 | Friendship Improv'd : Or, The Female Warriour |  |
ACT IV.
Enter Locris, follow'd by Orythia.Ory.
Do I again my Love in Safety see?
Welcome from War, and welcome home to me.
Now beats my Heart no longer: Did I say
No longer? No, till the next dreadful Day.
For tho' Defiance is at distance breath'd,
Yet still the bloody Sword remains unsheath'd.
Lo.
Therefore, while yet yon hostile Legions move,
It is not time to talk, or think of Love.
Prevailing Foes may our Delights destroy,
And sunder Lovers in the midst of Joy.
When Victory is made compleat and sure,
Then Love be crown'd when Conquest is secure.
Ory.
O make not such a faint and weak Excuse,
A flat Denial were a less Abuse:
I know my Failing is I want a Crown,
Which was my Father's once tho' now your own.
His Loving Subjects uncompell'd obey'd;
In Quiet he the glittering Scepter sway'd.
33
He's dead, and I, unhappier I, despiz'd.
Lo.
Least you should think me guilty of Disdain,
Know, that I too was never born to Reign.
You cannot yet the Gods Designs discern,
Which only I have been allow'd to learn.
Ory.
You talk in Clouds, speak Locris, ah! speak plain,
What do the Gods, or what do's Locris mean?
You think that I for base Ambition wooe,
But my Ambition centers all in you.
My Father's death for you I can forgive,
And for you only I desire to live.
Some recompense is to my Sufferings due,
Who suffers for you, and forgives you too.
Lo.
I merit no Maid's Love to this excess,
Nor can repay you, were your Passion less.
I mourn like you, your good old Father's fate,
Would mine had by some other means been great.
I have no Love to give; but could resign
The Crown with ease, and once more make it thine.
Ory.
Look down, Orontes, from thy Native Sky,
And see thy lost, despairing Daughter dye.
Yes, Locris, yes, to death, to death I go,
Yet dying, bless that hand which gave the blow.
Daggers and Wounds before my Eyes I see,
Fire, Poison, Sword—
But still I will divert them all from thee.
O Brother! when Sicilian Squadrons yield,
Spare Locris, spare him in the bloody field.
O Father! plead with all the Powers above,
Not to revenge thee on the Man I Love.
[Exit.
Locris alone.
Lo.
Unhappy Maid, thy Fortune I deplore,
Tho' mine ought justly to be pitty'd more.
Your Woes will end, nor can you long lament,
But I must dread a sad, and dire Event.
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Fearing, is worse; than Suffering, what we fear.
Enter Maherbal.
Ma.
Your Father is resolv'd, I met him late,
With Looks that threatn'd nothing less than Fate.
At my Approach his Rage began to rise,
And Vengeance lighten'd from his glaring Eyes.
As I past by, I bow'd, no Word he said,
But frown'd, as if he could have look'd me dead.
When I spoke to him first, his fierce Reply
Was, that we might not Wed, but then must dye.
Lo.
Dye I'm resolv'd; why, it were death to Wed;
Alike with Death I Love Orythia's Bed.
Let him be both a King and Father still,
No King, no God can force their Creature's Will.
From our Creation that is left us free,
And I will use it, as it ought to be.
Ma.
More than what yet is said, he menac'd too,
Ev'n tho' his only Son, he menac'd you.
Rage choak'd his words at last, and then a Gloom
Silently warn'd me to depart the Room.
Your Sister just retir'd, as I came in,
Thence Springs his Passion, there our woes begin.
Orythia's with him now, but all in Tears,
And not with such a Look as Vengeance wears.
His Eyes pursu'd me as to you I came,
And mark'd my Steps that he might take the same.
Enter Zoilus leading in Orythia weeping.
To what a glorious purpose have I Reign'd,
To see my Kindred, and my Blood disdain'd?
You shall, you shall my just Resentments know;
Yes, Son; yes, Traytor; not my General now.
Ma.
How! Traytor?
Zo.
Dare you then the Name deny,
When a King speaks, dare you, his Slave, reply?
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Go, if thou canst, where thou at first wer't Born.
Thy wretched life, out of revenge I grant,
And banish thee to live in scorn, and want.
Ma.
Cease threatning him, that is not to be brav'd,
Born with a Soul which scorns to be enslav'd.
I was not born thy Subject—
Lo.
O be gone—
Pull not inevitable ruine on.
I'll follow you—
[aside.
Ma.
No let them fly, who fear
The frown of ought on Earth; I'll tarry here.
Is this my recompence for all I've done,
For all thy Glory in my Battles won?
I gave no Crown, created thee no Prince,
But still this Sword sustain'd your Empire since.
By my past Services too great I grow,
And therefore Dungeons must reward them now.
Zo.
I wou'd have made you greater, you refus'd,
A King's Allyance, and his Love abus'd.
Nay, answer not, that aggravates th'offence,
Hence from my sight, or I shall spurn you hence.
Ma.
Speak not, and look not, and advance not so,
Make not the smallest offer of a blow.
Zo.
