University of Virginia Library

ACT. II.

SCENE. I.

A Pavilion Royal.
Discover's Clarismunda seated attended by Celestina and Rosalin.
Clar.
Orsanes , Oh that ever bleeding Martyr!
Murder so black! enough to shame the World,
And blot the Blushing Skies. Yet why, oh why
Is Suff'ring Virtue that neglect of Heav'n,
Not the least care of shielding Providence
Steps in to guard, nor one just Bolt t'avenge it.
But can my Sighs or Prayers recall his Breath!
Ah no; th'irrevocable Doom's gone forth,
And posting Angells speed in vain to catch it.

Enter Orontes.
Oront.
If trembling Adoration may presume
T'approach so near; and these unhallow'd Knees
May humbly bend to the Eternal Throne
To beg down Bessings on that sacred Brow.

Claris.
Thou wish me Blessings. Fool, why dost thou lose
That ineffectuall prayer, thou who hast entaild
That lasting shame, and load of Curses on me;
That distant Blessings and remoter Peace
Stand those wide Worlds remov'd from Clarismunda
That bliss and I must never meet again.

Oront.
That I have sin'd against that Heav'nly Fair,
Committed that dire deed of Execration,
That not the whole detesting World alone,
But the whole Blushing Host above the Stars
Confront my Impious Guilt; That I've don this,
Tormenting Conscience with ten thousand Horrours
Haunts all my sleepless nights.

Clar.
A sleepless night? And is that all thy punishment?
Each puny Crime
May wound as deep as that. But can'st thou think
Orsanes Blood, and all my wrongs demand no more.

Oront.
Thy wrongs demand
All all fates Bloodiest Shafts, the heaviest Load
That ere crusht Guilt, or struck confusion dead,
This single Criminal Head deserves 'em all.
Unless a kind Reprieving Mercy dawn
From those fair Twins of Life.

Claris.
Mercy to Thee,
Thy Crimes, thou dire Destroyer! Can thy baseness
Dare lodge so vile a Thought of Clarismunda!
The Sacred Blood of the immortall Cyrus,
That tame forgiving Fool.

Oront.
Alas dear Madam!—

Clar.
No King, I have a Lucrecian Soul within me:
With more then all her Wrongs, my Hope, Peace, Life,
All ravish't by thy worse then Tarquin Cruelty.
And if perhaps I have out-liv'd her Fall,
'Tis onely to outact her Vengeance. She
Poor Martyr dyed too soon. Her closing Eyes
Shut out that charming scene, the rowzing Thunder
Hung o're her punisht Ravishers head: she dyed
Before her dear Revenge. But I would live
For mine (if thou darst let me live,) live Tyrant
To wake the arming World for thy Destruction.

Oront.
Oh hold my fair Accuser, think, oh, think
When my mad Rage and all my brutall Fires
Walk'd forth with that too hideous Arme of Death
Twas onely Love that struck the barbarous Blow.

Claris.
Love!

Oront.
All commanding all resistless Love.
Alas, I saw the cruell Clarismunda
Deaf to my sighs and pray'rs; my happy Rivall
With all the Pride of an insulting Conquerour
Even in his Chains my Tyrant, the blest Lord
Of Clarismunda's Heart: Think how I saw
The flaming Sword, and my seal'd Gates of Paradice.
And if my burning Love and boyling Envy
Swell'd my Despair too high, impute th'Effects
To a too powerfull Cause. Alas, I cut
Th'excluding Barr betwixt my Heav'n and Me.

Claris.
Yet hold—This Insolence outsins thy first black Guilt.
What tho th'Injustice of our partiall Destiny
Threw the unhappy Champion of our Cause,
By Warrs rough Chance a Captive in thy Pow'r;
Dares thy Barbarity make Love, great Love,
A Plea for Murther? Could that noble Passion
Transforme thee to a Ruffian? Had'st thou been
That Godlike thing a Lover, thoud'st have seen
Thy happy Rivall with more generous Envy:
And in thy glorious Indignation free'd him
From his vile Chains; bid him dispute his Title
To Clarismunda's Heart with his drawn sword.
Had he so faln, and his triumphant Conquerour
Staind with his warm warm Blood—thus hadst thou woed me—
But in cold Murder, his poor naked Throat
Given up to Butchers Hands, thy Slaves and Hangmen!
Shame of a Throne, thou eternall Brand of Empire!

