 | Xerxes |  |
The Scene, Near Xerxes Pallace.
Enter Mardonius and Aranthes.
Aran.
Have Patience, brave Mardonius.
Mar.
Patience! 'Tis the Coward's Virtue.
I'm a Soldier brought up in Arms;
And when the noble End of Life is gone;
My Country's Honour lost; my King with shame repuls'd;
Our Foes insulting; we still hopeless of Revenge;
Where is there room for Patience?
Aran.
I am a Soldier, Sir.
Mar.
Then talk like one.
Aran.
I wou'd not talk; the Tongue's a Woman's weapon;
While there's a Greek on Earth, my Arm shall speak my Thoughts.
Mar.
Why didst thou mention Patience then?
Aran.
Because I knew 'twoud Anger you.
I but oppos'd you, like a rapid Stream,
To make you Foam and Rowl with double force.
Mar.
Or'e whom?
Aran.
Th'Athenians! Think on Salamis;
In that deep Sea, the Persian Honour sunk.
'Twas there our dazling Sun, Great Xerxes Glory, set for ever.
Mar.
Confusion!
Aran.
Does then the Name of Salamis offend you?
Mar.
Furies and Hell! Canst thou be pleas'd to hear it?
Aran.
I am—To hear it does offend you.
And now I've rais'd you to my End propos'd,
Iv'e that shall keep your brave Resentment warm.
Read there the List of our surviving Troops,
[Giving a Scrole.
Which I with utmost care have join'd;
If yet you think it not too late to Head 'em,
To Morrow's Sun shall see a General Muster,
Where every Face will speak an Heart resolv'd:
'Tis true, they're scarce an Handful
To the Numbers we set out with; yet still
A brave Revenge, Revenge for Glory lost,
Is such an animating Cause,
As must inspire our Arms with double Fury.
Mar.
Ay, now the Soldier speaks! This Talk becomes thee;
Methinks the Voice of Fate informs me now,
That proud Themistocles shall dearly buy
His boasted Spoils of Persia.
My Heart's on fire at the reviving Thought,
And bounds to be in Action.
No more remains, but that we seek the Drooping King,
And Form him for the vast Exploit.
Aran.
Brave Artabanus is in search of him;
'Tis said, on Information, that the Enemy
Had a Design to hinder his Retreat;
He Posted privately to th'Hellespont,
But er'e he cou'd arrive a furious Storm
Had quite dispers'd his Bridge of ships,
And that way stopt his Passage;
How he Escap'd, I hear not.
See, Sir, Artabanus comes;
We probably may learn of him.
Enter Artabanus Dejected.
My Lord! You're Wellcome! Doubly Wellcome now, but say,
How have the Gods dispos'd our Master Xerxes?
Mar.
If thou canst utter ought,
That may advance our eager Hopes, be bold,
And let thy Words come forth, as if the Fate
Of Greece were lodg'd upon thy Tongue;
For know Mardonius stands with you resolv'd
On brave Revenge, or Death.
Art.
Then Wellcome Death, for brave Revenge is lost.
Mar.
What! while our Lives are Ours?
Art.
Nothing is ours: Xerxes is no more Himself.
Mar.
I grant Thermopylœ and Salamis
Have Alter'd him—
But yet he lives, and while he lives there's hope.
Art.
Far less, than ev'n his Death cou'd give us:
'Tis true his Body crawls, and drags
A Frantick Being, his Soul is drown'd in lethe
Insensible, and deaf to Glory, or Dishonour,
O! were it possible my Silence cou'd
Conceal his shame; By Heav'n
This loyal Hand shou'd stop my Tongue for ever.
Mar.
Amazement seizes me, relate the Scene,
For my impatient Soul's all Ear to know
The Worst, that Fate can Threaten.
Art.
Behold him then, this fatal Monarch Xerxes,
Late Universal Master of the Earth and Seas:
First of so Formidable, so vast an Army,
That as they mov'd, whole Rivers still were drain'd,
To quench 'em on their thirsty March.
Th'or'e-bunden'd Earth grew weary of her Load,
And when they clos'd their Squadrons groan'd to bear 'em.
Mar.
By Arms a glorious Host, and wanting nothing but an Head.
Art.
And that, Alas! grown weak the noble Body dies:
Ev'n by an handful at the Fam'd Thermopylæ,
(Fam'd indeed to Græcian Glory) 'twas mangled All,
Most shamefully subdu'd, and lost.
Mar.
Nothing, but a Xerxes, cou'd ha' lost 'em.
Art.
Behold him yet a second time,
The Master of his Fate: A Fleet so numerous,
Their vast Provision left a raging Famine on
The Neighbouring Coasts: The spacious Earth
Was stript of Men, and Women till'd the Ground,
Ev'n the wide Element of Air cou'd scarce
Afford 'em Breath to fill their swelling Sails:
By Arms a glorious Body too; Invincible
To Mortal Thought: But conscious Heav'n
Foreseeing, while it thus bestrid the Seas,
It must in Time have led the Earth in Chains,
Decreed it Xerxes for the fatal Head,
And that way Totter'd it to Ruin:
And now behold the amazing Change of Greatness!
