 | Neglected Virtue : or, the Vnhappy Conquerour |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Enter Bretton, Curio, Ariene, and Servants.Bret.
Gone! Why 'tis impossible, she cou'd not creep out at
the Key-Hole, sure; Is she a thing invisible; Gone, and
not know it?
Cur.
You amaze your Servants.
Bret.
Some Rogue or other has watched her Hour of Itching,
and claw'd her, claw'd her, do you mind me? Some Rascal, I'll
warrant, that I foster up.
Cur.
They are all here, Sir.
Brit.
Let 'em be where they will, they're all Rascals, Sir; and by
this Hand, I'll hang 'em all.
Cur.
Deal calmly; you will not give 'em time to answer.
Bret.
I'll choak 'em, famish 'em; what say you, Wag-tail? you
knew her Mind, you were of Council with her; Let me know
where she is.
Cur.
Ask with Discretion.
Bret.
Discretion! Hang Discretion: Pox you, confound you,
damn you all. Hussy, let me know where she is.
Ari.
Would you know of me, Sir?
Bret.
Of you, Sir! Ay of you, Sir: Why, what are you, Sir?
Ari.
Your Niece, an't like your Worship.
A Bawd, an't like your Worship; a Lady fairy, to oyle the
Doors a Nights, that they may open without squeeking.
Ari.
'Tis very well, Sir.
Bret.
You lye, 'tis damnable ill, Sir: Hearky', will you confess yet?
Ari.
If I were guilty, I'd be hang'd first: Is this an Age to confess in?
Bret.
Tell me the Truth, Ariene, and as I live I'll give thee a new
Petticoat.
Ari.
If you'd give me ten, I would not tell you. A Petticoat!
I'd have you know, Sir, Truths are now a-days at a higher Price,
than I perceive you are aware of.
Cur.
Come, Cousin, deal modestly.
Ari.
Why, I don't pluck my Cloaths.
Bret.
What say you, Sirrah, you, and you, are you all dumb?
Port.
I saw her last Night, an't shall like your Worship.
Bret.
Did you so, an't shall like your Worship? Where lay she?
who lay with her?
Port.
In truth, not I, Sir; I lay with my Fellow Frederick, in the
Flea-Chamber.
Ari.
I left her by her self in her own Closet; and there I thought
she had slept.
Bret.
Were all the Doors locked?
Port.
All mine.
Serv.
And mine; she cou'd not get out that way, unless she leap'd
the Wall; and I am sure that's higher than any Woman's Courage
dares venture at.
Bret.
Come, come, I say once more, Hussy, you must know.
Ari.
Why then, Sir, I'll tell you what I know.
Bret.
I, do, that's my Ari.
Ari.
In the the first place, I believe she's gone, because you can't
find her. In the second, I believe she's weary of your Tyranny, and
therefore gone; and in the third place, I believe she's in Love,
where you have no good Liking; and in the fourth place, If I were
she, I'd see you hang'd before I'd come agen.
Bret.
Was there ever so much Impudence in Woman! Get you
out my Doors.
Ari.
Ay, with all my Heart; if your House was Gold, and she
not in it, I should count it nothing but a Cage to whistle in.
If she be above ground I will have her.
Ari.
I'd live in a Coal-pit then, if I were she.
Bret.
Go search the House once more, all Corners where 'tis possible
she may go out: If I do find your Tricks—
Ari.
I care not what you find, so you don't find her.
[Ex. Serv.
Enter Castilio Junior.
Cast.
Why, how now, Father-in-law, what, I hope you han't got a
sham Fit of the Apoplexy too: Look, look, how he struts about, like
a new-made Gentleman-Usher. My Lord, your Lordships most humble
Servant; pray how does Miss Wife do?
Bret.
Oh, Son-in-law, she's quite undone.
Cast.
Why, she is not married yet, is she?
Bret.
Nay Heaven knows, she may be for ought I know; she is
stoln out of the House, and is gone, Heaven knows whither.
Cast.
Humph—Now do I begin to smell out my Fathers Apoplectick
Fit; I perceive I was not shamm'd off so for nothing, Look ye,
Father that shou'd have been, if your Daughter be gone, there's a Witch
at your Elbow knows what Wind will fetch her back again,
Ari.
Meaning me, Sweet Sir?
Cast.
Yes, you, sweet Lady, pray when went the Gentleman away
that was so kind to bring me the News of my Fathers being given over
by his Physicians. A Plague of his Message, I'm sure he procur'd
me a good drubbing.
Ari.
He went just after you, Forsooth.
Bret.
How! A Man was there! a Man with her!
Ari.
O, yes, Unkle, the prettiest, sweetest, good humoredst Gentleman
I ever saw in all my life.
Bret.
And how got he in? tell me.
Ari.
I let him in, Forsooth.
Bret.
