 | The Virgin Prophetess : or, The Fate of Troy |  |
ACT. V.
Enter Cassandra.“Cass.
Now Paris clasp thy wretch'd Helen in thy Arms:
“Be wanton, revel in Despair and Horror.
“At length th'affrighted God of lawless Love,
“Forsakes his Empire in her Heart, and now
“A grinning Fury tyrannizes there.
Nay Paris too's the Gorgon that affrights hers
No interval of Peace, when he's in view.
Oh great Diana, this blest Change was thine
Be kinder still, compleat thy Works divine.
[Exit.
Enter Acestes.
Acest.
Why must I live on a Camelion Feast,
The empty hopes of Love! When Heav'n has call'd her,
Cassandra's Wealth, and my Selena's Charms,
Are both my own.—To be thus doubly blest,
What if I hasten the slow call of Heav'n?—
For what! To make her Bless'd! Crown her own Wishes,
Eas'd of that Earth that clogs her mounting Wings
And give her all the darling Heav'n, she longs for!
Besides I strike with an encourag'd Hand.
The Royal Paris Wrongs her death demand—
But for a Stroke to hush the jealous World—
Ay, that's a Thought,—Let me consider—
She keeps an Image, drest in flowing Gold,
A Thing she calls the statue of Diana.
Here every morning on her bended Knees,
The hallow'd Robe, first kiss'd with Adoration,
She pays her Orisons to the Moulten Deity—
That Kiss shall seal her Fate:
Her Lips but toucht such penetrating Fumes
Shall catch her firing Brain, till wild as Winds or Seas,
Her roving Madness tow'rs above the Skies.
Thus by the unsuspected World t'will be beleiv'd,
She dies in the same Frenzy that she liv'd.
[Exit.
Enter Helen attended by Women as rising from Sleep.
“Hel.
Where have I been! What Horrors have I seen!
“Oh my distracting Dream!
“Wom.
Pray Madam, be composed? what has disturb'd you;
“Hel.
Methought
“I was a Captive made to Menelaus;
“Who hurried me aboard a Grecian-Ship,
“Fast bound in Chains to visit Greece again;
“Vowing Revenge—As we were under Sail
“A dreadful Storm, methought, o'er cast the Sky.
“The whistling Winds blew hard, the Billows roar'd:
“The Heav'ns were dark. Anon fierce Lightnings flasht,
“Lending by fits a snatch of dreadful Day.
“The labouring Barque at random drives, now mounts,
“To th'Skies, now tumbles to the lowest Shades.
“The storm-drencht Pilot quits the broken Helm,
“And holds, unus'd, his trembling Hands to Heav'n,
“Whilst pale Devotion shriek'd from every Throat,
“And now, (Oh terrible to Thought!)
“Our helpless Vessel bulges gainst a Rock,
“And splits into a thousand Peices.
'Twas Terrible indeed!
“Hel.
As we were ready all to Sink, methought,
“My Husband dragg'd me by the galling Chains,
“Enrag'd with dizzy Swiftness down the deep,
“Till we fell headlong on the Gulph of Hell.—
“And there (Horror!) methought he swung me by
“The Hair, to be chastis'd among the Furies,
“Crying, Take there the foul Adultress Helen.
“At this, a Fiend too hideous for Conceit,
“With violent and horrid Force,
“Dragg'd me t'a burning Engine to be Tortur'd:
“Where while the agonizing Pains were on me,
“A pale, a wan, and ghastly Form, whom they
“Call'd Conscience, stood, from whose reviling Eyes,
“Shot forth a thousand Stings, to wound my Soul.
“Hah!
Enter Paris.
“Par.
How fares my Love!
“What means that Dread, and Terror in thy Looks?
“Hel.
See there! The Fury comes again to Torture me.
“Look how he Grins, and rowls his fiery Eyes!
“See how his Nostrils spout forth livid Flames!
“I cannot bear his pestilential Breath.—
Par.
Distraction all! She knows not me her Paris.
Cruel Cassandra, this has been thy Work—
How fares my Helen? 'Tis thy Paris calls.
“Hel.
Mercy! Oh spare me? Mercy, gentle Fiend?
“My last afflicting Pains are on me still;
Whilst Horror and Despair my Bosom fill.
[Sinks down.
Par.
Alas, my presence but distracts her more,—
Yes, Sorceress, 'tis now thy reigning Hour:
But thy black Arts shall boast no long-liv'd Pow'r.
For if thy Light beyond to Morrow shine,
May the next rising Sun be never mine.
[Exit.
Hel.
Ha! Now he's gon, I know that Form too well.
But Oh hard Thought! Are those the Eyes must Kill!
Why this distracted Mind! And why, Oh why
Is thought a Torment! Nature to distinguish
The Man from Brute gives us a humane Soul,
Only to furnish out an aching Brain.
