University of Virginia Library

The Third ACT.

SCENE I.

Meleander discover'd in's Night-Gown.
Mele.
Night Clad in black, mourns for the loss of day,
And hides the Silver spangles of the Sky,
That not a spark is left to light the world,
Whilst quiet sleep the Nourisher of life,
Takes full possession on mortality.
All Creatures take their rest in soft repose,
No Spirit moves upon the breast of Earth,
But howling Dogs, night-Crows, and Screeching Owles,
Despairing Lovers, and Pale Meager Ghosts.
Enter Lattinius.
Lattinius here! why dost thou break thy rest?
This is an hour, wretches shou'd only wake.
Why weeps my pretty Boy?

Latt.
To see your Sorrow,
And think it is not in my Power to help you:
For by those Sacred Guardians over us,
I cannot think that dang'rous Enterprize,
I wou'd refuse to purchase your content.

Mele.
Alas! my sufferings are past thy redress,
But yet I thank thee for thy care and Love,
I doat on one, colder then Alpine Snow.
One that would rather dye to please my Rivall,
Then live the Empress of the World with me.
Is there a cure for this? O there is none;
For were there any pittying, God above
Touch'd with Commiseration of my grief,
And shou'd descend to plead in my behalf,
By Heav'n I think she wou'd with scorn receive him,—
Stand the Temptation of a Golden show'r,
And Jove himself in all his shapes unalter'd.

Latt.
Might I without offence declare my thoughts,
I'de have you cast your eyes on other beauties,
Search natures Store, and find some noble'r choice,
T'adorn your Nuptial bed.

Mel.
O if I cou'd,
Embrace thy Counsell I were truly happy;
But know I love, and dye for that dear Charmer,
And Cruell as she is, must still persist.
Another Choice! No 'tis impossible:
The rest of that fair Compar'd with her,
Wou'd seem like drossy mettalls to pure Gold.

Latt.
O dismal sound! in all this mighty Transport.
I find but little hopes for poor Statillia.
[Aside.
But yet my Lord—

Mel.
O talk no more Lattinius,
Unless thy words are praises of her beauty.
Describe each grace of the Divine Marcelia,
Let every thing thou utter'st sound her name,
And I will sit and listen to thy Musick,
As sweet as the Melodious Quires of Heav'n,
Or sure Salvation to departing Souls.

Latt.
Why should it be so sweet to hear the name,
Of one whose Pride is to be your Tormentor,
Who is the Cause of all your sighs, Marcelia?
Who is't that makes you curse your fate? Marcelia;
Who is it that unmans you but Marcelia?
Who is't that pays your constant love with scorn?
Who is't that doats on Ithocles, your Rivall?
Marcelia still, whose very name is Musick,
Sweeter then the Melodious quires of Heav'n,
Marcelia is the cause—

Mel.
No more I charge you.
For your Officious love grows troublesome,
Away, begone, and leave me to my thoughts.
Still art thou here?

Latt.
Alas! I cannot leave you:
Upon my knees I beg if you e're lov'd,
Forgive my forward Zeal, and let me serve you.
I'le to this Cruell woman, tell her all:
Describe each Pang that tears your Love-sick heart,
Count o're the hours you wast in sad Complaints;
If she was nurs'd by any thing but Tygers,
I doubt not but to move Compassion in her.
Try me my Lord—

Mel.
Alas! 'twill be in vain.
She's Colder then the North, Impenitrable
As Rocks of Adamant, and scarce will hear
A message sent from me.

Latt.
Fear not my Lord.

Mel.
O I have wondrous reason.
But since I find thou wou'dst fain do me service,
For once I will Imploy thee; tell her then,
If Possible, each sigh thou'st heard me utter;
How much above the world I prize her Love:
Tell her what dangers I wou'd undertake,
To Gain one smile from her: wilt thou do this?

Latt.
Indeed my Lord I will.

Mel.
My better self,
But see the morning-Star breaks from the East,
To tell the world her great Eye is awak'd,
To take his Journey to the western Vales.
And now the Court begins to rise with him,
Go to her then my faithfull dear Lattinius,
Lay if thou canst my Dying Groans before her,
And Bath her feet with tears to move her Soul.

Latt.
I will do all that lies within my Power.

Mel.
Farewell my Pretty Boy, and some kind Angell,
Instruct thee with the means to gain her Pitty,
[Exit Mele.

