Five new plays ... as they were acted by His Majesty's servants at the Theatre-Royal / written by the Honourable Sir Robert Howard.

ACT. V.

SCENE. I.

Enter Artabaces.

Art.

WHY to our Bodies are the Gods more kind, Than to the Place where Worship dwells, the Mind? Nature provides Defence, and yi••••d•• R••treat From piercing Cold, and from th••se ••rching Heat; But for the Passions which about us wait, There is no means allow'd prop••••tionate.

Enter Corbulo.

Cor.

Are you busie, Sir?

Mutius over-hearing.

Art

O wondrous busie.

Cor.

In what?

Art.

Why I was thinking that the World's ill ballanc'd, More Knaves than honest Men.

Cor.

An honest Man wou'd then be welcome sure.

Art.

Not to this place.

Cor.

To you, I hope.

Art.

Troth I have but little business for him.

Cor.

Do you not want a curtesie?

Art.

Yes, and one to do it.

Cor.

Pray try me, Sir.

Art.

With all my heart;—help me to a Sword.

Cor.

That's hard.

Art.

So are most curtesies; prethee do me an easie one▪

Cor.

What's that?

Art.

Be gone, and leave me.

Cor.

I wou'd first willingly do something for you, And wou'd help you to a Sword too; But they are too suspitious at this time, Strict Spies are set on you; Somewhat more liberty is allow'd the Lady.

Art.

The Lady!—ha—didst thou not say the Lady?

Cor.

Yes, I did.—It takes.

Aside.

Art.

Cou'd you help me to speak with her, or see her, Though but for a book or two?

Cor.

Um'h.

Art.

That's too hard too.

Cor.

No, I will do't.

Art.

Are you sure of it?

Cor.

Stay there a little, and you shall see.

Steps to Mutius.

Art.

This Fellow sure has inclinations to be honest.

Cor.

'Tis done; watch there.

Comes back and Exit.

Mut.

My best Corbulo.

Art.

I have been thinking Why those above, so full of tenderness, Made ways so hard to good and happiness: Through Graves we travel to felicity; The road unto Religion's misery. The ways might have been easier to find out, Not left so rugged, and so far about: To every object we submit our sense, And call our accidents their providence. There is no satisfaction here below, But such as Chance or strange extreams bestow: Secure Content can only be acquir'd By bruitish minds, or such which are inspir'd, Where Reason must not come, or can't encline, Sunk unto Beasts, or rais'd to be divine.

Enter Corbulo with Verginia.

Cor.

Then, Sir, now believe.

Exit.

Art.

H'as don't indeed. Just so when welcome light begins to rise, An unknown Comfort steals on troubled Eyes. Here let me kneel for ever in this place, And cling like Ivy to my first embrace.

Ver.

Alas, in sorrow shou'd we plant our Loves! Prisons are barren Soils where nothing proves.

Joys may spring up and make a little shew; But fastning roots in prosperous places grow.

Art.

Love may, like Vertue, starve in full content: Misfortunes are their noblest punishment.

Ver.

If Love fares well, do not his Feasts betray, While Death stands ready to take all away: Let rather Art and Wisdom act their parts, And hide our Love from all things but our hearts.

Art.

Dull order takes from Love its edge and grace; He stumbles in all steps but his own pace; His sacred liberty is in Fetters tied, When Art or Wisdom his loose steps wou'd guide.

Ver.

Perhaps there is a way to set you free.

Art.

Can I be so, and you want liberty?

Ver.

Do but at least comply with my design; For here your Life's in danger more than mine.

Art.

Without your sight my Life is less secure; Those wounds you gave your Eyes can only cure; No Balm in absence will effectual prove, Nature provides no Weapon-salve for Love.

Ver.

Might you but live a Pris'ner still with me, It were unkind to wish your liberty; 'Tis offer'd from my love,—and yet I find

Sighs.

You that deny to take it seem more kind.

Enter Mutius hastily.

Mut.

'Tis I must bring you freedom at the last.

Draws.

Ver.

O hold, remember what a Vow you past,

Mut.

It is thy falseness makes me call it back; No Vows so strong but just revenge will crack.

Ver.

Revenge will be no plea to those above.

Mut.

But they will hearken unto injur'd Love.

Art.

The gods will hear no business comes from thee.

Mut.

I'll send you on my errand.

Ver.

—Oh through me Guide your kind Sword:—Methinks your looks appear

He pauses and studies.

To me at least more gentle than they were.

Mut.

O yes, I am grown very tame, and now I think on't better, I will keep my Vow.

Ver.

The Gods reward what I can never pay.

Mut.

