University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter Varanes and Aranthes.
Vara.
Come to my Arms, my faithful, dear Aranth
Soft Counsellor, Companion of my Youth;
If I had longer been alone, most sure,
With the Distraction that surrounds my Heart,
My Hand would have rebelled against his Master,
And done a Murder here.

Aranth.
The Gods forbid.

Vara.
I swear, I press thee with as hearty Joy,
As ever fearful Bride embrac'd her Man,
When from a Dream of Death she wak'd and found
Her Lover safe, and sleeping by her side.

Aranth.
The Cause, my Lord?

Vara.
Early thou know'st last Night I went to rest;
But long, my Friend, e'er Slumber clos'd my Eyes;
Long was the Combat fought, 'twixt Love and Glory;
The Fever of my Passion burnt me up,
My Pangs grew stronger, and my Rack was doubled;
My Bed was all a-float with the cold drops
That mortal Pain wrang from my lab'ring Limbs;
My Groans more deep than others dying Gasps:
Therefore, I charge thee, haste to her Apartment;
I do conjure thee tell her, tell her all
My Fears can urge, or Fondness can invent:
Tell her how I repent, say any thing;
For any thing I'll do to quench my Fires:
Say, I will marry her now on the instant:
Say all that I would say; yet in the end
My Love shall make it more than Gods can utter.

Aranth.
My Lord! both Leontine and she are gone
From their Apartment—

Vara.
Ha! gone, sayst thou! whither?

Aranth.
That was my whole Employment all this day:
But, Sir, I grieve to speak it, they have left
No track behind for Care to find 'em out;
Nor is it possible—

Vara.
It is, it shall;
I'll struggle with impossibilities,
To find my Athenais: Not the Walls
Of Athens, nor of Thebes, shall hide her from me:
I'll bring the Force of all my Fathers Arms,
And lay 'em waste, but I'll redeem my Love.
O, Leontine! morose old Leontine,
Thou meer Philosopher! O cruel Sage,
Who for one hasty word, one Cholerick doubt,
Hast turn'd the Scale; though in the sacred Balance
My Life, my Glory, and my Empire hung.

Aranth.
Most sure, my Lord, they are retir'd to Athens,
I will send Post to Night—

Vara.
No, no, Aranthes,
Prepare my Chariots, for I'll go in Person;
I swear 'till now, 'till I began to fear
Some other might enjoy my Athenais,
I swear, I did not know how much I lov'd her;
But let's away, I'll to the Emperour,
Thou to the hasty management of my business;
Prepare, to day I'll go, to day I'll find her:
No more; I'll take my leave of Theodosius,
And meet thee on the Hippodrome: away,
Let the wild hurry of thy Masters Love,
Make quick thy apprehension: Haste, and leave me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Pulcheria, Atticus, Leontine, Votaries leading Athenais in procession after her Baptism, to be confirm'd.
Athen.
O Princes! O most worthy of the World.
[Kneels.
That is submitted by its Emperour,
To your most wise and providential sway:
What Greek or Roman Eloquence can paint
The Rapture and Devotion of my Soul!
I am adopted yours; you are my Goddess,
That have new-form'd, new-moulded my Conceptions,
And by the plat-form of a Work Divine,
New-fram'd, new-built me to your own desires;
Thrown all the Lumber of my Passions out,
And made my heart a Mansion of perfection;
Clean as an Anchorite's Grot, or Votary's Cell,
And spotless as the Glories of his steps
Whom we far off adore!

Pulch.
Rise, Eudosia,
And let me fold my Christian in my Arms,
With this dear pledge of an Eternal Love
I Seal thee, O Eudosia! mine for ever.
Accept, blest Charge, the Vows of my Affection;
For by the sacred Friendship that I give thee,
I think that Heav'n by Miracle did send thee,
To ease my Cares, to help me in my Councils,
To be my Sister, partner in my Bed;
And equally, through my whole Course of Life,
To be the better part of thy Pulcheria,
And share my Griefs and Joys.

