University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Chamber in the Palace.
BIRENO, ALINDA.
ALINDA.
I Wonder not you should suspect me slow
In this strange office: had you but enjoin'd me,
Shut out the sun ten times his annual rounds,
Feed all my life on pulse, or with coarse weeds
Obscure the little grace which Nature's hand
Has lent my outside, then, without a wherefore,
(From the meek humbleness of love I bear you)
My obedience wou'd have follow'd.

BIRENO.
Sweet impatience,
Smooth that contracted brow—

ALINDA.
But to commend
To any other woman, those fond vows
I hop'd to own unpartner'd, is it less
Than to expect my tongue suborn'd, should plead
Against the dearest interest of my life,
And make me earnest for my own undoing?

BIRENO.
Must I again call down the saints to witness,
That for convenience only, not from love,
I seek to wed the princess? My ambition
Aims at the crown, her dower; were that bright gem
Heir'd by a pigmy, the meer mock of sight,
By ideot drawling, and a shrew's perverseness,
No less shou'd I desire it. If I prosper,
My heart, as ever, shall be thine; and hers,
The dull legitimate languor of the husband.

ALINDA.
But when to royal state Sophia joins
Such rare endowments, as make doubtful strife
'Twixt Nature's gifts, and Fortune's; can I hope
More than some grateful note from memory,
How much Alinda lov'd you?

BIRENO.
Trust me, fair one,
Beauty's degrees are in the lover's fancy,
Not in a scal'd perfection. Varying nature
Has lineaments for every appetite:
Not her arch'd brows, nor stature Juno-like,
Her crisped tresses spun from finest gold,
Nor the intelligent lustre of her eye,
To me have half such charms as thy soft mien,
The pure carnation of thy dimpling cheek,
And unassuming sweet simplicity.—
But hast thou urg'd my suit?

ALINDA.
Spite of ourselves,
The tongue interprets from the abundant heart.
Bireno's image filling all my thoughts,
Cou'd I be silent on a theme so lov'd?

BIRENO.
And how does she receive the gentle tale?

ALINDA.
Sometimes she chides, and sometimes smiling tells me,
But that she knows me wise, such lavish praise
Might hint a heart touch'd deeply, and ill suits
The sober preference of an humble maid,
Who cannot hope to call you hers in honour.
Then with discreetest lessons will she school me,
To guard my breast 'gainst love; forgetting still
How much she wants the counsel she bestows.

BIRENO.
Does she then love?

ALINDA.
She never told me so;
But signs far more significant than speech
Reveal it hourly.

BIRENO.
Let me know my rival,
Tho' my foreboding heart already whispers
It must be Paladore.

ALINDA.
Oh, rightly guess'd!
Her love for him makes her unjust to you.

BIRENO.
Curses o'ertake him! Near his brighter fires
My star shines dimly; I was wonder'd at
Till this new meteor shot across men's eyes,
And drew all gaze to follow. At our tournaments
He foils me like a novice; in grave council
I prate unmark'd, while hoary heads bow down
In reverence to his weighty utterance;
And thus the upstart heresy of opinion
Runs on this smooth impostor—By what signs
Take you this note of her affection towards him?

ALINDA.
By such we women deem infallible.
If unexpectedly she hears him nam'd,
Sweet discomposure seizes all her frame;
Suffusion, softer than Aurora's blush,
Spreads o'er her beauteous cheek. If she expect
His presence at the court, studious to please,
Beyond her wonted elegance of dress,
With nicer care she counsels at her glass,
To make the daintiest workmanship of nature
By ornament more winning.

BIRENO.
Indications
That speak, and shrewdly; yet their vanity
To catch the flattery of the fool they scorn,
Will bait such hooks as these. Have you no proof
More unequivocal?

ALINDA.
What wou'd you more?
We reason from ourselves, looking within,
We find in our own breasts the according springs
Of motions similar; when first I lov'd,
So did I wish to please, so doubt my power.
Yet more than this; her eye still follows him,
And when the unwelcome hour of parting comes,
The chearful flame that lighted up her countenance
Expires; sighs heave, and a soft silent tear
Steals down her cheek.

BIRENO.
Enough, I'm satisfied
She loves him, and the frost of my reception
Conspires in proof. Now then, my best Alinda!
You must assist me; on this single push
Hang all my fortunes—If my rival wed her,
Farewel my hopes, my country—

ALINDA.
How! your country!
A voluntary exile for the loss
Of one you swear you love not—

BIRENO.
My possessions,
The means of pleasure to my thriftless youth,
Moulder in confiscation; thus my dukedom,
My royal ancestry, and rank in the state,
So scantily supported will but mock me.
A marriage with the princess wou'd heal all.
But if I fail, I will not stay to see
Upstarts made rich by my inheritance;
Nor the proud finger of the slave I scorn
Point at the princely beggar.

