University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

The Scene, A Prospect of the Town of Troy, being seen in Prospective thro' a Magnificent Structure extending to the Roof of the House, being a circular Piece of Painting in the manner of a large Portico, through the Pillars of which is seen the Town of Troy.
Enter Paris.
Par.
Why does Love cool, and long Enjoyment tire,
Whilst a full Glut of Joys puts out the Fire?
Love in my Breast knows no such poor Decay,
Warm as the Spring, in its high Noon, still Gay;
My Ten Years Bliss makes but one Nuptial Day.

Enter to him Cassandra.
Cass.
If Troy must Burn, before its blazing Funeral
[Aside
I'll ring one last, tho' almost hopeless, Larum-bell
To him whose fatal Hand must light the Fire-brand.

Par.
Is that Eternal Torment here?

Cass.
Yes, Paris, close as thy dark Fate I follow thee.

Par.
Were thou then born to haunt me? Let me ask
But Reason of thee. Why am I singl'd out
To hear thy Persecuting Follies?
Why, when the whole World laugh at thy Mad Fables,
Dost thou hope Faith from me?

Cas.
Thou, and that World
That will not hear my Oracles, shall feel 'em:
For, if there's Truth in Heav'n—

Par.
Fye, Cassandra;
Still the old Frenzy! Nothing but Heav'n,
Rapt up in Stars and Skies! For Shame no more on't.

Cass.
Thou foolish Infidel! Think'st thou I pay
No greater Reverence, or so little Fear,
To the immortal Pow'rs, to jest with their Divinity.

Par.
All Noise and empty Sound; the Chattering
Of Daws, and Parrots.

Cass.
How, bold Blasphemer! Then 'tis time to right
The injur'd God's, and give thy dazled Eyes
A Proof of that Divinity thou prophan'st.

Par.
That were a Sight indeed!

Cas.
Look then all round thee.
Seest thou those Tow'rs, the proud Arch'd Roofs of Troy,
And those tall Spires that almost kiss the Clouds?
Seest thou all this?

Par.
See What? The Town of Troy?
Tow'rs and stone Walls? If this be the Divinity, I see no Danger
Of being o'er-much dazl'd.

Cas.
Those proud Tow'rs,
Your whole Foundation, I command ye vanish;
And in your vacant Seats, the whole transplanted
Hesperian Garden fill the Walls of Troy.

Cassandra waves her Wand, and in a moment the whole Prospect of Painting representing Troy is snatch'd away, and a Garden, with Fountains, Arbors, Golden Fruit, &c. fill up the whole Scene.
Cas.
To make my Heav'nly Pow'r yet fairer shine,
Appear my Airy Train in Forms divine:
Bring down a Choir of Musick from your Spheres:
And with new Wonders strike his startl'd Ears,

Flora enters and her Nymphs, who perform a piece of Vocal Musick directed to Paris; And then a Dance.
A Song of Flora and her Nymphs.
Flor.
Flora calls, where, where's my Train;
Every Nymph and every Swain?

Nymph.
When that commanding Voice we hear,
Dread Sovereign, we appear.

Flor.
Say Nymph, how burns Loves fragant Fire?

Nymph.
All Innocence, and chast Desire.

Flor.
Where is't that Truth and Virtue dwels?

Nymph.
Not in proud Courts, but humble Cells.
The Woods, the Plains, the Bow'r, the Grove,
Those Scenes of Innocence and Love;
There in endless Joys we Reign;
Loves pleasure all without the pain.
We fear no starting Dreams; nor dread
The Bolts hang o'er the Adulterer's Head.
We keep the Tyrant Conscience under;
The Gods we fear, but not their Thunder.
Degenerate World, what art thou grown,
When thus the Cott can shame the blushing Throne?

Cass.
Say, will this Sight convert thee? Dost thou yet
Believe Cassandra speaks from Heav'n?

