men,
Like Cadmus brood, they jostled for the passage:
Now look for those erected heads, and see them
Like pebbles paving all our public ways:
When you have thought on this, then answer me,
If these be hours of courtship.
Cre. Yes, they are;
For when the gods destroy so fast, 'tis time
We should renew the race.
Eur. What, in the midst of horror?
Cre. Why not then?
There's the more need of comfort.
Eur. Impious Creon!
Cre. Unjust Eurydice! can you accuse me
1
Of love, which is Heav'n's precept, and not fear
That vengeance which you say pursues our crimes,
Should reach your perjuries ?
Eur. Still th' old argument.
I bade you cast your eyes on other men,
Now cast them on your self: think what you are.
Cre. A man.
Eur. A man!
Cre. Why doubt you? I'm a man.
Eur. 'Tis well you tell me so, I should mistake you
For any other part o' th' whole creation,
Rather than think you man. Hence from my sight,
Thou poison to my eyes.
Aat 1.
17
OEDIPUS.
Cre. 'Twas you first poison'd mine; and yet me-
thinks
My face and person should not make you sport.
Eur. You force me, by your importunities,
To shew you what you are.
Cre. A prince, who loves you:
And since your pride provokes me, worth your love,
Ev'n at its highest value.
Eur. Love from thee!
Why love renounc'd thee ere thou saw'st the light :
Nature herself started back when thou wert born;
And cry'd, the work's not mine-
The midwife stood aghast; and when she saw
Thy mountain back, and thy distorted legs,
Thy face itself,
Half-minted with the royal stamp of man,
And half o'ercome with beast, stood doubting long,
Whose right in thee were more;
And knew not, if to burn thee in the flames,
Were not the holier work.
Cre. Am I to blame, if nature threw my body
In so perverse a mould? Yet when she cast
Her envious hand upon my supple joints,
Unable to resist, and rumpled them
On heaps in their dark lodging, to revenge
Her bungled work, she stampt my mind more fair;
And as from chaos, huddled and deform'd,
The god struck fire, and lighted up the lamps
That beautify the sky, so he inform’d
x8
A&t I.
OEDIPUS.
This ill-shap'd body with a daring soul;
And making less than man, he made me more.
Eur. No; thou art all one error, soul and body,
The first young trial of some unskill'd pow'r;
Rude in the making art, and ape of Jove.
Thy crooked mind within hunch'd out thy back;
And wander'd in thy limbs: to thy own kind
Make love, if thou canst find it in the world;
And seek not from our sex to raise an offspring,
Which, mingled with the rest, would tempt the gods
To cut off human kind.
Cre. No; let them leave
The Argian prince for you; that enemy
Of Thebes has made you false, and break the vows
You made to me.
Eur. They were my mother's vows,
Made in my nonage.
Cre. But hear me, maid:
This blot of nature, this deform'd, loath'd Creon,
Is master of a sword, to reach the blood
Of your young minion, spoil the gods' fine work,
And stab you in his heart.
Eur. This when thou dost,
Then may'st thou still be curs'd with loving me;
And, as thou art, be still unpitied, loath'd;
And let his ghost-No, let his ghost have rest:
But let the greatest, fiercest, foulest fury,
Let Creon haunt himself.
Cre. 'Tis true, I am
[Exit Eur.
Act I.
19
OEDIPUS.
What she has told me, an offence to sight:
My body opens inward to my soul,
And lets in day to make my vices seen
By all discerning eyes, but the blind vulgar.
I must make haste ere OEdipus return,
To snatch the crown and her; for I still love ;
But love with malice; as an angry cur
Snarls while he feeds, so will I seize and stanch
The hunger of my love on this proud beauty,
And leave the scraps for slaves.
Enter TIRESIAS, leaning on a staff, and led by his
daughter MANTO.
What makes this blind prophetic fool abroad!
Would his Apollo had him; he's too holy
For earth and me; I'll shun his walk; and seek
My popular friends.
[Exit Creon.
Tir. A little farther; yet a little farther,
Thou wretched daughter of a dark old man,
Conduct my weary steps: and thou, who seest
For me and for thyself, beware thou tread not
With impious steps upon dead corpses ;-now stay;
Methinks I draw more open, vital air.
Where are we?
Man. Under covert of a wall:
The most frequented once, and noisy part
Of Thebes, now midnight silence reigns ev'n here ;
And grass untrodden springs beneath our feet.
Tir. If there be nigh this place a sunny bank,
There let me rest awhile: a sunny bank!
I
20
A&t 1.
OEDIPUS.
Alas, how can it be, where no sun shines!
But a dim winking taper in the skies,
That nods, and scarce holds up his drowzy head
To glimmer through the damps!
[A noise within. Follow, follow, follow! A Creon,
a Creon, a Creon!
Hark! a tumultuous noise, and Creon's name
Thrice echo'd.
Man. Fly! the tempest drives this way.
Tir. Whither can age and blindness take their
flight?
If I could fly, what could I suffer worse,
Secure of greater ills !
[Noise again, Creon, Creon, Creon!
Enter CREON, DIOCLES, ALCANDER, PYRACMON;
followed by the crowd.
Cre. I thank ye, countrymen; but must refuse
The honours you intend me; they're too great;
And I am too unworthy; think again,
And make a better choice.
1st Cit. Think twice! I ne'er thought twice in all
my life: that's double work.
2d Cit. My first word is always my second; and
therefore I'll have no second word; and therefore
once again, I say, a Creon.
All. A Creon, a Creon, a Creon! ·
Cre. Yet hear me, fellow-citizens.
Dioc. Fellow-citizens! there was a word of kind.
ness.
A&t I.
21
OEDIPUS.
Alc. When did OEdipus salute you by that fami-
liar name?
1st Cit. Never, never; he was too proud.
Cre. Indeed he could not, for he was a stranger:
But under him our Thebes is half destroy'd.
Forbid it, Heav'n, the residue should perish
Under a Theban born.
'Tis true, the gods might send this plague among you,
Because a stranger rul'd: but what of that,
Can I redress it now?
ad Cit. Yes, you or none.
"Tis certain that the gods are angry with us,
Because he reigns.
Cre. OEdipus may return: you may be ruin'd.
1st Cit. Nay, if that be the matter, we are ruined
already.
2d Cit. Half of us that are here present, were liv-
ing men but yesterday, and we that are absent do
but drop and drop, and no man knows whether he
be dead or living. And therefore while we are sound
and well, let us satisfy our consciences, and make a
new king.
3d Cit. Ha, if we were but worthy to see another
coronation, and then, if we must die, we'll go merrily
together.
All. To the question, to the question.
Dioc. Are you content, Creon should be your king?
All. A Creon, a Creon, a Creon !
Tir. Hear me, ye Thebans, and thou, Creon, hear
me.
C
22
A&t I.
OEDIPUS.
1st Cit. Who's that would be heard? We'll hear no
man: we can scarce hear one another.
Tir. I charge you, by the gods, to hear me.
2d Cit. Oh, 'Tis Apollo's priest, we must hear him;
'tis the old blind prophet that sees all things.
3d Cit. He comes from the gods too, and they are
our betters; and in good manners we must hear him.
Speak, prophet.
ed Cit. For coming from the gods that's no great
matter, they can all say that; but he's a great scho-
lar; he can make almanacks, an he were put to't, and
therefore, I say, hear him.
Tir. When angry Heav'n scatters its plagues among
you,
Is it for nought, ye Thebans? Are the gods
Unjust for punishing? Are there no crimes
Which pull this vengeance down?
1st Cit. Yes, yes, no doubt there are some sins stir-
ring, that are the cause of all.
3d Cit. Yes, there are sins; or we should have no
taxes.
ed Cut. For my part, I can speak it with a safe con-
science, I ne'er sinned in all my life.
1st Cit. Nor I.
3d Cit. Nor I.
2d Cat. Then we are all justified, the sin lies not at
our doors.
Tir. All justified alike, and yet all guilty;
Were every man's false dealing brought to light,
His envy, malice, lying, perjuries,
}
Act 1.
23
OEDIPUS.
?
His weights and measures, th' other man's extortions,
With what face could you tell offended Heav'n,
You had not sinn'd?
2d Cit. Nay, if these be sins, the case is alter'd;
for my part I never thought any thing but murder
had been a sin.
Tir. And yet, as if all these were less than nothing,
You add rebellion to them, impious Thebans !
Have you not sworn before the gods to serve
And to obey this OEdipus, your king
By public voice elected? Answer me,
If this be true!
2d Cit. This is true; but it's a hard world, neigh-
bours,
If a man's oath must be his master.
Cre. Speak, Diocles; all goes wrong.
Dioc. How are you traitors, countrymen of Thebes ?
This holy sire, who presses you with oaths,
Forgets your first; were you not sworn before
To Laius and his blood?
All. We were; we were.
Dioc. While Laius has a lawful successor,
Your first oath still must bind: Eurydice
Is heir to Laius; let her marry Creon:
Offended Heav'n will never be appeas'd
While OEdipus pollutes the throne of Laius,
A stranger to his blood.
All. We'll no OEdipus, no OEdipus.
1st Cit. He puts the prophet in a mouse-hole.
Cij
24
A&t I.
OEDIPUS.
2d Cit. I knew it would be so, the last man ever
speaks the best reason.
Tir. Can benefits thus die, ungrateful Thebans!
Remember yet, when after Laius' death,
The monster Sphinx laid your rich country waste,
Your vineyards spoil'd, your labouring oxen slew ;
Yourselves for fear mew'd up within your walls,
She, taller than your gates, o'erlook'd your town;
But when she rais'd her bulk to sail above you,
She drove the air around her like a whirlwind,
And shaded all beneath; till stooping down,
She clapp'd her leathern wings against your tow'rs,
And thrust out her long neck, ev'n to your doors.
Diec. Alc. Pyr. We'll hear no more.
Tir. You durst not meet in temples
T'invoke the gods for aid, the proudest he
Who leads you now, then cower'd, like a dar'd lark :
This Creon shook for fear,
The blood of Laius curdled in his veins;
'Till OEdipus arriv'd.
Call'd by his own high courage and the gods,
Himself to you a god: ye offer'd him
Your queen and crown; (but what was then your crown?)
And Heav'n authoriz'd it by his success.
Speak then, who is your lawful king?
All. 'Tis OEdipus.
Tir. 'Tis OEdipus indeed: your king more lawful
Than yet you dream; for something still there lies
In Heav'n's dark volume, which I read through mists :
'Tis great, prodigious; 'tis a dreadful birth,
A& 1.
25
OEDIPUS.
Of wondrous fate; and now, just now disclosing.
I see, I see, how terrible it dawns:
And my soul sickens with it.
1st Cit. How the god shakes him!
Tir. He comes! he comes! Victory! Conquest !
Triumph!
But, oh, guiltless and guilty! Murder! Parricide!
Incest! Discovery! Punishment—'tis ended,
And all your sufferings o'er.
A Trumpet within. Enter HÆMON.
Ham. Rouse up, you Thebans; tune your Io
Pæans!
Your king returns; the Argians are o'ercome;
Their warlike prince in single combat taken,
And led in bands by godlike OEdipus.
All. OEdipus, OEdipus, OEdipus !
Cre. Furies confound his fortune !
Haste, all haste.
And meet with blessings our victorious king;
Decree processions; bid new holy-days,
[Aside.
To them.
Crown all the statues of our gods with garlands;
And raise a brazen column, thus inscrib'd:
To OEdipus, now twice a conqueror: deliverer of
his Thebes.
Trust me, I weep for joy to see this day.
Tir. Yes, Heav'n knows how thou weep'st:-Go,
countrymen,
And, as you use to supplicate your gods
So meet your king with bays and olive branches:
C iij
26
A&t 1.
OEDIPUS.
Bow down, and touch his knees, and beg from him
An end of all your woes; for only he
Can give it you.
[Exit Tiresias, the people following.
Enter OEDIPUS in triumph; ADRASTUS prisoner ;
DYMAS, train.
Cre. All hail, great OEdipus;
Thou mighty conqueror, hail; welcome to Thebes ;
To thy own Thebes; to all that's left of Thebes;
For half thy citizens are swept away,
And wanting of thy triumphs:
And we, the happy remnant, only live
To welcome thee, and die.
OEdip. Thus pleasure never comes sincere to man;
But lent by Heav'n upon hard usury;
And, while Jove holds us out the bowl of joy,
Ere it can reach our lips, it's dash'd with gall
By some left-handed god. Oh, mournful triumph!
Oh, conquest gain'd abroad, and lost at home!
Oh, Argos! now rejoice, for Thebes lies low;
Thy slaughter'd sons now smile, and think they won;
When they can count more Theban ghosts than theirs.
Adr. No; Argos mourns with Thebes; you tem-
per'd so
Your courage while you fought, that mercy seem'd
The manlier virtue, and much more prevail'd.
While Argos is a people, think your Thebes
Can never want for subjects. Every nation
Will crowd to serve where OEdipus commands.
A& I.
27
OEDIPUS.
f
Cre. [To Hæm.] How mean it shows to fawn upon
the victor!
Ham. Had you beheld him fight, you had said other-
wise:
Come, 'tis brave bearing in him,not to envy
Superior virtue.
OEdip. This indeed is conquest,
To gain a friend like you: why were we foes?
Adr. 'Cause we were kings, and each disdain'd an
equal.
I fought to have it in my pow'r to do
What thou hast done; and so to use my conquest.
To shew thee, honour was my only motive,
Know this that were my army at thy gates,
And Thebes thus waste, I would not take the gift,
Which, like a toy dropt from the hands of fortune,
Lay for the next chance-comer.
OEdip. [Embracing.] No more captive,
But brother of the war: 'tis much more pleasant,
And safer, trust me, thus to meet thy love,
Than when hard gantlets clench'd our warlike hands,
And keep them from soft use.
Adr. My conqueror!
OEdip. My friend! that other name keeps enmity
alive.
But longer to detain thee were a crime:
To love, and to Eurydice, go free:
Such welcome as a ruined town can give,
Expect from me; the rest let her supply.
28
A& İ.
OEDIPUS.
Adr. I go without a blush, though conquer'd twice,
By you, and by my princess.
[Exit Adrastus.
Cre. [Aside.] Then I am conquer'd thrice; by
OEdipus,
And her, and ev'n by him, the slave of both :
Gods, I'm beholden to you, for making me your
image,
Would I could make you mine!
Enter the people with branches in their hands, holding them
up, and kneeling: two priests before them.
Alas, my people!
What means this speechless sorrow, down-cast eyes,
And lifted hands? If there be one among you
Whom grief has left a tongue, speak for the rest.
1st Pr. Oh, father of thy country!
To thee these knees are bent, these eyes are lifted,
As to a visible divinity.
A prince on whom Heav'n safely might repose
The business of mankind: for Providence
Might on thy "careful" bosom sleep secure,
And leave her task to thee.
But where's the glory of thy former acts?
Ev'n that's destroy'd, when none shall live to speak it.
Millions of subjects shalt thou have; but mute.
A people of the dead; a crowded desert;
A midnight silence at the noon of day.
OEdip. Oh, were our gods as ready with their pity,
As I with mine, this presence should be throng'd
A&t I.
29
OEDIPUS.
With all I left alive; and my sad eyes
Not search in vain for friends, whose promis'd sight
Flatter'd my toils of war.
1st Pr. Twice our deliverer.
OEdip. Nor are now your vows
Address'd to one who sleeps.
When this unwelcome news first reach'd my ears,
Dymas was sent to Delphos, to enquire
The cause and cure of this contagious ill:
And is this day return'd? But since his message
Concerns the public, I refus'd to hear it,
But in this general presence: let him speak.
Dym. A dreadful answer from the hallow'd urn,
And sacred Tripos did the priestess give,
In these mysterious words.
THE ORACLE. "Shed in a cursed hour, by cursed
hand,
Blood-royal unreveng'd has curs'd the land.
When Laius' death is expiated well,
Your plague shall cease. The rest let Laius tell."
OEdip. Dreadful indeed! Blood! and a king's blood
too;
And such a king's, and by his subjects shed i
(Else why this curse on Thebes?) no wonder then
If monsters, wars, and plagues revenge such crimes !
If Heav'n be just, its whole artillery,
All must be empty'd on us: not one bolt
Shall err from Thebes; but more be call'd for, more:
New moulded thunder of a larger size;
Driv'n whole by Jove. What, touch anointed pow'r !
<
30
A& I.
OEDIPUS.
Then, gods, beware; Jove would himself be next,
Could you but reach him too.
2d Pr. We mourn the sad remembrance.
OEdip. Well you may:
Worse than a plague infects you: yʼare devoted
To mother earth, and to th' infernal pow'rs:
Hell has a right in you: I thank you, gods,
That I'm no Theban born.
How my blood curdles
As if this curse touch'd me, and touch'd me nearer
Than all this presence!
—Yes, 'tis a king's blood,
And I, a king, am ty'd in deeper bonds
To expiate this blood-But where, from whom,
Or how must I atone it? Tell me, Thebans,
How Laius fell; for a confus'd report
Pass'd through my ears, when first I took the crown:
But full of hurry, like a morning dream,
It vanish'd in the business of the day.
1st Pr. He went in private forth; but thinly fol-
low'd;
And ne'er return'd to Thebes.
OEdip. Nor any from him? Came there no attend-
ant?
None to bring the news?
2d Pr. But one; and he so wounded,
He scarce drew breath to speak some few faint words.
OEdip. What were they? Something may be learn'd
from thence.
1st Pr. He said a band of robbers watch'd their
passage;
Who took advantage of a narrow way
A&t 1.
31
OEDIPUS.
To murder Laius and the rest: himself
Left too for dead.
OEdip. Made you no more enquiry,
But took this bare relation?
2d Pr. 'Twas neglected :
For then the monster Sphinx began to rage;
And present cares soon buried the remote;
So was it hush'd, and never since reviv'd.
OEdip. Mark, Thebans, mark!
Just then, the Sphinx began to rage among you;
The gods took hold ev'n of th' offending minute,
And dated thence your woes: thence will I trace
them.
1st Pr. 'Tis just thou shouldst.
OEdip. Hear then this dreadful imprecation; hear it ;
'Tis laid on all; not any one exempt:
Bear witness, Heav'n, avenge it on the perjur’d.
If any Theban born, if any stranger
Reveal this murder, or produce its author,
Ten Attic talents be his just reward :
But, if for fear, for favour, or for hire,
The murd❜rer he conceal, the curse of Thebes
Fall heavy on his head: unite our plagues,
Ye gods, and place them there: from fire and water,
Converse, and all things common, be he banish'd.
But for the murderer's self, unfound by man,
Find him, ye pow'rs cœlestial and infernal;
And the same fate, or worse than Laius met,
Let be his lot: his children be accurst;
32
A& 1.
OEDIPUS.
His wife and kindred, all of his be curs'd.
Both Pr. Confirm it, Heav'n!
Enter JOCASTA, attended by Women.
Joc. At your devotions! Heav'n succeed your
wishes;
And bring th' effect of these your pray'rs
On you, on me, and all.
Pr. Avert this omen, Heav'n ?
OEdip. Oh, fatal sound, unfortunate Jocasta!
What hast thou said? An ill hour hast thou chosen
For these foreboding words! Why, we were cursing!
Joc. Then may that curse fall only where you laid it.
OEdip. Speak no more!
For all thou say'st is ominous: we were cursing;
And that dire imprecation hast thou fasten'd
On Thebes, and thee and me, and all of us.
Joc. Are then my blessings turn'd into a curse?
Oh, unkind OEdipus! My former lord
Thought me his blessing: be thou like my Laius.
OEdip. What, yet again? The third time hast thou
curs'd me:
This imprecation was for Laius' death,
And thou hast wish'd me like him.
Joc. Horror seizes me!
OEdip. Why dost thou gaze upon me? Pr'ythee,
love,
Take off thy eye; it burdens me too much.
Joc. The more I look, the more I find of Laius:
A&t I.
33
OEDIPUS.
His speech, his garb, his action; nay, his frown;
(For I have seen it;) but ne'er bent on me.
OEdip. Are we so like?
Joc. In all things but his love.
OEdip. I love thee more: so well I love, words
cannot speak how well.
No pious son e'er lov'd his mother more
Than I my dear Jocasta.
Joc. I love you tʊo
The self-same way; and when you chid, methought
A mother's love start up in your defence,
And bade me not be angry: be not you:
For I love Laius still, as wives should love :
But you more tenderly; as part of me;
And when I have you in my arms, methinks
1 lull my child asleep.
OEdip. Then we are blest:
And all these curses sweep along the skies
Like empty clouds; but drop not on our heads.
Joc. I have not joy'd an hour since you departed,
For public miseries, and for private fears;
But this blest meeting has o'er-paid 'em all.
Good fortune that comes seldom comes more wel-
come.
All I can wish for now, is your consent
To make my brother happy.
OEdip. How, Jocasta ?
Joc. By marriage with his niece, Eurydice?
OEdip. Uncle and niece; they are too near, my
love:
Ď
1
34
Att II.
OEDIPUS.
'Tis too like incest: 'tis offence to kind:
Had I not promis'd, were there no Adrastus,
No choice but Creon left her of mankind,
They should not marry; speak no more of it;
The thought disturbs me.
Joc. Heav'n can never bless
A vow so broken, which I made to Creon;
Remember he's my brother.
OEdip. That's the bar;
And she thy daughter: nature would abhor
To be forc'd back again upon herself,
And, like a whirlpool, swallow her own streams.
Joc. Be not displeas'd: I'll move the suit no more.
OEdip. No, do not; for, I know not why, it
shakes me
When I but think on incest; move we forward
To thank the gods for my success, and pray
To wash the guilt of royal blood away.
[Exeunt,
ACT II. SCENE I.
Enter
An open Gallery. A Royal Bed-chamber being supposed
behind. The Time, Night. Thunder, &c.
HÆMON, ALCANDER, and PYRACMON.
Hamon.
SURE 'tis the end of all things; fate has torn
The lock of time off, and his head is now
The ghastly ball of round eternity!
začt II.
35
OEDIPUS.
Call you these peals of thunder but the yawn
Of bellowing clouds? By Jove, they seem to me
The world's last groans; and those vast sheets of
Alame
Are its last blaze! The tapers of the god,
The sun and moon, run down like waxen globes;
The shooting stars end all in purple jellies,
And chaos is at hand.
Pyr. 'Tis midnight, yet there's not a Theban sleeps,
But such as ne'er must wake. All crowd about
The palace, and implore, as from a god,
Help of the king; who, from the battlement,
By the red lightning's glare, descry'd afar,
Atones the angry pow'rs.
Ham. Ha! Pyracmon, look;
[Thunder, &c.
Behold, Alcander, from yon' west of Heav'n,
The perfect figures of a man and woman:
A sceptre bright with gems in each right hand,
Their flowing robes of dazzling purple made,
Distinctly yonder in that point they stand,
Just west; a bloody red stains all the place;
And see, their faces are quite hid in clouds.
Pyr. Clusters of golden stars hang o'er their heads,
And seem so crowded, that they burst upon them:
All dart at once their baleful influence
In leaking fire.
Alc. Long-bearded comets stick,
Like flaming porcupines, to their left sides,
As they would shoot their quills into their hearts.
Dij
26
Act II.
OEDIPUS.
Hæm. But see! the king, and queen, and all the
court!
Did ever day or night shew aught like this?
[Thunders again. The Scene draws, and discovers
the Prodigies.
Enter OEDIPUS, JOCASTA, EURYDICE, ADRASTUS,
and all coming forward with Amazement.
OEdip. Answer, you Pow'rs divine; spare all this
noise,
This rack of Heav'n, and speak your fatal pleasure.
Why breaks yon dark and dusky orb away?
Why, from the bleeding womb of monstrous night,
Burst forth such myriads of abortive stars?
Ha my Jocasta, look! the silver moon!
A settling crimson stains her beauteous face!
She's all o'er blood! and look, behold again,
What mean the mystic heav'ns she journeys on?
A vast eclipse darkens the labouring planet:
Sound there, sound all our instruments of war;
Clarions and trumpets, silver, brass, and iron,
And beat a thousand drums to help her labour.
Adr. 'Tis vain; you see the prodigies continue;
Let's gaze no more, the gods are humorous.
OEdip. Forbear, rash man— Once more I ask
your pleasure!
If that the glow-worm light of human reason
Might dare to offer at immortal knowledge,
And cope with gods, why all this storm of nature à
Why do the rocks split, and why rolls the sea ?
A& II.
37
OEDIPUS.
し
​Why these portents in Heav'n, and plagues on earth?
Why yon gigantic forms, ethereal monsters ?
Alas! is all this but to fright the dwarfs
Which your own hands have made? Then be it so.
Or if the fates resolve some expiation
For murder'd Laius: hear me, hear me, gods!
Hear me thus prostrate: spare this groaning land,
Save innocent Thebes, stop the tyrant death;
Do this, and lo! I stand up an oblation
To meet your swiftest and severest anger.
Shoot all at once, and strike me to the centre.
[The Cloud draws that veil'd the Heads of the Figures
of the sky, and shews them crowned with the Names
of OEdipus and Jocasta written above in great Chas
racters of Gold.
Adr. Either I dream, and all my cooler senses
Are vanish'd with that cloud that fleets away,
Or just above those two majestic heads,
I see, I read distinctly in large gold,
OEdipus and Jocasta.
Alc. I read the same.
Adr. 'Tis wonderful; yet ought not man to wade
Too far in the vast deep of destiny.
[Thunder, and the Prodigies vanish.
Joc. My lord, my OEdipus, why gaze you now,
When the whole heav'n is clear, as if the gods
Had some new monsters made? Will you not turn,
And bless your people, who devour each word
You breathe ?
OEdip. It shall be so.
D iij
38
OEDIPUS.
Act II.
Yes, I will die, oh, Thebes, to save thee !
Draw from my heart my blood, with more content
Than e'er I wore thy crown. Yet, oh, Jocasta!
By all th' endearments of miraculous love,
By all our languishings, our fears in pleasure,
Which oft have made us wonder; here I swear
On thy fair hand, upon thy breast I swear,
I cannot call to mind, from budding childhood
To blooming youth, a crime by me committed,
For which the awful gods should doom my death.
Joc. 'Tis not you, my lord,
But he who murder'd Laius, frees the land:
Were you, which is impossible, the man,
Perhaps my poignard first should drink your blood;
But you are innocent, as your Jocasta,
From crimes like those. This made me violent
To save your life, which you unjust would lose :
Nor can you comprehend, with deepest thought,
The horrid agony you cast me in,
When you resolv'd to die.
OEdip. Is't possible?
Joc. Alas, why start you so? Her stiff'ning grief,
Who saw her children slaughter'd all at once,
Was dull to mine: methinks I should have made
My bosom bare against the armed god,
To save my OEdipus !
OEdip. I pray, no more.
Joc. You've silenc'd me, my lord.
OEdip. Pardon me, dear Jocasta!
Pardon a heart that sinks with sufferings,
1
A& II.
39
OEDIPUS.
And can but vent itself in sobs and murmurs:
Yet to restore my peace, I'll find him out.
Yes, yes, you gods! you shall have ample vengeance
On Laius' murderer. O, the traitor's name !
I'll know't, I will; art shall be conjur'd for it,
And nature all unravell'd.
Joc. Sacred sir-
OEdip. Rage will have way, and 'tis but just; I'll
fetch him,
Tho' lodg'd in air, upon a dragon's wing,
Tho' rocks should hide him: nay, he shall be dragg'd
From hell, if charms can hurry him along :
His ghost shall be, by sage Tiresias' power,
(Tiresias, that rules all beneath the moon)
Confin'd to flesh, to suffer death once more;
And then be plung'd in his first fires again.
