University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE the First.

Scipio
solus.
The Toils of Battle past, new Toils succeed,
My Breast is now the Theatre of War:
Methinks my Blood forgets its proper Course,
Seems all Congeal'd and Curdled in my Veins;
Something within me whispers, it is Love,
The raging Force of secret, growing Love:
Gods! did I 'scape Mars and Bellona's Rage
In Battle, to be subject to a Boy,
And fall a Victim to the Snares of Beauty?
This Captive, lovely through the Veil of Grief,
Makes deep Impression in my ravish'd Heart,
And crowds in every Thought.—But see, she comes,
Sweet as Aurora, when from Eastern Clouds
She darts, to give the World a New-Born Day.

Enter Almeyda.
Alm.
Is there a Day, a Night, within the Date
Of Humane Life, untainted with an Ill?
If now we form a Scheme of mighty Pleasure,
Boast in the Prospect of approaching Bliss,
Anon we lose the Momentary Joy,
As with an Airy Phantome of a Dream,
Rich in the Night, but empty in the Morn,
We find our selves deceiv'd, the envious Pow'rs
Repent their Favours, and retract their Gifts.

Scip.
Still, Beauteous Maid, must that Angelick Form
[Scipio turning to her.
Be cover'd o'er with the pale sickly Hue
Of Discontent? And doth the barb'rous Sense
Of thy unhappy Fortune still continue
To press so hard upon thy tender Bosom?
Still must those Watry Pearls descend so fast
From their bright Orbs, like Evening Dews, that fall
T'improve the Beauties of the Morning Flow'rs?
Declare, if Scipio hath neglected ought
Which might conduce to mitigate these Woes.

Alm.
No, Sir, my grateful Heart must ever own
That you have us'd me nobly, and been kind
(E'en to excess of Kindness,) but alas!
What is that Kindness to a Wretch like me?
Plung'd in this Gulph, what Joys can I expect?
How be Reliev'd, when I am all Despair?
Oh my lost Love!

[Aside.
Scip.
But why do you resolve
To Feast on Sorrows, and indulge your Griefs?
Why thus reserv'd, thus Cruel to your self,
Concealing Ills, which, when deny'd a vent,
And lab'ring inward, but disturb you more?
Tell me, Almeyda, I conjure you, tell me
The fatal Cause, and Scipio will redress.

Alm.
Ask me not what I dare not to reveal;
Or when reveal'd, Heav'n only can reverse.

Scip.
And sure the Gods will never be unkind,
Deaf, and relentless to the tender Pray'rs
Of supplicating Beauty—Hark! what Noise,
As if some Tumult from the distant Camp.
[Shout of Souldiers.
Madam, a Gen'rals Duty calls me forth
At present, to discharge th'important Trust,
To quell Disorders in their Birth, and then
Almeyda claims my quick Return.
(Exit. Scip.

Enter Phænissa.
Alm.
So, my Phænissa, in thy Hast appears
Important News; thy better Looks declare,
In outward shew some great uncommon Joy.

Phæ.
It is a Joy Phænissa brings, a Joy,
Which will restore the Springs of sinking Nature;
Alucius is alive—
Unmangled by the Bloody Strokes of War,
And only wretched in his sever'd Love.

Alm.
Such Transports rush upon me from thy Words,
That I can scarce endure the rapid Pain;
My Mind's dissolv'd in unexpected Bliss,
The Gloomy Clouds of Horror are dispers'd,
And everlasting Day now dawns around me.
Speak, speak, my best Phænissa, oh speak on!
Repeat the balmy Comfort to my Ears;
Assure me I shall see him once again.

Phæ.
Within this Hour, a Private Messenger
Found means to gain Admittance to this Tent,
Enquiring for Almeyda—
At first I was surpriz'd; ask'd him from whom,
From whence he came? he said from one unknown
To all but her; I told him, that my self
Was Friend and Partner of Almeyda's Fate,
Nor unacquainted with her Love; he then
Freely reveal'd the most Delightful News;
Told me Alucius sent him to inform
Almeyda that he liv'd; liv'd (if the Gods permit)
To rescue his Almeyda from her Bonds.

Alm.
Phænissa, 'tis too much, the swelling Joys,
The big encreasing Extasies are too
Too violent for Woman to sustain;
Yet prithee tell me, will Alucius come
To free Almeyda? Yes, thou saidst he would.
But why, Almeyda, if thou lov'st the Prince,
Why shouldst thou urge his Ruin? But 'tis Love
That prompts him to so hazardous an Act;
'Tis the same Love that forces my Consent,
And thus extorts my Wishes.

Phæ.
As your Loves
Are thus unsullied, constant and sincere,
So trust me, you will soon be happy both,
And reap the Blessings of a Faithful Flame;
Soon as the Sun shall in the West decline,
In Roman Habit thy Alucius comes.

