Edward and Eleonora.
A TRAGEDY.
[]ACT I. SCENE I.
Prince EDWARD, THEALD Archdeacon of Liege, Earl of GLOSTER.
EDWARD.
I Will no longer doubt. 'Tis plain, my Friends,
That with our little Band of Engliſh Troops,
By all Allies all weſtern Powers deſerted,
All but the noble Knights that guard this Land,
The Flower of Europe and of Chriſtian Valour,
Nought can be done, nought worthy of our Cauſe,
Worthy of England's Heir, and of the Name
Of Lion-hearted RICHARD; whoſe Renown,
After almoſt a Century elaps'd,
Shakes thro' its wide Extent this Eaſtern World.
What elſe could bend the Saracen to Peace,
Who might, with better Policy, refuſe
[2] To grant it us? Yes, to the Prince of Jaffa
I will accord the Peace he has demanded:
And tho' my Troops, impatient, wait the Signal
To ſtorm yon Walls, yet will I not expoſe,
In vain Attempts, Valour that ſhould be ſav'd
For better days, and for the public Welfare.
Raſh fruitleſs War, from wanton Glory wag'd,
Is only ſplendid Murder—What ſays THEALD?
Approves my Reverend Father of my Purpoſe?
THEALD.
EDWARD, illuſtrious Heir of England's Crown,
I muſt indeed be blinded with the Zeal
Of this our holy Cauſe, to think your Arms,
Thus all-forſaken, thus betray'd, ſufficient
To reach the Grandeur of your firſt Deſign,
And, from the Yoke of Infidels, to free
The ſacred City, Object of our Vows.
Yet this, methinks, this Jaffa might be ſeiz'd:
That ſtill were ſomething, an auſpicious Omen
Of future Conqueſt—But, unſkill'd in War,
To you, my Lord, and GLOSTER'S wiſe Experience,
I this ſubmit.
EDWARD.
Speak, GLOSTER, your Advice,
Before I fix my lateſt Reſolution.
GLOSTER.
You know, my Lord, I never was a Friend
To this Cruſado. My unchang'd Advice
Is ſtrenuous then for Peace. Nor this, alone,
From your deſerted Circumſtance I urge,
But from the ſtate of our unhappy Country.
Behold her, EDWARD, with a filial Eye,
And ſay, is this a time for theſe Adventures?
Behold Her ſtill with deep Commotion ſhook,
Beneath a falſe deluſive Face of Quiet:
Behold Her bleeding ſtill from Civil War,
Exhauſted, ſunk; drain'd by ten thouſand Arts
[3] Of miniſterial Rapine, endleſs Taxes,
Ill-manag'd Expeditions, Strangers, Legates,
Italian Leeches, and inſatiate Rome;
That never rag'd before with ſuch groſs Inſult,
With ſuch abandon'd Avarice. Beſides,
Who knows what evil Counſellors, again,
Are gather'd round the Throne. In Times like theſe,
Diſturb'd, and lowring with unſettled Freedom,
One ſtep to lawleſs Power, one old Attempt
Renew'd, the leaſt Infringement of our Charters,
Would hurl the giddy Nation into Tempeſt.
Return, my Prince. You have already ſav'd
Your Father from his Foes, from haughty LEISTER:
Now ſave him from his Miniſters, from thoſe
Who hold him captive in the worſt of Chains—
EDWARD.
You, GLOSTER, ſav'd us both.
GLOSTER.
I did my Duty;
Even while I join'd with LEISTER, did my Duty—
I hope I did—He, who contends for Freedom,
Can ne'er be juſtly deem'd his Sovereign's Foe:
No, 'tis the Wretch that tempts him to ſubvert it,
The ſoothing Slave, the Traitor in the boſom,
Who beſt deſerves that Name; he is the Worm
That eats out all the Happineſs of Kingdoms.
EDWARD, return; loſe not a Day, an Hour,
Before this City. Tho' your Cauſe be holy,
Believe me, 'tis a much more pious Office,
To ſave your Father's old and broken Years,
His mild and eaſy Temper, from the Snares
Of low corrupt inſinuating Traitors:
A nobler Office far! on the firm Baſe
Of well-proportion'd Liberty, to build
The common Quiet, Happineſs and Glory,
Of King and People, England's riſing Grandeur.
[4] To you, my Prince, this Task, of right, belongs.
Has not the Royal Heir a juſter Claim
To ſhare his Father's inmoſt Heart and Counſels,
Than Aliens to his Int'reſt, thoſe, who make
A Property, a Market of his Honour?
One Reaſon more allow me to ſuggeſt
For Peace, immediate Peace—ſhould blind Miſ⯑fortune,
In this far-diſtant hoſtile Land, oppreſs us;
A Chance to which our Weakneſs ſtands expos'd:
What, EDWARD, of thy Princeſs would become,
Thy ELEONORA; ſhe, whoſe tender Love
Thro' ſtormy Seas, and in fierce Camps, attends thee?
What of thy blooming Offspring? charg'd with theſe,
To give our Courage ſcope were cruel Raſhneſs.
EDWARD.
Enough, my Lord, I ſtand reſolv'd on Peace;
And will to England ſtrait—But where, alas,
Where ſhall we cover our inglorious Heads;
When gay with Hope the People round us preſs,
To hear by what Exploits we have ſuſtain'd
The Fame of RICHARD, and of Engliſh Valour?
Shall I, my generous Country, I be rank'd
With thoſe weak Princes, who conſume thy Wealth,
And ſink thy Name in idle Expeditions?—
Perfidious France! Be this the ruling Point
Of my whole Life, the Paſſion of my Soul,
To humble thee, proud Nation!—Meantime, GLOSTER,
See that the captive Princeſs be reſtor'd,
DARAXA to the Sultan of this City,
Whoſe Bride ſhe is—We wage not war with Women.
SCENE II.
[5]EDWARD, THEALD, GLOSTER, An Officer belonging to the Prince.
OFFICER.
One from the Prince of Jaffa, Sir, demands
Your ſecret Ear on ſome important Meſſage.
EDWARD.
Conduct him to my Tent—
[Officer goes out.
He brings, I judge,
The Sultan's laſt Inſtructions for this Peace.
Here wait: I may your faithful Counſel want.
SCENE III.
THEALD, GLOSTER.
THEALD.
Whatever Woes, of late, have clouded England;
Yet muſt I, GLOSTER, call that Nation happy,
On whoſe Horizon ſmiles a dawning Prince
Of EDWARD'S Worth and Virtues.
GLOSTER.
True, my Friend;
EDWARD has great, has amiable Virtues,
That Virtue chiefly which befits a Prince:
He loves the People he muſt one day rule;
With Fondneſs loves them, with a noble Pride;
Eſteems their Good, eſteems their Glory his.
One Inſtance it becomes me to recount,
That ſhows the genuine Greatneſs of his Soul.
[6] Tho' I have met him in the bloody Field,
He fighting for his Father, I for Freedom;
Yet bears his Boſom no remaining Grudge
Of thoſe diſtracted Times: to me his Heart
Is greatly reconcil'd—Virtue! beyond
The little unforgiving Soul of Tyrants!
Now will I tell thee, THEALD, whence I ſtoop
To wear the gaudy Chains of Court-Attendance,
At theſe grey Years; that ſhould in calm Retire⯑ment
Paſs the ſoft Evening of a buſtling Life,
And plume my parting Soul for better Worlds.
Amidſt his many Virtues, youthful EDWARD
Is lofty, warm, and abſolute of Temper:
I therefore ſeek to moderate his Heat,
To guide his fiery Virtues, that, miſled,
By dazling Power and flattering Sycophants,
Might finiſh what his Father's weaker Meaſures
Have try'd in vain. And hence I here attend him,
In Expeditions which I ne'er approv'd,
In holy Wars—your Pardon, Reverend Father—
I muſt declare I think ſuch Wars the Fruit
Of idle Courage or miſtaken Zeal,
Sometimes of Rapine and religious Rage,
To every Miſchief prompt.
THEALD.
You wrong, my Lord,
You wrong them much. To ſet this Matter only
Upon a Civil Footing: ſay, what Right
Had Robbers ruſhing from Arabian Deſarts,
Fierce as the Suns that kindled up their Rage,
Thus, in a barbarous Torrent, to bear down
All Aſia, Africk, and profane their Altars?
And to repel brute Force by Force is juſt.
Nay, does not even our Duty, Int'reſt, Glory,
The common Honour of the Chriſtian Name,
[7] Require us to repreſs their wild Ambition,
That labours weſtward ſtill, and threatens Europe?
GLOSTER.
Yes, when they burſt their Limits, let us check them:
And with a firmer hand than thoſe looſe Chriſtians,
The moſt corrupt and abject of Mankind,
Slaves, doubly Slaves, who ſuffer'd theſe Arabians,
In Virtue their Superiors as in Valour,
To meaſure Conqueſt with a Traveller's Speed.
By Rage and Zeal, 'tis true, their Empire roſe:
But now ſome ſettled Ages of Poſſeſſion
Create a Right, than which, I fear, few Nations
Can ſhew a better. Sure I am 'tis Madneſs,
Inhuman Madneſs, thus, from half the World,
To drain our Blood and Treaſure, to neglect
Each Art of Peace, to ſet Mankind adrift:
And all for what? By ſpreading Deſolation,
Rapine and Slaughter o'er the other half,
To gain a Conqueſt we can never hold.
I venerate this Land. Its ſacred Hills,
Its Vales, its Cities, trod by Saints and Prophets,
By GOD himſelf, the Scenes of heavenly Wonders,
Inſpire me with a certain awful Joy.
But the ſame GOD, my Friend, pervades, ſuſtains,
Surrounds and fills this univerſal Frame;
And every Land where ſpreads his vital Preſence,
His all-enlivening Breath, to me is holy.
Excuſe me, THEALD, if I go too far:
I meant alone to ſay, I think theſe Wars
A kind of Perſecution. And when that,
That moſt abſurd and cruel of all Vices,
Is once begun, where ſhall it find an end?
Each, in his turn, or has or claims a Right
To wield its Dagger, to return its Furies;
And, firſt or laſt, they fall upon our ſelves.
EDWARD, behind the Scenes.
[8]Inhuman Villain! is thy Meſſage Murder!
THEALD.
Ha! heard you not the Prince exclaiming Murder?
GLOSTER.
Should this Barbarian Meſſenger—
[Moving to⯑wards the Noiſe.
'Tis ſo!
SCENE IV.
THEALD, GLOSTER; to them Prince EDWARD wounded in the Arm, and dragging in the Aſſaſſin.
EDWARD.
Deteſted Wretch! And does the Prince of Jaffa
Send baſe Aſſaſſins to tranſact his Treaties?
There—take thy Anſwer, Ruffian!
[Stabs him with the Dagger he had wreſted from him.
Blow too haſty!
I ſhould have ſav'd thee for a fitter Death.
ASSASSIN.
