University of Virginia Library

Act III.

SCENE The Roman Tents.
Enter Berenice and Semandra.
Ber.
Oh Heav'ns! not see me! nor approach me once!
All Love, all pity, all respect renounce!
Amazing change in him this does express;
Something has ruin'd all my happiness.

Sem.
Oh judge not so severely of your fate!

Ber.
It is too true:—what less then bitter hate
Cou'd make him thus disorder'd from me run,
Nay seek occasions Berenice to shun?
I have but once beheld him all this day,
And then he turn'd his eyes from me away,
Wou'd not with one, my many smiles requite;
I was so far from yielding him delight,
That he wou'd look on any thing but me,
I was the hatefull'st object he could see.

Sem.
The sight appear'd to me exceeding strange,
I wonder what it is has wrought this change;
I cannot think it from unkindness flows,
I rather fear from Rome some Tempest blows:
Or from the Camp new threatning clouds arise;
I see the Armies daily Mutinies
Against his Love;—and may I not believe
He grieves lest these your Noble mind shou'd grieve?

Ber.
Does he so meanly of my heart esteem?
Is it a trouble to endure for him?

Sem.
What though it may afford delight to you?
Shou'd he be pleas'd you suffer for him too?
May not the best of men afflicted prove,
She shou'd be troubled whom he best does love?
No doubt to crown you Empress he aspires,
And finds Rome will not bow to his desires;
Is it unnatural a gen'rous mind
Shou'd grieve to be from gen'rous acts confin'd?
That he in spite of him ignoble proves,
And cannot act as bravely as he Loves?

Ber.
Thy fond defence does but accuse him more;
As if Rome durst oppose her Emperour?
Do not I know her Emperours to please,
She both her Laws and Gods will Sacrifice?
But what though she denies her mighty Throne?
His passion sure entirely is his own:
No Laws did ever yet to Love forbid,
And having him, can I an Empire need?
Who want a Throne that they may happy prove,
Have hearts too great, or else too little Love.
By none but Cæsar I can be undone,
And I will be appeas'd by him or none.—
But ha! a shout!

Sem.
It shou'd a Triumph be,
It sounds like the glad voice of Victory.

Ber.
Inquire the cause, and ease me of my fear;
I'm on the wrack till I the tidings hear.

Sem. goes out, and immediately re-enters.
Sem.
Madam, it is a Triumph as we thought,
The Army have a glorious Vict'ry got,
Not o're the Rebels, but their General's mind;
Your Lord it seems this fatal Morn design'd
To head his Squadrons, and expose in fight
Himself, the Worlds both glory and delight.
A thought his loyal Legions could not bear;
His resolution by the earnest pray'r
Of all his Kings and Captains is subdu'd,
And now the glad victorious multitude,
With joys triumphant make the ecchoes ring,
Whilst their great Captive to his Tent they bring.

Ber.
To the whole world he wou'd have injury done,
All have a right in him as in the Sun;
Heav'n one so brave for common good does frame:—
I once an int'rest in him too might claim,
But that I fear is lost—
(weeps.
I'le run to him, my thoughts he shall set free,
I cannot live in this uncertainty;
'Tis worse then death his kindness to suspect,
Or live one moment under his neglect.

Ex.
Enter Titus, Tiberius, Malchus, Antiochus.
Tit.
The humble prayers your Loyalties have made,
My resolution with success invade;
Go and discharge my Legions on the Town,
Each moment now is laden with renown.
The Gods and I will faithfully take care,
The living and the dead rewards shall share.
We'l Laurels place on each victorious head,
I'le crown the living, and the Gods the dead.—
Are th'Engines mounted?

Tib.
All upon the wheel.

Ant.
The Tow'rs already seem with fear to reel.

Mal.
To th'inner wall we now have near access;
The City's stately Robes, and upper dress
Of Suburbs burnt, she now no longer bold,
With some few rags stands shivering in the cold.

Tit.
How do these men compell me to deface
The charming beauty of this goodly place?

Tib.
And that the obstinate and rebel Jews,
May hope no more your mercy to abuse,
We on the Plain have drawn before their eyes,
A lively Scheme to shew their destinies:
They need not vex the Stars, or trouble Art,
The Hills and Valleys can their fates impart;
The vocal Forrest is transplanted there,
From groaning Trees they Oracles may hear;
The Hills are shaded with a horrid Wood,
And Valleys fill'd with Vineyards weeping blood:
Crucifi'd bodies cover all the Plain,
Let 'em view them and obstinate remain.

