University of Virginia Library

Scena Prima.

Enter Constantina and Flavanda.
Con.
If thou wilt know a reason why I sent for thee,
Ask of my heart, for that would never be
At quiet till I had seen thee,
But rowling still in my disturbed breast
Prompted my soul to dye not stain'd with such forgetfulness.

Fla.
Thy immaculate mind tells me thy soul is pure,
I should suspect the heavens before its whiteness:
The alabaster Mines helpt by the Suns reflection
Cannot shew a piece so candid.

Con.
I cannot boast its colour, 'tis a soul one,
And ere I dye, it will be one continued spot
More ugly than deformity it self: There is
A crime that I must perpetrate, or else my Ghost
Cannot rest quiet in its urne.

Fla.
There is no crime so horrid, but thy former goodness
Has made a virtue: One drop of poyson
Pour'd into the Ocean, polluteth not the water,
But clears it self and adds unto the stream.

Con.
Ingratitude is a sea of venome,
Which my malicious soul has entertain'd,
And must discharge her poyson upon thee;
Thou that hast been the partner of my sorrows
Must now become the subject of my malice.

Fla.
Thou canst not find a fitter subject, I dare
Encounter with the deadliest poyson thou canst give
And think it a preservative.

Con.
Mine is the worst of venomes;
If thou but tak'st it, 'tis not thy body only
That must perish, but thy soul too.
To what sure destruction do I run on either side?
If I refuse to sue unto thee, I am ingratefull,
And if I do, the same stain brands me still.
Canst thou be inconstant? wonder not Flavanda
Why I ask so rude a question,
For by thy inconstancy, I must be proved constant,
Thy weakness must be my triumph,
And thy disloyalty my eternall glory.
To ask thee now whether thou couldst leave Charastus
Were a Tautology as absurd as to name, Flavanda
And most excellent, I know thou dost
Already understand me.

Fla.
Yet I am ignorant for whom thou pleadst.

Con.
I plead for one that loves thee with an ardour
More fervent than Charastus, one that will not waver
When he sees whole Chataracks of beauty, much less
At the small suspition of a feature. Fidelio
Is the man; which ought you to respect then most
Him that left me for you, or you for me?

Fla.
Be not mistaken Constantina,
That love that he profess'd to me was only feign'd:
Charastus sent him but to trie me.

Con.
I prithee say not so; thou wilt undo
A Virgin with a truth; if he be constant,
How impious then was my suspition.

Fla.
When you were gon, he told his treachery,
And with what plots he sought for to betray me.

Con.
No more.
Thou hast returnd my poyson to the sull;
The false suspition of his Loyalty heaps sin on sin.
My soul's one leprosie so foul,
That surely the flames in which I must be sacrific'd
Will 'gainst their Nature downwards tend,
And hurry me to Hell. Oh Fidelio, never before
I wisht thee false: thy constancy will be my ruine.

Enter Fidelio.
Fid.
Oh Constantina here shall my knee take root,
Untill thy voice denounce my sentence: This penitence
Entreats no pardon, 'tis Justice rather Rigour I desire.

Con.
Let this suffice
To shew my duty and my penitence: could I fall lower.
My ambition to out-go thee in humility
Should force me down.

Fid.
Kneel'st thou to me? the earth shall not resist me,
But my obedient soul shall press me down,
Till nature bids me stay, lest I should
Violate her Lawes by falling upwards.

Con.
Thou canst not kneel Fidelio and I stand,
When the Sun is down, the exhalations fall.
Arise, and I will personate those vapours.

Fid.
Thy sentence must dissolve my frozen joynts
Or I shall fall again: Canst thou forgive me?

Con.
Canst thou forgive me?

Fid.
No, I cannot, it lies not in heavens power
To forgive where none is guilty: A pardon
Does belong unto a Conscience stain'd with wickedness,
But thou art innocent, so innocent
That the purest Chrystall will confess some spots
To see thy whiteness.

Con.
To make me clear, prove not your self disloyall.
Or you inconstant are, or I more stain'd
Than misbelieving Atheists with my incredulity.

Fid.
Thou art become more glorious by thy incredulity:
Thou couldst suspect, and yet be virtuous.
Thou thoughtst me false, yet lov'd me still,
When I upon a supposition sought Revenge,
And most unluckily obtain'd it.

Con.
Yet I was Author of thy crime:
My soul suspition was thy sins sad president.

Fid.
Thou mak'st my sin appear more horrid:
Thy suspition was but the confirmation of thy constancy,
And were that a President to me
How wicked then were I for to be vicious
Because thou wert virtuous.

Con.
I cannot conquer you with arguments, yet
In civility you must yield: contend not with a woman;
That victory will be no glory surely;
You must not sir deny me that: See,
My soul pours out it self in a petition.

Fid.
Weep'st thou Constantina: I'le plough the earth,
And sow those precious seeds, wee'l have
A crop of Pearl, more glorious than the Orientall:
Venus shall have a neck-lace of these Gems,
Dianas Virgin Zone these beads shall beautifie,
The other Deities shall labour in our Harvest,
And think one seed a pay too prodigall.
Weep Sweet no more, thou hast shed enough
To purchase immortality, I prithee weep no more
Lest I be forc't to sow my Tares
Among that heavenly grain.

