 | The Vestal-Virgin |  |
ACT. III.
SCEN. I.
The Scene appears a burning house.Enter Artabaces.
Artab.
What noise is this!—How!
[noise.
A house in flames! where e're I go I see
Ruines of several natures wait on me.
—Hark, they cry for help—
[noise of help.
'Twere pitty to devote my self to flames
To save I know not who; what need I care?
He that is wretched has a life to spare;
Fate shall not need look after me, I'le try
Which is most careless grown, Fortune or I,
[Exit as into the house.
Enter Mutius, and two Souldiers.
Mut.
No stirring yet?
1 Sould.
Not as we can see.
Mut.
They are not sing'd yet:
Nor do I gaze with such a gust of joy,
As Pyrrhus had to look on burning Troy:
That this might grow to be Romes funeral flame,
And in its ashes bury its own name.
2 Sould.
Shall we go to th'other side?
Mut.
We'l keep our motions in this compass.
1 S.
How shou'd we know the right Lady, Mutius?
Mut.
Troth 'twas high time to ask;
Yet to say truth, I scarcely know my self;
But that we may be sure not to mistake,
Catch up every thing that looks but like a woman.
Come softly this way.
[Exeunt.
200
Art.
Here's something yet, she was well sing'd,
And had been over-roasted presently.
[Sets her down.
—Now, let me see my purchase.—
—Ha,—my eyes dazel as if they star'd on Sun-shine.
—I'le wipe 'um, and then look agin;
Her eyes are clos'd; and though with her 'tis night,
Her beauty shines without the help of light:
A darker form has hid a deity,
But death's too near for immortality.
I'le bow her gently;
Nature begins to triumph in the strife,
And through her lips soft whispers steal of life.
How fresh they shew, the Roses almost gone
For want of aire, by breath seem newly blown.
Ver.
—Ha.—where am I?
Hersilia, Sister, Hersilia,—
Ha—who are you? are you not my Father?
Art.
No, by no means fair creature.
Ver.
Are you not a man?
Art.
That's an odde question—yes.—
Ver.
You shou'd be then my Father.
Art.
That's right, a man indeed shou'd be her Father.
[aside.
Ver.
Or is there any other man besides my Father?
Art.
She's mad, overheated with the fire.
Ver.
Pray pardon my want of knowledge,
I never saw a man besides my Father,
Till I saw you, if you be one.
Art.
This is the likeliest thing to be a Virgin
That I e're met with.
[aside.
—Where have you liv'd, to be so ignorant?
Ver.
Among the Vestal Virgins from an Infant,
And helpt to keep the Sacred Fire alive.
Art.
O that my flame, as pure as those, might be
Fed by your pitty, though not piety!
Ver.
Help me but back again, and I'le attend
With true devotion those pure flames you send.
Art.
From ignorance alas her pitty grows,
Her innocence above a vertue shews.
Ver.
I had forgot, my Father and my Sister
May want the help that you ill plac'd in me.
O pitty, there's rather my misery;
Their merits and rewards far exceed mine.
Art.
Rewards cou'd never yet my soul encline.
Ver.
I can invite you then no other way.
Art.
Command me to my death, and I obey.
Ver.
Sure all mankinde are not thus vertuous too.
201
All woman-kinde do less resemble you.
Ver.
Hark, a noise agin; O my Father!
[noise.
Gentle Sir, that gen'rous pitty shew,
Which those above gave you but to bestow.
[weeps.
Art.
Dry up your tears, fair innocence;
I only beg if I return
That I may finde you in this place agin.
Ver.
Here you shall finde me sending up my pray'rs
For your success and happiness.
Art.
I had forgot to ask your name.
bows, and as going.
Ver.
Verginia, Sir; my fathers name's Emilius,
You never askt me that.
Art.
Nor never shou'd;
I have your word to stay just in this place.
Ver.
You need not doubt; I know not where to go.
