The mourning bride. A tragedy: As it is acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, by His Majesty's servants. Written by Mr. Congreve.

ACT III. SCENE I.

A Prison.

Enter Osmyn alone, with a Paper.

Osm.

BUT now, and I was clos'd within the Tomb That holds my Father's Ashes; and but now, Where he was Pris'ner I am too imprison'd. Sure 'tis the Hand of Heav'n that leads me thus, And for some Purpose points out these Remembrances. In a dark Corner of my Cell I found This Paper, what it is this Light will show.

Reading.

If my Alphonso—Ha! If my Alphonso live, restore him, Heav'n; Give me more Weight, crush my declining Years With Bolts, with Chains, Imprisonment and Want; But bless my Son, visit not him for me.

It is his-Hand; this was his Pray'r—yet more:

Reading.

Let ev'ry Hair, which Sorrow by the Roots Tears from my hoary and devoted Head, Be doubled in thy Mercies to my Son: Not for my self, but him, hear me, All-gracious—

'Tis wanting what should follow—Heav'n shou'd follow, But 'tis torn off—Why shou'd that Word alone Be torn from his Petition? 'Twas to Heav'n, But Heav'n was deaf, Heav'n heard him not; but thus, Thus as the Name of Heav'n from this is torn, So did it tear the Ears of Mercy from

His Voice, shutting the Gates of Pray'r against him. If Piety be thus debarr'd Access On high, and of good Men the very best Is singled out to bleed, and bear the Scourge, What is Reward? or what is Punishment? But who shall dare to tax Eternal Justice! Yet I may think—I may, I must; for Thought Precedes the Will to think, and Error lives E'er Reason can be born: Reason, the Power To guess at Right and Wrong; the twinkling Lamp Of wand'ring Life, that winks and wakes by turns, Fooling the Follower, betwixt Shade and Shining. What Noise! Who's there? my Friend! How cam'st thou hither?

Enter Heli.

Hel.

The Time's too precious to be spent in telling; The Captain, influenc'd by Almeria's Power, Gave Order to the Guards for my Admittance.

Osm.

How does Almeria? But I know, she is As I am. Tell me, may I hope to see her?

Hel.

You may; anon, at Midnight, when the King Is gone to Rest, and Garcia is retir'd, (Who takes the Privilege to visit late, Presuming on a Bridegroom's Right) she'll come.

Osm.

She'll come; 'tis what I wish, yet what I fear. She'll come, but whither, and to whom? O Heav'n! To a vile Prison, and a captiv'd Wretch; To one, whom had she never known she had Been happy: Why, why was that Heav'nly Creature Abandon'd o'er to love what Heav'n forsakes? Why does she follow, with unwearied Steps, One, who has tir'd Misfortune with pursuing? One, driv'n about the World like blasted Leaves And Chaff, the Sport of adverse Winds; 'till late At length, imprison'd in some Cleft of Rock, Or Earth, it rests, and rots to silent Dust.

Hel.

Have Hopes, and hear the Voice of better Fate. I've learn'd there are Disorders ripe for Mutiny Among the Troops, who thought to share the Plunder, Which Manuel to his own Use and Avarice Converts. This News has reach'd Valentia's Frontiers; Where many of your Subjects, long oppress'd With Tyranny and grievous Impositions, Are risen in Arms, and call for Chiefs to head And lead 'em, to regain their Liberty And Native Rights.

Osm.

By Heav'n thou'st rouz'd me from my Lethargy. The Spirit which was deaf to my own Wrongs, Deaf to Revenge, and the loud Cries of my Dead Father's Blood; nay, which refus'd to hear The piercing Sighs and Murmurs of my Love Yet unenjoy'd; what not Almeria could Revive, or raise, my Peoples Voice has waken'd. O my Antonio, I am all on Fire, My Soul is up in Arms, ready to charge And bear amidst the Foe, with conqu'ring Troops. I hear 'em call to lead 'em on to Liberty, To Victory; their Shouts and Clamours rend My Ears, and reach the Heav'ns; where is the King? Where is Alphonso? ha! where? where indeed? O I could tear and burst the Strings of Life, To break these Chains. Off, off, ye Stains of Royalty. Off Slavery. O curse! that I alone Can beat and flutter in my Cage, when I Would soar, and stoop at Victory beneath.

