University of Virginia Library

Act. 3.

Scene I.

Sisigambis,
Statira, Regina Statira virgo.
O dismall day detested be thy light,
And would the Gods (but Gods neglect our case)
The world were wrapt in a Cymmerian Night,
That no proud eye might gaze on our disgrace.
Why did the Heavens reserve my feeble age
To make my burden more, when strength grows lesse?
Could nothing but my harmes their wrath asswage,
Thus offred up on th'Altar of distresse?
Ah! have I spent my youth in pompe, and pleasure,
And had my spring-time grac'd with pleasant flowres
That th'Autumne which should reape the Sommers treasure
Might be distempred with such stormy showres?
And did smooth calmes and Sunne-shines for a space,
Make all my voyage through the world a sport,
That I should fall when neere to end my race,
(And toss'd with stormes) even perish at my port?
Yet for all this, were I expos'd alone,
The wretched object of Ioves thund'ring armes,
I should not thinke I had just cause to mone,
When I but wail'd mine owne, not others harmes;
Ah me! on those whom more then life I love
The state-disturbing blasts of Fortune fall,
Yet each of them some severall losse doth move,
But I in anguish beare a part with all:
I suffred when I saw Oxatres slaine,
My loving Sonne, and most entirely lov'd;
I dy'd in Darius, when he try'd in vaine
What Fates would do, yet still their hatred prov'd;
The heavens to plague me more, yet make me breath,
O rigour rare! what tortures rack my breast?
Who feele the sowre; but not the sweet of death,
Still cours'd, not kill'd, lest that should breed me rest;
Yet, Iove, if this may dis-enflame thine ire,
Let all thy lightning light upon my head,
To be consum'd with a celestiall fire,
Some comfort were, since that I must be dead.

Sta. Reg.
Leave mother those complaints, as fit for me,
Who still must grieve my friends, and grace my foes:
Whose fortune is so wretched still to be,
That all the world may wonder at my woes.
Loe, that deare Lord and treasure of my thought,
Whose presence I my Paradise esteem'd,
To such a precipice is headlong brought,
That he from ruine cannot be redeem'd;
Ah! on what prop can I repose my trust,
When of his state I first the greatnesse ponder?
Next, how his Diademe (drencht in the dust)
Was Fortunes Trophee, and all Asia's wonder?
He whose imperious speech the world respected,
And as an Oracle had in regard,
He vanquish'd now, and with contempt neglected,
(Even as a supplicant) can scarce be heard;
And yet I know this more doth grieve his soule
Then all the harme which happ'ned to his state,
His pow'r ov'r me that any can controull,
Who (as his Idoll) was ador'd of late;
Shall he (pure quintessence of my best part)
Then onely testifie the love he beares?
No, by mine eyes I will distill my heart,
And for his sake dissolve my selfe in teares;
Would God my breast might still transparant be,
That as through Crystall all might marke my minde,
And of my loyall thoughts the secrets see,
Whose great affection cannot be confin'd.
This prisons worst hath bounded but mine eyes,
And banish'd them the object of their joy,
My fiery heart well wing'd with fancies flyes,
And where thou go'st dost still thy steps convoy;
Deare, whil'st thou dost enjoy this common ayre,
Those who me captive thinke, do grosly erre:
For whil'st thou liv'st, how can thy Queene despaire,
Whom thou to soule, and Scepter, dost preferre;
Yet flatter I my selfe who am accurst?
Of those mishaps which make my thoughts to stray,
The memory may serve to make me burst,
Ah, ah, I faint, I feele my sprits decay.

Sis.
Help, help, alas, alas the Empresse falls.

Stat. Vir.
O day of darknesse! what a world of woes?

Sis.
This heavy sight my panting heart appals:
Heaven, earth, and all, are now become our foes.

Stat. Vir.
No creature hath more cause to mone then I,
Whose Fathers Fortune oft afflicts mine eares,
Whil'st I my mothers misery must spie,
So that of both my breast the burden beares.

Stat. Reg.
What inhumane humanity is this,
With such a cruell pitie to oppresse,
To bring pale ghosts back from the fields of blisse,
Yet to be plung'd in th'ocean of distresse?
O unkinde kindnesse that by saving slayes,
And would with lovelesse love, my love controull?
Ah! of this braving Sunne the loathsome rayes
Do cleare mine eyes, but to confound my soule.

