University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

After Clashing and Shouts without.
Enter Phineas and a Levite. Scene a Street.
Phin.
Triumphant News!—Let us our voices raise,
And fill the Steets with Joyful sounds of Praise.
The Parthian King, with the brave unknown Prince,
Men that seem dropt from Heav'n for our defence,
Have chas'd the Rebels to their Vaults and Towers;
As storms drive flying Billows to the Shores.

Lev.
The Kings great Soul wants but the light Divine,
To make it every way with Glory shine.
But see, the Train approach the Pallace Gate,
Whilst joyful Crowds on their Preserver wait.

Enter Phraartes, Monobazus, Matthias, Queen Berenice, Clarona, Semandra, Phedra, Guards. Two or Three Prisoners.
Phraar.
You lift your Swords against a King; from whence
Has your base Spirits all this Insolence?
[To Prisoners
You sordid Villains at the best are made
For the low Earth, on which a King should tread.
By the mean Victory my Sword has gain'd,
I have my self and Dignity profan'd:
And can my self no Expiation make,
Less on their Altars I revenge should take:
Which I forgive!—but Drag these Slaves away,
With speed out of your Monarchs sight, and lay
Their servile Necks beneath the High Priests Feet,
Let him dispose of 'em, as he thinks meet.

Guard Carries them to Matthias, whilst Phraartes turns to Clarona.
Phraar.
Fair injur'd Power! what Offering shall I make?
These I disdain to give, and you to take;
'Twere Sacriledge designing to appease
Your Anger with whole Hecatombs of these:
So many Princes at your Feet should lye,
And at your Sentence either live or dye.
Howe're a Royal Sacrifice I bring,
The Flaming Soul of a Love-wounded King.

Claro.
Great Prince! the Joy I in your Triumphs find
Has more already than appeas'd my mind.
For though I know not love, and any Flame,
But that of pure Devotion, must disclaim;
Yet for the Gen'rous and truly brave
Of all Religions I a Friendship have;
And as for others I my Pray'rs employ,
For your great Soul I'd be content to dye,
And oh!—how rich an offering would it be
To Heaven, which you thus vainly make to me.

Phraar.
Oh! tell not me of Heav'n and Powers above,
There's no Elizium but Clarona's Love.

Claro.
To a poor Shrine you offer your regard,
Where you must take Devotion for reward.

Monob.
Madam, you Crown with undeserved Praise,
A courage you did both inspire and raise.

Qu. Beren.
I but my sense of Gratitude would shew,
For what your Valour, Sir, did twice bestow;
Nor can the breath by your defence enjoy'd,
Be better sure then in your Praise employ'd.

Matth.
Go; and abuse the Liberty I give,
[To the Prisoners.
'Gainst him, by whose indulgence now you live.
Not all the wrong I from your hate indure,
Shall one Revengeful deed from me procure;
As fellow Servants of one Lord above,
You shall enjoy my pity and my Love.
But yet I will empale my Masters ground,
And from the rotten Sheep protect the sound.

1. Phar.
We'll do the same, and Guard them from the Power
Of wicked Shepherds, who the Flock devour.

Matth.
These men Heaven's Favourites themselves repute,
And then as such none must their Power dispute.
[Prisoners are dismist, and Matth. turns to Phraar. and Monob.
Now, valiant Princes, we must pay to you
The publick Triumphs which to both are due;
And to the Mighty Parthian King, who springs
Of Jewish blood by a long Race of Kings,
Let the great Shades of all who wore this Crown,
For their sav'd Monuments his Valour own.
And now the Stars their twinckling Fires disclose,
And night approaching summons to repose,
Let Guards these Royal Persons wait with care,
Who both my Guests and my Protectors are.

[They all go out attended with a Guard, except Matthias and Phineas, who stay—and Enter the Sagan.
Matth.
Now, what from Edom? will they stay or Fly?
And our Indulgence or our Valour try?

Sag.
They are resolv'd to guard the Rebel Crue:
Till you free them, or else the Romans you.

Matth.
And do they know on whose designs they wait?

Sag.
They Stile 'em Saints and Guardians of the State:
Till they are free'd they'l not our Walls forsake,
But send for Wives and a Plantation make.
Set Javelins till they grow, whose Martial shade
Shall serve for Shelter, and for Ambuscade.

Matth.
Now it is plain, these Idumeans came
To adde fresh Brands to our domestick flame;
And on pretence our Tumults to appease,
To share with Thieves in publick Robberies.
But I'le see well to all the Guards to night,
And if to morrow the bold Edomite,
In Thieves defence, to face our walls shall dare,
Their Martial Plants unpleasant Fruit shall bear.

