University of Virginia Library

Act II.

Scene I.

ASTRAGON, ULFINORE, Philosophers, Servants, &c.
Astragon.
Let Plenty walk around, and pour Herself
Into the foaming Gold: the rosy Wine
Shall laugh away our Cares and ill-tim'd Wisdom:
Forget awhile to be severe, my Friends:
Indulge the genial Hour;—To-morrow sees
My Birtha marry'd to the gallant Gondibert.
Blest be the Holy Pow'r who rules our Actions,
Who prompts our Minds to good, directs our Wills.
And stems the Torrents of unlawful Passions.
For sure the Love of Gondibert and Birtha
Is lighted by a sacred Beam from Him,
An Emanation of the God of Purity!
O, may He thus continue still to bless Them
With glowing Piety, with spotless Love,
The Fatness of the Earth, and Dew of Heaven!
[Exeunt Philosophers.
To the Servants.
Go crop the Virgin Beauties of the Spring,
And crown the Altars with unsully'd Flowers,
The vernal Blushes of luxuriant Nature,
Sweet as the Breath of Morn: for Heav'n is pleas'd
With humble Offerings from a grateful Heart,
But yet requires them sweet and undefil'd.
[Exeunt Servants.
But Sorrow seems to mark thy Visage, Ulfinore,
Amid this general Joy: what means that Sigh?
A Face of Gladness wou'd become this Hour,
When Pleasure waits upon thy gracious Lord,
And opens all her nectar-flowing Springs
To bathe Him in the Rivers of Delight.

Ulfinore.
I fear the King—

Astragon.
What of the King, good Ulfinore!

Ulfinore.
The King design'd His Daughter for the Duke:
And shou'd He marry Here, without his Leave
Or ev'n his Knowlege, think, O think what Storms
May crush this springing Joy, and blast its Sweetness.
For Aribert—you know not Aribert.—
He's haughty, stern, unbounded in his Pow'r;
His Temper stormy as the troubled Ocean,
When warring Winds with high-wrought Billows rage,
O'erturn the Deep and tempest all the Main.
Tho' now He smiles on Gondibert, as mild
As Ev'ning Suns, and gilds Him with his Favour;
Yet shou'd He—

Enter Servant.
Servant.
Sir a Messenger's arriv'd,
And waits without: I think his Name is Tibalt.

Ulfinore.
Good Heav'n, improve my Wishes!

[Aside.
Astragon.
Bid Him enter.
Tibalt? a Stranger to my Ears.

Ulfinore.
I know Him:
A Message from the King—

Astragon.
A Message, sayst Thou?—
A Message from the King:—an Icy Cold
Stiffens my shivering Blood. I fear the Purpose:
All-gracious Heav'n, avert these sad Forebodings!

Ulfinore.
My Peace and Life depend upon this Hour.

[Aside.

SCENE II.

ASTRAGON, ULFINORE, TIBALT,
Tibalt.
My Alfinore! let me embrace my Friend,
And strain Him to my Heart.—Your reverend Port
And humble Dignity bespeak you Astragon:
That good old Man whose Care and healing Labours
Have piously restor'd to Life and Health,
The noble Gondibert: for which the King,
In Honour of your Virtue, comes to thank you.

Ulfinore.
What says my Tybalt? now I bless my Stars,
My kind, propitious Stars that beam with Love.

[Aside.
Astragon.
Too much He honours with his royal Presence
The meanest of his Servants: but the Duke
Is worthy to receive Him; I'll acquaint Him.

Tibalt.
But stay: a softer Message waits for Gondibert.
Tell Him, the beauteous Rhodolinda comes,
And, with a gallant Train of Worth and Beauty;
Attends the King.

Astragon.
Poor Birtha! wretched Daughter!

[Aside.
Tibalt.
Tell Him, the King designs to bless His Valour
With Rhodolinda's melting Pomp of Charms.

Astragon.
Undone for ever!

[Aside. Exit.
Ulfinore.
Happy, happy Ulfinore!

