Brutus of Alba, or, The enchanted lovers a tragedy acted at the Duke's Theatre / written by N. Tate.

ACT II. SCENE The Palace. (Book 2)

Enter Soziman with the Ambassadors.

Soz.

MY Lords, presume not of an easy Conquest, Corrupted States lull'd in security, When with Alarms into confusion rouz'd, Are sackt with ease in their disorder'd fright; Not so our Syracuse that nightly watches And ever wakes to danger.

1. Amb.

Let her wake. When we assault wee'd find her on her Guard.

Soz.

Beside, the Prince's Pow'rs assist her now, Troops fed by Rapine, and whose Trade is War. Masters of Arms th'uncertain Fray decline, And foil by Stratagem a pow'rfull Foe. Suppose I point your Prince a bloudless Path To his designs, and without danger, lodge Th'impatient Youth in this coy Queen's embrace?

2. Amb.

Think not old Syracusian that we doat Like thee, to credit a protesting Foe.

Soz.

My Lords, to give you a resistless proof That I am serious, know, 'tis interest. Self-interest and revenge are the sure Springs That drive my Wheel, and give my Projects motion: I am abus'd into Disloyalty,

And like a Torrent from my channel forc't Where peacefully I roll'd, will now bear down And lay all waste where my diverted Current falls.

1. Amb.

Say then what method will you chuse t'effect Your glorious Crime?

Soz.

A method safe and speedy, The Cittadel is in my pow'r, and that Commands the Town below; if then your Prince Conspire with my design, let him convey A trusty Legion hither, which by Night I will admit into the Palace, where The Queen may be surpriz'd.

2. Amb.

'Tis well design'd, And we stand Sureties for our King.

Soz.

But stay, Our Terms of Compact be agreed on first; None are unjust or just but for Reward: I'll sell my vertue, but I'll rate it dear, I will possess the Crown which I betray, When I renounce my Loyalty I'le Reign.

1. Amb.

Yours be the Sceptre then, provided you Submit to hold it of our King.

Soz.

Agreed. Thus kneel we then t'invoke the conscious Pow'rs, And with our clashing Swords the Contract bind. Now that keen Steel be sheath'd i'th' Owners Breast That starts from his giv'n Promise.

Both Amb.

We have Sworn.

Ex. the Ambassadors.

Soz.

Thus far I drive not but am driven, and glide On a smooth Current into glorious Ills. The Court are bound to Morrow for the Chase, Old as I am I will be first in Field, There to consult the Sorc'ress at her Cave, To my dark Plots her darker Counsels join. The rig'rous Amarante may receive My Suit, when in Imperial Robes I woo. Fortune sets me at once Love and a Crown, And boldly I resolve to throw at both.

Exit.

Enter Asaracus musing.

Asa.

She's Fair! all Beauteous—but what's that to me? Nature seems curious to have made her Charms Excell; but why should that disturb my Quiet? 'Tis mean! I'le not endure't! my warlike Heart Become at last a wanton Cupid's Toy! He curls about me, but I'le tear his Hold, I'le bear the soft Enchanter to the Camp, And scare him with Alarms: hee'l quit me then.

Enter Amarante.

The Charming Foe appears; I'le bear up roughly, And make a bold Reprizal of my Heart— Stay Madam, I have business of Importance, A Secret to impart.

Ama.

To me Sir?

Asa.

Yes. 'Tis a Discovery I have lately made, (A truth that ne'er cou'd gain with me till now) That—Lovers Hearts will ake!

Ama.

And call you this Discovery?

Asa.

A most surprizing one to me, I thought Their Smart and Pangs were meer Imaginations, They sigh'd, and wept, and swore, and rav'd of Wounds Invisible; I prais'd the Mimick Craft, With wonder saw the pale Youth's trembling Visit: The tend'rest, gentlest Creatures Nature frames! But I am now seiz'd with the Frenzy too; And charge you with my suff'rings; you have wrong'd me, Possest me with a fond and foolish Pain Which I despise; —Yet trust me, 'tis uneasie!

Ama.

How various are his Forms! this Protean Love Sighs with the Silent, with the Frolick smiles, Weeps with the Soft, and in the Souldier storms. The Wrongs you accuse me of, I nor design'd Nor knew, if you are serious, charge not me With what I cou'd not help.

Asa.

By Mars nor I. But if my folly shou'd grow troublesome, As you are mercifull indulge it not, It will divert me from pursuit of Glory; Whate're my fawning Passion may pretend Believe it not, for I was never form'd For Love, but bred i'th' Camp, rockt in a Shield, And cannot take the softness Beauty craves; Want all the little Arts to please the Fair.

