University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE. I.

Enter Elvira, and Bianca with a Paper in her Hand.
Elvira.
This was a lucky accident, Bianca;
It will be noble Mischief.

Bianca.
I long to know the issue.

Elv.
It must be good: That Poison Jealousie
Destroys the strongest Bonds of Blood, or Friendship:
Constantia cannot think the Prince loves Agnes,
But she must hate, and treat her as a Rival;
Or cou'd she be so tame to keep her here,
Distrust, and coldness, Rival-ship will breed,
Which Agnes is too haughty to endure,
And though not sent, will soon return to Spain.

Bianca.
That will be pleasing news to all the Ladies,
Who envy her the Princesses Affection.

Elv.
Was it not an Affront to all the Court,
To bring her here as in defiance to us;
As if she thought none of us worth her Love,
Not one in Portugal for her Converse.

Bianca.
Their being bred from Infancy together,
Might make it difficult to separate;
And then their near Relation.

Elv.
A Princess, must have none;
She came to wear the Crown of Portugal,
And then, shou'd have renounc'd all other Claims:
She 'as now, new Friends, new Country, new Relations,
And shou'd forget the Old; not be a Spaniard here.

Bianca.
These lines will make her wish she had forgot 'em.
Methinks I pity her.

Elv.
All that can contribute to Plague the Prince
Is grateful to my Thoughts: I know his temper;
The Princesses regrets will most torment him;
And then to lose his Mistress; shall I see
The faithless Traytor, who abandon'd me,
Punish'd in the same kind, Lose her he Loves:
That, that's the pleasing part.

Bianca.
Not all you e're Contriv'd, or Wish'd to happen,
Cou'd more effectually have punish'd both:
Fortune indeed has laid a brave Foundation,
Whereon to Build, what Hate can make you aim at.

Elv.
But I must raise the Structure, and I'll do't,
With so much Care, with so much Artful Strength,
Not all their force and cunning shall destroy it:
Revenge is Justice, Born in Noble Souls;
'Twas some mean Spirited Fool that first taught Patience,
Weak Cowardice, that Preach'd up dull Forgiveness,
And call'd the lasie Impotence, a Virtue.

Bianca.
'Tis Vice to leave such Injuries unpunish'd;
'Twould make all Men be Faithless as the Prince,
If Women bore their Wrongs without return.

Elv.
Ye Gods! Was I a Trifle to be plaid with,
Fit but to entertain his leisure hours;
But I've recall'd the Heart he Fool'd away;
And now 'tis fill'd with Fury and Revenge,
He'll find Elvira can do more, more, than amuse him.

Bianca.
Madam, What method in this great design
Will your just Anger take?

Elv.
Bianca; I have found thee Faithful,
And may have need of thee.

Bianca.
Madam, Did not my Inclination tie me,
Your Bounty has engag'd me to your Service.

Elv.
Be confident of what I can do for you;
I know Antonio fain wou'd Marry you,
But that his Friends oppose it.
I'll make your Fortune fit for such a Match,
Which Love, or your Ambition, makes you Covet.

Bianca.
Let your Commands be ne'er so hazardous,
I will not fail t'Obey you.

Elv.
I can't resolve on what I have to do,
Till I shall know the Princesses Resentments:
She's wishing with impatience for your coming,
Fond of discov'ring what she'll grieve to find;
Be sure seem not to know what's in the Paper.

Bianca.
By no means, Madam.

Elv.
I'll to my Brother;
And tell him of the Prince's Love to Agnes:
I know his boundless Rage and Jealousie
Will soon inspire him with some Resolution,
That must be fatal to the Prince, or Agnes;
For bating his fond Passion to that Maid,
His ev'ry Thought bespeaks him of my Blood.

Bianca.
His Favour with the King may be of use,
The Kingdom's rul'd by Don Alvaro's Will.