Latt.
O misery! was ever fate like mine!
To Languish for the love of that dear man,
Whose heart alass is Conquer'd by another?
The rest—
Of my more prosperous Sex compared with me,
Are Goddesses, in Glitt'ring Chariots ride
And make their Lovers vassals to their Pride,
But I, poor I, seek mine, and am deny'd.

[Exit

SCENE II.

Enter Menaphon and Orgillus.
Men.
Now Brother does the fatall time draw on,
That must or give me Death, or full revenge,
For all the Scorn, and slights were thrown on me,
By that Proud, haughty, and disdainfull Beauty.
This hour shall put an end to all her quiet,
For I will work the King to that degree
Of Rage, and Jealousy, that if his Soul
Can harbour any sence of those great wrongs,
As he most Certain shall believe is done him,
I know Immediate Death must be her Lot,
And sure destruction to the man you hate.

Org.
O that the wish'd for deed were once effected,
That I might see this Rivall to my Glory,
Fix'd in a Dungeon, or his hated Soul,
Sent to the place, where I cou'd wish it Hell.

Men.
Doubt not my Brother, but that time's at hand,
Look on the Liquor this small Glass Contains,
Infuse three drops of it, i'th wine he drinks,
So many hours his Sences will be shut,
And Lay him in the Leaden hand of sleep,
Which when perform'd, we may with as much ease,
Work our designs on him, as 'tis to think it.

Org.
By Heav'n thy Plot deserves Eternall Fame:
But Brother near as we can guess the hour,
Let it be when the Queen prepares for Supper.
Armena at that time by Instructions,
Shall give Semanthe the same sleeping Draught.

Men.
Haste then my Brother, tell her our design,
Whilst I infect the King with Jealousy,
He comes this way; retire, leave me alone,
And doubt not but we shall have wish'd success:

Org.
Farewell.
And in each path may Fortune be your Guide.
[Ex. Org.

Enter King, Guards, and Attendants.
King.
How now my Lord? possess'd with serious thoughts:

Men.
I'm thinking Sir, what 'tis to wrong a King,
And in what pain that honest man must live,
That sees him wrong'd, and dares not tell him on't.

King.
I think that man who knows his Prince abus'd,
And yet conceals it from him most disloyall,
For sure it is a Crime unpardonable,
To think a wrong 'gainst an Annoynted head.

Men.
But Sir, when those that do it are in Power,
And a poor shrub is all that can accuse 'em,
He'd hardly gain belief of what h'as seen,
And death must pay the honest fool his wages.

King.
Not if he can shew Proof of what he says.

Men.
My Liege, I beg a moments Privacy.
For I've a wond'rous secret to impart;

King.
Retire a while.
[Ex. Attendants.
Now Menaphon, your bus'ness:

Men.
O Sir, I've such a Story as will scorch,
Your boyling veins into so hot a Feaver,
Will make your heart-strings burst, and set a-float
The burning Lake within 'em.

King.
Ha! be quick:

Men.
If it were possible, I'de keep it in.
But 't has long strugled in my brest for vent.
My Lord I know too sure that you are wrong'd.

King.
Ha!

Men.
Wrong'd in the highest Point, wrong'd in your honour,
Upon my knees I kiss this Prost'rate Earth,
And humbly beg that which my tongue shall speak—
Since it proceeds from nought but Love and duty,
May either be forgiven or forgot.

King.
You have it, rise, discharge an open breast.

Men.
O my dread Leige, my words will raise a Storm,
Able to stagger all your Royal reason:
I wish my Loyall heart could cover sin,
But love and my Allegiance bid me speak,

King.
Speak then, and do not wrack me with delay:

Men.
Women, why were you made for man's affliction?
The first that ever made us tast of grief,
And last of whom in Torments we complain:
Ye Devills, shap'd like Angells, through whose deeds,
Our forked shames are made most visible.
No Soul of sense, wou'd wrong bright Majesty:
Nor stain their blood, with such Impurity.

King.
Nay good my Lord, leave off this Mistick speech,
And give me knowledge from a plainer phraise.

Men.
Then Plainly thus my Lord, your bed's abus'd:
O foolish Zeal, that makes me desperate.
Your Queen has sin'd, and done a double wrong
To you, her self, and sacred Chastity.
O she has lost her honour, she that looks,
All health without, within is all Contagion.

