by John Dryden
Shows in your own a noble confidence.
But him defending, and excusing me,
I know not what can your advantage be.
Abdal. I fain would ask, ere I proceed in this,
If, as by choice, you are by promise his?
Lyndar. The engagement only in my love does lie,
But that’s a knot which you can ne’er untie.
Abdal. When cities are besieged, and treat to yield,
If there appear relievers from the field,
The flag of parley may be taken down,
Till the success of those without is known;
Lyndar. Though Abdelmelech has not yet possest,
Yet I have sealed the treaty in my breast.
Abdal. Your treaty has not tied you to a day;
Some chance might break it, would you but delay.
If I can judge the secrets of your heart,
Ambition in it has the greatest part;
And wisdom, then, will shew some difference,
Betwixt a private person, and a prince.
Lyndar. Princes are subjects still. —
Subject and subject can small difference bring:
The difference is ‘twixt subjects and a king.
And since, sir, you are none, your hopes remove;
For less than empire I’ll not change my love.
Abdal. Had I a crown, all I should prize in it,
Should be the power to lay it at your feet.
Lyndar. Had you that crown, which you but wish, not hope,
Then I, perhaps, might stoop, and take it up.
But till your wishes and your hopes agree,
You shall be still a private man with me.
Abdal. If I am king, and if my brother die, —
Lyndar. Two if’s scarce make one possibility.
Abdal. The rule of happiness by reason scan;
You may be happy with a private man.
Lyndar. That happiness I may enjoy, ’tis true;
But then that private man must not be you.
Where’er I love, I’m happy in my choice;
If I make you so, you shall pay my price.
Abdal. Why would you be so great?
Lyndar. Because I’ve seen,
This day, what ’tis to hope to be a queen. —
Heaven, how you all watched each motion of her eye!
None could be seen while Almahide was by,
Because she is to be — her majesty! —
Why would I be a queen? Because my face
Would wear the title with a better grace.
If I became it not, yet it would be
Part of your duty, then, to flatter me.
These are but half the charms of being great;
I would be somewhat, that I know not yet: —
Yes! I avow the ambition of my soul,
To be that one to live without controul!
And that’s another happiness to me,
To be so happy as but one can be.
Abdal. Madam, — because I would all doubts remove, —
Would you, were I a king, accept my love?
Lyndar. I would accept it; and, to shew ’tis true,
From any other man as soon as you.
Abdal. Your sharp replies make me not love you less;
But make me seek new paths to happiness. —
What I design, by time will best be seen:
You may be mine, and yet may be a queen.
When you are so, your word your love assures.
Lyndar. Perhaps not love you, — but I will be yours. — [He offers to take her hand, and kiss it.
Stay, sir, that grace I cannot yet allow;
Before you set the crown upon my brow. —
That favour which you seek,
Or Abdelmelech, or a king, must have;
When you are so, then you may be my slave. [Exit; but looks smiling back on him.
Abdal. Howe’er imperious in her words she were,
Her parting looks had nothing of severe;
A glancing smile allured me to command,
And her soft fingers gently pressed my hand:
I felt the pleasure glide through every part;
Her hand went through me to my very heart.
For such another pleasure, did he live,
I could my father of a crown deprive. —
What did I say? —
Father! — That impious thought has shocked my mind:
How bold our passions are, and yet how blind! —
She’s gone; and now,
Methinks, there is less glory in a crown:
My boiling passions settle, and go down.
Like amber chafed, when she is near, she acts;
When farther oft, inclines, but not attracts.
Enter Zulema.
Assist me, Zulema, if thou wouldst be
That friend thou seem’st, assist me against me.
Betwixt my love and virtue I am tossed;
This must be forfeited, or that be lost.
I could do much to merit thy applause, —
Help me to fortify the better cause;
My honour is not wholly put to flight,
But would, if seconded, renew the fight.
Zul. I met my sister, but I do not see
What difficulty in your choice can be:
She told me all; and ’tis so plain a case,
You need not ask what counsel to embrace.
Abdal. I stand reproved, that I did doubt at all;
My waiting virtue staid but for thy call:
’Tis plain that she, who, for a kingdom, now
Would sacrifice her love, and break her vow,
Not out of love, but interest, acts alone,
And would, even in my arms, lie thinking of a throne.
Zul. Add to the rest, this one reflection more:
When she is married, and you still adore,
Think then, — and think what comfort it will bring, —
She had been mine,
Had I but only dared to be a king!
Abdal. I hope you only would my honour try;
I’m loth to think you virtue’s enemy.
Zul. If, when a crown and mistress are in place,
Virtue intrudes, with her lean holy face,
Virtue’s then mine, and not I virtue’s foe.
Why does she come where she has nought to do?
