University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

SCENE The Field.
Enter Busiris and Auletes. An Alarm at Distance.
Bus.
Welcome the Voice of War! tho' loud the Sound,
It faintly speaks the Language of my Heart.
It Whispers what I mean. But say, Auletes,
What urge these forlorn Rebels in Excuse
For chusing Ruin?

Aul.
Various their Complaints.
But some are loud, that while your heavy Hand
Presses whole Millions with incessant Toil,
(Toils fitter far for Beasts than human Creatures)
In building Wonders for the World to gaze at,
Weeds are their Food, their Cup the muddy Nile.

Bus.
Do they not build for Me? Let that reward them.
Yes, I will build more Wonders to be gaz'd at,
And temper all my Cement with their Blood.
Whose Pains and Art reform'd the puzzled Year,
Thus drawing down the Sun to human Use,
And making Him their Servant? Who push'd off
With Mountain Dams the broad redundant Nile
Descended from the Moon, and bid it wander
A Stranger Stream in unaccustom'd Shores!
Who from the Ganges to the Danube reigns?
But Virtues are forgot!—Away—to Arms!
I'll call to Mind my glorious Ancestry,
Which for ten thousand rolling Years renown'd
Shines up into Eternity its self,
And ends among the Gods.

[An Alarm.
Enter Memnon.
Aul.
The Rebel braves us.

Bus.
Hold, let our Weapons thirst one Moment longer;
And Death stand still, till he receives my Nod.—
Whom meet I in the midst of my own Realm,
With bold Defiance on his Brow?

Mem.
The Slave,
Whom Dread Busiris lately laid in Chains,
An Emblem of his Country.

Bus.
Is it thus
You thank my Royal Bounty?

Mem.
Thus you thank'd
The good Artaxes, thus you thank'd my Father.

Bus.
What I have done, conclude most right and just,
For I have done it, and the Gods alone
Shall ask me Why; Thou liv'st, altho' they fell;
And if they fell unjustly, greater Thanks
Are due from Thee, whom even Injustice spar'd.

Mem.
Thy Kindnesses are Wrongs, they mean to sooth
My Injur'd Soul, and steal it from Revenge.

Bus.
Turn back thine Eye, behold thy Troops are thin,
Thy Men are rarely sprinkled o'er the Field,
And yet thou carry'st Millions on thy Tongue.

Mem.
All, thy Blood-thirsty Sword has laid in Dust
Are on my side, they come in bloody Swarms,
And throng my Banners; thy unequal'd Crimes
Have made Thee Weak, and rob my Victory.—

Bus.
Ha!

Mem.
Nay, stamp not, Tyrant; I can stamp as loud,
And raise as many Dæmons at the Sound.

Bus.
I wear a Diadem.

Mem.
And I a Sword.

Bus.
Yet, yet submit, I give thee Life.

Mem.
Secure your own:
No more, Busiris, bid the Sun farewel.

Bus.
Busiris and the Sun shou'd Set together,
If this Day's angry Gods ordain my Fate
Know thou, I fall like some vast Pyramid,
I bury Thousands in my great Destruction,
And Thou the first.—Slave! in the Front of Battel,
There Thou shalt find me.

Mem.
Thou shalt find me there,
And have well paid that Gratitude I owe.

[Exeunt.
A continued Alarm.
Enter Myron and Nicanor meeting.
Nic.
Does not mine Eye strike Horror through thy Soul,
And shake the Weapon from thy trembling Arm?
Base Boy! The Foulness of thy Guilt secures Thee
From my Reproach, I dare not name thy Crime.

Myr.
Old Man, didst thou stand up in thy own Cause,
I then shou'd be afraid of Fourscore Years,
And tremble at Grey Hairs; but since thy Frenzy
Has lent those venerable Locks to cast
A Gloss of Virtue on the blackest Crime,
Accurst Rebellion! This gives back my Heart,
With all its Rage, and I'm a Man again.

Nic.
Come on, and use that Force in Arms, I taught thee;
I'll now resume the Life I gave so late.

Myr.
I grieve thou hast but half a Life to lose,
And dost defraud my Vengeance—At my Touch
Thou moulder'st into Dust, and art Forgotten.
[Preparing to fight, Myr. stops short.
Ah no! I cannot fight with Thee, begone
And shake elsewhere; Thou canst not want a Death
In such a Field, though I refuse it to thee.
Rameses, Memnon, give them to my Sword,
Sustain'd by Thousands; but to fly from Thee,
From Thee, most injur'd Man, shall be my Praise,
And rise above the Conquest of my Foes.

