The Ambitious Step-mother/Act 3 Scene 3

by Nicholas Rowe

SCENE II.

The Scene opening shews the Altar of the Sun, Magas and several o­ther Priests attending. Solemn Musick is heard; then Enter on one side Memmon, Artaxerxes, Amestris, and Attendants, on the other side the Queen, Mirza, Artaban, Cleone, Cleanthes, and Attendants; they all bow towards the Altar, and then range themselves on each side of the Stage, while the following Hymn is perform'd in Parts, and Chorus by the Priests.

 

HYMN to the Sun, by W. Shippen. Esq

Hail Light, that doubly glads our sphere,Glory and Triumph of the year!Hail Festival for ever blest,By the adoring ravisht East!

Hail Mithras, mighty Deity!For Fire and Air, and Earth and Sea,From thee their origin derive,Motion and Form from thee receive.

When Matter yet unacted lay,No sooner thou infus'd thy ray,But the dull mass its pow'r obey'd,But an harmonious World was made.

Which still, when thou withdrawst thy beams,An undistinguisht Chaos seems;For what are objects without sight?Or vision when involv'd in night?

Night is an universal Grave,Where things but doubtful beings have,Till them thy beams illuminate,And as it were again create.

Chorus, &c.Hail source of immaterial fire,That ne're begun, can ne're expire,Whose Orh, with streaming Glories fraught,Dazles the ken of human thought!

All the dependant Spheres above,By thy direction shine and move.All purer beings here below,From thy immediate Essence flow.

What is the Soul of man but light,Drawn down from thy transcendent height?What but an Intellectual beam?A spark of thy immortal flame?

For as thou rulest with gladsome raysThe greater world, so this the less,And like thy own diffusive Soul,Shoots life and vigour thro the whole.

Since then from thee at first it came,To thee, tho clogg d, it points its flame,And conscious of superiour birth,Despises this unkindred Earth.

Chorus, &c.Hail Orosmades, Pow'r Divine!Permits us to approach thy shrine,Permit thy Votartes to raiseTheir grateful voices to thy praise.

Thou art the Father of our Kings,The stem whence their high lineage springs,The Sov'reign Lord that does maintainTheir uncontroul'd and boundless Reign.

O then assist thy drooping Son,Who long has grac't our Persian Throne!O may he yet extend his sway!We yet Arsaces Rule obey!

Let thy vitiality impartNew Spirits to his fainting Heart;Let him like thee (from whom he sprung)Be ever Active, ever Young.Chorus, &c.

 

When the Musick is ended Memnon, Artaxerxes, &c. Queen, Ar­taban, &c. go off as they Enter'd, severally: only Mirza comes forward and the Scene shuts; he looks after Amestris going out, and then speaks.

 

Mirz.What means this foreign warmth within my Breast?Is this a time for any thought but Vengeance?That fatal Beauty dazles my weak Sense,And blasts the resolution of my Soul:My Eyes in contradiction to my purpose,Still bent to her, and drunk the Poyson in;While I stood stupid in suspence of thought.And now like Oyl my flaming Spirits blaze,My Arteries, my Heart, my Brain is scortch't,And I am all one fury. Feeble Mirza!Can'st thou give way to dotage, and becomeThe jest of Fools? No! 'tis Impossible:Revenge shall rouse, and with her Iron whipsLash sorth this lazy Ague from my Blood,This Malady of Girls. Remember Statesman,Thy Fate and future Fortunes now are forming,And Summon all thy Counsels to their Aid; Ev'n thy whole Soul. It wo'not be; AmestrisStill rises uppermost in all my thoughts,The Master piece of Nature. The Boy GodLaughs at my Rage, and triumphs o're my Folly.Ha! by the Gods 'tis doing! Now my StarsA tumultuous noise is heard.Be kind and make me Master of my wish at once.A tumultuous noise is heard.Enter Magas.But see the Priest! Why dost thou stare and tremble,Have we succeeded, say; and ease my Fears.

