 | The tragedy of Sophonisba |  |
SCENE II.
Syphax, Sophonisba, Phoenissa.Syphax.
You seem to fly me, madam,
To shun my gratulations.—Here I come,
To join the general joy; and I, sure I,
Who have to dotage, have to ruin lov'd you,
Must take a tender part in your success,
In your recover'd state.
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'Tis very well.
I thank you, sir.
Syphax.
And gentle Masinissa,
Say, will he prove a very coming fool?
All pliant, all devoted to your will?
A glorious wretch like Syphax?—Ha! not mov'd!
Speak, thou perfidious! canst thou bear it thus?
With such a steady countenance? canst thou
Here see the man thou hast so grosly wrong'd,
And yet not sink in shame? And yet not shake
In every guilty nerve?
Sophonisba.
What have I done,
That I should tremble? that I should not dare
To bear thy presence? Was my heart to blame,
I'd tremble for my self, and not for thee,
Proud man! Nor would I live to be asham'd.
My soul it self would die, could the least shame
On her unspotted fame be justly cast:
For of all evils, to the generous, shame
Is the last deadly pang.—But you behold
My late engagement with a jealous, false,
And selfish eye.
Syphax.
Avenging Juno, hear!
And canst thou think to justify thy self?
I blush to hear thee, traitress!
Sophonisba.
O my soul!
Canst thou hear this, this base opprobrious language,
And yet be tamely calm?—Well, well, for once
It shall be so—in pity to thy madness—
Impatient spirit down!—Yes, Syphax, yes,
Yes I will greatly justify my self;
Even by the consort of the thundering Jove,
Who binds the holy marriage-vow, be judg'd.
And every public heart, not meanly lost
In little low pursuits, to wretched self
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But in the tempest of the soul, when rage,
Loud indignation, unattending pride,
And jealousy confound it, how can then
The nobler passions, how can they be heard?
Yet let me tell thee—
Syphax.
Thou canst tell me nought.
Away! away! nought but illusion, falshood—
Sophonisba.
My heart will burst, in honour to my self,
If here I speak not; tho' thy rage, I know,
Can never be convinc'd, yet shall it be
Confounded.—And must I renounce my freedom?
Forgoe the power of doing general good?
Must yield my self the slave, the barbarous triumph
Of insolent, enrag'd, inveterate Rome?
And all for nothing but to grace thy fall?
Nay by my self to perish for thy pleasure?
If here I speak not; tho' thy rage, I know,
Can never be convinc'd, yet shall it be
Confounded.—And must I renounce my freedom?
Forgoe the power of doing general good?
Must yield my self the slave, the barbarous triumph
Of insolent, enrag'd, inveterate Rome?
And all for nothing but to grace thy fall?
Nay by my self to perish for thy pleasure?
For thee, the Romans may be mild to thee;
But I, a Carthaginian, I, whose blood
Holds unrelenting enmity to theirs;
Who have my self much hurt them, and who live
Alone to work them woe; what, what can I
Hope from their vengeance, but the very dregs
Of the worst fate, the bitterness of bondage?
Yet thou, thou kind man, wouldst in thy generous love,
Wouldst have me suffer that; be bound to thee,
For that dire end alone, beyond the stretch
Of nature, and of law.
But I, a Carthaginian, I, whose blood
Holds unrelenting enmity to theirs;
Who have my self much hurt them, and who live
Alone to work them woe; what, what can I
Hope from their vengeance, but the very dregs
Of the worst fate, the bitterness of bondage?
Yet thou, thou kind man, wouldst in thy generous love,
Wouldst have me suffer that; be bound to thee,
For that dire end alone, beyond the stretch
Of nature, and of law.
Syphax.
Confusion! Law!
I know the laws permit thee, the gross laws
That rule the vulgar. I'm a captive, true;
And therefore may'st thou plead a shameful right
To leave me to my chains—But say, thou base one!
Ungrateful! say, for whom am I a captive?
For whom these many years with war, and death,
Defeats, and desolation have I liv'd?
For whom has battle after battle bled?
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Been vilely cast away? For whom this day,
This very day, have I been stain'd with slaughter?
With yon last reeking field?—For one, ye gods!
Who leaves me for the victor, for the wretch
I hold in utter endless detestation.
Fire! fury! hell!—Oh I am richly paid!—
But thus it is to love a woman—Woman!
The source of all disaster, all perdition!
Man in himself is social, would be happy,
Too happy; but the gods, to keep him down,
Curs'd him with woman! fond, enchanting, smooth,
And harmless-seeming woman; while at heart
All poison, serpents, tygers, furies, all
That is destructive, in one form combin'd,
And gilded o'er with beauty!
Sophonisba.
Hapless man!
I pity thee; this madness only stirs
My bosom to compassion, not to rage.
Think as you list of our unhappy sex,
Too much subjected to your tyrant force;
Yet know that all, we were not all, at least,
Form'd for your trifles, for your wanton hours.
Our passions too can sometimes soar above
The houshold task assign'd us, can expand
Beyond the narrow sphere of families,
And take in states into the panting heart,
As well as yours, ye partial to yourselves!
And this is my support, my joy, my glory,
The Conscience that my heart abhors all baseness,
And of all baseness most ingratitude.
I pity thee; this madness only stirs
My bosom to compassion, not to rage.
Think as you list of our unhappy sex,
Too much subjected to your tyrant force;
Yet know that all, we were not all, at least,
Form'd for your trifles, for your wanton hours.
