 | Cleomenes, the Spartan Heroe |  |
51
Act V.
Enter Cassandra and Sosybius.Sos.
And what
Have you determin'd?
Cass.
He shall die.
Sos.
A wholsome Resolution: Have you fix'd
The Time?
Cass.
He daily dies, by Hours and Moments:
All vital Nourishment but Air is wanting!
Three rising Days and two descending Nights
Have chang'd the Face of Heav'n and Earth by turns;
But brought no kind Vicissitude to him:
His State is still the same: With hunger pinch'd:
Waiting the slow approaches of his Death;
Which halting on-wards, as his life goes back,
Still gains upon his Ground!
Sos.
But e'er Fate reach him,
The Mercy of the King may interpose:
You have the Signet?
Cass.
Yes! In your Despite!
Sos.
Be not displeas'd suppose he shou'd escape?
Cass.
Suppose he shou'd have Wings? Impossible.
Sos.
Yet, Keepers have been brib'd: To whom can Ptolomy
Impute that Crime, but you?
Cass.
He may: But let him if he dares:
Come, Statesman! Do not shuffle in your pace;
You wou'd expose me to the People's Hatred,
By hurrying on this Act of Violence:
You know a little thing provokes the Crowd
Against a Mistress: She's the Publick Mark:
Therefore content your self I will be safe:
Nor shall the Prisoner die a speedier Death,
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Reverse his Orders, by my Messenger.
Sos.
May I presume to ask you, whom you sent?
Cass.
Thy Son, unknown to thee; for so I charg'd him:
And this the promis'd hour of his Return.—Nay wonder not,
I chose him with design: That whatsoe'er
The King ordains, you both shou'd share th'Event:
And stand or fall with me. Ponder on that, and leave me!
Sos.
aside.
What can she mean? She neither kills nor saves—
[Exit Sosybius.
Cass.
Now tell me, Heart: Now answer for thy self:
What wilt thou do! and what dost thou desire!
His Life? No, he's ungrateful: Or, his Death?
I tremble at that Word. What then? His Love!
His Love! my Heart! What! by Restraint, and Famine?
Are these the means to compass thy Design?
Revenge! My Hands so soft, his Heart so hard,
The blow recoils, and hurts me while I strike!
Like the mad Viper, scourg'd into a Rage,
I shoot into my self my fatal Sting.
Enter Mariner.
Marin.
The Ship is ready, when you please to sail,
And waits but your Command: The Wind stands fair.
Cass.
Be secret, and attend my farther pleasure—
[Gives him a Purse, and exit Mariner.
So; this was time well manag'd: In three Days
To hire a Vessel—Put my Wealth on board:
Send off th'observing Son, and Fool the Father:
See him I will, to sound his last Resolves,
If Love can soften him, or Fear can bow.
If both shou'd fail, th'ungrateful Wretch shall find,
Rage has no Bounds in slighted Woman-kind.
[Exit Cassandra.
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Enter Cleomenes.
Cleom.
No Food: And this the third arising Sun:
But what have I to do with telling Suns,
And measuring Time? That runs no more for me!
Yet sure the Gods are good: I wou'd think so,
If they wou'd give me leave;
But Virtue in Distress, and Vice in Triumph
Make Atheists of Mankind.
Enter Cratisiclæa.
What Comfort, Mother?
Crat.
A Soul, not conscious to it self of Ill,
Undaunted Courage, and a Master-mind:
No Comfort else but Death,
Who like a lazie Master stands aloof,
And leaves his Work to the slow hands of Famine.
Cleom.
All I wou'd ask of Heav'n,
Is, but to die alone; a single Ruine;
But to die o'er and o'er, in each of you,
With my own hunger pinch'd, but pierc'd with yours!
Crat.
Grieve not for me!
Cleom.
What! not for you, my Mother!
I am strangely tempted to blaspheme the Gods;
For giving me so good, so kind a Parent:
And this is my return, to cause her Death—
Crat.
Peace! Your Misfortunes cause it, not your Fault.
Enter Cleora.
Cleom.
What! my Cleora?
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To shun the sight of what I cannot help;
A Flow'r withering on the Stalk for want
Of nourishment from Earth and showers from Heaven:
All I can give thee is but Rain of Eyes—
[Wiping his Eyes.
