University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

a Chamber.
PRINCESS,
alone.
Oh, blessed, most blessed are the insensible!
In the mild zone of calm indifference:
No hatred chills them, and no passion burns;
To feed, and sleep, and do observance due
To the stale ritual of quaint ceremony,
Fills up the humble measure of their hope;
Smooth and unruffled glides their temperate stream,
And one day rounds their whole life's history.
Oh, had my heart been such! but Nature poiz'd
In distribution, when she gives the touch
Alive to exstacy, in like extreme
Subjects the sense to anguish: the same soul,
That in the hope of wedding Paladore,
Enjoy'd its sum of bliss, with equal pain
Averts me from his rival: thus entranc'd
'Twixt love and fear, I feel the pangs of both,
And the sharp conflict rends me. Ha! my father!
Now comes the trial.

SCENE II.

KING, PRINCESS.
KING.
How! in tears, Sophia?
Come, 'tis not well—I fear, I guess the cause.
This morn I did but hint a purpose to you,
Of import, dear to your own happiness,
And your chang'd brow reproving my intent
Cut short my free discourse.

PRINCESS.
Oh, good my Lord!
I am not practis'd to conceal my thoughts
(And least from you) by casting o'er my looks
The unalter'd vizor of tranquility,
When perturbation, like a sleepless guest,
Forbids my bosom's quiet.

KING.
I have lov'd thee
With fondness so unbated, that 'twere needless,
For confirmation, to attest by words,
What all my thoughts, my life's whole carriage towards thee,
Have set beyond the question.

PRINCESS.
Oh, to me,
Your love has been like those perpetual springs,
“That ever flow,” and waste not! my least wish
Scarce had its birth, ere its accomplishment
In your preventive kindness.

KING.
Since 'tis so,
If chance the current of my present will
To yours run contrary, you must not deem
That meerly to enforce authority,
Or wake controlement, which might sleep to death.
In its disuse, I now expect the course
Of your desires should lose themselves in mine,
Or flow by my direction.

PRINCESS.
As my father,
The giver of my life, I reverence you;
Next, as your subject, my obedience stands
Bound by the general tie; but since your power
Has still been temper'd so with lenity,
That even the stranger's cause, with patient hearing,
Is weigh'd ere you determine; I, your daughter,
May hope, at least, an equal privilege,
With favour in my audience.

KING.
I were else
Unnatural, withholding from my child,
What aliens claim by justice. Give me hearing—
The Duke Bireno loves you, has my promise,
That like a well-grac'd advocate, my tongue
Shou'd win your gentle favour to his suit,
Urging such commendations of his love,
As modesty, though conscious of desert,
May wish you hear, yet cannot speak itself.

PRINCESS.
Ah, Sir! forbear, he knows my heart already,
Already has he heard, from my own lips
I cannot love him; poorly he engages
Your honour'd combination, in a league
That (whatsoe'er its issue) must conspire
To wound your daughter's peace.

KING.
By heaven, you wrong him.
To wound your peace! He seeks your happiness,
And so am I his second.

PRINCESS.
But these means
Are adverse to the end; for if I wed him,
(This is no raving of rash extacy)
On death, that only can dissolve my chain,
Will hang my future hope: as eagerly
As the poor weary sea-beat mariner
Pants for the shore, so shall my outstretch'd arms
Embrace the welcome terror. My refusal
To you, the gentlest, kindest, best of fathers,
Must seem repugnance harsh, and o'er my duty,
Before untainted, casts the sickly hue
Of pale suspicion; thus begins his love,
Fearful to me in each alternative.

KING.
Why, this is infant rhet'ric, to protest
The impulse of a strong antipathy,
Which never causeless sways the human breast,
Yet give no reason why.

PRINCESS.
Alas! to feel it,
O'er-masters every reason. Need we search
To ground aversion on weigh'd argument,
When instinct cuts the tedious process short,
And makes the heart our umpire?

KING.
Hear me calmly—
My days are almost number'd: this white head
Bears not in vain its reverend monitors;
Time puts a tongue in every hoary hair,
To warn the wise man of mortality:
When I am gone, behold thy single state
Unhusbanded, unfather'd, stands expos'd,
Ev'n as the tender solitary shrub,
On the bleak mountain's summit—Every blast
May bend or break thy sweetness: this strong fence,
This union, would enroot its shelter round,
And, like a forest, shield thee.

PRINCESS.
Let me hope
A stronger fence in a whole people's love:
Their grateful memory of my father's virtue,
And loyalty hereditarly mine,
Descending, like the sceptre, to your issue.

KING.
Think'st thou, my aspiring kinsman, whose ambition,
Impatient, waits till my declining beam
Give place to his meridian, who, already
Wins from my side a moiety of my court,
By his succession's hope, will tamely view
That sceptre wielded by a woman's hand,
Nor wrest it from thy grasp? No, my fair kingdom!
I see the meeting torrents of contention
Deluge thy peaceful vales, while her weak sex,
Unable to direct, or stem the tide,
Will be borne down, and swept to ruin with it.

