University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

SCENE The Gallery.
Enter Theodore.
My Wishes lean to fell Revenge; but oh!
I know not what of Nicety forbids it—
Some Way my swelling Choler must have Vent;
Who ever dam'd the Ocean's Surge, or stopt
The thought-quick Fury of the fiery Bolt?
That Man preach Peace to me—Romanus comes—
He loves me well, and may devise new Means—
Enter Romanus.
How now Lieutenant—why thus lost in Thought—

Rom.
My Lord, your Pardon—'tis a private Grief
That weighs upon my Heart—

The.
Thy Griefs, Romanus,
I will make mine.

Rom.
I owe your Goodness much,
But would not now increase the Debt—one Day
You shall hear all—how wears the Time, my Lord!
Am I within the Limit of your Order?

The.
Precisely—O Romanus since thou first
This fatal Day didst wake my sleeping Vengeance,
Rage, like a Canker, has been gnawing here.

Rom.
That's right—I trust I have thee on the Hook—
[Aside.
In Truth my Thought has been to Day employ'd
On that same Matter too—I much admire
Your mighty Soul, and own Revenge is Baseness,
Unless he marches hand in hand with Honour.

The.
Away; is there no Vengeance left, Romanus?
Are there no Means but those I dare not use?
Why didst thou rouse me but to mock my Soul?
'Tis as you'd force the Lion from his Prey,
When Famine gripes his Entrails—O Revenge!

Rom.
Nay but, great Sir, with noble Minds Contempt
Is full Revenge—I am your Proselyte—
But you, I see, like a right skilful Disputant,
Can take the Argument by either End.

The.
No, I not waver in my Sentiment;
But, when once crost by Appetite, O shew me
The cold, phlegmatic Moralist, that turns not
A Rebel to his Tenets.

Rom.
Fie, Lord Theodore;
I thought you master of a better Spirit;
These angry Transports are old Manuel's Triumphs.

The.
I am hem'd in with Plagues.

Rom.
Those Plagues are over,
And Wrath has had his Vent—

The.
Ay, but my Soul
Retains Impression still.

Rom.
I fear my Lord,
Some added Fuel fires your Breast anew—

The.
Why no, I think not, no.

Rom.
Ah! Sir, I see
Your tender Part—the Battle won this Day
By Chance, and Derar's Death—does not that gall you?

The.
By Heav'n, these vile Aleppian's fought to Day
In very Spleen to me—A Group of Curses
Light on their squeamish Bravery.

Rom.
Amen!
Yet I'd not grudge the Keenest of my Foes
Imperfect, casual Victory like this.
How vain Dependance on the Swords of Wretches,
That leave the Banner of great-hearted Mars,
To trip with feather-footed Mercury?—
Let us away—a Soldier cannot breathe
In Air like this.

The.
Mirror of Honesty!
O thou best Guide of my distracted Soul—
Yes—we will go, Romanus—I submit
To what must be—

Rom.
Why that was well resolv'd:
And since I see your Passion wisely quell'd,
I safely may unfold a Tale, that else
Should have lain hid in Night's most sable Cloud.
Know then, the Matter, you observ'd but now,
To rivet down my Strength of Meditation,
Related most to thee.

The.
To me! how now?

Rom.
You will be calm—

The.
As Patience.

Rom.
Hear me then:
My Lord, a Plot is laid against your Life.

The.
Against my Life?—as how?—by whom, my Friend?

Rom.
By whom? good Heav'n! I thought you knew your Bane
By natural Antipathy—who is't
Has done you wrong? who is't that dismantled
My Patron of his Honours? who disgrac'd
The Prince of Chivalry? O! who but Manuel?
The Devil's not more a Foe to human Race
Than he to Theodore.

The.
Hah! let me hear thee—
The Night is still—The Winds are hush'd in Silence,
And yon fair Planet, rising with her Train,
Shall witness all the Horrours of thy Story.

