 | The Conquest of Spain |  |
ACT V.
SCENE, a Prison.A dimn Lamp burning: Margaretta comes forward.
Mar.
When shall I Wake from this long Dream of Misery;
And shake off all these Horrors from my Soul:
Rape, Murder, Treason, wait and watch around;
Each ready to Compleat my lingring Woes,
These Prison Walls are Melancholy Scenes,
For Eyes so Young, and so unus'd to Sorrows;
Dwells there no genious in this dark abode,
Can whisper to my tender longing Heart;
Whether my Dearest Lord be yet Alive,
Is there no Power, befriending virtuous Love,
Will waft my gentle Sighs to his soft Bosome;
Breath in his Ears my Constant Vows and Prayers,
And Arm his faithful Breast with distant Hope:
Ha! What unexpected Lights are these?
That with a dismal glare Offend my Eyes,
Adding new Terrors, to this Place of Death.
60
Alv.
Spain is no more, her Glory's set for Ever;
Her Lofty Towers bend their Mourning Hearts,
And deep within the Centre hide their Ruins,
Her Weeping Mothers, and her Praying Matrons,
Her trembling Virgins, all become the Prey
Of the Insulting Cruel, Curst, Barbarians;
Fly Margaretta, e're these black Sons of Rapine
Rifle thy sacred Beauties.
Mar.
Who art thou?
More dreadful to my Soul, than those thou speak'st off,
Where is my Lord, Canst thou tell ought of him;
If he is lost, I Choose to Perish here;
Why shou'd I further drag, my load of Sorrow.
Alv.
Oh, do not trifle pretious time in talk!
Your Faithful Lord Impatient of your Stay,
Waits for you at a Port, yet left unceaz'd,
But every Moment threatens Swift Prevention;
Hast Margaretta, as you Love Antonio;
Give me your Hand, Heaven favour our Escape.
Mar.
Ha! by the lighted Torches timely Light,
And by the fatal Voice it is Alvarez;
Unhand me hated Villain, here I'm fixt,
Here rooted, firm as thy persisting Treachery;
Approach me not ye Slaves, he Dies that comes.
Alv.
Death, how they stand;
As if they were Thunder-struck with empty Words,
come near ye Coward Slaves and bear her Hence.
Mar.
Stand off base Wretch; see I am arm'd for Violence:
This useful Steel, in the Pallace I secur'd,
(Struggles gets loose and draws a dagger.
Lest I again might meet a Fiend like thee.
Alv.
Ill fated Villany.
Mar.
If thou Com'st on, that very Moment, know,
Or in thy Cursed Bosome, or my own,
By all that's Chast, I'll plunge this ready Dagger;
Tho' in the deed I do a double Murder,
And Kill an unborn Innocent.
Alv.
let me think.
61
Do if thou canst, think, and abhor thy Guilt;
Twice hast thou urg'd my unstain'd Hands to Murder,
To break all Laws, both Humane and Divine;
And canst thou yet resolve to send my Soul
I know not whither, to escape Polution;
Where then, alass! Will be your fruitless Wishes,
When Ghastly Death, shall have defac'd my Form,
Then all your raging Fires will soon extinguish.
Alv.
Your Words, and your undaunted Mind have Conquer'd,
Struck on my hardn'd Sence, and wak'd Reflection,
Be gone all thoughts of Love and brutal Force,
(Kneels.
Here in deep Penitence let me ever Kneel,
To Heaven, and this offended Fair for Pardon,
But Oh! It is too much, too much to Hope:
Inspire her then ye Angry Juster Powers,
To strike my Guilty Breast, but Guard her Bosom,
Softer and Whiter than the falling Snow,
Pure as unspotted Christal, Chast as the Emerald
Now you are mine again.
(During this Speech he Creeps insensibly nearer and nearer, till starting of a sudden he seizes her Hand, and wrests the Dagger.
Mar.
Deceitful Fiend.
Stay, Oh, stay!