Alm.
Then Sun drive on, drive on in full Career,
And let thy fiery Coursers, fleet as Winds,
Guide the immortal Chariot round the Sphere,
With more than Common, with a Lover's Speed.
For that blest Hour shall both our Joys compleat,
Make mine as Happy, as thy own, as Great,
When you retiring to your Thetis' Charms,
Revel on Love, and wanton in her Arms;
Then blest Almeyda shall behold her Lord,
Whom she so long hath Lov'd, so long Ador'd.

[Exeunt.

SCENE the Second.

Trebellius, Semanthe.
Sem.
Alas! Semanthe dares not to attend,
Or listen to th'alluring Sound of Love;
Besides, she is a Spaniard, and a Slave,
Enslav'd by the Superiour Arms of Rome;
How can she yield to Love, to Love that Man
Who fought against her Country, and eras'd
The Stately Carthage? No, her Father's Ghost,
The Dead Mandonius will resent her Crime,
And haunt his Daughter for her faulty Love,
To match with one who was a Foe to Spain,
A Roman, to whose Proud Victorious Arms
The Glorious Warriour fell a Sacrifice.

Tre.
True Madam, Carthage is subdu'd, and Spain
Already bows submissively to Rome:
Your Father shar'd the Common Fate of War,
Expiring in the Field, but yet my Sword
Drank not his Blood; Trebellius stands excus'd,
And blameless of his Death; nor could his Arm,
For any Private Malice, seek his Life.
The Publick Contest made us Publick Foes:
But you on ev'ry side Protection claim,
The Vanquish'd, and the Haughty Victors, both
Are Vassals to the Fair: If you have lost
A kind indulging Father, you have found
A Lover far more kind; one who admires,
Makes you the Idol of his Doating Soul,
Pays equal Rev'rence to your Awful Virtue,
As to his Gods, and lives but in your Smiles.

Sem.
I fear, Trebellius, you're but too well skill'd
In all those Arts, so common to your Sex,
To praise our Beauties, and pretend such Love,
Such vehemence of Love confirm'd by Oaths,
The Artful Practice basely to delude,
And undermine a weak believing Woman:
Ought we not then to guard against your Wiles?

Tre.
And should you therefore judge Trebellius so,
Condemn the Guiltless Man by others Crimes?
No, if there is a Majesty Supreme,
Who overlooks the Actions of Mankind,
And punishes Deceit; let him, that God,
Dart all his Thunder on this guilty Head,
When e'er my Tongue belies my Honest Heart.

Sem.
These Imprecations needless are, and vain;
Think you Semanthe can consent to Love?
Or if she should, would not yourself condemn,
Accuse her Artless Folly, to believe
The Treachery of Man, to bury all
Her Griefs, Resentments for her Father's Death,
In the soft Transports of a guilty Love?

Tre.
Could I refuse the Mansion of the Blest;
Yon' Starry Kingdoms, and Eternal Glories?
But then, and not till then, could I reject
Semanthe's Love, or blame her for the Gift,
The Rich, the Glorious, the Immortal Gift:
Oh! doubt not of my Truth, Celestial Fair,
Grant me that Heav'n, and I'll (if possible)
Repay its sweet Possession with my Love.

Sem.
Where am I? Sure my Soul is ravish'd from me;
My Eyes grow dim, and glimmer at the Light;
A Thousand Phantoms thwart my dazzled View,
And leave me in a Maze; my Heart beats high,
And now again it throbs, then droops within me.

[Aside.
Tre.
May I presume to flatter my fond Hopes?
Think that the Fair Semanthe yet will deign
To bless me with her Love?

Sem.
No more; forbear
To tempt me farther, and betray my Weakness.

Tre.
No, rather let me me push the small Success,
Improve the lucky Moment, whilst Semanthe
Yet doubts, yet seems unwilling to decline
My Love.

Sem.
Cruel, insulting Man, to force
A Virgin thus, to struggle through the Bounds
Of Modest Niceness, and confess her Frailty;
Where is that boasted Quickness feign'd to dwell
In Lover's Eyes? Can'st thou not yet discern?

Tre.
I do, my Life, my Soul; these Eyes presage
Those Strugglings are the Symptoms of thy Love;
The certain Symptoms of the yielding Maid:
Is it not so? Or are my Eyes in fault,
That fancy what I wish?

Sem.
Yes, to suppose
The Looks must speak the Language of the Heart,
And tell thee, that I Love.

Tre.
Deluded Man!
To raise Imagination up so high,
And be beguil'd at last. Oh Godlike Maid!
Excuse this Fault, or rather call it none:
Yet grant me some Support, (tho' but the least,)
To keep alive my Hopes, and check Despair.

Sem.
Yes, thou may'st Hope, and that's the greatest Gift
A Virgin can bestow.

Tre.
It is enough;
'Tis all I ask, and more than I deserve:
Oh! I could listen an Eternity
To those delightful Accents; I could dwell
For ever on those Lips, that bad me Hope:
Oh my Soul's Goddess! you have giv'n your Slave
An endless Series of unbounded Bliss,
Beyond the vain Delusions of the Brooks,
And shady Grottos in th'Elysian Country:
Mine is a solid Blessing; from this Time,
From this propitious Minute, will I date
My Smiling Æra of indulgent Fate.
Mars and Bellona now to Cupid yield,
To gentler Love resign the warlike Field:
The Little God, pleas'd with his am'rous Trust,
Is to the Soldier in the Lover Just;
Safe, and secure from War's destructive Frowns,
With Love's succeeding Joys the Fav'rite Warriour Crowns.