Rom.
The Governour, my Lord, with vilest Arts,
Has long laid Siege to my Affections—
To Day some fav'ring Angel mov'd my Thought
To try his Depth of Malice—I assum'd
Sudden Disgust to thee; and in that Conf'rence
With hollow Mervan, which your Presence broke,
Swore myself henceforth to his Master's Service.
The Fool, in whose vile Bosom, you well know,
Manuel locks up his Secrets, nails his Faith
On my dissembled Zeal—You mark me, Sir,—

The.
Ay, ay, proceed.

Rom.
And you did promise me
You would be calm—

The.
I did—Confusion!—well—
Go on—I'm cool.

Rom.
Admitted to old Manuel,
I wound me soon into his Confidence—
My Lord, he bears a most invet'rate Hate
To your high Virtue, which he terms your Pride—
Nay more, some Wretch has taught him to suspect,
That in your Letters you have oft foul-stain'd
His Rule of Government to good Heraclius.

The.
Letters! what Letters? By my Hopes of Vengeance,
But that I scorn to condescend so low
As to refute the Calumny; this Night
I'd hurl the Rascal Falshood in his Teeth.

Rom.
I held it meet to cherish this his Spleen,
So feign'd me privy to your Correspondence,
Nay more, I cited too the black Contents
In venom'd Terms, and loud affirm'd them yours—
Next I enlarg'd upon my proper Wrongs,
And vow'd this Night, his full Consent my Warrant,
At once to free us both, and the whole World,
Of such a Villain—Manuel, well-convinc'd
Without more Proof, or better Cause than this,
Applauded the fell Purpose—ay, and quicken'd
My Appetite for Vengeance by strong Promise
To lift my Fortunes to a splendid Greatness.
I'm sworn this Night to stab you in your Sleep—

The.
Then I am loos'd at once from ev'ry Tie—
What! Murder me? O! for a Sacrifice
Worthy my boiling Rage—when I am angry,
Methinks Mankind should suffer—good Romanus,
Let Othman know the City's his to Night;
The Terms the same as—

Rom.
How your Wrath transports you?
Thank Heav'n, I'm honest—for your open Heart
Is most accessible to Villainy—
Perhaps I did but mean to try your Temper—

The.
Now by the Tempest rolling in my Bosom,
I'll not be trifled with—Give me to know
The Truth this Instant—see thou lay'st it plain
To my Mind's Eye, and visible as Proofs
From Demonstration, or assure thee Villain,
Mischiefs await thee—speak—

Rom.
O do not storm:
Speak—I have Nought to speak—indeed 'twas all
A well invented Lie, a cut-throat Tale.

The.
Villain, thou liest—I see thy Heart's Confusion—
[Seizing him.
Say all thou know'st, or by—

Rom.
I've said too much—
Yet now, in Justice to myself must on—
Perish the World e'er I deceive my Friend—
See the Credentials of the cursed Trust;
What was to be my Sanction for the Deed;
Is this Lord Manuel's Signet?

[Shewing the Signet.
The.
'Tis the same,
And darts Conviction on my Sense, as gross
As the Broad-Seal of Hell—then Blood for Blood—
Romanus, see our trusty Syrians arm'd
By Midnight's silent Hour.

Rom.
Are you resolv'd?

The.
As the Decrees of Heav'n.

Rom.
Why then no more—
My private Sentiment shall yield to yours—
I will not dare to doubt your Vengeance just:
I sav'd your Life to prove my honest Love,
And will confirm it more by full Attachment
Ev'n to your wildest Counsels—There's my Hand
In earnest of my Heart—

The.
As such I take it—
Honest Romanus, how shall I requite
The Saver of my Life?

Rom.
Sir, I will own
I had a Prospect of Reward.

The.
Command it.

Rom.
O! I have sigh'd the painful Breath of Bondage
With the calm Patience of afflicted Saints,
Whole Years for fair Ormelia's Love.

The.
She's thine—
Not my Lieutenant, but my Son—she's thine.

Rom.
Behold her here.

Enter Ormelia.
The.
Ormelia, oh! my Child,
Tell me what Blessings wouldst thou wish the Man,
That has preserv'd thy Father from Destruction?

Orm.
O I would wish him all that Heav'n e'er crown'd
The Piety of his best Vot'ries with;
All that his Heart could ask; all Comforts here,
And Certainty of golden Bliss hereafter.

