 | Distress'd Innocence : Or, The Princess of Persia |  |
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ACT. V.
Enter Celinda introducing Hormidas with a Sword in his hand.Celind.
My Lord, behind that Covert take your stand;
And when he's safe in your Swords Reach, to his
False Heart direct your executing Justice.
[Exit.
Horm.
Yes, Cleomira, Love and Vengeance call;
Thy Tarquin bleeds to night—But, oh, that in
Thy great Revenge this Hand can act so little!
This Sword, when drawn in Honors cause, struck nobly;
All sparkling in the Front of headed Legions.
But, with what blushing Shame this Arm must move,
When it thus poorly sculks to strike for Love?
[Exit.
Enter Otrantes and Rugildas.
Otrant.
Is she so hot then for my thirsted Blood,
And drives so furious?
Rug.
Not a starving Tygress
Can hunt more keen: Already she has persued
So close, that with a hundred rancrous whispers
In the Kings Ear—(Falshood or Truth; no matter)
Her subtlest Engines, Power, Arts, Interest, all
Stand level'd at your Head.
Otrant.
My Head! Yes Friend,
She has given me leave to wear it till to Morrow.
Rug.
To Morrow!
Otrant.
So, the angry Orundana.
The great Disposer of my Fate has fixt
My bounded Life: My Lease is out to Morrow.
Rug.
I must confess e're you presum'd to tell her
What Veins she wore, you should have first considered
What Sex she had been too. Glory, Pride, Ambition
The touching of that nice, that tender part,
Wou'd shake an Angel were that Angel Woman.
Otrant.
True, I've so shook the Woman in her Veins,
Till turn'd a Fury,
She has sworn my Death; and, I am but too certain,
Will keep her Oath.
Rug.
Will keep it?
Otrant.
If she can.
No, my dear Friend, I see my lowring Danger,
The mixing Gall and all the angry Viols
Just pouring, and to shield my Head,
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Rug.
A Counter-plot!
Otrant.
The Arms of Persia are all mine to day;
What think'st thou if to Morrow wears her Crown?
Rug.
The Crown!
Otrant.
A Crown, that gives me all my Wishes;
A Crown, that plants me far above the Shock
Of Foes or Fortune's Frowns, wall'd in with safety
From the weak Blast of Orundana's Rage;
Her Feeble Threats, and Cobweb Plots, all burst.
'Tis true, the means to reach that Crown
Is something of the roughest, when my passage
Lyes only through the Life of Isdegerdes.
'Tis something hard to cut so keen as I must.
Rug.
Hard!
Otrant.
And the thought of Treason—
Rug.
Treason! Fye!
Is that a Bar to Souls resolv'd like ours?
Otrant.
Oh, my kind Oracle!
[Embracing him.
We are alone, and safe; and in thy Bosom
I dare repose my Heart; know then this night
This Jason's Arm bears the proud Fleece of Gold.—
You know, t'assist the King's Devotion, every night
One of his Priests, his Magi, is admitted
Into his Closet private and alone.
Rug.
Alone, and private! Yes, his Guards, Attendants,
All, all remov'd at that commanded distance,
As if he studied with the same resigning Faith,
To trust his Person as he trusts his Soul.
Otrant.
This night then, my Rugildas, I am that Priest.
Rug.
Most excellent!
Otrant.
Alas! how easily
Will the dispatching Instrument of Fate
Be lodg'd under the Masque and Robe of Sanctity,
The time, place, hour, all aiding the great Deed.
Rug.
Exquisite Mischief!
Otrant.
Nay, and my Retreat
Will be as safe as my Approach. For since
'Tis death by Persia's Laws for any Subject
The Closet of the King uncall'd to enter;
Who, who shall call, when Death has sign'd his last
Long silence, and the Silencer retired
With all the safety and the Peace of Innocence!
Ay, and to make his Death pass currant Priest-work;
It is but hanging half a dozen of
Those sanctify'd Church-tools, and the Work's done.
