ACT II.
SCENE I. A Castle or Prison on the Sea.
After a little playing on the Lute,—enter Orsames with his Arms across, looking melancholy, follow’d by Geron with a Lute in his Hand.
Ors. I do not like this Musick;
It pleases me at first,
But every Touch thou giv’st that’s soft and low
Makes such Impressions here,
As puzzles me beyond Philosophy
To find the meaning of;
Begets strange Notions of I know not what,
And leaves a new and unknown thought behind it,
That does disturb my Quietness within.
Ger. You were not wont to think so.
Ors. ‘Tis true—
But since with time grown ripe and vigorous,
I will be active, though but ill employ’d.
—Geron, thou’st often told me,
That this same admirable Frame of Nature,
This Order and this Harmony of things,
Was worthy admiration.
—And yet thou say’st all Men are like to us,
Poor, insignificant Philosophers.
I to my self could an Idea frame
Of Man, in much more excellence.
Had I been Nature, I had varied still,
And made such different Characters of Men,
They should have bow’d and made a God of me,
Ador’d, and thank’d me for their great Creation.
—Now, tell me, who’s indebted to her Bounties,
Whose needless Blessings we despise, not praise?
Ger. Why, what wou’d you have done, had you been Nature?
Ors. Some Men I wou’d have made with mighty Souls, With Thoughts unlimited by Heaven or Man; I wou’d have made ‘em—as thou paint’st the Gods.
Ger. What to have done?
Ors. To have had Dominion o’er the lesser World,
A sort of Men with low submissive Souls,
That barely shou’d content themselves with Life,
And should have had the Infirmities of Men,
As Fear, and Awe, as thou hast of the Gods;
And those I wou’d have made as numberless
As Curls upon the Face of yonder Sea,
Of which each Blast drives Millions to the Shore,
Which vanishing, make room for Millions more.