by John Dryden
But what must next be done with Cleomenes?
Sosib. Despatch him, as the source of all your fears.
Observe the mounting billows of the main,
Blown by the winds into a raging storm;
Brush off those winds, and the high waves return
Into their quiet first-created calm: —
Such is the rage of busy, blustering crowds,
Fomented by the ambition of the great:
Cut off the causes, and the effect will cease;
And all the moving madness fall to peace.
Ptol. Let him be seized, in order to his death;
I am in haste, you know it, for my progress.
A thousand pleasures wait me at Canopus,
And this poor trifling business of one life
Encumbers all. — Cassandra, are you ready?
We will be seen like Isis and Osiris,
Drawn in one chariot, for admiring eyes
To worship as we pass.
Cas. A word in private; — Cœnus, attend without. — [Exit.
[Cassandra leads the King to a corner of the Stage; Sosibius takes his Son to the other.
Sosib. [To Clean.] Now I am twice your father, by preserving
The life I gave you, which your folly hazarded.
Break off all friendship with that Spartan king,
Or never see me more: his fate’s resolved,
Nor can you stem the tide; avoid his ruins;
Reply not, but obey.
Clean. I know my duty. — [Bowing.
Sosib. Thou overjoy est me: follow, we’ll talk further. [Exeunt Sosib and Clean.
Cas. What think you of Sosibius and his son?
Ptol. As of two creatures zealous for my service.
Cas. O heavens! that I should love this king so well!
But that I dote — What can I see in him,
But dull good-nature and simplicity?
Well, well! my little dear, I find the gods
Have given me here no business of my own,
But made me just your drudge, to love and save you.
Ptol.’Protest I thought them honest; are they not?
Cas. Ye gods! why did you make this man your image?
And made him but an image? — You’ll forgive me;
I love you so, that I am forced to rail.
You saw no close conveyance of the game
Betwixt the crafty sire and cunning son;
How slyly one invented an excuse,
And t ‘other took it up as dexterously!
Ptol. Why, sure Cleanthes was his father’s spy?
Cas. Yes, over you; but not on Cleomenes.
I fear you are betrayed, and the gods blind you,
To make your ruin sure.
Ptol. As how, Cassandra?
Cas. When you are absent —
Ptol. Well!
Cas. ’Tis in their power —
Ptol. To murder Cleomenes —
Cas. If they please;
Or else to set him free, and join with Magas.
Ptol. I will not to Canopus.
Cas. Yes, you must.
Ptol. But how shall I be safe, and take this journey?
Cas. Leave that to me.
Ptol. But you must go along.
Cas. No; I must stay here, in order to your safety,
To watch the growth of danger, and prevent it
This cruel absence I must undergo,
Or else I love you not.
Ptol. Since I must go,
I’ll cheat them of a day, and come before
My time, for love of thee.
Cas. To sum up all, —
For we are both in haste, —
Intrust your royal signet in my hands.
Ptol. Joined with Sosibius.
Cas. Would you trust a statesman
Before your own dear heart? You love him better,
You naughty man, in faith you do; and, now I think on’t,
I will not have your signet: by this kiss,
And this, and this, I will not.
Ptol. By all three, thou shalt.
[Gives her the Signet from his finger.
But kill this Cleomenes quickly, he’s dangerous.
Cas. He’s in safe hands with me.
Ptol. One more embrace.
Cas. There, take it, and now go.
Thus, for your good, I thrust you from my arms.
Ptol. Farewell, my love. [Exit Ptolemy.
Cas. Farewell — 1 hope for ever. —
Now, Cleomenes, I will sound thy soul,
For life and death depend upon thy choice;
But for that easy wretch, him I contemn.
Hard state of lovers, subject to our laws!
Fools we must have, or else we cannot sway;
For none but fools will womankind obey.
If they prove stubborn, and resist our will,
We exercise our power, and use them ill.
The passive slave, that whines, adores, and dies,
Sometimes we pity, but we still despise:
But when we dote, the selfsame fate we prove,
Fools at the best, but double fools in love.
We rage at first with ill-dissembled scorn;
Then, falling from our height, more basely mourn;
And man, the insulting tyrant, takes his turn,
Leaves us to weep for our neglected charms,
And hugs another mistress in his arms;
And, that which humbles our proud sex the most,
Of all our slighted favours makes his boast.
[Exit CASSANDRA.
Enter CLEOMENES.
Cleom. Her words, her every look, confess she loves me;
And therefore she detains these hostages,
As pawns of my return to her and Egypt.
Thus far ’tis plain and obvious: — But the picture;
That Helen: there’s the riddle of her love.
For, what I see, or only think I see,
Is like a glimpse of moonshine, streaked with red, —
A shuffled, sullen, and uncertain light,
That dances through the clouds, and shuts again:
Then ‘ware a rising tempest on the main.
Enter CASSANDRA.
