The Ambitious Step-mother/Act 1 Scene 1
The Ambitious Step-mother.
ACT I.
SCENE I. A Royal Palace.
Enter at several Doors Mirza and Magas.
Mir.What bringst thou, Magas? Say, how fares the King?
Mag.As one, whom when we number with the living,We say the most we can; tho sure it mustBe happier far, to quit a wretched being,Than keep it on such terms: For as I enter'dThe Royal Lodging, an universal horrorStruck thro my Eyes, and chill'd my very Heart;The chearful day was every where shut outWith care, and left a more than midnight darkness,Such as might ev'n be felt: A few dim Lamps,That feebly lifted up their sickly heads,Lookt faintly thro the shade, and made it seemMore dismal by such light; while those that waited,In solemn sorrow, mixt with wild amazement,Observ'd a dreadful silence.
Mirz.Didst thou see him?
Mag.My Lord, I did; treading with gentle steps,I reacht the Bed, which held the poor remainsOf great Arsaces, just as I approacht,His drooping lids, that seem'd for ever clos'd,Were faintly rear'd, to tell me that he liv'd:The balls of sight, dim and depriv'd of motion, Sparkled no more with that Majestick sire,At which ev'n Kings have trembled; but had lostTheir common useful office, and were shadedWith an eternal night; struck with a sight,That shew'd me humane nature faln so low,I hastily retir d.
Mirz.He dyes too soon;And fate if possible must be delay d;The thought that labours in my forming brain,Yet crude and immature, demands more time.Have the Physicians giv'n up all their hopes?Cannot they add a few days to a Monarch,In recompence of thousand vulgar fates,Which their Drugs daily hasten?
Mag.As I pastThe outward Rooms, I found 'em in Consult;I askt 'em if their art was at a stand,And could not help the King; they shook their heads,And in most grave and solemn wise, unfoldedMatter, which little purported, but wordsRankt in right learned phrase; all I could learn, was;That Nature's kindly warmth was quite extinct,Nor could the breath of art kindle againTh' Etherial fire.
Mirz.My Royal Mistress Artemisa's fate,And all her Son Young Artaban's high hopes,Hang on this lucky Crisis; since this day.The haughty Artaxerxes and old MemnonEnter Persepolis: The yearly FeastDevoted to our glorious God the Sun,Hides their designs under a holy veil;And thus Religion is a mask for Faction.But let their Guardian Genii still be watchful,For if they chance to nod, my waking vengeanceShall surely catch that moment to destroy 'em.
Mag.'Tis said the fair Amestris, Memnon's Daughter,Comes in their company.
Mirz.That fatal Beauty,With most malignant influence, has crostMy first and great Ambition. When my Brother,The great Cleander fell by Memnon's hand,(You know the story of our Houses quarrel)I sought the King for Justice on the Murderer;And to confirm my interest in the Court,In confidence of mighty wealth and power,A long descent from Noble Ancestors,And somewhat of the Beauty of the Maid,I offer'd my Cleone to the PrinceFierce Artaxerxes; he, with rude disdainRefus'd the proffer; and to grate me more,Publickly own'd his passion for Amestris;And in despight ev'n of his Fathers Justice,Espous'd the Cause of Memnon.
Mag.Ev'n from that noted Æra, I rememberYou dated all your service to the Queen,Our Common Mistress.
Mirz.'Tis true, I did so; Nor was it in vain;She did me right, and satisfy'd my vengeance;Memnon was banisht, and the Prince disgrac'dWent into Exile with him. Since that time,Since I have been admitted to her Council,And have seen her, with unerring judgment guideThe Reins of Empire, I have been amaz'd,To see her more than manly strength of Soul,Cautious in good success, in bad unshaken;Still arm'd against the uncertain turns of Chance,Untoucht by any weakness of her Sex,Their Superstition, Pity, or their Fear;And is a Woman only in her Cunning.What story tells of great Semiramis,Or Rolling Time, that gathers as it goes,Has added more, such Artemisa is.