Cleor.
Alas! I have not wherewithal to weep:
My eyes grow dim, and stiffen'd up with drought,
Can hardly rowl and walk their feeble round:
Indeed—I am faint.
Crat.
And so am I.—Heaven knows! However
[aside.
In pity of 'em both, I keep it secret:
Nor shall he see me fall—
[Exit Cratisiclæa.
Cleom.
How does our helpless Infant?
Cleor.
It wants the Breast, its kindly nourishment:
And I have none to give, From these dry Cesterns
Which unsupply'd themselves, can yield no more:
It pull'd and pull'd but now, but nothing came.
At last it drew so hard, that the blood follow'd:
And that Red Milk I found upon its Lips,
Which made me swoon with fear.
Cleom.
Go in and rest thee,
And hush the Child asleep.
[Exit Cleora.
Look down ye Gods—
Look, Hercules, thou Author of my Race,
And Jog thy Father Jove, that he may look
On his neglected Work of Humane-kind:
Tell him—I do not Curse him: But Devotion
Will cool in after times, if none but good Men suffer.—
What! another increase of Grief?
Enter Cleonidas.
Cleon.
O Father!
Cleom.
Why dost thou call me by so kind a name?
A father! That implies presiding Care,
Chearful to give.—Willing himself to want!
Whate'er thy needs require!
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A little Food!
Have you none, Father? One poor Hungry Morsel:
Or give me leave to die—as I desir'd;
For without your consent, Heaven knows, I dare not.
Cleom.
I prithee stay a little: I am loath
To say hard things of Heaven!
Cleon.
But what if Heaven
Will do hard things, must not hard things be said?
Y'have often told me, That the Souls of Kings
Are made above the rest of Humane Race;
Have they not Fortunes fitted for those Souls?
Did ever King die Starv'd?
Cleom.
I know not that:
Yet still be firm in this: The Gods are good,
Tho' thou and I may perish.
Cleon.
Indeed I know not,
That ever I offended Heaven in thought:
I always said my Prayers.
Cleom.
Thou didst thy Duty.
Cleon.
And yet you lost the Battel when I Pray'd.
Cleom.
'Twas in the Fates I should: But hold thee there!
The rest is all unfathomable depth:
This we well know, That if there be a Bliss
Beyond this present Life, 'tis purchas'd here,
And Virtue is its price.
Cleon.
But are you sure
Our Souls shall be Immortal?
Cleom.
Why that Question?
Cleon.
Because I find, that now my Body starves,
My Soul decays: I think not as I did:
My Head goes round: And now you swim before me:
Methinks my Soul is like a Flame, unfed
With Oyl, that dances up and down the Lamp,
But must expire ere long.
Cleom.
I prithee try to hold it while thou canst.
Cleon.
I would obey you,
As I have always done, but I am faint;
And when you please to let me die, I'll thank you.
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Thou shalt have Food: I promise thee, thou shalt.
Cleon.
Then you shall promise to have Food for your self too;
For if you have it not, I would refuse to eat:
Nay I would chuse to die, that you might feed on me.
Cleom.
Mark, Heaven, his Filial Love,
And if a Family of such as these
Must perish thus, your Model is destroy'd
By which you made good Men.
Enter Pantheus hastily.
Panth.
Be chearful, Sir, The Gods have sent us Food.
Cleom.
They try'd me of the longest: But by whom?
Panth.
Go in and see.
Cleon.
Good Father, do not stay to ask, but go.
Cleom.
Go thou—thy Youth calls fiercer than my Age.
Cleon.
But then make haste: and come to take your part:
Hunger may make me impious to eat all,
And leave you last to starve—
Exit Cleonidas.
Panth.
Sir, will you go?
Cleom.
I know not: I am half seas o'er to Death!
And since I must die once, I wou'd be loth
To make a double work of what's half finish'd;
Unless I could be sure the Gods wou'd still
Renew these Miracles: Who brought this Food?
Panth.
He's here that can resolve you!
[Exit Panth.
Enter Cleanthes with a Sword in his hand.
Cleom.
How dar'st thou come again within my sight?
