Complete Works of Thomas Otway

by Thomas Otway

  But then when love had sealed her to my heart,

  You violently tore her from my side:

  And, ‘cause my bleeding wound I could not hide,

  But still some pleasure to behold her took,

  You now will have my life but for a look;

  Wholly forgetting all the pains I bore,

  Your heart with envious jealousy boils o’er,

  ‘Cause I can love no less, and you no more.

  Hen. Alas! how can you hear his soft complaint,

  And not your hardened, stubborn heart relent?

  Turn, sir; survey that comely, awful man,

  And to my prayers be cruel if you can.

  King. Away, deluder! who taught thee to sue?

  D. of Eboli. Loving the queen, what is’t she less can do

  Than lend her aid against the dreadful storm?

  King. Why, can the devil dwell too in that form?

  This is their little engine by the bye,

  A scout to watch and tell when danger’s nigh.

  Come, pretty sinner, thou’lt inform me all,

  How, where, and when; nay, do not fear — you shall.

  Hen. Ah, sir, unkind! [Kneels.

  King. Now hold thy siren’s tongue:

  Who would have thought there was a witch so young?

  Don John. Can you to suing beauty stop your ears?

  [Raises up Henrietta and makes his address to her.

  Heaven lays its thunder by, and gladly hears,

  When angels are become petitioners.

  D. of Eboli. Ha! what makes Austria so officious there?

  That glance seems as it sent his heart to her.

  [Aside to Garcia.

  Don Car. A banquet then of blood since you design,

  Yet you may satisfy yourself with mine.

  I love the queen, I have confessed, ’tis true:

  Proud too to think I love her more than you;

  Though she, by Heaven, is clear; — but I indeed

  Have been unjust, and do deserve to bleed.

  There were no lawless thoughts that I did want,

  Which love had power to ask, or beauty grant;

  Though I ne’er yet found hopes to raise them on,

  For she did still preserve her honour’s throne,

  And dash the bold aspiring devils down.

  If to her cause you do not credit give,

  Fondly against your happiness you’ll strive;

  As some lose Heaven, because they won’t believe.

  Queen. Whilst, prince, my preservation you design,

  Blot not your virtue to add more to mine.

  The clearness of my truth I’d not have shown

  By any other light besides its own. —

  No, sir, he through despair all this has said,

  And owns offences which he never made.

  Why should you think that I would do you wrong?

  Must I needs be unchaste because I’m young?

  King. Unconstant wavering heart, why heavest thou so?

  I shiver all, and know not what I do.

  I who ere now have armies led to fight,

  Thought war a sport, and danger a delight,

  Whole winter nights stood under Heaven’s wide roof,

  Daring my foes, now am not beauty-proof.

  Oh, turn away those basilisks, thy eyes;

  The infection’s fatal, and who sees them dies. [Going away.

  Queen. Oh, do not fly me; I have no design

  Upon your life, for you may yet save mine. [Kneels.

  Or if at last I must my breath submit,

  Here take it, ’tis an offering at your feet:

  Will you not look on me, my dearest lord?

  King. Why? wouldst thou live?

  Queen. Yes, if you’ll say the word.

  Don Car. O Heaven! how coldly and unmoved he sees

  A praying beauty prostrate on her knees!

  Rise, madam — [Steps to take her up.

  King. Bold encroacher, touch her not:

  Into my breast her glances thick are shot.

  Not true! — Stay, let me see — by Heaven, thou art —

  [Looks earnestly on her.

  A false vile woman — O my foolish heart!

  I give thee life: but from this time refrain,

  And never come into my sight again:

  Be banished ever.

  Queen. This you must not do,

  At least till I’ve convinced you I am true.

  Grant me but so much time; and, when that’s done,

  If you think fit, for ever I’ll be gone.

  King. I’ve all this while been angry, but in vain:

  She heats me first, then strokes me tame again.

  Oh, wert thou true, how happy should I be!

  Think’st thou that I have joy to part with thee?

  No, all my kingdom for the bliss I’d give —

  Nay, though it were not so — but to believe.

  Come, for I can’t avoid it, cheat me quite!

  Queen. I would not, sir, deceive you if I might.

  But if you’ll take my oaths, by all above,

  ’Tis you, and only you, that I will love.

  King. Thus as a mariner that sails along,

  With pleasure hears the enticing siren’s song,

  Unable quite his strong desires to bound,

  Boldly leaps in, though certain to be drowned, —

  Come to my bosom then, make no delay; [Takes her in his arms.

  My rage is hushed, and I have room for joy.

  Queen. Again you’ll think that I unjust will prove.

  King. No, thou art all o’er truth, and I all love.

  Oh that we might for ever thus remain

  In folded arms, and never part again!

  Queen. Command me anything, and try your power.

  King. Then from this minute ne’er see Carlos more. —

  Thou slave, that darest do ill with such a port,

  For ever here I banish thee my court.

  Within some cloister lead a private life,

  That I may love and rule without this strife.

  Here, Eboli, receive her to thy charge:

  The treasure’s precious, and the trust is large.

  Whilst I, retiring hence, myself make fit

  To wait for joys which are too fierce to meet. [Exit.