I would have triumph'd, Chriſtian, in thy worſt.
For know, thou vile Deſtroyer of the Faithful!
That tho' my erring Dagger miſs'd thy Heart,
Yet has it fir'd thy Veins with mortal Poiſon,
Whoſe very touch is Death—ALLAH be prais'd!
O glorious Fate! Prophet, receive my Soul!
[Dies.
EDWARD, after a ſhort Pauſe.
Why ſtare you pale Amazement on each other?
Are we not Men, to whom the various Chance
Of Life is known?
GLOSTER.
Ha! Poiſon! did he ſay?
[9] Then is at once my Prince and Country loſt!
O fatal Wound to England!
THEALD.
Quick, my Lord,
Retire, and have it dreſt, without delay;
Ere the fell Poiſon can diffuſe its Rage,
And deeply taint your Blood.
EDWARD.
The Princeſs comes!
O ſave me from her Tenderneſs!
SCENE V.
EDWARD, THEALD, GLOSTER; to them the Princeſs ELEONORA.
ELEONORA.
My EDWARD!
Support me!—Oh!
EDWARD.
She faints—My ELEONORA!
Look up, and bleſs me with thy gentle Eyes!—
The Colour comes, her Cheeks reſume their Beauty,
And all her Charms revive—Hence, ſpurn that Carcaſs:
A Sight too ſhocking for my ELEONORA.
ELEONORA.
And lives my EDWARD, lives my deareſt Lord,
From this Aſſaſſin ſav'd?—Alas! you bleed!
EDWARD.
'Tis nought, my lovely Princeſs!—A ſlight Wound—
ELEONORA.
But ah! methought, I entering heard of Poiſon,
[10] Tainting the Blood—What! was the Dagger poiſon'd?—
Ha! ſſilent all? will none relieve my Fears?—
GLOSTER.
Madam, reſtrain your Tenderneſs a moment—
The Prince delays too long—Let him retire.
Meanwhile, the troubled Camp ſhall be my Care;
Leſt the baſe Foe ſhould make a ſudden Sally,
While yet our Troops are ſtun'd with this Diſaſter.
EDWARD.
I thank thee, noble GLOSTER. Nor, alone,
Support my Troops; go, rouſe them to Revenge;
Tell them their injur'd Prince will try their Love,
Their Valour ſoon—And you, my Friend, good THEALD,
Attend the Princeſs—Chear thee, ELEONORA!
I cannot, will not, leave thee long, to vex
Thy tender Soul with aggravated Fears.
THEALD.
Behold DARAXA, the falſe Sultan's Bride.
SCENE VI.
ELEONORA, THEALD, DARAXA.
DARAXA.
Princeſs of England, let me ſhare thy Grief.
Whence flow theſe Tears? and what this wild Alarm,
This Noiſe of Murder and Aſſaſſination?
ELEONORA.
Alas! the Prince is wounded by a Ruffian;
And with a poiſon'd Dagger, as I fear.
Yet none will eaſe me of this racking Thought—
Nay, tell me, THEALD, ſince to know the [...]
[11] Is oft a kind of miſerable Comfort;
What has befal'n the Prince? For this ſlight Wound
Could never thus o'ercaſt the Brave with Terror.
THEALD.
I dare not, Princeſs, dally with your Fate.
An impious Villain, from the Sultan SELIM,
Pretended to the Prince a ſecret Meſſage,
About the Peace in Treaty. Dreading nought,
He left us here, and to his Tent retir'd,
There to receive this execrable Envoy.
Strait with the Prince alone, the fierce Aſſaſſin
Attempted on his Life; but, in his Arm,
He took, it ſeems, the Blow, and from the Villain
Wreſting the Dagger, plung'd it to his Heart.
This laſt we ſaw, and heard th' inhuman Bigot,
Who deem'd himſelf a Martyr in their Cauſe,
Boaſt, as he dy'd, the Prince's Wound was poi⯑ſon'd—
ELEONORA.
Then all I fear'd is true! then am I wretched,
Beyond even Hope!
DARAXA.
A Villain from the Sultan!—
ELEONORA.
Ah the diſtracting Thought! And is my Life!
My Love! my EDWARD! on the brink of Fate!
Of Fate that may this moment ſnatch him from me!
DARAXA.
What! SELIM ſend Aſſaſſins? and beneath
A Name ſo ſacred? SELIM, whoſe Renown
Is Incenſe breathing o'er the ſweeten'd Eaſt;
For each humane each generous Virtue fam'd;
SELIM! the Rock of Faith! and Sun of Honour!
ELEONORA.
O complicated Woe! The Chriſtian Cauſe
Has now no more a Patron, and Reſtorer;
[12] England no more a Prince, in whom ſhe plac'd
Her Glory, her Delight, her only Hope;
Theſe deſolated Troops no more a Chief;
No more a Huſband, a Protector, I,
A Friend, a Lover! and my helpleſs Children
No more a Father!
DARAXA.
Pardon, gentle Princeſs,
If in this Whirlwind of revolving Paſſions,
That ſnatch my Soul by turns, I have forgot
To pay the Tribute which I owe thy Sorrows—
But I my ſelf, alas! am more unhappy!
ELEONORA.
What Woes can equal mine? who loſe, thus vilely,
The Beſt! the Braveſt! Lovelieſt of Mankind!—
DARAXA.
You loſe the Lover, I muſt learn to hate him,
To ſcorn what once wasall my Pride and Tranſport!
Should EDWARD die by this accurſed Crime,
(Which Heaven forbid) he dies admir'd, belov'd,
In the full Bloom of Fame and ſpotleſs Honour.
To you, the Daughter of illuſtrious Grief,
Your Tears remain, and ſadly-ſweet Reflection;
You with his Image, with his Virtues, ſtill,
Amidſt the penſive Gloom, may Converſe hold:
While I—Ah! nothing meets my blaſted Sight
But a black View of Infamy and Horror!
What is the Loſs of Life to Loſs of Virtue!—
And yet how can this heavenly Spark be loſt?
No! Virtue burns with an immortal Flame.
He is bely'd—ſome Villain has abus'd him.
THEALD.
I honour, Madam, this your virtuous Grief:
But that the Sultan did employ th'Aſſaſſin
Is paſt all doubt—Behold the falſe Inſtructions,
By which he gain'd Admittance.
[Giving her the Letter the Prince had dropt.
DARAXA.
[13]Ha!—'Tis ſo!
His Hand! his Seal!—From my deteſting Heart,
I tear him thus for ever!—Periſh, SELIM!
Periſh the feeble Wretch, who more bewails him!
That were to ſhare his Guilt!—Unhappy Princeſs!
Now let me turn my Soul to thy Aſſiſtance—
There is a Cure, 'tis true—
ELEONORA.
A Cure, DARAXA!
O ſay, what Cure?
DARAXA.
No; it avails not, Madam;
None can be found to riſque it.
ELEONORA.
None to riſque it?
Quick tell me what it is, my dear DARAXA!
DARAXA.
To find ſome Perſon, that, with friendly Lip,
May draw the Poiſon forth; at leaſt, its Rage
And mortal Spirit. This will bring the Wound
Within the Power of Art: but certain Death
Attends the generous Deed.
ELEONORA, kneeling.
Then hear me, Heaven!
Prime Source of Love! Ye Saints and Angels, hear me!
I here devote me for the beſt of Men,
Of Princes and of Huſbands. On this Croſs
I ſeal the cordial Vow: confirm it Heaven!
And grant me Courage in the Hour of Trial!
THEALD.
O Tenderneſs unequal'd!
DARAXA.
Glorious Princeſs!
ELEONORA.
Go, THEALD, quickly find the Earl of GLOSTER,
[14] And with him break this matter to the Prince.
As for the Perſon, leave that Taſk to me.
I with DARAXA will your Call attend;
O all ye Powers of Love, your Influence lend.
End of the Firſt ACT.
ACT II.
[15]SCENE I.
GLOSTER, THEALD.
GLOSTER.
NO, THEALD, no; he never will conſent—
I know him well—he ne'er will purchaſe Life,
At ſuch a Rate: beſides, in aid of Love,
His generous Pride would come, and deem it Baſeneſs.
THEALD.
Then is yon Sun his laſt. The blackning Wound
Begins already to confeſs the Poiſon—
Meantime, my Lord, both Friendſhip and our Duty
Demand, at leaſt, the Trial. Well I know,
That, poiſe his Life with hers, he would as nothing
Eſteem his own: but ſure the Life of Thouſands,
The mingled Cauſe at once of Heaven and Earth,
Should o'er the beſt the deareſt Life prevail.
GLOSTER.
Alas! my Friend, you reaſon, EDWARD loves.
How weak the Head contending with the Heart!
Yet be the Trial made—Behold he comes.
SCENE II.
EDWARD, GLOSTER, THEALD.
EDWARD, entering.
O thou bright Sun! now haſt'ning to thoſe Climes,
[16] That Parent-Iſle, which I no more ſhall ſee;
And for whoſe Welfare oft my youthful Heart
Has vainly form'd ſo many a fond Deſign;
O thither bear, reſplendent Orb of Day,
To that dear Spot of Earth, my laſt Farewel!
And thee, Eternal Providence, whoſe Courſe,
Amidſt the various Maze of Life, is fix'd,
By boundleſs Wiſdom and by boundleſs Love,
I follow thee, with Reſignation, Hope,
With Confidence and Joy; for thou art good,
And of thy riſing Goodneſs is no end!
Well met, my deareſt Friends!—It was too true
The Villain's Threatning, and I nearly touch
That awful Hour which every Man muſt prove,
Yet every Man ſtill ſhifts at diſtance from him.
Come then, and let us fill the Space between,
Theſe laſt important Moments, whence we take
Our lateſt Tincture for Eternity,
With ſolemn Converſe and exalting Friendſhip—
Nay—THEALD—GLOSTER—wound me not with Tears,
With Tears that fall o'er venerable Cheeks!
What could the Princeſs more?—Ah! there, in⯑deed,
At every Thought of Her, I feel a Weight,
A dreadful Weight of Tenderneſs, that ſhakes
My firmeſt Reſolution—Where is ſhe?
THEALD.
She burns with fond Impatience to attend you.
EDWARD.
And how, brave GLOSTER, did you leave the Camp?
GLOSTER.
The Camp, Sir, is ſecure: each Soldier there
From Indignation draws new Force and Spirit.
O 'tis a glorious, an affecting Sight!
Thoſe furrow'd Cheeks that never knew before
[17] The Dew of Tears, now in a copious Shower
Are bath'd. Around your Tent they, various, croud,
Rank over Rank: ſome preſſing for a Look;
Some ſadly muſing, with dejected Eye;
Some, on their Knees, preſerring Vows to Heaven;
And, with extended Arm, ſome breathing Ven⯑geance.
" Baſe Saracens, they cry, perfidious Cowards!
" But Blood ſhall waſh out Blood—Ah! poor Atonement!
