University of Virginia Library

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.