Mithridates, King of Pontus a tragedy : acted at the Theatre Royal by Their Majestie's servants / written by Nat. Lee.

ACT V. SCENE I.

Pelopidas, Andravar, Priest, incompass'd with Romans.

Pelop.

ROmans, who send your Laws far as the Sun His Beams, and whom the Universe beholds With joy, yet dreads your anger as the Gods, Why move you to the ruine of this Tyrant, To the sure death of bloody Mithridates, As if you fear'd, or car'd not he shou'd die? Can you suspect an Ambush? or that we Shou'd dare betray you, yielding thus our persons, Our Lives, our Prince himself into your hands?

Andr.

This man, to whom the servile Priests bow down, Who wears a Crown in honour of his place, And sacred worth, abandons all his glories T' attest the truth of what we have declar'd.

Enter Pharnaces.

But see, the fierce, the brave, the Great Pharnaces Comes on to meet you; waves his Royalties: Therefore, O mighty Romans, give him Audience.

Phar.

That I am rough, and of an untaught Spirit, All the East knows; I ever scorn'd those Slaves VVith whom I have been bred; and when my Father

Order'd Barbarian Princes for my Masters, In Arts and Arms, I spurn'd 'em from my presence; And rather chose, since Rome might not instruct me, Nature in all my Actions for my Guide. Hence cou'd I brook more hardly the fierce mind Of our Inhumane Parent Mithridates. My Eldest Brother's Fate did kindle first My fiery Soul to a most swift revenge; For when the State of Bosphorus demanded That Prince for King, he bound the gallant Youth In Golden Chains, and doom'd him to be slain: Two more were by his boundless fury strangled; And ev'n the last but me, the brave Ziphares, Last night was murder'd in the Tyrants Palace: In whose sad cause, the Squadrons which he led Of late so valiantly against you Romans, Attend some furlongs hence to joyn your Banners. If this be true, not to recount the Slaughters Of all his Queens and poyson'd Concubines, I think the World (Rome I shou'd first have nam'd) Will little censure this so just revolt. If you suspect me false, behold Pharnaces, Ne're yet detain'd, but free as roving Lyons That swept at will like Winds in Deserts wild; Behold him, with these Noble Hostages, Your Pris'ner to be bound the Slave of Rome.

Rom.

Capt. Lead us on to Victory.

Omnes.

To Victory.

Phar.

On them, you Race of Heav'n, you Seed of Gods; And to Immortalize Pharnaces Name, Plant me, like Thunder breaking from this Cloud, Foremost, while all the ratling Engines follow. Monima, whom this Tyrant ravish'd from me, I hear is fled to Pompey: her I ask, For my reward, with half his spreading Empire. But I waste words; let's act, and then make claim. And O remember, when we storm the Town, Remember that most horrid Massacre Of Asia; whet on that your blunted Spirits, Till with the motion Lightning edge your Souls

To mow off hoary Heads, hurl Infants puling From the lug'd breast, kill in the very Womb: To Beauties cries be deaf, make all Synope But one vast Grave, to hold the infinite bodies Which we must shovel in; and when you see The Head of Mithridates in this hand, Then think who ever dar'd for Rome like me, Or bought an Empire at a price so dreadful: Then yield the Beauty I so much desire, And all those Crowns to which my thoughts aspire.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Ziphares, Archelaus.

Ziph.

'TIs late; the gath'ring Clouds, like meeting Armies, Come on apace, and Mortals now must die, Till the bright Ruler of the rising Day Creates 'em new: the wakeful Bird of Night Claps her dark wings to th' Windows of the dying. General, Good-night.

Arch.

Sir, I'll not leave you yet. I do not like the dusky boding Eve. Well I remember, Sir, how you and I Have often on the Watch in Winter walk'd, Clad in cold Armor, round the sleeping Camp, Till cover'd o're from head to foot with Snow, The Centinels have started at our march, And thought us Ghosts stalking in Winding-sheets: And do you think I cannot watch you now, Thus cover'd, and beneath this bounteous Roof? Sleep, Sir; I'll guard you from suspected danger.

Ziph.

Danger! there's none; no shadow of a harm: Dear General, you'l oblige me to retire: We'll meet to morrow with the earliest dawn; I'm troubled now, and heavy; in the morning, Soon as you please, you shall have entrance here; And then, I trust the bounteous Gods, you'll find A wondrous alteration. Sleep may Charm My talking griefs, and hush 'em fast for ever.

Arch.