Sis.
Deare daughter, strive your passions to restraine,
Lest that the torrent of your griefe grow such,
That both it carry you where horrours raigne;
And him o're-whelme for whom you mourn so much;
No doubt but he, if we rest captives thus
Disdaining those indignities of ours,
To venge himselfe in reobtaining us,
Will hazard all his orientall pow'rs;
But ah, what comfort can a wretch afford,
Whose care-worne breast the worst of woe containes?
Yet though my heart would faine impugne my word,
I hopelesse speake of hope, to ease her paines.

Stat. Reg.
Plagu'd with what is, what may be never pause,
Since we must hold our griefe our greatest good,
And do not feed false hopes, for we have cause
Even to sigh out our souls, and weep our bloud.

Sis.
I waile my Sonne.

Stat. Reg.
And I my husbands fall.

Stat. Vir.
I waile my Father, and in him us all.

Sis.
No woe like mine, mine cannot be releev'd,
I waile his woe who should my woe asswage,
Who lives by me, by whom I should have liv'd,
Sport of my youth, and pillar of mine age.

Stat. Reg.
No woe like mine, who for my Mate mourne here,
For love of whom, I had all others left;
But what a Mate? my selfe, or one more deare,
Yet from my selfe, my selfe by force am reft.

Stat. Vir.
No woe like mine, who born a Monarchs childe,
Hop'd by my birth of Fortunes best to boast,
Yet are my hopes even at the height beguil'd,
And what I hop'd in most, hath harm'd me most.

Sis.
I mourne for him who in my wombe was form'd.

Stat. Reg.
I mourn for him in whom love me transform'd.

Stat. Vir.
I mourn for him who did give forme to me.

Sis.
Shall I no more in him my Image see?

Stat. Reg.
Ah! shall I never in his joy rejoyce?

Stat. Vir.
Ah! shall I never heare his chearfull voyce?

Sis.
Would God my ruine might his ransome be.

Stat. Reg.
Would God my life my lifes life might set free.

Stat. Vir.
Would God the life he gave him life might give.

Sis.
Must those gray haires my Sonnes greene youth survive?

Stat. Reg.
Lest twise made dye, I'le first prevent his fall.

Stat. Vir.
Shall I live last to suffer for you all?

Sis.
But whil'st our wretched state we justly mone,
We may lament this Infant too a space,
Who in mishap inferiour were to none,
If he could apprehend his Tragicke case.

Stat. Reg.
O then how can my heart but bursted be,
Whom Nature moves most to bemone his harmes?
I thinke the hosts of heaven I thund'ring see
On me, my husband, and him in my armes:
Deare Image of my selfe, in whom I live,
Thy shape not shames the greatnesse of thy Sire,
But of thy birth cleare evidence doth give,
Thy sowre-sweet sight addes coals to my desire.
Thou who should'st comfort most, torment'st thou me?
Huge hosts of passions now my soule assembles;
O how I grieve, and yet am glad to see
Thee, though not him, whom thy sweet face resembles!
Go beare this Babe from hence, a wound too deep
Hath pierc'd me with compassion of his part,
Yet let him stay, I joy to heare him weep;
This mothers passion melts my bursting heart;
Of many woes this last is not the least,
That unbegun thy glory thus must end:
Thy Fortunes Sunne (my Sonne) set in the East,
Whil'st all the world thy rising did attend;
Ah! must this Innocent taste of mishap,
Whose tender age cannot discerne his state,
And thus be plagu'd, yea, in his Nurses lap,
Inherit woe by birth? ah cruell fate!
If thou could'st hope, what great hopes hast thou lost
Who art defrauded of so high a Throne?
Ah! in thy cradle must I see thee crost
Whom I design'd so great when we were gone?
Yet happie haplesse childe, who can'st not know
From whence the fountaine of our sorrow flows,
Nor what it is that men call high, or low,
Nor on what thorne the rose of honour grows.
Yet hast thou felt the pricke before the smell;
Is this the benefit thy birth-right brings,
A captive here in misery to dwell?
Then better not be borne, nor come of Kings.
O! what a noise is this that thus affrights?
I thinke of teares the torrent to restraine,
(Since soules when sad a just complaint delights)
They still would plague, yet stop me to complaine;
Or is it one who doth lament our case,
And is (a rare thing) in affliction kinde?
Who would behold how we can death embrace!
Death soveraigne physicke for a troubled minde.

Sis.
By many signes we may our selves assure
T'is Alexander whom we long'd not for.

Stat. Reg.
What? ah I die, and must mine eyes endure
That hatefull object which I most abhorre?

