University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

NARBAL, FLAMINIUS.
Narbal.
The Queen will see you, Sir; a just regard
To Cæsar's friendship is so sacred here,
That though on this high jubilee the court
Suspends all state-affairs, the Queen vouchsafes
T' admit your message to her royal ear.

Fla.
Th' ambassadors of Rome never demand
Admission more than once; your King defers
His entry 'till the Queen shall execute
What Cæsar's will requires.

Nar.
That cause alone
Wou'd urge our prompt compliance; for the King
Makes Love th' impatient register of time:
In his account each moment seems an age,
That keeps him from his Mariamne's arms;
Who well deserves such passion.

Fla.
Distant fame
Hath pictur'd all her graces on my mind:
Perhaps you've heard of Dellius.

Nar.
What! the friend
Of Anthony?

Fla.
His qualities disgrace
The name of friend; but in his softer hours
He lik'd him for his elegance of taste
In luxury and love. I heard him tell,
How once when Anthony in amorous pomp,
With Cleopatra sail'd along the Nile,
To grieve the proud Egyptian, he produc'd
A miniature of Mariamne's face.

Nar.
And what said Anthony?

Fla.
With vast surprize
He view'd each lineament, but yet forbore
To praise or blame it, which he knew the Queen
Wou'd soon interpret love; but softly sigh'd,
And slipt it in his bosom. Strait her cheeks
Glow'd with an angry blush, which faded soon,
And left them lilly-pale: breathless and faint
She then reclin'd her head, and from his breast
Snatch'd what she fear'd might lie too near his heart.
With amorous reluctance whilst he strove
To gain the ravish'd prize, she let it fall
(More by design than chance) into the Nile:
He springing up to catch it, half o'er-set
The gilded barge; and with a sterner brow,
And haughtier tone, than e'er she knew before,
He cry'd, your river is too well repaid,
For all the wealth you ow'd.—

[A Messenger enters to Narbal.
Mess.
Pheroras, Sir,
Desires to see the Roman General.

Nar.
Sir, I'll conduct you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Sohemus and the High-Priest.
Sohemus.
But the human mind,
When 'tis divorc'd from matter, cannot pierce
The distant cloud of dark futurity.
You sleep not sound, my lord! Old age depress'd
With melancholly damps, oft dwindles down
To second infancy, and then renews
Its cradle-dreams; which superstitious fear
Makes sacred with the venerable names
Of vision, or of prophecy; devis'd
To cheat the vulgar, and too oft employ'd
To cover disaffection to the state.

H. Pr.
I have, my lord, no craving appetites
To glut with gain or titles; I've attain'd
The highest name my order can receive.
I bear no symptoms of a feav'rish soul,
Which turbulent with guilt, aspires t' embroil
The state with trait'rous fiction: You may think,
I who commend my self, have brib'd a fool
To be my herald; yet, a modest man,
T' oppose the darts of calumny, may wear
His innocence in sight; a safer shield
Than adamant or gold.

Soh.
Your innocence!
Did you not talk of omens, which forbode
Th' impending wrath of heav'n, to blast the day
Which re-instates our monarch on his throne?

H. Pr.
I did, my lord, and will affirm I saw—
Laugh when you've heard me out.

Soh.
Well, pray proceed!

H. Pr.
I walk'd this morning in my palmy grove,
Where oft to contemplation I devote
My earliest hours: the sun new-rising cheer'd
The face of nature with a purple smile;
My spirits ran as brisk careers of life,
As ever in the careless prime of youth:
When issuing sudden from the bowry shade,
A beauteous form appear'd, and gliding slow,
Approach'd me with a soft dejected air;
Then cry'd, I liv'd the brother of your Queen;
And gave a piteous groan!

Soh.
Aristobulus?

H. Pr.
The same, I knew him well.

Soh.
Ha!—what?—what more?—
Why, he was drown'd, you know—Cou'd I prevent
What heav'n fore-doom'd? My good lord, did he say
That I was accessary? Why to me
This message from the unapparent shades?
Speak—speak—I'll hear it.

