 | Distress'd Innocence : Or, The Princess of Persia |  |
ACT. IV.
Otrantes solus.Otrant.
Oh the vast Riot of Loves Revelling Feast!
I have Enjoy'd a night of so much Rapture,
The softest, sweetest Cleomira mine!
Oh Lavish Providence, in this one Treasure
Thou hast made me Lord, Lord of that Infinite Mass,
Enough to Impoverish Earth and Bankrupt Heaven!
But why do I name Heaven? had the great Jove
In his Eternal Rambles met that face!
Her single Charms had fixt th'Almighty Wanderer;
Shackled th'unbounded Rover of the Skies,
And peopled from one stock the Heavens with Gods.
Enter Cleontes and Doranthe.
Cleont.
Well, you have got the beauteous Cleomira.
Otrant.
Got her, and with her all the Joys of Life!
Dorant.
If the gay Spoils of the once great Hormidas
Make up the Joys of Life, those Joys are yours.
Otrant.
His shining Treasures are not only mine;
36
Cleont.
Yes, happy Sir,
All that the Favourite of a King can be you are.
Otrant.
More than the Favourite of a King I am;
The Son too of a King.
Gleont.
How, a Kings Son!
Otrant.
His Son, whilst Cleomira is his Daughter.
Cleont.
My Cleomira a Kings Daughter, say you?
Otrant.
Your Cleomira th'only true born Daughter
Of the great Isdigerdes.
Cleont.
Cleomira,
Heir of the Persian Crown! Ith' name of wonder then
Whose Daughter is the Princess Orundana?
Otrant.
Mine Sir.
Cleont.
Your Doughty Race?
Otrant.
My Race, my Daughter,
Born of that very Alexandrian Captive,
Supposed the Mother of your Cleomira.
Cleont.
More Riddles yet: An Alexandrian Captive
The Princess Mother!
Otrant.
Yes Sir, and my Wife:
For though indeed our Marriage we Conceal'd,
That Alexandrian Captive Sir I Married,
And by her had that titled vanity,
The now Imperial towring haughty Orundana.
Cleont.
Pray Sir unriddle this Miraculous Tale.
Otrant.
You may remember now near Twenty Years
The King was Husband to a Young Queen,
The fair Mandana; and by her
The Father of an Infant Princess call'd Orundana.
Cleont.
Remember't! ay too well, by this sad Token,
Th'Unhappy Queen, with her young Princess, then
But Eight Months old, were barbarously betray'd,
And sold to Proud Zoranes King of Arabia;
And Persia's Mortal Foe. One Fatal Evening
Taking the Air upon Euphrates Streams,
The vile Bagoas her Perfidious Eunuch,
That Barbarous Wretch bought by th'Arabians Gold,
Hurried her down the Stream too far and much
Too fast for all her helpless Guards to reach her.
Otrant.
Th'afflicted Queen thus lost, in nine long Months Captivity,
Sickning and almost drooping to a Grave;
To save the Branch, though the Fair Tree were lost,
Though watcht too narow for her own Escape,
Contriv'd a Plot to have her Royal Infant
Rescued from all her unsuspecting Goalours,
And sent a Present to her Mourning Lord.
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Rescued!
Otrant.
Yes Sir, to have a borrowed Infant
By my assisting hand, conveyed to fill
The Royal Cradle, and supply the Princess.
Cleont.
So Sir.
Otrant.
I being then her Envoy from the King,
Own'd my whole Marriage to her Alexandrian:
(She with my Sister the young Princess Nurses,
Then the only Persian Train her Ravisher left her.)
Off'ring an Infant Daughter of my own.
Cleont.
Most kindly done!
Otrant.
In short, all things prepar'd,
I made the exchange unmark'd and unsuspected.
Cleont.
Your Daughter for the Princess! very well.
Otrant.
Here a strange tempting Thought of warm Ambition
Whisper'd my Soul, that this Exchange well manag'd
Might mount my own Translated Veins to Empire.
