John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  His father’s cause upon his sword he wears,

  And with his arms, we hope, his fortune bears.

  Solym. Two vast rewards may well his courage move,

  A parent’s blessing, and a mistress’ love.

  If he succeed, his recompence, we hear,

  Must be the captive queen of Cassimere.

  To them Abas.

  Abas. Mischiefs on mischiefs, greater still, and more!

  The neighbouring plain with arms is covered o’er:

  The vale an iron-harvest seems to yield,

  Of thick-sprung lances in a waving field.

  The polished steel gleams terribly from far,

  And every moment nearer shows the war.

  The horses’ neighing by the wind is blown,

  And castled-elephants o’er-look the town.

  Arim. If, as I fear, Morat these powers commands,

  Our empire on the brink of ruin stands:

  The ambitious empress with her son is joined,

  And, in his brother’s absence, has designed

  The unprovided town to take with ease,

  And then the person of the king to seize.

  Solym. To all his former issue she has shown

  Long hate, and laboured to advance her own.

  Abas. These troops are his.

  Surat he took; and thence, preventing fame,

  By quick and painful marches hither came.

  Since his approach, he to his mother sent,

  And two long hours in close debate were spent.

  Arim. I’ll to my charge, the citadel, repair,

  And show my duty by my timely care.

  To them the Emperor, with a letter in his hand: After him, an Ambassador, with a train following.

  Asaph. But see, the emperor! a fiery red

  His brows and glowing temples does o’erspread;

  Morat has some displeasing message sent.

  Amb. Do not, great sir, misconstrue his intent;

  Nor call rebellion what was prudent care,

  To guard himself by necessary war:

  While he believed you living, he obeyed;

  His governments but as your viceroy swayed:

  But, when he thought you gone

  To augment the number of the blessed above,

  He deemed them legacies of royal love:

  Nor armed, his brothers’ portions to invade,

  But to defend the present you had made.

  Emp. By frequent messages, and strict commands,

  He knew my pleasure to discharge his bands:

  Proof of my life my royal signet made;

  Yet still he armed, came on, and disobeyed.

  Amb. He thought the mandate forged, your death concealed;

  And but delayed, till truth should be revealed.

  Emp. News of my death from rumour he received;

  And what he wished, he easily believed:

  But long demurred, though from my hand he knew

  I lived, so loth he was to think it true.

  Since he pleads ignorance to that command,

  Now let him show his duty, and disband.

  Amb. His honour, sir, will suffer in the cause;

  He yields his arms unjust, if he withdraws:

  And begs his loyalty may be declared,

  By owning those he leads to be your guard.

  Emp. I, in myself, have all the guard I need!

  Bid the presumptuous boy draw off with speed:

  If his audacious troops one hour remain,

  My cannon from the fort shall scour the plain.

  Amb. Since you deny him entrance, he demands

  His wife, whom cruelly you hold in bands:

  Her, if unjustly you from him detain,

  He justly will, by force of arms, regain.

  Emp. O’er him and his a right from Heaven I have;

  Subject and son, he’s doubly born my slave.

  But whatsoe’er his own demerits are,

  Tell him, I shall not make on women war.

  And yet I’ll do her innocence the grace,

  To keep her here, as in the safer place.

  But thou, who dar’st this bold defiance bring,

  May’st feel the rage of an offended king.

  Hence, from my sight, without the least reply!

  One word, nay one look more, and thou shalt die. [Exit Ambassador.

  Re-enter Arimant.

  Arim. May heaven, great monarch, still augment your bliss

  With length of days, and every day like this!

  For, from the banks of Gemna news is brought,

  Your army has a bloody battle fought:

  Darah from loyal Aureng-Zebe is fled,

  And forty thousand of his men lie dead.

  To Sujah next your conquering army drew;

  Him they surprised, and easily o’erthrew.

  Emp. ’Tis well.

  Arim. But well! what more could at your wish be done,

  Than two such conquests gained by such a son?

  Your pardon, mighty sir;

  You seem not high enough your joys to rate;

  You stand indebted a vast sum to fate,

  And should large thanks for the great blessing pay.

  Emp. My fortune owes me greater every day;

  And should my joy more high for this appear,

  It would have argued me, before, of fear.

  How is heaven kind, where I have nothing won,

  And fortune only pays me with my own?

  Arim. Great Aureng-Zebe did duteous care express,

  And durst not push too far his good success;

  But, lest Morat the city should attack,

  Commanded his victorious army back;

  Which, left to march as swiftly as they may,

  Himself comes first, and will be here this day,

  Before a close-formed siege shut up his way.

  Emp. Prevent his purpose! hence, with all thy speed!

  Stop him; his entrance to the town forbid.

  Arim. How, sir? your loyal, your victorious son?

  Emp. Him would I, more than all the rebels, shun.

  Arim. Whom with your power and fortune, sir, you trust.

  Now to suspect is vain, as ’tis unjust.

  He comes not with a train to move your fear,

  But trusts himself to be a prisoner here.

  You knew him brave, you know him faithful now:

  He aims at fame, but fame from serving you.

