University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Gallery in Theodore's House. Enter Romanus.
Romanus.
At length the Toils are set—and Theodore,
If I can catch so huge a Beast as thee,
It will be Sport indeed—see where he comes,
And in the sullen Mood I wish'd to fix him—

Enter Theodore.
The.
Who's there, Romanus?

Rom.
Ay, Lord General.

The.
I pr'ythee do not mock me.

Rom.
By my Soul,
You yet are so to me.

The.
Then thou art honest;
Most Friends, like Insects, live but in the Sun,
And now thou seest the Winter of my Glory.

Rom.
Come, Sir, can Fools, or Knaves dishonour Virtue?
Her native Splendour knows not Diminution,
Nor Titles are Additions to her Fame.
So take your Grievance as a Soldier should do;
Work up a noble Tumult in your Breast,
And meditate the Fullness of Revenge.
O! had you seen a Sight that crost my Eyes—

The.
What hast thou seen?—methinks I burn to hear thee.

Rom.
You, Sir, yourself, my Godlike Theodore,
In villainous Effigies hoisted up
On a high Pole, and born along the Streets
By the licentious Rabble; one attir'd
In antick Garb, the lewdest of the Tribe,
With solemn Pace headed this Pageantry;
And ever and anon the saucy Crew,
With Bonnets off in mock Obeisance, cried,
All Hail, Lord Gen'ral, Hail, great Theodore!—
While the wise Citizens, still fond of Change,
Blest the Conceit, and grinn'd their Approbation.—
I met the vile Procession, and although
Prudence had lock'd the Organ of my Speech,
Sure they must see a Lion in my Eyes.

The.
Ungrateful, senseless, and inhuman Villains!
What! have I fac'd the Rage of Seasons round,
The Dogstar's Beam, and Winter's frozen Shafts;
Renounc'd the soft Delights of balmy Peace,
And dash'd the honey'd Cup of Pleasure from me;
Have I made Things most terrible to Sense,
Sweet to my Soul, as Sleep to weary Labour;
To be repaid at length with publick Scorn,
To be the Sport of Garbage?—Cursed Day!
Thy Tale has call'd my Spirits up in Arms,
And all within me pants for vast Revenge.

Rom.
Why that was bravely said.

The.
Yet my Romanus,
What need I thus indulge superfluous Rage?
Sure I may safely leave my Cause to Heav'n—
The Saracen will soon avenge my Quarrel,
And this fam'd City, laid in burning Ruin,
Or bow'd to Slav'ry, ease my tortur'd Soul.—
Inform yon Army by a Syrian Trumpet,
That Theodore draws off his Pow'r in Peace,
Nor longer will obstruct their rapid War.
To-morrow march we homewards.

Rom.
How my Lord?
What! quit the Theatre of this great World,
And leave a Part unfinish'd? there remain,
Or I mistake, more Scenes to bustle in:
And therefore my plain Honesty of Love,
Would turn this idle Current of your Thoughts.

The.
What wouldst suggest?

Rom.
Why, ay, it must be thus—
[Half aside.
And so I see my Patron full reveng'd,
And lifted to a higher Sphere of Glory.

The.
Revenge, and Glory—Musick to my Ears!
What wouldst thou say? something is lab'ring in thee,
And I well know thy Pregnancy of Brain.

Rom.
But then the Means—Nay, these Necessity
Will warrant ev'n to Casuistry—my Lord—

The.
My Lord! What is't thou mutter'st to thyself,
That startles Expectation?—If thou lov'st me,
Give me thy Soul at large.

Rom.
I will; attend.
When lately Captive in yon hostile Camp
One Ev'ning I stood musing by myself,
Othman, the Leader of the Caliph's Armies,
Accosted me with many gentle Terms,
And proffer'd me his Friendship—it amaz'd me.

The.
As well it might—

Rom.
At length, my Lord, he strove
With all the well-turn'd Rhet'rick he could urge,
To win me to the Law of Mahomet;
But when he found my Faith was Mountain strong,
He next attack'd me in my Honesty;
“If by your Means, he cry'd, we could surprize
“This stubborn City in the Dead of Night,
“Old Manuel shall resign the Chair of State,
“And the whole Government devolve on you.”
And so I trust my Politicks it shall.
[Aside.
Why what a Bribe was that?

The.
Which you abhorr'd!

Rom.
Most surely; for in me a Deed like this
Were Fraud, and Treason;—if atchiev'd by you,
It would be glorious Justice.

The.
Do I hear thee?
Is this the Vengeance Theodore should take?
Is this the Glory thou wouldst blot my Fame with?
Perdition on thee for so foul a Thought.

