 | The Destruction of Jerusalem by Titus Vespasian. Part the First |  |
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Enter Matthias, Phineas, Sagan, Guard.Matth.
An Army in the Air.
Sag.
I saw it move.
Phin.
And round the Skye Troops of Iron Chariots drove.
Sag.
Through all the Air they scattered Rays so bright,
As if their prancing Steeds were shod with Light.
Phin.
Straight of the sudden all the Shapes were flown,
The war-like Imagery was taken down;
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Into the Wardrobe of the wealthy Air.
Sag.
The Martial Atoms, from their noble form
Dissolv'd in Clouds, now combat in a Storm.
Phin.
The Air ungovern'd by its Prince the Sun,
Like factious States, to Anarchy does run;
Wind, Thunder, Rain, and Lightning strive to share,
Like Rebels, all the Provinces o'th'Air.
See! how the Clouds like angry surges fly,
And dash the Crystal beaches of the Skye!
Sag.
The stormy night now she her period knows,
Cruel and fierce, like an old Tyrant, grows;
Whilst all her Train, before her Mistress dyes,
Revel about, and ransack all the Skyes.
Matth.
This Tempest comes from Heaven's dispensive hand,
These Divine Riddles who can understand?
What means that fiery Sword's mysterious Ray,
Which o're our shaking Towers night and day,
In Heaven's bright Canopy does proudly shine,
As brandisht by the Majesty Divine?
Sag.
Methinks Jerusalem, at her solemn Feast,
Seems treated like the Tyrants trembling Guest,
In Purple clad, her Table richly spread,
But death and horrour hanging o're her head.
Phin.
Heaven's Arch ne're shone with such a light before,
It seems as if some Angel lictour bore
The blazing Fasces, at the passing by
Of some Divine Procession in the Skye.
Matth.
Alas! we in Jerusalem daily see
A greater, and a living Prodigie.
A man-like Eccho pin'd into a Sound,
A walking Vault that does one tone rebound;
And night and day does in our Streets proclaim,
With restless Soul, Woes to Jerusalem;
And nor for Prayers nor Racks concern'd will be,
But senseless as Dodona's vocal Tree.
But ha! the wrestling winds are out of breath,
And all is silent now, like sleep or death.
Phin.
The tilting winds have stopt in full career,
And the fierce Lightning now has broke his Spear.
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The appeas'd Clouds now mildly kiss the shore,
Of that bright Skye they did assault before.
[Noise is heard like an Earthquake.
Matth.
What frightful noise is that?
Sag.
In the Earth's Womb
The four imprison'd winds contend for room.
Matth.
The shaking Earth is seiz'd with trembling pangs,
And on thin air the vaulting City hangs.
[A small voice is heard.
Phin.
Hark! a shrill voice beneath the Altar cries.
Sag.
Some ominous Bird sure through the Temple flies.
[The Prophet is discover'd asleep by the Altar.
But ha! see where the restless Prophet's thrown:
That is the ominous Bird, whose frightful tone
Fills all Jerusalem with pannick fear.
What pow'rful Demon has convey'd him there?
Phin.
The Spirit of Ob, that in the Wizard cries,
From whence he has his lying Prophecies.
Seize on the shrieking Owl; shall he alone
Have rest, that let's Jerusalem have none?
Matth.
Forbear—This Creature, like a Trumpet, knows
No sound he gives, it is Heaven's breath that blows.
[Prophet wakes and rises.
Proph.
From the bright dwellings of the rising Sun,
And from his resting place when day is done,
From the four winds and the Earth's hollow womb
A Voice, a Voice—a dreadful Voice is come;
A Voice against our Elders, Priests, and Scribes,
Our City, Temple, and our holy Tribes;
Against the Bridegroom, and the joyful Bride,
And all that in Jerusalem reside.
Woe, woe, woe.—
Phin.
Stop, stop the Witch.
Matth.
Hold! let him pass secure,
His raving Soul does pain enough endure.
And his unconquer'd flesh no torment lacks,
H'as weary'd Torturers and torn the Racks;
As if unsoul'd, and acted by some Power
That sent him here, as Fate's Ambassador.
Phin.
No Law of Nations shou'd be his defence,
He seems an Agent for some Pestilence.
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Begone, poor wretch, and seek thy own repose,
And Heaven prepare us for these threaten'd Woes.
Proph.
Woe, woe, woe.
[Ex. Prophet.
Phin.
He grates my Ears with this unpleasant sound:
But heark! a Voice does from the Vault rebound.
[A great Voice is heard from under the Stage like a Tube.
