by John Dryden
Cel. Now I am sure I have the worst on’t: For you see the worst of me, and that I do not of you, ‘till you shew your face. — Yet, now I think on’t, you must be handsome.
Flo. What kind of beauty do you like?
Cel. Just such a one as yours.
Flo. What’s that?
Cel. Such an oval face, clear skin, hazel eyes, thick brown eye-brows, and hair as you have, for all the world.
Fla. But I can assure you, she has nothing of all this.
Cel. Hold thy peace, envy; nay, I can be constant an I set on’t.
Flo. ’Tis true she tells you.
Cel. Ay, ay, you may slander yourself as you please: Then you have, — let me see.
Flo. Ill swear, you shall not see.
Cel. A turned up nose, that gives an air to your face: — Oh, I find I am more and more in love with you! — a full nether lip, an out-mouth, that makes mine water at it; the bottom of your cheeks a little blub, and two dimples when you smile: For your stature, ’tis well; and for your wit, ’twas given you by one that knew it had been thrown away upon an ill face. — Come, you’re handsome, there’s no denying it.
Flo. Can you settle your spirits to see an ugly face, and not be frighted? I could find in my heart to lift up my mask, and disabuse you.
Cel. I defy your mask: — Would you would try the experiment!
Flo. No, I won’t; for your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.
Cel. Since you will not take the pains to convert me, I’ll make bold to keep my faith. A miserable man, I am sure, you have made me.
Fla. This is pleasant.
Cel. It may be so to you, but it is not to me; for aught I see, I am going to be the most constant Maudlin, —
Flo. ’Tis very well, Celadon; you can be constant to one you have never seen, and have forsaken all you have seen?
Cel. It seems, you know me then: — Well, if thou should’st prove one of my cast mistresses, I would use thee most damnably, for offering to make me love thee twice.
Flo. You are i’the right: An old mistress, or servant, is an old tune; the pleasure on’t is past, when we have once learned it.
Fla. But what woman in the world would you wish her like?
Cel. I have heard of one Florimel, the queen’s ward; would she were as like her for beauty, as she is for humour!
Fla. Do you hear that, cousin? [To FLOR. aside.
Flo. Florimel’s not handsome: Besides she’s inconstant; and only loves for some few days.
Cel. If she loves for shorter time than I, she must love by winter days and summer nights, i’faith.
Flo. When you see us together, you shall judge. In the mean time, adieu, sweet servant.
Cel. Why, you won’t be so inhuman to carry away my heart, and not so much as tell me where I may hear news on’t?
Flo. I mean to keep it safe for you; for, if you had it, you would bestow it worse: Farewell, I must see a lady.
Cel. So must I too, if I can pull off your mask.
Flo. You will not be so rude, I hope.
Cel. By this light, but I will!
Flo. By this leg, but you shan’t.
[Exeunt FLO. and FLA. running.
SCENE III.
Enter PHILOCLES, and meets him going out.
Cel. How! my cousin, the new favourite! — [Aside.
Phil. Dear Celadon! most happily arrived. —
I hear you’ve been an honour to your country
In the Calabrian wars; and I am glad
I have some interest in it.
Cel. But in you
I have a larger subject for my joys:
To see so rare a thing as rising virtue,
And merit, understood at court.
Phil. Perhaps it is the only act, that can Accuse our queen of weakness.
Enter LYSIMANTES, attended.
Lys. O, my lord Philocles, well overtaken! I came to look you.
Phil. Had I known it sooner,
My swift attendance, sir, had spared your trouble. —
Cousin, you see prince Lysimantes [To CEL.
Is pleased to favour me with his commands:
I beg you’ll be no stranger now at court.
Cel. So long as there be ladies there, you need Not doubt me. [Exit CELADON.
Phil. Some of them will, I hope, make you a convert.
Lys. My lord Philocles, I’m glad we are alone; There is a business, that concerns me nearly, In which I beg your love.
Phil. Command my service.
Lys. I know your interest with the queen is great;
(I speak not this as envying your fortune,
For, frankly, I confess you have deserved it;
Besides, my birth, my courage, and my honour,
Are all above so base a vice,) —
Phil. I know, my lord, you are first prince o’the blood;
Your country’s second hope:
And that the public vote, when the queen weds,
Designs you for her choice.
Lys. I am not worthy,
Except love makes desert;
For doubtless she’s the glory of her time:
Of faultless beauty, blooming as the spring
In our Sicilian groves; matchless in virtue,
And largely souled where’er her bounty gives,
As, with each breath, she could create new Indies.
Phil. But jealous of her glory, —
Lys. You are a courtier; and, in other terms,
Would you say, she is averse from marriage,
Lest it might lessen her authority.
But whensoe’er she does, I know the people
Will scarcely suffer her to match
With any neighbouring prince, whose power might bend
Our free Sicilians to a foreign yoke.
Phil. I love too well my country to desire it.
