Love and revenge a tragedy acted at the Duke's Theatre / written by Elkanah Settle ...

Scene the Second. The Scene a Room of State.

Enter Aph••lia.

Aph.

I am a Prisoner still. But why so fair A Prison, and so ki••d an entert••inment, After he had pronounced so harsh a doom, I cannot guess the cause, unless it spring From the Conversion of my cruel King: If that's the cause, as ye kind pow'rs, I hope 'tis—

Enter Nigrello.

Nigr.

Now for my disguise: This Lodging, and this Entertainme••t's my design:

Aside.

The King I have perswaded to this mildness, As the more easie way to win her heart Then Cruelty. But on the same foundation I seem to raise his hopes, I've built his ruine.

Aph.

What read'st thou in the Book of Fate Nigrello? What is Heav'ns pleasure? Quick, make hast and crown My hopes, speak, thou canst read The Language of my Stars, the will of Destiny•• For thou canst tell how looks my angry King.

Nigr.

Madam, he's now a King indeed, no more Your Tyrant, witness his strange Reformation Now Madam he intends to make you happy In giving, not accepting of your heart. This milder usage he designs a Prologue This vanquisht passion, and your alter'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 The Generous, the Good, the Courteous 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Has been so much your Friend.—

Aph.

Clar••ount, my Friend▪

Nigr.

Your Influence is so great, that this kind man Has used such force, spoke such convincing reason, That the Converted King adores your Faith, Charm'd with your constancy, resolves to cherish it.

Aph.

Can I believe my Ears?

Nigr.

If you belief So tardy be, stay till your Eyes confirm it: And when your generous King gives your fair hand To Lewis, call your Slave your Oracle.

Aph.

What extasy doest thou inspire? But Clarmou••, Was he the Kings Converter? his strange pow'r Both in the Kings and Peoples hearts I've heard of: But his strange kindness in my Cause is wondrous.

Nigr.

No doubt the Prince may have engag'd him in't. But what'ere motive led him on, It was a bold and brave attempt T'oppose the passion of a raging King.

Aph.

What Recompence does so much kindness merit?

Nigr.

No more then you can pay: Send him your thanks, And the Debt's cancell'd.

Aph.

Yes, by thee I'le send'em. Tell him from me, how high a sense, what value—

Nigr.

Madam, my Will exceeds my Pow'r to serve you. I doubt my little Eloquence so much, That you'd oblige your humble Slave, to trust Your nobler thoughts to Paper.

Aph.

Who waits there?

Enter Attendant.

Bring Pen and Paper.

Exit Attendant, and brings in Pen, Ink, and paper, and Aphelia sits down and writes.

Nigr.

I have my wish, A Letter does the business.

[Aside.

Enter Brisac.

Noble B••isac.

Bris.

How fares our mourning Sister?

Nigr.

Hist: I have wor••t her up •• to a belief Of Clarmounts Friendship, and the Kings conversion: And you are come••th happy minute to Confirm her in't.

Brif.

The King has sent me hither To Court my Sister for him. But the Laws Of Friendship and of Nature ought to be Obey'd before th••unjust commands of Kings. His Love is Tyranny, an Invasion of What Vows & Oaths the Seals of Heav'n have made His Brothers right. The serving of my Friend And Sister then, is a design so just, That all the Cheats I use, and shapes I take, Are pardon••d for their glorious cause sake: Moved by the tyes of Friendship and of Blood, The means are lawful where the end's so good.

Aph.

Oh my dear Brother, welcome. Kind Nigrello Tells me my miseries draw near an end; The King's no more my Lover, but my Friend.

Bris.

If his wild Loves Conversion, is so great, What's his Devotion then, that makes the Proselite? How great is the obliging Clarmounts Friendship?

Aph.

How great I think it is, read there, and see.

Bris.

Reads the Letter.

My Lord,

My Transports of joy have been such, as your favours merited: when I consider the furious Love of a Tempestuous King, I cannot but reflect on the danger of your kindness in wrestling with that Love, and the glory of it in subduing it. Pursue the generous Friendship that has been so well beg••n, and take into the number of your Admirers the humblest of yor Servants.

Aphelia.

'Tis well; his worth too high you cannot raise: The first reward of all good deeds is praise.

