University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Enter Cytheria leaning on Adrasta.
Cyth.
Rage, War, and Horror now seem pass'd away,
And all with chearful Looks salute the Day;
The tuneful Larks in airy Dances fly
To their own Voice, beneath the Silver Sky;
A gawdy shew of Life and Pomp we frame,
And all, alas! is but a tedious Dream;
A fleeting Shadow of imperfect Joys,
Which the first waking Thought too soon destroys.

Adra.
Why Madam, make you this so sad Reflection now?

Cyth.
E're the first Dawn of Light or blushing Morn,
Before the Sun left Thetis in her Bower,
My Lord forsook me, scarce awake from Bliss;
Soft were his Words, and few he said at parting;
Took from my Hand a Ring, and left me This
In lieu, and as a Pledge of his return:
Heav'n's choicest Blessing guard him till he comes;
For I must learn to Love, and to Obey him.

Adra.
Madam, your Brother comes this way.

Cyth.
Oh let me fly him, and Rheusares too,
This lovely Basilick, this aweful Lyon,
That curles and shakes his angry Looks at me,
And lead me to that utmost Verge of Earth,
Where stands a Cliff as deep as Heav'n from from Hell,
And push me down the Precipice to Death.
Nothing to my distracted Soul appears
So terrible as these indearing Names,
Father and Brother.

Enter Cyraxes.
Cyrax.
I wou'd intreat a Word with Cytheria;
For I have most Important News.

Cyth.
My Lord; my Brother!

Cyr.
No, thou art now no more my Sister,
Cyraxes is thy Brother now no more.

Cyth.
Pronounce not so my Lord, indeed you are.

Cyr.
Indeed I am not, wou'd not for the Globe,
Be in my Blood so near ally'd to thine.

Cyth.
Forgive me, for I find my Crime you know;
I own, it's Aggravation of my Sin,
To call you Brother, or Rheusares Father.

Cyr.
What woud'st thou call me, Cytheria?

Cyth.
All that is softest, dearest to my Soul;
All that I value with the tender'st Love.

Cyr.
No, thou woud'st call me then Tygranes.

Cyth.
Oh, Sir, if you are yet my Brother,
If you have any Tenderness lodg'd in ye;
Hear me, a Suppliant, kneeling at your Feet.

[kneels.
Cyr.
What is thy Guilt? What can deserve this Posture?
Rise Cytheria, rise, and speak thy Wishes.

Cyth.
No, never, never, till you've promis'd Pardon,
Nay more, to save me and protect me.

Cyr.
I will, I promise thee I will.

Cyth.
And yet there is another wants your Pity,
My Husband—

Cyr.
Thy Husband! Ha! what Husband!

Cyth.
Oh spare your dreadful Anger;
For both much want your Mercy. Oh Tygranes!

Cyr.
Tygranes! and thy Husband! 'tis impossible.
Beware, Oh Cytheria! take good heed—

Cyth.
All Warning's now too late; 'tis done, 'tis past,
This fatal Night by strange Predictions led,
I disobey'd the kindest best of Fathers,
And what is worse, Cyraxes have deceiv'd.
But Heav'n and all yon Powers wou'd have it so.

Cyr.
I will not, must not, can't believe thee.

Cyth.
Indeed 'tis true.
What Bolts of Terrours do you cast upon me,
In that dire threatning look! Oh hear me, Sir,
Be still a Brother to me, sooth my Sorrows;
For I have many to complain of still—

Cyr.
Art thou prepar'd for Death?

Cyth.
Ha!

Cyr.
For Death, I say?

Cyth.
Had I not in my Disobedience sinn'd,
How happy had I dy'd!

Cyr.
Dost thou repent thy Crime?

Cyth.
O pardon me,
And I will wast my Anxious Life in Tears
To wash the guilt away.

Cyr.
Enough—rise Madam, from my Soul, I do forgive thee,
Forgive in all you have offended me,
But when your Father hears what you have done,
He will not be appeas'd.

Cyth.
He will my, Lord; Oh he's too good, too mild,
Tho' harsh to the unjust, I know him well,
I know the way to soften his Resentments,
And melt him into Kindness; he will pity,
And rather blame the Cause, then Cytheria.
If you wou'd but forgive your wretched Sister,
Rheusares will be reconcil'd.

Cyr.
Rheusares, nor my self are kin to thee.
The Medean Prince, 'tis he's indeed thy Brother.

Cyth.
My Lord!

Cyr.
He is thy Brother.

Cyth.
Ah what say you? My Husband and my Brother!

Cyr.
Most true.
Thou art the Daughter of Astiages,
And he the Father of Tygranes.