Par.
Yes, Sister!
Thou hast nobly feasted both my Eyes and Ears;
And to do Justice to the great performance,
I own thou art the Mistress of thy Art.
Thou, like the sweating Chymist at the Fire,
That blows the Bellows for the great Elixir,
Hast not lost all thy Toil; thou'st found the Brass,
In searching for the Gold. Thy ten Years Drudger
To grasp the Prophetess, has gain'd the Juggler.
This airy Tap'stry-Work's artful and pretty,
Ingenious to a Wonder. But wise Sister,
Mend, mend thy Politicks; light thy wandring Fires
To lead poor Fools. Go practice thy Delusions
On empty Heads, who've room enough to swallow 'em.

Cas.
What says the black Impenitent!—Nay then
Ye great Eternals, you that hold the Bolts
To strike the insolent Blasphemer dead.
Be your own Champions, right your injur'd Godheads:
Appear the whole bright Majesty of Heav'n;
And flash Amazement through his trembling Soul.

Here Cassandra makes a second Change, the whole Garden being in a moment vanish'd, and the Prospect fill'd up with a view of Heav'n, in which the whole Hierarchy of the Heathen Gods, with all their several Chariots, Palaces in the Air, &c. A new piece of Musick is perform'd, directed as before, to Paris.

The Vocal Musick.
Hold , hold, yet hold, mad Boy,
Stop, stop, the Fate of Troy:
Hold, hold, mad Phaeton,
Drive no more headlong on.
Tumbled and swallow'd all,
Death and Graves wait thy fall.
All the Gods,
Bolts and Rods,
Every Shaft, every Dart,
Strikes at the Adulterers Heart.
Down in the dark Abyss of Hell,
Where the Damn'd Groan, and Furies yell,
Lust lights the hottest Brand of Hell.

Cass.
Now Paris, where's the Infidel? Has all
This bright descending Glory not one Beam
T'uncloud thy shaded Sense?

Par.
This is indeed amazing!
And my weak Eyes shrink at the dazling view.
But why this Strange Surprize! Miracles!
Magick and Negromance.—Witches and Sorcerers
In their dark Cells can call down Heav'n; command
Their Elements, their Winds, their Air, their Seas;
Whilst those tame Powr's that shou'd command the Universe
Obey th'Infernal Call.—And shall thy weak Enchantments.—

Cass.
Nay, now appear the whole black Band of Hell.
Appear ye Furies; all the dreadful Ministers
Of ever burning Justice; you that finish
The God's imperfect Vengeance: Their weak Thunder
Stricks but at once, and gives a Minute's Death,
Your keener Fires for endless Ages kill;
And make ev'n Death Immortal—Rise, appear,
Bring all the Horrors of the Infernal Fires
That wait his Sinking Soul.

Waves her Wand, and in a Moment changes the Heaven to a Transparent Scene of Hell. Here a Piece of Instrumental Musick is perform'd, and a Dance of Furies arising from under the Stage.
Cass.
Say, Paris, now, Is still thy harden'd Heart
Impenetrable Rock? Has neither Heav'n nor Hell,
The Glories nor the Shades I've set before thee,
One Tongue to tell thee, the inspir'd Cassandra
Speaks with the Voice of Fate? Oh Paris! Paris!
Let ev'n thy own weak Arguments confute thee.
Were all the Glories I have rais'd before thee
Thy own Vain Dreams, no more but Empty Air;
Think'st thou the Gods wou'd suffer ev'n their Shadows
To be prophan'd by Treason and Imposture?
A false and lying Prophetess? No, Paris,
To call the Thund'rers down in that black Name,
Wou'd call the Thunder too, and only open
Those yawning Graves for th'impious Head that rais'd em.
No, Wanderer, no; when my commission'd Pow'r
Can call down Heav'n t'unblind thy darken'd Eyes,
Think 'tis a Grace from the descending Gods
To call thee back to Life; to Life; my Brother!
Whil'st their kind Heav'ns stretch forth an Arm of Mercy
Ev'n yet to save thee Sinking.

