Part 2 out of 11
Make their devout and humble Invocations;
Thou Court of Silence, where the God of Love,
Lays by the awful Terror of a Deity,
And every harmful Dart, and deals around
His kind Desires; whilst thou, blest Friend to Joys,
Draw'st all thy Curtains, made of gloomy Shades,
To veil the Blushes of soft yielding Maids;
Beneath thy Covert grant the Love-sick King,
May find admittance to _Florella's_ Arms;
And being there, keep back the busy Day;
Maintain thy Empire till my Moor returns;
Where in her Lodgings he shall find his Wife,
Amidst her amorous Dalliance with my Son.--
My watchful Spies are waiting for the Knowledge;
Which when to me imparted, I'll improve,
Till my Revenge be equal to my Love.
--_Elvira_, in thy Looks I read Success;
What hast thou learnt?
_Elv_. Madam, the King is gone as you imagin'd,
To fair _Florella's_ Lodging.
_Qu_. But art thou sure he gain'd Admittance?
_Elv_. Yes, Madam;
But what Welcome he has found, to me's unknown;
But I believe it must be great, and kind.
_Qu_. I am of thy Opinion.--
But now, _Elvira_, for a well-laid Plot,
To ruin this _Florella_;--though she be innocent,
Yet she must die; so hard a Destiny
My Passion for her Husband does decree:
But 'tis the way I stop at.--
His Jealousy already I have rais'd;
That's not enough, his Honour must be touch'd.
This Meeting twixt the King and fair _Florella_,
Must then be render'd publick;
'Tis the Disgrace, not Action, must incense him--
Go you to Don _Alonzo's_ Lodging strait,
Whilst I prepare my Story for his Ear.--
Assist me all that's ill in Woman-kind,
And furnish me with Sighs, and feigned Tears,
That may express a Grief for this Discovery.--
My Son, be like thy Mother, hot and bold;
And like the noble Ravisher of Rome,
Court her with Daggers, when thy Tongue grows faint,
Till thou hast made a Conquest o'er her Virtue.
_Enter_ Alonzo, Elvira.
--Oh, _Alonzo_, I have strange News to tell thee!
_Alon_. It must be strange indeed, that makes my Queen
Dress her fair Eyes in Sorrow.
_Qu_. It is a Dress that thou wilt be in love with,
When thou shalt hear my Story.--
You had a Sister once.
_Qu_. Yes, had,--whilst she was like thy self, all Virtue;
Till her bewitching Eyes kindled such Flames,
As will undo us all.
_Alon_. My Sister, Madam! sure it cannot be:--
What Eyes? what Flames?--inform me strait.
_Qu. Alonzo_, thou art honest, just and brave:
And should I tell thee more,--
(Knowing thy Loyalty's above all Nature)
It would oblige thee to commit an Outrage,
Which baser Spirits will call Cruelty.
_Alon_. Gods, Madam! do not praise my Virtue thus,
Which is so poor, it scarce affords me patience
To attend the end of what you wou'd deliver--
Come, Madam, say my Sister--is a Whore.
I know 'tis so you mean; and being so,
Where shall I kneel for Justice?
Since he that shou'd afford it me,
Has made her Criminal.--
Pardon me, Madam, 'tis the King I mean.
_Qu_. I grieve to own, all thy prophetick Fears
Are true, _Alonzo_, 'tis indeed the King.
_Alon_. Then I'm disarm'd,
For Heaven can only punish him.
_Qu_. But, _Alonzo_,
Whilst that religious Patience dwells about thee,
All Spain must suffer, nay, Ages that shall ensue
Shall curse thy Name, and Family;
From whom a Race of Bastards shall proceed,
To wear that Crown.
_Alon_. No, Madam, not for mine,
My Sister's in my power, her Honour's mine;
I can command her Life, though not my King's.
Her Mother is a Saint, and shou'd she now
Look down from Heaven upon a Deed so foul,
I think even there she wou'd invent a Curse,
To thunder on her Head.--
But, Madam, whence was this Intelligence?
_Qu. Elvira_ saw the King enter her Lodgings,
With Lover's haste, and Joy.
_Alon_. Her Lodgings!--when?
_Qu_. Now, not an Hour ago,
Now, since the Moor departed.
_Alon_. Damnation on her! can she be thus false?
Come, lead me to the Lodgings of this Strumpet,
And make me see this truth, [_To_ Elvira.
Or I will leave thee dead, for thus abusing me.
_Qu_. Nay, dear _Alonzo_, do not go inrag'd,
Stay till your Temper wears a calmer look;
That if, by chance, you shou'd behold the Wantons,
In little harmless Dalliance, such as Lovers
(Aided with Silence, and the shades of Night)
May possibly commit,
You may not do that which you may repent of.
_Alon_. Gods! should I play the Pander!
And with my Patience, aid the amorous Sin--
No, I shall scarce have so much Tameness left,
To mind me of my Duty to my King.
Ye Gods! behold the Sacrifice I make
To my lost Honour: behold, and aid my Justice.
_Qu_. It will concern me too to see this Wonder,
For yet I scarce can credit it.
SCENE III. Florella's _Lodgings_.
_Enter the_ King, _leading in_ Florella _all in fear_.
_Flor_. Ah, Sir, the Gods and you would be more merciful,
If by a Death less cruel than my Fears,
You would preserve my Honour; begin it quickly,
And after that I will retain my Duty,
And at your Feet breathe Thanks in dying Sighs.
_King_. Where learnt you, Fairest, so much Cruelty
To charge me with the Power of injuring thee?
Not from my Eyes, where Love and Languishment
Too sensibly inform thee of my Heart.
_Flor_. Call it not Injury, Sir, to free my Soul
From fears which such a Visit must create,
In dead of Night, when nought but frightful Ghosts
Of restless Souls departed walk the Round.
_King_. That fleeting thing am I, whom all Repose,
All Joys, and every good of Life abandon'd,
That fatal Hour thou gavest thy self away;
And I was doom'd to endless Desperation:
Yet whilst I liv'd, all glorious with my hopes,
Some sacred Treasures in thy Breast I hid,
And near thee still my greedy Soul will hover.
_Flor_. Ah, rather like a Ravisher you come,
With Love and Fierceness in your dangerous Eyes;
And both will equally be fatal to me.
_King_. Oh, do not fear me, as the fair _Lucretia_
Did the fierce Roman Youth; I mean no Rapes,
Thou canst not think that I wou'd force those Joys,
Which cease to be so, when compell'd, _Florella_--
No, I would sooner pierce this faithful Heart,
Whose Flame appears too criminal for your Mercy.
_Flor_. Why do you fright me, Sir? methinks your Looks
All pale, your Eyes thus fixt, and trembling Hands,
The awful Horror of the dark and silent Night,
Strike a cold Terror round my fainting Heart,
That does presage some fatal Accident.
_King_. 'Tis in your cruel Eyes the Danger lies--
Wou'd you receive me with that usual Tenderness,
Which did express it self in every Smile,
I should dismiss tin's Horror from my Face,
And place again its native Calmness there;
And all my Veins shall re-assume their Heat,
And with a new and grateful Ardour beat.
_Flor_. Sir, all my Soul is taken up with fear,
And you advance your Fate, by staying here--
Fly, fly, this place of Death--if _Abdelazer_
Shou'd find you here--all the Divinity
About your sacred Person could not guard you.
_King_. Ah, my _Florella_, cease thy needless Fear,
And in thy Soul let nothing reign but Love;
Love, that with soft Desires may fill thy Eyes,
And save thy Tongue the pain t' instruct my Heart,
In the most grateful Knowledge Heaven can give me.
_Flor_. That Knowledge, Sir, wou'd make us both more wretched,
Since you, I know, wou'd still be wishing on,
And I shou'd grant, till we were both undone.
And, Sir, how little she were worth your care,
Cou'd part with all her honourable Fame,
For an inglorious Life--short and despis'd--
_King_. Canst thou believe a Flame thy Eyes have kindled,
Can urge me to an infamous pursuit?--
No, my _Florella_, I adore thy Virtue,
And none profane those Shrines, to whom they offer;
--Say but thou lov'st--and I thus low will bow--
And sue to thee, to be my Sovereign Queen?
I'll circle thy bright Forehead with the Crowns
Of _Castile, Portugal_, and _Arragon_;
And all those petty Kingdoms, which do bow
Their Tributary Knees to thy Adorer.
_Flor_. Ah, Sir! have you forgot my sacred Vow?
All that I am, is _Abdelazer's_ now.
_King_. By Heav'n, it was a sacrilegious Theft;
But I the Treasure from his Breast will tear,
And reach his Heart, though thou art seated there.
_Flor_. A Deed like that my Virtue wou'd undo,
And leave a Stain upon your Glories too;
A Sin, that wou'd my Hate, not Passion move;
I owe a Duty, where I cannot love.
