SCENE II.

The Governor's Palace.

Enter Artemia, Sapritius, Theophilus, and Harpax.

Artem. Sapritius, though your son deserve no pity,
We grieve his sickness: his contempt of us
We cast behind us, and look back upon
His service done to Cæsar, that weighs down
Our just displeasure. If his malady
Have growth from his restraint, or that you think
His liberty can cure him, let him have it:
Say, we forgive him freely.

Sap. Your grace binds us
Ever your humblest vassals.

Artem. Use all means
For his recovery; though yet I love him,
I will not force affection. If the Christian,
Whose beauty hath out-rivall'd me, be won
To be of our belief, then let him wed her;
That all may know, when the cause wills, I can
Command my own affections.

Theoph. Be happy then,
My lord Sapritius: I am confident,
Such eloquence and sweet persuasion dwell
Upon my daughters' tongues, that they will work her
To any thing they please.

Sap. I wish they may!
Yet 'tis no easy task to undertake,
To alter a perverse and obstinate woman.
[A shout within: loud music.

Artem. What means this shout?

Sap. It is seconded with music,
Triumphant music.—Ha!

Enter Sempronius.

Semp. My lord, your daughters,
The pillars of our faith[45], having converted,
For so report gives out, the Christian lady,
The image of great Jupiter born before them,
Sue for access.

Theoph. My soul divined as much.
Blest be the time when first they saw this light!
Their mother, when she bore them to support
My feeble age, fill'd not my longing heart
With so much joy, as they in this good work
Have thrown upon me.

Enter priest with the Image of Jupiter, incense and censers: followed by Calista and Christeta, leading Dorothea.

Welcome, oh, thrice welcome,
Daughters, both of my body and my mind!
Let me embrace in you my bliss, my comfort;
And, Dorothea, now more welcome too,
Than if you never had fallen off! I am ravish'd
With the excess of joy:—speak, happy daughters,
The blest event.

Cal. We never gain'd so much
By any undertaking.

Theoph. O my dear girl,
Our gods reward thee!

Dor. Nor was ever time,
On my part, better spent.

Christ. We are all now
Of one opinion.

Theoph. My best Christeta!
Madam, if ever you did grace to worth,
Vouchsafe your princely hands.

Artem. Most willingly——
Do you refuse it?

Cal. Let us first deserve it.

Theoph. My own child still! here set our god; prepare
The incense quickly: Come, fair Dorothea,
I will myself support you;—now kneel down,
And pay your vows to Jupiter.

Dor. I shall do it
Better by their example.

Theoph. They shall guide you;
They are familiar with the sacrifice.
Forward, my twins of comfort, and, to teach her,
Make a joint offering.

Christ. Thus—— [they both spit at the image.

Cal. And thus—— [throw it down, and spurn it.

Harp. Profane,
And impious! stand you now like a statue?
Are you the champion of the gods? where is
Your holy zeal, your anger?

Theoph. I am blasted;
And, as my feet were rooted here, I find
I have no motion; I would I had no sight too!
Or if my eyes can serve to any use,
Give me, thou injured power! a sea of tears,
To expiate this madness in my daughters;
For, being themselves, they would have trembled at
So blasphemous a deed in any other:——
For my sake, hold awhile thy dreadful thunder,
And give me patience to demand a reason
For this accursed act.

Dor. 'Twas bravely done.

Theoph. Peace, damn'd enchantress, peace!—I should look on you
With eyes made red with fury, and my hand,
That shakes with rage, should much outstrip my tongue,
And seal my vengeance on your hearts;—but nature,
To you that have fallen once, bids me again
To be a father. Oh! how durst you tempt
The anger of great Jove?

Dor. Alack, poor Jove!
He is no swaggerer; how still he stands!
He'll take a kick, or any thing.

Sap. Stop her mouth.

Dor. It is the patient'st godling! do not fear him;
He would not hurt the thief that stole away
Two of his golden locks; indeed he could not:
And still 'tis the same quiet thing.

Theoph. Blasphemer!
Ingenious cruelty shall punish this:
Thou art past hope: but for you yet, dear daughters,
Again bewitch'd, the dew of mild forgiveness
May gently fall, provided you deserve it,
With true contrition: be yourselves again;
Sue to the offended deity.

Christ. Not to be
The mistress of the earth.

Cal. I will not offer
A grain of incense to it, much less kneel,
Nor look on it but with contempt and scorn,
To have a thousand years conferr'd upon me
Of worldly blessings. We profess ourselves
To be, like Dorothea, Christians;
And owe her for that happiness.

Theoph. My ears
Receive, in hearing this, all deadly charms,
Powerful to make man wretched.

Artem. Are these they
You bragg'd could convert others!

Sap. That want strength
To stand themselves!

Harp. Your honour is engaged,
The credit of your cause depends upon it;
Something you must do suddenly.

Theoph. And I will.

Harp. They merit death; but, falling by your hand,
'Twill be recorded for a just revenge,
And holy fury in you.

Theoph. Do not blow
The furnace of a wrath thrice hot already;
Ætna is in my breast, wildfire burns here,
Which only blood must quench. Incensed Power!
Which from my infancy I have adored,
Look down with favourable beams upon
The sacrifice, though not allow'd thy priest,
Which I will offer to thee; and be pleased,
My fiery zeal inciting me to act,
To call that justice others may style murder.
Come, you accursed, thus by the hair I drag you
Before this holy altar; thus look on you,
Less pitiful than tigers to their prey:
And thus, with mine own hand, I take that life
Which I gave to you. [Kills them.

Dor. O most cruel butcher!

