University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The Curtain rises to a Symphony of all sorts of Instruments of Musick. The Scene represents an Enchanted Grove, adorn'd and beautified with Fountains, Statues, &c. Urganda and Delia performing some solemn Ceremony of Enchantment. A full Stage of Singers and Dancers.
Urganda, and Delia.
Urganda.
Sound, sound, ye Winds the rended Clouds divide,
Fright back the Priest, and save a trembling Bride;
Assist an injur'd Lover's faithful Love:
An injur'd Lover's Cause is worthy Jove.

Del.
Successful is our Charm: The Temple shakes,
The Altar nods, th'astonish'd Priest forsakes
The hallow'd Shrine, starts from the Bridegroom's Side,
Breaks off the Rites, and leaves the Knot unty'd.

Urg.
Ye sweet Musicians of the Sky,
Hither, hither, hither, fly, fly,
And with enchanting Notes all Magick else supply.

[Urganda and Delia retire down the Scene, waving their enchanted Rods, as continuing the Ceremony.
A full Chorus of Instruments and Voices.
Sound the Trumpet, touch the Lute,
Strike the Lyre, inspire the Flute;
In Harmony,
Celestial Harmony,
All magick Charms are found;
Sound the Trumpet, sound.

[Here the Statues leap from their Pedestals, and form variety of Dances.
Chorus
of Singers after the Dance.
Musick so charms, and does so sweetly wound,
That ev'ry Sense is ravish'd with the Sound.

A Single Voice.
When Nymphs are coy,
And fly from Joy,
The Shepherd takes his Reed,
He plays a Tune,
She stops as soon,
And straight they are agreed.
The Battle near,
When Cowards fear,
The Drum and Trumpet sounds;
Their Courage warms,
They rush to Arms,
And brave a thousand Wounds.

Chorus.
By Harmony our souls are sway'd;
By Harmony the World was made.

A Second Dance. Singers again advance.
A single Voice
When with adoring Looks we gaze
On bright Oriana's heavenly Face,
In ev'ry Glance, and ev'ry Grace,
What is it that we see.
But Harmony,
Celestial Harmony!
Our ravish'd Hearts leap up to meet
The Musick of her Eyes,
The Musick of her Eyes,
And dance around her Feet.

Full Chorus of Voices and Instruments, as at first.
Sound the Trumpet, touch the Lute.
Strike the Lyre, inspire the Flute;
In Harmony,
Celestial Harmony,
All magick Charms are found;
Sound the Trumpet, sound.

A Third Dance
Urganda and Delia come forward.
Urg.
This Care for Amadis, ye Gods, approve,
For what's a Soldier's Recompence but Love?
When forc'd from Britain, call'd to distant War,
His vanquish'd Heart remain'd a Captive here;
Oriana's Eyes that glorious Conquest made,
Nor was his Love ungratefully repaid.

Del.
By Arcabon, like hostile Juno, crost,
And like Æneas driv'n from Coast to Coast,
The wand'ring Hero wou'd return too late,
Charg'd by Oriana with the Crimes of Fate;
Who anxious of Neglect, suspecting Change,
Consults her Pride, and meditates Revenge.

Urg.
Just in the Moment, when Resentment fires,
A charming Rival tempts, a rugged King requires:
Love yields at last, thus combated by Pride,
And she submits to be the Roman's Bride.

Del.
Did not your Art with timely Charms provide,
Oriana were his Wife, and not his Bride.

Urg.
In ancient Times, ere Chivalry was known
The Infant World with Monsters overgrown,
Centaurs and Giants, nurst with human Blood,
And dire Magicians, an infernal Brood,
Vex'd Men and Gods: but most the Fair complain,
Of violated Loves, and Lovers slain.
To shelter Innocence, and injur'd Right,
The Nations all elect some Patron-Knight,
Sworn to be true to Love, and Slaves to Fame,
And many a valiant Chief enrolls his Name;
By shining Marks distinguish'd they appear,
And various Orders various Ensigns wear.
Bound by strict Oaths, to serve the brightest Eyes,
Not more they strive for Glory, than the Prize;
While to invite the Toil, the fairest Dame
Of Britain is the boldest Champion's Claim.

Del.
Of all who in this Race of Fame delight,
Brave Amadis is own'd the hardy'st Knight.
Nor Theseus, nor Alcides, ventur'd more,
Nor he so fam'd, who, bath'd in Monster's Gore;
Upon his crested Helm the trampled Dragon bore.

Urg.
Ardan, that black Enchanter, whose dire Arts
Enslav'd our Knights, and broke our Virgins Hearts,
Met Spear to Spear, his great delivering Hand
Slew the Destroyer, and redeem'd the Land;
Far from thy Breast all Care and Grief remove,
Oriana's thine, by Conquest as by Love.

