Edward and Eleonora. A tragedy: As it was to have been acted at the Theatre-Royal in Covent-Garden. By Mr. Thomson.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE Princess of Wales.

- PROLOGUE.

- EPILOGUE.

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- The PERSONS.

- 1

- ACT I. SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- SCENE VI.

- ACT II.

- SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE .V.

- ACT III.

- SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- SCENE VI.

- ACT IV.

- SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- SCENE V.

- SCENE VI.

- SCENE VII.

- SCENE VIII.

- ACT V.

- SCENE I.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

Edward and Eleonora.

A TRAGEDY.

The END.

Edward and Eleonora. A TRAGEDY. As it was to have been Acted at the THEATRE-ROYAL IN COVENT-GARDEN.

By Mr. THOMSON.

Suspicione si quis errabit suâ,

Et rapiet ad se quod erit commune omnium,

Stulte nudabit Animi Conscientiam.

PHAEDRUS.

LONDON: Printed for the AUTHOR; and sold by A. MILLAR, over-against St. Clement's Church in the Strand. M.DCC.XXXIX.

TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE Princess of Wales.

MADAM,

IF I take the Liberty, once more, to crave the Protection of your ROYAL HIGHNESS, for another Tragedy of my writing, it is because I am led, almost unavoidably, to it, by my Subject. In the Character of ELEONORA I have endeavoured to represent, however faintly, a PRINCESS distinguish'd for all the Virtues that render Greatness amiable. I have aimed, particularly, to do justice to her inviolable Affection and generous Tenderness for a PRINCE, who was the Darling of a great and free People.

Their Descendants, even now, will own, with Pleasure, how properly this Address is made to your ROYAL HIGHNESS. I am, with the profoundest Respect,

MADAM,
Your ROYAL HIGHNESS'S most humble, and most devoted Servant, JAMES THOMSON.

PROLOGUE.

By a FRIEND.

IN former Times, when fierce religious Rage,

And priestly Sway deform'd each suffering Age,

All manly Wit, all useful Learning lay

In Darkness lost, nor hop'd returning Day.

Religion then was stain'd by cruel Deeds:

And free-born Reason stoop'd to Craft and Creeds.

But happier We!—And tho' to-night we show

What fatal Ills from blind Devotion flow,

'Tis not that we such Rage renew'd can fear,

Or dread the Hand of Persecution here—

Our Scene would wide Humanity impart;

Would breathe extensive Candour thro' the Heart;

Show true Religion even to Error kind,

And claim the perfect Freedom of the Mind.

If too the Poet paints a noble Strife

'Twixt the fond Husband and the generous Wife;

If all the Father in his Voice complains,

And all the Mother in her tender Strains;

If these best Passions prompt the pleasing Woe,

Indulge it freely—Nature bids it flow:

Where Parent Nature leads, you cannot stray;

And what she wills, 'tis Virtue to obey.

Fond of BRITANNIA's Fame, and just to YOU,

He bids old English Honour live anew,

And calls your great first EDWARD up to view.

But if his Line too weak, his Stroke too faint,

The graceful Figure, in full Light, to paint;

In candid part his honest Meaning take,

And spare the Poet for the Hero's sake.

EPILOGUE.

By a FRIEND.

THese Poets are such Fools!—The Man behind,

Who wrote this Play—a simple Soul, I find,—

Believes, with all his Heart, there was a Wife,

Who needs would die—to save a Husband's Life!

He in the printed Chronicles has read it:

And true it is—Sir Richard Baker said it.

Why what an Ass these Books do make a Man?

Read Nature—then believe it—you who can.

Look round this Town—the question is not—whether

Spouse dies for Spouse: but who will live together?

Of old, they say, a Husband was a Lover:

But, thank our Stars! these foolish Days are over:

To such substantial Prudence are we come,

We wed not Heart to Heart—but Plumb to Plumb.

What Sense? what Beauty? are not now the Things:

But can he settle—up to what she brings?

Yet in this easy, all-forgiving Age,

Bear with such moral Fooleries—on the Stage.

Perhaps too, there may be some gentle Soul,

Who rather likes to weep—than win a Vole;

Who thinks that there are Charms in generous Love,

And would to Edward Eleonora prove.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE Representation of this Tragedy, on the Stage, was prohibited in the Year One Thousand Seven Hundred and Thirty-Nine.

The PERSONS.

EDWARD, Prince of England.

Mr. DELANE.

Earl of GLOSTER.

Mr. ROSCO.

THEALD, Archdeacon of Liege.

Mr. ROBERTS.

SELIM, Sultan of Jaffa.

Mr. RYAN.

ELEONORA, Princess of England.

Mrs. HORTON.

DARAXA, an Arabian Princess.

Mrs. HALLAM.

Assassin, Officers, &c.

SCENE, EDWARD'S Tent in the Camp before Jaffa, a City on the Coast of Palestine.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Prince EDWARD, THEALD Archdeacon of Liege, Earl of GLOSTER.

EDWARD.

I Will no longer doubt. 'Tis plain, my Friends,

That with our little Band of English Troops,

By all Allies all western Powers deserted,

All but the noble Knights that guard this Land,

The Flower of Europe and of Christian Valour,

Nought can be done, nought worthy of our Cause,

Worthy of England's Heir, and of the Name

Of Lion-hearted RICHARD; whose Renown,

After almost a Century elaps'd,

Shakes thro' its wide Extent this Eastern World.

What else could bend the Saracen to Peace,

Who might, with better Policy, refuse

To grant it us? Yes, to the Prince of Jaffa

I will accord the Peace he has demanded:

And tho' my Troops, impatient, wait the Signal

To storm yon Walls, yet will I not expose,

In vain Attempts, Valour that should be sav'd

For better days, and for the public Welfare.

Rash fruitless War, from wanton Glory wag'd,

Is only splendid Murder—What says THEALD?

Approves my Reverend Father of my Purpose?

THEALD.

EDWARD, illustrious Heir of England's Crown,

I must indeed be blinded with the Zeal

Of this our holy Cause, to think your Arms,

Thus all-forsaken, thus betray'd, sufficient

To reach the Grandeur of your first Design,

And, from the Yoke of Infidels, to free

The sacred City, Object of our Vows.

Yet this, methinks, this Jaffa might be seiz'd:

That still were something, an auspicious Omen

Of future Conquest—But, unskill'd in War,

To you, my Lord, and GLOSTER'S wise Experience,

I this submit.

EDWARD.

Speak, GLOSTER, your Advice,

Before I fix my latest Resolution.

GLOSTER.

You know, my Lord, I never was a Friend

To this Crusado. My unchang'd Advice

Is strenuous then for Peace. Nor this, alone,

From your deserted Circumstance I urge,

But from the state of our unhappy Country.

Behold her, EDWARD, with a filial Eye,

And say, is this a time for these Adventures?

Behold Her still with deep Commotion shook,

Beneath a false delusive Face of Quiet:

Behold Her bleeding still from Civil War,

Exhausted, sunk; drain'd by ten thousand Arts

Of ministerial Rapine, endless Taxes,

Ill-manag'd Expeditions, Strangers, Legates,

Italian Leeches, and insatiate Rome;

That never rag'd before with such gross Insult,

With such abandon'd Avarice. Besides,

Who knows what evil Counsellors, again,

Are gather'd round the Throne. In Times like these,

Disturb'd, and lowring with unsettled Freedom,

One step to lawless Power, one old Attempt

Renew'd, the least Infringement of our Charters,

Would hurl the giddy Nation into Tempest.

Return, my Prince. You have already sav'd

Your Father from his Foes, from haughty LEISTER:

Now save him from his Ministers, from those

Who hold him captive in the worst of Chains—

EDWARD.

You, GLOSTER, sav'd us both.

GLOSTER.

I did my Duty;

Even while I join'd with LEISTER, did my Duty—

I hope I did—He, who contends for Freedom,

Can ne'er be justly deem'd his Sovereign's Foe:

No, 'tis the Wretch that tempts him to subvert it,

The soothing Slave, the Traitor in the bosom,

Who best deserves that Name; he is the Worm

That eats out all the Happiness of Kingdoms.

EDWARD, return; lose not a Day, an Hour,

Before this City. Tho' your Cause be holy,

Believe me, 'tis a much more pious Office,

To save your Father's old and broken Years,

His mild and easy Temper, from the Snares

Of low corrupt insinuating Traitors:

A nobler Office far! on the firm Base

Of well-proportion'd Liberty, to build

The common Quiet, Happiness and Glory,

Of King and People, England's rising Grandeur.

To you, my Prince, this Task, of right, belongs.

Has not the Royal Heir a juster Claim

To share his Father's inmost Heart and Counsels,

Than Aliens to his Int'rest, those, who make

A Property, a Market of his Honour?

One Reason more allow me to suggest

For Peace, immediate Peace—should blind Misfortune,

In this far-distant hostile Land, oppress us;

A Chance to which our Weakness stands expos'd:

What, EDWARD, of thy Princess would become,

Thy ELEONORA; she, whose tender Love

Thro' stormy Seas, and in fierce Camps, attends thee?

What of thy blooming Offspring? charg'd with these,

To give our Courage scope were cruel Rashness.

EDWARD.

Enough, my Lord, I stand resolv'd on Peace;

And will to England strait—But where, alas,

Where shall we cover our inglorious Heads;

When gay with Hope the People round us press,

To hear by what Exploits we have sustain'd

The Fame of RICHARD, and of English Valour?

Shall I, my generous Country, I be rank'd

With those weak Princes, who consume thy Wealth,

And sink thy Name in idle Expeditions?—

Perfidious France! Be this the ruling Point

Of my whole Life, the Passion of my Soul,

To humble thee, proud Nation!—Meantime, GLOSTER,

See that the captive Princess be restor'd,

DARAXA to the Sultan of this City,

Whose Bride she is—We wage not war with Women.

SCENE II.

EDWARD, THEALD, GLOSTER, An Officer belonging to the Prince.

OFFICER.

One from the Prince of Jaffa, Sir, demands

Your secret Ear on some important Message.

EDWARD.

Conduct him to my Tent—

[Officer goes out.

He brings, I judge,

The Sultan's last Instructions for this Peace.

Here wait: I may your faithful Counsel want.

SCENE III.

THEALD, GLOSTER.

THEALD.

Whatever Woes, of late, have clouded England;

Yet must I, GLOSTER, call that Nation happy,

On whose Horizon smiles a dawning Prince

Of EDWARD'S Worth and Virtues.

GLOSTER.