Rom.
Nay but 'tis strange—how this your Passion shakes you!
You startle at the Outside of a Bus'ness,
Which I confess not specious, nor discern
The honest Drift of this.

The.
Honest! thou ly'st—
It savours all of Infamy, and Horrour—

Rom.
Sir, you mistake me much—You well may put
My Meaning into utmost Execution,
And yet hold Mahomet in stern Defiance.

The.
As how? Impossible! still more mysterious.

Rom.
Say, Sir, I see you govern in Aleppo
Upon the Terms propos'd; first, there ends Manuel:
Next, these bold Slaves are humbled to your Mercy;
And at fit Time, my Lord, you shall throw off
The Yoke of Vassallage, once more assert
The prostrate Christian Cause, and purge your Country
By your Herculean Sword, of a curs'd Foe
That long has torn her Vitals.

The.
Hah! why this
Hath Aspect plausible, and asks a Thought.

Rom.
And thus the Empire shall be one Day freed,
And only Mahomet, and Manuel cheated.
Does not Fame hang to this?

The.
No, I've resolv'd;
I never travell'd the By-paths of Glory;
What! turn Dissembler, practise in the Dark?
It is beneath me; I ne'er did a Deed
But Daylight was the Voucher; Friend, or Foe,
Let the great Soul of Theodore be open.

Rom.
I've done—I own with me 'tis Daintiness
To weigh my Deeds by Scruples, when the End
Is noble, and well pays me—this same Trouble
Your Goodness will excuse—I meant it well—

The.
Ay, and I thank thy Love.

Rom.
As 'tis, methinks,
'Twere better ev'n be reconcil'd to Manuel.

The.
Never, oh! never. I would risque my Fame
Sooner on thy Device.

Rom.
Nay, my good Lord,
There is yet one Way, only one Way left
To set these Matters right.

The.
Name it, quick name it.

Rom.
Alliances, some say, best heal Divisions—
The gay Sophronius, our Aleppian Gen'ral,
Looks with a Lover's Eye on fair Ormelia—

The.
Pr'ythee no more—unite Antipathies!
Perish my Name before I see it link'd
To Manuel's House—Where is this Daughter mine?
If she can lend an Ear—

Rom.
My gracious Lord,
Your Daughter comes this Way—He's moveable—
Romanus, thou shalt bend him to thy Purpose—
Thou hast more Wiles to try—

[Aside.
Enter Ormelia.
Orm.
Alas! my Father,
You seem disturb'd; may I not ask the Cause?

The.
Manuel, Sophronius, and it may be, Thou.

Orm.
Hah! how have they, or how have I displeas'd thee?
Tell me, I pray, Romanus, what has hap'd?
For there's a Fierceness on my Father's Brow,
My Eyes would not encounter.

Rom.
Briefly, Madam,
Old Manuel, in his Peevishness of Rage,
Has just dismist your Father from his Post,
And now Sophronius heads th'Aleppian Troops,
That are this Instant marshall'd for the Battle.

Orm.
Is't so? Yield then fond Love, my Virgin Heart,
And nobler Passions warm me; from this Hour,
Sophronius be an Alien to my Soul.
Sir, that I listen'd to his soft Address,
(For sweetly sure he breath'd his am'rous Tale)
Thus on my Knee let me bespeak Forgiveness;
And be great Theodore assur'd of this,
His Daughter knows to scorn th'aspiring Youth,
That dares usurp her injur'd Father's Honour.

Rom.
So, there's a dang'rous Rival well dislodg'd;
Sophronius gone may make good Room for me.

[Aside.
The.
Why that's my Child—I did thee Wrong to doubt thee—
Thou hast been ever jealous of my Glory,
And with the Softness of thy Sex hast blended
The most exalted Sentiments, well worthy
The gallant Line of Heroes thy Forefathers.

Orm.
I would not shame my Race—you taught me better—

The.
Heav'n had some Pity left, and gave me thee,
In Recompence for thy dear Mother's Loss,
(Two Stars are not more like than she and thou)
And the vast Weight of my still growing Care.
—I will retire awhile—O my Ormelia,
I have a thousand Thoughts to combat with,
And each by Turns directs my wav'ring Purpose.
Exit. Theodore.

Rom.
Now to my Lover's Cue. [Aside]
Illustrious Maid,
How would those shining Beauties bless the Man,
Thrice happy Man, that could deserve thy Love?

Orm.
If thou would'st merit my Esteem, Romanus,
Talk not of Love to me—I have renounc'd
Thy Sex—It shall not henceforth be in Man
To cost my Heart a Sigh.