Theoph. My anger ends not here: hell's dreadful porter,
Receive into thy ever-open gates
Their damned souls, and let the Furies' whips
On them alone be wasted; and, when death
Closes these eyes, 'twill be Elysium to me
To hear their shrieks and howlings. Make me, Pluto,
Thy instrument to furnish thee with souls
Of that accursed sect; nor let me fall,
Till my fell vengeance hath consumed them all.
[Exit, with Harpax.

Artem. 'Tis a brave zeal.

Enter Angelo, smiling.

Dor. Oh, call him back again,
Call back your hangman! here's one prisoner left
To be the subject of his knife.

Artem. Not so;
We are not so near reconciled unto thee;
Thou shalt not perish such an easy way.
Be she your charge, Sapritius, now; and suffer
None to come near her, till we have found out
Some torments worthy of her.

Ang. Courage, mistress;
These martyrs but prepare your glorious fate:
You shall exceed them, and not imitate. [Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

The Governor's Palace.

Antoninus on a couch, asleep, with Doctors about him; Sapritius and Macrinus.

Sap. O you, that are half gods, lengthen that life
Their deities lend us; turn o'er all the volumes
Of your mysterious Æsculapian science,
T' increase the number of this young man's days:
And, for each minute of his time prolong'd,
Your fee shall be a piece of Roman gold
With Cæsar's stamp, such as he sends his captains
When in the wars they earn well: do but save him,
And, as he's half myself, be you all mine.

1 Doct. What art can do, we promise; physic's hand
As apt is to destroy as to preserve,
If heaven make not the med'cine: all this while,
Our skill hath combat held with his disease;
But 'tis so arm'd, and a deep melancholy,
To be such in part with death, we are in fear
The grave must mock our labours.

Mac. I have been
His keeper in this sickness, with such eyes
As I have seen my mother watch o'er me.
Stand by his pillow, and, in his broken slumbers,
Him shall you hear cry out on Dorothea;
And, when his arms fly open to catch her,
Closing together, he falls fast asleep,
Pleased with embracings of her airy form.
Physicians but torment him; his disease
Laughs at their gibberish language: let him hear
The voice of Dorothea, nay, but the name,
He starts up with high colour in his face:
She, or none, cures him; and how that can be,
The princess' strict command barring that happiness,
To me impossible seems.

Sap. To me it shall not;
I'll be no subject to the greatest Cæsar
Was ever crown'd with laurel, rather than cease
To be a father.[Exit.

Mac. Silence, sir; he wakes.

Anton. Thou kill'st me, Dorothea; oh, Dorothea!

Mac. She's here

Anton. Here! Where? Why do you mock me, sir?
Age on my head hath stuck no white hairs yet,
Yet I'm an old man, a fond doting fool
Upon a woman. I, to buy her beauty,
(In truth I am bewitch'd) offer my life,
And she, for my acquaintance, hazards hers:
Yet, for our equal sufferings, none holds out
A hand of pity.

1 Doct. Let him have some music.

Anton. Hell on your fiddling!
[Starting from his couch.

1 Doct. Take again your bed, sir;
Sleep is a sovereign physic.

Anton. Confusion on your fooleries! Where's the rest
Thy pills and base apothecary drugs
Threaten'd to bring unto me? Out, you impostors!
Quacksalving, cheating mountebanks! your skill
Is to make sound men sick, and sick men kill.

Mac. Oh, be yourself, dear friend.

Anton. Myself, Macrinus!
How can I be myself, when I am mangled
Into a thousand pieces? here moves my head,
But where's my heart? wherever—that lies dead.

Re-enter Sapritius, dragging in Dorothea by the hair, Angelo following.

Sap. Follow me, thou damn'd sorceress! Call up thy spirits,
And, if they can, now let them from my hand
Untwine these witching hairs.

Anton. I am that spirit:
Or, if I be not, were you not my father,
One made of iron should hew that hand in pieces,
That so defaces this sweet monument
Of my love's beauty.

Sap. Art thou sick?

Anton. To death.

Sap. Would'st thou recover?

Anton. Would I live in bliss!

Sap. And do thine eyes shoot daggers at that man
That brings thee health?

Anton. It is not in the world.

Sap. It's here.

Anton. To treasure, by enchantment lock'd
In caves as deep as hell, am I as near.

1 Doct. Shall the boy stay, sir?

Sap. No matter for the boy.
[Exeunt Sap. Mac. and Doct.

Dor. O, guard me, angels!
What tragedy must begin now?

Anton. When a tiger
Leaps into a timorous herd, with ravenous jaws,
Being hunger-starved, what tragedy then begins?

Dor. Death; I am happy so: you, hitherto,
Have still had goodness sphered within your eyes;
Let not that orb be broken.

Ang. Fear not, mistress;
If he dare offer violence, we two
Are strong enough for such a sickly man.

Dor. What is your horrid purpose, sir? your eye
Bears danger in it.

Anton. I must——

Dor. Oh, kill me,[Kneels.
And heaven will take it as a sacrifice;
But, if you play the ravisher, there is
A hell to swallow you.

Anton. Rise:—for the Roman empire, Dorothea,
I would not wound thine honour. My father's will
Would have me seize upon you, as my prey;
Which I abhor, as much as the blackest sin
The villany of man did ever act.
[Sapritius breaks in with Macrinus.

Dor. Die happy for this language!

Sap. Die a slave,
A blockish idiot!

Mac. Dear sir, vex him not.

Sap. Yes, and vex thee too: where's this lamia[46]?

Dor. I'm here; do what you please.

Sap. Spurn her to the bar.

Dor. Come, boy, being there, more near to heaven we are.

Sap. Kick harder; go out, witch! [Exeunt.

Anton. O bloody hangmen! Thine own gods give thee breath!
Each of thy tortures is my several death. [Exit.

SCENE II.[47]

The Place of Execution. A scaffold, block, &c.

Enter Antoninus, supported by Macrinus, and Servants.