True, my Friend;

EDWARD has great, has amiable Virtues,

That Virtue chiefly which befits a Prince:

He loves the People he must one day rule;

With Fondness loves them, with a noble Pride;

Esteems their Good, esteems their Glory his.

One Instance it becomes me to recount,

That shows the genuine Greatness of his Soul.

Tho' I have met him in the bloody Field,

He fighting for his Father, I for Freedom;

Yet bears his Bosom no remaining Grudge

Of those distracted Times: to me his Heart

Is greatly reconcil'd—Virtue! beyond

The little unforgiving Soul of Tyrants!

Now will I tell thee, THEALD, whence I stoop

To wear the gaudy Chains of Court-Attendance,

At these grey Years; that should in calm Retirement

Pass the soft Evening of a bustling Life,

And plume my parting Soul for better Worlds.

Amidst his many Virtues, youthful EDWARD

Is lofty, warm, and absolute of Temper:

I therefore seek to moderate his Heat,

To guide his fiery Virtues, that, misled,

By dazling Power and flattering Sycophants,

Might finish what his Father's weaker Measures

Have try'd in vain. And hence I here attend him,

In Expeditions which I ne'er approv'd,

In holy Wars—your Pardon, Reverend Father—

I must declare I think such Wars the Fruit

Of idle Courage or mistaken Zeal,

Sometimes of Rapine and religious Rage,

To every Mischief prompt.

THEALD.

You wrong, my Lord,

You wrong them much. To set this Matter only

Upon a Civil Footing: say, what Right

Had Robbers rushing from Arabian Desarts,

Fierce as the Suns that kindled up their Rage,

Thus, in a barbarous Torrent, to bear down

All Asia, Africk, and profane their Altars?

And to repel brute Force by Force is just.

Nay, does not even our Duty, Int'rest, Glory,

The common Honour of the Christian Name,

Require us to repress their wild Ambition,

That labours westward still, and threatens Europe?

GLOSTER.

Yes, when they burst their Limits, let us check them:

And with a firmer hand than those loose Christians,

The most corrupt and abject of Mankind,

Slaves, doubly Slaves, who suffer'd these Arabians,

In Virtue their Superiors as in Valour,

To measure Conquest with a Traveller's Speed.

By Rage and Zeal, 'tis true, their Empire rose:

But now some settled Ages of Possession

Create a Right, than which, I fear, few Nations

Can shew a better. Sure I am 'tis Madness,

Inhuman Madness, thus, from half the World,

To drain our Blood and Treasure, to neglect

Each Art of Peace, to set Mankind adrift:

And all for what? By spreading Desolation,

Rapine and Slaughter o'er the other half,

To gain a Conquest we can never hold.

I venerate this Land. Its sacred Hills,

Its Vales, its Cities, trod by Saints and Prophets,

By GOD himself, the Scenes of heavenly Wonders,

Inspire me with a certain awful Joy.

But the same GOD, my Friend, pervades, sustains,

Surrounds and fills this universal Frame;

And every Land where spreads his vital Presence,

His all-enlivening Breath, to me is holy.

Excuse me, THEALD, if I go too far:

I meant alone to say, I think these Wars

A kind of Persecution. And when that,

That most absurd and cruel of all Vices,

Is once begun, where shall it find an end?

Each, in his turn, or has or claims a Right

To wield its Dagger, to return its Furies;

And, first or last, they fall upon our selves.

EDWARD, behind the Scenes.

Inhuman Villain! is thy Message Murder!

THEALD.

Ha! heard you not the Prince exclaiming Murder?

GLOSTER.

Should this Barbarian Messenger—

[Moving towards the Noise.

'Tis so!

SCENE IV.

THEALD, GLOSTER; to them Prince EDWARD wounded in the Arm, and dragging in the Assassin.

EDWARD.

Detested Wretch! And does the Prince of Jaffa

Send base Assassins to transact his Treaties?

There—take thy Answer, Ruffian!

[Stabs him with the Dagger he had wrested from him.

Blow too hasty!

I should have sav'd thee for a fitter Death.

ASSASSIN.

I would have triumph'd, Christian, in thy worst.

For know, thou vile Destroyer of the Faithful!

That tho' my erring Dagger miss'd thy Heart,

Yet has it fir'd thy Veins with mortal Poison,

Whose very touch is Death—ALLAH be prais'd!

O glorious Fate! Prophet, receive my Soul!

[Dies.

EDWARD, after a short Pause.

Why stare you pale Amazement on each other?

Are we not Men, to whom the various Chance

Of Life is known?

GLOSTER.

Ha! Poison! did he say?

Then is at once my Prince and Country lost!

O fatal Wound to England!

THEALD.

Quick, my Lord,

Retire, and have it drest, without delay;

Ere the fell Poison can diffuse its Rage,

And deeply taint your Blood.

EDWARD.

The Princess comes!

O save me from her Tenderness!

SCENE V.

EDWARD, THEALD, GLOSTER; to them the Princess ELEONORA.

ELEONORA.

My EDWARD!

Support me!—Oh!

EDWARD.

She faints—My ELEONORA!

Look up, and bless me with thy gentle Eyes!—

The Colour comes, her Cheeks resume their Beauty,

And all her Charms revive—Hence, spurn that Carcass:

A Sight too shocking for my ELEONORA.

ELEONORA.

And lives my EDWARD, lives my dearest Lord,

From this Assassin sav'd?—Alas! you bleed!

EDWARD.

'Tis nought, my lovely Princess!—A slight Wound—

ELEONORA.

But ah! methought, I entering heard of Poison,

Tainting the Blood—What! was the Dagger poison'd?—

Ha! ssilent all? will none relieve my Fears?—

GLOSTER.

Madam, restrain your Tenderness a moment—

The Prince delays too long—Let him retire.

Meanwhile, the troubled Camp shall be my Care;

Lest the base Foe should make a sudden Sally,

While yet our Troops are stun'd with this Disaster.

EDWARD.

I thank thee, noble GLOSTER. Nor, alone,

Support my Troops; go, rouse them to Revenge;

Tell them their injur'd Prince will try their Love,

Their Valour soon—And you, my Friend, good THEALD,

Attend the Princess—Chear thee, ELEONORA!

I cannot, will not, leave thee long, to vex

Thy tender Soul with aggravated Fears.

THEALD.

Behold DARAXA, the false Sultan's Bride.

SCENE VI.

ELEONORA, THEALD, DARAXA.

DARAXA.

Princess of England, let me share thy Grief.

Whence flow these Tears? and what this wild Alarm,

This Noise of Murder and Assassination?

ELEONORA.

Alas! the Prince is wounded by a Ruffian;

And with a poison'd Dagger, as I fear.

Yet none will ease me of this racking Thought—

Nay, tell me, THEALD, since to know the 〈◊〉

Is oft a kind of miserable Comfort;

What has befal'n the Prince? For this slight Wound

Could never thus o'ercast the Brave with Terror.

THEALD.

I dare not, Princess, dally with your Fate.

An impious Villain, from the Sultan SELIM,

Pretended to the Prince a secret Message,

About the Peace in Treaty. Dreading nought,

He left us here, and to his Tent retir'd,

There to receive this execrable Envoy.

Strait with the Prince alone, the fierce Assassin

Attempted on his Life; but, in his Arm,

He took, it seems, the Blow, and from the Villain

Wresting the Dagger, plung'd it to his Heart.

This last we saw, and heard th' inhuman Bigot,

Who deem'd himself a Martyr in their Cause,

Boast, as he dy'd, the Prince's Wound was poison'd—

ELEONORA.

Then all I fear'd is true! then am I wretched,

Beyond even Hope!

DARAXA.

A Villain from the Sultan!—

ELEONORA.

Ah the distracting Thought! And is my Life!

My Love! my EDWARD! on the brink of Fate!

Of Fate that may this moment snatch him from me!

DARAXA.

What! SELIM send Assassins? and beneath

A Name so sacred? SELIM, whose Renown

Is Incense breathing o'er the sweeten'd East;

For each humane each generous Virtue fam'd;

SELIM! the Rock of Faith! and Sun of Honour!

ELEONORA.

O complicated Woe! The Christian Cause

Has now no more a Patron, and Restorer;

England no more a Prince, in whom she plac'd

Her Glory, her Delight, her only Hope;

These desolated Troops no more a Chief;

No more a Husband, a Protector, I,

A Friend, a Lover! and my helpless Children

No more a Father!

DARAXA.

Pardon, gentle Princess,

If in this Whirlwind of revolving Passions,

That snatch my Soul by turns, I have forgot

To pay the Tribute which I owe thy Sorrows—

But I my self, alas! am more unhappy!

ELEONORA.

What Woes can equal mine? who lose, thus vilely,

The Best! the Bravest! Loveliest of Mankind!—

DARAXA.

You lose the Lover, I must learn to hate him,

To scorn what once wasall my Pride and Transport!

Should EDWARD die by this accursed Crime,

(Which Heaven forbid) he dies admir'd, belov'd,

In the full Bloom of Fame and spotless Honour.

To you, the Daughter of illustrious Grief,

Your Tears remain, and sadly-sweet Reflection;

You with his Image, with his Virtues, still,

Amidst the pensive Gloom, may Converse hold:

While I—Ah! nothing meets my blasted Sight

But a black View of Infamy and Horror!

What is the Loss of Life to Loss of Virtue!—

And yet how can this heavenly Spark be lost?

No! Virtue burns with an immortal Flame.

He is bely'd—some Villain has abus'd him.

THEALD.

I honour, Madam, this your virtuous Grief:

But that the Sultan did employ th'Assassin

Is past all doubt—Behold the false Instructions,

By which he gain'd Admittance.

[Giving her the Letter the Prince had dropt.

DARAXA.

Ha!—'Tis so!

His Hand! his Seal!—From my detesting Heart,

I tear him thus for ever!—Perish, SELIM!

Perish the feeble Wretch, who more bewails him!

That were to share his Guilt!—Unhappy Princess!

Now let me turn my Soul to thy Assistance—

There is a Cure, 'tis true—

ELEONORA.

A Cure, DARAXA!

O say, what Cure?

DARAXA.

No; it avails not, Madam;

None can be found to risque it.

ELEONORA.

None to risque it?

Quick tell me what it is, my dear DARAXA!

DARAXA.

To find some Person, that, with friendly Lip,

May draw the Poison forth; at least, its Rage

And mortal Spirit. This will bring the Wound

Within the Power of Art: but certain Death

Attends the generous Deed.

ELEONORA, kneeling.

Then hear me, Heaven!

Prime Source of Love! Ye Saints and Angels, hear me!