PRINCESS.
These evils, but in possibility,
May never come: but, Oh, 'tis certain sorrow
To promise love, obedience, duty, honor,
When the heart's record vouches 'gainst the tongue:
It changes order's course; the holy tie
Of well-proportion'd marriage still supposes
These bonds have gone before; nor is there power
Creative in the simple ceremony,
The seed unsown, to give that harvest growth.

KING.
Here break we off—To sue, and sue in vain,
But ill becomes a father: may my augury
Be more in fear than wisdom. Hold; to-morrow
The council meets to scan this threaten'd war:
The people call it thine: then be thou present
To thank and animate their zeal to serve us.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

PRINCESS,
alone.
I shall attend your order. This cold parting
Speaks his displeasure; and my heart accustom'd
To the kind sunshine of approving smiles,
Droops at the chilling change. Ye gentle breasts,
Strangers as yet to love, be warn'd by me.
Soft as the printless step of midnight sleep,
The subtle tyrant steals into the soul:
Once seated there, securely he controuls
The idle strife of unimpassion'd ties,
And laughs to scorn their sober impotence.
As feeble vassals lift their arms in vain,
In the unequal conflict soon o'erthrown,
They prove their weakness, and his power supreme.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

A Garden.
RINALDO
alone. Night.
He must pass this way: thro' the postern gate
That leads here only, with distemper'd pace
I saw him hasten. Since the evening banquet
His wild demeanour “has put on more change”
Than yonder fickle planet in her orb.
Just now he seiz'd his sword, look'd at, and poiz'd it,
Then girt it round him, while his bloodshot eye,
And heaving bosom, spoke the big conception
Of some dire purpose. There is mischief towards—
I may perhaps prevent it—these tall shrubs
Will hide me from his view.—Soft, soft, 'tis he.

[Rinaldo retires.

SCENE V.

PALADORE alone.
PALADORE.
Why do I shake thus? If, indeed, she's false,
I shou'd rejoice to have the spell unbound
That chains me to delusion. He swears deeply:
But bad men's oaths are breath, and their base lies
With holiest adjurations stronger vouch'd
Than native truth, which center'd in itself,
Rests in its simpleness; then this bold carriage
Urging the proof by test infallible,
The witness of my sight. Why these combin'd,
(Spite of my steady seeming) viper-tooth'd
Gnaw at my constancy, and inward spread
Suggestions, which unmaster'd, soon would change
The ruddy heart to blackness. But, Oh, shame!
These doubts are Slander's leigers.—Sweetest innocence!
That now, perhaps, lapt in Elysian sleep
Seest heaven in vision, let not these base sounds
Creep on thy slumber, lest they startle rest,
And change thy trance to horror.—Lo, he comes:
Yon light that glimmers 'twixt the quivering leaves
(Like a small star) directs his footsteps hither.

SCENE VI.

To him BIRENO, with a Lanthorn.
BIRENO.
Your pardon, Sir; I fear I've made you wait—
But here, beneath the window of his mistress,
A lover favour'd, and assur'd like you,
Must have a thousand pleasant fantasies
To entertain his musing.

PALADORE.
Sir, my fancy
Has various meditations; no one thought
Mix'd with disloyalty of her whose honour
Your boldness wou'd attaint.

BIRENO.
Then you hold firm,
I am a boaster?

PALADORE.
'Tis my present creed.

BIRENO.
'Twere kind, perhaps, to leave you in that error.
The wretch who dreams of bliss, while his sleep lasts,
Is happy as in waking certainty;
But if he's rous'd, and rous'd to misery,
He sure must curse the hand that shook his curtain.

PALADORE.
I have no time for maxims, and your mirth
Is most unseasonable. Thus far to endure
Perhaps is too much tameness.—To the purpose—

BIRENO.
With all convenient speed. You're not to learn,
We have a law peculiar to this realm,
That subjects to a mortal penalty,
All women nobly born (be their estate
Single or husbanded) who to the shame
Of chastity, o'er-leap its thorny bounds,
To wanton in the flowery path of pleasure.
Nor is the proper issue of the king
By royalty exempted.

PALADORE.
So I have heard.
But wherefore urge you this?

BIRENO.
Not without reason.
I draw my sword in peace. Now place your lips
Here on this sacred cross. By this deep oath,
Most binding to our order, you must swear,
Whate'er you see, or whatsoe'er your wrath
From what you see, that never shall your tongue
Reveal it to the danger of the princess.

PALADORE.
A most superfluous bond!—But on; I swear.

BIRENO.
Hold yet a little. Now, Sir, once again
Let this be touch'd.—Your enmity to me,
If by the process it should be provok'd,
Must in your breast be smother'd, not break out
In tilting at my life, nor your gage thrown
For any after quarrel. The cause weigh'd,
I might expect your love: but 'tis the stuff,
And proper quality of hoodwink'd rage,
To wrest offence from kindness.

PALADORE.
Should your proof
Keep pace with your assurance, scorn, not rage,
Will here be paramount, and my sword sleep,
From my indifference to a worthless toy,
Valued but in my untried ignorance.

