University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE the First.

Trebellius, Semanthe.
Tre.
Semanthe mourn, and I refus'd to share
Her swelling Griefs, and bear a Lover's Part!
Tell me, oh! tell me the unhappy Cause!
Then put my Love, my Truth upon the Trial.

Sem.
No, I conjure thee fly Semanthe's Fate;
Nor seek to know, what known thou wilt repent;
If timely cautious, thou may'st yet be happy.

Tre.
How art thou chang'd, Semanthe? How are those
Once radiant Orbs, in whose illustrious Beams
So many little Loves and Graces smil'd,
And thy attractive Beauties thus o'ercast
With the dark Clouds of Grief? But stranger still
How could Semanthe's Lips, which once pronounc'd
The lov'd Trebellius, bid him fly thee now?

Sem.
There was a Time, 'tis true, we deem'd our selves
The Fav'rites both of Fortune, and of Heav'n;
We fed, we flatter'd our deluded Souls
With the fond Hopes of mighty Joys to come;
But now Experience shews us our Mistake,
That all our Wishes, like th'uncertain Sky,
Are now serene and gay, anon obscur'd.

Tre.
Still am I lost, still wandring in a Maze,
Without a Clue t'unravel this Discourse,
This intricate dark Labyrinth of Wonder.
Tell me, thou beauteous mournful Maid, what Turn
Of giddy Chance, what Change of angry Fate
Thus palls our Pleasures, and obstructs our Hopes?

Sem.
To speak it, to reflect on it, is Death;
Alas, the Thought is impious as the Cause;
It is a Tale befitting only Hell,
Or the inhumane Villain to unfold.

Tre.
Stand fast, my Soul, collect thy utmost Courage,
Summon thy firmest Resolution now,
To bear the Shock of this approaching Horror;
I'm lost within my self, I doubt, I fear,
I dread to know, yet long to be inform'd.

Sem.
Now be inform'd, behold the Ravisher,
See the infernal Monster, he who acts
And boasts in Crimes, which Hell would blush to own;
'Tis he hath plunder'd, basely stole away
My treasur'd Love, my Honour, and my Peace.

Enter Lucilius.
Tre.
A Roman and Lucilius! Damn'd, damn'd Villain!
Drag him ye Furies to Eternal Flames,
Plunge him in hottest Sulphur, there to howl,
Curse his sharp Tortures, and repent in vain,
And all too little for a Crime so horrid.

Luc.
Do rail, and vent thy Spleen, I'll not disown
The Triumphs of my Love to Heav'n, or thee;
'Twas a luxurious Banquet, Jove himself
Could not but envy me th'Enjoyment of it.

Tre.
And can'st thou, Monster, Do'st thou, dar'st thou hope,
Because th'avenging Bolts of Thunder slept
T'escape my Vengeance? Know, tho' Heav'n withheld
Its Arm of Justice, yet Trebellius wo'not.

Luc.
Brav'd by this Talker? Draw then if thou dar'st,
And prove thy boasted Courage, or my Foot
Shall spurn thee from me for a Coward.

Tre.
Yes,
[Semanthe faints.
With Honour, Justice, Vengeance on my Side,
I'll draw, and give thee thy due Chastisement,
Base Ravisher.—

[Fight, Lucilius falls.
Luc.
Dishonourable Death! Slain by a Rival's Hand!
Is this my base inglorious Close of Life?
My Lawrels blasted by this Stroke of Fate?
But I've enjoy'd thy Mistress, dash'd those Pleasures
Which thou did'st centre there, and that one Act
Attones my forfeit Life, and sweetens Death.

[Dies.
Tre.
Lie there, thou Victim to my injur'd Love.
Rise, my Semanthe, view the Hand of Justice,
[Turning to Semanthe.
The Vengeance for thy violated Honour.
Alas, she droops, the poor weak tender Plant
Shakes with the Storms, and bows beneath the Tempest:
Let me conduct thee hence, perhaps repose
May calm thy ruffled Spirits, and dispel
The baneful Thoughts of all these Horrors past.

