University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene I.

A Garden belonging to a Palace.
Enter Demetrius in Disguise, his Sword drawn, and Gomond following.
Demet.
Ye awful Powers, must I then bear this Villainy?
Behold, my Love, the Fair, the chast Clorona,
Barbarously murder'd thus, before my Face,
[Raging.
Yet leave her unreveng'd?

Gomond.
There is no Remedy.
The Monster now, heading the Tyrant's Guards,
Has sent for more, to back his Homicide:
Whole Troops will straight be here; and now this Moment
Some of his Creatures search through all the Rooms,
Expecting vast Reward for taking Grimoald;
The Name that you have given your Disguise:
When you hold Council with the Ellien Party,
Opprest by this fell Tyrant Aristander,
If then, my Lord, instead of the false Grimoald,
They find the true Demetrius; not you only,
But we, the Cause, and all, are lost for ever.

[Enter Pollidamus.
Demet.
My Eyeballs start, my Brain and Heart's on Fire,
When I but think—Oh execrable Dog!
To bath his brutish Phangs in that fair Bosom,
The Angels might mistake for Paradise,
And miss no part of their expected Happiness;
Death, and Confusion, I'll go back and kill him,
In th'midst of all his Hellhounds!

Pollid.
Angels guard us!—What can this mean?

Gomond.
Delay but of one Minute.
Sinks all your Friends into perpetual Ruin,
And loses you irrevocably—for Heavens sake consider!
And, gracious Prince, as ever wretched Corinth,
And th'few of the old Strain were tender to ye,
Recal your Patience; fly, and save your self.

Demet.
Oh bloody, murd'rous Villain!—Oh, my Clorona!

Gomond.
The Princesses Apartment is the nearest
Shelter at Hand, there you have Interest;
Not a word more as you prize all our Lives.

Demet.
Give me Revenge, ye Powers,—or take this Trifle back;
Blow off this Bubble, 'tis not worth my Care.

[Exit.
Pollid.
Some strange Mischance, sure! what's the matter, Collonel?
Why is the Prince thus hurried?

Gomond.
Whence come you, good my Lord,
That you are ignorant of a dreadful Accident,
Horrid enough to fright the Universe,
And make all Nature's numerous Offspring tremble?

Pollid.
From a lone Grotto, where I have been reading
Some Passages, in the calm Halcyon Days
Of our Fore-fathers, e'er curst Tyranny
Ruffled the Souls of great ones to a Storm:
But say, what Accident of Note so dreadful
Can fall o'th' suddain? I heard, indeed, that Damocles,
The King's proud Favourite, has this Morning made th'Governor a Visit,
His Frown I'm sure can't fright the great Timoleon;
Much less the Universe.

Gomond.
Hear then, my Lord,
What will fright you, and every Creature else,
Whose Soul bears Sense of Honour, this great, proud
Fiend you speak of, has kill'd the Governor's Daughter.

Pollid.
Hah, sure thy Brain's crack'd! what say'st thou, Gomond, kill'd her!

Gomond.
She's dead, my Lord, the beautiful Clorona;
The Flower of Virgins, Pattern of true Virtue;
And in a Word, her Sex's Masterpeice;
In a curst Fret of Passion, by that Damocles,
That Monster Damocles, barbarously butcher'd.

Pollid.
Immortal Gods, say how, for what? my Ears, methinks,
Glow with Expectance of the dreadful Tale,
And my Blood stagnates, frozen up with Wonder.

Gomond.
To tell the Story, from its cursed Source
Would prove too tedious, therefore the main matter,
Briefly, is thus:
You long have known the Governor
Once of Ætolia, under great Demetrius;
Our late, dread Royal Master, (till Antigonus,
The conqu'ring Macedonian's Successor,
Winning a glorious Battel where he fell,
Set up his Son, this Tyrant Aristander,)
Still kept to head the Elliens—whose rough Numbers
Have been but lately quell'd, nor do's Timoleon,
Whose Heart is fix'd upon this Prince's Right;
Spare yet t'incourage Parties, and in private
To own this young Demetrius, who has the Name
Of the old King, and nearest is related.

