John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Arim. My duty must excuse me, sir, from blame.

  A guard there!

  Enter Guards.

  Aur. Slave, for me?

  Arim. My orders are

  To seize this princess, whom the laws of war

  Long since made prisoner.

  Aur. Villain!

  Arim. Sir, I know

  Your birth, nor durst another call me so.

  Aur. I have redeemed her; and, as mine, she’s free.

  Arim. You may have right to give her liberty;

  But with your father, sir, that right dispute;

  For his commands to me were absolute,

  If she disclosed his love, to use the right

  Of war, and to secure her from your sight.

  Aur. I’ll rescue her, or die.[Draws.

  And you, my friends, though few, are yet too brave,

  To see your general’s mistress made a slave.[All draw.

  Ind. Hold, my dear love! if so much power there lies,

  As once you owned, in Indamora’s eyes,

  Lose not the honour you have early won,

  But stand the blameless pattern of a son.

  My love your claim inviolate secures;

  ’Tis writ in fate, I can be only yours.

  My sufferings for you make your heart my due;

  Be worthy me, as I am worthy you.

  Aur. I’ve thought, and blessed be you who gave me time; [Putting up his Sword.

  My virtue was surprised into a crime.

  Strong virtue, like strong nature, struggles still;

  Exerts itself, and then throws off the ill.

  I to a son’s and lover’s praise aspire,

  And must fulfil the parts which both require.

  How dear the cure of jealousy has cost!

  With too much care and tenderness you’re lost.

  So the fond youth from hell redeemed his prize,

  Till, looking back, she vanished from his eyes! [Exeunt severally.

  ACT II.

  SCENE I.

  Betwixt the Acts, a warlike Tune is played, shooting of Guns and shouts of Soldiers are heard, as in an Assault.

  Aureng-Zebe, Arimant, Asaph Chan, Fazel Chan, and Solyman.

  Aur. What man could do, was by Morat performed;

  The fortress thrice himself in person stormed.

  Your valour bravely did the assault sustain,

  And filled the moats and ditches with the slain;

  ‘Till, mad with rage, into the breach he fired,

  Slew friends and foes, and in the smoke retired.

  Arim. To us you give what praises are not due;

  Morat was thrice repulsed, but thrice by you.

  High, over all, was your great conduct shown;

  You sought our safety, but forgot your own.

  Asaph. Their standard, planted on the battlement,

  Despair and death among the soldiers sent;

  You the bold Omrah tumbled from the wall,

  And shouts of victory pursued his fall.

  Fazel. To you alone we owe this prosperous day;

  Our wives and children rescued from the prey:

  Know your own interest, sir; where’er you lead,

  We jointly vow to own no other head.

  Solym. Your wrongs are known. Impose but your commands,

  This hour shall bring you twenty thousand hands.

  Aur. Let them, who truly would appear my friends,

  Employ their swords, like mine, for noble ends.

  No more: Remember you have bravely done;

  Shall treason end what loyalty begun?

  I own no wrongs; some grievance I confess;

  But kings, like gods, at their own time redress.

  Yet, some becoming boldness I may use;

  I’ve well deserved, nor will he now refuse.[Aside.

  I’ll strike my fortunes with him at a heat,

  And give him not the leisure to forget. [Exit, attended by the Omrahs.

  Arim. Oh! Indamora, hide these fatal eyes!

  Too deep they wound whom they too soon surprise;

  My virtue, prudence, honour, interest, all

  Before this universal monarch fall.

  Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray;

  Who can tread sure on the smooth slippery way?

  Pleased with the passage, we slide swiftly on,

  And see the dangers which we cannot shun.

  To him Indamora.

  Ind. I hope my liberty may reach thus far;

  These terrace walks within my limits are.

  I came to seek you, and to let you know,

  How much I to your generous pity owe.

  The king, when he designed you for my guard,

  Resolved he would not make my bondage hard:

  If otherwise, you have deceived his end;

  And whom he meant a guardian, made a friend.

  Arim. A guardian’s title I must own with shame;

  But should be prouder of another name.

  Ind. And therefore ’twas I changed that name before;

  I called you friend, and could you wish for more?

  Arim. I dare not ask for what you would not grant.

  But wishes, madam, are extravagant;

  They are not bounded with things possible:

  I may wish more than I presume to tell.

  Desire’s the vast extent of human mind;

  It mounts above, and leaves poor hope behind.

  I could wish —

  Ind. What?

  Arim. Why did you speak? you’ve dashed my fancy quite,

  Even in the approaching minute of delight.

  I must take breath,

  Ere I the rapture of my wish renew,

  And tell you then, — it terminates in you.

  Ind. Have you considered what the event would be?

  Or know you, Arimant, yourself, or me?

  Were I no queen, did you my beauty weigh,

  My youth in bloom, your age in its decay?

  Arim. I, my own judge, condemned myself before;

  For pity aggravate my crime no more!

  So weak I am, I with a frown am slain;

  You need have used but half so much disdain.