She fits down and Seals the Letter.

Nigr.

Those lines with some addition of my own Shall make all my design secure. I'le drive The cheat on with such Impudence and courage, That all his furious rage shall not deter me, Nor all his arts disprove me.

[Gives him the Letter.

Aph.

Here Nigrell••.

Nigr.

I'le flye to serve you; but before I go, I ought to tell you that the King intends To visit you; and though he comes to take His last farewell to Love, yet you must think Lovers quit Ladies just as Garrisons Surrender; in their fall their Pride's so great, They willingly would have their yeilding look, As little as it can like a defeat. The King, no doubt, though in his vanquisht passion, Will make some Love; say some kind amorous things; And if you'l take my Councel, let your Answers Be mild and gentle.

Exit Nigrello.

Bris.

The advice is good, And you'l oblige your self if you pursue it. 'Tis a vain glory that attends a Lover, Never to say he quits; and when Hope dyes, The Gallantry of Love still lives, is charm'd With kindness but in shadow; takes delight Even in its being deceiv'd. Love's th'only passion Takes pleasure to be flatter'd in dispair.

Aph.

Can a feign'd look, or a dissembled smile Oblige so good, so generous a King. Such Treachery I scorn; no, he deserves A nobler usage. His resigning me To Lewis, has so charm'd me, that I cannot Pay him too much. My Friendship, Kindness; all The faculties of my Soul (but what my Vows To Heav'n and Lewis do except) are his. Come glorious Lover, storm an easie Breast, Take all my heart has liberty to part with.

This brave refigning me, has gain'd such pow'••, Lewis had ne're a Rival till this hour.

Bris.

Madam, I see him coming; take no notice Either of our discourse or his conversion. 'Tis more than I dare answer: it anticipates The Gallantry, and the surprize of great Designs, to have ••em told e're they are acted.

Enter King.

King.

What Vulture gripes me here? Ha, what art thou? If thou be'st so Jealousy, mount and be gone: Fly to the vulgar bosom, whose cheap thoughts Despair their own performance; in a King Thou show'st a Nature retrograde to Honour. Suppose She Loves, and has vow'd constancy To Lewis, must it follow that her heart Cannot be moved? 'Tis but my fears that say so. I'le boldly on, and tire her till she yeild. Is She not fair? Beauty's a spark of Heav'n, And all that's Heavenly may be moved, 'tis only Th'Infernal pow'rs that are inexorable. What brow wears our fair Tyrant? Is a Brother

To Bris.

More pow'rful then a King? Does ••he unmoved Admit thy Mediation in my Cause, Or am I still that unshaped thing, whose name Has terror in't. Does still each sound, that breaths My hated name, strike horrour through her veins; And shake that Seat where my proud Brother raigns.

Bris.

I found her not so cruel as I wisht her; The Conquest was so easie, that my pains In serving you, were less then I desired.

King.

The Conquest? How, what say you?

Bris.

Sir, the Cloud That hinder'd her the prospect of her bliss Is gone; the pow'r of Majesty and Love Has the long mist dispel••d: She is restored To sense and reason.

King.

Is Aphelia kind?

Bris.

Yes, to her self: She understands the Love Of Kings; and why she understood no sooner, She does confess her senses have been more Dazled then darken'd.

King.

My kind Advocate. Oh that I had a Sister for thy sake, As Cruel, and if possible, as fair, That I might pay thee back this kindness. They Madam, who Divinitys approach,

[To her.

Seek out for prosperous hours to breath their Vows in: Which attribute of Heav'n Divine Aphelia Mercy or Justice is the mighty work Of this days fate? Have you markt out this hour For lending ear to your Adorers Prayers, Or forming Thunder for Offenders crimes.

Aph.

If there is any thing Divine or Sacred Lodged in this Breast, 'tis Royal Sir, your Creature. For this poor humble roof, cannot be built For such a Guest, unless you're pleased to raise it; And if you'd have me Sainted, you of all men Should have lest cause to ask how I'm inclin'd: Who makes the Saint, may well expect it kind.

King.

I am transported. If this sudden kindness Be truth, 'tis Miracle.

Bris.

