 | Tyrannick Love, or the Royal Martyr |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
The Royal Camp.Berenice, Porphyrius.
Ber.
Porphyrius , you too far did tempt your Fate,
In owning her the Emperour does hate.
'Tis true, your duty to me it became;
But, praising that, I must your conduct blame.
Por.
Not to have own'd my zeal at such a time,
Were to sin higher than your Tyrants crime.
Ber.
'Twas too much my disgrace t'accompany;
A silent wish had been enough for me.
Por.
Wishes are aids, faint Servants may supply,
Who ask Heav'n for you what themselves deny.
Could I do less than my respect to pay,
Where I before had giv'n my heart away?
Ber.
You fail in that respect you seem to bear,
When you speak words unfit for me to hear.
Por.
Yet you did once accept those vows I paid.
Ber.
Those vows were then to Berenice made;
But cannot now be heard without a sin,
When offer'd to the Wife of Maximin.
Por.
Has, then, the change of Fortune chang'd your will?
Ah! why are you not Berenice still?
To Maximin you once declar'd your hate;
Your Marriage was a Sacrifice to th'State:
Your Brother made it to secure his Throne,
Which this man made a step to mount it on.
Ber.
Whatever Maximin has been, or is,
I am to bear, since Heav'n has made me his.
For wives, who must themselves of pow'r devest,
When they love blindly, for their peace love best.
12
If mutual love be vow'd when faith you plight,
Then he, who forfeits first, has lost his right.
Ber.
Husbands a forfeiture of love may make;
But what avails the forfeit none can take?
As in a general wreck
The Pirate sinks with his ill-gotten gains,
And nothing to anothers use remains:
So, by his loss, no gain to you can fall:
The Sea, and vast destruction swallows all.
Por.
Yet he, who from the shore, the wreck descrys,
May lawfully inrich him with the prize.
Ber.
Who sees the wreck can yet no title plead,
Till he be sure the Owner first is dead.
Por.
If that be all the claim I want to love,
This Pirate of your heart I'le soon remove;
And, at one stroke, the world and you set free.
Ber.
Leave to the care of Heav'n that world and me.
Por.
Heav'n, as its instrument my courage sends.
Ber.
Heav'n ne'r sent those who fight for private ends.
We both are bound by trust, and must be true;
I to his Bed, and to his Empire you.
For he who to the bad betrays his trust,
Though he does good, becomes himself unjust.
Por.
When Brutus did from Cæsar Rome redeem,
The Act was good.
Ber.
—But was not good in him.
You see the Gods adjudg'd it Parricide,
By dooming the event on Cæsar's side.
'Tis vertue not to be oblig'd at all;
Or not conspire our Benefactors fall.
Por.
You doom me then to suffer all this ill,
And yet I doom my self to love you still.
Ber.
Dare not Porphyrius suffer then with me,
Since what for him I for my self decree?
Por.
How can I bear those griefs you disapprove?
Ber.
To ease 'em, I'le permit you still to love.
Por.
That will but haste my death, if you think fit
Not to reward, but barely to permit.
13
Which makes me reach in pain, to touch the ground.
Ber.
If hope, then, to your life so needful be,
Hope still.
Por.
—Blest News!
Ber.
—But hope, in Heav'n, not me.
Por.
Love is too noble such deceits to use.
Referring me to Heav'n, your gift I lose.
So Princes cheaply may our wants supply,
When they give that their Treasurers deny.
Ber.
Love blinds my Vertue: if I longer stay,
It will grow dark, and I shall lose my way.
Por.
One kiss from this fair hand can be no sin;
I ask not that you gave to Maximin.
In full reward of all the pains I've past,
Give me but one.
Ber.
—Then let it be your last.
Por.
'Tis gone!
Like Souldiers prodigal of their Arrears,
One minute spends the Pay of many years.
—Let but one more be added to the sum,
And pay at once for all my pains to come.
Ber.
Unthrifts will starve if we before-hand give:
[Pulling back her hand.]
I'le see you shall have just enough to live.
Enter Erotion.
Ero.
Madam, the Emperour is drawing near;
And comes, they say, to seek Porphyrius here.
Ber.
Alas!
Por.
—I will not ask what he intends;
My life, or death, alone, on you depends.
Ber.
I must withdraw; but must not let him know
Aside.
How hard the precepts of my Vertue grow!
But what e're Fortune is for me design'd,
Sweet Heav'n, be still to brave Porphyrius kind!
Exit cum Erotio.
Por.
She's gone unkindly, and refus'd to cast
One glance to feed me for so long a fast.
14
Max.
Porphyrius, since the Gods have ravish'd one,
I come in you to seek another Son.
