John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

Shall henceforth show I am. Behold my eyes,

  And see a father there begin to flow:

  This is not feigned, Palmyra.

  Palm. I doubt no longer, sir; you are a king,

  And cannot lie: Falsehood’s a vice too base

  To find a room in any royal breast.

  I know, in spite of my unworthiness,

  I am your child; for when you would have killed me,

  Methought I loved you then.

  Arga. Sir, we forget the prince Leonidas;

  His greatness should not stand neglected thus.

  Poly. Guards, you may now retire; Give him his sword,

  And leave him free.

  Leon. Then the first use I make of liberty

  Shall be, with your permission, mighty sir,

  To pay that reverence to which nature binds me. [Kneels to Hermogenes.

  Arga. Sure you forget your birth, thus to misplace

  This act of your obedience; you should kneel

  To nothing but to heaven, and to a king.

  Leon. I never shall forget what nature owes,

  Nor be ashamed to pay it; though my father

  Be not a king, I know him brave and honest,

  And well deserving of a worthier son.

  Poly. He bears it gallantly.

  Leon. Why would you not instruct me, sir, before,

  [To Herm. Where I should place my duty?

  From which, if ignorance have made me swerve,

  I beg your pardon for an erring son.

  Palm. I almost grieve I am a princess, since

  It makes him lose a crown.

  Leon. And next, to you, my king, thus low I kneel,

  To implore your mercy; if in that small time

  I had the honour to be thought your son,

  I paid not strict obedience to your will.

  I thought, indeed, I should not be compelled,

  But thought it as your son; so what I took

  In duty from you, I restored in courage;

  Because your son should not be forced.

  Poly. You have my pardon for it.

  Leon. To you, fair princess, I congratulate

  Your birth; of which I ever thought you worthy:

  And give me leave to add, that I am proud

  The gods have picked me out to be the man,

  By whose dejected fate yours is to rise;

  Because no man could more desire your fortune,

  Or franklier part with his, to make you great.

  Palm. I know the king, though you are not his son,

  Will still regard you as my foster-brother,

  And so conduct you downward from a throne,

  By slow degrees, so unperceived and soft,

  That it may seem no fall: Or, if it be,

  May fortune lay a bed of down beneath you!

  Poly. He shall be ranked with my nobility,

  And kept from scorn by a large pension given him.

  Leon. You are all great and royal in your gifts; [Bowing.

  But at the donor’s feet I lay them down:

  Should I take riches from you, it would seem

  As I did want a soul to bear that poverty,

  To which the gods designed my humble birth:

  And should I take your honours without merit,

  It would appear, I wanted manly courage

  To hope them, in your service, from my sword.

  Poly. Still brave, and like yourself.

  The court shall shine this night in its full splendour,

  And celebrate this new discovery.

  Argaleon, lead my daughter: As we go,

  I shall have time to give her my commands,

  In which you are concerned. [Exeunt all but Leonidas.

  Leon. Methinks, I do not want

  That huge long train of fawning followers,

  That swept a furlong after me.

  ’Tis true I am alone;

  So was the godhead, ere he made the world,

  And better served himself, than served by nature.

  And yet I have a soul

  Above this humble fate. I could command,

  Love to do good, give largely to true merit,

  All that a king should do: But though these are not

  My province, I have scene enough within,

  To exercise my virtue.

  All that a heart, so fixed as mine, can move,

  Is, that my niggard fortune starves my love. [Exit.

  SCENE II.

  Palamede and Doralice meet: She, with a book in her hand, seems to start at the sight of him.

  Dor. ’Tis a strange thing that no warning will serve your turn; and that no retirement will secure me from your impertinent addresses! Did not I tell you, that I was to be private here at my devotions?

  Pala. Yes; and you see I have observed my cue exactly: I am come to relieve you from them. Come, shut up, shut up your book; the man’s come who is to supply all your necessities.