_King_. Thou think'st it then no Sin to kill thy King;
For I must die, without thy Love, _Florella_.
_Flor_. How tamely, Sir, you with the Serpent play,
Whose fatal Poison must your Life betray;
And though a King, cannot divine your Fate;
Kings only differ from the Gods in that.--
See, Sir, with this--I am your Murderer made;
[_Holds up a Dagger_.
By those we love, we soonest are betray'd.
_King_. How! can that fair Hand acquaint it self with Death?
--What wilt thou do, _Florella_?
_Flor_. Your Destiny divert,
And give my Heart those Wounds design'd for yours.
--If you advance, I'll give the deadly Blow.
_King_. Hold!--I command thee hold thy impious Hand,
My Heart dwells there, and if you strike--I die.
_Enter_ Queen, Alonzo, _and_ Elvira.
_Qu. Florella_! arm'd against the King?
[_Snatches the Dagger and stabs her: the_ King _rises_.
_King_. Hold, hold, inhuman Murdress;
What hast thou done, most barbarous of thy Sex!
[_Takes_ Flor. _in his Arms_.
_Qu_. Destroy'd thy Murdress,--and my too fair Rival. [_Aside_.
_King_. My Murdress!--what Devil did inspire thee
With Thoughts so black and sinful? cou'd this fair Saint
Be guilty of a Murder?--No, no, too cruel Mother,
With her Eyes, her charming lovely Eyes,
She might have kill'd, and her too virtuous Cruelty.
--Oh my _Florella_! Sacred lovely Creature!
_Flor_. My Death was kind, since it prevented yours,
And by that Hand, which sav'd mine from a Guilt.
[_Points to the_ Queen.
--That Dagger I receiv'd of _Abdelazer_,
To stab that Heart,--he said, that lov'd me best;
But I design'd to overcome your Passion,
And then to have vanquish'd _Abdelazer's_ Jealousy:
But finding you too faithful to be happy,
I did resolve to die--and have my wish.
--Farewel--my King--my Soul begins its flight,
--And now--is hovering--in eternal--Night.
_King_. She's gone--she's gone--her sacred Soul is fled
To that Divinity, of which it is a part;
Too excellent to inhabit Earthly Bodies.
_Alon_. Oh, Sir, you grieve too much, for one so foul.
_King_. What profane Breath was that pronounc'd her foul?
Thy Mother's Soul, though turn'd into a Cherubim,
Was black to hers--Oh, she was all divine.
--_Alonzo_, was it thou?--her Brother!
_Alon_. When she was good, I own'd that Title, Sir.
_King_. Good!--by all the Gods, she was as chaste as Vestals,
As Saints translated to Divine Abodes.
I offer'd her to be my Queen, _Alonzo_,
To share the growing Glories of my Youth;
But uncorrupted she my Crown contemn'd,
And on her Virtue's Guard stood thus defended.
--Oh my _Florella_! let me here lie fix'd,
And never rise, till I am cold and pale
As thou, fair Saint, art now--But sure
She cou'd not die;--that noble generous Heart,
That arm'd with Love and Honour, did rebate
All the fierce Sieges of my amorous Flame,
Might sure defend it self against those Wounds
Given by a Woman's Hand,--or rather 'twas a Devil's.
--What dost thou merit for this Treachery?
Thou vilest of thy Sex--
But thou'rt a thing I have miscall'd a Mother,
And therefore will not touch thee--live to suffer
By a more shameful way;--but here she lies,
Whom I, though dead, must still adore as living.
_Alon_. Sir, pray retire, there's danger in your stay;
When I reflect upon this Night's Disorder,
And the Queen's Art to raise my Jealousy;
And after that my Sister's being murder'd,
I must believe there is some deeper Plot,
Something design'd against your sacred Person.
_King. Alonzo_, raise the Court, I'll find it,
Tho 'twere hid within my Mother's Soul.
_Qu_. My gentle Son, pardon my kind mistake,
I did believe her arm'd against thy Life.
_King_. Peace, Fury! Not ill boding Raven Shrieks,
Nor midnight Cries of murder'd Ghosts, are more
Ungrateful, than thy faint and dull Excuses.
--Be gone! and trouble not the silent Griefs,
Which will insensibly decay my Life,
Till like a Marble Statue I am fixt,
Dropping continual Tears upon her Tomb.
[_Kneels and--weeps at_ Florella's _Feet_.
_Abd. [Within]_. Guard all the Chamber-Doors--Fire and Confusion
Consume the _Spanish_ Dogs--was I for this
Sent to fetch back a _Philip_, and a Cardinal,
To have my Wife abus'd?
_Qu_. Patience, dear _Abdelazer_.
_Abd_. Patience and I am Foes: where's my _Florella_?
The King! and in _Florella's_ Bed-Chamber!
_Florella_ dead too!--
Rise, thou eternal Author of my Shame;
Gay thing--to you I speak, [King _rises_.
And thus throw off Allegiance.
_Qu_. Oh, stay your Fury, generous _Abdelazer_.
_Abd_. Away, fond Woman.
[_Throws her from him_.
_King_. Villain, to me this Language?
_Abd_. To thee, young amorous King.
How at this dead and silent time of Night,
Durst you approach the Lodgings of my Wife?
_King_. I scorn to answer thee.
_Abd_. I'll search it in thy Heart then.
[_They fight_, Queen _and_ Elv. _run out crying Treason_.
_King_. The Devil's not yet ready for his Soul,
And will not claim his due.--Oh, I am wounded. [_Falls_.
_Abd_. No doubt on't, Sir, these are no Wounds of Love.
_King_. Whate'er they be, you might have spar'd 'em now,
Since those _Florella_ give me were sufficient:
--And yet a little longer, fixing thus
Thou'dst seen me turn to Earth, without thy aid.
_Florella!--Florella!_--is thy Soul fled so far
It cannot answer me, and call me on?
And yet like dying Ecchoes in my Ears,
I hear thee cry, my Love--I come--I come, fair Soul.
--Thus at thy Feet--my Heart shall bleeding--lie.
Who since it liv'd for thee--for thee--will die. [_Dies_.
_Abd_. So--thou art gone--there was a King but now,
And now a senseless, dull, and breathless nothing.
[_A noise of fighting without_.
_Enter_ Queen _running_.
_Qu_. Oh Heavens! my Son--the King, the King is kill'd!--
Yet I must save his Murderer:--Fly, my Moor;
_Alonzo_, Sir, assisted by some Friends,
Has set upon your Guards,
And with resistless Fury is making hither.
_Abd_. Let him come on.
_Enter Alonzo and others, led in by Osmin, Zarrack, and Moors_.
Oh, are you fast?
[_Takes away their Swords_.
_Alon_. What mean'st thou, Villain?
_Abd_. To put your Swords to better uses, Sir,
Than to defend the cause of Ravishers.
_Alon_. Oh Heavens, the King is murder'd!
_Abd_. Look on that Object,
Thy Sister and my Wife, who's doubly murder'd,
First in her spotless Honour, then her Life.
_Alon_. Heaven is more guilty than the King in this.
_Qu_. My Lords, be calm; and since your King is murder'd.
Think of your own dear Safeties; chuse a new King,
That may defend you from the Tyrant's Rage.
_Alon_. Who should we chuse? Prince _Philip_ is our King.
_Abd_. By Heaven, but _Philip_ shall not be my King;
_Philip's_ a Bastard, and Traytor to his Country:
He braves us with an Army at our Walls,
Threatning the Kingdom with a fatal Ruin.
And who shall lead you forth to Conquest now,
But _Abdelazer_, whose Sword reap'd Victory,
As oft as 'twas unsheath'd?--and all for _Spain_
--How many Laurels has this Head adorn'd?
Witness the many Battles I have won;
In which I've emptied all my youthful Veins!--
And all for _Spain!_--ungrateful of my Favours!
--I do not boast my Birth,
Nor will not urge to you my Kingdom's Ruin;
But loss of Blood, and numerous Wounds receiv'd--
And still for _Spain!_--
And can you think, that after all my Toils,
I wou'd be still a Slave?--to Bastard _Philip_ too?
That dangerous Foe, who with the Cardinal,
Threatens with Fire and Sword.--I'll quench those Flames,
Such an esteem I still preserve for _Spain_.
_Alon_. What means this long Harangue? what does it aim at?
_Abd_. To be Protector of the Crown of _Spain_,
Till we agree about a lawful Successor.
_Alon_. Oh Devil!
_Qu_. We are betray'd, and round beset with Horrors;
If we deny him this--the Power being his,
We're all undone, and Slaves unto his Mercy.--
Besides--Oh, give me leave to blush when I declare,
That _Philip_ is--as he has rendred him.--
But I in love to you, love to my _Spain_,
Chose rather to proclaim my Infamy,
Than an ambitious Bastard should be crown'd.