Athen.
No, Madam, no;
Excuse the Cares that this sad Wretch must bring you;
O rather let me leave the World for ever;
Or if I must partake your Royal Secrets,
If you resolve to load me with such Honour,
Let it be far from Cities, far from Courts,
Where I may fly all human Conversation;
Where I may never see, nor hear, nor name,
Nor think, nor dream, O Heav'n! if possible,
Of Mankind more.

Pulch.
What now, in Tears, Eudosia?

Athen.
Far from the guilt of Palaces! O send me!
Drive me! O drive me from the Traytor Man:
So I might 'scape that Monster, let me dwell
In Lyons haunts, or in some Tyger's Den;
Place me on some steep, craggy, ruin'd Rock,
That bellies out, just dropping in the Ocean;
Bury me in the hollow of its Womb;
Where, starving on my cold and flinty Bed,
I may from far, with giddy apprehension,
See infinite Fathoms down the rumbling deep!
Yet not ev'n there, in that vast whirl of Death,
Can there be found so terrible a ruin,
As Man: false Man, smiling destructive Man.

Pulch.
Then thou hast lov'd, Eudosia, or my Sister;
Still nearer to my heart, so much the dearer;
Because our Fates are like, and hand in hand
Our Fortunes lead us through the Maze of Life:
I am glad that thou hast lov'd; nay, lov'd with Danger;
Since thou hast 'scap'd the ruin—Methinks it lightens
The weight of my Calamities, that thou
(In all things else so perfect and Divine,)
Art yet a-kin to my Infirmity,
And bear'st thy part in Love's melodious ill:
Love that like bane perfum'd infects the mind,
That sad delight that Charms all woman-kind.

Athen.
Yes, Madam, I confess, that Love has charm'd me
But never shall again. No, I renounce him;
Inspire me all the wrongs of abus'd Women,
All you that have been cozen'd by false Men:
See what a strict Example I will make;
But for the Perjuries of one I will revenge ye
For all that's past, that's present, and to come.

Pulch.
O thou far more than the most Masculine Vertue!
Where our Astræa; where, O drowning brightness,
Where hast thou been so long? Let me again
Protest my Admiration and my Love;
Let me declare aloud, while thou art here,
While such clear Vertue shines within our Circle,
Vice shall no more appear within the Palace,
But hide her dazled Eyes, and this be call'd
The holy Court: But lo, the Emperour comes:
Enter Theodosius, and Attendants.
Beauty, like thine, may drive that Form away
That has so long entranc'd his Soul—My Lord—

Theod.
If yet, alas! I might but hope to see her;
But, oh forgive me Heav'n! this wilder start,
That thus would reach impossibility:
No, no, I never must behold her more,
As well my Atticus might raise the Dead,
As Leontine should charm that Form in view.

Pulch.
My Lord, I come to give your grief a Cure,
With purer Flames to draw that cruel Fire
That tortur'd you so long—Behold this Virgin—
The Daughter of your Tutor Leontine.

Theo.
Ha!

Pulch.
She is your Sisters Charge, and made a Christian,
And Athenais is Eudosia now;
Be sure a fairer never grac'd Religion,
And for her Vertue she transcends Example.

Theod.
O all ye blest above how can this be?
Am I awake, or is this possible?

[Athen. Kneels
Pulch.
She kneels, my Lord, will you not go and raise her?

Theod.
Nay, do thou raise her, for I am rooted here;
Yet if laborious Love and Melancholy
Have not o'recome me, and quite turn'd me mad,
It must be she! that naked dazling sweetness:
The very Figure of that morning Star,
That dropping Pearls, and shedding dewy Beams,
Fled from the greedy Waves when I approach'd:
Answer me, Leontine, am I distracted?
Or is this true? by thee in all encounters
I will be rul'd, in Temperance and Wildness,
When Reason clashes with extravagance;
But speak—

Leon.
'Tis true, my Lord, this is my Daughter,
Whom I conceal'd in Persia from all Eyes
But yours, when chance directed you that way.

Theo.
He says, 'tis true: Why then this heartless Carriage?
O? were I proof against the Darts of Love,
And cold to Beauty as the Marble-Lover
That lies without a thought upon his Tomb;
Would not this glorious dawn of Life run through me,
And waken Death it self—Why am I slow then?
What hinders now but in spight of Rules
I burst through all the bands of Death that hold me,
[He kneels.
And fly with such a hast to that Appearance,
As bury'd Saints shall make at the last Summons?