By Heav'n, it strikes my Soul to think
This awful Man, that Muster'd half the World
In Arms, at Salamis shou'd be Reduc'd
So low, that ev'n a common Fisher-Boat
Without one Slave, to wait his Nod was All
He cou'd Command, to save his Person in a shameful Flight.
Mar.
Wer't not for shame, my Eyes wou'd melt to hear
The moving Tale: But Tears are too Effeminate, No!
Let Girls, and Lovers weep! A Soldier shou'd
Resent his Fate: Why doest thou fold thy Arms,
And sighing shake thy Head? Is there beyond
This shameful Flight yet more of shame?
For that's the only pain, that galls a Soldier.
Art.
There is (alas!) and a severe one too! His Vain
His Proud, (and what the History of Man
Cou'd never Parallel) his Monstrous Resolution
After Flight: He says he made th'Athenians Fly,
He lost no Battle! Greece still Trembles at his Name,
In Arms more Fam'd than ever,
And that the Envious World should know,
And when amaz'd I urg'd the contrary,
He turn'd away, and talk'd to Sycophants,
Who as I spoke, still sooth'd his lethargy:
To summ the Tale, in spight of all Opposing sense,
He has resolv'd to enter Persia,
In a splendid Triumph, I saw him move
Amidst his shameful Pageantry, in all
The Haughty Pride, and State of an Insutling
Conqueror; Poor Slaves, and Vagabonds are Hir'd,
To Personate the seeming Captives of
A Real Victory; vast Empty Coffers,
Suppos'd of Treasure taken from the Enemy,
High Castled Elephants, Rich Gilded Trophies,
Spoils, and Armour Trumpets, and Songs prepare his way,
The People stare upon the Gawdy show,
And Rend the Skies with Ecchoed Wellcomes:
While he in solemn Pace stalks Proudly on,
And ev'n out swells the Hero of a Theatre.
Aran.
O Vile Disgrace of Arms! A Triumph! Hell!
Mar.
Impossible!
Art.
Then it can't be true: Would it were not.
Mar.
Gods!—No more! I'll hast, and stop this Vile Procession,
Charge his Folly home; my Honest Tongue,
Ev'n from this Precipice of Towring Pride
Shall break his Fall, and catch him back to Glory.
[Exiturus.
Art.
Yet stay, my Lord, this Rashness may be Fatal;
'Tis Madness to oppose the Mad, (For so
Indeed you'll find him) let this Fit of his
Wild Frenzy pass; (I'm sure 't must have an Interval)
Let's take him in his cooler Thoughts;
To Morrow were a fitter time.
Mar.
You have Instructed me: 'Tis well! To Morrow then.
Aran.
What if we mingled with the Crowd to see him pass?
Art.
I think 'twere well, to observe his Actions,
That we know to chide him.
Mar.
Do you your Pleasure:
For me, I dare not trust my Temper.
I know 'twou'd burst, and ruin all: Farewel.
[Exit. Art.
Art.
Hark, the Trumpets speak him near at hand;
And see the Pageantry appears!
[They stand a part.]
Enter Cleontes, and a Poet preparing the way, and ordering the Chorus for the Triumphal Song.
Aran.
What are these?
Art.
The same I told you were so busie with the King;
While I exclaim'd against this Mad Solemnity:
That cringing Spark, now the Rough War is done,
Has purchas'd a Commission in the standing Guard;
The other is a Mungril Poet,
That never writ a Verse he did not like,
Nor er'e lik'd any more, than those the World had damn'd:
The Vulgar with his Madrigals are caught by th'Ears,
Excessive Impudence thrusts him into the Court:
And there they laugh to hear him praise himself.
Aran.
Him I guess to be the Orderer of this Days Foolery;
What a Chorus too: We shall be entertain'd anon!
Art.
Peace, lets observe 'em,
[They stand apart.]
Cleo.
O Glorious Day, were ever seen such Crouds
Of pleas'd Spectators!
Poet.
Ah! Happy People! Happy Xerxes!
Now we shall turn the Glass of Time,
And make it run the Golden Age again.
Cleo.
Now Merit will have leave to show her Head,
All Arts and Industry, the Heav'n-born Gift
Of Poetry shall Flourish,
And Men of Wit, like you, shall be rewarded:
Believe me, Sir, You Grace the Lawrel,
Great Xerxes did it Honour, when he plac'd it there.
Poet.
I think so.
Cleo.
You'll be the Envy of Parnassus.
Poet.
I always was, Sir: For d'ye observe me,
While other Fools were drudging, to acquire
A Name by the Pathetick, and the Dull sublime:
I unthought of, or'e a Bottle, would now and then
Surprize them with my Madrigals, my Songs,
My Whimms, and Knick-Knacks
Carry'd the Vogue of Town and Court before me;
Whipt off the Lawrel from Dispairing Brows,
And by the Hand of Merit fix'd it on my own.