" Did the whole bleeding City fall a Victim!
EDWARD.
What unbought Love and generous Valour fire
The free-born Heart!—Yet moderate their Zeal;
And let the Sword of Juſtice only ſtrike
The faithleſs SELIM, and his guilty Creatures.
My new-departed Spirit, juſt eſcap'd
From the low fev'riſh Paſſions of this Life,
Would grieve to ſee the Blood of Innocence,
With that of Guilt confounded, ſtain my Tomb.
THEALD.
Permit me, Sir, the Hope, that you your ſelf—
I ſpeak it on juſt Cauſe—may live to puniſh
This Breach of all the ſacred Rights of Men.
EDWARD.
Why will you turn my Thoughts, from Earth en⯑larg'd,
To ſoft enfeebling Views of Life again?
THEALD.
Not to a vain Deſire of Life, my Lord,
I would re [...] them; but inſpire each Hope,
Adviſe each Poſſibility to ſave it.
And there is yet a Remedy.
EDWARD.
Deluſion!
THEALD.
[18]The fair Arabian Princeſs mention'd one.
EDWARD.
She one!—DARAXA!—ſomething to compleat
Her Lover's Crime.
THEALD.
You could not wrong her thus,
Had you beheld the Tempeſt of her Soul,
Her Grief, her Rage, Confuſion, when ſhe heard
Of SELIM'S Baſeneſs; had you ſeen that Honour,
That glorious Fire that parted from her Eyes;
'Till in a Flood of virtuous Sorrow ſunk,
She almoſt equal'd ELEONORA'S Tears.
EDWARD.
What was it ſhe propos'd?
THEALD.
It was, my Lord,
To find ſome Perſon, who, with friendly Lip,
Might draw the deadly Spirit—
EDWARD.
I have heard
Of ſuch a Cure; but is it not, good THEALD,
An Action fatal to the kind Performer?
THEALD.
Yes, ſurely fatal.
EDWARD.
Name it then no more.
I ſhould deſpiſe the paltry Life it purchas'd.
Beſides, what Mortal can diſpoſe ſo raſhly
Of his own Life? Talk not of low Condition,
And of my publick Rank: when Life or Death
Becomes the Queſtion, all Diſtinctions vaniſh;
Then the firſt Monarch and the loweſt Slave
On the ſame Level ſtand, in This the Sons
Of equal Nature all.
THEALD.
[19]Allow me, Sir.
If 'tis a certain, an eſtabliſh'd Duty,
Than Duty more, the Height of human Virtue,
To ſacrifice a tranſitory Life
For that kind Source from whence it is deriv'd,
And all its guarded Joys, our deareſt Country;
To ſacrifice it in the Cauſe of Heaven,
Author of every Good: by the ſame Reaſon,
It may be juſtly ſacrific'd for Thoſe
On whom depends the Welfare of the Public.
And there is one, my Lord, who ſtands devoted,
By ſolemn and irrevocable Vows,
To die for you.
EDWARD.
To die for me!—Kind Nature!
Thanks to thy forming Hand, I can myſelf,
Chearful, ſuſtain to pay this Debt I owe Thee,
Without the borrow'd Sufferings of Another.
No, THEALD, urge this Argument no more.
I love not Life to that Degree, to purchaſe,
By the ſure Death of ſome brave guiltleſs Friend,
A few uncertain Days, that often riſe,
Like This, ſerene and gay, when, with ſwift Wing,
A Moment wraps them in diſaſtrous Fate.
GLOSTER.
Did we conſult to ſave your ſingle Life,
Was that the preſent Queſtion, thy Refuſal
Were juſt, were generous. But, my Lord, this Perſon,
Who ſtands for you devoted, ſhould, in That,
Be deem'd devoted for the Chriſtian Cauſe,
The common Cauſe of Europe and thy Country.
For That this Martyr dies; dies for thy Children;
Dies for the brave Companions of thy Fortune,
Who weeping now around thy Tent conjure Thee,
To live for them, and England's promis'd Glory.
[20]
O I muſt give it way! My Heart is full
Of Thee, my Country; and my aged Veins,
At Thought of Thee, reſume the Fire of Youth.—
If Honour, Glory, can exalt the Mind,
Above the common Paſſions that involve
The groveling Race of Men; if the firſt Beauty,
If Virtue dreſt in her divineſt Charms,
All Nature's mingled Tenderneſs, the Parent,
The Brother, Lover, Friend, can touch the Heart;
O ſave our Country, EDWARD! ſave a Nation,
The choſen Land, the laſt Retreat of Freedom,
Amidſt a broken World!—Caſt back thy View,
And trace from fartheſt Times her old Renown.
Think of the Blood that, to maintain her Rights,
And nurſe her ſheltering Laws, has flow'd in Battle,
Or on the Patriot's Scaffo'd. Think what Cares,
What Vigilance, what Toils, what bright Conten⯑tion,
In Councils, Camps, and well-diſputed Senates,
It coſt our generous Anceſtors, to raiſe
A matchleſs Plan of Freedom: whence we ſhine,
Even in the jealous Eye of hoſtile Nations,
The happieſt of Mankind.—Then ſee all This,
This Virtue, Wiſdom, Toil and Blood of Ages,
Behold it ready to be loſt for ever.
Behold us almoſt broken to the Yoke,
Robb'd of our antient Spirit, ſunk in Baſeneſs,
At home corrupted, and deſpis'd abroad.
Behold our Wealth conſum'd, thoſe Treaſures ſquander'd,
That might protect and nouriſh wholeſom Peace,
Or urge a glorious War; on Wretches ſquander'd,
A venal Crew that plunder and diſgrace us.
In this important, this deciſive Hour,
On Thee, and Thee alone, our weeping Country
Turns her diſtreſsful Eye; to Thee ſhe calls,
And with a helpleſs Parent's piercing Voice.
[21] Wilt thou not live for Her? for Her ſubdue
A graceful Pride, I own, but ſtill a Pride,
That more becomes thy Courage and thy Youth
Than Birth and publick Station? Nay, for Her,
Say, wouldſt thou not reſign the deareſt Paſſions?
EDWARD.
O there is nothing which for Thee, my Country,
I, in my proper Perſon, could not ſuffer!
But thus to ſculk behind another's Life,
'Tis what I ſcarce have Courage to ſupport,
It makes a kind of Coward of me, GLOSTER.
And yet the Reaſons urg'd, I muſt acknowledge,
Demand a deep Regard.—Well—be it ſo—
Ere to this Inſtance of amazing Friendſhip
I can ſubmit, let me behold the Friend.
Perhaps my Bounty may requite his Love,
To thoſe he holds much dearer than himſelf.
Conduct him hither, THEALD.
SCENE III.
EDWARD, GLOSTER.
EDWARD.
Ah, my GLOSTER,
You have not touch'd on ſomething that here pleads
For longer Life, beyond the Force of Reaſon,
Perhaps too powerful pleads—my ELEONORA!
To Thee, my Friend, I will not be aſham'd
Even to avow my Love in all its Fondneſs.
For Oh there ſhines in this my dearer Self!
This Partner of my Soul! ſuch a mild Light
Of careleſs Charms, of unaffected Beauty,
Such more than Beauty, ſuch endearing Goodneſs,
That when I meet her Eye, where cordial Faith,
[22] And every gentle Virtue mix their Luſtre,
I feel a Tranſport that partakes of Anguiſh!
How ſhall I then behold her, on the Point
To leave her, GLOSTER, in a diſtant Land?
For ever in a ſtormy World to leave Her?
There is no Miſery to be fear'd like That
Which from our greateſt Happineſs proceeds!
SCENE IV.
EDWARD, GLOSTER, THEALD preſenting the Princeſs ELEONORA as the Perſon he went to bring, DARAXA.
EDWARD.
Great God!—what do I ſee?—I am betray'd!—
[Turning away.
ELEONORA.
EDWARD!
EDWARD.
O 'tis too much! O ſpare me, Nature!
ELEONORA.
Not look upon me, EDWARD?
EDWARD.
ELEONORA!
How on this dreadful Errand canſt thou come?
ELEONORA.
Behold me kneel—
EDWARD.
Why kneel, thou beſt of Women!
Thou ne'er offended, ne'er in Thought offended!
Thou art all Truth, and Love, and Angel-Goodneſs!
Why doſt thou kneel? O riſe, my ELEONORA!
ELEONORA.
Let me fulfil my Vow.
EDWARD.
[23]O barbarous Vow!
ELEONORA.
Let me preſerve a Life, in which is wrapt
The Life of Thouſands, dearer than my own!
Live thou, and let me die for Thee, my EDWARD!
EDWARD.
For me!—thy Words are Daggers to my Soul.
And wouldſt thou have me then thus meanly ſave
A deſpicable Life? a Life expos'd
To that worſt Torment, to my own Contempt!
A Life ſtill haunted by the cruel Image
Of thy laſt Pangs, thy agonizing Throws,
The dire Convulſions of theſe tender Limbs;
And all for one—O Infamy!—for one,
By Love, by Duty bound, each manly Tie,
Even by a Peaſant's Honour to protect Thee?
ELEONORA.
This ne'er can blemiſh Thee. I know full well,
There is no Danger, Pain, no Form of Death,
Thou wouldſt not meet with Tranſport to protect me.
But I, alas! an unimportant Woman,
Whoſe only Boaſt and Merit is to love Thee;
Ah, what am I, with nameleſs Numbers weigh'd?
With Myriads yet unborn? All Ranks, all Ages,
All Arts, all Virtues, all a State comprizes?
Theſe have a higher Claim to thy Protection.
Live then for them.—O make a great Effort!
What none but Heroes can, bid the ſoft Paſſions
The Private ſtoop to Thoſe that graſp a Public.
Live to poſſeſs the Pleaſure of a God,
To bleſs a People truſted to thy Care.
Live to fulfil thy long Career of Glory,
But juſt begun. To die for Thee be mine.
I ne'er can find a brighter gentler Fate;
And Fate will come at laſt, inglorious Fate!
[24] O grudge me not a Portion of thy Fame!
As mix'd in Love, O raiſe me to thy Glory!
EDWARD.
In vain is all thy Eloquence. The more
Thou wouldſt perſwade, I, with encreaſing Horror,
Fly from thy Purpoſe.
ELEONORA.
Doſt thou love me, EDWARD?
EDWARD.
Oh!—If I love Thee?—Witneſs Heaven and Earth!
Angels of Death that hover round me, witneſs!
Witneſs theſe blinded Eyes, theſe trembling Arms,
This Heart that beats unutterable Fondneſs,
To what delightful Agony I love thee!
ELEONORA.
Then wilt thou ſave me, ſure, from greater Pain.
EDWARD.
O that I could from all! engroſs thy Sufferings!
Pain felt for Thee, were Pleaſure!
ELEONORA.
Hear me, EDWARD.
