Complete Works of Thomas Otway

by Thomas Otway

  Than if you’d crowned, and placed me on your throne.

  Methinks so highly happy I appear

  That I could pity you, to see you there.

  Take me away again: — you are too good.

  Queen. Carlos, is’t you? Oh, stop that royal flood;

  Live, and possess your father’s throne, when I

  In dark and gloomy shades forgotten lie.

  Don Car. Crowns are beneath me; I have higher pride:

  Thus on you fixed, and dying by your side,

  How much a life and empire I disdain!

  No, we’ll together mount, where both shall reign

  Above all wrongs, and never more complain.

  Queen. O matchless youth! O constancy divine!

  Sure there was never love that equalled thine;

  Nor any so unfortunate as mine.

  Henceforth forsaken virgins shall in songs,

  When they would ease their own, repeat thy wrongs;

  And in remembrance of thee, for thy sake,

  A solemn annual procession make;

  In chaste devotion as fair pilgrims come,

  With hyacinths and lilies deck thy tomb.

  But one thing more, and then, vain world, adieu!

  It is to reconcile my lord and you.

  Don Car. He has done no wrong to me; I am possessed

  Of all, beyond my expectation blest.

  But yet methinks there’s something in my heart

  Tells me, I must not too unkindly part. —

  Father, draw nearer, raise me with your hand;

  Before I die, what is’t you would command?

  King. Why wert thou made so excellently good?

  And why was it no sooner understood?

  But I was cursed, and blindly led astray;

  Oh! for thy father, for thy father pray.

  Thou mayst ask that which I’m too vile to dare;

  And leave me not tormented by despair.

  Don Car. Thus then with the remains of life we kneel.

  [Don Carlos and the Queen sink out of their chairs and kneel.

  May you be ever free from all that’s ill!

  Queen. And everlasting peace upon you dwell!

  King. No more: this virtue’s too divinely bright;

  My darkened soul, too conversant with night,

  Grows blind, and overcome with too much light.

  Here, raise them up — gently — ye slaves, down, down!

  Ye glorious toils, a sceptre and a crown,

  For ever be forgotten; in your stead,

  Only eternal darkness wrap my head.

  Queen. Where are you? oh! farewell, I must be gone.

  King. Blest happy soul, take not thy flight so soon:

  Stay till I die, then bear mine with thee too,

  And guard it up, which else must sink below.

  Queen. From all my injuries and all my fears,

  From jealousy, love’s bane, the worst of cares,

  Thus I remove to find that stranger, rest.

  Carlos, thy hand, receive me on thy breast;

  Within this minute how shall we be blest!

  Don Car. Oh, far above

  Whatever wishes framed, or hopes designed;

  Thus, where we go, we shall the angels find

  For ever praising, and for ever kind.

  Queen. Make haste; in the first sphere I’ll for you stay;

  Thence we’ll rise both to everlasting day.

  Farewell — [Dies.

  Don Car. I follow you; now close my eyes; [Leans on her bosom.

  Thus all o’er bliss the happy Carlos dies. [Dies.

  King. They’re gone, they’re gone, where I must ne’er aspire.

  Run, sally out, and set the world on fire;

  Alarum Nature, let loose all the winds,

  Set free those spirits whom strong magic binds;

  Let the earth open all her sulphurous veins,

  The fiends start from their hell, and shake their chains;

  Till all things from their harmony decline,

  And the confusion be as great as mine!

  Here I’ll lie down, and never more arise,

  Howl out my life, and rend the air with cries.

  Don John. Hold, sir, afford your labouring heart some ease.

  King. Oh! name it not: there’s no such thing as peace.

  From these warm lips yet one soft kiss I’ll take.

  How my heart beats! why won’t the rebel break?

  My love, my Carlos, I’m thy father — speak.

  Oh! he regards not now my miseries,

  But’s deaf to my complaint, as I have been to his.

  Oh! now I think on’t better, all is well.

  Here’s one that’s just descending into hell;

  How comes it that he’s not already gone?

