Complete Works of Thomas Otway
Page 16
Qu:
— Can you then so soon
Forget your promise? or will you disown
That ere, if you Timandra should survive,
You vow’d you only for my sake would live?
You see how Heaven has decreed, —
Alci:
— Alas!
I then the blessing knew, but not the loss,
Besides I now must dye —
Qu:
How Sir is’t thus, my profer’d love you prize?
Alci.
I do not hate you, may not that suffice?
Qu.
Ungrateful, no, but I’l reward thy pride,
Draw back: —
[The Scene drawn Timandra on a Couch in the midst of her pains.
— Go dotard, in, enjoy thy bride;
And know by me thy lov’d Timandra dy’d:
Yes cruel man by me —
Tim.
— No Queen, she lives,
And still to all thy rage destance give’s.
[spyes Alcibiades.
Do I behold my dearest Lord so nigh!
Shall I agen see him before I dye!
Alci.
Best hopes and comfort of my life! I’m here,
How fares my love? —
Tim.
Oh come not, come not near,
My blood’s all fire, infection’s in each vein,
And tyrant death in ev’ry part does reign;
But I for you could suffer much more pain.
Alci.
Kind heav’n! let all her pangs upon me fall,
And add ten thousand more, I’l bear ’em all,
Do but restore her back; Oh cursed Queen!
What Devil arm’d thee to so damn’d a sin?
Cou’dst thou be guilty of so foul a deed?
Qu.
Yes I did do’t, by me the King too bled,
Unworthy wretch! and all for love of you:
But had I pow’r I now would kill thee too.
Alci.
Oh do’t; I’l blot out all th’ast done before,
And never call thee base, nor cruel more.
Here is my breast; soon the kind work begin,
Advance thy Poniard, send it boldly in.
Qu.
No, thou shalt live for harder destiny,
But first shalt see thy dear Timandra dye.
Alci.
Oh misery beyond the damn’d beneath!
Must I not happy be in life nor death?
Tim.
Alas! cease your unnecessary moan,
I find my torments quickly will be gon.
Though I could wish they might to years renew,
So I might still be blest with seeing you.
Now the black storms of fate are all blown o’re,
And we shall meet, and ne’re be parted more.
But oh farewell —
[dyes
Alci.
— My dear Timandra stay!
Ah pretious Soul, fly not so soon away!
But one look more; will death have no remorse?
See, ’tis thy Alcibiades implores.
But oh she’s gon, seize there that Murd’ress.
Qu.
— No:
Seize me! ’tis more then all your Camp can do:
Who e’re comes, here’s my guard: Alas mean fool,
[Presents her Dagger.
My fate’s a thing too great for thee to rule;
There lyes your constancy:
[pointing to Timandra.
[Alcibiades flyes to the Queen, and snatches the Dagger from her.
Alci.
Infernal hag!
Whose ev’ry breath infects, each look’s a plague!
Could not thy fury on my bosome rest
But thou must wreak thy vengeance on this breast?
To murder her! — curse on me that I stand
Thus Idle; now thy heart:
[presents the Dagger to her breast.
— But oh ’twould brand
My Trophyes with eternal infamy,
If by my hand so base a thing should dye:
Her ills so many, and so odious are,
They would disgrace an executioner.
Yet I’d do something, oh I hav’t, I’l tear
[ravingly
Her peicemeal: — but Timandra’s gone too far:
[mildly
Yonder she Mounts, tryumphant Spirit stay:
See where the Angels bear her Soul away!
Now all the Gods will grow in love with her:
And I shall meet fresh troops of Rivals there.
But thus I’l haste and follow, —
[Stabs himself.
— Devil there, —
[throws the Dagger to the Queen.
Dye if thou hast courage enough to dare.
But oh! —
A heavy faintness does each sense surprize:
Yet e’re I close up these unhappy eyes,,
Here their last dutious sorrows they shall pay
And at this object melt in tears away.
