University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Royal Place.
Enter at several Doors Mirza and Magas.
Mir.
What bring'st thou, Magas? Say, how fares the King?

Mag.
As one, whom when we number with the living,
We say the most we can; tho sure it must
Be happier far, to quit a wretched Being,
Than keep it on such terms: For as I enter'd
The Royal Lodging, an universal horror
Struck thro my Eyes, and chill'd my very Heart;
The chearful day was every where shut out
With care, and left a more than midnight darkness,
Such as might ev'n be felt: A few dim Lamps,
That feebly lifted up their sickly heads,
Lookt faintly thro the shade, and made it seem
More dismal by such light; while those that waited,
In solemn sorrow, mixt with wild amazement,
Observ'd a dreadful silence.

Mirz.
Didst thou see him?

Mag.
My Lord, I did; treading with gentle steps,
I reacht the Bed, which held the poor remains
Of great Arsaces, just as I approacht,
His drooping lids, that seem'd for ever clos'd,
Were faintly rear'd, to tell me that he liv'd:
The balls of sight, dim and depriv'd of motion,
Sparkled no more with that Majestick fire,
At which ev'n Kings have trembled; but had lost
Their common useful office, and were shaded
With an eternal night; struck with a sight,
That shew'd me humane nature faln so low,
I hastily retir'd.

Mirz.
He dyes too soon;
And fate if possible must be delay'd;
The thought that labours in my forming brain,
Yet crude and immature, demands more time.
Have the Physicians giv'n up all their hopes?
Cannot they add a few days to a Monarch,
In recompence of thousand vulgar fates,
Which their Drugs daily hasten?

Mag.
As I past
The outward Rooms, I found 'em in Consult;
I askt 'em if their Art was at a stand,
And could not help the King; they shook their Heads,
And in most grave and solemn wise, unfolded
Matter, which little purported, but words
Rankt in right learned phrase; all I could learn, was;
That Nature's kindly warmth was quite extinct,
Nor could the breath of art kindle again
Th'Etherial fire.

Mirz.
My Royal Mistress Artemisa's fate,
And all her Son Young Artahan's high hopes,
Hang on this lucky Crisis; since this day,
The haughty Artaxerxes and old Memnon
Enter Persepolis: The yearly Feast
Devoted to our glorious God the Sun,
Hides their designs under a holy veil;
And thus Religion is a mask for Faction.
But let their Guardian Genii still be watchful,
For if they chance to nod, my waking vengeance
Shall surely catch that moment to destroy 'em.

Mag.
'Tis said the fair Amestris, Memnon's Daughter,
Comes in their company.

Mirz.
That fatal Beauty,
With most malignant influence, has crost
My first and great Ambition. When my Brother,
The great Cleander fell by Memnon's hand,
(You know the story of our Houses quarrel)
I sought the King for Justice on the Murderer;
And to confirm my interest in the Court,
In confidence of mighty wealth and power,
A long descent from Noble Ancestors,
And somewhat of the Beauty of the Maid,
I offer'd my Cleone to the Prince
Fierce Artaxerxes; he, with rude disdain
Refus'd the proffer; and to grate me more,
Publickly own'd his passion for Amestris;
And in despight ev'n of his Fathers Justice,
Espous'd the Cause of Memnon.

Mag.
Ev'n from that noted Æra, I remember
You dated all your service to the Queen,
Our Common Mistress.

Mirz.
'Tis true, I did so; Nor was it in vain;
She did me right, and satisfy'd my vengeance;
Memnon was banisht, and the Prince disgrac'd
Went into Exile with him. Since that time,
Since I have been admitted into her Council,
And have seen her, with unerring judgment guide
The Reins of Empire, I have been amaz'd,
To see her more then manly strength of Soul,
Cautious in good success, in bad unshaken;
Still arm'd against the uncertain turns of Chance,
Untoucht by any weakness of her Sex,
Their Superstition, Pity, or their Fear;
And is a Woman only in her Cunning.
What story tells of great Semiramis,
Or Rolling Time, that gathers as it goes,
Has added more, such Artemisa is.

Mag.
Sure 'twas a mark of an uncommon Genius,
To bend a Soul like that of great Arsaces,
And Charm him to her sway.

