ACT III.[335]

SCENE I.

The Palace of Syphax at Cirta.

Syphax, with his dagger twon[336] about her hair, drags in Sophonisba in her nightgown and petticoat; Zanthia and Vangue following.

Sy. Must we entreat? sue to such squeamish ears?
Know, Syphax has no knees, his eyes no tears;
Enragèd love is senseless of remorse.
Thou shalt, thou must: kings’ glory is their force.
Thou art in Cirta, in my palace, fool:
Dost think he pitieth tears that knows to rule?
For all thy scornful eyes, thy proud disdain,
And late contempt of us, now we’ll revenge,
Break stubborn silence. Look, I’ll tack thy head
To the low earth, whilst strength of two black knaves    10
Thy limbs all wide shall strain. Prayer fitteth slaves,
Our courtship be our force: rest calm as sleep,
Else at this quake; hark, hark, we cannot weep.

So. Can Sophonisba be enforc’d?

So. To gods’ and[337] good men’s shame.

Sy. Help, Vangue, my strong blood boils.

So. O[338] yet save thine own fame.

Sy. All appetite is deaf; I will, I must.
Achilles’ armour could not bar[339] out lust.

So. Hold thy strong arm, and hear me. Syphax, know
I am thy servant now: I needs must love thee,
For (O, my sex, forgive!) I must confess
We not affect protesting feebleness,    30
Entreats, faint blushings, timorous modesty;
We think our lover is but little man,
Who is so full of woman. Know, fair Prince,
Love’s strongest arm’s not rude; for we still prove,
Without some fury there’s no ardent love.
We love our love’s impatience of delay;
Our noble[340] sex was only born t’obey,
To him that dares command.

Sy. Why, this is well;
Th’ excuse is good: wipe thy fair eyes, our Queen,
Make proud thy head; now feel more friendly strength
Of thy lord’s arm: come, touch my rougher skin    41
With thy soft lip. Zanthia, dress our bed.
Forget old loves, and clip him that through blood
And hell acquires his wish; think not but kiss,
The flourish fore love’s fight and[341] Venus’ bliss.

So. Great dreadful lord, by thy affection,
Grant me one boon. Know I have made a vow—

Sy. Vow! what vow? speak.

So. Nay, if you take offence,
Let my soul suffer first, and yet——

Sy. Offence?
Not, Sophonisba; hold, thy vow is free    50
As——come, thy lips!

So. Alas, cross misery!
As I do wish to live, I long t’enjoy
Your warm embrace; but, oh my vow, ’tis thus:
If ever my lord died, I vow’d to him
A most, most private sacrifice, before
I touch’d a second spouse. All I implore,
Is but this liberty.

Sy. Zanthia, Zanthia!    60
Thou art not foul, go to; some lords are oft
So much in love with their known ladies’ bodies,
That they oft love their—Vails:[342] hold, hold, thou’st find
To faithful care kings’ bounty hath no shore.

Zan. You may do much.

Sy. But let my gold do more.

Zan. I am your creature.

Sy. Be yet;[343] ’tis no stain;
The god of service is however gain.

[Exit.

So. Zanthia, where are we now? speak worth my service;
Ha’ we done well?

Zan. Nay, in height of best
I fear’d a superstitious virtue would spoil all,    70
But now I find you above women rare.
She that can time her goodness hath true care
Of her best good. Nature at home begins;
She, whose integrity herself hurts, sins.
For Massinissa, he was good, and so;
But he is dead, or worse, distress’d, or more
Than dead, or much distress’d. O sad, poor,—
Who ever held such friends? no, let him go;
Such faith is praised, then laugh’d at; for still know
Those are the living women that reduce    80
All that they touch unto their ease and use,
Knowing that wedlock, virtue, or good names,
Are courses and varieties of reason,
To use or leave, as they advantage them,
And absolute within themselves reposed,
Only to greatness ope, to all else closed.
Weak sanguine fools are to their own good nice;
Before I held you virtuous, but now wise.

Zan. Ay, true madam; nay, think of his great mind,
His most just heart, his all of excellence,
And such a virtue as the gods might envy.
Against this, Syphax, is but——and you know,
Fame lost, what can be got that’s good for——

Let him that would have counsel ’void th’ advice
Of friends, made his with weighty benefits,
Whose much dependence only strives to fit
Humour, not reason, and so still devise
In any thought to make their friend seem wise.
But above all, O fear a servant’s tongue,
Like such as only for their gain do[344] serve.    110
Within the vast capacity of space,[345]
I know no vileness so most truly base.
Their lord’s their gain; and he that most will give,
With him (they will not die, but) they will live.
Traitors and these are one; such slaves once trust,
Whet swords to make thine own blood lick the dust.

