The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 08
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Title: The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 08
Author: John Dryden
Editor: Walter Scott
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN, NOW FIRST COLLECTED IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES. VOLUME 08 ***
THE
WORKS
OF
JOHN DRYDEN,
NOW FIRST COLLECTED
_IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES_.
ILLUSTRATED
WITH NOTES,
HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND EXPLANATORY,
AND
A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,
BY
WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.
VOL. VIII.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET,
BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH.
1808.
CONTENTS
OF
VOLUME EIGHTH.
PAGE.
Amphitryon, or the Two Sosias, a Comedy, 1
Epistle Dedicatory to Sir William Leveson Gower, Bart. 7
King Arthur, or the British Worthy, a Dramatic Opera, 107
Epistle Dedicatory to the Marquis of Halifax, 113
Cleomenes, the Spartan Hero, a Tragedy, 181
Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Rochester, 191
Preface, 196
The Life of Cleomenes, translated from
Plutarch by Mr Thomas Creech, 207
Love Triumphant, or Nature will prevail, a Tragi-comedy, 331
Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Salisbury, 337
Prologue, Song, Secular Masque, and Epilogue, written for
the Pilgrim, revived for Dryden's benefit in 1700, 437
AMPHITRYON:
OR
THE TWO SOSIAS.
A COMEDY.
_Egregiam verò laudem, et spolia ampla refertis,
Una dolo Divûm si fæmina victa duorum est._ VIRG.
AMPHITRYON.
Plautus, the venerable father of Roman comedy, who flourished during
the second Punic war, left us a play on the subject of Amphitryon,
which has had the honour to be deemed worthy of imitation by Moliere
and Dryden. It cannot be expected, that the plain, blunt, and
inartificial stile of so rude an age should bear any comparison with
that of authors who enjoyed the highest advantages of the polished
times, to which they were an ornament. But the merit of having devised
and embodied most of the comic distresses, which have excited laughter
throughout so many ages, is to be attributed to the ancient bard,
upon whose original conception of the plot his successors have made
few and inconsiderable improvements. It is true, that, instead of a
formal _Prologus_, who stepped forth, in the character of Mercury,
and gravely detailed to the audience the plot of the play, Moliere
and Dryden have introduced it in the modern more artificial method,
by the dialogue of the actors in the first scene. It is true, also,
that with great contempt of one of the unities, afterwards deemed so
indispensible by the ancients, Plautus introduces the birth of Hercules
into a play, founded upon the intrigue which occasioned that event.
Yet with all these disadvantages, and that of the rude flatness of
his dialogue,--resting frequently, for wit, upon the most miserable
puns,--the comic device of the two Sosias; the errors into which
the malice of Mercury plunges his unlucky original; the quarrel of
Alcmena with her real husband, and her reconciliation with Jupiter
in his stead; the final confronting of the two Amphitryos; and the
astonishment of the unfortunate general, at finding every proof of his
identity exhibited by his rival,--are all, however rudely sketched,
the inventions of the Roman poet. In one respect it would seem, that
the _jeu de theatre_, necessary to render the piece probable upon
the stage, was better managed in the time of Plautus than in that of
Dryden and Moliere. Upon a modern stage it is evidently difficult to
introduce two pair of characters, so extremely alike as to make it at
all probable, or even possible, that the mistakes, depending upon their
extreme resemblance, could take place. But, favoured by the masks and
costume of the ancient theatre, Plautus contrived to render Jupiter and
Mercury so exactly like Amphitryon and Sosia, that they were obliged
to retain certain marks, supposed to be invisible to the other persons
of the drama, by which the audience themselves might be enabled to
distinguish the gods from the mortals, whose forms they had assumed[1].
The modern poets have treated the subject, which they had from Plautus,
each according to the fashion of his country; and so far did the
correctness of the French stage exceed ours at that period, that the
palm of the comic writing must be, at once, awarded to Moliere. For,
though Dryden had the advantage of the French author's labours, from
which, and from Plautus, he has translated liberally, the wretched
taste of the age has induced him to lard the piece with gratuitous
indelicacy. He is, in general, coarse and vulgar, where Moliere is
witty; and where the Frenchman ventures upon a double meaning, the
Englishman always contrives to make it a single one. Yet although
inferior to Moliere, and accommodated to the gross taste of the
seventeenth century, "Amphitryon" is one of the happiest effusions
of Dryden's comic muse. He has enriched the plot by the intrigue of
Mercury and Phædra; and the petulant interested "Queen of Gipsies," as
her lover terms her, is no bad paramour for the God of Thieves.
In the scenes of a higher cast, Dryden far outstrips both the
French and Roman poet. The sensation to be expressed is not that of
sentimental affection, which the good father of Olympus was not capable
of feeling; but love, of that grosser and subordinate kind which
prompted Jupiter in his intrigues, has been by none of the ancient
poets expressed in more beautiful verse than that in which Dryden has
clothed it, in the scenes between Jupiter and Alcmena. Even Milbourne,
who afterwards attacked our author with such malignant asperity, was
so sensible of the merit of "Amphitryon," that he addressed to the
publisher the following letter and copy of verses, which Mr Malone's
industry recovered from among Mr Tonson's papers.
"MR TONSON, _Yarmouth, Novemb. 24.--90._
"You'l wonder perhaps at this from a stranger; but ye reason of it
may perhaps abate somewhat of ye miracle, and it's this. On Thursday
the twentyth instant, I receiv'd Mr Drydens AMPHYTRIO: I leave out
the Greeke termination, as not so proper in my opinion, in English.
But to passe that; I liked the play, and read it over with as much of
criticisme and ill nature as ye time (being about one in ye morning,
and in bed,) would permit. Going to sleep very well pleasd, I could
not leave my bed in ye morning without this sacrifice to the authours
genius: it was too sudden to be correct, but it was very honestly
meant, and is submitted to yours and Mr Ds. disposall.
"Hail, Prince of Witts! thy fumbling Age is past,
Thy youth and witt and art's renewed at last.
So on some rock the Joviall bird assays
Her ore-grown beake, that marke of age, to rayse;
That done, through yield'ing air she cutts her way,
And strongly stoops againe, and breaks the trembling prey.
What though prodigious thunder stripp'd thy brows
Of envy'd bays, and the dull world allows
Shadwell should wear them,--wee'll applaud the change;
Where nations feel it, who can think it strange!
So have I seen the long-ear'd brute aspire
To drest commode with every smallest wire;
With nightrail hung on shoulders, gravely stalke,
Like bawd attendant on Aurelias walke.
Hang't! give the fop ingratefull world its will;
He wears the laurel,--thou deservs't it still.
Still smooth, as when, adorn'd with youthful pride,
For thy dear sake the blushing virgins dyed;
When the kind gods of witt and love combined,
And with large gifts thy yielding soul refined.
"Not Phœbus could with gentler words pursue
His flying Daphne, not the morning dew
Falls softer than the words of amorous Jove,
When melting, dying, for Alcmene's love.
"Yet briske and airy too, thou fill'st the stage,
Unbroke by fortune, undecayed by age.
French wordy witt by thine was long surpast;
Now Rome's thy captive, and by thee wee taste
Of their rich dayntyes; but so finely drest,
Theirs was a country meal, thine a triumphant feast.
"If this to thy necessityes wee ow,
O, may they greater still and greater grow!
Nor blame the wish; Plautus could write in chaines,
Wee'll blesse thy wants, while wee enjoy thy pains.
Wealth makes the poet lazy, nor can fame,
That gay attendant of a spritely flame,
A Dorset or a Wycherly invite,
Because they feel no pinching wants, to write.
"Go on! endenizon the Romane slave;
Let an eternal spring adorne his grave;
His ghost would gladly all his fame submitt
To thy strong judgment and thy piercing witt.
Purged by thy hand, he speaks immortall sense,
And pleases all with modish excellence.
Nor would we have thee live on empty praise
The while, for, though we cann't restore the bays,
While thou writ'st thus,--to pay thy merites due,
Wee'll give the claret and the pension too."
Milbourne concludes, by desiring to be supplied with such of our
author's writings, as he had not already, to be sent to Yarmouth in
Norfolk, where he probably had then a living.
"Amphitryon" was produced in the same year with "Don Sebastian;" and
although it cannot be called altogether an original performance, yet it
contains so much original writing as to shew, that our author's vein
of poetry was, in his advanced age, distinguished by the same rapid
fluency, as when he first began to write for the stage.
This comedy was acted and printed in 1690. It was very favourably
received; and continued long to be what is called a stock-play.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: This caution is given by Mercury in the prologue.
"Nunc internosse ut vos possitis facilius,
Ego has habebo hic usque in petaso pinnulas,
Tum meo patri autem torulus inerit aureus
Sub petaso: Id signum Amphitruoni non erit.
Ea signa nemo horumce familiarium
Videri poterit; verum vos videbitis."]
TO
THE HONOURABLE
SIR WILLIAM LEVESON GOWER,
BARONET.[2]
There is one kind of virtue which is inborn in the nobility, and indeed
in most of the ancient families of this nation; they are not apt to
insult on the misfortunes of their countrymen. But you, sir, I may
tell it without flattery, have grafted on this natural commiseration,
and raised it to a nobler virtue. As you have been pleased to honour
me, for a long time, with some part of your esteem, and your good
will; so, in particular, since the late Revolution, you have increased
the proofs of your kindness to me; and not suffered the difference of
opinions, which produce such hatred and enmity in the brutal part of
human kind, to remove you from the settled basis of your good nature,
and good sense. This nobleness of yours, had it been exercised on an
enemy, had certainly been a point of honour, and as such I might have
justly recommended it to the world; but that of constancy to your
former choice, and the pursuance of your first favours, are virtues
not over-common amongst Englishmen. All things of honour have, at
best, somewhat of ostentation in them, and self-love; there is a pride
of doing more than is expected from us, and more than others would
have done. But to proceed in the same track of goodness, favour, and
protection, is to shew that a man is acted by a thorough principle: it
carries somewhat of tenderness in it, which is humanity in a heroical
degree; it is a kind of unmoveable good-nature; a word which is
commonly despised, because it is so seldom practised. But, after all,
it is the most generous virtue, opposed to the most degenerate vice,
which is that of ruggedness and harshness to our fellow-creatures.
It is upon this knowledge of you, sir, that I have chosen you, with
your permission, to be the patron of this poem. And as, since this
wonderful Revolution, I have begun with the best pattern of humanity,
the Earl of Leicester, I shall continue to follow the same method, in
all to whom I shall address; and endeavour to pitch on such only, as
have been pleased to own me, in this ruin of my small fortune; who,
though they are of a contrary opinion themselves, yet blame not me for
adhering to a lost cause; and judging for myself, what I cannot chuse
but judge, so long as I am a patient sufferer, and no disturber of the
government. Which, if it be a severe penance, as a great wit has told
the world, it is at least enjoined me by myself: and Sancho Pança, as
much fool as I, was observed to discipline his body no farther than he
found he could endure the smart.
You see, sir, I am not entertaining you like Ovid, with a lamentable
epistle from Pontus: I suffer no more than I can easily undergo; and so
long as I enjoy my liberty, which is the birth-right of an Englishman,
the rest shall never go near my heart. The merry philosopher is more to
my humour than the melancholic; and I find no disposition in myself to
cry, while the mad world is daily supplying me with such occasions of
laughter. The more reasonable sort of my countrymen have shewn so much
favour to this piece, that they give me no doubt of their protection
for the future.
As you, sir, have been pleased to follow the example of their goodness,
in favouring me; so give me leave to say that I follow yours, in this
dedication to a person of a different persuasion. Though I must confess
withal, that I have had a former encouragement from you for this
address; and the warm remembrance of your noble hospitality to me, at
Trentham[3], when some years ago I visited my friends and relations
in your country, has ever since given me a violent temptation to this
boldness.
It is true, were this comedy wholly mine, I should call it a trifle,
and perhaps not think it worth your patronage; but, when the names of
Plautus and Moliere are joined in it, that is, the two greatest names
of ancient and modern comedy, I must not presume so far on their
reputation, to think their best and most unquestioned productions can
be termed little. I will not give you the trouble of acquainting you
what I have added, or altered, in either of them, so much, it may be,
for the worse; but only, that the difference of our stage, from the
Roman and the French, did so require it. But I am afraid, for my own
interest, the world will too easily discover, that more than half of
it is mine; and that the rest is rather a lame imitation of their
excellencies, than a just translation. It is enough, that the reader
know by you, that I neither deserve nor desire any applause from it:
if I have performed any thing, it is the genius of my authors that
inspired me; and, if it pleased in representation let the actors share
the praise amongst themselves. As for Plautus and Moliere, they are
dangerous people; and I am too weak a gamester to put myself into their
form of play. But what has been wanting on my part, has been abundantly
supplied by the excellent composition of Mr Purcell; in whose person
we have at length found an Englishman, equal with the best abroad. At
least, my opinion of him has been such, since his happy and judicious
performances in the late opera[4], and the experience I have had of
him, in the setting my three songs for this "Amphitryon:" to all
which, and particularly to the composition of the pastoral dialogue,
the numerous choir of fair ladies gave so just an applause on the
third day. I am only sorry, for my own sake, that there was one star
wanting, as beautiful as any in our hemisphere; that young Berenice[5],
who is misemploying all her charms on stupid country souls, that can
never know the value of them; and losing the triumphs, which are ready
prepared for her, in the court and town. And yet I know not whether I
am so much a loser by her absence; for I have reason to apprehend the
sharpness of her judgment, if it were not allayed with the sweetness of
her nature; and, after all, I fear she may come time enough to discover
a thousand imperfections in my play, which might have passed on vulgar
understandings. Be pleased to use the authority of a father over her,
on my behalf: enjoin her to keep her own thoughts of "Amphitryon" to
herself; or at least not to compare him too strictly with Moliere's. It
is true, I have an interest in this partiality of hers: but withal, I
plead some sort of merit for it, in being so particularly, as I am,
SIR,
Your most obedient,
Humble servant,
JOHN DRYDEN.
_October 24th, 1690._
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 2: This gentleman united in his person the ancient families
of Gower and Leveson. He was second son of Sir Thomas Gower, bart.,
and succeeded to the title and estate, by the death of his nephew, Sir
Edward Gower, in the year before. He was a keen whig, and distinguished
himself, both by his attachment to Monmouth, and his zeal for the
Revolution; but his alliance with Lawrence Earl of Rochester, whose
eldest son, Lord Hyde, had married his daughter, might smooth our
poet's access to his favour; since Rochester is distinguished as his
constant patron. Dryden also refers to former passages of intimacy
between him and Sir William. Above all, we are to suppose that, in
admiration of our author's poetical talents, Sir William Gower was
capable of drowning every unfavourable recollection of his political
tenets. Sir William Leveson Gower is ancestor of the present Marquis of
Stafford.]
[Footnote 3: A noble seat in Staffordshire, inhabited by Sir William
Gower, from the Levesons, his maternal ancestors.]
[Footnote 4: Betterton, having recovered the dislike to operas, which
the failure of "Albion and Albanius" occasioned, had brought out the
"Prophetess," of Beaumont and Fletcher, shortened and altered into a
musical piece, which was set by the famous Purcell. Dr. Burney has
sanctioned the compliment, which Dryden bestows upon it. There is
something in our author's turn of expression, which may lead us to
infer, that he was but a recent convert to the English school of music.
Sir John Hawkins seems to be mistaken, in placing this opera posterior
to that of "Prince Arthur." The dances were invented by the celebrated
Priest.]
[Footnote 5: Under this poetical appellation, the author here, and in
the dedication to "Cleomenes," celebrates Jane Lady Hyde, daughter to
Sir William L. Gower, and wife, as has been noticed, to Henry Lord
Hyde; eldest son of Lawrence Earl of Rochester.]
PROLOGUE,
SPOKEN BY MRS BRACEGIRDLE.
The labouring bee, when his sharp sting is gone,
Forgets his golden work, and turns a drone:
Such is a satire, when you take away
That rage, in which his noble vigour lay.
What gain you, by not suffering him to teaze ye?
He neither can offend you now, nor please ye.
The honey-bag, and venom, lay so near, }
That both together you resolved to tear; }
And lost your pleasure, to secure your fear. }
How can he show his manhood, if you bind him
To box, like boys, with one hand tied behind him?
This is plain levelling of wit; in which
The poor has all the advantage, not the rich.
The blockhead stands excused, for wanting sense;
And wits turn blockheads in their own defence.
Yet, though the stage's traffic is undone,
Still Julian's[6] interloping trade goes on:
Though satire on the theatre you smother,
Yet, in lampoons, you libel one another.
The first produces, still, a second jig;
You whip them out, like school-boys, till they gig;
And with the same success, our readers guess,
For every one still dwindles to a less[7];
And much good malice is so meanly drest,
That we would laugh, but cannot find the jest.
If no advice your rhyming rage can stay,
Let not the ladies suffer in the fray:
Their tender sex is privileged from war;
'Tis not like knights, to draw upon the fair.
What fame expect you from so mean a prize?
We wear no murdering weapons, but our eyes.
Our sex, you know, was after yours designed; }
The last perfection of the Maker's mind: }
Heaven drew out all the gold for us, and left your dross behind. }
Beauty, for valour's best reward, he chose;
Peace, after war; and, after toil, repose.
Hence, ye profane, excluded from our sights; }
And, charmed by day with honour's vain delights, }
Go, make your best of solitary nights. }
Recant betimes, 'tis prudence to submit;
Our sex is still your over-match in wit:
We never fail, with new, successful arts,
To make fine fools of you, and all your parts.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 6: Julian, who styled himself secretary to the muses, made
a dirty livelihood, by copying and dispersing lampoons at the Wits'
coffee-house. He was the subject of a copy of verses, which the reader
will find among those ascribed to Dryden on doubtful authority.]
[Footnote 7: The poetasters of that age were so numerous, and so
active, that the most deplorable attempt at wit, or satire, was
usually answered in one which was yet worse. Parody and personal abuse
were the implements of this warfare, which sometimes extended to
answers, replies, rejoinders, rebutters, and sur-rebutters, all only
distinguished by malignant scurrility.]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
JUPITER.
MERCURY.
PHŒBUS.
AMPHITRYON, _the Theban General_.
SOSIA, _his Slave_.
GRIPUS, _a Theban Judge_.
POLIDAS, } _Officers of the Theban Army_.
TRANIO, }
ALCMENA, _Wife to_ AMPHITRYON.
PHÆDRA, } _Her Slaves_.
BROMIA, }
NIGHT.
SCENE,--_Thebes_.
AMPHITRYON,
OR THE
TWO SOSIAS.
ACT I. SCENE I.
MERCURY _and_ PHŒBUS _descend in two Machines_.
_Phoe._ Know you the reason of this present summons?
'Tis neither council day, nor is this heaven.
What business has our Jupiter on earth?
Why more at Thebes than any other place?
And why we two, of all the herd of gods,
Are chosen out to meet him in consult?
They call me God of Wisdom;
But Mars and Vulcan, the two fools of heaven,
Whose wit lies in their anvil and their sword,
Know full as much as I.
_Merc._ And Venus may know more than both of us;
For 'tis some petticoat affair, I guess.
I have discharged my duty, which was, to summon you, Phœbus: we shall
know more anon, when the Thunderer comes down. 'Tis our part to obey
our father; for, to confess the truth, we two are little better than
sons of harlots; and, if Jupiter had not been pleased to take a little
pains with our mothers, instead of being gods, we might have been a
couple of link-boys.
_Phoe._ But know you nothing farther, Hermes? What news in court?
_Merc._ There has been a devilish quarrel, I can tell you, between
Jupiter and Juno. She threatened to sue him in the spiritual court for
some matrimonial omissions; and he stood upon his prerogative: then she
hit him in the teeth of all his bastards; and your name and mine were
used with less reverence than became our godships. They were both in
their cups; and at last the matter grew so high, that they were ready
to have thrown stars at one another's heads.
_Phoe._ 'Twas happy for me that I was at my vocation, driving day-light
about the world. But I had rather stand my father's thunderbolts, than
my stepmother's railing.
_Merc._ When the tongue-battle was over, and the championess had
harnessed her peacocks to go for Samos, and hear the prayers that were
made to her--
_Phoe._ By the way, her worshippers had a bad time on't; she was in a
damnable humour for receiving petitions.
_Merc._ Jupiter immediately beckons me aside, and charges me, that,
as soon as ever you had set up your horses, you and I should meet him
here at Thebes: Now, putting the premises together, as dark as it is,
methinks I begin to see day-light.
_Phoe._ As plain as one of my own beams; she has made him uneasy at
home, and he is going to seek his diversion abroad. I see heaven
itself is no privileged place for happiness, if a man must carry his
wife along with him.
_Merc._ 'Tis neither better nor worse, upon my conscience. He is weary
of hunting in the spacious forest of a wife, and is following his game
_incognito_ in some little purlieu here at Thebes: that's many an
honest man's case on earth too, Jove help them! as indeed he does, to
make them cuckolds.
_Phoe._ But, if so, Mercury, then I, who am a poet, must indite his
love-letter; and you, who are by trade a porter, must convey it.
_Merc._ No more; he's coming down souse upon us, and hears as far as he
can see too. He's plaguy hot upon the business, I know it by his hard
driving.
JUPITER _descends_.
_Jup._ What, you are descanting upon my actions!
Much good may do you with your politics:
All subjects will be censuring their kings.
Well, I confess I am in love; what then?
_Phoe._ Some mortal, we presume, of Cadmus' blood;
Some Theban beauty; some new Semele;
Or some Europa.
_Merc._ I'll say that for my father, he's constant to a handsome
family; he knows when they have a good smack with them, and snuff's up
incense so savourily when 'tis offered by a fair hand,----
_Jup._ Well, my familiar sons, this saucy carriage
I have deserved; for he, who trusts a secret,
Makes his own man his master.
I read your thoughts;
Therefore you may as safely speak as think.
_Merc._ Mine was a very homely thought.--I was considering into what
form your almightyship would be pleased to transform yourself to-night:
whether you would fornicate in the shape of a bull, or a ram, or an
eagle, or a swan; what bird or beast you would please to honour, by
transgressing your own laws in his likeness; or, in short, whether you
would recreate yourself in feathers, or in leather?
_Phoe._ Any disguise to hide the king of gods.
_Jup._ I know your malice, Phœbus; you would say,
That, when a monarch sins, it should be secret,
To keep exterior shew of sanctity,
Maintain respect, and cover bad example:
For kings and priests are in a manner bound,
For reverence sake, to be close hypocrites.