Hold, hold, take all together when you pray; For you shall see me take such wondrous care, That neither of you both shall need to swear.

Ver.

What do you mean?

Mut.

—Without there, ho, Corbulo.

Enter Corbulo.

Art.

O treacherous Slave.—

Mut.

—Yes, y'are in the right; Since you were squeamish to forswear her sight, I will secure your Eyes without your Vow.

Ver.

Oh Sir, by all—

Mut.

—Nay, no dissembling now: Take him away, and on his charming sight With burning Irons fear eternal night.

Cor.

How, burn out his Eyes!

Mut.

Yes, burn out his Eyes. Do•••• Corbulo demur at Cruelties? No more, be gone.

Ver.

—O hold, he bids you stay.

Mut.

He stays to meet his death that dares delay.

Art.

Farewel, fair Vestal; By my Soul's Eyes your Image shall be seen; And when 'tis dark without, I'll gaze within.

Ver.

O stay, I know you will relent, you must; Need you be cruel, when you shou'd be just? Preserve your Vow without your Cruelty; And do not make your Sin your Piety.

Exit with Artabaces.

Mut.

Begone, I'll practise what you taught before. I'll shew no pity, nor ask yours no more.

Ver.

But you may want pity from those above.

Mut.

Not now, since they deny'd it in your Love.

Ver.

They'll make me pay, if you will make me owe.

Mut.

You are too cunning, and the gods too slow.

Enter Corbulo.

How now, is't done?

Cor.

No.

Mut.

Ha!—the reason, Slave?

Cor.

I think such horrid business was not in our bargain.

Mut.

Pitiful Rascal, take that soft reward;

Strikes him.

I'll trust such tender Slaves no more.

Exit Mutius.

Cor.

Am I thus paid?

Ver.

Alas, what does he mean to do?

Cor.

Mischief, no doubt.

Ver.

Look on my wrongs, or your own injury; Revenge on him will prove pity to me.

Cor.

A blow! this my reward!—follow me; I will do something, but I know not what.

Ver.

The gods wou'd think that I enough had paid, Were my Tears measur'd, or my Sorrows weigh'd.

Exeunt.

Enter Sulpitius with others, leading in Hersilla.

Her.

Hold, or you shall drag me on: There's something in all this like treachery; Sertorius now is dead, what need we fly? —Leave me;— You may be innocent if you obey.

Sulp.

No, we have wander'd, you may lose your way.

Her.

Take heed left I suspect some ill design.

Sulp.

Suspicion will be more your fault than mine.

Her.

I fear that I have shar'd his guilt, I find Poor Marcellina's Ghost walks in my mind.

Enter Tiridates.

Ha!—Tiridates!—false Villain.

Sulp.

Pish, 'tis his Ghost: Here lead her away To the appointed place; hold, you two, stay.

Her.

Help, Tiridates.

Exit with Hersilia.

Tir.

Villain, look back, and see thy Death.

Sulp.

Death is more us'd to obey me than you.

—Dispatch him.

Fight, Tiridates falls.

—'Tis done; come for Mutius's House, away.

Exeunt.

Tir.

It will not be.

Strives to rise.

I bleed so fast that wither'd Life begins To fade away for want of Nature's Springs: And yet I feel no such decay of Love, Though Life and Passion from one Fountain move. —Hersilia,—Hersilia.—

Swoons.

Enter Artabaces with his Eyes out, and bound.

Art.

Where am I now? I thought the way to death had been so broad, Though I were blind I cou'd not miss the road: Death's Lodgings such perpetual darkness have, And I seem nothing but a walking Grave. —Verginia,—I must never hope to see; All Nature's Windows are shut up in me: The Sun to me brings an unuseful light; About me now I always carry night. There's yet one grief added to all my store, Never to see poor Tiridates more.

Tir.

Who's that names the unfortunate Tiridates?

Art.

What noise is this which sadly strikes my Ear? A sound like Tiridates Voice I hear.

Tir.

'Tis yet his Voice; were not my senses broke, I shou'd think too 'twere Artabaces spoke.

Art.

'Tis Artabaces speaks, and seeks about For Tiridates.

Tir.

—Why d'you not find me out? It is not dark.

Art.

—Alas, 'tis dark with me.

Tir.

Here, here; that I shou'd live once more to see My long-lost Brother! 'twill scarce shew like death In thy embraces to resign my breath.

Art.

O take me in thy arms for mine are ty'd; If they were free I have no Eyes to guide.

Tir.

Assist me, my weak strength, but to unty Those Arms, to make my self a place to die.

Unties him, and Artabaces sits down and takes him in his arms.

Art.

How dismally we meet like death and night! My Arms are now thy strength, thy Eyes my sight.

