University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE a Grove.
Enter Cyllene alone.
Descending Night the neighb'ring Valleys fills,
And presses on the brows of bending Hills.
Our Fear around us with the darkness flows,
And Mankind flies to Shelter and repose.
Love Conquers fear, with a regardless Eye,
I view the Gloomy Shades, and pass them by.
Thro' dismal Caverns unconcern'd I rove,
And tread with Dauntless steps the Desart Grove;
Driv'n by Despair, and goaded on by Love.
All sleepy nature is to Silence bent,
But my Tumultuous Sorrows will have vent.
Winds, on your Wings my Mournful accents bear,
Sound, Echo, thro' the Woods, Despair, Despair.
Bring my Maherbal to me; hark, around
Sad Echoes answer from the hallow Ground,
He will not come where I am to be found.
Fan me, cool Gales; Lull me, sweet Aires to Rest,
Flow o'er me some kind Stream,
And quench this Burning Fever in my Breast.
Snatch me, some Whirlwind, on a sudden up,
And bear me to the bleakest Mountains top.
Let Rain, and Hail, and headlong Winter fall:
Gods! show'r down all your Floods, I want them all.
The Wind around in grateful murmurs Blows,
[Goes into the Grove.
The Rain beats fast, and yet my Fever grows,
I'll on, and lose at once, my Self, and Woes.

Enter Locris alone.
Loc.
What Wonders have I heard, ye Pow'rs Divine!
Is he I Love Araxes?—
Ah! since he is, he never can be mine.
Now, shall we Fall by his prevailing Pow'rs,
Or he (as hard a Fate) must Die by ours.
By me our Houses mortal Foe was Freed,
By me, who cannot yet repent the Deed.
Wistly he Look'd, and full of Lab'ring Thought,
Loth to receive the Liberty I brought.
Great Spirits, still with Blushes, take a grant,
Disdaining chiefly, what they chiefly want.
His Struggling yet was more; he Scornd to owe
Ought to his Rival, whom he thought his Foe;
But Locris is not known while he thinks so.
Maherbal, no; I all to thee Resign;
My Crown, my Empire, and my Heart are Thine.
I'll on, and find thee, if thou can'st be found,
Make, till thou hear'st, the circling Woods resound.
Speak, conscious Forests, Speak some vocal Tree,
Some Sylvan tell, where can Maherbal be?
A thousand Thoughts within my Breast revolve;
Something I'll do, but cannot yet resolve.
Break thro' these Shades, Maherbal, and appear:
Maherbal, Answer, if you live, and hear.

Ma.
Who's there? who calls?

[rising from the root of a mossy Tree.
Lo.
One who was forc'd to rove,
And search thee long in vain, thro' all the Grove.
Why gaze you thus, with such A wild affright?
Why glare your Eyes amidst the gloomy night?
Whence all those signs of Mingled rage and woe,
Why that Stern look, and that contracted Brow?

Ma.
Leave me, I charge you, leave me here to die,
By our past Friendship, I conjure you, fly.

Lo.
What said you? did you speak of Friendship past?
Could not repeated Favours make it last?

Ma.
Seek not to tear a Secret from my Breast,
Which known, will rob you of Eternal Rest.
Ask not the reason, but with Speed retire,
Least I should set thee with the World on fire.

Lo.
Let guilty Men seek Safety by retreat,
Those that are Innocent may brave their Fate.
I saw you mourn, and came to claim my part,
And share whatever should oppress your Heart.

Ma.
Thou art my chief Oppression; now be gon,
Ere thou, like mine, pull'st thy own ruine on.
Thine is the Guilt, curse on thy Traitor's Face,
For thou hast struck me in the tendrest place.

Lo.
Would Heav'n I had, all would be then Secure,
[Aside
Nor He, nor I our present Pangs endure.
Know, that I Scorn a title so Unjust,
[to him.
Who never in the least betray'd my Trust.
Where, how, and when was I so?

Ma.
Perjur'd Friend;
Away, betimes, here let thy Questions end.
Know thou hast wrong'd my Honour, now deplore
We once were Friends, but must be so no more.

