University of Virginia Library

ACT. V.

Scen. I.

Hannibal and Scipio.
Han.
Art thou the Chief whom men fam'd Scipio call?

Scip.
Art thou the much more famous Hannibal?

Han.
Since by our partial fate it is ordain'd;
That I who have such dreadful Battles gain'd.
That torrent like which from some Mountain falls,
Ran from the Cloudy alps to Romes proud Walls.
Shou'd now at last for peace inglorious sue,
I thank the Gods that they have chosen you,
To reap that honour by this Interview.

Scip.
In civil praise, and from so brave a foe.
True courage may a sense of pleasure show.
Thy words inspire me with such vast delight,
'Twill scarce be more to vanquish thee in sight.

Han.

Scip.
That your late landing upon Leptis Coast,
Restor'd those hopes which drooping Carthage lost.
All must confess, we know you are that man,
Whose glory to the utmost Thale ran.
Born in a Winters Camp, in Battles bread,
Whilst yet a Stripling durst an Army head.
Whose very name could make the Romans mourn,
And forc'd dread groans from every hollow urn.
The boldest Senators began to droop,
Yet when all fainted I alone stood up.
And fac'd that storm which threatned from a far,
Shot warmth, and rose upon 'em like a Star.
To Africk came and in few months retriev'd,
All that your Armes for many years atchiev'd.
Peace I refuse, unless you offer more,
You give naught yet but what was ours before.
Since all the neighbour Kings our actions eye,
It rests at last we should our fortune try;
Let one victorious be, the other dye.

Han.
Gods, that the glorious Hannibal should bow!
To be refus'd—It shall be battle now,
Forgetful Hero, couldst thou court the son
Twice, by whose force his father was or'ethrown.
Scipio thou mayst too late repent thy pride,
And vainly in thy death this fury chide.
On Fabius think, Rome shield, her Guard from harms,
Her sword Marcellus broken by my arms.
Remember great Emilius slain by me,
And then think last what may thy fortune be.
Er'e yet the day be done:
With Seas of goar wee'l drown the neighbouring Wood,
And yonder sun shall set in Roman blood.

Scip.
Prepare to hear thy last, thy last alarms.

Han.
In Battle we shall meet, to arms, to arms.

[Exeunt.
Enter Rosalinda in man's Apparel.
Ros.
Thus drest, and with this war-like weapon drawn,
What hinders but an Army, I lead on.
Oh cruel nature why didst thou disgrace,
So brave a Spirit with a Female face.
All women wou'd, but sure no woman can,
Be chang'd into the Lordly creature man.
However, with this Garb I fit my mind,
Whose high ambition has great things design'd.
I'le out and chase, if Hannibal succeeds;
And if he falls, then Rosalinda bleeds.

Alarms, enter Hannibal, Maherbal, Bomilcar.
Han.
Both wings are lost, the Carthaginians yield,
Fierce Caius Lelius drives 'em through the field.
The Gauls and the Ligurians quit their ground,
The Massisilian King does all confound.
With such swift force his Arms our Troops assayl,
As hurricans toss showers, and scatter hail.

Bom.
Wild as our Elephants about he raves,
And tramples on those mercenary slaves:
Who scouring through the field avoyd his strok,
And fly like flocks of Doves before a Hawke.

Mah.
Your valiant old Italian Troops stand fast,
Resolv'd to fight your Battle to the last.
The Conquering Consul riding or'e the Plain,
With all his Officers and bravest men.
The Hastati and Triarij this way comes,
With Trumpets sounding and with beat of Drums.

Han.
Auspicious Juno, thou that didst e're while,
Favour our cause, and on our Carthage smile.
Prosper our Arms this bloody dreadful day,
And Hannibal shall the foundation lay
Of such a Temple sacred to thy name,
As n'ere was found in the records of fame.

[Exeunt.
Enter K. Massinissa, Leluis.
K. Mas.
Their flight has wing'd the Cowards, let 'em fly,
Not worthy by such Conquering swords to die.
'Tis time we to the Consul should repair,
Rejoyne our forces and conclude the war.

