SECRET LOVE; OR, THE MAIDEN QUEEN.

  Vitiis nemo sine nascitur; optimus ille
Qui minimis urgetur. HORAT.

THE MAIDEN QUEEN

The Maiden Queen is said, by Langbaine, to be founded upon certain passages in "The Grand Cyrus," and in "Ibrahim, the illustrious Bassa." Few readers will probably take the trouble of consulting these huge volumes, for the purpose of ascertaining the truth of this charge. Even our duty, as editors, cannot impel us to the task; satisfied, as we are, that, since these ponderous folios at that time loaded every toilette, Dryden can hardly have taken more from such well-known sources, than the mere outline of the story. Indeed, to a certain degree, the foundation of the plot, upon a story in the "Cyrus," is admitted by the author. The character of the queen is admirably drawn, and the catastrophe is brought very artfully forward; the uncertainty, as to her final decision, continuing till the last moment. In this, as in all our author's plays, some passages of beautiful poetry occur in the dialogue; as, for example, the scene in act 3d betwixt Philocles and Candiope. The characters, excepting that of the Maiden Queen herself, are lame and uninteresting. Philocles, in particular, has neither enough of love to make him despise ambition, nor enough of ambition to make him break the fetters of love. We might have admired him, had he been constant; or sympathised with him, had he sinned against his affections, and repented; but there is nothing interesting in the vacillations of his indecision. The comic part of the play contains much of what was thought wit in the reign of Charles II.; for marriage is railed against, and a male and female rake join in extolling the pleasures of a single life, even while the usage of the theatre compels them, at length, to put on the matrimonial chains. It is surprising, that no venturous author, in that gay age, concluded, by making such a couple happy in their own way. The novelty of such a catastrophe would have insured its success; and, unlike to the termination of the loves of Celadon and Florimel, it would have been strictly in character.

The Maiden Queen was first acted in 1667; and printed, as the poet has informed us, by the command of Charles himself, who graced it with the title of HIS play. Dryden mentions the excellence of the acting, so it was probably received very favourably.

PREFACE

It has been the ordinary practice of the French poets, to dedicate their works of this nature to their king; especially when they have had the least encouragement to it, by his approbation of them on the stage. But, I confess, I want the confidence to follow their example, though, perhaps, I have as specious pretences to it, for this piece, as any they can boast of; it having been owned in so particular a manner by his majesty, that he has graced it with the title of his play, and thereby rescued it from the severity (that I may not say malice) of its enemies. But though a character so high and undeserved has not raised in me the presumption to offer such a trifle to his most serious view, yet I will own the vanity to say, that after this glory which it has received from a sovereign prince, I could not send it to seek protection from any subject. Be this poem, then, sacred to him, without the tedious form of a dedication, and without presuming to interrupt those hours which he is daily giving to the peace and settlement of his people.

For what else concerns this play, I would tell the reader, that it is regular, according to the strictest of dramatic laws; but that it is a commendation which many of our poets now despise, and a beauty which our common audiences do not easily discern. Neither indeed do I value myself upon it; because, with all that symmetry of parts, it may want an air and spirit (which consists in the writing) to set it off. 'Tis a question variously disputed, whether an author may be allowed as a competent judge of his own works. As to the fabric and contrivance of them, certainly he may; for that is properly the employment of the judgment; which, as a master-builder, he may determine, and that without deception, whether the work be according to the exactness of the model; still granting him to have a perfect idea of that pattern by which he works, and that he keeps himself always constant to the discourse of his judgment, without admitting self-love, which is the false surveyor of his fancy, to intermeddle in it. These qualifications granted (being such as all sound poets are presupposed to have within them), I think all writers, of what kind soever, may infallibly judge of the frame and contexture of their works. But for the ornament of writing, which is greater, more various, and bizarre in poesy than in any other kind, as it is properly the child of fancy; so it can receive no measure, or at least but a very imperfect one, of its own excellences or failures from the judgment. Self-love (which enters but rarely into the offices of the judgment) here predominates; and fancy (if I may so speak), judging of itself, can be no more certain, or demonstrative of its own effects, than two crooked lines can be the adequate measure of each other. What I have said on this subject may, perhaps, give me some credit with my readers, in my opinion of this play, which I have ever valued above the rest of my follies of this kind; yet not thereby in the least dissenting from their judgment, who have concluded the writing of this to be much inferior to my "Indian Emperor." But the argument of that was much more noble, not having the allay of comedy to depress it; yet if this be more perfect, either in its kind, or in the general notion of a play, it is as much as I desire to have granted for the vindication of my opinion, and what as nearly touches me, the sentence of a royal judge. Many have imagined the character of Philocles to be faulty; some for not discovering the queen's love, others for his joining in her restraint: But though I am not of their number, who obstinately defend what they have once said, I may, with modesty, take up those answers which have been made for me by my friends; namely, that Philocles, who was but a gentleman of ordinary birth, had no reason to guess so soon at the queen's passion; she being a person so much above him, and, by the suffrages of all her people, already destined to Lysimantes: Besides, that he was prepossessed (as the queen somewhere hints it to him) with another inclination, which rendered him less clear-sighted in it, since no man, at the same time, can distinctly view two different objects; and if this, with any shew of reason, may be defended, I leave my masters, the critics, to determine, whether it be not much more conducing to the beauty of my plot, that Philocles should be long kept ignorant of the queen's love, than that with one leap he should have entered into the knowledge of it, and thereby freed himself, to the disgust of the audience, from that pleasing labyrinth of errors which was prepared for him. As for that other objection, of his joining in the queen's imprisonment, it is indisputably that which every man, if he examines himself, would have done on the like occasion. If they answer, that it takes from the height of his character to do it; I would enquire of my overwise censors, who told them I intended him a perfect character, or, indeed, what necessity was there he should be so, the variety of images being one great beauty of a play? It was as much as I designed, to shew one great and absolute pattern of honour in my poem, which I did in the person of the queen: all the defects of the other parts being set to shew, the more to recommend that one character of virtue to the audience. But neither was the fault of Philocles so great, if the circumstances be considered, which, as moral philosophy assures us, make the essential differences of good and bad; he himself best explaining his own intentions in his last act, which was the restoration of his queen; and even before that, in the honesty of his expressions, when he was unavoidably led by the impulsions of his love to do it. That which with more reason was objected as an indecorum, is the management of the last scene of the play, where Celadon and Florimel are treating too lightly of their marriage in the presence of the queen, who likewise seems to stand idle, while the great action of the drama is still depending. This I cannot otherwise defend, than by telling you, I so designed it on purpose, to make my play go off more smartly; that scene being, in the opinion of the best judges, the most divertising of the whole comedy. But though the artifice succeeded, I am willing to acknowledge it as a fault, since it pleased his majesty, the best judge, to think it so.