H. Pr.
In his hand he wav'd
An airy streamer, like a sable shrowd,
And thus went on: If dire designs prevail,
Before yond' east displays another dawn,
My sister must exchange her robes of state
For such a weed as this; by wicked arts
Betray'd, and in the summer of her days
Cut off by bloody hands! with her will end
The glories of our Asmonæan line!
Tell what I say to Sohemus alone;
Bid him desist.

Soh.
I!—what?—

H. Pr.
He said no more,
But vanish'd from my view.

Soh.
'Tis best, my lord,
To let such shadows fleet neglected by:
They argue perturbation in the brain,
Caus'd by black humours; a few hours will prove
That mimic fancy mock'd your dazzl'd sight,
With images of air.

H. Pr.
Whate'er they prove,
I feel my bosom lighter.
[Exit H. Pr.

Soh.
Thou hast laid
A gauling weight on mine!

SCENE III.

Salome enters to Sohemus.
Salome.
How now, my Lord!
What means this pale confusion in your face!
What makes your hair stand bristling, and your eyes
With gloomy horror glare!

Soh.
We cheat the world
With florid outside 'till we meet surprize;
Then conscience, working inward like a mole,
Crumbles the surface, and reveals the dirt
From which our actions spring.

Sal.
My lord, recall
Your wandering reason.

Soh.
'Tis in vain to boast
That reason o'er the passions holds the rein,
When quite unman'd with such a tale—

Sal.
What tale?
I met th' High Priest, hath he unfolded ought
That strikes with this amazement?

Soh.
He reports
A message from the visionary shade
Of young Aristobúlus; him! who claim'd
By lineal right the crown which Herod wears:
To disembroil the title, whilst he bath'd
I plung'd him 'till the stifling element
Had quench'd the lamp of life, and charg'd the crime
On faultless destiny!—What makes you smile?

Sal.
To see a dotard's fiction, or his dream,
A legend, such as nurseries amuse
A froward child with, have as strong effect
As plain authentic truth! I've heard you prove
By clearest reason, that when death resolves
To its first principles the human frame;
That subtile vapour then, the boasted soul,
Mingles with common air.

Soh.
'Tis not the faith
Of such fantastick forms that quells me thus;
Sudden remorse for murther'd innocence
Wither'd my resolution.

Sal.
But revenge
Reviving warmth and spirit will infuse,
And make the drooping branches flourish fair,
Renew'd in second spring. Here Sameas comes,
Whom art and nature exquisitely form
For glorious mischief; him we must secure.

SCENE IV.

SALOME, SOHEMUS, SAMEAS.
Salome.
Sameas , I'm pleas'd your merits are preferr'd
To bear the royal cup; Pheroras long
Pleaded in vain for Mariamne's grace.

Sam.
If to her grace I ow'd this vital air,
I'd choak my self with generous disdain,
Rather than breathe it: from Pheroras' suit
I date my fortunes, and to him devote
Life, conscience, honour.

Soh.
Gratitude is rare!
Most, after favours are conferr'd, profess
Deep sense of obligation; but when prov'd
In points of nicest moment, have recourse
To conscience, honour, and such trivial phrase,
T' excuse defect of duty to their friend:
But such a pure, resign'd, implicit zeal,
Excites my wonder, and transcends my praise.

Sam.
Pheroras said, my lord, he'd recommend
To you my poor affairs.

Soh.
Doubt not my care;
Read here thy lot.

[Pulls out his Tablets.
Sam.
Make Sameas chamberlain—
How can I e'er discharge so vast a debt
Of gratitude!

Soh.
How! Should affairs require
Thy hand, it wou'd not shrink to cut a throat?

