 | Sophonisba, or Hannibal's Overthrow |  |
11
ACT. II.
Scen. I.
Enter Scipio, K. Massinissa, Massina, Menander, Lelius and Varro.Scip.
The Scouts of Hannibal, have they survey'd
The Camp?
Lel.
Your will exactly was obey'd.
Scip.
I hear my gallant Friend, and grieve to hear,
That you the Chaines of Sophonisba wear;
In Glorie's School you had the foremost name,
Skill'd in the dark misterious Book of Fame,
Did those worn Characters with pleasure read,
Which told the Stories of the mighty dead:
But by this act of softness, you will drown
Those Noble parts, and forfeit your renown;
Truant to all the Honour that you had,
Drunk with love's tears, with smiles of Beauty mad.
K. Mas.
I strove, Sir, by your great atchievments taught,
To drive this Beauty from my lab'ring thought;
But I as well to Heaven might carry Wars,
And quench the influence of our crosser Stars;
Like those with fatal fires, she gilds my way,
And leads me on, that I may further stray:
Scip.
Then I must angry grow, since you are frail,
And Corrosives apply where Cordials fail:
To me prove civil, for your self be wise,
You have my friendship, therefore I advise.
K. Mas.
Mean you, my Lord, not Sophonisba love?
Scip.
As she's the Foe of Rome, I disapprove
All Treaties with her, shake her off in time,
Or against Honour you commit a Crime.
K. Mas.
And wou'd you have me live?
Scip.
When she is dead:
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Both you and Rome? Syphax whom I had wrought,
Her cunning Tongue to side with Carthage brought:
By Heaven I swear, if she my Captive be,
I'll use her as the Romans Enemy.
K. Mas.
You'd have me shake her off, and live; I'de know,
Whether this flesh you wear you can forgo,
And be the same? Here through my bosom run
Your sword, and when the bloody deed is done,
When your steel smoaks with my hearts reeking Gore,
Bid me be well as e're I was before.
Scip.
You are resolv'd it seems to cross my will,
But from a Friend I'll construe nothing ill.
K. Mas.
O then endure yet more, and let me speak,
Without some vent my lab'ring heart will break;
'Tis as a Friend your life, your life I spare,
Not as you more then King Rome's Consul are,
The far fam'd Scipio, and God of War;
Can any Man that's brave,
His Mistriss injuries with patience hear?
Let any other in your cause appear,
And justify the words that you have said,
By the Immortal Powers I'll strike him dead.
Lel.
My Lord.
As the King moves forward, Lelius lays his hand on his sword.
Scip.
Your gen'rous temper Lelius hold,
He shall be hotter yet to be more cold,
My vertue all the storms of Passion knows,
Has try'd its calms, its wondrous Ebbs and flows.
Since a Request so small you can deny,
From greater proofs how wou'd your friendship fly?
K. Mas.
Try me, my Lord, but any other way,
Heavens! with what readiness would I obey;
While blood kind warmth does to these limbs afford,
While I can shake a Spear, or wield a Sword,
You shall be ever Massinißa's Lord:
Go on, and wander the wide Ocean o're,
Go sail to some unhospitable shore,
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Though down to Hell I sink at your Command;
I'll throw my body on the untry'd sand:
Wou'd you have all the Carthaginians slain,
Or see their Cities levell'd with the Plain,
With cheerful toil the business shall be done,
Give me but Sophonisba for my Crown.
Scip.
To conquer Enemies abroad's no more,
Then every Tribune here has done before:
Search all the Army through, and find that one,
Who if I bid, the force of fire dares shun,
Or will not from a precipice leap down:
At my command Lelius would you refuse
To dye?
Lel.
My Fate for Empire I'd not loose,
At thy command, Temples and Shrines shou'd blaze;
I'd spoil their Gods, their Statues, Altars raze,
And with my fury mak'em dread thee more,
Then I fear them when all their thunders roar.
Scip.
To Conquer Kingdoms, and on Scepters tread,
Is but to imitate great Heroes dead:
Shou'd you your Arms to the World's limits bear,
The mighty Alexander pierc'd as far:
But if ungovern'd passion you can bind,
And quench th'inglorious ardour of your mind,
Your Fame shall with that haughty victors vie,
Which all the Eastern Beauties cou'd defie:
If still you are resolv'd her Charmes to trust,
The World may truly term you rash, unjust;
And when you perish, say, he dy'd for lust.