  The sluggard’s lazy, but I’ll spur him on.

  Hey! how he flies! [Stabs Ruy-Gomez.

  Ruy-Gom. ’Twas aimed well at my heart;

  That I had strength enough but to retort!

  Dull life, so tamely must I from thee part?

  Curses and plagues! revenge, where art thou now?

  Meet, meet me at thy own dark house below! [Dies.

  King. He’s gone, and now there’s not so vile a thing

  As I —

  Don John. Remember, sir, you are a king.

  King. A king! it is too little: I’ll be more,

  I tell thee: Nero was an emperor;

  He killed his mother, but I’ve that out-done,

  Murdered a loyal wife and guiltless son.

  Yet, Austria, why should I grow mad for that?

  Is it my fault I was unfortunate?

  Don John. Collect your spirits, sir, and calm your mind.

  King. Look to’t; strange things I tell thee are designed.

  Thou, Austria, shalt grow old, and in thy age

  Dote, dote, my hero: — oh, a long gray beard,

  With eyes distilling rheum, and hollow cheeks,

  Will be such charms, thou canst not want success!

  But, above all, beware of jealousy;

  It was the dreadful curse that ruined me.

  Don John. Dread sir, no more.

  King. O heart! O Heaven! but stay,

  Named I not Heaven? I did, and at the word

  (Methought I saw’t) the azure fabric stirred.

  Oh, for my queen and son the saints prepare;

  But I’ll pursue and overtake them there;

  Whirl, stop the sun, arrest his charioteer;

  I’ll ride in that: away! pull, pull him down!

  Oh, how I’ll hurl the wild-fire as I run!

  Now, now I mount — [Runs off raving.

  Don John. Look to the king.

  See of this fair one, too, strict care be had.

  [Pointing to Henrietta.

  Despair, how vast a triumph hast thou made!

  No more in love’s enervate charms I’ll lie;

  Shaking off softness, to the camp I’ll fly,

  Where thirst of fame the active hero warms;

  And what I’ve lost in peace, regain in arms. [Exeunt.

  EPILOGUE

  Spoken by a Girl.

  Now what d’ye think my message hither means?

  Yonder’s the poet sick behind the scenes:

  He told me there was pity in my face,

  And therefore sent me here to make his peace.

  Let me for once persuade ye to be kind;

  For he has promised me to stand my friend;

  And if this time I can your kindness move,

  He’ll write for me, he swears by all above,

  When I am big enough to be in love.

  Now won’t you be good-natured, ye fine men?

  Indeed I’ll grow as fast as e’er I can,

  And try if to his promise he’ll be true.

  Think on’t; when that time comes, you do not know

  But I may grow in love with some of you;

  Or
, at the worst, I’m certain I shall see

  Amongst you those who’ll swear they’re so with me.

  But now, if by my suit you’ll not be won, —

  You know what your unkindness oft has done, —

  I’ll e’en forsake the play-house, and turn nun.

  Titus and Berenice

  CONTENTS

  TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE IOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. ONE OF THE GENTLEMEN OF HIS MAJESTIES BED-CHAMBER, &C.

  PROLOGUE.

  PERSONS REPRESENTED IN THE TRAGEDY

  ACT I.

  ACT II.

  ACT III.

  Grandis Oratio non est Turgida

  Sed Naturali pulchritudine exsurgit.

  Pet. Arb.

  TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE IOHN EARL OF ROCHESTER. ONE OF THE GENTLEMEN OF HIS MAJESTIES BED-CHAMBER, &C.

  My Lord,

  DEDICATIONS are grown things of so nice a Nature, That it is almost impossible for me to pay your Lordship those Acknowledgments I owe you, And not (from those who cannot judge of the Sentiments I have of your Lordships Favours) incurre the Censure either of a fawner or a flatterer. Both which ought to be as hateful to an Ingenuous Spirit as Ingratitude. None of these would I be guilty of, and yet in letting the World know how Good and how Generous a Patron I have, (in spight of Malice) I am sure I am honest.