Pollid.
I know him of that Line,
And also know that Aristander's Policy,
Assisted by his Engine Damocles,
Had in his Infancy resolv'd his Murder;
Had not the Queen, now some Years since deceas'd,
Exerting her Compassion one soft Minute,
(A Virtue wonder'd at, since Wife to him;)
Beg'd him her Page, and bred him with her Daughters.

Gomond.
But yet so strict, that the Offence is Mortal
To name him of that Race, or own his Birthright;
Himself forbid too to converse with Elliens
Of any Rank, tho' here, at Lord Timoleon's
Under Disguise, and by the Name of Grimoald,
He often steals to meet the Malecontents;
As now this Morning.

Pollid.
'Tis whisper'd that the Tyrant's youngest Daughter
Has such Esteem for him, 'tis grown to Passion,
Tho' modest Governance keeps it in Bounds;
She being, as fame reports, a Miracle,
Considering whose Daughter, fair, wise and virtuous,
Mild and Religious—and by Consequence,
Oft in Rebellion, with her vicious Father,
But, for her Sister!

Gomond.
She is the reverse;
Curst Aristander's own, his eldest born,
First Grafting of his damn'd Impiety,
And as her Face, by Nature, bears his Features,
Her Soul too shares his Vices,—but, nor this,
(Who 'tis thought loves him too, tho' her Pride checks her)
Nor t'other, tho' her Merits pleads so largely,
E'er mov'd the Prince, Nature's chief Work: Clorona
Engag'd him all; that sweet unhappy Virgin
This instant massacred.

Pollid.
Give the rest Vent, and rid me of my Pain.

Gomond.
This fatal Morning,
Just as the Prince had tender'd her his Vows,
As was accustom'd, rushes in proud Damocles,
With insolent Command from Aristander
To my Lord Governor, to surrender up
His Daughter to his Charge, to be a Wife
To one that he had chose, and this so positively,
That no Delay must be on pain of Death.

Pollid.
A Snare, by Hell, laid for Timoleon's Life!
I smell it rank, they knowing he'd deny,
And give the Tyrant thus fresh cause of Quarrel.

Gomond.
You may suppose, he that for fifty Years
Had led his martial Troops to glorious Battel,
Where his Command was like the Voice of Fate,
As soon as giv'n obey'd, was now confounded
At these unnatural Orders.

Pollid.
Was the Prince by too?

Gomond.
He was; altho' to Damocles unknown
By his Disguise, but yet struck dumb as Death,
As was the Governor for a while, till rouzing,
As from a mortal Trance, his troubled Spirits,
He answer'd, Aristander's Will—was Law,
And bid the haughty Lord accost Clorona,
Since her Consent was necessary too,
Who did, and here now comes the sad Catastrophe.

Pollid.
My Blood still bears an Ague.

Gomond.
This Heir of Hell, it seems, some time before,
Had given her Notice of his brutal Love,
Which, with Dislike, being answer'd, th'haughty Insolent
Resolv'd to seize her by the Tyrant's Power;
But with a Courage, wondrous in her Sex,
Clinging about her Father, she defy'd him;
Till, from that Guard he drag'd her with such Rudeness,
That from her snowy Neck, the swelling Veins,
As if enrag'd at such strange ruffain Violence,
Spouted warm Gore in's Face, which as she saw,
Still more resolv'd her, for with bitter Terms,
Repeating the whole Mass of Infamy
In his curst Master's, and his own vile Actions,
She to the last abhor'd his amorous Passion,
And with such feminine Inveteracy,
That Damocles, flush'd with a Night's Debauch,
Inflam'd too with Greek Wine, and Hell's worst Fury,
And rais'd with her sharp words, to th'extream of Passion,
His Dagger drawing, fix'd it in her Heart,

Pollid.
Before her Father's Face!

