Infernal music plays softly whilst Erictho enters, and, when she speaks, ceaseth.
Eri. Here, Syphax, here; quake not, for know
I know thy thoughts: thou wouldst entreat our power
Nice Sophonisba’s passion to enforce
To thy affection, be all full of Jove.[361]
’Tis done, ’tis done; to us heaven, earth, sea, air, 130
And Fate itself obeys; the beasts[362] of death,
And all the terrors angry gods invented
(T’afflict the ignorance of patient man),
Tremble at us; the roll’d-up snake uncurls[363]
His twisted knots at our affrighting voice.
Are we incensed? the king of flames[364] grows pale,
Lest he be chok’d with black and earthy fumes,
Which our charms raise. Be joy’d, make proud thy lust:
I do not pray you, gods; my breath’s, “You must.”
Sy. Deep knowing spirit, mother of all high 140
Mysterious science, what may Syphax yield
Worthy thy art, by which my soul’s thus eased?
The gods first made me live, but thou live pleased.
Eri. Know then, our love, hard by the reverent[365] ruins
Of a once glorious temple rear’d to Jove,
Whose very rubbish (like the pitied fall
Of virtue most unfortunate) yet bears
A deathless majesty, though now quite rased,
Hurl’d down by wrath and lust of impious kings,
So that, where holy flamens wont to sing 150
Sweet hymns to heaven, there the daw and crow,
The ill-voiced raven, and still-chattering pie,
Send out ungrateful sounds and loathsome filth;
Where statues and Jove’s acts were vively limn’d[366]
Boys with black coals draw the veil’d parts of nature,
And lecherous actions of imagin’d lust;
Where tombs and beauteous urns of well-dead men
Stood in assurèd rest, the shepherd now
Unloads his belly, corruption most abhorr’d
Mingling itself with their renownèd ashes: 160
Ourself quakes at it!
There once a charnel-house, now a vast cave,
Over whose brow a pale and untrod grove
Throws out her heavy shade, the mouth thick arms
Of darksome yew (sun-proof) for ever choke;
Within rests barren darkness; fruitless drought
Pines in eternal night; the steam of hell
Yields not so lazy air: there, that’s my cell;
From thence a charm, which Jove dare not hear twice,
Shall force her to thy bed. But, Syphax, know, 170
Love is the highest rebel to our art:
Therefore I charge thee, by the fear of all
Which thou know’st dreadful, or more, by ourself,
As with swift haste she passeth to thy bed,
And easy to thy wishes yields, speak not one word,
Nor dare, as thou dost fear thy loss of joys,
T’admit one light, one light.
Sy. As to my fate
I yield my guidance.
Eri. Then, when I shall force
The air to music, and the shades of night
To form sweet sounds, make proud thy raised delight:
Meantime, behold, I go a charm to rear, 181
Whose potent sound will force ourself to fear.
Sy. Whither is Syphax heaved? at length shall’s joy
Hopes more desired than heaven? Sweet labouring earth,
Let heaven be unform’d with mighty charms;
Let Sophonisba only fill these arms,
Jove we’ll not envy thee. Blood’s appetite
Is Syphax’ god; my wisdom is my sense,
Without[367] a man I hold no excellence.
Give me long breath, young beds, and sickness’ ease;
For we hold firm, that’s lawful which doth please. 191
Infernal music, softly.