Cre. My lord,
Enter CREON.
Tiresias attends your pleasure.
OEdip. Haste, and bring him in,
O, my Jocasta, Eurydice, Adrastus,
Creon, and all ye Thebans, now the end
Of plagues, of madness, murders, prodigies,
Draws on this battle of the heav'ns and earth
Shall, by his wisdom, be reduc'd to peace.
Enter TIRESIAS, leaning on a Staff, led by his Daughter.
MANTO, followed by other Thebans.
O thou, whose most aspiring mind
40
An II.
OEDIPUS.
Knows all the business of the courts above,
Opens the closets of the gods, and dares
To mix with Jove himself and fate at council;
O prophet, answer me, declare aloud.
The traitor who conspir'd the death of Laius :
Or be they more, who from malignant stars
Have drawn this plague that blasts unhappy Thebes?
Tir. We must no more than fate commissions us
To tell; yet something, and of moment, I'll unfold,
If that the god would wake; I feel him now,
"Like a strong spirit charm'd into a tree,
"That leaps and moves the wood without a wind :
"The roused god, as all this while he lay,
"Intomb'd alive, starts and dilates himself;"
He struggles, and he tears my aged trunk
With holy fury, "my old arteries burst;
"My rivell❜d skin,
"Like parchment, crackles at the hallow'd fire ;
"I shall be young again :" Manto, my daughter,
"Thou hast a voice. that might have sav'd the bard.
"Of Thrace, and forc'd the raging bacchanals,
With lifted prongs, to listen to thy airs :"
O charm this god, this fury in my bosom,
Lull him with tuneful notes, and artful strings,
With pow'rful strains; "Manto, my lovely child,"
Sooth the unruly godhead to be mild.
SONG to APOLLO.
Phabus, god belov'd by men,
At thy dawn, every beast is rous'd in his den;
Act II.
41
OEDIPUS.
At thy setting, all the birds of thy absence complain,
And we die, all die till the morning comes again.
Phœbus, god belov'd by men!
Idol of the Eastern kings,
Awful as the god who flings
His thunder round, and the lightning wings;
God of songs, and Orphean strings,
Who to this mortal bosom brings
All harmonious heav'nly things!
Thy drowsy prophet to revive,
Ten thousand thousand forms before him drive;
With chariots and horses all o'fire awake him,
Convulsions, and furies, and prophesies shake him :
Let him tell it in groans, tho' he bend with the load,
Tho' he burst with the weight of the terrible god.
Tir. The wretch, who shed the blood of old Lab-
dacides,
Lives, and is great ;
But cruel greatness ne'er was long:
The first of Laius' blood his life did seize,
And urg'd his fate,
Which else had lasting been and strong.
The wretch, who Laius kill'd, must bleed or fly;
Or Thebes, consum'd with plagues, in ruins lie.
OEdip. The first of Laius' blood! pronounce the
person;
May the god roar from thy prophetic mouth,
That even the dead may start up, to behold.
Name him, I say, that most accursed wretch,
42
4 I.
OEDIPUS.
For, by the stars, he dies!
Speak, I command thee;
By Phœbus, speak; for sudden death's his doom;
Here shall he fall, bleed on this very spot;
His name, I charge thee once more, speak.
Tir. 'Tis lost,
Like what we think can never shun remembrance
Yet of a sudden's gone beyond the clouds.
OEdip. Fetch it from thence; I'll have it, where-
e'er it be.
Cre. Let me intreat you, sacred sir, be calm,
And Creon shall point out the great offender.
'Tis true, respect of nature might enjoin
Me silence at another time; but, oh,
Much more the pow'r of my eternal love!
That, that should strike me dumb: yet, Thebes, my
country-
I'll break through all to succour thee, poor city.
O, I must speak.
OEdip. Speak then, if aught thou know'st :
As much thou seem'st to know, delay no longer.
Cre. O beauty! O illustrious royal maid!
To whom my vows were ever paid till now,
And with such modest, chaste, and pure affection,
The coldest nymph might read 'em without blusli-
ing.
Art thou the murd'ress, then, of wretched Laius?
And I, must I accuse thee? Oh, my tears!
Why will you fall in so abhorr'd a cause ?
But that thy beauteous, barbarous hand destroy'd
A&t.11.
43
OEDIPUS.
Thy father (O monstrous act!) both gods
And men at once take notice.
OEdip. Eurydice !
Eur. Traitor, go on; I scorn thy little malice,
And knowing more my perfect innocence,
Than gods and men, then how much more than thee,
Who art their opposite, and form'd a liar,
I thus disdain thee! Thou once didst talk of love;
Because I hate thy love,
Thou dost accuse me.
Adr. Villain, inglorious villain,
And traitor, doubly damn'd, who durst blaspheme
The spotless virtue of the brightest beauty;
Thou dy'st: nor shall the sacred majesty
[Draws and wounds him.
That guards this place, preserve thee from my rage.
OEdip. Disarm them both. Prince, I shall make
you know
That I can tame you twice. Guards, seize him.
Adr. Sir,
I must acknowledge in another cause
Repentance might abash me; but I glory
In this, and smile to see the traitor's blood.
OEdip. Creon, you shall be satisfy'd at full.
Cre. My hurt is nothing, sir; but I appeal
To wise Tiresias, if my accusation
Be not most true.
Gave him his death.
The first of Laius' blood
Is there a prince before her?
Then she is faultless, and I ask her pardon.
And may this blood ne'er cease to drop, O Thebes,
1
44
A&t II.
OEDIPUS.
If pity of thy sufferings did not move me
To shew the cure which Heav'n itself prescrib'd.
Eur. Yes, Thebans, I will die to save your lives,
More willingly than you can wish my fate;
But let this good, this wise, this holy man,
Pronounce my sentence: for to fall by him,
By the vile breath of that prodigious villain,
Would sink my soul, tho' I should die a martyr.
Adr. Unhand me, slaves. O mightiest of kings,
See at your feet a prince not us'd to kneel;
Touch not Eurydice, by all the gods,
As you would save your Thebes, but take my life :
For should she perish, Heav'n would heap plagues on
plagues,
Rain sulphur down, hurl kindled bolts
Upon your guilty heads.
Cre. You turn to gallantry, what is but justice:
Proof will be easy made.
Adrastus was
The robber who bereft th' unhappy king
Of life; because he flatly had deny'd
To make so poor a prince his son-in-law:
Therefore 'twere fit that both should perish.
1 Theb. Both, let both die.
All Theb. Both, both; let them die.
OEdip. Hence, you wild herd! For your ringleader
here,
He shall be made example. Hæmon, take him.
1 Theb. Mercy! O mercy!
OEdip. Mutiny in my presence !
Hence, let me see that busy face no more.
AC II.
45
OEDIPUS.
Tir. Thebans, what madness makes you drunk with
rage?
Enough of guilty death's already acted;
Fierce Creon has accused Eurydice,
With prince Adrastus; which the god reproves
By inward checks, and leaves their fates in doubt.
OEdip. Therefore instruct us what remains to do,
Or suffer; for I feel a sleep like death
Upon me, and I sigh to be at rest.
Tir. Since that the pow'rs divine refuse to clear
The mystic deed, I'll to the Grove of Furies;
There I can force the infernal gods to shew
Their horrid forms; each trembling ghost shall rise,
And leave their grisly king without a waiter.
For prince Adrastus and Eurydice
My life's engag'd; I'll guard them in the fane,
Till the dark mysteries of hell are done.
Follow me, princes. Thebans, all to rest.
O, OEdipus, to-morrow-but no more.
If that thy wakeful genius will permit,
Indulge thy brain this night with softer slumbers:
To-morrow, O to morrow! sleep, my son;
And in prophetic dreams thy fate be shewn.
[Exeunt Tir. Adr. Eur. Man. and Thebans.
OEdip. To bed, my fair, my dear, my best Jo-
casta.
After the toils of war, 'tis wondrous strange
Our loves should thus be dash'd.
thought,
One moment's
And I'll approach the arms of my belov❜d.
E
46
A& II.
OEDIPUS.
Joc. Consume whole years in care, so now and then
I may have leave to feed my famish'd eyes
With one short passing glance, and sigh my vows:
This and no more, my lord, is all the passion
Of languishing Jocasta.
[Exit.
OEdip. Thou softest, sweetest of the world! good
night.
Nay, she is beauteous too; yet, mighty love!
I never offer'd to obey thy laws,
But an unusual chillness came upon me;
An unknown hand still check'd my forward joy,
Dash'd me with blushes, tho' no light was near;
That even the act became a violation.
Pyr. He's strangely thoughtful.
OEdip. Hark! who was that! Ha! Creon, didst
thou call me ?
Cre. Not I, my gracious lord, nor any here.
OEdip. That's strange methought I heard a dole-
ful voice
Cry OEdipus-The prophet bad me sleep.
He talk'd of dreams, of visions, and to-morrow!
I'll muse no more, come what will or can.
night.
My thoughts are clearer than unclouded stars;
And with those thoughts I'll rest. Creon, good
[Exit with Hæm,
Cre. Sleep seal your eyes up, sir, eternal sleep.
But if he sleep and wake again, O all
Tormenting dreams, wild horrors of the night,
And hags of fancy, wing him through the air;
From precipices hurl him headlong down;
Aa II.
OEDIPUS.
47
Charybdis' roar, and death be set before him.
Alc. Your curses have already ta'en effect;
For he looks very sad.
Cre. May he be rooted where he stands for ever;
His eye-balls never move, brows be unbent,
His blood, his entrails, liver, heart, and bowels,
Be blacker than the place I wish him, hell.
Pyr. No more; you tear yourself, but vex not him.
Methinks 'twere brave this night to force the temple,
While blind Tiresias conjures up the fiends,
And pass the time with nice Eurydice.
Alc. Try promises and threats, and if all fail,
Since hell's broke loose, why should not you be mad?
Ravish, and leave her dead with her Adrastus.
Cre. Were the globe mine, I'd give a province
hourly
For such another thought. Lust and revenge!
To stab at once the only man I hate,
And to enjoy the woman whom I love!
I ask no more of my auspicious stars.
The rest as fortune please; so but this night
She play me fair, why, let her turn for ever.
Enter HEMON.
Ham. My lord, the troubled king is gone to rest ;
Yet, ere he slept, commanded me to clear
The antichambers: none must dare be near him.
Cre. Hæmon, you do your duty-
[Thunder.
And we obey.-The night grows yet more dreadful!
'Tis just that all retire to their devotions.
E ij
48
A& II.
OEDIPUS.
The gods are angry: but to-morrow's dawn,
If prophets do not lie, will make all clear.
L
As they go off, OEDIPUS enters, walking asleep in his
Shirt, with a Dagger in his right-hand, and a Taper
in his left.
OEdip. O, my Jocasta! 'tis for this the wet
Starv'd soldier lies on the cold ground;
For this he bears the storms
Of winter camps, and freezes in his arms:
To be thus circled, to be thus embrac'd;
That I could hold thee ever!-Ha! where art thou?
What means this melancholy light, that seems
The gloom of glowing embers?
The curtain's drawn; and see, she's here again!
Jocasta! Ha! what, fall'n asleep so soon?
How fares my love? This taper will inform me.
Ha! lightning blast me, thunder
Rivet me ever to Prometheus' rock,
And vultures gnaw out my incestuous heart.
By all the gods, my mother Merope!
My sword, a dagger! Ha, who waits there? Slaves,
My sword. What, Hæmon, dar'st thou, villain,
stop me :
With thy own poignard perish. Hal who's this?
Or is't a change of death? By all my honours,
New murder; thou hast slain old Polybus:
Incest and parricide, thy father's murdered!
Out, thou infernal flame: now all is dark,
All blind and dismal, most triumphant mischief!
A&t IÏ.
49
OEDIPUS.
And now, while thus I stalk about the room,
I challenge fate to find another wretch
Like OEdipus!
[Thunder, &c.
Enter JOCASTA attended, with Lights, in a Night-gown.
Night, horror, death, confusion, hell, and furies!
Where am I? O, Jocasta, let me hold thee :
Thus to my bosom, ages let me grasp thee.
All that the hardest temper'd weather'd flesh,
With fiercest human spirit inspir'd, can dare,
Or do, I dare; but, O you pow'rs, this was
By infinite degrees too much for man.
Methinks my deafen'd ears
Are burst; my eyes, as if they had been knock'd
By some tempestuous hand, shoot flashing fire.
That sleep should do this!
Joc. Then my fears were true.
Methought I heard your voice, and yet I doubted,
Now roaring like the ocean, when the winds
Fight with the waves; now, in a still small tone
Your dying accents fell, as racking ships,
After the dreadful yell, sink murm'ring down,
And bubble up a noise.
OEdip. Trust me, thou fairest, best of all thy kind,
None e'er in dreams was tortur'd so before.
Yet what most shocks the niceness of my temper,
Ev'n far beyond the killing of my father,
And my own death, is that this horrid sleep
Dash'd my sick fancy with an act of incest :
E iij
50
A& II.
OEDIPUS.
I dream'd, Jocasta, that thou wert my mother;
Which, tho' impossible, so damps my spirits,
That I could do a mischief on myself,
Lest I should sleep and dream the like again.
Joc. O, OEdipus, too well I understand you!
I know the wrath of Heav'n, the care of Thebes,
The cries of its inhabitants, war's toils,
And thousand other labours of the state,
Are all referr'd to you, and ought to take you
For ever from Jocasta.
OEdip. Life of my life, and treasure of my soul,
Heav'n knows. I love thee.
Joc. O, you think me vile,
And of an inclination so ignoble,
That I must hide me from your eyes for ever.
Be witness, gods, and strike Jocasta dead,
If an immodest thought, or low desire,
'
Inflam'd my breast, since first our loves were lighted..
OEdip. O rise, and add not, by thy cruel kindness,
A grief more sensible than all my torments.
Thou think'st my dreams are forg'd; but by thyself,
The greatest oath I swear, they are most true:
But, be they what they will, I here dismiss them.
Begone, chimæras, to your mother clouds.
Is there a fault in us? Have we not search'd
The womb of Heav'n, examin'd all the entrails
Of birds and beasts, and tired the prophet's art ?
Yet what avails? He, and the gods together,
Seem, like physicians, at a loss to help us;
Therefore, like wretches that have linger'd long,
A& III.
51
OEDIPUS.
We'll snatch the strongest cordial of our love.-
To bed, my fair.
Ghost within. OEdipus!
OEdip. Ha! who calls?
Didst thou not hear a voice?
Joc. Alas! I did.
Ghost. Jocasta!
Joc. O, my love, my lord, support me!
OEdip. Call louder, till you burst your airy forms.
Rest on my hand. Thus, arm'd with innocence,
I'll face these babbling demons of the air:
In spite of ghosts, I'll on.
Tho' round my bed the furies plant their charms,
I'll break them with Jocasta in my arms;
Clasp'd in the folds of love, I'll wait my doom,
And act my joys, tho' thunder shake the room.
[Exeunt.
ACT III. SCENE I.
A dark Grove. Enter CREON and DIOCLES.
Creon.
'Tis better not to be, than be unhappy.
Dioc. What mean you by these words?
Cre. 'Tis better not to be, than to be Creon.
A thinking soul is punishment enough;
But when 'tis great, like mine, and wretched too,
Then every thought draws blood.
OEDIPUS.
À& ÍÏÌ¡
"
52
Dioc. You are not wretched.
Cre. I am my soul's ill-married to my body;
I would be young, be handsome, be belov'd:
Could I but breathe myself into Adrastus
Dioc. You rave; call home your thoughts.
Cre. I pr'ythee let my soul take air awhile:
Were she in OEdipus, I were a king;
Then I had kill'd a monster, gain'd a battle,
And had my rival pris'ner; brave, brave actions:
Why have not I done these?
Dioc. Your fortune hinder'd.
Cre. There's it. I have a soul to do them all :
But fortune will have nothing done that's great
But by young handsome fools: body and brawn
Do all her work: Hercules was a fool,
And straight grew famous: a mad boist'rous fool:
Nay, worse, a woman's fool.
Fool is the stuff, of which Heav'n makes a hero.
Dioc. A serpent ne'er becomes a flying dragon,
Till he has eat a serpent.
Cre. Goes it there?
I understand thee; I must kill Adrastus.
Dioc. Or not enjoy your mistress.
Eurydice and he are pris'ners here,
But will not long be so this tell-tale ghost
Perhaps will clear them both.
Cre. Well; 'tis resolv'd.
Dioc. The princess walks this way;
You must not meet her
Till this be done.
1
A& 111,
53
OEDIPUS.
Cre. I must.
Dioc. She hates your sight;
And more since you accus'd her.
Cre. Urge it not.
I cannot stay to tell thee my design,
For she's too near.
Enter EURYDICE.
How, madam, were your thoughts employ'd ?
Eur. On death and thee.
Cre. Then they were not well sorted: life and me
Had been the better match.
Eur. No, I was thinking
On two the most detested things in nature:
And they are death and thee.
Cre. The thought of death to one near death is
dreadful!
O, 'tis a fearful thing to be no more.
Or if to be, to wander after death;
To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day;
And when the darkness comes to glide in paths
That lead to graves; and in the silent vault,
Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it,
Striving to enter your forbidden corpse;
And often, often, vainly breathe your ghost
Into your lifeless lips:
Then, like a lone benighted traveller,
Shut out from lodging, shall your groans be answer’d
By whistling winds, whose every blast will shake
Your tender form to atoms.
54
Å& IIÍ:
OEDIPUS.
Eur. Must I be this thin being, and thus wander,
No quiet after death?
Cre. None: you must leave
This beauteous body; all this youth and freshness
Must be no more the object of desire,
But a cold lump of clay;
Which then your discontented ghost will leave,
And loath its former lodging.
This is the best of what comes after death,
Ev'n to the best.
Eur. What then shall be thy lot!
Eternal torments, baths of boiling sulphur ;
Vicissitudes of fires, and then of frosts :
And an old guardian fiend, ugly as thou art,
To hollow in thy ears at every lash,
This for Eurydice; these for her Adrastus!
Cre. For her Adrastus!
Eur. Yes, for her Adrastus;
For death shall ne'er divide us. Death! what's death?
"Dioc. You seem'd to fear it.
"Eur. But I more fear Creon:
"To take that hunch-back'd monster in my arms,
"Th' excrescence of a man.
"Dioc. [To Cre.] See what you've gain’d.
"Eur. Death only can be dreadful to the bad:
"To innocence, 'tis like a bug-bear dress'd
"To frighten children; pull but off his mask,
"And he'll appear a friend."
Cre. You talk too slightly
Of death and hell. Let me inform you better.
A& III,
55
OEDIPUS.
Eur. You best can tell the news of your own
country.
Dioc. Nay, now you are too sharp.
Eur. Can I be so to one who has accus'd me
Of murder and of parricide?
Cre. You provok'd me:
And yet I only did thus far accuse you,
As next of blood to Laius: be advis'd,
And you may live.
Eur. The means?
Cre. 'Tis offer'd you ;
The fool Adrastus has accus'd himself.
Eur. He has indeed, to take the guilt from me.
Cre. He says he loves you; if he does, 'tis well:
He ne'er could prove it in a better time.
Eur. Then death must be his recompence for love!
Cre. 'Tis a fool's just reward;
The wise can make a better use of life:
But 'tis the young man's pleasure; his ambition :
I grudge him not that favour.
Eur. When he's dead,
Where shall I find his equal?
Cre. Every where.
Fine empty things, like him,
The court swarms with them.
Fine fighting things; in camps they are so common,
Crows feed on nothing else; plenty of fools;
A glut of them in Thebes.
And fortune still takes care they should be seen:
She places them aloft, o' th' topmost spoke
56
OEDIPUS.
A&t III.
Of all her wheel: fools are the daily work
Of nature; her vocation; if she form
A man, she loses by't, 'tis too expensive;
'Twould make ten fools: a man's a prodigy.
Eur. That is, a Creon: O thou black detractor,
"Who spitt'st thy venom against gods and men !
"Thou enemy of eyes:"
Thou, who lov'st nothing but what nothing loves,
And that's thyself: who hast conspir'd against
My life and fame, to make me loath'd by all,
And only fit for thee.
But for Adrastus' death, good gods, his death!
What curse shall I invent?
Dioc. No more-he's here.
Eur. He shall be ever here.
He who would give his life, give up his fame-
Enter ADRASTUS.
If all the excellence of woman-kind
Were mine-No, 'tis too little all for him:
Were I made up of endless, endless joys——————
Adr. And so thou art:
The man who loves like me,
Would think ev'n infamy, the worst of ills,
Were cheaply purchas'd, were thy love the price.
Uncrown'd, a captive, nothing left but honour,
'Tis the last thing a prince should throw away:
But when the storm grows loud, and threatens love,
Throw ev'n that over-board; for love's the jewel,
And last it must be kept.
AЯ IIL
57
OEDIPUS.
Cre. [To Dioc.] Work him, be sure,
To rage-He's passionate;
Make him th' aggressor.
Dioc. Oh, false love! false honour I
Cre. Dissembled both, and false!
Adr. Dar'st thou say this to me?
!
Cre. To you! why, what are you, that I should fear
you?
I am not Laius. Hear me, Prince of Argos.
You give what's nothing, when you give your honour;
'Tis gone, 'tis lost in battle. For your love,
Vows made in wine are not so false as that:
You kill'd her father; you confess'd you did :
A mighty argument to prove your passion to the
daughter!
Adr. [Aside.] Gods, must I bear this brand, and
not retort
The lie to his foul throat!
Dioc. Basely you kill'd him.
Adr. [Aside.] Oh, I burn inward! my blood's all
o' fire!
Alcides, when the poison'd shirt sat closest,
Had but an ague-fit to this my fever.
Yet, for Eurydice, ev'n this I'll suffer,
To free my love-Well, then, I kill'd him basely.
Cre. Fairly, I'm sure, you could not.
Dioc. Nor alone.
Cre. You had your fellow thieves about you, prince:
They conquer'd, and you kill'd.
F
58
A&t III.
OEDIPUS.
Adr. [Aside.] Down, swelling heart!
'Tis for thy princess, all—Oh, my Eurydice! [To her.
Eur. [To him.] Reproach not thus the weakness of
my sex,
As if I could not bear a shameful death,
Rather than see you burden'd with a crime
Of which I know you free.
Cre. You do ill, madam,
To let your headlong love triumph o'er nature.
Dare you defend your father's murderer ?
Eur. You know he kill'd him not,
Cre. Let him say so.
Dioc. See, he stands mute.
Cre. Oh, pow'r of conscience! ev'n in wicked mem
It works, it stings, it will not let him utter
One syllable, one No, to clear himself
From the most base, detested, horrid act,
That e'er could stain a villain, not a prince,
Adr. Ha! villain!
Cre. Echo to him, groves, cry villain.
Adr. Let me consider-Did I murder Laius,
Thus like a villain?
Cre. Best revoke your words,
And say, you kill'd him not.
Adr. Not like a villain; pr'ythee, change me that
For any other lye.
Dioc. No, villain, villain.
Cre. You kill'd him not-Proclaim your inno-
cence,
Accuse the princess: so I knew 'twould be.
AЯ III.
59
OEDIPUS.
Adr. I thank thee; thou instruct'st me.
No matter how I kill'd him.
Cre. [Aside.] Cool'd again!
Eur. Thou, who usurp'st the sacred name of con-
science,
Did not thy own self declare him innocent?
To me declare him so? The king shall know it.
Cre. You will not be believ'd; for I'll forswear it.
Eur. What's now thy conscience?
Cre. 'Tis my slave, my drudge, my supple glove,
My upper garment, to put on, throw off,
As I think best: 'tis my obedient conscience.
Adr. Infamous wretch!
Cre. My conscience shall not do me the ill office
To save a rival's life: when thou art dead,
(As dead thou shalt be, or be yet more base
Than thou think'st me,
By forfeiting her life, to save thy own)
Know this, and let it grate thy very soul,
She shall be mine: (she is, if vows were binding}
Mark me, the fruit of all thy faith and passion,
Ev'n of thy foolish death, shall all be mine.
Adr. Thine, say'st thou, monster ?
Shall my love be thine?
Oh, I can bear no more!
Thy cunning engines have with labour rais'd
My heavy anger, like a mighty weight,
To fall and strike thee dead.
See here thy nuptials; see, thou rash Ixion, [Draws.
Thy promis'd Juno vanish'd in a cloud,
Fij
60
Act III.
OEDIPUS.
And in her room avenging thunder rolls
To blast thee thus-Come both-
-Come both [Both draw.
Cre. 'Tis what I wish'd-
Now see whose arm can launch the surer bolt,
And who's the better Jove-
[Fight.
Eur. Help, murder, help!
Enter HEMON and Guards, run betwixt them, and beat
down their swords.
Ham. Hold, hold your impious hands? I think
the furies,
To whom this grove is hallow'd, have inspir'd you.
Now, by my soul, the holiest earth of Thebes
You have profan'd with war. Nor tree, nor plant
Grows here, but what is fed with magic juice,
All full of human souls, that cleave their barks
To dance at midnight by the moon's pale beams.
At least two hundred years these reverend shades
Have known no blood, but of black sheep and oxen,
Shed by the priest's own hand to Proserpine.
Adr. Forgive a stranger's ignorance-I knew not
The honours of the place.
Ham. Thou, Creon, didst.
Not OEdipus, were all his foes here lodg'd,
Durst violate the religion of these groves,
To touch one single hair; but must, unarm'd,
Parle, as in truce, or surlily avoid
What most he long'd to kill.
Cre. I drew not first;
But in my own defence.
A& III:
6 袋
​OEDIPUS.
Adr. I was provok❜d
Beyond man's patience; all reproach could urge
Was us'd to kindle one not apt to bear.
Ham. 'Tis OEdipus, not I, must judge this act.
Lord Creon, you and Diocles retire;
Tiresias and the brotherhood of priests
Approach the place. None at these rites assist,
But you th' accus'd, who by the mouth of Laius
Must be absolv'd or doom'd.
Adr. I bear my fortune.
Eur. And I provoke my trial.
Ham. 'Tis at hand:
For see, the prophet comes with vervain crown'd,
The priests with yew; a venerable band.
We leave you to the gods.
[Exit Hæmon, with Creon and Diocles.
Enter TIRESIAS, led by MANTO; the Priests follow,
all clothed in long black habits.
Tir. Approach, ye lovers :
Ill-fated pair, whom, seeing not, I know.
This day your kindly stars in heav'n were join'd;
When lo, an envious planet interpos'd,
And threaten'd both with death.
I fear, I fear.
Eur. Is there no god so much a friend to love,
Who can controul the malice of our fate?
Are they all deaf? Or have the giants heav'n?
Tir. The gods are just-
But how can finite measure infinite?
Reason! alas, it does not know itself!
Fiij
62
A&t III.
OEDIPUS.
Yet man, vain man, would, with his short-lin'd plum-
met,
Fathom the vast abyss of heav'nly justice.
Whatever is, is in its causes just ;
Since all things are by fate.
But purblind man
Sees but a part o' th' chain;
the nearest links;
His eyes not carrying to that equal beam
That poises all above.
Eur. Then we must die!
Tir. The danger's imminent this day.
Adr. "Why then there's one day less for human
ills;
"And who would moan himself for suffering that
"Which in a day must pass? Something or nothing:
"I shall be what I was again, before
"I was Adrastus."
