University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Dukes of Vendosme and Boüillon, meeting each other.
Vend.
Encountred well, and happily, my Friend,
Mine by the strongest Ties of Manly Love,
Union of Hearts, and Harmony of Souls;
A League contracted in the beardless State
Of undesigning Innocence and Youth,
Still growing strong and stronger by degrees,
As we advanc'd in Years, and reach'd to Manhood:
Earnest I sought thee out, to pay in full
Boüillon's lawful Claim to Vendosme's Thoughts,
And in revealing give thee half my Joys.

Boüill.
Oh lavish Frankness of an honest Mind!
Such ever be the Greetings when we meet,
Such the Endearments of our social Hearts,
Musick the Sound, and Happiness the Theme.

Vend.
Musick more rich, more ravishing than all
That Voice yet echo'd, or the Artist's Touch
Call'd forth melodious from the sounding Strings,
Has charm'd thy Vendosme's Ears: Loüisa's kind,
And Love's my Friend; the beauteous grateful Maid
Receives my captive Heart, and hears my Vows;
In every Part I read my destin'd Bliss,
Hope in her Eyes, and in her Words Success.

Boüill.
Loüisa, said he? Heaven! could there be found
Another Bolt of Thunder fierce as this,
To tear my cracking Heart-strings thro and thro,
To stagger Honour's unsuspecting Faith,
And shake the Fortress of the best-arm'd Virtue?
Lovisa—

Vend.
Why, Boüillon, why, my Friend,
This sudden Change of Body, Form, and Mind,
These furious Starts and Sallies of the Soul,
That thro thy Eyes disclose the War within?
Why gloom'st thou downward thus with Look malign?
Or meet my Tidings with a Face of Joy,
With equal feeling Warmth, and friendly Raptures,
Or I may else take in the Traytor Thought,
Wrong thy just Heart, and judge thy Silence Envy.

Boüill.
Down, swelling Anguish of a jealous Mind:
Howe'er they rage, I must, I must suppress
These Throws, these Strivings, and these gnawing Pangs,
That like reluctant subterraneous Fires,
Working for Birth, and struggling to be loose,
Disdainful of their Check, shoot all around
The dreadful Foamings of imprison'd Fury.

[Aside.
Vend.
Now, on my Soul, this Usage is unkind,
As much unworthy Vendosme to receive,
As still to shew, ungenerous in thy self.

Boüill.
Furies and Hell! Be still, this Mutiny!
What shall Invention form, or Thought reply?
I love, but now to own would be too late,
And but add Pain to Pain, Loüisa too:
Vendosme forgive this Negligence of Friendship,
A Heart surpriz'd, and wandring from itself.
Death! how shall I go on? Dissembling ill
Suits the resenting Heats of Rival Love.

Vend.
Sure these imperfect Breaks, these Starts and Pauses,
Speak some uncommon Cause.

Boüill.
Loüisa, said you?
Does she (O fatal Generosity!)
[Aside.
With kind believing Pity hear thy Vows,
Approve thy well-paid Sighs, and warm thy Hopes?
Does she incline to love? then art thou bless'd
Beyond the Miser counting o'er his Bags,
Beyond the Raptures of the cloyster'd Maid,
When in the fervent Zeal of midnight Prayer,
She soars to Realms of Bliss, and talks with Angels;
Such Blessings hast thou found, as only Love
Successful as thy own, can picture true,
Or Lovers blending in the Act of Transport.

Vend.
Boüillon, now thou mak'st a full Amends
For all the silent Coldness of Delay:
Such was thy Vendosme's Bliss, when last I saw her,
And such again attends my quick Return;
To talk and vow, and sigh away our Souls:
Believe me, Friend, and judge from thence my Faith,
E'en now I put a Force upon my Passions,
From all the Fondness of a mutual Flame,
I stole away, to share it with my Friend:
But Absence now seems long, Love checks my Stay,
I must take leave, its Summons to obey,
To meet the kind inviting Maid again;
Lovers count Time by Wishes, Joy, or Pain.

[Vend. Exit.
Boüillon solus.
Boüill.
Now take thy loose my Soul, shoot forth thy Burthen,
And pour out thy Variety of Horrors:
Why did I curb this inward Shock so long?
Why with this coward Silence did I brook
Loüisa's yielding, and a Rival's Joy,
And not avow the Birthright of my Flame,
And fierce discharge my Tortures half on him,
The curs'd, the happy Vendosme? Ill-plac'd Rage!
Vendosme is blameless and Loüisa too;
My self the only Wretch: with open Heart
His undesigning Virtue told me all,
And call'd me in a Partner to his Pleasures;
Thus in this Mist of Thought, of Doubt and Woe,
I know not what to wish or to resolve,
Still to pursue this Passion wrongs my Friend,
And to suppress it, more than damns my self;
Here ever grows the Shelve, where Friendship splits.
Mysterious Passion, potent to create
The fiercest Torment, or the fiercest Joy!