K. Mas.
You tax me, Sir, with Crimes I do not know;
But urge me not too far, for I may grow
Beyond all limits, just revenge pursue,
And blinded by my rage let fly at you.
Scip.
Unhand him.—By the Gods your worst I dare,
A single arm Rome's Consul cannot fear:
I shine above thee like a Star fix'd higher,
Whom though you cannot reach, you may admire.
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Like Meteors rather you false glory take,
Whose short liv'd blaze, low Earthy vapours make:
Yet since with fancyed fires you fill the Skie,
Shall not one Prince at your dread aspect dye.
Scip.
How have I err'd? your Tryall's at an end,
Heaven! That I e're should call this man my Friend;
How cou'd my Soul so grosly be o'reseen,
From all mankind wert thou selected then?
O most ungrate! ill tempered barb'rous King,
No good did ever from this Africk spring.
Did I for this each Roman friendship shun,
And to those savage Arms for refuge run?
When with the weighty cares of War opprest,
Lean'd all my troubles on that sullen breast;
Took no Petition, granted no Command,
But what was giv'n by Massinissa's hand.
What Triumphs did I ever yet design,
Wherein your glory might not equal shine?
Yet for a Woman, and a false one too,
Your Fame, your Faith and Friendship you forego.
Still let the great of Favourites beware,
They most deceive us, who most trusted are.
[The Consul turns away.
K. Mas.
Stay Consul, stay my Friend, my noble Lord;
Cou'd you then cast me off for one rash word?
Forsake me ever—O you never lov'd
Your Massinissa, who cou'd be thus mov'd?
Go if you please, leave this ungrateful King,
This salvage, barb'rous, indigested thing.
What e're my passion did, shou'd pardon'd be,
For I confess—you are a God to me,
Yet it had bin more friendly and more kind,
Not to have met the Tempest of my mind.
Scip.
But was it possible in this our strife?
That Massinissa should attempt my life.
K. Mas.
Pronounce my death, cut off these cursed hands,
Send me to Syphax, bound with shameful bands.
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And after death no more reproaches hear.
Scip.
By this return of virtue I am made,
For ever yours—say do I now upbraid?
Are these reproaches?
K. Mass.
O ye powers look down,
And hear me swear by your eternal Throne.
Whatever this your likeness shall command,
Though Sophonisba from my trembling hand,
I will obey—or curse me where I stand.
Scip.
As your first Trial strait to Crita fly,
And perjur'd Syphax at his Gates defie.
Our Troops must conquer when led on by you,
Chiefly his Wife endeavour to subdue.
Whose subtile working Wit wrought all this care,
And with her beautious griefs renew'd the War.
K. Maß.
This youth, my Kinsman, as a pledge I leave
My all, the darling of my Soul receive.
As I in War shall false or faithful be,
So may Just Heaven do both to him and me.
Maß.
Ah! if I am that darling of your Heart,
How can you leave me thus forlorn behind?
Take me along, or I shall think 'twas Art
That made you seem so pittiful and kind.
K. Mass.
Now all the Gods thy precious life defend,
Something that's fatal sure these Tears portend;
I was not us'd to weep.
Scip.
Nor must not now.
At your return we will to Zama go,
From thence to Bagrada our Forces draw,
To try our strength with dreadful Hannibal,
And keep that famous Conquerour in awe,
That talk'd of giving Laws i'th'Capitoll.
K. Mas.
My Blood boils in my Veins, and catchesfire;
Such words, such courage would the Dead inspire:
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To bloody 'count his boasted valour call.
Scip.
Like some vast ill built Tower, so high he grows;
His Marble-front nods with each blast that blows.
K. Mas.
Our Arms like Thunder levell'd at his Crown,
Shall all at once hurl'd by our rage, rush on,
And in a moment rowl his Glories down.
[Manet Massina solus.
Was ever Youth unfortunate as I?
But I will be reveng'd on him, and dye.
Perhaps to loose me in the Wars he fears,
As if my Soul did not out-go my Years.
Enter Rosolinda.
Ros.
Ive scap'd with much ado the Tribune's Hands;
But 'tis the Consul who must break my Bands,
And send me with a pass-port back.—Who's there?
What are you?
Mas.
First instruct me what you are.