Oront.
And is this all my Love must ever hope!

Claris.
Hope wretched King; why does thy tiresome Folly
Force my repeated Scorne both of thy Crown and Thee
Thus often to pronounce the fatall never?

Oront.
Never!

Claris.
Shoud this degenerate Breast descend so low
But to Dream Kindness to Orsanes Murderer;
I'de tear my Traytour Heart up by the Roots,
But for so poor a Thought. Love thee! Yes, King,
If to owe thee Curses more then Plagues can pay thee
Thy dying Groans more Musick to my soul,
Then all the Quires of Heaven, be Love, I love thee,

Oront.
Well, Madam, you have sworn my seal'd Destruction,
And rather then a Doom from that fair Mouth
Should want the Weight of Fate, with my own Hand,
I'le ayd my Labouring Destiny. Go, Briomar,
Draw out ten Thousand Horse, and in their Head,
Bear that relentless Beauty back to Persia,
A Present t'her avenging Brothers Arms.

Claris.
Ay, King, do This—

Oront.
Yes, go, dear charming Death.
Bring the whole summond Force of Heav'n and Earth
To hunt down this Babarian.
Too cruell Vengeance, at Thy Tyrant call,
All thy arm'd shafts on this doom'd Head must fall;
And Humble kneeling Love shall bear e'm all.
But dear remorsless Fair; if all the pangs
Of my poor bleeding Heart—

Claris.
All the old Hatefull Theme. No more: no more.
Remember, King, I have Your sacred Promise
To send me back to my avenging Brothers.

Oront.
True; I have promised, and the dread Command
Of Clarismunda, though at no less price
Then my Souls Death, shall be obey'd. Go; Briomar,
Performe your Charge; conduct that fair Inexorable
T'her Royall Brothers Arms—But tell those Brothers—
Yes, lay my blushes and my shame before e'm;
And tell the injur'd Majesty of Persia,
My soul unman'd, and all my Reason drownd,
I did that shamefull Deed. But tell e'm too,
The Brute offended, but the King repents.
Tell e'm instead of all their Arm'd Revenge,
Death, Fire, and Sword, sack Towns, and burning Citys
Kind Hymens Torch presents a gentler Fire.

Claris.
No more, vain talking Frenzy—

Oront.
Yes, beauteous Cruelty,
Tell e'm that Mighty Love—

Claris.
That Mightier Vengeance—

Oront.
With all the Eloquence of immortall Truth—

Claris.
With all the Horrours of Eternall shame—

Oront.
For Mercy, Mercy, call.

Claris.
For Blood, for Blood.

Oront.
For Blood than, since no less then Blood must pay.
Go, Briomar, that Voice of Death obey.
Arme Arme the World against this hated Head:
And forge the Bolts to strike this Monster dead.
Go, Fairy Treasure, Vanishing Brightness, go.
But Clarismunda,
If Thou must kill, why the poor Persian swords,
Why arming Worlds, and angry Heav'n against me.
No, fairer Deity; weil'd thy own bright Vengeance:
Thy Eyes the Gods Expence of Thunder save,
And lend me from their Darts a nobler Grave.

Exuent all but Celestina and Rosalin.
Celest.
Now Rosalin, what thinkst thou of my Sybill,
My Scythian Prophetess!

Rosal.
Think!

Celest.
Dost not see
We are moving to a fairer Feild of Fortune,
The Court of Persia, Beauties bright Meridian!
How looks her kind prediction now? Do's not
My Royall Conquest wear a promising Face?

Rosal.
Fantom and Phrenzy.

Celest.
Spight and Envy! No;
Thou snarling Infidell, th'Oraculous Truth
Had Heav'n in't, and I must, and will beleive her.

Rosal.
Well, if your Faith's so strong, beleive, and prosper.