BIRENO.
So you determine wisely. I must bind you
To one condition more. If I make palpable
Her preference in my favour, you must turn
Your back on Lombardy, and never more
Seek her encounter.

PALADORE.
By a soldier's faith!
Should it be so, I wou'd not breathe your air
A moment longer, for the sov'reignty
Of all the soil wash'd by your wand'ring Po.

BIRENO.
Summon your patience now, for sure you'll need it.

PALADORE.
You have tried it to the last: dally no more,
I shiver in expectance. Come, your proofs.

BIRENO.
Well you will have them. Know you first this writing?

[Gives a paper.
PALADORE.
It is the character of fair Sophia.

BIRENO.
I think so, and as such receiv'd it from her;
Convey'd with such sweet action to my hand,
As wak'd the nimble spirit of my blood,
Whispering how kind were the contents within.
This light will aid the moon, tho' now she shines
In her full splendor. At your leisure read it.

PALADORE,
reading.
Kind words indeed; I fear, I fear too common.

BIRENO.
It works as I could wish. How his cheek whitens!
His fiery eye darts thro' each tender word
As it would burn the paper.

PALADORE,
reading.
Ever constant—
Let me look once again. Is my sight false?
Oh, wou'd it were! Fain wou'd I cast the blame,
To save her crime, on my imperfect sense.
But did she give you this?

BIRENO.
Look to the address.

PALADORE.
Oh, darkness on my eyes! I've seen too much.
There's not a letter, but like necromancy
Withers my corporal functions. Shame confound her!

BIRENO.
As you before were tardy of belief,
You now are rash. Behold these little shadows.
These you have seen before.

[Producing two pictures.
PALADORE.
What's this, what's this!
My picture, as I live, I gave the false one,
And her's she promis'd me! Oh, woman's faith!
I was your champion once, deceitful sex!
Thought your fair minds—But hold, I may be rash—
This letter, and these pictures, might be your's
By the king's power, compelling her reluctant
To write and send them; therefore let me see
All you have promis'd.—You expect her summons
At yon Miranda—

BIRENO.
Yes, the time draws near;
She ever is most punctual. This small light
Our wonted signal: stand without its ray;
For shou'd she spy more than myself beneath,
Fearing discovery, she'll retire again
Into her chamber—When her beauteous form
Breaks like the moon, as fair, tho' not so cold,
From yonder window.

PALADORE.
Ha! by hell it opens!—

BIRENO.
Stand you apart a moment. While I climb,
Yon orb, now braz'd to this accustom'd scene,
Will shew you who invites me. I'll detain her,
To give you ample leisure for such note
As counterfeits abide not.

[Bireno retires;

SCENE VII.

PALADORE
alone.
Death! 'tis she!
There's not a silken braid that binds her hair,
One little shred of all that known attire
That wantons in the wind, but to my heart
Has sent such sweet disturbance, that it beat
Instinctive of her coming, ere my sight
Enjoy'd the beauteous wonder.—Soft! What now!
See she lets down the cordage of her shame,
To hoist him to her arms, I'll look no more—
Distraction! Devil! How she welcomes him!
That's well! that's well!—Again: grow to her lips—
Poison and aspics rot them! Now she woo's him,
Points to her chamber, and invites him inward.
May adder's hiss around their guilty couch!
And ghosts of injur'd lovers rise to scare them!—
Ay, get you gone—Oh, for a griffin's wing,
To bear me thro' the casement! Deeds like this
Shou'd startle every spirit of the grove,
And wake Enchantment from her spell-hung grot,
To shake the conscious roof about their heads,
And bare them to the scoff of modest eyes
Twin'd in the wanton fold. Oh, wretch accurs'd!
See there the blasted promise of thy joys,
Thy best hopes bankrupt.—Do I linger still?
Here find a grave, and let thy mangled corse,
When her lascivious eye peers o'er the lawn,
Satiate the harlot's gaze.

[Going to fall on his sword, Rinaldo rushes out and prevents him.
RINALDO.
What frenzy's this!
Arm'd 'gainst your life! In pity turn the point
On your old faithful servant, whose heart heaves
Almost to bursting to behold you thus.

PALADORE.
Hast seen it then?

RINALDO.
I have seen your wild despair;
And bless'd be the kind monitor within
That led me here to save you.

PALADORE.
Rather curs'd
Be thy officious fondness, since it dooms me
To lingering misery. Give me back my sword—
Is't come to this! Oh, I cou'd tear my hair!
Rip us this credulous breast! Blind dotard! Fool!
Did Wit, or Malice, ere devise a legend
To parellel this vile reality?

RINALDO.
Disgrace not the best gift of manly nature,
Your reason, in this wild extravagance.

PALADORE.
And think'st thou I am mad without a cause!
I'll tell thee—'Sdeath! It choaks me—Lead me hence—
I will walk boldly on the billowy deep,
Or blindfold tread the sharp and perilous ridge
Of icy Caucasus, nor fear my footing;
Play with a fasting lion's fangs unharm'd,
And stroke his rage to tameness.—But hereafter,
When men wou'd try impossibilities,
Let them seek faith in woman.—Furies seize them!

[Exeunt.