Alv.
Not one doubtful Moment;
Thus will I bear my lovely destin'd Prize
Through towering Flames, or Thousand clashing Swords;
And pass undaunted to the Goal of Love.
Mar.
Help, help, ye Powers, some help!
Enter Antonio and Souldiers.
Ant.
It is my Love,
What Impious Slave has thus increas'd her Terrors,
I think my Sword has reach'd thee.
Alv.
'Twas well directed.
(falls.
Ant.
My dearest Wife.
Mar.
My blest Deliverer,
Ant.
Say, who again pursu'd thy Innocence.
Alv.
A Worthless Wretch, that fain wou'd Die unknown,
But 'twill not be.
Ant.
I know thee well, thou Villain;
And know thee, for the most unheard of Wretch,
62
And 'twas most Just in Fate, my Sword shou'd end thee.
Alv.
It was. The raging Blood Flows out apace
And now I see my shame, and loath my self,
My Eyes grow dim in the thick Shade of Death,
And Horrid Visions press my ebbing Soul;
A Thousand ghastly Fantoms fleet before me,
Fruitless remorse, Confusion and Despair,
With all their knotted Scorpions Lash my Conscience.
Wou'd I had died in Battle, Oh forgive me.
Mar.
I do, for now thou dost repent in Earnest.
Alv.
Oh, take thy dazling Beauties from my view!
Life, tho' in Anguish, lingers to behold thee;
But turn thy lovely Face, and I Expire.
(Dies.
Ant.
He's gone, and what I cou'd not once have thought.
The Man I've call'd my Friend, and long Esteem'd
Companion of my Youth, and of my Fame;
Now weltring in his Blood, Slain by my Hand,
He merits not one Tear.
Mar.
His Faults Die with him;
But tell me my Antonio, how cam'st thou
Like some blest Spirit, to my timely Aid,
When hope was lost.
Ant.
Set free by Theomantius,
With careful hast I sought the Palace round,
Nor left a Slave unask'd till I had found thee;
Swift as the Wind, I flew to break thy Chains,
And Oh, ye Powers, I gave thee double Liberty.
But to what Refuge shall I bear thee now,
The Moors, alass! Surround us every way,
And this is near the Prison of the King,
Where most their rage will aim, Instruct me Heaven,
If Innocence and Virtue be your care;
Oh, hear a Lovers, and a Husbands Prayer!
Preserve my lovely Wife, and save me from Despair.
Exeunt.
Scene Draws, and Discovers an Inner Prison, from whence the King comes forward.
King.
Down ye tormenting Thoughts, where wou'd ye drive me,
I stand already on the Verge of Madness;
Oh, alter'd State, no sign of former Majesty!
63
And Watch'd the earliest, Motion of my Eyes,
Are now no more, Jaylors supply their places,
With sternest Looks and rough ill manner'd Words,
Instead of Flatterers, my Crimes attend me,
And Gall my Memory with hated Truths;
Hence ye unwelcome, numerous, Intruders,
Saucy Companions of my Solitude,
In vain I Banish what will still return,
With added Strength, rebounding to my Torture;
Lust, Rapin, secret Fraud, and open Violence,
Ingratitude, thou every Vice in one,
In all your hid'ous Forms I view ye now,
And Julianus and Jacincta's Wrongs
Are ever present to my haunted Fancy.
Enter Julianus behind him.
Jul.
Who is it, in these Caves that lead to Death,
Breaks the deep silence, with those Wretched Names?
Speak what thou art, who kindly dost Lament
Poor Julianus and Jacincta's Fate?
King.
The General's Voice, fall, fall, ye Massy Pillars
That Bear this House of Sorrow, fall and Crush me,
Ascend ye sickly Vapours from below
And quickly blast me with your baneful Damps,
Convulsive Pangs, Life's Painful, latest struggle,
When like the Drops on these unwholesome Walls
Cold Clammy Dews, shall Bath my dying Limbs,
Nor Death, nor Fear of Punishments behind
Can Shock my Soul like Julianus Sight.
