University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter Pharnaces, and Pelopidas.
Phar.
I'll hear no more; get me a hundred Horse
To be our Guard, I'll bear her hence to night,
And Ravish her, by all the fire that acts
This fearless frame, I will. Declare the diff'rence?
Is not the Blood of Queens and Princesses
Like other Womens? Souls alike infus'd;
Their Banquets richer, and the Drinks they taste
The very Spirits of the Purple Vine?
Yet we must think 'em cold as candid Ice,
Not a thought starting, free from warm desires,
As the bleak Girl upon the Mountain's top,
Cover'd with Snow, beat'n with constant Winds,
That feeds on Herbs and Roots, and drinks the Dew.

Pelop.
What, wou'd you have her fall like mellow Fruit
Whom yet no Sun has shone upon, no warmth
To ripen? 'bate a little of this fire.

Phar.
Pelopidas, I oft have told you, that
She knew my love, before she saw my Father;
For in the Plunder I first lighted on her:
Tho afterwards he took my beauteous spoil,
As now he does my Brother's. I alledg'd,
As late I led her weeping to her Chamber,
My constant passion, and his breach of faith,
All that a love most violent cou'd put
Into a Lover's mouth, like mine; but she unmov'd,
Insensible reply'd, the King, 'twas possible,
At last might kill her with his cruelty;
Yet to the utmost moment of her life
She wou'd adore him with such spotless love,
Such most Romantick faith, and such a deal
Of whining grief, that in a rage I flung
Away, and left her talking to her self.

Pelop.
And do you think this haughtiness will carry't?
He that will win a most exalted Beauty,
Must bend his Soul low, as he bows his Body,
Watch every Glance, obey her e're she speaks,
Cast up his eyes at each affected word,
And swear—Besides her Honour, Sir, her Honour,
Obliges her to stand a while at distance.

Phar.
Tis almost empty; Honour, Courtship, all
But gaudy Nonsense. O, Pelopidas,
Rather than buy my Pleasure with such baseness,
I'de be a Brute: Now, by my Life, methinks,
The happier Creature, cast before thy eyes;
The generous Horse, loose in a Flow'ry Lawn,
VVith choice of Pasture, and of Chrystal Brooks,
And all his chearful Mistresses about him,
The white, the brown, the black, the shining bay,
And every dappled Female of the Field;
Now, by the Gods, for ought we know, as Man
Thinks him a Beast, Man seems a Beast to him.

Pelop.
Be more considerate, less rash and hot;
I have thought of an Expedient to gain her.

Phar.
Thou art my better Genius, and shalt flourish,
VVhen Archelaus, like a blasted Tree,
Lies rotting to the ground.

Pelop.
Did Mithridates
Know of your Love to Monima?

Phar.
He did:
As publickly I show'd it as Ziphares:
Yet he, who like the Hesperian Dragon, thinks
The Golden Fruit of Beauty all his own,
Flew at me as a Thief, who, while he slept,
Had stoln his Prize, and made me pay it back;
Or swore my life shou'd be the fatal forfeit.

Pelop.
'Tis as I cou'd have wish'd: thus then, the King,
VVhose Heart Semandra kindles into Flame,
Cools every hour to his new-marry'd Bride,
And will not Bed her till the Coronation.
A meer put-off, wading in deep disgust,
And wishing for pretence to part for ever.

Phar.
VVhich he shall have; this Head of thine has thought it.

Pelop.
I, and the needful Andravar,
VVho feels the Pulse of his Affection,
VVill swear boldly,
As Witnesses who had both seen and heard
The jealous Monima inrag'd with Love,
But more for what her vast Ambition lost,
Strove to revive the passion that you bore her;
But you most generously oppos'd her Charms,
Which with unwillingness you shall confess,
And beg your fiery Father to forgive her.

Phar.
Pithy, and short; thou art the Soul of Counsel.

Pelop.
The very breaking of the business, throws
Her into Prison; where, while I guard the door,
Your Highness may, with as much ease, perform
Your pleasure, as your faithful servant thought it.