Art.
'Tis all I ask for my reward;
Think bright Verginia, all your cares are mine.
Fortune has play'd her tricks, now Love pay thine.
[Exit, as into the burning house.
Manet Verginia.
Ver.
Does heaven on all mankinde such good bestow?
My Fortune's excellent, or they are so:
I grow strangely concern'd, some unknown cause
A secret warmth into my bosom draws;
I blush I know not why; my confus'd sense
Whispers, that shame can live with innocence;
Minds like smooth paper never writ upon,
When folded up, by some impression
Marks will remain it never had before,
And ne're return to former smoothness more.
Enter Mutius, and three or four.
Mut.
No news yet of Sulpitius!
—The women are all burnt I hope.
—Ha, here's one yet left, a very fair one too.
—Come Lady, you must along with me.
Ver.
What are you?
Mut.
Why, men.
Ver.
You wou'd not be thus rude then.
Mut.
Who the Devil shou'd be rude, if men shou'd not?
Away with her, and stay for me
Under the Grove I told you of.
1.
Come along.
Ver.
Whither? why d'ye pull me?
Alas, you'l frighten me.
202
She's wond'rous fair.—Away with her.
I hope this is not Hersilia.—
[aside.
Then 'tis fair play: Equal danger, equal plunder.
Ver.
Pray do not pull me, I promis'd to stay here
Till a friend come; I must not break my word.
Mut.
Indeed you must.—Away with her.
Ver.
What d'ye mean. O my heart fails me.
—Oh.
[swoons.
Mut.
Up with her, she'l wake with jogging:
Stay where I told you; I'le see a little farther,
And then come to you.
[Exeunt.
Enter Sulpitius and Hersilia, with Claudius and others.
Sulp.
Follow still behinde, and give me notice
If any overtakes us: Is Cinna gone to Mutius?
1.
Yes Sir.
Her.
Whither d'you carry me?
I do command you let me go.
Sulp.
When we are a little farther,
Free from the danger that concerns your Honor,
I will obey you; till then believe it was your service,
That made me throw my self into this danger.
Her.
This is strange, I mistrust something.
Sulp.
You might if you knew all I know;
Pray ask no questions in this place,
All is unsafe about us.
[Exeunt.
Enter Sertorius, bringing out Marcellina out of the fire.
Mar.
Set down your wretched load, for I am grown
Your burthen, that only wou'd have been my own;
Had you preserv'd Hersilia, you had prov'd
Happy to save the person we both lov'd;
But now you are as much unfortunate
To save a wretched thing whom we both hate.
[he stands amaz'd.
Sert.
Forgive the mixture which in me appears;
Wrong not my joyes, nor yet condemn my fears.
Mar.
Why do you stay, look on those shining walls,
And think that from those flames Hersilia calls.
Sert.
O what a wonder does your friendship prove!
Forgives ungratitude, and urges love.
—I know not what to do.
Mar.
—Go, go,
And pay what you to Love and Honour owe.
Sert.
Then I must stay; for there is nothing due
From Love or Honor justly but to you.
Mar.
All debts to me, to her I thus resign;
203
Ser.
And leave you thus!
Mar.
—If you stay here
Your formal gratitude will look like fear.
Sert.
It is my shame to stay, my shame to go;
Yet not my Virtue, but yours makes it so:
If in these flames I meet my death, they'l prove
As gentle, but more just then those of love.
[Exit as into the house.
Mar.
—What shall I do, my thoughts are tyr'd I finde,
With tedious journeyes up and down my minde;
Sometimes they lose their way, sometimes as slow
Like Beasts o're-loaded, heavily they move,
Prest by the weight of sorrow and of love.
Enter Artabaces.
Art.
So much for this; I'le have no more of these fiery trials,
My hair stinks like new burn'd Tinder:
See, she has kept her word.
—Best Lady.
Mar.
Sir.
Art.
'Slife, 'tis not she.