Jul.
If Grief has not too far Confus'd my Sense,
Those Mournful Sounds Confess the unhappy King,
I've listned to that Voice in happier Hours,
And if I guess aright, it is the King.
King.
It was the King, and still I am my self.
Now let me Summon all my Innate Greatness,
That I may meet this haughty, Injur'd Man,
[Aside
And boldly Face him, with a Mind resolv'd.
See Julianus, and indulge thy Hate
Glut thy pleas'd sight with fallen Rhoderique,
64
And print in bloody Characters thy Vengeance.
I am prepar'd for Fate.
Jul.
Mistaken King!
It is not in thy Hood wink'd Destiny
To judge aright of suffering Julianus.
Forsaken and a Prisoner like you,
I have no Sword to Punish thy Injustice,
Or if I had, I durst be Loyal still.
Yet I will Wound thy Ears with such sad Words,
That if thy Nature be not wholly Savage,
Shall strike thee deeper than the sharpest Steel.
King.
Thus Subtle Traytors ever Watch their time,
Like the Ungenerous Race of Coward Brutes,
Who, when the Lyons fetter'd in the Toyls,
Insult the Majesty that just before
They trembled to behold.
Jul.
Dost rouse me King,
Then what I meant, an humble soft Reproof
Gentle to Wake Repentance and no more,
Shall now become an eating Corrosive,
And Gall thy hardned Temper to the Quick.
Oh fatal Rhoderique! Why stop my Words:
So long I've learn'd and Practic'd to Obey,
I cannot force my Tongue to a Rebellion,
Yet thou hast Wrong'd me, and Heaven owns the Quarrel;
Spain is this Hour sinking by thy Vices,
Some baneful Planet Reign'd when thou wert Born,
And laid up all her sad Effects in thee.
The Hungry Famine and the blew-ey'd Pestilence
Are Mercies to the Mischiefs of this Night,
Mischiefs, thy unexampl'd Crimes have wrested
From the Supream Avengers.
King.
Peace thou Dotard,
Nor dare to tax the everlasting Justice,
As the Abetter of thy monstrous Treason
Impious Rebel.
Jul.
Indignation Choaks me
Yet I'll surmount it, be thy self, Old Man,
Nor let ungovern'd Rage o're come thy Vertue.
Ungrateful Tyrant, sure it can be no fault,
65
Tell me why I alone, from all the Crowd
Of passive Slaves, that bow'd beneath thy Yoke,
Was chose to bear the burthen of thy Shame.
Why was my Loyalty so ill rewarded?
The ancient Honour of my House prophan'd,
My Age pursu'd with most unheard of Wrongs,
Press'd to the Grave with hoary infamy?
Why us'd thus hardly?
King.
Are Subjects to contend with Royal Power?
What was thy House, or all thy boasted Race,
To be esteem'd in ballance with my Pleasures?
Had'st thou been Loyal, as thou wou'dst insinuate,
Thou had'st not grudg'd a Daughter to thy King:
That petty Sacrifice Thousands wou'd offer,
But thou, blinded with Pride and Vanity,
Think'st it more Noble to undo thy Country,
Than to endure the smallest Injury.
Mean and unworthy.
Jul.
Falsly thou dost upbraid me.
Had I been Father to a Hundred Children,
All innocent and bright as my Jacincta,
And had'd thou torn them all from my fond Care,
And given them up to ignominious Slavery;
Or if to indulge a cruel Thirst of Blood,
Thou had'st doom'd them to be slain before my Face,
I had lamented, but ne'er sought Revenge.
King.
Then why does thy old Age put on this Mask,
Of insolent, unnecessary Anger.
Why rowl thy gloomy Eyes with such strong Fury;
Why swell thy empty Veins, why shake thy Limbs,
For such a trifling Wrong?
Jul.
Oh! Rhoderique, thou hast undone my Fame.