Phar.
In thanks, the vilest fawning lying Slave
Wou'd speak thee fairer than Pharnaces shall;
But let my deeds be grateful to my Souldier.
Enter Andravar.
What news, my Andravar?

Andr.
Your Guardian-spirit
Now lays about him, and invisibly
Acts wonders for you, madding all the Court:
Semandra weeping, and your Father burning;
Monima, like a Widow'd-Turtle, mourning;
Old Archelaus pushing on his Fate,
And Amorous Ziphares, led by love,
To tumble from the top of all his hopes.
Defiance from the Roman Consul Glabrio,
I sent, and the third Pontick War renew'd.
But Love so rocks your Fathers drouzy brain,
That all the Trumpets of the thundring Legions
Can scarce awake him. See where he comes!
Enter Mithridates attended.
His haughty courage scarce submitting to
The weight which presses him; but, striking out.

Mith.
She must be mine, this admirable Creature,
Her Charms are now inevitable grown;
And, while I seem to fright her from my Son,
I talk, and gaze, and dote, to my undoing.
See her no more; lose her with weighty thoughts,
And drown her in the Ocean of thy Power:
In vain I strive with cares to keep her down,
In vain does business sink her to the bottom;
This Bladder Love still bears her up again.

Phar.
Like a caught Lyon, raging in the snare,
He plunges in his passion, spends his force,
And struggles with the Toil that holds him faster.

Mith.
See her no more—and live! Impossible.
As well I might bid Meteors keep their lustre,
When all the shining Exhalation's spent
That fed their short-liv'd glory.

Enter Monima.
Mon.
O Mithridates! O my cruel Lord!
I come with all the violence of grief,
To take my last farewel.

Mith.
What means the Queen?

Mon.
The Queen! O mockery of State!
Pageant of Greatness! wondred at a while,
But strait neglected like a common thing.
I come, my Lord, to beg (O Heav'ns!) your leave,
Your Royal License, to retire from Court;
And, since my Father by your bounty Reigns
At Ephesus, I there wou'd go to mourn,
And languish out my wretched Life's remain.

Mith.
Why will you add new troubles to my Bosom,
Already burthen'd with the Wrath of Heav'n,
By your unnecessary grief?

Mon.
From Earth, I fear,
And not from Heav'n, those Cloudy Cares are drawn.

Mith.
No matter whence; they're dangerous to partake:
The tender Face of Beauty cannot bear 'em;
For, if from Earth they come, their Damp will stifle;
And, if from Heav'n, their Influence is blasting.

Mon.
Were you but kind, my Lord, as once you were,
What blasting cou'd I fear? what dangers, drest
In all the horrours of most dreadful Death?
But you are pleas'd that I shou'd not complain.

Andr.
Semandra, by your Majesty's appointment,
Attends without.

Mith.
Fair Monima, retire:
You will oblige me by a confidence
I cannot be, but yours; affairs of State
Now take me from you.

Mon.
Say, the affairs of Love.
I wou'd, my Royal Lord, but cannot blame you;
I feel a Spirit within me, which calls up
All that is Woman wrong'd, and bids me chide:
But you are Mithridates, that dear man
Whom my Soul loves; else, were you all the Kings,
All Worlds, all Gods, I cou'd let loose upon you,
For those deep injuries which I must suffer;
Cou'd, like the fighting Winds, disturb all Nature
With venting of my wrongs; but I am hush'd
As a spent Wave, and all my fiery Powers
Are quench'd, when I but look upon your Eyes,
Where, like a Star in water, I appear
A pretty sight, but of no Influence,
And am at best but now a shining Sorrow.

