University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The Scene the Palace of Aristarchus.
Enter Aristarchus, Philocles, Philander, Dion, and Attendants: Aristarchus places himself on his Throne, Philander standing at one Side, and Philocles at the other. A Symphony of war-like Music is performed as they enter.
Aristarchus.
Thrice has the morning Sun beheld the Foe
Bidding Defyance fierce to Cyprian Arms,
And threat'ning Ruin, 'e're the Noon of Day,
To this our fruitful Isle; Philander thrice
Repell'd the bold Intruders from the Land,
And drove them to the Waves; we saw their Sails
Courting the Winds to bear them from our Rage.
Accept, thou brave young Man, the humble Thanks
Of Royalty; and if our Isle contains
Ought worth thy Wish, ask, and 'tis thine.

Philander.
My Liege,
Embolden'd by your Leave, thus on my Knees,
I beg a Treasure that my Soul has sought
With Pray'rs incessant, and that mutual Vows
Have made my own; and when confirm'd by you,
The Measure of my Joy will be compleat.

Aristarchus.
Speak; my Impatience tells me I'm too slow
In my Returns to thee: Ingratitude
Will be my Curse, if I refuse to grant
Whatever you can ask, and I can give.

Philander.
You have a Daughter whose superior Charms
Can draw the Hermit from his peaceful Cell
To gaze upon her; whose bright Excellence
Can fire to Glory ev'ry manly Breast:
E'en while I speak, I feel the sacred Impulse
That urg'd me early to the Fields of Blood.

Aristarchus.
Ah! thou wou'd'st ask what is not mine to give:
This Morn, by solemn Contract, I assign'd
My dear Urania to the Prince of Rhodes.

Philander.
His Merits may, perhaps, more strongly plead
Than the pass'd Service of my faithful Arm;
His future Prowess may, perhaps, enlarge
The Empire which my Sword preserv'd from Ruin:
Now, Philocles, 'tis thine to blaze in Arms,
And drive th' Invaders from the Land of Love.
She that gave Courage to Philander's Heart,
Strength to his Arm, and fought her Father's Cause
By no ignoble Proxy, is no more
The Prospect of Delight; no more my Eyes
Must gaze desirous on thy Charms, Urania;
Thy Father has bestow'd thee on another;
Nor have I left, the Wretch's Portion, Hope.
O! Aristarchus, for the Fair I bled,
For her rush'd on where most the Danger lay,
Resolv'd on Conquest, or a glorious Fall:
My Pride, O! King, was to reward her Love
With high Renown, that she might justly boast
She took no vulgar Hero to her Arms;
And if I fell, with Pleasure I foresaw
The lovely Maid, your lov'd Urania, wou'd
Bedew my Ashes with the Tears of Love.

Aristarchus.
Then to my Daughter did I owe thy Service?

Philander.
Yes, most to her; and happy is that Prince
Whose Leader's Motive to the War is Love.
When Beauty bids th' enamour'd Hero fly
To gather Honours on the martial Plain,
The bright Idea he preserves in View,
And scours with double Force the Scenes of Death:
His Valour then encreases with his Love,
And Cupid triumphs in the Field of Mars.

[Philocles approaches Philander, and speaks.
Soldier, thy Deeds want not the Boast of Words
To blaze thy Fame; this Truth a Rival owns,
Who pants to rival thee in Feats of Arms
Well as in Love: O! bear me to the Scenes
Where the brave fall, and Death in Ambush lys;
There Philocles shall strive to be the foremost,
If Beauty is the Prize, or Virtue calls.