I ſpeak the ſtricteſt Truth, no Flight of Paſſion,
I ſpeak my naked Heart.—To die, I own,
Is a dread Paſſage, terrible to Nature,
Chiefly to thoſe who have, like me, been happy.—
But to ſurvive Thee—O 'tis greatly worſe!
'Tis a continual Death! I cannot bear
The very Thought—O leave me not behind thee!
EDWARD.
Since nought can alter my determin'd Breaſt,
Why doſt thou pierce me with this killing Image?
ELEONORA.
Ah! ſelfiſh that thou art! with thee the Toil,
The tedious Toil of Life will ſoon be o'er;
Thou ſoon wilt hide thee in the quiet Grave:
While I, a lonely Widow, with her Orphans,
Am left defenceleſs to a troubled World,
[25] A falſe, ungrateful, and injurious World!—
Oh! if thou lov'ſt me, EDWARD, I conjure thee,
By that celeſtial Flame which blends our Souls!
By all a Father, all a Mother feels!
By every holy Tenderneſs, I charge thee!
Live to protect the Pledges of our Love,
Our Children!—
EDWARD.
Oh!—
ELEONORA.
Our young, our helpleſs—
EDWARD.
Oh!—
Diſtraction!—Let me go!
ELEONORA.
Nay, drag me with thee—
To the kind Tomb—Thou canſt not leave our Children!
Expos'd, by being thine, beyond the loweſt!
Surrounded with the Perils of a Throne!—
EDWARD.
Cruel! no more embitter thus our laſt,
Our parting Moments! Set no more the Terrors
Of theſe beſt Paſſions in Array againſt me!
For by that POWER, I ſwear, Father of Life!
Whoſe univerſal Love embraces all
That breathes this ample Air; whoſe perfect Wiſdom
Brings Light from Darkneſs, and from Evil Good;
To whom I recommend thee, and my Children:
By him I ſwear! I never will ſubmit
To what thy horrid Tenderneſs propoſes!
GLOSTER.
My Lord—
EDWARD.
Oh!—theſe Emotions are too much—
I feel a heavy Languor ſteal upon me:
[26] Death, or his Image Sleep, weighs down my Soul—
Conduct me to my Couch—Ah! ELEONORA!
If we ne'er meet again—This one Embrace—
Abſolute Nature! thou muſt be obey'd.
ELEONORA.
I will not, cannot quit thee!—
SCENE .V.
ELEONORA, DARAXA.
DARAXA.
Princeſs, ſtay.
Reſiſtleſs Sleep now ruſhes on his Powers:
For ſo the various Poiſon oft begins
To ſpread its dark Malignity.—
ELEONORA.
Ha!—Sleep?—
Then is the Time—Thanks to inſpiring Heaven!
But come, and ere the Poiſon ſink too deep,
Swift let me ſeize the favouring Hour of Sleep.
End of the Second ACT.
ACT III.
[27]SCENE I.
GLOSTER.
O Miracle of Love! O wond'rous Princeſs!
'Tis ſuch as thou, who keep the gentle Flame,
That animates Society, alive,
Who make the Dwellings of Mankind delightful.
What is vain Life? an idle Flight of Days,
A ſtill-deluſive Round of ſickly Joys,
A Scene of little Cares and trifling Paſſions,
If not enobled by ſuch Deeds of Virtue?
And yet this matchleſs Virtue! what avails it?
Th' afflicting Angel has forſook the Prince,
And now pours out his Terrors on the Princeſs.
Forſook him, ſaid I?—No; he muſt awake
To keener Evils than the Body knows,
Which Minds alone, and generous Minds can feel.
O Virtue! Virtue! as thy Joys excel,
So are thy Woes tranſcendent, the groſs World
Knows not the Bliſs or Miſery of either—
The Prince forſakes his Couch—He ſeems renew'd
In Health—Ah ſhort deceitful Gleam of Eaſe!
SCENE II.
EDWARD, GLOSTE.R
EDWARD, advancing from his Couch.
Hail to the freſher Earth and brighter Day!
I feel me lighten'd of the mortal Load
[28] That lay upon my Spirits. This kind Sleep
Has ſhed a balmy Quiet thro' my Veins.
Whence this amazing Change?—
But be my firſt chief Care, Author of Good!
To bend my Soul in Gratitude to thee!
Thou, when blind Mortals wander thro' the Deeps
Of comfortleſs Deſpair, with timely Hand,
Inviſible, and by unthought-of Ways,
Thou lead'ſt them forth into thy Light again.
GLOSTER.
How fares my Lord, the Prince?
EDWARD.
To Health reſtor'd.
Only a Kind of Laſſitude remains,
A not unpleaſing Weakneſs hangs upon me:
Like the ſoft Trembling of the ſettled Deep,
After a Storm.
GLOSTER.
Father of Health be prais'd!
EDWARD.
The Moment that I ſunk upon my Couch,
A ſick and troubled Slumber fell upon me.
Chaos of gloomy unconnected Thought!
That, in black Eddy whirl'd, made Sleep more dreadful
Than the worſt waking Pang. While thus I toſs'd,
Ready to bid Farewel to ſuffering Clay,
Methought an Angel came and touch'd my Wound.
At this the parting Gloom clear'd up apace;
My Slumbers ſoften'd; and, with Health, return'd
Serenity of Mind, and order'd Thought,
And fair Ideas gladening all the Soul.
Aerial Muſick too, by Fancy heard,
Sooth'd my late Pangs and harmoniz'd my Breaſt.
Thro' Shades of Bliſs I walk'd, where Heavenly Forms
Sung to their Lutes my ELEONORA'S Love—
[29] But where is ſhe? the Glory of her Sex!
O dearer, juſtly dearer, far than ever!
Quick, let me find her, pour into her Boſom
My full [...]full Soul, with Tenderneſs o'ercharg'd,
With glad Surprize, with Gratitude and Wonder.—
Ha! why this Silence? this dejected Look?
You caſt a drooping Eye upon the Ground.
Where is the Princeſs?
GLOSTER.
She, my Lord, repoſes.
EDWARD.
Repoſes!—No!—It is not likely, GLOSTER,
That ſhe would yield her weeping Eyes to ſleep,
While I lay there in Agonies—Away!
I am too feeble then to know the Truth.
Say, is ſhe well?
GLOSTER.
Now ſhow thy Courage, EDWARD—
EDWARD.
O all my Fears! I ſhall ſtart out to Madnſs!
What!—while I ſlept?
GLOSTER.
Yes—
EDWARD.
Miſery! Diſtraction!
My Peace, my Honour is betray'd for ever!
O Love! O Shame! O murder'd ELEONORA!
SCENE III.
GLOSTER.
Unhappy Prince! go find thy ELEONORA,
And in heart-eaſing Grief exhale thy Paſſion:
All other Comfort, now, were to talk down
The Winds and raging Seas.—But yonder comes
[30] Th' Arabian Princeſs. From her Tears I learn
The moving Scene within.
SCENE IV.
GLOSTER, DARAXA, a Meſſenger from SELIM, attending at ſome diſtance.
DARAXA
Oh! 'tis too much!
I can no more ſupport it.
GLOSTER.
Generous Mourner,
How is it with the Princeſs ELEONORA?
DARAXA.
Struck by the Poiſon, on her Couch ſhe lies,
A Roſe ſoft-drooping in Sabean Vales,
Beneath the fiery Dog-ſtar's noxious Rage.
O Chriſtian Chief, I never ſhall forget
The Scene theſe melting Eyes have juſt beheld,
With mingled Tears of Tenderneſs and Wonder.
GLOSTER.
How was it, Madam?
DARAXA
When this Pride of Woman,
This beſt of Wives, which in his radiant Courſe
The Sun beholds, when firſt ſhe, ſickening, felt
Th' imperious Summons of approaching Fate,
All rob'd in ſpotleſs White ſhe ſought her Altars;
And, proſtrate there, for her departing Soul,
The Prince her Husband, and her Orphan-Children,
Implor'd th' ETERNAL MIND.—As yet ſhe held
Her ſwelling Tears, and in her Boſom kept
Her Sighs repreſs'd: nor did the near Approach
Of the pale King of Terrors dim her Beauty;
[31] No, rather adding to her Charms, it breath'd
A certain mournful Sweetneſs thro' her Features.
But as th' increaſing Bane more deſperate grew,
Wild to her Bed ſhe ruſh'd, and then, indeed,
The lovely Fountains of her Eyes were open'd,
Then flow'd her Tears.—"Connubial Bed, ſhe cry'd,
" Chaſte Witneſs of my Tenderneſs for him,
" To ſave whoſe Life I unrepining die,
" In Bloom of Youth, farewel!—Thou ſhalt, perhaps,
" Receive a fairer, a more happy Bride;
" But never a more faithful, never one
" Who loves her Husband with a fonder Paſſion.
Here flow'd her Tears afreſh; with burning Lip,
She preſs'd the humid Couch, and wept again.
At laſt, while weary Sorrow paus'd, ſhe roſe,
And, fearing leſt immediate Death might ſeize Her,
Demanded to be led to ſee the Prince;
But Fear of chaſing from his Eyes, too ſoon,
The ſalutary Sleep that heal'd his Pangs,
Reſtrain'd her trembling Footſteps. On her Couch,
Abandon'd to Deſpair, ſhe ſunk anew,
And for her Children call'd. Her Children came.
A while, ſupported on her Arm, ſhe ey'd them,
With Tears purſuing Tears a-down her Cheek,
With all the ſpeechleſs Miſery of Woe—
I ſee her ſtill—O God!—the powerful Image
Diſſolves me into Tears!
GLOSTER.
Madam proceed.
Such Tears are Virtue, and excel the Joys
Of wanton Pride.
DARAXA.
Then ſtarting up, ſhe went
To ſnatch them to a Mother's laſt Embrace;
When ſtrait reflecting that the piercing Poiſon
[32] Might taint their tender Years, ſhe ſudden ſhrunk
With Horror back—"O wretched ELEONORA!
" (She weeping cry'd) and muſt I then not taſte
" The poor remaining Comfort of the Dying,
" To ſee a Husband, claſp my deareſt Children,
" And mix my parting Soul with theirs I love?"
Her ſad Attendants, that till then had mourn'd
In ſilent Sorrow, all, at This, gave way
To loud Laments—She rais'd her languid Eye,
And caſting on them round a gracious Smile,
To each by Name ſhe call'd, even to the loweſt,
To each extended mild her friendly Hand,
Gave, and, by Turns, receiv'd a laſt Farewel.
Such is the dreadful Scene from which I come.
GLOSTER.
How heighten'd now with EDWARD'S mingled Woes!
Why were my lingering Years reſerv'd for this?
DARAXA.
Come nearer, you, the Meſſenger of SELIM,
And bear him back this Anſwer—His chief Aim,
He ſays, in ſtooping to ſollicite Peace,
Was from the Chains of Inſidels to ſave me.