  Don Car. My exile from his presence I can bear

  With pleasure: but, no more to look on her!

  Oh, ’tis a dreadful curse I cannot bear.

  No, madam, all his power shall nothing do:

  I’ll stay and take my banishment from you.

  Do you command me, see how far I’ll fly.

  Queen. Will Carlos be at last my enemy?

  Consider, this submission I have shown,

  More to preserve your safety than my own.

  Ungratefully you needless ways devise,

  To lose a life which I so dearly prize.

  Don Car. So now her fortune’s made, and I am left

  Alone, a naked wanderer to shift. [Aside.

  Madam, you might have spared the cruelty;

  [To the Queen.

  Blessed with your sight, I was prepared to die.

  But now to lose it drives me to despair,

  Making me wish to die, and yet not dare.

  Well, to some solitary shore I’ll roam,

  And never more into your presence come,

  Since I already find I’m troublesome. [Going.

  Queen. Stay, sir, yet stay: — you shall not leave me so.

  Don Car. Ha!

  Queen. I must talk with you before you go.

  O Carlos, how unhappy is our state!

  How foul a game was played us by our fate!

  Who promised fair when we did first begin,

  Till envying to see us like to win,

  Straight fell to cheat, and threw the false lot in.

  My vows to you I now remember all.

  Don Car. O
madam, I can hear no more. [Kneels.

  Queen. You shall; — [Kneels too.

  For I can’t choose but let you know that I,

  If you’ll resolve on’t, yet will with you die.

  Don Car. Sure nobler gallantry was never known!

  Good Heaven! this blessing is too much for one:

  No, ’tis enough for me to die alone.

  My father, all my foes, I now forgive.

  Queen. Nay, sir, by all our loves I charge you live.

  But to what country wheresoe’er you go,

  Forget not me, for I’ll remember you.

  Don Car. Shall I such virtue and such charms forget?

  No, never!

  Queen. Oh that we had never met,

  But in our distant climates still been free!

  I might have heard of you, and you of me:

  So towards happiness more safely moved,

  And never been thus wretched, yet have loved.

  What makes you look so wildly? Why d’ye start?

  Don Car. A faint cold damp is thickening round my heart.

  Queen. What shall we do?

  Don Car. Do anything but part;

  Or stay so long till my poor soul expires

  In view of all the glory it admires.

  D. of Eboli. In such a lover how might I be blest!

  Oh! were I of that noble heart possessed,

  How soft, how easy would I make his bands! [Aside.

  But, madam, you forget the king’s commands:

  [To the Queen.

  Longer to stay, your dangers will renew.

  Don Car. Ah, princess! lovers’ pains you never knew;

  Or what it is to part, as we must do.

  Part too for ever!

  After one minute never more to stand

  Fixed on those eyes, or pressing this soft hand!

  ‘Twere but enough to feed one, and not starve,

  Yet that is more than I did e’er deserve;

  Though fate to us is niggardly and poor,

  That from eternity can’t spare one hour.

  Queen. If it were had, that hour would soon be gone,

  And we should wish to draw another on.

  No, rigorous necessity has made

  Us both his slaves, and now will be obeyed.

  Come, let us try the parting blow to bear.

  Adieu! [Looking at each other.

  Don Car. Farewell! I’m fixed and rooted here;

  I cannot stir —

  Queen. Shall I the way then show?

  Now hold, my heart —

  [Goes to the door, stops, and turns back again.

  Nay, sir, why don’t you go?

  Don Car. Why do you stay?

  Queen. I won’t —

  Don Car. You shall a while. [Kneels.

  With one look more my miseries beguile,

  That may support my heart till you are gone!

  Queen. O Eboli! thy help, or I’m undone. [Takes hold on her.

  Here, take it then, and with it too my life! [Leans into her arms.

  Don Car. My courage with my tortures is at strife,

  Since my griefs cowards are, and dare not kill,

  I’ll try to vanquish and out-toil the ill.

  Well, madam, now I’m something hardier grown:

  Since I at last perceive you must be gone,

  To venture the encounter I’ll be bold; [Leads her to the door.

  For certainly my heart will so long hold.

  Farewell! be happy as you’re fair and true.

  Queen. And all Heaven’s kindest angels wait on you!

  [Exeunt Queen, Duchess of Eboli, Henrietta, and Garcia.

  Don Car. Thus long I’ve wandered in love’s crooked way,

  By hope’s deluded meteor led astray;

  For, ere I’ve half the dangerous desert crossed,

  The glimmering light’s gone out, and I am lost. [Exit.

  ACT THE FOURTH.

  SCENE I. — The Ante-Chamber to the Queen’s Apartment.

  Enter Don Carlos and Marquis of Posa.

  Don Car. The next is the apartment of the queen:

  In vain I try, I must not venture in.

  [Goes toward the door but returns.

  Thus is it with the souls of murdered men,

  Who to their bodies would again repair;

  But, finding that they cannot enter there,

  Mourning and groaning wander in the air.

  Robbed of my love, and as unjustly thrown

  From all those hopes that promised me a crown,

  My heart, with the dishonours to me done,

  Is poisoned, swells too mighty for my breast;

  But it will break, and I shall be at rest.