_Phoe._ But what necessitates you to this love,
Which you confess a crime, and yet commit?
For, to be secret makes not sin the less;
'Tis only hidden from the vulgar view;
Maintains, indeed, the reverence due to princes,
But not absolves the conscience from the crime.
_Jup._ I love, because 'twas in the fates I should.
_Phoe._ With reverence be it spoke, a bad excuse:
Thus every wicked act, in heaven or earth,
May make the same defence. But what is fate?
Is it a blind contingence of events,
Or sure necessity of causes linked,
That must produce effects? Or is't a power,
That orders all things by superior will,
Foresees his work, and works in that foresight?
_Jup._ Fate is, what I,
By virtue of omnipotence, have made it;
And power omnipotent can do no wrong:
Not to myself, because I will it so;
Nor yet to men, for what they are is mine.--
This night I will enjoy Amphitryon's wife;
For, when I made her, I decreed her such
As I should please to love. I wrong not him
Whose wife she is; for I reserved my right,
To have her while she pleased me; that once past,
She shall be his again.
_Merc._ Here's omnipotence with a vengeance! to make a man a cuckold,
and yet not to do him wrong! Then I find, father Jupiter, that when you
made fate, you had the wit to contrive a holiday for yourself now and
then; for you kings never enact a law, but you have a kind of an eye to
your own prerogative.
_Phoe._ If there be no such thing as right and wrong
Of an eternal being, I have done;
But if there be,----
_Jup._ Peace, thou disputing fool!--
Learn this; If thou could'st comprehend my ways,
Then thou wert Jove, not I; yet thus far know,
That, for the good of human kind, this night
I shall beget a future Hercules,
Who shall redress the wrongs of injured mortals,
Shall conquer monsters, and reform the world.
_Merc._ Ay, brother Phœbus; and our father made all those monsters for
Hercules to conquer, and contrived all those vices on purpose for him
to reform too, there's the jest on't.
_Phoe._ Since arbitrary power will hear no reason,
'Tis wisdom to be silent.
_Merc._ Why that's the point; this same arbitrary power is a knock-down
argument; 'tis but a word and a blow. Now methinks, our father speaks
out like an honest bare-faced god, as he is; he lays the stress in the
right place, upon absolute dominion: I confess, if he had been a man,
he might have been a tyrant, if his subjects durst have called him to
account. But you, brother Phœbus, are but a mere country gentleman,
that never comes to court; that are abroad all day on horseback, making
visits about the world; are drinking all night; and, in your cups
are still railing at the government. O, these patriots, these bumpkin
patriots, are a very silly sort of animal!
_Jup._ My present purpose and design you heard,
To enjoy Amphitryon's wife, the fair Alcmena:
You two must be subservient to my love.
_Merc._ [_To Phœbus._] No more of your grumbletonian morals, brother;
there's preferment coming; be advised, and pimp dutifully.
_Jup._ Amphitryon, the brave Theban general,
Has overcome his country's foes in fight,
And, in a single duel, slain their king:
His conquering troops are eager on their march
Returning home; while their young general,
More eager to review his beauteous wife,
Posts on before, winged with impetuous love,
And, by to-morrow's dawn, will reach this town.
_Merc._ That's but short warning, father Jupiter; having made no former
advances of courtship to her, you have need of your omnipotence, and
all your godship, if you mean to be beforehand with him.
_Phoe._ Then how are we to be employed this evening?
Time's precious, and these summer nights are short;
I must be early up to light the world.
_Jup._ You shall not rise; there shall be no to-morrow.
_Merc._ Then the world's to be at an end, I find.
_Phoe._ Or else a gap in nature of a day.
_Jup._ A day will be well lost to busy man;
Night shall continue sleep, and care shall cease.
So, many men shall live, and live in peace,
Whom sunshine had betrayed to envious sight,
And sight to sudden rage, and rage to death.
Now, I will have a night for love and me;
A long luxurious night, fit for a god
To quench and empty his immortal heat.
_Merc._ I'll lay on the woman's side for all that, that she shall love
longest to-night, in spite of your omnipotence.
_Phoe._ I shall be cursed by all the labouring trades,
That early rise; but you must be obeyed.
_Jup._ No matter for the cheating part of man,
They have a day's sin less to answer for.
_Phoe._ When would you have me wake?
_Jup._ Why, when Jove goes to sleep; when I have finished,
Your brother Mercury shall bring you word.--
[_Exit_ PHŒBUS _in his chariot_.
Now, Hermes, I must take Amphitryon's form,
To enjoy his wife:
Thou must be Sosia, this Amphitryon's slave;
Who, all this night, is travelling to Thebes,
To tell Alcmena of her lord's approach,
And bring her joyful news of victory.
_Merc._ But why must I be Sosia?
_Jup._ Dull god of wit, thou statue of thyself!
Thou must be Sosia, to keep out Sosia;
Who, by his entrance, might discover Jove,
Disturb my pleasures, raise unruly noise,
And so distract Alcmena's tender soul,
She would not meet my warmth, when I dissolve
Into her lap, nor give down half her love.
_Merc._ Let me alone, I'll cudgel him away;
But I abhor so villainous a shape.
_Jup._ Take it, I charge thee on thy duty, take it;
Nor dare to lay it down, till I command.
I cannot bear a moment's loss of joy.--
NIGHT _appears above in a chariot_.
Look up, the Night is in her silent chariot,
And rolling just o'er Thebes: Bid her drive slowly,
Or make a double turn about the world;
While I drop Jove, and take Amphitryon's dress,
To be the greater, while I seem the less. [_Exit_ JUPITER.
Merc. [_To Night._] Madam Night, a good even to you! Fair and softly, I
beseech you, madam; I have a word or two to you from no less a god than
Jupiter.
_Night._ O my nimble-fingered god of theft, what makes you here on
earth at this unseasonable hour? What banker's shop is to be broke open
to-night? or what clippers, and coiners, and conspirators, have been
invoking your deity for their assistance?
_Merc._ Faith, none of those enormities, and yet I am still in my
vocation; for you know I am a jack of all trades. At a word, Jupiter is
indulging his genius to-night with a certain noble sort of recreation;
called wenching; the truth on't is, adultery is its proper name.
_Night._ Jupiter would do well to stick to his wife, Juno.
_Merc._ He has been married to her above these hundred years; and
that's long enough, in conscience, to stick to one woman.
_Night._ She's his sister too, as well as his wife; that's a double tie
of affection to her.
_Merc._ Nay, if he made bold with his own flesh and blood, 'tis likely
he will not spare his neighbours.
_Night._ If I were his wife, I would raise a rebellion against him, for
the violation of my bed.
_Merc._ Thou art mistaken, old Night; his wife could raise no faction.
All the deities in heaven would take the part of the cuckold-making
god, for they are all given to the flesh most damnably. Nay, the very
goddesses would stickle in the cause of love; 'tis the way to be
popular, to whore and love. For what dost thou think old Saturn was
deposed, but that he was cold and impotent, and made no court to the
fair ladies? Pallas and Juno themselves, as chaste as they are, cried,
_Shame on him!_--I say unto thee, old Night, woe be to the monarch that
has not the women on his side!
_Night._ Then, by your rule, Mercury, a king who would live happily,
must debauch his whole nation of women.
_Merc._ As far as his ready money will go, I mean; for Jupiter himself
can't please all of them.--But this is beside my present commission: He
has sent me to will and require you to make a swinging long night for
him, for he hates to be stinted in his pleasures.
_Night._ Tell him plainly, I'll rather lay down my commission. What,
would he make a bawd of me?
_Merc._ Poor ignorant! why he meant thee for a bawd, when he first
made thee. What art thou good for, but to be a bawd? Is not day-light
better for mankind, I mean as to any other use, but only for love and
fornication? Thou hast been a bawd too, a reverend, primitive, original
bawd, from the first hour of thy creation; and all the laudable actions
of love have been committed under thy mantle. Pr'ythee, for what dost
thou think that thou art worshipped?
_Night._ Why, for my stars and moonshine.
_Merc._ That is, for holding a candle to iniquity. But if they were put
out, thou would'st be doubly worshipped by the willing bashful virgins.
_Night._ Then, for my quiet, and the sweetness of my sleep.
_Merc._ No:--For thy sweet waking all the night; for sleep comes not
upon lovers, till thou art vanished.
_Night._ But it will be against nature, to make a long winter's night
at midsummer.
_Merc._ Trouble not yourself for that: Phœbus is ordered to make a
short summer's day to-morrow; so, in four-and-twenty hours, all will be
at rights again.
_Night._ Well, I am edified by your discourse; and my comfort is, that,
whatever work is made, I see nothing.
_Merc._ About your business then. Put a spoke into your chariot-wheels,
and order the seven stars to halt, while I put myself into the habit
of a serving-man, and dress up a false Sosia, to wait upon a false
Amphitryon.--Good night, Night.
_Night._ My service to Jupiter.--Farewell, Mercury.
[NIGHT _goes backward. Exit_ MERCURY.
SCENE II.--AMPHITRYON'S _Palace_.
_Enter_ ALCMENA.
_Alc._ Why was I married to the man I love!
For, had he been indifferent to my choice,
Or had been hated, absence had been pleasure;
But now I fear for my Amphitryon's life:
At home, in private, and secure from war,
I am amidst an host of armed foes,
Sustaining all his cares, pierced with his wounds;
And, if he falls,--which, O ye gods avert!--
Am in Amphitryon slain! Would I were there,
And he were here; so might we change our fates;
That he might grieve for me, and I might die for him.
_Enter_ PHÆDRA, _running_.
_Phæd._ Good news, good news, madam; O such admirable news, that, if I
kept it in a moment, I should burst with it.
_Alc._ Is it from the army?
_Phæd._ No matter.
_Alc._ From Amphitryon?
_Phæd._ No matter, neither.
_Alc._ Answer me, I charge thee, if thy good news be any thing relating
to my lord; if it be, assure thyself of a reward.
_Phæd._ Ay, madam, now you say something to the matter: You know the
business of a poor waiting-woman, here upon earth, is to be scraping up
something against a rainy day, called the day of marriage; every one in
our own vocation:--But what matter is it to me if my lord has routed
the enemy, if I get nothing of their spoils?
_Alc._ Say, is my lord victorious?
_Phæd._ Why, he is victorious: indeed I prayed devoutly to Jupiter for
a victory; by the same token, that you should give me ten pieces of
gold if I brought you news of it.
_Alc._ They are thine, supposing he be safe too.
_Phæd._ Nay, that's a new bargain, for I vowed to Jupiter, that then
you should give me ten pieces more; but I do undertake for my lord's
safety, if you will please to discharge his godship Jupiter of the
debt, and take it upon you to pay.
_Alc._ When he returns in safety, Jupiter and I will pay your vow.
_Phæd._ And I am sure I articled with Jupiter, that, if I brought you
news that my lord was upon return, you should grant me one small favour
more, that will cost you nothing.
_Alc._ Make haste, thou torturer; is my Amphitryon upon return?
_Phæd._ Promise me, that I shall be your bedfellow to-night, as I have
been ever since my lord's absence; unless I shall be pleased to release
you of your word.
_Alc._ That's a small request; 'tis granted.
_Phæd._ But swear by Jupiter.
_Alc._ But why by Jupiter?
_Phæd._ Because he's the greatest: I hate to deal with one of your
little baffling gods, that can do nothing but by permission; but
Jupiter can swinge you off, if you swear by him, and are forsworn.
_Alc._ I swear by Jupiter.
_Phæd._ Then--I believe he is victorious, and I know he is safe; for I
looked through the key-hole, and saw him knocking at the gate; and I
had the conscience to let him cool his heels there.
_Alc._ And would'st thou not open to him? Oh, thou traitress!
_Phæd._ No, I was a little wiser: I left Sosia's wife to let him in;
for I was resolved to bring the news, and make my pennyworths out of
him, as time shall show.
_Enter_ JUPITER, _in the shape of_ AMPHITRYON, _with_ SOSIA'S _wife_,
BROMIA. _He kisses and embraces_ ALCMENA.
_Jup._ O let me live for ever on those lips!
The nectar of the gods to these is tasteless.
I swear, that, were I Jupiter, this night
I would renounce my heaven, to be Amphitryon.
_Alc._ Then, not to swear beneath Amphitryon's oath,
(Forgive me, Juno, if I am profane,)
I swear, I would be what I am this night,
And be Alcmena, rather than be Juno.
_Brom._ Good my lord, what is become of my poor bedfellow, your man
Sosia? you keep such a billing and cooing here, to set one's mouth
a watering--what I say, though I am a poor woman, I have a husband
as well as my lady; and should be as glad as she, of a little honest
recreation.
_Phæd._ And what have you done with your old friend, and my old
sweetheart, Judge Gripus? has he brought me home a crammed purse, that
swells with bribes? if he be rich, I will make him welcome like an
honourable magistrate; but if he has not had the wit to sell justice,
he judges no causes in my court, I warrant him.
_Alc._ My lord, you tell me nothing of the battle?
Is Thebes victorious, are our foes destroyed?
For, now I find you safe, I should be glad
To hear you were in danger.
_Jup._ [_Aside._] A man had need be a god, to stand the fury of three
talking women! I think, in my conscience, I made their tongues of
thunder.
_Brom._ [_Pulling him on one side._] I asked the first question; answer
me, my lord.
_Phæd._ [_Pulling him on the other side._] Peace! mine is a lover, and
yours but a husband; and my judge is my lord too; the title shall take
place, and I will be answered.
_Jup._ Sosia is safe; Gripus is rich; both coming;
I rode before them, with a lover's haste.----
Was e'er poor god so worried? but for my love,
I wish I were in heaven again with Juno. [_Aside._
_Alc._ Then I, it seems, am last to be regarded?
_Jup._ Not so, my love; but these obstreperous tongues
Have snatched their answers first; they will be heard;
And surely Jove would never answer prayer
That woman made, but only to be freed
From their eternal noise. Make haste to bed;
There let me tell my story, in thy arms;
There, in the gentle pauses of our love,
Betwixt our dyings, ere we live again,
Thou shalt be told the battle, and success;
Which I shall oft begin, and then break off;
For love will often interrupt my tale,
And make so sweet confusion in our talk,
That thou shalt ask, and I shall answer things,
That are not of a piece; but patched with kisses,
And sighs, and murmurs, and imperfect speech;
And nonsense shall be eloquent, in love.
_Brom._ [_To_ PHÆDHA.] My lord is very hot upon it: this absence is a
great friend to us poor neglected wives; it makes us new again.
_Alc._ I am the fool of love; and find within me
The fondness of a bride, without the fear.
My whole desires and wishes are in you.
_Phæd._ [_Aside._] My lady's eyes are pinking to bed-ward too: now is
she to look very sleepy, counterfeiting yawning,--but she shall ask me
leave first.
_Alc._ Great Juno, thou, whose holy care presides
Over the nuptial bed, pour all thy blessings
On this auspicious night!
_Jup._ Juno may grudge; for she may fear a rival
In those bright eyes; but Jupiter will grant,
And doubly bless this night.
_Phæd._ [_Aside._] But Jupiter should ask my leave
first, were he here in person.
_Alc._ Bromia, prepare the bed:
The tedious journey has disposed my lord
To seek his needful rest. [_Exit_ BROMIA.
_Phæd._ 'Tis very true, madam; the poor gentleman must needs be
weary; and, therefore, it was not ill contrived, that he must lie
alone to-night, to recruit himself with sleep, and lay in enough for
to-morrow night, when you may keep him waking.
_Alc._ [_To_ JUPITER.] I must confess, I made a kind of promise.----
_Phæd._ [_Almost crying._] A kind of promise, do you call it? I see you
would fain be coming off. I am sure you swore to me, by Jupiter, that
I should be your bedfellow; and I'll accuse you to him, too, the first
prayers I make; and I'll pray o' purpose, too, that I will, though I
have not prayed to him this seven years.
_Jup._ O, the malicious hilding!
_Alc._ I did swear, indeed, my lord.
_Jup._ Forswear thyself; for Jupiter but laughs
At lovers' perjuries.
_Phæd._ The more shame for him, if he does: there would be a fine god,
indeed, for us women to worship, if he laughs when our sweethearts
cheat us of our maidenheads. No, no, Jupiter is an honester gentleman
than you make of him.
_Jup._ I'm all on fire; and would not lose this night,
To be the master of the universe.
_Phæd._ Ay, my lord, I see you are on fire; but the devil a bucket
shall be brought to quench it, without my leave. You may go to bed,
madam; but you shall see how heaven will bless your night's work, if
you forswear yourself:--Some fool, some mere elder-brother, or some
blockheadly hero, Jove, I beseech thee, send her!
_Jup._ [_Aside._] Now I could call my thunder to revenge me,
But that were to confess myself a god,
And then I lost my love!----Alcmena, come;
By heaven I have a bridegroom's fervour for thee,
As I had ne'er enjoyed.
_Alc._ She has my oath; [_Sighing._
And sure she may release it, if she pleases.
_Phæd._ Why truly, madam, I am not cruel in my nature, to poor
distressed lovers; for it may be my own case another day: and
therefore, if my lord pleases to consider me----
_Jup._ Any thing, any thing! but name thy wish, and have it.
_Phæd._ Ay, now you say, any thing, any thing; but you would tell me
another story to-morrow morning. Look you, my lord, here is a hand
open to receive; you know the meaning of it; I am for nothing but the
ready----
_Jup._ Thou shalt have all the treasury of heaven.
_Phæd._ Yes, when you are Jupiter, to dispose of it.
_Jup._ [_Aside._] I had forgot, and shewed myself a god: This love can
make a fool of Jupiter.
_Phæd._ You have forgot some part of the enemies' spoil, I warrant you.
I see a little trifling diamond upon your finger; and I am proud enough
to think it would become mine too.
_Jup._ Here take it.--
[_Taking a Ring off his Finger, and giving it._
This is a very woman;
Her sex is avarice, and she, in one,
Is all her sex.
_Phæd._ Ay, ay, 'tis no matter what you say of us. What, would you have
your money out of the treasury, without paying the officers their fees?
Go, get you together, you naughty couple, till you are both weary of
worrying one another; and then to-morrow morning I shall have another
fee for parting you.
[PHÆDRA _goes out before_ ALCMENA _with a light_.
_Jup._ Why now, I am indeed the lord of all;
For what's to be a god, but to enjoy?
Let human kind their sovereign's leisure wait;
Love is, this night, my great affair of state:
Let this one night of providence be void;
All Jove, for once, is on himself employ'd.
Let unregarded altars smoke in vain;
And let my subjects praise me, or complain:
Yet if, betwixt my intervals of bliss,
Some amorous youth his orisons address,
His prayer is in a happy hour preferred;
And when Jove loves, a lover shall be heard. [_Exit._
ACT II.
SCENE I.--_A Night Scene of a Palace._
SOSIA, _with a Dark-Lanthorn_; MERCURY, _in_ SOSIA'S _shape, with a
Dark-Lanthorn also_.
_Sos._ Was not the devil in my master, to send me out this dreadful
dark night, to bring the news of his victory to my lady? and was not I
possessed with ten devils, for going on his errand, without a convoy
for the safeguard of my person? Lord, how am I melted into sweat with
fear! I am diminished of my natural weight, above two stone: I shall
not bring half myself home again, to my poor wife and family; I have
been in an ague fit, ever since shut of evening; what with the fright
of trees by the highway, which looked maliciously, like thieves, by
moonshine; and what with bulrushes by the river-side, that shaked like
spears and lances at me. Well, the greatest plague of a serving-man, is
to be hired to some great lord! They care not what drudgery they put
upon us, while they lie lolling at their ease a-bed, and stretch their
lazy limbs, in expectation of the whore which we are fetching for them.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] He is but a poor mortal, that suffers this; but I,
who am a god, am degraded to a foot-pimp; a waiter without doors! a
very civil employment for a deity!
_Sos._ The better sort of them will say, "Upon my honour," at every
word; yet ask them for our wages, and they plead the privilege of their
honour, and will not pay us; nor let us take our privilege of the law
upon them. These are a very hopeful sort of patriots, to stand up, as
they do, for liberty and property of the subject: There's conscience
for you!
_Merc._ [_Aside._] This fellow has something of the republican spirit
in him.
_Sos._ [_Looking about him._] Stay; this, methinks, should be our
house; and I should thank the gods now for bringing me safe home: but,
I think, I had as good let my devotions alone, till I have got the
reward for my good news, and then thank them once for all; for, if I
praise them before I am safe within doors, some damned mastiff dog may
come out and worry me; and then my thanks are thrown away upon them.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] Thou art a wicked rogue, and wilt have thy bargain
beforehand; therefore thou get'st not into the house this night; and
thank me accordingly as I use thee.
_Sos._ Now am I to give my lady an account of my lord's victory; 'tis
good to exercise my parts beforehand, and file my tongue into eloquent
expressions, to tickle her ladyship's imagination.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] Good! and here's the god of eloquence to judge of
thy oration.
_Sos._ [_Setting down his Lanthorn._] This lanthorn, for once, shall be
my lady; because she is the lamp of all beauty and perfection.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] No, rogue! 'tis thy lord is the lanthorn by this
time, or Jupiter is turned fumbler.
_Sos._ Then thus I make my addresses to her:--[_Bows._] Madam, my lord
has chosen me out, as the most faithful, though the most unworthy, of
his followers, to bring your ladyship this following account of our
glorious expedition. Then she,--O my poor Sosia, [_In a shrill tone._]
how am I overjoyed to see thee! She can say no less.--Madam, you do me
too much honour, and the world will envy me this glory:--Well answered
on my side. And how does my lord Amphitryon?--Madam, he always does
like a man of courage, when he is called by honour.--There I think I
nicked it.--But when will he return?--As soon as possibly he can; but
not so soon as his impatient heart could wish him with your ladyship.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] When Thebes is an university, thou deservest to be
their orator.
_Sos._ But what does he do, and what does he say? Pr'ythee tell me
something more of him.--He always says less than he does, madam; and
his enemies have found it to their cost.--Where the devil did I learn
these elegancies and gallantries!
_Merc._ So, he has all the natural endowments of a fop, and only wants
the education.
_Sos._ [_Staring up to the sky._] What, is the devil in the night!