Sis.
Spare, spare such speeches now, lest all go wrong,
We are environ'd with outragious hosts;
Those who are weake must yeeld unto the strong:
For, Victors rage when as the vanquish'd bosts;
I will entreat him too, not for my selfe
(Age bows my body to embrace pale death)
But that you yet may shunne this wrackfull shelfe,
Whose youth and beauty worthy are of breath.

Scene 2.

Alexander,
Sisigambis, Statira Regina, Hephestion.
Rise Mother, rise, and calme those needlesse cares,
I come to cure, not to procure your woe;
The duty which I owe those silver haires,
Doth grieve my minde to see you humbled so.

Sis.
Most gracious Prince, forgive me if I err'd
In taking him for you, who stands you by.

Alex.
I finde no fault to see my friend preferr'd,
Even to my selfe; this is another I.

Sis.
My sorrows so confounded have my minde
That scarce I know my selfe, another lesse;
My soule in such an agony I finde,
As words, nor teares, nor grones cannot expresse.

Alex.
I pray you mother set those plaints apart,
They vex me more then sterne Bellona's broils.

Sis.
This tender name of Mother wounds my heart,
Whil'st nam'd by him, who of that name me spoils:
I was (woe that I was) a Mother late
Of two faire Sonnes (faire Sunnes) lights of my life,
But one is dead, and in a worse estate,
The other lives, involv'd in woe, and strife;
Like to the trunke of some disbranched tree
Which Æolus hath to confusion brought,
Since spoil'd of those brave Impes which sprung from me
Unprofitable stock, I serve for nought.

Stat. Reg.
I serve for nought, since serving him no more,
Who onely may my blasted hopes revive,
Loe (quite confounded) farre from what before,
Who him of me, me of my selfe deprive.
I live without my halfe, without my whole,
Prodigious Monster, whom the world admires,
I want the point, the pilot, and the pole
Which drew, addrest, and bounded my desires:
Toss'd by sad sighs in flouds of bitter teares,
I (save from ruine) look for no reliefe,
By what I feele still plagu'd, but worse with feares,
All comfort loath'd, my glory is my griefe:
My soule seemes to presage disastrous chances,
And warring with it selfe hath never peace,
My heart surcharg'd doth faint in deadly trances,
My eyes must grace the ground of my disgrace.
Hell hath assembled all her horrours here;
Ah! in the dungeons of this desp'rate brest,
As in the dark Tartarian groves, appeare
A thousand shadows to bereave my rest.

Alex.
Faire Princesse, spare those passionate complaints,
Which may augment, but not amend your harmes;
This voice which with your woe the world acquaints,
Doth move me more then all the Persians Armes.
Take courage (Madam) be afraid of none:
That you may hope what help I can afford,
I sweare by Ioves inviolable Throne,
And do protest by my Imperiall word;
Though for a while barr'd from your royall seat,
You compass'd here with troups of strangers stand,
Yet shall you still be us'd as fits your state,
And may (as earst in your owne Court) command.

Stat. Reg.
Ah! how can I command whil'st I am thrall?
What can I have, who wanting one, want all?

Alex.
Though brave it seeme in some proud victors sight,
To plague their captives, and triumph in ill:
The larger grow the limits of my might,
The more I labour to restraine my will.
What can be fear'd by them whom I defend?
Foes have not pow'r, and who with me remaine,
They dare not wrong, nor offer to offend
The least in ranke who doth attend your traine;
If any would impugne what I appoint,
Or would in ambush for your honour lye,
Or discontent you but in any point,
As Alexander lives, that wretch shall dye.

Stat. Reg.
O what an host of evils where ere I go
Are still encroaching to o're-throw my state?
Ah! must I be beholding to my foe,
And owe him love, to whom my love owes hate?
Should he help me who still his ruine plyes?
Heavens curse my heart, if stain'd with treason thus,
Let death in darknesse first entombe mine eyes,
Ere such a sight accepted be by us.
I (Lord) am thine, and thine I will remaine,
Thy love was planted in a fertile field,
Which gratefull now thee to reward againe
From flourish'd faith chast flames for fruits doth yeeld;
Yet doth misfortune this good fortune bring,
My constancy shall now be clearly knowne;
Another might have lov'd an happie King:
But I will love thee, though thou be o're-throwne.

Alex.
I labour much to comfort in some measure
This grieved Queene, that was a Monarch's choice,
Whose woe doth make my victory no pleasure,
For whil'st she mournes, I cannot well rejoyce.

