University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

An Anti-Chamber.
Enter Martia and Camilla.
MARTIA.
Oh Love!
How vainly have I struggl'd with thy Power!
Thy Fires are inextinguishable grown,
And now this wayward inauspicious Night,
Confirms that Conquest thou hast long design'd,
Castruchio's Danger rends my Heart asunder,
And thus too late I find I love him more,
Than Duty, Life or Fame; the fatal Guest
For ever robbs my Bosom of its Rest.

CAMILLA.
Madam, dislodge the Enemy!

MARTIA.
—Dislodge him!
Impossible—I tell thee he commands
In chief my Soul, and lords it like a Victor;
And when I beat but an Alarm, all
The gentle Powers of Love desert to him.
Oh Martia! Where is all thy boasted Greatness?
That haughty Spirit, which was wont to bear
Its towering Thoughts to the sublimest Height,
Now humbled by the little Tyrant Love.

CAMILLA.
Yes, Madam, sunk to almost degenerate Passion,
Is't possible that you can love a Parricide?
And can you join against your Father,
And doat upon his Enemy?
For Heaven—for Nature's Sake,
Forget this shameful unbecoming Weakness,
Not worthy of the meanest Subject.

MARTIA.
Silence thy sawcy Counsel,
And streight devise some speedy Remedy,
To interpose and check the growing Danger,
Which threatens like a lowring Tempest both;
My Faculties are all benum'd with Fear,
And want the Power to act.

CAMILLA.
Can I instruct you when your Reason's fled,
Can I divert a Passion so intent
Upon its own Destruction?

MARTIA.
Why dost thou wreck me with thy dull Delay?
Castruchio is this Minute doom'd to Death:
For ought we know then, all our Hopes are gone;
Oh my Camilla! If thou e're didst love,
The wretched Martia, quick contrive some Means
This Horror to prevent.

CAMILLA.
Restore your Reason to its pristine State,
Let that direct you in the darksome Path,
Whither your Soul is fled—

MARTIA.
I love to that Degree,
I know not what it means.
Reason's a feeble, dull, laborious Beast,
That never leaves the Track, nor mends his Pace,
But Love's a Courser fiery and swift, which
No Bitt can manage till h'as gain'd the Goal.
Therefore conclude—

CAMILLA.
On what—

MARTIA.
—On some Relief
For him I love! Oh Castruchio! Thou
Once preserv'd, freed from th'impending Stroke
That threatens thee with Death! what further
Joys might I not hope for? Oh Camilla!
Give me some Comfort!—

CAMILLA.
—Could you procure
Your Father's Royal Signet, and by Stealth,
This Night convey him out of Naples safe.

MARTIA.
Oh lucky Thought! Then let us fly, Camilla,
Swift as Occasion, or a Lover's Wishes,
To save that God-like Man—And oh ye Heaven's prevent,
A Father's hard inexorable Fury.
Let Myriads of Afflictions fall on me,
I'll bear the Weight with Joy, to set him free.

[Exeunt.
Enter Ronveir alone.
RONVEIR.
Was ever such a sudden Turn of Mischief?
Alphonso and those Slaves, by some curs'd Stratagem,
Have by their Jaylor's Death their own prevented,
And scap'd Alberto's Fury—All goes wrong;
Dardania's fatal Beauty rends my Breast,
My Caution to divert the Tyrant's Passion,
Wholly employs my Thoughts, all other Cares
Of State, of Empire, and of Preservation,
Yield to the mightier Call of powerful Love:
Oh! he's a subtle, a fantastick God,
And can to any Form his Likeness change,
My tough old Heart is burnt by her bright Charms,
Again Dardania swells my shrinking Sinews,
And every Fibre beats with thrilling Anguish,
A Curse upon his doating Love-sick Brain,
The King, the furious King she has enflam'd,
Death to my Hopes, that cuts Imagination,
And makes my tortur'd Expectation dread
The wild Excursions of the hot-brain'd Tyrant.
[Enter Dardania.
Now I must counter-work my own Designs.