She's as long as two nights. The seven stars are just where they were
seven hours ago! high day--high night, I mean, by my favour. What, has
Phœbus been playing the good fellow, and overslept himself, that he
forgets his duty to us mortals!
_Merc._ How familiarly the rascal treats us gods! but I shall make him
alter his tone immediately.
[MERCURY _comes nearer, and stands just before him_.
_Sos._ [_Seeing him, and starting back, aside._] How now? what, do my
eyes dazzle, or is my dark lanthorn false to me! is not that a giant
before our door? or a ghost of somebody slain in the late battle? If
he be, 'tis unconscionably done, to fright an honest man thus, who
never drew weapon wrathfully in all my life. Whatever wight he be, I am
devilishly afraid, that's certain; but, 'tis discretion to keep my own
counsel; I'll sing, that I may seem valiant.
[SOSIA _sings; and_, _as_ MERCURY _speaks_, _by little and little drops
his voice_.
_Merc._ What saucy companion is this, that deafens us with his hoarse
voice? What midnight ballad-singer have we here? I shall teach the
villain to leave off catterwauling.
_Sos._ I would I had courage, for his sake, that I might teach him to
call my singing catterwauling! an illiterate rogue! an enemy to the
muses, and to music.
_Merc._ There is an ill savour that offends my nostrils and it wafteth
this way.
_Sos._ He has smelt me out; my fear has betrayed me into this savour. I
am a dead man: the bloody villain is at his fee, fa, fum, already.
_Merc._ Stand, who goes there?
_Sos._ A friend.
_Merc._ What friend?
_Sos._ Why, a friend to all the world, that will give me leave to live
peaceably.
_Merc._ I defy peace and all its works; my arms are out of exercise,
they have mauled nobody these three days: I long for an honourable
occasion to pound a man, and lay him asleep at the first buffet.
_Sos._ [_Aside._] That would almost do me a kindness; for I have been
kept waking, without tipping one wink of sleep, these three nights.
_Merc._ Of what quality are you, fellow?
_Sos._ Why, I am a man, fellow.--Courage, Sosia!
_Merc._ What kind of man?
_Sos._ Why, a two-legged man; what man should I be? [_Aside._] I must
bear up to him, he may prove as arrant a milksop as myself.
_Merc._ Thou art a coward, I warrant thee; do not I hear thy teeth
chatter in thy head?
_Sos._ Ay, ay; that's only a sign they would be snapping at thy nose.
[_Aside._] Bless me, what an arm and fist he has, with great thumbs
too; and golls and knuckle-bones of a very butcher!
_Merc._ Sirrah, from whence came you, and whither go you; answer me
directly, upon pain of assassination.
_Sos._ I am coming from whence I came, and am going whither I
go,--that's directly home; though this is somewhat an uncivil manner of
proceeding, at the first sight of a man, let me tell you.
_Merc._ Then, to begin our better acquaintance, let me first make you a
small present of this box o' the ear---- [_Strikes him._
_Sos._ If I were as choleric a fool as you are now, here would be fine
work betwixt us two; but I am a little better bred, than to disturb the
sleeping neighbourhood; and so good-night, friend---- [_Is going._
_Merc._ [_Stopping him._] Hold, sir; you and I must not part so easily;
once more, whither are you going?
_Sos._ Why I am going as fast as I can, to get out of the reach of your
clutches. Let me but only knock at the door there.
_Merc._ What business have you at that door, sirrah?
_Sos._ This is our house; and, when I am got in, I will
tell you more.
_Merc._ Whose house is this, sauciness, that you are so
familiar with, to call it ours?
_Sos._ 'Tis mine, in the first place; and next, my
master's; for I lie in the garret, and he lies under
me.
_Merc._ Have your master and you no names, sirrah?
_Sos._ His name is Amphitryon; hear that, and tremble.
_Merc._ What, my lord general?
_Sos._ O, has his name mollified you! I have brought
you down a peg lower already, friend.
_Merc._ And your name is----
_Sos._ Lord, friend, you are so very troublesome--what should my name
be, but Sosia?
_Merc._ How, Sosia, say you? how long have you taken up that name,
sirrah?
_Sos._ Here's a fine question! Why I never took it up, friend; it was
born with me.
_Merc._ What, was your name born Sosia? take this remembrance for that
lie. [_Beats him._
_Sos._ Hold, friend! you are so very flippant with your hands, you
won't hear reason: What offence has my name done you, that you should
beat me for it? _S. O. S. I. A._ they are as civil, honest, harmless
letters, as any are in the whole alphabet.
_Merc._ I have no quarrel to the name; but that 'tis e'en too good for
you, and 'tis none of yours.
_Sos._ What, am not I Sosia, say you?
_Merc._ No.
_Sos._ I should think you are somewhat merrily disposed, if you had
not beaten me in such sober sadness. You would persuade me out of my
heathen name, would you?
_Merc._ Say you are Sosia again, at your peril, sirrah.
_Sos._ I dare say nothing, but thought is free; but whatever I am
called, I am Amphitryon's man, and the first letter of my name is _S._
too. You had best tell me that my master did not send me home to my
lady, with news of his victory?
_Merc._ I say, he did not.
_Sos._ Lord, Lord, friend, one of us two is horribly given to lying;
but I do not say which of us, to avoid contention.
_Merc._ I say my name is Sosia, and yours is not.
_Sos._ I would you could make good your words; for then I should not be
beaten, and you should.
_Merc._ I find you would be Sosia, if you durst; but if I catch you
thinking so----
_Sos._ I hope I may think I was Sosia; and I can find no difference
between my former self, and my present self, but that I was plain Sosia
before, and now I am laced Sosia.
_Merc._ Take this, for being so impudent to think so. [_Beats him._
_Sos._ [_Kneeling._] Truce a little, I beseech thee! I would be a
stock or a stone now by my good will, and would not think at all, for
self-preservation. But will you give me leave to argue the matter
fairly with you, and promise me to depose that cudgel, if I can prove
myself to be that man that I was before I was beaten?
_Merc._ Well, proceed in safety; I promise you I will not beat you.
_Sos._ In the first place, then, is not this town called Thebes?
_Merc._ Undoubtedly.
_Sos._ And is not this house Amphitryon's?
_Merc._ Who denies it?
_Sos._ I thought you would have denied that too; for all hang upon a
string. Remember then, that those two preliminary articles are already
granted. In the next place, did not the aforesaid Amphitryon beat
the Teleboans, kill their king Pterelas, and send a certain servant,
meaning somebody, that for sake-sake shall be nameless, to bring a
present to his wife, with news of his victory, and of his resolution to
return to-morrow?
_Merc._ This is all true, to a very tittle; but who is that certain
servant? there's all the question.
_Sos._ Is it peace or war betwixt us?
_Merc._ Peace.
_Sos._ I dare not wholly trust that abominable cudgel; but 'tis a
certain friend of yours and mine, that had a certain name before he was
beaten out of it; but if you are a man that depend not altogether upon
force and brutality, but somewhat also upon reason, now do you bring
better proofs, that you are that same certain man; and, in order to it,
answer me to certain questions.
_Merc._ I say I am Sosia, Amphitryon's man; what reason have you to
urge against it?
_Sos._ What was your father's name?
_Merc._ Davus; who was an honest husbandman, whose sister's name was
Harpage, that was married, and died in a foreign country.
_Sos._ So far you are right, I must confess; and your wife's name is----
_Merc._ Bromia, a devilish shrew of her tongue, and a vixen of her
hands, that leads me a miserable life; keeps me to hard duty a-bed; and
beats me every morning when I have risen from her side, without having
first----
_Sos._ I understand you, by many a sorrowful token;--this must be I.
[_Aside._
_Merc._ I was once taken upon suspicion of burglary, and was whipt
through Thebes, and branded for my pains.
_Sos._ Right, me again; but if you are I, as I begin to suspect, that
whipping and branding might have been past over in silence, for both
our credits. And yet now I think on't, if I am I, (as I am I) he
cannot be I. All these circumstances he might have heard; but I will
now interrogate him upon some private passages.--What was the present
that Amphitryon sent by you or me, no matter which of us, to his wife
Alcmena?
_Merc._ A buckle of diamonds, consisting of five large stones.
_Sos._ And where are they now?
_Merc._ In a case, sealed with my master's coat of arms.
_Sos._ This is prodigious, I confess; but yet 'tis nothing, now I think
on't; for some false brother may have revealed it to him. [_Aside._]
But I have another question to ask you, of somewhat that passed only
betwixt myself and me;--if you are Sosia, what were you doing in the
heat of battle?
_Merc._ What a wise man should, that has respect for his own person. I
ran into our tent, and hid myself amongst the baggage.
_Sos._ [_Aside._] Such another cutting answer; and I must provide
myself of another name.--[_To him._] And how did you pass your time in
that same tent? You need not answer to every circumstance so exactly
now; you must lie a little, that I may think you the more me.
_Merc._ That cunning shall not serve your turn, to circumvent me out
of my name: I am for plain naked truth. There stood a hogshead of old
wine, which my lord reserved for his own drinking----
_Sos._ [_Aside._] O the devil! as sure as death, he must have hid
himself in that hogshead, or he could never have known that!
_Merc._ And by that hogshead, upon the ground, there lay the kind
inviter and provoker of good drinking----
_Sos._ Nay, now I have caught you; there was neither inviter, nor
provoker, for I was all alone.
_Merc._ A lusty gammon of----
_Sos._ [_Sighing._] Bacon!--that word has quite made an end of
me.--Let me see--this must be I, in spite of me; but let me view him
nearer.
[_Walks about_ MERCURY _with his Dark Lanthorn_.
_Merc._ What are you walking about me for, with your dark lanthorn?
_Sos._ No harm, friend; I am only surveying a parcel of earth here,
that I find we two are about to bargain for:--He's damnable like me,
that's certain. _Imprimis_, there's the patch upon my nose, with a pox
to him. _Item_, A very foolish face, with a long chin at end on't.
_Item_, One pair of shambling legs, with two splay feet belonging to
them; and, _summa totallis_, from head to foot all my bodily apparel.
[_To_ MERCURY.] Well, you are Sosia; there's no denying it:--but what
am I then? for my mind gives me, I am somebody still, if I knew but who
I were.
_Merc._ When I have a mind to be Sosia no more, then thou may'st be
Sosia again.
_Sos._ I have but one request more to thee; that, though not as Sosia,
yet as a stranger, I may go into that house, and carry a civil message
to my lady.
_Merc._ No, sirrah; not being Sosia, you have no message to deliver,
nor no lady in this house.
_Sos._ Thou canst not be so barbarous, to let me lie in the streets all
night, after such a journey, and such a beating; and therefore I am
resolved to knock at the door, in my own defence.
_Merc._ If you come near the door, I recal my word, and break off the
truce, and then expect----
[_Holds up his Cudgel._
_Sos._ No, the devil take me if I do expect; I have felt too well what
sour fruit that crab-tree bears: I'll rather beat it back upon the hoof
to my lord Amphitryon, to see if he will acknowledge me for Sosia;
if he does not, then I am no longer his slave; there's my freedom
dearly purchased with a sore drubbing: if he does acknowledge me, then
I am Sosia again. So far 'tis tolerably well: but then I shall have
a second drubbing for an unfortunate ambassador, as I am; and that's
intolerable. [_Exit_ SOSIA.
_Merc._ [_Alone._] I have fobbed off his excellency pretty well. Now
let him return, and make the best of his credentials. I think, too, I
have given Jupiter sufficient time for his consummation.--Oh, he has
taken his cue; and here he comes as leisurely, and as lank, as if he
had emptied himself of the best part of his almightyship.
SCENE II.
_Enter_ JUPITER, _leading_ ALCMENA, _followed by_ PHÆDRA. _Pages with
Torches before them._
_Jup._ [_To the Pages._] Those torches are offensive; stand aloof;
For, though they bless me with thy heavenly sight,
[_To her._
They may disclose the secret I would hide.
The Thebans must not know I have been here;
Detracting crowds would blame me, that I robbed
These happy moments from my public charge,
To consecrate to thy desired embrace;
And I could wish no witness but thyself,
For thou thyself art all I wish to please.
_Alcm._ So long an absence, and so short a stay!
What, but one night! one night of joy and love
Could only pay one night of cares and fears,
And all the rest are an uncancelled sum!--
Curse on this honour, and this public fame;
Would you had less of both, and more of love!
_Jup._ Alcmena, I must go.
_Alcm._ Not yet, my lord.
_Jup._ Indeed I must.
_Alcm._ Indeed you shall not go.
_Jup._ Behold the ruddy streaks o'er yonder hill;
Those are the blushes of the breaking morn,
That kindle day-light to this nether world.
_Alcm._ No matter for the day; it was but made
To number out the hours of busy men.
Let them be busy still, and still be wretched,
And take their fill of anxious drudging day;
But you and I will draw our curtains close,
Extinguish day-light, and put out the sun.
Come back, my lord; in faith you shall retire;
You have not yet lain long enough in bed,
To warm your widowed side.
_Phæd._ [_Aside._] I find my lord is an excellent school-master, my
lady is so willing to repeat her lesson.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] That's a plaguy little devil; what a roguish eye she
has! I begin to like her strangely. She's the perquisite of my place
too; for my lady's waiting-woman is the proper fees of my lord's chief
gentleman. I have the privilege of a god too; I can view her naked
through all her clothes. Let me see, let me see;--I have discovered
something, that pleases me already.
_Jup._ Let me not live, but thou art all enjoyment!
So charming and so sweet,
That not a night, but whole eternity,
Were well employed,
To love thy each perfection as it ought.
_Alcm._ [_Kissing him._] I'll bribe you with this kiss,
to stay a while.
_Jup._ [_Kissing her._] A bribe indeed that soon will bring me back;
But, to be just, I must restore your bribe.
How I could dwell for ever on those lips!
O, I could kiss them pale with eagerness!
So soft, by heaven! and such a juicy sweet,
That ripened peaches have not half the flavour.
_Alcm._ Ye niggard gods! you make our lives too long;
You fill them with diseases, wants, and woes,
And only dash them with a little love,
Sprinkled by fits, and with a sparing hand:
Count all our joys, from childhood even to age,
They would but make a day of every year.
Take back your seventy years, the stint of life,
Or else be kind, and cram the quintessence
Of seventy years into sweet seventy days;
For all the rest is flat, insipid being.
_Jup._ But yet one scruple pains me at my parting:
I love so nicely, that I cannot bear
To owe the sweets of love, which I have tasted,
To the submissive duty of a wife.
Tell me, and sooth my passion ere I go,
That, in the kindest moments of the night,
When you gave up yourself to love and me,
You thought not of a husband, but a lover?
_Alcm._ But tell me first, why you would raise a blush
Upon my cheeks, by asking such a question?
_Jup._ I would owe nothing to a name so dull
As husband is, but to a lover all.
_Alcm._ You should have asked me then, when love and night,
And privacy, had favoured your demand.
_Jup._ I ask it now, because my tenderness
Surpasses that of husbands for their wives.
O that you loved like me! then you would find
A thousand, thousand niceties in love.
The common love of sex to sex is brutal;
But love refined will fancy to itself
Millions of gentle cares, and sweet disquiets;
The being happy is not half the joy;
The manner of their happiness is all.
In me, my charming mistress, you behold
A lover that disdains a lawful title,
Such as of monarchs to successive thrones;
The generous lover holds by force of arms,
And claims his crown by conquest.
_Alcm._ Methinks you should be pleased; I give you all
A virtuous and modest wife can give.
_Jup._ No, no; that very name of wife and marriage
Is poison to the dearest sweets of love;
To please my niceness, you must separate
The lover from his mortal foe--the husband.
Give to the yawning husband your cold virtue;
But all your vigorous warmth, your melting sighs,
Your amorous murmurs, be your lover's part.
_Alcm._ I comprehend not what you mean, my lord;
But only love me still, and love me thus,
And think me such as best may please your thought.
_Jup._ There's mystery of love in all I say.--
Farewell; and when you see your husband next,
Think of your lover then.
[_Exeunt_ JUP. _and_ ALCM. _severally_;
PHÆD. _follows her_.
_Merc._ [_Alone._] Now I should follow him; but love has laid a
lime-twig for me, and made a lame god of me. Yet why should I love this
Phædra? She's interested, and a jilt into the bargain. Three thousand
years hence, there will be a whole nation of such women, in a certain
country, that will be called France; and there's a neighbour island,
too, where the men of that country will be all interest. O what a
precious generation will that be, which the men of the island shall
propagate out of the women of the continent!--
PHÆDRA _re-enters_.
And so much for prophecy; for she's here again, and I must love her, in
spite of me. And since I must, I have this comfort, that the greatest
wits are commonly the greatest cullies; because neither of the sexes
can be wiser than some certain parts about them will give them leave.
_Phæd._ Well, Sosia, and how go matters?
_Merc._ Our army is victorious.
_Phæd._ And my servant, judge Gripus?
_Merc._ A voluptuous gormand.
_Phæd._ But has he gotten wherewithal to be voluptuous;
is he wealthy?
_Merc._ He sells justice as he uses; fleeces the rich
rebels, and hangs up the poor.
_Phæd._ Then, while he has money, he may make love to me. Has he sent
me no token?
_Merc._ Yes, a kiss; and by the same token I am to give it you, as a
remembrance from him.
_Phæd._ How now, impudence! A beggarly serving-man presume to kiss me?
_Merc._ Suppose I were a god, and should make love to you?
_Phæd._ I would first be satisfied, whether you were a poor god, or a
rich god.
_Merc._ Suppose I were Mercury, the god of merchandise?
_Phæd._ What! the god of small wares, and fripperies, of pedlers and
pilferers?
_Merc._ How the gipsy despises me! [_Aside._
_Phæd._ I had rather you were Plutus, the god of money; or Jupiter, in
a golden shower: there was a god for us women! he had the art of making
love. Dost thou think that kings, or gods either, get mistresses by
their good faces? no, it is the gold, and the presents they can make;
there is the prerogative they have over their fair subjects.
_Merc._ All this notwithstanding, I must tell you, pretty Phædra, I am
desperately in love with you.
_Phæd._ And I must tell thee, ugly Sosia, thou hast not wherewithal to
be in love.
_Merc._ Yes, a poor man may be in love, I hope.
_Phæd._ I grant a poor rogue may be in love, but he can never make
love. Alas, Sosia, thou hast neither face to invite me, nor youth to
please me, nor gold to bribe me; and, besides all this, thou hast a
wife, poor miserable Sosia!--What, ho, Bromia!
_Merc._ O thou merciless creature, why dost thou conjure up that sprite
of a wife?
_Phæd._ To rid myself of that devil of a poor lover. Since you are so
lovingly disposed, I'll put you together to exercise your fury upon
your own wedlock.--What, Bromia, I say, make haste; here is a vessel of
yours, full freighted, that is going off without paying duties.
_Merc._ Since thou wilt not let me steal custom, she shall have all the
cargo I have gotten in the wars; but thou mightst have lent me a little
creek, to smuggle in.
_Phæd._ Why, what have you gotten, good gentleman soldier, besides a
legion of---- [_Snaps her fingers._
_Merc._ When the enemy was routed, I had the plundering of a tent.
_Phæd._ That is to say, a house of canvas, with moveables of
straw.--Make haste, Bromia!----
_Merc._ But it was the general's own tent.
_Phæd._ You durst not fight, I am certain; and therefore came last in,
when the rich plunder was gone beforehand.--Will you come, Bromia?
_Merc._ Pr'ythee, do not call so loud:--A great goblet, that holds a
gallon.
_Phæd._ Of what was that goblet made? answer quickly, for I am just
calling very loud----Bro--
_Merc._ Of beaten gold. Now, call aloud, if thou dost not like the
metal.
_Phæd._ Bromia. [_Very softly._
_Merc._ That struts in this fashion, with his arms a-kimbo, like a city
magistrate; and a great bouncing belly, like a hostess with child of a
kilderkin of wine. Now, what say you to that present, Phædra?
_Phæd._ Why, I am considering----
_Merc._ What, I pr'ythee?
_Phæd._ Why, how to divide the business equally; to take the gift, and
refuse the giver, thou art so damnably ugly, and so old.
_Merc._ Now the devil take Jupiter, for confining me to this ungodly
shape to-day! [_Aside._] but Gripus is as old and as ugly too.
_Phæd._ But Gripus is a person of quality, and my lady's uncle; and if
he marries me, I shall take place of my lady.--Hark, your wife! she has
sent her tongue before her. I hear the thunderclap already; there is a
storm approaching.
_Merc._ Yes, of thy brewing; I thank thee for it. O how I should hate
thee now, if I could leave loving thee!
_Phæd._ Not a word of the dear golden goblet, as you hope for--you know
what, Sosia.
_Merc._ You give me hope, then----
_Phæd._ Not absolutely hope neither; but gold is a great cordial in
love matters; and the more you apply of it, the better.--[_Aside._] I
am honest, that is certain; but when I weigh my honesty against the
goblet, I am not quite resolved on which side the scale will turn.
[_Exit_ PHÆD.
_Merc._ [_Aloud._] Farewell, Phædra; remember me to my wife, and tell
her----
_Enter_ BROMIA.
_Brom._ Tell her what, traitor? that you are going away without seeing
her?
_Merc._ That I am doing my duty, and following my master.
_Brom._ 'Umph!--so brisk, too! your master did his duty to my lady
before he parted: He could leave his army in the lurch, and come
galloping home at midnight to have a lick at the honey-pot; and steal
to-bed as quietly as any mouse, I warrant you. My master knew what
belonged to a married life; but you, sirrah--you trencher-carrying
rascal--you worse than dunghill-cock; that stood clapping your wings,
and crowing without doors, when you should have been at roost, you
villain--
_Merc._ Hold your peace, dame Partlet, and leave your cackling; my
master charged me to stand centry without doors.
_Brom._ My master! I dare swear thou beliest him; my master is more
a gentleman than to lay such an unreasonable command upon a poor
distressed married couple, and after such an absence too. No, there is
no comparison between my master and thee, thou sneaksby.
_Merc._ No more than there is betwixt my lady and you, Bromia. You and
I have had our time in a civil way, spouse, and much good love has been
betwixt us; but we have been married fifteen years, I take it; and that
hoighty toighty business ought, in conscience, to be over.
_Brom._ Marry come up, my saucy companion! I am neither old nor ugly
enough to have that said to me.
_Merc._ But will you hear reason, Bromia? my lord and my lady are yet
in a manner bride and bridegroom; they are in honey-moon still: do but
think, in decency, what a jest it would be to the family, to see two
venerable old married people lying snug in a bed together, and sighing
out fine tender things to one another!