I here devote me for the best of Men,

Of Princes and of Husbands. On this Cross

I seal the cordial Vow: confirm it Heaven!

And grant me Courage in the Hour of Trial!

THEALD.

O Tenderness unequal'd!

DARAXA.

Glorious Princess!

ELEONORA.

Go, THEALD, quickly find the Earl of GLOSTER,

And with him break this matter to the Prince.

As for the Person, leave that Task to me.

I with DARAXA will your Call attend;

O all ye Powers of Love, your Influence lend.

End of the First ACT.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

GLOSTER, THEALD.

GLOSTER.

NO, THEALD, no; he never will consent—

I know him well—he ne'er will purchase Life,

At such a Rate: besides, in aid of Love,

His generous Pride would come, and deem it Baseness.

THEALD.

Then is yon Sun his last. The blackning Wound

Begins already to confess the Poison—

Meantime, my Lord, both Friendship and our Duty

Demand, at least, the Trial. Well I know,

That, poise his Life with hers, he would as nothing

Esteem his own: but sure the Life of Thousands,

The mingled Cause at once of Heaven and Earth,

Should o'er the best the dearest Life prevail.

GLOSTER.

Alas! my Friend, you reason, EDWARD loves.

How weak the Head contending with the Heart!

Yet be the Trial made—Behold he comes.

SCENE II.

EDWARD, GLOSTER, THEALD.

EDWARD, entering.

O thou bright Sun! now hast'ning to those Climes,

That Parent-Isle, which I no more shall see;

And for whose Welfare oft my youthful Heart

Has vainly form'd so many a fond Design;

O thither bear, resplendent Orb of Day,

To that dear Spot of Earth, my last Farewel!

And thee, Eternal Providence, whose Course,

Amidst the various Maze of Life, is fix'd,

By boundless Wisdom and by boundless Love,

I follow thee, with Resignation, Hope,

With Confidence and Joy; for thou art good,

And of thy rising Goodness is no end!

Well met, my dearest Friends!—It was too true

The Villain's Threatning, and I nearly touch

That awful Hour which every Man must prove,

Yet every Man still shifts at distance from him.

Come then, and let us fill the Space between,

These last important Moments, whence we take

Our latest Tincture for Eternity,

With solemn Converse and exalting Friendship—

Nay—THEALD—GLOSTER—wound me not with Tears,

With Tears that fall o'er venerable Cheeks!

What could the Princess more?—Ah! there, indeed,

At every Thought of Her, I feel a Weight,

A dreadful Weight of Tenderness, that shakes

My firmest Resolution—Where is she?

THEALD.

She burns with fond Impatience to attend you.

EDWARD.

And how, brave GLOSTER, did you leave the Camp?

GLOSTER.

The Camp, Sir, is secure: each Soldier there

From Indignation draws new Force and Spirit.

O 'tis a glorious, an affecting Sight!

Those furrow'd Cheeks that never knew before

The Dew of Tears, now in a copious Shower

Are bath'd. Around your Tent they, various, croud,

Rank over Rank: some pressing for a Look;

Some sadly musing, with dejected Eye;

Some, on their Knees, preserring Vows to Heaven;

And, with extended Arm, some breathing Vengeance.

" Base Saracens, they cry, perfidious Cowards!

" But Blood shall wash out Blood—Ah! poor Atonement!

" Did the whole bleeding City fall a Victim!

EDWARD.

What unbought Love and generous Valour fire

The free-born Heart!—Yet moderate their Zeal;

And let the Sword of Justice only strike

The faithless SELIM, and his guilty Creatures.

My new-departed Spirit, just escap'd

From the low fev'rish Passions of this Life,

Would grieve to see the Blood of Innocence,

With that of Guilt confounded, stain my Tomb.

THEALD.

Permit me, Sir, the Hope, that you your self—

I speak it on just Cause—may live to punish

This Breach of all the sacred Rights of Men.

EDWARD.

Why will you turn my Thoughts, from Earth enlarg'd,

To soft enfeebling Views of Life again?

THEALD.

Not to a vain Desire of Life, my Lord,

I would re••• them; but inspire each Hope,

Advise each Possibility to save it.

And there is yet a Remedy.

EDWARD.

Delusion!

THEALD.

The fair Arabian Princess mention'd one.

EDWARD.

She one!—DARAXA!—something to compleat

Her Lover's Crime.

THEALD.

You could not wrong her thus,

Had you beheld the Tempest of her Soul,

Her Grief, her Rage, Confusion, when she heard

Of SELIM'S Baseness; had you seen that Honour,

That glorious Fire that parted from her Eyes;

'Till in a Flood of virtuous Sorrow sunk,

She almost equal'd ELEONORA'S Tears.

EDWARD.

What was it she propos'd?

THEALD.

It was, my Lord,

To find some Person, who, with friendly Lip,

Might draw the deadly Spirit—

EDWARD.

I have heard

Of such a Cure; but is it not, good THEALD,

An Action fatal to the kind Performer?

THEALD.

Yes, surely fatal.

EDWARD.

Name it then no more.

I should despise the paltry Life it purchas'd.

Besides, what Mortal can dispose so rashly

Of his own Life? Talk not of low Condition,

And of my publick Rank: when Life or Death

Becomes the Question, all Distinctions vanish;

Then the first Monarch and the lowest Slave

On the same Level stand, in This the Sons

Of equal Nature all.

THEALD.

Allow me, Sir.

If 'tis a certain, an establish'd Duty,

Than Duty more, the Height of human Virtue,

To sacrifice a transitory Life

For that kind Source from whence it is deriv'd,

And all its guarded Joys, our dearest Country;

To sacrifice it in the Cause of Heaven,

Author of every Good: by the same Reason,

It may be justly sacrific'd for Those

On whom depends the Welfare of the Public.

And there is one, my Lord, who stands devoted,

By solemn and irrevocable Vows,

To die for you.

EDWARD.

To die for me!—Kind Nature!

Thanks to thy forming Hand, I can myself,

Chearful, sustain to pay this Debt I owe Thee,

Without the borrow'd Sufferings of Another.

No, THEALD, urge this Argument no more.

I love not Life to that Degree, to purchase,

By the sure Death of some brave guiltless Friend,

A few uncertain Days, that often rise,

Like This, serene and gay, when, with swift Wing,

A Moment wraps them in disastrous Fate.

GLOSTER.

Did we consult to save your single Life,

Was that the present Question, thy Refusal

Were just, were generous. But, my Lord, this Person,

Who stands for you devoted, should, in That,

Be deem'd devoted for the Christian Cause,

The common Cause of Europe and thy Country.

For That this Martyr dies; dies for thy Children;

Dies for the brave Companions of thy Fortune,

Who weeping now around thy Tent conjure Thee,

To live for them, and England's promis'd Glory.

O I must give it way! My Heart is full

Of Thee, my Country; and my aged Veins,

At Thought of Thee, resume the Fire of Youth.—

If Honour, Glory, can exalt the Mind,

Above the common Passions that involve

The groveling Race of Men; if the first Beauty,

If Virtue drest in her divinest Charms,

All Nature's mingled Tenderness, the Parent,

The Brother, Lover, Friend, can touch the Heart;

O save our Country, EDWARD! save a Nation,

The chosen Land, the last Retreat of Freedom,

Amidst a broken World!—Cast back thy View,

And trace from farthest Times her old Renown.

Think of the Blood that, to maintain her Rights,

And nurse her sheltering Laws, has flow'd in Battle,

Or on the Patriot's Scaffo'd. Think what Cares,

What Vigilance, what Toils, what bright Contention,

In Councils, Camps, and well-disputed Senates,

It cost our generous Ancestors, to raise

A matchless Plan of Freedom: whence we shine,

Even in the jealous Eye of hostile Nations,

The happiest of Mankind.—Then see all This,

This Virtue, Wisdom, Toil and Blood of Ages,

Behold it ready to be lost for ever.

Behold us almost broken to the Yoke,

Robb'd of our antient Spirit, sunk in Baseness,

At home corrupted, and despis'd abroad.

Behold our Wealth consum'd, those Treasures squander'd,

That might protect and nourish wholesom Peace,

Or urge a glorious War; on Wretches squander'd,

A venal Crew that plunder and disgrace us.

In this important, this decisive Hour,

On Thee, and Thee alone, our weeping Country

Turns her distressful Eye; to Thee she calls,

And with a helpless Parent's piercing Voice.

Wilt thou not live for Her? for Her subdue

A graceful Pride, I own, but still a Pride,

That more becomes thy Courage and thy Youth

Than Birth and publick Station? Nay, for Her,

Say, wouldst thou not resign the dearest Passions?

EDWARD.

O there is nothing which for Thee, my Country,

I, in my proper Person, could not suffer!

But thus to sculk behind another's Life,

'Tis what I scarce have Courage to support,

It makes a kind of Coward of me, GLOSTER.

And yet the Reasons urg'd, I must acknowledge,

Demand a deep Regard.—Well—be it so—

Ere to this Instance of amazing Friendship

I can submit, let me behold the Friend.

Perhaps my Bounty may requite his Love,

To those he holds much dearer than himself.

Conduct him hither, THEALD.

SCENE III.

EDWARD, GLOSTER.

EDWARD.

Ah, my GLOSTER,

You have not touch'd on something that here pleads

For longer Life, beyond the Force of Reason,

Perhaps too powerful pleads—my ELEONORA!

To Thee, my Friend, I will not be asham'd

Even to avow my Love in all its Fondness.

For Oh there shines in this my dearer Self!

This Partner of my Soul! such a mild Light

Of careless Charms, of unaffected Beauty,

Such more than Beauty, such endearing Goodness,

That when I meet her Eye, where cordial Faith,

And every gentle Virtue mix their Lustre,

I feel a Transport that partakes of Anguish!

How shall I then behold her, on the Point

To leave her, GLOSTER, in a distant Land?

For ever in a stormy World to leave Her?

There is no Misery to be fear'd like That

Which from our greatest Happiness proceeds!

SCENE IV.

EDWARD, GLOSTER, THEALD presenting the Princess ELEONORA as the Person he went to bring, DARAXA.

EDWARD.

Great God!—what do I see?—I am betray'd!—

[Turning away.

ELEONORA.

EDWARD!

EDWARD.

O 'tis too much! O spare me, Nature!

ELEONORA.

Not look upon me, EDWARD?

EDWARD.

ELEONORA!

How on this dreadful Errand canst thou come?

ELEONORA.

Behold me kneel—

EDWARD.

Why kneel, thou best of Women!

Thou ne'er offended, ne'er in Thought offended!