Fla.
How well those drops become them? the pleasing dew
Adds not a greater lustre to the Rose.
With what a sweet variety they flow?
How prettily they sport in method?
One Knocks.
Alas! one knocks Fidelio.

Fid.
I will not wake to hear him. Tell him
I say I will not: in this sweet slumber
I'de not disturb the Heavens with a petition,
Or should they call, I would refuse to hear them.

Enter Arontas.
Aron.
Most noble Shepherd, the King expects you in the Temple,
For to see the sacrifice, and you fair Shepherdess
(I am sorry I must become so sad a messenger)
Must presently prepare to suffer.

Exit.
Fid.
Never did voyce jar hoarser in my ears,
Oh what a hellish sound it leaves!
Hells three mouth'd Porter joyn'd to Scylla's quire
Cannot howl out so sad a Message.
Prepare to suffer? What is that?
Comment on those sad words sweet Heavens,
Unfold that hideous mysterie: I dare not think
Upon the exposition 'tis so horrid.
Know'st thou what 'tis to suffer?

Con.
Yes, 'tis to dye, and be immortall.

Fid.
Death is the common rode to immortality; men
Whose lives abhor'd all virtue but Repentance,
In abundant troops, flock by that common High-way,
And shall she whose Virgin soul no thought has blemish'd
Find no unknown path peculiar to such excellence?

Con.
To dye a spotless sacrifice is a glorious path
Nere trod on but by them whose Saint like presence
Still addeth to its curiositie: The Altar is no funerall Pile,
That melts its fuell into Ashes, but a refining fire,
As gentle as those flames from which
The purified Gold receives it lustre.

Fid.
Oh do not deceive thy self: How often do we see
The Sacrifices perish, and nere return
More glorious by their sufferings.

Con.
'Tis true, that fire that cleanses but the Gold
Consumes the drosser Mettalls: Had bea [illeg.],
Our common sacrifices, but souls confirm'd divine
By Innocence and Reason, we might adore 'um
On our Altars without the blot of superstition.

Fid.
If death must purchase immortality,
Thou must not, shalt not be immortall:
There is a debt due unto Nature for thy goodness.
Live here an everlasting mortall then and pay it.
The glory freely given unto desert
Is greater than if purchas'd.

Con.
But who can give it? 'Tis not in Natures power.
She frames our goodness for the Heavens;
There I must live, hem'd in with happiness:
There no felicity will be wanting, but when
These tears makes me remember thee.

Fid.
Let not the thought of me thy murderer
Disturb thy happiness: I will revenge thy quarrell to the full.
Something must be done: Farewell thou heavenly Canditate;
Thou hast a place selected mongst the Deities
Where thou must sit and teach the ignorant world
That constancy, which none but thou couldst ever boast of.
I shall betray a womanish passion in me
Should I stay longer. Farewell thou new elected Deity.

Exit.
Con.
My Tears so stop my speech, I cannot
Bid Farewell.

Enter Thesbia.
Thes.
What weeping Constantina? Can the fear of death
From out the circle of thy purest innocence
Draw such a faintness.

Con.
The senseless trees, Hearbs, plants, and flowers
In dewy tears lament the Suns sad absence, and shall I
Deny that duty to Fidelio when a sad Ecclips
Must hide him from me to eternity.
Tears are not Emblemes of a faint belief,
The hottest dayes melt often into showers.
Oh Thesbia! my heart will break,
And cheat the Altar of its sacrifice.

Thes.
Here, drink this Nepenthe's juice then,
'Twill ease thy heart, do not refuse it, the Priest
Just now bequeath'd it to me as an heavenly Cordiall.

Con.
What had I forgot? See here's the same.
Oh 'twas a Holy man; He would fain have died
To save my life.

Thes.
So would he to have sav'd mine: Trust me
He made me weep to see his silver tears
Distill in such abundance from his eyes;
My dear, dear father could have don no more.

Con.
Lets then on bended knees in adoration of his charity
Wish that the Heavens will never be ingratefull,
But still showre down on his deserts a due felicity.

Thes.
Upon our knees we wish it;
And as this juice from our orecharged souls
Expels our miseries, so may his sorrows vanish.
They drink.
'Tis down. My congeled blood late frozen to my heart
Dissolves, and with a quick agility
Leaps in my new-fill'd veins. My thoughts have pleasant fuell,
And every sense is ravish't with an unknown happiness.

Con.
She sings.
she sleeps.

Fla.
Thus ceast the dying Nightingale, enamor'd sleep
Delighted with thy Harmony stole the last accent
From our ears. Thesbia! what has her voyce
Husht thee into a slumber too, and left me here
The sole resister of its power? Sleep on sweet souls,
And when ye wake, think it no pain
If ye be forc't too soon to sleep again.

Exeunt.