Cleont.
Sweet Villain!
[Aside.
Otrant.
As I expos'd
A Daughter to the sullen chance of Slavery,
Why not to th'Golden Lot of Glory too?
I'th dying Eyes of the Sick Queen too plainly
I saw approaching Death, and in her Death,
The Buried secret safe, the only Councel-Keepers,
A Wife and Sister, both soft Wax to mould at pleasure.
In less than one short Moon the Queen expired,
How by the King deplored, I need not tell,
Nor on what Terms the Princess was redeem'd,
It is enough my Daughter was that Princess.
Cleont.
Rare Rogue.
[Aside.
Otrant.
And to a Royal Fathers Arms received
More than a Princely Blessing. For (alas)
All things conspired for the Deceipt: for nine
Kind absent Months in a young Infants Face
Had worn out all Distinctions of the change.
Cleont.
Here's a sweet Dog.
[Aside.
Otrant.
But to conclude,
My Alexandrian not long surviving,
I gave the Royal Infant to my Sister,
And call'd her Cloemira, now no more
The Imperial Orundana; for that Title
My more exalted Blood had filled.
Cleont.
Well Sir, because
The dying Queen left my false Beast, your Sister,
And the proud Slave, your Wife, the only Confidents,
Your itching Pride thought fit to graft your own
Most hopeful Brat into the Blood of Cyrus.
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Yes, Friend, but now my Cleomira's Charms
Have nurst a nobler Pride; I'le to the King,
Implore his pardon for my blushing Fault;
Unmask th'whole Truth and own my self his Son.
Cleont.
You are sure you will?
Otrant.
Yes Sir, I will do't.
Cleont.
Yes Sir, you shall do't,
Do't, tho it cost your Head; your Head bold Jugler.
Here's a fine Legerdemain put upon
A whole cheated Kingdom: and my precious Imp
In the Conspiracy?
Dor.
Alas, dear Sir,
Perswaded by a Brother—
Cleont.
By a Devil:
But by this light, I'le instantly to th'King
And ring him such a Peal—
[offers to go
Otrant.
Stay, Brother, stay,
All shall be well.
Cleont.
Well, in the name of Vengeance!
Otrant.
Upon my Word, my Honourable Word,
Before to Morrow's setting Sun, the King,
And the whole Court shall have the Tale at length.
Only 'tis fit that first I break the Secret
To Orundana, to prepare her Ear
For the unpleasing sound.
Cleont.
Well till to morrow,
For once I will strain hard to tye my Tongue up;
But such a Cursed Cheat—
Otrant.
No more; the King.
[Exeunt.
SCENE 2.
Enter King, and some Attendants.King.
Have you performed my Orders?
Attend.
Yes, if Tortures,
Wracks, Blood and Death in Thousand various Forms
Be the performing 'em, we have performed 'em.
King.
Oh what a Barren Toyl, and fruitless Labour
Has my mistaken Vengeance undertook!
The Extirpation of this Christian Race;
A work wou'd baffle Hercules. His Hydra
With all her springing Heads, alas was nothing
To this more Growing Monster—Death,
They Seed by Graves and Multiply by Destruction.
Gods! even the very Dead Convert the Living.
Lovely and Charming even in Ghastly Wounds!
Almighty Rhetorick, in each dying Gasp,
And every Groan an Orator!—Oh Zeal!
Oh Faith! How unaccountable's thy Power?
39
Theod.
Forgive, dread Monarch, an aspiring Gazer
Whose soaring Eyes have dar'd t'uplift a Heart,
A Bold Oblation to Imperial Beauty.
But Orundana's all Commanding Charms
Have that Resistless Power! and oh great Sir,
[Kneels.
If Kneeling Love, and all my Suppliant Sighs—
King.
Rise kind Petitioner, I understand
Thy Pleading Suit, and grant thy Prayers unheard:
And since, Dear Prince, thou art adopted mine,
Be nearer so;—My Daughter is thy own.