  No; dull despair this soul shall never load:

  Though patience be the virtue of a god,

  Gods never feel the ills that govern here,

  Or are above the injuries we bear.

  “Father” and “king”; both names bear mighty sense:

  Yet sure there’s something too in “son” and “prince”.

  I was born high, and will not fall less great;

  Since triumph crowned my birth, I’ll have my fate

  As glorious and majestic too as that.

  To Flanders, Posa, straight my letters send;

  Tell them the injured Carlos is their friend;

  And that to head their forces I design;

  So vindicate their cause, if they dare mine.

  M. of Posa. To the rebels?

  Don Car. No, they’re friends; their cause is just;

  Or, when I make it mine, at least it must.

  Let the common rout like beasts love to be dull,

  Whilst sordidly they live at ease and full,

  Senseless what honour or ambition means,

  And ignorantly drag their load of chains.

  I am a prince, have had a crown in view,

  And cannot brook to lose the prospect now.

  If thou’rt my friend, do not my will delay.

  M. of Posa. I’ll do’t. [Exit.

  Enter Duchess of Eboli.

  D. of Eboli. My lord.

  Don Car. Who calls me?

  D. of Eboli. You must stay.

  Don Car. What news of fresh affliction can you bear?

  D. of Eboli. Suppose it were the queen; you’d stay for her?

  Don Car. For her? yes, stay an age, for ever stay;

  Stay even till time itself should pass away;

  Fix here a statue never to remove,

  An everlasting monument of love.

  Though, may a thing so wretched as I am

  But the least place in her remembrance claim?

  D. of Eboli. Yes, if you dare believe me, sir, you do;

  We both can talk of nothing else but you:

  Whilst from the theme even emulation springs,

  Each striving who shall say the kindest things.

  Don Car. But from that charity I poorly live,

  Which only pities, and can nothing give.

  D. of Eboli. Nothing! Propose what ’tis you claim, and I,

  For aught you know, may be security.

  Don Car. No, madam, what’s my due none e’er can pay;

  There stands that angel, Honour, in the way,

  Watching his charge with never-sleeping eyes,

  And stops my entrance into paradise.

  D. of Eboli. What paradise? What pleasures can you know,

  Which are not in my power to bestow?

  Don Car. Love, love, and all those eager, melting charms

  The queen must yield when in my father’s arms.

  That queen, so excellently, richly fair,

  Jove, could he come again a lover here,

  Would court mortality to die for her.

  O madam, take not pleasure to renew

  Those pains, which if you felt, you would not do.

  D. of Eboli. Unkindly urged: think you no sense I have

  Of what you feel? Now y
ou may take your leave.

  Something I had to say; but let it die.

  Don Car. Why, madam, who has injured you? Not I.

  D. of Eboli. Nay, sir, your presence I would not detain:

  Alas! you do not hear that I complain.

  Though, could you half of my misfortunes see,

  Methinks you should incline to pity me.

  Don Car. I cannot guess what mournful tale you’d tell;

  But I am certain you prepare me well.

  Speak, madam.

  D. of Eboli. Say I loved, and with a flame

  Which even melts my tender heart to name;

  Loved too a man, I will not say ingrate,

  Because he’s far above my birth or fate;

  Yet so far he at least does cruel prove,

  He prosecutes a dead and hopeless love,

  Starves on a barren rock, and won’t be blest,

  Though I invite him kindly to a feast.

  Don Car. What stupid animal could senseless lie,

  Quickened by beams from that illustrious eye?

  D. of Eboli. Nay, to increase your wonder, you shall know

  That I, alas! am forced to tell him too,

  Till even I blush, as now I tell it you.

  Don Car. You neither shall have cause of shame or fear,

  Whose secrets safe within my bosom are.

  D. of Eboli. Then farther I the riddle may explain:

  Survey that face, and blame me if you can.

  [Shows him his own picture.

  Don Car. Distraction of my eyes! what have they seen?

  ’Tis my own picture which I sent the queen,

  When to her fame I paid devotion first,

  Expecting bliss, but lost it: I am cursed,

  Cursed too in thee, who from my saint darest steal

  The only relic left her of my zeal,

  And with the sacrilege attempt my heart.

  Wert thou more charming than thou think’st thou art,

  Almighty love preserves the fort for her,

  And bids defiance to thy entrance there.

  D. of Eboli. Neglected! Scorned by father and by son!

  What a malicious course my stars have run!

  But since I meet with such unlucky fate

  In love, I’ll try how I can thrive in hate:

  My own dull husband may assist in that.

  To his revenge I’ll give him fresh alarms,

  And with the gray old wizard muster charms.

  I have’t; thanks, thanks, revenge! Prince, ’tis thy bane. [Aside.

  Can you forgive me, sir? I hope you can. [Mildly.

  I’ll try to recompense the wrongs I’ve done,

  And better finish what is ill begun.

  Don Car. Madam, you at so strange a rate proceed,

  I shall begin to think you loved indeed.

  D. of Eboli. No matter: be but to my honour true,