Thou art—but 'tis no matter what thou art,—
I'll not consider thee so far to think
Thee worth Reproach.—Away, away Egyptian!
That's all the Name that's left Thee.
Cleant.
Such I appear indeed:
Cleom.
Why then for once, that which thou seem'st thou art:
Be gone.
Cleant.
Oh I have been too long away!
Cleom.
Too soon thou art return'd,
To Triumph o'er my Fate.
Cleant.
Forgive me, that I seem'd your Foe.
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Forgive me, Heaven, for thinking thee my Friend:
No more; 'tis loss of Time to talk.
Cleanth.
Indeed it is,
When hunger calls so loud for Sustenance.
But whether Friend or Foe, 'tis Food I bring.
Cleom.
'Tis Poison; and my Mother, and my Wife,
And my poor famish'd Boy are eating Death:
Thou would'st not have me think that thou repent'st?
Cleanth.
Heav'n knows, I do not!
Cleom.
Well said, Man! Go on—and be not bashful
To own the Merits of thy Wickedness.
Cleanth.
What need has Innocence of a Repentance?
Cleom.
Shuffling again! Prithee be of a piece.
A little steddiness becomes a Villain.
Cleanth.
Oh! Friend—for yet I dare to call you so;
Which if I were a Villain; sure I durst not.
Hear me—or kill me!
Cleom.
So, by Heav'n, I would,
For thy profaning Friendship's holy Name:
But for thou see'st no Justice hanging here
On this bare side, thou talk'st secure of Vengeance.
Cleanth.
Then if you had a Sword, my Death's resolv'd!
Cleom.
Thy Conscience answers thee.
Cleanth.
Without more Evidence than bare Surmise;
At most appearance of a Crime unprov'd;
And while unprov'd, uncertain?
Cleom.
Traitor, no more; 'tis fulsome!
Cleanth.
Take the Sword—
[Throws it to him.
Cleom.
I thank thee—Draw thy own.
[Takes it up.
Cleanth.
No—Take that too.
[Draws his, and offers it.
Cleom.
Fool—Would'st thou die without Defence?
Cleanth.
I would not:
But you forbad me to defend my self,
Then, when you would not hear me!
Cleom.
Can Falshood have a better Argument
Than Force for its Defence? Trust to that Topick,
And bear thee like a Man.
Cleanth.
I think, I do.
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What kind o' Man is that, who dares not fight?
Cleanth.
The Man, who dares not when his Honour calls,
Is what you mean; but what I never was:
For Honour never summons without Reason.
Force is the Law of Brutes. The dumb Creation,
Where Words and Reason want, appeal to Might.
I thought a King, and what you boast, a Spartan,
Might have known this without th'Ægyptian's telling.
Cleom.
Come, Come; Thou dar'st not fight.
Cleanth.
By Heav'n, I dare.
But first my Honour must be justify'd,
If you dare be my Judge:
For in this crude and indigested Quarrel,
If I should fall unheard, you kill your Friend,
The Man who lov'd you best, and holds you dearest.
And should you perish in th'unjust Attempt,
The Sword that slew you, shou'd revenge your Death:
For I should soon o'ertake you in the way,
To quit my self before you reach'd the Shades,
And told your Tale to Minos.
Cleom.
Then I must hear: But swear, swear first I charge thee,
That when I have pronounc'd, thou wilt no more
Prolong thy prattle with some new Excuse:
And prithee cut it short—because I faint,
And long to kill thee first: Oh, I am going,
A rising Vapour rumbles in my Brains.
I hear my Words far off—stand, stand, thou Traytor,
And swim not thus before me—'tis too late,
[Puts the point upon the ground once or twice, leans on't, and staggers.
And I fall unreveng'd—
[Offers to run at him, and is falling.
Cleanth.
What, ho, Pantheus!
[Runs to him, and takes him in his Arms.
The best of Men is dying in my Arms,
And I want pow'r to save him.
Enter Pantheus.
Panth.
Oh Heav'ns! what means this direful Object?
59
Ask not with unassisting pity; bow him forward;
Rub his numb'd Temples, while I wipe the Sweat
From his cold clammy Face.
Panth.
His mounting Heart
Bounces against my hands, as if it would
Thrust off his manly Soul.