I have only to add, that the play is founded on a story in the "Cyrus," which he calls the Queen of Corinth; in whose character, as it has been affirmed to me, he represents that of the famous Christina, queen of Sweden. This is what I thought convenient to write by way of preface to "The Maiden Queen;" in the reading of which I fear you will not meet with that satisfaction, which you have had in seeing it on the stage; the chief parts of it, both serious and comic, being performed to that height of excellence, that nothing but a command, which I could not handsomely disobey, could have given me the courage to have made it public.

PROLOGUE.

I.

He who writ this, not without pains and thought,
From French and English theatres has brought
The exactest rules, by which a play is wrought.

II.

The unities of action, place, and time;
The scenes unbroken; and a mingled chime
Of Jonson's humour, with Corneille's rhyme.

III.

But while dead colours he with care did lay,
He fears his wit, or plot, he did not weigh,
Which are the living beauties of a play.

IV.

Plays are like towns, which, howe'er fortified
By engineers, have still some weaker side,
By the o'er-seen defendant unespied.

V.

And with that art you make approaches now;
Such skilful fury in assaults you show,
That every poet without shame may bow.

VI.

Ours, therefore, humbly would attend your doom,
If, soldier-like, he may have terms to come,
With flying colours, and with beat of drum.

The Prologue goes out, and stays while a tune is played, after which he returns again.

SECOND PROLOGUE.

I had forgot one half, I do protest,
And now am sent again to speak the rest.
He bows to every great and noble wit;
But to the little Hectors of the pit
Our poet's sturdy, and will not submit.
He'll be beforehand with 'em, and not stay
To see each peevish critic stab his play;
Each puny censor, who, his skill to boast,
Is cheaply witty on the poet's cost.
No critic's verdict should, of right, stand good,
They are excepted all, as men of blood;
And the same law shall shield him from their fury,
Which has excluded butchers from a jury.
You'd all be wits—
But writing's tedious, and that way may fail;
The most compendious method is to rail:
Which you so like, you think yourselves ill used,
When in smart prologues you are not abused.
A civil prologue is approved by no man;
You hate it, as you do a civil woman:
Your fancy's palled, and liberally you pay
To have it quickened ere you see a play;
Just as old sinners, worn from their delight,
Give money to be whipped to appetite.
But what a pox keep I so much ado
To save our poet? He is one of you;
A brother judgment, and, as I hear say,
A cursed critic as e'er damned a play.
Good savage gentlemen, your own kind spare;
He is, like you, a very wolf or bear;
Yet think not he'll your ancient rights invade,
Or stop the course of your free damning trade;
For he (he vows) at no friend's play can sit,
But he must needs find fault, to shew his wit:
Then, for his sake, ne'er stint your own delight;
Throw boldly, for he sits to all that write;
With such he ventures on an even lay,
For they bring ready money into play.
Those who write not, and yet all writers nick,
Are bankrupt gamesters, for they damn on tick.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

LYSIMANTES, first Prince of the Blood.
PHILOCLES, the Queen's favourite.
CELADON, a courtier.

Queen of Sicily.
CANDIOPE, Princess of the Blood.
ASTERIA, the Queen's confident.
FLORIMEL, a maid of honour.
FLAVIA, another maid of honour.
OLINDA, SABINA, Sisters.
MELISSA, mother to OLINDA and SABINA.

Guards, Pages of Honour, Soldiers.

SCENE—Sicily.

SECRET LOVE OR THE MAIDEN QUEEN.

ACT I.

SCENE I.—Walks near the Court.

Enter CELADON and ASTERIA, meeting each other, he in a riding habit; they embrace.

Cel. Dear Asteria!—

Ast. My dear brother, welcome! A thousand welcomes! Methinks, this year, you have been absent, has been so tedious:—I hope, as you have made a pleasant voyage, so you have brought your good humour back again to court?

Cel. I never yet knew any company I could not be merry in, except it were an old woman's.

Ast. Or at a funeral.

Cel. Nay, for that you shall excuse me; for I was never merrier than I was at a creditor's of mine, whose book perished with him. But what new beauties have you at court? How do Melissa's two fair daughters?

Ast. When you tell me which of them you are in love with, I'll answer you.

Cel. Which of them, naughty sister! what a question's there? With both of them; with each and singular of them.

Ast. Bless me!—You are not serious?

Cel. You look, as if it were a wonder to see a man in love. Are they not handsome?

Ast. Ay; but both together—

Cel. Ay, and both asunder; why, I hope there are but two of them; the tall singing and dancing one, and the little innocent one?

Ast. But you cannot marry both?

Cel. No, nor either of them, I trust in Heaven: but I can keep them company; I can sing and dance with them, and treat them; and that, I take it, is somewhat better than musty marrying them. Marriage is poor folks' pleasure, that cannot go to the cost of variety; but I am out of danger of that with these two, for I love them so equally, I can never make choice between them. Had I but one mistress, I might go to her to be merry, and she, perhaps, be out of humour; there were a visit lost: But here, if one of them frown upon me, the other will be the more obliging, on purpose to recommend her own gaiety; besides a thousand things that I could name.

Ast. And none of them to any purpose.

Cel. Well, if you will not be cruel to a poor lover, you might oblige me, by carrying me to their lodgings.

Ast. You know I am always busy about the queen.