_Alon_. Here's a fine Plot,
What Devil reigns in Woman, when she doats? [_Aside_.
_Rod_. My Lords, I see no remedy but he must be Protector.
_Alon_. Oh, Treachery--have you so soon forgot
The noble _Philip_, and his glorious Heir,
The murder'd _Ferdinand?_--
And, Madam, you so soon forgot a Mother's Name,
That you wou'd give him Power that kill'd your Son?
_Abd_. The Modesty wherewith I'll use that Power,
Shall let you see, I have no other Interest
But what's intirely _Spain's_.--Restore their Swords,
And he amongst you all who is dissatisfy'd,
I set him free this minute.
_Alon_. I take thee at thy word--
And instantly to _Philip's_ Camp will fly.
_Abd_. By all the Gods my Ancestors ador'd,
But that I scorn the envying World shou'd think
I took delight in Blood--I wou'd not part so with you.
--But you, my Lords, who value _Spain's_ Repose,
Must for it instantly with me take Arms.
Prince _Philip_, and the Cardinal, now ride
Like _Jove_ in Thunder; we in Storms must meet them.
To Arms! to Arms! and then to Victory,
Resolv'd to conquer, or resolv'd to die.
SCENE I. Abdelazer's _Tent_.
_Enter_ Abdelazer, Osmin _bearing his Helmet of Feathers_,
Zarrack _with his Sword and Truncheon_.
_Abd_. Come, _Osmin_, arm me quickly; for the Day
Comes on apace, and the fierce Enemy
Will take advantages by our delay.
_Enter_ Queen _and_ Elvira.
_Qu_. Oh, my dear Moor!
The rude, exclaiming, ill-affected Multitude
(Tempestuous as the Sea) run up and down,
Some crying, kill the Bastard--some the Moor;
These for King _Philip_,--those for _Abdelazer_.
_Abd_. Your Fears are idle,--blow 'em into Air.
I rush'd amongst the thickest of their Crouds,
And with the awful Splendor of my Eyes,
Like the imperious Sun, dispers'd the Clouds.
But I must combat now a fiercer Foe,
The hot-brain'd _Philip_, and a jealous Cardinal.
_Qu_. And must you go, before I make you mine?
_Abd_. That's my Misfortune--when I return with Victory,
And lay my Wreaths of Laurel at your Feet,
You shall exchange them for your glorious Fetters.
_Qu_. How canst thou hope for Victory, when their Numbers
So far exceed thy Powers?
_Abd_. What's wanting there, we must supply with Conduct.
I know you will not stop at any thing
That may advance our Interest, and Enjoyment.
_Qu_. Look back on what I have already done;
And after that look forward with Assurance.
_Abd_. You then (with only Women in your Train)
Must to the Camp, and to the Cardinal's Tent;--
Tell him, your Love to him hath drawn you thither:
Then undermine his Soul--you know the way on't.
And sooth him into a Belief, that the best way
To gain your Heart, is to leave _Philip's_ Interest;
Urge 'tis the Kingdom's safety, and your own;
And use your fiercest Threats, to draw him to a Peace with me;
Not that you love me, but for the Kingdom's good:
Then in a Tent which I will pitch on purpose,
Get him to meet me: He being drawn off,
Thousands of Bigots (who think to cheat the World
Into an Opinion, that fighting for the Cardinal is
A pious Work) will (when he leaves the Camp)
Desert it too.
_Qu_. I understand you, and more than I have time to be
Instructed in, I will perform; and possibly
Before you can begin, I'll end my Conquests.
_Abd_. 'Twill be a Victory worthy of your Beauty.
--I must to Horse, farewel, my generous Mistress.
_Qu_. Farewel! and may thy Arms as happy prove,
As shall my Art, when it dissembles Love.
SCENE II. Philip's _Tent_.
_Enter_ Philip, Alonzo, _and Guards_.
_Phil_. 'Tis a sad Story thou hast told, _Alonzo_;
Yet 'twill not make me shed one single Tear:
They must be all of Blood that I will offer
To my dear Brother's Ghost--
But, gallant Friend, this Good his Ills have done,
To turn thee over to our juster Interest,
For thou didst love him once.
_Alon_. Whilst I believ'd him honest, and for my Sister's sake;
But since, his Crimes have made a Convert of me.
_Phil_. Gods! is it possible the Queen should countenance
His horrid Villanies?
_Alon_. Nay, worse than so,'tis thought she'll marry him.
_Phil_. Marry him! then here upon my Knees I vow,
To shake all Duty from my Soul;
And all that Reverence Children owe a Parent,
Shall henceforth be converted into Hate. [_Rises_.
--Damnation! marry him! Oh, I cou'd curse my Birth!
This will confirm the World in their Opinion,
That she's the worst of Women;
That I am basely born too, (as she gives it out)
That Thought alone does a just Rage inspire,
And kindles round my Heart an active Fire.
_Alan_. A Disobedience, Sir, to such a Parent,
Heaven must forgive the Sin, if this be one:
--Yet do not, Sir, in Words abate that Fire,
Which will assist you a more effectual way.
_Phil_. Death! I could talk of it an Age;
And, like a Woman, fret my Anger high:
Till like my Rage, I have advanc'd my Courage,
Able to fight the World against my Mother.
_Alan_. Our Wrongs without a Rage, will make us fight,
Wrongs that wou'd make a Coward resolute.
_Phil_. Come, noble Youth,
Let us join both our several Wrongs in one,
And from them make a solemn Resolution,
Never to part our Interest, till this Moor,
This worse than Devil Moor be sent to Hell.
_Alon_. I do.
_Phil_. Hark--hark--the Charge is sounded, let's to Horse,
St. _Jaques_ for the Right of _Spain_ and me.
SCENE III. _A Grave_.
_Drums and Trumpets afar off,--with noise of fighting at a
distance: After a little while, enter_ Philip _in a Rage_.
_Phil_. Oh unjust Powers! why d'ye protect this Monster?--
And this damn'd Cardinal, that comes not up
With the Castilian Troops? curse on his formal Politicks--
--_Alonzo_, where's the Moor?
_Alon_. The Moor--a Devil--never did Fiend of Hell,
Compell'd by some Magician's Charms,
Break thro the Prison of the folded Earth
With more swift Horrour, than this Prince of Fate
Breaks thro our Troops in spite of Opposition.
_Phil_. Death! 'tis not his single Arm that works the Wonders,
But our Cowardice--Oh, this Dog Cardinal!
_Ant_. Sound a Retreat, or else the Day is lost.
_Phil_. I'll beat that Cur to Death that sounds Retreat.
_Sebast_. Sound a Retreat.
_Phil_. Who is't that tempts my Sword?--continue the Alarm,
Fight on Pell-mell--fight--kill--be damn'd--do any thing
But sound Retreat--Oh, this damn'd Coward Cardinal!
_The noise of fighting near; after a little while enter
_Phil_. Not yet, ye Gods! Oh, this eternal Coward!
_Alon_. Sir, bring up your Reserves, or all is lost;
Ambition plumes the Moor, that makes him act
Deeds of such Wonder, that even you wou'd envy them.
_Phil_. 'Tis well--I'll raise my Glories to that dazling height,
Shall darken his, or set in endless Night.
SCENE IV. _A Grove_.
_Enter_ Card. and Queen; _the noise of a Battel continuing
afar off all the Scene_.
_Qu_. By all thy Love, by all thy Languishments,
By all those Sighs and Tears paid to my Cruelty,
By all thy Vows, thy passionate Letters sent,
I do conjure thee, go not forth to fight:
Command your Troops not to engage with _Philip_,
Who aims at nothing but the Kingdom's ruin.
--_Fernando's_ kill'd--the Moor has gain'd the Power,
A Power that you nor _Philip_ can withstand;
And is't not better he were lost than _Spain_,
Since one must be a Sacrifice?
Besides--if I durst tell it,
There's something I cou'd whisper to thy Soul,
Wou'd make thee blush at ev'ry single Good
Thou'ast done that insolent Boy;--But 'tis not now
A time for Stories of so strange a Nature,--
Which when you know, you will conclude with me,
That every Man that arms for _Philip's_ Cause,
Merits the name of Traitor.--
Be wise in time, and leave his shameful Interest,
An Interest thou wilt curse thy self for taking;
Be wise, and make Alliance with the Moor.
_Card_. And, Madam, should I lay aside my Wrongs,
Those publick Injuries I have receiv'd,
And make a mean and humble Peace with him?
--No, let Spain be ruin'd by our Civil Swords,
E'er for its safety I forego mine Honour.--
_Enter an Officer_.
_Offi_. Advance, Sir, with your Troops, or we are lost.
_Card_. Give order--
_Qu_. That they stir not on their Lives;
Is this the Duty that you owe your Country?
Is this your Sanctity--and Love to me?