[Aristarchus comes from his Throne, and speaks to Philander.
Think not, young Warrior, that I rate thy Deeds
Beneath their Merits: to thy Arm I owe
That I am now a King, and like a King
I wou'd reward the Bulwark of my State.
Had thy Request been made before this Morn,
So much I prize thy Worth, thou'dst been my Son;
Blame thy own Silence now, not my Refusal;
For as my royal Word this Day was giv'n
To Philocles, I must not stain my Fame:
I shou'd descend with Sorrow to the Grave,
If I was conscious that a Man surviv'd
To charge my Memory with Wrongs sustain'd
From Aristarchus. Philocles, the Maid
Is thine by Contract; may the Hand of Heav'n
Be always over thee, to guide thy Steps
To Acts of Virtue; may thy Wife, my Daughter,
To thee be what her Mother was to me,
The Blessing of my Days. Philander, ask
What is in me to give, ask Half my Realm,
I'll give it thee, and be but Half a King.

Philander.
O! cou'd'st thou, Prince, exert the Pow'r of Gods,
And bid me gaze on the blue Vault of Heav'n,
And make each Star therein a World of Gold,
Then bid those Worlds be mine, an humble Shed
In a fair rural Scene, Urania there,
Would lay Ambition waste.

[Philocles to the King.
Remember, Sir,
The Hour in which your royal Word to me
Must be fulfill'd. The Temple is adorn'd
In all the Pomp of Majesty and Love;
And the Priest waits to join us.

Philander.
Let him wait:
O! Aristarchus, weigh the mutual Love,
That has cemented long the faithful Hearts
Of thy Urania, and thy loyal Soldier,
Weigh it against the Wealth and Pomp of Rhodes;
Then let thy Justice, and paternal Love,
Determine thee to pass thy Sentence on me.

Aristarchus.
My plighted Word is not to be recall'd;
And shou'd I forfeit that, my Age wou'd wear
What in my Youth I shun'd, Disgrace; in that
The Dignity of Kings wou'd suffer.

Philocles.
Sir,
By my Impatience judge my Love; no more
Descend, by Reason, to convince the Man
Whom by a Word you may command to Duty.

Philander.
Patience no more is Virtue; here I'll fall,
Or with my Sword I will oppose thy Way
To Joys which Nature never mean'd for thee.

[Philander and Philocles draw their Swords; Aristarchus interposes, and speaks.
This Violence committed to my Face
Deserves a Term severer than I'll give it,
And a Rebuke, young Man, thou shalt not have.
On your Allegiance, Dion, I require,
As you're my Subject, and Philander's Friend,
That you will guard him well: to thee I trust
That my pacific Roof be not disturb'd
By that young Brawler in the Gust of Love,
While we attend the Hymenæal Rites;
When they're perform'd your Charge is over: then
We shall expect you to partake the Joys
Of the gay Festival, to crown the Night
With honest Mirth, and hail the wedded Pair
To the bless'd State of Union, State of Love.
Rash, inconsid'rate Youth, after this Hour,
Tho my Heart grieves that I must drive thee hence,
No more within my palace Walls be seen:
Be thy Estate thy Bounds, and there remain
Till thou hast hear'd from me. Now, Prince of Rhodes,
I wait thy Nuptials.

[Aristarchus, Philocles, and Attendants, go.

SCENE II.

Philander.
Dion, see thy Friend,
Like the firm Cedar that defys the Rage
Of Wind and Rains, but by the Fires of Heav'n
Is forc'd to yield his noble Trunc to Ruin:
Behold, and pity, me.

Dion.
Yet, cherish Hope.

Philander.
Alas! that Comfort is deny'd to me:
A restless Exile to the Plains I'll go,
And wait the Day that shall conclude my Sorrows.
Go, Dion, shine beneath the royal Smile,
And leave thy Friend abandon'd to his Griefs,
Who to the neighb'ring Hills shall make his Moan,
And now and then admit a Glimps of Joy
To steal upon his Soul, when he reflects
On the fair Fortune that attends thy Worth.
Haste to the Festival, where Beauty sits
To heighten ev'ry Joy. Haste, shun an Exile;
This Brawler shall not interrupt their Peace;
He will not, Dion, heap the King's Displeasure
On thee for a Neglect of Duty; no,
My Soul now sickens; and I feel the Hand
Of dire Affliction on me, that divests
My Breast of all my Strength, and tells my Heart
His fairest Guest is fled, is lost, for ever.