Mag.Sure 'twas a mark of an uncommon Genius,To bend a Soul like that of great Arsaces,And Charm him to her sway.
Mirz.Certainly Fate,Or somewhat like the force of Fate, was in it;And still whene're remembrance sets that sceneBefore my eyes, I view it with amazement.
Mag.I then was young, a stranger to the Court,And only took the story as reportedBy different Fame, you must have known it better.
Mirz.Indeed I did, then favour'd by the King,And by that means a sharer in the secret.'Twas on a day of publick Festival,When Beauteous Artemisa stood to view,Behind the Covert of a Golden Lattice,When King and Court returning from the Temple;When just as by her stand Arsaces past,The Windows, by design or chance, fell down,And to his view expos'd her blushing Beauties.She seem'd surpriz'd, and presently withdrew,But ev'n that moment was an age in Love;So was the Monarchs heart for passion moulded,So apt to take at first the soft impression.Soon as we were alone, I found the EvilAlready past a Remedy, and vainlyUrg'd the resentment of her injur'd Lord:His Love was deaf to all.
Mag.Was Tiribasus absent?
Mir.He was then General of the Horse,Under old Memnon in the Median War.But if that distant view so much had charm'd him,Imagine how he burnt, when, by my means,He view'd her Beauties nearer, when each action,And every graceful sound conspir'd to charm him:Joy of her Conquest, and the hopes of Greatness,Gave Lustre to her Charms, and made her seemOf more than mortal Excellence. In short,After some faint resistance, like a BrideThat strives a while, tho eager for the bliss,The furious King Enjoy'd her.And to secure their Joys, a snare was laid For her unthinking Lord, in which he fellBefore the fame of this could reach his Ears.Since that, she still has by successful ArtsMaintain'd that power, which first her beauty gain'd.
Mag.With deepest foresight, wisely has she laidA sure foundation of the future greatnessOf Artaban, her only darling Son.Each busie thought, that rouls within her breast,Labours for him; the King, when first he sicken'd,Declar'd he should succeed him in the Throne.
Mir.That was a point well gain'd; nor were the EldershipOf Artaxerxes worth our least of fears,If Memnon's interest did not prop his Cause.Since then they stand secur'd, by being joyn'd,From reach of open force; it were a MasterpieceWorthy a thinking head, to sow divisionAnd seeds of jealousie, to lose those bonds,Which knit and hold 'em up, that so divided,With ease they might be ruin'd.
Mag.That's a difficulty, next to impossible.
Mir.Cease to think so;The wise and active conquer difficulties,By daring to attempt 'em; sloth and follyShiver and shrink at sight of toil and hazard,And make th' impossibility they fear;Ev'n Memnon's temper seems to give th' occasion;Of wrong impatient, headlong to revenge;Tho bold, yet wants that faculty of thinking,That should direct his anger. Valiant foolsWere made by Nature for the wise to work with;They are their tools, and 'tis the sport of Statesmen,When Heroes knock their knotty heads together,And fall by one another.
Mag.What you've said,Has wak'd a thought in me which may be lucky;Ere he was banisht for your Brothers murder,There was a friendship 'twixt us; and tho then I left his barren soil, to root my selfMore safely, under your auspicious shade,Yet still pretending tyes of ancient Love,At his arrival here I'll visit him;Whence this advantage may at least be made,To ford his shallow Soul.
Mirz.Oh much, much more;'Twas happily remembred, nothing gullsThese open, unsuspecting fools, like friendship;Dull heavy things! whom Nature has left honestIn meer frugality, to save the ChargeShe's at in setting out a thinking Soul:Who, since their own short understandings reachNo farther than the present, think ev'n the wise,Like them, disclose the secrets of their breasts,Speak what they think, and tell tales of themselves:Thy function too will varnish o're our arts,And sanctifie dissembling.
Mag.Yet still I doubt,His caution may draw back, and fear a snare.
Mirz.Tell him, the better to assist the fraud,That ev'n I wish his friendship, and would gladlyForget that cause of hate, which long has held usAt mortal distance, give up my revenge,A grateful Offering to the publick peace.
