SCENE II.
Enter GONSALVO, MANUEL, HIPPOLITO and AMIDEO.
Hip. Nay, 'tis too true; for, peeping through a chink,
I saw Don Roderick lying on a bed,
Not dead, as we supposed, but only hurt;
So waited on as spoke him master here.
Man. Was there ever so fatal an adventure!
To fly into that very ship, for refuge,
Where the only person, we would shun, commands!
This mischief is so strange, it could not happen,
But was the plot and juggle of our fate,
To free itself, and cast the blame on us.
Gons. This is not yet our fortune's utmost malice;
The gall remains behind. This ship was that,
Which yesterday was mine; I can see nothing
Round me, but what's familiar to my eyes;
Only the persons new: Which makes me think,
Twas seized upon by Roderick, to revenge
Himself on me.
Man. Tis wonderful indeed.
Amid. The only comfort is, we are not known; For when we entered it was dark.
Hip. That comfort Is of as short continuance as the night; The day will soon discover us.
Man. Some way must be invented to get out.
Hip. Fair Julia, sadly pining by herself.
Sits on her bed; tears falling from her eyes,
As silently as dews in dead of night.
All we consult of must be kept from her:
That moment, that she knows of Roderick's life,
Dooms us to certain death.
Man. 'Tis well considered.
Gons. For my part, were not you and she concerned,
I look upon my life, like an estate,
So charged with debts, it is not worth the keeping.
We cannot long be undiscovered by them;
Let us then rush upon them on the sudden,
(All hope of safety placed in our despair)
And gain quick victory, or speedy death.
Man. Consider first, the impossibility
Of the attempt; four men, and two poor boys,
(Which, added to our number, make us weaker)
Against ten villains, more resolved for death,
Than any ten among our holiest priests.
Stay but a little longer, till they all
Disperse to rest within their several cabins;
Then more securely we may set upon them,
And kill them half, before the rest can wake:
By this means too, the boys are useful for us,
For they can cut the throats of sleeping men.
Hip. Now have I the greatest temptation in the world to reveal, Thou art a woman. [To AMIDEO.
Amid. If 'twere not for thy beauty, my master should know, What a man he keeps. [To HIPPOLITO.
Hip. Why should we have recourse to desperate ways,
When safer may be thought on?
'Tis like giving the extreme unction.
In the beginning of a sickness;
Can you imagine to find all asleep?
The wicked joy, of having such a booty
In their possession, will keep some awake;
And some, no doubt, will watch with wounded
Roderick.
Amid. What would your wisdom now propose?
Hip. To say
That some of us are sea-sick; (your complexion
Will make the excuse for us who are less fair:)
So, by good words and promises, procure
We may be set ashore, ere morning come.
Amid. O, the deep reasons of the grave Hippolito!—
As if 'twere likely, in so calm a season,
We should be sick so soon; or, if we were,
Whom should we chuse among us to go tell it?
For whoe'er ventures out must needs be known:
Or, if none knew us, can you think that pirates
Will let us go upon such easy terms,
As promising rewards?—Let me advise you.
Hip. Now, we expect an oracle.
Amid. Here are bundles,
Of canvas and of cloth, you see lie by us;
In which one of us shall sew up the rest,
Only some breathing place, for air, and food:
Then call the pirates in, and tell them, we,
For fear, had drowned ourselves: And when we come
To the next port, find means to bring us out.
Hip. Pithily spoken!—
As if you were to bind up marble statues,
Which only bore the shapes of men without,
And had no need of ever easing nature.
Gons. There's but one way left, that's this;—
You know the rope, by which the cock-boat's tied,
Goes down by the stern, and now, we are at anchor,
There sits no pilot to discover us;
My counsel is, to go down by the ladder,
And, being once there, unloose, and row to shore.
Man. This, without doubt, were best; but there lies ever Some one, or more, within the boat, to watch it.
Gons. I'll slide down first, and run the venture of it; You shall come after me, if there be need, To give me succour.
Man. 'Tis the only way.
Gons. Go in to Julia, then, and first prepare her, With knowledge of the pirates, and the danger Her honour's in, among such barbarous people.
Man. Leave it to me.
Amid. Hippolito and Julia, My rivals, like two pointed rocks appear; And I, through both, must to Gonsalvo steer. [Aside.
[Exeunt all but HIPPOLITA.
Hip. As from some steep and dreadful precipice
The frighted traveller casts down his eyes,
And sees the ocean at so great a distance,
It looks as if the skies were sunk below him;
Yet if some neighbouring shrub (how weak soe'er)
Peeps up, his willing eyes stop gladly there,
And seem to ease themselves, and rest upon it:
So, in my desperate state, each little comfort
Preserves me from despair. Gonsalvo strove not
With greater care to give away his Julia,
Than I have done to part with my Gonsalvo;
Yet neither brought to pass our hateful wish.
Then, we may meet, since different ways we move,
Chasing each other in the maze of love.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
Enter Don RODORICK, carried by two Servants.
1 Serv. It was the only way that could be thought on, To get down by the ladder to the boat.
2 Serv. You may thank me for that invention.
Rod. What a noise is here, when the least breath's As dangerous as a tempest.
2 Serv. If any of those rogues should hear him talk, In what a case were we?
Rod. O, patience! patience!— This ass brays out for silence.
Enter, at the other end, MANUEL, leading JULIA, GONSALVO, HIPPOLITO, and AMIDEO.
Gons. Hark! what noise is that? go softly.
[They meet on the middle of the stage.
Rod. Who's here? I am betrayed! and nothing grieves me, But I want strength to die with honour.
Jul. Roderick!
Is it thy voice, my love?—Speak, and resolve me,
Whether thou livest, or I am dead with thee?
Man. Kill him, and force our way.
Rod. Is Manuel there? Hold up my arm, that I may make one thrust At him, before I die.
Gons. Since we must fall, We'll sell our lives as dearly as we can.
1 Serv. And we'll defend our master to the last. [Fight.
Enter Pirates, without their Captain.
1 Pirate. What's the meaning of this uproar?—Quarrelling Amongst yourselves at midnight?
2 Pirate. We are come in a fit time to decide the difference.
Man. Hold, gentlemen! we're equally concerned. [To RODORICK'S Servants. We for our own, you for your master's safety; If we join forces, we may then resist them, If not, both sides are ruined.