Cleanth.
Wrench ope his mouth,
While I infuse these Sovereign Drops, whose Pow'r
Will soon recal his wander'd sense—
[He instills somewhat out of a Vial into his Mouth.
He stirs!
And stretches now, and seems t'essay his Limbs.
Cleom.
Where am I?
[Standing a while, they support him.
Cleanth.
In his Arms, who dy'd with you;
And now you live, revives.
Cleom.
Art thou Panthæus?
Panth.
Believe your Eyes, I am.
Cleom.
Speak then, and truly, (for I trust not him,)
Who brought me back to Life?
Panth.
Who, but he, who was left single with you,
Who caught you falling in his faithful Arms;
And not alone sufficient to restore you,
Call'd loud for my Assistance:
I found him propping you with trembling Hands;
His Eyes so haggard, I could scarce distinguish
Who was the living Friend, and who the dead.
Cleom.
All this Cleanthes! This, What this Cleanthes?
Panth.
Yes, your Cleanthes.
Cleanth.
Your suspected Friend,
Much wrong'd, but ever faithful!
Cleom.
Art thou sure
I live? Or am I in the Regions of the dead?
And hear the Fables there; my self a Fable?
Panth.
Go in, and see your chearful Family
Eating his Bread, brought in their last Distress;
And with a good mistaking Piety,
First blessing him, then Heaven!
Cleom.
When I hear this, I have no need of Food:
60
Cleanth.
Then, now hear me,
How I was forc'd into this seeming Falshood,
To save my self, the only means remaining
To save the Man I lov'd beyond my self;
And gain a needful Credit with Cassandra:
And yet even then deceiv'd, and sent far off
For three long Days, unknowing of your wants,
Not thinking she, who lov'd, could use you thus.
By Famishment to—
Cleom.
O no more! no more!
For now I understand e'er thou can'st speak it half:
To thee I ow'd the seizing of my Sword,
Lest I should fall by odds—My Wife's return,
All, all to thee—And thou art more than all:
Can'st thou forgive me? Can'st thou, my Cleanthes?
Can I deserve thus to grow here once more?
[Embracing him.
Let me embrace my self quite into thee.
Cleanth.
Come, come as fiercely as thou wilt—I meet thee—
[Embraces Cleomenes.
I close within thee, and am thou again.
Panth.
Why, this is as it should be.
Cleom.
I could not thus have taken to the Death
Anothers Falshood, but thine, only thine:
For infinitely, infinitely loving,
'Twas a wide gap thou mad'st within my Bosom,
And as my Soul rent from me.
Cleanth.
But thy Hunger!
This violent Transport of my Reconcilement,
Makes me forget thy Wants—When I embrac'd thee
Thy spungy Body dwindled in my Arms,
And like a Ghost fled from me.
Cleom.
I could eat—
[Going in.
Now my first Appetite of Love is serv'd;
And that was much the keenest: Let us in;
For Life looks lovely now, and worth preserving,
Cleanth.
Not that way, Friend—
It leads you to the Women, and the Boy.
61
And why must I avoid those tender Blessings?
Cleanth.
Even such, because they are, you must avoid them.
For I must tell you, Friend, you have but time
To snatch a hasty Morsel, and away:
Nothing of Manhood must be clogg'd or soften'd
With Womanish Sighs and Tears, and kind Adieu's!
And those ill-tim'd Remorses of good Nature,
When your whole Soul is needful.
Panth.
You tell us Wonders!
Cleanth.
At the King's Return,
Which daily we expect, your Death's resolv'd:
This hour's your own! Take it, and tempt your Fortune;
Some few brave Friends I hope to add;
If not, all Ægypt's number'd in my self.
Cleom.
I am all on Fire; now for a lucky pull
At Fate's last Lottery:
I long to see the Colour, white or black;
That's the God's Work: And if I fall their shame,
Let 'em ne'er think of making Heroes more,
If Cowards must prevail.
Panth.
The fewer Hands,
The fewer Partners in the share of Honour.
Cleom.
Come, my Pantheus: Lead, my best Cleanthes!
We three to all the World.
Cleanth.
Magas, and Liberty, let be the Word:
Magas is lov'd, and Liberty desir'd.
