Poems upon Several Occasions/The British Enchanters/Act 1

by George Granville

 

THE

British Enchanters.

---

ACT I. SCENE I.

The Curtain rises to a Flourish of all sorts of loud Musick.
The Scene is a Grove beautify'd with Fountains, Statues,
&c. Urganda is discover'd as in the midst of some
Ceremony of Enchantment. Thunder during the Musick.

Urganda, Delia, and Attendants.

Urganda.

OUND, sound, ye Winds, the rended Clouds divide,
Fright back the Priest, and save a trembling Bride;
Assist an injur'd Lover's faithful Love:
An injur'd Lover's Cause is worthy Jove.

Del. Successful is our Charm: The Temple shakes,
The Altar nods, th' aftonish'd Priest forsakes
The hallow'd Shrine, starts from the Bridegroom's Side,
Breaks off the Rites, and leaves the Knot unty'd.

[Thunder again and Musick. Urganda walks down
the Scene, waving her inchanted Rod during the following
Incantation.

Ye sweet Musicians of the sky,
Hither, hither, fly, fly;
And with enchanting Notes all Magick else supply.
Sound the Trumpet, touch the Lute,
Strike the Lyre, and tune the Flute;
In Harmony,
Celestial Harmony,
All Magick Charms are found;
Sound the Trumpet, sound.

A Single Voice,

Jason thus to Orpheus said,
Take thy Harp, and melt the Maid;
Vows are vain, with Musick warm her,
Play, my Friend, and charm the Charmer.
Hark! hark! 'tis Orpheus plays,
The Cedars dance, the Grove obeys.
Hark, hark again!
Medea melts like Proserpine.

List'ning she turns: How soft, she cries!
How sweet! ah how sweet each String replies,
'Till on the warbling Note she dies,
Ah how sweet, and how divine!
O! 'tis a Pleasure
Beyond Measure,
Take the Treasure,
Greek, 'tis thine.

CHORUS

Sound the Trumpet, touch the Lute;
Strike the Lyre and tune the Flute;
In Harmony,
Celestial Harmony,
All Magick Charms are found;
Sound the Trumpet, sound.

First Dance of Statues.

A Single Voice.

When with adoring Looks we gaze
On bright Oriana's heav'nly Face,
In every Glance, and every Grace,
What is that we see,
But Harmony;
Celestial Harmony!

Our ravish'd Hearts leap up to meet
The Musick of her Eyes, and dance around her Feet.

Urg. This Care for Amadis, ye Gods, approve;
For what's a Soldier's Recompence but Love?
When forc'd from Britain, call'd to distant War,
His vanquish'd Heart remain'd a Captive here;
Oriana's Eyes that glorious Conquest made,
Nor was his Love ungratefully repaid.

Del. By Arcabon, like hostile Juno, crost,
And like Æneas driv'n from Coast to Coast,
The wandring Hero wou'd return too late,
Charg'd by Oriana with the Crimes of Fate;
Who, anxious of Neglect, suspecting Change,
Consults her Pride, and meditates Revenge.

Urg. Just in the Moment, when Resentment fires,
A charming Rival tempts, a rugged King requires;
Love yields at last, thus combated by Pride,
And she submits to be the Roman's Bride.

Del. Did not your Art, with timely Aids, provide,
Oriana were his wife, and not his Bride.

Urg. In ancient Times, ere Chivalry was known,
The Infant World with Monsters overgrown,
Centaurs and Giants, nurst with human Blood,
And dire Magicians, an infernal Brood,
Vex'd Men and Gods: but most the Fair complain,
Of violated Loves, and Lovers slain.

To shelter Innocence, and injur'd Right,
The Nations all elect some Patron-Knight,
Sworn to be true to Love, and Slaves to Fame,
And many a valiant Chief enrols his Name;
By shining Marks distinguish'd they appear,
And various Orders various Ensigns bear.
Bound by strict Oaths, to serve the brightest Eyes,
Not more they strive for Glory than the Prize;
While, to invite the Toil, the fairest Dame
Of Britain, is the boldest Champion's Claim.

