John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  A Scene of a Paradise is discovered.

  Plac. Some pleasing objects do her mind employ; For on her face I read a wandering joy.

  SONG.

  Dam.Ah how sweet it is to love! Ah how gay is young desire! And what pleasing pains we prove When we first approach love’s fire! Pains of love be sweeter far Than all other pleasures are.

  Sighs, which are from lovers blown, Do but gently heave the heart: Even the tears they shed alone, Cure, like trickling balm, their smart. Lovers when they lose their breath, Bleed away in easy death.

  Love and time with reverence use, Treat them like a parting friend: Nor the golden gifts refuse, Which in youth sincere they send: For each year their price is more, And they less simple than before.

  Love, like spring-tides full and high, Swells in every youthful vein; But each tide does less supply, Till they quite shrink in again: If a flow in age appear, ’Tis but rain, and runs not clear.

  At the end of the Song a Dance of Spirits. After which Amariel, the Guardian-Angel of St Catharine, descends to soft music, with a flaming sword. The spirits crawl off the stage amazedly, and Damilcar runs to a corner of it.

  Amar. From the bright empire of eternal day, Where waiting minds for heaven’s commission stay, Amariel flies: A darted mandate came From that great will which moves this mighty frame; Bid me to thee, my royal charge, repair, To guard thee from the dæmons of the air; My flaming sword above them to display, (All keen, and ground upon the edge of day;) The flat to sweep the visions from thy mind, The edge to cut them through that stay behind. Vain spirits, you, that, shunning heaven’s high noon, Swarm here beneath the concave of the moon, What folly, or what rage, your duty blinds, To violate the sleep of holy minds? Hence, to the task assigned you here below! Upon the ocean make loud tempests blow; Into the wombs of hollow clouds repair, And crush out thunder from the bladdered air; From pointed sun-beams take the mists they drew, And scatter them again in pearly dew; And of the bigger drops they drain below, Some mould in hail, and others stamp in snow.

  Dam. Mercy, bright spirit! I already feel The piercing edge of thy immortal steel: Thou, prince of day, from elements art free; And I all body when compared to thee. Thou tread’st the abyss of light, And where it streams with open eyes canst go: We wander in the fields of air below, Changelings and fools of heaven; and thence shut out, Wildly we roam in discontent about: Gross heavy-fed, next man in ignorance and sin, And spotted all without, and dusky all within. Without thy sword I perish by thy sight; I reel, and stagger, and am drunk with light.

  Amar. If e’er again thou on this place art found, Full fifty years I’ll chain thee under ground; The damps of earth shall be thy daily food, All swoln and bloated like a dungeon toad: And when thou shalt be freed, yet thou shalt lie Gasping upon the ground, too faint to fly, And lag below thy fellows in the sky.

  Dam. O pardon, pardon this accursed deed, And I no more on magic fumes will feed, Which drew me hither by their powerful steams.

  Amar. Go expiate thy guilt in holy dreams. [Exit Dam.

  But thou, sweet saint, henceforth disturb no more [To S. Cath.

  With dreams not thine, thy thoughts to heaven restore. [The Angel ascends, and the scene shuts.

  Nig. Some holy being does invade this place, And from their duty does my spirits chase. I dare no longer near it make abode: No charms prevail against the Christians’ God. [Exit.

  Plac. How doubtfully these spectres fate foretell! In double sense, and twilight truth they dwell: Like fawning courtiers for success they wait, And then come smiling, and declare for fate.

  Enter Maximin and Porphyrius, attended by Valerius and guards.

  But see, the tyrant and my rival come: I, like the fiends, will flatter in his doom: None but a fool distasteful truth will tell, So it be new and please, ’tis full as well. [Plac. whispers with the Emperor, who seems pleased.

  Max. You charm me with your news, which I’ll reward; By hopes we are for coming joys prepared: Possess her love, or from that love be free; — Heaven speaks me fair: If she as kind can prove, I shall possess, but never quit my love. Go, tell me when she wakes. [Exit Plac.

  [Porphyrius seems to beg something of him.

  — Porphyrius, no; She has refused, and I will keep my vow.

  Por. For your own sake your cruel vow defer; The time’s unsafe, your enemies are near, And to displease your men when they should fight —

  Max. My looks alone my enemies will fright; And o’er my men I’ll set my careful spies, To watch rebellion in their very eyes. To watch rebellion in their very eyes. No more, I cannot bear the least reply.

  Por. Yet, tyrant, thou shalt perish ere she die. [Aside.

  Enter Valeria.

  Valeria here! how fortune treats me still With various harms, magnificently ill!

  Max. Valeria, I was sending to your tent, [To Val.

  But my commands your presence does prevent. This is the hour, wherein the priest shall join Your holy loves, and make Porphyrius mine.

  Val. Now hold, my heart! and Venus I implore, Be judge if she he loves deserves him more. [Aside.

  Por. Past hope! and all in vain I would preserve My life, not for myself, but her I serve. [Aside.

  Val. I come, great sir, your justice to demand. [To the Emperor.

  Max. You cannot doubt it from a father’s hand.

  Por. Sir, I confess, before her suit be known; And by myself condemned, my crime I own. I have refused.

  Val. Peace, peace, while I confess I have refused thee for unworthiness.

  Por. I am amazed.

  Max. What riddles do you use? Dare either of you my commands refuse?

  Val. Yes, I dare own, howe’er ’twas wisely done To adopt so mean a person for your son, So low you should not for your daughter chuse; And, therefore, sir, this marriage I refuse.

  Max. You liked the choice when first I thought, it fit.

  Val. I had not then enough considered it.

  Max. And you have now considered it too much: Secrets of empire are not safe to touch.

  Por. Let not your mighty anger rise too high; ’Tis not Valeria merits it, but I: My own unworthiness so well I knew, That from her love I consciously withdrew.

  Val. Thus rather than endure the little shame To be refused, you blast a virgin’s name. You to refuse, and I to be denied! Learn more discretion, or be taught less pride.

  Por. O heaven, in what a labyrinth am I led! I could get out, but she detains the thread. Now must I wander on, till I can see, Whether her pity or revenge it be. [Aside.

  Max. With what child’s anger do you think you play? I’ll punish both, if either disobey.

  Val. Since all the fault was mine, I am content, Porphyrius should not share the punishment.

  Por. Blind that I was till now, that could not see ’Twas all the effect of generosity! She loves me, even to suffer for my sake; And on herself would my refusal take. [Aside.

  Max. Children to serve their parents int’rest live; Take heed what doom against yourself you give. [To Val.

  Por. Since she must suffer, if I do not speak, ’Tis time the laws of decency to break. She told me, sir, that she your choice approved, And (though I blush to own it) said she loved; Loved me desertless, who, with shame, confest Another flame had seized upon my breast; Which when, too late, the generous princess knew, And feared your justice would my crime pursue, Upon herself she makes the tempest fall, And my refusal her contempt would call.

  Val. He raves, sir, and, to cover my disdain, Unhandsomely would his denial feign: And, all means failing him, at last would try To usurp the credit of a scorn, and die. But, let him live: His punishment shall be The grief his pride will bring for losing me.

  Max. You both obnoxious to my justice are; And, daughter, you have not deserved my care. ’Tis my command you strictly guarded be, Till your fantastic quarrel you agree.

  Por. Sir —

  Max. I’ll not hear you speak, her crime is plain; She owns her pride, which you perhaps may feign. She shal
l be prisoner till she bend her mind To that, which is for both of you designed.

  Val. You’ll find it hard my free-born will to bound.

  Max. I’ll find that power o’er wills, which heaven ne’er found. Free-will’s a cheat in any one but me; In all but kings, ’tis willing slavery; An unseen fate which forces the desire; The will of puppets danced upon a wire. A monarch is The spirit of the world in every mind; He may match wolves to lambs, and make it kind. Mine is the business of your little fates; And though you war, like petty wrangling states, You’re in my hand; and, when I bid you cease, You shall be crushed together into peace.

  Val. Thus by the world my courage will be prized; [Aside.

  Seeming to scorn, who am, alas, despised: Dying for love’s, fulfilling honour’s laws; A secret martyr, while I own no cause. [Exit Val.

  Max. Porphyrius, stay; there’s some thing I would hear: You said you loved, and you must tell me where.

  Por. All heaven is to my sole destruction bent. [Aside.

  Max. You would, it seems, have leisure to invent.

  Por. Her name in pity, sir, I must forbear, Lest my offences you revenge on her.