_Brom._ How now, traitor, darest thou maintain that I am past the age
of having fine things said to me?
_Merc._ Not so, my dear; but certainly I am past the age of saying them.
_Brom._ Thou deservest not to be yoked with a woman of honour, as I am,
thou perjured villain.
_Merc._ Ay, you are too much a woman of honour, to my sorrow; many a
poor husband would be glad to compound for less honour in his wife, and
more quiet. Pr'ythee, be but honest and continent in thy tongue, and do
thy worst with every thing else about thee.
_Brom._ Thou wouldst have a woman of the town, wouldst thou! to be
always speaking my husband fair, to make him digest his cuckoldom
more easily! wouldst thou be a wittol, with a vengeance to thee? I am
resolved I'll scour thy hide for that word.
[_Holds up her ladle at him._
_Merc._ Thou wilt not strike thy lord and husband, wilt thou?
_Brom._ Since thou wilt none of the meat, 'tis but justice to give thee
the bastings of the ladle.
[_She courses him about._
Merc. [_Running about._] Was ever poor deity so hen-pecked as I am!
nay, then 'tis time to charm her asleep with my enchanted rod, before I
am disgraced or ravished.
[_Plucks out his Caduceus, and strikes her
upon the shoulder with it._
_Brom._ What, art thou rebelling against thy anointed wife! I'll make
thee--how now--What, has the rogue bewitched me! I grow dull and
stupid on the sudden--I can neither stir hand nor foot--I am just like
him--I have lost the use of all my--members--[_Yawning._]--I can't so
much as wag my tongue--neither, and that's the last liv--ing part about
a--woman-- [_Falls down._
MERCURY _alone_.
Lord, what have I suffered for being but a counterfeit married man one
day! If ever I come to this house as a husband again--then--and yet
that then was a lie too; for, while I am in love with this young gipsy,
Phædra, I must return. But lie thou there, thou type of Juno; thou that
wantest nothing of her tongue, but the immortality. If Jupiter ever let
thee set foot in heaven, Juno will have a rattling second of thee; and
there will never be a fair day in heaven or earth after it:
For two such tongues will break the poles asunder;
And, hourly scolding, make perpetual thunder.
[_Exit_ MERCURY.
ACT III.
SCENE I.--_Before_ AMPHITRYON'S _Palace_.
AMPHITRYON _and_ SOSIA.
_Amph._ Now, sirrah, follow me into the house; thou shalt be convinced
at thy own cost, villain! What horrible lies hast thou told me! such
improbabilities, such stuff, such nonsense!--that the monster, with
two long horns, that frighted the great king, and the devil at the
stone-cutter's, are truths to these.[8]
_Sos._ I am but a slave, and you are master; and a poor man is always
to lie when a rich man is pleased to contradict him: but, as sure as
this is our house--
_Amph._ So sure 'tis thy place of execution.--Thou art not made for
lying neither.
_Sos._ That's certain; for all my neighbours say I have an honest face;
or else they would never call me cuckold, as they do.
_Amph._ I mean thou hast not wit enough to make a lie that will hang
together: thou hast set up a trade that thou hast not stock enough to
manage. O that I had but a crab-tree cudgel for thy sake!
_Sos._ How, a cudgel, said you! the devil take Jupiter for inventing
that hard-hearted, merciless, knobby wood.
_Amph._ The bitterness is yet to come: thou hast had but a half dose of
it.
_Sos._ I was never good at swallowing physic; and my stomach wambles
at the very thought of it. But, if I must have a second beating, in
conscience let me strip first, that I may show you the black and blue
streaks upon my sides and shoulders. I am sure I suffered them in your
service.
_Amph._ To what purpose wouldst thou show them?
_Sos._ Why, to the purpose that you may not strike me upon the sore
places; and that, as he beat me the last night cross-ways, so you would
please to beat me long-ways, to make clean work on't, that at least my
skin may look like chequer-work.
_Amph._ This request is too reasonable to be refused. But, that all
things may be done in order, tell me over again the same story, with
all the circumstances of thy commission, that a blow may follow in due
form for every lie. To repetition, rogue; to repetition.
_Sos._ No; it shall be all a lie, if you please; and I'll eat my words,
to save my shoulders.
_Amph._ Ay, sirrah, now you find you are to be disproved; but 'tis too
late. To repetition, rogue; to repetition.
_Sos._ With all my heart, to any repetition but the cudgel. But
would you be pleased to answer me one civil question? Am I to use
complaisance to you, as to a great person that will have all things
said your own way? or am I to tell you the naked truth alone, without
the ceremony of a farther beating?
_Amph._ Nothing but the truth, and the whole truth; so help thee,
cudgel!
_Sos._ That's a damned conclusion of a sentence: but, since it must be
so--back and sides, at your own peril!--I set out from the port in an
unlucky hour; the dusky canopy of night enveloping the hemisphere.--
_Amph._ [Strikes him.] _Imprimis_, for fustian:--now proceed.
_Sos._ I stand corrected: In plain prose then,--I went darkling, and
whistling to keep myself from being afraid; mumbling curses betwixt my
teeth, for being sent at such an unnatural time of night.
_Amph._ How, sirrah, cursing and swearing against your lord and master!
take-- [_Going to strike._
_Sos._ Hold, sir--pray, consider if this be not unreasonable to strike
me for telling the whole truth, when you commanded me: I'll fall into
my old dog-trot of lying again, if this must come of plain dealing.
_Amph._ To avoid impertinences make an end of your journey, and come to
the house;--what found you there, a god's name?
_Sos._ I came thither in no god's name at all, but in the devil's name;
I found before the door a swinging fellow, with all my shapes and
features, and accoutred also in my habit.
_Amph._ Who was that fellow?
_Sos._ Who should it be, but another Sosia! a certain kind of other me:
who knew all my unfortunate commission, precisely to a word, as well as
I Sosia; as being sent by yourself from the port upon the same errand
to Alcmena.
_Amph._ What gross absurdities are these?
_Sos._ O Lord, O Lord, what absurdities!--as plain as any packstaff.
That other me had posted himself there before me, me.--You won't give
a man leave to speak poetically now; or else I would say, that I was
arrived at the door just before I came thither.
_Amph._ This must either be a dream or drunkenness, or madness in thee.
Leave your buffooning and lying; I am not in humour to bear it, sirrah.
_Sos._ I would you should know I scorn a lie, and am a man of honour
in every thing but just fighting. I tell you once again, in plain
sincerity and simplicity of heart, that, before last night, I never
took myself but for one single individual Sosia; but, coming to our
door, I found myself, I know not how, divided, and, as it were, split
into two Sosias.
_Amph._ Leave buffooning: I see you would make me laugh, but you play
the fool scurvily.
_Sos._ That may be; but, if I am a fool, I am not the only fool in this
company.
_Amph._ How now, impudence! I shall----
_Sos._ Be not in wrath, sir; I meant not you: I cannot possibly be
the only fool; for, if I am one fool, I must certainly be two fools;
because, as I told you, I am double.
_Amph._ That one should be two, is very probable!
_Sos._ Have you not seen a six-pence split into two halves, by some
ingenious school-boy, which bore on either side the impression of the
monarch's face? Now, as those moieties were two three-pences, and yet
in effect but one six-pence----
_Amph._ No more of your villainous tropes and figures.
_Sos._ Nay, if an orator must be disarmed of his similitudes----
_Amph._ A man had need of patience, to endure this gibberish! be brief,
and come to a conclusion.
_Sos._ What would you have, sir? I came thither, but the t'other I was
before me; for that there was two _I_'s, is as certain, as that I have
two eyes in this head of mine. This _I_, that am here, was weary: the
t'other _I_ was fresh; this _I_ was peaceable, and t'other _I_ was a
hectoring bully _I_.
_Amph._ And thou expect'st I should believe thee?
_Sos._ No; I am not so unreasonable; for I could never have believed it
myself, if I had not been well beaten into it: but a cudgel, you know,
is a convincing argument in a brawny fist. What shall I say, but that
I was compelled, at last, to acknowledge myself! I found that he was
very I, without fraud, cozen, or deceit. Besides, I viewed myself, as
in a mirror, from head to foot; he was handsome of a noble presence, a
charming air, loose and free in all his motions; and saw he was so much
I, that I should have reason to be better satisfied with my own person,
if his hands had not been a little of the heaviest.
_Amph._ Once again, to a conclusion: Say you passed by him, and entered
into the house.
_Sos._ I am a friend to truth, and say no such thing; he defended the
door, and I could not enter.
_Amph._ How, not enter?
_Sos._ Why, how should I enter? unless I were a spirit, to glide by
him, and shoot myself through locks, and bolts, and two-inch boards.
_Amph._ O coward! Didst thou not attempt to pass?
_Sos._ Yes, and was repulsed and beaten for my pains.
_Amph._ Who beat thee?
_Sos._ I beat me.
_Amph._ Didst thou beat thyself?
_Sos._ I don't mean _I_, here: but the absent _Me_ beat me here present.
_Amph._ There's no end of this intricate piece of nonsense.
_Sos._ 'Tis only nonsense, because I speak it, who am a poor fellow;
but it would be sense, and substantial sense, if a great man said it,
that was backed with a title, and the eloquence of ten thousand pounds
a-year.
_Amph._ No more; but let us enter:--Hold! my Alcmena is coming out, and
has prevented me: how strangely will she be surprised to see me here so
unexpectedly!
_Enter_ ALCMENA _and_ PHÆDRA.
_Alcm._ [_To_ PHÆD.] Make haste after me to the temple; that we may
thank the gods for this glorious success, which Amphitryon has had
against the rebels--O heaven!
[_Seeing him._
_Amph._ Those heavens, and all the blessed inhabitants,
[_Saluting her._
Grant, that the sweet rewarder of my pains
May still be kind, as on our nuptial night!
_Alcm._ So soon returned!
_Amph._ So soon returned! Is this thy welcome home?
[_Stepping back._
So soon returned, says I am come unwished.
This is no language of desiring love:
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years;
And every little absence is an age.
_Alcm._ What says my lord?
_Amph._ No, my Alcmena, no:
True love by its impatience measures time,
And the dear object never comes too soon.
_Alcm._ Nor ever came you so, nor ever shall;
But you yourself are changed from what you were,
Palled in desires, and surfeited of bliss.
Not so I met you at your last return;
When yesternight I flew into your arms,
And melted in your warm embrace.
_Amph._ How's this?
_Alcm._ Did not my soul even sparkle at my eyes,
And shoot itself into your much-loved bosom?
Did I not tremble with excess of joy?
Nay agonize with pleasure at your sight,
With such inimitable proofs of passion,
As no false love could feign?
_Amph._ What's this you tell me?
_Alcm._ Far short of truth, by heaven!
And you returned those proofs with usury;
And left me, with a sigh, at break of day.
Have you forgot?
_Amph._ Or have you dreamt, Alcmena?
Perhaps some kind, revealing deity
Has whispered, in your sleep, the pleasing news
Of my return, and you believed it real;
Perhaps too, in your dream, you used me kindly;
And my preventing image reaped the joys
You meant, awake, to me.
_Alcm._ Some melancholy vapour, sure, has seized
Your brain, Amphitryon, and disturbed your sense;
Or yesternight is not so long a time,
But yet you might remember; and not force
An honest blush into my glowing cheeks,
For that which lawful marriage makes no crime.
_Amph._ I thank you for my melancholy vapour.
_Alcm._ 'Tis but a just requital for my dream.
_Phæd._ I find my master took too much of the creature last night,
[_Aside._] and now is angling for a quarrel, that no more may be
expected from him to-night, when he has no assets.
[_In the mean time_, AMPH. _and_ ALC.
_walk by themselves, and frown at each other as they meet_.
_Amph._ You dare not justify it to my face.
_Alcm._ Not what?
_Amph._ That I returned before this hour.
_Alcm._ You dare not, sure, deny you came last night, And staid till
break of day?
_Amph._ O impudence!--Why Sosia!
_Sos._ Nay, I say nothing; for all things here may go by enchantment,
as they did with me, for aught I know.
_Alcm._ Speak, Phædra,--was he here?
_Phæd._ You know, madam, I am but a chamber-maid; and, by my place, I
am to forget all that was done over night in love-matters,--unless my
master please to rub up my memory with another diamond.
_Amph._ Now, in the name of all the gods, Alcmena,
A little recollect your scattered thoughts,
And weigh what you have said.
_Alcm._ I weighed it well, Amphitryon, ere I spoke:
And she, and Bromia, all the slaves and servants,
Can witness they beheld you, when you came.
If other proof were wanting, tell me how
I came to know your fight, your victory,
The death of Pterelas in single combat?
And farther, from whose hands I had a jewel,
The spoils of him you slew?
_Amph._ This is amazing!
Have I already given you those diamonds,
The present I reserved?
_Alcm._ 'Tis an odd question:
You see I wear them; look.
_Amph._ Now answer, Sosia.
_Sos._ Yes, now I can answer with a safe conscience, as to that point;
all the rest may be art magic, but, as for the diamonds, here they are,
under safe custody.
_Alcm._ Then what are these upon my arm? [_To_ SOSIA.
_Sos._ Flints, or pebbles, or some such trumpery of enchanted stones.
_Phæd._ They say, the proof of a true diamond is to glitter in the
dark: I think my master had best take my lady into some by-corner, and
try whose diamond will sparkle best.
_Sos._ Yet, now I think on't, madam, did not a certain friend of mine
present them to you?
_Alcm._ What friend?
_Sos._ Why another Sosia, one that made himself Sosia in my despite,
and also unsosiated me.
_Amph._ Sirrah, leave your nauseous nonsense; break open the seal, and
take out the diamonds.
_Sos._ More words than one to a bargain, sir. I I thank you,--that's no
part of prudence for me to commit burglary upon the seals: Do you look
first upon the signet, and tell me, in your conscience, whether the
seals be not as firm as when you clapt the wax upon them.
_Amph._ The signature is firm. [_Looking._
_Sos._ Then take the signature into your own custody, and open it; for
I will have nothing done at my proper peril. [_Giving him the Casket._
_Amph._ O heavens! here's nothing but an empty space, the nest where
they were laid.
[_Breaking open the Seal._
_Sos._ Then, if the birds are flown, the fault's not mine. Here has
been fine conjuring work; or else the jewel, knowing to whom it should
be given, took occasion to steal out, by a natural instinct, and tied
itself to that pretty arm.
_Amph._ Can this be possible?
_Sos._ Yes, very possible: You, my lord Amphitryon, may have brought
forth another. You my lord Amphitryon, as well as I, Sosia, have
brought forth another Me, Sosia; and our diamonds may have procreated
these diamonds, and so we are all three double.
_Phæd._ If this be true, I hope my goblet has gigged another golden
goblet; and then they may carry double upon all four. [_Aside._
_Alcm._ My lord, I have stood silent, out of wonder What you could
wonder at.
_Amph._ A chilling sweat, a damp of jealousy,
Hangs on my brows, and clams upon my limbs.
I fear, and yet I must be satisfied;
And, to be satisfied, I must dissemble. [_Aside._
_Alcm._ Why muse you so, and murmur to yourself?
If you repent your bounty, take it back.
_Amph._ Not so; but, if you please, relate what past
At our last interview.
_Alcm._ That question would infer you were not here.
_Amph._ I say not so;
I only would refresh my memory,
And have my reasons to desire the story.
_Phæd._ So, this is as good sport for me, as an examination of a great
belly before a magistrate.
_Alcm._ The story is not long: you know I met you,
Kissed you, and pressed you close within my arms,
With all the tenderness of wifely love.
_Amph._ I could have spared that kindness.-- [_Aside._
And what did I?
_Alcm._ You strained me with a masculine embrace,
As you would squeeze my soul out.
_Amph._ Did I so?
_Alcm._ You did.
_Amph._ Confound those arms that were so kind!-- [_Aside._
Proceed, proceed---- [_To her._
_Alcm._ You would not stay to sup; but much complaining of your
drowsiness, and want of natural rest----
_Amph._ Made haste to bed: Ha, was't not so? Go on--
[_Aside._] And stab me with each syllable thou speak'st.
_Phæd._ So, now 'tis coming, now 'tis coming.
_Alcm._ I have no more to say.
_Amph._ Why, went we not to bed?
_Alcm._ Why not?
Is it a crime for husband and for wife
To go to bed, my lord?
_Amph._ Perfidious woman!
_Alcm._ Ungrateful man!
_Amph._ She justifies it too!
_Alcm._ I need not justify: Of what am I accused?
_Amph._ Of all that prodigality of kindness
Given to another, and usurped from me.
So bless me, Heaven, if, since my first departure,
I ever set my foot upon this threshold!
So am I innocent of all those joys,
And dry of those embraces.
_Alcm._ Then I, it seems, am false!
_Amph._ As surely false, as what thou say'st is true.
_Alcm._ I have betrayed my honour, and my love,
And am a foul adultress?
_Amph._ What thou art,
Thou stand'st condemned to be, by thy relation.
_Alcm._ Go, thou unworthy man! for ever go:
No more my husband: go, thou base impostor!
Who tak'st a vile pretence to taint my fame,
And, not content to leave, wouldst ruin me.
Enjoy thy wished divorce: I will not plead
My innocence of this pretended crime;
I need not. Spit thy venom; do thy worst;
But know, the more thou wouldst expose my virtue,
Like purest linen laid in open air,
'Twill bleach the more, and whiten to the view.
_Amph._ 'Tis well thou art prepared for thy divorce:
For, know thou too, that, after this affront,
This foul indignity done to my honour,
Divorcement is but petty reparation.
But, since thou hast, with impudence, affirmed
My false return, and bribed my slaves to vouch it,
The truth shall, in the face of Thebes, be cleared:
Thy uncle, the companion of my voyage,
And all the crew of seamen shall be brought,
Who were embarked, and came with me to land,
Nor parted, till I reached this cursed door:
So shall this vision of my late return
Stand a detected lie; and woe to those,
Who thus betrayed my honour!
_Sos._ Sir, shall I wait on you?
_Amph._ No, I will go alone. Expect me here.
[_Exit_ AMPHITRYON.
_Phæd._ Please you, that I---- [_To_ ALCMENA.
_Alcm._ Oh! nothing now can please me:
Darkness, and solitude, and sighs, and tears,
And all the inseparable train of grief,
Attend my steps for ever.---- [_Exit_ ALCMENA.
_Sos._ What if I should lie now, and say we have been here before? I
never saw any good that came of telling truth. [_Aside._
_Phæd._ He makes no more advances to me: I begin a little to suspect,
that my gold goblet will prove but copper. [_Aside._
_Sos._ Yes, 'tis resolved, I will lie abominably, against the light of
my own conscience. For, suppose the other Sosia has been here, perhaps
that strong dog has not only beaten me, but also has been predominant
upon my wife, and most carnally misused her! Now, by asking certain
questions of her, with a side-wind, I may come to understand how
squares go, and whether my nuptial bed be violated. [_Aside._
_Phæd._ Most certainly he has learned impudence of his master, and will
deny his being here; but that shall not serve his turn, to cheat me of
my present. [_Aside._]--Why, Sosia! What, in a brown study?
_Sos._ A little _cogitabund_, or so, concerning this dismal revolution
in our family.
_Phæd._ But that should not make you neglect your duty to me, your
mistress.
_Sos._ Pretty soul! I would thou wert, upon condition that old Bromia
were six foot under ground.
_Phæd._ What! is all your hot courtship to me dwindled into a poor
unprofitable wish? You may remember, I did not bid you absolutely
despair.
_Sos._ No, for all things yet may be accommodated, in an amicable
manner, betwixt my master and my lady.
_Phæd._ I mean, to the business betwixt you and me--
_Sos._ Why, I hope we two never quarrelled?
_Phæd._ Must I remember you of a certain promise, that you made me at
our last parting?
_Sos._ Oh, when I went to the army: that I should still be praising thy
beauty to judge Gripus, and keep up his affections to thee?
_Phæd._ No, I mean the business betwixt you and me this morning--that
you promised me----
_Sos._ That I promised thee--I find it now. That strong dog, my brother
Sosia, has been here before me, and made love to her. [_Aside._
_Phæd._ You are considering, whether or no you should keep your
promise--
_Sos._ That I should keep my promise.--The truth on't is, she's
another-guess morsel than old Bromia. [_Aside._
_Phæd._ And I had rather you should break it, in a manner, and as it
were, and in some sense----
_Sos._ In a manner, and as it were, and in some sense, thou say'st?--I
find, the strong dog has only tickled up her imagination, and not
enjoyed her; so that, with my own limbs, I may perform the sweetness
of his function with her. [_Aside._]--No, sweet creature, the promise
shall not be broken; but what I have undertaken, I will perform like a
man of honour.
_Phæd._ Then you remember the preliminaries of the present----
_Sos._ Yes, yes, in gross I do remember something; but this disturbance
of the family has somewhat stupified my memory. Some pretty _quelque
chose_, I warrant thee; some acceptable toy, of small value.
_Phæd._ You may call a gold goblet a toy; but I put a greater value
upon your presents.
_Sos._ A gold goblet, say'st thou! Yes, now I think on't, it was a kind
of a gold goblet, as a gratuity after consummation.
_Phæd._ No, no; I had rather make sure of one bribe beforehand, than be
promised ten gratuities.
_Sos._ Yes, now I remember, it was, in some sense, a gold goblet, by
way of earnest; and it contained--
_Phæd._ One large--
_Sos._ How, one large--
_Phæd._ Gallon.
_Sos._ No; that was somewhat too large, in conscience: It was
not a whole gallon; but it may contain, reasonably speaking, one
large--thimble-full; but gallons and thimble-fulls are so like, that,
in speaking, I might easily mistake them.
_Phæd._ Is it come to this?--Out, traitor!
_Sos._ I had been a traitor, indeed, to have betrayed thee to the
swallowing of a gallon; but a thimble-full of cordial water is easily
sipt off: and then, this same goblet is so very light too, that it will
be no burden to carry it about with thee in thy pocket.
_Phæd._ O apostate to thy love! O perjured villain!--
_Enter_ BROMIA.
What, are you here, Bromia? I was telling him his own: I was giving
him a rattle for his treacheries to you, his love: You see I can be a
friend, upon occasion.
_Brom._ Ay, chicken, I never doubted of thy kindness; but, for this
fugitive--this rebel--this miscreant----
_Sos._ A kind welcome, to an absent lover, as I have been.