  Dor. Then, it seems, you are so impudent to think it was an assignation? This, I warrant, was your lewd interpretation of my innocent meaning.

  Pala. Venus forbid, that I should harbour so unreasonable a thought of a fair young lady, that you should lead me hither into temptation. I confess, I might think indeed it was a kind of honourable challenge, to meet privately without seconds, and decide the difference betwixt the two sexes; but heaven forgive me, if I thought amiss.

  Dor. You thought too, I’ll lay my life on’t, that you might as well make love to me, as my husband does to your mistress.

  Pala. I was so unreasonable to think so too.

  Dor. And then you wickedly inferred, that there was some justice in the revenge of it; or, at least, but little injury for a man to endeavour to enjoy that, which he accounts a blessing, and which is not valued as it ought by the dull possessor. Confess your wickedness, — did you not think so?

  Pala. I confess I was thinking so, as fast as I could; but you think so much before me, that you will let me think nothing.

  Dor. ’Tis the very thing that I designed; I have forestalled all your arguments, and left you without a word more, to plead for mercy. If you have any thing farther to offer, ere sentence pass — Poor animal, I brought you hither only for my diversion.

  Pala. That you may have, if you’ll make use of me the right way; but I tell thee, woman, I am now past talking.

  Dor. But it may be, I came hither to hear what fine things you could say for yourself.

  Pala. You would be very angry, to my knowledge, if I should lose so much time to say many of them. — By this hand you would!

  Dor. Fye, Palamede, I am a woman of honour.

  Pala. I see you are; you have kept touch with your assignation: And before we part, you shall find that I am a man of honour. Yet I have one scruple of conscience —

  Dor. I warrant you will not want some naughty argument, or other, to satisfy yourself. — I hope you are afraid of betraying your friend?

  Pala. Of betraying my friend! I am more afraid of being betrayed by you to my friend. You women now are got into the way of telling first yourselves: A man, who has any care of his reputation, will be loth to trust it with you.

  Dor. O, you charge your faults upon our sex! You men are like cocks; you never make love, but you clap your wings, and crow when you have done.

  Pala. Nay, rather you women are like hens; you never lay, but you cackle an hour after, to discover your nest. — But I’ll venture it for once.

  Dor. To convince you that you are in the wrong, I’ll retire into the dark grotto, to my devotion, and make so little noise, that it shall be impossible for you to find me.

  Pala. But if I find you —

  Dor. Ay, if you find me — But I’ll put you to search in more corners than you imagine.

  [She runs in, and he after her.

  Enter Rhodophil and Melantha.

  Mel. Let me die, but this solitude, and that grotto are scandalous; I’ll go no further; besides, you have a sweet lady
of your own.

  Rho. But a sweet mistress, now and then, makes my sweet lady so much more sweet.

  Mel. I hope you will not force me?

  Rho. But I will, if you desire it.

  Pala. [Within.] Where the devil are you, madam? ‘Sdeath, I begin to be weary of this hide and seek: If you stay a little longer, till the fit’s over, I’ll hide in my turn, and put you to the finding me. [He enters, and sees Rhodophil and Melantha.] How! Rhodophil and my mistress!

  Mel. My servant, to apprehend me! this is surprenant au dernier.

  Rho. I must on; there’s nothing but impudence can help me out.

  Pala. Rhodophil, how came you hither in so good company?

  Rho. As you see, Palamede; an effect of pure friendship; I was not able to live without you.

  Pala. But what makes my mistress with you?

  Rho. Why, I heard you were here alone, and could not in civility but bring her to you.

  Mel. You’ll pardon the effects of a passion which I may now avow for you, if it transported me beyond the rules of bienseance.

  Pala. But, who told you I was here? they, that told you that, may tell you more, for aught I know.

  Rho. O, for that matter, we had intelligence.

  Pala. But let me tell you, we came hither so very privately, that you could not trace us. Rho. Us! what us? you are alone.

  Pala. Us! the devil’s in me for mistaking: — me, I meant. Or us, that is, you are me, or I you, as we are friends: That’s us.

