Ptolemy, Cassandra, Courtiers, men and women, all decently placed. Musick, Instrumental and Vocal. Then Ptolemy, taking Cassandra by the hand, advances to the Altar of Apis, bowing thrice, and gives the High Priest a purse. Soft Musick all the while Ptolemy and Cassandra are adoring and speaking.
Ptol. Soul of the universe, and source of life,
Immortal Apis, thou thrice holy fire,
Hear Egypt's vows and mine! If, as we dream,
Egyptian earth, impregnated with flame,
Sprung the first man,
Preserve thy primitive plantation here!
Then, for myself, thy type, and thy vicegerent,
Roll from my loins a long descent of kings,
Mixed of Cassandra's kindly blood and mine.
Mine be she only, and I only hers!
And when I shall resolve again to thee,
May she survive me, and be queen of Egypt:
Hear this, and firm it with some happy omen!
[An Augury portending good success arises from the Altar.
Omnes. Apis be praised for this auspicious omen!
[Ptolemy bowing retires, and seems pleased.
Cas. [Kneels.] Great power of Love! who spread'st thy gentle fire
Through human hearts, art every where adored;
Accept these vows, in show to Apis paid,
And make his altar thine! hear not that wretch,
Because his prayers were not addressed to thee;
Or only hear his last, that I may reign!
Make Cleomenes mine, and mine alone.
Give us a flight secure, a safe arrival,
And crown our wishes in each others arms.
Hear this, and firm it with some happy omen!
[A bad omen arises from the flames of the Altar.
Omnes. Avert this omen, Apis!
Cas. [Rises.] Accursed be thou, grass-eating foddered god!
Accursed thy temple! more accursed thy priests!
The gods are theirs, not ours; and when we pray
For happy omens, we their price must pay.
In vain at shrines the ungiving suppliant stands;
This 'tis to make a vow with empty hands:
Fat offerings are the priesthood's only care;
They take the money, and heaven hears the prayer.
Without a bribe their oracles are mute;
And their instructed gods refuse the suit.
[Exit Cassandra in a fury, King and Attendants
follow. Scene closes.
SCENE III.—The Port of Alexandria.
Enter Cleomenes, and Cleanthes.
Cleom. The propositions are unjust and hard;
And if I swallow them, 'tis as we take
The wrath of heaven.
We must have patience, for they will be gods,
And give us no account of what we suffer.
Clean. My father much abhors this middle way,
Betwixt a gift and sale of courtesy.
But 'tis the mistress; she that seemed so kind,
'Tis she, that bears so hard a hand upon you;
She that would half oblige, and half affront.
Cleom. Let her be what she is: that's curse enough.
But such a wife, a mother, and a son!
Oh sure, ye gods! when ye made this vile Egypt,
Ye little thought, they should be mortgaged here!
My only comfort
Is, that I trust these precious pawns with thee;
For thou art so religiously a friend,
That I would sooner leave them in thy hands,
Than if I had security from heaven,
And all the gods to answer for their safety.
Clean. Yes, yes; they shall be safe;
And thou shall have a pledge,
As strong as friendship can make over to thee.
Deny me not, for I must go with thee,
And share what fate allots for thee in Greece. [Cleomenes looks discontentedly.
Nay, cast not on me that forbidding frown;
But let me be their pawn, as they are thine:
So I shall have thee wholly to myself,
And be thy wife, thy mother, and thy son,
As thou art all to me.
Cleom.Oh friend![Sighs, and wipes his eyes.
Clean. What wouldst thou say, my better part?
Cleom. No more, but this, that thou art too unkind,
When even in kindness thou wouldst overcome.
Clean. Let me be proud; and pardon thou my pride.
Base, worthless Egypt has no other pawn,
To counter-balance these, but only me.
'Twas on such terms alone I durst propose it.
Shalt thou leave these,
And I not leave a father, whom I love?
Come, come, it must be so.
We'll give each other all we have besides;
And then we shall be even.—Here they are!
I leave thee. Break those tender ties of nature,
As gently as thou canst; they must be broken. [Going, returns.
But, when thou seest Cassandra, curb thy spleen;
Seem to receive the kindness as from her;
And, if thou think'st I love thee, for my sake,
Remembering me, strive to forget my father. [Exit Clean.
Enter Cleora, Cratesiclea, and Cleonidas.