Sis.
Most mighty King thou dost deserve indeed,
That (as for Darius) we should pray for thee,
Who do'st so much in clemency exceed,
That thou bewail'st our losse, no lesse then he;
Not onely thou surmount'st all other Kings,
In glory rising from thy labours gone;
And for those benefits which Fortune brings,
But in all vertues worthy of a Throne;
Thou do'st vouchsafe on me (more then I crave)
The title of a Queene, and Mother still,
But I confesse my selfe thy humble slave,
Whose life hath now no limits but thy will:
The dreamed good, that Greatnesse gave, forgot,
My count'nance shall be free from clouds of cares,
And I'le allow of this my present lot,
As one who for my fate my force prepares;
Yea, if this wofull woman here were free,
Who hath no heaven except her husbands face;
I could content my selfe (great Prince) to be
The meanest hand-mayd that attends your Grace.

Alex.
As if your Sonnes, command all that is mine,
And I will seek to second your desire.

Sis.
Heavens recompense this courtesie of thine,
Which in all ages thousands shall admire.

Alex.
Those captiv'd Princesses have pierc'd my soul,
Which even amid'st our heaven, have found a hell.

Hep.
His passions so what Stoick could controull,
Whom now to weep, their teares would not compell?
What age could earst such stately beauties show,
Which of perfection hold the highest place,
And borne to bring, though now they be brought low,
Do Beauty beautifie, give Griefe a grace?
Sir, such a victory hath not beene seene
As you have gain'd, since conquering (as appeares)
The largest kingdome, and the fairest Queene,
That Asia vaunted of, these many yeares.
Durst Leda's, or Agenors brood compare
With that sweet Queene, the honour of her kinde?
But as she is above all others faire,
As farre her daughters make her go behinde;
It seem'd at first that sorrow had beene sleeping,
Then whil'st those Virgins in their Grand-dames bosome,
With weeping beauty, and with beauteous weeping,
Did with a haile of pearle, blast Beauties blossome:
So large a pow'r, no Prince on Earth can have,
As hath Loves Empire in their face confin'd.

Alex.
What, what, Hephestion, what doth thee deceive?
Dare folly seeke to bragge so brave a minde?
Dare Cupid enter in an armed Camp,
And them who Mars have match'd for sport appall?
Must his soft seale even through hard metall stamp,
And make who conquer men, to women thrall?

Hep.
We dare resist (whilst many a thousand dyes)
The steely tempests of a world of men,
But if from yvorie orbes two Sunnie eyes
Do charge the soule (I know not how) O then
A secret pow'r (compos'd of hopes and feares)
So charms the minde, that it strange thoughts conceives,
And straight the heart (quaff'd drunke by th'eyes and th'eares)
Doth staggring reele, and full of fancies raves.

Alex.
But yet, in my conceit, I scorne all such,
And do disdaine to yeeld my selfe at all;
Yea, in that sort to bow I loath so much,
Let rather Mars then Cupid make me fall:
Should I be bound with fraile affections chains,
As one oblivious of my former fame?
No, no, this purpose still my soule retaines,
To ballance nothing with a noble name;
O! what a great indignity is this?
To see a Conquerour to his lust a slave!
“Who would the title of true worth were his,
“Must vanquish vice, and no base thoughts conceive:
“The bravest Trophee ever man obtain'd
“Is that, which ov'r himselfe, himselfe hath gain'd.

Hep.
I'm glad (my Soveraigne) that as you excell,
Not onely men, but Mars himselfe in armes,
That from your minde, you likewise may repell
The flatt'ring pow'r of loves alluring charmes,
That vertue rare, whose rayes shine in your words,
With generous ardour doth enflame my soule,
And o're my selfe to me such pow'r affords,
That some brave deeds must straight this course controule.

Scene 3.

Bessus,
Narbazanes.
Narbazanes , now ere the time be gone,
Let us accomplish that which we intend,
And joyne our wit, our force, and all in one;
(Ere known begun) that it may quickly end:
You see th'occasion (if our course we keepe)
To raise rare fortunes, points us out the way,
Yea, blames our sluggishnesse that as a sleepe,
So great a purpose doe so long delay.
Loe, angry Iove our Princes part disproves:
For, Fortunes worst what ever he attempt
From following him, the peoples minde removes:
“Distresse still is attended by contempt,
A ground for so great hopes who ere did see,
As heavens so happily breed in our mind,
For, since our King confounded is to be,
We by his fall, a meanes to rise may finde.