DARDANIA.
Oh you too rigid Powers! was ever Wretch
Like me the Sport of Chance?

RONVEIR.
—Take Comfort, Madam—
I am your Oracle—your better Genius,
To bring you Bliss, and chase these Tears away.

DARDANIA.
Art thou then there, thou Minister of Darkness,
I know thee, thou art Pluto's Orator,
And comest to lure me onwards to Perdition.

RONVEIR.
Say, Madam, to your Preservation rather.

DARDANIA.
And am I then so curs'd, to owe to thee
A Blessing—

RONVEIR.
Think on the Loss of all that's dear on Earth
Your native Honour and Castruchio's Life.

DARDANIA.
Hence, Flatterer, hence thou detested Pandar.

RONVEIR.
How, Madam?

DARDANIA.
A Midnight Emissary, that broods Despair,
And nurses Ruin to a great Perfection.

RONVEIR.
By Heaven, you wrong me, fair One,
I come to warn you of approaching Ill,
Before three Hours expire, you must indulge
The sensual Joy of the insatiate King.

DARDANIA.
Avert it, Gods—There Fate
Discharg'd its keenest Arrow on my Soul:
What yet untasted Miseries am I doom'd to?
Did the King send you?

RONVEIR.
He did.

DARDANIA.
Then I am lost beyond the Reach of Hope.
Let every Hour of my sad irksome Life
Accumulated Plagues endure—Want, Scorn,
Pride, Sickness, and the Height of Desperation,
Pursue me with alternate Strokes of Justice.
Blast all the Lustre of these Eyes with Blindness,
Furrow the Lines of this ill fated Face,
Till it become as wrinkled and deform'd
As Envy, Age, Despair or Death can make it,
Let me all these, or worse Afflictions bear:
But oh divert, you Gods, the impending Storm,
That threatens Violation of my Honour.

RONVEIR.
Compose your self, bright Excellence, there's yet
A way to save you from the Tyrant's Lust.

DARDANIA.
—Speak, my good Genius;
Go on; I do conjure thee, say the Means,
And I'll forget thy former Treachery;
Pardon thy Crimes and Insolencies past,
Give the calumniating World the Lie,
And for this one good Deed I'll swear thee honest.

RONVEIR.
—I will preserve you, save you still from Fate,
To bless me for your kind Deliverer.

DARDANIA.
Say how?
Repeat the only Virtue that thy Soul
Could ever boast, speak it aloud, Ronveir,
Till Heaven and Earth with the glad Accents ring,
And ye resounding Orbs in Consort join
To praise thee for this wondrous Act of Goodness.

RONVEIR.
—No more Encomiums, Madam,
Virtue's its own Reward—And that be mine;
You stand upon a Mountain's giddy Ridge,
If either way you leap, 'tis certain Ruin:
Then let not your ungenerous Distrust
Refuse that Hand wou'd guide you into Safety.
Let some remote Part of the Royal Palace
Be for a while your Prison, there conceal'd
You may avoid Alberto's fatal Love;
I will amuse the King, tell him you're fled,
Or rescu'd from my Care by Violence,
Then wait a grateful Opportunity,
To free your Lord, and give you to his Arms.

DARDANIA.
—That Thought
Has damp'd the Risings of my unfledg'd Joy,
Coud'st thou preserve, my Lord, thy Glory then
Wou'd in bright Wreaths of Virtue reach the Skys,
And like Cœcilia's powerful Harmony,
Draw Angels from their high Cœlestial Thrones,
To deck thy Brows with Immortality.

Ronveir leads Dardania in, and returns.
RONVEIR.
solus.
'Tis done, I have her now securely mine,
Her Charms I feel, as early Flowers the Sun
Invigorate and thaw my Icy Veins.
The flowing Blood warms with young Fires my Heart,
And reassumes its long forsaken Seat.
This is a beauteous an immortal Feast,
Jove might transform himself once more to tast,
Neglected, leave his Heaven again, to prove
The more extatick Joy of mortal Love.
[Exit Ronveir.