Tir.

What hand or chance shut up those Eyes of thine? While I enquire the cause death closes mine.

Dies.

Art.

He sinks; Tiridates,—Brother: His pulse is gone; 'Tis grown a dead low ebb with Lifes warm flood: How proper are my tears? my Eyes weep blood. He's gones before to rest, why must I stay? Eyes that are wounds might weep a Life away: They drop too slow, Life will not at this rate Distil away; I'll seek a quicker fate.

Starts up.

Now I have hands, they will some death afford; I had forgot to ask him for his Sword; I'll grope it out;—'tis hard, I cannot find

He creeps up and down for't on's knees.

The means of death; Fortune shou'd help the blind —O—I have it now.

All steps of Life were going to this home; But this does not bring Death, but shew 'tis come. So Motion causes what it can't express; 'Tis the last Step declares the Weariness. One Thought for dear Verginia,—then—

Enter Corbulo with Verginia.

Cor.

This way I'm sure.— —Look where he stands: I dare not stay.

Exit.

Ver.

Heaven reward you.

Art.

Who's there?

Ver.

—The horrid Deed is done!— Look down on him you Pow'rs, with Pity too, That has no Eyes left to look up to you.

Art.

Who's that which does too late the Gods implore? A Musick like that Voice I've heard before.

Ver.

That I were dumb. It is too much that I can speak and see; Each Sense is but a sev'ral misery.

Art.

It is Verginia; guide me where he stand, To leave my last Kiss on your sacred Hand.

She comes to him, and gives him her Hand.

Ver.

O do not to despair your Soul resign; Your Eyes have been my Guides, now see with mine.

Art.

'Tis Life, not you, that I forsake or flye; I do but go before you when I dye.

Ver.

Hold, hold; Give me your Sword, 'tis fittest for me now; I dare not use it, and you know not how.

Art.

In this condition I can use it best; I need no Eyes to guide it to my Breast.

Enter Mutius, and pauses a little.

Ver.

Hold, hold; Oh Mutius comes! Stand behind me; Give me your useless Sword, for I can see.

Art.

Away, away; those Pow'rs will send Supplies, And guide my Sword, that took away my Eyes.

Mut.

Fair Cous'ner, have I overtook you now? With Justice, thus I break my slighted Vow.

Runs at Artabaces; he stands still, and catches the Hilt of Mutius's Sword as it passes through his Body, and kills him.

Art.

So I heard him fall;—I think My Sword feels him now.— Is he—not—dead?—

Staggers and falls.

Ver.

Are you not dying too? O, let me know.

Art.

Yes, all the while I liv'd, I have been so; Time equal steps to Death, and Life does give; And those that fear to dye, must fear to live: Death reconciles the World's and Nature's Strife, And is a part of Order and of Life.

Ver.

'Tis out of Order without Nature's call.

Art.

It were the same if Accident paid all. We have no right in Time to come, no more Than we had Title to the Time before.

Ver.

Yet to my Life some pity shou'd be shown, (Verginia's Life) though you despise your own.

Art.

Reviving Comfort from that Name is sent; And though my—fainting—Life—is almost spent, It baits upon your Name, and then—goes on; But 'tis so tir'd, it cannot—travel—long.

Sinks.

Ver.

Oh!

Starts up a little.

Art.

I cou'd have smil'd at loss of Life and Crowns, But at the loss of you—I dye—in Frowns.

Dyes.

Ver.

Oh, do not leave me thus; for pity stay A little.—'Twas but just now he went away; I have not since had time to shed a Tear; And yet the Distance does the same appear, As if h'ad been a thousand years from me. Time takes no measure in Eternity.

Weeps over him.

Enter Hersilia, with the Fellow that went off with her.

Clau.

This is th' unhappy place, and there the wretched Object. —Now, your promis'd pardon.

Her.

Go, and live honest.—

Exit.

Oh my Tiridates,—speak but one word.

Runs and kneels by him.

He's gone for ever;—has he not left his Sword

She rises.

To help me after?—Ha!—who's that appears

Sees Verginia.

Like me in Griefs, so drown'd in hopeless Tears?

Ver.

—Ha!—my Sister Hersilia! She will prevent my Death, Unless I quickly counterfeit some way To deceive her, and my own Life betray.

Her.

'Tis she;—Ah, poor Verginia!— Who's this who in his Blood thus weltring lies, Mourn'd like a Lover by thy tender Eyes?

Ver.

'Twas one made me concern'd I know not how; But all is past, for he is nothing now; So we are told we must account the Dead; And Tears are wasted when for nothing shed.

Her.