Let her with anchorites, not with lovers, lie;
Statesmen and they keep better company.
Abdal. Reason was given to curb our head-strong will.
Zul. Reason but shews a weak physician’s skill;
Gives nothing, while the raging fit does last,
But stays to cure it, when the worst is past.
Reason’s a staff for age, when nature’s gone;
But youth is strong enough to walk alone,
Abdal. In cursed ambition I no rest should find,
But must for ever lose my peace of mind.
Zul. Methinks that peace of mind were bravely lost;
A crown, whate’er we give, is worth the cost.
Abdal. Justice distributes to each man his right;
But what she gives not, should I take by might?
Zul. If justice will take all, and nothing give,
Justice, methinks, is not distributive.
Abdal. Had fate so pleased, I had been eldest born,
And then, without a crime, the crown had worn! —
Zul. Would you so please, fate yet a way would find;
Man makes his fate according to his mind.
The weak low spirit, fortune makes her slave;
But she’s a drudge, when hectored by the brave:
If fate weaves common thread, he’ll change the doom,
And with new purple spread a nobler loom.
Abdal. No more! — I will usurp the royal seat;
Thou, who hast made me wicked, make me great.
Zul. Your way is plain: the death o
f Tarifa
Does on the king our Zegrys’ hatred draw;
Though with our enemies in show we close,
’Tis but while we to purpose can be foes.
Selin, who heads us, would revenge his son;
But favour hinders justice to be done.
Proud Ozmyn with the king his power maintains,
And, in him, each Abencerrago reigns.
Abdal. What face of any title can I bring?
Zul. The right an eldest son has to be king.
Your father was at first a private man,
And got your brother ere his reign began;
When, by his valour, he the crown had won,
Then you were born a monarch’s eldest son.
Abdal. To sharp-eyed reason this would seem untrue;
But reason I through love’s false optics view.
Zul. Love’s mighty power has led me captive too;
I am in it unfortunate as you.
Abdal. Our loves and fortunes shall together go;
Thou shalt be happy, when I first am so.
Zul. The Zegrys at old Selin’s house are met,
Where, in close council, for revenge they sit:
There we our common interest will unite;
You their revenge shall own, and they your right.
One thing I had forgot, which may import:
I met Almanzor coming back from court,
But with a discomposed and speedy pace,
A fiery colour kindling all his face:
The king his prisoner’s freedom has denied,
And that refusal has provoked his pride.
Abdal. ‘Would he were ours! —
I’ll try to gild the injustice of his cause,
And court his valour with a vast applause.
Zul. The bold are but the instruments o’the wise;
They undertake the dangers we advise:
And, while our fabric with their pains we raise,
We take the profit, and pay them with praise. [Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Enter Almanzor and Abdalla.
Almanz. That he should dare to do me this disgrace! —
Is fool, or coward, writ upon my face?
Refuse my prisoner! — I such means will use,
He shall not have a prisoner to refuse.
Abdal. He said, you were not by your promise tied;
That he absolved your word, when he denied.
Almanz. He break my promise, and absolve my vow!
’Tis more than Mahomet himself can do! —
The word, which I have given, shall stand like fate;
Not like the king’s, that weather-cock of state.
He stands so high, with so unfixed a mind,
Two factions turn him with each blast of wind:
But now, he shall not veer! my word is past;
I’ll take his heart by the roots, and hold it fast.
Abdal. You have your vengeance in your hand this hour;
Make me the humble creature of your power:
The Granadines will gladly me obey;
(Tired with so base and impotent a sway)
And, when I shew my title, you shall see,
I have a better right to reign than he.
Almanz. It is sufficient that you make the claim;
You wrong our friendship when your right you name.
When for myself I fight, I weigh the cause;
But friendship will admit of no such laws:
That weighs by the lump; and, when the cause is light,
Puts kindness in to set the balance right.
True, I would wish my friend the juster side;
But, in the unjust, my kindness more is tried:
And all the opposition I can bring,
Is, that I fear to make you such a king.
Abdal. The majesty of kings we should not blame,
When royal minds adorn the royal name;
The vulgar, greatness too much idolize,
But haughty subjects it too much despise.
Almanz. I only speak of him,
Whom pomp and greatness sit so loose about,
That he wants majesty to fill them out.
Abdal. Haste, then, and lose no time! —
The business must be enterprised this night:
We must surprise the court in its delight.
Almanz. For you to will, for me ’tis to obey:
But I would give a crown in open day;
And, when the Spaniards their assault begin,
At once beat those without, and these within. [Exit Almanz.
Enter Abdelmelech.
Abdelm. Abdalla, hold! — There’s somewhat I intend
To speak, not as your rival, but your friend.
Abdal. If as a friend, I am obliged to hear;
And what a rival says I cannot fear.