Anton. Is this the place, where virtue is to suffer,
And heavenly beauty, leaving this base earth,
To make a glad return from whence it came?
Is it, Macrinus?

Mac. By this preparation,
You well may rest assured that Dorothea
This hour is to die here.

Anton. Then with her dies
The abstract of all sweetness that's in woman!
Set me down, friend, that, ere the iron hand
Of death close up mine eyes, they may at once
Take my last leave both of this light and her:
For, she being gone, the glorious sun himself
To me's Cimmerian darkness.

Mac. Strange affection[48]!
Cupid once more hath changed his shafts with Death,
And kills, instead of giving life.

Anton. Nay, weep not;
Though tears of friendship be a sovereign balm,
On me they're cast away. It is decreed
That I must die with her; our clue of life
Was spun together.

Mac. Yet, sir, 'tis my wonder,
That you, who, hearing only what she suffers,
Partake of all her tortures, yet will be,
To add to your calamity, an eyewitness
Of her last tragic scene, which must pierce deeper,
And make the wound more desperate.

Anton. Oh, Macrinus!
'Twould linger out my torments else, not kill me,
Which is the end I aim at: being to die too,
What instrument more glorious can I wish for,
Than what is made sharp by my constant love
And true affection? It may be, the duty
And loyal service, with which I pursued her,
And seal'd it with my death, will be remember'd
Among her blessed actions; and what honour
Can I desire beyond it?

Enter a Guard bringing in Dorothea, a Headsman before her; followed by Theophilus, Sapritius, and Harpax.

See, she comes;
How sweet her innocence appears! more like
To heaven itself, than any sacrifice
That can be offer'd to it. By my hopes
Of joys hereafter, the sight makes me doubtful
In my belief; nor can I think our gods
Are good, or to be served, that take delight
In offerings of this kind: that, to maintain
Their power, deface the master-piece of nature,
Which they themselves come short of. She ascends,
And every step raises her nearer heaven.

Sap. You are to blame
To let him come abroad.

Mac. It was his will;
And we were left to serve him, not command him.

Anton. Good sir, be not offended; nor deny
My last of pleasures in this happy object,
That I shall e'er be blest with.

Theoph. Now, proud contemner
Of us, and of our gods, tremble to think,
It is not in the Power thou serv'st to save thee.
Not all the riches of the sea, increased
By violent shipwrecks, nor the unsearch'd mines,
(Mammon's unknown exchequer), shall redeem thee:
And, therefore, having first with horror weigh'd
What 'tis to die, and to die young; to part with
All pleasures and delights; lastly, to go
Where all antipathies to comfort dwell,
Furies behind, about thee, and before thee;
And, to add to affliction, the remembrance
Of the Elysian joys thou might'st have tasted,
Hadst thou not turn'd apostata[49] to those gods
That so reward their servants; let despair
Prevent the hangman's sword, and on this scaffold
Make thy first entrance into hell.

Anton. She smiles,
Unmoved, by Mars! as if she were assured
Death, looking on her constancy, would forget
The use of his inevitable hand.

Theoph. Derided too! despatch, I say.

Dor. Thou fool!
That gloriest in having power to ravish
A trifle from me I am weary of,
What is this life to me? not worth a thought;
Or, if it be esteem'd, 'tis that I lose it
To win a better: even thy malice serves
To me but as a ladder to mount up
To such a height of happiness, where I shall
Look down with scorn on thee, and on the world;
Where, circled with true pleasures, placed above
The reach of death or time, 'twill be my glory
To think at what an easy price I bought it.
There's a perpetual spring, perpetual youth:
No joint-benumbing cold, or scorching heat,
Famine, nor age, have any being there.
Forget, for shame, your Tempe; bury in
Oblivion your feign'd Hesperian orchards:—
The golden fruit, kept by the watchful dragon,
Which did require a Hercules to get[50] it,
Compared with what grows in all plenty there,
Deserves not to be named. The Power I serve
Laughs at your happy Araby, or the
Elysian shades; for he hath made his bowers
Better in deed, than you can fancy yours.

Anton. O, take me thither with you!

Dor. Trace my steps,
And be assured you shall.

Sap. With my own hands
I'll rather stop that little breath is left thee,
And rob thy killing fever.

Theoph. By no means;
Let him go with her: do, seduced young man,
And wait upon thy saint in death; do, do:
And, when you come to that imagined place,
That place of all delights—pray you, observe me,
And meet those cursed things I once call'd Daughters,
Whom I have sent as harbingers before you;
If there be any truth in your religion,
In thankfulness to me, that with care hasten
Your journey thither, pray you send me some
Small pittance of that curious fruit you boast of.

Anton. Grant that I may go with her, and I will.

Sap. Wilt thou in thy last minute damn thyself?

Theoph. The gates to hell are open.

Dor. Know, thou tyrant,
Thou agent for the devil, thy great master,
Though thou art most unworthy to taste of it,
I can, and will.

Enter Angelo, in the Angel's habit[51].

Harp. Oh! mountains fall upon me,
Or hide me in the bottom of the deep,
Where light may never find me!

Theoph. What's the matter?

Sap. This is prodigious, and confirms her witchcraft.

Theoph. Harpax, my Harpax, speak!

Harp. I dare not stay:
Should I but hear her once more, I were lost.
Some whirlwind snatch me from this cursed place,
To which compared, (and with what now I suffer,)
Hell's torments are sweet slumbers! [Exit.

Sap. Follow him.

Theoph. He is distracted, and I must not lose him.
Thy charms upon my servant, cursed witch,
Give thee a short reprieve. Let her not die,
Till my return. [Exeunt Sap. and Theoph.

Anton. She minds him not; what object
Is her eye fix'd on?

Mac. I see nothing.

Anton. Mark her.