We are Lords of Reason to be Slaves to Pain.
[Exeunt.
Cass.
Thou look'st amaz'd Selena, why that Fright
And Horror in thy Face!
Selen.
Oh, Madam!
Never was Night so fatal; the young Prince
Dream't you were Poyson'd; and t'avert the Omen
Of his black Dream, and Guard your precious Life,
Leap't from his Bed, ran to Diana's Shrine,
Where he had no sooner kist the hallow'd Robe,
But started into Madness.
Enter Astianax mad, led in by Women.
Ast.
Look, look, Selena, see my poor dear Father,
See how they drag him round the Walls of Troy!
Cowards and Slaves! The mungril Village Curs
Dare seize on the dead Lyon!
Cass.
Poysoners, Impious Poysoners!
This lovely Rose cropt by infernal Hands!
Oh the mad Fury of a barbarous World!
Ast.
Ha! Is it you! My Angel Guardian here?
Cass.
No more thy Guardian now: A poysoning Ravisher
Has torn thee from my Arms.
Ast.
What do I see!
Those dear Eyes weep for me!
Cass.
Weep my sweet Martyr!
Rocks wou'd melt for thee: And can the Eyes of Pity
Less then weep Blood, to see such blooming Piety
So Young, so early lost!
Ast.
Nay, fy dear Aunt!
Am I too Young for Heav'n? Or shall I come
A Stranger to their Stars? Ah no, they'll know me,
The Nursery of their own divine Cassandra!
And are you angry, that for your dear sake
They'll make a little Angel of your Boy!
Cass.
The brightest that e'er graced the Starry Throne—
This Blow was levell'd here. But thy sweet Innocence
Stept in to dye for me.—Ye cruel Powrs
This was a change too fatal!
Ast.
Oh say not so. If I have sav'd your Life,
The glorious Fame of that one happy Deed
Shall build my Memory a more lasting Monument,
In my great Father's Bed of Honour dyed.
That Thought ev'n in my little Grave shall cheer me;
Thither I find I am going—Where, where are you!
It grows so Dark all round I cannot see you.—
No matter I shall go to endless Light;
There I shall find new Eyes: And I want none
To guide my Way to Heav'n.
Your shining Virtues these lost Lights supply,
So taught to Live I need not learn to Dye.
[Dies.
Cass.
Farewell, sweet Youth; go, and my Way prepare.
Now Troy thou art no longer worth my Care;
When by foul Treason such young Virtue dyes,
What Bolts must wait us in th'avenging Skies!
The Impious Trojans for Destruction groan,
Think Heav'n too slow, and drag its Vengeance down;
Thy Ashes, Youth, shall have a dreadful Urn,
Thee, and proud Troy one Funeral Pile shall burn.
[Exeunt.
The last SCENE,
The Town of Troy, being four Ranges of Building, extending to the utmost back of the House. making three several Streets, with each a several back Scene terminating the three Prospects. These Streets are seen through three Gates, Archt nineteen Foot high, with Perculices. Battlements and Urns. The other Buildings twenty six Foot high, some with Rails, Banisters aad Statutes, others with Turrets, &c.
Enter the Mob of Troy half Drunk.
1st M.
Huzzah, come along Boys to the Sports, Huzzah.
Omnes
Huzzah!
2d M.
Well, here will be roaring Doings to Night.
3d M.
But who's to be at the Charge of all this Fidling and Dancing,
we are to have?
4th M.
Why Fool, Lord Paris gives it us all gracious.
Well, but now we are all met lovingly together, as we have
been drinking a little Soberly, so let us talk a little Wisely, and e'en lay
our Heads together over a Bottle, and settle the Nation.
Omn.
Ay, ay, let's settle the Nation!
2d M.
Then look you—Here has been ten Years War, and for
ought we know here may be twenty Years Peace: What the Devil then
made the Greeks and the Trojans Quarrel?
1st M.
That Devil that makes half the World quarrel; a Wench,
Fool.
2d M.
Meaning her Graceless Majesty, Queen Helen!
1st M.
Ay Helen. Who shou'd I mean but Queen Helen? But you'd
have me tell Names, and talk Treason, wou'd ye? No, I thank you for
that I have more Brains than so.
2d, M.
Ay I find you have. Oh, that Helen, Neighbour, between you
and I, if the Truth were known, has done her poor Husband a great
deal of Wrong. But how has he righted himself with all this Killing and
Slaying?
First M.
How!—Like a Man of Honour, Nobly; Nobly well.
2d M.
How Nobly!
2d M.
I'll tell you how. She gave him a hard Head, and he has been
these ten Years a having it Cudgl'd soft again.
3d M.
A hard Head Cudgell'd soft! very Pretty; Lord, what an Ingenious
World do we live in?
2d M.
But here's another great Question. What may the Greeks and
Trojans have got by this War?