If it be false, Punish her Treason on her Brothers heart. By my Allegiance, and my hopes of Bliss, She entertains no wish nor thought t'abuse you.

King.

This Language speaks thee ••air Aphelias Brother: Thy Breath else could not be so near allied To hers, to carry so much charm, such Heav'n in't. They Madam, who would mighty Structures rayse,

[To her.

Search the Foundation first, on which they build. The highest flight of my Ambition is To know my pow'r in fair Aphel••as heart.

Enter Nigrello.

Aph.

Your pow'r in that you shall distrust no more. 'Tis all that Loyalty and Gratitude Can make it; my Prophetick thoughts have told me You will be kind; and as my Soveraign ought To have disposal of your Vassals Fates. And that high Fate you have markt out for me I doubt not will be welcome, great, and glorious. And as I'm satisfied 'twill be all these, Great Sir, t'obey you, shall not only be My duty, but my hopes.

Bris.

How prettily They drive on the mistake.

Nigr.

The plot works rarely.

Bris.

But stop 'em e're it goes too far.

Nigr.

Great Sir, I've somthing for your Ear.

King.

Another time.

Nigr.

None but this minute will suffice. Your safety And honour are cocern'd.

King.

And what of them? Be quick, I'm too full of thought to talk.

Nigr.

My story is so fiery, that it must Move slow; for if it should break out too fiercely, It will do Violence to your Ear, disturb, If not displease you.

King.

But it shall not. I've but Just now receiv'd the promise of her heart; And do you think it lyes in Fortunes pow'r To shake my quiet at so blest an hour: Out with it, speak the worst thou hast to say, My Joy's too great t'admit of an allay.

Bris.

Let us withdraw; perhaps they would be private.

Exeunt Bri••ac and Aphelia.

Nigr.

But shall I have yor pardon?

King.

Yes, dispatch then.

Nigr.

Your Mistrerss is not—

King.

What?

Nigr.

Not Chast.

King.

Not Chast? Had'st thou ten thosand lives, not one of them Should scape my Justice for so damn'd a lye.

Nigr.

You promis'd me my pardon.

King.

How! thy pardon? I would not give't my Father; no, not his Ghost: Should but his shadow from his Grave rise up To speak but one such word, for the Impiety I'de burn the Temple where his Ashes sleep, And raze his Tomb to be reveng'd on's dust for't. But now I think on't thou shalt live for tortures; I know there must be greater heads then thine In this Conspiracy; which I'le wrack from thee: Then my Revenge I'le take when 'twill be glorious: Less then a Massacre▪ would be too mean A Sacrifice t' Aphelias injur'd Honour.

Nigr.

That trouble shall be saved; I doubt not, Sir, But you'l believe me e're l've done.

King.

Believe thee Slave! I'de not believe an Angel; Should a Messenger from Heav'n bring me this News, I would turn Athest to affront him for't.

Nigrello gives him Aphelias Letter.

Whats this, a Letter to Clarmount.

[Reads.

My Lord,

My transports of joy have been such as your Favours merited. When I consider the furious Love of a Tempestuou•• King; I can∣not but reflect on the danger of your kindness in wrestling with that Love, and the glory of it in subduing it. Pursue that gene∣rous friendship that has been so well begun, and take into the num∣ber of your Admirers the humblest of your Servants.

Aphelia.

The danger of his kindness in wrestling with my Love, and his glory in subduing it— That Friendship which has been so well begun—then it seems He's a more pow'rful Rival then his King. Somthing a loving stile; stay, here's a Postcript.

When I am Married, and a Queen, our stolne pleasures will be more difficult, but shall not be less desired, nor less grateful to yours still

Aphelia.

Reads.

What pretty sorgery is this? Betray her Virgin-honour! make stolne meetings! Aphelia Clarmounts Whore?

Nigr.

Oh no Sir: The World has found a gentler name, his Mrs. I see Sir you are startled; cease your wonder. Is she not fair; and in this loving Age A little Gallantry's a Venial sin.

King.

Slave, do you sport with me? confess who forged This Blasphemy. For'tis no more her writing Then thou'rt a Saint.

Nigr.