'Tis that I fear.—I tell you there are Deaths Brooding this night abroad. A Recluse Priest, Surpriz'd with mortal sickness, was this Evening, As he himself desir'd, ta'n from his Bed, And carry'd to the Closet of the King: Where, after some close conference, he expir'd. Immediately your Father Orders gave For doubling all his Guards, and went in fury To Monima's Apartment, where 'twas said Pharnaces had been gone a while before.

Ziph.

I ever thought that Brother most ambitious; But what is this to me?

Arch.

What follow'd does Concern both you and me, and all the East; For streight, when the sick Priest had breath'd his last, The sacred Oyl, which for a hundred years Supply'd the Sun behind the Golden Vail, Went out, and all the mystick lights were quench'd: Strange doleful Voices shrilly eccho'd through The darkned Fane; the Monuments did open, And all the Marble Tombs, like Spunges squeez'd, Spouted big Sweat: the Curtain was consum'd With wondrous flame; and every shining Altar Dissolv'd to yellow puddle, which anon A flash of thirsty Lightning quite lick'd up. While through the Streets your murder'd Brothers rode, Arcathias, Mithridates, and Machares, And madded all the schreaming multitude. Is not this strange?

Ziph.

The Gods reproach my slackness.

[Aside.

'Tis strange! most wondrous strange! Once more I pray thee By all our Friendship, leave me to my self.

Arch.

Ah, Prince, you cannot hide Your purpose, from your narrow-searching Friend: I find it, by the sinking of your Spirits, Your hollow speech, deep musings, eager looks, Whose fatal longings quite devour their objects, You have decreed, by all the Gods you have, This night to end your Noble Life.

Ziph,

Away.

I never thought thee troublesome till now.

Arch.

I care not; spite of all that you can do, I'll stay, and weep you into gentleness: Your faithful Souldier, this old doting Fool Shall be more troublesom than one that's wiser. By Heav'n, you shall not hurt your precious life. I'll stay and wait you, wake here till I die; Follow you, as a fond and fearful Father Wou'd watch a desperate Child.

Ziph.

I'll tell thee then, Since thou wilt tear the Secret from my breast, And dive into the bottom of my Soul, This night must end me: make not a reply; 'Tis fix'd as fast and sure as are my woes. Did'st thou but know what 'tis to love like me, And to be so belov'd; O Archelaus! Yet to be past all hope of happiness, Of ever tasting those desir'd Beauties, Of any dawn, least glimpse, or spark of comfort, Did'st thou not hate me much, even thou wou'dst kill me.

Arch.

If that my death, (for that indeed's but little) Cannot once move you from this dreadful deed, Yet, Prince, your Country, which must fall without you, Your bleeding Country must obtain at least That you wou'd live to free her from her Foes; Your Glory calls, your sinking Father begs, That you wou'd save your Country from the Romans.

Ziph.

Much I indeed have got by Conquering Rome! And to much purpose lost my dearest blood! Much have my wounds deserv'd; and Heav'n can tell How Nobly I have been rewarded for 'em! I tell thee, Archelaus, I have sworn, Were I to live, I wou'd not fight again: The World shou'd neither better be, nor worse For me. But I waste time; and to convince thee, Since thou wilt have the trouble to behold My death, I bid thee now farewel for ever.

Arch.

Hold, Sir.

Ziph.

I will; and talk as calmly to thee As any dying Roman of 'em all:

I have consider'd well of what I do, And I will perish with as little noise As Fate cou'd wish that wou'd not be accus'd.

Arch.

I'll follow you.

Ziph.

I wou'd intreat thee not; Thou hast no sorrows that are past the sufferance: And sure my flying Soul will hang her wing, When she shall feel thy weighty death upon her. O, Archelaus, leave me to my Fate; If thou must see me fall, I charge thee live, At least so long to tell Semandra of me: Bear her some Token of my ill-star'd Love, Which Empire cou'd not win to live without her. Dip in the blood which trickles from my heart Thy Handkerchief, and bid her keep it for me, As a Remembrance now and then to mourn me: Swear to do this.

Arch.

This I will do; and, mark me, cruel Prince, If thus thou violate that Royal Frame, Tearing the gallant Spirit from his Mansion, I swear by what I tremble at, thy death, I'll double all thy wounds upon Semandra.

Ziph.

Ha!

Arch.

I'll tear her piece-meal, and so hack her limbs, Thou shalt not know her in the other World.

Ziph.

Oh torture: dear, good Archelaus, hold; I know thou canst not mean such cruelty. Why dost thou rack me thus, with thoughts in death That are much heavier ev'n than death it self? Why dost thou make my eyes thus swim in tears? I charge thee, do not hurt her; for the sake Of all the Gods, be gentle to my Love: I beg for mercy to the soft Semandra. Alas, if she deserv'd, as she is faultless, She cou'd not bear the wounds which we can bear.

