University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The Christian Camp.
Enter Scanderbeg and Aranthes.
Ar.
Althea mourns for this your fond Delay,
And thinks already she has liv'd too long;
Since living she protracts the Tyrant's Fate,
And clouds the matchless Lustre of your Arms.

Scan.
Justice herself would here suspend her Sword;
Nor with one undiscriminating Blow,
Blind as she is, destroy both both Friends and Foes.

Ar.
It is appointed once for all to die:
Then what am I, or what a Child of mine,
Weigh'd with the Honour of the Christian Name,
To bid the Cause of Liberty attend,
While gravely you debate those very Trifles,
The Time and Circumstances of our Death:
As justly Nature might suspend her Course
To wait the Dissolution of an Insect.
—No, let me bear Defiance to the Sultan;
Tell him, that you already are determin'd;
And dare his worst.

Scan.
Not for ten thousand Worlds.
Wou'd I so tempt the fretfull Tyrants Rage?
The Pangs of Death are light to those of Absence;
Then who can bear eternal Seperation?
Transported as you are with pious Zeal;
Look inward, search your Heart, and then confess
The Love of Heav'n excludes not sacred Friendship.
Think if my Task were your's, how you wou'd act.
Wou'd you not pause, conclude, retract, and pause again
To the last moment of the Time prefixt?
Wou'd you not count it Virtue to contend,
Tho' against Hope, and struggle with Despair.
I know you wou'd; for tho' your Tongue be mute,
Spite of yourself, your streaming Eyes confess it.

Ar.
My Weakness is no Precedent for you.

Scan.
If thus the Friend, what must the Lover suffer?
Think good Aranthes, if you ever lov'd,
What I endure: think on Althea's Charms,
And judge from thence the Greatness of my Pain.

Ar.
Why will you dwell upon the dang'rous Theme?
The Strength of Sampson prov'd too weak for Love,
David's Integrity was no Defence;
The King, the Hero and the Prophet fell
Beneath the same inevitable Power:
The Wisdom of his Son was Folly here;
And he that comprehended all Things else
Knew not himself, 'till dear Experience taught
Him late Repentance, Anguish, Grief and Shame.
Then think no more but give us up at once;
Give up Althea; Heaven demands it of you;
For while she lives, your Virtue is not safe.

Scan.
Is this a Father's Voice?

Ar:
Wou'd I had died,
Ere I was honour'd with a Father's Name;
Or that my Child had been less good and fair.
What was my greatest Joy, is now my Grief:
Ev'ry Perfection wrings my Heart with Pain.
For all her Charms are now so many Snares,
Which you must break, or be undone for ever.
—Still unresolv'd!—Forgive me if I think,
You have the Weakness now of other Men.

Scan.
If to rejoice when Virtue is rewarded;
Or mourn th' Afflictions of the Good and Brave,
Who mourn not for themselves; if Love and Friendship,
Denote me weak, I wou'd be weaker still.
He who disclaims the Softness of Humanity,
Aspiring to be more than Man, is less.
Yet know, my Father, rev'rend good Aranthes!
Whatever tender Sentiments I feel;
Tho' as a Man, a Lover and a Friend,
I fear the Sultan's Cruelty and Malice;
Yet as a Christian, I despise 'em both.
'Tis not for Man to glory in his Strength;
The Best have fallen, and the Wisest err'd.
Yet when the Time shall come, when Heaven shall by
Its Providence declare, this is my Will,
And this the Sacrifice that I demand,
Why who can tell, but full of that same Energy,
Which swells your Breast; I may reply ev'n so
Thy Will be done.

Ar.
How have my Fears deceiv'd me?

Scan.
The careful Gard'ner turns the limpid Stream,
This Way, or that Way; as suits his Purpose best.
The Wrath of Man shall praise his Maker's Name;
The Residue, restrain'd, rest on himself.
Let us not rashly antedate our Woes.
Tho' I defer the Sentence of your Death,
Tho' I cou'd die ten thousand times to save you,
I do not, nay I dare not bid you live.

Ar.
Excellent Man! why did I ever doubt thee?
Your Zeal's no less, your Wisdom more than mine.
My Time's expir'd; Illustrious Prince,—farewel!

Scan.
My Father! My Althea!—

Ar.
O my Son!
Our Part is little in this noble Conflict,
The worst is Death; your's harder, but more glorious,
To live and suffer. Heaven inspire thy Soul
With more than Roman Fortitude and Courage:
They poorly fled to Death, t'avoid Misfortunes;
May Christian Patience teach thee to o'ercome 'em.

