John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Enter two of the Guards.

  Go, bear the captive to a speedy death,

  And set my soul at ease.

  Alm. I charge you hold, ye ministers of death! —

  Speak my Sebastian;

  Plead for thy life; Oh, ask it of the tyrant:

  ’Tis no dishonour; trust me, love, ’tis none.

  I would die for thee, but I cannot plead;

  My haughty heart disdains it, even for thee. —

  Still silent! Will the king of Portugal

  Go to his death like a dumb sacrifice?

  Beg him to save my life in saving thine.

  Seb. Farewell; my life’s not worth another word.

  Emp. [To the Guards.] Perform your orders.

  Alm. Stay, take my farewell too!

  Farewell the greatness of Almeyda’s soul! —

  Look, tyrant, what excess of love can do;

  It pulls me down thus low as to thy feet;[Kneels to him.>

  Nay, to embrace thy knees with loathing hands,

  Which blister when they touch thee: Yet even thus,

  Thus far I can, to save Sebastian’s life.

  Emp. A secret pleasure trickles through my veins:

  It works about the inlets of my soul,

  To feel thy touch, and pity tempts the pass:

  But the tough metal of my heart resists;

  ’Tis warmed with the soft fire, not melted down.

  Alm. A flood of scalding tears will make it run.

  Spare him, Oh spare! Can you pretend to love,

  And have no pity? Love and that are twins.

  Here will I grow;

  Thus compass you with these supplanting cords,

  And pull so long till the proud fabrick falls.

  Emp. Still kneel, and still embrace: ’Tis double pleasure,

  So to be hugged, and see Sebastian die.

  Alm. Look, tyrant, when thou nam’st Sebastian’s death,

  Thy very executioners turn pale.

  Rough as they are, and hardened in their trade

  Of death, they start at an anointed head,

  And tremble to approach. — He hears me not,

  Nor minds the impression of a god on kings;

  Because no stamp of heaven was on his soul,

  But the resisting mass drove back the seal. —

  Say, though thy heart be rock of adamant,

  Yet rocks are not impregnable to bribes:

  Instruct me how to bribe thee; name thy price;

  Lo, I resign my title to the crown;

  Send me to exile with the man I love,

  And banishment is empire.

  Emp. Here’s my claim,[Clapping his Hand to his Sword.

  And this extinguished thine; thou giv’st me nothing.

  Alm. My father’s, mother’s, brother’s death, I pardon;

  That’s somewhat sure; a mighty sum of murder,

  Of innocent and kindred blood struck off.

  My prayers and penance shall discount for these,

  And beg of heaven to charge the bill on me:

  Behold what price I offer, and how dear,

  To buy Sebastian’s life!

  Emp. Let after-reckonings trouble fearful fools;

  I’ll stand the trial of those trivial crimes:

  But, since thou begg’st me to prescribe my terms,

  The only I can offer are thy love,

  And this one day of respite to resolve.

  Grant, or deny; for thy next word is fate,

  And fate is deaf to prayer.

  Alm. May heaven be so,[Rising up.

  At thy last breath, to thine! I curse thee not;

  For, who can better curse the plague, or devil,

  Than to be what they are? That curse be thine. —

  Now, do not speak, Sebastian, for you need not;

  But die, for I resign your life. — Look, heaven,

  Almeyda dooms her dear Sebastian’s death!

  But is there heaven? for I begin to doubt;

  The skies are hushed, no grumbling thunders roll. —

  Now take your swing, ye impious; sin unpunished;

  Eternal Providence seems overwatched,

  And with a slumbering nod assents to murder.

  Enter Dorax, attended by three Soldiers.

  Emp. Thou mov’st a tortoise-pace to my relief.

  Take hence that once a king; that sullen pride,

  That swells to dumbness: lay him in the dungeon,

  And sink him deep with irons, that, when he would,

  He shall not groan to hearing; when I send,

  The next commands are death.

  Alm. Then prayers are vain as curses.

  Emp. Much at one

  In a slave’s mouth, against a monarch’s power.