Matth.
A Voice! 'tis Thunder, or some Pagan God
Groans here tormented, chace't from his abode.
[The Voice cryes—
Let us depart.
[Matth.]
Let us depart, the horrid Voice does cry!
What art that call'st? and whither shou'd we fly?
Phin.
The Temple lives! it mov'd before and broke
The bars that fetter'd it, and now it spoke.
Matth.
It rather dyes! and these affrightful groans
Are its departing Soul's contending moans.
[The Vale flies open, and shews the Sanctum Sanctorum.
Matth.
But oh! retire, the sacred Curtain tears,
And all the Temple's bright third Heaven appears;
And, to the prophanation of our Eyes,
Exposes all the Divine Mysteries.
Sag.
It seems as if the starry Heaven were rent,
And Angels shone through the torn Firmament.
Matth.
And see—one of that bright and heavenly Quire
Appears above, all clad in Robes of fire;
And now does from the golden Roof descend,
Whilst the Vaults groan, and yielding Arches bend.
Sag.
Let's fall upon our faces, lest we dye.
Phin.
Haste to the Incense Altar! let us flye.
Matth.
You may—but I fix'd here will boldly stay,
And hear what this strange Messenger will say.
[An Angel descends over the Altar, and speaks.
Ang.
Stay, stay; your flight, fond men, Heav'n does despise,
All your vain Incense, Prayers, and Sacrifice.
Now is arriv'd Jerusalem's fatal Hour,
When She and Sacrifice must be no more.
Long against Heaven hast thou, Rebellious Town,
Thy publick Trumpets of Defiance blown;
Didst open Wars against thy Lord maintain,
And all his Messengers of Peace hast slain:
And now the Hour of his Revenge is come,
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Which long has laid in the Divine Decree,
Is now arous'd from his dull Lethargie;
His Army's rais'd, and his Commission seal'd,
His Order's given, and cannot be repeal'd:
And now thy People, Temple, Altars, all
Must in one total Desolation fall.
Heav'n will in sad Procession walk the round,
And level all thy Buildings with the ground;
And from the Soil, enrich'd with humane blood,
Shall Grass spring up where Palaces have stood:
Where Beasts shall feed, and a revenge obtain,
For all the thousands at thy Altars slain.
And this once blessed House, where Angels came
To bathe their aiery wings in holy flame,
Like a swift Vision or a flash of light,
All wrapt in Fire, shall vanish in thy sight;
And thrown aside amongst the common store,
Sink down in Times Abyss, and rise no more.
[The Angel ascends.
Matth.
Oh, wondrous Vision! Oh, I faint with fear!
Was it a humane Voice that fill'd my Ear?
A real sight that entertain'd my Eye,
Or was I snatch'd into some Extasie?
Sag.
Whether I dream't or dy'd I cannot tell,
For yet more life does in a Statue dwell.
Phin.
I liv'd and wak'd, and with these stedfast Eyes
Saw the strange Vision both descend and rise;
And with a Voice, that cou'd no Ears deceive,
Heard it speak wonders more than I'le believe.
Matth.
Did he not tell us, in a threatning tone,
Jerusalem's fatal Hour was hast'ning on?
As if that ours and Truths eternal Sun
Had but few Minutes of his Race to run,
And this bright Heaven shou'd then be taken down,
And among all Time's common Trophies thrown?
Phin.
It did.
Matth.
It must be some illusion then!
The Starry Heav'n shall not so long remain.
Its Basis cannot so much strength afford,
That stands on Nature, this on Nature's Lord.
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Th'unweary'd Sun his daily progress goes,
And the Earth's Womb her various Off-spring bears,
Only as Vassals to Idolaters;
And yields her Gums and Spices to maintain
Some Glutton's Table, or some Idols Fane;
And Heaven and Earth round in a yoke should draw,
To grind for those that break their Makers Law?
Phin.
No, 'tis for us that wait on his Commands:
For us the world was made, for us it stands.
Mat.
Yes, on these Columns the whole Arch is bent,
This Golden Roof supports the Firmament.
The Sun with Altar-Flames adorns his head,
And from this Oyl the heav'nly Lamps are fed;
And all the Order which in Nature dwells
But dances to the sound of Aaron's Bells.
That to say Heav'n will ruine on us send,
Is to declare the world is at an end;
And Nature is disbanding all her Powers,
Then falls the Temple of the world, and ours.
Sag.
If to Tradition we may credit give,
Ages will rowl about e're that arrive,
For yet two thousand years e're we are blest
With the Sabatick thousand years of rest.
Phin.