Elv.
His Power indeed is almost absolute,
And if he be my Brother, he'll improve it;
But I delay;
I'll strike with Fortune whilst she's in the Humour;
She shall not have the time to change her Mind,
Follow her close, and she'll be always kind;
Too proud to wait, sh' as ever shun'd the Wise,
They pause so long, that to the thoughtless Fools she flies.

(Ex. severally.

SCENE II.

The Princess's Apartment; The Princess sitting in a Melancholly posture, Agnes entring to her.
Princess.
My Agnes! Art thou come! My Souls best Comfort,
Thou dear Relief to my oppressing Cares:
My Griefs have lost already half their force,
They vanish at thy sight, like Mists, before the Sun.

Agnes.
What Mists, what Clouds are these, o'respread your Soul?
Which do like those that wou'd obscure the Sun,
Whilst they but seem to darken the bright Mind,
Cast a sad Gloom on all the World beneath.
In pity, Madam, then Shine out to chear us,
For all must be unhappy, whilst you Grieve.

Princess.
Ah! Agnes, ah! The Prince! This day the Prince—

Agnes.
Must leave you: Is that your cause of Sadness?
He'll soon return with Glory and Success.
I saw you, Madam, in the heat of Love,
When you had scarcely lost the name of Bride,
The Prince call'd from you by an eager Foe,
Train'd up in War, resolv'd for Death, or Conquest,
I saw you part from him with less Despair,
Far less afflicted than I see you now.

Princess.
My Secrets all are thine: Forgive me Agnes
That I have hitherto kept this conceal'd,
And let it prey upon my Bleeding Heart
Till it is e'en devour'd; but take it now.
I fear the Prince,
Whom better than my Life thou know'st I love,
(Be witness Heav'n I wou'd to make him blest,
Resign my part in all I hold most dear,
Nay, ev'n himself, if I were sure he wished it)
Oh Friend! This Husband, gives me not his Heart,
And much I fear, some other robs me of it.

Agnes.
Causless Suspicions; can the Prince alone,
Neglect that Virtue which Mankind adores?
Who else can claim the Empire of his Heart?
More by their Merit, than their Marriage yours;
For who in Portugal deserves like you?
Banish these Fears, they may prove Fatal to you,
Light Jealousies, like Prunings to a Plant,
The tender wound improves, and helps loves growth;
But if they enter deep, the Branches fade,
And the rich stock decays, and dies at last.

Princess.
Alas! In vain I gave my self advice,
Strove to excuse the Coldness of his Heart,
Which through his forc'd caresses still appear'd
His Melancholly all the Court observes,
Though only I can guess th'unhappy cause;
At Night I watch him when he thinks I sleep;
He Tosses, Sighs, impatient for the Day,
And often leaves me, e'ere it does approach.

Agnes.
Th'Effect of temper, Madam; but for Love,
He seems design'd a Pattern to the World,
The Virgins at Coimbra beg of Fate,
To give them Husbands like the Prince to you;
So fond, so careful, with such nice respect.

Princess.
Were he my Slave he could not give me more;
A Lover, Agnes, cou'd not shew so much.

Agnes.
I thought respect the highest mark of Love.
'Tis all that Heav'n requires, what would you more?

Princess.
Alas! Thy thoughts of Love are as imperfect,
As their Idea of vast distant Lands,
Who never saw 'em, but in Maps and Pictures;
What shall I say to make thee understand?
Love levels all, he knows no Quality,
No Titles, but those soft ones which he makes;
Th'Insensible my Husband, never felt
A transport of Fierce Love, that cou'd one Moment
Make him forget, his Wife was born a Princess.

Agnes.
How exquisite a Torturer you are grown,
You rack your Wit for torments to your Soul.

Princess.
These are the Nat'ral thoughts of Love, my Child;
But I'm impatient, Bianca stays;
The Prince this Night seem'd sad, and discompos'd
Much more than usual; he started up,
And with confusion in his Words and Action,
He left me, and refus'd to be attended;
A strange, disturb'd, I know not what within.
Mov'd me to send Bianca to observe him,
Two hours ago, and yet she's not return'd.