Cel. But once or twice only; 'till I am a little flushed in my acquaintance with other ladies, and have learned to prey for myself. I promise you I'll make all the haste I can to end the trouble, by being in love somewhere else.

Ast. You would think it hard to be denied now?

Cel. And reason good. Many a man hangs himself for the loss of one mistress: How do you think, then, I should bear the loss of two; especially in a court, where, I think, beauty is but thin sown?

Ast. There's one Florimel, the queen's ward, a new beauty, as wild as you, and a vast fortune.

Cel. I am for her before the world. Bring me to her, and I'll release you of your promise for the other two.

Enter a Page.

Page. Madam, the queen expects you.

Cel. I see you hold her favour; adieu, sister:—you have a little emissary there, otherwise I would offer you my service.

Ast. Farewell, brother; think upon Florimel.

Cel. You may trust my memory for a handsome woman: I'll think upon her, and the rest too; I'll forget none of them. [Exit ASTERIA.

SCENE II.

Enter a Gentleman walking over the stage hastily; After him FLORIMEL and FLAVIA masked.

Fla. Phormio! Phormio! you will not leave us?

Gent. In faith, I have a little business.

[Exit Gent.

Cel. Cannot I serve you in the gentleman's room, ladies?

Fla. Which of us would you serve?

Cel. Either of you, or both of you.

Fla. Why, could you not be constant to one?

Cel. Constant to one!—I have been a courtier, a soldier, and a traveller, to good purpose, if I must be constant to one: Give me some twenty, some forty, some a hundred mistresses! I have more love than any woman can turn her to.

Flo. Bless us! let us be gone, cousin: We two are nothing in his hands.

Cel. Yet, for my part, I can live with as few mistresses as any man. I desire no superfluities; only for necessary change or so, as I shift my linen.

Flo. A pretty odd kind of fellow this; he fits my humour rarely. [Aside.

Fla. You are as inconstant as the moon.

Flo. You wrong him, he's as constant as the sun; he would see all the world in twenty-four hours.

Cel. 'Tis very true, madam; but, like him, I would visit, and away.

Flo. For what an unreasonable thing it were, to stay long, be troublesome, and hinder a lady of a fresh lover.

Cel. A rare creature this! [Aside]—Besides, madam, how like a fool a man looks, when, after all his eagerness of two minutes before, he shrinks into a faint kiss, and a cold compliment.—Ladies both, into your hands I commit myself; share me betwixt you.

Fla. I'll have nothing to do with you, since you cannot be constant to one.

Cel. Nay, rather than lose either of you, I'll do more; I'll be constant to an hundred of you. Or, if you will needs fetter me to one, agree the matter between yourselves; and the most handsome take me.

Flo. Though I am not she, yet since my mask is down, and you cannot convince me, have a good faith of my beauty, and for once I take you for my servant.

Cel. And for once I'll make a blind bargain with you. Strike hands; is't a match, mistress?

Flo. Done, servant.

Cel. Now I am sure I have the worst on't: For you see the worst of me, and that I do not of you, 'till you shew your face.—Yet, now I think on't, you must be handsome.

Flo. What kind of beauty do you like?

Cel. Just such a one as yours.

Flo. What's that?

Cel. Such an oval face, clear skin, hazel eyes, thick brown eye-brows, and hair as you have, for all the world.

Fla. But I can assure you, she has nothing of all this.

Cel. Hold thy peace, envy; nay, I can be constant an I set on't.

Flo. 'Tis true she tells you.

Cel. Ay, ay, you may slander yourself as you please: Then you have,—let me see.

Flo. Ill swear, you shall not see.

Cel. A turned up nose, that gives an air to your face:—Oh, I find I am more and more in love with you!—a full nether lip, an out-mouth, that makes mine water at it; the bottom of your cheeks a little blub, and two dimples when you smile: For your stature, 'tis well; and for your wit, 'twas given you by one that knew it had been thrown away upon an ill face.—Come, you're handsome, there's no denying it.

Flo. Can you settle your spirits to see an ugly face, and not be frighted? I could find in my heart to lift up my mask, and disabuse you.

Cel. I defy your mask:—Would you would try the experiment!

Flo. No, I won't; for your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.

Cel. Since you will not take the pains to convert me, I'll make bold to keep my faith. A miserable man, I am sure, you have made me.

Fla. This is pleasant.

Cel. It may be so to you, but it is not to me; for aught I see, I am going to be the most constant Maudlin,—

Flo. 'Tis very well, Celadon; you can be constant to one you have never seen, and have forsaken all you have seen?

Cel. It seems, you know me then:—Well, if thou should'st prove one of my cast mistresses, I would use thee most damnably, for offering to make me love thee twice.

Flo. You are i'the right: An old mistress, or servant, is an old tune; the pleasure on't is past, when we have once learned it.

Fla. But what woman in the world would you wish her like?

Cel. I have heard of one Florimel, the queen's ward; would she were as like her for beauty, as she is for humour!

Fla. Do you hear that, cousin? [To FLOR. aside.

Flo. Florimel's not handsome: Besides she's inconstant; and only loves for some few days.

Cel. If she loves for shorter time than I, she must love by winter days and summer nights, i'faith.

Flo. When you see us together, you shall judge. In the mean time, adieu, sweet servant.

Cel. Why, you won't be so inhuman to carry away my heart, and not so much as tell me where I may hear news on't?

Flo. I mean to keep it safe for you; for, if you had it, you would bestow it worse: Farewell, I must see a lady.

Cel. So must I too, if I can pull off your mask.

Flo. You will not be so rude, I hope.

Cel. By this light, but I will!

Flo. By this leg, but you shan't.

[Exeunt FLO. and FLA. running.

SCENE III.

Enter PHILOCLES, and meets him going out.

Cel. How! my cousin, the new favourite!—[Aside.

Phil. Dear Celadon! most happily arrived.—
I hear you've been an honour to your country
In the Calabrian wars; and I am glad
I have some interest in it.

Cel. But in you
I have a larger subject for my joys:
To see so rare a thing as rising virtue,
And merit, understood at court.

