University of Virginia Library

ACT. III.

SCENE. I.

Herminia discover'd Sleeping on a couch attended by Mirvan and Amorin.
Song.

The Scene shuts and Mir. and Amo. advance upon the Stage.
Amor.
Oh Mirvan, this fair Scythians Charms are sure
Made up of Prodigy; and the blind God
Has stockt her with such Shafts, her Eyes Disdain
To play a lesser Game then Miracles,

Mir.
Miracles indeed: An unknown Stranger face
Who, or from whence Hell knows, to catch a Monarch
From a young Princely Bride the fair Herminia,
A Beauty scarce Enjoy'd.
The very Virgin Blushes on her Cheeks
Still warme; that lovelyest Rose gather'd but yesterday,
And all the fragrant Sweets thrown by to day.
Abandon'd, Slighted—ay and all this too
By the strange Charms of such an Easy wanton
That Scarce held out the Courtship of an hour.
But See the glittring Pageant moves this way.
With what Devouring ravenous Eyes he swallows
The fair Destruction.

Amor.
But my dear Lost Mrs.
The poor Herminia, what a mournfull part
Hast thou in this gay Scene. Too unkind King—
Was it for this, in thy first blooming Youth,
By thy Imperiall Fathers kind Commission
A Visitant in the fair Court of India,
That Early Votary t'Herminia's Eyes,
Thou knelst at those dear Feet—Sweet injur'd Goodness
My heart bleeds for thee.

Mir.
Troth so does not mine.

Amor.
How Mirvan, canst thou see our Royall Mrs.
The poor neglected Queen, thus Scorn'd, thus Slighted,
Without one pitying Thought.

Mir.
A pitying Thought!
Faith none at all.

Amor.
Canst thou be Man and say this?

Mir.
No, Fool, were I a man I should not say this.
But when the cursed Luxury of Greatness
As the early brand of a Court Slave,
(A dog a nobler Creature) took Man from me,
It took Humanity too—Spight, darling Spight.

Amor.
But See the Queen and Princess

Mir.
Well if this fair Scythian Wanton
This white she-devil do not prove at last
That firebrand, that State-Firebrand, as shall one day
Set Persia in a Flame:—if this she-Phaeton
Prove not at last the arrantest State-grievance
E're ruin'd Monarch, or Suck't Nation poor,
May my Propheticks be believed no more.

Enter Queen and Clarismunda.
Queen.
The Treasure of my soul, my dear Lords Love,
The hoarded Mass of a whole Ages Bliss
All by one midnight Thief for ever lost.

Clar.
Indeed my Royall Sister thy sad Story
Melts pity from my Eyes; and trust me, dear Herminia,
My own unhappy Load of Miseries
Have drein'd these Streams so low, their did not want
Thy Sufferings to rayse a second Spring.

Queen.
This generous Sense of my hard Fate speaks thee
So truly kind—

Claris.
So truly just, Herminia.
For in the deep Resentments of thy Wrongs
Mine is no common Share. 'Twas Clarismunda
Was their unfortunate Cause. That infamous Creature
That Scythian Devill my unhappy Favourite;
By my mistaken Charity to that
Deluding Face, the fatall Cockatrice Egg
Hatcht by my warmth to all this brood of Mischiefe.

Queen.
Nay Clarismunda, charge not Thy fair Virtue
With so unjust a Stain. Thy part was innocent.
When angry Providence resolves to kill
It easily finds the Means. Misery, and
Misfortune still like Weeds and poysons Shoot.
Alas they want a very little Root.

Clar.
Sweet murmuring Turtle hush thy mournfull plaints
And bear thy Soul above the Worlds poor spight.
Let thy dark shades make thy fair Truth more bright.
'Tis the True Diamond that shines by night.
And then the frowns of Fortune we out brave
When Grief is not our Tyrant but our slave.

Exeunt.
Enter Orontes disguis'd attended onely by Briomar.
Oront
Yonder she moves, my louring planet moves.
But why do I not follow her, run to her,
Run to my doom, and catch her blasting fires.
Bid all her blazing Bolts of Thunder turn;
Court the Keen Lightning of her Eyes, and burn.

Briom.
Oh Royall Sir, think to what threatning Danger
Will your Rash Love expose your Life and Glory.
Yes, if bold Truth may speak, to what unprincely
Nay what unmanly Dangers.—

Oront.
Preaching fool
No more profane Reflections on a Cause
So sacred.—

Briom.
Can there be a Cause so sacred
To draw you forth from your abandon'd Kingdoms,
And in this poor Disguise to quit your Throne?