Agnes.
What can you hope from such an Enquiry?
Why shou'd you search, for that which if you find,
Ascertains Miseries, you now but fear?

Princess.
Then I shall mourn for one, but whilst I doubt,
I feel a thousand Pains for ev'ry ill,
That's barely possible to be the Cause.

Agnes.
Compose your self, Madam, I beg your Highness.

Princess.
That was a Word of too much distance, Agnes,
Looks like the Prince's cold indifference,
In Ceremonious respect disguis'd;
Leave it, I wou'd believe I have thy Heart,
The only comfort for the loss of his;
For you are both so equal dear to me,
So closely wove by Fate to my fond breast,
That neither can be sever'd from my love,
Without unravelling this Web of Life.
Enter Bianca.
What News Bianca? Speak, where went the Prince?
Where has thou left him?

Bianca.
In the Garden, Madam;
Thither I follow'd him far off, unseen;
He stopp'd sometimes, and walk'd disorderly,
Till he had reach'd the foot o'th middle walk,
Where ent'ring one of the cool shady Grots,
He sat him down, and seem'd o'erwhelm'd in thought;
Then through the Boughs, I could discern him write,
And folding up the Paper when he'd done,
He threw himself with force upon the Ground,
Sighing, and Groaning, words I could not hear,
Till seeming tir'd with Grief, he fell asleep.
When I had watch'd a while, with cautious steps
I went, (in hopes to serve your Highness well)
And stole the Paper which the Prince had writ;
Perhaps it may contain what you wou'd know,
For fearing that, I durst not open it,
Lest I discover'd what you wou'd conceal.

[Gives the Paper.
Princess.
I thank thee for thy care; leave us Bianca.
[Exit Bi.
After reading.]
Doubly unhappy Princess!
Agnes, my Fears are true! All that I fear'd,
More than I fear'd, is true.

Agnes.
It can't be, the Prince is not so stupid,
To Love Elvira still; I heard indeed
He had a while amus'd himself with her
Before your Marriage: but what Charms has she
To vie with those perfections all Divine,
Which grace your Body, and adorn your Soul?

Princess.
Ah! She who robs me of my Husband's Heart,
Is all a Charm, to plead for his Excuse;
Young, Beautiful, Discreet, and Chast, as Fair;
By Nature form'd to captive ev'ry Heart,
My Reason must approve the Prince's choice,
For I my self, prefer her to my self,
And love her too, as tenderly as he.

Agnes.
Who can this Angel be?

Princess.
Are there are so many merit more than I,
Thou can'st not guess among 'em?

Agnes.
Indeed I know not one deserves like you;
And therefore cannot guess.

Princess.
Have you so long been privy to my Thoughts,
Yet know not her who is so dear to me?
Who with the Prince, shares my divided Heart
So equally, I cannot tell my self
To which I have given most; know you not her?
For if you know my Friend, you know my Rival.

Agnes.
How very Miserable must I be
When I'm reduc'd to wish, you did not love me!
Those marks, of that peculiar, dear affection,
Which ev'ry day your partial kindness gave,
Are Witnesses which I would disbelieve;
Oh! Let me think your Friendship was divided,
Tell me you have another, nearer Friend,
For I had rather lose your Love for ever,
Than be the wretched Cause of your misfortune;
Rather be hated by you, than deserve it;
Oh ease my cruel fears, and name some other.

Princess.
[Agnes reads.]

Agnes.
Heav'n strike 'em blind, for the base treachery;
Where shall I hide these curst, these guilty Eyes?
They dare not look upon the Injur'd Princess,
Tho she was all they took delight to see;
How cou'd Heav'n make so great a contradiction,
As in one Person, Friend, and Enemy!

Princess.
Thou art not my Enemy; I know you love me.

