Dryden's Works Vol. 08 (of 18)

by John Dryden

ACT II.—SCENE I.

Enter Cleomenes, Cleanthes, and Pantheus.

Cleom. The king sent for me, say'st thou, and to council!

Clean. And I was coming to you, on that message,

Just when I met Pantheus.

Panth. Good omen, sir, of some intended good.

Your fortune mends; she reconciles apace,

When Egypt makes the advances.

Cleom. Rise a prophet!—

For since his father's death, this Ptolemy

Has minded me no more

Than boys their last year's gewgaws.

Petition on petition, prayer on prayer,

For aid, or free dismission, all unanswered,

As Cleomenes were not worth his thought;

Or he, that god, which Epicurus dreamt,

Disclaiming care, and lolling on a cloud.

Panth. At length, it seems, it pleases him to wake.

Clean. Yes, for himself, not you; he's drenched too deep,

To wake on any call, but his own danger.

My father, his wise pilot, has observed

The face of heaven, and sees a gathering storm;

I know not from what quarter; but it threatens,

And, while it threats, he wants such hands as yours;

But when 'tis o'er, the thoughtless king returns

To native sloth, shifts sides, and slumbers on.

Panth. Sure, he'll remember to reward those hands,

That helped him from the plunge.

Clean. You dream, Pantheus,

Of former times, when gratitude was virtue.

Reward him! Yes, like Æsop's snake the wretch,

That warmed him in his bosom. We are tools,

Vile abject things, created for his use,

As beasts for men; as oxen, draw the yoke.

And then are sacrificed.

Cleom. I would not use him so.

Clean. You are not Ptolemy;

Nor is he Cleomenes.

Cleom. I'll press him home,

To give me my dispatch; few ships will serve

To bear my little band, and me, to Greece:

I will not ask him one of his Egyptians;

No, let him keep them all for slaves and stallions,

Fit only to beget their successors.

Clean. Excepting one Egyptian,—that's myself.

Cleom. Thou need'st not be excepted; thou art only

Misplanted in a base degenerate soil;

But Nature, when she made thee, meant a Spartan.

Panth. Then if your father will but second us—

Clean. I dare not promise for him, but I'll try.

He loves me: love and interest sometimes

May make a statesman honest.

Cleom. For the king,

I know he'll not refuse us, for he dares not;

A coward is the kindest animal,

'Tis the most giving creature in a fright.

Clean. Say the most promising, and there you hit him.

Cleom. Well, I'll attack him on the shaking side,

That next his fearful heart.

Enter Cœnus.

Cœn. I come to mind you of the late request,

You would not hear. Be pleased to engage this lord,

And then it may succeed.

Cleom. What wouldst thou, Cœnus?

Cœn. I brought along

Some horses of the best Thessalian breed,

High-spirited and strong, and made for war;

These I would sell the king.

Cleom. Mistaken man!

Thou shouldst have brought him whores and catamites;

Such merchandise is fit for such a monarch.

Clean. Wouldst thou bring horses here, to shame our men?

Those very words, of spirited and war,

Are treason in our clime.

Cleom. From the king downward, (if there be a downward,

From Ptolemy to any of his slaves,)

No true Egyptian ever knew in horses

The far side from the near.

Clean. Cleomenes told thee true: Thou shouldst have brought

A soft pad strumpet for our monarch's use;

Though, thanked be hell, we want not one at home,—

Our master's mistress, she that governs all.

'Tis well, ye powers, ye made us but Egyptians:

You could not have imposed

On any other people such a load,

As an effeminate tyrant and a woman.

Cleom. Sell me thy horses, and, at my return,

When I have got from conquered Greece the pelf

That noble Sparta scorns, I'll pay their value.

Cœn. Just as you paid me for the fair estate

I sold you there. [Aside.

Cleom. What's that you mutter?

Cœn. Nothing: That's what his hopes are worth—

[Aside. Exit Cœnus.

Panth. I fear he's gone away dissatisfied.

Clean. I'll make it up:—Those horses I present you;

You'll put them to the use that nature meant them.

Cleom. I burden you too much.

Clean. If you refuse, you burden me much more.

A trifle this:

A singing eunuch's price, a pandar's fee,

Exceeds this sum at court.

The king expects us.

Cleom. Come after us, Pantheus,

And bring my boy Cleonidas along.

I'll shew his youth this base luxurious court,

Just as in sober Sparta we expose

Our drunken Helots; only with design

To wean our children from the vice of wine. [Exeunt.

---

SCENE II.—The Apartment of Cassandra.

Enter King Ptolemy, Sosibius, with papers, after him.

Ptol. No more of business.

Sosib. Sir, the council waits you.

Ptol. Council! What's that? a pack of bearded slaves,

Grave faces, saucy tongues, and knavish hearts,

That never speak one word, but self's at bottom;

The scavengers that sweep state nuisances,

And are themselves the greatest—I'll no council.

Sosib. Remember, you appointed them this day.

Ptol. I had forgot 'twas my Cassandra's birth-day.

Sosib. Your brother Magas grows more dangerous daily,

And has the soldiers' hearts.

Ptol. I'll cut him off.

Sosib. Not so soon done as said. The Spartan king

Was summoned for advice, and waits without.

Ptol. His business is to wait.

Sosib. Be pleased to sign these papers; they are all

Of great concern.

Ptol. My pleasure is of more.—

How could I curse my name of Ptolemy!

For 'tis so long, it asks an hour to write it.

By Heaven, I'll change it into Jove or Mars,

Or any other civil monosyllable,

That will not tire my hand.

Sosib. These are for common good. [Shewing papers.

Ptol. I am glad of that;

Those shall be sure to wait.

Sosib. Orders to pay the soldiers, ripe for mutiny;

They may revolt.

Ptol. To whom?

Sosib. The man you fear,—

Your brother Magas.

Ptol. That's indeed the danger.

Give me the physic; let me swallow quick.—

There's Ptolemy for that: Now, not one more,

For every minute I expect Cassandra

To call me to the music.

If she should find me at this rare employment,

Of signing out her treasures!

Sosib. The rest are only grants to her you love,

And places for her friends.

Ptol. I'll sign them all, were every one a province.

Thou know'st her humour, not to brook denial;

And then a quarrel on her birth-day too

Would be of ill presage. [Signs more papers.

Enter Cassandra and Women.

Cas. I heard you waited; but you'll pardon me,

I was no sooner dressed.

Ptol. Thus I begin my homage to the day [Kisses her hand.

That brought me forth a mistress; and am proud

To be your foremost slave.

Cas. Our little entertainment waits; not worth

A longer ceremony; please to grace it?

The Scene opens, and discovers Cassandra's Apartment. Musicians and Dancers. Ptolemy leads in Cassandra; Sosibius follows—They sit. Towards the end of the song and dance, enter Cleomenes and Cleanthes on one side of the stage, where they stand.

SONG.

No, no, poor suffering heart, no change endeavour,

Chuse to sustain the smart, rather than leave her;

My ravished eyes behold such charms about her,

I can die with her, but not live without her;

One tender sigh of hers to see me languish,

Will more than pay the price of my past anguish:

Beware, O cruel fair, how you smile on me,

'Twas a kind look of yours, that has undone me.

Love has in store for me one happy minute,

And she will end my pain, who did begin it;

Then no day void of bliss, of pleasure, leaving,

Ages shall slide away without perceiving:

Cupid shall guard the door, the more to please us,

And keep out Time and Death, when they would seize us:

Time and Death shall depart, and say, in flying,

Love has found out a way to live by dying.