  My Lord,

  Never was Poetry under so great an oppression as now, as full of Phanaticism’s as Religion, where every one pretends to the Spirit of Wit, sets up a Doctrine of his own, and hates a Poet worse then a Quaker does a Priest.

  To examine how much goes to the making up one of those dreadful things that resolve our dissolution. It is for the most part, a very little French breeding much assurance, with a great deal of talk and no sence.

  Thus he comes to a New Play, Enquires the Author of it, and (if he can find any) makes his personal misfortunes the subject of his malice to some of his Companions, who have as little wit, and as much ill-nature as himself; and so to be sure (as far as he can) the Play is damn’d.

  At night he never fails to Appear in the With-drawing room, where he picks out some that have as little to do there as himself, who mustring up all their puny Forces damn as possitively, as if like Muggleton it were their gift, when indeed they have as little right to Wit, as a Iourney man Taylor can have to Prophecy.

  Wit, which was the mistress of former Ages, is become the Scandal of ours; Either the Old Satyr to let us understand what he has known Damns and decryes all Poetry, but the old; or else the young affected Fool that is impudent beyond Correction, and ignorant above instruction, will be Censuring the present; tho he misplace his wit as he generally does his Courage, and ever makes use of it on the wrong occasion.

  How great a Hazzard then does your Lordship run in so stedfastly protecting a poor Exil’d thing that has so many Enemies! But that your Wit is more Eminent than all their Folly or Ignorance, and your Goodness greater than any Malice or Ill Nature can be. I am sure (and I must own it with gratitude) I have tasted of it much above my Merit, or what even Vanity might prompt me to expect; Though in doing this, I shall at best but appear an humble debtor, who acknowledges honestly what he owes, though to keep up his Credit he must be forc’d to borrow more; For my Genius alwayes led me to seek an interest in your Lordship; and I never see you, but I am fir’d with an Ambition of being in your Favour: for all I have receiv’d, the highest return I am able to make, is my acknowledgment, in which I can hardly distinguish whether my Thankfulness or my Pride by the greater, when I subscribe my self

  Your Lordships Most Obliged and most Devoted Servant, THO. OTWAY.

  PROLOGUE.

  Spoken by Mr. Vnderhill.

  GALLANTS our Author met me here to day,

  And beg’d thas I’d say something for his Play.

  You Waggs that Iudge by Roat, and damn by Rule,

  Taking your measures from some Neighbour fool,

  Who has Impudence a Coxcombs useful Tool;

  That always are severe you know not why,

  And would be thought great Criticks by the By:

  With very much ill Nature, and no Wit,

  Iust as you are, we humbly beg you’d Sit,

  And with your Silly selves divert the Pitt.

  You Men of Sence, who heretofore allow’d,

  Our Author’s Follies; make him once more proud;

  But for the Youths, that newl’ are come from France,

  Who’s Heads want Sence, though heels abound with dance:

  Our Authour to their Iudgment won’t submit,

  But swears that they who so infest the Pit,

  With their own Follies, ne’re can Iudge of Wit.

  ’Tis thence he Chiefly favour would Implore,

  [to the Boxes.

  And Fair Ones pray oblige him on my Score.

  Confine his Foes, the Fops within their Rules,

  For Ladies you know how to manage Fools.

  PERSONS REPRESENTED IN THE TRAGEDY

  Titus Vespatian, Emperour of Rome — Mr. Bettertos.

  Antiochus, King of Comagene — Mr. Smith.

  Paulinus, The Emperors Confident — Mr. Medbourn.

  Arsaces, Antiochus his Confident — Mr. Crosby.

  Rutilius, A Tribune — Mr. Gildos.

  Berenice, Queen of Palestine — Mrs. Lee.

  Phenice, Her Confident — Mrs. Barry.

  The SCENE ROME.

  ACT I.

  SCENE I.

  A PALACE.

  Enter Artiochus and Arsaces.

  Antiochus.

