Thomas Otway / The Best Plays of the Old Dramatists

Nay, this strange ceremony pray give o'er.

Don Car. Was I ne'er in this posture seen before?
Ah! can your cruel heart so soon resign
All sense of these sad sufferings of mine?
To your more just remembrance, if you can,
Recall how fate seemed kindly to ordain
That once you should be mine; which I believed:
Though now, alas! I find I was deceived.

Queen. Then, sir, you should your fate, not me upbraid.

Don Car. I will not say you've broke the vows you made;
Only implore you would not quite forget
The wretch you've oft seen dying at your feet;
And now no other favour begs to have,
Than such kind pity as becomes your slave.
For 'midst your highest joys, without a crime,
At least you now and then may think of him.

Queen. If e'er you loved me, you would this forbear;
It is a language which I dare not hear.
My heart and faith become your father's right,
All other passions I must now forget.

Don Car. Can then a crown and majesty dispense
Upon your heart such mighty influence,
That I must be for ever banished thence?
Had I been raised to all the heights of power,
In triumph crowned the world's great emperor,
Of all its riches, all its state possessed,
Yet you should still have governed in my breast.

Queen. In vain on her you obligations lay,
Who wants not will, but power to repay.

Hen. Yet had you Henrietta's heart, you would
At least strive to afford him all you could. [Aside.

Don Car. Oh! say not you want power; you may with one
Kind look pay doubly all I've undergone.
And knew you but the innocence I bear,
How pure, how spotless all my wishes are,
You would not scruple to supply my want,
When all I ask you may so safely grant.

Queen. I know not what to grant; too well I find
That still at least I cannot be unkind.

Don Car. Afford me then that little which I crave.

Queen. You shall not want what I may let you have.

[Gives her hand, sighing.

Don Car. Like one
That sees a heap of gems before him cast,
Thence to choose any that may please him best;
From the rich treasure whilst I choice should make,
Dazzled with all, I know not where to take.
I would be rich—

Queen. Nay, you too far encroach;
I fear I have already given too much. [Turns from him.

Don Car. Oh, take not back again the appearing bliss:
How difficult's the path to happiness!
Whilst up the precipice we climb with pain,
One little slip throws us quite down again.
Stay, madam, though you nothing more can give
Than just enough to keep a wretch alive,
At least remember how I've loved—

Queen. I will.

Don Car. That was so kind, that I must beg more still;
Let me love on: it is a very poor
And easy grant, yet I'll request no more.

Queen. Do you believe that you can love retain,
And not expect to be beloved again?

Don Car. Yes, I will love, and think I'm happy too,
So long as I can find that you are so;
All my disquiets banish from my breast;
I will endeavour to do so at least. [Sighing deeply.
Or, if I can't my miseries outwear,
They never more shall come to offend your ear.

Queen. Love then, brave prince, whilst I'll thy love admire;

[Gives her hand, which Don Carlos during all this speech kisses eagerly.

Yet keep the flame so pure, such chaste desire,
That without spot hereafter we above
May meet, when we shall come all soul, all love.
Till when—Oh! whither am I run astray?
I grow too weak, and must no longer stay:
For should I, the soft charm so strong would grow,
I find that I shall want the power to go.

[Exeunt Queen and Henrietta.

Don Car. Oh, sweet—
If such transport be in a taste so small,
How blest must he be that possesses all!
Where am I, Posa? Where's the queen?

[Standing amazed.

M. of Posa. My lord,
A while some respite to your heart afford:
The queen's retired—

Don Car. Retired! And did she then
Just show me Heaven, to shut it in again?
This little ease augments my pain the more;
For now I'm more impatient than before,
And have discovered riches make me mad.

M. of Posa. But since those treasures are not to be had,
You should correct desires that drive you on
Beyond that duty which becomes a son.
No longer let the tyrant love invade;
The brave may by themselves be happy made.
You to your father now must all resign.

Don Car. But ere he robbed me of her, she was mine.
To be my friend is all thou hast to do,
For half my miseries thou canst not know.
Make myself happy! Bid the damned do so;
Who in sad flames must be for ever tossed,
Yet still in view of the loved Heaven they've lost. [Exeunt.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.—The same.

