John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Joh. What have you been bred up to, sirrah? and 350 what can you perform, to recommend you to my service?

  Ant. [Making Legs.] Why, madam, I can perform as much as any man, in a fair lady’s service. I can play upon the flute, and sing; I can carry your umbrella, and fan your ladyship, and cool you when you are too hot; in fine, no service, either by day or by night, shall come amiss to me; and, besides I am of so quick an apprehension, that you need but wink upon me at any time to make me understand my duty. [She winks at him.] — Very fine, she has tipt the wink already.

  [Aside.

  Joh. The whelp may come to something in time, when I have entered him into his business.

  Muf. A very malapert cur, I can tell him that; I do not like his fawning — You must be taught your distance, sirrah.

  [Strikes him.

  Joh. Hold, hold. He has deserved it, I confess; but, for once, let his ignorance plead his pardon; we must not discourage a beginner. Your reverence has taught us charity, even to birds and beasts: — here, you filthy brute, you, take this little alms to buy you plasters.

  [Gives him a piece of money.

  Ant. Money, and a love-pinch in the inside of my palm into the bargain.[Aside.

  Enter a Servant.

  Serv. Sir, my lord Benducar is coming to wait on you, and is already at the palace gate.

  Muf. Come in, Johayma; regulate the rest of my wives and concubines, and leave the fellow to his work.

  Joh. How stupidly he stares about him, like a calf new come into the world! I shall teach you, sirrah, to know your business a little better. This 351 way, you awkward rascal; here lies the arbour; must I be shewing you eternally?

  [Turning him about.

  Muf. Come away, minion; you shall shew him nothing.

  Joh. I’ll but bring him into the arbour, where a rose-tree and a myrtle-tree are just falling for want of a prop; if they were bound together, they would help to keep up one another. He’s a raw gardener, and ’tis but charity to teach him.

  Muf. No more deeds of charity to-day; come in, or I shall think you a little better disposed than I could wish you.

  Joh. Well, go before, I will follow my pastor.

  Muf. So you may cast a sheep’s eye behind you? in before me; — and you, sauciness, mind your pruning-knife, or I may chance to use it for you.

  [Exeunt Mufti and Johayma.

  Ant. [Alone.] Thank you for that, but I am in no such haste to be made a mussulman. For his wedlock, for all her haughtiness, I find her coming. How far a Christian should resist, I partly know; but how far a lewd young Christian can resist, is another question. She’s tolerable, and I am a poor stranger, far from better friends, and in a bodily necessity. Now have I a strange temptation to try what other females are belonging to this family: I am not far from the women’s apartment, I am sure; and if these birds are within distance, here’s that will chuckle them together. [Pulls out his Flute.] If there be variety of Moors’ flesh in this holy market, ‘twere madness to lay out all my money upon the first bargain. [He plays. A Grate opens, and Morayma, the Mufti’s Daughter, appears at it.] — Ay, there’s an apparition! This is a morsel worthy of a Mufti; this is the relishing bit in secret; this is 352 the mystery of his Alcoran, that must be reserved from the knowledge of the prophane vulgar; this is his holiday devotion. — See, she beckons too.

  [She beckons to him.

  Mor. Come a little nearer, and speak softly.

  Ant. I come. I come, I warrant thee; the least twinkle had brought me to thee; such another kind syllable or two would turn me to a meteor, and draw me up to thee.

  Mor. I dare not speak, for fear of being overheard; but if you think my person worth your hazard, and can deserve my love, the rest this note shall tell you. [Throws down a Handkerchief.] No more, my heart goes with you.

  [Exit from the Grate.

  Ant. O thou pretty little heart, art thou flown hither? I’ll keep it warm, I warrant it, and brood upon it in the new nest. — But now for my treasure trove, that’s wrapt up in the handkerchief; no peeping here, though I long to be spelling her Arabic scrawls and pot-hooks. But I must carry off my prize as robbers do, and not think of sharing the booty before I am free from danger, and out of eye-shot from the other windows. If her wit be as poignant as her eyes, I am a double slave. Our northern beauties are mere dough to these; insipid white earth, mere tobacco pipe clay, with no more soul and motion in them than a fly in winter.

