The Ambitious Step-mother/Act 4 Scene 1
ACT IV.
SCENE I. The Palace.
Enter Artaban and Cleanthes.
Ar. 'Tis Base and Impious! where are the Tiesshall keep Mankind in Order? if ReligionAnd publick Faith be Violated; 'Tis an InjuryThat beards both Gods and Men; and dares their Justice.
Clea.The fearful Crowd already take the Alarm,Break off their Solemn Sports, their Songs and Dances,And wildly in tumultuous Consort joyn;Mischief and Danger sits in every Face,And while they dread the Anger of the Gods,The Wise who know th' Effects of Popular Fury,From them expect that Vengeance which they Fear.
Artab.The Sacred Power of Majesty, which shouldForbid, owns and protects the Violence;It must not, shall not be; Who steals a CrownBy Arts like these, wears it unworthily.
Clean.The Queen your Mother, Sir! She will expectYou should approve that Act her Power has done.
Artab.I'll meet her as I ought, and show my selfWorthy the Noble Rivalship of Empire.
Enter the Queen, Mirza and Attendants.
Qu.My Son, I come to Joy you of a CrownAnd Glory certain now, your Fate at length,Has Master'd that Malignant InfluenceWith which it struggl'd long: You are a King,The greatest that our Eastern World beholds,And tho' my Widow'd Bed be Cause for Grief, Yet for thy Sake, my Son, I joy to say,Arsaces is no more.
Artab.'Twere vain and foolish,To Mourn his Death with Ceremonious Sorrow;For tho' he died the Greatest of our Race,Yet since decaying Age had sunk him lowAnd all the Native Majesty was lost,'Twas time the Soul should seek for Immortality,And leave the weary Body to EnjoyAn Honourable Rest from Care and Sickness:Peace to his Ashes, and Eternal FameDwell with his Memory, while we who LiveLook back with Emulation on his Greatness,And with Laborious Steps strive to AscendThat Height where once he sat.
Qu.Thou hast alreadyAttain'd the lofty Summit of his Glory;His Throne expects thee but to sit and fill it.
Artab.No, Madam, when the Gods chuse worthy SubjectsOn whom to place such Greatness, they surroundThe Glorious Prize with Toil and thorny Danger,And bid the Man who would be Great, Dare greatly.Be it for dull Elder Brothers to PossessWithout deserving; Mine's a Nobler Claim,Nor will I Tast the godlike Joys of Power,Till Men and Gods with Justice shall confess'Tis barely the Reward of what I meant.
Qu.What means my Son?
Artab.To Wrestle for a Crown!
Qu.With what fantastick Shadow wouldst thou strive?The Haughty Rival of thy Hopes is fallen,He lives indeed, but 'tis to Grace thy Triumph,And Bow before thee; then be swept awayLike the remembrance of an Idle Dream,Which tho' of Yesternight, is now forgotten.
Artab.It greives me much to say, my Royal Mother,I cannot take a Crown upon these TermsTho' even from your Hands: The Conscious Virtue That witnesses within my Breast for Glory,Points me to Greatness by the Paths of Honour,And urges me to do as a King ought,That would not wear his Purple as the GiftOf impious Treachery and base Deceit.
Qu.Amazement turns my Senses! Or I Dream!For sure thou canst not mean so poor a folly.Hast thou been bred in the Wise Arts of Empire?Been early taught to know the Worth of Power?And would'st thou loose the Golden OpportunityWith which thy Fortune Courts thee for a Notion?An Empty sound of Virtue? a dry MaximWhich Pedants have devis'd for Boys to Canvas?Can my Son think so meanly? Go set free(Since Honour bids) this Lordly Elder BrotherBow like a Slave before him, wait his Pleasures,And live a dependant on his scanty Pension;He may reward thy servile Loyalty,And make thee ruler of some petty ProvinceIn recompence of Royalty giv'n up.
Artab.No! (tho' I must confess I would not hold himCaught in a Villains Snare, nor do a MurtherUnworthy of a Hang-man) yet to deathI still defie him as my Mortal Foe,And fince my Father's Fate dissolves that Truce,To which I stood ingag'd; 'tis War again.Amid'st the steely Squadrons will I seekThis haughty Brother, by his Friends surroundedAnd back't with all th' Advantages of his Birth,Then bravely prove upon him with my Sword;He falsely brands me for a bookish Coward,That Natures Error only gave him Preference,Since Fate mean't me the King.
Qu.A Mothers Care is watchful for thy safety,Else wer't thou lost, thou honourable Fool;Long might'st thou vainly hunt in Bloody Fields;For that Advantage which thy willing FortuneNow reaches to thy hands: In Battles with Uncertain Wings the wavering Goddess flys,And oft with partial hand bestows her FavourOn Fools and thick Scull'd Heroes; seize her nowWhile she is thine, or she is lost for Ever.
Artab.No matter, Let her fly; the Eagle VirtueShall soar beyond her and command her flight;Fortune is not my Mistress but my Slave.Posterity that reads the Name of ArtabanIn the Records of Empire, shall not blushTo think I plotted with a Knavish Priest,The Scandal of his venerable FunctionAnd mark of the God's Vengeance, to betrayA Prince my Enemy; as if being ConsciousOf lesser worth, and of unequal Courage;I durst not fairly strive with him for Greatness.Let the abhorr'd and Impious TreacheryObscurely die, unknown to future Ages;Or if our Shame must be deliver'd downBy all the Kingly hopes that fire my Soul,It shall not pass without a brand of Punishment.