1 Serv. We agree.
Gons. Come o'er on our side then. [They join.
1 Pirate. A mischief on our captain's drowsiness; We're lost, for want of him! [They fight.
Gons. Dear madam, get behind; while you are safe, We cannot be o'ercome. [To JULIA.
[They drive off the Pirates, and follow them off. RODORICK remains on the ground.
Rod. I had much rather my own life were lost, Than Manuel's were preserved.
Enter the Pirates, retreating before GONSALVO, &c.
1 Pirate. All's lost! they fight like devils, and our captain Yet sleeping in his bed.
2 Pirate. Here lies Don Roderick; If we must die, we'll not leave him behind.
[Goes to kill him.
Jul. O, spare my Roderick's life; and, in exchange, Take mine! I put myself within your power, To save or kill.
1 Pirate. So, here's another pawn, For all our safeties.
Man. Heaven! what has she done?
Gons. Let go the lady, or expect no mercy!—The least drop of her blood is worth all yours. And mine together.
1 Pirate. I am glad you think so:— Either deliver up your sword, or mine Shall pierce her heart this moment.
Gons. Here, here, take it.
Man. You are not mad, to give away all hopes
[MANUEL holds him
Of safety and defence, from us, from her,
And from yourself, at once!
Gons. When she is dead, What is there worth defending?
Man. Will you trust A pirate's promise, sooner than your valour?
Gons. Any thing, rather than see her in danger.
1 Pirate. Nay, if you dispute the matter!—
[Holds his sword to her breast.
Gons. I yield, I yield!—Reason to love must bow: Love, that gives courage, can make cowards too!
[Gives his sword.
Jul. O, strange effect of a most generous passion!
Rod. His enemies themselves must needs admire it.
Man. Nay, if Gonsalvo makes a fashion of it, 'Twill be valour to die tamely. [Gives his.
Hip. I am for dying too with my dear master.
Amid. My life will go as easily as a fly's; The least fillip does it in this fright.
1 Pirate. One call our captain up: Tell him, he deserves little of the booty.
Jul. It has so much prevailed upon my soul, I ever must acknowledge it. [To GONS.
Rod. Julia has reason, if she love him; yet, I find I cannot bear it. [Aside.
Gons. Say but, you love me; I am more than paid.
Jul. You ask that only thing, I cannot give;—
Were I not Roderick's first, I should be yours;
My violent love for him, I know, is faulty;
Yet passion never can be placed so ill,
But that to change it is the greater crime.
Inconstancy is such a guilt, as makes
That very love suspected, which it brings;
It brings a gift, but 'tis of ill-got wealth,
The spoils of some forsaken lover's heart.
Love, altered once, like blood let out before,
Will lose its virtue, and can cure no more.
Gons. In those few minutes which I have to live,
To be called yours, is all I can enjoy.
Roderick receives no prejudice by that;
I would but make some small acquaintance here,
For fear I never should enquire you out
In that new world, which we are going to.
Amid. Then, I can hold no longer;—You desire, In death, to be called hers; and all I wish, Is, dying, to be yours.
Hip. You'll not discover? [Aside.
Amid. See here the most unfortunate of women,
That Angelina, whom you all thought lost;
And lost she was indeed, when she beheld
Gonsalvo first.
All. How?—Angelina!
Rod. Ha! My sister!
Amid. I thought to have fled love in flying Manuel,
But love pursued me in Gonsalvo's shape:
For him, I ventured all that maids hold dear;
The opinion of my modesty, and virtue,
My loss of fortune, and my brother's love.
For him, I have exposed myself to dangers,
Which, great themselves, yet greater would appear,
If you could see them through a woman's fear.
But why do I my right by dangers prove?
The greatest argument for love is love:
That passion, Julia, while he lives, denies,
He should refuse to give her when he dies:
Yet grant he did his life to her bequeath,
May I not claim my share of him in death?
I only beg, when all the glory's gone,
The heatless beams of a departing sun.
Gons. Never was passion, hid so modestly, So generously revealed.
Man. We're now a chain of lovers linked in death;
Julia goes first, Gonsalvo hangs on her,
And Angelina holds upon Gonsalvo,
As I on Angelina.
Hip. Nay, here's Honoria too:—You look on me with wonder in your eyes, To see me here, and in this strange disguise.
Jul. What new miracle is this? Honoria!
Man. I left you with my aunt at Barcelona, And thought, ere this, you had been married to The rich old man, Don Estevan de Gama.
Hip. I ever had a strange aversion for him:
But when Gonsalvo landed there, and made
A kind of courtship, (though, it seems, in jest,)
It served to conquer me; which Estevan
Perceiving, pressed my aunt to haste the marriage.
What should I do? My aunt importuned me
For the next day: Gonsalvo, though I loved him,
Knew not my love; nor was I sure his courtship
Was not the effect of a bare gallantry.
Gons. Alas! how grieved I am, that slight address Should make so deep impression on your mind, In three days time!
Hip. That accident, in which
You saved my life, when first you saw me, caused it,
Though now the story be too long to tell.
Howe'er it was, hearing that night, you lay
Aboard your ship, thus, as you see, disguised,
In clothes belonging to my youngest nephew,
I rose ere day, resolved to find you out,
And, if I could, procure to wait on you
Without discovery of myself: but fortune
Crossed all my hopes.
Gons. It was that dismal night
Which tore my anchor up, and tossed my ship,
Past hope of safety, many days together,
Until at length it threw me on this port.
Hip. I will not tell you what my sorrows were,
To find you gone; but there was now no help.
Go back again, I durst not; but, in fine,
Thought best, as fast as my weak legs would bear me,
To come to Alicant, and find my sister,
Unknown to any else: But, being near
The city, I was seized upon by thieves,
From whom you rescued me.—The rest you know.
Gons. I know too much indeed for my repose.
Enter Captain.
Capt. Do you know me?
Gons. Now I look better on thee, Thou seemest a greater villain than I thought thee.
Jul 'Tis he!
Hip. That bloody wretch, that robbed us in The woods.
Gons. Slave! darest thou lift thy hand against me?