Theod.
Oh my Immortal Joys! Let me Embrace
Your Royal Knees!
King.
No more my Son: The Debt
You owe in Gratitude to Isdigerdes,
Reserve and pay in Love to Orundana.
Theod.
Blessing like this!—
King.
To seal the Gift I make,
I'll instantly dispatch Embassadours
To Constantinople, to the great Arcadius
For his assenting Hand to tye the Gordian.
Theod.
My Fathers binding hand; Yes Generous Monarch
His Pride will soar with mine; A Love so high
Will more than Crown my Youth,
And bless his Age.
[Exeunt Omnes præter Theod.
But oh in all my Bliss I mount too late,
Poor lost Hormidas to avert thy Fate.
I fear Thou'rt set, set in so thick a Night
As my Meridian Glory cannot light.
[Exit.
SCENE 2.
Orundana and Otrantes attended by Briomar and Gobrias.Orund.
How Sir! The Great and Glorious Cleomira,
Heiress of Persia, Isdigerdes Daughter!
And the Poor little Humble Orundana,
That low-born thing must call Otrantes Father!
Otrant.
I must confess 'tis an ungrateful History;
And (it's) no doubt, these staggering sounds surprize you.
Orund.
Surprize me! No, have I not heard it out,
Heard the Astonishing stupendious Tale,
With all the Patience of a listning Wonder?
Otrantes.
Tis true my Love, a more than Father's Love
Took thee a tender Budding Flower, transplanted thee
Into the Royal Garden; and to snatch thee
Back to thy Native humble Root again,
Is hard, is very hard;—But oh
I cannot sleep in Cleomira's Arms,
But I must give her back her Ravisht Birthright.
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Almighty Love, Command their Restitution.
Orund.
Hold Sacrilegious Insolent Monster, hold;
Silence this Impious this Audacious Blasphemy:
Thine, thy Base Blood, A Cloven-footed Cub,
From that Black Hel-hound? Villain, Villain, never
Was such accumulated Mass of Treason
Together heap'd, since the Embattel'd Giants
Pil'd Rocks on Rocks to scale the Throne of Gods;
Infernal Impudence! Say Briomar, Gobrias
Didst thou 'ere hear the like?
Briom.
Hear Madam? no;
Nor hope e're shall: 'Tis that Original Impudence,
As is impossible should 'ere be Copyed.
Orund.
Nay, was there ever so much hardned Falshood,
Such Canker'd Poyson'd Lies hatch'd at one Birth?
Thou art so rank a Rogue, not Poet's Raptures,
Not Madmens Dreams, not Swearing Lovers Oaths,
Nor even Religious Legends, ever forg'd
With half thy front of Brass.
Otrantes.
Yet hear me, Madam.
Orund.
No I have heard too much, and to Reward
Thy bold tongu'd Guilt, by the wrong'd Blood of Cyrus,
By all my Towring Battlements of Glory,
Supported by the Tutelar Gods of Empire,
Traytor, I'le have thee wrapt in Pitch, and Burnt,
A Blazing Torch, to light me to my Throne.
Otrant.
Oh whither does your Blinded Passion drive!
Recall your wandring Reason and Consider—
Orund.
That thou'rt a Devil; Yes I have Considered.
Now thy detected Plots are all unravell'd:
Now poor Hormidas, that Betray'd Wrong'd Virtue
Too plainly fell thy black Ambitions Sacrifice,
His Leading Fall but a preparing Step,
To Orundana's Throne.
But I am too tame; Seize, seize the Traitour,
And in his hearts rank Blood—
[Gobrias and Briomar seize him.
Otrant.
Yet hold fair Savage.
Yes, you may Kill me;
But have a care my unbelieving Parricide,
That hand that Murders mee, stabs thy own Father.
Orund.
My Father! Death!
My Father, Fool! how shallow dost thou plot?