  Here the warm planet ripens and sublimes

  The well-baked beauties of the southern climes.

  Our Cupid’s but a bungler in his trade;

  His keenest arrows are in Africk made.[Exit.

  ACT III.

  SCENE I. — A Terrace Walk; or some other public place in the castle of Alcazar.

  Enter Emperor Muley-Moluch, and Benducar.

  Emp. Married! I’ll not believe it; ’tis imposture;

  Improbable they should presume to attempt,

  Impossible they should effect their wish.

  Bend. Have patience, till I clear it.

  Emp. I have none:

  Go bid our moving plains of sand lie still,

  And stir not, when the stormy south blows high:

  From top to bottom thou hast tossed my soul,

  And now ’tis in the madness of the whirl,

  Requir’st a sudden stop? unsay thy lie;

  That may in time do somewhat.

  Bend. I have done:

  For, since it pleases you it should be forged,

  ’Tis fit it should: far be it from your slave

  To raise disturbance in your sacred breast.

  Emp. Sebastian is my slave as well as thou;

  Nor durst offend my love by that presumption.

  Bend. Most sure he ought not.

  Emp. Then all means were wanting:

  No priest, no ceremonies of their sect;

  Or, grant we these defects could be supplied,

  How could our prophet do an act so base,

  So to resume his gifts, and curse my conquests,

  By making me unhappy? No, the slave,

  That told thee so absurd a story, lied.

  Bend. Yet till this moment I have found him faithful:

  He said he saw it too.

  Emp. Dispatch; what saw he?

  Bend. Truth is, considering with what earnestness

  Sebastian pleaded for Almeyda’s life,

  Enhanced her beauty, dwelt upon her praise —

  Emp. O stupid, and unthinking as I was!

  I might have marked it too; ’twas gross and palpable.

  Bend. Methought I traced a lover ill disguised,

  And sent my spy, a sharp observing slave,

  To inform me better, if I guessed aright.

  He told me, that he saw Sebastian’s page

  Run cross the marble square, who soon returned,

  And after him there lagged a puffing friar;

  Close wrapt he bore some secret instrument

  Of Christian superstition in his hand:

  My servant followed fast, and through a chink

  Perceived the royal captives hand in hand;

  And heard the hooded father mumbling charms,

  That make those misbelievers man and wife;

  Which done, the spouses kissed with such a fervour,

  And gave such furious earnest of their flames,

  That their eyes sparkled, and their mantling blood

  Flew flushing o’er their faces.

  Emp. Hell confound them!

  Bend. The reverend father, with a holy leer,

  Saw he might well be spared, and soon withdrew:

  This forced my servant to a quick retreat,

  For fear to be discovered. — Guess the rest.

  Emp. I do: My fancy is too exquisite,

  And tortures me with their imagined bliss.

  Some earthquake should have risen and rent the ground,

  Have swallowed him, and left the longing bride
/>   In agony of unaccomplished love.[Walks disorderly.

  Enter the Mufti.

  Bend. In an unlucky hour

  That fool intrudes, raw in this great affair,

  And uninstructed how to stem the tide. — [Aside.

  [Coming up the Mufti, — aside.]

  The emperor must not marry, nor enjoy: —

  Keep to that point: Stand firm, for all’s at stake.

  Emp. [Seeing him.]

  You druggerman of heaven, must I attend

  Your droning prayers? Why came ye not before?

  Dost thou not know the captive king has dared

  To wed Almeyda? Cancel me that marriage,

  And make her mine: About the business, quick! —

  Expound thy Mahomet; make him speak my sense,

  Or he’s no prophet here, and thou no Mufti;

  Unless thou know’st the trick of thy vocation,

  To wrest and rend the law, to please thy prince.

