TheGovernor'sPalace.
EnterArtemia, Sapritius, Theophilus,andHarpax.
Artem.Sapritius, though your son deserve no pity,We grieve his sickness: his contempt of usWe cast behind us, and look back uponHis service done to Cæsar, that weighs downOur just displeasure. If his maladyHave growth from his restraint, or that you thinkHis liberty can cure him, let him have it:Say, we forgive him freely.
Sap.Your grace binds usEver your humblest vassals.
Artem.Use all meansFor his recovery; though yet I love him,I will not force affection. If the Christian,Whose beauty hath out-rivall'd me, be wonTo be of our belief, then let him wed her;That all may know, when the cause wills, I canCommand my own affections.
Theoph.Be happy then,My lord Sapritius: I am confident,Such eloquence and sweet persuasion dwellUpon my daughters' tongues, that they will work herTo any thing they please.
Sap.I wish they may!Yet 'tis no easy task to undertake,To alter a perverse and obstinate woman.[A shout within: loud music.
Artem.What means this shout?
Sap.It is seconded with music,Triumphant music.—Ha!
EnterSempronius.
Semp.My lord, your daughters,The pillars of our faith[45], having converted,For so report gives out, the Christian lady,The image of great Jupiter born before them,Sue for access.
Theoph.My soul divined as much.Blest be the time when first they saw this light!Their mother, when she bore them to supportMy feeble age, fill'd not my longing heartWith so much joy, as they in this good workHave thrown upon me.
Enter priest with the Image of Jupiter, incense and censers: followed byCalistaandChristeta,leadingDorothea.
Welcome, oh, thrice welcome,Daughters, both of my body and my mind!Let me embrace in you my bliss, my comfort;And, Dorothea, now more welcome too,Than if you never had fallen off! I am ravish'dWith the excess of joy:—speak, happy daughters,The blest event.
Cal.We never gain'd so muchBy any undertaking.
Theoph.O my dear girl,Our gods reward thee!
Dor.Nor was ever time,On my part, better spent.
Christ.We are all nowOf one opinion.
Theoph.My best Christeta!Madam, if ever you did grace to worth,Vouchsafe your princely hands.
Artem.Most willingly——Do you refuse it?
Cal.Let us first deserve it.
Theoph.My own child still! here set our god; prepareThe incense quickly: Come, fair Dorothea,I will myself support you;—now kneel down,And pay your vows to Jupiter.
Dor.I shall do itBetter by their example.
Theoph.They shall guide you;They are familiar with the sacrifice.Forward, my twins of comfort, and, to teach her,Make a joint offering.
Christ.Thus—— [they both spit at the image.
Cal.And thus—— [throw it down, and spurn it.
Harp.Profane,And impious! stand you now like a statue?Are you the champion of the gods? where isYour holy zeal, your anger?
Theoph.I am blasted;And, as my feet were rooted here, I findI have no motion; I would I had no sight too!Or if my eyes can serve to any use,Give me, thou injured power! a sea of tears,To expiate this madness in my daughters;For, being themselves, they would have trembled atSo blasphemous a deed in any other:——For my sake, hold awhile thy dreadful thunder,And give me patience to demand a reasonFor this accursed act.
Dor.'Twas bravely done.
Theoph.Peace, damn'd enchantress, peace!—I should look on youWith eyes made red with fury, and my hand,That shakes with rage, should much outstrip my tongue,And seal my vengeance on your hearts;—but nature,To you that have fallen once, bids me againTo be a father. Oh! how durst you temptThe anger of great Jove?
Dor.Alack, poor Jove!He is no swaggerer; how still he stands!He'll take a kick, or any thing.
Sap.Stop her mouth.
Dor.It is the patient'st godling! do not fear him;He would not hurt the thief that stole awayTwo of his golden locks; indeed he could not:And still 'tis the same quiet thing.
Theoph.Blasphemer!Ingenious cruelty shall punish this:Thou art past hope: but for you yet, dear daughters,Again bewitch'd, the dew of mild forgivenessMay gently fall, provided you deserve it,With true contrition: be yourselves again;Sue to the offended deity.
Christ.Not to beThe mistress of the earth.
Cal.I will not offerA grain of incense to it, much less kneel,Nor look on it but with contempt and scorn,To have a thousand years conferr'd upon meOf worldly blessings. We profess ourselvesTo be, like Dorothea, Christians;And owe her for that happiness.
Theoph.My earsReceive, in hearing this, all deadly charms,Powerful to make man wretched.
Artem.Are these theyYou bragg'd could convert others!
Sap.That want strengthTo stand themselves!
Harp.Your honour is engaged,The credit of your cause depends upon it;Something you must do suddenly.
Theoph.And I will.
Harp.They merit death; but, falling by your hand,'Twill be recorded for a just revenge,And holy fury in you.
Theoph.Do not blowThe furnace of a wrath thrice hot already;Ætna is in my breast, wildfire burns here,Which only blood must quench. Incensed Power!Which from my infancy I have adored,Look down with favourable beams uponThe sacrifice, though not allow'd thy priest,Which I will offer to thee; and be pleased,My fiery zeal inciting me to act,To call that justice others may style murder.Come, you accursed, thus by the hair I drag youBefore this holy altar; thus look on you,Less pitiful than tigers to their prey:And thus, with mine own hand, I take that lifeWhich I gave to you.[Kills them.
Dor.O most cruel butcher!
Theoph.My anger ends not here: hell's dreadful porter,Receive into thy ever-open gatesTheir damned souls, and let the Furies' whipsOn them alone be wasted; and, when deathCloses these eyes, 'twill be Elysium to meTo hear their shrieks and howlings. Make me, Pluto,Thy instrument to furnish thee with soulsOf that accursed sect; nor let me fall,Till my fell vengeance hath consumed them all.[Exit, withHarpax.