Athen.
The Emperour at my Feet; O Sir! forgive me,
Drown me not thus with everlasting shame;
Both Heav'n and Earth must blush at such a view?
Nor can I bear it longer—

Leon.
My Lord, she is unworthy—

Theo.
Ha! what say'st thou, Leontine!
Unworthy! O thou Atheist to perfection!
All that the blooming Earth could send forth fair;
All that the gawdy Heav'ns could drop down glorious!
Unworthy say'st thou! Wert thou not her Father,
I swear I would revenge—But hast, and tell me,
For love like mine will bear no second thought,
Can all the Honours of the Orient,
Thus sacrific'd with the most pure Affection,
With spotless thoughts and languishing desires,
Obtain, O Leontine, (the Crown at last)
To thee, I speak, thy Daughter to my Bride?

Leon.
My Lord, the Honour bears such estimation,
It calls the Blood into my aged Cheeks,
And quite o'er-whelms my Daughter with Confusion;
Who with her Body prostrate on the Earth
Ought to adore you for the proffer'd Glory.

Theo.
Let me embrace, and thank thee: O kind Heav'n!
O Atticus! Pulcheria! O my Father!
Was ever change like mine? Run through the Streets;
Who waits there? Run, and lowd as Fame can speak,
With Trumpet-sounds proclaim your Emperor's joy.
And as of old, on the great Festival
Of her they call the Mother of the Gods;
Let all work cease, at least an Oaken Garland
Crown each Plebeian Head: Let sprightly Bowls
Be doal'd about, and the toss'd Cymbals sound:
Tell 'em their much lamented Theodosius
By Miracle is brought from Death to Life:
His Melancholy's gone, and now once more
He shall appear at the State's Helm again;
Nor fear a Wrack while this bright Star direct us;
For while she shines, no Sands, no cowring Rocks
Shall lie unseen, but I will cut my way
Secure as Neptune through the highest stream,
And to the Port in safety steer the World.

Athen.
Alas, my Lord, consider my Extraction,
With all my other Wants—

Theo.
Peace, Empress, peace!
No more the Daughter of old Leontine.
A Christian now, and Partner of the East.

Athen.
My Father has dispos'd me, you command me;
What can I answer then but my Obedience?

Theo.
Attend her, dear Pulcheria; and, oh tell her,
To Morrow, if she please, I will be happy.
[Ex. Pulch. and Athen.
O why so long should I my Joys delay?
Time imp thy Wings, let not thy Minutes stay,
But to a moment change the tedious day.
The day! 'twill be an Age before to Morrow:
An Age, a Death, a vast Eternity,
Where we shall cold, and past Enjoyment lie

Enter Varanes and Aranthes:
Vara.
O, Theodosius!

Theo.
Ha! my Brother here!
Why dost thou come to make my Bliss run o'er?
What is there more to wish? Fortune can find
No flaw in such a glut of happiness,
To let one Misery in—O, my Varanes!
Thou that of late didst seem to walk on Clouds,
Now give a loose, let go the slackned Reins,
Let us drive down the Precipice of Joy,
As if that all the Winds of Heav'n were for us.

Vara.
My Lord, I am glad to find the Gale is turn'd,
And give you Joy of this auspicious Fortune.
Plough on your way, with all your Streamers out:
With all your glorious Flags and Streamers ride
Triumphant on—And leave me to the Waves,
The Sands, the Winds, the Rocks, the sure destruction
And ready Gulphs that gape to swallow me.

Theo.
It was thy Hand that drew me from the Grave,
Who had been dead by this time to Ambition,
To Crowns, to Titles, and my flighted Greatness.
But still as if each work of thine deserv'd
The smile of Heav'n—thy Theodosius met
With something dearer than his Diadem,
With all that's worth a wish, that's worth a life;
I met with that which made me leave the world.