Agnes.
Yet I have rob'd you of your dearest part,
Destroy'd your soft tranquillity of Soul,
And left you nothing but Despair and Sorrow;
I only have done this, ev'n I who love you;
I who to serve you wou'd abandon Life;
Oh! Can I say I am the curse of yours!
But all ill fortune flys from you with me,
And all the Curse lights heavy on my head,
For we must part, for Ever, Ever part.

Princess.
Part! Wou'd you add to my unhappiness?
Be yet more cruel than my Destiny?
Fate has depriv'd me but of half my blessing;
And you wou'd tear the other half away,
To leave me Sad, Desolate, and Comfortless.

Agnes.
Alas! We ne'er shall meet in joy again,
This tender Love must all be turn'd to Hate.

Princess.
That thought was too injurious from a Friend:
Thy only guilt is having too much merit,
For which 'twere most unjustly base to hate thee.

Agnes.
Yet sure, I'm now unworthy of thy Love.
But teach me how I may again deserve it;
What can be done to cure the Prince's Phrenzy?
I'll blot out all that's lovely in this Face,
Disfigure it to black deformity,
Enough to frighten all Mankind to madness,
And bring him back to reason.

Princess.
This wild Extravagance is unbecoming;
Let's learn to bear our Woes, and leave to Heav'n
The time and manner of redressing 'em!
Despair may Cure the Prince—but it may kill him;
Oh! Thy too rigorous Virtue makes me fear.
But think, with him you will condemn your Friend,
And mingle sweetness with severity;
Pity his Fate, that Honour will allow,
And I shall bless thy gen'rous Charity.

Agnes.
Oh, wond'rous instance of a matchless goodness?
Gods! Is it just the Prince enjoy this Blessing,
Who knows not how to value the vast Treasure.

Princess.
You are ungrateful to condemn the Prince,
And I, for all I suffer, cann't accuse him!
I know he struggled long against your Charms,
And those efforts are more obliging far,
Than if his Inclinations were for me.
Love rul'd by Fate, does n'er consult our will,
But if we strive to love, it shows Esteem;
And 'tis more kind to wish I had his Heart,
Than if he gave the prize unwillingly.
Why should I blame the Prince for loving her?
Were Reason, Duty, Honour, all against me,
I still should dote on him, in spight of all:
The same strong Destiny controuls his Heart,
And my fair Rival's worth, bounds my Complaints:
There is no room for my Resentment left,
Nor shall the Prince perceive my inward Grief,
You, only you, shall ease the Wounds you made,
For thou wilt pity me, I know thou wilt,
Thou Dear, thou less my Rival, than my Friend.

(En. Prince.
Agnes.
Alas, he's here!

Prince.
What new design has Fate to carry on?
Th'unlucky Writing in Constantia's Hand!
Nay then it has it's utmost malice shown.

Agnes.
Unhappy chance! He sees I know his love,
I cannot look on him without Confusion,
Oh! That I'd ever shun'd his Eyes as now.
(Exit. Agnes.

Prince.
Madam, from whence had you that fatal Scrowl?

Princess.
Be not disturb'd, and I'le forget I saw it.

Prince.
Oh no! You never must forget my Crime,
Rail at me, Curse me, Hate me if thou canst,
That thou may'st less deserve to be Belov'd,
And I be less asham'd of wronging thee.

Princess.
It is not you, but cruel Fate has wrong'd me,
And wrong'd me most by making you unhappy;
That doubles all the Sorrows of my Soul,
When in the tender ragings of my Heart,
Torn with the Agonies of hopeless Love,
I shall remember, you are wretched too;
You wish in Vain, Sigh, and Despair, like me;
Thus guessing all your Torments by my own,
I shall more than feel 'em ore again for you.

Prince.
Oh! This short view of what I make thee suffer,
Is worse to me than all I've known before:
How can'st thou pity this ungrateful Husband?

Princess.
That kind Concern, shows you are not Ungrateful;
And 'twere inhumane not to pity you,
When all Relief but pity is deny'd.
Poor Prince, if you had lov'd a Maid less nice,
Her kindness might have satisfied your Passion,
Or want of Merit quite extinguish'd it;
It grieves me you shou'd fix your Heart on one,
Too scrupulous to recompence your flame;
I dread th'effects of her Severity,
VVhich may instead of Curing, more engage you,
Charm'd with that rigorous Virtue that undoes you.