  ’Tis said, ambition in his breast does rage:

  Who would not be the hero of an age?

  All grant him prudent: Prudence interest weighs,

  And interest bids him seek your love and praise.

  I know you grateful; when he marched from hence,

  You bade him hope an ample recompence:

  He conquered in that hope; and, from your hands,

  His love, the precious pledge he left, demands.

  Emp. No more; you search too deep my wounded mind,

  And show me what I fear, and would not find.

  My son has all the debts of duty paid:

  Our prophet sends him to my present aid.

  Such virtue to distrust were base and low:

  I’m not ungrateful — or I was not so!

  Inquire no farther, stop his coming on:

  I will not, cannot, dare not, see my son.

  Arim. ’Tis now too late his entrance to prevent,

  Nor must I to your ruin give consent;

  At once your people’s heart, and son’s, you lose,

  And give him all, when you just things refuse.

  Emp. Thou lov’st me, sure; thy faith has oft been tried,

  In ten pitched fields not shrinking from my side,

  Yet giv’st me no advice to bring me ease.

  Arim. Can you be cured, and tell not your disease?

  I asked you, sir.

  Emp. Thou shouldst have asked again:

  There hangs a secret shame
on guilty men.

  Thou shouldst have pulled the secret from my breast,

  Torn out the bearded steel, to give me rest;

  At least, thou should’st have guessed —

  Yet thou art honest, thou couldst ne’er have guessed.

  Hast thou been never base? did love ne’er bend

  Thy frailer virtue, to betray thy friend?

  Flatter me, make thy court, and say, It did;

  Kings in a crowd would have their vices hid.

  We would be kept in count’nance, saved from shame,

  And owned by others who commit the same.

  Nay, now I have confessed.

  Thou seest me naked, and without disguise:

  I look on Aureng-Zebe with rival’s eyes.

  He has abroad my enemies o’ercome,

  And I have sought to ruin him at home.

  Arim. This free confession shows you long did strive;

  And virtue, though opprest, is still alive.

  But what success did your injustice find?

  Emp. What it deserved, and not what I designed.

  Unmoved she stood, and deaf to all my prayers,

  As seas and winds to sinking mariners.

  But seas grow calm, and winds are reconciled:

  Her tyrant beauty never grows more mild;

  Prayers, promises, and threats, were all in vain.

  Arim. Then cure yourself, by generous disdain.

  Emp. Virtue, disdain, despair, I oft have tried,

  And, foiled, have with new arms my foe defied.

  This made me with so little joy to hear

  The victory, when I the victor fear.

  Arim. Something you swiftly must resolve to do,

  Lest Aureng-Zebe your secret love should know.

  Morat without does for your ruin wait;

  And would you lose the buckler of your state?

  A jealous empress lies within your arms,

  Too haughty to endure neglected charms.

  Your son is duteous, but, as man, he’s frail,

  And just revenge o’er virtue may prevail.

  Emp. Go then to Indamora; say, from me,

  Two lives depend upon her secrecy.

  Bid her conceal my passion from my son:

  Though Aureng-Zebe return a conqueror,

  Both he and she are still within my power.

  Say, I’m a father, but a lover too;

  Much to my son, more to myself I owe.

  When she receives him, to her words give law,

  And even the kindness of her glances awe.

  See, he appears! [After a short whisper, Arimant departs.

  Enter Aureng-Zebe, Dianet, and Attendants. — Aureng-Zebe kneels to his Father, and kisses his hand.

  Aur. My vows have been successful as my sword;

  My prayers are heard, you have your health restored.

  Once more ’tis given me to behold your face;

  The best of kings and fathers to embrace.

  Pardon my tears; ’tis joy which bids them flow,

  A joy which never was sincere till now.

  That, which my conquest gave, I could not prize;

  Or ’twas imperfect till I saw your eyes.

  Emp. Turn the discourse: I have a reason why

  I would not have you speak so tenderly.

  Knew you what shame your kind expressions bring,

  You would, in pity, spare a wretched king.

  Aur. A king! you rob me, sir, of half my due;

  You have a dearer name, — a father too.

  Emp. I had that name.

  Aur. What have I said or done,

  That I no longer must be called your son?

  ’Tis in that name, heaven knows, I glory more,

  Than that of prince, or that of conqueror.

  Emp. Then you upbraid me; I am pleased to see

  You’re not so perfect, but can fail, like me.

  I have no God to deal with.

  Aur. Now I find,

  Some sly court-devil has seduced your mind;

  Filled it with black suspicions not your own,

  And all my actions through false optics shown.

  I ne’er did crowns ambitiously regard;

  Honour I sought, the generous mind’s reward.

  Long may you live! while you the sceptre sway,

  I shall be still most happy to obey.

  Emp. Oh, Aureng-Zebe! thy virtues shine too bright,

  They flash too fierce: I, like the bird of night,

  Shut my dull eyes, and sicken at the sight.

  Thou hast deserved more love than I can show;

  But ’tis thy fate to give, and mine to owe.

  Thou seest me much distempered in my mind;

  Pulled back, and then pushed forward to be kind.