Mirz.
Certainly Fate,
Or somewhat like the force of Fate, was in it;
And still whene're remembrance sets that scene
Before my Eyes, I view it with amazement.

Mag.
I then was young, a stranger to the Court,
And only took the story as reported
By different Fame, you must have known it better.

Mirz.
Indeed I did, then favour'd by the King,
And by that means a sharer in the secret.
'Twas on a day of publick Festival,
When Beauteous Artemisa stood to view,
Behind the Covert of a Golden Lattice,
When King and Court returning from the Temple;
When just as by her stand Arsaces past,
The Windows, by design or chance, fell down,
And to his view expos'd her blushing Beauties.
She seem'd surpriz'd, and presently withdrew,
But ev'n that moment was an age in Love:
So was the Monarchs heart for passion moulded.
So apt to take at first the soft impression.
Soon as we were alone, I found the Evil
Already past a Remedy, and vainly
Urg'd the resentment of her Injur'd Lord:
His Love was deaf to all.

Mag.
Was Tiribasus absent?

Mir.
He was then General of the Horse,
Under old Memnon in the Median War.
But if that distant view so much had charm'd him,
Imagine how he burnt, when, by my means,
He view'd her Beauties nearer, when each action,
And every graceful sound conspir'd to charm him:
Joy of her Conquest, and the hopes of Greatness,
Gave Lustre to her Charms, and made her seem
Of more than mortal Excellence. In short,
After some faint resistance, like a Bride
That strives a while, tho eager for the bliss,
The furious King enjoy'd her,
And to secure their Joys, a snare was laid
For her unthinking Lord, in which he fell
Before the fame of this could reach his Ears.
Since that, she still has by successful Arts
Maintain'd that power, which first her beauty gain'd.

Mag.
With deepest foresight, wisely has she laid
A sure foundation of the future greatness
Of Artaban, her only darling Son.
Each busie thought, that rouls within her breast,
Labours for him; the King, when first he sicken'd,
Declar'd he should succeed him in the Throne.

Mir.
That was a point well gain'd; nor were the Eldership
Of Artaxerxes worth our least of fears,
If Memnon's interest did not prop his Cause.
Since then they stand secur'd, by being joyn'd,
From reach of open force; it were a Masterpiece
Worthy a thinking head, to sow division
And seeds of Jealousie, to lose those bonds,
Which knit and hold 'em up, that so divided,
With ease they might be ruin'd.

Mag.
That's a difficulty, next to impossible.

Mir.
Cease to think so;
The wise and active conquer difficulties,
By daring to attempt' em; sloth and folly
Shiver and shrink at sight of toil and hazard,
And make th'impossibility they fear;
Ev'n Memnon's temper seems to give th'occasion;
Of wrong impatient, headlong to revenge;
Tho bold, yet wants that faculty of thinking,
That should direct his Anger. Valiant Fools
Were made by Nature for the wise to work with;
They are their Tools, and 'tis the Sport of Statesmen,
When Heroes knock their knotty Heads together,
And fall by one another.

Mag.
What you've said,
Has wak'd a Thought in me which may be lucky;
E're he was banisht for your Brother's Murder,
There was a Friendship 'twixt us; and tho' then
I left his barren Soil, to root my self
More safely, under your auspicious Shade,
Yet still pretending Tyes of ancient Love,
At his arrival here I'll visit him;
Whence this Advantage may at least be made,
To ford his shallow Soul.

Mirz.
Oh much, much more;
'Twas happily remembred, nothing gulls
These open, unsuspecting Fools, like Friendship;
Dull heavy things! Whom Nature has left honest
In meer frugality, to save the Charge
She's at in setting out a thinking Soul;
Who, since their own short understandings reach
No farther than the present, think ev'n the wise,
Like them, disclose the Secrets of their Breasts,
Speak what they think, and tell Tales of themselves:
Thy function too will varnish o're our Arts,
And sanctifie dissembling.

Mag.
Yet still I doubt,
His caution may draw back, and fear a Snare.

Mirz.
Tell him, the better to assist the fraud,
That ev'n I wish his Friendship, and would gladly
Forget that cause of hate, which long has held us
At mortal Distance, give up my Revenge,
A grateful Offering to the publick Peace.