Par.
Oh, my Sister!
Take all these Terrors from my staggering Soul,
And give me Back my Peace.

Cass.
Give thy self Peace,
Thy own Phisician, pour the Healing Balm
Into thy Sickning Soul. Return to Virtue,
Take that bless'd Cordial for thy Sov'reign Cure;
Think how the Gods present thee Life or Death;
Their endless Joys, or everlasting Pains.
Return, Return.—Oh! let the Sight of these Devouring Flames
Thy unrepented Sins eternal Portion,
Wake thee to Sense, and drive thee back to Honour.
But, if Eternal Torments cannot fright thee,
If 'tis a worthless Care to save a Soul;
Save thy poor Country, save thy bleeding Family,
All lost by thee. Nay, if the Tyes of Nature,
A Father, Brothers, Sisters, a whole Kingdom,
Their bleeding Throats, can't melt thee into Pity:
Save thy own bleeding Honour; guard thy Name
From never-dying Infamy.—Oh! think
How deathless Ages in their blotted Annals
Must brand the Shame of that lascivious Boy,
Whose wanton Fire drew down the Flames of Troy!

Par.
Go on, thou lovely Guide! Lead me to Life;
For, oh! there's wondrous Glory shines before thee.

Cass.
Come then, my Brother, see the Gates of Mercy
Stand open to receive thee! Quit but that
Vile load of Earth that holds thee back from Heav'n,
Shake off the Impious Charms that have undone thee.

Par.
Quit my fair Helen! Oh that killing Sound!
'Tis Daggers, Death, and Graves! I cannot bear it.

Cass.
Oh! never fear that Pain! The gracious Gods
Will never bless by Halves. To thy Conversion
The'll give give thee a new Soul, give thee new Joys;
Make thee look back with all that Shame and Horror
On that vile Sorceress, her Charms so loath'd—
All this the Gods will do. They'll study Blessings
To Crown such Penitence.

Par.
No more, my Conqueror:
T'houst won the glorious Feild: Lawrels and Triumph!

Enter Helen.
Hel.
Lord of my Life, my Love, I come to chide thee.
So long a Truant?—Confusion! Horror!
What do I see?

Par.
What see'st thou, Helen? Thou behold'st my Fate,
The Price of Sin and Death.

Hel.
Mercy forbid!

Par.
Ay, Mercy, Helen; 'tis eternal Mercy
Can only snatch me from these swallowing Fires.
Oh Helen! Helen! these devouring Blood-hounds,
All keen and hungry for their Prey, hunt me
So close, that Heav'n and thou can'st only save me.

Hel.
And can I save my Paris?

Par.
Yes; 'tis thou
Must aid the lab'ring Gods; for oh, hard Fate!
To save me, thou must lose me.

Hel.
Lose my Paris!

Par.
For ever lose me. The too angry Powr's
Have set those beauteous Eyes the only Bar
'Twixt their bright Joys and Me. Alas! my Helen,
That Bar remov'd can only give me Heav'n.

Hel.
Are then these Eyes thy Fate?

Par.
Mine, and a Kingdom's Fate.
Not me alone, but my whole Royal Blood,
And all the Trojan Lives, a long Divorce
From those destroying Charms can only save.

Hel.
Oh killing sounds!

Cass.
Take heed my Brother,
There's Danger in that Tongue

Par.
Alas! my Sister;
Fear not thy Convert. I'm the Hero now,
And Dangers must not shake me.

Hel.
Yes, my Paris
The angry Gods shall be Obey'd. Shall Helen,
Shall I debar thee Heav'n? Ah no! I'll take
The fair Destroyers, these too fatal Eyes,
For ever from thy sight.

Par.
Oh that dire Word!
For ever we must part!