[Exit, led by Pharnaces.
Mith.
O Love! if that the Face of such Affection,
Such modest Sweetness, and such humble Virtue,
As my Queen bears, fix not my wandring Heart;
Break, break thy Bow, and burn thy useless Arrows:
By Heav'n, her kindness strikes my troubled Soul.
Enter Semandra with Andravar attending.
But see, she's lost again, Semandra comes,
Who drowns like blushing Noon her paler dawn,
And shows like Summer to the Infant Spring.
Semandra, what, still weeping? will not all
The Wealth which the Sun sees throughout the East
Dry up your Tears? methinks, an Empire might
Suffice for any loss. I give you all my Power;
And, with it, such a heart, as nought but Love
Cou'd bow: I throw it bleeding at your Feet.
Behold, behold, Semandra, while I blush,
The great effects of your Commanding Beauty.

Sem.
Were you yet greater than you are, which scarce
The Gods can make you; tho no bounds but Heav'n
Did limit your large Sway; tho in your person all
The Graces met that ever Man adorn'd,
The Blush of Rising Youth, the Conquering Eyes,
The Noble Smiles, and those most passionate Beauties,
Which drew my Heart to Idolize your Son;
I cou'd not love you.

Mith.
Oh, unmerciful!

Sem.
You said, my Lord, but now,
You blush'd to think of your degraded Power;
How then ought I to blush? I, who shou'd be
The daily Curse of your repining Subjects?
I, who am bound by Oaths and solemn Vows
To love Ziphares? By my Father's Order,
And by the tenderest Inclination too.

Mith.
You strike me dead.

Sem.
Oh, do but think, my Lord,
How wou'd Mankind, when they shall read my Story,
Tear all the Rolls, or throw 'em to the Flames!
How wou'd the weeping Maids curse my remembrance,
Shou'd I for pride of Power, a Golden Promise,
A gaudy Nothing, prove ingrateful perjur'd!
Leave all the goodness of the Earth to languish,
And break for ever with his matchless Virtue!

Mith.
You have said; and I confess it to be Heav'nly:
I know, and till I saw your Eyes, I lov'd
The Virtue of my Son; I lodg'd him near
My Heart, and set him down my Successor:
But now, Oh hear, and wonder at your Power,
Spight of his Noble Acts, tho to his Arm
I owe my Life, tho Justice speaks so loud,
And the soft Tongue of Nature pleads so well,
I hate him more than I did ever love him.

Sem.
Alas! wou'd I had dy'd when first you saw me.

Mith.
Had he conspir'd my Death, usurp'd my Throne,
Perhaps I might have doom'd him to be slain,
Yet sure I shou'd have wept to see him die;
But now, since he must Ravish that lov'd Gem,
I prize above the World, tearing you from me,
Giving me twenty Deaths, and cutting through
My very Soul, shou'd I my Empire give
To buy his Fate, I'de think it vastly sold.

Sem.
Then blasted be the Form that charm'd your Eyes.
His Fate! Oh, Gods! then you design his Death,
To reap the Bloody Harvest of his Life,
And, Atreus-like, to feed on your own Bowels?
But know, Proud Monarch, there are Powers who see
And punish Crimes like yours: Nor can I doubt
But they will save from your most Impious Rage
My poor lov'd Lord, the Innocent Ziphares.

[Weeping.
Mith.
Those Waters more inrage my Jealous Flame,
And those heav'd Sighs but spread my Anger's Wings;
Your Fatal Kindness hastens on his Death;
And that untimely Doom which I forbore
To execute, seems necessary now:
You give him all your Stock of richest Love,
Your Tears, your longing Looks, your Smiles, your Groans,
And over-bless him with your lavish kindness;
But niggardly to me you will not spare
A pitying Glance, one Pearly drop, to Ransom
The Soul of this despairing Mithridates.
Andravar, go, and bear the Prince to Prison.

Sem.
Stay, Andravar; the King has call'd you back:
See, he repents: Nay, I must hold you then,
And, if you stir, you take Semandra with you.
O, Mithridates! O ungrateful Prince!
What was it you did order? But behold,
His Eyes are fix'd upon the ground, he blushes
To think he cou'd so monstrously Decree
To murder the sweet hopes of all his Kingdoms,
The Gods be prais'd for this Serene Repentance:
Yet, with the fright, I fear I shall not sleep
Till Death does close my Eyes.

Mith.
O rise, Semandra!