SCENE of Hannibal and Scipio fighting, the Consul gives ground: Enter K. Mas. and Lel. and beat Han. off.
Scip.
Gods, what prodigious valour have you sent,
And what rewards are worthy to present!
O Massinissa.
With what impetuous swiftness fortunes wheel,
Turn'd with thy stroaks how did the valiant reel?

Lel.
As when some distant lab'rer hews an Oak,
We see his Arm rais'd for a second stroak,
Er'e the first blow's report can reach our ear,
So flagged our sense; nor could it reach him there.

Scip.
Th'Italian Troops shrunk from his Marshal fire,
But Hannibal himself did last retire.
All Lyon-like.
Whom a bold band of hunts-men having found;
And dar'd to rouse, he rowls his eyes around,
Lashing his sides, and tearing up the ground.
With trouble from th'unequal skirmish goes,
Majestick stalks, and turns upon his foes.
So from the fight went the great General,
Proud in his loss, and rising from his fall.

[Exeunt.
Enter Souldiers skirmishing, Rosalinda falls.
Ros.
Heaven thou hast done thy worst there needs no more:
Bold with my overthrow, I brave thy power,
And shake the Glass that holds my latest hour.
O Hannibal; did I for this design,
This heart, this youth and beauty only thine.
Pride and neglect on every lover hurl'd,
Scorn'd him that Conquers thee, and all the world.
From me lost Hero, learn, be great, and die,
The brave should bleed for loss of victory.

Enter Hannibal, Maherbal, Bomilcar.
Han.
Carthage is lost, and Hannibal or'ethrown,
What is there left that we may call our own?
The bleeding world, Rome does by conquest claim,
And swells the prize with our revolted fame.
Yet spight of fate our length of earth we have,
Thus vanquish'd glory shrowd thee in a Grave,

Bom.
Hold General the Gods your deaths forbid,
Vengeance is due, first let false Hanno bleed,
Who cut the wings of Conquest till she fell,

Mah.
By me he shall be headlong sent to hell.
Where Fiends for Treason kindle double fire:
Then let the famous Hannibal expire.

Ros.
Sure I the name of Hannibal did hear,
Maherbal, tell me, is the General there?

Mah,
Approach my Lord, view well this wounded fair:
Sure in your Capuan Mistress I have seen,
The same Majestick Air, and charming meen.

Han.
Ha! thou hast rows'd a thought that wracks me more,
Then all the losses I in Battle bore.
Either I dream or in this closing eye,
My dazled sences Rosalinda spie.

Ros.
Where do th'ambitious rest? O Hannibal!

Han.
What art that, dost upon the wretched call?

Ros.
One that's more wretched and more rash then thou,
That wou'd to fate, and not to Scipio bow.
Disguis'd and dying Rosalinda see,
Who mourns in death thy loss of victory:
That last disgrace.

Han.
Dire Goddess of war,
Too true I find all thy presages are:
The Gods have given a double overthrow,
Wou'd I had bravely perrish'd by my so.
Stretch'd in the field this loss I had not known,
Nor should my tortur'd soul thy ruin moan.

Ros.
Is it so hard our wishes to obtain?
Sad hearts with bleeding loose love's burning pain.

Han.
O dying fair look up, revive a while,
With one short joy eternal care beguile.
The setting sun all curtain'd round with night,
At his departure gives a larger light.

Ros.
Flow faster blood, It will not be I fear,
The wound's so small, death cannot enter here,
But shall I stay behind when honour's fled;

Han.
Live, and I'le raise that honour from the dead.

Ros.
Renown runs on like time but nere turns back.

Han.
Then we that swift renown will overtake:
Wee'l hast where glory baits to every hold,
And mount new fame till we outstrip the old.

Ros.
Dear Hannibal, alas I wish I cou'd:
But 'twill not be, life trembling takes the flood,
Till well nigh swallowed in waves of blood.
The Roman glory shines too fatal bright,
And with it's gathering lustre dims my sight.
Eternally adieu my body take,
Chaste and entire I kept it for your sake;
'Tis the last present that I now can make.

