University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Chamber of State.
Seliman, Ismael, Arbanes, Guards, Attendants.
Selim.
My Lords, our Letters from our Brother shew
The Enemy encampt on Gebun Banks;
Headed by that brave Tartar, that so long
Has kept us warm for glory in the field:
Their Number's fifty thousand, ours but twenty,
To poise their fate, or turn the Scale of War.
O glorious odds! and by our Prophets Soul,
Worthy imperial Gamesters, worthy us,
And the renown of this immortal Throne.

Isma.
Long have these tempests threatned from the North,
To overturn the fate of Persia,
And shrowd her glories in eternal night:
But say, my Lords, What has their fury done?

Arban.
Like Clouds, it vanish'd at our rising Sun,
To the renown of royal Seliman:
Let some report their Conquests to the World:
They Provinces subdued, but under ground,
And-peopled Graves: They triumph'd too, but how?
In death they triumph'd, for they fell by you.

Selim.
There spoke the Voice of War!
Yes, we have conquer'd 'em and shall agen,
Since Tachmas leads our Armies to the field.
Thrice they the Gehun past, as oft thou know'st,
Khohemus felt the wounds of Tartars Swords.
Where was I then Arbanes? stood I Idle?
For thou wert my Leiutenant in the War,
Saw'st all my actions, therefore best canst speak 'em.

Arban.
The Grecian eloquence can never paint
Your Victories; (to mention but the first)
How then shall I? but my reflecting Soul
Shows the past Scene of Glory to my veiw,
And I can speak a Truth.

Selim.
You Gods! a Truth?
I think my actions do disdain a lie
To speak 'em brave.

Arban.
Dread Sir, you wrong my meaning.

Selim.
I am calm, proceed.

Arban.
A barbarous people, of a rougher clime,
Invade our Fronteirs, burn our Villages,
Unyoke our labouring Oxen from the Plow,
Our Flocks destroy, and after them our Hinds:
The fatal news enters our City Gates,
And Ispahan appears one face of sorrow!
The Virgins shriek, the Matrons fear prevents
The stroke of war; old Bed-rid Age laments
Its many Winters, or does wish 'em more,
To have more strength to fight, or less, to dye.
But then you rose, and Fortune could no more:
War is proclaim'd, and you the General.
Then to have heard your drooping Subjects shout
To arm, to arms, all to the famous fields,
The Sophy leads us on, and all must follow;
By the bright Sun was wonderful indeed.
Our Virgins, who before stood dumb as death,
Now sing us on our way: The very Boys
Act Victory at home: And coward Priests
In Mosques with prayer battle with the Gods.
But when we joyn'd the Foe.

Selim.
Ay then Arbanes!
Fierce as a Winter Storm upon the Main,
I rang'd the Field; whilst my affrighted Foes,
Like Billows at the angry Neptunes frown,
Successively did vanish from my sight.
Did I not pour upon their foremost ranks,
Sudden and fierce as lightning, rush among
Their thickest Squadrons, and in glorious heat
(Like Thunder breaking from a teeming Cloud)
Make desolation wait upon my arms?

Isma.
How vanity distorts him!

[to Arbanes.
Selim.
With my drawn Sword I pointed out the paths
Of dazling fame, which none but I could tread;
Mounting that stately Pyramid alone,
Whilst all my Army lag'd, and you below
Trembled, like Girls, to behold my daring.

Isma.
Now to fire him.

Selim.
Nay more; when my too eager courage bore me
Amidst a band of bold Tartarian horse;
No guard, but death, that hung upon my Sword
To make it fatal; say, who brought me off?
By Mars the single vertue of this Arm
Disperst their Troops, and sent 'em from the Field.

Isma.
So, he beat them all himself.

Arban.
Great Sir, your Royal Brother claims a share
In that renowned day.

Selim.
Arbanes! ha!

Arban.
But all his glorious actions are your own;
Since you like streams, from the same Fountain run.

Selim.
I cannot talk of Feilds, of War, or Arms,
Mention a Siege, or Battle, that I won;
But I am thought to Boast: I know your Idol;
You plant my Lawrel wreaths on Tachmas brow.
And woud my Crown: By Heaven I know your hearts.

Arban.
Alba forbid that you should think us Traytors.

Isma.
He's strangely thoughtful.

Arban.
O it stings his Soul.

Selim.
Ismael thou art honest: dost thou think the Prince—

Isma.
What of the Prince, my Lord?