Blest center of my hopes! in whom I plac’t
Too choice, too pure a happiness to last,
I any lossless then thy death had greiv’d;
How well could I have dy’d, so thou hadst liv’d!
Damn’d fiend! —
[to the Queen.
But oh why do I rave at her?
That have so little time to tarry here;
One parting kiss, and then in peace I’l dye:
[kisses Tim.
Now farewel world, welcome eternity.
Enter Patroclus Lords and Guards.
Patr.
Horrour of horrours! this was a dismal chance,
Alas my freind!
Alci.
— Thy useless greif refrain,
Farewell; we shall hereafter meet again.
[dyes.
Patr.
Guards seize the Queen —
Qu.
— Seize me rude Slaves? forbear.
Patr.
You shall in short your accusation hear,
To kill the King, my Father, first you made
Your property; then basely him betray’d.
Your Woman all confes’t, and by the Guard
Is now secur’d to a more just reward.
And (though too late) this black design I knew:
Yet all your stratagems are useless now
Hence with the Murd’ress, to Justice.
Qu.
— Hah!
Think you that I will dye by formal law?
No, when I’m dead be thus my fame suppli’d:
She liv’d a murd’ress, and a murd’ress dy’d.
[stabs her self.
Justice would but my happiness retard:
Thus I descend below to a reward.
I shall be Queen of fate: the furies there
For me a glorious Crown of Snakes prepare.
I long to be in state; my Lords farewell:
Now noble Charon! hoyse up Sayl for Hell.
[dyes.
Lord.
Her Soul is fled, —
Patr.
— With her for ever dye,
Her treasons, and her odious memory.
But whither is the fair Draxilla gone?
Lord.
Distracted at the mischiefs that are done,
She’s fled; but whither is to all unknown.
Patr.
Quickly let after her be made pursuit:
I’l ransack all the World to find her out.
Propitious Heav’n will sure to her be kind.
Enter Lord.
2 Lord.
My Lord we in our votes have all combin’d
To make you King, the Camp with shouts, and cryes
Of joy, send their loud wishes to the Skyes.
[Shouts within, Long live Patroclus King of Sparta.
Patr.
Go bid ’em their
unwelcome noise forbear:
Turn all their shouts to sighs of sorrow here.
[Turns to the Bodyes.
Th’are gone; and with e’m all I wish’d to keep.
Now could I almost turn a boy, and weep.
My Friends! my Mistress! and my Father lost!
Never were growing hopes more sadly crost.
Now fortune has her utmost malice shown,
She’d court me with the flatt’ry of a Crown:
A thing so far beneath those joys I miss,
’Tis but the shadow of a happiness.
For how uneasily on Thrones they sit,
That must like me be wretched to be great!
FINIS.
Don Carlos, Prince of Spain
CONTENTS
DON CARLOS, PRINCE OF SPAIN.
TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE.
PREFACE.
PROLOGUE
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ACT THE FIRST.
ACT THE SECOND.
ACT THE THIRD.
ACT THE FOURTH.
ACT THE FIFTH.
EPILOGUE
DON CARLOS, PRINCE OF SPAIN.
Principibus placuisse viris non ultima laus est. —
Hor., E, Lib. I.
Besides the writers mentioned in my Introduction, Campistron, a pupil of Racine, founded a play called Andronic on this same history of Don Carlos. Some Spanish historians, in the interest of Philip, have tried to blacken the character of his son. But the Abbé de San Real (who has been called the French Sallust) seems to have estimated him rightly, while the dramatists have, on the whole, adopted the Frenchman’s conception, which was apparently derived from reliable Spanish sources. The motto prefixed from Horace is in allusion to the fact that this play received the approbation of the King and the Duke of York. It had a long success at the theatre, and we may agree with those who called it, as Otway tells us in the preface, the best “heroic” play of the time — containing, as it does, far less of rant and confusion, but more of nature and passion, than the “heroic” plays of Dryden — though Aurungzebe may not be far behind it. Booth, the actor, was informed by Betterton that Don Carlos continued for several years to attract larger audiences than The Orphan or Venice Preserved. It was first represented at the Duke’s Theatre in the year 1676, and was published in the same year.
