University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

FLAMINIUS, NARBAL.
Flaminius.
Unhappy Queen! 'till now I never griev'd
T' obey my emperor.

Nar.
A while she stood
Transform'd by grief to marble, and appear'd
Her own pale monument; but when she breath'd
The secret anguish of her wounded soul;
So moving were the plaints! they wou'd have sooth'd
The stooping falcon to suspend his flight,
And spare his morning prey: thus nature soon
Exhausted, spiritless, had need of art
To respite, or asswage her troubled thoughts:
Then her physicians with the opiate charm
Of gentle sleep, her fainting senses bound,
And hush'd the warring passions into peace.

Fla.
Give me, ye gods, the harmony of war,
The trumpet's clangor, and the clash of arms;
That consort animates the glowing breast
To rush on death; but when our ear is pierc'd
With the sad notes which mournful beauty yields;
Our manhood melts in sympathizing tears.

Nar.
Heav'ns! Is it just that Mariamne's fate
Claims the sad tribute of a tender tear?
She! she! whose gentle goodness strives to chase
Afflictions from mankind. I've seen her weep,
When the fierce hounds have bay'd the panting stag,
'Till the big drops roll'd from his pleading eyes;
And none dar'd let the fatal javelin fly,
Before she left the field.

SCENE II.

[To them] Arsinoe enters with the Prince.
Arsinoe.
To you, my Lord,
[To Nar.
The Queen at length resigns this royal charge;
Judæa's other hope! the dearest pledge
Of sacred faith that monarch can bestow.

Fla.
Gods!—'tis not possible!—they've only form'd
Those beauties in the same celestial mold—
Exact similitude of shape and air!

Nar.
What may this mean, Flaminius?

Ar.
Do I wake?
Or does deluding fancy lead me still
In new fantastick labyrinths of bliss?—

Fla.
The face, and harmony of voice the same!

Nar.
You're lost in admiration and surprize:
Reveal the cause.

Fla.
Oh, Sir,—I once was blest
With such a lovely object of my flame!
Beauty and goodness in her heav'nly form
Held equal empire; Oh!—

Nar.
What cruel fate
Sever'd your hearts, so tender and so true,
That still the wound bleeds fresh?

Fla.
The violence
Of civil discord snatch'd her from my arms:
But the last pang of death alone hath pow'r
To tear the beauteous image from my breast!
She liv'd the grace of Cleopatra's court,
And shar'd her fall!—As her high merits claim'd
My earliest love, to her I'll pay my last:
My passion for the sex expir'd, and lies
In dear Hortensia's tomb!

Ar.
Hortensia lives!
[She runs into his arms.
Lives only for Flaminius—Lives to crown
Such matchless constancy!

Fla.
Hath fate rejoin'd
Our long-divided hearts!—'Tis she!—I know
[She shews her Ring.
That pledge of our espousals, where express'd,
The virgin-phænix riseth from the flames:
Th' inscription was prophetick of thy fate,
Another and the same.

Ar.
But ever thine!—
Will not this joy, as all my former, fleet
Like the light vapour of a morning dream?—

Fla.
Rap'd from my self, my senses are oppress'd
With rushing ecstasies: Oh! I cou'd stand
And gaze for ever on thy heav'nly charms,
In speechless transport, which too big for words
Swells in my heaving heart!

Ar.
How did you 'scape
Th' assassinates whom Anthony employ'd
To take your head?

Fla.
My Phædria, by the crime
Of fortune born a slave (for sure his soul
Was of the noblest order) wou'd assume
My habit and my name; his features, age,
And stature, well befriending the deceit;
And thus disguis'd, his honest heart receiv'd
The wounds they meant for me.

Ar.
O wondrous faith!

Fla.
But now, for Rome, Hortensia!—

Nar.
Madam, pay
The Queen a last farewell, in whom you found
The kindest mistress and the best of friends.

Ar.
I will, my lord; and—

Fla.
Hark! the trumpet speaks
The King's approach, our signal to depart:
I now must leave thee, to secure the Prince,
As Cæsar gave command: but near the walls
My troops are tented in the western vale;
Where meditating on my blissful change,
I'll watch impatient for the purple dawn:
Thither you come?