Ama.

I am at once provokt to Smile and Rage.

Asa.

I do not think I shall again offend you With Talk of my rough-cast unpolisht Love, But if I shou'd—Oh to my Fame be just, Disdain my Suit and frown me into silence.

Ama.

Despair not of so cheap a Charity. You'l find me Sir, reserv'd as you cou'd wish.

Asa.

I thank thee—now I grow my self again; The peevish Pain has rag'd it self asleep To wake no more: 'twas a tormenting Fit.

Ama.

His surly Passion bears so odd a Grace, It charms me more then all the smiling Loves; But I am sworn impartial Foe to all.

Exit.

Enter Brutus with Soziman.

Soz.

My Lord, the Queen invites you to the Chase I'th' Morn'.

Bru.

Wee'l wait her Majesty to the Field.

Exit Soziman.

Asa.

To th' Chase? I like it not; I have seen nothing That shakes my temper more then that old Lord; Mischief and Destiny low'r on his Brow.

Bru.

O my Asaracus, how much I fear'd On what the Delian God presag'd, that I Shou'd be divorc't from what I held most Dear, The hasty Fates had cruelly perform'd In snatching thee—ye Pow'rs secure my Friend, And from your promis'd Empire be absolv'd.

Asa.

Perish a Legion nobler Lives then mine, E're Brutus be from th' Albian Isle diverted; Your rich Loins hold an endless Race of Kings,

Fair Albion of their Reign th'Eternal Seat, Albion, that in the Flouds erects her Cliffs Sits Queen o'th' Seas, whilst the aw'd Nations round At distance wait, and in their mutual Jarrs From this great Arbitress take Law; their States She poizes, and to Each deals equal Power.

Bru.

Thou speak'st my Friend as thou wert still at Delos One of th' Orac'lous Tribe, whilst hallow'd Wine Had steept thy Breast for the Inspiring God.

Asa.

Alcander in the late Storm was Embarqu't With me, you know him by Descent inclin'd To Prophecie, and like his Sire Inspir'd: O'th' suddain I observ'd him knit his Brow, Look wild, start, laugh, and grow compos'd again. Then prostrate fall'n lay breathless, till anon The Rapture flusht him, and his Dancing Bloud Glow'd through his Veins: thus wrapt, in wond'rous Stile The Fates of future Ages he Divin'd, Prodigious Glories that i'th' Albian Isle Wait noble Brutus and his Progeny: The Conscious Storm with rev'rend Silence heard The Prophet speak, and then resum'd its Fury.

Bru.

Thou fir'st my Soul, mak'st Glory dart upon me So fierce, I must have Respite or expire. At leisure I will hear of this at large, The Queen approaches now, this Passage leads T' Argaces Cell, where nightly she repairs, There to Devotion she converts her Love, And treats her dead Lords Genius like a God, With fragrant Flow'rs and Gumms then Flow'rs more sweet Perfumes his Vault, believes him there invisible And pleas'd with her Officious Piety.

Asa.

It shews her strange Regard to the Diseas'd.

Bru.

Regard! Asaracus, call't not Regard, 'Tis Superstition, Fondness, Zeal misguided, And pity 'tis but she were undeceiv'd.

Asa.

But why my Lord shou'd her mistake offend Your Quiet?

Bru.

Ha! whilst I accuse her weakness

Aside.

How has my foolish Heart betray'd its own!

'Tis true, it was in me a wild Concern. No more—good Rest my Friend.

Asa.

Permit me wait you in.

Bru.

I wou'd be private.

Ex. Severally.

The Scene opening discovers Argaces Tomb deckt with Ar∣mory and Wreaths of Lawrel; a Priestess clad in White, at each Corner, they round the Tomb scattering Flowers and singing the following Stanza's. The Queen kneels at some distance.

I.

Sleep ye great Manes of the Dead, Whilst our Solemn Round we Tread, Whilst at our Cell as at a Shrine, We nightly wait with Rites Divine; Whilst to adorn the Tomb we bring The earliest Glories of the Spring, And Sweetest Softest Anthems Sing; The Floor with hallow'd Drops Bedewing, And all around fresh Roses Strewing.

II.

Ye Guardian Powers that here resort, For ever make this Cell your Court; If devoutest Pray'rs invite ye, Or Sabaean Gumms delight ye, Then make this Sacred Vrn your Care, And nightly to this Cell repair, To Feast on Frankincense and Pray'r. Around we goe the Floor bedewing, Violets, Pinks, and Roses Strewing.

After the Song all retire but the Queen.

Qu.

