 | Titus and Berenice |  |
1
ACT I.
SCENE I.
A Palace.Enter Artiochus and Arsaces.
Antiochus.
Thou my Arsaces art a Stranger here,
This is th' Apartment of the Charming Fair,
That Berenice, whom Titus so adores,
The Universe is his, and he is hers:
Here from the Court himself he of't conceals,
And in her Ears his charming story tells,
Whilst I a Vassal for admittance wait,
And am at best but thought importunate.
Arsac.
You want admittance! who with generous care
Have follow'd all her Fortunes every-where,
Whose Fame throughout the World so loudly rings,
One of the greatest of our Eastern-Kings.
As once you seem'd the Monarch of her Breast,
Too firmly seated to be dispossest,
Nor can the pride she doth in Titus take,
Already so severe a distance make.
Antio.
Yes! still that wretch Antiochus I am.
But Love! oh how I tremble at the name;
And my distracted Soul at that doth start,
Which once was all the pleasure of my heart,
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And an Eternal silence on me laid.
Arsac.
That you resent her pride, I see with Joy,
'Tis that which does her gratitude destroy;
But Friendship wrong'd should into hatred turn,
And you methinks might learn her Art to scorn.
Anti.
Arsaces, how false Measures dost thou take,
Remove the Poles, and bid the Sun go back:
Invert all Natures Orders, Fates Decrees,
Then bid me hate the Charming Berenice.
Arsac.
Well, love her still, but let her know your pain,
Resolve it you shall see, and speak again;
Urge to her face your rightful Claim aloud,
And court her haughtily, as she is proud.
Antio.
Arsaces, No, she's gentle as a Dove,
Her Eyes are Tyrants, but her Soul's all Love,
And owes so little for the Vowes I've made,
That if she pity me, I'm more than paid.
[Enter Rutilius.
But see the man I sent, at last returns;
Oh how my heart with Expectation burns.
Rutilius, have you Berenice seen?
Rut.
I have.
Antio.
Oh speak! what says the Charming Queen?
Rut.
I prest with difficulty, through the Croud,
A throng of Court-Attendants round her stood.
The time now past of his servere retreat,
Titus laments no more his Fathers fate.
Love takes up all his thoughts, and all his cares,
Whilst he to meet these mighty Joys prepares:
Which may in Berenices arms be found,
For she this day will be Romes Empress crown'd.
Anti.
What do I hear? Confusion on thy tongue!
To tell me this, why was thy speech so long?
Why didst not Ruine with more speed afford?
Thou mightst have spoke and kill'd me in a word.
But may I not one Moment with her speak,
And my poor heart disclose before it break?
Rut.
You shall; for when I told her what you design'd,
She sweetly smil'd, and her fair head inclin'd:
Titus ne'r from her had a look more kind.
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She's here.
Berenice,
At last from the rude Joy I'm freed,
Of those new Friends whom my new fortunes breed.
The tedious form of their respect I shun,
To find out him whose words and heart are one.
Antiochus, for I'll no flattery use
Since your neglect I justly may accuse,
How great your Cares for Berenice have been,
Ev'n all the East, and Rome it self have seen,
In my worst fate I did your friendship find,
But now I grow more Great, you grow less kind.
Antio.
Now durst I hope, I would forget my smart,
So well she understands to sooth my heart.
But, Madam, its a truth by Rumour spread,
That Titus shall this night possess your bed.
Ber.
Sir, All my Conflicts I'll to you reveal,
Though half the Fears I've had, I cannot tell;
So much did Titus for his Father mourn,
I almost doubted Love would ne'r return;
He had not for me that Assiduous heat
As when whole days fixt on my Eyes, he sate.
Grief in his Eyes, Cares on his Brows did dwell;
Oft came and lookt, said nothing but farewell.
Ant.
But now his kindness he renews again,
Ber.
Oh! he will doubly recompence his pain
For that, if any Faith may be allow'd,
Two thousand Oaths, two thousand times renew'd;
Or any Justice in the Powers Divine,
Antiochus, He'll be for ever mine.
Antio.
How she insults and triumphs in my ill,
Sh'as with long practice learnt to smile and kill.
Oh Berenice, Eternally farewel.
Ber.
Farewel! good Heav'n! what Language do I hear;
Stay! I conjure you Sir—by all's that dear.
Antiochus, What is it I have done?
Why don't you speak?
Antio.
Madam I must be gone.
Ber.
