John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Ant. Most certainly, sir; and you cannot, in honour, but protect her: now look to your hits, and make your fortune.

  Must. Methought, indeed, she cast a kind leer towards me. Our prophet was but just such another scoundrel as I am, till he raised himself to power, and consequently to holiness, by marrying his master’s widow. I am resolved I’ll put forward for myself; for why should I be my lord Benducar’s fool and slave, when I may be my own fool and his master?

  Bend. Take her into possession, Mustapha.

  Must. That’s better counsel than you meant it: Yes, I do take her into possession, and into protection too. What say you, masters, will you stand by me?

  Omnes. One and all, one and all.

  Bend. Hast thou betrayed me, traitor? — Mufti, speak, and mind them of religion.

  [Mufti shakes his head.

  Must. Alas! the poor gentleman has gotten a cold with a sermon of two hours long, and a prayer of fear; and, besides, if he durst speak, mankind is grown wiser at this time of day than to cut one another’s throats about religion. Our Mufti’s is a green coat, and the Christian’s is a black coat; and we must wisely go together by the ears, whether green or black shall sweep our spoils.

  [Drums within, and shouts.

  Bend. Now we shall see whose numbers will prevail:

  The conquering troops of Muley-Zeydan come,

  To crush rebellion, and espouse my cause.

  Must. We will have a fair trial of skill for it, I can tell him that. When we have dispatched with Muley-Zeydan, your lordship shall march, in equal proportions of your body, to the four gates of the city, and every tower shall have a quarter of you.

  [Antonio draws them up, and takes Alm. by the hand. Shouts again, and Drums.

  Enter Dorax and Sebastian, attended by African Soldiers and Portugueses. Almeyda and Sebastian run into each others arms, and both speak together.

  Seb. and Alm. My Sebastian! my Almeyda!

  Alm. Do you then live?

  Seb. And live to love thee ever.

  Bend. How! Dorax and Sebastian still alive!

  The Moors and Christians joined! — I thank thee, prophet.

  Dor. The citadel is ours; and Muley-Zeydan

  Safe under guard, but as becomes a prince.

  Lay down your arms; such base plebeian blood

  Would only stain the brightness of my sword,

  And blunt it for some nobler work behind.

  Must. I suppose you may put it up without offence to any man here present. For my part, I have been loyal to my sovereign lady, though that villain Benducar, and that hypocrite the Mufti, would have corrupted me; but if those two escape public justice, then I and all my late honest subjects here deserve hanging.

  Bend. [To Dor.] I’m sure I did my part to poison thee,

  What saint soe’er has soldered thee again:

  A dose less hot had burst through ribs of iron.

  Muf. Not knowing that, I poisoned him once more,

  And drenched him with a draught so deadly cold,

  That, hadst not thou prevented, had congealed

  The channel of his blood, and froze him dry.

  Bend. Thou interposing fool, to mangle mischief,

  And think to mend the perfect work of hell!

  Dor. Thus, when heaven pleases, double poisons cure.

  I will not tax thee of ingratitude

  To me, thy friend, who hast betrayed thy prince:

  Death he deserved indeed, but not from thee.

  But fate, it seems, reserved the worst of men

  To end the worst of tyrants. —

  Go, bear him to his fate,

  And send him to attend his master’s ghost.

  Let some secure my other poisoning friend,

  Whose double diligence preserved my life.

  Ant. You are fallen into good hands, father-in-law; your sparkling jewels, and Morayma’s eyes, 409 may prove a better bail than you deserve.

  Muf. The best that can come of me, in this condition, is, to have my life begged first, and then to be begged for a fool afterwards.

  [Exeunt Antonio, with the Mufti; and, at the same time, Benducar is carried off.

  Dor. [To Must.]