1st M.
Got by War; why broken Pates, and empty Pockets, what
shou'd they get?
2d M.
And is it only for that, they have been all this while a knocking
one anothers Brains out?
1st M.
No, Neighbor; they have not been all this while only a knocking
of Brains out; they have knockt some in too. They have been at Loggerheads
so long; till they have got a little more Wit, and a great deal less
Money, and so both sides by consent have e'en drawn stakes, and the
Cuckold and Cuckold-maker, are both Friends again.
2d M.
If this be all these high Fighters get, why do those great Folks
they call Princes make War one with another?
1st M.
Why, Fool? out of pure Charity!
2d M.
Hey day make War out of Charity?
1st M.
Ay Charity, Block-head. Don't ye see they make War to make
Cripples, and then they build Hospitals to maintain 'em.
2d M.
Ay we know all that. But for what Reason do they make War?
1st M.
Reason for War? Here's a Dog; He'd have Reason, for cutting
of Throats.
Nay, nay, I mean for what Cause do they make War?
1st M.
Ay now you say something. I'll tell you for what Cause. One
of those great Folks you talk of, falls Sick, do ye see, of two Distempers
together. First he grows Purse-proud; next either Jealousy or Ambition
gets into his Head; and then to get himself rid of both those Pestilent
Diseases, instead of opening one of his own mad Veins, he opens
half a Nations.
3d M.
Right, Neighbour. And so they let us Blood for their Cure.
Omnes.
Ay, ay, a plain Case, a plain Case.
4th M.
But here's another main Thing to be considered. What Trade
now will thrive best, this Peace time.
1st M.
What Trade, Fool? why the Balladmaker. Oh Neighbours,
here will be roaring Work for Sonnet and Madrigal, to sing the Feats of our
Noble Sons of Mars.
3d M.
Right, Neighbour, to tell the World in Heroick Doggrel, how
many Enemies they have kill'd for us in the time of War; and how many
Children thy'll get for us in the time of Peace. But hark the Musick's beginning.
Enter a Chorus of Bacchanals.
Bacch.
Come , come let us Sing, and merrily troll
The praise of the Vine, and Charms of the Bowl.
Let Jove and his proud Host,
Their immortal Scepter boast,
'Tis the God of the Grape that rules the roast.
All, all to me,
They bend their Knee:
All, all, my own true roaring Boys,
Tune to no other Joys.
Bacch.
Have ye heard the Thunder rattle in the Sky,
And seen the nimble Lightning fly,
And wot ye the cause Divine?
The Jolly Jolly Gods drink Wine.
All snug in a jovial tipling Cloud,
They Quaff and they Laugh,
With a ho, ho, ho:
They Quaff and they Laugh so loud.
Little Æolus and Boreas,
And the rest of the Mad Chorus,
They bluster, swagger, and roar:
All a pack of mad Fellows,
They burn, they burn the Bellows;
And thro' the whole House out o'Door.
The Health goes round,
And the Poles rebound;
In a merry, merry knot;
Whilst the blow, and they huff,
They heave and they puff,
And all to take off the Pot.
The CHACON.
Our Foes are run,
The Wars are done;
And all our vanish'd Fears are gone.
Hemm'd in with Peace, wall'd round with Joy,
Stand the unshaken Walls of Troy.
Then come, let's join
Our Ayrs Divine,
In all the Charms of Love and Wine.
On Beds of Flow'rs, in Bow'rs of Bliss,
We'll Drink and Revel, Toy and Kiss.
A smiling Heav'n, and shining Throne,
Love, Love, and Empire, all our own.
A Cry of Fire behind the Scenes.
Enter several Mob running cross the Stage, crying, [Fire, Fire.]
Enter more Mob.
1st M.
Fire, fire, fly, fly; Oh Neighbours we that are all dead Men,
lets fly, and save our poor Lives. The Greeks are all broken in upon us,
and kill, burn, ravish.—
2st M.
Ha! the Greeks! Who the Devil sent for 'em back again?
1st M.
Oh that cursed Horse, that overgrown Wooden Mare has
foal'd a whole Army of bloody minded Redcoats.—
Enter another Trojan.
Troj.
Fly! Fly! Fly! The Town's all in a Flame, a whole Sea of Fire
come pouring in upon us, and we shall be all drown'd immediately.
Omnes.
Drown'd!
Troj.
Ay drown'd, Neighbours, Dround. Fire, Fire, Fire!
Omnes.
Fire, Fire.
[Exeunt.
Enter Paris.
Par.
Ilium is lost. Jove pours his wrathful Fire:
Against poor Troy all Heav'n and Earth conspire.
A whole arm'd Host, an unexpected Force,
Breaks from the Bowels of yon' fatal Horse.
Nay their whole Pow'r has our lost Walls betray'd,
Entring that Breach our own curs'd Hands have made.
