The Ambitious Step-mother/Act 2 Scene 1
ACT II.
SCENE I. An Apartment in the Palace.
Enter Memnon and Magas.
Mem.Those who are wise in Courts, my holy Sir,Make friendships with the Ministers of State,Nor seek the ruines of a wretched Exile,Lest there should be Contagion in misfortunes,And make the alliance fatal.
Mag.Friends like MemnonAre worth being sought in danger; since this ageOf most flagitious note, degeneratesFrom the fam'd vertue of our Ancestors,And leaves but few Examples of their Excellence.Whom should we seek for friendships but those few,Those happy few, within whose breasts alone, The footsteps of lost vertue yet remain?
Mem.I prithee peace! for nothing misbecomesThe man that would be thought a friend, like flattery;Flattery! the meanest kind of base dissembling,And only us'd to catch the grossest fools:Besides, it stains the honour of thy function,Which like the Gods thou servst, should be sincere.
Mag.By that sincerity, by all the serviceMy friendship can express, I would approve it;And tho I went not from PersepolisCompanion of your exile, yet my HeartWas with you still; and what I could I did,Beseeching every God for your return;Nor were those Vows in vain, since once again'Tis given me to behold my friend, nay more,Would you agree, to keep you here for ever.
Mem.The Gods, 'tis true, are just, and have, I hope,At length decreed an end of my misfortunes;At least they give me this, to dye with honour,When Life grows vile or burthensome.
Mag.By me they offer all that you can ask,And point an easie way to happiness.Spare then the Wounds our wretched Country fears,The thousand ills which Civil discord brings,Oh still that noise of war, whose dread alarms,Frightens repose from Country Villages,And stirs rude tumult up and wild distraction,In all our peaceful Cities.
Mem.Witness for me,Ye awful Gods, who view our inmost thoughts!I took not arms, till urg'd by self defence,The eldest law of Nature.Impute not then those ills which may insueTo me, but those who with incessant hatePursue my life; whose malice spreads the flameTo every part, that my devoted fabrickMay in the universal ruine burn.
Mag.And yet ev'n there perhaps you judge too rashly;Impetuous passion hurries you so fast, You cannot mark the advantage of your fortune.
Mem.Has not the Law been urg'd to set a brandOf foul dishonour on my hoary head?Ha! am I not proscrib'd?
Mag.Forget that thought,That jarring grates your Soul, and turns the harmonyOf blessed peace to curst infernal discord.Hate and its fatal causes all shall cease,And Memnon's name be honour'd as of old,The bravest and the most successful warrior,The fortunate defender of his Country.
Mem.'Tis true, (nor will it seem a boast to own)I have fought well for Persia, and repay'dThe benefit of birth with honest service,Full fifty years harnest in rugged Steel,I have endur'd the biting Winters blast,And the severer heats of parching Summer;While they who loll'd at home on lazy Couches,Amidst a Crew of Harlots and soft Eunuchs,Were at my cost secure in luxury,This is a Justice Mirza's self must do me.
Mag.Even he, tho fatal accidents have setA most unhappy bar between your friendship,Lamenting that there had been cause of Enmity,And owning all the merit of your virtues,Will often wish Fate had ordain d you friends.
Mem.Our God the Sun shall sooner change his Course,And all the impossibilities, which PoetsCount to extravagance of loose discription,Shall sooner be.
Mag.Yet hear me, noble Memnon;When by the duty of my Priesthood mov'd,And in just detestation of the mischiefsIntestine jars produce, I urg'd wise Mirza,By his Concurrence, Help, and healing Counsels,To stop those wounds at which his Country bleeds;Griev'd at the thought, he vow d, his whole endeavourShould be to close those breaches: That even Cleander's death, and all those QuarrelsThat long have nourisht hatred in your Houses,Should be in joy of publick Peace forgotten.
Mem.Oh couldst thou charm the malice of a Statesman,And make him quit his purpose of Revenge,Thy preaching might reform the guilty world,And Vice would be no more.
Mag.Nay, ev'n the QueenWill bind the Confirmation by her Son,And asks the fair Amestris for Prince Artaban.