Oront.
Quit Thrones! quit Worlds, quit Earth and Heav'n my Briomar
Run mad, despair, and dye.

Briom.
Dye Sir!

Oront.
Yes, dye.
To Deaths short pain from lingring Tortures fly:
Plunge the Vast Deep, and launch to that blest shore
Where Clarismunda's Scorn can kill no more.

Briom.
Death I confess is Woes last certain Remedy.
But when the Great seek Death, they ought to meet him
In the fair Paths of Glory. Poorly dying
Is worse then basely Living. Sir, consider
You're born to Empire, hold the Charge of Kingdoms,
A Royall Cause, and a protected people;
Besides behold a gathering Storm before you,
Arms at your Gates, and Vengeance round your Walls,
Advanceing Enemies, and pushing Fate.
That Death thou seek'st, seek nobly, King. Crown'd Heads
Should not fall crusht like poor despairing slaves,
But build their Monuments when they digg their Graves.

Oront.
Kind Briomar, I thank thy honest Love.
'Tis true the Charge of Empire lyes upon us.
Yet Heav'ns Vicegerents are not so all Gods
But we have a little of the Man about us.
Shackled with Soveraignty, and tyed up to Honour,
We are not so fast to golden Fetters curst,
But Love one Link of the long Chain may burst.
Oh Briomar—I have that last Account yet to make up
To that Fair Tyrants Ear before I dye.
That as thou valuest my Eternall Peace,
By all thy Loyalty I must conjure thee,
Under the shelter of this kind Disguise,
To gain me an Access. But one blest Minute
At Clarismunda's Feet.

Briom.
But in this kind Disguise can you so rule
Your master'd Passion, as to keep your shrow'd,
No frantick start to burst your guardian Cloud.
Sir, dare you promise me.—

Oront.
Yes I dare promise.
Shall I performe my Briomar?

Briom.
How Sir.

Oront.
No more; I'le be obey'd.

Briom.
Then Sir, my Duty shall dispute no more;
Th'Access shall be obtain'd: Though I much fear
Effects too dismall.

Oront.
Leave Effects to Fate:
Love spurs the Leap, and Danger Checks too late.

Exeunt.
Scene a Room of State.
Enter Celestina, Rosalin and Women.
Ros.
Madam, five hundred Talents from the King,—

Cel.
Have Kist my Hand this Morning.

Ros.
From Great Love
A fair presented Sum.

Cel.
To buy me pins.
A small Oblation. But my Royall Vassall
Remembers his Allegiance; knows his Duty,
And pays my Eyes their Tribute—Now, my Rosalin,
How dost thou like the Port our Greatness bears?
Say is a Monarchs Heart a Toy worth wearing?

Rosal.
Your Conquest is a perfect Raign of Wonders.

Cel.
Nay, I have conquer'd now: And such a Conquest,
That surfeited Delight, and gorged Ambition
Have drunk so deep, that they can thirst no more.

Ros.
Madam, the Princess—

Cel.
Ha! What brings her here:—perhaps
The Consciencious Fool comes to Preach Honour,
Herminia's Wrongs, and Celestina's Fraylty;
If so; I am resolv'd I will receive her
Like my great self, the Mistress of a Pow'r
The World's too weak to shake.

Enter Clarismunda.
Claris.
I stoop beneath My self when I descend
To talk with Sin and Shame. But sweet Herminia
A Champion in Thy Cause commanding Justice
Forgive the Faults offending Honour makes
No; the proud Theif, the Syren has undon thee
Shall not move off with Her Rich prize so tamely.
I'le talk with the gay Sin, and glittring Infamy.

Cel
These happy Walls and their more happy Mistress
Thus honour'd and thus grace'd! Beleive me Madam,
You've so surprized me with this wondrous Goodness,
Took me so unprepared for a Reception
Worthy of such a Guest—

Claris.
Hold, there's no need
Of so much courtly Ceremony. All
I came to meet I've found, thy self; and wish
The Visitant I bring thee may receive
But half this promis'd welcome.

Cel.
If I am All
You came to seek, I am proud that you have found me,
And prouder to receive whate're Commands
Honour can give, or Honour can obey.
As such, no doubt, you bring me, speak Your pleasure.

