 | Busiris, King of Egypt |  |
15
ACT II.
SCENE I.
SCENE The Palace.A Magnificent Throne discovered, and several Courtiers walking to and fro.
Enter Syphoces and Rameses. Shouts at a Distance.
Ram.
What means this Dust, and Tumult in the Court,
These Streamers fooling in the Wind, these Shouts,
The Tyrant blazing in full Insolence,
And all his gawdy Courtiers basking round him,
Like poysonous Vermin in a Dog-day Sun?
Syph.
Your Father and Prince Myron are arriv'd,
And with one Peal of Joy the Nation rings.
Ram.
Long has my Father serv'd this Tyrant King,
With Zeal well worthy of a better Cause;
Though with his Helm he hides a hoary Brow,
Long vers'd in Death, the Father of the Field,
At the shrill Trumpet, he throws off the Weight
Of fourscore Years, and springs upon the Foe.
The Transport, Danger gives him, conquers Nature,
And a short Youth boils up within his Veins.
Syph.
Behold, this way They pass to meet the King.
Myron and Nicanor pass the Stage with Attendants.
Ram.
What Pity 'tis that one so lost in Guilt,
Should thus engage the Sight with manly Charms,
And make Vice lovely?
[Looking on Myron.
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Pardon me, Rameses:
Though to my Foe, I must be ever just.
He's Generous, Grateful, Affable, and Brave:
But then he knows no Limit to his Passion;
The Tempest-beaten Bark is not so toss'd,
As is his Reason, when those Winds arise:
And tho' he draws a fatal Sword in Battle,
And kindles in the warm Pursuit of Fame,
Pleasure subdues him quite, the sparkling Eye,
And generous Bowl bear down his graver Mind,
While fiery Spirits dance along his Veins,
And keep a constant Revel in his Heart.
Ram.
But hear, the Tyrant comes!—with what Excess
Of idle Pride will he receive his Son?
How with big Words will he swell out this Conquest,
And into Grandeur puff his little Tales.
Enter King, and ascends the Throne; on the other side Enter Myron and Nicanor.
King.
Welcome my Son, great Partner of my Fame,
I thank thee for th'Increase of my Dominions,
That now more Mountains rise, more Rivers flow,
And more Stars shine in my still growing Empire.
The Sun himself surveys it not at once,
But travels for the View, whilst far disjoin'd,
My Subjects live unheard of by each other;
These wrap'd in Shades, while those enjoy the Light
Their Day is various, but their King the same.
Myr.
Here, Sir, your Thanks are due; to this old Arm
Whose Nerves not Threescore Winter Camp unbend
You owe your Victory, and I my Life.
When my fierce Courser, with a Javelin stung,
First rear'd in Air, then tearing with a Bound
The trembling Earth, plung'd deep amidst the Foe;
And now a Thousand Deaths from every Side,
Had but one Mark, and on my Buckler rung;
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This Friend, o'er gasping Heroes, rolling Steeds,
And snatch'd me from my Fate.
Bus.
I thank thee, General,
Thou hast a Heart that swells with Loyalty,
And throws off the Infection of these Times;
But thy degenerate Boy—
Nic.
No more my Son,
I cut him off, my Guilt, my Punishment.
Look not, dread Sir, on me through his Offence;
Oh let not that discolour all my Service,
And ruin those who blame him for his Crime!
Bus.
Old Man, I will not wear the Crown in vain,
Subjects shall work my Will, or feel my Pow'r,
Their Disobedience shall not be my Guilt;
Who is their Welfare, Glory, and Defence?
The Land that yields them Food, and every Stream
That slakes their Thirst, the Air they breath is Mine.
And is Concurrence to their own Enjoyment,
By due Submission, a too great Return?
Death and Destruction are within my Call—
But Thou shalt flourish in thy Master's Smile.
A faithful Minister adorns my Crown,
And throws a brighter Glory round my Brow.
Nic.
Take but one more, one small one to your Favour,
And then my Soul's at Peace—I have a Daughter,
An only Daughter, now an only Child,
Since her lost Brother's Folly; she deserves
The most a Father can for so much Goodness:
Her Mother's dead, and we are left alone,
We Two are the Whole House, nor are we Two,
In her I live, the Comfort of my Age;
And if the King extend his Grace so far,
And take that tender Blossom into shelter,
Then I have all my Monarch can bestow,
Or Heav'n it self, but This, that I may wear
My Life's poor Remnant out in your Command;
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And, when the Fates shall summon dye for you.
