University of Virginia Library

SCENE, A Prison. Orontes sitting.
Oront.
Wounded! Defeated! Taken! and in Chains!
How finish'd is my Woe! Yet Apprehension
Is wounded deeper, deadlier far, than I!
Siam, where art thou! Unauspicious Sagra!
Ipanthe is a Slave! And what Orontes?
All, All, is lost! where now are those big Views,
Which lately flatter'd my presuming Love?
Vast Change of Ill! Then, far above my Hopes,
Aw'd by her Pow'r, I trembled, looking up:
Now, gazing downward on her alter'd State,
I more despair! For 'tis not, now, her Heart,
Desire must pant for: Lost Ipanthe's Will
Obeys Ipanthe's Masters! Fruitless Thoughts!
I have no claim, ev'n were her Choice left free;
My Hope, untimely urg'd, was kill'd with Scorn!
Starts up.]
But, what has Love to do, amidst Destruction?
Cou'd I redeem her; give her back to Siam!
Revenge her Father's Death! were all this done!
Oh! vain, delusive Prospect!—What art thou?

Enter Selim.
Selim.
A Friend to every brave Unfortunate.

Oront.
I think, the Fav'rite Eunuch!

Selim.
The Wise, and Brave,
Well know, that Minds, enlarg'd by free Reflection,
Outstretch the narrow Prejudice of Custom:
Hence, I, a Foe to Siam, see your Worth,
Yes, tho' your Arms were hostile, see your Worth,
And, seeing, gaze with Admiration on it.

Oront.
'Tis greatly said: And, tho' I bend my Eye,
With all the Earnestness of Observation,
And Caution of a Faith, too oft deceiv'd,
I cannot read a Traitor's Look about you.

Selim.
When first I saw, and heard, the Great Orontes,
Love of his Virtue fir'd my languid Soul,
And bade me serve the Worth, I cou'd not imitate.

Oront.
I wou'd not, poorly, say, I am oblig'd,
I wou'd act Thanks, not speak them. Take my Will,
'Tis all my Power! Deserving Recompence,
You must have learnt, that Virtue's best Reward
Is her own conscious Excellence!

Selim.
If, possibly,
You doubt my Truth, name some most ardent Wish.

Oront.
What is there, worth a brave Man's Wish, but Liberty?

Selim.
Possess that Liberty: But, ere 'tis given,
Great Warrior, know, tho' much your Glory charms,
A stronger Motive has engag'd me yours.

Oront.
Amaz'd, I listen, and expect your Tale!

Selim.
Long ere the Rise of this unhappy War,
When Siam flourish'd, and Palanco reign'd,
Led by Desire of Knowledge, from Japan,
My Native Clime, I cross'd the spacious East,
And, after various Toils, and Perils past,
Arriv'd in Siam.

Oron.
Siam then was free!

Selim.
Not distant far, from the Menandrian Tow'rs,
Your Monarch's Residence, Tromaia's Lake
Extends its vast Immensity of Surface;
You cannot but remember, that the Way,
'Twixt Azebar, and Opbis, forces Travellers
To cross that mighty Lake.

Oront.
I know it well.

Selim.
Embark'd. and, yet, in sight of Land, a Storm
Rose, on a sudden; toss'd us Mountain-high,
And bulg'd our driving Vessel on a Rock:
All perish'd, but my self, reserv'd by Heav'n,
For your Deliv'rance; void of Sense or Motion,
The pitying Surges cast me on the Shore;
Chance led a solitary old Man thither,
Who bore me to his homely Residence,
All Nature was his Study; and he knew
More than plain Science taught: For he was read
In the mysterious Book of dark Futurity!

Oront.
Ha! Say'st thou? dark Futurity? where dwelt he?

Selim.
Have you not heard of Thrucra's famous Hill?

Oront.
I have.

Selim.
Some two Leagues East—

Oront.
Hold! for I dream!
Or I—The House stood shelter'd, did it not,
By seven tall, aged Palm-trees?

Selim.
Just seven such.

