John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Cel. Lord! what a misfortune it was, ladies, that the gentleman could not hold forth to you?

  Olin. We have lost Celadon too.

  Mel. Come away; this is past enduring. [Exeunt MEL. and OLIN.

  Sab. Well, if ever I believe a man to be a man, for the sake of a peruke and feather again. —

  Flo. Come, Celadon, shall we make accounts even? Lord! what a hanging-look was there? indeed, if you had been recreant to your mistress, or had forsworn your love, that sinner’s face had been but decent; but, for the virtuous, the innocent, the constant Celadon!

  Cel. This is not very heroic in you now, to insult over a man in his misfortunes; but take heed, you have robb’d me of my two mistresses; I shall grow desperately constant, and all the tempest of my love will fall upon your head: I shall so pay you! —

  Flo. Who, you pay me! you are a bankrupt, cast beyond all possibility of recovery.

  Cel. If I am a bankrupt, I’ll be a very honest one; when I cannot pay my debts, at least I’ll give you up the possession of my body.

  Flo. No, I’ll deal better with you; since you are unable to pay, I’ll give in your bond.

  Enter PHILOCLES with a commanders staff in his hand, attended.

  Phil. Cousin, I am sorry I must take you from your company about an earnest business.

  Flo. There needs no excuse, my lord; we had despatched our affairs, and were just parting.

  Cel. Will you be going, sir? sweet sir, — damn’d sir! — I have but one word more to say to you.

  Flo. As I am a man of honour, I’ll wait on you some other time.

  Cel. By these breeches, —

  Flo. Which, if I marry you, I am resolved to wear; put that into our bargain, and so adieu, sir.

  [Exit FLO.

  Phil. Hark you, cousin, — [They whisper. You’ll see it exactly executed; I rely upon you.

  Cel. I shall not fail, my lord; may the conclusion of it prove happy to you. [Exit CEL.

  PHILOCLES solus.

  Wheree’er I cast about my wandering eyes,

  Greatness lies ready in some shape to tempt me.

  The royal furniture in every room,

  The guards, and the huge waving crowds of people,

  All waiting for a sight of that fair queen,

  Who makes a present of her love to me:

  Now tell me, Stoick!

  If all these with a wish might be made thine,

  Would’st thou not truck thy ragged virtue for ‘em?

  If glory was a bait, that angels swallow’d,

  How then should souls allied to sense resist it?

  Enter CANDIOPE.

  Ah poor Candiope! I pity her,

  But that is all. —

  Cand. O my dear Philocles!

  A thousand blessings wait on thee!

  The hope of being thine, I think, will put

  Me past my meat and sleep with ecstasy,

  So I shall keep the fasts of seraphims,

  And wake for joy, like nightingales in May.

  Phil. Wake, Philocles, wake from thy dream of

  glory,

  ’Tis all but shadow to Candiope:

  Canst thou betray a love so innocent? [Aside.

  Cand. What makes you melancholick? I doubt, I have displeased you.

  Phil. No, my love, I am not displeased with you, But with myself, when I consider, How little I deserve you.

  Cand. Say not so, my Philocles; a love so true as yours, That would have left a court, and a queen’s favour, To live in a poor hermitage with me, —

  Phil. Ha! she has stung me to the quick!

  As if she knew the falsehood I intended:

  But, I thank heaven, it has recall’d my virtue;

  [Aside.

  Oh! my dear, I love you, and you only; [To her.

  Go in, I have some business for a while;

  But I think minutes ages till we meet.

  Cand. I knew you had; but yet I could not chuse, But come and look upon you. [Exit CANDIOPE.

  Phil. What barbarous man would wrong so sweet a virtue!

  Enter the Queen in black, with ASTERIA.

  Madam, the states are straight to meet; but why

  In these dark ornaments will you be seen?

  Queen. They fit the fortune of a captive queen.

  Phil. Deep shades are thus to heighten colours set; So stars in night, and diamonds shine in jet.

  Queen. True friends should so in dark afflictions shine, But I have no great cause to boast of mine.