Cornets and organs playing full music, enter under the conduct of Zanthia and Vangue, the solemnity of a sacrifice; which being entered, whilst the attendants furnish the altar, Sophonisba sings a song; which done, she speaks.

Van. Your servant.

So. Too late!
Her hand is fearful whose mind’s desperate.    160
It is but sleepy opium he hath drunk.
Help, Zanthia!

Sy. Hence!—stay, take thy delight by steps,
Think of thy joys, and make long thy pleasures.
O silence, thou dost swallow pleasure right;
Words take away some sense from our delight.
Music!    180
Be proud, my Venus; Mercury, thy tongue;
Cupid, thy flame; ’bove all, O Hercules,
Let not thy back be wanting; for now I leap
To catch the fruit none but the gods should reap.

Sy. We will be good to Zanthia;
Go, cheer thy lady, and be private to us.    200

Sy. I’ll use this Zanthia,
And trust her as our dogs drink dangerous Nile[346]
(Only for thirst), that[347] fly the crocodile.
Wise Sophonisba knows love’s tricks of art:
Without much hindrance pleasure hath no heart.
Despite all virtue or weak plots I must:
Seven-wallèd Babel cannot bar[348] out lust.

[Descends through the vault.

SCENE II.

Neighbourhood of Utica.

Enter Scipio and Lælius, with the complements of Roman Generals before them. At the other door, Massinissa and Jugurth. Cornets sound marches.

Mass. Let not the virtue of the world suspect
Sad Massinissa’s faith; nor once condemn
Our just revolt. Carthage first gave me life;
Her ground gave food, her air first lent me breath:
The earth was made for men, not men for earth.
Scipio, I do not thank the gods for life,
Much less vile men, or earth; know, best of lords,
It is a happy being, breath well famed,
For which Jove sees these thus.[349] Men, be not fool’d
With piety to place, tradition’s fear;    10
A just man’s country Jove makes everywhere.

Sci. Well urgeth Massinissa; but to leave
A city so ingrate, so faithless, so more vile
Than civil speech can name, fear not; such vice
To scourge is Heaven’s grateful sacrifice.
Thus all confess, first they have broke a faith
To the[e] most due, so just to be observed,
That barbarousness itself may well blush at them:
Where is thy passion? They have shared thy crown,
The proper right of birth, contrived thy death:    20
Where is thy passion? Given thy beauteous spouse
To thy most hated rival. Statue, not man!
And last, thy friend Gelosso (man worth gods)
With tortures have they rent to death.

Mass. O Gelosso!
For thee full eyes——

Sci. No passion for the rest?

Mass. O Scipio,
My grief for him may be expressed by tears,
But for the rest, silence, and secret anguish
Shall waste—shall waste! Scipio, he that can weep,
Grieves not, like me, private deep inward drops    30
Of blood. My heart! for god’s right give me leave
To be a short time man.

Sci. Stay, prince.

Mass. I cease;
Forgive if I forget thy presence. Scipio,
Thy face makes Massinissa more than man,
And here before your steady power a vow
As firm as fate I make: when I desist
To be commanded by thy virtue, Scipio,
Or fall from friend of Rome,[350] revenging gods
Afflict me with[351] your torture. I have given
Of passion and of faith, my heart.

Sci. To counsel then;    40
Grief fits weak hearts, revenging virtue men.
Thus I think fit, before that Syphax know
How deeply Carthage sinks, let’s beat swift march
Up even to Cirta, and whilst Syphax snores
With his, late thine——

Mass. With mine! no, Scipio;
Libya hath poison, asps, knives, and too much earth
To make one grave. With mine! Not; she can die.
Scipio, with mine! Jove, say it, thou dost lie.

Sci. Temperance be Scipio’s honour.

Læ. Cease your strife,
She is a woman.

Mass. But she is my wife.    50

Læ. And yet she is no god.

Mass. And yet she’s more:
I do not praise gods’ goodness, but adore;
Gods cannot fall, and for their constant goodness
(Which is necessited) they have a crown
Of never-ending pleasures; but faint man
(Framed to have his weakness made the heavens’ glory),
If he with steady virtue holds all siege
That power, that speech, that pleasure, that full sweets,
A world of greatness can assail him with,
Having no pay but self-wept misery,    60
A[352] beggar’s treasure-heap,—that man I’ll praise
Above the gods.

