University of Virginia Library

[Scene]

Scene, A Room in the Palace, Barzana sate melancholy, attending to a Song. Somtimes weeping,—Oronte waits.
Ba.
Oh miserable me!

Or.
Astonishment in everlasting Sighs, Complaints, and Tears?
This must not be, it leads her from her Sense
Madam—! She minds me not—Madam—I beg?—
You will not always listen to your Griefs,
But to your Friends somtimes.

Ba.
Trouble me not.

Or.
Madam, you are a trouble to your self.

Ba.
Be gone, I'de be alone.

Or.
I wou'd you were.
But you associate with a cruel Grief,
That does return your kindness very ill.
You grace a Melancholy that devours
The Beauties, whence it has its wondrous Grace.
Nay, Madam, it is dangerous to your life.
You neither eat, nor drink, nor take repose.
You go to Bed for liberty to weep;
And the Night leaves you, as she found you, in tears,
Day dries not up that Dew, you only breath
To sigh, and not to live. Your Reason wasts,
You see not, hear not, mind not any thing.
Somtimes your Fancy hunts a thousand things,
But e're they'r found, alas your Fancy's lost.

Ba.
Thou wilt be troublesome, but thou mean'st well,
Therefore I pardon thee; How tyr'd am I
With sitting, and till now, I knew it not?
Come, let us walk?

Or.
Where will you please to walk?

Ba.
I know not where.

Or.
Abroad in the fresh Air?

Ba.
No, I shall be disturb'd with company.

Or.
Then in the Gallery?

Ba.
No, it wants Air.

Or.
Then in the Grove?

Ba.
I will not walk at all.
Fetch me a Book, I'le read—let it alone—
Go call the Musique back again—no, stay—
It was too noisy; a soft gentle Lute
Wou'd please me better.—But another time—
How ill you dress me, Sir?

Or.
Dear Madam, Why?

Ba.
I'm cumber'd with a thousand needless things.
Art need not study vanity for us;
We have too much from Nature.

Or.
Will you please
To change your dress?

Ba.
Then you will be a toil.
Wou'd I cou'd change myself
For any thing besides.

Or.
She weeps again.

Ba.
I'le to my Closet—no, I will abroad.
Release me quickly from the slavery
Of all this formal, and superfluous dress.
The World's in War—I'le be an Amazon—
Tye back my Hair, but not with any Art—
Come—a short Robe—lay naked my right Arm.
A Javelin there shou'd be the only grace.
My Horse!—my Horse!—Oh! I am prest to death—
Under your earthy sloth. Oh! you good Gods!
That I were now among the Warriors,
Gaining Eternal Honors to myself.
Eternal Honors?—No—Eternal Shame,—
Shewing my Follies, as I madly do.
—Oh! I am curs'd—curs'd—by some angry Power,
That makes a foolish and vile thing o'me,
And then exposes that to shame for me.
Gods, if you'l take my Reason, take my Life,
Leave me not Sense, only to feel my Grief.

Or.
Oh! Madam, Madam, in all reverence
To your Command and Will, I've born your Griefs
Till they have torn your Reason, and my Heart.
I must assault 'em now.—And on my knees
I humbly beg you will discover 'em.

Ba.
Away, away.

Or.
No, Madam, pardon me
I will pay all obedience to your self.
But, oh! no more to your distractions.

Ba.
Be gone, I say.

Or.
I will not, cannot, go.

Ba.
Thou dost not know, how troublesome thou art,
And to what little purpose, shou'd I tell
My griefs to thee, it wou'd increase 'em more;

Or.
You know not that, you have a noble Mind.
But at the present 'tis not in your power.
My little Counsels now may aid you more.
Be not so faithful to your Misery;
Betray it to me.

Ba.
'Tis impossible.
Oh! I cou'd easier rip my Bosom up,
And shew the Sun my naked Heart, than thee.

Or.
I do not think the dangers o' your Lord—

Ba.
Ay, there it is—

Or.
No, you are cold to him.
Oh! there is somthing more, and I must know.

Ba.
Well, I will tell thee.

Or.
Do.—

Ba.
Another time.

Or.
When 'tis too late—consider what you do.
I know y'have so much kindness for your Lord,
You wou'd be loth wholly to lose his Heart;
And there's a beauteous Amazonian Queen
By whom Lord Bessus has a Noble Son.—

Ba.
Undone! Undone! Thou hast discover'd me.

Or.
Discover'd what?

Ba.
As if you did not find.

Or.
Madam, I swear I know not what you mean.

Ba.
You know too much. Had I a Dagger here,
I'de lock thy Bosom to Eternity.

Or.
I wish you had, and it were in my Breast,
If any ill has hapned to your Self.

Ba.
She takes a pleasure to repeat my Shame.

Or.
Your Shame?—Your Shame, de'e say?

Ba.
My Hell—nay, worse—
Shame is a torment which the damn'd know not.
The damn'd have darkness to conceal their Shame.
But mine will suddenly break out to light,
I cannot bear the torment of my Love.

Or.
Oh! now your Sorrows shew their mournful Face.
You love—your Husband's Son.

Ba.
No more—no more,
I tremble at the thought—I'm sick to death,
If the word Love but touch my Tongue, or Ear.
'Tis Sin to talk of Sin.

Or.
Your Love's no Sin.
It is your Glory, now you vanquish it.

Ba.
I do not, do not, cannot vanquish it.
I dare not trust myself, with Love or Life.
I'le seek out death by all the ways I can.

Or.
Hold, Madam, hold—

Ba.
Why? Am I fit to live?

Or.
If you be not, you are less fit to dye.

Ba.
Death ends my Sin.

Or.
Murther increases it.

Ba.
It will be Justice on an impious wretch.
I'le thrust all Hell into one painful hour.
And then, good Heaven (I hope) will claim no more.

(Exit