[Aside.
Tibalt.
Tell Him, like Venus in her rosy Chariot,
She comes to recompence Her God of War
With softer Scenes, and sweeten all his Labours.
—But Astragon is gone: no doubt, He flew
With joyful Haste, nor stay'd to hear the Rest,
Before th'unfinish'd Period had discover'd
The King's Munifence: He knew that Gondibert
Would gladly thank Him for but half the Message.
Now, Ulfinore, here's room to speak my Joy
In thus beholding Thee again: for oft,
Oft have I wish'd, when Pleasure fill'd my Heart,
To make Thee Sharer, and divide the Bliss.
For well I know, such is thy honest Nature,
My Happiness wou'd make my Friend rejoice,
And I am greatly happy, greatly so,
Since I beheld Thee: I am marry'd, Ulfinore,

Ulfinore.
Marry'd? May Rapture dwell upon the Sound,
Eternal Joy, and everlasting Love:
For so I wish my Tibalt: yes, believe me,
I wish thee all the Blessings of the Gods.
But tell me, who, who is that dear one? Laura?

Tibalt.
Yes, charming Laura is at last my own:
At last She list'ned to my tender Vows,
And well rewards me for my Sorrows past.
She waits upon the Princess.—Hark! methought
The Trumpet's sprightly Musick pierc'd my Ear:
'Tis so; the Notes come swelling on the Wind.
The King's at Hand: I long to see my Laura,
For every Minute is an Age to Lovers.
Oh, 'tis a painful Interval of Time
Between the parting and the meeting Hour.
Come, Ulfinore.

Ulfinore.
I come—to thank the Gods
For this most dear and unexpected Mercy.

[Aside.

SCENE III.

BIRTHA and THULA.
Birtha.
A strange Variety divides my Soul:
Now smiling Hope with golden Pinions fans me,
Now Terror chills my Blood. I find a Sigh
Unbidden stealing from my inmost Breast,
And agonizing Tremblings shake my Frame:—
Again my Spirits nimbly dance their Rounds,
Warm rolls the purple Tide of Life again,
And all is Peace within. Begone, my Fears,
Nor dare to enter where the charming Youth,
Where Gondibert, without a Rival, reigns
The Object of my Soul.

Thula.
These doubtful Passions
Perplex the Ignorance of wishing Maids,
Who pant for something, yet they know not what,
They long, indeed, but tremble at their Longing,
Lost in a Sweet, uncertain Expectation:
But when the loving Bridegroom fills their Arms,
All Doubts dissolve away, and Joy alone
Possesses every Thought: the flaming Blood
In sallying Tumults revels through the Heart,
A painful Ecstasy oe'rflows their Senses,
And leaves them dying in the Throbs of Love.

Birtha.
You seem experienc'd in the Bridal-ways—

Thula.
Yes, I have read—

Birtha.
In deed I fear too much.
Such warm Expressions!—Virgin Modesty
Must veil itself in Blushes at thy Talk.

Thula.
Your Gondibert, and Night will hide your Blushes.

Birtha.
Thula, for shame! nor violate my Ears.—
No wanton Wish has ever stain'd my Thoughts
So deep, as call the Blood into my Cheek.
And tho' I love my Gondibert as much,
As tenderly as ever Maiden lov'd—
Yet may I never know the Joys of Marriage
If ought but purest Sanctity, as spotless
As Chastity Herself, inflam'd my Breast.

Thula.
Excuse me, bright Perfection! for I found
A Heaviness upon your Heart, and hop'd
To chase the Gloom away with smiling Language.

Birtha.
Ah me!

Thula.
What means that Sigh?

Birtha.
And did I sigh?

Thula.
You did, and you look pale: the Roses languish
That shed a chearful Beauty o'er your Features.
I fear you are not well: dear Madam, tell me:
O tell me: is your Pain about your Heart?
Or where? that I may fly to help my Mistress.