  This day thou hast to think;

  At night, if thou wilt curse, thou shalt curse kindly;

  Then I’ll provoke thy lips, lay siege so close,

  That all thy sallying breath shall turn to blessings. —

  Make haste, seize, force her, bear her hence.

  Alm. Farewell, my last Sebastian!

  I do not beg, I challenge justice now. —

  O Powers, if kings be your peculiar care,

  Why plays this wretch with your prerogative?

  Now flash him dead, now crumble him to ashes,

  Or henceforth live confined in your own palace;

  And look not idly out upon a world,

  That is no longer yours.

  [She is carried off struggling; Emperor and Benducar follow. Sebastian struggles in his Guards’ arms, and shakes off one of them; but two others come in, and hold him; he speaks not all the while.

  Dor. I find I’m but a half-strained villain yet;

  But mongrel-mischievous; for my blood boiled,

  To view this brutal act; and my stern soul

  Tugged at my arm, to draw in her defence.[Aside.

  Down, thou rebelling Christian in my heart!

  Redeem thy fame on this Sebastian first;[Walks a turn.

  Then think on other wrongs, when thine are righted.

  But how to right them? on a slave disarmed,

  Defenceless, and submitted to my rage?

  A base revenge is vengeance on myself: — [Walks again.

  I have it, and I thank thee, honest head,

  Thus present to me at my great necessity. — [Comes up to Sebastian.

  You know me not?

  Seb. I hear men call thee Dorax.

  Dor. ’Tis well; you know enough for once: — you speak too;

  You were struck mute before.

  Seb. Silence became me then.

  Dor. Yet we may talk hereafter.

  Seb. Hereafter is not mine:

  Dispatch thy work, good executioner.

  Dor. None of my blood were hangmen; add that falsehood

  To a long bill, that yet remains unreckoned.

  Seb. A king and thou can never have a reckoning.

  Dor. A greater sum, perhaps, than you can pay.

  Meantime, I shall make bold to increase your debt; [Gives him his Sword.

  Take this, and use it at your greatest need.

  Seb. This hand and this have been acquainted well: [Looks on it.

  It should have come before into my grasp,

  To kill the ravisher.

  Dor. Thou heard’st the tyrant’s orders; guard thy life

  When ’tis attacked, and guard it like a man.

  Seb. I’m still without thy meaning, but I thank thee.

  Dor. Thank me when I ask thanks; thank me with that.

  Seb. Such surly kindness did I never see.

  Dor. [To the Captain of his Guards.]

  Musa, draw out a file; pick man by man.

  Such who dare die, and dear will sell their death.

  Guard him to the utmost; now conduct him hence,

  And treat him as my person.

  Seb. Something like

  That voice, methinks, I should have so
mewhere heard;

  But floods of woes have hurried it far off,

  Beyond my ken of soul. [Exit Sebastian, with the Soldiers.

  Dor. But I shall bring him back, ungrateful man!

  I shall, and set him full before thy sight,

  When I shall front thee, like some staring ghost,

  With all my wrongs about me. — What, so soon

  Returned? this haste is boding.

  Enter to him Emperor, Benducar, and Mufti.

  Emp. She’s still inexorable, still imperious,

  And loud, as if, like Bacchus, born in thunder.

  Be quick, ye false physicians of my mind;

  Bring speedy death, or cure.

  Bend. What can be counselled, while Sebastian lives?

  The vine will cling, while the tall poplar stands;

  But, that cut down, creeps to the next support,

  And twines as closely there.

  Emp. That’s done with ease; I speak him dead: — proceed.

  Muf. Proclaim your marriage with Almeyda next,

  That civil wars may cease; this gains the crowd:

  Then you may safely force her to your will;

  For people side with violence and injustice,

  When done for public good.

  Emp. Preach thou that doctrine.

  Bend. The unreasonable fool has broached a truth,

  That blasts my hopes; but, since ’tis gone so far,

  He shall divulge Almeyda is a Christian;

  If that produce no tumult, I despair.[Aside.

  Emp Why speaks not Dorax?

  Dor. Because my soul abhors to mix with him.

