University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Enter severally Rheusares and Russus.
Rheu.
Russus , thro' all the Court I've sought for thee:
Hast thou well done, and like a trusted Friend?
Did I not straitly charge Cleomedon
Shou'd in the Assyrian Court remain, till Fate
And I could safely bring him forth.

Russ.
You did; but Oh, you may as soon command me
With these weak Arms to stay a roaring Lion,
Or set my Breast against a flowing Ocean,
And drive it to its Bounds, as stop great Minds,
When Beauty, Fame, and Glory, lead the way:
Thro' all th'Assyrian Court the Praises rung
Of Leamira's Beauty and Distress;
Her Praises and her Sorrows charm'd the Hero.
News came, the Medean Prince had broke the Truce,
And Ruine brought on Persia, left unguarded;
This scarcely told, the fierce Cleomedon
Flew swift as Persius to Andromeda,
To the Relief of Majesty and Love.

Rheu.
The Hand of Heav'n is in it,
All Foresight is in vain.

Russ.
He came, and soon as come, he conquer'd.
His Valour strait their sinking Forces rais'd,
And till Cyraxes, your brave Son, arriv'd,
Stood the first Candidate for Fame, unrival'd;
But in his Love-sick Eyes, alas, I read
The Victor is a Slave to Leamira,
And she, who at such distance warm'd, when near,
Will set him in a Blaze!

Rheu.
No more, the Preperations now begin;
I hear the solemn Musick this way comes:
Let's watch my Daughter, whose rebellious Mind
To Prince Tygranes is too much inclin'd;
And warn her of a Love she ought to shun,
Which, let alone, will to her Ruine run.
Of all the Blessings that on Mortals rain,
Womans the only Pleasure brings us Pain;
Tho' from her Lips the sweets of Hybla flow;
Or first, or last, they turn to killing Woe.
Fly the soft Sex; the fatal Syrens shun;
Th'Flint is not upon the Anvil thrown,
But soonest broken on the yeilding Down.
Tho' Rocks immure thy Heart, with Virtue joyn'd,
And all the Strength, and Courage of Mankind,
Woman, loves Plague, infects the noblest Mind.

The Scene draws and discovers Darius and Leamira seated on a Throne, with Guards and Attendants.
Enter Cleomedon, Cyraxes, and Rheusares attended, who rank themselves on each side the Stage.
Cleomedon and Cyraxes Kneel.
Cyraxes.
Long live Darius; Victory, Renown,
And all the shining Trophies Fame can give,
Eternally be his.

Cleo.
On his presuming Foes
Light all the Plagues of War, whilst lasting Wreaths
Of springing Laurel flourish on his Brow.

Dar.
Rise my Defenders, valiant Hero's, rise;
Share whist I live, a Scepter in my Heart;
And, when I dye, my Crowns.

Cleo.
Dear is the Greatness, gain'd by such a Loss;
When e'er you leave this Crown for an Immortal,
And the divinest Princess Heav'n e'er form'd,
Shall fill the Throne, the Globe's contending Monarchs
Shall lay their rich Regalia's at her Feet,
Proud of her glorious, universal Sway,
And for a Smile, throw all the World away.

Cyr.
To make the Scene more pleasing to our Hopes,
Peace on her Downy Wings, with Joy comes on.
The once victorious Medes, by fear dismay'd,
Forsook their Camp, and in confusion fled;
But their heroick General, who fought
Like disappointed Lovers, or Despair,
To madness wrought, is heard of now no more.

Cleo.
If Love's a Fire that kindles noblest Actions,
No Warrier doubts but that Cyraxes felt
It's mighty Ray, since to his single Arm
We owe this happy hour, the Medes their lasting Shame.

Cyr.
Shou'd I return your Praise, my Fellow-Soldier,
'Twou'd look, as if we both were so agreed,
To shuffle to our selves the Game of War,
And share alone the Profit and the Praise.
But Emulation in Darius Service,
Is not a Crime I hope, in your Cyraxes;
But see the Effects, the Captives now appear
To wait their Doom.

