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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A49935) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 100544) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 462:13) The rival queens, or, The death of Alexander the Great acted at the Theater-Royal by their majesties servants / by Nat. Lee ... Cassandra Lee, Nathaniel, 1653?-1692. Dryden, John, 1631-1700. La Calprenède, Gaultier de Coste, seigneur de, d. 1663. Cassandre. English. [12], 64 (i.e. 66), [2] p. Printed for James Magnes and Richard Bentley, London : 1677. With commentary verses by Dryden. Partly based on La Calprenède's Cassandra. Reproduction of original in Huntington Library. eng Alexander, -- the Great, 356-323 B.C. -- Drama. shcnoThe Rival Queens, or The Death of Alexander the GreatLee, Nathaniel1677273811000000.37B The rate of 0.37 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the B category of texts with fewer than 10 defects per 10,000 words. 2002-05 Assigned for keying and markup 2002-06 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2002-07 Sampled and proofread 2002-07 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2002-08 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion

THE Rival Queens , OR THE DEATH OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT .

ACTED AT THE Theater-Royal .

BY Their Majesties Servants .

By NAT. LEE , Gent.

— Naturâ sublimis & acer , Nam spirat tragicum satis , & feliciter audet . Horat. Epist. ad Aug.

LONDON , Printed for James Magnes and Richard Bentley , at the Post-house in Russel-street in Covent-Garden , near the Piazza's , 1677.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE , JOHN , EARL OF MULGRAVE , Gentleman of His Majesties Bed-Chamber , and Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter . My Lord ,

WHEN I hear by many Persons , not indifferent Judges , how Poets are censur'd most , even where they most intend to please ; and sometimes by those to whom they address , condemn'd for Flatterers , Sycophants , little fawning wretches , I confess of all undertakings , there is none more dreadful to me than a Dedication . So nicely cruel are our Judges , that after a Play has been generally applauded on the Stage , the Industrious malice of some after Observers shall damn it for an Epistle , or a Preface . For this Reason , my Lord , Alexander was more to seek for a Patron in my troubl'd thoughts , than for the Temple of Jupiter Ammon in the spreading Wilds , and rowling Sands . 'T is certain too he must have been lost , had not Fortune , whom I must once , at least , acknowledge kind in my Life , presented me to your Lordship : You were pleas'd , my Lord , to read it over , Act by Act , and by particular praises , proceeding from the sweetness , rather than the justice , of your temper , lifted me up from my natural Melancholy , and Diffidence , to a bold belief , that what so great an understanding warranted , could not fail of success . And here I were most ungrateful , if I should not satisfie the judging World of the surprize I was in . Pardon me , my Lord , for calling it a surprize , when I was first honour'd by waiting upon your Lordship : So much unexpected , and indeed , unusual affability from Persons of your Birth , and Quality ; so true an Easiness , such Frankness , without affectation , I never saw . Your constant , but few Friends , show the firmness of your Mind , which never varies , so God-like a Virtue , that a Prince puts off His Majesty , when he parts with Resolution . In all the happy times , that I attended you , unless business , or accident , interpos'd , I have observ'd your Company to be the same . You have Travell'd through all tempers , Sail'd through all humours of the Courts unconstant Sea , you have gain'd the gallant Prizes , which you sought , your selected , unvaluable Friends : And I am perfectly perswaded , if you traffick but seldome abroad , 't is for fear of splitting upon Knaves , or Fools . Nor is it Pride , but rather a Delicacie of your Soul , that makes you shun the Sordid part of the World , the lees and Dregs of it , while in the noblest Retirement you enjoy the finer Spirits , and have that just Greatness to be above the baser . How commendable therefore is such Reservation ; how admirable such a Solitude ! If you are singular in this , we ought to blame the wild , unthinking , dissolute Age ; an Age , whose business is senseless Riot , Neronian Gambols , and ridiculous Debauchery ; an Age that can produce few Persons , beside your Lordship , who dare be alone . All our hot hours , burn't in Night-Revells , or drown'd in Day-dead-sleep ; or if we wake , 't is a point of reeling Honour joggs us to the Field , where , if we live , or dye , we are not concern'd ; for , the Soul was laid out before we went abroad , and our Bodies were after acted , by meer Animal Spirits , without Reason . When I more narrowly Contemplate your Person , methinks I see in your Lordship two of the most famous Characters , that ever Ancient , or Modern , Story could produce ; the mighty Scipio , and the retir'd Cowley . You have certainly the Gravity , Temperance , and Judgment , as well as the Courage , of the first ; all which , in your early attempts of War , gave the noblest dawn of Virtue ; and will , when occasion presents , answer our expectation , and shine forth at full . Then , for the latter , you possess all his sweetness of humour in peace , all that Halcyon Tranquillity of Mind , where your deep thoughts glide , like silent Waters , without a Wrinkle , your hours move with softest Wings , and rarely any Larum strikes to discompose you . You have the Philosophy of the first , and which , I confess , of all your qualities , I love most , the Poetry of the latter . I was never more mov'd at Virgil's Dido , than at a short Poem of your Lordships ; where nothing but the shortness can be dislik'd . As our Church-Men wish there were more Noble Men of their Function , so wish I , in the behalf of deprest Poetry , that there were more Poets of your Lordships Excellence , and Eminence . If Poetry be a Virtue , she is a ragged one ; and never , in any Age , went barer than now . It may be objected , she never deserved less . To that I must not answer ; but I am sure , when she merited most , she was alwayes dissatisfied , or she would not have forsaken the most splendid Courts in the World. Virgil , and Horace , Favourites of the mightiest Emperour , retir'd from him , preferring a Mistress , or a white Boy , and two or three cheerful drinking Friends , in a Country Village , to all the Magnificence of Rome : Or if sometimes they were snatch'd from their cooler pleasures to an Emperial Banquet , We may see by their Verses in praise of the Country Life , 't was against their Inclination ; Witness , Horace in his Epod. Beat us ille qui procul , &c. part of his sixth Satyr , his Epistle to Fuscus Aristius ; Virgil's Georgie , O Fortunatos nimium bona si , &c. All render'd by Mr. Cowley , so Copiously , and Naturally , as no Age gone before , or coming after , shall equal , though all Heads join'd together to out . do him . I speak not of his exactness to a Line , but of the whole . This then may be said , as to the condition of Poets in all times , few ever arriv'd to a middle Fortune , most have liv'd at the lowest , none ever mounted to the highest ; neither by Birth , for none was ever born a Prince , as no Prince , to my remembrance , was ever born a Poet ; nor by Industry , because they were alwayes too much transported by their own thoughts from minding the grave business of a World , not of their humour : Whereas , even Slaves , the Rubbish of the Earth have , by most prodigious Fortune , gain'd a Scepter , and with their vile Heads , sully'd the glories of a Crown . Praise is the greatest encouragement we Camelions can pretend to , or rather the Manna that keeps Soul and Body together ; we devour it as if it were Angels Food , and vainly think we grow Immortal . For my own part , I acknowledge , I never receiv'd a better satisfaction from the applause of an Audience than I have from your single Judgment . You gaze at Beauties , and wink at Blemishes ; and do both so gracefully , that the first discovers the acuteness of your Judgment , the other the excellency of your Nature . And I can affirm , to your Lordship , there is nothing transports a Poet , next to Love , like commending in the right place . Therefore , my Lord , this Play must be yours ; and Alexander , whom I have rais'd from the dead , comes to you with an assurance , answerable to his Character , and your Virtue . You cannot expect him in his Majesty of two thousand Years ago , I have only put his illustrious Ashes in an Urne , which are now offer'd , with all observance , to your Lordship . By ,

My Lord , Your Lordships most humble , obliged , and devoted Servant , NAT. LEE .
Dramatis Personae .