Besides, we yet expect our promis'd King,
At whose approach a Golden Age must spring;
And a long train of smiling years ensue,
When joyful Nature shall her youth renew:
And all the Powers that now the Earth invade,
Shall vanish each like a Gigantick shade.
And the whole Globe shall but two Monarchs have,
Him, and the Sun his tributary Slave.
Matth.
Those things lye safe in Promises Divine,
As the rich Gold lies ripening in the Mine.
And like the Babylonian Pensile Bowers,
They are born aloft on never yielding Towers:
Towers of firm truth which may our Faith delight,
Tho the fair Gardens are above our sight.
Then whatsoe're these things portend, we know,
Though Famine, Plague, and Wars may lay us low,
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'Till faithful Heav'n performs his Promises.
But come—No sleep to night shall close my Eyes,
Go summon all the Sanhedrim to rise.
We'll find what fit Constructions there can be
Of this strange sight, and stranger Prophesie.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The Palace.Enter Phraartes and Monobazus.
Monob.
Things of more wonder never fill'd my Eye.
Phraar.
Nor ever mine a prettier Novelty.
Monob.
Novelty!
Phraar.
Why? must I astonisht prove,
To see by Moon-light a few Shadows move?
Mon.
No, Sir: but these no common Shadows are.
Phra.
And that's the only cause you think them rare.
Were Thunder, Lightning, an Eclipse o'th'Sun,
And all the feats by light and shadow done,
But once or twice in several Ages shewn,
Mankind would all of 'em for wonders own.
Think Gods appear'd, and fall upon the knee,
Each time, perhaps, they did a Rain-bow see.
Mon.
Nature frames those, these Nature's works surpass.
Phra.
Why more than Shadows in a Looking-glass?
At first, no doubt, they did Mankind surprise,
And they were judg'd stupendious Prodigies.
There are strange Births peculiar to each Clime,
Monsters are bred out of Ægyptian slime.
These may be Natives of the Jewish air,
Bred of the Fumes of Sacrifice and Prayer.
Mon.
Yes, did they slaughter men, we might presume
Their Souls might for revenge those shapes assume:
But the poor Beast does perish in the flame,
And has no Soul to play an after-game.
Phra.
But may not Atoms meet which Flames disperse?
Revelling Atoms made the Universe.
Or may not num'rous Heaps of Victims slain,
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Which stript of the warm flesh they love to wear,
Get for the present some thin Rags of air?
Or rather, spight of all our wisdom knows,
These may be real men, we shapes suppose?
For all these spacious Regions of the Skye,
Can never waste like Lybian Desarts lye?
Nature frames nothing for a vain intent,
And no doubt Peoples every Element.
The Sea has Mermaids, and the purer Air
May Nimphs of a more fine complexion bear;
And these were jolly Youths, who in our sight
Might celebrate some Festival to night:
For round the aiery Plains their Chariots drove,
As if they kept Olympian Games above.
Mon.
All this is raillery; for if a throng
Of wandring Tribes had there been planted long,
The busie people of our Globe below
Had found, perhaps had conquer'd 'em e're now.
No, they are Bubbles and have no abode,
And only speak the greatness of that God
Who guards this State, and do so strange appear,
I would my own weak little God casheer,
And this more mighty Jewish one adore,
But when I once have offered to a Power,
To him, as to my King, I loyal prove,
Or to the Friend or Mistress that I love.
Phra.
And I to these so little credit give,
I scorn a God that by his Tricks must live.
I from all Shadows set my Vassals free,
And plainly bid 'em fear no Power but me.
But ha! kind fortune to my arms does flye,
Th'accesses to the Gardens open lye,
Where oft Clarona on the Gods bestows
The Hours design'd by Nature for repose.
Some happiness is near, my heart forebodes,
I'le in and chace away my Rival Gods.
[Exit.
Mon.
Oh! that my Rivals were as weak as they;
The great the brave Vespasian bars my way.
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More tempting dang'rous Rivals than a God.
[Exit.
[The Scene changes to a Garden, Clarona asleep,
Enter Phraartes.
Phra.
Oh! whither Love hast thou thy wand'rer led?
My feet profane the ground on which they tread.
All the abstracted sweets in Nature found,
Lye here together in a slumber bound.
No Mortal can resist the charming bliss;
This hand does ravish from my lips a Kiss.
[Clarona wakes.
Clar.
Save me, good Spirits! what Shade is that so nigh?
[Starts at the sight of Phraartes.
Phra.
No Ghost, or Shadow, but substantial I.
Clar.
The King!
Phra.
