 | The Princess of Cleve |  |
SCENE III.
Enter Nemours, Pedro list'ning.Nem.
Alass! Poor Prince, I protest the Violence of his Passion has
cast him in a Fever, he dies of it—And how then? shall
I Marry the Princess of Cleve, or stick to Marguerite as we are? for
'tis most certain she has rare things in her, which I found by my last
Experiment, and I love her more than ever, almost to Jealousie; besides
Tournon tells me, the Dauphin begins to buz about her agen, and
who knows but in this heat of hers, as she says, she will hang her self
out to sale, but he may nick the time and buy her—I like not that—
No, I'll throw boldly, clear the Table if I can, if not, 'tis but at last
forswearing Play, shake off my new acquaintance, and be easie with
my reserve—Heark, I am just upon the Bower Musick—
Pedro.
I have hitherto obey'd my Master's order, but I'm resolv'd to
dog him till he's lodg'd—
Ne.
Now do I know the Precise will call me damn'd Rogue for wronging
my Friend, especially such a soft sweet natur'd Friend as this gentle
Prince—Verily I say they lye in their Throats, were the gravest of
'em in my condition, and thought it shou'd never be known, they wou'd
rouze up the Spirit, cast the dapper Cloak, leave off their humming and
haing, and fall too like a Man of Honour.
[Exit.
Pedro
I'll face him till he enters the Bower, and then call my Lord.
[Ex.
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Lovely Selina, Innocent and Free
From all the dangerous Arts of Love,
Thus in a Melancholy Grove
Enjoy'd the sweetness of her Privacy,
Till th'envious Gods designing to undo her,
Dispatcht the Swain, not unlike them, to wo her:
It was not long e'er the design did take,
A gentle Youth born to perswade,
Deceiv'd the too too easie Maid;
Her Scrip and Garlands soon she did forsake.
And rashly told the Secrets of her Heart,
Which the fond Man would ever more impart.
False Florimel, Joy of my Heart, said she,
'Tis hard to Love and Love in vain,
To Love and not be Lov'd again,
And why shou'd Love and Prudence disagree?
Pity ye Powers that sit at ease above:
If e'er you knew what 'tis to be in Love.
Princess C.
Alas! Irene, I do believe Nemours
The Man thou represents him; yet, Oh! Heav'n,
And Oh my Heart! in spite of my resolves,
Spite of those matchless Virtues of my Husband,
I love the Man my reason bids me hate:
Yet grant me some few hours ye Saints to live,
That I may try what Innocence so arm'd
As mine, with vows can do in such a cause!
The War's begun, the War of Love and Vertue,
And I am fixt to conquer or to dye.
Iren.
Your Fate is hard, and since you honour'd me
With the important Secret of your Life,
I've labour'd for the Remedy of Love.
Princess C.
I must to Death own thee my better Angel,
Thou know'st the struglings of my wounded Soul,
Hast seen me strive against this lawless Passion,
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My Veins half burst, my weary Eye-balls fixt,
My Brows all cover'd with big drops of Sweat,
Which strangling Grief wrung from my tortur'd Brain.
Ir.
Alass I weep to see you thus agen.
Princess C.
Thou hast heard me curse the hour, when first I saw
The fatal charming Face of lov'd Nemours,
Hast heard the Death-bed Counsel of my Mother.
Yet what can this avail, spite of my Soul
The Nightly Warnings from her dreadful Shroud?
I love Nemours, I languish for Nemours,
And when I think to banish him my Breast,
My Heart rebels, I feel a gorgeing pain
That choaks me up, tremblings from Head to Foot;
A shog of Blood and Spirits, Mad-mens Fears,
Convulsions, gnawing Griefs and angry Tears.
Enter Nemours.
Ha! but behold—My Lord—
Nem.
O! Pardon me,
Spare me a minute's space and I am gone.
Princes. C.
Is this a time Sir?
Nem.
O! I must speak or dye.
Princess C.
Dye then, e'er thus presume to violate
The Honour of your Friend, your own and mine—
Nem.
Yet hear me, and I swear by all things Sacred,
Never to see you more.
Princess C.
Speak then—And keep your word.
P. C.
Horrour and Death!
Nem.
