University of Virginia Library

Enter Crimalhaz attended as King.
Crim.
Though on the Blood of Kings my Throne I've built,
The World my Glory sees, but not my Guilt.
Mysterious Majesty best fits a Throne.
They Vertuous seem whose Vices are unknown.
Men have ador'd and have made Offerings
To unknown Gods, why not, to unknown Kings.

[Enter Ham.
Ham.
Your Guards are set, your forces on the Walls,
And in the Streets are rank'd in fighting forms;
Expecting when the martial Summon calls,
And Taffaletta this proud City storms.
For our last Scouts which newly are come in,
Tell us th'assault will in few hours begin.

Crim.
I thank him for this War he has begun,
The number of my Foes enhance my Crown.
It does a worth on Kings as Beauties set,
To have our Rivals numerous and Great.—
But is th'imprison'd Princess, whom your Sword
Ravisht from Muly Hamets hand, secur'd
From the Worlds knowledg—

Ham.
Royal Sir I have—
The pride to be her Jaylor—and her Slave.

[Aside.]
Crim.
Muly Hamet and Mariamne are the last
Of the Imperial Race, that have not past
To th'other World, to make me room in this.
But though your hand did of his murder miss:
Howe're his exile has restrain'd his Pow'r:
And her I have conceal'd within the Tow'r.
But should she be discover'd, and I found
Her Jaylor, her restraint would horrid sound,
I am not safe then till I see her Dead,
You therefore shall present me with her Head.

Ham.
(Aside)
Mariamnes Head presented by my Hand!
I'de first strike his that gives me that Command.
For since that Beauteous Prisoner was my charge,
Her charming Image did my Soul enlarge.
At the approach of so Divine a Guest,
I've shook my late familiars from my Breast;
The thoughts of Mischeifs, Villany and Blood;
By her fair Eyes inspir'd I dare be good.

Exit.
Enter Queen Mother.
Q. M.
Though your Designs have met so great Success,
Doe not forget I was your Patroness;
And she to whom you made this solemn Vow,
[to Crim.]
That I should share that Throne I rais'd you to.

Crim.
The highest Seat in all but Monarchs Breasts
Should be by th'high'st of Passions, Love, Possest.
But Kings in so sublime a Region Move:
They have Concerns that must take place of Love.
My Subjects call for Veng'ance, and I must
To the dead King before my Love be Just.
Then give me leave to prosecute his Death,
First wear the Cypress, then the Myrtle Wreath.

Q. M.
Bring in the Queen—
If She delay our Love,
Let out her Blood and those weak Bars Remove.
Enter Guards bringing in the Young Queen.
Muly Labas his Queen and Murderer,
To Expiate his Death you are Summon'd here.
To prove how much the World by you has lost,
And what Atonement's due t'a Monarch's Ghost.

Y. Q.
Yes Madam, when great Princes Die, I'de have
Their Majesty kept up beyond the Grave.
Such streams of Blood should for their Murders pay;
Their Ghosts should have a Train as great as they.

Q. M.
See Sir she begs her Death as a Reward:
Use Charity, do not her Bliss retard.

[to Crimal. aside
Crim.
In Common Murders Blood for Blood may pay:
But when a Martyr'd Monarch dies, we may
His Murderers Condemn; But that's not all:
A Vengeance hangs o're Nations where they Fall.

Q. M.
No Tedious Introductions to her Death:
Good Sir make haste, more business and less Breath.

Crim.
Who wears his Crown can best defend his Cause.
I'le on his Murderer Execute such Laws,
The Rigour of my Justice shall declare,
How high I rate that Majesty I weare—

Q. M.
No Prologues to her Death, let it be done;
I could have kil'd ten Queens while you judge One.

Crim.
Therefore to prosecute his Death—

Q. M.
Speak Home.

Crim.
I on his Murderer must Pronounce a Doom—

Q. M.
No Mercy, be Severe.

Crim.
—As may Express,
I can't do more, nor can his Blood ask less.
Guards, I on You that Office do Confer,
Obey my Orders, seize This Murderer.
[Here the Guards seize the Q. M.
Thy poyson'd Husband, and thy murder'd Son;
This injur'd Empress, and Moroccoes Throne,
Which thy accursed Hand so oft has shook,
Deserves—
A blow more Fierce than Justice ever strook.