[Exit Aranthes.
Scanderbeg
alone.
In this Extremity shall I invoke
Thy awful Genius, O majestick Rome;
Or Junius Brutus, thine; who sacrificed
To publick Liberty, Paternal Love:
The younger Brutus; or the Greek Timoleon;
Of Self-Denial great Examples all:
But all far short of what's required of me.
These Patriots offer'd to an injur'd World
But guilty Wretches, who deserv'd their Fates.
Wou'd they have given up the best of Men,
And the most perfect of the gentler Sex
To Death, to worse than Death, a Tyrant's Rage?
No, Nature unassisted cannot do it.
To thee, I bow me then, Fountain of Life,
Of Wisdom and of Power,
Who know'st our Frame, and mad'st us what we are;
I ask not Length of Days, nor Fame, nor Empire:
Give me to know and to discharge my Duty,
And leave th' Event to thee—Amasie here!—

Enter Amasie, who kneels and lays his Sword at Scanderbeg's Feet.
Ama.
Well may you turn away, justly disdain
To cast one Look upon the lost Amasie.
Constant as Truth, inflexible as Justice,
Above Ambition, and the Joys of Sense,
You must abhor the Wretch, whose fatal Weakness
Betray'd him to such Crimes, as make him hateful
To Heaven, to all good Men and to himself.

Scan.
What com'st thou for, what canst thou hope from me?

Ama.
I come for Justice.

Scan.
Justice must condemn thee.

Ama.
I have condemn'd myself; but dare not die,
'Till you, the proper Judge, confirm the Sentence.

Scan.
When first you fell, I deeply mourn'd your Loss;
But from that Moment gave you up for ever:

Ama.
Still you're my Prince! my native, rightful Prince.

Scan.
Then what art thou?

Ama.
The blackest, worst of Traytors.

Scan.
Be that thy Punishment.

Ama.
Dreadful Decree!
'Tis more than I can bear—leave me not thus.
Is not the Blood, that runs in either's Veins,
Deriv'd from the same Source? Was I not once,
Howe'er unworthy, honour'd with your Friendship,
Named your Successor? so beloved, so trusted,
That all the Envious pin'd, and all the Good,
Look'd up with Wonder at the glorious Height,
To which your partial Friendship had advanc'd me.

Scan.
Ill judging Man, thou aggravat'st thy Crimes.

Ama.
That cannot be; I but excite your Justice.
Behold my guilty Breast; strike and maintain
The Honour of our House. wipe out this Stain
Of its illustrious Race and Blot of Friendship.

Scan.
If your Ambition were to fall by me,
You shou'd have met me in the Front of Battle
With manly Opposition, and receiv'd
The Death thou seek'st for in the Rage of War.
My Sword descends not on a prostrate Foe?
Tho' you've deserv'd to die, I've not deserv'd
To be your Executioner.

Ama.
Just Heaven!
Are you a Christian Prince, and will you spare
A black Apostate?

Scan.
Heaven can right itself
Without my Aid, nor do I know on Earth
So great, so just an Object of Compassion.
Live and repent.

Ama.
I have and do repent,
But cannot live. The Court of Amurath
Abhors a Christian; ev'ry Christian Court
Detests a Traytor.

Scan.
Miserable Man!

(Aside.
Ama.
We're taught that Heav'n is merciful and kind.

Scan.
What Wretch dares doubt of that?

Ama.
Then why am I
Deny'd to sue for Peace and Pardon there,
Since I must never hope for them on Earth?

Scan.
Have I the Seeds of Frailty in my Nature?
Am I a Man, like him, and can I see,
Unpittying and unmov'd, the bitter Anguish,
The deep Contrition of his wounded Soul?
It will not be—O Nature take your Course,
I'll not resist your tenderest Impressions.
(Aside.
Suppress the Tumult of your troubled Mind;
You have o'ercome; I feel and share your Sorrows.

Ama.
O be less good, or I shall die with Shame.

Scan.
I have been too slow to pardon.

(Embracing.
Ama.
O my Prince!
My injur'd Prince!

Scan.
Thy Friend, thy Friend, Amasie.

Ama.
How have you rais'd me from the last Despair?
And dare you trust this Rebel, this Apostate?