_Brom._ Ay; and a kind greeting you gave me, at your return; when you
used me so barbarously this morning.
_Sos._ The t'other Sosia has been with her too; and has used her
barbarously: barbarously,--that is to say, uncivilly: and uncivilly,--I
am afraid that means too civilly. [_Aside._
_Phæd._ You had best deny you were here this morning! And by the same
token----
_Sos._ Nay, no more tokens, for Heaven's sake, dear Phædra.--Now must I
ponder with myself a little, whether it be better for me to have been
here, or not to have been here, this morning. [_Aside._
_Enter a Servant._
_Serv._ Phædra, my lord's without; and will not enter till he has first
spoken with you. [_Exit Serv._
_Phæd._ [_To him in private._] Oh, that I could stay to help worry
thee for this abuse; but the best on't is, I leave thee in good
hands.----Farewell, Thimble----To him, Bromia. [_Exit_ PHÆDRA.
_Brom._ No; you did not beat me, and put me into a swoon, and deprive
me of the natural use of my tongue for a long half hour: you did not
beat me down with your little wand:--but I shall teach you to use your
rod another time----I shall.
_Sos._ Put her into a swoon, with my little wand, and so forth! That's
more than ever I could do. These are terrible circumstances, that some
Sosia or other has been here. Now, if he has literally beaten her,
gramercy, brother Sosia! he has but done what I would have done, if I
had durst. But I am afraid it was only a damned love-figure; and that
the wand, that laid her asleep, might signify the peace-maker. [_Aside._
_Brom._ Now you are snuffling up on a cold scent, for some pitiful
excuse. I know you; twenty to one, but you will plead a drunkenness;
you are used to be pot-valiant.
_Sos._ I was pumping, and I thank her, she has invented for me.--Yes,
Bromia, I must confess I was exalted; and, possibly, I might scour upon
thee, or perhaps be a little more familiar with thy person, by the way
of kindness, than if I had been sober: but, pr'ythee, inform me what I
did, that I may consider what satisfaction I am to make thee.
_Brom._ Are you there at your dog-tricks! You would be forgetting,
would you? like a drunken bully that affronts over night, and, when
he is called to account the next morning, remembers nothing of the
quarrel; and asks pardon, to avoid fighting.
_Sos._ By Bacchus, I was overtaken; but I should be loth that I
committed any folly with thee.
_Brom._ I am sure, I kept myself awake all night, that I did, in
expectation of your coming. [_Crying._
_Sos._ But what amends did I make thee, when I came?
_Brom._ You know well enough, to my sorrow, but that you play the
hypocrite.
_Sos._ I warrant, I was monstrous kind to thee.
_Brom._ Yes, monstrous kind indeed: You never said a truer word; for,
when I came to kiss you, you pulled away your mouth, and turned your
cheek to me.
_Sos._ Good.
_Brom._ How, good! Here's fine impudence! He justifies!
_Sos._ Yes, I do justify, that I turned my cheek, like a prudent
person, that my breath might not offend thee; for, now I remember, I
had eaten garlick.
_Brom._ Ay, you remember, and forget, just as it makes for you, or
against you; but, to mend the matter, you never spoke one civil word to
me; but stood like a stock, without sense or motion.
_Sos._ Yet better. [_Aside._
_Brom._ After which, I lovingly invited you to take your place in your
nuptial bed, as the laws of matrimony oblige you; and you inhumanly
refused me.
_Sos._ Ay, there's the main point of the business! Art thou morally
certain, that I refused thee? Look me now in the face, and say I did
not commit matrimony with thee!
_Brom._ I wonder how thou canst look me in the face, after that
refusal!
_Sos._ Say it once again, that I did not feloniously come to bed to
thee!
_Brom._ No, thou cold traitor, thou know'st thou didst not.
_Sos._ Best of all!--'twas discreetly done of me to abstain.
_Brom._ What, do you insult upon me too?
_Sos._ No, I do not insult upon you----but--
_Brom._ But what? How was it discreetly done then? ha!
_Sos._ Because it is the received opinion of physicians, that nothing
but puling chits, and booby-fools are procreated in drunkenness.
_Brom._ A received opinion, snivel-guts! I'll be judged by all the
married women of this town, if any one of them has received it. The
devil take the physicians for meddling in our matters! If a husband
will be ruled by them, there are five weeks of abstinence in dog-days
too; for fear a child, that was got in August, should be born just nine
months after, and be blear-eyed, like a May kitten.
_Sos._ Let the physicians alone; they are honest men, whatever the
world says of them. But, for a certain reason, that I best know, I am
glad that matter ended so fairly and peaceably betwixt us.
_Brom._ Yes, 'twas very fair and peaceably; to strike a woman down, and
beat her most outrageously.
_Sos._ Is't possible that I drubbed thee?
_Brom._ I find your drift; you would fain be provoking me to a new
trial now: but, i'faith, you shall bring me to no more handy-blows; I
shall make bold to trust to my tongue hereafter. You never durst have
offered to hold up a finger against me, till you went a trooping.
_Sos._ Then I am a conqueror; and I laud my own courage: this renown I
have atchieved by soldier-ship and stratagem. Know your duty, spouse,
hence-forward, to your supreme commander. [_Strutting._
_Enter_ JUPITER _and_ PHÆDRA, _attended by Musicians and Dancers_.
_Phæd._ Indeed I wondered at your quick return.
_Jup._ Even so almighty love will have it, Phædra;
And the stern goddess of sweet-bitter cares,
Who bows our necks beneath her brazen yoke.
I would have manned my heart, and held it out;
But, when I thought of what I had possessed,
Those joys, that never end, but to begin,
O, I am all on fire to make my peace;
And die, Jove knows, as much as I can die,
Till I am reconciled.
_Phæd._ I fear 'twill be in vain.
_Jup._ 'Tis difficult:
But nothing is impossible to love;
To love like mine; for I have proved his force,
And my Alcmena too has felt his dart.
If I submit, there's hope.
_Phæd._ 'Tis possible I may solicit for you.
_Jup._ But wilt thou promise me to do thy best?
_Phæd._ Nay, I promise nothing--unless you begin to promise first.
[_Curtsying._
_Jup._ I will not be ungrateful.
_Phæd._ Well; I'll try to bring her to the window; you shall have a
fair shot at her; if you can bring her down, you are a good marksman.
_Jup._ That's all I ask;
And I will so reward thee, gentle Phædra--
_Phæd._ What, with catsguts and rosin! This _Solla_ is but a lamentable
empty sound.
_Jup._ Then, there's a sound will please thee better.
[_Throwing her a purse._
_Phæd._ Ay, there's something of melody in this sound.
I could dance all day to the music of _Chink, Chink_.
_Jup._ Go, Sosia, round our Thebes,
To Polidas, to Tranio, and to Gripus,
Companions of our war; invite them all
To join their prayers to smooth Alcmena's brow,
And, with a solemn feast, to crown the day.
_Sos._ [_Taking_ JUPITER _about the knees_.] Let me embrace you, sir.
[JUPITER _pushes him away_.] Nay, you must give me leave to express my
gratitude; I have not eaten, to say eating, nor drunk, to say drinking,
never since our villainous encamping so near the enemy. It is true, I
escaped the bloody-flux, because I had so little in my bowels to come
out; and I durst let nothing go, in conscience, because I had nothing
to swallow in the room on't.
_Jup._ You, Bromia, see that all things be prepared, With that
magnificence, as if some god Were guest or master here.
_Sos._ Or rather, as much as if twenty gods were to be guests or
masters here.
_Brom._ That you may eat for to-day and to-morrow.
_Sos._ Or, rather again, for to-day and yesterday, and as many months
backward, as I am indebted to my own belly.
_Jup._ Away, both of you.--[_Exeunt_ SOSIA _and_ BROMIA _severally_.
Now I have packed him hence, thou other Sosia,
(Who, though thou art not present, hear'st my voice)
Be ready to attend me at my call,
And to supply his place.
_Enter_ MERCURY _to_ JUPITER; ALCMENA _and_ PHÆDRA _appear above_.
See, she appears: [_Seeing_ ALCMENA.
This is my bribe to Phædra; when I made
This gold, I made a greater God than Jove,
And gave my own omnipotence away.
JUPITER _signs to the Musicians. Song and Dance: After
which_, ALCMENA _withdraws, frowning_.
SONG.
I.
_Celia, that I once was blest
Is now the torment of my breast;
Since, to curse me, you bereave me
Of the pleasures I possest:
Cruel creature, to deceive me!
First to love, and then to leave me!_
II.
_Had you the bliss refused to grant,
Then I had never known the want:
But possessing once the blessing,
Is the cause of my complaint;
Once possessing is but tasting;
'Tis no bliss that is not lasting._
III.
_Celia now is mine no more;
But I am her's, and must adore,
Nor to leave her will endeavour;
Charms, that captived me before,
No unkindness can dissever;
Love, that's true, is love for ever._
_Jup._ O stay.
_Merc._ She's gone; and seemed to frown at parting.
_Jup._ Follow, and thou shalt see her soon appeased;
For I, who made her, know her inward state;
No woman, once well-pleased, can throughly hate.
I gave them beauty to subdue the strong,--
A mighty empire, but it lasts not long.
I gave them pride, to make mankind their slave;
But, in exchange, to men I flattery gave.
The offending lover, when he lowest lies,
Submits, to conquer; and but kneels, to rise.
ACT IV.--SCENE I.
_Jupiter_ _following_ ALCMENA; MERCURY _and_ PHÆDRA.
_Jup._ O stay, my dear Alcmena; hear me speak!
_Alcm._ No, I would fly thee to the ridge of earth,
And leap the precipice, to 'scape thy sight.
_Jup._ For pity----
_Alcm._ Leave me, thou ungrateful man.
_Jup._ I cannot leave you; no, but like a ghost,
Whom your unkindness murdered, will I haunt you.
_Alcm._ Once more, be gone; I'm odious to myself,
For having loved thee once.
_Jup._ Hate not, the best and fairest of your kind!
Nor can you hate your lover, though you would:
Your tears, that fall so gently, are but grief:
There may be anger; but there must be love.
The dove, that murmurs at her mate's neglect,
But counterfeits a coyness, to be courted.
_Alcm._ Courtship from thee, and after such affronts!
_Jup._ Is this that everlasting love you vowed
Last night, when I was circled in your arms?
Remember what you swore.
_Alcm._ Think what thou wert, and who could swear too much?
Think what thou art, and that unswears it all.
_Jup._ Can you forsake me, for so small a fault?
'Twas but a jest, perhaps too far pursued;
'Twas but, at most, a trial of your faith,
How you could bear unkindness;
'Twas but to get a reconciling kiss,
A wanton stratagem of love.
_Alcm._ See how he doubles, like a hunted hare:
A jest, and then a trial, and a bait;
All stuff, and daubing!
_Jup._ Think me jealous, then.
_Alcm._ O that I could! for that's a noble crime,
And which a lover can with ease forgive;
'Tis the high pulse of passion in a fever;
A sickly draught, but shews a burning thirst:
Thine was a surfeit, not a jealousy;
And in that loathing of thy full-gorged love,
Thou saw'st the nauseous object with disdain.
_Jup._ O think not that! for you are ever new:
Your fruits of love are like eternal spring,
In happy climes, where some are in the bud,
Some green, and ripening some, while others fall.
_Alcm._ Ay, now you tell me this,
When roused desires, and fresh recruits of force,
Enable languished love to take the field:
But never hope to be received again;
You would again deny you were received,
And brand my spotless fame.
_Jup._ I will not dare to justify my crime,
But only point you where to lay the blame;
Impute it to the husband, not the lover.
_Alcm._ How vainly would the sophister divide,
And make the husband and the lover two!
_Jup._ Yes, 'tis the husband is the guilty wretch;
His insolence forgot the sweets of love,
And, deeming them his due, despised the feast.
Not so the famished lover could forget;
He knew he had been there, and had been blest
With all that hope could wish, or sense can bear.
_Alcm._ Husband and lover, both alike I hate.
_Jup._ And I confess I have deserved that hate.
Too charming fair, I kneel for your forgiveness: [_Kneeling._
I beg, by those fair eyes
Which gave me wounds, that time can never cure,
Receive my sorrows, and restore my joys.
_Alcm._ Unkind, and cruel! I can speak no more.
_Jup._ O give it vent, Alcmena, give it vent;
I merit your reproach, I would be cursed;
Let your tongue curse me, while your heart forgives.
_Alcm._ Can I forget such usage?
_Jup._ Can you hate me?
_Alcm._ I'll do my best; for sure I ought to hate you.
_Jup._ That word was only hatched upon your tongue,
It came not from your heart. But try again,
And if, once more, you can but say,--I hate you,
My sword shall do you justice.
_Alcm._ Then--I hate you.
_Jup._ Then you pronounce the sentence of my death.
_Alcm._ I hate you much, but yet--I love you more.
_Jup._ To prove that love, then say, that you forgive me;
For there remains but this alternative,--
Resolve to pardon, or to punish me.
_Alcm._ Alas! what I resolve appears too plain;
In saying that I cannot hate, I pardon.
_Jup._ But what's a pardon worth without a seal?
Permit me, in this transport of my joy---- [_Kisses her hand._
_Alcm._ Forbear; I am offended with myself,
[_Putting him gently away with her hand._
That I have shewn this weakness.--Let me go,
Where I may blush alone;-- [_Going, and looking back on him._
But come not you,
Lest I should spoil you with excess of fondness,
And let you love again. [_Exit_ ALCMENA.
_Jup._ Forbidding me to follow, she invites me:--
This is the mould of which I made the sex:
I gave them but one tongue, to say us nay;
And two kind eyes to grant.--Be sure that none
Approach, to interrupt our privacy. [_To_ MERC.
[_Exit_ JUPITER _after_ ALCMENA.
MERCURY _and_ PHÆDRA _remain_.
_Merc._ Your lady has made the challenge of reconciliation to my lord:
here's a fair example for us two, Phædra.
_Phæd._ No example at all, Sosia; for my lady had the diamonds
beforehand, and I have none of the gold goblet.
_Merc._ The goblet shall be forthcoming, if thou wilt give me weight
for weight.
_Phæd._ Yes, and measure for measure too, Sosia; that is, for a
thimble-full of gold, a thimble-full of love.
_Merc._ What think you now, Phædra? Here's a weighty argument of love
for you.
[_Pulling out the Goblet in a case from under his Cloak._
_Phæd._ Now Jupiter, of his mercy, let me kiss thee, O thou dear metal!
[_Taking it in both hands._
_Merc._ And Venus, of her mercy, let me kiss thee, dear, dear Phædra!
_Phæd._ Not so fast, Sosia; there's a damned proverb in your
way,--"Many things happen betwixt the cup and the lip," you know.
_Merc._ Why, thou wilt not cheat me of my goblet?
_Phæd._ Yes, as sure as you would cheat me of my maidenhead: I am
yet but just even with you, for the last trick you played me. And,
besides, this is but a bare retaining fee; you must give me another
before the cause is opened.
_Merc._ Shall I not come to your bed-side to-night?
_Phæd._ No, nor to-morrow night neither; but this shall be my
sweetheart in your place: 'tis a better bedfellow, and will keep me
warmer in cold weather.
[_Exit_ PHÆDRA.
MERCURY _alone_.
_Merc._ Now, what's the god of wit in a woman's hand? This very goblet
I stole from Gripus; and he got it out of bribes, too. But this is the
common fate of ill-gotten goods, that, as they came in by covetousness,
they go out by whoring.--
_Enter_ AMPHITRYON.
Oh, here's Amphitryon again; but I'll manage him above in the balcony
[_Exit_ MERCURY.
_Amph._ Not one of those, I looked for, to be found,
As some enchantment hid them from my sight!
Perhaps, as Sosia says, 'tis witchcraft all.
Seals may be opened, diamonds may be stolen;
But how I came, in person, yesterday,
And gave that present to Alcmena's hands,
That which I never gave, nor ever came,--
O there's the rock on which my reason splits!
Would that were all! I fear my honour, too.
I'll try her once again;--she may be mad;--
A wretched remedy; but all I have,
To keep me from despair.
_Merc._ [_From the Balcony, aside._] This is no very charitable action
of a god, to use him ill, who has never offended me; but my planet
disposes me to malice; and when we great persons do but a little
mischief, the world has a good bargain of us.
_Amph._ How now, what means the locking up of my doors at this time of
day? [_Knocks._
_Merc._ Softly, friend, softly; you knock as loud, and as saucily, as
a lord's footman, that was sent before him to warn the family of his
honour's visit. Sure you think the doors have no feeling! What the
devil are you, that rap with such authority?
_Amph._ Look out, and see; 'tis I.
_Merc._ You! what you?
_Amph._ No more, I say, but open.
_Merc._ I'll know to whom first.
_Amph._ I am one, that can command the doors open.
_Merc._ Then you had best command them, and try whether they will obey
you.
_Amph._ Dost thou not know me?
_Merc._ Pr'ythee, how should I know thee? Dost thou take me for a
conjurer?
_Amph._ What's this? midsummer-moon! Is all the world gone a
madding?--Why, Sosia!
_Merc._ That's my name, indeed; didst thou think I had forgot it?
_Amph._ Dost thou see me?
_Merc._ Why, dost thou pretend to go invisible? If thou hast any
business here, dispatch it quickly; I have no leisure to throw away
upon such prattling companions.
_Amph._ Thy companion, slave! How darest thou use this insolent
language to thy master?
_Merc._ How! Thou my master? By what title? I never had any other
master but Amphitryon.
_Amph._ Well; and for whom dost thou take me?
_Merc._ For some rogue or other; but what rogue I know not.
_Amph._ Dost thou not know me for Amphitryon, slave!
_Merc._ How should I know thee, when I see thou dost not know thyself?
Thou Amphitryon! In what tavern hast thou been? and how many bottles
did thy business, to metamorphose thee into my lord?
_Amph._ I will so drub thee for this insolence!
_Merc._ How now, impudence, are you threatening your betters? I should
bring you to condign punishment, but that I have a great respect for
the good wine, though I find it in a fool's noddle.
_Amph._ What, none to let me in? Why, Phædra! Bromia!----
_Merc._ Peace, fellow; if my wife hears thee, we are both undone. At a
word, Phædra and Bromia are very busy; one in making a caudle for my
lady, and the other in heating napkins, to rub down my lord when he
rises from bed.
_Amph._ Amazement seizes me!
_Merc._ At what art thou amazed? My master and my lady had a falling
out, and are retired, without seconds, to decide the quarrel. If thou
wert not a meddlesome fool, thou wouldst not be thrusting thy nose into
other people's matters. Get thee about thy business, if thou hast any;
for I'll hear no more of thee.
[_Exit_ MERCURY _from above_.
_Amph._ Braved by my slave, dishonoured by my wife!
To what a desperate plunge am I reduced,
If this be true the villain says?--But why
That feeble _if_! It must be true; she owns it.
Now, whether to conceal, or blaze the affront?
One way, I spread my infamy abroad;
And t'other, hide a burning coal within,
That preys upon my vitals: I can fix
On nothing, but on vengeance.
_Enter_ SOSIA, POLIDAS, GRIPUS, _and_ TRANIO.
_Grip._ Yonder he is, walking hastily to and fro before his door, like
a citizen clapping his sides before his shop in a frosty morning; 'tis
to catch a stomach, I believe.
_Sos._ I begin to be afraid, that he has more stomach to my sides
and shoulders, than to his own victuals. How he shakes his head, and
stamps, and what strides he fetches! He's in one of his damned moods
again; I don't like the looks of him.
_Amph._ Oh, my mannerly, fair-spoken, obedient slave, are you there! I
can reach you now without climbing: Now we shall try who's drunk, and
who's sober.
_Sos._ Why this is as it should be: I was somewhat suspicious that you
were in a pestilent humour. Yes, we will have a crash at the bottle,
when your lordship pleases; I have summoned them, you see, and they are
notable topers, especially judge Gripus.
_Grip._ Yes, faith; I never refuse my glass in a good quarrel.
_Amph._ [_To_ SOS.] Why, thou insolent villain! I'll teach a slave how
to use his master thus.
_Sos._ Here's a fine business towards! I am sure I ran as fast as ever
my legs could carry me, to call them; nay, you may trust my diligence
in all affairs belonging to the belly.
_Grip._ He has been very faithful to his commission. I'll bear him
witness.
_Amph._ How can you be witness, where you were not present?--The
balcony, sirrah! the balcony!
_Sos._ Why, to my best remembrance, you never invited the balcony.
_Amph._ What nonsense dost thou plead, for an excuse of thy foul
language, and thy base replies!
_Sos._ You fright a man out of his senses first, and blame him
afterwards for talking nonsense! But it is better for me to talk
nonsense, than for some to do nonsense; I will say that, whate'er comes
on't. Pray, sir, let all things be done decently: what, I hope, when a
man is to be hanged, he is not trussed upon the gallows, like a dumb
dog, without telling him wherefore.
_Amph._ By your pardon, gentlemen; I have no longer patience to forbear
him.
_Sos._ Justice, justice!--My Lord Gripus, as you are a true magistrate,
protect me. Here's a process of beating going forward, without sentence
given.
_Grip._ My Lord Amphitryon, this must not be; let me first understand
the demerits of the criminal.
_Sos._ Hold you to that point, I beseech your honour, as you
commiserate the case of a poor, innocent malefactor.
_Amph._ To shut the door against me in my very face, to deny me
entrance, to brave me from the balcony, to laugh at me, to threaten
me! what proofs of innocence call you these? but if I punish not this
insolence----
[_Is going to beat him, and is held by_ POLIDAS
_and_ TRANIO.
I beg you, let me go.
_Sos._ I charge you, in the king's name, hold him fast; for you see
he's bloodily disposed.
_Grip._ Now, what hast thou to say for thyself, Sosia?
_Sos._ I say, in the first place, be sure you hold him, gentlemen; for
I shall never plead worth one farthing, while I am bodily afraid.
_Pol._ Speak boldly; I warrant thee.
_Sos._ Then if I may speak boldly, under my lord's favour, I do not
say he lies neither: no, I am too well bred for that; but his lordship
fibs most abominably.
_Amph._ Do you hear his impudence? yet will you let me go?
_Sos._ No impudence at all, my lord; for how could I, naturally
speaking, be in the balcony, and affronting you, when at the same time
I was in every street of Thebes, inviting these gentlemen to dinner?
