University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Enter Duke, Berino.
Duke.
Marry'd, d'ye say? Y' amaze me!

Beri.
'Tis too certain.
Had you but told me this an Hour before,
You had sav'd me; now no human Means can help me.
My only Comfort is, I've not enjoy'd her.

Duke.
Sudden and strange!
I thought you talk'd of staying till to Morrow.

Beri.
I did; but the She-devil has thought fit
To damn me sooner!

Duke.
You are indeed unhappy!

Beri.
To have liv'd some Years a wedded Life, and then
Had Information that my Wife was false,
Is such a gen'ral Evil, it has now
But few Exceptions; but the nuptial Hour,
That very Hour to know it, is a Curse
That yet has had no equal.

Duke.
Think how I've been deceiv'd, you'll not complain;
Mine is the harder Fortune.

Beri.
Say not so:
You've lost what scarce you knew, a Year the most
Of your Acquaintance; I have serv'd an Age.
And must confess I never heard a Word,
Or saw a Gesture from her, that cou'd give
The least Pretence to Envy to suspect her.
So sweet! so fair! my Eyes grew to her Charms,
Lost in Delight! and when she spoke, my Soul
Stood fix'd to hear!—O that she were but true!
Forgive me, Royal Sir, I've something here
That pleads most strongly for her—I know not why.
Deal with me fairly, is she what you've told me?

Duke.
False, if there's Truth in Heav'n.
Nothing but your Design of Marriage cou'd
Have wrung the Secret from me: 'Tis not fair
T'expose whom we've enjoy'd: But Silence now
Had been a greater Error than the former.
Come, lay not out upon her too much Cost;
She's but, at best, a faithless Woman lost.
[Exit Duke.

Beri.
O it is more! my Hopes of worldly Joys
Are quite extinguish'd. Seraphana gone,
By a magnetick Pow'r she draws them after.
Is there no Way for me t'escape this Bondage?
Yes, a Divorce—
But that shames him and me as much as her;
For then it must be known.
But I may shun her Bed—A sad Relief!—
She's here!—
Enter Seraphana.
O artful Looks! O smooth Disguise!
Who'd think her Heart cou'd so bely her Eyes?

Seraph.
I hope my Lord will not impute to Fondness
The yielding up my self before the Day prefix'd.
I had no other Way t'attone the Crime
Of putting you to such Expence of Time.
But I'll be all Obedience now, and Love,
Find out new Joys, and Earth to Heav'n improve!

Beri.
Why shou'd we blame our great Progenitor?
He fell, but 'twas where no Man else cou'd stand;
Who cou'd resist such beautiful Damnation?
But Fiends, they say, like Angels can appear:
I'm sure she is an Instance of it there!

[Aside.
Seraph.
At such a Time as this, my noble Lord,
To wear a Sadness, will excuse me, if
I search into the Cause: My Duty's now
To study your Content.

Beri.
Yes, the same Way as Witches say their Pray'rs,
Backward.—The same
Content the rest of your destructive Sex
Give to their Husbands; Griefs, Disgraces, Cares,
And a whole Life's Vexation. Never yet
Did any Female fail to bring that Dowry.

Seraph.
What have I done, my Lord, to draw from you
Such terrible Expressions?

Beri.
Done? That which nothing but your self wou'd do,
Robb'd me of Peace for ever!
O cou'd I think that under all that Sweetness
There was lain hid, like Snakes beneath the Flower,
A mortal Bane, and unsuspected Ruin!

Seraph.
What is't you mean? What black-mouth'd Villain has
Traduc'd me to you?

Beri.
Villain? Saints themselves
Ha'n't more Regard to Truth than he that you
Brand with that hated Title. But I now
Perceive what has occasion'd your Delay,
Your feeding me with Hopes and smooth Deceits,
Protracting Time till the great Duke's Return.
Had he but smil'd, I had discarded been,
And you'd have impudently own'd your Sin.

Seraph.
O I'm undone!

Beri.
Thou art, indeed, and with thee thy whole Sex,
All curs'd in thee a-new: A second Fall.
For who hereafter e'er will trust a Woman?
Believing them will now as impious be,
As disbelieving of a Deity.

Seraph.
Yet I'll not tamely fall: The Duke shall know
I am abus'd, and—

Beri.
Flatter not thy self
With the least Thought, or hope he'll e'er regard thee more.
Be gone! perpetual Banishment is Mercy.

Seraph.
The Fate I fear'd,
And have so long been lab'ring to avoid,
Is fall'n upon me. Give me Leave, my Lord,
To plead in my Defence: I've that to say
Which will incline you to exchange your Doom
For one more gentle.—Stay! yet stay and hear me!
No Criminal, tho' bath'd in Brothers Blood,
But is allow'd that Favour.