Sci. The Libyan speaks bold sense.

Mass. By that by which all is, proportion,
I speak with thought.

Sci. No more.

Mass. Forgive my admiration:
You touch’d a string to which my sense was quick.
Can you but think? Do, do; my grief—my grief—
Would make a saint blaspheme! Give some relief;
As thou art Scipio, forgive that I forget
I am a soldier. Such woes Jove’s ribs would burst:
Few speak less ill that feel so much of worst.—    70
My ear attends.

Sci. Before then Syphax join,
With new-strength’d Carthage, or can once unwind
His tangled sense from out so wild[353] amaze,
Fall we like sudden lightning ’fore his eyes:
Boldness and speed are all of victories.

Mass. Scipio, let Massinissa clip thy knees!
May once these eyes view Syphax? shall this arm
Once make him feel his sin? O ye gods!
My cause, my cause! Justice is so huge odds,
That he who with it fears, heaven must renounce    80
In his creation.

ACT IV.[354]

SCENE I.

Near Cirta.

Enter Sophonisba and Zanthia, as out of a cave’s mouth.

So. Where are we, Zanthia?

Zan. Vangue said the cave
Opened in Belos’ forest.

So. Lord, how sweet
I scent the air! The huge long vault’s close vein,
What damps[355] it breath’d! In Belos’ forest, say’st?
Be valiant, Zanthia; how far’s Utica
From these most heavy shades?

Zan. Ten easy leagues.

So. There’s Massinissa: my true Zanthia,
Shall’s venture nobly to escape, and touch
My lord’s just arms? Love’s wings so nimbly[356] heave
The body up, that, as our toes shall trip    10
Over the tender and obedient grass,
Scarce any drop of dew is dash’d to ground.
And see the willing shade of friendly night
Makes safe our instant haste! Boldness and speed
Make actions most impossible succeed.

Zan. Madam, I’ll search
For some ripe nuts which autumn hath shook down
From the unleaved hazel, then some cooler air    30
Shall lead me to a spring. Or I will try
The courteous pale[357] of some poor foresters
For milk.

So. Do, Zanthia. O happiness

[Exit Zanthia.

Of those that know not pride or lust of city!
There’s no man bless’d but those that most men pity.
O fortunate poor maids, that are not forced
To wed for state, nor are for state divorced!
Whom policy of kingdoms doth not marry,
But pure affection makes to love or vary;
You feel no love which you dare not to show,    40
Nor show a love which doth not truly grow!
O you are surely blessèd of the sky!
You live, that know not death before you die.

[Through the vaut’s[358] mouth, in his nightgown, torch in his hand, Syphax Enters just behind Sophonisba.

You are——

Sy. In Syphax’ arms. Thing of false lip,
What god shall now release thee?

So. Art a man?

Sy. Thy limbs shall feel. Despite thy virtue, know
I’ll thread thy richest pearl. This forest’s deaf
As is my lust. Night and the god of silence
Swells my full pleasures; no more shalt thou delude
My easy credence. Virgin of fair brow,    50
Well-featured creature, and our utmost wonder,
Queen of our youthful bed, be proud.

[Syphax setteth away his light, and prepareth to embrace Sophonisba.

I’ll use thee.

[Sophonisba snatcheth out her knife.

So. Look thee—view this—show but one strain of force,
Bow but to seize this arm, and by myself,
Or more, by Massinissa, this good steel
Shall set my soul on wing. Thus, form’d gods, see,
And, men with gods’ worth, envy nought but me!

Creature of most astonishing virtue,
If with fair usage, love, and passionate courtings,
We may obtain the heaven of thy bed,
We cease no suit; from other force be free:
We dote not on thy body, but love thee.