  Dor. Palamede, Palamede! [Within.

  Rho. I should know that voice; who’s within there, that calls you?

  Pala. Faith, I can’t imagine; I believe the place is haunted.

  Dor. Palamede, Palamede, all-cocks hidden. [Within.

  Pala. Lord, Lord, what shall I do? — Well, dear friend, to let you see I scorn to be jealous, and that I dare trust my mistress with you, take her back, for I would not willingly have her frighted, and I am resolved to see who’s there; I’ll not be daunted with a bugbear, that’s certain: — Prithee, dispute it not, it shall be so; nay do not put me to swear, but go quickly: There’s an effort of pure friendship for you now.

  Enter Doralice, and looks amazed, seeing them.

  Rho. Doralice! I am thunder-struck to see you here.

  Pala. So am I! quite thunder-struck. Was it you, that called me within? — I must be impudent.

  Rho. How came you hither, spouse?

  Pala. Ay, how came you hither? And, which is more, how could you be here without my knowledge?

  Dor. [To her husband.] O, gentlemen, have I caught you i’faith! have I broke forth in ambush upon you! I thought my suspicions would prove true.

  Rho. Suspicions! this is very fine, spouse! Prithee, what suspicions?

  Dor. O, you feign ignorance: Why, of you and Melantha; here have I staid these two hours, waiting with all the rage of a passionate, loving wife, but infinitely jealous, to take you two in the manner; for hither I was certain you would come.

  Rho. But you are mistaken, spouse, in the occasion; for we came hither on purpose to find Palamede, on intelligence he was gone before.

  Pala. I’ll be hanged then, if the same party, who gave you intelligence I was here, did not tell your wife you would come hither. Now I smell the malice on’t on both sides.

  Dor. Was it so, think you? nay, then, I’ll confess my part of the malice too. As soon as ever I spied my husband and Melantha come together, I had a strange temptation to make him jealous in revenge; and that made me call Palamede, Palamede! as though there had been an intrigue between us.

  Mel. Nay, I avow, there was an appearance of an intrigue between us too.

  Pala. To see how things will come about!

  Rho. And was it only thus, my dear Doralice? [Embrace.

  Dor. And did I wrong n’own Rhodophil, with a false suspicion? [Embracing him.

  Pala. [Aside.] Now I am confident we had all four the same design: ’Tis a pretty odd kind of game this, where each of us plays for double stakes: This is just thrust and parry with the same motion; I am to get his wife, and yet to guard my own mistress. But I am vilely suspicious, that, while I conquer in the right wing, I shall be routed in the left; for both our women will certainly betray their party, because they are each of them for gaining of two, as well as we; and I much fear.

  If their necessities and ours were known,

  They have more need of two, than we of one. [Exeunt, embracing one another.

  ACT IV.

  SCENE I.

  Enter Leonidas, musing; Amalthea, following him.

  Amal. Yonder he is; and I must speak or die;

  And yet ’tis death to speak: yet he must know

  I have a passion for him, and may know it

  With a less blush; because to offer it

  To his low fortunes, shows I loved before,

  His person, not his greatness.

  Leon. First scorned, and now commanded from the court!

  The king is good; but he is wrought to this

  By proud Argaleon’s malice.

  What more disgrace can love and fortune join

  To inflict upon one man? I cannot now

  Behold my dear Palmyra: She, perhaps, too,

  Is grown ashamed of a mean ill-placed love.

  Amal. Assist me, Venus, for I tremble when

  I am to speak, but I must force myself. [Aside.

  Sir, I would crave but one short minute with you,

  And some few words.

  Leon. The proud Argaleon’s sister! [Aside.

  Amal. Alas! it will not out; Shame stops my mouth. [Aside.

  Pardon my error, sir; I was mistaken,

  And took you for another.

  Leon. In spite of all his guards, I’ll see Palmyra; [Aside.

  Though meanly born, I have a kingly soul.