Dion.
When I forsake thee, may the good Man's Blessing,
His greatest Comfort in the Day of Sadness,
The Consciousness of having pass'd his Time
Blameless in Reason's Eye, forsake me quite.
In War, or Exile, I am still your Friend;
Nor will I leave you for the Smiles of Courts.
Alas! Philander, thou can'st not conceive
What Pains I suffer when I see the Man,
My other self, whose noble Spirit press'd him
Foremost to front the boldest Sons of War,
Drooping beneath a disappointed Love.

Philander.
True, thou hast seen me in the Hours of Blood,
Unshock'd amidst the various Forms of Death;
Yet, I must own, this unexpected Blow
Has quite subdu'd me. Lo! Thalia comes;
I will not stay to wreck her tender Soul
With the Recital of her Brother's Woes:
O! tell her, Dion, that I bear my Pains
As a Man shou'd: say what thou canst to ease her.
Now I obey thee, King: O! Court, farewel,
Thou base Seducer of ambitious Youth:
Welcome, Ritirement sweet, where ev'ry Hill
Shall witness to my unsuccessful Love,
While thou, my Friend, the Inmate of my Heart,
Shalt sooth Affliction, and expel Despair.
[After going some few Steps he returns.
This I'd forgot: charge her to tell Urania,
That, while she fills my happyer Rival's Arms,
I'd have her cast into Oblivion all
Our Vows of mutual Love, lest the Rememb'rance
Shou'd prove destructive to her rising Joys.

Dion.
But few the Moments which divide me from thee.

[Philander goes.

SCENE III.

Thalia enters.
Thalia.
For what Offence, say, for what Crime unknown,
Philander flys me? Are my fond Desires
To ease his Sorrows, or to share his Griefs,
Rewarded thus? Soon as the King's Commands
Were rumour'd to me, eager to perform
The Duty of a Sister and a Friend,
I hasten'd hither; and at my Approach
Unkind he fled.

Dion.
Nor Hatred, nor Neglect,
Forc'd him to shun thee, but a just Concern,
Such as those know who feel what others feel;
Judge from his Words: Thalia comes, he cry'd;
I will not stay to wreck her tender Soul
With the Recital of her Brother's Woes.

Thalia.
And cou'dst thou, Dion, let Philander go
A lonely Exile to the gloomy Shades,
Where Melancholy reigns, where sad Reflection
Shall prey uninterrupted on his Mind?

Dion.
Reproach me not, my Fair; to Love and Friendship
I give this Moment; by his own Request
I here attend thee: he intreats, by me,
That you will charge Urania not to throw
One Thought away on him.

Thalia.
That Charge is vain;
For when her Father press'd her to the Temple,
Sighing she cry'd Philander is not there.

Dion.
Ill-fated Virgin! and unjust Decree!
O! my Thalia, we must now conspire
To drive the Pains of disappointed Love
From our Philander's Breast; a Friend and Sister
May prove Physicians to his troubled Mind.
Haste, my Thalia, to the Solitude,
Where Innocence and Love secure may rest;
Where I'll forget that e'er I shin'd in Arms;
Where ev'ry Hour shall be employ'd for thee,
To find new Ways to please: thy Brother there,
No longer kept a Stranger to our Passion,
Shall join our Hands, and bid our Hearts rejoice
In our successful and our virtuous Love.

Thalia.
Haste to the Scene, where thou shalt quickly meet
The Maid who gave her virgin Heart to thee;
And whose first Pride is that she chose so well.
Tho my Soul ill can brook the short Delay,
Yet some Regard is due to poor Urania,
My true, my royal, Friend; who, now distracted
Betwixt the Tys of Duty and of Love,
Wants a kind helping Hand: when I have pay'd
The Debt I owe to Friendship and to Virtue,
To Courts I'll bid adieu, and hail the Plains,
Where Love, where Innocence, securely reigns.

Dion.
There shall your Smiles, my Fair, relieve your Slave
Of all the Torments which your Absence gave.