Is't thus you treat the Glory I have offer'd
To raise you to my Bed?
To rule a Kingdom, be a Nation's Safety,
To advance in hostile manner to their Walls;
Walls that confine your Countrymen, and Friends,
And Queen, to whom you've vow'd eternal Peace,
Eternal Love? And will you court in Arms?
Such rude Addresses wou'd but ill become you.
No, from this hour renounce all Claims to me,
Or _Philip's_ Interest; for let me tell you, Cardinal,
This Love, and that Revenge, are inconsistent.
_Card_. But, Madam--
_Qu_. No more--disband your Rebel Troops,
And strait with me to _Abdelazer's_ Tent,
Where all his Claims he shall resign to you,
Both in my self, the Kingdom, and the Crown:
You being departed, thousands more will leave him,
And you're alone the Prop to his Rebellion.
_Sebast_. Advance, advance, my Lord, with all your Force,
Or else the Prince and Victory is lost,
Which now depends upon his single Valour;
Who, like some ancient Hero, or some God,
Thunders amongst the thickest of his Enemies,
Destroying all before him in such numbers,
That Piles of Dead obstruct his passage to the living--
Relieve him strait, my Lord, with our last Cavalry and
_Card_. I'll follow instantly.--
_Qu_. Sir, but you shall not, unless it be to Death--
Shall you preserve the only Man I hate,
And hate with so much reason?--let him fall
A Victim to an injur'd Mother's Honour.
--Come, I will be obey'd--indeed I must--[_Fawns on him_.
_Card_. When you're thus soft, can I retain my Anger?
Oh, look but ever thus--in spite of Injuries--
I shall become as tame and peaceable,
As are your charming Eyes, when dress'd in Love,
Which melting down my Rage, leave me defenceless.
--Ah, Madam, have a generous care of me,
For I have now resign'd my Power to you.
_Qu_. What Shouts are these?
_Sebast_. My Lord, the Enemy is giving ground,
And _Philip's_ Arm alone sustains the day:
Advance, Sir, and compleat the Victory.
_Qu_. Give order strait, that a Retreat be sounded;
And whilst they do so, by me conducted,
We'll instantly to _Abdelazer's_ Tent--
Haste--haste, my Lord, whilst I attend you here.
[Cardinal _going out, is met by_ Philip.
_Phil_. Oh, damn your lazy Order, where have you been, Sir?
--But 'tis no time for Questions,
Move forward with your Reserves.
_Card_. I will not, Sir.
_Phil_. How, will not!
_Card_. Now to advance would be impolitick;
Already by your desperate Attempts,
You've lost the best part of our Hopes.
_Phil_. Death! you lye.
_Card_. Lye, Sir!
_Phil_. Yes, lye, Sir,--therefore come on,
Follow the desperate Reer-Guard, which is mine,
And where I'll die, or conquer--follow my Sword
The bloody way it leads, or else, by Heaven,
I'll give the Moor the Victory in spite,
And turn my Force on thee--
Plague of your Cowardice--Come, follow me.
SCENE V. _The Grove_.
_As_ Philip _is going off, he is overtook by_ Alonzo, Antonio,
Sebastian, _and other Officers: At the other side some Moors,
and other of_ Abdelazer's _Party, enter and fall on_ Philip _and
the rest--the Moors are beaten off--one left
dead on the Stage_.--
_Enter_ Abdelazer, _with_ Roderigo _and some others_.
_Abd_. Oh, for more Work--more Souls to send to Hell!
--Ha, ha, ha, here's one going thither,--Sirrah--Slave
Moor--who kill'd thee?--how he grins--this Breast,
Had it been temper'd and made proof like mine,
It never wou'd have been a Mark for Fools.
Abd. _going out: Enter_ Philip, Alonzo, Sebastian, Antonio,
_and Officers, as passing over the Stage_.
_Phil_. I'll wear my Sword to th' Hilt, but I will find
The Subject of my Vengeance.--
Moor, 'tis for thee I seek, where art thou, Slave?--
_Abd_. Here, _Philip_. [Abd. _turns_.
_Phil_. Fate and Revenge, I thank thee.--
_Abd_. Why--thou art brave, whoe'er begot thee.
_Phil_. Villain, a King begot me.
_Abd_. I know not that,
But I'll be sworn thy Mother was a Queen,
And I will kill thee handsomly for her sake.
[_Offers to fight, their Parties hinder them_.
_Alon_. Hold--hold, my Prince.
_Osm_. Great Sir, what mean you? [_To_ Abd.
The Victory being yours, to give your Life away
On one so mad and desperate.
[_Their Parties draw_.
_Phil. Alonzo_, hold,
We two will be the Fate of this great Day.
_Abd_. And I'll forego all I've already won,
And claim no Conquest; the whole heaps of Bodies,
Which this Right-hand has slain, declare me Victor.
_Phil_. No matter who's the Victor; I have thee in my view,
And will not leave thee,
Till thou hast crown'd those Heaps, and made 'em all
The glorious Trophies of my Victory--Come on, Sir.
_Alon_. You shall not fight thus single;
If you begin, by Heaven, we'll all fall on.
_Phil_. Dost thou suspect my Power?
Oh, I am arm'd with more than compleat Steel,
The Justice of my Quarrel; when I look
Upon my Father's Wrongs, my Brother's Wounds,
My Mother's Infamy, _Spain's_ Misery,
I am all Fire; and yet I am too cold
To let out Blood enough for my Revenge:
--Therefore stir not a Sword on my side.
_Abd_. Nor on mine.
_They fight; both their Parties engage on either side; the
Scene draws off, and discovers both the Armies, which
all fall on and make the main Battel:_ Philip _prevails,
the_ Moors _give ground: Then the Scene closes to the
the Grove. Enter some_ Moors _flying in disorder_.
SCENE VI. _Changes to a Tent_.
_Enter_ Abdelazer, Roderigo, Osmin, Zarrack, _and some
others of his Party_.
_Rod_. Oh, fly, my Lord, fly, for the Day is lost.
_Abd_. There are three hundred and odd Days i'th Year,
And cannot we lose one? dismiss thy Fears,
They'll make a Coward of thee.
_Osm_. Sir, all the noble _Spaniards_ have forsook you;
Your Soldiers faint, are round beset with Enemies,
Nor can you shun your Fate, but by your Flight.
_Abd_. I can--and must--in spite of Fate:
The Wheel of War shall turn about again,
And dash the Current of his Victories.--
This is the Tent I've pitched, at distance from the Armies,
To meet the Queen and Cardinal;
Charm'd with the Magick of Dissimulation,
I know by this h'as furl'd his Ensigns up,
And is become a tame and coward Ass.
[_A Retreat is sounded_.
--Hark--hark, 'tis done: oh, my inchanting Engine!
--Dost thou not hear Retreat sounded?
_Rod_. Sure 'tis impossible.
_Abd_. She has prevail'd--a Woman's Tongue and Eyes
Are Forces stronger than Artilleries.
_Enter_ Queen, Cardinal, _Women, and Soldiers_.
--We are betray'd--
_Qu_. What means this Jealousy? lay by your Weapons.
And embrace--the sight of these beget Suspicion:
--_Abdelazer_, by my Birth he comes in peace;
Lord Cardinal, on my Honour so comes he.
_Abd_. Let him withdraw his Troops then.
_Qu_. They're Guards for all our Safeties:
Give me your Hand, Prince Cardinal--thine, _Abdelazer_--
[_She brings them together, they embrace_.
This blest Accord I do behold with Joy.
I at the Queen's Command have met you here,
To know what 'tis you will propose to us.
_Abd_. Peace and eternal Friendship 'twixt us two.
How much against my Will I took up Arms,
Be witness, Heav'n: nor was it in revenge to you,
But to let out th' infected Blood of _Philip_,
Whose sole aim
Is to be King--which Spain will never suffer;
Spain gave me Education, though not Birth,
Which has intitled it my native Home,
To which such Reverence and Esteem I bear,
I will preserve it from the Tyrant's Rage.
The People who once lov'd him, now abhor him,
And 'tis your Power alone that buoys him up:
And when you've lifted him into a Throne,
'Tis time to shake you off.
_Card_. Whilst I behold him as my native Prince,
My Honour and Religion bids me serve him;
Yet not when I'm convinc'd that whilst I do so,
I injure _Spain_.
_Abd_. If he were so, the Powers above forbid
We should not serve, adore, and fight for him;
But _Philip_ is a Bastard:--nay, 'twill surprize ye,
But that 'tis Truth, the Queen will satisfy you.
_Qu_. With one bold Word he has undone my Honour.
Too bluntly, _Abdelazer_, you repeat
That which by slow Degrees you shou'd have utter'd.
_Abd_. Pardon my Roughness, Madam, I meant well.
_Card. Philip_ a Bastard!