Del. Of all who in this Race of Fame delight,
Brave Amadis is own'd the hardy'st Knight.
Nor Theseus, nor Alcides, ventur'd more,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
Nor he so fam'd, who, bath'd in Monster's Gore,
Upon his crested Helm the trampled Dragon bore.

Urg. O mighty Amadis! what Thanks are due
To thy victorious Sword, that Ardan slew?
Ardan, that black Enchanter, whose dire Arts
Enslav'd our Knights, and broke our Virgins Hearts,
Met Spear to Spear, thy great deliv'ring Hand
Slew the Destroyer, and redeem'd the Land;
Far from thy Breast all Care and Grief remove,
Oriana's thine, by Conquest as by Love.

Del. The haughty Arcabon, of Ardan's Blood,
And Arcaläus, Foes alike to Good,
Gluttons in Murder, wanton to destroy,
Their fatal Arts as impiously employ:

Heirs to their Brother's Hatred, and sworn Foes
To Amadis, their Magick they oppose
Against his Love and Life.

Urg. With equal Care,
Their Vengeance to prevent, we now prepare,
Behold the Time, when tender Love shall be
Nor vext with Doubt, nor prest with Tyranny.
The Love sick Hero shall from Camps remove,
To reap Reward: The Hero's Pay is Love.
The Tasks of Glory painful are and hard,
But oh! how blest, how sweet is the Reward!

Urganda retires down the Scene as continuing the Ceremony
of Enchantments Musick playing, and her Attendants
repeating the Chorus of the foregoing Incantation 'till out of
Sight. The Scene changes to an Apartment in King
Celius's Palace. Enter a numerous Train of Britons and
Romans preceding Constantius and Corisanda, follow'd by
other Attendants, Men and Women; the Britons in a
painted Dress, after the ancient Manner.

Constantius, Oriana, Corisanda.

Con. Lovers consult not Stars, nor watch the Skies,
But seek their Sentence in their Charmer's Eyes.
Careless of Thunder, from the Clouds that break,
My only Omens from your Looks I take;
When my Oriana smiles, from thence I date
My future Hope, and when she frowns, my Fate.

Ori. If from my Looks your Sentence you wou'd hear,
Behold, and be instructed to Despair.

Con. Lost in a Labyrinth of Doubts and Joys,
Whom now her Smiles reviv'd, her Scorn destroys;
She will, and she will not; she grants, denies;
Consents, retracts; advances, and then flies;
Approving and rejecting in a Breath,
Now proff'ring Mercy, now presenting Death:
Thus Hoping, thus Despairing, never sure,
How various are the Torments I endure!
Cruel Estate of Doubt! ah! Princess try
Once to resolve, or let me live, or die.

Ori. Cease, Prince, the Anger of the Gods to move:
'Tis now become a Crime to mention Love.
Our holy Men, interpreting the Voice
Of Heav'n in Wrath, forewarn th' ill-omen'd Choice.

Con. Strange Rules for Constancy your Priests devise,
If Love and Hate must vary with your Skies.
From such vile Servitude set Reason free;$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
The Gods in ev'ry Circumstance agree;
To suit our Union, pointing out to me,
In this right Hand, the Scepter that they place
For me to hold, was meant for you to grace.
Thou best and fairest of the beauteous Kind,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
Accept that Empire which the Gods design'd,
And be the charming Mistress of Mankind.

Ambition, Love, whatever can inspire$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
A mutual Flame, Glory, and young Desire,
To guide and to adorn the destin'd Choice conspire.
If Greatness then with Beauty may compare,
And sure the Great are form'd but for the Fair,
Then 'tis most plain, that all the Gods decree
That I was born for you, and you for me.

Cor. Nuptials of Form, of Int'rest, or of State,
Those Seeds of Pride, are fruitful in Debate;
Let happy Men for generous Love declare,
And chuse the needy Virgin, Chaste and Fair:
Let Women to superior Fortune born:
For naked Virtue all Temptations scorn,
The Charm's immortal to a gallant Mind,
If Gratitude cement whom Love has joyn'd.
And Providence, not niggardly, but wise,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
Here lavishly bestows, and there denies,
That by each other's Virtue we may rise:
Weak the bare Tye of Man and Wife we find;
But Friend and Benefactor always bind.