Tit.
These men distort my nature, wrest my mind,
And torture me lest they shou'd mercy find.

Titus talks to Tib.—Enter Berenice, Semandra; Malc. Antioc. gaze on Ber.
Mal.
The Queen! with beauty let me fill my sight,
And take before hand the reward of fight:
My Sword in Cæsar's service I employ
But to see her, whose Love he does enjoy.

Ant.
The fair young Queen! with beauty I'm opprest!
Oh Cæsar! Cæsar! for a man too blest!
The Gods more happiness on thee bestow,
Then they themselves are capable to know.

Tib. Mal. Ant. Ex.
Titus sees the Queen, and starts.
Tit.
The Queen! I at the sight of her grow chill,
Like one in view of him he means to kill.

Ber.
May I of Cæsar crave without offence,
The favour of a moments conference?

Tit.
Is it the Queen says this! Is she to know
That all things here allegiance to her owe?
And that she no way can oblige me more,
Then in commanding what she does implore.

Ber.
I never shall survive the happy day,
When I on Cæsar obligations lay;
Since so much glory were too great to bear:
I have already had too great a share
Of pleasures, in the sole belief that I
Cou'd contribute to his felicity.

Tit.
Shou'd the fair Queen the moment not outlive,
In which her Love to me does pleasure give,
How often must that beauteous Princess dye?
Since all my thoughts I on her Love employ,
And ev'ry thought affords my soul delight.
But oh! my injur'd passion I must right!
Was all my Love not real but deceit?
And did you but believe my kindness great?

Ber.
Far be all ill suspicions from my breast;
I should my self (and justly too) detest,
If a mean thought of Cæsar e're shou'd find,
Any the least reception in my mind.
All his past Love I do not, dare not wrong,
But I the glory have enjoy'd too long:
Cæsar is pleas'd to let it now decline,
Which I impute to some offence of mine;
For he can think no thought but what is brave,
No, I some great offence committed have,
But what, is wholly to my soul unknown,
If I might know it, I my crime wou'd own.

Tit.
To what do these unkind expressions tend?
You make me think indeed you can offend,
Since you to these suspicions can be wrought.

Ber.
I do not, Sir, accuse you of a fault;
Cæsar can erre in nothing he can do,
So great a glory never was my due,
Much less when I have something done or said,
Which all my right has justly forfeited.

Tit.
Now truth assist me:—this unkind debate
Argues not mine, but your own cruel hate;
You sure encline to what you faign wou'd prove,
And have a mind I shou'd no longer Love.
This is too hard, too painfull to be borne,
I swear (as I a thousand times have sworne)
But that the day the sight of you does shew,
I care not if the Sun wou'd shine or no;
That all the joy that does by Life accrue,
Is but to Love, and be belov'd by you.

Ber.
My Lords displeasure I too justly bear,
That I to doubt his constancy shou'd dare;
But he may pardon me, when he does know
All my suspicions from my kindness flow.
I trouble have on Cæsar's brow espy'd,
And he his thoughts and person too does hide.
My tender heart with sorrow pines away,
If I behold my Lord but once a day:
And I much less can his retir'dness bear,
And not his grief, as well as kindness share.

Tit.
Oh! how with Love she overwhelms my heart!
After such Love I never can impart
A secret, that to you may trouble prove;
To me be all the grief, to you the Love.
Oh Rome! oh glory! oh renown! which way
Will you the loss of so much Love repay?

Ex.
Ber.
Again in secret sorrow from me part!
Oh my distraction! oh my tortur'd heart!
What can the sense of these disorders be?

Sem.
I must confess they are too dark for me.

Ber.
Fate to our mutual Love no good designs,
Whatever he pretends, his heart declines:
Love treats not thus the person that's belov'd,
Common compassion wou'd have kinder prov'd.

Sem.
My counsel can afford but small relief,
But do not too much listen to your grief.

An alarm; Enter a Centurion followed by Romans.
Sem.
Souldier, the news.