The.
Then hear me and obey—there's my Deliv'rer—
This fatal Night by Manuel's curst Design
Romanus stands engag'd to shed my Blood;
See here the Token of that hellish Trust—
[Shewing the Signet.
His feign'd dislike of me explor'd this Treach'ry:
Ay, and his Faith of Friendship has been brib'd
With offers worth Ambition—ask no more—
But bless his gen'rous Goodness with thy Love,
And make me happy in a Son like him.

Orm.
Forgive me, Theodore, if for a while
Distracted by Variety of Passion,
I know not what to answer—

The.
We allow
The Niceness of reluctant Modesty
To maiden Innocence—mean time, Romanus,
Fix we our Thought on this Night's bloody Bus'ness,—
I pray advise me in it—

Rom.
Sir, to you,
And yours, I owe more Service than the best
Of my poor Zeal can pay—for this same Bus'ness,
Resolv'd, 'tis done—Your House stands on the Walls,
From whence a Soldier may descend unseen,
And bear the welcome News to yonder Camp;
Let them approach the Town with silent March;
Just as the Bell beats one, our Syrian Troop
Shall take Possession of the Armory;
Then slay the Centinels, seize all the Gates,
And let the Torrent of Confed'rates in,
Eager, and rushing on to gen'ral Ruin.

The.
Be't so—Aleppo's doom'd—Justice has lent
Her Sword to black Revenge—Romanus, send me
The Captains of our Troop to take their Orders—
For this one Night, O Mahomet, I'm thine.
[Ex. The.

Rom.
At that Command, I have been wont to fly,
As swift as Fancy's Wing—yet now would stay,
To catch the Glances of Ormelia's Eyes,
And hear her Sentence on my faithful Passion,
Tho' the World's Doom depended on this Hour.

Orm.
That Sentence, Sir, is past—You heard my Father—
I cannot, must not, would not disobey him;
Nay and could wish I had a Heart to give
To Worth like thine, for I confess, Romanus
Your Merit far superiour to your Claim.

Rom.
Grant it but equal—can my lovely Fair
Withold a Heart she owns herself my Due,
And without which I scorn to take her Hand?
No, I renounce the Right thy Father gave me;
I did my Duty—but would have my Blessing
Ormelia's Gift, not his—

Orm.
Thou gen'rous Man!
I thought there was no Passage to my Heart,
But sure the grateful Sentiment that warms
My Soul, if 'tis not Love, is something greater.

Rom.
Cherish that Sentiment my Guardian Pow'rs!
And kindle it to Rapture such as mine.

Orm.
Yet say, is this a Time-for Love, Romanus?
How sacred ev'ry Moment is to Vengeance?
The Deed and Guilt are Manuel's—young Sophronius—
Nay do not start—he is no more your Rival—
And yet I would not know him for a Villain:
Was he consenting to this cruel Purpose?

Rom.
Madam, 'twere base, or to disparage Virtue
With scanty Praise, or wrap it up in Silence.
Sophronius is right noble—but this Ev'ning,
Though Conquest sat upon his shining Plume,
And he stood loaded with a People's Praise;
He own'd the Prowess of your Father's Valour;
He will'd old Manuel offer Terms of Peace,
Which Theodore might well embrace with Honour—
Ev'n Manuel's self dissembled Approbation,
And veil'd the Malice lurking at his Heart.

Orm.
O wond'rous Proof of thy unequall'd Goodness?
Sophronius only is outdone by thee—
The Man thou praisest is the Man I lov'd;
E'en now (with Blushes I disclose my Weakness)
My Heart almost revolts from Thee and Virtue—
But thy Perfections awe the Thought to Shame—
Gratitude, Honour, Duty make me thine,
And Inclination ought.

Rom.
I know it will—
Such Excellence can never do amiss—
If fondest Care, if Industry of Love,
Can—

Orm.
Hold—'tis needless this—my future Faith
I pledge to thee for ever.

Rom.
Blessings on thee!
Oh! let me grasp this Crisis of my Fate,
Now all my better Stars propitious beam,
And farther humbly hope—

Orm.
What wouldst thou ask?—

Rom.
You would be mine this happy Night.