Mag.My Soul is pierc't with Horror! Every GodSeems from his shrine to threaten us with Vengeance.The Temple reels and all its pond'rous RoofNods at the Prophanation.

Mirz.Base and fearful!How can thy wretched Soul conceive such Monsters?Can'st thou who would'st be great be Superstitious?But 'tis the Cowards Vice. Say; are our Enemies secur'd?

Mag.They are; the Prince, Old Memnon and his DaughterAre in Orchanes hands, only TigranesWith some of Lesser note are fled.

Mirz.No matter:These are the Soul, the rest a lifeless Mass,Not worth our Apprehension.

Mag.Will you stay,To meet the furious Thunder of their Rage?

Mirz.I will; thou may'st retire and summon back.Thy scatter'd Spirits; Let not the Crowd seeThy Fears, 'twill make the Vile and Cheap among 'emExit Magas.

Enter Artaxerxes, Memnon and Amestris Prisoners, Orchanes and Guards.

Artax.Slave! Villain! Answer, say how hast thou dar'dTo do this Insolence?———

Orch.I know my orders Which from the Queen my Mistress I receiv'd,Who will avow her own Authority.

Artax.Ha! from the Queen! She durst not! 'tis Impossible!'Tis Sacriledge! 'tis Treason! 'tis Damnation.Am I not Artaxerxes? Born to Empire,The next degree to God's. Oh thou bright Sun!That roul'st above the Object of our Worship.Can'st thou behold and not avenge thy Race?Thy injur'd Race? If I could ought admitUnworthy of thy great Original.Let me be doom'd to fall this Villain's Slave,If not!—Why am I made the scorn of Wretches?So much below me that they hardly shareThe Common priviledge of Kind; but areAs Beasts to Men.———

Mem.See where the Master Villain stands! unmov'dAnd harden'd in Impiety, he laughsAt the fictitious Justice of the God's,And thinks their Thunder has not Wings to reach him;but know the Joy thy Triumph brings is short,My Fate (if the God's govern) or at leastMy Mind's beyond thy reach, and scorns thy Malice.

Mirz.Dull valiant Fool thy Ruin is the leastThe most ignoble Triumph of my Wit.Cleander's Blood asks for substantial Vengeance,And when the thought that labours in my BreastAppears in Action, thou shalt know the causeWhy I remain to view thy hated Face,That blasts me with its Presence; thou shalt know itAnd Curse thy self, Curse the ill-omen'd dayThat gave the Birth, renouncing all the God's,Thy self of them renounc'd, shal't sink to HellIn bitterest Pangs and mingle with the furies.

Mem.Unhallow'd Dog, thou ly'st! The utmost forceOf all thy study'd Malice cannot move meTo any act that misbecomes my Courage,And if the God's in tryal of my VirtueCan yield my Life up to thy Hangman's Mercy; I'le shew thee with what ease the Brave and HonestCan put off Life till thou shal't damn thy Arts,Thy wretched Arts, and Impotence of Malice.

Mirz.Rest well assur'd, thou shalt have cause to tryThe Philosophick sorce of Passive Vertue.

Artax.Oh death to Greatness! Can we fall so lowTo be the slavish Objects of his Mirth?Shall my just Rage and violated HonourPlay the Buffoon and Minister to laughter?Down, down my swelling Heart, hide thy Resentments,Nor prostitute the ruffled MajestyOf injur'd Princes to the gazing Crow'd,My Face shall learn to cover the EmotionMy wounded Soul endures. Ha! my Amestris!My Love! my Royal Bride! the spoiler GriefDefaces every Feature, like the DelugeThat ras't the Beauties of the first Creation;I cannot bear it! Villains give me way![He breaks from the Guards that hold him
and catches hold of Amestris.

Oh let me hold thee in my throbbing Bosom,And strive to hide thy Sorrows from my sight,I cannot see thy Griefs; and yet I wantThe power to bring Relief.