Thou art all Truth, and Love, and Angel-Goodness!

Why dost thou kneel? O rise, my ELEONORA!

ELEONORA.

Let me fulfil my Vow.

EDWARD.

O barbarous Vow!

ELEONORA.

Let me preserve a Life, in which is wrapt

The Life of Thousands, dearer than my own!

Live thou, and let me die for Thee, my EDWARD!

EDWARD.

For me!—thy Words are Daggers to my Soul.

And wouldst thou have me then thus meanly save

A despicable Life? a Life expos'd

To that worst Torment, to my own Contempt!

A Life still haunted by the cruel Image

Of thy last Pangs, thy agonizing Throws,

The dire Convulsions of these tender Limbs;

And all for one—O Infamy!—for one,

By Love, by Duty bound, each manly Tie,

Even by a Peasant's Honour to protect Thee?

ELEONORA.

This ne'er can blemish Thee. I know full well,

There is no Danger, Pain, no Form of Death,

Thou wouldst not meet with Transport to protect me.

But I, alas! an unimportant Woman,

Whose only Boast and Merit is to love Thee;

Ah, what am I, with nameless Numbers weigh'd?

With Myriads yet unborn? All Ranks, all Ages,

All Arts, all Virtues, all a State comprizes?

These have a higher Claim to thy Protection.

Live then for them.—O make a great Effort!

What none but Heroes can, bid the soft Passions

The Private stoop to Those that grasp a Public.

Live to possess the Pleasure of a God,

To bless a People trusted to thy Care.

Live to fulfil thy long Career of Glory,

But just begun. To die for Thee be mine.

I ne'er can find a brighter gentler Fate;

And Fate will come at last, inglorious Fate!

O grudge me not a Portion of thy Fame!

As mix'd in Love, O raise me to thy Glory!

EDWARD.

In vain is all thy Eloquence. The more

Thou wouldst perswade, I, with encreasing Horror,

Fly from thy Purpose.

ELEONORA.

Dost thou love me, EDWARD?

EDWARD.

Oh!—If I love Thee?—Witness Heaven and Earth!

Angels of Death that hover round me, witness!

Witness these blinded Eyes, these trembling Arms,

This Heart that beats unutterable Fondness,

To what delightful Agony I love thee!

ELEONORA.

Then wilt thou save me, sure, from greater Pain.

EDWARD.

O that I could from all! engross thy Sufferings!

Pain felt for Thee, were Pleasure!

ELEONORA.

Hear me, EDWARD.

I speak the strictest Truth, no Flight of Passion,

I speak my naked Heart.—To die, I own,

Is a dread Passage, terrible to Nature,

Chiefly to those who have, like me, been happy.—

But to survive Thee—O 'tis greatly worse!

'Tis a continual Death! I cannot bear

The very Thought—O leave me not behind thee!

EDWARD.

Since nought can alter my determin'd Breast,

Why dost thou pierce me with this killing Image?

ELEONORA.

Ah! selfish that thou art! with thee the Toil,

The tedious Toil of Life will soon be o'er;

Thou soon wilt hide thee in the quiet Grave:

While I, a lonely Widow, with her Orphans,

Am left defenceless to a troubled World,

A false, ungrateful, and injurious World!—

Oh! if thou lov'st me, EDWARD, I conjure thee,

By that celestial Flame which blends our Souls!

By all a Father, all a Mother feels!

By every holy Tenderness, I charge thee!

Live to protect the Pledges of our Love,

Our Children!—

EDWARD.

Oh!—

ELEONORA.

Our young, our helpless—

EDWARD.

Oh!—

Distraction!—Let me go!

ELEONORA.

Nay, drag me with thee—

To the kind Tomb—Thou canst not leave our Children!

Expos'd, by being thine, beyond the lowest!

Surrounded with the Perils of a Throne!—

EDWARD.

Cruel! no more embitter thus our last,

Our parting Moments! Set no more the Terrors

Of these best Passions in Array against me!

For by that POWER, I swear, Father of Life!

Whose universal Love embraces all

That breathes this ample Air; whose perfect Wisdom

Brings Light from Darkness, and from Evil Good;

To whom I recommend thee, and my Children:

By him I swear! I never will submit

To what thy horrid Tenderness proposes!

GLOSTER.

My Lord—

EDWARD.

Oh!—these Emotions are too much—

I feel a heavy Languor steal upon me:

Death, or his Image Sleep, weighs down my Soul—

Conduct me to my Couch—Ah! ELEONORA!

If we ne'er meet again—This one Embrace—

Absolute Nature! thou must be obey'd.

ELEONORA.

I will not, cannot quit thee!—

SCENE .V.

ELEONORA, DARAXA.

DARAXA.

Princess, stay.

Resistless Sleep now rushes on his Powers:

For so the various Poison oft begins

To spread its dark Malignity.—

ELEONORA.

Ha!—Sleep?—

Then is the Time—Thanks to inspiring Heaven!

But come, and ere the Poison sink too deep,

Swift let me seize the favouring Hour of Sleep.

End of the Second ACT.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

GLOSTER.

O Miracle of Love! O wond'rous Princess!

'Tis such as thou, who keep the gentle Flame,

That animates Society, alive,

Who make the Dwellings of Mankind delightful.

What is vain Life? an idle Flight of Days,

A still-delusive Round of sickly Joys,

A Scene of little Cares and trifling Passions,

If not enobled by such Deeds of Virtue?

And yet this matchless Virtue! what avails it?

Th' afflicting Angel has forsook the Prince,

And now pours out his Terrors on the Princess.

Forsook him, said I?—No; he must awake

To keener Evils than the Body knows,

Which Minds alone, and generous Minds can feel.

O Virtue! Virtue! as thy Joys excel,

So are thy Woes transcendent, the gross World

Knows not the Bliss or Misery of either—

The Prince forsakes his Couch—He seems renew'd

In Health—Ah short deceitful Gleam of Ease!

SCENE II.

EDWARD, GLOSTE.R

EDWARD, advancing from his Couch.

Hail to the fresher Earth and brighter Day!

I feel me lighten'd of the mortal Load

That lay upon my Spirits. This kind Sleep

Has shed a balmy Quiet thro' my Veins.

Whence this amazing Change?—

But be my first chief Care, Author of Good!

To bend my Soul in Gratitude to thee!

Thou, when blind Mortals wander thro' the Deeps

Of comfortless Despair, with timely Hand,

Invisible, and by unthought-of Ways,

Thou lead'st them forth into thy Light again.

GLOSTER.

How fares my Lord, the Prince?

EDWARD.

To Health restor'd.

Only a Kind of Lassitude remains,

A not unpleasing Weakness hangs upon me:

Like the soft Trembling of the settled Deep,

After a Storm.

GLOSTER.

Father of Health be prais'd!

EDWARD.

The Moment that I sunk upon my Couch,

A sick and troubled Slumber fell upon me.

Chaos of gloomy unconnected Thought!

That, in black Eddy whirl'd, made Sleep more dreadful

Than the worst waking Pang. While thus I toss'd,

Ready to bid Farewel to suffering Clay,

Methought an Angel came and touch'd my Wound.

At this the parting Gloom clear'd up apace;

My Slumbers soften'd; and, with Health, return'd

Serenity of Mind, and order'd Thought,

And fair Ideas gladening all the Soul.

Aerial Musick too, by Fancy heard,

Sooth'd my late Pangs and harmoniz'd my Breast.

Thro' Shades of Bliss I walk'd, where Heavenly Forms

Sung to their Lutes my ELEONORA'S Love—

But where is she? the Glory of her Sex!

O dearer, justly dearer, far than ever!

Quick, let me find her, pour into her Bosom

My full•full Soul, with Tenderness o'ercharg'd,

With glad Surprize, with Gratitude and Wonder.—

Ha! why this Silence? this dejected Look?

You cast a drooping Eye upon the Ground.

Where is the Princess?

GLOSTER.

She, my Lord, reposes.

EDWARD.

Reposes!—No!—It is not likely, GLOSTER,

That she would yield her weeping Eyes to sleep,

While I lay there in Agonies—Away!

I am too feeble then to know the Truth.

Say, is she well?

GLOSTER.

Now show thy Courage, EDWARD—

EDWARD.

O all my Fears! I shall start out to Madnss!

What!—while I slept?

GLOSTER.

Yes—

EDWARD.

Misery! Distraction!

My Peace, my Honour is betray'd for ever!

O Love! O Shame! O murder'd ELEONORA!

SCENE III.

GLOSTER.

Unhappy Prince! go find thy ELEONORA,

And in heart-easing Grief exhale thy Passion:

All other Comfort, now, were to talk down

The Winds and raging Seas.—But yonder comes

Th' Arabian Princess. From her Tears I learn

The moving Scene within.

SCENE IV.

GLOSTER, DARAXA, a Messenger from SELIM, attending at some distance.

DARAXA

Oh! 'tis too much!

I can no more support it.

GLOSTER.

Generous Mourner,

How is it with the Princess ELEONORA?

DARAXA.

Struck by the Poison, on her Couch she lies,

A Rose soft-drooping in Sabean Vales,

Beneath the fiery Dog-star's noxious Rage.

O Christian Chief, I never shall forget

The Scene these melting Eyes have just beheld,

With mingled Tears of Tenderness and Wonder.

GLOSTER.

How was it, Madam?

DARAXA

When this Pride of Woman,

This best of Wives, which in his radiant Course

The Sun beholds, when first she, sickening, felt

Th' imperious Summons of approaching Fate,

All rob'd in spotless White she sought her Altars;

And, prostrate there, for her departing Soul,

The Prince her Husband, and her Orphan-Children,

Implor'd th' ETERNAL MIND.—As yet she held

Her swelling Tears, and in her Bosom kept

Her Sighs repress'd: nor did the near Approach

Of the pale King of Terrors dim her Beauty;

No, rather adding to her Charms, it breath'd

A certain mournful Sweetness thro' her Features.

But as th' increasing Bane more desperate grew,

Wild to her Bed she rush'd, and then, indeed,

The lovely Fountains of her Eyes were open'd,

Then flow'd her Tears.—"Connubial Bed, she cry'd,

" Chaste Witness of my Tenderness for him,

" To save whose Life I unrepining die,

" In Bloom of Youth, farewel!—Thou shalt, perhaps,

" Receive a fairer, a more happy Bride;

" But never a more faithful, never one

" Who loves her Husband with a fonder Passion.

Here flow'd her Tears afresh; with burning Lip,

She press'd the humid Couch, and wept again.