The Bold they Kill, th'Unwary they Surprize:
Who Fights finds Death, and Death finds him that flyes.
Some spent with Toyl, and some their Throats to save,
Plunge in the Flames. To shun, they meet a Grave.
And now my Fate comes on.—Why, let it come,
Without one Pang I'le wait th'approaching Doom.
Fire, Swords, and Death fall with an easie Weight:
I have lost my Helen, that's my stroke of Fate.
Enter Cassandra.
Cass.
Now Unbeleiver view these blazing Ruins.
Par.
Cassandra!
Cass.
Behold thy Country, Father, Brothers, Troy,
All, All thy bleeding Victims, see their Fall,
And tremble at thy own; their burning Graves,
Not half so hot as thy eternal Fires.
Call to thy Soul, before it groans below,
The dire Remembrance of thy impious Life:
And t'add more Fuel to th'infernal Flames,
Think of thy Poysons.
Par.
Ha!
Cass.
Thy Drugs of Hell,
That sent that murder'd Innocence to Heav'n,
Whose loud-tongu'd Blood no common Vengeance calls:
Oh think how heavy that black Murder falls.
Paris.
No more! No more! Oh thou hast toucht my Soul!
I dare not see that Face; it shocks my Frame:
Hide, hide me Graves, I can bear Death, not Shame.
If thou can'st Blush! Oh Blush to Heav'n, not me.
Th'Adultrer, Murderer, Poysoner; yet thou art
A Brother still; and I have a Sisters Heart.
If possible thy Crimes can be forgiven
Tho' thou hast lost Earth, thus let me beg thee Heav'n.
[Kneels.
Ye Pow'rs of Mercy, if for one Offenders Guilt
His own, and the whole Trojan Veins all Spilt,
One Beam of Grace with its pacifick Smile
Can your avenging Justice reconcile;
Oh! Do not, do not kill beyond the Grave,
Let his lost Life th'immortal Treasure save.
And thou sweet Martyr, crown'd above the Stars,
Look with my pitying Eyes, and joyn my Pray'rs;
To the eternal Throne bend thy kind Knee,
Forget thy Blood, and beg the Gods, like me.
Par.
Oh divine Goodness! Now I am Lost indeed,
'Tis through this only Wound my Soul cou'd Bleed.
Cass.
Farewell, prepare to Dye. Thou hast not three
Repenting Minutes left 'twixt Death and Thee,
Forsook by all the World, and only Mourn'd by me.
[Exit
Par.
Thou Oracle of Fate, to thy great Doom I bow,
Not overtook by Death, I'll meet him now.
[Exit.
Enter Menelaus and Grecians.
Men.
[Speaking at his entrance]
Spare neither Age nor Sex. Fire, Sword, and Blood!
Make the whole Trojan Veins one streaming Flood,
One only Life, snatcht from the common Grave,
Save that Celestial Maid, the fair Cassandra save
[Advancing on the Stage.]
Burn out my Blazing Vengeance, burn so Bright,
Till the pale Stars of this Immortal Night
Shrink in their Heads at thy Diviner Light.
Re-enter Paris.
Par.
Where is the Fate I'd meet?
King.
Traytor, 'tis here.
“Par.
What art thou Greek that think'st to look me tame?
King.
The weight of this just Arm shall tell thee who I am.
Par.
Yes, King, I know that Face of Death too well.
King.
Be thy own Prophet, and this Sword thy Oracle.
[Fights and kills Paris]
Thou hast reacht my Heart; and I have deserv'd it all:
But do not boast a Conquest in my Fall.
This was no equal Combat: No, wrong'd Lord,
Thy Injuries cut deeper then thy Sword.
[Dies.]
Helen enters on the Top of a Tower behind the Flames.
Hel.
My Paris dead! On this sad Object fixt,
Eyes look your last. 'Tis Helen's Fate comes next.
King.
Ha! Seize the Traytress; bring her to my Vengeance.
Bring her alive, for Wheels and Racks and Tortures!
Whole Years of Death.
Hel.
No, I defy thy Rage,
“My Death shall be Renown'd as Troy's long Siege.
“For me brave Paris did create this War.
“For him alone I liv'd, for him alone was Fair.
But since my Joys in his cold Urn lye dead,
These Curling Flames shall be my last warm Bed;
“'Tis Life to dye for him, and thou shalt see
“Dying for him is his Revenge on Thee.
Look up then to this Shining Bed of Fire;
And see the Phenix of the World expire.
[Leaps into the Fire]
King.
'Tis done; 'tis done! Oh the Transporting sight!
The Deathless Pleasure of this Glorious Night.
Troy laid in Dust, and these Curst Monsters Slain;
This one Hour's Joy, rewards my ten Years Pain!
| The Virgin Prophetess : or, The Fate of Troy | |