Gomond.
Before her Father's and her Lover's Face,
Who straight, like Thunder, shot at Damocles,
And with a Weapon, which he wore conceal'd,
Had nail'd him to the Arras, had not th'Guards
Quick interpos'd, two of which perish'd instantly,
At the brave Prince's Foot; but the rest pressing,
My self, and some the Houshold Crys brought in,
Made shift to force him from them, and certain Ruin,
Whilst I at last alone conducted him
Out of the Crowd through a dark Passage hither;
And what past more you saw.

Polid.
Ye heavenly Pow'rs! can ye view these Horrors!
Yet idle keep your Vengeance!—But, good Collonel,
Where was the Governor's Lady, wise Belizaria?
Soul of the Elliens, the brave Grecian Heroine,
Whilst this inhuman Scene of Death was acting.

Gomond.
At her Devotion, e'er the dawn of Day,
Amongst the sacred Priestesses of Bacchus,
The Greeks fam'd Deity; paying grateful Thanks
For the Recovery of her young Son Clindor,
Late from a dangerous Sickness; the sole Gift
Of Heaven, by her, to Lord Timoleon,—Clorona
Being by a former Choice.

Pollid.
Had the insulting Murderer nothing to say of her?

Gomond.
Yes, to conclude, he mutter'd,
The Sting of the young Viper being blunted,
There yet remain'd a Message from the King
To th'Lady of the House, whom he would meet
At her return from Prayers.

Pollid.
Mischief's old Strain, I'll lay my Life; 'twas hot some Years ago
That Aristander courted her.

Gomond.
Most true; but for the Governor was still rejected
Since when Love turns to Hate: But see, my Lord,
The noble Heroine we are speaking of;
Hah!—and that Devil Damocles; nay then
This Interview must be of fatal Note:
Let's stand aside and hear; when th'Prey is mark'd
That Fiend has Claws to reach a Furlong off;
I'll keep aloof from the fell Gripe.

Pollid.
And I.

[They stand aside.
Enter Damocles, Belizaria guarded, and Clindor.
Damo.
The Deed may seem too rash, but when th'Abuse
Of my great Master, and my self's consider'd,
The World must call it Justice; some tame Fool,
Perhaps may say, 'twas but a Woman's Anger:
Woman! whose only Weapon is the Tongue,
And Men should laugh at it, a proper Argument;
The Stings of Female Serpents are most dangerous,
And should be trod out quickly lest they breed
A Race too strong to quell; you therefore, Madam,
[To Beliz.
I have brought hither from that House of Clamour
Where now I know Rebellion's forming Hydra's;
Besides my Business to ye, from my Master,
To give ye Council; and by the Example
Late shewn, to have a Care to teach this Boy here
More Loyalty and Manners than his Sister.

Beliz.
Cælestial Maid! of Heaven belov'd, Clorona,
Who now amongst the Virgin Angels yonder,
A new come Guest, receiv'st the joyful Welcomes
Of all the Dwellers in that Court of Glory,
Forgive me, since thou know'st I'm forc'd to bear
The tainted Breath of thy vile Murderer;
And since Revenge is not within my Power
To put in Act, accept, sweet Saint, the Joy
My Heart retains, to think thou shalt be crown'd
With Happiness eternal, when this Wretch,
Rebel to Heaven and Nature, stung with Pangs
Of tortur'd Conscience, howls in Hell for ever.

Damo.
'Tis well, 'tis wond'rous well; yet if that Title,
That Rebel, had been spar'd by your Sagacity,
And shar'd amongst your Politick Family,
Methinks your Speech had been more natural.

