University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Sakia, Ulamar.
Sak.
Why hast thou staid so long ungrateful Ulamer?
I sent thee word that thy late dreadful Tale,
Had rais'd such various furies in my Soul,
As left me impotent of Thought or Speech,
And snatch'd me so entirely from my self,
That the important business was unmention'd,
For which that conference was first design'd.
Thou hast often said, my Son, that thou desirest
To know thy Father.

Ul.
Yet you unkindly kept him still conceal'd.

Sak.
Believe it Son, there was a wondrous cause:
But wherefore would'st thou know him?

Ul.
That if he leads the Hurons out to fight,
I might in Battle shun him.

Sak.
Is that the only cause of thy desire?
Know that in Battle, shoud'st thou meet thy Father,
Great Nature whispring with her Voice Divine,
Would make thee stop thy eager murdring Hand,
In spight of all thy sacred Thirst of Blood;
Or else some Genius with no mortal tone,
Would thunder in thy ears, forbear, 'tis He.
And would'st thou only know him to avoid Him?
Is that the only cause of thy desire?
Thou should'st desire to know him to Embrace him;
And to revere the Fountain of thy life;
From which the Graces of thy manly form,
And all thy boasted excellences flow.

Ul.
Then name him.

Sak.
The naming him on thee, my Son, depends.
Yet thus far thou shal'st know thy noble Father;
The best and bravest of Mankind is he;
And, oh, he loves thee Son, he loves the more
Than his own lovely Eyes, He lives for thee;
And me he loves with such an Air and Meen,
As if some God came down to adore his Creature:
Oh none can love but he! Oh none can show
Such Majesty with so much sweetness joyn'd,
Such tenderness with fury reconcil'd,
So firm a constancy with so much flame,
Such rapture with inimitable Grace;
And then a Wisdom, and a Tongue might charm
The ears of listening Angels: Know my Son
Thou wilt be fond, be proud of such a Father.

Ul.
Madam, his name?

Sak.
Once more the naming him, on thee depends:
Before thou hear'st his name, thou must conclude
This profer'd Peace; and must renounce for ever—

Ul.
Whom?

Sak.
The Daughter of Zepharia.

Ul.
Irene?

Sak.
What; do'st thou start?
Yes disobedient Boy, thou must renounce Her.

Ul.
My Wife?

Sak.
Thy Wife? Impossible!

Ul.
This hour our Hands were joyn'd; this very hour
With solemn Invocation I implor'd
The eternal Mind, and every Power to witness
That nought but death should part my Love and me.

Sak.
To thee thy Father then for ever's lost.

Ul.
Wherefore.

Sak.
He bears to every Angian mortal Hate.

Ul.
Let him but look on her, that Hate will cease.

Sak.
He oft indulging his fond tender thoughts,
He oft would please himself with thoughts of thee,
And of thy Fortune, and thy future deeds,
And of the Wife design'd for thee; a Wife
Of quite a different Stamp, than thou hast chose.

Ul.
One who has greater Beauty than Irene?

Sak.
No, to confess a truth, that cannot be.

Ul.
Of greater Interest then, perhaps than she?

Sak.
Of greater interest say'st thou?
Ah no! His generous Soul disdains the thought,
The Wife that He design'd for thee, was one
Whom Education should with nature Joyn,
To form her an Associate worthy thee!
One fit t' assist thee in the ways of Virtue,
And help to raise thy Soul, to glorious Acts.

Ul.
What he design'd then, Providence has done,
And Joyn'd me to the very Lovely she,
Whom had my Father known, he wou'd have chose.

Sak.
Ha!

Ul.
And has not Beaufort told you what Irene
Did at that Conference, that made her mine?

Sak.
He told me that, but kept the Match conceal'd.

Ul.
Was ever any thing so Great, so Noble?

Sak.
I must confess, it was no common Act.

Ul.
Was ever so much Greatness seen before?
My Father will be pleas'd, will be Transported,
To be allied to such Transcendent Virtue.
Ev'n Europeans Amorous of themselves,
And their own ways exalt it to the Skies,
And generous Beaufort freely has declar'd
He never heard of any thing so great,
Among their Godlike Romans.