The Prisoners pass over the Stage, Two and Two, in the Last Tygranes, disguis'd like a common Soldier; Cytheria, who speaks aside to Tygranes.
Cyth.
Droop thus your Head, like Flowers press'd down with Storms,
[To Tygr.
And hide those Eyes that lighten'd on our Foes,
Least they perceive a Monarch in Disguise.

Dar.
To darkest Dungeons with 'em; hence, be gone:
There let 'em mourn in heaviest Chains the Wrongs
Of their Ambitious King, the proud Astiages,
Who practis'd Tortures on my valiant Soldiers,
Tho' priviledg'd as Pris'ners of the War.

Rheu.
Come Cytheria forth; ha! dost thou tremble!
And for the Medians shed thy Womans Tears!
False Cytheria loves her Father's Foes;
And therefore like thy Fellow Slaves appear
Kneel to that aweful Throne, where else thoud'st seen
The Royal Arms extended to receive thee.

Lea.
By her bright self the shiningst Form on Earth, they shall;
Let haughty Statesmen at a distance treat,
My Arms shall raise her to my tender Heart;
And while I hold thee thus, my Cytheria,
The Crown upon my Father's Head is not
So priz'd, as is this Gemm within my Bosom.
What Monster, bred beneath the frigid Zone,
But wou'd, like me, thus open wide it's Arms,
And burn with ardent Fires for her Reception.
Shall Persia then for soft Humanity renoun'd,
Deny her Pity, lock her panting Breast,
Against so mild, against so sweet a Guest.

Cyth.
The Gods reward the tendrest of her Sex.
My Royal Father is renown'd for Pity,
No harsh Reproofs from his dear Lips can come;
But, like a Sire to her whom most he fondles,
His Tears and mild Injunctions flow together.
Nor can Rheusares mean such Cruelty,
Or Cytheria be ungrateful to the Throne,
By which her Brother, and her Father live;
Yet such a Ruine dwells upon my Fate,
That I must weep for ever, thus for ever weep.

Dar.
What are thy Griefs? Speak,
And if an Emperour,
And Lord of Power can give thy Woes some Ease,
Conclude this Moment that thy Sorrows cease.

Cyth.
Was it a God, or did Darius speak?
Yet 'tis a Crime to doubt your Royal Word;
But, Oh! my bold Petition is so daring,
It will, I fear, be judg'd a greater Crime.

Lea.
Take Courage Cytheria, make thy Request;
Thy Freind, the Partner of thy Wishes, joyns thee,
And Leamira is not oft deny'd.

Cyth.
Hear me thus falling at your Royal Feet;
I kneel to Leamira, to Rheusares;
But to Darius, mighty Lord of all,
I kiss the Earth thus low in Adoration.

Dar.
Rise Cytheria, darling Brightness, rise;
For, in this Posture, I'll not hear thee speak.

Cyth.
And if I rise, I dare not speak—
Those Wretches, Oh those miserable Wretches!

Rheu.
Daughter!

Cyth.
Nay, frown not, Sir, Darius does not frown,
Spurn me, your wretched Offspring at your Feet,
And strike me through, thus lower to the Center,
I can indure it, rather than your Frowns.
'Tis for these hopeless Pris'ners Lives I beg;
Look on those Objects, Sir, give Sentence then,
On that which pale Revenge wou'd blush to see.
For me they suffer, and for me they fought;
Commanded so, or dye by Martial Law.
Their galling Irons now are putting on,
Their fearful Groans peirce thro' my tortur'd Ears,
Like Winds and Waves to Wretches in a Storm.
Why shou'd those Soldiers for their Leader dye?
They cannot give to Persia's lofty State,
But to my Woes they'll add eternal Weight.

Lea.
Agen I fly to raise thee from the Earth;
For they Request has so divine a Power,
It needs no second, and no force does want
To move the King, or listening Gods to grant;
Darius is too merciful, too brave,
So loath to kill, his Attributes to save.
A yeilding Pleasure sparkles in his Eye,
And Cytheria says, they shall not dye.

Rheu.
Think Heavenly Princess, how the Persians fell;
Think if their angry Ghost's that cry Revenge,
Require not such a Sacrifice as this.
Astiages was deaf to Pity.

