University of Virginia Library

The Scene is chang'd, and the City, Rhodes, appears beleaguer'd at Sea and Land.
The Entry is again prepar'd by Instrumental Musick.
The Second Entry.
Enter Villerius and Admiral.
Admir.
The bloud of Rhodes grows cold: Life must expire!

Viller.
The Duke still warms it with his valours fire!

Admir.
If he has much in Honours presence done,
Has sav'd our Ensigns, or has others won,
Then he but well by your Example wrought;
VVho well in Honours School his Child-hood taught.

Viller.
The Foe three Moons tempestuously has spent
VVhere we will never yield, nor he relent;
Still we, but raise what must be beaten down;
Defending VValls, yet cannot keep the Town;
Vent'ring last stakes where we can nothing win;
And, shutting slaughter out, keep Famine in.

Admir.
How oft and vainly Rhodes for succour waits
From triple Diadems, and Scarlet Hats?
Rome keeps her Gold, cheaply her VVarriours pays
At first with Blessings, and at last with Praise.

Viller.
By Armies, stow'd in Fleets, exhausted Spain
Leaves half her Land unplough'd, to plough the Main;
And still would more of the old VVorld subdue,
As if unsatisfi'd with all the New.

Admir.
France strives to have her Lillies grow as fair
In others Realms as where they Native are.

Viller.
The English Lyon ever loves to change
His VValks, and in remoter Forrests range.

Chorus.
All gaining vainly from each others loss;
VVhilst still the Crescent drives away the Cross.

Enter Alphonso.
Alphon.

Viller.
He can at most but once prevail,
Though arm'd with Nations that were brought by more
Gross gallies then would serve to hale
This Island to the Lycian shore.

Adm.
Let us apace do worthily and give
Our Story length, though long we cannot live.

Chorus.
So greatly do, that being dead,
Brave wonders may be wrought
By such as shall our story read
And study how me fought.

Exeunt.
Enter Solyman, Pirrhus.
Soly.
What sudden halt hath stay'd thy swift Renown,
O're-running Kingdoms, stopping at a Town?
He that will win the Prize in Honours Race
Must nearer to the Goal still mend his pace.
If Age thou feel'st, the active Camp forbear;
In sleepy Cities rest, the Caves of fear.
Thy mind was never valiant, if, when old,
Thy Courage cools because thy blood is cold.

Pirrhus.
How can ambitious Manhood be exprest
More then by marks of our disdain of Rest?
What less than toyls incessant can, despite
Of Cannon, raise these Mounts to Castle-height?
Or less than utmost or unwearied strength
Can draw these Lines of batt'ry to that length?

Soly.
The toils of Ants, and Mole-hills rais'd, in scorn
Of Labour, to be levell'd with a spurn.
These are the Pyramids that shew your pains;
But of your Armies valour, where remains
One Trophy to excuse a Bassa's boast?

Pir.
Valour may reckon what she bravely lost;
Not from successes all her count does raise:
By life well lost we gain a share of praise.
If we in dangers Glass all Valour see,
And Death the farthest step of danger be,
Behold our Mount of Bodies made a Grave;
And prize our loss by what we scorn'd to save.

Soly.
Away! range all the Camp for an Assault!
Tell them, they tread in Graves who make a halt.
Fat Slaves, who have been lull'd to a Disease;
Cramm'd out of breath, and crippled by their ease!
Whose active Fathers leapt o're Walls too high
For them to climb: Hence, from my anger fly:
Which is too worthy for thee, being mine,
And must be quench'd by Rhodian blood or thine.
Exit Pirrhus, bowing.
In Honour's Orb the Christians shine;
Their light in War does still increase;
Though oft misled by mists of Wine,
Or blinder love, the Crime of Peace.
Bold in Adult'ries frequent change;
And ev'ry loud expensive Vice;
Ebbing out wealth by wayes as strange
As it flow'd in by avarice.
Thus vildly they dare live, and yet dare dye.
If Courage be a vertue, 'tis allow'd
But to those few on whom our Crowns rely,
And is condemn'd as madness in the Crowd.