Cas. I would, but cannot speak.
The shame that should to womankind belong,
Flown from my bosom, hovers on my tongue.
[Aside.
Cleom. ’Tis rarely seen, that gods from heaven descend,
But for some kind, some charitable end.
And yet your troubled looks ill news import,
Stops, or delays; but that’s no news at court:
There’s somewhat which your pity would disguise.
Cas. Would you could read that somewhat in my eyes!
But, as you are a Spartan and a king,
Undaunted hear whatever news I bring.
The favourite hates you; Cœnus has betrayed
The bitter truths, that our loose court upbraid.
Your friend was set upon you for a spy,
And on his witness you are doomed to die.
Cleom. I have been plunged already twice in woes,
And the third time above the waves I rose.
Still I have strength to steer me into port,
And shun the secret quicksands of the court.
But when my friend, who should expecting stand
On the bare beach, to lend his helping hand;
When he defends the unhospitable shore,
And drives me thence, I sink for evermore.
But ’tis impossible, his faith is tried;
The man who had defamed him thus had lied.
Cas. Well! I forgive your blunt Laconic way;
It shall be seen, it shall, this very day,
Who would preserve your life, and who betray.
The king incensed, the favourite your foe,
Yet on the same conditions you may go;
Your wife, you
r son, your mother left behind.
What think you now?
Cleom. ’Tis to be wondrous kind.
Cas. Suppose I add a further bounty yet.
Cleom. It could but make your favours over weight.
Cas. What if I went myself to waft you o’er,
And left you when I saw you safe ashore?
For I should leave you, if you thought it fit,
Not to do more than honour would permit.
Can I do less, to show you I am kind,
To comfort you for those you left behind?
Cleom. The world would think you kinder than you ought.
Cas. What should I care what base Egyptians thought?
Cleom. Immoderate gifts oppress me, not relieve;
Nor dare I take what ruins you to give.
Cas. Leave me to judge of that; I could prescribe
An easy way of giving back my bribe.
Why would you force me further than my part?
Look on my eyes, and you may read my heart.
[Looks on her as by stealth.
Oh, there you met me with a guilty glance!
Now ’tis too late to plead your ignorance.
Cleom. I am so much below, and you above,
What can I say?
Cas. But one kind word, — I love.
Cleom. As far as gratitude that love can pay.
Cas. Oh, stop not there; for that’s but half the way!
Would you to one poor narrow word confine
Your passion, when I put no bounds to mine?
Cleom. Cleora!
Cas. Now you speak too soon; forbear!
Nothing can please me that begins with her.
Cleom. I must begin where nature, void of art,
Directs my tongue, — with her, who rules my heart.
Cas. Let us together sail before the wind,
And leave that dull domestic drudge behind.
Cleom. What! to expose her helpless innocence
To the wild fury of an injured prince?
Cas. A vain surmise; their talents would agree,
The gods have made your noble mind for me,
And her insipid soul for Ptolemy:
A heavy lump of earth, without desire;
A heap of ashes, that o’erlays your fire.
Cleom. Virtue you must allow her, though a foe.
Cas. No more than what I would to ice and snow.
Yet those have seeds of heat; her shivering blood
Makes her, at best, but impotently good.
But neither I can save you, if you stay,
Nor save myself unless I go away;
For, if I stay behind, and set you free,
The fury of the king would fall on me.
Cleom. Then, to prevent your fate, I must not go;
Death is my choice, since heaven will have it so.
Cas. Heaven would preserve your life, and so would I;
But you are obstinately bent to die.
Cleom. Some men are made of such a leaky mould,
That their filled vessels can no fortune hold:
Poured in, it sinks away, and leaves them dry;
Of that unsusceptible make am I.
Yet think not, fair one, I your charms despise;
My heart’s insensible, but not my eyes:
Respect and gratitude are all my store,
And those I give; my love was given before.
Cas. Thus break false merchants, with an honest show;
Rich to themselves, but bankrupts where they owe.
Cleom. If at this awful distance I remain,
Better be too devout, than too profane.
Cas. Flattery! such alms the priesthood give the poor;
They bless, and send them empty from the door.
Know you, that Death stands ready at the gate,
That I forbid him, and suspend your fate?
The king’s short absence leaves me absolute;
When he returns the inevitable ill
Is past my power, and may be past my will.
Unhappy man! prevent thy destiny;
Speak one kind word, to save thy life and me.
Cleom. Be answered, and expect no more reply.
Cas. Disdain has swelled him up, and choked his breath;
Sullen, and dumb, and obstinate to death.
No signs of pity in his face appear;
Look, if the ungrateful creature shed one tear!
Crammed with his pride, he leaves no room within
For sighs to issue out, or love to enter in. —
[He turns away.
What! dost thou turn thy face in my despite?
Am I a toad? a monster to thy sight?