[dies.
Han.
For ever gone, all her sweet stock of breath,
Spent in one sigh, the riot of rich death.
Now by Arms the Gods too partial are,
Or else they envy'd my full trade of War.
Which cou'd so vast a state of beauty buy,
As far surpass'd the Mannors of their sky.
Dead Rosalinda.—

Bom.
Raise you from the ground,
And let not love your vertue's force confound,
Where is that heat and haughty courage gone,
Which against nature's lets your Troops led on?

Mah.
Think you for naught the Gods such valour gave,
You should prop Thrones, and falling Kingdoms save.
Buried in thought, and deaf to honour's call,
Your soul beneath her mighty pitch does fall.

Han.
Maherbal no, astonish'd thou shalt be,
We dare be brave in spight of destiny.
Though rob'd of all the riches love could give,
And stript of glory too yet we will live:
Courage is form'd of the Etherial mold,
And round it bands of Adamant are rowld.
To this still haughty breast such fire is given,
I could the summons meet of hell or Heaven.
Cou'd like the great eternal mover sway
The world in Arms, and teach it to obey.
'Twas noble grief that lately chang'd my form,
But I am ruffled now into a storm.

Bom.
Your Mistress body hence we will convey,
And in some hallowed Vault her relicks lay.

Mah.
Like Pilgrims once a year wee'l mourning go,
And on her Urne sad yiew with Cypress throw;
And all our stock of tears and sighs bestow.

Han.
Forever brightest of thy kind farewel,
Who wert too worthy, therefore early fell.
As the young Phœnix does in sacred myrhe,
His fathers dust to the sun's Temple bear.
So in fames houses shalt thou honour'd be,
And every God shall have a grain of thee.

Mah.
Since glory with her last breath she profest,
May wish'd Dominion widen all your breast.

Han.
Hast, hast Maherbal, and fresh levies make,
Honour that did but now calm slumbers take:
Shall like the Ocean in a Tempest wake.
Wee'l pass new Alpes, new Consuls overthrow,
To Rome with far more dreadful Armies go.
Forcing the Appian and Emilian way,
To the Suburra wee'l pursue the fray.
Nor stop till Rosalinda's statue crown'd,
Sits in the Capitol with Gods enthroan'd.

[Exeunt.
Scipio, K. Massinissa, Lelius, &c.
Scip.
I grieve brave Prince so often to deny,
She must a Captive be, or she must die.

K. Mas.
I know she must, if you will have it so,
But pardon may be granted to a so.
O spare her then as you wou'd be forgiven,
At your last hour, when you prepare for Heaven.

Scip.
Learn to ask blessings? those you shall not want,
This is a curse which I can never grant.
Like one who in a burning feaver lies,
And begs for water if he drinks, he dies.
I like a wise Physitian thwart your will,
And vanquish your distemper with my skill.

K. Mas.
For the God's sake, for friendship, glory, love,
By all that's good below, or blest above.
Let not at last my well taught Courage droop,
Break not the heart which you have foster'd up.
Oh Sophonisba—Give her to my prayers,
To these fast rising sighs, and falling tears.
No other crown I ask as valour's due,
For all that I have done, or all that I shall do.
Lo at your knees, behold a Monarch fall.
Yet more your friend, and then I have said all.

Scip.
Let not your passion Royalty degrade,
Rise valiant Prince, I've thought of what you said.
And as your friend my temper cannot keep,
Mourn your Misfortunes, and like you can weep.
Curse Roman Tyrany, and wish you were.
Forever Joyn'd with that unhappy fair.

K. Mas.
Oh you have blest me!

Scip.
Massinissa stay,
You only heard what friendship bid me say.
But as Rome's Consul and the Lord of power,
I now command you never see her more.
Unless the view to her may fatal be,
This is my last immutable decree.

K. Mas.
Is your feign'd pity come to this, your tears?
Falser then those which Egypts Monster wears.
Tyrannick Rome! Barbarous are all thy Laws,
Have I for this in thy accursed cause.
Starv'd life by lavishing her precious food,
My spirits lost, emptied my dearest blood.
Fought 'till I rampiers made of bodies round;
So mark'd with fate that I appear'd one wound,
Yet rais'd thy bleeding Eagles from the ground.

