University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

Enter Demetrius meeting Zizimo.
Demet.
Stand, give the Word e'er you pass farther.

Zizim.
Demetrius?

Demet.
Oh, honest Captain,—come opportunely
To forward Matters in this Night of Wonders.

Zizim.
Wonders indeed, my Lord; for sure till now
Never was City taken in such Silence:
No Stir, no Noise, in such a hush of Quiet,
That when the Postern-gate was open'd to us
To let the General in, and all that follow'd;
When those who made Resistance were cut off,
'Twas done with such a Stillness, as if Death
Made purposely quick Work to prevent Outcries.

Demet.
The Tyrant being in th'heighth of his Security,
By his Neglect, made th'Enterprize so easy,
Never was Bird of Prey caught in a Snare
So pleas'd as he, ignorant of what is past,
He has been drinking largely with his Favourite,
Suspecting nought even here, in my Apartment;
And I'm now sent to fetch th'suppos'd Grimoald
With th'Messengers of Craterus; who they are,
And what the end of this Night's Work must be,
Go with me and be satisfy'd. I've promis'd Musick too
To entertain him—I'm now a Primiere Minister.

Zizim.
Thus the just Gods ordain the Fate of Tyranny,
When things most dangerous have easiest Turns.
First, that the Letter lost, of such dire Consequence
Had Aristander seen't, should fall so contrary;
Then, that the Creature of proud Damocles,
Train'd up so long in Villainy, and trusted
With Packets to Craterus to raise Succours,
Should at that Crisis, by reason of a Grudge
Taken perhaps, about some Suit refus'd,
Revolt, and straight discover the main Secret
That has cut all their Throats.

Demet.
Nay, and to me too,
His Master's known, resolv'd Remembrancer,
Is half a Miracle! Why, Captain, I'm so trusted,
That even this Night, when we surpriz'd the Guards,
They star'd on me as if they thought 'twas done
By the King's Order.

Zizim.
The Ætolian Soldiers
Are plund'ring now the Palace, and th'Tyrant's Daughters
Expos'd to utmost Fury.

Demet.
Which I'll prevent, if possible, for Amidea's sake,
Tho' much I fear; but first let's make the Game
Secure with Aristander.—Guards are ambush'd,
And every thing in Order, come thou along
And help on my Disguise.—See, yonder he comes
Like a fell Dragon, gorg'd with hop'd Revenge;
There let him Bask a while, we'll to our Work.

Zizim.
I'm glad there's Joy in's Face.—'Tis ominous.

[Exeunt.
Enter Aristander.
Arist.
I heard a Noise, no doubt 'tis the new Succours,
And the great Work is doing; where Timoleon
And the Rebel Crowd shall crush beneath my Vengeance.
Fate, thou hast serv'd me now as I could wish,
And like a God in yon' celestial Dome,
Methinks I fix me here an equal Deity.
Oh Power! thou darling Mistress of my Soul,
I will enjoy thee now with my full Gust,
In spite of crawling Insects, the base Vulgar;
Who tho' they all exist by my warm Beams,
Yet envy me in my Glory.—Power, thou Creator
Supreme, first Cause of perfect Happiness,
What is not done by thee?—To thee the Miser
Tenders the Golden Idol of his Soul,
Dearer than that by far; to thee the Transports
That Beauty brings with that sweet angelick kind,
Are humbly offer'd; high exalted State,
Honour's bright Wreaths, and awful Dignity;
Bent Knees of Vassals, flowing Eyes of Suppliants,
With the vast Train of diligent Attendants,
All waiting for the Hand or Nod to execute,
Subservient are to thee, celestial Power.
Feast, feast my Soul then, sate thy self with Joy,
Indulge in Bliss which nothing can destroy.
Enter Damocles.
Hah! Shall we not, my Damocles?

Damo.
No doubt you should, Sir.

Arist.
Thou smil'st, what's the occasion?

Damo.
To think that you, who are this God in Power,
Should let a trifling Mortal, pufft up with Pride,
Oppose the darling Pleasure of your Heart,
And by that Insolence boast a Power above ye.

Arist.
Ah, thou meanest Belizaria! Furies take her,
The Lust I had t'enjoy her is now turn'd
Into Revenge, which she shall feel, and suddenly.

Damo.
Revenge your self upon her Beauty first;
Take that, I know 'twill please ye still t'enjoy her:
For to do Justice, tho' she acts a Fury,
Her Body's moulded of celestial Matter,
And must exquisitely charm. When I saw her
Lately in Prison, mourning her young Cub,
Methought her Eyes in Tears cast still more Sweetness;
Her Cheeks, that wore an Air of solemn Sorrow,
Flush'd with warm Blood, shew'd such a pure Vermilion,
Would infuse vig'rous Warmth to frozen Hermits,
And make 'em languish in a new Desire.