  THOU my Arsaces art a Stranger here,

  This is th’ Apartment of the Charming Fair,

  That Berenice, whom Titus so adores,

  The Universe is his, and he is hers:

  Here from the Court himself he of’t conceals,

  And in her Ears his charming story tells

  Whilst I a Vassal for admittance wait,

  And am at best but thought importunate.

  Arsac.

  You want admittance! who with generous care

  Have follow’d all her Fortunes every-where,

  Whose Fame throughout the World so loudly rings,

  One of the greatest of our Eastern-Kings.

  As once you seem’d the Monarch of her Breast,

  Too firmly seated to be dispossest,

  Nor can the pride she doth in Titus take,

  Already so severe a distance make.

  Antio.

  Yes! still that wretch Antiochus I am.

  But Love! oh how I tremble at the name;

  And my distracted Soul at that doth start

  Which once was all the pleasure of my heart,

  Since Berenice has all my hopes destroid,

  And an Eternal silence on me laid.

  Arsac.

  That you resent her pride, I see with Joy,

  ’Tis that which does her gratitude destroy;

  But friendship wrong’d should into hatred turn,

  And you methinks might learn her Art to scorn.

  Anti.

  Arsaces, how false Measures dost thou take,

  Remove the Poles, and bid the Sun go back:

  Invert all Natures Orders, Fates Decrees,

  Then bid me hate the Charming Berenice.

  Arsac.

  Well, love her still, but let her know your pain,

  Resolve it you shall see, and speak again;

  Urge to her face your rightful Claim aloud,

  And court her haughtily, as she is proud.

  Antio.

  Arsaces, No, she’s gentle as a Dove,

  Her Eyes are Tyrants, but her Soul’s all Love,

  And owes so little for the Vowes I’ve made,

  That if she pity me, I’m more than paid.

  [Enter Rutilius.

  But see the man I sent, at last returns;

  Oh how my heart with Expectation burns.

  Rutilius, have you Berenice seen?

  Rut.

 
I have.

  Antio.

  Oh speak! what says the Charming Queen?

  Rut.

  I prest with difficulty, through the Croud,

  A throng of Court-Attendants round her stood.

  The time now past of his servere retreat,

  Titus laments no more his Fathers fate.

  Love takes up all his thoughts, and all his cares,

  Whilst he to meet these mighty Joys prepares:

  Which may in Berenices arms be found,

  For she this day will be Romes Empress crown’d.

  Anti.

  What do I hear? Confusion on thy tongue!

  To tell me this, why was thy speech so long?

  Why didst not Ruine with more speed afford?

  Thou mightst have spoke and kill’d me in a word.

  But may I not one Moment with her speak,

  And my poor heart disclose before it break?

  Rut.

  You shall; for when I told her what you design’d,

  She sweetly smil’d, and her fair head inclin’d:

  Titus ne’r from her had a look more kind.

  [Enter Berenice and Phaenicia.

  She’s here.

  Berenice,

  At last from the rude Joy I’m freed,

  Of those new Friends whom my new fortunes breed.

  The tedious form of their respect I shun,

  To find out him whose words and heart are one.

  Antiochus, for I’ll no flattery use

  Since your neglect I justly may accuse,

  How great your Cares for Berenice have been,

  Ev’n all the East, and Rome it self have seen,

  In my worst fate I did your friendship find,

  But now I grow more Great, you grow less kind.

  Antio.

  Now durst I hope, I would forget my smart,

  So well she understands to sooth my heart.

  But, Madam, its a truth by Rumour spread,

  That Titus shall this night possess your bed.

  Ber.

  Sir, All my Conflicts I’ll to you reveal,

  Though half the Fears I’ve had, I cannot tell;

  So much did Titus for his Father mourn,

  I almost doubted Love would ne’r return;

  He had not for me that Assiduous heat

  As when whole days fixt on my Eyes, he sate.

  Grief in his Eyes, Cares on his Brows did dwell;

  Oft came and lookt, said nothing but farewell.

  Ant.

  But now his kindness he renews again,

  Ber.

  Oh! he will doubly recompence his pain