  Max. My promise for her life I do engage.

  Por. Will that, sir, be remembered in your rage?

  Max. Speak, or your silence more my rage will move; ‘Twill argue that you rival me in love.

  Por. Can you believe that my ambitious flame Should mount so high as Berenice’s name?

  Max. Your guilt dares not approach what it would hide; But draws me off, and (lapwing-like) flies wide. ’Tis not my wife, but mistress, you adore: Though that affront, yet this offends me more. Who courts my wife, Does to my honour more injurious prove; But he, who courts my mistress, wrongs my love.

  Por. The Egyptian princess ne’er could move my heart.

  Max. You could not perish by a nobler dart.

  Por. Sir, I presume not beauties to compare; But in my eyes my princess is as fair.

  Max. Your princess! then it seems, though you deny Her name you love, you own her quality.

  Por. Though not by birth or title so, yet she, Who rules my heart, a princess is to me.

  Max. No, no; ’Tis plain that word you unawares did use, And told a truth which now you would excuse. Besides my wife and mistress, here are none, Who can the title of a princess own.

  Por. There is one more, Your daughter, sir: Let that your doubt remove.

  Max. But she is not that princess whom you love.

  Por. I named not love, though it might doubtful seem: She’s fair, and is that princess I esteem.

  Max. Go, and to passion your esteem improve, While I command her to receive your love. [Exit Por.

  Enter St Catharine.

  S. Cath. I come not now, as captive to your power, To beg; but as high heaven’s ambassador, The laws of my religion to fulfil: Heaven sends me to return you good for ill. Your empress to your love I would restore, And to your mind the peace it had before.

  Max. While in another’s name you peace declare, Princess, you in your own proclaim a war. Your too great power does your design oppose; You make those breaches which you strive to close.

  S. Cath. That little beauty, which too much you prize, Seeks not to move your heart, or draw your eyes: Your love to Berenice is due alone; Love, like that power which I adore, is one. When fixed to one, it safe at anchor rides, And dares the fury of the winds and tides; But losing once that hold, to the wide ocean borne. It drives away at will, to every wave a scorn.

  Max. If to new persons I my love apply, The stars and nature are in fault, not I: My loves are like my old prætorian bands, Whose arbitrary power their prince commands: I can no more make passion come or go, Than you can bid your Nilus ebb or flow. ’Tis lawless, and will love, and where it list; And that’s no sin, which no man can resist: Those who impute it to me as a crime, Would make a god of me before my time.

  S. Cath. A god indeed, after the Roman stile, An eagle mounting from a kindled pile: But you may make yourself a god below; For kings, who rule their own desires, are so. You roam about, and never are at rest, By new desires, that is, new torments, still possest; Qualmish and loathing all you had before, Yet with a sickly appetite to more: As in a feverish dream you still drink on, And wonder why your thirst is never gone; Love, like a ghostly vision, haunts your mind, ’Tis still before you what you left behind.

  Max. How can I help those faults which nature made? My appetite is sickly and decayed, And you forbid me change, the sick man’s ease! Who cannot cure, must humour his disease.

  S. Cath. Your mind should first the remedy begin; You seek without the cure that is within. The vain experiments you make each day, To find content, still finding it decay, Without attempting more, should let you see, That you have sought it where it ne’er could be. But when you place your joys on things above, You fix the wandering planet of your love: Thence you may see Poor human kind, all dazed in open day, Err after bliss, and blindly miss their way: The greatest happiness a prince can know, Is to love heaven above, do good below.

  To them Berenice and Attendants.

  Ber. That happiness may Berenice find, Leaving these empty joys of earth behind; And this frail being, where so short a while The unfortunate lament, and prosperous smile. Yet a few days, and those which now appear In youth and beauty like the blooming year, In life’s swift scene shall change; and cares shall come, And heavy age, and death’s relentless doom.

  S. Cath. Yet man, by pleasures, seeks that fate which he would shun; And, sucked in by the stream, does to the whirlpool run.

  Max. How, madam, are you to new ways inclined? I fear the Christian sect perverts your mind. [To Ber.

  Ber. Yes, tyrant, know, that I their faith embrace, And own it in the midst of my disgrace; That faith, which, abject as it seems to thee, Is nobler than thy purple pageantry; A faith, which still with nature is at strife, And looks beyond it to a future life; A faith, which vicious souls abhor and fear, Because it shows eternity too near: And therefore every one, With seeming scorn of it the rest deceives; All joining not to own what each believes.

