University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Royal Pavilion.
Maximin, Placidius, Guards and Attendants.
Max.
This Love that never could my youth engage,
Peeps out his coward head to dare my age.
Where hast thou been thus long, thou sleeping form,
That wak'st like drowsie Sea-men in a storm?
A sullen hour thou chusest for thy birth:
My Love shoots up in tempests, as the Earth
Is stirr'd and loosen'd in a blust'ring wind,
Whose blasts to waiting flowers her womb unbind.

Placid.
Forgive me, if I say your passions are
So rough, as if in Love you would make War.
But Love is soft—
And with soft beauty tenderly complies;
In lips it laughs, and languishes in eyes.

Max.
There let it laugh; or, like an Infant, weep:
I cannot such a supple passion keep.
Mine, stiff with age, and stubborn as my arms,
Walks upright; stoops not to, but meets her charms.

Placid.
Yet fierceness suits not with her gentle kind;
They brave assaults; but may be undermin'd.

Max.
Till I in those mean Arts am better read,
Court thou, and fawn, and flatter in my stead.
Enter S. Catharine.
She comes; and now, methinks, I could obey:
Her form glides through me, and my heart gives way:
This Ironheart, which no impression took
From Wars, melts down, and runs, if she but look.
Exit Maximin.

Placid.
Madam, I from the Emperour am come
T'applaude your Vertue, and reverse your doom.
He thinks, whatever your Religion be,
This Palm is owing to your constancy.

S. Cath.
My constancy from him seeks no renown;
Heav'n, that propos'd the course, will give the Crown.

Placid.
But Monarchs are the Gods Vicegerents here;
Heav'n gives rewards; but what it gives they bear:
From Heav'n to you th'Ægyptian Crown is sent,
Yet 'tis a Prince who does the gift present.

S. Cath.
The Deity I serve, had he thought fit,
Could have preserv'd my Crown unconquer'd yet:
But when his secret Providence design'd
To level that, he levell'd too my mind;
Which, by contracting its desires, is taught
The humble quiet of possessing nought.

Placid.
To Stoicks leave a happiness so mean:
Your Vertue does deserve a nobler Scene.
You are not for obscurity design'd:
But, like the Sun, must cheer all humane kind.

S. Cath.
No happiness can be where is no rest:
Th'unknown, untalk'd of man is only blest.
He, as in some safe Cliff, his Cell does keep,
From thence he views the labours of the Deep:
The Gold-fraught Vessel which mad tempests beat,
He sees now vainly make to his retreat:
And, when from far, the tenth wave does appear,
Shrinks up in silent joy, that he's not there.

Placid.
You have a Pilot who your Ship secures;
The Monarch both of Earth and Seas is yours.
He who so freely gives a Crown away,
Yet asks no tribute but what you may pay.
One smile on him a greater wealth bestows,
Than Ægypt yields, when Nilus overflows.

S. Cath.
I cannot wholly innocent appear,
Since I have liv'd such words as these to hear.
O Heav'n, which dost of chastity take care!—

Placid.
Why do you lose an unregarded pray'r?
If happiness, as you believe, be rest,
That quiet sure is by the Gods possest:—
'Tis greatness to neglect, or not to know
The little business of the world below.

S. Cath.
This doctrine well befitted him who thought
A casual world was from wild Atoms wrought:
But such an order in each chance we see,
(Chain'd to its cause, as that to its decree,)
That none can think a workmanship so rare,
Was built or kept without a Workman's care.

To them Maximin, Attendants, and Guards.
Max.
Madam, you from Placidius may have heard
Some news, which will your happiness regard.
Th'Ægyptian Crown I to your hands remit;
And, with it, take his heart who offers it.
She turns aside.
Do you my person and my gift contemn?

S. Cath.
My hopes pursue a brighter Diadem.

Max.
Can any brighter than the Roman be?
I find my proffer'd Love has cheapned me:
Since you neglect to answer my desires,
Know, Princess, you shall burn in other fires.
—Why should you urge me to so black a deed?
Think all my anger did from Love proceed.

S. Cath.
Nor threats nor promises my mind can move:
Your furious anger, nor your impious Love.

Max.
The Love of you can never impious be;
You are so pure—
That in the Act 'twould change th'impiety.
Heav'n would unmake it sin—

S. Cath.
I take my self from thy detested sight:
To my respect thou hast no longer right:
Such pow'r in bonds true piety can have,
That I command, and thou art but a Slave.
Exit. S. Cath.

Max.
To what a height of arrogance she swells!
Pride or ill nature still with Vertue dwells;
Her death shall set me free this very hour;
—But is her death within a Lovers pow'r?
Wild with my rage, more wild with my desire,
Like meeting tides—but mine are tides of fire.
What pretty promise was't that caus'd this frown?

Placid.
You heard: no less than the Ægyptian Crown.

Max.
Throw Ægypt's by, and offer in the stead;
Offer—the Crown on Berenice's head.
I am resolv'd to double till I win;
About it straight, and send Porphyrius in.
Exit Placid.
We look like Eagles tow'ring in the Sky;
While her high flight still raises mine more high.