At last, while weary Sorrow paus'd, she rose,

And, fearing lest immediate Death might seize Her,

Demanded to be led to see the Prince;

But Fear of chasing from his Eyes, too soon,

The salutary Sleep that heal'd his Pangs,

Restrain'd her trembling Footsteps. On her Couch,

Abandon'd to Despair, she sunk anew,

And for her Children call'd. Her Children came.

A while, supported on her Arm, she ey'd them,

With Tears pursuing Tears a-down her Cheek,

With all the speechless Misery of Woe—

I see her still—O God!—the powerful Image

Dissolves me into Tears!

GLOSTER.

Madam proceed.

Such Tears are Virtue, and excel the Joys

Of wanton Pride.

DARAXA.

Then starting up, she went

To snatch them to a Mother's last Embrace;

When strait reflecting that the piercing Poison

Might taint their tender Years, she sudden shrunk

With Horror back—"O wretched ELEONORA!

" (She weeping cry'd) and must I then not taste

" The poor remaining Comfort of the Dying,

" To see a Husband, clasp my dearest Children,

" And mix my parting Soul with theirs I love?"

Her sad Attendants, that till then had mourn'd

In silent Sorrow, all, at This, gave way

To loud Laments—She rais'd her languid Eye,

And casting on them round a gracious Smile,

To each by Name she call'd, even to the lowest,

To each extended mild her friendly Hand,

Gave, and, by Turns, receiv'd a last Farewel.

Such is the dreadful Scene from which I come.

GLOSTER.

How heighten'd now with EDWARD'S mingled Woes!

Why were my lingering Years reserv'd for this?

DARAXA.

Come nearer, you, the Messenger of SELIM,

And bear him back this Answer—His chief Aim,

He says, in stooping to sollicite Peace,

Was from the Chains of Insidels to save me.

What! was it then to rescue me he sent,

Beneath an all-rever'd and sacred Name,

Beneath the Shelter of his Hand and Seal,

A murdering Wretch, a sacrilegious Bigot,

To stab at once the gallant Prince of England,

And Mousol Faith? nay, with a poison'd Dagger

(Such his inhuman Cowardice) to stab him?

So well, 'tis true, he judg'd, the Christian Prince

Had now been mingled with the harmless Dead;

If his bright Princess, glorious ELEONORA,

Had not redeem'd his dearer Life with hers.

You heard in what Extremity she lies.

Go, tell the Tyrant then—O Heaven and Earth!

O Vanity of Virtue! that DARAXA

Should e'er to SELIM send so fell a Message—

I will suppress its Bitterness—Yet tell him,

This Crime has plac'd eternal Bars betwixt us.

See my last Tear to Love—Arabian Wilds

Shall bury 'midst their Rocks the lost DARAXA.

Away!

GLOSTER.

Behold they bear this way the Princess,

Once more to taste the Sweetness of the Sun,

Ere yet to mortal Light she bid farewel.

SCENE V.

GLOSTER, DARAXA, THEALD, EDWARD, ELEONORA born in by her Attendants on a Couch.

ELEONORA, entering.

A little on; a little further on,

Bear me, my Friends, into the cooling Air.

O chearful Sun! O vital Light of Day!

O Clouds that roll your Tempest thro' the Sky!—

EDWARD.

That Sun is Witness of our matchless Woes,

Is Witness of our Innocence—Alas!

What have we done to merit this Disaster?

ELEONORA.

O Earth! O genial Roofs! O the dear Coast

Of Albion's Isle! which I no more shall see!—

EDWARD.

Nay, yield not to thy Weakness, ELEONORA!

Sustain thyself a little, nor desert me!

Th' all-ruling GOODNESS may relieve us still.

ELEONORA.

EDWARD! I tremble! Terror seizes on me!

Thro' the rent Veil of this surrounding Sky,

I had a Glimpse, I saw th' eternal World.

They call, they urge me hence—Yes, I obey.

But O forgive me, Heaven! if 'tis with Pain,

With Agonies, I tear my Soul from His!

EDWARD.

Heavens! what I suffer!—How thy plaintive Voice

Shoots Anguish thro' my Soul!

ELEONORA.

Some Power unseen—

Thy Hand, my EDWARD—some dark Power unseen

Is dragging me away—O yet a little,

Stern Tyrant, spare me!—Ah! how shall I leave

My weeping Friends, my Husband and my Children?

EDWARD.

Unhappy Friends! O greatly wretched Husband!

And O poor careless Orphans, who not feel

The Depth of your Misfortune!

ELEONORA.

Lay me down;

Soft, lay me down—my Powers are all dissolv'd—

A little forward bend me—Oh!

EDWARD.

O God!

How that soft Frame is torn with cruel Pangs!

Pangs robb'd from me!

ELEONORA.

'Tis thence they borrow Ease—

My Children! O my Children! you no more

Have now a Mother; now, alas! no more

You have a Mother, O my hapless Children!

EDWARD.

What do I hear! What desolating Words

Are these? more bitter than a thousand Deaths!

Death to my Soul! Call up thy failing Spirit,

And leave me not to Misery and Ruin!

ELEONORA.

EDWARD, I feel an Interval of Ease;

And, ere I die, have something to impart

That will relieve my Sufferings.

EDWARD.

Speak, my Soul!

Speak thy Desire: I live but to fulfil it.

ELEONORA.

Thou seest in what a hopeless State I lie,

I who this Morning rose in Height of Youth,

High-blooming, promis'd many happy Years.

I die for Thee, I self-devoted die.

Think not, from This, that I repent my Vow;

Or that, with little Vanity, I boast it:

No; what I did from unrepenting Love

I chearful did, from Love that knows no Fear,

No Pain, no weak Remission of its Ardor.

And what, alas! what was it but the Dictate

Of Honour and of Duty: nay, 'twas selfish,

To save me from unsufferable Pain,

From dragging here a wretched Life without Thee.

Two Fears yet stand betwixt my Soul and Peace.

One is for Thee, lest thou disturb my Grave

With Tears of wild Despair. Grieve not like Those

Who have no Hope. We yet shall meet again;

We still are in a kind Creator's Hand;

ETERNAL GOODNESS reigns. Besides, this Parting,

This Parting, EDWARD, must have come at last,

When Years of Friendship had, perhaps, exalted

Our Love, if That can be, to keener Anguish.

Think what thy Station, what thy Fame demand;

Nor yield thy Virtue even to worthy Passions.

My other Care—my other Care is idle—

From That thy equal Tenderness with mine,

Thy Love and Generosity secure me.

Our Childre•—

EDWARD.

Yes▪ I penetrate thy Fear.

But hear me, dying Sweetness! On this Hand,

This cold pale Hand I vow, our Children never,

Shall never call another by the Name

Sacred to Thee; my ELEONORA'S Children

Shall never feel the hateful Power thou fear'st.

As one in Life, so Death cannot divide us.

Nor high Descent, nor Beauty, nought that Woman,

In her unbounded Vanity of Heart,

Can wish, shall ever tempt my Faith from Theee,

Shall ever, said I? Piteous Boast indeed!

O nothing can!—I should be gross of Heart,

Tasteless and dull as Earth, to think with Patience,

Without Abhorrence, of a second Hymen,

Where can I find such Beauty? Where such Grace,

The Soul of Beauty? where such winning Charms?

Where such a soft Divinity of Goodness?

Such Faith? such Love? such Tenderness unequal'd?

Such all that Heaven could give—to make me wretched!

Talk not of Comfort—Into what a Gulph

A lone Abyss of Misery I fall,

The Moment that I lose Thee—Oh! I know not!

I dare not think!—But these unhappy Orphans—

Ah the dire Cause that makes it double Duty—

Shall now be doubly mine to shelter them,

These Pledges of our Love, I will attempt

To brave the Horrors of loath'd Life without Thee.

ELEONORA.

Enough! it is enough! On this Condition

Receive them from my Hands.

EDWARD.

Dear Hands! dear Gift!

Dear, precious, dying, miserable Gift!

With Transport once receiv'd, but now with Anguish!

ELEONORA.

I yet should live, my Children—and I die.

EDWARD.

How truly lost! what shall I be without Thee!

ELEONORA.

All soft'ning Time will heal thy Woes. The Dead

Soon leave the Passions of the Living free.

EDWARD.

Detested Life!—O take me, take me with Thee!

ELEONORA.

My single Death, O Grave, may well suffice.

EDWARD.

Severe mysterious Heaven! that This should be!

ELEONORA.

What darksome Ways I tread!—O Sun!—O Earth!

EDWARD.

Stay, cruel, stay!—Thou leav'st me, ELEONORA!

ELEONORA.

Ah! the strong Hand of Iron Fate compels me!

EDWARD.

Raise raise, my ELEONORA, thy sweet Eyes,

Nor quit thy Children!

ELEONORA.

With what Pain I quit them!

Well then—receive my last Adieu—

EDWARD.

Again,

O yet again behold them!

ELEONORA.

Oh!—'Tis Darkness—

A deadly Weight—

EDWARD.

Thou leav'st me then for ever!—

ELEONORA.

Where am I?—Ah!—a Tenant still to Pain.

The quivering Flame of Life leaps up a little.

Meantime, my EDWARD, 'tis my last Request,

That Thou wouldst leave me, while I yet enjoy

A parting Gleam of Thought—Leave me to HEAVEN!—

GLOSTER—farewel—Be careful of the Prince—

Attend him hence—and double now thy Friendship!

EDWARD.

Barbarian! off!—Ah! whither would'st thou drag me!

GLOSTER.

My Lord, in Pity to the Princess—

EDWARD.

Oh!

ELEONORA.

Farewel! farewel!—What must be—must be, EDWARD!

EDWARD.

O Word of Horror!—Can I?—No! I cannot!

There, take me, lead me, hurl me to Perdition!—

SCENE VI.

ELEONORA, DARAXA, THEALD, Attendants.

ELEONORA.

'Tis past, the Bitterness of Death is past—

Alas! DARAXA, I can ne'er requite

Thy generous Cares for me. Thou art the Cause

My EDWARD lives, my Children have a Father,

Thy Heaven-inspir'd Proposal—Tell him, THEALD,

That, in the troubled Moments of our Parting,

I had forgot to beg he would restore

Th' Arabian Princess to her Friends and Country—

Thy Hand—This sure, howe'er in Faith we differ,

Humanity, the Soul of all Religion,

May well permit.

DARAXA.

By Virtue's sacred Fire!

Our Paradise, the Garden of the Blest,

Ne'er smil'd upon a purer Soul than thine.

For me, think not of me; such are my Woes,

That I disdain all Care, detest Relief:

My Name is trod in Dust; Thine beams for ever,

The richest Gem that crowns the Worth of Woman.