Mag.Could you afford him such a bribe as that,A Brothers blood yet unatton'd
Mirz.No Magas,It is not in the power of fate to razeThat thought from out my memory;Eternal night, 'tis true, may cast a shadeOn all my faculties, extinguish knowledge;And great Revenge may with my Being cease;But while I am, that ever will remain,And in my latest Spirits still survive.Yet, I would have thee promise that, and more,The friendship of the Queen, the restitutionOf his Command, and Honours, that his Daughter Shall be the Bride of Artaban; say any thing;Thou knowst the Faith of Courtiers, and their Oaths,Like those of Lovers, the Gods laugh at 'em.
Mag.Doubt not my zeal to serve our Royal Mistress,And in her Interest yours, my Friend and Patron.
Mirz.My worthy Priest! still be my friend, and shareEmbracing.The utmost of my power, by greatness rais'd.Thou like the God thou serv'st, shall shine aloft,And with thy influence rule the under world.But see! the Queen appears; she seems to muse,Her thoughtful Soul, labours with some eventOf high import, which bustles like an EmbryoIn its dark room, and longs to be disclos'd.Retire, lest we disturb her. They retire to the side of the Stage.
Enter the Queen attended.
Qu.Be fixt, my Soul, fixt on thy own firm basis!Be constant to thy self; nor know the weakness,The poor Irresolution of my Sex:Disdain those shews of danger, that would barMy way to glory. Ye Diviner Pow'rs!By whom 'tis said we are, from whose bright BeingsThose active sparks were struck which move our clay,I feel, and I Confess the Etherial energy,That busie restless principle, whose appetiteIs only pleas'd with greatness like your own:Why have you clogg'd it then with dull mass,And shut it up in Woman? Why debas'd itTo an Inferiour part of the Creation?Since, your own heavenly hands mistook my lot,'Tis you have err'd, not I. Could Fate e're meanMe, for a Wife, a Slave to Tiribasus!To such a thing as he! a Wretch! a Husband!Therefore in just assertion of my self,I shook him off, and past those narrow limits,Which Laws contrive in vain for Souls born great. There is not, must not be a bound for greatness;Power gives a sanction, and makes all things just.Seeing Mirza.Ha! Mirza! Worthy Lord! I saw thee not,So busie were my faculties in thought.
Mir.The thoughts of Princes dwell in sacred privacy,Bowing.Unknown and venerable to the vulgar;And like a Temples innermost recesses,None enters, to behold the hallow'd mysteries,Unbidden of the God that dwells within.
Qu.Wise Mirza! were my Soul a Temple, fitFor Gods, and Godlike Counsels to inhabit,Thee only would I choose of all mankind,To be the Priest, still favour'd with access;Whose piercing Wit, sway'd by unerring Judgment,Might mingle ev'n with assembled Gods,When they devise unchangeable decrees,And call 'em Fate.
Mirz.Whate're I am, each faculty,The utmost power of my Exerted Soul,Preserves a being only for your service;And when I am not yours, I am no more:
Qu.Time shall not know an end of my acknowledgments,But every day of our continu'd livesBe witness of my gratitude, to drawThe knot, which holds our Common Interest, closer;Within six days, my Son, my Artaban,Equally dear to me as life and glory,In publick shall Espouse the fair Cleone,And be my pledge of Everlasting Amity.
Mir.O Royal Lady! you out-bid my service;And all returns are vile, but words the poorest.
Qu.Enough! be as thou hast been, still my friend,I ask no more. But I observe of late,Your Daughter grows a stranger to the Court;Know you the cause?
Mirz.A melancholy Girl;Such in her Infancy her Temper was,Soft ev'n beyond her Sexes tenderness; By nature pitiful, and apt to grieveFor the mishaps of others, and so makeThe sorrows of the wretched world her own.Her Closet and the Gods share all her time,Except when (only by some Maid attended)She seeks some shady solitary Grove,Or by the gentle murmur of some BrookSits sadly listning to a tale of sorrow,Till with her tears she swell the narrow stream.