Lo.
To raise thy Honour has been all my Aim,
More than my own, to spread abroad thy Fame,
Give thee, ingrateful! an Immortal name.
Once more I charge you, as you were a Friend,
Declare your Wrongs, what'er event attend.
Speak, under shelter of the Secret Night,
If you are wrong'd, my Sword shall do you right.

Ma.
[Drawing]
Thou'st found a way, I take thee at thy word,
Nought else could have prevail'd—
Nought but the Manly offer of thy Sword.
Now if thou dar'st, a strict attention give,
In me behold the lost Araxes live.
My Father fell by thine, he Seiz'd his Throne.
Can after that, his Son and I be one?
Now Draw, the Night clears up, the Silver Moon
Shines bright, our business will be ended soon.
Heaven seems at last to favour my design,
Revenge and Empire shall at once be mine.

Lo.
Hold, I'm no Son to Zoilus—

Ma.
Ha! take care,
Play not with me, fond, Foolish Youth, beware.

Lo.
Think me his Son, yet am I free from Guilt,
Clear of all Blood by Fraud, or Fury Spilt.
In my behalf this may Securely plead,
I was not Born some Years, when he was Dead.

Ma.
Let that Speak for you then, and now be gone,
Leave me to take Revenge on him alone.
Let so much be to our past Friendship due,
At once to Pity, and to Pardon you.

Lo.
Pardon your self, if you, in Justice, can,
For your Ingratitude, perfidious Man!
Did not I save your Life, last dreadful Feild?
Throwing before your Breast by batter'd Shield?
Leaving my Bosom naked to the Foe,
Did not your now scorn'd Friend preserve you so?

Ma.
Are not you well rewarded with a Crown?
A recompence for greater Actions done.
Say, have not I more oft preserv'd your Life?
And Sheilded you in a more dang'rous strife?
Some pow'r you give, some strifling Posts resign;
You pay me part of what should all be Mine.
Not high enough to Guard my self by Force,
But high enough to make my Downfal worse.
A gracious look, and flatt'ring Smile they show,
Who would make Surest when they strike the blow.
Snakes may securely lurk beneath the flow'rs,
But when they find their Foes within their pow'rs,
Springing, they spurn their coverts from the ground,
Leap at their Prey, with hisses as they bound.

Lo.
Can in that Breast such idle fancies grow?
We still were Friends, and we may still be so.

Ma.
A Crown divides us—

Lo.
Here our diff'rence ends,
Divide the Crown; that should not sep'rate Friends.

Ma.
Crowns will admit no Rivals, I'll resign
Not the least Jewel that enriches mine:
But I may lose it by my Foolish stay,
I talk, and trifle, all my time away.

Lo.
Now by my fame in Arms, you shall not go,
Duty commands detain my Father's foe.
If nothing can a bar sufficient be,
To stop your passage, you shall pass thro' me.

Ma.
Go, stop the raging Fire, or rolling Sea,
Stop tumbling Torrents in their headlong way.
Stop Light'ning as it flashes thro' the Skies,
And stop Jove's massy Thunder, as it flies.
When such Stupendous things as those are done,
Then think of hind'ring me from going on.

Lo.
Poor man with Frenzy, and Ambition lost,
I pity, and despise so vain a boast.
Were thy redoubted Sword the Thund'rer's brand,
Know, I could wrest it from thy trembling Hand.

Ma.
Tempt not my rising Fury to destroy,
My very Arms would blush to kill a Boy.
Be gone, and force me not against my will,
Be gone, while I can keep my Temper still.
Or let me go—

Lo.
Stay, that the Boy may try
Whom Fate decrees to Conquer, whom to Die.
Beware, and do not slight my tender Age,
I dare your Valour, and defy your Rage.
Manhood that thinks, is apt to harbour Fears,
Courage is oftner found in Younger years.

Ma.
Hold yet my hands, you lately set me Free,
And gratitude forbids me Fight with Thee.

Lo.
Lay all those Trivial poor excuses by,
Know, 'twas Cyllene Set you Free, not I.

Ma.
Farewel Compassion, then farewel remorse,
Pity is fled, and Rage will have its course.
[Both Drawing.
Now dread the Vengeance rumbling o'er thy head,
Ready with bursting Clowds to dash thee dead.

Lo.
Ready for Fury which I cannot fear,
She loosens her robe a little, her Helmet drops off, and her Hair appears.
Here's my bare Breast, now if thou dar'st, strike here.