  Muf. Why, verily, the law is monstrous plain:

  There’s not one doubtful text in all the alcoran,

  Which can be wrenched in favour to your project.

  Emp. Forge one, and foist it into some bye-place

  Of some old rotten roll: Do’t, I command thee!

  Must I teach thee thy trade?

  Muf. It cannot be;

  For matrimony being the dearest point

  Of law, the people have it all by heart:

  A cheat on procreation will not pass.

  Besides, [In a higher tone.] the offence is so exorbitant,

  To mingle with a misbelieving race,

  That speedy vengeance would pursue your crime,

  And holy Mahomet launch himself from heaven,

  Before the unready thunderbolts were formed.

  [Emperor, taking him by the throat with one hand, snatches out his sword with the other, and points it to his breast.

  Emp. Slave, have I raised thee to this pomp and power,

  To preach against my will? — Know, I am law;

  And thou, not Mahomet’s messenger but mine! —

  Make it, I charge thee, make my pleasure lawful;

  Or, first, I strip thee of thy ghostly greatness,

  Then send thee post to tell thy tale above.

  And bring thy vain memorials to thy prophet,

  Of justice done below for disobedience.

  Muf. For heaven’s sake hold! — The respite of a moment! —

  To think for you —

  Emp. And for thyself.

  Muf. For both.

  Bend. Disgrace, and death, and avarice, have lost him! [Aside.

  Muf. ’Tis true, our law forbids to wed a Christian;

  But it forbids you not to ravish her.

  You have a conqueror’s right upon your slave;

  And then the more despite you do a Christian,

  You serve the prophet more, who loathes that sect.

  Emp. O, now it mends; and you talk reason, Mufti. —

  But, stay! I promised freedom to Sebastian;

  Now, should I grant it, his revengeful soul

  Would ne’er forgive his violated bed.

  Muf. Kill him; for then you give him liberty:

  His soul is from his earthly prison freed.

  Emp. How happy is the prince who has a churchman,

  So learned and pliant, to expound his laws!

  Bend. Two things I humbly offer to your prudence.

  Emp. Be brief, but let not either thwart my love.

  Bend. First, since our holy man has made rape lawful,

  Fright her with that; Proceed not yet to force:

  Why should you pluck the green distasteful fruit

  From the unwilling bough,

  When it may ripen of itself, and fall?

  Emp. Grant her a day; though that’s too much to give

  Out of a life which I devote to love.

  Bend. Then, next, to bar

  All future hopes of her desired Sebastian,

  Let Dorax be enjoined to bring his head.

  Emp. [To the Mufti.]

  Go, Mufti, call him to receive his orders. — [Exit Mufti.

  I taste thy counsel; her desires new roused,

  And yet unslaked, will kindle in her fancy,

  And make her eager to renew the feast.

  Bend. [Aside.] Dorax, I know before, will disobey:

  There’s a foe’s head well cropped. —

  But this hot love precipitates my plot,

  And brings it to projection ere its time.

  Enter Sebastian and Almeyda, hand in hand; upon sight of the Emperor, they separate, and seem disturbed.

  Alm. He breaks at unawares upon our walks,

  And, like a midnight wolf, invades the fold.

  Make speedy preparation of your soul,

  And bid it arm apace: He comes for answer,

  And brutal mischief sits upon his brow.

  Seb. Not the last sounding could surprise me more,

  That summons drowsy mortals to their doom,

  When called in haste to fumble for their limbs,

  And tremble, unprovided for their charge:

  My sense has been so deeply plunged in joys,

  The soul out-slept her hour; and, scarce awake,

  Would think too late, but cannot: But brave minds,

  At worst, can dare their fate.[Aside.

  Emp. [Coming up to them.] Have you performed

  Your embassy, and treated with success?

  Seb. I had no time.

  Emp. No, not for my affairs;

  But, for your own, too much.

  Seb. You talk in clouds; explain your meaning, sir.

  Emp. Explain yours first. — What meant you, hand in hand?