Sam.
I've such a strong antipathy to blood
I ne'er could sacrifice: but my revenge
Works a more secret, and a safer way.
No poisonous herbs, which various climes produce,
No venom of the mine, nor reptile 'scapes
My curious observation: I extract
Their several essences, and know their pow'rs,
And times of operation.

Soh.
To what use!—
Had I a dog to be dispatch'd—

Sam.
My art
Delights in nobler quarry.

Soh.
Is it stanch?

Sam.
Point out the game, my lord, you'll find I dare
Do more, than most dare think.

Soh.
Then swear—

Sal.
Defer
T' impart your orders 'till the King's arriv'd;
And meet before the banquet.

Sam.
What your will
Enjoins, my duty binds me to perform.

Soh.
Proud Queen! the last decisive hour draws on,
Destin'd to crown our hope, and end our care:
Aided by this brave friend, whose soul is steel'd
With dauntless resolution, though the ghosts
Of all her race rise grinning from the tomb,
And in their cause auxiliar furies join;
Intrepid we'll persue our bold career;
Pitch the sure toils, and rouze the fated deer.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

MARIAMNE, NARBAL, ARSINOE.
Mariamne.
His offspring mortgag'd to redeem his crown!—
The wild Arabians who delight in blood,
Who live promiscuous, and without restraint
Of laws or manners propagate their kind,
With yerning passion yet preserve their young:
Nature on their unpolish'd marble prints
Much tenderer sentiments, than some can boast
Who call them barbarous.

Nar.
In the sons of Kings.
The country claims a right; and to preserve
The quiet, and the glory of your realm,
The King complies with Cæsar, and will send
The dearest pledge to firm his royal faith.

Mar.
Hard fate of greatness, if it thus excludes
A mother's interest in the babe she bore!
Kings to their country owe their dearest care
In council or in arms; let that suffice:
The choicest blessings of indulgent heav'n,
Their children, are reserv'd a private right,
To soften and support their publick toils.
But, send the Prince to Rome! which still ferments
With fierce intestine factions, ever known
To sheath, but not to lay the sword aside:
I cannot bear it!—Now, the ball of pow'r,
Which hath been bandy'd long from side to side,
Is grasp'd by Cæsar: soon, superior force
May wrest it from his hand: who'll then adhere
To Cæsar's cause? Will Herod?—He, be sure,
Wou'd plan new measures to preserve the crown:
And his desertion, doubtless, wou'd provoke
Cæsar to punish in extreme revenge,
Th' offending father in the guiltless son.

Nar.
The blood of Julius is aton'd; and Rome,
Like a tir'd lioness which long has stood
The hunter's spear, lies quiet in her den
To heal her wounds: Cæsar himself aspires,
With all his conquests, only to be styl'd
His country's father; and the senate bears
The same pacific temper.—But, suppose
Another Brutus rouze another war,
And Tyber shine again with civil arms:
Though Herod then should draw the sword, and turn
The point on Cæsar; yet, the sacred laws
Of empires, wou'd preserve the Prince's life
Inviolably safe.

Mar.
But, were revenge
Employ'd (as sure it wou'd) t' expound those laws;
Then, what bold casuist would appear, t' oppose
The sense of Cæsar's legions? Wrong and right
In this bad age are measur'd by success:
The blackest crime from Fortune's golden light
Receives a beauteous gloss.—But, grant him safe,
As in the circle of his mother's arms:
Rome may pervert his infant age to kneel
Before her idol-shrines, and from our law
Apostatize to worship fabled gods:
And though I hold his life and safety dear,
Far dearer than my own, I'd see him cast
Amidst her amphitheatre a prey;
Mangled, and quiv'ring in the famish'd jaws
Of savages, much rather than behold
His body at her heathen altars bow'd,
In impious adoration.

Nar.
Leave th' event
To heav'n's high care! The King must be obey'd.
If you contest the terms, to which his crown
And honour stand engag'd, the vain attempt
Might only serve to lessen that excess
Of dear affection, which he bears you now.
Then Sohemus, our prime state-engineer,
Might see his arts succeed beyond his hope,
T' atchieve your fall, and make this beauteous pile
A heap of mighty ruin!

