University of Virginia Library

ACT the Fourth.

Scene the First.

A Flat Wood.
Enter Cleomena drest in Clemanthis's Clothes, Semiris bearing the Cap and Feather, Pimante the Sword.
Cleo.
Come, my Semiris, you must assist a little,
—And you Pimante, buckle on my Sword.

Pim.
I never parted with a Sword so unwillingly in my life.

Cleo.
So—How dost thou like me now?
Might I not pass, thus habited, for Clemanthis?

Pim.
Yes, Madam, till you come to the fighting-part.

Cleo.
Now go, and do as I have ordered you.

Sem.
Ah, Madam, though I must not wait on you to fight,
I will in death, 'tis my first act, and last of disobedience.

[Weeps.
Cleo.
Do not disturb me with thy grief, Semiris:
Go, leave me to my self, and thoughts of vengeance;
And thou, base Traitor-Prince, shalt buy thy Life
At such a rate shall ruine thee for ever;
And if I fall—as I believe I shall—
The very shame to know I am a Woman,
Shall make thee curse thy Fortune and thy Arms,
If thou hast any sense of manhood left,
After the barbarous murder thou hast done:
But if my better Fortune guide my Arm,
This Arm (whom Love direct) to meet thy Heart,
Then I shall die with real satisfaction:
The time draws on when I should trie my Fate;
Assist me mighty Love in my design,
That I may prove no passion equals mine.

Sem.
Madam, consider whom you must encounter.

Cleo.
Consider thou who's dead, the brave Clemanthis!
[Weeps.
Oh 'tis a shame to weep being thus attir'd,
Let me once more survey my self—
And yet I need not borrow resolution:
Clemanthis, thou art murder'd, that's the word,
'Tis that creates me man, and valiant too,
And all incensed Love can prompt me to:
Hark—hark—the joyful Summons to my death.
[Trumpets sound.
Go, leave me to approach it solemnly—
Come, my dear Sword, from thee I must expect
That service which my Arm may fail t' effect;
And if thou ever didst thy Master love,
Be sure each stroke thou mak'st may mortal prove.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE the Second.

After a noise of Trumpets at some distance and fighting—the Scene draws, and discovers Cleomena and Thersander fighting. Lysander. On one side stands the King of Scythia with his party: On the other, the Queen of Dacia, Hon. Artabazes, and her party; Vallentio.
Thers.
What mean'st thou to fight as if indeed thou wert Clemanthis?
But since thou art not him thou represent'st,
Who e'er thou be'st 'twas indiscreetly done,
To draw me from an order might have sav'd thee:
—Who is't that dares assume Clemanthis shape?

[They fight: Cleo. falls: he stoops to look on her.
Cleo.
Unworthy Scythian, whose reported Valour
Unjustly was admir'd, cou'dst thou believe the covert of the Wood
Cou'd hide thy Treason—Treason which thou durst own too?

[A cry of joy on the Scythians side.
Thers.
Ah! Cleomena, is it you?
What have I done that could so far transport you?
Clemanthis boldness has incur'd your hate,
But he has been severely punisht for't;
And here in lieu of that unhappy Stranger,
Receive Thersander with his equal Passions,
But not his equal Crimes.

Cleo.
Oh Villain, since thou hast punisht Clemanthis,
Punish th'unhappy Cleomena too,
And take her life who came to have taken thine.

Queen.
'Tis not Clemanthis, but my Cleomena—
With whom Thersander fights—ah cruel Child!

[They carry her off.
Thers.
Oh whither, whither do you bear my Goddess?
Return, and here resign your sacred load.
That whilst 't has life it may behold the Sacrifice
That I will make of this wild wretched man
That has so much offended—disobey'd.
—My Arms, my Arms, Lysander, mount me straight,
And let me force the disobedient Troops;
Those Coward Slaves that could behold her bleed,
And not revenge her on the Murderer:
Quickly my Arms, kill, burn, and scatter all;
Whilst 'midst the ruines of the world I fall.

