University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE, A Prison. Orontes sitting.
Oront.
Wounded! Defeated! Taken! and in Chains!
How finish'd is my Woe! Yet Apprehension
Is wounded deeper, deadlier far, than I!
Siam, where art thou! Unauspicious Sagra!
Ipanthe is a Slave! And what Orontes?
All, All, is lost! where now are those big Views,
Which lately flatter'd my presuming Love?
Vast Change of Ill! Then, far above my Hopes,
Aw'd by her Pow'r, I trembled, looking up:
Now, gazing downward on her alter'd State,
I more despair! For 'tis not, now, her Heart,
Desire must pant for: Lost Ipanthe's Will
Obeys Ipanthe's Masters! Fruitless Thoughts!
I have no claim, ev'n were her Choice left free;
My Hope, untimely urg'd, was kill'd with Scorn!
Starts up.]
But, what has Love to do, amidst Destruction?
Cou'd I redeem her; give her back to Siam!
Revenge her Father's Death! were all this done!
Oh! vain, delusive Prospect!—What art thou?

Enter Selim.
Selim.
A Friend to every brave Unfortunate.

Oront.
I think, the Fav'rite Eunuch!

Selim.
The Wise, and Brave,
Well know, that Minds, enlarg'd by free Reflection,
Outstretch the narrow Prejudice of Custom:
Hence, I, a Foe to Siam, see your Worth,
Yes, tho' your Arms were hostile, see your Worth,
And, seeing, gaze with Admiration on it.

Oront.
'Tis greatly said: And, tho' I bend my Eye,
With all the Earnestness of Observation,
And Caution of a Faith, too oft deceiv'd,
I cannot read a Traitor's Look about you.

Selim.
When first I saw, and heard, the Great Orontes,
Love of his Virtue fir'd my languid Soul,
And bade me serve the Worth, I cou'd not imitate.

Oront.
I wou'd not, poorly, say, I am oblig'd,
I wou'd act Thanks, not speak them. Take my Will,
'Tis all my Power! Deserving Recompence,
You must have learnt, that Virtue's best Reward
Is her own conscious Excellence!

Selim.
If, possibly,
You doubt my Truth, name some most ardent Wish.

Oront.
What is there, worth a brave Man's Wish, but Liberty?

Selim.
Possess that Liberty: But, ere 'tis given,
Great Warrior, know, tho' much your Glory charms,
A stronger Motive has engag'd me yours.

Oront.
Amaz'd, I listen, and expect your Tale!

Selim.
Long ere the Rise of this unhappy War,
When Siam flourish'd, and Palanco reign'd,
Led by Desire of Knowledge, from Japan,
My Native Clime, I cross'd the spacious East,
And, after various Toils, and Perils past,
Arriv'd in Siam.

Oron.
Siam then was free!

Selim.
Not distant far, from the Menandrian Tow'rs,
Your Monarch's Residence, Tromaia's Lake
Extends its vast Immensity of Surface;
You cannot but remember, that the Way,
'Twixt Azebar, and Opbis, forces Travellers
To cross that mighty Lake.

Oront.
I know it well.

Selim.
Embark'd. and, yet, in sight of Land, a Storm
Rose, on a sudden; toss'd us Mountain-high,
And bulg'd our driving Vessel on a Rock:
All perish'd, but my self, reserv'd by Heav'n,
For your Deliv'rance; void of Sense or Motion,
The pitying Surges cast me on the Shore;
Chance led a solitary old Man thither,
Who bore me to his homely Residence,
All Nature was his Study; and he knew
More than plain Science taught: For he was read
In the mysterious Book of dark Futurity!

Oront.
Ha! Say'st thou? dark Futurity? where dwelt he?

Selim.
Have you not heard of Thrucra's famous Hill?

Oront.
I have.

Selim.
Some two Leagues East—

Oront.
Hold! for I dream!
Or I—The House stood shelter'd, did it not,
By seven tall, aged Palm-trees?

Selim.
Just seven such.

Oront.
Ye Pow'rs! Let me, still closer, chase my Wish;
Mark if I err—'Twas Northward from the Brow
Of a wild Precipice, immensely horrible,
And painful to the Sight! The curdling Blood
Chills in his Heart, who treads the dang'rous Cliff!
For, from th'out-jutting Top, a dreadful Steep
Falls many a Mile direct: The dizzy Eye
Akes with Contraction, and grows dim, in vain,
To search th'unsounded Bottom. From a Cave,
Which, many a Fathom low, gapes, black, and dismal,
A rushing River, rolling headlong down,
Dashes the sounding Rocks, with deaf'ning Roar!
The starting Traveller, misled by Chance,
Stands in the Wind, and trembles to look down
Upon the vast Variety of Horrors!

Selim.
Something like this—

Oront.
But like? Oh, hear me on!
For sure my Hopes have Reason! To the East
The Prospect soften'd: Cross the shining Lake,
A distant Glimmer from the waking Sun
Gilds the bright Domes of Menan's Palaces.
And, to the West, beneath a hanging Hill,
Two verdant Meadows stretch their flow'ry Bosoms,
Whose grassy Skirts meet, o'er a winding Rill,
Which sweetly trickling thro' th'entangled Spires,
Creeps ling'ring on, pleas'd with the soft Obstruction.

Selim.
The Man himself—

Oront.
Ay, say? The Man himself
Was grave, but not reserv'd; was it not so?
Short was his Beard, and spreading: Grey with Years;
His Eyes look'd soft with his Humanity;
Deep Wisdom sate on his unfurrow'd Brow,
Majestick, without State: His Tone of Voice
Was gently piercing?

Selim.
Right!

Oront.
And his Name?

Selim.
Agarthen.

Oront.
Poor, as you saw that Good, that Humble Man,
He was Orontes' Father!

Selim.
Well I know it;
And thence my Purpose springs.

Oront.
Oft, full of Tears,
His venerable Arms enclos'd my Neck!
When, last, he press'd me to his knowing Bosom,
My Son, said he, thy Fortune will be Great,
But greater far thy Toils! Retire, with me,
And thou art happy! But the World requires thee,
Why should I strive against the Will of Heav n?
I wonder'd at the Darkness of his Words,
Nor thought, that all he spake, was Inspiration.

Selim.
But listen; I have wander'd from my Purpose:
Recover'd by his skilful Charity,
I urg'd him to propose some fit Reward,
The Time will come, says he, when my Orontes
Shall owe to you, what now you owe his Father!
Be grateful, and be blest! Then he presag'd
The present Honours I possess in China,
And much he said of you; and much of Siam:
Let it suffice, at present, that I tell you,
This is the lucky Hour, that he foretold.

Oront.
But, said he nothing of the fair Ipanthe?

Selim.
You name Ipanthe with a Zeal, like Love!
And, now I call to mind that Start of Rage,
Which, lately, burst the Bars of your great Soul,
I stand confirm'd.

Oront.
Alas! my humble Birth
Forbids that high Presumption!

Selim.
Great and brave,
You owe that Glory to your own Desert,
Which others meanly borrow, from a Race
Of rais'd Forefathers. Come, I know, you love,
And Selim shall assist you to deserve her:
I hazard Life; but what is Life, compar'd
With Virtue's Charms? The raging Emperor
Sent me, ev'n now, with Orders to your Keeper,
Sizangar, Captain of the Royal Guards,
That he, on Pain of Death, shou'd suffer none
To see you: But it happens luckily,
That he has something to impart, of moment,
And is, by my Appointment, to disclose it
Anon, without the Gate; where a lone Vale
Secures wish'd Secrecy: You, in his Absence,
Observing well th'Instructions I shall give,
Escape, disguis'd; nor leave the lov'd Ipanthe,
Now on the Western side of this strong Tow'r.

Oront.
Some unknown Pow'r, propitious to her Vows,
Has blest expecting Virtue! Gen'rous Selim!
Grow to my Bosom: Let this strict Embrace
Engraft thee on the Soul of thy Orontes.

Selim.
We shou'd be cautious: Busy Ears may catch
Our Voices; we may talk, with far less Danger,
Under the Covert of yon friendly Gloom:
There, I'll disclose the Depth of my Intent;
And lift your Hope, at once, to Love, and Siam.

Oront.
From this auspicious Hour, let none, but Men
Who merit Misery, despair of Bliss!
Small Ills alarm not those, who rule above,
Most like a God, a God asserts his Pow'r:
When Man's too feeble; when no Eye, but Heav'n's,
Can pierce the gloomy Circle of our Woe!

[Exeunt.
SCENE, Another Part of the Prison, Ipanthe, Omalco, and Zarodin.
Omal.
I dare no longer urge rejected Love,
Obdurate Silence speaks resolv'd Disdain!
The Pain you give me, wou'd, indeed, be Pain,
But that you give it me! By you inflicted,
The Cause, that makes it mighty, makes it mild.
Illustrious Maid! I shall, no more, presume
To vex your Ear, with my unmoving Sorrow!
Unworthy, I forbear to hope in vain.

