University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

Ximenes.
Gentlemen,
Well met; an intercourse with men of learning
Alleviates publick labours:—Audley, you'll find
The clime of Spain oppressive, after England.

Audley.
At first, my lord;—habit will make it easy.
Our nature's flexible; we grow indifferent,
Soon, to all latitudes, if we're inured
To temperance, and to good, and close persuits.

Ximenes.
A certain, and a most momentous truth!
To you, Randolfo, our intenser climate
Is less perceptible; a genial heat
Warms your fair soil, and animates her sons.

Randolfo.
'Tis true, my lord; but I should be ambitious,
To emulate my worthy British friend;
And make all climates subject to the mind.
The human mind, well-disciplined, imparts
Most salutary beams to it's possessour;
Or, in high station, rivalling the sun,
Cheers a large empire with it's rays benign.
The latter truth a Ximenes demonstrates:
While he protects these realms, the arts, and virtue,
From every country, are at home, in Spain.

Ximenes.
Give me thy hand; I like ingenuous praise;—
'Tis not a mark, I hope, that I'm a dotard.
And to reply with eulogy sincere,
I think you both have honoured me extremely,
In quitting your own countries, where, by culture,
The powers of intellect, and sentiment,
Expand, with all their force, to all their action,
For our comparatively barbarous land.
Randolfo, I'm no stranger to the fame
Of your great Medicis; no stranger, Audley,
To the renown of Albion; much I've heard;
Much have I read, of your immortal Alfred.
The recollection of those famous annals,
Warming my heart, will make me garrulous.

Audley.
Praise to our island, given by Ximenes,
Must be harmonious to an English ear.

Ximenes.
By no great state it ever was excelled,
In wisdom, or in valour:—I review,
With martial heat, your Cressy, and Poitiers,
And Azincour; where, at the sweeping storm
Of true old English ardour, your French foes,
In hosts innumerable, turned as pale
As were their faded lilies.—Like old Nestor,
I now must praise myself.—For fifty years,
I've been asserting man's eternal rights,
In this licentious, or despotick land.
Then, for my favourite chapter, in your annals,
Give me your memorable victory,
Of matchless import; without bloodshed gained;
Give me your barons armed in the field,
Not by Bellona, but by sage Minerva,
With calm, yet with determined breast, extorting
Your glorious charter from encroaching kings!
The scene, the subject, warms the patriot band;
And, by degrees, fair freedom's fine contagion
Runs through the ranks: quick grows the pulse of nature;
A lambent fire plays from each kindling eye;—
While old, adjacent, and prophetick Thames,
Sedge-crowned, with his congratulating labour,
Heaves, from his deepest cave, an urn enormous;
Pours it's libation, with a giant-glee,
A pure, vast flood, to future liberty!
Already the triumphant God foresees
The certain homage of each distant clime.
The older Brutus, and the younger Cato,
Incline, attentive, from the sky; more happy
To see their British peers!—My friends, your pardon;
My strain, I fear, grows lavish, grows Ovidian;
But twice, in life, our nature is the boy.

Audley.
Yet, with such puerile thoughts, a Livy wrote;
Tyrtæus sung; the Fabii lived, and died.

Ximenes.
Island of glory! I am loth to quit thee!
Nurse of brave sons, and daughters heavenly-fair!
In late posterity, thou yet art destined
To usher pictures to the sage's eye,
In conflicts for thy freedom, unexampled
In the world's various, and eventful page.
But there's a common fate, my worthy Briton,
[Taking Audley by the hand.
Which all great states have suffered;—luxury,
Sprung from rich commerce, is at war with virtue.
The time may come, when your illustrious country,
Shall lose her worth, and fame; when you, deluded,
Wondering at vanished Sparta, shall behold
The glittering, trivial race of soft Tarentum:
When, with the mouldering form, the empty shell
Of liberty, it's vital pith all gone,
You shall be mocked, and cheated; in your senate,
Gay, venal striplings, will presume to plead,
With warmth, and plausibility, for freedom;
And prate about her, when she lives no more.—
—But let me change this melancholy prospect.
'Twas my intention, when I next should meet you,
To ask of each, a favour of importance.
'Tis promised by some other learned strangers:
Sure, what they granted, you will not refuse me.

Randolfo.
I promise for myself;—I may, for Audley.

Audley.
You may, assuredly; what Ximenes
Desires, by me can never be refused.

Ximenes.
'Tis, that if you survive me, you continue,
For life, with your appointments, to inform
Our Spanish youth, in liberal arts, and science;
The best preservatives from every vice,
Next to religion; and the best incentives
To every virtue: for a legacy,
'Tis, therefore, one of my anxieties,
To leave these moral treasures to my country.

Audley.
To realize thy wish, I will devote
My ardent zeal, and my industrious care,
As I revere the Majesty supreme!
What genius ought not to be proud to second
The plans, the talents of so great a master!

Randolfo.
I, too, invoke the providence of Heaven,
So to befriend me, as I shall apply
My zeal, and my endeavours to fulfill
What Ximenes requests!

Ximenes.
Accept, my friends,
My ardent thanks; you greatly have obliged me.
One favour you've conferred; let me unfold
Two, of a different nature, done to me.
—Three years ago, the moment when I opened
A letter of express from Germany,
I felt it fraught with virulent contents:
A subtle, potent, and a fatal vapour,
Flew to my brain, and, for awhile, dislodged
My reason; often, since, my head is seized
With racking pains, and temporary stupor.—
This to the Austrian cabinet I owe!

Audley.
Oh! ill-requited cares for Austria's empire!

Ximenes.
Nought but the death of merit satiates envy!
Twelve times the moon hath changed, since, on my journey
To the salubrious climate of Aranda,
I dined at Boseguillas; my repast
Was hardly ended, when the dire effects
Of deadly poison tore this aged frame:—
I'm told it came from one I thought my friend:
If it be so, tortures exceeding mine,
Will, ere he dies, requite the barbarous deed.

Randolfo.
Whoe'er he be, he's not the enemy
Of Ximenes alone, but of mankind;
And may his brother-dæmons rack the fiend!

Ximenes.
Let us forgive our enemies; believe me
(Is there aught, now, to tempt me to deceive?)
I long have conquered permanent revenge:
You know, our master for his murderers prayed.
—I've seen, I've known, I've felt this changeful world;
It's many cares; it's toils; it's disappointments;
It's perfidy; it's black ingratitude:
Nought has it worth a wish, excepting virtue;
And that, for justice, must appeal above.
Full fourscore years, and more, have snowed this head;
The mind's exertion, age, assassination,
Have shaken this frail body, to it's vitals:
Therefore, this world, which I've too truly painted,
I leave, without regret; I leave, with pleasure.

Audley.
For me, to wish, to live like Ximenes,
Would argue too presumptuous an ambition;
But let me wish, like Ximenes to die!

Randolfo.
So pray I, for myself, with fervent spirit!

Ximenes.
Too warm is your esteem; the eye of friendship
Still proves, to worth, a magnifying mirrour!
You'll both retire with me; for I must show you
Some sacred volumes of much erudition;
From which, in after times, and in the sphere
Celestial, I foresee my brightest fame.
Be it your care, to give them to the world.
A reverence to each Holy Testament
Should surely dictate, and distinguish mine.

[Exeunt.