by John Dryden
What gratitude would force. O pardon me;
I ne’er was covetous of wealth before;
Yet think so vast a treasure as your son,
Too great for any private man’s possession;
And him too rich a jewel, to be set
In vulgar metal, or for vulgar use.
Raym. Arm me with patience, heaven!
Leo. How, patience, Raymond?
What exercise of patience have you here?
What find you in my crown to be contemned;
Or in my person loathed? Have I, a queen,
Past by my fellow-rulers of the world,
Whose vying crowns lay glittering in my way,
As if the world were paved with diadems?
Have I refused their blood, to mix with yours,
And raise new kings from so obscure a race,
Fate scarce knew where to find them, when I called?
Have I heaped on my person, crown, and state,
To load the scale, and weighed myself with earth,
For you to spurn the balance?
Raym. Bate the last, and ’tis what I would say:
Can I, can any loyal subject, see
With patience, such a stoop from sovereignty,
An ocean poured upon a narrow brook?
My zeal for you must lay the father by,
And plead my country’s cause against my son.
What though his heart be great, his actions gallant,
He wants a crown to poise against a crown,
Birth to match birth, and power to balance power.
Leo. All these I have, and these I can bestow;
But he brings worth and virtue to my bed;
And virtue is the wealth which tyrants want:
I stand in need of one, whose glories may
Redeem my crimes, ally me to his fame,
Dispel the factions of my foes on earth,
Disarm the justice of the powers above.
Raym. The people never will endure this choice.
Leo. If I endure it, what imports it you?
Go, raise the ministers of my revenge,
Guide with your breath this whirling tempest round,
And see its fury fall where I design.
At last a time for just revenge is given;
Revenge, the darling attribute of heaven:
But man, unlike his Maker, bears too long;
Still more exposed, the more he pardons wrong;
Great in forgiving, and in suffering brave;
To be a saint, he makes himself a slave.[Exit Queen.
Raym. [Solus.]
Marriage with Torrismond! it must not be,
By heaven, it must not be! or, if it be,
Law, justice, honour, bid farewell to earth,
For heaven leaves all to tyrants.
Enter Torrismond, who kneels to him.
Tor. O, very welcome, sir!
But doubly now! You come in such a time,
As if propitious fortune took a care,
To swell my tide of joys to their full height,
And leave me nothing farther to desire.
Raym. I hope, I come in time, if not to make,
At least to save your fortune and your honour.
Take heed you steer your vessel right, my son;
This calm of heaven, this mermaid’s melody,
Into an unseen whirlpool draws you fast,
And, in a moment, sinks you.
Tor. Fortune cannot,
And fate can scarce; I’ve made the port already,
And laugh securely at the lazy storm,
That wanted wings to reach me in the deep.
Your pardon, sir; my duty calls me hence;
I go to find my queen, my earthly goddess,
To whom I owe my hopes, my life, my love.
Raym. You owe her more, perhaps, than you imagine;
Stay, I command you stay, and hear me first.
This hour’s the very crisis of your fate,
Your good or ill, your infamy or fame,
And all the colour of your life, depends
On this important now.
Tor. I see no danger;
The city, army, court, espouse my cause,
And, more than all, the queen, with public favour,
Indulges my pretensions to her love.
Raym. Nay, if possessing her can make you happy,
’Tis granted, nothing hinders your design.
Tor. If she can make me blest? she only can;
Empire, and wealth, and all she brings beside,
Are but the train and trappings of her love:
The sweetest, kindest, truest of her sex,
In whose possession years roll round on years,
And joys, in circles, meet new joys again;
Kisses, embraces, languishing, and death,
Still from each other to each other move,
To crown the various seasons of our love;
And doubt you if such love can make me happy?
Raym. Yes; for, I think, you love your honour more.
Tor. And what can shock my honour in a queen?
Raym. A tyrant, an usurper?
Tor. Grant she be;
When from the conqueror we hold our lives,
We yield ourselves his subjects from that hour;
For mutual benefits make mutual ties.
Raym. Why, can you think I owe a thief my life,
Because he took it not by lawless force?
What, if he did not all the ill he could?
Am I obliged by that to assist his rapines,
And to maintain his murders?
Tor. Not to maintain, but bear them unrevenged.
Kings’ titles commonly begin by force,
Which time wears off, and mellows into right;
So power, which, in one age, is tyranny,
Is ripened, in the next, to true succession:
She’s in possession.
Raym. So diseases are:
Should not a lingering fever be removed,
Because it long has raged within my blood?
Do I rebel, when I would thrust it out?
What, shall I think the world was made for one,
And men are born for kings, as beasts for men,
Not for protection, but to be devoured?
