University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

MARIAMNE, ARSINOE.
Mariamne.
The Princess and her friend were unprepar'd
To pay the decencies the day requires:
The most unpractis'd in the courtier's art,
And they who hate us most, might sure vouchsafe
A smooth unmeaning compliment at least.
But night-born treason is too tender ey'd,
To bear the blaze of dazzling majesty,
And seeks the guilty shade.

Ar.
They're both depriv'd
Of your propitious smile; so dire a loss
Wou'd cloud the most serene.

Mar.
That sullen gloom
Proceeds not from a conscience of their crimes,
Which sues by penitence for royal grace;
But argues high contempt: their brows display
A banner of defiance, and avow
Their trait'rous combination: but I'll quell
The tow'ring crest of their presumptuous hate,
Or perish in th' attempt. Henceforth forbear
All commerce with the Princess, and her train
For fear th' infection of example taint
Your sound allegiance.

Ar.
If a single thought
Were tinctur'd with disloyalty, this hand
Shou'd pierce my heart to drive the rebel out.
Your strict command with pleasure I obey;
For at the sight of Salomé, my breast
Shivers with chilling horror, and revolves
The destiny which a Chaldæan seer
Of late foretold: The pious sage had pass'd
Full sixty winters in a private cell;
His locks were silver'd o'er with reverend white;
And on his cheeks appear'd the pale effect
Of studious abstinence: His custom was
In his small hermitage t' outwatch the moon,
To marshal in his schemes the host of heav'n;
And from their ruling influence at the birth,
Form'd his predictions. As the Princess pass'd,
I ask'd him if his foresight cou'd discern
The colour of her fate: he answer'd, black!
'Tis black checquer'd with blood! deep in her breast
I see the dagger doom'd by heav'ns decree
To cut her half-spun thread.

Mar.
What pow'rful cause
Urg'd you to hear a vain diviner tell
His waking dreams? Perhaps you went to know
What happy star presided o'er the love,
Which Sohemus I hear address'd to you:
If so, I'll be your oracle; forbear
T' enquire the doubtful omens of the sky,
And fix your faith on this unerring truth:
If your ill-judging choice mis-lead your heart,
To meet his passion with an equal flame;
Henceforth for ever banish'd from my sight,
In exile you shall end an odious life;
Attended only in that friendless state
By black remorse, which step by step pursues
Th' ingrateful and the false.

Ar.
I long have felt
Th' afflicting hand of heav'n, without the guilt
Of murmur or complaint; but to be thought
False and ingrateful, is too much to bear.
Chase that suspicion from your royal mind;
Nor cast my blameless innocence a prey
To those, who envy your distinguish'd grace,
With which I've long been honour'd.

Mar.
To receive
Private addresses from my deadliest foe,
A wretch, whose dark infernal arts have wrought
The ruin of my race, but ill repays
My condescending favour, which vouchsaf'd
To lose the stile of subject and of Queen,
In friendship's softer name.

Ar.
While thus I kneel,
Imploring heav'n t' attest my spotless faith,
May I be fix'd a dreadful monument
Of perjur'd guilt, if e'er my bosom gave
Reception to his suit! Were he possess'd
Of all the sun surveys, and form'd to please
With every grace that captivates the soul;
And your command concurrent with his love,
Shou'd urge me to comply; that hard command,
And that alone, I dare to disobey.—
No, my dear Roman! nothing can deface
Thy image from thy virgin-widow's breast;
Th' inviolable band of strong desire
Shall ever join our souls!

Mar.
Dismiss your fears,
And let them with my vanish'd doubt expire:
But, whence this transport of reviving woe?
Recite the series of your fate at large.

Ar.
When Anthony and Cæsar found the globe
Too narrow, to suffice the boundless views
Of two such mighty spirits, my virgin-vow
Was plighted to a brave Patrician youth,
The friend of Cæsar: Anthony proscrib'd
The chiefs who sided with his potent foe;
And foremost in the tablet my lov'd lord
Was doom'd to slaughter: whilst with nuptial joy
His palace rung, crowded with friends who came
T' attend the bride's arrival, through the gates
A troop of cut-throats rushing in, surpriz'd
And dragg'd him to his fate!—

Mar.
In that distress
What cou'd you do, and whither did you fly?

Ar.
At Alexandria then the fatal cause
Of Anthony engag'd my father's sword;
Thither I fled, and was receiv'd with grace
To Cleopatra's train: with her I came
To Palestine, where the detested sight
Of Anthony so rack'd me, and reviv'd
The sad remembrance of my murther'd lord,
I begg'd to be dismiss'd. You then receiv'd
The fugitive, whom fortune's rage hath made
Wretched indeed, but hath not pow'r to make
False or ingrateful.

Mar.
Poor Arsinoe!
My favours shall deface the memory
Of past afflictions: on a soul secure
In native innocence, or grief or joy
Shou'd make no deeper prints than air retains;
Where fleet alike the vulture and the dove,
And leave no trace. Blind fortune that bestows
The perishable toys of wealth and pow'r,
At random oft resumes them, pleas'd to make
An hurricane of life: but the firm mind
Safe on exalted virtue reigns sedate,
Superior to the giddy whirls of fate.

[Exeunt.