Zarod.
No want of Worth shou'd bar a Lover's Plea:
Such Modesty is Guilt, where Women judge.
Were equal Merit to the Object lov'd,
Requir'd from ev'ry Lover, then, how bold,
How blind, the Man, who durst address Ipanthe!
But I read Mercy in that lovely Frame;
There dwells a soft Divinity about you,
Which moves, at once, your Vot'ries to adore,
And you, to pity!

Omal.
Zarodin, you err!
That gentle Breast, warm as it is, with Pity,
Is cold, and chearless, to the Foes of Siam:
Her Country's Ruin; and her Father's Death,
The Guilt of Conquest, and the Chance of War,
Draw down the Vengeance of her Hatred, on us!

Zarod.
I wish, the fatal War had never been,
Or been less bloody; but Ipanthe, then
Unknown, was unoffended: Had your Charms
Oppos'd our Armies, what your Father's Sword,
Successless, fought for, had been gain'd by you,
And Siam had not fall'n. Nay! why these Tears?
You wou'd upbraid us, that you lost a Father:
The Conqu'ror of that Father has two Sons,
And both devoted; you may chuse your Victim!

Omal.
From the dark Shades, which bold your Father's Ghost,
If yet his Spirit wanders, or whate'er
New Form his transmigrated Soul inspires,
He will look back with Joy, to see Ipanthe
Fill his forsaken Throne! This cannot be,
But, with a Partner, of Chinæan Race;
Let that Reflection move you! Wretched Siam,
Weeps Tears of Blood: Those Tears your Pity dries,
And your lost Country, thus restor'd by you,
Will bless the charitable Love, that saves them.

Ipant.
Won, by the Force of Reason, to reflect
On my lost Freedom, and the Means, propos'd
To seat me in my mighty Father's Throne,
I blush to tell you, Time, perhaps, may move me.
But Thoughts, like these, shou'd, still, be slow of Growth,
Nor ripen, rashly, into fix'd Resolves!
Warm'd, by Reflection's Beams, they spring, in season,
And reach Maturity, by just Degrees;
Nor have I yet inform'd you, that Ipanthe
Has set a Price upon her worthless Love,
I fear, above your Bidding!

Zarod.
Name that Price—
It cannot be too dear, if Life can buy you.

Omal.
The Toil looks tempting, in a brave Man's Eye,
Which leads to the Reward of Love, or Virtue.

Ipant.
Young, and without Experience how to judge
Of artful Man: I know not which to name!
But, since I must impose, on him I chuse,
A dang'rous Trial of pretended Passion,
It shall be him, who dares do most to serve me.

Zarod.
'Tis I.

Omal.
'Tis I.

Ipant.
Nay! Both it cannot be.

Omal.
What Zarodin—may dare, himself best knows;
But this he dares not—

Zarod.
Dares not what, Omalco?

Omal.
Out-dare a Brother, in the Cause of Love.

Ipant.
Prince, forbear. Disputes, like thefe, are vain:
Wou'd you convince me of superior Worth?
This fair Occasion shall be given you both:
A Wretch has injur'd me, beyond Expression;
But Vengeance dwells not in a Woman's Hand!
Were I to lay the Crime before your View,
The Crime, which you must needs confess, most black;
Most horrid; most incapable of Pardon;
Fir'd with an Indignation, worthy Love,
What wou'd you do to right me?

Omal.
All, that Man
Can justifie, to Virtue, and the Gods.

Zarod.
I ghess th'Offender—And, he justly dies:
Justly; tho' much, indeed, his Glories merit;
Affronted by a Love, so far beneath you,
What cou'd you, less, decree?

Ipant.
But, he's a Man,
Who will not fall with Ease, nor unreveng'd:
His Courage, great, and dreadful as his Crimes:
No common Hand can execute the Deed;
Danger goes with it! But you both are bold,
And, doubtless, oft have seen the Face of Death,
When dress'd in all her Terrors: You have ask'd
Ipanthe's Heart: Ipanthe's Heart must now
Be sold, not giv'n: The Price, this, this, must pay;
[Draws a Dagger, and throws it at their Feet.
He, then, who bravely strikes the destin'd Steel
Through the vile Breast of this offending Man,
Is best entitled to Ipanthe's Love.

Zarod.
Who-e'er the Man, oh! that the Love were Zarodin's!

Omal.
Ipanthe's Enemies are mine; her Foes
Are Foes to Virtue, and must fall, unpitied:
(Aside.)
The brave Orontes must not fall unheard,
He cannot, sure, deserve such Punishment!
And, yet, the mild, the merciful, Ipanthe
Decrees his Fate! How can he, then, be Innocent?
She wou'd not punish in another's Breast,
What makes her own illustrious! 'Tis some guilt
Beyond my ghessing—But whatever Sin
Her Sentence has condemn'd—I'll think no more!
The Task be mine—

Zarod.
No! Be it mine, bright Maid.

