University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV

The QUEEN—SHIMEI.
Queen.
Thy countenance declares, before thy speech,
The success of thy message.

Shim.
Yes, my queen!
The deadly vapours of illicit love
Have reign'd too long. But soon the wholesome gale
Of great revenge shall lift its awful voice,
And sweep from yon polluted palace walls
The noxious brood, that long in swarms besieg'd
Each avenue, and banish'd from its bounds
The sons of modest merit, ancient worth,
And lineal honour! Soon that upstart race,
With that perfidious, bloody man, who slew
Thy father's friend, shall lower their haughty crests.

Queen.
Follow me to my chamber—there disclose
Thy tidings at full leisure, the loose tribe
Of profligates and panders soon shall find
Their empire at an end—convene your friends
But one by one, left over-curious eyes
Should mark their movements.

Shim.
I but stay to meet
One of my confidential friends who waits
My coming at this instant, and the next
Shall see me, with the rest, attend thy will.

[Exit Queen.
Shim.
alone.
O sacred house of Benjamin! again
Thou shalt resume the sceptre, or at least
Its lineal honours share.—Alas! with them
The old renown of Jacob sinks in night
Our glory is departed! Freedom fell
With thee, or what of freedom still remain'd
And bloody conquest now, and martial law
And costly pomp, by parasites ador'd
Succeed the rustic majesty of Saul
Who mingled with the people, nor disdain'd
To lead their legions, or in peace partake
Their humble joys—but see! my trusty friend
Approaches to my wish—Abdon—all hail.

SHIMEI—ABDON.
Shim.
The moment comes, when they, who shed the blood
Of Abner, thy lamented friend shall pay
The fine of festal treason, and prepare
A banquet of revenge, that fiends might smile
To view!
Uriah comes, and in himself an host
Arm'd with his wrongs, he soon shall shake the walls
Of parasitic power! the kindred hosts
Of Ammon and of Tadmor thro' the tribes
That line yon courts, would scatter less dismay
If our designs succeed!

Abd.
Too well I know
Uriah's spirit—still untractable
And stern, he moulds his manners on the code
Of our republic: and her name adores
With true devotion: our neglected laws
He so reveres, that neither power, nor wealth
(Tho' next to regal honours on his brow
Were plac'd, with liberal hand) could bend his soul
To smother his revenge or let his wrath
Be satisfied with gentler penalty
Than what the law requires.

Shim.
And that is death
With propagated shame!

Abd.
And wouldst thou wish
That shame should reach to David? could'st thou bear
To find the name of that heaven favour'd man
Tainted with scandal's vile ignoble blot
An imputation, made by factious hands
Perhaps the fuel of the people's rage?—

Shim.
aside.
Then is it as I fear'd—this interview
Was timely—but I must dissemble now
And wear the mask of loyalty!

To Abd.
My soul
Is seiz'd with horrour at the thought!—But still
Some moderate method may be found, to steer
Between the wild extremes, the Sanhedrim
And popular delegates at Salem now
Conven'd, thy art may sound—they all revere
The patriot's name, and hate the haughty man
Who leads our armies—and, for selfish ends
Fires, with incessant schemes of foreign wars
The royal mind, that he may hold the sword.—
His is the power—the shadow here remains
Behind at Salem—should the general vote
Prefer Uriah, (ere the husband knows
His bed's abuse,) his wrongs perhaps might rest
In long oblivion.—Bathsheba's return
To welcome home her warriour, with the spell
Of loyalty and wedded love at once,
Might lull the whirlwind to a lasting calm.

Abd.
Be it my business then to sound the tribes
Perhaps the monarch, struck with deep remorse
Nor less by merit won (by chance, or heaven
Combin'd, at this fair crisis) may consent
To crown the warriour, tho' he wrong'd the man
And all at last be amity and peace.

[Exit Abdon.
Shim.
Go! loyal fool! and, like the sightless mole
Mine for me! while the rude materials rais'd
By thy blind industry, shall raise a pile
Of finer masonry, exalted far
Above the present fabric, which thy love
So idolizes! this Jessean stem
If Fate's mysterious volume right I read
Shall know no second spring! He little dreams
I hate Uriah too! vain-glorious man!
He scorns the courtier, prizes honesty,
And looks contemptuous on the lazy herd
That bask at ease, beneath the royal beam
At home, while he sustains the sultry noon
And reaps an iron harvest—not aware
That, bought and sold, the single-hearted slave
Toils out his weary youth to feed our pride
But we are grateful—witness he, who walks
Thro' yonder shades in contemplation deep
Fain would I listen—but his friend is near
Achitophel, the partner of our hopes—
He will discover all in proper time
Nor at this crisis would I here be found!