A short Refection waits at the Lieutenant's,
That honest Friend, who sent you back your Wife;
We'll drink a Bowl of Wine, and pour the rest,
Not to the Dog Anubis; but to Jove,
The Freer and Avenger.
[Exeunt.
62
Cleora.
Gone—and without taking leave!
Crat.
The better.
He bated me the Forms, and you the Fondness.
Cleon.
Pantheus too, and he who brought the Food,
The brave Ægyptian, vanish'd all together.
Cleora.
Oh, my fore-boding Soul! he's gone to Death!
And that Cleanthes, whom thou call'st the Brave,
Has basely train'd him out to his Destruction!
Crat.
Suspect him not: When Fate was in his power,
And by a Method so secure as Famine;
To save us then, shows he had little need
To trick my Son to Death:
I have a better prospect of th'Event.
Cleor.
Dear Mother! Comfort me and tell your Thoughts;
For I see nothing but a gathering Tempest,
Horror on Horror to the end of Heaven!
Crat.
No, no; you are not of a Soul to bear
The mighty Good and Ill that meet mid-way,
As from two Goals; and which comes first upon us,
Fate only knows.
Cleon.
Then speak to me; for I can stand the Shock,
Like a young Plant that fastens in a Storm,
And deeper drives the Root.
Crat.
Thy Soul's too strong; thy Body yet too weak
To bear the Crush: Be still, and wait thy Doom.
[A Cry within: Liberty, Liberty; Magas, Magas; To Arms for Magas, and for Liberty.
Cleon.
What noble sound was that? So smart and vigorous?
A Soul in every Word.
Crat.
Why that was it,
I thought, was doing; but I durst not tell,
Till now it shows it self.
The Works begun, my Boy; the Works begun:
There was thy Father in that Warlike Shout,
Stemming the Tide of Ægypt.
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O comfort me, my Husband's Mother; say,
My Lord may live and conquer.
Crat.
Possibly:
But still make sure of Death: Trust we to that,
As to our last Reserve.
Cleor.
Alas, I dare not die.
Crat.
Come, come, you dare:
Do not belie your Courage.
Cleor.
Heaven help me, I have none.
Crat.
Then dare you be a Slave to base Ægyptians?
For that must be, if you outlive your Husband.
Cleor.
I think, I durst, to save my self from Death.
Crat.
Then, as a Slave, you durst be ravish'd too?
Cleor.
The Gods forbid.
Crat.
The Gods cannot forbid it
By any way but Death.
Cleor.
Then I dare die.
Crat.
I told you so: You did not know your Vertue.
Poor trembling thing; I'll warm thee in my Bosom,
And make thee take Death kindly.
Another Shout within: Liberty and Magas.
Cleon.
What must become of me?
Crat.
More Trouble yet about this paltry Being?
For shame no more such Qualms!
Cleon.
No more such vile Mistakes! I would die warm,
And not in Women's Company—but Men's.
Whether some God inspires me to this Act,
Or Fate inevitably calls me on,
I will not, cannot stay:
But as a generous, unflesh'd Hound, that hears
From far the Hunter's Horn and chearful Cry;
So will I haste; and by the Musick led,
Come up with Death or Honour—
[Exit.
Cleor.
Stop him, dear Mother; he may comfort us,
But cannot help his Father.
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The Hero's Blood is not to be controul'd;
Even in a Child 'tis madly Masterful:
But wait we patient with our petty Stakes,
Which on those greater Gamesters must depend;
For as they throw, our little Lots must follow,
Like sweepings of their heap.
[Cratisiclæa and Cleora go in.
Trumpets.
A Shout within: Liberty, Liberty, and Magas.
Enter Cleomenes, Cleanthes, Pantheus, followed by some few Ægyptians.
Cleom.
What? Is this populous City turn'd a Desart?
The Cry of Liberty runs son before us;
And yet not one appears!
By Hercules! we drive 'em through their Town:
They dare not stay to welcome their Deliverers.
Cleanth.
The Cowards are afraid of what they wish:
And cou'd they be their own, they wou'd be ours.
Cleom.
They're gone! We talk to Houses and to Walls.
Panth.
Not so: I see some peeping from their Doors.
