Pin. Talking to graves at night, and making love i' th' day?
My lord, I nor my daughter have deserved this.
Lys. Pardon me, sir, I could do no less, being to take
An everlasting farewell, but give this
Visit to her memory. Reserve your censure
Till ten days be over, and if I do not
Satisfy you, condemn me. [Exeunt.
Enter Hermione and Phillida.
Her. [Here,] Philly, take thy lute, and sing the song
Was given thee last. [Exit Phillida.
Song.
Where did you borrow that last sigh
And that relenting groan?
For those that sigh, and not for love,
Usurp what's not their own.
Love's arrows sooner armour pierce,
Than your soft snowy skin;
Your eyes can only teach us love,
But cannot take it in.
The song being ended, re-enter Phillida.
Phil. O madam! call all your sorrows to you, you are
Not sad enough to hear the news I bring.
Her. Would it were killing, that my death might end
My fears, as my life has my hopes.
Phil. You mistake me, madam; Eugenio is returned.
Her. Eugenio returned! thou hast reason, Phillida,
I should be dead with sorrow: 'tis not fit we
hear his name without a miracle. Where is he?
Send to bring him hither.
Phil. He waits on your commands without.
Her. Bring him in. Good gods!
If you can suffer me one minute's joy,
Give it me now, and let excess of happiness
Finish what sorrow cannot. But where's this happiness
I fain would dream of? Eugenio is return'd,
That I may look on him, and not be his,
And call our faiths in vain to aid our loves.
[ACT IV., SCENE 2.]
Enter Eugenio and Phillida.
Eug. May the gods give you, madam, a content
As high as you have power to bestow
On those you favour, and then your happiness
Will be as great as is your beauty.
Her. O my best lord! you now behold a face
Too much acquainted with my sad heart's grief
Not to be stain'd with't. Sure, you cannot
Know it?—I pray, say you do not—you'll wrong
Two things I am most proud of—my just grief
And your young love—which could not grow,
Nourish'd with such poor heat as now it gives.
I have a story that will break your heart
When you have heard it, and mine, ere I
Deliver it. Prince Lysicles to-morrow marries me,
Or I must leave my duty or my life.
Forgive me, that I dare to utter this.
Eug. Madam, forbear your tears: they are a ransom
Too mighty to redeem the greatest faith
The gods were ever witness to. I know
Whereto you tend: you would have me untie
The knot that bound our loves, and I will do't,
Though it be fasten'd to my strings of life.
Be happy in your choice: give to his merit
What once you promis'd to my perfect love,
By which I only did pretend my claim.
I do release you, as I know heaven has;
Who in his justice cannot have consented
To a longer faith in you; you must not be
The conquest of a miserable man,
O'er whom their cruel'st influences reign.
Her. Some saving power close up my drowned eyes,
Which death had long since shut, had not the love
And hope of seeing you preserv'd them open.
Have I been false for this to all my friends?
That you should think I can be so to you? Add not
By your suspicions a crime to our misfortune.
Eug. Of you I can have none, but what excuse you:
You had made me miserable, had not your faith
Yielded to those assaults; as worth and greatness
Titles your father's rage; and your own judgment
Did shake and raze it. With what disturbed mind
Should I have look'd on you my heart ador'd,
And love made miserable? Still you weep——
But these are tears your fortune did lay up
To ease your misery, had you continued mine.
And your suns, clear'd from their last clouds,
They will more freely shine on your Lysicles.
For myself, my love in his last act shall recompense
The injuries 't has done to your repose,
By killing me; then must injustice fly,
And hale inconstancy along with her,
From your fair conquer'd soul they now possess?
Her. O my griefs!
Now I perceive the gods decreed you endless,
Since they have made him add unto my torment,
Whose memory before did make the sharpest glorious.
Tears and sighs and groans, farewell.
They ne'er were spent but when I fear'd for you;
And, you being lost, I have no use of them.
Here, take this paper: 'tis the last legacy
My love shall ever give you: 'twas design'd
When I conceived you worthy. If you
Believe her words, whose faith was never lost, though you
Ungratefully have flung it off. If so you be not
That you accuse me for, you there shall find
A story that will punish your suspicion.
[He reads, and then kneels, and she turns from
him.
Eug. You that by powerful prayers have diverted
An imminent ruin, inspire me with fit words
To appease my injur'd mistress. Hear me:
I do not kneel for mercy, but to beg
Your leave to die: I must not live, when
Pardons make my offence most horrible, and hell
Is here without them; take a middle way
If you incline to mercy, and forget me.
Her. Rise; this is worse than your doubts were.
Eug.[362] Turn not your face away; would you revenge?