ELEONORA.

The Guilt of SELIM cannot stain thy Virtues:

It rather lends them Lustre—Bear me back,

My dear Attendants: and, good THEALD, come,

Come, aid my mounting Soul to spring away,

From the lov'd Fetters of this kindred Clay.

End of the third Act.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

THEALD, and a Gentleman belonging to him.

THEALD.

TO me a Dervise? Thro' the furious Camp,

Yet raging at the Perfidy of SELIM,

How did he safely pass?

GENTLEMAN.

Sir, he had fallen

A Victim to their Vengeance: but he told them,

His Life was of Importance to the Prince,

That he who struck him stabb'd the Heart of EDWARD.

This stay'd their Rage; then, after a strict Search,

They let him pass thro' Ranks of glaring Eyes.

I have besides to say, an English Ship

And one from Italy are just arriv'd:

The first brings great Dispatches to Prince EDWARD;

The other, holy Father, these to you.

[Kneeling.

THEALD.

Go, bid this Dervise enter.

SCENE II.

THEALD: he opens and looks on the Dispatches.

Awful HEAVEN!

Great Ruler of the various Heart of Man!

Since thou hast rais'd me to conduct thy Church,

Without the base Cabal too often practis'd,

Beyond my Wish, my Thought, give me the Lights,

The Virtues which that sacred Trust requires:

A loving, lov'd, unterrifying Power,

Such as becomes a Father; humble Wisdom;

Plain primitive Sincerity; kind Zeal,

For Truth and Virtue rather than Opinions;

And, above all, the charitable Soul

Of healing Peace and Christian Moderation.—

The Dervise comes.

SCENE III.

THEALD, SELIM disguis'd as a Dervise.

THEALD.

With me, what would'st thou, Dervise?

SELIM.

The Princess ELEONORA lives she still?

THEALD.

She lives, and that is all.

SELIM.

ALLAH be prais'd!

Then lives the Honour of the brightning Name

Of Saracen and Mussulman.

THEALD.

How, Dervise?

What can wipe out the Horror of this Deed?

SELIM.

A holy Man's Humanity shall cancel

The savage Fury of an impious Bigot.

But, Christian Imam, lead me to the Princess.

For know, a Dervise, who, amid the Rocks

Of Cedar-shaking Lebanon, beheld

Twelve hundred Moons compleat their pale Career;

And who by Fasting, Meditation, Prayer,

And silent Converse with instructive Nature,

Had from his inward Eye and peaceful Heart,

Purg'd off the Mist and Turbulence of Passion:

This venerable Dervise, not confin'd

To the still Transports of unactive Virtue,

Felt a warm Zeal to serve his Fellow-Creatures;

And to his pious Search the Grace was given

Of finding out a Remedy for Poison.

Nor can it come too late, while wand'ring Life

Yet, with faint Impulse, stirs along the Veins.

THEALD.

Ha! Dervise, art thou sure of what thou say'st?

SELIM.

Yes. He himself consign'd it to my Care.

The powerful Juice of Plants, for which he scal'd

The tufted Cliff, and o'er the Torrent hung;

The Balm of Mountain-Herbs, where the gross Soil

But little mixes, temper'd Sun and Dew.

And not to those of his own Faith, alone,

He this, from narrow Charity, bequeath'd;

No, as it was the Gift of bounteous Nature,

He bade it freely go to all her Sons.

Come, lead me to the Princess: Tho' she lay

Even in the last Extremity, tho' call'd

By the fierce Angel who compels the Dead,

Yet bold Experience gives me Room to hope.

Oft have I seen its vital Touch diffuse

New Vigour thro' the poison'd Streams of Life,

When almost settled into dead Stagnation;

Swift as a Southern Gale unbinds the Flood.

Say, wilt thou trust me with the Trial, Christian.

THEALD.

Thou know'st, we have great Reason for Distrust;

But Fear in those who can no longer hope

Were idle and absurd.

SELIM.

Bright Heaven! what Fear?

Is there a Slave of such inhuman Baseness

Nurs'd on the sick'ning Bosom of this Earth,

To add fresh Outrage to a dying Princess?

For Virtue dying? Look into my Eye:

Does one weak Ray there shun thy keenest Gaze?

Say, dost thou there behold so foul a Bottom?

THEALD.

No; seeming Truth and generous Candour shine

In what thou say'st. Come, follow me, good Dervise.

SELIM.

A Moment yet.—Should Heaven accord Success,

I have, besides the Life of ELEONORA,

My injur'd Sultan's wounded Name to save;

Whose Soul abhors the Crime imputed to him.

Then let me be the first who to the Prince

Imparts the happy News; that SELIM'S Honour,

Enforc'd by EDWARD'S Joy, may strike more deep,

With strong Conviction—But of this hereafter—

SCENE IV.

THEALD, SELIM disguised, DARAXA.

DARAXA.

At last, thro' various Pangs, the dying Princess

Sees the delivering Moment, and demands

Thy Presence, Reverend Christian.

THEALD.

Dervise, come.

Forbid it Heaven this Aid should be too late!

SCENE V.

DARAXA.

Ha!—let me think—I surely know this Dervise—

O my astonish'd Fancy!—can it be?—

But in his Looks, methought, I mark'd the Sultan;

And, as he shot athwart me, from his Eye

Flash'd the proud Lightning of affronted Virtue.

He must be innocent; his being here

Is radiant Proof he must—O weak DARAXA!

What Man of Virtue more would deign to lodge

His Image in thy Breast? Ah! what avails

The light unfounded Love, the treacherous Friendship,

That, with inhuman Cowardice, gives up

A worthy Man to Infamy and Slander?

They talk'd of Aid—what Aid?

[A Cry heard within.

Alas! 'tis past!

For Death was in that Cry—and now her Soul,

Exulting, quits the Coil of this dim World.

Severe Misfortune!—If there was a Cure,

That it should come too late!

SCENE VI.

DARAXA, an OFFICER.

OFFICER.

Madam, the Prince,

Rous'd by that deathful Cry, from the cold Earth,

Where in his Tent he lay, to Grief abandon'd,

And told by an Attendant of the Princess,

That she this fatal Moment breath'd her laft,

Now rushes hither to indulge his Sorrows.

DARAXA.

Unhappy Prince! I venerate his Tears,

And will retire—But whither? Rage, Confusion,

Despair and Desolation frown around me!—

I must find out this Dervise, must discover

If he indeed be SELIM—EDWARD comes.

SCENE VII.

EDWARD.

She is no more! the Soul of every Grace,

Of every Virtue! Tenderness itself!

The matchless ELEONORA is no more!—

Where am I?—Heavens!—Ah! what a hideous Desart

Is now this World, this blasted World, around me?

O Sun I hate thee, I abhor thy Light,

That shews not ELEONORA! Earth, thy Joy,

Thy Sweetness all is fled, all all that made

Thy Ways to me delightful, ELEONORA!

O ELEONORA! perish'd ELEONORA!

Pour not so fast thy Beauties on my Heart:

Ah! whither shall I fly from thy Perfections?—

Would I could think no more!—What shall I do?

Where go? what say?—That Tent! Ah me! that Tent!

I dare not enter there. There Death displays

His utmost Terrors—Pale and lifeless, there,

She lies, whose Looks were Love, whose Beauty smil'd

The sweet Effulgence of endearing Virtue—

And here I last beheld Her—Ay, and how,

And how beheld her!—The remorseless Image

Will hunt me to the Grave—I see Her Suffering,

With female Softness yet to Pain superior,

Fearful and bold at once, with the strong Hand

Of mighty Love constraining feeble Nature,

To steal me from Affliction—In the Camp,

Can I appear? A Chief among his Soldiers?

A Chief, who stoops to hold dishonour'd Life,

Life purchas'd by the Death of one for whom

The Brave in every Age have joy'd to die?—

And England—O I cannot bear the Thought

Of e'er returning to that Country more!

That Country, Witness of our happy Days,

Where at each Step remember'd Bliss will sting

My Soul to Anguish. I already hear

Malice exclaim, nay, blushing Valour sigh:

Where is thy Princess? where the Wish of Thousands?

The Charm, the Transport of the publick Eye?

Base Prince! And art thou not asham'd to bring

No Trophy home but ELEONORA'S Corse?—

The Grave too is shut up, that last Retreat

Of wretched Mortals—Yes, my Word is pass'd

To ELEONORA pass'd. Our Orphan-Children

Bind me to Life—O dear, O dangerous Passions!

The Valiant, by himself, what can he suffer?

Or what does he regard his single Woes?

But when, alas, he multiplies himself

To dearer Selves, to the lov'd tender Fair,

To those whose Bliss whose Beings hang upon him,

To helpless Children! then, O then! he feels

The Point of Misery festring in his Heart,

And weakly weeps his Fortune like a Coward.

Such, such am I! undone!—

SCENE VIII.

EDWARD, GLOSTER.

EDWARD.

My Lord of GLOSTER,

I thought my Orders were to be alone.

GLOSTER.

Forgive my fond Intrusion—But I cannot

Be so regardless of thy Welfare, EDWARD,

As to obey these Orders.

EDWARD.

But they shall,

Shall be obey'd—I will enjoy my Sorrows,

All that is left me now.

GLOSTER.

The more thy Grief,

Just in its Cause but frantic in Degree,

Seeks aggravating Solitude, the more

It suits my Love and Duty to attend thee,

To try to sooth—

EDWARD.

Away! thou never shal•▪

Not all that idle Wisdom can suggest,

All the vain Talk of proud unfeeling Reason,

Shall rob me of one Tear.

GLOSTER.

Of Nature's Tears

I would not rob Thee: they invigorate Virtue,

Soften, at once, and sortify the Heart;

But when they rise to speak this desperate Language,

They then grow Tears of Weakness; yes—

EDWARD.

I care not.

Weakness, whate'er they be, I will indulge them,

Will, in Despite of Thee and all Mankind,

Devote my joyless Days for ever to them.

GLOSTER.

Reason and Virtue then are empty Names?

EDWARD.

Hence! leave me to my Fate—You have undone me;

You have made Shipwreck of my Peace, among you,

My Happiness and Honour; and I now

Roam the detested World, a careless Wretch!

GLOSTER.

Thy Honour yet is safe, how long I know not,

For full it drives upon the Rocks of Passion.

O all ye pitying Powers that rule Mankind!