Qu.It is not well, these thoughts must be remov'd:That eating Canker Grief, with wasteful spight,Preys on the Rosie bloom of Youth and Beauty:But Love shall chace away these clouds of sadness;My Son shall breathe so warm a gale of sighs,As shall dissolve those Isicles, that hangLike death about her heart.Attend us, holy Magus, to the King,Nor cease to importune the mighty GodsTo grant him health, tho much I fear in vain.Exit Queen, Magas, and Attendants.
Manet Mirza.
Mirz.This meddling Priest longs to be found a fool;Thinks he that Memnon, Souldier as he is,Thoughtless, and dull, will listen to his soothing?Howe're, I gave his wise proposal way,Nay, urg'd him to go on; the shallow fraudWill ruine him for ever with my Enemies,And make him firmly mine, spight of his fearsAnd natural inconstancy.While Choice remains he will be still unsteady,Exit.And nothing but necessity can fix him.
Enter Artaxerxes, Memnon and Attendants.
Artax.Methinks, my noble Father and my Friend,We enter here like strangers, and unlookt for:Each busie face we meet, with wonder starts,And seems amaz'd to see us.
Mem.Well may th' ignoble herdStart, if with heedless steps they unawaresTread on the Lyons walk; a Prince's geniusAwes with supiner greatness all beneath him.With wonder they behold the great ArsacesReviv'd again in Godlike Artaxerxes.In you they see him, such as oft they didReturning from his Wars, and Crown'd with Conquest,When all our Virgins met him on the way,And with their Songs and Dances blest his Triumph:Now basely aw'd by factious Priests and Women,They start at Majesty, and seem surpriz'dAs if a God had met 'em. In Honours nameWhy have we let this be? Why have we languisht?And suffer'd such a Government as thisTo waste our strength, and wear our Empire low?
Art.Curst be the means by which these ills arose,Fatal alike to me as to my Country;Which my great Soul, unable to revenge,Has yet with indignation only seen,Cut off by Arts of Coward Priests and Statesmen,Whom I disdain'd with servile smiles to court,From the great right which God and Nature gave,My birthright to a Throne.
Mem.Nor Priests, nor Statesmen,Could have compleated such an ill as that,If Woman had not mingled in the mischief;If Artimesa had not, by her Charms,And all her Sex's Cunning, wrought the King,Old, obvious to her arts, decay'd in greatness,Dead to the memory of what once he was,Just crawling on the verge of wretched life,A burthen to himself, and his friends pity;Among his other failings, to forgetAll that a Father and a King could oweTo such a Son as you were; to cut you offFrom your Succession, from your hopes of Empire,And graft her upstart offspring on to Royalty.
Artax.But if I beat it,Oh may I live to be my Brothers Slave,The scorn of those brave Friends that own my Cause;May you my Father spurn me for a Coward,May all my noble hopes of Love and GloryLeave me to vile despair. By heaven, my heartSits lighter in my bosome, when I thinkThat I this day shall meet the Boy my Brother,Whose young Ambition with aspiring wingsDares ev'n to mate my greatness.
Mem.Fame, that speaksMinutely every circumstance of Princes,Describes him bold, and fiercely fond of power,Which ev'n in spight of Nature he affects.Impatient of Command, and hardly daigningTo be controll'd by his Imperious Mother.'Tis said too (as no means were left untry'd,Which might prepare and fit him to contendWith a superiour right of birth and merit,)That Books, and the politer Arts, (which thoseWho know admire) have been his care; alreadyHe mingles in their Councils, and they trustHis youth with secrets of important villany.The Crowd, taught by his Creatures to admire him,Stile him a God in Wisdom.
Artax.Be that his glory,Let him with Pedants hunt for praise in Books,Pore out his Life amongst the lazy Gown-men,Grow old and vainly proud in fancy'd knowledge,Unequal to the task of vast Ambition.Ambition! the desire of active Souls,That pushes 'em beyond the bounds of Nature,And elevates the Hero to the Gods.But see! my Love, your beauteous Daughter comes,And ev'n Ambition ckens at her sight.