_Grip._ Hold a little:--How long since was it that he spoke to you from
the said balcony?
_Amph._ Just now; not a minute before he brought you hither.
_Sos._ Now speak, my witnesses.
_Grip._ I can answer for him for this last half hour.
_Pol._ And I.
_Tran._ And I.
_Sos._ Now judge equitably, gentlemen, whether I was not a civil
well-bred person, to tell my lord he fibs only?
_Amph._ Who gave you that order, to invite them?
_Sos._ He that best might,--yourself: By the same token, you bid old
Bromia provide an' 'twere for a god, and I put in for a brace, or a
leash;--no, now I think on't, it was for ten couple of gods, to make
sure of plenty.
_Amph._ When did I give thee this pretended commission?
_Sos._ Why, you gave me this pretended commission, when you were just
ready to give my lady the fiddles, and a dance; in order, as I suppose,
to your second bedding.
_Amph._ Where, in what place, did I give this order?
_Sos._ Here, in this place, in the presence of this very door, and of
that balcony; and, if they could speak, they would both justify it.
_Amph._ O, heaven! These accidents are so surprising, the more I think
of them, the more I am lost in my imagination.
_Grip._ Nay, he has told us some passages, as he came along, that seem
to surpass the power of nature.
_Sos._ What think you now, my lord, of a certain twin-brother of
mine, called Sosia? 'Tis a sly youth: pray heaven, you have not just
such another relation within doors, called Amphitryon. It may be it
was he that put upon me, in your likeness; and perhaps he may have
put something upon your lordship too, that may weigh heavy upon the
forehead.
Amph. [_To those who hold him._] Let me go; Sosia may be innocent, and
I will not hurt him. Open the door, I'll resolve my doubts immediately.
_Sos._ The door is peremptory, that it will not be opened without keys;
and my brother on the inside is in possession, and will not part with
them.
_Amph._ Then 'tis manifest that I am affronted.--Break open the door
there.
_Grip._ Stir not a man of you to his assistance.
_Amph._ Dost thou take part with my adulteress too, because she is thy
niece?
_Grip._ I take part with nothing, but the law; and, to break the doors
open, is to break the law.
_Amph._ Do thou command them then.
_Grip._ I command nothing without my warrant; and my clerk is not here
to take his fees for drawing it.
_Amph._ [_Aside._] The devil take all justice-brokers! I curse him too,
when I have been hunting him all over the town, to be my witness! But
I'll bring soldiers, to force open the doors, by my own commission.
[_Exit_ AMPH.
_Sos._ Pox o' these forms of law, to defeat a man of a dinner, when
he's sharp set! 'Tis against the privilege of a free-born stomach; and
is no less than subversion of fundamentals. [JUPITER _above in the
Balcony_.
_Jup._ Oh, my friends, I am sorry I have made you wait so long: you are
welcome; and the door shall be opened to you immediately.
[_Exit_ JUPITER.
_Grip._ Was not that Amphitryon?
_Sos._ Why, who should it be else?
_Grip._ In all appearance it was he; but how got be thither?
_Pol._ In such a trice too!
_Tran._ And after he had just left us!
_Grip._ And so much altered, for the better, in his humour!
_Sos._ Here's such a company of foolish questions, when a man's hungry!
You had best stay dinner, till he has proved himself to be Amphitryon
in form of law: but I'll make short work of that business; for I'll
take mine oath 'tis he.
_Grip._ I should be glad it were.
_Sos._ How! glad it were? with your damned interrogatories, when you
ought to be thankful, that so it is.
_Grip._ [_Aside._] That I may see my mistress Phædra, and present her
with my great gold goblet.
_Sos._ If this be not the true Amphitryon, I wish I may be kept without
doors, fasting, and biting my own fingers, for want of victuals; and
that's a dreadful imprecation! I am for the inviting, and eating, and
treating Amphitryon; I am sure 'tis he that is my lawfully begotten
lord; and, if you had an ounce of true justice in you, you ought to
have laid hold on the other Amphitryon, and committed him for a rogue,
and an impostor, and a vagabond. [_The Door is opened._
_Merc._ [_From within._] Enter quickly, masters: The passage, on the
right hand, leads to the gallery, where my lord expects you; for I am
called another way.
[GRIPUS, TRANIO, _and_ POLIDAS, _go into the House_.
_Sos._ I should know that voice by a secret instinct; 'tis a tongue
of my family, and belongs to my brother Sosia: it must be so; for it
carries a cudgelling kind of sound in it.--But put the worst: Let me
weigh this matter wisely: Here's a beating, and a belly-full, against
no beating, and no belly-full. The beating is bad; but the dinner is
good. Now, not to be beaten, is but negatively good; but, not to fill
my belly, is positively bad. Upon the whole matter, my final resolution
is, to take the good and the bad as they come together.
[_Is entering_: MERCURY _meets him at the Door_.
_Merc._ Whither now, ye kitchen-scum? From whence this impudence, to
enter here without permission?
_Sos._ Most illustrious sir, my ticket is my hunger: Show the full
bowels of your compassion to the empty bowels of my famine.
_Merc._ Were you not charged to return no more? I'll cut you into
quarters, and hang you upon the shambles.
_Sos._ You'll get but little credit by me. Alas, sir, I am but mere
carrion! Brave Sosia, compassionate coward Sosia; and beat not thyself,
in beating me.
_Merc._ Who gave you that privilege, sirrah, to assume my name? have
you not been sufficiently warned of it, and received part of punishment
already?
_Sos._ May it please you, sir, the name is big enough for both of us;
and we may use it in common, like a strumpet. Witness heaven, that I
would have obeyed you, and quitted my title to the name; but, wherever
I come, the malicious world will call me Sosia, in spite of me. I
am sensible there are two Amphitryons; and why may there not be two
Sosias? Let those two cut one another's throats at their own pleasure;
but you and I will be wiser, by my consent, and hold good intelligence
together.
_Merc._ No, no; two Sosias would but make two fools.
_Sos._ Then let me be the fool, and be you the prudent person; and
chuse for yourself some wiser name: Or you shall be the eldest brother;
and I'll be content to be the younger, though I lose my inheritance.
_Merc._ I tell thee, I am the only son of our family.
_Sos._ Ah! Then let me be your bastard brother, and the son of a whore;
I hope that's but reasonable.
_Merc._ No, thou shall not disgrace my father; for there are few
bastards now-a-days worth owning.
_Sos._ Ah, poor Sosia! what will become of thee?
_Merc._ Yet again profanely using my proper name?
_Sos._ I did not mean myself; I was thinking of another Sosia, a poor
fellow, that was once of my acquaintance, unfortunately banished out of
doors, when dinner was just coming upon the table.
_Enter_ PHÆDRA.
_Phæd._ Sosia, you and I must--Bless me! what have we here? a couple of
you? or do I see double?
_Sos._ I would fain bring it about, that I might make one of them; but
he's unreasonable, and will needs incorporate me, and swallow me whole
into himself. If he would be content to be but one-and-a-half, 'twould
never grieve me.
_Merc._ 'Tis a perverse rascal: I kick him, and cudgel him, to no
purpose; for still he's obstinate to stick to me; and I can never beat
him out of my resemblance.
_Phæd._ Which of you two is Sosia? for t'other must be the devil.
_Sos._ You had best ask him, that has played the devil with my back and
sides.
_Merc._ You had best ask him,--who gave you the gold goblet?
_Phæd._ No, that's already given; but he shall be my Sosia, that will
give me such another.
_Merc._ I find you have been interloping, sirrah.
_Sos._ No, indeed, sir; I only promised her a gold thimble, which was
as much as comes to my proportion of being Sosia.
_Phæd._ This is no Sosia for my money; beat him away, t'other Sosia; he
grows insufferable.
_Sos._ [_Aside._] Would I were valiant, that I might beat him away; and
succeed him at the dinner, for a pragmatical son of a whore, as he is!
_Merc._ What's that you are muttering betwixt your teeth, of a son of a
whore, sirrah?
_Sos._ I am sure, I meant you no offence; for, if I am not Sosia, I am
the son of a whore, for aught I know; and, if you are Sosia, you may be
the son of a whore, for aught you know.
_Merc._ Whatever I am, I will be Sosia, as long as I please; and
whenever you visit me, you shall be sure of the civility of the cudgel.
_Sos._ If you will promise to beat me into the house, you may begin
when you please with me; but to be beaten out of the house, at
dinner-time, flesh and blood can never bear it.
[MERCURY _beats him about, and_ SOSIA _is still making towards the
Door; but_ MERCURY _gets betwixt, and at length drives him off the
Stage_.
_Phæd._ In the name of wonder, what are you, that are Sosia, and are
not Sosia?
_Merc._ If thou would'st know more of me, my person is freely at thy
disposing.
_Phæd._ Then I dispose of it to you again; for 'tis so ugly, 'tis not
for my use.
_Merc._ I can be ugly, or handsome, as I please; go to bed old, and
rise young. I have so many suits of persons by me, I can shift them
when I will.
_Phæd._ You are a fool, then, to put on your worst clothes, when you
come a-wooing.
_Merc._ Go to; ask no more questions. I am for thy turn; for I know thy
heart, and see all thou hast about thee.
_Phæd._ Then you can see my backside too; there's a bargain for you.
_Merc._ In thy right pocket:--let me see; three love letters from judge
Gripus, written to the bottom, on three sides; full of fustian passion,
and hearty nonsense: as also, in the same pocket, a letter of thine
intended to him, consisting of nine lines and a half, scrawled and
false spelled, to show thou art a woman; and full of fraudulence, and
equivocations, and shoeing-horns of love to him; to promise much, and
mean nothing; to show, over and above, that thou art a mere woman.
_Phæd._ Is the devil in you, to see all this? Now, for heaven's sake,
do not look in t'other pocket.
_Merc._ Nay, there's nothing there, but a little godly prayer-book, and
a bawdy lampoon, and----
_Phæd._ [_Giving a great frisk._] Look no farther, I beseech you.
_Merc._ And a silver spoon----
_Phæd._ [_Shrieking._] Ah!----
_Merc._ Which you purloined last night from Bromia.
_Phæd._ Keep my counsel, or I am undone for ever.
[_Holding up her hands to him._
_Merc._ No; I'll mortify thee, now I have an handle to thy iniquity, if
thou wilt not love me.
_Phæd._ Well, if you'll promise me to be secret, I will love you;
because indeed I dare do no other.
_Merc._ 'Tis a good girl; I will be secret: and, further, I will be
assisting to thee in thy filching; for thou and I were born under the
same planet.
_Phæd._ And we shall come to the same end too, I'm afraid.
_Merc._ No, no; since thou hast wit enough already to cozen a judge,
thou needst never fear hanging.
_Phæd._ And will you make yourself a younger man, and be handsome too,
and rich? for you, that know hearts, must needs know, that I shall
never be constant to such an ugly old Sosia.
_Merc._ Thou shalt know more of that another time; in the mean while,
here is a cast of my office for thee.
[_He stamps upon the ground: some Dancers come from under-ground;
and others from the sides of the Stage: a Song, and a fantastic
Dance._
MERCURY'S SONG TO PHÆDRA.
_Fair Iris, I love, and hourly I die,
But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye:
She's fickle and false, and there we agree;
For I am as false and as fickle as she.
We neither believe, what either can say;
And, neither believing, we neither betray;_
_'Tis civil to swear, and say things of course;
We mean not the taking for better for worse.
When present, we love; when absent, agree:
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me:
The legend of love no couple can find,
So easy to part, or so equally joined._
_After, the Dance._
_Phæd._ This power of yours makes me suspect you for little better than
a god; but if you are one, for more certainty, tell me what I am just
now thinking.
_Merc._ Why, thou art thinking,--let me see; for thou art a woman, and
your minds are so variable, that it is very hard, even for a god, to
know them,--but, to satisfy thee, thou art wishing, now, for the same
power I have exercised, that thou might'st stamp like me, and have more
singers come up for another song.
_Phæd._ Gad, I think the devil's in you. Then I do stamp in somebody's
name, but I know not whose: [_Stamps._] Come up, gentle-folks from
below, and sing me a pastoral dialogue, where the woman may have the
better of the man; as we always have in love-matters. [_New Singers
come up, and sing a Song._
A PASTORAL DIALOGUE BETWIXT THYRSIS AND IRIS.
Thyrsis. _Fair Iris and her swain
Were in a shady bower;
Where Thyrsis long in vain
Had sought the shepherd's hour:_
_At length his hand advancing upon her snowy breast;
He said, O kiss me longer,
And longer yet, and longer,
If you will make me blest_
Iris. _An easy yielding maid,
By trusting, is undone;
Our sex is oft betray'd,
By granting love too soon.
If you desire to gain me, your sufferings to redress,
Prepare to love me longer,
And longer yet, and longer,
Before you shall possess._
Thyrsis. _The little care you show
Of all my sorrows past,
Makes death appear too slow,
And life too long to last.
Fair Iris kiss me kindly, in pity of my fate;
And kindly still, and kindly,
Before it be too late._
Iris. _You fondly court your bliss,
And no advances make;
'Tis not for maids to kiss,
But 'tis for men to take.
So you may kiss me kindly, and I will not rebel;
And kindly still, and kindly,
But kiss me not and tell._
A RONDEAU.
Chorus. _Thus at the height we love and live,
And fear not to be poor;
We give, and give, and give, and give,
'Till we can give no more,
But what to-day will take away,
To-morrow will restore:
Thus at the height we love, and live,
And fear not to be poor._
_Phæd._ Adieu, I leave you to pay the music. Hope well,
Mr. Planet; there is a better heaven in store for you:
I say no more, but you can guess.
_Merc._ [_alone._] Such bargain-loves, as I with Phædra treat,
Are all the leagues and friendships of the great;
All seek their ends, and each would other cheat.
They only seem to hate, and seem to love;
But interest is the point on which they move.
Their friends are foes, and foes are friends again,
And, in their turns, are knaves, and honest men.
Our iron age is grown an age of gold:
'Tis who bids most; for all men will be sold. [_Exit._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_Enter_ GRIPUS _and_ PHÆDRA. GRIPUS _has the Goblet in his hand_.
_Phæd._ You will not be so base to take it from me?
_Grip._ 'Tis my proper chattel; and I'll seize my own, in whatever
hands I find it.
_Phæd._ You know I only showed it you, to provoke your generosity, that
you might out-bid your rival with a better present.
_Grip._ My rival is a thief; and I'll indite you for a receiver of
stolen goods.
_Phæd._ Thou hide-bound lover!
_Grip._ Thou very mercenary mistress!
_Phæd._ Thou most mercenary magistrate!
_Grip._ Thou seller of thyself!
_Phæd._ Thou seller of other people: thou weather-cock of government;
that, when the wind blows for the subject, pointest to privilege; and
when it changes for the sovereign, veerest to prerogative[9]!
_Grip._ Will you compound, and take it as my present?
_Phæd._ No; but I'll send thy rival to force it from thee.
_Grip._ When a thief is rival to his judge, the hangman will soon
decide the difference.
[_Exit_ PHÆDRA.
_Enter_ MERCURY, _with two Swords_.
_Merc._ [_Bowing._] Save your good lordship.
_Grip._ From an impertinent coxcomb: I am out of humour, and am in
haste; leave me.
_Merc._ 'Tis my duty to attend on your lordship, and to ease you of
that undecent burden.
_Grip._ Gold was never any burden to one of my profession.
_Merc._ By your lordship's permission, Phædra has sent me to take it
from you.
_Grip._ What, by violence?
_Merc._ [_still bowing._] No; but by your honour's permission, I am
to restore it to her, and persuade your lordship to renounce your
pretensions to her.
_Grip._ Tell her flatly, I will neither do one, nor t'other.
_Merc._ O my good lord, I dare pass my word for your free consent to
both.----Will your honour be pleased to take your choice of one of
these?
_Grip._ Why, these are swords: what have I to do with them?
_Merc._ Only to take your choice of one of them, which your lordship
pleases; and leave the other to your most obedient servant.
_Grip._ What, one of these ungodly weapons? Take notice, I'll lay you
by the heels, sirrah: this has the appearance of an unlawful bloody
challenge.
_Merc._ You magistrates are pleased to call it so, my lord; but with
us swordmen, it is an honourable invitation to the cutting of one
another's throats.
_Grip._ Be answered; I have no throat to cut. The law shall decide our
controversy.
_Merc._ By your permission, my lord, it must be dispatched this way.
_Grip._ I'll see thee hanged before I give thee any such permission, to
dispatch me into another world.
_Merc._ At the least, my lord, you have no occasion to complain of
my want of respect to you. You will neither restore the goblet, nor
renounce Phædra: I offer you the combat; you refuse it; all this is
done in the forms of honour: It follows, that I am to affront, cudgel
you, or kick you, at my own arbitrement; and, I suppose, you are too
honourable not to approve of my proceeding.
_Grip._ Here is a new sort of process, that was never heard of in any
of our courts.
_Merc._ This, my good lord, is law in short-hand, without your long
preambles, and tedious repetitions that signify nothing but to squeeze
the subject: therefore, with your lordship's favour, I begin.
[_Fillips him under the chin._
_Grip._ What is this for?
_Merc._ To give you an occasion of returning me a box o' the ear; that
so all things may proceed methodically.
_Grip._ I put in no answer, but suffer a non-suit.
_Merc._ No, my lord; for the costs and charges are to be paid: will you
please to restore the cup?
_Grip._ I told thee, no.
_Merc._ Then from your chin, I must ascend to your lordship's ears.
_Grip._ Oh, oh, oh, oh!--Wilt thou never leave lugging me by the ears?
_Merc._ Not till your lordship will be pleased to hear
reason. [_Pulling again._
_Grip._ Take the cup, and the devil give thee joy on't.
_Merc._ [_Still holding him._] And your lordship will farther be
graciously pleased, to release all claims, titles, and actions
whatsoever, to Phædra: you must give me leave to add one small
_memento_ for that too. [_Pulling him again._
_Grip._ I renounce her; I release her.
_Enter_ PHÆDRA.
_Merc._ [_To her._] Phædra, my lord has been pleased to be very
gracious, without pushing matters to extremity.
_Phæd._ I overheard it all; but give me livery and seisin of the
goblet, in the first place.
_Merc._ There is an act of oblivion should be passed too.
_Phæd._ Let him begin to remember quarrels, when he dares; now I have
him under my girdle, I'll cap verses with him to the end of the chapter.
_Enter_ AMPHITRYON, _and Guards_.
_Amph._ [_To_ GRIPUS.] At the last I have got possession without your
lordship's warrant.--Phædra, tell Alcmena I am here.
_Phæd._ I'll carry no such lying message: you are not here, and you
cannot be here; for, to my knowledge, you are above with my lady, in
the chamber.
_Amph._ All of a piece, and all witchcraft!--Answer me precisely: dost
thou not know me for Amphitryon?
_Phæd._ Answer me first: did you give me a diamond and a purse of gold?
_Amph._ Thou knowest I did not.
_Phæd._ Then, by the same token, I know you are not the true
Amphitryon: if you are he, I am sure I left you in bed with your own
wife. Now you had best stretch out a leg, and feel about for a fair
lady.
_Amph._ I'll undo this enchantment with my sword, and kill the
sorcerer.--Come up, gentlemen, and follow me. [_To the Guards._
_Phæd._ I'll save you the labour, and call him down to confront you, if
you dare attend him. [_Exit_ PHÆDRA.
_Merc._ [_Aside._] Now the spell is ended, and Jupiter can enchant
no more; or else Amphitryon had not entered so easily. [GRIPUS _is
stealing off_.]--Whither now, Gripus? I have business for you: if you
offer to stir, you know what follows.
_Enter_ JUPITER, _followed by_ TRANIO _and_ POLIDAS.
_Jup._ Who dares to play the master in my house?
What noise is this that calls me from above,
Invades my soft recess and privacy,
And, like a tide, breaks in upon my love?
_Amph._ O heavens, what's this I see?
_Tran._ What prodigy!
_Pol._ How! two Amphitryons!
_Grip._ I have beheld the appearance of two suns,
But still the false was dimmer than the true;
Here, both shine out alike.
_Amph._ This is a sight, that, like the gorgon's head,
Runs through my limbs, and stiffens me to stone.
I need no more inquire into my fate;
For what I see resolves my doubts too plain.
_Tran._ Two drops of water cannot be more like.
_Pol._ They are two very sames.
_Merc._ Our Jupiter is a great comedian, he counterfeits most
admirably: sure his priests have copied their hypocrisy from their
master. [_Aside._
_Amph._ Now I am gathered back into myself:
My heart beats high, and pushes out the blood,
[_Drawing his sword._
To give me just revenge on this impostor.
If you are brave, assist me--not one stirs!
[_To the Guards._
What, are all bribed to take the enchanter's part?
'Tis true, the work is mine; and thus----
[_Going to rush upon_ JUPITER; _and is held by_ TRANIO _and_
POLIDAS.
_Pol._ It must not be.
_Jup._ Give him his way; I dare the madman's worst:
But still take notice, that it looks not like
The true Amphitryon, to fly out at first
To brutal force: it shews he doubts his cause,
Who dares not trust his reason to defend it.
_Amph._ Thou base usurper of my name and bed! [_Struggling._
No less than thy heart's blood can wash away
The affronts I have sustained.
_Tran._ We must not suffer
So strange a duel, as Amphitryon
To fight against himself.
_Pol._ Nor think we wrong you, when we hold your hands:
We know our duty to our general;
We know the ties of friendship to our friend;
But who that friend, or who that general is,
Without more certain proofs, betwixt you two,
Is hard to be distinguished, by our reason;
Impossible, by sight.
_Amph._ I know it, and have satisfied myself;
I am the true Amphitryon.
_Jup._ See again,
He shuns the certain proofs; and dares not stand
Impartial judgment, and award of right.
But, since Alcmena's honour is concerned,
Whom, more than heaven, and all the world, I love,
This I propose, as equal to us both:--
Tranio and Polidas, be you assistants;
The guards be ready to secure the impostor,
When once so proved, for public punishment;
And Gripus, be thou umpire of the cause.
_Amph._ I am content: let him proceed to examination.
_Grip._ On whose side would you please that I should give the sentence?
[_Aside to_ MERC.
_Merc._ Follow thy conscience for once; but not to make a custom of
it neither, nor to leave an evil precedent of uprightness to future
judges. [_Aside._]--'Tis a good thing to have a magistrate under
correction: your old fornicating judge dares never give sentence
against him that knows his haunts.