This Royal Pride, and this Imperial Beauty
A base born Cottage Brat of thy begetting;
And that bright Spark of Heaven.
The sacred animating Fire that lights
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Struck from thy Dunghill-flint, dull senseless Traitor!
Methinks it almost makes me smile to think
How tickled will the laughing World, receive
This fabulous Tale, thou poor Burlesque Romancer.
Gobrias.
Oh Divine Excellence, your Justice moves
Too slow! Pronounce but the Commanding Word,
And this Commission'd Arm sends his Black Soul—
Orund.
No, now I think on't better, let him live;
I scorn to take the mean advantage
Of my own Royal Walls, a Stage too Glorious
For thy base Execution. No I'll give
Thee play for Life, and hunt thee fairly dead.
Nor hope to fall a Victim to my Vengeance
Drest in those Gaudy Plumes; the Persian General
And the great Isdigerdes darling Favourite.
No Slave, before to Morrow's setting Sun,
Expect the wrong'd Hormidas Resurrection.
And when thy usurp'd Laurel all Restor'd,
I've stript thee to thy self a Naked Villain,
I'le have the uncas'd little Mungrel Hanged
In his own Native Kennel.
Otrant.
Threatning Madam,
Your Thunder talks too big!
Orund.
Arrogant Rebel!
One bold word more pulls down thy Instant Fate:
Take thy Face hence; be gon, and if thou canst,
Wear thy false Head; yes, wear it till to Morrow.
Exit Otrantes.
Oh that so poor a Vassal should disturb me!
Ye Gods what unknown sin have I Committed
That for my Punishment, your sleeping Vengeance
Should suffer so prophane an Insolent
To shock the Royal Peace of Orundana?
Briom.
Alas Dear Madam, never mind the Snarler;
Like the Proud Sister Goddess of the Sun,
Disdain the little Angry Village-Cur
That Barks beneath your Glory.
Orund.
No my Gobrias,
So rank a venemous Blast though ne'er so feeble,
Struck at the Root of Kings, the Veins of Cyrus;
I must not Cheapen Majesty to pass
Forgotten or Forgiven.—Oh that the Traitor
Stood Mountain high, that my avenging Justice
Might nobly reach his heart.—Howe'er for once,
Thou under-ground low Wretch, to crush thy head,
I'll stoop to Plow up a poor Mole-hill Bed.
[Exeunt.
42
Enter Hormidas and Lorella.
Lor.
'Tis with the danger of my Life that I presume
T'admit you here; but life's not worth my care,
When hazarded to serve such suffering Virtue.
Horm.
Had I Rewards to thank thee for this Kindness,
My showring Bounty—
Lor.
Sir I am pay'd in serving you;
No more: That Curtain opens to her Closet.
[Exit.
Horm.
Now King, at this last blow thou hast reacht my heart;
Stabb'd through and through my Life, my Love, my Soul!
Oh Cleomira! Cleomira!
She's lost, she's lost, caught by a Gilded Bait,
A tempting Lure of Power for ever lost.
Yes black Ambition, with thy Dragon's Tayl,
Thou has swept down that Beauteous falling Star!
Oh Woman, Woman, what is thy Foundation!
Who could believe that Dear All-Angel Yesterday,
Should be All-Fiend to day!
The Scene opens, and discovers Cleomira in a Rich Nuptial Habit, Sleeping on a Couch.
But see, see, there she lies! and oh, behold
All the same fragrant sweetness on her Cheeks
As if she ne'er had sin'd. Not all
The Sooty Sulphur in her Veins has steyn'd
One fading Rose, or dim'd one fullied Lilly!
Oh Heaven! that Treason 'ere should look so lovely!
Wake Truth's Apostate, fair Perdition wake!
Cleom.
Who calls me, and where am I? For methinks
I am just rowzing from a long dead Sleep;
And such a Giddy Mist swims round my Reason—
Horm.