Celest.
Yes Rosalin, and to confirme that Faith
Sleeping this night I saw the sweetest Vision.
Methoughts, a glittring Troop danced all around me,
Clapt their gay Wings, and in one ecchoing Voice,
Stupendious Words, that lightend as they spoke,
Saluted me with
Hayle thou Beauteous Miracle,
Go on, thou Royall Conquerour; so conquer
Till Poets make thee their Eternall Song;
And wanton Painters like the bold Prometheus,
When they'd give Souls to shadows, from thy Heav'ns
Shall Steal th'immortall Fires.

Ros.
By Love all Rapture!

Cel.
No sooner was the gaudy Vision vanish't,
But straight I dreamt of that fair Grecian Dame
That drew the Swords of the Contending Universe,
The glorious subject of a ten years War;
And the no less immortall Cleopatra,
Her bleeding Antony, and persuing Cæsar,
With burning Troys, and Worlds for Beauty lost.

Ros.
Well, Celestina, if no less Originals
Then Egypts Cleopatra, or Greek Helens,
Are those fair Eyes your golden Dreams must copy,
In that blest day expect my duteous Homage
Amongst your kneeling slaves.

Cel.
Yes, that blest Day!
Now to the Court, that Lottery of Beauty,
Where all the Fair for the great Prize put in,
And boldly stake their All to lose or win.
And whilst one Hand at an unhappy Fling
Draws but a Blank, the other draws her King.
With the same Hope for the same Lot Ile go,
And try if there's a Monarch for my Throw.

[Exeunt.
Scene changes to a Pallace.
Enter Tygranes.
Tygr.
What art thou Love, that thus out liv'st Despair?
Oh thou, whose too strong vital Pulses beat
When hope thy Life is dead. Too fair Herminia,
Tho' lost, for ever lost, thy haunting Form
Array'd with all thy Charms glides dazling by,
Whilst my devouring Soul leaps forth to meet thee
And grasps at fleeting Ayr. Too dear Herminia,
Yes, I will love thee still—But (oh) so love thee,
Love thy bright Glory, thy unenvyed Happiness,
Thy Monarchs Arms, and all thy Nuptiall Blisses,
My whole unmurmuring Souls divinest Musick.

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
Sir, some Officers wait your Command.

Enter Officers.
Tygr.
Admit e'm. Well, my Warriours
How fare my valiant Hearts?

Offi.
Tough as our Arms;
And cheerfull as our Cause!

Tygr.
Thou speakst my Souldier—

1. Offi.
As all our Veins, and all our Lives shall speak.

2. Offi.
Already, Sir, Your great Allies have joyn'd us;
A noble Train of War. From Western Nile
To Eastern Indus Streams, united Asia,
Brings her proud Banners to your Royall Standard.
By this good Sword, and this old Arm, I think
More gallant Troops, nor more resolv'd Battalions,
A fairer Front of the bold Sons of Glory
Ne'er shook the Earth beneath them.

1. Offi.
And great Sir,
May I presume to add one bold Word more.
To cheer our Hearts after our last lost Battle
And edg our Swords for a new fairer Game,
Persia fought then, but Clarismunda now.

Tygr.
Yes, my kind Souldier, in your last lost Game
A weaker Quarrell, and a fainter Arm,
Only Powers wanton Luxury, Ambition,
Fought then; But a Diviner Cause, wrong'd Honour,
And Sacred Vengeance now.

Enter King and Herminia, Mirvan, Amorin, Guards, &c.
King.
My best Tygranes
Life of my Cause, thou Eldest Son of War,
And boldest Heir of Fame; my waiting Armyes
Call thy Commanding Arm to lead 'em forth to Glory.

Tygr.
As far as humane Strength can push for Glory
This Arm shall lead; and Sir to joyn that Arm
I hope the Great Deciding Powers, that hold
The Fate of War and turn the Scales of Battle,
Have one kind Lawrell for the poor Tygranes.
For 'tis but Justice, Heav'n; one Smiling Day
For all the melancholly niggard Portion
Your unkind Stars have dealt me. And for all
The Massy Favours you have heap'd upon me,
Great Sir permit my bending Duty fall
Thus low to take up the fair Load of Honour.

