 | The Rivals |  |
1
Act First.
Enter Arcon, Polynices, and Souldiers as from Victory.Arcon.
The Tyrant's high designs found ill success;
'Twas not so easy as he fondly hop'd,
To make this Country subject to his pow'r,
By Violence.
Polyn.
Sir, he presum'd,
That your Arcadians were grown weak with ease;
And Love had soften'd us to Cowardize.
Arcon.
But he has found the heat of Love in them,
Had not so stifl'd all their sparks of Valour,
But that they still retain'd enough to make
A Lightning which did blast his spreading pow'r.
Polyn.
And that they had not so much Courage lost,
Amongst the Myrtles, as not to deserve
A Victor's Laurel; Though they seem inclin'd
Only to Pastoral delights, yet when
2
They can write Tragedies (on those Who shall
Intrench upon their Liberty) in wounds;
And Characters made legible by blood,
Our soft Arcadians conquer'd these who were,
By Tyranny and War to hardship bred.
Arcon.
But yet Polynices, the day was bloody,
The Tyrant fought with so much resolution,
And made such Massacre amongst our Troops,
As if he had been arm'd with Innocence,
Or at the least, intended to atone
The Butcheries his Spleen had caus'd in peace;
By Slaughters which his Valour made in War.
Polyn.
Your Justice lyes in Harpacus his death,
Rising more splendid in his being set.
He was a most unbounded Tyrant, Sir;
And though his actions in this bloody War
Merited Life, yet his precedent deeds,
Deserv'd a death more infamous then that,
Your Sword vouchsaf'd him. Yet 'twas Justice in you
And you derive a Lustre from his Crimes:
His blackness makes your Glory shew more bright,
Thus darkness alwayes ushers in the Light.
Arcon.
Ascribe it to a Justice more Supreme,
From whose disposure we must own success,
A Grave contains him, that usurp'd a Throne,
Grasping at others Crowns he lost his own.
But, Where's the Provost of our Cittadel?
Polyn.
He guards the pris'ners hither. The old Man
Is valiant to a Miracle: He fought as if he
Reinforc'd his aged blood,
And gather'd life by taking it from Enemies.
Enter Provost, with Theocles and Philander, As Prisoners and Guards.
Arcon.
Welcom brave Man. What Chronicle's enough
For thy deserts? The actions of thy age
Shall keep thy memory from growing old.
Thy Worth which seem'd declining has broke out
With such surprizing Splendor in the fight
As dazl'd all our Eyes who did behold it,
We now have nothing else left but Wonder,
To entertain thy Merits.
3
Royal Sir,
Supported by the Justice of your Cause,
I might do things perhaps beyond my age,
But ne're out-doe my duty. I owe more,
To this my Country and your Sacred Person;
Then my exhausted blood or life can pay.
Arcon.
The Tempest is dispell'd, now thou shalt set
In a full glory which no future cloud,
Or storm of War shall ever Over-cast;
Thou shalt wear out the Remnant of thy dayes
In peace. Th'Invader of our Country's dead.
Prov.
But how shall these his kinsmen be dispos'd,
Who did so long support his reeling Cause;
Whose Valour oft restor'd their army's health,
By letting ours blood.
Arcon.
They are Gallant Spirits,
Treat 'em as Pris'ners, but as Noble ones.
I pity their Engagements in this War,
Who never own'd the Tyranny that Caus'd it.
Their Valour seem'd distracted in the fight,
As if they did desire to save the person
Of Harpacus, and yet disgust his Cause.
Their Courage was inflam'd with Loyalty
To him, but quench'd with pity towards us.
Prov.
They kill'd
With such regret, as if they did embrew
Their Swords in blood to blush for those they slew.
Arcon.
How are they call'd?
Prov.
One is call'd Theocles,
Th'other Philander.
Polyn.