Mar.
You seem concern'd at some mistake.
Art.
A little Madam; it was my good fortune
To save a Lady from these flames,
That I expected here: 'twas her commands
That sent me back, to see what help
Her Father and her Sister might have need of.
Mar.
She was not tall Sir.
Art.
No Madam, her beauty and her stature
Shew'd her very young.
Mar.
You are happy Sir, to be the fortunate preserver
Of so much Innocence and Beauty.
Art.
D'you know her Madam? or to whom
This wretched house did once belong?
Mar.
She was my Cousin Sir, and that was once
Her Fathers Pallace: you seem a stranger by these questions.
Art.
I am Madam, and but arriv'd this minute:
The first thing I almost saw, at least took notice of,
Was this sad spectacle.
Mar.
Is all consum'd?
Art.
Every one now is scapt or perisht,
And need no help, or else are past it:
The last I met with was a noble Gentleman,
Concern'd it seems above the thought of danger;
For he appear'd careless of cracking beams,
And uncheck'd flames: A suddain noise
Without the house call'd him away.
204
O Sertorius! which way Sir was the noise?
Artab.
'Twas on the other side.
Mar.
That way Sertorius went, and I must follow.
—Pardon my disturbance Sir—yet—
—Reason and Honor check my haste—
But our unsteady actions cannot be
Manag'd by rules of strict Philosophy;
There is but part belongs unto our care;
Fortune has right, and title to a share.
[Exit.
Manet Artabaces.
Art.
Shou'd fortune count with me unto this day,
She'd finde there was a mighty debt to pay;
The Roman Conquest o're my Countrey spread,
My brother lost, or worse, in Triumph led;
Sure such full Empires have no aim or guide,
And those that reach 'um do not move but slide.
Man is too weak to manage with frail sense,
Such a resemblance of Omnipotence.
A Storm at Sea threw me on Italy,
And here I thought to finde my death or thee:
Poor Tiridates,—how cou'd fortune prove,
So curst among my woes to mingle love!
Which way to go I know not, nor need care;
I have been us'd to wander in despair.
All by uncertain wayes pursue their ends,
And unto every object Reason bends.
[Exit.
The Scene shuts.
Enter Emilius, and Tiridates, and followers.
Emil.
You have sav'd my life brave Tiridates;
Wou'd I cou'd pay you with Hersilia,
That wou'd appear more then a common gratitude.
Tir.
Hersilia is a happiness beyond
My hopes and merits.
Emil.
This fire was kindled by some treachery;
I fear Hersilia is the purchase
Of their designs and mischiefs.
Tir.
Let us not now waste time with vain conjectures;
Hersilia and Verginia may want help,
While we are talking how they come to need it.
Emil.
'Tis true, let us take several wayes,
And meet down by the Tiber, hard by Numa's Grove.
Tir.
If I have life I'le bring it thither.
[Ex. Emil. and followers.
—What did I say! how cou'd I talk
Of carrying any longer life about me!
205
Neither the wise nor brave know when to die;
For neither justly can their deaths intend,
Till they are sure all hopes have first their end.
Enter Sertorius.
Sert.
—Ha—Tiridates!
He's it seems no happier yet than I.
Stay,—Sir,—what news?
Tir.
None that either of us wish;
Hersilia is for certain forc'd away
By unknown persons.
Sert.
So I have heard.
Tir.
Emilius has took the great Flaminian way;
Let us divide our selves,—and when—
Se.
Stay Tiridates; Fortune seems wise in bringing us together,
She knows not what to do with both of us;
In the pursuit of Honour she can be
Liberal to many in one Victory:
When Fame's the Mistress, more than one may prove
Happy at once; but 'tis not so in Love.
Tir.
He that blind Fortune will have happy made,
Let her guide him unto Hersilia's aid.
Sert.