  Virtue, and — fain I would my silence break,

  But have not yet the confidence to speak.

  Leave me, and to thy needful rest repair.

  Aur. Rest is not suiting with a lover’s care.

  I have not yet my Indamora seen.[Is going.

  Emp. Somewhat I had forgot; come back again:

  So weary of a father’s company?

  Aur. Sir, you were pleased yourself to license me.

  Emp. You made me no relation of the fight;

  Besides, a rebel’s army is in sight.

  Advise me first: Yet go —

  He goes to Indamora; I should take[Aside.

  A kind of envious joy to keep him back.

  Yet to detain him makes my love appear; —

  I hate his presence, and his absence fear.[Exit.

  Aur. To some new clime, or to thy native sky,

  Oh friendless and forsaken Virtue, fly!

  Thy Indian air is deadly to thee grown:

  Deceit and cankered malice rule thy throne.

  Why did my arms in battle prosperous prove,

  To gain the barren praise of filial love?

  The best of kings by women is misled,

  Charmed by the witchcraft of a second bed.

  Against myself I victories have won,

  And by my fatal absence am undone.

  To him Indamora, with Arimant.

  But here she comes!

  In the calm harbour of whose gentle breast,

  My tempest-beaten soul may safely rest.

  Oh, my heart’s joy! whate’er my sorrows be,

  They cease and vanish in beholding thee!

  Care shuns thy walks; as at the cheerful light,

  The groaning ghosts and birds obscene take flight.

  By this one view, all my past pains are paid;

  And all I have to come more easy made.

  Ind. Such sullen planets at my birth did shine,

  They threaten every fortune mixt with mine.

  Fly the pursuit of my disastrous love,

  And from unhappy neighbourhood remove.

  Aur. Bid the laborious hind,

  Whose hardened hands did long in tillage toil,

  Neglect the promised harvest of the soil.

  Should I, who cultivated love with blood,

  Refuse possession of approaching good?

  Ind. Love is an airy good, opinion makes;

  Which he, who only thinks he has, partakes:

  Seen by a strong imagination’s beam,

  That tricks and dresses up the gaudy dream:

  Presented so, with rapture ’tis enjoyed;

  Raised by high fancy, and by low destroyed.

  Aur. If love be vision, mine has all the fire,

  Which, in first dreams, young prophets does inspire:

  I dream, in you, our promised paradise:

  An age’s tumult of continued bliss.

  But you have still your happiness in doubt;

  Or else ’tis past, and you have dreamt it out.

  Ind. Perhaps not so.

  Aur. Can Indamora prove

  So altered? Is it but, perhaps you love?

  Then farewell all! I thou
ght in you to find

  A balm, to cure my much distempered mind.

  I came to grieve a father’s heart estranged;

  But little thought to find a mistress changed.

  Nature herself is changed to punish me;

  Virtue turned vice, and faith inconstancy.

  Ind. You heard me not inconstancy confess:

  ’Twas but a friend’s advice to love me less.

  Who knows what adverse fortune may befal?

  Arm well your mind: hope little, and fear all.

  Hope, with a goodly prospect, feeds your eye;

  Shows, from a rising ground, possession nigh;

  Shortens the distance, or o’erlooks it quite;

  So easy ’tis to travel with the sight.

  Aur. Then to despair you would my love betray,

  By taking hope, its last kind friend, away.

  You hold the glass, but turn the perspective,

  And farther off the lessened object drive.

  You bid me fear: In that your change I know;

  You would prepare me for the coming blow.

  But, to prevent you, take my last adieu;

  I’ll sadly tell my self you are untrue,

  Rather than stay to hear it told by you.[Going.

  Ind. Stay, Aureng-Zebe, I must not let you go, —

  And yet believe yourself your own worst foe;

  Think I am true, and seek no more to know,

  Let in my breast the fatal secret lie;

  ’Tis a sad riddle, which, if known, we die.[Seeming to pause.

  Aur. Fair hypocrite, you seek to cheat in vain;

  Your silence argues you ask time to feign.

  Once more, farewell! The snare in sight is laid,

  ’Tis my own fault if I am now betrayed.[Going again.

  Ind. Yet once more stay; you shall believe me true,

  Though in one fate I wrap myself and you.

  Your absence —

  Arim. Hold! you know the hard command,

  I must obey: You only can withstand

  Your own mishap. I beg you, on my knee,

  Be not unhappy by your own decree.

  Aur. Speak, madam; by (if that be yet an oath)

  Your love, I’m pleased we should be ruined both.

  Both is a sound of joy.

  In death’s dark bowers our bridals we will keep;

  And his cold hand

  Shall draw the curtain, when we go to sleep.

  Ind. Know then, that man, whom both of us did trust,

  Has been to you unkind, to me unjust.

  The guardian of my faith so false did prove,

  As to solicit me with lawless love:

  Prayed, promised, threatened, all that man could do;

  Base as he’s great; and need I tell you who?

  Aur. Yes; for I’ll not believe my father meant:

  Speak quickly, and my impious thoughts prevent.

  Ind. You’ve said; I wish I could some other name!