What! was it then to reſcue me he ſent,
Beneath an all-rever'd and ſacred Name,
Beneath the Shelter of his Hand and Seal,
A murdering Wretch, a ſacrilegious Bigot,
To ſtab at once the gallant Prince of England,
And Mouſol Faith? nay, with a poiſon'd Dagger
(Such his inhuman Cowardice) to ſtab him?
So well, 'tis true, he judg'd, the Chriſtian Prince
Had now been mingled with the harmleſs Dead;
If his bright Princeſs, glorious ELEONORA,
Had not redeem'd his dearer Life with hers.
You heard in what Extremity ſhe lies.
Go, tell the Tyrant then—O Heaven and Earth!
O Vanity of Virtue! that DARAXA
[33] Should e'er to SELIM ſend ſo fell a Meſſage—
I will ſuppreſs its Bitterneſs—Yet tell him,
This Crime has plac'd eternal Bars betwixt us.
See my laſt Tear to Love—Arabian Wilds
Shall bury 'midſt their Rocks the loſt DARAXA.
Away!
GLOSTER.
Behold they bear this way the Princeſs,
Once more to taſte the Sweetneſs of the Sun,
Ere yet to mortal Light ſhe bid farewel.
SCENE V.
GLOSTER, DARAXA, THEALD, EDWARD, ELEONORA born in by her Attendants on a Couch.
ELEONORA, entering.
A little on; a little further on,
Bear me, my Friends, into the cooling Air.
O chearful Sun! O vital Light of Day!
O Clouds that roll your Tempeſt thro' the Sky!—
EDWARD.
That Sun is Witneſs of our matchleſs Woes,
Is Witneſs of our Innocence—Alas!
What have we done to merit this Diſaſter?
ELEONORA.
O Earth! O genial Roofs! O the dear Coaſt
Of Albion's Iſle! which I no more ſhall ſee!—
EDWARD.
Nay, yield not to thy Weakneſs, ELEONORA!
Suſtain thyſelf a little, nor deſert me!
Th' all-ruling GOODNESS may relieve us ſtill.
ELEONORA.
[34]EDWARD! I tremble! Terror ſeizes on me!
Thro' the rent Veil of this ſurrounding Sky,
I had a Glimpſe, I ſaw th' eternal World.
They call, they urge me hence—Yes, I obey.
But O forgive me, Heaven! if 'tis with Pain,
With Agonies, I tear my Soul from His!
EDWARD.
Heavens! what I ſuffer!—How thy plaintive Voice
Shoots Anguiſh thro' my Soul!
ELEONORA.
Some Power unſeen—
Thy Hand, my EDWARD—ſome dark Power unſeen
Is dragging me away—O yet a little,
Stern Tyrant, ſpare me!—Ah! how ſhall I leave
My weeping Friends, my Huſband and my Children?
EDWARD.
Unhappy Friends! O greatly wretched Huſband!
And O poor careleſs Orphans, who not feel
The Depth of your Misfortune!
ELEONORA.
Lay me down;
Soft, lay me down—my Powers are all diſſolv'd—
A little forward bend me—Oh!
EDWARD.
O God!
How that ſoft Frame is torn with cruel Pangs!
Pangs robb'd from me!
ELEONORA.
'Tis thence they borrow Eaſe—
My Children! O my Children! you no more
Have now a Mother; now, alas! no more
You have a Mother, O my hapleſs Children!
EDWARD.
What do I hear! What deſolating Words
Are theſe? more bitter than a thouſand Deaths!
[35] Death to my Soul! Call up thy failing Spirit,
And leave me not to Miſery and Ruin!
ELEONORA.
EDWARD, I feel an Interval of Eaſe;
And, ere I die, have ſomething to impart
That will relieve my Sufferings.
EDWARD.
Speak, my Soul!
Speak thy Deſire: I live but to fulfil it.
ELEONORA.
Thou ſeeſt in what a hopeleſs State I lie,
I who this Morning roſe in Height of Youth,
High-blooming, promis'd many happy Years.
I die for Thee, I ſelf-devoted die.
Think not, from This, that I repent my Vow;
Or that, with little Vanity, I boaſt it:
No; what I did from unrepenting Love
I chearful did, from Love that knows no Fear,
No Pain, no weak Remiſſion of its Ardor.
And what, alas! what was it but the Dictate
Of Honour and of Duty: nay, 'twas ſelfiſh,
To ſave me from unſufferable Pain,
From dragging here a wretched Life without Thee.
Two Fears yet ſtand betwixt my Soul and Peace.
One is for Thee, leſt thou diſturb my Grave
With Tears of wild Deſpair. Grieve not like Thoſe
Who have no Hope. We yet ſhall meet again;
We ſtill are in a kind Creator's Hand;
ETERNAL GOODNESS reigns. Beſides, this Parting,
This Parting, EDWARD, muſt have come at laſt,
When Years of Friendſhip had, perhaps, exalted
Our Love, if That can be, to keener Anguiſh.
Think what thy Station, what thy Fame demand;
Nor yield thy Virtue even to worthy Paſſions.
My other Care—my other Care is idle—
From That thy equal Tenderneſs with mine,
[36] Thy Love and Generoſity ſecure me.
Our Childre [...]—
EDWARD.
Yes▪ I penetrate thy Fear.
But hear me, dying Sweetneſs! On this Hand,
This cold pale Hand I vow, our Children never,
Shall never call another by the Name
Sacred to Thee; my ELEONORA'S Children
Shall never feel the hateful Power thou fear'ſt.
As one in Life, ſo Death cannot divide us.
Nor high Deſcent, nor Beauty, nought that Woman,
In her unbounded Vanity of Heart,
Can wiſh, ſhall ever tempt my Faith from Theee,
Shall ever, ſaid I? Piteous Boaſt indeed!
O nothing can!—I ſhould be groſs of Heart,
Taſteleſs and dull as Earth, to think with Patience,
Without Abhorrence, of a ſecond Hymen,
Where can I find ſuch Beauty? Where ſuch Grace,
The Soul of Beauty? where ſuch winning Charms?
Where ſuch a ſoft Divinity of Goodneſs?
Such Faith? ſuch Love? ſuch Tenderneſs unequal'd?
Such all that Heaven could give—to make me wretched!
Talk not of Comfort—Into what a Gulph
A lone Abyſs of Miſery I fall,
The Moment that I loſe Thee—Oh! I know not!
I dare not think!—But theſe unhappy Orphans—
Ah the dire Cauſe that makes it double Duty—
Shall now be doubly mine to ſhelter them,
Theſe Pledges of our Love, I will attempt
To brave the Horrors of loath'd Life without Thee.
ELEONORA.
Enough! it is enough! On this Condition
Receive them from my Hands.
EDWARD.
Dear Hands! dear Gift!
Dear, precious, dying, miſerable Gift!
[37] With Tranſport once receiv'd, but now with An⯑guiſh!
ELEONORA.
I yet ſhould live, my Children—and I die.
EDWARD.
How truly loſt! what ſhall I be without Thee!
ELEONORA.
All ſoft'ning Time will heal thy Woes. The Dead
Soon leave the Paſſions of the Living free.
EDWARD.
Deteſted Life!—O take me, take me with Thee!
ELEONORA.
My ſingle Death, O Grave, may well ſuffice.
EDWARD.
Severe myſterious Heaven! that This ſhould be!
ELEONORA.
What darkſome Ways I tread!—O Sun!—O Earth!
EDWARD.
Stay, cruel, ſtay!—Thou leav'ſt me, ELEONORA!
ELEONORA.
Ah! the ſtrong Hand of Iron Fate compels me!
EDWARD.
Raiſe raiſe, my ELEONORA, thy ſweet Eyes,
Nor quit thy Children!
ELEONORA.
With what Pain I quit them!
Well then—receive my laſt Adieu—
EDWARD.
Again,
O yet again behold them!
ELEONORA.
Oh!—'Tis Darkneſs—
A deadly Weight—
EDWARD.
Thou leav'ſt me then for ever!—
ELEONORA.
Where am I?—Ah!—a Tenant ſtill to Pain.
[38] The quivering Flame of Life leaps up a little.
Meantime, my EDWARD, 'tis my laſt Requeſt,
That Thou wouldſt leave me, while I yet enjoy
A parting Gleam of Thought—Leave me to HEA⯑VEN!—
GLOSTER—farewel—Be careful of the Prince—
Attend him hence—and double now thy Friendſhip!
EDWARD.
Barbarian! off!—Ah! whither would'ſt thou drag me!
GLOSTER.
My Lord, in Pity to the Princeſs—
EDWARD.
Oh!
ELEONORA.
Farewel! farewel!—What muſt be—muſt be, EDWARD!
EDWARD.
O Word of Horror!—Can I?—No! I cannot!
There, take me, lead me, hurl me to Perdition!—
SCENE VI.
ELEONORA, DARAXA, THEALD, Attendants.
ELEONORA.
'Tis paſt, the Bitterneſs of Death is paſt—
Alas! DARAXA, I can ne'er requite
Thy generous Cares for me. Thou art the Cauſe
My EDWARD lives, my Children have a Father,
Thy Heaven-inſpir'd Propoſal—Tell him, THEALD,
That, in the troubled Moments of our Parting,
I had forgot to beg he would reſtore
Th' Arabian Princeſs to her Friends and Country—
Thy Hand—This ſure, howe'er in Faith we differ,
[39] Humanity, the Soul of all Religion,
May well permit.
DARAXA.
By Virtue's ſacred Fire!
Our Paradiſe, the Garden of the Bleſt,
Ne'er ſmil'd upon a purer Soul than thine.
For me, think not of me; ſuch are my Woes,
That I diſdain all Care, deteſt Relief:
My Name is trod in Duſt; Thine beams for ever,
The richeſt Gem that crowns the Worth of Woman.
ELEONORA.
The Guilt of SELIM cannot ſtain thy Virtues:
It rather lends them Luſtre—Bear me back,
My dear Attendants: and, good THEALD, come,
Come, aid my mounting Soul to ſpring away,
From the lov'd Fetters of this kindred Clay.
End of the third Act.
ACT IV.
[40]SCENE I.
THEALD, and a Gentleman belonging to him.
THEALD.
TO me a Derviſe? Thro' the furious Camp,
Yet raging at the Perfidy of SELIM,
How did he ſafely paſs?
GENTLEMAN.
Sir, he had fallen
A Victim to their Vengeance: but he told them,
His Life was of Importance to the Prince,
That he who ſtruck him ſtabb'd the Heart of ED⯑WARD.
This ſtay'd their Rage; then, after a ſtrict Search,
They let him paſs thro' Ranks of glaring Eyes.
I have beſides to ſay, an Engliſh Ship
And one from Italy are juſt arriv'd:
The firſt brings great Diſpatches to Prince EDWARD;
The other, holy Father, theſe to you.
[Kneeling.
THEALD.
Go, bid this Derviſe enter.
SCENE II.
THEALD:
he opens and looks on the Diſ⯑patches.