  Sir, let me bluntly say, you went too far,

  To trust the preaching power on state-affairs

  To him, or any heavenly demagogue:

  ’Tis a limb lopt from your prerogative,

  And so much of heaven’s image blotted from you.

  Muf. Sure thou hast never heard of holy men,

  (So Christians call them) famed in state affairs!

  Such as in Spain, Ximenes, Albornoz;

  In England, Wolsey; match me these with laymen.

  Dor. How you triumph in one or two of these,

  Born to be statesmen, happening to be churchmen!

  Thou call’st them holy; so their function was:

  But tell me, Mufti, which of them were saints? —

  Next sir, to you: the sum of all is this, —

  Since he claims power from heaven, and not from kings,

  When ’tis his interest, he can interest heaven

  To preach you down; and ages oft depend

  On hours, uninterrupted, in the chair.

  Emp. I’ll trust his preaching, while I rule his pay;

  And I dare trust my Africans to hear

  Whatever he dare preach.

  Dor. You know them not.

  The genius of your Moors is mutiny;

  They scarcely want a guide to move their madness;

  Prompt to rebel on every weak pretence;

  Blustering when courted, crouching when opprest;

  Wise to themselves, and fools to all the world;

  Restless in change, and perjured to a proverb.

  They love religion sweetened to the sense;

  A good, luxurious, palatable faith.

  Thus vice and godliness, — preposterous pair! —

  Ride cheek by jowl, but churchmen hold the reins:

  And whene’er kings would lower clergy-greatness,

  They learn too late what power the preachers have,

  And whose the subjects are; the Mufti knows it,

  Nor dares deny what passed betwixt us two.

  Emp. No more; whate’er he said was my command.

  Dor. Why, then, no more, since you will hear no more;

  Some kings are resolute to their own ruin.

  Emp. Without your meddling where you are not asked,

  Obey your orders, and dispatch Sebastian.

  Dor. Trust my revenge; be sure I wish him dead.

  Emp. What mean’st thou? What’s thy wishing to my will?

  Dispatch him; rid me of the man I loath.

  Dor I hear you, sir; I’ll take my time, and do’t.

  Emp. Thy time! What’s all thy time? What’s thy whole life

  To my one hour of ease? No more replies,

  But see thou dost it; or —

  Dor. Choke in that threat; I can say or as loud.

  Emp. ’Tis well; I see my words have no effect,

  But I may send a message to dispose you.[Is going off.

  Dor. Expect an answer worthy of that message.

  Muf. The prophet owed him this;

  And, thanked be heaven, he has it.[Aside.

  Bend. By holy Alla, I conjure you stay,

  And judge not rashly of so brave a man. [Draws the Emperor aside, and whispers him.

  I’ll give you reasons why he cannot execute

  Your orders now, and why he will hereafter.

  Muf. Benducar is a fool, to bring him off;

  I’ll work my own revenge, and speedily.[Aside.

  Bend. The fort is his, the soldiers’ hearts are his;

  A thousand Christian slaves are in the castle,

  Which he can free to reinforce his power;

  Your troops far off, beleaguering Larache,

  Yet in the Christians’ hands.

  Emp. I grant all this;

  But grant me he must die.

  Bend. He shall, by poison;

  ’Tis here, the deadly drug, prepared in powder,

  Hot as hell fire: Then, to prevent his soldiers

  From rising to revenge their general’s death,

  While he is struggling with his mortal pangs,

  The rabble on the sudden may be raised

  To seize the castle.

  Emp. Do’t;— ’tis left to thee.

  Bend. Yet more; — but clear your brow, for he observes. [They whisper again.

  Dor. What, will the favourite prop my falling fortunes?

  O prodigy of court![Aside

  [Emp. and Bend. return to Dor.

  Emp. Your friend has fully cleared your innocence;

  I was too hasty to condemn unheard,

  And you, perhaps, too prompt in your replies.

  As far as fits the majesty of kings,

  I ask excuse.

  Dor. I’m sure I meant it well.

  Emp. I know you did: — This to our love renewed. — [Emp. drinks.

  Benducar, fill to Dorax. [Bend. turns, and mixes a Powder in it.

