University of Virginia Library

ACT. III.

SCENE I.

Enter Seliman following Semanthe.
Selim.
The stubborn rocks are wor'n by pouring floods:
But you, tho' cover'd with a constant dew,
Like weeping marble,
Give me no hopes, but are as hard as ever.

Sem.
Learn hope from widow'd Turtles,
Or from the melancholy Philomel,
Who percht all night alone in shady Groves,
Tunes her soft voice to sad complaints of Love,
Making her life one great harmonious wo.

Selim.
Cannot Pactolus strand, nor Tagus stream,
Nor heaps of Pearl join'd with a Persian Crown,
Bias your thoughts, or poise a Subjects love?

Sem.
Tho' your wide Empire, with expanded Wings,
Flew o're the East, farther than Cyrus led it;
Tho' the Sun tenanted his course from you,
And the rich Indian world confess'd your sway;
I wou'd prefer my Tachmas, my lov'd Lord,
To all the Pageantries of gaudy power.
Tachmas! whose name but mention'd, warms my heart;
Life of my hopes! and charmer of my soul!

Selim.
You were not form'd to run in natures herd,
Sultry, and elbow'd in the crowd of slaves:
These matchless beauties shou'd adorn a throne,
Plac't eminently in a shining Orb,
Dart life, or death in every awful look.

Sem.
O Tachmas! didst thou know,
How my assaulted faith maintains the field,
Sure thou wou'dst fly to my assistance.

Selim.
O Madam! taste the pleasures of a Throne:
The sweets of nature always blow around us:
Fate cannot reach us:
The ills she scatters through the Lower world,
Like Vapours, vanish e're they gain our height:
Joys flow untainted from the bounteous Gods,
Which the poor Subject takes at second hand:
No noise molests us but what musick makes;
Cool, gentle breezes fan our hotter hours,
While we look down, and view the sweating world.
See, at your feet I offer all my greatness,
My Love, my Life, yet all too little far
To purchase one dear look, one pitying smile.

Sem.
O rise my royal Lord! why shou'd you kneel
To me? why do you hold me thus?

Selim.
Why dost thou turn away?

Sem.
I must be gone.

Selim.
What! not a look! not one dear smile, to chear
My famish'd love, my sad despairing heart!
But my too happy rival will dispense
With this—thus, thus I print my soul
Kissing her hand she breaks from him.
Ha! gone so soon! nay then 'tis time to speak:
By all the pangs of love, if thus you leave me,
Thus tortur'd with the violence of my passion,
Your Lovers blood alone shall quench my rage.

Sem.
Ah! where shall constancy meet a reward?
Where shall that poor, abandon'd vertue flie?
For her 'tis persecuted to undoing.

Selim.
'Tis not his banishment that shall suffice:
That I appll'd, as a safe remedy,
In hopes you wou'd forget him by degrees:
But since I find th'infection spreads upon you,
I must be quick, and snatch the sharpest cure:
And since he only bars my happiness,
His death shall guide me on my way to bliss.

[Exit.
Sem.
O leave me not with that destructive sound!
My Lord! Oh stay! O hear me, e're you go:
—He's gone, and may perhaps intend it too:
Ah! No; Hyremian Tigers woud not hurt my Love:
—But a revengeful, furious Rival may.
Tachmas and death! O keep 'em distant Heaven!
For like destroying Planets, if they meet,
My ruine's certain: Some God inspire my mind,
In this wide maze of death, a path to find,
That leads me to the means, how I may save
My Love; or that, that leads me to my Grave.

[Exit.

[Scene]

SCENE changes to the Country.
Enter Osman with several Officers.
Osm.
Far hence he cannot be;
And by the Villages discription,
It must be the Prince, they saw.

1 Offi.
'Tis strange that misery shoud be so silent:
The birds in mournful Notes should share his griefs,
Each Grove shou'd eccho the sad accents back,
And every bark contain the fatal story.