How Cruelly you use me! I implore
The Reason—
Ant.
I must never see you more.
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For Heav'ns sake tell, you wound me with delay.
Ant.
At least remember I your Laws obey.
Why should I here wretched and hopeless stay?
If the remembrance be'nt Extinguisht quite,
Of that blest place where first you saw the light;
'Twas there, oh there began my Endless smart,
When those dear Eyes prevail'd upon my heart,
Then Berenice too, my Vowes approv'd,
Till happy Titus came and was belov'd.
He did with Triumph and with Terror come,
And in his hands bore the Revenge of Rome.
Judea trembled, but 'twas I alone
First felt his weight, and found my self undone.
Ber.
Hah!
Antio.
You too, then t'encrease the pains I bore,
Commanded me to speak of Love no more.
So on your hand I swore at last t'obey;
And for that taste of Bliss gave all away.
Ber.
Why do you study ways t'afflict my mind,
You believe Sir, I am not unkind.
Alas I'm sensible how well y'have serv'd,
And have been kinder much than I deserv'd.
Antio.
Why in this Empire should I longer stay,
My Passion and its weakness to betray.
Others, though I retire, will bring their Joys,
To Crown that Happiness which mine destroys.
Ber.
You triumph thus, because your pow'r you know,
Or if you did not, you'd not use me so.
Though Crown'd Romes Empress, I the Throne ascend;
What pleasure in my Greatness can I find,
When I shall want my best and truest Friend.
Ant.
I reach your purpose, you would have me there,
That you might see the worst of my despair.
I know it, the Ambition of your Soul;
Tis true, I've been a fond obedient Fool.
Yet came this time but to new freight my heart,
And with more Love possest than ever part.
Ber.
Though it could never enter in my mind,
Since Cæsar's Fortunes must with mine be join'd.
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T'invade his Right, and talk to me of Love.
I bear th' unpleasing Narrative of yours,
And Friendship, what my Honour shuns, endures.
Nay more; Your parting, I with trouble hear,
For you next him, are to my Soul most dear.
Antio.
In Justice to my Memory and Fame,
I fly form Titus, that unlucky Name.
A name which ev'ry Moment you repeat,
Whilst my poor heart lies bleeding at your feet.
Farewel: Oh be not at my Ravings griev'd,
When of my death the news shall be receiv'd,
Remember why I di'd, and what I liv'd—
[Ex. Antioch.
Phæn.
I grieve for him, a Love so true as this,
Deserv'd, methinks, more fortunate success.
Are you not troubled Madam—
Ber.
Yes, I feel
Something within me difficult to quel.
Phæn.
You should have staid him.
Ber.
Who, I stay him? no,
From my Remembrance rather let him go.
His Fancy does with wild Distraction rove,
Which thy raw ignorance, interprets Love.
Phæn.
Titus his thoughts, yet to unfold, denies.
And Rome beholds you but with jealous eyes.
Its rigorous Laws, create my fears for you;
Romans no Forrain Marriages allow
To Kingly Power still enemies th'ave been,
Nor will, I fear, admit of you a Queen.
Ber.
Phænicia, no, my time of fear is past,
Me Titus loves, and that includes the rest.
The splendor of this night thou hast beheld,
Are not thy Eyes with his bright Grandeur fill'd?
These Eagles fasces, marching all in state:
And crowds of Kings that with their Tributes wait.
Triumphs below, and Blessings from Above,
Seem all at strife to grace this Man of Love.
Away Phænicia, let's go meet him strait,
I can no longer for his coming wait.
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Nor will be temper'd till my Joy's begun.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Titus, Paulinus, Attendants.Titus.
To th' Syrian King, did you my Message bear?
And does he know that I expect him here?
Paul.
Sir, in the Queens appartment, He alone
Was seen, but e'r I there arriv'd, was gone.
Tit.
'Tis well Paulinus for these ten days past.
I have to Berenice a stranger been:
But you can tell me all—how does the Queen?
Paul.
She does, what speaks, how much she values you;
When you mourn'd for your Father, she mourn'd too.
So Just a Sorrow in her face was shown,
It seem'd as if the Loss had been her own.
Tit.
Oh lovely fair one, little dost thou know
[aside.
How hard a Trial thou must undergo.
Heav'n! oh my heart!
Paul.
What is't your Grief should raise
For her whom almost all the East obeys.
Tit.
Command Paulinus that these retreat,
Paul. moves his hand and all the rest exti.