Beri.
Already pre-condemn'd, nothing remains
But Sentence now, which thus I pass upon thee.

Seraph.
O hold, my Lord! If I am not defam'd—

Beri.
Forbear! thou hast already been forsworn.
He that inform'd me is an Oracle,
From whom there's no Appeal for farther Surety.
Thou art my Wife (and what Man can be sure
He has a better?) As a Wife I'll own thee,
But never, never hold a nearer Converse!
Sep'rate we'll eat and drink, and sep'rate lodge;
Nor shall we altogether live uncourtly:
We've Presidents enow of such a Life—
The only Way that Wedlock's free from Strife.

Seraph.
O Heav'n! are these, are these the Joys of Marriage?
Remember we were but just now made one:
Must we part there where all the World is join'd?
O 'tis too cruel! think, my Lord, and save me!
For you I've liv'd thus long, only for you,
And can't survive without you!

Beri.
Put the sick Man in Mind he has took a Potion,
And see how that will please him.
Naming of Marriage has the same Effect
On me, and does beget a Loathing that
Makes Mem'ry nauseous.

Seraph.
O that I knew which Way I cou'd relieve you,
And fix your Soul in Peace.

Beri.
I'll tell you:
If you my former Comforts wou'd restore,
Leave me this Moment, and ne'er see me more!
Next make all other Females of thy Mind,
Then, tho' you're curs'd your self, you'll save Mankind.
[Exit Beri.

Seraph.
I'm lost! my Innocence it self can't save me!
Where can I go? Or how shall I appear
With such a Brand upon me? Who that bears
The Names of Chaste and Virtuous e'er will own me?
In sad Retirement I must pass my Days,
Yet ev'n there too bold Infamy will find me:
Into the Cabinet it follows Kings,
And does arrest the Priest before the Altar.
Death is the only Refuge! Lucrece so
Got endless Fame, who else had liv'd unsainted.
He's here! just tim'd to my Revenge! nor shall
His Royalty protect him.

Enter Duke.
Duke.
Ha!—I wou'd shun the Sight of Woman.

[Retiring.
Seraph.
Stay, Sir, you that believe the Sov'reign Pow'r
Can do no Wrong. Prerogative shall now
No more secure you from my just Resentments,
Than 'twill, if you are wicked, from Damnation.

Duke.
What wou'dst thou, Seraphana?

Seraph.
Make you speak the Truth,
Which Princes seldom hear. My Injuries
Make me forget the Distance of a Subject:
But Innocence is fearless: Wrongs like mine,
Wou'd give the Dumb a Tongue to curse such Usage!

Duke.
Whither wou'd all this Passion?

Seraph.
To your Breast,
To knock there till it has awaken'd Justice.
Tell me (if Blushing will but give me Leave
To ask the Question) have you e'er enjoy'd me?

Duke.
You know I have.

Seraph.
'Tis false! were you the Emp'ror of the World,
'Tis false as Hell! You're not so great as wicked!
I thought before I' ad giv'n you Satisfaction.
I am, indeed, too mean to mix my Blood
With yours in Marriage, and as much too good
To be your Whore: In that Respect you and
The Spittal Slave are equally my Loathing.

Duke.
You rave in vain, Repentance were more fit.
I've but prevented that which I admire
You wou'd consent to. True, I did you Wrong,
In cropping off those Virgin Sweets, which till
This Hour preserv'd, had made thee great and happy.
But, in Return, chuse somewhere else, I'll give
A Province for thy Dowry: But this Match
Is next t'incestuous, and will end in Ruin.

Seraph.
Doubly accurs'd be she that you enjoy'd!
And blasted be the Tongue that has defam'd me!
You have th'Advantage: But if I may guess
At Fate, you will be quickly overtaken
By a more fearful Ruin! Have a Care
Your self you're not incestuous! But go on,
Traduce, abuse me, trample on my Virtue,
The Pow'rs above will one Day do me Right,
And when they do, strange Crimes must come to Light.
[Exit Seraph.

Duke.
Her still insisting on her Innocence,
Is wond'rous strange! There must be something more,
That does enrage her so, than what I know.
Ha! I remember there was not a Word
To pass between us; I might be impos'd on,
If so, I've wrong'd her; but I'll instantly
Go find her out, make a more curious Search
Than yet I've done, and know the Truth of all.
If by a Trick she has preserv'd her Fame,
Be her's the Glory, and be mine the Shame.
[Is going, but meets Agnon entering.
How dar'st thou, Traytor, knowing thou art guilty
Of so much Villany, appear before me?