Darest thou touch any one whom he protects,
Who gave thee life? But I accuse myself,
Not thee: The death of all these guiltless persons
Became my crime, that minute when I spared thee.
Capt. It is not all your threats can alter me From what I have resolved.
Gons. Begin, then, first With me.
Capt. I will, by laying here my sword. [Lays his sword at Gonsalvo's feet.
All. What means this sudden change?
Capt. Tis neither new, nor sudden.—From that time
You gave me life, I watched how to repay it;
And Roderick's servant gave me speedy means
To effect my wish: For, telling me, his master
Meant a revenge on you, and on Don Manuel,
And then to seize on Julia, and depart,
I proffered him my aid to seize a vessel;
And having, by enquiry, found out yours,
Acquainted first the captain with my purpose,
To make a seeming mastery of the ship.
Man. How durst he take your word?
Capt. That I secured,
By letting him give notice to the ships
That lay about: This done, knowing the place
You were to fight on was behind the rock,
Not far from thence, I, and some chosen men,
Lay out of sight, that, if foul play were offered,
We might prevent it:
But came not in; because, when there was need,
Don Manuel, who was nearer, stepped before me.
Gons. Then the boat, which seemed To lie by chance, hulling not far from shore, Was placed by your direction there?
Capt. It was.
Gons. You're truly noble; and I owe much more Than my own life and fortunes to your worth.
Capt. 'Tis time I should restore their liberty To such of yours, as yet are seeming prisoners. I'll wait on you again. [Exit Captain.
Rod. My enemies are happy; and the storm, Prepared for them, must break upon my head.
Gons. So far am I from happiness, heaven knows
My griefs are doubled!
I stand engaged in hopeless love to Julia;
In gratitude to these:—
Here I have given my heart, and here I owe it.
Hip. Dear master, trouble not yourself for me;
I ever made your happiness my own;
Let Julia witness with what faith I served you.
When you employed me in your love to her,
I gave your noble heart away, as if
It had been some light gallant's, little worth:
Not that I loved you less than Angelina,
But myself less than you.
Gons. Wonder of honour!
Of which my own was but a fainter shadow.
When I gave Julia, whom I could not keep,
You fed a fire within, with too rich fuel,
In giving it your heart to prey upon;
The sweetest offering that was ever burnt
Since last the Phoenix died.
Hip. If Angelina knew, like me, the pride
Of noble minds, which is to give, not take,
Like me she would be satisfied, her heart
Was well bestowed, and ask for no return.
Amid. Pray, let my heart alone; you'll use it as The gipsies do our money; If they once touch it, they have power upon't.
Enter the Servant, who appeared in the first act with GONSALVO.
Serv. O, my dear lord, Gonsalvo de Peralta!
Rod. De Peralta, said you? You amaze me!
Gons. Why?—Do you know that family in Seville?
Rod. I am myself the elder brother of it.
Gons. Don Rodorick de Peralta!
Rod. I was so,
Until my mother died, whose name, de Sylva,
I chose, (our custom not forbidding it)
Three years ago, when I returned from Flanders:
I came here to possess a fair estate,
Left by an aunt, her sister; for whose sake
I take that name; and liked the place so well,
That never since have I returned to Seville.
Gons. 'Twas then that change of name, which caused my letters
All to miscarry. What an happy tempest
Was this, which would not let me rest at Seville,
But blew me farther on, to see you here!
Amid. Brother, I come to claim a sister's share: But you're too near me, to be nearer now.
Gons. In my room, let me beg you to receive Don Manuel.
Amid. I take it half unkindly,
You give me from yourself so soon: Don Manuel,
I know, is worthy, and, but yesterday,
Preserved my life; but, it will take some time
To change my heart.
Man. I'll watch it patiently, as chemists do
Their golden birth; and, when 'tis changed, receive it
With greater care than they their rich elixir,
Just passing from one vial to another.
Rod. Julia is still my brother's, though I lose her.
Gons. You shall not lose her; Julia was born
For none but you;
And I for none but my Honoria:
Julia is yours by inclination;
And I, by conquest, am Honoria's.
Hon. 'Tis the most glorious one that e'er was made: And I no longer will dispute my happiness.
Rod. Julia, you know my peevish jealousies; I cannot promise you a better husband Than you have had a servant.
Jul. I receive you With all your faults.
Rod. And think, when I am froward,
My sullen humour punishes itself:
I'm like a day in March, sometimes o'ercast
With storms, but then the after clearness is
The greater. The worst is, where I love most,
The tempest falls most heavy.
Jul. Ah! what a little time to love is lent! Yet half that time is in unkindness spent.
Rod. That you may see some hope of my amendment, I give my friendship to Don Manuel, ere My brother asks, or he himself desires it.
Man. I'll ever cherish it.
Gons. Since, for my sake, you become friends, my care
Shall be to keep you so. You, captain, shall
Command this carrack, and, with her, my fortunes.
You, my Honoria, though you have an heart
Which Julia left, yet think it not the worse;
'Tis not worn out, but polished by the wearing.
Your merit shall her beauty's power remove;
Beauty but gains, obligement keeps our love.
[Exeunt.
THE INDIAN QUEEN, A TRAGEDY,
WRITTEN BY THE HON. SIR ROBERT HOWARD, AND MR DRYDEN.
THE INDIAN QUEEN
The plays of Sir Robert Howard were tolerated by his contemporaries, on account of the rank, gallantry, and loyalty, of the author; at least, we are now unable to discover any better reason for their success. The Committee, alone, kept possession of the stage till our time; and that solely supported by the humours of Teague, an honest blundering Irish footman, such as we usually see in a modern farce. From a hint, given by Langbaine, Sir Robert Howard seems to have been suspected of frequent plagiarisms. At any rate it is certain, that, in the composition of the Indian Queen, he was so fortunate, as to have the assistance of our great poet, who was bound to him by ties of personal obligation.
