John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Speak, was’t not so? confess; I can forgive.

  Ind. Forgive! what dull excuses you prepare,

  As if your thoughts of me were worth my care!

  Aur. Ah traitress! Ah ingrate! Ah faithless mind!

  Ah sex, invented first to damn mankind!

  Nature took care to dress you up for sin;

  Adorned, without; unfinished left, within.

  Hence, by no judgment you your loves direct;

  Talk much, ne’er think, and still the wrong affect.

  So much self-love in your composure’s mixed,

  That love to others still remains unfixed:

  Greatness, and noise, and shew, are your delight;

  Yet wise men love you, in their own despite:

  And finding in their native wit no ease,

  Are forced to put your folly on, to please.

  Ind. Now you shall know what cause you have to rage;

  But to increase your fury, not assuage:

  I found the way your brother’s heart to move.

  Yet promised not the least return of love.

  His pride and brutal fierceness I abhor;

  But scorn your mean suspicions of me more.

  I owed my honour and my fame this care:

  Know what your folly lost you, and despair.[Turning from him.

  Aur. Too cruelly your innocence you tell:

  Shew heaven, and damn me to the pit of hell.

  Now I believe you; ’tis not yet too late:

  You may forgive, and put a stop to fate;

  Save me, just sinking, and no more to rise.[She frowns.

  How can you look with such relentless eyes?

  Or let your mind by penitence be moved,

  Or I’m resolved to think you never loved.

  You are not cleared, unless you mercy speak:

  I’ll think you took the occasion thus to break.

  Ind. Small jealousies, ’tis true, inflame desire;

  Too great, not fan, but quite blow out the fire:

  Yet I did love you, till such pains I bore,

  That I dare trust myself and you no more.

  Let me not love you; but here end my pain:

  Distrust may make me wretched once again.

  Now, with full sails, into the port I move,

  And safely can unlade my breast of love;

  Quiet, and calm: Why should I then go back,

  To tempt the second hazard of a wreck?

  Aur. Behold these dying eyes, see their submissive awe;

  These tears, which fear of death could never draw:

  Heard you that sigh? from my heaved heart it past,

  And said,— “If you forgive not, ’tis my last.”

  Love mounts, and rolls about my stormy mind,

  Like fire, that’s borne by a tempestuous wind.

  Oh, I could stifle you, with eager haste!

  Devour your kisses with my hungry taste!

  Rush on you! eat you! wander o’er each part,

  Raving with pleasure, snatch you to my heart!

  Then hold you off, and gaze! then, with new rage,

  Invade you, till my conscious limbs presage

  Torrents of joy, which all their banks o’erflow!

  So lost, so blest, as I but then could know!

  Ind. Be no more jealous![Giving him her hand.

  Aur. Give me cause no more:

  The danger’s greater after, than before;

  If I relapse, to cure my jealousy,

  Let me (for that’s the easiest parting) die.

  Ind. My life!

  Aur. My soul!

  Ind. My all that heaven can give!

  Death’s life with you; without you, death to live.

  To them, Arimant, hastily.

  Arim. Oh, we are lost, beyond all human aid!

  The citadel is to Morat betrayed.

  The traitor, and the treason, known too late;

  The false Abas delivered up the gate:

  Even while I speak, we’re compassed round with fate.

  The valiant cannot fight, or coward fly;

  But both in undistinguished crowds must die.

  Aur. Then my prophetic fears are come to pass:

  Morat was always bloody; now, he’s base:

  And has so far in usurpation gone,

  He will by parricide secure the throne.

  To them, the Emperor.

  Emp. Am I forsaken, and betrayed, by all?

  Not one brave man dare, with a monarch, fall?

  Then, welcome death, to cover my disgrace!

  I would not live to reign o’er such a race.

  My Aureng-Zebe![Seeing Aureng-Zebe.

  But thou no more art mine; my cruelty

  Has quite destroyed the right I had in thee.

  I have been base,

  Base even to him from whom I did receive

  All that a son could to a parent give:

  Behold me punished in the self-same kind;

  The ungrateful does a more ungrateful find.

  Aur. Accuse yourself no more; you could not be

  Ungrateful; could commit no crime to me.

  I only mourn my yet uncancelled score:

  You put me past the power of paying more.

  That, that’s my grief, that I can only grieve,

  And bring but pity, where I would relieve;

  For had I yet ten thousand lives to pay,

  The mighty sum should go no other way.

  Emp. Can you forgive me? ’tis not fit you should.

  Why will you be so excellently good?

  ‘Twill stick too black a brand upon my name:

  The sword is needless; I shall die with shame.

  What had my age to do with love’s delight,

  Shut out from all enjoyments but the sight?

  Arim. Sir, you forget the danger’s imminent:

  This minute is not for excuses lent.

  Emp. Disturb me not; —

  How can my latest hour be better spent?

  To reconcile myself to him is more,

  Than to regain all I possessed before.

  Empire and life are now not worth a prayer;

  His love, alone, deserves my dying care.

  Aur. Fighting for you, my death will glorious be.

  Ind. Seek to preserve yourself, and live for me.