Cleom. [To Clean.] Is this the council of the Egyptian king?

And am I called upon the grave debate,

To judge of trilling notes, and tripping feet?

Clean. 'Tis of a piece with all the rest of Ptolemy;

A singing and a dancing government.—

O Egypt, Egypt! thou art grown the lees

Of all the world; the slime of thy own Nile.

Sure we had neither human sires, nor mothers;

The sun and Nile begot us: We're so cowardly,

And yet so proud; so many gods we have.

And yet not one!—

Cleom. No more:—they seem to gaze on me with wonder.

Clean. And well they may, to see a man in Egypt.

[King, Cassandra, and Sosibius, rise and come forward.

Ptol. Welcome, royal stranger!

Not only to my court, but to my bosom.

Cleom. I heard you sent for me; but on what business

Am yet to learn.

Ptol. The greatest in the world: to see the man,

Whom even his foes extol, his friends adore,

And all mankind admire.

Cleom. Say rather, sir,

A man forsaken of his better stars,

A banished prince, the shadow of a king.

Ptol. My father's friend.

Cleom. I must not think so vainly of myself,

To be what you have said; lest it upbraid you,

To let your father's friend for three long months

Thus dance attendance for a word of audience.

Cas. Now, by my soul, 'tis nobly urged: He speaks

As if he were in Sparta, on his throne;

Not asking aid, but granting.

How little looks our pageant prince to him!

This is the only king I ever saw. [Aside.

Cleom. By all the gods, when I have stood repulsed,

Before your gates, and could not gain admittance,

I have not sighed so much for my own sorrows,

As I have blushed for your ungenerous usage.

Clean. Not a word, Ptolemy?—

Ashamed, by all that's good, to be miscalled

A king, when this is present. [Aside.

Cleom. Think you 'tis nothing

For me to beg; that I constrain my temper

To sue for aid, which you should first have offered?

Believe me, Ptolemy, a noble soul

Does much, that asks: He gives you power to oblige him.

Know, sir, there's a proud modesty in merit,

Averse from begging; and resolved to pay

Ten times the gift it asks.

Ptol. I have been to blame;

And you have justly taxed my long neglect.

I am young, and am a lover; and how far

Fair eyes may make even kings forgetful, look,

And read my best excuse.

Clean. O miracle! He blushes!

The first red virtue I have ever seen

Upon that face. [Aside.

Cas. I am sorry, sir, you've made me your excuse;

As if I stood betwixt the good you meant,

And intercepted every royal grace.

Now, in my own defence, I must solicit

All his concerns, as mine:

And if my eyes have power, he should not sue

In vain, nor linger with a long delay.

Ptol. Well! I'll consider.

Cas. Say that word again,

And I'll consider too.

Ptol. Pr'ythee be satisfied; he shall be aided,

Or I'll no more be king.

Clean. When wert thou one!—For shame, for shame, ye gods,

That e'er you put it in a strumpet's power,

To do so good a deed! [Aside.

Cleom. I am a Spartan, madam, scarce of words;

We have but just enough to speak our meaning.

Be thanked; that's all I could have said to Jove,

Had Jove, like you, restored me to my crown.

Sosib. [To Cleom.] The gods have given you, sir, the speedy means

To satisfy your debt of gratitude.

Cleom. Oh, make me happy! tell me how this sword

(This and my heart are all that's left me now)

Can be employed to serve the crown of Egypt.

Clean. Well said, father; thou art a true statesman.

So much for so much is the way at court. [Aside.

Sosib. My king has in the camp a younger brother,

Valiant, they say, but very popular;

He gets too far into the soldiers' grace,

And inches out my master.

Cleom. Is the king

Assured of this, by any overt-act,

Or any close conspiracy revealed?

Ptol. He has it in his power to be a traitor;

And that's enough.

Sosib. He has it in his will too;

Else, why this ostentation of his virtues,

His bounty, valour, and his temperance?

Why are they thus exposed to public view,

But as a Venus set beside a monster,

To make an odious comparison;

As if his brother wanted what he boasts?

Ptol. What's to be done with him?

Cas. There needs no more, I think, but to contrive,

With secrecy, and safety, to dispatch him.

Clean. I thank thee, that thou hast not cozened me

In this advice; for two good deeds together

Had been too much in conscience for thy calling. [Aside.

Ptol. He dies, that's out of doubt.

Cleom. Your brother, sir!

Ptol. Why do you ask that question?

Cleom. Because I had a brother,

(Oh grief to say I had, and have not now!)

Wise, valiant, temperate; and, in short, a Spartan;

Had all the virtues, which your counsellor

Imputed to your brother as his crimes.

He loved me well; so well, he could but die,

To shew he loved me better than his life.

He lost it for me in Sellasia's field;

And went the greatest ghost of all our name,

That ever had a brother, or a king[42].

Sosib. Wipe off the tears that stand upon your eyes;

Good nature works too far. Kings have no brothers,

What men call such, are rivals of their crowns;

Yours timed his death, so as to merit grief.

Who knows, but he laid in, by that last action,

The means to have betrayed you, had he lived?

Cleom. I would say something; but I curb my passion,

Because thou art the father to my friend—

To you, sir, this: If you condemn your brother, [To Ptol.

Only because he's bounteous, great, and brave,—

Know, you condemn those virtues, own you want them.

Had you a thousand brothers, such as he,

You ought to shew you are above them all,

By daring to reward, and cherish them,

As bucklers of your crown in time of war,

And in soft peace, the jewels that adorn it.

Cas. I stand corrected, sir; he ought to live.

Ptol. I think so too.

Sosib. I do not wish his death,

Howe'er I seemed to give that rugged counsel.

Clean. Well said again, father! Comply, comply;

Follow the sun, true shadow. [Aside.

Sosib. I only wish my master may be safe;

But there are mercenaries in the army,

Three thousand Greeks, the flower of all our troops,

Like wolves indeed among Egyptian lambs;

If these revolt—(I do not say they will)

But if your brother please to take the crown,

And be not good enough to let you reign,

Those Greeks, where'er they go, will turn the scale.

Ptol. What think you, Cleomenes?

Cleom. He says true.

Ptol. Then Magas must not live.

Cleom. That does not follow.

Fear not those mercenaries: they are mine,

Devoted to my interest, commanded by my nod:

They are my limbs of war, and I their soul.

Were they in arms against you at your gates,

High in their rage, and fixed upon the spoil,

Should I say,—Hold!—nay, should I only frown,

They could not bear my eyes; but, awed and mastered,

Like lions to their keepers, would couch and fawn,

And disobey their hunger.

Ptol. Wondrous man! [Embraces him.

How I admire thy virtue!

Cas. And his genius.

Some are born kings,

Made up of three parts fire, so full of heaven,

It sparkles at their eyes. Inferior souls

Know them as soon as seen, by sure instinct,

To be their lords, and naturally worship

The secret god within them.

Sosib. Sir, I humbly beg

A word in private. [To Ptol.

Ptol. Madam?—

Cas. You may go.

Sosib. Cleanthes, follow me.

[Exeunt Ptol. Sosib. Clean.

Enter Cleonidas.

Cleon. Pantheus brought me hither to attend you.

Cleom. And thou art welcome; but thou comest too late.

Cas. Your page of honour?

Cleon. The mistake is easy in such a court as this,

Where princes look like pages.

Cleom. 'Tis my son.

Cas. I must have leave to love you, royal youth;

Above all nations I adore a Greek,

And of all Greeks a Spartan. [Looking on Cleom.

