University of Virginia Library

Scene the Second.

The Princess discover'd in her BedChamber.
Enter Altomar introduced by Rosolin.
Art.
Kind Heav'n he comes

Rosol.
Know, 'tis with wondrous danger;
But greater Kindness that my Royal Mistress
Admits you at this Hour.

Alt.
My generous Guide,
May Heav'n and Love requite thee for this Favor;
Those Powr's which are my Enemies reward thee.

[Exit Rosolin.
Art.
Approach my Altomar: This awful Distance
Befits a Courting, not a Conquering Lover;
But say my Altomar, what pitying Angel
Has broke thy Chains to bless thy Artemira?

Alt.
Still the same Sweetness! If the Flower's so fragrant,
Can the dear Root be poyson'd?

[Aside.
Art.
Why, are you silent Sir, now by my Life
Your crowding Joys to see your kind dear Princess,
Have lockt your Tongue, pent up the narrow Vent
For words, and made your swelling Raptures dumb:
Nay then I will increase your Extasie.
Know, I've been storm'd by your proud haughty Rival,
The vainest thing that ever Fortune rais'd,
For Fools t'obey, or Beauty to despise:
But by my kind Compliance with his Pride,
I have so pleas'd his Vanity, so wrought
The Royal Pageant up, till he has sworn
By Alla, and his own Imperial Honor,
Hee'll never marry me, till he has conquer'd me.
Now when I meet the shining Meteor next,
I'll own our Loves, and tell him I'm invincible.

Alt.
Is this the Vertue, Gods, I have profaned!
And this that Truth my frantick Fears could doubt?

[Aside.
Art.
Then if he has the least Spark of Majesty,
And still dares tire me with his nauseous Love,
I'll Thunder in his Ears his Royal Promise,
His blasted Honor, and his broken Vows,
Till I have shamed him from his hopeless Suit,
Made him take all his gaudy Streamers in,
And shrink like blushing Cowards from a Siege.

Alt.
Oh was there ever Constancy like thine;
Or jealous impious Infidel like me?

[Aside.
Art.
And does your Artemira's Kindness please you?

Alt.
Please me?
Not a blest Soul at the last Trumpets Sound
Can hear his Call to Everlasting Glory
With greater Extasie—

Enter Rosalin running.
Ros.
Madam, the King your Father—

Art.
Ha! what sayest thou?

Ros.
Is coming hither, just now ent'ring,
And I've out-run the Danger to alarm you.

Alt.
Confusion!

Art.
Fly fly my Altomar—But hold, to move
That way, would be to meet him in the Face,
And to stay here is Death.

Alt.
What shall I do?

Art.
Retire into my Closet.

Alt.
Oh unhappy Chance!

[Exit into the Closet.
Art.
Husht as your Grave your silent Station keep:
For if you stir my Altomar must die.

Enter King.
King.
You seem disturb'd; is it the Father's Presence,
Or Daughters Guilt that makes this Ague Fit?

Art.
Dread Sir, a Visit at this hour of Night,
Ev'n from a Father cannot but surprize me.

King.
Suppress your Fear, draw nigh, I come to talk with you.

Art.
Speak with the voice of Mercy, Royal Sir,
And whilst the Breath of Majesty delivers
The charming Oracles, thus low I'll fall
[Kneels.
T'embrace the Feet of the inspir'd God that utters 'em.

King.
Well, I will speak with Mercy.

Art.
Yes Royal Sir, if you but knew what Love meant,
Then you would speak with Mercy, then you'd pity
My bleeding Heart, not bid me poorly sell
My solid Peace for th'empty name of Empress.
Alas, I would obey you if I could;
But the Command's impossible.
I have loved once, and ne'er can love agen.
True Love's
A Bird of Paradise, when once on Wing,
It keeps the Airy Region, where it flies,
And never lights before it falls and dies.

Enter Meroin, locking the Door after him.
King.
Tortures and Furies, how she frets my Soul!
Turns all my Blood to Gall.

Mer.
And mine to Poyson.

King.
How Meroin?