Sak.
Is't possible?

Ul.
My Father when he sees her will be charm'd,
My Father loudly will approve my Choice.

Sak.
O all ye Immortal Pow'rs, I am convinc'd;
Remove one hindrance, which thou can'st remove,
And thy poor Mother may be happy still.

Ul.
Name it.

Sak.
This Marriage ties thee, to a hateful Interest,
Repugnant to thy Father's: But the French
Now proffer Peace, that Peace is in thy Pow'r;
Conclude it, and your Interests will be one.

Ul.
But that on me depends not.

Sak.
That on thee!
On thee alone, assure thy self, depends
The Angians have instated thee and Beaufort,
And thy new Father with unbounded Pow'r
To make firm Peace, or to continue War.
And two of you decide th' Important Business,
Zephario strongly is inclin'd to thee;
And the English Interest is so clearly known,
As may make Beaufort easily suspected.

Ul.
But Madam.

Sak.
Hear me yet my Son a while,
If with the French and Hurons, thou conclud'st,
A solid Peace: Survey the vast Advantages
Which will from thence Accrue, to thee and thine,
For let th' Exchange of Captives be one clause,
And then that Peace restores thee to thy Father.

Ul.
How are you sure he Lives?

Sak.
He Lives, he Lives, the Darling Care of Heav'n!
This I'm assur'd, by one, who in the Fight,
Both saw and felt, and wonder'd at his Valour:
And thee he says, he say so very near,
That by th' asistance of thy Guardian Spirit,
Thou narrowly, Oh! narrowly did'st miss,
The Murder of thy Father.

Ul.
Oh Heav'n! I'm seiz'd with Horrour when I hear it.

Sak.
Prevent it for the future,
Dread what may happen, and conclude a Peace;
And as that Peace restores thee to thy Father,
So it secures thy Fair, thy lov'd Irene,
For she may else while thou mak'st distant War,
Be torn from thee, as I was from thy Father.

Ul.
Ay that wou'd make a Wretch of me indeed?

Sak.
All my own Interest, I pass in Silence,
And all my Griefs, for I'm too well convinc'd,
That thou can'st look insensibly on both.

Ul.
Madam you wrong me.

Sak.
No, thou hat'st thy Mother.

Ul.
Hate you?

Sak.
And yet bear Witness Heav'n and Earth, bear witness
My cruel'st Foes, with what a Tender care,
With what an ardent Love, I've cherish'd thee,
Oh Ulamer, my Life is not so Dear to me,
For I have Liv'd for thee alone, Just Heav'n
For Twenty years I've plac'd my sole felicity,
Nay all my Wishes, all my Hopes of Happiness,
On two dear objects, on a Son and Husband:
From thy dear Father I have long been torn,
And kept a mournful Widow and a Slave
In insupportable Captivity,
Disconsolate, forlorn, and desolate
Among my Barbarous and Insulting Foes;
And have been forc'd to bear their Bloody taunts,
And all the malice of their murdering Eyes:
Yet thou for whom I have endur'd all this,
For whom I groan away my wretched hours:
Thou hast refus'd to dry thy Mother's Eyes,
But prov'st a cruel and a bitter Child to me,
Untouch'd by all my Grief, unmov'd by all my Love.

Ul.
Once more you wrong me Madam;
I always have profest exact obedience to you,
Beyond the custom of our Indian Sons;
For such obedience my best friend has taught me,

Sab.
Yes!
Witness the Battle Fought this Bloody morn.
And the Clandestine Match this Evening made.

Ul.
I thought you had been satisfy'd in both.

Sab.
Why do'st thou not Obey me, now Ingrate!
When thy Obedience is most necessary.
Thou know'st the sinking pressure under which
I for Twelve years have bow'd my wretched Head
Have pass'd my tedious days in Tears, and Wails:
My Nights in fearful Dreams and broken Slumbers,
Thou seest my faded Cheek, my Languid Eye,
And hear'st me breath the Rueful voice of Sorrow,
Thou know'st this Peace wou'd end my killing Care,
And drive all sadness from my Eyes for ever.
For the bare thought of seeing thy Dear Father,
Makes Joy like lightning dart along my Soul;
And raises every Sense to Native vigour.
Oh yet thy Mother might be blest to envy?
But her lov'd Son will have her wretched still;
Thou know'st this Peace is only in thy pow'r;
Yet knowing this, hast thou vouchsaf'd to give
One word of comfort to revive my Soul?
Yes, cruel, hast thou once vouchsaf'd t' assure me
That thou determin'st to conclude this Treaty?
Hast thou not stood Insensible and Dumb?

Ul.
But first 'tis requisite to hear the French;
And then in what I can you shall be obey'd:

Sak.
In what thou can'st; in what thou wilt, thou mean'st:
Yes, yes, my Son, thou shalt be soon discharg'd
Of all the Duty which thou ow'st to me,
But yet a while, and thou wilt have no Mother,
And then too late thou may'st vouchsafe a Sigh
For all the Misery I've undergone,
For all the Woe I yet must undergo,
In that strange Region of Departed Souls,
Where I must Languish out my Woful hours
In Expectation of my Dearest Husband;
And of my Cruel, but my much lov'd Son.

Ul.
Can'st thou hear this my Soul, and not be mov'd?

Sak.
I never in this World shall see thee more,
And here. thou never wilt thy Father know,
Then to th' Eternal mind, and his Protection
I leave thee, O my Son: Bless, bless him Heav'n;
I have born Wretchedness enough for both;
I leave him to thy care. Adieu my Son!
A long Adieu in this Embrace receive.

Ul.
Madam, by all that's Sacred I adjure you
Not to commit a rash and cursed deed;
Wait the result, at least of this Debate.

Sak.
And do'st thou give me hope then?

Ul.
I do.

Sak.
Well then! Since thou wilt have it so, I'll wait,
But know on that result depends my Fate.

Scene Second.

Ulamer.
Ul.
She's gone! Perhaps for ever! How; for ever!
And can'st thou name it? Can'st thou bear the thought?
The Kindest, Tender'st and the best of Mother's?
She who has liv'd for thee, for thee has born—
Oh what has she not born—
Yet her can'st thou Desert? Can'st thou see her Dye?
By thy unkindness Dye? O Barbarous Son,
Ungreatful Ulamer! But then the Angians!
Can'st thou abandon them? Betray their Cause?
The Cause of Humankind? Of Godlike Liberty?
What can'st thou give up that to these sly Traytors:
Insidious Slaves who Insolently think
To Fool these Nations, and to obtain by Truce
What their base Fears restrain them from persuing;
By Honourable War, eternal mind,
Master of Life, great Mover of all Spirits;
O guide my Will, by thy unerring Light!
And by that Light, Illustrate my dark Reason:
Do thou inspire me with Expedient ways,
That I may neither give up thy great Cause,
Nor yet Betray my poor Afflicted Mother.
But see the French appear.

Flat Scene draws.

Scene the Third

Zephario, Ulamar, Beaufort. 1 Emb. 2 Emb.
Ze.
Well Frenchmen, here you come to treat of Peace;
But first this Obvious question must be ask'd;
How comes it we have War?

Ul.
Because the Truce they Treacherously broke,
Tho' by themselves propos'd, and first begun.

Beau.
As they will this; for Peace is of no use
To them, but to be Broke.
Five Solemn Leagues in European Climes,
Ev'n in our own Remembrance have they Broke;
Tho' by themselves, those Treaties were begun;
And which with Damn'd Perfidiousness they Swore,
Ev'n by that Pow'r that saw their Faithless Hearts,
To keep eternally Inviolate.

Ul.
It seems then, when they find themselves too weak
To hurt their Foes by Honourable War,
They oblige us then to Swear not to hurt them.

Beau.
Nay more, they make us Swear to give them Time
And opportunity to urge our Fate;
That as false Friends, they may gain that by Treaty,
Which they could not by Enmity nor Force.