Nic.
'Tis not old Age, th'avenging Gods pursue thee!

[He retires before Nicanor off the Stage. A loud Alarm.
Enter Busiris and Auletes in Pursuit.
Bus.
'Tis well, I like this Madness of the Field:
Let heighten'd Horrors, and a Waste of Death
Inform the World Busiris is in Arms.
But then I grudge the Glory of my Sword
To Slaves, and Rebels, while they die by me,
They cheat my Vengeance, and survive in Fame.

Aul.
I panted after in the Paths of Death,
And cou'd not but from far behold your Plume
O'er-shadow slaughter'd Heaps, while your bright Helm
Struck a distinguish'd Terror through the Field,
The distant Legions trembling as it blaz'd.

Bus.
Think not a Crown alone Lights up my Name,
My Hand is deep in Fight. Forbid it Isis!
That whilst Busiris treads the sanguine Field,
The foremost Spirit of his Host shou'd Conquer
But by Example, and beneath the Shade
Of this high-brandish'd Arm. Did'st thou e'er fear?
Sure 'tis an Art, I know not how to fear.
'Tis one of the few things beyond my Power;
And if Death must be fear'd before 'tis felt,
Thy Master is Immortal. O Auletes—
But while I speak, they live!
Where fall the sounding Cataracts of Nile,
The Mountains tremble, and the Waters boil;
Like them I'll rush, like them my Fury pour,
And give the future World one Wonder more.

[Exeunt.
Enter Myron engaged with a Party; his Plume is smitten off. He drives the Foe, and returns.
Myr.
When Death's so near, but dares not venture on us,
'Tis Heav'n's Regard, a kind of Salutation,
Which to our selves our own Importance shows.—
Faint as I am, and almost sick of Blood,
There is one Cordial wou'd revive me still;
The sight of Memnon, place that Fiend before me.—
[Ex.

Enter Memnon.
Mem.
Where, where's the Prince? O give him to my Sword!
His tall white Plume, which like a high-wrought Foam
Floated on the tempestuous Stream of Fight,
Shew'd where he swept the Field; I follow'd swift,
But my Approach has turn'd him into Air;—
Enter Myron.
The Fight but now begins!

Myr.
Why who art Thou?

Mem.
Prince, I am—

Myr.
Memnon.

[Disdainfully.
Mem.
No,—I'm Mandane.

Myr.
Ha!

Mem.
She's here, she's here, she's all: Her Wrongs and Virtues!
[Striking his Head and Breast.
Virtues and Wrongs! Thou worse than Murderer!

Myr.
I charge Thee name her not, forbear to Croak
With that Ill-omen'd Note.

Mem.
Mandane!

Myr.
Be it so.
When I reflect on her mean Love for Thee,
And Plot against my Life, my Pain is less.

Mem.
'Tis false; she meant, she knew it not; Rameses,
He, only he, was conscious of the Thought.

Myr.
Then I'm a Wretch indeed!

Mem.
As such I'll use Thee:
I'll crush Thee like some Poyson on the Earth,
Then haste and Cleanse me in the Blood of Men.

Myr.
I thank Thee for this Spirit which exalts Thee
Into a Foe, I need not blush to meet.
Now from my Soul, it Joys me thou art found,
And found alive; by Heav'n, so much I hate Thee,
I fear'd that Thou wast Dead, and had'st escap'd me:
I'll drench my Sword in thy detested Blood,
Or soon make thee Immortal by my own.
Villain!

Mem.
Myron!

Myr.
Rebel!

Mem.
Myron!

Myr.
Hell!

Mem.
Mandane!

[Myr. Falls.
Myr.
Just the Blow, and juster still,
Because imbitter'd to me by that Hand
I most detest; which gives my Soul an Earnest
Of vast unfathomable Woes to come,
That dreadful Dow'ry for my dreadful Love.
I leave the World my Misery's Example,
If us'd aright, no trivial Legacy.
[Dies.

Enter Syphoces.
Syph.
My Lord, I bring you most unwelcome News.
As poor Mandane wander'd near the Field,
In hope to see her Injuries Reveng'd;
Thoughtless of any Suff'rings, but the past,
A Party of the Foe, saw, seiz'd, and bore her off.

Mem.
Vengeance, and Conquest now are trivial Things;
Love made their Prize! 'tis impious in my Soul
To entertain a Thought but of her Rescue.
Now, now, I plunge into the thickest War,
As some bold Diver from a Precipice
Into mid Ocean, to regain a Gem,
Whose Loss impoverish'd Kings, to bring it back,
Or see the Day no more.