Penurious Heav'n! canst thou not add a night
To our one day? Give me a night with her,
And I'll give all the rest.
Tir. She broke her vow
First made to Creon. But the time calls on;
And Laius' death must now be made more plain.
How loth I am to have recourse to rites
So full of horror, that I once rejoice
I want the use of sight.
1st Pr. The ceremonies stay.
Tir. Choose the darkest part o' th' grove,
Such as ghosts at noon-day love.
Dig a trench, and dig it nigh
Where the bones of Laius lie,
2
A&t III.
63
OEDIPUS.
ד
J
Altars rais'd of turf or stone
Will th' infernal pow'rs have none.
Answer me if this be done?
All Pr. 'Tis done.
Tir. Is the sacrifice made fit ?
Draw her backward to the pit;
Draw the barren heifer back;
Barren let her be, and black.
Cut the curled hair that grows
Full betwixt her horns and brows;
And turn your faces from the sun.
Answer me if this be done?
All Pr. 'Tis done.
Tir. Pour in blood, and blood like wine,
To mother Earth and Proserpine;
Mingle milk into the stream;
Feast the ghosts that love the steam;
Snatch a brand from funeral pile,
Toss it in, to make them boil;
And turn your faces from the sun.
Answer me if all be done?
All. Pr. All is done.
[Peals of thunder, and flashes of lightning; then
groaning below the stage.
Man. Oh, what laments are those?
Tir. The groans of ghosts that cleave the earth
with pain,
And heave it up; they pant and stick half way.
[The stage wholly darkened.
64
Act III.
OEDIPUS.
Man. And now a sudden darkness covers all;
True, genuine night; night added to the groves;
The fogs are blown full in the face of heav'n.
Tir. Am I but half obey'd? Infernal gods,
Must you have music too? Then tune your voices,
And let them have such sounds as hell ne'er heard
Since Orpheus brib'd the shades.
"Music first, then sing.
"1. Hear, ye sullen pow'rs below ;
"Hear, ye taskers of the dead :
2. You that boiling cauldrons blow,
"You that scum the molten lead.
"3. You that pinch with red-hot tongs:
61. You that drive the trembling hosts
"Of poor, poor ghosts,
66
"With your sharpen'd prongs.
2. You that thrust them off the brim,
3. You that plunge them when they swim,
I Till they drown,
•
"Till they go,
« On a row,
"Down, down, down,
"Ten thousand, thousand, thousand fathoms low.
"Chorus. Till they drown, &c.
66
1. Music for a while
"Shall your cares beguile,
"Wondring how your pains were eas'd ;
"2. And disdaining to be pleas'd,
H
A&t III.
65
OEDIPUS.
66 3. Till Alecto free the dead
"From their eternal bands;
"Till the snakes drop from her head,
"And whip from out her hands.
1. Come away,
"Do not stay,
"But obey,
"While we play,
"For hell's broke up, and ghosts have holiday.
"Chorus. Come away, &c.
"[A flash of lightning: the stage is made bright, and
"the ghosts are seen passing betwixt the trees.
"1. Laius ! 2. Laius ! 2. Laius!
"1. Hear! 2. Hear! 3. Hear !
"Tir. Hear and appear.
"By the Fates that spun thy thread,
"Cho. Which are three.
"Tir. By the Furies fierce and dread,
"Cho. Which are three.
"Tir. By the Judges of the dead,
"Cho. Which are three.
"Three times three.
"Tir. By Hell's blue flame;
"By the Stygian lake;
"And by Demogorgon's name,
"At which ghosts quake,
"Hear and appear !"
[The Ghost of Laius rises, armed in his Chariot, as he was
slain; and behind his Chariot sit the three who were mur–
dered with him.
66
A& III.
OEDIPUS.
Ghost of Laius. Why hast thou drawn me from my
pains below,
To suffer worse above; to see the day,
And Thebes more hated? Hell is heav'n to Thebes.
For pity, send me back, where I may hide,
In willing night, this ignominious head.
In hell I shun the public scorn; and then
They hunt me for their sport, and hoot me as I fly:
Behold, ev'n now, they grin at my gor'd side,
And chatter at my wounds.
Tir. I pity thee.
Tell but why Thebes is for thy death accurs'd,
And I'll unbind the charm.
Ghost. Oh, spare my shame!
Tir. Are these two innocent?
Ghost. Of my death they are.
But he who holds my crown, oh, must I speak !
Was doom'd to do what nature most abhors.
The gods foresaw it, and forbade his being
Before he yet was born. I broke their laws,
And cloth'd with flesh his pre-existing soul.
Some kinder pow'r, too weak for destiny,
Took pity, and endu'd his new-form'd mass
With temperance, justice, prudence, fortitude,
And every kingly virtue. But in vain;
For Fate, that sent him hoodwink'd to the world,
Perform'd its work by his mistaken hands.
Ask'st thou who murder'd me? 'Twas OEdipus.
Who stains my bed with incest? OEdipus.
For whom then are you curs'd, but OEdipus ?
3
A&t III.
67
OEDIPUS.
He comes the parricide! I cannot bear him!
My wounds ake at him! Oh, his murd'rous breath
Venoms my airy substance! Hence with him,
Banish him, sweep him out; the plagues he bears
Will blast your fields, and mark his way with ruin.
From Thebes, my throne, my bed, let him be driven;
Do you forbid him carth, and I'll forbid him heav'n.
[Ghost descends.
Enter OEDIPUS, CREON, HÆMON, &c.
OEdip. What's this? Methought some pestilential
blast
Struck me just entering; and some unseen hand
Struggled to push me backward. Tell me why
My hair stands bristling up, why my flesh trembles ?
You stare at me! Then hell has been among ye,
And some lag fiend yet lingers in the grove.
Tir. What omen saws't thou, ent'ring?
OEdip. A young stork,
That bore his aged parent on his back,
Till, weary with the weight, he shook him off
And peck'd out both his eyes.
Adr. Oh, OEdipus!
Eur. Oh, wretched OEdipus!
Tir. Oh, fatal king!
OEdip. What mean these exclamations on my name ?
I thank the gods, no secret thoughts reproach me.
"No, I dare challenge Heav'n to turn me outward,
"And shake my soul quite empty in your sight."
Then wonder not that I can bear unmov'd
58
A&t III.
OEDIPUS.
These fix'd regards, and silent threats of eyes.
A generous fierceness dwells with innocence;
And conscious virtue is allow'd some pride.
Tir. Thou know'st not what thou say'st.
OEdip. What mutters he? Tell me, Eurydice-
Thou shak'st-thy soul's a woman. Speak, Adrastus,
And boldly, as thou met'st my arm in fight.
Dar'st thou not speak? Why, then 'tis bad indeed.
Tiresias, thee I summon by thy priesthood;
Tell me what news from hell; where Laius points,
And who's the guilty head?
Tir. Let me not answer.
OEdip. Be dumb, then, and betray thy native soil
To farther plagues.
Tir. I dare not name him to thee.
OEdip. Dar'st thou converse with hell, and canst
thou fear
An human name?
Tir. Urge me no more to tell a thing, which,
known,
Would make thee more unhappy. Twill be found,
Tho' I am silent.
OEdip. Old and obstinate! Then thou thyself
Art author or accomplice of this murder;
And shunn'st the justice, which, by public ban,
Thou hast incurr'd.
Tir. Oh, if the guilt were mine,
It were not half so great! Know, wretched man,
Thou, only thou art guilty; thy own curse
Falls heavy on thyself.
A& III.
69
OEDIPUS.
OEdip. Speak this again:
But speak it to the winds when they are loudest,
Or to the raging seas; they'll hear as soon,
And sooner will believe.
Tir. Then hear me, Heav'n,
For, blushing, thou hast seen it: hear me, earth,
Whose hollow womb could not contain this murder,
But sent it back to light: and thou, hell, hear me,
Whose own black seal has 'firm'd this horrid truth:
OEdipus murdered Laius.
OEdip. Rot the tongue,
And blasted be the mouth that spoke that lye,
Thou blind of sight, but thou more blind of soul-
Tir. Thy parents thought not so.
OEdip. Who were my parents ?
Tir. Thou shalt know too soon.
OEdip. Why seek I truth from thee?
The smiles of courtiers, and the harlot's tears,
The tradesman's oaths, and mourning of an heir,
Are truths to what priests tell.
Oh, why has priesthood privilege to lye,
And yet to be believ'd !-Thy age protects thee—
Tir. Thou canst not kill me; 'tis not in thy fate,
As 'twas to kill thy father, wed thy mother,
And beget sons, thy brothers.
OEdip. Riddles, riddles !
Tir. Thou art thyself a riddle, a perplex'd,
Obscure ænigma, which, when thou unty'st,
Thou shalt be found and lost.
Edip. Impossible!
Ꮐ
7༠
A& III.
OEDIPUS.
Adrastus, speak; and, as thou art a king,
Whose royal word is sacred, clear my fame.
Adr. Would I could!
OEdip. Ha! wilt thou not? Can that plebeian vice
Of lying mount to kings? Can they be tainted?
Then truth is lost on earth.
Cre. The cheat's too gross.
Adrastus is his oracle, and he,
The pious juggler, but Adrastus' organ.
OEdip. 'Tis plain; the priest's suborn'd to free the
pris'ner.
Cre. And turn the guilt on you.
OEdip. Oh, honest Creon, how hast thou been
bely'd 1
Eur. Hear me.
Cre. She's brib'd to save her lover's life,
Adr. If, OEdipus, thou think'st-
Cre. Hear him not speak.
Adr. Then hear these holy men.
Cre. Priests, priests, all brib'd, all priests!
OEdip. Adrastus, I have found thee:
The malice of a vanquish’d man has seiz'd thee.
Adr. If envy, and not truth.
OEdip. I'll hear no more: away with him.
[Hæmon takes him off by force; Creon and Eur. follow.
[To Tir.] Why stand'st thou here, impostor ?
So old and yet so wicked I-Lye for gain,
And gain so short as age can promise thee!
Tir. So short a time as I have yet to live
Exceeds thy pointed hour. Remember Laius-
A& III.
71
OEDIPUS.
No more—if e'er we meet again, 'twill be
In mutual darkness; we shall feel before us,
To reach each other's hand-Remember Laius.
[Exit Tiresias; Priests follow.
OEdip. Remember Laius! that's the burden still.
Murder and incest! But to hear them nam'd
My soul starts in me: "the good centinel
"Stands to his weapons, takes the first alarm,
"To guard me from such crimes." Did I kill Laius?
Then I walk'd sleeping, in some frightful dream;
My soul then stole my body out by night,
And brought me back to bed ere morning-wake.
It cannot be, ev'n this remotest way;
But some dark hint would justle forward now,
And goad my memory-Oh, my Jocastal
Enter JOCASTA.
Joc. Why are you thus disturb'd ?
OEdip. Why, wouldst thou think it
No less than murder.
Joc. Murder! what of murder?
OEdip. Is murder then no more? Add parricide
And incest-bear not these a frightful sound?
Joc. Alas!
OEdip. How poor a pity is alas,
For two such crimes!-Was Laius us'd to lye ?
Joc. Oh, no! the most sincere, plain, honest mang
One who abhorr'd a lye.
OEdip、 Then he has got that quality in hell.
He charges me——————
—but why accuse I him?
G ij
72
A&t III.
OEDIPUS.
I did not hear him speak it. They accuse me,
The priest, Adrastus, and Eurydice,
Of murdering Laius-Tell me, while I think on't,
Has old Tiresias practis'd long this trade?
Joc. What trade?
OEdip. Why, this foretelling trade.
Joc. For many years.
OEdip. Has he before this day accus'd me ?
Joc. Never.
OEdip. Have you, ere this, enquir'd who did this
murder?
Joc. Often; but still in vain.
OEdip. I am satisfy'd.
Then 'tis an infant-lye; but one day old.
The oracle takes place before the priest;
The blood of Laius was to murder Laius:
I'm not of Laius' blood.
Joc. Ev'n oracles
Are always doubtful, and are often forg'd:
Laius had one, which never was fulfill'd,
Nor ever can be now.
OEdip. And what foretold it?
Joc. That he should have a son by me, fore-doom'd
The murderer of his father. True, indeed,
A son was born; but, to prevent that crime,
The wretched infant of a guilty fate,
Bor'd through his untry'd feet, and bound with cords,
On a bleak mountain naked was expos'd.
The king himself liv'd many, many years,
And found a different fate; by robbers murder'd,
}
Act III.
OEDIPUS.
73
Where three ways meet. Yet these are oracles;
And this the faith we owe them.
OEdip. Say'st thou, woman?
By Heav'n, thou hast awaken'd somewhat in me
That shakes my very soul !
Joc. What new disturbance?
OEdip. Methought thou said'st, or do I dream thou
said'st it?
This murder was on Laius' person done
Where three ways meet.
Joc. So common fame reports.
OEdip. Would it had ly'd !
Joc. Why, good my lord?
OEdip. No questions.
"Tis busy time with me; dispatch mine first.
Say, where, where was it done?
Joc. Mean you the murder?
OEdip. Couldst thou not answer without naming
murder
Joc. They say in Phocide; on the verge that
parts it
From Dalia, and from Delphos.
OEdip. So-How long? When happen'd this?
Joc. Some little time before you came to Thebes.
OEdip. What will the gods do with me?
Joc. What means that thought?
OEdip. Something-But 'tis not yet your turn to ask.
How old was Laius, what his shape, his stature,
His action, and his mien ? Quick, quick, your answer.
Joc. Big made he was, and tall; his port was fierce,
G iij
74
A& III,
OEDIPUS.
Erect his countenance; manly majesty
Sat in his front, and darted from his eyes,
Commanding all he viewed; his hair just grisled,
As in a green old age. Bate but his years,
You are his picture.
OEdip. [Aside.] Pray Heav'n he drew me not! Am
I his picture?
Joc. So I have often told you.
OEdip. True, you have:
Add that unto the rest.
How was the king
Attended when he travell'd?
Joc. By four servants.
He went out privately.
OEdip. Well counted still!
One 'scap'd, I hear. What since became of him?
Joc. When he beheld you first, as king in Thebes,
He kneel'd, and, trembling, begg'd I would dismiss
him.
He had my leave; and now he lives retir'd.
OEdip. This man must be produc'd; he must, Jo-
casta.
Joc. ne shall-Yet have I leave to ask you why?
OEdip. Yes, you shall know; for where should I
repose
The anguish of my soul, but in your breast?
I need not tell you Corinth claims my birth;
My parents, Polybus and Merope,
Two royal names; their only child am I.
It happen'd once, 'twas at a bridal feast,
One, warm with wine, told me I was a foundling,
A& III.
75
DEDIPUS.
:
E
Not the king's son: I, stung with this reproach,
Struck him; my father heard of it; the man
Was made ask pardon, and the business hush'd.
Joc. 'Twas somewhat odd.
OEdip. And strangely it perplex'd me.
I stole away to Delphos, and implor'd
The god to tell my certain parentage.
He bade me seek no farther; 'twas my fate
To kill my father, and pollute his bed,
By marrying her who bore me.
Joc. Vain, vain oracles!
OEdip. But yet they frighted me.
I look'd on Corinth as a place accurs'd;
Resolv'd my destiny should wait in vain,
And never catch me there.
Joc. Too nice a fear.
OEdip, Suspend your thoughts, and flatter not too
soon.
Just in the place you nam'd, where three ways meet,
And near that time, five persons I encounter'd;
One was too like (Heav'n grant it prove not him!)
The person you describe for Laius: insolent
And fierce they were, as men who liv'd on spoil;
I judg'd them robbers, and by force repell'd
The force they us'd. In short, four men I slew;
The fifth, upon his knees, demanding life,
My mercy gave it-Bring me comfort now.
If I slew Laius, what can be more wretched ?
From Thebes and you my curse has banish'd me;
From Corinth, fate.
76
Act IV.
OEDIPUS.
Joc. Perplex not thus your mind.
My husband fell by multitudes oppress'd;
So Phorbas said. This band you chanc'd to meet;
And murder'd not my Laius, but reveng'd him.
OEdip. There's all my hope: let Phorbas tell me
this,
And I shall live again.
To you, good gods, I make my last appeal;
Or clear my virtue, or my crime reveal.
If wandering in the maze of fate I run,
And backward trod the paths I sought to shun,
Impute my errors to your own decree;
My hands are guilty, but my heart is free. [Exeunt.
ACT IV. Scene 1.
Enter PYRACMON and CREON.
Pyracmon.
SOME business of import, that triumph wears,
You seem to go with; nor is it hard to guess
When you are pleas'd, "by a malicious joy,
"Whose red and fiery beams cast through your vi-
sage
"A glowing pleasure. Sure" you smile revenge,
And I could gladly hear.
Cre. Wouldst thou believe,
This giddy, hair-brain'd king, whom old Tiresias
Has thunderstruck with heavy accusation,
Act IV.
77
OEDIPUS.
Tho' conscious of no inward guilt, yet fears?
He fears Jocasta, fears himself, his shadow;
He.fears the multitude; and, which is worth
An age of laughter, out of all mankind,
He chooses me to be his orator
Swears that Adrastus and the lean-look'd prophet
Are joint conspirators; and wish'd me to
Appease the raving Thebans; which I swore
To do.
Pyr. A dangerous undertaking;
Directly opposite to your own interest.
Cre. No, dull Pyracmon; when I left his presence,
With all the wings with which revenge could imp
My flight, I gain'd the midst o' the city;
There, standing on a pile of dead and dying,
I to the mad and sickly multitude,
With interrupting sobs, cry'd out, Oh, Thebes!
Oh, wretched Thebes, thy king, thy OEdipus,
This barbarous stranger, this usurper, monster,
Is by the oracle, the wise Tiresias,
Proclaim'd the murderer of thy royal Laius!
Jocasta, too, no longer now my sister,
Is found complotter in the horrid deed.
Here I renounce all tie of blood and nature,
For thee, oh, Thebes, dear Thebes, poor bleeding
Thebes!
And there I wept; and then the rabble howl'd,
And roar'd, and with a thousand antic mouths,
Gabbled revenge; revenge was all the cry.
98
A&t IV.
OEDIPUS.
Pyr. This cannot fail; I see you on the throne,
And OEdipus cast out.
Cre. Then straight came on
Alcander, with a wide and bellowing crowd,
Whom he had wrought; I whisper'd him to join,
And head the forces while the heat was in them.
So, to the palace I return'd, to meet
The king, and greet him with another story.
But see, he enters.
2
Enter OEDIPUS and ĴOCASTA, attended.
OEdip. Said you that Phorbas is arriv'd, and yet
Entreats he may return, without being ask'd
Of aught concerning what we have discover'd?
Joc. He started when I told him your intent ;
Replying, what he knew of that affair
Would give no satisfaction to the king;
Then, falling on his knees, begg'd as for life,
To be dismiss'd from court: he trembled too,
As if convulsive death had seiz'd upon him,
And stammer'd in his abrupt pray'r so wildly,
That had he been the murderer of Laius,
Guilt and distraction could not have shook him more.
OEdip. By your description, sure as plagues and
death
Lay waste our Thebes, some deed that shuns the light
Begot those fears; if thou respect'st my peace,
Secure him, dear Jocasta; for my genius
Shrinks at his name.
A& IV.
79
OEDIPUS.
Joc. Rather let him go;
So my poor boding heart would have it be,
Without a reason.
OEdip. Hark, the Thebans come!
Therefore retire: and once more, if thou lov'st me,
Let Phorbas be retain'd.
Joc. You shall, while I
Have life, be still obey'd:
In vain you sooth me with your soft endearments,
And set the fairest countenance to view;
Your gloomy eyes, my lord, betray a deadness
And inward languishing: that oracle
Eats like a subtle worm its venom'd way,
Preys on your heart, and rots the noble core,
Howe'er the beauteous outside shews so lovely.
OEdip. Oh, thou wilt kill me with thy love's excess !
All, all is well; retire, the Thebans come. [Ex. Joc.
Ghost. OEdipus!
OEdip. Ha! again that scream of woe!
Thrice have I heard, thrice since the morning dawn'd
It hallow'd loud, as if my guardian spirit
Call'd from some vaulted mansion, OEdipus !
Or is it but the work of melancholy?
When the sun sets, shadows, that shew'd at noon
But small, appear most long and terrible;
So when we think fate hovers o'er our heads,
Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds,
Owls, ravens, crickets, seem the watch of death,
Nature's worst vermin scare her god-like sons;
Echoes, the very leavings of a voice,
1
80
A& IV.
OEDIPUS.
1
Grow babbling ghosts, and call us to our graves:
Each mole-hill thought swells to a huge Olympus,
While we fantastic dreamers heave and puff,
And sweat with an imagination's weight;
As if, like Atlas, with these mortal shoulders
We could sustain the burden of the world.
[Creon comes forward.
Cre. Oh, sacred sir, my royal lord—————
OEdip. What now?
Thou seem'st affrighted at some dreadful action,
Thy breath comes short, thy darted eyes are fix'd
On me for aid, as if thou wert pursu'd.
I sent thee to the Thebans: speak thy wonder;
Fear not, this palace is a sanctuary,
The king himself's thy guard.
Cre. For me, alas!
My life's not worth a thought, when weigh'd with
yours!
But fly, my lord: fly, as your life is sacred.
Your fate is precious to your-faithful Creon,
Who therefore, on his knees, thus prostrate, begs
You would remove from Thebes, that vows your ruin.
When I but offer'd at your innocence,
They gather'd stones, and menac'd me with death,
And drove me through the streets, with imprecations
Against your sacred person, and those traitors
Which justify'd your guilt: which curs'd Tiresias
Told, as from Heav'n, was cause of their destruction.
OEdip. Rise, worthy Creon, haste and take our
guard,
1
A& IV.
8 F
OEDIPUS.
Rank them in equal part upon the square,
Then open every gate of this our palace,
And let the torrent in. Hark, it comes.
[Shout.
I hear them roar: begone, and break down all
The dams that would oppose their furious passage.
[Exit Creun with Guards.
Enter ADRASTUS, his Sword drawn.
Adr. Your city
Is all in arms, all bent to your destruction.
I heard but now, where I was close confin'd,
A thund'ring shout, which made my gaolers vanish,
Cry, Fire the palace; where's the cruel king?
Yet, by th' infernal gods, those awful pow'rs
That have accus'd you, which these ears have heard,
And these eyes seen, I must believe you guiltless;
For, since I knew the royal OEdipus,
I have observ'd in all his acts such truth,
And god-like clearness; that to the last gush
Of blood and spirits I'll defend his life,
And here have sworn to perish by his side.
OEdip. Be witness, gods, how near this touches me.
[Embracing him.
Oh, what, what recompence can glory make?
Adr. Defend your innoc、nce, speak like yourself,
And awe the rebels with your dauntless virtue.
But hark! the storm comes nearer.
OEdip. Let it come.
The force of majesty is never known
H
82
A&t IV.
OEDIPUS.
But in a general wreck: then, then is seen
The difference 'twixt a threshold and a throne.
Enter CREON, PYRACMON, ALCANDER, TIRESIAS,
and Thebans.
Alc. Where, where's this cruel king? Thebans,
behold
There stands your plague, the ruin, desolation
Of this unhappy-Speak; shall I kill him?
Or shall he be cast out to banishment?
All Theb. To banishment, away with him.
OEdip. Hence, you barbarians, to your slavish
distance !
Fix to the earth your sordid looks; for he
Who stirs, dares more than madmen, fiends, or furies,
"Who dares to face me, by the gods, as well
"May brave the majesty of thundering Jove."
Did I for this relieve you when besieg'd
By this fierce prince, when coop'd within your walls,
And to the very brink of fate reduc'd ?
When lean-jaw'd famine made more havoc of you
Than does the plague? But I rejoice I know you,
Know the base stuff that temper'd your vile souls,
The gods be prais'd, I needed not your empire,
Born to a greater, nobler, of my own;
Nor shall the sceptre of the earth now win me
To rule such brutes, so barbarous a people.
Adr. Methinks, my lord, I see a sad repentance,
A general consternation spread among them.
QEdip. My reign is at an end; yet, ere I finish—
Act IV.
83
OEDIPUS.
I'll do a justice that becomes a monarch,
A monarch who, i' th' midst of swords and javelins,
Dares act as on his throne encompass'd round
With nations for his guard. Alcander, you
Are nobly born, therefore shall lose your head :
:
[Scizes him.
Here, Hæmon, take him; but for this, and this,
Let cords dispatch them. Hence, away with them.
[Exit Hæmon, with Alcander, &c.
Tir. Oh, sacred prince, pardon distracted Thebes,
Pardon her, if she acts by Heav'n's award;
“If that th' infernal spirits have declar'd
"The depth of fate, and if our oracles
"May speak, oh, do not too severely deal,
"But let thy wretched Thebes at least complain:"
If thou art guilty, Heav'n will make it known:
If innocent, then let Tiresias die.
OEdip. I take thee at thy word; run, haste and save
Alcander:
I swear the prophet or the king shall die.
Be witness, all you Thebans, of my oath;
And Phorbas be the umpire.
Tir. I submit.
OEdip. What mean those trumpets?
[Trumpets sound.
Enter HÆMON, with ALCANDER, &c.
Ham. From your native country,
Great sir, the fam'd Ægeon is arriv'd,
That renown'd favourite of the king your father:
Hij
8.4
A& IV.
OEDIPUS.
He comes as an ambassador from Corinth,
And sues for audience.
OEdip. Haste, Hæmon, fly, and tell him that I burn
T'embrace him.
Ham. The queen, my lord, at present holds him
In private conference; but behold her here.
Enter JOCASTA, EURYDICE, &c.
Joc. Hail, happy OEdipus, happiest of kings!
Henceforth be blest, blest as thou canst desire,
Sleep without fears the blackest nights away;
Let furies haunt thy palace, thou shalt sleep
Secure, thy slumbers shall be soft and gentle
As infant dreams.
OEdip. What does the soul of all my joys intend?
And whither would this rapture ?
Joc. Oh, I could rave,
Pull down those lying fanes, and burn that vault,
From whence resounded those false oracles,
That robb'd my love of rest: if we must pray,
Rear in the streets bright altars to the gods,
Let virgins' heads adorn the sacrifice;
And not a grey-beard forging priest come near,
To pry into the bowels of the victim,
And with his dotage mad the gaping world.
But see, the oracle that I will trust,
True as the gods, and affable as men.
Enter
GEON. Kneels.
OEdip. Oh, to my arms, welcome, my dear Ægeon;
A& IV.
85
OEDIPUS.
Ten thousand welcomes, oh, my foster father,
Welcome as mercy to a man condemn'd!
Welcome to me,
As, to a sinking mariner,
The lucky plank that bears him to the shore !
But speak; oh, tell me what so mighty joy
Is this thou bring'st, which so transports Jocasta ?
Joc. Peace, peace, Ægeon, let Jocasta tell him!
Oh, that I could for ever charm, as now,
My dearest OEdipus; thy royal father,
Polybus, king of Corinth, is no more.
OEdip. Ha! can it be? Ægeon, answer me.
And speak in short what my Jocasta's transport
May over-do.
Æge. Since in few words, my royal lord, you ask
To know the truth; king Polybus is dead.
OEdip. Oh, all you powers, is't possible? What,
dead!
But that the tempest of my joy may rise
By just degrees, and hit at last the stars,
Say, how, how dy'd he? Ha! by sword, by fire,
Or water? By assassinates, or poison? Speak:
Or did he languish under some disease?