Enter Martia and Camilla.
MARTIA.
Whither will Love lead my misguided Heart;
How rashly I embarck in a Design
For which the Gods and all good Men will blame me.
Where will this end?—free him I must, and will,
And have procur'd the Means.
'Tis insupportable to fear his Death,
How then would the inhuman Deed distract me?
But shall I save Castruchio for my Rival?
I know he loves her with unbounded Passion,
Regardless of my Pains, he'll find some way
(Perhaps by the Destruction of my Father)
To shield that hated Fair from Violation,
Then turn me off to Infamy and Scorn,
While all their future Hours securely wast,
Bless'd in the Benefit of Martia's Crime.

CAMILLA.
—Unhappy Princess!

MARTIA.
Invention's on the Rack, and must remain
For ever so, or think on some Contrivance,
To make this Robber of my Quiet mine.
Vain are my Hopes, all my Endeavours vain,
I cannot form a Thought to comfort me
With the least flattering Prospect of Success,
Oh my distracted Soul! Aid me, Camilla,
Sooth me with some kind Probability
Of brighter View, or I'm undone for ever.

CAMILLA.
—Since 'tis impossible—

MARTIA.
Impossible indeed to live without him,
If ever I deserv'd thy Care, Camilla,
If thou regard'st thy Mistress's Pray'rs and Tears,
And woud'st preserve her from the lowest Misery
That ever Wretch, curs'd by ill Stars, was doom'd to,
Tell me which Way, what Arts are to be us'd
To make me happy—

CAMILLA.
If you wou'd moderate this Excess of Passion,
And calmly listen to your faithful Servant,
Some Hopes there are—

MARTIA.
—My better Angel, thou
That chearest me with the sweetest Melody
That ever charm'd a dying Love-sick Maid;
Go on—

CAMILLA.
—Some Hopes I say there are, but they depend
On Fortunes wav'ring Smiles, Fortune must crown 'em.
You know Dardania fires your Father's Soul,
Who languishes and dies for her Embraces;
His furious Temper wo'not long endure
The restless Pain of a despairing Passion,
But urge him in few Days to seize by Force
What she denies to supplicating Love.
Her Death may be the fatal Consequence,
Or if she lives, her violated Beauty,
Unworthy of Castruchio's Arms, must cause
A lasting Separation—One thing more remains,
You must deceive Castruchio
With a feign'd Story of her Rape or Death,
And as a Recompense of Liberty,
Which you bestow (then urging high your Love)
Propose to join his Hand in sacred Wedlock,
Eager for Freedom, which alone can give
Means to revenge his Wrongs upon the King,
And press'd by Gratitude, 'tis probable
He may compleat your Wish—I dread th'Event.
But there's no other way, and Heaven befriend it.

MARTIA.
Oh! my Camilla! had I but the Power
To thank thee as I ought, what Eloquence
Wou'd flow from my inimitable Tongue:
Or were I to reward thee to thy Merits,
I must be more than mortal; all the Blessings
That ever Fortune's Favourites receiv'd,
Be doubled on thee, for this grateful Thought.
On then, my Soul!
Let the Prophetic Counsel of Camilla
Arm and inspire thee with a daring Courage,
Of thy ill boading Fears, the Memory loose,
And break thro' all the Dangers that oppose.

[Exeunt.
SCENE a Prison.
Castruchio in Chains.
CASTRUCHIO.
All ye mute Race to Heavens Decrees submit,
And Pain, or Ease, contentedly endure,
Nor murmur they, nor wish for Dissolution;
The generous Horse obeys the Rider's Rein,
And chearful Birds in their wir'd Prisons sing,
Man, Man alone—that grumbling Brute of Sence,
Still think himself accurss'd in every Station,
Reason, the Badge of our Humanity,
Is Misery's dire Scourge—I tast that Scorpion's Sting,
Oh curs'd Reflection!—Hapless Dardania,
Perhaps ev'n now that lovely spotless Creature,
Is made the sportful Drudge of his rank Hours,
Oh give me Patience, Gods!—
The lustful Monster riots in her Charms,
And see the violated Matron now,
In Tears of Blood bewails her sully'd Honour,
And I must tamely bear this Load of Shame;
Too rigid Fate! It cannot, must not be;
No, let me tear my labouring Breast in Pieces,
Then dash my Heart against the stony Pavement,
And give the Wing to my imprison'd Soul.