[The Scythian Guards carry him off by force.
Enter Ismenes with his Sword. They all descend.
Ism.
Still thus defeated, and outstript by Fate,
Resolv'd betimes, but salli'd out too late;
Fortune and Love are equally unkind:
—Who can resist those mighty Powers combin'd?

[Exeunt.

SCENE the Third.

A Prison.
Enter Orsames, Geron.
Ger.
May I not know what 'tis afflicts you so?
You were not wont to hide your Soul from me.

Ors.
Nor wou'd I now, knew I but how to tell thee;
Oh Geron, thou hast hitherto so frighted me
With thoughts of Death, by stories which thou tell'st
Of future punishments i'th' other world,
That now I find thou'st brought me to endure
These ills from Heaven thou say'st our sins procure:
There's not a little God of all the number
That does not exercise his arts on me,
And practise power, which by my suffering
He grows more mighty in—I'll not endure it.

Ger.
Why not, as well as I?

Ors.
Thou mayst do what thou wilt; but there's a difference
(As vast as 'twixt the Sun and lesser lights)
Between thy Soul and mine:
Thou canst contented sit whole days together,
And entertain thy Lute, that dull Companion,
Till duller sleep does silence it and thee;
But I, whose active Soul despise that drouzy God,
Can even dare him in his height of power,
Then, when he ties thee to thy lazy Couch,
Where thou'rt so far from sense, thou'st lost thy Soul;
Even then, my Geron, my divertive Fancy
Possesses me, beyond thy waking Thought—
But, Geron, all was but an airy Dream;
I wak'd, and found my self a thing like thee.

Ger.
What was your Dream?

Ors.
Why, I will try to tell it thee—
—Methought I saw the Firmament divide,
And all the Clouds, like Curtains, drawn aside:
The Sun in all his glory, ne'er put on
So bright a Ray, nor with more lustre shon;
The Face of Heaven, too bright for mortal Eye
Appear'd, and none durst gaze upon't but I:
In Jove's illustrious Throne I only sate,
Whilst all the lesser Gods did round me wait:
My Habit, such as cannot be exprest;
Iris in all her various Colours drest,
The Morning-sun, nor Sun-declining Skie,
Was half so beautiful, so gay, as I.
The brightest Stars in all Heav'ns Canopie
Were chosen out to make a Crown for me;
With which, methought, they glorifi'd my brow,
And in my hand they plac'd the Thunder too:
The World was mine, and thousands such as thou
Still as I mov'd low to the Earth did bow;
Like thronging Curls upon the wanton Sea,
They strove, and were as numerous as they:
Thither I soon descended in a Cloud,
But in the midst of the adoring Crowd,
Almighty Woman at my feet did bow,
Adorn'd with beauties more than Heaven can show.
But one among the rest (for there were store)
Whilst all did me, I did that one adore;
She did unking me, and her wondrous Eyes,
Did all my Power and Thunder too despise:
Her Smiles could calm me, and her Looks were Law;
And when she frown'd, she kept my Soul in awe.
Oh, Geron, while I strive to tell the rest,
I feel so strange a passion in my breast,
That though I onely do relate a Dream,
My torments here would make it real seem.

Ger.
'Tis lucky that he takes it for a Dream.
—Pray do not form Idea's in your fancy,
And suffer them to discompose your thoughts.

Ors.
In spight of your Philosophie, they make
A strange impression on me.

Ger.
That's perfect madness, Sir.

Ors.
Geron, I will no longer be impos'd upon,
But follow all the Dictates of my Reason.
—Come, tell me, for thou hast not done so yet,
How Nature made us? by what strange devices:
Tell me, where 'twas you lighted on me first?
And how I came into thy dull possession?
Thou sayst we are not born immortal,
And I remember thou wert still as now,
When I could hardly call upon thy name,
But as thou would'st instruct my lisping Tongue;
And when I ask'd thee who instructed thee,
Thou'st sigh, and say a man, out-worn by Age,
And now laid low in earth—But tell me, Geron,
When time has wasted thee, for thou art decaying,
Where shall I find some new-made work of Nature,
To teach those Precepts to, I've learnt of thee?
—Why art thou silent now?