Enter Don John of Austria.

Don John. How vainly would dull moralists impose
Limits on love, whose nature brooks no laws?
Love is a god, and like a god should be
Inconstant, with unbounded liberty,
Rove as he list—
I find it; for even now I've had a feast,
Of which a god might covet for a taste.
Methinks I yet
See with what soft devotion in her eyes
The tender lamb came to the sacrifice.
Oh, how her charms surprised me as I lay!
Like too near sweets they took my sense away;
And I even lost the power to reach at joy.
But those cross witchcrafts soon unravelled were,
And I was lulled in trances sweeter far:
As anchored vessels in calm harbours ride,
Rocked on the swellings of the floating tide.
How wretched's then the man, who though alone
He thinks he's blest, yet, as confined to one,
Is but at best a prisoner on a throne?

Enter the King attended, Marquis of Posa, and Ruy-Gomez.

King. Ye mighty powers, whose substitutes we are,
On whom you've lain of earth the rule and care,
Why all our toils do you reward with ill,
And to those weighty cares add greater still?
Oh, how could I your deities enrage,
That blessed my youth, thus to afflict my age?
A queen and a son's incest! dismal thought!

Don John. What is't so soon his majesty has brought
From the soft arms of his young bride? [To Ruy-Gomez.

King. Ay, true!
Is she not, Austria, young and charming too?
Dost thou not think her to a wonder fair?
Tell me!

Don John. By Heaven, more bright than planets are:
Her beauty's force might even their power out-do.

King. Nay, she's as false, and as unconstant too.
O Austria, that a form so outward bright
Should be within all dark and ugly night!
For she, to whom I'd dedicated all
My love, that dearest jewel of my soul,
Takes from its shrine the precious relic down,
To adorn a little idol of her own,—
My son! that rebel both to Heaven and me!
Oh, the distracting throes of jealousy!
But as a drowning wretch, just like to sink,
Seeing him that threw him in upon the brink,
At the third plunge lays hold upon his foe,
And tugs him down into destruction too;
So thou, from whom these miseries I've known,
Shalt bear me out again, or with me drown.

[Seizes roughly on Ruy-Gomez.

Ruy-Gom. My loyalty will teach me how to wait
All the successes of my sovereign's fate.
What is't, great sir, you would command me?

King. How!
What is't?—I know not what I'd have thee do:
Study revenge for me, 'tis that I want.

Don John. Alas! what frenzy does your temper haunt?
Revenge! on whom?

King. On my false queen and son.

Ruy-Gom. On them! good Heaven! what is't that they have done?
Oh, had my tongue been cursed, ere it had bred
This jealousy! [Half aside.

King. Then cancel what thou'st said.
Didst thou not tell me that thou saw'st him stand
Printing soft vows and kisses on her hand,
Whilst in requital she such glances gave,
Would quicken a dead lover in his grave?

Ruy-Gom. I did; and what less could the queen allow
To him than you to every vassal show?
The affording him that little from love's store
Implied that she for you reserved much more.

King. Oh, doubtless, she must have a wondrous store
Of love, that sells it at a rate so poor.
Now thou'dst rebate [12] my passion with advice;
And, when thou shouldst be active, wouldst be wise.
No, lead me where I may their incest see—
Do, or by Heaven—do, and I'll worship thee!
Oh, how my passions drive me to and fro!
Under their heavy weight I yield and bow.
But I'll re-gather yet my strength, and stand
Brandishing all my thunder in my hand.

M. of Posa. And may it be sent forth, and where it goes
Light fatally and heavy on your foes!
But let your loyal son and consort bear
No ill, since they of any guiltless are.
Here with my sword defiance I proclaim
To that bold traitor that dares wrong their fame.

Don John. I too dare with my life their cause make good.

King. Sure well their innocence you've understood,
That you so prodigal are of your blood.
Or wouldst thou speak me comfort? I would find
'Mongst all my counsellors at least one kind.
Yet any thing like that I must not hear;
For so my wrongs I should too tamely bear,
And weakly grow my own mean flatterer.
Posa, withdraw—[Exit Marquis of Posa.]—My lords, all this you've heard.