Enter Martia and Camilla.
MARTIA.
Where is this Hero, whose undaunted Virtue
Seems like the Palm to flourish under Weight,
A Soul so temper'd for the Assaults of Fortune,
Her Smiles could never lull him into Vice,
Nor her Frowns stagger his intrepid Courage.

CASTRUCHIO.
Ha! Martia here!—sure that proud Beauty comes not
Ingloriously t'insult a Wretch in Chains,
And take her full Amends for slighted Love;
Alas, Fate has been much before-hand with her,
And I'm below the Curse of Pity now,
Yet what remains unfinish'd, say you Gods!
What further Miseries have you in store?

MARTIA.
Our Life is Shade and Sunshine, Troubles, Pleasures,
Fortune, Misfortune, Sickness, Health, Grief, Joy,
Succeed each other with unwearied Steps,
And the alternate Change fresh Vigour gives,
New Pleasures to the Sense;
But when too cruel Fate seems to have fix'd
Virtue like yours, the constant Mark of Vengeance,
All generous Souls as near ally'd or nearer,
Must pity and condole their Fellows Sufferings.

CASTRUCHIO.
So this Profusion of your Goodness, Madam,
Serves only, that for this faint Gleam of Light,
I shall more exquisitely tast my Sorrows,
It rouzes my lethargick Memory,
And wakes my endless cruel Torturer:
Alass, I'm wedded to Misfortune, grown
Familiar with my Fate.

MARTIA.
Suppose I more than pity'd you, Castruchio;
Suppose your Life and Liberty should both
At once be frankly offer'd, the Gift
Would be well worth receiving; wou'd it not?

CASTRUCHIO.
Indulge not, Madam, my expiring Hope,
Revive it not, for when that Flatterer dies,
I shall be nothing, and at Ease.

MARTIA.
You wou'd not think your self too much oblig'd,
To pay a trifling Ransom for your Freedom,
Within there—who waits?—

[Enter an Officer.
OFFICER.
What would your Highness?

MARTIA.
—Unbolt your Prisoner;
Hah, starts the Slave!—See my Authority.

[Shews the Royal Signet, and he unbolts Castruchio.
CASTRUCHIO.
Eternal Mercy with unwearied Wings,
Still meeting in a Circle crown your Years,
And bless you for this generous Act of Goodness.

MARTIA.
That's in your Power to grant.

CASTRUCHIO.
Oh name it,
And I will fly to execute your Orders,
Or may this Arm ne're right my Injuries,
Oh my glad Heart impatiently desires
To know a little how it may discharge
Its new Engagement—

MARTIA.
That Heart, Castruchio, is the Recompence,
That Heart, which like a Rock of Adamant,
Hath stood all Shocks of Fate, and Blasts of Fortune,
That Heart I love, admire, and doat upon.

CASTRUCHIO.
Oh my unhappy Stars, I have it not to give,
Alass, my Wife—

MARTIA.
She has not carry'd with her to the Grave
Your Love.

CASTRUCHIO.
—Hold Martia—hold—
What Earthquake shakes my Soul?—said you my Wife

MARTIA.
I say the Dead enjoy eternal Peace,
And thou art free from every Obligation.

CASTRUCHIO.
There broke the Strings of Life;
She has out-done me, reach'd the Goal of Fate,
And I the Coward, base Castruchio,
Tremble and lagg at the last Heat of Life.
But say—pierce my tormented, dying Ears,
With the sad Sounds; how did she meet her Fate?