Cyth.
And I his Sister!

Cyr.
Believe me, for my Proof is plain.

Cyth.
O miserable me!
Oh cruel Oracle! more cruel Gods!
To lead me to that Fate I wou'd have shunn'd.
O Father wretched, Daughter most accursed!
Relation fatal! O unhappy Son!
O ruin'd Brother! Sister forlorn and lost!
Husband unbless'd! O thrice abandon'd Wife!

Cyr.
Poor Cytheria! call to thy remembrance,
How from thy harmless Childhood, still I charg'd thee,
Rheusares too, with all his dread Commands,
To shun Tygranes Love; there was a Cause
Which thou too soon has felt—think Cytheria.

Cyth.
Let me ne're think agen.
Confusion and Distraction choak my Thoughts,
And turn my Brain—Then you are not my Brother?
'Tis the last Word that Cytheria begs.

Cyr.
Indeed I am not.

Cyth.
Horror, Distruction, Madness, and Despair!
Light, Health, and Air forsake me; Rain and Sun,
For ever lock your Hoard from Cytheria;
Let Mildews blast, and Lightning's flaming Sword
Pierce thro' my Veins, and drink my Vital Blood.
Throw all your Magazin of Thunder on me,
Crush me to Earth, or strike me to the Center,
And shut this horrid Wretch from Day for ever.

Cyr.
Be comforted.

Cyth.
Alas, 'tis now too late.
I once was Blest, and heard thy gentle Cautions
Fall from thy Lips like Drops of Hybla's Hony;
Yet I wou'd on, and rush to horrid Incest—
O miserable Wretch! most vile of Women!
Cruel Cyraxes! Brother now no more,
Strip me at least of this curst Royalty,
And if thy Words cannot, let thy kind Sword
Bring ease to this afflicted Creature.

Cyr.
I dare not, Truth I fear will kill thee.

Cyth.
Alas! thou canst no more—I'll hear the worst,
Without one Groan or Sigh.

Cyr.
The Royal Princess of th'Assyrian Blood,
Soon after thy unhappy Birth expir'd;
But e're she dy'd, she to my Mother gave thee,
First stamping on thy tender Arm a Lyon,
Th'undoubted Sign of Royal Medea's Race;
Then to my Parent's Care wer't thou committed,
An Oath first taken, with this Trust was joyn'd,
Ne're to discover thee while Orna liv'd:
Orna now dead, by her own violent Hand,
I hither came to glad thee with the News.

Cyth.
Am I not patient, silent as these Tears
That trickle down, and blubbering, drown my Speech.

Cyth.
Had I obey'd, I had been still most happy.
While Maids are Innocent, they must be bless'd;
But I am black, deform'd, and monstrous now.
What has one Night produc'd!

Cyr.
Cease, Cytheria, give thy Wailings o'er,
No more thy Brother, yet I'm still thy Friend,
And love thee still with Fondness.

Cyth.
Breath not the least, tho' but Imperfect Sound
Of Comfort to my Soul. Forbear the Name
Of Friend or Father now; who is a Friend to Woes?

Cyr.
I can no longer hold; look up, sweet Virtue,
The Storm is husht, and all's serene agen.

Cyth.
Cruel Cyraxes,
No happy Days, no Sun can shine on me;
A Cloud of Woe Surrounds me from all Parts.
What Hopes can can sooth so vile a Wretch as I!
A Brother and a Father I have lost;
A Brother and a Father found; no Matter.
It is not well, Adrasta, that you know.

Adra.
Alas, too late I do—Help Heav'n!

Cyr.
Hear me, Cytheria.

Cyth.
Heav'n had no Hand in it, that's certain;
But I to death will go, there's no Distinction,
No difference of the Sex, no Incest there;
When in her Shrowd poor Cytheria lies,
All pale and wan, no Voice her Praise will sing,
No Brother will seduce her with his Charms
To an incestuous Love—Hear me Adrasta.

Cyr.
What does she say!

Adra.
O Heav'ns! to fetch her Poyson!

Cyr.
Destraction seize me first!
There's not a Fiend so cruel as Cyraxes.
Alas, thy Brother bids thee live.

Cyth.
My Brother ha!

Cyr.
What did I say? Thy Husband, see.

Cyth.
My Husband, ha! Tygranes, Murther, Incest!
Winds snatch me quickly,
Wrap me in Clouds where Storms in Spouts descend,
And drop your Burthen in tempestuous Seas,
Earth Groans with my incestuous Weight.
Tygranes! Oh Tygranes follows me—
Lend me thy Sword that we may part for ever.
[Offers to snatch his Sword.
Nay, then I all the Elements invoke,
Fire, Earth and Water, Daggers, Poyson too,
Save me before he comes—bring any Death,
To still my Woes and stop my hated Breath.