Ma.
O all ye Gods! what Wonders do I See!
What had I like to have done?—
How am I Sav'd in not Destroying thee.
All that within my boundless wish could fall,
Was this—O bounteous Powers! and have I all?
Thus low, thou dear Triumphant Fair, I bow,
I own to Heaven, and Earth, I'm vanquish'd now.
Thus let me from your Lips my Sentence meet,
Or Seal my Pardon e're I leave your Feet.

Lo.
Rise, and no longer on the ground recline,
Rise to these Arms, this Heart for ever thine.
I wrought your rage, high as I could to see
That if (when known) I might forgiven be,
And then concluded you could Love like me.

Ma.
If transport leaves me strength enough I'll rise
To thee the Fountain, and the flood of Joys.
Divinely Charming, and Divinely good,
Thou wert not guilty of my Father's blood.
O! for thy sake I could, I doubt, forgive
His woeful Fate, and let thy Father live.
But if the Gods his Punishment design,
Grant he may fall by other Hands than mine.

Lo.
Our Fates to thee, as to a God we trust,
Mild amidst Wrongs, more Merciful than Just,
My being known, this my Assurance moves,
Maherbal was my Friend, Araxes loves.

Maherbal
holding, and Gazing on her.
O stand a little off, and let me gaze,
For all my Sense is swallow'd in a maze.
Art thou a Woman then? O blest surprize!
O dawn of op'ning Heav'n! O Heav'n of Joys!
Woman! the Tongue to show her tuneful skill,
Must utter nought but Woman—Woman still.
Invoking you, our tow'ring Souls we raise,
You work our Passions, but transcend our Praise.
The Gods for your Creation we adore;
But still we Worship you their Creatures more.
At Shrines we seemingly present our Pray'rs,
Yours are our off'rings, Heav'n! our hearts are theirs.
From them the Soldier all his Courage draws,
Sure of Success, where Woman is the cause.
When Ravish'd Poets write, or Prophets dream,
Woman is still the dear Transporting theam.
Their blood if fir'd their Fancies are Divine,
They feel a Fury, and a Flame like mine.

Lo.
Here all the Warfare of my life is o'er,
And I must play the Man's great part no more.
Farewel my golden Crest, and glitt'ring Sword,
Go, seek my much lov'd Arms, some other Lord.
Farewel the Silver Trumpets Charming strains,
Farewel the Drums that Thunder o'er the Plains.
Farewel the Troops that threaten from afar,
Farewel the waving Streamers of the War.
Farewel the bloody Spears, and batter'd Shields,
Ye long disputed Fights, and dusty Fields,
Farewel the Fame that dear bought Conquest yields.
Farewel the Tempest-beaten Troops that dwell
Whole winters in your stormy Camps—Farewel.

Ma.
Hear me, My Locris, take my Farewel too,
Ye sevenfold Sheilds, and shiv'ring Spears adieu,
Farewel to War—to all the World—but you.
I'll clasp you close, and fold you ever thus,
I'll crush you to my Heart—
And none shall ever Love and Live like us.
Why were you thus Disguis'd? O tell me how—
But hold—'tis not an hour for Questions now.
We'll wast no time that's lent us to improve;
Our Life is all too little for our Love.
I'm lost betwixt my wonder and delight,
Let's hasten, and Secure the Charming night,
When the mute Soul flows out in every kiss,
And every nerve swells with excess of bliss.

[Exeunt.
Cyllene comes from the side of the Stage where She stood during the last three Speeches.
Cyll.
Death! Hell! and Furies! What is this I hear?
Now all their close Designs, and Plots are clear.
I've been Abus'd, and now too plainly See
Out of his Love to her he Slighted me.
Now, wrong'd Cyllene, now thou may'st Command
A Vengeance worthy of a Woman's hand.
O were my Father here to know the Son
After his Death design'd to mount his Throne,
No bounds would his Revenge, and Rage confine,
His would (if possible) be great as mine.
Fly all respect of Nature and her Laws,
'Tis Nature bids Revenge in such a Cause.
Mother, and Sister shall my Victims fall,
And universal Ruine swallow all.