Then from this Hand and Sword your fate receive
A Death too glorious for so vile a Slave.
Lo.
Spare, spare my Father.
[Ma. disarms him without drawing.
Ory.
Spare the King.
Ma.
I know
What I should do; where's Pow'r, where's Empire now?
All in this Hand—Why mount I not the Throne?
What hinders me from making all my own?
But thus this Traytor gives you back your Sword,
And still confesses you his Soveraign Lord.
Zo.
This Artifice shan't serve; my Guards—who wait?
[Guards surround and seize him.
Go, bear this Rebel Traytor to his Fate.
Loaden with Chains in Dungeons let him lye,
Till I contrive, and doom him how to dye.
36
Now is the Lyon taken in the Toyl,
And yet the timerous Hunters dare not smile.
But with a Dread their captive Foe survey,
And tho' secure, stand trembling o're their Prey.
Zo.
Go then, and bind the Lyon in the Den,
And see if he can make us tremble then.
Loc.
O Sacred Sir, O Father!
Zo.
Ha! Have done,
Plead for thy self, not him, rebllious Son.
Go, see my Will perform'd—
Ma. is led off. Ex. Zo. Ory.
Manet Locris.
Oh! then adeiu
To all that's great on Earth, dear Youth in you.
The lovely Cause for ever must remove,
But I for ever feel the Rage of Love.
Yet if his Death is not the fixt Decree
Of all the Fates, still some Relief may be,
Some means found out to save and rescue thee.
Enter Cyllene.
Cyll.
Where have they sent him, whither is he hurl'd?
Driv'n to the Dungeon, driv'n from the World.
Tell, Brother, tell me, whither is he led;
O speak, in Chains, in Banishment, or Dead?
Lo.
Kind Heav'n! she comes to my own Heart's content,
[aside.
Whate're he suffers; thou, canst thou relent?
Dost thou bemoan him, thou, whose fatal Breath
Denounc'd his Doom, and sentenc'd him to Death.
Cyll.
Death, didst thou say? his Death? if he must fall,
Finall Destruction seize on us and all.
The mad Effects of Women's Passion see,
How they can Love and Hate at once in me.
Lo.
If you would save him, stay to mourn no more,
Mankind may perish in a Day, an Hour.
Our Fathers Signet lyes in your Command,
He Signs his Warrants with Cyllene's Hand.
37
Here, take the Signet then, and set him free;
Flee as a Brother, as a Lover flee.
To your own Conduct I the rest resign,
Tell him the Act was either—yours,—or mine.
[Exit.
Lo.
Thy blindness in thy Love my hopes secures,
I'll flee, but not to make the Glory yours.
If such a little Fraud should seem unjust,
To gain their Love, who would not break their Trust?
[Exit.
Scene Changes to a Dungeon; Maherball, Archias in Chains.
Arch.
With what a sad Confusion in my Face
Do I behold thee in this Patal Place?
You were the only one I wish'd to see,
But not to see you thus, thus chain'd like me.
At the first Glimpse, the first surprizing View,
I hop'd it was Delusion all, not you.
Ma.
All is Delusion in this Mortal Life,
Ev'n our own Sense is with it self at Strife.
Toss'd here, and there, by the Decrees of Heav'n,
Our selves not knowing why, or whither driv'n.
There's this advantage still, I now may know
My Parents; what will that avail me now?
Arch.
Only heap Woes on Woes, bring no Releif,
But fresh Additions to your former Grief.
Did I but see you circled with a Crown,
Or at an Army's Head to seize your own.
Then it were time to tell, till then to keep
The Secret in, and let your Father sleep.
Ma.
Did you name Crowns, or am I grown your Scorn?
Yet something tells me I was Princely born.
Oh! Speak, say in what part of all the Earth
My Parents had their Crown, and I my Birth?
Arch.
Seek, seek to know no more, for Heav'n's sake, cease,
Keep (while you have) the least Remains of Peace.
Ma.
Tell me the worst, tell, where he liv'd, and dy'd,
Where reign'd he, and a thousand things beside.
Would I were free to roam, to search, enquire
Maherball's Kingdoms, and Maherball's Sire.
38
Till Strangers tell what unkind you deny.
Speak, or you love me not.—
Arch.
I love too well,—
Ye Conscious Gods too much I love to tell.
Ma.
Longer I find it is in vain to wait,
Nor will I tarry for a Traytor's Fate.
My death I can accomplish with my Chains,
And dash the Prison Walls with bloody Stains.
Arch.
Hold, sacred Sir, and you, alas! shall know;
Yes, you shall learn it to your Mortal Woe,
And have that fatal Comfort, e'er your go.
Oh! for this knowledge, Prince, you need not roam,
'Tis to be learnt, 'tis to be had at home.
Let me take Respit, let me take my Breath,
And pause a while, before I give you Death.
Ma.
Be quick, and let thy Tongue be loose and free,
Thy Words may choak thy self, but kill not me.
Arch.
You told me once you saw your Father's Shade,
But know not who he was—
Alas! you knew him not alive or dead.