Selim.
Why nothing now:
'Twas but an Idle thought, and I dismiss it.

Isma.
Your Royal Mother, with the fair Semanthe
Intend this way

Selim.
Then comes the brightest Star, the chastest glory,
That ever waited on Diana's pride;
Light without heat, and youth without desire.
Oh Ismael! What courage can resist
The raging torments of a hopeless love?
'Tis that in spight of all my Victories,
My past renown, or Soldiers hardiness,
That drives me, like a Coward, to the ground,
Breathless, and pale before that scornful beauty.

Isma.
It goes as I would have it.

[aside
Selim.
Still as I woo'd, when at her feet I lay;
Begging the bounty of a Look to bless me.
Hadst thou but seen with what a modest pride,
A Virgin innocence, and chaste reserv'dness,
She took the humble offering of my love:
How still in all the windings of my Passion,
Through the high-Tide of vows, and strong temptations,
She kept an equal mind, by Heaven I think,
Hadst thou then seen the temperate Virgin stand,
Cold to my flame, as Marble to the Sun,
(Not flusht, and haughty with her Conquest made,
As other vainer of her Sex woud be)
Thou woud'st have lov'd her rigid vertue too.

Isma.
Take warmer Beauties to your breast, whose heat
May melt that frozen image of a love.

Selim.
O thou mistak'st, nothing can drive her hence:
Her rigorous beauty binds me for her Slave,
Freezes the wandring current of my love,
Which did she smile, woud loosely glide along
Into the boundless Ocean of her Sex.
Were she like other Women to be mov'd,
Coming, and forward to believe our Vows,
To drink our Tears, and melt within our Arms;
Then I should slight the easie conquer'd prey:
But of such different tempers we are fram'd,
There's such a contrariety between us,
Like fighting qualities, each gathers force,
And as she freezes, I consume, and burn
With fiercer violence of raging love.

Isma.
My Lord, she enters.

Enter Begona, Semanthe attended.
Selim.
Hail beauteous Maid! thou leading light of Heaven!
So near the Sun you shine, so bright your lustre;
We justly may mistake you for the morn,
And pay our earlier devotion here.

Seman.
The Pomp and entertainments of the day
Speak some high Festival: Perhaps your birth
Has claim'd this Sun a sacrifice to jollity.
While you the royal Lord,
Conclude in lavishly bestowing praises.

Selim.
Take 'em as th'offering of excessive love;
The meaning of my soul.

Sem.
As they are meant,
The effect of gallantry, I take 'em all.

Selim.
O! how Semanthe? how shall I convince thee?
What shall I say, or how shall I protest,
To conquer thy belief?
Coudst thou discern the workings of my soul,
Pass through this bosome to my throbing heart;
O! there thou wouldst behold thy heavenly form
Deep writ, and never, be to raz'd away.
Why dost thou take the beauties from my Eies?
Like the Suns flower, my foulded glories fade
Perish, and die, unless thou shine upon me.
Ha! weeping too! what has my passion done?
O Mother! beg her, on your knees implore,
Entreat her for your poor offending Son;
Tell her I kneel, but dare not ask for pardon,
Lest ev'n then my words shoud give offence.

Bego.
O rise my royal Lord! Some secret grief
Bedews her cheeks, which I cou'd never learn,
Altho' I often prest her to discover.

Enter an Eunuch.
Eun.
An Officer begs admittance from the Prince.

Selim.
Conduct him in,

Sem.
Did he not name the Prince? my heart confirms it:
For I have lost the weight of my afflictions,
And am within a little World of joy.

Isma.
Methinks a suddain pleasure overcomes
Your Mistris's sorrows.

Selim.
Ha!

Isma.
Was there ought, in what
The Eunuch said, to work so quick a change?

Selim.
Nothing to her—but why that question?

Isma.
Only a foolish doubt,—but I am satisfied.

Selim.
The manner of thy speech says not.

Isma.
Alas! Age in a minute raises scruples,
That years can't solve; and this perhaps is one.
But since you tell me she was not concern'd
In what the Eunuch said, I'le give it o're.

Isma.
He said, an Officer begs admittance from the Prince.

Selim.
He did my Lord: and as he nam'd the Prince,
A suddain joy, like light'ning, dried her tears,
And not a Cloud was seen in that bright Heaven.