  Arim. Lose then no farther time.

  Heaven has inspired me with a sudden thought,

  Whence your unhoped for safety may be wrought,

  Though with the hazard of my blood ’tis bought.

  But since my life can ne’er be fortunate,

  ’Tis so much sorrow well redeemed from fate.

  You, madam, must retire,

  (Your beauty is its own security,)

  And leave the conduct of the rest to me.

  Glory will crown my life, if I succeed;

  If not, she may afford to love me dead.[Aside.

  Aur. My father’s kind, and, madam, you forgive;

  Were heaven so pleased, I now could wish to live.

  And I shall live.

  With glory and with love, at once, I burn:

  I feel the inspiring heat, and absent god return.[Exeunt.

  ACT V.

  SCENE I.

  Indamora alone.

  Ind. The night seems doubled with the fear she brings,

  And o’er the citadel new-spreads her wings.

  The morning, as mistaken, turns about,

  And all her early fires again go out.

  Shouts, cries, and groans, first pierce my ears, and then

  A flash of lightning draws the guilty scene,

  And shows me arms, and wounds, and dying men.

  Ah, should my Aureng-Zebe be fighting there,

  And envious winds, distinguished to my ear,

  His dying groans and his last accents bear!

  To her, Morat, attended.

  Mor. The bloody business of the night is done,

  And, in the citadel
, an empire won.

  Our swords so wholly did the fates employ,

  That they, at length, grew weary to destroy,

  Refused the work we brought, and, out of breath,

  Made sorrow and despair attend for death.

  But what of all my conquest can I boast?

  My haughty pride, before your eyes, is lost:

  And victory but gains me to present

  That homage, which our eastern world has sent.

  Ind. Your victory, alas, begets my fears:

  Can you not then triumph without my tears?

  Resolve me; (for you know my destiny

  Is Aureng-Zebes) say, do I live or die?

  Mor. Urged by my love, by hope of empire fired,

  ’Tis true, I have performed what both required:

  What fate decreed; for when great souls are given,

  They bear the marks of sovereignty from heaven.

  My elder brothers my fore-runners came;

  Rough-draughts of nature, ill designed, and lame:

  Blown off, like blossoms never made to bear;

  Till I came, finished, her last-laboured care.

  Ind. This prologue leads to your succeeding sin:

  Blood ended what ambition did begin.

  Mor. ’Twas rumour’d, — but by whom I cannot tell, —

  My father ‘scaped from out the citadel;

  My brother too may live.

  Ind. He may?

  Mor. He must:

  I kill’d him not: and a less fate’s unjust.

  Heaven owes it me, that I may fill his room,

  A phœnix-lover, rising from his tomb;

  In whom you’ll lose your sorrows for the dead;

  More warm, more fierce, and fitter for your bed.

  Ind. Should I from Aureng-Zebe my heart divide,

  To love a monster, and a parricide?

  These names your swelling titles cannot hide.

  Severe decrees may keep our tongues in awe;

  But to our thoughts, what edict can give law?

  Even you yourself, to your own breast, shall tell

  Your crimes; and your own conscience be your hell.

  Mor. What business has my conscience with a crown?

  She sinks in pleasures, and in bowls will drown.

  If mirth should fail, I’ll busy her with cares,

  Silence her clamorous voice with louder wars:

  Trumpets and drums shall fright her from the throne,

  As sounding cymbals aid the labouring moon.

  Ind. Repelled by these, more eager she will grow,

  Spring back more strongly than a Scythian bow.

  Amidst your train, this unseen judge will wait;

  Examine how you came by all your state;

  Upbraid your impious pomp; and, in your ear,

  Will hollow,— “Rebel, tyrant, murderer!”

  Your ill-got power wan looks and care shall bring,

  Known but by discontent to be a king.

  Of crowds afraid, yet anxious when alone,

  You’ll sit and brood your sorrows on a throne.

  Mor. Birth-right’s a vulgar road to kingly sway;

  ’Tis every dull-got elder brother’s way.

  Dropt from above, he lights into a throne;

  Grows of a piece with that he sits upon;

  Heaven’s choice, a low, inglorious, rightful drone.

  But who by force a sceptre does obtain,

  Shows he can govern that, which he could gain.

  Right comes of course, whate’er he was before;

  Murder and usurpation are no more.

  Ind. By your own laws you such dominion make,

  As every stronger power has right to take:

  And parricide will so deform your name,

  That dispossessing you will give a claim.

  Who next usurps, will a just prince appear,

  So much your ruin will his reign endear.

  Mor. I without guilt would mount the royal seat;

  But yet ’tis necessary to be great.

  Ind. All greatness is in virtue understood:

  ’Tis only necessary to be good.

  Tell me, what is’t at which great spirits aim,

  What most yourself desire?

  Mor. Renown and fame,

  And power, as uncontrouled as is my will.

  Ind. How you confound desires of good and ill.

  For true renown is still with virtue joined;

  But lust of power lets loose the unbridled mind.

  Yours is a soul irregularly great,

  Which, wanting temper, yet abounds with heat,

  So strong, yet so unequal pulses beat;

  A sun, which does, through vapours, dimly shine;

  What pity ’tis, you are not all divine!

