University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE Syracuse.
Enter Zoilus, Semanthe.
Zo.
Thus far the bounteous Gods have blest my Toyls,
And crown'd my Labours with their constant Smiles.
In rolling Tides my rising Fortunes flow,
Bestowing all that Conquest can bestow.
Rome fears our Arms, and lately felt our Pow'rs,
Compell'd to fly from our Sicilian Shores.
Their last Defeat secures me on the Throne,
And makes this fair and fertile Isle my own.

Sem.
No more, my Lord, think of your Wars with Rome,
Strive to secure your self from Foes at home.
Your Subjects out of Fear, not Love, obey,
Their down-cast Looks their Discontent betray,
They wish a Change, and only wait a day.
Too feeble to revolt, in Peace they dwell,
Till gather'd Strength gives Courage to rebel.

Zo.
No, my Semanthe, Monarchy is gain'd
With Pain and Toyl; but is with Ease maintain'd.
Our Empires are establish'd first by Force,
Then quiet Government glides on of Course.
War, when no more oppos'd by War, will cease,
And sink, and soften, of it self, to Peace.
Full twenty peaceful Years have crown'd our Isle,
And Sicily has seen no Civil Broil.
Kings, in the Name of King, their Safety bear,
There's something in the Sound that Subjects fear.

Sem.
Could you expect Protection from a Name,
The slain Orontes might have hop'd the same.
All Sicily his gentle Sway approv'd,
As Prince, they fear'd him, and as Parent, lov'd.
Till you were made by curst Ambition blind,
And Lust of Pow'r debauch'd your gen'rous Mind.
Thrones and Dominions glitter'd in your View,
Then fell the good old King—
And what I grieve for most, he fell by you.

Zo.
Thrones and Dominions still in Prospect rise,
The Neighb'ring Realms allure my dazzl'd Eyes,
Nor will this one of Sicily suffice.
My Fleets and Armies shall inlarge my Sway,
O're-run the Continent, and plow the Sea.
Sardinia, Cyprus, Corsica, and Creet,
Shall lay their conquer'd Scepters at my Feet.
And fast as they their Royal Crowns resign,
I'll spare them from my Head to place on thine.

Sem.
Oh! Rather would you were some humble Swain,
And I your homely Consort on the Plain.
Where in a silent and serene Retreat,
Our Herds might low, and Lambs around us bleat,
And we lye safe from all the Storms of Fate.
Forgive, my much lov'd Lord, my tender Fears,
And, oh! Despise not these Prophetick Tears.
Ah! when you must your Life and Empire yield,
Betray'd at Home, or fighting in the Field,
On whom for Succour shall your Children call,
And whither shall I fly; alas! your Fall
In one sad Ruine will involve us all.

Zo.
I still shall in my Darling Son survive,
And seem in Warlike Locris still alive.
His Arms your Lives and Fortunes will sustain,
His Hands were made for Scepters—
His Looks for Royalty, his Soul to reign.

Sem.
Oh! Never, never shall that Darling Son
Possess the Realms his dreadful Father won.
Poor Child! thy sad, untimely Death I fear,
And now my woeful Soul foretells it near.
Fate keeps it yet within her teeming Womb,
Till fully ripe, it shoots with Vengeance home.
His Doom, alas! is seal'd, 'tis past, 'tis gone,
And you, ev'n you his Father urge it on.
Remember, and you will not think I rave,
The dreadful Answer which the Sybil gave,
When you consulted the Cumæan Cave.
Your Son, the Goddess cry'd—
Unmarried, shall successful Fortune boast,
But married, you, or he, or both, are lost.

Zo.
Can any Danger lurk around the Throne,
Where Pow'r secur'd by Peace is all our own.
If Heav'n will have his Life, we must resign,
But still may save a Grandson of our Line.
'Tis now we must prevent the Spite of Fate,
To make her harmless Malice come too late,
He shall consummate with Orithia straight.
At once with theirs shall Hymen's sacred Bands
Joyn brave Maherball's and Cyllene's Hands.
Our Subjects Acclamations ring aloud,
And this Design has lull'd, and charm'd the Crowd.
The sighing Virgin shall no longer stay,
Nor shall he squander precious Time away,
But be before-hand with his Fate to day.

Sem.
What Mischiefs would your fatal Rashness form?
You, who should strive to lay it, raise the Storm.
That Hour you destine for his Nuptial Joys,
That Hour, that very Hour your Locris dyes.
Locris, unhappy Locris, I deplore,
And Zoilus his Race is now no more.