MEN. By Alexander the Great . Mr. Hart. Clytus , Master of his Horse . Mr. Mohun . Lysimachus , Prince of the Blood. Mr. Griffin . Hephestion , Alexander's Favourite . Mr. Clarke .
Cassander , Son of Antipater . Mr. Kenaston , Conspirators . Polypercon , Commander of the Phalanx . Mr. Goodman , Philip Brother to Cassander . Mr. Powell . Thessalus , the Median . Mr. Wiltshire .
Perdiccas , great Commanders . Mr. Lydall . Eumenes , Mr. Watson . Meleager , Mr. Perin .
Aristander , a Southsayer . Mr. Coysh .

WOMEN . By Sysigambis , Mother of the Royal Family . Mrs. Corey . Statira , Daughter of Darius Married to Alexander . Mrs. Boutell . Roxana , Daughter of Cohortanus , first Wife of Alexander . Mrs. Marshall . Parisatis , Sister to Statira , in Love with Lysimachus . Mrs. Baker .

Attendants . Slaves . Ghost . Dancers . Guards .

Scene , Babylon .

To Mr. Lee , on his Alexander . THE Blast of common Censure cou'd I fear , Before your Play my Name shou'd not appear ; For 't will be thought , and with some colour too , I pay the Bribe I first receiv'd from You : That mutual Vouchers for our Fame we stand , To play the Game into each others Hand ; And as cheap Pen'orths to our selves afford As Bessus , and the Brothers of the Sword. Such Libels private Men may well endure , When States , and Kings themselves are not secure : For ill Men , conscious of their inward guilt , Think the best Actions on By-ends are built . And yet my silence had not scap'd their spight , Then envy had not suffer'd me to write : For , since I cou'd not Ignorance pretend , Such worth I must or envy or commend . So many Candidates there stand for Wit , A place in Court is scarce so hard to get ; In vain they croud each other at the Door ; For ev'n Reversions are all beg'd before : Desert , how known so e're , is long delay'd ; And , then too , Fools and Knaves are better pay'd . Yet , as some Actions bear so great a Name , That Courts themselves are just , for fear of shame : So has the mighty Merit of your Play Extorted praise , and forc'd it self a Way . 'T is here , as 't is at Sea ; who farthest goes , Or dares the most , makes all the rest his Foes ; Yet , when some Virtue much out-grows the rest , It shoots too fast , and high , to be opprest ; As his Heroic worth struck Envy dumb Who took the Dutchman , and who cut the Boom : Such praise is yours , while you the Passions move , That 't is no longer feign'd ; 't is real Love : Where Nature Triumphs over wretched Art ; We only warm the Head , but you the Heart . Alwayes you warm ! and if the rising Year , As in hot Regions , bring the Sun too near , T is but to make your Fragrant Spices blow , Which in our colder Climates will not grow . They only think you animate your Theme With too much Fire , who are themselves all Phle'me : Prizes wou'd be for Lags of slowest pace , Were Cripples made the Judges of the Race . Despise those Drones , who praise while they accuse The too much vigour of your youthful Muse : That humble Stile which they their Virtue make Is in your pow'r ; you need but stoop and take . Your beauteous Images must be allow'd By all , but some vile Poets of the Crowd ; But how shou'd any Sign-post-dawber know The worth of Titian , or of Angelo ? Hard Features every Bungler can command ; To draw true Beauty shews a Masters Hand . JOHN DRYDEN .
PROLOGUE TO ALEXANDER , Written by Sir Char. Scroop , Baronet . HOW hard the Fate is , of that Scribling Drudge , Who writes to all , when yet so few can judge ! Wit , like Religion , once Divine was thought ; And the dull Crowd believ'd , as they were taught : Now each Fanatick Fool presumes t' explain The Text , and does the sacred Writ prophane : For , while you Wits each others Fall pursue , The Fops usurp the Power belongs to you . You think y' are challeng'd in each new Play-bill , And here you come for tryal of your Skill ; Where , Fencer-like , you one another hurt , While , with your Wounds , you make the Rabble sport . Others there are , that have the bruital Will To Murder a poor Play , but want the Skill . They love to fight , but seldome have the Wit To spye the Place , where they may thrust and hit ; And therefore , like some Bully of the Town , Ne're stand to draw , but knock the Poet down . With these , like Hogs in Gardens it succeeds , They root up all , and know not Flowers from Weeds . As for you , Sparks , that hither come each day To Act your own , and not to mind our Play ; Rehearse your usual follies to the Pit , And with loud Non-sense drown the Stages Wit : Talk of your Cloaths , your last Debauches tell , And witty Bargains to each other sell ; Gloat on the silly She , who for your sake Can Vanity , and Noise , for Love mistake 'Till the Cocquet , sung in the next Lampoon , Is by her jealous Friends sent out of Town . For , in this Duelling Intriguing ) Age , The Love you make is like the War you wage ; Y' are still prevented e're you come t' ingage . But 't is not to such trisling Foes as you , The Mighty Alexander daigns to sue : You Persians of the Pit he does despise , But to the Men of Sence , for Aid , he flies ; On their experienc'd Arms he now depends , Nor fears he odds , if they but prove his Friends : For as he once , a little handful chose , The numerous Armies of the World t' oppose , So back'd by you , who understand the Rules , He hopes to rout the Mighty Host of Fools .
Some Books Printed this Year , 1677. for J. Magnes , and R. Bently . Madam Fickle . Town Fop. Abdellazar . The Destruction of Jerusalem , by Titus Vespasian . The Fool turn'd Critick . The Happy Slave , First and Second Part in French and English. The False Count Brion . Moral Essays , by the Metures of the Port-Royal . Plays Written by Mr. Lee. The Tragedy of Nero. Sophonisba , or Hanibal 's Overthrow . Glorian , or the Court of Augustus Caesar. The Rival Queens , or the Death of Alexander the Great . The French Novels . L'Heureux Esclave . Galant Escroc . Princesse Momferrat . Le Cercle . L'Histoire des Visiers . Memoires de Suede . Relation D'Espagne . Touchant Don John.
THE Rival Queens , OR ALEXANDER THE GREAT .
