University of Virginia Library

Act 4.

Scene I.

Darius, Tiriotes.
Ah! must I poyson now my Princes eares,
With newes the worst that ever burden'd fame?
Had I as many tongues as I have teares,
All would not serve my sorrowes to proclaime.

Dar.
Great signes of griefe I in thy face discerne,
And spare not to report this heavie crosse
To one (I feare) whom it doth most concerne:
Is't death, disgrace, destruction, treason, losse?
Tell on the summe of horrour at the first;
With no ambiguous words my paine prolong:
“A wretch for comfort craves to know the worst,
And I have learn'd to be unhappy long;
What least I speake, and yet suspect too much,
Art thou the Trumpet to proclaime my scorne
Which must wound me? (but ah) no torment such
As this to her who that disgrace hath borne.

Tir.
She was not wrong'd, as you have wrong conceiv'd;
The Gods from harme did study to preserve her;
She from your foe such favour hath receiv'd,
As from her Subjects who were bound to serve her;
But what a volly doth my voyce prepare
Of woes to charge your eares? woes full of dread,
Would God ere I my message can declare,
That I may dye in saying she is dead.
And was it not enough (poore wretch alas)
That I beheld her dye, and would have dy'd?
But that I must (arm'd with sad tidings) passe
To wound all them who heare what I have spy'd?
See how he stands (mov'd with those words of mine,)
As if by griefe arrested unto death.

Dar.
Yet doth the Sunne on my affliction shine,
And cleare the ayre though tainted by my breath?
And can I live, and looke them in the face,
Who have my o'rethrow (shamefull o'rethrow) scene?
And how I vanquish'd, vanquish'd with disgrace,
Did lose at once my Kingdome and my Queene?
Heaven bruise me all to powder with thy thunder,
That I no more may in the world remaine
The object of thy wrath, and fortunes wonder,
Spoil'd of all hope, yet kept for greater paine.
Ah, art thou dead? and doe I live behinde thee?
Thy faulty husband, think'st thou so to flye?
If it be thus, then know I where to finde thee,
This onely grieves me that too late I dye.
O Alexander, what such hainous ill
Have I done thee, that thou requit'st me thus?
Whom of thy friends or kindred did I kill?
This cruelty comes undeserv'd of us,
Though justly thou intended had this warre,
Mars from his rage made women alwaies free,
This tyranny shall all thy Trophees marre,
And still to thy reproch reported be.

Tir.
Thus of that Prince, you without cause esteeme,
I know her death him grievously displeas'd,
A wondrous thing which few or none would deeme,
He wail'd it long, and could not be appeas'd.
Even as my Soveraigne now, then did he smart,
And when he came to calme your mothers griefe,
As acting not his owne, but even your part,
He seem'd to need, and not to give reliefe.

Dar.
If any sparkes of that respect remaine,
Which much with thee should (duely weigh'd) import,
I pray thee (Tiriotes) now be plaine,
Or else strange torments shall the truth extort;
I loath to let this question scape my mouth,
Which both I blush to crave, and long to know,
And can it be, that this transported youth
Not urg'd to have that which I onely owe?
Could this fierce Prince even in his flaming age,
Have such a beauty purchas'd by his toiles,
And yet not seeke (forc'd by affections rage)
Her honours ruine, and my pleasures spoiles?
Speake frankely now, and tell what fatall shelfe
Hath crush'd my treasures Barke, and me defac'd:
The feare of ill is worse then ill it selfe;
“They twise doe dye, who dye, and dye disgrac'd.

Tir.
Let not those love-bred feares abuse your thought;
By all the world no fable I contrive;
If partially I speake, or lye in ought,
Earth open wide, and swallow me alive:
He whom your grace so wrongfully suspects,
Hath not in any sort your Queene abus'd,
But as his sister still (in all respects)
As chastly and as honourably us'd;
When angry Iove subverted had our state,
And view'd our thundred troupes disordered flight,
Light fortune then who flattered us of late,
Did make our state a mirrour of her might,
For, having found a Crowne foil'd on the ground.

Dar.
O endlesse shame which never can be cur'd!

Tir.
We straight imagin'd that some cruell wound
Had kill'd our Lord, and wail'd it as assur'd.

Dar.
Would God I then had dy'd, as I desir'd,
To have prevented those ensuing harmes,
Whil'st ere my honour and my hap expir'd,
A Crowne my head, a Queene enrich'd my armes.