This is that Theocles, who in reward
Of what he pleas'd to praise in me as Valour,
Rescu'd my Life when I was Pris'ner tane
By his own Troop, and gave me liberty,
A debt which I will strive to pay.
Arcon.
They are not wounded much?
Prov.
Not mortally;
But yet their wounds are not Contemptible.
Arcon.
Let 'em have Noble usage: Summon all
Our Surgeons to their Cure; Their Lives concern us
Much more then Millions do of Common rank.
I value pris'ners of their quality
Too much to let'em Captives be to death.
Yet Provost let their persons be secur'd
4
Prov.
Sir I shall obey.
My Lords, I am sorry I must guard you both
Into restraint: But 'tis my Prince Commands,
I shou'd convey you to the Cittadel.
Theo.
Lead on Sir, we have seen the Cruelty
Of Harpacus to others, and have learnt
By Eye-sight how to undergo Misfortunes.
The Tides of blood shed by our Cruel Uncle
Has our Compassion so much wasted, even
For strangers, that we scarce have any left
Now for our selves, we can with patience bear
Imprisonment or death.
Phila.
We have so often mourn'd when we were free,
That we can smile at our Captivity.
[Exit Provost, Theocles, Philander, and Guard.
Arcon.
They have almost melted my Severity
Into compassion.
Polyn.
I'm full of pity, Sir, for Theocles.
Arcon.
But why not for Philander too?
He seems as full of Merit.
Polyn.
Theocles is he,
Who from the oppression of a Multitude
In the late battaile rescu'd me from death,
And checking the oppressor's Violence,
In such a Cowardly and base assault
Dismiss'd me, not discovering his name,
Making his Courtesy the more obliging
By his not owning it.
Arcon.
I have heard you speak of it. 'Twas bravely done.
Enter Heraclia, and her Woman.
Polyn.
The Princess, Sir.
Arcon.
Where is she? My return is yet so new
I have not seen her.
Polyn.
She's Entring, Sir.
Hera.
What welcom shall give vent
[she Kneels.
To my Excess of Joy for your return.
Arcon.
Rise deerest Niece, we have fought hitherto
For Liberty, and to preserve your Knees
From such a disobliging posture; as
Too much resembles bondage. You must rise.
[lifts her up.
Hera.
Your presence brings me a Transport of bliss
Proportion'd to the fears your absence Caus'd
5
Arcon.
Cou'd you then fear?
How cou'd your Innocence so much distrust
The Justice of our cause, as to admit
A jealousy or doubt of the success.
Hera.
Fear's ever Credulous. I know not but
Some Sword ambitious of the blood of Princes
Might drink too deep of yours (although at ebb)
Leaving your Orphan-Subjects to be drown'd
In floods of Tears occasion'd by your fall,
Weeping their own ith' Prince's funeral.
[Weeps
Polyn.
How seriously she recollects a storm
[Aside
Rais'd by her fancy or at most but threatn'd
And talks her Eyes into a real showre.
Arcon.
How strangely does her Love reveal it self?
[Aside
She (Since her Joyes with violent Supply's
Silence her Tongue) wou'd speak 'em with her Eyes.
Hera.
But since Y'are safe return'd, Why shou'd I wee
Strange Joyes! Which do in Tears their Revels keep.
Since all your Country now enjoyes it's peace,
The Conflict of my passions here shall cease.
Noble Polynices I justly am Transported
But shall soon return to you with praise.
When in Fames-Temple I've inthron'd
The Prince, then give you those respects
Which you for Loyalty and valour have deserv'd.
Polyn.
Though my Merits were
As great as may deserve your notice, Madam,
Yet they are no more then what may still be nam'd
My duty.
Hera.
But Royal Sir, your own Joyes seem
Clouded with some thing that resembles grief.
Arcon.
I much rejoyce in that felicity
Our Subjects from the Victory derive;
But that exempts me not from discontent
Whilst I foresee the posture of my Throne,
When I Expire. No remnant of my blood
Shall ere survive th'Interrment of my bones
Or Solemnize my burial with a Tear
Of Kin to those my aged Eyes let fall.