Mer.
I come to tell thee King,
That I have chas'd a hunted Tyrant, and
This fair false Crocodile into the Toyl,
And on this Spot they die.

[Draws.
King.
How Sawcy Traytor!
What means this unexampled Insolence?

Mer.
Why Sir, I'll tell you, call to your Remembrance
The many Wounds I have received for you:
Have I not been your Conquering Admiral
For almost twice seven Years; my Loyalty
Untainted, and my Courage undisputed?
But thy Ingratitude, Barbarian King,
Could lay me like a rusty Armor by;
Nor has she play'd the Tyrant less than thou:
Her cruelty and her proud haughty Scorn
To all my slighted Sighs, has light that Brand
Which nothing but her Hearts last Blood can quench.
But I lose time.

King.
Hold, Impious Slave, yet hold; if thou canst think,
Much less darest put in Action, what thou threaten'st,
Canst thou e'er hope thy Royal Master's Murder
Will go unpunisht?

Mer.
Yes, you would frighten me with Stakes or Gibbets,
Wracks, or Wild Horses, or some such foolish thing;
But know, mistaken King, I came not hither
With such a faint Design. I and my Injuries
Are more resolv'd than so.

[Now for thy Heart.
Re-enter Altomar interposing.
Alt.
Hold Traytor.

Mer.
Ha!

Alt.
Thou Monster more than damn'd.

Mer.
Curses and Plagues, what Fury brought him hither

Alt.
Triumphant Infidel, durst thy black Soul
But think to kill thy King!
What Lunacy inspired thy Frantick Rage,
With the least Hope t'effect the Savage Deed?
Dog, didst thou see yon Azure Roof all Blaze
With unknown Fires? The groaning World beset
With Comets, Earthquakes, Plagues and Deluges?
These are the Prologues to a murder'd King.
But do I talk? Thy Crimes, and this just Arm
Fall on thee, Traytor.
[They fight, Meroin falls.
Take thy just Reward.
[Sticking him to the Ground.
Go sink, and howl in everlasting Flames.

Mer.
Thou'st kill'd me, and Perdition seize the Murderer.

[Dies.
Alt.
Thus low, great Sir, I bend my prostrate Soul,
[Kneels, and lays his Sword at the King's Feet.
O'er-whelm'd with Glory, and o'er-charg'd with Bliss:
For I have saved the Royal Albuzeiden,
And the fair Artemira lives by me.

King.
Rise Altomar, for I have much to say,
And thou to hear. True, thou hast sav'd our Lives—

Alt.
With greater Joy, with greater Piety
Than e'er the Trojan Youth his aged Sire
Over the rowling Conflagration bore,
And stemm'd a Tide of Fire. To save my King—

King.
Hold your Carieer, and do not vainly sing
Your ill tuned Triumph: Yes, you've saved our Lives.
Your fatal Kindness like the circling Adder
Kills when't embraces. Speak thou dreadful Gorgon,
That turn'st me into Stone, how camest thou hither?

Art.
Stop but your Rage, and let me tell you how.
Oh Sir, look up, and see yon shining Empire,
Where th'Universal Monarch sits, whose Angels
Stand Sentinels around the Lives of Kings:
Hither by that fore-seeing Providence
Was th'happy Altomar sent by Commission,
To save my Royal Father's Life—

King.
Peace Scriech-Owl.
How artfully the fond Enchantress pleads!
What fatal Planet led me to this place,
To see the Ruines of my Royal Name?
So close, alone, at this dark hour of night,
Hid in her Closet like a lustful Satyr?

Alt.
What words are these I hear?

King.
Truth Ravisher; sounds that will sink thy Soul,
When thy hot burning Lust shall plunge below
In the black Lake quencht like a hissing Firebrand.

Alt.
Oh speak once more: For tho' my shivering Nerves
Shake like an Ague, they're such dreadful Accents,
I scarce dare trust my Ears, nor can I think
'Tis Artemira's Royal Father speaks.