[Exeunt.
Scipio, Lelius Guards.
Scip.
Hah! who lies there? Lucilius by his Garb.
How ghastly, and how pale! All steep'd in Blood,
In his own flowing Gore! Haste, haste our Guards,
And seek the Author of this Bloody Act,
Be he the nearest Friend to Scipio's Breast,
His Crime shall meet the Punishment it merits.
Remove the Body hence—Uncertain Fate!
That we whom Yester's rising Sun beheld
Masters of half the World, should now become
Intestine Foes, and by each other fall!
Fall by our selves, for Scipio by himself
Is ruin'd and undone; but shall he still
Be this dull, whining, am'rous Slave, when she,
She that enchants him, answers with Disdain?
Lelius, this Spaniard, has engag'd her Heart.

Lel.
Now, Scipio! now thy Greatness must be prov'd,
This Instant all th'assembled Gods attend,
And listen from the Skies with anxious Care,
To know the Resolution of a Man,
The Conduct of a Roman thus distress'd.

Scip.
I am a Man, a Roman, and distress'd;
But what can I resolve, or which way steer,
Without the Guidance of some greater Pow'r?
Should I renounce this Love—why then I should
Be what I ought to be, Great Scipio's Son,
But can I? that's the Point; can I shake off
This Love, and be the Man I was?

Lel.
Yes, greater.
(Pardon the Boldness of a Friend) unite
Virtue, Resolution, Courage, and be free:
Wake your great Soul from this Lethargick Slumber,
Forget this idle Dream, and re-assume
The Judge, the Roman, and the General.

Scip.
I would, but cannot.

Lel.
You may.

Scip.
I have strove,
Resisted all in vain, Love still maintains
Its high Preheminence, whilst I, like Sisyphus
Rolling a weighty Stone up an Ascent,
Which soon, with Violence and rapid Speed,
Comes hurrying downward, only can begin
A Second endless Labour—Well, 'tis my Lot,
And what I cannot conquer, I'll endure.

[Exeunt.

SCENE the Second.

Almeyda upon a Couch, Phænissa by her.
Alm.
Why cou'd not I indulge this gentle Slumber,
This short Reprieve from Sadness, where such Dreams
So full of Extasy, and seeming Bliss,
Danc'd in my Brain, and gather'd in my Thoughts;
Where my Alucius (for I'll call him mine)
Mine, was here presented in this Dream,
With eager Transport seiz'd my yielding Hand,
And led me to the sacred Temple? There,
Oh, how our Hearts, which were before united,
Rejoyc'd at the uniting of our Hearts!
But 'twas a Dream, a faint, a fading Joy.

Phæ.
'Twas an auspicious Omen of Success;
These Dreams presage a Tide of coming Joys
For you, and your Alucius.

Alm.
Phænissa, No;
Fortune and we have ever been at Variance,
Ne'er did she smile, but she design'd us ill,
She shew'd us Heav'n, then with a spiteful Frown
She bid us die: This Dream is her Device;
She hath reduc'd me to the lowest Ebb
Of Mis'ry; now with a triumphant Envy
Sh'insinuates smiling Pleasures in my Sleep,
Which when I wake, I find Delusion all.

Phæ.
Madam, the Gen'ral comes, dry up these Tears,
They may produce Suspicion at this time.

Enter Scipio.
Scip.
When Beauty weeps, 'tis like the Sun eclips'd,
It spreads a Cloud of Terror all around,
And stamps in ev'ry Heart the dismal Woe.

Alm.
Let not my Looks, or Griefs infectious prove;
I wou'd alone be wretched, and alone
In private Sorrow vent these gushing Tears.

Scip.
But yet these Tears are ominous to Love,
And bode me no Success; must Scipio droop,
Be still a Slave, and languish unredress'd,
For an inexorable, cruel Fair?

Alm.
If cruel, that impute to Heav'n, not me;
Blame those alone who never pair'd our Hearts,
Nor destin'd mutual Love—Can I be blam'd?
Can I reverse immutable Decrees?