To him Porphyrius.
Por.
I come, Sir, to expect your great commands.

Max.
My happiness lyes only in thy hands.
And, since I have adopted thee my Son,
I'le keep no secret from thy breast unknown:
Led by the int'rest of my rising Fate,
I did espouse this Empress whom I hate:
And therefore with less shame I may declare,
That I the Fetters of thy Captive wear.

Por.
Sir, you amaze me with so strange a Love.

Max.
Pity, my Son, those flames you disapprove.
The cause of Love can never be assign'd;
'Tis in no face, but in the Lover's mind.

Por.
Yet there are Beauties which attract all hearts;
And all mankind lyes open to their darts:
Whose Soveraignty, without dispute, we grant;
Such Graces, sure, your Empress does not want.

Max.
Beauty has bounds,—
And can no more to every heart be so,
Than any Coin through every Land can go.
Some secret Grace, which is but so to me,
Though not so great, may yet more pow'rful be:
All guard themselves when stronger Foes invade;
Yet, by the weak, surprizes may be made:
But you, my Son, are not to judge, but aid.

Por.
What is it, Sir, you can require of me?

Max.
I would from Berenice's bonds be free:
This yoke of Marriage from us both remove,
Where two are bound to draw, though neither love.

Por.
Neither the Gods nor man will give consent
To put in practice your unjust intent.

Max.
Both must consent to that which I decree.

Por.
The Souldiers love her Brother's memory;
And for her sake some Mutiny will stir.

Max.
Our parting therefore—shall be sought by her,
Go, bid her sue for a Divorce, or dye;
I'le cut the knot, if she will not untye:
Haste to prepare her, and thy self return;
Thy Hymen's Torch this day with mine shall burn.

Exit.
Por.
Rather my Funeral-torch;—for though I know
Valeria's fair, and that she loves me too,
Gainst her my Soul is arm'd on every part:
Yet there are secret Rivets to my heart;
Where Berenice's Charms have found the way;
Subtile as Lightnings, but more fierce than they.
How shall I this avoid, or gain that Love!
So near the Rock I, to the Port, must move.

To him Valeria attended.
Val.
Porphyrius, now my joy I may express,
Nor longer hide the Love I must possess.
Should I have stay'd till Marriage made us one,
You might have thought it was by duty done;
But of my heart I now a present make;
And give it you e're it be yours to take.
Accept it as when early fruit we send:
And let the rareness the small gift commend.

Por.
Great Monarchs, like your Father, often give
What is above a Subject to receive:
But faithful Officers should countermand,
And stop the gift that passes through their hand:
And to their Prince, that mass of wealth restore,
Which lavish'd thus, would make whole Nations poor.

Val.
But to this gift a double right you have:
My Father gives but what before I gave.

Por.
In vain you such unequal presents make,
Which I still want capacity to take.
Such fatal bounty once the Gaules did show;
They threw their Rings, but threw their Targets too.
Bounty so plac'd, does more like ruine look;
You pour the Ocean on a narrow Brook.

Val.
Yet, if your Love before prepares a Boat,
The stream so pour'd, drowns not, but makes it float.

Por.
But when the Vessel is on Quick-sands cast,
The flowing tide does more the sinking hast.

Val.
And on what Quick-sands can your heart be thrown?
Can you a Love besides Valeria's own?

Por.
If he who at your feet his heart would lay,
Be met with first, and robb'd upon the way,
You may indeed the Robbers strength accuse,
But pardon him who did the Present lose.

Val.
Who is this Thief that does my right possess?
Name her, and then we of her strength may guess.—
From whence does your unwonted silence come?

Por.
She bound and gag'd me, and has left me dumb.

Val.
But of my wrongs I will aloud complain:
False man, thou would'st excuse thy self in vain:
For thee I did a Maidens blush forsake;
And own'd a Love thou hast refus'd to take.

Por.
Refus'd it!—like a Miser midst his store,
Who grasps and grasps, till he can hold no more,
And when his strength is wanting to his mind,
Looks back, and sighs on what he left behind.

Val.
No, I resume that heart thou didst possess;
My Father shall my injuries redress:
With me thou losest his Imperial Crown,
And speedy death attends upon his frown.

Por.
You may revenge your wrongs a nobler way;
Command my death, and I will soon obey.

Val.
No, live; for on thy life my cure depends:
In Debters deaths all obligation ends:
Twill be some ease Ungrateful thee to call;
And, Bankrupt-like, say, trusting him lost all.

Por.
Upbraided thus, what gen'rous man would live!
But Fortune will revenge what you forgive.
When I refuse, (as in few hours I must)
This offer'd grace, your Father will be just.

Val.
Be just! say rather he will cruel prove,
To kill that only person I can love.
Yet so it is!—
Your int'rest in the Army is so high,
That he must make you his, or you must dye!
It is resolv'd! who e're my Rival be,
Aside after a pause.
I'le show that I deserve him more than she.
And if at last he does ingrateful prove,
My constancy it self rewards my Love.