MARTIA.
To save inviolate her Chastity
From my unhappy Father's lawless Passion,
She plung'd a Ponyard in her spotless Bosom.

CASTRUCHIO.
Oh! glorious End of unexampled Honour!
Yes she shall rise, rise to eternal Glory,
Whiles the hot Letcher burns in livid Sulphur,
Revenge will over-take him.
Give me my Chains again, I'll not receive
Inglorious Liberty from any Branch,
Of that accursed Tree—Die first Revenge,
And let Dardania's Ghost still wander
Unappeas'd—

MARTIA.
Would you avoid your Obligations thus?
I had no Hand, my Lord, in your Confinement,
Nor was I Cause of her unhappy Fate:
Have I for you forgot ev'n Nature's Law,
Forsook my Father, Honour, Glory, Fame,
Given the severest Proof of pure Affection;
And for a generous Return, this Hero,
This Demi-God, whom Naples doats upon,
Most gratefully rewards me with his Hate,
Leaves me to Shame, to Wretchedness, and Want.

CASTRUCHIO.
To what a Heighth of Misery am I wrought,
Misfortunes come so thick, no Shield can ward 'em,
I have no Power to give thee Misery,
And equally deny'd to make thee happy.

MARTIA.
I ask you nothing but your Love, Castruchio,
Let Hymen light his Torch, and join us ever.

CASTRUCHIO.
Hah! Know you what you ask?
I bear this hated Life but till I tear
Thy curs'd licentious Father from his Throne,
Then strike him to the Center, shrink my self
Into my Tomb, and follow my Dardania.

MARTIA.
I'll wean thee from thy Cares with my Indulgence,
Fidelity, and ever-living Love,
Shall blot the Memory of whose I was,
And quite expunge Alberto's Injuries,
Nor shou'd thy own Dardania merit more.

CASTRUCHIO.
Unhappy Maid! My Heart is all a wild,
A barren Soil, o'er-grown with Weeds and Cares,
Thou know'st the Blight has been abroad—Thy Father.

MARTIA.
Have I not lost him?
Disown'd him all, I've shun'd even Glory for thee,
That dazling Tempter of my Sex, Ambition,
Stir'd not my weak, my Womanish Resolves,
Love in the advers Ballance weigh'd down all.

CASTRUCHIO.
Ill fated Virgin, curs'd to love a Wretch,
Whom every God pursues with hoarded Plagues,
Thou may'st be warn'd by my Dardania's Fate,
That Innocence, nor Virtue are Secure
From partial Destiny's unerring Hand,
Thy Father's Justice must o're-take thy Folly,
And too severely punish thy Misfortune.

MARTIA.
Why dost thou vainly plead? why idly hope
To fright my Resolution with weak Reason?
Is there a Torture like despairing Love?
What is a Father's Rage? Alas, Castruchio,
A burning Fever preys upon my Vitals.

CASTRUCHIO.
There are a thousand happy blooming Youths
Not worn with Cares, nor wrinkled with Misfortunes,
Whom the hard Hand of Misery ne're grip'd,
That would with mutual Transports meet your Arms:
Sorrow, that fatal Winter, has benum'd,
And with her Icy Fingers froze my Blood.

MARTIA.
Then in these Arms let your Misfortunes vanish,
As Sol's bright genial Rays melt the cold Blood,
I'll warm you into Youth; the stagnate Pool
Shall circulate, and every Artery
Feel the enliv'ning Heat—these Cares that cloud
Your Brows, shall fly like Mists before the Rays,
The influencing Rays of Love and Beauty.

CASTRUCHIO.
Love, Honour, Gratitude, and Godlike Vengeance,
Swell my big Heart, rend my distracted Soul.
—Oh Martia! whither am I going?

MARTIA.
To a new Heaven of Love, to lasting Joys,
After a miserable Scene of Woe,
To tast the sweet Reward of suffering Virtue.

CASTRUCHIO.