Scip.
They are your own, not Heav'n's; 'tis you ordain,
And cherish this Aversion to my Love,
Or else I should not weary the long Days
With craving Blessings at a Hand so fair,
And so unkind; yet think, oh, timely think!
Our mutual Welfare rests on you alone.

Alm.
You are my Conqu'rour, and my Patron both;
And they demand my Rev'rence and Esteem;
But when you talk of Love, the Lover's Name
Is grating, and unwelcome to my Thoughts.

Scip.
Now you profess that Hate, disdainful Woman;
These Arts, and weak Evasions are in vain:
If I'm a Conqu'rour, I am curs'd enough;
And if a Friend, my Curse is greater still.
But say no more, you have reveal'd too much,
Madness ensues, then dread the dire Effects.
[Exit Scipio.

Alm.
What hath my Folly done? Provok'd the Man,
The only Man, who had the Pow'r t'undo me?
Did he not threaten in his Looks, his Words,
Instant Revenge for his Repulse in Love?
And all determin'd in Alucius's Death:
And who but his Almeyda the curs'd Cause!
Had I consented, feign'd, or own'd our Loves,
The Event, tho' later, still had been the same:
Yet shall I follow, stop the harsh Decree,
And tell him all the melancholy Story,
How much Alucius and my self have lov'd,
How true, and how unhappy we have been;
Perhaps he may be kind, and pity us:
But shall I trust that Secret from my Lips,
On which our Loves, our every Thing depends,
Inflame him more, and aggravate his Rage?
Oh miserable Fate! Should Hell ope wide
Its horrid Caverns, where the howling Damn'd
Moan their past Crimes, could there a Wretch be found
More wretched than my self? The Torments there
Are mild in Competition with my own.
If there grim Minos shakes his aweful Nod,
And spreads black Terrour o'er the sentenc'd Crowd;
They own the Justice of th'Infernal Gloom,
And that Reflection moderates their Doom:
But I, tho' guiltless, all their Tortures feel,
The rolling Stone, the Vulture, and the Wheel.
They who would prove at once the worst Despair,
Let 'em but Love, like me, they'll find it there.

[Exeunt.

SCENE the Third.

Semanthe
Sola.
What is this Thing call'd Life? Tis better far
To be no more, than be the Wretch I am,
So young, and so unhappy, thus depriv'd
Of both my Parents; one in Battle slain,
The other (oh most fatal Loss to me!)
Expiring here, prest with the triple Weight
Of Years, of my Misfortunes, and her own.
Oh my destructive Beauty! Oh Semanthe!
Hast thou not Cause eternal to complain,
T'accuse th'unconstant Guardians of thy Fate,
And brand them with their cruel base Neglect?
How have I glory'd in my Virgin State,
My Love unsoil'd, my Honour undefil'd,
Chast as my Thoughts, and white as falling Snow?
But now that spotless Whiteness is no more,
Polution, black as Hell, hath stain'd my Lustre.
Trebellius too, that dear, that much-lov'd Man,
Chief in my Heart, and first in all my Wishes,
Falls like the injur'd Dove, an harmless Prey
To the pursuing Vultures, for my sake:
Then whither, whither shall Semanthe fly?
A friendless Orphan, and unhappy Slave,
Subject to ev'ry scornful Victor's Pow'r:
No, I'll resolve and be in Death secure.

[Exit.

SCENE the Fourth

opening and discovering Alucius in Prison on the Ground; an Officer speaks to Almeyda entring.
Offi.
This Act is at the Peril of my Life,
And if discover'd, certain Death's my Doom;
But see the Prince, there prostrate on the Ground.
[Exit Officer.

Manet Almeyda.
Alm.
Thus low reduc'd by thy inclement Stars!
Lower thou' can'st not lie, but in the Grave,
Where we shall both be soon, the best Retreat
For Miseries like ours: Oh Alucius!
Oh! my poor mournful Lord! Look up on her
Who was thy dearest, lov'd Almeyda, once!

Alu.
Almeyda? Where? What kind Auspicious Voice,
Eccho'd Almeyda to my dying Soul?