Cleom. What he is,

And what I am, are owing to your favour.

Cas. [To Cleon.] Shall I not be your mistress?

[Looking on Cleom.

Cleon. No; for I would not get Egyptians.

Cas. For what, sir, do you take us?

Cleon. For what you are.

When the gods moulded up the paste of man,

Some of their dough was left upon their hands,

For want of souls; and so they made Egyptians.

They were intended for four feet; and when

They come to run before our noble Spartans,

They'll curse the gods for the two legs they owed them.

Cas. Then, since you will not let me be your mistress,

Would I had been your mother! [Looking still on Cleom.

Cleon. So would not I:

For then I had not been all Spartan.

Cas. [Aside.] He answers not my glances, stupid man!

My tender looks, my languishing regards,

Are like mis-aiming arrows, lost in air,

And miss the flying prey.

[While she walks, Cleom. and Cleon. are looking on a picture hanging on the side of the Scenes. She takes out a pocket-glass, and looks in it.

These eyes, I thank the gods,

Are still the same. The diamonds are not dimmed,

Nor is their lustre lost in Ptolemy.

Small boast: Alas! Ptolemy has no soul;

'Tis what he wants I love in Cleomenes.

Perhaps he dares not think I would be loved;

Then must I make the advance, and, making, lose

The vast prerogative our sex enjoys,

Of being courted first.—Courted! To what?

To our own wishes: There's the point; but still,

To speak our wishes first;—forbid it, pride,

Forbid it, modesty!—True; they forbid it,

But nature does not. When we are athirst,

Or hungry, will imperious nature stay?

Not eat nor drink, before 'tis bid fall on?—

Well, sex, if this must be,

That I must not invite, I may at least be suffered

To lay some kind occasion in his way,

That, if he dare but speak, he may succeed.

[She turns round to them, and observes what they are doing. Cleom. turns and meets her; Cleon. looks still on the picture.

Cleon. I durst not have presumed to interrupt

Your private thoughts.

Cas. They wholly were employed in serving you.

But durst not, and presume, are words of fear;

I thought they were not in your Spartan tongue;

For my sake banish them.

On what were you so earnestly employed,

You would not look this way?

Cleom. A picture, madam.

Cas. View it again, 'tis worth a second sight;

Your son observes it still.—'Twere well to help

My lover's understanding. [Goes with him to the Picture.

Know you this piece, young prince?

Cleon. Some battle, I believe; and in that thought,

I gaze with such delight.

Cleom. Some rape, I guess.

Cas. That's near the true design, and yet mistaken;

'Tis Paris, bearing from your Spartan shore

The beauteous Helen. How do you approve it?

Cleom. Not in the least, for 'tis a scurvy piece.

Cas. And yet 'tis known to be Apelles' hand.

The style is his; you grant he was a master.

Cleom. 'Tis scurvy still, because it represents

A base dishonest act; to violate

All hospitable rites, to force away

His benefactor's wife:—Ungrateful villain!

And so the gods, the avenging gods have judged.

Cleon. Was he a Spartan king that suffered this?

Sure he revenged the rape.

Cleom. He did, my boy,

And slew the ravisher.

Cas. Look better, sir; you'll find it was no rape.

Mark well that Helen in her lover's arms:

Can you not see, she but affects to strive?

She heaves not up her hands to heaven for help,

But hugs the kind companion of her flight.

See how her tender fingers strain his sides!

'Tis an embrace; a grasping of desire;

A very belt of love, that girds his waist.

She looks as if she did not fear to fall,

But only lose her lover, if she fell.

Observe her eyes; how slow they seem to roll

Their wishing looks, and languish on his face!

Observe the whole design, and you would swear,

She ravished Paris, and not Paris her.

Cleom. Sparta has not to boast of such a woman;

Nor Troy to thank her, for her ill-placed love.

Cas. But Paris had. As for the war that followed,

'Twas but a fable of a Grecian wit,

To raise the valour of his countrymen:

For Menelaus was an honest wretch;

A tame good man, that never durst resent;

A mere convenient husband, dull and slavish,

By nature meant the thing, the lovers made him.

Cleom. His goodness aggravates their crime the more.

Had Menelaus used his Helen ill,

Had he been jealous, or distrusted both,

I would allow a grain or two for love,

And plead in their excuse.

Cas. There was their safety, that he was not jealous.

What would you more of him? he was a fool,

And put the happy means into their hands.

Cleom. I cannot much commend my countryman.

Cas. Indeed, my lord, your countryman was dull,

That did not understand so plain a courtship.

Have Spartans eyes for nothing, not to see

So manifest a passion?

Cleom. Yes, too well.—[Aside.

Madam, your goodness interests you too much

In Helen's cause. I have no more to urge,

But that she was a wife: that word, a wife,

In spite of all your eloquence, condemns her.

Cas. You argue justly; therefore 'twas a crime:

But, had she been a mistress, not a wife,

Her love had been a virtue, to forsake

The nauseous bed of a loathed fulsome king,

And fly into a sprightly lover's arms.

Her love had been a merit to her Paris,

To leave her country, and, what's more, her kingdom,

With a poor fugitive prince to sail away,

And bear her wealth along, to make him happy.

Cleom. You put your picture in the fairest light:

But both the lovers broke their plighted vows;

He to Oenone, she to Menelaus.

Cas. The gods, that made two fools, had done more justly,

To have matched Menelaus with Oenone.

Think better of my picture, it deserves

A second thought; it speaks; the Helen speaks.

Cleon. It speaks Egyptian then; a base dishonest tongue.

Cas. You are too young to understand her language.— [To Cleon.

Do not thank me,

Till I have brought your business to perfection.

Doubt not my kindness; nothing shall be wanting

To make your voyage happy.

Cleom. I only fear the excess of your full bounty,

To give me more than what my wants require.

[Exeunt Cleom. and Cleon.

Cas. Meaning, perhaps, my person and my love:

I would not think it so; and yet I fear,

And while I fear, his voyage shall be hindered.

No breath of wind

Can stir, to waft him hence, unless I please:

I am the goddess that commands the seas.

In vain he vows at any other shrine,

My heart is in his hands, his fate's in mine. [Exit Cassandra.

---

ACT III.
SCENE I.—The King's Apartment.

A Table set. Ptolemy, Sosibius, Cassandra sitting: Ptolemy at the upper end; Cassandra sitting on the one side, Sosibius on the other.

Ptol. I must confess, 'twas obvious.

Sosib. He said he could command them with his nod:

Can he do this with mercenaries, raised

Not at his charge, but yours? by you maintained?

What could he more, had they been Spartans born?

Cas. What would you hence infer?

Sosib. What you observed:

Some are born kings, and so is Cleomenes.

Cas. A great soul dares not call himself a villain.

He has that interest, and will use it nobly;

To serve, and not to ruin his protector.

Sosib. Is Egypt's safety, and the king's, and your's,

Fit to be trusted on a bare suppose,

That he is honest? Honest, let him be;

But on his own experiment, not ours.

Man is but man; unconstant still, and various;

There's no to-morrow in him, like to-day.

Perhaps the atoms rolling in his brain

Make him think honestly this present hour;

The next, a swarm of base, ungrateful thoughts

May mount aloft; and where's our Egypt then?

Who would trust chance, since all men have the seeds

Of good and ill, which should work upward first?

Cas. All men! then you are one; and by that rule,

Your wicked atoms may be working now

To give bad counsel, that you still may govern.