Bus.
Nicanor, know, thy Daughter is our Care.
Myr.
Oh, Sir, be greatly kind, exert your Pow'r,
And with the Monarch furnish out the Friend!—
Art thou not he, that Gallant-minded Chief,
[To Nic.
Who wou'd not stoop to give me less than Life?
And shall I prove ungrateful? Shocking Thought!
He that's ungrateful has no Guilt but one,
All other Crimes may pass for Virtues in him.
Nic.
What Joy my Daughter's promis'd Welfare gives me,
My Lips I need not open to discover—
Thus humbly let me thank you.
Bus.
Dry thy Tears,
And follow us; thy Daughter's near our Queen,
And longs, no doubt, to see thee; bless the Maid,
And then attend us on Affairs of State.—
I hear there's Treason near us; though the Slaves
Fall off from their Obedience, and deny
That I'm their Monarch, I'm Busiris still.
Collected in my self, I'll stand alone,
And hurl my Thunder, tho' I shake my Throne:
Like Death, a solitary King I'll reign,
O'er silent Subjects, and a desert Plain;
E'er brook their Pride; I'll spread a general Doom,
And every Step shall be from Tomb to Tomb.
[Exit
[Myr. and Aul. who talk'd aside, advance.
Myr.
Her absent Beauties glow'd upon my Mind,
And sparkled in each Thought. She never left me—
Wou'dst thou believe it? In the Field of Battle,
In the mid Terror, and the flame of Fight,
Mandane, thou hast stol'n away my Soul,
And left my Fame in Danger—My rais'd Arm
Has hung in Air, forgetful to descend,
And for a moment spar'd the prostrate Foe.—
Oh that her Birth rose Equal to my own!
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A lawful Bliss—and why not now? Methinks
Absence has plac'd her in a fairer Light,
Enrich'd the Maid, and heighten'd every Charm.
Aul.
She comes.
Myr.
That modest Grace subdu'd my Soul,
That Chastity of Look, which seems to hang
A Veil of purest Light o'er all her Beauties,
And by forbidding, most enflames Desire.
Enter Mandane.
What tender Force! What Dignity Divine!
What Virtue consecrating every Feature!
Around that Neck, what Dross are Gold and Pearl!
Mandane! powerful Being! whose first Sight
Gives me a Transport not to be express'd;
And with one Moment over-pays a Year
Of Danger, Toil, and Death, and Absence from Thee.
Mand.
My Lord, I sought my Father.
Myr.
Leave me not,
I've much to say, much more than you conceive;
Yes, by the Gods, much more than I can utter.
My Breath is snatch'd, I tremble, I expire.
[Aside.
Nay, here I'll offer tender Violence—
[Takes her Hand.
May I not breath my Soul upon this Hand,
When your Eyes triumph, and insult my Pain?
Permit me here to take a small Revenge.
Mand.
My Lord, I am not conscious of my Fault.
Myr.
'Tis false—I know the Language of those Eyes,
They use me ill—see my Heart beat, Mandane;
Believe not me, but tell your self my Passion—
Is it in Art to Counterfeit within?
To drive the Spirits, and inflame the Blood?
Each Nerve is pierc'd with Lightning from your Eye,
And every Pulse is in the Throbs of Love.
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My Lord, my Duty calls, I must not stay.
Myr.
Give me a Moment: I have that to speak
Will burst me, if supprest—Oh heavenly Maid!
Thy Charms are doubled; so is thy Disdain—
Who is it? Tell me who enjoys thy Smile,
There is a happy Man; I swear there is;
I know it by your Coldness to your Friend—
That Thought has fix'd a Scorpion on my Heart,
That stings to Death—and is it possible
You ever spoke of Myron in his Absence,
Or cast, at leisure, a light Thought that way?
Mand.
I thought of you, my Lord, and of my Father;
And pray'd for your Success; nor must I now
Neglect to give him Joy.
Myr.
Yet stay, you shall not go—Ungrateful Woman!