Scan.
'Tis Heaven's Prerogative alone to search
The Hearts of Men, and read their inmost Thoughts:
I wou'd be circumspect, not over wise;
Nor for one Error, lose a Friend for ever:
No, let me be deceiv'd ere want Humanity.

Ama.
The Wisdom and Beneficence of Heaven
Flow in your Words, and bless all those who hear 'em.

(Trumpets sound a Parley.
Scan.
What means this Summons to a second Parley?

Ama.
The Sultan's haste anticipates my Purpose.
(Aside.
Something that much concerns your Love and Honour,
I have to say; but must defer it now,
And once more join his Council; if I'm seen,
I lose the only Means that's left to serve you.

Scan.
You will return—

Ama.
As certain as the Night;
About the Midst of which you may expect me.

Scan.
You'll find me in my Tent; The word's, Althea.

Enter Officer.
Off.
The Visier with the Princess of Durazzo,
Demands an Audience.

Scan.
Fly; and introduce 'em.
Can this be true?

Ama.
Most true. The Sultan hopes
That your Althea's Eyes will conquer for him:
Heaven guard your Heart. Farewell—At Night expect me.
He's well deceiv'd; Hypocrisy I thank thee.
Dark and profound as Hell, what Line can fathom,
Or Eye explore the secret thoughts of Men?
Yet once I fear'd I shou'd betray myself
And be indeed the Penitent I feign'd;
So much his Virtue mov'd me. Curse his Virtue!
He ever will excell me—Let him die,
Tho' all my Peace die with him—Wretched Man!
When shall I rest from Envy and Remorse?

(Aside.
Exit Ama.
Scan.
I shall once more behold Althea then.
So Wretches are indulg'd the Sight of Heaven
To sharpen Pain, and aggravate their Loss.
The blended Beauties of the teeming Spring,
Whate'er excells in Nature's Works besides,
Are vile to her, the Glory of the Whole.
Flowers fade and lose their Odors, Gems their Brightness,
And Gold its Estimation in her Presence.
But see, she comes—Sure such a Form betray'd
The first of Men to quit his Paradise,
And all the Joys of Innocence and Peace,
For those he found in her: yet had the lovely,
Alas too lovely Parent of Mankind,
Possess'd a Mind, as much Superior to
Her outward Form, as my Althea doth;
Mankind had never fell.

Enter Visier, Althea, &c. Scanderbeg kneels and kisses her Hand.
Scan.
O my Princess!

Al.
My ever honour'd Lord!

Scan.
To be your Slave,
A Captive to your Charms, is more than to
Be Lord of Humankind.

Al.
The Visier, Prince.—

(Scanderbeg rises.
Vis.
Far be it noble Scanderbeg from me
To intercept my Royal Master's Bounty,
Who wills you to enjoy Freedom of Speech,
Uninterrupted, with the Christian Princess.
I'll with the Guards retire and wait your Leisure.

(Exit Visier, &c.
Scan.
O my Althea!

Al.
Speak, I'm all Attention.

Scan.
O who can raise his Thoughts to the Occasion?
Or doing that, reduce such Thoughts to Words?

Al.
I will assist you—we must part for ever.

Scan.
Is that, is that so easy? Righteous Heaven!
It doth amaze me, and confound my Reason
To hear thee, thus calm and serene, pronounce
The dreadful Sentence.

Al.
Is it not determin'd?

Scan.
To give thee back to Slavery and Chains!
To bear the Malice of a bloody Tyrant,
Inrag'd by my Refusal!—O Althea!
Tho' Heav'n must be obey'd, something is due
To vertuous Love. We may, we must confess
A Sense of such unutterable Woe.
When in Return of my incessant Vows,
You deign'd to crown my Love, when Expectation
Of the long sigh'd for Bliss had raised my Joys
To that exalted Pitch, that I look'd down
With Pity on Mankind; and only griev'd
To think they stood exposed to Disappointment,
Mis'ry and Pain, while I alone was happy.
Then, then to lose thee—

Al.
O complain no more.
You move a Weakness here, unworthy her,
Who wou'd aspire to deserve your Love.
I wou'd have died like the mute Sacrifice;
Which goes as chearfull and as unconcern'd,
To bleed upon the Altar, as to sleep
Within its nightly Fold.

Scan.
Coud'st thou do this!

Al.
Had I not seen you thus, I think I shou'd;
But at your Grief my Resolution fails me:
I'm subdued: The Woman, the weak, fond Woman,
Swells in my Heart, and gushes from my Eyes.