Lea.
From others Crimes, must we example draw?
Darius is no Tyrant, no Rheusares,
And thou too good, to have a Thought so cruel.
Can Cytheria so in Virtue shine,
Which thou canst want—no, half her Pity's thine.

Cyth.
Hear great Darius, hear their woeful Cries,
And let the joyful Voice of pardon reach 'em.

Dar.
Ye pleading Angels, ye shall both be heard,
Take Cytheria, take my Royal Signet,
This from my Hand, and pardon from my Heart.
Behold it brings them instant Liberty.

Cyth.
Oh the good Gods! How shall I bless the King!
Let Cherubims to Earth your Praises sing,
What's past the reach of Mortals to aspire,
And only fit for the Celestial Coyre.
With speed I'll fly, like Mercy from your Throne,
With precious Life the poor Delinquents Crown;
And, when that's o'er, my grateful Task is done.
[Ex. Cyth.

Cyr.
Haste good Adrasta, on thy Life observe her;
Cyraxes Happiness depends on thee;
In doing this, thou serv'st thy Mistress too.

Adras.
Doubt not my Care.
[Exit Adra.

Dar.
Lead to the Temple,
The Gods attone with Sacrifice of Mercy.
Heap all our Altars with rich Incense high,
Till thro' the Air the grateful Odours fly,
And Hymns, and Praises waft them to the Sky.

[Exeunt.
Manent Cleomedon and Leamira.
Cler.
Turn, mighty Princess! Miracle of Goodness!
Behold the Man with fruitless Laurels crown'd,
Gave others Fetters, yet himself is bound,
And 'midst those Slaves, that did his Triumphs wait,
Sinks with his Chains at Leamira's Feet.

Lea.
Why dost thou charm me back with these known sound
Why did I loyt'ring stand, and wish to hear?
Why are we cheated thus with Dreams of Bliss?
Love, at his first Appearance, tempts us on
Thro' flow'ry Meads, and never fading Groves;
But when advanc'd beyond Retreat, Alass!
I fear the gay and flattering Scenes will vanish,
And storms of Fate arise to part us ever.

Cleo.
Is not this Moment, this Auspicious Now,
More worth than thousand, thousand Years of hope
Yet when I wish, and look to Heaven in vain,
When I look up to you, as much above me,
Then I despair, and curse my niggard Stars,
Then I cou'd let out these Ignoble Streams,
This unknown worthless Blood that fills my Veins,
That holds a Monarchs Soul in common Clay,
A Punishment alass! but justly due,
For daring to aspire to Crowns, and you.

Lea.
Ah cruel Fate! And justly painted blind;
For oh! what King can boast such Vertues,
Such Courage, Constancy and daring Power,
And all the Gifts that Heav'n on Man can shower.
So richly fraught thy Soul, and wanting nothing,
But empty Titles, which indeed are nothing,
Yet thou art wretched; I am wretched too.

Cleo.
Oh no my Princess, no, what happy Man,
What Hero that is styl'd the King of Kings,
Whose Sounding Honours burst the very Cheeks
Of Fame, wou'd not resign those Airey Trifles
For Minutes blest like these?

Lea.
You merit more Cleomedon than I
Can give; your Hand upheld a Tottering State;
Your brave Victorious Arm preserv'd us from
Inevitable Fate; no longer I a Princess,
And good Darius was a King no more;
But for your God-like Acts, we were undone;
Th'effeminate Persians fled before the Medes
Like Women, and like Women fear'd till you—

Cleo.
Oh stop, my Angel, this immoderate Praise,
Or I shall dye with Shame.

Lea.
Therefore when I beheld the faithful Passion
That spoke your Soul, and trembl'd in your Eyes,
I scorn'd to trifle with that noble Heart,
But wav'd the nicer Forms my Sex requir'd,
And gen'rously return'd you mine;
Nor by your Merit only was I won,
Th'Impulses too of tendrest Inclination
Urg'd my Resolves, conquer'd Loves greatest Foes;
Fear, Interest, Reason, and a Father's Power.