Clar.
Honour! Oh thou hast named the richest Jem
That e're adorn'd the Fair True Honour, Beauties
Inestimable wealth; whilst we wear Thee
We have inexhausted Mines of endless Treasure,
Enough t'enrich the world. Where Honour Shines,
Our Eyes are Sparks of Heaven, 'Tis that kind Sun
That lights 'em into Stars. The Great just Powers
Made us the fairest work of their Creation,
Till our own faults our own defacing Shame
Unmakes the work of Gods.

Celest.
Ay, now you charm my Ear with ravishing Musick,
Honour our Sexes warmest Pride, Our whole
Devotion, Saint, Heaven, All we kneel and pray to.
And Madam, if those Powers you name have made
Beauty the Master-stroak of their Creation,
I thank their Generous Moulding Hands These Eyes
Are not their poorest stamp. And to do Justice
To Heavens unfinisht Peice, I shall take care
In the bright sphear to which my charms have rais'd me,
Not to unmake, but mend the work of Gods.

Claris.
The Sphear thy Charms have rais'd thee to! No thou
Gay gilded Vanity, call 'em thy Sorceryes,
The 'infatuating, false deluding Fires
Of Sin plumed up with Power, thou vile Usurper.

Celest.
Usurper! That diminitive Imp of Majesty,
That puny poor Prerogative! no Madam
Your kinder Justice sure can find my Glories
A fairer name.

Claris.
A fairer name!

Celest.
perhaps
The little Murmures Envy and Ignorance,
Have been too buisy with your Royall Ear,
And breath'd my Name with their unhallow'd Lips.
But to correct th'ill manner'd Grin of Fools
Let the Kings Heart, and these victorious Eyes
Tell the vain babling world I raign by Conquest.

Claris.
What do I hear! Oh thou amazing Front
Of blushless Guilt! Thou sit'st enthron'd in Sin then.
Hold'st thy black seate of shame by Clain and Title,
And stampst a Royall Soverainty on Damnation.

Cel.
Madam, this Language—But no more
You are too blame, mistaken angry Princess;
For when I shall enform that Peevish Snarler
For whom thou playst the Champion, what good Offices
I've done her with the King, She'le have but small
Occasion of Complaint, For I must tell you
As my peculiar Grace I have given him Leave
T'allow her a fair Court, Guards and Attendants,
And all the Decency that suits her Quality.
Nay, and to shew you I'm more generous still
I have permitted him to pay her the
Civilityes of a Wife.

Claris.
Civilityes!

Celest.
And let me tell you. 'Tis not
A Common Condescension in a Mrs.
To give a Wife that Liberty.

Claris.
Great Gods! This is beyond all mortall Patience.
She gives her Husband Leave; 'tis she allows her;—
Her Favours all—
Oh poor Herminia, whither art thou fall'n,
[aside.
Brought thy rich Royall Veins from thy fair India,
To be a Pensioner to a vile Wanton;
Raign the Precarious Partner of a Throne.
But thou rank Weed, thou poysonous plant of Death,
Oh that thou'dst give thy Soul but so much Leisure
As even to think—

Cel.
Think! I have Thought.
For Thinking's half the pleasure

Claris.
No, thou too hardend Brow, didst thou but know
What tis to be—

Cel.
The Mrs. of a King—
Yes, very well.

Clar.
The Mrs. of a King! no fair Perdition
Change that gay name and call thy self a Prodigy.

Celest.
A Prodigy! Right; all made up of Wonders.
The very Thing I would be.

Claris.
Barbarous Creature!
Is thy Lethargick Sleep of Death so deaf
To all th'Alarms of Infamy and Vengeance;
That not one frighting Dream nor waking Horror
Tells thee what hideous Loads of Woe thou hast heap'd
On Wayling Innocence, the wrong'd Herminia;
Snatch'd a lov'd Lord from her embracing Arms,
And left her mourning Days and widow'd Nights:
Rob'd all her Dearest Joys.

Celest.
'Tis, true, I have so.
And I confess the Loss is something hard.
But to repair that Loss, tell the fair Mourner,
Her Charms are not so lost, but thousand Cupids
With thousand Darts, and every Shaft a Heart,
Attend the dayly Triumphs of her Eyes.

Claris.
Oh my Chast Ears!