 

Enter King Celius with a Guard of Britons.

Cel. Our Priests recover, 'twas a holy Cheat,
Lead back the Bride, the Ceremonies wait.

Ori. What Heav'n forbids———

Cel. 'Twas Ignorance of my Will,
Our Priests have better learnt: What now is ill,

Can, when I please, be good; and none shall dare
Preach or expound, but what their King wou'd hear.
E'er they interpret let 'em mark my Nod,
My voice their Thunder, this right Arm their God.
Prince, take your Bride.

Ori. 'Twere impious now to suffer him my Hand.

[Refusing to Constantius, who offers to take her Hand.

Cel. How dar'st thou disobey, when I command?
Mind, mind her not, nor be disturb'd at Tears,

[To Constantius.

A counterfeited Qualm of Bridal Fears;

All feign'd and false; while her Desires are more
A real Fire, but a dissembled Show'r;
You'd see, cou'd you her inward Motions watch,
Feigning Delay, she wishes for Dispatch;
Into a Woman's Meaning wou'd you look,
Then read her backward, like a Wizard's Book.
On to the Temple lead—

Ori. Obedience is your Due, which I must pay;
But as a Lover I command you,—— Stay.

[Again rejecting his Hand.

Obeying him, I'll be obey'd by you.

Con. Not Saints to Heav'n with more Submission bow:
I have no will but what your Eyes ordain:
Destin'd to Love, as they are doom'd to reign,

Cel. [Aside.] Into what Hands, ye Gods! have you refign'd
Your World? Are these the Masters of Mankind?
These supple Romans teach our Women Scorn.
I thank you, Gods, that I'm a Briton born.
Agree these Trifles in a short Debate:
Woman [To her.] no more of this, but follow strait:
And you [To him.] be quick, I am not us'd to wait.

[Exit Celius.

Oriana stands silent and weeping a-while, Constantius
looking concern'd. After a short Pause, Oriana speaks.

Ori. Your Stars and mine have chosen you, to prove
The noblest Way how gen'rous Men should love;
All boast their Flames, but yet no Woman found
A Passion, where Self-love was not the Ground.
Now we're ador'd, and the next Hour displease,
At first your Cure, and after, your Disease:
Slaves we are made, by false Pretences caught;
The Briton in my Soul disdains the Thought.

Con. So much, so tenderly, your Slave adores,
He has no Thought of Happiness, but yours.

Ori. Vows may be feign'd, nor shall meer words prevail,
I must have Proofs; but Proofs that cannot fail.
By Arms, by Honour, and by all that's dear
To Heroes, or expecting Lovers, swear.

Con. Needs there an Oath? and can Oriana say,
Thus I command, and doubt if I'll obey?

Ori. Then to be short, and put you out of Pain,
Leave me, and never see my Face again.
Start not, nor look surpriz'd, nor pausing stand,
Be your Obedience brief, as my Command.

Con. Your strange Command you give with such an Air;
Well may I pause, who tremble but to hear.
Love is a Plant of the most tender Kind,
That shrinks and shakes with ev'ry ruffling Wind;
Such words in jest, scarce can my Heart support,
In Pity, ah! forbear such cruel Sport.

Ori. Our serious Fates no Hours for Mirth allow,
And one short Truth is all my Refuge now.
Prepare then, Prince, to hear a Secret told,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
That Shame wou'd shun, and blushing I unfold,
But dangers pressing, Cowards will grow bold;
Know then, I love———

Con. Can you command Despair, yet Love confess;
And curse with the same Breath with which you bless?

Ori.Mistake me not———That I do love, is true,
But flatter not your self, it is not you.

Con. Forbid it, Gods! Strike any where but there;$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
Let but those Frowns, and that disdainful Air,
Be the accustom'd Niceness of the Fair;
Then I might hope, that Time, affiduous Love,
Vows, Tears, and Pray'rs such Coyness might remove:

But if engag'd———Recall the fatal Breath
That spoke that Word the Sound is instant Death.