Ger.
You ought not, Sir, to prie into the hidden secrets of the Gods.

Ors.
Come, tell not me of Secrets, nor of Gods—
What is't thou studiest for, more new devices?
Out with 'em—this sullenness betrays thee;
And I have been too long impos'd upon.
I find my self enlightned on the sudden,
And every thing I see instructs my Reason;
'T has been enslav'd by thee—come, out with it.

Ger.
I dare not, Sir.

Ors.
Who is't thou fear'st?

Ger.
The anger of the Gods,
Who will not have their high Decrees reveal'd,
'Till they themselves unfold 'em in their Oracles.

Ors.
What are those Oracles?

Ger.
Heavenly Voyces, Sir, that expound what's writ
In the eternal Book of Destiny.

Ors.
I'll know what's writ in that eternal Book,
Or let thee know what it contains of thee.

Ger.
What will you do?

Ors.
Throw thee into the Sea; by Jupiter, I will.

[Offers to take him up.
Ger.
Stay, Orsames—
—'Tis true, I have Commands from Cleomena,
But yet the time is hardly ripe for the design.

Ors.
Begin your story—or by Heaven—

Ger.
I shall—When you consider who I am,
With how much care and toil I've brought you up:
How I have made my aged Arms your Cradle,
And in my bosom lull'd you to your Rest:
How when you wept, my tears kept time with yours,
And how your smiles would dry again those showers;
You will believe 'tis my concern for you,
And not your threats, makes me declare a truth.

Ors.
Forward, my dearest Geron,
Whilst I as silent as a healthy sleep,
As growth of Flowers, or motion of the Air,
Attend each long'd-for Syllable thou breathest.

Ger.
Be pleas'd to walk into the Garden, Sir,
And there I'll tell you wonders to ensue;
But first great Sir, your Pardon for the past.

[Kneels.
Ors.
I give it thee—Gods, this is fine indeed!
Thy Language and thy Meen are altered;
Oh how my Soul's enlarg'd already—go, lead the way.

[Exeunt.

SCENE the Fourth.

Scythian Tents.
Enter Thersander, Lysander.
Thers.
Leave me, I will be calm,
For this same change of Cleomena's habit,
Has but increas'd my love—and all my softness—
'Twas in that habit that I left Amintas;
Gods! has he betray'd me then?
No, I must not have so mean a thought of him;
'Tis certain that she knows I am Thersander—
But if the bold Clemanthis be Thersander,
Son to the Enemy of Cleomena;
Yet still 'tis that Clemanthis that ador'd her,
And whom she once made happy with her love.
But I have wounded her, and here remains
[Draws his Swords.
The marks of my dishonour in her bloud.
Oh cruel instrument of my shameful Crime!
Must the first service thou hast rendred me
Prove to my Soul so fatal, that Sword I left Amintas?
Wou'd have denied obedience to this hand,
This sacrilegious hand drew it against her.

Enter King, Lysander solus.
King.
How now Thersander, what still melancholy?
Upon the first appearance of your sadness,
I thought 't had been for fighting with a Woman;
But now I fear that could not be the cause,
Unless 'twere fortifi'd by stronger passions;
—'Tis not impossible, but when you saw
The Eyes of Cleomena in the Combate,
They might disarm your rage, and teach you love.
If this be all, I'll offer Peace in such a time
As they're not able to make War against us,
And with it Propositions of a Marriage.

Thers.
Happy mistake! great Sir;
I'll not deny the Eyes of Cleomena
Have given me Wounds which nothing else can cure;
And in that moment when I would have kill'd her,
They stayd my guilty hand, and overcame
The shameful Conquerour—
I'll say no more, nor give Laws to your bounty;
But if your Majesty approve my flame,
I shall receive her as the greatest blessing
Heaven can bestow upon me.

King.
I'm glad to find my son of my opinion;
For I already have propos'd it to 'em,
Which I believe they will with joy embrace.

Thers.
All but the lovely Princess, whose aversion
Is still so great against our Family,
That I despair she ever will be drawn to't.