King.
How Menaphon! Beware, think where thou'rt going,
Endeavour not to blast Semanthes virtue,
Had'st thou thy sence about thee 'twere impossible
Thy tongue cou'd utter such blasphemous Sounds;
Therefore I pardon thee for what thou'st said,
And think it only the effects of madness:
But if like this you add one Syllable more,
Thou dost Pronounce upon thy self a sentence,
That Earthquake-like will swallow thee.

Men.
Let it open.
Better that I, and thousands more shou'd perish,
Then live to see our Royall Lords Dishonour.

King.
Ha!—

[Offers to draw:
Men.
Do, I lay my bosom bare before you;
Kill me, because I love you and speak truth:
Is this the merit of a Roman faith?
Have I for this then play'd the watchfull Argos,
To sound the very depth of her designs?
I had been mad indeed, a doating fool,
'T'have told you this without I'd had some proof.
But know my Leige, did not your Rage devour you,
And passion too much oversway your reason?
I cou'd relate a tale so full of horrour,
'Twould startle all mankind to here it told:
But since I find you'd rather hug your shame,
Then bravely to Revenge the wrongs you suffer,
Send to the Grave, this forward Zealous fool,
That durst attempt to tell his King the truth.

King.
Had I Just cause, I wou'd pursue such injuries,
Through fire, ayr, water, earth, nay, were they all
Shuffled again to Chaos, but there's none,
And therefore thou that hast Blasphem'd her virtue,
Sha't have thy Just reward—

[Draws
Men.
Yet hold my Lord;
Since I am Enter'd in this desperate cause,
And you think Death to be my due reward,
Let me before the fatall Blow is given.
Beg one short minute not to Plead for life,
But let you know I dye for Loyallty:

King.
Which if thou dost,

Men.
Which if I do not,
May the Immortall Powers at the last day,
Shut all the Shining Gates of Heav'n against me,
And hurl me head-long to the burning Lake.

King.
I know thou'rt Valliant, and with valliant minds,
Slander is worse then theft or Sacrilege.
A step beyond the utmost Plagues of Hell,
And therefore I will hear what thou canst say
[Puts up his sword.
If thou canst shew me any Certain Proof.
(Which by the Gods it is a Sin to think)
That my Semanthe's false, instead of threats,
Thou sha't in ev'ry thing find favour from me:
But if thou dost not, by my Fathers Soul,
Imagine what makes man most miserable,
And that shall fall upon thee.

Men.
Willingly.
I do Embrace this kind Proposall, Sir.
Know then, the man (or rather Stile him Monster,)
That does thus Impiously defile your Bed,
Is Ithocles.

King.
Well Menaphon, go on:
I'le patiently hear every word you utter,
But shall expect strong proofs e're I believe.

Men.
Which if I do not give, my lifes the forfeit.

King.
I've done.

Men.
My Lord, you know early this morning,
You went your self to take a view o'th' Army.
No body left behind, but I, and Ithocles.
For having long before had some suspition,
I did indeed neglect my duty too,
To try if I cou'd gain a farther Proof
Of what before I but suspected only;
And having watch'd the Queen in the Garden,
I plac'd my self unseen behind the Bower,
When streight I spy'd Lord Ithocles approach,
With all the hast, belonging to a Lover,
He flew to the Embraces of the Queen,
And sigh'd, and gaz'd, and kiss'd, and Curs'd his fate,
That he cou'd not Possess that Heav'n alone:
She threw her snowy Armes about his Neck,
Imbrac'd him Close, O Ithocles (says she)
Thou darling of my Soul be ever thus;
Thus wise, thus secret in the scene of love,
And keep it safe from the deluded King.

King.
What shou'd I think? he durst not sure say this,
Were he not very Certain of the truth;
Besides the man was ever Counted honest,
[Aside.
He's young and handsome, Valliant, and discreet,
And I my self have prov'd his Loyalty,
These are not Marks belonging to a Villain.
O thou hast wak'd me, and thy piercing words
[to him.
Have split my sence in sunder, and cou'd I,
Live to behold at once the general end,
And see the World wrap'd in its funeral Flame,
When the Bright Sun shall lend its Beams to burn,
What he before brought forth, and water serve,
Not to Extinguish but to Nurse the Fire,
It wou'd not give me half the Torturing Pangs,
As does the thoughts thou'st raised within my breast.
But yet I must expect an Occular Proof,
For tho' thy words have rais'd a storm within me,
I must have stronger reasons that she's false.

Men.
Why then to shew you Sir how much I love you,
And with what Zeal I've strove to serve my King,
I'le shew these two seeming Saints, (but Devills,)
Even in the Act of sin that needs must damn 'em.