Rug.
O sublime Reach!
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Nay, put 'em to the Wrack first, and perhaps
Some of the softest pamper'd Fatlings of 'em,
That ne're felt pain, unless from a Debauch,
May at a Stretch too hard confess the very Murder.
It is not the first Wonder of that kind,
That Cords and Pulleys have perform'd.—That done,
His very Death confess'd, and Blood reveng'd,
The feeble Orundana's Talons pared;
The poor Hormidas, all his weak pretensions,
Husht with a Poniard; and my Cleomira
Proclaim'd and prov'd, drest in her native Beams,
An Infant of the Sun, and Child of Empire;
And my great Self the Partner of her Throne.—
Rug.
Never was Plot so all divinely Great!
Methinks I see the Radiant Hoop of Gold
Already twine your Brow, a Crown, a Circle,
In which more bright Celestial Myriads dance
Then half the Round of Heav'n.
Otrant.
A Crown, Rugildas!
Now Fortune for the Lawrels of the Bold.
One Hand a Dagger and a Scepter hold.
[Exeunt.
Re-enter Hormidas as from his Stand overhearing.
Horm.
A Crown! No; Slave, a Gibbet and a Pinnacle.
Oh blest Discovery! Dear Heav'n, not all
My studied Vengeance cou'd have form'd a Wish
Beyond this pleasing Sound. Quick, let me fly
To th'alarm'd Ear of Royal Isdigerdes,
And guard his Sacred Life:—For He's my King still.—
Oh Cleomira! Now, I'le do thee noble Justice.
For that stain'd Slave's black Blood this Sword's too bright.
No; the vile Hangman's hand shall do thee right.
[Exit.
Enter King solus.
[Scene Changes.
King.
Oh, why
Does the mistaken popular Adoration
Call Monarchs Heav'n's Vicegerents.—Is it, because
We Sovereign Heads bear Rule like them!—Ah no!
Such disproportion our Dominions hold.
What Harmony and Order move their Orbs;
And what Confusion ours? Their Measures, Sphears,
Pow'rs, Dominations, Movements numberless,
And Circles infinite dance th'Eternal Round,
Without one erring Step, or Jar between 'em;
Whilst even old Hoary Time himself, with all
51
Beats not one Pulse uneven. But, Oh, how sickly
Is our distemper'd State, our Crazy Sway?
Convulsions and Distractions half our Days;
And our whole Reign one restless Ferment all:
And we resemble Heav'n (alas) no more,
Than theirs the Bliss, and ours the Toil of Pow'r!
Enter Hormidas Introduced by Orundana.
Orund.
Otrantes arm'd for Isdigerdes Blood!
But see, the King! Approach, thou kind Discoverer.
King.
Hormidas!
Horm.
If so poor a vagrant Wretch
May dare intrude within these Royal Walls;
And Rags and Misery may be permitted
To kneel on hallow'd Ground—
[Kneels.
Orand.
Stand up, Hormidas,
And boldly speak the Mighty Truth thou bring'st.
Thou that art come to save a Monarch's Life,
Art Heav'ns Ambassador, and thy great Cause
Adorns thy poorest Rags.
King.
To save a Monarch's Life!
Horm.
To save the Life of Royal Isdigerdes.
Oh the most Impious Execrable Treason
That ever call'd up Hell, or call'd down Vengeance!
King.
Treason! From whom?
Orund.
From that unparallell'd Villain,
As Blisters even the very Tongue that names him;
That Prodigy, that Monster of all Monsters,
Otrantes, comes this Night to be your Murderer.
King.
Otrantes!
Horm.
Otrantes, Sir,
That vile, that low-born Slave, the coursest Earth
That lavish Pow'r e'er moulded into Honour;
So blest, so favour'd, so advanc'd; for all
Those Pyramids of Glory you had rais'd him,
Returns a Dagger to their Founders Heart;
With his own Hand this Night designs your Death.
King.