King.
They'll hardly rally up their routed Forces
To make fresh War upon us; they're at our mercy now,
And as an honour will embrace the Alliance.

Thers.
Pray Heaven they may.

King.
If they refuse, I will recal my mercy,
And make them dearly buy their scorn:
Come, we expect our Herauld from their Tents.

[Exeunt.

SCENE the Fifth.

Enter Queen, Cleomena in a Night-gown, Semiris. A Table with Pen and Ink.
Cleo.
Madam, I confess my self unworthy of your tenderness.

Queen.
Ah, Cleomena! you value my repose at too cheap a rate,
When you expose a life so dear to me
To so much danger as to fight Thersander.

Cleo.
I am not the first person of my Sex
Has drawn a Sword upon an Enemy:
Do you not say he is my Father's Murderer?
And does he not deprive me of that Crown
You say the Gods have destin'd me to wear?

Queen.
'Tis true, he's son to him that kill'd thy Father;
But bating that, he has committed nothing
But what wou'd rather cause esteem than hate.

Cleo.
Pardon me, Madam, if I am forc'd to say
My Sentiments cannot correspond with yours.

Queen.
What think you of a Husband in this Prince?

Cleo.
How, Madam, marry Thersander!

Queen.
The King has generously offer'd it;
My Council do approve it, and the Army
Cannot contain their Joy for the blest news.

Cleo.
Gods! let the Council, and the Army perish,
E're I lose one single moment of my satisfaction:
Is this the hate which with my Milk you made me suck
For all that Race? is this th'effects of my fierce Education?

Queen.
All things must be prefer'd to th' Publick good,
When joyn'd with my Commands.

Cleo.
What you command, I dare not disobey;
But, Madam, I beseech you, do not claim
That cruel duty here.

Queen.
You'll find it fit to change that peevish humour,
And I will leave you to consider of it.

[Queen exit.
Cleo.
Gods! marry me, marry me to Thersander!
No, not whilst this—remains in my possession:
[Pulls out a Dagger.
—I must confess it is a generous offer,
How came it in their Souls?

Sem.
Madam, perhaps Love has inspir'd it.

Cleo.
Hah, Love—that miracle may be:
When I reflect upon the Prince his words,
When he had vanquish'd me—I do not doubt it:
Then he confess'd he had a passion for me;
I wonder at the sudden birth of it.

Sem.
Madam, your Eyes make Captives at first sight.

Cleo.
Oh my dear eyes, how shall I love ye now,
For wounding more than my dull Sword could do?
'Twas Anger and Revenge that gave ye charms,
Onely to help the weakness of my Arms;
And when my Womans courage feeble grew,
My Heart did kindly send its aids to you.
And thou, Thersander, surely canst not blame
My cruelty, who do allow thy Flame;
Love on, love on; and if thou dost despise
All other ways, I'll kill thee with my Eyes.

She sits down and writes. Enter a Page.
Page.
Madam, there is without an Officer
Who bad me tell your Highness that he waits.

Cleo.
Admit him—and Page, give you this Letter to the Queen.

Sem.
Madam, it is Vallentio whom you sent for.

Enter Vallentio.
Cleo.
Vallentio, I believe thee brave and honest.

Vall.
Madam, the last I dare affirm.

Cleo.
Tell me, Vallentio, did'st thou ever love?

Vall.
Madam, your Interest, my Arms, and a brave Enemy.

Cleo.
But didst thou never feel a softer passion?

Vall.
Madam, I own, though with a blush I do so,
I've felt the power of two fair Eyes,
And I have wounds that yet would bleed afresh,
Should but the cruel Murtheress appear.

Cleo.
Then thou art fit to hear a secret from me;
—But first, Vallentio, tell me whom I am?

Vall.
My Princess, Madam, and my General,
And one, who from your power of Beauty holds
No less Dominion o're th' adoring world,
Than from the greatness you were born to.

Cleo.
And you're contented I should be your Queen?

Vall.
Madam, I am—Pimante has been prating.