Hail, ever hail, ye sacred dear Remains Of my Argaces! Hail my first last Lord! Accept thy Widow'd Queen's Religious Sorrow;

Her restless Love pursues thee to thy Grave, Nor glow'd more vig'rous in the genial Bed.

Rises after a Pause.

What sudden Damp congeals my streaming Language? My stubborn Tongue refuses to perform Its practis'd Task! my Rebell Eyes withhold Their wonted Tribute—This new Flame, This feav'rish Flame has drunk up all my Tears! Whilst my Argaces Genius I Invoke, His Rival's Image on my Thought intrudes, And from his Seat the rightfull Owner drives.

Enter Brutus.

Prince Brutus? or Argaces in his Shape To tempt my Constancy? Heav'n! 'tis the Prince! As at th' appearance of an Angel, I Am Terrifi'd and Pleas'd! —My Lord, this Visit (Not to impeach you of a Rudeness) is Unseas'nable at best and indiscreet.

Bru.

My Indiscretion justly you impeach, But who was e're a Lover and Discreet? Give me my Ease again, my settled Mind, And I'le again grow formally Discreet. Speak fair Tormenter, when will you remit My burning Pain? not one cheap Sigh or Tear To cool or quench me?

Qu.

Wave this wild Discourse, It strikes like Blasphemy a terrour through me. Why heaves my Heart? I know my Vertue's strong, Yet dare not trust the Magick of his Tongue; 'Tis Sweet, but Fatal as a Syren's Song.

Bru.

Or if you are resolv'd on my Destruction, Temper at least Reluctance with your Justice, And seem not to take pleasure in my Ruine. I wou'd not die with an accusing Thought Of you, but Bless you while you give me Death!

Qu.

Ah! how the soft Temptation steals upon me!

Aside.

But I'le not dally with the Smiling Danger, Nor sport with Fire —Retire my Lord

As you regard a Queen's unspotted Honour.

Bru.

I, like a Miser's Ghost, all the day long Confin'd to Flames, and having made by stealth A Mid-night Visit to my Treasure, am From the dear Wealth untimely summon'd off To howl Disconsolate in Flames again.

Qu.

Yet have the wretched comfort of the Damn'd, Companions of your Woe.

Bru.

Has then a spark of Love Toucht that dear Breast? ah lest the Snow that's there Starve the weak kindling Fire.

Qu.

I rave, I rave! And in my Phrensie had almost disclos'd The dearest Secret of my Soul—be gone Or by that Sacred Tomb—

Bru.

I goe, and for a parting Lover Make wondrous haste, howe're you think me slow! Oh wing'd with Hope I enter'd, but return Stript of my Plumes, and cumber'd with Despair.

Qu.

Replying still? —Ingratefull Prince farewell.

Bru.

Stay Queen! Whirlwind and Thunder snatch me hence E're I commit so dire a Crime As t'interrupt your pious Rites; Yet think not my Approach Rude or Prophane, Ev'n at the Shrines of Gods we are allow'd To tell our Griefs, and I design no more! I crave no more then Piety may grant, One tender Look, a pitying parting Sigh! 'Tis all my banisht Soul has to sustain her 'Till I'm restor'd to those dear Eyes again!

Qu.

What can I give, when Charity to you Is perjury to my deceas'd Argaces? Who never will remit the Right I gave, But hoards my Vows like Treasure in his Tomb.

Bru.

Vows to the Dead are cancel'd when they're giv'n, And with the Breath that form'd 'em blown away. My Vows to my Eudemia equal yours, Nor will her peacefull happy Shade reproach me, That I from you seek Bliss she cannot give!

Ghost of Agaces rises on the one side of the Tomb, Ghost of Eudemia on the other.

Qu.

Defend me Prince!

Bru.

Eudemia whom I nam'd!

Qu.

And my Argaces Image!

Bru.

Argaces Ghost? a Rival from the Dead? Journeys ill destiny this way to Night, And thou its Harbinger? Speak awefull Shade! What magick bringst thou from the nether World, To chill my boyling Bloud and freeze my Spirits? Injurious Spectre, when did I invade Thy World that thou should'st come to Forrage here? Avaunt, Descend, and to the Greeks below Boast if thou wilt that thou made'st Brutus Shake.

Ghosts descend.

Qu.

Warn'd from the Fates let us Converse no more, Nor run with open Eyes upon our Ruine! Alas, how fatal must our Hymen be, When the Dead rise our Nuptials to forbid?

Exit.

Bru.

Falsly your Fears interpret their Design! The Ghosts appear'd to give us their Consent! What false illusions am I forc't to frame! What will not Love-rackt Minds pretend, to gain A Minutes respite from their tort'ring Pain!

Exit.

Finis Actus Secundi.