Qu.'Tis wondrous well! Young Man you king rarely!You mean to be renown'd for early Justice,And mark your Ostentacious Love of Virtue,Ev'n in their Bloods, who lift up you to Power;Perhaps we too, our self must be Arraign'dBefore your puny Bar, and feel your Ax;'Twill be a Noble Subject for your Praise,And yield much Matter to declaiming Flatterers.
Artab.You, Madam, are my Mother, Nature blinds me,And bids me see no Faults in her that bore me;These other Slaves that dare———
Qu.May be Immortal,For ought that thou Can'st do to cause their fate,Is not thy Power the Creature of my Favour,Which in precarious wise on me depending,Exists by my Concurrence to its being?Mistaken Youth! whose giddy Brain, Ambition Has like the fume of drunken Vapours turn'd;Think'st thou that I whose Soul was form'd for Sway,Would lay the Golden Reins of Empire down?Or trust 'em to the guidance of a Boy?Who shall dispose of me, or those that serve me,According to the dictates of Old Morals,His bearded Tutor gleans from musty Authors.
Artab.Nay then 'tis time I should Assert my self,And tho' you gave me Birth; Yet from the God's(Who made my Father be as he was, Royal,And stamp't the mark of Greatness on my Soul;)I Claim my Right to Empire; may I fallVile and forgotten if I Ever ownAny Superiour Being but those God's.
Qu.Thou rav'st! and hast forgot me.
Artab.No, you areMy Mother, and a Woman, form'd to Obey;On that Condition all Sexes PriviledgesAre founded, the Creating Hand has mixtSoftness and Beauty in your Composition,To Charm and bend the Mind of Man ImpatientOf the Ignoble Pleasure; you were made forThe weakness and necessities of Nature.Ill are your feeble Souls for Greatness suited,Desire of Government is Monstrous in you.
Qu.Thou mighty Goddess Nature! dost thou hearThis Rebel Son! this insolent Upbraider!Still fondly Nurst in my indulgent Bosom!To build whose future Greatness to the Skies,My Anxious Soul has labour'd more than whenI felt a Mothers Sorrow for his Birth,Ungrateful Boy!———Know Fool! that vaunt'st thy self upon thy Manhood,The greatest he thy rougher kind e're had,Must have confes't Woman's Superiour Wit,And own'd our Sexes just Prerogative.Did not a Mother's fondness plead hard for thee. Thy Head should pay the forfeit of thy Insolence;For know (Young King!) that I am Fate in Persia,And Life and Death depend upon my Pleasure.
Artab.The World would be well govern'd, should the God'sDepute their Providence to Women's Care,And trust them with the Fate of Kings and Empires.
Qu.Yet thou art Safe! away! nor tempt me farther,The Patience ev'n of God's themselves has limits,Tho' they with long sorbearance view Man's Folly.Yet if thou still persist to dare my Power,Like them I may be urg'd to loose my Vengeance,And tho' thou wer't my Creature, stike thee dead.
Mirz.'Befeech you Sir, retire; the Queen your MotherLabour's with wisest fore sight for yout Good,And is incens'd to see you thwart that purpose.
Artab.What is the good of Greatness but the Power?Madam I leave you; my own Innate VirtueArms me against your Rage Unjust and Impotent,Wait but the great Success my Soul divinesAnd you will own your little jugling ArtsHave only serv'd to obstruct a while my Glory,And Skreen this elder Brother ftom my Conquest.[Exit Artaban and Cleanthes.
Qu.Some Envious pow'r above, some Hostile Demon,Works under-hand against my stronger Genius,And counter-mines me with Domestick jars.Malicious Chance! when all abroad was safe,To start an unseen Danger from my self!Mirza! did'st thou not mark the haughty Boy?With what assuming Pride he own'd his daring?And claim'd superiority of Power?Oh can I live, and bear to be Controul'd?To Share the pleasure of Supreme Command,With him or any one? Oh Artemisa!Did'st thou disdain subjection to a Husband,The Proudest Title of that Tyrant Man?And canst thou yield t' a Boy? A Son? By NatureAnd grateful Duty to Obedience bound?
Mirz.Madam, Let me intreat you, by the God's,To Calm your just Resentments; Medling Fortune,(Whose malice labours to perplex the Wise,)If not prevented, will unravel allThose finer Arts, which we with Care have wove.The Prince, led on by this pernicious honour,May set the Pris'ners free, think, if that happen,To what a shock of Fate we stand expos'd.
Qu.'Tis true! this foolish honour ruine's all,Ridiculous Notion! as if, self-InterestWere not the first and noblest Law of Nature.Say then wise Lord, and let thy ready Wit,Still present to it self, avert this blow.
Mirz.One Method tho' ungentle yet remainsTo remedy the Fears this ill produces;This instant let a Guard confine the Prince;E're he can gain the means t' Effect that MischiefHe meditates against himself, and us:To Morrow, early as the Morning dawn'sThe Prisoners all shall Die; that once dispatcht,This raging fit of Honour will relax,And give him leisure to consider coolly,Th' Advantage of his Fortune.
Qu.You have Reason;And tho' I fear his haughty Temper willBut badly brook Confinement, he must learnTo bear it as he can, perhaps 'twill bend himAnd make his Youth more plyant to my Will.
Mirz.Your Orders cannot be dispatch't too soon,Each Minute of the flying Hours is Precious.
Qu.The Eunuch Bagoas! let him attend us,He shall receive Instructions on the Instant.Exeunt the Queen and Mirza severally.