Cleom. But how can I sustain to tell them this, [Walking from them.
Even in the gentlest terms!
There are not words in any tongue so soft
As I would use: the gods must have a new one,
If they would have me speak.
Crat. How, king of Sparta! When your fortune smiles,
A glorious sunshine, and a gloomy soul?
The gods love chearfulness, when they are kind;
They think their gifts despised, and thrown away
On sullen thankless hearts.
Cleor. I hear, my dearest lord, that we shall go.
Cleom. Go!
Cleon. What a mournful echo makes my father!
By Mars, he stifles go upon his tongue,
And kills the joyful sound; he speaks so low,
That heaven must listen, if it hear his thanks.
Cleom. Yes, I shall go; but how?
Cleor. With Egypt's aid.
Cleon. With his own soul and sword, a thousand strong;
And worth ten Egypts, and their ten thousand gods.
Crat. There's something more in this, than what we guess;
Some secret anguish rolls within his breast,
That shakes him like an earthquake, which he presses,
And will not give it vent: I know him well.
He blushes, and would speak, and wants a voice;
And stares and gapes like a forbidden ghost,
Till he be spoke to first.—Tell me, my son!
Cleom. Mother, I will.—And yet I cannot neither. [Aside.
Mother! that word has struck me dumb again:
For, how can I say mother, and propound
To leave her here behind, who gave me life?
Mother! and wife! and son! the names that nature
Most loves to speak, are banished from my mouth.
Cleor. Tell us, my love, the king has changed his mind,
And has refused us leave; for we can bear it:
Egypt is Greece to me, while you are here.
Cleom. Oh I would speak! But, oh! you speak so kindly,
That you forbid my speech: You call me love.
Cleor. Was that too kind a word?
Cleom. It was to me: I am a mere barbarian,
A brute, a stock, for I have no relations,
Or shortly shall have none.
Cleor. Then we must die!
Cleon. We must; and welcome death.
Crat. To save his life.
Cleom. The gods forbid that you should die for me!
No, you may live; but I must die thrice over,
For I must leave you here, or must not go:
These are the hard conditions offered me.
Crat. Then Egypt would have pledges: Is this all?
Cleom. Yes, and a mighty all: 'Tis all I have.
But I propose it not; remember that.
Crat. I do; and therefore I propose it first,
To save this virtuous shame, this good confusion,
That would not let you speak.
Cleom. Oh! I could almost think you love me not,
You granted me so quick, so willingly,
What I,—bear witness, heaven,—was slow to ask,
And would be loth to have.
Cleor. I cannot leave you.
Cleom. I was but wishing thou wouldst draw me back,
And now, I cannot go.
Crat. Are you turned woman?
No more of this fond stuff.
Cleon. Shall I be left to gather rust in Egypt?
A glue of sloth to stick to my young pinions,
And mar their flight; habitual cowardice?
No; I must learn my stubborn trade of war
From you alone, and envy you betimes.
Cleom. But the conditions! Oh these hard conditions!
That such a spirit must be left behind,
Untaught, unfashioned by a father's hands!
A spirit fit to start into an empire,
And look the world to law.
Crat. No more debating, for I see the pinch.
He must be left, and so must she and I,
For we are but your softnesses, my son;
The incumbrances and luggage of the war.
Fight for us, and redeem us, if you please;
For there we are your clogs of virtue; here,
The spurs of your return.
Cleom. I thank you, mother;
Once more you have erected me to man,
And set me upright, with my face to heaven.
The woman and the boy be yours awhile:
The war be mine alone!
Crat. There spoke the Spartan king: Think not on us.
Cleom. I wonnot.
Cleor. Not in prayers!
Cleon. In prayers! That's poor,
As if the gods were thoughtless of their work.
Think on us, when you fight; and when you make
A lusty stroke, cry out,—That's for my boy.
Crat. Dispose this mouldering carcase as you please,
Ere lingering age or sickness wear it out,
Unprofitable then for Sparta's good.
Be chearful, fight it well, and all the rest
Leave to the gods and fortune.
Cleom. If they fail me,
Theirs be the fault, for fate is theirs alone:
My virtue, fame, and honour are my own. [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.—An Antechamber of Cassandra's
Lodging.
Enter Ptolemy, Sosibius, Cœnus, and Cassandra.