  Phil. You may have too much prejudice for some, And think them false, before their trials come. But, madam, what determine you to do?

  Queen. I came not here to be advised by you:

  But charge you, by that power which once you owned,

  And which is still my right, even when unthroned,

  That whatsoe’er the states resolve of me,

  You never more think of Candiope.

  Phil. Not think of her! ah, how should I obey! Her tyrant eyes have forced my heart away.

  Queen. By force retake it from those tyrant eyes, I’ll grant you out my letters of reprise.

  Phil. She has too well prevented that design, By giving me her heart, in change for mine.

  Queen. Thus foolish Indians gold for glass forego;

  ’Twas to your loss you prized your heart so low.

  I set its value when you were advanced,

  And as my favours grew, its rate enhanced.

  Phil. The rate of subjects’ hearts by yours must go,

  And love in yours has set the value low.

  Queen. I stand corrected, and myself reprove;

  You teach me to repent my low-placed love:

  Help me this passion from my heart to tear! —

  Now rail on him, and I will sit and hear.

  Phil. Madam, like you, I have repented too, And dare not rail on one, I do not know.

  Queen. This, Philocles, like strange perverseness shews, As if whate’er I said you would oppose; How come you thus concerned for this unknown?

  Phil. I only judge his actions by my own.

  Queen. I’ve heard too much, and you too much have said. O heavens, the secret of my soul’s betrayed! He knows my love, I read it in his face, And blushes, conscious of his queen’s disgrace. [Aside. Hence quickly, hence, or I shall die with shame. [To him.

  Phil. Now I love both, and both with equal flame. Wretched I came, more wretched I retire: When two winds blow it, who can quench the fire? [Exit PHILOCLES.

  Queen. O my Asteria! I know not whom to accuse; But either my own eyes, or you, have told My love to Philocles.

  Ast. Is’t possible that he should know it, madam?

  Queen. Methinks, you ask that question guiltily. [Lays her hand on ASTERIA’S shoulder. Confess, for I will know, what was the subject Of your long discourse i’th’ antichamber with him.

  Ast. It was business to convince him, madam, How ill he did, being so much obliged, To join in your imprisonment.

  Queen. Nay, now I am confirmed my thought was true; For you could give him no such reason Of his obligements, as my love.

  Ast. Because I saw him much a malecontent,

  I thought to win him to your interest, madam,

  By telling him it was no want of kindness,

  Made your refusal of Candiope.

  And he, perhaps —

  Queen. What of him now?

  Ast. As men are apt, interpreted my words, To all the advantage he could wrest the sense, As if I meant you loved him.

  Queen. Have I deposited within thy breast

  The dearest treasure of my life, my glory,

  And hast thou thus betrayed me!

  But why do I accuse thy female weakness,

  And not my own, for trusting thee!

  Unhappy queen, Philocles knows thy fondness,

  And needs must think it done by thy command.

  Ast. Dear madam, think not so.

  Queen. Peace, peace, thou should’st for ever hold thy tongue
:

  For it has spoke too much for all thy life. [To her.

  Then Philocles has told Candiope,

  And courts her kindness with his scorn of me.

  O whither am I fallen!

  But I must rouse myself, and give a stop

  To all these ills by headlong passion caused.

  In hearts resolved weak love is put to flight,

  And only conquers, when we dare not fight.

  But we indulge our harms, and, while he gains

  An entrance, please ourselves into our pains.

  Enter LYSIMANTES.

  Ast. Prince Lysimantes, madam.

  Queen. Come near, you poor deluded criminal;

  See how ambition cheats you:

  You thought to find a prisoner here,

  But you behold a queen.

  Lys. And may you long be so! ’tis true, this act May cause some wonder in your majesty.

  Queen. None, cousin, none; I ever thought you Ambitious, proud, designing.

  Lys. Yet all my pride, designs, and my ambition, Were taught me by a master, With whom you are not unacquainted, madam.

  Queen. Explain yourself; dark purposes, like yours, Need an interpretation.