Arch.

Give me your promise then that you will live: Live but this night, or I have sworn her death.

Ziph.

Thou hast found the means to Charm me into life, And keep me on the Rack; but no more threats Against Semandra: 'twas unkindly done,

And I grow angry at my Fates delay.

Arch.

Why will you be thus froward? Live to night; Be careful of your self but till the Morn: Methinks there may be wonders wrought e're then.

Ziph.

O Archelaus! 'tis impossible: Had she been Ravish'd by another Man, I cou'd have clear'd her with the Villains Blood; But by my Father touch'd, what Miracle Can work me into hope? Heav'n here is Bankrupt; The wondring Gods blush at their want of pow'r, And, quite abash'd, confess they cannot help me.

Arch.

Sure, by you lifted Torches, I discern Your Father moving this way.

Ziph.

Ha! my Father! How my flesh trembles! I cou'd do a deed Wou'd make us both run mad. Draw, Archelaus. Yet stay: what Devil starts thus in my blood, And turns my Reason to this maze of folly? No; let us suffer more, if possible: Yet I will shun his Presence. Oh you Pow'rs, Is that a Crime? answer me if it be, And I will meet him, tho his sight should blast me.

[Exeunt as Mithridates, Captain of the Guards, and Attendants enter.

Mith.

Betray'd! and by my Son! given up a Prey For the Insulting Romans to devour! Pharnaces is the Traytor, that Pharnaces Who was t' inherit all that space of Empire Which Fortune gave to this unhappy King! O Friends, when from the Palace-gate we sally'd, And drove the bold Assailants through the City, The Impious Boy Charg'd as I foremost rode, And brav'd my Fury with his Bever up; But, Oh the Gods, I who before had crimson'd My Arms with Blood of Rebels, I who mov'd With Whirlwinds swiftness still on every side, And tost like Leaves the weightiest Foes about me, Now stood, as if Gorgonian Charms had fixt me: Nor know I more.

Capt.

Your Sword, Great Sir, when you A while had gaz'd on that Audacious Prince, Fell from your hand, your mighty Spirit left you; And as some famous piece of Antick-work, When the sunk Props and wasted Beams decay, Staggers and nods before the ruine comes: So wav'd your Royal Fabrick e're it fell; And, as our Arms receiv'd you, curs'd Pharnaces, Born by Ambition to a murder new; Offer'd a wound, and 'twas with great expence Of lives, we bore your Body to the Palace.

Mith.

My Senses blaze; my last I know is come; My last of hours: 'tis wondrous horrid! now My lawless love, and boundless pow'r reproach me. But I will think no more on't. Come, my Friends, Let's meet these Romans, and my Rebel-Son; Let's kill till we are weary, then lye down And rest for ever: O 'tis Noble Ruine! Creatures of vilest make, upon disgust With Knives or Cords set loose their Coward Souls; But we will live in spite to grieve the World, While life will last, or any Spirits hold. O that, like Serpents hewn, we still might move, Our Limbs lopt off, and kill with every parcel!

Enter Semandra.

Sem.

'Tis done; my Ruine is at last reveng'd, And cruel Mithridates is no more: That famous wicked man shall kill no more: Faln is the Murderer, he shall love no more Another's right; shall Ravish now no more.

Mith.

O horrour! snatch me, Furies, from her presence: Gape wide, O Earth, and swallow me alive.

Sem.

I go before, and never shall we meet On Earth again, inhumane Mithridates; Yet I rejoyce not, be my Witness Heav'n, At those Calamities that come upon thee: But think 'em just, and with a dread reflection Behold thy Fate, and wonder at the Gods.

Not but thy Son, my Love, my lost Ziphares, And I, in lamentable Shapes, made up By Death's own hand, will tell 'em all thy Story. For ever thus, thou Ravisher of Honour, I leave thee to the Vultures of thy Conscience, To all the Stings Ambition feels in death, Or Lust, the Rape committed. O, you Pow'rs Make firm my hand, for an Exploit, to Crown My Life, whose bus'ness shall be quickly done.

[Exit.

Mith.

Away, to Arms, to Arms; plunge deep in blood: Be quick to die. Were all the Roman Piles, And Scythian Darts, and Parthia's poyson'd Arrows, Shot through this Body, her words wou'd be more. I'll not endure 't; rush to the fatal War: I wou'd be drunk with Death, and steaming Slaughter, To stupifie the sense of inward torment. Haste then, and wallow in the murd'ring Field, Through all the Avenues to battel flie: They who have liv'd in blood, in blood must die.