Beliz.
Oh! no, it can suit none so well as thee;
The petty Crimes are drawn in Minataure,
Of those rebel against inferior Princes;
But thou against the King of Kings mak'st Head,
Break'st down his Fetice of Law and Divine Mandate,
And shedding innocent Blood, with thee, is Justice,
Which shews Rebellion in the largest Figures,
Rank Disobedience against Heaven's Supremacy:
Thou scorn'st to be so trivial an Offender
To mutiny about Dispute of Titles,
The Right, or Wrong, or Male-Administration
Caus'd by Ambition, in this lower Orb;
No, to a loftier Vice thy Pride do's swell,
To Murder, the superior Crime in Hell,
And equals that proud Fiend that did at first Rebel!

Damo.
Good still; well then, proud as you please to make me,
As lawless and ungovern'd, yet you shall see, I have
So calm a Temper to endure Revilings
Bitter as these without return.—Proceed,
Nay now I urge you to't, say all you can,
And in your worst of Thought describe my Character.

Beliz.
Thou darest not stand it, sure!

Damo.
Begin, and try me.

Belz.
So odious is the Theme, my trembling Tongue
Faulters at th'Attempt; but since 'tis urg'd
In part, 'tis thus: First then,—That Form is horrible;
Nature, in Pain, has given such frightful Airs
Throughout thy Face, as if, instead of Union,
She meant to scare the World from Amity.
Thy Limbs too seem as if contriv'd in haste,
When she was weary of her bungling Work,
And sent 'em out, half finish'd, to the World:
Then for thy Mind, 'twould craze a Stoick's Brain
To think that Lewdness, Rapine, Cruelty,
Pride, Rancor, Avarice, Envy, Detraction,
Murd'rous Deceit, and loathsom Flattery,
Join'd with the rest, as in Contempt of Providence,
Should make the Popular Thing Men call a Favourite.
There,—do's the Picture please ye?

Damo.
Not extremely; I think I've seen it fairer drawn in Colours;
But you'd have yours be thought no flatt'ring Pencil,
Nor is it, I confess.

Beliz.
No, I'll be sworn
I've drawn as near the Life as I'm able.

Damo.
Well, I'll take yours yet with a kinder Hand:
Beauty is proper to exalt the Fancy;
Your Forehead, like the Front of Venus fair;
Your Eyes have Fire, that could kindle Nature
Were it extinct, and new create the World.
Your charming Breasts.—But oh! where am I roving.
Thus says the King.—Now then receive my Message:
The King, my Master, wills ye to discard,
And with a Heart, that wishes ye right well,
All Malecontents, and cleave to his Protection:
Your Husband is a weak misguided Dotard.

Beliz.
Audacious Upstart!

Damo.
Ruine is at his Heels, ready to crush him,
And would, did not your Interest with the King
Stave off the Blow; be wise then, and comply,
Dress up your Beauty with an Air of Pleasure,
And let great Aristander find ye grateful.

Beliz.
The Ancients, when they would depict a Devil,
Still fashion'd him with monstrous Horns and Hoofs,
To make his Form more terrible to Fancy:
I had forgot that, when I drew thy Picture;
For just as that to them, to me art thou:
After this Speech, Thy Eyes are large as Bowls,
Thy Mouth Breathes Fire that blasts; Hence horrid Spectre,
But Praise be to Cælestial Providence,
Thy Power can only fright, but not compel:
No, hellish Tempter, let thy Master know,
That the chaste Soul of Belizaria stands
Still fix'd on its old Basis, sacred Virtue,
Whence neither Gold nor Power can e'er remove it.

Damo.
Nay then, since offer'd Grace is so rejected,
'Tis dangerous to give the Liberty:
Guards, take her, and confine her to a Chamber;
And, on your Lives, let none, no not her Husband,
Have Speech with her 'till the King's farther Order.
The Boy—may keep her Company—I think
He's yet too young for Mischief.