Artem.'Tis a brave zeal.
EnterAngelo,smiling.
Dor.Oh, call him back again,Call back your hangman! here's one prisoner leftTo be the subject of his knife.
Artem.Not so;We are not so near reconciled unto thee;Thou shalt not perish such an easy way.Be she your charge, Sapritius, now; and sufferNone to come near her, till we have found outSome torments worthy of her.
Ang.Courage, mistress;These martyrs but prepare your glorious fate:You shall exceed them, and not imitate.[Exeunt.
The Governor's Palace.
Antoninuson a couch, asleep, with Doctors about him;SapritiusandMacrinus.
Sap.O you, that are half gods, lengthen that lifeTheir deities lend us; turn o'er all the volumesOf your mysterious Æsculapian science,T' increase the number of this young man's days:And, for each minute of his time prolong'd,Your fee shall be a piece of Roman goldWith Cæsar's stamp, such as he sends his captainsWhen in the wars they earn well: do but save him,And, as he's half myself, be you all mine.
1 Doct.What art can do, we promise; physic's handAs apt is to destroy as to preserve,If heaven make not the med'cine: all this while,Our skill hath combat held with his disease;But 'tis so arm'd, and a deep melancholy,To be such in part with death, we are in fearThe grave must mock our labours.
Mac.I have beenHis keeper in this sickness, with such eyesAs I have seen my mother watch o'er me.Stand by his pillow, and, in his broken slumbers,Him shall you hear cry out on Dorothea;And, when his arms fly open to catch her,Closing together, he falls fast asleep,Pleased with embracings of her airy form.Physicians but torment him; his diseaseLaughs at their gibberish language: let him hearThe voice of Dorothea, nay, but the name,He starts up with high colour in his face:She, or none, cures him; and how that can be,The princess' strict command barring that happiness,To me impossible seems.
Sap.To me it shall not;I'll be no subject to the greatest CæsarWas ever crown'd with laurel, rather than ceaseTo be a father.[Exit.
Mac.Silence, sir; he wakes.
Anton.Thou kill'st me, Dorothea; oh, Dorothea!
Mac.She's here
Anton.Here! Where? Why do you mock me, sir?Age on my head hath stuck no white hairs yet,Yet I'm an old man, a fond doting foolUpon a woman. I, to buy her beauty,(In truth I am bewitch'd) offer my life,And she, for my acquaintance, hazards hers:Yet, for our equal sufferings, none holds outA hand of pity.
1 Doct.Let him have some music.
Anton.Hell on your fiddling![Starting from his couch.
1 Doct.Take again your bed, sir;Sleep is a sovereign physic.
Anton.Confusion on your fooleries! Where's the restThy pills and base apothecary drugsThreaten'd to bring unto me? Out, you impostors!Quacksalving, cheating mountebanks! your skillIs to make sound men sick, and sick men kill.
Mac.Oh, be yourself, dear friend.
Anton.Myself, Macrinus!How can I be myself, when I am mangledInto a thousand pieces? here moves my head,But where's my heart? wherever—that lies dead.
Re-enterSapritius,dragging inDorotheaby the hair,Angelofollowing.
Sap.Follow me, thou damn'd sorceress! Call up thy spirits,And, if they can, now let them from my handUntwine these witching hairs.
Anton.I am that spirit:Or, if I be not, were you not my father,One made of iron should hew that hand in pieces,That so defaces this sweet monumentOf my love's beauty.
Sap.Art thou sick?
Anton.To death.
Sap.Would'st thou recover?
Anton.Would I live in bliss!
Sap.And do thine eyes shoot daggers at that manThat brings thee health?
Anton.It is not in the world.
Sap.It's here.
Anton.To treasure, by enchantment lock'dIn caves as deep as hell, am I as near.
1 Doct.Shall the boy stay, sir?
Sap.No matter for the boy.[ExeuntSap. Mac.and Doct.
Dor.O, guard me, angels!What tragedy must begin now?
Anton.When a tigerLeaps into a timorous herd, with ravenous jaws,Being hunger-starved, what tragedy then begins?
Dor.Death; I am happy so: you, hitherto,Have still had goodness sphered within your eyes;Let not that orb be broken.
Ang.Fear not, mistress;If he dare offer violence, we twoAre strong enough for such a sickly man.
Dor.What is your horrid purpose, sir? your eyeBears danger in it.
Anton.I must——
Dor.Oh, kill me,[Kneels.And heaven will take it as a sacrifice;But, if you play the ravisher, there isA hell to swallow you.
Anton.Rise:—for the Roman empire, Dorothea,I would not wound thine honour. My father's willWould have me seize upon you, as my prey;Which I abhor, as much as the blackest sinThe villany of man did ever act.[Sapritiusbreaks in withMacrinus.
Dor.Die happy for this language!
Sap.Die a slave,A blockish idiot!
Mac.Dear sir, vex him not.
Sap.Yes, and vex thee too: where's this lamia[46]?
Dor.I'm here; do what you please.
Sap.Spurn her to the bar.
Dor.Come, boy, being there, more near to heaven we are.
Sap.Kick harder; go out, witch![Exeunt.
Anton.O bloody hangmen! Thine own gods give thee breath!Each of thy tortures is my several death.[Exit.
The Place of Execution. A scaffold, block, &c.
EnterAntoninus,supported byMacrinus,and Servants.
Anton.Is this the place, where virtue is to suffer,And heavenly beauty, leaving this base earth,To make a glad return from whence it came?Is it, Macrinus?
Mac.By this preparation,You well may rest assured that DorotheaThis hour is to die here.