Enter Mustapha, Ianthe veil'd.
Musta.
Great Sultan, Hail! though here at Land
Lost Fools in opposition stand;
Yet thou at Sea dost all command.

Soly.
What is it thou wouldst shew, and yet dost shrowd?

Musta.
I bring the Morning pictur'd in a Cloud;
A Wealth more worth then all the Sea does hide;
Or Courts display in their triumphant pride.

Soly.
Thou seem'st to bring the daughter of the Night;
And giv'st her many stars to make her bright.
Dispatch my wonder and relate her story.

Musta.
'Tis full of Fate, and yet ha's much of glory.
A Squadron of our Gallies that did ply
West from this Coast, met two of Sicily,
Both fraught to furnish Rhodes, we gave 'em chace,
And had, but for our Number, met disgrace.
For, grapling, they maintain'd a bloody Fight,
Which did begin with Day and end with Night.
And though this bashful Lady then did wear
Her Face still vail'd, her valour did appear:
She urg'd their courage when they boldly Fought,
And many shun'd the dangers, which she sought.

Soly.
Where are the limits thou would'st set for praise?
Or to what height wilt thou thy wonder raise?

Must.
This is Ianthe, the Sicilian Flower,
Sweeter then Buds unfolded in a shower,
Bride to Alphonso, who in Rhodes so long
The Theam has been of each Heroick Song;
And she for his relief those Gallies fraught;
Both stow'd with what her Dow'r and Jewels bought.

Soly.
O wond'rous vertue of a Christian Wife!
Advent'ring lifes support, and then her Life
To save her ruin'd Lord! Bid her unvail!

Ianthe steps back.
Ianthe.
It were more honour, Sultan, to assail
A publick strength against thy forces bent,
Then to unwall this private Tenement,
To which no Monarch, but my Lord, has right;
Nor will it yield to Treaty or to Might:
Where Heavn's great Law defends him from surprise:
This Curtain onely opens to his eyes.

Soly.
If Beauty vail'd so vertuous be,
'Tis more then Christian Husbands know;
Whose Ladies wear their faces free,
Which they to more then Husband show.

Ianthe.
Your Bassa swore, and by his dreadful Law,
None but my Lords dear hand this Vail should draw;
And that to Rhodes I should conducted be,
To take my share of all his destiny:
Else I had quickly found
Sure means to get some wound,
Which would in deaths cold Arms
My honour instant safety give
From all those rude Alarms
Which keep it waking whilst I live.

Soly.
Hast thou ingag'd our Prophets plight
To keep her Beauty from my sight,
And to conduct her Person free
To harbour with mine Enemy?

Musta.
Vertue constrain'd the priviledge I gave:
Shall I for sacred Vertue pardon crave?

Soly.
I envy not the conquests of thy sword:
Thrive still in Wicked War;
But, Slave, how did'st thou dare,
In vertuous Love, thus to transcend thy Lord?
Thou did'st thy utmost vertue show:
Yet somewhat more does rest,
Not yet by thee exprest;
Which vertue left for me to do.
Thou great example of a Christian Wife,
Enjoy thy Lord, and give him happy Life.
Thy gallies with their fraight,
For which the hungry wait,
Shall strait to Rhodes conducted be;
And as thy passage to him shall be free,
So both may safe return to Sicilie.

Ianthe.
May Solyman be ever far
From impious honours of the War;
Since worthy to receive renown
From things repair'd, not overthrown.
And when in peace his vertue thrives,
Let all the race of Loyal wives
Sing this his bounty to his glory,
And teach their Princes by his story:
Of which, if any Victors be,
Let them, because he conquer'd me,
Strip cheerfully each others Brow,
And at his feet their Laurel throw.

Soly.
Strait to the Port her Gallies steer;
Then hale the Centry at the Peer.
And though our Flags ne'r use to bow,
They shall do Vertue Homage now.
Give Fire still as she passes by,
And let our Streamers lower fly.

Exeunt several ways.
Chorus of Women.