What are you, Friends or Foes?
Four Ægyptians appear peeping at the opposite Entrances of the Stage.
1 Ægypt.
Friends, Friends: All honest Men, and
Hearty to the Cause.
Cleanth.
Explain what Cause—and give the general Cry.
1 & 2. Ægypt.
Liberty and Magas.
Cleom.
in their Tone.
Liberty and Magas!
The Cowards whisper Liberty so softly,
As if they were afraid the Gods should hear it,
And take 'em at their Word.
65
No, Friend: We Vulgar never fear the Gods:
But we whisper, for fear our over-thwart Neighbours
Should hear us cry, Liberty, and betray us to the Government.
Cleanth.
Of what side are you there?
[to the opposite Egypt.
3. Egypt.
That's according as you succeed: Of your side hitherto.
Panth.
If you are Men, come join with us.
4. Egypt.
You are too few for us to join with you; but get
the greater Party of your side, and we'll be sure to help the
Common Cry.
Cleom.
Dare you doe nothing to assert your Freedom?
3. Egypt.
Yes; We'll pray devoutly for you.
Cleanth.
The Brave pray with their Swords; that's a Man's
part.
4. Egypt.
Pray with our Swords, the Law calls Fighting;
And Fighting is Bloud-shed; And Bloud-shed is Hanging;
And Hanging is the part of a Dog, and not of a Man, in my opinion.
1. Egypt.
Every one shift for himself,
[Egyptian Trumpets within.
The Government is a coming.
[They shrink back in a fright, and clap the Doors.
Cleom.
Run; couch, ye Cowards, to your Tyrant Lords.
A Dog you worship, and partake his Nature:
A Race of speaking Spaniels.
Panth.
Let 'em go; We'll doe our work without 'em.
Cleanth.
The comfort is, our Foes are like our Friends—
Holy-day Hero's, drawn out once a month,
At publick Charge to Eat, and to be Drunk:
Mere Mouths of War.
Enter Sosybius and Cœnus at the head of many Egyptians: They who spoke before, bolt out of their doors, and join with them.
Sosyb.
'Twas what I always fear'd; e'en when I sav'd Thee,
To find thee thus engag'd among my Foes:
But, yet submit; And I can yet forgive Thee:
Consider; for 'tis all I have time to say,
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Clean.
Against my Father's Cause, but not my Father:
If you wou'd needs become your self a Slave,
And get me such, I must redeem us both,
And will, or perish in the brave Attempt.
Sosyb.
Withdraw thy self from ruine: I command Thee.
Cleant.
Command I cannot: But, I beg you, Sir,
Engage not for an Arbitrary Power,
That odious Weight upon a Free-born-soul.
Sosyb.
This is too much; fall on: But spare my Son.
Enter Cassandra attended.
Cassan.
Sosybius, hold! Withdraw your Men to distance:
You know this Signet: Obey your King in Me.
[Shews the Signet.
Sosyb.
Never more gladly: Tho' my Son's a Rebell;
Yet Nature works to save him.
Cassan.
Then rather than he shou'd untimely fall,
[Cœnus draws off Sosybius's his Men.
I wou'd forgive the Rest: and offer Life,
[Panth. Cleom. Men, Ex. Manent Cassan. Sosyb. Cleanth.
Even to that Fugitive, if he please to treat.
Cleom.
Be short: and, if you can, for once, sincere.
Cassan.
What can you hope from this unequal Fight,
Where numbers rise from every Foe you kill,
And grow from their defeat?
Cleom.
We come resolv'd:
And to die killing is a kind of Conquest.
Cassan.
But are not Life and Freedom worth accepting,
When offer'd; and, with such Conditions too,
As make 'em both more pleasing? Your Friends safety,
Your Son, your Mother, and that only She,
Who loves you best, for your Companion home:
You know what She I mean.
[Aside to him.
Cleom.
No private parley
[Stepping back.
Spartans doe all in publick.
Cleant.
We know your reasons for those secret whispers;
67
Cleom.
[Aside to him.]
Peace, Peace, my Friend.
No injuries from Women can provoke
A Man of Honour to expose their Fame.
Madam; We understand each other well:
My Son, my Mother, and my Wife restor'd,
'Tis Peace; if not, 'tis War.