ALINDA.
Oh, good heaven!
Devise, command—Can my best industry
Prevent this ruin? Tell me but the means,
And bid me fly.

BIRENO.
No more of jealousy,
But with appliance dext'rous call her thoughts
To me, and my deservings; speak with slight
(Yet not as by suggestion) of my rival.
I've known more way made in a woman's grace
By such confederate arts, than could be won
By a long siege of amorous enginry,
Soft flatteries, sighs, protestings infinite,
And all the fervor of impatient love.

ALINDA.
But should this fail!

BIRENO.
I'll spread a finer snare,
Subtle as fabled Vulcan forg'd in Lemnos,
To enmesh them: thy soft hand, my dear Alinda!
Must help to hold the toils—

ALINDA.
But see, she comes;
The king too and her lover—

BIRENO.
I'll retire,
And seek thee presently: rivet thine ear
Meantime to what they utter: thy report
Shall somewhat shape my course. High-flighted fool!
Check thy bold soaring, else my hot revenge
Shall melt thy waxed plumes, and hurl thee down
To a devouring sea that roars beneath thee.

[Exit.
[Alinda retires.

SCENE II.

KING, PRINCESS, PALADORE, ATTENDANTS.
KING.
You shall no more, Sophia, to the chase;
This morning's danger makes my blood run cold.
Had not thy well-sped lance, brave Paladore,
Pierc'd the huge boar that gor'd her foaming horse,
These eyes, now rais'd in thanks to heaven and thee,
Had wept her lifeless.

PALADORE.
Ever prais'd be Fortune,
That plac'd me near her! Since a common feat
That daily dies our weapons, thus ennobled
By blest conjunction with her precious safety,
I would not change for the best garland won
By Cæsar's conquering sword.

PRINCESS.
We are not nice
In dangers imminent to chuse the means
Of our deliverance; yet, believe me, Sir,
More than for life preserv'd, I thank the chance
That made you my preserver. Th' unwelcome hand
Rendering us service, like sharp frost in sunshine,
Chills the fresh blossom of our gratitude,
Which else uncheck'd would put forth all its sweetness.

KING.
I have much serious matter for your ear;
[To Paladore.
Our helms must be lac'd close, our swords new edg'd
'Gainst fiercer foes than these rude foresters,
That make us sport with peril.

PALADORE.
By my life!
My cruel heart beats high to give it welcome;
For Virtue's test is action.

KING.
Thus my paper:
(Brief its contents, but fearful) Burgundy,
Stung by refusal of my daughter's love,
Stirs up commotion 'gainst our kingdom's peace;
And soon the golden grain of Lombardy
Shall be trod down beneath the furious heel
Of peasants cas'd in iron.

PRINCESS.
Heaven avert it!
For sure 'twere better I had ne'er been born,
Than live the fatal cause why war's rude blast
Disturb'd the quiet of my father's age,
Which soft repose shou'd foster. The griev'd people
Will chide your gentleness, that did not bend
My heart to this obedience; and your virtue,
Seen thro' th'unwelcome colour of the event,
For reverence find upbraiding.

KING.
No, Sophia!
I would not violate the meanest right
Of my least subject, for the fear or promise
Of any issue. Is my child, my daughter,
(Sweet, duteous, amiable, born free and royal)
Less charter'd from oppression than a stranger?
A self-invited wooer here he sojourn'd,
To thrive as your approving gave him licence:
I fed him not with promise, you with hope,
Nor shall audacious menace ere extort
What courtesy denied him.

PALADORE.
To his teeth
Hurl your defiance, King! 'tis proud to threaten,
But baseness to be aw'd by it. From my breast
I'd tear these hallow'd symbols, give this steel
To be a baby's play-thing, cou'd my heart,
Distrustful of the event, forbode one fear,
To cast black presage on a cause so noble.

KING.
Thou gem of Britain! Dear in my esteem
As wert thou native here, be Pavias' shield
Her pride, her pillar; yes, our hardy files,
Led on by thee, shall drive the boaster back,
To mourn at home his baffled preparations.

PALADORE.
Oh, wou'd the fortune of this glorious strife
Hung on my arm alone!

KING.
Our daughter's hand
Is destin'd for a prince who draws his blood
From the same source as mine, our kingdom's heir,
(Did not this sweet prevention stand between)
To bless Bireno with two matchless gifts,
Her beauty and a royal diadem.