Oront.
Ye Pow'rs! Let me, still closer, chase my Wish;
Mark if I err—'Twas Northward from the Brow
Of a wild Precipice, immensely horrible,
And painful to the Sight! The curdling Blood
Chills in his Heart, who treads the dang'rous Cliff!
For, from th'out-jutting Top, a dreadful Steep
Falls many a Mile direct: The dizzy Eye
Akes with Contraction, and grows dim, in vain,
To search th'unsounded Bottom. From a Cave,
Which, many a Fathom low, gapes, black, and dismal,
A rushing River, rolling headlong down,
Dashes the sounding Rocks, with deaf'ning Roar!
The starting Traveller, misled by Chance,
Stands in the Wind, and trembles to look down
Upon the vast Variety of Horrors!

Selim.
Something like this—

Oront.
But like? Oh, hear me on!
For sure my Hopes have Reason! To the East
The Prospect soften'd: Cross the shining Lake,
A distant Glimmer from the waking Sun
Gilds the bright Domes of Menan's Palaces.
And, to the West, beneath a hanging Hill,
Two verdant Meadows stretch their flow'ry Bosoms,
Whose grassy Skirts meet, o'er a winding Rill,
Which sweetly trickling thro' th'entangled Spires,
Creeps ling'ring on, pleas'd with the soft Obstruction.

Selim.
The Man himself—

Oront.
Ay, say? The Man himself
Was grave, but not reserv'd; was it not so?
Short was his Beard, and spreading: Grey with Years;
His Eyes look'd soft with his Humanity;
Deep Wisdom sate on his unfurrow'd Brow,
Majestick, without State: His Tone of Voice
Was gently piercing?

Selim.
Right!

Oront.
And his Name?

Selim.
Agarthen.

Oront.
Poor, as you saw that Good, that Humble Man,
He was Orontes' Father!

Selim.
Well I know it;
And thence my Purpose springs.

Oront.
Oft, full of Tears,
His venerable Arms enclos'd my Neck!
When, last, he press'd me to his knowing Bosom,
My Son, said he, thy Fortune will be Great,
But greater far thy Toils! Retire, with me,
And thou art happy! But the World requires thee,
Why should I strive against the Will of Heav n?
I wonder'd at the Darkness of his Words,
Nor thought, that all he spake, was Inspiration.

Selim.
But listen; I have wander'd from my Purpose:
Recover'd by his skilful Charity,
I urg'd him to propose some fit Reward,
The Time will come, says he, when my Orontes
Shall owe to you, what now you owe his Father!
Be grateful, and be blest! Then he presag'd
The present Honours I possess in China,
And much he said of you; and much of Siam:
Let it suffice, at present, that I tell you,
This is the lucky Hour, that he foretold.

Oront.
But, said he nothing of the fair Ipanthe?

Selim.
You name Ipanthe with a Zeal, like Love!
And, now I call to mind that Start of Rage,
Which, lately, burst the Bars of your great Soul,
I stand confirm'd.

Oront.
Alas! my humble Birth
Forbids that high Presumption!

Selim.
Great and brave,
You owe that Glory to your own Desert,
Which others meanly borrow, from a Race
Of rais'd Forefathers. Come, I know, you love,
And Selim shall assist you to deserve her:
I hazard Life; but what is Life, compar'd
With Virtue's Charms? The raging Emperor
Sent me, ev'n now, with Orders to your Keeper,
Sizangar, Captain of the Royal Guards,
That he, on Pain of Death, shou'd suffer none
To see you: But it happens luckily,
That he has something to impart, of moment,
And is, by my Appointment, to disclose it
Anon, without the Gate; where a lone Vale
Secures wish'd Secrecy: You, in his Absence,
Observing well th'Instructions I shall give,
Escape, disguis'd; nor leave the lov'd Ipanthe,
Now on the Western side of this strong Tow'r.

Oront.
Some unknown Pow'r, propitious to her Vows,
Has blest expecting Virtue! Gen'rous Selim!
Grow to my Bosom: Let this strict Embrace
Engraft thee on the Soul of thy Orontes.

Selim.
We shou'd be cautious: Busy Ears may catch
Our Voices; we may talk, with far less Danger,
Under the Covert of yon friendly Gloom:
There, I'll disclose the Depth of my Intent;
And lift your Hope, at once, to Love, and Siam.

Oront.
From this auspicious Hour, let none, but Men
Who merit Misery, despair of Bliss!
Small Ills alarm not those, who rule above,
Most like a God, a God asserts his Pow'r:
When Man's too feeble; when no Eye, but Heav'n's,
Can pierce the gloomy Circle of our Woe!

[Exeunt.