Did you but know what 'tis to love like me,
Without a dawn of Bliss to dream all day,
To pass the night in broken sleeps away,
Toss'd in the restless tides of Hopes and Fears,
With Eyes for ever running o'er with Tears;
To leave my Couch, and fly to beds of Flow'rs,
T'invoke the Stars, to curse the dragging hours,
To talk like Mad-men to the Groves and Bow'rs.
Cou'd you know this, yet blame my tortur'd Love,
If thus it throws my Body at your Feet:
Oh! fly not hence;
Vouchsafe but just to view me in despair,
I ask not Love, but Pity from the Fair.
Princess C.
O Heavens! inspire my Heart.
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The Heavenly Powers
Accept the poorest Sacrifice we bring,
A Slave to them's as welcome as a King.
Behold a Slave that Glories in your Chains,
Ah! with some shew of Mercy view my Pains;
Your piercing Eyes have made their splendid way,
Where Lightning cou'd not pass—
Even through my Soul their pointed Lustre goes,
And Sacred Smart upon my Spirit throws;
Yet I your Wounds with as much Zeal desire,
As Sinners that wou'd pass to Bliss through Fire.
Yes, Madam, I must love you to my Death,
I'll sigh your name with my last gasp of Breath.
Princess C.
No more, I have heard you Sir, as you desir'd,
Enter the Prince of Cleve.
Reply not, but withdraw, if possible;
Fix to your word, and let us trust our Fates,
Be gon I charge you, speak not, but retire.
[Exit. Nem.
P. C.
Excellent Woman, and Oh! matchless Friend,
Love, Friendship, Honour, Poison, Daggers, Death.
[Falls.
Princess C.
O Heaven! Irene, help! help the Prince my Lord.
My Dearest Cleve, wake from this Dream of Death,
And hear me speak—
P. C.
Curse on my Disposition,
That thus permits me bear the Wounds of Honour!
And Oh! thou foolish, gentle, love-sick Heart,
Why didst thou let my hand from stabbing both?
Princess C.
Behold, 'tis yet my Lord within your Power
To give me Death—
P. C.
I do entreat thee leave me,
I'm bound for Death my self, and I wou'd make
My passage easie, if you wou'd permit me:
All that I ask thee for the Heart I gave thee;
And for the Life I love in thy behalf,
Is, that thou'dst leave me to my self a while,
And this poor honest Friend—
Princess C.
I wou'd obey you,
But cannot stir—I know, I know my Lord,
You think that I design'd to meet Nemours
This night, but by the Powers above I Swear.
P. C.
O! do not Swear, for Chartres credit me,
There is a Power that can and will revenge;
Therefore dear Soul, for I must love thee still,
If thou wilt speak, confess, repent thy fault,
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For me, by all my hopes of Heav'n, I swear
I freely now forgive thee—Oh! my Heart—
Pedro, thy arm, let me to bed—
Princess C.
And do you then refuse
My help?
P. C.
In Honour Chartres, after such a Fall,
I ought not to permit that thou shou'dst touch me—
Princess C.
But Sir, I will, your arm? I'll hold you all
Thus in the closest strictest dearest Clasps;
Nor shall you dye believing my Dishonor,
I swear I knew not of Nemours his coming,
Nor had I spoke those words which yet were guiltless,
Had he not vow'd never to see me more:
By our first Meeting, by our Nuptial Joys,
By my dead Mother's Ghost, by your own Spirit;
Which Oh! I fear is taking leave for ever,
I swear that this is true—
P. C.
I do believe thee;
Thou hast such Power, such Charms in those dear Lips,
As might perswade me that I am not dying.
Off Pedro, by my most untimely Fate
I swear—I'm reconcil'd; and heark thee Cleve,
If thou dost Marry, Ha! I cannot speak,
Away to Bed, yet love my Memory—
Princess C.
To Bed, and must we part then?
P. C.
O! we must—
Were I to live I shou'd not see thee more—
But since I am dying, by this Kiss I beg thee,
Nay, I command thee part, be gone and leave me.
Princess C.
I go, and leave this Farewel Prayer behind me.
For me, if all I've said be not most true,
True as thou think'st me False, all Curses on me!
The Whips of Conscience, and the Stings of Pleasure,
Soars and Distempers, Disappointments plague me;
May all my Life be one continu'd Torment,
And that more Racking than a Woman's Labour;
In meeting Death may my least Trouble be
As great as now my parting is with thee.
[Exeunt severally.
| The Princess of Cleve | |