Thou strik'st those Sounds of Horrour in my Ear,
As my Faith staggers but to think—Otrantes!
Gods! 'Tis impossible—May I believe thee!
Form.
Sir, on the forfeit of my Hopes in Heav'n,
(For Hopes on Earth I've none, or else I'd pledge them too)
What I have told you, is Oraculous Truth;
These frighted Ears heard the whole Plotted Treason.
King.
Otrantes Hand! Ingratitude so Monstrous!
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Nay, this Ungrateful Infidel, if possible,
To add to Guilt, so exquisitely wicked,
Comes in the Habit of your Priest, and under
That Holy Robe he brings th'Infernal Dagger.
King.
So keen warm Snake; so hot my rank-tooth'd viper!
I'll find you Scorpions that shall match your sting.
Orund.
Scorpions! Yes, King, rowze all your knotted Vengeance:
Whole Years and Ages on the Wrack,
Would be a Mercy to so damn'd a Traytor.
King.
That Hand my Murderer; and thine, thine my
Deliverer! Gods! which is my greatest Wonder,
He brings me Death, or that thou bring'st me Life!
Horm.
That I should bring you Life! Alas!
Is that so strange! Sir, are you not my King!
King.
Thy King!
Horm.
And is my Duty such a Wonder!
King.
Duty to me! My Cruelty and my Shame!
Life from that Hand! Thou the kind Guardian Angel
To Cleomira's Poysoner? What, with thy Load of Wrongs!
Horm.
Wrongs! Breathe those empty Sounds no more.
Oh, Sir, consider I'm you Nephew, all
My Veins your own; and with my Mothers Milk,
Suckt in Allegiance to that Sacred Name;
Even the first Breath I drew was all your own.
And if at last (alas!) I leave the World
With some small Service to that Honoured Head,
I only finish where I first begun;
And die no more than that which I was born.
King.
Oh my Awakening Senses!
There's something whispers my Relenting Soul,
And tells me thou art True.
Horm.
That I am true—
King.
That thou art true, Confusion, Horrour, Shame
Tear my wrack'd Peace; and all my shivering Nerves
Start at thy frightful Wrongs.
Horm.
Oh, Sir, no more.
Let me be still all Black, all spotted Guilt,
Ambition, Treason; all the same loathed Wretch.
For, Oh! to see you shake that Noble Frame,
There's something so all Tender touches here,
I dare not purchase Innocence so dear.
King.
Oh! thou all Truth—
Horn.
Persue that Traitors Falsehood;
And leave my Truth to Heaven.—But if my Injuries
Must force a Sigh, and melt a Royal Tear,
Oh, may that dropping Pearl glide gently down;
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For, Oh! to sheild the Peace of that Crown'd Head,
Light may my Wrongs, all husht my Ashes lie;
If Heav'n can but forgive as much as I.
[Exit.
King.
How Rich a Jewel that course Casket holds!
—But! Ha! I dare not think!
Lull, Conscience, lull; and slumb'ring Reason wink:
For (Oh Remembrance!) if thou wak'st, I sink.
[Exeunt.
Scene changes. Enter Otrantes disguis'd as a Magus.
Otrant.
Thus far I have walk'd safe, with Bows and Knees
Saluted us I past; the distant Crowd
With awful Homage bending low before me.
Oh the bewitching Charm of Beard and Sanctity!
Some of 'em, as I past, whose bolder Zeal
Durst find a Tongue to Greet me, cryed, All Health,
Health to the Soul of Majesty, the Life of Empire;
And Blessings Crown his Prayers!—Yes, all the Blessings,
And all that Health the Airy Food of Heav'n,
To which this Hour I wing his mounted Soul,
Can give, I bring him. Now a Stroke for Empire!
Weild Nobly, my bold Arm, but this one Bolt
Of Thunder, and the Thunderer's Throne is mine.
Ha! the King's Closet opening for my Entrance!
Now boyl, boyl up the Fever of my Blood,
And every Pulse of my warm Soul beat high.