Then let my eyes dwell on't. What punishment
Can there be greater than for me to see
The beauty I have lost by my own fault?
Look then upon me.
Her. No, I must yet keep
My anger to preserve my honour, and I dare not trust
That and my eyes at once, if they behold you.
Eug. Then hear a wretched man, that has outliv'd
So much his hopes, he knows not what to wish—
Whether to live or die; yet life for this
I only seek, that you may find I shrink not
To punish him your justice has condemn'd.
Her. Rise, I can hold out no longer; the bare
Sounds of your death dissolve my resolutions;
Forget my anger, as I will the cause.
Eug. Never; it shall live here to honour me,
Since pity of my love made you decline it:
But must——
Her. Yes, the virtuous Lysicles—for his respects to me,
Howe'er unhappy, challenged that name—
In your absence labours to marry me: yet death——
Eug. Wretched Eugenio! did thy coward fate
Not dare to strike thee, till thou turn'dst thy back?
Must I return from banishment to find
My hopes are banish'd? Did I for this love virtue,
Pursued her rugged paths, when danger made
Her horrid to the valiant to be ruin'd
By him that is most virtuous? Ye gods,
Was envy, malice, fortune impotent
To injure me, but you must raise up virtue to suppress
Me? If I suffer it, I shall deserve it.
Her. O my Eugenio! we are miserable,
Yet must not quarrel, love, to take or give
A seeming comfort: go, try all your power
Of hate or friendship to undo this match;
I'll give you leave to die first—anything,
But let not me have so much leave to change,
As to believe you think it possible. [Exeunt.
[ACT IV., SCENE 3.]
Enter Lysicles and Servant.
Ser. The physician you sent for waits without.
Lys. Bring him in, and stay in the next room.
Enter Physician.
You are welcome: I must employ your trust and
secrecy in something that concerns me. You must
procure me instantly a powerful poison.
Phy. My lord!
Lys. Nay, no ceremonies of denial. I give you
my intents, not to be disputed, but obeyed. I know
you walk not frequently in these rough ways; but
'tis not want of knowledge, but your will, makes
you decline them.
Phy. My lord, I have observ'd you long, and see you
Wear your life like something you would fain
Put off. I will not undertake to counsel you, in
That your nearest friends have oft attempted
Without success: yet, if my life should issue
With the words I now will utter, I'll boldly tell
Your grace, I will not be a means to cut your
Days off, to make mine happy ever.
Lys. I did expect this from you; and to inform you
Briefly know, though I do loathe my life, I will
Not part with't willingly, till it does serve
Me to revenge my wrongs: and to assure you more,
I will not use your art against myself. Let
Your composition procure the greatest torture
Poison can force, for I must use it upon one
Our laws cannot condemn; because the circumstance
That makes him guilty, cannot be produc'd, but with
Expense of time; and my revenge will not
Admit it. By my honour, this is the cause.
Phy. If I
Were sure your enemies should only try
Th' effects of what I can do in your service,
The horrid'st tortures treason ever justified,
Should not exceed the sufferings of those
Should take the poison I can bring you.
Lys. Bring it me instantly; and if the pains of hell
Can be felt here, let your ingredients
Call them up. If his life were only
My aim and end, whilst I do wear this,
I'd not implore your aid;
But I must set him on the rack, that there
He may confess my inquisition justice.
Phy. An hour returns me with your commands
Perform'd. Yet I'll observe you farther. [Aside.
Lys. So, this is the first degree to my revenge,
Which I will prosecute, till I have made
All that were guilty of my loss of peace,
Wash their impiety in their guilty blood.
All places where I meet them shall be altars,
On which I'll sacrifice the murderers,
To appease the spirit of my injur'd mistress:
And (the last victim) I will fall myself
Upon her sacred tomb, to expiate
The crimes I have committed in deferring
Justice thus long. This curs'd magician
Shall be the first—she did reveal our loves;
Milesia said she did; and if it were
Her blessed spirit, nothing but truth dwells in't.
If it were a phantom rais'd by her foul spells;
She pays the fault of her abusing me,
Insidiating with my Milesia's form,
To search, and then betray my resolution
Of serving my best friend. How now!
Enter Servant.
Ser. Sir, Lord Pindarus would speak with you.
Lys. Where is he? [Exeunt.
Enter Servant and Lysicles.
Ser. Sir, I have waited, as you commanded,
near the house of the Egyptian lady: something
is done that disturbs them all, divers run in and
out, physicians are sent for: at last, I went in
myself, and entered her chamber, found her on
her bed almost distracted with torture: cries she
is poisoned: curses her jealousy and curiosity, calls
upon your name; desires and then forbids you
should be sent for.
