Circe a tragedy as it is acted at His Royal Highness the Duke of York's Theatre / by Charles D'Avenant ...

Scene Third.

Enter Thoas, Iphigenia, Guards, who bind and disarm the Strangers▪

My dearest Lord, behold the Strangers here

[Seeing the King.

Inchanted lie, and we no more shall fear. It seems that they unseen amongst the crowd This day, with us, to great Diana bow'd: Since, from the Temple they are hither brought, And in the Fetters of my Magick caught.

Iph.

As I this day the holy Rites perform'd, A Youth with strange success my bosom storm'd. His Image busie in my Heart I feel: Guard him, you Angels, from their cruel zeal:

Tho.

These Strangers, like dark clouds hang o're our Fate, Which to be safe we now must dissipate. Circe, we must resolve that one of these Shall by his fall the angry Gods appease.

Iph.

I'll see no more, let Death benight my Eye;

[Seeing Pyl. bound.

There, there, the Noble Youth inchanted lies: Why would he in this fatal Country stay? My tears and sighs did bid him haste away. Wake! wake! unhappy Strangers! who are lost On this unhospitable cruel Coast.

You must no more your freedom hope to have, Than they who are Deaths prisoners in the Grave. Still one of those who touch our barbarous shore, We offer to the Goddess we adore.

Ores.

Surpris'd and bound; come to the Altar lead, You do but what Heavens justice has decreed.

Tho.

I'm forc'd by Custom, that unwritten Law, By which the People keep, even Kings in awe, To give this doom, for which you calmly wait: To dy's the easiest action of the Great.

Pyl.

Thy Scepter Prince extends not to this place, The shore is common to all humane Race. We're Princes too above all Laws, but those Which Heav'n, and Nature's silent Pow'rs impose.

Tho.

'Tis by her Laws you are my Captives now, For Natures Laws do all to force allow.

Cir.

Kings must not argue what is right or wrong; Such little Scruples to the Gown belong.

Tho.

This beauteous Maid is Mistress of your Fate, From her fair Mouth each must his Sentence wait. One for the Sacrifice she must decree; The Rites perform'd, we set the other free.

Pyl.

If Death does in so fair a form appear, No Mortal sure can its approaches fear. I thought that Death could only beauteous shew In active Battails, in its Scarlet hue. With eager toiles I oft have sought it there, But find it glorious now to beg it here.

Iph.

Sir, can you die? does not even Vertue dread To reach the doubtful Mansions of the Dead?

Pyl.

Danger and Death in Camps I learn'd to court, In Camps, where Death's rough bus'ness is a sport. Save my brave Friend; me for the Victim take, Whom growing worth does not so useful make.

Iph.

But whil'st you plead for him, I blush to say, Your Vertue leads my choice another way: With more success you for your self might sue, Since my own Heart would joyn to plead for you.

Pyl.

That trifle, Life, I stoop not to desire, Th' ambition of my Pray'rs will mount up higher.

Iph

Ask, ask apace, so fast I lavish all, I shall have nothing to be liberal.

Cir.

No, no, let them the first advances make,

[Looking on Orest.

And give kind looks whom Love and Youth forsake. If I speak first, may I become the sport Of all, and like stale Beauties of the Court Be forc'd unwilling Lovers to invite, Woo all young handsome Men, and buy delight.

Pyl.

Madam, I beg that I to Death may go, But I would faine expire belov'd of you; For, Indian-like, I to the Shades below, Would with the richest of my Treasures go.

Iph.

The Airy part of Bliss you humbly crave, When all its richest substance you may have. You may ask all, my heart does give so fast, I fear 'twill give it self away at last.

Pyl.

Ah, speak agen, and bless my ravish't Ears.

Iph.

—I blush to own That you are here so soon victorious grown; But Heav'n, methoughts, bade me receive the Dart, And told me 'twas a Crime to guard my Heart. When in the Temple you to day appear'd, You saw how kindly I your safety fear'd, And bade you flie, but you shall never feel The sad effects of our tyrannick Zeal; Against their rage I will your Life defend, And grieve I cannot save your Noble Friend.

Pyl.

Arm, arm your Eyes with all that Lovers fear; Let me see Fierceness, Scorn and Hatred there; Love, and your Beauty, make Life seem so sweet, That I shall fear Death's horrid shape to meet; You'l make me fear him even in the Field, Where he does lasting Fame and Lawrels yield.

Cir.

Beauty did first teach Mankind to obey, Whil'st he that soft Inchanter did survey.

[Looking on Orestes.

The Nets of Pow'r surpris'd the wond'ring Prey. Sir, though by Custom I am cruel grown,

[To Orestes.

For you I something soft and tender own. Brave Stranger! it would much my pity move, Should all the hopes of you abortive prove,

And perish now, whil'st yet they'r in Fates Womb, Before they can to their just ripeness come.

Ores.

Madam, should I your pity need, 'twould be, If for the Victim she refuses me. Weary of Life, Death's sleep I long to take, And shall be froward, whil'st I'm kept awake.

Cir.

You with the Sweets of Youth contend to die, From which, even Age, would on its crutches flie. Love, only Love has Charmes enow to keep The Soul from coveting that tedious sleep.

Ores.

Love has been still a stranger to my Brest; Glory and Arms have all my thoughts possest; Fame I have courted as the only good, And waded to her through vast Seas of Blood; But of the World I now am weary grown, And in Death's quiet Cell would lay me down.

Tho.

The bloody Queen does in this Stranger find,

Observing Circe.

Something that troubles her imperious mind. Of all its fierceness she disarms her Face, She languishes, and softens every Grace.

Cir.

They may the Pow'r of all the World despise,

[To Orest.

That bear about 'em such commanding Eyes. All that have Hearts in your defence will move Under the conduct of victorious Love. I speak too much, and fear my Eyes declare Much more: Heroick Youth, you need not fear: This tenderness I must with blushes own; My very Heart is your Defender grown: And you are safe, unless the Scythians dare Assault a Life their Queen designs to spare.

Enter Ithacus.

Oh! I have talk'd, and look'd away my Heart:

[Aside.

His careless Graces vanquish more than Art.

Ith.

Princes be just enough to think I grieve, That I can only fruitless pity give. Though to this Crown Heav'n has united me, I've no alliance with its cruelty.

Tho.

Haste to the Temple, where the people wait, In greedy expectation of their Fate.

Death's solemn bus'ness, they with pleasure see, As if 'twere but a Pageant Tragedie.

Cir.

The fatal choice depends on the rough King, Whom I with Art must to my Party bring.

Iph.

'Twere better Scythia did no Godhead know, Than by its ignorance profane it so. Me thinks Religion's Sacred Mysteries, Should never be expos'd but to the Wise.

[Ex. all but Circe and Thoas.