Cleo.
Oh Royal Maid! Most generous Princess!
What shall I say, or whither shall I throw me?
Down at your Feet, and kiss the sacred Ground
Your steps have blest! Alas! 'tis sacred all,
And barr'd to Kings, much more to curst Cleomedon.
O Princess! Leamira! That's my Theme;
My ravish'd Tongue cou'd dwell upon that Name so lov'd,
And nought but Leamira sound, O Leamira!

Lea.
In vain thy Transports poor Cleomedon,
In vain we promise future Happiness;
I shall be born from thee a Sacrifice.
Alass, the wretched Pledge of some State Peace,
A Proxey wedded Queen to Pride, and Pow'r,
To some unknown, and hated Prince's Bed.

Cleo.
Sure such Extreams of Bliss and of Despair
Must quite destroy and break the little Cords
That fasten weary Life, and join
To mortal Weakness our immortal Souls,
Which Act inspir'd beyond our narrow Frames.
When I behold thy Smiles, or when I hear
The sweeter Accents of thy charming Voice
In melting Raptures drown'd I sink beneath
Joys not to be express'd in mortal Language;
But when my Fancy shows the hated Image
Of Leamira torn from this sad Bosome,
Ambition seizing thee, then I cou'd rave,
Tearing my self, and like a chafeing Lyon,
Spurn the vile Earth, and gnaw it in despair.

Lea.
Take this Assurance, for we now must part,
Not the wide Empires of the flattering Globe,
The painted Pleasures which their Glories bring,
Not what we fear of Torment underneath;
Not even my Father's Curse by me most dreaded,
Shall tare thee from my fix'd couragious Soul;
Or in my Thoughts towards thee, till death resolv'd,
The least Impression make for any other.

Cleo.
Hear Heavens! and shall Cleomedon do less!
Not Cyprus Queen in all her Beauty's Dress,
Not the vast Wealth that in the Ocean shines,
In Diamond Quarries, or in Golden Mines;
Not for the Globe, nor everlasting Sway
Of all our Sun does visit in a Day;
Not all the Plagues that Tantalus indures,
Nor Wracks, nor Fires, not all that Hell procures;
Not to be Mars himself, not to be Jove,
Shall make me false to Leamira's Love.

[Exit severally.
SCENE A Prison.
Enter Cytheria, Adrasta, and Officer.
Offic.
By your Description this shou'd be the Man.
Within this Cave in sullen Pride he lies,
Refusing all the Kindness we have offer'd.

Cyth.
Y'have seen the Royal Signet of the King.
Let the rest wait, whilst I dispatch by this
My Orders; then he shall return.

Offic.
I Obey.

Cyth.
Adrasta, how I tremble! must my Life
Be one continu'd Scene of Woe?
My Father and my Brother I have lost,
To save a Prince who loves to my undoing.
Honour and Gratitude are noble Guests,
Too mighty for the narrow Breast of Woman;
How shall I follow your unbyass'd Laws,
And keep my Virtue stainless?

Adra.
Cou'd ye but add to it a little Love?
The Task wou'd then be not so very hard.
Tygranes Loves you, ev'n to madness Loves you.

Cyth.
Adrasta peace, what hollow whisper pass'd me?
Ha! I am shock'd with an unusual Terrour!
Where is this most unhappy Prince Tygranes?
I dare not but in Whispers call thy Name.

Tygra.
What heavenly Voice is that whose precious Sound
Charms me ev'n in the Regions of Despair;
Is't Cytheria that beholds me thus?
But 'tis no matter, she dispis'd me ever,
When half the World in prospect was Tygranes,
Now she can do no more.

Cyth.
Unjust upbraidings! Did I, O did I for this
Withstand a tender Fathers awful Frown?
A Brothers Hope, nay, and the Kings Resolve,
With Words so pressing, not to be deny'd:
My Pray'rs and Tears were usher'd on these Knees;
Thy Liberty I gain'd, thine and thy Slaves,
All by this Signet pardon'd, all are free.