Cent.
The Parthian King is here,
That name's enough to shew what danger's near:
I cannot talk, there's bus'ness to be done.

Ex.
Ber.
My Lord in danger!

Sem.
Whither do you run?

Ber.
To dye with him.

Sem.
Oh fear not! Heav'n will save,
Were all his Legions slain, a man so brave.

An alarm; the Centurion returns with Monobasus.
Ber.
Centurion, the success relate with speed.

Cent.
My Lord is from the Parthian Monarch freed
By this brave Stranger's aid, who to defend
His glorious Enemy, oppos'd his Friend.

Ber.
Prince! my resentments I want words to tell,
This deed does all past services excell:
Sure you have some command from my good Fate,
My Friends and me with diligence to wait.
All your deserts I will to Cæsar own,
And for reward procure some vacant Crown,
If I have int'rest still; but I'm affraid
I rather need an Intercessor's aid.

Ex.
Mon.
Oh Heav'ns! what pleasing sweetness does she wast,
Intirely lost to my disorder'd tast?
I little pleasure in that kindness take,
Which she bestows but for another's sake.
Now heart but hold till I my passions speak,
And then with sorrow and confusion break.

Ex.
Scene a Street.
Enter Mathias, and Guard, pursued by John, Eleazar, and the Pharisees; John in his Pontifical Vestments.
Joh.
Seize 'em alive! prophane and wicked men!
Phar. seize Mat. &c.
Now Heav'n to justice brings you once agen;
And vengeance surely long enough has staid:
Behold the desolations you have made,
Look in the Streets, and see each corner fill'd,
With carkasses of Saints your sins have kill'd;
Listen to ev'ry house, and hear the groans
Of many starving, dying Holy ones,
Who cry not, oh the Famine! oh the Pest!
But oh th'Apostates! oh the Romish Priest!
For your Idolatries in Plagues we lye;
Yet for these sins (no doubt) you grutch to dye.
Yet you the Romans can with rage pursue;
Alas! not Romans ruine us, but you.
They'r but your Instruments; your guilt affords
Force to their Arms, and edges to their Swords.
Had you good nature, you wou'd wish to dye,
To free the Nation from the misery;
Not of the Plague, the Famine, or the Foes,
But of your impious selves, our greatest woes.

Mat.
Cou'd height of impious boldness Saintship give,
Thou surely wert the greatest Saint alive;
Of that vile kind of Saints thy followers are,
Thou sure art excellent without compare:
For thou hast taken all degrees in sin;
Didst first in little villanies begin,
With whisp'ring murmurings, dissemblings, lies,
So didst to Murder and to Treason rise;
And now at length the crawling Snake is grown
A Royal Basilisk, and has a Crown.
Horrid! when we are plagu'd such various ways,
Is it a season to be acting Plays?
Here in a house of horror, death and woe,
To mock Religion with Theatrick shew?
And must you too the holiest things abuse?
For sport no subject but Religion chuse?

1 Pha.
Sport dost thou call it? thou wilt find, I fear,
The Saints are all in serious earnest here.

2 Pha.
And mean to stone thee; if that be a jest,
Of such a fatal pleasure make thy best.

Joh.
No—wicked man! we act this weighty part
With all the saddest, deepest thoughts of heart.
I know I walk upon the brink of Laws,
Near both to sin, and to perdition's jaws;
And had not I a strong impulse within,
And mighty call without, that I shou'd sin,
My angry conscience wou'd my soul condemn
In wearing of this Holy Diadem.

1 Pha.
But you are sav'd from all these pious fears.

Joh.
I am anointed by the Brethrens tears;
Call'd by the groaning of the suffering Cause,
And voice of providence more loud then Laws.
By strong impulses knocking ev'ry hour,
I cou'd not rest till I assum'd the Power;
Where e're I went, methoughts a voice wou'd cry,
John!—John!—take up the fallen dignity:
That if there any usurpation be,
The Priesthood's guilty of usurping me.
I sought not Pow'r, but Pow'r did me invade:
But thou (vile man!) shouldst not the Saints upbraid;
Our dangers thou shouldst rather weep to see,
Expos'd to things so scandalous by thee.

Mat.
Was ever heard of impudence like this!

Elea.
Hale him to Judgment.

Mat.
To eternal bliss;
To an abode which blest enough wou'd be,
From men so impious only to be free.