Anton.Then with her diesThe abstract of all sweetness that's in woman!Set me down, friend, that, ere the iron handOf death close up mine eyes, they may at onceTake my last leave both of this light and her:For, she being gone, the glorious sun himselfTo me's Cimmerian darkness.
Mac.Strange affection[48]!Cupid once more hath changed his shafts with Death,And kills, instead of giving life.
Anton.Nay, weep not;Though tears of friendship be a sovereign balm,On me they're cast away. It is decreedThat I must die with her; our clue of lifeWas spun together.
Mac.Yet, sir, 'tis my wonder,That you, who, hearing only what she suffers,Partake of all her tortures, yet will be,To add to your calamity, an eyewitnessOf her last tragic scene, which must pierce deeper,And make the wound more desperate.
Anton.Oh, Macrinus!'Twould linger out my torments else, not kill me,Which is the end I aim at: being to die too,What instrument more glorious can I wish for,Than what is made sharp by my constant loveAnd true affection? It may be, the dutyAnd loyal service, with which I pursued her,And seal'd it with my death, will be remember'dAmong her blessed actions; and what honourCan I desire beyond it?
Enter a Guard bringing inDorothea,a Headsman before her; followed byTheophilus, Sapritius,andHarpax.
See, she comes;How sweet her innocence appears! more likeTo heaven itself, than any sacrificeThat can be offer'd to it. By my hopesOf joys hereafter, the sight makes me doubtfulIn my belief; nor can I think our godsAre good, or to be served, that take delightIn offerings of this kind: that, to maintainTheir power, deface the master-piece of nature,Which they themselves come short of. She ascends,And every step raises her nearer heaven.
Sap.You are to blameTo let him come abroad.
Mac.It was his will;And we were left to serve him, not command him.
Anton.Good sir, be not offended; nor denyMy last of pleasures in this happy object,That I shall e'er be blest with.
Theoph.Now, proud contemnerOf us, and of our gods, tremble to think,It is not in the Power thou serv'st to save thee.Not all the riches of the sea, increasedBy violent shipwrecks, nor the unsearch'd mines,(Mammon's unknown exchequer), shall redeem thee:And, therefore, having first with horror weigh'dWhat 'tis to die, and to die young; to part withAll pleasures and delights; lastly, to goWhere all antipathies to comfort dwell,Furies behind, about thee, and before thee;And, to add to affliction, the remembranceOf the Elysian joys thou might'st have tasted,Hadst thou not turn'd apostata[49]to those godsThat so reward their servants; let despairPrevent the hangman's sword, and on this scaffoldMake thy first entrance into hell.
Anton.She smiles,Unmoved, by Mars! as if she were assuredDeath, looking on her constancy, would forgetThe use of his inevitable hand.
Theoph.Derided too! despatch, I say.
Dor.Thou fool!That gloriest in having power to ravishA trifle from me I am weary of,What is this life to me? not worth a thought;Or, if it be esteem'd, 'tis that I lose itTo win a better: even thy malice servesTo me but as a ladder to mount upTo such a height of happiness, where I shallLook down with scorn on thee, and on the world;Where, circled with true pleasures, placed aboveThe reach of death or time, 'twill be my gloryTo think at what an easy price I bought it.There's a perpetual spring, perpetual youth:No joint-benumbing cold, or scorching heat,Famine, nor age, have any being there.Forget, for shame, your Tempe; bury inOblivion your feign'd Hesperian orchards:—The golden fruit, kept by the watchful dragon,Which did require a Hercules to get[50]it,Compared with what grows in all plenty there,Deserves not to be named. The Power I serveLaughs at your happy Araby, or theElysian shades; for he hath made his bowersBetter in deed, than you can fancy yours.
Anton.O, take me thither with you!
Dor.Trace my steps,And be assured you shall.
Sap.With my own handsI'll rather stop that little breath is left thee,And rob thy killing fever.
Theoph.By no means;Let him go with her: do, seduced young man,And wait upon thy saint in death; do, do:And, when you come to that imagined place,That place of all delights—pray you, observe me,And meet those cursed things I once call'd Daughters,Whom I have sent as harbingers before you;If there be any truth in your religion,In thankfulness to me, that with care hastenYour journey thither, pray you send me someSmall pittance of that curious fruit you boast of.
Anton.Grant that I may go with her, and I will.
Sap.Wilt thou in thy last minute damn thyself?
Theoph.The gates to hell are open.
Dor.Know, thou tyrant,Thou agent for the devil, thy great master,Though thou art most unworthy to taste of it,I can, and will.
EnterAngelo,in the Angel's habit[51].
Harp.Oh! mountains fall upon me,Or hide me in the bottom of the deep,Where light may never find me!
Theoph.What's the matter?
Sap.This is prodigious, and confirms her witchcraft.
Theoph.Harpax, my Harpax, speak!
Harp.I dare not stay:Should I but hear her once more, I were lost.Some whirlwind snatch me from this cursed place,To which compared, (and with what now I suffer,)Hell's torments are sweet slumbers![Exit.
Sap.Follow him.
Theoph.He is distracted, and I must not lose him.Thy charms upon my servant, cursed witch,Give thee a short reprieve. Let her not die,Till my return.[ExeuntSap.andTheoph.
Anton.She minds him not; what objectIs her eye fix'd on?
Mac.I see nothing.
Anton.Mark her.
Dor.Thou glorious minister of the Power I serve!(For thou art more than mortal,) is 't for me,Poor sinner, thou art pleased awhile to leaveThy heavenly habitation, and vouchsafest,Though glorified, to take my servant's habit?—For, put off thy divinity, so look'dMy lovely Angelo.