Succeed him then in my Imperial state;
Succeed in all, but his untimely fate.
If I adopt you with no better grace,
Pardon a fathers tears, upon my face,
And give 'em to Charinus memory:
May they not prove as ominous to thee.
Por.
With what misfortunes Heav'n torments me still!
Why must I be oblig'd to one so ill?
[Aside.
Max.
Those offers which I made you, Sir, were such,
No private man should need to ballance much.
Por.
Who durst his thoughts to such ambition lift?
[Kneeling.
The greatness of it made me doubt the gift.
The distance was so vast, that to my view
It made the object seem at first untrue;
And now 'tis near, the sudden excellence
Strikes through, and flashes on my tender sence.
Max.
Yet Heav'n and Earth, which so remote appear,
[raising him.]
Are by the Air, which flows betwixt 'em, near.
And 'twixt us two my Daughter be the chain,
One end with me, and one with you remain.
Por.
You press me down with such a glorious Fate,
[Kneeling again.]
I cannot rise against the mighty weight.
Permit I may retire some little space,
And gather strength to bear so great a grace.
[Exit bowing.
Placid.
How Love and Fortune lavishly contend,
Which should Porphyrius wishes most befriend!
The mid-stream's his; I, creeping by the side,
Am shoulder'd off by his impetuous Tide.
Enter Valerius hastily.
Val.
I hope my business may my haste excuse;
For, Sir, I bring you most surprizing news.
15
With fifty of your learn'd Philosophers;
Whom with such Eloquence she does perswade,
That they are Captives to her reasons made.
I left 'em yielding up their vanquish'd cause,
And all the Souldiers shouting her applause;
Ev'n Apollonius does but faintly speak,
Whose voice the murmurs of th'assistants break.
Max.
Conduct this Captive Christian to my Tent;
She shall be brought to speedy punishment.
I must in time some remedy provide,
[Exit Valerius.
Lest this contagious Errour spread too wide.
Placid.
T'infected zeal you must no mercy show:
For, from Religion, all Rebellions grow.
Max.
The silly crowd, by factious Teachers, brought
To think that Faith untrue their youth was taught,
Run on in new Opinions blindly bold;
Neglect, contemn, and then assault the old.
Th'infectious madness seizes every part,
And from the head distils upon the heart.
And first they think their Princes faith not true,
And then proceed to offer him a new;
Which if refus'd, all duty from 'em cast,
To their new Faith they make new Kings at last.
Placid.
Those ills by Male-contents are often wrought,
That by their Prince their duty may be bought.
They head those holy Factions which they hate,
To sell their duty at a dearer rate.
But, Sir, the Tribune is already here
With your fair Captive.
Max.
—Bid 'em both appear.
Enter S. Catharine, Valerius, Apollonius, Guards.
See where she comes with that high Air and meen,
Which marks, in bonds, the greatness of a Queen.
What pity 'tis!—but I no charms must see
In her who to our Gods is enemy.—
16
[To her.
Or is it Frenzy does your mind misguide
To scorn our Worship, and new Gods to find?
S. Cath.
Nor pride nor frenzy, but a setled mind;
Enlightned from above, my way does mark.
Max.
Though Heav'n be clear, the way to it is dark.
S. Cath.
But where our Reason with our Faith does go,
We're both above enlightned, and below.
But Reason with your fond Religion fights,
For many Gods are many Infinites:
This to the first Philosophers was known,
Who, under various names, ador'd but one.
Though your vain Poets after did mistake,
Who ev'ry Attribute a God did make.
And so obscene their Ceremonies be,
As good men loath, and Cato blush'd to see.
Max.
War is my Province; Priest, why stand you mute?
You gain by Heav'n, and therefore should dispute.
Apol.
In all Religions, as in ours, there are
Some solid truths, and some things popular.
The popular in pleasing Fables lye,
The truths, in precepts of Morality.
And these to humane life are of that use,
That no Religion can such Rules produce.
S. Cath.
Then let the whole Dispute concluded be
Betwixt these Rules and Christianity.
Apol.
And what more noble can your Doctrine preach,
Than Vertues which Philosophy does teach?
To keep the passions in severest awe,
To live to Reason, (Nature's greatest Law)
To follow Vertue, as its own reward;
And good and ill, as things without, regard.
S. Cath.
Yet few could follow those strict Rules they gave;
For humane life will humane frailties have;
And love of Vertue is but barren praise,
Airy as Fame: nor strong enough to raise
The actions of the Soul above the sence.
Vertue grows cold without a recompence.
17
Yet are permitted to expect reward.
Apol.
By how much more your Faith reward assures,
So much more frank our Virtue is than yours.
S. Cath.
Blind men! you seek ev'n those rewards you blame:
But ours are solid; your's an empty name.