Arist.
Nay, th'Enchantress has her Charms 'tis true.

Damo.
Then as she lay,
Her well-form'd Shape extended on the Floor,
Raising her self a little, Oh! what Heaven
Appear'd about her Neck and swelling Breasts,
That with her Passion heaving still, and falling,
Expos'd at large the beauteous demi Globes,
Soft as Swans Down, and white as Virgin Lillies:
Not Citheræa, when the Dardan Prince
Gave her the Prize for his transporting Object,
Was grac'd with half her Charms.

Arist.
Curst stubborn Traytress!

Damo.
Stubborn; why Sir, the Pride of the Resistance
Adds still more to the Pleasure of the Conquest;
I was born, Sir, to further your Delights,
And would not have you miss a Joy so singular,
Because the Nymph, forsooth, is coy and sullen.

Arist.
Thou'rt in the right, I will have her, I've now resolv'd on't.

Damo.
Besides, shall that old Rebel
That Fate ne'er durst intend to be her Husband,
Unless to be your Cuckold—Shall he boast
He has out-rival'd mighty Aristander?
No, were I you, possest with Means and Power,
I'd shew Distinction between King and Vassal;
I'd soon divert that scandalous Disgrace,
And have my Will to prove superior Pleasure.

Arist.
It shall be so; thou'st fir'd me, bring her on th'Instant,
[To an Officer.
'Twill be a proper Sport, join'd with the Musick,
I hear they are preparing.

Damo.
I've yet more News, and happy for ye, Sir.

Arist.
My best of Friends.

Damo.
A Chest of Treasure found of old Timoleon's,
'Mongst which, 'tis said, there is one Gem inestimable,
Hoarded, no doubt, for his rebellious Use,
Is seized, and brought ye hither.

Arist.
Ye Gods, this is too much, my Joys crowd on too thick.

Damo.
Long may they last, Sir. [Musick sounds.
Oh the Entertainment
Is just beginning; please to sit, Sir.

Arist.
My second self, sit by me.

Here Demetrius is brought in by Zizimo, disguis'd like Grimoald, and suppos'd bound; with him Timoleon, Pollidamus, Gomond, disguis'd as the Messengers of Craterus, then Cilon and a Chest.
Arist.
Is that the Ruffian Traytor?

Damo.
Yes, Sir, that's Grimoald, he had the same Habit
When he late 'scap'd me, he was doom'd, Sir, for the Gaunches.

Arist.
Thou shalt be cloy'd with Vengeance.

Musick sound, then a Song and Dance done, expressing the Reward of Tyranny.
Zizim.
The Sports being ended, Sir, and I hope suitable
To your great Thoughts, tho' somewhat moralizing,
Be pleas'd to taste a better Entertainment,
Luscious Revenge; here's Grimoald, your sworn Foe,
What Death, what Torture, for your chief Diversion,
Please ye t'allot him?

Arist.
I will consider on't,
'Twill take time, I'll have something new and exquisite
For such a Dog.

[Frowning on Demetrius.
Zizim.
Oh, Sir, Delays are dangerous.

Demet.
I'll be more quick with him,
He shall be torn in pieces instantly;
I dare pronounce it, I, Demetrius,
[Discovering himself.
Nearest of Blood to th'late Corinthian Monarch.

Arist.
Hah, Demetrius!—What means this?

Damo.
Treason! Treason!

Timol.
Contriv'd to crush your Dignity.

[Timoleon stamps, and Guards rush in, who with Pollidamus seize Damocles.
Pollid.
I hope you'll use your Interest for a Pardon, Sir.

[To Damocles.
Cilon.
Adsheart, what's here to do, within there, Treason! Treason!
Here's a very fine Business.

Gomon.
'Tis so, and falls exactly to do yours, [Kills Cilon.
my fine Court Caterpillar.

Cilon.
Ah Lard! I'm stuck.—Ah! here's a pretty Business.

[Dies.
Arist.
Betray'd! surpriz'd! Art thou then such a Traytor?

[To Demetrius.
Demet.
Here is my Answer.

[Brings up Timoleon who stares at Aristander.
Arist.
Thy Eyes, like Daggers,
Seem to stare at me. Hah! what art thou? Speak.

Timol.
My Name will stab thee worse, take it, Timoleon.

[Discovers himself.
Arist.
The Devil!

Timol.
Right, in th'instant come to damn thee.

Damo.
Oh, damn'd, damn'd Fate!

Demet.
I'll leave him to your Justice, noble Father,
I've Business elsewhere, drag that Hell-hound after me.