1 Emb.
The breaking Truce, was a rash private Act,
Which Frontenac our Governour disowns.

2. Emb.
And which he since severely has Chastiz'd.

1. Emb.
Know that the Mighty Monarch whom we serve,
Has sent strict Orders to Count Frontenac,
To make a solid and a lasting Peace,
With all the Warlike Five European Tribes;
A Peace so firm, that 'tis his Royal Will,
That you, and all his Subjects should be one.

Ul.
That is, that we should be alike his Slaves.

2. Emb.
Oh you mistake his bountiful design;
He sees and pities the Barbarity,
In which so Brave a Nation now lies plung'd;
And he would Civilize your Rugged ways;
Therefore his faithful Subjects he commands,
To have one Heart, one Soul, one dwelling with you,

Ul.
But that Proposal we reject with scorn.

Mel.
Consider we shall teach you our own manners,
Those pleasing manners, which the World admires,
And which the wisest Nations have Embrac'd.

Beau.
The wisest Nations! Yes, the Fools of all:
Oh Europe, Europe! How hast thou been dull
To thy undoing? How thy heedless Magistrates
Have suffer'd poor unthinking Sots, to unlearn,
Their native Customs, and their native Tongues,
To speak your Jargon, and assume your ways

Mele.
Which argues in us a Superiour Genious.

Beau.
I must confess it makes our Fools believe so;
Inclines their Grovling Souls to their worst Foes,
And makes them obvious to your shameful Arts;
Makes them admire you, makes them Imitate you,
Tho' aukwardly our Asses ape your Dogs.

Ul.
What have you taught the Nations after all?
What have you taught them but Inglorious arts:
To emascalate their minds? But cursed Luxury,
Which makes them needy, venal, base, perfidious
Black Traytors to their Country, Friends to you.

Beauf.
For you win Provinces, as Hell gains Souls;
'Tis by corrupting them you make them yours:
They might defie your malice were they faithful:
But first you enslave them to their own base Passions;
And afterwards to yours.

Scene the Fourth.

Zeph. Ula. Beaufort, 2 Emb. Slave.
Ul.
Ha! My Mother's Slave! What wouldst thou?

[A part to him.
Sl.
Your Mother—

Ul.
Well—

Sl.
Stands with her threatning Dagger in her hand.

Ul.
Oh Horrour! Horrour!
My fancy cannot bear the murdring thought:
Tell her, her harsh command shall be obey'd.

Scene the Fifth.

Zeph. Ula. Beauf. 2 Emb.
Ul.
Now Gentlemen, we to our business come;
Such a Community as you propose
We utterly reject, because that Union
Would first corrupt our Angians, then enslave them;
The only Treaty to which we descend.

Beauf.
How Ulamar.

Mel.
Oh Englishman, your Separate Interest here
Is but too obvious.

Ul.
Hold Frenchman?
My Friend, no more, anon thou shalt be satisfy'd.

Beauf.
In the mean while—

Ul.
No more, by Holy Friendship I adjure thee,
Thou shalt be satisfy'd; but to our business;
The Treaty to which we descend is this;
A Treaty of Commerce between us and you;
And a Cessation of Hostilities between our selves and you,
And your Confederates
The Hurons, and exchange of all the Captives:
To this you agree?

Zeph.
I do, for this is Angies Interest.

Ul.
And you?

2 Fr.
And we.

Ul.
And this to observe most solemnly you Swear;
By all that's awful in yon glittering Sky,
And all that's binding in the World below.

2. Fr.
We Swear: And you?

Zeph.
We Swear.

1. Emb.
So then 'tis done; The English are dislodg'd?

Beau.
They need not fright thee;
A League from hence they lie entrench'd to Night,
And towards new York to morrow take their way.

2. Emb.
And all your Angians have laid down their Arms.

Ul.
E're we began to Treat, the English march'd,
And ours dispers'd according to our words.

1. Emb.
The Remnant of the Night, lets wast in Joy then.

Ul.
The publick Deputies in 'yon Apartment
Attend to Entertain you.

1. Emb.
We wait on you.

Ul.
We follow you.

Scene the Sixth

Ulamar, Beaufort.
Ul.
What turnst thou from thy Friend, O Beaufort, Beaufort.