Hel.
Nay, my dear Paris,
Disturb not the soft Peace 'twixt Heav'n and thee
For such a worthless Outcast from thy Arms.
Rather than give thee ev'n a Moments Pain
For such a triffling Loss, forget that ever
I had Eyes or Charms to please. Let not one Scene
Of a whole Ten Years Joys be e'er remembred.
Nay, and to make the Loss yet lighter still,
Think that I never lov'd.

Par.
Not lov'd! Nay, Helen,
Wrong not fair Truth. Ev'n th'angry Pow'rs that part us
Hate Falshood more than they hate thee. Our very Enemies,
The unkind Gods, and all these lowring Furies,
Ev'n when they tear thee from my Soul, must do thee
That Noble Right, to tell Recording Ages
Thy Sex ne'er lov'd like thee.

Hel.
That we have lov'd
Is all but Yesterday. The fatal Morrow comes,
When we must Love no more.

Cass.
Yet Guard thy Heart
From that fair Syren's Songs.

Par.
'Tis safe my Sister,
I think—I hope—'tis safe

Hel.
Go then my Paris
Be both thy own and thy dear Troy's Protector.
Do, save thy Country, save thy bleeding Troy,
Save all, but poor lost me.—Oh Paris! Paris!
When to the Lord of all my Joys, to these
Dear Eyes, these Arms, to all that's Love or Life,
I bid at once eternally farewell;
Think (if I am worth a Thought) how I shall drag
This Load of living Earth, a forlorn Wanderer,
Around the hated World!—A Wanderer? No,
That were to walk in the bright Beams of Light
And the blest smiling Sun? No! Light and Day
When I lose Heav'n and thee, must all be shut
To Helen's dying Eyes.

Par.
Nay, these too tender Plaints—

Hell.
All wrapt in shade,
Night, Everlasting Night! In some lone Cave
Dark as Despair, and Silent as the Grave
There my lost Head I'll hide. There stretch'd on the
Hard Ground (for Earth must be my Pillow now)
The Child of Woe and Heir of Misery,
Cold as a Marble Monument I'll ly,
All a true weeping Marble.

Par.
Nay, my Helen!
Rack not thy gentle Peace, 'tis too hard Pennance.

Hel.
'Tis all too easie; when I lose my Paris,
Lose what's more dear than Life, can I feel less than all
The Pangs of bleeding Death, the Racks and Tortures
Of two divided Souls?—But Oh! I sink
Beneath the killing Thought.

[Swoons and falls into Paris's Arms.]
Par.
Ye Gods! she Faints!
Look up, my lovely Mourner.—

Cas.
Hold, yet hold,
Touch not that fair Pollution.

Par.
Fye Cassandra!
Tho' I'm forbid to Love, the Pow'rs that part us,
Deny not Charity. You see she sinks
Beneath her fatal Griefs, and I but lend
A pitying Hand to prop the falling Ruins.

Hel.
And do I wake in these dear Arms once more?

Par.
To save a Life, my Helen.

Hel.
No, my Paris!
Here let me Dye; here, in this Bed of Roses,
Stiffl'd with Sweets, breath out my parting Soul.
The cruel Gods will not deny me dying
In these dear Arms where I must live no more.

Par.
O live for ever, ever there!

Cas.
Horror and Death!
What says the black Apostate?

Par.
In these Arms
She lives for ever.

Cas.
Oh! thou barbarous Traytor,
To all that's Truth and Heav'n!

Par.
No; Thou more barbarous Rebel
To all that's Truth and Love; not all thy Art
Shall tear her from my Soul, my Blood, and Heart.
Yes, rally all your Negromantick Spells,
Your airy Visions, and your painted Hells:
Down grinning Shades, down to your gloomy Cells,
There in your sooty Dungeons howling lye,
Before these Charms, your scatter'd Phantoms fly.

[Exit with Helen in his Arms.]
Cas.
Is all my Pow'er in Vain? No hope to save thee?
O headstrong sin, what Guide can set thee Right,
When neither Heav'n can Charm, nor Hell can Fright.

[Exit.