Lys. But I will come to her confession. Courage, my soul,
Let no faint pity hinder thee the joys
Thou art receiving; triumph in their sufferings
That have attempted thine. Look down, Milesia,
Applaud my piety, that snatch'd the sword
From sleeping justice to revenge thy death. [Exit.
Ser. What means my lord to be pleas'd with this
Sad news? How can this stranger have offended him?
I'll follow, learn the issue, and the cause. [Aside. Exit.
Enter the Moor on her bed, Hermione, Phillida,
and Irene. The bed thrust out.
Moor. O, O, O gods! If I have merited your hate,
You might have laid it on, until my name
Had been a word to express full misery,
And I had thank'd you, if you had forborne
To make his innocence the instrument
Of your dire wrath. Hermione, Irene,
I have conjur'd my servants not to tell you,
When I am dead, who I was: but if
Their weakness shall discover't, let it be hid
From the best Lysicles: I burn, I burn,
And death dares not seize me, frighted
With the furies that torment me.
Her. Mysterious powers! Instruct us in the way
You would be serv'd, for we are ignorant;
Your thunder else would not be aim'd at those,
That follow virtue, as it is prescrib'd,
Whilst thousand others 'scape unpunished,
That violate the laws we are taught to keep.
Enter Lysicles.
Lys. What mean these sad expressions of sorrow?
Her. O my lord, nature had not made our hearts
Capable of pity if we forbear it here:
The virtuous Acanthe has been tormented
With pains nothing is able to express
But her own groans: she fears she's poison'd;
Talks of you, of tombs, and of Milesia,
And in the midst of all her torture says
Her distrust and jealousy deserve a greater punishment.
Lys. And I believe't, nor should you pity her:
Those that do trace forbidden paths of knowledge
The gods reserve unto themselves, do never do't,
But with intent to ruin the believers,
And venturers on their art. Something I know
O' th' curs'd effects of her commanding magic,
And she (no doubt) is conscious to herself
Of infinite more mischiefs than are yet reveal'd.
I am confident she is fled her country
For the ills she has done there, and now
The punishment has overta'en her here.
And, for her shows of virtue, they are masks
To hide the rottenness that lies within,
And gain her credit with some dissembled acts
Of piety, which levels her a passage
To those important mischiefs hell
Has employ'd her here to execute.
Moor. O gods! deny me not a death, since you
Have given me the tortures that advance it:
If I deserve this, your inflicting hands
Do reach unto the shades, lay it on there.
Hermione, Irene, is Lysicles yet come?
Lys. Yes, to counsel you to pacify the gods
You have offended by your cursed arts:
The blessed ghost you sent me to has told me
Some sad effects on it, and in her name and cause
Have the gods hurl'd this punishment on thy
Foul soul, and made my grief, enrag'd to madness,
The blessed instrument of thy destruction,
Which does but here begin.
Moor. You then did send
The poison with the present I receiv'd?
Lys. Yes, I did;
And wonder you durst tempt my just revenge,
Unless you did believe, you could confine
The revelations of the best spirits
Your cursed charms betray'd first,
And then enforc'd to leave their happy seats,
To perfect the designs your malice labour'd in.
Moor. What unknown ways have the gods invented
To punish me! I feel a torment
No tyranny e'er parallell'd, yet must confess
An obligation to him that impos'd it.
Good gods! If I do bow under your wills,
Without repining at your sad decrees,
Grant this to recompense my martyrdom,
That he that is the author of my sufferings,
May never learn his error. Sir, if torments
E'er could expiate the crimes we have committed,
Mine might challenge your pardon and your pity:
I feel death entering me; love the memory
Of your Milesia, and forgive——
Ire. Help, help! She dies!
Lys. If it be possible, call life into her for some
minutes, her full confession will absolve my justice.
Ire. Bring some water here, she does but swoon.
So, chafe her temples——O heavens! What prodigy
is here! Her blackness falls away! My lord,
look on this miracle; doth not heaven instruct us
in pity of her wrongs, that the opinions which prejudice
her virtue, should thus be washed away
with the black clouds that hide her purer form?
Her. Heaven hath some further ends in this than we
Can pierce. More water: she returns to life,
And all the blackness of her face is gone.
Ire. Pallas, Apollo, what may this portend?
My lord, have you not seen a face like this?
Lys. Yes, and horror seizeth me. Tis the idea
Of my Milesia. Impenetrable powers!
Deliver us in thunder your intents,
And exposition of this metamorphosis.
Her. She stirs
Lys. Hold her up gently. [He kneels.
Moor. O, O! Why do you kneel to me?