Cyr.
Here's no Tygranes, here's no Brother neither
Him did I say? Cyraxes is thy Husband.

Cyth.
Ha!

Cyr.
I am thy Husband?

Cyth.
What wast you said!
Is't thee or I, or both? say which of us
Is mad—Grant Heav'n 'tis Cytheria.

Cyr.
Know'st thou this Ring?

Cyth.
I know it, if I dare beleive my Senses.
More Woes! How cam'st thou by this Ring?

Cyr.
Thou hast the Counter-part upon thy Finger.

Cyth.
No matter—say, how cam'st thou by it? Speak

Cyr.
I took it from thy Hand.
This Morning when I left my Blushing Bride;
And gave thee th'other in Exchange—

Cyth.
Ha! hold Cyraxes, stop there for thy Life.
The dread of disappointed Hope's far worse
Than all the Ills we fear.
My Blood grows cold, Convulsions seize my Nerves,
My Tongue too falters, and my trembling Joynts
Keep Measures with the Beatings of my Heart:
Or is all this a Dream? Then do not wake me—
Yet do; for Death is not so terrible as doubt.
And was it not Tygranes I did Wed?
Speak, that my Woes, or Life may strait have End.

Cyr.
By all that's binding both in Earth and Heav'n,
I was the Man, the Priest did give thee to;
The same last Night, that revell'd in thy Arms;
The happy Man that rifl'd all thy Charms,
And now's no more thy Brother, but thy Husband.

Cyth.
Hold, stir not yet—
Whither, O whither will my Transports fly!
Discharg'd of Fears, my Joys shall hit the Sky.
Tho' in Despair, tho' dropping in the Grave
Let none against the Gods presume to rave;
For Virtue's still the Rule by which they save.
Thus, after Shiprack, when the Storm is o'er,
The joyful Saylor finds the happy Shore;
Just so the Wretch, to Execution lead,
When Pardon comes, he starts, as from the Dead,
And takes the Grant, and hugs it in his Breast,
As I Cyraxes; Love shall speak the rest.

Cyr.
O Joy! O Love! O Extasie of Bliss!
[Flies into his Arms.
O killing Pleasures, not to be reveal'd!
The Charms of Infants smiling on the Breast,
Such Looks that raptur'd Mothers give the Babes
Are printed on thy Cheeks, Mildness, and Beauties,
With all the Sweets and unexhausted Springs
Of virtuous Joys are flowing in this Bosom—
O Cytheria!

Cyth.
No more the dread of Fate shall check our Wishes,
No more the Name of Brother quench our Flames,
Now Heav'n has giv'n a Licence to our Joys.
O my Cyraxes! See, the King appears—
We must not yet be seen—Let's haste and find
This most unhappy, happy now Tygranes,
And to propitious Heav'n joyn with me,
And thank the Gods that w'are from Incest free.

[Exeunt.
Enter Darius, Leamira, Russus Guards and Attendants.
Lea.
Oh sacred Sir! How fatal was my Birth!
But more your favour that first swell'd my Wishes,
To leave your Daughter sinking in the Haven,
And shiprack'd there of all cou'd make her happy.
Can you condemn a Child whom you so lov'd
To an unknown, a new Astyages?
Whose Virtues, or whose Vices, who can tell,
Whether from Heav'n bestow'd, or sent from Hell.

Dar.
Why Leamira so o'erwhelm'd with Passion!
You hear the Revolution of this Day,
Our Victory, of Orna's Death, and how
The King has own'd an Heir by his first Queen
Th'Assyrian Princess—This young Prince
Without his Guards, t'his conquering Foes is come
To offer Peace, and to inrich the Blessing,
The Medean Crown for Leamira's Head.

Lea.
I have no Thoughts, no Veins that run Ambition.
Give me your Leave from Greatness to retire,
And in some Hermit's peaceful Cell remain,
And waste my Life in penitential Tears,
Rather than lift me to so loath'd a State.
Did I for this poor Cytheria tempt?
And force her rashly to Tygranes Bed?
And has the curs'd and double-meaning Priest.
Or Oracle, or both, created now
Another Medean Prince to ruine me!
Let me at least give some few Days to Sorrow;
For I have vow'd Cleomedon my Love.

Dar.
Ha!

Lea.
Be Witness Heaven, I start not at your Frowns,
But wish that awful Look may strike me Dead;
For Death wou'd re-unite me to my Lord.
You will not tell me, Sir, how, where, or when he fell,
That I with thinking soon may be distracted.