Dor. Thou glorious minister of the Power I serve!
(For thou art more than mortal,) is 't for me,
Poor sinner, thou art pleased awhile to leave
Thy heavenly habitation, and vouchsafest,
Though glorified, to take my servant's habit?—
For, put off thy divinity, so look'd
My lovely Angelo.

Ang. Know, I am the same;
And still the servant to your piety.
Your zealous prayers and pious deeds first won me
(But 'twas by His command to whom you sent them)
To guide your steps. I tried your charity,
When in a beggar's shape you took me up,
And clothed my naked limbs, and after fed,
As you believed, my famish'd mouth. Learn all,
By your example, to look on the poor
With gentle eyes! for in such habits, often,
Angels desire an alms[52]. I never left you,
Nor will I now; for I am sent to carry
Your pure and innocent soul to joys eternal,
Your martyrdom once suffer'd; and before it,
Ask any thing from me, and rest assured,
You shall obtain it.

Dor. I am largely paid
For all my torments. Since I find such grace,
Grant that the love of this young man to me,
In which he languisheth to death, may be
Changed to the love of heaven.

Ang. I will perform it;
And in that instant when the sword sets free
Your happy soul, his shall have liberty.
Is there aught else?

Dor. For proof that I forgive
My persecutor, who in scorn desired
To taste of that most sacred fruit I go to;
After my death, as sent from me, be pleased
To give him of it.

Ang. Willingly, dear mistress.

Mac. I am amazed.

Anton. I feel a holy fire,
That yields a comfortable heat within me;
I am quite alter'd from the thing I was.
See! I can stand, and go alone; thus kneel
To heavenly Dorothea, touch her hand
With a religious kiss. [Kneels.

Re-enter Sapritius and Theophilus.

Sap. He is well now,
But will not be drawn back.

Theoph. It matters not,
We can discharge this work without his help.
But see your son.

Sap. Villain!

Anton. Sir, I beseech you,
Being so near our ends, divorce us not.

Theoph. I'll quickly make a separation of them:
Hast thou aught else to say?

Dor. Nothing, but to blame
Thy tardiness in sending me to rest;
My peace is made with heaven, to which my soul
Begins to take her flight: strike, O! strike quickly;
And, though you are unmoved to see my death,
Hereafter, when my story shall be read,
As they were present now, the hearers shall
Say this of Dorothea, with wet eyes,
"She lived a virgin, and a virgin dies."
[Her head is struck off.

Anton. O, take my soul along, to wait on thine!

Mac. Your son sinks too. [Antoninus falls.

Sap. Already dead!

Theoph. Die all
That are, or favour this accursed sect:
I triumph in their ends, and will raise up
A hill of their dead carcasses, to o'erlook
The Pyrenean hills, but I'll root out
These superstitious fools, and leave the world
No name of Christian.
[Loud music: Exit Angelo, having first laid his hand upon the mouths of Anton. and Dor.

Sap. Ha! heavenly music!

Mac. 'Tis in the air.

Theoph. Illusions of the devil,
Wrought by some witch of her religion,
That fain would make her death a miracle;
It frights not me. Because he is your son,
Let him have burial; but let her body
Be cast forth with contempt in some highway,
And be to vultures and to dogs a prey. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.

Theophilus discovered sitting in his Study: books about him[53].

Theoph. Is 't holiday, O Cæsar, that thy servant,
Thy provost, to see execution done
On these base Christians in Cæsarea,
Should now want work? Sleep these idolaters,
That none are stirring?—As a curious painter,
When he has made some honourable piece,
Stands off, and with a searching eye examines
Each colour, how 'tis sweeten'd; and then hugs
Himself for his rare workmanship—so here,
Will I my drolleries, and bloody landscapes,
Long past wrapt up, unfold, to make me merry
With shadows, now I want the substances.
My muster-book of hell-hounds. Were the Christians,
Whose names stand here, alive and arm'd, not Rome
Could move upon her hinges. What I've done,
Or shall hereafter, is not out of hate
To poor tormented wretches[54]; no, I'm carried
With violence of zeal, and streams of service
I owe our Roman gods. This Christian maid was well,

Enter Angelo with a basket filled with fruit and flowers.

A pretty one; but let such horror follow
The next I feed with torments, that when Rome
Shall hear it, her foundation at the sound
May feel an earthquake. How now? [Music.

Ang. Are you amazed, sir?
So great a Roman spirit—and doth it tremble!

Theoph. How cam'st thou in? to whom thy business?

Ang. To you:
I had a mistress, late sent hence by you
Upon a bloody errand; you entreated,
That, when she came into that blessed garden
Whither she knew she went, and where, now happy,
She feeds upon all joy, she would send to you
Some of that garden fruit and flowers; which here,
To have her promise saved, are brought by me.

Theoph. Cannot I see this garden?

Ang. Yes, if the master
Will give you entrance. [He vanishes.

Theoph. 'Tis a tempting fruit,
And the most bright-cheek'd child I ever view'd;
Sweet smelling, goodly fruit. What flowers are these?
In Dioclesian's gardens, the most beauteous,
Compared with these, are weeds: is it not February,
The second day she died? frost, ice, and snow,
Hang on the beard of winter: where's the sun
That gilds this summer? pretty, sweet boy, say,
In what country shall a man find this garden?—
My delicate boy,—gone! vanish'd! within there,
Julianus! Geta!—

Enter Julianus and Geta.

Both. My lord.

Theoph. Are my gates shut?

Geta. And guarded.

Theoph. Saw you not
A boy?

Jul. Where?

Theoph. Here he enter'd; a young lad;
A thousand blessings danced upon his eyes:
A smoothfaced, glorious thing, that brought this basket.

Geta. No, sir!

Theoph. Away—but be in reach, if my voice calls you. [Exeunt Jul. and Geta.
No!—vanish'd, and not seen!—Be thou a spirit,
Sent from that witch to mock me, I am sure
This is essential, and, howe'er it grows,
Will taste it. [Eats of the fruit.