  You, and your hungry herd, depart untouched;

  For justice cannot stoop so low, to reach

  The groveling sin of crowds: but curst be they,

  Who trust revenge with such mad instruments,

  Whose blindfold business is but to destroy;

  And, like the fire, commissioned by the winds,

  Begins on sheds, but, rolling in a round,

  On palaces returns. Away, ye scum,

  That still rise upmost when the nation boils;

  Ye mongrel work of heaven, with human shapes,

  Not to be damned or saved, but breathe and perish,

  That have but just enough of sense, to know

  The master’s voice, when rated, to depart. [Exeunt Mustapha and Rabble.

  Alm. With gratitude as low as knees can pay [Kneeling to him.

  To those blest holy fires, our guardian angels,

  Receive these thanks, till altars can be raised.

  Dor. Arise, fair excellence, and pay no thanks, [Raising her up.

  Till time discover what I have deserved.

  Seb. More than reward can answer.

  If Portugal and Spain were joined to Africa,

  And the main ocean crusted into land,

  If universal monarchy were mine,

  Here should the gift be placed.

  Dor. And from some hands I should refuse that gift.

  Be not too prodigal of promises;

  But stint your bounty to one only grant,

  Which I can ask with honour.

  Seb. What I am

  Is but thy gift; make what thou canst of me,

  Secure of no repulse.

  Dor. [To Seb.] Dismiss your train. —

  [To Alm.] You, madam, please one moment to retire.

  [Sebastian signs to the Portugueses to go off; Almeyda, bowing to him, gives off also. The Africans follow her.

  Dor. [To the Captain of the Guard.]

  With you one word in private.[Goes out with the Captain.

  Seb. [Solus.] Reserved behaviour, open nobleness,

  A long mysterious track of stern bounty:

  But now the hand of fate is on the curtain,

  And draws the scene to sight.

  Re-enter Dorax, having taken off his Turban, and put on a Peruke, Hat, and Cravat.

  Dor. Now, do you know me?

  Seb. Thou shouldst be Alonzo.

  Dor. So you should be Sebastian:

  But when Sebastian ceased to be himself,

  I ceased to be Alonzo.

  Seb. As in a dream,

  I see thee here, and scarce believe mine eyes.

  Dor. Is it so strange to find me, where my wrongs,

  And your inhuman tyranny, have sent me?

  Think not you dream; or, if you did, my injuries

  Shall call so loud, that lethargy should wake,

  And death should give you back to answer me.

  A thousand nights have brushed their balmy wings

  Over these eyes; but ever when they closed,

  Your tyrant image forced them ope again,

  And dried the dews they brought:

  The long expected hour is come at length,

  By manly vengeance to redeem my fame;

  And, that once cleared, eternal sleep is welcome.

  Seb. I have not yet forgot I am a king,

  Whose royal office is redress of wrongs:

  If I have wronged thee, charge me face to face; —

  I have not yet forgot I am a soldier.

  Dor. ’Tis the first justice thou hast ever done me.

  Then, though I loath this woman’s war of tongues,

  Yet shall my cause of vengeance first be clear;

  And, honour, be thou judge.

  Seb. Honour befriend us both. —

>   Beware I warn thee yet, to tell thy griefs

  In terms becoming majesty to hear:

  I warn thee thus, because I know thy temper

  Is insolent, and haughty to superiors.

  How often hast thou braved my peaceful court,

  Filled it with noisy brawls, and windy boasts;

  And with past service, nauseously repeated,

  Reproached even me, thy prince?

  Dor. And well I might, when you forgot reward,

  The part of heaven in kings; for punishment

  Is hangman’s work, and drudgery for devils. —

  I must, and will reproach thee with my service,

  Tyrant! — It irks me so to call my prince;

  But just resentment, and hard usage, coined

  The unwilling word; and, grating as it is,

  Take it, for ’tis thy due.

  Seb. How, tyrant?

  Dor. Tyrant.

  Seb. Traitor! — that name thou canst not echo back;

  That robe of infamy, that circumcision

  Ill hid beneath that robe, proclaim thee traitor;

  And, if a name

  More foul than traitor be, ’tis renegade.