Buried my Glory in a living Tomb,
Entail'd eternal Shame upon my Memory;
My poor Child, blotted by thy monstrous Lust,
Wanders about, a restless Misery,
A weeping Anguish.
King.
I'll hear no more.
Jul.
Yes, thou shalt hear me, King,
Till I have chang'd this Prison to a Hell,
66
Prepar'd for sinking Tyrants.
King.
Fury and Torture!
Is there no way to free me from this Slave,
This loud Reviler of his fallen Monarch?
Have not I left one open Path to Death?
Are all the numerous Adamantine Gates
By wayward Fate, made fast against the Wretched?
Jul.
Ha! What have I done, I fear I've gone too far;
Forgive me, Sir, Sorrow has turn'd my Brain;
See, at your Feet I throw the rash Offender:
Though you have err'd, yet still you are my King,
Not less in this dark solitary Prison,
Than when you fill'd the awful Throne of Spain.
Oh! if there yet remain'd one glance of Pity
In gentle Mercy's unexhausted Store;
Forgetting all my Wrongs, my Load of Griefs,
These aged Knees would grow one piece with Earth,
To implore it for your Safety.
King.
I'd despise it;
Both Life and Empire are below my Care:
Who can resolve me what's beyond this Span,
Perhaps I may return to my first nothing.
Oh! What a happy State were long Oblivion,
Forgetting and forgot, reliev'd from Thought,
From torturing Memory and vain Remorse;
'Twere lasting Peace, uninterrupted Rest,
A sweet, sound Sleep to all Eternity:
This were worth asking.
Jul.
Forbear these mournful Thoughts.
Ye impartial Beings, was it your Decree,
That I, who lov'd my Country and my King,
Dearer than Life—
That I shou'd be the unassisting Cause
Of all the black Confusion of this Night;
From my unhappy Loins, the guiltless Maid
Sprung, to fulfil the irrevocable Doom.
Oh! wounding Grief, incessant Lamentation,
Not to be born.
King.
Can he feel Pangs like these?
He that has done no Wrong, is Just and Pious.
67
Tho' I have long been Curst with Purple Greatness,
I never, never, knew an hour like this,
Flatter'd in Vice, I had no time to reflect.
Alas! Why was I brought within thy reach
To feel the sacred Influence of thy Vertue
And Mourn my Crimes, when there's no hope of Pardon.
Jul.
Do not despair,
When most severe I seem'd, yet even then,
Spite of my Injuries, you were my Care,
Upon my surly Jaylors I've prevail'd
To find my Daughter and to bring her here;
She yet has Power o're Theomantius Soul.
King.
Enough, enough,
Press me not more, with over-whelming shame
In vain I struggle in this Croud of Thoughts
To express my sense of thy amazing Goodness,
The falt'ring Accents hang upon my Tongue,
And now I'd kneel to thee, woud'st thou permit it.
Jul.
No more of this: Oh, King! my heart bleeds for thee.
Why was thy Noble Nature led astray?
Why didst thou take base Villains to thy Bosom,
And banish all thy aged Counsellours,
That wou'd have rein'd thy Looser Appetites,
And gently led thee in the Daths of Vertue?
I fear 'tis now too late.
King.
'Tis just it shou'd,
Since 'tis not in my Power to heal the Sorrows
I have heap'd upon thy Lovely, rifled Daughter,
That Fairest Piece that ever Nature drew,
Stain'd and Defac'd by my Curs'd Violence.
Oh is it fit, so vile a Wretch shou'd live!
No, as I have done the Wrongs I can't repair,
Inevitable Vengeance wails to sink me:
Yet ere I fall, Oh thou superior man,
Forgive a Royal Suppliant.
Jul.
So as my latest moment,
May gracious Heaven extend the arms of Mercy
And Pardon all the Errors of my Life.
As I forgive the Injuries thou hast done me,
These wither'd Hand, shall still be lifted up
68
The Threatned Danger.
King.