Mag.
Could you afford him such a Bribe as that,
A Brothers Blood yet unatton'd—

Mirz.
No Magas,
It is not in the Power if Fate to raze
That thought from out my Memory;
Eternal Night, 'tis true, may cast a Shade
On all my Faculties, extinguish Knowledge;
And great Revenge may with my Being cease;
But while I am, that ever will remain,
And in my latest Spirits still survive.
Yet, I would have thee promise that, and more,
The Friendship of the Queen, the Restitution
Of his Command, and Honours, that his Daughter
Shall be the Bride of Artaban; say any thing?
Thou know'st the Faith of Courtiers, and their Oaths,
Like those of Lovers, the Gods laugh at 'em.

Mag.
Doubt not my Zeal to serve your Royal Mistress,
And in her Interest yours, my Friend and Patron.

Mirz.
My worthy Priest! Still be my Friend, and share
The utmost of my Power, by greatness rais'd.
[Embracing.
Thou like the God thou serv'st, shall shine aloft,
And with thy Influence rule the under World.
But see! the Queen appears; she seems to muse,
Her thoughtful Soul, labours with some event
Of high import, which bustles like an Embryo
In its dark Room, and longs to be disclos'd.
Retire, lest we disturb her.

[They retire to the side of the Stage.
Enter the Queen attended.
Qu.
Be fixt, my Soul, fixt on thy own firm basis!
Be constant to thy self; nor know the Weakness,
The poor Irresolution of my Sex:
Disdain those shews of Danger, that would bar
My way to glory. Ye Diviner Pow'rs!
By whom 'tis said we are, from whose bright Beings
Those active Sparks were struck which move our Clay,
I feel, and I confess the Etherial energy,
That busie restless Principle, whose appetite
Is only pleas'd with greatness like your own:
Why have you clogg'd it then with dull mass,
And shut it up in Woman? Why debas'd it
To an Inferiour part of the Creation?
Since, your own heavenly Hands mistook my Lot,
'Tis you have err'd, not I. Could Fate e're mean
Me, for a Wife, a Slave to Tiribasus!
To such a thing as he! a Wretch! a Husband!
Therefore in just Assertion of my self,
I shook him off, and past those narrow Limits,
Which Laws contrive in vain for Souls born great.
There is not, must not be a bound for greatness;
Power gives a Sanction, and makes all things just.
Ha! Mirza! Worthy Lord! I saw thee not,
[Seeing Mirza.
So busie were my Faculties in thought.

Mir.
The Thoughts of Princes dwell in sacred Privacy,
Unknown and venerable to the Vulgar;
[Bowing.
And like a Temples innermost recesses,
None enters, to behold the hallow'd Mysteries,
Unbidden of the God that dwells within.

Qu.
Wise Mirza! were my Soul a Temple, fit
For Gods, and Godlike Counsels to inhabit,
Thee only would I choose of all Mankind,
To be the Priest, still favour'd with access;
Whose piercing Wit, sway'd by unerring Judgment,
Might mingle ev'n with assembled Gods,
When they devise unchangeable Decrees,
And call 'em Fate.

Mirz.
Whate're I am, each Faculty,
The utmost Power of my exerted Soul,
Preserves a Being only for your Service;
And when I am not yours, I am no more.

Qu.
Time shall not know an end of my acknowledgments,
But every Day of our continu'd Lives
Be witness of my Gratitude, to draw
The Knot, which holds our common Interest, closer;
Within six Days, my Son, my Artaban,
Equally dear to me as Life and Glory.
In publick shall Espouse the fair Cleone,
And be my Pledge of everlasting Amity.

Mirz.
O Royal Lady! you out-bid my Service;
And all returns are vile, but Words the poorest.

Qu.
Enough! be as thou hast been, still my Friend,
I ask no more. But I observe of late,
Your Daughter grows a Stranger to the Court;
Know you the Cause?

Mirz.
A melancholy Girl;
Such in her Infancy her Temper was,
Soft even beyond her Sex's tenderness;
By Nature pitiful, and apt to grieve
For the mishaps of others, and so make
The Sorows of the wretched world her own:
Her Closet and the Gods share all her time,
Except when (only by some Maid attended)
She seeks some shady solitary Grove,
Or by the gentle murmurs of some Brook
Sits sadly listning to a Tale of Sorrow,
Till with her tears she swell the narrow stream.