Agnon.
The Cause I came in justifies th'Intrusion:
'Tis in Defence of Innocence and Truth.
You are abus'd, and so am I and she,
She most that is most faultless; she whose Worth
Compensates for the Vice of all her Sex,
Whose beauteous Form, to match her Mind, was giv'n
An Angel's Face, join'd with the Truth of Heav'n!

Duke.
O Hypocrite!—But thou art known, and now
This Smoothness shall not pass.

Agnon.
Then, Sir, this shall.

[Draws.
Duke.
Ha! Villain! draw on me! I've seen thee brave,
[Draws.
And therefore will with my own Sword dispatch thee,
And save the Axe that Task.

[Advancing.
Agnon.
Hold, sacred Sir!
O cou'd you think I'd lift an impious Hand
Against anointed Life? No, 'twas to prove
My Innocence; for since you'll not believe
Me living, thus I seal it with my Death.

[Offering to fall on his Sword, which the Duke strikes away with his Foot.
Duke.
Ha! happily prevented.—
Thou' adst better live, than unrepentant fall,
For such Assassination finds no Mercy.—
But why, rash Man, wou'd'st thou destroy thy self?

Agnon.
To give you Peace:—My Death were happy, if
It cou'd but make your Life so, and restore
The banish'd Adorissa to your Favour.
But see! O see! the mourning Turtle comes!
In Conference with the Dutchess; happy Chance!
If you'll but take th'Advantage to o'er-hear 'em,
My Life on't, you will gather something thence,
That yet may save us all.

Duke.
I'll try; but 'tis
A Bliss too great to hope!

[They retire.
Enter Dutchess, Adorissa.
Ador.
I'm ruin'd! lost! undone! my spotless Name,
All that I had to boast, is gone for ever!
Talk not of loving me; what mortal Hate
Cou'd have defam'd me more?
I false with Agnon!
And cou'd you be a Witness to the Scandal,
With all that Seeming-sanctity and Honour?
You know you've wrong'd me, and I will have Right:
Living, I'll like an evil Conscience haunt you!
And dead, my Ghost shall poison all your Joys,
Unless you to the Duke retrieve my Virtue!

Dutch.
O no! I must not! Fate does interpose.
I rather shall endeavour to confirm him
More strong in the Belief. Insist no more
Upon this Theme; already you've been told
Inevitable Bars are set between you,
Which 'tis assur'd Perdition to o'er-pass.
But to your self, I own I've wrong'd you, own
The first created Purity her self,
Was not more faultless.
But not for Worlds I'd have my Son believe it!

Ador.
Must I be ruin'd then, without a Reason?
Your mortal Foes (for Virtue still has many)
I've seen you use with Mercy: And Heav'n knows
My greatest Crime to you is fervent Pray'r,
For the Continuance of your Peace and Honours.
Can such be pardon'd, and I find no Pity!

Dutch.
She shocks my Soul! It must be so.—There is
No other Means that can prevent her Ruin.
[Aside.
I stand engag'd to the Moldavian Princes
[To her.
That he shou'd marry there: Beside, both States
Approve the Match.—Let this suffice at present.
But since you wou'd know more,
Pray spend the Night with me; I've that to say,
I dare not whisper in this common Air!
Horrors, that shou'd for ever sleep in Silence,
Lock'd up from human Ears!
When you've heard all, you'll own my Reasons just:
Wedlock with him you'll think the worst of Harms,
And fly to Death for Refuge from his Arms!

[Exit Dutch. The Duke and Agnon coming forward.
Duke.
Fly thou to a Repentance of thy Faults,
That basely cou'd'st traduce such matchless Virtue.
Yes, Adorissa! yes, my Life, my Soul!
I over-heard you, and am lost in Rapture!
Let this auspicious Hour be ever blest!
And blest my Friend that put me in the Way
To see thy Honour made secure for Ages!
The very Tongue that blackn'd, has redeem'd thee!
But O I beg thy Pardon, that ev'n she
(Tho' far, you know, a Mother's Pow'r extends)
Cou'd make me doubt thy Virtue.

Ador.
Faultless in all Things else, she err'd in that.
But O this Turn does come too quick upon me!
It does oppress me! I can scarce bear up
Beneath th'unweildy Joy! Am I once more,
(O Happiness beyond all Hope!
I have you fast, yet scarce believe my Senses!)
Am I once more restor'd to your Embraces!