Ori. Too late to be recall'd, or to deny,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
I own the fatal Truth; if one must die,
You are the Judge; say is it you, or I?

Enter hastily a Briton.

Brit. The King is much displeas'd at this Delay.$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \\\ \\\ \\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$

Con. And let him wait, while 'tis my Will to stay.

Ori. Bear back a gentler Answer—We'll obey.

Con. Hence ev'ry Sound that's either soft or kind;
Of or a War like that within my Mind:
Yes, by the Gods! I cou'd to Atoms tear,
Confound Mankind, and all the World—but her,
Say, Flatterer, say! ah, fair Deluder, speak,
Answer me this, ere yet my Heart does break;
Since thus engag'd, you never cou'd intend
Your Love, why was I flatter'd with your Hand?

Ori. To what a Father and a King thinks fit,
A Daughter and a Subject must submit.
Think not from Tyranny that Love can grow;
I am a Slave, and you have made me so.
Those Chains that Duty have put on, remove;
Slaves may obey, but they can never love.

Con. Cruel Oriana, much you wrong'd my Flame,
To think that I could say so harsh a Claim.

Love is a Subject to himself alone,
And knows no other Empire than his own;
No Ties can bind, that from Constraint arise,
Where either's forc'd, all Obligation dies:
Curst be the Man, who uses other Art
But only Love, to captivate a Heart.
O fatal Law! requiring to resign
The Object lov'd; or hated, keep her mine.

Ori. Accuse me not of Hate; with equal Eyes
I judge your Merit, and your Virtue prize;
Friendship, Esteem be yours: Bereft before
Of all my Love, what can I offer more!
Your Rival's Image in your Worth I view,
And what I lov'd in him, esteem in you;
Had your Complaint been first, it might have mov'd;
He then had been esteem'd, and you belov'd:
Then blame not me, since nothing bars your Fate,
But that you pleaded last, and came too late.
{Constantius stands in a thoughtful Posture.

Cor. Thus Merit's useless; Fortune holds the Scale,
And still throws in the Weight that must prevail;
Your Rival is not of more Charms possest,
A Grain of better Luck has made him blest.

Con. To love, and have the Power to possess,
And yet resign, can Flesh and Blood do this?
Shall Nature, erring from her first Command,
Self-Preservation, fall by her own Hand?

By her own Act, the Springs of Life destroy,
The Principles, and Being of her Joy?
Sensual and base———Can Nature then approve
Blessings obtain'd, by cursing whom we love?
Possessing, she is lost; renouncing, I;
Where then's the Doubt? Die, die, Constantius, die.
Honour and Love, ye Tyrants, I obey,
Where-e'er your cruel Call directs my Way,
To Shame, to Chains, or to a certain Grave
Lead on, unpitying Guides, behold your Slave.

Ori. Love's an ignoble Joy, below your Care,
Glory shall make amends with Fame in War;
Honour's the noblest Chace, pursue that Game,
And recompence the Loss of Love with Fame:
If still against such Aids your Love prevails,
Yet Absence is a Cure that seldom fails.

Con. Tyrannick Honour! what Amends canst thou
E'er make my Heart, by flattering my Brow?
vain Race of Fame! unless the Conquest prove
In search of Beauty, to conclude in Love.
Frail Hope of Aids! for Time or Chance to give
That Love, which spite of Cruelty can live!
From your Disdain, since no Relief I find,
I must love Absent, whom I love Unkind;
Tho' Seas divide us, and tho' Mountains part,
That fatal Form will ever haunt my Heart.
O! dire Reverse of Hope, that I endure,
From sure Possession, to Despair as sure!

Farewel, Oriana; yet, ere I remove,
Can you refuse one Tear to bleeding Love?
Ah no, take heed, turn, turn those Eyes away;
The Charm's so strong, I shall for ever stay.
Princess rejoyce, for your next News shall be;
Constantius dies to set Oriana free.
[Exeunt severally.