Phil. Perhaps it is the only act, that can Accuse our queen of weakness.

Enter LYSIMANTES, attended.

Lys. O, my lord Philocles, well overtaken! I came to look you.

Phil. Had I known it sooner,
My swift attendance, sir, had spared your trouble.—
Cousin, you see prince Lysimantes [To CEL.
Is pleased to favour me with his commands:
I beg you'll be no stranger now at court.

Cel. So long as there be ladies there, you need Not doubt me. [Exit CELADON.

Phil. Some of them will, I hope, make you a convert.

Lys. My lord Philocles, I'm glad we are alone; There is a business, that concerns me nearly, In which I beg your love.

Phil. Command my service.

Lys. I know your interest with the queen is great;
(I speak not this as envying your fortune,
For, frankly, I confess you have deserved it;
Besides, my birth, my courage, and my honour,
Are all above so base a vice,)—

Phil. I know, my lord, you are first prince o'the blood;
Your country's second hope:
And that the public vote, when the queen weds,
Designs you for her choice.

Lys. I am not worthy,
Except love makes desert;
For doubtless she's the glory of her time:
Of faultless beauty, blooming as the spring
In our Sicilian groves; matchless in virtue,
And largely souled where'er her bounty gives,
As, with each breath, she could create new Indies.

Phil. But jealous of her glory,—

Lys. You are a courtier; and, in other terms,
Would you say, she is averse from marriage,
Lest it might lessen her authority.
But whensoe'er she does, I know the people
Will scarcely suffer her to match
With any neighbouring prince, whose power might bend
Our free Sicilians to a foreign yoke.

Phil. I love too well my country to desire it.

Lys. Then, to proceed, (as you well know, my lord,)
The provinces have sent their deputies,
Humbly to move her, she would chuse at home;
And, (for she seems averse from speaking with them,)
By my appointment, have designed these walks,
Where well she cannot shun them.—Now, if you
Assist their suit, by joining yours to it,
And by your mediation I prove happy,
I freely promise you—

Phil. Without a bribe, command my utmost in it:— And yet, there is a thing, which time may give me The confidence to name,—

Lys. 'Tis yours whatever:— But, tell me true, does she not entertain Some deep and settled thoughts against my person?

Phil. I hope, not so; but she, of late, is froward;
Reserved, and sad, and vexed at little things;
Which her great soul, ashamed of, strait shakes off,
And is composed again.

Lys. You are still near the queen; and all our actions Come to princes' eyes, as they are represented By them, that hold the mirror.

Phil. Here she comes, and with her the deputies: I fear all is not right.

Enter Queen, Deputies after her; ASTERIA, Guard, FLAVIA, OLINDA, and SABINA. Queen turns back to the Deputies, and speaks entering.

Queen. And I must tell you, It is a saucy boldness, thus to press On my retirements.

1 Dep. Our business being of no less concern, Than is the peace and quiet of your subjects;— And that delayed,—

2 Dep. We humbly took this time To represent your people's fears to you.

Queen. My people's fears! who made them statesmen?
They much mistake their business, if they think,
It is to govern.
The rights of subjects, and of sovereigns,
Are things distinct in nature:—Theirs is to
Enjoy propriety, not empire.

Lys. If they have erred, 'twas but an over-care; An ill-timed duty.

Queen. Cousin, I expect
From your near blood, not to excuse, but check them.
They would impose a ruler upon their lawful queen:
For what's an husband else?

Lys. Far, madam, be it from the thoughts
Of any, who pretends to that high honour,
To wish for more than to be reckoned
As the most graced, and first of all your servants.

Queen. These are the insinuating promises
Of those, who aim at power. But tell me, cousin,
(For you are unconcerned, and may be judge,)
Should that aspiring man compass his ends,
What pawn of his obedience could he give me,
When kingly power were once invested in him?

Lys. What greater pledge than love! When those fair eyes Cast their commanding beams, he, that could be A rebel to your birth, must pay them homage.

Queen. All eyes are fair,
That sparkle with the jewels of a crown:
But now I see my government is odious;
My people find I am not fit to reign,
Else they would never—

Lys. So far from that, we all acknowledge you
The bounty of the gods to Sicily:
More than they are you cannot make our joys;
Make them but lasting in a successor.

Phil. Your people seek not to impose a prince;
But humbly offer one to your free choice:
And such a one he is—may I have leave
To speak some little of his great deserts?—

Queen. I'll hear no more.— For you, attend to-morrow at the council: [To the Deputies. There you shall have my firm resolves:—meantime, My cousin, I am sure, will welcome you.

Lys. Still more and more mysterious: But I have
Gained one of her women that shall unriddle it.—
 [Aside.
Come, gentlemen.

All Dep. Heaven preserve your majesty! [Exeunt LYS. and Dep.

Queen. Philocles, you may stay.

Phil. I humbly wait your majesty's commands.

Queen. Yet, now I better think on't, you may go.

Phil. Madam!

Queen. I have no commands;—or, what's all one, You, no obedience.

Phil. How! no obedience, madam? I plead no other merit; 'tis the charter By which I hold your favour, and my fortunes.

Queen. My favours are cheap blessings, like rain and sunshine, For which we scarcely thank the gods, because We daily have them.

Phil. Madam, your breath, which raised me from the dust,
May lay me there again:
But fate nor time can ever make me lose
The sense of your indulgent bounties to me.

Queen. You are above them now, grown popular:—
Ah, Philocles! could I expect from you
That usage!—no tongue but yours
To move me to a marriage?—[Weeps.
The factious deputies might have some end in't,
And my ambitious cousin gain a crown:
But what advantage could there come to you?
What could you hope from Lysimantes' reign,
That you can want in mine?

Phil. You yourself clear me, madam. Had I sought
More power, this marriage sure was not the way.
But, when your safety was in question,
When all your people were unsatisfied,
Desired a king,—nay more, designed the man,—
It was my duty then,—

Queen. Let me be judge of my own safety. I am a woman; But danger from my subjects cannot fright me.