  Amal. I stand upon a precipice, where fain

  I would retire, but love still thrusts me on:

  Now I grow bolder, and will speak to him. [Aside.

  Sir, ’tis indeed to you that I would speak,

  And if —

  Leon. O, you are sent to scorn my fortunes?

  Your sex and beauty are your privilege;

  But should your brother —

  Amal. Now he looks angry, and I dare not speak.

  I had some business with you, sir,

  But ’tis not worth your knowledge.

  Leon. Then ‘twill be charity to let me mourn

  My griefs alone, for I am much disordered.

  Amal. ‘Twill be more charity to mourn them with you:

  Heaven knows I pity you.

  Leon. Your pity, madam,

  Is generous, but ’tis unavailable.

  Amal. You know not till ’tis tried.

  Your sorrows are no secret; you have lost

  A crown, and mistress.

  Leon. Are not these enough?

  Hang two such weights on any other soul,

  And see if it can bear them.

  Amal. More; you are banished, by my brother’s means,

  And ne’er must hope again to see your princess;

  Except as prisoners view fair walks and streets,

  And careless passengers going by their grates,

  To make them feel the want of liberty.

  But, worse than all,

  The king this morning has enjoined his daughter

  To accept my brother’s love.

  Leon. Is this your pity?

  You aggravate my griefs, and print them deeper,

  In new and heavier stamps.

  Amal. ’Tis as physicians show the desperate ill,

  To endear their art, by mitigating pains

  They cannot wholly cure: When you despair

  Of all you wish, some part of it, because

  Unhoped for, may be grateful; and some other —

  Leon. What other?

  Amal. Some other may —

  My shame again has seized me, and I can go [Aside.

  No fart
her.

  Leon. These often failing sighs and interruptions

  Make me imagine you have grief like mine:

  Have you ne’er loved?

  Amal. I? never!— ’Tis in vain:

  I must despair in silence. [Aside.

  Leon. You come, as I suspected then, to mock,

  At least observe, my griefs: Take it not ill,

  That I must leave you. [Is going.

  Amal. You must not go with these unjust opinions.

  Command my life and fortunes: you are wise;

  Think, and think well, what I can do to serve you.

  Leon. I have but one thing in my thoughts and wishes:

  If, by your means, I can obtain the sight

  Of my adored Palmyra; or, what’s harder,

  One minute’s time, to tell her, I die hers — [She starts back.

  I see I am not to expect it from you;

  Nor could, indeed, with reason.

  Amal. Name any other thing! Is Amalthea

  So despicable, she can serve your wishes

  In this alone?

  Leon. If I should ask of heaven,

  I have no other suit.

  Amal. To show you, then, I can deny you nothing,

  Though ’tis more hard to me than any other,

  Yet I will do it for you.

  Leon. Name quickly, name the means! speak, my good angel!

  Amal. Be not so much o’erjoyed; for, if you are,

  I’ll rather die than do’t. This night the court

  Will be in masquerade;

  You shall attend on me; in that disguise

  You may both see and speak to her,

  If you dare venture it.

  Leon. Yes; were a god her guardian,

  And bore in each hand thunder, I would venture.

  Amal. Farewell, then; two hours hence I will expect you: —

  My heart’s so full, that I can stay no longer. [Exit.

  Leon. Already it grows dusky: I’ll prepare

  With haste for my disguise. But who are these?

  Enter Hermogenes and Eubulus.

  Her. ’Tis he; we need not fear to speak to him.

  Eub. Leonidas?

  Leon. Sure I have known that voice.

  Her. You have some reason, sir: ’tis Eubulus,

  Who bred you with the princess; and, departing,

  Bequeathed you to my care.

  Leon. My foster-father! let my knees express

  My joys for your return! [Kneeling.

  Eub. Rise, sir; you must not kneel.

  Leon. E’er since you left me,

  I have been wandering in a maze of fate,

  Led by false fires of a fantastic glory,