Ruy-Gom. Yes, I observed it, sir, with strict regard:
The young lord's friendship was too great to hide.

King. Is he then so to my false son allied?
I am environed every way, and all
My fate's unhappy engines plot my fall.
Like Cæsar in the senate, thus I stand,
Whilst ruin threatened him on every hand.
From each side he had warning he must die;
Yet still he braved his fate, and so will I.
To strive for ease would but add more to pain:
As streams that beat against their banks in vain,
Retreating, swell into a flood again.
No, I'll do things the world shall quake to hear;
My just revenge so true a stamp shall bear,
As henceforth Heaven itself shall emulate,
And copy all its vengeance out by that.
All but Ruy-Gomez I must have withdrawn,
I've something to discourse with him alone.

[Exeunt Don John and Attendants.

Now, Gomez, on thy truth depends thy fate;
Thou'st wrought my sense of wrong to such a height,
Within my breast it will no longer stay,
But grows each minute till it force its way.
I would not find myself at last deceived.

Ruy-Gom. Nor would I 'gainst your reason be believed.
Think, sir, your jealousy to be but fear
Of losing treasures which you hold so dear.
Your queen and son may yet be innocent:
I know but what they did, not what they meant.

King. Meant! what should looks, and sighs, and pressings mean?
No, no; I need not hear it o'er again.
No repetitions—something must be done.
Now there's no ill I know that I would shun.
I'll fly, till them I've in their incest found,
Full charged with rage, and with my vengeance hot,
Like a grenado from a cannon shot,
Which lights at last upon the enemy's ground,
Then, breaking, deals destruction all around. [Exit.

Ruy-Gom. So, now his jealousy is at the top,
Each little blast will serve to keep it up.
But stay; there's something I've omitted yet;—
Posa's my enemy; and true, he's great.
Alas! I'm armed 'gainst all that he can do;
For my snare's large enough to hold him too:
Yet I'll disguise that purpose for a while;
But when he with the rest is caught i' the toil,
I'll boldly out, and wanton in the spoil.

Re-enter Marquis of Posa.

M. of Posa. My lord Ruy-Gomez! and the king not here!
You, who so eminent a favourite are
In a king's eye, should ne'er be absent thence.

Ruy-Gom. No, sir, 'tis you that by a rising prince
Are cherished, and so tread a safer way,
Rich in that bliss the world waits to enjoy.

M. of Posa. Since what may bless the world we ought to prize,
I wish there were no public enemies;
No lurking serpents poison to dispense,
Nor wolves to prey on noble innocence;
No flatterers, that with royal goodness sport,
Those stinking weeds that overrun a court.

Ruy-Gom. Nay, if good wishes anything could do,
I have as earnest wishes, sir, as you:
That though perhaps our king enjoys the best
Of power, yet may he still be doubly blest.
May he—

M. of Posa. Nay, Gomez, you shall ne'er outdo me there;
Since for great Philip's good I would you were,
If possible, more honest than you are.

Ruy-Gom. Why, Posa; what defect can you discern?

M. of Posa. Nay, half your mysteries I'm yet to learn
Though this I'll boldly justify to all,—
That you contrive a generous prince's fall. [Ruy-Gomez smiles.
Nay, think not by your smiles and careless port
To laugh it off; I come not here to sport;
I do not, sir.

Ruy-Gom. Young lord, what meaning has
This heat?

M. of Posa. To let you see I know you're base.

Ruy-Gom. Nay, then, I pardon ask that I did smile:
By Heaven, I thought you'd jested all this while.
Base!

M. of Posa. Yes, more base than impotent or old.
All virtue in thee, like thy blood, runs cold:
Thy rotten putrid carcass is less full
Of rancour and contagion than thy soul.
Even now before the king I saw it plain;
But duty in that presence awed me then;
Yet there I dared thy treason with my sword:
But still
Thy villany talked all; courage had not a word.
True, thou art old; yet, if thou hast a friend,
To whom thy cursèd cause thou darest commend;
'Gainst him in public I'll the innocence
Maintain of the fair queen and injured prince.