Phil. But Lysimantes, madam, is a person,—

Queen. I cannot love.
Shall I,—I, who was born a sovereign queen,
Be barred of that, which God and nature gives
The meanest slave, a freedom in my love?—
Leave me, good Philocles, to my own thoughts;
When next I need your counsel, I'll send for you.

Phil. I'm most unhappy in your high displeasure; But, since I must not speak, madam, be pleased To peruse this, and therein read my care.

[He plucks out a paper, and presents it to her; but drops, unknown to him, a picture. Exit PHI.

Queen. [reads.] A catalogue of such persons,— What's this he has let fall, Asteria? [Spies the box.

Ast. Your majesty?—

Queen. Take that up; it fell from Philocles.

[She takes it up, looks on it, and smiles.

Queen. How now, what makes you merry?

Ast. A small discovery I have made, madam.

Queen. Of what?

Ast. Since first your majesty graced Philocles, I have not heard him named for any mistress, But now this picture has convinced me.

Queen. Ha! let me see it.— [Snatches it from her. Candiope, prince Lysimantes' sister!

Ast. Your favour, madam, may encourage him,—
And yet he loves in a high place for him:
A princess of the blood; and, what is more,
Beyond comparison the fairest lady
Our isle can boast.

Queen. How!—she the fairest Beyond comparison!—'Tis false! you flatter her; She is not fair.

Ast. I humbly beg forgiveness on my knees, If I offended you:—But next yours, madam, Which all must yield to.

Queen. I pretend to none.

Ast. She passes for a beauty.

Queen. Ay, she may pass:—But why do I speak of her?— Dear Asteria, lead me, I am not well o' the sudden. [She faints.

Ast. Who's near there?—help the queen!

[The guards are coming.

Queen. Bid them away: 'Twas but a qualm, And 'tis already going.

Ast. Dear madam, what's the matter?
You are of late so altered, I scarce know you.
You were gay humoured, and you now are pensive;
Once calm, and now unquiet:—
Pardon my boldness, that I press thus far
Into your secret thoughts: I have, at least,
A subject's share in you.

Queen. Thou hast a greater. That of a friend:—But I am froward, say'st thou?

Ast. It ill becomes me, madam, to say that.

Queen. I know I am:—Pr'ythee, forgive me for it,— I cannot help it;—but thou hast Not long to suffer it.

Ast. Alas!

Queen. I feel my strength each day and hour consume,
Like lilies wasting in a lymbeck's heat.
Yet a few days,
And thou shalt see me lie, all damp and cold,
Shrouded within some hollow vault, among
My silent ancestors.

Ast. O dearest madam! Speak not of death; or think not, if you die, That I will stay behind.

Queen. Thy love has moved me;—I, for once, will have The pleasure to be pitied. I'll unfold A thing so strange, so horrid of myself—

Ast. Bless me, sweet heaven!— So horrid, said you, madam?

Queen. That sun, who with one look surveys the globe,
Sees not a wretch like me!—And could the world
Take a right measure of my state within,
Mankind must either pity me, or scorn me.

Ast. Sure none could do the last.

Queen. Thou longest to know it,
And I to tell thee, but shame stops my mouth.
First, promise me thou wilt excuse my folly;
And, next, be secret.

Ast. Can you doubt it, madam?

Queen. Yet you might spare my labour:— Can you not guess?

Ast. Madam, please you, I'll try.

Queen. Hold, Asteria!—
I would not have you guess; for should you find it,
I should imagine that some other might,
And then I were most wretched:—
Therefore, though you should know it, flatter me,
And say you could not guess it.

Ast. Madam, I need not flatter you, I cannot—and yet, Might not ambition trouble your repose?

Queen. My Sicily, I thank the Gods, contents me.
But, since I must reveal it, know,—'tis love:
I, who pretended so to glory, am
Become the slave of love.

Ast. I thought your majesty had framed designs
To subvert all your laws; become a tyrant,
Or vex your neighbours, with injurious wars;
Is this all, madam?

Queen. Is not this enough?
Then, know, I love below myself; a subject;
Love one, who loves another, and who knows not
That I love him.

Ast. He must be told it, madam.

Queen. Not for the world, Asteria: Whene'er he knows it, I shall die for shame.

Ast. What is it, then, that would content you?

Queen. Nothing, but that I had not lov'd.

Ast. May I not ask, without offence, who 'tis?

Queen. Ev'n that confirms me, I have loved amiss; Since thou canst know I love, and not imagine It must be Philocles.

Ast. My cousin is, indeed, a most deserving person; Valiant, and wise; handsome, and well-born.

Queen. But not of royal blood:
I know his fate, unfit to be a king.
To be his wife, I could forsake my crown; but not my glory:
Yet—would he did not love Candiope;
Would he loved me—but knew not of my love,
Or e'er durst tell me his.

Ast. In all this labyrinth, I find one path, conducting to our quiet.

Queen. O tell me quickly then!

Ast. Candiope, as princess of the blood,
Without your approbation cannot marry:
First, break his match with her, by virtue of
Your sovereign authority.

Queen. I fear, that were to make him hate me, Or, what's as bad, to let him know, I love him: Could you not do it of yourself?

Ast. I'll not be wanting to my pow'r:
But if your majesty appears not in it,
The love of Philocles will soon surmount
All other difficulties.

Queen. Then, as we walk, we'll think what means are best; Effect but this, and thou shar'st half my breast. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I—The Queens Apartment.

ASTERIA alone.

Nothing thrives that I have plotted;
For I have sounded Philocles, and find
He is too constant to Candiope:
Her too I have assaulted, but in vain,
Objecting want of quality in Philocles.
I'll to the queen, and plainly tell her,
She must make use of her authority
To break the match.

Enter CELADON looking about him.

Brother! what make you here
About the queen's apartments?
Which of the ladies are you watching for?

Cel. Any of 'em, that will do me the good turn, to make me soundly in love.

Ast. Then I'll bespeak you one, you will be desperately in love with; Florimel: So soon as the queen heard you were returned, she gave you her for mistress.

Cel. Thank her majesty; but, to confess the truth, my fancy lies partly another way.