Vara.
And I, O turn of Chance! O cursed Fortune!
Have lost at once all that could make me happy.
O ye too partial Powers! But now no more
The Gods, my dear, my most lov'd Theodosius,
Double all those Joys that thou hast met upon thee;
For sure thou art most worthy, worthy more
Than Jove in all his Prodigality
Can e'er bestow in Blessings on Mankind!
And oh, methinks, my Soul is strangely mov'd,
Takes it the more unkindly of her Stars,
That thou and I cannot be blest together:
For I must leave thee, Friend! this night must leave thee,
To go in doubtful search of what perhaps
I ne'er shall find: if so my cruel Fate
Has order'd it: Why then farewel for ever,
For I shall never, never see thee more.

Theo.
How sensible my tender Soul is grown
Of what you utter! O my gallant Friend!
O Brother! O Varanes! Do not judge
By what I speak? for Sighs will interrupt me;
Judge by my Tears, judge by these strict Embraces,
And by my last Resolve: Tho' I have met
With what in silence I so long ador'd,
Tho' in the Rapture of protesting Joys,
I had set down to morrow for my Nuptials;
And Atticus to Night prepares the Temple.
Yet my Varanes, I will rob my Soul
Of all her Health, of my Imperial Bride,
And wander with thee in the search of that
On which thy Life depends—

Vara.
If this I suffer,
Conclude me then begotten of a Hind,
And bred in Wilds: No, Theodosius, no;
I charge thee by our Friendship, and conjure thee
By all the Gods, to mention this no more:
Perhaps, dear Friend, I shall be sooner here
Than you expect, or I my self imagine:
What most I grieve, is that I cannot wait
To see your Nuptials: Yet my Soul is with you,
And all my Adorations to your Bride.

Theo.
What, my Varanes, will you be so cruel
As not to see my Bride before you go?
Or are you angry at your Rival's Charms,
Who has already ravisht half my Heart,
That once was all your own?

Vara.
You know I am disorder'd!
My melancholy will not suit her blest Condition.
[Exit. Theo.
And the Gods know, since thou, my Athenais,
Art fled from these sick Eyes, all other Women
To my pall'd Soul seem like the Ghost of Beauty,
And haunt my memory with the loss of thee.

Enter Athenais, Theodosius Leading her.
Theo.
Behold, my Lord, the occasion of my Joy.

Vara.
O ye immortal Gods! Aranthes! oh!
Look there, and wonder: Ha! is't possible?

Athen.
My Lord, the Emperour says you are his Friend,
He charges me to use my Interest,
And beg of you to stay, at least so long
As our Espousals will be solemnizing;
I told him I was honour'd once to know you;
But that so slightly, as I could not warrant
The grant of any thing that I should ask you—

Vara.
O Heaven! and Earth! O Athenais! why,
VVhy dost thou use me thus? Had I the VVorld,
Thou know'st it should be thine.

Athen.
I know not that—
But yet, to make sure work, one half of it
Is mine already, Sir, without your giving.
My Lord, the Prince is obstinate, his Glory
Scorns to be mov'd by the weak Breath of Woman;
He is all Heroe, bent for higher Game;
Therefore, 'tis nobler, Sir, to let him go:
If not for him, my Lord, yet for my self,
I must intreat the Favour to retire.

[Exit. Athen. &c.
Vara.
Death! and Despair! Confusion! Hell and Furies!

Theo.
Heav'n guard thy Health, and still preserve thy Vertue,
VVhat should this mean? I fear the Consequence,
For 'tis too plain they know each other well.

Vara.
Undone! Aranthes! lost, undone for ever,
I see my Doom, I read it with broad Eyes,
As plain as if I saw the Book of Fate:
Yet I will muster all my Spirits up,
Digest my Griefs, swallow the rising Passions.
Yes, I will stand this Shock of all the Gods
VVell as I can, and struggle for my Life.

Theo.
You muse, my Lord: and if you'll give me leave
To judge your thoughts, they seem employ'd at present
About my Bride: I guess you know her too.