Enter a Pharisee running.
3 Pha.
Be gone! be gone! the Pagan King is nigh,
Return'd out of the Field with Victory.

Joh.
Curse on that Infidel, the Priest he'l save.

Elea.
Why shou'd a Heathen such successes have?

Enter Phraartes and Guard, who beat John, &c. off the Stage; Mathias pursues. After an alarm Phra. and Mat. return.
Phr.
Why Father do you thus expose your age
To Rebels treachery, and Roman rage?
Can your Gray-hairs by you forgotten be?
Or does it shame you to be sav'd by me?

Mat.
It does, that you should bleed for us each day,
Who, Sir, for you can nothing do, but pray.

Phr.
Good man! I am rewarded far above
All I can merit, in your Daughters Love.
Mat. Ex.
Several with baskets of provision.
There I have brought rich plunder for the Crowd,
Not to supply their treasures, but their bloud:
To their repast the hungry rabble call,
Go scatter life, throw souls among 'em all.

Ex. with provisions. A shout. Phra. Ex.
Scene a Chamber.
Enter Clarona weeping, a Book in her hand, sets her self in a Chair.
Clar.
Oh my devotion! I shall let thee go,
For deadly, deadly sick with Love I grow:
No sight of him but does my strength decay,
And yet I cannot keep my eyes away.
To these clear Springs of life no more I go,
looks on the Book.
Cause they my souls decaying beauty shew.

Enter Phraartes, who starts to see her weeping.
Phr.
In tears! what villany has fortune done
To my best Soul, whilst I to Arms was gone?
What have I spy'd?—now I the cause divine,
I see a Book, that is no friend o'mine.
And does that trash still please your sickly mind?
Love has not wrought a thorough cure I find.

Clar.
You with Religion still will be severe;
You wou'd think much shou'd I as harsh appear
To your friend Love.

Phr.
Wou'd it not pity breed,
To see thee climbing Mountains for a Weed?
Chain'd like Prometheus rather to the brow
Of barren Rocks, for ever clad in Snow,
And there Religion gnawing of thee still;
Who wou'd not the devouring Vulture kill?

Clar.
How poor Cymmerians to the Sun unknown,
Think ev'ry Land all darkness, like their own.

Phr.
How wretched Lands with Fables overflown,
From Mountains of the Moon, and Springs unknown,
With Mud of falshood rank their fertile Earth,
Give nothing else but Priests and Prophets birth.

Clar.
When men by miracles the truth display,
We may believe what miracles will say.

Phr.
Workers of miracles I least believe;
Men love By-ways who have design to thieve.

Clar.
But it some Faith in us may justly breed,
When what they do, does Natures pow'r exceed.

Phr.
Nature's an Ocean endlesly profound,
Where Line cou'd never yet discover ground:
We only see what on the surface swim,
And what we often see, we ne're esteem.
If one by chance a Monster brings to shore,
The Monster we admire, the Fisher more.

Clar.
Supposing secret skill such feats cou'd shew,
Can men by any Art events foreknow?
What eye can have a prospect of events,
Through a long Wood of various accidents?
Chance can no more shew what will come to pass,
Then things remote a broken Optick glass.
Yet have our Sacred Prophets often here
Drawn Maps of future things so plain and clear,
That after-ages have unsoil'd, untorn,
Found their own Pictures drawn e're they were born.
None cou'd display 'em but the Heav'nly mind,
Where all th'Idea's are at first design'd.

Phr.
None knows how much may by the Stars be guest,
Or on th'imagination be imprest.
But you ne're find in draughts so much ador'd,
More then dead colours daub'd, and features scor'd,
Which with some small addition may with ease
Be drawn to what resemblances you please.

Clar.
Have you of life to come no hope or fear?

Phr.
Why more of that, then the Platonick year?
I'le never toyl after a state unknown.

Clar.
But you shou'd search for fear there shou'd be one:
Prudence all ills that may be does prevent.

Phr.
Then prudence will not lose firm Continent,
To rove the Seas in an imprudent chace
Of floating Isles, and some Inchanted place.

Clar.
But such a place is worthy to be sought,
And were there none, yet Heaven's a pleasant thought.