[Exeunt.

Trumpets. Enter Pelopidas, Andravar, their Swords drawn, with a Lamp.

Pelop.

Yonder he Sallies, furious for Destructions, And now full scope is given to act our bus'ness, And end the sad Ziphares.

Andr.

I am glad The chance is faln to us: to death, nay more, To Hell I hate him, and to have him slain By any hand but mine, wou'd pall the Murder.

Pelop.

The Palace now is drawn Of all the glitt'ring Host that twinkled here, Following their King, to shoot the Gulph of Ruine: And it was order'd well, by Prince Pharnaces, While with the Romans he dispatch'd his Father, That we shou'd kill his drooping Brother. Ha! I hear some tread! your Lamp must wink awhile.

Enter Ziphares.

Ziph.

Oh, 'tis too much; I never shall sleep more. How loud the Voice of Fate sounds every-where! Trumpets and Drums! yet old Archelaus, With grief and watching spent, in spite of all Those Tides of Care that swell'd e're-while so high, Lies like a Child that braul'd himself asleep. Ismenes too, that wept to see me mourn, Falls on his breast, and nods his tears away: So sleeps the Sea-boy on the Cloudy Mast, Safe, as a drowzy Tryton, rock'd with Storms, While tossing Princes wake on Beds of Down.

Pelop.

'Tis he; prepare.

Andr.

Both perish, if he escape.

Ziph.

This darkness fills my breast with horror: now, Now I may do the deed; which done, all's sure: It shall be so, and thus I will deceive him. But then he kills Semandra. Whence this light? Swords! Vizors! what Assasinates are these? Wou'd they were more; for ruine is my wish: Yet I disdain to fall by Villains hands.

[Beats 'em off.

Enter Semandra, with a Dagger in her hand.

Sem.

Where do I wander in the dismal Shades Of this black night? there's not a Soul beneath Who dy'd as I must do, for fatal Love, Knows better all the gloomy Arbours there, Than I each Chamber in this House of Death. 'Twas here the God-like Prince did wooe me first, Sigh'd his first Vows, and wept me into passion: Where shall I find him, that most perfect Soul? Whose whiteness will to after-ages answer For all the spotted loves of perjur'd men. Meet him I must, and run into his arms; But with a Roman blow, which first shall drive This Ponyard to my heart: then, rush upon him, Then clasp him close, then he'll believe me true.

Enter Ziphares.

Ziph.

This way the Cowards fly; this way the noise goes, I think thou hast it there, and canst not scape me.

Sem.

I thank the Gods, I shall not. Let me kiss The hand that kills me. Oh too gracious Heav'n! Semandra now is happy.

Ziph.

Semandra! what; What say'st thou? Speak again, thou dismal voice.

Sem.

Oh, that I cou'd see your face before I die: Those eyes, where I wou'd look my Soul away.

Ziph.

Awake; what ho, Ismenes! haste, a light! Haste hither, Father, Archelaus, haste! My heart bodes ruine, we are all undone.

Enter Archelaus, and Ismenes with a Light.

Oh, Father, either I am Charm'd, or here Semandra lies, slain by this dreadful hand.

Arch.

Our Guardian-spirits shield us, 'tis my Daughter.

Ziph.

Curs'd Fate! malicious Stars! you now have drain'd Your selves of all your poys'nous influence; Ev'n the last baleful drop is shed upon me.

Sem.

Give me thy hand most matchless of thy kind; O joyn us, Father, joyn us thus in death: Now thou art mine; and we'll be wedded too In th' other World; our Souls shall there be mixt: Who knows, but there our joys may be compleat? A happy Father, thou; and I, perhaps, The smiling Mother of some little Gods.

Ziph.

Oh Archelaus, if thou lov'st her memory, Fly to the King, and let him understand The truth of all: if he be pleas'd to hear her, Intreat him haste, the pangs of death are on her.

Arch.

I will, if tears will let me, find the way: And, by your leave, these Weapons shall be mine.

Ziph.

That I expected. Ha! she faints, Ismenes, Run to my Closet, haste, where thou wilt find A Golden Vial of rich Juice, to bring the Spirits

Back to their Seat: go, pour it in a Bole With speed, to save her.

[Exit Ismenes.

Hast thou not a word, A syllable, fair Soul? Speak, speak, Semandra. I feel a trembling warmth about thy heart: It pants.

Sem.

As Cowards do before a Battel. Oh, the Great March is sounded.

Ziph.