Lys. Are not you Milesia?
Moor. Why do you ask?
Moor. My Lysicles, I am by miracle preserv'd;
Though, since the gods repent them of their succours,
Knowing me unworthy of thy firm constant love,
I never thought that death could be a terror,
Too long acquainted with the miseries
Pursue our lives; but now the apprehension
My grave should swallow thee, makes me to welcome it
With a heaviness that sinks despairing sinners.
Lys. Pour down your thunder, gods, upon this head,
And try if that can make me yet more wretched.
Was not her death affliction enough,
But you must make me be the murderer?
Is this a punishment for adoring her
Equal with you, you made so equal to ye?
Pardon the fault you forc'd me to commit:
So visible a divinity could not be look'd
On with less adoration.
Moor. If e'er I did expect a happier death,
May I die loath'd! What funeral pomp
Can there be greater than for me to hear,
Whilst I yet live, my dying obsequies
With so much zeal pronounc'd by him I love?——
Tortures again do seize me.
Lys. Eyes, are you dry, where such an object calls
[All] your tears forth! My blood shall supply their[363] place.
Moor. For heaven's sake, hold his hands. O my best Lysicles,
Do not destroy the comforts of my soul;
What a division do I feel within me!
I am but half-tormented; my soul in spite
O' th' tortures of my body, does feel a joy
That meets departed spirits in the blest shades.
Lys. What unexpected mischiefs circle me,
What arts hath malice, arm'd with fortune, found
To make me wretched? Could I e'er have thought
A miracle could have restor'd thee to my eyes,
That[364] they should, see the joys of heaven in thee?
Yet now the height of my affliction is,
That they behold thee, guilty of the close
Of thine for ever. See, Hermione,
The countenance death should put on, when death
Would have us throng unto her palaces,
And court her frozen sepulchres.
Ire. Sure, she is dead: how pale she is!
Lys. No; she is white as lilies, as the snow
That falls upon Parnassus; if the red were here,
As I have seen't enthron'd, the rising day would get
New excellence by being compared to her:
Argos nor Cyprus [nor] Egypt ne'er saw
A beauty like to this; let it be lawful for me to usurp
So much on death's right, as to take a kiss
From thy cold virgin-lips, where he and love
Yet strive for empire. The flames that rise from hence
Are not less violent, though less pleasing now,
Than when she did consent I should receive
What now I ravish.
Moor. Dares not death shut those eyes, where love
Hath enter'd once, or am I in the shades
Assisted with the ghost of my dear Lysicles?
Lys. She speaks again: good heaven, she speaks again!
Moor. And, therefore dying; but, before I go,
Let me obtain your pardon for the wrongs
My jealousy hath thrown upon your innocence.
'Twas my too perfect knowledge of my want
Of merit to deserve, made me doubt yours:
I mean your constant love, which I will teach
Below, and make them learn again to love
Who have died for it.
Lys. Do not abuse your mercy and my grief
By asking pardon of your murtherer;
But curse your sufferings off on this devoted head,
To save the beauty of the world in you.
Moor. Why should your grief make me repent the joys
I ever begg'd of heaven—the knowledge
Of your love? Could there be added more
Unto my happiness, than to be confirm'd
By my own sufferings, how much you did love me,
And prosecuted those that desired my ruin?
Like Semele I die, who could not take
The full God in her arms.
I have but one wish more, that I may bear
Unto the shades the glorious title of your wife:
If I may live so long to hear but this
Pronounc'd by Lysicles, I die in peace.
Lys. Hear it, with my vows not to behold
The sun rise after you are gone.
Moor. O, say not so; live, I command you, live;
Let your obedience unto this command
Show you have lost a mistress.
Lys. Can I hear this and live?
Ire. My lord, our cares will be employed better
In seeking to avert this lady's death
Than in deploring it.
Lys. You advise well. Run all to the physician:
I will myself to Arnaldo, who gave
This poison to me. Let me have word sent to the
Cypress grove the minute she is dead. [Exeunt. Draw in the bed.
Enter Lysicles meditating.
Lys. If life be given as a blessing to us,
What law compels us to preserve it longer
Than we can see a possibility
Of being happy by it, but we must expect,
Till the same power that plac'd us here, commands
A restitution of His gift? This is indeed a rule
To make us live, but not live happily.
'Tis true, the slave that frees himself by death,
Doth wrong his master; but yet the gods are not
Necessitous of us, but we of them.
Who then is injur'd if I kill myself?
And if I durst to hear their voice, they call
Men to some other place, when they remove
The gust and taste of this. We should adore, thee, death,
If constant virtue, not enforcement, built
Thy spacious temples.