[Both stoop together for the Dagger.
Ipant.
Hold! Ere you seize the fated Weapon, swear,
Swear to be Men, and use it in my Cause.

Omal.
Secure, that nothing, which you dare commend,
Will make Obedience Guilty: As a Proof
Of my unweighing Love, Omalco swears;
By those Two Pow'rs, whom, most, his Soul invokes,
He swears, by Love, and Thee:

Zarod.
By the Great Throne,
My Royal Father fills!

Omal.
By Heav'n's bright Eye,
Yon rayous Sun! and the fair Moon, his Sister!
By all the twinkling Train of starry Gods,
Which smile on China!

Zarod.
By all these, I swear,
He dies, whom you shall name:

Omal.
By me.

Zarod.
By me.

Omal.
Now, name the Man:

Ipant.
Wretches!—You call him Father.—
Why starts your Courage? Is your Love struck dumb?
That, speechless, you receive my first Command?
Whither is all your boasted Passion fled?
Your wondrous Darings?—Are your Oaths in China,
Loose as your Laws? Cool your great Flames already?
Presuming Men! Vain of your bloody Trophies,
Did you believe, a Woman cou'd be charm'd
With Murder? and Reward her proud Destroyers!
Away—be gone—! Slave, as Ipanthe is,
She cannot bear your Insolence of Love.
[Exit Ipanthe.

Omal.
Trembling, I wake, as from some shocking Dream,
Oppress'd with Horror! All amaz'd! and wild!
And doubtful, if my Senses yet deceive me!
O, Zarodin! why lov'd I this Ipanthe!
How cou'd that spotless Form conceal a Mind,
So stain'd with Cruelty? Forgive, ye Powers,
The needful Breach of my tremendous Vow;
Nor call it Guilt; which saves me from such Sin!

Zarod.
Misled to swear, I trouble not the Gods,
For needless Pardon:—'Tis enough, for me,
To know my self disdain'd,—scorn'd, I can scorn:
Let puling Lovers sigh a dull Despair,
And double-arm their Idol's Vanity!
Weak is the Wretch, who dreads the Female Thunder!
Which roars indeed; but has no Bolt to strike with.
Disdain's a fancied Ill: No Woman's Rage
Is worth a Man's Regard, who loves discreetly.
[Exit Zarod.

Omal.
Farewell, Remembrance of mistaken Beauty:
I lov'd her greatly! Love does wondrous Things,
But cannot make me Parricide, or Traitor.
Unhappy as I am, I'm Innocent;
And that speaks Peace to my afflicted Soul:
This Loss is Gain! since her unpitying Heart
Is swell'd with Rage; and steel'd with fierce Disdain.
Yet, she is Heav'nly fair! Hid o'er, with Charms!
Through ev'ry Feature shines enchanting Grace!
A softer Soul had made her all Divine.
[Exit Omalco.

Enter, on the other side, Orontes.
Oront.
As I approach the object of my Hope,
My Fear comes on me! Still this Cloud of Love
O'ershadows Resolution!
Ipanthe re-enters; and starts at sight of Orontes.
Royal Maid!
Start not: Nor wondre, that you see Orontes
Free, and unguarded: Heav'n looks kindly now;
And Siam may, once more, erect her Head.

Ipant.
Oh! Earth! and Heav'n! If thou can'st quit the Cause,
Of Virtue, and the toilsome Paths of Honour,
Who will, henceforth, unwearied, tread them more?
Fortune, and Liberty, are mighty Blessings:
But, Oh! too dearly sold, when Virtue buys them!
Cou'd I have thought, Orontes wou'd be free,
To plead the Cause of those, who ruin'd Siam?

Oront.
Guiltless, I tremble, at the black Idea
Of that detested Crime, which thou, bright Maid,
So little knowing, dost so well describe.
But, wrong me not:—Orontes brings you News,
Will better please you: I am, doubly, free;
The mighty Heiress to Palanco's Throne
No more a Slave, her Siam shall not fall.

Ipant.
Were there the fainteft Ray of distant Hope
For these unlikely, too unlikely, Joys,
I might, perhaps, forget your late Offence,
When, rudely, you insulted my Condition;
And, publickly, declar'd affrontive Love.