Selim.
Ha! Ismael! thy words have stun'd me more,
Then the united force of heaven cou'd do.
I fear thy friendship has been fatal to me,
With an officious eye discovering,
What, for my peace, had better been conceal'd.

Enter Osman.
Osm.
Let Persia flourish, and its royal Lord,
Be ever Master of the Asian World:
And when fame calls your Armies to the field,
May Tachmas lead 'em out, and still return
As now, triumhant home,
In all the glories of a famous War.

Selim.
Say, have we conquer'd then? Relate the means
How such prodigious odds were overthrown.

Osm.
Our Armies lay in view; Gehun between
Gently, as peace, in silver currents stream'd,
Off'ring her store to quench the flame of War;
But all in vain: Shouts, Trumpets, drums,
In dreadful eccho's, bid the battles join:
We on our guard, and they expecting when
To pour a purple deluge on our plain.

Sem.
How my heart beats with fear!

Osm.
This was our posture; when one solemn morn
Riot began in the proud Tartars Tents,
Nor ended with the Sun, for half the night
Was given to sporting, luxury, and wine:
Which, when the Prince perceiv'd; silent, as sleep
Stole on their reeling senses; forth he drew
His Army, and at their head he cried,
If glory be your aim, now follow me:
Then leap'd into the stream,
And, like a Sea God mounted on a Wave;
Dash'd the strong tide, and lead a floating War:
Which, when their out guards found, alarm'd the Camp;
But their confusion in a thousand shapes,
Befriended us; like Cadmus brood, they fell
By each others Swords, and made our conquest easie.

Selim.
By Haly's soul 'twas conduct for a God!
And worth th'experience of an age of arms.
O! now my Mother! peace is doubly welcome,
Not only in banishing my peoples fears,
But as the glory of my brothers arms.

Beg.
Tachmas has copied what your sword first drew:
You for your Father conquer'd, he for you.

Selim.
Said the Prince nothing of returning home?

Osm.
My speed had been prevented,
Had not some orders to the Army staid him.
But too morrows earliest Sun will see him here.

Selim.
A thousand Tumains for thy welcome news.

Sem.
Blessings for ever hang upon thy tongue.

Selim.
Fly then, and through my Kingdoms, loud as fame
Can speak, proclaim an universal joy:
Let plenty triumph in our streets, rich presents
Be shar'd among our subjects, not a face
Be seen in sorrow: Grief her self must smile,
When Seliman appears to Crown the day.
Let our soft Virgins now no longer mourn,
But fly to every Meadow, Bower, and Grove,
Supinely melting on the bed of love:
For the glad day comes on, that will restore
Their lovers to their Arms, and to my power,
Confirm new blessings, ne're enjoy'd before

Exeunt Omnes. Præt. Ish. Arb.
Isma.
'Twice have I held the glories of a favourite;
And sway'd the Father once, as now the Son;
High, as ambition join'd with power cou'd raise me.
Yet blasts have nipt my Summers blowing pride,
Wither'd the glorious blossomes of my hopes,
And left me leafless to the threatning storms.

Arb.
When Sophy Cabas rul'd, most true my Lord,
You shar'd some part of his divided favours:
But safe in Seliman's breast you sleep secure,
Far above envy, or a rivals reach.

Isma.
No, no, Arbanes, no; thou'rt short ei'd here:
There's yet a Cedar, that out-tops my pride;
That grows too fast, and shades me from the Sun:
'Tis Tachmas; baneful name to all my hopes,
Who by the Giant weight of his deserts,
Presses my fate, and keeps it strugling under.

Arb.
Ismael, in that name thou stab'st my soul
With the remembrance of my former glory:
Once I was great; my hopes as flourishing,
As now declind; my fate erected high
As victory could raise it; till the Prince,
That boy, my Scholar in the trade of Arms,
By treachery despoil'd me of those plumes,
My valour purchas'd with an Age of War.

Isma.
Why did you bear it?

Arb.
Dost thou not know the fate of Souldiers?
Wee'r but ambitious tools, to cut a way
To her unlawful ends; and when wee'r worn,
Hack'd, hewn with constant service, thrown aside
To rust in peace; or rot in Hospitals.
But tell me, Ismael! nay feel these limbs,
These arms, are they past wielding of a Sword?
By heaven I think not: or has my good old friend
Forgot its killing virtue? or has rust
Bound up its fury? neither; see, it comes,
[drawes.
And feels as keen, and looks as bright, and gay
As the young Warriors, when he first appears
In polisht steel, and marching to the field.
Then why am I lain by? why am I not
A general still?