If by such Arts you wou'd divide me from him,
I shall suspect you wou'd betray us both.
_Qu_. Sir, he informs you Truth; and I blush less
To own him so, than that he is a Traitor.
_Card. Philip_ a Bastard! oh, it cannot be--
Madam, take heed you do not for Revenge,
Barter your dearer Honour, and lose both.
_Qu_. I know what's due to Honour, and Revenge,
But better what I owe to _Spain_, and you--
You are a Prince o'th' Blood, and may put off
The Cardinal when you please, and be a Monarch.
_Card_. Though my Ambition's equal to my Passion,
Neither shall make me act against those Principles
My Honour ever taught me to obey.
'Tis less a Sin, not to believe you her,
Than 'tis to doubt your Virtue.
_Qu_. I wish it were untold, if it must forfeit
The least of your Esteem--but that 'tis Truth,
Be witness, Heav'n, my Shame, my Sighs, and Tears.
_Card_. Why, Madam, was't so long conceal'd from me?
_Qu_. The Circumstances I shall at leisure tell you:
And for the present,
Let it suffice, he cannot rule in _Spain_,
Nor can you side with him, without being made
As much incapable to reign as he.
_Card_. Though Love and Honour I have always made
The Business of my Life;
My Soul retains too so much of Ambition,
As puts me still in mind of what I am,
A Prince, and Heir to Spain:
Nor shall my blinded Zeal to Loyalty,
Make me that glorious Interest resign,
Since _Philip's_ Claims are not so great as mine.
--Madam, tho I'm convinc'd I've done amiss
In taking Arms for _Philip_,
Yet 'twill be difficult to disengage my self.
_Abd_. Most easily--
Proclaim it in the head of all your Troops,
The Justice of your Cause for leaving him;
And tell 'em, 'tis a Work of Piety
To follow your Example.
The giddy Rout are guided by Religion,
More than by Justice, Reason, or Allegiance.
--The Crown which I as a good Husband keep,
I will lay down upon the empty Throne;
Marry you the Queen, and fill it--and for me,
I'll ever pay you Duty as a Subject.
_Card_. On these Conditions all I am is yours;
_Philip_ we cannot fear, all he can do
Is to retire for refuge into _Portugal_.
_Abd_. That wou'd be dangerous--
Is there no Arts to get him in our Power?
_Card_. Perhaps by Policy, and seeming Friendship,
For we have reason yet to fear his Force;
And since I'm satisfy'd he's not my lawful Prince,
I cannot think it an Impiety
To sacrifice him to the Peace of _Spain_,
And every Spirit that loves Liberty:
First we'll our Forces join, and make 'em yours,
Then give me your Authority to arrest him;
If so we can surprize him, we'll spare the hazard
Of a second Battel.
_Abd_. My Lord, retire into my inner Tent,
And all things shall be instantly perform'd.
SCENE VII. _The Grove_.
_Enter some of_ Philip's _Party running over the Stage,
pursued by_ Philip, Alonzo, Sebastian, Antonio,
_and some few Officers more_.
_Alon_. Do not pursue 'em, Sir, such coward Slaves
Deserve not Death from that illustriate Hand.
_Phil_. Eternal Plagues consume 'em in their flight;
Oh, this damn'd coward Cardinal has betray'd us!
When all our Swords were nobly dy'd in Blood,
When with red Sweat that trickled from our Wounds
We'ad dearly earn'd the long disputed Victory,
Then to lose all, then to sound base Retreat,
It swells my Anger up to perfect Madness.
_Alon_. Indeed 'twas wondrous strange.
_Sebast_. I'm glad, Sir--
_Phil_. Art glad of it? art glad we are abandon'd?
That I, and thou have lost the hopeful'st Day--
_Sebast_. Great Sir, I'm glad that you came off alive.
_Phil_. Thou hast a lean Face--and a carrion Heart--
A plague upon the Moor, and thee--Oh, _Alonzo_,
To run away--follow'd by all the Army!
Oh, I cou'd tear my Hair, and curse my Soul to Air!
--Cardinal--thou Traitor, _Judas_, that would'st sell
Thy God again, as thou hast done thy Prince.
--But come--we're yet a few,
And we will fight till there be left but one--
If I prove him, I'll die a glorious death.
Ant. Yes, but the Cardinal has took pious Care
It shall be in our Beds.
_Sebast_. We are as bad as one already, Sir; for all our
Fellows are crawl'd home, some with ne'er a Leg, others
with ne'er a Arm, some with their Brains beat out, and
glad they escaped so.
_Phil_. But, my dear Countrymen, you'll stick to me.
_1 Sold_. Ay, wou'd I were well off-- [_Aside_.
_Phil_. Speak, stout _Sceva_, wilt thou not?
_1 Sold. Sceva_, Sir, who's that?
_Phil_. A gallant _Roman_, that fought by _Caesar's_ side,
Till all his Body cover'd o'er with Arrows,
Shew'd like a monstrous Porcupine.
_1 Sold_. And did he die, Sir?
_Phil_. He wou'd not but have dy'd for Caesar's Empire.
_1 Sold_. Hah--why, Sir, I'm none of _Sceva_, but honest
_Diego_, yet would as willingly die as he, but that I have
a Wife and Children; and if I die they beg.
_Phil_. For every drop of Blood which thou shalt lose,
I'll give thy Wife--a Diadem.
_Sold_. Stark mad, as I am valiant!
_Enter_ Card. _Officers and Soldiers_: Philip _offers to run on
him, is held by_ Alonzo.
_Phil_. Oh Heav'n! is not that the Cardinal?
Traitor, how dar'st thou tempt my Rage, and Justice?
_Card_. Your Pardon, Sir, I come in humble Love
To offer happy Peace.
_Phil_. Was that thy aim when base Retreat was sounded?
Oh, thou false Cardinal--let me go, _Alonzo_--
Death! offer happy Peace! no, offer War,
Bring Fire and Sword--Hell and Damnation-Peace!
Oh, damn your musty Peace--No, will you fight and cry,
Down with the Moor! and then I'll die in peace.
I have a Heart, two Arms, a Soul, a Head,
I'll hazard these--I can but hazard all--
Come--I will kneel to thee--and be thy Slave--
I'll let thee tread on me, do any thing,
So this damn'd Moor may fall.
_Card_. Yes, Sir, he shall--
_Phil_. Gods! shall he--thy noble Hand upon't,
And for this Promise, take my grateful Heart.
--Shall _Abdelazer_ fall?
_Card_. Yes, upon thee--
Like the tall Ruins of a falling Tower,
To crush thee into Dust--
[_As they embrace, the Guards seize him and the rest_.
Traitor and Bastard, I arrest thee of High-Treason.
_Phil_. Hah!--Traitor!--and Bastard--and from thee!
[_They hold_ Philip's _Hands_.
_Card_. Guards, to your Hands the Prisoner is committed.
There's your Warrant--_Alonzo_, you are free.
_Phil_. Prithee lend me one Hand--to wipe my Eyes,
And see who 'tis dares authorize this Warrant:
--The Devil and his Dam!--the Moor and Queen!
Their Warrant!--Gods! _Alonzo_, must we obey it?
Villains, you cannot be my Jailors; there's no Prison,
No Dungeon deep enough; no Gate so strong,
To keep a Man confin'd--so mad with Wrong.
--Oh, dost thou weep, _Alonzo_?
_Alon_. I wou'd fain shed a Tear,
But from my Tears so many Show'rs are gone,
They are too poor to pay your Sorrow's Tribute;
There is no Remedy, we must to Prison.
_Phil_. Yes, and from thence to Death--
I thought I should have had a Tomb hung round
With tatter'd Ensigns, broken Spears and Javelins;
And that my Body, with a thousand Wounds,
Shou'd have been borne on some triumphant Chariot,
With solemn Mourning, Drums, and Trumpets sounding;
Whilst all the wondring World with Grief and Envy,
Had wish'd my glorious Destiny their own:
But now, _Alonzo_--like a Beast I fall,
And hardly Pity waits my Funeral.
SCENE I. _A Presence-Chamber, with a Throne and Canopy.
Enter_ Abdelazer, Cardinal, Alonzo, Ordonio, Roderigo,
_and other Lords, one bearing the Crown, which is laid on
the Table on a Cushion; the_ Queen, Leonora, _and Ladies.
They all seat themselves, leaving the Throne and Chair
of State empty_. Abdelazer _rises and bows_, Roderigo
_kneeling, presents him with the Crown_.
_Abd_. Grandees of _Spain_, if in this royal Presence
There breathes a Man, who having laid his hold
So fast on such a Jewel, and dares wear it,
In the Contempt of Envy, as I dare;
Yet uncompell'd (as freely as the Gods
Bestow their Blessings) wou'd give such Wealth away;
Let such a Man stand forth--are ye all fix'd?