Cleo.
Were it not time the Pæan should be Sung?
Wee're just upon the Palace.
Poet.
Yes, Sir, it shall be sung, and Gloriously,
When I give the Word: I love to have 'em
Wait a little, it makes 'em take
The more notice of me—Now sound, ye Slaves!
That all the World may Hear—my Words.
Cleo.
Prepare, the King approaches.
The Chorus being hang'd on each side the Stage, Enter Loyalty, Love, Peace and Plenty.
After a Martial Symphony, Loyalty Sings.
Loyalty.
Prepare , blest Sons of Art, prepare
To Raise the Thundring Voice of War:
Sing! sing! and sound the Hero's Fame,
Let Warlike Notes, his Warlike Deeds Proclaim.
Chorus.
Sing, sing, &c.
Loy.
Now cease the Noise, and while we meet him,
Let Love and softer Joys make haste to greet him.
Love Advances.
Love.
Welcome Hero from the Toils of War!
Welcome! as Rest to Pains and Care:
Welcome! as kind returning Day,
To Souls that dore the Night away!
Welcome! as Hope to Lovers in Dispair.
Chorus.
Welcome Hero from the Toils of War!
Peace and Plenty comes forward.
Peace & Plenty.
See! see! what softer Blessings wait
The Happy Triumph of the Great;
Peace and Plenty fly before him;
Peace and Plenty make Mankind adore him.;
Peace and Plenty Tune his Soul to Love,
And give below, a Tast of Joys above.
Grand Chorus.
Give him on Earth ye Pow'rs, long Love and Peace,
And after Death Immortal Bliss.
The Song ended.
Enter Trumpets sounding, a Train of Captive Kings and Princes, Women and Children, several Nobles bearing Palms, Soldiers with Spoils and Trophies: Then Xerxes Advances from the farther end of the Stage.
Xer.
Thus in despight of their resisting Fate,
The unwilling Gods, those busie Rivals
In my Rising Glory, are forc'd
With sullen Envy to behold my Triumphs:
Look from your Christial Battlements! look down
Ye Pow'rs amaz'd, to view a Soul unshaken
By these baffled Storms of Chance! A Soul!
That dares resolve to bear your utmost wrongs,
And grapple with oppos'd Omnipotence.
Cleo.
Thou Deity Ador'd! Immortal Xerxes Hail!
[Kneeling.
To Thee are held the lifted Hands of Persia
When War or Tumult wou'd molest her Quiet;
To Thee she bends her Knee, in humble Gratitude
For Foes subdu'd:
Let every Head bow down, and kiss the Earth
That bears him to our view: Soldiers and Children
Virgins and Lovers! All without distinction kneel
Yet lower, prostrate as the Vail of Night,
That wraps the Globe in Darkness: Down! Bow down,
And kiss the Earth with Adoration.
All fall upon their Faces, but Mardonius and Aranthes, who stand unseen.
Art.
(Aside.)
O shame to Glory!
The Sun appears Or'ecast here.
Aran.
(Aside.)
Incredible Stupidity!
Xer.
Now by my yet untasted Joys of Power,
This looks a God—It is!
For see! The dazled Sun contracts
His Golden Beams, he hides his Face and Blushes
To behold a Rival Power above him.
Art.
Gods! How his drunken Fancy swells him.
[Aside.
Xer.
Ha! What means this sudden Face of Death?
How fell these heaps of prostrate Bodies?
O Spleenful Fate! They'r dead! Malicious Planet!
Am I left alone to Rule, the Monarch
Of an Un-peopled World?—'Tis well ye Pow'rs,
Your dire Decrees shall be obey'd! Up! Up!
From your sleepy Graves! Rise all! Revive and take
New Life, from Power to give it.
Aran.
Amazing Frenzy!
[Aside.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
Dread Sir, the Reverend Magi are at hand,
And come with Pious Joy, to Gratulate your Triumphs.
Xer.
Let 'em come on, and we approve their Zeal.
Enter the Magi.
1. Mag.
Long live Victorious Xerxes!
Thou Dread Commissioner of Fate, in whom
Th'Allknowing Gods repose, the Care and Business
Of the World below: From thee, Mankind receives
Its Happiness so fast, our Prayers to Heav'n
Are still but Thanks, for Benefits enjoy'd.
2. Mag.
Thou Sacred Head! Instruct us to be Grateful.
Both to the Gods, and Thee; What Hecatombs
Are due for this Auspicious Day?
How shall we thank the ever Glorious Sun,
For such a King? What Vows? What Offerings too
Are due to Neptune?
Who through the dangerous Seas,
Has thus return'd thee safe to Persia?
O say: Where shall we find out Victims
Worthy of their Altars?
Xer.
How now! Priest-hood? Is this the way,
Your fawning Piety wou'd sooth an injur'd King?
Have not those Pow'rs Allarm'd by Sea and Land,
Oppos'd my spreading Glory? Am I not
Xerxes still, and must at last ignobly sue
For Peace, by a precarious Sacrifice?