Exit.
Por.
She's gone, and gazing round about, I see
Nothing but death, or glorious misery;
Here Empire stands, if I could Love displace;
There, hopeless Love, with more Imperial Grace:
Thus, as a sinking Hero compass'd round,
Beckens his bravest Foe for his last wound,
And him into his part of Fame does call,
I'le turn my face to Love, and there I'le fall.

To him Berenice, Erotion.
Ber.
I come, Porphyrius, to congratulate
This happy change of your exalted Fate:
You to the Empire are, I hear, design'd;
And fair Valeria must th'Alliance bind.

Por.
Would Heav'n had my succession so decreed,
That I in all might Maximin succeed!
He offers me th'Imperial Crown, 'tis true:
I would succeed him, but it is in you.

Ber.
In me! I never did accept your Love;
But you, I see, would handsomly remove:
And I can give you leave without a frown:
I always thought you merited a Crown.

Por.
I never sought that Crown but on your brow;
But you with such indifference would allow
My change, that you have kill'd me with that breath:
I feel your scorn cold as the hand of death.

Ber.
You'l come to life in your Valeria's arms:
'Tis true, I cannot boast of equal Charms;
Or if I could, I never did admit
Your Love to me, but only suffer'd it.
I am a Wife, and can make no return;
And 'twere but vain, in hopeless fires to burn.

Por.
Unkind! can you whom only I adore,
Set open to your Slave the Prison-door?
You use my heart just as you would afford
A fatal freedom to some harmless bird,
Whom, breeding, you ne're taught to seek its food;
And now let flye to perish in the Wood.

Ber.
Then, if you will love on, and disobey,
And lose an Empire for my sake, you may.
Will a kind look from me pay all this score,
For you well know you must expect no more?

Por.
All I deserve it will, not all I wish:
But I will brave the Tyrants rage, for this.
If I refuse, my death must needs ensue;
But you shall see that I dare dye for you.

Ber.
Would you for me,
A Beauty, and an Empire too deny?
I love you now so well—that you shall dye.
Dye mine; 'tis all I can with honour give:
Nor should you dye, if after, I would live.
But when your Marriage and your Death I view,
That makes you false, but this will keep you true,

Por.
Unbind thy brows, and look abroad to see
O mighty Love, thy mightiest Victory!

Ber.
And yet—is there no other way to cry?
'Tis hard to say I love, and let you dye.

Por.
Yes, there remains some help which you might give,
If you, as I would dye for Love, would live.

Ber.
If death for Love be sweet, sure life is more:
Teach me the means your safety to restore.

Por.
Your Tyrant the Ægyptian Princess loves;
And to that height his swelling passion moves,
That, fearing in your death the Souldiers force,
He from your bed does study a Divorce.

Ber.
Th'Ægyptian Princess I disputing hard,
And as a Miracle her mind regard.
But yet I wish that this Divorce be true.

Gives her hand.
Por.
'Tis, Madam, but it must be sought by you.
By this he will all Mutinies prevent;
And this, as well, secures your own content.

Ber.
I hate this Tyrant, and his bed I loath;
But, once submitting, I am ty'd to both:
Ty'd to that Honour, which all Women owe,
Though not their Husbands person, yet their vow.
Something so sacred in that bond there is,
That none should think there could be ought amiss:
And if there be, we should in silence hide
Those faults, which blame our choice when they are spy'd.

Por.
But, since to all the world his crimes are known,
And, by himself the Civil War's begun,
Would you th'advantage of the fight delay,
If, striking first, you were to win the day?

Ber.
I would, like Jews upon their Sabbath fall:
And rather than strike first, not strike at all.

Por.
Against your self you sadly prophesie:
You either this Divorce must seek, or dye.

Ber.
Then death from all my griefs shall set me free.

Por.
And would you rather chuse your death, than me?

Ber.
My earthy part—
Which is my Tyrants right, death will remove,
I'le come all Soul and Spirit to your Love.
With silent steps I'le follow you all day;
Or else before you, in the Sun-beams, play.
I'le lead you thence to melancholy Groves,
And there repeat the Scenes of our past Loves.
At night, I will within your Curtains peep;
With empty arms embrace you while you sleep.
In gentle dreams I often will be by;
And sweep along, before your closing eye.
All dangers from your bed I will remove;
But guard it most from any future Love.
And when at last, in pity, you will dye,
I'le watch your Birth of Immortality:
Then, Turtle-like, I'le to my Mate repair;
And teach you your first flight in open Air.

Exit Berenice cum Erotio.
Por.
She has but done what Honour did require:
Nor can I blame that Love, which I admire.
But then her death!
I'le stand betwixt, it first shall pierce my heart:
We will be stuck together on his dart.
But yet the danger not so high does grow:
I'le charge death first, perhaps repulse him too.
But, if o'repowr'd, I must be overcome;
Forc'd back, I'le fight each inch into my Tomb.

Exit.