Enter King.
King.
Oh, art thou there, my Cut-throat Masquerader!
[Aside.
Otrant.
The King approaches. Now, now for the Spirit
Of the great Brutus, the Immortal Cassius,
And a whole Roman Senate in one Arm.
King.
So punctual at th'Infernal Assignation.
[Aside.
Well, Reverend Sanctity, I see thy pious
And holy Zeal is come to bring me Heav'n,
[Advancing a little nearer to Otrantes.
And I thee Hell to thank thee for't.
[The King stamping with his Foot, enter Gobrias, Briomer, Artaban, Ortagan, and other Attendants, who run in, and seize Otrantes, pulling off his false Beard, and seizing a large Dagger conceal'd under his Robe.
Otrant.
Confusion!
Betray'd and lost!
King.
Yes, outside Holiness, and inside Devil,
We have prepar'd a Counter-Masque to match you.
So sharp, my hard-mouth'd Cerberus! Nay, then,
'Twas time to find a Muzzle for my Bloodhound.
Otran.
True; you have caught me, King. But doubly damn'd
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King.
Ha! Dares he speak? Strike the Audacious Insolence
Down his false Throat? Rip, rip his Gangreen'd Heart up.
Otrant.
Yet hold your Royal Vengeance; Save my Life
But for an hour; I have Wonders to discover
Concern your Safety, Peace, Life, Glory, Empire;
Of new Conspiracies, Swords, Poysons, Treasons.
King.
Treasons against my Life! and thou, Barbarian,
Thou, the Discoverer! No; Slave, I'll trust
My Life and Throne to Heav'n; Not borrow Engines
From Hell for my Protection. But the Traytor
Has lived too long. Strike, strike the Monster dead.
Quickly, ye tedious Slaves.
[They all stab him with their several Daggers, he falls and dies.
Now, Briomar,
Be it your Charge to see the Traytor's Carcase
Dragg'd round the Walls of Babylon; then hang'd
On some erected Pinacle, if possible,
So high, the very Vultures to devour him,
Shall droop their flagging Wings, and tire to reach him.
[Exeunt some part of the Attendants with the Body of Otrantes.
But though our just Disdain refus'd the Service
Of a Discoverer from that black Ruffian,
'Tis fit we sound the Bottom of this Treason.
And therefore, Ortagan, go instantly
And seize the false Rugildas. That sly Confident,
So dipt in his Intreigues, cannot be ignorant
Of this Conspiracy. If his harden'd Guilt
Refuses a Discovery, give him the Wrack
To soften him to Confession.
[Exit Ortagan.
Oh, poor Hormidas! Were the ravish'd Coronets
Torn from thy Brow for Chaplets for this Villain?
Oh the mistaken Favours of the Crown!
And, Kings, why are we Gods? 'Tis true, their Thunder,
Like Gods, we weild in our Revenge: But when
We showre our Blessings, we are only Men.
[Exit King and Attendants.
Enter Orundana and Theodosius.
Theod.
Light of my Life, forgive th'ill-manner'd Rudeness
Of this ill-season'd Visit. But the Cause
That brings me will excuse a greater Fault.
Oh, my bright Excellence, I was lead hither
By an Alarm of that strange Horrour.
Orund.
Horrour!
Yes, Prince, the busie Demons of the Air,
In close Cabal with their great Lord of Darkness,
Have sate this Night a hatching mighty Mischiefs,
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Look'd down, and crush'd the brooding Treason dead.
Enter King reading a Letter, with Cleontes and Doranthe, with Attendants.
Dor.
Oh, Sir, that Letter to your dying Queen
To my eternal Shame does but too plainly
Confirm the fatal Truth which I have told you.
King.
Too plain indeed.
Dorant.
Forgive a Woman's weakness
Seduced by a fond Brother's treacherous Art,
The mad Ambition of the false Otrantes
To mount his own base Brat, false Orundana,
A Fairy Changling to the Throne of Cyrus.