Qu.
It is not well, these thoughts must be remov'd:
That eating Canker Grief, with wastful spight,
Preys on the Rosie bloom of Youth and Beauty:
But Love shall chace away these clouds of sadness;
My Son shall breathe so warm a gale of sighs,
As shall dissolve those Isicles, that hang
Like death about her heart.
Attend us, holy Magus, to the King,
Nor cease to importune the mighty Gods
To grant him health, tho much I fear in vain.

[Exit Queen, Magas, and Attendants.
Manet Mirza.
Mirza.
This medling Priest longs to be found a fool;
Thinks he that Memnon, Souldier as he is,
Thoughtless and dull, will listen to his soothing?
Howe're, I gave his wise Proposal way,
Nay, urg'd him to go on; the shallow Fraud
Will ruine him for ever with my Enemies,
And make him firmly mine, spite of his Fears,
And natural Inconstancy.
While Choice remains he will be still unsteady,
And nothing but Necessity can fix him.

[Exit.
Enter Artaxerxes, Memnon, and Attendants.
Artax.
Methinks, my noble Father and my Friend,
We enter here like Strangers, and unlook'd for:
Each busie Face we meet, with wonder starts,
And seems amaz'd to see us.

Mem.
Well may th'ignoble Herd
Start, if with heedless steps they unawares
Tread on the Lyons walk; a Prince's Genius
Awes with supiner Greatness all beneath him.
With Wonder they behold the great Arsaces
Reviv'd again in Godlike Artaxerxes.
In you they see him, such as oft they did
Returning from his Wars, and Crown'd with Conquest,
When all our Virgins met him on the way,
And with their Songs and Dances blest his Triumph:
Now basely aw'd by factious Priests and Women,
They start at Majesty, and seem surpriz'd,
As if a God had met 'em. In Honour's Name,
Why have we let this be? Why have we languisht?
And suffer'd such a Government as this
To waste our Strength, and wear our Empire low?

Art.
Curst be the means by which these Ills arose,
Fatal alike to me as to my Country;
Which my great Soul, unable to revenge,
Has yet with Indignation only seen,
Cut off by Arts of Coward Priests and Statesmen,
Whom I disdain'd with servile Smiles to court,
From the great Right which God and Nature gave,
My Birthright to a Throne.

Mem.
Nor Priests, not Statesmen,
Could have compleated such an Ill as that,
If Woman had not mingled in the Mischief;
If Artemisa had not, by her Charms,
And all her Sex's Cunning, wrought the King,
Old, obvious to her Arts, decay'd in greatness,
Dead to the Memory of what once he was,
Just crawling on the Verge of wretched Life,
A Burthen to himself, and his Friends Pity;
Among his other Failings, to forget
All that a Father and a King could owe
To such a Son as you were; to cut you off
From your Succession, from your Hopes of Empire,
And graft her upstart Offspring on to Royalty.

Artax.
But if I bear it,
Oh may I live to be my Brothers Slave,
The Scorn of those brave Friends that own my Cause;
May you my Father spurn me for a Coward,
May all my noble Hopes of Love and Glory
Leave me to vile Despair. By Heaven, my Heart
Sits lighter in my Bosom, when I think
That I this Day shall meet the Boy my Brother,
Whose young Ambition with aspiring Wings
Dares ev'n to mate my Greatness.

Mem.
Fame, that speaks
Minutely every Circumstance of Princes,
Describes him bold, and fiercely fond of Power,
Which ev'n in spight of Nature he affects.
Impatient of Command, and hardly daigning
To be controll'd by his Imperious Mother.
'Tis said too (as no means were left untry'd,
Which might prepare and fit him to contend
With a superiour right of Birth and Merit,)
That Books, and the politer Arts, (which those
Who know admire) have been his Care; already
He mingles in their Councils, and they trust
His Youth with Secrets of important Villany.
The Crowd, taught by his Creatures to admire him,
Stile him a God in Wisdom.

Artax.
Be that his Glory,
Let him with Pedants hunt for Praise in Books,
Pore out his Life amongst the lazy Gown-men,
Grow old and vainly proud in fancy'd Knowledge,
Unequal to the Task of vast Ambition.
Ambition! The Desire of active Souls,
That pushes 'em beyond the Bounds of Nature,
And elevates the Hero to the Gods.
But see! my Love, your beauteous Daughter comes,
And ev'n Ambition sickens at her Sight.
Enter Amestris attended.
Revenge, and fierce Desires of Glory, cease
To urge my Passions, master'd by her Eyes;
And only gentle Fires now warm my Breast.