King.
Triumphant Villany! he likes the Musick,
And fain would hear the pleasing Notes repeated.
Is't not enough that thou hast broke thy Chains,
Loosed like a Tyger for thy Mid-nights Prey,
And stand'st all reeking with her tainted Blood—

Alt.
Her tainted Blood!

King.
Silence, that Ravens Croak.
Is this a Place, an Hour, a Scene for Innocence?
Gods!
Why is the Race of Kings, the Lines of Heroes,
With all those mighty Names,
Descent, Nobility, Birthright and Power
Entrusted to the Truth of that frail Sex?
Why did you give our undeserving World
That Image of your own great God-heads, Honor,
And lodge it in that brittle Creature Woman?

Alt.
How can you wander in this Mist of Hell?
Can you believe (Perdition) can you think
That I came hither on that black Design?
Behold that Face, and know mistaken King,
He that dares look upon that awful Vertue,
Must gaze with Eyes pure as translated Saints:
His Soul an Altar, and each thought an Offering,
Each Groan a Martyr, and each Sigh a Prayer,
And every burning Wish a Vestal Fire.
Whilst sawcy Flesh and Blood, gross brutal Sence,
Those heavier baser sordid Elements,
Are beaten to their Earthy Center down,
And blasted with that dazling Presence die.

King.
Bold Slave, I'll hear no more.
Hope not to wash
Thy Sooty Soul, nor paint thy blackness white.

Alt.
Yet hear me King, could my rebellious heart
But entertain one thought to her Dishonor,
I'd pluck th'invenom'd Traytor up by th'Roots,
Burst all the Channels, all the Veins of Life
Torn up like Conduits in a flaming City,
To quench my impious and infernal Fire.

King.
Oh artful Hypocrite! shall I permit
Such Impudence to talk and live? Where are you Slaves?

Alt.
Gods, that the very best of Men and Kings
Should cast a Stain on that Imperial Beauty,
And meanly think that Chrystal Fountain poison'd!

King.
Slaves, Traytors!

Alt.
Is this the Charge her Guardian Angels keep?
Or are th'unthinking drowsie Gods asleep?
If this Eclipse on her bright Fame can lie,
Ye Gods, why burn the Tapers of your Skie?
Since Nature's brightest Stamp is thus disgrac'd,
Why are not all her baser Moulds defac'd?
Let all things in one joynt confusion lie;
Mourn Heav'n, end World, and bleeding Nature die.
Leave not one Star of that enammell'd Light,
But shrowd your Heads in everlasting Night.
Instead of all
Those shining Orbs which your Creation crown'd,
May nought but Death in the void space be found;
Goblins and Specters walk th'eternal Round.

King.
Where are you Villains, tardy Slaves, where are you?
Enter Eunuchs.
You dull unsinew'd Vassals: Eunuchs, damn 'em.
Are these th'Effeminate Guards t'a Ladies Honor?
Those spightful Dogs, who when we blot out Man,
Write Bawd and Pander in revenge. Speak Monsters,
How got that Traytor Entrance?

Mirvan.
Altomar!
My Lord, we know not.

King.
No; you were removed:
The amorous Play admitted no Spectators;
And t'execute her Honor's tragick Doom,
The Stage was clear'd for the infernal Scene.
Go, seize that impious—

[They seize him.
Alt.
Take me Slaves,

Art.
But one poor Heart, and all these Stabs to break it.

Alt.
And now behold your dire Commands obey'd.
Send me to Death, and Sir, to banish all
Idea's of Remorse, if the least Service
Of Altomar's whole Life rise to disturb you,
Stifle the strangled Rebell in its Birth,
And blot remembrance from your Soul: Now kill me,
Rend my disjointed Bones, and make each part
A several Martyr, every scatter'd Limb
A Stranger to the Branch on which it grew.
Do this, and all your utmost Rage can frame,
So you'll be kind, and right her injured Fame.

King.
Take him away.

Alt.
Yet stay, stay cruel Judge,
Since I am doom'd to dye, even condemned Murderers
Have leave to speak before their Execution.

King.
Well, you have leave to speak, talk to the Winds.