Rome of my purposes uncertain yet,
Expects to know the fortune of the Queen;
Their Murmurings I have heard, and Troubles seen.
The business of our Love, is the Discourse,
And expectation of the Universe.
And by the face of my affairs, I find,
'Tis time that I resolve and fix my mind.
Tell me Paulinus, justly, and be free,
What says the World of Berenice and me?
Paul.
In every heart you Admiration raise:
All, Your high Vertues, and her Beauty praise.
Tit.
Alas! Thou answerst wide of my desire,
Paulinus, be my Friend, and come yet nigher
How do they of my sighs and vows approve?
Or what expect they from so true a love?
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Love or not love, Sir, all is in your power,
The Court will second still the Emperour.
Tit.
Courtiers Paulinus seldom are sincere
To please their Master they have too much care.
The Court did Nero's horrid Acts applaud,
To all his lusts subscrib'd, and call'd him God.
Th' Idolatrous Court shall never judg for me,
No, my Paulinus, I rely on thee:
What then must Berenice expect? declare,
Will Rome be gentle to her, or severe?
My happiness is plac'd in her alone.
Now they have rais'd me to the Imperial Throne,
Where on my head continual cares must fall,
Will they deny me what may sweeten all?
Paul.
Her vertues they acknowledg and desert
Proclaim indeed she has a Roman heart:
But she's a Queen, and that alone withstands
All which her beauty and her worth demands.
In Rome the Law has long unalter'd stood,
Never to mix it's race with strangers blood.
Tit.
It is a sign they are capricious grown,
When they despise all vertues but their own.
Paul.
Julius, who first subdued her to his Arms,
And quite had silenc'd Laws with Wars alarms,
Burning for Cleopatra's love; to Fame
More just fled from her eyes, and hid his flame.
Tit.
But which way from my heart shall I remove,
So long establisht and deep rooted love?
Paul.
The Conflict will be difficult I guess,
But you your rising sorrows must suppress;
Who can a heart that's not his own controul?
Her presence was the comfort of my Soul.
Tit.
After a thousand Oaths confirm'd in tears,
By which I vow'd my self for ever hers,
I hop'd with all my Love and all her charms,
At last to have her in my longing Arms.
But now I can such rare perfections crown,
And that my love's more great than overgrown,
When in one hour a happy Marriage may
Of all my five years vows the tribute pay.
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Paul.
Whether?
Tit.
To part for ever from her eyes,
Tho I requir'd th'assistance of thy zeal,
To crush a passion that's so hard to quell.
My heart had of it's doom resolv'd before,
Yet Berenice does still dispute the war.
The conquest of so great a flame must cost
Conflicts, in which my soul will oft betost.
Paul.
You in your birth for Empire were design'd,
And to that purpose Heav'n did frame your mind;
Fate in that day wise providence did shew,
Fixing the destiny of Rome in you.
Tit.
My youth rejoyc'd in love and glorious wars,
But my Remains of life must waste in cares.
Rome, my new Conduct, now observes 'twould be
Both ominous to her, and mean in me,
If in my Dawn of power to clear my way
To happiness, I should her Laws destroy:
No, I've resolv'd on't, Love and all shall go;
Alas! it must, since Rome will have it so.
But how shall I poor Berenice prepare?
Paul.
You must resolve to go and visit her,
Sooth her sad heart, and on her patience win,
Then by degrees—
Tit.
—But how shall I begin?
Oh my Paulinus, I have oft design'd
To speak my thoughts, but still they stay'd behind.
I hop'd as she discern'd my troubl'd Brest,
She might a little at the cause have guest;
But nought suspecting, as I weeping lay,
With her fair hand she'd wipe the tears away,
And in that mist never the loss perceiv'd
Of the sad Heart she had too much believ'd;
But now a firmer constancy I take,
Either my heart shall vent its grief, or break.
I thought to have met Antiochus, and here
All I e're lov'd surrender'd to his care.
To morrow he conducts her to the East,
And now I go to sigh, and look my last.
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I ne're expected less from that Renown,
Which all your Actions must with glory crown,
Tit.
How lovely's glory, yet how cruel too!
How much more fair and charming were she now,
If through eternal dangers to be won!
So I might still call Berenice my own.
In Nero's Court where I was bred, my mind
By that example to all ills inclin'd,
The loose wild paths of pleasures I pursu'd,
Till Berenice first taught me to be good.
She taught me Vertue, but oh! cursed Rome!