King.
Ha! In the Act! it is impossible:

Men.
It is indeed to Nick the very time;
But I will shew you something Comes so near,
You may with ease imagine what's been done:
But know my Liege when these dark deeds are done,
'Tis when they're very certain of your absence,
Therefore might I be worthy to advise,
Early i'th' morning make some slight pretence,
That may detain you till the following day,
Then if I do not give you certain Proof,
Of the Queens falshood, cut me into Atoms.

King.
Is't possible! O this Land-Crocodile,
Made of Egyptian slime! Accursed woman,
Wou'd when I first beheld her tempting face,
My eyes had met with Light'ning, and instead
Of hearing her Inchanting tongue, the shreeks,
Of Mandrakes had made musick to my Slumbers.

Men.
My Lord be Patient, see before you doubt:

King.
I will, nay thou sha't see me wond'rous Patient,
For yet I cannot think Semanthe false,
Tho' words like thine, urg'd with such Confidence,
To any man but me, wou'd turn him mad.
Farewell my Lord, and see you keep your promise,
For if thou dost not, Vengance, Hell, and Horrour,
Shall certainly attend thy Canker'd Soul.
[Ex. King.

Manet Men.
Men.
Rowl on the Chariot Wheels of my dark Plot,
And bear my ends to their desired Marks,
He's gone with black suspition in his heart,
And made his Soul a slave to Jealousy:
Let him go on, on to the Gulph of Ruine,
As sure he shall when I have work'd my Ends:
Now to my Brother, O thou Credulous King,
The Tortur'd Ghosts that dwell i'th' dark Abyss,
Have pleasant Hours to what thou sha't enjoy.
For when the black designs that I have laid,
Are brought to pass, then, then comes all thy pain,
And thou sha't never tast of Peace again.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

The Scene drawn discovers Marcelia sitting Melancholly.
A Song within.

Marcelia Rises.
Mar.
No more of this, it suites not with my sorrow,
For one so wretched, and so lost as I—
The Groans of Tortur'd Ghosts were fitter Musick:
O Ithocles! Part'ner of my Afflictions,
With much more Joy, and vast contentedness,
Wou'd I embrace my death within thy Arms,
Then live possess'd o'th' World thus sever'd from thee:
O King, King, O my too Cruell Unckle;
With what a weight of sorrow do you load me,
Be kind and give me ease by present Death.

Enter a Lady.
Lady.
One from Prince Meleander Craves Admittance.

Mar.
Altho' I hate the name of him he comes from,
Yet that I may have Opportunity
To vent my passion by my scorn, admit him.

[Ex. Lady.
Re-enter with Lattinius and Exits.
Latt.
Divinest Excellence, whose Conquering eyes,
Have made a Captive of the best of Men,
Do not with scorn repay his faithfull love:
Ah Madam, hither I am sent to lay
His bleeding heart before you, and inform you,
He can no longer live without your pitty;
His tortur'd Soul will quickly leave its Mansion,
Unless your kind Consent will make him happy.

Mar.
My, my Consent! Hear me you bless'd above,
If I do ever entertain one thought
Of love to any but my Ithocles,
Let me continue wretched, still a Pris'ner,
And never know the bless'd content of Freedom:
This tell your Lord, and let him know beside,
There's not one torturing Pang within his breast,
But what's doubled in mine, and he the cause:
Then guess what pitty he must e're expect
From one that suffers all this pain through him.

Latt.
Alas his Crime is caus'd by too much love.
Oh had you heard, (as I too oft have done,)
The deep-fetch'd sighs have sprung from his sad heart,
The many Groans, beheld the tears h'as shed,
His broken slumbers and his restless thoughts,
You'd sure make a more kind return then scorn.

Mar.
Never, Oh never, 'tis not in my power,
My life, my heart, my love is Ithocles's,
And 'Im too firmly fix'd e're to be Chang'd.

Latt.
O on my knees let me return my thanks,
Keep still, keep still this constant resolution,
Bless'd be the Powers that have inspir'd your breast,
With this unshaken faith to Ithocles.
For shou'd you er'e consent to Meleander,
That day that gives you him must give me Death.

Mar.
What means the Youth?