  Dor. Let it go round, for all of us have need

  To quench our heats: ’Tis the king’s health, Benducar, [He drinks.

  And I would pledge it, though I knew ‘twere poison.

  Bend. Another bowl; for what the king has touched,

  And you have pledged, is sacred to your loves. [Drinks out of another Bowl.

  Muf. Since charity becomes my calling, thus

  Let me provoke your friendship; and heaven bless it,

  As I intend it well.

  [Drinks; and, turning aside, pours some drops out of a little vial into the Bowl; then presents it to Dorax.

  Dor. Heaven make thee honest;

  On that condition we shall soon be friends.[Drinks.

  Muf. Yes, at our meeting in another world;

  For thou hast drunk thy passport out of this.

  Not the Nonacrian font, nor Lethe’s lake,

  Could sooner numb thy nimble faculties,

  Than this, to sleep eternal.[Aside.

  Emp. Now farewell, Dorax; this was our first quarrel,

  And, I dare prophecy, will prove our last. [Exeunt Emp. Bend. and the Mufti.

  Dor. It may be so. — I’m strangely discomposed;

  Quick shootings thro’ my limbs, and pricking pains,

  Qualms at my heart, convulsions in my nerves,

  Shiverings of cold, and burnings of my entrails,

  Within my little world make med
ley war,

  Lose and regain, beat, and are beaten back,

  As momentary victors quit their ground. —

  Can it be poison! Poison’s of one tenor,

  Or hot, or cold; this neither, and yet both.

  Some deadly draught, some enemy of life,

  Boils in my bowels, and works out my soul.

  Ingratitude’s the growth of every clime;

  Africk, the scene removed, is Portugal.

  Of all court service, learn the common lot, —

  To-day ’tis done, to-morrow ’tis forgot.

  Oh, were that all! my honest corpse must lie

  Exposed to scorn, and public infamy;

  My shameful death will be divulged alone;

  The worth and honour of my soul unknown.[Exit.

  SCENE II. — A Night-Scene of the Mufti’s Garden, where an Arbour is discovered.

  Enter Antonio.

  Ant. She names herself Morayma; the Mufti’s only daughter, and a virgin! This is the time and place that she appointed in her letter, yet she comes not. Why, thou sweet delicious creature, why torture me with thy delay! Dar’st thou be false to thy assignation? What, in the cool and silence of the night, and to a new lover? — Pox on the hypocrite, thy father, for instructing thee so little in the sweetest point of his religion. — Hark, I hear the rustling of her silk mantle. Now she comes, now she comes: — no, hang it, that was but the whistling of the wind through the orange-trees. — Now, again, I hear the pit-a-pat of a pretty foot through the dark alley: — No, ’tis the son of a mare, that’s broken loose, and munching upon the melons. — Oh, the misery of an expecting lover! Well, I’ll e’en despair, go into my arbour, and try to sleep; in a dream I shall enjoy her, in despite of her.

  [Goes into the Arbour, and lies down.

  Enter Johayma, wrapt up in a Moorish mantle.

  Joh. Thus far my love has carried me, almost without my knowledge whither I was going. Shall I go on? shall I discover myself? — What an injury am I doing to my old husband! Yet what injury, since he’s old, and has three wives, and six concubines, 371 besides me! ’tis but stealing my own tithe from him.

  [She comes a little nearer the Arbour.

  Ant. [Raising himself a little, and looking.] At last ’tis she; this is no illusion, I am sure; ’tis a true she-devil of flesh and blood, and she could never have taken a fitter time to tempt me.

  Joh. He’s young and handsome —

  Ant. Yes, well enough, I thank nature.[Aside.

  Joh. And I am yet neither old nor ugly: Sure he will not refuse me.

  Ant. No; thou may’st pawn thy maidenhead upon’t, he wont.[Aside.

  Joh. The Mufti would feast himself upon other women, and keep me fasting.

  Ant. O, the holy curmudgeon![Aside.

  Joh. Would preach abstinence, and practise luxury! but, I thank my stars, I have edified more by his example than his precept.