Del.
But haughty Arcabon, of Ardan's Blood,
And Arcalaus, Foes alike to Good,
Gluttons in Murder, wanton to destroy,
Their fatal Arts as impiously employ:
Heirs to their Brother's Mischiefs, and sworn Foes
To Amadis, their Magick they oppose
Against his Love and Life.

Urg.
—With equal Care,
Their Vengeance to prevent, we thus prepare.
Behold the Time, when tender Love shall be
Nor vext with Doubt, nor prest with Tyranny.
The love-sick Hero shall from Camps remove,
To reap Reward: The Hero's Pay is Love.
The Tasks of Glory painful are, and hard,
But ah! how blest, how sweet is the Reward!

As she retires, Chorus of all the Voices and Instruments repeat.
Sound the Trumpet, touch the Lute,
Strike the Lyre, inspire the Flute;
In Harmony,
Celestial Harmony,
All magick Charms are found;
Sound the Trumpet, sound

SCENE II.

The SCENE changes to the Inside of a magnificent Temple. King Celius, and the British Court. Men and Women magnificently dress'd in painted Habits, after the ancient manner. The Priests and Druids in their Solemnities, seeming in Confusion, replacing their Idols, and setting their Altars in order. Thunder and Light'ning. In the mean time Constantius, Oriana, and Corisanda come forward.
Const.
Lovers consult not Stars, nor search the Skies,
But seek their Sentence in their Charmers Eyes.
Careless of Thunder from the Clouds that break,
My only Omens from your Looks I take;
When my Oriana smiles, from thence I date
My future Hope; and when she frowns, my Fate.

Ori.
Cease, Prince, the Anger of the Gods to move
'Tis now become a Crime to mention Love.
Our holy Men interpreting the Voice
Of Heav'n in Wrath, forewarn th'ill-omen'd Choice.

Const.
Strange Rules for Constancy your Priests devise,
If Love and Hate must vary with your Skies.
From such vile Servitude set Reason free;
The Gods in ev'ry Circumstance agree
To suit our Union, pointing out to me;
In this right Hand the Scepter that they place,
For me to guide, was meant for you to grace.
Thou best and fairest of the beauteous Kind,
Accept that Empire which the Gods design'd,
And be the charming Mistress of Mankind.

Cor.
Nuptials of Form, of Int'rest, or of State,
Those Seeds of Pride, are fruitful in Debate;
Let happy Men for gen'rous Love declare,
And choose the gentle Virgin, chaste, and fair:
Let Women to superior Fortune born,
For naked Virtue, all Temptations scorn;
The Charm's immortal to a gallant Mind,
If Gratitude cement whom Love has join'd.
And Providence, not niggardly, but wise,
Here lavishly bestows, and there denies,
That by each other's Virtue we may rise.
Weak the bare Tie of Man and Wife we find,
But Friend and Benefactor always bind.

The King advances, followed by Priests and Train.
King.
Our Priests recover: 'Twas a Holy Cheat;
Lead back the Bride, the Ceremonies wait.

Ori.
What Heav'n forbids—

King.
—'Twas Ign'rance of my Will,
Our Priests are better taught: What now is ill,
Shall, when I please be good; and none shall dare
Preach or expound, but what their King wou'd hear.
[Priests bow profoundly low.
Ere they interpret, let 'em mark my Nod,
My Voice their Thunder, this right Arm their God.
[Looking sternly at 'em they bow again as before.
Prince take your Bride,

Ori.
'Twere impious now to suffer him my Hand.

[Refusing her Hand.
King.
How dar'st thou disobey, when I command?
Mind, mind her not, nor be disturb'd at Tears,
A counterfeited Qualm of Bridal Fears:
You'd see, cou'd you her inward Motions watch,
Feigning Delay, she wishes for Dispatch;
Into a Womans Meaning wou'd you look,
Then read her backward, like a Wizard's Book.
Priests, to your Charge—back to your Office go.

[Spoken with a stern, imperious Air. Priests retire, obsequiously bowing, as before.
Ori.
Th'Obedience that is due, and which I owe,
Dread Sir, shall ever be observ'd by me;
It is not to dispute your high Decree
That thus I kneel, but humbly to implore
One Moment's short Suspense; I own your Pow'r
And I submit. Grant but this small Delay,
And as the Prince decides, Oriana shall obey.

Const.
I have no Will but what your Eyes ordain,
Destin'd to Love, as they are doom'd to reign.

King.
[Aside]
Into what Hands, ye Gods! have ye resign'd
Your World? Are these the Masters of Mankind?
These supple Romans teach our Women Scorn;
I thank ye, Gods, that I'm a Briton born.
[To them]
Agree these Trifles in a short Debate;
No more Delays, I am not us'd to wait.

[King Celius retires back into the Temple.
Oriana, Constantius, and Corisanda, after a short Pause.
Ori.
Your Stars and mine have chosen you, to prove
The noblest way how gen'rous Men shou'd love;
All boast their Flames, but yet no Woman found
A Passion, where Self-love was not the Ground.
Slaves we are made, by false Pretences caught,
The Briton in my Soul disdains the Thought.