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Prince of Conde and Rosine.
Prince.
This was the Day, Rosine, the wish'd-for Day
My greedy Soul had treasur'd up so long,
And in contracting Fancy half possest,
To blot out every blacker Hour of Life,
And pay with double Interest of Joys,
Courtship's dull Toils, and Expectation's Pangs;
The Day is now arriv'd, but how unlike
That Day deceiv'd Imagination form'd!
Charlotta too is mine, and yet not mine;
Oh jealous Grudgings of a love-sick Mind!
What tho her Hand, her Father, and the Priest
Confirm'd her mine by Law, the stronger Law,
Of Inclination disannuls the Tie,
And still with-holds her Heart.

Rosine.
Have you remark'd
Aught of substantial Sorrow, aught beyond
Th'affected Scruples of a bridal Qualm?

Prince.
Too many damn'd convincing shocking Proofs
Of a displeas'd, an alienated Heart,
This day have I receiv'd; for e'en but now,
As at the Altar, side by side, we stood,
To hear the Marriage-Ceremonies read;
When as the Priest advanc'd to join us one,
A sudden Trance surpriz'd the swooning Maid,
A livid Pale those Cheeks that ought to shew
The glowing Beauties of a wishing Bride;
Her Hand, her Heart, and every Member spoke
A strong Reluctance to the hated Act.

Rosine.
There must be then some more than common Cause
To you unknown, that works her Passions thus;
Perhaps her Soul (but let not me suggest
The dangerous Thought) might be engag'd before.

Prince.
I would not have this Jealousy take root,
And want the Confirmation; of the two,
Both Rocks to Peace, and Curses of the Mind,
The Knowledge, or Suspicion of a Wrong,
The Knowledge is the least; and here a Wrong,
As much I doubt there is, strikes deep indeed:
But since to live in doubt, is to go thro
A direful Load of complicated Tortures,
To scorch in Flames, to grind upon the Wheel,
And to be flea'd with Strokes of Iron Rods,
Oh all-discerning Heaven! if Mercy be
The glorious reigning Attribute above,
Solve me this Riddle and explain my Fate.

Rosine.
Then as a Man, support what I reveal;
Thus hear your Doubts explain'd: and long e'er now
Had I with zealous Duty told you all,
And stopt those sad Events that may ensue,
If sooner I had known the fatal Truth.
Charlotta is the King's, at least her Heart;
This very Hour I heard it from Alicia,
The Cabinet of all her inmost Counsels,
Whom for your surer Service have I won
By a pretended Courtship, to disclose
The Secrets of her House.

Prince.
Rosine, I thank thee;
Now thou hast made me what I wish'd to be,
Rather than starve in doubt, a knowing Wretch;
I know the Wound,—but who can know the Cure?
Here is indeed a Plot concerted well
Against my Faith, my Honour and my Peace,
The King, Charlotta, and her Father too,
All, all Confederates: is't not so, Rosine?

Rosine.
The King, no doubt, is ignorant of your Marriage,
As Montmorency may perhaps be still
Of the King's Passion, or his Daughter's Guilt.

Prince.
No, Montmorency knew the curs'd Intrigue,
And chose out me an Instrument to skreen
His House's Scandal, and his Daughter's Shame:
Was this his Reason? nay, he counsell'd well,
Our Marriage might be solemnized thus
I'th' dark, and secret from the Eye of Light.
Now as I doubt not but the precious Sin
Has been repeated o'er and o'er again,
The amorous Monarch now may revel free,
And feast on Beauties at another's Cost.

Rosine.
You carry your Suspicions on too far,
To your own Torture only, having yet
No Confirmation of the King's Success,
Aught farther than his Hope.

Prince.
I never yet,
'Tis true, surpriz'd them in the very Fact;
But if our Thought can see, or Reason judge,
I have sufficient Proof to make me mad:
Shall I sit then thus patient with Disgrace,
And like a tame believing doting Husband,
Caress a faithless Beauty in my Arms,
Who in the Height and Fury of Enjoyment,
Shall in her own lascivious absent Thoughts
Bestow her lavish Raptures on another?