Ruy-Gom. Farewell, bold champion!
Learn better how your passions to disguise;
Appear less choleric, and be more wise. [Exit.

M. of Posa. How frail is all the glory we design,
Whilst such as these have power to undermine!
Unhappy prince! who mightst have safely stood,
If thou hadst been less great, or not so good.
Why the vile monster's blood did I not shed,
And all the vengeance draw on my own head?
My honour so had had this just defence,—
That I preserved my patron and my prince.

Enter Don Carlos and the Queen.

Brave Carlos—ha! he's here. O sir, take heed;
By an unlucky fate your love is led.
The king—the king your father's jealous grown;
Forgetting her, his queen, or you, his son,
Calls all his vengeance up against you both.

Don Car. Has then the false Ruy-Gomez broke his oath,
And, after all, my innocence betrayed?

M. of Posa. Yes, all his subtlest snares are for you laid.
The king within this minute will be here,
And you are ruined, if but seen with her.
Retire, my lord—

Queen. How! is he jealous grown?
I thought my virtue he had better known.
His unjust doubts have soon found out the way
To make their entry on our marriage day;
For yet he has not known with me a night.
Perhaps his tyranny is his delight;
And to such height his cruelty is grown,
He'd exercise it on his queen and son.
But since, my lord, this time we must obey
Our interest, I beg you would not stay:
Not seeing you, he may to me be just.

Don Car. Should I then leave you, madam?

Queen. Yes, you must.

Don Car. Not then when storms against your virtue rise.
No; since to lose you wretched Carlos dies,
He'll have the honour of it, in your cause.
This is the noblest thing that Fate could do;
She thus abates the rigour of her laws,
Since 'tis some pleasure but to die for you.

Queen. Talk not of death, for that even cowards dare,
When their base fears compel them to despair:
Hope's the far nobler passion of the mind;
Fortune's a mistress that's with caution kind;
Knows that the constant merit her alone,
They who, though she seem froward, yet court on.

Don Car. To wretched minds thus still some comfort gleams,
And angels ease our griefs, though but with dreams.
I have too oft already been deceived,
And the cheat's grown too plain to be believed,
You, madam, bid me go. [Looking earnestly at the Queen.

Queen. You must.

M. of Posa. You shall.
Alas! I love you, would not see you fall;
And yet may find some way to evade it all.

Don Car. Thou, Posa, ever wert my truest friend;
I almost wish thou wert not now so kind.
Thou of a thing that's lost tak'st too much care;
And you, fair angel, too indulgent are. [To the Queen.
Great my despair; but still my love is higher.
Well—in obedience to you I'll retire;
Though during all the storm I will be nigh,
Where, if I see the danger grow too high,
To save you, madam, I'll come forth and die. [Exit.

Re-enter King and Ruy-Gomez.

King. Who would have guessed that this had ever been?

[Seeing the Marquis of Posa and the
Queen

Distraction! where shall my revenge begin?
Why, he's the very bawd to all their sin;
And to disguise it puts on friendship's mask:
But his despatch, Ruy-Gomez, is thy task.
With him pretend some private conference,
And under that disguise seduce him hence;
Then in some place fit for the deed impart
The business, by a poniard to his heart.

Ruy-Gomez. 'Tis done—

King. So, madam! [Steps to the Queen.

Queen. By the fury in your eyes,
I understand you're come to tyrannize.
I hear you are already jealous grown,
And dare suspect my virtue with your son.

King. O womankind! thy mysteries who can scan,
Too deep for easy, weak, believing man?
Hold, let me look: indeed you're wondrous fair;
So, on the outside, Sodom's apples were:
And yet within, when opened to the view,
Not half so dangerous or so foul as you.

Queen. Unhappy, wretched woman that I am!
And you unworthy of a husband's name!
Do you not blush?