  And, when you saw me, with a guilty start,

  You loosed your hold, affrighted at my presence.

  Seb. Affrighted!

  Emp. Yes, astonished and confounded.

  Seb. What mak’st thou of thyself, and what of me?

  Art thou some ghost, some demon, or some god,

  That I should stand astonished at thy sight?

  If thou could’st deem so meanly of my courage,

  Why didst thou not engage me man for man,

  And try the virtue of that Gorgon face,

  To stare me into statue?

  Emp. Oh, thou art now recovered; but, by heaven,

  Thou wert amazed at first, as if surprised

  At unexpected baseness brought to light.

  For know, ungrateful man, that kings, like gods,

  Are every where; walk in the abyss of minds,

  And view the dark recesses of the soul.

  Seb. Base and ungrateful never was I thought;

  Nor, till this turn of fate, durst thou have called me:

  But, since thou boast’st the omniscience of a god,

  Say in what cranny of Sebastian’s soul,

  Unknown to me, so loathed a crime is lodged?

  Emp. Thou hast not broke my trust, reposed in thee!

  Seb. Imposed, but not received. — Take back that falsehood.

  Emp. Thou art not married to Almeyda?

  Seb. Yes.

  Emp. And own’st the usurpation of my love?

  Seb. I own it, in the face of heaven and thee;

  No usurpation, but a lawful claim,

  Of which I stand possessed.

  Emp. She has chosen well,

  Betwixt a captive and a conqueror.

  Alm. Betwixt a monster, and the best of men! —

  He was the envy of his neighbouring kings;

  For him their sighing queens despised their lords;

  And virgin daughters blushed when he was named.

  To share his noble chains is more to me,

  Than all the savage greatness of thy throne.

  Seb. Were I to chuse again, and knew my fate,

  For such a night I would be what I am.

  The joys I have possessed are ever mine;

 
Out of thy reach; behind eternity;

  Hid in the sacred treasure of the past:

  But blest remembrance brings them hourly back.

  Emp. Hourly indeed, who hast but hours to live.

  O, mighty purchase of a boasted bliss!

  To dream of what thou hadst one fugitive night,

  And never shalt have more!

  Seb. Barbarian, thou canst part us but a moment!

  We shall be one again in thy despite.

  Life is but air,

  That yields a passage to the whistling sword,

  And closes when ’tis gone.

  Alm. How can we better die than close embraced,

  Sucking each other’s souls while we expire?

  Which, so transfused, and mounting both at once,

  The saints, deceived, shall, by a sweet mistake,

  Hand up thy soul for mine, and mine for thine.

  Emp. No, I’ll untwist you:

  I have occasion for your stay on earth.

  Let him mount first, and beat upon the wing,

  And wait an age for what I here detain;

  Or sicken at immortal joys above,

  And languish for the heaven he left below.

  Alm. Thou wilt not dare to break what heaven has joined?

  Emp. Not break the chain; but change a rotten link,

  And rivet one to last.

  Think’st thou I come to argue right and wrong? —

  Why lingers Dorax thus? Where are my guards, [Benducar goes out for the Guards,

  and returns.

  To drag that slave to death? —

  Now storm and rage;[Pointing to Seb.

  Call vainly on thy prophet, then defy him

  For wanting power to save thee.

  Seb. That were to gratify thy pride. I’ll shew thee

  How a man should, and how a king dare die!

  So even, that my soul shall walk with ease

  Out of its flesh, and shut out life as calmly

  As it does words; without a sign to note

  One struggle, in the smooth dissolving frame.

  Alm. [To the Emp.]

  Expect revenge from heaven, inhuman wretch!

  Nor hope to ascend Sebastian’s holy bed.

  Flames, daggers, poisons, guard the sacred steps:

  Those are the promised pleasures of my love.

  Emp. And these might fright another, but not me;

  Or me, if I designed to give you pleasure.

  I seek my own; and while that lasts, you live. —