The destruction of Jerusalem by Titus Vespasian in two parts : as it is acted at the Theatre Royal / written by Mr. Crowne.

SCENE The Roman Tents.

Enter Berenice and Semandra.

Ber.

OH Heav'ns! not see me! nor approach me once! All Love, all pity, all respect renounce! Amazing change in him this does express; Something has ruin'd all my happiness.

Sem.

Oh judge not so severely of your fate!

Ber.

It is too true:—what less then bitter hate Cou'd make him thus disorder'd from me run, Nay seek occasions Berenice to shun? I have but once beheld him all this day, And then he turn'd his eyes from me away, Wou'd not with one, my many smiles requite; I was so far from yielding him delight, That he wou'd look on any thing but me, I was the hatefull'st object he could see.

Sem.

The sight appear'd to me exceeding strange, I wonder what it is has wrought this change; I cannot think it from unkindness flows, I rather fear from Rome some Tempest blows: Or from the Camp new threatning clouds arise; I see the Armies daily Mutinies Against his Love;—and may I not believe He grieves lest these your Noble mind shou'd grieve?

Ber.

Does he so meanly of my heart esteem? Is it a trouble to endure for him?

Sem.

What though it may afford delight to you? Shou'd he be pleas'd you suffer for him too? May not the best of men afflicted prove, She shou'd be troubled whom he best does love? No doubt to crown you Empress he aspires, And sinds Rome will not bow to his desires:

Is it unnatural a gen'rous mind Shou'd grieve to be from gen'rous acts confin'd? That he in spite of him ignoble proves, And cannot act as bravely as he Loves?

Ber.

Thy fond defence does but accuse him more; As if Rome durst oppose her Emperour? Do not I know her Emperours to please, She both her Laws and Gods will Sacrifice? But what though she denies her mighty Throne? His passion sure entirely is his own: No Laws did ever yet to Love forbid, And having him, can I an Empire need? Who want a Throne that they may happy prove, Have hearts too great, or else too little Love. By none but Caesar I can be undone, And I will be appeas'd by him or none.— But ha! a shout!

Sem.

It shou'd a Triumph be, It sounds like the glad voice of Victory.

Ber.

Inquire the cause, and ease me of my fear; I'm on the wrack till I the tidings hear.

Sem. goes out, and immediately re-enters.

Sem.

Madam, it is a Triumph as we thought, The Army have a glorious Vict'ry got, Not o're the Rebels, but their General's mind; Your Lord it seems this fatal Morn design'd To head his Squadrons, and expose in fight Himself, the Worlds both glory and delight. A thought his loyal Legions could not bear; His resolution by the earnest pray'r Of all his Kings and Captains is subbu'd, And now the glad victorious multitude, With joys triumphant make the ecchoes ring, Whilst their great Captive to his Tent they bring.

Ber.

To the whole world he wou'd have injury done, All have a right in him as in the Sun; Heav'n one so brave for common good does frame:— I once an int'rest in him too might claim,

But that I fear is lost—

(weeps.

I'le run to him, my thoughts he shall set free, I cannot live in this uncertainty; 'Tis worse then death his kindness to suspect, Or live one moment under his neglect.

Ex.

Enter Titus, Tiberius, Malchus, Antiochus.

Tit.

The humble prayers your Loyalties have made, My resolution with success invade; Go and discharge my Legions on the Town, Each moment now is laden with renown. The Gods and I will faithfully take care, The living and the dead rewards shall share. We'l Laurels place on each victorious head, I'le crown the living, and the Gods the dead.— Are th'Engines mounted?

Tib.

All upon the wheel.

Ant.

The Tow'rs already seem with fear to reel.

Mal.

To th'inner wall we now have near access; The City's stately Robes, and upper dress Of Suburbs burnt, she now no longer bold, With some few rags stands shivering in the cold.

Tit.

How do these men compell me to deface The charming beauty of this goodly place?

Tib.

And that the obstinate and rebel Jews, May hope no more your mercy to abuse, We on the Plain have drawn before their eyes, A lively Scheme to shew their destinies: They need not vex the Stars, or trouble Art, The Hills and Valleys can their fates impart; The vocal Forrest is transplanted there, From groaning Trees they Oracles may hear; The Hills are shaded with a horrid Wood, And Valleys fill'd with Vineyards weeping blood: Crucisi'd bodies cover all the Plain, Let'em view them and obstinate remain.

Tit.

These men distort my nature, wrest my mind, And torture me lest they shou'd mercy find.

Titus talks to Tib.—Enter Berenice, Semandra; Malc. Antioc. gaze on Ber.

Mal.