Harp. [within.] Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Theoph. So good I'll have some more, sure.

Harp. Ha, ha, ha, ha! great liquorish fool!

Theoph. What art thou?

Harp. A fisherman.

Theoph. What dost thou catch?

Harp. Souls, souls; a fish call'd souls.

Theoph. Geta!

Re-enter Geta.

Geta. My lord.

Harp. [within.] Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Theoph. What insolent slave is this, dares laugh at me?
Or what is 't the dog grins at so?

Geta. I neither know, my lord, at what, nor
whom; for there is none without, but my fellow
Julianus, and he is making a garland for Jupiter.

Theoph. Jupiter! all within me is not well;
And yet not sick.

Harp. [within.] Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Theoph. What's thy name, slave?

Harp. [at one end of the room.] Go look.

Geta. 'Tis Harpax' voice.

Theoph. Harpax! go, drag the caitiff to my foot,
That I may stamp upon him.

Harp. [at the other end.] Fool, thou liest!

Geta. He's yonder, now, my lord.

Theoph. Watch thou that end,
Whilst I make good this.

Harp. [in the middle.] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

Theoph. Search for him. [Exit Geta.] All this ground, methinks, is bloody,
And paved with thousands of those Christians' eyes
Whom I have tortured; and they stare upon me.
What was this apparition? sure it had
A shape angelical. Mine eyes, though dazzled,
And daunted at first sight, tell me, it wore
A pair of glorious wings; yes, they were wings;
And hence he flew:——'tis vanish'd! Jupiter,
For all my sacrifices done to him,
Never once gave me smile.—How can stone smile?
Or wooden image laugh? [music.] Ha! I remember,
Such music gave a welcome to mine ear,
When the fair youth came to me:—'tis in the air,
Or from some better place; a Power divine,
Through my dark ignorance, on my soul does shine,
And makes me see a conscience all stain'd o'er,
Nay, drown'd and damn'd for ever in Christian gore.

Harp. [within.] Ha, ha, ha!

Theoph. Again!—What dainty relish on my tongue
This fruit hath left! some angel hath me fed:
If so toothful, I will be banqueted. [Eats again.

Enter Harpax, in a fearful shape, fire flashing out of the Study.

Harp. Hold!

Theoph. Not for Cæsar.

Harp. But for me thou shalt.

Theoph. Thou art no twin to him that last was here.
Ye Powers, whom my soul bids me reverence, guard me!
What art thou?

Harp. I am thy master.

Theoph. Mine!

Harp. And thou my everlasting slave: that Harpax,
Who hand in hand hath led thee to thy hell,
Am I.

Theoph. Avaunt!

Harp. I will not; cast thou down
That basket with the things in 't, and fetch up
What thou hast swallow'd, and then take a drink,
Which I shall give thee, and I'm gone.

Theoph. My fruit!
Does this offend thee? see! [Eats again.

Harp. Spit it to the earth,
And tread upon it, or I'll piecemeal tear thee.

Theoph. Art thou with this affrighted? see, here's more. [Pulls out a handful of flowers.

Harp. Fling them away, I'll take thee else, and hang thee
In a contorted chain of icicles,
In the frigid zone: down with them!

Theoph. At the bottom
One thing I found not yet. See!
[Holds up a cross of flowers.

Harp. Oh! I am tortured.

Theoph. Can this do 't? hence, thou fiend infernal, hence!

Harp. Clasp Jupiter's image, and away with that.

Theoph. At thee I'll fling that Jupiter; for, methinks,
I serve a better master: he now checks me
For murdering my two daughters, put on[55] by thee.
By thy damn'd rhetoric did I hunt the life
Of Dorothea, the holy virgin-martyr.
She is not angry with the axe, nor me,
But sends these presents to me; and I'll travel
O'er worlds to find her, and from her white hand
Beg a forgiveness.

Harp. No; I'll bind thee here.

Theoph. I serve a strength above thine; this small weapon[56],
Methinks, is armour hard enough.

Harp. Keep from me. [Sinks a little.

Theoph. Art posting to thy centre? down, hell-hound! down!
Me thou hast lost. That arm, which hurls thee hence, [Harpax disappears.
Save me, and set me up, the strong defence
In the fair Christian quarrel!

Enter Angelo.

Ang. Fix thy foot there,
Nor be thou shaken with a Cæsar's voice,
Though thousand deaths were in it; and I then
Will bring thee to a river, that shall wash
Thy bloody hands clean and more white than snow;
And to that garden where these blest things grow,
And to that martyr'd virgin, who hath sent
That heavenly token to thee: spread this brave wing,
And serve, than Cæsar, a far greater king. [Exit.

Theoph. It is, it is, some angel. Vanish'd again!
Oh, come back, ravishing boy! bright messenger!
Thou hast, by these mine eyes fix'd on thy beauty,
Illumined all my soul. Now look I back
On my black tyrannies, which, as they did
Outdare the bloodiest, thou, blest spirit, that lead'st me,
Teach me what I must do, and, to do well,
That my last act the best may parallel[57]. [Exit.

SCENE II.

Dioclesian's Palace.

Enter Dioclesian, Maximinus, the Kings of Epire, Pontus, and Macedon, meeting Artemia; Attendants.

Artem. Glory and conquest still attend upon
Triumphant Cæsar!

Diocle. Let thy wish, fair daughter,
Be equally divided; and hereafter
Learn thou to know and reverence Maximinus,
Whose power, with mine united, makes one Cæsar.

Max. But that I fear 'twould be held flattery,
The bonds consider'd in which we stand tied,
As love and empire, I should say, till now
I ne'er had seen a lady I thought worthy
To be my mistress.