ACT I. SCENE I. Enter Hephestion , Lysimachús fighting , Clytus parting them . Cly. WHAT , are you Mad-men ! ha — Put up I say Then , mischief in the bosoms of ye both . Lys. I have his Sword. Cly. But must not have his Life . Lys. Must not Old Clytus ? Cly. Mad Lysimachus , you must not . Heph. Coward Flesh ! O feeble Arm , He dallied with my point , and when I thrust , He frown'd , and smil'd , and foil'd me like a Fencer . O Reverend Clytus ! Father of the War ; Most famous Guard of Alexander's Life , Take pity on my Youth , and lend a Sword : Lysimachus is brave , and will not scorn me ; Kill me , or let me fight with him again . Lys. There , take thy Sword ; and since thou art resolv'd For death , thou hast the noblest from my hand . Cly. Stay thee Lysimachus , Hephestion , hold ; I bar you both , my Body interpos'd . Now let me see which of you dares to strike ; By Jove ye've stirr'd the Old Man , that rash Arm That first advances , moves against the Gods , Against the Wrath of Clytus and the Will Of our great King , whose Deputy I stand . Lys. Well , I shall take another time . Heph. And I. Cly. 'T is false ; Another time , what time ? what foolish hour ? No time shall see a brave Man do amiss . And what 's the noble Cause that makes this madness ? What big Ambition blows this dangerous Fire ? A Cupids puff , is it not Woman's breath ? By all our triumphs in the heat of Youth , When Towns were sack'd , and Beauties prostrate lay , When my Blood boil'd , and Nature work'd me high , Clytus ne're bow'd his body to such shame : The brave will scorn their Cobweb Arts — The Souls Of all that whining , smiling , coz'ning Sex Weigh not one thought of any Man of War. Lys. I must confess our vengeance was ill-tim'd . Cly. Death ! I had rather this right Arm were lost , To which I owe my glory , than our King Should know your fault — what , on this famous day ! Heph. I was to blame . Cly. This memorable day When our hot Master , that wou'd tire the World , Outride the lab'ring Sun , and tread the Stars When he inclin'd to rest , comes peaceful on , Listning to Songs ; while all his Trumpets sleep , And plays with Monarchs whom he us'd to drive ; Shall we begin disorders , make new broils ? We that have temper learnt , shall we awake Hush'd Mars , the Lion , that had left to roar ? Lys. 'T is true , Old Clytus is an Oracle . Put up Hephestion , — did not Passion blind My Reason , I on such occasion too Could thus have urg'd . Heph. Why is it then we love ? Cly. Because unmann'd . — Why is not Alexander grown Example ? O that a Face should thus bewitch a Soul , And ruine all that 's right and reasonable . Talk be my bane , yet the Old Man must talk , Not so he lov'd when he at Issus fought ; And join'd in mighty Duel great Darius , Whom from his Chariot flaming all with Gems He hurl'd to Earth and crush'd th' imperial Crown , Nor cou'd the Gods defend their Images Which with the gawdy Coach lay overturn'd : 'T was not the shaft of Love that did the feat , Cupid had nothing there to do , but now Two Wives he takes , two Rival Queens disturb The Court ; and while each hand do's beauty hold , Where is there room for glory ? Heph. In his heart . Cly. Well said , You are his favourite , and I had forgot Who I was talking to , see Sysigambis comes Reading a Letter to your Princess ; go , Now make your claim , while I attend the King. [ Exit . Enter Sysigambis , Parisatis . Par. Did you not love my Father ? Yes , I see You did , his very name but mention'd brings The Tears howe're unwilling to your Eeys . I lov'd him too , he would not thus have forc'd My trembling heart , which your Commands may break , But never bend . Sys . Forbear thy lost complaints , Urge not a suit which I can never grant . Behold the Royal Signet of the King ; Therefore resolve to be Hephestion's Wife . Par. No , since Lysimachus has won my heart , My body shall be Ashes , e're anothers . Sys . For sixty rowling years who ever stood . The shock of State so unconcern'd as I ? This whom I thought to Govern being young , Heav'n , as a Plague to Power , has render'd strong ; Judge my distresses , and my temper prize ; Who , though unfortunate , wou'd still be wise . Lys. To let you know that misery do's sway [ Both kneel . An humbler Fate than yours , see at your Feet The lost Lysimachus : O mighty Queen I have but this to beg , impartial stand ; And since Hephestion serves by your permission , Disdain not me who ask your Royal leave To cast a throbbing heart before her feet . Heph. A blessing like possession of the Princess , No Services , not Crowns , nor all the Blood That circles in our Bodies can deserve , Therefore I take all helps , much more the Kings ; And what your Majesty vouchsaf'd to give , Your word is past , where all my hopes must hang. Lys. There perish too — all words want sense in Love ; But Love , and I bring such a perfect Passion So nobly pure , 't is worthy of her Eyes , Which without blushing she may justly prize . Heph. Such arrogance , should Alexander Wooe , Wou'd lose him all the Conquest he has won . Lys. Let not a Conquest once be nam'd by you , Who this Dispute must to my mercy own . Sys . Rise brave Lysimachus , Hephestion rise , 'T is true Hephestion first declar'd his love ; And 't is as true I promis'd him my aid ! Your glorious King turn'd mighty Advocate , How noble therefore were the Victory , If we could vanquish this disordered Love ? Heph. 'T will never be . Lys. No , I will yet love on , And hear from Alexander's Mouth , in what Hephestion merits more than I. Sys . I grieve , And fear the boldness which your Love inspires ; But lest her sight should haste your Enterprize , 'T is just I take the Object from your Eyes . [ Exeunt Sys . Par. Lys. She 's gone , and see the Day , as if her look Had kindled it , is lost now she is vanished . Heph. A sudden gloominess and horrour comes About me . Lys. Let 's away to meet the King , You know my suit . Heph. Yonder Cassander comes , He may inform us . Lys. No , I wou'd avoid him , There 's something in that busie Face of his That shocks my Nature . Heph.