  Ind. I am not cruel yet to that degree;

  Have better thoughts both of yourself and me.

  Beauty a monarch is,

  Which kingly power magnificently proves,

  By crowds of slaves, and peopled empire loves:

  And such a slave as you what queen would lose?

  Above the rest, I Arimant would chuse,

  For counsel, valour, truth, and kindness too;

  All I could wish in man, I find in you.

  Arim. What lover could to greater joy be raised?

  I am, methinks, a god, by you thus praised.

  Ind. To what may not desert like yours pretend?

  You have all qualities, that fit a friend.

  Arim. So mariners mistake the promised coast;

  And, with full sails, on the blind rocks are lost.

  Think you my aged veins so faintly beat,

  They rise no higher than to friendship’s heat?

  So weak your charms, that, like a winter’s night,

  Twinkling with stars, they freeze me, while they light?

  Ind. Mistake me not, good Arimant; I know

  My beauty’s power, and what my charms can do.

  You your own talent have not learned so well;

  But practise one, where you can ne’er excel.

  You can, at most,

  To an indifferent lover’s praise pretend;

  But you would spoil an admirable friend.

  Arim. Never was amity so highly prized,

  Nor ever any love so much despised.

  Even to myself ridiculous I grow,

  And would be angry, if I knew but how.

  Ind. Do not. Your anger, like your love, is vain;

  Whene’er I please, you must be pleased again.

>   Knowing what power I have your will to bend,

  I’ll use it; for I need just such a friend.

  You must perform, not what you think is fit;

  But to whatever I propose submit.

  Arim. Madam, you have a strange ascendant gained;

  You use me like a courser, spurred and reined:

  If I fly out, my fierceness you command,

  Then sooth, and gently stroke me with your hand.

  Impose; but use your power of taxing well;

  When subjects cannot pay, they soon rebel.

  Enter the Emperor, unseen by them.

  Ind. My rebel’s punishment would easy prove;

  You know you’re in my power, by making love.

  Arim. Would I, without dispute, your will obey,

  And could you, in return, my life betray?

  Emp. What danger, Arimant, is this you fear?

  Or what love-secret, which I must not hear?

  These altered looks some inward motion show:

  His cheeks are pale, and yours with blushes glow.[To her.

  Ind. ’Tis what, with justice, may my anger move;

  He has been bold, and talked to me of love.

  Arim. I am betrayed, and shall be doomed to die.[Aside.

  Emp. Did he, my slave, presume to look so high?

  That crawling insect, who from mud began,

  Warmed by my beams, and kindled into man?

  Durst he, who does but for my pleasure live,

  Intrench on love, my great prerogative?

  Print his base image on his sovereign’s coin?

  ’Tis treason if he stamp his love with mine.

  Arim. ’Tis true, I have been bold, but if it be

  A crime —

  Ind. He means, ’tis only so to me.

  You, sir, should praise, what I must disapprove.

  He insolently talked to me of love;

  But, sir, ’twas yours, he made it in your name;

  You, if you please, may all he said disclaim.

  Emp. I must disclaim whate’er he can express;

  His groveling sense will show my passion less:

  But stay, — if what he said my message be,

  What fear, what danger, could arrive from me?

  He said, he feared you would his life betray.

  Ind. Should he presume again, perhaps I may.

  Though in your hands he hazard not his life,

  Remember, sir, your fury of a wife;

  Who, not content to be revenged on you,

  The agents of your passion will pursue.

  Emp. If I but hear her named, I’m sick that day;

  The sound is mortal, and frights life away. —

  Forgive me, Arimant, my jealous thought:

  Distrust in lovers is the tenderest fault.

  Leave me, and tell thyself, in my excuse,

  Love, and a crown, no rivalship can bear;

  And precious things are still possessed with fear. [Exit Arimant, bowing.

  This, madam, my excuse to you may plead;

  Love should forgive the faults, which love has made.

  Ind. From me, what pardon can you hope to have,

  Robbed of my love, and treated as a slave?

  Emp. Force is the last relief which lovers find;

  And ’tis the best excuse of woman-kind.

  Ind. Force never yet a generous heart did gain;

  We yield on parley, but are stormed in vain.

  Constraint in all things makes the pleasure less;

  Sweet is the love which comes with willingness.

  Emp. No; ’tis resistance that inflames desire,

  Sharpens the darts of love, and blows his fire.

  Love is disarmed, that meets with too much ease;

  He languishes, and does not care to please:

  And therefore ’tis, your golden fruit you guard

  With so much care, — to make possession hard.

  Ind. Was’t not enough, you took my crown away,

  But cruelly you must my love betray?

  I was well pleased to have transferred my right,

  And better changed your claim of lawless might,

  By taking him, whom you esteemed above

  Your other sons, and taught me first to love.

  Emp. My son by my command his course must steer:

  I bade him love, I bid him now forbear.

  If you have any kindness for him still,

  Advise him not to shock a father’s will.

  Ind. Must I advise?

  Then let me see him, and I’ll try to obey.

  Emp. I had forgot, and dare not trust your way.