Ar.
Tho' grinning savages
Oppos'd my speed, I'd rush intrepid on.
From clime to clime, where-ever glory calls,
I'll wait my warriour; pleas'd with thee to pass
The frozen Danube, or the sun-burnt Nile:
And tho' my sex denies me to partake
The dangers of the field; with ardent vows
I'll beg each tutelary Pow'r, to spread
Protection round thee, in the cloud of war.
But if relentless to my pray'r they prove,
And thou art fated in the fight to fall,
I'll follow fast the soul of my desire,
And by the wound, that pierc'd my lord, expire.

[Exeunt Arsinoe on one side of the Stage, the rest on the other.

SCENE III.

SALOME, SOHEMUS.
Salome.
In this high mantling tide of grief and rage,
Sure when the King arrives, her cold disdain
Will damp the glowing ardor of his soul.

Soh.
Fear not a calm! The cloud will now collect
More vapours still, to give a nobler burst,
And make her ruin sure. When vulgar minds
Despond, they drop beneath the stroke of fate,
With no more tumult than autumnal leaves
Forsake the sapless bough: But majesty
With noise, and pompous horror rushes down
As if the violence of nature tore
A planet from its orb.

SCENE IV.

[To them Pheroras enters.]
Pheroras.
The pomp of Kings
At their triumphal entries, moving slow
To warlike symphonies, and clashing arms;
When from the field, with bloody laurels crown'd,
They come victorious, gives a mingled joy:
For Pity, when the Captive train appears,
Oft with a silent pensive gloom obscures
The lustre of the triumph. But no cloud.
Saddens this festival: From the white tow'r
I heard with rapture how the loyal tribes,
In mighty confluence hail'd the King's return;
So long! so loud! that floating on the sound,
The bird of heaviest wing with ease had soar'd,
Beyond the tow'ring eagle's utmost flight,
Up-born by gales of joy.

[Flourish.
Soh.
My lord, the King!—

SCENE V.

[Herod passeth over the stage with attendants, &c. they all kneel.]
Pheroras.
O King for ever live! the dear defence,
And grace of Palestine.

Sal.
May this blest day
Tincture with happiness, and bright renown,
All your succeeding years!

Soh.
And sure there's none,
To whom this day can give sincerer joy,
Than to your faithful Sohemus; who kneels
To give this seal of delegated power
Back to your royal hand.

Her.
Let all who sigh
In gloomy dungeons prest with gauling chains,
Shake off their bondage; and conspire to tune
The wholesome breath of heav'n to songs of praise.
Tell them they owe their freedom to the Queen:
Her temper is compassionate and kind,
As guardian angels are: but I! constrain'd
By the sad exigence of state, have torn
Our tender off-spring from her fond embrace;
And heap'd afflictions on the brightest head,
That ever wore a crown!

Pher.
But your approach
Will sooth her grief, and soften the surprize.

Her.
I! I! am the sole cause of all her grief:
Ambition rushing forward, hath disturb'd
My sweetest fountain of domestick bliss!
It promis'd scepters, but hath fill'd my grasp
With gilded thorns! wanting my Queen, the court
Appears as lonesome as the dreary waste,
Where pestilence and famine hand in hand
Have lately reign'd: but Mariamne's smiles
Diffusive of their good, around her cast
On all the shining circle beams of joy;
When from the wars she welcom'd my return,
With tears of tender transport in her eyes.
Such oft our meetings were; but, dismal change!
The fair offended seems to shun me now:
How shall I calm the tempest of her Soul!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

The Scene opening discovers Mariamne asleep, and Arsinoe attending; Herod enters, and goes to the Queen; then comes with Arsinoe to the fore part of the Stage.
Herod.
I kiss'd her softly, and she gave a sigh!
Tears make her cheek feel like a damask rose,
Wet with cold ev'ning dew.

Ars.
Sleep ill performs
His gentle office when constrain'd by Art:
Her sudden starts, and broken murmurs shew
The discomposure of unpleasing dreams.

Her.
Musick shall wake her: That hath pow'r to charm
Pale sickness, and avert the stings of pain:
But ever on the mind the sure effects
Are most conspicuous, where the varied notes
Can raise or quel our passions, and becalm
In sweet oblivion the too wakeful sense
Of grief or love; and print a dimpled smile
On the green bloodless cheek of dumb Despair.
Such pow'rful strains bid Harmony resound:
Such as good spirits are suppos'd to sing
O'er saints, while death dissolves the union-band,
And frees them from the fretful dream of life.
[Ex. Ar.
Here will I watch the day-break of her eyes;
O! may they dart warm rays of cordial love,
And wake to peace and joy!