Yes Slaves, I'll Feast your Gods Ador'd;
They shall have Offerings Priests! they shall!
Th'injurious Sun, the Seas and Wind that saw,
That sunk and scatter'd my stupendious Navy,
Shall feel the Vengeance of a Rouzing Deity.
Give Order that the Wind receive Three Hundred Lashes,
Let Fleeting Æolus be whip'd from Pole to Pole,
Then drive him to some hollow Cell confin'd, and tell
The Roaring God, his Master Xerxes is reveng'd!
1. Mag.
O Impious Thought! Avert this Madness, Heaven!
Xex.
How now! What would your Grave Devotion startle me?
Away draw out an able Band of Archers,
Mount 'em on the Battlements of yon lofty Tower,
And let 'em shoot a Thousand Arrows 'gainst the Sun.
2. Mag.
O Blasphemy!
Xer.
As many Chains be thrown into the Sea,
And bind the Blue hair'd Neptune to a Rock!
Prepare an hundred Bars of vast hot glaring Iron,
Then plung 'em hissing down
Into the burning Bowels of the Deep;
And while his scalding Billows, boyl and foam
With raging Torture;
There let him Rave, and dash his batter'd Limbs,
Like a dispairing Slave for ever.
Away! Take all the Wings of swift Revenge,
And see my Will perform'd! Now Priests!
Are these fit Offerings for your Mighty Powers?
I cou'd not stay to send 'em with your lazy Prayers
To Heav'n, your wanton Thoughts have dipt their Wings
Too deep, in Pleasures of the Earth, to let 'em mount so high.
Where's all their Idle Bolts, their brandisht Lightning now,
To blast the Man that dares oppose 'em?
2. Mag.
While Frantick Passions talk so wild and loud,
The Voice of Reason is of little force:
But still remember, King,
Tho' while you live the Gods retard your doom,
Yet after death, a sure Revenge will come.
Xer.
Away! ye senseless Dreamers of the World to come,
Who dare pretend to fright Mankind with Tales,
Of what shall happen after Death:
But yet can give us no account of what
The Soul endur'd, before it put on Flesh!
Hence from my Sight and Thoughts for ever!
Begon ye expensive Lumber of the World!
[Exeunt Magi.
[A shout at a distance.]
Cleo.
Behold Great Sir! A Thousand skilful Archers,
From yon High Spacious Tower,
Aloud Proclaiming War against the Sun:
They brace their stubborn Bows, and look
Resolv'd, to make their Arrows reach him.
[Thunder.
Xer.
By Jove they'r there! Ha! what means this Rising Storm?
By all my Power unshaken, my Foes above are startl'd
At my daring Fury; I'll stand and view
The Godlike War? See! how the Fleeting Winds
[Lowder.
Are posted to the Sun, with Tydings of
Impending danger! Hark! the dreadful News
Is told, in Peals of bursting Thunder! Ha!
By Arms the Noble Charge is given!
[The Stage is darkn'd.
For see! th'Allarm'd God retires!
He dares not climb the Skies, he Reins his fiery Steeds!
He stops! he turns 'em back, and rattles down
[Lightning.
The Eastern Hill of Heav'n! see! see!
[Falling
How the foaming Coursers Flounce and Tear,
And dash the spangled Skies behind 'em!
[A show'r of
Now by my own Immortal Soul: I'll mount
The burning Car my self. I'll have it drawn
By slow-pac'd Elephants, and every gladsom Day
Shall shine a Year:
New Order, new Seasons shall be born,
Ev'n from the womb of this stupendious darkness,
New Nature shall arise, and bless the World
With one Eternal Spring!
[The Sky is cleared.
Cleo.
Ha! The Sun appears again! I'll Humor his Extravagance.
See, Sacred Sir, 'tis done! Behold
A new born Light adorns the Skies,
And seems t'applaud your vast Creating Thought.
Xer.
Ha! 'Tis so! Tha harrass'd Gods are weary of the Fray:
Why, let 'em rest, and now alone
The business of the Earth shall fill my Thoughts:
Draw near, ye Royal Captives of my Terestial War,
And listen to pronouncing Fate! No longer now,
The Chains of Victory, shall gall your Valiant Minds;
Your future Bonds shall all be Love;
For ever now be free! be safe! Xerxes
Is no more your Foe!
No more the Toils of War shall break my Slumbers,
The Lust of Conquest shall Inflame me now no more,
Nor Fate shall dare to cross my Will, which thus
Resolves to give Mankind a General Peace,
The Captives are unbound, and the People shout.
And rowl the wanton Globe in Pleasure.
And now to spread my Resolution through
The spacious World, here I Proclaim, to any Head
That shall invent a new untasted Draught
Of Luxury, Rewards unlimited,
The Earth and Sea, shall throw their Treasure up
To make him Happy—
Let Young Fledg'd Heroes court the noise of War,
And starve their Pleasures: But to feed their Care,
Let fond Ambitions Wing still scorn to rest,
Still soar to Prey, withour desire to taste:
For me, more solid Bliss my Days shall Crown,
I'll tast the Pleasures which my Arms have won;
Eternal Springs of Love, and Gustful Joy
Shall feed my ravish'd Sense, without the power to Cloy.