[Aside.
Cleo.
The Army too are of your mind?

Vall.
I cannot answer for the Army, Madam.

Cleo.
But—what think you of Orsames?

Vall.
Madam, I think he merits to be King
In any other world but where you reign.

Cleo.
And what if I would have him King of this?

Vall.
Why then he shall be King, if you would have it so.

Cleo.
Yes, I would have it, by my self I would;
This is the time to let the Monarch know
The glories he was born to;
Nor can I die in peace till he be crown'd.
[Aside.
I'll have this Nation happy in a Prince;
A Prince they long in silence have bemoan'd,
Which every slight occasion breaks out loud,
And soon will raise them up to a Rebellion;
The common peoples God on Holy-days:
—And this, Vallentio, I have oft observ'd;
And 'tis an act too humble for my Soul,
To court my self into security.

Sem.
Madam, the Gods do disapprove his Reign,
Which they not onely say shall be but short,
But bloudy and Tyrannick.

Cleo.
I will expound that Oracle
Which Priests unridling make more intricate:
They said that he should reign, and so he did,
Which lasted not above a pair of hours;
But I my self will be his Oracle now,
And speak his kinder fate,
And I will have no other Priest but thee,
[To Vallentio.
Who shall unfold the mystery in plain terms.

Vall.
Madam, the City and the Army are by this defeat
Enough inclin'd to hear that reason.

Cleo.
Geron already has instructions what to do,
And you need none, wanting no resolution.

Vall.
If I miscarry, Madam, I'll be condemn'd
Never to look a Foe i'th' face again.

Cleo.
Haste, and be prosperous—
[Vall. exit.
Semiris, are those Garments ready I spoke for?

Sem.
Madam, they're here—but now what will you do?

Cleo.
Now, I will die—and now thou know'st my will.

Sem.
Ah Madam, 'tis too much you let me know,
Denying me t'attend you where you go;
[Weeps.
With such a Guide I know I cannot err.

Cleo.
Alone I'll go, the Journey is not far
In passing; though I miss the aids of Day,
Yet my Clemanthis lights me on my way:
Why dost thou weep? indeed thou art unkind.

Sem.
I weep because you'd leave me here behind,
Doubting my love. I beg you wou'd permit
That I might give you the last proof of it.
I in your last adventure was too slow,
And will not be deni'd my duty now.

Cleo.
Thou show'st a Soul so generous and free,
That I'm contented thou shou'dst follow me:
Come, dry thy Eyes, such helps we do not need:
To ease our griefs, we must not weep but bleed.

[Exeunt.
Enter Vallentio passing over the Stage, is met by a Rabble of Citizens.
1 Cit.

Well Colonel, have you delivered our grievances to the Queen?

Vall.

Yes, I have.

1 Cit.

Well, and what success? shall we have a King?

Vall.

And why a King? why should you be thus earnest for a King? what good
will a King do you? he's but a single man, cannot redeem the lost Victory, cannot
raise up your dead members, no, nor levy new ones.

1 Cit.

That's all one Colonel, we will have a King: for look ye, Colonel, we
have thought of a King, and therefore we will have one: hah Neighbours! a substantial
Reason.

All.

Ay, ay, a King, a King.

Vall.

I like your Resolution, but not your Reason; and must have a better than
that.

1 Cit.

Sha, Sir, we can give you many, though that's sufficient; as look you Sir,
'tis first a new thing to have a King,—a thing—a thing—we have not been acquainted
with in our Age; besides, we have lost the Victory, and we are very angry
with some body, and must vent it somewhere; you know, Colonel, we have

busie Heads, working Brains, which must be executed; therefore what say you, are
we to have leave to shut up shop, and to go to work with long Staff and Bilboe, or
are we to be very mutinous, and do't in spight of you?

Vall.

You shall not need; go, shut up your Shops, gather your Fellow-mutineers
together, and meet me at the Cittadel; but be sure ye are well arm'd, lest the
Queens Guards prevent you.

Cit.

I warrant you for honest true hearts enough at any mischief, though not to
go against the Scythians; for, Colonel, we love Civil Wars, Colonel, Civil Wars.