Sosib. I would the king would govern.

Cas. Because you think I have too much command.

Ptol. Would you would rule me both by turns, in quiet,

And let me take my ease!

Cas. Then my turn's first.

Sosib. Our master's safety, in sound reason, ought

To be preferred to both.

Ptol. So thinks Cassandra too.

Cas. No; court Sosibius, and cast Cassandra off.

Ptol. What have I said, or done,

To merit this unkindness?

Tell me but what you think of Cleomenes,

And be my oracle.

Cas. I know him grateful.

Sosib. To know him grateful, is enough for Jove.

Cas. And therefore not too much for me in Egypt:

I say, I know him honest.

Ptol. Then I know it.

Now may Sosibius speak?

Cas. He may; but not to contradict my knowledge.

Sosib. Then I concur, to let him go for Greece;

And wish our Egypt fairly rid of him.

For, as our Apis, though in temples fed,

And under golden roofs, yet loaths his food,

Because restrained; and longs to roam in meads,

Among the milky-mothers of the herd:

So, Cleomenes, kept by force in Egypt,

Is sullen at our feasts, abhors our dainties,

And longs to change them for his Spartan broth[43].

He may be dangerous here; then send him hence,

With aid enough to conquer all he lost,

And make him formidable to mankind.

Cas. He may be formidable then to us?

That thou wouldst say.

Sosib. No; for you know him grateful.

Cas. Would thou wouldst learn to speak without a double,

Thou Delphian statesman! [Rises.

Sosib. Would I could know your wishes, that I might!

I would but smooth their way, and make them easy. [Bowing.

Cas. Good old man! [Smiling.

A little over zealous, but well-meaning.

My wishes are the honour of my king;

That Ptolemy may keep his royal word,

And I my promise, to procure this aid.

If to be mistress signifies command,

Let this be done; if not, the king may find

Another beauty, worthier of his bed,

And I another lover, less ungrateful.

Ptol. Let Egypt sink before that fatal day!

No, we are one; Cassandra, we are one;

Or I am nothing; thou art Ptolemy.

Cas. Now you deserve to be the first of kings,

Because you rank yourself the first of lovers.

What can I do to show Cassandra grateful?

Nothing but this—

To be so nice in my concerns for you;

To doubt where doubts are not; to be too fearful;

To raise a bug-bear shadow of a danger,

And then be frighted, though it cannot reach you.

Sosib. Be pleased to name your apprehensions, madam.

Cas. Plain souls, like mine, judge others by themselves;

Therefore I hold our Cleomenes honest.

But since 'tis possible, though barely so,

That he may prove ungrateful,

I would have pledges given us of his faith;

His wife, his mother, and his son, be left

As hostages in Egypt.

Sosib. Admirable!

Some god inspired you with this prudent counsel.

Ptol. I thought so too, but that I durst not speak.

Sosib. Leave me to manage this.

Cas. My best Sosibius!

But do it surely, by the easiest means;

Infuse it gently; do not pour it down:

Let him not think he stands suspected here;

And, least of all, by me.

Sosib. He shall not, madam.—

Now, sir, the illumination feast attends you;

For Apis has appeared.

Ptol. Why then I must be formal;

Go to the temple.—

Come, my fair Cassandra,

That I may have an object worth my worship. [Aside.

Cas. The God that I adore is in my breast;

This is the temple; this the sacrifice.

But to the powers divine we make appeal,

With great devotion, and with little zeal. [Exeunt Ptol. and Cas.

Sosib. [Solus.] Yes, yes, it shall be done; but not her way.—

Call in my son Cleanthes.—This Cassandra

Is our enchanting syren; she that sings

Our Ptolemy into secure destruction.

In vain I counsel him to avoid his ruin:

These women-charmers, oh they have a devil

Too strong to dispossess.—Call in my son. [Goes to the door.

Enter Cleanthes.

Cleanthes, are you Cleomenes' friend,

Or only seem you such?

Clean. To seem to be, and not be what I seem,

Are things my honest nature understands not.

Sosib. But you must love your king and country more.

Clean. Yes, when I have a king and country,

That can deserve my love.

Egypt, as Egypt is, deserves it not:

A people baser than the beasts they worship;

Below their pot-herb gods, that grow in gardens:

The king—

Sosib. Go to; young man, whate'er he be,

I must not hear my master vilified.

Clean. Why did you name him then? Were I at prayers.

And even for you, whom as my soul I love,

If Ptolemy should come across my thoughts,

A curse would follow, where I meant a blessing.

Sosib. 'Tis well, 'tis well I am so fond a father;

Those words were death in any other mouth.

I know too much of you; you love the Spartan

Beyond your king and country.

Clean. 'Tis a truth

So noble, I would own it to the gods,

And they be proud to hear it.

Sosib. Confess, you love him better than your father.

Clean. No; but I love him equal with my father.

Sosib. Say better, and say true.

If we were opposite, and one must fall,

Whom wouldst thou save?

Clean. Neither; for both would die,

Before I could resolve.

Sosib. If I command thee

To break thy friendship with him, wouldst thou?

Clean. No.

Sosib. Why, then thou hast confessed, thou lovest him more.

Clean. Not so: for, should he bid me disobey,

Or not love you, thus would I answer him,

As I have answered you.

Sosib. Ungrateful boy!

Clean. You bid me tell you true, and this is my reward.

Sosib. Go from my sight!

Clean. I will; but would not go

Without your blessing.

Sosib. O, so well I love thee,

That I could curse thee for not loving me!—

Stay, I would send thee on a message to him,

But that I fear thy faith.

Clean. You wrong my piety.

Sosib. It much concerns my interest, which is thine.

Wouldst thou deliver what I have to say?

Wouldst thou induce his reason to comply?

Clean. Both; granting your proposals honourable:

If not, employ some mercenary tongue,—

The court affords you store,—and spare my virtue.

Sosib. I would have Cleomenes sent away

With royal aid.

Clean. You promised him he should.

Sosib. And would have thee persuade him to this voyage.

Clean. A welcome errand: Oh my dear, dear father!

Sosib. But on my terms, mark that; my terms, Cleanthes.

Clean. I feared the statesman in you.

Sosib. I would have Egypt safe; that's all my interest:

And therefore he must leave behind, for pawns,

His mother, wife, and son.

Clean. 'Tis clogging of a gift; 'tis base, mean counsel.

I hope you gave it not.

Sosib. No, 'twas Cassandra:

But she would have that odium cast on me;

I am her beast of burden, and must bear it.

Clean. I never can bely so good a father;

But this I'll do:

The message shall be faithfully delivered,

And all the strumpet stand exposed to shame.

Sosib. Thou hitst my meaning; but he must be secret,

Must seem to take the favour as from her,

And lay the hardship of the terms on me.

Clean. He shall.

Sosib. And thou wilt gild this bitter pill;

For there's no other way to go from hence,

But leaving these behind.

Clean. A beam of thought comes glancing on my soul.— [Aside.

I'll undertake it,

The pledges shall be left.

Sosib. My best Cleanthes! [Embraces him.

But haste, and lose no time.

Clean. I'm all on fire to serve my friend and father. [Exit Cleanthes.

Sosib. [Alone.] This Cleomenes ought to be dispatched;

Dispatched the safest way: he ought to die.

Not that I hate his virtue; but I fear it.

The mistress drives my counsels to the leeward.

Now I must edge upon a point, of wind;

And make slow way, recovering more and more,

Till I can bring my vessel safe ashore. [Exit Sosib.