Such Wrongs as thine, so generously forgiven
Will never be believed in after-times.
Oh, had I Power!
A mighty Reparation I wou'd offer.
But 'tis in vain to talk: I have no Crown,
Or if I had, Jacincta wou'd have scorn'd it,
Another had her Vows.
Jul.
Ill fated Vows.
My King, my darling Daughter and my Country,
Each of you, miserable in Extream,
While Julianus suffers in you all.
But hark, my Child, that Signal says she's here:
Once more, my aking Eyes shall view her Sweetness,
And pay a Mournful Tribute to her Fate.
King.
Oh, let me fly:
In the lowest Cell of Darkness I wou'd hide me
Among pale Spectres of Despair and Horror,
So I may shun that Lovely ruin'd Fair,
Whose violated Form I dare not meet.
Oh, Julianus! O Jacincta.
(Exit.
Jul.
'Tis easie to resign the dregs of Life,
My Sand runs low in the dull course of Age,
Should Fate not shake the Glass, 'twou'd soon be out.
Enter Jacincta, Wounded.
Jac.
Pensive he stands, when will my Woes be full?
Jul.
Come near thou Child of Sorrow,
Thou wretch'd Off-spring off a poor old man,
That has out-liv'd that mighty hoard of Fame,
His active Youth laid up in a full Harvest?
Ha, what means that Blood upon thy snowy Breast?
Thou art not wounded.
Jac.
Oh, 'twas a Friendly Sword,
A band of y, Moors were Guarding me to you,
At the Command of their Imperious General,
When some of your poor, faithful Souldiers knew me,
And fearing they had seiz'd me as a Prey,
Soon forc'd them to resign their trembling Charge.
69
Levell'd this Wound, in Pity to my Sufferings:
Now be at Peace and Smile again my Father;
I was the fatal Period of your Honour,
And from my Ashes, like another Phœnix,
Glory once more shall rise.
Jul.
I know it well,
Glory will rise and shine upon our Tombs,
For I shall soon o're-take thy Gentle Shade
Among the few that serv'd unbyass'd Virtue,
Sure we may find an honourable Grave:
Why dost thou Weep, where are the Roses now
That dwelt in lively Colours on those Cheeks,
Pale as approaching Death? Oh, my Jacincta!
I have but one request and all is finish'd;
Coud'st thou but see rash Theomantius thus,
Thy dying Words wou'd charm his headlong Rage
And move his Soul to save the unhappy King,
Who now Repents his Crimes.
Jac.
I knew your Piety,
And sent a trusty Slave to guide him hither,
But Cou'd you feel the Tortures of my Breast,
The shaking Agonies, the bleeding Love;
I sink beneath, at thoughts of seeing him;
Indeed you'd Pitty me.
Great is thy Work, and for thy Countries good
[Swords.
Exert thy self, ha, what noise is that
[Shout and Noise of clashing
Which way? The King? You Die if you resist.
[Without.
Jul.
Seek they the King then my Fate tears me from thee,
If possible, to save him,
If not, at least I shall meet noble Death,
Farwel.
Jac.
Oh, stay my Father, yet ere we part,
For we shall never, never meet again,
Will you not lay by all that Majesty
Which strikes your Enemies with awful Terror,
And be all Love, all Tenderness, all Parent
To an only Child, who beggs your latest Blessing.
Jul.
Why wou'dst thou Triumph ore thy Father's Weakness,
And Force the aged Sluce to send up Tears,
When thirsty Grief has drain'd the exhausted Springs;
70
[Jacincta draws her Veil over her bosome.
A most immense, inevitable loss,
But veil that Wound from my tormented Eyes;
Believe me Child, these Drops more hardly flow
Then all those Streams of Blood I lost in Battle.
Jac.
Alass, I cannot bear the killing sight,
Oh, Weep no more.
Jul.
Thus let me bend to Earth.
Jac.
Why Kneels my Father?
Jul.