Where and what you please .

[ Exeunt . Enter Cassander . Cass. The Morning rises black , the lowring Sun , As if the dreadful business he foreknew , Drives heavily his sable Chariot on : The Face of Day now blushes Scarlet deep , As if it fear'd the stroke which I intend , Like that of Jupiter — Lightning and Thunder : The Lords above are angry , and talk big , Or rather walk the mighty Cirque like Mourners Clad in long Clouds the Robes of thickest Night , And seem to groan for Alexander's fall ; 'T is as Cassander's Soul cou'd wish it were , Which whensoe're it flies at lofty mischief Wou'd startle Fate , and make all Heav'n concern'd . A mad Chaldaean in the dead of Night Came to my Bed-side with a flaming Torch ; And bellowing o're me like a Spirit damn'd , He cry'd , Well had it been for Babylon If curs'd Cassander never had been born . Enter Thessalus , Philip , with Letters . Thess. My Lord Cassander ! Cass. Ha! who 's there ? Phil. Your Friends . Cass. Welcome dear Thessalus and Brother Philip , Papers — with what Contents ? Phil. From Macedon , A trusty slave arriv'd — great Antipater Writes that your Mother labour'd with you long , Your Birth was slow , and slow is all your Life . Cass. He writes , dispatch the King — Craterus comes , Who in my room must Govern Macedon ; Let him not live a day — he dies to night , And thus my Father , but forestalls my purpose ; Why am I slow then ? if I rode on Thunder I must a moment have to fall from Heaven , E're I could blast the growth of this Colossus . Thess. The haughty Polyperchon comes this way , A Male-content , one whom I lately wrought , That for a slight affront , at Susa giv'n , Bears Alexander most pernicious hate . Cass. So when I mock'd the Persians that ador'd him , He strook me on the Face , and by the Hair He swung me to his Guards to be chastis'd ; For which , and for my Fathers weighty Cause , When I abandon what I have resolv'd , May I again be beaten like a Slave . But lo , where Polyperchon comes , now Fire him [ Enter Polyperchon . With such complaints , that he may shoot to ruine . Pol. Sure I have found those Friends dare second me ; I hear fresh murmurs , as I pass along , Yet rather than put up , I 'll do 't alone . Did not Pausanias , a Youth , a Stripling , A beardless Boy swell'd with inglorious wrong , For a less cause his Father Philip kill ? Peace then full heart ! move like a Cloud about , And when time rip'ns thee to break , O shed The stock of all thy Poys'n on his head . Cass. All Nations bow their heads with homage down , And kiss the Feet of this exalted Man ; The Name , the Shout , the Blast from every Mouth Is Alexander , Alexander bursts Your Cheeks , and with a crack so loud It drown's the Voice of Heaven , like Dogs ye fawn , The Earth's Commanders fawn , and follow him ; Mankind starts up to hear his blasphemy , And if this Hunter of the Barbarous World But wind himself a God , you ecchoe him With Universal cry . Pol. I ecchoe him ? I fawn , or fall like a fat Eastern Slave And lick his feet ? Boys hoot me from the Palace To haunt some Cloister with my senseless walk , When thus the noble Soul of Polyperchon Le ts go the aim of all his actions , Honour . Thess. The King shall fley me , cut me up alive , Ply me with Fire and Scourges , rack me worse Than once he did Philotas , e're I bow . Cass. Curse on thy Tongue for mentioning Philotas , I had rather thou hadst Aristander been ; And to my Souls confusion rais'd up Hell With all the Furies brooding upon horrours , Than brought Philotas's Murder to remembrance . Phil. I saw him rack'd , a sight so dismal sad My Eyes did ne're behold . Cass. So dismal ! Peace , It is unutterable ; let me stand And think upon the Tragedy you saw : By Mars it comes , ay now the Rack's set forth , Bloody Craterus his inveterate Foe , With pitiless Hephestion standing by : Philotas like an Angel seiz'd by Fiends Is straight disrob'd , a Napkin ties his Head , His Warlike Arms with shameful Cords are bound , And every Slave can now the valiant wound . Pol. Now by the Soul of Royal Philip sled I dare pronounce young Alexander , who Wou'd be a God , is cruel as a Devil . Cass. Oh , Polyperchon , Philip , Thessalus Did not your Eyes rain Blood ? your Spirits burst , To see your noble fellow Souldier burn , Yet without trembling , or a tear endure The torments of the damn'd ? O Barbarians , Cou'd you stand by , and yet refuse to suffer ? Ye saw him bruis'd , torn , to the Bones made bare ; His Veins wide lanced , and the poor quivering Flesh With Pincers from his manly Bosome ript , 'Till ye discover'd the great Heart lie panting . Pol. Why kill'd we not the King to save Philotas ? Cass. Asses ! Fools ! but Asses will bray , and Fools be angry , Why stood ye then like Statues ? there 's the case , The horrour of the sight had turn'd ye Marble . So the pale Trojans from their weeping Walls Saw the dear body of the God-like Hector Bloody and soil'd , dragg'd on the famous ground , Yet senseless stood , nor with drawn Weapons ran To save the great remains of that prodigious Man. Phil. Wretched Philotas ! bloody Alexander ! Thess. Soon after him the great Parmenio fell , Stabb'd in his Orchard by the Tyrant's doom ; But where 's the need to mention publick loss , When each receives particular disgrace ? Pol. Late I remember to a Banquet call'd After Alcides Goblet swift had gone The giddy round , and wine had made me bold , Stirring the Spirits up to talk with Kings I saw Craterus with Hephestion enter In Persian Robes , to Alexander's health They largely drank , then turning Eastward fell Flat on the Pavement and ador'd the Sun , Straight to the King they sacred reverence gave With solemn words , O Son of Thundring Jove , Young Ammon live for ever , then kiss'd the ground : I laugh'd aloud , and scoffing ask'd 'em why They kiss'd no harder ; — but the King leapt up And spurn'd me to the Earth with this reply ; Do thou , — whilst with his Foot he prest my Neck 'Till from my Ears , my Nose , and Mouth the blood Gush'd forth , and I lay foaming on the Earth , For which I wish this Dagger in his heart . Cass. There spoke the Spirit of Callisthenes . Remember he 's a Man , his Flesh as soft And penetrable as a Girls : we have seen him wounded , A Stone has struck him , yet no Thunderbolt : A Pebble fell'd this Jupiter along , A Sword has cut him , a Javelin pierc'd him , Water will drown him , Fire burn him , A Surfeit , nay a Fit of Common-sickness Brings this Immortal to the Gate of Death . Pol. Why shou'd we more delay the glorious business , Are your hearts firm ? Phil. Hell cannot be more bent To any ruine , than I to the Kings . Thess. And I. Pol. Behold my hand , and if you doubt my truth , Tear up my breast and lay my heart upon it . Cass. Join then , O worthy , hearty , noble hands , Fit Instruments for such Majestick Souls ; Remember Hermolaus , and be hush'd . Pol. Still , as the Bosome of the desart Night , As fatal Planets , or deep plotting Fiends . Cass. To day he comes from Babylon to Susa With proud Roxana . Ha! who 's that , — look here . Enter the Ghost of King Philip , shaking a Trunchion at 'em , walks over the Stage . Cass. Now by the Gods , or Furies which I ne're Believ'd , — there 's one of 'em arriv'd to shake us . What art thou ? glaring thing , speak : what ! the Spirit Of our King Philip , or of Polyphemus ? Nay , hurle thy Trunchion , second it with Thunder , We will abide . — Thessalus , saw you nothing ? Thess. Yes , and am more amaz'd than you can be . Phil. 