Artem. Sir, you show yourself
Both courtier and soldier; but take heed,
Take heed, my lord, though my dull-pointed beauty,
Stain'd by a harsh refusal in my servant,
Cannot dart forth such beams as may inflame you,
You may encounter such a powerful one,
That with a pleasing heat will thaw your heart,
Though bound in ribs of ice. Love still is Love;
His bow and arrows are the same: Great Julius,
That to his successors left the name of Cæsar,
Whom war could never tame, that with dry eyes
Beheld the large plains of Pharsalia cover'd
With the dead carcases of senators,
And citizens of Rome; when the world knew
No other lord but him, struck deep in years too,
(And men gray-hair'd forget the loves of youth,)
After all this, meeting fair Cleopatra,
A suppliant too, the magic of her eye,
Even in his pride of conquest, took him captive:
Nor are you more secure.

Max. Were you deform'd,
(But, by the gods, you are most excellent,)
Your gravity and discretion would o'ercome me;
And I should be more proud in being prisoner
To your fair virtues, than of all the honours,
Wealth, title, empire, that my sword hath purchased.

Diocle. This meets my wishes. Welcome it, Artemia,
With outstretch'd arms, and study to forget
That Antoninus ever was: thy fate
Reserved thee for this better choice; embrace it.

Max. This happy match brings new nerves to give strength
To our continued league.

Diocle. Hymen himself
Will bless this marriage, which we'll solemnize
In the presence of these kings.

K. of Pontus. Who rest most happy,
To be eye-witnesses of a match that brings
Peace to the empire.

Diocle. We much thank your loves:
But where's Sapritius, our governor,
And our most zealous provost, good Theophilus?
If ever prince were blest in a true servant,
Or could the gods be debtors to a man,
Both they and we stand far engaged to cherish
His piety and service.

Artem. Sir, the governor
Brooks sadly his son's loss, although he turn'd
Apostata in death; but bold Theophilus,
Who for the same cause, in my presence, seal'd
His holy anger on his daughters' hearts;
Having with tortures first tried to convert her,
Dragg'd the bewitching Christian to the scaffold,
And saw her lose her head.

Diocle. He is all worthy:
And from his own mouth I would gladly hear
The manner how she suffer'd.

Artem. 'Twill be deliver'd
With such contempt and scorn, (I know his nature,)
That rather 'twill beget your highness' laughter,
Than the least pity.

Diocle. To that end I would hear it.

Enter Theophilus, Sapritius, and Macrinus.

Artem. He comes; with him the governor.

Diocle. O, Sapritius,
I am to chide you for your tenderness;
But yet, remembering that you are a father,
I will forget it. Good Theophilus,
I'll speak with you anon.—Nearer, your ear.
[To Sapritius.

Theoph. [aside to Macrinus.] By Antoninus' soul, I do conjure you,
And though not for religion, for his friendship,
Without demanding what's the cause that moves me,
Receive my signet:—By the power of this,
Go to my prisons, and release all Christians,
That are in fetters there by my command.

Mac. But what shall follow?

Theoph. Haste then to the port;
You there shall find two tall ships ready rigg'd,
In which embark the poor distressed souls,
And bear them from the reach of tyranny.
Enquire not whither you are bound: the Deity
That they adore will give you prosperous winds,
And make your voyage such, and largely pay for
Your hazard, and your travail. Leave me here;
There is a scene that I must act alone:
Haste, good Macrinus; and the great God guide you!

Mac. I'll undertake 't; there's something prompts me to it;
'Tis to save innocent blood, a saint-like act:
And to be merciful has never been
By moral men themselves esteem'd a sin. [Exit.

Diocle. You know your charge?

Sap. And will with care observe it.

Diocle. For I profess he is not Cæsar's friend,
That sheds a tear for any torture that
A Christian suffers. Welcome, my best servant,
My careful, zealous provost! thou hast toil'd
To satisfy my will, though in extremes:
I love thee for 't; thou art firm rock, no changeling.
Prithee deliver, and for my sake do it,
Without excess of bitterness, or scoffs,
Before my brother and these kings, how took
The Christian her death?

Theoph. And such a presence,
Though every private head in this large room
Were circled round with an imperial crown,
Her story will deserve, it is so full
Of excellence and wonder.

Diocle. Ha! how is this?

Theoph. O! mark it, therefore, and with that attention,
As you would hear an embassy from heaven
By a wing'd legate; for the truth deliver'd,
Both how, and what, this blessed virgin suffer'd,
And Dorothea but hereafter named,
You will rise up with reverence, and no more,
As things unworthy of your thoughts, remember
What the canonized Spartan ladies were,
Which lying Greece so boasts of. Your own matrons,
Your Roman dames, whose figures you yet keep
As holy relics, in her history
Will find a second urn: Gracchus' Cornelia,
Paulina, that in death desired to follow
Her husband Seneca, nor Brutus' Portia,
That swallow'd burning coals to overtake him,
Though all their several worths were given to one,
With this is to be mention'd.

Max. Is he mad?

Diocle. Why, they did die, Theophilus, and boldly;
This did no more.

Theoph. They, out of desperation,
Or for vain glory of an after-name,
Parted with life: this had not mutinous sons,
As the rash Gracchi were; nor was this saint
A doting mother, as Cornelia was.
This lost no husband, in whose overthrow
Her wealth and honour sunk; no fear of want
Did make her being tedious; but, aiming
At an immortal crown, and in His cause
Who only can bestow it; who sent down
Legions of ministering angels to bear up
Her spotless soul to heaven, who entertain'd it
With choice celestial music, equal to
The motion of the spheres; she, uncompell'd,
Changed this life for a better. My lord Sapritius,
You were present at her death; did you e'er hear
Such ravishing sounds?

Sap. Yet you said then 'twas witchcraft,
And devilish illusions.