Your Slave; may I your pardon gain,
That I your sacred privacy profane?
Wandring in solitude the Gardens round,
I all accesses hither open found.
Coming to sigh away the hours of night
Under your window;—by the Moon's pale light,
Who o're your Face her Silver Garment spread,
I found you slumbring on this Rosie Bed.
It was impossible from hence to go,
With wonder fixt to Earth, I here might grow,
My Root wou'd wantonly beneath you creep,
To suck the sweets of earth on which you sleep.
This I might do, shou'd I here longer stay,
Yet then as easily be torn away.
Clar.
On the Night's wonders gazing all alone,
Weary and pensive here I sate me down,
And to a gentle sleep resign'd my sense,
Not fearing this my Servants negligence.
Phra.
My Stars contriv'd it thus to crown my love,
And I their noble kindness will improve.
Now is the Golden Minute come at last,
The rich Extraction of a thousand past,
Which like the patient Chymist I have spent
In toil, and many a vain Experiment.
And (oh! my Stars!) if now I let it go,
Never this blessing on me more bestow.
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What does the King by this discourse design?
Phra.
Oh! Youth and Love will help you to divine.
What meaning did young Troylus display,
When to the Grecian Tents where Cresseid lay,
From Troy in such kind conspiring Night
And Hour as this, he stole to his delight?
What meant Leander, when at such an Hour
He labour'd through the Waves to Hero's Tower,
Whilst on the shore to ravish him she stood,
From the Embraces of the faithless flood?
Clar.
Are you the King?
Phra.
Exalted by such bliss,
I am God, and you my Paradise.
Where e're I wander pleasures crowd my way,
And I with every one a life cou'd stay.
Oh! I cou'd dwell an Age upon this Hand;
But shou'd I to those Cheeks or Lips ascend,
Such numerous delights my senses court,
To gather all, Eternity's too short.
Clar.
What has this change in King Phraartes made?
Will he my Ears with such discourse invade?
He who approacht me with so great an awe,
Priests with less reverence near Altars draw;
That any thing was sacred did deny,
On Earth, in Nature, or in Heaven, but I?
What have I done that has my Honour stain'd,
And made me now deserve to be profan'd?
Phra.
Can any Temples be profan'd by Prayer,
Or Altars by the Victims which they bear?
Clar.
By Victims sinful and impure they may:
And only such you at my Altars lay.
Phra.
You wrong my innocent and spotless love.
Clar.
Convince me of it, and from hence remove
Him who my ruine did attempt to night,
I mean your self, for ever from my sight.
Phra.
From their Foundations bid me Mountains tear,
Or hale a fixed Star out of his Sphere,
Remove the world, assoon I could obey,
As take my self from hence, whilst here you stay.
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And shall I now leap down to Earth again?
My arms for safety I around you spread,
Throw me from this high happiness I'm dead.
Clar.
You on a Precipice wou'd safely dwell,
But you wou'd strive to throw me down to Hell.
You for my ruine are by Hell design'd,
And chosen for it out of all Mankind.
As having all their excellence and more,
By whom he thousands had subdu'd before:
The Serpent in your Figure (I believe)
Stole into Paradise and ruin'd Eve:
With such a pleasing Tongue he spoke his suit,
And with such Hands bestow'd the fatal Fruit.
That to put all his Troops at once to flight,
I must for ever banish you my sight.
Phra.
Hell and his Troops into destruction go,
My love of their designs does nothing know:
My love's intentions generous have been;
But if for you to love again be sin,
Be sav'd, pursue the Joys you call divine;
Attain your Heav'n, though I despair of mine.
But pray let me be sav'd a little too,
The Heav'n I cannot compass, let me view.
Clar.
No, Sir, in pity I deny your Prayer,
Why shou'd I keep you in a scorching air,
When I no ease or pleasure can bestow?
If to a cooler Clime you will not go,
The Sun whose heat does your Diseases breed,
Tan your fair Vertues, and your Torments feed,
Thus, Sir, I will for ever cloud from you;
This I am bound in Charity to do.
Phra.
Spare your compassion, and unvail'd remain,
I am your Enemy and beg for pain.
Let not so great a Sinner torment want.
Clar.
Beg nothing of me, for I'le nothing grant.
Phra.
What not to see you! are those Beauties made
To pine and wither in a barren shade?
Clar.
Ask me no more, I will no more reply.—
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And will you then one parting view deny?—
Sun rise no more, for ever quench thy light,
For now the world has nothing worth our sight.
[Ex.
| The Destruction of Jerusalem by Titus Vespasian. Part the First | |