[Exeunt.

SCENE the Third.

Lucilius solus.
Luci.
Trebellius and the Fair Semanthe there?
Walk they not Hand in Hand? By Heav'n they do:
Damnation, I am Thunderstruck; can He,
That worthless Animal presume so high?
It is impossible; he dares not do't:
But yet my Jealous Soul forbodes he does;
Which, if he should, Perdition sieze my Soul
If ever I forgive him; if my Sword
Haunts not his Life with all the restless Malice,
The Fury of an angry, injur'd Foe;
If that I use not ev'ry Art, and Fraud,
To blast his Wishes, and supplant his Love,
And low'r his high, ambitious, growing Pride:
He rivals me in Glory, and in Love:
When I my self, first mounted on the Breach,
And scal'd the dang'rous Wall; Trebellius, then
My Evil Genius was my Rival there;
But now he wounds me in a dearer Part,
And robs me of Semanthe, of my Love:
But shall he bear her off an easy Prize,
And Riot on those Charms which should be mine?
His Blood shall answer for the bold Attempt.
Our Gen'ral comes, and him I would avoid.
[Exit. Lucilius

SCENE the Fourth.

Enter Scipio, Lelius.
Scip.
The Tumult is appeas'd; the Murm'ring Troops
That mutiny'd for Plunder, all are hush'd,
And silenc'd at our Sight, the Camp's at Peace.

Lel.
Sedition ever treads upon the Heels
Of Victory; the Soldiers when no more
Their Foreign Foes invite them to the Field,
Taught to Dispute, raise new Intestine Jars;
But quickly to returning Duty aw'd,
The senseless Slaves relent, and cringe with Fear.

Scip.
Yes, Lelius, they submit; but yet a Tumult,
A greater far than that, disturbs my Breast:
War is the Province of the Great and Brave;
But an inchanting slavish Love is Scipio's.
True, I have Fought, and Conquer'd in the Field,
Chas'd hostile Squadrons o'er the trembling Plain,
And crush'd my Foe beneath my reeking Sword:
This have I done; but now my Triumph's o'er;
Now Scipio in his turn must learn to Bow
Spite of the Roman, own th'ungrateful Bonds
Of an ignoble, but prevailing Passion:
Almeyda, she, that Gift of Victory,
Returns her Chains upon her Conqueror,
And with resistless Beauty bears me down.
Oh Lelius, I am lost!

Lel.
Is't possible?
Is Scipio fetter'd in a Woman's Chains?
He, who hath fac'd the dreadful Front of War,
Extended his Victorious Arms o'er half
Th'affrighted Western World; is he enslav'd?
Exert the former Warriour in your Soul;
Recall your well-taught Reason to your Aid:
You, have subdu'd your Enemies, improve
Th'Heroick Glory, and subdue your Self.

Scip.
Doth Caius Lelius, doth my Friend advise
These useless Means to heal a Lover's Pain?
The Arguments you urge distract me more,
Augment my Griefs, to think what I have been;
How Great? How Glorious once? And now how Weak?

Lel.
I counsell'd with an honest good Intent,
Prescrib'd a Cure most proper for your Wound;
But with Concern, I find, your Tortur'd Breast
Cannot admit the Means.

Scip.
Alas! my Friend,
Nought but a kind Return of Love can yield
A fainting Lover Ease.

Lel.
Then, mighty Sir,
Befriend your self, you have it in your Pow'r;
Almeyda is your Pris'ner, in your Tent;
Declare your Love, she dares not but comply.

Scip.
No; Scipio's Soul disdains th'ungen'rous Thought;
Scipio had rather be for ever wretched,
Languish an Age in Misery himself,
Than in Oppression triumph, or demand
That by Compulsion, which the Will denies.
It is Inhuman, and unworthy Us,
Who only Conquer to Reform the World.

Lel.
Divinely spoke, and worthy him that speaks it
Thou wondrous Man! thou Prodigy of Virtue!
Then try some gentler, some more humane Way;
Intreat, perswade the Fair One to be kind.

Scip.
Yes Lelius, I'll pursue thy Counsel, try
To change the Soldier's to the Lover's Stile;
Use all the strongest Eloquence that Art,
Or the sharp Anguish of my Soul can frame,
To plead my Passion, and promote my Love.
The Heroe shakes in vain the whizzing Spear,
Boasts the rich Trophies, and the Pomp of War:
Though Captive Princes sweat beneath his Chains,
A greater Foe unconquer'd yet remains;
Love feels with rival Pride, and envious Shame,
His growing Honours, and aspiring Fame;
Then his big Schemes are in a Moment crost,
Beauty unnerves him, and the World is lost.

[Exeunt