Enter Zoilus attended with Torches and Soldiers.
Zo.
Where from my self shall I a shelter find?
Guilt tosses like a Storm my troubled mind?
With growing Fears, and gnawing Conscience lost,
Each step I take, methinks I meet a Ghost.
My Gen'ral and unnatural Son are fled,
Ev'n my own Wife forsakes, and loaths my Bed.
Raving with Prophecy, repent, repent
She cries, or the Just Gods will ne'er relent.
Could Penitence, indulgent Heav'n, atone
So cheap, Araxes will not sell his throne.
Ha! who is there, Cyllene, O my child,
Why look you thus? thus like your Father wild?
I hop'd for comfort from you, but I find,
That is grown strange to me, and all my kind.

Cyll.
Ruine surrounds us, Death and Hell's at hand,
Ready for plunging on the brinks we stand,
While Furies to our Faces shake the brand
Think on your Locris, your pretended Son,
'Tis he that pulls your headlong Ruine on.
He, and your curst ingrateful Gen'ral joyn,
Their Hellish aim is at your Life and mine.

Zo.
Ha! what pretended Son? be brief, and plain,
Unless your stronger Fears have turn'd your Brain.

Cyll.
Your Locris is a Woman: Start at this?
Once more, if I am one, I swear she is.
He who so Bravely, and so Boldly Fought,
Ev'n now confess'd the Woman; let this thought
Make it seem possible, 'twas Love that taught;
Love taught her how to weild the Sword and Spear,
Love of Maherbal banish'd all her fear.

Zo.
Impossible, you trifle.

Cyll.
Do I wake?
Do I see thee, my Father? do I speak?

Zo.
Cease your mad Questions, and your madder Tale,
I saw it newly Born, and saw it Male.

Cyll.
Might not some Male a while supply her place,
That's a stale cheat, oft known in such a case.
Once the false Infant is expos'd to view,
They strait return him, and take back the true.

Zo.
By Heav'n, thou rack'st my very brain,—forbear,
Too plain, old Credulous Fool, their Plots appear.
Be all my kindred, all but thou, accurst,
Hell seize on all, but on Semanthe first.
Fly, bid my Souldiers arm, all mount the Guard,
Hast, and let every Avenue be barr'd.
Would I could once that Hellish Traytress see,
What Hell could furnish, should her Portion be,
To Punish her, as she has punish'd me.

[Exit.
Cyllene alone.
Cyll.
Now leap my ravish'd Heart, now mount my Soul,
And each extended Arm grasp either Pole.
Reach yonder Starry roof, and Chrystal Spheres,
And shew the Gods a Genius great as theirs.
Then downwards drive, search the deep Plots of Hell,
And learn if Women, or if Feinds excel.
Make Fate with industry thy task pursue,
For thou hast set it work enough to do.
If half tir'd Furies at their toyl repine,
Give them new Fury; Woman, give them thine.

[Exit.
Enter Semanthe.
Sem.
How shall I hide me from my Tyrant's sight,
How shun the woes which threaten me this Night?
All things so full of Fate and Death appear,
As sadly tell me that my own is near.
Whole Nature is in Pangs, and Groans around,
Winds toss the Waters, Thunder tears the Ground,
Earth feels, and shakes and staggers at the Wound.
Thrice our dead Parents call'd us from the Tomb,
Come Zoilus they cry'd, Semanthe come.
Hark, 'tis my Husband's voice; the shrieking Ghost
Sounds not so Fatal; now, 'tis now I'm lost.
Fly to the Temple, have recourse to Pray'r,
Alas! thou wilt not find Protection there.
Without regard to any power Divine,
He'll Stab thee Kneeling, tho' before the Shrine.

[Scene opens she goes in.
Re-Enter Zoilus with Torches.
Zo.
Hither I come again some ease to find,
Lay, where I rais'd the tempest in my mind.
All things are calm but I, no Foe appears,
From my own Breast spring my own mortal Fears.
Would I knew how, or what the Fates decreed,
Or when, or where they destine me to bleed.
Conscious, and certain of the worst to come,
Secure of Death, I could out brave my doom.
Lead to the Temple, either Gods or Fiends.
Or Heaven or Hell shall tell what Fate intends.
If they refuse to speak, when I invoke,
I'll kindle to a Flame the curling Smoak,
Their Idols shall be burnt, their Altars broke.