2 Offi.
Let's separate; he cannot scape our search.

[Exeunt.
Enter Tachmas.
Tach.
Greatness (the earnest of malicious fate
For future woe) was never meant a good;
Baited with gilded ruine, 'tis cast out
To catch poor easie man.
What is't to be a Prince?
To have a keener sense of our misfortunes:
That's all our wretched gain.
The Vulgar think us happy; and at distance,
Like some fam'd ruinous pile, we seem to flourish:
But we, who live at home, alone can tell
The sad disquiets, and decays of peace,
That always haunt the dwelling.
O ambition!
How strangely dost thou charm the minds of men!
That they will choose to starve on mountain tops,
Rather than taste the plenty of the Vale.
Had my kind stars design'd my fortune here;
Bred among Swains, with my Semanthe by me,
The conquering beauty of some neighbouring village;
What Ages of content might I have past,
Till time had quencht both Life, and Love together?
But O! I never more must think of peace:
Semanthe's gone for ever: O Semanthe!

[Exit.
Re-Enters with Officers.
Tach.
Come to my Arms, my Warriers! these are they
Who in the piercing Winter of our fortune.
Cling to our sapless sides, and keep us warm.
Once more let me endear you to my heart:
And now, my friends, part we like Soldiers here;
All to our several fates: fight for the King,
As I have done, and may your services
Be better paid.

Osm.
Oft have we seen fate hovering o're our Camp,
In all the bloody horrors of a War;
Nor have we left our General at the view:
And shall we here desert him basely? here?
Where only hunger, or some trivial want,
(Which war has turn'd to nature in us) threatens?

1 Off.
Fate cou'd not part our fortunes in the War,
Nor shall she now.

Osm.
Were those soft slaves of leachery, and ease,
To head an Army; those who thus have wrong'd you:
How wou'd they voice it o're and o're for Tachmas
To come, and blunt the edge of War agen!

2 Off.
Base natures always hate, where they'r oblig'd.

Enter Arbanes with a Guard.
Arban.
My Lord! I come empowr'd to take
You Prisoner, as Traitor to the State.

Tach.
A Traitor!
Prethee forbear me that, and I resign
My self to justice up, without the stain
Of thy black blood upon my innocence.

Arb.
I come not here to talk.

Osm.
There's not a Life here,
Which fondly you esteem within your power,
But must be sold at dearer rates of blood,
Than you, and all your crowd of guards can pay.

Tach.
Yet hold, my generous friends! I must not thus
By disobedience to my Kings command,
Rashly forgo my glory: if he think fit
To take my life, or make it yet more wretched;
My loyalty ties up my forward Sword,
And teaches silently to suffer all.
And now a long farewel: live to enjoy
A better fortune in your Princes favour.

[Exit. with Arbanes.
1 Off.
Lets to the Army,
Where noble souls will not be wanting to
Assist our cause, and turn the Princes fate.

Osm.
I'le to Court,
Where if kind Fortune favour my designs,
I may prove serviceable.

[Exeunt severally.

[Scene]

SCENE the Pallace.
Enter Seliman, Ismael.
Selim.
Since fate has put the Traitor in my power;
My justice shall have Wings.

Isma.
The harmless beast bows to the sacred Knife,
But 'tis to keep off thunder from our crimes,
And to make friends in heaven: but what? Oh! what
Can you propose by taking Tachmas Life?
Thus you not only throw your shield away
From your unguarded Head, but do incite
The long forbearance of the Gods against you.

Selim.
Has he not dar'd my Crown, as well as Love?
Has he not stol'n into my Armies hearts?
Nay more, when I had banish'd him my Court,
Has he not countenanc't Rebellion in
My disaffected Captains?
All this thou know'st, and yet would'st have me spare him.

Isma.
Only great Sophy, as he is your Brother:
For by the Gods were he a private man,
My Sword shou'd reach the Villain in his heart:
But as he is the Prince, your Peoples Idol,
And one that shares your blood, you may forgive.