'Tis hers; I saw her write it, And when she had done, she gave't me to deliver. But Curiosity made me so rude To break it open; which when I had read, My Loyalty made me present it here To save your honour from a Syrens charms, And guard my Prince from a loose Wantons arms.

King.

Thou ly'st; there's not one word on't hers. Has Lewis Corrupted thy fideliry? I suspect It is his plot, but I will force the secret From thy black soul, or tear thy heart-strings out.

Nigr.

I'm not Subornd: That Letter is Aphelias; She wrote it, and I'le prove it. I confess She's Beautiful; but what though she be fair, Must that conclude she's honest?

King.

Hold thy Athestick tongue: Or speak, and dye.

Nigr.

Great Sir—

King.

Peace Slave, thou that infect'st all Peace.

Nigr.

Why are you thus distemper'd; let not truth Make you so wild a Tempest. Were it false, Or that I sought the ruine of your Peace, Your Youth, or Honour, then it were a time To swell to this extravagance of passion: But being truth—

King.

Truth, Dog, avoyd my sight: Fly where the ruder world, ill verst in Kindred, Promiscuously combines without distinction: Where every Man is every Womans Husband. These are a People that might bear with thee, And fit for thee to dwell with.

Nigr.

Yes Royal Sir, I'm gone; but th'only way For me t'avoyd your sight, must be to dye. Nothing but death can separate your Slave, Your loyal faithful Slave, from his loved Lord, His honour'd and adored Lord: But if death's My doom, pray let your humble Vassal beg

[Kneels.

An honourable death. Sir, from your hand Let it in glory come; that death which I Deserve, when my great Master thinks me false. But e're you give me honour, right your own

[Rises.

Sir, if I do not prove All I have said, send my black soul to Hell: Damnation for abusing Majesty Is a just due, Hers, and your wrongs demand.

King.

Leave off your Protestations; can her Fame Be question'd, or disputed?

Nigr.

Not by one, Who is all passion, but by Reason—

King.

Then Let Reason be the judge: I'le show it her.

Nigr.

Do Sir.—But hold. She's not so impudent in sin to own So foul a Paper. If she should disown it (As, if you show it her, no doubt she will) You've but my word for't. Then for better proof, Let her be sent for, and at her approach, Do you retire unseen, to over-hear us: The first thing that I'm certain she will ask me, Will be about that Letter; the discourse Between us, will convince you that she sent it, And make perhaps more large discoveries Of her false heart then this has pow'r to do.

King.

It is impossible; her Character Gives this black scrowl the lye. She cannot be That Monster which this Letter represents her. Were she Unchast, why then did she refuse A profferd Crown? I offer'd Marriage to her; And Marriage, that's the veile to Unchastity You see she shun'd. Did she not choose her death Before my Love? Were she in league with Clarmount, Why would she for my Brothers Love have dyed? Were all this truth, where's all her Vows to Lewis, Her scorn of Life, and her desire of Heav'n To meet him there?

Nigr.

Where are they? where they should be. In the smooth tongue and oyley words of subtle Woman. Where are they! why Sir, can't you guess? Is the pretence of Constancy and Honour Such news in Woman kind? Did not you love her. And courted by a King, could she do less, Were she a Devil, then appear an Angel? She had promis'd Marriage to your Brother. But Must you conclude her Chast for courting Death To follow him? what a strange, bold request Was it to beg her Death from him she knew Loved her too well to grant it her? The favour She askt, she ne're expected to obtain.

King.

How's this?

Nigr.

And for the conduct of her Love to Lewis, Examine it, and where's her mighty Faith; She'd hate you as his Murderer, and Love Her Murder'd Lovers memory; She'd choose To be his Sacrifice, before your Queen. 'T was a brave Character, and she pursued it: But search its depth, 'twas Interest, an Artifice To heighten your esteem of her. How common Is it to make a Conquest difficult To raise the value on't. For after all, She's not invincible, nor he so pow'rful, But she could yeild at last. Did she not tell you That that high fate you had markt out for her, Would be both welcome, great, and glorious; And so in loving duty, and kind Loyalty, Her heart was at her Kings disposal.

King.

Hold! I'le hear no more.

Nigr.