Æge. Of no distemper, of no blast he died,
But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long :
Ev'n wonder'd at, because he dropp'd no sooner.
Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years;
Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more;
Till, like a clock worn out with eating time,
The wheels of weary life at last stood still.
H iij
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A&t IV.
OEDIPUS.
"OEdip. Oh, let me press thee in my youthful
arms,
"And smother thy old age in my embraces.
"Yes, Thebans, yes, Jocasta, yes, Adrastus,
"Old Polybus, the king, my father's dead.
"Fires shall be kindled in the midst of Thebes;
“I' th' midst of tumult, wars, and pestilence,
"I will rejoice for Polybus's death.
"Know, be it known to the limits of the world;
"Yet farther, let it pass yon dazzling roof,
"The mansion of the gods, and strike them deaf
“With everlasting peals of thund'ring joy.
"Tir. Fate! Nature! Fortune! what is all this
world ?"
OEdip. Now, dotard; now, thou blind old wizard
prophet,
Where are your boding ghosts, your altars now;
Your birds of knowledge, that in dusky air
Chatter futurity? and where are now
Your oracles, that call'd me parricide?
Is he not dead? deep laid in his monument?
And was not I in Thebes when fate attack'd him?
Avaunt, begone, you visors of the gods!
Were I as other sons, now I should weep;
But, as I am, I've reason to rejoice;
And will, though his cold shade should rise and
blast me.
Oh, for this death, let waters break their bounds,
Rocks, valleys, hills, with splitting Io's ring :
Io, Jocasta, Io Pæan sing.
A&t IV.
87
OEDIPUS.
Tir. Who would not now conclude a happy end!
But all fate's turns are swift and unexpected.
Ege. Your royal mother, Merope, as if
She had no soul since you forsook the land,
Waves all the neighb'ring princes that adore her.
OEdip. Waves all the princes! Poor heart! for
what? Oh, speak.
Ege. She, tho' in full-blown flow'r of glorious
beauty,
Grows cold, ev'n in the summer of her age;
And, for your sake, has sworn to die unmarried.
OEdip. How! for my sake, die, and not marry! Oh,
My fit returns.
Ege. This diamond, with a thousand kisses bless'd,
With thousand sighs and wishes for your safety,
She charg❜d me give you, with the general homage
Of our Corinthian lords.
OEdip. There's magic in it, take it from my sight;
There's not a beam it darts but carries hell,
Hot flashing lust, and necromantic incest:
Take it from these sick eyes; oh, hide it from me.
No, my Jocasta, though Thebes cast me out,
While Merope's alive, I'll ne'er return 1
Oh, rather let me walk round the wide world
A beggar, than accept a diadem
On such abhorr'd conditions.
Joc. You make, my lord, your own unhappiness,
By these extravagant and needless fears.
OEdip. Needless! Oh, all you gods! By Heav'n
I'd rather
88
A& IV.
OEDIPUS.
Embrue my hands up to my very shoulders
In the dear entrails of the best of fathers,
Than offer at the execrable act
Of damn'd incest: therefore no more of her.
Ege. And why, oh, sacred sir, if subjects may
Presume to look into their monarch's breast,
Why should the chaste and spotless Merope
Infuse such thoughts as I must blush to name ?
OEdip. Because the god of Delphos did forewarn me
With thundering oracles.
Æge. May I entreat to know them?
OEdip. Yes, my Ægeon; but the sad remembrance
Quite blasts my soul: see then the swelling priest!
Methinks I have his image now in view:
He mounts the Tripos in a minute's space,
His clouded head knocks at the temple-roof,
While from his mouth
These dismal words are heard:
"Fly, wretch, whom fate has doom'd thy father's
blood to spill,
And with prepost'rous births thy mother's womb to
fill."
Æge. Is this the cause
Why you refuse the diadem of Corinth?
OEdip. The cause? Why, is it not a monstrous one?
Ege. Great sir, you may return: and tho' you
should
Enjoy the queen (which all the gods forbid),
The act would prove no incest.
OEdip. How, Egeon?
•1
A&t IV.
89
OEDIPUS.
Though I enjoy'd my mother, not incestuous!
"Thou rav'st, and so do I; and these all catch
"My madness; look they're dead with deep distrac-
tion."
Not incest! What, not incest with my mother?
Ege. My lord, queen Merope is not your mother.
OEdip. Hal did I hear thee right? Not Merope
My mother!
Ege. Nor was Polybus your father.
OEdip. Then all my days and nights must now be
spent
In curious search to find out those dark parents
Who gave me to the world; speak then, Ægeon,
By all the gods celestial and infernal,
By all the ties of nature, blood, and friendship,
Conceal not from this rack'd despairing king
Ą point or smallest grain of what thou know'st :
Speak then, oh, answer to my doubts directly.
If royal Polybus was not my father,
Why was I call'd his son ?
Æge. He, from my aims,
Receiv'd you as the fairest gift of nature.
Not but you were adorn'd with all the riches
That empire could bestow in costly mantles
Upon its infant heir.
OEdip. But was I made the heir of Corinth's crown,
Because Ægeon's hands presented me ?
Ege. By my advice,
Being past all hope of children,
He took, embrac'd, and own'd you for his son.
༡༠
Act IV.
OEDIPUS.
OEdip. Perhaps I then am yours; instruct me,
If it be so, I'll kneel and weep before you,
With all th' obedience of a penitent child,
Imploring pardon.
Kill me, if you please,
I will not writhe my body at the wound:
But sink upon your feet with a last sigh,
And ask forgiveness with my dying hands.
sir :
Æge. Oh, rise, and call not to this aged cheek
The little blood which should keep warm my heart;
You are not mine, nor ought I to be blest
With such a god-like offspring. Sir, I found you
Upon the mount Citharon.
OEdip. Oh, speak, go on, the air grows sensible
Of the great things you utter, and is calm:
The hurry'd orbs, with storms so rack'd of late,
Seem to stand still, as if that Jove were talking.
Citharon! Speak, the valley of Citharon!
Ege. Oft-times before I thither did resort,
Charm'd with the conversation of a man
Who led a rural life, and had command
O'er all the shepherds, who about those vales
Tended their numerous flocks: in this man's arms
I saw you smiling at a fatal dagger,
Whose point he often offer'd at your throat;
But then you smil'd, and then he drew it back,
Then lifted it again, you smil'd again;
'Till he at last in fury threw it from him,
And cry'd aloud, The gods forbid thy death.
Then I rush'd in, and, after some discourse,
A&t IV.
91
OEDIPUS.
To me he did bequeath your innocent life;
And I the welcome care to Polybus.
OEdip. To whom belongs the master of the shep-
herds?
Æge. His name I knew not, or I have forgot:
That he was of the family of Laius
I well remember.
OEdip. And is your friend alive? for if he be,
I'll buy his presence, though it cost my crown.
Ege. Your menial attendants best can tell
Whether he lives or not; and who has now
His place.
Joc. Winds, bear me to some barren island,
Where print of human feet was never seen,
O'er-grown with weeds of such a monstrous height,
Their baleful tops are wash'd with bellying clouds;
Beneath whose venomous shade I may have vent
For horrors that would blast the barbarous world.
OEdip. If there be any here that knows the person
Whom he describ'd, I charge him on his life
To speak; concealment shall be sudden death:
But he who brings him forth, shall have reward
Beyond ambition's lust.
k
Tir. His name is Phorbas;
Jocasta knows him well; but if I may
Advise, rest where you are, and seek no farther.
OEdip. Then all goes well, since Phorbas is secur'd
By my Jocasta. Haste, and bring him forth:
My love, my queen, give orders. Ha! what mean
92
A& IV.
OEDIPUS.
These tears, and groans, and strugglings? Speak, my
fair,
Why are thy troubles?
Jac. Yours; and yours are mine:
Let me conjure you take the prophet's counsel,
And let this Phorbas go.
OEdip. Not for the world.
By all the gods, I'll know my birth, though death
Attends the search: I have already past
The middle of the stream; and to return
Seems greater labour than to venture o’er.
Therefore produce him.
Jac. Once more, by the gods,
I beg, my OEdipus, my lord, my life,
My love, my all, my only utmost hope,
I beg you, banish Phorbas: oh, the gods,
I kneel, that thou may grant this first request.
Deny me all things else; but for my sake,
And as you prize your own eternal quiet,
Never let Phorbas come into your presence.
OEdip. You must be rais'd, and Phorbas shall ap-
pear,
Though his dread eyes were basilisks. Guards, haste,
Search the queen's lodgings: find, and force him hi-
[Exeunt Guards.
ther.
Jac. Oh, OEdipus, yet send,
And stop their entrance, ere it be too late :
Unless you wish to see Jocasta rent
With furies, slain out-right with mere distraction,
A& IV.
93
OEDIPUS.
Keep from your eyes and mine the dreadful Phorbas.
Forbear this search, I'll think you more than mortal.
Will you yet hear me?
OEdip. Tempests will be heard,
And waves will dash, though rocks their basis keep.-
But see, they enter. If thou truly lov'st me,
Either forbear this subject, or retire.
Enter HEMON, Guards, with PHORBAS.
Joc. Prepare then, wretched prince, prepare to
hear
A story, that shall turn thee into stone.
Could there be hewn a monstrous gap in nature,
A flaw made through the center, by some god,
Through which the groans of ghosts may strike thy
ears,
They will not wound thee as this story will.
Hark, hark! a hollow voice calls out aloud,
Jocasta! Yes, I'll to the royal bed,
Where first the mysteries of our loves were acted,
And double-dye it with imperial crimson;
Tear off this curling hair,
Be gorg'd with fire, stab every vital part,
And when at last I'm slain, to crown the horror,
My poor tormented ghost shall cleave the ground,
To try if hell can yet more deeply wound.
[Exit.
OEdip. She's gone; and as she went, methought
her eyes
Grew larger, while a thousand frantic spirits.
Seething, like rising bubbles, on the brim,
I
94
A& IV.
OEDIPUS.
Peep'd from the watery brink, and glow'd upon me.
I'll seek no more; but hush my genius up
That throws me on my fate.-Impossible!
Oh, wretched man, whose too, too busy thoughts
Ride swifter than the galloping heav'ns round,
With an eternal hurry of the soul;
Nay, there's a time when ev'n the rolling year
Seems to stand still, dead calms are in the ocean,
When not a breath disturbs the drowsy waves:
But man, the very monster of the world,
Is ne'er at rest, the soul for ever wakes.
Come then, since Destiny thus drives us on,
Let's know the bottom.
Where is that Phorbas?
Hæmon, you I sent :
Ham. Here, my royal lord.
OEdip. Speak first, Ægeon, say, is this the man?
Ege. My lord, it is though time has plough'd
that face
With many furrows since I saw it first;
Yet I'm too well acquainted with the ground, quite
to forget it.
OEdip. Peace! stand back a while.
Come hither, friend; I hear thy name is Phorbas.
Why dost thou turn thy face? I charge thee answer
To what I shall enquire: wert thou not once
The servant to King Laius here in Thebes?
Phor. I was, great Sir, his true and faithful servant,
Born and bred up in court, no foreign slave.
OEdip. What office hadst thou? What was thy em-
ployment?
A&t.IV.
95
OEDIPUS.
Phor. He made me lord of all his rural pleasures;
For much he lov'd them: oft I entertain'd
With sporting swains, o'er whom I had command.
OEdip. Where was thy residence? To what part o’
th' country
Didst thou most frequently resort ?
Phor. To mount Citharon, and the pleasant vallies
Which all about lie shadowing its large feet.
OEdip. Come forth, Ægeon. Ha! why start'st thou,
Phorbas?
Forward, I say, and face to face confront him;
Look wistly on him, through him, if thou canst,
And tell me on thy life, say, dost thou know him?
Didst thou e'er see him? e'er converse with him
Near mount Citharon?
Phor. Who, my lord, this man?
OEdip. This man, this old, this venerable man:
Speak, didst thou ever meet him there?
Phor. Where, sacred sir?
OEdip. Near mount Citharon; answer to the pur-
pose,
'Tis a king speaks; and royal minutes are
Of much more worth than thousand vulgar years:
Didst thou e'er see this man near mount Citharon?
Phor. Most sure, my lord, I have seen lines like
those
His visage bears; but know not where nor when.
Ege. Is't possible you should forget your ancient
friend?
There are perhaps
I jj
96
Act IV.
OEDIPUS.
Particulars, which may excite your dead remem-
brance.
Have you forgot I took an infant from you,
Doom'd to be murder'd in that gloomy vale?
The swaddling-bands were purple, wrought with gold.
Have you forgot too how you wept, and begg'd
That I should breed him up, and ask no more?
Phor. Whate'er I begg'd, thou, like a dotard
speak'st
More than is requisite. And what of this?
Why is it mention'd now? And why, oh, why
Dost thou betray the secrets of thy friend?
Ege. Be not too rash. That infant grew at last
A king; and here the happy monarch stands.
Phor. Hal whither wouldst thou? Oh, what hast
thou utter'd!
For what thou hast said, death strike thee dumb for
ever!
OEdip. Forbear to curse the innocent; and be
Accurst thyself, thou shifting traitor, villain,
Damn'd hypocrite, equivocating slave.
Phor. Oh, heav'ns! wherein, my lord, have I of-
fended?
OEdip. Why speak you not according to my charge?
Bring forth the rack: since mildness cannot win you,
Torments shall force.
Phor. Hold, hold, oh, dreadful sir;
You will not rack an innocent old man.
OEdip. Speak then.
Phor. Alas, what would you have me say è
A& IV.
97
OEDIPUI.
OEdip. Did this old man take from your arms an
infant?
Phor. He did: and, oh, I wish to all the gods,
Phorbas had perish'd in that very moment.
OEdip. Moment! Thou shalt be hours, days, years,
a-dying.
Here, bind his hands; he dallies with my fury
But I shall find a way-
Phor. My lord, I said
I gave the infant to him.
OEdip. Was he thy own, or given thee by another?
Phor. He was not mine; but given me by another.
OEdip. Whence? and from whom? What city? Of
what house?
Phor. Oh, royal sir, I bow me to the ground,
Would I could sink beneath it: by the gods,
I do conjure you to enquire no more.
OEdip. Furies and hell! Hæmon, bring forth the
rack,
Fetch hither cords, and knives, and sulphurous flames:
He shall be bound, and gash'd, his skin flead off,
And burnt alive.
Phor. Oh, spare my age.
OEdip. Rise then, and speak.
Phor. Dread sir, I will.
OEdip. Who gave that infant to thee?
Phor. One of King Laius' family.
OEdip. Oh, you immortal gods! But say, who
was't?
I iij
98
A&t iv.
OEDIPUS.
Which of the family of Laius gave it?
A servant, or one of the royal-blood?
Phor. Oh, wretched state! I die, unless I speak;
And, if I speak, most certain death attends me!
OEdip. Thou shalt not die. Speak then, who was it?
Speak,
While I have sense to understand the horror;
For I grow cold.
Phor. The Queen Jocasta told me
It was her son by Laius.
OEdip. Oh, you gods!—But did she give it thee?
Phor. My lord, she did.
OEdip. Wherefore? For what ?--Oh, break not
yet my heart;
Though my eyes burst, no matter. Wilt thou tell me,
Or, must I ask for ever; for what end,
Why gave she thee her child?
Phor. To murder it.
OEdip. Oh, more than savagel murder her own
bowels!
Without a cause !
Phor. There was a dreadful one,
Which had fortold, that most unhappy son
Should kill his father, and enjoy his mother.
OEdip. But one thing more.
Jocasta told me thou wert by the chariot
When the old king was slain. Speak, I conjure thee,
For I shall never ask thee aught again,
What was the number of th' assasinates?
Act IV.
OEDIPUS.
99
Phor. The dreadful deed was acted but by one ;
And sure that one had much of your resemblance.
OEdip. 'Tis well! I thank you, gods! 'tis wond-
rous.
Daggers, and poisons! Oh, there is no need
For my dispatch: and you, you merciless pow'rs,
Hoard up your thunder-stones; keep, keep, your
bolts
For crimes of little note.
[Falls.
Adr. Help, Hæmon, help, and bow him gently
forward;
"Chafe, chafe his temples: how the mighty spirits,
"Half-strangled with the damp his sorrows rais'd,
"Struggle for vent! But see, he breathes again,
"And vigorous nature breaks through opposition."
How fares my royal friend ?
OEdip. The worse for you.
Oh, barbarous men, and, oh, the hated light,
Why did you force me back to curse the day;
}
To curse my friends; to blast with this dark breath
The yet untainted earth and circling air?
To raise new plagues, and call new vengeance down,
Why did you tempt the gods, and dare to touch me?
"Methinks there's not a hand that grasps this hell,
"But should run up like flax all blazing fire."
Stand from this spot, I wish you as my friends,
And come not near me, lest the gaping earth
Swallow you too
too- -Lo, I am gone already.
[Draws, and claps his sword to his breast, which
Adrastus strikes away with his foot.
100
A&t IP:
OEDIPUS.
Adr. You shall no more be trusted with your life :
Creon, Alcander, Hæmon, help to hold him.
OEdip. Cruel Adrastus! Wilt thou, Hæmon too ?
Are these the obligations of my friends?
Oh, worse than worst of my most barbarous foes!
Dear, dear Adrastus, look with half an eye
On my unheard of woes, and judge thyself,
If it be fit that such a wretch should live!
Or, by these melting eyes, unus'd to weep,
With all the low submissions of a slave,
I do conjure thee give my horrors way;
Talk not of life, for that will make me rave:
As well thou mayst advise a tortur'd wretch,
All mangled o'er from head to foot with wounds,
And his bones broke, to wait a better day.
Adr. My lord, you ask me things impossible;
And I with justice should be thought your foe,
To leave you in this tempest of your soul.
Tir. Tho' banish'd Thebes, in Corinth you may
reign;
Th' infernal pow'rs themselves exact no more:
Calm then your rage, and once more seek the gods.
OEdip. I'll have no more to do with gods, nor
men!
"Hence, from my arms, avaunt! Enjoy thy mother t
"What violate, with bestial appetite,
"The sacred veils that wrapt thee yet unborn!
"This is not to be borne! Hence: off, I say;
"For they who let my vengeance, make themselves
“Accomplices in my most horrid guilt.
A& V.
101
OEDIPUS.
"Adr. Let it be so: we'll fence Heav'n's fury from
you,
"And suffer all together: this, perhaps,
"When ruin comes, may help to break your fall.”
OEdip. Oh, that, as oft I have at Athens seen
The stage arise, and the big clouds descend;
So now, in very deed I might behold
The pond'rous earth, and all yon' marble roof
Meet, like the hand of Jove, and crush inankind t
For all the elements, and all the pow'rs
Celestial, nay, terrestrial, and infernal,
Conspire the rack of out-cast OEdipns.
Fall darkness then, and everlasting night
Shadow the globe; may the sun never dawn,
The silver moon be blotted from her orb;
And for an universal rout of nature,
Through all the inmost chambers of the sky,
May there not be a glimpse, one starry spark,
But gods meet gods, and justle in the dark;
That jars may rise, and wrath divine be hurl'd,
Which may to atoms shake the solid world. [Exeunt.
ACT V. SCENE 1.
Enter CREON, ALCANDER, and PYRACMON.
Creon.
THEBES is at length my own; and all my wishes,
Which sure were great as royalty e'er form'd,
102
Act V.
OEDIPUS.
Fortune and my auspicious stars have crown'd.
O diadem, thou center of ambition,
Where all its different lines are reconcil'd,
As if thou wert the burning-glass of glory!
Pyr. Might I be counsellor, I would entreat you
To cool a little, sir;
Find out Eurydice;
And with the resolution of a man
Mark'd out for greatness, give the fatal choice
Of death or marriage.
Alc. Survey curs'd OEdipus,
As one, who, tho' unfortunate, belov'd,
Though innocent, and therefore much lamented
By all the Thebans: you must mark him dead :
Since nothing but his death, not banishment,
Can give assurance to your doubtful reign.
Cre. Well have you done, to snatch me from the
storm
Of racking transport, where the little streams
Of love, revenge, and all the under passions,
As waters are by sucking whirlpools drawn,
Were quite devour'd in the vast gulph of empire;
Therefore, Pyracmon, as you boldly urg'd,
Eurydice shall die, or be my bride.
Alcander, summon to their master's aid
My menial servants, and all those whom change
Of state, and hope of the new monarch's favour,
Can wish to take our part. Away! What now?
[Exit Alcander.
1
A& V.
103
OEDIPUS.
Enter HÆMON.
When Hæmon weeps, "without the help of ghosts,"
I may foretell there is a fatal cause.
Ham. Is't possible you should be ignorant
Of what has happen'd to the desperate king?
Cre. I know no more but that he was conducted
Into his closet, where I saw him fling
His trembling body on the royal bed.
All left him there, at his desire, alone:
But sure no ill, unless he dy'd with grief,
Could happen, for you bore his sword away.
Ham. I did; and having lock'd the door, I stood;
And through a chink I found, not only heard,
But saw him, when he thought no eye beheld him :
At first, deep sighs heav'd from his woeful heart
Murmurs, and groans that shook the outward rooms.
And art thou still alive, O wretch! he cry'd:
Then groan'd again, as if his sorrowful soul
Had crack'd the strings of life, and burst away.
Cre. I weep to hear; how then should I have
griev❜d,
Had I beheld this wondrous heap of sorrow!
But to the fatal period.
Ham. Thrice he struck,
With all his force, his hollow groaning breast,
And thus, with out-cries, to himself complain'd.
But thou canst weep then, and thou think'st 'tis well.
These bubbles of the shallowest, emptiest sorrow,
Which children vent for toys, and women rain
104
A& V.
OEDIPUS.
For any trifle their fond hearts are set on;
Yet these thou think'st are ample satisfaction
For bloodiest murder, and for burning lust:
No, parricide; if thou must weep, weep blood;
Weep eyes instead of tears: O, by the gods,
'Tis greatly thought, he cry'd, and fits my woes.
Which said, he smil'd revengefully, and leapt
Upon the floor; thence gazing at the skies,
"His eye. balls fiery red, and glowing vengeance;
"Gods, I accuse you not, tho' I no more
"Will view your heav'n, 'till with more durable glasses,
"The mighty soul's immortal perspectives,
"I find your dazzling beings:" take, he cry'd,
Take, eyes, your last, your fatal farewell-view
Then with a groan, that seem'd the call of death,
With horrid force lifting his impious hands,
He snatch'd, he tore, from forth their bloody orbs,
The balls of sight, and dash'd them on the ground.
Cre. A master-piece of horror; new and dreadful I
Ham. I ran to succour him; but, oh, too late;
For he had pluck'd the remnant strings away.
What then remains, but that I find Tiresias,
Who, with his wisdom, may allay those furies
That haunt his gloomy soul?
Cre. Heav'n will reward
[Exit.
Thy care, most honest, faithful, foolish Hæmon!
But sce, Alcander enters, well attended.
Enter ALCANDER, attended.
I see thou last been diligent.
A& V.
105
OEDIPUS.
Alc. Nothing these,
For number, to the crowds that soon will follow:
Be resolute,
And call your utmost fury to revenge.
Cre. Ha! thou hast given
Th' alarm to cruelty; and never may
These eyes be clos'd, till they behold Adrastus
Stretch'd at the feet of false Eurydice.
But see, they're here? retire awhile, and mark.
Enter ADRASTUS and EURYDICE, attended.
Adr. Alas, Eurydice, what fond rash man,
What inconsiderate and ambitious foul,
That shall hereafter read the fate of OEdipus,
Will dare, with his frail hand, to grasp a sceptre?
Eur. 'Tis true, a crown seems dreadful, and I wish
That you and I, more lowly plac'd, might pass
Our softer hours in humble cells away:
Not but I love you to that infinite height,
I could (O wondrous proof of fiercest love!)
Be greatly wretched in a court with you.
Adr. Take then this most lov'd innocence away :
Fly from tumultuous Thebes, from blood and murder
Fly from the author of all villanies,
Rapes, death, and treason; from that fury Creon.
Vouchsafe that I, o'er-joy'd, may bear you hence,
And at your feet present the crown of Argos.
[Creon and Attendants come up to him.
Cre. I have o'erheard thy black design, Adrastus,
And therefore, as a traitor to this state,
K
106
A&t V
OEDIPUS.
Death ought to be thy lot: let it suffice
That Thebes surveys thee as a prince; abuse not
Her proffer'd mercy, but retire betimes,
Lest she repent, and hasten on thy doom.
Adr. Think not, most abject,
Most abhorr'd of men,
Adrastus will vouchsafe to answer thee.
Thebans, to you I justify my love :
I have address'd my prayer to this fair princess;
But, if I ever meant a violence,
Or thought to ravish, as that traitor did,
What humblest adorations could not win;
Brand me, you gods, blot me with foul dishonour,
And let men curse me by the name of Creon!
Eur. Hear me, O Thebans, if you dread the wrath
Of her whom fate ordain'd to be your queen,
Hear me, and dare not, as you prize your lives,
To take the part of that rebellious traitor.
By the decree of royal OEdipus,
By Queen Jocasta's order, by what's more,
My own dear vows of everlasting love,
I here resign to prince Adrastus' arms
All that the world can make me mistress of.
Cre. O, perjur'd woman!
Draw all and when I give the word fall on.
Traitor, resign the princess, or this moment
Expect, with all those most unfortunate wretches,
Upon this spot straight to be hewn in pieces.
Adr. No, villain, no;
With twice those odds of men,
"
ÂЯ V.
107
OEDIPUS.
I doubt not in this cause to vanquish thee.
Captain, remember to your care I give
My love; ten thousand thousand times more dear
Than life or liberty.
Cre. Fall on, Alcander.
Pyracmon, you and I must wheel about
For nobler game, the princess.
Adr. Ah, traitor, dost thou shun me?
Follow, follow,
My brave companions, see the cowards fly.
[Exeunt fighting: Creon's Party beaten off by Adr.
Enter OEDIPUS.
OEdip. O, 'tis too little this, thy loss of sight,
What has it done? I shall be gaz'd at now
The more; be pointed at, there goes the monster!
Nor have I hid my horrors from myself;
For tho' corporeal light be lost for ever,
The bright reflecting soul, through glaring optics,
Presents in larger size her black ideas,
Doubling the bloody prospects of my crimes:
Holds fancy down, and makes her act again,
With wife and mother. "Tortures, hell and furies!
"Ha! now the baleful offspring's brought to light!
“In horrid form they rank themselves before me ;
"What shall I call this medley of creation?
"Here's one, with all th' obedience of a son,
"Borrowing Jocasta's look, kneels at my feet,
"And calls me father; there a sturdy boy,
“ Resembling Laius just as when I kill'd him,
Kij
108
Act V.
OEDIPUS.
“Bears up, and with his cold hand grasping mine,
"Cries out, how fares my brother OEdipus ?
"What, sons and brothers! Sisters and daughters
too!
“Fly all, begone, fly from my whirling brain ;”
Hence, incest, murder; hence, you ghastly figures
O gods! gods, answer; is there any means?
Let me go mad, or die.
Enter JOCASTA.
Joc. Where, where is this most wretched of man-
kind,
This stately image of imperial sorrow,
"Whose story told, whose very name but mention'd,
“Would cool the rage of fevers, and unlock
"The hand of lust from the pale virgin's hair,
"And throw the ravisher before her feet?"
OEdip. By all my fears, I think Jocasta's voice!
Hence; fly; begone! "O thou far worse than worst
"Of damning charmers! O abhorr'd, loath'd crea-
ture !