Sosyb.
A fair Proposal: Be it Peace.
Cassan.
No, Fool! 'tis War. Know, Heavy Hero, know,
I gain'd this time for my secure Revenge;
To seize thy Wife and Mother: And to stab Thee
On both sides of thy Heart, they're gone to die,
To make thy Death more painfull. Farewel, Traytor!
And thank thy self—not me—
[Ex Cas. & Sosyb.
Cleom.
Revenge, revenge,
And speedy Death, or Conquest: Hold, Cleanthes!
Enter Cleonidas.
Poor Boy!
By Heaven, I am pleas'd to see thee safe this moment,
Tho' I expect the next to lose thee. Guard him,
Cleanthes: Set him safe behind the Front.
Cleanth.
Come, Sir: You are now my Charge!
Cleonid.
The Gods forbid
That I should seek this danger, and not share it.
[To Cleom.]
Forgive me, Sir, that once I disobey you,
To prove my self your Son; living, or dying,
I'll not be less than Man.
Cleom.
Oh! I could chide Thee.
But there's no time: for Love and Anger both
Fight by my side; and Heaven protect thy Courage.
Cleomenes, Cleanthes, Cleonidas, and their Party go off the Stage to fight the Egyptians.
Trumpets, Drums, Shouts and Clashings within.
68
Cleanth.
Pantheus, hold; or, turn thy Sword on me.
Panth.
to Sosyb.
Rise, Sir; and, thank your Son.
Clean.
to Panth.
Pursue the Foes: I have no Joy of Conquest
Till I have set my Father safe.
Sosyb.
The Gods reward thy pious Care.
Cleanth. leads off his Father; while Pantheus follows Cleomenes: The Egyptians are driven to the bottom of the Stage: They make a wheeling Fight; still retiring before the Spartans: Cleomenes advances eagerly after the Egyptians, and, with Pantheus, drives 'em off: Cleonidas is left behind: So is Cœnus who had skulk'd.
Cœnus,
This was well watch'd: The Boy is left ungarded.
[Thrusts at Cleonidas behind.
Cleonid.
Oh! I am slain by Treason!
Revenge me, Royal Father.
Re-enter Cleomenes.
Cleom.
'Twas sure his voice:
[Sees him on the ground.
Too sure: Pity and Rage
Distract my Soul: but rage will first be serv'd.
[Runs at Cœnus and kills him.
There's Justice for my self, and for my Son!
Look up, sweet Boy,
And tell me that thou liv'st.
Cleonid.
Fain I would live
To Comfort you: I bleed and am asham'd
To say I faint, and call my self your Son;
69
Cleom.
Look, there he lies.
Cleonid.
I am glad on't,
Forgive me, Heaven: I hope 'tis no offence
To say I am glad, because he kill'd me basely.
Still, I grow fainter: Hold me, hold me, Father.
Cleom.
Cheer up, and thou shalt live.
Cleonid.
No: I'm just dying.
Cleom.
What shall I lose?
Cleonid.
A Boy: That's all. I might have liv'd to Manhood:
But once I must have dy'd.
Cleom.
But not before thy Father?
Cleonid.
Nay: then you envy me, that I am first Happy:
I go; and when you come pray find me out
And own me for your Son.—
[Dies.
Cleom.
There went his Soul: Fate thou hast done thy worst,
And all thou canst henceforth; is but mean Slaughter,
The gleanings of this Harvest.—
Enter Pantheus.
Panth.
Sir, y're well found: our Enemies are fled:
I left our men pursuing, and made haste
To bring this joyfull News.
Cleom.
Look there, and if thou dar'st, now give me joy.
Panth.
Enough! y' have stopp'd my mouth—what Cænus kill'd?
I ask no Questions then, of who kill'd who:
The Bodies tell their Story as they lie.
Haste, and revenge!
Cleom.
Where are our Enemies?
Panth.
Sculking, disperst in Garrets, and in Cellars.
Enter Cleanthes.
Cleom.
Not worth the seeking: Are these fit t'atone
For Cleomenes Mother, Son, and Wife?
But what the Gods have left us, we must take.