Scip.
Think no more on't her memory forget.

K. Mas.
Cut me to Atoms, tear my soul out, yet,
In every smallest particle of me,
You shall the form of Sophonisba see.
All like my soul, and all in every part;
Bath'd in my eyes, and bleeding in my heart.

Scip.
Lelius secure the Queen.

K. Mas.
Stay Lelius, stay;
I've done my Lord, and will your power obey.
The Queen shall die, on a Kings word she shall;
She must a victim for the Empire fall.
How am I now?

Scip.
For Sophonisba's loss,
Your Arms Numidia's Empire shall engross.
For your late Gallantry at Zama shown,
Kind Rome presents you an Imperial Crown.
Saluts you King, now all your griefs defy;
Thus we embrace thee as our brave allie.
Give your grief truce, thus prais'd, and thus adorn'd;
Let all the beauties of the Earth be scorn'd.

[Exit.
K. Mas.
Scorn'd be your glory more, and Roman pride,
While I in winding-sheets embrace my Bride.
For 'tis decreed that we must never part,
Wee'l be one spirit as wee're now one heart.
Traverse the glittering Chambers of the Sky,
Born on a Cloud in view of fate I'le lie:
And press her soul while Gods stand wishing by.

Men.
My Lord, if you would hear.

K. Mas.
What canst thou say?

Men.
Reason's a Rebel when high passions sway.

K. Mas.
And such art thou, yet speak, what shall I do;
Instruct me to be greatly false or true.

Men.
The Queen must die.

K. Mas.
Ha must? no more.

Men.
She to the Gods, is given or Roman power.

K. Mas.
Neither, she shall not die, nor shall she live,
The Romans slave, I'le give her a reprieve.

Men.
But how?

K. Mas.
Why thus, I'le kill my self, kill thee,
Rome, Carthage, all the world, and then she shall live free.

Men.
Glory or beauty 'tis ordained you lose;

K. Mas.
O Rome! Oh Heaven! both equally my foes:
Was ever heart thus miserably torn,
Were ever woes like mine so calmly born.
From the Contagion of my troubles take,
As much as might the spring a winter make.
Freeze the hot blood of a Crown'd Conquerour;
Damp the wish'd joyes of a young Bridal pair,
Yet then I shall have more then man can bear.

Men.
When vertue thus oppress'd, mankind does see,
What fearful dreaming fool will pious be.
Martyrs no more shall Racks or Flames require,
Nor dying wit, life, but to on desire,
To murder Priests, and Temples set on fire.

K. Mas.
Why, why, ye Immortal Gods is all this care.
Why do you drive your Creatures to despair?
Had I upon my Throne sat King of fears,
The Orphan wrong'd, or drunk the Widows tears.
Had I brav'd Heaven by some outragious sin,
For these afflictions there had reason bin.
But 'tis all well, I no injustice have,
The Gods but take the being which they gave.
Menander hast two bowles with poyson fill,
And when I call, like fate come forth and kill.

Men.
'Tis a dread deed to which you urge my hand.

K Mas.
It's glorious too: dispute not my command.

Men.
I'le not presume to fathom your deep thought,
But straight your will shall by your slave be wrought.

K. Mas.
Love and ambition have their utmost done,
'Twas love allur'd, ambition led me on.
Like a rash Boy, who a steep Mountain Climbs,
Big with brave thoughts of reaching Heaven betimes.
And puff's and blows, and mighty pains he takes,
Plyes all his strenth, and much ado he makes.
But having reach'd the top he veiws aloof,
The fancied Heaven, and all the painted roof.
So did ambition draw me with a wile,
And fleeting love my towering hopes beguile.