Lys. Then, to proceed, (as you well know, my lord,)
The provinces have sent their deputies,
Humbly to move her, she would chuse at home;
And, (for she seems averse from speaking with them,)
By my appointment, have designed these walks,
Where well she cannot shun them. — Now, if you
Assist their suit, by joining yours to it,
And by your mediation I prove happy,
I freely promise you —
Phil. Without a bribe, command my utmost in it: — And yet, there is a thing, which time may give me The confidence to name, —
Lys. ’Tis yours whatever: — But, tell me true, does she not entertain Some deep and settled thoughts against my person?
Phil. I hope, not so; but she, of late, is froward;
Reserved, and sad, and vexed at little things;
Which her great soul, ashamed of, strait shakes off,
And is composed again.
Lys. You are still near the queen; and all our actions Come to princes’ eyes, as they are represented By them, that hold the mirror.
Phil. Here she comes, and with her the deputies: I fear all is not right.
Enter Queen, Deputies after her; ASTERIA, Guard, FLAVIA, OLINDA, and SABINA. Queen turns back to the Deputies, and speaks entering.
Queen. And I must tell you, It is a saucy boldness, thus to press On my retirements.
Dep. Our business being of no less concern, Than is the peace and quiet of your subjects; — And that delayed, —
Dep. We humbly took this time To represent your people’s fears to you.
Queen. My people’s fears! who made them statesmen?
They much mistake their business, if they think,
It is to govern.
The rights of subjects, and of sovereigns,
Are things distinct in nature: — Theirs is to
Enjoy propriety, not empire.
Lys. If they have erred, ’twas but an over-care; An ill-timed duty.
Queen. Cousin, I expect
From your near blood, not to excuse, but check them.
&n
bsp; They would impose a ruler upon their lawful queen:
For what’s an husband else?
Lys. Far, madam, be it from the thoughts
Of any, who pretends to that high honour,
To wish for more than to be reckoned
As the most graced, and first of all your servants.
Queen. These are the insinuating promises
Of those, who aim at power. But tell me, cousin,
(For you are unconcerned, and may be judge,)
Should that aspiring man compass his ends,
What pawn of his obedience could he give me,
When kingly power were once invested in him?
Lys. What greater pledge than love! When those fair eyes Cast their commanding beams, he, that could be A rebel to your birth, must pay them homage.
Queen. All eyes are fair,
That sparkle with the jewels of a crown:
But now I see my government is odious;
My people find I am not fit to reign,
Else they would never —
Lys. So far from that, we all acknowledge you
The bounty of the gods to Sicily:
More than they are you cannot make our joys;
Make them but lasting in a successor.
Phil. Your people seek not to impose a prince;
But humbly offer one to your free choice:
And such a one he is — may I have leave
To speak some little of his great deserts? —
Queen. I’ll hear no more. — For you, attend to-morrow at the council: [To the Deputies. There you shall have my firm resolves: — meantime, My cousin, I am sure, will welcome you.
Lys. Still more and more mysterious: But I have
Gained one of her women that shall unriddle it. —
[Aside.
Come, gentlemen.
All Dep. Heaven preserve your majesty! [Exeunt LYS. and Dep.
Queen. Philocles, you may stay.
Phil. I humbly wait your majesty’s commands.
Queen. Yet, now I better think on’t, you may go.
Phil. Madam!
Queen. I have no commands; — or, what’s all one, You, no obedience.
Phil. How! no obedience, madam? I plead no other merit; ’tis the charter By which I hold your favour, and my fortunes.
Queen. My favours are cheap blessings, like rain and sunshine, For which we scarcely thank the gods, because We daily have them.
Phil. Madam, your breath, which raised me from the dust,
May lay me there again:
But fate nor time can ever make me lose
The sense of your indulgent bounties to me.
Queen. You are above them now, grown popular: —
Ah, Philocles! could I expect from you
That usage! — no tongue but yours
To move me to a marriage? — [Weeps.
The factious deputies might have some end in’t,
And my ambitious cousin gain a crown:
But what advantage could there come to you?
What could you hope from Lysimantes’ reign,
That you can want in mine?
Phil. You yourself clear me, madam. Had I sought
More power, this marriage sure was not the way.
But, when your safety was in question,
When all your people were unsatisfied,
Desired a king, — nay more, designed the man, —
It was my duty then, —
Queen. Let me be judge of my own safety. I am a woman; But danger from my subjects cannot fright me.
Phil. But Lysimantes, madam, is a person, —
Queen. I cannot love.
Shall I, — I, who was born a sovereign queen,
Be barred of that, which God and nature gives
The meanest slave, a freedom in my love? —
Leave me, good Philocles, to my own thoughts;
When next I need your counsel, I’ll send for you.
Phil. I’m most unhappy in your high displeasure; But, since I must not speak, madam, be pleased To peruse this, and therein read my care.
[He plucks out a paper, and presents it to her; but drops, unknown to him, a picture. Exit PHI.
Queen. [reads.] A catalogue of such persons, — What’s this he has let fall, Asteria? [Spies the box.
Ast. Your majesty? —
Queen. Take that up; it fell from Philocles.
[She takes it up, looks on it, and smiles.