  Dor. If I’m a traitor, think, — and blush, thou tyrant, —

  Whose injuries betrayed me into treason,

  Effaced my loyalty, unhinged my faith,

  And hurried me, from hopes of heaven, to hell.

  All these, and all my yet unfinished crimes,

  When I shall rise to plead before the saints,

  I charge on thee, to make thy damning sure.

  Seb. Thy old presumptuous arrogance again,

  That bred my first dislike, and then my loathing. —

  Once more be warned, and know me for thy king.

  Dor. Too well I know thee, but for king no more.

  This is not Lisbon; nor the circle this,

  Where, like a statue, thou hast stood besieged

  By sycophants and fools, the growth of courts;

  Where thy gulled eyes, in all the gaudy round,

  Met nothing but a lie in every face,

  And the gross flattery of a gaping crowd,

  Envious who first should catch, and first applaud,

  The stuff of royal nonsense: When I spoke,

  My honest homely words were carped and censured

  For want of courtly style; related actions,

  Though modestly reported, passed for boasts;

  Secure of merit if I asked reward,

  Thy hungry minions thought their rights invaded,

  And the bread snatched from pimps and parasites.

  Henriquez answered, with a ready lie,

  To save his king’s, — the boon was begged before!

  Seb. What say’st thou of Henriquez? Now, by heaven,

  Thou mov’st me more by barely naming him,

  Than all thy foul unmannered scurril taunts.

  Dor. And therefore ’twas, to gall thee, that I named him.

  That thing, that nothing, but a cringe and smile;

  That woman, but more daubed; or, if a man,

  Corrupted to a woman; thy man-mistress.

  Seb. All false as hell, or thou.

  Dor. Yes; full as false

  As that I served thee fifteen hard campaigns,

  And pitched thy standard in these foreign fields:

  By me thy greatness grew, thy years grew with it,

  But thy ingratitude outgrew them both.

  Seb. I see to what thou tend’st: but, tell me first,

  If those great acts were done alone for me?

  If love produced not some, and pride the rest?

  Dor. Why, love does all that’s noble here below;

  But all the advantage of that love was thine.

  For, coming fraughted back, in either hand

  With palm and olive, victory and peace,

  I was indeed prepared to ask my own,

  (For Violante’s vows were mine before:)

  Thy malice had prevention, ere I spoke;

  And asked me Violante for Henriquez.

  Seb. I meant thee a reward of greater worth.

  Dor. Where justice wanted, could reward be hoped?

  Could the robbed passenger expect a bounty

  From those rapacious hands, who stripped him first?

  Seb. He had my promise, ere I knew thy love.

  Dor. My services deserved thou shouldst revoke it.

  Seb. Thy insolence had cancelled all thy service:

  To violate my laws, even in my court,

  Sacred to peace, and safe from all affronts;

  Even to my face, and done in my despite,

  Under the wing of awful majesty,

  To strike the man I loved!

  Dor. Even in the face of heaven, a place more sacred,

  Would I have struck the man, who, prompt by power,

  Would seize my right, and rob me of my love:

  But, for a blow provoked by thy injustice,

  The hasty product of a just despair,

  When he refused to meet me in the field,

  That thou shouldst make a coward’s cause thy own!

  Seb. He durst; nay more, desired, and begged with tears,

  To meet thy challenge fairly: ’Twas thy fault

  To make it public; but my duty, then,

  To interpose, on pain of my displeasure,

  Betwixt your swords.

  Dor. On pain of infamy,

  He should have disobeyed.

  Seb. The indignity, thou didst, was meant to me:

  Thy gloomy eyes were cast on me with scorn,

  As who should say, — the blow was there intended:

  But that thou didst not dare to lift thy hands

  Against anointed power. So was I forced

  To do a sovereign justice to myself,

  And spurn thee from my presence.

  Dor. Thou hast dared

  To tell me, what I durst not tell myself:

  I durst not think that I was spurned, and live;

  And live to hear it boasted to my face.