The Queen! with beauty let me fill my fight, And take before hand the reward of fight: My Sword in Caesar's service I employ But to see her, whose Love he does enjoy.

Ant.

The fair young Queen! with beauty I'm opprest! Oh Caesar! Caesar! for a man too blest! The Gods more happiness on thee bestow, Then they themselves are capable to know.

Tib. Mal. Ant. Ex.

Titus sees the Queen, and starts.

Tit.

The Queen! I at the sight of her grow chill, Like one in view of him he means to kill.

Ber.

May I of Caesar crave without offence, The favour of a moments conference?

Tit.

Is it the Queen says this! Is she to know That all things here allegiance to her owe? And that she no way can oblige me more, Then in commanding what she does implore.

Ber.

I never shall survive the happy day, When I on Caesar obligations lay; Since so much glory were too great to bear: I have already had too great a share Of pleasures, in the sole belief that I Cou'd contribute to his felicity.

Tit.

Shou'd the fair Queen the moment not outlive, In which her Love to me does pleasure give, How often must that beauteous Princess dye? Since all my thoughts I on her Love employ, And ev'ry thought affords my soul delight. But oh! my injur'd passion I must right! Was all my Love not real but deceit? And did you but believe my kindness great?

Ber.

Far be all ill suspicions from my breast; I should my self (and justly too) detest,

If a mean thought of Caesar e're shou'd find, Any the least reception in my mind. All his past Love I do not, dare not wrong. But I the glory have enjoy'd too long: Caesar is pleas'd to let it now decline, Which I impute to some offence of mine; For he can think no thought but what is brave, No, I some great offence committed have, But what, is wholly to my soul unknown, If I might know it, I my crime wou'd own.

Tit.

To what do these unkind expressions tend? You make me think indeed you can offend, Since you to these suspicions can be wrought.

Ber.

I do not, Sir, accuse you of a fault; Caesar can erre in nothing he can do, So great a glory never was my due, Much less when I have something done or said, Which all my right has justly forfeited.

Tit.

Now truth assist me:—this unkind debate Argues not mine, but your own cruel hate; You sure encline to what you faign wou'd prove, And have a mind I shou'd no longer Love. This is too hard, too painfull to be borne, I swear (as I a thousand times have sworne) But that the day the sight of you does shew, I care not if the Sun wou'd shine or no; That all the joy that does by Life accrue, Is but to Love, and be belov'd by you.

Ber.

My Lords displeasure I too justly bear, That I to doubt his constancy shou'd dare; But he may pardon me, when he does know All my suspicions from my kindness flow. I trouble have on Caesar's brow espy'd, And he his thoughts and person too does hide. My tender heart with sorrow pines away, If I behold my Lord but once a day: And I much less can his retir'dness bear, And not his grief, as well as kindness share.

Tit.

Oh! how with Love she overwhelms my heart! After such Love I never can impart

A secret, that to you may trouble prove; To me be all the grief, to you the Love. Oh Rome! oh glory! oh renown! which way Will you the loss of so much Love repay?

Ex.

Ber.

Again in secret sorrow from me part! Oh my distraction! oh my tortur'd heart! What can the sense of these disorders be?

Sem.

I must confess they are too dark for me.

Ber.

Fate to our mutual Love no good designs, Whatever he pretends, his heart declines: Love treats not thus the person that's belov'd, Common compassion wou'd have kinder prov'd.

Sem.

My counsel can afford but small relief, But do not too much listen to your grief.

An alarm; Enter a Centurion followed by Romans.

Sem.

Souldier, the news.

Cent.

The Parthian King is here, That name's enough to shew what danger's near: I cannot talk, there's bus'ness to be done.

Ex.

Ber.

My Lord in danger!

Sem.

Whither do you run?

Ber.

To dye with him.

Sem.

Oh fear not! Heav'n will save, Were all his Legions slain, a man so brave.

An alarm; the Centurion returns with Monobasus.

Ber.

Centurion, the success relate with speed.

Cent.

My Lord is from the Parthian Monarch freed By this brave Stranger's aid, who to defend His glorious Enemy, oppos'd his Friend.

Ber.

Prince! my resentments I want words to tell, This deed does all past services excell: Sure you have some command from my good Fate, My Friends and me with diligence to wait. All your deserts I will to Caesar own, And for reward procure some vacant Crown, If I have int'rest still; but l'm affraid I rather need an Intercessor's aid.

Ex.

Mon.

Oh Heav'ns! what pleasing sweetness does she wast, Intirely lost to my disorder'd tast? I little pleasure in that kindness take, Which she bestows but for another's sake. Now heart but hold till I my passions speak, And then with sorrow and confusion break.

Ex.