Dost thou not hear me yet, Lethargick Infidel?
Hangs the black Sleep of Sin and Death so heavy
On thy benighted Soul?
Cleom.
What's that that speaks in Thunder?
Horm.
I am the Trumpet of thy Shame; young Syren,
Call'd by thy Crying Infamy to sound
Thy Ecchoing Falshood, and thy loud-Tongu'd Treason.
Cleom.
Falshood and Treason those hard names for me?
Cleom.
Hard names! thou Gangreen'd Mass of foul Dishonour
Thou purple Plague, with all thy spotted Deaths!
Cleom.
Ha, who art thou, that look'st like my Hormidas,
But dost not talk like him? For such wild sounds
Such strange Accusing sounds, should be Strangers
To that dear Voice of Peace!
Horm.
Peace to thy Crimes!
Thou bloated Dungeon Viper; Black Adultress!
43
Celinda! ha, who waits there?
[Stamping.
Enter Celinda.
Celind.
Did you call
Me Madam?
Cleom.
Oh Celinda, see, look there;
That angry Thing, so like my once kind Lord,
Talks those wild frightful Words! and with a Thousand
All hideous Names too terrible to think on,
Says I am that strange Spotted Creature!—Nay
(Wouldst thou believe't) he calls me an Adultress?
What does he mean Celinda!
Horm.
Mean Barbarian!
Death! shee's all Innocent, Knows nothing ill!
This hardned Brass, this more than Feminine front's
Beyond Recorded Impudence!
Cleom.
Dost hear him?
Just so he talk'd before, all the same wild
(I know not what) dire Croake!
Horm.
And thou the same
(I know not what) all Masquerading Perjury.
Oh thou all Blood! all Guilt! just risen from
Thy dallying Monster's Bed!—
Cleom.
A Bed! What says he?—
Horm.
The Guilty Kisses on thy melting Lips!
Thy ruffled Arms, and burning Cheeks still Glowing.
Yet thou'rt all Saint, all harmless innocent—Devil.
Cleom.
Dost hear him still! am I awake Celinda?
Or does he Sleep, that makes him talk thus strangely!
Horm.
Death and Confusion! Sleep! no fair Destroyer,
Thou hast took care these waking Eyes, and my
Poor Murdered Peace shall never sleep again:
Whilst thou Gay Venus lull'st on Beds of Downe,
Trickt in thy Morning Trim and Fluttering Robes.
Cleom.
Ha!—Robes!
Horm.
Yes, my Proud Wanton Cleopatra;
Those fluttering Robes, the Monumental Pile
Of thy Gay Bed of Death; the Gilded Sepulchre
Of thy dead Virtue, and thy buried Honour.
Cleom.
Oh I can hear no more! Celinda, speak,
Say what are these!
Celind.
These what?
Cleom.
These Gaudy Trappings;
These sparkling Gemms, and glittering Gold! Speak quickly.
How came the Mourning Cleomira drest
In all this Pompous Vanity? And ha!
This shining Roof, and that proud Bed of Gold!
Oh my awakening Eyes! speak Dear Celinda.
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Oh my foreboding Tears! Answer me quickly!
Unriddle this dumb show of Splendid Horrours.
Celind.
This Royal Palace, and these Nuptial Ornaments,
And thou the beauteous Pride to great Otrantes—
Cleom.
Otrantes!
Celind.
Ris'n with all thy Bridal Blushes
From his incircling Arms.—
Cleom.
Oh—
[Swoons and Falls.
Horm.
She sinks, she sinks.
Almighty Truth, thou art at last a Conqueror.
Convey those Lovely Ruins from my Eyes.
The Scene shuts upon her.
Oh Conscience! Conscience! Thou art kind too late.
Had thy Alarm but struck before her Fall,
How glorious had that still Crown'd Beauty lived!
And oh! how happy had Hormidas died!
Enter Theodosius.
Theod.