Birtha.
A sudden Damp of Spirits; that was all:
But I am easy now; indeed I am.

Enter Servant.
Servant.
Madam, the King, and with Him Rhodolinda—

Birtha.
Oh! Oh!—

[Swoons away.
Thula.
She faints.—Heav'n, take Her to thy Care!
To the Servant.
Here—bend her forward, while I chase her Temples.
O Birtha! O my Mistress!—But again
The fragrant Breath—it hovers o'er her Lips,
Her Eyes lift up their sickly Lids again
And languishingly steal into a Sparkle.
Her Pulses beat; and Beauty's orient Red
Flows to her Cheeks afresh—She lives again.

Birtha.
He will not, sure, forsake me; his poor Birtha.
No: Gondibert is Dovelike in his Nature;
Is made of Truth!—we'll live among the Lillies:
Soft-spicy Gales shall waft us to Elysium,
To Beds of Roses, and to Groves of Myrtle!
No Rhodolinda shall disturb us there.
—Ah, Thula! where? where am I? where is Gondibert?
My Gondibert? methought He lov'd me well,
And swore He wou'd be true.

Thula.
He will be true:
Compose yourself: all will be well again:
Dear Madam, we'll retire into your Chamber:
All will be well again—He will be true.

SCENE IV.

ARIBERT, GONDIBERT, ASTRAGON.
Aribert.
Thy Actions, Gondibert, were so conspicuous
That Fame employ'd Her hundred Tongues to spread Them,
And charm'd the Ears of Envy with thy Valour.
When all the Battle glow'd, and bloody War
Frown'd horrible; when Shrieks and dying Groans,
Tormenting dismally in Peals the Air,
Roll'd, as the Murmurs of Despair, along,
And Spears, like Light'ning, blasted half the Field;
Yet then, ev'n then, thy gallant Spirit press'd Thee
To pierce the Cloud of Death, to dare all Danger,
To pour thy Thunder where the thickest bled,
To bleed thyself, till Victory with Tears
Deform'd her Smiles to see her Heroe's Wounds.

Gondibert.
Too much you Honour with your royal Praise
My humble Deeds in War—

Aribert.
I know thee modest,
Nor will offend Thee with the glorious Truth,
Thou excellent Young Man!—Thy Father's Soul
Beams in thy Looks; the Soul of my old Friend.
And when I see Thee, I am warm'd again
Into the dear Remembrance of my Youth;
When oft with Him I launc'd the foaming Boar,
Or rush'd into the Bowels of the Battle:
Or in the midnight Dance, and courtly Ball
Sigh'd on the trembling Hand of blushing Beauty
And Sighing have prevail'd. But, ah, those Days,
Those happy Days and Nights are vanish'd long.
Old Men can only meditate with Pleasure
On the past Joys of Youth, and wish, in vain,
The former sprightly, gay, and lusty Years,
When every Prospect smil'd, wou'd glide again
A Revolution of returning Bliss.
But Thou art in thy Prime: the Blood of Youth
Now dances briskly in the crimson Channels:
The Season of Delight! And since thy Wounds,
(Thanks to the Care of Astragon) are heal'd,
The Court and Beauty may be grateful to Thee.

Gondibert.
Eternal Thanks are due, my royal Master,
To this obliging, condescending Goodness.
But well I know the polish'd Gallantry,
The easy Gayety which shine in Courts
Can never suit a Soldier bred in Camps,
Unpractis'd in the Art of ought but War.
The gaudy, wanton, smiling, dancing Courtier
Wou'd only laugh, and wonder at my Awkerdness.
No: send me to the Field, when Business calls;
There send me, and my Life shall gladly bleed
To serve my Master, Liberty, and Country.
But now, with your Permission, I'd retire
Unto these Shades, and learn the Works of Nature,
Turn o'er the Volumes of the sage and good,
And here philosophise with Astragon:
This Life is better suited to my Temper.