Q. M.
Inhumane Villain, Monster, Devil—

Q. M. Strugling in the Guards.
Crim.
Silence her Fury, Stop her poyson'd Breath;
And check her growing outrage by her Death.
But since to Me you've been so kind t'impart,
Some Favours, and a Title in your Heart:
In Gratitude and Honour, you shall have
This Mercy, to walk gently to your Grave.
Bid my Physitians a strong Draught prepare,
And leave her Execution to their Care.

Q. M.
Ungrateful Slave!

Crim.
Go—I'le not hear her Plead,
No Arguments shall save a Traytours Head.
All his Revenge demanded, I have done;
[to the Y. Queen.
Perform your Vow, accept my Love and Throne.

Q. M.
Hold Sir—I ask not Life; such acts of Grace
Your Bounty may on little Sinners pass.
My Sins are but too Capital,—My Son,
And Poyson'd Husband—What have I not don?
So many Treasons and such bloody Rage,
Would sink an Empire and defame an Age.
No sound but Deaths harsh Name, my Soul could Daunt:
Now all my Sins my frighted Conscience Haunt.
Guilt onely thus to guilty Minds appeares:
As Syrens do to drowning Mariners:
Seen onely by their Eyes whose Deaths are Nigh.
We rarely see our Crimes before we Die.
And now they're seen, I'm with such Horrour strook;
They seem so large, I dare not Upwards look.
Where's all my Confidence, and Courage driven?
Guilt ne're grows bashful till it thinks of Heaven.
Though I want Pow'r to ask for Mercy there,
I will look down, and beg my Pardon here.
[Kneels to the Y. Q.
Fair Innocence, I for your Pardon sue,
T'a condemn'd Traytour, but a Mother too:
Let her repenting Sighs her Griefs impart;
Who thus—Offers her Tears—and thus—thy Heart.
Stabs the Young Queen.
Die Rival—and Die Traytour—
[Runs to stab Crimalhaz, but being stopt by the Guards stabs her self.
—Then Die Thou.

Crim.
Morena Kild!

Q. M.
Yes Sir, and I'de have don the same for You.
But since my Dagger has so feebly don,
Missing thy Breast I've sent it to my own.
If some kind Devil had but took my part,
I'had pierc'd thy Bosom, as I've don her Heart.
Curse on weak Nature which my Rage unman'd,
A Masculine heart linkt with a Female Hand.
My Stars had been more just had they design'd
Me less of Hell, or less of Woman-kind.

Y. Q.
T'express my Gratitude, thus low I Bow:
[to the Q. M.
Murder was ne're an act of Grace till now.
Your Curteous Arm retrived mine from a Guilt,
Morenas Hand, Morenas Blood had spilt;
Had not that stroke more kindly been decreed.
You ne're did act a Mother, till this Deed:
Here—I perform my Vow—
To Crimalhaz giving him her Hand.
When I've resign'd,
My Soul to Him—take—all I leave behind.
Thy death, Dear Saint; reveng'd, and mine so near,
Such charming objects to my Thoughts appear:
In hopes I shall meet Thee, my Joy's so high,
Methinks I visit Heav'n, before I die.
My mourning Soul durst ne're one thought encline,
To sense of Joy, till it drew nigh to Thine.
Heaven's Blisses are a prize Love only Wins,
Where my Life ends my happiness Begins.

[Dyes.
Q. M.
Is this your Thanks for all her Love has done!
Who staked her Soul, to raise Thee to a Throne.
Durst you Perfidious Villain, with one Breath,
Pronounce Her Coronation and my Death?
But I've remov'd that Rival: Thanks to Me;
Her wandring Soul is mounted to a Cloud,
But you may Court her still—in Heav'n—if she
Can hear so far, and you can talk so loud.

Crim.
Though against Me your Rage had just pretence;
Yet how durst you assault such Innocence?

Q. M.
Let single Murthers, Common Hands Suffice:
I Scorn to kill less than whole Families.
In all my Race, I nothing find that's ill;
But that I've Barren been; and wanted still
More Monarchs to dethrone, more Sons to Kill.
My Actions are scarce worth the Memory,
And I am yet too Innocent to Dye.
Had but my Hand performed thy Murther too,
I should meet Death with smiles upon my Brow.
But Oh my Spirit's Faint—yet I have Breath,
Enough to make a Prayer before my Death.
If there be such a place as yeilds abodes,
To Souls that scorn the company of Gods:
May I in Hell hell's greatest Torments bear,
Provided 'tis thy Doom to meet me there.