Alas, you do but think that you have lov'd: Just so when Heaven, by some trouble mov'd, Unto some tender place its Flames designs, It seems to burn, because the Lightning shines; But when 'tis gone, after its swift retreat, It's left, like you, without a Flame or Heat. Do but look on, and see me take my leave Of my dead Love, and you must learn to grieve.

She goes to kneel by her Love.

Ver.

'Tis Life that must to Griefs their being give; And she that learns to grieve must learn to live.

Goes to Artab.

Come,—lend me your Sword, that I may find my Heart, It keeps me now from you:—Sure it will smart;

Tries the Point.

—Yet—all's but Death,—by Nature,—Sword, or Flame; But we find choice in that which is the same; And when the Gods our Life seem to deny, 'Tis kind to let us chuse which way to dye. —Why d'ye hold your Sword so fast? let go:

Tries to get the Sword.

This does not like your Love, but Courage shew. I have been told, and do believe it true, Love out-lives Death, which Courage needs not do. —Let go.

Her.

Stay—I had forgot to take my leave of her,

She rises.

'Tis just that Nature shou'd some share receive, Since she in Death for ever takes her leave.

—Ha,—poor Girl, what art thou doing there?

Sees Ver. by Artab.

Do not conceal thy Love, nor hide a Tear.

Ver.

Nothing indeed, I only look'd to see Why the Dead gave the Living misery; I fanci'd Death some Horrour did express, It rather seems to promise quietness.

Her.

In Sorrows Death's securest payment lies, But Youth like thine, untouch'd with Miseries; As if it hop'd to 'scape and never pay, Puts off the Creditor from day to day.

Ver.

In Grief the most ill husbandry's exprest, It makes us poor with paying Interest; I've heard some Romans at a chearful Feast, Invited Death to come and be a Guest: What wond'rous Act can you with Sorrow do, Not to be equall'd with a chearful Brow?

Her.

You may be one day touch'd with Misery, Sorrow will teach you then to think of me: Farewel, Verginia, these for thee I shed, All my last Tears are due unto the Dead.

She goes to Tiridates.

Ver.

O quickly now let go your Sword,—Unkind, Why do you make me stay so long behind? Indeed I shall not find which way you went, Yet Arrows swiftest fly from Bows most bent. —Let go,—thank ye,—I cou'd afford to pay A thousand thanks; but that I cannot stay,

She gets the Sword.

My Love's in haste, yet not one Tear shall move, I will no more be childish in my love. —Hersilia,—Sister—

She starts up.

Her.

—Ha—

Ver.

Pray see, you have good skill in Grief you say, Does any look in all this Face betray Sorrow within? Can you the least descry? See how I smile—and now—see how I dye.

Kills her self.

Her.

Thou hast indeed deceived me, thy brave Fate I will not poorly praise, but imitate; In every thing, I'll fall as thou hast dy'd, And take my rest by my dead Lover's side.

Kills her self.

Enter Emilius with his Followers, bringing in Sulpitius.

Emil.

Come, Monster, shew me the place Of all thy Mischiefs and my Misery.

Sulp.

By all these signs of Death, here it shou'd be.

Emil.

Ha, Hersilia dead, and poor Verginia! —Where shall my Griefs begin! Death like a Frost on a too early Spring, Stole on thy Blossoms—Monster, come and see What heaps of Ruine thou hast rais'd for me.

Sulp.

Ruines for you? Trifles:—there, gaze on mine; —The love— Of forty thousand Fathers that can whine Their Sorrows out, make but a formal shew, Short of a Lover's Grief. Let me but go, And I will shew you why.

Emil.

Hold, keep him fast: What wou'dst thou do?

Sulp.

Since all the Mischief's past, I might be trusted now—I wou'd dye there Between them two: Those Lovers lye too near, I fancy they enjoy each other, For all they are as cold as Cakes of Ice; That I might dye but once, or kill him twice.

Emil.

One Wish be sure thou shalt obtain, for I Endure to live, only to see thee dye.

Sulp.

We are at last agreed it seems.—Come,— Lend me a Sword then.

Emil.

Monster, thou shalt bleed By Justice only.

Sulp.

O, I understand you, you mean Thrown down from the Tarpeian Rock; if you shou'd see My Tumble, pray, do not leap after me: Troth it may spoil your whining.

Emil.

Stop his vile Breath, Till the Infection is remov'd by Death. Farewel, Hersilia,—and farewel, my sweet Verginia, I'll first revenge your Deaths, and then I'll dye; So, though I take my leave, my Eyes are dry; Sorrow for such a Loss too mean appears, Griefs were a Roman's Shame exprest in Tears. The World shall weep for me when ever Fame Does but relate the Vestal-Virgin's Name.