Tir.
But Alexander having heard our cryes,
Sent one to learne the cause that mov'd our woe;
Who finding whence our errour did arise,
Gave full assurance that it was not so.
Then he himselfe did to our Tent resort,
And with the mildest words he could conceive,
Your Mother, Wife, and Children did exhort
Such terrours vaine (since but surmiz'd) to leave;
And he protested that they should expect
No harme of him their courage to appall,
Then all things did with great regard direct,
That no man might endammage them at all.
Thus when they were against all dangers arm'd,
(I thinke, for feare (for who would not have fear'd?)
Lest such rare graces might his minde have charm'd)
He never more before her face appear'd;
Else generous vertue, jealous of each thing,
Which (tempting reason) senses might allure,
(What rare restraint in a victorious King)
He fled what fault, or scandall could procure.
He doth his fame above all things preferre,
And will not be where it may blemish finde,
Nor give his eyes commodity to erre,
Lest thoughts impure might strive to staine his minde.
He whil'st that she was sicke, did loath delight,
And (gravely griev'd) all pompe and pleasure left.

Dar.
O hatefull heaven! that with such hellish spight
The worlds chiefe treasure, Natures glory reft.

Tir.
When he beheld deaths triumph in that face,
Which had triumph'd o're such a Monarchs heart,
With witness'd woe, even passionate a space,
The lookers on did much commend his part;
And when some time his dolour had o're-come,
Her funerall rites solemnly to decore,
He us'd such honour, as might well become
The Persian pompe in prosp'rous times before.

Dar.
O pow'r supreame! that of great states disposest,
And ratifi'st thy will with fearefull thunder,
Who as thou pleasest, placest, and deposest
Vncertaine worldlings, now above, now under:
I pray thy Deitie in my soules distresse,
If that th'inhabitants of heaven can heare
The plaints of them who this low point possesse,
Or that th' immortals can give mortals eare,
This favour last I onely doe require,
Establish first the Scepter in my hand;
But if through my desert, or thy desire,
The race of Cyrus must no more command,
Since angry heaven so high a hate contracts,
That I must needs my Diadem forgoe,
Let him succeed, who proves in all his acts,
So milde a Victor, and so just a foe.

Scene 2.

Darius,
Artabazus, Nabarzanes, Patron, Bessus.
If joyn'd by fates with men of dastard mindes,
Who to a noble death, base life preferr'd,
I should not waste my words amongst the windes,
But labour would that time might be deferr'd;
Though still resolv'd, your course confirmes me much,
Whom no disaster could divorce from me,
What man can doubt whom heavens doe backe by such,
When (bragg'd with bondage) fighting to be free?
My courage swels to see you marching forth,
Whose force and faith, which all the world doth sing,
(Oft clear'd by proofe, though fortune envy worth)
Might serve to make, farre more to keepe a King.
He gives our rebels Townes, not mov'd by love:
“Each Prince (though using them,) all traitours hates.
But that their course to take, this might you move,
His turne once serv'd, so forfeiting your states.
Ye to my fortune have not had regard,
As of my peace, so partners of my warres,
Which, though that I might not, Iove would reward,
And all the world extoll you to the starres.
How long shall I a vagabond remaine,
And flye a stranger who my right would reave,
Since by one battell we may re-obtaine
All that we lost, or lose all that we have?
Like some vile traitors, whom I will arraigne,
To hold me up, shall I goe cast me downe?
Must Darius onely by entreaty raigne?
No, none hath pow'r to give, or take my Crowne.
I shall not my authority survive,
Nor will I proffer a submissive breath,
My hand shall hold a Scepter while I live,
My head shall beare a Diadem till death;
If those franke thoughts which doe possesse my soule,
Such flames of courage kindled have in you,
A Macedonian shall not us controule,
Nor with disdainefull smiles brag whil'st we bow:
My state may testifie fraile fortunes change,
May she not him o're-whelme, as well as mee?
At least our hands beare death, if not revenge,
“Brave mindes when no more rests may still dye free.
Now call your valorous ancestors to minde,
Who from the Grecians tribute still requir'd,
And of whose deeds rare monuments we finde,
Whose merits make their memories admir'd;
Shall of your deeds, posterity be dumbe,
Which doth your fathers names (though dead) adore?
I am resolv'd, my triumph, or my tombe,
A Laurell, or a Cypresse shall decore.