Rom.
Say not so, Lady:
O wherefore must a faithful Lover suffer,
For the rash Crime of one presumptuous Wretch?
I know the Man (could you but see his Pangs)
That takes his Being from Ormelia's Eyes;
That loves her with so bright, so pure a Flame,
It is almost the Fervour of Devotion.
Ah why should such a Man despair for ever?

Orm.
Thou would'st describe thyself—must I again
Warn thee desist from thy ungrateful Suit,
And pester me no more with nauseous Love?

Rom.
Desist! Impossible—Thy Charms forbid it—
Thou hast a nat'ral Right to be admir'd,
And our Heart's Homage is Ormelia's Due.
Firm Perseverance is the Life of Virtue,
The Mark of Bravery, the Stamp of Heroes;
It bears us through the roughest Storms of Fortune,
And is the Gale that wafts us up to Heav'n.
Is it a Crime then only when we love?

Orm.
If not a Crime, at least it is a Folly—
Think not, fond Youth, to snare my easy Heart
With the romantic Topicks of stale Courtship,
Such as you practise to yourselves at home.
—Your Doctrine is—All Women may be won;
She that once lov'd still hugs the fond Idea,
And, tender Maid, sighs for a second Wooer.
Hast thou then harbour'd such coarse Thoughts of me?
Away, and learn to know Ormelia better.

Rom.
In truth, I own I had. [Aside]
You wrong me, Madam:
If Passion most refin'd, if—

Orm.
Cease, be silent,
Or Theodore shall know thy Insolence.

Rom.
Alas! I own the Weakness of my Claim
In the World's gen'ral Verdict—I was born
Your Father's Creature—Yet I stand indebted
Less to his Bounty, than his bright Example—
He taught my youthful Breast to beat for Glory,
And stor'd it well with Virtues all his own—
—Here rest my Hopes—with these I woo Ormelia—
Nor need I prove the Greatness of my Soul,
When I aspire to thee—O would my Fair
Look gently on my Pain, her Father's Will
Would soon—

Orm.
No more; thou hast abus'd his Friendship;
Retire, or be assur'd this Rudeness, Sir—

Rom.
Must then my virtuous Love—

Orm.
Away; be gone.—

Rom.
Farewel, too cruel Maid—Insolent Devil;
But I may lower this high Strain of yours.

[Aside, and Exit.
Orm.
This Fool could not have urg'd in a worse Time
His most vexatious Suit—forget Sophronius!
Have I not set my Heart a painful Task?
Ay; but remember who thou art, Ormelia,
And shame thy feeble Sex—Yet, say he loves me,
As (if the Eye be Window to the Soul)
I've seen he does most deeply, may he not
Forego this fatal Honour?—there's my Refuge;
'Tis not too late—he's here—assist me Heav'n
This dreadful Hour—his Conduct must resolve me—
I will not seem acquainted with the Change.
Enter Sophronius.
Welcome Sophronius; did you meet your Rival?
E'en now the bold Romanus parted hence.

Soph.
That he admires where I do, can I blame him?
Sure, all that know thy Beauties are my Rivals:
But, till I see the Man that loves Ormelia,
With Passion more unfeign'd, more true than mine,
Why should I doubt my Right to her Regard?—
I fear she knows not what has chanc'd to-day:
Perplexing Thought!

[Aside.
Orm.
Well, I will own, Sophronius,
As far as Woman's Modesty will warrant,
Thy Truth has won an Int'rest in my Heart:
And I can look with cool Indifference
On all Mankind but thee.

Soph.
Heart-bursting Rapture!
It is too great for Words—thus let me thank thee—
[Embraces her.
And now I can reveal with less Regret,
Th'unpleasing News thou yet art Stranger to.

Orm.
What News, what means Sophronius?

Soph.
O my Life,
But that I find me rooted in thy Breast,
This Morning saw a sudden Turn of Things,
That might have marr'd my rising Hopes for ever—

Orm.
I understand you not.

Soph.
Yet witness Heav'n,
How much it griev'd me to behold—

Orm.
Hah! what!
O speak, and ease my frighted Apprehension!

Soph.
Know then, there is a Breach between our Fathers:
It matters not to tell th'unhappy Ground
Of this Contention; but th'Effect was this,
That Theodore commands no longer here.

Orm.
Then, Sir, the Life of Battle is expiring.
'Tis well thou'rt not to answer for the Follies
Of thy old doting Sire—Yet let me spare him—
And rather, tell me what great Son of Fame,
What Thunderbolt of War was nam'd to head
The Troops, my Father is not fit to lead?