Ang.Know, I am the same;And still the servant to your piety.Your zealous prayers and pious deeds first won me(But 'twas by His command to whom you sent them)To guide your steps. I tried your charity,When in a beggar's shape you took me up,And clothed my naked limbs, and after fed,As you believed, my famish'd mouth. Learn all,By your example, to look on the poorWith gentle eyes! for in such habits, often,Angels desire an alms[52]. I never left you,Nor will I now; for I am sent to carryYour pure and innocent soul to joys eternal,Your martyrdom once suffer'd; and before it,Ask any thing from me, and rest assured,You shall obtain it.
Dor.I am largely paidFor all my torments. Since I find such grace,Grant that the love of this young man to me,In which he languisheth to death, may beChanged to the love of heaven.
Ang.I will perform it;And in that instant when the sword sets freeYour happy soul, his shall have liberty.Is there aught else?
Dor.For proof that I forgiveMy persecutor, who in scorn desiredTo taste of that most sacred fruit I go to;After my death, as sent from me, be pleasedTo give him of it.
Ang.Willingly, dear mistress.
Mac.I am amazed.
Anton.I feel a holy fire,That yields a comfortable heat within me;I am quite alter'd from the thing I was.See! I can stand, and go alone; thus kneelTo heavenly Dorothea, touch her handWith a religious kiss.[Kneels.
Re-enterSapritiusandTheophilus.
Sap.He is well now,But will not be drawn back.
Theoph.It matters not,We can discharge this work without his help.But see your son.
Sap.Villain!
Anton.Sir, I beseech you,Being so near our ends, divorce us not.
Theoph.I'll quickly make a separation of them:Hast thou aught else to say?
Dor.Nothing, but to blameThy tardiness in sending me to rest;My peace is made with heaven, to which my soulBegins to take her flight: strike, O! strike quickly;And, though you are unmoved to see my death,Hereafter, when my story shall be read,As they were present now, the hearers shallSay this of Dorothea, with wet eyes,"She lived a virgin, and a virgin dies."[Her head is struck off.
Anton.O, take my soul along, to wait on thine!
Mac.Your son sinks too.[Antoninus falls.
Sap.Already dead!
Theoph.Die allThat are, or favour this accursed sect:I triumph in their ends, and will raise upA hill of their dead carcasses, to o'erlookThe Pyrenean hills, but I'll root outThese superstitious fools, and leave the worldNo name of Christian.[Loud music: ExitAngelo,having first laid his hand upon the mouths ofAnton.andDor.
Sap.Ha! heavenly music!
Mac.'Tis in the air.
Theoph.Illusions of the devil,Wrought by some witch of her religion,That fain would make her death a miracle;It frights not me. Because he is your son,Let him have burial; but let her bodyBe cast forth with contempt in some highway,And be to vultures and to dogs a prey.[Exeunt.
Theophilusdiscovered sitting in his Study: books about him[53].
Theoph.Is 't holiday, O Cæsar, that thy servant,Thy provost, to see execution doneOn these base Christians in Cæsarea,Should now want work? Sleep these idolaters,That none are stirring?—As a curious painter,When he has made some honourable piece,Stands off, and with a searching eye examinesEach colour, how 'tis sweeten'd; and then hugsHimself for his rare workmanship—so here,Will I my drolleries, and bloody landscapes,Long past wrapt up, unfold, to make me merryWith shadows, now I want the substances.My muster-book of hell-hounds. Were the Christians,Whose names stand here, alive and arm'd, not RomeCould move upon her hinges. What I've done,Or shall hereafter, is not out of hateTo poor tormented wretches[54]; no, I'm carriedWith violence of zeal, and streams of serviceI owe our Roman gods. This Christian maid was well,
EnterAngelowith a basket filled with fruit and flowers.
A pretty one; but let such horror followThe next I feed with torments, that when RomeShall hear it, her foundation at the soundMay feel an earthquake. How now?[Music.
Ang.Are you amazed, sir?So great a Roman spirit—and doth it tremble!
Theoph.How cam'st thou in? to whom thy business?
Ang.To you:I had a mistress, late sent hence by youUpon a bloody errand; you entreated,That, when she came into that blessed gardenWhither she knew she went, and where, now happy,She feeds upon all joy, she would send to youSome of that garden fruit and flowers; which here,To have her promise saved, are brought by me.
Theoph.Cannot I see this garden?
Ang.Yes, if the masterWill give you entrance.[He vanishes.
Theoph.'Tis a tempting fruit,And the most bright-cheek'd child I ever view'd;Sweet smelling, goodly fruit. What flowers are these?In Dioclesian's gardens, the most beauteous,Compared with these, are weeds: is it not February,The second day she died? frost, ice, and snow,Hang on the beard of winter: where's the sunThat gilds this summer? pretty, sweet boy, say,In what country shall a man find this garden?—My delicate boy,—gone! vanish'd! within there,Julianus! Geta!—
EnterJulianusandGeta.
Both.My lord.
Theoph.Are my gates shut?
Geta.And guarded.
Theoph.Saw you notA boy?
Jul.Where?
Theoph.Here he enter'd; a young lad;A thousand blessings danced upon his eyes:A smoothfaced, glorious thing, that brought this basket.
Geta.No, sir!
Theoph.Away—but be in reach, if my voice calls you.[ExeuntJul.andGeta.No!—vanish'd, and not seen!—Be thou a spirit,Sent from that witch to mock me, I am sureThis is essential, and, howe'er it grows,Will taste it.[Eats of the fruit.
Harp.[within.] Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Theoph.So good I'll have some more, sure.
Harp.Ha, ha, ha, ha! great liquorish fool!
Theoph.What art thou?
Harp.A fisherman.
Theoph.What dost thou catch?
Harp.Souls, souls; a fish call'd souls.
Theoph.Geta!
Re-enterGeta.
Geta.My lord.
Harp.[within.] Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Theoph.What insolent slave is this, dares laugh at me?Or what is 't the dog grins at so?