70
'Tis all in vain: we have no further work:
The People will not be dragg'd out to Freedom:
They bar their Doors against it: Nay, the Prisoners
Even guard their Chains, as their inheritance;
And Man their very Dungeons, for their Masters:
Lest Godlike Liberty, the Comon Foe,
Should enter in; and they be judg'd hereafter
Accomplices of Freedom.
Panth.
Then, we may sheath our Swords.
Cleanth.
We may, Pantheus;
But so as brave men should, each in his Bosome.
That onely way is left us to die free.
Cleom.
All's lost for which I once desir'd to live.
Panth.
Come, to our business then: Be speedy Sir;
And give the word; I'll be the first, to charge
The Grim Foe, death.
Cleom.
Fortune, Thou hast reduc'd me very low,
To do the Drudgery of fate my self!
What! not one brave Egyptian! not one worthy
To do me manly Right, in single Combat!
To fall beneath my fury? For that's Justice:
But, then to drag me after: For to die,
And yet, in Death to Conquer, is my Wish!
Cleanth.
Then have your Wish: The Gods at last are kind:
And have provided you a Sword that's worthy
To match your own: 'Tis an Egyptians too.
Cleom.
Is there that hidden Treasure in thy Countrey?
The Gods be prais'd—for such a Foe I want.
Cleanth.
—Not such a Foe, but such a Friend am I.
I would fall first, for fear I should survive you,
And pull you after to make sure in Death,
To be your undivided Friend for ever.
Cleom.
Then enter We into each others Breasts.
'Tis a sharp passage; yet a kind one too.
But to prevent the blind mistake of Swords,
Lest one drop first, and leave his Friend behind,
Both thrust at once, and home, and at our Hearts:
Let neither stand on Guard, but let our Bosomes
71
As in our Life they were—
Cleanth.
I Seal it thus.
[Kiss and embrace.
Panth.
And where's my part? You shut me out like Churls,
While you devour the Feast of Death betwixt you.
Cleom.
Cheer up thy Soul, and thou shalt die Pantheus:
But in thy turn: There's Death enough for all:
But as I am thy Master, wait my leisure,
And honestly Compose my Limbs to Rest,
Then serve thy self.—Now are you ready, Friend?
Cleanth.
I am.
Cleom.
Then this to our next happy meeting—
They both push together, then stagger backwards and fall together in each others Arms.
Cleanth.
Speak, have I serv'd you to your Wish, my Friend?
Cleom.
Yes, Friend—thou hast—I have thee in my heart—
Say—art Thou sped?
Cleanth.
I am, 'tis my last Breath.
Cleom.
And mine—Then both are Happy—
[both Die.
Panth.
So, this was well perform'd and soon dispatch'd:
Both sound asleep already,
And farewell both for one short moment.
[Trumpets sound, Victory within.
Those are the Foes, our little band is lost
For want of these Defenders: I must hasten,
Lest I be forc'd to live, and led in Triumph;
Defrauded of my Fate: I've earn'd it well,
And finish'd all my Task: This is my place:
Just at my Masters feet—Guard him, yee Gods,
And save his sacred Corps from publick shame—
He falls on his Sword, and lies at the feet of Cleom.-Dies.
Enter Sosybius, Cassandra, and Ægyptians.
Sosyb.
'Tis what my Heart foreboded: There he lies,
Extended by the Man whom best he lov'd!
A better Friend than Son.
72
What's he, or Thou? or Ptolomy? or Ægypt?
Or all the world to Cleomenes lost?
Sosyb.
Then I suspected right: If my revenge,
Can ease my sorrow; This, the King shall know;
That thou mayst reap the due reward of Treason,
And violated Love.
Cassand.
Thy worst old Dotard.
I wish to die: but if my mind should Change,
So well I know my Power, that Thou art lost.
Sosyb.
The King's arrival shall decide our Fate.
Mean time to show how much I honour Virtue,
Take up that Hero's Body, bear it high,
Like the Procession of a Deity:
Let his arm'd Figure on his Tomb be set,
And We like Slaves lie grovling at his feet;
Whose Glories growing till his latest Breath,
Excell'd all others: And his own in Death.—
[Ex. omnes.
FINIS.
| Cleomenes, the Spartan Heroe | |