[Soft musick is heard behind the Scenes: Arsinoe returns to Herod, who stands looking on Mariamne: after the Musick is ceas'd she begins to speak.]
Mar.
Good Angels guard me!—
Murther attaints not me—

Her.
Ah, gentle soul!—

Mar.
The man of blood is justly doom'd to bleed,
I ne'er shed any—When I was a child
I kill'd a linnet, but indeed I wept;
Heav'n visits not for that.—O! 'tis my lord!—
He's poison'd! dead! dead!—and each manly grace
Cover'd with purple spots—

Her.
These frightful dreams
With their fantastick imag'ry amaze
The mind, as much as the most hideous form
Of real horror.

Ars.
Sir, she wakes.

Mar.
The King!

Her.
My dearest Queen!—The fairest and the best
That ever bore the name!

Mar.
I'm chang'd of late,
Alas! much chang'd—

Her.
No, thou art still the same;
The same bright shrine where virtue dwells, to charm
Those who contemn her most.

Mar.
Cou'd I have charm'd
Ambition from your breast, I had not mourn'd
The dearest object of maternal love,
Torn from this bleeding heart; where he possess'd
So large a space, that fortune is too poor
With all her vast variety of joys,
To fill the gloomy void!—My life is spun
At least this day too long, which shews you chang'd,
And from a loving lord grown most unkind!

Her.
Unkind!—Your fancy cannot form a wish,
But I shou'd crown it; and reproach my heart,
For having not prevented your request.
Was ever soul so sensible of love,
As mine hath been for you? and who but you
Cou'd e'er deserve such love? I never err'd,
Witness ye Heavens! and with your thunder rend
This heart if e'er it err'd! if e'er I stain'd
The purity of passion, or in thought
Wander'd from Mariamne.

Mar.
In your breast
I cou'd have spar'd your son a little space;
But sure you lov'd him not!

Her.
What! am I form'd
Like monumental marbles, and receive
The name of father from the sculptor's art,
And features of the rock? Am I so dead
To the sweet cares that fathers ought to feel?—
An old man's rapture when he first beholds
A new-born heir, when years of fruitless hope
Have led him childless to the verge of life;
Cannot surpass those dear paternal joys,
Which my fond bosom from my son receiv'd.

Mar.
Yet you resign'd him for a prey to Rome,
With less reluctance!—

Her.
Cæsar would allow
Of no alternate to preserve our crown.
Suppliant I long intreated him, to name
What other test of sacred faith he pleas'd;
But frowning with a victor's haughty air,
He pointed to a picture on the wall;
Whose silent eloquence too plainly spoke
His fix'd resolve against the suit I urg'd.

Mar.
What Picture?

Her.
Perseus led in chains through Rome:
Where the sad fate of Macedon appear'd
Prophetic of our own, shou'd we like her
Boast a false vigor, and provoke the rage
Of Rome, unequal to sustain her arms.
There fancy figur'd to my mournful eyes,
The wealth of Palestine in chargers pil'd:
Our shields and spears on moving trophies hung,
Ingloriously revers'd: and then succeed
Nobles, and matrons, with a virgin train,
In long procession through th'unpitying crowd:
But oh! what stings of grief and horror pierc'd
My agonizing heart, when there I view'd
A royal capive, far transcending all
In matchless beauty, and majestic woe,
Her form resembling thine! On her a throng
Of gay Patricians fix'd their wond'ring eyes,
Enamour'd; and with rival passion strove,
Who first shou'd prostrate to his brutal joys
Her unpolluted charms. Thy future doom
Thus pictur'd to my view, so wrap'd my soul
In clouds of deep despair, I strait comply'd
To give the filial pledge.

Mar.
Just heav'n, exact
With strict account, from Cæsar's rigid heart
A pang, for every pang that tortures mine!
May public discord and domestic jars
Make his short reign a stormy winter's day!
And may his children with dishonest shame
Redden his hoary cheek; and wound his soul
With keener anguish than their mother bore
Amid her fiercest throws!

Her.
Leave him t'enjoy
The destiny alloted, and restrain
Your passionate complaints, which but foment
A grief much greater than the cause requires.

Mar.
Your strange insensibility foments
My wonder more: what grief's more rational,
Or what can equal mine, whose darling hope
Is ravish'd in the tender dawn of life
By savages? A miscreant haughty race!
Who with hereditary hate persue
The name of monarch; and from us dissent
In manners, habit, speech, religion, laws.
There my poor infant, like a beauteous flow'r
Transplanted to a cold unfriendly soil,
Must droop neglected! What protecting hand
Will there with tender delicacy guard
His op'ning bloom? Ah, none!—He there must live
A friendless exile; he! whose menial train
Nobles were proud to grace, and all conspir'd
To make his hours in downy circles dance,
And sooth his soul to joy, must now indure—
Alas! what not indure?—

Her.
The Roman name
Is far renown'd for all the softer arts
Which polish life, and with ennobling grace
Illustrate virtue. Wou'd you but attend,
The voice of reason dictates to our choice,
The deed which strong necessity constrains.
What court but that of Rome cou'd form his mind
By surest maxims, e're he mounts the throne,
To guide the reins of empire?—Thus of old,
Philip from his dejected realm was sent,
A tender hostage to the Theban state:
Where founding his high virtue on the plan
Of great Epaminondas, he reveng'd
The wrongs of Macedon; and soon reduc'd
More than a hundred potentates.

Mar.
The deeds
Of my heroick ancestors might fire
My son, t'ascend the laurel'd heights of fame,
Without a Roman guide. If he persues
With equal steps the glorious paths they trod;
Like them he'll awe the nations round, and reign
Honour'd in peace, and terrible in war.
Were he of growth in radiant steel to lead
The files of war, against his country's foe;
No soft emasculating tear shou'd stain
The lustre of his arms: I'd gird the sword
On the young warrior's thigh, and send him forth,
Resolv'd to conquer in so just a cause,
Or dauntless in her dear defence to fall.

Her.
Why then regret you with this rage of grief,
The happier triumphs of auspicious peace
Which he bestows? For none but he had pow'r
T'avert the furies of invasive war:
For that sole pledge, Judæa smiles to see
Soft quiet spreading wide her turtle-wings
O'er all her bounds; and him we both must own
The guardian of our crown.

Mar.
The crown is bought
Far, far too dear, with such a precious bribe!
Preserv'd by mean submission to the frown
Of alien states, what's he who wears it more
Than a vain idol of imperial pow'r,
Which moves subservient to the master-hand,
No freedom left to will? Had Cæsar urg'd
This haughty mandate, when the realm obey'd
The founders of my Asmonæan race;
They wou'd have plum'd his eagles on the field!

Her.
I neither envy, nor defame the dead;
Peace to their honour'd shades! Nor shou'd you praise.
Their actions, only in reproach to mine;
That's too severe.—When they the sceptre sway'd,
Rome had not stretch'd the terror of her arms,
From far Euphrates and the conquer'd east,
To Lusitania and th'Atlantic main.
If they reign'd now, their prudence wou'd inspire
The same pacific counsels I pursue;
Since her vast pow'r makes all resistance vain:
Vain as the fury which a wintry storm
Dischargeth on the sea, whose waves enjoy
Th'impetuous ruin of the rushing clouds,
And swell with prouder state.—Alas! thy breast
Still heaves with sighs! Forbear!—My heart repays
Each tear with drops of blood!—Provoke not heav'n,
By violating with superfluous grief,
The brightest image of it self imprest
On thy resembling graces.

Mar.
Though my tears
Equal'd the dew-drops of the weeping morn,
My fate requires them all!—His infant charms
Sweetly supply'd your absence, and beguil'd
My widow'd hours, whene'er the voice of war
Call'd you to distant camps!—

Her.
If ev'ry star
Contain'd a golden world, and bounteous heav'n
Wou'd make me lord of all, I'd not forsake
My Mariamne, to receive the boon.
My absence never shall afflict thee more.
The blaze of glory whose deluding light
Mis-led me from thy arms, shall now be lost
In love's superior flame: Pheroras, train'd
In Roman camps, and perfected in arms,
Shall have the conduct of our future wars.
And now, thou dearest treasure of my soul!
Prepare with every smiling grace t'adorn
The festival; and let victorious joy
Chase every black idea from thy mind:
For ever banish from thy gentle breast
All cares, except the pleasing cares of love!
Be this the prelude of eternal peace,
And mutual passion with our years increase!

[Exeunt.