Const.
So much, so tenderly your Slave adores,
He has no thought of Happiness, but yours.

Ori.
Vows may be feign'd, nor shall meer Words prevail,
I must have Proofs, but Proofs that cannot fail.
By Arms, by Honour, and by all that's dear
To Heroes, or expecting Lover's swear.

Const.
Needs there an Oath? and can Oriana say,
Thus I command, and doubt if I'll obey?

Ori.
Prepare then, Prince, to hear a Secret told,
Which Shame wou'd shun, and blushing I unfold,
But Danger's pressing, Cowards will grow bold:
Know—then—I love.

Const.
[eagerly]
Can you command Despair, yet Love confess,
And curse with the same Breath with which you bless?

Ori.
[Disdainfully putting him off.]
Mistake me not—that I do love, is true,
But flatter not your self, it is not you.

Const.
[starting]
Forbid it, Gods, recall the fatal Breath
Which spoke that Word, the Sound is instant Death.

Ori.
Too late to be recall'd, or to deny,
I own the fatal Truth—if one must die,
You are the Judge; say, is it you—or I?

A Messenger from the Temple.
Mess.
The King is much displeas'd at this Delay,

Constantius walking about in a passion.
Const.
And let him wait, while 'tis my Will to stay.

Ori.
Bear back a gentler Answer: we'll obey.

[Exit Messenger.
Const.
Hence ev'ry Sound that's either soft, or kind;
O for a War like that within my Mind!
Say, Flatterer, say, ah! fair Deluder, speak,
Answer me this, ere yet my Heart shall break;
Since thus engag'd, you never cou'd intend
Your Love, why was I flatter'd with your Hand?

Ori.
To what a Father and a King thinks fit,
A Daughter and a Subject must submit.
Think not from Tyranny that Love can grow;
I am a Slave, and you have made me so.
Those Chains which Duty hath put on, remove;
Slaves may obey, but they can never love.

Const.
Cruel Oriana, much you wrong my Flame,
To think that I could lay so harsh a Claim.
Love is a Subject to himself alone,
And knows no other Empire but his own;
No Ties can bind, which from Constraint arise,
Where either's forc'd, all Obligation dies.
O fatal Law! requiring to resign
The Object lov'd; or hated, keep her mine.

Ori.
[soothingly]
Accuse me not of Hate, with equal Eyes
I judge your Merit, and your Virtue prize:
Friendship, Esteem, be yours, bereft before
Of all my Love, what can I offer more?
Your Rival's Image in your Worth I view,
And what I lov'd in him, esteem in you;
Had your Complaint been first, it might have mov'd;
He then had been esteem'd, and you belov'd:
Then blame me not, since what decides your Fate,
Is that you pleaded last, and came too late.

Cor.
Hard Fate of Merit! Fortune holds the Scale,
And still throws in the Weight that must prevail!
Your Rival is not of more Charms possest,
A Grain of better Luck has made him blest.

Const.
[aside]
To love and have the Power to possess,
And yet resign, can Nature yield to this;
Shall Nature, erring from her first Command,
Self-Preservation, fall by her own Hand?
By her own Act, the Springs of Life destroy,
The Principles, and Being of her Joy?
Tormenting Thought! Can Nature then approve
Blessings obtain'd, by cursing whom we love.
Possessing, she is lost—renouncing—I—
Where's then the Doubt?—Die, die, Constantius, die.
Honour, and love, ye Tyrants, I obey,
Where'er your cruel Call directs my Way;
To Shame, to Chains, or to a certain Grave,
Lead on, unpitying Guides—behold your Slave.

Ori.
Tho' Love be wanting to relieve your Care,
Glory may make amends, with Fame in War;
Honour's the noblest Chace, pursue that Game,
And recompense the Loss of Love with Fame;
If still against such Aids your Love prevails,
Yet Absence is a Cure that seldom fails.

Const.
Tyrannick Honour! what amends canst thou
E'er make my Heart, by flattering my Brow?
Vain Race of Fame! unless the Conquest prove
In search of Beauty, to conclude in Love.
Frail Hope of Aids! for Time or Chance to give,
That Love, which, spite of Cruelty, can live!
From your Disdain, since no Relief I find,
I must love absent, whom I love unkind;
Tho' Seas divide us, and tho' Mountains part,
That fatal Form will ever haunt my Heart.
O dire Reverse of Hope, which I endure,
From sure possession, to despair as sure!
Farewel, Oriana—yet, ere I remove,
Can you refuse one Tear to bleeding Love?
Ah! no, take heed—turn, turn those Eyes away,
The Charm's so strong, I shall for ever stay.
Princess, rejoice—for your next News shall be,
Constantius dies—to set Oriana free.

[Exeunt severally.