Phr.
It may like Poetry the mind employ,
In idle intervals of active joy;
But I'le not all my life a dreaming lye,
Whilst solid pleasures run neglected by:
Whilst to uncertain cares my thoughts I give,
Lose what I'm sure of, and forget to live.

Clar.
Where do you think you after death shall dwell?

Phr.
'Mong a rude heap of things; where none can tell.
I had my self at no request of mine,
And I'le as gen'rously my being resign.
How I came bye it ne're disturbs my head,
Nor what I shall be when I once am dead.

Clar.
Then your brave self must you for ever lose?

Phr.
I wou'd not a new Lease of life refuse,
Cou'd I the deed obtain by any Art.

Clar.
Oh Heav'ns! methinks you shou'd not seek to part,
Were it from me alone, so soon as death,
And leave me wandring on wild Natures Heath,
When we from these poor Cottages are thrown,
Having no dwellings, and desiring none.

Phr.
For a new life I on high Rent wou'd stand,
But I'le mean while enjoy my present Land;
I will improve it till I've tir'd the clods,
Then for new Acres I wou'd thank the Gods.
But let us this fantastick talk give o're,
These Fairy thoughts shall pinch thy soul no more;
Let us not think of Lands remote, unknown,
But eat the Fruits and Spices of our own.

Enter Phedra.
Phed.
Parthian Commanders wait without to bring
Tidings of great concernment to their King.

Ex. Phra.
Clar.
That Heav'n such cost on a brave mind shou'd lay,
On no design but to be cast away.

SONG.

Enter Phraartes, with some Parthian Commanders.
Phr.
Brave men! for the most glorious news you bring,
Challenge the love and friendship of your King.
My drooping Fate is now reviv'd again;
(to Clar.
My Crown's restor'd, and the Usurper slain:
My people weary of the Villain grown,
Of him, and Roman pride have cleans'd my Throne.
My conqu'ring Army near the Town is come,
And wait to guard me hence in triumph home.
These gallant men who have the tidings brought,
At the last Storm to Town their passage fought.
Now I'm in sight of Love's fair promis'd Land,
I see the shining of the Golden Sand.

Clar.
I never shall be able to deny;
(aside.
That I cou'd save my innocence and dye.

Phr.
She falls! she vanquisht falls into my arms!
To conqu'ring Love resigning all her charms.
Can any happiness compare with mine?
'Tis wretched sure to be a Pow'r Divine,
And not the joys of happy Lovers know.
Wou'dst thou (my dearest!) be an Angel now?
Oh how the moments sweetly slide away!
But yet I must be wretched for a day.
Who waits?—did you not say my Troops had none
Whose guidance they might safely trust to Town?

Parth.
No Jewish Guides cou'd any where be found,
The Romans Troops spread ninety furlongs round.

Phr.
I'le Salley out to day, and be their Guide;
I dare in no man but my self confide.
These Troops of mighty consequence are grown,
My Fortunes all depend on them alone.
But oh! that I cou'd build a Tow'r of Brass,
Through which the force of Thunder cou'd not pass,
My Love from danger safely to inclose;
For I am fearfull of each wind that blows,
Lest it shou'd breath too rudely on my dear;
Then how much more shall I in absence fear
The cruel Enemy?—I dare not go.

Clar.
Obliging kindness in your stay you shew:
But if misfortune shou'd befall your men,
Both wou'd in danger be of ruine then.

Phr.
And has my dangers in thy thoughts a part?
Who can express the pleasures of my heart?
The only place of strength within our pow'r
Remaining now, is Queen Mariamne's Tow'r;
Shall I entrust thee there till my return?

Clar.
There for your absence I will sadly mourn.

Phr.
Then will you think on me?

Clar.
I will indeed.

Phr.
And will you wish me back again with speed?

Clar.
For swift return and Victory I'le pray.

Phr.
How shall I do to force my self away?
Do not look on me, lest I never go;
This is the hardest work Love has to do.
Come, to the Tow'r that must my Love receive,
And there I'le take a moment any leave;
Then like the Monarch o'the Winds, I'le go
And loose my stormy Squadrons on the Foe.
And when the mighty Vapour's spent and done,
The wasting Roman inundation gone,
And not a Cloud in all the Heav'ns we see,
I'le come a hot and pleasant Calm to thee.

Ex.