King.
Rise, my Tygranes, This too humble Gratitude
Orepays the Gift I make.

Tygr.
Orepays! No! Sir.
You've lodg'd in this Young Arm a Trust so glorious—

King
And thou'lt discharge it with a Faith more glorious.

Tygr.
I hope indeed I shall. This I dare promise;
I go so keen for War, so arm'd for Battle,
My Cause so Precious and my Life so worthless,
That the Great Game of Death was never play'd
By a less shaking Hand.

King.
So speak the Souls
Of our Great Race, the transmigrating Fires
That warm thy noble Breast.

Tygr.
But Sir before I go, take my Last Prayer:
May all the Sweets of ever fragrant Love
Heap your full Joys. 'Twixt that fair Heaven and You
Eternall Jo Peans sing before you:
Smiles wake Your Morns, and Angells lull your Sleeps.

King.
This is too kind Tygranes,

Tygr.
And when in my Rough Toyls and heavyer Marches
Amidst the Shriller Louder Voice of War
Some softer Trump of Fame shall sweetly Chant
In my pleass'd Ears how fair Herminia loves:
How that all Nuptiall Truth, all Bridall Sweetness
With all the Riot of unmeasur'd blisses
Crowns the dear Love of her embracing Lord;
When I shall hear that dear that blessed Sound,
With open Arms I'le meet the darling Joy,
And clasp it as the Mrs. of my Soul—
Thus I may love Herminia—

Herm.
Love me Prince!
Yes such a Love Tygranes—Oh thou matchless
Originall of Virtue! Love like Thine
How shall I e're return. Go then, brave Warriour,
Go where bright Honour calls, and when thy Sword
Thro grappling Dangers hews thy path to Glory,
Be thou Herminia's Champion and I Thine.
For oh Tygranes to adorn that brow
And pull down Victory on that blest Head,
I'le borrow from the Arms of my kind Lord.
A bending Knee to Heav'n for dear Tygranes.

Tygr.
And will the kind Herminia do all this,
For lost Tygranes, the Divine Herminia
A Beauteous Suppliant to th'immortall Throne
Breath a soft Prayer, and melt the listning Gods,
And all for worthless me! Then I am orepay'd
For all my bleeding sighs. So blest—

Herm.
So blest, if she can give thee blessings, all my Orisons
My tendrest Vows for Thy Success I'le pay,
With so much Zeal the pious offering giv'n
Whilst thou shalt combat Earth I'le wrestle Heav'n.

King.
Hold my Herminia, thou too Godlike Goodness,
And take me with thee in this generous Contest.
A Prayer for dear Tygranes! Prayers and Hecatombs:
Incense and Sacrifice, all Pomp Divine;
Altars shall smoak and blazing Temples Shine.
United Heaven and Earth shall joyn for Thee;
Thou and the World, brave Youth, the Gods and we.

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
Your Royall Sister
Conducted by ten thousand Scythian Horse
Sent by the Mercy of her pitying Conquerour,
Free and unransom'd is returning home.

King.
Free and unransom'd! Yes, relenting Tyrant,
Like flowry Garlands to a bleeding Victim,
A poor amends for Clarismunda's Wrongs.

Tygr.
For the Reception of our Royall Sister,
Haste, Orimon, draw forth a thousand Horse
That these embracing Arms may fly to meet her.

Exit.
King.
My dear Herminia, the soft sweets of Love
Till this blest Minute have been all my Theme.
But now, my fairest, I am forc'd to borrow
From the kind Arms of Joy one hour for pity.
I have a mourning Sister,
A wrong'd one my Herminia, whose Returne
Must call one Tear even from the Eyes of Love.

Queen.
A Tear for Clarismunda! Yes my dear
Lov'd Lord, if that wrong'd Sister does demand
The Royall Tribute of those richer Pearle,
I hope you'll give these Eyes the Leave to add
Their pious Offring too.

King.
Thine, my Herminia!