Ast. That's strange: Florimel vows you are already in love with her.

Cel. She wrongs me horribly; if ever I saw or spoke with this Florimel—

Ast. Well, take your fortune, I must leave you.

[Exit ASTERIA.

Enter FLORIMEL, sees him, and is running back.

Cel. Nay, i'faith I am got betwixt you and home; you are my prisoner, lady bright, till you resolve me one question.

[She makes signs she is dumb.]

Pox, I think, she's dumb: what a vengeance dost thou at court, with such a rare face, without a tongue to answer to a kind question? Art thou dumb indeed? then thou canst tell no tales—

[Goes to kiss her.

Flo. Hold, hold, you are not mad!

Cel. Oh, my miss in a mask! have you found your tongue?

Flo. 'Twas time, I think; what had become of me if I had not?

Cel. Me thinks your lips had done as well.

Flo. Ay, if my mask had been over 'em, as it was when you met me in the walks.

Cel. Well; will you believe me another time? Did not I say, you were infinitely handsome? they may talk of Florimel, if they will, but, i'faith, she must come short of you.

Flo. Have you seen her, then?

Cel. I look'd a little that way, but I had soon enough of her; she is not to be seen twice without a surfeit.

Flo. However, you are beholden to her; they say she loves you.

Cel. By fate she shan't love me: I have told her a piece of my mind already? Pox o' these coming women: They set a man to dinner, before he has an appetite. [FLAVIA at the door.

Fla. Florimel, you are call'd within—[Exit.

Cel. I hope in the lord, you are not Florimel!

Flo. Ev'n she, at your service; the same kind and coming Florimel, you have described.

Cel. Why then we are agreed already: I am as kind and coming as you, for the heart of you: I knew, at first, we two were good for nothing but one another.

Flo. But, without raillery, are you in love?

Cel. So horribly much, that, contrary to my own maxims, I think, in my conscience, I could marry you.

Flo. No, no, 'tis not come to that yet; but if you are really in love, you have done me the greatest pleasure in the world.

Cel. That pleasure, and a better too, I have in store for you.

Flo. This animal, call'd a lover, I have long'd to see these two years.

Cel. Sure you walk'd with your mask on all the while; for if you had been seen, you could not have been without your wish.

Flo. I warrant, you mean an ordinary whining lover; but I must have other proofs of love, ere I believe it.

Cel. You shall have the best that I can give you.

Flo. I would have a lover, that, if need be, should hang himself, drown himself, break his neck, poison himself, for very despair: He, that will scruple this, is an impudent fellow if he says he is in love.

Cel. Pray, madam, which of these four things would you have your lover to do? For a man's but a man; he cannot hang, and drown, and break his neck, and poison himself, all together.

Flo. Well, then, because you are but a beginner, and I would not discourage you, any of these shall serve your turn, in a fair way.

Cel. I am much deceiv'd in those eyes of yours, if a treat, a song, and the fiddles, be not a more acceptable proof of love to you, than any of those tragical ones you have mentioned.

Flo. However, you will grant it is but decent you should be pale, and lean, and melancholick, to shew you are in love: And that I shall require of you when I see you next.

Cel. When you see me next? Why you do not make a rabbit of me, to be lean at twenty-four hours warning? in the mean while, we burn day-light, lose time and love.

Flo. Would you marry me without consideration?

Cel. To chuse, by heaven; for they that think on't, twenty to one would never do it. Hang forecast! to make sure of one good night is as much in reason, as a man should expect from this ill world.

Flo. Methinks, a few more years and discretion would do well: I do not like this going to bed so early; it makes one so weary before morning.

Cel. That's much as your pillow is laid, before you go to sleep.

Flo. Shall I make a proposition to you? I will give you a whole year of probation to love me in; to grow reserved, discreet, sober, and faithful, and to pay me all the services of a lover—

Cel. And at the end of it, you'll marry me?

Flo. If neither of us alter our minds before.

Cel. By this light a necessary clause. But if I pay in all the foresaid services before the day, you shall be obliged to take me sooner into mercy.

Flo. Provided, if you prove unfaithful, then your time of a twelve-month to be prolonged; so many services, I will bate you so many days or weeks; so many faults, I will add to your 'prenticeship so much more: And of all this, I only to be judge.

Enter PHILOCLES and LYSIMANTES.

Lys. Is the queen this way, madam?

Flo. I'll see, so please your highness: Follow me, captive.

Cel. March on, conqueror—[She pulls him.

[Exeunt CEL. FLO.

Lys. You're sure her majesty will not oppose it?

Phil. Leave that to me, my lord.

Lys. Then, tho' perhaps my sister's birth might challenge
An higher match,
I'll weigh your merits, on the other side,
To make the balance even.

Phil. I go, my lord, this minute.

Lys. My best wishes wait on you. [Exit LYSIMANTES.

Enter the Queen and ASTERIA.

Queen. Yonder he is; have I no other way?

Ast. O madam, you must stand this brunt:
Deny him now, and leave the rest to me:
I'll to Candiope's mother,
And, under the pretence of friendship, work
On her ambition to put off a match
So mean as Philocles.

Queen. You may approach, sir; [To PHIL. We two discourse no secrets.

Phil. I come, madam, to weary out your royal bounty.

Queen. Some suit, I warrant, for your cousin Celadon. Leave his advancement to my care.

Phil. Your goodness still prevents my wishes.—
Yet I have one request,
Might it not pass almost for madness, and
Extreme ambition in me—

Queen. You know you have a favourable judge; It lies in you not to ask any thing I cannot grant.

Phil. Madam, perhaps, you think me too faulty: But love alone inspires me with ambition, Tho' but to look on fair Candiope were an excuse for both.

Queen. Keep your ambition, and let love alone:
That I can cloy, but this I cannot cure.
I have some reasons (invincible to me) which must forbid
Your marriage with Candiope.

Phil. I knew I was not worthy.

Queen. Not for that, Philocles; you deserve all things,
And, to shew I think it, my admiral, I hear, is dead;
His vacant place (the best in all my kingdom,)
I here confer on you.