Oront.
If 'tis a Crime, to Love, how great my Guilt!
I'd kneel for Pardon, were Repentance possible!
But, force me not to aggravate my Fault,
By Breach of Vow! If I shou'd promise you
No more to act this dear, this tempting Crime,
That promise were, itself, a greater Sin.
Had Heav'n ordain'd, that none but Kings shou'd love you,
Heav'n had not bless'd a low-born Wretch, like me,
With Eyes to see your Beauty; or a Soul,
To taste that Excellence, which shines within you!
If, being lowly born, disgraces Worth,
Where is the Call to Virtue? Race, and Name,
Are but the Equipage, and Noise, of Honour:
The truly Noble are not known by Pomp;
But inborn Greatness, and diffusive Good.
Trace boasted Ancestry to its first Rise,
And start, to see Pride's humble Origine!
The honest Herdsman, who begot a Son,
Whose Son usurp'd a Crown, had frown'd with scorn,
And gen'rous Indignation, to have known,
His titled Off-spring e'er shou'd blush to own him!

Ipant.
Forbear these useless Arguments: And know,
When Time shall serve, I need not be instructed
To place a proper Value on Desert.
A Prison ill becomes a Theme like this;
And, while I wear these Chains, to urge Desires,
You durst not aim at, or conceal'd, before,
Looks, not like Love, but Insult:—Or my Hope
Misled my Apprehension, or, but now,
You told me, Siam shou'd again be free:
So great, so glorious, an Attempt, once crown'd,
Entitles you to name your wish'd Reward.

Oront.
I will not give that wish'd Reward a Name,
'Till I, so, claim it—Soon that smiling Hour
May come! For Great Cambaia's Monarch frowns
On China's Fortune: And the strong Pegu,
Trembling with Apprehension, feels the Fate
Of bord'ring Siam: Both, with joint Resolve,
Arm, in Alliance, and prepare for War:
Nor are your Subjects otherwise subdued,
Than, as they want a Head: They look abroad;
And emulate their Warlike Neighbours Hopes:
Already are the wafted Ensigns rais'd;
Proudly they curl, and wanton in the Wind,
And fan the marching Squadrons,—From a-far
The Drums hoarse Summons, and the Trumpets Call,
Are heard, delightful:—The rows'd Elephant
Rears his huge Trunk for Battel; grins with Wrath,
And inly ruminates the promis'd Ruin.
The sprightly Steed, pricking his warlike Ears,
Starts, at the shrill Alarm, snorts, and blows wide
His smoaky Nostrils; stamps, and foams, and paws;
And trembles, with the Rage of Expectation!
Fiercely he throws aloft his high-arch'd Neck,
Wild, and unbent; and, while the whistling Wind
Plays, gaily dreadful, through his quiv'ring Main,
Bounds, without Rule, and neighs along the Field.

Ipant.
This active Genius of the States, yet free,
Serves but to whet my sense of Slavery!
I wou'd not hear, what others do, to save
Their Country, but, what Means are left for me,
For me, and Siam!

Oront.
'Tis for that, I live.
Ere yon diminish'd Moon has fully wan'd,
Ipanthe, free as Air, shall see Orontes
Lead on her rally'd Armies, to assert
Recover'd Freedom, and her Right to reign.
I cannot, now, at large, relate the Cause,
To which we owe this Fortune; but the Eunuch,
Who, next the Throne, rules all—

Ipant.
What! honest Selim?
Oft, since I first became a Captive, he,
Full of Humanity, and noble Virtues,
Has sought Occasion to oblige, and comfort me.

Oront.
Ere many Moments pass, he will be here,
And you are free: But he has wisely caution'd,
That we submit our Persons to disguise;
Lest Chance betray our Hopes: The Road we take
Is full of Dangers: To this end, he brings
An Ointment, which will stain me to the Hue
Of a black Æthiop. That enchanting Form
Must change its proper Ornaments, and wear
A Man's Appearance. Give Success, ye Pow'rs!
To this Attempt; and who shall dare, henceforth,
Deny your Influence o'er the World below?

Ipant.
Till I may be, at large, inform'd, of all
The unghess'd Causes of a Turn, so strange,
I will content my self with silent Wonder;
And bless the Gods, unknowing!

Oront.
Let us expect, within, the near Return
Of friendly Selim; while I, there, unfold
The Plan, which Heav'n has form'd, to make you happy;
And, if, amidst the interrupted Tale,
Forgetful, I offend your Ear, with Whispers
Of something, foreign to the purpos'd Theme,
Will you not promise me, to pass it by,
And call it Transport? Will you quite condemn me,
If I presume to beg, that, being free,
You will permit the Wretch, who gave that Freedom,
To wear your Chains, and call himself your Slave?
[Exit Ipanthe.
Forgive, grave Pow'rs, who rule yon azure Plains,
If untim'd Love unfinish'd Glory stains!
Our Golden Hopes are burnish'd by Desire,
And all Life's Dross melts down, before Love's Fire.