University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Salome enters to Sohemus.
Salome.
I hope, my lord, young Hazeroth's affront
Will not pass unresented.

Soh.
I've dispatch'd
A message to the King: th'account I gave,
Imported nothing but severest truth;
Yet wittiest malice scarce cou'd feign a roll
Of keener calumnies.

Sal.
He mention'd me!

Soh.
Traduc'd you basely, by th'opprobrious name
Of Idumæan spinster, in degree
The third descendant of an heathen slave,
Who kept Apollo's temple.

Sal.
The King's veins
Hold the same blood, whatever is the source;
And if the wretch survives that vile reproach,
The King's a slave indeed. What was your crime?

Soh.
He said by my sole counsels were destroy'd,
All of the royal Asmonæan race,
Whom justice made the victims of the state:
Whose injur'd discontented ghosts too long
Had cry'd, revenge! but should not cry in vain:
Then half unsheath'd his sabre.

Sal.
That vain boy
Believes his near relation to the Queen,
Exempts his haughty youth from all restraint.
He's Mariamne's echo, and repeats
But half her menaces.

Soh.
What time more fit
To put her threats in act, than when the King
Flies with redoubled ardor to her arms?
Passion improves with absence, and his heart
So soft, and passive to the pow'r of love,
Will then be vacant only to his Queen.
Fortune of late a glorious scene disclos'd,
But soon snatch'd back the visionary joy!
The blissful hour is past—Curst, doubly curst
Be this boy-emperor, who tamely spar'd
The warmest friend that Anthony could boast.
Had Herod perish'd by his vengeful sword,
I soon had sent (for so he left in charge)
His Queen, the worship'd idol of his soul,
T'attend him to the shades.—Clouds of despair
Now terminate our view!

Sal.
Can you discern
No glimmering hope? Though dim, the distant ray
May serve to steer our course.

Soh.
The King will send
His son for hostage to reside in Rome.

Sal.
Were triple thunder vollied at the Queen,
It cou'd not rend her bleeding bosom more
Than such a message.

Soh.
At this little spark,
Discord may light her ever-burning torch:
Th' imperious Queen perhaps will edge her tongue,
With keen resentments for her ruin'd race:
For 'tis th' infirmity of noblest minds,
When ruffled with an unexpected woe,
To speak what settled prudence wou'd conceal:
As the vex'd ocean working in a storm,
Oft brings to light the wrecks which long lay calm,
In the dark bosom of the secret deep.
From such reproach, his promis'd joy may change
To coldness and distrust, perhaps to hate;
And their high souls that now, like friendly stars,
Mingling their beams in mutual ardor shine,
In fiercest opposition then will thwart
Each others influence, and divide the court:
Then, Mischief, to thy work!—

Sal.
In me you'll find
A sure assistant: Shall Pheroras join?

Soh.
I'd fly him at the quarry, but I fear
He'd check if other game shou'd cross the flight:
He scorns dissimulation, nor perceives
That nature never meant simplicity
A grace to charm in courts: he serves the crown
With such a blind disinterested zeal,
He's even proud t' obey.

Sal.
Let him enjoy
His cold-complexion'd principles, and fall
A traitor to himself.

Soh.
O Princess, born
To bless the world with a long progeny
Of future heroes, and renew the strain
Of valour, which the softness of your sex
Unspirited at first! so great a soul
Deserves, and sure is destin'd to a throne!
But hark!

Sal.
The Queen's approaching; she repairs
To sacrifice.

Soh.
'Tis best we both retire.

[Exeunt.