Ames.Ah! no my Prince!There are no remedies for Ills like ours;My helpless Sex by nature stands expos'dTo all the Wrongs and Injuries of Fortune,Defenceless in my self, you were my resuge,You are my Lord, to whom should I Complain,Since you cannot redress me: were you notThe Honour, Joy, and Safety of Amestris?For you alone I liv'd, with you aloneI could be happy, oh my Artaxerxes!One influence guides our Consenting Stars,And still together are we Blest or Curst.

Mirz.With a malignant Joy my Ears drink in, [Aside.

Hear each Harmonious accent every glance,Goes to my Heart and stirs, alternate MotionsOf Heat and Cold, a lazy pleasure nowThrills all my Veins, anon Desire grows hot,And my old Sinews shrink before the Flame.

Artax.Go on! And Charm me with thy Angels Voice,Sooth and asswage the Fury in my Breast,That urges me to unbecoming Passion,My Rage grows cool amidst thy soft Complainings,And though thou talk'st of Woes, of Death and Ruin,'Tis Heaven to hear thee.

Ames.Since this is all our wretched Consolation,Let us indulge our Grief, 'till by long use,It grows Habitual, and we lose the pain.Here, on the Marble Pavement will we sit,Thy Head upon my Breast; and if remembranceOf Cruel Wrongs, shall vex thy noble Heart,The Murmur of my Sighs shall Charm the Tumult,And Fate shall fiind us Calm; nor will the Gods,Who here inhabit and behold our Sufferings,Delay to end our Woes in Immortality.

Artax.Ha! say'st thou? God's! Yes certain there are God's,To whom my Youth with Reverence still has bow'd,Whose Care and Providence are Virtues Guard,Think then my fair they have not made us great,And like themselves for miserable ends.

Mirz.God's might behold her and forget their Wisdom, [Aside.

But I delay too long! Orchanes lend thy Ear.

Mem.My Children! you were still my Joy and Hap­piness.[Mirza whi­spers Or­chans, and Exit.

Why am I made your Curse? this hated HeadTo death devoted, has involv'd your InnocenceIn my Destruction.[Guards lay hold on Artaxerxes and Amestris.

Ames.Alas, my Father!———

Artax.Barbarous Dogs! what mean you?

Orch.Convey the Lady to Lord Mirza's Palace,'Tis the Queen's will she shall be there confin'd.

Artax.Thou can'st not mean so damn'd a Villany! Thou dar'st not! shal't not part us! Fate cannot do it!

Mem.Cursed Old Age, why have I liv'd to see this?

Orch.Force 'em asunder.

Artax.Hew off my Limbs ye Dogs! I will not lose 'em—Oh Devils! Death and Furies! my Wife! my lov'd Amestris!—

Ames.My Lord! my Husband!———

Orchanes and one party of the Guards force Artaxerxes and Mem­nonoff one way, and the other party bears Amestris another.

Re-enter Mirza.

Mirz.This was most noble Mischief! it stung home,'Twas Luxury of Vengeance!—'twas not illTo keep aloof; these boistorous Beasts have Paws,And might have scratch't: The Wise should not allowA possibility to Fortunes Malice.Now to the rest; this Prince! this Husband! dies:To Morrows dawn brings his and Memnon's Fate.This Night let 'em dispair, and Bann, and Rage,And to the wooden Deities within,Tell frantick Tales; my Hours shall pass more pleasingly;If Love, (which yet I know not,) can give Pleasure.Love! What is Love? the Passion of a Boy,That spends his time in Laziness and Sonnets:Lust is the Appetite of Man; and shallBe sated, till it loath the cloying Banquet.The Wise are by Human frailty,To tast these Pleasures, but not dwell upon 'em;They marr and dull the faculty of thinking;One Night I safely may indulge in Riot,'Tis Politick lewdness, and Assists my Vengeance;I will grow Young, and surfeit on her Charms,Her luscious Sweets; then rising from her Arms,The nauseous, momentary Joy forget,And be my self again; again be Wise and Great.[Exit Mirza.

End of the 3d Act.