Aribert.
By Heav'n, Thou art injurious to thyself:
That Form of thine was made to charm the Women;
For Strength and Harmony are blended there.
I well remember, for it is not long,
Before the Battle call'd Thee from the Court,
Before these manly Graces flourish'd in Thee,
When Gondibert pass'd by, the Ladies sicken'd,
And blest Thee with their Eyes; ev'n Rhodolinda,
My Daughter Rhodolinda languish'd for Thee.

Gondibert.
Let not the Lord my King thus mock his Servant.

Aribert.
Mock Thee? I tell Thee, Gondibert, thy Virtue,
And Grandour of thy Soul have greatly charm'd me:
And by the Pow'r I serve I swear, my Daughter
Shall take Thee to her Bed, her Lord and Husband.

Astragon.
Oh, there He falls: oh Birtha, oh! my Daughter.

[Aside.
Gondibert.
O never, never! What? your Rhodolinda,
My Princess wed her Slave? far be it from me,
Far be it from me thus to stain her Beauties,
To sully thus the Lustre of your Crown.
I will not, dare not aim—While crowding Kings
With Transport lay their Hearts and Crowns before Her.
No! at an humble Distance let me wait
And thank the Gods for Forming so much Beauty.
I'd venture Life in Honour of her Virtue,
But wou'd not live to sacrifice my Princess
To my Delight, tho' Heav'n is in her Arms;—
Too much I honour and regard her Happiness.

Astragon.
O matchless Truth! and more than mortal Goodness!

[Aside.
Aribert.
Thy great Humility has urg'd in vain.
I know thy Passion will be welcome to Her.
I know how sweet thy Name and Virtues sound
In Rhodolinda's Ear: when late I mention'd
This my Design, a various Glow of Blushes
Ran flushing through her Face, and dy'd her Cheeks
In Love's own purple Dress; She stole a Sigh;
A lucid Softness dy'd upon her Eyes,
And every Look and Gesture spoke her Love.
But we will leave Thee:—Tibalt, call the Princess.
—It shall be so—have done.—Come, worthy Astragon,
In the mean time, I'll view thy House and Gardens,
For they are fam'd for Beauty and Design:
An elegant Simplicity conspires
With Nature to command our Admiration,
And pleases better than the swelling Pride
Of marble Domes and sculptur'd Alabaster.

SCENE V.

GONDIBERT, RHODOLINDA, LAURA.
Gondibert.
Ambition reaches out a Crown in vain,
To raise me into Misery for ever.
Cease, gilded Bait, to swim before my Eyes;
My Love is fixt and stedfast as the Pillars
Which prop the Sky: Ambition, cease to tempt me;
Thy Efforts all are light as empty Air.
—My Birtha's dearer than ten thousand Crowns,
Tho' every Crown was spangled o'er with Stars,
And golden India ripen'd all Her Mines
Beneath its Pow'r.—But how shall I behave,
Or how disguise my Passion from the Princess.
She must expect a softer, warmer Meeting
Than I have Pow'r to give. This, this perplexes.
—I cannot now avoid her ill-tim'd Visit:
No; if I shou'd, her Anger might arise
And ruin all my Hopes: I must receive Her;
I must; but yet I need not mention Love:
With awful Reverence I'll seem to greet Her,
And, after formal Complements, retire
Submissively; then silent steal to Birtha,
And crown our Vows with Marriage:—sure, the Princess,
When Marriage has united us, will pity us,
Nor hurl the Bolt of Vengeance at Our Love:
Softness becomes Her Sex. But then the King—
His Rage, at my Refusal, may undo us:—
Good Heav'n, direct me in this doubtful Hour,
O safely lead me through this Maze of Ruin,
For I resign our Loves unto thy Care:
Look down with Mercy: Birtha's Innocence
May hope Protection from thy righteous Hand!—
But Rhodolinda comes, and Laura with Her.
Hail, royal Maid! whose Beauty, like the Sun,
Disdains not thus to shine on all alike.
This Visit might detain a fleeting Soul,
Just on the Wing to Heav'n, and call it back
To stay awhile and wonder at your Goodness:
Might bid the Hearts of Princes beat with Pride:
But when vouchsaf'd to me, your humblest Vassal—

Rhodolinda.
My Lord, you'r not so much indebted to me;
For ev'n without the Orders of the King,
The Gratitude, and Friendship which I owe
The brave Defender of my Father's Throne,
Had brought me thus to thank you for your Service.