Hel.

Our Posture of Affairs, and scanty Time, My Lord, require you should compose your self, And think on what we may reduce to practice. Zara, the Cause of your Restraint, may be The Means of Liberty restor'd. That gain'd, Occasion will not fail to point out Ways For your Escape. Mean time, I've thought already With Speed and Safety, to convey my self Where not far off some Male-Contents hold Council

Nightly; hating this Tyrant; some, who love Anselmo's Memory, and will, no doubt, When they shall know you live, assist your Cause.

Osm.

My Friend and Counsellor, as thou think'st fit, So do. I will with Patience wait my Fortune.

Hel.

When Zara comes, abate of your Aversion.

Osm.

I hate her not, nor can dissemble Love: But as I may, I'll do. I have a Paper Which I would shew thee, Friend, but that the Sight Would hold thee here, and clog thy Expedition. Within I found it, by my Father's Hand 'Twas writ; a Pray'r for me, wherein appears Paternal Love prevailing o'er his Sorrows; Such Sanctity, such Tenderness, so mix'd With Grief, as wou'd draw Tears from Inhumanity.

Hel.

The Care of Providence sure left it there, To arm your Mind with Hope. Such Piety Was never heard in vain: Heav'n has in Store For you, those Blessings it with-held from him. In that Assurance live; which Time, I hope, And our next Meeting will confirm.

Osm.

Farewel, My Friend, the Good thou dost deserve attend thee.

[Ex. Heli.

I've been to blame, and question'd with Impiety The Care of Heav'n. Not so my Father bore More Anxious Grief. This shou'd have better taught me; This Lesson, in some Hour of Inspiration, By him set down; when his pure Thoughts were born, Like Fumes of Sacred Incense, o'er the Clouds, And wafted thence, on Angels Wings, thro' Ways Of Light to the bright Source of all. There, in The Book of Prescience, he bfheld this Day; And waking to the World and Mortal Sense, Left this Example of his Resignation, This his last Legacy to me, which I Will treasure here; more worth than Diadems, Or all extended Rule of Regal Pow'r.

Enter Zara Veil'd.

What Brightness breaks upon me thus thro' Shades, And promises a Day to this dark Dwelling! Is it my Love?—

Zara.

O that thy Heart had taught

[Lifting her Veil.

Thy Tongue that Saying.

Osm.

Zara! I'm betray'd By my Surprize.

Zara.

What, does my Face displease thee? That having seen it, thou dost turn thy Eyes Away, as from Deformity and Horror. If so, this Sable Curtain shall again Be drawn, and I will stand before thee seeing, And unseen. Is it my Love? ask again That Question, speak again in that soft Voice, And look again with Wishes in thy Eyes. O no, thou can'st not, for thou seest me now, As she, whose Savage Breast has been the Cause Of these thy Wrongs; as she, whose barbarous Rage Has loaden thee with Chains and galling Irons: Well dost thou scorn me, and upbraid my Falseness; Cou'd one that lov'd thus torture what she lov'd? No, no, it must be Hatred, dire Revenge And Detestation, that cou'd use thee thus. So thou dost think; then do but tell me so; Tell me, and thou shalt see how I'll revenge Thee on this false one, how I'll stab and tear This Heart of Flint 'till it shall bleed; and thou Shalt weep for mine, forgetting thy own Miseries.

Osm.

You wrong me, beauteous Zara, to believe I bear my Fortunes with so low a Mind, As still to meditate Revenge on all Whom Chance, or Fate working by secret Causes, Has made perforce subservient to that End The Heav'nly Pow'rs allot me; no, not you, But Destiny and inauspicious Stars

Have cast me down to this low Being: Or, Granting you had, from you I have deserv'd it.

Zara.