Enter Amestris attended.
Revenge, and fierce desires of Glory, ceaseTo urge my passions, master'd by her eyes;And only gentle fires now warm my breast.
Amest.I come, my Father, to attend your order.To Memnon.
Mem.'Tis well; and I would have thee still be near me,The malice of the Faction which I hate,Would vent it self even on thy Innocence,Wert thou not safe under a Fathers Care.
Art.Oh say a Lover's too; nor can you haveAn Interest in her safety more than mine.Love gives a Right superiour ev'n to Nature;Or Love is Nature, in the noblest meaning,The cause and the preserver of the world.These arms that long to press thee to my bosome,For ever shall defend thee.
Mem.Therefore, my Son,Unto your Care I leave our common charge;Tigranes with our friends expects my orders;Those when I have dispatcht, upon the instantI will return, and meet at your apartment.Exit Memnon.
Art.Come to my arms, and let me hide thee thereFrom all those fears that vex thy beating heart,Be safe and free from all those fancy'd dangers,That haunt thy Apprehension.
Ames.Can you blame me?If from retirement drawn and pleasing solitude,I fear to tempt this Stormy Sea the World,Whose every Beach is strew'd with wrecks of wretches,That daily perish in it. Curst Ambition!Why dost thou come to trouble my repose,Who have even from my Infancy disclaim'd thee?
Art.Cease to complain, my Love, and let no thoughtBut what brings peace and joy approach thy breast.Let me impart my manly fires to thee,To warm thy fancy to a taste of glory; Imperial power and Purple greatness wait thee,And sue for thy acceptance; by the Sun,And by Arsaces Head, I will not mountThe Throne of Cyrus, but to share it with thee.
Ames.Vain shews of happiness! deceitful pageantry!Ah! Prince, hadst thou but known the joys which dwellWith humbler fortunes, thou wouldst Curse thy Royalty.Had fate alotted us some obscure Village,Where only blest with life's necessities,We might have pass'd in peace our happy days,Free from the Cares which Crowns and Empires bring;There no Step-mother, no Ambitious Brother,No wicked Statesmen, would with Impious Arts,Have strove to wrest from us our small Inheritance,Or stir the simple Hinds to noisie faction.Our nights had all been blest with balmy slumbers,And all our waking hours been crown'd with Love.
Art.Exquisite Charmer! now by OrosmadesI swear, thy each soft accent melts my Soul:The joy of Conquest, and Immortal Triumph,Honour and Greatness, all that fires the HeroTo high Exploits, and Everlasting Fame,Grows vile in sight of thee. My haughty Soul,By Nature fierce, and panting after glory,Could be content to live obscure with thee,Forgotten and unknown of all but my Amestris.
Ames.No, Son of great Arsaces, though my SoulShares in my Sexes weakness, and would flyFrom noise and faction, and from fatal greatness,Yet for thy sake, thou Idol of my heart,(Nor will I blush to own the sacred flame,Thy sighs and vows have kindled in my breast,)For thy lov'd sake, spight of my boding fears,I'll meet the danger which Ambition brings,And tread one path with thee: Nor shalt thou loseThe glorious portion which thy fate designs thee,For thy Amestris fears.
Art.Give me those fears; For all things will be well.
Ames.Grant it, ye powers:This day before your Altars will I kneel,Where all my Vows shall for my Prince be offer'd:Still let success attend him, Let mankindAdore in him your visible divinity;Nor will I importune you for my self,But summ up all I ask in Artaxerxes.
Art.And doubt not but the Gods will kindly hearTheir Virgin Votary, and grant her Pray'r;Our glorious Sun, the source of light and heat,Whose influence chears the world he did create,Shall smile on thee from his Meridian Skies,And own the kindred Beauties of thy Eyes;Thy Eyes, which, could his own fair beams decay,Might shine for him, and bless the world with day. Exeunt.