Awful HEAVEN!
Great Ruler of the various Heart of Man!
[41] Since thou haſt rais'd me to conduct thy Church,
Without the baſe Cabal too often practis'd,
Beyond my Wiſh, my Thought, give me the Lights,
The Virtues which that ſacred Truſt requires:
A loving, lov'd, unterrifying Power,
Such as becomes a Father; humble Wiſdom;
Plain primitive Sincerity; kind Zeal,
For Truth and Virtue rather than Opinions;
And, above all, the charitable Soul
Of healing Peace and Chriſtian Moderation.—
The Derviſe comes.
SCENE III.
THEALD, SELIM diſguis'd as a Derviſe.
THEALD.
With me, what would'ſt thou, Derviſe?
SELIM.
The Princeſs ELEONORA lives ſhe ſtill?
THEALD.
She lives, and that is all.
SELIM.
ALLAH be prais'd!
Then lives the Honour of the brightning Name
Of Saracen and Muſſulman.
THEALD.
How, Derviſe?
What can wipe out the Horror of this Deed?
SELIM.
A holy Man's Humanity ſhall cancel
The ſavage Fury of an impious Bigot.
But, Chriſtian Imam, lead me to the Princeſs.
For know, a Derviſe, who, amid the Rocks
Of Cedar-ſhaking Lebanon, beheld
[42] Twelve hundred Moons compleat their pale Career;
And who by Faſting, Meditation, Prayer,
And ſilent Converſe with inſtructive Nature,
Had from his inward Eye and peaceful Heart,
Purg'd off the Miſt and Turbulence of Paſſion:
This venerable Derviſe, not confin'd
To the ſtill Tranſports of unactive Virtue,
Felt a warm Zeal to ſerve his Fellow-Creatures;
And to his pious Search the Grace was given
Of finding out a Remedy for Poiſon.
Nor can it come too late, while wand'ring Life
Yet, with faint Impulſe, ſtirs along the Veins.
THEALD.
Ha! Derviſe, art thou ſure of what thou ſay'ſt?
SELIM.
Yes. He himſelf conſign'd it to my Care.
The powerful Juice of Plants, for which he ſcal'd
The tufted Cliff, and o'er the Torrent hung;
The Balm of Mountain-Herbs, where the groſs Soil
But little mixes, temper'd Sun and Dew.
And not to thoſe of his own Faith, alone,
He this, from narrow Charity, bequeath'd;
No, as it was the Gift of bounteous Nature,
He bade it freely go to all her Sons.
Come, lead me to the Princeſs: Tho' ſhe lay
Even in the laſt Extremity, tho' call'd
By the fierce Angel who compels the Dead,
Yet bold Experience gives me Room to hope.
Oft have I ſeen its vital Touch diffuſe
New Vigour thro' the poiſon'd Streams of Life,
When almoſt ſettled into dead Stagnation;
Swift as a Southern Gale unbinds the Flood.
Say, wilt thou truſt me with the Trial, Chriſtian.
THEALD.
Thou know'ſt, we have great Reaſon for Diſtruſt;
But Fear in thoſe who can no longer hope
Were idle and abſurd.
SELIM.
[43]Bright Heaven! what Fear?
Is there a Slave of ſuch inhuman Baſeneſs
Nurs'd on the ſick'ning Boſom of this Earth,
To add freſh Outrage to a dying Princeſs?
For Virtue dying? Look into my Eye:
Does one weak Ray there ſhun thy keeneſt Gaze?
Say, doſt thou there behold ſo foul a Bottom?
THEALD.
No; ſeeming Truth and generous Candour ſhine
In what thou ſay'ſt. Come, follow me, good Derviſe.
SELIM.
A Moment yet.—Should Heaven accord Succeſs,
I have, beſides the Life of ELEONORA,
My injur'd Sultan's wounded Name to ſave;
Whoſe Soul abhors the Crime imputed to him.
Then let me be the firſt who to the Prince
Imparts the happy News; that SELIM'S Honour,
Enforc'd by EDWARD'S Joy, may ſtrike more deep,
With ſtrong Conviction—But of this hereafter—
SCENE IV.
THEALD, SELIM diſguiſed, DARAXA.
DARAXA.
At laſt, thro' various Pangs, the dying Princeſs
Sees the delivering Moment, and demands
Thy Preſence, Reverend Chriſtian.
THEALD.
Derviſe, come.
Forbid it Heaven this Aid ſhould be too late!
SCENE V.
[44]DARAXA.
Ha!—let me think—I ſurely know this Derviſe—
O my aſtoniſh'd Fancy!—can it be?—
But in his Looks, methought, I mark'd the Sultan;
And, as he ſhot athwart me, from his Eye
Flaſh'd the proud Lightning of affronted Virtue.
He muſt be innocent; his being here
Is radiant Proof he muſt—O weak DARAXA!
What Man of Virtue more would deign to lodge
His Image in thy Breaſt? Ah! what avails
The light unfounded Love, the treacherous Friend⯑ſhip,
That, with inhuman Cowardice, gives up
A worthy Man to Infamy and Slander?
They talk'd of Aid—what Aid?
[A Cry heard within.
Alas! 'tis paſt!
For Death was in that Cry—and now her Soul,
Exulting, quits the Coil of this dim World.
Severe Misfortune!—If there was a Cure,
That it ſhould come too late!
SCENE VI.
DARAXA, an OFFICER.
OFFICER.
Madam, the Prince,
Rous'd by that deathful Cry, from the cold Earth,
Where in his Tent he lay, to Grief abandon'd,
And told by an Attendant of the Princeſs,
[45] That ſhe this fatal Moment breath'd her laft,
Now ruſhes hither to indulge his Sorrows.
DARAXA.
Unhappy Prince! I venerate his Tears,
And will retire—But whither? Rage, Confuſion,
Deſpair and Deſolation frown around me!—
I muſt find out this Derviſe, muſt diſcover
If he indeed be SELIM—EDWARD comes.
SCENE VII.
EDWARD.
She is no more! the Soul of every Grace,
Of every Virtue! Tenderneſs itſelf!
The matchleſs ELEONORA is no more!—
Where am I?—Heavens!—Ah! what a hideous Deſart
Is now this World, this blaſted World, around me?
O Sun I hate thee, I abhor thy Light,
That ſhews not ELEONORA! Earth, thy Joy,
Thy Sweetneſs all is fled, all all that made
Thy Ways to me delightful, ELEONORA!
O ELEONORA! periſh'd ELEONORA!
Pour not ſo faſt thy Beauties on my Heart:
Ah! whither ſhall I fly from thy Perfections?—
Would I could think no more!—What ſhall I do?
Where go? what ſay?—That Tent! Ah me! that Tent!
I dare not enter there. There Death diſplays
His utmoſt Terrors—Pale and lifeleſs, there,
She lies, whoſe Looks were Love, whoſe Beauty ſmil'd
The ſweet Effulgence of endearing Virtue—
And here I laſt beheld Her—Ay, and how,
And how beheld her!—The remorſeleſs Image
[46] Will hunt me to the Grave—I ſee Her Suffering,
With female Softneſs yet to Pain ſuperior,
Fearful and bold at once, with the ſtrong Hand
Of mighty Love conſtraining feeble Nature,
To ſteal me from Affliction—In the Camp,
Can I appear? A Chief among his Soldiers?
A Chief, who ſtoops to hold diſhonour'd Life,
Life purchas'd by the Death of one for whom
The Brave in every Age have joy'd to die?—
And England—O I cannot bear the Thought
Of e'er returning to that Country more!
That Country, Witneſs of our happy Days,
Where at each Step remember'd Bliſs will ſting
My Soul to Anguiſh. I already hear
Malice exclaim, nay, bluſhing Valour ſigh:
Where is thy Princeſs? where the Wiſh of Thou⯑ſands?
The Charm, the Tranſport of the publick Eye?
Baſe Prince! And art thou not aſham'd to bring
No Trophy home but ELEONORA'S Corſe?—
The Grave too is ſhut up, that laſt Retreat
Of wretched Mortals—Yes, my Word is paſs'd
To ELEONORA paſs'd. Our Orphan-Children
Bind me to Life—O dear, O dangerous Paſſions!
The Valiant, by himſelf, what can he ſuffer?
Or what does he regard his ſingle Woes?
But when, alas, he multiplies himſelf
To dearer Selves, to the lov'd tender Fair,
To thoſe whoſe Bliſs whoſe Beings hang upon him,
To helpleſs Children! then, O then! he feels
The Point of Miſery feſtring in his Heart,
And weakly weeps his Fortune like a Coward.
Such, ſuch am I! undone!—
SCENE VIII.
[47]EDWARD, GLOSTER.
EDWARD.
My Lord of GLOSTER,
I thought my Orders were to be alone.
GLOSTER.
Forgive my fond Intruſion—But I cannot
Be ſo regardleſs of thy Welfare, EDWARD,
As to obey theſe Orders.
EDWARD.
But they ſhall,
Shall be obey'd—I will enjoy my Sorrows,
All that is left me now.
GLOSTER.
The more thy Grief,
Juſt in its Cauſe but frantic in Degree,
Seeks aggravating Solitude, the more
It ſuits my Love and Duty to attend thee,
To try to ſooth—
EDWARD.
Away! thou never ſhal [...] ▪
Not all that idle Wiſdom can ſuggeſt,
All the vain Talk of proud unfeeling Reaſon,
Shall rob me of one Tear.
GLOSTER.
Of Nature's Tears
I would not rob Thee: they invigorate Virtue,
Soften, at once, and ſortify the Heart;
But when they riſe to ſpeak this deſperate Lan⯑guage,
They then grow Tears of Weakneſs; yes—
EDWARD.
[48]I care not.
Weakneſs, whate'er they be, I will indulge them,
Will, in Deſpite of Thee and all Mankind,
Devote my joyleſs Days for ever to them.
GLOSTER.
Reaſon and Virtue then are empty Names?
EDWARD.
Hence! leave me to my Fate—You have undone me;
You have made Shipwreck of my Peace, among you,
My Happineſs and Honour; and I now
Roam the deteſted World, a careleſs Wretch!
GLOSTER.
Thy Honour yet is ſafe, how long I know not,
For full it drives upon the Rocks of Paſſion.
O all ye pitying Powers that rule Mankind!
Who ſo unworthy but may proudly deck him
With this fair-weather Virtue, that exults,
Glad, o'er the Summer Main? The Tempeſt comes,
The bold Winds ſpeak aloud; when from the Helm
This Virtue ſhrinks, and in a Corner lies
Lamenting.—Heavens! if privileg'd from Trial,
How cheap a Thing were Virtue!
EDWARD.
Do—inſult me—
Rail, ſpare me not—rail, GLOSTER, all the World—
But know, mean time, thou canſt not make me feel thee—
I have no more Connection with Mankind.
GLOSTER.
Inſult thee, EDWARD? Do theſe Tears inſult thee?