Scan.
What have I done? The Greatness of thy Soul,
Not to be comprehended but by Minds
Exalted as thy own, stagger'd my Reason;
And what was Prudence and Superior Virtue,
I thought a Wrong to Love. Rash, thoughtless Man!
To force a Tenderness thou can'st not bear,
That stabs the very Soul of Resolution,
And leaves thee without Strength to stem a Torrent,
That asks an Angel's Force to meet its Rage.

Al.
To combat Inclination, to subdue
Our own Desires, and conquer by Submission;
Are Virtues, Prince, no Angel ever knew.
While these are your's, shall I indulge my Grief?
—The Storm is over, and I am calm again.

Scan.
O thou eternal Source of Admiration!
What new Wonder hast thou prepar'd to charm
My ravish'd Soul? where didst thou learn the Art
To stop the Tide of Grief in its full Flow,
And triumph o'er Dispair?

Al.
In you I triumph.
Tho' rackt and torn with more than mortal Grief,
Amidst the Pangs of disappointed Love
And suff'ring Friendship, do I not behold thee,
Still constant as the Sun, that keeps its Course,
Tho' Storms and Tempests vex the neither Sky,
And low'ring Clouds a while obscure his Brightness.

Scan.
Excellent, heavenly Maid? thou rob'st thyself,
And attribut'st to me thy own Perfections.

Al.
Have you once question'd whether you should part
With two the dearest Things to Man on Earth,
A Friend and Mistress; or renounce your Faith,
The Int'rest of Mankind and Cause of Virtue?

Scan.
That were to purchase ev'n thee too dear:
That were a Misery beyond thy Loss:
That were, my Princess! to deserve to lose thee.

Al.
That gracious Power that wrought you for this Purpose,
That made you great to struggle with Adversity,
And teach luxurious Princes, by Example,
What Kings shou'd be, and shame 'em into Virtue;
Beholds, with Pleasure, you discharge the Trust,
And act up to the Dignity you're form'd for.

Scan.
O whither wou'd thy dazzling Virtue soar?
Is't not enough we yield to our Misfortunes,
And bear Afflictions, tho' with bleeding Hearts.
Wou'd'st thou attempt to raise Pleasure from Pain,
And teach the Voice of Mourning, Songs of Joy?

Al.
Small is my Part and suited to my Strength.
What is dying? A Wanton Cleopatra
Cou'd smile in Death and Infants die in Sleep.
What tho' my Days are few and fill'd with Sorrow!
Cou'd vain Prosperity to hoary Age
Afford a Happiness to be compar'd
To dying now in such a glorious Cause;
Lamented and belov'd by thee, the best
And greatest of Mankind—Then let us haste
And close the Scene.—You, good Paulinus, let
The Visier know, I'm ready to return.
Why are you pale, why do gushing Tears
Blot the majestick Beauty of your Face?
Why is the Hero in the Lover lost?

Scan.
Let Angels, who attend in Crowds to hear thee;
Let all the Sons of Liberty and Fame;
Those, who still wait, and those who have obtain'd
The End of all their Labours; Heaven and Earth;
Angels and Men, the Living and the Dead;
Behold and judge if ever Man before
Purchas'd the Patriot's Name, or sav'd his Country,
His Faith and Honour, at a Price so dear.

Enter Visier.
Vis.
Well Prince, may we not hope that those bright Eyes
Have charm'd your Soul to Peace? Who wou'd resist,
When Honour's gain'd by being overcome?
To yield to Beauty, crowns the Warrior's Fame.

Scan.
I'm not to learn how to esteem the Princess;
But know the Sultan over-rates his Power,
When he presumes to barter for her Love.
Her Mind is free and royal as his own;
Nor is she to be gain'd by doing what
Wou'd forfeit her Esteem. And I must think
This Haste to know my Mind, is Fraud or Fear.
What needs there more? The Truce is unexpirsed:
If your proud Master wishes for a Peace,
We yet may treat on honourable Terms.
In the mean Time receive the Princess back.

Vis.
Think what you do, great Sir.

Scan.
I know my Duty.

Al.
Farewell, my Lord!

Scan.
Farewell!—protect her Heaven!

Al.
Now let the fretful Tyrant storm and rage,
The only Danger we cou'd fear is past.

[Exit Althea and Visier.
Scan.
T'encounter Hosts of Foes is easier far,
Than to sustain this innate, Bosom War;
This one unbloody Conquest costs me more,
Than all the Battles I e'er won before.