'T is said that many Prodigies were seen This Morn , but none so horrible as this . Pol. What can you fear ? though the Earth yawn'd so wide That all the labours of the deep were seen , And Alexander stood onth ' other side , I 'd leap the burning Ditch to give him death , Or sink my self for ever . Pray to the business . Cass. As I was saying , this Roxana whom To aggravate my hate to him I love , Meeting him as he came Triumphant from The Indies , kept him Revelling at Susa ; But as I found , a deep repentance since Turns his affections to the Queen Statira , To whom he swore , before he cou'd espouse her , That he wou'd never Bed Roxana more . Pol. How did the Persian Queens receive the news Of his revolt ? Thess. With grief incredible : Great Sysigambis wept , but the young Queen Fell dead amongst her Maids , Nor cou'd their care , With richest Cordials , for an hour or more , Recover Life . Cass. Knowing how much she lov'd , I hop'd to turn her all into Medea ; For when the first gust of her grief was past I enter'd , and with breath prepar'd did blow The dying Sparks into a Towring flame , Describing the new love he bears Roxana , Conceiving not unlikely that the Line Of dead Darius in her Caufe might rise . Is any Panthers , Lionesses rage So furious , any Torrents fall so swift As a wrong'd Womans hate ? Thus far it helps To give him troubles which perhaps may end him , And set the Court in universal uproar ; But see it rip'ns more than I expected , The Scene works up , kill him , or kill thy self ; So there be mischief any way , 't is well : Now change the Vizor , every one disperse , And with a face of friendship meet the King. [ Exeunt . Enter Sysigambis , Statira , Parisatis , Attendants . Stat. Give me a Knife , a draught of Poyson , flames ; Swell heart , break , break thou stubborn thing ; Now , by the sacred Fire , I 'll not be held ; Why do you wish me Life yet stifle me For want of Air ? pray give me leave to walk . Sys . Is there no reverence to my Person due ? Darius wou'd have heard me , trust not rumour . Stat. No , he hates , He loaths the Beauties which he has enjoy'd , O , he is false , that great , that glorious Man Is Tyrant midst of his triumphant spoils , Is bravely false to all the Gods , forsworn ; Yet , who would think it ? no , it cannot be , It cannot — What that dear protesting Man ! He that has warm'd my Feet with thousand sighs , Then cool'd 'em with his tears , dy'd on my Knees , Outwept the Morning with his dewy Eyes , And groan'd , and swore the wondring Stars away ? Sys . No , 't is impossible ; believe thy Mother That knows him well . Stat. Away , and let me dye , O 't is my fondness , and my easie Nature That wou'd excuse him ; but I know he 's false , 'T is now the common talk , the news o' th' World , False to Statira , false to her that lov'd him . That lov'd him , cruel Victor as he was , And took him bath'd all o're in Persian Blood ; Kiss'd the dear cruel Wounds , and wash'd 'em o're And o're in Tears , — then bound 'em with my Hair , Laid him all Night upon my panting Bosome Lull'd like a Child , and hush'd him with my Songs . Par. If this be true , ah , who will ever trust A Man again ? Stat. A Man ! a Man , my Parisatis Thus with thy hand held up , thus let me swear thee . By the eternal Body of the Sun , Whose Body , O forgive the Blasphemy , I lov'd not half so well as the least part Of my dear precious faithless Alexander ; For I will tell thee , and to warn thee of him , Not the Springs Mouth , nor Breath of Jesamin , Nor Violets Infant sweets , nor opening Buds Are half so sweet as Alexander's Breast ; From every Pore of him a perfume falls , He kisses softer than a Southern Wind ; Curles like a Vine , and touches like a God. Sys . When will thy Spirits rest , these transports cease ? Stat. Will you not give me leave to warn my Sister ? As I was saying , — but I told his sweetness ; Then he will talk , good Gods how he will talk ! Even when the joy he sigh'd for is possest , He speaks the kindest words and looks such things , Vows with such Passion , swears with so much grace , That 't is a kind of Heaven to be deluded by him . Par. But what was it that you would have me swear ? Stat. Alas , I had forgot , let me walk by And weep a while , and I shall soon remember . Sys . Have patience Child , and give her liberty ; Passions like Seas will have their Ebbs and Flows : Yet while I see her thus , not all the losses We have receiv'd since Alexander's Conquest Can touch my hardn'd Soul , her sorrow reigns Too fully there . Par. But what if she should kill her self ? Stat. Roxana then enjoys my perjured Love : Roxana clasps my Monarch in her Arms ; Doats on my Conquerour , my dear Lord , my King , Devours my Lips , eats him with hungry Kisses : She grasps him all , she , the curst happy she . By Heav'n I cannot bear it , 't is too much ; [ Rises . I 'le dye , or rid me of the burning torture . I will have remedy , I will , I will , Or go distracted ; Madness may throw off The mighty Load , and drown the flaming Passion . Madam , draw near , with all that are in presence , And list'n to the Vow which here I make . Sys . Take heed my dear Statira , and consider What desperate Love enforces you to swear . Stat. Pardon me , for I have considered well ; And here I bid adieu to all Mankind . Farewel ye Cozners of the easie Sex , And thou the greatest , falsest Alexander ; Farewel thou most belov'd , thou faithless Dear ; If I but mention him , the Tears will fall : Sure there is not a Letter in his Name , But is a Charm , to melt a Womans Eyes . Sys . Clear up thy griefs , thy King , thy Alexander Comes on to Babylon . Stat. Why let him come , Joy of all Eyes , but the forlorn Statira's . Sys . Wilt thou not see him ? Stat. By Heav'n , I never will , That is my Vow , my sacred Resolution ; And when I break it . — [ Kneels . Sys . Ah , do not ruine all . Stat. May I again be flatter'd and deluded , May sudden death , and horrid , come instead Of what I wish , and take me unprepar'd . Sys . Still kneel , and with the same Breath call agen The woful Imprecation thou hast made . Stat. No , I will publish it through all the Court , Then in the Bowers of great Semiramis For ever lock my woes from human view . Sys . Yet be perswaded . Stat. Never urge me more , Lest driv'n to rage I should my Life abhor , And in your presence put an end to all The fast Calamities that round me fall . Par. O angry Heav'n , what have the guiltless done ? And where shall wretched Parisatis run ? Sys . Captives in War , our Bodies we resign'd , But now made free , Love does our Spirits bind . Stat. When to my purpos'd loneness I retire , Your sight I through the Grates shall oft desire , And after Alexander's health enquire : And if this Passion cannot be remov'd , Ask how my Resolution he approv'd ? How much he loves , how much he is belov'd : Then when I hear that all things please him well , Thank the good Gods , and hide me in my Cell . [ Exeunt .