Can'st thou forgive me then? wilt thou believe So kindly of my Fault, to call it Madness? O, give that Madness yet a milder Name, And call it Passion; then, be still more kind, And call that Passion Love.

Osm.

Give it a Name, Or Being as you please, such I will think it.

Zara.

O thou dost wound me more with this thy Goodness, Than e'er thou cou'dst with bitterest Reproaches; Thy Anger cou'd not pierce thus to my Heart.

Osm.

Yet I could wish—

Zara.

Haste me to know it, what?

Osm.

That at this Time I had not been this Thing.

Zara.

What Thing?

Osm.

This Slave.

Zara.

O Heav'n! my Fears interpret This thy Silence; somewhat of high Concern, Long fashioning within thy labouring Mind, And now just ripe for Birth, my Rage has ruin'd. Have I done this? Tell me, am I so curs'd?

Osm.

Time may have still one fated Hour to come, Which wing'd with Liberty, might overtake Occasion past.

Zara.

Swift as Occasion, I My self will flie; and earlier than the Morn Wake thee to Freedom. Now 'tis late; and yet Some News few Minutes past arriv'd, which seem'd To shake the Temper of the King—who knows What racking Cares disease a Monarch's Bed? Or Love, that late at Night still lights his Lamp, And strikes his Rays thro' dusk and folded Lids, Forbidding Rest, may stretch his Eyes awake, And force their Balls abroad at this dead Hour. I'll try.

Osm.

I have not merited this Grace; Nor, should my secret Purpose take Effect,

Can I repay, as you require, such Benefits.

Zara.

Thou canst not owe me more, nor have I more To give, than I've already lost. But as The present Form of our Engagements rests, Thou hast the Wrong, 'till I redeem thee hence, That done, I leave thy Justice to return My Love. Adieu.

[Exit Zara.

Osm.

This Woman has a Soul Of God-like Mould, intrepid and commanding, And challenges, in spight of me, my best Esteem; to this she's fair, few more can boast Of Personal Charms, or with less Vanity Might hope to captivate the Hearts of Kings. But she has Passions which out-strip the Wind, And tear her Virtues up, as Tempests root The Sea. I fear when she shall know the Truth, Some swift and dire Event of her blind Rage Will make all fatal. But behold, she comes For whom I fear, to shield me from my Fears.

Enter Almeria.

The Cause and Comfort of my boding Heart, My Life, my Health, my Liberty, my All, How shall I welcome thee to this sad Place? How speak to thee the Words of Joy and Transport? How run into thy Arms, with-held by Fetters; Or take thee into mine, thus manacled And pinion'd like a Thief or Murderer? Shall I not hurt or bruise thy tender Body, And stain thy Bosom with the Rust of these Rude Irons? Must I meet thee thus, Almeria?

Alm.

Thus, thus; we parted, thus to meet again. Thou told'st me thou would'st think how we might meet To part no more—Now we will part no more, For these thy Chains, or Death, shall join us ever.

Osm.

Hard Means to ratifie that Word!—O Cruelty! That ever I should think beholding thee

A Torture!—yet, such is the bleeding Anguish Of my Heart, to see thy Sufferings—O Heav'n! That I cou'd almost turn my Eyes away, Or wish thee from my Sight.

Alm.

O say not so; Tho' 'tis because thou lov'st me. Do not say, On any Terms, that thou dost wish me from thee. No, no, 'tis better thus, that we together Feed on each other's Heart, devour our Woes With mutual Appetite; and mingling in One Cup the common Stream of both our Eyes, Drink bitter Draughts, with never-slacking Thirst. Thus better, than for any Cause to part. What dost thou think? Look not so tenderly Upon me—speak, and take me in thy Arms— Thou canst not! thy poor Arms are bound, and strive In vain with the remorseless Chains, which gnaw And eat into thy Flesh, festring thy Limbs With rankling Rust.

Osm.

Oh! O—

Alm.

Give me that Sigh. Why dost thou heave, and stifle in thy Griefs? Thy Heart will burst, thy Eyes look red and start; Give thy Soul way, and tell me thy dark Thought.

Osm.