Selim.
Since he is Great, and makes my Crown his aim,
A politick justice does perswade his death:
A Bramble ne're can spring up to a Cedar;
But a tall Pine, upon a Mountains top,
May grow my Rival, and perhaps o're look me.
He dies to night, by the bright God he does:
A Scaffold shall the Traitors Head recieve;
And publick justice send him to his Grave.

[Exit.
Isma.
Because I seem for Tachmas, therefore I love him;
Thus he concludes; but the illation's false,
As he might Guess by my faint Rhetorick:
I wou'd as loath obtain the suit I move for,
As Lawyers brib'd against the cause, they plead:
—But thus I'm unsuspected of his death.
—O! there's the pleasure, so to work the crowd,
That their best thoughts, may Crown our villanies,
And frame us honest ev'n in the act of mischief.

Enter Sunamire to him.
Sun.
Thus far success has led our Plots along,
And expectation been paid with interest:
But shou'd these fail (which wou'd be vain to fear).
My teeming brain holds a Minerva still,
That with unerring mischief wou'd supply me.

Isma.
Madam, there needs no more; with wondrous skill
You've rais'd the antick machine up, and now
Mov'd by an inward power, 'twill act alone:
Whilst we, like Sailers tacking for the wind,
Mount on the deck at last, with full blown sails
Drive onward to our Port, and proudly ride
On dancing billows down the foaming.

Sun.
How are my spirits haunted by revenge?
—But I can more sustain:
Nay, stab this breast, to plague my happy Rival,
And that rash scorner of my proffer'd love.

Isma.
Semiramis no more shall be ador'd
In Story; female spirit never mention'd more:
But Sunamire shall fill the cheeks of fame,
And in the roll of women be the leading name.

Sun.
The hour grows big with fate.—but let's away,
And place a guard on every courtiers Eie,
As Seamen watch in storms th'inconstant Skie.

[Exeunt.

[Scene]

The SCENE drawn shows Tachmas on a Scaffold, Guards, Spectators, &c.
Tach.
Death we shou'd prize, as the best gift of nature;
As a safe Inn, where weary Travellers,
When they have journied through a world of cares,
May put off Life, and be at rest for ever;
If 'twere in private, void of Pomp, and show:
But groans, and weeping friends, and ghastly blacks
Distract us with their sad solemnity:
The preparation is th'Executioner:
For death unmask'd shews us a friendly face,
And only is a terror at a distance:
For as the Line of Life conducts us on
To this great Court, the prospect shows more fair.
'Tis natures hospital, that's always open
To take us in, when we have drain'd the sweets
Of life, or worn our daies to Age, or wretchedness.
Then why shou'd I delay? or fondly fear
To embrace this soft repose, this last retreat?
I? who like blossomes withering on the bough,
Died in my birth, and almost was born old.

Enter Seliman, Ismael, Arbanes, Attendants.
Isma.
Yet Sir! turn back; altho a criminal,
He is your brother; and to see him bleed,
(So gentle is the temper of your soul)
Will raise your very thoughts in Arms against you:
Nature and Justice, like contending tides,
Will drive you from the calmness of your mind:
And what the consequence may be; how fatal
To your peace, none knows, but all shou'd dread:
Therefore, my Lord, I beg you.—

Selim.
Urge no more:
I tell thee Ismael, I'l stand unmov'd,
Behold him fall a purple sacrifice
To my Ambition; and my injur'd Love,
As unconcern'd, as 'twere a common fate.

Tach.
Altho sufficient reasons urge my death;
Yet, O great Sir! I never cou'd imagine
It wou'd rejoice, you to behold me bleed:
Here I confess you have outgone my thoughts.

Arb.
By hell I read concern i'th' Sophy's looks:

Isma.
He'l never stand it out.