And who was it? tell me, my dear Ariene, tell me, and I
protest I'll give thee new Cloaths from top to bottom.
Ari.
I'll rather turn Adamite, and bring Fig Leaves into fashion
again.
Bret.
'Slife, I could find in my Heart to murder the jade.
Cast.
If I an't mistaken, my Lord, they call him, Ly, Ly, Ly,
something.
Bret.
Lycastes.
The same, by Jupiter.
Bret.
Oh! Rogue, Dog, Oh! Villain, he has been hankering after
her above this half year.
How now, what news? is she i'th'House?
Por.
I'm sure she's not i't'Cellar; for look ye, Sir, if she had been
i't' cellar—
Bert.
I'm sure thou hast been there.
Port.
Yes truly, Sir; and I carry'd the matter very swimmingly;
I search'd every piece of Wine, yes sure, Sir, every Terse that could
but testifie, and I drew hard to bolt her out.
Bert.
Away with him, fling him into the Hay-loft. Go Rascals,
careless Dogs, get me my Sword, my Pistols, and arm your selves
quickly; I'll to that Rascal's House, I'm sure she's rousled there.
Come, Castillio, will you accompany me?
Cast.
Ay, with all my Heart, Sir.
Bret.
And d'ye hear, Hussey, get you to your Chamber, and
let me find you at my return,—or—
[Exit Bret. Cast. and Servants.
Ari.
Wipe your Beard, Unkle, the Effects of your Anger hangs
upon't. Why what a little ill-natur'd Titt was this to steal away
without my Knowledge. Well, I'm resolv'd I'll follow her, and
be an eternal Plague to this old Devil of a Father of hers: Sure
Lycastes, will have Wit enough to conceal her; thither I'm certain
she's gone. Well, I'll to my Chamber, and study how to make
my escape unknown. I'll teach his anger to dispute with Women.
[Exit.
The King sitting on a Throne; the Queen and Princess by him. On each side the Throne, Memnon, Castillio, Lysander, Singers in Warlike Habits, A Symphony of Warlike Musick, and then a Song.
After the Song, the King, &c. rises.
King.
So Jove Imperial, from his Throne of Thunder,
Circled by all the lesser Train of Court,
Attending Gods speaks the big Voice of Fate.
Monarchs are Joves on Earth, their Words are Laws,
And these are mine. In all our—be
This Day for ever mark'd a Festival.
Let smoaking Altars Loads of Incense waste,
Forrests of perfumed Trees be rooted up;
Whence hallow'd Herds in spicy Clouds, shall mount,
And with their victim'd Odours Feast the Gods.
Sound all our Trumpets, beat up all our Drums,
Musick of War; Ring out the Bells of Peace;
Mankind be glad, whilst the rich Goblet crown'd
With sparkling Gore, launch'd from the wounded Grape,
In Healths at e'ry Table walk the round.
Nor be it here restrain'd, our Conduits fill,
Till from their Heads whole Rivers are pour'd down,
And their long Streams reach Neptune's large Bowl.
[King drinks, and Trumpets sound.
Enter Artaban attended.
Behold my Lords, here our Deliverer comes.
Art.
The Gods, the Gods, great Sir, have us'd my Sword,
Weak in these Hands, but conquering in theirs,
To punish the proud Arms of that bold King,
Who dar'd aspire their Phraates to attempt.
King.
By all the Gods, Artaban!
Art.
The same banish'd Artaban,
Led by the Genius that inspires his Soul,
And, maugre all your former Threats, is come
To offer up his Service at your Feet.
King.
Rise, Noble Man, and let me shrowd my self
Within the generous Covert of thy Breast.
I'm all o'r shame to be out-done in Honour.
Canst thou forget my fell Ingratitude?
(Oh curst remembrance, how it racks my Soul!)
That drove thee, as a Criminal, from Court:
The Words, the Action, every part of that
Black Deed is in my Thoughts, and does advance
The brightness of thy Character the more.
Art.
Let that be blotted, bury'd Sir, for ever,
In the dull Orb of dark Oblivion's Grave.
King.
Oh, Let me hold thee in my Arms, thou Son
Of War, elder than Mars, What have I seen
Those Hands of thine perform. Not he who holds
Heav'n's Shaffs of Vengeance could do more.
Had it not been for him, we had not been.
Our Kind, our Brave, our Valourous Restorer,
The Adamantine Locks that keeps, Fates Laws,
His Sword can break, and change their Sacred Rolls.
Is not this he, that in the Phrygian Fields,
When the eager Armies were drawn forth to fight,
Rod forth, and bid defiance to the Host;
Then, then the Battles joyn'd, and then thy Sword,
All crimson'd with their Gore, flung Wounds and Death
Round all the scatter'd Troops, and gain'd the day.
Art.
My little share in that great Conquest, Sir,
If any, I deriv'd it all from you.