ACT II. SCENE I. Noise of Trumpets sounding far off . The Scene draws , and discovers a Battel of Crows , or Ravens , in the Air ; an Eagle and a Dragon meet and fight ; the Eagle drops down with all the rest of the Birds , and the Dragon flies away . Souldiers walk off , shaking their Heads . The Conspirators come forward . Cass. HE comes , the fatal glory of the World , The headlong Alexander , with a Guard Of thronging Crowns comes on to Babylon , Though warn'd , in spight of all the Pow'rs above , Who by these Prodigies foretell his ruine . Pol. Why all this noise , because a King must dye ? Or do's Heav'n fear because he sway'd the Earth , His Ghost will war with the high Thunderer ? Curse on the babling Fates that cannot see A Great Man tumble , but they must be talking . Cass. The Spirit of King Philip , in those Arms We saw him wear , pass'd groaning through the Court , His dreadful Eye-balls rowl'd their horrour upwards ; He wav'd his Arms , and shook his wondrous Head. I 've heard that at the crowing of the Cock Lions will roar , and Goblings steal away ; But this Majestick Air stalks stedfast on Spight of the Morn that calls him from the East , Nor minds the op'ning of the Iv'ry Door . Phil. 'T is certain there was never Day like this . Cass. Late as I musing walk't behind the Palace I met a monstrous Child , that with his Hands Held to his Face , which seem'd all over Eyes , A Silver Bowle , and wept it full of Blood. But having spy'd me , like a Cockatrice , He glar'd a while ; then with a shriek so shrill As all the Winds had whistled from his Mouth , He dash'd me with the Gore he held , and vanished . Pol. That which befell me , though 't was horrid , yet When I consider it appears ridiculous ; For , as I pass'd through a by vacant place , I met two Women very old and ugly , That wrung their Hands , and howl'd , and beat their Breasts And cry'd out Poyson : when I askt the cause , They took me by the Ears ; and with strange force Held me to Earth , then laugh'd and disappear'd . Cass. O how I love destruction with a Method Which none discern , but those that weave the Plot : Like Silk-worms we are hid in our own Weft , But we shall burst at last through all the strings ; And when time calls , come forth in a new Form : Not Insects , to be trod , but Dragons wing'd . Thess. The Face of all the Court is strangely alter'd : There 's not a Persian I can meet but stares As if he were distracted . Oxyartes Statira's Unckle openly declaim'd Against the Perjury of Alexander . Phil. Others , more fearful , are remov'd to Susa , Dreading Roxana's rage , who comes i' th' Rear To Babylon . Cass. It glads my rising Soul That we shall see him Rack'd before he dies : I know he loves Statira more than Life , And on a Crowd of Kings in Triumph born Comes , big with expectation , to enjoy her . But when he hears the Oaths which she has ta'ne , Her last adieu made publick to the World , Her vow'd divorce , how will remorse consume him ? Prey , like the Bird of Hell , upon his Liver ? Pol. To bawk his Longing , and delude his Lust , Is more than Death , 't is Earnest for Damnation . Cass. Then comes Roxana , who must help our Party ; I know her jealous , bloody , and ambitious . Sure 't was the likeness of her Heart to mine , And Sympathy of Natures caus'd me love her : 'T is fixt , I must enjoy her , and no way So proper as to make her guilty first . Pol. To see two Rival Queens of different humours , With a variety of Torments vex him . [ Enter Lysima , Hephest. Cass. Of that anon ; but see Lysimachus And the young Favourite ; sort , sort your selves , And like to other Mercenary Souls Adore this Mortal God , that soon must bleed . Lys. Here I will wait the King's approach , and stand His utmost anger if he do me wrong . Heph. That cannot be , from Power so absolute And high as his . Lys. Well , you and I have done . Pol. How the Court thickens ! [ Trumpets sound . Cass. Nothing to what it will , — Does he not come To hear a thousand thousand Embassies , Which , from all Parts , to Babylon are brought , As if the Parliament of the whole World Had met ; and he came on a God , to give The infinite Assembly glorious audience . Enter Clytus , Aristander in his Robes , with a Wand . Arist. Haste Reverend Clytus , haste , and stop the King. Clyt. He is already entred : then the Press Of Princes that attend so thick about him Keep all that wou'd approach at certain distance . Arist. Though he were hem'd with Deities I 'de speak to him , And turn him back from this Highway to Death . Clyt. Here place your self , within his Trumpets sound . Lo , the Caldean Priests appear , behold The sacred Fire , Nearchus and Eumenes With their white Wands , and drest in Eastern Robes , To sooth the King , who loves the Persian mode : But see the Master of the World appears . Enter Alexander , all kneel but Clytus . Heph. O Son of Jupiter live for ever . Alex. Rise all , and thou my second self , my Love ; O my Hephestion , raise thee from the Earth Up to my Breast , and hide thee in my Heart , Art thou grown cold ? why hang thine Arms at distance ? Hugg me , or else by Heaven thou lov'st me not . Heph. Not Love , my Lord ? break not the Heart you fram'd And moulded up to such an Excellence ; Then stamp'd on it your own Immortal Image . Not love the King ? Such is not Womans love , So fond a friendship , such a sacred flame , As I must doubt to find in Breasts above . Alex. Thou dost , thou lov'st me , Crown of all my Wars , Thou dearer to me than my Groves of Lawrel , I know thou lov'st thy Alexander more Than Clytus does the King : no Tears Hephestion , I read thy Passion in thy Manly Eyes ; And glory in those Planets of my Life Above the Rival Lights that shine in Heaven . Lys. I see that Death must wait me , yet I 'le on . Alex. I 'le tell thee Friend , and mark it all ye Princes , Though never mortal Man arriv'd to such A height as I , yet I wou'd forfeit all ; Cast all my Purples , and my conquer'd Crowns , And dye to save this Darling of my Soul. Give me thy Hand , share all my Scepters while I live ; and when my hour of Fate is come , I leave thee , what thou meritest more than I , the World. Lys. Dread Sir , I cast me at your Royal Feet . Alex. What , my Lysimachus , whose Veins are rich With our illustrious Blood ? my Kinsman , rise ; Is not that Clytus ? Clyt. Your old faithful Souldier . Alex. Come to my hands , thus double Arm the King ; And now methinks I stand like the dread God , Who while his Priests and I quaff'd sacred Blood , Acknowledg'd me his Son. My Lightning thou ; And thou my mighty Thunder , — I have seen Thy glittering Sword out-fly Celestial Fire : And when I cry'd Be gone , and execute , I 've seen him run swifter than starting Hinds , Nor bent the tender Grass beneath his Feet : Swifter than Shadows fleeting o're the Fields , Nay , even the Winds , with all their stock of Wings , Have puff'd behind , as wanting Breath to reach him . Lys. But if your Majesty . — Clyt. Who would not lose The last dear drop of Blood , for such a King ? Alex. Witness my elder Brothers of the Skie , How much I love a Souldier . — O my Clytus , Was it not when we pass'd the Granicus Thou didst preserve me from unequal force ? It was when Spithridates , and Rhesaces , Fell both upon me , with two dreadful stroaks , And clove my temper'd Helmet quite in sunder ; Then I remember , then thou didst me service : I think my Thunder split him to the Navel . Clyt. To your great self you owe that Victory , And sure your Arms did never gain a nobler . Alex. By Heaven they never did , for well thou knowest , And I am prouder to have pass'd that Stream , Than that I drove a Million o're the Plain . Can none remember ? Yes , I know all must , When glory , like the dazling Eagle , stood Perch'd on my Bever in the Granick Flood . When Fortun 's self my Standard trembling bore , And the pale Fates stood frighted on the Shore , When the Immortals on the Billows rode , And I my self appear'd the leading God. Arist. But all the honours which your Youth has won Are lost , unless you fly from Babylon : Haste with your Chiefs , to Susa take your way , Fly for your life , destructive is your stay . This Morning having view'd the angry Skie , And mark'd the Prodigies that threatn'd high , To our bright God I did for succour fly ; But , Oh. Alex. What fears thy Reverend Bosome shake ? Or dost thou from some Dream of horrour wake ? If so , come grasp me with thy shaking Hand , Or fall behind while I the danger stand . Arist. To Orosmades Cave I did repair Where I atton'd the dreadful God with Prayer : But as I pray'd I heard long groans within , And shrieks , as of the damn'd that howl for Sin : I knew the Omen , and I fear'd to stay , But prostrate on the trembling Pavement lay ; When he bodes happiness , he answers mild , 'T was so of old , and the great Image smil'd ; But now in abrupt Thunder he reply'd Lowd as rent Rocks , or roaring Seas , he cry'd , All Empires Crown , Glory of Babylon , Whose Head stands