Theoph. I then heard it
With sinful ears, and belch'd out blasphemous words
Against his Deity, which then I knew not,
Nor did believe in him.

Diocle. Why, dost thou now?
Or dar'st thou, in our hearing——

Theoph. Were my voice
As loud as is His thunder, to be heard
Through all the world, all potentates on earth
Ready to burst with rage, should they but hear it;
Though hell, to aid their malice, lent her furies,
Yet I would speak, and speak again, and boldly:
I am a Christian; and the Powers you worship,
But dreams of fools and madmen.

Max. Lay hands on him.

Diocle. Thou twice a child! for doting age so makes thee,
Thou couldst not else, thy pilgrimage of life
Being almost past through, in this last moment
Destroy whate'er thou hast done good or great—
Thy youth did promise much; and, grown a man,
Thou mad'st it good, and, with increase of years,
Thy actions still better'd: as the sun,
Thou didst rise gloriously, kept'st a constant course
In all thy journey; and now, in the evening,
When thou shouldst pass with honour to thy rest,
Wilt thou fall like a meteor?

Sap. Yet confess
That thou art mad, and that thy tongue and heart
Had no agreement.

Max. Do; no way is left, else,
To save thy life, Theophilus.

Diocle. But, refuse it,
Destruction as horrid, and as sudden,
Shall fall upon thee, as if hell stood open,
And thou wert sinking thither.

Theoph. Hear me, yet;
Hear, for my service past.

Artem. What will he say?

Theoph. As ever I deserved your favour, hear me,
And grant one boon; 'tis not for life I sue for;
Nor is it fit that I, that ne'er knew pity
To any Christian, being one myself,
Should look for any; no, I rather beg
The utmost of your cruelty. I stand
Accomptable for thousand Christians' deaths;
And, were it possible that I could die
A day for every one, then live again
To be again tormented, 'twere to me
An easy penance, and I should pass through
A gentle cleansing fire; but, that denied me,
It being beyond the strength of feeble nature,
My suit is, you would have no pity on me.
In mine own house there are a thousand engines
Of studied cruelty, which I did prepare
For miserable Christians; let me feel,
As the Sicilian did his brazen bull[58],
The horrid'st you can find; and I will say,
In death, that you are merciful.

Diocle. Despair not;
In this thou shalt prevail. Go fetch them hither:
[Exit some of the Guard.
Death shall put on a thousand shapes at once,
And so appear before thee; racks, and whips!——
Thy flesh, with burning pincers torn, shall feed
The fire that heats them; and what's wanting to
The torture of thy body, I'll supply
In punishing thy mind. Fetch all the Christians
That are in hold; and here, before his face,
Cut them in pieces.

Theoph. 'Tis not in thy power:
It was the first good deed I ever did.
They are removed out of thy reach; howe'er,
I was determined for my sins to die,
I first took order for their liberty;
And still I dare thy worst.

Re-enter Guard with racks and other instruments of torture.

Diocle. Bind him, I say;
Make every artery and sinew crack:
The slave that makes him give the loudest shriek,
Shall have ten thousand drachmas: wretch! I'll force thee
To curse the Power thou worship'st.

Theoph. Never, never:
No breath of mine shall e'er be spent on Him,
[They torment him.
But what shall speak His majesty or mercy.
I'm honour'd in my sufferings. Weak tormentors,
More tortures, more:—alas! you are unskilful—
For heaven's sake more; my breast is yet untorn:
Here purchase the reward that was propounded.
The irons cool,—here are arms yet, and thighs;
Spare no part of me.

Max. He endures beyond
The sufferance of a man.

Sap. No sigh nor groan,
To witness he hath feeling.

Diocle. Harder, villains!

Enter Harpax.

Harp. Unless that he blaspheme, he's lost for ever.
If torments ever could bring forth despair,
Let these compel him to it:—Oh me!
My ancient enemies again! [Falls down.

Enter Dorothea in a white robe, a crown upon her head, led in by Angelo; Antoninus, Calista, and Christeta following, all in white, but less glorious; Angelo holds out a crown to Theophilus.

Theoph. Most glorious vision!—
Did e'er so hard a bed yield man a dream
So heavenly as this? I am confirm'd,
Confirm'd, you blessed spirits, and make haste
To take that crown of immortality
You offer to me. Death! till this blest minute,
I never thought thee slow-paced; nor would I
Hasten thee now, for any pain I suffer,
But that thou keep'st me from a glorious wreath,
Which through this stormy way I would creep to,
And, humbly kneeling, with humility wear it.
Oh! now I feel thee:—blessed spirits! I come;
And, witness for me all these wounds and scars,
I die a soldier in the Christian wars. [Dies.

Sap. I have seen thousands tortured, but ne'er yet
A constancy like this.

Harp. I am twice damn'd.

Ang. Haste to thy place appointed, cursed fiend!
[Harpax sinks with thunder and lightning.
In spite of hell, this soldier's not thy prey;
'Tis I have won, thou that hast lost the day.
[Exit with Dor. &c.

Diocle. I think the centre of the earth be crack'd—
Yet I stand still unmoved, and will go on:
The persecution that is here begun,
Through all the world with violence shall run.
[Flourish. Exeunt.

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

The Great Duke of Florence.] This play, under the title of The Great Duke, was licensed by Sir Henry Herbert, July 5th, 1627. The plot is raised on those slight materials afforded by our old chroniclers in the life of Edgar, which Mason has since worked up into the beautiful drama of Elfrida.