Sem.
Never, I never will.
Oh all you pitying Powers, will not my cryes
And piercing Woes move you to melt his Soul?
Can you be deaf? Oh Cruel Mithridates!
Did you but know the workings you have made,
The heavy plight, the panting Passions here,
If you had but a Grain of all that World
Of Love, you swore you once had for Semandra,
You cou'd not see me thus: Misery distracts
My Reason; shou'd you turn to a new rage,
(Which I must fear, unless you Vow to save him)
I cou'd not bear it; you shou'd see me fall
Cold, pale, and with my Deaths Convulsions grasping
Your water'd feet, but never more rise.

Mith.
Give me your Beauteous Hand; I swear upon it,
By all those Powers we worship, by our Self,
When e're Ziphares dies, Semandra kills him:
She shall alone have Power to give him Death,
Or to recal his most untimely Fate.
Enter Ziphares and Archelaus:
Thus dearly do I buy the Red Impression
Which my Lips make; but take it, take it from me:
My Blood boils up again, my Spirits kindle,
That lovely Brand has lent my wishes flame,
And I am lost again in vast desire.

Ziph.
Semandra! live I once to see thee more,
Tho in my Father's Arms? 'Tis Heav'n, to gaze
On thy assaulted Honour; thus to see thee;
Thus tempted from me with the Charms of Empire,
Yet not consenting! No, I'll not think the World,
Laid at thy Feet,
Cou'd win thy Faith!
Yet, O dread Sir, forgive me:
If that my boding Heart suspects you more,
Then all that Heav'n cou'd send down great and charming,
Or Hell cou'd raise up horrid to destroy me.

Mith.
O Glory!

Arch.
O, consider, Sir, on that;
Think how the Romans will despise your Wars,
If Love now drive you—Speak, my Lord: he yields.

Ziph.
Oh, Royal Sir, or if the Name of Father
Can move you more, by that I will Conjure you;
By all the Charms of Stratonice's Eyes,
When first they drew you to adore their lustre;
By all the Pains you gave her when she bore me;
By all the Obedience I have paid you long,
And by the Blood I yet intend to lose
In your behalf: oh grant me my Semandra.

Sem.
Ev'n by the Passion my unhappy Beauty
First kindled in you, but I hope is dying,
Give me Ziphares, give him to my Longings.

Mith.
'Tis done; the Conquest is at last obtain'd,
And Manly Virtue Lords it o're my Passion:
It shall be so; away, thou feeble God,
I banish thee my Bosom, hence I say;
Be gone, or I will tear the Strings that hold thee,
And stab thee in my Heart. The Wars come on;
By Heav'n, I'll drown thy laughing Deity
In Blood, and drive thee with my brandish'd Sword
To Rome, I will, yes, to the Capitol;
There to resume thy Godhead once again,
And vaunt thy Majesty without controul;
But never Reign in Mithridates Soul.

Arch.
O wonderful effect of highest Virtue!
O Conquest, which deserves more Triumphs than
A hundred Victories in Battel gain'd.

Ziph.
You must, you shall be now the Lord of Rome;
Her Fate shall bow beneath your Awful Scepter.
O let me not enjoy the Life you promis'd,
The vast possession of the rich Semandra,
If I strike not Rome's Eagles to the Earth,
Take the Imperial Standard, Chase their Legions,
And bring in Triumph all their Leaders bound.

Mith.
Andravar, haste, Proclaim throughout the City
My Son Ziphares General against the Romans.
[Exit Andravar.
Come to my Breast once more, my dearest Son;
In spight of Love, thou art again my Child:
Thus, with a Father's bowels, I receive thee,
Thus melting o're thee with the tenderest Nature,
I pray the Gods to Crown thy Youth with glory.

Ziph.
Oh Happiness! Oh Joy! Oh blessed Tears!
Reward this Goodness, Heav'n; for Poor Ziphares
Is now so lost, he knows not what to say.
Let me devour your hands with Filial dearness:
Were my whole Life to come one heap of Troubles,
The pleasure of this moment wou'd suffice,
And sweeten all my griefs with its remembrance.