Sosib. So, so,—it works; now, mistress, sit you fast. [Aside.
Ptol. Humph, whores and catamites!
Were those his words?
Cœn. Upon my life they were.
Ptol. Whom should he mean by those unmannered terms?
Cassandra, can you guess?
Cas. 'Twas kindly asked.
Ptol. A foul-mouthed villain.
Sosib. So I should have thought,
But that this lady knows him good and grateful.
Cœn. Madam, I stand suspected without cause;
And, but I fear revenge from this great man,
I could say more.
Cas. I thought he was concerned.
Sosib. Who, I?
Cas. Speak boldly, Grecian, I protect thee.
Cœn. Cleanthes then was present, and he added——
Enter Cleanthes.
But he appears in time to hear his charge.
Sosib. My dear, dear son! [Aside.
I fear thy lavish tongue has ruined thee;
What can I do to save thee?
Cas. Well, proceed.
Cœn. Can you deny, my lord, that you were present,
When Cleomenes taxed the court, and king,
With brutal vices?
Clean. I remember somewhat
Of certain horses which he could not buy,
And saw thee go away dissatisfied;
Which to prevent, I meant to purchase them:
The rest I heard not, nor believe he spoke.
Cas. Cleanthes added farther; that thou saidst,—
Ptol. And we would know, ere tortures force it from thee.
Sosib. Now comes the fatal stroke. [Aside.
Cœn. He added farther,——
Clean. No, thou addest it all;
And I demand the combat.
Ptol. Let him speak.
Sosib. Think first, Cleanthes! Think before you hazard
Your life and honour in this bold appeal:
Somewhat you might have said, nay more, you ought,
Since I commanded you to be a spy
On Cleomenes' acts and close designs.
Clean. The good old liar would preserve my life,
And I must steer his course. [Aside.
[To the King.
I think——I farther added,——
Ptol. 'Tis forgiven;
So wholly pardoned, that I will not hear it;
Good spies are useful, and must be encouraged.
But what must next be done with Cleomenes?
Sosib. Dispatch him, as the source of all your fears.
Observe the mounting billows of the main,
Blown by the winds into a raging storm;
Brush off those winds, and the high waves return
Into their quiet first created calm:—
Such is the rage of busy blustering crowds,
Fomented by the ambition of the great:
Cut off the causes, and the effect will cease;
And all the moving madness fall to peace.
Ptol. Let him be seized, in order to his death;
I am in haste, you know it, for my progress.
A thousand pleasures wait me at Canopus,
And this poor trifling business of one life
Encumbers all.—Cassandra, are you ready?
We will be seen like Isis and Osiris,
Drawn in one chariot, for admiring eyes
To worship as we pass.
Cas. A word in private;—Cœnus, attend without. [Exit.
[Cassandra leads the King to a corner of the
Stage; Sosibius takes his Son to the other.
Sosib. [To Clean.] Now I am twice your father, by preserving
The life I gave you, which your folly hazarded.
Break off all friendship with that Spartan king,
Or never see me more: His fate's resolved,
Nor can you stem the tide; avoid his ruins;
Reply not, but obey.
Clean. I know my duty. [Bowing.
Sosib. Thou overjoyest me: Follow, we'll talk farther.
[Exeunt Sosib. and Clean.
Cas. What think you of Sosibius and his son?
Ptol. As of two creatures zealous for my service.
Cas. Oh heavens! that I should love this king so well!
But that I doat—What can I see in him,
But dull good nature and simplicity?
Well, well! my little dear, I find the gods
Have given me here no business of my own,
But made me just your drudge, to love and save you.
Ptol. 'Protest I thought them honest; are they not?
Cas. Ye gods! why did you make this man your image?
And made him but an image?—You'll forgive me;
I love you so, that I am forced to rail.
You saw no close conveyance of the game
Betwixt the crafty sire and cunning son;
How slily one invented an excuse,
And t'other took it up as dexterously!
Ptol. Why, sure Cleanthes was his father's spy?
Cas. Yes, over you; but not on Cleomenes.
I fear you are betrayed, and the gods blind you,
To make your ruin sure.
Ptol. As how, Cassandra?
Cas. When you are absent——
Ptol. Well!
Cas. 'Tis in their power——
Ptol. To murder Cleomenes——
Cas. If they please;
Or else to set him free, and join with Magas.