Beau.
What hast thou done fond Youth?

Ul.
O Look not with that Mornful coldness on me,
Thou art my Benefactor, Father, Friend;
'Tis by thy Generous Friendship I have Liv'd;
Alas I cannot bear the freezing Gloom
That's on thy Brow, it chills me to the Heart.

Beau.
Reflect on what thou hast done

Ul.
Oh speak not Beaufort in that Cruel Tone!
Where is my Friend, my Warm, my tender Friend,
For in thy alter'd Meen I see him not,
Nor hear him in thy Voice.

Beau.
Thou hast betray'd him, lost him.

Ul.
Not for the VVorld, I would not loose my Beaufort:
What 'ere I did, thy Friend was forc'd to do.

Beau.
Forc'd?

Ul.
Yes, forc'd, and with the only dreadful Force
That could compel my Soul,
My Mothers Life depended on the Deed.

Beau.
Yes, yes, I guest the Cause;
Ay, This is what has Captivated Europe,
VVhere their Domestick Interest most prefer
Before the Weal and Honour of their Country,
Tho' private good on publick Weal depends,
And he who for his House betrays his Country,
Betrays his Family, Betrays his Children,
All his Posterity to shameful Ruin,
And makes them Poor, Precarious, Abject, Base,
Instead of Happy, Rich, or Great, or Brave;
And this, fond Youth, thou wilt too surely fin'd

Ul.
Oh spare me Beaufort, spare me.

Beau.
Yes, I have done, this is Revenge enough,
For one who Loves thee.

Ul.
Oh that blest sound! How it revives my Soul?

Beau.
This for a Friend, is Chastisement enough;
Or if thy Fault asks more, thy new Allies
Too surely will inflict it, for their Friends:
Their Friends are they, who feel their Barbarous Hands,
Most Grievous and most Bloody.

Ul.
Nay, now thou Chid'st again;

Beau.
Oh! No, my Friend, my Happiness, my Glory.
'Tis now that I would chiefly shew I Love thee;
For since with so much Tenderness, we have Liv'd,
And Fate at last obliges us to part,
And that for ever, let us part in Love.

Ul.
What must we part?

Beau.
Part Ulamar? Why that's the very thing
Thy new Allies design'd.
'Tis by dividing old and Faithful Friends
That they oft ruine both; 'tis their old Cheat.

Ul.
But sure thou did'st not say for Ever?

Beau.
Too probably for ever!

Ul.
Curst unforeseen Calamity! But when?

Beau.
This moment.

Ul.
This moment! 'Tis Impossible.

Beau.
This moment to my Troops, I take my way,
I doubt the French, and dare no longer Stay:
Adieu my Friend?

Ul.
For ever Beaufort! Let us in part Hope.

Beau.
England severely will Revenge this Peace,
And leave the Angians to their new Allies,
And to their Mercy, which is dreadful Cruelty;
And I as England's faithful Son am bound,
To enter into all her Sentiments.

Ul.
But yet thou wilt not Hate me.

Beau.
Oh never, never, 'tis not in my Pow'r;
My valued Friend, adieu!

Ul.
This partings death to me.

Beau.
What is't to me then?
This Evening I resign'd Irene to thee,
Did that declare a Vulgar Friendship, say.

Ul.
Oh no! A Matchless, unexampled one.

Beau.
And yet thou hast depriv'd me of thy self too,
Irene now is thine, and thou art Hers;
She soon will comfort thee, for Beaufort's Abscence;
But only Death will drive away my Grief,
For I shall never never see thee more.

Ul.
Why then thou wilt not sure begone to Night;
For I have still ten Thousand things to say.

Beau.
I must be gone, ev'n now I must begone;
I doubt the French, and dare no longer stay,
For my Brave Troops may all er'e morn be lost.

Ul.
But 'tis a Gloomy and Tempestous Night;
And thou hast a long League to March alone,
And yet thou say'st, there may be danger near.

Beau.
Oh I have lost all that I held most Dear;
Th' entirely Wretched, need no danger Fear.