The Scene of the Grove draws, and discovers the Temple, which they that bear the Torches open, Semanthe kneeling at the Altar.
Sem.
Save me ye Gods!

Zo.
Not all that rule the Sky
Shall save you, by my just Revenge you die.
I'll spare you yet a while, where's Locris gone?
Where is that Daughter? that Impostor Son?
You let Maherbal Scape—

Sem.
'Tis False—

Zo.
'Tis True,
As you are False, nothing is False, but you.
Bane of thy Husband's and thy Soveraign's Life,
Speak, Traytress, Viper, Monster, Woman, Wife!

Sem.
Alas! I know not.

Zo.
You know nothing; no;
Nor when, nor whither they design'd to go.
Unknown to you, I am by you Betray'd,
You did not know that Locris was a Maid.
All this I've learnt, give me to know the rest,
Or Racks and Wheels shall tear it from your Breast.

Sem.
What would you more, you your curst orders gave
To kill a child Heaven destin'd me to Save.
Unnatural you caus'd that my Pious Cheat,
Come when it will, I glory in my Fate.

Zo.
Die, damn'd deceiver Die—stand off ye Slaves
[Stabs her.
If you tread here, you tread upon your Graves.
Still Obstinate as False, is this a time?
And will you not in Death confess your crime.
Die in the true perverseness of your Sex,
In Life and Death delighting to Perplex.

[Stabs again.
Sem.
Spare yet the short remainder of my Life,
For Locris is—

Zo.
What is She? Speak—

Sem.
A Wife.
Wife to Araxes, your Maherbal's Wife.

Zo.
What? Wife to both? go on speak yet again,
Speak thou—my Wife, till you distract my Brain.
Wilt thou not make me Mad—

Sem.
No more, adieu—
Kind Heaven forgive us both, but chiefly you.

[Dies
Zo.
What, Speechless? Dead? hold yet, you must not go,
For I have many other things to know.
She's gone, no strugling warmth, no kindly spark
Of Life remains—
And I like her must wander in the Dark.
Hark, the Loud Trumpets, hark, the thundring Drum,
The Romans, and the Conqu'ring Rebels come.
Sure I have only Dreamt I was a King,
Would it were all a Dream—but Oh! the sting
Of Conscience gives at last the secret Wound,
But here's to lull it fast, to Sleep so sound,
As never more to Dream—

[Falls on his Sword.
Enter Cyllene.
Cyll.
Ha! what has Fate done here? my Mother Dead?
My Father Dying, and my Sister fled?
Who should have liv'd, by death's curst error fell,
They live, who should have dyed—
Mistaken mischief! mangled work of Hell!
How could all this be done, whose hands concern'd
In the dire Fact? That yet is to be learn'd.
O raise thee up a little from the ground,
Tell thy Cyllene in her Sorrows drown'd,
to Zoilus.
Tell, sacred Sir, who gave the Fatal wound.

Zo.
Who durst, but I my self?—make no reply,
I've many things to ask before I die.
What is become of Locris, is she Seiz'd?
Tell me she is that I may perish pleas'd.
Where is Maherbal, where Araxes? where
The Roman Army? further Questions spare,
And Answer e're my Soul dissolves in Air.

Cyll.
Romans and Rebels ravage all the Town,
Araxes marches on to Snatch the Crown.
Archias Proclaims him at his Army's head,
And the War done, he and your Locris wed.

Zo.
Where is Maherbal then, sits he unmov'd?
And lets another take the Maid he lov'd?

Cyll.
Maherbal is Araxes—

Zo.
Spiteful Pow'rs!
Hell, and Confusion! What a Fate is ours.
You rave, and so do I, and all Mankind,
We who boast Reason, more than Brutes are blind.
Wretches like us by Heav'n decree accurst,
For ruine destin'd, still run mad at first.
Fate's malice I despise, her rage I slight,
In a few moments in her own despight,
With me it shall be Rest, and endless Night.
Snatch not my Sword, Cyllene—yet you may,
I have a surer, and a speedier way.
Help me a while to stand erect, and straight,
[She helps him up.
That I may fall with greater force and weight,
At once; and all together strike the ground,
[tears open his wounds & dies.
While the Soul rushes from the gaping wound.