It is, of course, difficult even to guess at the share which Dryden had in the Indian Queen. Several of the characters have a strong resemblance to others, which he afterwards drew in bolder colours. Thus, Montezuma, who, like the hero of an ancient romance, bears fortune to any side which he pleases to espouse, is justly pointed out by Settle, as the prototype of Almanzor; though we look in vain for the glowing language, which, though sometimes bordering on burlesque, suits so well the extravagant character of the Moorish hero. Zempoalla strongly resembles Nourmuhal in Aureng-Zebe; both shewing that high spirit of pride, with which Dryden has often invested his female characters. The language of the Indian Queen possesses, in general, greater ease, and a readier flow of verse, than Sir Robert Howard appears to have possessed, when unassisted. Of this he seems, himself, to have been sensible; and alludes to Dryden's acknowledged superiority, when maintaining against him the cause of dramatic blank verse, as preferable to rhyme[1]. Besides general hints towards the conception of the characters, and a superintendance of the dialogue, it is probable, that Dryden wrote some entire scenes of the following piece. In the third act particularly, the passage respecting the incantation, which resembles that in the Indian Emperor, has strong traces of our author's manner.
[Footnote 1: "But writing the epistle in so much haste, I had almost forgot one argument, or observation, which that author (Dryden) has most good fortune in. It is in his Epistle Dedicatory, before his essay of Dramatic Poesie; where, speaking of rhyme in plays, he desires it may be observed, that none are violent against it, but such as have not attempted it, or who have succeeded ill in the attempt: Which, as to myself, and him, I easily acknowledge;—for, I confess, none has written in that way better than himself, nor few worse than I."
Introduction to the Great Favourite, or the Duke of Lerma.]
The Indian Queen was acted in 1664; and received, says Langbaine, with great applause. It was printed in 1665.
Prologue
_As the music plays a soft air, the curtain rises slowly, and discovers an Indian Boy and Girl sleeping under two plantain-trees; and, when the curtain is almost up, the music turns into a tune expressing an alarm, at which the Boy awakes, and speaks;
Boy. WAKE, wake, Quevira! our soft rest must cease,
And fly together with our country's peace!
No more must we sleep under plantain shade,
Which neither heat could pierce, nor cold invade;
Where bounteous nature never feels decay,
And opening buds drive falling fruits away.
Que. Why should men quarrel here, where all possess
As much as they can hope for by success?—
None can have most, where nature is so kind,
As to exceed man's use, though not his mind.
Boy. By ancient prophecies we have been told, Our world shall be subdued by one more old;— And, see, that world already hither come.
Que. If these be they, we welcome then our doom! Their looks are Such, that mercy flows from thence, More gentle than our native innocence.
Boy. Why should we then fear these, our enemies, That rather seem to us like deities?
Que. By their protection, let us beg to live;
They came not here to conquer, but forgive.—
If so, your goodness may your power express,
And we shall judge both best by our success.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
The Inca of Peru. MONTEZUMA, his General. ACACIS, son to ZEMPOALLA. TRAXALLA, General to ZEMPOALLA. GARUCCA, a faithful subject to AMEXIA. The God of Dreams. ISMERON, one of the prophets, a conjuror. Officers and Soldiers. Peruvians and Mexicans. Priests.
AMEXIA, the lawful queen of Mexico.
ZEMPOALLA, the usurping Indian Queen.
ORAZIA,daughter to the Inca.
Attendants of Ladies.
THE INDIAN QUEEN.
ACT I. SCENE I.
Enter Inca, ORAZIA, MONTEZUMA, ACACIS, prisoners, with Peruvians.
Inca. Thrice have the Mexicans before us fled,
Their armies broke, their prince in triumph led;
Both to thy valour, brave young man, we owe;
Ask thy reward, but such as it may show
It is a king thou hast obliged, whose mind
Is large, and, like his fortune, unconfined.
Mont. Young, and a stranger, to your court I
came,
There, by your favour, raised to what I am:
I conquer, but in right of your great fate,
And so your arms, not mine, are fortunate.
Inca. I am impatient, till this debt be paid.
Which still encreases on me while delayed;
A bounteous monarch to himself is kind:
Ask such a gift as may for ever bind
Thy service to my empire, and to me.
Mont. What can this gift, he bids me ask him, be!
Perhaps he has perceived our mutual fires,
And now, with ours, would crown his own desires;
'Tis so, he sees my service is above
All other payments but his daughter's love.
[Aside.
Inca. So quick to merit, and to take so slow?
I first prevent small wishes, and bestow
This prince, his sword and fortunes, to thy hand;
He's thine unasked; now make thy free demand.
Mont. Here, prince, receive this sword, as only due
[Gives ACACIS his sword.
To that excess of courage shown in you.—
When you, without demand, a prince bestow,
Less than a prince to ask of you were low.
Inca. Then ask a kingdom; say, where thou wilt reign.
Mont. I beg not empires, those my sword can gain;
But, for my past and future service too,
What I have done, and what I mean to do;
For this of Mexico which I have won,
And kingdoms I will conquer yet unknown;
I only ask from fair Orazia's eyes
To reap the fruits of all my victories.
1 Peru. Our Inca's colour mounts into his face.
2 Peru. His looks speak death.
Inca. Young man of unknown race,
Ask once again; so well thy merits plead,
Thou shall not die for that which thou hast said;
The price of what thou ask'st, thou dost not know;
That gift's too high.
Mont. And all besides too low.
Inca. Once more I bid thee ask.
Mont. Once more I make The same demand.
Inca. The Inca bids thee take Thy choice, what towns, what kingdoms thou would'st have.
Mont. Thou giv'st me only what before I gave. Give me thy daughter.
Inca. Thou deserv'st to die.
O thou great author of our progeny,
Thou glorious sun, dost thou not blush to shine,
While such base blood attempts to mix with thine!
Mont. That sun, thou speak'st of, did not hide his face, When he beheld me conquering with his race.
Inca. My fortunes gave thee thy success in fight! Convey thy boasted valour from my sight; I can o'ercome without thy feeble aid.
[Exeunt Inca, ORAZIA, and Peruvians.
Mont. And is it thus my services are paid? Not all his guards—
[Offers to go, ACACIS holds him.
Aca. Hold, sir.
Mont. Unhand me.
Aca. No, I must your rage prevent
From doing what your reason would repent;
Like the vast seas, your mind no limits knows,
Like them, lies open to each wind that blows.
Mont. Can a revenge, that is so just, be ill?