Theſe old Man's Tears!—Friendſhip, my Prince, can weep,
As well as Love—But while I weep thy Fortune,
Let me not weep thy Virtue ſunk beneath it—
[49] Thou haſt no more Connection with Mankind?
Put off thy craving Senſes, the deep Wants
And infinite Dependencies of Nature;
Put off that ſtrongeſt Paſſion of the Soul,
Soul of the Soul, Love to Society;
Put off all Gratitude for what is paſt,
All generous Hope of what is yet to come;
Put off each Senſe of Honour and of Duty:
Then uſe this Language—Let me tell thee, ED⯑WARD,
Thou haſt Connections with Mankind, and great ones,
Thou know'ſt not of; Connections! that might rouſe
The ſmalleſt Spark of Honour in thy Breaſt,
To wide-awaken'd Life and fair Ambition.
EDWARD.
What doſt thou mean?
GLOSTER.
What mean?—this Day, in England,
How many aſk of Paleſtine their King,
EDWARD their King?—Read theſe—
EDWARD, opening the Diſpatches.
O GLOSTER!—GLOSTER!—
Alas! my Royal Father is no more!
The gentleſt of Mankind, the moſt abus'd!
Of gracious Nature, a fit Soil for Virtues,
'Till there his Creatures ſow'd their flattering Lies,
And made him—No, not all their curſed Arts
Could ever make him inſolent or cruel.
O my deluded Father! Little Joy
Had'ſt thou in Life, led from thy real Good
And genuine Glory, from thy People's Love,
That nobleſt Aim of Kings, by ſmiling Traitors.
Is there a Curſe on human Kind ſo fell,
So peſtilent, at once, to Prince and People,
As the baſe ſervile Vermin of a Court,
[50] Corrupt, corrupting Miniſters and Favourites?
How oft have ſuch eat up the Widow's Morſel,
The Peaſant's Toil, the Merchant's far-ſought Gain,
And wanton'd in the Ruin of a Nation!
Thus weak of Heart, thus deſolate of Soul,
Ah, how unfit am I, with ſteady Hand,
To rule a troubled State!—She, ſhe is gone,
Softner of Care, the dear Reward of Toil,
The Source of Virtue! She, who to a Crown
Had lent new Splendor, who had grac'd a Throne
Like the ſweet Seraph Mercy tempering Juſtice.
O ELEONORA! any Life with Thee,
The plaineſt could have charm'd: but Pomp and Pleaſure,
All that a loving People can beſtow,
By thee unſhar'd, will ſerve alone to nouriſh
The Wounds of Woe, and make me more unhappy!
GLOSTER.
Now is the Time, now lift thy Soul to Virtue!
Behold a Criſis, ſent by Heaven, to ſave thee.
Whate'er, my Prince, can touch, or can command.
Can quicken or exalt the Heart of Man,
Now ſpeaks to thine—Thy Children claim their Father,
Nay, more than Father, claim their double Parent;
For ſuch thy Promiſe was to ELEONORA:
Thy Subjects claim their King, thy Troops their Chief:
The Manes of thy Anceſtors conſign
Their long-deſcended Glory to thy Hands;
And thy dejected Country calls upon thee
To ſave Her, raiſe Her, to reſtore her Honour,
To ſpread her ſure Dominion o'er the Deep,
And bid her yet ariſe the Scourge of France.
Angels themſelves might envy thee the Joy,
That waits thy Will, of doing general Good:
[51] Of ſpreading Virtue, chearing lonely Worth;
Of daſhing down the Proud; of guarding Arts,
The ſacred Rights of Induſtry and Freedom;
Of making a whole generous People happy.
O EDWARD! EDWARD! the moſt piercing Tranſports
Of the beſt Love can never equal Theſe!
And need I add—Thy ELEONORA'S Death
Calls out for Vengeance—
EDWARD.
Ha!
GLOSTER.
If thou, indeed,
Doſt honour thus her Memory, then ſhow it,
Not by ſoft Tears and Womaniſh Complaints,
But ſhow it like a Man!—
EDWARD.
I will!
GLOSTER.
Yon Towers!—
EDWARD.
'Tis true!
GLOSTER.
Yon guilty Towers!—
EDWARD.
Inſult us ſtill!
GLOSTER.
The Murderer of thy Princeſs riots there!—
EDWARD.
But ſhall not long!—Thou art my better Genius,
Thou brave old Man! thou haſt recall'd my Virtue—
I was benumb'd with Sorrow—what—or where—
I know not—never to have thought of this.
Bright Virtue, welcome! Vigour of the Mind!
The Flame from Heaven that lights up higher Being!
Thrice welcome! with thy noble Servant Anger,
[52] And juſt Revenge—Hence, let us to the Camp,
And there transfuſe our Soul into the Troops.
This Sultan's Blood will eaſe my fever'd Breaſt.
Yes, I will take ſuch Vengeance on this City,
That all Mankind ſhall turn their Eyes to JAFFA;
And, as they ſee her Turrets ſunk in Duſt,
Shall learn to dread the Terrors of the Juſt.
End of the Fourth Act.
ACT V.
[53]SCENE I.
SELIM.
O MY DARAXA! thou haſt charm'd my Soul!
This reconciling Interview has ſooth'd
My troubled Boſom into tender Joy:
As when the Spring firſt, on the ſoften'd Top
Of Lebanon, unbinds her lovely Treffes,
And ſhakes her blooming Sweets from Carmel's Brow—
It only now remains to ſee the Prince.—
SCENE II.
SELIM, THEALD.
THEALD.
I ſought thee, worthy Derviſe.
SELIM.
Reverend Chriſtian,
My toiling Thoughts can find no fix'd Repoſe,
'Till the wrong'd Sultan's vindicated Honour
Shine out as bright as yon unſully'd Sky.
Conduct me to the Prince—I claim thy Promiſe.—
It ſtings my conſcious Soul with ſick Impatience,
To think what SELIM ſuffers. For a Man,
Who loves the Ways of Truth and open Virtue,
[54] To ly beneath the burning Imputation
Of Baſeneſs and of Crimes—ſuch horrid Crimes!—
O 'tis a keen unſufferable Torment!
Come, let me then diſcharge this other Part
Of my Commiſſion.
THEALD.
That thou ſoon ſhalt do.
He ſtrait will come this Way, the King of England,
Such now he is. Mean time, 'tis fit to tell thee,
He muſt be manag'd ſoftly; for his Paſſions
Are all abroad, in wild Confuſion hurl'd:
The Winds, the Floods, and Lightning mix to⯑gether.
I need not ſay how little, in this Uproar,
A vails the broken thwarted Light of Reaſon.
SELIM.
Fear not. Thou knowſt, that with with one ſoft⯑ning Word,
I can appeaſe his higheſt Storm of Paſſion.
But let me take the Method that will gain,
With moſt convincing Evidence, my Purpoſe.
THEALD.
He cannot long delay, for, as I enter'd,
I ſaw him parting from the hurried Camp,
That lighten'd wide around him: burniſh'd Helms,
And glittering Spears, and ardent thronging Sol⯑diers,
Demanding all the Signal, when to ſtorm
Theſe Walls, devoted to their Vengeance.—
SELIM.
Ha!
Then let us quickly find him—But he comes.
SCENE III.
[55]SELIM, THEALD, EDWARD, GLOSTER.
EDWARD.
Whence is it thoſe Barbarians, here again,
Thoſe baſe thoſe murdering Cowards, dare be ſeen?
What new accurs'd Attempt is now on foot?
What new Aſſaſſination?—Start not, Derviſe,
Tinge not thy caitiff Cheek with red'ning Honour.
What thou!—Doſt thou pretend to feel Reproach?
Art thou not of a ſhameleſs Race of People,
Harden'd in Arts of Cruelty and Blood,
Perfidious all? Yes, have you not profan'd,
The Faith of Nations? Broke the holy Tie
That binds the Families of Earth together,
That gives even Foes to meet with hoſtile Joy,
And teaches War Security? Your Prince,
Your Prince has done it! And you ſhould hereafter
Be hunted from your Dens like Savage Beaſts,
Be cruſh'd like Serpents!
THEALD.
Sir, this Derviſe comes,
To clear the Sultan SELIM from that Crime,
Which you, with ſtrong Appearance, charge upon him.
EDWARD.
Appearance, THEALD? with unqueſtion'd Proof.
Doubtleſs the Villain would be glad to change
The Courſe by Nature fix'd, enjoy his Crimes
Without their Evil—But he ſhall not ſcape me!
SELIM.
If, King of England, in this weighty Matter,
On which depends the Weal and Life of Thou⯑ſands,
[56] You love and ſeek the Truth, let Reaſon judge,
Cool, ſteady, quiet and diſpaſſion'd Reaſon.
For never yet, ſince the proud ſelfiſh Race
Of Men began to jar, did Paſſion give,
Nor ever can it give, a right Deciſion.
EDWARD.
Reaſon has judg'd, and Paſſion ſhall chaſtiſe,
Shall make you howl, ye Cowards of the Eaſt!
What can be clearer? This vile Prince of Jaffa!
This Infamy of Princes! Sends a Ruffian,
By his own Hand and Seal commiſſion'd, ſends him,
To treat of Peace: And, as I read his Letters,
The Villain ſtabs me—This, if This wants Light,
There is no Certainty in human Reaſon;
If This not ſhines with all-convincing Truth,
Yon Sun is dark—And yet theſe Cowards come
With lying Shifts, and low eluſive Arts—
O it inflames my Anger into Madneſs!
This added Inſult on our Underſtanding,
This treacherous Attempt to ſteal away
The only Joy and Treaſure of my Life,
Sweet ſacred Vengeance for my murder'd Princeſs!
SELIM.
The curſed Wretch who did aſſail thy Life,
O King of England, was indeed an Envoy
Sent by the Prince of Jaffa: This we own.
But then he was an execrable Bigot,
Who, for ſuch horrid Purpoſes, had crept
Into the cheated Sultan's Court and Service;
As by the Traltor's Papers we have learn'd.
For know, there lives, upon the craggy Cliffs
Of wild Phenician Mountains, a dire Race,
A Nation of Aſſaſſins. Dreadful Zeal,
Fierce and intollerant of all Religion
That differs from their own, is the black Soul
Of that infernal State. Soon as their Chief,
[57] The Old Man (ſo they ſtile him) of the Mountains,
Gives out his baleful Will, however fell,
However wicked and abhorr'd it be,
Tho' cloth'd in Danger the moſt cruel Death,
They, ſwift and ſilent, glide thro' every Land,
As fly the gloomy Miniſters of Vengeance,
Famine and Plague; they ly for Years conceal'd,
Make light of Oaths, nay, ſometimes change Religion,
And never fail to execute his Orders.
Of theſe the Villain was, theſe ruffian Saints,
The Curſe of Earth, the Terror of Mankind:
And the Engagement, Prince, in this Cruſado,
That was the Reaſon whence they ſought thy Life
EDWARD.