Orund.
How's this? Confusion!
King.
The true-born Cleomira,
My own Imperial Veins!
Orund.
Can there be Truth then!
Dorant.
Too fatal Truth proved by too strong Credentials.
Orund.
The happy Cleomira—
Dorant.
The great Blood
Of Isdiguerdes.
Orund.
And poor Orundana—
King.
Orantes Daughter.
Orund.
Oh Prince, thy Orundana is no more!
[To Theodosius, sinking into his Arms.]
Dorant.
But, oh, dear Sir, let my repenting Tears
For this black Crime implore your Royal Mercy.
Cleont.
Yes, let her beg that Mercy, as to hang the Witch.
Hanging's too good for her. If your Princely Wisdom
Can think of any more convenient Noose,
Upon my Knees I promise you, Your Majesty,
As in all Loyal Duty bound, shall have
An honest Husband's hearty Prayers to thank you for't.
Enter Ortagan, and some other Attendants.
Ortag.
I went, great Sir, t'obey your dread Commands,
And seize the false Rugildas, but the Traytor
Alarm'd, and sheltring his perfidious Head,
Is not yet found.
But to unkennel him, thô ne're so closely earth'd,
Already we have beset the Prince's Palace,
The most suspected Scene, nor can he scape,
For the whole Babylon's arm'd to apprehend him.
But oh, dread Sir! from one of his Confederates,
One of his wicked Priests, his impious Engine,
Already I've extorted this Discovery,
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And on the most wrong'd Virtue, the Poor lost
Hormidas, and th'whole suffering Christian Race
Most safely threw their own Barbarian Guilt.
King.
Good Gods! what do I live to hear?
Ortag.
And, Sir,
All the whole Christian Blood that you have shed,
Through the wide Persian World, has only been
The crying Wounds of Martyr'd Innocence.
King.
Those murder'd Thousands! Oh, my butchering Hand
Gods! What a Torrent, what an Inundation
Of loud Tongu'd Blood o'rewhelms my sinking Soul!
But, oh Hormidas! thy more ghastly Wrongs!
Thine, and thy ravish'd Cleomira's Wrongs
And, oh, my own dire Doom! hard sated Prince!
Gods! made a Prostitute of my own Daughter!
From her most injur'd Lord, the brightest Worthy
That ever set on Earth to rise in Heaven,
The richest Jewel stol'n that e're crown'd Life,
T'adorn the blackest Slave that sham'd the light.
Orund.
Now, Prince, where must your Orundana fall?
King.
But fly, oh fly, recal my bloody Edicts
Against the Christian Lives; proclaim their Innocence,
Spotless as a new born Day;
[Several of the Attendants go off, as to obey this Order.]
And hash kind Briomar, seize
Those holy Beasts of Prey, my cursed Priests,
And give 'em to a Den of hungry Lions,
Devourers to Devourers, and thou, Ortagan,
Burn all their costly Palaces, those Nests
Of pious Luxury, fire their hoarded Treasures.
Religious Sacrilege those Death-bed, Rapines,
The Spoils of cheated Souls; set 'em all blazing,
A Sacrifice to my Cleomira's Wrongs.
Orund.
Now, now my Doom!
King.
But fly, call instantly, that beauteous Sacrifice,
And her wrong'd Lord, that long Eclipsing Sun,
Of Glory forth.
Bow down ye Slaves, low as your Graves before 'em:
With bending Knees, and prostrate Necks, receive 'em.
Oh! call 'em, call 'em to their Coronation,
Bid 'em prepare for loads of Royal Honours—
And show'rs of Royal Tears.
[Exeunt Cleontes and Doranthe as to obey this Order.]
Orund.
Yet stay, stay King.
Before your Cleomira's Coronation
Perform my juster Rites, your Orundana's Funeral.
Oh King, I've fill'd a spacious Orb of Glory;
And like the glitt'ring Charioteer of Day,
Driven my vast Round for twenty smiling Years.