Stay thee one moment,

Ismenes re-enters, with a Bole.

And I will lead thee on. Away, Ismenes; Watch thou the King's approach, and bring me word.

Exit Ism.

Here, seest thou this, my Love? look up, Semandra, Thou dying Spark, glimmer a little while; Behold this Cordial, this sure warmth at heart, This faithful Off'ring of Eternal Love.

Sem.

VVhither, oh where? Death's Myst comes fast upon me. What is't you drink?

Ziph.

A Draught which makes me thine; The pow'rful Cordial which my Father gave me, A Noble Compound of his fatal skill: He charg'd me, when I cou'd not live with Honour, To taste it, and be free.

Sem.

Methinks your Voice is faint As distant Ecchoes; and I am now far off: Alas, I know not where.

[Dies.

Ziph.

I'll fold thee thus, And Mithridates shall not part us now: Fan thus the dying flame with my last breath. She's out: the damp of Death has quench'd her quite: These spicy-doors, her lips, are shut, close lock'd, Which never gale of life shall open more. I come. Oh Father! Oh thou true Physitian! Thou work'st me Nobly now; and oh 'tis welcom! Thy Drugs are quick; once more, O Love! I come, Thou most of Life in Death. Ambition, Fame: 'Tis empty all; and nothing but a Name.

[Dies.

Archelaus, Mithridates supported bleeding: Pharnaces, Pelopidas, Andravar, bound.

Arch.

Behold, behold my Lord, how I'm rewarded For faithful service, for the numerous scars Which in your Cause have mark'd my aged body! My Daughter's slain. Ha! let me never rise, If that the brave Ziphares be not kill'd! Was this the Cordial, wicked Boy, thou brought'st him?

Mith.

Blame not the guiltless, for by me he's poyson'd: By this inhumane Tyrant, Monster, Parricide; By me the Drugs were mixt, and dol'd about To my unhappy Children, left surpriz'd, They shou'd be born to Rome for Royal Slaves.

Arch.

Dead! art thou dead, O lovely Royal Plant, Blown down by gusty Heav'n, in all thy bloom! My hour is come; and thus I follow thee.

Mith.

Hold him. What means the frantick General? Disarm, and bring him hither. Kneel, O kneel, Before these Bodies.

Arch.

What wou'd you, sacred Sir?

Mith.

Swear, swear to live. I have a Royal Race of Little Ones: Live, I Conjure thee, to defend those Infants From Roman Rage; intreat Victorious Pompey, And he'll be gentle to 'em: Swear to live.

Arch.

I swear; but after that——

Mith.

Rise, and no more. My blood leaks fast; and the great heavy lading, My Soul will quickly sink; therefore revenge: Yes, you pale figures, you most precious forms, Who, where you walk, for sure you tread the Stars, Shame brightest Gods, and add new light to Heav'n, First, in most dreadful manner, will I give Those Traytors lives, who drew me to your ruine. Hence, burn the Slaves; the curs'd Pelopidas, And Villain Andravar: away with 'em. For thee—(but sure I shall disdain to name thee) The Palace yet is ours.

Arch.

But cannot long Be so: Pompey the Great is entred; And those who took your part, are all revolted.

Mith.

Away then; bear him to the middle Turret, Whose Brazen-head rises above the rest, In sight of Pompey, throw him from the top, And give his most aspiring life an end.

Phar.

I know thou canst not long out-live me, Tyrant. Accurs'd be Fortune, which too forward bore me To be thy Prey; and rot the hand that seiz'd me: Yet, when my Ghost is from this body dash'd, If such a Goblin as a Ghost there be, I'll rise, and wing the mid-way Air to wait thee; Hurl'd shalt thou be, as Saturn was by Jove, And flag beneath me, while I reign above.

Mith.

O General, behold, and wonder with me, How swiftly Fate can make, or unmake Kings! How empty is Death's Pomp, compar'd with Life! Where now are all the busie Officers, The supple Courtiers, and big Men of War, That bustled here, and made a little World? Revolted all: Support me, for I go. My Soul is on the Beach, and strait must lanch Into th' Abyss of the black Sea of death, Where Furies stand upon the smoaky Rocks, Prepar'd to meet one greater than themselves. Here, lay me bleeding by these murder'd Lovers; And, oh! when I am dead, let Sorrow stalk In sacred silence to my gaping Tomb. Forget that ever Mithridates was; No tongue relate the deeds this Hand has done, Let thought be still, or work beneath the ground! But oh he's come, cold Tyrant I obey, And hug thy Dart that bears my Life away.

[Dies.

FINIS.