Philip II., son of the Emperor Charles V., became King of Naples and Sicily in 1554 on his father’s abdication, and King Consort of England by his marriage with Mary two years after he ascended the Spanish throne. In 1557 he gained the victory of St. Quentin, which might have made him master of France, but he did not follow it up, being, it is said, so elated and yet terrified that he vowed: first, never to engage in another fight, and secondly, to found a monastery in honour of St. Lawrence at Escorial. Later came the great rebellion of the Low Countries, which, in spite of Alva’s ability, sanguinary cruelty, and persecutions, resulted in the independence of “the United Provinces,” and the triumph of the reformed faith. Philip subdued Portugal, and sent the huge Spanish Armada to conquer England, the illustrious heretic Elizabeth having succeeded to Mary. But the storms and the English together were too much for him. He showed resignation and dignity, however, when the admiral in command announced this misfortune to him. He married Elizabeth of Valois after Mary’s death.
It is probable that Don Carlos inherited the personal pride and hauteur of his race, and he is said to have treated Alva with rudeness on a public occasion, only because the Duke was a little late in paying his respects to him. Alva, as a noble, had his share of pride, and being, moreover, malignant, never forgave this.
But the rivalry of these two personages in desiring the government of the revolted Netherlands is a more probable cause of the affront, for it seems to have been just before the Duke proceeded thither as Governor, when he went to take leave of Carlos, that it occurred. Philip had refused the post to his son, and given it to Alva. Carlos is even said by some to have threatened the Duke with his sword; but, if so, it seems likely that something in the words or triumphant demeanour of the latter provoked the hotheaded youth beyond endurance. This spirited and aspiring Prince was evidently far more liberal in religion and politics than his father, a disposition likely to be intensified by the fact that his father persistently kept him in tutelage, and forbade him all participation in the management of public affairs, which he so ardently coveted. That he entered into correspondence with the gallant men striving for liberty of conscience and nationality in the Low Countries seems certain. This was a pretext and motive for his arrest, imprisonment, and murder. But jealous suspicion that the Queen, promised and betrothed by Philip himself to his own son, cared too much for that son, and more than suspicion that Carlos cared too much for her, afforded a motive yet more powerful. Elizabeth of France (daughter of Henry II.) was put to death about the same time, and the Prince of Orange openly accused Philip of these murders, alleging that they were committed in order that he might be free to marry his own niece, Anne of Austria. Carlos is variously reported to have been killed by poison, strangulation, or opening his veins in a bath. Philip died in 1598. His character has been well suggested and outlined in a recent play, Lord Tennyson’s “Queen Mary.”
TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE.
SIR,
’Tis an approved opinion, there is not so unhappy a creature in the world as the man that wants ambition; for certainly he lives to very little use that only toils in the same round, and because he knows where he is, though in a dirty road, dares not venture on a smoother path for fear of being lost. That I am not the wretch I condemn, your Royal Highness may be sufficiently convinced, in that I durst presume to put this poem under your patronage. My motives to it were not ordinary: for besides my own propensity to take an opportunity of publishing the extreme devotion I owe your Royal Highness, the mighty encouragement I received from your approbation of it when presented on the stage was hint enough to let me know at whose feet it ought to be laid. Yet, whilst I do this, I am sensible the curious world will expect some panegyric on those heroic virtues which are throughout it so much admired. But, as they are a theme too great for my undertaking, so only to endeavour at the truth of them must, in the distance between my obscurity and their height, savour of a flattery, which in your Royal Highness’s esteem I would not be thought guilty of; though in that part of them which relates to myself (viz., your favours showered on a thing so mean as I am) I know not how to be silent. For you were not only so indulgent as to bestow your praise on this, but even (beyond my hopes) to declare in favour of my first essay of this nature, and add yet the encouragement of your commands to go forward, when I had the honour to kiss your Royal Highness’s hand, in token of your permission to make a dedication to you of the second. I must confess, and boast I am very proud of it; and it were enough to make me more, were I not sensible how far I am undeserving. Yet when I consider you never give your favours precipitately, but that it is a certain sign of some desert when you vouchsafe to promote, I, who have terminated my best hopes in it, should do wrong to your goodness, should I not let the world know my mind, as well as my condition, is raised by it. I am certain none that know your Royal Highness will disapprove my aspiring to the service of so great and so good a master; one who (as is apparent to all those who have the honour to be near you and know you by that title) never raised without merit, or discountenanced without justice. It is that, indeed, obliging severity which has in all men created an awful love and respect towards you; since in the firmness of your resolution the brave and good man is sure of you, whilst the ill-minded and malignant fears you. This I could not pass over; and I hope your Royal Highness will pardon it, since it is unaffectedly my zeal to you, who am in nothing so unfortunate, as that I have not a better opportunity to let you and the world know how much I am,
Your Royal Highness’s
Most humble, most faithful, and most obedient Servant,
THO. OTWAY.