She shall guide me no farther; you and I
Will not ask her opinion which shall die;
Our Swords will tell us all that she can know;
Her means are quick, though she her self be slow.
[draws.
Tir.
I draw for my defence, not my design;
[draws.
You urge a wrong both to your Love and mine;
While your Revenge above your own does prove,
And force my Honour to exceed my Love.
Sert.
'Tis only Love that does this quarrel breed,
And so my Love my Honour does exceed.
Tir.
Wou'd Love attempt to ruine its own aid?
We fight for them by whom she is betray'd:
Whoe're o'recomes, his guilty Conquest shews,
Hersilia nothing to his valour owes.
Sert.
'Tis true,—
'Tis against her that I my Sword employ,
And she may want that help which I destroy.
—Forgive me, Sir:—Yet all things that can move,
As well as I, have felt Revenge and Love;
Unruly heats are with our Essence spread,
And by craz'd passion Nature's cemented.
Tir.
While she has Enemies let us be Friends,
And now by several ways pursue our ends.
Sert.
Stay, I am yet confus'd; 'tis a hard fate
206
Tir.
We waste that time which takes too fast a flight,
And 'tis more guilt to talk than 'twere to fight.
Sert.
How weak these wild distractions make me prove!
I am taught when to fight, and how to love;
Yet one thing more, if in your breast you have
No mix'd designs but what are clear and brave;
Let us engage, whoe're is happy made,
To find Hersilia first, and bring her aid,
That he shall make no use of his success,
Nor the least story of his Love express,
Till first by our own Swords our cause is try'd;
It is too great for Fortune to decide.
Tir.
To keep this sacred here I freely vow;
You learn'd at first, but teach me Honour now.
Sert.
Till then let us embrace; whoe're Love guides
Unto his bliss, for t'other Fate provides.
Now to our Fortunes; I'le pursue the way
Which leads through Numa's Grove.
Tir.
—But stay,
Where shall we meet?
Sert.
Under those stately ranks
Of Cypress Trees that shades the Tiber's Banks,
Neer Mutius house; for still I apprehend
That Man; he's Mifchiefs and my Brother's Friend.
Tir.
Agreed;—in equal hopes now both are tied.
Sert.
But when we meet our wishes must divide.
[Exeunt.
Enter Artabaces.
Art.
How ignorant of every thing I move!
I know not where I go, nor what I love:
Yet though she's gone, her Image still I find,
And I pursue what she has lest behind.
Ah, my dear Brother,—poor Tiridates!—
Cast on these Shores I came to look out thee,
And by my bonds or death to set thee free;
But into other fetters I am thrown,
Not by my honour but my Love put on.
Quite tir'd I seem, like a hard-hunted Beast,
That does not seem to go, but sinks to rest.
Spent Nature's weight hangs heavy on my eyes;
Sleep can cure Fevers, why not Miseries?
A Souls disease can few Physitians find;
For Emp'ricks only practise on the mind:
Yet sleep her Image might convey to me,
And shew in dreams what I must never see
207
1.
On, on, to the Tiber with her,
And sacrifice her to Neptune.
2.
The devil we will;—what,
Go twice as far as we need,
To try to be apprehended for Murderers!
The next ditch will serve.—Ha,—what's here!
A dead man! 'Slife, a most excellent Companion for her;
If he be asleep let him wake and answer for't;
Gently, gently; so, lay her behind him.
[They lay her behind Artabaces.
So, now to Mutius, and swear she was dead.
1.
I, and cold too.
[Exeunt.
Artabaces after a little time wakes.
Art.
Sure 'twas that Beauty which appear'd so bright;
My eyes by waking rob me of my sight;
When they were shut her Image did appear;
I star'd too boldly sure, and made her fear.
[Turns and sees her.
Ha!—look where she is; alas, I do mistake;
For I dream still, and think I am awake:
Some pitying Pow'r this Vision does bestow,
And helps me to deceive my sorrow so.
[She groans.