Duke.
Thou art, and envious Fate no more shall part us:
This Night we'll tye the Nuptial Knot, and put
Our selves beyond the Fear of Separation.

Ador.
No, not to Night, my Lord, 'twill be too sudden.

Duke.
Can we too soon be happy?

Ador.
Your Royal Mother promis'd I shou'd know
The Reason why with so much Vehemence
She has oppos'd our Marriage: I wou'd first
Hear her.—To-morrow, as you please, command me.

Duke.
If there's no other Cause, we will not trust
A future Hour with what the present gives us:
Life's short, and only Folly waits for Pleasure.

Ador.
O yet, my Lord, yet if I cou'd be heard,
I wou'd defer it longer!

Duke.
On that Subject
Thy Tongue wants Pow'r to charm me. Think no more
On what my Mother has suggested to you;
I see her Drift; sh' has govern'd now so long,
She's jealous of a Rival in her Glory.
Sh' has had her Time.—'Tis now your Turn to shine,
And all that Pow'r that late was her's, is thine.

Enter Mirabella.
Mira.
I came to tell you the enraged Dutchess
Has deeply sworn it ne'er shall be a Match,
If any Thing that's human can prevent it.
I am To-morrow to retire from Court
By strict Command, and take my Daughter with me:
But not, on Pain of Death, to let you know
Our Place of Residence, nor no one else
That may inform you.

Duke.
Why she's so averse
Against this Match, I know not: She has disguis'd
The Truth to us: But can you guess the Reason?

Mira.
Only the Meanness of her Birth; the rest
Is trivial, and not worth a Repetition.

Duke.
I wou'd do much t'obey her; any Thing
But proving false to Virtue and my Honour.—
O Mirabella! what do you advise us?

Mira.
To put your Happiness beyond Prevention:
Towards which I've made a large Advance already,
For Mordivan is waiting in my Chamber.
This Night you privately may marry there,—
And there may lie conceal'd without Suspicion.

Duke.
Hear'st thou, my Love! hear'st thou these heav'nly Sounds!
Or art thou dumb with the Excess of Joy!
Hide not thy Face, more pure for such a Stain:
So does Aurora paint the Morning Sky,
Most lovely in its Blushes!

Mira.
Then, To-morrow,
T'amuse the Dutchess, we'll go out of Town,
But the next Night in Secresy return,
And in th'Apartment of a Friend's of mine,
That joins almost to yours, lie hid, till you
In publick please to own her.

Duke.
'Tis done! 'tis fix'd! this Night will crown my Wishes!
My Soul, dilated at one View, takes in
Whole Ages of Delight, and Worlds of Pleasure!
O Madam! O my Friend! O Adorissa!
Pardon this Extasy!—I stand, methinks,
Like martyr'd Saints, upon the Verge of Heav'n;
Their earthly Pilgrimage and Trials o'er,
They view th'eternal Transports from the Shore!
Glories that blind ev'n incorporeal Sight,
And drown their deathless Essence in Delight!
Blessing their Change, some to their Thrones repair,
Some mount on Angels Plumes, and wing empyreal Air!
No less I'm wrapt (freed from impending Harms)
With Thought of being folded in thy Arms!
In thee almost an equal Bliss is giv'n.
Cou'd this Embrace b' immortal, 'twou'd be Heav'n!

[Exit Duke, Ador. Mira.
Agnon.
A Heav'n, indeed, but 'tis a Heav'n I've lost;
Nor will I grieve, since 'tis what he does gain.
She's happiest there.
But O her Privacy I cannot bear!
Access may then be barr'd, and 'tis a Joy
To look on her, tho' I of Love despair.
So when th'Attendant to his Master fills
Some noble Wine, that does diffuse around
A grateful Flavour, sparkling in the Bowl;
He smiles to see it dance above the Brim,
Pleas'd with the Sight, tho' he's forbid to taste.
What if I tell the Dutchess they are marry'd?
It keeps her here; which will at once oblige
Both them and me: Then, since it must be known,
For ought I see, it matters not how soon:
The Dutchess must approve her when a Bride,
Tho' sh' has oppos'd the Match in Policy and Pride.

Enter Dutchess.
Dutch.
Heav'n is against us, Agnon; I had else
Made good my Promise: But I yet shall find
A Way to make you happy, tho' your Fate
Looks now with such a frowning Aspect on you.

Agnon.
I'm happy, Madam, now the Duke is so.
In vain we strive to part what Heav'n will join:
He has her fast; Hymen and Love have now
Mingl'd their mystick Flames, and only Death
Can make the Separation!

Dutch.
Ha! Agnon! do I understand you rightly?
Or has some Lethargy benumb'd my Reason?
Marry'd d' ye mean?