---

SCENE II.—

Of a Temple with Illuminations. An Altar, Apis painted above; Priests and Choristers.

Ptolemy, Cassandra, Courtiers, men and women, all decently placed. Musick, Instrumental and Vocal. Then Ptolemy, taking Cassandra by the hand, advances to the Altar of Apis, bowing thrice, and gives the High Priest a purse. Soft Musick all the while Ptolemy and Cassandra are adoring and speaking.

Ptol. Soul of the universe, and source of life,

Immortal Apis, thou thrice holy fire,

Hear Egypt's vows and mine! If, as we dream,

Egyptian earth, impregnated with flame,

Sprung the first man,

Preserve thy primitive plantation here!

Then, for myself, thy type, and thy vicegerent,

Roll from my loins a long descent of kings,

Mixed of Cassandra's kindly blood and mine.

Mine be she only, and I only hers!

And when I shall resolve again to thee,

May she survive me, and be queen of Egypt:

Hear this, and firm it with some happy omen!

[An Augury portending good success arises from the Altar.

Omnes. Apis be praised for this auspicious omen!

[Ptolemy bowing retires, and seems pleased.

Cas. [Kneels.] Great power of Love! who spread'st thy gentle fire

Through human hearts, art every where adored;

Accept these vows, in show to Apis paid,

And make his altar thine! hear not that wretch,

Because his prayers were not addressed to thee;

Or only hear his last, that I may reign!

Make Cleomenes mine, and mine alone.

Give us a flight secure, a safe arrival,

And crown our wishes in each others arms.

Hear this, and firm it with some happy omen!

[A bad omen arises from the flames of the Altar.

Omnes. Avert this omen, Apis!

Cas. [Rises.] Accursed be thou, grass-eating foddered god!

Accursed thy temple! more accursed thy priests!

The gods are theirs, not ours; and when we pray

For happy omens, we their price must pay.

In vain at shrines the ungiving suppliant stands;

This 'tis to make a vow with empty hands:

Fat offerings are the priesthood's only care;

They take the money, and heaven hears the prayer.

Without a bribe their oracles are mute;

And their instructed gods refuse the suit.

[Exit Cassandra in a fury, King and Attendants follow. Scene closes.

---

SCENE III.—The Port of Alexandria.

Enter Cleomenes, and Cleanthes.

Cleom. The propositions are unjust and hard;

And if I swallow them, 'tis as we take

The wrath of heaven.

We must have patience, for they will be gods,

And give us no account of what we suffer.

Clean. My father much abhors this middle way,

Betwixt a gift and sale of courtesy.

But 'tis the mistress; she that seemed so kind,

'Tis she, that bears so hard a hand upon you;

She that would half oblige, and half affront.

Cleom. Let her be what she is: that's curse enough.

But such a wife, a mother, and a son!

Oh sure, ye gods! when ye made this vile Egypt,

Ye little thought, they should be mortgaged here!

My only comfort

Is, that I trust these precious pawns with thee;

For thou art so religiously a friend,

That I would sooner leave them in thy hands,

Than if I had security from heaven,

And all the gods to answer for their safety.

Clean. Yes, yes; they shall be safe;

And thou shall have a pledge,

As strong as friendship can make over to thee.

Deny me not, for I must go with thee,

And share what fate allots for thee in Greece. [Cleomenes looks discontentedly.

Nay, cast not on me that forbidding frown;

But let me be their pawn, as they are thine:

So I shall have thee wholly to myself,

And be thy wife, thy mother, and thy son,

As thou art all to me.

Cleom.Oh friend![Sighs, and wipes his eyes.

Clean. What wouldst thou say, my better part?

Cleom. No more, but this, that thou art too unkind,

When even in kindness thou wouldst overcome.

Clean. Let me be proud; and pardon thou my pride.

Base, worthless Egypt has no other pawn,

To counter-balance these, but only me.

'Twas on such terms alone I durst propose it.

Shalt thou leave these,

And I not leave a father, whom I love?

Come, come, it must be so.

We'll give each other all we have besides;

And then we shall be even.—Here they are!

I leave thee. Break those tender ties of nature,

As gently as thou canst; they must be broken. [Going, returns.

But, when thou seest Cassandra, curb thy spleen;

Seem to receive the kindness as from her;

And, if thou think'st I love thee, for my sake,

Remembering me, strive to forget my father. [Exit Clean.

Enter Cleora, Cratesiclea, and Cleonidas.

Cleom. But how can I sustain to tell them this, [Walking from them.

Even in the gentlest terms!

There are not words in any tongue so soft

As I would use: the gods must have a new one,

If they would have me speak.

Crat. How, king of Sparta! When your fortune smiles,

A glorious sunshine, and a gloomy soul?

The gods love chearfulness, when they are kind;

They think their gifts despised, and thrown away

On sullen thankless hearts.

Cleor. I hear, my dearest lord, that we shall go.

Cleom. Go!

Cleon. What a mournful echo makes my father!

By Mars, he stifles go upon his tongue,

And kills the joyful sound; he speaks so low,

That heaven must listen, if it hear his thanks.

Cleom. Yes, I shall go; but how?

Cleor. With Egypt's aid.

Cleon. With his own soul and sword, a thousand strong;

And worth ten Egypts, and their ten thousand gods.

Crat. There's something more in this, than what we guess;

Some secret anguish rolls within his breast,

That shakes him like an earthquake, which he presses,

And will not give it vent: I know him well.

He blushes, and would speak, and wants a voice;

And stares and gapes like a forbidden ghost,

Till he be spoke to first.—Tell me, my son!

Cleom. Mother, I will.—And yet I cannot neither. [Aside.

Mother! that word has struck me dumb again:

For, how can I say mother, and propound

To leave her here behind, who gave me life?

Mother! and wife! and son! the names that nature

Most loves to speak, are banished from my mouth.

Cleor. Tell us, my love, the king has changed his mind,

And has refused us leave; for we can bear it:

Egypt is Greece to me, while you are here.

Cleom. Oh I would speak! But, oh! you speak so kindly,

That you forbid my speech: You call me love.

Cleor. Was that too kind a word?

Cleom. It was to me: I am a mere barbarian,

A brute, a stock, for I have no relations,

Or shortly shall have none.

Cleor. Then we must die!

Cleon. We must; and welcome death.

Crat. To save his life.

Cleom. The gods forbid that you should die for me!

No, you may live; but I must die thrice over,

For I must leave you here, or must not go:

These are the hard conditions offered me.

Crat. Then Egypt would have pledges: Is this all?

Cleom. Yes, and a mighty all: 'Tis all I have.

But I propose it not; remember that.

Crat. I do; and therefore I propose it first,

To save this virtuous shame, this good confusion,

That would not let you speak.

Cleom. Oh! I could almost think you love me not,

You granted me so quick, so willingly,

What I,—bear witness, heaven,—was slow to ask,

And would be loth to have.

Cleor. I cannot leave you.

Cleom. I was but wishing thou wouldst draw me back,

And now, I cannot go.

Crat. Are you turned woman?

No more of this fond stuff.

Cleon. Shall I be left to gather rust in Egypt?

A glue of sloth to stick to my young pinions,

And mar their flight; habitual cowardice?

No; I must learn my stubborn trade of war

From you alone, and envy you betimes.

Cleom. But the conditions! Oh these hard conditions!

That such a spirit must be left behind,

Untaught, unfashioned by a father's hands!

A spirit fit to start into an empire,

And look the world to law.

Crat. No more debating, for I see the pinch.