Enter Eugenio.
Welcome, Eugenio, welcome, worthy friend;
How long are you arrived?
Eug. Time enough to revenge, though not prevent
The injuries you have done me.
Lys. What means my friend?
Eug. I must not hear that name now; you have lost
The effects and virtue of it: I come to punish
Your breach of faith.
Lys. Is hell afraid my constancy should conquer
The mischiefs that are rais'd to swallow me,
That it invents new plagues to batter me?
By all that's holy, I never did offend my friend—
Not in a thought.
Eug. Those that by breach of vows provoke their justice
Do seldom fear profaning of their names;
To hide their perjuries will put it on them.
You have attempted my Hermione,
And forc'd her father to compel her voice
Unto your marriage.
Lys. All this I do confess; but 'twas for both your goods,
As I will now inform you.
Eug. Hell and furies! Because your specious titles,
Your spreading vineyards, and your gilded house
Do shine upon our cottage, must our faiths,
Which heaven did seal, be cancell'd? 'Twas my virtue
Won her fair graces, which still outshine
Your flames of vice.
Lys. It hath not light enough to let you see your friend.
Gods, could that man have liv'd that dar'd to say
Eugenio did suspect his Lysicles?
And now in pity you do show him me,
That I may fly the world without regret,
Not leaving one of worth behind me in it.
Be gone, and learn your errors.
Eug. I have done't already. They were trusting you
With my life's happiness. Draw, and restore the vows
You made Hermione; or I will leave you dead,
And tear them from your heart.
Lys. Fond man! thou dost not know how much 'tis in
My power to make thee miserable:
I could now force thee execute my wish
In killing me; and thou wouldst fly the light,
When it had show'd thee whom thy rage offended.
But till I fall by my own hand, my life
Is chain'd unto my honour, which I will wear
Upon my sepulchre. Nor must I die,
Being guilty of Milesia's murder,
For any cause but hers; else were my breast,
Since you have wrong'd me, open to your point.
Eug. Can you deny but that you have attempted
The faith of my Hermione?
Lys. I can with so strong circumstance of truth
Would make you blush for having doubted mine.
But he that was my friend, and suspects me,
Must attend less satisfaction than a stranger.
Proceed, and let your case be both your judge and guide.
Eug. What should I do? I dare not trust my sense,
If he should tell me that it does deceive me:
Virtue itself would lose her quality
Ere he forsook her, and his words do fall
Distorted from him; his soul doth labour
Under some heavy burden, which my passion
Did hinder me from seeing. Sir, forgive,
Or take your full revenge; let your own griefs
Teach you to pity those are distract with it.
I will not rise until you pardon me.
Lys. O my Eugenio, thy kindness hath undone me!
My rage did choke my grief, which now did spread
Itself over my soul and body. Up, and help
To bear me till I fall eternally.
Eug. Who can hear this, and not be turn'd to marble?
Good sir, impart your sorrows; I may bring comfort.
Lys. Whilst they were capable, thou didst; but now
They are too great and swoll'n to let it in.
Milesia, whom you and I supposed dead,
By me to-day is poison'd, and lies dying
In her torment. Is not this strange?
Eug. What have you said that is not?
But heaven avert this last!
Lys. It is too late now; let me beg thy kindness
Would do that for me I forbad thy passion.
Eug. What is't?
Lys. Kill me.
Eug. You cannot wish me such an hated office!
Call up your reason and your courage to you,
Which was not given you only for the wars,
But to resist the batteries of fortune.
People will say that Lysicles did want
Part of that courage fame did speak him lord of,
When they shall hear him sunk below her succour.
Lys. You will not kill me then?
Eug. When I believe there is no other means
To ease you, I will do't.
Lys. All but death are fled.
Eug. Then draw your sword, and as I lift my arm
To sheathe this in your breast, let yours pierce me;
On this condition I may do your will.
Lys. I may not for the world. Why should you die?
Eug. See how your passions blind you! Is death
An ease or torment? If it be a joy,
Why should you envy it your dearest friend?
Lys. Our causes are not equal.
Eug. They will be, when you're dead. How you mistake
The laws of friendship, and commit those faults
You did accuse me of! I would not live so long
To think you can survive your dying friend.
Lys. Eugenio, I am conquered; yet I hope thy kindness
Will do that for me which thy sword refuseth.
Love thy Hermione: she deserves it. Friend,
Leave me alone awhile.
Eug. Your grief's too great for me to trust your life with't:
I dare not venture you beyond my help.
Within. Where's Prince Lysicles? Where's Prince Lysicles?
Lys. Hark! I am call'd, the fatal news is come.
[Draws.