[aside.
Cel.
What though th'ungratefull King
Has play'd the Wanderer; can that fair Shrine
Want Homagers! The world is not so poor.

Claris.
Hold profane Insolent! stop that sulphurous Breath.
Rooted with horrour I have heard thee out;
And a chill Damp about my trembling Heart
Has but just left me blood enough to blush
That thou wert born of Woman.
Quick Let me fly that cloven footed Treason,
Least yawning Earth, and swallowing Graves receive me.

Exit.
Cel.
Poor angry thing farewell; such chattring Daws
Dismount my Eagle Flight!
That bugbear Conscience! No,
I've Loves whole Feast before me. And let those
Dull puny squeamish Fools that dare not carve
Hug their Lean Virtue, pine, Despair, and starve.

Exit.
Scene Changes.
Enter Herminia and Amorin.
Herm.
Art sure this is the Kings Retiring Hour,
And this the place to meet him?

Amor.
Ev'ry Minute
His Presence is expected. But dear Madam
I have one humble pray'r, that this small service
Of your Obedient slave be kept a Secret;
This is forbidden Ground, and 'twill be more
Then half the price of my poor Life to serve you.

Her.
Fear not sweet Youth, I'le guard thee from that Danger.
[Ex. Amo.
Forbidden Ground! Is Love a Crime so mortall?
And am I grown that poyson to his Eyes!
Oh for the Spirit of the great Semiramis
To meet my wrongs, and stemm the storm that sinks me
No, I've too much the Mothers Milk within me,
Weep like a Girle, and bend beneath my sufferings;
Nature intended me some humble shepherdess,
A Creature born to breath her plaints to Woods
And helpless Groves, to mix her feeble Tears
In murmuring Brooks; too weak to weild the Thunder,
And rowze the sleeping Rage of injur'd Majesty.

Enter King.
King.
Herminia! Ha! That Face, and in these Walls!
Methinks I feel a chilling Damp within me,
A secret check from those accusing Eyes—
Let my retiring shame—

[going back.
Herm.
My Lord; my King!

King.
Madam—

Herm.
I have a Grace to beg. Not that I'd ask
Ungratefull Favours from You. But methinks
From all your long long Hours of happier Blisses,
Herminia, sure, may beg one borrow'd Minute—

King.
That painfull Minute

[aside.
Her.
There was once a day
When underneath my Native Royall Roof,
Th'Imperiall Towrs of the proud Indian Court,
To my first Virgin Charms a gawdy Train
Of suppliant Kings, all Captives to my Eyes
Knelt at my Feet, unless their Sighs deceive'd me,
(For they were men and 'tis a flattering World)
I think (if you have not quite forgot) my Lord
Was one of that fair Train, and loved me too,
Or else my Virgin heart was poorly won.
I think you lov'd—But if I am mistaken,
Correct my Fault, and I will weep and mend it.

King.
This is too much thou murmuring Sweetness:
Dry up thy Tears, and weep no more.

Herm.
No more!

King.
No more; for trust me
It is a showr too rich to fall for me.

Herm.
Ah King, to dry these ever streaming Sorrows,
Is not my work but Thine. To stop these Fountains
Shut thou the springs that feed 'em. Ah my Lord,
Remove the fatal cause of all these Tears
And then I'le cease to mourn.

King.
Alas Herminia!
Upbraid my Guilt no more; but think me punisht
Even in my very Sin: for when I am false
To so much Truth, a Love like thine; 'tis with
That conscious Shame, and those accusing Horrours—

Herm.
That pleasing Pride and those transporting Charms:
Thou woud'st say—Poor Herminia, had no Charms
Or if she e'er had any, even their very
Remembrance, like a last nights Dream, the thin
And vanishing Shaddow gone, they are all lost
In Celestina's Arms, that fatall Ravisher
Of all my hopes, my Joys, my Life.

King.
Ah Madam,
Cease this too killing Theme: consider me
As a poor helpless Wretch driven headlong by
An unaccountable resistless Power.
Alas, I wou'd be faithfull if I cou'd.
All that I can, command my bleeding heart,
My bending Neck, my Head beneath thy Feet:
These I can grant; but do not ask impossibles.

Herm.
Impossibles! nay then I read my Fate.

King.
If it be Fate 'tis past our humane power
To reverse Destiny, and in submitting
T'immutable Decree exalted Virtue
Exerts her noblest Wisdom Patience.

