University of Virginia Library

[Scene II.]

Scaen ye Pallace.
Enter King Zoroastres.
Zor.
The Fatall hour is now approaching near,
On which my happiness, or her fate depends.
My love's soe high, I can noe longer stay.
If she was wise, she would not soe delay.
She fears my age, and yet she is how cold!
'Tis her damn'd Modesty that makes mee old.
With a false Majesty she braves my love
And talks as high as Goddesses above.
But my bright soul I'le rescue from her hand,
And plant it in more kind and fruitfull land.
To him Juliana.
Speak, messenger of fate, must wee live or noe?
Bee not affraid, but tell mee if 'tis soe.

Jul.
I'me sorry, Sir, that I am forc'd to bring
Soe cruell words from her to you, my King.
She says, by half she'de rather wed her grave
Than ever any of your embraces have.
She vows she cannot love.

Zor.
Then she shall dye.
Goe, bid her prepare herself instantly;
She has her wish. To her I'le bee soe kind:
Tell her ye grave her Husband is design'd.
Fool! to neglect my love, and then to dye,
As if ye grave was not as cold as I!

Jul.
You are a Monarck, Sir.

Zor.
I am. What then?

Jul.
You should not treat your loves as other men.

Zor.
I know ye Reason why she won't mee take,
She scorns mee only for Oroandes sake,
But I will—nay, she shall, I'me resolved, dye.

Jul.
Won't it seem, Sir, an Act of Cruelty?

Zor.
Noe, 'tis not! If she won't obey my will,
What cruelty is't if I her doe kill?

Jul.
Try gentle means first. Court her with your crown.
Put too all your glorious Titles on;
Fine things win woemen.

Zor.
I have already offer'd her my throne,
But she does scorn it. Therefore hold your peace,
For I'me resolv'd I'le poison her myself,
And she shall find, tho she bee proud and fair,
What angry and despairing Monarks dare. [Exit.


Manet Juliana. To her Cyane and Polynice.
Jul.
Did you not meet ye King? how did hee look?

Poly.
Sad omens from his countenance wee took.
Hee star'd uppon us, and walk'd still away,
Cursing ye Sun that hee did shine today.
Into a dismall Cave hee then did goe
Muttering—
“This night, this night I'le rid mee of my foe.”

Cy.
This storm, I know, is against mee design'd.
Hee thinks for to threaten mee to bee kind,
But hee shall know to my eternall fame
I only am a Woeman in my Name.

Poly.
By this, fair freind, yourself ye first you'le prove
That ever could resist a Monarks love.
I wish my Father would more calmer bee
And not use force to love, which is born free.

Jul.
That you doe love elsewhere, if hee but knew,
And Oroandes, perhaps hee would leave you.
Because by him you are beloved too.

Poly.
Fye, sister, 'tis poor to laugh at misery
And below your self.

Cy.
Hah! fair, handsome Princess, you doe not know
But I may have his love as well as you.
I do not question, mee tho hee should hate,
But that on you hee would revenge my fate.
Yet, if he wont, I'me sure that Heaven will;
Heaven hates bloud, and will revenge it still.
Ther's ne're a god but will my cause defend;
Therefore repent before they thunder send.

Jul.
Repentence only does belong to you.
If I were to dye, I'de repent then too.

Enter Trivia.
Tri.
Your Father does your presence hence require,
And from Cyane that you'de now retire.

Poly.
Oh my prophetick fears! Fair soul, farewell.
I fear that you'le on Earth noe longer dwell.

Tri.
Make hast. Your father said you should make hast,
And not your time in idle prayers wast.

Cy.
O help mee, Polynice, before you goe,
To teach my dying soul what she must doe.

Poly.
Your life soe strict and soe exactly here
You have led, that you need not shed a tear.
With this embrace you have my last farewell.

Cy.
«The word departure bares a sence of hell.
I see my fate stand yonder with a Bowl
Ten thousand spirits waiting for my soul.»
(To Poly.)
'Tis hard to dye, but much more hard to part;
Methinks I goe as if I had noe heart.
Oh my sick soul! but, Madam, all is past,
And now I'me resolv'd to dye at last.

Poly.
Blest soul! you'le now forever live above.
Bee ever happy in seraphick love.

Jul.
I dare noe longer stay. Rivall, farewell,
And your wrong'd love in ye Elysium tell.

Poly.
Again farewell! Don't fear by death you'le prove
Yourself a Martyr in ye flames of love.
Heav'n thinks you're dead, and with its loudest bell
[Thunders and Lightens.
Already has begun your Funerall Knell. [Exeunt.