Beliz.
His dear Prattle
Will give me Joy amidst a thousand Sorrows.
Come, Clindor, come, thou Darling of my Life,
Comfort thy mourning Mother; and hereafter,
When I've infus'd more Sentiments of Honour,
Tell that bad Man her Soul's not like the Vulgar;
But of that purer Essence which the Deities
Gave to the Votaries they chose, and favour'd;
So perfect, that should Fate and Hell conspire,
The Gem is right, and it can stand the Fire.

Damo.
Oh! by all means, let's try it then.—Away there.

[Exit Damoc. Belizaria guarded off, and Clin.
Re-enter Pollidamus and Gomond.
Gomon.
No Sybil e'er could prophesy more right
Than you, my Lord, you've guest the Source of all.

Pollid.
By all my hopes of Peace, a noble Lady,
And worthy of all Honours; nor can Fame sound
Too highly in her Praise. Oh, Fate! Oh, Heaven!
Must then this sharp-fangl'd Wolf worry us all?
No, we must muzzle him, perhaps his Master too:
But hush a while,—see where the sad Procession
Appears in pompous Horror.—Heavens! this Spectacle
Wou'd teach old Niobe to weep anew;
Forgetting her own Woes, to mourn Clorona.

Here Clorona appears laid upon a Bier all bloody, Timoleon following, bare-headed, with several Elliens, Spectators and Servants.
Timol.
Yet, yet, more Air; the Sorrows in my Heart
Will burst my aged Trunk; give them more vent,
That I may blow my Sighs around the Globe,
And fill yon' Azure space with mournful Clamours,
Ye mighty Powers, that dispose our Beings,
And, as your choicest Blessings, give us Children.
Me too, amongst the rest of thankful Parents,
Who paid you daily Tribute of my Gratitude,
May I not ask the Reason, without sinning,
Why I'm thus robb'd? Why my Clorona lies,
The darling Joy of an Indulgent Father?
Like a sweet Flower crop'd from its Bed of Life;
Wither'd, shrunk up, and pale? Oh my poor Girl!
Where's now the Rosie Bloom upon those Cheeks
That us'd to bless me at each Morning's Duty?
Instead of taking mine, that sprightly Eye,
Where like a Mirror I could Pride my self,
And fancy the Meridian of my Age
Was come again; all lost, all gone for ever!
[Weeps.
A Hell-born Ruffian steals my Heart's chief Treasure
Even before my Face. Hah! old Timoleon,
What wilt thou not revenge?—What say ye, Friends,
Is the curs'd State of wretched Age so miserable
We must look on, and bear these rueful Wrongs?

Pollid.
No, no, Lord Governor, should you want mortal Aid,
The Gods themselves, to give us Proof they cannot
Taint their Divinities by such an Action,
But that it was the headlong work of Fate,
Rash and precipitate, without their Order,
Would range, in hostile manner, to revenge ye.

Gomon.
Look up, my Lord, and let your Griefs give place
To brave Resolves of doing your self Justice:
The Season's ripe, the Tyrant's Crimes full blown,
And must be cropt; there's ne'er a Tongue in Corinth,
Fix'd in the Head of any Man of Honour,
But speaks my Sense; nor any weeping Eye,
Curst with a sight of this [Clorona.
heart-killing Object,
But wou'd direct a Hand to wield a Sword
To cut th'Inhuman Monsters from the Earth.

1 Ellien.
Propose the way, my Lord, my Life is yours
With Joy, so it revenge this injur'd Lady.

2 Ellien.
And mine.

3 Ellien.
The Lives of all here.
Revenge, Revenge my Lord, and suddenly.

Timol.
Cover her Face, and now my Friends, I thank ye.
Once more a throb of Nature: [To them.
[Kisses her.
Oh! Clorona!
Good Friend, I do beseech ye to forgive me;
[To Pollid.
Tears are new Work with me, give me your Pardon,
And only think what 'tis to be a Father.
[Wipes his Eyes.
So then, no more of that, [Looks sadly on her, then starts on the sudden.
what yet agen a Look?
Oh! thou white Liver'd meagre Traitor, Death,
Thou now hast watch'd thy time to terrify me!
How oft in foremost Ranks of bloody Battle,
When, like a Field of Corn, mellow'd for Harvest,
The Soldiers were in Clusters mow'd away,
Have I, with my good Sword here clash'd thy Scyth,
And dar'd thee to the Combat,—but vain Boast,
Since when I view (thee once so slighted) [Looking on Clorona.
there,
I start, and shake with Horror.