Sy. A wasting flame feeds on my amorous blood,
Which we must cool, or die. What way all power,
All speech, full opportunity, can make,
We have made fruitless trial. Infernal Jove,
You resolute angels that delight in flames,
To you, all-wonder-working spirits, I fly!
Since heaven helps not, deepest hell we’ll try
Here in this desert, the great soul of charms,
Dreadful Erictho lives, whose dismal brow
Contemns all roofs or civil coverture.    100
Forsaken graves and tombs, the ghosts forced out,
She joys to inhabit.
A loathsome yellow leanness spreads her face,
A heavy hell-like paleness loads her cheeks,
Unknown to a clear heaven; but if dark winds
Or thick black clouds drive back the blinded stars,
When her deep magic makes forced heaven quake
And thunder spite of Jove,—Erictho then
From naked graves stalks out, heaves proud her head
With long unkemb’d hair loaden, and strives to snatch    110
The night’s quick sulphur; then she bursts up tombs,
From half-rot sear-cloths then she scrapes dry gums
For her black rites; but when she finds a corpse
But[359] newly graved, whose entrails are not turn’d
To slimy filth, with greedy havock then
She makes fierce spoil, and swells with wicked triumph
To bury her lean knuckles in his eyes;
Then doth she gnaw the pale and o’ergrown nails
From his dry hand; but if she find some life
Yet lurking close, she bites his gelid[360] lips,    120
And, sticking her black tongue in his dry throat,
She breathes dire murmurs, which enforce him bear
Her baneful secrets to the spirits of horror.
To her first sound the gods yield any harm,
As trembling once to hear a second charm:
She is——

Infernal music plays softly whilst Erictho enters, and, when she speaks, ceaseth.

Eri. Here, Syphax, here; quake not, for know
I know thy thoughts: thou wouldst entreat our power
Nice Sophonisba’s passion to enforce
To thy affection, be all full of Jove.[361]
’Tis done, ’tis done; to us heaven, earth, sea, air,    130
And Fate itself obeys; the beasts[362] of death,
And all the terrors angry gods invented
(T’afflict the ignorance of patient man),
Tremble at us; the roll’d-up snake uncurls[363]
His twisted knots at our affrighting voice.
Are we incensed? the king of flames[364] grows pale,
Lest he be chok’d with black and earthy fumes,
Which our charms raise. Be joy’d, make proud thy lust:
I do not pray you, gods; my breath’s, “You must.”

Sy. Deep knowing spirit, mother of all high    140
Mysterious science, what may Syphax yield
Worthy thy art, by which my soul’s thus eased?
The gods first made me live, but thou live pleased.

Eri. Know then, our love, hard by the reverent[365] ruins
Of a once glorious temple rear’d to Jove,
Whose very rubbish (like the pitied fall
Of virtue most unfortunate) yet bears
A deathless majesty, though now quite rased,
Hurl’d down by wrath and lust of impious kings,
So that, where holy flamens wont to sing    150
Sweet hymns to heaven, there the daw and crow,
The ill-voiced raven, and still-chattering pie,
Send out ungrateful sounds and loathsome filth;
Where statues and Jove’s acts were vively limn’d[366]
Boys with black coals draw the veil’d parts of nature,
And lecherous actions of imagin’d lust;
Where tombs and beauteous urns of well-dead men
Stood in assurèd rest, the shepherd now
Unloads his belly, corruption most abhorr’d
Mingling itself with their renownèd ashes:    160
Ourself quakes at it!
There once a charnel-house, now a vast cave,
Over whose brow a pale and untrod grove
Throws out her heavy shade, the mouth thick arms
Of darksome yew (sun-proof) for ever choke;
Within rests barren darkness; fruitless drought
Pines in eternal night; the steam of hell
Yields not so lazy air: there, that’s my cell;
From thence a charm, which Jove dare not hear twice,
Shall force her to thy bed. But, Syphax, know,    170
Love is the highest rebel to our art:
Therefore I charge thee, by the fear of all
Which thou know’st dreadful, or more, by ourself,
As with swift haste she passeth to thy bed,
And easy to thy wishes yields, speak not one word,
Nor dare, as thou dost fear thy loss of joys,
T’admit one light, one light.

Sy. Whither is Syphax heaved? at length shall’s joy
Hopes more desired than heaven? Sweet labouring earth,
Let heaven be unform’d with mighty charms;
Let Sophonisba only fill these arms,
Jove we’ll not envy thee. Blood’s appetite
Is Syphax’ god; my wisdom is my sense,
Without[367] a man I hold no excellence.
Give me long breath, young beds, and sickness’ ease;
For we hold firm, that’s lawful which doth please.    191

Infernal music, softly.

Hark! hark! now rise infernal tones,
The deep-fetch’d groans
Of labouring spirits that attend
Erictho.
Erictho!

Enter Erictho in the shape of Sophonisba, her face veiled, and hasteth in the bed of Syphax.