Orm.
To Night!
Have you forgot?

Rom.
Nay! by yon Heav'n, my Wish
Is pure as is the stainless Thought of Childhood.
Ne'er should my Soul relax to soft Desires,
Till Scenes more calm, and peaceful Sunshines bless us;
But kindly place it in my Pow'r hereafter
To say, this glorious, this distinguish'd Night,
I saw my Bliss complete, my Lord aveng'd,
Aleppo punish'd, and thyself my Bride.

Orm.
Sir, I am yours in Honour of Engagement.

Rom.
Engagement!—'tis too faint, too cold a Word,
And damps the rising Ardour of my Soul—
Give my high Hopes the Title of thy Husband,
And I shall rush like Lightning on the Foe;
Or if some unforeseen, some dreadful Chance,
Should whelm me in the Tumult of the Fight,
At least I shall indulge a virtuous Pride,
And smile in Death to call Ormelia mine.

Orm.
Nay this is Humour most extravagant.

Rom.
'Tis noble Eagerness of great Ambition.
But oh! 'tis vain—I see thro' the Disguise
Of this Reluctance, and perceive thy Heart
Unwilling to oblige a Wretch like me;—
And can she love who scruples to oblige?
Impossible!—Die ev'ry flatt'ring Hope!
Welcome the Anguish of a fruitless Passion,
It is Ormelia's Doom, and I must bear it.

[Weeps.
Orm.
Weep not, Romanus; for thy Tears reproach me;
They call me stubborn, cruel, and ungrateful;
If I must—

Rom.
No—by yon bright Orb, you shall not;
I'd not be happy upon selfish Terms,
Or purchase endless Peace with thy Disquiet:
Haste to thy Love—be blest in thy Sophronius—
While I in Sorrow languish Life away,
And fall the willing Victim of thy Beauty.

Orm.
Forbid it, all ye Pow'rs that guard the Just!
Thy Virtues banish ev'ry female Form,
And I this Moment yield my vanquish'd Hand.

Rom.
Thus let me thank thee for this dear Compliance;
[Kissing her Hand.
Angels, proclaim my Ecstacy of Bliss,
And tune your Harps to sweet Ormelia's Praise.
I fly, my Love, to seek a holy Priest
Whose ready Ministry may crown my Transports.
Soon let me find you in your own Apartment;
Till when—one balmy Kiss—Heav'n guard thy Goodness—
So—now I have my Fortune in my Hand.

[Aside and exit.
Orm.
Well—'tis obey'd, this Dictate of my Honour,
And sure, I've nobly sacrific'd to Virtue!
Farewel, Sophronius—'twas a tender Sigh
Which wafted that Farewel—but 'tis the last—
Hah! he is here!—Good Heav'n, of all the World
The Man I would not see—
Enter Sophronius.
Sir, you are bold;
I thought I had forbidden you my Presence.

Soph.
Though banish'd from thy Sight, my constant Thought
Has ne'er stray'd from thee—and I come once more
To know my utmost Fortune: The sad Exile
Revisits thus with Doubts and pleasing Dread
His native Land, not dearer to his Soul,
Than late to me was my Ormelia, when
She welcom'd me with hospitable Love,
And made her Heart my Home—once, no strange Guest,
May I not hope again, on noble Terms,
To gain Admittance—

Orm.
'Tis too late to talk
Of Terms, and Hope is mere Presumption now—

Soph.
Forbid it, Love—Lord Theodore, To-morrow,
If I mistake not, is my Father's Friend.

Orm.
Impossible!

Soph.
Let but Ormelia hear me.
I bring him easy Terms of Reconcilement.

Orm.
I have heard all.

Soph.
Is then thy Father's Spirit
Still so untractable, he will admit
Friendly Proposals upon no Conditions?

Orm.
You must not hope to see him Manuel's Friend—

Soph.
At least that's not my Crime—sure we may love—
And wait for happier Days—If thou know'st all,
Sophronius stands acquitted in thy Sight.