Enter Mardonius and Aranthes.
Aran.
Have Patience, brave Mardonius.
Mar.
Patience! 'Tis the Coward's Virtue.
I'm a Soldier brought up in Arms;
And when the noble End of Life is gone;
My Country's Honour lost; my King with shame repuls'd;
Our Foes insulting; we still hopeless of Revenge;
Where is there room for Patience?
Aran.
I am a Soldier, Sir.
Mar.
Then talk like one.
Aran.
I wou'd not talk; the Tongue's a Woman's weapon;
While there's a Greek on Earth, my Arm shall speak my Thoughts.
Mar.
Why didst thou mention Patience then?
Aran.
Because I knew 'twoud Anger you.
I but oppos'd you, like a rapid Stream,
To make you Foam and Rowl with double force.
Mar.
Or'e whom?
Aran.
Th'Athenians! Think on Salamis;
In that deep Sea, the Persian Honour sunk.
'Twas there our dazling Sun, Great Xerxes Glory, set for ever.
Mar.
Confusion!
Aran.
Does then the Name of Salamis offend you?
Mar.
Furies and Hell! Canst thou be pleas'd to hear it?
Aran.
I am—To hear it does offend you.
And now I've rais'd you to my End propos'd,
Iv'e that shall keep your brave Resentment warm.
Read there the List of our surviving Troops,
[Giving a Scrole.
Which I with utmost care have join'd;
If yet you think it not too late to Head 'em,
To Morrow's Sun shall see a General Muster,
Where every Face will speak an Heart resolv'd:
'Tis true, they're scarce an Handful
2
A brave Revenge, Revenge for Glory lost,
Is such an animating Cause,
As must inspire our Arms with double Fury.
Mar.
Ay, now the Soldier speaks! This Talk becomes thee;
Methinks the Voice of Fate informs me now,
That proud Themistocles shall dearly buy
His boasted Spoils of Persia.
My Heart's on fire at the reviving Thought,
And bounds to be in Action.
No more remains, but that we seek the Drooping King,
And Form him for the vast Exploit.
Aran.
Brave Artabanus is in search of him;
'Tis said, on Information, that the Enemy
Had a Design to hinder his Retreat;
He Posted privately to th'Hellespont,
But er'e he cou'd arrive a furious Storm
Had quite dispers'd his Bridge of ships,
And that way stopt his Passage;
How he Escap'd, I hear not.
See, Sir, Artabanus comes;
We probably may learn of him.
Enter Artabanus Dejected.
My Lord! You're Wellcome! Doubly Wellcome now, but say,
How have the Gods dispos'd our Master Xerxes?
Mar.
If thou canst utter ought,
That may advance our eager Hopes, be bold,
And let thy Words come forth, as if the Fate
Of Greece were lodg'd upon thy Tongue;
For know Mardonius stands with you resolv'd
On brave Revenge, or Death.
Art.
Then Wellcome Death, for brave Revenge is lost.
Mar.
What! while our Lives are Ours?
Art.
Nothing is ours: Xerxes is no more Himself.
Mar.
I grant Thermopylœ and Salamis
Have Alter'd him—
But yet he lives, and while he lives there's hope.
Art.
Far less, than ev'n his Death cou'd give us:
'Tis true his Body crawls, and drags
A Frantick Being, his Soul is drown'd in lethe
Insensible, and deaf to Glory, or Dishonour,
O! were it possible my Silence cou'd
Conceal his shame; By Heav'n
This loyal Hand shou'd stop my Tongue for ever.
Mar.
Amazement seizes me, relate the Scene,
For my impatient Soul's all Ear to know
The Worst, that Fate can Threaten.
Art.
Behold him then, this fatal Monarch Xerxes,
3
First of so Formidable, so vast an Army,
That as they mov'd, whole Rivers still were drain'd,
To quench 'em on their thirsty March.
Th'or'e-bunden'd Earth grew weary of her Load,
And when they clos'd their Squadrons groan'd to bear 'em.
Mar.
By Arms a glorious Host, and wanting nothing but an Head.
Art.
And that, Alas! grown weak the noble Body dies:
Ev'n by an handful at the Fam'd Thermopylæ,
(Fam'd indeed to Græcian Glory) 'twas mangled All,
Most shamefully subdu'd, and lost.
Mar.
Nothing, but a Xerxes, cou'd ha' lost 'em.
Art.
Behold him yet a second time,
The Master of his Fate: A Fleet so numerous,
Their vast Provision left a raging Famine on
The Neighbouring Coasts: The spacious Earth
Was stript of Men, and Women till'd the Ground,
Ev'n the wide Element of Air cou'd scarce
Afford 'em Breath to fill their swelling Sails:
By Arms a glorious Body too; Invincible
To Mortal Thought: But conscious Heav'n
Foreseeing, while it thus bestrid the Seas,
It must in Time have led the Earth in Chains,
Decreed it Xerxes for the fatal Head,
And that way Totter'd it to Ruin:
And now behold the amazing Change of Greatness!