  Lys. ’Tis love, I mean.

  Queen. Have my low fortunes given thee This insolence, to name it to thy queen?

  Lys. Yet you have heard, love named without offence. As much below you as you think my passion, I can look down on yours.

  Queen. Does he know it too! This is the extremest malice of my stars! [Aside.

  Lys. You see that princes’ faults,

  (Howe’er they think them safe from public view)

  Fly out thro the dark crannies of their closets:

  We know what the sun does,

  Even when we see him not, in t’other world.

  Queen. My actions, cousin, never feared the light.

  Lys. Produce him, then, your darling of the dark. For such an one you have.

  Queen. I know no such.

  Lys. You know, but will not own him.

  Queen. Rebels ne’er want pretence to blacken kings, And this, it seems, is yours: Do you produce him, Or ne’er hereafter sully my renown With this aspersion: — Sure he dare not name him. [Aside.

  Lys. I am too tender of your frame; or else —

  Nor are things brought to that extremity:

  Provided you accept my passion,

  I’ll gladly yield to think I was deceived.

  Queen. Keep in your error still; I will not buy Your good opinion at so dear a rate, And my own misery, by being yours.

  Lys. Do not provoke my patience by such scorns. For fear I break through all, and name him to you.

  Queen. Hope not to fright me with your mighty looks; Know, I dare stem that tempest in your brow, And dash it back upon you.

  Lys. Spite of prudence it will out:— ’Tis Philocles!

  Now judge, when I was made a property

  To cheat myself, by making him your prisoner,

  Whether I had not right to take up arms?

  Queen. Poor envious wretch! Was this the venom that swelled up thy breast? My grace to Philocles mis-deemed my love!

  Lys. Tis true, the gentleman is innocent; He ne’er sinned up so high, not in his wishes; You know he loves elsewhere.

  Queen. You mean your sister.

  Lys. I wish some Sibyl now would tell me, Why you refused her to him.

  Queen. Perhaps I did not think him worthy of her.

  Lys. Did you not think him too worthy, madam?

  This is too thin a veil to hide your passion;

  To prove you love him not, yet give her him,

  And I’ll engage my honour to lay down my arms.

  Queen. He is arrived where I would wish — [Aside. Call in the company, and you shall see what I will do.

  Lys. Who waits without there? [Exit LYS.

  Queen. Now hold, my heart, for this one act of honour,

  And I will never ask more courage of thee:

  Once more I have the means to reinstate myself into my glory.

  I feel my love to Philocles within me

  Shrink, and pull back my heart from this hard trial.

  But it must be, when glory says it must:

  As children, wading from some river’s bank,

  First try the water with their tender feet;

  Then, shuddering up with cold, step back again,

  And straight a little further venture on,

  Till, at the last, they plunge into the deep,

  And pass, at once, what they were doubting long:

  I’ll make the experiment; it shall be done in haste,

  Because I’ll put it past my power to undo.

  Enter at one door LYSIMANTES, at the other PHILOCLES, CELADON, CANDIOPE, FLORIMEL, FLAVIA, OLINDA, SABINA, the three deputies, and soldiers.

  Lys. In arms! is all well, Philocles?

  Phil. No, but it shall be.

  Queen. He comes, and with him

  The fever of my love returns to shake me.

  I see love is not banished from my soul;

  He is still there, but is chained up by glory.

  Ast. You’ve made a noble conquest, madam.

  Queen. Come hither Philocles: I am first to tell you, I and my cousin are agreed; he has Engaged to lay down arms.

  Phil. ’Tis well for him he has; for all his party, By my command, already are surprised, While I was talking with your majesty.

  Cel. Yes, ‘faith, I have done him that courtesy; I brought his followers, under pretence of guarding it, to a strait place, where they are all coupt up without use of their arms, and may be pelted to death by the small infantry o’er the town.

  Queen. ’Twas more than I expected, or could hope; Yet still I thought your meaning honest.