Geta.I neither know, my lord, at what, norwhom; for there is none without, but my fellowJulianus, and he is making a garland for Jupiter.
Theoph.Jupiter! all within me is not well;And yet not sick.
Harp.[within.] Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Theoph.What's thy name, slave?
Harp.[at one end of the room.] Go look.
Geta.'Tis Harpax' voice.
Theoph.Harpax! go, drag the caitiff to my foot,That I may stamp upon him.
Harp.[at the other end.] Fool, thou liest!
Geta.He's yonder, now, my lord.
Theoph.Watch thou that end,Whilst I make good this.
Harp.[in the middle.] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
Theoph.Search for him. [ExitGeta.] All this ground, methinks, is bloody,And paved with thousands of those Christians' eyesWhom I have tortured; and they stare upon me.What was this apparition? sure it hadA shape angelical. Mine eyes, though dazzled,And daunted at first sight, tell me, it woreA pair of glorious wings; yes, they were wings;And hence he flew:——'tis vanish'd! Jupiter,For all my sacrifices done to him,Never once gave me smile.—How can stone smile?Or wooden image laugh? [music.] Ha! I remember,Such music gave a welcome to mine ear,When the fair youth came to me:—'tis in the air,Or from some better place; a Power divine,Through my dark ignorance, on my soul does shine,And makes me see a conscience all stain'd o'er,Nay, drown'd and damn'd for ever in Christian gore.
Harp.[within.] Ha, ha, ha!
Theoph.Again!—What dainty relish on my tongueThis fruit hath left! some angel hath me fed:If so toothful, I will be banqueted.[Eats again.
EnterHarpax,in a fearful shape, fire flashing out of the Study.
Harp.Hold!
Theoph.Not for Cæsar.
Harp.But for me thou shalt.
Theoph.Thou art no twin to him that last was here.Ye Powers, whom my soul bids me reverence, guard me!What art thou?
Harp.I am thy master.
Theoph.Mine!
Harp.And thou my everlasting slave: that Harpax,Who hand in hand hath led thee to thy hell,Am I.
Theoph.Avaunt!
Harp.I will not; cast thou downThat basket with the things in 't, and fetch upWhat thou hast swallow'd, and then take a drink,Which I shall give thee, and I'm gone.
Theoph.My fruit!Does this offend thee? see![Eats again.
Harp.Spit it to the earth,And tread upon it, or I'll piecemeal tear thee.
Theoph.Art thou with this affrighted? see, here's more. [Pulls out a handful of flowers.
Harp.Fling them away, I'll take thee else, and hang theeIn a contorted chain of icicles,In the frigid zone: down with them!
Theoph.At the bottomOne thing I found not yet. See![Holds up a cross of flowers.
Harp.Oh! I am tortured.
Theoph.Can this do 't? hence, thou fiend infernal, hence!
Harp.Clasp Jupiter's image, and away with that.
Theoph.At thee I'll fling that Jupiter; for, methinks,I serve a better master: he now checks meFor murdering my two daughters, put on[55]by thee.By thy damn'd rhetoric did I hunt the lifeOf Dorothea, the holy virgin-martyr.She is not angry with the axe, nor me,But sends these presents to me; and I'll travelO'er worlds to find her, and from her white handBeg a forgiveness.
Harp.No; I'll bind thee here.
Theoph.I serve a strength above thine; this small weapon[56],Methinks, is armour hard enough.
Harp.Keep from me.[Sinks a little.
Theoph.Art posting to thy centre? down, hell-hound! down!Me thou hast lost. That arm, which hurls thee hence,[Harpax disappears.Save me, and set me up, the strong defenceIn the fair Christian quarrel!
EnterAngelo.
Ang.Fix thy foot there,Nor be thou shaken with a Cæsar's voice,Though thousand deaths were in it; and I thenWill bring thee to a river, that shall washThy bloody hands clean and more white than snow;And to that garden where these blest things grow,And to that martyr'd virgin, who hath sentThat heavenly token to thee: spread this brave wing,And serve, than Cæsar, a far greater king.[Exit.
Theoph.It is, it is, some angel. Vanish'd again!Oh, come back, ravishing boy! bright messenger!Thou hast, by these mine eyes fix'd on thy beauty,Illumined all my soul. Now look I backOn my black tyrannies, which, as they didOutdare the bloodiest, thou, blest spirit, that lead'st me,Teach me what I must do, and, to do well,That my last act the best may parallel[57].[Exit.
Dioclesian's Palace.
EnterDioclesian, Maximinus,the Kings of Epire, Pontus, and Macedon, meetingArtemia;Attendants.
Artem.Glory and conquest still attend uponTriumphant Cæsar!
Diocle.Let thy wish, fair daughter,Be equally divided; and hereafterLearn thou to know and reverence Maximinus,Whose power, with mine united, makes one Cæsar.
Max.But that I fear 'twould be held flattery,The bonds consider'd in which we stand tied,As love and empire, I should say, till nowI ne'er had seen a lady I thought worthyTo be my mistress.
Artem.Sir, you show yourselfBoth courtier and soldier; but take heed,Take heed, my lord, though my dull-pointed beauty,Stain'd by a harsh refusal in my servant,Cannot dart forth such beams as may inflame you,You may encounter such a powerful one,That with a pleasing heat will thaw your heart,Though bound in ribs of ice. Love still is Love;His bow and arrows are the same: Great Julius,That to his successors left the name of Cæsar,Whom war could never tame, that with dry eyesBeheld the large plains of Pharsalia cover'dWith the dead carcases of senators,And citizens of Rome; when the world knewNo other lord but him, struck deep in years too,(And men gray-hair'd forget the loves of youth,)After all this, meeting fair Cleopatra,A suppliant too, the magic of her eye,Even in his pride of conquest, took him captive:Nor are you more secure.