[Exeunt.
Enter Mandane Prisoner.
Mand.
A generous Foe will hear his Captive speak;
A Benefit thus kneeling I implore:
Let one of all those Swords that glitter round me,
Vouchsafe to hide its Point within my Breast.

Enter Memnon.
Mem.
Ah Villains! Cursed Atheists! Can you bear
That Posture from that Form? What, what are Numbers,
When I behold those Eyes? not mine the Glory,
That singly thus I quell a Host of Foes.
Inhuman Robbers! Oh bring back my Soul.
[They force her off, he rushes in upon them and is taken.
Poor Comfort to Mankind that they can lose
Their Lives but once—But oh! a thousand times
Be torn from what they Love.

Enter Rameses.
Ram.
Far have I waded in the bloody Field,
Laborious through the stubborn Ranks of War,
And trac'd thee in a Labyrinth of Death;
But thus to find Thee!—Better find Thee Dead!
These Slaves will use Thee ill.

Mem.
Of that no more;
Myron is Dead, and by this Arm.

Ram.
I thank Thee.
All my few Spirits left exult with Joy,
I'll Chace, and Scourge him through the lower World.

Mem.
Alas thou bleed'st.

Ram.
Curse on the Tyrant's Sword,
I bleed to Death. But cou'd not leave the World
Without a last Embrace. Just now I met
The poor Mandane.

Mem.
Quickly speak. What said she?

Ram.
Nothing of Comfort. Cease to ask me farther.
If you meet more, your Meeting will be sad.—
Your Arm, I faint—Ah what is Human Life?
How like the Dyal's tardy moving Shade!
Day after Day slides from us unperceiv'd!
The cunning Fugitive is swift by Stealth,
Too subtle is the Movement to be seen,
Yet soon the Hour is up—and we are gone.
Farewel, I pity Thee.
[Dies.

Mem.
Farewel, brave Friend!
Wou'd I cou'd bear Thee Company to Rest,
But Life in all its Terrors stands before me,
And shuts the Gate of Peace against my Wishes.—
Do I not hear a Peal of distant Thunder?
And see, a sudden Darkness shuts the Day,
And quite blots out the Sun—but what to me
The Colour of the Sky? A Death-cold Dew
Hangs on my Brow, and all my slacken'd Joints
Are shook without a Cause—A Groan? From whence?
Again? And no one near me? Vain Delusion!
Yet not I fear in vain! some Ill is towards me,
More dreadful sure than all that's past. Mandane!
I hop'd she was at Peace, and past the reach
Of this ill News, but such my wayward Fate
I cannot ask a Curse, but 'tis deny'd me:
And cou'd I wish I ne'er should see her more?

Enter Mandane guarded.
Mand.
This is my Brother; a short Privacy
Is a small Favour you may grant a Foe.

Guard.
Let it be short, we may not wait your leisure.

Mem.
'Tis wondrous strange, there's something holds me from her,
And keeps this Foot fast rooted to the Ground.
This is the last time I shall ever Pray.
To me, ye Gods, confine your threatned Vengeance,
And I will bless your Mercies while I suffer.

[Memnon and Mandane advance slowly to the Front of the Stage.
Mand.
What didst thou pray for?

Mem.
For thy Peace.

Mand.
'Twas kind:
But oh! those Hands in Bonds deny the Blessing,
For which they earnestly were rais'd to Heav'n.

Mem.
I fear so too; what we have yet to do
Must be soon done; this Meeting is our last.
How shall we use it?

Mand.
How? Consult thy Chains,
And my Calamities.

Mem.
Sad Counsellors,
And Cruel their Advice—Are there no other!

Mand.
I look around—and find no glimpse of Hope,
A perfect Night of Horror, and Despair!

Mem.
Of Horror and Despair, indeed, Mandane!
Canst thou believe me? Nay, can I believe
My Self? The last Thing that I wish'd for was—'tis false.
The Weight of my Misfortune hurt my Mind.

Mand.
Was what?

Mem.
I dare not think, to think is to look down
A Precipice Ten Thousand Fathom deep,
That turns my Brain—Oh! oh!

Mand.
Memnon, no more:
That Silence, and those Tears need no Explaining;
And it is kind, with such severe Reluctance
To think upon my Death—though necessary.