Sem.
Oh happy hour! if I not set thee down,
The whitest that the Eye of Time e're saw,
Let me ne're smile when I remember thee,
Nor ev'n in wishes offer at a Joy.

[Shouting within.
Mith.
Hark! with loud Cryes the Souldiers send their joys:
Go then, with the best Blessings I can give thee,
Conduct my chearful Subjects to the Field;
Take all the sighing Virgins wishes with thee:
Subdue the Consul, and receive Semandra.

Ziph.
O do not doubt me, my most Royal Lord;
If now I Conquer not, thus helpt, thus promis'd,
Thus prais'd, incourag'd, and thus over-blest,
I am the Mark, for all
The Synod of the Gods to shoot their Fires at.

Mith.
Semandra, veil your Beauties from my eyes;
I wou'd not trust their Influence, tho I thank
The Pow'rs above, so strongly Reigns my Virtue,
I think I might, and fear not a relapse:
In an Apartment, proper for your grief,
You shall be plac'd, till yours and my Ziphares
Return in Triumph; where no eyes shall see
Your private walks, nor mark your secret sorrow:
I thus divide you, that your meeting may
Be yet more grateful. Haste, my Son, to Battel:
Be short in parting, for there is no end
Of Lovers Farewels. The Powers above preserve you.

Exit Mith. with Pelop. and Andra.
Ziph.
Farewel Semandra; O, if my Father shou'd
Fall back from Virtue, 'tis an impious thought,
Yet I must ask you; cou'd you in my absence,
Solicited by Power and Charming Empire
And threatned too by death, forget your Vows?
Cou'd you, I say, abandon poor Ziphares,
Who mid'st of Wounds and Death wou'd think on you;
And, whatsoe're Calamity shou'd come,
Wou'd keep his love sacred to his Semandra,
Like Balm, to heal the heaviest misfortune?

Sem.
Your cruel question tears my very Soul:
Ah, can you doubt me, Prince? A Faith, like mine,
The softest Passion that e're Woman wept;
But as resolv'd as ever man cou'd boast:
Alas, why will you then suspect my Truth?
Yet, since it shows the fearfulness of Love,
'Tis just I shou'd endeavour to convince you:
Make bare your Sword, my Noble Father, draw.

Arch.
What wou'dst thou now?

Sem.
I swear upon it. Oh,
Be witness, Heav'n, and all avenging Powers,
Of the true love I give the Prince Ziphares:
When I in thought forsake my plighted Faith,
Much less in act, for Empire change my love;
May this keen Sword by my own Fathers hand
Be guided to my Heart, rip Veins and Arteries,
And cut my faithless limbs from this hack'd body,
To feed the ravenous Birds, and Beasts of prey.

Arch.
Now, by my Sword, 'twas a good hearty wish;
And, if thou play'st him false, this faithful hand
As heartily shall make thy wishes good.

Ziph.
O hear mine too. If e're I fail in ought
That Love requires in strictest, nicest kind;
May I not only be proclaim'd a Coward,
But be in deed that most detested thing.
May I, in this most glorious War I make,
Be beaten basely, ev'n by Glabrio's Slaves,
And for a punishment lose both these eyes;
Yet live, and never more behold Semandra.

[Trumpets.
Arch.
Come, no more wishing; Hark, the Trumpets call.

Sem.
Preserve him, Gods, preserve his Innocence;
The Noblest Image of your perfect selves:
Farewel; I'm lost in Tears. Where are you, Sir?

Arch.
He's gone. Away, my Lord, you'l never part.

Ziph.
I go; but must turn back for one last look:
Remember, O remember, dear Semandra,
That on thy Virtue all my Fortune hangs,
Semandra is the bus'ness of the War,
Semandra makes the Fight, draws every Sword:
Semandra sounds the Trumpets; gives the Word.
So the Moon Charms her watry World below;
Wakes the still Seas, and makes 'em Ebb and Flow.

Exeunt.