_Pol._ Your lordship knows I was master of Amphitryon's ship; and
desire to know of him, what passed, in private, betwixt us two at his
landing, when he was just ready to engage the enemy?
_Grip._ Let the true Amphitryon answer first.
_Jup. and Amph. together._ My lord, I told him----
_Grip._ Peace, both of you:--'Tis a plain case they are both true;
for they both speak together: but, for more certainty, let the false
Amphitryon speak first.
_Merc._ Now they are both silent.
_Grip._ Then 'tis plain, on the other side, that they are both false
Amphitryons.
_Merc._ Which Amphitryon shall speak first?
_Grip._ Let the cholerick Amphitryon speak; and let the peaceable hold
his peace.
_Amph._ [_To Polid._] You may remember that I whispered you, not to
part from the stern one single moment.
_Polid._ You did so.
_Grip._ No more words then: I proceed to sentence.
_Jup._ 'Twas I that whispered him; and he may remember I gave him this
reason for it, that, if our men were beaten, I might secure my own
retreat.
_Polid._ You did so.
_Grip._ Now again he is as true as the other.
_Tran._ You know I was paymaster: what directions did
you give me the night before the battle?
_Grip._ To which of the you's art thou speaking?
_Merc._ It should be a double u; but they have no such letter in their
tongue. [_Aside._
_Amph._ I ordered you to take particular care of the great bag.
_Grip._ Why this is demonstration.
_Jup._ The bag, that I recommended to you, was of tygers-skin; and
marked Beta.
_Grip._ In sadness, I think they are both jugglers: here is nothing,
and here is nothing; and then _hiccius doccius_, and they are both here
again.
_Tran._ You peaceable Amphitryon, what money was there in that bag?
_Jup._ The sum, in gross, amounted just to fifty Attick talents.
_Tran._ To a farthing.
_Grip._ Paugh: Obvious, obvious.
_Amph._ Two thousand pieces of gold were tied up in a handkerchief, by
themselves.
_Tran._ I remember it.
_Grip._ Then it is dubious again.
_Jup._ But the rest was not all silver; for there were just four
thousand brass half-pence.
_Grip._ Being but brass, the proof is inconsiderable: if they had been
silver, it had gone on your side.
_Amph._ Death and hell, you will not persuade me, that I did not kill
Pterelas? [_To_ JUPITER.
_Jup._ Nor you me, that I did not enjoy Alcmena?
_Amph._ That last was poison to me.---- [_Aside._
Yet there's one proof thou canst not counterfeit:
In killing Pterelas, I had a wound
Full in the brawny part of my right arm,
Where still the scar remains:--now blush, impostor;
For this thou canst not show.
[_Bares his arm, and shows the scar, which they all look on._
_Omnes._ This is the true Amphitryon.
_Jup._ May your lordship please----
_Grip._ No, sirrah, it does not please me: hold your tongue, I charge
you, for the case is manifest.
_Jup._ By your favour then, this shall speak for me.
[_Bares his arm, and shows it._
_Tran._ 'Tis just in the same muscle.
_Polid._ Of the same length and breadth; and the scar of the same
blueish colour.
_Grip._ [_To Jup._] Did not I charge you not to speak? 'twas plain
enough before; and now you have puzzled it again.
_Amph._ Good gods, how can this be!
_Grip._ For certain there was but one Pterelas; and he must have been
in the plot against himself too; for he was killed first by one of
them, and then rose again out of respect to the other Amphitryon, to be
killed twice over.
_Enter_ ALCMENA, PHÆDRA, _and_ BROMIA.
_Alcm._ No more of this; it sounds impossible
[_Turning to_ PHÆDRA _and_ BROMIA.
That two should be so like, no difference found.
_Phæd._ You'll find it true.
_Alcm._ Then where's Alcmena's honour and her fame?
Farewell my needless fear, it cannot be:
This is a case too nice for vulgar sight;
But let me come, my heart will guide my eyes
To point, and tremble to its proper choice.
[_Seeing_ AMPHITRYON, _goes to him_.
There neither was, nor is, but one Amphitryon;
And I am only his.--
[_Goes to take him by the hand._
_Amph._ Away, adultress!
[_Pushing her away from him._
_Jup._ My gentle love, my treasure, and my joy,
Follow no more that false and foolish fire,
That would mislead thy fame to sure destruction!
Look on thy better husband, and thy friend,
Who will not leave thee liable to scorn,
But vindicate thy honour from that wretch,
Who would by base aspersions blot thy virtue.
Alcm. [_Going to him, who embraces her._]
I was indeed mistaken; thou art he!
Thy words, thy thoughts, thy soul is all Amphitryon.
The impostor has thy features, not thy mind;
The face might have deceived me in my choice,
Thy kindness is a guide that cannot err.
_Amph._ What! in my presence to prefer the villain?
O execrable cheat!--I break the truce;
And will no more attend your vain decisions:
To this, and to the gods, I'll trust my cause.
[_Is rushing upon_ JUPITER, _and is held again_.
_Jup._ Poor man, how I contemn those idle threats!
Were I disposed, thou might'st as safely meet
The thunder launched from the red arm of Jove,--Nor
Jove need blush to be Alcmena's champion.
But in the face of Thebes she shall be cleared;
And what I am, and what thou art, be known.--
Attend, and I will bring convincing proofs.
_Amph._ Thou would'st elude my justice, and escape:
But I will follow thee through earth and seas;
Nor hell shall hide thee from my just revenge.
_Jup._ I'll spare thy pains. It shall be quickly seen,
Betwixt us two, who seeks, and who avoids.--
Come in, my friends,--and thou, who seem'st Amphitryon--
That all, who are in doubt, may know the true.
[JUPITER _re-enters the house; with him_ AMPHITRYON ALCMENA,
POLIDAS, TRANIO, _and Guards_.
_Merc._ Thou, Gripus, and you, Bromia, stay with Phædra:
[_To_ GRIPUS _and_ BROMIA,
_who are following_.
Let their affairs alone, and mind we ours,
Amphitryon's rival shall appear a god:
But know beforehand, I am Mercury;
Who want not heaven, while Phædra is on earth.
_Brom._ But, an't please your lordship, is my fellow Phædra to be
exalted into the heavens, and made a star?
_Phæd._ When that comes to pass, if you look up a-nights, I shall
remember old kindness, and vouch-safe to twinkle on you.
_Enter_ SOSIA, _peeping about him; and, seeing_ MERCURY, _is
starting back_.
_Sos._ Here he is again; and there's no passing by him into the house,
unless I were a sprite, to glide in through the key-hole. I am to be a
vagabond, I find.
_Merc._ Sosia, come back.
_Sos._ No, I thank you; you may whistle me long enough; a beaten dog
has always the wit to avoid his master.
_Merc._ I permit thee to be Sosia again.
_Sos._ 'Tis an unfortunate name, and I abandon it: he that has an itch
to be beaten, let him take it up for Sosia;--What have I said now! I
mean for me; for I neither am nor will be Sosia.
_Merc._ But thou may'st be so in safety; for I have acknowledged myself
to be god Mercury.
_Sos._ You may be a god, for aught I know; but the devil take me if
ever I worship you, for an unmerciful deity as you are.
_Merc._ You ought to take it for an honour to be drubbed by the hand of
a divinity.
_Sos._ I am your most humble servant, good Mr God; but, by the faith of
a mortal, I could well have spared the honour that you did me. But how
shall I be sure that you will never assume my shape again?
_Merc._ Because I am weary of wearing so villainous an outside.
_Sos._ Well, well; as villainous as it is, here's old Bromia will be
contented with it.
_Brom._ Yes, now I am sure that I may chastise you safely, and that
there's no god lurking under your appearance.
_Sos._ Ay; but you had best take heed how you attempt it; for, as
Mercury has turned himself into me, so I may take the toy into my head,
and turn myself into Mercury, that I may swinge you off condignly.
_Merc._ In the mean time, be all my witnesses, that I take Phædra for
my wife of the left hand; that is, in the nature of a lawful concubine.
_Phæd._ You shall pardon me for believing you, for all you are a god;
for you have a terrible ill name below; and I am afraid you'll get a
footman, instead of a priest, to marry us.
_Merc._ But here's Gripus shall draw up articles betwixt us.
_Phæd._ But he's damnably used to false conveyancing. Well, be it so;
for my counsel shall over-look them before I sign--Come on, Gripus,
that I may have him under black and white.
[_Here_ GRIPUS _gets ready pen, ink, and paper_.
_Merc._ With all my heart, that I may have thee under black and white
hereafter.
_Phæd._ [_To_ GRIPUS.] Begin, begin--Heads of articles to be made, &c.
betwixt Mercury, god of thieves----
_Merc._ And Phædra, queen of gypsies.----_Imprimis_, I promise to buy
and settle upon her an estate, containing nine thousand acres of land,
in any part of Boeotia, to her own liking.
_Phæd._ Provided always, that no part of the said nine thousand acres
shall be upon, or adjoining to, Mount Parnassus; for I will not be
fobbed off with a poetical estate.
Merc. _Memorandum_, that she be always constant to me, and admit of no
other lover.
Phæd. _Memorandum_, unless it be a lover that offers more; and that the
constancy shall not exceed the settlement.
Merc. _Item_, that she shall keep no male servants in her house:
_Item_, no rival lap-dog for a bedfellow: _Item_, that she shall never
pray to any of the gods.
_Phæd._ What, would you have me an atheist?
_Merc._ No devotion to any he-deity, good Phædra.
_Brom._ Here's no provision made for children yet.
_Phæd._ Well remembered, Bromia; I bargain that my eldest son shall be
a hero, and my eldest daughter a king's mistress.
_Merc._ That is to say, a blockhead, and a harlot, Phædra.
_Phæd._ That's true; but who dares call them so? Then, for the younger
children--But now I think on't, we'll have no more, but Mass and Miss;
for the rest would be but chargeable, and a burden to the nation.
_Merc._ Yes, yes; the second shall be a false prophet: he shall have
wit enough to set up a new religion, and too much wit to die a martyr
for it.
_Phæd._ O what had I forgot? there's pin-money, and alimony, and
separate maintenance, and a thousand things more to be considered, that
are all to be tacked to this act of settlement.
_Sos._ I am a fool, I must confess; but yet I can see as far into a
mill-stone as the best of you. I have observed, that you women-wits
are commonly so quick upon the scent, that you often over-run it:
now I would ask of Madam Phædra, that in case Mr Heaven there should
be pleased to break these articles, in what court of judicature she
intends to sue him?
_Phæd._ The fool has hit upon't:--Gods, and great men, are never to be
sued, for they can always plead privilege of peerage; and therefore
for once, monsieur, I'll take your word; for, as long as you love me,
you'll be sure to keep it: and, in the mean time, I shall be gaining
experience how to manage some rich cully; for no woman ever made her
fortune by a wit.
_It thunders; and the company within doors_, AMPHITRYON, ALCMENA,
POLIDAS, _and_ TRANIO, _all come running out, and join with the
rest, who were on the stage before_.
_Amph._ Sure 'tis some god; he vanished from our sight,
And told us, we should see him soon return.
_Alcm._ I know not what to hope, nor what to fear.
A simple error is a real crime,
And unconsenting innocence is lost.
_A second peal of Thunder. After which_, JUPITER _appears in a Machine_.
_Jup._ Look up, Amphitryon, and behold, above,
The impostor god, the rival of thy love;
In thy own shape see Jupiter appear,
And let that sight secure thy jealous fear.
Disgrace, and infamy, are turned to boast;
No fame, in Jove's concurrence, can be lost:
What he enjoys, he sanctifies from vice,
And, by partaking, stamps into a price,
'Tis I who ought to murmur at my fate,
Forced by my love my godhead to translate;
When on no other terms I could possess,
But by thy form, thy features, and thy dress.
To thee were given the blessings that I sought,
Which else, not all the bribes of heaven had bought,
Then take into thy arms thy envied love,
And, in his own despite, triumph o'er Jove.
_Merc._ Amphitryon and Alcmena both stand mute, and know not how to
take it. [_Aside._
_Sos._ Our sovereign lord Jupiter is a sly companion; he knows how to
gild a bitter pill. [_Aside._
_Jup._ From this auspicious night shall rise an heir,
Great like his sire, and like his mother fair:
Wrongs to redress, and tyrants to disseize;
Born for a world that wants a Hercules.
Monsters, and monster-men he shall engage,
And toil, and struggle, through an impious age.
Peace to his labours shall at length succeed; }
And murmuring men, unwilling to be freed, }
Shall be compelled to happiness, by need. }
[JUPITER _is carried back to Heaven_.
_Omnes._ We all congratulate Amphitryon.
_Merc._ Keep your congratulations to yourselves, gentlemen. 'Tis a nice
point, let me tell you that; and the less that's said of it the better.
Upon the whole matter, if Amphitryon takes the favour of Jupiter in
patience, as from a god, he's a good heathen.
_Sos._ I must take a little extraordinary pains to-night, that my
spouse may come even with her lady, and produce a squire to attend on
young Hercules, when he goes out to seek adventures; that, when his
master kills a man, he may stand ready to pick his pockets, and piously
relieve his aged parents.--Ah, Bromia, Bromia, if thou hadst been as
handsome and as young as Phædra!--I say no more, but somebody might
have made his fortunes as well as his master, and never the worse man
neither.
For, let the wicked world say what they please,
The fair wife makes her husband live at ease:
The lover keeps him too; and but receives,
Like Jove, the remnants that Amphitryon leaves.
'Tis true, the lady has enough in store,
To satisfy those two, and eke two more:
In fine, the man, who weighs the matter fully,
Would rather be the cuckold than the cully. [_Exeunt._
EPILOGUE,
SPOKEN BY PHÆDRA.
I'm thinking, (and it almost makes me mad)
How sweet a time those heathen ladies had.
Idolatry was even their Gods' own trade:
They worshipped the fine creatures they had made.
Cupid was chief of all the deities;
And love was all the fashion, in the skies.
When the sweet nymph held up the lily hand,
Jove was her humble servant at command;
The treasury of heaven was ne'er so bare,
But still there was a pension for the fair.
In all his reign, adultery was no sin;
For Jove the good example did begin.
Mark, too, when he usurped the husband's name,
How civilly he saved the lady's fame.
The secret joys of love he wisely hid;
But you, sirs, boast of more than e'er you did.
You teaze your cuckolds, to their face torment 'em;
But Jove gave his new honours to content him,
And, in the kind remembrance of the fair,
On each exalted son bestowed a star.
For these good deeds, as by the date appears,
His godship flourished full two thousand years.
At last, when he and all his priests grew old, }
The ladies grew in their devotion cold; }
And that false worship would no longer hold. }
Severity of life did next begin;
And always does, when we no more can sin.
That doctrine, too, so hard in practice lies,
That the next age may see another rise.
Then, pagan gods may once again succeed: }
And Jove, or Mars, be ready, at our need, }
To get young godlings; and so mend our breed. }
KING ARTHUR:
OR,
THE BRITISH WORTHY.
A
DRAMATIC OPERA.
* * * * *
----_hîc alta theatris
Fundamenta locant,--scenis decora alta futuris._ VIRG. Æn. 1.
_Purpurea intexti tollant aulæa Britanni._ Georg. 3.
----_Tanton' placuit concurrere motu,
Jupiter, æterna gentes in pace futuris!_ Æneid. 12.
----_Et celebrare domestica facta._ HOR.
KING ARTHUR.
The Seventeenth century was still familiar with
----Whate'er resounds,
In fable or romance, of Uther's son,
Begirt with British and Armoric knights.
Fired by the splendid fictions which romancers had raised on the
basis of Geoffrey of Monmouth and the Welsh traditions, Milton had
designed the exploits of King Arthur for the subject of his lofty epic
strain. What we have lost, in his abandoning the theme, can only be
estimated by the enthusiastic tone into which he always swells, when
he touches upon the "shores of old romance." The sublime glow of his
imagination, which delighted in painting what was beyond the reach
of human experience; the dignity of his language, formed to express
the sentiments of heroes and of immortals; his powers of describing
alike the beautiful and terrible; above all, the justice with which
he conceived and assigned to each supernatural agent a character as
decidedly peculiar, as lesser poets have given to their human actors,
would have sent him forth to encounter such a subject with gigantic
might. Whoever has ventured, undeterred by their magnitude, upon the
old romances of "Lancelot du Lac," "Sir Tristrem," and others, founded
on the achievements of the Knights of the Round Table, cannot but
remember a thousand striking Gothic incidents, worthy subjects of the
pen of Milton. What would he not have made of the adventure of the
Ruinous Chapel, the Perilous Manor, the Forbidden Seat, the Dolorous
Wound, and many others susceptible of being described in the most
sublime poetry! Even when that sun had set, Arthur had yet another
chance for immortality; for Dryden repeatedly expressed his intention
to found an epic poem upon his history. Our poet, it may be guessed,
was too much in the trammels of French criticism, to have ventured
upon a style of composition allied to the Gothic romance. His poem
would probably have been formed upon the model of the ancients, which,
although more classical and correct, might have wanted the force,
which reality of painting and description never fails to give to epic
narrative. Arthur, in such a poem, would, like Rinaldo, have reminded
us of Achilles; and the sameness of a copy would have been substituted
for the spirit of a characteristic original. But, had Dryden executed
his intended plan, we should have found picturesque narrative
detailed in the most manly and majestic verse, and interspersed with
lessons teaching us to know human life, maxims proper to guide it,
and sentiments which ought to adorn it. In the Knight's Tale, and in
Dryden's other narrative poems, we see enough to induce us to regret
the sordid negligence, or avarice, which withheld from him the means
of decent support, while employed upon the promised task. But Arthur,
as a sort of counterpoise to his extravagant reputation during the
middle ages, was doomed, in the seventeenth century, to be reluctantly
abandoned by Milton and Dryden; and to be celebrated by the pen of
Blackmore.
It is probable, that, when Dryden abandoned all thoughts of a larger
work, he adapted the intended subject to the following opera, and
converted the Genii of the kingdoms, by whom the supernatural
machinery of the epic was to have been conducted, into the lighter and
simpler device of airy and earthy spirits, whose idea the Rosicrucian
philosophy had long rendered popular and familiar. There is no attempt
to avail himself of any fragments of Arthur's romantic renown. He
is not, in this drama, the formidable possessor of Excalibar, and
the superior of the chivalry of the Round Table; nor is Merlin the
fiend-born necromancer, of whom antiquity related and believed so
many wonders. They are the prince and magician of a beautiful fairy
tale, the story of which, abstracted from the poetry, might have been
written by Madame D'Aunois. At the same time, the obvious advantages of
an appeal to the ancient prejudices, which our author has neglected,
are supplied from the funds of his own genius. The incidents, being
intended more for the purpose of displaying machinery, and introducing
music and dances, than with any reference to the rules of the drama,
are abundantly fantastic and extravagant; but the poet has supported
them with wonderful address. The blindness of Emmeline, and the
innocence with which she expresses her conception of visible objects,
gives her character an interest often wanting in what may be called the
heroine of a play, whose perfections generally raise her so far beyond
mere mortal excellence, as to render superfluous all human sympathy.
The scene in which Emmeline recovers her sight, when well represented,
never fails to excite the most pleasing testimony of interest and
applause. The machinery is simple, and well managed: the language and
ministry of Grimbald, the fierce earthy dæmon, are painted with some
touches which arise even to sublimity. The conception of Philidel, a
fallen angel, retaining some of the hue of heaven, who is touched with
repentance, and not without hope of being finally received, is an idea,
so far as I know, altogether original. Klopstock has since introduced
a similar character into sacred poetry[10]. The principal incident
in "King Arthur" is copied, in almost every circumstance, from the
adventures of Rinaldo in the haunted grove on Mount Olivet[11], which
makes also the subject of an Italian opera.
From what is mentioned in the author's preface, we may conceive
the disadvantages under which "King Arthur" was finally brought
forward. It was written originally for the conclusion of the reign
of Charles II, and the political masque of "Albion and Albanius" was
often rehearsed before him, as the prologue to "King Arthur." We may
therefore conclude, that the piece, as originally written, had a
strong political tendency, and probably abounded with these ingenious
parallels, by which Dryden, with dexterity far exceeding that of every
other writer, could draw, from remote or distant events, a moral
directly applicable to those of his own time. But the Revolution,
while it ruined our author's prospects, imposed a cautious restraint
upon his muse; and therefore, as he himself states, he was obliged to
deprive his play of many beauties, not to offend the present times, or
displease a government by which he had hitherto been protected, or at
least endured. Thus, our author was obliged to convert an ingenious,
and probably highly poetical political drama, into a mere fairy tale,
as totally divested as possible of any meaning beyond extravagant
adventure. How much the drama must have suffered in this transformation
is easy to judge, from the spirit with which all Dryden's political
pieces are composed; and from recollecting with what reluctance he must
have gone through alterations, that were to deprive the play of what
was intended to have been its principal merit. This is the disadvantage
of which the poet had already complained:
How can he show his manhood, when you bind him To box, like boys,
with one hand tied behind him? This is plain levelling of wit, in
which The poor has all the advantage, not the rich.
The blockhead stands excused for want of sense,
And wits turn blockheads in their own defence.
_Prologue to Amphitryon._
Under all these disadvantages, "King Arthur" was received with great
applause, at its first appearance; was often repeated, and continues to
be occasionally represented, being the only one of Dryden's numerous
plays which has retained possession of the stage. Some part of its
success was doubtless owing to the music, of which Dr Burney gives the
following account in his "History of Music:"
"Of the music in "King Arthur," I shall say but little, as it has
been lately revived, well performed, and printed. If ever it could,
with truth, be said of a composer, that he had _devancé son siecle_,
Purcell is entitled to that praise; as there are movements in many of
his works which a century has not injured, particularly the duet in
"King Arthur," "Two Daughters of this Aged Stream," and "Fairest Isle,
all Isles excelling," which contain not a single passage that the
best composers of the present times, if it presented itself to their
imagination, would reject." vol. iii. p. 492.
The dances, which were composed by the famous Priest, did not disgrace
the music and poetry; and the company, according to Downes, were well
rewarded for the time and expence they had bestowed on "King Arthur."
This opera was acted and printed in 1691.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 8: The author alludes to some popular tales of the day, or
perhaps of former; but the editor confesses himself unable to trace the
reference.]