Vara.
His Bride! O Gods! give me a moments Patience!
I must confess the sight of Athenais,
VVhere I so little did expect to see her,
So grac'd and so adorn'd, did raise my wonder;
But what exceeds all admiration, is
That you should talk of making her your Bride;
'Tis such a blind effect of monstrous Fortune,
That tho' I well remember you affirm'd it,
I cannot yet believe—

Theo.
Then now believe me:
By all the Pow'rs Divine, I will espouse her.

Vara.
Ha! I shall leap the bounds, Come, come, my Lord.
By all these Pow'rs you nam'd, I say you must not.

Theo.
I say, I will; and who shall bar my pleasure?
Yet more, I speak the Judgment of my Soul,
Weigh but with Fortune Merit in the Balance,
And Athenais loses by the Marriage.

Vara.
Relentless Fates! malicious cruel Pow'rs!
O for what Crime do you thus rack your Creature?
Sir, I must tell you this unkingly meanness
Suits the Profession of an Anchorite well,
But in an Oriental Emperour
It gives offence; nor can you without Scandal,
Without the notion of a groveling Spirit,
Espouse the Daughter of old Leontine,
Whose utmost Glory is to have been my Tutor.

Theo.
He has so well acquitted that Employment,
Breeding you up to such a gallant height
Of full perfection, and imperial greatness,
That ev'n for this respect, if for no other,
I will esteem him worthy while I live.

Vara.
My Lord, you'll pardon me a little Freedom?
For I must boldly urge in such a Cause,
Who-ever slatters you, tho' ne'er so near
Related to your Blood, should be suspected.

Theo,
If Friendship would admit a cold Suspicion,
After what I have heard, and seen to day,
Of all Mankind I should suspect Varanes.

Vara.
He has stung me to the Heart; my Groans will choke me,
Unless my strugling Passion gets a vent.
Out with it then—I can no more dissemble—
Yes, yes, my Lord, since you reduce me to
The last necessity, I must confess it;
I must avow my Flame for Athenais.
I am all Fire! my Passion eats me up,
It grows incorporate with my flesh and Blood!
My Pangs redouble, now they cleave my heart!
O Athenais! O Eudosia—oh—
Though plain as day I see my own destruction,
Yet to my death, and oh, let all the Gods
Bear Witness! I swear I will adore thee.

Theo.
Alas! Varanes. Which of us two the Heav'ns
Have mark'd for death is yet above the Stars;
But while we live let us preserve our Friendship
Sacred and just, as we have ever done.
This only Mean in two such hard Extreams
Remains for both: To morrow you shall see her,
With all advantage, in her own Apartment;
Take your own time, say all you can to gain her,
If you can win her, lead her into Persia;
If not, consent that I espouse her here.

Vara.
Still worse and worse! O Theodosius! oh,
I cannot speak for sighs, my death is seal'd
By this last sweetness; had you been less good,
I might have hop'd; but now my Doom's at hand.
Go then, and take her, take her to the Temple:
The Gods too give you joy. O Athenais!
Why does thy Image mock my Foolish sorrow?
O Theodosius, do not see my Tears:
Away, and leave me! leave me to the Grave.

Theo.
Farewel; let's leave the Issue to the Heav'ns,
I will prepare your way with all that Honour
Can urge in your behalf, tho' to my Ruine.

[Ex. Theod.
Vara.
O I could tear my Limbs, and eat my Elesh;
Fool that I was, fond, proud, vain-glorious Fool!
Damn'd be all Courts, and treble damn'd Ambition:
Blasted be thy remembrance! Curses on thee,
And plagues on plagues fall on those Fools that seek thee.

Aranth.
Have comfort, Sir—

Vara.
Away, and leave me, Villain;
Traytor, who wrought me first to my destruction—
Yet stay and help me, help me to curse my pride,
Help me to wish that I had ne'er been Royal,
That I had never heard the name of Cyrus,
That my first Brawl in Court had been my last.
O that I had been born some happy Swain,
And never known a life so great, so vain!
Where I extreams might not be forc'd to choose,
And blest with some mean Wife, no Crown could lose:
Where the dearer Partner of my little state
With all her smiling Off-spring at the Gate,
Blessing my Labours, might my coming wait.
Where in our humble Beds all safe mightely,
And not in cursed Courts for Glory dy.—

[Exeunt.
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