To ask thy Pardon, that I did beget thee;
From me, the fatal sourse of Misery
Thou drewest thy wretched being.
Jac.
Oh, forbear!
'Tis True, you are my dearest, God-like Father,
You gave me Life in an unhappy Hour,
But Shame and Meagre Woe lagg'd far behind;
Nor were you Parent of my ruin.
Jul.
No!
I lov'd thee with uncommon tenderness,
Even such, as none but thee cou'd e're deserve;
But thou wer't all Perfection, all Obedience:
Methinks I see the Angels hovering o'er thee,
Surrounded with an Host of smiling Saints,
Who seem to wish and wait for thy Reception:
Tell them, thou'rt coming to receive their welcomes;
From Heaven I had thee, and to Heaven again
Early thou wilt return, refin'd by Sufferings;
There may'st thou Feast on joys, which Earth deny'd
There we again shall meet, to part no more.
[Exit Jul.
Jac.
Wafted on the blest Wings of your just Prayers;
Methinks I am there already;
Follow and revenge the Injur'd General.
[Without.
Jul.
Now by my Wrongs, The Voice of Spanish Rage,
Soon I'll Rebuke their Guilty headlong Error:
Heaven has decreed, I shall not close thy Eyes
That last kind Office, I leave to Theomantius:
This way, this way.
(Without.
Jul.
I come, Oh Jacincta!
But let me hold thee to my Heart a Moment,
Then with a parting, Cold, Paternal Kiss
Resign thee patiently to Death and Fate.
71
And my Eyes strain their Balls, to the dear object:
It must not be, Oh Nature, Heart, Jacincta.
Jac.
Farewel, farewel for ever,
He's gone, and a dark Gloom begins to shade me;
This Wound will set the Imprison'd Soul at Liberty,
Tho' very gently it performs it's Work,
As loath to part from the Rich Balm of Life;
Oh, Death: Thou Remedy of Minds Distress!
Approach and take me to thy long Embrace.
Oh, Theomantius! hark, I hear him coming,
But the Poor Heart that us'd to beat his welcome
Now labouring in the Pain of Desolution
Neglects the Lover.
Enter Theomantius.
Theo.
What dismal, silent, dark Aboad is this,
Sure 'tis the Mansion of desparing Lovers,
Where all that groan beneath oppressing Fate,
like Theomantius and Jacincta Curst,
Sadly repair, to vent their swelling Griefs,
And thou my Love, like the Bright Goddess here
Display'st a mournful Glory all around,
And mak'st even ruine lovely.
Jac.
Hold yet my Spirits,
Let me collect a little, little Force,
A Moments Life and I have done for ever;
Oh, Theomantius, how is fortune Chang'd
Since t'other Days Gaudy, deluding Prospect
Our early Loves seem'd the blest care of Heaven,
And promis'd all that hopeful Youth cou'd wish;
Serene and Clear as ever gentle Peace,
No darkning Cloud threatned our Halcyon State,
And yet the rowling Tempest lay behind,
At length it Broke, the mighty Curse came down
And dash'd our meeting Joys.
Theo.
Oh, gnawing Truth!
Jac.
Much, Roderique has to answer for his Crimes,
But thou art guiltier far.
72
Heart-breaking Words!
Why does my cruel Fair one treat me thus,
Have I not shar'd her Injuries and Griefs,
And paid a Stream of Blood for every Tear,
That Tyranny has forc'd from her lov'd Eyes
And cou'd I give her Pain?
Jac.
Witness my ruin'd Country.
But Oh! the slaughter'd Heaps of Noble Spaniards.
Oh! could you think this would not give me Pain.
Hard is my Task, and most severe my Fate,
That in this latest Scene of yielding Life,
When all the kindest, softest, tender things
That faithful Lovers know, shou'd be express'd
Instead of these, Alas! My dying words
Must blame my Theomantius.
Theo.
Soul-rending Torture!
Forbear to wound me with your just Reproach,
Lest stung with deep Remorse, I fall before you,
A Victim to your Anger.