"Fly, by the gods, or by the fiends, I charge thee,"
Far as the east, west, north, or south of heav'n ;.
But think not thou shalt ever enter there:
The golden gates are barr'd with adamant,
'Gainst thee, and me; and the celestial guards,
Still as we rise, will dash our spirits down.
"Joc. O wretched pair! O greatly wretched we t
66 Two worlds of woe!
“OEdip. Art thou not gone then? hat.
À& V.
OEDIPUS.
1c9
"How dar'st thou stand the fury of the gods?
"Or com'st thou in the grave to reap new pleasures?
“Joc. Talk on; till thou mak’st mad my rolling
brain;
"Groan still more death; and may those dismal
sources
"Still bubble on, and pour forth blood and tears.
"Methinks, at such a meeting, Heav'n stands still;
"The sea nor ebbs nor flows: this mole-hill earth
“Is heav'd no more: the busy emmets cease:
"Yet hear me on-
"OEdip. Speak then, and blast my soul.
"Joc. O, my lov'd lord, tho' I resolve a ruin
❝ To match my crimes; by all my miseries,
" 'Tis horror, worse than thousand thousand deaths,
"To send me hence without a kind farewell.
"OEdip. Gods, how she shakes me! Stay thee, O
Jocasta.
"Speak something ere thou goest for ever from me.
"Joc. 'Tis woman's weakness, that I should be
pity'd;
"Pardon me then, O greatest, tho' most wretched
"Of all thy kind: my soul is on the brink,
"And sees the boiling furnace just beneath :
"Do not thou push me off, and I will go,
"With such a willingness, as if that Heav'n
"With all its glory glow'd for my reception..
""
OEdip. O, in my heart, I feel the pangs of nature;
"It works with kindness o'er: give, give me way;
"I feel a melting here, a tenderness,
K iij
110
AB V.
OEDIPUS.
"Too mighty for the anger of the gods
"Direct me to thy knees: yet oh forbear,
"Lest the dead embers should revive.
"Stand off—and at just distance
"Let me groan my horrors-here
"On the earth, here blow my utmost gale;
"Here sob my sorrows, till I burst with sighing;
"Here gasp and languish out my wounded soul.”
Joc. In spite of all those crimes the cruel gods
Can charge me with, I know my innocence;
Know yours: 'tis fate alone that makes us wretched,
For you are still my husband.
OEdip. Swear I am,
And I'll believe thee; steal into thy arms,
Renew endearments, think them no pollutions,
But chaste as spirits' joys: gently I'll come,
Thus weeping blind, like dewy night, upon thee,
And fold thee softly in my arms to slumber.
[The Ghost of Laius ascends by degrees, pointing at
Jocasta.
Joc. Begone, my lord! Alas, what are we doing?
Fly from my arms! Whirlwinds, seas, continents,
And worlds, divide us! Oh, thrice happy thou,
Who hast no use of eyes; for here's a sight
Would turn the melting face of Mercy's self
To a wild fury.
OEdip. Ha! what seest thou there?
Joc. The spirit of my husband! Oh, the gods!
How wan he looks!
OEdip. Thou rav'st; thy husband's here.
AQ V.
111
OEDIPUS
Joe. There, there he mounts
In circling fire among the blushing clouds
And see, he waves Jocasta from the world t
Ghost. Jocasta, OEdipus.
Vanish with thunder.
OEdip. What wouldst thou have ?
Thou know'st I cannot come to thee, detain'd
In darkness here, and kept from means of death.
I've heard a spirit's force is wonderful;
At whose approach, when starting from his dungeon,
The earth does shake, and the old ocean groans,
Rocks are remov'd, and tow'rs are thunder'd down :
And walls of brass, and gates of adamant
Are passable as air, and fleet like winds.
Joc. Was that a raven's croak, or my son's voice
No matter which; I'll to the grave and hide me:
Earth, open, or I'll tear thy bowels up.
Hark! he goes on, and blabs the deed of incest.
OEdip. Strike then, imperial ghost; dash all at once
This house of clay into a thousand pieces;
That my poor ling'ring soul may take her flight
To your immortal dwellings.
Joc. Haste thee then,
Or I shall be before thee: see; thou canst not see ;
Then I will tell thee that my wings are on:
I'll mount, I'll fly, and with a port divine
Glide all along the gaudy milky soil,
To find my Laius out: ask every god
In his bright palace, if he knows my Laius,
My murder'd Laius !
112
A&t V.
OEDIPUS.
OEdip. Ha! how's this, Jocasta?
Nay, if thy brain be sick, then thou art happy.
Joc. Ha! will you not? Shall I not find him out ?
Will you not shew him? Are my tears despis'd?
Why, then I'll thunder; yes, I will be mad,
And fright you with my cries: yes, cruel gods,
Though vultures, eagles, dragons tear my heart,
I'll snatch celestial flames, fire all your dwellings,
Melt down your golden roofs, and make your doors
Of crystal fly from off their diamond hinges ;
Drive you all out from your ambrosial hives,
To swarm like bees about the field of heav'n:
This will I do, unless you shew me Laius,
My dear, my murder'd lord. Oh, Laius! Laius!
Laius !
[Exit.
OEdip. Excellent grief! why, this is as it should be!
No mourning can be suitable to crimes
Like ours, but what death makes or madness forms.
“I could have wish'd, methought, for sight again,
"To mark the gallantry of her distraction:
"Her blazing eyes darting the wand'ring stars,
"T' have seen her mouth the heav'ns, and mate the
gods.
"While with her thund'ring voice she menac'd high,
"And every accent twang'd with smarting sorrow;'
But what's all this to thee? Thou, coward, yet
Art living, canst not, wilt not find the road
To the great palace of magnificent death;
Though thousand ways lead to his thousand doors,
Att V.
OEDIPUS.
813
Which day and night are still unbarr'd for all.
[Clashing of sword's drums and trumpets without.
Hark! 'tis the noise of clashing swords! the sound
Comes near: oh, that a battle would come o'er me !
If I but grasp a. sword, or wrest a dagger,
I'll make a ruin with the first that falls.
Enter HEMON, with Guards.
Ham. Seize him, and bear him to the western tow'r.
Pardon me, sacred sir; I am inform'd
That Creon has designs upon your life :
Forgive me then, if, to preserve you from him,
I order your confinement.
OEdip. Slaves, unhand me §
I think thou hast a sword: 'twas the wrong side.
Yet, cruel Hæmon, think not I will live;
He that could tear his eyes out, sure can find
Some desperate way to stifle this curs'd breatly.
"Or if I starve! but that's a ling'ring fate;
"Or if I leave my brains upon the wall!
"The airy soul can easily o'er-shoot
"Those bounds with which thou striv'st to pale her
in ;
"Yes, I will perish in despite of thee;
"And, by the rage that stirs me, if I meet thee
"In th❜other world, I'll curse thee for this usage.
[Exit.
Ham. Tiresias, after him; and with your counsel
Advise him humbly, charm, if possible,
These feuds within: while I without extinguish,
114
A&t V.
OEDIPUS.
Or perish in th' attempt, the furious Creon;
That brand which sets our city in a flame.
Tir. Heaven prosper your intent, and give a period
To all our plagues: what old Tiresias can,
Shall straight be done. Lead, Manto, to the tow'r.
[Exeunt Tir. and Man.
Ham. Follow me all, and help to part this fray,
Or fall together in the bloody broil.
[Trumpets again.
[Exeunt.
Enter CREON, with EURYDICE, PYRACMON,
his Party, giving ground to ADRASTUS.
and
Cre. Hold, hold your arms, Adrastus, prince of
Argos,
Hear, and behold; Eurydice is my prisoner.
Adr. What wouldst thou, hell-hound?
Cre. See this brandish'd dagger:
Forego th' advantage which thy arms have won,
Or, by the blood which trembles through the heart
Of her whom more than life I know thou lov'st,
I'll bury to the haft, in her fair breast,
This instrument of my revenge.
Adr. Stay thee, damn'd wretch: hold, stop thy
bloody hand.
Cre. Give order then, that on this instant, now,
This moment, all thy soldiers straight disband.
Adr. Away, my friends, since fate has so allotted;
Begone, and leave me to the villain's mercy.
Eur. Ah, my Adrastus! call 'em, call 'em back"!
Stand there; come back, O, cruel, barbarous men !
A& V.
115
OEDIPUS.
!
Could you then leave your lord, your prince, your
king,
After so bravely having fought his cause,
To perish by the hand of this base villain?
Why rather rush you not at once together
All to his ruin? drag him through the streets,
Hang his contagious quarters on the gates;
Nor let my death affright you. '
Cre. Die first thyself then.
Adr. O, I charge thee hold.
Hence from my presence all: he's not my friend
That disobeys; see, art thou now appeas'd?
[Exeunt Attendants.
Or is there ought else yet remains to do,
That can atone thee? slack thy thirst of blood
With mine
but save, O save that innocent wretch.
Cre. Forego thy sword, and yield thyself my pri-
soner.
Eur. Yet, while there's any dawn of hope to save
Thy precious life, my dear Adrastus,
Whate'er thou dost, deliver not thy sword;
With that thou may'st get off, tho' odds oppose
thee:
For me, O fear not; no, he dare not touch me;
His horrid love will spare me. Keep thy sword;
Lest I be ravish'd after thou art slain.
Adr. Instruct me, gods, what shall Adrastus do?
Cre. Do what thou wilt, when she is dead: my sole
diers
116
A&t V.
ØEDIPUS.
}
With numbers will o'erpow'r thee. Is't thy wish
Eurydice should fall before thee?
Adr. Traitor, no:
Better that thou, and I, and all mankind,
Should be no more.
Cre. Then cast thy sword away,
And yield thee to my mercy, or I strike.
Adr. Hold thy rais'd arm; give me a moment's
pause.
My father, when he blest me, gave me this;
My son, said he, let this be thy last refuge;
If thou forego'st it, misery attends thee:
Yet love now charms it from me; which in all
The hazards of my life I never lost.
"Tis thine, my faithful sword; my only trust;
Though my heart tells me, that the gift is fatal.
Cre. Fatal! yes, foolish, love-sick prince, it shall;
Thy arrogance, thy scorn,
My wound's remembrance,
Turn, all at once, the fatal point upon thee.
Pyracmon, to the palace; dispatch
The king hang Hæmon up; for he is loyal,
And will oppose me. Come, sir, are you ready?
Adr. Yes, villain, for whatever thou canst dare.
Eur. Hold, Creon! or thro' me, thro' me you
wound.
Adr. Off, madam, or we perish both. Behold,
I'm not unarm'd; my poignard's in my hand;
Therefore, away—-—-—-—-—-—-—-
A& V.
117
DEDIPUS.
Eur. I'll guard your life with mine.
Cre. Die both, then; there is now no time for dally-
ing.
[Kills Eurydice.
Eur. Ah, Prince, farewell! farewell, my dear Ad-
rastus.
[Dies.
Adr. Unheard-of monster! eldest-born of hell!
Down to thy primitive flame.
Cre. Help, soldiers, help!
Revenge me!
[Stabs Creon.
Adr. More, yet more; a thousand wounds!
I'll stab thee still, thus, to the gaping furies.
[Adrastus falls, killed by the soldiers.
Enter HÆMON, Guards, with ALCANDER and Pr.
RACMON bound; the Assassins are driven off.
Oh, Hæmon, I am slain! nor need I name
Th' inhuman author of all villanies;
There he lies, gasping.
Cre. If I must plunge in flames,
Burn first my arm; base instrument, unfit
To act the dictates of my daring mind.
Burn, burn for ever, oh, weak substitute
Of that, the god, Ambition!
[Dies.
Adr. She's gone--Oh, deadly marksman in the
heart!
Yet in the pangs of death, she grasps my hand:
Her lips, too, tremble, as if she would speak
Her last farewell. Oh, OEdipus, thy fall
Is great! and nobly now thou go'st attended.
L
}
118
OEDIPUS.
A&t V.
They talk of heroes and celestial beauties,
And wondrous pleasures in the other world:
Let me but find her there; I ask no more.
[Dies.
Enter a Captain to HÆMON, with TIRESIAS and
MANTO.
Cap. Oh, sir, the queen, Jocasta, swift and wild,
As a robb'd tygress bounding o'er the woods,
Has acted murders that amaze mankind.
In twisted gold I saw her daughters hang
On the bed royal, and her little sons
Stabb'd through the breasts upon the bloody pillows.
Ham. Relentless Heav'ns! Is then the fate of Laius
Never to be aton'd. How sacred ought
Kings lives be held, when but the death of one
Demands an empire's blood for expiation!
But see, the furious, mad Jocasta's here.
SCENE II.
Draws, and discovers JOCASTA held by her Women,
“and stabbed in many places of her bosom, her hair
"dishevelled, her Children slain upon the bed.”
Was ever yet a sight of so much horror
And pity brought to view !
Joc. Ah, cruel women!
Will you not let me take my last farewell
Of those dear babes? Oh, let me run and seal
A& V.
110
OEDIPUS.
My melting soul upon their bubbling wounds!
I'll print upon their coral mouths such kisses,
As shall recall their wand'ring spirits home.
Let me go, let me go, or I will tear you piece-meal.
Help, Hæmon, help!
Help, OEdipus! help, gods! Jocasta dies!
Enter OEDIPUS above.
OEdip. I've found a window, and, I thank the gods,
'Tis quite unbarr'd. Sure, by the distant noise,
The height will fit my fatal purpose well.
Joc. What, hoa, my OEdipus! See where he stands!
His groping ghost is lodg'd upon a tow'r,
Nor can it find the road. Mount, mount, my soul !
I'll wrap thy shiv'ring spirit in lambent flames; and
so we'll sail.
But see, we're landed on the happy coast;
And all the golden strands are cover'd o'er
With glorious gods, that come to try our cause.
Jove, Jove, whose majesty now sinks me down,
He who himself burns in unlawful fires,
Shall judge, and shall acquit us. Oh, 'tis done!
'Tis fix'd by fate upon record divine;
And OEdipus shall now be ever mine.
[Dies.
OEdip. Speak, Hæmon, what has Fate been doing
there?
What dreadful deed has mad Jocasta done?
Ham. The queen herself, and all your wretched
offspring,
Are by her fury slain.
Lij
120
A& V.
OEDIPUS.
1
OEdip. By all my woes,
She has out-done me in revenge and murder;
And I should envy her the sad applause :
But, oh, my children! Oh, what have they done?
This was not like the mercy of the Heav'ns,
To set her madness on such cruelty.
This stirs me more than all my sufferings,
And with my last breath I must call you tyrants.
Ham. What mean you, sir?
OEdip. Jocasta, lo, I come!
Oh, Laius, Labdacus, and all you spirits
Of the Cadmean race, prepare to meet me!
All weeping, rang'd along the gloomy shore,
Extend your arms t' embrace me; for I come.
May all the gods, too, from their battlements,
Behold, and wonder at a mortal's daring:
And when I knock the goal of dreadful death,
Shout, and applaud me with a clap of thunder.
Once more, thus wing'd by horrid Fate, I come
Swift as a falling meteor; lo, I fiy,
And thus go downwards to the darker sky.
[Thunder. He flings himself from the window. The
Thebans gather about his body..
Ham. Oh, prophet! OEdipus is now no more!
Oh, curs'd effect of the most deep despair!
Tir. Cease your complaints, and bear his body
hence;
The dreadful sight will daunt the drooping The-
bans,
Whom Heav'n decrees to raise with peace and glory.
ᎪᏤ .
121
OEDIPUS.
Yet, by these terrible examples warn'd,
The sacred fury thus alarms the world.
Let none, though ne'er so virtuous, great, and high,
Be judg'd entirely bless'd before they die.
[Exeunt omnes.
EPILOGUE.
WHAT Sophocles could undertake alone,
Out poets found a work for more than one ;
And therefore two lay tugging at the piece,
With all their force, to draw the pond'rous mass from
Greece.
A weight that bent ev'n Seneca's strong muse,
And which Corneille's shoulders did refuse.
So hard it is th' Athenian harp to string;
So much two consuls yield to one just king.
Terror and pity this whole poem sway;
The mightiest machines that can mount a play.
How heavy will those vulgar souls be found,
Whom two such engines cannot move from ground!
When Greece and Rome have smil'd upon this birth,
You can but damn for one poor spot of earth;
And when your children find your judgment such,
They'll scorn their sires, and wish themselves born Dutch:
Each haughty poet will infer with ease,
How much his wit must underwrite to please.
As some strange churl would brandishing advance
The monumental sword that conquer'd France;
So you, by judging this, your judgment teach,
Thus far you like, that is, thus far you reach.
EPILOGUE.
123
Since, then, the vote of full two thousand years
Has crown'd this plot, and all the dead are theirs,
Think it a debt you pay, not alms you give,
And, in your own defence, let this play live.
Think them not vain, when Sophocles is shown;
To praise his worth, they humbly doubt their own.
Yet, as weak states each other's pow'r assure,
Weak poets by conjun&tion are secure:
Their treat is what your palates relish most,
Charm, song, a shew, a murder, and a ghost!
We know not what you can desire or hope,
To please you more, but burning of a Pope.
1
THE END.
PHILASTER.
A
TRAGEDY.
AS ALTERED FROM
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
ADAPTED FOR
THEATRICAL REPRESENTATION,
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRES-ROYAL,
DRURY-LANE, AND COVENT-GARDEN..
REGULATED FROM THE PROMPT-BOOKS,
By Permission of the Managers.
"The Lines distinguished by inverted Commas, are omitted in the Representation.'
>>
LONDON:
Printed for the Proprietors, under the Direction of
JOHN BELL, British Library, STRAND,
Bookseller to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.
M DCC XCI.
On comparing this play with the original, the reasons assigned by the Edi-
tor in his Advertisement, for the alterations he had presumed to make, were
so obvious, it was judged to be more acceptable to the reader in its present
form, than as originally written.
ADVERTISEMENT.
"THE present age, though it has done honour to its
own discernment by the applauses paid to Shakspere,
has, at the same time, too grossly neglected the other
great masters in the same school of writing.
The
pieces of Beaumont and Fletcher in particular, (to say
nothing of Jonson, Massinger, Shirley, &c.) abound
with beauties, so much of the same colour with those
of Shakspere, that it is almost unaccountable, that
the very age which admires one, even to 'idolatry,
should pay so little attention to the others; and, while
almost every poet or critic, at all eminent in the lite-
rary world, have been ambitious of distinguishing
themselves, as editors of Shakspere, no more than two
solitary editions of Beaumont and Fletcher, and one
of those of a very late date, have been published in
the present century.
The truth is, that nature indeed is in all ages the
same; but modes and customs, manners and lan-
guages, are subject to perpetual variation. Time in-
A ij
iv
ADVERTISEMENT.
sensibly renders writings obsolete and uncouth, and
the gradual introduction of new words and idioms
brings the older forms into disrepute and disuse. But
the intrinsic merit of any work, though it may be ob-
scured, must for ever remain; as antique coins, or
old plate, though not current or fashionable, still have
their value, according to their weight.
The injuries of modern innovation in the state of
letters may be in a great measure repaired, by ren-
dering the writings of our old authors familiar to the
public, and bringing them often before them. How
many plays are there of Shakspere, now in constant
acting, of which the directors of the theatres would
scarce hazard the representation, if the long-conti-
nued, and, as it were, traditional approbation of the
public had not given a sanction to their irregularities,
and familiarized the diction! The language even of
our Liturgy and Bible, if we may venture to mention
them on this occasion, would perhaps soon become ob
solete and unintelligible to the generality, if they were
not constantly read in our churches. The stile of our
authors, especially in this play, is often remarkably
plain and simple, and only raised or enriched by the
sentiments. It is the opinion of Dryden, that even
Shakspere's language is a little obsolete in compa-
rison of theirs; and that the English language in
"them arrived to its highest perfection; what words
“ have since been taken in, being rather superfluous,.
necessary."
66 than ne
ADVERTISEMENT.
Philaster has always been esteemed one of the best
productions of Beaumont and Fletcher; and, we are
told by Dryden, was the first play that brought them
into great reputation. The beauties of it are indeed
so striking and so various, that our authors might in
this play almost be said to rival Shakspere, were it
not for the many evident marks of imitation of his
manner. The late editors of Beaumont and Fletcher
conceive, that the poets meant to delineale, in the
character of Philaster, a Hamlet racked with the jea-
lousy of Othello; and there are several passages, in
this play, where the authors have manifestly taken
fire from similar circumstances and expressions in
Shakspere, particularly some, that will readily occur
to the reader, as he goes along, from Othello, Ham-
let, Cymbeline, and Lear.
To remove the objections to the performance of this
excellent play on the modern stage, has been the chief
labour, and sole ambition, of the present editor. It
may be remembered, that The Spanish Curate, The
Little French Lawyer, and Scornful Lady, of our
authors, as well as The Silent Woman of Jonson, all
favourite entertainments of our predecessors, have,
within these few years, encountered the severity of
the pit, and received sentence of condemnation. That
the uncommon merit of such a play as Philaster might
be universally acknowledged and received, it appear-
ed necessary to clear it of ribaldry and obscenity, and
L
vi
ADVERTISEMENT.
to amend a gross indecency in the original constitution
of the fable, which must have checked the success due
to the rest of the piece, nay, indeed, was an insu-
perable obstacle to its representation.
But though the inaccuracies and licentiousness of
the piece were inducements (according to the incudi
reddere of Horace) to put it on the anvil again, yet
notking has been added more than was absolutely ne-
cessary, to make it move easily on the new hinge,
whereon it now turns: nor has any thing been omit-
ted, except what was supposed to have been likely to
obscure its merit, or injure its success. The pen was
drawn, without the least hesitation, over every scene
now expunged, except the first scene of the third act,
as it stands in the original; in regard to which, the
part that Philaster sustains in it occasioned some
pause: but, on examination, it seemed that Dion's
falsification of facts in that scene was inconsistent
with the rest of his character, though very natural in
such a person as Megra: and though we have in our
times seen the sudden and instantaneous transitions
from one passion to another remarkably well repre-
sented on the stage, yet Philaster's emotions appeared
impossible to be exhibited with any conformity to
truth or nature. It was therefore thought adviseable
to omit the whole scene; and it is hoped, that this
omission will not be disapproved, and that it will not
appear to have left any void or chasm in the action;
ADVERTISEMENT.
vii
since the imputed falsehood of Arethusa, after being
so industriously made public to the whole court, might
very naturally be imagined to come to the knowledge
of Philaster in a much shorter interval, than is often
supposed to elapse between the acts; or even between
the scenes of some of our old plays.
The scenes in the fourth act, wherein Philaster, ac-
cording to the original play, wounds Arethusa and
Bellario, and from which the piece took its second
title of Love Lies a Bleeding, have always been cen-
sured by the critics. They breathe too much of that
spirit of blood, and cruelty, and horror, of which
the English tragedy hath often been accused. The
hero's wounding his mistress hurt the delicacy of most;
and his maiming Bellario sleeping, in order to save
himself from his pursuers, offended the generosity of
all.
This part of the fable, therefore, so injurious to
the character of Philaster, it was judged absolutely
requisite to alter; and a new turn has been given to
all those circumstances: but the change has been ef
fected by such simple means, and with so much re-
verence to the original, that there are hardly ten lines
added on account of the alteration.
The rest of the additions or alterations may be seen
at once, by comparing the present play with the ori
ginal; if the reader does not, on such occasions, of
himself too easily discover the patch-work of a mo-
dern hand.
viii
ADVERTISEMENT.
There is extant in the works of the duke of Buck-
ingham, who wrote The Rehearsal, and altered The
Chances, an alteration of this play, under the title of
The Restoration, or Right will take Place. The duke
seems to have been very studious to disguise the piece,
the names of the Dramatis Personae, as well as the
title, being entirely changed; and the whole piece,
together with the prologue and epilogue, seemed in-
tended to carry the air of an oblique political satire on
his own times. However that may be, the duke's play
is as little (if not less) calculated for the present stage,
as the original of our author's. The character of
Thrasomond (for so the duke calls the Spanish prince)
is much more ludicrous than the Pharamond of Beau-
mont and Fletcher. Few of the indecencies or ob-
scenities in the original are removed; and with what
delicacy the adventure of Megra is managed, may
be determined from the following specimen of his
grace's alteration of that circumstance, not a word of
the following extract being to be found in Beaumont
and Fletcher.
Enter the guard, bringing in THRASOMOND, in
drawers, muffled up in a cloak.
Guard Sir, in obedience to your commands,
We stopt this fellow stealing out of doors·
[They pull off his cloak.
Agremont. Who's this, the prince?
Cleon. Yes; he is incognito.
King. Sir, I must chide you for this looseness!
ADVERTISEMENT.
ix
You'v
've wrong'd a worthy lady; but no more.
Thrasomond. Sir, I came hither but to take the air.
Cleon. A witty rogue, I warrant him.
Agremont. Ay, he's a devil at his answers.
King. Conduct him to his lodgings.
If to move the passions of pity and terror are the
two chief ends of tragedy, there needs no apology for
giving that title to the play of Philaster. If Lear,
Hamlet, Othello, &c. &c. notwithstanding the casual
introduction of comic circumstances in the natural
course of the action, are tragedies; Philaster is so
too. The duke of Buckingham entilles his alteration
a tragi-comedy; but that word, according to its pre-
sent acceptation, conveys the idea of a very different
species of composition; a play, like The Spanish
Friar, or Oroonoko, in which two distinct actions,
one serious and the other comic, are unnaturally
woven together; as absurd a medley (in the opinion
of Addison) as if an epic writer was to undertake to
throw into one poem the adventures of Eneas and
Hudibras.
As to the form in which the piece is now submitted
to the public, some, perhaps, will think that the
editor has taken too many liberties with the original,
and many may censure him for not having made a
more thorough alteration. There are, it must be con
fessed, many things still left in the play, which may
B
ADVERTISEMENT.
A
be thought to lower the dignity of tragedy, and which
would not be admitted in a fable of modern constrbIC-
tion: but where such things were in nature, and has
offensive, and served at the same time as so many
links in the chain of circumstances that compose
action, it was thought better to subdue in some mea
sure the intemperance of the scenes of low humour,
than wholly to reject or omit them. It would not
have been in the power, nor indeed was it ever in the
intention or desire, of the editor, to give Philaster
the air of a modern performance; no more than an
architect of this age would endeavour to embellish
the magnificence of a gothic building with the orna-
ments of the Greek or Roman orders. It is impossi-
ble for the severest reader to have a meaner opinion
of the editor's share in the work than he entertains of
it himself. Something, however, was necessary to be
done; and the reasons for what he has done have al-
ready been assigned; nor can he repent of the trouble
he has taken, at the instance of a friend, whom he
is happy to oblige, when he sees himself the instru-
ment of restoring Philaster to the theatre, of display-
ing new graces in Mrs. Yates, and of calling forth
the extraordinary powers of so promising a genius
for the stage as Mr. Powell.
1
PHILASTER.
Is the only Tragedy of BEAUMONT and FLETCHER,
which even occasionally revisits the modern stage.—
No doubt a multitude of readers will be ready with
the usual outcry against the bad taste of the times;
but the fact is, so completely dissimilar are the man-
ners of its characters from any thing which we per-
ceive at present, that we revolt from its scenes if
they are pretended to be PICTURES of LIFE, though,
in the closet, they may amuse us highly as the rich
production of fanciful imagination.