[Footnote 9: The infamous Scroggs, and several of Charles the Second's
judges, had huffed, and roared, and ranted, and domineered, over the
unfortunate victims, who suffered for the Popish Plot; and had been
equally partial to prerogative, when the king's party attained a
decided ascendancy.]
[Footnote 10: The author acknowledges, with gratitude, the opinion of
his "first and best patroness, the duchess of Monmouth," which, to the
author of "Absalom and Achitophel," must have excited a strange mixture
of recollections and emotions. The judgment of that accomplished lady
alleged the fairy kind of writing, which depends only on the force of
imagination, as the grounds for liking a piece which has that chiefly
to recommend it.]
[Footnote 11: Tasso's "Gierusaleme Liberata."]
TO THE
MARQUIS OF HALIFAX[12].
* * * * *
MY LORD,
This poem was the last piece of service which I had the honour to do
for my gracious master King Charles II.; and, though he lived not to
see the performance of it on the stage, yet the Prologue to it, which
was the opera of "Albion and Albanius," was often practised before him
at Whitehall, and encouraged by his royal approbation. It was indeed
a time which was proper for triumph, when he had overcome all those
difficulties which, for some years, had perplexed his peaceful reign:
but, when he had just restored his people to their senses, and made
the latter end of his government of a piece with the happy beginning
of it, he was on the sudden snatched away from the blessings and
acclamations of his subjects, who arrived so late to the knowledge of
him, that they had but just time enough to desire him longer, before
they were to part with him for ever. Peace be with the ashes of so
good a king! Let his human frailties be forgotten, and his clemency
and moderation (the inherent virtues of his family) be remembered with
a grateful veneration by three kingdoms, through which he spread the
blessings of them. And, as your lordship held a principal place in his
esteem, and, perhaps, the first in his affection, during his latter
troubles, the success which accompanied those prudent counsels cannot
but reflect an honour on those few who managed them, and wrought out,
by their faithfulness and diligence, the public safety. I might dilate
on the difficulties which attended that undertaking, the temper of
the people, the power, arts and interest of the contrary party, but
those are all of them invidious topics,--they are too green in our
remembrance, and he, who touches on them, _Incedit per ignes suppositos
cineri doleso._ But, without reproaching one side to praise another, I
may justly recommend to both those wholesome counsels, which, wisely
administered, and as well executed, were the means of preventing a
civil war, and of extinguishing a growing fire which was just ready
to have broken forth among us. So many wives, who have yet their
husbands in their arms; so many parents, who have not the number of
their children lessened; so many villages, towns and cities, whose
inhabitants are not decreased, their property violated, or their wealth
diminished,--are yet owing to the sober conduct, and happy results of
your advice. If a true account may be expected by future ages from the
present, your lordship will be delivered over to posterity in a fairer
character than I have given; and be read, not in the preface of a play,
(whose author is not vain enough to promise immortality to others, or
to hope it for himself,) but in many pages of a chronicle, filled with
praises of your administration. For, if writers be just to the memory
of King Charles II., they cannot deny him to have been an exact knower
of mankind, and a perfect distinguisher of their talents. It is true,
his necessities often forced him to vary his counsellors and councils,
and sometimes to employ such persons in the management of his affairs,
who were rather fit for his present purpose than satisfactory to his
judgment: but where it was choice in him, not compulsion, he was master
of too much good sense to delight in heavy conversation; and whatever
his favourites of state might be, yet those of his affection were men
of wit[13]. He was easy with these, and complied only with the former.
But in the latter part of his life, which certainly required to be most
cautiously managed, his secret thoughts were communicated but to few,
and those selected of that sort who were _amici omnium horarum_, able
to advise him in a serious consult, where his honour and safety were
concerned, and afterwards capable of entertaining him with pleasant
discourse, as well as profitable. In this maturest part of his age,
when he had been long seasoned with difficulties and dangers, and was
grown to a niceness in his choice, as being satisfied how few could
be trusted,--and, of those who could be trusted, how few could serve
him,--he confined himself to a small number of bosom friends, amongst
whom the world is much mistaken if your lordship was not first.
If the rewards which you received for those services were only honours,
it rather shewed the necessities of the times, than any want of
kindness in your royal master; and, as the splendour of your fortune
stood not in need of being supported by the Crown, so likewise, in
being satisfied without other recompence, you showed yourself to
be above a mercenary interest, and strengthened that power which
bestowed those titles on you; which, truly speaking, were marks of
acknowledgement more than favour.
But, as a skilful pilot will not be tempted out to sea in suspected
weather, so have you wisely chosen to withdraw yourself from public
business, when the face of heaven grew troubled, and the frequent
shifting of the winds foreshewed a storm. There are times and seasons
when the best patriots are willing to withdraw their hands from the
commonwealth, as Phocion, in his latter days, was observed to decline
the management of affairs; or as Cicero, (to draw the similitude more
home) left the pulpit for Tusculum, and the praise of oratory for the
sweet enjoyments of a private life; and, in the happiness of those
retirements, has more obliged posterity by his moral precepts, than he
did the republic in quelling the conspiracy of Catiline. What prudent
man would not rather follow the example of his retreat, than stay,
like Cato, with a stubborn unseasonable virtue, to oppose the torrent
of the people, and at last be driven from the market-place by a riot
of a multitude, uncapable of counsel, and deaf to eloquence? There
is likewise a portion of our lives, which every wise man may justly
reserve to his own peculiar use, and that without defrauding his native
country. A Roman soldier was allowed to plead the merit of his services
for his dismission at such an age; and there was but one exception to
that rule, which was, an invasion from the Gauls. How far that may work
with your lordship, I am not certain, but I hope it is not coming to
the trial[14].
In the mean time, while the nation is secured from foreign attempts by
so powerful a fleet, and we enjoy, not only the happiness, but even the
ornaments of peace, in the divertisement of the town, I humbly offer
you this trifle, which, if it succeed upon the stage, is like to be the
chiefest entertainment of our ladies and gentlemen this summer. When I
wrote it, seven years ago, I employed some reading about it, to inform
myself out of Beda, Bochartus and other authors, concerning the rites
and customs of the heathen Saxons; as I also used the little skill I
have in poetry to adorn it[15]. But, not to offend the present times,
nor a government which has hitherto protected me, I have been obliged
so much to alter the first design, and take away so many beauties from
the writing, that it is now no more what it was formerly, than the
present ship of the Royal Sovereign, after so often taking down and
altering, is the vessel it was at the first building. There is nothing
better than what I intended, but the music; which has since arrived
to a greater perfection in England than ever formerly; especially
passing through the artful hands of Mr Purcell, who has composed it
with so great a genius, that he has nothing to fear but an ignorant,
ill-judging audience. But the numbers of poetry and vocal music are
sometimes so contrary, that, in many places, I have been obliged to
cramp my verses, and make them rugged to the reader, that they may
be harmonious to the hearer; of which I have no reason to repent me,
because these sorts of entertainments are principally designed for
the ear and eye; and therefore, in reason, my art, on this occasion,
ought to be subservient to his. And, besides, I flatter myself with
an imagination, that a judicious audience will easily distinguish
betwixt the songs wherein I have complied with him, and those in which
I have followed the rules of poetry, in the sound and cadence of the
words. Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, there is somewhat still
remaining of the first spirit with which I wrote it; and though I can
only speak by guess, of what pleased my first and best patroness the
Duchess of Monmouth in the reading, yet I will venture my opinion, by
the knowledge I have long had of her Grace's excellent judgment and
true taste of poetry, that the parts of the airy and earthy spirits,
and that fairy kind of writing which depends only upon the force of
imagination, were the grounds of her liking the poem, and afterwards of
her recommending it to the Queen. I have likewise had the satisfaction
to hear, that her majesty has graciously been pleased to peruse the
manuscript of this opera, and given it her royal approbation. Poets,
who subsist not but on the favour of sovereign princes, and of great
persons, may have leave to be a little vain, and boast of their
patronage, who encourage the genius that animates them; and therefore,
I will again presume to guess, that her majesty was not displeased to
find in this poem the praises of her native country, and the heroic
actions of so famous a predecessor in the government of Great Britain
as King Arthur.
All this, my lord, I must confess, looks with a kind of insinuation,
that I present you with somewhat not unworthy your protection; but
I may easily mistake the favour of her majesty for her judgment: I
think I cannot be deceived in thus addressing to your lordship, whom
I have had the honour to know, at that distance which becomes me, for
so many years. It is true, that formerly I have shadowed some part
of your virtues under another name; but the character, though short
and imperfect, was so true, that it broke through the fable, and was
discovered by its native light[16]. What I pretend by this dedication,
is an honour which I do myself to posterity, by acquainting them, that
I have been conversant with the first persons of the age in which I
lived; and thereby perpetuate my prose, when my verses may possibly be
forgotten, or obscured by the fame of future poets. Which ambition,
amongst my other faults and imperfections, be pleased to pardon, in,
MY LORD,
Your Lordship's most obedient servant,
JOHN DRYDEN.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 12: We have often occasion, in these notes, to mention the
Marquis of Halifax. He was originally Sir George Saville, Baronet;
but, being early characterized by unmatched dexterity in political
intrigue, he successively attained the rank of Viscount, Earl, and, in
1682, Marquis of Halifax. He acted alternately for the people against
the Crown, and for the Crown against the people; for he delighted in
nice and delicate strokes of policy, and in balancing, by a slight but
well-applied exertion, the sinking against the rising faction. Hence
he was accounted the head of the little faction called Trimmers; and
hence his counsels became particularly acceptable to Charles II., whose
administration he guided, as Lord Privy Seal, during the last years of
that monarch's life. The king had no mind that the high-flying tories
should attain an absolute predominance; for he feared his brother,
who had placed himself at their head, and he loved Monmouth, who
was the object of their most violent hatred. Still less could he be
supposed to favour the whigs, whose ranks contained many determined
republicans. A minister, therefore, whose ingenious and versatile
councils could enable him to check the triumph of the tories, without
too much encouraging the whigs, was a treasure to him,--and just
such a minister was Halifax. Our author therefore dedicates to him,
with great propriety, a piece written for Charles, when Halifax was
his favourite minister; and the subjects of eulogium are chosen with
Dryden's usual felicity. Some allowance must doubtless be made, for
the indispensible obligation which compelled a dedicator to view the
conduct of his patron on the favourable side. Such an unfortunate wight
cannot be reasonably tied down to uniformity of sentiment in different
addresses. The character of Dryden's immediate patron was always his
cue for praise: if he stood forward against a predominant party, he
was necessarily Cato, the most virtuous of men; if he yielded to the
torrent, he was Phocion or Cicero, and Cato was a fool to him. With
the few grains of allowance which his situation required, Dryden's
praise of Halifax is an honest panegyric. It is certain, his wisdom
prevented a civil war in the last years of the reign of Charles, and
indirectly led the way to a bloodless revolution. The age in which
he lived was therefore so far indebted to him, as our author has
elegantly said, for the lives of husbands and of children, for property
unviolated, and wealth undiminished. Nor does the present owe him
less; for, when is it that a government, erected by a party successful
in civil dissention, does not far exceed their just, and even their
original pretensions? The parties had each founded their plea and their
pretensions upon sacred and integral parts of the constitution, as the
contending factions of the Jews occupied, the one the temple, and the
other the palace of Jerusalem. In a civil war, one bulwark or other
must have fallen with the party which it sheltered; and it was only the
Revolution of 1688, which, leaving both whig and tory in full strength,
compelled them mutually to respect the constitutional vantage-ground
assumed by each other.]
[Footnote 13: Lord Halifax was unquestionably a man of wit; and we have
some tolerable bon mots of his, handed down by his contemporaries.
Burnet says, "The liveliness of his imagination was always too hard
for his judgment. A severe jest was preferred by him to all arguments
whatever; and he was endless in consultations; for when, after much
discourse, a point was settled, if he could find a new jest to make
even that which was suggested by himself ridiculous, he could not
hold, but would study to raise the credit of his wit, though it made
others call his judgment in question." We may not, perhaps, refine
too far in supposing, that the bishop was not always able to estimate
the policy of this subtle statesman. It was more frequently his wish
to avoid taking decisive steps than to recommend them; and what could
more effectually retard violent councils than the conduct remarked by
Burnet, or what argument would have weighed with Charles II. like a
keen jest?]
[Footnote 14: The Roman veterans were dismissed after twenty years
service; a regulation equally politic and humane. In 1691 a French
invasion, in behalf of King James, appeared not improbable.]
[Footnote 15: We cannot trace the result of this study any where but
in the song of the Saxon priests; and it did not surely require much
reading to glean up the names of the Saxon deities, which are almost
the only traits of national manners exhibited through the drama.]
[Footnote 16: Under that of Jotham in "Absalom and Achitophel."]
PROLOGUE,
SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON.
Sure there's a dearth of wit in this dull town,
When silly plays so savourily go down;
As, when clipped money passes, 'tis a sign
A nation is not over-stocked with coin.
Happy is he, who, in his own defence,
Can write just level to your humble sense;
Who higher than your pitch can never go;
And, doubtless, he must creep, who writes below.
So have I seen, in hall of knight, or lord,
A weak arm throw on a long shovel-board;
He barely lays his piece, bar rubs and knocks,
Secured by weakness not to reach the box[17].
A feeble poet will his business do, }
Who, straining all he can, comes up to you: }
For, if you like yourselves, you like him too. }
An ape his own dear image will embrace;
An ugly beau adores a hatchet face:
So, some of you, on pure instinct of nature,
Are led, by kind, to admire your fellow creature.
In fear of which, our house has sent this day,
To insure our new-built vessel, called a play;
No sooner named, than one cries out,--These stagers
Come in good time, to make more work for wagers.
The town divides, if it will take or no; }
The courtiers bet, the cits, the merchants too; }
A sign they have but little else to do. }
Bets, at the first, were fool-traps; where the wise,
Like spiders, lay in ambush for the flies:
But now they're grown a common trade for all, }
And actions by the new-book rise and fall; }
Wits, cheats, and fops, are free of wager-hall. }
One policy as far as Lyons carries;
Another, nearer home, sets up for Paris.
Our bets, at last, would even to Rome extend,
But that the pope has proved our trusty friend.
Indeed, it were a bargain worth our money,
Could we insure another Ottoboni[18].
Among the rest there are a sharping set,
That pray for us, and yet against us bet.
Sure heaven itself is at a loss to know
If these would have their prayers be heard, or no:
For, in great stakes, we piously suppose,
Men pray but very faintly they may lose.
Leave off these wagers; for, in conscience speaking,
The city needs not your new tricks for breaking:
And if you gallants lose, to all appearing,
You'll want an equipage for volunteering;
While thus, no spark of honour left within ye,
When you should draw the sword, you draw the guinea.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 17: The ancient game of shovel-board was played by sliding
pieces of money along a smooth table, something on the principle of
billiards. The allusion seems to be the same as if a modern poet had
said, that a feeble player at billiards runs no risk of pocketing his
own ball. The reader will find a variety of passages concerning this
pastime in the notes of the various commentators upon a passage in the
"Merry Wives of Windsor," where Slender enumerates among the contents
of his pocket, when picked by Pistol, "two Edward shovel-boards," that
is, two broad shillings of Edward VI. used for playing at this game. In
some old halls the shovel-board table is still preserved, and sometimes
used.]
[Footnote 18: Cardinal Ottoboni, a Venetian by birth, succeeded to the
tiara on the death of Innocent XI., and assumed the name of Alexander
VIII. He was, like his predecessor, an enemy to France, and maintained
the privileges of the Holy See, both in the point of the regale, and
in refusing to grant bulls to those French bishops who had signed the
formulary of 1682, by which the Pope was declared fallible, and subject
to the decrees of a general council. His death took place during the
congress of 1690. It was therefore a recent event when this play was
first represented, and the disposition of his successor, towards the
French or Imperial Courts, was matter of anxious speculation to the
politicians of the day.]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
_King_ ARTHUR.
OSWALD, _King of_ KENT, _a Saxon, and a Heathen_.
CONON, _Duke of_ CORNWALL, _Tributary to King_ ARTHUR.
MERLIN, _a famous Enchanter_.
OSMOND, _a Saxon Magician, and a Heathen_.
AURELIUS, _Friend to_ ARTHUR.
ALBANACT, _Captain of_ ARTHUR'S _Guards_.
GUILLIMAR, _Friend to_ OSWALD.
EMMELINE, _Daughter of_ CONON.
MATILDA, _her Attendant_.
PHILIDEL, _an Airy Spirit_.
GRIMBALD, _an Earthy Spirit_.
_Officers and Soldiers, Singers and Dancers._
_SCENE--Kent._
KING ARTHUR,
OR, THE
BRITISH WORTHY.
ACT I--SCENE I.
_Enter_ CONON, AURELIUS, ALBANACT.
_Con._ Then this is the deciding day, to fix
Great Britain's sceptre in great Arthur's hand.
_Aur._ Or put it in the bold invader's gripe.
Arthur and Oswald, and their different fates,
Are weighing now within the scales of Heaven.
_Con._ In ten set battles have we driven back
These heathen Saxons, and regained our earth.
As earth recovers from an ebbing tide
Her half-drowned face, and lifts it o'er the waves,
From Severn's bank, even to this barren down,
Our foremost men have pressed their fainty rear,
And not one Saxon face has been beheld;
But all their backs and shoulders have been stuck
With foul dishonest wounds; now here, indeed,
Because they have no farther ground, they stand.
_Aur._ Well have we chose a happy day for fight;
For every man, in course of time, has found
Some days are lucky, some unfortunate.
_Alb._ But why this day more lucky than the rest?
_Con._ Because this day
Is sacred to the patron of our isle;
A christian and a soldier's annual feast.
_Alb._ Oh, now I understand you. This is St George of Cappadocia's
day. Well, it may be so, but faith I was ignorant. We soldiers seldom
examine the rubrick, and now and then a saint may happen to slip by us;
but, if he be a gentleman saint, he will forgive us.
_Con._ Oswald undoubtedly will fight it bravely.
_Aur._ And it behoves him well, 'tis his last stake. But what manner of
man is this Oswald? Have you ever seen him? [_To_ ALBANACT.
_Alb._ Never but once; and that was to my cost too. I followed him too
close, and, to say the truth, somewhat uncivilly, upon a rout; but he
turned upon me, as quick and as round as a chafed boar, and gave me two
licks a-cross the face, to put me in mind of my Christianity.
_Con._ I know him well; he's free and open-hearted.
_Aur._ His country's character: that speaks a German.
_Con._ Revengeful, rugged, violently brave;
And, once resolved, is never to be moved.
_Alb._ Yes, he's a valiant dog, pox on him!
_Con._ This was the character he then maintained,
When in my court he sought my daughter's love,
My fair, blind Emmeline.
_Alb._ I cannot blame him for courting the heiress of Cornwall. All
heiresses are beautiful; and, as blind as she is, he would have had no
blind bargain of her.
_Aur._ For that defeat in love, he raised this war;
For royal Arthur reigned within her heart,
Ere Oswald moved his suit.
_Con._ Ay, now, Aurelius, you have named a man;
One, whom, besides the homage that I owe,
As Cornwall's duke, to his imperial crown,
I would have chosen out, from all mankind,
To be my sovereign lord.
_Aur._ His worth divides him from the crowd of kings;
So born, without desert to be so born;
Men, set aloft to be the scourge of heaven,
And, with long arms, to lash the under-world.
_Con._ Arthur is all that's excellent in Oswald,
And void of all his faults. In battle brave,
But still serene in all the stormy war,
Like heaven above the clouds; and after fight,
As merciful and kind to vanquished foes,
As a forgiving God. But see, he's here,
And praise is dumb before him.
_Enter King_ ARTHUR, _reading a letter, with Attendants_.
Arth. [_Reading._] "Go on, auspicious prince, the stars are kind:
Unfold thy banners to the willing wind;
While I, with airy legions, help thy arms;
Confronting art with art, and charms with charms."
So Merlin writes; nor can we doubt the event,
[
_To_ CONON.
With Heaven and you to friends. Oh noble Conon,
You taught my tender hands the trade of war;
And now again you helm your hoary head,
And, under double weight of age and arms,
Assert your country's freedom and my crown.
_Con._ No more, my son.
_Arth._ Most happy in that name!
Your Emmeline, to Oswald's vows refused,
You made my plighted bride:
Your charming daughter, who, like Love, born blind,
Unaiming hits, with surest archery,
And innocently kills.
_Con._ Remember, son,
You are a general; other wars require you,
For, see, the Saxon gross begins to move.
_Arth._ Their infantry embattled, square and close,
March firmly on, to fill the middle space,
Covered by their advancing cavalry.
By Heaven, 'tis beauteous horror:
The noble Oswald has provoked my envy.--
_Enter_ EMMELINE, _led by_ MATILDA.
Ha! now my beauteous Emmeline appears,
A new, but oh, a softer flame inspires me:
Even rage and vengeance slumber at her sight.
_Con._ Haste your farewell; I'll cheer my troops, and wait ye.
[_Exit_ CONON.
_Em._ O father, father, I am sure you're here;
Because I see your voice.
_Arth._ No, thou mistak'st thy hearing for thy sight:
He's gone, my Emmeline;
And I but stay to gaze on those fair eyes,
Which cannot view the conquest they have made.
Oh star-like night, dark only to thyself,
But full of glory, as those lamps of heaven,
That see not, when they shine!
_Em._ What is this heaven, and stars, and night, and day,
To which you thus compare my eyes and me?
I understand you, when you say you love:
For, when my father clasps my hand in his,
That's cold, and I can feel it hard and wrinkled;
But when you grasp it, then I sigh and pant,
And something smarts and tickles at my heart.
_Arth._ Oh artless love, where the soul moves the tongue,
And only nature speaks what nature thinks!--
Had she but eyes!
_Em._ Just now you said, I had:
I see them, I have two.
_Arth._ But neither see.
_Em._ I'm sure they hear you then:
What can your eyes do more?
_Arth._ They view your beauties.
_Em._ Do not I see? You have a face like mine,
Two hands, and two round, pretty, rising breasts,
That heave like mine.
_Arth._ But you describe a woman;
Nor is it sight, but touching with your hands.
_Em._ Then 'tis my hand that sees, and that's all one;
For is not seeing, touching with your eyes?
_Arth._ No; for I see at distance, where I touch not.
_Em._ If you can see so far, and yet not touch,
I fear you see my naked legs and feet
Quite through m
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