Tygra.
Oh glorious Maid! to what an envy'd height
Thy grateful Soul aspires! for 'tis not Love,
No, that soft Bosom holds a flinty Heart,
Which ne'er can harbour Love to curst Tygranes.
So didst thou look, when oft beneath thy Feet
I lay, concern'd for my Concern; nay when
In Agonys of hopeless Fires I burnt,
I begg'd, I rav'd, I dy'd, thy gentle Nature
Wou'd drop indeed a Tear, thy self unmov'd;
No trembling warmth, nor kindling Sighs did follow,
Nor blushes on those Cheeks which half gain'd Virgins
In pity to their raptur'd Lovers show.

Cyth.
If 'tis not Love, 'tis such a Friendship
That wishes brave Tygranes wondrous well.
Go back dear Prince, pursue your Fate no longer,
But look on me as a malignant Planet,
And seek for Refuge from some happier Star.

Tygr.
Thou art my better Fate, my only Wish,
Th'Ambition of my Soul, and Crown of Virtue.
When thy undaunted Brother, like Achilles,
Through our Intrenchments broke to bear thee from me,
His Aim at thee, what then was my despair!
My Father from a rising Ground beheld
Me headlong run thro' Groves of pointed Spears,
And after the first Onset, gave Command
I shou'd withdraw, or be by force restrain'd.
The latter us'd, I kill'd the first that stop'd me,
And least agen I shou'd be disappointed,
Strip'd a dead Soldier of this bloody Coat,
And rush'd amidst the foremost Ranks of Persians.
How taken then, the angry Gods can tell,
My wish I'm sure was Death.

Cyth.
Fly Prince Tygranes while you're yet unknown;
Why shou'd you stay, and pull new Dangers on.
[Hollow without.
These joyful Shouts without proclaim their Freedom.
Hast, mingle with the crow'd, nor seem to Head.

Tygr.
Oh Cytheria, push me not away,
The Road is deep and dark that leads from Thee:
My Soul and very Eyes, you carry with you;
Can ye deny 'em but to look their last?

Cyth.
Alass!

Tygr.
Turn not so soon; I go, but 'tis to bring
Fresh Forces down before the Morning Sun.
Again thou shalt behold me Victor crown'd,
Or hear my Woes and Life are at an end.

Cyth.
Do'st thou resolve then to renew the War,
And all the Treasure of my Soul expose?
If a Father, or a Brother's Blood you spill,
In murthering them you Cytheria kill.
Oh spare my Brother, my Cyraxes spare,
Nor let the hatred by your Mother's Rage
Begun, fall upon them; for if it does—

Tygr.
Hold!
I dread what your unkind Suspect wou'd say,
When the least Word from you wou'd stop my Hand,
Tho' lifted 'twere against my deadliest Foe.
My Mothers Faults are still remembred by you;
And Orna's Crimes draw on Tygranes hate;
Yes, Cytheria hates me, and the Thought
Is worse then Prisons, Infamy, and Shame,
They can but gnaw, and prey upon the Mind,
Dispairing Love (oh most obdurate!) more,
It tares my Heart, and drinks the gushing Gore.

Cyth.
I do not hate you Prince, the Gods preserve you.
Is this a sign of hate, from Chains to free you?
To see you 'gainst a Father's strict Commands,
To beg your Life with hazard of my own;
To leave the shining Court, and seek ye in
These Shades—Of what can ye accuse me?

Tygr.
Of nothing, no thou art immencely good;
But will you add a little more? Will you,
O will you but remember poor Tygranes,
Tygranes, Wretch, whose every Thought is you?
Is that too much?

Cyth.
I will,
But why are ye resolv'd to urge my Fears
By this Delay?

Adra.
Alass my Lord the Prison Doors unbarr:
Indeed your Stay will be suspected.

Cyth.
It will, it will; may all the Gods protect you.

Tygr.
Oh I am going,
Just as the Life does from the Body go,
Just as Streams part, which did together flow,
With such regret do I—O Pow'rs above!
With Pray'rs I beg ye to preserve my Love.
How shall I all my wondrous Sorrows tell?
How can I speak that killing Word—Farewel?

[Exeunt.