Mar.
Cou'd you feel
The strong emotions of a mother's woe,
When ravish'd from her lov'd-one, who hath liv'd
Most in her sight, and ever in her soul:
Not all the wounds which Fortune is impow'r'd
T' inflict, nor instant death, wou'd move your mind
Amid his dangers to regard your own.
Ev'n life, that dear ennobling gift of heav'n,
Which in the order of creation, ranks
The palest glow-worm's animated ray,
Above the brightest star, with me will lose
Its boasted value when I lose my child.
With him I truly liv'd; his presence crown'd
The day with pleasure, and the night with peace.
Then, breath consum'd in sighs will not deserve
The name of life! These roofs shall only sound
With mournful accents, sad as murm'ring winds,
Which through the clefts of ruin'd cloisters roar.
Such musick best will please the mother's ear,
If in a distant land, her tender son
Must weep the rigor of a foreign lord,
With no kind friend to pity or revenge
The wrongs he there sustains!

Nar.
I'll wait the Prince,
To guard his helpless age, and share his fate:
And for a pledge of constant faith, receive
(Though much unequal, yet of dearest price
To him who gives it!) for a pledge receive
Those precious legacies which that bright saint,
My dying wife bequeath'd me!—If the Prince
Shall feel th' effects of violence or fraud;
If e'er I cease with duteous care to shield
From guilt his manners, from reproach his fame;
Or fail to banish from his pensive breast
Each anxious thought, and cherish gentle joys;
Slay both my sons!

Mar.
Then go, Arsinoe, go,—
Hither conduct the Prince.

[Ar. Exit.

SCENE VI.

MARIAMNE, NARBAL.
Mariamne.
Oh happiness!
Thou gawdy bubble, which deludes the grasp,
Whene'er we strive to keep thee most secure.
Have I been fond of Fortune's faithless smile,
Cruel, disdainful, to deserve this doom?
Did e'er I suffer pride to bar my ear
Against the widow's cry? Did e'er I view
The weeping orphan's anguish, and with-hold
The hand of liberal Mercy from their woes?
Or did I with uncharitable scorn
Ever upbraid the childless womb; or wish
The wrathful blast of heav'n t' attaint the fruit
Of my most deadly foe?—Whence then to me
This undeserv'd distress? Why must I bear
So deep a wound in such a tender part?
More wretched than the meanest of my sex,
Who call me Queen! they lose the cares of life,
Amid the blessings of a dear increase;
A bliss deny'd to me!

Nar.
When foreign foes
Are quell'd by Cæsar, and the provinces
Avow their homage to the laws of Rome,
And with consummate peace his arms are crown'd;
The Prince will be restor'd; and in exchange
Some of our noblest youth will be receiv'd
For hostages of friendship.

Mar.
That exchange
Will come too late to bless my longing eyes:
They'll first be clos'd in death! a thousand ills
Rise in black views to my divining soul!
[Arsinoe enters with the Prince.
And must I lose thee?—Oh!—thou sweetest pledge
Of heaven's indulgence to a mother's pray'r!
Must the sole comfort of my cares become
The cause of endless grief? alas! no more
Must I with tender transport clasp thee thus!
No more must these desiring eyes be fix'd
In silent joy, with gazing on thy charms!—
Arsinoe, oh! support me—I've a son
To think on only, and to pay a tear
For every wounding thought! O Narbal—now
Obey the King, by whom the dearer names
Of husband, and of father are forgot!
Obey the King! let the rude hand of pow'r
Tear from my breast the blossom of my joys—
Yet, let me bless him—All thy wants of me
May pitying Angels with their aid supply!
Waft all thy pray'rs to heav'n! which heav'n approve,
And crown with blessings of eternal love!

[Exeunt.