Herm.
Patience.
Enter Tygranes.
Yes Sir you take the nearest way to teach it me,
For when your strange unkindness gives me death,
I shall be husht all Patience in my Grave.

King.
Madam, my Charity takes me from your sight
The greatest Height of pity we express
To shut our Ears from Greifs we can't redress.

[Offring to go.
Herm.
Oh stay upon my Knees I do conjure you.
Move not that way: That killing passage leads
To Celestina; And in all your Cruelty:
Shew that poor Mercy to the lost Herminia,
To stay one little Minute from her Arms.

Tygr.
Oh King, can so much Beauty plead in vain?
All those rich pearle, those dear fair Streams of Life
Drop from those Eyes and unreguarded fall.

King.
My Brother!

Tygr.
My dread Lord, coud'st thou but think
What Glory waits on Majesty, where Virtue
Shines the bright Jem of Diadems, that sweetness
Need not have Knelt thus long.

King.
Tygranes!

Tygr.
Thou dear all Soveraign Goodness, turn but one
Kind look, and veiw that lovely Kneeling Mourner
Charming in Tears, and beauteous even in Ruines.

Herm.
Kind Prince, no more: spend not thy prodigall Breath
On a poor Outcast Wretch, not worth his Thought.

Tygr.
But one one Look. Think but what charms invite thee.
Humanity, Religion, Nature; the
Whole pitying World intreats thee back to Love.
Oh Sir consider rayse your mounting Thoughts
To the exalted charms of Godlike Vertue:
Think what soft Down in Loves rich Bed of Honour,
Fills the calm pillows of embracing Innocence.

King.
Oh my Tygranes.

Herm.
Yes my dear lov'd Lord
In these incircling Arms these chast Embraces
No guilty Dreams the starts of frighted sin
And pangs of aking guilt will wake your sleeps,
But fair all Heav'nly Forms seale your clos'd Eyes,
And Quires of Angells lull your Golden slumbers.

King,
Alas my poor Herminia,

Herm.
Oh my Stars!
I see a dawning pity in his Eyes
Break forth my rising Sun and make it all
Immortall Day and ever shining Joys.
Take Take your kneeling Mourner to your Arms;
Take me to love, be kind and bid me live,
And stab my bleeding breaking Heart no more.

King.
Thou talk'st, sweet Murmurer—

Tygr.
Oh Sir embrace the blessed Minute,
Return to her dear Arms, return to all
The Joys of Earth and the Rewards of Heav'n:
Think but what shining Host of Supliant Saints
Expand their Arms t'embrace thy blest Repentance.

King.
My dear Tygranes,
My Fame, my Crown, and my Imperiall Cause
Call thee to Arms, to Arms: My muster'd Legions,
And marching Armies wait thee in their head.
Go forth my Son of War: the great To morrow
Leads to the Field.

Tygra.
Doubt not that great To morrow;
Be you but Just to day. Run to her Bosom:
Oh run, and take her to your pitying Mercy,
Myriads of Joys and thousand thousand Blisses—

King.
Battles and Arms! Hark the Shrill Trump Tygranes,
The Alarm of Honour calls.

Tygra.
The Trump of Virtue, King;
'Tis that that sounds to call thy wandring Heart
To these abandon'd Arms.

King.
The Scythian Tyrant,
And Clarismunda's Wrongs.

Tygr.
The Scythian Sorceress,
[Exit King forcing himself from them.
And lost Herminia's, Wounds.

Queen.
Too cruell King.
Sure I am not the first unhappy Woman
That wept for Broken Vows, and faithless Man:
Yet sure the first that ever wept so soon:
So Young, so early lost, ith' very Morn
Of Love for ever sett—Put generous Prince.
So much I owe thee for this wondrous Goodness;
What kind Return can this vast Debt defray?
What I am too Poor I must beg Heav'n to pay.

Exit.
Tygr.
Such charms and this unkind Return! Ah King,
Had those dear Eyes but smiled on blest Tygranes
How had I lov'd! Oh Beauty, in thy whole Divinity
How narrow is thy Attribute of Mercy;
Thy Soveraign power of Life and Death so shackled,
That in a thousand Bleeding hearts before thee,
Thy kind repreiving smile can save but one!
Nay, and that very single Mercy too
Is often dealt with that unlucky Hand,
Made some ungratefull tastless Infidells prize,
Whilst perishing Truth stands by and starving dyes.

Exit.