Abdelm. Think, brave Abdalla, what it is you do:
Your quiet, honour, and our friendship too,
All for a fickle beauty you forego.
Think, and turn back, before it be too late.
Behold in me the example of your fate:
I am your sea-mark; and, though wrecked and lost,
My ruins stand to warn you from the coast.
Abdal. Your counsels, noble Abdelmelech, move
My reason to accept them, not my love.
Ah, why did heaven leave man so weak defence,
To trust frail reason with the rule of sense!
’Tis over-poised and kicked up in the air,
While sense weighs down the scale, and keeps it there;
Or, like a captive king, ’tis borne away,
And forced to countenance its own rebels’ sway.
Abdelm. No, no; our reason was not vainly lent;
Nor is a slave, but by its own consent:
If reason on his subject’s triumph wait,
An easy king deserves no better fate.
Abdal. You speak too late; my empire’s lost too far:
I cannot fight.
Abdelm. Then make a flying war;
Dislodge betimes, before you are beset.
Abdal. Her tears, her smiles, her every look’s a net.
Her voice is like a Syren’s of the land;
And bloody hearts lie panting in her hand.
Abdelm. This do you know, and tempt the danger still?
Abdal. Love, like a lethargy, has seized my will.
I’m not myself, since from her sight I went;
I lean my trunk that way, and there stand bent.
As one, who, in some frightful dream, would shun
His pressing foe, labours in vain to run;
And his own slowness, in his sleep, bemoans,
With thick short sighs, weak cries, and tender groans,
So I —
Abdelm. Some friend, in charity, should shake,
And rouse, and call you loudly till you wake.
Too well I know her blandishments to gain,
Usurper-like, till settled in her reign;
Then proudly she insults, and gives you cares,
And jealousies, short hopes, and long despairs.
To this hard yoke you must hereafter bow,
Howe’er she shines all golden to you now.
Abdul. Like him, who on the ice
Slides swiftly on, and sees the water near,
Yet cannot stop himself in his career,
So am I carried. This enchanted place,
Like Circe’s isle, is peopled with a race
Of dogs and swine; yet, though their fate I know,
I look with pleasure, and am turning too. [Lyndaraxa passes over the Stage.
Abdelm. Fly, fly, before the allurements of her face,
Ere she return with some resistless grace,
And with new magic cover all the place.
Abdal. I cannot, will not, — nay, I would not fly:
I’ll love, be blind, be cozened till I die;
And you, who bid me wiser counsel take,
I’ll hate, and, if I can, I’ll kill you for her sake.
Abdelm. Even I, that counselled you, that choice approve:
I’ll hate you blindly, and her blindly love.
Prudence, that stemmed the stream, is out of breath:
And to go down it is the easier death.
Lyndaraxa re-enters, and smiles on Abdalla.
[Exit Abdalla.
Abdelm. That smile on Prince Abdalla seems to say,
You are not in your killing mood to day:
Men brand, indeed, your sex with cruelty,
But you are too good to see poor lovers die.
This god-like pity in you I extol;
And more, because, like heaven’s, ’tis general.
Lyndar. My smile implies not that I grant his suit:
’Twas but a bare return of his salute.
Abdelm. It said, you were engaged, and I in place;
But, to please both, you would divide the grace.
Lyndar. You’ve cause to be contented with your part,
When he has but the look, and you the heart.
Abdelm. In giving but that look, you give what’s mine:
I’ll not one corner of a glance resign.
All’s mine; and I am covetous of my store:
I have not love enough, I’ll tax you more.
Lyndar. I gave not love; ’twas but civility:
He is a prince; that’s due to his degree.
Abdelm. That prince you smiled on is my rival still,
And should, if me you loved, be treated ill.
Lyndar. I know not how to show so rude a spite.
Abdelm. That is, you know not how to love aright;
Or, if you did, you would more difference see
Betwixt our souls, than ‘twixt our quality.
Mark, if his birth makes any difference,
If to his words it adds one grain of sense.
That duty, which his birth can make his due,
I’ll pay, but it shall not be paid by you:
For, if a prince courts her whom I adore,
He is my rival, and a prince no more.
Lyndar. And when did I my power so far resign.
That you should regulate each look of mine?
Abdelm. Then, when you gave your love, you gave that power.
Lyndar. ’Twas during pleasure, ’tis revoked this hour.
Now, call me false, and rail on womankind, —
’Tis all the remedy you’re like to find.
Abdelm. Yes, there’s one more;
I’ll hate you, and this visit is my last.
Lyndar. Do’t, if you can; you know I hold you fast:
Yet, for your quiet, would you could resign
Your love, as easily as I do mine.
Abdelm. Furies and hell, how unconcerned she speaks!
With what indifference all her vows she breaks!