Zo.
Your Madness cease, and my Commands obey,
In spight of Fate they shall be joyn'd to day.
Women by Dreams to idle Fears are driv'n,
And then believe the Warning sent from Heav'n.
Expect from thence undoubted Aids to find,
As busie Gods had nothing else to mind:
They made them only at their idle Hours,
To grant their Wants would beggar all their Powers.

[Exit.
Sem.
Here will our dismal Tragedies begin,
Which these unhappy Nuptials usher in;
My pious Fraud must be at last reveal'd,
For Locris now can lie no more conceal'd.
Her Sex will be by her own self betray'd,
And the deluded Bride embrace a Maid.
Then, when my furious Lord shall come to know
That she and I have dar'd to use him so.
When he, defrauded of his Darling Son,
Finds all his Hopes of Royal Offspring gone,
And no Male Heir to settle on the Throne.
He'll keep his solemn, execrable Oath,
And wreak his Vengeance with the Death of both.
Oh! Locris! born under unhappy Stars;
Why hast thou scap'd the Fury of the Wars!
Why thro' so many Dangers hast thou past,
To come and perish in my Sight at last.

Enter Locris.
Lo.
I met my Father follow'd by a Crowd,
That sung ill-boding Songs of Triumph loud.
With Joy he clasp'd me in the publick Way,
And told me this must be my Nuptial Day:
The Temple is prepar'd, the Bride is Drest
In all the glorious Riches of the East.
In vain she puts on all her useless Charms,
There is no Bridegroom for her longing Arms.
Fate makes her a Fantastick Fortune prove,
And plagues a Virgin with a Virgins Love.

Sem.
Oh, Son!—My Words will with my Wishes run,
Oh! would to all the Gods you were a Son.
Ah! Daughter, at thy very Birth betray'd,
Destin'd to die, when thou art known a Maid.
Thou yet hast been preserv'd, bred up to wield
The Shining Sword, to lift the pondrous Shield,
And act the fearless Hero in the Field.
Heav'n has been kind, and help'd you in your part,
And gave you, tho' a Maid, a Manly Heart:
But how, alas! ye Gods, instruct me how
Shall we continue our Impostor now?
Tho' your deluded Sire should never know
Your Sex; we cannot cheat Orythia so.
From her strict Search the Fraud we cannot hide,
Nor e're appease the disappointed Bride.

Lo.
Oft have I seen you tremble to relate
The strange fantastick Malice of my Fate;
Thro' what wild Maze I've been already led,
And what yet wilder I have left to tread.
My careful Sire the longing Bride prepares,
And I his Daughter must beget him Heirs,
What will ye do with me, ye Powers Divine!
Say, is it not with Reason I repine,
Since no Maid's Fate was e're perplex'd as mine.
To shun my threatned Death conceal'd I lie;
But always fearing Death, do more than die.

Sem.
Heaven in these Realms let Desolation reign,
Let Fire and Sword eternal War maintain,
They cannot form a more distracting Scene.
Now, treacherously thy Stars deceee thy Doom;
A Wife thy Bane, the Bridal Bed thy Tomb.
Furies will hold the Torches round your Head,
And Fate officiate there in Hymen's stead.
For Joys unknown you shall resign your Life;
And she no Husband have, and you no Wife:
The Bride her Disappointment will perplex;
But when your Father comes to know your Sex,
When he shall find his mighty Projects crost,
And his fair Prospect in your Manhood lost,
Grief and Despight will work him to Despair,
His barb'rous Hands will his own Bowels tear,
No more a Father he, nor thou an Heir.

Lo.
Nor will our Subjects on our side engage,
No pious Hand protect us from his Rage,
With Joy they'll see him of his Hopes bereft,
Glad that the Tyrant has no Offspring left.
During his Life, they must thro' Force obey,
But when at last Fate snatches that away,
His House no longer shall possess the Sway.
To the right Heir we must the Crown resign,
For ever torn from Zoilus his Line.

Sem.
Oh! Curse on all Ambition, Curse on Thrones,
And Curse on those rash Hands that grasp at Crowns.
The Storms that now so loud around us blow,
Had not been heard, had we continu'd low.
Jove's Massy Bolts the Mountain's Top assail,
Vast Hills are drown'd in Snow, and dash'd by Hail,
The Swain enjoys a sweet and sunny Vale.
Would my dread Lord had n'ere aspir'd to reign,
Would the Retreat we left were ours again.
Where Life's unsully'd Sweets were all our own,
And we liv'd best, because we liv'd unknown.