Alm.
Almeyda's self.

Alu.
And is it, is it she?
By all my Hopes of Happiness it is:
[Rising.
Thus let me bound with Rapture to thy Arms;
With equal Joy, as when a trembling Wretch,
Wakes from a frightful Dream, and views the Day.

Alm.
Talk not of Joy, for nought but Horror's here.

Alu.
Horror in what? Thus in beholding thee?
In folding my Almeyda in these Arms?
Oh 'tis all Heav'n!

Alm.
But soon will be no more;
This Meeting is our last:

Alu.
And is it so?
Is Fate so merciless?

Alm.
Inevitably sure;
Alucius and Almeyda both must dye.

Alu.
Alucius dye? Then welcome, welcome Death;
Welcome as Freedom to the groaning Slave,
Or to a harrass'd Country smiling Peace.

Scipio enters unperceiv'd.
Scip.
Almeyda and the Pris'ner! How got she
Admittance to this Tent? Surprising Sight!
Now Scipio; now my Heart resolve, support
This fatal, killing, unexpected Stroke,
And that will be an Action worthy Scipio.

[Aside.
Alm.

Alu.
For mine?

Alm.
For both,
He may be merciful at last.

Alu.
That Mercy
Beg for your self; Alucius cannot stoop
To buy a despicable Life with such
Disgrace; sue to a Conqueror; Oh Honour!
Would it not Blush?

Alm.
But your Almeyda, Love
Oppose this Ill-tim'd Principle of Honour.

Scip.
Nor Art, nor Reason, nor my best Resolves,
Nor all the Roman muster'd in my Soul,
Can more sustain this Tumult of Distress.

[Scipio moves forward.
Scip.
Madam, 'tis well, we see how much you prize
The Freedom, that we grant; 'tis wond'rous well.

Alm.
Oh Scipio! do not look thus sternly on me;
Menace not Death, when you behold me, thus
Strip'd of the Pride of Royalty, reduc'd
To deprecate the Sentence of thy Fury:
[Kneeling.
Assume your wonted Goodness and Redress—

Scip.
In what?

Alm.
Look there and know.

Scip.
That Pris'ner?

Alm.
Yes, that Royal Pris'ner is my—

Scip.
What?

Alm.
My plighted Husband: Now the deadly Secret,
Which lay so long pent in my fearful Breast,
And labour'd for its Birth, at last is out.

Scip.
How Madam? He, that Pris'ner?

Alm.
Yes, my more
Than Husband, if there is a stricter Tie,
Our Loves are wove in that; Oh Pardon him!
For I will still, still Kneel, till thou shalt say,
I Pardon thee, Almeyda hath prevail'd.

Scip.
Yes, he shall live; but let him first recode
From Love, and give me thee.

Alu.
Mercenary Roman;
Propose thy Terms to such as shrink at Death;
To Children, Misers, or luxurious Priests;
But treat not thus with one who is a Man,
And scorns to Barter for a servile Life.
What, to foregoe my Love?

Alm.
That cannot be;
Can Soul and Body parted, each remain
Alive in that unnatural Separation?
When one Twin-Plant is blasted by the Winds,
Will not the other sicken at its Loss,
And in its Partner's Absence soon decay?

Scip.
And what is Scipio? What is he to suffer?
Should he resign the Mistress of his Heart;
Her, that relentless Fair, for whom his Soul
Hath languish'd, pin'd so long, hath felt such Pangs,
Such Agonies, such Tortures, and Despair,
Now tamely give her up; Hah! shun the Thought,
It shall not, cannot, is not to be done:
Surrender up the Woman that I Love!
Gods! how it shocks me.

Alm.
Yet, yet feel Remorse,
Give us some Hopes, e'er all the Means be lost
In Death.

Scip.
I would, (bear witness for me Heav'n)
I would, thou barb'rous, charming, cruel Woman,
Assent to thy Desires; but there's a War,
A Combat in my Breast; my wav'ring Thoughts,
Are sway'd each Moment by th'alternate Force
Of diff'rent Passions; Hah! what would Scipio?
What wouldst thou yield thy Mistress to the Arms
Of one who hates thee on a double Score,
Rival in Love, and in thy Conquests too?