He must be left, and so must she and I,

For we are but your softnesses, my son;

The incumbrances and luggage of the war.

Fight for us, and redeem us, if you please;

For there we are your clogs of virtue; here,

The spurs of your return.

Cleom. I thank you, mother;

Once more you have erected me to man,

And set me upright, with my face to heaven.

The woman and the boy be yours awhile:

The war be mine alone!

Crat. There spoke the Spartan king: Think not on us.

Cleom. I wonnot.

Cleor. Not in prayers!

Cleon. In prayers! That's poor,

As if the gods were thoughtless of their work.

Think on us, when you fight; and when you make

A lusty stroke, cry out,—That's for my boy.

Crat. Dispose this mouldering carcase as you please,

Ere lingering age or sickness wear it out,

Unprofitable then for Sparta's good.

Be chearful, fight it well, and all the rest

Leave to the gods and fortune.

Cleom. If they fail me,

Theirs be the fault, for fate is theirs alone:

My virtue, fame, and honour are my own. [Exeunt.

---

ACT IV.
SCENE I.—An Antechamber of Cassandra's Lodging.

Enter Ptolemy, Sosibius, Cœnus, and Cassandra.

Sosib. So, so,—it works; now, mistress, sit you fast. [Aside.

Ptol. Humph, whores and catamites!

Were those his words?

Cœn. Upon my life they were.

Ptol. Whom should he mean by those unmannered terms?

Cassandra, can you guess?

Cas. 'Twas kindly asked.

Ptol. A foul-mouthed villain.

Sosib. So I should have thought,

But that this lady knows him good and grateful.

Cœn. Madam, I stand suspected without cause;

And, but I fear revenge from this great man,

I could say more.

Cas. I thought he was concerned.

Sosib. Who, I?

Cas. Speak boldly, Grecian, I protect thee.

Cœn. Cleanthes then was present, and he added——

Enter Cleanthes.

But he appears in time to hear his charge.

Sosib. My dear, dear son! [Aside.

I fear thy lavish tongue has ruined thee;

What can I do to save thee?

Cas. Well, proceed.

Cœn. Can you deny, my lord, that you were present,

When Cleomenes taxed the court, and king,

With brutal vices?

Clean. I remember somewhat

Of certain horses which he could not buy,

And saw thee go away dissatisfied;

Which to prevent, I meant to purchase them:

The rest I heard not, nor believe he spoke.

Cas. Cleanthes added farther; that thou saidst,—

Ptol. And we would know, ere tortures force it from thee.

Sosib. Now comes the fatal stroke. [Aside.

Cœn. He added farther,——

Clean. No, thou addest it all;

And I demand the combat.

Ptol. Let him speak.

Sosib. Think first, Cleanthes! Think before you hazard

Your life and honour in this bold appeal:

Somewhat you might have said, nay more, you ought,

Since I commanded you to be a spy

On Cleomenes' acts and close designs.

Clean. The good old liar would preserve my life,

And I must steer his course. [Aside.

I think——I farther added,——

Ptol. 'Tis forgiven;

So wholly pardoned, that I will not hear it;

Good spies are useful, and must be encouraged.

But what must next be done with Cleomenes?

Sosib. Dispatch him, as the source of all your fears.

Observe the mounting billows of the main,

Blown by the winds into a raging storm;

Brush off those winds, and the high waves return

Into their quiet first created calm:—

Such is the rage of busy blustering crowds,

Fomented by the ambition of the great:

Cut off the causes, and the effect will cease;

And all the moving madness fall to peace.

Ptol. Let him be seized, in order to his death;

I am in haste, you know it, for my progress.

A thousand pleasures wait me at Canopus,

And this poor trifling business of one life

Encumbers all.—Cassandra, are you ready?

We will be seen like Isis and Osiris,

Drawn in one chariot, for admiring eyes

To worship as we pass.

Cas. A word in private;—Cœnus, attend without. [Exit.

[Cassandra leads the King to a corner of the Stage; Sosibius takes his Son to the other.

Sosib. [To Clean.] Now I am twice your father, by preserving

The life I gave you, which your folly hazarded.

Break off all friendship with that Spartan king,

Or never see me more: His fate's resolved,

Nor can you stem the tide; avoid his ruins;

Reply not, but obey.

Clean. I know my duty. [Bowing.

Sosib. Thou overjoyest me: Follow, we'll talk farther.

[Exeunt Sosib. and Clean.

Cas. What think you of Sosibius and his son?

Ptol. As of two creatures zealous for my service.

Cas. Oh heavens! that I should love this king so well!

But that I doat—What can I see in him,

But dull good nature and simplicity?

Well, well! my little dear, I find the gods

Have given me here no business of my own,

But made me just your drudge, to love and save you.

Ptol. 'Protest I thought them honest; are they not?

Cas. Ye gods! why did you make this man your image?

And made him but an image?—You'll forgive me;

I love you so, that I am forced to rail.

You saw no close conveyance of the game

Betwixt the crafty sire and cunning son;

How slily one invented an excuse,

And t'other took it up as dexterously!

Ptol. Why, sure Cleanthes was his father's spy?

Cas. Yes, over you; but not on Cleomenes.

I fear you are betrayed, and the gods blind you,

To make your ruin sure.

Ptol. As how, Cassandra?

Cas. When you are absent——

Ptol. Well!

Cas. 'Tis in their power——

Ptol. To murder Cleomenes——

Cas. If they please;

Or else to set him free, and join with Magas.

Ptol. I will not to Canopus.

Cas. Yes, you must.

Ptol. But how shall I be safe, and take this journey?

Cas. Leave that to me.

Ptol. But you must go along.

Cas. No; I must stay here, in order to your safety,

To watch the growth of danger, and prevent it.

This cruel absence I must undergo,

Or else I love you not.

Ptol. Since I must go,

I'll cheat them of a day, and come before

My time, for love of thee.

Cas. To sum up all,—

For we are both in haste,—

Intrust your royal signet in my hands.

Ptol. Joined with Sosibius.

Cas. Would you trust a statesman

Before your own dear heart? You love him better,

You naughty man, in faith you do; and, now I think on't,

I will not have your signet: By this kiss,

And this, and this, I will not.

Ptol. By all three, thou shalt. [Gives her the Signet from his Finger.

But kill this Cleomenes quickly, he's dangerous.

Cas. He's in safe hands with me.

Ptol. One more embrace.

Cas. There, take it, and now go.

Thus, for your good, I thrust you from my arms.

Ptol. Farewell, my love. [Exit Ptolemy.

Cas. Farewell——I hope for ever.—

Now, Cleomenes, I will sound thy soul,

For life and death depend upon thy choice;

But for that easy wretch, him I comtemn.

Hard state of lovers, subject to our laws!

Fools we must have, or else we cannot sway;

For none but fools will womankind obey.

If they prove stubborn, and resist our will,

We exercise our power, and use them ill.

The passive slave, that whines, adores, and dies,

Sometimes we pity, but we still despise:

But when we doat, the self-same fate we prove,

Fools at the best, but double fools in love.

We rage at first with ill-dissembled scorn;

Then, falling from our height, more basely mourn;

And man, the insulting tyrant, takes his turn,

Leaves us to weep for our neglected charms,

And hugs another mistress in his arms;

And, that which humbles our proud sex the most,

Of all our slighted favours makes his boast. [Exit Cassandra.

Enter Cleomenes.

Cleom. Her words, her every look, confess she loves me;

And therefore she detains these hostages,

As pawns of my return to her and Egypt.