Lo.
Distracted Tyranny is such a Curse,
Nought but my destin'd Nuptials could be worse.
Married, we live in greater Plagues and Pain,
Clog'd with more Cares than Monarchs when they reign.
Enjoyment sweetens some few Hours of Life,
But Hours of Pleasure to an Age of Strife,
They too are lost, where Maids are Man and Wife.
Like Danaus his Sons I mount the Bed,
Tho' justlier slain by the deluded Maid.

Sem.
Hark, how they shout, hark, how the Trumpets sound,
While vaulted Fanes, and ecchoing Hills rebound
[Trumpets sound.
Gods! How their Clamours make my Brain turn round.
The King and Priests in long Procession go,
Little, ah! little, wretched Prince, you know
That way will lead you to Eternal Woe.
Hark, now again their ominous Voices rise,
And now again are eccho'd from the Shies.
Like Niobe, I'll go, and make my Moan,
And standing on some barren Cliff alone,
Grow dry with Grief, and stiffen into Stone.

Manet Locris.
Lo.
My Spirits pant apace, my throbbing Breath
Comes short, my Eye-lids seem to swim in Death.
Fear, tho' a Woman, I could never know,
And yet there's something makes me tremble now.
In such sad Accents was my Story told,
Her Eyes with such Prophetick Fury roll'd,
Fate must this day some Tragedy design,
And not to have it her's, I wish it mine.
Ha! What is this I hear, some new Alarms.
Whatever Fate decrees this Musick charms,
Drums and Trumpets.
For next to living is to dye in Arms.

Enter Zoilus.
Zo.
Arm, Locris, arm, like a tempestuous Main,
War in full Tides comes rolling on again.
Their broad spread Sails the Roman Fleet displays,
And their proud Eagles hover on our Seas.
My false Sicilians with the Foe combine,
All on a sudden in Rebellion joyn,
And nothing now but Syracuse is mine.
Dejected Hymen at the News withdrew,
And murmur'd out in Sighs a sad Adieu.
Mars, in his stead, comes formidably down,
And aws our Island with his dreadful Frown,
While his arm'd Legions compass all our Town.

Lo.
Here let us then, in this our last Retreat,
Resist the Shock, and grapple with our Fate.
True Courage in Distress is wont to soar,
And we have been reduc'd as low before.
To me those well-known Sounds of War are Charms,
More than Love-murmurs in a Maiden's Arms.
My daring Soul, the dusty Fields Delight,
Beyond the Dalliance of a Bridal Night.
This our last Stake against all theirs we lay,
Throw boldly; if we win the dreadful Day,
Their Fortunes are for ever cast away.

Zo.
In the mean time shall faithful Archias fly,
With all his Speed to Carthage for Supply.
Not far from hence their Fleet at Anchor rides;
'Twill reach us here in some revolving Tides:
Till then, my Son, go seek your Tyrian Friend,
On him and you my present Hopes depend.
Let Blood and Battle wear their ugliest Form,
By all the Gods we'll face the gathering Storm.
Enter Semanthe and Women.
What! Art thou here? Thou dire Presage! Thou Wife!
Bane of brave Thoughts, Plague every way of Life.
Thou com'st to steal away this Youth's Renown,
And with thy Tears to melt his Manhood down:
Like other Fools, thou wou'dst thy Offspring save,
Still wish him living, tho' he lives a Slave.
Sorceress, he shall to War; Avaunt, begone;
Come, follow me to Arms, to Arms, my Son.

[Exit.
Sem.
So, Tyrant, may'st thou still mistake my Sence;
I'll send him thither, not detain him thence:
Tho' in the Battle he may meet his Fate;
My Fears are easier than they were of late.
There harmless Darts may sing around his Head,
But had War stay'd, till he was forc'd to wed,
He must have perish'd in the Bridal Bed.
Now, by my dawning Hopes, no Servile Fear
Dwells in my Soul, but all is calm and clear.
Sound all the Trumpets there, beat all the Drums,
Not only Locris, but Semanthe comes.
I'll grasp a Sword, and to the Battle fly,
With Locris conquer, or with Locris dye.
Follow her still, where Fame and Danger call,
Share in her Triumph, or partake her Fall.