Art.
What doubtfull silence thus your thoughts detaines?
We need advise with nought but with our swords;
He who the Persians wonted worth retaines,
Will answer now with deeds, and not with words.
Let us accompany our King in Armes,
Through bloudy squadrons to this fatall strife:
“No profit can be had without some harmes,
By slaughter onely we must looke for life;
And when our host (as I hope) doth prevaile,
Our Country shall have peace, we praise of right;
And if our fortune (not our courage) faile,
We dye with honour in our Soveraignes sight;
Let us (if vanquish'd) scorne base breath to buy,
A noble death may greater glory give,
Doe to o're-come, and yet not feare to dye:
'Tis needfull that we fight, not that we live.

Nar.
My words will first your Majestie displease,
Yet duty makes me speake where silence spilles;
“The best Physitian cures a sharpe disease,
“With some sowre potion that corruption killes;
“And skilfull Pilots when they feare a storme,
“To save the ship, will cast out pretious things,
You in some sort may imitate their forme,
For else a tempest totall ruine brings.
Since bent against the Gods, how can we speed?
To all our actions, fortune is oppos'd,
We must of force some other way proceed,
So have the heavens of our affaires dispos'd:
Give (Sir,) the state, at least your titles place
On some more happy man, not in effect,
But with your shadow cloath him for a space,
Till he your Realmes from ruine may protect.
This storme once calm'd, that now disturbes your state,
And Asia free from any forraigne hoste,
He shall with haste resigne the Soveraigne seat,
These Kingdoms gain'd againe, which you have lost:
All Bactria yet abides at your command,
The Indians, loe, would dye to doe you good,
Yea, many thousand thousands armed stand,
Bent for your State to offer up their bloud;
What? should we rush like beasts to needlesse strife?
Be well prepar'd, and then your fortune try,
“Brave mindes should death despise, not loathing life:
“For feare of danger cowards crave to dye.
“But vertue first all hopes accounts doth cast,
“And of each meane to helpe maturely thinkes,
“Then, when all else is done, death is the last,
“The which to meet true courage never shrinkes.
Now for the time, let Bactria be our seate,
To Bessus for the forme your Growne resigne,
Who, when he once hath re-advanc'd your state,
Shall with your foes o'rethrow his charge confine.

Dar.
Wretch travell'st thou thy Soveraign to betray?
Such treason dar'st thou to our eares impart?
Such treason under trust? stay traitour stay,
My sword shall search what lurkes within thy heart.

Art.
Sir, reyne your rage: this but new trouble breeds;
And weigh well what they are, what is the time;
It may be this from ignorance proceeds,
“In thought, and not in word, consists a crime;
Since that against your enemies you goe,
Be not severe in cens'ring Subjects parts,
But tolerate your owne, to grieve your foe,
Now must we strive to gaine, not lose mens hearts.
It by all meanes shall be exactly try'd,
How first his braine such fancies did embrace,
And if but simply, not puft up with pride,
He must be pardon'd, and restor'd to grace.

Dar.
And of my Subjects I would rather have
Then one to punish, them to guerdon all.

Nar.
If I have err'd, no pardon (Sir) I crave.
First heare, and if I faile, then let me fall;
I call the Gods to testifie my part,
Who can (commenting thoughts) cleare truth afford.
If ever treason harbour'd in my heart,
Straight let me dye, not pittied, but abhorr'd;
I counsell gave according to my skill,
It was my upright minde that made me bold,
And though my wit not answer'd to my will,
“Still zeale what it conceives, must needs unfold.
“We should be loth to speake in great affaires,
“Where words are damn'd, or ballanc'd by th' event:
“For, if things faile, the fault is still thought theirs,
“Who gave advice, though of a good intent,
Great Prince forget this not well grounded grudge:
Who dare be free if thus for words rejected?
At least examine first before you judge,
I rather dye absolv'd; then live suspected.

Dar.
Your fond opinion justly might be fear'd,
Which seem'd indeed sinistrously inclind;
For, at the first your speech to me appear'd
The poyson'd birth of some malitious minde.
But your purgation now hath taken place,
And of your faith I will no further doubt,
But hold you in the same degree of grace,
That you enjoy'd, before those words chanc'd out:
I thinke that Patron lookes with speaking eyes,
As if his minde were mightily perplex'd,
Come, Patron, tell what in thy bosome lyes,
By which thou seem'st so wonderfully vex'd.