No wonder, since a King's a Deity.
And who'd not be a God?
This glorious Prospect, when I first saw the Light,
Met with my Infant Hopes; nor have those Fetters
(Which e'er they grew towards Men, Spain taught me how to wear)
Made me forget what's due to that illustrious Birth;
--Yet thus--I cast aside the Rays of Majesty--
[_Kneels, and lays the Crown on the Table_.
And on my Knee do humbly offer up
This splendid powerful thing, and ease your Fears
Of Usurpation and of Tyranny.
_Alon_. What new Device is this? [_Aside_.
_Card_. This is an Action generous and just--
Let us proceed to new Election.
_Abd_. Stay, Peers of _Spain_,
If young Prince _Philip_ be King _Philip's_ Son,
Then is he Heir to _Philip_, and his Crown;
But if a Bastard, then he is a Rebel,
And as a Traitor to the Crown shou'd bleed:
That dangerous popular Spirit must be laid,
Or _Spain_ must languish under civil Swords;
And _Portugal_ taking advantage of those Disorders,
(Assisted by the Male-contents within,
If _Philip_ live) will bring Confusion home.
--Our Remedy for this is first to prove,
And then proclaim him Bastard.
_Alon_. That Project wou'd be worth your Politicks [_Aside_.
--How shou'd we prove him Bastard?
_Abd_. Her Majesty being lately urg'd by Conscience,
And much above her Honour prizing _Spain_,
Declar'd this Secret, but has not nam'd the Man;
If he be noble and a _Spaniard_ born,
He shall repair her Fame by marrying her.
_Card_. No; Spaniard, or Moor, the daring Slave shall die.
_Qu_. Would I were cover'd with a Veil of Night,
That I might hide the Blushes on my Cheeks!
But when your Safety comes into Dispute,
My Honour, nor my Life must come in competition.
--I'll therefore hide my Eyes, and blushing own,
That _Philip's_ Father is i'th' Presence now.
_Alon_. I'th' Presence! name him.
_Qu_. The Cardinal--
[_All rise in Amazement_.
_Card_. How's this, Madam!
_Abd_. How! the Cardinal!
_Card_. I _Philip's_ Father, Madam!
_Qu_. Dull Lover--is not all this done for thee!
Dost thou not see a Kingdom and my self,
By this Confession, thrown into thy Arms?
_Card_. On Terms so infamous I must despise it.
_Qu_. Have I thrown by all Sense of Modesty,
To render you the Master of my Bed,
To be refus'd--was there any other way?--
_Card_. I cannot yield; this Cruelty transcends
All you have ever done me--Heavens! what a Contest
Of Love and Honour swells my rising Heart!
_Qu_. By all my Love, if you refuse me now,
Now when I have remov'd all Difficulties,
I'll be reveng'd a thousand killing ways.
_Card_. Madam, I cannot own so false a thing,
My Conscience and Religion will not suffer me.
_Qu_. Away with all this Canting; Conscience, and Religion!
No, take advice from nothing but from Love.
_Card_. 'Tis certain I'm bewitch'd--she has a Spell
Hid in those charming Lips.
_Alon_. Prince Cardinal, what say you to this?
_Card_. I cannot bring it forth--
_Qu_. Do't, or thou'rt lost for ever.
_Card_. Death! What's a Woman's Power!
And yet I can resist it.
_Qu_. And dare you disobey me?
_Card_. Is't not enough I've given you up my Power,
Nay, and resign'd my Life into your Hands,
But you wou'd damn me too--I will not yield--
Oh, now I find a very Hell within me;
How am I misguided by my Passion!
_Alon_. Sir, we attend your Answer.
_Qu_. 'Tis now near twenty Years, when newly married,
(And 'tis the Custom here to marry young,)
King _Philip_ made a War in _Barbary_,
Won _Tunis_, conquer'd Fez, and hand to hand
Slew great _Abdela_, King of _Fez_, and Father
To this _Barbarian_ Prince.
_Abd_. I was but young, and yet I well remember
My Father's Wound--poor _Barbary_--but no more.
_Qu_. In absence of my King I liv'd retir'd,
Shut up in my Apartment with my Women,
Suffering no Visits, but the Cardinal's,
To whom the King had left me as his Charge;
But he, unworthy of that Trust repos'd,
Soon turned his Business into Love.
_Card_. Heavens! how will this Story end? [_Aside_.
_Qu_. A Tale, alas! unpleasant to my Ear,
And for the which I banish'd him my Presence,
But oh, the power of Gold! he bribes my Women,
That they should tell me (as a Secret too)
The King (whose Wars were finish'd) would return
Without acquainting any with the time;
He being as jealous, as I was fair and young,
Meant to surprize me in the dead of Night:
This pass'd upon my Youth, which ne'er knew Art.
_Card_. Gods! is there any Hell but Woman's Falshood! [Aside.
_Qu_. The following Night I hasted to my Bed,
To wait my expected Bliss--nor was it long
Before his gentle Steps approach'd my Ears.
Undress'd he came, and with a vigorous haste
Flew to my yielding Arms: I call'd him King,
My dear lov'd Lord; and in return he breath'd
Into my Bosom, in soft gentle Whispers,
My Queen! my Angel! my lov'd _Isabella_!
And at that word--I need not tell the rest.
_Alon_. What's all this, Madam, to the Cardinal?
_Qu_. Ah, Sir, the Night too short for his Caresses,
Made room for Day, Day that betray'd my Shame;
For in my guilty Arms I found the Cardinal.
_Alon_. Madam, why did not you complain of this?
_Qu_, Alas, I was but young, and full of Fears;
Bashful, and doubtful of a just Belief,
Knowing King _Philip's_ rash and jealous Temper;
But from your Justice I expect Revenge.
_Rod_. His Crime, my Lords, is Death, by all our Laws.
_Card_. Have you betray'd me by my too much Faith?
Oh shameless Creature, am I disarm'd for this?
Had I but so much Ease to be inrag'd,
Sure I shou'd kill thee for this Treachery:
But I'm all Shame, and Grief--By all that's holy,
My Lords, I never did commit this Crime.
_Abd_. 'Tis but in vain, Prince Cardinal, to deny it.
_Qu_. Do not believe him, Lords;--
Revenge--let Sentence pass upon the Traitor.
_Card_. I own that Name with Horror, which you drew me to,
When I betray'd the best of Men, and Princes;
And 'tis but just you fit me for Despairs,
That may instruct me how to follow him in Death:
Yet as I'm Prince o'th' Blood, and Cardinal too,
You cannot be my Judges.
_Abd_. You shall be try'd, Sir, as becomes your Quality.
_Osmin_, we commit the Cardinal to your Charge.
_Card_. Heaven! should I live to that! No,
I have within me a private Shame,
That shall secure me from the publick one.
_Alon_. A pretty turn of State!--we shall all follow, Sir.
_Card_. The Powers above are just:
Thus I my Prince a Sacrifice first made,
And now my self am on the Altar laid.
[_Ex_. Card, _guarded_.
_Abd_. Madam, retire, you've acted so divinely,
You've fill'd my Soul with new admiring Passion:
I'll wait on you in your Apartment instantly,
And at your Feet pay all my Thanks, and Love.
_Qu_. Make haste, my dearest Moor, whilst I retire,
And fit my Soul to meet thy kind Desire.
[_Ex_. Queen _and her Train_; Leon, _advancing to
follow, is staid by_ Abd.
_Abd_. Stay, beauteous Maid, stay, and receive that Crown,
[_Leads her back_.
Which as your due, Heav'n and all _Spain_ present you with.
_Alon_. But granting _Philip_ is--that thing you call him,
If we must grant him so, who then shall reign?
Not that we do not know who ought to reign,
But ask who 'tis you will permit to do so. [_To_ Abd.
_Abd_. Who but bright _Leonora_! the Royal Off-spring
Of noble _Philip_, whose Innocence and Beauty,
Without th' advantage of her glorious Birth,
Merits all Adoration.
_All_. With Joy we do salute her Queen.
_Abd_. Live _Leonora_! beauteous Queen of _Spain!
_Alon_. From _Abdelazer_ this! it cannot be,
At least not real. [_Aside_.
_Abd_. My Lords,
Be it now your Care magnificently to provide
Both for the Coronation, and the Marriage
Of the fair Queen;
Let nothing be omitted that may shew,
How we can pay, where we so vastly owe.
_Alon_. I am much bound to _Spain_, and you, my Lords,
For this great Condescenion.
_Leo_. My Lords, I thank ye all,
And most the gallant Moor--I am not well--
[_Turns to Alon_.
Something surrounds my Heart so full of Death,
I must retire to give my Sorrow Breath.
[_Ex_. Leo. _followed by all but_ Abd. _and_ Rod. _who
looks on_ Abd.
_Rod_. Sir,--what have you done?
