Prosperous success gives blackest actions glory;
The means are unremember’d in most story.
Gel. Let me not say gods are not.
Car. This is fit:
Conquest by blood is not so sweet as wit:
For howsoe’er nice virtue censures[321] it,
He hath the grace of war that hath war’s profit.
But Carthage, well advised that states come on 40
With slow advice, quick execution,
Have here an engineer long bred for plots,
Call’d an impois’ner, who knows this sound excuse:
Th’ only dew that makes men sprout in court is use.
Be’t well or ill, his thrift is to be mute;
Such slaves must act commands, and not dispute.
Knowing foul deeds with danger do begin,
But with rewards do end: sin is no sin,
But in respects——
Gel. Politic lord, speak low: though Heaven bears
A face far from us, gods have most long ears; 51
Jove has a hundred marble marble hands.
Car. O ay, in poetry or tragic scene!
Gel. I fear gods only know what poets mean.
Car. Yet hear me, I will speak close truth and cease:
Nothing in Nature is unserviceable,
No, not even inutility itself.
Is then for nought dishonesty in being?
And if it be sometimes of forcèd use,
Wherein more urgent than in saving nations? 60
State shapes are solder’d up with base, nay faulty,
Yet necessary functions: some must lie,
Some must betray, some murder, and some all;
Each hath strong use, as poison in all purges:
Yet when some violent chance shall force a state
To break given faith, or plot some stratagems,
Princes ascribe that vile necessity
Unto Heaven’s wrath. And sure, though’t be no vice,
Yet ’tis bad chance: states must not stick too nice,
For Massinissa’s death sense bids forgive: 70
Beware t’offend great men, and let them live;
For ’tis of empire’s body the main arm,—
He that will do no good shall do no harm.
You have my mind.
Gel. Although a stage-like passion, and weak heat,
Full of an empty wording, might suit age,
Know I’ll speak strongly truth. Lords, ne’er mistrust,
That he who’ll not betray a private man
For his country, will ne’er betray his country
For private men; then give Gelosso faith. 80
If treachery in state be serviceable,
Let hangmen do it. I am bound to lose
My life, but not mine honour, for my country.
Our vows, our faith, our oaths, why they’re ourselves,
And he that’s faithless to his proper self
May be excus’d if he break faith with princes.
The gods assist just hearts, and states that trust
Plots before Providence are toss’d like dust.
For Massinissa (O, let me slack a little
Austere discourse and feel humanity!) 90
Methinks I hear him cry, “O fight for Carthage!
Charge home! wounds smart not for that so just, so great,
So good a city.” Methinks I see him yet
Leave his fair bride, even on his nuptial night,
To buckle on his arms for Carthage. Hark!
Yet, yet, I hear him cry,—“Ingratitude,
Vile stain of man, O ever be most far
From Massinissa’s breast! Up, march amain;
Fame got by loss of breath is god-like gain!”
And see, by this he bleeds in doubtful[322] fight, 100
And cries “For Carthage!” whilst Carthage—Memory,
Forsake Gelosso! would I could not think,
Nor hear, nor be, when Carthage is
So infinitely vile! See, see! look here!