Gondibert.
Alass, my Service, Madam, was but trifling;
What every honest Man shou'd pay his King,
And only can deserve the Name of great,
Since you are pleas'd to raise it with your Praises.
To be rewarded thus, might teach a Coward
To flame with Valour, rush on certain Death,
And thank the Gods who made his End so glorious.
For not the generous Poet's golden Pen,
Dip'd in Eternity, and dropping Life,
Cou'd give the Heroe half so high a Fame,
As when you gild his Actions with your Tongue.
I fear She loves: I see it in her Eyes;
They swell on Mine, and Love is pregnant in Them.

Rhodolinda.
But what if Rhodolinda shou'd dispence
Superiour Favours to her graceful Warriour.
Excuse me, Modesty, and hide my Blushes.

[Aside.
Gondibert.
Impossible: your Praises are too high;
They lift the Soul above—What shall I say?

[Aside.
Rhodolinda.
What if the Princess whom you say you honour—

Gondibert.
Madam, I fear I violate your Goodness
With tedious Service, and detain your Beauties
From spreading out their Beams and kindly Influence,
And comforting the Earth with Light and Joy.
May bounteous Heav'n Show'r all its Blessings on you.

[Exit.

SCENE VI.

RHODOLINDA, LAURA.
Rhodolinda.
He's gone: nor wou'd He listen to my Love.
Patience direct me! to be left so coldly!
Left, when I just was pouring out my Heart
In Words which might have been Ambrosia to Him:
For which ev'n Kings had laid there Scepters by,
And thought themselves more blest to drink them in,
Than if the Queen of Beauty had caress'd them,
Unloos'd her Charms, and giv'n up all her Sweetness.
What can He mean? some other Virgin charms Him:
It must be so?—

Laura.
Some other Virgin charm Him?
What radiant Image can employ his Heart,
When once your Eyes have let out Day upon Him?
Impossible: She shou'd be all a Goddess:
Her Cheeks shou'd glow with Roses, deep as those
Which glister in the Eastern Fields of Heav'n,
And shed the purple Morning from their Blushes:
Her Lips shou'd breath Delight.

Rhodolinda.
I pray thee hold,
Nor praise thy Mistress' Beauty, but assist Her.
I think myself as fair as any She
That ever held the captive World in Chains:
And shou'd another—poison to my Thoughts—
But sure He cannot be so dull, so senseless,
As thus neglect a Crown and Rhodolinda,
To languish in another's humble Arms:—
Yet shou'd He, by the Anguish of my Soul
Which bleeds with Indignation and with Love,
Her Life shall forfeit, what Her Beauty gain'd.
But how to find the Secret: there's the Question.

Laura.
The only Way, my Thoughts present, is this.
My Husband, and the Duke's Companion, Ulfinore,
Were born together and together bred,
In early Friendship and most strict Alliance.
The Duke reposes all his Bosom in Him,
And shou'd He love, which I can scarce believe,
Yet shou'd He, Ulfinore must know his Passion,
The Progress of it and the fatal Object.
Tybalt, no doubt, may wind into his Heart;
And then the Secret's ours. But I'll instruct Him.

Rhodolinda.
Let me embrace thee, Laura; dear, dear Laura!
Thy Words are balm, and Comfort dawns upon me.
But I'll retire, and with Impatience wait
Till Time unbosom this mysterious Turn.
Seek Tybalt, and discover what thou can
To ease thy Mistress, and restore her Peace.
Distracted with Variety of Pain,
Love, Rage and Madness fire my tortur'd Brain.