[Ex. omnes.

SCENE II.

The Pallace.
Enter Queen Berenice and Semandra.
Seman.
Come, Madam, please to rest, this silent Night
Kind sleep does to her Bowers our sense invite.

Q. Ber.
Let the soft thing to dying Lovers go,
And on despairing Minds her Balm bestow.
The Joy the happy hour's approaching near,
When I must leave my dull Devotion here,
And on Loves wings to my Vespasian fly,
Transports my Soul to such an Extasie,
That with an Empires price should not be bought,
The single pleasure of one flying thought.
Tell me, Semandra, dost thou not espy
A New delightful Spirit in my eye?
Does not my chearful blood its Revels take,
And often in my Cheeks fresh Sallies make?

Semand.
Ah, Madam! your triumphant Beauties wear
Glories too bright for my weak eyes to bear.

Q. Beren.
Be gone! thou Paint'st me in a Flattering Dress.

Semand.
Rather, no Tongue your Beauties can express.

[Queen Beren. pulls out a Glass and looks in it.
Q. Beren.
Indeed my Glass will needs obliging be,
I fear th'unfaithful thing takes part with thee.

Semand.
By all that's fair it does its trust betray,
Nor half the Beauties it receives repay.

Q. Ber.
Nay, I confess I'm pleas'd: for I must own
I was half weary of Devotion grown,
What with the grief for my dear Brothers blood!
What with the Clamours of the foolish Crowd;
Who their own safety madly will oppose:
What with Impatience too at length to close
These seven long Weeks of grave Devotion here,
Which did to me a tedious Age appear,
I was so tir'd—that now the time is gone,
Methinks my eyes another Air put on;
And lay their Penetential looks aside,
With all the Joy of a young smiling Bride.

Semand.
Nay! Madam! never yet in any Face,
Triumphing Love appear'd with so much Grace.
But you have often promis'd to relate
Your Loves; how long shall my Impatience wait?

Q. Ber.
I have not Fancy rich enough t'explain,
Half the Delights that Story does Contain.
'Twas on a great Triumphant Day at Rome,
When all the Adoration Gods assume,
Or Flattering Priests ascribe to Powers Divine,
When with uncommon Flames their Altars shine,
Was to the young Victorious Titus paid,
When he through Rome a pompous Entry made.
It were too dull and tedious to display
The bright and various splendors of that Day,
Young Titus Fame ne're spoke him half so fair!
Men Gaz'd with envy, Women with Despair.
We who, the King our Father lately dead,
By Rebels chac't, to Rome's protection fled,
Were then Spectators there—

Semand.
Your Stars were kind;
For to this mighty Fate you were design'd.

Q. Ber.
And from us all this vote his meen did gain,
That we had never seen a braver man:
I felt my heart a secret Flame possess,
But thought my Eyes secur'd my Heart success.
Tho Roman Ladies did my Rank contemn,
At least my Beauty might contend with them.
And so it prov'd; for the whole time he staid,
His sole Address was at my Altars made:
Which they resented with such scorn, and Pride,
Some rag'd with madness, some with envy dy'd.
But, oh my Stars! how pleas'd was I to see
My Beauty thus revenge my Qualitie.

Semand.
Oh Heaven! that I that Victory had seen!
And from that time your Joys have dated been?

Q. Ber.
Not to relate how oft th'imperial Groves
And Gardens have been Witness of our Loves,
Eternal Vows in their delightful shade,
With an entire Exchange of Hearts, were made.

Semand.
Since which your Stars, propitious to your Love,
Did in few Months two Emperors remove,
That old Vespasian to that Glory chose,
No rigorous Laws your passion might oppose;
And if those Rites he'll stubbornly Maintain,
Few Months will period the old Monarchs reign.

Q. Ber.
Name not the Empire; Power I contemn,
'Tis Love I seek, I scorn the Diadem.

Semand.
But hark! Delicious sounds that way descend,
The Parthian King's fair Mistress they attend.

[Musick within.
Q. Ber.
Sent by the King, no question, and design'd
To chase sad thoughts from her too Pensive mind.
That Divine Creature always is above,
Nothing below can her attention move.

Semand.
Madam, she always like a Flame ascends,
From Heaven she came, and towards Heav'n she tends;
And has so small concerns for things below
She never yet was seen to change her Brow.
Somtimes indeed she has let fall a tear,
But 'twas when others griefs she chance't to hear.
Her own are into Bowers and Temples made,
And there she sings as in some pleasant shade.