Aca. It is Orazia's father, you would kill.
Mont. Orazia! how that name has charmed my sword!
Aca. Compose these wild distempers in your breast; Anger, like madness, is appeased by rest.
Mont. Bid children sleep, my spirits boil too high;
But, since Orazia's father must not die,
A nobler vengeance shall my actions guide;
I'll bear the conquest to the conquered side,
Until this Inca for my friendship sues,
And proffers what his pride does now refuse.
Aca. Your honour is obliged to keep your trust.
Mont. He broke that bond, in ceasing to be just.
Aca. Subjects to kings should more obedience pay.
Mont. Subjects are bound, not strangers, to obey.
Aca. Can you so little your Orazia prize,
To give the conquest to her enemies?
Can you so easily forego her sight?
I, that hold liberty more dear than light,
Yet to my freedom should my chains prefer,
And think it were well lost to stay with her.
Mont. How unsuccessfully I still o'ercome!
I brought a rival, not a captive, home;
Yet I may be deceived; but 'tis too late
To clear those doubts, my stay brings certain fate.
[Aside.
Come, prince, you shall to Mexico return,
Where your sad armies do your absence mourn;
And in one battle I will gain you more
Than I have made you lose in three before.
Aca. No, Montezuma, though you change your side, I, as a prisoner, am by honour tied.
Mont. You are my prisoner, and I set you free.
Aca. 'Twere baseness to accept such liberty.
Mont. From him, that conquered you, it should be sought.
Aca. No, but from him, for whom my conqueror fought.
Mont. Still you are mine, his gift has made you so.
Aca. He gave me to his general, not his foe.
Mont. How poorly have you pleaded honour's laws! Yet shun the greatest in your country's cause.
Aca. What succour can the captive give the free.
Mont. A needless captive is an enemy. In painted honour you would seem to shine; But 'twould be clouded, were your wrongs like mine.
Aca. When choler such unbridled power can
have,
Thy virtue seems but thy revenge's slave:
If such injustice should my honour stain,
My aid would prove my nation's loss, not gain.
Mont. Be cozened by thy guilty honesty, To make thyself thy country's enemy.
Aca. I do not mean in the next fight to stain
My sword in blood of any Mexican,
But will be present in the fatal strife,
To guard Orazia's and the Inca's life.
Mont. Orazia's life, fond man! First guard thy own; Her safety she must owe to me alone.
Aca. Your sword, that does such wonders, cannot be, In an ill cause, secure of victory.
Mont. Hark, hark! [Noise of trampling.
Aca. What noise is this invades my ear?
Fly, Montezuma! fly, the guards are near:
To favour your retreat, I'll freely pay
That life, which you so frankly gave this day.
Mont. I must retire; but those, that follow me, Pursue their deaths, and not their victory.
[Exit MONT.
Aca. Our quarrels kinder than our friendships prove: You for my country fight, I for your love.
Enter INCA and Guards.
Inca. I was to blame to leave this madman free; Perhaps he may revolt to the enemy, Or stay, and raise some fatal mutiny.
Aca. Stop your pursuits, for they must pass through me.
Inca. Where is the slave?
Aca. Gone.
Inca. Whither?
Aca. O'er the plain; Where he may soon the camp, or city, gain.
Inca. Curse on my dull neglect! And yet I do less cause of wonder find, That he is gone, than that thou stayest behind.
Aca. My treatment, since you took me, was so free,
It wanted but the name of liberty.
I with less shame can still your captive live,
Than take that freedom, which you did not give.
Inca. Thou brave young man, that hast thy years outdone,
And, losing liberty, hast honour won,
I must myself thy honour's rival make,
And give that freedom, which thou would'st not take.
Go, and be safe.—
Aca. But that you may be so—
Your dangers must be past before I go.
Fierce Montezuma will for fight prepare,
And bend on you the fury of the war,
Which, by my presence, I will turn away,
If fortune gives my Mexicans the day.
Inca. Come, then, we are alike to honour just, Thou to be trusted thus, and I to trust. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Mexico.
Enter ZEMPOALLA, TRAXALLA, and attendants.
Zemp. O my Acacis!
Does not my grief, Traxalla, seem too rude,
Thus to press out before my gratitude
Has paid my debts to you?—yet it does move
My rage and grief, to see those powers above
Punish such men, as, if they be divine,
They know will most adore, and least repine.
Trax. Those, that can only mourn when they are crost,
May lose themselves with grieving for the lost.
Rather to your retreated troops appear,
And let them see a woman void of fear:
The shame of that may call their spirits home.
Were the prince safe, we were not overcome,
Though we retired: O, his too youthful heat,
That thrust him where the dangers were so great!
Heaven wanted power his person to protect
From that, which he had courage to neglect:
But since he's lost, let us draw forth, and pay
His funeral rites in blood; that we or they
May, in our fates, perform his obsequies,
And make death triumph when Acacis dies.
Zemp. That courage, thou hast shown in fight, seems less
Than this, amidst despair to have excess:
Let thy great deeds force fate to change her mind:
He, that courts fortune boldly, makes her kind.
Trax. If e'er Traxalla so successful proves,
May he then say he hopes, as well as loves;
And that aspiring passion boldly own,
Which gave my prince his fate, and you his throne?
I did not feel remorse to see his blood
Flow from the spring of life into a flood;
Nor did it look like treason, since to me
You were a sovereign much more great than he.
Zemp. He was my brother, yet I scorned to pay
Nature's mean debts, but threw those bonds away;
When his own issue did my hopes remove,
Not only from his empire, but his love.
You, that in all my wrongs then bore a part,
Now need not doubt a place within my heart:
I could not offer you my crown and bed,
Till fame and envy with long time were dead;
But fortune does now happily present
Occasions, fit to second my intent.
Your valour may regain the public love,
And make the people's choice their queen's approve.
[Shout.
Hark, hark, what noise is this, that strikes my ear!
Trax. 'Tis not a sound that should beget a fear; Such shouts as these have I heard often fly From conquering armies, crowned with victory.
Zemp. Great God of vengeance, here I firmly vow,
Make but my Mexicans successful now,
And with a thousand feasts thy flames I'll feed;
And that I take shall on the altars bleed;
Princes themselves shall fall, and make thy shrine,
Died with their blood, in glorious blushes shine.