_Abd_. What every Man that loves like me shou'd do;
Undone my self for ever, to beget
One Moment's thought in her, that I adore her;
That she may know, none ever lov'd like me,
I've thrown away the Diadem of _Spain_--
'Tis gone! and there's no more to set but this--
(My Heart) at all, and at this one last Cast,
Sweep up my former Losses, or be undone.
_Rod_. You court at a vast Rate, Sir.
_Abd_. Oh, she's a Goddess! a Creature made by Heaven
To make my prosperous Toils all sweet and charming!
She must be Queen, I and the Gods decree it.
_Rod_. Sir, is she not designed _Alonzo's_ Bride?
_Abd_. Yes, so her self and he have ill agreed;
But Heav'n and I am of another Mind,
And must be first obey'd.
_Rod. Alonzo_ will not yield his Interest easily.
_Abd_. Wou'd that were all my stop to Happiness;
But, _Roderigo_, this fond amorous Queen
Sits heavy on my Heart.
_Rod_. She's but a Woman, nor has more Lives than one.
_Abd_. True, _Roderigo_, and thou hast dealt in Murders,
And knowest the safest way to--
_Rod_. How, Sir!--
_Abd_. Thou dar'st not sure pretend to any Virtue;
Had Hell inspir'd thee with less Excellency
Than Arts of killing Kings, thou'dst ne'er been rais'd
To that exalted Height, t' have known my Secrets.
_Rod_. But, Sir--
_Abd_. Slave, look back upon the Wretchedness I took thee from;
What Merits had thou to deserve my Bounty,
But Vice, brave prosperous Vice?
Thou'rt neither wise, nor valiant.
_Rod_. I own my self that Creature rais'd by you,
And live but to repay you, name the way.
_Abd_. My business is--to have the Queen remov'd;
She does expect my coming this very Hour;
And when she does so, 'tis her Custom to be retir'd,
Dismissing all attendance, but _Elvira_.
_Rod_. The rest I need not be instructed in.
_Osm_. The Cardinal, Sir, is close confin'd with _Philip_.
_Abd_. 'Tis well.
_Osm_. And do you think it fit, Sir, they shou'd live?
_Abd_. No, this day they both must die, some sort of Death,
That may be thought was given them by themselves:
I'm sure I give them cause--_Osmin_, view well this Ring;
Whoever brings this Token to your Hands,
Without considering Sex, or Quality,
Let 'em be kill'd.
_Osm_. Your Will shall be obey'd in every thing.
SCENE II. _A fine Chamber. A Table and Chair_.
_Enter_ Queen _and_ Elvira.
_Qu. Elvira_, hast thou drest my Lodgings up,
Fit to receive my Moor?
Are they all gay, as Altars, when some Monarch
Is there to offer up rich Sacrifices?
Hast thou strew'd all the Floor his Feet must press,
With the soft new-born Beauties of the Spring?
_Elv_. Madam, I've done as you commanded me.
_Qu_. Let all the Chambers too be fill'd with Lights;
There's a Solemnity methinks in Night,
That does insinuate Love into the Soul,
And make the bashful Lover more assur'd.
You speak as if this were your first Enjoyment.
_Qu_. My first! Oh _Elvira_, his Power, like his Charms,
His Wit, or Bravery, every hour renews;
Love gathers Sweets like Flow'rs, which grow more fragrant,
The nearer they approach Maturity.
--Hark! 'tis my Moor,--give him admittance strait,
The Thought comes o'er me like a gentle Gale,
Raising my Blood into a thousand Curls.
_Elv_. Madam, it is a Priest--
_Qu_. A Priest! Oh, send him quickly hence;
I wou'd not have so cold and dull an Object,
Meet with my nobler Sense, 'tis mortifying.
_Elv_. Perhaps 'tis some Petition from the Cardinal.
_Qu_. Why, what have I to do with Priest or Cardinal?
Let him not enter--
[Elv. _goes out, and returns with_ Roderigo _drest like a Fryar_.
_Elv_. From _Abdelazer_, Madam.
_Qu_. H'as named a Word will make all Places free.
_Rod_. Madam, be pleas'd to send your Woman hence,
I've something to deliver from the Moor,
Which you alone must be acquainted with.
_Qu_. Well, your Formality shall be allowed--retire--
[_To_ Elv. _Exit_ Elv.
What have you to deliver to me now?
[_Shews a Dagger, and takes her roughly by the Hands_.
_Rod_. You must not call for help, unless to Heaven.
_Qu_. What daring thing art thou?
_Rod_. One that has now no time to answer thee.
[_Stabs her, she struggles, her Arm bleeds_.
_Qu_. Oh, hold thy killing Hand! I am thy Queen.
_Rod_. Thou may'st be Devil too, for ought I know;
I'll try thy Substance thus--
_Qu_. Oh, _Abdelazer_!--
Thou hast well reveng'd me--on my Sins of Love;--
[_He seats her in the Chair_.
But shall I die thus tamely unrcveng'd?
[_He offers to stab again_.
_Enter_ Elvira, _and other Women_.
_Elv_. Oh Heavens! the Queen is murder'd--help the Queen!
[Rod. _offers to stab_ Elv.
_Abd_. Hah! the Queen! what sacrilegious Hand,
Or Heart so brutal--
Durst thus profane the Shrine ador'd by me?
Guard well the Passages.--
_Qu_. Thou art that sacrilegious--brutal thing!--
And false as are the Deities thou worship'st.
_Abd_. Gods! let me not understand that killing Language?
--Inform me quickly, how you came thus wounded,
Lest looking on that sacred Stream of Blood,
I die e'er I've reveng'd you on your Murderer.
_Qu_. Haste then, and kill thy self; thou art my Murderer.
Nor had his Hand, if not by thee instructed,
Aim'd at a Sin so dangerous--
_Abd_. Surely she'll live--[_Aside_.]--This!--
Can Mischief dwell beneath this reverend Shape?
Confess who taught thee so much Cruelty.
Confess, or I will kill thee.
_Rod_. The Cardinal.
_Qu_. The Cardinal!
_Abd_. Oh impious Traitor!
How came I mention'd then?
_Rod_. To get Admittance.
_Abd_. But why do I delay thy Punishment?
Die,--and be damn'd together. [_Aside.]
But oh, my Queen!--_Elvira_, call for help.
Have I remov'd all that oppos'd our Flame,
To have it thus blown out, thus in a Minute?
When I, all full of youthful Fire, all Love,
Had rais'd my Soul with Hopes of near Delights,
To meet thee cold, and pale; to find those Eyes,
Those charming Eyes thus dying--Oh ye Powers!
Take all the Prospect of my future Joys,
And turn it to Despair, since thou art gone.
_Qu_. Cease,--cease--your kind Complaints--my struggling Soul,
'Twixt Death--and Love--holds an uneasy Contest;
This will not let it stay--nor that depart;--
And whilst I hear thy Voice--thus breathing Love,
It hovers still--about--the grateful--Sound.
My Eyes--have took--an everlasting Leave--
Of all that blest their Sight; and now a gloomy Darkness
Benights the wishing Sense,--that vainly strives--
To take another View;--but 'tis too late,--
And Life--and Love--must yield--to Death--and--
_Abd_. Farewell, my greatest Plague,
[_He rises with Joy_.
Thou wert a most impolitick loving thing;
And having done my Bus'ness which thou wert born for,
'Twas time thou shouldst retire,
And leave me free to love, and reign alone.
_Enter_ Leonora, Alonzo, Ordonio, _and other Men and Women_.
Come all the World, and pay your Sorrows here,
Since all the World has Interest in this Loss.
_Alon_. The Moor in Tears! nay, then the Sin was his.
_Leon_. The Queen my Mother dead!
How many Sorrows will my Heart let in,
E'er it will break in pieces.
[_Weeps over her_.
_Alon_. I know the Source of all this Villany,
And need not ask you how the Queen came murder'd.
_Elv_. My Lord, that Fryer, from the Cardinal, did it.
_Alon_. The Cardinal!
'Tis possible,--for the Injuries she did him
Cou'd be repaid with nothing less than Death. [Aside.
My Fair, your Griefs have been so just of late,
I dare not beg that you would weep no more;
Though every Tear those lovely Eyes let fall,
Give me a killing Wound--Remove the Body.
[_Guards remove the Body. Ex. all but_ Alon. _and_ Leon.
Such Objects suit not Souls so soft as thine.
_Leon_. With Horrors I am grown of late familiar;
I saw my Father die, and liv'd the while;
I saw my beauteous Friend, and thy lov'd Sister,
_Florella_, whilst her Breast was bleeding fresh;
Nay, and my Brother's too, all full of Wounds,
The best and kindest Brother that ever Maid was blest with;
Poor _Philip_ bound, and led like Victims for a Sacrifice;
All this I saw and liv'd--
And canst thou hope for Pity from that Heart,
Whose harden'd Sense is Proof 'gainst all these Miseries?