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And I am seen no more; a long long Night!
King.
Yes, thou unhappy setting fair—
Orund.
Well, Sir,
If I must set, do me this last just right:
Tell the vain babbling World, when busie Fools
And buzzing Crowds talk little of my Name;
Tell 'em, that though my parsimonious Stars
Too poorly furnisht out my humbler Clay.
Otrantes course-born Blood too low for Empire:
Howe're, the kinder Gods enricht me with
That nobler Spark of their own Heav'ns, a Soul,
Of that unbounded Grasp, as could have weilded
The Scepter of the Universe, given Laws
To kneeling Kings, driven the Reign'd World before me,
And play'd beneath the Toyl. To my Recorded Memory
Write that, and then write this.
[Stabs her self
Theod.
Oh, cruel Fair,
What has your Fury done!
Orund.
Only let out that poor ignoble Blood,
That sham'd me from the World.
Theod.
Thou rash, unkind Destroyer,
Oh! thou hast raz'd the noblest fairest Palace,
That e're lodg'd Life, a Temple for the God
Of Love to sit Enthron'd, and suppliant Monarchs
Come Pilgrims to the Shrine.
Orund.
Ah! no, kind Prince,
My humble Veins—
Theod.
Name not thy humble Veins;
Thy Eyes, thy Beauty, thy Imperial Charms,
Were all the dazling Orundana still,
All the same Heav'nly Fair. The Diamond
Shines not less bright for the course Rock that bred it.
Orund.
And could you love me still?
Theod.
Yes, thou mistaken Cruelty,
Didst thou want Birth for me, for Love like mine?
No; in these dear, dear Eyes, these lovely Suns,
I could have bask'd my whole long Life away,
Though they had only light me to a Cottage.
Oh, hadst thou truly loved me!
Orund.
Yes, so loved thee!
And yet even for that Love I durst not live.
No, I had a Soul too Great to out-live Glory,
And therefore with it dye.
[Dyes.
Theod.
Set then, proud Star!
Thou fairest Child of Night, a long Farewell.
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Remove that Funeral Object from my sight,
And lodge her in the Sepulchre of Cyrus.
I owe thy pity'd Dust that Royal Monument.
But now let's find Hormidas: O Cleomira!
That Nature should not plead in thy behalf!
No Sympathizing Notion to preserve thee,
Or inward Touch to stop my hasty Vengeance.
But now thy Father comes to mourn his Fate,
And offer thee a Crown, if not too late.
[Exeunt.
SCENE LAST.
Enter Rugildas, dragging in Cleomira with a Dagger in his Hand.[Bedchamber.
Cleo.
Oh, whither Monster, whither dost thou dragg me?
Rug.
To bear me company to the other World.
Thou sayest,
There is a Power above what we Adore,
I am sure to dye, but know not where I go;
And if thy Heaven be happier than ours,
I'le cling thus to thee when thy Saints receive thee,
And take thy better choice.
Cleo.
No, Villain, no; no Murderers come there,
No poysoning Infidels of thy black Dye:
Hell scarce will take thee.
Rug.
If Hell wo'nt take me, then the other must,
And to be blacker yet, so much I hate thy Husband,
That had I time,
I would not kill thee, but enjoy thee, proud One!
Tast, like Otrantes, all thy rifled Sweets,
And leave thee more polluted for Hormidas.
But hark! he comes! This I am sure of,
[Clashing of Swords.
And have a chance for more.
Horm.
Not a Soul enter, as you love your General,
[Hormidas within.
If any hand revenge me but my own,
My Shame's but half wash'd off.
Enter Hormidas.
Horm.
Where is the Traytor?
Rug.
Thou hits me right, the Traytor's here.
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Horrour! That Beauteous Prey in that keen Vultures Talons.
Rug.
What, didst thou never see this thing before?
Look on her well, thou hast not long to look,
Nor we to live.
Hor.
What says the Villain?
Rug.