Who so unworthy but may proudly deck him

With this fair-weather Virtue, that exults,

Glad, o'er the Summer Main? The Tempest comes,

The bold Winds speak aloud; when from the Helm

This Virtue shrinks, and in a Corner lies

Lamenting.—Heavens! if privileg'd from Trial,

How cheap a Thing were Virtue!

EDWARD.

Do—insult me—

Rail, spare me not—rail, GLOSTER, all the World—

But know, mean time, thou canst not make me feel thee—

I have no more Connection with Mankind.

GLOSTER.

Insult thee, EDWARD? Do these Tears insult thee?

These old Man's Tears!—Friendship, my Prince, can weep,

As well as Love—But while I weep thy Fortune,

Let me not weep thy Virtue sunk beneath it—

Thou hast no more Connection with Mankind?

Put off thy craving Senses, the deep Wants

And infinite Dependencies of Nature;

Put off that strongest Passion of the Soul,

Soul of the Soul, Love to Society;

Put off all Gratitude for what is past,

All generous Hope of what is yet to come;

Put off each Sense of Honour and of Duty:

Then use this Language—Let me tell thee, EDWARD,

Thou hast Connections with Mankind, and great ones,

Thou know'st not of; Connections! that might rouse

The smallest Spark of Honour in thy Breast,

To wide-awaken'd Life and fair Ambition.

EDWARD.

What dost thou mean?

GLOSTER.

What mean?—this Day, in England,

How many ask of Palestine their King,

EDWARD their King?—Read these—

EDWARD, opening the Dispatches.

O GLOSTER!—GLOSTER!—

Alas! my Royal Father is no more!

The gentlest of Mankind, the most abus'd!

Of gracious Nature, a fit Soil for Virtues,

'Till there his Creatures sow'd their flattering Lies,

And made him—No, not all their cursed Arts

Could ever make him insolent or cruel.

O my deluded Father! Little Joy

Had'st thou in Life, led from thy real Good

And genuine Glory, from thy People's Love,

That noblest Aim of Kings, by smiling Traitors.

Is there a Curse on human Kind so fell,

So pestilent, at once, to Prince and People,

As the base servile Vermin of a Court,

Corrupt, corrupting Ministers and Favourites?

How oft have such eat up the Widow's Morsel,

The Peasant's Toil, the Merchant's far-sought Gain,

And wanton'd in the Ruin of a Nation!

Thus weak of Heart, thus desolate of Soul,

Ah, how unfit am I, with steady Hand,

To rule a troubled State!—She, she is gone,

Softner of Care, the dear Reward of Toil,

The Source of Virtue! She, who to a Crown

Had lent new Splendor, who had grac'd a Throne

Like the sweet Seraph Mercy tempering Justice.

O ELEONORA! any Life with Thee,

The plainest could have charm'd: but Pomp and Pleasure,

All that a loving People can bestow,

By thee unshar'd, will serve alone to nourish

The Wounds of Woe, and make me more unhappy!

GLOSTER.

Now is the Time, now lift thy Soul to Virtue!

Behold a Crisis, sent by Heaven, to save thee.

Whate'er, my Prince, can touch, or can command.

Can quicken or exalt the Heart of Man,

Now speaks to thine—Thy Children claim their Father,

Nay, more than Father, claim their double Parent;

For such thy Promise was to ELEONORA:

Thy Subjects claim their King, thy Troops their Chief:

The Manes of thy Ancestors consign

Their long-descended Glory to thy Hands;

And thy dejected Country calls upon thee

To save Her, raise Her, to restore her Honour,

To spread her sure Dominion o'er the Deep,

And bid her yet arise the Scourge of France.

Angels themselves might envy thee the Joy,

That waits thy Will, of doing general Good:

Of spreading Virtue, chearing lonely Worth;

Of dashing down the Proud; of guarding Arts,

The sacred Rights of Industry and Freedom;

Of making a whole generous People happy.

O EDWARD! EDWARD! the most piercing Transports

Of the best Love can never equal These!

And need I add—Thy ELEONORA'S Death

Calls out for Vengeance—

EDWARD.

Ha!

GLOSTER.

If thou, indeed,

Dost honour thus her Memory, then show it,

Not by soft Tears and Womanish Complaints,

But show it like a Man!—

EDWARD.

I will!

GLOSTER.

Yon Towers!—

EDWARD.

'Tis true!

GLOSTER.

Yon guilty Towers!—

EDWARD.

Insult us still!

GLOSTER.

The Murderer of thy Princess riots there!—

EDWARD.

But shall not long!—Thou art my better Genius,

Thou brave old Man! thou hast recall'd my Virtue—

I was benumb'd with Sorrow—what—or where—

I know not—never to have thought of this.

Bright Virtue, welcome! Vigour of the Mind!

The Flame from Heaven that lights up higher Being!

Thrice welcome! with thy noble Servant Anger,

And just Revenge—Hence, let us to the Camp,

And there transfuse our Soul into the Troops.

This Sultan's Blood will ease my fever'd Breast.

Yes, I will take such Vengeance on this City,

That all Mankind shall turn their Eyes to JAFFA;

And, as they see her Turrets sunk in Dust,

Shall learn to dread the Terrors of the Just.

End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

SELIM.

O MY DARAXA! thou hast charm'd my Soul!

This reconciling Interview has sooth'd

My troubled Bosom into tender Joy:

As when the Spring first, on the soften'd Top

Of Lebanon, unbinds her lovely Treffes,

And shakes her blooming Sweets from Carmel's Brow—

It only now remains to see the Prince.—

SCENE II.

SELIM, THEALD.

THEALD.

I sought thee, worthy Dervise.

SELIM.

Reverend Christian,

My toiling Thoughts can find no fix'd Repose,

'Till the wrong'd Sultan's vindicated Honour

Shine out as bright as yon unsully'd Sky.

Conduct me to the Prince—I claim thy Promise.—

It stings my conscious Soul with sick Impatience,

To think what SELIM suffers. For a Man,

Who loves the Ways of Truth and open Virtue,

To ly beneath the burning Imputation

Of Baseness and of Crimes—such horrid Crimes!—

O 'tis a keen unsufferable Torment!

Come, let me then discharge this other Part

Of my Commission.

THEALD.

That thou soon shalt do.

He strait will come this Way, the King of England,

Such now he is. Mean time, 'tis fit to tell thee,

He must be manag'd softly; for his Passions

Are all abroad, in wild Confusion hurl'd:

The Winds, the Floods, and Lightning mix together.

I need not say how little, in this Uproar,

A vails the broken thwarted Light of Reason.

SELIM.

Fear not. Thou knowst, that with with one softning Word,

I can appease his highest Storm of Passion.

But let me take the Method that will gain,

With most convincing Evidence, my Purpose.

THEALD.

He cannot long delay, for, as I enter'd,

I saw him parting from the hurried Camp,

That lighten'd wide around him: burnish'd Helms,

And glittering Spears, and ardent thronging Soldiers,

Demanding all the Signal, when to storm

These Walls, devoted to their Vengeance.—

SELIM.

Ha!

Then let us quickly find him—But he comes.

SCENE III.

SELIM, THEALD, EDWARD, GLOSTER.

EDWARD.

Whence is it those Barbarians, here again,

Those base those murdering Cowards, dare be seen?

What new accurs'd Attempt is now on foot?

What new Assassination?—Start not, Dervise,

Tinge not thy caitiff Cheek with red'ning Honour.

What thou!—Dost thou pretend to feel Reproach?

Art thou not of a shameless Race of People,

Harden'd in Arts of Cruelty and Blood,

Perfidious all? Yes, have you not profan'd,

The Faith of Nations? Broke the holy Tie

That binds the Families of Earth together,

That gives even Foes to meet with hostile Joy,

And teaches War Security? Your Prince,

Your Prince has done it! And you should hereafter

Be hunted from your Dens like Savage Beasts,

Be crush'd like Serpents!

THEALD.

Sir, this Dervise comes,

To clear the Sultan SELIM from that Crime,

Which you, with strong Appearance, charge upon him.

EDWARD.

Appearance, THEALD? with unquestion'd Proof.

Doubtless the Villain would be glad to change

The Course by Nature fix'd, enjoy his Crimes

Without their Evil—But he shall not scape me!

SELIM.

If, King of England, in this weighty Matter,

On which depends the Weal and Life of Thousands,

You love and seek the Truth, let Reason judge,

Cool, steady, quiet and dispassion'd Reason.

For never yet, since the proud selfish Race

Of Men began to jar, did Passion give,

Nor ever can it give, a right Decision.

EDWARD.

Reason has judg'd, and Passion shall chastise,

Shall make you howl, ye Cowards of the East!

What can be clearer? This vile Prince of Jaffa!

This Infamy of Princes! Sends a Ruffian,

By his own Hand and Seal commission'd, sends him,

To treat of Peace: And, as I read his Letters,

The Villain stabs me—This, if This wants Light,

There is no Certainty in human Reason;

If This not shines with all-convincing Truth,

Yon Sun is dark—And yet these Cowards come

With lying Shifts, and low elusive Arts—

O it inflames my Anger into Madness!

This added Insult on our Understanding,

This treacherous Attempt to steal away

The only Joy and Treasure of my Life,

Sweet sacred Vengeance for my murder'd Princess!

SELIM.

The cursed Wretch who did assail thy Life,

O King of England, was indeed an Envoy

Sent by the Prince of Jaffa: This we own.

But then he was an execrable Bigot,

Who, for such horrid Purposes, had crept

Into the cheated Sultan's Court and Service;

As by the Traltor's Papers we have learn'd.

For know, there lives, upon the craggy Cliffs

Of wild Phenician Mountains, a dire Race,

A Nation of Assassins. Dreadful Zeal,

Fierce and intollerant of all Religion

That differs from their own, is the black Soul

Of that infernal State. Soon as their Chief,

The Old Man (so they stile him) of the Mountains,

Gives out his baleful Will, however fell,

However wicked and abhorr'd it be,

Tho' cloth'd in Danger the most cruel Death,

They, swift and silent, glide thro' every Land,

As fly the gloomy Ministers of Vengeance,

Famine and Plague; they ly for Years conceal'd,

Make light of Oaths, nay, sometimes change Religion,

And never fail to execute his Orders.

Of these the Villain was, these ruffian Saints,

The Curse of Earth, the Terror of Mankind:

And the Engagement, Prince, in this Crusado,

That was the Reason whence they sought thy Life

EDWARD.

False, false as Hell! the Lye of guilty Fear!

You all are Bigots, Robbers, Ruffians all!

It is the very Genius of your Nation.

Vindictive Rage, the Thirst of Blood consumes you:

You live by Rapine, thence your Empire rose;

And your Religion is a meer Pretence

To rob and murder, in the Name of Heaven.