Q. Ber.
She far excels the happy Minds above:
But cannot her fair soul descend to Love?

Semand.
Yes, as the Saints do in the other state;
Or Guardian Angels those on whom they wait?

Q. Ber.
Such sublime Friendships may Devotion please:
But is the brave young King content with these?

Semand.
Madam, I doubt he aims at somthing more,
Though it is said he ne're lov'd so before;
He looks upon her as some Heavenly thing,
And doubts if he should Love or Incense bring?

Q. Beren.
Well; my Complexion is not so Divine,
More of this drossy Earth is mixt with mine—
But King Phraartes comes, let us away,
And strive to hasten on th'approaching Day.
Which with the View of him shall Feast my sight,
Who is both mine and all the Worlds delight.

[Exit.
SONG sung within.

Enter Phraartes, Monobazus.
Phraar.
Ah Friend! my heart here in an Ambush lyes,
I'm wounded by a Spirit in Disguise.
A thing compos'd of Prayer, whom if I wed,
Some Incense cloud must be our Nuptial bed.

[Mon. is Pensive, and seems not to regard Phra.
Phraar.
But Ha! my Friend in grief! shall I complain,
Of his unkind retirements still in vain?

Monob.
Sir, you have many sorrows of your own,
And to add mine would be unkindly done.

Phraar.
I many sorrows? thou mistak'st the name,
Too fierce resentments of my injur'd Fame.
That after many a glorious Victory,
When Rome with Terrour did my Valour try,
That a bold Villain should his King betray,
And bolder Rome should give my Crown away;
Are wrongs for which not I, but Rome shall grieve,
Who soon severe Correction shall receive.

Monob.
I do not doubt but your great Soul's above
The Power of Fate, but can you conquer Love?

Phraar.
Thou find'st the only weakness of my mind,
There I must own some tenderness I find.
An unknown passion makes my spirit bow;
Whose insolence I never felt till now.
I've seen, admir'd, ador'd, yes and enjoy'd,
Till both my Eyes and Appetite were Cloy'd,
Beauties of all Complexions, Nations, Graces,
Hourly attended once on my Embraces.
Each hour to different pleasures I could go;
Now cool my blood in the European Snow,
Then heat it at the Asian Fires again,
Then boil it o're a Sun-burnt African.
But this one Beauty has subdu'd me more,
Than all the Armies of 'em did before.

Monob.
But to her Captive she will mercy shew.

Phra.
Oh! she is colder than the Mountains Snow.
To such a subtile purity she's wrought,
She's prayed and fasted to a walking thought.
She's an inchanted Feast, most fair to sight,
But starves the appetite she does invite;
Flyes from the touch of sense, and if you dare
To name but love, she vanishes to air.
Ten days has this bright flame confin'd me here,
Ruling my soul with tyranny severe.
But too much talk on my own griefs I spend:
Now let me hear the sorrows of my Friend.

Monob.
Reservedness to so great a Prince were rude,
And to so brave a Friend ingratitude.
Have you not heard of Monobazus name?

Phra.
Yes, Prince, and am acquainted with your fame.
The valiant Brother of the Adiabenan King.
[Embraces him.
What wandring Fortunes cou'd thee hither bring?
I've heard how thou didst guard his life and Crown,
When Slaves wou'd have depos'd him from the Throne,
Because some Merchant Jews, 'mongst other Wares,
Had made him change his own Belief for theirs.

Monob.
Service beyond the gratitude of Kings,
Like Crimes, Misfortune on the Subject brings.
So he the least acknowledgments disdain'd,
And sought the life of him by whom he Reign'd.
Thrice I his Armies beat in open Field,
Making his strugling Fate entirely yield:
Subjecting Kings that to his aid he drew,
One in the head of all his Troops I slew.
Then gave him back his vanquish'd Crown, and went
By my own doom to willing Banishment.
Roving the world I hither chanc't to stray,
And drawing nigh this Town in close of day,
It was my fate, by an old shady wood,
To see a Chariot with arm'd Troops pursu'd.
With my own Train to its relief I made,
And came not much untimely to its aid.
But for my own repose with too much speed,
For scarce I had th'assaulted freed,
But streight a Goddess, or a thing more bright,
With murdering Beauties charg'd my dazl'd sight.

Phra.
And 'twas the Queen.

Monob.
It wounds my heart to tell,
It was the Sister of the King who fell
By my curst Sword; and she was going then
To mourn the death of him, whom I had slain.

Phra.
Killing surprize! I pity now thy flame,
And shall no more thy sad Retirements blame.
Clarona appears above in the Balcony in her Night-dress, with a Taper in one hand, and a Book in another.
But ha! whence comes this golden dart of light,
Which on the sudden wounds the breast of night?

