University of Virginia Library

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.