Alt.
If I had been that Villain which you think me,
And durst attempt to blast her sacred Fame,
After that Crime what is't I durst not do?
I might have let that Traytor cut your Throat;
And when I'd seen you groveling on the Floor,
Have then stept out and sav'd my Royal Mistress.
That done,
Her Father dead, her Crown and Heart her own,
Without Controul I might have seiz'd my Prey;
Have feared no Rival Emperors, but revell'd
In her soft Arms, and triumph'd on her Throne.
All this I might have done were I a Villain:
But know, mistaken Prince, I've not commanded
Your Navy, fought your Battels, propt your Throne
To see my Sovereign die, that Sacred Lord,
That awful Man that gave my Princess Life,
Must never die whilst I've a Sword to save him.

Art.
Oh Miracle of Vertue!

King.
How he tires me!

Alt.
Nay, were't to do again, I'd save your Life,
Tho' the same hour you doom'd my Death,
And drag'd my Princess to my Rival's Bed,
I could not see you bleed: I'd meet a hundred Swords,
And in my King's Defence stand like a Battery,
To block their Passage to your precious Life;
And when they'd hew'd me like a shatterd Rampart down,
Each mangled Limb should kiss your Sacred Feet,
Proud that they'd sav'd the cruel Albuzeiden:
For still you're Artemira's Royal Father.

King.
For these kind words, to take off all Aspersion
Of my Ingratitude, I'll own you've saved
Our Lives, and in return I give you yours.
Mirvan, your Charge does not extend to Blood,
Only confine him to a stronger Gaol,
And send a Bow-string to the false Morat.

Alt.
Oh save the poor Morat: If he has sinn'd,
The Crime was mine, be mine the Punishment.

[Kneels.
King.
For mine then, and my Daughters Life, I give
You yours and his; and now you're amply paid.
Not one word more; for if you speak he dies.
Now Rebel Daughter, to atone your Sins,
Assume Obedience for your Sacrifice.
Prepare to morrow to be Gayland's Bride.

Alt.
Oh my hard Fate!

Art.
Ah Sir, but think, think what dire doom you've giv'n me.
Could I consent, and at you dread Commands
Give him my Hand without my Heart, and force
My faultering Tongue to speak the binding Words,
The very Breath that utters 'em will blast me;
And the accusing conscious God of Marriage
Will be so far from aiding at the Ceremony,
That the very Tapers on the Sacred Altar
Will strike those deadly Flashes in my Eyes,
I shall fall blind at his Imperial Feet;
And when I'm drag'd into that dismal Scene
The Nuptial Bed, instead of Bridal Blushes,
He'll find a trembling Wretch beset with Horrors,
All pale as Death, and ghastly as the Grave.
Is this a Wife fit for a Monarchs Bosom?
Or this the Doom of your poor Artemira?

King.
Leave these vain Tears, fantastick weeping Fool,
Those Glories I've design'd thee, will dispell
These Vapors, and un-seal thy blinded Eyes.
Now if thou'rt honest, (as pray Heav'n thou art)
Lustre and Fame be thy immortal Prize.
If not, if thou hast plaid the treacherous Wanton,
And when I give thee to the Emperor's Arms,
He finds thee false, thy Virgin Honor lost,
Thy Hearts rank Blood appease his Wrongs and mine,
Lie down his Bride, and rise his Sacrifice.

Art.
Oh my too rigid Fate! the merciless Souldier
That flies with Fire and Sword through a storm'd City,
Is gentler than a Father:
He tender Hearted Man,
Melted and pierc'd with ravish'd Virgins Shrieks,
Strikes his kind Javelin through their throbbing Hearts,
And ends their pains, their groans, and shame together:
But this mild Doom would much too gentle be,
More lingring Torments are reserv'd for me.

King.
Away with her, dull Slaves.

Art.
Dear Altomar farewell.

[Exeunt King, Artemira, and some of the Attendants.
Alt.
Yes angry Pow'rs, my Destiny rides Post;
I hear the Mandrake groan, and I am lost.
Eternal Darkness wraps my Soul all o'er,
And long's his Night whose Sun must rise no more.

[Exeunt.