Amest.
I come, my Father, to attend your Order.

[To Memnon.
Mem.
'Tis well; and I would have thee still be near me,
The Malice of the Faction which I hate,
Would vent it self even on thy Innocence,
Wert thou not safe under a Father's Care.

Art.
Oh say a Lover's too; nor can you have
An Interest in her safety more than mine.
Love gives a Right superiour ev'n to Nature;
Or Love is Nature, in the noblest meaning,
The Cause and the Preserver of the World.
These Arms that long to press thee to my Bosome,
For ever shall defend thee.

Mem.
Therefore, my Son,
Unto your Care I leave our common Charge;
Tigranes with our Friends expects my Orders;
Those when I have dispatcht, upon the Instant
I will return, and meet at your Apartment.

[Ex. Mem.
Art.
Come to my Arms, and let me hide thee there
From all those Fears that vex thy beating Heart,
Be safe and free from all those fancy'd Dangers,
That haunt thy Apprehension.

Ames.
Can you blame me?
If from Retirement drawn and pleasing Solitude,
I fear to tempt this stormy Sea the World,
Whose every Beach is strew'd with Wrecks of Wretches,
That daily perish in it. Curst Ambition!
Why dost thou come to trouble my Repose,
Who have even from my Infancy disclaim'd thee?

Art.
Cease to complain, my Love, and let no Thought
But what brings Peace and Joy approach thy Breast.
Let me impart my manly Fires to thee,
To warm thy Fancy to a Taste of Glory;
Imperial Power and Purple Greatness wait thee,
And sue for thy Acceptance; by the Sun,
And by Arsaces Head, I will not mount
The Throne of Cyrus, but to share it with thee.

Ames.
Vain shews of Happiness! Deceitful Pageantry!
Ah! Prince, hadstst thou but known the Joys which dwell
With humbler Fortunes, thou wouldst curse thy Royalty.
Had Fate allotted us some obscure Village,
Where only blest with Life's Necessities,
We might have pass'd in Peace our happy Days,
Free from the Cares which Crowns and Empires bring;
There no Step mother, no Ambitious Brother,
No wicked Statesmen, would with Impious Arts,
Have strove to wrest from us our small Inheritance,
Or stir the simple Hinds to noisie Faction.
Our Nights had all been blest with balmy Slumbers,
And all our waking Hours been crown'd with Love.

Art.
Exquisite Charmer! now by Orosmades
I swear, thy each soft Accent melts my Soul:
The Joy of Conquest, and Immortal Triumph,
Honour and Greatness, all that fires the Hero
To high Exploits, and everlasting Fame,
Grows vile in sight of thee. My haughty Soul,
By Nature fierce, and panting after Glory,
Could be content to live obscure with thee,
Forgotten and unknown of all but my Amestris.

Ames.
No, Son of great Arsaces, though my Soul
Shares in my Sex's Weakness, and would fly
From Noise and Faction, and from fatal Greatness,
Yet for thy Sake, thou Idol of my Heart,
(Nor will I blush to own the sacred Flame,
Thy Sighs and Vows have kindled in my Breast)
For thy lov'd Sake, spight of my boding Fears,
I'll meet the Danger which Ambition brings,
And tread one Path with thee: Nor shalt thou lose
The glorious Portion which thy Fate designs thee,
For thy Amestris Fears.

Art.
Give me those Fears;
For all things will be well.

Ames.
Grant it, ye Powers:
This Day before your Altars will I kneel,
Where all my Vows shall for my Prince be offer'd;
Still let Success attend him, let Mankind
Adore in him your visible Divinity;
Nor will I importune you for my self,
But summ up all I ask in Artaxerxes.

Art.
And doubt not but the Gods will kindly hear
Their Virgin Votary, and grant her Pray'r;
Our glorious Sun, the source of Light and Heat,
Whose Influence chears the World he did create,
Shall smile on thee from his Meridian Skies,
And own the kindred Beauties of thy Eyes;
Thy Eyes, which, could his own fair Beams decay,
Might shine for him, and bless the World with day.

[Exeunt.