Ptol. I will not to Canopus.
Cas. Yes, you must.
Ptol. But how shall I be safe, and take this journey?
Cas. Leave that to me.
Ptol. But you must go along.
Cas. No; I must stay here, in order to your safety,
To watch the growth of danger, and prevent it.
This cruel absence I must undergo,
Or else I love you not.
Ptol. Since I must go,
I'll cheat them of a day, and come before
My time, for love of thee.
Cas. To sum up all,—
For we are both in haste,—
Intrust your royal signet in my hands.
Ptol. Joined with Sosibius.
Cas. Would you trust a statesman
Before your own dear heart? You love him better,
You naughty man, in faith you do; and, now I think on't,
I will not have your signet: By this kiss,
And this, and this, I will not.
Ptol. By all three, thou shalt. [Gives her the Signet from his Finger.
But kill this Cleomenes quickly, he's dangerous.
Cas. He's in safe hands with me.
Ptol. One more embrace.
Cas. There, take it, and now go.
Thus, for your good, I thrust you from my arms.
Ptol. Farewell, my love. [Exit Ptolemy.
Cas. Farewell——I hope for ever.—
Now, Cleomenes, I will sound thy soul,
For life and death depend upon thy choice;
But for that easy wretch, him I comtemn.
Hard state of lovers, subject to our laws!
Fools we must have, or else we cannot sway;
For none but fools will womankind obey.
If they prove stubborn, and resist our will,
We exercise our power, and use them ill.
The passive slave, that whines, adores, and dies,
Sometimes we pity, but we still despise:
But when we doat, the self-same fate we prove,
Fools at the best, but double fools in love.
We rage at first with ill-dissembled scorn;
Then, falling from our height, more basely mourn;
And man, the insulting tyrant, takes his turn,
Leaves us to weep for our neglected charms,
And hugs another mistress in his arms;
And, that which humbles our proud sex the most,
Of all our slighted favours makes his boast. [Exit Cassandra.
Enter Cleomenes.
Cleom. Her words, her every look, confess she loves me;
And therefore she detains these hostages,
As pawns of my return to her and Egypt.
Thus far 'tis plain and obvious:—But the picture;
That Helen: There's the riddle of her love.
For, what I see, or only think I see,
Is like a glimpse of moonshine, streaked with red,—
A shuffled, sullen, and uncertain light,
That dances through the clouds, and shuts again:
Then 'ware a rising tempest on the main.
Enter Cassandra.
Cas. I would, but cannot speak.
The shame that should to womankind belong,
Flown from my bosom, hovers on my tongue. [Aside.
Cleom. 'Tis rarely seen, that gods from heaven descend,
But for some kind, some charitable end.
And yet your troubled looks ill news import,
Stops, or delays; but that's no news at court:
There's somewhat which your pity would disguise.
Cas. Would you could read that somewhat in my eyes!
But, as you are a Spartan and a king,
Undaunted hear whatever news I bring.
The favourite hates you; Cœnus has betrayed
The bitter truths, that our loose court upbraid.
Your friend was set upon you for a spy,
And on his witness you are doomed to die.
Cleom. I have been plunged already twice in woes,
And the third time above the waves I rose.
Still I have strength to steer me into port,
And shun the secret quick-sands of the court.
But when my friend, who should expecting stand
On the bare beach, to lend his helping hand;
When he defends the unhospitable shore,
And drives me thence, I sink for evermore.
But 'tis impossible, his faith is tried;
The man, who had defamed him thus, had lied.
Cas. Well! I forgive your blunt Laconic way;
It shall be seen, it shall this very day,
Who would preserve your life, and who betray.
The king incensed, the favourite your foe,
Yet on the same conditions you may go;
Your wife, your son, your mother left behind.
What think you now?
Cleom. 'Tis to be wonderous kind.
Cas. Suppose I add a farther bounty yet.
Cleom. It could but make your favours over weight.
Cas. What if I went myself to waft you o'er,
And left you when I saw you safe ashore?
For I should leave you, if you thought it fit,
Not to do more, than honour would permit.
Can I do less, to show you I am kind,
To comfort you for those you left behind?
Cleom. The world would think you kinder than you ought.
Cas. Why should I care what base Egyptians thought?
Cleom. Immoderate gifts oppress me, not relieve;
Nor dare I take what ruins you to give.