By Heav'n, it strikes my Soul to think
This awful Man, that Muster'd half the World
In Arms, at Salamis shou'd be Reduc'd
So low, that ev'n a common Fisher-Boat
Without one Slave, to wait his Nod was All
He cou'd Command, to save his Person in a shameful Flight.
Mar.
Wer't not for shame, my Eyes wou'd melt to hear
The moving Tale: But Tears are too Effeminate, No!
Let Girls, and Lovers weep! A Soldier shou'd
Resent his Fate: Why doest thou fold thy Arms,
And sighing shake thy Head? Is there beyond
This shameful Flight yet more of shame?
For that's the only pain, that galls a Soldier.
Art.
There is (alas!) and a severe one too! His Vain
His Proud, (and what the History of Man
Cou'd never Parallel) his Monstrous Resolution
After Flight: He says he made th'Athenians Fly,
He lost no Battle! Greece still Trembles at his Name,
In Arms more Fam'd than ever,
And that the Envious World should know,
And when amaz'd I urg'd the contrary,
He turn'd away, and talk'd to Sycophants,
4
To summ the Tale, in spight of all Opposing sense,
He has resolv'd to enter Persia,
In a splendid Triumph, I saw him move
Amidst his shameful Pageantry, in all
The Haughty Pride, and State of an Insutling
Conqueror; Poor Slaves, and Vagabonds are Hir'd,
To Personate the seeming Captives of
A Real Victory; vast Empty Coffers,
Suppos'd of Treasure taken from the Enemy,
High Castled Elephants, Rich Gilded Trophies,
Spoils, and Armour Trumpets, and Songs prepare his way,
The People stare upon the Gawdy show,
And Rend the Skies with Ecchoed Wellcomes:
While he in solemn Pace stalks Proudly on,
And ev'n out swells the Hero of a Theatre.
Aran.
O Vile Disgrace of Arms! A Triumph! Hell!
Mar.
Impossible!
Art.
Then it can't be true: Would it were not.
Mar.
Gods!—No more! I'll hast, and stop this Vile Procession,
Charge his Folly home; my Honest Tongue,
Ev'n from this Precipice of Towring Pride
Shall break his Fall, and catch him back to Glory.
[Exiturus.
Art.
Yet stay, my Lord, this Rashness may be Fatal;
'Tis Madness to oppose the Mad, (For so
Indeed you'll find him) let this Fit of his
Wild Frenzy pass; (I'm sure 't must have an Interval)
Let's take him in his cooler Thoughts;
To Morrow were a fitter time.
Mar.
You have Instructed me: 'Tis well! To Morrow then.
Aran.
What if we mingled with the Crowd to see him pass?
Art.
I think 'twere well, to observe his Actions,
That we know to chide him.
Mar.
Do you your Pleasure:
For me, I dare not trust my Temper.
I know 'twou'd burst, and ruin all: Farewel.
[Exit. Art.
Art.
Hark, the Trumpets speak him near at hand;
And see the Pageantry appears!
[They stand a part.]
Enter Cleontes, and a Poet preparing the way, and ordering the Chorus for the Triumphal Song.
Aran.
What are these?
Art.
The same I told you were so busie with the King;
While I exclaim'd against this Mad Solemnity:
That cringing Spark, now the Rough War is done,
Has purchas'd a Commission in the standing Guard;
The other is a Mungril Poet,
That never writ a Verse he did not like,
5
The Vulgar with his Madrigals are caught by th'Ears,
Excessive Impudence thrusts him into the Court:
And there they laugh to hear him praise himself.
Aran.
Him I guess to be the Orderer of this Days Foolery;
What a Chorus too: We shall be entertain'd anon!
Art.
Peace, lets observe 'em,
[They stand apart.]
Cleo.
O Glorious Day, were ever seen such Crouds
Of pleas'd Spectators!
Poet.
Ah! Happy People! Happy Xerxes!
Now we shall turn the Glass of Time,
And make it run the Golden Age again.
Cleo.
Now Merit will have leave to show her Head,
All Arts and Industry, the Heav'n-born Gift
Of Poetry shall Flourish,
And Men of Wit, like you, shall be rewarded:
Believe me, Sir, You Grace the Lawrel,
Great Xerxes did it Honour, when he plac'd it there.
Poet.
I think so.
Cleo.
You'll be the Envy of Parnassus.
Poet.
I always was, Sir: For d'ye observe me,
While other Fools were drudging, to acquire
A Name by the Pathetick, and the Dull sublime:
I unthought of, or'e a Bottle, would now and then
Surprize them with my Madrigals, my Songs,
My Whimms, and Knick-Knacks
Carry'd the Vogue of Town and Court before me;
Whipt off the Lawrel from Dispairing Brows,
And by the Hand of Merit fix'd it on my own.
Cleo.
Were it not time the Pæan should be Sung?