Pa.
Sir, I would speake in private if I could,
That which affection fir'd with zeale affords,
“Let silence seale what friends with feare unfold,
Take you my thoughts, none else shall have my words:
Though onely bound by voluntary choice,
We follow you (all other hopes quite lost)
Your bodies shadowes, th' Ecchoes of your voyce,
As faithfull now as when you flourish'd most;
For where you are, we must remaine with you,
Since both our lots are in one vessell throwne,
I wish our Tent were made your lodging now,
For, we will save your life, or lose our owne.
We have abandon'd Greece our native soile,
And our retreat no Bactria now attends,
But those who us would of your person spoile,
Spoile us of all, whose all on you depends.
Would God all yours were bent to doe their due,
“Fame big by feare doth bring forth rumours rife;
I grant it grosse, if that his owne were true,
To trust a stranger with a Monarches life.

Dar.
What sudden danger doth of late dismay you,
Such inconveniences that you fore-cast?

Pa.
Sir, Bessus and Narbazanes betray you,
This day to you, or them will be the last:
They faine repentance onely for the forme,
Till every thing be for the fact prepar'd,
The clouds are gathering which doe boast a storme,
And they ere night, minde to invade your guard.

Dar.
I trust thy words, but yet I cannot wrong
Those who by nature love to me should beare,
Shall I leave them who follow'd me so long?
Then they may thinke, I merit what I feare.
I will await on what the heavens will send,
For, who can stand when fates his fall conspire,
And with mine owne, at least, least griev'd will end,
I live too long if they my death desire.

Bes.
Take heed in time (Sir) to this subtile Greeke,
The Grecian faith to all the world is knowne,
I am enform'd he by all meanes doth seeke
To gratifie your foe, as borne his owne;
“And marvell not, though mercenary men,
“Who sell themselves, sell all, this is not strange,
“They have no God but gold, nor house, how then
“Can they be constant, who doe live by change?
Though this vaine man pre-occupy you thus,
And such as would themselves abuse your grace,
Faith shall be found untainted still in us,
When our accuser dare not shew his face.

Dar.
Of Alexander those who hope for gaine.
By trait'rous meanes do but themselves deceive,
Since none in earth doth Traitors more disdaine,
Nor treason can in greater horrour have.

Bes.
Well, Sir, you shall know shortly what we are,
I will go see your Ensignes all displai'd.

Dar.
It better is since things are gone so farre,
Then seeme but to mistrust, to be betray'd.
Loe, Artabazus I have acted here
My part of greatnesse, and my glasse is runne,
Now Patrons speech doth evident appeare,
I see my end, yet can their course not shunne.

Art.
The Bactrians onely have imbark'd in this,
Go to the Greeks, which if with courage done,
When once your danger manifested is,
The Persians all will follow after soone.

Dar.
And what if I were gone to Patrons Tent,
And had the Greeks for guard as you desire?
He hath but thousands foure which are well bent,
They thirty thousand who my fall conspire;
And (doing this) I should their deed excuse,
In giving them a cause who have most might;
They may indeed my lenity abuse,
But by my deed they shall pretend no right.

Art.
O Prince to be bemoan'd, who can but weep
To see thee thus involv'd in such a state?

Dar.
Retyre you all, and seek your selves to keep,
I here attend the issue of my fate.
Ye wonder that a wretch yet breathing stands,
To whom the heavens no comfort can impart:
Feare shall not make me fall by mine owne hands,
No, let another sinne though I must smart;
None of you all have falsifi'd your truth,
But loyall still unto the end abide,
Now I you all disburthen of your oath,
Leave me alone, and for your selves provide.

Scene 3.

