University of Virginia Library

The First Act

Scene the First.

Scene opens, Muly Labas appears bound in Chains, attended by Guards.
Muly L.
Condemn'd to Fetters, and to Scepters born!
'Tis in this Garb unhappy Princes mourn.
Yet Fortune to great Courages is kind;
'Tis he wants Liberty whose Soul's confin'd.
My Thoughts out-fly that mighty Conqueror,
Who having one World vanquish'd, wept for more:
Fetter'd in Empires, he enlargement crav'd
To the short Walk of one poor Globe enslav'd.
My Soul mounts higher, and Fates Pow'r disdains,
And makes me reign a Monarch in my Chains.
But 'tis my Father has decreed my fate;
Yet still he shews his Greatness in his hate.
Thy rage, brave Prince, mean Subjects does despise;
None but thy Son shall be thy Sacrifice.
Enter Morena bound.
This dazling Object my weak sight invades:
Such Beauty would make Dungeons lose their shades.

Moren.
Remember, Sir, when first you were a Guest
To Taffaletta's Court, and to my Breast,
That I, fond Woman, in a borrow'd shape,
Was a Conspirator in my own Rape,
When in a fatal night, whose darkness did
Both our Escapes, and my faint Blushes hide:
With You I fled my Countrey, left a Crown,
Heir only now t'an unkind Fathers Frown;
And now for refuge to Morocco come,
We in your Fathers Court receive this doom;
[points to her Chains.
Our Love from him this Entertainment gains;
We in our Sanctuary meet our Chains:
Our Fathers too have now proclaim'd a War;
By Taffaletta's Arms we are pursu'd.
Our amorous flights like threatning Comets are,
Which thus draw after them a train of Bloud.

Muly L.
Why do you thus a sad relation make
Of all that you have suffer'd for my sake,
Unless you my Unworthiness resent,
And of your misplaced kindnesses repent?

Moren.
No, I recount the Scenes of our past storms,
To arm your Fancy for more pleasing forms;
I come to tell you that your Father's kind,
And has our mutual Happiness design'd.
Of our past Woes I have this relation given,
As Purgatory does make way for Heaven.

Muly L.
This does disperse my Fears, checks my Despair:
And has my Father—Shall we then—and are
Our Loves and Hopes—Oh my unruly Joy
Which does my Thoughts so in their Birth destroy,
That my disorder'd Words no form can bear!
Speak then what You would say, and I would hear.

Moren.
He has pronounc'd such great and glorious things,
As are fit only for the Breath of Kings:
Our happy Passion he so far approves,
That ere three days expire he'l crown our Loves.
Know then, to grant our Souls a stricter Tye,
He has decreed—we shall together Dye.

Muly L.
How are my visionary Dreams retir'd,
And my fond Hopes in the Embrace expir'd?

Mor.
That day my Father Taffaletta's Arms
To this proud City give their first Alarms,
His Standard fix't before Morocco's Walls,
Muly Labas and his Morena falls.
He for my Murder does this reason plead,
He will present my Father with my Head.
That sudden Blow, which he designs for you,
'Tis your suspected Treason prompts him to:
And the same Jealousie that made his Breath
Decree your Chains, makes him pronounce your Death.

Muly L.
I freely at his feet my Life will throw;
Life is a debt we to our Parents ow.
But die suspected! Can he think so foul
A Thought as Treason harbours in his Soul,
Which does Morena's sacred Image bear!
No shape of ill can come within her Sphear.
But must Morena fall? when e're she bleeds,
He no severer a Damnation needs,
That dares pronounce the Sentence of her Death,
Than the Infection that attends that Breath.

Moren.
Hold, Sir, and your unmanly fears remove,
And shew your Courage equal to your Love:
Let us to Death in solemn Triumph go,
As to the nobler Nuptials of the two:
For when we're dead, and our freed Souls enlarg'd,
of Natures grosser burdens we're discharg'd:
Then gentle as a happy Lovers Sigh,
Like wandring Meteors through the Air we'l fly;
And in our airy Walk, as subtil Guests,
We'l steal into our cruel Fathers Breasts,
There read their Souls, and track each Passions sphear,
See how Revenge moves there, Ambition here:
And in their Orbs view the dark Characters
Of Sieges, Ruins, Murders, Blood and Wars.
We'l blot out all those hideous Droughts, and write
Pure and white forms; we'l with a radiant light
Their Breasts incircle, till their Passions be
Gentle as Nature in its Infancy;
Till soften'd by our Charms their Furies cease,
And their Revenge dissolves into a Peace.
Thus by our Death appeas'd, their Quarrel ends:
Whom Living we made Foes, Dead we'l make Friends.

Muly L.
Oh generous Princess! whose couragious Breath
Can set such glorious Characters on Death:
The antient World did but too modest prove,
In giving a Divinity to Love.
Love the great Pow'r oth' higher World controuls,
Heaven but creates, but Love refines our Souls.

Enter to them Q. Mother weeping.
Q. Moth.
Oh Son! your Royal Father—

Muly L.
—Hold! your Tears
Confound my hopes. O my presaging fears!
Has he—it cannot be—has he decreed—
Morena must not, no, she shall not bleed:
The Skies would blush when that bold deed were done,
And look more red than at a setting Sun.

Q. Moth.
'Tis not Morena who is doom'd to dy.

Muly L.
Has he decreed I shall her place supply?
If so, thanks my kind Father, thou hast done
The only deed that could oblige a Son:
If I to save your Life resign my own
[to Morena.
I shall more glorious shine than on his Throne.