[Shout and alarm within.
Gomon.

Something of Moment's acting in the Streets by
this Alarm.

Pollid.

Go and see, good Gomond.

Exit.
Gomon.

I am prevented, here comes one from Court, a
Courtier certainly; I know him by his State Sneer, and his
wrigling.

Enter Cilon.
Cilon.

My Lord, I come t'inform ye from his Majesty,
that having Knowledge of an Insurrection design'd amongst
the People; and also of an Outrage, meant to Lord Damocles,
for his doing Justice on your Rebellious Daughter, by
some Elliens of your known Party; who, it seems, likewise
oppos'd the Guards, of which are several kill'd, 'tis the
King's Pleasure the Body shall be seiz'd, to be dispos'd of as
becomes a Traitor. Your self, my Lord, he thinks fit, for
the present, to banish into Ætolia, amongst some Numbers
more of the Confederacy; nor suffered even to take leave of
your Wife, but to be gone within two Hours at farthest, on
pain of Death. This is the Tenor of my Commission, my
Lord.—Guards carry off the Body.

Timol.
Now hold, my Heart, and Brain keep firm thy Station;
The Air grows hot, 'twill breed a Calenture:
Furies and Hell!—My dear Clorona hurry'd
To be dispos'd of as becomes a Traitor;
Perhaps her beauteous Body thrown to Dogs,
Or by vile Hangman's Hands to be prophan'd,
And dragg'd about the Streets.—Hah! Patience avaunt,
This is too rank; Death, [Draws and falls upon the Guards, who disarm him, and throw him down.
once more I defie thee.

Cilon.

Secure the Governour, he is old,—half craz'd we
may suppose too; we must bear with Frailty. You there that
are his Friends take care of him, d'ye hear? And that you
'scape your selves, take as my Favour.

[Exit Guards carrying off the Body.
Pollid.
Insolent Upstart! Come, Lord Governour, rise,
Recal your manly Spirits to their Functions,
And let us all join Hands to meet our Friends
There in Ætolia, for I'll thither too.

Gomon.
And I, where not a Day shall have an end,
Wherein the longest Hours seem not too short,
In Consultation of the Tyrant's Ruin,
And the Destruction of that Villain Damocles.

Pollid.
The glorious Sun, each Morn, shall gild our Councils,
And every God propitiously direct us;
Clorona, from her heavenly Seat, shall take
A pleasing View of each Design we make,
And bless the Vengeance plotted for her sake.

Timol.
Up then, old Man, from thy repulsing Grave,
[Rises up.
Rest even disclaims thee, 'till thy Wrongs are righted;
Rouze and pursue what glorious Honour dictates;
Honour, Revenge, the Hero's bright twin Deities
Court thee once more to settle thy Renown,
And do a Deed shall gain eternal Laurels.
'Tis said, Medæa once, by Magick Skill,
Her Father's aged Veins did with new Vigour fill.
As his, by Art, mine shall by Nature be,
And strong, as were her Charms, Clorona's Wrongs to me;
Her to Revenge, behold me young again,
My Blood ferments, fresh Heat warms ev'ry Vein,
Courage and Anger fire my Heart and Brain;
Monarchs Ambition, Statesmen Interest prize;
And Lovers, doating on fair Lady's Eyes,
Pursue Delight; but to a Soldier wrong'd,
Revenge, a sweet Revenge is far above
The Joys of Empire, Interest, or of Love.

[Exeunt omnes.