Mem.
Ah hold! You plant a thousand Daggers here
Talk not of Dying.—I disown the Thought;
Right is not Right, and Reason is not Reason,
All is Distraction when I look on Thee.
Oh all ye pitying Gods! dash out from Nature
Your Stars, your Sun, but let Mandane live.

Mand.
No: Death long since was my confirm'd Resolve.

Mem.
Myron is dead.

Mand.
What Joy a Heart like mine
Can feel, it feels—had he been never born,
I might have liv'd—'tis now—impossible.

Mem.
This even to my Miseries I owe,
That it discovers greater Virtues still,
In her my Soul adores.—Oh, my Mandane!
Oh glorious Maid! then thou wilt be at Peace—
[Memnon walks thoughtfully, then returns.
Must I survive, and change thy Tenderness
For a stern Master, and perpetual Chains?
Long I may groan on Earth to sate their Malice,
Then through slow Torments struggle into Death,
No Steel to stab, no Wall to dash my Brain!

Mand.
Ha!

Mem.
Why thus fix'd in Thought? what mighty Birth
Is labouring in your Soul? your Eyes speak Wonders.—

Mand.
Will not the Blood-Hounds be content with Life?—

Mem.
Alas, Mandane! No; they study Nature
To find out all her secret Seats of Pain,
And carry Killing to a dreadful Art:
A simple Death in Egypt is for Friends.

Mand.
Oh then it must be so!—and yet it cannot.—

Mem.
What means this sudden Paleness?

Mand.
Heav'n assist me!
[Feeling in her Bosom, she swoons.

Mem.
My Love! Mandane! hear me, my Espous'd!
My dearest Heart! the Infant of my Bosom!
Whom I would foster with my vital Blood.

Mand.
'Tis well, and in Return I give thee—This.
[Shews a Dagger.

Mem.
Millions of Thanks, thou Refuge in Despair.

Mand.
Terrible Kindness! Horrid Mercy! Oh!
I cannot give it thee.

Mem.
Full well I know
Thy tender Soul, and I must force it from thee.

[As he is struggling with her for the Dagger, she speaks.
Mand.
My Lord! My Soul! My self! You tear my Heart.
Art thou not dearer to my Eyes than Light?
Do'st thou not circulate through all my Veins?
Mingle with Life, and form my very Soul!

Mem.
Now, Monsters, I defy you: Fate forbids
A long Farewell, my Guard may interpose,
And make your Favour vain.—Thus, only thus.
[Embrace.
And now—

Mand.
Ah no! Since last I saw thee, thrice I rais'd
[Holds his Arm.
My trembling Arm, and thrice I let it fall.—
If you refuse Compassion to my Sex,
Memnon betrays me, and is Myron's Friend.—
As I a Poynard, you supply an Arm,
And I shall still be happy in your Love.

[After a Pause of Astonishment he sinks gently on the Earth
Mem.
From dreadful, to more dreadful I am plung'd,
And find in deepest Anguish deeper still.
I can't complain in common with Mankind,—
But am a wretched Species all alone.
Must I not only lose thee, but be curst
To sprinkle my own Hands with thy Life-Blood?

Mand.
It cannot be avoided.

Mem.
Nor perform'd.
Lift up my Hand against thee as a Foe!
I, who shou'd save thee from thy very Father,
And teach thy dearest Friends to use thee well,
Make Kindness kind, and soften all their Smiles?
Oh my Mandane! Think how I have lov'd!
Oh my Mandane! Think upon thy Pow'r!
How often hast thou seen me pale with Joy,
And trembling at a Smile? and shall I—

Mand.
Myron—

[At that Memnon starts up suddenly.
Mem.
Ah hold! I charge thee hold! One Glance that Way
Awakes my Hell, and blows up all its Flames.—
The World turns round, my Heart is sick to Death!
Oh my Distraction! perfect Loss of Thought!

Mand.
Why stand you like a Statue? are you dead?
What do you fold so fast within your Arms?
Why with fix'd Eye-balls do you pierce the Ground?
Why shift your Place, as if you trod on Fire?
Why gnaw your Lip, and groan so dreadfully?
My Lord, if I have spent whole live-long Nights
In Tears, and sigh'd away the Day in private,
Only oppress'd with an Excess of Love,
Oh turn, and speak to me!

Mem.
And these, no doubt,
Are Arguments that I should draw thy Blood.—
No Child was ever lull'd upon the Breast
With half that Tenderness has melted from thee,
And fell like Balm upon my wounded Soul.
And shall I murder thee? Yes thus—thus—thus.

[Embracing some Time.
Mand.
Alas! My Lord forgets we are to Dye.