Enter a Messenger.
Trax. How now! What news is this that makes thy haste a flight?
Mess. Such as brings victory without a fight. The prince Acacis lives—
Zemp. Oh, I am blest!—
Mess. Reserve some joy till I have told the rest.
He's safe, and only wants his liberty:
But that great man, that carries victory
Where'er he goes; that mighty man, by whom
In three set battles we were overcome;
Ill used (it seems) by his ungrateful king,
Does to our camp his fate and valour bring.
The troop gaze on him, as if some bright star
Shot to their aids; call him the god of war:
Whilst he, as if all conquest did of right
Belong to him, bids them prepare to fight;
Which if they should delay one hour, he swears
He'll leave them to their dangers, or their fears,
And shame, which is the ignoble coward's choice.
At this the army seemed to have one voice,
United in a shout, and called upon
The god-like stranger, "Lead us, lead us on."
Make haste, great sir, lest you should come too late,
To share with them in victory, or fate.
Zemp. My general, go; the gods be on our side; Let valour act, but let discretion guide.
[Exit TRAX.
Great god of vengeance,
I see thou dost begin to hear me now:
Make me thy offering, if I break my vow. [Exeunt.
ACT II. SCENE I.
Enter INCA and ORAZIA, as pursued in a battle.
Oraz. O fly, sir, fly; like torrents your swift foes Come rolling on—
Inca. The gods can but destroy. The noblest way to fly is that death shows; I'll court her now, since victory's grown coy.
Oraz. Death's winged to your pursuit, and yet you wait To meet her—
Inca. Poor Orazia, time and fate Must once o'ertake me, though I now should fly.
Oraz. Do not meet death; but when it comes, then die.
Enter three Soldiers.
3 Sold. Stand, sir, and yield yourself, and that fair prey.
Inca. You speak to one, unpractised to obey.
Enter MONTEZUMA.
Mont. Hold, villains, hold, or your rude lives shall be
Lost in the midst of your own victory:
These have I hunted for;—nay, do not stare;
Be gone, and in the common plunder share.
[Exeunt Soldiers.
How different is my fate, from theirs, whose fame
From conquest grows! from conquest grows my shame.
Inca. Why dost thou pause? thou canst not give me back,
With fruitless grief, what I enjoyed before;
No more than seas, repenting of a wreck,
Can with a calm our buried wealth restore.
Mont. 'Twere vain to own repentance, since I know
Thy scorn, which did my passions once despise,
Once more would make my swelling anger flow,
Which now ebbs lower than your miseries:
The gods, that in my fortunes were unkind,
Gave me not sceptres, nor such gilded things;
But, whilst I wanted crowns, enlarged my mind
To despise sceptres, and dispose of kings.
Inca. Thou art but grown a rebel by success,
And I, that scorned Orazia should be tied
To thee my slave, must now esteem thee less:
Rebellion is a greater guilt than pride.
Mont. Princes see others' faults, but not their own;
'Twas you that broke that bond, and set me free:
Yet I attempted not to climb your throne,
And raise myself; but level you to me.
Oraz. O, Montezuma, could thy love engage
Thy soul so little, or make banks so low
About thy heart, that thy revenge and rage,
Like sudden floods, so soon should overflow?
Ye gods, how much I was mistaken here!
I thought you gentle as the gall-less dove;
But you as humoursome as winds appear,
And subject to more passions than your love.
Mont. How have I been betrayed by guilty rage,
Which, like a flame, rose to so vast a height,
That nothing could resist, nor yet assuage,
Till it wrapt all things in one cruel fate.
But I'll redeem myself, and act such things,
That you shall blush Orazia was denied;
And yet make conquest, though with wearied wings,
Take a new flight to your own fainting side.
Inca. Vain man, what foolish thoughts fill thy swelled mind!
It is too late our ruin to recall;
Those, that have once great buildings undermined,
Will prove too weak to prop them in their fall.
Enter TRAXALLA, with the former soldiers.
1 Sold. See, mighty sir, where the bold stranger stands, Who snatched these glorious prisoners from our hands.
Trax. 'Tis the great Inca; seize him as my prey, To crown the triumphs of this glorious day.
Mont. Stay your bold hands from reaching at what's mine,
If any title springs from victory;
You safer may attempt to rob a shrine,
And hope forgiveness from the deity.
Enter ACACIS.
Trax. O, my dear prince, my joys to see you live Are more than all that victory can give.
Aca. How are my best endeavours crost by fate!
Else you had ne'er been lost, or found so late.
Hurried by the wild fury of the fight,
Far from your presence, and Orazia's sight,
I could not all that care and duty show,
Which, as your captive, mighty prince, I owe.
Inca. You often have preserved our lives this day,
And one small debt with many bounties pay.
But human actions hang on springs, that be
Too small, or too remote, for us to see.
My glories freely I to yours resign,
And am your prisoner now, that once were mine.
Mont. These prisoners, sir, are mine by right of war; And I'll maintain that right, if any dare.
Trax. Yes, I would snatch them from thy weak defence;
But that due reverence, which I owe my prince,
Permits me not to quarrel in his sight;
To him I shall refer his general's right.
Mont. I knew too well what justice I should find From an armed plaintiff, and a judge so kind.
Aca. Unkindly urged, that I should use thee so; Thy virtue is my rival, not my foe; The prisoners fortune gave thee shall be thine.
Trax. Would you so great a prize to him resign?
Aca. Should he, who boldly for his prey designed
To dive the deepest under swelling tides,
Have the less title if he chance to find
The richest jewel that the ocean hides?
They are his due—
But in his virtue I repose that trust,
That he will be as kind as I am just:
Dispute not my commands, but go with haste,
Rally our men, they may pursue too fast,
And the disorders of the inviting prey
May turn again the fortune of the day.
[Exit TRAX.
Mont. How gentle all this prince's actions be! Virtue is calm in him, but rough in me.
Aca. Can Montezuma place me in his breast?
Mont. My heart's not large enough for such a guest.
Aca. See, Montezuma, see, Orazia weeps.
[ORAZ. weeps.
Mont. Acacis! is he deaf, or, waking, sleeps?