[To some of the Guards.
Damo.
Let Hell-hounds, if a Hell there be, torment me,
Gnaw, mangle, tear, so they do but lend an Hour
Of Joy to see that hoary Rebel's Cuckoldom;
The Rape was well contriv'd I'm sure: Curst Fortune,
To lour on such a blest Design.

Demet.
Stop, stop his Mouth, away.

[Exit Demetrius and Zizimo, Guards dragging out Damocles, and more appear on t'other side.
Pollid.
Nay, you're fast in the Trap,
My gracious Prince of Clemency,

Whence neither Earth nor Hell can ever save ye, and Heaven
I'm sure wo'not; your Creature too I'll see shall have
true Wages.

[Exit Pollidamus.

Timol.
Go seek my Wife, good Gomond, and deliver what
I late order'd. [Exit Gomond.
Oh all ye avenging Powers!
[Exit Gomond.
Now give me Patience to out-face the Horror
That strikes me from that Object; for not Mædusa
With her fell Gorgon Shield, nor Snaky Tresses,
Were ever seen so terrible.

Arist.
Since I am then so terrible,
Let Fear supply the place of proper Duty,
And get thee from me; for to turn the Notion,
The self same Gorgon thou art now to me.

Timol.
No, I'm ordain'd to be your Slave in waiting,
And have not shew'd ye yet Timoleon's Treasure.
Yonder's a Jewel, Sir, which, Miser like,
[Pointing to the Chest.
My Soul once doated on; my greedy Eye
Was never satisfy'd with gazing on it,
Nor my Heart free from Trouble for its Safety;
Yet being doom'd your Prize, the Robbery
I must bear as I can.

Arist.
Oh! I forgive it thee,
Take back thy Treasure so thou wilt be gone:

Timol.
No, no, 'tis past my Use now, and only fit for thine;
For Ornament then hang it on thy Breast,
'Twas once of a true Lustre; unlock the Coffer there,
And bring it to his Mightiness.
[Here the Soldiers open the Chest and take out Clindor's dead Body, Timol. takes it in his Arms.
Behold, Sir, here it is. Hah! what! d'ye start?

Arist.
The Boy! a new Mædusa, and more horrid:

[Starts and looks amaz'd.
Timol.
Here is my Gem; on this with covetous Eyes
I us'd to gaze, 'till I even crackt their Opticks;
My Heart was fill'd with Cares how to preserve it;
Yet mixt with Joy too, being the blest Possessor
Of this, my all, thy barbarous Power has robb'd me.
Unset the Jewel, sully'd its bright Lustre,
And what was noted of such hopeful Merit,
Had Time improved its Value, that great Monarchs
Greater than thou can'st dream of, or imagine,
Would have been proud t'have worn within their Bosoms,
Hast thou defac'd, for which thou art this Moment
Just hurrying into Hell.

Arist.
Hah! who shall dare
To force me to ride Post on such a Journey?

Timol.
Those that retain as small Regard for Tyrants
As Tyrants do for Justice or for Honour.
[Gives Clindor to one of the Guards.
All these here dare.
Stamps with his Foot, and more Soldiers rush in with Daggers drawn, and surround Aristander.
All these here, at my Motion, or a Word,
Shall quicker send thy Soul, thou purple Monster,
To those low Dungeons than etherial Flame
Could pierce thee from above.

Arist.
Senseless Bravado,
Thy peevish Age grown testy in th'extreme,
Now makes thee rave, else thou wouldst trembling own
There is Divinity about a King,
Which is perpetual Guard.

Timol.
About good Kings,
I grant there is a strong and sacred Virtue
That would unedge the Sword of Treachery;
But thou, first a Usurper, then a Tyrant,
Set up in Blood, and in it ever reigning;
Making thy Death an Action meritorious,
Hast nothing but the Fiends of Hell about thee,
That gape, and grin, and howl for thy Destruction.

Arist.
Well, I'm a King however, let that awe thee.

Timol.
Thou art not mine, Demetrius was my King;
A virtuous Prince, that govern'd still with Justice;
His Coronation Oath, Cement of Royalty,
(Which when a King once breaks, the Subjects Faith
May well be brittle too) he kept inviolable.
Thy ill built Title, rais'd on th'Chance of War,
And Revolution of one fatal Battle,
Weakly would force my Homage; especially
When Tyranny, like thine, is the Result on't.

Arist.
Rebellion do's authorize Tyranny.