Alm.
His Love preceded thine.

Scip.
Grant that it did,
I challenge him to Love thee more than I,
To boast a Flame more pure, or Heart sincere.

Alm.
Yet—

Scip.
Yet I must Love thee; how can I forbear?
Wherefore did Nature form thee so Divine,
On those bright Features lavish all her Skill,
But to be Lov'd, be Worship'd and Ador'd?
Heav'n's! How she looks? What infinite variety
Of undiscover'd Beauties still conspire
To dart new dawning Glories! On my Soul,
This Posture serves but to enhance her Charms.
Is she so fair, and shall she not be mine?

Alm.
Nay, now you are Tyrannical.

Scip.
Your self
That Tyrant are, which you would throw on me,
Was I not humbled as the lowest Slave,
Imploring what I might by Pow'r command?
But for your Minion you disdain'd my Suit:
Who is the Tyrant then?

Alm.
You are a Roman,
Now prove the boasted Virtue of that Name,
And act like Scipio.

Scip.
She brings to my Remembrance
My sullied Glory, and my conscious Shame.

[Aside
[He pause
Alm.
See, see, he melts, his Resolution shakes,
I read it in his Looks; he will relent.

Scip.
It shall be so, spite of these stubborn Pangs,
These strong opposing Passions, yet it shall:
[Aside.
Yes, ye deserving Lovers, I consent,
And thus decree your Happiness: Live free:
My Love no longer shall molest your Joys,
But by your Freedom I'll regain my own,
Or else my faithful Sword shall do an Act
Of Justice on its Coward Master's Breast.
Almeyda, rise—Here, Spaniard, I resign,
[Raising her.
Receive her Hand from Scipio and thy Foe.

Alu.
Curs'd be that Villain, who maintains the Name
Of Foe against such Goodness! then shall I
Be guilty of Ingratitude so base?
How, how shall I repay thee for this Gift,
So exquisite, more welcome than my Life,
The Gift of Heaven?

Scip.
Far be't from Scipio's Thoughts
To make Advantage of thy private Friendship,
But for the Publick, be a Friend to Rome,
I ask no more.

Alu.
Excellent, Godlike Roman!
In ev'ry Virtue, as in War, Supreme!
My Sword, and all the Country I possess,
Shall be employ'd as Scipio shall command.

Alm.
Your Pardon, Gen'rous Conqu'ror, that my Tongue
'Midst these fierce Transports lost, forgets to speak
The Gratitude that rises in my Heart.

Enter Trebellius.
Treb.
Thus far, my Gen'ral, have I trac'd your Steps,
Thus do I press to importune a Favour,
So great, that Death must follow its Denial;
Freed by my Judges, still I am in Bonds,
Instant Release from which depends alone
On Scipio's Clemency.

Scip.
I know thy Wish,
But 'tis not Scipio can confirm it to thee;
The injur'd fair Semanthe is no more,
This Night th'unhappy Beauty breath'd her last.

Treb.
Sharp, stabbing Sentence! my Semanthe dead?
What farther Bus'ness hath Trebellius then
For Life, to breath in this unwholsome Air,
Depriv'd of his Semanthe?

Scip.
Chear, my Soldier,
And imitate the Pattern of thy Gen'ral:
Scipio hath lov'd like thee, like thee endur'd
Its bitter Wounds, and its heart-breaking Pangs,
But is at length the Master of himself.
Come, come, my Warriour, rouze thee up to Arms
Shake off th'inglorious Flame, and follow Scipio.
Now we're our selves, and will again to War,
Again our Eagles shall adorn the Air.
With dire Alarms we'll chase the shatter'd Foe,
Pursue the Terror, and conclude the Blow.
But learn, ye Laurel'd Chiefs, whatever Spoils
Crown your vast Actions, and reward your Toils,
Your Fame's precarious, your Atchievements vain,
Till o'er your selves you can a Conquest gain.

[Exeunt omnes.