Wee're just upon the Palace.
Poet.
Yes, Sir, it shall be sung, and Gloriously,
When I give the Word: I love to have 'em
Wait a little, it makes 'em take
The more notice of me—Now sound, ye Slaves!
That all the World may Hear—my Words.
Cleo.
Prepare, the King approaches.
The Chorus being hang'd on each side the Stage, Enter Loyalty, Love, Peace and Plenty.
After a Martial Symphony, Loyalty Sings.
Loyalty.
Prepare , blest Sons of Art, prepare
To Raise the Thundring Voice of War:
Sing! sing! and sound the Hero's Fame,
Let Warlike Notes, his Warlike Deeds Proclaim.
Chorus.
Sing, sing, &c.
6
Now cease the Noise, and while we meet him,
Let Love and softer Joys make haste to greet him.
Love Advances.
Love.
Welcome Hero from the Toils of War!
Welcome! as Rest to Pains and Care:
Welcome! as kind returning Day,
To Souls that dore the Night away!
Welcome! as Hope to Lovers in Dispair.
Chorus.
Welcome Hero from the Toils of War!
Peace and Plenty comes forward.
Peace & Plenty.
See! see! what softer Blessings wait
The Happy Triumph of the Great;
Peace and Plenty fly before him;
Peace and Plenty make Mankind adore him.;
Peace and Plenty Tune his Soul to Love,
And give below, a Tast of Joys above.
Grand Chorus.
Give him on Earth ye Pow'rs, long Love and Peace,
And after Death Immortal Bliss.
The Song ended.
Enter Trumpets sounding, a Train of Captive Kings and Princes, Women and Children, several Nobles bearing Palms, Soldiers with Spoils and Trophies: Then Xerxes Advances from the farther end of the Stage.
Xer.
Thus in despight of their resisting Fate,
The unwilling Gods, those busie Rivals
In my Rising Glory, are forc'd
With sullen Envy to behold my Triumphs:
Look from your Christial Battlements! look down
Ye Pow'rs amaz'd, to view a Soul unshaken
By these baffled Storms of Chance! A Soul!
That dares resolve to bear your utmost wrongs,
And grapple with oppos'd Omnipotence.
Cleo.
Thou Deity Ador'd! Immortal Xerxes Hail!
[Kneeling.
To Thee are held the lifted Hands of Persia
When War or Tumult wou'd molest her Quiet;
To Thee she bends her Knee, in humble Gratitude
For Foes subdu'd:
Let every Head bow down, and kiss the Earth
That bears him to our view: Soldiers and Children
Virgins and Lovers! All without distinction kneel
Yet lower, prostrate as the Vail of Night,
That wraps the Globe in Darkness: Down! Bow down,
And kiss the Earth with Adoration.
All fall upon their Faces, but Mardonius and Aranthes, who stand unseen.
Art.
(Aside.)
O shame to Glory!
The Sun appears Or'ecast here.
Aran.
(Aside.)
Incredible Stupidity!
7
Now by my yet untasted Joys of Power,
This looks a God—It is!
For see! The dazled Sun contracts
His Golden Beams, he hides his Face and Blushes
To behold a Rival Power above him.
Art.
Gods! How his drunken Fancy swells him.
[Aside.
Xer.
Ha! What means this sudden Face of Death?
How fell these heaps of prostrate Bodies?
O Spleenful Fate! They'r dead! Malicious Planet!
Am I left alone to Rule, the Monarch
Of an Un-peopled World?—'Tis well ye Pow'rs,
Your dire Decrees shall be obey'd! Up! Up!
From your sleepy Graves! Rise all! Revive and take
New Life, from Power to give it.
Aran.
Amazing Frenzy!
[Aside.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
Dread Sir, the Reverend Magi are at hand,
And come with Pious Joy, to Gratulate your Triumphs.
Xer.
Let 'em come on, and we approve their Zeal.
Enter the Magi.
1. Mag.
Long live Victorious Xerxes!
Thou Dread Commissioner of Fate, in whom
Th'Allknowing Gods repose, the Care and Business
Of the World below: From thee, Mankind receives
Its Happiness so fast, our Prayers to Heav'n
Are still but Thanks, for Benefits enjoy'd.
2. Mag.
Thou Sacred Head! Instruct us to be Grateful.
Both to the Gods, and Thee; What Hecatombs
Are due for this Auspicious Day?
How shall we thank the ever Glorious Sun,
For such a King? What Vows? What Offerings too
Are due to Neptune?
Who through the dangerous Seas,
Has thus return'd thee safe to Persia?
O say: Where shall we find out Victims
Worthy of their Altars?
Xer.
How now! Priest-hood? Is this the way,
Your fawning Piety wou'd sooth an injur'd King?
Have not those Pow'rs Allarm'd by Sea and Land,
Oppos'd my spreading Glory? Am I not
Xerxes still, and must at last ignobly sue
For Peace, by a precarious Sacrifice?
Yes Slaves, I'll Feast your Gods Ador'd;
They shall have Offerings Priests! they shall!