  New moulded, thorough lightened, and a breast

  So pure, to bear the last severest test;

  Fit to command an empire you should gain

  By virtue, and without a blush to reign.

  Mor. You show me somewhat I ne’er learnt before;

  But ’tis the distant prospect of a shore,

  Doubtful in mists; which, like enchanted ground,

  Flies from my sight, before ’tis fully found.

  Ind. Dare to be great, without a guilty crown;

  View it, and lay the bright temptation down:

  ’Tis base to seize on all, because you may;

  That’s empire, that, which I can give away:

  There’s joy when to wild will you laws prescribe,

  When you bid fortune carry back her bribe:

  A joy, which none but greatest minds can taste;

  A fame, which will to endless ages last.

  Mor. Renown, and fame, in vain, I courted long,

  And still pursued them, though directed wrong.

  In hazard, and in toils, I heard they lay;

  Sailed farther than the coast, but missed my way:

  Now you have given me virtue for my guide;

  And, with true honour, ballasted my pride.

  Unjust dominion I no more pursue;

  I quit all other claims, but those to you.

  Ind. Oh be not just by halves! pay all you owe:

  Think there’s a debt to Melesinda too.

  To leave no blemish on your after-life,

  Reward the virtue of a suffering wife.

  Mor. To love, once past, I cannot backward move;

  Call yesterday again, and I may love.

  ’Twas not for nothing I the crown resigned;

  I still must own a mercenary mind;

  I, in this venture, double gains pursue,

  And laid out all my stock, to purchase you.

  To them, Asaph Chan.

  Now, what success? does Aureng-Zebe yet live?

  Asaph. Fortune has given you all that she can give.

  Your brother —

  Mor. Hold; thou showest an impious joy,

  And think’st I still take pleasure to destroy:

  Know, I am changed, and would not have him slain.

  Asaph. ’Tis past; and you desire his life in vain.

  He, prodigal of soul, rushed on the stroke

  Of lifted weapons, and did wounds provoke:

  In scorn of night, he would not be concealed;

  His soldiers, where he fought, his name revealed.

  In thickest crowds, still Aureng-Zebe did sound;

  The vaulted roofs did Aureng-Zebe rebound;

  Till late, and in his fall, the name was drowned.

  Ind. Wither that hand which brought him to his fate,

  And blasted be the tongue which did relate!

  Asaph. His body —

  Mor. Cease to enhance her misery:

  Pity the queen, and show respect to me.

  ’Tis every painter’s art to hide from sight,

  And cast in shades, what, seen, would not delight. —

  Your grief in me such sympathy has bred,[To her.

  I
mourn, and wish I could recal the dead.

  Love softens me; and blows up fires, which pass

  Through my tough heart, and melt the stubborn mass.

  Ind. Break, heart; or choak, with sobs, my hated breath!

  Do thy own work: admit no foreign death.

  Alas! why do I make this useless moan?

  I’m dead already, for my soul is gone.

  To them, Mir Baba.

  Mir. What tongue the terror of this night can tell,

  Within, without, and round the citadel!

  A new-formed faction does your power oppose;

  The fight’s confused, and all who meet are foes:

  A second clamour, from the town, we hear;

  And the far noise so loud, it drowns the near.

  Abas, who seemed our friend, is either fled,

  Or, what we fear, our enemies does head:

  Your frighted soldiers scarce their ground maintain.

  Mor. I thank their fury; we shall fight again:

  They rouse my rage; I’m eager to subdue:

  ’Tis fatal to with-hold my eyes from you. [Exit with the two Omrahs.

  Enter Melesinda.

  Mel. Can misery no place of safety know?

  The noise pursues me wheresoe’er I go,

  As fate sought only me, and, where I fled,

  Aimed all its darts at my devoted head.

  And let it; I am now past care of life;

  The last of women; an abandoned wife.

  Ind. Whether design or chance has brought you here,

  I stand obliged to fortune, or to fear:

  Weak women should, in danger, herd like deer.

  But say, from whence this new combustion springs?

  Are there yet more Morats? more fighting kings?

  Mel. Him from his mother’s love your eyes divide,

  And now her arms the cruel strife decide.

  Ind. What strange misfortunes my vext life attend!

  Death will be kind, and all my sorrows end.

  If Nourmahal prevail, I know my fate.

  Mel. I pity, as my own, your hard estate:

  But what can my weak charity afford?

  I have no longer interest in my lord:

  Nor in his mother, he: she owns her hate

  Aloud, and would herself usurp the state.

  Ind. I’m stupified with sorrow, past relief

  Of tears; parched up, and withered with my grief.

  Mel. Dry mourning will decays more deadly bring,

  As a north wind burns a too forward spring.

  Give sorrow vent, and let the sluices go.

  Ind. My tears are all congealed, and will not flow.

  Mel. Have comfort; yield not to the blows of fate.

  Ind. Comfort, like cordials after death, comes late.

  Name not so vain a word; my hopes are fled:

  Think your Morat were kind, and think him dead.