Cas. Leave me to judge of that; I could prescribe
An easy way of giving back my bribe.
Why would you force me farther than my part?
Look on my eyes, and you may read my heart. [Looks on her as by stealth.
Oh, there you met me with a guilty glance!
Now 'tis too late to plead your ignorance.
Cleom. I am so much below, and you above,
What can I say?
Cas. But one kind word,—I love.
Cleom. As far as gratitude that love can pay.
Cas. Oh, stop not there; for that's but half the way!
Would you to one poor narrow word confine
Your passion, when I put no bounds to mine?
Cleom. Cleora!
Cas. Now you speak too soon; forbear!
Nothing can please me, that begins with her.
Cleom. I must begin, where nature, void of art,
Directs my tongue,—with her, who rules my heart.
Cas. Let us together sail before the wind,
And leave that dull domestic drudge behind.
Cleom. What! to expose her helpless innocence
To the wild fury of an injured prince?
}
{ Cas. A vain surmise; their talents would agree.
{ The gods have made your noble mind for me,
{ And her insipid soul for Ptolemy:
A heavy lump of earth, without desire;
A heap of ashes, that o'erlays your fire.
Cleom. Virtue you must allow her, though a foe.
Cas. No more than what I would to ice and snow.
Yet those have seeds of heat; her shivering blood
Makes her, at best, but impotently good.
But neither I can save you, if you stay,
Nor save myself unless I go away;
For, if I stay behind, and set you free,
The fury of the king would fall on me.
Cleom. Then, to prevent your fate, I must not go;
Death is my choice, since heaven will have it so.
Cas. Heaven would preserve your life, and so would I;
But you are obstinately bent to die.
Cleom. Some men are made of such a leaky mould,
That their filled vessels can no fortune hold:
Poured in, it sinks away, and leaves them dry;
Of that unsusceptible make am I.
Yet think not, fair one, I your charms despise;
My heart's insensible, but not my eyes:
Respect and gratitude are all my store,
And those I give; my love was given before.
Cas. Thus break false merchants, with an honest show;
Rich to themselves, but bankrupts where they owe.
Cleom. If at this awful distance I remain,
Better be too devout, than too profane.
Cas. Flattery! such alms the priesthood give the poor;
They bless, and send them empty from the door.
Know you, that Death stands ready at the gate,
That I forbid him, and suspend your fate?
The king's short absence leaves me absolute;
When he returns, the inevitable ill
Is past my power, and may be past my will.
Unhappy man! prevent thy destiny;
Speak one kind word, to save thy life and me.
Cleom. Be answered, and expect no more reply.
Cas. Disdain has swelled him up, and choked his breath;
Sullen, and dumb, and obstinate to death.
No signs of pity in his face appear;
Look, if the ungrateful creature shed one tear!
Crammed with his pride, he leaves no room within
For sighs to issue out, or love to enter in.— [He turns away.
What! dost thou turn thy face in my despite?
Am I a toad? a monster to thy sight?
Farewell, fond pity, then: As thou from me,
So thy good fortune turns her face from thee.
Left, scorned, and loathed, and all without relief,
Revenge succeeds to love, and rage to grief.
}
{ Tempests and whirlwinds through my bosom move,
{ Heave up, and madly mount my soul above
{ The reach of pity, or the bounds of love.—
Approach, and seize the traitor.
Enter Guards.
Cleom. Now I can speak: thy kindness kept me dumb,
For that I could not answer. The false Syren,
No longer hiding her uncomely parts,
Struts on the waves, and shews the brute below.
Cas. Stop that foul mouth! Behold this royal signet,
The warrant of his death. [Guards go to seize him.
Cleom. Stand back, ye slaves, [He draws his Sword.
And put me not to stain a Spartan sword
With base Egyptian blood. [He advances upon them; they retire, with signs of fear.
Cas. Fall on!—Behold a noble beast at bay,
And the vile huntsmen shrink!—More aid: Who waits?—
Enter Cleanthes.
Now, sir, what brings you here?
Clean. My zeal to serve you.
Cas. That shall be tried; disarm him.
Clean. Cleomenes,
Deliver me your sword.
Cleom. How's this, Cleanthes?
Clean. It must be so.
Cleom. Is this a friend's advice,
To give me up defenceless to a crowd,
Whom, armed, I could resist?