Had I a Child, my Joyes would then be full,
Which now prove Empty and not worth a Smile.
Hera.
Wave, Sir, such melancholy thoughts; They prove
But wings to death: Those who so oft reflect
6
They thereby grow disconsolate, and then
Live out their dayes faster then other men.
Arcon.
What other object may deserve my thoughts.
Polyn.
Think rather Sir, on that Solemnity
Which by th'Arcadian Customes is allow'd
In honour of your Birth-day, and is still
With so much Lustre celebrated here
'Tis as 't were day-break to all the Year.
Hera.
That day shall still retrive you from the Grave,
And when one day i'th' Year shall put on black
To mourn your loss, the sight and Solemn shows
Which intimate your death, shall so be drown'd
I'th' Annual Joyes, wherein we still express
Your happy Birth, that it shall still be said
You are new born and not that you are dead.
Arcon.
You have almost persuaded me to lay
These serious thoughts asleep.
Hera.
Your Birth-day, Sir,
Comes as a Triumph to your Victory.
Your happy Birth you shall see Solemniz'd
With greater Splendor by the Tyrant's death:
They are preparing for the Celebration.
Arcon.
You have prevail'd: I am resolv'd to soften
My thoughts of War, by this Solemnity.
Thus Fields of Blood may us to Gardens bring
As furious Winter Ushers in the Spring.
[Exeunt.
Enter Philander, and Theocles, walking on The Tarras in the Cittadel.
Philan.
The Provost does oblige us by permitting
The freedom of this walk upon the Tarras.
Theo.
Cosin, How d'you? I am concern'd
So much in your wisht health that I enquire
After my own exactly from your pulse.
Phi.
I'm strong enough I hope for Misery,
Although I fear, we are for ever pris'ners.
Theo.
My thoughts are of the same complexion too,
Our fears do Sympathize, just like our Loves.
Philan.
O, Cosin Theocles, How are we lost?
Where are our kindred, friends and Country now,
Those comforts we shall never meet agen.
No more shall we behold the games of Honour
Where Youths (with painted favours hung
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Rival each others glory, We no more;
Like twins of honour e're shall exercise
Our arms agen. Our Swords which Lightn'd in
The peoples Eyes, must now like Trophy's hang
To deck the Temples of the Gods that hate us,
And signify our ruine and defeat.
Theo.
Our hopes are pris'ners with us, we review
Our former happiness in vain. Our Youth
Too soon will wither into age, and prove
Like a too timely Spring, abortive. Here
(Which more afflict us) we shall both expire.
Unmarryed; No imbraces of a VVife,
Loaden with Kisses and a thousand Cupids,
Shall ever clasp our necks, no issue know us,
No figures of our selves shall we e're see
To glad our age, and like (young Eagles) teach 'em
To look against bright arms.
Phila.
No more shall we e're hollow to our Hounds
Which shook the aged Forrest with their Eccho,
All pleasures here shall perish, and at last
(Which is the Curse of Honour,) VVe shall dye
Children of grief and ignorance.
Enter Celania and Leucippe as at a Window.
Leuc.
This Window, Madam, looks into the Tarras
Where they are walking, you may over-hear
All their discourse (the Curtain being clos'd)
Without discovery.
Cela.
Their looks betray
No great dejection at their Misery.
Theo.
Though our Misfortunes are as black as midnight,
I see two Comforts rising. We may here
Exercise patience, and enjoy each other.
Philander being with me I can ne're
Think this a Prison.
Phila.
Cosin, 'tis most true,
That our Misfortunes are together twisted
Which to our Misery brings some redress,
Affliction thus by spreading becomes less,
Our Mutual Society will teach us
To under-go what heav'n in Wrath design'd
And never weep for necessary fate.