But Royal Sir, you must, Though the bold speaker dyes for't. When you've Marry'd her, She has her ends. For then, what with your Pride For your hard Conquest, and your high assurance Both of her Love and Honour, which her great And pious Character confirms, she's certain To raise your Passion to so vast a height, That all she wishes, is her own. What greater Security for a loose Womans pleasure Then the fond kindness of an amourous Husband? Such liberty and safety waits on Marriage, That Clarmount then securely—

King.

Cease this rudeness; They who raise Thunder, may not be so bold To sport with it. Yonder it comes.

Nigr.

What Sir?

King.

That wondrous thing thou talk'st of.

Nigr.

Retire but for a minute; if I do not Prove all I've told you, let my Blood appease Your Anger, and her Injuries—

The King absco••ds.

Enter Aphelia.

Aph.

Nigrello.

Nigr.

The generous, and the worthy Clarmount thanks you

Aph.

My Letter you p••esented?

King.

Can't be true She owns that impious Libell!

Nigr.

Yes, and he Accepted it with so much joy; such extasie No common influence could raise.

Aph.

Kind Sir, I am your Debtor.

King.

Yes in justice She ought to pay her Bawd; his Office merits it.

Aph.

He is a generous, and a faithful Friend, And whilst th'obliged Aphelia has breath T'express, and pow'r to gratifie his favours, I'le pay my thanks in heaping honours on him.

King.

How fond she is. She can't forbear to praise him. If her loose tongue can be so Prodigal To one whom she supposes thinks her honest, What are her private thoughts. I am distracted.

Aph.

This kind, good man—

King.

Damnation seize him for't. 'Tis but too plain. Since she can be Unchast; If such a sacred form can bear such stains, I cannot wonder at the ancient Romans That made their Gods Adulterers.

Nigrello

What read'st thou in our brow▪

Nigr.

A fond desire To be deceived. A flattering kind of hope That fair Ap••elia may be honest still.

King.

A setled resolution my black Genius, Not to be alter'd by the brackish Tears That flow in pregnant eyes of easie Woman.

Aph.

Why looks my King so alter'd? What strange errour Has Fate committed; for if any ill Attend so good a King, 'tis Heav'ns mistake: It can't be so unjust as to design it. What chance has made this change; you look as if A load hung on your thoughts?

King.

Yes, did man kind Think half so bad of Hell, as I of thee, There would not be a Sinner in the World.

Aph.

Am I so terrible? There was a time Your language flow'd more gently, and Aphelia Appear'd less frightful. Where's the alteration? Trust me my Lord, I feel it not. I fear Some Villany has your pure thoughts infected.

King.

Why did the over-sight of Heav'n lay out Such vast expence to Beautifie a Face, And form the Soul of such a different mould? Crule Aphelia, cruel to thy self, T'obscure such Excellence, Eclipse such Light: Is that a Brow fit for eternal Night? How could a wanton heat, or loose desire, Lodge in that Breast, till the fair seat took fire: Whose spreading flames have all your glories crusht, Ruin'd your Fame, and laid your Pride in dust? Why this strange fall—why this Lethardick passion? I am too milde for an affronted King; Thy Treasons are too loud to be discours'd So tamely. Oh thou infamous base Woman, What sawcy Devil tempted thy hot blood To prostitute thy Virtue, shame thy Birth, Betray thy Credulous King, and damn thy Soul?

Aph.

I am all horrour. Oh my startled senses! What means my King?

King.

To use thee just as coursly As thou hast done thy honour: Take her hence.

Aph.

Sir, do but hear me—

King.

Convey her hence, and let her talk to morrow; My ears have been too busie for one day.

Aph.

Then I am satisfied; if I have leave To speak my Innocence before my Death, I thank kind Heav'n, my courage is so high, Whate're's my doom, I can obey, and dye.

Exit Nigrello leading Aphelia.

King.

If so much Innocence, and so much Beauty Can be corrupted; if Aphelia can Turn Whore, why may not all man kind Mistrust their Fathers, and suspect their Births? Their Mothers are less fair, and why more honest. Who knows, but whilst the Husbands arms embrace The seeming honest Wife, her wanton fancy May in a stragling fit, fix on a Satyr, Or some more lustful favourite; and her issue, Though 'tis got lawfully, be conceiv'd a Bastard.

Exit.