PREFACE.
>
Reader,
’Tis not that I have any great affection to scribbling, that I pester thee with a preface; for, amongst friends, ’tis almost as poor a trade with poets, as it is with those that write hackney under attorneys; it will hardly keep us in ale and cheese. Honest Ariosto began to be sensible of it in his time, who makes his complaint to this purpose:
I pity those who in these latter days
Do write, when bounty hath shut up her gate:
Where day and night in vain good writers knock,
And for their labour oft have but a mock.
Thus I find it according to Sir John Harington’s translation; had I understood Italian, I would have given it thee in the original, but that is not my talent; therefore to proceed: this Play was the second that ever I writ, or thought of writing. I must confess, I had often a titillation to poetry, but never durst venture on my muse, till I got her into a corner in the country; and then, like a bashful young lover, when I had her in private, I had courage to fumble, but never thought she would have produced anything; till at last, I know not how, ere I was aware, I found myself father of a dramatic birth, which I called Alcibiades; but I might, without offence to any person in the play, as well have called it Nebuchadnezzar; for my hero, to do him right, was none of that squeamish gentleman I make him, but would as little have boggled at the obliging the passion of a young and beautiful lady as I should myself, had I the same opportunities which I have given him. This I publish to antedate the objections some people may make against that play, who have been (and much good may it do them!) very severe, as they think, upon this. Whoever they are, I am sure I never disobliged them: nor have they (thank my good fortune) much injured me. In the meanwhile I forgive them, and, since I am out of the reach on’t, leave them to chew the cud on their own venom. I am well satisfied I had the greatest party of men of wit and sense on my side; amongst which I can never enough acknowledge the unspeakable obligations I received from the Earl of R., who, far above what I am ever able to deserve from him, seemed almost to make it his business to establish it in the good opinion of the King and his Royal Highness; from both of whom I have since received confirmation of their good liking of it, and encouragement to proceed. And it is to him, I must in all gratitude confess, I owe the greatest part of my good success in this, and on whose indulgency I extremely build my hopes of a next. I dare not presume to take to myself what a great many, and those (I am sure) of good judgment too, have been so kind to afford me — viz., that it is the best heroic play that has been written of late; for, I thank Heaven, I am not yet so vain. But this I may modestly boast of, which the author of the French Berenice has done before me, in his preface to that play, that it never failed to draw tears from the eyes of the auditors; I mean, those whose hearts were capable of so noble a pleasure: for it was not my business to take such as only come to a playhouse to see farce-fools, and laugh at their own deformed pictures. Though a certain writer that shall be nameless (but you shall guess at him by what follows), being asked his opinion of this play, very gravely cocked, and cried, “I’gad, he knew not a line in it he would be author of.” But he is a fine facetious witty person, as my friend Sir Formal has it; and to be even with him, I know a comedy of his, that has not so much as a quibble in it that I would be author of. And so, Reader, I bid him and thee Farewell.