He does not hear me, sees me not, nor moves;
How firm his eyes are on Orazia fixt!
Gods, that take care of men, let not our loves
Become divided by their being mixt.
Aca. Weep not, fair princess, nor believe you are
A prisoner, subject to the chance of war;
Why should you waste the stock of those fair eyes,
That from mankind can take their liberties?
And you, great sir, think not a generous mind
To virtuous princes dares appear unkind,
Because those princes are unfortunate,
Since over all men hangs a doubtful fate:
One gains by what another is bereft;
The frugal deities have only left
A common bank of happiness below,
Maintained, like nature, by an ebb and flow.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
ZEMPOALLA _appears seated upon a throne, frowning upon her attendants; then comes down and speaks.
Zemp_. No more, you, that above your prince's
dare proclaim,
With your rebellious breath, a stranger's name.
1 Peru. Dread empress—
Zemp. Slaves, perhaps you grieve to see Your young prince glorious, 'cause he sprang from me; Had he been one of base Amexia's brood, Your tongues, though silent now, had then been loud.
Enter TRAXALLA.
Traxalla, welcome; welcomer to me
Than what thou bring'st, a crown and victory.
Trax. All I have done is nothing; fluttering
fame
Now tells no news, but of the stranger's name,
And his great deeds; 'tis he, they cry, by whom
Not men, but war itself is overcome;
Who, bold with his success, dares think to have
A prince to wear his chains, and be his slave.
Zemp. What prince?
Trax. The great Peruvian Inca, that of late
In three set battles was so fortunate,
Till this strange man had power to turn the tide,
And carry conquest into any side.
Zemp. Would you permit a private man to have
The great Peruvian Inca for his slave?
Shame to all princes! was it not just now
I made a sacred, and a solemn vow,
To offer up (if blest with victory)
The prisoners that were took? and they shall die.
Trax. I soon had snatched from this proud stranger's hand
That too great object for his bold demand;
Had not the prince, your son, to whom I owe
A kind obedience, judged it should be so.
Zemp. I'll hear no more; go quickly take my guards,
And from that man force those usurped rewards;
That prince, upon whose ruins I must rise,
Shall be the gods', but more my sacrifice:
They, with my slaves, in triumph shall be tied,
While my devotion justifies my pride:
Those deities, in whom I place my trust,
Shall see, when they are kind, that I am just. [Exit.
Trax. How gladly I obey!
There's something shoots from my enlivened frame,
Like a new soul, but yet without a name,
Nor can I tell what the bold guest will prove;
It must be envy, or it must be love:
Let it be either, 'tis the greatest bliss
For man to grant himself, all he dares wish;
For he, that to himself himself denies,
Proves meanly wretched, to be counted wise.
[Exit TRAXALLA.
SCENE III.
Enter MONTEZUMA and ACACIS.
Aca. You wrong, me, my best friend, not to believe
Your kindness gives me joy; and when I grieve,
Unwillingly my sorrows I obey:
Showers sometimes fall upon a shining day.
Mont.. Let me, then, share your griefs, that in your fate Would have took part.
Aca. Why should you ask me that? Those must be mine, though I have such excess; Divided griefs increase, and not grow less.
Mont. It does not lessen fate, nor satisfy The grave, 'tis true, when friends together die; And yet they are unwilling to divide.
Aca. To such a friend nothing can be denied.
You, when you hear my story, will forgive
My grief, and rather wonder that I live;
Unhappy in my title to a throne,
Since blood made way for my succession:
Blood of an uncle too, a prince so free
From being cruel, it taught cruelty.
His queen Amexia then was big with child;
Nor was he gentler than his queen was mild;
Th'impatient people longed for what should come
From such a father, bred in such a womb;
When false Traxalla, weary to obey,
Took with his life their joys and hopes away.
Amexia, by the assistance of the night,
When this dark deed was acted, took her flight;
Only with true Garucca for her aid:
Since when, for all the searches that were made,
The queen was never heard of more: Yet still
This traitor lives, and prospers by the ill:
Nor does my mother seem to reign alone,
But with this monster shares the guilt and throne.
Horror choaks up my words: now you'll believe,
'Tis just I should do nothing else but grieve.
Mont. Excellent prince! How great a proof of virtue have you shown, To be concerned for griefs, though not your own!
Aca. Pray, say no more.
Enter a Messenger hastily.
Mont. How now, whither so fast?
Mess. O sir, I come too slow with all my haste! The fair Orazia—
Mont. Ha, what dost thou say?
Mess. Orazia with the Inca's forced away
Out of your tent; Traxalla, in the head
Of the rude soldiers, forced the door, and led,
Those glorious captives, who on thrones once shined,
To grace the triumph, that is now designed. [Exit.
Mont. Orazia forced away!—what tempests roll
About my thoughts, and toss my troubled soul!
Can there be gods to see, and suffer this?
Or does mankind make his own fate or bliss;
While every good and bad happens by chance,
Not from their orders, but their ignorance?—
I will pull a ruin on them all,
And turn their triumph to a funeral.
Aca. Be temperate, friend.
Mont. You may as well advise That I should have less love, as grow more wise.
Aca. Yet stay—I did not think to have revealed
A secret, which my heart has still concealed;
But, in this cause since I must share with you,
'Tis fit you know—I love Orazia too:
Delay not then, nor waste the time in words,
Orazia's cause calls only for our swords.
Mont. That ties my hand, and turns from thee that rage
Another way, thy blood should else assuage:
The storm on our proud foes shall higher rise,
And, changing, gather blackness as it flies:
So, when winds turn, the wandering waves obey,
And all the tempest rolls another way.
Aca. Draw then a rival's sword, as I draw mine.
And, like friends suddenly to part, let's join
In this one act, to seek one destiny;
Rivals with honour may together die. [Exeunt.
ACT III. SCENE I.
ZEMPOALLA appears seated upon her Slaves in triumph, and the Indians, as to celebrate the victory, advance in a warlike dance; in the midst of which triumph, ACACIS and MONTEZUMA fall in upon them.
ZEMPOALLA descends from her triumphant throne, and ACACIS and MONTEZUMA _are brought in before her.
Zemp_. Shame of my blood, and traitor to thy own:
Born to dishonour, not command a throne!