Monob.
See, some new wonder, Sir, invites our eyes.

[Shews Clar.
Phra.
The chief indeed of Jewish Prodigies.
Young, fair, and woman, and without desire,
The only Miracle I can admire.

Monob.
She's at Devotion sure, for it is said,
Thrice in the night she from her downy bed,
And soft repose, does her fair body raise,
And from her window towards the Temple prays.

Phra.
Nay, from above she certainly dropt down,
And like some Syren in a Tempest thrown
From her own Element, and place of birth,
Can relish none of all the Joys on Earth.
I am all flame at sight of one so fair.

Mon.
I am all shade, and wander in despair.

Phra.
She's giving audience to some Angel now,
I must disturb 'em, for I jealous grow.

Monob.
May your fair Goddess to your Prayers be kind,
I'le go relate my sorrows to the wind.

[Exit.
Phra.
Clarona!

Clar.
Ha! who calls?

Phra.
A wretched thing
That begs your pity.

Clar.
The great Parthian King:
What is it creeps into his Royal breast
This stormy night, and drives away his rest?

Phra.
What shou'd, or can disturb my rest, but love?
That bearded Shaft which nothing can remove.
But you are still engag'd in heav'nly-things,
And have no pity for poor mortal Kings.

Clar.
Alas, Sir! do you my compassion crave?
Your glorious Acts my admiration have.

Phra.
And yet not love where admiration's due?

Clar.
Oh yes! my love does the whole world pursue
With all the blessings of my hourly Prayer,
And you, the noblest part, have sure your share.

Phra.
Blessings and Prayers, and at a common Feast,
Where the whole world is an invited Guest;
Do not crowd me among the sordid rout,
Where all your Charity is dol'd about.
But me to Noble Entertainments bring,
And treat me like a Lover and a King:
Nor shall the saucy world sit down with me,
Gods at this Feast shall my Attendants be.

Clar.
Religion is a Feast of true delight,
To which might I your glorious Soul invite,
You never wou'd repent your happy state,
And I with joy wou'd at your Table wait.

Phra.
My relish no Camelions food endures,
My love I long to entertain with yours:
Let Souls like Planets be with Vapours fed,
Invite my senses to the Nuptial bed.

Clar.
I merit not so great a Monarch's Throne:
But were I worthy, I am not my own.
I am the Child of Sacrifice and Prayer,
Born when the Womb did totally despair.
My Soul was kindled at an Altar flame;
Religion gave instructions for my frame:
And Nature punctually her Rules obey'd,
And me exactly for Religion made.
And from my birth I've educated been
A Maid of Honour to that mighty Queen.
And now am Heaven's adopted Daughter grown,
And, like some Virgin Heiress of a Throne,
Guarded and waited on by Spirits, fed
By Prayer and Contemplation, Angels bread.
Inclos'd from all the world, and scarcely dare
Mix my devoted breath with common air.
And in this state I ever must remain,
And not in thought my Virgin-whiteness stain.

Phra.
Blest news! the only glory I design:
Now you are fit for no embrace but mine.
And I have long desir'd to mix my blood
with some Celestial Daughter of a God.

Clar.
Your mortal Deities, Sir, may bestow
Their Daughters on you, yet your Match below.
The King I hope will these expressions bear?
But yet if I of his Religion were,
I in the same condition would remain;
For I wou'd be of chaste Diana's Train;
In Woods and Forests breathe untainted air,
And against love an open War declare.
And e're your little God shou'd conquer me,
With Daphne, I'd be turn'd into a Tree.

[Exit.
Phra.
You shou'd not long within your bark remain,
I wou'd embrace you into life again.
[Enter a Gentleman.
But ha! here's one with News.

Gen.
Haste, Sir, and see
The stormy Air all fill'd with Prodigy;
A numerous Army in the Skye appears,
And every Troop a bloody Banner bears.
They march along in the Moons timerous light,
Then dive in air and vanish from our sight.

Phra.
This is some charm'd and visionary Land,
I scarce can trust the ground on which I stand.
Their Earth oft trembles, and their Buildings groan,
Built like the Theban Walls of living stone.
Their Stars grow Comets, Clouds arm'd Legions breed,
Each has more Warriours than the Trojan Steed:
Wonders, not Fishes, spawn within their Seas,
And all the winds that blow breathe Prophecies.
Nor are their People of a Kind entire,
But got betwixt Devotion and Desire.
But let us see if Nature with a grace
Can shew her tricks, and cheat me to my face.

[Exeunt.