Mem.Were that the only terms, it were impossible.
Mag.You would not shun th' alliance of a Prince?
Mem.No; for it is the glory of my fate,That Artaxerxes is design'd my Son,With every Grace and Royal Vertue crown'd;Great, just and merciful, such as mankind,(When, in the infant world, first governmentsBegan by chance) would have design'd a King.
Mag.Unbounded power, and height of greatness, giveTo Kings that lustre, which we think divine;The wise who know 'em, know they are but men,Nay, sometimes weak ones too; the Crowd indeed,Who kneel before the Image, not the God,Worship the Deity their hands have made.The Name of Artaban will be as greatAs that of Cyrus, when he shall possess(As sure he shall) his Throne.
Mem.Ha! what means he!This Villain Priest! but hold my rage a little,aside.And learn dissimulation; I'll try him farther.You talk in Riddles, when you name a ThroneAnd Artaban, the Gods, who portion outThe Lots of Princes as of private men,Have put a bar between his hopes and Empire.
Mag.What bar?
Mem.The best, an Elder Brothers Claim.
MagThat's easily remov'd, the King their FatherOn just and weighty reasons has decreed His Scepter to the younger; add to this,The joint Concurrence of our Persian Lords,Who only want your voice to make it firm.
Mem.Can I? Can they? Can any honest hand,Join in an act like this? is not the ElderBy nature pointed out for preference?Is not his right inroll'd amongst those LawsWhich keep the world's vast frame in beauteous order?Ask those thou namest but now, what made them Lords?What titles had they had, if merit onlyCould have conferr'd a right? if Nature had notStrove hard to thrust the worst deserving first,And stampt the Noble mark of EldershipUpon their baser mettal?
Mag.Sure there may beReasons, of so much power and cogent force,As may even set aside this right of Birth,If Sons have rights, yet Fathers have 'em too.'Twere an Invidious task to enter intoThe Insolence, and other faults, which mov'dRoyal Arsaces, to a just displeasureAgainst his Eldest Son Prince Artaxerxes.
Mem.Ha! dare not for thy life, I charge dare notTo brand the spotless virtue of my Prince,With falshoods of most base and damn'd contrivance.I tell thee, envious Priest, should the just GodsRequire severe account of thy past life,And charge remembrance to dispose thy Crimes,In rank and hideous order to thy view,Horror and guilt of Soul would make thee mad.
Mag.You take the matter farther than I meant it;My friendship only aims at your advantage,Would point you out a way to Peace and Honour,And in return of this, your rage unkindlyLoads me with Injuries.
Mem.Away! I cannot bear thy base dissembling,My honest Soul disdains thee and thy friendship.How hast thou dar'd to think so vilely of me; That I would condescend to thy mean arts,And traffick with thee for a Princes ruin;A Prince! the Joy and Honour of Mankind,As much superiour to the rest of Kings,As they themselves are above common men,And is the very Image of the Gods,Wer't thou not priviledg'd, like age and women,My Sword should reach thee, and revenge the wrongThy Tongue has done his fame.
Mag.Ungrateful Lord!Would'st thou invade my life, as a returnFor proffer'd Love? But let th' event declareHow great a good by me sincerely offer'd,Thy dull Romantick honour has refus'd.And since I have discharg'd the debt I ow'dTo former friendship, if the Gods hereafterSend Ruin down, and plague thee with Confusion,Exit Magas.Remember me in vain, and Curse thy folly.
Mem.No, my remembrance treasures honest thoughts,And holds not things like thee; I scorn thy friendship;And would not owe my life to such a Villain;But thou art hardly Saint enough to prophecy.Were all thy Tribe like thee, it might well startleOur Lay unlearned faith, when thro such handsThe knowledge of the Gods is reach'd to man.But thus those Gods instruct us, that not all(Who like intruders thrust into their service,And turn the Holy Office to a trade,)Participate their sacred influence.This then is your own Cause, ye awful powers,Revenge your selves, your violated Altars,That those who with unhallow'd hands approach,Exit Memnon.May tremble at your justice.