  All my long avarice of honour lost,

  Heaped up in youth, and hoarded up for age!

  Has honour’s fountain then sucked back the stream?

  He has; and hooting boys may dry-shod pass,

  And gather pebbles from the naked ford. —

  Give me my love, my honour; give them back —

  Give me revenge, while I have breath to ask it!

  Seb. Now, by this honoured order which I wear,

  More gladly would I give, than thou dar’st ask it;

  Nor shall the sacred character of king

  Be urged, to shield me from thy bold appeal.

  If I have injured thee, that makes us equal;

  The wrong, if done, debased me down to thee.

  But thou hast charged me with ingratitude;

  Hast thou not charged me? speak!

  Dor. Thou know’st I have:

  If thou disown’st that imputation, draw,

  And prove my charge a lie.

  Seb. No; to disprove that lie, I must not draw.

  Be conscious to thy worth, and tell thy soul,

  What thou hast done this day in my defence.

  To fight thee after this, what were it else

  Than owning that ingratitude thou urgest?

  That isthmus stands between two rushing seas;

  Which, mounting, view each other from afar,

  And strive in vain to meet.

  Dor. I’ll cut that isthmus.

  Thou know’st I meant not to preserve thy life,

  But to reprieve it, for my own revenge.

  I saved thee out of honourable malice:

  Now, draw; — I should be loth to think thou dar’st not:

  Beware of such another vile excuse.

  Seb. O patience, heaven!

  Dor. Beware of patience, too;

  That’s a suspicious word. It had been proper,

&
nbsp; Before thy foot had spurned me; now ’tis base:

  Yet, to disarm thee of thy last defence,

  I have thy oath for my security.

  The only boon I begged was this fair combat:

  Fight, or be perjured now; that’s all thy choice.

  Seb. Now can I thank thee as thou would’st be thanked. [Drawing.

  Never was vow of honour better paid,

  If my true sword but hold, than this shall be.

  The sprightly bridegroom, on his wedding night,

  More gladly enters not the lists of love:

  Why, ’tis enjoyment to be summoned thus.

  Go, bear my message to Henriquez ghost;

  And say, his master and his friend revenged him.

  Dor. His ghost! then is my hated rival dead?

  Seb. The question is beside our present purpose:

  Thou seest me ready; we delay too long.

  Dor. A minute is not much in either’s life,

  When there’s but one betwixt us; throw it in,

  And give it him of us who is to fail.

  Seb. He’s dead; make haste, and thou may’st yet o’ertake him.

  Dor. When I was hasty, thou delayed’st me longer —

  I pr’ythee let me hedge one moment more

  Into thy promise: For thy life preserved,

  Be kind; and tell me how that rival died,

  Whose death, next thine, I wished.

  Seb. If it would please thee, thou shouldst never know;

  But thou, like jealousy, enquir’st a truth,

  Which, found, will torture thee. — He died in fight;

  Fought next my person; as in concert fought;

  Kept pace for pace, and blow for every blow;

  Save when he heaved his shield in my defence,

  And on his naked side received my wound.

  Then, when he could no more, he fell at once;

  But rolled his falling body cross their way,

  And made a bulwark of it for his prince.

  Dor. I never can forgive him such a death!

  Seb. I prophesied thy proud soul could not bear it. —

  Now, judge thyself, who best deserved my love?

  I knew you both; and (durst I say) as heaven

  Foreknew, among the shining angel host,

  Who would stand firm, who fall.

  Dor. Had he been tempted so, so had he fallen;

  And so had I been favoured, had I stood.

  Seb. What had been, is unknown; what is, appears.

  Confess, he justly was preferred to thee.

  Dor. Had I been born with his indulgent stars,

  My fortune had been his, and his been mine. —

  O worse than hell! what glory have I lost,

  And what has he acquired, by such a death!

  I should have fallen by Sebastian’s side,