Clean. Must he die, madam,
Or be reserved for further punishment,
At Ptolemy's return?
Cas. Why ask you that?
Clean. Because his destiny, for aught I find,
Depends on you. Think first, and then command.
Cas. Know then, that his last thread is on the distaff,
And I can cut it now.
Clean. And are resolved?
Clean. Once more, your sword.
Cleom. Stand off those villains;—though I fear them not,
Yet cowards are offensive to my sight;
Nor shall they see me do an act, that looks
Below the courage of a Spartan king.
Cas. Cleanthes, may I trust your faith?
Clean. You may.
Cas. Be gone, and wait my call. [Exeunt Guards.
Cleom. Cleanthes! Still my friend; for such I hold thee,
Though this bad woman says thou art my spy;
I cannot give a greater proof than this,
That I believe her not: [Gives him his Sword.
If thou art false,
'Tis in thy power to show it safely, now;
And compass that by treason, which, in arms,
Nor thou, nor any man alive, can force.
Remember still, I gave it to a friend;
For life and death are equal in themselves;
That, which would cast the balance, is thy falsehood,
To make my death more wretched.
Clean. Then you may think me that, which you call false;
But duty to my father—
Cleom. Say no more!
I would not curse thee, for thou wert my friend.
I think thee still as honest as thou couldst;
Impenetrably good; but, like Achilles,
Thou hadst a soft Egyptian heel undipt,
And that has made thee mortal.
Cas. Cleanthes, thou hast well approved thy faith;
And, as this palace is thy government,
On utmost peril of thy life secure him.—
One farther word— [Whispers.
[Exit Clean. looking concernedly on Cleom.
Cleom. So guilty as thou art, and canst thou look
On him thou hast betrayed?—Go, take thy hire,
Which thou hast dearly purchased, and be great.
Cas. For you, brave sir, as you have given my hopes
But air to feed on, air shall be your food;
No bread shall enter these forbidden doors.
Thin, hungry diet, I confess; but still
The liker Spartan fare. Keen appetites,
And quick digestion, wait on you and yours.
Cleom. O mix not innocence and guilt together!
What love have they refused, or how offended?
Be just, though you are cruel; or, be kind,
And punish me alone.
Cas. There nature works;
Then there I'll stab thee in thy tender part. [Shrieks of Women within.
Cleom. What dismal cries are those?
Cas. Nothing; a trifling sum of misery,
New-added to the foot of thy account:
Thy wife is seized by force, and borne away.—
Farewell; I dare not trust thy vengeance further. [Exit.
[Running to the Door, he is stopt by Guards with drawn Swords.
Cleom. Cleora!—There stands death, but no Cleora;
I would find both together.
Enter Cratesiclea, Cleonidas, and Pantheus with Blood on his Hands.
Crat. Oh king of Sparta!
Cleom. Peace, mother, peace;
I have had news from hell before you,—
Cleora's gone to death. Is there a door,
A casement, or a rift within these walls,
That can let loose my body to her rescue?
Panth. All closed; nothing but heaven above is open.
Cleom. Nay, that's closed too; the gods are deaf to prayers!
Hush then; the irrevocable doom's gone forth,
And prayers lag after, but can ne'er o'ertake.—
Let us talk forward of our woes to come.
Crat. Cleanthes! (Oh, could you suspect his faith?)
'Twas he, that headed those, who forced her hence.
Cleom. Pantheus bleeds!
Panth. A scratch, a feeble dart,
At distance thrown by an Egyptian hand.
Crat. You heard me not; Cleanthes is——
Cleom. He was——no more, good mother;
He tore a piece of me away, and still
The void place aches within me.—O, my boy,
I have bad news to tell thee.
Cleon. None so bad,
As that I am a boy. Cleanthes scorned me;
And, when I drove a thrust, home as I could,
To reach his traitor heart, he put it by,
And cried, as in derision,—Spare the stripling.
Oh that insulting word! I would have swopped
Youth for old age, and all my life behind,
To have been then a momentary man.
Cleom. Alas! thy manhood, like a forward spring,
Before it comes to bear the promised fruit,
Is blighted in the bud. Never, my boy,
Canst thou fetch manhood up, with thy short steps,
While, with long strides, the giant stalks before thee.
Cleon. Am I to die before I am a man?