For this World's Rule, I wou'd not wound thy Breast With such a Dagger as then stuck my Heart.

Alm.

Why? why? To know it, cannot wound me more, Than knowing thou hast felt it. Tell it me. —Thou giv'st me Pain with too much Tenderness!

Osm.

And thy excessive Love distracts my Sense! O could'st thou be less killing, soft or kind, Grief would not double thus his Darts against me.

Alm.

Thou dost me Wrong, and Grief too robs my Heart, If there he shoot not ev'ry other Shaft; Thy second self shou'd feel each other Wound, And Woe shou'd be in equal Portions dealt. I am thy Wife—

Osm.

O thou hast search'd too deep: There, there I bleed; there pull the cruel Cords, That strain my cracking Nerves; Engines and Wheels, That Piece-meal grind, are Beds of Down and Balm To that Soul-racking Thought.

Alm.

Then I am curs'd Indeed, if that be so; if I'm thy Torment Kill me, kill me then, dash me with thy Chains, Tread on me, spurn me: Am I the Bosom-Snake, That sucks thy warm Life-Blood, and gnaws thy Heart? O that thy Words had force to break those Bonds, As they have strength to tear this Heart in sunder; So should'st thou be at large from all Oppression. Am I, am I of all thy Woes the worst?

Osm.

My all of Bliss, my everlasting Life, Soul of my Soul, and End of all my Wishes, Why dost thou thus unman me with thy Words, And melt me down to mingle with thy Weepings? What dost thou ask? why dost thou talk thus piercingly? Thy Sorrows have disturb'd thy Peace of Mind, And thou dost speak of Miseries impossible.

Alm.

Didst thou not say, that Racks and Wheels were Balm, And Beds of Ease, to thinking me thy Wife?

Osm.

No, no; nor should the subtlest Pains that Hell, Or Hell-born Malice can invent, extort A Wish or Thought from me, to have thee other. But thou wilt know what harrows up my Heart: Thou art my Wife—nay, thou art yet my Bride! The Sacred Union of Connubial Love Yet unaccomplish'd; his mysterious Rites Delay'd; nor has our Hymenial Torch Yet lighted up his last most grateful Sacrifice; But dash'd with Rain from Eyes, and swail'd with Sighs, Burns dim, and glimmers with expiring Light. Is this dark Cell a Temple for that God? Or this vile Earth an Altar for such Off'rings? This Den for Slaves, this Dungeon damp'd with Woes; Is this our Marriage-Bed! Are these our Joys!

Is this to call thee mine? O hold my Heart: To call thee mine? Yes; thus, ev'n thus, to call Thee mine, were Comfort, Joy, extreamest Extasie. But O thou art not mine, not ev'n in Misery; And 'tis deny'd to me to be so bless'd, As to be wretched with thee.

Alm.

No; not that The extreamest Malice of our Fate can hinder: That still is left us, and on that we'll feed, As on the Leavings of Calamity. There we will feast, and smile on past Distress, And hug, in scorn of it, our mutual Ruin.

Osm.

O thou dost talk, my Love, as one resolv'd, Because not knowing Danger. But look forward; Think on to Morrow, when thou shalt be torn From these weak, struggling, unextended Arms; Think how my Heart will heave, and Eyes will strain, To grasp and reach what is deny'd my Hands: Think how the Blood will start, and Tears will gush To follow thee, my separating Soul. Think how I am, when thou shalt wed with Garcia! Then will I smear these Walls with Blood, dash my Disfigur'd Face, and rive my clotted Hair, Break on the Ground my throbbing Breast, And grovel with gash'd Hands to scratch a Grave, Stripping my Nails, to tear this Pavement up, And bury me alive; where I will bite the Ground 'Till gorg'd with suffocating Earth.

Alm.

O dismal Cruel! heart-breaking Horror!

Osm.

Then Garcia shall lie panting on thy Bosom, Luxurious, revelling amidst thy Charms; And thou perforce must yield, and aid his Transport. Hell! Hell! have I not Cause to rage and rave? What are all Racks, and Wheels, and Whips to this? Are they not soothing Softness, sinking Ease, And wafting Air to this? O my Almeria, What do the Damn'd endure, but to despair, But knowing Heav'n, to know it lost for ever?

