 | The Magic Picture |  |
SCENE I.
Enter EUGENIUS.EUGENIUS.
This is a desperate straight, there's no avoiding;
I must compliance feign to all
Her passion urges, or—or what? only
That with my life my miseries will end!
But were the pointed axe uplifted now,
My neck upon the block, I would not buy
An hour's reprieve, by such a faithless barter!
Yet after all, Sophia may be false!
The visit of these silken courtiers
Much alarms me, for they've been early train'd
In all the soft and wanton gallantries
That shake the easy faith of yielding woman:
I almost dread to ask for council here!
[Looks on the Picture.
Ha! sure I do not sleep! or if I dream,
This is a terrible vision—I'll clear
My eye-sight—perhaps melancholy makes me
See that which is not!
Enter BAPTISTA.
BAPTISTA.
What is it there you see?
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Indeed, Baptista, 'tis but too apparent;
I grieve to look upon't—besides the yellow,
That does assure she's tempted—I think I see
A sable colour spread its baneful hue
O'er ev'ry line of her once lovely face,
Confirming both her own, and my dishonor!
BAPTISTA.
(Aside.)
—Well may they say that monster Jealousy
Creates the food it feeds on!—Indeed,
I see no alteration.
EUGENIUS.
Fact, Baptista;
Make not yourself a pandar to her vices,
In labouring to palliate, what a mask
Of impudence can't cover—Did woman e'er
In her will decline from chastity, but found means
To give her passion scope?—more possible
Is't with my single arm to underprop
A falling tow'r—or in its violent course
To stop the forked lightning, than to stay
A wanton woman!
BAPTISTA.
Pray you temper the violence of your passion.
EUGENIUS.
Oh, my Baptista! I am headlong thrown
Into a gulph of misery, and find
Myself past hope:—this figure of my idol,
So late that chaste and lovely mirror,
Is to a magic glass transformed, and shews
Nothing but horror and deformity.
BAPTISTA.
I'm sure you do her wrong.
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Have I refus'd a Queen.
Whose soft beauties had ravish'd at first sight
A hermit from his beads, and chang'd his pray'rs
To am'rous sonnets, to preserve my faith
Inviolate to thee; with the hazard of
My death with tortures, to be thus requited?
Yet hold—I will not curse thee, Sophia,
Nor for thy falshood rail against the sex;
'Tis poor and common; I'll only
Whisper unto myself, howe'er they seem,
Nor present, past, nor ages yet to come,
Have heretofore, can now, or ever shall
Produce one constant woman!
BAPTISTA.
This is more
Than the satirists wrote against 'em.
EUGENIUS.
There's no language
That can express the poison of these aspics,
These weeping crocodiles, and all too little
That hath been said against 'em:—but I'll mould
My thoughts into another form, and if
She can out-live the report of what I'll do—
Enter HONORIA.
BAPTISTA.
The Queen, Sir.
EUGENIUS.
In sign of deep contrition for their error,
My lips that shunn'd the last night profer'd bliss,
Thus on your footsteps seal their willing duty:
Chimerican darkness would not let me see,
What now with adoration I behold!
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This is more
Than I could hope, for my beauty still admits
No rival.
[Aside.
Wait our command at distance—you too have
Free liberty to depart.
[To Baptista.
BAPTISTA.
I am poor in manners,
But thank you, Madam, for the favour.
HONORIA.
Have you taken
Good rest in your new lodgings?—I now expect
Your last resolve, but advise maturely
Before I hear it.
Pray you rise,
Your late neglect, I freely pardon.
EUGENIUS.
My soul's on fire.
HONORIA.
Yet, to give some allay
To this new fervor, 'twere good to remember
The King, whose eyes and ears are ev'ry where,
And what might follow a discovery.
EUGENIUS.
Danger's a phantom, Madam! tho' the King
In our embraces stood a looker on,
His torturers too, with ready cruelty
To drag me from your arms, it should not fright me.
HONORIA.
Pause yet a little—
The bounties of the King, and what weighs more,
Your boasted constancy to your matchless wife,
Should not too soon be shaken.
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The whole fabric
When I but look on you, is in a moment
Overturn'd, and as flowing rivers lose
Their names, when by the ocean swallow'd,
In you alone all faculties of my soul
Are wholly taken up; my wife and King
Are nought but things forgotten.
HONORIA.
Can this be possible? Fortune here I thank thee,
For my purpose now is gain'd!
[Aside.
EUGENIUS.
Wherefore stay ye, Madam? why muse ye so?
HONORIA.
To think how poor, an empty nothing
Is man's constancy!
EUGENIUS.
Your beauties make it so
In me, sweet lady.
HONORIA.
And 'tis my glory.
I could be coy now, as you were, but I
Am of a gentler temper. However,
In a just return of what I've suffer'd
In your disdain, with the same measure grant me
Equal deliberation. I, e'er long,
Will visit you again; and when I next
Appear, as conquer'd by it, slave-like wait
On my triumphant beauty!
[Exit.
EUGENIUS.
What a change!
And what a frown she left at her departure!
I either way am lost! Contempt and scorn
Beset him close, who has not pow'r to be
Either base or virtuous; where'er I look
The tempest thickens, and hope disappears!
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