This Moor, _Alonzo_, is a subtle Villain,
Yet of such Power we scarce dare think him such.
_Alon_. 'Tis true, my charming Fair, he is that Villain,
As ill and powerful too; yet he has a Heart
That may be reach'd with this--but 'tis not time,
[_Points to his Sword_.
We must dissemble yet, which is an Art
Too foul for Souls so innocent as thine.
Hell! will he not allow us sorrowing time?
_Abd_. Madam, I come to pay my humblest Duty,
And know what Service you command your Slave.
_Leon_. Alas, I've no Commands; or if I had,
I am too wretched now to be obey'd.
_Abd_. Can one so fair, and great, ask any thing
Of Men, or Heaven, they wou'd not grant with Joy?
_Leon_. Hea'vns Will I'm not permitted to dispute,
And may implore in vain; but 'tis in you
To grant me what may yet preserve my Life.
_Abd_. In me! in me! the humblest of your Creatures!
By yon bright Sun, or your more splendid Eyes,
I wou'd divest my self of every Hope,
To gratify one single Wish of yours.
--Name but the way.
_Leon_. I am so unhappy, that the only thing
I have to ask, is what you must deny;
--The Liberty of _Philip_--
_Abd_. How! _Philip's_ Liberty--and must I grant it?
I (in whose Hands Fortune had put the Crown)
Had I not lov'd the Good and Peace of _Spain_,
Might have dispos'd it to my own Advantage;
And shall that Peace,
Which I've preferr'd above my proper Glories,
Be lost again in him, in him a Bastard?
_Alon_. That he's a Bastard, is not, Sir, believ'd;
And she that cou'd love you, might after that
Do any other Sin, and 'twas the least
Of all the Number to declare him Bastard.
_Abd_. How, Sir! that you'd love me! what is there here,
Or in my Soul, or Person, may not be belov'd?
_Alon_. I spoke without Reflection on your Person,
But of dishonest Love, which was too plain,
From whence came all the Ills we have endur'd;
And now being warm in Mischiefs,
Thou dost pursue the Game, till all be thine.
_Alon_. Yes, thine--
The little humble Mask which you put on
Upon the Face of Falshood, and Ambition,
Is easily seen thro; you gave a Crown,
But you'll command the Kingly Power still,
Arm and disband, destroy or save at Pleasure.
_Abd_. Vain Boy, (whose highest Fame,
Is that thou art the great _Alvaro's_ Son)
Where learnt you so much daring, to upbraid
My generous Power thus falsly--do you know me?
_Alon_. Yes, Prince, and 'tis that Knowledge makes me dare;
I know thy Fame in Arms; I know in Battels
Thou hast perform'd Deeds much above thy Years:
My Infant Courage too
(By the same Master taught) grew up to thine,
When thou in Rage out-didst me, not in Bravery.
--I know thou'st greater Power too--thank thy Treachery!
_Abd_. Dost thou not fear that Power?
_Alon_. By Heaven, not I,
Whilst I can this--command.
[_Lays his Hand on his Sword_.
_Abd_. I too command a Sword.
[Abd. _lays his Hand on his, and comes close up to him_.
But not to draw on thee, _Alonzo_;
Since I can prove thy Accusation false
By ways more grateful--take this Ring, _Alonzo_;
The sight of it will break down Prison-Gates,
And set all free, as was the first-born Man.
_Alon_. What means this turn?
_Abd_. To enlarge _Philip_; but on such Conditions,
As you think fit to make for my Security:
And as thou'rt brave, deal with me as I merit.
_Alon_. Art thou in earnest?
_Abd_. I am, by all that's sacred.
_Leon_. Oh, let me fall before you, and ne'er rise,
Till I have made you know what Gratitude
Is fit for such a Bounty!--
Haste, my _Alonzo_--haste--and treat with _Philip_;
Nor do I wish his Freedom, but on such Terms
As may be advantageous to the Moor.
_Alon_. Nor I, by Heaven! I know the Prince's Soul,
Though it be fierce, has Gratitude and Honour;
And for a Deed like this, will make returns,
Such as are worthy of the brave Obliger.
_Abd_. Yes, if he be not gone to Heaven before you come. [_Aside_.
--What will become of _Abdelazer_ now,
Who with his Power has thrown away his Liberty?
_Leon_. Your Liberty! Oh, Heaven forbid that you,
Who can so generously give Liberty,
Should be depriv'd of it!
It must not be whilst _Leonora_ lives.
_Abd_. 'Tis she that takes it from me.
_Leon_. I! Alas, I wou'd not for the World
Give you one minute's Pain.
_Abd_. You cannot help it, 'tis against your Will;
Your Eyes insensibly do wound and kill.
_Leon_. What can you mean? and yet I fear to know.
_Abd_. Most charming of your Sex! had Nature made
This clouded Face, like to my Heart, all Love,
It might have spar'd that Language which you dread;
Whose rough harsh sound, unfit for tender Ears,
Will ill express the Business of my Life.
_Leon_. Forbear it, if that Business, Sir, be Love.
Because I want the art to tell my Story
In that soft way, which those can do whose Business
Is to be still so idly employ'd,
I must be silent and endure my Pain,
Which Heaven ne'er gave me so much lameness for.
Love in my Soul is not that gentle thing
It is in other Breasts; instead of Calms,
It ruffles mine into uneasy Storms.
--I wou'd not love, if I cou'd help it, Madam;
But since 'tis not to be resisted here--
You must permit it to approach your Ear.
_Leon_. Not when I cannot hear it, Sir, with Honour.
_Abd_. With Honour!
Nay, I can talk in the Defence of that:
By all that's sacred, 'tis a Flame as virtuous,
As every Thought inhabits your fair Soul,
And it shall learn to be as gentle too;
--For I must merit you--
_Leon_. I will not hear this Language; merit me!
_Abd_. Yes--why not?
You're but the Daughter of the King of _Spain_,
And I am Heir to great Abdela, Madam;
I can command this Kingdom you possess,
(Of which my Passion only made you Queen)
And re-assume that which your Father took
From mine--a Crown as bright as that of _Spain_.
_Leon_. You said you wou'd be gentle--
_Abd_. I will; this sullen Heart shall learn to bow,
And keep it self within the Bounds of Love;
Its Language I'll deliver out in Sighs,
Soft as the Whispers of a yielding Virgin.
I cou'd transform my Soul to any Shape;
Nay, I could even teach my Eyes the Art
To change their natural Fierceness into Smiles;
--What is't I wou'd not do to gain that Heart!
_Leon_. Which never can be yours! that and my Vows,
Are to _Alonzo_ given; which he lays claim to
By the most sacred Ties, Love and Obedience;
All _Spain_ esteems him worthy of that Love.
_Abd_. More worthy it than I! it was a Woman,
A nice, vain, peevish Creature that pronounc'd it;
Had it been Man, 't had been his last Transgression.
--His Birth! his glorious Actions! are they like mine?
_Leon_. Perhaps his Birth wants those Advantages,
Which Nature has laid out in Beauty on his Person.
_Abd_. Ay! there's your Cause of Hate! Curst be my Birth,
And curst be Nature that has dy'd my Skin
With this ungrateful Colour! cou'd not the Gods
Have given me equal Beauty with _Alonzo_!
--Yet as I am, I've been in vain ador'd,
And Beauties great as thine have languish'd for me.
The Lights put out, thou in thy naked Arms
Will find me soft and smooth as polish'd Ebony;
And all my Kisses on thy balmy Lips as sweet,
As are the Breezes, breath'd amidst the Groves
Of ripening Spices in the height of Day:
As vigorous too,
As if each Night were the first happy Moment
I laid thy panting Body to my Bosom.
Oh, that transporting Thought--
See--I can bend as low, and sigh as often,
And sue for Blessings only you can grant;
As any fair and soft _Alonzo_ can--
If you could pity me as well--
But you are deaf, and in your Eyes I read
[_Rises with Anger_.
A Scorn which animates my Love and Anger;
Nor know I which I should dismiss or cherish.
_Leon_. The last is much more welcome than the first;
Your Anger can but kill; but, Sir, your Love--
Will make me ever wretched, since 'tis impossible
I ever can return it.
_Abd_. Why, kill me then! you must do one or t'other.
For thus--I cannot live--why dost thou weep?
Thy every Tear's enough to drown my Soul!
How tame Love renders every feeble Sense!
--Gods! I shall turn Woman, and my Eyes inform me
The Transformation's near--Death! I'll not endure it,
I'll fly before sh'as quite undone my Soul--
[_Offers to go_.
But 'tis not in my Power--she holds it fast--
And I can now command no single part--
Tell me, bright Maid, if I were amiable,
And you were uningag'd, could you then love me?
_Leon_. No! I could die first.