Prince.
How then shou'd thy diviner Virtue charm me!
Virtue of such an elevated Nature,
It claims not Love alone, but Adoration,
Greater than that we owe to Saints above,
And that, I swear I pay thee.

Princess.
Unhappily you have misplac'd your Thoughts;
Fair Agnes more deserves your Adoration;
And I may say, I more deserve your Love;
For, Oh Dear Prince! there's not a part of me,
That is not fill'd with softest Love for thee,
My Soul's all thine, I languish for thy Love,
Dote on, in spight of thy Indifference;
Live by thy Looks, am nothing when thou'rt from me,
Wretched to think thou can'st not be all mine,
And Oh! Cou'd part with all I e'er possess'd,
To gain thy dearer Heart.

Prince.
Oh! If thou lov'st me, hide this tenderness,
I better cou'd support the sharpest Anger;
Call all thy Injuries into thy thoughts,
Think me Ungrateful, Perjur'd, any thing,
That may provoke the Cruellest Reproaches;
Shew your resentment in the fiercest Form;
Revenge your Wrongs, but upon me alone;
This only Criminal, unhappy Wretch,
And share the guiltless Cause of our Misfortune.

Princess.
Fear not for Agnes, Sir,
I love her, and her being dear to you,
More strongly recommends her to my care;
For my repose depends so much on yours,
I must lose all my own, to rob you of it.

Prince.
Too Generous Princess! But in spight of you,
You have reveng'd your self with sharpest wounds,
Deep in that Faithless Breast which injur'd you.
This cruel kindness, has undone your Husband,
Thou miracle of Virtue.

Princess.
Alas my Love, what shall I say to ease you?

Prince.
Kill me, Constantia, I deserve it of thee;
But that wou'd be too kind;
'Twould save me all the many Deaths of shame,
Which ev'ry thought of thee will make me feel;
Forgive me then, to punish me yet more,
For now I hate my self for grieving thee,
And wou'd be still, still more Unhappy made.
Alas! I dare not meet thy loving Eyes,
They tell me that thou hast forgiv'n me;
Fly wretch; Oh fly! from all that looks like good,
Ev'n silent Innocence, is thy reproach.

Princess.
His Sorrows touch me more than all my own;
He seems as if his Soul were on the Rack,
And that Immortal part cou'd to be free,
Wish it self Mortal like its lovely Mansion.
Perhaps my presence discomposes him,
I will retire, and Heav'n with tears implore,
Though by my Death, his quiet to restore.

[Exit.
Prince
solus.
Is there another wretch on Earth like me,
Who what was meant for Ease and Blessings to him,
Perverts into a Curse?
When I had lock'd the Secret in my Breast,
Kept it conceal'd ev'n from my dearest Friend,
Deny'd my self all ways to vent my Grief,
But pouring out my Woes in soft Complaints,
They, must be made th'occasion of my ruine;
And by I know not what, some Devil sure,
Convey'd to her from whom I most wou'd hide 'em.
The Virtue of my Wife too proves my Curse,
And I'm constrain'd to wish for my relief,
What others shun, as the worst plague of Life.
O Agnes! O Constantia! both distract me!
O the sad Prospect of encreasing woes,
Which only Death can put a period to!
I love, and wou'd not, ought not to be pity'd;
Or if I were,
Still my Ingratitude, my poor Constantia's Sufferings,
Wou'd haunt me, to enervate all my joys.
Unhappy Lover—more Ingrateful Husband:
What dost thou wish? What can be thy relief?
No, think of none, none, but in suffering more;
T'attone thy Crime, be exquisitely wretched;
Thus Agnes may revenge Constantia's wrongs;
Raise thy wild Passion to that force and height,
That it may crush thee, with its Fatal weight.

Exit.