The good I owe her, must her wrong become.
For so much Vertue and Renown so great;
For all the Honour I did ever get:
Her for whose sake alone, I fame pursu'd,
I must forgo to please the Multitude.
Paul.
You cannot with Ingratitude be charg'd,
You have the bounds of Palestine enlarg'd.
Even t' Euphrates, her wide power extends;
So many Kingdomes Berenice commands.
Tit.
Weak Comforts, for the Griefs must on her dwell!
I know fair Berenice, and know too well;
To greatness she so little did incline,
Her heart ask'd never any thing but mine.
Let's talk no more of her, Paulinus.
Paul.
Why!
Tit.
The thought of her, but shakes my constancy,
Yet in my heart if doubts already rise,
What will it do when I behold her eyes?
Enter Rutilius.
Rutil.
Sir, Berenice desires admittance here—
Tit.
Palinus—Oh!
Paul.
Can you already fear?
So soon are all your resolutions shook?
Now, Sir, 's the time—
[Ex. Rut.
Enter Berenice, Phænicia and attendants.
Tit.
I have no power to look.
Ber.
Sir, ben't displeased, that I thus far presume,
It is to pay my gratitude I come.
Whilst all the Court assembled in my view,
Admire the Favour you on me bestow;
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Silent, as though I had a sense of none.
Your mourning 's done, and you from griefs are free.
Are now your own, and yet not visit me?
Your present of new Diadems I wait.
Oh! give me more content, and less of state.
Give me a word, a sigh, a look at least,
In those th' Ambition of my Soul is plac't.
Was your discourse of me when I arriv'd?
Was I so happy may it be believ'd?
Speak, tell me quick, is Berenice so blest;
Or was I present to your thoughts at least?
Tit.
Doubt it not, Madam, by the Gods I swear't;
That Berenice is always in my heart.
Nor time, nor absence, can you thence remove.
My heart's all yours, and you alone I love.
Ber.
You vow your Love perpetual and sincere,
But 'tis with a strange coldness that you swear.
Why the just Gods to witness did you call?
I don't pretend to doubt your faith at all.
In you I trust, would only from you live;
And what you say I ever must believe.
Tit.
Madam!
Ber.
Proceed: Alas, whence this surprize!
You seem confus'd to turn away your eyes.
Nothing but trouble in your face I find,
Does still a Fathers death afflict your mind?
Tit.
Oh, did my Father good Vespasian live!
How happy should I be!
Ber.
Ah, cease to grieve!
Your tears, have reverenc't his mem'ry now.
Cares are to Rome, and your own glory due.
A Father you lament, a feeble grief,
Whilst for your absence I find no relief.
But in your presence only take delight,
I, who shall dye, if but debarr'd your sight.
Tit.
Madam, what is it that your griefs declare?
What time d' you choose? For pitty's fake forbear.
Your Bounties my Ingratitude proclaim.
Ber.
You can do nothing that deserves that name;
19
May be I'm fond, and tire you with my Love.
Tit.
No Madam! No, my heart (since I must speak)
Was ne're more full of Love or half so like to break.
But—
Ber.
What?
Tit.
Alas!
Ber.
Proceed.
Tit.
The Empire Rome—
Ber.
Well.
Tit.
Oh, the dismal secret will not come—
Away Paulinus, e're i'm quite undone.
My Speech forsakes me and my heart's all stone.
[Ex. Tit. Paul.
Ber.
So soon to leave me, and in trouble too?
Titus how have I this deserv'd from you?
What have I done, Phænicia? tell me, speak.
Phæn.
Does nothing to your memory appear:
That might provoke him—?
Ber.
By all tha'ts to me dear,
Since the first hour I saw his face, till now,
Too much of Love, is all the guilt I know.
Thus silence is too rude, and racks my breast,
In the uncertainty I cannot rest,
He knows, Phænicia, all my moments past.
Perhaps he 's jealous of the Syrian King;
'Tis that's the root whence all this change must spring.
Titus, this Victory I shall not boast.
I wish the Gods would try me to the most.
With a more potent Rival, tempt my heart,
One that would make me greater than thou art.
Then my dear Titus, shouldst thou soon discern,
How much for thee I all mankind would scorn.
Let's go, Phænicia, with one gentle word
He will be satisfied, and I restor'd:
“My Injur'd truth by my complyance find,
“And if he has a heart he must be kind.
Exeunt Omnes.
Ends of the first Act.
| Titus and Berenice | |