Jac.
Tell me why,
When putting off my timerous Sexes Fears,
Between the lifted Spears I ran to seek thee;
Why did my Cries not stop thy barbarous Arm
From further Slaughter?
Theo.
Some unseen Power
Fix'd on Spain's Destruction hurried me on,
And those vile Injuries thou had'st receiv'd
Ore-whelm'd that Reason, which wou'd else have heard,
And readily obey'd thee.
Jac.
Rash Revenge!
Now what canst thou expect, unhappy Prince,
But the Reward that's due to headlong Rage:
To wander here on Earth, despis'd and hated,
And when thou dyest, to be excluded Heaven,
For no presumptuous Punishers of Kings
Will be admitted to those blest Abodes.
Thither, the loyal and unshaken Virtue
Can only wing its flight.
Theo.
Recal thy piercing Words,
Thus crawling on the Earth, like a vile Slave;
(Kneels.
Let thy relenting Justice bless my Penitence.
73
The ungrateful Moor, turns the Sword I gave him
To his Deliverers Throat, and vows my Fall;
But let him triumph, do but thou forgive,
Call my dire Fault the effect of truest Love,
And I am satisfied.
Jac.
Rise Theomantius;
And if thou canst repair thy fatal Error—but much I doubt.
My willing Soul shall hold thee dear as ever,
But much I doubt.
Theo.
Banish thy Fears,
Inspir'd by thee, I shall do Miracles:
(rising hastily.
There is one hope yet left, my lovely Fair,
And now you have given me leave to expect a Pardon,
My future Actions shall deserve your Mercy.
The brave Antonio heads a bold Reserve,
Who will sell their Lives too dear for Africk purchase:
With them again we'll turn the giddy Scale,
And save our sinking Nation.
Jac.
'Tis well, and now I've nothing left to do,
Oh, Theomantius!
Theo.
Ha! What means my Love?
A deadly Paleness triumphs in thy Face,
And Tremblings seize thee.
Jac.
See this fatal Wound.
(Lifts up the Veil.
The welcome Present of an unknown Arm,
Who did not mean the kind Relief to me,
Thy Hand, for I am sinking.
Theo.
Sink all Nature,
Heap on this burthen'd Wretch the weight of Worlds,
They cannot crush like this, once more speak to me,
Thou lovely fading Beauty, bless my Soul,
With one kind Syllable, e'er thou tak'st thy Wing
To the bright Realms above, thy native Home:
Speak, tho' to Increase, Despair, and add to my Distraction.
Jac.
I love thee, and a Temper nice as mine,
In these sew tender Words sums up the whole:
There's something takes thy pleasing Form away,
Where art thou vanish'd from dazling Eyes,
Darkness comes on, and I can search no further.
(Dies.
74
Who shall I curse, to whom shall I complain?
If within this loathsome horrid Vault,
There has been frequent Murders, foulest Rapin,
Distorting Racks, and penetrating Fires,
With all the barbarous Cruelties of Rage,
That Hell and fierce Revenge could e'er inspire,
Yet has their Woes been Sports, compar'd with mine.
Still here's a Friend that will afford me Comfort,
(Draws.
And guide the dusky way to endless Peace.
Antonio lead the Army, I'll rest here.
Look down Jacincta, view my Resolution,
(Fall on his Sword.
I could not strike more heartily in thy Revenge
Enter an Officer and Soldiers.
Off.
Where's Theomantius?
Theo.
What wou'dst thou?
Off.
Spain is no more, this Hour dates her Fall,
New landing Moors have cover'd all the Strand;
Encompassing the only Troops were left,
Led by Antonio, who resists in vain,
For they are taken all, or perish'd.
Theo.
Hateful News,
Help Soldiers, and lay me by that dear one,
On thy cold Lips I leave my dying Sorrows,
And now, all's well.
(Dies.
Off.
Alas! What Noise is that of clashing Swords,
The Enemy pursues us.