Dar.
Ye are a Crew of Courtiers, Sycophants, and Traytors,
The flatt'ring, fond Diseases of a Kingdom;
How cou'd you else conceal this Frenzy from me!

Russ.
Most Sacred Sir!—

Dar.
To Hymen straight conduct the Medean Prince,
I'll have the Nuptials solemniz'd this hour.
Cleomedon was brave, his Actions noble,
'Bove all Rewards but Leamira's Love.
Durst the ambitious Youth look up to Thee!

Lea.
No, but I look'd first kindly down on him,
And rais'd him to the Royal Hopes he fear'd;
Thus shou'd the Great look towards such Desert;
For what rais'd Greatness first, but humble Merit?
But, since he's lost, the World is so to me;
My Eyes disdain the Greatness you adore,
And will from hence behold Mankind no more.

Dar.
On your Obedience, Leamira stay:
I cou'd begin to Thunder now like Jove;
But these fond Tears betray that I'm no God.
This Trumpet speaks their coming.

Lea.
Hide me Palmira, Hide me in thy Bosom.
O that I could transform my self to thee
As quick as Love can transmigrate the Soul;
That thou wer't in my stead, the Medean Queen,
And I the happy, innocent Palmira.

Enter Cleomedon, Rheusares, and Attendants.
Cleo.
See at your Feet the Prince of Medea kneels,
Cleomedon your General no more,
Is now revolted to Darius Foes;
Yet I from old Astiages and him,
Proclaim, with Persia's King, a lasting Peace.

Dar.
Rise, Royal Youth! Ye God's, what wonder's this!
And what new Miracles d'you bring?

Cleo.
O tell me first, why does that beauteous Princess
Turn from my sight the Blessings of her Eyes,
My Love's ador'd and Valour's richest Prize?

Lea.
What welcom Sound is that? what charming Voice
So like Cleomedon's? 'Tis he! 'tis he!
Aid me, ye Powers, and all you Friends to Love!
Tell me, where am I? Breath I? Do I live?
O let me dwell in the transporting Vision,
And never wake me from this Extasie.

Cleo.
Behold the Man, devinest Princess!
Who ne'er till now had Courage to approach you,
Who Bankrupt was to ev'ry thing but Love,
Brings now a Crown and Kingdoms to enrich it.
Dispell, bright Goddess of the Day these Clouds;
All killing Doubts, and anxious Thoughts remove;
Wake to Cleomedon, and wake to Love,
Wake to Astiages, his Passion crown;
For both are Leamira's, both are one.

Lea.
Heav'ns, is it possible! Can this be He!
It is, it is—Thou coud'st not but be Royal.
Tell me, bright Powers! Who shall your Praises sing?
How just you are to Truth, how kind to Love!

Dar.
Rack me no more with Doubts—Speak some of you,
And tell us this miraculous Event.

Rheu.
Royal Cyraxes; best of Prince's, hear,
Learn from Rheusares loyal Breast alone,
This most convincing, most amazing Truth:

Dar.
I cannot, but beleive thee, good old Man!
For only Truth resides in thee.

Rheu.
The Prince whom you behold, Cleomedon,
Is young Astiages, Son of the old,
And the Assyrian Princess, his first Queen,
Whom Orna did attempt to kill by Poyson!
At length, assisted by the faithful Russus,
I sent him, then a Child, to Assyria's Court,
And plain enough demonstrance made to Orna,
Who so desir'd it, that his Death was certain:
His Sister Cytheria too, I ventur'd
To breed as mine, and call Cyraxes Brother.

Lea.
What suddain Blast is this to all my Hopes!
O cruel Death to all my springing Joys!
I see no promis'd Bliss can come sincere,
No perfect Good to Mortals, no blest Day,
Without a Night, no Happiness without Allay.
Speak, tell me quick; is Cytheria then
Sister to you, and to Tygranes?

Rheu.
She is. Be patient, we shall all unfold.

Lea.
I'll ne'er be patient—hear me first I beg you;
There more depends on that than Fate can alter.

Rheu.
When I beheld th'unhappy Medean King
Brought to this low Estate, my injur'd Heart,
Tho' steel'd with Wrongs, relented into Pity,
And cou'd no longer hold such Comfort from him,
Nor see the Son make War against the Father,
But Russus sent, to make the glad discov'ry.
The rest, let Russus tell.

Cleo.
Let Russus hold,
And only me excuse an erring Father,
Who, freed from Orna's most bewitching Charms,
With welcom Joy receiv'd our clear Credentials,
And near, in his Pavilion, now expects
The Persian King to hear the Proofs confirm'd,
And seal what Articles Darius please.
What I've to ask, is of deviner Moment,
More than your Kingdoms, or the World can give,
Ev'n this inestimable Brightness.