Tach.
Yet e're this fleeting being disappears;
Before I leave the world, let me avow
The loyalty, and firmness of my soul,
Before this presence, to imperial power.
And by th'expectance of eternal rest
To all my past calamities, in death;
By all the thousand longings of my soul,
Now at my parting minute; O! I swear,
That through my Life, in all the Fields I fought,
And conquer'd in your cause, I never bled
With more content, and satisfaction
(When crimson conquest claspt me in her arms,
And lawrel'd triumphs welcom'd my return)
Than now I empty all the springs of Life,
Open each vein, and as the last great due)
Offer the scarlet treasure of my heart,
In dread obedience to your high command.

Selim.
'Tis rebel Nature factions in my breast;
But 'tis resolv'd, I am not to be mov'd.

Tach.
Since Fate ordain'd Semanthe's charms to be
The fatal prize of our contending Loves;
Since I must loose her; with my latest breath,
That sacred Relique of my soul, that all
The Riches, Empire, that my heart rejoic'd in,
I here resign to your eternal care.
O take her Sir! and be for ever blest,
Be blest far far above all humane thought;
For endless joys are in that Heaven of Love.
A thousand Cupids dance upon her smiles,
Young, bathing Angels wanton in her Eies,
Melt in her looks, and pant upon her breasts;
Each word is gentle, as a Western breeze,
That fans the infant bosome of the spring,
And every sigh more Rosie than the morn:
—The thought inspires my soul; but I have done:
O! keep her close to the business of your Loves;
Impose a mighty task of pleasing toil
Upon her; give her not time to think on Tachmas;
For if she does sure she will give a tear;
And Oh! I would not have Semanthe weep;
Tho' the dear dew wou'd make my ashes flourish in my tomb.

Begona Enters attended, in great distraction.
Beg.
O horror! horror! torment to my Eies!
Why was I doom'd to this unhappy day?
Why gave I not my self to be devour'd
With your great father, in his silent tomb,
Rather than thus in my declining Life,
Have my distracted bowels rent, and gash'd
By two lov'd Sons, in an unnatural strife?
See where stript innocence, with brow August,
Serenely bids defiance to the Ax;
As if his soul were School'd to suffer wrong!
Ah! have you Eies? or are you marble turn'd?
No, no; the marble weeps, yet has no Eies.
—Ah! go not from me; 'tis a Mother begs,
And as a Mother must not be refus'd;
'Tis but an easie boon, my Tachmas Life;
A brothers Life, a Life less his than yours,
But mine in chief: Then whither wou'd your rage?
Like Tullia triumph o're a Parents wounds?

Selim.
My guards confine the Queen to her Apartment
Till Execution's past.

Arb.
Curse on these Land-Syrens; what brave designs
Have been undone, by listning to women?

Beg.
Ah! must your Empires hopes, your peoples joys,
The wishes of good men, be sacrific'd
To a fantastick Idol, that usurps
The heat of passion, to appear a God in,
But in cool blood seems monstrous, as a fury?
Such is revenge: if so, then stop not here,
Let your licentious fury sweep a long,
And make a Mothers death compleat the Scene
Of most triumphant murder: rip this womb,
That form'd him yet an Embrion, and gave
Him being, to displease you: gash these veins,
That rob'd themselves of vigor, to supply
His infancy with strength to act against you;
Strike, stab, and drown this contest in my blood.

Selim.
Are my commands disputed?

[The guards advance.
Beg.
Off you slaves!
Is there no filial duty to a parent?
No vertue in a Mothers tears, to stir
Obedience in a Son? then I will kneel,
Thus, like a Vassal, follow on my knees,
And never leave pursuing.

Semanthe Enters in great disorder, and throws her self at his feet.
Selim.
This face of fatal sorrow does confound me;
Nor can I stand this test.

Bego., Sem.
Ah! go not from us.

[Both hold him.
Beg.
Fast as a drowning wretch, I'le grasp your knees
To the last plunge of Life.