I wou'd not wrong your Father; but by Heav'n,
His Love is Hatred, if compar'd with mine.
I understand whence this Unkindness flows;
Your Heart resents some Licence of my Youth,
When Love had touch'd my Brain. You may forgive me,
Because I never shall forgive my self;
But that You live; I'd rush upon my Sword.
If you forgive me, I shall now approach,
Not as a Lover only, but a Wretch
Redeem'd from Baseness to the ways of Honour,
And to my Passion join my Gratitude:
Each time I kneel before you, I shall rise
As well a better, as a happier Man,
Indebted to your Virtue, and your Love.
Mand.
I must not hear you.
Myr.
Oh torment me not!
Hear me you must, and more—Your Father's Valour,
In the late Battle, rescu'd me from Death:
And how shall I be Grateful!—Thou'rt a Princess;—
Think not, Mandane, this is a sudden start,
A flash of Love, that kindles and expires:
Long have I weigh'd it, since I parted hence
No Night has pass'd, but This has broke my Rest,
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In the maturest Counsel of my Soul.
Mand.
Oh Gods! I tremble at the rising Storm;
Where can this end?
[Aside.
Myr.
And do you then despise me?
Mand.
My Lord, I want the Courage to accept
What far transcends my Merit, and for ever
Must silently upbraid my little Worth.
Myr.
Have I forsook my self, forgone my Temper
Headlong to all the gay Delights of Youth,
And fall'n in Love with Virtue most severe?
Turn'd superstitious to make Thee my Friend?
Gods! have I struggled thro' the powerful Reasons
That strongly combated my fond Resolves;
Was Wealth o'erlook'd, and Glory of no Weight,
My Parent's Crown forgot, and my own Conquests,
And all, to be refus'd? to sooth your Pride,
And make my Rival Sport?
Mand.
With Patience hear me—
[Kneels.
Nor let my Trust in Myron prove my Ruin.
Myr.
Distraction! Art thou marry'd?
Mand.
Oh!—
Myr.
My Heart foretold it.—Ah my Soul! Auletes.
[Swoons.
Aul.
Madam, 'tis prudent in you to withdraw—
[Exit Mand.
Myr.
I do not live.—I cannot bear the Light!
Where is Mandane? But I would not know.
She is not mine.—Yet tho' not mine in Love,
Revenge, my just Revenge may overtake her.
Oh how I hate her! let me know her Faults:
Did the proud Maid insult me in Distress?
And smile to see me gasping? speak Auletes.
Did she not sigh? sure she might pity me,
Though all her Love is now another's Right.
Aul.
She sigh'd, and wept; but I remov'd her from you.
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It was well done.—Yet I cou'd gaze for ever
And did she sigh? and did she drop a Tear?
The Tears she shed for me are surely mine;
And shall another dry them on those Cheeks,
And make them an Excuse for greater Fondness?
Shall I assist the Villain in his Joys?
No, I will tear her from him,—
I'd grudge her Beauties to the Gods that gave them.
Aul.
My Lord, have Temper.
Myr.
And another's Passion,
Warm on that Lip! another's burning Arms
Strain'd round the lovely Waste, for which I dye,
And she consenting, wooing, growing to him!
What golden Scenes, when absent, did I feign?
What lovely Pictures did I draw in Air?
What Luxury of Thought! and see my Fate!
Shall then my Slave enjoy her? and I languish
In my triumphal Carr, my Foot on Purple,
And o'er my Head a Canopy of Gold,
Fate in my Nod, and Monarchs in my Train!
What if I stab him? No.—She will not wed
His Murtherer.—I never form'd a Wish,
But full Fruition taught me to forget it.
And am I lessen'd by my late Success?
And have I lost by Conquest? fly Auletes,
And tell her.—
Aul.
What, my Lord?
Myr.
No, bid her—
Aul.
Speak.
Myr.
I know not what.—My Heart is torn asunder.
Aul.
Retire, my Lord, and re-compose your self,
The Queen approaches.—Ha! her Bosom swells,
[Exit Myron.
Her pale Lip trembles, a disorder'd Haste
Is in her Steps; her Eyes shoot gloomy Fires.—
When Myris is in Anger, happy they
She calls her Friends.