[Exit Shimei.
DAVID, (ACHITOPHEL—at a distance.)
[Seeing Achitophel.
Ach.
My sovereign lord,
My faithful counsels—

David.
—Fed my passions high.
'Twas thou inflam'd my pride, and woke the war
With Ammon , for a slight affront, a wrong
Which wisdom would have smil'd at. Thou advis'd
To leave the toils and hazard of the war
To Joab, and rest at home, lull'd by the sound
And distant din of arms. A stripling's scorn
Must be repaid with blood, while sloth at home
Fosters worse passions. Had I brav'd the field,
And cop'd alone with unbelieving foes,
Cas'd in bright arms, beneath the beam of noon,
My worst foe had not found me!

Ach.
Witness Heaven!
Witness my honour unimpeach'd! no views
But for thy sacred safety sway'd my voice
To counsel thy delay!

David.
O blessed times,
Tho' deem'd afflictive, when, from hill to hill
I fled the royal blood-hounds! Them I thought
My only foes, my only trust was Heaven!
His favour to obtain, my vigilance
And caution still with keen, observant eye,
Guarded against the taint of every vice,
I saw but one protector, but one way
To gain his favour. Every morning shone
On some new miracle. Some wond'rous scene
Of prompt deliverance.

Ach.
Let my sovereign lord
Not forfeit his dependance. On despair
Heaven frowns, and hates the soul that doubts his love.

David.
His love!—Too much I trusted in his love!
Abus'd his mercy and his power defy'd,
But now, alas, I dread the eye of man.
My heart is bare and bleeding—every glance
Sends a shaft thro' it—tho' but late it seem'd
Enclos'd in steel. Say, is Uriah come?
And is there hope to veil the glaring shame
From every eye, but Heaven's—for man to man
Is an inhuman judge, and I have foes
That soon would dog my name, and hunt it down
Thro' every maze of endless infamy!

Ach.
Uriah is return'd.

David.
And wherefore yet
Has he not claim'd an audience? Tho' I dread
To see him, yet his absence wounds me more.
I know not what to wish, or to enquire
Has he vouchsaf'd a visit yet at home?—
Or has allegiance vanquish'd love, and sent
The gallant, injur'd warrior, first to pay
His duty to his king?

Ach.
At your command
His motions all are spy'd.

David.
And what result?
Torture me not with doubt; nor, on your life
Dare to conceal the worst!

Ach.
Compell'd, adjur'd,
My loyalty commands, what love would hide.
Ere those you sent had met him on the way,
Who meant, beneath some seeming fair pretext
To tend his footsteps till they lodg'd him safe
Lest any foul report, or dark surmise
Should taint his eyes, or ears—he was observ'd
In close and serious conference with Shimei.—

David.
Then all is public—that curst Benjamite
(Sworn foe to me and mine) has told the tale
Whate'er he knew, and what he knew not, feign'd
Disloyal, tardy slaves! whose task it was
To meet him first, and keep his mind serene
From each contagious rumour! all is lost!
Has he yet reach'd his home, or have you learn'd
Of his reception there?

Ach.
I had not means.—

David.
How seem'd he on his coming to the palace?
I know his open nature, far above
Dissembling, or the usual craft of courts
Whate'er he feels, his feelings he proclaims,
Each look and gesture shows his inmost soul—
Oh! could I read his looks!—but mine would show
What most I want to hide!

Ach.
He will not brook
(Proud, and a soldier as he is) to tell
Whate'er he knows to all, if aught he knows—

David.
If aught he knows!—where'er the serpents sang
Was fixt, the poison rankles in the wound—
And Shimei's love to me I long have known!—
That Benjamite by every art has try'd
To taint my purest actions with the stain
Of some malignant view, and put the mask
Of malice, even on innocence—oh then
What horrid vizors for deformity?—
It needs none, for the slightest hint of truth
Is foul enough!

Ach.
Yet Shimei scarce would dare
To give his venom breath—for, well I know
The coward tongue would falter in his fears
He is not one whom noble Natures soon
Would condescend to trust!—there is between
His nature, and Uriah's such repulse
Such fierce antipathy as ne'er would blend
Their jarring natures in one common view
Or common trust.—

David.
Go find him, and explore
His spirit, while I study to receive him.

[Ex. severally.
End of the First Act.