That Man is free, who bondage bravely beares;
But he does sink himself, who swims in Tears.
8
How sweetly they express themselves, Leucippe.
Trust me me-thinks their Words might melt the stones
and make their passage through the Prison Walls.
Leucip.
Let's listen Madam.
Theo.
Shall we make worthy uses of this place
Which all men hate so much.
Philan.
How Cosin Theocles?
Theo.
What can we want?
Wealth we need none, we are each other's mine,
Each other's Wife, begetting every hour
New births of Love; we're Father, Friends, Acquaintance,
We are in one another Family's.
I am your heir and you are mine, this place
Is our Inheritance; and no oppressor
Dare take this from us. Here with Patience
We may live long. No surfets seek us here.
Philan.
Here no man falls by the rude hand of War,
And by his groanes half kills the next with fear.
Nor shall the Sea's here swallow up our Youth.
Cela.
How they forget their Misery's: They brook
Affliction with so smooth a brow, they seem
Pictures of Patience, and drawn in Oyle.
Theo.
VVere we at liberty and unconfin'd,
A VVife might disunite us lawfully,
Bus'ness divide us.
Phil.
Or I might sicken, Cosin,
VVhere you should never know it, and so perish
VVithout your Noble hand to close my eyes.
Celan.
What charming language his affection speakes?
What kindness wou'd he to a Woman show
That is enamour'd on his kinsman so?
How happy were a Maid which shou'd receive
So sweet assurances of Love?
Phila.
I'm almost wanton with Captivity,
What Misery it is to live abroad,
And every where? Me-thinks 'tis like a Beast:
I here enjoy a Court: I'm sure I find
A greater satisfaction.
Theo.
What had we bin,
Had we grown aged in our Uncle's Court?
Where Sin was Justice, Lust and Ignorance
The commendable Virtues of great men.
Had not the loving Gods found this place for us
We shou'd ha' dy'd as they did, ill old men,
9
But with their Epitaphs, the peoples Curses.
Enter Cunopes.
Cunop.
Gentlemen, the Clock has struck.
Phil.
Cosin, our time of walking is expir'd,
We must submit to this Man's Insolence.
Cunop.
What haste you make?
Theo.
Well Cosin, let's retire,
We'l sing our cares a sleep, and then to Bed.
Cunop.
You will a time for Catches in your Chamber.
[Exeunt
Cela.
Hard-hearted Cunopes; How could'st thou have
So little Mercy?
Leuc.
Madam, I have power
To make him much more civil
Cela.
What's your meaning?
Leuc.
He is in Love with me.
Cela.
In Love with thee?
Leuc,
Yes, Madam, Have you not observ'd his looks
And Carriage towards me of late?
Cela.
Now I remember I have seen him Smile,
And shew you more respect than he was wont;
But I am indispos'd to entertain
The Cause of Mirth or Scorn. I weep to think
The Gentlemen are so ill treated.
Leuc.
So much concern'd? I guess what wind blows up
This show'r, they both deserve to be belov'd
Madam, may I know which you 've pitch'd upon?
Celan.
What is thy meaning Wench?
Leuc.
Nay, ne'r conceal it,
I know by the distilling of your Eyes
There's fire underneath. Madam, confess.
Cela.
Confess? What? prethee!
Leu.
Which of the Gentlemen
May boast the Conquest? Which do you affect?
Cela.
I affect, both of e'm they are a pair
In whom the World is rich.
Leu.
Love both of them?
I have so much Experience in Love
To know then, that it must be neither.
Celan.
Well!
Suppose I'm inclin'd to one of them,
Am I oblig'd to tell you which it is?
10
To boast, and Love is boasted when reveal'd.
Leuc.
Is Love a Crime, that it must be conceal'd?
Cela.
Love may grow cold when publick it becomes:
Flames best preserve their heat in Lesser roomes.
[Exeunt.
| The Rivals | |