Thus far 'tis plain and obvious:—But the picture;

That Helen: There's the riddle of her love.

For, what I see, or only think I see,

Is like a glimpse of moonshine, streaked with red,—

A shuffled, sullen, and uncertain light,

That dances through the clouds, and shuts again:

Then 'ware a rising tempest on the main.

Enter Cassandra.

Cas. I would, but cannot speak.

The shame that should to womankind belong,

Flown from my bosom, hovers on my tongue. [Aside.

Cleom. 'Tis rarely seen, that gods from heaven descend,

But for some kind, some charitable end.

And yet your troubled looks ill news import,

Stops, or delays; but that's no news at court:

There's somewhat which your pity would disguise.

Cas. Would you could read that somewhat in my eyes!

But, as you are a Spartan and a king,

Undaunted hear whatever news I bring.

The favourite hates you; Cœnus has betrayed

The bitter truths, that our loose court upbraid.

Your friend was set upon you for a spy,

And on his witness you are doomed to die.

Cleom. I have been plunged already twice in woes,

And the third time above the waves I rose.

Still I have strength to steer me into port,

And shun the secret quick-sands of the court.

But when my friend, who should expecting stand

On the bare beach, to lend his helping hand;

When he defends the unhospitable shore,

And drives me thence, I sink for evermore.

But 'tis impossible, his faith is tried;

The man, who had defamed him thus, had lied.

Cas. Well! I forgive your blunt Laconic way;

It shall be seen, it shall this very day,

Who would preserve your life, and who betray.

The king incensed, the favourite your foe,

Yet on the same conditions you may go;

Your wife, your son, your mother left behind.

What think you now?

Cleom. 'Tis to be wonderous kind.

Cas. Suppose I add a farther bounty yet.

Cleom. It could but make your favours over weight.

Cas. What if I went myself to waft you o'er,

And left you when I saw you safe ashore?

For I should leave you, if you thought it fit,

Not to do more, than honour would permit.

Can I do less, to show you I am kind,

To comfort you for those you left behind?

Cleom. The world would think you kinder than you ought.

Cas. Why should I care what base Egyptians thought?

Cleom. Immoderate gifts oppress me, not relieve;

Nor dare I take what ruins you to give.

Cas. Leave me to judge of that; I could prescribe

An easy way of giving back my bribe.

Why would you force me farther than my part?

Look on my eyes, and you may read my heart. [Looks on her as by stealth.

Oh, there you met me with a guilty glance!

Now 'tis too late to plead your ignorance.

Cleom. I am so much below, and you above,

What can I say?

Cas. But one kind word,—I love.

Cleom. As far as gratitude that love can pay.

Cas. Oh, stop not there; for that's but half the way!

Would you to one poor narrow word confine

Your passion, when I put no bounds to mine?

Cleom. Cleora!

Cas. Now you speak too soon; forbear!

Nothing can please me, that begins with her.

Cleom. I must begin, where nature, void of art,

Directs my tongue,—with her, who rules my heart.

Cas. Let us together sail before the wind,

And leave that dull domestic drudge behind.

Cleom. What! to expose her helpless innocence

To the wild fury of an injured prince?

}

{ Cas. A vain surmise; their talents would agree.

{ The gods have made your noble mind for me,

{ And her insipid soul for Ptolemy:

A heavy lump of earth, without desire;

A heap of ashes, that o'erlays your fire.

Cleom. Virtue you must allow her, though a foe.

Cas. No more than what I would to ice and snow.

Yet those have seeds of heat; her shivering blood

Makes her, at best, but impotently good.

But neither I can save you, if you stay,

Nor save myself unless I go away;

For, if I stay behind, and set you free,

The fury of the king would fall on me.

Cleom. Then, to prevent your fate, I must not go;

Death is my choice, since heaven will have it so.

Cas. Heaven would preserve your life, and so would I;

But you are obstinately bent to die.

Cleom. Some men are made of such a leaky mould,

That their filled vessels can no fortune hold:

Poured in, it sinks away, and leaves them dry;

Of that unsusceptible make am I.

Yet think not, fair one, I your charms despise;

My heart's insensible, but not my eyes:

Respect and gratitude are all my store,

And those I give; my love was given before.

Cas. Thus break false merchants, with an honest show;

Rich to themselves, but bankrupts where they owe.

Cleom. If at this awful distance I remain,

Better be too devout, than too profane.

Cas. Flattery! such alms the priesthood give the poor;

They bless, and send them empty from the door.

Know you, that Death stands ready at the gate,

That I forbid him, and suspend your fate?

The king's short absence leaves me absolute;

When he returns, the inevitable ill

Is past my power, and may be past my will.

Unhappy man! prevent thy destiny;

Speak one kind word, to save thy life and me.

Cleom. Be answered, and expect no more reply.

Cas. Disdain has swelled him up, and choked his breath;

Sullen, and dumb, and obstinate to death.

No signs of pity in his face appear;

Look, if the ungrateful creature shed one tear!

Crammed with his pride, he leaves no room within

For sighs to issue out, or love to enter in.— [He turns away.

What! dost thou turn thy face in my despite?

Am I a toad? a monster to thy sight?

Farewell, fond pity, then: As thou from me,

So thy good fortune turns her face from thee.

Left, scorned, and loathed, and all without relief,

Revenge succeeds to love, and rage to grief.

}

{ Tempests and whirlwinds through my bosom move,

{ Heave up, and madly mount my soul above

{ The reach of pity, or the bounds of love.—

Approach, and seize the traitor.

Enter Guards.

Cleom. Now I can speak: thy kindness kept me dumb,

For that I could not answer. The false Syren,

No longer hiding her uncomely parts,

Struts on the waves, and shews the brute below.

Cas. Stop that foul mouth! Behold this royal signet,

The warrant of his death. [Guards go to seize him.

Cleom. Stand back, ye slaves, [He draws his Sword.

And put me not to stain a Spartan sword

With base Egyptian blood. [He advances upon them; they retire, with signs of fear.

Cas. Fall on!—Behold a noble beast at bay,

And the vile huntsmen shrink!—More aid: Who waits?—

Enter Cleanthes.

Now, sir, what brings you here?

Clean. My zeal to serve you.

Cas. That shall be tried; disarm him.

Clean. Cleomenes,

Deliver me your sword.

Cleom. How's this, Cleanthes?

Clean. It must be so.

Cleom. Is this a friend's advice,

To give me up defenceless to a crowd,

Whom, armed, I could resist?

Clean. Must he die, madam,

Or be reserved for further punishment,

At Ptolemy's return?

Cas. Why ask you that?

Clean. Because his destiny, for aught I find,

Depends on you. Think first, and then command.

Cas. Know then, that his last thread is on the distaff,

And I can cut it now.

Clean. And are resolved?

Cas. I only said I can, and I can save.—

Disarm, and hurt him not.

Clean. Once more, your sword.

Cleom. Stand off those villains;—though I fear them not,

Yet cowards are offensive to my sight;

Nor shall they see me do an act, that looks

Below the courage of a Spartan king.

Cas. Cleanthes, may I trust your faith?

Clean. You may.

Cas. Be gone, and wait my call. [Exeunt Guards.

Cleom. Cleanthes! Still my friend; for such I hold thee,

Though this bad woman says thou art my spy;

I cannot give a greater proof than this,

That I believe her not: [Gives him his Sword.

If thou art false,

'Tis in thy power to show it safely, now;

And compass that by treason, which, in arms,

Nor thou, nor any man alive, can force.