And how you came to be thus Heavenly fair:
What is it makes your Cheeks so fresh and bright,
The Red of Roses, or the Lillies White.
Ros.
Were you ne're thus before?
Mas.
I never knew
Such Agues in my Blood, and Feavers too.
Ros.
I'le leave you, Sir.
Mas.
You cannot if you wou'd,
You may as easily forgo your Blood.
Like that I'le blushing creep about you still.
And my sick thoughts with silent pleasures fill.
Ros.
What is't you'd have?
Mas.
Alas, I do not know;
Something there is which Nature will not show:
When e're you speak, as at melodious strains;
There's something purles and trickles through my Veins,
Like Quick-silver it moves so cold and fast;
Then my Eyes twinkle as they'd look their last.
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It shews like Love, but in its birth destroy
A passion which scarce pitty can enjoy.
Mass.
Perhaps you think me born of Common Race;
But Royal Blood does my high Lineage grace:
Ah! do not then put out this harmless flame,
Since from your Eyes the tingling torment came.
Ros.
In vain your passion's ardour you alledge,
The Fort's impregnable, break up your Siege;
No force, nor art can the least Out-work win,
There's one for you too mighty entered in;
The haughtiest, bravest, foremost Man on Earth,
Who from the Blood of Gods derives his Birth.
Maß.
To his Immortal Kindred leave him then,
You may be better plac'd with blood of Men:
Besides, who knows, but his Divinity,
As Gods will sometimes very froward be,
May chance take pet as you in Love engage,
And thunder you to pieces in his rage.
Ros.
'Tis true, in War most dreadful he appears,
All Cruel, Glorious, dangers thick he wears:
Not to amuse you, when I have nam'd all
That's great, and lovely, think on Hannibal.
Mas.
Is't possible!
In Age can beauty ought that's lovely spy,
Can dreams of glory waking youth supply?
Ros.
Though his blood mov'd like freezing Currents slow;
Were his head whiter then the Alpine snow,
My youth his age into one piece should grow.
Mas.
All you have said, I know in jest was spoke;
What should you do with such a sapless Oak?
When a young pleasant Vine so near you stands,
And bows with all his Clusters to your hands.
Ros.
Honour to youth, and beauty I prefer,
I'm for the best and bravest Man in War;
And since the World knows none so great as he,
None else shall Lord of my affection be:
In shorter joyes let other Maids delight,
These transitory pleasures of a night;
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In my Illustrious Warriour's heart to shine,
And have my name on his high Tomb engrav'd,
This, this is she who Hannibal enslav'd.
Mass.
Though I no dawn of comfort can descry,
Yet in this hopeless Love I will engage,
And every thought of Royalty cast by,
Through all the World attend you as your Page;
For all my pains I will not beg one kiss,
That were to wrong your mighty Man of War;
Give a kind look, and I will prize the bliss
Above those hopes which the Ambitious bear.
Ros.
Since then you are resolv'd a while to wait,
As your first task shew me the Consul strait:
My beauty like a Comet shall arise,
That temperate Lord of Nations to surprize,
I'll thunder in his ears, and light'n in his eyes.
Exeunt.
SCENE The Carthaginian Camp.
Hannibal is discover'd in his Tent, sitting at a Table with lights.
Han.
How great's the care, the toil and lingring pain,
That racks a General's breast, and breaks his brain:
Argus had a hundred lights, and I but one,
Yet all the Day 'tis buisie as the Sun;
And all the Night 'tis watchful as the Moon.
When shall I sleep from noise and business freed?
'Tis hush'd, but beauty business does succeed:
Beauty which Jove cou'd draw from Heav'ns high Tower;
When Nimphs in Groves his Godhead stoop'd t'adore,
So much he lov'd delight, above Almighty power:
In his deep blood the soft Contagion ran,
Staining his Son, that vast Immortal Man.
The great Alcides, who a distaf made
Of that huge Club, which Nations could invade,
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Less'ning the Glories of his God-like eyes,
And tun'd his mighty voice to tender cryes.
Since Gods themselves, and God-like Men have lov'd,
Why should not I with beauty's Charms be mov'd?
The highest power has love's blind Mazes trod,
Then Hannibal love on, and imitate a God.
Enter Bomilcar.
Bomilcar here? so suddenly return'd?
You look as if your journey you had mourn'd.
Bom.