Agnon.
This Hour the Knot was ty'd,
That makes 'em one for ever.—Bless 'em Heav'n,
With many Days, and all Increase of Honours!

Dutch.
Bless 'em, d' ye say? If thou hast told me Truth,
They're curs'd for ever! Empires can't redeem 'em!
Is this, ye Pow'rs, your Justice? This your Love
To erring Man? You shou'd have interpos'd
A gracious Arm, to save the Innocent,
And not prepost'rously forc'd Nature on
To such abhorr'd Pollution!

Agnon.
Ha! I've hurt, instead of helping.

[Aside.
Dutch.
I must dissemble, if I wou'd know more!
Tho' Death were now more easy!
[Aside. Studies.
—I've thought on't, Agnon, and will now no more
Oppose yon Sov'reign Will: There 'twas the Match
Seems to be made; 'twou'd be Impiety
For me to frown, where Heav'n is pleas'd to smile.
But pray where were they marry'd? And by whom?

Agnon.
By Mordivan, in Mirabella's Lodgings.

Dutch.
What? And she was consenting to't?

Agnon.
She was.

Dutch.
Confusion seize her Soul!
[Aside.
I cannot blame her, 'twas for their Advance.—
And did you see the Nuptial Rites perform'd?

Agnon.
No, Madam.

Dutch.
Then, perhaps, you've misinform'd me!

[Joyfully.
Agnon.
You may depend on't, Madam, for a Truth.

Dutch.
Go to 'em, then; tell 'em I am compos'd,
And reconcil'd; and, if they will admit me,
I'll crown their Spousals with a Mother's Blessing.

[Smiling.
Agnon.
The News will be most welcome to their Ears.

[Going.
Dutch.
Hold,—since you are not certain they are marry'd,
Send Mordivan to me;—he'll find me here.
[Exit Agnon, bowing.
'Tis done! and all my Care
Must now be to prevent its going further;
To interpose between them and their Joys,
Now they're broad blown, and crop 'em close for ever!
Cruel, indeed, but safe; for 'tis most certain
They ne'er must come together! What a sad
And fatal Train of Consequences hangs
Upon one Fault? Which, tho' 'twas great, was not
So far remov'd from Mercy, but an Age
Of Tears and Pray'rs might make me hope for Pardon:
For what Crime will not Penitence attone?
A healing Balm to ev'ry Soul but mine!
Mine it leaves hopeless! Heav'n will not look down
Upon me with a Grain of saving Mercy!
I am renounc'd, cast off, and harden'd now
To do more Mischief, to despair and perish!—
Suppose I tell her yet, that which, just now,
I meant t'acquaint her with.—'Twill be too late,
She must inform him too, which Shame forbids
He e'er shou'd know! It must be then by Death,
There's no Way else to save 'em! 'Tis an Ill
Much better than Enjoyment: Heav'n! Enjoyment!
Nature, methinks, shou'd start! the Blood turn Ice!
Desire recoil! Antipathy swell up
To a gigantick Size! and Horror, arm'd
In all its Ghastliness, rush in betwixt
Their Souls and such Embraces!—Ah! see! he's here!
Enter Mordivan.
The Scriech-Owl's here! who, had he sung their Dirge,
Their fun'ral Dirge, instead o'th'Nuptial Song,
We had all been happy!—Tell me, Mordivan,
For 'tis no Secret, was it you that marry'd
My Son to Adorissa?

Mordi.
I had that Honour, Madam.

Dutch.
Honour? Eternal Infamy and Scandal!
Racks! Gibbets! Ponyards! Poison! Fire and Torture!—
Be gone! fly from me e'er my Curses seize thee!
Thou hast done a Deed that shuts thee out from Mercy!

Mordi.
I hope not, Madam.

Dutch.
Hope not, but despair;
'Twill more become you;—this one Sin has damn'd thee!—
Be ev'ry Womb fill'd with incestuous Breed,
And ev'ry Age improve th'accursed Deed!
Love, Justice, Chastity, for ever cease,
And Rape, Blood, Lust, Revenge, and Guilt increase!
Be all Laws broken, human, and divine,
And all Mankind in one Destruction join!
Nor only here these loud Commotions rise,
But soaring higher, seize upon the Skies!
Chaos usurp the peaceful Realms of Light,
And the Sun sink in everlasting Night!
The Blest from all their happy Seats be driv'n,
And Rout and Uproar change the Face of Heav'n!
May dire Confusion thro' all Place extend!
Let all be Hell, and let it never end!

[Exeunt.