Our passions too can sometimes soar above
The houshold task assign'd us, can expand
Beyond the narrow sphere of families,
And take in states into the panting heart,
As well as yours, ye partial to yourselves!
And this is my support, my joy, my glory,
The Conscience that my heart abhors all baseness,
And of all baseness most ingratitude.
This sure affronted honour may declare,
With an unblushing cheek.
With an unblushing cheek.
Syphax.
False, false as Hell!
False as your sex! when it pretends to virtue.
You talk of honour, conscience, patriotism.
A female patriot!—Vanity!—Absurd!
Even doating dull credulity would laugh
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Had any better purpose in her eye,
Than how to please her pride or wanton will?
In various shapes, and various manners, all,
All the same plagues, or open, or conceal'd,
The bane of life!
Sophonisba.
Must I then, must I, Syphax,
Give thee a bitter proof of what I say?
I would not seem to heighten thy distress,
Not in the least insult thee; thou art fallen,
So fate severe has will'd it, fallen by me.
I therefore have been patient; from another,
Such language, such indignity, had fir'd
My soul to madness. But since driven so far,
I must remind thy blind injurious rage
Of our unhappy Marriage.—
Syphax.
Horror!—Oh!
Blot it eternal night!
Sophonisba.
Allow me, Syphax!
Hear me but once! If what I here declare
Shines not with reason, and the clearest truth;
May I be base, despis'd, and dumb for ever!
Hear me but once! If what I here declare
Shines not with reason, and the clearest truth;
May I be base, despis'd, and dumb for ever!
I pray thee think, when unpropitious Hymen
Our hands united, how I stood engag'd.
I need not mention what full well thou know'st.
But pray recal, was I not flatter'd? young?
With blooming life elate, with the warm years
Of vanity? sunk in a passion too,
Which few resign? Yet then I married thee,
Because to Carthage deem'd a stronger friend;
For that alone. On these conditions, say,
Didst thou not take me, court me to thy throne?
Have I deceiv'd thee since? Have I dissembled?
To gain one purpose, e'er pretended what
I never felt? Thou canst not say I have.
And if that principle, which then inspir'd
My marrying thee, was right, it cannot now
Be wrong. Nay since my native city wants
Assistance more, and sinking calls for aid,
Must be more right—
Our hands united, how I stood engag'd.
I need not mention what full well thou know'st.
But pray recal, was I not flatter'd? young?
With blooming life elate, with the warm years
Of vanity? sunk in a passion too,
Which few resign? Yet then I married thee,
Because to Carthage deem'd a stronger friend;
For that alone. On these conditions, say,
Didst thou not take me, court me to thy throne?
Have I deceiv'd thee since? Have I dissembled?
To gain one purpose, e'er pretended what
I never felt? Thou canst not say I have.
And if that principle, which then inspir'd
My marrying thee, was right, it cannot now
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Assistance more, and sinking calls for aid,
Must be more right—
Syphax.
This reasoning is insult!
Sophonisba.
I'm sorry that thou dost oblige me to it.
Then in a word take my full-open'd soul.
Then in a word take my full-open'd soul.
All love, but that of Carthage, I despise.
I formerly to Masinissa thee
Preferr'd not, nor to thee now Masinissa,
But Carthage to you both. And if preferring
Thousands to one, a whole collected people,
All nature's tenderness, whate'er is sacred,
The liberty the welfare of a state,
To one man's frantic happiness, be shame;
Here, Syphax, I invoke it on my head!
I formerly to Masinissa thee
Preferr'd not, nor to thee now Masinissa,
But Carthage to you both. And if preferring
Thousands to one, a whole collected people,
All nature's tenderness, whate'er is sacred,
The liberty the welfare of a state,
To one man's frantic happiness, be shame;
Here, Syphax, I invoke it on my head!
This set aside; I, careless of my self,
And, scorning prosperous state, had still been thine,
In all the depth of misery proudly thine!
But since the public good, the law supreme,
Forbids it; I will leave thee with a kingdom,
The same I found thee, or not reign my self.
And, scorning prosperous state, had still been thine,
In all the depth of misery proudly thine!
But since the public good, the law supreme,
Forbids it; I will leave thee with a kingdom,
The same I found thee, or not reign my self.
Alas! I see thee hurt—Why cam'st thou here,
Thus to inflame thee more?
Thus to inflame thee more?
Syphax.
Why sorceress? why?
Thou complication of all deadly mischief!
Thou lying, soothing, specious, charming fury!
I'll tell thee why—To breathe my great revenge;
To throw this load of burning madness from me;
To stab thee!—
Sophonisba.
Ha!—
Syphax.
—And, springing from thy heart,
To quench me with thy blood!
(Phœnissa interposes)
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Off, give me way!
Phœnissa; tempt not thou his brutal rage.
Me, me, he dares not murder: if he dares,
Here let his fury strike; for I dare die.
What holds thy trembling point?
Phoenissa.
Guards!
Sophonisba.
Seize the king.
But look you treat him well, with all the state
His dignity demands.
Syphax.
Goodness from thee
Is the worst death,—The Roman trumpets!—Ha!
Now I bethink me, Rome will do me justice.
Yes, I shall see thee walk the slave of Rome;
Forget my wrongs, and glut me with the sight.
Be that my best revenge.
Sophonisba.
Inhuman! that,
If there is death in Afric, shall not be.
| The tragedy of Sophonisba | |