Soph.
There lies the Circumstance that gives me Pain—
For that unwelcome Honour fell to me.

Orm.
To thee?—'tis well—I joy at least in that—

Soph.
Dost thou?—thou Excellence! trust me, my Love,
I never wish'd to bear this Load of Glory.

Orm.
I do believe thee—therefore my Sophronius
Will eagerly resign a painful Post,
Ill-suited to his unexperienc'd Youth.

Soph.
Confusion! what did my Ormelia say?

Orm.
What Reason, Justice, Duty, Nature prompts;
Hence to old Manuel—fly—strive to prevent
The Ruin will ensue—urge him restore
My Father to his Honours—bid him do it,
In Pity to Himself, his Friends, his Country—

Soph.
I might as well preach Silence to the Winds—

Orm.
Why then, at least do thou renounce this Charge,
And let some mean, ungen'rous, upstart Wretch
Swell in the Plumage of this ill-got Glory.

Soph.
Impossible, romantic!

Orm.
How Sophronius?

Soph.
Thou can'st not say thou lov'st me, and ask this—

Orm.
Thou can'st not say thou lov'st me, and refuse it—

Soph.
Refuse! Is there a Boon I must refuse thee
This only one there is—O my Ormelia,
Abate me this, and thy Commands are Favours,
Thy Bidding sacred, and thy dear Requests
My Motives to all Action—O remember,
The nice Demands, the Tenderness of Honour—
It was my Duty to decline this Station;
Once mine, it is my Duty to maintain it.
I cannot quit my Charge—Honour forbids;
'Tis the first Dictate of my Soul—'tis what,
Thank Heav'n, I feel, I love e'en more than thee.

Orm.
My Lord, I needed not thy great Example;
Know too I hold the Honour of my House
Dearer than thee, and all thy Race. Vain Youth,
I see thy Pride; see, and despise it too—
My Heart mistook thee—I revoke my Love—
Go, trifle with some easy, silly Maid;
Some tender-hearted Nymph, some dove-like Dame;
Make her the Fondling of thy leisure Hours;
But know, Ormelia, spite of all thy Sex,
Will love, or hate, as Reason shall direct.

Soph.
Thy Censure's too severe; it may be Pride,
But 'tis an honest Pride that moves me now—
I would be true to Honour, and to thee.

Orm.
No more;—thou dost partake of Manuel's Guilt;
And him, and thee I deem my Father's Foe.

Soph.
I am thy Father's Successour, not Foe:
Say, Theodore, or Manuel be to blame,
Sophronius still is innocent, and pleads
Th'untainted Merit of sincerest Love.

Orm.
Love! dost thou talk of Love? Hence to thy Charge—
Hark, how yon Trumpet calls you to the Field;
[Trumpet sounds.
What! are the Soldiers waiting for their Gen'ral,
And shall a peevish Girl detain him here?
Leader, farewel; mount the steep Cliff of Glory;
Reach with an Eagle's Wing her topmost Height;
There, while thou baskest in thy Eminence,
Remember this my sole, my last Command,
And never, never see Ormelia more.
[Exit Ormelia.

Soph.
She's gone, and with her all a Lover's Hopes—
My conscious Heart foreboded this Event;
I had been happy in a meaner Passion,
But doting upon Excellence am lost.
How nicely virtuous is her high Resentment?
Our Souls are sure akin—Strange Blow of Fortune!
That strong Similitude of Sentiment
Must seperate the Hearts it should unite!
But see my Leon here:
Enter Leon.
Alas! my Friend—

Leon.
Spare the sad Tale—I saw the fierce Ormelia;
She glided by me like a fiery Meteor.

Soph.
Her Temper, as her Beauty, sure is matchless.

Leon.
Come, think no more of her—the Soldiers wait us—
They breathe the Spirit of a brave Revenge,
That will repair the Loss of Yesterday:
Awake thy better Faculties, my Friend;
For nothing now is wanting but Sophronius.

Soph.
Thou dost advise me well—come on my Leon—
I'll strive to shake this Softness from my Breast—
The Din of Arms shall drown the Voice of Love.
Hark, I am call'd again; [Trumpet sounds]
the glorious Summons
Rouses my Soul, and fires it on to Battle.
Thus the bold, gen'rous Steed, that long in vain
Has woo'd some haughty Female of the Plain;
If chance he hears the Trumpet's princely Sound,
Inspir'd with nobler Ardour spurns the Ground;
He snuffs the dusty Tumult from afar,
Collects his mighty Rage, and rushes to the War.

[Exeunt.