My Lord, we were discover'd.
Han.
Ha! how then?
Was your lost freedom given you agen?
Bom.
The gen'rous Consul knowing who we were,
Commanded us to dissipate our fear:
Then to his Officers gave strict command,
To let us take a view of every Band;
But such brave Men, and such strict discipline!
Han.
You speak, Bomilcar, as you knew not mine.
Bom.
My Lord, your pardon if I say, these eyes
Ne're yet beheld such gallant Enemies.
When we had seen what might less Spirits damp,
He generously dismiss'd us from the Camp.
Han.
This Civil brav'ry has oblidg'd me so,
I shall to Battle with half fury go:
Doubts enter here, which yet my breast ne're felt:
Doubts beget fears, and fears my courage melt.
But of my Love, Cousen, you nothing said;
Is she alive? how I that answer dread!
Or is it possible she can be dead?
Bom.
Though in the search our utmost wit essay'd,
We nought cou'd hear of that Illustrious Maid.
Han.
Perhaps his heart for temp'rance so renown'd,
From her all conquering eyes might take a wound,
And now he keeps her close.—which should he dare,
With fire and sword we'l carry on the War:
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The World's at stake, let it be his or mine.
Bom.
Throw boldly at the sum which the Gods set,
A hundred thousand lives at once are met,
That on your side will all their fortunes bet.
Enter Maherbal.
Mah.
Come forth my Lord, hast from your Tent, behold
Sights that may chill the fiery, dant the bold;
Shrill Trumpets Eccho through the Arch of Heaven,
Battles proclaim'd, and bloody signals given:
Two Suns their gawdy Charriots Curtains furl,
And at each other brandish'd lightning hurl,
Red bolts, rush flaming through a bloody sky,
Wounding the Air, vast pointed splinters fly,
Immortal Spirits drop down, and seem to dye;
A Host of Heavenly Warriours bright, and gay
Appointed, stand, and ready for the fray:
In golden Armes their shining Chiefs appear,
Helmets, and Shields of Diamonds they wear,
And Spears with Stars of value set, they bear.
Han.
The end of all things-sure is drawing nigh.
Mah.
Through the void of place swift Darts obliquelyfly;
Black swarthy Demons hold a hollow Cloud,
And with long Thunder-bolts they drum aloud;
Their Trumpets all with Sun-beams are inlay'd,
Where dreadful sounds by fiery breath are made.
Mountains are buried in the womb of Earth,
A grave they find where first they had their birth.
Our houshold-Gods sweat as they stand, and all
Your Garlands from their Temples untouch'd fall.
A Wolf but now his jaws all bloodied o're,
And by his side a Savage foaming Boar.
Your Out-gards fac'd, and slaughter there began,
Nor stopp'd they, but through all the Army ran,
Till satiated with blood the Monsters fled,
Vanish'd from sight, and in dark Forrests hid.
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Lead to the place, from whence we may descry
These dreadful Prodigies that fill the sky.
Command our Priests a Sacrifice prepare,
T'appease the angry Dœmons of the Air.
[Exeunt.
The SCENE drawn, discovers a Heaven of blood, two Suns, Spirits in Battle, Arrows shot to and fro in the Air: Cryes of yielding Persons, &c. Cryes of Carthage is fal'n, Carthage, &c.
Re-enter Hannibal, Maherbal, Bomilcar.
Han.
What means the Gods by these phantastick forms?
And unprovok'd, why do they raise such storms?
Mah.
When dreadful Prodigies like these appear,
The sure destruction of some State is near.
Our General's mov'd, his angry looks dart fire,
And noble rage does his griev'd Soul inspire.
Han.
Can this be true? Answer ye Powers Divine,
Shall in our death the Roman glory shine?
Has Fate our ruin fix'd? Is it decreed,
That Carthage fall, and Hannibal must bleed?
Yet with unshaken Souls our doom we'll wait,
And perish bravely, though unfortunate:
Yes, ye malicious Powers, this Hannibal,
Whom you untimely to destruction call,
Still what he was, shall like a Souldier fall.
Let Hanno shiver in the arms of Death;
But loud reports shall wait our parting breath:
We'l drown the talking Gods with our last cry,
And Earth shall thunder back upon the sky.
[Exeunt.
The end of the Second ACT.
| Sophonisba, or Hannibal's Overthrow | |