Orm.
I am no Judge in such a Cause as this,
And must not hear you plead—

Soph.
Is't possible?
Still cold to all I say—Is this the Maid,
That oft has sat attentive to my Vows,
While the gay Hours were all bespoke by Love,
And Moments were not wasted, but enjoy'd?
And when I pour'd my am'rous Rapture forth,
Would she not sometimes aid me with her Sighs,
Or bless the tender Story with a Tear?
But now she looks relentless on my Sorrows—
Nor feels one friendly Pain of Pity for me!

Orm.
Alas! I dare not listen to this Talk.

Soph.
Yet e'er I part for ever from thy Beauties,
Let me be told my Crime—Art thou unjust,
As well as most unkind? If thou art false,
Ev'n for thy Sake, I'll not suppose hereafter
A Woman can be true—I'll think thee still
The brightest of thy Sex—Perhaps, Romanus—
Am I supplanted by my Rival's Love?
His Merit must be rais'd by Miracle—
Yet grant him all Perfection, if I know
My Heart, he cannot, cannot love like me.

Orm.
Oh!

[Fainting; he catches her.
Soph.
Heav'n! she faints—What would my wayward Fortune?
Awake, my Life, my Love—See, she revives,
Her Beauties burst like Sun-Beams from a Cloud.

Orm.
Why hast thou call'd me back to Misery?
My Soul was never Womanish till now—
Who can resist such Tenderness as thine?
Though Heav'n and Earth conspire against our Loves,
I feel my Heart will still acknowlege thee—
Yet we must part—I never can be yours.

Soph.
What means my Life? Repriev'd and doom'd at once!
Part! Who shall part us if thy Will consents?
Though Theodore or Manuel should oppose,
Our Union, the best Pledge of Reconcilement,
It were enough that 'tis approv'd by Heav'n.

Orm.
No, my Sophronius, Heav'n decrees against it—
The Voice of Conscience, Reason, Justice, Duty,
Loud thunders in my Ear, It must not be.
To-morrow will explain the Mistery
I cannot now reveal—Farewel for ever—
Poor hapless Youth! I see thy struggling Breast,
And mine too labours with an equal Pang—

Soph.
Yet stay! For ever, didst thou say, Ormelia?
Ah! whither shall I turn?—Are all Things sacred
Arm'd against Truth and Innocence? Ye Pow'rs,
What strange Event will this To-morrow bring?
Ev'n now those Eyes are bent with Fondness on me—
Thy Heart is panting with the Sighs of Love,
And ev'ry soft Emotion pleads my Cause—
Can I despair with Joys like these in View,
And be distrest with Happiness before me?

Orm.
Adieu! Sophronius—I must hear no more—
Upbraid me not with Falshood or Unkindness—
But when the dreadful Truth shall glare upon thee,
Lay thy Reproaches where thou seest them due.
The Blessings of eternal Peace be with thee,
And Honour crown thy Days—O when hereafter
You chance to call this Night to your Remembrance,
(As sure you will have Cause) speak of Ormelia
In gentle Terms, (so shall I speak of thee)
And own my Mem'ry worth a tender Thought.
Once more adieu! Sophronius.

[Exit.
Soph.
[After a Pause.]
Think not, Man,
To trace the secret Maze of Providence,
Or ascertain the Fortune of an Hour.
My Leon here— [Enter Leon]
Thou Partner of my Sorrow,
Why hast thou left the Palace?

Leon.
My Sophronius,
I come for thee: For oh! without thy Presence—
Now my Eusebia has forsook the World,
Banish'd by fatal Love of wretched Leon,
Though Mirth and Triumph raise their jocund Voice,
And the Roof echoes to the Sounds of Joy,
To me thy Father's House is desolate.

Soph.
I will return with thee; and as we go,
Thou shalt be told my most uncommon Lot—
O could my Soul anticipate To-morrow—
But wear we calm Content upon our Brows,
And join the general Festivity—
In Love though both have been unhappy, Leon,
We have a Refuge in our Friendship still—
Love is at best, my Friend, a virtuous Weakness;
The Appetite of Nature, not its Glory;
And ev'n the purest is alloy'd with Folly.
Friendship is wholly rational; the Ardour
Of gen'rous Minds, the Rapture of the Soul,
Preservative of Love, and its Survivor.

Leon.

[Exeunt.