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Queen.
Auletes, where's the King?
Aul.
At Council, Madam.
Queen.
Let him know I want him.
[Exit Auletes.
Base! to forget to whom he owes a Crown!
Fool! to provoke her Rage whose Hand is red
In her own Brother's Blood!
Enter King and Pheron.
King.
Horrid Conspiracy!
Pher.
This Night was destin'd for the bloody Deed.
King.
Mistaken Villains! if they wish my Death,
They should in Prudence lay their Weapons by,
So jealous are the Gods of Egypt's Glory,
I cannot dye whilst Slaves are arm'd against me.
Haste, Pheron, to the Dungeon, plunge them down
Far from the Hopes of Day, there let them lye
Banish'd this World. while yet alive, and groan
In Darkness and in Horror,—let double Chains
Consume the Flesh of Memnon's loaded Limbs,
Till Death shall knock them off.—A King's thy Friend;
Nay more, Busiris.—Go, let that suffice.—
[Exit Pher.
Queen.
My Lord, your Thought's engag'd.
King.
Affairs of State
Detain'd me from my Queen.
Queen.
The World may wait:
I've a Request, my Lord.
King.
Oblige me with it.
Queen.
Will you comply?
King.
My Queen, my Pow'r is your's.
Queen.
Your Queen?
King.
My Queen.
Queen.
Indeed, it shou'd be so.—
Then sign these Orders for Amelia's Death.—
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Enough; be gone, and fling thee at her Feet;
Doat on my Slave, and sue to her for Mercy.
Go, pour forth all the Folly of thy Soul;
But bear in Mind, thou giv'st not of thy own,
Thou giv'st that Kindness which I bought with Blood,
Nor shall I lose Unmov'd.
King.
I wish, my Queen,
This still had slept a Secret for thy Sake;
But since thy restless Jealousy of Soul
Has been so studious of its own Disquiet;
Support it, as you may.—I own I've felt
Amelia's Charms, and think them worth my Love.
Queen.
And dar'st thou bravely own it too? Oh Insult!
Forgetful Man! 'tis I then owe a Crown!
Thou had'st still grovell'd in the lower World,
And view'd a Throne at Distance; had not I
Told thee thou wast a Man, and (dreadful Thought!)
Thro' my own Brother cut thy Way to Empire:
But thou might'st well forget a Crown bestow'd,
That Gift was small. I listen'd to thy Sighs,
And rais'd thee to my Bed.
King.
I thank you for it.
The Gifts you made me were not cast away;
I understand their Worth; Husband and King
Are Names of no mean Import, they rise high
Into Dominion, and are big with Power.—
Whate'er I was, I now am King of Egypt,
And Myris' Lord.
Queen.
I dream! art Thou Busiris?
Busiris, that has trembled at my Feet,
And art thou now my Jove with clouded Brow,
Dispensing Fate, and looking down on Myris?
Do'st thou derive thy Spirit from thy Crimes?
'Cause thou hast wrong'd me, therefore do'st thou threaten,
And roll thine Eye in Anger? Rather bend,
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Burn for a Stranger's Bed!—
King.
And what was mine,
When Myris first vouchsaf'd to smile on me?
Queen.
Distraction! Death! upbraided for my Love!—
Thou art not only Criminal, but Base.
Mine was a Godlike Guilt, Ambition in it,
Its Foot in Hell, its Head above the Clouds;
For know, I hated when I most caress'd:
'Twas not Busiris, but the Crown that charm'd me,
And sent its sparkling Glories to my Heart:
But thou can'st soil thy Diadem with Slaves.
King.
Syphoces is a King then.
Queen.
Ha!
King.
Let fair Amelia know the King attends her.
[Exit.
Queen.
Go, Tyrant, go, and wisely by thy Shame,
Prepare thy Way to Ruin. I'll o'ertake thee,
Living or dead; if dead, my Ghost shall rise,
Shriek in thy Ears, and stalk before thy Eyes:
In Death I'll triumph o'er my Rival's Charms,
And chill thy Blood, when clasp'd within her Arms;
Alone to suffer is beneath the Great.
Tyrant, thy Torments shall support my State.
[Exeunt.
| Busiris, King of Egypt | |