Darius.
O stormy state of Kings, vaine Mortalls choice,
The glorious height whence greatnesse grones to fall!
Ah! we (who courting fame, do hunt each voyce)
To seeme but Soveraigne must be slaves to all:
“Yet blowne like bladders, with Ambitions winde,
“On envy'd Scepters weakly we relye;
“And (whil'st swoln fancies do betray the minde)
“Not onely th'earth, but heavens themselves defie.
“Whil'st loftie thoughts tumultuous mindes do tosse,
“Which are puft up with popular applause,
“A state extended by our Neighbours losse,
“For further trouble but procures a cause;
“If Fortunes dark ecclipse cloud glories light,
“Then what avails that pomp which pride doth claim?
“A meere illusion made to mock the sight,
“Whose best was but the shadow of a dreame;
“Of glassie Scepters, let fraile greatnesse vaunt,
“Not Scepters, no, but reeds, which (rais'd up) break,
“And let eye-flatt'ring shows our wits enchaunt,
“All perish'd are, ere of their pomp men speak,
“Those golden palaces, those gorgeous Halls,
“With furniture superfluously faire,
“Those stately Courts, those skie-encountring walls
“Do vanish all like vapours in the ayre.
“O! what affliction jealous greatnesse beares,
“Which still must travell to hold others downe,
“Whil'st all our guards not guard us from our fears,
“Such toile attends the glory of a Crowne?
Where are they all who at my feet did bow,
Whil'st I was made the Idoll of so many?
What joy had I not then? what have I now?
Of all once honour'd, and now scarce of any.
“Our painted pleasures but apparrell paine:
“We spend our nights in feare, our dayes in dangers,
“Balls toss'd by Starres, thrals bound to Fortunes raigne,
“Though known to all, yet to our selves but strangers.
“A golden Crowne doth cover leaden cares;
“The Scepter cannot lull their thoughts asleep,
“Whose souls are drown'd with flouds of cold despaires,
“Of which base vulgars cannot sound the deep.
“The Bramble grows, although it be obscure,
“Whil'st loftie Cedars feele the blust'ring windes,
“And milde Plebeian souls may live secure,
“While mighty tempests tosse Imperiall mindes;
“What are our dayes but dreames, our raigne a glance,
“Whil'st Fortunes feaver makes us rage and rave,
“VVhich with strange fits doth to a height advance,
“Till, ere paine us, we first our life must leave?
“For glist'ring greatnesse by Ambition lov'd,
“I was the wonder of all gazing eyes,
“But free from shadows (reall essence prov'd)
“States just proportion ruine onely tryes.
Loe, charg'd with chains which (though they be of gold)
My states distresse diminish not the more,
When this prepost'rous honour I behold,
It but upbraids me what I was before,
And what was I before (as now I see)
(Though what afflicted was not clearly knowne)
But still in fetters, whilst appearing free,
And in a labyrinth of labours throwne.
Was I not forc'd to serve a thousand humours,
To scape the censure of a Criticke storie,
Still clog'd with cares, enrag'd with many rumours;
O glorious bondage, and ô burd'nous glory!
That dignity which deifi'd me late,
And made the world doe homage to my name,
Doth not oppose that which pursues my state,
But by my fall gives feathers unto fame;
My best was but a momentary blisse,
Which leaves behind this ever-lasting sting,
That of all woes no woe is like to this,
To thinke I was, and am not now a king.
No man with me in all th'accomplish'd joyes
That satisfie the soule, could once compare;
No man may match me now in sad annoyes,
Or any crosse which can provoke despaire.
Thrice fortune did my gallant troups entrap,
And I to fall did desperately stand,
Yet could not be so happy in mishap,
As to have di'd by some renowned hand;
But for my greater griefe, disgrace, and scorne
(The mindes of men so apt are to deceave)
They whom aloft my favours wings had borne,
Even they have made their Master thus a slave.
Ah! did not death in prison from me reave,
The sacred Soveraigne of my soules desires?
And I (wretch'd I) not present to receave,
The last cold kisse that should have quench'd my fires?
Yet, o thrice happie thou, who hast not liv'd
To beare a burden of this great disgrace!
More then a thousand deaths this had thee grievd,
To know I di'd, and di'd in such a case.
Ah! doe the pledges of our mutuall love,
(The onely comfort that the fates have left)
Rest prison'd yet? and may I not remove
My mother thence, as of all power quite reft?
My paines are more then with my pleasures even,
Since first my head was burden'd with a Crowne;
Was I exalted once up to the Heaven,
That to the Center Iove might throw me downe?
My ample Empire, and my Princely birth,
My great magnificence, and vaine excesse,
All cannot yeeld my minde one minutes mirth,
To ease me now in this my great distresse.
Loe here reduc'd vnto the worst of ills,
Past helpe, past hope, and onely great in griefe,
Two abject vassals make me waite their willes,
Not looking, no, nor wishing for reliefe.
If that my honour had beene first repair'd,
Then what though death had this fraile fortresse wonne?
I waile my life (since for disgrace prepar'd)
Not that it ends, but that it was begunne:
What fatall conflict can my count'nance marre,
Though me to bragge, death all his horrours bring?
I never shall wrong Majestie so farre,
As ought to doe that not becomes a king.

Chorus.