Either to open praise your Acts you guide,
Or else reward your selves with secret pride.
Apol.
Yet still our Moral virtues you obey;
Ours are the Precepts though apply'd your way.
S. Cath.
'Tis true, your virtues are the same we teach;
But in our practice they much higher reach.
You but forbid to take anothers due;
But we forbid e'vn to desire it too.
Revenge of injuries you Virtue call;
But we forgiveness of our wrongs extoll:
Immodest deeds you hinder to be wrought,
But we proscribe the least immodest thought.
So much your Virtues are in ours refin'd,
That yours but reach the actions, ours the mind.
Max.
Answer in short to what you heard her speak.
[To Apol.
Apol.
Where Truth prevails, all arguments are weak.
To that convincing power I must give place:
And with that Truth that Faith I will embrace.
Max.
O Traytor to our Gods; but more to me;
Dar'st thou of any Faith but of thy Princes be?
But sure thou rav'st; thy foolish Errour find:
Cast up the poyson that infects thy mind;
And shun the Torments thou art sure to feel.
Apol.
Nor fire, nor torture, nor revenging Steel
Can on my Soul the least impression make:
How gladly, Truth, I suffer for thy sake!
Once I was ignorant of what was so;
But never can abandon Truth I know:
My Martyrdom I to thy Crown prefer;
Truth is a Cause for a Philosopher.
S. Cath.
Lose not that Courage which Heav'n does inspire;
[To Apollonius.
18
Think 'tis a Triumph, not a danger near:
Give him your blood; but give him not a tear.
Go, and prepare my Seat: and hovering be
Near that bright space which is reserv'd for me.
Max.
Hence with the Traytor; bear him to his Fate.
Apol.
Tyrant, I fear thy pity, not thy hate:
A Life Eternal I by Death obtain.
Max.
Go, carry him, where he that Life may gain.
Ex. Apollonius, Valerius, and Guards.
Placid.
From this Enchantress all these ills are come:
You are not safe till you pronounce her doom.
Each hour she lives a Legion sweeps away;
She'll make your Army Martyrs in a day.
Max.
'Tis just: this Christian Sorceress shall dy:
(Would I had never prov'd her Sorcery:)
Not that her charming Tongue this change has bred;
I fear 'tis something that her Eyes have sed.
I love: and am asham'd it should be seen.
[Aside.
Placid.
Sir, shall she dy?
Max.
—Consider she's a Queen.
Placid.
Those claims in Cleopatra ended were.
Max.
How many Cleopatra's live in her!
[Aside.
Placid.
When you condemn'd her, Sir, she was a Queen.
Max.
No, Slave; she only was a Captive then.
S. Cath.
My joyful Sentence you defer to long.
Max.
I never knew that Life was such a wrong.
But if you needs will dy:—it shall be so.
—Yet think it does from your perversness flow.
Men say, indeed, that I in Blood delight;
But you shall find—Haste, take her from my sight.
—For Maximin I have too much confest:
And for a Lover not enough exprest.
Absent, I may her Martyrdom decree;
But one look more will make that Martyr me.
[Exit S. Catharine Guarded.]
Placid.
What is it, Sir, that shakes your mighty mind?
Max.
Somewhat I am asham'd that thou shouldst find.
Placid.
If it be Love which does your Soul possess—
Max.
Are you my Rival that so soon you guess?
19
Far, mighty Prince, be such a crime from me.
[Kneeling.]
Which, with the pride, includes impiety.
Could you forgive it, yet the Gods above
Would never pardon me a Christian Love.
Max.
Thou ly'st:—there's not a God inhabits there,
But for this Christian would all Heav'n forswear.
Ev'n Jove would try more shapes her Love to win:
And in new birds, and unknown beasts would sin;
At least, if Jove could love like Maximin.
Placid.
A Captive, Sir, who would a Martyr dye?
Max.
She courts not death, but shuns Captivity.
Great gifts, and greater promises I'le make;
And what Religion is't, but they can shake?
She shall live high:—Devotion in distress
Is born, but vanishes in happiness.
Exit Maximin.
Placid.
solus.
His Son forgot, his Empress unappeas'd;
How soon the Tyrant with new Love is seiz'd!
Love various minds does variously inspire:
He stirs in gentle Natures gentle fire;
Like that of Incense on the Altars laid:
But raging flames tempestuous Souls invade.
A fire which every windy passion blows;
With pride it mounts, and with revenge it glows.
But I accurs'd, who servilely must move;
And sooth his passion for his Daughters Love!
Small hope, 'tis true, attends my mighty care.
But of all passions Love does last despair.
Exit.
| Tyrannick Love, or the Royal Martyr | |