Cleom. Yes, thou must die with me, and I with her,
Who gave me life; and our poor infant too, within,
Must die before it knows what dying means.
Three different dates of nature, one would think;
But fate has crammed us all into one lease,
And that even now expiring.
Panth. Yet we live.
Cleom. No, even now we die; death is within us,
And keeps our life; for nourishment is life,
And we have fed our last; hunger feeds death.
Crat. A lingering doom, but four days hence the same;
And we can shorten those, turn days to hours,
And hours to moments; death is in our call.
Panth. The sooner, then, the better.
Cleon. So say I.
Panth. While we have spirits left to meet him boldly.
Cleon. I'll hold my breath,
And keep my soul a prisoner in my body;
There let it creep and wander in the dark,
Till, tired to find no outlet, it retreats
Into my Spartan heart, and there lies pleased;
So, we two are provided.—Sir, your choice? [To Cleom.
Cleom. Not this dispatch, for we may die at leisure.
This famine has a sharp and meagre face:
'Tis death in an undress of skin and bone;
Where age and youth, their land-mark ta'en away,
Look all one common furrow.
Crat. Yet you chuse it,
To please our foes; that, when they view our skeletons,
And find them all alike, they may cry out,—
Look how these dull obedient Spartans died,
Just as we wished, as we prescribed their death,
And durst not take a nobler, nearer way!
Cleom. Not so; but that we durst not tempt the gods,
To break their images without their leave.
The moment ere Cassandra came, I had
A note without a name, the hand unknown,
That bade me not despair, but still hope well.
Then die not yet;
For heaven has means to free us; if not me,
Yet these, and you. I am the hunted stag,
Whose life may ransom yours.
Crat. No more of that:
I find your distant drift,—to die alone;
An unkind accusation of us all,
As if we durst not die; I'll not survive you.
Panth. Nor I.
Cleon. Nor I.
Cleom. But hear my reasons.—
Enter Cleora, in a black Veil.
Ha, what shadow's this! this, that can glide through walls,
Or pass its subtile limbs through bolts and bars!
Black, too! like what it represents, our fate.
Cleor. Too true a shadow I, and you the substance. [Lifts up her Veil.
Omnes. Cleora!
Cleom. Thus let me grow again to thee,
Too close for fate to sever!
Or let death find me in these dear, dear arms;
And, looking on thee, spare my better part,
And take me willing hence.
Crat. What! are you dreaming, son, with eyes cast upwards,
Like a mad prophet in an ecstacy?
Cleom. Musing on what we saw.
Just such is death,
With a black veil, covering a beauteous face.
Feared afar off
By erring nature; a mistaken phantom;
A harmless, lambent fire. She kisses cold;
But kind, and soft, and sweet, as my Cleora.
Oh, could we know
What joys she brings, at least, what rest from grief;
How should we press into her friendly arms,
And be pleased not to be, or to be happy!
Crat. Look, what we have forgot! The joy to see
Cleora here, has kept us from enquiring,
By what strange means she entered.
Cleom. Small joy, heaven knows, to be adopted here,
Into the meagre family of famine!
The house of hunger! therefore asked I not;
So am I pleased to have her company,
And so displeased to have it but in death.
Cleor. I know not how, or why, my surly gaoler,
Hard as his irons, and insolent as power
When put in vulgar hands, Cleanthes gone,
Put off the brute; and with a gloomy smile,
That showed a sullen lothness to be kind,
Screened me within this veil, then led me forth;
And, using to the guards Cassandra's name,
Made that my passport: every door flew ope,
To admit my entrance; and then clapt behind me,
To bar my going back.
Cleom. Some new resolve.
Cassandra plots, and then refines on malice;
Plays with revenge. With rage she snatched you hence,
And renders you with scorn: I thought to show you,
How easy 'twas to die, by my example,
And hansel fate before you; but thy presence
Has changed my mind, to drag this lingering life,
To share thy sorrows, and assist thy weakness.—
Come in, my friends, and let us practise death;
Stroke the grim lion, till he grow familiar.—
Cleora, thou and I, as lovers should,
Will hand in hand to the dark mansions go,
Where life no more can cheat us into woe;
That, sucking in each other's latest breath,
We may transfuse our souls, and put the change on death. [Exeunt.
ACT V.—SCENE I.
Enter Cassandra and Sosibius.