[Memnon gazes with Wonder on the Dagger.
Mem.
By Heav'n I had, my Soul had took her Flight
In Bliss—why, is not this our Bridal-Day?

Mand.
That Way Distraction lies.

Mem.
Indeed it does.

Both.
Oh! Oh!

Mand.
Thy Sighs and Groans are sharper than thy Steel.
The Guard is on us.

Mem.
Then it must be done.
Sun hide thy Face, and put the World in Mourning,
Though Blood start out for Tears 'tis done—but one,
One last Embrace.
[As he embraces her, she bursts into Tears.
Let me not see a Tear.—I cou'd as soon
Stab at the Face of Heaven, as kill thee weeping.

Mand.
'Tis past, I am compos'd.

Mem.
And now, and now.

Mand.
Be not so fearful, 'tis the second Blow
Will pain my Heart—indeed this will not hurt me.

Mem.
Oh thou hast stung my Soul quite through and through,
With those kind Words; I had just steel'd my Breast,
[Dashing down the Dagger.
And thou undo'st it all—I cou'd not bear
To raze thy Skin, to save the World from Ruin.

Mand.
If you're a Woman, I'll be something more.—
[Stabs herself.
I shall not taste of Heav'n till you arrive.

[Dies.
Mem.
Struck home—and in her Heart.—She's dead already,
And now with me all Nature is expir'd.—
My lovely Bride; Now we again are happy,
[Stabs himself.
And better-Worlds prepare our Nuptial Bow'r.—
Now every splendid Object of Ambition,
Which lately with their various Glosses plaid
Upon my Brain, and fool'd my idle Heart,
Are taken from me by a little Mist,
And all the World is vanish'd.
[Dies

A March sounded. Enter Nicanor and Syphoces Victorious. The Guard which were advancing to the Bodies fly.
Nic.
The Day's our own, the Persian's angry Pow'r
Have well repaid this Morning's Insolence,
And turn'd the desperate Fortune of the Field
By sure, tho' late Relief.

Syph.
Nicanor, Friend,
I from the City bring you welcome News:
My guilty Letter from the amorous Queen
I spread amongst the Multitude; while yet
Their Blood was warm with reading the black Scroll,
Myris to view the Fortune of the Fight,
Leaving her Palace for the Western Tow'r,
Was seiz'd, torn, scatter'd on the guilty Spot
Where her great Brother fell.

Nic.
The Gods are just.

Syph.
See where Busiris comes, your Royal Captive,
In his Misfortune great; an awful Ruin!
And dreadful to the Conqueror!

[Nicanor advancing sees the Bodies.
Nic.
Sad Sight!—
A Sight, that teaches Triumph how to mourn,
And more than justifies these streaming Tears,
Even on the Moment that my Country's sav'd
From sore Oppression, and inglorious Chains.

[He falls on his Attendants.
A great Shout. Enter Busiris Wounded.
Bus.
Conquer'd? 'Tis false; I am your Master still;
Your Master, though in Bonds: You stand aghast
At your good Fate, and trembling can't enjoy.
Now from my Soul I hug these welcome Chains
Which shew you all Busiris, and declare
Crowns and Success superfluous to my Fame.—
You think this streaming Blood will low'r my Thought;
No, ye mistaken Men, I smile at Death;
For living here, is living all alone,
To me a real Solitude, amid
A throng of little Beings, groveling round me;
Which yet usurp one common Shape and Name.
I thank these Wounds, these raging Pains, which promise
An Interview with Equals soon elsewhere.
[He sees Memnon.
Ha! Dead? 'Tis well; he rose not to my Sword,
I only wish'd his Fate, and there he lies.
Some when they dye, dye all; their mould'ring Clay
Is but an Emblem of their Memories:
The Space quite closes up through which they pass'd.
That I have liv'd I leave a Mark behind,
Shall pluck the shining Age from vulgar Time,
And give it whole to late Posterity.
My Name is writ in mighty Characters,
Triumphant Columns, and Eternal Domes,
Whose Splendor heightens our Egyptian Day,
Whose Strength shall laugh at Time, till their great Basis,
Old Earth it self shall fail. In After-ages,
Who War or Build, shall Build or War from me,
Grow great in each, as my Example fires;
'Tis I of Art the future Wonders raise;
I fight the future Battels of the World.—
Great Jove, I come! Egypt, thou art forsaken:
[Sinks
Asia's Impoverish'd by my sinking Glories,
And the World lessens, when Busiris falls.
[Dies.

Syph.