Queen. How now, what makes you merry?
Ast. A small discovery I have made, madam.
Queen. Of what?
Ast. Since first your majesty graced Philocles, I have not heard him named for any mistress, But now this picture has convinced me.
Queen. Ha! let me see it. — [Snatches it from her. Candiope, prince Lysimantes’ sister!
Ast. Your favour, madam, may encourage him, —
And yet he loves in a high place for him:
A princess of the blood; and, what is more,
Beyond comparison the fairest lady
Our isle can boast.
Queen. How! — she the fairest Beyond comparison!— ’Tis false! you flatter her; She is not fair.
Ast. I humbly beg forgiveness on my knees, If I offended you: — But next yours, madam, Which all must yield to.
Queen. I pretend to none.
Ast. She passes for a beauty.
Queen. Ay, she may pass: — But why do I speak of her? — Dear Asteria, lead me, I am not well o’ the sudden. [She faints.
Ast. Who’s near there? — help the queen!
[The guards are coming.
Queen. Bid them away: ’Twas but a qualm, And ’tis already going.
Ast. Dear madam, what’s the matter?
You are of late so altered, I scarce know you.
You were gay humoured, and you now are pensive;
Once calm, and now unquiet: —
Pardon my boldness, that I press thus far
Into your secret thoughts: I have, at least,
A subject’s share in you.
Queen. Thou hast a greater. That of a friend: — But I am froward, say’st thou?
Ast. It ill becomes me, madam, to say that.
Queen. I know I am: — Pr’ythee, forgive me for it, — I cannot help it; — but thou hast Not long to suffer it.
Ast. Alas!
Queen. I feel my strength each day and hour consume,
Like lilies wasting in a lymbeck’s heat.
Yet a few days,
And thou shalt see me lie, all damp and cold,
Shrouded within some hollow vault, among
My silent ancestors.
Ast. O dearest madam! Speak not of death; or think not, if you die, That I will stay behind.
Queen. Thy love has moved me; — I, for once, will have The pleasure to be pitied. I’ll unfold A thing so strange, so horrid of myself —
Ast. Bless me, sweet heaven! — So horrid, said you, madam?
Queen. That sun, who with one look surveys the globe,
Sees not a wretch like me! — And could the world
Take a right measure of my state within,
Mankind must either pity me, or scorn me.
Ast. Sure none could do the last.
Queen. Thou longest to know it,
And I to tell thee, but shame stops my mouth.
First, promise me thou wilt excuse my folly;
And, next, be secret.
Ast. Can you doubt it, madam?
Queen. Yet you might spare my labour: — Can you not guess?
Ast. Madam, please you, I’ll try.
Queen. Hold, Asteria! —
I would not have you guess; for should you find it,
I should imagine that some other might,
And then I were most wretched: —
Therefore, though you should know it, flatter me,
And say you could not guess it.
Ast. Madam, I need not flatter you, I cannot — and yet, Might not ambiti
on trouble your repose?
Queen. My Sicily, I thank the Gods, contents me.
But, since I must reveal it, know,— ’tis love:
I, who pretended so to glory, am
Become the slave of love.
Ast. I thought your majesty had framed designs
To subvert all your laws; become a tyrant,
Or vex your neighbours, with injurious wars;
Is this all, madam?
Queen. Is not this enough?
Then, know, I love below myself; a subject;
Love one, who loves another, and who knows not
That I love him.
Ast. He must be told it, madam.
Queen. Not for the world, Asteria: Whene’er he knows it, I shall die for shame.
Ast. What is it, then, that would content you?
Queen. Nothing, but that I had not lov’d.
Ast. May I not ask, without offence, who ’tis?
Queen. Ev’n that confirms me, I have loved amiss; Since thou canst know I love, and not imagine It must be Philocles.
Ast. My cousin is, indeed, a most deserving person; Valiant, and wise; handsome, and well-born.
Queen. But not of royal blood:
I know his fate, unfit to be a king.
To be his wife, I could forsake my crown; but not my glory:
Yet — would he did not love Candiope;
Would he loved me — but knew not of my love,
Or e’er durst tell me his.
Ast. In all this labyrinth, I find one path, conducting to our quiet.
Queen. O tell me quickly then!
Ast. Candiope, as princess of the blood,
Without your approbation cannot marry:
First, break his match with her, by virtue of
Your sovereign authority.
Queen. I fear, that were to make him hate me, Or, what’s as bad, to let him know, I love him: Could you not do it of yourself?
Ast. I’ll not be wanting to my pow’r:
But if your majesty appears not in it,
The love of Philocles will soon surmount
All other difficulties.
Queen. Then, as we walk, we’ll think what means are best; Effect but this, and thou shar’st half my breast. [Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I — The Queens Apartment.
ASTERIA alone.
Nothing thrives that I have plotted;
For I have sounded Philocles, and find
He is too constant to Candiope:
Her too I have assaulted, but in vain,
Objecting want of quality in Philocles.
I’ll to the queen, and plainly tell her,
She must make use of her authority
To break the match.
Enter CELADON looking about him.