Max.Were you deform'd,(But, by the gods, you are most excellent,)Your gravity and discretion would o'ercome me;And I should be more proud in being prisonerTo your fair virtues, than of all the honours,Wealth, title, empire, that my sword hath purchased.
Diocle.This meets my wishes. Welcome it, Artemia,With outstretch'd arms, and study to forgetThat Antoninus ever was: thy fateReserved thee for this better choice; embrace it.
Max.This happy match brings new nerves to give strengthTo our continued league.
Diocle.Hymen himselfWill bless this marriage, which we'll solemnizeIn the presence of these kings.
K. of Pontus.Who rest most happy,To be eye-witnesses of a match that bringsPeace to the empire.
Diocle. We much thank your loves:But where's Sapritius, our governor,And our most zealous provost, good Theophilus?If ever prince were blest in a true servant,Or could the gods be debtors to a man,Both they and we stand far engaged to cherishHis piety and service.
Artem.Sir, the governorBrooks sadly his son's loss, although he turn'dApostata in death; but bold Theophilus,Who for the same cause, in my presence, seal'dHis holy anger on his daughters' hearts;Having with tortures first tried to convert her,Dragg'd the bewitching Christian to the scaffold,And saw her lose her head.
Diocle.He is all worthy:And from his own mouth I would gladly hearThe manner how she suffer'd.
Artem.'Twill be deliver'dWith such contempt and scorn, (I know his nature,)That rather 'twill beget your highness' laughter,Than the least pity.
Diocle.To that end I would hear it.
EnterTheophilus, Sapritius,andMacrinus.
Artem.He comes; with him the governor.
Diocle.O, Sapritius,I am to chide you for your tenderness;But yet, remembering that you are a father,I will forget it. Good Theophilus,I'll speak with you anon.—Nearer, your ear.[ToSapritius.
Theoph.[aside toMacrinus.] By Antoninus' soul, I do conjure you,And though not for religion, for his friendship,Without demanding what's the cause that moves me,Receive my signet:—By the power of this,Go to my prisons, and release all Christians,That are in fetters there by my command.
Mac.But what shall follow?
Theoph.Haste then to the port;You there shall find two tall ships ready rigg'd,In which embark the poor distressed souls,And bear them from the reach of tyranny.Enquire not whither you are bound: the DeityThat they adore will give you prosperous winds,And make your voyage such, and largely pay forYour hazard, and your travail. Leave me here;There is a scene that I must act alone:Haste, good Macrinus; and the great God guide you!
Mac.I'll undertake 't; there's something prompts me to it;'Tis to save innocent blood, a saint-like act:And to be merciful has never beenBy moral men themselves esteem'd a sin.[Exit.
Diocle.You know your charge?
Sap.And will with care observe it.
Diocle.For I profess he is not Cæsar's friend,That sheds a tear for any torture thatA Christian suffers. Welcome, my best servant,My careful, zealous provost! thou hast toil'dTo satisfy my will, though in extremes:I love thee for 't; thou art firm rock, no changeling.Prithee deliver, and for my sake do it,Without excess of bitterness, or scoffs,Before my brother and these kings, how tookThe Christian her death?
Theoph.And such a presence,Though every private head in this large roomWere circled round with an imperial crown,Her story will deserve, it is so fullOf excellence and wonder.
Diocle.Ha! how is this?
Theoph.O! mark it, therefore, and with that attention,As you would hear an embassy from heavenBy a wing'd legate; for the truth deliver'd,Both how, and what, this blessed virgin suffer'd,And Dorothea but hereafter named,You will rise up with reverence, and no more,As things unworthy of your thoughts, rememberWhat the canonized Spartan ladies were,Which lying Greece so boasts of. Your own matrons,Your Roman dames, whose figures you yet keepAs holy relics, in her historyWill find a second urn: Gracchus' Cornelia,Paulina, that in death desired to followHer husband Seneca, nor Brutus' Portia,That swallow'd burning coals to overtake him,Though all their several worths were given to one,With this is to be mention'd.
Max.Is he mad?
Diocle.Why, they did die, Theophilus, and boldly;This did no more.Theoph.They, out of desperation,Or for vain glory of an after-name,Parted with life: this had not mutinous sons,As the rash Gracchi were; nor was this saintA doting mother, as Cornelia was.This lost no husband, in whose overthrowHer wealth and honour sunk; no fear of wantDid make her being tedious; but, aimingAt an immortal crown, and in His causeWho only can bestow it; who sent downLegions of ministering angels to bear upHer spotless soul to heaven, who entertain'd itWith choice celestial music, equal toThe motion of the spheres; she, uncompell'd,Changed this life for a better. My lord Sapritius,You were present at her death; did you e'er hearSuch ravishing sounds?
Sap.Yet you said then 'twas witchcraft,And devilish illusions.
Theoph.I then heard itWith sinful ears, and belch'd out blasphemous wordsAgainst his Deity, which then I knew not,Nor did believe in him.
Diocle.Why, dost thou now?Or dar'st thou, in our hearing——
Theoph.Were my voiceAs loud as is His thunder, to be heardThrough all the world, all potentates on earthReady to burst with rage, should they but hear it;Though hell, to aid their malice, lent her furies,Yet I would speak, and speak again, and boldly:I am a Christian; and the Powers you worship,But dreams of fools and madmen.
Max.Lay hands on him.
Diocle.Thou twice a child! for doting age so makes thee,Thou couldst not else, thy pilgrimage of lifeBeing almost past through, in this last momentDestroy whate'er thou hast done good or great—Thy youth did promise much; and, grown a man,Thou mad'st it good, and, with increase of years,Thy actions still better'd: as the sun,Thou didst rise gloriously, kept'st a constant courseIn all thy journey; and now, in the evening,When thou shouldst pass with honour to thy rest,Wilt thou fall like a meteor?