Lo.
My Fate has wrought me up, to let me go,
With double Rage, and Vengeance on the Foe.
The vanquish'd Rebels shall be tam'd again,
And Romans run before me thro' the Plain:
In my vast Soul I feel Ambition rise,
Within my Reach immortal Honour flies,
And Greatness dawns about my ravish'd Eyes.

Sem.
Ten thousand Gods my darling Heroine Sheild,
And all the Pow'rs of Heaven—
Guard, and preserve thee in the Bloody Feild.
Men ought not to condemn the marry'd Life,
But leave that Task to the lost thing, a Wife.
Our Husbands of themselves sufficient Curse,
Load us with Children, that enslave us worse;
Our Fears for them create our constant Pain,
And hourly rack the restless Mother's Brain.
And yet our Love encreases with our Care,
We doat upon them for the Pains we Bear.
Heav'en! if some suddain Vengeance you decree;
Oh! see me here your Mark, show'r all on me.
[Kneeling.
Spare my poor Locris, when you hurl it down,
And drive it on my destin'd Head alone.

[Rises and Exit.
Enter Maherball.
Ma.
War smoaks, my Friend, along the dusty Plain,
And Sicily is still the Noble Scene.
From Rome's Imperial Fleet whole Legions pour,
While ratling Drums like high-wrought Oceans roar.
Around our Shores their Ecchoing Trumpets sound,
Their prancing Coursers toss their Foam around,
And beat with restless Hoofs the burthen'd Ground.
Bellona woes us now with all her Charms,
And calls her favorite Locris forth to Arms.
The Clash and Din of War your Soul delight,
And you love Glory gain'd in open Fight,
More than the secret Pleasures of the Night.
By Heav'n, I swear, when Hymen's sacred Tye
Was broke abruptly off; a suddain Joy
Sprung in my Soul, and yet I knew not why.

Lo.
My Thoughts no other End but Fame pursue,
To fight, to conquer, or to dye with you.
Young as I am, I love a glorious Field,
More than the Bliss my charming Bride could yeild.
Thou art the Center where my Wishes joyn,
My Fame, my Friendship, and my Soul is thine.
Your very Sight transports me, for I see
My Champion and my Genius move in thee.

Ma.
I love you with a Fondness far above
All that was ever known in Woman's love.
My Friend—Oh! whither would my Transport tend?
Can I say more than what I say? my Friend!
Something there is beyond that very Name,
Something that sets my Spirits in a Flame,
I wish I were a Maid of Form divine,
To make your Soul and Body ever mine.
Rather I wish that you, dear Youth, could be
That charming Maid to be belov'd by me.
Friendship alone to wond'rous Heights may soar,
The change of one of us would make it more.

Lo.
Those Metamorphoses, alas! are past,
Could Wishes do, mine should not be the last.
But from our Theme our Thoughts are wander'd far,
We talk of Love, when we were bent for War.
And yet your Words such tender Passion move,
That I could ever talk with you of Love.

Ma.
Had not your Arms establish'd your Renown,
Were not your vast Exploits and Valour known,
By those sweet Looks, that charming Face betray'd,
My sight would all my other Sence invade,
And make me think you, what I wish, a Maid.
Oft have I entertain'd that pleasing Thought,
Till my Mistake your manly Actions taught,
And spight of them destroy'd the hopes I sought.

Lo.
Were I that Maid, already so intire
My Love is grown, it never could aspire,
To a more Sacred or Cœlestial Fire.
My Friendship has attain'd to that Excess,
Fond as she is, my Sister loves you less.
But hark, th'Embattel'd Foe prepar'd to fight,
And see the Sun loth to behold the Sight,
Sends out a faint and an imperfect Light.
Both Armies March apace to stand, or fall;
And thund'ring Shouts are the fierce Soldiers Call.
Trumpets and Drums summon their Chiefs away,
Who want Maherball to begin the Day.

Ma.
Then farewell Love, leave all those empty Joys,
To longing Maids, and to deluded Boys.
Believe me, Youth, who know what Women are,
The Sex was never worth a Soldier's Care.
Hard to be won, inconstant when obtain'd,
Like new forc'd Towns, lost with more Ease than gain'd.
The foolish Bridegroom makes the Nuptial Feast,
But he that gives the Banquet shares the least.
Safe in that State, to worst Extreams they fall,
They wed but one, their Wishes are for all.

[Exeunt.