Rosine.
My Lord, my Lord—

Prince.
Nay, do not interrupt me now,
When I would give my Madness all its Reins;
Patience, my Soul disdains its Stoick Maxim,
The Coward's Virtue, and the Knave's Disguise:
Oh Vengeance take me all, I'm wholly thine.
Let those suspend Revenge, and bury Wrongs,
Whose frozen Souls unapt for nobler Views,
Can live on distant Hopes, and pause o'er Mischief;
Let those be mute, whose Bliss is Ignorance,
By Priestcraft preach'd into a foolish Virtue,
And patient' cause they know not when they're injur'd.

Rosine.
Would you have Justice? calmly then resolve
Upon the Means that will effect it best,
Nor hurry rashly on you know not what;
First judge, then execute.

Prince.
Let Fools contrive,
And coward Statesmen weary the long Nights
In planning Dangers that they dare not face,
And gain Applause from dilatory Counsels;
The Great but think of Glory or Revenge,
And make them both their own: Yes, yes, Rosine,
With open Heart I hug the mighty Thought.

Rosine.
I must attend him nearly, to prevent
Whate'er his Fury rashly may attempt.

[Aside.
Prince.
Since they have rais'd this Monster in my Breast,
I'll give its Range to the destructive Guest;
Let its resenting growling Rage go on,
Themselves the Cause, the Danger be their own.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

King and Villeroy.
King.
Villeroy be near me, for indeed thy King,
Tho every View of Danger be far off,
Far as the wary Mind of Peace could wish,
His martial Spirit takes not the Alarm
From arming Princes, or combining Crowns,
Is grown at last distrustful of himself.

Vill.
But whence can it proceed?—

King.
To tell thee that,
Would be to shew my Picture thro a Glass
With blacken'd Colours, and diminish'd Lustre;
My self have on my self commenc'd a War,
Reason gives back, and Resolution shrinks,
And all the Rebel in me gets the day.
I am in Chains, Villeroy, a Woman's Chains,
Weak as the weakest Slave that e'er was yet
Caught by a Look, a Feature, or an Air;
Yes, Montmorency's Daughter haunts my Soul,
[Villeroy starts.
Whatever Sport, Amusement or Retreat,
It seeks for Refuge from the fair Intruder:
For Beauty like a Spirit steals its Way,
Thro every Fence and Fortress of the Mind,
And in the strong Idea still retains
The distant Person, and the Gazer's Heart.

Vill.
How! Montmorency's Daughter! sure e'er now
The Prince of Conde has espous'd the Fair,
[Aside.
But it is now of moment I conceal it,
And, if I can, divert the fatal Flame.

King.
But why should Love be falsely charg'd the Vice,
That ought to be the Glory of a Man?
As the superiour Passion of the Mind,
Be it the superiour Privilege of Kings,
The Foremost of Mankind. Have I not read,
That all those mighty Sons of War, who shine
In History, so fam'd for great Exploits,
And Battels never lost, have yielded there?
Since in the Chace of Glory, I have still
Propos'd these great Examples to my Sword,
If Love a Weakness be, and they have lov'd,
Let their Examples then extenuate mine.

Vill.
False Argument, weak Error of the Mind!
Excuse me, Sir, unworthy him that shews it;
Shall he whose Will is Fate, whose Nod a Law
To all the Tributary Nations round,
By one unbridled Frailty sully all
His Harvest of accumulated Glories,
Undo the Labours of twice twenty Years,
And now when when every Eye stands gazing on,
Thus tumble from the Precipice of Fame?
Let not victorious Henry stoop so low,
To varnish o'er his own by other's Faults;
Be it his Pride, to copy wisely out
The greatest Actions of the greatest Men,
And where they err, his Glory to dissent.

King.
Villeroy, no more, you torture me in vain,
I am asham'd to look into my self,
To find how mean, how impotent I am,
How fal'n, how much unlike what once I was.
Oh Anthony, thou great unhappy Victor!
Like thee amidst the Flush of full Success,
I drive on Rocks, and languish for Destruction,
Bound in a second Cleopatra's Charms;
But with this juster Difference, as the first
With Female Cunning, and with borrow'd Help,
Deriv'd her wicked Power from magick Aid;
Mine with a lavish Stock of Nature's Bounty,
Unconscious of her Charms, puts gayly forth
A fair Variety of guiltless Lustre,
Shines without Art, and kills without Design.

Vill.
The stronger are the Fetters that enslave,
The greater is the Praise to struggle thro.