Phil. Rather take back all you had giv'n before,
Than not give this;
For believe, madam, nothing is so near
My soul, as the possession of Candiope.

Queen. Since that belief would be to your disadvantage, I will not entertain it.

Phil. Why, madam, can you be thus cruel to me?
To give me all things, which I did not ask,
And yet deny that only thing, I beg:
And so beg, that I find I cannot live
Without the hope of it.

Queen. Hope greater things; But hope not this. Haste to o'ercome your love; It is but putting a short-liv'd passion to a violent death.

Phil. I cannot live without Candiope; But I can die, without a murmur, Having my doom pronounced from your fair mouth.

Queen. If I am to pronounce it, live, my Philocles,
But live without, (I was about to say) [Aside.
Without his love, but that I cannot do;
Live Philocles without Candiope.

Phil. Madam, could you give my doom so quickly,
And knew it was irrevocable!
'Tis too apparent,
You, who alone love glory, and whose soul
Is loosened from your senses, cannot judge
What torments mine, of grosser mould, endures.

Queen. I cannot suffer you
To give me praises, which are not my own:
I love like you, and am yet much more wretched,
Than you can think yourself.

Phil. Weak bars they needs must be, that fortune puts
'Twixt sovereign power, and all it can desire.
When princes love, they call themselves unhappy;
Only, because the word sounds handsome in a lover's mouth;
But you can cease to be so when you please,
By making Lysimantes fortunate.

Queen. Were he indeed the man, you had some reason; But 'tis another, more without my power, And yet a subject too.

Phil. O, madam, say not so:
It cannot be a subject, if not he;
It were to be injurious to yourself
To make another choice.

Queen. Yet, Lysimantes, set by him I love,
Is more obscured, than stars too near the sun:
He has a brightness of his own,
Not borrowed of his father's, but born with him.

Phil. Pardon me if I say, whoe'er he be,
He has practis'd some ill arts upon you, madam;
For he, whom you describe, I see, is born
But from the lees o' the people.

Queen. You offend me, Philocles.
Whence had you leave to use those insolent terms,
Of him I please to love? One, I must tell you,
(Since foolishly I have gone thus far)
Whom I esteem your equal,
And far superior to prince Lysimantes;
One, who deserves to wear a crown—

Phil. Whirlwinds bear me hence, before I live
To that detested day!—That frown assures me
I have offended, by my over-freedom;
But yet, methinks, a heart so plain and honest,
And zealous of your glory, might hope your pardon for it.

Queen. I give it you; but, When you know him better, You'll alter your opinion; he's no ill friend of yours.

Phil. I well perceive,
He has supplanted me in your esteem;
But that's the least of ills this fatal wretch
Has practised—Think, for heaven's sake, madam, think,
If you have drunk no philtre.

Queen. Yes, he has given me a philtre; But I have drunk it only from his eyes.

Phil. Hot irons thank 'em for't! [Softly, or turning from her.

Queen. What's that you mutter? Hence from my sight! I know not whether I ever shall endure to see you more.

Phil. But hear me, madam.

Queen. I say, begone.—See me no more this day.—
I will not hear one word in your excuse:
Now, sir, be rude again; and give laws to your queen.
 [Exit PHILOCLES bowing.
Asteria, come hither.
Was ever boldness like to this of Philocles?
Help me to reproach him, for I resolve
Henceforth no more to love him.

Ast. Truth is, I wondered at your patience, madam: Did you not mark his words, his mein, his action, How full of haughtiness, how small respect?

Queen. And he to use me thus, he whom I favoured, Nay more, he whom I loved?

Ast. A man, methinks, of vulgar parts and presence!

Queen. Or, allow him something handsome, valiant, Or so—Yet this to me!—

Ast. The workmanship of inconsiderate favour,
The creature of rash love; one of those meteors
Which monarchs raise from earth,
And people, wondering how they came so high,
Fear, from their influence, plagues, and wars, and famine.

Queen. Ha!

Ast. One, whom, instead of banishing a day,
You should have plumed of all his borrowed honours,
And let him see what abject things they are,
Whom princes often love without desert.

Queen. What has my Philocles deserved from thee,
That thou shouldst use him thus?
Were he the basest of mankind, thou couldst not
Have given him ruder language.

Ast. Did not your majesty command me? Did not yourself begin?

Queen. I grant I did, but I have right to do it:
I love him, and may rail; in you 'tis malice;
Malice in the most high degree; for never man
Was more deserving than my Philocles.
Or, do you love him, ha! and plead that title?
Confess, and I'll forgive you—
For none can look on him, but needs must love.

Ast. I love him, madam! I beseech your majesty, Have better thoughts of me.

Queen. Dost thou not love him then?
Good heaven, how stupid, and how dull is she?
How most invincibly insensible!
No woman does deserve to live,
That loves not Philocles.

Ast. Dear madam, recollect yourself; alas!
How much distracted are your thoughts; and how
Disjointed all your words!
The sibyl's leaves more orderly were laid.
Where is that harmony of mind, that prudence,
Which guided all you did? that sense of glory,
Which raised you high above the rest of kings,
As kings are o'er the level of mankind?

Queen. Gone, gone, Asteria; all is gone,
Or lost within me, far from any use.
Sometimes I struggle, like the sun in clouds,
But straight I am o'ercast.

Ast. I grieve to see it.

Queen. Then thou hast yet the goodness To pardon what I said? Alas! I use myself much worse than thee. Love rages in great souls, For there his power most opposition finds; High trees are shook, because they dare the winds. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.—The Court Gallery.

PHILOCLES solus.

'Tis true, she banished me but for a day;
But favourites, once declining, sink apace.
Yet fortune, stop—this is the likeliest place
To meet Asteria, and by her convey
My humble vows to my offended queen.
Ha! She comes herself; unhappy man,
Where shall I hide?—[Is going out.

Enter Queen and ASTERIA.

Queen. Is not that Philocles, Who makes such haste away? Philocles, Philocles!—

Phil. I feared she saw me. [Coming back.