These Authors now and then flash forth with a
- burst of truth and nature-but no scene is unmixed
with extravagance of sentiment, with passion eva-
porating in conceit, with colloquy often feeble and
inefficient. They excel in descriptive passages, and
fail in the tenour of mental transcript—their dialogue
is a suit of sentences, in which the response is fre-
quently inapposite to the demand, harsh in its con-
struction, and obscure by the indefinite style of its
expression.
The present Play has many improbabilities in its
structure-PHILASTEK is a shade of HAMLET the
Bij
xii
PHILASTER.
Dane, mixed with a spice of the frenzy of Othello, and
the torments of Posthumus. It is dangerous to blehd
passions; not from the difficulty, for it is more dir-
ficult to sustain one grand MASTER-PASSION than to
fluctuate between opposing feelings; but because,
for instance, the violence of JEALOUSY diminishes
the sympathy for OPPRESSION; and the PRINCE dis-
possessed is lost in the LOVER, whose imaginary dis-
honour is known by the spectator to be ungrounded.
-There is a confusion between actual WRONG and
supposititious SUFFERING.
BELLARIO is a character innocent and unhappy-
She cherishes a passion which deserves a reward from
its generosity, and misses it only by a want of poetical
justice.
PROLOGUE.
Written by GEORGE COLMAN, Esq. on Mr. PowELL's first
Appearance at Drury-Lane.
WHILE modern tragedy, by rule exact,
Spins out a thin-wrought fable, act by act,
We dare to bring you one of those bold plays,
Wrote by rough English wits in former days;
Beaumont and Fletcher! those twin stars, that run
Their glorious course round Shakspere's golden sun;
Or when Philaster Hamlet's place supplied,
Or Bessus walk'd the stage by Falstaff's side.
Their souls, well pair'd, shot fire in mingled rays,
Their hands together twin'd the social bays,
Till fashion drove, in a refining age,
Virtue from court, and nature from the stage.
Then nonsense, in heroics, seem'd sublime ;
Kings rav'd in couplets, and maids sigh’d in rhime.
Next, prim, and trim, and delicate, and chaste,
A hash from Greece and France, came modern taste.
Cold are her sons, and so afraid of dealing
In rant and fustian, they neʼer rise to feeling.
0
say, ye bards of phlegm, say, where's the name
That can with Fletcher urge a rival claim ?
Biji
xiv
PROLOGUE.
Say, where's the poet, train'd in pedant schools¸
Equal to Shakspere, who o'erleapt all rules?
Thus of our bards we boldly speak our mind;
A harder task, alas! remains behind:
To-night, as yet by public eyes unseen,
Araw, unpractis'd novice fills the scene.
Bred in the city, his theatric star
Brings him at length on this side Temple-Bar;
Smit with the muse, the ledger he forgot,
And when he wrote his name, he made a blot.
Him while perplexing hopes and fears embarrass,
Shulking (like Hamlet's rat) behind the arras,
Me a dramatic fellow-feeling draws,
Without a fee, to plead a brother's cause.
Genius is rare; and while our great comptroller,
No more a manager, turns arrant stroller,
Let new adventurers your care engage,
And nurse the infant saplings of the stage!
KING,
PHILASTER,
PHARAMOND,
DION,
CLEREMONT,
THRASILINE,
CAPTAIN,
COUNTRYMAN,
Messengers, {
Woodmen,{
1
Dramatis Personae.
DRURY-LANE.
1
1
-
Men.
Mr. Packer.
A Young Gentlem.
Mr. Barrymore.
Mr. Fawcett.
Mr. Phillimore.
-
Mr. Chaplin.
-
Mr. Waldron.
Mr. Burton.
-
Mr. Spencer.
ARETHUSA,
-
EUPHRASIA, disguised under the name of
Bellario,
MEGRA, a Spanish lady,
-
Mr. Lyons.
Mr. Alfred.
Mr. Jones.
Women.
Miss Collins..
-
Mrs. Jordan.
Mrs. Ward.
Miss Tidswell.
GALATEA,
Lady,
SCENE, Sicily.
GR
Miss Palmer.
PHILASTER.
ACT 1. SCENE I.
An antechamber in the palace. Enter DION, CLERE-
MONT, and THRASILINE.
Cleremont.
HERE'S nor lords nor ladies.
Dion. Credit me, gentlemen, I wonder at it. They
received strict charge from the king to attend here.
Besides, it was loudly published, that no officer should
forbid any gentleman that desired to attend and hear.
Cler. Can you guess the cause ?
Dion. Sir, it is plain, about the Spanish prince,
that's come to marry our kingdom's heir, and be our
sovereign.
Cler. Many, that will seem to know much, say, she
looks not on him like a maid in love.
Thra. They say too, moreover, that the lady Me-
gra (sent hither by the queen of Spain, Pharamond's
mother, to grace the train of Arethusa, and attend
her to her new home, when espoused to the prince)
1
18
1.7 1.
PHILASTER.
carries herself somewhat too familiarly towards pha-
ramond; and it is whispered, that there is too close an
intercourse between him and that lady.
Dion. Troth, perhaps there may; tho' the multi-
tude (that seldom know any thing but their own opi
nions) speak what they would have. But the prince,
before his own approach, received so many confident
messages from the state, and bound himself by such
indissoluble engagements, that I think their nuptials
must go forwards, and that the princess is resolved to
be ruled.
Cler. Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both
these kingdoms of Sicily and Calabria.
Dion. Sir, it is, without controversy, so meant.
But 'twill be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy
both these kingdoms with safety, the right heir to
one of them living, and living so virtuously; espe~
cially, the people admiring the bravery of his mind,
and lamenting his injuries.
Cler. Who, Philaster?
Dion. Yes, whose father, we all know, was by our
late king of Calabria unrighteously deposed from his
fruitful Sicily. Myself drew some blood in those
wars, which I would give my hand to be washed from.
Cler. Sir, my ignorance in state-policy will not let
me know why, Philaster being heir to one of these
kingdoms, the king should suffer him to walk abroad
with such free liberty.
Dion. Sir it seems, your nature is more constant
than to enquire after state-news. But the king,
PHILASTER.
19
of late, roade a hazard of both the kingdoms of Sicily
and his own, with offering but to imprison Philaster;
at which the city was in arms, not to be charmed
down by any state-order or proclamation, till they
saw hilaster ride through the streets, pleased, and
without a guard; at which they threw their hats and
their arms from them, some to make bonfires, some to
strink, all for his deliverance. Which, wise men say,
is the cause the king labours to bring in the power of
a foreign nation to awe his own with.
Thra. Peace; the king.
[Flourish.
SCENE II.
Draws, and discovers the KING, PHARAMOND, ARE-
THUSA, and train.
King. To give a stronger testimony of love
Than "sickly" promises, " (which commonly
"In princes find both birth and burial
"In one breath)" we have drawn you, worthy sir,
To make your fair endearments to our daughter,
And worthy services known to our subjects,
"Now lov'd and wonder'd at." Next, our intent
To plant you deeply, our immediate heir
Both to our blood and kingdoms. "For this lady,
"(The best part of your life, as you
your life, as you confirm me,
"And I believe) though her few years and sex
"Yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes;
5.4.
20
Act 1,
PHILASTER.
* Think not, dear sir, these undivided parts,
"That must mould up a virgin, are put on
"To shew her so, as borrow'd ornaments,
"To speak her perfect love to you, or add
"An artificial shadow to her nature."
Last, noble son, (for so I now must call you)
What I have done thus public, is "not only
"To add a comfort in particular
"To you or me, but all; and" to confirm
The nobles, and the gentry of these kingdoms,
By oath to your succession, which shall be
Within this month at most.
Pha. Kissing your white hand, mistress, I take leave,
To thank your royal father; and thus far
To be my own free trumpet. Understand,
Great king, and these your subjects, gentlemen,
Believe me, in a word, a prince's word,
There shall be nothing to make up a kingdom
Mighty and flourishing, defenced, fear'd,
Equal to be commanded and obey'd,
But through the travels of my life I'll find it,
And tie it to this country. And I vow,
My reign shall be so easy to the subject,
That ev'ry man shall be his prince himself,
And his own law: (yet I his prince and law)
And, dearest lady, let me say, you are
The blessed'st living; for sweet princess, you
Shall make him yours for whom great queens must die.
Thra. Miraculous!
1
A&t I.
21
PHILASTER.
Cler. This speech calls him Spaniard, being no-
thing but
A large inventory of his own commendations.
But here comes one more worthy those large speeches,
Than the large speaker of them.
Enter PHILASTER.
Phi. Right noble sir, as low as my obedience,
And with a heart as loyal as my knee,
I beg your favour.
King. Rise; you have it, sir.
Speak your intents, sir.
Phi. Shall I speak them freely?
Be still my royal sovereign-
King. As a subject,
We give you freedom.
Dion. Now it heats.
Phi. Then thus I turn
My language to you, prince, you, foreign man.
Ne'er stare, nor put on wonder; for you must
Indure me, and you shall. This earth you tread on,
(A dowry, as you hope, with this fair princess)
By my dead father (oh, I had a father,
Whose memory I bow to) was not left
To your inheritance, and I up and living,
Having myself about me, and my sword,
The souls of all my name, and memories,
These arms and some few friends, besides the gods,
To part so calmly with it, and sit still,
And say, I might have been. I tell thee, Pharamond,
C
22
A&t I.
PHILASTER.
When thou art king, look I be dead and rotten,
And my name ashes. For, hear me, Pharamond,
This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth,
My father's friends made fertile with their faiths,
Before that day of shame, shall gape, and swallow
Thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave,
Into her hidden bowels.
Prince, it shall;
By Nemesis, it shall.
King. You do displease us.
You are too bold.
Phi. No, sir, I am too tame,
Too much a turtle, a thing born without passion,
A faint shadow, that every drunken cloud sails over,
And maketh nothing.
Pha. What have you seen in me to stir offence
I cannot find, unless it be this lady,
Offer'd into mine arms, with the succession,
Which I must keep, though it hath pleas'd your fury
To mutiny within you. The king grants it,
And I dare make it mine. You have your answer.
Phi. If thou wert sole inheritor to him
That made the world his, and were Pharamond
As truly valiant as I feel him cold,
And ring'd among the choicest of his friends,
And from this presence, spite of all these stops,
You should hear further from me.
King. Sír, you wrong the prince.
I gave you not this freedom to brave our best friends;
You do deserve our frown. Go to; be better tem-
per'd.
J
A&t 1.
23
PHILASTER.
Phi. It must be, sir, when I am nobler us'd.
King. Philaster, tell me
The injuries you aim at in your riddles.
Phi. If you had my eyes, sir, and sufferance,
My griefs upon you, and my broken fortunes,
My wants great, and now nought but hopes and fears,
My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laughed at.
Dare you be still my king, and right me not ?
King. Go to;
Be more yourself, as you respect our favour;
You'll stir us else. Sir, I must have you know
That you're, and shall be, at our pleasure, "what
"fashion we
"Will put upon you." Smooth your brow, or, by
the gods
Phi. I am dead, sir; you're my fate. It was not I
Said I was wrong'd. I carry all about më
My weak stars led me to, all my weak fortunes.
Who dares in all this presence speak, (that is
But man of flesh, and may be mortal) tell me,
I do not most entirely love this prince,
And honour his full virtues ?
King. Sure he's possess’d!
Phi. Yes, with my father's spirit. It's héré, O
King!
A dangerous spirit; now he tells me, king,
I was a king's heir, bids me be a king,
And whispers to me, these be all my subjects.
'Tis strange, he will not let me sleep, but dives
Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes
C ij
24
Act I.
PHILASTER.
That kneel, and do me service, cry me king.
But I'll suppress him; he's a factious spirit,
And will undo me.
I am your servant.
Noble sir, your hand;
King. Away; I do not like this..
For this time I pardon your wild speech.
[Exeunt King, Pha. Are. and train.
Has he not
Dion. See how his fancy labours.
Spoke home, and bravely? What a dangerous train
Did he give fire to! How he shook the king!
Made his soul melt within him, and his blood
Run into whey! It stood upon his brow,
Like a cold winter dew.
Phi. Gentlemen,
You have no suit to me; I am no minion.
You stand, methinks, like men that would be cour-
tiers,
If you could well be flatter'd at that price,
Not to undo your children. You're all honest.
Go, get you home again, and make your country
A virtuous court, to which your great ones may,
In their diseased age, retire, and live recluse.
Cler. How do you, worthy sir?
Phi. Well, very well,
And so well, that, if the king please, I find
I may live many years.
Dion. The king must please,
Whilst we know what you are, and who you are,
Your wrongs and injuries.
Shrink not, worthy sir,
But add your father to you; in whose name
A& I.
25
PHILASTER.
We'll waken all the gods, and conjure up
The rods of vengeance, the abused people
Who, like to raging torrents, shall swell high,
And so begirt the dens of these male-dragons,
That, through the strongest safety, they shall beg
For mercy at your sword's point.
Phi. Friends, no more;
Our ears may be corrupted. 'Tis an age
We dare not trust our wills to. Do you love me?
Thra. Do we love Heav'n and honour ?
Phi. My lord Dion,
You had a virtuous gentlewoman call'd you father:
Is she yet alive?
Dion. Most honour'd sir, she is;
And for the penance but of an idle dream,
Has undertook a tedious pilgrimage.
Enter a lady.
Phi. Is it to me, or any of these gentlemen you come?
Lady. To you, brave lord; the princess would in-
treat your present company.
Phi. Kiss her fair hand, and say, I will attend her.
Dion. Do you know what you do ?
Phi. Yes; go to see a woman.
Cler. But do you weigh the danger you are in ?
Phi. Danger in a sweet face!
Her eye may shoot me dead, or those true red
And white friends in her face may steal my soul out;
There's all the danger in't. But be what may,
Her single name hath armed me.
[Exit.
C iij
26
Act I.
PHILASTER.
Dion. Go on;
And be as truly happy as thou art fearless.
Come, gentlemen, let's make our friends ac-
quainted,
Lest the king prove false.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Changes to another apartment. Enter ARETHUSA and
Are. Comes he not?
Lady Madam?
a lady.
Are. Will Philaster come?
Lady. Dear madam, you were wont
To credit me at first.
Are. But didst thou tell me so ?
I am forgetful, and my woman's strength
Is so o'ercharg'd with danger like to grow
About my marriage, that these under things
Dare not abide in such a troubled sea.
How !ook'd he, when he told thee he would come?
Lady. Why, well.
Are. And not a little fearful?
Lady. Fear, madam! sure he knows not what it is.
Are. You are all of his faction; the whole court
Is bold in praise of him; whilst I
May live neglected, and do noble things,
As fools in strife throw gold into the sea,
Drown'd in the doing. But I know he fears.
A&t I.
27
PHILASTER.
Lady. Fear, madam! Methought his looks hid more
Of love than fear.
Are. Of love! to whom? To you?
Did you deliver those plain words I sent
With such a winning gesture, and quick look,
That you have caught him ?
Lady. Madam, I mean to you.
Are. Of love to me! Alas! thy ignorance
Lets thee not see the crosses of our births.
Nature, that loves not to be question'd why
She did or this, or that, but has her ends,
And knows she does well, never gave the world
Two things so opposite, so contrary,
As he and I am.
Lady. Madam, I think I hear him.
Are. Bring him in.
[Exit Lady.
You gods, that would not have your dooms withstood,
Whose holy wisdoms at this time it is
To make the passion of a feeble maid
The way unto your justice, I obey.
Re-enter lady and PHILASTER.
Lady. Here is my lord Philaster.
Are. Oh! 'tis well.
Withdraw yourself.
[Exit Lady.
Phi. Madam, your messenger
Made me believe you wish'd to speak with me.
Are. 'Tis true, Philaster.
Have you known,
That I have ought detracted from your worth?
28
A&t I.
PHILASTER.
Have I in person wrong'd you? Or have set
My baser instruments to throw disgrace
Upon your virtues ?
Phi. Never, madam, you.
Are. Why then should you, in such a public place,
Injure a princess, and a scandal lay
Upon my fortunes, “fam'd to be so great,”
Calling a great part of my dowry in question?
Phi. Madam, "this truth, which I shall speak,
will seem
"Foolish. But" for your fair and virtuous self,
I could afford myself to have no right
To any thing you wish'd.
Are. Philaster, know,
I must enjoy these kingdoms of Calabria
And Sicily. By fate, I die, Philaster,
If I not calmly may enjoy them both.
Phi. I would do much to save that noble life;
Yet would be loth to have posterity
Find in our stories, that Philaster gave
His right unto a sceptre and a crown,
To save a lady's longing.
Are. Nay, then, hear;
I must, and will have them, and more.
Phi. What more? Say, you would have my life;
Why, I will give it you; for it is of me
A thing so loath'd, and unto you that ask
Of so poor use, I will unmov'dly hear.
Are. Fain would I speak; and yet the words are
such
A&t I.
29
PHILASTER.
I have to say, and do so ill beseem
The mouth of woman, that I wish them said,
And yet am loth to utter them.
Oh, turn
Away thy face! a little bend thy looks!
Spare, spare me, Oh, Philaster !
Phi. What means this?
Are. But that my fortunes hang upon this hour,
But that occasion urges me to speak,
And that perversely to keep silence now
Would doom me to a life of wretchedness,
I could not thus have summon'd thee, to tell thee,
The thoughts of Pharamond are scorpions to me,
More horrible than danger, pain, or death!
Yes I must have thy kingdoms-must have thee-
Phi. How, me!
Are. Thy love! without which, all the land
Discovered yet, will serve me for no use,
But to be buried in.
Phi. Is't possible?
Are. With it, it were too little to bestow
!
On thee. Now, though thy breath may strike me dead,
(Which, know, it may) I have unripp'd my breast.
Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts,
To lay a train for this contemned life,
Which you may have for asking. To suspect
Were base, where I deserve no ill. Love you!
By all my hopes I do, above my life.
But how this passion should proceed from you
So violently-
Are. Another soul into my body shot,
go
Act 1.
PHILASTER.
Could not have fill'd me with more strength and spirit,
Than this thy breath.
But spend not hasty time
In seeking how I came thus.
"'Tis the gods,
The gods, that make me so; and sure our love
Will be the nobler, and the better bless'd,
In that the secret justice of the gods
Is mingled with it. Let us leave and part,
Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt.
Phi. 'Twill be ill
I should abide here long.
Are. 'Tis true, and worse
You should come often.
How shall we devise
To hold intelligence, that our true loves,
On any new occasion, may agree,
What path is best to tread.
Phi. I have a boy,
Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent,
Not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck,
I found him sitting by a fountain-side,
Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst,
And paid the nymph again as much in tears.
A garland lay by him, made by himself,
Of many several flowers, bred in the bay,
Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness
Delighted me; but ever when he turned
His tender eyes upon them, he would weep,
As if he meant to make them grow again.
Seeing such pretty helpless innocence
Dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story;
He told me, that his parents gentlé dy'd,
1
A& I.
a
PHILASTER.
.
3Leaving him to the mercy of the fields,
Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs,
Which did not stop their courses; and the sun,
Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light;
Then took he up his garland, and did shew
What every flower, as country people hold,
Did signify; and how all, ordered thus,
Express'd his grief; and to my thoughts did read
The prettiest lecture of his country art
That could be wish'd; so that, methought, I could
Have studied it. I gladly entertain❜d him,
Who was as glad to follow; and have got
The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy,
That ever master kept. Him will I send
To wait on you, and bear our hidden love.
Enter Lady.
Are. 'Tis well; no more.
Lady. Madam, the prince is come to do
you
service.
Are. What will you do, Philaster, with yourself?
Dear, hide thyself. Bring in the prince.
Phi. Hide me from Pharamond!
When thunder speaks, which is the voice of Jove,
Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not.
Are. Then, good Philaster, give him scope and way
In what he says; for he is apt to speak
What you are loth to hear. For my sake do.
Phi. I will.
32
A&t I.
PHILASTER.
Enter Pharamond.
Pha. My princely mistress, as true lovers ought,
I come to kiss these fair hands; and to shew,
In outward ceremonies, the dear love
Writ in my heart.
Phi. If I shall have an answer no dire&tlier,
`I am gone.
Pha. To what would he have an answer?
Are. To his claim unto the kingdom.
Pha. I did forbear you, sir, before the king.
Phi. Good sir, do so still; I would not talk with you.
Pha. But now the time is fitter.
Phi. Pharamond,
I loath to brawl with such a blast as thou,
Who art nought but a valiant voice. But if
Thou shalt provoke me further, men will say,
Thou wert, and not lament it.
Pha. Do you slight
My greatness so, and in the chamber of the princess ?
Phi. It is a place, to which, I must confess,
I owe a reverence; but wer't the church,
Ay, at the altar, there's no place so safe,
Where thou dar'st injure me, but I dare punish thee.
"Farewell."
Pha. Insolent boaster! offer but to mention
Thy right to any kingdom-
Are. Let him go;
He is not worth your care.
[Exit.
1
A&t 11.
33
PHILASTER.
Pha. My Arethusa !
I hope our hearts are knit; and yet so slow
State ceremonies are, it may be long
Before our hands be so. If then you please
Being agreed in heart, let us not wait
For pomp and circumstance, but solemnize
A private nuptial, and anticipate
Delights, and so foretaste our joys to come.
Are. My father, sir, is all in all to me ;
Nor can I give my fancy or my will
More scope than he shall warrant.
My eye look up to Pharamond for lord,
I know my duty; but, till then, farewell.
When he bids
[Exit.
Pha. Nay, but there's more in this—some happier
man;
Perhaps Philaster-'Sdeath! let me not think on't—
She must be watch'd-He too must be ta'en care of,
Or all my hopes of her and empire rest
Upon a sandy bottom-
If she means
To wed me, well; if not, I swear revenge.
[Exit.
ACT II. SCene 1.
Än apartment in the palace. Enter PHILASTER and
BELLARIO.
Philaster.
AND thou shalt find her honourable, boy;
Full of regard unto thy tender youth. ·
D
34
Att 11.
PHILASTER.
For thine own modesty, and for my sake,
Apter to give, than thou wilt be to ask,
Ay, or deserve.
Bel. Sir, you did take me up
When I was nothing; and only yet am something,
You trusted me, unknown;
By being yours.
And that which you are apt to construe now
A simple innocence in me, perhaps
Might have been craft, the cunning of a boy
Harden'd in lies and theft; yet ventur'd you
To part my miseries and me; for which
I never can expect to serve a lady,
That bears more honour in her breast than you.
Phi. But, boy, it will prefer thee; thou art young,
And bear'st a childish, overflowing love
To them that clap thy cheeks, and speak thee fair.
But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions,
Thou wilt remember best those careful friends,
That plac'd thee in the noblest way of life.
She is a princess I prefer thee too.
Bel. In that small time that I have seen the world,
I never knew a man hasty to part with
A servant he thought trusty. I remember,
My father would prefer the boys he kept
To greater men than he; but did it not,
Till they were grown too saucy for himself.
Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all-
In thy behaviour.
Bel. Sir, if I have made
A fault of ignorance, instruct my youth;
Act II.
25
PHILASTER.
I shall be willing, if not apt, to learn :
Age and experience will adorn my mind.
With larger knowledge; and if I have done
A wilful fault, think me not past all hope
For once.
What master holds so strict a hand
Over his boy, that he will part with him
Without one warning? Let me be corrected,
To break my stubbornness, if it be so,
Rather than turn me off, and I shall mend.
Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay,
That, trust me, I could weep to part with thee,
Alas, I do not turn thee off! thou know'st,
It is my business that doth call thee hence;
And when thou art with her, thou dwell'st with me.
Think so, and 'tis so; and when time is full,
That thou hast well discharg'd this heavy trust,
Laid on so weak a one, I will again
With joy receive thee; as I live, I will.
Nay, weep not, gentle boy; 'tis more than time
Thou didst attend the princess.
Bel. I am gone.
But since I am to part with you, my lord,
And none knows whether I shall live to do
More service for you, take this little prayer:
Heav'n bless your loves, your fights, all your designs
May sick men, if they have your wish, be well;
And Heav'n hate those you curse, tho' I be one. [Exit,
Phi. The love of boys unto their lords is strange !
I have read wonders of it: yet this boy,
For my sake, if a man may judge by looks
Dij
36
A&t II.
PHILASTER.
And speech, would out-do story. I may see
A day to pay him for his loyalty.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Changes to ARETHUSA's apartment. Enter ARETHUSA
and a lady.
Are. Where's the boy? Where's Bellario?
Lady. Within, madam.
Are. Gave you him gold to buy him clothes?
Lady. I did.
Are. And has he done't?
Lady. Madam, not yet.
Are. 'Tis a pretty, sad talking boy, is it not
Enter GALATEA.
Oh, you are welcome! What good news?
Gal. As good as any one can tell your grace,
That says she has done that you would have wish'd,
Are. Hast thou discover'd then?
Gal. I have. Your prince,
Brave Pharamond's disloyal.
Are. And with whom?
Gal. Ev'n with the lady we suspect; with Megra.
"Are. Oh, where! and when ?
❝ Gal. I can discover all."
Are. The king shall know this; and if destiny,
To whom we dare not say, it shall not be,
Have not decreed it so in lasting leaves,
Act II.
37
PHILASTER.
Whose smallest characters were never chang'd,
This hated match with Pharamond shall break.
Run back into the presence, mingle there
Again with other ladies; leave the rest
To me.
Where's the boy ?
Lady. Within, madam.
Are. Go, call him hither.
Enter BELLARIO.
Why art thou ever melancholy, sir?
You are sad to change your service.
[Exit Gal.
[Exit lady.
Is't not so?
Bel. Madam, I have not chang'd; I wait on you,
To do him service.
Are. Thou disclaim'st in me.
Tell me, Bellario? thou canst sing and play?
Bel. If grief will give me leave, madam, I can.
Are. Alas! what kind of grief can thy years know §
Had'st a cross master when thou went'st to school?
Thou art not capable of other grief.
Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be,
When no breath troubles them. Believe me, boy,
Care seeks out wrinkled brows, and hollow eyes,
And builds himself caves to abide in them.
Come, sir, tell me truly, does your lord love me t
Bel, Love, madam, I know not what it is.
Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew'st
love?
Thou art deceiv'd, boy. Does he speak of me,
As if he wish'd me well?
Diij
38
Act II.
PHILASTER.
Bel. If it be love,
To forget all respect of his own friends,
In thinking on your face; if it be love,
To sit cross-arm'd, and sigh away the day,
Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud
And hastily, as men i'the streets do fire?
If it be love, to weep himself away,
When he but hears of any lady dead,
Or kill'd, because it might have been your chance;
If, when he goes to rest, (which will not be)
'Twixt ev'ry prayer he says, he names you once,
As others drop a bead, be to be in love,
Then, madam, I dare swear he loves you.
Are. Oh!
You are a cunning boy, taught to deceive,
For your lord's credit. But thou know'st, a falsehood
That bears this sound, is welcomer to me,
Than any truth, that says, he loves me not.
Lead the way, boy. Do you attend me too;
'Tis thy lord's business hastes me thus.
Away.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Changes to another apartment in the palace. Enter ME-
GRA and PHARAMOND,
Meg. What then am I? A poor neglected stale !
Have I then been an idle toying shẹ,
A&t 11.
39
PHILASTER.
To fool away an hour or two withal,
And then thrown by for ever?
Pha. Nay, have patience.
Meg. Patience! I shall go mad! Why, I shall be
A mark for all the pages of the court
To spend their wit upon.
Pha. It shall not be.
She whose dishonour is not known abroad,
Is not at all dishonour'd.