'Twas your Example, Sir, that led me on:
I did but follow where you broke the way.
King.
Thou art as modest, as thou'rt truly valiant.
O, Artaban! What was't cou'd make me hate thee?
'Twas madness, by the Gods, 'twas madness all,
To rob my self of my Right Hand, my Life,
My Battles, Sieges, Victories, and Fame;
I ne'er cou'd end thy Praises, 'tis a Theme
Years wou'd want time to finish; but in part
Alinda's thine, and Hymen bless your Loves.
[Gives Alinda.
Arta.
The bounteous Gift's so vast, I blush to think
How far my humbler Merit it exceeds.
Oh! I'm all Extasie, through e'ery Pore
The balmy Joy creeps to besiege my Heart,
And drowns the Expressions of my Gratitude.
Queen.
Oh! I'm undone; it must not, shan't be.
[To Eudora.
Art.
Say, brightest Pattern of the Deities, speak,
And let me know what Dowries you expect.
Tho' to no Crowns my abject State was born,
No joyful Subjects at my Birth cou'd sing
An Io Pean to their Infant King;
But brought into the World, have always liv'd
The Son of Fortune in the Broils of War:
Yet, thanks to Fate, the Kingdom's in my Sword.
Name in what fertile Soil you'll have a Throne;
Be it beyond the Alps, or there where runs
Pactolus Streams oe'r Sands of shining Gold.
I'll lead my conquering Bands where the bold Foot
Of Warriour never trod, oe'r Hills of Snow,
Where Summer's Suns ne'r made a chearful Day.
Or changing Climates farther Eastward go;
Where Nature in her Fire, expiring lies,
And the parch'd Earth gapes for a blast of Air:
Nay search lost Paradice, and place ye there.
Alind.
O, Artaban! thy Love's a Throne to me;
Enjoying that in some wild Rural Seat,
Which mimmick Art did never cultivate,
Close by the Mossy Head of some sweet Spring,
Whence gentle Streams their murm'ring Cadence make
Thro' flow'ry Meads, Green Lanes and whisp'ring Groves.
I'd rather live with thee than in gay Courts,
Those busie Markets of Revenge and Hate.
Art.
Oh, I have gain'd the prosp'rous point of Love;
Enjoyment scarce it's Measures can encrease:
So well agreed, so well our Hearts are joyned,
E're Marriage-bonds admit the nearer Ties.
King.
Thy Vertues do deserve her best returns
Nor can she love thee more than I admire.
'Tis time that we retire, my Lord, the General,
By his late Action tired, may want Refreshment.
King.
E're long we'll meet again; in the mean while,
United Joys through all the City smile.
[Ex. om. pret. Q. and Eud.
Queen.
O, my Eudora, faithful Confident,
To thee I dare disrobe my cover'd Soul,
And lay my naked Thoughts before thy view;
Which did I not believe, I'd never tell thee
That Artaban's the Object of my Flame.
Gods! I confess, that at the first sight I lov'd,
The poys'nous Arrow, flew like Lightning through
My Veins, and left it's sulph'rous Tincture there.
Eud.
When such Resolves in Royal Breasts are sent,
Thy're Pledges of their own Accomplishment.
Queen.
Oh, my Eudora, didst thou mark the Lovers?
Did you behold their interchang'd Delights?
How their Lips mov'd? their swelling Veins boil'd o'er?
Their throbbing Hearts Love's loud Allarums beat,
As if they'd leave the Lodgings they had got;
And in the presence with each other joyn.
Eud,
Where's the bright Lamp of Reason, Madam, now,
Which shone so clear within your Honours Breast?
If they too fiercely love, it cannot last.
Queen.
By all the Sulphur of the flaming Deep,
It sha'n't, not an hour, a minute more.
Eud.
Then Madam, know, I hate Alinda with
As great a force as you love Artaban.
This, amongst others, take a Reason for't:
My Heart burnt once with Fires as fierce as yours,
It's Object not unworthy, but unhappy:
Press'd with Alinda's Charms, told her his Griefs.
She scorn'd, and he, too great to bear it, dy'd.
Revenge has since buoyd up my Life, and now.
I'll strive to act it both for you and me.
Queen.
The means? the way.
Eud.
Leave that to me. But stay,
Here's Memnon coming, he's your Lover, Madam,
And may be made a useful Engine here.
Screw up his tow'ring Hopes, and put Ambition
Into the Scale to lift him to our Ends.
Mem.
May I approach you, Madam?
Quee.
Draw near, my Lord, how do the Lovers do?
Mem.
They're happy, sure.
Quee.
They shall not long be so:
[Aside.
How know you that?
Mem.
Despairing Memnon's only wretched are,
Where Love meets Love, there's an Elizium there.
Quee.