King. Yes, madam, for your shame.
Blush, too, my judgment e'er should prove so faint,
To let me choose a devil for a saint.
When first I saw and loved that tempting eye,
The fiend within the flame I did not spy;
But still ran on, and cherished my desires,
For heavenly beams mistook infernal fires;
Such raging fires as you have since thought fit
Alone my son, my son's hot youth should meet.
O vengeance, vengeance!

Queen. Poor ungenerous king!
How mean's the soul from which such thoughts must spring!
Was it for this I did so late submit
To let you whine and languish at my feet;
When with false oaths you did my heart beguile
And proffered all your empire for a smile?
Then, then my freedom 'twas I did resign,
Though you still swore you would preserve it mine.
And still it shall be so, for from this hour
I vow to hate, and never see you more.
Nay, frown not, Philip, for you soon shall know
I can resent and rage as well as you.

King. By hell! her pride's as raging as her lust.
A guard there! seize the queen! [Enter Guard.

Re-enter Don Carlos; he intercepts the Guards.

Don Car. Hold, sir, be just.
First look on me, whom once you called your son,
A title I was always proud to own.

King. Good Heaven! to merit this what have I done,
That he too dares before my sight appear?

Don Car. Why, sir, where is the cause that I should fear?
Bold in my innocence, I come to know
The reason why you use this princess so.

King. Sure I shall find some way to raise this siege:
He talks as if 'twere for his privilege.
Foul ravisher of all my honour, hence!
But stay! Guards, with the queen secure the prince.
Wherefore in my revenge should I be slow?
Now in my reach, I'll dash them at a blow.

Re-enter Don John of Austria, with the Duchess of Eboli, Henrietta, and Garcia.

Don John. I come, great sir, with wonder here, to see
Your rage grow up to this extremity
Against your beauteous queen, and loyal son;
What is't that they to merit chains have done?
Or is't your own wild jealousy alone?

King. O Austria, thy vain inquiry cease,
If thou hast any value for thy peace.
My mighty wrongs so loud an accent bear,
'Twould make thee miserable but to hear.

Don Car. Father,—if I may dare to call you so,
Since now I doubt if I'm your son or no,—
As you have sealed my doom, I may complain.

King. Will then that monster dare to speak again?

Don Car. Yes, dying men should not their thoughts disguise;
And, since you take such joy in cruelties,
Ere of my death the new delight begin,
Be pleased to hear how cruel you have been.
Time was that we were smiled on by our fate,
You not unjust, nor I unfortunate:
Then, then I was your son, and you were glad
To hear my early praise was talked abroad:
Then love's dear sweets you to me would display;
Told me where this rich, beauteous treasure lay,
And how to gain't instructed me the way.
I came, and saw, and loved, and blessed you for't.
But then when love had sealed her to my heart,
You violently tore her from my side:
And, 'cause my bleeding wound I could not hide,
But still some pleasure to behold her took,
You now will have my life but for a look;
Wholly forgetting all the pains I bore,
Your heart with envious jealousy boils o'er,
'Cause I can love no less, and you no more.

Hen. Alas! how can you hear his soft complaint,
And not your hardened, stubborn heart relent?
Turn, sir; survey that comely, awful man,
And to my prayers be cruel if you can.

King. Away, deluder! who taught thee to sue?

D. of Eboli. Loving the queen, what is't she less can do
Than lend her aid against the dreadful storm?

King. Why, can the devil dwell too in that form?
This is their little engine by the bye,
A scout to watch and tell when danger's nigh.
Come, pretty sinner, thou'lt inform me all,
How, where, and when; nay, do not fear—you shall.

Hen. Ah, sir, unkind! [Kneels.

King. Now hold thy siren's tongue:
Who would have thought there was a witch so young?

Don John. Can you to suing beauty stop your ears?

[Raises up Henrietta and makes his address to her.

Heaven lays its thunder by, and gladly hears,
When angels are become petitioners.

D. of Eboli. Ha! what makes Austria so officious there?
That glance seems as it sent his heart to her.

[Aside to Garcia.