Queen. How now, sir, am I such a bugbear, That I scare people from me?

Phil. 'Tis true, I should more carefully have shunned
The place where you might be; as, when it thunders,
Men reverently quit the open air,
Because the angry gods are then abroad.

Queen. What does he mean, Asteria? I do not understand him.

Ast. Your majesty forgets, you banished him Your presence for this day. [To her softly.

Queen. Ha! banished him! 'tis true indeed; But, as thou sayest, I had forgot it quite.

Ast. That's very strange, scarce half an hour ago.

Queen. But love had drawn his pardon up so soon, That I forgot he e'er offended me.

Phil. Pardon me, that I could not thank you sooner; Your sudden grace, like some swift flood poured in On narrow banks, o'erflowed my spirits.

Queen. No: 'tis for me to ask your pardon, Philocles,
For the great injury I did you,
In not remembering I was angry with you:
But I'll repair my fault,
And rouse my anger up against you yet.

Phil. No, madam, my forgiveness was your act of grace, And I lay hold of it.

Queen. Princes sometimes may pass Acts of oblivion, in their own wrong.

Phil. 'Tis true, but not recal them.

Queen. But, Philocles, since I have told you there is one
I love, I will go on, and let you know
What passed this day betwixt us; be our judge,
Whether my servant have dealt well with me.

Phil. I beseech your majesty, excuse me: Any thing more of him may make me Relapse too soon, and forfeit my late pardon.

Queen. But you'll be glad to know it.

Phil. May I not hope, then, You have some quarrel to him?

Queen. Yes, a great one.
But first to justify myself:
Know, Philocles, I have concealed my passion
With such care from him, that he knows not yet
I love, but only that I much esteem him.

Phil. O stupid wretch, That, by a thousand tokens, could not guess it!

Queen. He loves elsewhere, and that has blinded him.

Phil. He's blind indeed!
So the dull beasts in the first paradise,
With levelled eyes, gazed each upon their kind;
There fixed their love, and ne'er looked up to view
That glorious creature man, their sovereign lord.

Queen. Y'are too severe on little faults; but he
Has crimes, untold,
Which will, I fear, move you much more against him.
He fell this day into a passion with me,
And boldly contradicted all I said.

Phil. And stands his head upon his shoulders yet? How long shall this most insolent—

Queen. Take heed you rail not; You know you are but on your good behaviour.

Phil. Why then I will not call him traitor,
But only rude, audacious, and impertinent,
To use his sovereign so—I beg your leave
To wish, you have at least imprisoned him.

Queen. Some people may speak ill, and yet mean well:
Remember you were not confined; and yet
Your fault was great. In short, I love him,
And that excuses all; but be not jealous;
His rising shall not be your overthrow,
Nor will I ever marry him.

Phil. That's some comfort yet; He shall not be a king.

Queen. He never shall. But you are discomposed; Stay here a little; I have somewhat for you, Shall shew, you still are in my favour.

[Exeunt Queen and ASTERIA.

Enter to him CANDIOPE, weeping.

Phil. How now, in tears, my fair Candiope?
So, through a watry cloud,
The sun, at once, seems both to weep and shine.
For what forefather's sin do you afflict
Those precious eyes? For sure you have
None of your own to weep.

Cand. My crimes both great and many needs must shew, Since heaven will punish them with losing you.

Phil. Afflictions, sent from heaven without a cause,
Make bold mankind enquire into its laws.
But heaven, which moulding beauty takes such care,
Makes gentle fates on purpose for the fair:
And destiny, that sees them so divine,
Spins all their fortunes in a silken twine:
No mortal hand so ignorant is found,
To weave coarse work upon a precious ground.

Cand. Go preach this doctrine in my mother's ears.

Phil. Has her severity produced these tears?

Cand. She has recalled those hopes she gave before, And strictly bids me ne'er to see you more.

Phil. Changes in froward age are natural;
Who hopes for constant weather in the fall?
'Tis in your power your duty to transfer,
And place that right in me, which was in her.

Cand. Reason, like foreign foes, would ne'er o'ercome, But that I find I am betrayed at home; You have a friend, that fights for you within.

Phil. Let reason ever lose, so love may win.

Enter Queen with a picture in her hand, and ASTERIA

Queen. See there, Asteria,
All we have done succeeds still to the worse;
We hindered him from seeing her at home,
Where I but only heard they loved; and now
She comes to court, and mads me with the sight on't.

Ast. Dear madam, overcome yourself a little, Or they'll perceive how much you are concerned.

Queen. I struggle with my heart— But it will have some vent. Cousin, you are a stranger at the court. [To CAND.

Cand. It was my duty, I confess, To attend oftner on your majesty.

Queen. Asteria, mend my cousin's handkerchief;
It sits too narrow there, and shows too much
The broadness of her shoulders—Nay, fie, Asteria,
Now you put it too much backward, and discover
The bigness of her breasts.

Cand. I beseech your majesty, Give not yourself this trouble.

Queen. Sweet cousin, you shall pardon me;
A beauty such as yours
Deserves a more than ordinary care,
To set it out.
Come hither, Philocles, do but observe,
She has but one gross fault in all her shape,
That is, she bears up here too much,
And the malicious workman has left it
Open to your eye.

Phil. Where, and please your majesty? Methinks 'tis very well.

Queen. Do not you see it? Oh how blind is love!

Cand. And how quick-sighted malice! [Aside.

Queen. But yet, methinks, those knots of sky do not So well with the dead colour of her face.

Ast. Your majesty mistakes, she wants no red.

[The Queen here plucks out her glass, and looks sometimes on herself, sometimes on her rival.

Queen. How do I look to-day, Asteria? Methinks, not well.

Ast. Pardon me, madam, most victoriously.

Queen. What think you, Philocles? come, do not flatter.

Phil. Paris was a bold man, who presumed, To judge the beauty of a goddess.

Cand. Your majesty has given the reason why He cannot judge; his love has blinded him.

Queen. Methinks, a long patch here, beneath her eye, Might hide that dismal hollowness. What think you, Philocles?