Dar.
Too great your Merit, and too just your Claim,
To be deny'd—But wherefore weeps our Daughter?

Lea.
O Misery on Misery! Cleomedon!
Oh Royal Sir! All is undone again.
Poor Cytheria's lost, for ever lost,
Your Daughter wretched, and Tygranes ruin'd!
Think of a Sin too horrrid to be nam'd,
And call it Incest, that, which starts the Gods,
Of that they both are guilty;
By me betray'd, and both condemn'd by me.
Poor Cytheria's marryed to her Brother.
Thinking that way to shun the Prince of Media;
I, with these Tears, forc'd the unwilling Maid,
To give her wretched Hand to poor Tygranes.

Cleo.
O dire Misfortune!

Lea.
Tear me from thy Bosom.
Send me to Desarts to instruct the Tygers,
And herd with Beasts as cruel as my self.

Rheu.
None shall have Cause to grieve this happy Day.
All now is well. Inform'd of the Design
Our Medean Princess had to Wed Tygranes,
Too well I know the fatal Consequence,
And working on their Plot, by Darkness favour'd,
With easie Change I sent my Son Cyraxes,
Who marry'd Cytherea undiscover'd,
Secur'd Tygranes by a quick Surprize,
And all things to Success by Heav'n was turn'd
To this concluding Happiness—But see
The strangely happy-fated Pair approach.

Enter Cyraxes and Cytheria.
Lea.
O ye kind Gods!
O Cytheria! Hold me to thy Breast,
Shield me, thy Friend, just trembling with my Fears,
Scarce wak'd from Terrors far more Dark than Death.
Canst thou forgive me?

Cyth.
Not to forgive the Fountain of my Joys!
What, and have thee, and my Cyraxes in my Arms!
How fathomless to mortal reach is Providence!
This is the Brother we so vainly shunn'd,
That Heav'n ordain'd to make us both so happy.

Cyr.
Thus, while I hold her, thus within my Arms,
I'm happier than the Monarch of the Skies;
Thus, like the Thunderer, in my Joys I move,
And loose the Brother in the Consort Jove.

Dar.
O Sons! So will I call you now for ever.
Be happy both in Love and War—O Daughter!
Receive and bless the Man the Gods have giv'n you.
Enter Tygranes.
But see, Tygranes comes—Welcom, brave Prince!
You've heard of all the Wonders of this Day,
And your propitious, most miraculous Fate.

Tygr.
I have.

Cleo., Cyth.
Our dearest Brother!

Tygr.
Blast me, ye Powers, or I adore the Name.
Curst be Tygranes when his Love forsakes you,
Astiages is now most priz'd by me,
And Laura is as dear as Cytherea.
O Sister! Brother' Witness all the Joy
Of this most happy Change—No wanton Fires
Possest this Breast, but lambent all and chaste,
By Heav'ns sole Dictates and the force of Blood.
'Tis happier now to die, from Incest freed,
Than live with Medea's Crown upon my Head.

Cleo.
Come to my Heart, possess me All, and share
The Crown that thou alone deserv'st to wear.

Cyth.
For Cytherea's Sake whom you so lov'd,
Be reconcil'd to Happiness and me.

Tygr.
No, Cytherea, no, illustrious Brother!
Soon as our Kings in Bonds of Peace are joyn'd,
And Hymen's joyful shining Tapors lighted,
The Blaze shall guide me to some lone Retreat,
My House, my Family, and little State,
Not basely mean, nor yet profusely great;
Where, near the Ocean, I the Wrecks may see,
And yet my self from Storms and Tempests free;
No higher aim to be, than, of the Spring,
And my Arcadian Youth the Garland King;
Take a long Leave to Beauty and Renown,
Nor dread to loose, nor hope to gain a Crown:
Ambition is a Slave, and Fortune fears
The Honest Man, and virtuous rule the Stars.

Dar.
Mount then Astiages the Persian Throne,
My Head's too feeble for the ponderous weight,
Persia and Medea shall your Nod obey,
Let me sit quiet and direct your Sway.

Cleo.
Crowning my Joys with this Illustrious Maid,
Above your Empire, Sir, your Soldier's paid.

Cyr.
We all to soon on Happiness depend,
But Goodness must decree it in the End.
Thus the Kind Powers both Love and Peace restore,
And scarcely leave us time to wish for more;
The Good have Heav'n their sure and certain Guard,
And Virtue always meets a just Reward.

[Exeunt.