Oh my Hormidas, I've that hideous Story,
Thy Cleomira—That Dear Beauteous Innocence,—
Horm.
Has turn'd all black Deformity; dyed all
Her Ermin Honour into sooty Sable;
Barter'd her Gemms for Glass, and poorly sold
Her Right in Heaven, and all my Peace on Earth.
Theod.
Oh hold; forbear this unjust profanation:
Wound not that ravisht Virtue. For by Arts
Infernal, by the Kings Command, perform'd
By th'executing Fangs of Power, his Priests:
That all unblemisht Fair (Oh! would'st thou think it!)
Was to that Villains Bed by Philters poysoned.
Horm.
Philters!
Theod.
By Drugs, and execrable Sorceries poysoned.
Horm.
Poyson'd! my unkind King, that was fowl Play.
But, ha! a Dawning Joy tells my Eased heart,
That she's all Truth still, all unshaken Truth;
Only an Innocent Victim snared to Ruin,
And Butchered in the Toyl, a Bleeding Martyr.
Theod.
Only a sullen Cloud of Hell prevailed,
And the bright Heaven Ecclipsed.
Horm.
Oh my enlightned Peace!
Yes my fair Saint; though thy frail Earth is lost,
I have not lost thy Soul.—But I forget:
Oh let me run, run to her Sacred Knees,
And beg my blushing pardon at her Feet;
For I have wrong'd her, basely wrong'd her.
Theod.
Wrong'd her!
Horm.
Yes, Prince, reproacht her with a Thousand all
45
What though her canker'd Veins run all Contagion;
And all my blasted Hopes for ever die?
Her spotless Mind's all white, and at that Charm
A pleasing Rapture glides all Heav'nly fair—But oh!
Great Love, how dazling must thy Beams display,
When one poor spark of Light lets in the day.
The Scence opens and discovers Cleomira held by her two Women Celinda and Lorella.
Cleom.
Why did you wake me
From Deaths cold Sleep to burning Lifes hot Fever?
Oh Heav'n, Heav'n, Heav'n! the happy Cleomira
Was once your darling care; when radiant Vertue,
And blooming Innocence fenc'd round my Peace;
But, Oh! ye faithless Guardians of my Soul,
Ye false deserting Powers! Why did you basely
Shrink like poor craven Cowards from your Post,
And leave me lost for ever?
Celind.
Why thus cruelly
Do you afflict those fair tormented Eyes?
Enter Hormidas.
Cleom.
Eyes didst thou say? These treacherous Balls of Fire:
Oh tear 'em, tear 'em out, these rowling Brands,
That only light me to Eternal Night—
Ha! Stay the growling Fiends, and hissing Furies;
Stop, stop the Midnight Thieves, and Cut-Throat Robbers
Of murdered Innocence, restore my rifled Treasures,
And give me back my Peace, my Truth, my Soul—
Oh my sick Brain! Tear off these shining Tresses,
These Traytor Jewels, and this guilty Gold;
And give me my dear Rags,
My loveliest, sweetest, beauteous, honest Rags.
Horm.
Oh Harmony Divine!
Cleom.
And art thou here,
My dear wrong'd Lord? Oh thou art come to punish me.
Yes, Charming Justice strike; my Heart stands fair;
And whilst the kind Sword kills me, thus I'le kneel,
[Kneels.
And kiss the guiding Hand.
Horm.
Kill thee!
Cleom.
Ah, kill me, Sir, for I am too black to live.
Oh strike: (Alass!) a very little Blow
Will do thee Justice now, a stroke so easy.
Turn but one frowning Look from those dear Eyes
And stiffled in a flagrant Bed of Roses,
I'le sink in Sweets and Dye.
Horm.
No, Ravisht Sweetness, live.
And, oh, forgive the too unkind Hormidas.
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When oh, fair spotless Truth, thou bleeding Lucrece,
An impious Draught of horrid, horrid Philter
Drencht thy infatuated Sense all drown'd,
And drag'd thee martyr'd to that Traytors Bed.