Remember still, I gave it to a friend;

For life and death are equal in themselves;

That, which would cast the balance, is thy falsehood,

To make my death more wretched.

Clean. Then you may think me that, which you call false;

But duty to my father—

Cleom. Say no more!

I would not curse thee, for thou wert my friend.

I think thee still as honest as thou couldst;

Impenetrably good; but, like Achilles,

Thou hadst a soft Egyptian heel undipt,

And that has made thee mortal.

Cas. Cleanthes, thou hast well approved thy faith;

And, as this palace is thy government,

On utmost peril of thy life secure him.—

One farther word— [Whispers.

[Exit Clean. looking concernedly on Cleom.

Cleom. So guilty as thou art, and canst thou look

On him thou hast betrayed?—Go, take thy hire,

Which thou hast dearly purchased, and be great.

Cas. For you, brave sir, as you have given my hopes

But air to feed on, air shall be your food;

No bread shall enter these forbidden doors.

Thin, hungry diet, I confess; but still

The liker Spartan fare. Keen appetites,

And quick digestion, wait on you and yours.

Cleom. O mix not innocence and guilt together!

What love have they refused, or how offended?

Be just, though you are cruel; or, be kind,

And punish me alone.

Cas. There nature works;

Then there I'll stab thee in thy tender part. [Shrieks of Women within.

Cleom. What dismal cries are those?

Cas. Nothing; a trifling sum of misery,

New-added to the foot of thy account:

Thy wife is seized by force, and borne away.—

Farewell; I dare not trust thy vengeance further. [Exit.

[Running to the Door, he is stopt by Guards with drawn Swords.

Cleom. Cleora!—There stands death, but no Cleora;

I would find both together.

Enter Cratesiclea, Cleonidas, and Pantheus with Blood on his Hands.

Crat. Oh king of Sparta!

Cleom. Peace, mother, peace;

I have had news from hell before you,—

Cleora's gone to death. Is there a door,

A casement, or a rift within these walls,

That can let loose my body to her rescue?

Panth. All closed; nothing but heaven above is open.

Cleom. Nay, that's closed too; the gods are deaf to prayers!

Hush then; the irrevocable doom's gone forth,

And prayers lag after, but can ne'er o'ertake.—

Let us talk forward of our woes to come.

Crat. Cleanthes! (Oh, could you suspect his faith?)

'Twas he, that headed those, who forced her hence.

Cleom. Pantheus bleeds!

Panth. A scratch, a feeble dart,

At distance thrown by an Egyptian hand.

Crat. You heard me not; Cleanthes is——

Cleom. He was——no more, good mother;

He tore a piece of me away, and still

The void place aches within me.—O, my boy,

I have bad news to tell thee.

Cleon. None so bad,

As that I am a boy. Cleanthes scorned me;

And, when I drove a thrust, home as I could,

To reach his traitor heart, he put it by,

And cried, as in derision,—Spare the stripling.

Oh that insulting word! I would have swopped

Youth for old age, and all my life behind,

To have been then a momentary man.

Cleom. Alas! thy manhood, like a forward spring,

Before it comes to bear the promised fruit,

Is blighted in the bud. Never, my boy,

Canst thou fetch manhood up, with thy short steps,

While, with long strides, the giant stalks before thee.

Cleon. Am I to die before I am a man?

Cleom. Yes, thou must die with me, and I with her,

Who gave me life; and our poor infant too, within,

Must die before it knows what dying means.

Three different dates of nature, one would think;

But fate has crammed us all into one lease,

And that even now expiring.

Panth. Yet we live.

Cleom. No, even now we die; death is within us,

And keeps our life; for nourishment is life,

And we have fed our last; hunger feeds death.

Crat. A lingering doom, but four days hence the same;

And we can shorten those, turn days to hours,

And hours to moments; death is in our call.

Panth. The sooner, then, the better.

Cleon. So say I.

Panth. While we have spirits left to meet him boldly.

Cleon. I'll hold my breath,

And keep my soul a prisoner in my body;

There let it creep and wander in the dark,

Till, tired to find no outlet, it retreats

Into my Spartan heart, and there lies pleased;

So, we two are provided.—Sir, your choice? [To Cleom.

Cleom. Not this dispatch, for we may die at leisure.

This famine has a sharp and meagre face:

'Tis death in an undress of skin and bone;

Where age and youth, their land-mark ta'en away,

Look all one common furrow.

Crat. Yet you chuse it,

To please our foes; that, when they view our skeletons,

And find them all alike, they may cry out,—

Look how these dull obedient Spartans died,

Just as we wished, as we prescribed their death,

And durst not take a nobler, nearer way!

Cleom. Not so; but that we durst not tempt the gods,

To break their images without their leave.

The moment ere Cassandra came, I had

A note without a name, the hand unknown,

That bade me not despair, but still hope well.

Then die not yet;

For heaven has means to free us; if not me,

Yet these, and you. I am the hunted stag,

Whose life may ransom yours.

Crat. No more of that:

I find your distant drift,—to die alone;

An unkind accusation of us all,

As if we durst not die; I'll not survive you.

Panth. Nor I.

Cleon. Nor I.

Cleom. But hear my reasons.—

Enter Cleora, in a black Veil.

Ha, what shadow's this! this, that can glide through walls,

Or pass its subtile limbs through bolts and bars!

Black, too! like what it represents, our fate.

Cleor. Too true a shadow I, and you the substance. [Lifts up her Veil.

Omnes. Cleora!

Cleom. Thus let me grow again to thee,

Too close for fate to sever!

Or let death find me in these dear, dear arms;

And, looking on thee, spare my better part,

And take me willing hence.

Crat. What! are you dreaming, son, with eyes cast upwards,

Like a mad prophet in an ecstacy?

Cleom. Musing on what we saw.

Just such is death,

With a black veil, covering a beauteous face.

Feared afar off

By erring nature; a mistaken phantom;

A harmless, lambent fire. She kisses cold;

But kind, and soft, and sweet, as my Cleora.

Oh, could we know

What joys she brings, at least, what rest from grief;

How should we press into her friendly arms,

And be pleased not to be, or to be happy!

Crat. Look, what we have forgot! The joy to see

Cleora here, has kept us from enquiring,

By what strange means she entered.

Cleom. Small joy, heaven knows, to be adopted here,

Into the meagre family of famine!

The house of hunger! therefore asked I not;

So am I pleased to have her company,

And so displeased to have it but in death.

Cleor. I know not how, or why, my surly gaoler,

Hard as his irons, and insolent as power

When put in vulgar hands, Cleanthes gone,

Put off the brute; and with a gloomy smile,

That showed a sullen lothness to be kind,

Screened me within this veil, then led me forth;

And, using to the guards Cassandra's name,

Made that my passport: every door flew ope,

To admit my entrance; and then clapt behind me,

To bar my going back.

Cleom. Some new resolve.

Cassandra plots, and then refines on malice;

Plays with revenge. With rage she snatched you hence,

And renders you with scorn: I thought to show you,

How easy 'twas to die, by my example,

And hansel fate before you; but thy presence

Has changed my mind, to drag this lingering life,

To share thy sorrows, and assist thy weakness.—

Come in, my friends, and let us practise death;

Stroke the grim lion, till he grow familiar.—

Cleora, thou and I, as lovers should,

Will hand in hand to the dark mansions go,

Where life no more can cheat us into woe;

That, sucking in each other's latest breath,

We may transfuse our souls, and put the change on death. [Exeunt.

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