Alm.

O, I am struck; thy Words are Bolts of Ice, Which shot into my Breast, now melt and chill me. I chatter, shake, and faint with thrilling Fears. No, hold me not—O, let us not support, But sink each other, lower yet, down, down, Where levell'd low, no more we'll lift our Eyes, But prone, and dumb, rot the firm Face of Earth With Rivers of incessant scalding Rain.

Enter Zara, Perez and Selim.

Zara.

Somewhat of weight to me requires his Freedom. Dare you dispute the King's Command? Behold The Royal Signet.

Perez.

I obey; yet beg Your Majesty one Moment to defer Your ent'ring, 'till the Princess is return'd From visiting the Noble Prisoner.

[Exit Perez.

Zara.

Ha! What saist thou?

Osm.

We are lost! undone! discover'd! Retire, my Life, with speed—Alas, we're seen! Speak of Compassion, let her hear you speak Of interceeding for me with the King; Say somewhat quickly to conceal our Loves, If possible.—

Alm.

—I cannot speak.

Osm.

Let me Conduct you forth, as not perceiving her, But 'till she's gone; then bless me thus again.

Zara.

Trembling and weeping as he leads her forth! Confusion in his Face, and Grief in hers! 'Tis plain, I've been abus'd—Death and Destruction! How shall I search into this Mystery? The bluest Blast of Pestilential Air Strike, damp, deaden her Charms, and kill his Eyes; Perdition catch 'em both, and Ruin part 'em

Osm.

This Charity to one unknown, and in Distress, Heav'n will repay; all Thanks are poor.

[Exit Almeria.

Zara.

Damn'd, damn'd Dissembler! Yet I will be calm, Choak in my Rage, and know the utmost depth Of this Deceiver—You seem much surpriz'd.

Osm.

At your Return so soon and unexpected!

Zara.

And so unwish'd, unwanted too it seems. Confusion! yet I will contain my self. You're grown a Favourite since last we parted; Perhaps I'm Sawcy and Intruding—

Osm.

—Madam!

Zara.

I did not know the Princess Favourite; Your Pardon, Sir—mistake me not; you think I'm angry; you're deceiv'd. I came to set You free: But shall return much better pleas'd, To find you have an Interest superior.

Osm.

You do not come to mock my Miseries?

Zara.

I do.

Osm.

I could at this time spare your Mirth.

Zara.

I know thou cou'dst, but I'm not often pleas'd, And will indulge it now. What Miseries? Who would not be thus happily confin'd, To be the Care of weeping Majesty? To have contending Queens, at dead of Night Forsake their Down, to wake with wat'ry Eyes, And watch like Tapers o'er your Hours of Rest. O Curse! I cannot hold.—

Osm.

Come, 'tis much.

Zara.

Villain!

Osm.

How, Madam!

Zara.

Thou shalt die.

Osm.

I thank you.

Zara.

Thou ly'st; for now I know for whom thou'dst live.

Osm.

Then you may know for whom I'd die.

Zara.

Hell! Hell! Yet I'll be calm—Dark and unknown Betrayer! But now the Dawn begins, and the slow Hand

Of Fate is stretch'd to draw the Veil, and leave Thee bare, the naked Mark of Publick View.

Osm.

You may be still deceiv'd; 'tis in my Pow'r.

Zara.

Ha! Who waits there?

Enter Perez.

As you'll answer it, take heed This Slave commit no Violence upon Himself. I've been deceiv'd. The Publick Safety Requires he should be more confin'd; and none, No not the Princes self, permitted to Confer with him. I'll quit you to the King. Vile and ingrate! too late thou shalt repent The base Injustice thou hast done my Love: Yes, thou shalt know, spite of thy past Distress, And all those Ills which thou so long hast mourn'd; Heav'n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn'd, Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.

[Exeunt Omnes.

The End of the Third Act.