Don Car. A banquet then of blood since you design,
Yet you may satisfy yourself with mine.
I love the queen, I have confessed, 'tis true:
Proud too to think I love her more than you;
Though she, by Heaven, is clear;—but I indeed
Have been unjust, and do deserve to bleed.
There were no lawless thoughts that I did want,
Which love had power to ask, or beauty grant;
Though I ne'er yet found hopes to raise them on,
For she did still preserve her honour's throne,
And dash the bold aspiring devils down.
If to her cause you do not credit give,
Fondly against your happiness you'll strive;
As some lose Heaven, because they won't believe.

Queen. Whilst, prince, my preservation you design,
Blot not your virtue to add more to mine.
The clearness of my truth I'd not have shown
By any other light besides its own.—
No, sir, he through despair all this has said,
And owns offences which he never made.
Why should you think that I would do you wrong?
Must I needs be unchaste because I'm young?

King. Unconstant wavering heart, why heavest thou so?
I shiver all, and know not what I do.
I who ere now have armies led to fight,
Thought war a sport, and danger a delight,
Whole winter nights stood under Heaven's wide roof,
Daring my foes, now am not beauty-proof.
Oh, turn away those basilisks, thy eyes;
The infection's fatal, and who sees them dies. [Going away.

Queen. Oh, do not fly me; I have no design
Upon your life, for you may yet save mine. [Kneels.
Or if at last I must my breath submit,
Here take it, 'tis an offering at your feet:
Will you not look on me, my dearest lord?

King. Why? wouldst thou live?

Queen. Yes, if you'll say the word.

Don Car. O Heaven! how coldly and unmoved he sees
A praying beauty prostrate on her knees!
Rise, madam— [Steps to take her up.

King. Bold encroacher, touch her not:
Into my breast her glances thick are shot.
Not true!—Stay, let me see—by Heaven, thou art—

[Looks earnestly on her.

A false vile woman—O my foolish heart!
I give thee life: but from this time refrain,
And never come into my sight again:
Be banished ever.

Queen. This you must not do,
At least till I've convinced you I am true.
Grant me but so much time; and, when that's done,
If you think fit, for ever I'll be gone.

King. I've all this while been angry, but in vain:
She heats me first, then strokes me tame again.
Oh, wert thou true, how happy should I be!
Think'st thou that I have joy to part with thee?
No, all my kingdom for the bliss I'd give—
Nay, though it were not so—but to believe.
Come, for I can't avoid it, cheat me quite!

Queen. I would not, sir, deceive you if I might.
But if you'll take my oaths, by all above,
'Tis you, and only you, that I will love.

King. Thus as a mariner that sails along,
With pleasure hears the enticing siren's song,
Unable quite his strong desires to bound,
Boldly leaps in, though certain to be drowned,—
Come to my bosom then, make no delay; [Takes her in his arms.
My rage is hushed, and I have room for joy.

Queen. Again you'll think that I unjust will prove.

King. No, thou art all o'er truth, and I all love.
Oh that we might for ever thus remain
In folded arms, and never part again!

Queen. Command me anything, and try your power.

King. Then from this minute ne'er see Carlos more.—
Thou slave, that darest do ill with such a port,
For ever here I banish thee my court.
Within some cloister lead a private life,
That I may love and rule without this strife.
Here, Eboli, receive her to thy charge:
The treasure's precious, and the trust is large.
Whilst I, retiring hence, myself make fit
To wait for joys which are too fierce to meet. [Exit.

Don Car. My exile from his presence I can bear
With pleasure: but, no more to look on her!
Oh, 'tis a dreadful curse I cannot bear.
No, madam, all his power shall nothing do:
I'll stay and take my banishment from you.
Do you command me, see how far I'll fly.

Queen. Will Carlos be at last my enemy?
Consider, this submission I have shown,
More to preserve your safety than my own.
Ungratefully you needless ways devise,
To lose a life which I so dearly prize.

Don Car. So now her fortune's made, and I am left
Alone, a naked wanderer to shift. [Aside.
Madam, you might have spared the cruelty;

[To the Queen.

Thomas Otway / The Best Plays of the Old Dramatists

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ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.—The same.