Queen.
Mine, and all Eyes. At bleeding Virtues Sufferings
Our Griefs are but our Sympathetick pains.
Each melting Eye at that sad Object mourns:
The Loadstar draws, and trembling Pity turns.

Enter Tygranes Leading Clarismunda, Celestina, Rosalin &c.
Clars.
My Brother and my King!
Take to thy Arms, thy generous pitying Arms
This Load of Misery, Despair and Ruin.

King.
Fair Flower of Paradice, the sweetest Rose
Set in the Thorns of Life, dear Royall Mourner
My Souls best half, my own immortall Veins.

Clar.
Thy Veins! No Sir that once fair Christall Fountain
By the embitter'd Gall of Woes all poyson'd,
[The King gazes on Celestina.
My Blood runs Death, and I am thy Veins no more.

King
What do I see! Great Gods!

Clar.
But, oh, dread Sir,
In my affrighting Wounds, my Savage Wrongs,
I have brought home—

King,
Those Eyes, my Clarismunda—

Clar.
Eyes Sir!—

King.
Those Wrongs, my Sister—But proceed.

Clar.
Those Wrongs indeed! So wrong'd,
There's not that ministring Saint at Heavens high Throne
But midst his Scenes of everlasting Joys,
Looks down on Clarismunda's hideous Ruines.
Mine, mine's a Cause—

King.
By Heavens, amazing Fair—

Clar.
What says my King?

King.
Thy Cause my Sweet, go on.

Clar.
Yes, my dear Brother, and what's more then Brother
My Champion and my King; By those great Names
I call and challenge thy avenging Sword,
Thy Sword, my Soverain Justice

King.
Artaban?

[withdrawing from Clarismunda and whispering, Clarismunda strikes into Discourse in the mean while in dumb show with the Queen and Tygr.
Amor.
Mirvan, dost mark that Charming Stranger there?

Mir.
Ay, and that firing King too.

[aside to Amorin.
King.
That Lady

[to Artaban.
Art.
My dread Lord!

King.
That fair one.

Celest.
Shoot home my Charms! now my Prophetick Glory!

[aside
Mir.
Shine out fair stranger

[aside to Celestina.
Celest.
Boy!

Mir.
There's Honour near ye.

Tygr.
Dear Sister these Resenting Murmurs speak
With such an Emphasis.

Clar.
Do they speak Brother!
They must act too: These wrongs that find a Tongue
Must find an Arm, Tygranes.

Tygr.
Yes Royall sufferer,
Thou shalt have Vengeance, Vengeance, Clarismunda,
If Arming Man and ayding Heaven can give it thee.

Clar.
Do this, and all my work of Life is done:
And when thy Sword draws bloud, drink deep, my Brother;
Remember nothing but a pile of Death
Can build the Tomb of Love. Build thou that Tomb
For Clarismunda; then I dare dye pleas'd
When I have seen my blazing monument rays'd.

King.
Succeed and Challenge that Reward, my Artaban

[to Arta.
[Exeunt all but Celestina and Mirvan.
Celest.
'Tis don 'tis done; I read it in his Eyes;
The Golden Shaft and all the whole Blind God.
Now my kind Sybill thou hast fullfill'd thy Promise:
And I could kneel to thank thy Charming Oracle.
Oh Beauty! Love and Triumph wait thy Throne,
Hold my kind Toyl but fast, the Game's my own.

[Exit.
Mir.
So;—a poor Slave has Charms to snare a King:
Yes, fair unknown, th'Imperiall Thunderer
Hangs gathering o're thee in a glittering Shower,
And 'tis but spreading of thy Smiles before him
To catch the Golden God.—well! There's Love for you—
Death! what was I born for! Love's not my Province:
The Sweets of Life are banish't from these Lips.
Kind Nature stampt me in Heavens Image, Man,
Born with a Face perhaps t'have Captived Queens.
Till mercinary Infamous Barbarity
(An Evnuch Monster) basely rob'd my Cradle,
And left me a dull Drone of the Creation.—
Since then the Gall, and Dreggs of Life, are all
My Portion; to requite the spightfull worlds
Unkindness, let me this one pleasure find
To doal round my own Draught to all Mankind.