PRINCESS.
Bireno, Sir!

KING.
Even he, I know his worth—
But is there poison in my kinsman's name?
It pales the healthful vermeil of your cheek,
Dims your bright eye, and viels your wonted smiles.

PRINCESS.
Alas! I cannot speak—

KING.
Why then, hereafter
Will better suit this subject. Sir, farewel!
We shall expect your aid to counsel with us,
What present mounds our wisdom, best may raise
'Gainst this loud torrent that at distance roars,
Ere it rush down to spread its ruin round us.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

PRINCESS, PALADORE.
PRINCESS.
Oh, stay, and hear me now! Alas! he's gone
Who smiles on me, and kills me; bids my heart
Be traitor to itself, yet with soft words
Fetters my tongue, which free, wou'd boldly answer!
Such kindness but destroys me.

PALADORE.
My soul's idol!
I was indeed presumptuous to believe
These humble arms were destin'd to enfold
So vast a treasure, yet aspiring love
Hopes things impossible.

PRINCESS.
Bireno! He!
I'd rather waste my life in singleness;
Like the pale votarist, pour faint orisons
At the cold shrines of senseless marble saints,
And wear the eternal pavement with my knees,
Than at the sacred altar load my soul
With holy perjuries, to love the man,
At whose approach my heart alarm'd shrinks back,
While thought confirms instinctive Nature's hate.

PALADORE.
See, like a haughty conqueror he comes;
Pleasure and pride on his exulting brow
At distance speak his triumph.

PRINCESS.
Arm me, Disdain,
To meet the bold intruder!—Gentle Paladore!
'Tis thus thy rival woo's me. Courtship's season
Is the short date of woman's sovereignty.
For liberty, we have but in exchange
The little tribute of a lover's sighs,
His humble seeming, and soft courtesy;
Yet these, he thinks too rich a sacrifice,
And owns no advocate but pride in love.

SCENE IV.

To them BIRENO.
BIRENO.
Confirm'd, fair princess! By the King's command
You see me here a joyful visitant.
'Tis not unknown why warlike Burgundy,
Spreading his hostile banners to the wind,
Makes sword and fire his dreadful harbingers.

PRINCESS.
The cause I have heard—But on.

PALADORE.
[Aside.]
Down, swelling heart!

BIRENO.
Your yet unplighted hand gives to this war
Its edge and colour; to remove that prize
Beyond the invader's reach, my sovereign's wisdom
Deems the best means to blunt his hostile sword;
Therefore on me he deigns—

PRINCESS.
I understand;
But have no present ear for such a theme.
My father's goodness left my choice unforc'd
Of one unwelcome suitor; the same justice
Secures me from compulsion in a second.

BIRENO.
And must I bear this answer to the King?

PRINCESS.
Myself will be my own interpreter,
And save your trouble. Once more, Sir, I thank you.

[To Paladore and exit.

SCENE V.

BIRENO, PALADORE.
BIRENO.
Well! go thy ways, woman's epitome!
Beauteous ænigma! Who wou'd solve you rightly,
Must thus interpret: make your outward semblance
An index pointing to its contrary.
When your smooth polish'd vizors beam in smiles,
Displeasure's at your hearts; the moody brow
Tells inward sun-shine; tears are joy, not sorrow;
You sooth where you approve not, and look gall,
When sweet content honies your appetites.

PALADORE.
These common railings 'gainst that gentle sex,
Denote his humour more who utters them,
Than their defect, or any deep conception.
But you have chosen a season for hard thoughts
Rebukes your censure; still the chamber's air
Winnows her balmy breathing; from our eyes
Scarce glides her beauteous form, when your dark spleen
As venom'd things suck poison from sweet flowers,
Finds matter for distemper's nourishment,
And food for calumny in excellence.

BIRENO.
Her form indeed is fair.

PALADORE.
Ay, and her mind
(If more can be) more fair, more amiable.
Thy never-render'd snow-cold Apenine,
Is not so free from taint, as from offence
Her spotless bosom; yet has she a tear,
Healing as balm for others frailties,
That makes remission heavenly; sweet persuasion
Hangs on her words with power oracular,
To shame the cynic's chiding—Spirit of truth!
She is thy visible divinity,
And 'tis thy reverence to pay homage to her.

BIRENO.
'Tis to my wish [Aside.]
—I grant her well endow'd,
And in fair seeming most pre-eminent;
But for these other virtues you have nam'd,
They are of different climes, and earlier ages;
Our Pavias ladies, cast in earthly moulds,
They make the most of Nature's liberal gifts,
Put pleasure out to usury, and love
As ease, convenience, or the moment sways them.