[Exit.
Enter Sophonisba.
Soph.
The Consul is return'd with conquest Crown'd;
Triumphant voices rend the Eccahoing ground,
And to the heavens the Trumpets Clangors sound.
Yet I no news of Massinissa here,
Shou'd he be slain, which I with reason fear.
Most lost of women, desperate, undone,
What couldst thou do? what Gods would thou attone?
Abhorr'd thou must to angry Rome repair,
And all the cruelties of bondage bear.
No Sophonisba, think what thou hast bin,
The Mistriss of two Monarchs, twice a Queen.
If thou must fall bravely, resign thy breath,
And be above the Romans in thy death.
Enter King Massinissa.
Oh my lov'd Lord, are you then come at last?
Are you alive? and do I hold you fast?

K. Mas.
Best of thy sex, and dearer then my life,
The fairest Mistriss, and the Gentlest wife.
So great and Glorious Emperours envy thee,
And art so good, that the Gods envy me.
They sent thee here but as an Angel scout,
With a short lightning view, to gaze, and out.
Torments of hell, and Racks of destiny,
Thou must, oh that I live to speak it, die.

Soph.
Blest sound! we shall not then to Rome be led,
But solemn Triumphs have in honours bed.
This last alarm my drooping spirits cheers,
As when the warour his lov'd Trumpet hears.
His Martial blood begins to warm apace;
And boyles and flushes in his kindling face,
And much he longs to strive in Glories race.
Speak death again, my Guard and sure Defence,
It bears a mighty sound and mighty sense.

K. Mas.
O keep thee there now while thy vertues glow,
And dart divinity: I'le give the blow.
Come forth Menander with those fatal bowls,
Whose Juice though it the body's force Controlls,
Revives the mind, and slakes the thirst of souls.
Enter Menander with two Bowls.
Give me the draught.

Soph.
What means my Royal love?

K. Mas.
By your bright self, by all the powers above,
No Angels Eloquence my soul shall move.
To die with thee and thy dear honour save;
What greater glory cou'd th'ambitious have,
'Twill build a Palace for me in the Grave.
Not but that in the agonies of breath,
I tremble when I think upon thy death.

Soph.
Thou best of men whose fame where er'e it flyes,
Shall draw up bleeding hearts and weeping Eyes.
Let not your soul tremble for me, for I
Can fear no torment but to see you die,

K. Mas.
Then cheerfully let's go, here's to my love,
And to our meeting with the blest above.

[drinks.
Soph.
Give me the bowl, mark if my hand does shake,
Or the fresh springing blood my Cheeks forsake.
Undanted to my lips, the draught I lift,
'Tis to my Lord, this is his Nuptial guift.

[drinks.
K. Mas.
Menander, faithful, confident, farewell,
Hast, and our story to the Consul tell.
On thy allegiance go without reply,
Thou should'st rejoyce to see me bravely die.
[Exit Men.
How fares my only love? My first last dear,
The sweets of thousand springs are blowing here.
All in thy sighs.

Soph.
Ah give your kindness o're,
Or we shall live and feel the Roman power.
Me thought death touch'd me with a Chilling pain,
But your warm kisses shot through every vein.
A kinder heat, and kindled life again.

K. Mas.
Thus let us launch into eternity.
Sink in death's Bottomless and boundless sea.
Like drowning friends link'd in Embraces fast,
Our Arms love's Nets about each other cast.

Soph.
What could long life or Empire give like this?

K. Mas.
Thy love is Empire and eternal bliss.

Soph.
I go, where shall we meet?

[dies.
K. Mas.
The Gods can tell.
Heaven's peace, and golden slumbers with thee dwell.

[dies
Enter Scipio, Lelius, and Menander.
Men.
See there great Sir, the effects of your rash Doom,
The victims you have offered up to Rome.

Lel.
What cruel eyes could pity here refrain,
Beholding two such Royal lovers slain.

Scip.
These unexpected objects so amaze,
My reason I could ever on 'em gaze.
Since thou most great and lovely Prince art dead,
War's marches Scipio shall no longer tread.
With Carthage peace wee'l instantly conclud,
Which hadst thou liv'd our Arms might have subdu'd.
To Rome our Drooping Eagles then shall steer,
Where after tiresome honours wee'l repair.
To some small village Lelius thou, and I,
And study not to live, but how to die.