  S. Cath. O happy queen! whom power leads not astray, Nor youth’s more powerful blandishments betray.

  Ber. Your arguments my reason first inclined, And then your bright example fixed my mind.

  Max. With what a holy empress am I blest! What scorn of earth dwells in her heavenly breast! My crown’s too mean; but He, whom you adore, Has one more bright, of martyrdom, in store. She dies, and I am from the envy freed: [Aside.

  She has, I thank her, her own death decreed. No soldier now will in her rescue stir; Her death is but in complaisance to her. I’ll haste to gratify her holy will; — Heaven grant her zeal may but continue still! Tribune, a guard to seize the empress strait; [To Val.

  Secure her person prisoner to the state. [Exit Max.

  Val. [going to her.] Madam, believe ’tis with regret I come, To execute my angry prince’s doom.

  Enter Porphyrius.

  Por. What is it I behold! Tribune, from whence Proceeds this more than barbarous insolence?

  Val. Sir, I perform the emperor’s commands.

  Por. Villain, hold off thy sacrilegious hands, Or, by the gods — retire without reply; And, if he asks who bid thee, say ’twas I. [Val. retires to a distance.

  Ber. Too generously your safety you expose, To save one moment her, whom you must lose.

  Por. ‘Twixt you and death ten thousand lives there stand; Have courage, madam; the prætorian band Will all oppose your tyrant’s cruelty.

  S. Cath. And I have heaven implored she may not die: As some to witness truth heaven’s call obey, So some on earth must, to confirm it, stay.

  Por. What faith, what witness, is it that you name?

  Ber. Knowing what she believes, my faith’s the same.

  Por. How am I crossed, what way soe’er I go! To the unlucky every thing is so. Now, fortune, thou hast shown thy utmost spite; The soldiers will not for a Christian fight: And, madam, all that I
can promise now, Is but to die, before death reaches you.

  Ber. Now death draws near, a strange perplexity Creeps coldly on me, like a fear to die: Courage uncertain dangers may abate; But who can bear the approach of certain fate?

  S. Cath. The wisest and the best some fear may show, And wish to stay, though they resolve to go.

  Ber. As some faint pilgrim, standing on the shore, First views the torrent he would venture o’er; And then his inn upon the farther ground, Loth to wade through, and lother to go round; Then dipping in his staff, does trial make How deep it is, and, sighing, pulls it back; Sometimes resolved to fetch his leap, and then Runs to the bank, but there stops short again; So I at once Both heavenly faith and human fear obey, And feel before me in an unknown way. For this blest voyage I with joy prepare, Yet am ashamed to be a stranger there.

  S. Cath. You are not yet enough prepared to die; Earth hangs too heavy for your soul to fly.

  Por. One way (and heaven, I hope, inspires my mind) I for your safety in this strait can find; But this fair queen must further my intent.

  S. Cath. Name any way your reason can invent.

  Por. to Ber. Though your religion (which I cannot blame, Because my secret soul avows the same) Has made your life a forfeit to the laws, The tyrant’s new-born passion is the cause. Were this bright princess once removed away, Wanting the food, the flame would soon decay; And I’ll prepare a faithful guard this night To attend her person, and secure her flight.

  Ber. to S. Cath. By this way I shall both from death be freed, And you unforced to any wicked deed.

  S. Cath. Madam, my thoughts are with themselves at strife, And heaven can witness how I prize your life; But ’tis a doubtful conflict I must try, Betwixt my pity and my piety: Staying, your precious life I must expose; Going, my crown of martyrdom I lose.

  Por. Your equal choice when heaven does thus divide, You should, like heaven, still lean on mercy’s side.

  S. Cath. The will of heaven, judged by a private breast, Is often what’s our private interest; And therefore those, who would that will obey, Without their interest must their duty weigh. As for myself, I do not life despise, But as the greatest gift of nature prize. My sex is weak, my fears of death are strong, And whate’er is, its being would prolong. Were there no sting in death, for me to die, Would not be conquest, but stupidity; But if vain honour can confirm the soul, And sense of shame the fear of death controul; How much more then should faith uphold the mind, Which, showing death, shows future life behind?