Sem.
Thus pale, and dying,
With my dishevel'd Hair, i'le bind you to me:
Drag me you may, or dash me to the ground,
Trample upon me; yet I will not leave you,
Till your wild rage shall spurn me to my grave.
O! can you view the violence of my grief,
That throws me groveling on the pavement thus,
Torn with distraction, raving; yet not give
A look, a sigh, one tender pitying word
To raise me from despair.—
See, see, he turns away from my complainings,
My sobs, my groans, and swoonings: O recal,
Revoke the rigor of your dooming voice:
Tho' you have said it, yet you have not sworn
My utter ruine.

Beg.
If you persist to take your brothers Life,
(Oh hear what my presaging soul divines!)
No History shall offer an excuse:
Mothers shall curse your memory, Nurses fright
Their crying Infants with your horrid Tale.
But if it shall be said in after times,
How in the height of madness,
When nothing cou'd arrest your lifted hand,
Your piety disarm'd you:
What fair opinions then shall Crown your dust?
How bright will your example shine in story?
Your name will be invok'd, as a sure charm
To excite obedience; Mothers early teach
Their children reverence, by reciting you:
And is not this more worthy, than the fame
Of that imperial paricide of Rome?

Sem.
Mercy is still a vertue, and most priz'd,
When hope of pardon leaves us: O! then speak,
Speak in the voice of some relenting God;
Dispell the general consternation,
That hangs, like night, upon the face of Persia,
And be ador'd above the rising Sun.

Beg.
By all the hopes, that rip'ned in my womb,
That sweetned the hard labour of my pains,
And promis'd at thy birth, with infant smiles,
A world of comfort to thy Mothers Age!
O! I conjure you pity my complainings,
And give my Tachmas to these falling tears.

Sem.
By fame.

Beg.
By Nature, by your Fathers dust.

Sem.
By the bright Throne of Cyrus.

Beg.
By the Sun,
And all those Stars, that ever blest this Land
With their auspicious influence.

Sem.
He yields, he melts, I read it in his looks:
A blush confus'dly wanders in his Cheeks;
And now he turns away. O blessed change!

Beg.
O matchless vertue! happy, happy day!

Isma.
Be pleas'd great Sir! retire:
Nature may turn the beam of justice.

Selim.
What! shall we turn Salvages in natures field?
—O rise my Royal Mother! rise Semanthe!
Yes you have conquer'd, and I blush to think,
I cou'd so long resist such wondrous vertue.

Beg.
What tongue can speak the rapture of my soul?
I'm lost in joy.

Sem.
You Gods! that hoard up blessings to reward
Transcendent vertue, here exhaust your store;
And if a Virgins prayers, or wishes can
Add the least grain to the vast heap, O take 'em:
Yet all will be too little, for this goodness.

Arb.
Hell! Plagues! and Death! here's your policy:
Had I been heard, the business had been done,
Without this Ceremony.

[To Ismael.
Selim.
Live Tachmas! live; come to thy brothers arms;
Think him no more a Monster, paricide,
A Wolf, that lives upon the steam of blood:
I've lost my brutal nature, and am man
Agen, merciful gentle as the first.

Tach.
What means my Royal Lord?

Selim.
Ah! wound me not.
With the remembrance of my hated actions,
Which shun the light, and fain wou'd be forgotten.
—I wou'd compleat the general joy,
And give the Crown of all, Semanthe to thy Love,
But dare not, while a breath of passion stirs me:
But Tachmas! raise thy expectation high:
Let fancy revel in a thousand forms
Of joys, yet uninvented by mankind:
For vertue wins apace upon my soul:
My tossing thoughts will soon be rock'd in calms,
And then Semanthe shall be wholy thine.
Thus at the last the beaten voyager,
Having out-liv'd the storm, does homeward steer,
Recounts his dangers, in a jocund vein,
Presents to the life the fury of the main,
Paints every Wave; but ne're will out again:
So since my vertue has the Conquest won;
The memory of what's already done,
Shall awe, and dash my rebel passions down.

[Exeunt Omnes.