Vall.

Make haste, and then I'll shew you my Orders for the Kings Deliverance.

Cit.

Oh incomparable Colonel! we will raise thy Statue in Brass in the Marketplace,
and worship it when we have done—but harkey, Colonel, are we to give
no Quarter?

Vall.

None, to those that oppose you.

All.

No, no, none, none.

Cit.

O how this will please ye all, my Mates—

[Cit. go out.
Enter Pimante.
Pim.

Oh Colonel, the Princess, Colonel.

Vall.

Well, Sir.

Pim.

She's fled away, and none knows whither.

Vall.

I left her in her Tent just now.

Pim.

Ay, ay, Colonel, that's all one, she's gone just as she shou'd have been married
too—there's the Devil on't; oh the days we should have seen! the dancing,
loving days!

Vall.

Gone alone?

Pim.

No, no, that dissembling thing Semiris is with her; she onely left a Letter
for the Queen, which she has sent to the Prince of Scythia. Oh, adieu, adieu, to
Love and Musick.—

[Goes out crying.
Vall.

This is strange—if she be gone, 'tis time the King were free—I'll haste to
meet the Rabble that it may not look like an act of my own.

[Exit.
Scene Thersander's Tent: He enters with a Letter in his hand open—with Attendants.
Thers.
Be gone, I'll read the Letter o'er again,
And here impress thy cruelty, and see what that will do
To set me free.
Thers. reads the Letter—

Finding it impossible to obey your unkind Commands, I am fled, and do resolve never to marry that Barbarian, whose Crimes are onely known to me; no, nor any other that cannot bring me his head; whereto I sollicite Artabazes, and Ismenis if they will obey,—

Cleomena.

If I consult my Reason and my Courage,
They say I should not love this cruel Maid;
But oh my Reason, you're too weak to counsel;
I'll think of nothing then but dying for her,
Since 'tis my Life she asks, and here demands it;
But 'tis in vain to arm my happy Rivals,
For I my self can more devoutly serve you.
'Tis I will pierce this unaccepted Heart,
Whose flames are found so criminal—

Enter Lysander.
Ly.
Sir, there is without a Youth desires admittance.

Thers.
From whom comes he?

Ly.
He would not tell me that, but has a Letter,
Which he'll deliver onely to your Highness.

Thers.
Bring him in, it may be from Amintas.
Enter Cleomena drest like a Country-Shepherd, comes bowing to him, gives him a Note.
Thers. reads to himself—

Guard thee well, Thersander; for thou shalt die by the hand that brings thee this.

[She stabs him; he falls into Lysander's Arms.
Cleo.
Here's to thee, dear Clemanthis—

Ly.
Help, Treason, help—

Thers.
Ah lovely Youth, who taught thee so much cruelty?
And why that Language with that angry blow?

Cleo.
Behold this face, and then inform thy self.

[Discovers her self.
Thers.
'Tis Cleomena! oh ye Gods, I thank ye!
It is her hand that wounds me;
And I'll receive my death with perfect joy,
If I may be permitted but to kiss
That blessed hand that sent it.

Enter King, Guard.
King.
Thersander murther'd! oh inhumane deed!
Drag the Traitor to a Dungeon, till we have
Invented unheard-of Tortures to destroy him by—
[The Guards seize Cleo. and Sem. who was just entring.
My Wounds are deep as thine, my dear Theasander;
Oh fatal day, wherein one fatal stroke
Has laid the hopes of Scythia in his Tomb!

[The Guards go to carry Cleo. and Sem. Thers. calls 'em back.
Thers.
Oh stay, and do not bear so rudely off.
Treasures you cannot value.
—Sir,—do not treat her as my Murtherer,
But as my Soveraign Deity—
Instead of Fetters, give her Crowns and Scepters;
And let her be conducted into Dacia,
With all the Triumphs of a Conquerour.
For me, no other glory I desire,
Than at her feet thus willingly t' expire.

[Goes to throw himself at her feet, they prevent it, and go off.