Timol.
Cruelty and Injustice form Rebellion,
And that thou art worst Foe to human Nature,
To Justice, and to Pity, is shewn here.
[Taking and shewing Clindor.
Canst thou, thou damn'd, beyond the rage of Hell,
From all thy Pyramids of Power, give back
The rosie Breath that once perfum'd these Lips,
Pleasing my Ear, and ravishing my Heart?
Or those warm Springs that made this heavenly Cheek
Blush like Aurora, which could my Heart replenish
With Blood that it contains—Oh thou lov'd Angel!
My Soul's best Joy, and quintescential Part,
[Hugs and kisses Clindor.
How should thy Father's Spirits gush into thee,
And with the Remnant of my Life infus'd
Raise thee agen? but oh! 'tis impossible.

Arist.
My Soul relents, and scarce can bear this Object.

[Aside.
Timol.
Besides, where's my Clorona?—Oh Devil! Devil!
[Raising his Voice.
That Mischief, in the Heap, was half forgotten;
Why, what a Rout, what a dire Desolation
Has this wild Boar, with his sharp savage Tusks,
Made in my Bowels?—Yet shall I not dare
To gore him in Revenge.—Horror! Damnation!
Sheath all your Daggers in him! [To the Soldiers.
Dare! Stamps ragingly.
Not dare!

Arist.
Stand off, ye Villains, hear me speak, Timoleon.

Timol.
What, wouldst thou beg to pray?—Perdition seize thee!
That were more Impudence than yet discover'd,
To hope the Gods will balk my just Revenge,
By pardoning thy black Soul; no, let Hell take it
Fresh from the bloody Shambles where it dwelt,
[Ragingly.
Spotted as it is, not one curst Crime abated,
Else my Revenge were poor.

[Soldiers prepare agen to stab.
Arist.
Hear, for thy own Soul's sake.

Timol.
Unreasonable Fiend, but come, thy last then.

Arist.
Thou art a Soldier, and well know'st my Title;
Be it thy Glory then, if yet thou hold'st
In that craz'd Urn a Spark of the old Valour,
To let it now break out upon a King;
And let not Story make such hideous Blots
To shew how base born Vassals did thee Justice
Upon the King thy Master.—Do it thy self,
Come, thus unarm'd I dare thee.

Timol.
Dare me, dost thou?
'Tis then, because thou think'st, being all o'er Devil,
Thou hast not human Flesh enough about thee
To feel my Rage.

Arist.
If thou deny'st, 'tis Fear and Cowardice.

Timol.
Oh ye Immortals, Cowardice!
How that curst blasting Word has fir'd my Heart,
Nay, and resolv'd me now to do't my self.
Retire, my Soldiers. [They seem unwilling, but go out, he giving them Clindor.
Nay—no Words, I'll have it so:
And tho' thou hast deserv'd no Usage honourable,
Yet since there's something left thee, of a Soldier,
For Kingship's nothing—This last manly daring
Has arm'd thee for Defence— [Gives him a Sword.
There, now come on, young Wolf,
And thou shalt see how the old Man can muzzle thee;
For be assur'd, my Vengeance carries Thunder;
And whilst my Clindor's, and Clorona's Wrongs,
Sharpen my Point, and sinew my old Flesh.
The Force of Tyrant Armies were too small,
And I, in such a Cause, should conquer all.

[Here they fight, Timol. kills Arist. but is mortally wounded himself.
Arist.
I have it, and I think too, so hast thou;
That's yet some Comfort.—But oh! weak and poor
Is the vain boasted Vigour, that my Youth
Believed invincible—I would fain think now,
But that my Spirits, with my Blood, are posting
To their new some-where,—That's my greatest Pang;
Oh! that some welcome Blaze of Lightning now
Would dart, and crust all Nature in a Moment.
But Darkness comes instead,—Black gloomy Horrour;
Whilst shaking, with the cold vile Curse of Fear,
I struggle, sink, and plunge, I know not where.

[Dies.
Re-enter Pollidamus and Soldiers, with Clindor.
Pollid.
So, Tyrany is fal'n then—That's as it should be;
But what, my Lord, what means this Blood appearing?
You would not weakly sure attack a Lion;
You had in th'Toyle.

Timol.
The Royal Viper stung me
With the word Coward, which, with Reproach of Age,
Tainting my Honour, rouz'd th'old Spirit in me,
To take Revenge my self for my poor Boy,
And my belov'd Clorona—Send him after me.
[To the Soldiers.
For tho' I find the boarish Paws have scratch'd me,
Yet have I Life enough to see due Punishment
Done on his Monster Damocles.

Pollid.
'Tis preparing:
Nor will the Ellien Crowd be satisfied,
Till they're possest of Aristander's Body,
To use it as they please.

Timol.
Go, bear it to 'em,—Keep, keep House, my Soul,
A little longer, then away, and willingly.

[Exit leaning on Pollidamus.