Falſe, falſe as Hell! the Lye of guilty Fear!
You all are Bigots, Robbers, Ruffians all!
It is the very Genius of your Nation.
Vindictive Rage, the Thirſt of Blood conſumes you:
You live by Rapine, thence your Empire roſe;
And your Religion is a meer Pretence
To rob and murder, in the Name of Heaven.
SELIM.
Be patient, Prince, be more humane and juſt.
You have your Virtues, have your Vices too;
And we have ours. The liberal Hand of Nature
Has not created us, nor any Nation,
Beneath the bleſſed Canopy of Heaven,
Of ſuch malignant Clay, but each may boaſt
Their native Virtues, and their Maker's Bounty.
You call us Bigots.—Oh! canſt thou with that
Reproach us, Chriſtian Prince? What brought thee hither?
What elſe but Bigotry? What doſt thou here?
What elſe but perſecute?—The Truth is great,
Greater than thee, and I will give it Way;
[58] Even thou thyſelf, in all thy Rage, wilt hear it—
From their remoteſt Source, theſe holy Wars
What have they breath'd but Bigotry and Rapine?
Did not the firſt Cruſaders, when their Zeal
Should have ſhone out the pureſt, did they not,
Led by the frantic Hermit who began
The murderous Trade, thro' their own Countries ſpread
The Woes their Vice could not reſerve for ours?
Tho' this exceeds the Purport of my Meſſage,
Yet muſt I thus inſulted in my Country,
Inſulted in Religion, bid thee think,
O King of England, on the different Conduct
Of Saracens and Chriſtians, when beneath
Your pious GODFREY, in the firſt Cruſado,
Jeruſalem was ſack'd, and when beneath
Our generous SALADIN it was retaken—
O hideous Scene! my Soul within me ſhrinks,
Abhorrent, from the View!—Twelve thouſand Wretches,
Receiv'd to Mercy, void of all Defence,
Truſting to plighted Faith, to purchas'd Safety,
Behold theſe naked Wretches, in cold Blood,
Men, Women, Children, murder'd, baſely mur⯑der'd!
The holy Temple, which you came to reſcue,
Regorges with the barbarous Profanation.
The Streets run diſmal Torrents. Drown'd in Blood,
The very Soldier ſickens at his Carnage.
Couldſt thou, O Sun, behold the bla [...]ing Sight,
And lift again thy ſacred Eye on Mortals?
A ruthleſs Race! Who can do This, can do it,
To pleaſe the general Father of Mankind!
While nobler SALADIN—
EDWARD.
Away! be gone!
[59] With thee, vile Derviſe, what have I to do?
I loſe my Hour of Vengeance, I debaſe me,
To hold this Talk with Thee.
SELIM.
While Truth and Reaſon
Speak from my Tongue, vile Derviſe as I am,
Yet am I greater than the higheſt Monarch,
Who, from blind Fury, grows the Slave of Paſſion.
Beſides, I come to juſtify a Prince,
Howe'er in other Qualities below thee,
In Love of Goodneſs, Truth, Humanity,
And Honour, Sir, thy Equal;—Yes, thy Equal!—
EDWARD.
What? How? compare me with a damn'd Aſſaſſin?
A matchleſs Villain!—Ha! preſumptuous Derviſe!
Thou gnawſt thy quivering Lip—A ſmother'd Paſſion
Shakes thro' thy Frame.—What Villainy is That
Thou dar'ſt not utter?—Wert thou not a Wretch,
Protected by thy Habit, this right Hand
Should cruſh thee into Atoms—Hence! away!
Go tell thy Maſter that I hold him baſe,
Beyond the Power of Words to ſpeak his Baſeneſs!
A Coward! an Aſſaſſinating Coward!
And when I once have dragg'd him from his City,
Which I will ſtraitway do—I then will make him,
In all the Gall and Bitterneſs of Guilt;
Grinding the vengeful Steel betwixt his Teeth,
Will make the Traitor own it.
[SELIM, diſcovering himſelf.
Never!
EDWARD.
Ha!
SELIM.
Thou canſt not, haughty Monarch!—I am He!
I am this SELIM! this inſulted SELIM!
Yet clear as Day, and will confound thy Paſſion.
EDWARD.
[60]Thou SELIM!
SELIM.
I.
EDWARD.
Was ever Guilt ſo bold?
SELIM.
Did ever Innocence deſcend to fear?
EDWARD.
This bears ſome Shew of Honour. Wilt thou then
Decide it by the Sword?
SELIM.
I will do more—
EDWARD.
How more?
SELIM.
Decide it by ſuperior Reaſon.
EDWARD.
No weak Evaſions!—
SELIM.
If I not convince thee,
If by thy ſelf I am not of this Crime
Acquitted, then I grant thee thy Demand.
Nay more, yon yielded City ſhall be thine:
For know, hot Prince, I ſhould diſdain a Throne,
I could not fill with Honour. Were I guilty,
I would not tremble at thy threatning Voice;
No, 'tis my ſelf I fear.
EDWARD.
What ſhall I think?
SELIM.
Hear but one Witneſs, and I aſk no more,
To clear my Name. The Witneſs is a Woman.
Her Looks are Truth; fair uncorrupted Faith
Beams from her Eyes. Thou ne'er canſt doubt ſuch Beauty;
For 'tis th' Expreſſion of a ſpotleſs Soul.
EDWARD.
[61]Curſe on thy mean luxurious Eaſtern Arts
Of Cowardice! Thou wouldſt ſeduce my Ven⯑geance—
But I deteſt all Beauty—Barbarous Sultan!
Ah! thou haſt murder'd Beauty! thy fell Crime—
Haſte, GLOSTER, haſte—In ſight of Camp and City,
Prepare the Liſts—Now ſhow thy ſelf a Prince,
Or dy in ſhameful Tortures like a Slave.
SELIM.
I came not hither or to dread thy Wrath,
Or court thy Mercy.
GLOSTER.
Sir, you cannot, juſtly,
Refuſe him his Demand. The ſervent Soul
Of undiſſembled Innocence, methinks,
Is felt in what he ſays. Firſt hear this Perſon,
And if ſhe gives not full Conviction, then,
Have then Recourſe to what ſhould always be
The laſt Appeal of reaſonable Beings,
Brute Force.
EDWARD.
Well then, conduct Her hither, Sultan.—
[SELIM goes out.
Ah! my diſorder'd Mind! from Thought to Thought,
Uncertain, toſs'd, the Wreck of ſtormy Paſſion!
This Rage awhile ſupports me; but I feel
It will deſert me ſoon, and I again
Shall ſoon relapſe to Miſery and Weakneſs.
O ELEONORA! little didſt thou think,
How deeply wretched thy dire Gift of Life
Would make me!
SCENE IV.
[62]EDWARD, GLOSTER, THEALD;
To them SELIM conducting ELEONORA, DARAXA.
SELIM.
Raiſe thy Eyes, O King of England;
To the bright Witneſs of my blameleſs Honour.
EDWARD.
No; Beauty ſhall no more engage my Eyes,
It ſhall no more profane the Shrine devoted
To the ſweet Image of my ELEONORA!—
Let her declare her Knowledge in this Matter.
ELEONORA.
Will not my EDWARD bleſs me with a Look?
EDWARD.
What Angel borrows ELEONORA'S Voice!—
O thou pale Shade of Her I weep for ever!
Permit me thus to worſhip thee—Thou art!—
Amazing Heaven!—Thou art my ELEONORA!
My ELEONORA'S Self! my dear, my felt,
My living ELEONORA!—What—to whom
Owe I this Miracle? this better Life?—
Oppreſſive Joy!—owe I my ELEONORA?
ELEONORA.
To him, that generous Prince, who put his Life
His Honour on the deſperate Riſque to ſave me,
When number'd with the Dead; who brought, himſelf,
A ſwift and powerful Remedy, by which
I am to Light reſtor'd—to thee, my EDWARD!
EDWARD.
To him! to him!—O monſtrous!—whom I, thus,
Have with ſuch Inhumanity inſulted!
[93] O blind, O brutiſh, O injurious Rage!
They they are wiſe, who, when they feel thy Madneſs,
Seal up their Lips. And canſt thou then forgive me,
Thou who haſt o'er me gain'd that nobleſt Triumph,
The Triumph of Humanity?—Thou canſt.
'Tis eaſier for the Generous to forgive
Than for Offence to aſk it.
SELIM.
Uſe not, Prince,
So harſh a Word. More than forgive, I love
Thy noble Heat, thy beautiful Diſorder.
O! I am too much Man, I feel, myſelf,
Too much the charming Force of human Paſſions,
E'er to pretend, with ſupercilious Brow,
With proud affected Virtue, to diſdain them.
EDWARD.
How, generous Sultan, how ſhall I requite Thee?
Here—Take thy lov'd DARAXA, whom I meant
To have reſtor'd, when this Misfortune happen'd;
But ſecret-working HEAVEN ordain'd her Stay,
To ſave us all.
SELIM.
Wert thou the Lord of Earth,
Thou could'ſt not give me more!—my dear DA⯑RAXA!
EDWARD,
Hence, to the Camp, my GLOSTER—Bid the Soldiers
Forſake the Trenches—Let unbounded Joy
Reign, fearleſs, o'er the mingled Camp and City—
Go, tell my faithful Soldiers, that their Queen
My ELEONORA lives! A Prize beyond
The Chance of War to give! She lives to ſoften
My too imperious Temper, and to make them,
To make my People happy!—O my Soul!
[64] What Love e'er equall'd thine? O deareſt! beſt!
Pride of thy Sex! inimitable Goodneſs!
Whenever Woman henceforth ſhall be prais'd
For conjugal Affection, Men will ſay
There ſhine the Virtues of an ELEONORA!
Tranſporting Bliſs!—How bountiful is Heaven!
Depreſſing often, but to raiſe us more.
Let never thoſe deſpair who follow Virtue.
Love—Gratitude—divide me—Once more, Sultan,
Forgive me, pardon my miſtaken Zeal,
That left my Country, croſs'd the ſtormy Seas,
To war with thee, brave Prince, to war with Ho⯑nour.
Now that my Paſſions give me leave to think:
The Hand of HEAVEN appears in what I ſuffer'd,
My erring Zeal has ſuffer'd by a Bigot.
SELIM.
It does, O King. And venerable Chriſtian,
I know thy Moderation will excuſe me.
But ſince by ruling WISDOM (who unweigh'd,
Unmeant, does Nought) Men are ſo various made,
So various turn'd, that, in Opinions, they
Muſt blindly think, or take a different Way;
In ſpite of Force, ſince Judgment will be free;
Then let us in this righteous Mean agree:
Let holy Rage, let Perſecution ceaſe;
Let the Head argue, but the Heart be Peace;
Let all Mankind in Love of what is right,
In Virtue and Humanity unite.
The END.