What's that! my Senses sure are not my own!
Can empty dreams and aiery visions groan!
Her eyes begin to move and shine with life,
Now sink again in deaths ungentle strife:
In doubtful weather so the Sun resigns
Sometimes his light to Clouds, and sometimes shines.
She lives again; O cease your cruelty,
And she'l by that example pity me.
[She revives.
Ver.
O me!
Have I not slept too long, and am to blame,
Neglecting to attend the Sacred Flame?
Art.
Here is that Flame to which your Eyes did give
Life first, and promis'd it should always live.
Ver.
Where are the Vestals then, or where am I?
Some confus'd thoughts now shake my Memory;
I do remember I was seiz'd upon
By some rude men; I thought there had been none
Pray, who are you?
Art.
—Alas, I have no Name,
But that which is my trouble, or my shame.
208
Sure both my eyes and ears deceive me now,
Once I saw something lookt, and spoke like you;
But by my fond desires he was betray'd;
I ow'd him life, which with his death I paid.
[weeps.
Art.
Those flames you sent me too has let me live,
Perhaps reserv'd to dye by those you give.
Ver.
Pray do not wrong me, are you he indeed?
I feel some unknown joyes that do exceed
The usual measures of my happiness;
I fear there may be guilt in the excess.
Art.
O do not fear that pitty e're can prove
A guilt in any, shou'd it grow to love.
Ver.
Pitty is love, and then it need not grow.
Art.
In the worlds common Charity 'tis so;
Such love is only in obedience shown
To those above, the other is our own.
Ver.
We shou'd deny our own affections still.
Art.
These passions are all strangers to the Wil.
When I first saw your eyes my heart was free.
Ver.
O that I cou'd restore your liberty.
Art.
That way there is no pitty to be shown,
Restore not mine, but try to lose your own.
Ver.
Will that strange way a remedy procure?
Can a Disease in one, another cure?
Art.
In loves Disease neither their cures obtain,
But both grow well by one anothers pain.
Ver.
I know not what you mean, but I incline
To think that your misfortunes wou'd be mine.
Art.
May I not dare to wish a little more?
Ver.
—Take heed,
Our wishes may be faults when they exceed.
Art.
Do covetous men, or the ambitious finde
Their vast desires by any bounds confin'd?
If pow'rful nature lets no passion move
Within known limits, why alas shou'd love?
Enter the two men of Mutius.
1.
On, on; we are dead men;
Look where she is alive too: O happy chance.
Ver.
Help, help, these are the Villains.
Art.
Your business Rascals.
[he steps before her.
1.
That woman is our business.
Art.
You shall have her thus, dogs.
[fight, kills one, th'other runs, and as he pursues,
Enter Mutius, and others behinde him, and seize him.
Art.
Unhand me slaves.
209
O help.
Mut.
You call for that you need not.
Art.
Slaves, Dogs.
Mut.
Ha, what's this, Tigellinus dead?
Thy life for his is justly forfeited.
[Offers to run at Artabaces, she steps between.
Ver.
O hold, I was the cause that stain'd his innocence
With that man's blood, for 'twas in my defence;
Besides, I'm tir'd with life and fit to dye.
Art.
There's none so weary of a Life as I;
Yet if you Romans wou'd be thought such men,
Give me a Sword, and try to take it then.
Mut.
'Tis for her sake I do not punish thee.
This fellow is not to be trusted free;
[aside.
Bring him along.
Art.
—Slaves, I will not go.
Mut.
Drag him along.
Ver.
—O do not use him so.
Alas, what d'you mean?
Mut.
—Why do I stay
Thus trifling? Madam, come, here lies our way.
Bring him alive or dead.
[Exit.
Ver.
—Pray hold your hands.
Good Sir, obey their pow'r, or my commands.
Art.
Come, lead me where you please; how much above
My reason and my courage is my love!
[Exeunt.
| The Vestal-Virgin | |