Meg. Not dishonour'd !
Have we then been so chary of our fame,
So cautious, think you, in our course of love,
No blot of calumny has fall'n upon it? Say,
What charm has veil'd suspicion's hundred eyes,
And who shall stop the cruel hand of scorn?
Pha. Cease your complaints, reproachful and un-
kind!
What could I do? Obedience to my father,
My country's good, my plighted faith, my fame,
Each circumstance of state and duty, ask'd
The tender of my hand to Arethusa.
Meg. Talk not of Arethusal She, I know,
Would fain get rid of her most precious bargain.
She is for softer dalliance; she has got
A cherub, a young Hylas, an Adonis!
Pha. What mean you?
Mcg. She, good faith, has her Bellario!
A boy-about eighteen-a pretty boy!
Why, this is he that must, when you are wed,
Sit by your pillow, like a young Apollo,
40
A&t II.
PHILASTER.
Sing, play upon the lute, with hand and voice
Binding your thoughts in sleep. She does provide him
For you, and for herself.
Pha. Injurious Megra!
Oh! add not shame to shame! To rob a lady
Of her good name thus, is an heinous sin,
Not to be pardon'd: yet, though false as hell,
'Twill never be redeem'd, if it be sown
Amongst the people, fruitful to increase
All evil they shall hear.
Meg. It shall be known:
Nay, more, by Heav'n, 'tis true! a thousand things
Speak it beyond all contradiction true.
Observe how brave she keeps him: how he stands
For ever at her beck. There's not an hour,
Sacred howe'er to female privacy,
But he's admitted; and in open court,
Their tell-tale eyes hold soft discourse together.
Why, why is all this? Think you she's content
To look upon him?
Pha. Make it but appear,
That she has play'd the wanton with this stripling,
All Spain, as well as Sicily, shall know
Her foul dishonour. I'll disgrace her first,
Then leave her to her shame.
Meg. You are resolv❜d ?
Pha. Most constantly.
Meg. The rest remains with me.
I will produce such proofs, that she shall know
I did not leave our country, and degrade
A& II.
41
PHILASTER.
Our Spanish honour and nobility,
To stand a mean attendant in her chamber,
With hoodwink'd eyes, and finger on my lips.
What I have seen, I'll speak; what known, proclaim;
Her story shall be general as the wind,
And fly as far. I will about it straight.
Expect news from me, Pharamond. Farewell. [Exit.
Pha. True or not true, one way I like this well;
For I suspect the princess loves me not.
If Megra's charge prove malice, her own ruin
Must follow, and I'm quit of her for ever.
But if she makes suspicions truths; or if,
Which were as deep confusion, Arethusa
Disdain'd our proffer'd union, and Philaster
Stand foremost in her heart, let Megra's charge
Wear but the semblance and the garb of truth,
They shall afford me measure of revenge.
I will look on with an indifferent eye,
Prepar'd for either fortune; or to wed,
If she prove faithful, or repulse her sham'd.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.
The presence chamber.
Enter DION, CLEREMONT,
THRASILINE, MEGRA, and GALATEA.
Dion. Come, ladies, shall we talk a round?
Gal. 'Tis late.
Meg. 'Tis all
My eyes will do, to lead me to my bed.
42
Act II
PHILASTER.
Enter PHARAMOND.
Thra. The Prince 1
Pha. Not a-bed, ladies! You're good sitters up.
What think you of a pleasant dream, to last
'Till morning?
Enter ARETHUSA and BELLARIQ.
Are. 'Tis well, my lord; you're courting of ladies.
Is't not late, gentlemen?
Cler. Yes, madam.
Are. Wait you there.
[Exit Arethusa.
Meg. She's jealous, as I live! Look you, my lord,
The princess has a boy.
Pha. His form is angel-like.
Dion. Serves he the princess?
Thra. Yes.
Dion. 'Tis a sweet boy.
Pha. Ladies all, good rest. I mean to kill a buck
To-morrow morning, ere you've done your dreams.
[Exit Phar.
Meg. All happiness attend your grace. Gentle-
men, good rest.
Gal. All, good night.
[Exeunt Gal. and Meg.
Dion. May your dreams be true to you.
What shall we do, gallants? 'Tis late. The king
Is up still. See, he comes, and Arethusa
With him.
Enter KING, ARETHUSA, and guard.
King. Look your intelligence be true.
Ų
A&t II.
43
PHILASTER.
Are. Upon my life it is. And I do hope
Your highness will not tie me to a man,
That in the heat of wooing throws me off,
And takes another.
Dion. What should this mean?
King. If it be true,
That lady had much better have embrac'd
Cureless diseases. Get you to your rest.
[Exeunt Are. and Bel.
You shall be righted. Gentlemen, draw near.
Haste, some of you, and cunningly discover
If Megra be in her lodging.
Cler. Sir,
She parted hence but now, with other ladies.
King. I would speak with her.
Dion. She's here, my lord.
Enter MEGRA.
King. Now, lady of honour, where's your honour
now?
No man can fit your palate but the prince.
Thou troubled sea of sin; thou wilderness,
Inhabited by wild affections, tell me,
Had you none to pull on with your courtesies
But he that must be mine, and wrong my daughter ?
By all the gods! all these, and all the court
Shall hoot thee, and break scurvy jests upon thee,
Make ribald rhimes, and sear thy name on walls.
Meg. I dare, my lord, your hootings and your cla-
mours,
44
A&t II.
PHILASTER.
Your private whispers, and your broader fleerings,
Can no more vex my soul, than this base carriage,
The poor destruction of a lady's honour,
The publishing the weakness of a woman.
But I have vengeance yet in store for some,
Shall, in the utmost scorn you can have of me,
Be joy and nourishment.
King. What means the wanton ?
D'ye glory in your shame ?
Meg. I will have fellows,
Such fellows in't, as shall make noble mirth.
The princess, your dear daughter, shall stand by me,
On walls, and sung in ballads, any thing.
King. My daughter!
Meg. Yes, your daughter, Arethusa,
The glory of your Sicily, which I,
A stranger to your kingdom, laugh to scorn.
I know her shame, and will discover all ;
Nay, will dishonour her. I know the boy
She keeps, a handsome boy, about eighteen;
"Know what she does with him, and where, and
when."
Come, sir, you put me to a woman's madness,
The glory of a fury.
King. What boy's this?
Meg. Alas, good-minded prince!
You know not these things: I will make them plain.
I will not fall alone: what I have known'
Shall be as public as a print: all tongues
Shall speak it, as they do the language they
1
A&t II.
45
PHILASTER.
;
Are born in, as free and commonly I'll set it
Like a prodigious star, for all to gaze at
And that so high and glowing, other realms,
Foreign and far, shall read it there; and then
Behold the fall of your fair princess too.
King. Has she a boy ?
Cler. So, please your grace, I've seen
A boy wait on her, a fair boy.
[Exit.
King. Away; I'd be alone. Go, get you to your
quarters.
Manet KING.
You gods, I see, that who unrighteously
[Exeunt.
Holds wealth or state from others, shall be curst
In that which meaner men are blest withal :
Ages to come shall know no male of him
Left to inherit, and his name shall be
Blotted from earth. If he have any child,
It shall be crossly match'd. The gods themselves
Shall sow wild strife between her lord and her;
Or she shall prove his curse who gave her being.
Gods! if it be your wills-But how can I
Look to be heard of gods, who must be just,
Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong?
[Exit.
E
46
A&t III.
PHILASTER.
ACT III. SCENE 1.
The court. Enter PHILASTER.
OH, that I had a sea
Philaster.
Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel!
More circumstances will but fan this fire.
It more afflicts me now, to know by whom
This deed is done, than simply that 'tis done.
Woman, frail sex! the winds that are let loose
From the four several corners of the earth,
And spread themselves all over sea and land,
Kiss not a chaste one! Taken with her boy!
Oh, that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselves
With what we see not! Bulls and rams will fight
To keep their females standing in their sight;
But take 'em from them, and you take at once
Their spleens away; and they will fall again
Unto their pastures, growing fresh and fat;
And taste the waters of the springs as sweet
As 'twas before, finding no start in sleep.
But miserable man-See, see, you gods,
[Seeing Bellario at a distance.
He walks still! and the face you let him wear
When he was innocent, is still the same,
Not blasted. Is this justice? Do you mean
To intrap mortality, that you
'Treason to smooth a brow?
allow
A&t III.
47
PHILASTER.
I cannot now
Enter BELLARIO.
Think he is guilty.
Bel. Health to you, my lord!
The princess doth commend her love, her life,
And this unto you.
Phi. Oh, Bellario!
[Gives a letter.
Now I perceive she loves me; she does shew it
In loving thee, my boy; sh'as made thee brave.
Bel. My lord, she has attired me past my wish,
Past my desert; more fit for her attendant,
Though far unfit for me, who do attend.
men,
Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy. O, let all wo-
[Reads.
That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here!
Here, by this paper she does write to me,
As if her heart were mines of adamant
To all the world besides; but, unto me
A maiden snow that melted with my looks.
Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee?
For I shall guess her love to me by that.
Bel. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were
Something allied to her, or had preserv'd
Her life three times by my fidelity :
As mothers fond do use their only sons;
As I'd use one that's left unto my trust,
For whom my life should pay, if he met harm;
So she does use me.
E ij
48
A&t 111.
PHILASTER.
Phi. Why, this is wondrous well :
But what kind language does she feed thee with?
Bel. Why, she does tell me, she will trust my youth
With all her loving secrets; and does call me
Her pretty servant; bids me weep no more
For leaving you; she'll see my services
Rewarded; and such words of that soft strain,
That I am nearer weeping when she ends
Than ere she spake.
Phi. This is much better still.
Bel. Are you not ili, my lord ?
Phi. Ill! No, Bellario.
Bel. Methinks your words
Fall not from off your tongue so evenly,
Nor is there in your looks that quietness,
That I was wont to see.
Phi. Thou art deceiv'd, boy :
And she strokes thy head?
Bel. Yes.
Phi. And does clap thy cheeks ?
Bel. She does, my lord.
Phi. And she does kiss thee, boy? hal
Bel. How, my lord!
Phi. She kisses thee?
Bel. Not so, my lord.
Phi. Come, come, I know she does.
Bel. No, by my life.
Phi. Why, then, she does not love me. Come,
she does,
I bade her do it; I charg'd her by all charms
A&t III.
49
PHILASTER.
Of love between us, by the hope of peace
We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights.
Tell me, gentle boy,
Is she not past compare? Is not her breath
Sweet as Arabian winds, when fruits are ripe?
Is she not all a lasting mine of joy?
Bel. Ay, now I see why my disturbed thoughts
Were so perplex'd. When first I went to her,
My heart held augury; you are abus’d ;
Some villain has abus'd you: I do see
Whereto you tend. Fall rocks upon his head,
That put this to you! 'tis some subtle train,
To bring that noble frame of yours to nought.
Phi. Thou think'st I will be angry with thee; come,
Thou shalt know all my drift: I hate her more
Than I love happiness; and plac'd thee there,
Το pry with narrow eyes into her deeds.
Hast thou discover'd? Is she fall'n to lust,
As I would wish her? Speak some comfort to me.
Bel. My lord, you did mistake the boy you sent;
Had she a sin that way, hid from the world,
Beyond the name of sin, I would not aid
Her base desires; but what I came to know
As servant to her, I would not reveal,
To inake my life last ages.
Phi. Oh, my heart!
This is a salve worse than the main disease.
Tell me thy thoughts; for I will know the least
That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart
E iij
50
A&t III.
PHILASTER.
To know it; I will see thy thoughts as plain
As I do now thy face.
Bel. Why, so you do.
She is (for ought I know) by all the gods,
As chaste as ice; but were she foul as hell,
And I did know it thus, the breath of kings,
The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass,
Should draw it from me.
Phi. Then it is no time
To dally with thee; I will take thy life,
For I do hate thee; I cou'd curse thee now.
Bel. If you do hate, you could not curse me worse;
The gods have not a punishment in store
Greater for me, than is your hate.
Phi. Fie, fie!
So young and so dissembling! Tell me when
And where thou didst possess her, or let plagues
Fall on me strait, if I destroy thee not!
Bel. Heav'n knows, I never did: and when I lie
To save my life, may I live long and loath'd!
Hew me asunder, and, whilst I can think,
I'll love those pieces you have cut away
Better than those that grow; and kiss those limbs,
Because you made them so.
Phi. Fear's: thou not death?
Can boys contemn that?
Bel. Oh, what boy is he
Can be content to live to be a man,
That sees the best of men thus passionate,
Thus without reason ¿
A&t 111.
58
PHILASTER.
Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know
What 'tis to die.
Bel. Yes, I do know, my lord;
'Tis less than to be born; a lasting sleep,
A quiet resting from all jealousy;
A thing we all pursue: I know, besides,
It is but giving over of a game
That must be lost.
Phi. But there are pains, false boy,
For perjur'd souls; think but on these, and then
Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.
Bel. May they fall all upon me whilst I live,
If I be perjur'd, or have ever thought
Of that you charge me with! If I be false,
Send me to suffer in those punishments
You speak of; kill me.
Phi. Oh, what shou'd I do?
J
Why, who can but believe him? He does swear
So earnestly, that if it were not true,
The gods would not endure him. Rise, Bellario:
Thy protestations are so deep, and thou
Dost look so truly, when thou utterest them,
That though I knew 'em false, as were my hopes,
I cannot urge thee further: but thou wert
To blame to injure me, for I must love
Thy honest looks, and take no vengeance on
Thy tender youth. A love from me to thee
Is firm whate'er thou dost. It troubles me,
That I have call'd the blood out of thy cheeks,
That did so well become them. But, good boy,
PHILASTER.
A&t III.
52
Let me not see thee more: something is done,
That will distract me, that will make me mad,
If I behold thee; if thou tender'st me,
Let me not see thee.
Bel. I will fly as far
As there is morning, ere I give distaste
To that most honour'd mind. But through these tears,
Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see
A world of treason practis'd upon you,
And her, and me. Farewel, for evermore !
If you shall hear, that sorrow struck me dead,
And after find me loyal, let there be
A tear shed from you in my memory,
And I shall rest at peace.
Phi. Blessing be with thee,
[Exit Bel.
Whatever thou deserv'st! Oh, where shall I
Ease my breaking heart? Nature, too unkind,
That gave no medicine for a troubled mind!
[Exit.
SCENE II.
ARETHUSA's apartment.
Enter ARETHUSA.
Are. I marvel, my boy comes not back again.
But that I know my love will question him.
Over and over; how I slept, wak'd, talk'd!
How I remembered him, when his dear name
Was last spoke!" and how, when I sigh'd, wept,
sung,'
"
And ten thousand such! I should be angry at his stay.
A&t III.
53
PHILASTER.
Enter KING.
King. What, at your meditations! Who attends you?
Are. None but my single self; I need no guard;
I do no wrong, nor fear none.
King. Tell me, have you not a boy?
Are. Yes, sir.
King. What kind of boy?
Are. A page, a waiting-boy.
King. A handsome boy?
Are. I think he be not ugly;
Well qualified, and dutiful, I know him
I took him not for beauty.
;
King. He speaks, and sings, and plays?
Are. Yes, sir.
King. About eighteen?
Are. I never ask'd his age.
King. Is he full of service?
Are. By your pardon, why do you ask?
King. Put him away.
Are. Sir!
King. Put him away; 'has done you that good ser-
vice
Shames me to speak of.
Are. Good sir, let me understand you.
King. If you fear me,
Shew it in duty; put away that boy.
Are. Let me have reason for it, sir, and then
Your will is my command.
King. Do you not blush to ask it? Cast him off,
54
A&t III.
PHILASTER.
Or I shall do the same to you.
"You're one
"Shame with me, and so near unto myself,
"That," by my life, I dare not tell myself
What you have done.
Are. What have I done, my lord?
King. Understand me well;
There be foul whispers stirring-Cast him off,
And suddenly do it.
Farewell.
[Exit King.
Are. Where may a maiden live securely free,
Keeping her honour safe? Not with the living:
They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams,
And make 'em truths. They draw a nourishment
Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces,
And when they see a virtue fortified
Strongly above the battery of their tongues,
Oh, how they cast to sink it and defeated
:
(Soul-sick with poison) strike the monuments
Where noble names lie sleeping!
Enter PHILASTER.
Phi. Peace to your fairest thoughts,, my dearest
mistress!
Are. Oh, my dear servant, I have a war within me.
Phi. He must be more than man, that makes these
crystals
Run into rivers.
Sweetest fair, the cause?
And as I am your slave, "tied to your goodness,
"Your creature made again from what I was,
"And newly spirited," I'll right your honours.
dre. Oh, my best love; that boy!
1
A& III.
55
PHILASTER.
Phi. What boy?
Are. The pretty boy you gave me
Phi. What of him?
Are. Must be no more mine.
Phi. Why?
Are. They are jealous of him.
Phi. Jealous! who?
Are. The king.
Phi. Oh, my fortune!
Then 'tis no idle jealousy.
Are. Oh, cruel,
Are
you
Let him go.
hard-hearted too? Who shall now tell you,
How much I lov'd you? Who shall swear it to you,
And weep the tears I send? Who shall now bring you
Letters, rings, bracelets, lose his health in service?
Wake tedious nights in stories of your praise ?
"Who now shall sing your crying elegies,
"And strike a sad soul into senseless pictures,
“And make them mourn?" Who shall take up his
lute,
And touch it, till he crown a silent sleep
Upon my eye-lid, making me dream and cry,
Oh, my dear, dear Philaster.
Phi. Oh, my heart!
Would he had broken thee, that made thee know
This lady was not loyal! Mistress, forget
The boy, I'll find thee a far better one.
Are. Oh, never, never, such a boy again,
As my Bellario,
Phi. 'Tis but your fond affection.
56
A&t III.
PHILASTER.
Are. With thee, my boy, farewell for ever
All secrecy in servants: farewell faith,
And all desire to do well for itself:
Let all that shall succeed thee, for thy wrongs,
Sell and betray chaste love!
Phi. And all this passion for a boy?
Are. He was your boy; you gave him to me, and
The loss of such must have a mourning for.
Phi. Oh, thou forgetful woman!
Are. How, my lord?
Phi. False Arethusa !
Hast thou a medicine to restore my wits,
When I have lost 'em? If not, leave to talk,
And to do thus.
Are. Do what, sir? "Would you sleep?"
Phi. "For ever, Arethusa." Oh, you gods!
Give me a worthy patience: have I stood
Naked, alone, the shock of many fortunes?
Have I seen mischiefs numberless and mighty
Grow like a sea upon me? Have I taken
Danger as stern as death into my bosom,
And laugh'd upon it, made it but a mirth,
And flung it by? Do I live now like him,
Under this tyrant king, that languishing
Hears his sad bell, and sees his mourners? Do I
Bear all this bravely, and must sink at length
Under a woman's falsehood? Oh, that boy,
That cursed boy! None but a villain boy,
To wrong me with!
Are. Nay, then I am betray'd;
A&t III.
57
PHILASTER.
I feel the plot cast for my overthrow ;
Oh, I am wretched!
Phi. Now you inay take that little right I have
To this poor kingdom: give it to your boy!
For I have no joy in it.
Some far place
Where never womankind durst set her foot,
For bursting with her poisons, must I seek,
And live to curse you:
There dig a cave, and preach to birds and beasts
What woman is, and help to save them from you.
How heav'n is in your eyes, but in your hearts
More hell than hell has; how your tongues, like scor-
pions,
Both heal and poison: how your thoughts are woven
With thousand changes in one subtle web,
And worn so by you. How that foolish man,
That reads the story of a woman's face,
And dies believing it, is lost for ever.
How all the good you have is but a shadow,
I' th' morning with you, and at night behind you,
Past and forgotten. How your vows are frost,
Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone.
How you are, being taken all together,
A mere confusion, and so dead a chaos,
That love cannot distinguish. These sad texts,
Till my last hour, I am bound to utter of you.
So farewell all my woe, all my delight!
[Exit.
Are. Be merciful, ye gods, and strike me dead.
What way have I deserv'd this? Make my breast
Transparent as pure crystal, that the world,
F
58
A& III.
PHILASTER.
Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought
My heart holds. Wheres hall a woman turn her eyes,
To find out constancy? "Save me," how "black,"
Enter BELLARIO.
"And" guiltily, methinks, that boy looks now!
Oh, thou dissembler, that, before thou spak'st,
West in thy cradle false! Sent to make lies,
And betray innocents; thy lord and thou
May glory in the ashes of a maid
Fool'd by her passion; but the conquest is
Nothing so great as wicked. Fly away,
Let my command force thee to that, which shame
Should do without it. If thou understoodst
The loathed office thou hast undergone,
Why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of hills,
Lest men should dig and find thee.
Bel. Oh, what god,
Angry with men, hath sent this strange disease
Into the noblest minds? Madam, this grief
You add unto me is no more than drops
To seas, for which they are not seen to swell;
My lord hath struck his anger through my heart,
And let out all the hope of future joys;
You need not bid me fly; I come to part,
To take my latest leave.
I durst not run away in honesty,
From such a lady, like a boy that stole,
Or made some grievous fault. Farewell! The gods
Assist you in your suff'rings! Hasty time
2
A&t IV.
59
PHILASTER.
Reveal the truth to your abused lord,
And mine; that he may know your worth! Whilst I
Go seek out some forgotten place to die.
[Exit.
Are. Peace guide thee! thou hast overthrown me
once,
Yet, if I had another heaven to lose,
Thou, or another villain, with thy looks,
Might talk me out of it.
Enter a Lady.
Lady. Madam, the king would hunt, and calls for
You with earnestness.
Are. I attend him.
Diana, if thou canst rage with a maid,
As with a man, let me discover thee
Bathing, and turn me to a fearful hind,
That I may die pursu'd by cruel hounds,
And have my story written in my wounds.
ACT IV. SCENE 1.
A wood.
Enter PHILASTER.
Philaster.
OH, that I had been nourish'd in these woods
With milk of goats, and acorns, and not known
The right of crowns, nor the dissembling trains
Of women's looks; but digg'd myself a cave,
"Where I, my fire, my cattle, and my bed,
Fij
60
A&t IV.
PHILASTER.
"Might have been shut together in one shed;"
And then had taken me some mountain girl,
Beaten with winds, chaste as the harden'd rocks
Whereon she dwells; that might have strew'd my bed,
With leaves, and reeds, and with the skins of beasts
Our neighbours; "and have borne at her big breasts
"My large coarse issue!" This had been a life
Free from vexation !
Enter BELLARIO.
Bel. Oh, wicked men!
An innocent may walk safe among beasts:
Nothing assaults me here. See, my griev'd lord
Looks as his soul were searching out the way
To leave his body. Pardon me, that must
Break thro' thy last command; for I must speak :
You, that are griev'd, can pity; hear, my lord.
Phi. Is there a creature yet so miserable,
That I can pity?
Bel. Oh, my noble lord,
View my strange fortune, and bestow on me,
According to your bounty (if my service
Can merit nothing) so much as may serve
To keep that little piece I hold of life
From cold and hunger.
Phi. Is it thou? "Begone!"
Go, sell those misbeseeming clothes thou wear’st,
And feed thyself with them.
Bel. Alas! my lord, I can get nothing for them:
A&t IV.
61
PHILASTER.
The silly country people think 'tis treason
To touch such gay things.
Phi. Now, by my life, this is
Unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight;
Thou'rt fall'n again to thy dissembling trade:
How shouldst thou think to cozen me again ?
Remains there yet a plague untry'd for me?
Ev'n so thou wept'st, and look'd'st, and spok'st, when
first
I took thee up: curse on the time! If thy
Commanding tears can work on any other,
Use thy old art, I'll not betray it. Which
Way wilt thou take, that I may shun thee? for
Thine eyes are poison unto mine; and I
Am loth to grow in rage.
This way, or that way?
Bel. Any will serve. But I will choose to have
That path in chace that leads unto my grave.
[Exeunt severally.
Enter DION and the Woodmen.
Dion. This is the strangest sudden chance! You,
woodman!
1 Wood. My lord "Dion.”
Dion. Saw you a lady come this way on a sable horse
studded with stars of white?
2 Wood. Was she not young " and tall?"
Dion. Yes. Rode she to the wood, or to the plain ?
2 Wood. Faith, my lord, we saw none.
[Exeunt Woodmen.
Dion. Pox of your questions then!
Fiij
62
A& IV.
PHILASTER.
Enter CLEREMONT.
What, is she found?
Cle. Nor will be, I think. There's already a thou-
sand fatherless tales amongst us; some say, her horse
run away with her; some, a wolf pursued her; others,
it was a plot to kill her; and that armed men were
seen in the wood: but, "questionless, she rode away
willingly.
Enter KING and THRASILINE.
King. Where is she?
Cle. Sir, I cannot tell.
King. How is that?
Sir, speak you where she is.
Dion. Sir, I do not know.
King. You have betray'd me, you have let me lose
The jewel of my life. Go, bring her me,
And set her here before me; 'tis the king
Alas! what are we kings?
Will have it so.
Why do you, gods, place us above the rest;
To be serv'd, flatter'd, and ador'd, till we
Believe we hold within our hands your thunder:
And when we come to try the pow'r we have,
There's not a leaf shakes at our threatenings.
I have sinn'd, 'tis true, and here stand to be punish'd;
Yet would not thus be punish'd.
Enter PHARAMOND and GALATEA.
King. What, is she found ?
Pha. No, we have ta’en her horse.
At IV.
63
PHILASTER.
He gallop'd empty by; there is some treason:
You, Galatea, rode with her into the wood; why left
you her;
Gal. She did command me.
King. You're all cunning to obey us for our hurt;
But I will have her.
Run all, disperse yourselves; the man that finds her,
Or (if she be kill'd) the traitor; I'll make him great.
Pha. Come, let us seek.
King. Each man a several way; here I myself.
SCENE II.
[Exeunt.
Another part of the wood. Enter ARETHUSA.
Are. Where am I now? Feet, find me out a way,
Without the counsel of my troubled head;
I'll follow you boldly about these woods,
O'er mountains, thorough brambles, pits, and floods:
Heaven, I hope, will ease me. I am sick.
Enter BELLARIO.
Bel.. Yonder's my lady; heav'n knows, I want
nothing,
Because I do not wish to live; yet I
Will try her charity. O hear, you that have plenty,
And from that flowing store, drop some on dry
ground: see,
The lively red is gone to guard her heart; [She faints,.
64
Act IV.
PHILASTER.
I fear, she faints. Madam, look up; she breathes not;
Open once more those rosy twins, and send
Unto my lord, your latest farewell; oh, she stirs :
How is it, madam? Speak some comfort.
Are. 'Tis not gently done,
To put me in a miserable life,
And hold me there; I pray thee, let me go,
I shall do best without thee; I am well.
Enter PHILASTER.
Phi. I am to blame to be so much in rage:
I'll tell her coolly, when and where I heard
This killing truth. I will be temperate
In speaking, and as just in hearing it.
Oh, monstrous! [Seeing them,] Tempt me not, ye
gods! good gods,
Tempt not a frail man what's he, that has a heart,
But he must ease it here?
Bel. My lord, help the princess.
Are. I am well, forbear.
Phi. Let me love lightning, let me be embrac'd
And kiss'd by scorpions, or adore the eyes
Of basilisks, rather than trust the tongues
Of hell-bred women! Some good gods look down,
And shrink these veins up; stick me here a stonė,
Lasting to ages in the memory
Of this damn'd act! Hear me, you wicked ones!