Dare you the bounds which I prescribe maintain,
And see that awful Spirit once again?
Ma.
See him, speak to him, ask him how, and who
Perform'd the dreadful Deed; I dare pursue
Their Lives to death; their spotted Souls to Hell,
There torture those by whom my Father fell.
Archias unrolling the King's Picture, Orontes King of Sicily, writ in large Letters under it.
Arch.
Letters, and Seals, and Rings might be of use,
But I can more substantial Proofs produce.
This I preserv'd intire from Vulgar Rage,
From Fire, and Water, and devouring Age.
'Twas taken after Death.
Ma.
Oh! Heav'n! was this
My Father's Semblance? Was this Picture his?
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It strikes me with a strange, unusual Awe.
Tell me, most Sacred Shade, am I thy Son?
Speak to me—but, alas! thy Speech is gone:
Those Wounds say something, for Revenge they gape,
No, the curst Author of them shall not scape.
Tell me—this cannot tell.
[to Arch.
Arch.
'Tis vain to know,
He wears a Crown, who gave the fatal Blow.
Vast are his Troops, and num'rous Guards surround
His Throne, and keep aloof the threatned Wound.
Ma.
And I am bound, ye Gods! and I am bound,
Or what if Millions did his Throne surround?
Who was that King?
Arch.
He who has now the Sway,
And governs Sicily this present Day.
Ma.
Oh Heav'n!—Heav'n there had nought to do. O Hell!
Speak thou no more, the rest let Furies tell.
Was it by his curst Hands my Father Fell?
That King? whom I but now so blindly spar'd,
Whom I disarm'd in view of all his Guard?
Who to provoke my Fury, call'd me Slave,
And sent me hither for the Life I gave.
How did I scape when young?—
Arch.
I sav'd you, Prince,
Till now, curst now; I have secur'd you since.
Ma.
Would I had perish'd then, or rather now,
Would I might live to strike one glorious Blow.
Revenge, Revenge; alas! it will not be;
Revenge has Bolts, which weigh her down like me.
Dash then thy galling Fetters on the Ground,
Thy Mother-Earth with thy sharp Irons wound.
Spurn with thy Shackles her unhappy Womb,
Tear up her Entrails, till thou findst a Tomb;
Rattle your Chains at yon relentless Sky,
Curse thy malignant Stars, run mad, and die.
Arch.
Raise from the Ground, dread Sir, your Sacred Head,
Earth is not fitting for Prince's Bed.
40
Fall as Maherball and Araxes should.
Ma.
'Tis for Revenge I grovel here, and groan;
I mourn my Father's Fate, and not my own.
Mourn, that I cannot hurl this Murth'rer down
To Sulph'rous Lakes, ten thousand Fathom down.
Arch.
Yet still be calm, and let not Fortune boast;
Your Godlike Temper, when she frown'd, was lost.
Ma.
There is a time, when Nature seems at Peace,
And all the Jars in the Creation cease.
When Winds and Waves are hush'd, and heard no more,
And those forbear to rage, and these to roar.
There is a time, when Clowds disperse and fly,
No more engendring Thunder in the Sky.
A time when Wars no more the World molest;
All with a deep, sweet Calm supinely blest;
But we are never with our selves at rest.
This is the State ev'n of the happiest Men;
Then, cruel Gods! Oh! what must mine be then?
Arch.
Hark, the Doors open, and the Traytor's come.
Heav'n! can you suffer so unjust a Doom?
Yet, let the Fates decree what-e'er they will,
Conceal Araxes, be Maherball still.
Ma.
Yet will I not die tame, but perish warm;
My Hands, instead of Swords, my Bolts shall arm:
And tho' I fall in an ignoble Throng,
I will make sure to have one Slave along.
Enter Locris and Governour of the Prison.
Lo.
Be quicker; burst asunder all the Doors,
This Signet here all I command secures.
In what a Posture does my Hero stand?
How better would a Sword become his Hand?
Quick, knock his Shackles off, and then retreat,
And, on your Life, where I appointed wait.
[Gov. knocks off his Bolts, and Exit.
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Sure, 'tis enchantment all, this Story told,
Would make it look like a Romance of old.
Lost in amazement, and confusion too,
I know not how to give what thanks are due:
My want of Power to pay my Debt I mourn,
But when 'tis mine, I'll make a full return.
Lo.
Stay not to thank me, but make hast, and fly:
Fly, till Night comes, to some close Thicket nigh.
Why are you so dismay'd? so pale? so dumb?
Look so upon me? come, I'll guide you, come.
Hast, if you wish your self, or me to live;
If we are caught, the King will ne're forgive.
Ma.
Hold yet, for here your Favours must not end,
I cannot move till you release my Friend.
I owe him for a Life, nor shall he be
Left in those Fetters there, while I am Free.
Lo.
Help to unbind him then; now all away;
Fate hovers o'er, and has us, if we stay:
He thinks that Fortune leads him; but I prove
[aside.
That I am led, and only led by Love.
[Exeunt.
The End of the Fourth Act.
| Friendship Improv'd : Or, The Female Warriour | |