Mark those, who dote on arbitrary power,
And you shall find them either hot-brained youth,
Or needy bankrupts, servile in their greatness,
And slaves to some, to lord it o’er the rest.
O baseness, to support a tyrant throne,
And crush your freeborn brethren of the world!
Nay, to become a part of usurpation;
To espouse the tyrant’s person and her crimes,
And, on a tyrant, get a race of tyrants,
To be your country’s curse in after ages.
Tor. I see no crime in her whom I adore,
Or, if I do, her beauty makes it none:
Look on me as a man abandoned o’er
To an eternal lethargy of love;
To pull, and pinch, and wound me, cannot cure,
And but disturb the quiet of my death.
Raym. O virtue, virtue! what art thou become,
That man should leave thee for that toy, a woman,
Made from the dross and refuse of a man!
Heaven took him, sleeping, when he made her too;
Had man been waking, he had ne’er consented.
Now, son, suppose
Some brave conspiracy were ready formed,
To punish tyrants, and redeem the land,
Could you so far belie your country’s hope,
As not to head the party?
Tor. How could my hand rebel against my heart?
Raym. How could your heart rebel against your reason?
Tor. No honour bids me fight against myself;
The royal family is all extinct,
And she, who rei
gns, bestows her crown on me:
So must I be ungrateful to the living,
To be but vainly pious to the dead,
While you defraud your offspring of their fate.
Raym. Mark who defraud their offspring, you or I?
For know, there yet survives the lawful heir
Of Sancho’s blood, whom when I shall produce,
I rest assured to see you pale with fear,
And trembling at his name.
Tor. He must be more than man, who makes me tremble.
I dare him to the field, with all the odds
Of justice on his side, against my tyrant:
Produce your lawful prince, and you shall see
How brave a rebel love has made your son.
Raym. Read that; ’tis with the royal signet signed,
And given me, by the king, when time should serve,
To be perused by you.
Tor. [Reads.] I, the king.
My youngest and alone surviving son,
Reported dead, to escape rebellious rage,
Till happier times shall call his courage forth,
To break my fetters, or revenge my fate,
I will that Raymond educate as his,
And call him Torrismond —
If I am he, that son, that Torrismond,
The world contains not so forlorn a wretch!
Let never man believe he can be happy!
For, when I thought my fortune most secure,
One fatal moment tears me from my joys;
And when two hearts were joined by mutual love,
The sword of justice cuts upon the knot,
And severs them for ever.
Raym. True, it must.
Tor. O, cruel man, to tell me that it must!
If you have any pity in your breast,
Redeem me from this labyrinth of fate,
And plunge me in my first obscurity.
The secret is alone between us two;
And, though you would not hide me from myself,
O, yet be kind, conceal me from the world,
And be my father still!
Raym. Your lot’s too glorious, and the proof’s too plain.
Now, in the name of honour, sir, I beg you, —
Since I must use authority no more, —
On these old knees, I beg you, ere I die,
That I may see your father’s death revenged.
Tor. Why, ’tis the only business of my life;
My order’s issued to recall the army,
And Bertran’s death’s resolved.
Raym. And not the queen’s? O, she’s the chief offender!
Shall justice turn her edge within your hand?
No, if she ‘scape, you are yourself the tyrant,
And murderer of your father.
Tor. Cruel fates!
To what have you reserved me?
Raym. Why that sigh?
Tor. Since you must know, — but break, O break, my heart,
Before I tell my fatal story out! —
The usurper of my throne, my house’s ruin!
The murderer of my father, — is my wife!
Raym. O horror, horror! — After this alliance,
Let tigers match with hinds, and wolves with sheep,
And every creature couple with his foe.
How vainly man designs, when heaven opposes!
I bred you up to arms, raised you to power,
Permitted you to fight for this usurper,
Indeed to save a crown, not hers, but yours,
All to make sure the vengeance of this day,
Which even this day has ruined. One more question
Let me but ask, and I have done for ever; —
Do you yet love the cause of all your woes,
Or is she grown, as sure she ought to be,
More odious to your sight than toads and adders?
Tor. O there’s the utmost malice of my fate,
That I am bound to hate, and born to love!
Raym. No more! — Farewell, my much lamented king! —
I dare not trust him with himself so far,
To own him to the people as their king,
Before their rage has finished my designs
On Bertran and the queen; but in despite,
Even of himself, I’ll save him.[Aside and exit.
Tor. ’Tis but a moment since I have been king,
And weary on’t already; I’m a lover,
And loved, possess, — yet all these make me wretched;
And heaven has given me blessings for a curse.
With what a load of vengeance am I prest,
Yet, never, never, can I hope for rest;
For when my heavy burden I remove,
The weight falls down, and crushes her I love.[Exit.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — A Bed-Chamber.