You have put hills of fire into this breast,
Not to be quench'd with tears; for which may guilt
Sit on your bosoms! at your meals, and beds,
A&t IV.
65
PHILASTER.
Despair await you! What, before my face?
Poison of asps between your lips! Diseases
Be your best issues! Nature make a curse,
And throw it on you!
Are. Dear Philaster, leave
To be enrag'd, and hear me.
Phi. I have done:
Forgive my passion. Not the calmed sea,
When Æolus locks up his windy brood,
Is less disturb'd than I. I'll make you know it..
Dear Arethusa, do but take this sword,
And search how temperate a heart I have;
Then you, and this your boy, may live and reign
In sin, without controul. Wilt thou Bellario?
I pr'ythee, kill me; "thou art poor, and may'st
"Nourish ambitions thoughts, when I am dead :
"This way were freer."
Are. Kill you!
Bel. Not for a world.
Phi. I blame not thee,
Bellario; thou hast done but that which gods
Would have transform'd themselves to do! "Begone,
"Leave me without reply; this is the last
❝ Of all our meeting.
Kill me with this sword !
"Be wise, or worse will follow; we are two
"Earth cannot bear at once." Resolve to do, or suffer.
Are. If my fortunes be so good to let me fall
Upon thy hand, I shall have peace in death.
Yet tell me this, will there be no slanders,
No jealousies in the other world, no ill there?
1
66
A&t IV.
PHILASTER.
Phi. None.
Are. Shew me then the way.
Phi. Then guide
My feeble hand, you that have pow'r to do it!
For must perform a piece of justice. If your youth
Have any way offended Heav'n, let pray'rs
Chort and effectual reconcile you to it.
Enter a Country Fellow.
Coun. I'll see the king if he be in the forest; I
have hunted him these two hours; if I should come
home and not see him, my sisters would laugh at me.
There's a courtier with his sword drawn, by this hand,
upon a woman, I think.
Are. I am prepar'd.
Phi. Are you at peace ?
Are. With Heav'n and earth.
Phi. May they divide thy soul and body!
Coun. Hold, dastard! offer to strike a woman!
Phi. Leave us, good friend.
[Preventing him.
Are. What ill-bred man art thou, thus to intrude
thyself
"Upon our private sports, our recreations ?”
Coun. I understand you not; but I know the knave
wou'd have hurt you.
Phi. Pursue thy own affairs; it will be ill
To multiply blood upon my head, which thou wilt
force me to.
A& IV.
67
PHILASTER,
Coun. I know not your rhetoric; but I cay lay it on,
if you offer to touch the woman.
Phi. Slave, take what thou deserv'st. [They fight.
Are. Heav'ns guard my lord!
Bel. Unmanner'd boor -my lord!
[Interposing, is wounded.
Phi. I hear the tread of people: I am hurt.
The gods take part against me, cou'd this boor
Have held me thus else? I must shift for life,
Though I do loath it.
Coun. I cannot follow the rogue.
[Exit Phil and Bel.
Enter PHARAMOND, DION, CLERIMONT, THRA-
SILINE, and Woodmen·
Pha. What art thou?
Coun. Almost kill'd I am for a foolish woman; 3
knave would have hurt her.
Pha. The princess, gentlemen!
Dion. 'Tis above wonder! Who should dare do this?
Pha. Speak, villain, who would have hurt the prin
cess?
Coun. Is it the princess?
Dion. Ay.
Coun. Then I have seen something yet.
Pha. But who would have hurt her?
Coun. I told you, a rogue; I ne'er saw him be-
fore, I.
Pha. Madam, who was it ?
Are. Some dishonest wretch;
Alas! I know him not, and do forgive him.
68
A&t IV.
PHILASTER.
Coun. He's hurt himself, and soundly too, he can-
not go far; I made my father's old fox fly about his
ear.
Pha. How will you have me kill him?
Are. Not at all,
'Tis some distracted fellow.
If you do take him, bring him quick to me,
And I will study for a punishment,
Great as his fault.
Pha. I will.
Are. But swear.
Pha. By all my love, I will:
Woodmen, conduct the princess to the king,
And bear that wounded fellow unto dressing:
Come, gentlemen, we'll follow the chace close.
[Ex. Are. Pha. Dion. Cle. Thra. and 1 Woodman.
Coun. I pray you, friend, let me see the king.
2 Wood. That you shall, and receive thanks.
Coun. If I get clear of this, I'll go see no more gay
sights.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Another part of the wood.
Enter BELLARIO, with a
scarf.
Bel. Yes, I am hurt; and would to Heav'n it were
A death's wound to me! I am faint and weak
With loss of blood: my spirits ebb apace:
A heaviness near death sits on my brow,
1
A& IV.
69
PHILASTER.
And I must sleep: bear me, thou gentle bank,
For ever, if thou wilt; you sweet ones all,
Let me unworthy press you: I cou'd wish,
I rather were a corse strew'd over with you,
Than quick above you.
"Dulness shuts mine eyes,
"And I am giddy." Oh! that I could take
So sound a sleep, that I might never wake.
Enter PHILASTEK.
Phi. I have done ill; my conscience calls me false.
What strike at her, that would not strike at me!
When I did fight, methought, I heard her pray
The gods to guard me.
And I a loathed villain.
She may be abus'd,
If she be,
She'll not discover me; the slave has wounds,
And cannot follow, neither knows he me.
Who's this? Bellario sleeping! If thou beest
Guilty, there is no justice that thy sleep
Should be so sound; and mine, whom thou hast
wrong'd,
So broken.
Bel. Who is there? My lord Philaster!
[A cry within.
Hark! You are pursu'd; fly, fly my lord! and save
Yourself.
Phi. How's this! would'st thou I should be safe t
Bel. Else were it vain for me to live. Oh, seize,
My lord, this offer'd means of your escape I
The princess, I am sure, will ne'er reveal you;
They have no mark to know you, but your wounds ;
G
PHILASTER.
A& IV.
I, coming in betwixt the boor and you,
Was wounded too. To stay the loss of blood
I did bind on this scarf, which thus
I tear away.
Fly! and 'twill be believed
!
'Twas I assail'd the princess.
Phi. O heavens !
What hast thou done? Art thou then true to me?
Bel. Or let me perish loath'd! Come, my good lord,
Creep in amongst those bushes. Who does know,
But that the gods may save your much-lov'd breath?
Phi. Oh, I shall die for grief! What wilt thou do?
Bel. Shift for myself well: peace, I hear 'em come!
Within. Follow, follow, follow; that way they went.
Bel. With my own wounds I'll bloody my own
sword!
I need not counterfeit to fall; Heav'n knows
That I can stand no longer.
•
Enter PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, THRA-
SILINE, &c.
Pha. To this place we have track'd him by his blood.
Cler. Yonder, my lord, creeps one away.
Dion. Stay, sir, what are you?
Bel. A wretched creature wounded in these woods.
By beasts! relieve me, if your names be men,
Or I shall perish!
Dion. This is he, my lord,
Upon my soul, assail'd her; 'tis the boy,
That wicked boy, that serv'd her.
Pha. Oh, thou wretch!
Act IV.
дя
PHILASTER.
What cause could'st thou shape
To hurt the princess?
Bel. Then I am betray'd.
Dion. Betray'd! no, apprehended.
Bel, I confess,
Urge it no more, that, big with evil thoughts,
I set upon her, and did make my aim
Her death. For charity, let fall at once
The punishment you mean, and do not load
This weary flesh with tortures !
Pha. I will know
Who hir'd thee to this deed.
Bel. My own revenge.
Pha. Revenge! for what?
Bel. It pleas'd her to receive
Me as her page, and, when my fortunes ebb'd,
That men strid o'er them careless, she did shower
Her welcome graces on me, and did swell
My fortunes, till they overflow'd their banks,
Threat'ning the men that crost 'em; when, as swift
As storms arise at sea, she turn'd her eyes
To burning suns upon me, and did dry
The streams she had bestow'd, leaving me worse,
And more contemn'd than other little brooks,
Because I had been great. In short, I knew
I could not live, and therefore did desire
To die reveng❜d.
Pha. If tortures can be found,
Long as thy natural life, prepare to feel
The utmost rigour.
Gij
72
A&t IV.
PHILASTER.
Cle. Help to lead him hence.
PHILASTER Comes forth.
Phi. Turn back, you ravishers of innocence !
Know ye the price of that you bear away
So rudely?
Pha. Who's that?
Dion. 'Tis the lord Philaster.
Phi. 'Tis not the treasure of all kings in one,
The wealth of Tagus, nor the rocks of pearl
That pave the court of Neptune, can weigh down
That virtue. It was I assail'd the princess.
Place me, some god, upon a pyramid,
Higher than hills of earth, and lend a yoice
Loud as your thunder to me, that from thence
I may discourse to all the under-world
The worth that dwells in him!
Pha. How's this?
Bel. My lord, some man
Weary of life, that would be glad to die.
Phi. Leave these untimely courtesies, Bellario.
Bel. Alas! he's mad; come, will you lead me on?
Phi. By all the oaths that men ought most to keep,
And gods do punish most when men do break,
He touch'd her not. Take heed, Bellario,
How thou dost drown the virtues thou hast shown,
With perjury. By all that's good, 'twas I;
You know she stood betwixt me and my right.
Pha. Thy own tongue be thy judge.
Cler. It was Philaster.
A& IV.
73
PHILASTER.
Dion. Is't not a brave boy?
Well, sirs, I fear me, we are all deceiv'd.
Phi. Have I no friend here?
Dion. Yes.
Phi. Then shew it; some
Good body lend a hand to draw us nearer.
Would you have tears shed for you when you die ?
Then lay me gently on his neck, that there
I may weep floods, [They lead him to Bellario] and
breathe out my spirit;
You hard-hearted men,
'Tis not the wealth of Plutus, nor the gold
Lock'd in the heart of earth, can buy away
This arm-full from me.
More stony than these mountains, can you see
Such clear, pure blood drop, and not cut your flesh
To stop his life? To bind whose bitter wounds,
Queens ought to tear their hair, and with their tears
Bathe them. Forgive me, thou that art the wealth
Of poor Philaster !
Enter KING, ARETHUSA, and a guard.
King. Is the villain ta’en ?
Pha. Sir, here be two confess the deed; but say it
was Philaster.
Phi. Question it no more, it was.
King. The fellow that did fight with him will
tell us.
Are. Ah, me! I know he will.
King. Did not you know him?
Are. No, sir; if it was he, he was disguised,
G iij
74
A&t V.
PHILASTER.
Phi. I was so. Oh, my stars! that I should live still.
King. Thou ambitious fool!
Thou, that hast laid a train for thy own life;
"Now I do mean to do, I'll leave to talk.”
Bear him to prison.
Are. Sir, they did plot together to take hence
This harmless life; should it pass unreveng'd,
I should to earth go weeping: grant me then
(By all the love a father bears his child)
The custody of both, and to appoint
Their tortures and their death.
King. 'Tis granted: take them to you, with a guard.
Come, princely Pharamond, this business past,
We may with more security go on
To your intended match.
[Exeunt.
The palace.
ACT V. SCENE 1.
Enter PHILASTER, ARETHUSA, and
BELLARIO.
"Arethusa.
66
NAY, dear Philaster, grieve not! we are well!
"Bel. Nay, good my lord, forbear; we are won.
d'rous well.
"Phi. Oh, Arethusa! Oh, Bellario! leave to be kind:
"I shall be shot from Heav'n, as now from earth,
"If you contiune so.
I am a man,
"False to a pair of the
"That ever earth bore.
most trusty ones
Can it bear us all?
Act V.
75
PHILASTER.
“Forgive, and leave me! but the king hath sent
"To call me to my death: Oh, shew it me,
And for thee, my boy,
"And then forget me.
"I shall deliver words will mollify
"The hearts of beasts, to spare thy innocence.
"Bel. Alas, my lord, my life is not a thing
"Worthy your noble thoughts; 'tis not a life,
"'Tis but a piece of childhood thrown away:
"Should I outlive you, I should then outlive
"Virtue and honour; and, when that day comes,
"If ever I shall close these eyes but once,
"May I live spotted for my perjury,
"And waste my limbs to nothing!
"Are. And I (the woful'st mind that ever was,
"Forc'd with my hands to bring my lord to death)
"Do by the honour of a virgin swear,
"To tell no hours beyond it.
"Phi. Make me not hated so.
"People will tear me, when they find you true
"To such a wretch as I; I shall die loath'd.
"Enjoy your kingdoms peaceably, whilst I
"For ever sleep forgotten with my faults;
"Ev'ry just servant, ev'ry maid in love,
"Will have a piece of me, if you be true.
"Are. My dear lord, say not so.
"Bel. A piece of you!
"He was not born of woman, that can cut
"It and look on.
"Phi. Take me in tears betwixt you;
"For else my heart will break with shame and sorrow.
76
Act V.
PHILASTER.
"Are. Why, 'tis well.
"Bel. Lament no more.
"Phi.. What would you have done
"If you had wrong'd me basely, and had found
"My life no price, compar❜d to yours? For love, sirs,
"Deal with me plainly.
"Bel. 'Twas mistaken, sir.
"Phi. Why, if it were?
"Bel. Then, sir, we would have ask'd your pardon,
“Phi. And have hope to enjoy it?
"Are. Enjoy it! ay.
"Phi. Would you, indeed? be plain.
"Bel. We would, my lord.
"Phi. Forgive me then.
"Are. So, so.
"Bel. "Tis as it should be now.
"Phi. Lead to my death.
SCENE II.
[Exeunt."
The presence chamber. Enter KING, DION, CLERE-
MONT, and THRASILINE.
King. Gentlemen, who saw the prince?
Cler. So please you, sir, he's gone to see the city,
And the new platform, with some gentlemen
Attending on him.
King. Is the princess ready
To bring her prisoner out ?
Thra. She waits your grace.
King. Tell her we stay,
A& V.
77
PHILASTER.
Enter a Messenger.
Mes. Where's the king?
King. Here.
Mes. To your strength, O king,
And rescue the prince Pharamond from danger;
He's taken prisoner by the citizens,
Fearing the lord Philaster.
"Enter another Messenger.
"Mes. Arm, arm, O king, the city is in mutiny,
"Led by an old grey ruffian, who comes on
"In rescue of the lord Philaster.
[Exit."
King. Away to th' citadel; I'll see them safe,
And then cope with these burghers: let the guard
And all the gentlemen give strong attendance. [Exit.
Cler. The city up! This was above our wishes.
Dion. Well, my dear countrymen, if you continue,
and fall not back upon the first broken shin, I'll have
you chronicled, and chronicled, and cut and chro-
nicled, and sung in all-to-be-praised sonnets, and
graved in new brave ballads, that all tongues shall
troule you in sæcula sæculorum, my kind can-carriers.
Thra. What if a toy take them i'th' heels now, and
they all run away, and cry, the devil take the hind-
most?
Dion. Then the same devil take the foremost too,
and souse him for his breakfast! "If they all prove
"cowards, my curses fly among them and be speed-
"ing! May they have murrains reign to keep the
78
Aεt V.
PHILASTER.
86
gentlemen at home, unbound in easy frieze! May
"the moths branch their velvets! May their false
"lights undo them, and discover presses, holes,
"stains, and oldness in their stuffs, and make them
૪૮
shop-rid!" May they keep whores and horses, and
break; and live mewed up with necks of beef and
turnips! May they have many children, and none
like the father! May they know no language but
that gibberish they prattle to their parcels, unless it
be the Gothic Latin they write in their bonds, and
may they write that false, and lose their debts!
Enter the KING.
King. 'Tis Philaster,
None but Philaster, must allay this heat;
They will not hear me speak; but call me tyrant.
My daughter and Bellario too declare,
Were he to die, that they would both die with him.
Oh, run, dear friend, and bring the lord Philaster;
Speak him fair; call him prince; do him all
The courtesy you can; commend me to him.
I have already given orders for his liberty.
Cler. My lord, he's here.
Enter PHILASTER.
King. Oh, worthy sir, forgive me; "do not make
"Your miseries and my faults meet together,
"To bring a greater danger. Be yourself,
"Still sound amongst diseases." I have wrong'd you,
“ And though I find it last, and beaten to it,
•
Aa V.
79
PHILASTER.
"Let first your goodness know it." Calm the people,
And be what you were born to: take your love,
And with her my repentance, "and my wishes,
"And all my pray'rs :" by th' gods, my heart speaks
this.
And if the least fall from me not perform'd,
May I be struck with thunder.
Phi. Mighty sir,
I will not do your greatness so much wrong,
As not to make your word truth; free the princess
And the poor boy, and let me stand the shock
Of this mad sea-breach, which I'll either turn
Or perish with it.
King. Let your own word free them.
Phi. Then thus I take my leave, kissing your hand,
And hanging on your royal word: be kingly,
And be not mov'd, sir; I shall bring you peace,
Or never bring myself back.
King. All the gods go with thee.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A street in the city. Enter an old captain and citizens
with PHARAMOND.
Cap. Come, my brave myrmidons, let us fall on,
Let our caps swarm, my boys,
And your nimble tongues forget your mothers'
Gibberish of what you do lack, and set your mouths
Up, children, till your palates fall frighted half a
80
A&t V.
PHILASTER.
Fathom, past the cure of bay-salt and gross pepper,
And then cry Philaster, brave Philaster.
All. Philaster! Philaster!
Cap. How do you like this, my lord prince?
Pha. I hear it with disdain, unterrified;
Yet sure humanity has not forsook you;
You will not see me massacred, thus coolly butcher'd
by numbers?
Enter PHILASTER.
All. Long live Philaster, the brave prince Philasterf
Phi. I thank you, gentlemen; but why are these
Rude weapons brought abroad, to teach your hands
Uncivil trades?
Cap. My royal Rosiclear,
We are thy myrmidons, thy guard, thy roarers;
And when thy noble body is in durance,
Thus we do clap our musty murrions on,
And trace the streets in terror. Is it peace,
Thou Mars of men? Is the king sociable,
And bids thee live? Art thou above thy foemen,
And free as Phoebus? Speak; if not, this stand
Of royal blood shall be a-broach, a-tilt, and run
Even to the lees of honour.
Phi. Hold and be satisfied; I am myself,
Free as my thoughts are; by the gods, I am.
Cap. Art thou the dainty darling of the king?
Art thou the Hylas to our Hercules?
Is the court navigable, and the presence stuck
With flags of friendship? If not, we are thy castle,
1
A& V.
8x
PHILASTER.
And this man sleeps.
Phi. I am what I desire to be, your friend;
I am what I was born to be, your prince.
Pha. Sir, there is some humanity in you;
You have a noble soul; forget my name,
And know my misery; set me safe aboard
From these wild Cannibals, and, as I live,
I'll quit this land for ever.
Phi. I do pity you: friends, discharge your fears;
Deliver me the prince.
Good, my friends, go to your houses, and by me have
Your pardons, and my love;
And know, there shall be nothing in my pow'r
You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes.
All. Long mayst thou live, brave prince!
Brave prince brave prince! [Exeunt Phi. and. Pha.
Cap. Go thy ways; thou art the king of courtesy:
fall off again, my sweet youths; come, and every man
trace to his house again, and hang his pewter up;
then to the tavern, and bring your wives in muffs :
we will have music, and the red grape shall make us
dance, and rife, boys.
[Exeunt.
►
SCENE IV.
Changes to the court. Enter KING, ARETHUSA, Ga-
LATEA, MEGRA, CLEREMONT, DION, THRASI
LINE, BELLARIO, and attendants.
King. Is it appeas'd?
Dion. Sir, all is quiet as the dead of night,
H
82
A&t V.
PHILASTER.
As peaceable as sleep. My lord Philaster
Brings on the prince himself.
King. Kind gentleman!
I will not break the least word I have giv'n
In promise to him. I have heap'd a world
Of grief upon his head, which yet I hope
To wash away.
Enter PHILASTER and PHARAMOND.
Cler. My lord is come.
King. My son!
Blest be the time, that I have leave to call
}
Such virtue mine! "Now thou art in mine arms,
"Methinks I have a salve unto my breast
"For all the stings that dwell there;" streams of grief
That I have wrong'd thee, and as much of joy
That repent it, issue from mine eyes :
Let them appease thee; take thy right; take her,
She is thy right too, and forget to urge
My vexed soul with that I did before.
Phi. Sir, it is blotted from my memory,
Past and forgotten: for you, prince of Spain,
Whom I have thus redeem'd, you have full leave
To make an honourable voyage home.
And if you would go furnish'd to your realm
With fair provision, I do see a lady,
Methinks, would gladly bear you company.
Meg. Shall I then alone
Be made the mark of obloquy and scorn?
Can shame remain perpetually in me,
1
A& V.
83
PHILASTER.
And not in others? Or have princes salves
To cure ill names, that meaner people want?
Phi. What mean you?
Meg. You must get another ship
To bear the princess and the boy together.
Dion. How now!
Meg. I have already published both their shames.
"Ship us all four, my lord; we can endure
"Weather-and wind alike."
King. Clear thou thyself, or know not me for father.
Are. This earth, how false it is! What means is left
For me to clear myself? It lies in your belief.
My lord; believe me, and let all things else
Struggle together to dishonour me.
Bel. Oh, stop your ears, great king, that I may speak
As freedom would: then I will call this lady
As base as be her actions. Hear me, sir;
Believe your heated blood when it rebels
Against your reason, sooner than this lady.
Phi. This lady! I will sooner trust the wind
With feathers, or the troubled sea with pearl,
Than her with any thing: believe her not!
Why, think you, if I did believe her words,
I would outlive them? Honour cannot take
Revenge on you; then what were to be known
But death?
King. Forget her, sir, since all is knit
Between us: but I must request of you
One favour, and will sadly not be denied.
Phi. Command, whate'er it be.
Hij
84
A&t V.
PHILASTER.
King. Swear to be true
To what you promise.
Phi. By the Pow'rs above,
Let it not be the death of her or him,
And it is granted.
King. Bear away the boy
To torture. I will have her clear'd or buried.
Phi. Oh, let me call my words back, worthy sir;
Ask something else: bury my life and right
In one poor grave; but do not take away
My life and fame at once.
King. Away with him, it stands irrevocable.
Bel. Oh, kill me, gentlemen!
"Dion. No, help, sirs."
Bel. Will you torture me ?
King. Haste thee; why stay you ?
Bel. Then I shall not break my vow,
You know, just gods, though I discover all.
King. How's that? Will he confess?
Dion. Sir, so he says.
King. Speak then.
Bel. Great king, if you command
This lord to talk with me alone, my tongue,
Urg'd by my heart, shall utter all the thoughts
My youth hath known, and stranger things than these
You hear not often.
King. Walk aside with him.
[Dion and Bel. walk aside together.
Dion. Why speak'st thou not?
Bel. Know you this face, my lord ?
Dion. No.
Act V.
85
PHILASTER.
Bel. Have you not seen it, nor the like?
Dion. Yes, I have seen the like, but readily
I know not where.
Bel. I have been often told
In court, of one Euphrasia, a lady,
And daughter to you; betwixt whom and me,
They that would flatter my bad face, would swear
There was such strange resemblance, that we two
Could not be known asunder, drest alike.
Dion. By Heav'n, and so there is.
Bel. For her fair sake,
Who now doth spend the spring-time of her life
In holy pilgrimage, move to the king,
That I may 'scape this torture.
Dion. But thou speak'st
As like Euphrasia, as thou dost look.
How came it to thy knowledge that she lives
In pilgrimage?
Bel. I know it not, my lord.
But I have heard it, yet do scarce believe it.
Dion. Oh, my shame, is it possible? Draw near,
That I may gaze upon thee: art thou she?
"Or else her murderer?" Where wert thou born?
Bel. In Siracusa.
Dion. What's thy name?
Bel, Euphrasia.
Dion. 'Tis just; 'tis she; now I do know thee; oh,
That thou hadst died, and I had never seen
Thee nor my shame.
Bel. Would I had died, indeed! I wish it too;
And so I must have done by vow, ere published
86
A&t V.
PHILASTER.
What I have told; but that there was no means
To hide it longer; yet I joy in this,
The princess is all clear.
King. What have you done?
Dion. All is discover'd.
Are. What is discover'd?
Dion. Why, my shame;
It is a woman; let her speak the rest.
Phi. How! that again.
Dion. It is a woman.
Phi. Blest be you pow'rs that favour innocence!
It is a woman, sir! hark, gentlemen!
It is a woman. Arethusa, take
My soul into thy breast, that would be gone
With joy; it is a woman-thou art fair,
And virtuous still to ages, 'spight of malice.
King. Speak you; where lies his shame ?
Bel. I am his daughter.
Phi. The gods are just.
But, Bellario,
(For I must call thee still so) tell me, why
Thou didst conceal thy sex; it was a fault;
A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds
Of truth outweigh'd it: all these jealousies
Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discover'd,
What now we now.
Bel. My father oft would speak
Your worth and virtue, and as I did grow
More and more apprehensive, I did thirst
To see the man so prais'd; but yet all this
Was but a maiden-longing, to be lost
1
A& V.
87
PHILASTER.
!
As soon as found; till sitting in my window,
Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god
I thought (but it was you) enter our gates;
My blood flew out, and back again as fast,
As I had puff'd it forth and suck'd it in
Like breath; then was I call'd away in haste
To entertain you. Never was a man,
Heav'd from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, rais'd
So high in thoughts as I; you left a kiss
Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep
From you for ever; I did hear you talk,
Far above singing; after you were gone,
1 grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd
What stirr'd it so: alas! I found it love;
Yet far from ill, for could I have but liv'd
In presence of you, I had had my end;
For this I did delude my noble father
With a feign'd pilgrimage, and dress'd myself
In the habit of a boy; and, for I knew
My birth no match for you, I was past hope
Of having you and understanding well
That when I made discovery of my sex,
I could not stay with you; I made a vow,
By all the most religious things a maid
Could call together, never to be known,
Whilst there was hope to hide me from mens' eyes,
For other than I seem'd, that I might ever
Abide with you; then sat I by the fount,
Where first you took me up.
King. Search out a match
Within our kingdom, where and when thou wilt,
88
A& V.
PHILASTER.
And I will pay thy dowry; and thyself
Wilt well deserve him.
Bel. Never, sir, will I
Marry; it is a thing within my vow.
!
Phi. I grieve, such virtues should be laid in earth
Without an heir. Hear me, my royal father.
Wrong not the freedom of our souls so much,
To think to take revenge of that base woman;
Her malice cannot hurt us; set her free
As she was born, saving from shame and sin.
King. Well! Be it so. You, Pharamond,
Shall have free passage, and a conduct home
Worthy so great a prince; when you come there,
Remember, 'twas your faults that lost you her,
And not my purpos'd will.
Pha. I do confess it;
And let this confession
Spread an oblivion o'er my follies past.
King. It shall-All is forgot ;
Now join your hands in one. Enjoy, Philaster,
This kingdom, which is yours, and after me
Whatever I call mine; my blessing on you!
All happy hours be at your marriage-joys,
That you may grow yourselves over all lands,
And live to see your plenteous branches spring
Wherever there is sun!-
sun!Let princes learn
By this to rule the passions of their blood;
For, what Heav'n wills, can never be withstood.
THE END.
HIG
OTH
RSITY
HIG
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}
UM.
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
3 9015 00657 4100
UNIVE
SI:QU
AVJAJAJAS,
BUILDING
USE ONLY
THE C
GEDI
DES, A. B. 1872
FROM THE L
FREDERICK LYMAN
AND
KATER. GEDDES