  Phil. My fault was rashness, but ’twas full of zeal:

  Nor had I e’er been led to that attempt,

  Had I not seen, it would be done without me:

  But by compliance I preserved the power,

  Which I have since made use of for your service.

  Queen. And which I purpose so to recompence —

  Lys. With her crown, she means: I knew ‘twould come to it. [Aside.

  Phil. O heavens, she’ll own her love!

  Then I must lose Candiope for ever,

  And, floating in a vast abyss of glory,

  Seek and not find myself! —

  Queen. Take your Candiope; and be as happy As love can make you both: — How pleased I am, That I can force my tongue To speak words, so far distant from my heart! [Aside.

  Cand. My happiness is more than I can utter!

  Lys. Methinks I could do violence on myself, for taking arms

  Against a queen, so good, so bountiful:

  Give me leave, madam, in my ecstasy

  Of joy, to give you thanks for Philocles: —

  You have preserved my friend, and now he owes not

  His fortunes only to your favour; but,

  What’s more, his life, and, more than that, his love.

  I am convinced, she never loved him now;

  Since by her free consent, all force removed,

  She gives him to my sister.

  Flavia was an impostor, and deceived me. [Aside.

  Phil. As for me, madam, I can only say, That I beg respite for my thanks; for, on a sudden, The benefit’s so great, it overwhelms me.

  Ast. Mark but the faintness of the acknowledgement. [To the Queen, aside.

  Queen to Ast.] I have observed it with you, and am pleased, He seems not satisfied; for I still wish That he may love me.

  Phil. I see Asteria deluded me,

  With flattering hopes of the queen’s love.

  Only to draw me off from Lysimantes:

  But I will think no more on’t.

  I’m going to possess Candiope,

  And I am ravished with the joy on’t! — ha!

  Not ravished neither.

  For what can be more charming than that
queen!

  Behold how night sits lovely on her eye-brows,

  While day breaks from her eyes! then a crown too:

  Lost, lost, for ever lost; and now ’tis gone,

  Tis beautiful. — [Aside.

  Ant. How he eyes you still! [To the queen.

  Phil. Sure I had one of the fallen angels’ dreams; All heaven within this hour was mine! [Aside.

  Cand. What is it, that disturbs you, dear?

  Phil. Only the greatness of my joy: I’ve ta’en too strong a cordial, love, And cannot yet digest it.

  Queen. Tis done!

  [Clapping her hand on ASTERIA,

  But this pang more, and then a glorious birth. —

  The tumults of this day, my loyal subjects,

  Have settled in my heart a resolution,

  Happy for you, and glorious too for me.

  First, for my cousin; tho’, attempting on my person,

  He has incurred the danger of the laws,

  I will not punish him.

  Lys. You bind me ever to my loyalty.

  Queen. Then that I may oblige you more to it,

  I here declare you rightful successor,

  And heir immediate to my crown:

  This, gentlemen — [To the deputies.

  I hope will still my subjects’ discontents,

  When they behold succession firmly settled.

  Dep. Heaven preserve your majesty!

  Queen. As for myself, I have resolved

  Still to continue as I am, unmarried:

  The cares, observances, and all the duties

  Which I should pay an husband, I will place

  Upon my people; and our mutual love

  Shall make a blessing more than conjugal,

  And this the states shall ratify.

  Lys. Heaven bear me witness, that I take no joy In the succession of a crown, Which must descend to me so sad a way.

  Queen. Cousin, no more; my resolution’s past Which fate shall never alter.

  Phil. Then I am once more happy;

  For, since none must possess her, I am pleased

  With my own choice, and will desire no more:

  For multiplying wishes is a curse.

  That keeps the mind still painfully awake.

  Queen. Celadon.

  Your care and loyalty have this day obliged me;

  But how to be acknowledging, I know not,

  Unless you give the means.

  Cel. I was in hope your majesty had forgot me; therefore, if you please, madam, I’ll only beg a pardon for having taken up arms once to-day against you; for I have a foolish kind of conscience, which I wish many of your subjects had, that will not let me ask a recompence for my loyalty, when I know I have been a rebel.