Th'injurious Sun, the Seas and Wind that saw,
That sunk and scatter'd my stupendious Navy,
Shall feel the Vengeance of a Rouzing Deity.
8
Let Fleeting Æolus be whip'd from Pole to Pole,
Then drive him to some hollow Cell confin'd, and tell
The Roaring God, his Master Xerxes is reveng'd!
1. Mag.
O Impious Thought! Avert this Madness, Heaven!
Xex.
How now! What would your Grave Devotion startle me?
Away draw out an able Band of Archers,
Mount 'em on the Battlements of yon lofty Tower,
And let 'em shoot a Thousand Arrows 'gainst the Sun.
2. Mag.
O Blasphemy!
Xer.
As many Chains be thrown into the Sea,
And bind the Blue hair'd Neptune to a Rock!
Prepare an hundred Bars of vast hot glaring Iron,
Then plung 'em hissing down
Into the burning Bowels of the Deep;
And while his scalding Billows, boyl and foam
With raging Torture;
There let him Rave, and dash his batter'd Limbs,
Like a dispairing Slave for ever.
Away! Take all the Wings of swift Revenge,
And see my Will perform'd! Now Priests!
Are these fit Offerings for your Mighty Powers?
I cou'd not stay to send 'em with your lazy Prayers
To Heav'n, your wanton Thoughts have dipt their Wings
Too deep, in Pleasures of the Earth, to let 'em mount so high.
Where's all their Idle Bolts, their brandisht Lightning now,
To blast the Man that dares oppose 'em?
2. Mag.
While Frantick Passions talk so wild and loud,
The Voice of Reason is of little force:
But still remember, King,
Tho' while you live the Gods retard your doom,
Yet after death, a sure Revenge will come.
Xer.
Away! ye senseless Dreamers of the World to come,
Who dare pretend to fright Mankind with Tales,
Of what shall happen after Death:
But yet can give us no account of what
The Soul endur'd, before it put on Flesh!
Hence from my Sight and Thoughts for ever!
Begon ye expensive Lumber of the World!
[Exeunt Magi.
[A shout at a distance.]
Cleo.
Behold Great Sir! A Thousand skilful Archers,
From yon High Spacious Tower,
Aloud Proclaiming War against the Sun:
They brace their stubborn Bows, and look
Resolv'd, to make their Arrows reach him.
[Thunder.
Xer.
By Jove they'r there! Ha! what means this Rising Storm?
By all my Power unshaken, my Foes above are startl'd
At my daring Fury; I'll stand and view
9
[Lowder.
Are posted to the Sun, with Tydings of
Impending danger! Hark! the dreadful News
Is told, in Peals of bursting Thunder! Ha!
By Arms the Noble Charge is given!
[The Stage is darkn'd.
For see! th'Allarm'd God retires!
He dares not climb the Skies, he Reins his fiery Steeds!
He stops! he turns 'em back, and rattles down
[Lightning.
The Eastern Hill of Heav'n! see! see!
[Falling
How the foaming Coursers Flounce and Tear,
And dash the spangled Skies behind 'em!
[A show'r of
Now by my own Immortal Soul: I'll mount
The burning Car my self. I'll have it drawn
By slow-pac'd Elephants, and every gladsom Day
Shall shine a Year:
New Order, new Seasons shall be born,
Ev'n from the womb of this stupendious darkness,
New Nature shall arise, and bless the World
With one Eternal Spring!
[The Sky is cleared.
Cleo.
Ha! The Sun appears again! I'll Humor his Extravagance.
See, Sacred Sir, 'tis done! Behold
A new born Light adorns the Skies,
And seems t'applaud your vast Creating Thought.
Xer.
Ha! 'Tis so! Tha harrass'd Gods are weary of the Fray:
Why, let 'em rest, and now alone
The business of the Earth shall fill my Thoughts:
Draw near, ye Royal Captives of my Terestial War,
And listen to pronouncing Fate! No longer now,
The Chains of Victory, shall gall your Valiant Minds;
Your future Bonds shall all be Love;
For ever now be free! be safe! Xerxes
Is no more your Foe!
No more the Toils of War shall break my Slumbers,
The Lust of Conquest shall Inflame me now no more,
Nor Fate shall dare to cross my Will, which thus
Resolves to give Mankind a General Peace,
The Captives are unbound, and the People shout.
And rowl the wanton Globe in Pleasure.
And now to spread my Resolution through
The spacious World, here I Proclaim, to any Head
That shall invent a new untasted Draught
Of Luxury, Rewards unlimited,
The Earth and Sea, shall throw their Treasure up
To make him Happy—
Let Young Fledg'd Heroes court the noise of War,
And starve their Pleasures: But to feed their Care,
Let fond Ambitions Wing still scorn to rest,
Still soar to Prey, withour desire to taste:
For me, more solid Bliss my Days shall Crown,
10
Eternal Springs of Love, and Gustful Joy
Shall feed my ravish'd Sense, without the power to Cloy.
| Xerxes | |