The first edition of this play was published 1636, when it was preceded by two commendatory copies of verses by G. Donne and J. Ford. Though highly and most deservedly popular, it was not reprinted. This may be attributed, in some measure, to the growing discontent of the times, which perversely turned aside from scenes like these, to dwell with fearful anxiety on those of turbulence and blood.—It is impossible not to be charmed with the manner in which this play is written. The style is worthy of the most polished stage. An easy elevation and a mild dignity are preserved throughout, which afford an excellent model for the transaction of dramatic business between persons of high rank and refined education. As to the subject, it is of itself of no great importance; but this is somewhat compensated by the interest the principal characters take in it, and the connexion of love with the views of state.—The scenes between Giovanni and Lidia present a most beautiful picture of artless attachment, and of that unreserved innocence and tender simplicity which Massinger describes in so eminently happy a manner. Were it not for the scene of low buffoonery in the fourth act, where Petronella assumes the dress and character of her mistress, The Great Duke of Florence would have been a perfect and unrivalled production.

TO

THE TRULY HONOURED, AND MY NOBLE FAVOURER,

SIR ROBERT WISEMAN, KNT.[59]

OF THORRELL'S HALL, IN ESSEX.

SIR,

As I dare not be ungrateful for the many benefits you have heretofore conferred upon me, so I have just reason to fear that my attempting this way to make satisfaction (in some measure) for so due a debt, will further engage me. However, examples encourage me. The most able in my poor quality have made use of dedications in this nature, to make the world take notice (as far as in them lay) who and what they were that gave supportment and protection to their studies; being more willing to publish the doer, than receive a benefit in a corner. For myself, I will freely, and with a zealous thankfulness, acknowledge, that for many years I had but faintly subsisted, if I had not often tasted of your bounty. But it is above my strength and faculties to celebrate to the desert your noble inclination, and that made actual, to raise up, or, to speak more properly, to rebuild the ruins of demolished poesie. But that is a work reserved, and will be, no doubt, undertaken, and finished, by one that can to the life express it. Accept, I beseech you, the tender of my service; and in the list of those you have obliged to you, contemn not the name of

Your true and faithful honourer,
PHILIP MASSINGER.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

SCENE, partly in Florence, and partly at the residence of Charomonte in the country.

THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE.

ACT I. SCENE I.

The Country. A Room in Charomonte's House.

Enter Charomonte and Contarino.

Char. You bring your welcome with you.

Cont. Sir, I find it
In every circumstance.

Char. Again most welcome.
Yet, give me leave to wish (and pray you excuse me,
For I must use the freedom I was born with)
The great duke's pleasure had commanded you
To my poor house upon some other service;
Not this you are design'd to: but his will
Must be obey'd, howe'er it ravish from me
The happy conversation of one
As dear to me as the old Romans held
Their household Lars, whom they believed had power
To bless and guard their families.

Cont. 'Tis received so
On my part, signior; nor can the duke
But promise to himself as much as may
Be hoped for from a nephew. And 'twere weakness
In any man to doubt, that Giovanni[60],
Train'd up by your experience and care
In all those arts peculiar and proper
To future greatness, of necessity
Must in his actions, being grown a man,
Make good the princely education
Which he derived from you.

Char. I have discharged,
To the utmost of my power, the trust the duke
Committed to me, and with joy perceive
The seed of my endeavours was not sown
Upon the barren sands, but fruitful glebe,
Which yields a large increase: my noble charge,
By his sharp wit, and pregnant apprehension,
Instructing those that teach him; making use,
Not in a vulgar and pedantic form,
Of what's read to him, but 'tis straight digested,
And truly made his own. His grave discourse,
In one no more indebted unto years,
Amazes such as hear him: horsemanship,
And skill to use his weapon, are by practice
Familiar to him: as for knowledge in
Music, he needs it not, it being born with him;
All that he speaks being with such grace deliver'd,
That it makes perfect harmony.

Cont. You describe
A wonder to me.

Char. Sir, he is no less;
And that there may be nothing wanting that
May render him complete, the sweetness of
His disposition so wins on all
Appointed to attend him, that they are
Rivals, even in the coarsest office, who
Shall get precedency to do him service;
Which they esteem a greater happiness
Than if they had been fashion'd and built up
To hold command o'er others.

Cont. And what place
Does he now bless with his presence?

Char. He is now
Running at the ring[61], at which he's excellent.
He does allot for every exercise
A several hour; for sloth, the nurse of vices,
And rust of action, is a stranger to him.
But I fear I am tedious; let us pass,
If you please, to some other subject, though I cannot
Deliver him as he deserves.

Cont. You have given him
A noble character.

Char. And how, I pray you,
(For we, that never look beyond our villas,
Must be inquisitive,) are state affairs
Carried in court?

Cont. There's little alteration:
Some rise, and others fall, as it stands with
The pleasure of the duke, their great disposer.

Char. Does Lodovico Sanazarro hold
Weight and grace with him?

Cont. Every day new honours
Are shower'd upon him, and without the envy
Of such as are good men; since all confess
The service done our master in his wars
'Gainst Pisa and Sienna may with justice
Claim what's conferr'd upon him.

Char. 'Tis said nobly;
For princes never more make known their wisdom,
Than when they cherish goodness where they find it:
They being men, and not gods, Contarino,
They can give wealth and titles, but no virtues;
That is without their power. When they advance,
Not out of judgment, but deceiving fancy,
An undeserving man, howe'er set off
With all the trim of greatness, state, and power,
And of a creature even grown terrible
To him from whom he took his giant form,
This thing is still a comet, no true star;
And when the bounties feeding his false fire
Begin to fail, will of itself go out,
And what was dreadful proves ridiculous.
But in our Sanazarro 'tis not so,
He being pure and tried gold; and any stamp
Of grace, to make him current to the world,
The duke is pleased to give him, will add honour
To the great bestower; for he, though allow'd
Companion to his master, still preserves
His majesty in full lustre.

Cont. He, indeed,
At no part does take from it, but becomes
A partner of his cares, and eases him,
With willing shoulders, of a burden which
He should alone sustain.