What he means to do:
Keep off, or by the Sun, nay, by thy Gods I swear,
If thou approach me, this shall enter here.
Hor.
O hold, and hear me.
Rug.
What is't thou canst propose to save her Life?
Hor.
Propose thy self, and I'll agree to all that thou shalt ask.
Rug.
Thou canst not save my Life, if I spare hers.
Hor.
By all I Worship and Adore, I will.
Rug.
The King has sworn my Death.
Hor.
No matter, he'll relent:
I'll hang upon his Knees, and wring his Hands,
Melt with my Prayers and Tears his stubborn Heart,
And beg for all the Injuries he has done me,
Thy Life, which shall atone for my vast Wrongs.
Rug.
And when he has given me Life, what shall I do with it?
I must for ever live abhorr'd and shunn'd
A Wandring Scandal through the Persian Empire.
No, I am satisfied thou canst not save me;
It is thy fear that promises this Pardon:
The Crimes I've done, not Man nor Heaven can pardon,
And, Christian, thou art a Dog if thou'dst forgive me,
After such Wrongs.
Hor.
My Faith my Soul's at pawn for 't.
Cleo.
No, let him strike, I'd rather die than owe
My Life to such a barbarous Monster.
[Within.]
Room for the King.
Rug.
Then 'tis no time to parley.
[Stabs Cleomira.
Hor.
Damnation seize the Insatiate Bloodhound.
[Hormidas runs at Rugildas, they close. Enter King and Guards, Rugildas in the close stabs Hormidas, and falls.
King.
Part them, you Villains,
And sheathe your Swords in curst Rugildas Heart.
Oh Cleomira!—Oh execrable Barbarous Butcher!
How is it, my Hormidas?
Hor.
Near my kind end, set me but nearer there,
And I shall die in peace.
King.
Unparallell'd Monster!
What could provoke thee to so damn'd an Action?
Rug.
Revenge: I knew that I should die for them,
And now they die with me.
King.
To Tortures with the Slave; the little Life that's left him,
Let him curse out in exquisite Torments.
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No, silly, credulous, and thoughtless King,
I am past thy spight; and what most vexes me,
Is, that thou art past mine.
[Dies.
King.
Unheard of Wickedness! Drag him hence.
Oh Cleomira, if the Wound's not Mortal,
Look up to Empire; 'tis a Father calls,
And offers thee his Crown.
Cleo.
A Father! To that honour'd Name thus let my Reverence bow;
But to an Empire; King, you call too late,
That Villain's Dagger, Sir, has gone too far;
A Grave, alas, is all my Birthright now.
King.
Unhappy Innocence! But my Hormydas sure—
Hor.
Must follow her.
All I have left to do, is now
Only to steer this tatter'd Barque to Shore,
And Land me safe upon Eternal Peace.
But Oh! I had once a little Infant-Son—
King.
Snatcht from thy Arms by my Barbarian Rage.
But post kind Artaban with Angels speed,
And bring that Infant-Innocence, that budding Bloom
Of Majesty, the unplum'd Imperial Eaglet,
Back to his Native Nest, the Royal Cedar.
Cleo.
Now Life and Love, Farewel: To my new Bridal
Eternal Mercy calls.
Hor.
Oh thou soft Soul!
Cleo.
Farewel.
I only go to take my last kind Sleep,
That I may wake all thine.
[Dies.
Hor.
She 's gone, and dying grasp'd me by the Hand
As she were jealous I would stay behind her.
King.
O that thou couldst! A Crown, Hormidas,—
Hor.
The Vanity of Crowns I cannot choose;
I have a Heaven to find, and World to loose.
[Dies.
King.
Yes, go, blest Pair, now more than Royal Heirs;
Go to your happy Groves, and there look down
On the dim Lustre of my poorer Crown:
Their Reign above me blest with Joys Divine,
I'll envy yours, and you shall pity mine.
FINIS.
| Distress'd Innocence : Or, The Princess of Persia | |