You always had a Mast'ry o'er my Heart,
But yet, the Way's too rough to climb a Throne;
Till that be smooth'd, you know my vow'd Resolve.
Mem.
If done, may I have leave to hope?
Quee.
You may.
Mem.
Then shall this Sword before the next Day's Light,
Give Death to Phraates, and Life to me.
Eud.
Methinks, my Lord, 'twou'd be ill season'd then,
The very time the Nuptials are perform'd:
And shou'd the King be slain, the General
May in Alinda's name claim Sicily.
Quee.
Cou'd we contrive how to divert the Match,
Then Courage makes a Queen, and Crown your own.
Mem.
The Corner-Stone is laid, the Art's to raise
The Structure; let me think.
Eud.
Is the High-Priest to marry 'em?
Mem.
Yes.
Quee.
He is your Brother.
Mem.
And with his Life wou'd serve me.
I left him in the Temple now, preparing
All things in order to receive the King,
Who comes in private to consult the Oracle.
Quee.
If you cou'd now ingage him how to work
The Jealous King in fear of th'angry Aug'ries:
'Tis for your sake and mine, Memnon, be quick;
I long to see thy Temples in a Crown.
Mem.
You are my Queen, and I in all obey.
[Ex. Mem.
Quee.
Choose they who will the smoother Ways to tread,
Where the dull beaten Paths of Vertue lead;
Befits not me, I'll travail like a God:
Where I find none, these Hands shall make my way,
And Pleasure only shall oblige my stay.
In flowing Extasies consume the Night,
My Life shall be the measure of Delight;
So may the Hours of all those Lovers be,
Who live, and love, and dare to act like me.
[Ex. Quee. Eud.
Enter Artabandas and Alinda. A Chamber of State.
Artab.
My dear Alinda, oh, my Life, my Soul,
My Happiness, my every Bliss to me;
What happy Influence rul'd the Skies to day?
How comes your Father, once the cruel Phraates,
So kind, so gentle, and so bounteous now?
Alin.
Is there amongst th'Inhabitants above,
A God that bears a Domination there,
That can,
Knowing thy Vertues, which their Hands did make.
So near their own Original, neglect
A Care of thee, thou ow'st it all to them.
Artab.
Thou art all Goodness, perfect Charity;
Nor does the Ætherial Maid that bears that Name,
With half thy Beams, and brighten'd Beauties shine;
Oh! I cou'd look, and love, and gaze, and live,
And bask my self within these Rays for ever:
Thy Eye's my Sphere of Light, thy Breast my Globe;
My Garden's in thy Face, and in thy Heart my Love.
Alin.
These are your Infant Raptures, Gentle Strains,
An uncloy'd Fancy makes a Posie of,
For some short time the pleasant Flowers are Sweet,
Beauteous to th'Eye, and Odorous to the Scent;
But when the Noon of Life is past, the Toy's
Wither'd, laid by, forgot, and soon no more.
Artab.
Best of thy kindest Sex, restrain these Fears;
Our Hours too precious are for Thoughts like these.
They shou'd be all Delight and Extasie,
No sawcy Care intrude it's Ravenous Look,
Its yellow Locks to discompose us now.
Alin.
Then banish'd let 'em be, it shall be so.
Thus in thy manly Breast I'll lay my Head,
And in a gentle Sigh thus kindly breath
Soft as a whispering Evenings Summers Glade,
The next approach unto thy Listening Ear.
Artab.
Oh my Alinda! thy kind gentle Words
Set all my Veins on Fire; the Lambent Flames
Their liquid Streams through all my Arteries send:
Oh! I cou'd chide the tardy Day, the tedious Night,
Which stand between me and my utmost, Joys.
Fly, fly, you Minutes, lay your Crutches by,
Huddle to Hours, you Hours to Days, and bring
Life and Enjoyment to my longing Arms.
Alin.
This Day has done its share, we owe it much,
And may be pleas'd to treat it whilst it's here;
These little Lets pay our Delights increase
In Expectation, there's its Pleasure found.
Artab.
This is thinn Dyet to the Hungry Soul.
Alin.
It is spare Dyet's Meals that make us feed the better,
Whilst the pall'd Stomach nauseous Surfeits feel.
Artab.
Oh! who cou'd surfeit in enjoying thee?
Thou art a Counterpoison to all Ills:
Misfortunes stand avaunt when thou art near.
Alin.
Enough, my Lord, the Evening is farr spent:
Indeed it's time to part.
Artab.
But till to Morrow;
Then we shall join to separate no more:
So have I seen two Sister-Streams that spread,
Their Silver Currents from one Fountain's Head,
Kiss, and take each their several way, through all
The fertile Soyle where their soft Murmurs fall,
Till having run their Course, they kindly greet,
And in the Sea, their twin'd Embraces meet.
[Ex. severally.
| Neglected Virtue : or, the Vnhappy Conquerour | |