SELIM.

Be patient, Prince, be more humane and just.

You have your Virtues, have your Vices too;

And we have ours. The liberal Hand of Nature

Has not created us, nor any Nation,

Beneath the blessed Canopy of Heaven,

Of such malignant Clay, but each may boast

Their native Virtues, and their Maker's Bounty.

You call us Bigots.—Oh! canst thou with that

Reproach us, Christian Prince? What brought thee hither?

What else but Bigotry? What dost thou here?

What else but persecute?—The Truth is great,

Greater than thee, and I will give it Way;

Even thou thyself, in all thy Rage, wilt hear it—

From their remotest Source, these holy Wars

What have they breath'd but Bigotry and Rapine?

Did not the first Crusaders, when their Zeal

Should have shone out the purest, did they not,

Led by the frantic Hermit who began

The murderous Trade, thro' their own Countries spread

The Woes their Vice could not reserve for ours?

Tho' this exceeds the Purport of my Message,

Yet must I thus insulted in my Country,

Insulted in Religion, bid thee think,

O King of England, on the different Conduct

Of Saracens and Christians, when beneath

Your pious GODFREY, in the first Crusado,

Jerusalem was sack'd, and when beneath

Our generous SALADIN it was retaken—

O hideous Scene! my Soul within me shrinks,

Abhorrent, from the View!—Twelve thousand Wretches,

Receiv'd to Mercy, void of all Defence,

Trusting to plighted Faith, to purchas'd Safety,

Behold these naked Wretches, in cold Blood,

Men, Women, Children, murder'd, basely murder'd!

The holy Temple, which you came to rescue,

Regorges with the barbarous Profanation.

The Streets run dismal Torrents. Drown'd in Blood,

The very Soldier sickens at his Carnage.

Couldst thou, O Sun, behold the bla••ing Sight,

And lift again thy sacred Eye on Mortals?

A ruthless Race! Who can do This, can do it,

To please the general Father of Mankind!

While nobler SALADIN—

EDWARD.

Away! be gone!

With thee, vile Dervise, what have I to do?

I lose my Hour of Vengeance, I debase me,

To hold this Talk with Thee.

SELIM.

While Truth and Reason

Speak from my Tongue, vile Dervise as I am,

Yet am I greater than the highest Monarch,

Who, from blind Fury, grows the Slave of Passion.

Besides, I come to justify a Prince,

Howe'er in other Qualities below thee,

In Love of Goodness, Truth, Humanity,

And Honour, Sir, thy Equal;—Yes, thy Equal!—

EDWARD.

What? How? compare me with a damn'd Assassin?

A matchless Villain!—Ha! presumptuous Dervise!

Thou gnawst thy quivering Lip—A smother'd Passion

Shakes thro' thy Frame.—What Villainy is That

Thou dar'st not utter?—Wert thou not a Wretch,

Protected by thy Habit, this right Hand

Should crush thee into Atoms—Hence! away!

Go tell thy Master that I hold him base,

Beyond the Power of Words to speak his Baseness!

A Coward! an Assassinating Coward!

And when I once have dragg'd him from his City,

Which I will straitway do—I then will make him,

In all the Gall and Bitterness of Guilt;

Grinding the vengeful Steel betwixt his Teeth,

Will make the Traitor own it.

[SELIM, discovering himself.

Never!

EDWARD.

Ha!

SELIM.

Thou canst not, haughty Monarch!—I am He!

I am this SELIM! this insulted SELIM!

Yet clear as Day, and will confound thy Passion.

EDWARD.

Thou SELIM!

SELIM.

I.

EDWARD.

Was ever Guilt so bold?

SELIM.

Did ever Innocence descend to fear?

EDWARD.

This bears some Shew of Honour. Wilt thou then

Decide it by the Sword?

SELIM.

I will do more—

EDWARD.

How more?

SELIM.

Decide it by superior Reason.

EDWARD.

No weak Evasions!—

SELIM.

If I not convince thee,

If by thy self I am not of this Crime

Acquitted, then I grant thee thy Demand.

Nay more, yon yielded City shall be thine:

For know, hot Prince, I should disdain a Throne,

I could not fill with Honour. Were I guilty,

I would not tremble at thy threatning Voice;

No, 'tis my self I fear.

EDWARD.

What shall I think?

SELIM.

Hear but one Witness, and I ask no more,

To clear my Name. The Witness is a Woman.

Her Looks are Truth; fair uncorrupted Faith

Beams from her Eyes. Thou ne'er canst doubt such Beauty;

For 'tis th' Expression of a spotless Soul.

EDWARD.

Curse on thy mean luxurious Eastern Arts

Of Cowardice! Thou wouldst seduce my Vengeance—

But I detest all Beauty—Barbarous Sultan!

Ah! thou hast murder'd Beauty! thy fell Crime—

Haste, GLOSTER, haste—In sight of Camp and City,

Prepare the Lists—Now show thy self a Prince,

Or dy in shameful Tortures like a Slave.

SELIM.

I came not hither or to dread thy Wrath,

Or court thy Mercy.

GLOSTER.

Sir, you cannot, justly,

Refuse him his Demand. The servent Soul

Of undissembled Innocence, methinks,

Is felt in what he says. First hear this Person,

And if she gives not full Conviction, then,

Have then Recourse to what should always be

The last Appeal of reasonable Beings,

Brute Force.

EDWARD.

Well then, conduct Her hither, Sultan.—

[SELIM goes out.

Ah! my disorder'd Mind! from Thought to Thought,

Uncertain, toss'd, the Wreck of stormy Passion!

This Rage awhile supports me; but I feel

It will desert me soon, and I again

Shall soon relapse to Misery and Weakness.

O ELEONORA! little didst thou think,

How deeply wretched thy dire Gift of Life

Would make me!

SCENE IV.

EDWARD, GLOSTER, THEALD;

To them SELIM conducting ELEONORA, DARAXA.

SELIM.

Raise thy Eyes, O King of England;

To the bright Witness of my blameless Honour.

EDWARD.

No; Beauty shall no more engage my Eyes,

It shall no more profane the Shrine devoted

To the sweet Image of my ELEONORA!—

Let her declare her Knowledge in this Matter.

ELEONORA.

Will not my EDWARD bless me with a Look?

EDWARD.

What Angel borrows ELEONORA'S Voice!—

O thou pale Shade of Her I weep for ever!

Permit me thus to worship thee—Thou art!—

Amazing Heaven!—Thou art my ELEONORA!

My ELEONORA'S Self! my dear, my felt,

My living ELEONORA!—What—to whom

Owe I this Miracle? this better Life?—

Oppressive Joy!—owe I my ELEONORA?

ELEONORA.

To him, that generous Prince, who put his Life

His Honour on the desperate Risque to save me,

When number'd with the Dead; who brought, himself,

A swift and powerful Remedy, by which

I am to Light restor'd—to thee, my EDWARD!

EDWARD.

To him! to him!—O monstrous!—whom I, thus,

Have with such Inhumanity insulted!

O blind, O brutish, O injurious Rage!

They they are wise, who, when they feel thy Madness,

Seal up their Lips. And canst thou then forgive me,

Thou who hast o'er me gain'd that noblest Triumph,

The Triumph of Humanity?—Thou canst.

'Tis easier for the Generous to forgive

Than for Offence to ask it.

SELIM.

Use not, Prince,

So harsh a Word. More than forgive, I love

Thy noble Heat, thy beautiful Disorder.

O! I am too much Man, I feel, myself,

Too much the charming Force of human Passions,

E'er to pretend, with supercilious Brow,

With proud affected Virtue, to disdain them.

EDWARD.

How, generous Sultan, how shall I requite Thee?

Here—Take thy lov'd DARAXA, whom I meant

To have restor'd, when this Misfortune happen'd;

But secret-working HEAVEN ordain'd her Stay,

To save us all.

SELIM.

Wert thou the Lord of Earth,

Thou could'st not give me more!—my dear DARAXA!

EDWARD,

Hence, to the Camp, my GLOSTER—Bid the Soldiers

Forsake the Trenches—Let unbounded Joy

Reign, fearless, o'er the mingled Camp and City—

Go, tell my faithful Soldiers, that their Queen

My ELEONORA lives! A Prize beyond

The Chance of War to give! She lives to soften

My too imperious Temper, and to make them,

To make my People happy!—O my Soul!

What Love e'er equall'd thine? O dearest! best!

Pride of thy Sex! inimitable Goodness!

Whenever Woman henceforth shall be prais'd

For conjugal Affection, Men will say

There shine the Virtues of an ELEONORA!

Transporting Bliss!—How bountiful is Heaven!

Depressing often, but to raise us more.

Let never those despair who follow Virtue.

Love—Gratitude—divide me—Once more, Sultan,

Forgive me, pardon my mistaken Zeal,

That left my Country, cross'd the stormy Seas,

To war with thee, brave Prince, to war with Honour.

Now that my Passions give me leave to think:

The Hand of HEAVEN appears in what I suffer'd,

My erring Zeal has suffer'd by a Bigot.

SELIM.

It does, O King. And venerable Christian,

I know thy Moderation will excuse me.

But since by ruling WISDOM (who unweigh'd,

Unmeant, does Nought) Men are so various made,

So various turn'd, that, in Opinions, they

Must blindly think, or take a different Way;

In spite of Force, since Judgment will be free;

Then let us in this righteous Mean agree:

Let holy Rage, let Persecution cease;

Let the Head argue, but the Heart be Peace;

Let all Mankind in Love of what is right,

In Virtue and Humanity unite.

Information about this book

Title statement

Edward and Eleonora. A tragedy: As it was to have been acted at the Theatre-Royal in Covent-Garden. By Mr. Thomson.

Thomson, James, 1700-1748.

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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/3539

ID [isbn10]

1106005384

ID [isbn13]

9781106005380

ID [TCP]

K019154.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3307632904

ID [ECFA]

1221201100

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Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— Edward and Eleonora. A tragedy: As it was to have been acted at the Theatre-Royal in Covent-Garden. By Mr. Thomson., Thomson, James, 1700-1748.. iv,[4],64p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for the author; and sold by A. Millar,. 1739.. [Dedication signed: James Thomson.] [The ornaments are those used by Henry Woodfall.] [Price below imprint: One shilling and six-pence.] [A variant on fine paper lacks the price below the imprint.] [In this setting, pp. 39 and 52 end: ACT. and p. 27 has "GLOSTE.R" four lines from the foot.] [Reproduction of original from the Cambridge University Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCN60643.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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