Isma.
Ay, there's a question will admit debating.

Arb.
And not to be decided, till this sword
Appears in blood agen: O Ismael!
Thou kind regarder of my fame, I swear,
Were not thy stricter vertue to inspire
A generous heat of action in my soul,
I think 'twou'd settle almost to dishonour.
Alas! I was a conscientious fool,
And durst not think of vengeance: all my wrongs
Quite blotted from my memory, and lost;
But now they live again, and by my sword
Shall be reveng'd at full.

Isma.
Be calm, and hear me.

Arb.
Calm! Ismael! sure thou mock'st my patience:
Why I'm a Pidgeon hearted slave, a thing
So overgrown with that poor sneaking vertue,
I almost doubt my courage.

Isma.
Arbanes! know I look upon the Prince,
As a black Cloud, that rises on my glory;
I know it, and I hate him more then thou,
Tho' with less noise, I have no Army lost,
No titles of the War; 'twas not my province:
The Court has been my Sphear,
Where, with the musick of my tongue in counsel
I've charm'd opinion after me, been thought
The voice of fate, and e're my words cou'd mount,
The Sophy's ear has stoopt to entertain 'em;
Where I have revel'd long, and whence I fear
No banishment, unless outed by the Prince:
His merit flows fast as the Sophy's love,
Which if I aim not wide, like meeting tides,
May dash my fate, and sink my pride for ever.
Thus tho' from different lines our wrongs proceed,
They center in revenge.

Arb.
I'le stab him in his triumph.

Isma.
The policy of Soldiers! here is one
Can't purchase a revenge, without being hang'd.
A Statesman wou'd have found a thousand ways.
But see, we are disturb'd.

Enter Sunamire.
Arb.
My Sister Sunamire alone, and thoughtful!

Isma.
I know her haughty spirit
Resents an injury above her sex;
And has all the contrivance of a woman,
In working of a revenge: wou'd she was ours.

Arb.
A plot without a Priest, or woman in't,
Had been a prodigy.

Isma.
Let us withdraw, I wou'd unseen observe her.

Sun.
Tachmas to morrow to return, and therefore
Through Ispahan a general joy: goes it not there!
O tortures! furies! hell! ay, that's the cause:
No, Sunamire must curse his crowding triumphs:
And when he comes, my wishes be his welcome:
But if I must behold him; may these Eies,
These Eies that wanted fire to warm his heart,
Flash fierce as Basilisks, and dart him dead.

Isma.
Yet nigher—

[To Arbanes.
Sun.
Not that my fondness does exceed the bounds
Of a Court Lady; no, I can except
Whate're a score of fond protesting things,
In all their height of gallantry can say,
And the next minute part with 'em for ever,
If that were all: but to be scorn'd! that that's
The hell of hells, the plague of woman kind!

Isma.
Arbanes! said she not scorn'd?

Arb.
She did.

Sun.
Had I been born of vulgar parentage,
Then unobserv'd I might retire, and in
Some corner melt my sorrows into tears:
But here at Court,
Where each apartment is a Theatre,
And all the World observers of our follies,
For me to whine a tedious Scene of love,
Is beyond patience: let my fancy work—

Isma.
O now she's on the rack!

Sun.
Ay, now the presence fills, I see the Prince
In the bright circle, like a charmer stand,
With all the beauties of the East around him:
I hear his melting language, hear his Court,
His soft Addresses, and his sighing Love;
Whilst my false senses, flattering my despair,
Whisper through every Mansion of my soul,
To Sunamire they'r meant, they'r meant to me:
Then, then I can no longer bear the thought;
My eager joy works outward on my cheeks,
And every Eie observes my wild concern:
At which the Ladies laugh, and I too late
The cause percieving, blushing fly the room,
To mourn my past disgrace—My brother here!

Arb.
Sister I've heard your story, and am glad
That your revenge points at the man I hate.

Isma.
Long have I waited time, and now it comes,
The Golden minute comes, that offers us
A safe revenge, but mounted on the wing:
Say Sunamire, Arbanes, shall it pass
Unheeded like the common births of time?

Sun.
Why is it made a question? you are wrong'd,
Else why revenge? If so, why trifle you
The hours in talk? but coward man wou'd cool,
Did not the shame, or publick tongue provoke him,
More than the sense of honour, to revenge.