Enter several Moors, driving in Julianus wounded.
1. Moor.
Yield and be safe.
Jul.
I scorn the Offer:
Let these Wounds inform your savage Eyes,
That Julianus knows not to submit.
Off.
Where is the King?
Jul.
I hope he is escap'd.
2. Moor.
'Twas by thy Aid, for which, this shall reward Thee.
75
Mul.
Here let insatiate Death restrain his Arm,
Preserve the General, save great Julianus;
Long may he live.
Jul.
Who wishes me that Curse,
But I am past its Power, here end my Sufferings,
Ill Fate can wound no more.
Mul.
Thou only Spaniard,
What impious Hand durst pierce thy worthy Breast,
That held the noblest Art of human kind?
Oh, say! who did this most accursed Deed.
2. Moor.
'Twas I, he has given Rhoderique Liberty,
Led him from Prison with undaunted Courage,
And urg'd the Spanish Soldiers to his side;
Them we soon conquer'd, but he mock'd our Fury,
And with his naked Breast maintain'd the Passage,
Whilst the King escap'd.
Mul.
He must be taken;
But no matter, that at our better Leisure.
Here all my Rage is turn'd to fruitless Pity,
Worthy General, my help.
Jul.
Away,
Approach me not with thy unwelcome Care,
Hast thou not ruin'd my lov'd, native Country,
Possess'd my unpolluted Mother Earth?
And wou'dst thou offer me detested help.
There's a Magnetick Force bends me this way,
Towards these dear dead Bodies of my Children.
Moor, if thou wou'dst be kind to Julianus,
Lay me in one Tomb, with these lov'd Reliques.
Mul.
It shall be done.
Enter Officers, with Antonio and Margaretta Prisoners.
Off.
Behold this lovely Pair,
Whom we took just making to the Port.
Jul.
My Foster Children, yet another Pang.
Mar.
My dear Jacincta dead, Oh, my Father!
76
The General dying, Theomantius dead.
Oh Fatal hour, Cruel Heart-wounding sight.
Mul.
Rash Theomantius fall, let Lovers mourn,
For only they know to excuse his fault;
Ore that Bright Form, should I give way to Grief,
I cou'd my self, be prodigal of Tears;
But this great Man, superior to our praise,
Is such a loss, as sorrow can't express;
Here turn your watry Eyes, ye Captive Spaniards,
He merits endless wailings.
Jul.
Oh, Mullymumen!
If in thy warlike Heart, compassion Reign,
Then let this mournful Pair, in peace remove
Far from the sight of desolated Spain;
To Antonio's distant Province, there secure
They never will molest thy Unenvied State;
Jacincta, Theomantius, I am coming,
Take to your Shades, the wretched Julianus,
My painful, tedious hours, at last are finish'd
And balmy Rest steals ore my wearied Lids:
No more, but Mercy, and I'm with ye.
[Dies.
Mul.
He sleeps for ever, fly ye Beauteous Mourners,
The mighty General obtain'd your Freedom.
Guard them to the Port, bear these to Death.
(Turning to the other Prisoners.
Ant.
For Life and Liberty,
Scarce can I bend my Soul to thank thee Moor;
But for thy dearest sake, my lovely Wife
I'll bear to live and leave these faithful Friends,
Which else I wish to follow.
Mar.
Oh, heavy parting,
But I will smother my Complaints in silence,
And having all in thee: Praise the high Powers,
Lest by vain Grief, I pull down new Misfortunes.
1. Moor.
Now great Sir, the Nation's wholy yours,
(Ex. with Souldiers.
And all wait ready to Salute you King.
Omnes.
Long live the Prosperous Royal Mullymumen.
Mul.
A Tomb Magnificent and Great to these I'll raise,
And then pursue the flying Rhoderique.
From this auspicious hour, we date our Reign,
The first of Moors that ever Conquer'd Spain.
FINIS.
| The Conquest of Spain | |