Nar.
I will most willingly performe my part,
For, I the same exceedingly allow:
Deare wealth and honour, Idols of my heart,
If you I may enjoy, I care not how;
Yet that this course may best be kept obscure,
Our care must seeme all for our Country bent;
“When mask'd with zeale, crimes are reputed pure,
“A shew of good doth vulgar mindes content,
“In dangerous plots where courage joynes with Art,
“Let slow advice, a quicke dispatch be us'd:
“What can (save successe) justifie our part,
“Who must command, or come to be accus'd?

Bes.
To Alexander one was sent of late,
To speake of peace, whose speech was spent in vaine,
So that (thus toss'd) most desp'rate is his state,
Who peace cannot obtaine, nor warre maintaine;
To cleare his thoughts which many doubts doe sway.
He now craves each mans minde who squadrons leads;
This for our purpose must prepare the way:
“Those who would compasse Kings, need crafty heads:
And that to gaine which we so much esteeme,
We can upon no meanes more safe conclude,
Then crooked counsels that doe upright seeme
To maske our selves, and others to delude;
He must (advis'd by some) renounce a space
The shew of pow'r, and from affaires retire,
That for a fashion one may use his place,
Not as usurp'd, but at his owne desire:
So may he try if others can bring backe
That which his fortunes ebbe hath borne away,
Then he againe his Diadem shall take,
And (as before) the regall Scepter sway.

Nar.
Well, then amongst our selves to flye debate,
Which such great actions oft-times under-mines,
I yeeld that you possesse the highest seat,
And will my faction frame for our designes.

Bes.
All that is one, which of us two receive it,
Since every thing doth equally belong us,
I'le take it for the forme, 'tis one who have it,
For we will part his kingdomes all among us.
But if he condescend to this we crave,
To judgements rash, which would at first seeme good,
Let him not thinke us two such fooles to leave,
That which so many else have bought with bloud;
“Who once advanc'd, would willingly goe downe,
“And (prop'd with pow'r,) not love in state to stand?
“This not the custome is to quite a Crowne,
“When one hath knowne how sweet it's to command;
“This name of faith but to get credit fain'd,
“Is (weigh'd with kingdomes) lighter then a Crowne,
“And even in them whose thoughts are most restrain'd,
“A Scepters weight would presse all goodnesse down.

Nar.
Yet of my thoughts some doubt new counsell claimes,
And with huge horrour aggravates disgrace:
The staine of treason still attends our names,
And with our errour burdens all our race;
Our purpose must accomplish'd be with paine,
And we (though pompe a space appease our soules)
Shall finde afflictions to disturbe our raigne,
And be when dead, defam'd by famous scroules,
The sacred title of a Soveraigne King
Doth worke a terrour more then can be thought,
And Majestie to brave my minde doth bring,
Whose count'nance only strange effects hath wrought.

Bes.
To idle sounds and frivolous reports,
Give straight a pasport, for they last not long,
And what thou do'st alledge, not much imports:
“A Crowne may cover any kinde of wrong;
“What hainous thing so odious is by nature,
“Which for a Kingdome not committed is?
“To be a King, let me be call'd a traitour,
“Faith (if for ought) may broken be for this.
“Those are but feeble braines which fancies loade,
“With timorous dreams which bare surmising brings;
“Who feare vaine shadowes, must not walke abroad,
“Too warie wits dare never worke great things.
If our brave project happily succeed,
(As now I doubt not but it shall doe soone)
We straight will numbers finde to praise our deed,
And sooth us up in all that we have done.

Nar.
Now that the time and manner may be sure,
The Bactrian bands shall all attend in Armes,
Yet faine a cause that he may live secure,
And be surpris'd not looking for alarmes.
Then through the campe a rumour must be spread,
That hopelesse Darius hath despair'dly gone,
By violence to dwell amongst the dead,
Which (as much griev'd) we must appeare to mone:
The Persians may with promises be pleas'd,
So to disarme him of his native pow'rs,
Then taking him, our thoughts may all be eas'd,
For whil'st he is his owne, we are not ours;
Till strong with titles, we with pow'r command,
His shadow shrouds, while rights are forc'd, or fain'd,
And his to daunt, or strangers to gaine-stand,
To raise our state, his shew must be maintain'd.
To Alexander after we will send,
And offer him his foe to bondage brought,
Then crave that us his favour may defend,
As those who all things for his good have wrought;
Then if we thus his grace cannot procure,
But that he us with rigour doe pursue,
With Darius death we will our states assure,
Then first our force, and next the warres renue.

Bes.
Let us hence-forth for nothing be dismaid,
But strive our selves couragiously to beare.
This dangerous action would not be delay'd,
Least time make him to doubt, and us to feare.

Exeunt.
Chorus.