Q. Moth.
That object which your Mothers tears procures
Is your great Fathers sudden fate, not yours.

Muly L.
My Father! ha!

Q. Moth.
—is dead. Just as he sate
Pronouncing yours and your Morena's fate;
A sudden Check his hasty Breath controul'd,
He startled, trembled, and his Eye-balls rould,
His wandring fears, his unshap'd thoughts supply'd
With horrours; then Muly Labas he cry'd,
Forgive what my mistaken Rage has done,
In peace possess thy Mistress and my Throne:
Then with his dying Breath his Soul retir'd,
And in a sullen sigh his Life expir'd.

Muly L.
The Emperour dead! and with his dying Breath
Did he Morena to his Son bequeath?
He in this Gift a Father has out-don,
And robs me of the Duty of a Son;
For those just Tears, which Nature ought t'imploy,
To pay my last Debt to his Memory,
The Crowning of my Passion disallows;
Grief slightly sits on happy Lovers Brows.

Enter Crimalhaz and Hametalhaz, with Attendants.
A Shout within.
All.
Long live Muly Labas Emperour of Morocco.

Crim.
Welcome, brave Prince, to your great Fathers Crown,
Advancing from a Prison to a Throne:
The City does in one full shout concur,
And in one voice proclaim you Emperour:
Yet, Sir, your Freedom must not reach so far,
But this fair Princess Chains you still must wear.
The Sun, Great Sir, must in one circuit view
Your Coronation and your Nuptials too.

Muly L.
Enjoy a Throne, and my Morena wedd!
A Joy too great were not my Father dead.
The Force of one the others Pow'r controuls:
Heav'n fits our swelling Passions to our Souls.
When some great Fortune to mankind's convey'd
Such Blessings are by Providence allay'd.
Thus Nature to the World a Sun creates,
But with cold Winds his pointed Rays rebates.

Exit Muly L. leading Morena.
Q. Moth.
Besotted in thy Love and Empires Charms,
Sleep, and grow dull in your Morena's Arms.
'Twas not for this I rais'd thee to a Crown,
Poison'd the Father to enthrone the Son:
Hadst thou been ripe for Death, we had decreed,
Thou shouldst him in his Fate, not Throne, succeed:
Thy early growth we in thy Chains had crusht,
And mix'd thy Ashes with thy Fathers Dust.
But live, fond Boy: to manage our Design,
We first must thy Great General undermine.
They, who by Policy a Crown pursue,
Snatch at one Grasp the Sword and Scepter too.
Then wee'l with ease depose an Armless King:
Men sport with Serpents when they've lost their Sting.
When our Designs to the full height succeed
I'le place the Crown Imperial on your Head.
[to Crimalhaz.
Sir, of your Progress a Relation make,
How died the King? how did the Poison take?

Crim.
With safety I accomplish'd your desire;
For Hell and Night did in the deed conspire.
As if He by some secret instinct knew
The fatal Potion had been sent by you:
Up from his Seat he rose, and sighing cried,
O unkind Laula! and then groan'd and died.
His Death so much of horrour did present,
I curs'd my Hand for being the Instrument:
A strange unusual trembling shook my Heart,
As that Magician, whose infernal art,
Raising a Vision, is with Terrour seiz'd
At th'Apparition his own Charms have rais'd.
Have you consider'd, Madam, what you've done?

Q. M.
Poison'd my Husband, Sir, and if there need
Examples to instruct you in the deed,
I'll make my Actions plainer understood,
Coppying his Death on all the Royal Blood.

Crim.
The Falls of Kings are heavy, and on You—

Q. M.
Hold, Sir, sure you have drunk the Poison too,
That thus your Blood grows cold, and your faint Breast
Is with such dull and stupid Fears possest.
A States-mans Breast should scorn to feel remorse;
Murder and Treason are but things of course.

Crim.
I am a Convert, Madam, for kind Heaven,
Has to mankind immortal Spirits given,
And Courage is their Life: but when that sinks,
And to tame Fears and Coward-faintness shrinks,
We the great Work of that bright Frame destroy,
And shew the World, that even our Souls can dy.
By your Example I'll great Deeds pursue:
My Thoughts sha'nt start at what my Hand dares do.

Hamet.
Madam, as Agents in this great Design,
Zibdy, Morat and Abdrahamon joyn;
They the Kings Ears will with such Whispers fill,
As shall the Poyson Jealousie instill:
And by such subtilty his Breast infect,
Till he his Generals Loyalty suspect.

Crim.
Then to promote Suspition we'l proclaim
His Generals high Courage, Pow'r and Fame;
His Armies Love, and his great Spirit praise:
And to that pitch his heighten'd Virtues raise,
That their Perfection shall appear their Crime,
As Giants by their Height do Monsters seem.

Q. M.
Brave Crimalhaz! thy Breast and mine agree:
Now thou art worthy of a Crown and Mee.
And by such Arts I'll my Sons Breast invade
Till his fond Duty has his Life betray'd,
Till by my means we have his Army gain'd,
And have remov'd the Sword into your Hand:
And then we publikly and safely may
Our bloody Ensigns to the World display:
His Pow'r once gone, we'l act his Death in state,
And dash his Blood against his Palace Gate.
Great Deeds should in the open day be don,
As Sacrifices offer'd to the Sun.

Crim.
But till these mighty Actions ripen'd are
We must the borrow'd Looks of Friendship wear.

Q. M.
To flatt'ring light'ning our feign Smiles conform,
Which, back'd with Thunder, do but guild a Storm.

[Exeunt.