Isma.
O! you have rais'd a dire, provoking thought,
Wou'd make a timerous Anchorite fearless,
Run to the fatal steel, and stab his Prince:
Arbanes! now he dies, a thousand wrongs
Cry in the voice of Murder, for revenge:
Thine, mine.—

Arb.
But what more sensibly does touch me,
Is his proud scorn of thee.

Sun.
Brother, that word
Wou'd paint shame for ever on my brow:
But my fir'd spirit mounts; and if I blush agen,
Think it the scarlet trapping of my rage.

Arb.
'Twas like my sister spoke.

Isma.
You know the Sophy's of a nature hot,
Vain, and ambitious; yet withal most pliant,
And easie for the flatterer to mould
To any form; so Jealous of his glory,
That when you but oppos'd the Princes merit,
Ambition broke through all the bonds of love,
And shot his fiery soul out of his Eies.

Arb.
I mark'd, and hop'd for wonders from his passion:
But Hell! too soon he cool'd.

Isma.
And things that soonest cool, are soonest heated.
'Tis not a suddain overflowing passion,
But a just tide of rage, in ebbs, and flowes,
Must perfect a revenge: and tho his vertues
A while suppress his fears, yet they will rise,
Engendring doubts, distrusts, and jealousies,
Which of themselves will ne're be conjur'd down,
But with the fall of him, who first begot 'em.
We must foment his passion for Semanthe,
Since that conduces most to our design.

Sun.
How that my Lord?

Isma.
With my continual praises of her beauty,
I've blown his fame to such a raging height,
That now he'd brook a partner in his throne,
Rather than in her Heart.

Sun.
Alas! unrival'd he may keep that seat:
And if the beauties of the Persian Crown,
Did not attract beyond Semanthe's charms,
Sure ev'n in that he might unenvi'd be.

Isma.
Tachmas thinks otherwise.

Sun.
Ha! nam'd you Tachmas?

Isma.
Madam, I did the Prince.

Sun.
'Tis false;
Or if you did, yet falser, if you say
He casts one thought away upon Semanthe.

Isma.
Madam, let this speak for me; 'tis his hand,
And to Semanthe written.

[Gives her a Letter.
Sun.
The burning Fever rages in my veins;
But hold my heart, restrain the fury in,
Which heaves me, like the fighting winds for vent.
One question more, and like the stormy God,
I'le let you loose, to act it as you please,
To shake me into Atoms, tear my brain,
With a distraction that becomes revenge.

Arb.
She raves already.

Sun.
My Lord! how came this Letter to your hands?

Isma.
The Princes goodness wisely chose my Age,
To be his confident in these amours;
And knowing me unfit for fiercer joys,
Thinks I still love the sport, and therfore makes me
The go-between, the pander to their loves.
And I think I have so much of my office right,
To hasten on their ruines. True, I make bold
To taste their letters to 'em, as they pass
Through my employment (for to me they'r all
Enclos'd) what serve my ends, I keep, the rest
I am most faithful in delivering.

Sun.
Still he goes on, and every sound more soft,
Tender, and melting than the former: hell!
And to Semanthe all! O I cou'd tear
My self, them, you, and all the world, like this
Dumb piece of love; loose him to her! to her!
A poor, young, actless, indigested thing,
Whose utmost pride can only boast of youth,
And innocence; whose Stature speaks her mind,
And what fate meant her, a Plebeian Wife;
Whilst my erected head was rais'd to give
A fuller Majesty to Crowns; my years
(Rich with the Summer bloom of riper joys)
Design'd fit offerings to the God of love:
But now no more:
Since I am scorn'd, my nobler thoughts aspire
To glorious actions, worthy female 'ire:
Revenge, and death, and blood my working fancy fire.

[Exit.
Isma.
Arbanes after her; cool her if thou canst,
Or storm her into calmness.

Exit. Arbanes.
Enter Ismael Solus.
Isma.
Vertue avaunt! to villages be gone:
But haunt the luxury of Courts no more;
Much less aspiring Statesmens nobler thoughts.
Ambition is our Idol, on whose wings
Great minds are carried only to extreams;
To be sublimely great, or to be nothing:
And he who aims his actions at this mark,
Must rush with Manly resolution on,
Stopping at nothing when he has begun;
Still pass the shortest way, altho' untrod,
Not loyter in the beaten, honest road:
But let our Masters watch the heights we soar:
A States-mans Loyalty is growing power,
And we but watch occasion to devour.

[Exit.