King.
Such Praise but few indeed dare merit well,
Or fewer yet desire: Oh tempting Ruin!
But I will break the Charm, or wear no more
The useless Title of a fetter'd King;
Nor sway the Gallick, Empire, and yet want
The Power to sway the Empire, o'er myself.
Could I do this? And wherefore could I not?
This I enjoin my Soul, (great Enterprize!)
To make the Test and Standard of its Glory.
Yes, Villeroy, I will dare resolve on Freedom,
Let Love and Beauty ply their strongest Art,
Against each potent Spell I'll man my Heart,
Redeem the Monarch from the Lover's State,
And in my foremost Triumph number That.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Boüillon
solus.
It is decided, Friendship's brittle Tie
No longer shall amuse me on the Rack,
With the vain Comfort of an honest Wretch:
Let Virtue dictate to the Stoick Mind
Self-strivings, Patience, Abstinence, and Pain,
I cannot brook the tasteless starving Precept;
I burn, and must allay the raging Flame:
Let Sin be fatal, and be Love a Sin,
It is a glorious Way of Sinning sure,
So strong, so rich the Motive and Reward.
Let Vendosme have her Heart, I'll heave him thence,
Supplant his hoping unsuspecting Blindness,
And take his place myself:—Sweet impious Thought!
But see she comes, the damning Fair-one comes,
With pointed Eyes, and Arbitrary Charms,
To prompt, to edge, and justify my Guilt:
I will attack her Soul on every side,
I'll pour out all my Pains, and by the Heat
Of furious Pleadings force her to be kind.

Enter Loüisa.
Loüisa.
On what a troubled Main do we embark,
When first we enter on the State of Love?
One constant Series of unconstant Tides,
Mixtures of Doubt and Hope attend us all:
Th'Unhappy live in one continual Curse
Of ever-craving, never-quench'd Desire;
The Happy, (if we such may happy call,
Whom Fortune flatters with her Syren Tongue)
Find every fickle Hour their Tortures too,
Their Fears, their Griefs, their Jealousies, and Wants.
No more myself, I wander up and down
In search of something, but I know not what,
And yet methinks 'tis Vendosme that I seek.
Hah! here's the Duke Boüillon! I'll of him
(Oh fond Impertinence of Woman's Love!)
Inquire the Health and Welfare of his Friend.

Boüill.
Happy the Subject, were the Subject Love,
That does so well employ Loüisa's Thought;
Happy the Lover that so well succeeds,
To gain his prosp'rous Suit admittance there.

Loüisa.
Flattery, my Lord, becomes a Courtier's Tongue,
And you, no doubt, have learn'd the modish Vice.

Boüill.
Loüisa, now you do a willing Wrong
Both to yourself and me, to think that Love
(For who can gaze on thee, and not adore?)
Can speak a Language foreign to its Nature,
Or Beauty like your own wants power to awe
The wily Courtier's Heart, and fix it true.

Loüisa.
Alas! my Lord, I came not now to hear
The Praise of Beauty, or the Sighs of Love,
All distant from my Thoughts, I would enquire
Of you his Bosom-Partner and his Friend,
When you had seen the Duke of Vendosme.

Boüill.
Hell!
Does she come here to sport upon my Pains,
And to upbraid me with the guilty Thought
Of broken Faith and violated Friendship?
The Duke of Vendosme, Madam!

Loüisa.
Yes, my Lord,
I nam'd the Duke of Vendosme.

Boüill.
Then, Loüisa,
The Duke of Vendosme's here.

Loüisa.
My Lord Boüillon,
I do not understand your dark Reply,
Unless you mean by Friendship's sacred Union,
Yourself a second Vendosme.

Boüill.
Oh Damnation!
Still will she strike on that ungrateful String,
And make me by severe Reflection see
A Figure I abhor, my self a Villain.
But I will now go thro: Yes, fair Loüisa,
To thee, to thee I'll be the Duke of Vendosme,
At least with Vendosme's Eyes I'll view thy Beauties,
And pay 'em (Heaven and Earth attest my Vows!)
A Heart, a Soul as full of Love as his.

Loüisa.
Is this the Duke Boüillon, Vendosme's Friend?

Boüill.
No, I disclaim the Alliance, cancel all
The Vows, the slight Engagements that oppose
Love's nobler Passion, and deny me thee:
Let this, thou charming Cause of all my Guilt,
This sacrificing all the World holds dear,
This Wreck of Virtue, Friendship, Faith and Fame,
Convince thy Pity, argue on my side,
To what a fierce Extravagance I love.

Loüisa.
Why do I thus by hearing share thy Guilt?
Are these the noblest Trophies you can boast,
A perjur'd Honour, and a Traytor Heart?
What then must Love on Friendship's Ruins thrive?
No, false Boüillon, no, the Man who dares
(So near the kindred Passions are ally'd)
When trusted and believ'd, betray the one,
Throws himself out unworthy of the other.

[Exit Loüisa.
Boüill.