Sap.Yet confessThat thou art mad, and that thy tongue and heartHad no agreement.
Max.Do; no way is left, else,To save thy life, Theophilus.
Diocle.But, refuse it,Destruction as horrid, and as sudden,Shall fall upon thee, as if hell stood open,And thou wert sinking thither.
Theoph.Hear me, yet;Hear, for my service past.
Artem.What will he say?
Theoph.As ever I deserved your favour, hear me,And grant one boon; 'tis not for life I sue for;Nor is it fit that I, that ne'er knew pityTo any Christian, being one myself,Should look for any; no, I rather begThe utmost of your cruelty. I standAccomptable for thousand Christians' deaths;And, were it possible that I could dieA day for every one, then live againTo be again tormented, 'twere to meAn easy penance, and I should pass throughA gentle cleansing fire; but, that denied me,It being beyond the strength of feeble nature,My suit is, you would have no pity on me.In mine own house there are a thousand enginesOf studied cruelty, which I did prepareFor miserable Christians; let me feel,As the Sicilian did his brazen bull[58],The horrid'st you can find; and I will say,In death, that you are merciful.
Diocle.Despair not;In this thou shalt prevail. Go fetch them hither:[Exit some of the Guard.Death shall put on a thousand shapes at once,And so appear before thee; racks, and whips!——Thy flesh, with burning pincers torn, shall feedThe fire that heats them; and what's wanting toThe torture of thy body, I'll supplyIn punishing thy mind. Fetch all the ChristiansThat are in hold; and here, before his face,Cut them in pieces.
Theoph.'Tis not in thy power:It was the first good deed I ever did.They are removed out of thy reach; howe'er,I was determined for my sins to die,I first took order for their liberty;And still I dare thy worst.
Re-enter Guard with racks and other instruments of torture.
Diocle.Bind him, I say;Make every artery and sinew crack:The slave that makes him give the loudest shriek,Shall have ten thousand drachmas: wretch! I'll force theeTo curse the Power thou worship'st.
Theoph.Never, never:No breath of mine shall e'er be spent on Him,[They torment him.But what shall speak His majesty or mercy.I'm honour'd in my sufferings. Weak tormentors,More tortures, more:—alas! you are unskilful—For heaven's sake more; my breast is yet untorn:Here purchase the reward that was propounded.The irons cool,—here are arms yet, and thighs;Spare no part of me.
Max.He endures beyondThe sufferance of a man.
Sap.No sigh nor groan,To witness he hath feeling.
Diocle.Harder, villains!
EnterHarpax.
Harp.Unless that he blaspheme, he's lost for ever.If torments ever could bring forth despair,Let these compel him to it:—Oh me!My ancient enemies again![Falls down.
EnterDorotheain a white robe, a crown upon her head, led in byAngelo; Antoninus, Calista,andChristetafollowing, all in white, but less glorious;Angeloholds out a crown toTheophilus.
Theoph.Most glorious vision!—Did e'er so hard a bed yield man a dreamSo heavenly as this? I am confirm'd,Confirm'd, you blessed spirits, and make hasteTo take that crown of immortalityYou offer to me. Death! till this blest minute,I never thought thee slow-paced; nor would IHasten thee now, for any pain I suffer,But that thou keep'st me from a glorious wreath,Which through this stormy way I would creep to,And, humbly kneeling, with humility wear it.Oh! now I feel thee:—blessed spirits! I come;And, witness for me all these wounds and scars,I die a soldier in the Christian wars.[Dies.
Sap.I have seen thousands tortured, but ne'er yetA constancy like this.
Harp.I am twice damn'd.
Ang.Haste to thy place appointed, cursed fiend![Harpaxsinks with thunder and lightning.In spite of hell, this soldier's not thy prey;'Tis I have won, thou that hast lost the day.[Exit withDor.&c.
Diocle.I think the centre of the earth be crack'd—Yet I stand still unmoved, and will go on:The persecution that is here begun,Through all the world with violence shall run.[Flourish.Exeunt.
The Great Duke of Florence.] This play, under the title of The Great Duke, was licensed by Sir Henry Herbert, July 5th, 1627. The plot is raised on those slight materials afforded by our old chroniclers in the life of Edgar, which Mason has since worked up into the beautiful drama of Elfrida.
The first edition of this play was published 1636, when it was preceded by two commendatory copies of verses by G. Donne and J. Ford. Though highly and most deservedly popular, it was not reprinted. This may be attributed, in some measure, to the growing discontent of the times, which perversely turned aside from scenes like these, to dwell with fearful anxiety on those of turbulence and blood.—It is impossible not to be charmed with the manner in which this play is written. The style is worthy of the most polished stage. An easy elevation and a mild dignity are preserved throughout, which afford an excellent model for the transaction of dramatic business between persons of high rank and refined education. As to the subject, it is of itself of no great importance; but this is somewhat compensated by the interest the principal characters take in it, and the connexion of love with the views of state.—The scenes between Giovanni and Lidia present a most beautiful picture of artless attachment, and of that unreserved innocence and tender simplicity which Massinger describes in so eminently happy a manner. Were it not for the scene of low buffoonery in the fourth act, where Petronella assumes the dress and character of her mistress, The Great Duke of Florence would have been a perfect and unrivalled production.