  But send him word,

  He has not here an army to command:

  Remember, he and you are in my hand.

  Ind. Yes, in a father’s hand, whom he has served,

  And, with the hazard of his life, preserved.

  But piety to you, unhappy prince,

  Becomes a crime, and duty an offence;

  Against yourself you with your foes combine,

  And seem your own destruction to design.

  Emp. You may be pleased your politics to spare;

  I’m old enough, and can myself take care.

  Ind. Advice from me was, I confess, too bold:

  You’re old enough; it may be, sir, too old.

  Emp. You please yourself with your contempt of age;

  But love, neglected, will convert to rage.

  If on your head my fury does not turn,

  Thank that fond dotage which so much you scorn;

  But, in another’s person, you may prove,

  There’s warmth for vengeance left, though not for love.

  Re-enter Arimant.

  Arim. The empress has the antichambers past,

  And this way moves with a disordered haste:

  Her brows the stormy marks of anger bear.

  Emp. Madam, retire; she must not find you here. [Exit Indamora with Arimant.

  Enter Nourmahal hastily.

  Nour. What have I done, that Nourmahal must prove

  The scorn and triumph of a rival’s love?

  My eyes are still the same; each glance, each grace,

  Keep their first lustre, and maintain their place;

  Not second yet to any other face.

  Emp. What rage transports you? Are you well awake?

  Such dreams distracted minds in fevers make.

  Nour. Those fevers you have given, those dreams have bred,

  By broken faith, and an abandoned bed.

  Such visions hourly pass before my sight,

  Which from my eyes their balmy slumbers fright,

  In the severest silence of the night;

  Visions, which in this citadel are seen, —

  Bright glorious visions of a rival queen.

  Emp. Have patience, — my first flames can ne’er decay;

  These are but dreams, and soon will pass away;

  Thou know’st, my heart, my empire, all is thine.

  In thy own heaven of love serenely shine;

  Fair as the face of nature did appear,

  When flowers first peep’d, and trees did blossoms bear,

  And winter had not yet deformed the inverted year;

  Calm as the breath which fans our eastern groves,

  And bright as when thy eyes first lighted up our loves.

  Let our eternal peace be sealed by this,

  With the first ardour of a nuptial kiss.[Offers to kiss her.

  Nour. Me would you have, — me your faint kisses prove,

  The dregs and droppings of enervate love?

  Must I your cold long-labouring age sustain,

  And be to empty joys provoked in vain?

  Receive you, sighing after other charms,

  And take an absent husband in my arms?

  Emp. Even these reproaches I can bear from you;

  You doubted of my love, believe it true:

  Nothing but love this patience coul
d produce,

  And I allow your rage that kind excuse.

  Nour. Call it not patience; ’tis your guilt stands mute;

  You have a cause too foul to bear dispute.

  You wrong me first, and urge my rage to rise:

  Then I must pass for mad; you, meek and wise.

  Good man! plead merit by your soft replies.

  Vain privilege poor women have of tongue;

  Men can stand silent, and resolve on wrong.

  Emp. What can I more? my friendship you refuse.

  And even my mildness, as my crime, accuse.

  Nour. Your sullen silence cheats not me, false man;

  I know you think the bloodiest things you can.

  Could you accuse me, you would raise your voice,

  Watch for my crimes, and in my guilt rejoice:

  But my known virtue is from scandal free,

  And leaves no shadow for your calumny.

  Emp. Such virtue is the plague of human life;

  A virtuous woman, but a cursed wife.

  In vain of pompous chastity you’re proud;

  Virtue’s adultery of the tongue, when loud.

  I, with less pain, a prostitute could bear,

  Than the shrill sound of— “Virtue! virtue!” hear.

  In unchaste wives

  There’s yet a kind of recompensing ease;

  Vice keeps them humble, gives them care to please;

  But against clamorous virtue, what defence?

  It stops our mouths, and gives your noise pretence.

  Nour. Since virtue does your indignation raise,

  ’Tis pity but you had that wife you praise:

  Your own wild appetites are prone to range,

  And then you tax our humours with your change.

  Emp. What can be sweeter than our native home?

  Thither for ease and soft repose we come:

  Home is the sacred refuge of our life;

  Secured from all approaches, but a wife.

  If thence we fly, the cause admits no doubt;

  None but an inmate foe could force us out:

  Clamours our privacies uneasy make;

  Birds leave their nests disturbed, and beasts their haunts forsake.

  Nour. Honour’s my crime, that has your loathing bred;

  You take no pleasure in a virtuous bed.

  Emp. What pleasure can there be in that estate,

  Which your unquietness has made me hate?

  I shrink far off,

  Dissembling sleep, but wakeful with the fright;

  The day takes off the pleasure of the night.

  Nour. My thoughts no other joys but power pursue;

  Or, if they did, they must be lost in you.

  And yet the fault’s not mine,

  Though youth and beauty cannot warmth command;

  The sun in vain shines on the barren sand.

  Emp. ’Tis true, of marriage-bands I’m weary grown;