Cyll.
Farewel, great Soul; and now farewel all Fear,
I am thy Off-spring, and thy Spirit's heir.
Let my Malignant Stars their utmost do,
I slight them, while I can escape like you.
But hark, the Conqu'ring Troops in Triumph move,
My rival Sister, and my Tyrant love.
Hell! must I stifle my Revenge and hate?
And herd with Vassals at the Temple Gate?
Till the proud Victors shall pronounce our Fate.
But 'tis resolv'd, there shall Cyllene stand,
Off'ring Petitions with a trembling hand.
Suppliant, concealing this envenom'd dart,
[Drawing a Dagger.
Till shooting from their feet, I reach their Heart.

Drums, Trumpets. Enter Araxes, Locris, Archias Victorious. Archias leading Orythia.
Araxes at the door of the Temple.
Arax.
From further slaughters let our Soldiers cease,
Let War lie buried in profoundest Peace.
Let us our Fury, and Revenge suspend,
From this blest hour, Blood stanch, and Murther end.

Cyll.
(kneeling)
Yet e're you enter these Divine aboades,
The sacred Mansions of forgiving Gods,
Stay, lovely, cruel Conqueror, turn, and stay,
Hear a despis'd, unhappy Princess pray.

Araxes raising her.
Arax.
O rise, you need not make your wishes known,
Life, Liberty, Dominion are your own.

Cyll.
Could you but guess, you would recal the grant,
'Tis thus I satisfy what e're I want.

[Offers at Locris, but prevented, turns the wound on her self.]
Arax.
Seize her, disarm her.

Cyll.
Behold it here, lodg'd in my bloody Breast,
Tho' first intended for my Sister's Guest.
This Blow will all my pain and shame remove,
For failing Vengeance, and rejected Love.
Gods! tho' on him your Blessings you conferr,
Be Just by halves—heap Plagues—heap Hell on her.
Soon may she Die—shall that poor Curse suffice?—
Long may she Live, long slighted, e're she dies.
May she most Vertuous be, most chastly good,
But he believe her most abandon'd lewd!
Then may this Flourishing, yet happy she
Die thus Desdain'd, thus in Dispair like me.

[Dies.
Arax.
What sad extreams make most of Women's Fate,
Raging with love, relentless in their hate:
Successive passions in their turns prevail,
Less fair their Person's, than their tempers frail.

Lo.
Oh! All ye Just, but too, too rigid Pow'rs!
Let Fate no further reach to us or ours.
Tho' still such Judgments such a life attend,
Yet our allyance bids me mourn her end.

Arax.
Enter the sacred Temple, now to bind
Our selves by Vows, to be but less confin'd,
To mingle Souls, when once our hands are Joyn'd.
You too, my Sister shortly must provide
To bless young Archias in a wish'd for Bride.
His Father here first wrought this turn of Fate,
And I will make him, as he made me Great.
On that brave Youth you must your Love bestow,
For you can Rival me no longer now.
Burn all our incense, all our Gods invoke,
Let the thick fumes their Silver tunnels choak,
And clowd the blushing Bride with Curling smoak.

The Temple opens, and discovers Zoilus and Semanthe lying on two Mourning Couches, Mourners attending, and Lamps burning about them.
Arax.
What's this? to what a Pomp of Death I come?
Speak you, or are you, like those Bodies, dumb?
Who did all this? I charge you, hast, and tell,
How Zoilus, and how Semanthe fell?

Lo.
Father, and Mother too—art thou too dead?
Then all is past, and I who came to wed,
Must make the Grave, as it is thine, my Bed.

[Swoons.
Arax.
Hold her, support her, hast, and gently bow
Her body—leave her—She recovers now.

Lo.
Are these my promis'd Nuptials? must I go
Thus to be Wedded midst this World of woe?
If under such a weight condemn'd to live,
Still I must beg a little time to grieve.

Arax.
You shall not grieve alone, my Charming Fair,
Give me your Sorrows, or at least my share;
Too soon your Sex is with your woes opprest,
Which would sit better in a manly Breast.
That Mournful aspect half my hopes destroys,
Those Sighs amidst my Triumphs sink my Joys.
In you my Soul would have her full desire,
Did not those Tragick sights your Tears require,
And prove that pleasure never comes entire.