Enter Torrismond.
Tor. Love, justice, nature, pity, and revenge,
Have kindled up a wildfire in my breast,
And I am all a civil war within!
Enter Queen and Teresa, at a distance.
My Leonora there! —
Mine! is she mine? my father’s murderer mine?
O! that I could, with honour, love her more,
Or hate her less, with reason! — See, she weeps!
Thinks me unkind, or false, and knows not why
I thus estrange my person from her bed!
Shall I not tell her? — no; ‘twill break her heart;
She’ll know too soon her own and my misfortunes.[Exit.
Leo. He’s gone, and I am lost; did’st thou not see
His sullen eyes? how gloomily they glanced?
He looked not like the Torrismond I loved.
Ter. Can you not guess from whence this change proceeds?
Leo. No: there’s the grief, Teresa: Oh, Teresa!
Fain would I tell thee what I feel within,
But shame and modesty have tied my tongue!
Yet, I will tell, that thou may’st weep with me. —
How dear, how sweet his first embraces were!
With what a zeal he joined his lips to mine!
And sucked my breath at every word I spoke,
As if he drew his inspiration hence:
While both our souls came upward to our mouths,
As neighbouring monarchs at their borders meet;
I thought — Oh, no; ’tis false! I could not think;
’Twas neither life nor death, but both in one.
Ter. Then, sure his transports were not less than yours.
Leo. More, more! for, by the high-hung tapers’ light,
I could discern his cheeks were glowing red,
His very eyeballs trembled with his love,
And sparkled through their casements humid fires;
He sighed, and kissed; breathed short, and would have spoke,
But was too fierce to throw away the time;
All he could say was — love and Leonora.
Ter. How then can you suspect him lost so soon?
Leo. Last night he flew not with a bridegroom’s haste,
Which eagerly prevents the appointed hour:
I told the clocks, and watched the wasting light,
And listened to each softly-treading step,
In hope ’twas he; but still it was not he.
At last he came, but with such altered looks,
So wild, so ghastly, as if some ghost had met him:
All pale, and speechless, he surveyed me round;
Then, with a groan, he threw himself a-bed,
But, far from me, as far as he could move,
And sighed and tossed, and turned, but still from me.
Ter. What, all the night?
Leo. Even all the livelong night.
At last, (for, blushing, I must tell thee all,)
I pressed his hand, and laid me by his side;
He pulled it back, as if he touched a serpent.
> With that I burst into a flood of tears,
And asked him how I had offended him?
He answered nothing, but with sighs and groans;
So, restless, past the night; and, at the dawn,
Leapt from the bed, and vanished.
Ter. Sighs and groans,
Paleness and trembling, all are signs of love;
He only fears to make you share his sorrows.
Leo. I wish ‘twere so; but love still doubts the worst;
My heavy heart, the prophetess of woes,
Forebodes some ill at hand: to sooth my sadness,
Sing me the song, which poor Olympia made,
When false Bireno left her.
SONG.
Farewell, ungrateful traitor!
Farewell, my perjured swain!
Let never injured creature
Believe a man again.
The pleasure of possessing
Surpasses all expressing,
But ’tis too short a blessing,
And love too long a pain.
’Tis easy to deceive us,
In pity of your pain;
But when we love, you leave us,
To rail at you in vain.
Before we have descried it,
There is no bliss beside it;
But she, that once has tried it,
Will never love again.
The passion you pretended,
Was only to obtain;
But when the charm is ended,
The charmer you disdain.
Your love by ours we measure,
Till we have lost our treasure;
But dying is a pleasure,
When living is a pain.
Re-enter Torrismond.
Tor. Still she is here, and still I cannot speak;
But wander, like some discontented ghost,
That oft appears, but is forbid to talk.[Going again.
Leo. O, Torrismond, if you resolve my death,
You need no more, but to go hence again;
Will you not speak?
Tor. I cannot.
Leo. Speak! oh, speak!
Your anger would be kinder than your silence.
Tor. Oh! —
Leo. Do not sigh, or tell me why you sigh.
Tor. Why do I live, ye powers!
Leo. Why do I live to hear you speak that word?
Some black-mouthed villain has defamed my virtue.
Tor. No, no! Pray, let me go.
Leo. [Kneeling.] You shall not go!
By all the pleasures of our nuptial bed,
If ever I was loved, though now I’m not,
By these true tears, which, from my wounded heart,
Bleed at my eyes —
Tor. Rise.
Leo. I will never rise;
I cannot chuse a better place to die.
Tor. Oh! I would speak, but cannot.
Leo. [Rising.]
Guilt keeps you silent then; you love me not:
