University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—In a Prison.
Enter Joseph.
Joseph.
There ever is a good side to be found
Even in a man's bad fortune: for that I,
Who am a prisoner and in disgrace,
Do keep the keys, and am the gaoler here,
Warder to mine own liberty and ease.
Integrity surmounteth accident;
Its grief is pure, and mix'd with charity,
Feeling for others more than for itself.
In this invisible armour men may stand
Within the grasp of danger and of death,
And from the profound bottom of the heart
Cry out content.—My lord's fair lady now,
With eyes as quick to trammel as betray,
Hath set her spell upon some other brow.—
I, guiltless, suffer; she triumphs guiltily:
Therein I am happy, fortunate, and glad.
I am condemn'd unjustly by my lord;
But I, thank God, do know my innocence,
And therein am I happy and content.
I rise with Heaven, although I fall with man.
Like music at a death, there is sweet pain
Within the core of griefs, however sad;
For retrospection is a precious shade,
And God hath taught us there are better things
Than any we can wail. That man rejects,
And casts his fortune in an ignorant grave,
Who thrusts his passion past his patience.
Learn to fear God, love honesty, and thrive—
Oh, there is physic in our injuries!
A crown angelic, mix'd in mortal thorns!
Say that you love some lady in her bloom,
And she hath set her heart another way,—
Still you do love yourself that you did love,
And count your riches by your precious loss;
And though you balm her memory with your tears,
It is a blessing that you still can weep,
And be enamour'd of ripe sufferance.—
Say that some man hath got a noble heart
Tied to the wheel whereon the nation works;
(Such slips there are, and such will ever be)—
And say that wheel doth work a jealous round,
Having no circle for the general good,
But the particular behoof alone
Of power abus'd, of grandeur, and renown;
Why such a ruddy heart must bear the strain,
Living on thought instead of action:
And it is true, that they do never break,
But, spite of pain, continual and severe,
Nourish them proudly, and do hug their griefs,
With wonderful affection to the end.
What sire hath lost his son, or son his sire,
But time hath made his grief a holy joy?
That which we lose, we mourn, but must rejoice
That we have ever had. Wise Providence
Doth star and split our sorrows severally,
So that we may not fall into despair.
If that the son be vicious, it is well
That a vile course hath had a speedy end,—
If virtuous, it is a balm that flows
Athrough the sorrow of the time to come.
I grieve that I have lost my father's house;
But how I joy to weep and think of him!
I grieve to think upon my brothers' sin;
But I do love my brothers past their sin.—
Look up, you men, in poverty and grief:
Weigh your deserts, amend the rottenness,
And all the goodness nourish in the sun:
Look out upon the world, and bow to Heaven,
And take your stand as you did mean to run
A true and prosperous race.—Remorseless men
Are neither fit to live nor fit to die;—
All others are within the pale of hope,
And cheerfulness and honesty will soon
Lead them to love long life, and love themselves
For virtue's sake.—What, ho! there—up—arise!

Enter Chief Butler and Chief Baker.
Chief Butler.
Good morrow, Joseph.

Chief Baker.
Why should we up? why rise?

Joseph.
Because the sun doth through the grating peer,
And on its beams ride hopes of better days.
The eye of God so sphereth round the world,
And penetrates to palaces and cells.

Chief Baker.
And you are merry that you see the sun
Which is shut from you!—Would that my conceits
Were fantasied like yours,—then any straw
Would serve for laughter and encourage hope.

Joseph.
Come—come—you are too dull—churlishly given.

Chief Baker.
Aye—I am given to a dungeon cell,
And, wonderful to you, do not rejoice.

Joseph.
And do you mumble o'er your just deserts?
What would you have? You pass from day to day
In sloth and idleness, which you do love;—
Were you sent forth to grind the public corn,
To split with wedges stubborn-grainèd wood,
Or task'd to some laborious exercise,
You then would loath that life, and groan for this
As a sweet pleasure and desir'd retreat.—
Oh! you do bear a poison in your mind
That would not let you rest in Paradise.
Your discontent doth go a tortoise pace
And travels as it sleeps.—For shame—for shame!—
Have you done evil, swervèd from the man?
And will you sink yourself below the beast,
And howl upon your fitting punishment?
Pray you conceive a sober, thoughtful life
Is better worth than folly's restless round.
Make of your mind a world wherein to dwell;
Your independence then is proof and wise;
And sweet content may mock these rusty keys.—

Chief Baker.
I marvel much that, being a prisoner,
You keep the keys and yet respect the bolts,
The means that lock you from your liberty.

Joseph.
Because mine honesty is greater far
Than love of liberty. Though I were sure
That I should linger here till old and grey,
I would not break my trust or fly my fate.
The first is mean, and robs men of content;
The last is cowardly, and lacking power.

Chief Baker.
Lend me the keys; I'd answer thy rebuke
With opposite action.

Joseph.
No, stay here and mend.—
How is it you do look so sad to-day?

Chief Butler.
I dream'd a dream, and it doth make me sad.
Like to a thistle in the autumn wind,
Each breath that smells of winter makes me shake,
And robs me of some down. That which doth touch
My estate, doth fright it; and this subtle dream
Hath struck me like to news that's suddenly brought
To one condemn'd to die—all hope—all fear—
And yet more fear than hope; for he more fears
To die, than he did ever love to live:—
So fares it with my hopes of liberty:
I do more fear to stay within this place,
Than I shall love my liberty without.

Joseph.
Tell me thy dream. Great God doth often show
The secret path to good by such small means,
Advancing so His majesty on fate,
That men are masters of their destiny.
A thing like this might save a sinking world.
Whatever matters press against the heart,
Though e'er so little in thy judgment's eye,
Give them a sober ear. No good man's heart
Did ever yet betray him, nor prove false
To its possessor. Cunning, and craft, and guile,
Malice, and thirst of blood, and every ill,
Do emanate from passion and the head—
Passion, that walks the ward 'twixt heart and brain,
Like to a mutinous captain arm'd in wrath.
True hearts do never mix but in things good,
And are benumb'd, insensible, and cold
With any who do practise in foul vice;
Therefore obey its feelings and discuss them:
For human nature hath a curious way
In answering ends divine. Tell me thy dream—
I hope it tendeth to thy better cheer,
For I do love thee well.

Chief Butler.
Joseph, give ear!
Lo! as I stood upon the barren ground
A vine crept suddenly from out the earth,
And into three fair branches spread itself,
And, climbing up, it did enrobe itself
In leaves and tendrils of the palest green.
And gradually they chequer'd o'er in hue
Of sodden yellow, and the hanging grapes,
That were as small and green as early tares,
Did swell and pulp them to a luscious round,
Lavish in purple richness; over-bloom'd
With fragrant dust, as blue as plums in June—
And lo! within my hand there was a cup,
And I did pluck a heavy bunch of grapes,
And forthwith press'd them into Pharaoh's cup—
And gave him, and he drank.

Joseph.
Glory to God!
Lo, you—I will unravel this your dream,
And glad your ears, and renovate your heart:—
The branches of the tree are three full days.
Within that time shall Pharaoh raise thine head,
And thou again shalt fill thy former place,
And hand his cup, and have thy stewardship.
Now when thou standest at great Pharaoh's side
I prythee think on him thou leav'st behind;
Make mention of me unto Pharaoh's ear:
Do not forget our bondage, in that hour;
Seek thou to do me good, and speak me fair,
For truly I am guiltless of the crime
For which I suffer this imprisonment.
A tissue of misfortunes is my life:
Stolen from my father in the Hebrew land
And sold into this country for hard coin,
I have no friend to help me,—only God
To speak to me, or listen to my griefs;
Wherefore that man who works me any good
Doth hate my evil fortune, and I love
Him like a brother.—So remember me.

Chief Baker.
The dream is good, and wisely it is solv'd.—
I too have dream'd my dream: the while I stood,
Three baskets white were balanc'd on my head;
The third being fill'd with meats of every kind,
Even such as Pharaoh's table us'd to bear;
And presently the wild birds did descend
And eat from out thereof.

Joseph.
Thy dream too hath
A mark'd interpretation—heavy doom!
The baskets are three days: in three days' space,
At Pharaoh's high command, thou shalt be hang'd
Upon a tree, where birds shall eat thy flesh.—
Good and bad fortune thus on either side
Teach me some gladness, that I'm not the last:
Leaving me hope that I may win the first—
Between them lies content.