TOTHE TRULY HONOURED, AND MY NOBLE FAVOURER,SIR ROBERT WISEMAN, KNT.[59]OF THORRELL'S HALL, IN ESSEX.SIR,As I dare not be ungrateful for the many benefits you have heretofore conferred upon me, so I have just reason to fear that my attempting this way to make satisfaction (in some measure) for so due a debt, will further engage me. However, examples encourage me. The most able in my poor quality have made use of dedications in this nature, to make the world take notice (as far as in them lay) who and what they were that gave supportment and protection to their studies; being more willing to publish the doer, than receive a benefit in a corner. For myself, I will freely, and with a zealous thankfulness, acknowledge, that for many years I had but faintly subsisted, if I had not often tasted of your bounty. But it is above my strength and faculties to celebrate to the desert your noble inclination, and that made actual, to raise up, or, to speak more properly, to rebuild the ruins of demolished poesie. But that is a work reserved, and will be, no doubt, undertaken, and finished, by one that can to the life express it. Accept, I beseech you, the tender of my service; and in the list of those you have obliged to you, contemn not the name ofYour true and faithful honourer,PHILIP MASSINGER.
TO
THE TRULY HONOURED, AND MY NOBLE FAVOURER,
SIR ROBERT WISEMAN, KNT.[59]
OF THORRELL'S HALL, IN ESSEX.
SIR,
As I dare not be ungrateful for the many benefits you have heretofore conferred upon me, so I have just reason to fear that my attempting this way to make satisfaction (in some measure) for so due a debt, will further engage me. However, examples encourage me. The most able in my poor quality have made use of dedications in this nature, to make the world take notice (as far as in them lay) who and what they were that gave supportment and protection to their studies; being more willing to publish the doer, than receive a benefit in a corner. For myself, I will freely, and with a zealous thankfulness, acknowledge, that for many years I had but faintly subsisted, if I had not often tasted of your bounty. But it is above my strength and faculties to celebrate to the desert your noble inclination, and that made actual, to raise up, or, to speak more properly, to rebuild the ruins of demolished poesie. But that is a work reserved, and will be, no doubt, undertaken, and finished, by one that can to the life express it. Accept, I beseech you, the tender of my service; and in the list of those you have obliged to you, contemn not the name of
Your true and faithful honourer,PHILIP MASSINGER.
SCENE, partly in Florence, and partly at the residence ofCharomontein the country.
THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.
The Country. A Room inCharomonte's House.
EnterCharomonteandContarino.
Char.You bring your welcome with you.
Cont.Sir, I find itIn every circumstance.
Char.Again most welcome.Yet, give me leave to wish (and pray you excuse me,For I must use the freedom I was born with)The great duke's pleasure had commanded youTo my poor house upon some other service;Not this you are design'd to: but his willMust be obey'd, howe'er it ravish from meThe happy conversation of oneAs dear to me as the old Romans heldTheir household Lars, whom they believed had powerTo bless and guard their families.
Cont.'Tis received soOn my part, signior; nor can the dukeBut promise to himself as much as mayBe hoped for from a nephew. And 'twere weaknessIn any man to doubt, that Giovanni[60],Train'd up by your experience and careIn all those arts peculiar and properTo future greatness, of necessityMust in his actions, being grown a man,Make good the princely educationWhich he derived from you.
Char.I have discharged,To the utmost of my power, the trust the dukeCommitted to me, and with joy perceiveThe seed of my endeavours was not sownUpon the barren sands, but fruitful glebe,Which yields a large increase: my noble charge,By his sharp wit, and pregnant apprehension,Instructing those that teach him; making use,Not in a vulgar and pedantic form,Of what's read to him, but 'tis straight digested,And truly made his own. His grave discourse,In one no more indebted unto years,Amazes such as hear him: horsemanship,And skill to use his weapon, are by practiceFamiliar to him: as for knowledge inMusic, he needs it not, it being born with him;All that he speaks being with such grace deliver'd,That it makes perfect harmony.
Cont.You describeA wonder to me.
Char.Sir, he is no less;And that there may be nothing wanting thatMay render him complete, the sweetness ofHis disposition so wins on allAppointed to attend him, that they areRivals, even in the coarsest office, whoShall get precedency to do him service;Which they esteem a greater happinessThan if they had been fashion'd and built upTo hold command o'er others.
Cont.And what placeDoes he now bless with his presence?
Char.He is nowRunning at the ring[61], at which he's excellent.He does allot for every exerciseA several hour; for sloth, the nurse of vices,And rust of action, is a stranger to him.But I fear I am tedious; let us pass,If you please, to some other subject, though I cannotDeliver him as he deserves.
Cont.You have given himA noble character.
Char.And how, I pray you,(For we, that never look beyond our villas,Must be inquisitive,) are state affairsCarried in court?
Cont.There's little alteration:Some rise, and others fall, as it stands withThe pleasure of the duke, their great disposer.
Char.Does Lodovico Sanazarro holdWeight and grace with him?
Cont.Every day new honoursAre shower'd upon him, and without the envyOf such as are good men; since all confessThe service done our master in his wars'Gainst Pisa and Sienna may with justiceClaim what's conferr'd upon him.
Char.'Tis said nobly;For princes never more make known their wisdom,Than when they cherish goodness where they find it:They being men, and not gods, Contarino,They can give wealth and titles, but no virtues;That is without their power. When they advance,Not out of judgment, but deceiving fancy,An undeserving man, howe'er set offWith all the trim of greatness, state, and power,And of a creature even grown terribleTo him from whom he took his giant form,This thing is still a comet, no true star;And when the bounties feeding his false fireBegin to fail, will of itself go out,And what was dreadful proves ridiculous.But in our Sanazarro 'tis not so,He being pure and tried gold; and any stampOf grace, to make him current to the world,The duke is pleased to give him, will add honourTo the great bestower; for he, though allow'dCompanion to his master, still preservesHis majesty in full lustre.
Cont.He, indeed,At no part does take from it, but becomesA partner of his cares, and eases him,With willing shoulders, of a burden whichHe should alone sustain.