Latt.
O Look on poor Statillia;
On her who loves above her life that man,
Whom you can entertain with so much scorn:
But by the freindship that was once between us,
And by the constant love you bear my Brother,
Lock up this Secret as you'd guard your life,
Lest the too fatall breath of a discovery,
Shou'd Seal my everlasting Banishment,
Shut from that Bliss his dearest presence gives,
For 'tis there only that Statillia lives.

Mar.
O rise, thy Brother's Part'ner in my heart,
And what there is in my poor power to serve you,
You may with Confidence Command: but Sister,
(For so I now must call you, since your Brother
Is made the full possessor of my love,)
You may be kind and let me see you often,
For 'tis a wondrous Comfort to th'afflicted,
To have a kind Companion in their Sorrows.

Latt.
O do not doubt it, for your Company
Next Meleanders is my all I covet;
And sometimes to divert our mournfull hours.
We'le sit, and talk, and sigh, and weep, and wish,
T'obtain our loves, but O I fear in vain.

Mar.
We know not that Heav'n Pities the Afflicted,
And time brings many won'drous things to pass;
Mean while, we twins of misery and sorrow,
Will comfort one another, like true friends:
We'le equally share happiness and grief,
And beg some pittying God to send relief.

Ex. Omn.

SCENE. V.

A Garden.
Enter King and Semanthe.
Sem.
My Lord, If I did e're possess your love,
If you have any kindness for Semanthe,
Tell me the meaning of your clowded brow,
And why you seem thus troubled?

King.
I have cause:
O my Semanthe, in my last nights sleep,
My troubled fancy has been so perplex'd
With dreadfull dreams, and hideous Apparitions,
That take away my quiet; for methought,
(O dreadfull sight!) methought the verge of Heav'n,
Was Ring'd with flames, and all the upper vault,
Thick laid with flakes of fire, i'th midst of which
A Blazing Comet shot his threat'ning tail,
Just in my face; I thought 'twas terrible;
But Oh what after came was that distracts me,
I saw, (O that I cou'd forget the sight)
Just in that Bower, (mark what I say Semanthe)
I saw thee sit, and in a short time after,
Lord Ithocles came with a lovers speed,
Imbrac'd, Carress'd thee, you requited him
With Amorous looks, soft kisses, twining arms,
With these kind words, O my dear Ithocles,
Let us be still thus Secret in our Loves,
And keep it close from the deluded King:
[Seizes Semanthe roughly by the Hands.]
But by the Honour of Anoynted heads,
Were both of you hid in a Rock of fire,
Guarded by flaming Ministers of Hell,
By Heav'n I have a sword shou'd make my way,
Through fire, and darkness furies Death to hew
Each Gangreen'd Limb of thee Infernal Sorceress.

Sem.
Mercy Protect me, will you murder me?
Alas! I cannot guess the cause of this.

King.
O Pardon me Semanthe, do not blame me,
For such another dream wou'd quite distract me:
But tell me love, was't not a dreadfull vision?

Sem.
It was indeed my Lord, a wond'rous one,
Yet but a dream, for shou'd so great a guilt
Hang on my Honour, 'twere but Justice in you,
If you shou'd tear my false disloyall heart out,

King,
Thy heart! nay Strumpet even thy very Soul.
[Seizes her again.
Tear it with fury from thy Cursed Carkass,
And damn it ever in Immortall Death.

Sem.
Alas what mean you Sir!

King.
O I am mad.
Forgive me dear Semanthe, for methinks,
I dream anew, and it distracts me so,
That I take Idle visions to be reall;
Leave me Semanthe, when these dreadfull thoughts
Have left my troubl'd breast, I'le visit thee.

Sem.
The Heav'ns preserve you from those frightfull dreams,
That thus disturb the quiet of my Lord:
[Ex. Sem.

Manet King.
King.
Can she be false! no 'tis impossible:
The vision I have now related to her,
Was only what Menaphon sayd he saw.
If she were Guilty, there must needs appear,
Something of a mistrust she was discover'd.
But she looks sweet as Roses, and appears,
Like virgin Lillies in unsully'd Infancy.
If she be Chast then Menaphon beware,
For I will have a dire revenge on thee,
The torments us'd in Bloudy Massacres;
And more, if any more can be invented,
Shall surely fall upon thee; but if not,
If she be false, Destruction Ruine, Horrour,
Bloud, bloud, and Death, fair Infidell's thy doom:
And if for Injur'd love's Consummating vengeance,
Beyond the Grave, one Hotter place there be,
In all the hideous sphear of wrath divine,
The very Center of damnation's thine.
Ex. King.