Farewell, fond pity, then: as thou from me,
So thy good fortune turns her face from thee,
Left, scorned, and loathed, and all without relief,
Revenge succeeds to love, and rage to grief,
Tempests and whirlwinds through my bosom move,
Heave up, and madly mount my soul above
The reach of pity, or the bounds of love. —
Approach, and seize the traitor.
Enter Guards.
Cleom. Now I can speak: thy kindness kept me dumb,
For that I could not answer. The false siren,
No longer hiding her uncomely parts,
Struts on the waves, and shews the brute below.
Cas. Stop that foul mouth! behold this royal signet,
The warrant of his death.
[Guards go to seize him.
Cleom. Stand back, ye slaves,
[He draws his sword.
And put me not to stain a Spartan sword
With base Egyptian blood.
[He advances upon them; they retire, with signs of fear.
Cas. Fall on! — Behold a noble beast at bay,
And the vile huntsmen shrink! — More aid:
Who waits? —
Enter CLEANTHES.
Now, sir, what brings you here?
Clean. My zeal to serve you.
Cas. That shall be tried; disarm him.
Clean. Cleomenes,
Deliver me your sword.
Cleom. How’s this, Cleanthes?
Clean. It must be so.
Cleom. Is this a friend’s advice,
To give me up defenceless to a crowd,
Whom, armed, I could resist?
Clean. Must he die, madam,
Or be reserved for further punishment,
At Ptolemy’s return?
Cas. Why ask you that?
Clean. Because his destiny, for aught I find,
Depends on you. Think first, and then command.
Cas. Know then, that his last thread is on the distaff,
And I can cut it now.
Clean. And are resolved?
Cas. I only said I can, and I can save. —
Disarm, and hurt him not.
Clean. Once more, your sword.
Cleom. Stand off those villains; — though I fear them not,
Yet cowards are offensive to my sight;
Nor shall they see me do an act that looks
Below the courage of a Spartan king.
Cas. Cleanthes, may I trust your faith?
Clean. You may.
Cas. Begone, and wait my call.
[Exeunt Guards.
Cleom. Cleanthes! Still my friend: for such I hold thee,
Though this bad woman says thou art my spy;
I cannot give a greater proof than this,
That I believe her not: — [Gives him his sword.] —
If thou art false,
’Tis in thy power to show it safely, now;
And compass that by treason, which, in arms,
Nor thou, nor any man alive, can force.
Remember still, I gave it to a friend;
For life and death are equal in themselves;
That, which would cast the balance, is thy falsehood,
To make my death
more wretched.
Clean. Then you may think me that which you call false;
But duty to my father —
Cleom. Say no more!
I would not curse thee, for thou wert my friend.
I think thee still as honest as thou couldst;
Impenetrably good; but, like Achilles,
Thou hast a soft Egyptian heel undipped,
And that has made thee mortal.
Cas. Cleanthes, thou hast well approved thy faith;
And, as this palace is thy government,
On utmost peril of thy life secure him. —
One further word —— [ Whispers.
[Exit Clean, looking concernedly on Cleom.
Cleom. So guilty as thou art, and canst thou look
On him thou hast betrayed? — Go, take thy hire,
Which thou hast dearly purchased, and be great.
Can. For you, brave sir, as you have given my hopes
But air to feed on, air shall be your food;
No bread shall enter these forbidden doors.
Thin, hungry diet, I confess: but still
The liker Spartan fare. Keen appetites,
And quick digestion, wait on you and yours.
Cleom. Oh, mix not innocence and guilt together!
What love have they refused, or how offended?
Be just, though you are cruel; or, be kind,
And punish me alone.
Cas. There nature works;
Then there I’ll stab thee in thy tender part.
[Shrieks of Women within.
Cleom. What dismal cries are those?
Cas. Nothing; a trifling sum of misery,
New added to the foot of thy account:
Thy wife is seized by force, and borne away. —
Farewell; I dare not trust thy vengeance further.
[Exit.
[Running to the door, he is stopped by
Guards with drawn swords.
Cleom. Cleora! — There stands death, but no
Cleora;
I would find both together.
Enter CRATESICLEA, CLEONIDAS, and PANTHEUS bloody on his hands.
Crat. O King of Sparta!
Cleom. Peace, mother, peace;
I have had news from hell before you, —
Cleora’s gone to death. Is there a door,
A casement, or a rift within these walls,
That can loose my body to her rescue?
Panth. All closed; nothing but heaven above is open.
Cleom. Nay, that’s closed too: the gods are deaf to prayers!
Hush, then; the irrevocable doom’s gone forth,
And prayers lag after, but can ne’er o’ertake. —
Let us talk forward of our woes to come.
Crat. Cleanthes! (Oh, could you suspect his faith?)
’Twas he that headed those who forced her hence.
Cleom. Pantheus bleeds!
Panth. A scratch, a feeble dart,
At distance thrown by an Egyptian hand.