Cleom.
Ha! My poor Heart by such vile Arts betray'd!
Horm.
By foulest, blackest Arts lost and betrayed,
Thy Chrystal Veins and purer Reason poysoned.
Cleom.
Nay, then I am not quite so black, not all
So frightful and deform'd a Specter;
But thy poor Cleomira has a little,
A little Innocence left.
Horm.
A little!
Oh thou all-whiteness, thy untainted Soul,
That fair Eternity stands safe within,
And but thy poorer, weaker Outwork's lost—
But ha—he lives, th'unpunisht Poysoner lives!—
Oh mourning Philomel, these lovely Ruines
Call loud for Blood: And this too tardy Arm
Delays the avenging Bolt. Yes, he must bleed.
No Christian Shackle now binds up my Arm,
Now my keen Sword may strike: Toads, Vipers, Serpents,
The speckled Adder, and the curling Snake,
Mans common Foe, all Hands are arm'd to kill.
Cleom.
And wilt thou kill that impious Savage?
Horm.
Kill him!
Yes, my fair murdered Life, this Arm must carve
Thy bleeding Honours Monument, rip up
His poyson'd Heart, that baneful Hemlock Root,
And weed him from the World.
Cleom.
Oh let me joyn in that Divine Revenge!
Thy single Arm amidst his crowding Followers
Would be too weak to reach that guarded Fiend:
And to expose thee in too rash a Danger,
Wou'd not take his, but hazard thy dear Life.
No, my wrong'd Lord, let me instruct your Vengeance.
Horm.
Oh, speak my leading Oracle!
Cleom.
Thus then—
This Evening when the lustful Satyr comes
Keen for his Prey (oh the detested thought)
I'le have thee planted, hid within his Closet;
In thy just Arm the pointed Steel, prepared
And at th'unguarded Traytors safe Approach,
Then strike for Cleomira. Oh my Lord,
Rush on him like a Tempest; bolt him headlong,
Plung'd in Eternal Flames so quick, that Hell
May see him fain, before it hears him falling.
47
Thou lovely Amazon, my Divine Inspirer!
Cleom.
Nay to secure him there, till then I'le calm
My Brow, smooth my false Looks, and dance before him
A wandring Fire to train him to his Fate.
Horm.
And will my Cleomira—
Cleom.
Oh, my Love!
To right thy Wrongs, methinks, I cou'd even play
The very Hypocrite, act the true Woman
To give that Monster Death.
Horm.
This is so generous—
But (oh!) this Scorpion Wound has stung so deep
That all the Scorpions Blood can never cure!
Oh Love! There stands that parting Gulph between us,
That to those Arms I never can return.
But though my happy Days and happier Nights
Are mine no more; those sweets I am doom'd to lose,
I am resolved that Heav'n shall only find.
Lodg'd in a Cloyster of devoted Penitents,
Thy mounting Prayers shall scale the Throne of Stars,
And win the Crown of Peace.
Cleom.
A Cloyster'd Life!
Oh thou dear only Good, and only kind!
This is true Love indeed that gives me Heav'n.
Horm.
Yes, my last Debt I'le pay. I loved thee living,
And must embalm thee dead—But then; oh then
To all that's dear, Farewel; for we must part for ever.
Cleom.
Say not for ever. No, my still lov'd Lord,
Though these polluted Arms are thine no more,
My Sighs, my Tears, my Prayers shall still be thine.
And when these Eyes with endless Fountains fed,
The Earth my Pillow and my Grave my Bed,
I've worn out Life, and washt my stains away,
I'le mount above, and meet thee spotless there.
Horm.
There our new happier Spousals wee'l prepare,
In all the Joys of everlasting Day—
Cleom.
But I must mourn before I find the Way.
[Exeunt severally.
Finis Actus Quarti.
| Distress'd Innocence : Or, The Princess of Persia | |