[Dyes]
Crim.
Infection stick upon thy blasted name,
Thou Foile to Monsters and thy Sexes shame.
[to Q. M.]
But here my Heart to Pity does Incline:
[to Y. Queen.
Till now I smil'd at blood, but sigh for Thine.
Vertue farewel, I could bewail thy Fate—
But 'tis a Cowards Crime to grieve too late.
Fury's the Mourning garb great Spirits weare,
From this day for thy sake no Lives I'le spare.
I will send thousands to attend thy shade,
Lust made me King, Love has a Tyrant made.
Remove those breathless objects, those dumb shows
Of Majesty; now I'le for deeds prepare:
This morning must begin and end a War.
Kind Taffalet does for my presence Call,
I am invited to his Funeral.
The little Champion with impatience waites,
To beg a Tomb before Morocco's Gates.
And rather than his lingring Fate delay,
I'le with my Army take a walk that way.
His heat of blood, and lust of Crowns shall cease;
Lasht to a Calm and cool'd into a Peace.

Enter Hametalhaz in hast, a sound of Trumpets heard from within.
Ham.
Your Army's routed ere the War's begun,
The City taken, and your Empire won.
And this surprising Conquest is not gain'd,
By Taffalets but Muly Hamets Hand.

Crim.
Muly Hamet from his banishment return'd!

Ham.
Yes, at the News of th'Emperours Death Concern'd;
That his great Master was by you betray'd:
He came to Taffalet, and frankly made
A proffer of his Sword: which brave demand
Was by the generous King thus Entertain'd.
Welcome brave Friend; Muly Hamet was ne're taught
To back, but head those Armies where he fought.
That Fame and Glory then which waits on thee,
Shall ner'e be lessen'd when you Fight for me.
With me, brave Youth, thou shalt my Forces lead,
And fight my Equal in my Army's head:
When to your startled squadrons he appears
Taffalets General, who late was theirs.
Their former love renew'd, such Changes wrought,
That they forgot the Cause in which they Fought.
A sudden Clamour Ecchoed through the Throng,
Which Muly Hamet, Muly Hamet, Rung.
By their own hands the Gates were straight pul'd down,
And he in Triumph marcht into the Town.
They paid to him what to their King they owe;
And proudly now aloud proclaim him so.

Crim.
Draw up my Forces, Raise my Guard, I'le try,
Who's the succesful Rebel, he, or I.
I'le write my Vengeance in whole streams of Blood,
Fortune take your free Choice, be ill or good;
I dare your Worst:—
Yet I deserve to be your Favorite.
Tyrants are kind, to those they cannot Fright.

[Exeunt.]
Enter Muly Hamet, and Attendants with drawn Swords, after a sound of Trumpets.
Muly H.
My Cause subdues more than my Sword, the Town
Does at my Feet their prostrate Armes lay down.
Conquest sounds best, and Glory brightest shines,
Where Loyalty, not Force, the Lawrel wins.
Lead to the Palace, through the Guards I'le break,
And to th'Usurper I'le in Thunder speak.
To the infernal Shades I'le send a Ghost,
Stain'd with more Sins than all their Hell can boast.
His Blood, dear Prince, shall pay for shedding thine.
No Cause so just, no Rage so fierce as mine;
Where Loyalty and Love the fuel bring,
A Ravish't Mistress and a Murd'red King.

[Exeunt.
The Trumpets continue Sounding, and dashing of Swords is heard from within.
Enter Crimalhaz, Hametalhaz, and Attendants, with drawn Swords, as pursued.
Crim.
And Muly Hamet Fighting in their Head.

Ham.
Fly quickly, Sir, see where your Guards lye Dead.
The furious Muly Hamet leads 'em on,
Whose Fortune, and whose Sword has Wonders done.
Your Guards hew'd down, He by no Force withstood;
Comes now this way to sacrifice your Blood:
He with such Fears your shaking Palace fills,
That with the Horrour that he brings he Kills.

Crim.
In this long Story, all I can descry,
Is, my Crown's going, and my Death draws nigh.
No, 'tis no common Thunder strikes me Dead:
I've a Retreat yet left to save my Head.
[Trumpets sounding.
I by this Hand my sinking Throne will stay,
And raign to Morrow, though I fly to day.

[Exeunt.