Hast thou, with envious eyes, my triumph seen?
Or couldst not see thy mother in thy queen?
Couldst thou a stranger above me prefer?
Aca. It was my honour made my duty err; I could not see his prisoners forced away, To whom I owed my life, and you the day.
Zemp. Is that young man the warrior so renowned?
Mont. Yes, he, that made thy men thrice quit their ground. Do, smile at Montezuma's chains; but know, His valour gave thee power to use him so.
Trax. Grant that it did, what can his merits be,
That sought his vengeance, not our victory?
What has thy brutish fury gained us more,
Than only healed the wounds, it gave before?
Die then, for, whilst thou liv'st, wars cannot cease;
Thou may'st bring victory, but never peace.
Like a black storm thou roll'st about us all,
Even to thyself unquiet, till thy fall.
[Draws to kill him.
Aca. Unthankful villain, hold!
Trax. You must not give Him succour, sir.
Aca. Why then, I must not live. Posterity shall ne'er report, they had Such thankless fathers, or a prince so bad.
Zemp. You're both too bold to will or to deny:
On me alone depends his destiny.
Tell me, audacious stranger, whence could rise
The confidence of this rash enterprise?
Mont. First tell me, how you dared to force from me The fairest spoils of my own victory?
Zemp. Kill him—hold, must he die?—why, let him die;—
Whence should proceed this strange diversity.
In my resolves?
Does he command in chains? What would he do,
Proud slave, if he were free, and I were so?
But is he bound, ye gods, or am I free?
'Tis love, 'tis love, that thus disorders me.
How pride and love tear my divided soul!
For each too narrow, yet both claim it whole:
Love, as the younger, must be forced away.—
Hence with the captives, general, and convey
To several prisons that young man, and this
Peruvian woman.
Trax. How concerned she is! I must know more.
Mont. Fair princess, why should I
Involve that sweetness in my destiny?
I could out-brave my death, were I alone
To suffer, but my fate must pull yours on.
My breast is armed against all sense of fear;
But where your image lies, 'tis tender there.
Inca. Forbear thy saucy love, she cannot be So low, but still she is too high for thee.
Zemp. Be gone, and do as I command; away!
Mont. I ne'er was truly wretched till this day.
Oraz. Think half your sorrows on Orazia fall, And be not so unkind to suffer all: Patience, in cowards, is tame hopeless fear, But, in brave minds, a scorn of what they bear. [Exit Inca, MONTEZUMA, ORAZIA, and TRAXALLA.
Zemp. What grief is this which in your face appears?
Aca. The badge of sorrow, which my soul still wears.
Zemp. Though thy late actions did my anger move,
It cannot rob thee of a mother's love.
Why shouldst thou grieve?
Grief seldom joined with blooming youth is seen;
Can sorrow be where knowledge scarce has been?
Fortune does well for heedless youth provide,
But wisdom does unlucky age misguide;
Cares are the train of present power and state,
But hope lives best that on himself does wait:
O happiest fortune if well understood,
The certain prospect of a future good!
Aca. What joy can empire bring me, when I know That all my greatness to your crimes I owe:
Zemp. Yours be the joy, be mine the punishment.
Aca. In vain, alas, that wish to Heaven is sent For me, if fair Orazia must not live.
Zemp. Why should you ask me what I cannot
give?
She must be sacrificed: Can I bestow
What to the gods, by former vows, I owe?
Aca. O plead not vows; I wish you had not shown You slighted all things sacred for a throne.
Zemp. I love thee so, that, though fear follows still,
And horror urges, all that have been ill,
I could for thee
Act o'er my crimes again; and not repent,
Even when I bore the shame and punishment.
Aca. Could you so many ill acts undertake, And not perform one good one for my sake?
Zemp. Prudence permits not pity should be shown To those, that raised the war to shake my throne.
Aca. As you are wise, permit me to be just;
What prudence will not venture, honour must;
We owe our conquest to the stranger's sword,
Tis just his prisoners be to him restored.
I love Orazia; but a nobler way,
Than for my love my honour to betray.
Zemp. Honour is but an itch of youthful blood,
Of doing acts extravagantly good;
We call that virtue, which is only heat
That reigns in youth, till age finds out the cheat.
Aca. Great actions first did her affections move, And I, by greater, would regain her love.
Zemp. Urge not a suit which I must still deny; Orazia and her father both shall die: Begone, I'll hear no more.
Aca. You stop your ears—
But though a mother will not, Heaven will hear;
Like you I vow, when to the powers divine
You pay her guiltless blood, I'll offer mine. [Exit.
Zemp. She dies, this happy rival, that enjoys
The stranger's love, and all my hopes destroys;
Had she triumphed, what could she more have done,
Than robbed the mother, and enslaved the son?
Nor will I, at the name of cruel, stay:
Let dull successive monarchs mildly sway:
Their conquering fathers did the laws forsake,
And broke the old, ere they the new could make,
I must pursue my love; yet love, enjoyed,
Will, with esteem, that caused it first, grow less:
But thirst and hunger fear not to be cloyed,
And when they be, are cured by their excess.
Enter TRAXALLA.
Trax. Now I shall see, what thoughts her heart
conceals;
For that, which wisdom covers, love reveals. [Aside.
Madam, the prisoners are disposed.
Zemp. They are? And how fares our young blustering man of war? Does he support his chains with patience yet?
Trax. He, and the princess, madam—
Zemp. Are they met?
Trax. No: but from whence is all this passion grown?
Zemp. 'Twas a mistake.
Trax. I find this rash unknown Is dangerous; and, if not timely slain, May plunge your empire in new wars again.
Zemp. Thank ye; I shall consider.
Trax. Is that all?
The army doat on him, already call
You cruel; and, for aught I know, they may
By force unchain, and crown him in a day.
Zemp. You say, I have already had their curse For his bad usage; should I use him worse?
Trax. Yet once you feared his reputation might Obscure the prince's in the people's sight.
Zemp. Time will inform us best what course to
steer,
But let us not our sacred vows defer:
The Inca and his daughter both shall die.
Trax. He suffers justly for the war; but why Should she share his sad fate? A poor pretence, That birth should make a crime of innocence.