PALADORE.
You're pleasant, lord!

BIRENO.
No, soberly thy friend.
Shall I be plain?

PALADORE.
What call you your past measure,
Was it a courtier's strain!

BIRENO.
You love the princess?

PALADORE.
And heaven may be belov'd—

BIRENO.
Ay, and hop'd too;
For heaven has many mansions, and receives,
Too large for limitation, all deservers;
But in a lady's heart, there's but one place,
Though many may contend for't: therefore, friend,
Waste not your precious sighs, which might enkindle
Bright sparks of equal love in some soft breast
Destined to mate your fondness, in hopeless wooing.
Search not the cause; believe me, on my truth,
'Tis past all reckoning hopeless.

PALADORE.
Nothing's hopeless,
Though deeds, untried, oft seem impossible;
And craven Sloth molting his sleekless plumes
With drowsy wonder views the advent'rous wing
That soars the shining azure o'er his head.
What will not yield to daring? Victory
Sits on the helm whose crest is Confidence;
And boldness wins success in love's soft strife,
As in the dangerous din of rattling war.

BIRENO.
How cou'd I make me sport were I light minded,
Were I malignant; mischief, from this mood,
That runs so contrary to all sober sense—
But here I rest in kindness—Be advis'd,
Push not a desperate purpose; by my life!
The princess loves you not.

PALADORE.
I'll bear no more—
Matchless audacity! Let me take thee in
From crown to toe, walk round thee, and survey thee
Like a prodigious thing; for such thou should'st be,
To put my course of love in circumscription,
And school me, like a boy, with unsought precept.

BIRENO.
Lovers are sick with fevers of the brain,
Diseas'd by airy hope, high flighted fancy,
Imaginations bred from self-conceit.
An arch deluder, which presents the Juno
Their frenzy grasps at, with a zone unbound;
While, like Ixion's mistress, the coy queen
Slumbers on golden beds in high Olympus.

PALADORE.
Hear me, proud duke! had I no other spur
But thy forbidding; were there no incitement
From her transcendent beauty; did no beam
Shoot from her eye to light eternal love
At passion's altar; were she swart, and froward,
(Oh, blasphemy to think it) in despight,
I would assume an unfelt extasy,
Invoke her name, till echo should grow faint
With the perpetual burden, and devise
All means of contradiction, to proclaim
Scorn of thy council, and defiance to thee.

BIRENO.
Then hear, to dash thy pride, since thus you urge me.
My experience of her lightness, well she knows
Would freeze me as her husband, and her hand
(Which, but to save appearances, I ask)
I wou'd reject, if offer'd; so her craft
Sooths you with feign'd endearments. As a mistress,
I find her worth my holding; but a wife,
Fit for a prince, must come with better gifts
Than amorous blood, and beauty—Nay, but mark me.

PALADORE.
Trust not too far the reverence of this place—
Away—thou yet art safe—my sword once drawn—

BIRENO.
Am I so lost in your esteem, you hold me
(Your friend profess'd) in malice capable,
Or falsehood thus to wound you?

PALADORE.
Both, by Heaven!

BIRENO.
And will maintain this thinking?

PALODORE.
With my life.—

BIRENO.
'Tis a deep venture—Mine upon my truth—
When full-orb'd Phœbe wheel her fleecy car
To silver yon blue concave, 'midst the pines
That wave their green tops o'er the battlement
Of her night-chamber, in the garden meet me
Alone: when we encounter in that place,
You there shall listen to conditions meet
For both our honours. So till then, farewel.

PALADORE,
alone.
I'll meet thee, be assur'd I will.
Gird on thy keenest edge: if thou hast aught
Unsettled in this world, dispatch it quickly;
We stand upon the utmost verge of Fate,
And one, or both of us, must plunge for ever.

[Exit.

SCENE VI.

BIRENO
alone.
The wise should watch the event on fortune's wheel,
That for a moment circles at the top,
And seiz'd not, vanishes—I must about it,
My all's at stake—Ye ministers of vengeance!
That hide your gory locks in mist-hung caves,
And roll your deadly eyeballs o'er the edge
Of your insatiate daggers, shaking ever
Dews of oblivious sleep from your stung brows,
Receive me of your band! ne'er to know peace
Till this keen writhing vulture quit my heart,
And with blunt beak, and flagging wings outstretch'd,
Drowze o'er the mangled victims of my rage.