wrapt in Clouds , must tumble down . Alex. If Babylon must fall , what is 't to me ? Or can I help immutable Decree ? Down then vast Frame with all thy lofty Towers , Since 't is so order'd by Almighty Powers ; Press'd by the Fates , unloose your golden Bars , 'T is great to fall the envy of the Stars . Enter Perdiccas , Meleager . Mele. O horrrour ! Perd. Dire Portents ! Alex. Out with 'em then , What are you Ghosts , ye empty shapes of Men ? If so , the Mysteries of Hell unfold , Be all the Scrowls of Destiny unrowl'd ? Open the brazen Leaves , and let it come ; Point with a Thunder-bolt your Monarchs doom . Perd. As Meleager , and my self in Field , Your Persian Horse about the Army wheel'd : We heard a noise , as of a rushing Wind , And a thick Storm the Eye of Day did blind : A croaking noise resounded through the Air , We look'd , and saw big Ravens battling there : Each Bird of Night appear'd himself a Cloud , They met , and fought , and their Wounds rain'd black Blood. Mele. All , as for honour , did their Lives expose ; Their Talons clash'd , and Beaks gave mighty blows , Whilst dreadful sounds did our sear'd sense assail , As of small Thunder , or huge Scythian Hail . Perd. Our Augurs shook , when with a horrid groan , We thought that all the Clouds had tumbl'd down . Souldiers , and Chiefs , who can the wonder tell , Strook to the ground , promiseuously fell ; While the dark Birds , each pond'rous as a Shield , For fifty Furlongs hid the fatal Field . Alex. Be witness for me , all ye Powers Divine , If ye be angry , 't is no fault of mine ; Therefore let Furles face me , with a Band From Hell , my Virtue shall not make a stand ; Though all the Curtains of the Skie be drawn , And the Stars wink , young Ammon shall go on ; While my Statira shines , I cannot stray , Love lifts his Torch to light me on my way , And her bright Eyes create another Day . Lys. E're you remove be pleas'd , dread Sir , to hear A Prince ally'd to you by Blood. Alex. Speak quickly . Lys. For all that I have done for you in War , I beg , the Princess Parisatis . Alex. Ha , — Is not my word already past ? Hephestion , I know he hates thee , but he shall not have her ; We heard of this before . — Lysimachus , I here command , you nourish no design , To prejudice my Person in the Man I love , and will preferr to all the World. Lys. I never fail'd to obey your Majesty , Whilst you commanded what was in my power , Nor cou'd Hephestion fly more swift to serve , When you commanded us to storm a Town , Or fetch a Standard from the Enemy : But when you charge me not to love the Princess , I must confess , I disobey you , as I wou'd the Gods themselves , should they command . Alex. You shou'd , brave Sir , hear me , and then be dumb , When by my order , curst Calisthenes , Was as a Traitor doom'd to live in torments : Your pity sped him in despight of me . Think not I have forgot your insolence ; No , though I pardon'd it , yet if again Thou dar'st to cross me with another Crime , The Bolts of Fury shall be doubled on thee . In the mean time think not of Parisatis ; For if thou dost , by Jupiter Ammon , By my own Head , and by King Philip's Soul , I 'le not respect that Blood of mine thou shar'st , But use thee as the vilest Macedonian . Lys. I doubted not at first but I shou'd meet Your indignation , yet my Soul 's resolv'd , And I shall never quit so brave a Prize , While I can draw a Bow , or lift a Sword. Alex. Against my Life , ha ? was it so ? how now ? 'T is said that I am rash , of hasty humour ; But I appeal to the Immortal Gods , If ever petty poor Provincial Lord Had temper like to mine ? My Slave , whom I Cou'd tread to Clay , dares utter bloody threats . Clyt. Contain your self , dread Sir , the noble Prince , I see it in his Countenance , would dye , To justifie his truth , but love makes many faults . Lys. I meant his Minion there should feel my Arm , Love asks his blood , nor shall he live to laugh At my destruction . Alex. Now be thy own Judge , I pardon thee for my old Clytus's sake ; But if once more thou mention thy rash Love , Or dar'st attempt Hephestion's precious Life , I 'le pour such storms of indignation on thee , Philot as rack , Calisthenes disgrace , Shall be delight to what thou shalt endure . Enter Sysigambis , Parisatis . Heph. My Lord , the Queen comes to congratulate Your safe arrival . Alex. O thou best of Women , Source of my joy , blest Parent of my Love. Sys . Permit me kneel , and give those adorations Which from the Persian Family are due : Have you not rais'd us from our ruines high , And when no Hand cou'd help , nor any Eye Behold us with a Tear , your's pittied me . You , like a God , snatch'd us from sorrow's Gulph , Fixt us in Thrones above our former state . Par. Which , when a Soul forgets , advanc't so nobly , May it be drown'd in deeper misery . Alex. To meet me thus , was generously done ; But still there wants to crown my happiness Life of my Empire , Treasure of my Soul ! My dear Statira ! O that Heavenly Beam , Warmth of my Brain , and Firer of my Heart ; Had she but shot to see me , had she met me , By this time I had been amongst the Gods ; If any Ecstasie can make a height , Or any Rapture hurle us to the Heavens . Clyt. Now , who shall dare to tell him the Queens Vow ? Alex. How fares my Love ? ha , - neither answer me ! Ye raise my wonder , Darkness overwhelm me If Royal Sysigambis does not weep . Trembling , and horrour , pierce me cold as Ice . Is she not well ? what , none , none answer me ? Or is it worse ? Keep down ye rising Sighs , And murmur in the hollow of my Breast : Run to my Heart , and gather more sad Wind ; That when the voice of Fate shall call you forth , Ye may , at one rush , from the Seat of Life , Blow the Blood out , and burst me like a Bladder . Heph. I wou'd relate it , but my courage fails me . Alex. If she be dead , — That if's impossible ; And let none here affirm it for his Soul : For he that dares but think so damn'd a Lye , I 'le have his body straight empal'd before me ; And glut my Eyes upon his bleeding Entrails . Cass. How will this Engine of unruly Passion Roar , when we have rain'd him to the Mouth with Poyson ? Alex. Why stand you all , as you were rooted here , Like senseless Trees , while to the stupid Grove I , like a wounded Lion , groan my griefs , And none will answer , — what , not my Hephestion ? If thou hast any love for Alexander , If ever I oblig'd thee by my care When my quick sight has watch'd thee in the War ; Or if to see thee bleed I sent forth cryes , And , like a Mother , wash'd thee with my tears . If this be true , if I deserve thy Love , Ease me , and tell the cause of my disaster . Heph. Your mourning Queen , ( which I had told before , Had you been calm , ) has no Disease but Sorrow ; Which was occasion'd first by jealous Pangs : She heard , ( for what can scape a watchful Lover ? ) That you at Susa , breaking all your Vows , Relaps'd , and conquer'd by Roxana's Charms , Gave up your self devoted to her Arms. Alex. I know that subtle Creature in my Riot , My Reason gone , seduc'd me to her Bed ; But when I wak'd , I shook the Circe off , Though that Enchantress held me by the Arm , And wept , and gaz'd with all the force of Love ; Nor griev'd I less for that which I had done , Than when at Thais suit , enrag'd with Wine , I set the fam'd Persepolis on Fire . Heph. Your Queen Statira took it so to heart , That , in the Agony of Love , she swore Never to see your Majesty again ; With dreadful Imprecations she confirm'd Her Oath , and I much fear that she will keep it . Alex. Ha! did she swear ? did that sweet Creature swear ? I 'le not believe it , no , she is all softness ; All melting , mild , and calm as a rock'd Infant , Nor can you wake her into cryes ; by Heaven , She is the Child of Love , and she was born in smiles . Par. I , and my weeping Mother , heard her swear . Sys . And with such fierceness she did aggravate The foulness of your fault , that I cou'd wish Your Majesty wou'd blot her from your breast . Alex. Blot her ? forget her ? hurle her from my bosome For ever , lose the Star that guilds my Life , Guide of my Days , and Goddess of my Nights ! No , she shall stay with me in spight of Vows , My soul , and body both are twisted with her : The God of Love empties his golden Quiver , Shoots every Grain of her into my heart ; She is all mine , by Heaven I feel her here Panting , and warm , the dearest , O Statira ! Sys . Have patience , Son , and trust to Heaven and me ; If my Authority , or the remembrance Of dead Darius , or her Mothers Soul Can work upon her , the again is yours . Alex. O , Mother help me , help your wounded Son , And move the Soul of my offended Dear ; But fly , haste , e're the sad Procession's made . Spend not a thought in a reply . — Be gone , If you wou'd have me live — and Parisatis , Hang thou about her Knees , wash 'em with Tears : Nay haste , the breath of Gods , and eloquence Of Angels go along with you — O my heart ! [ Exeunt Sys . and Par. Lys. Now let your Majesty , who feel the Torments , And sharpest Pangs of Love , encourage mine . Alex. Ha. — Clyt. Are you a Mad-man ? is this a time ? Lys. Yes , for I see he cannot be unjust to me , Lest something worse befall himself . Alex. Why dost thou tempt me thus to thy undoing ? Death thou should'st have , were it not courted so : But know , to thy confusion , that my word , Like destiny , admits not a reverse ; Therefore , in Chains , thou shalt behold the Nuptials Of my Hephestion . — Guards take him Prisoner . Lys. I shall not easily resign my Sword , 'Till I have dy'd it in my Rivals blood . [ Fight . Alex. I charge you , kill him not , take him alive ; The dignity of Kings is now concern'd , And I will find a way to tame this Beast . Clyt. Kneel , for I see the Lightning in his Eyes . Lys. I neither hope , nor ask a pard'n of him ; But if he shou'd restore my Sword , I wou'd , With a new violence , run against my Rival . Alex. Sure we , at last , shall conquer this fierce Lion : Hence from my sight , and bear him to a Dungeon : Perdiccas give this Lion to a Lion ; None speak for him , fly , stop his Mouth , away . Clyt. The King 's extremely mov'd . Eum. I dare not speak . Clyt. This comes of Love , and Women , 't is all madness ; Yet were I heated now with Wine I shou'd Be preaching to the King for this rash Fool. Alex. Come hither Clytus , and my dear Hephestion ; Lend me your Arms , help , for I 'm sick o' th' sudden : I fear betwixt Statira's cruel Love , And fond Roxana's Arts , your King will fall . Clyt. Better the Persian Race were all undone . Heph. Look up , my Lord , and bend not thus your Head , As you wou'd leave the Empire of the World Which you with toil have won . Alex. Wou'd I had not , There 's no true joy in such unweildy Fortune . Eternal gazers lasting troubles make , All find my spots , but few my brightness take . Stand off , and give me air , — Why was I born a Prince , proclaim'd a God ? Yet have no liberty to look abroad ? Thus Palaces in prospect barr the Eye , Which pleas'd , and free , wou'd o're the Cottage fly ; O're flow'ry Lands to the gay distant Skie . Farewel then Empire , and the Racks of Love ; By all the Gods , I will to wilds remove , Stretch'd like a Sylvan God on Grass lye down , And quite forget that e're I wore a Crown .
ACT III. Enter Eumenes , Philip , Thessalus , Perdiccas , Lysimachus , Guards . Eum. FArewell , brave Spirit , when you come above , Commend us to Philotas , and the rest Of our great Friends . Thes. Perdiccas , you are grown In trust , be thankfull for your noble Office. Perd. As noble as you sentence me , I 'd give This Arm that Thessalus were so imploy'd . Lys. Cease these untimely jarrs , farewell to all , Fight for the King as I have done , and then You may be worthy of a death like mine . — Lead on . Enter Parisatis . Par. Ah my Lysimachus , where are you going ? Whither ? to be devour'd ? O barbarous Prince ! Cou'd you expose your life to the King's rage , And yet remember mine was ty'd to yours ? Lys. The Gods preserve you ever from the ills That threaten me ; live , Madam , to enjoy A nobler fortune , and forget this wretch : I ne're had worth , nor is it possible That all the bloud which I shall lose this day , Shou'd merit this rich sorrow from your eyes . Par. The King , I know , is bent to thy destruction ; Now by command they forc'd me from his knees : But take this satisfaction in thy death , No Power , Command , my Mothers , Sisters tears , Shall cause me to survive thy cruel loss . Lys. Live , Princess , live ; howe're the King disdains me , Perhaps unarm'd , and fighting for your sake , I may perform what shall amaze the World , And force him yet to give you to my arms . Away Perdicas ; — dear Eumenes , take The Princess to your charge . Exeunt Perd. Lys. Guards . Eum. O cruelty ! Par. Lead me , Eumenes , lead me from the light , Where I may wait till I his ruine hear , Then free my Soul to meet him in the Air. Exeunt . Phil. See where the jealous proud Roxana comes , A haughty vengeance gathers up her brow . Thes. Peace , they have rais'd her to their ends ; observe . Enter Roxana , Cassander , Polipercon . Rox. O you have ruin'd me , I shall be mad ; Said you so passionate , is 't possible ? So kind to her , and so unkind to me ? Cas. More then your utmost fancy can invent : He swouned thrice at hearing of her Vow , And when our care as oft had brought back life , He drew his Sword , and offer'd at his breast . Pol. Then rail'd on you with such unheard of curses . Rox. Away , be gone , and give a whirlwind room , Or I will blow you up like dust ; avaunt : Madness but meanly represents my toyl . Roxana , and Statira , they are names That must for ever jarr ; eternal discord , Fury , revenge , disdain , and indignation Tear my swoln breast , make way for fire and tempest . My brain is burst , debate and reason quench'd , The storm is up , and my hot bleeding heart Splits with the rack , while passions like the winds Rise up to Heav'n and put out all the Stars . What saving hand , O what Almighty arm Can raise me sinking ? Cas. Let your own arm save you , 'T is in your power , your beauty is Almighty : Let all the Stars go out , your Eyes can light 'em : Wake then , bright Planet that shou'd rule the world , Wake like the Moon , from your too long Eclipse , And we with all the Instruments of War , Trumpets and Drums , will help your Glorious Labour . Pol. Put us to act , and with a violence , That fits the Spirit of a most wrong'd woman : Let not Medea's dreadfull vengeance stand A pattern more , but draw your own so fierce , It may for ever be Original . Cas. Touch not , but dash , with stroaks so bravely bold , Till you have form'd a face of so much horrour , That gaping Furies may run frighted back ; That Envy may devour her self for madness , And sad Medusa's head be turn'd to Stone . Rox. Yes , we will have revenge , my Instruments : For there is nothing you have said of me , But comes far short , wanting of what I am . When in my nonage I at Zogdia liv'd , Amongst my She-companions I wou'd reign ; Drew 'em from idleness , and little arts Of coining looks , and laying snares for Lovers ; Broke all their Glasses , and their Tires tore : Taught 'em , like Amazons , to ride and chace Wild Beasts in Desarts , and to Master men . Cas. Her looks , her words , her ev'ry motion fires me . Rox. But when I heard of Alexander's Conquests , How with a handfull he had Millions slain , Spoil'd all the East , their Queens his Captives made , Yet with what Chastity , and God like temper He saw their Beauties , and with pity bow'd ; Methought I hung upon my Father's lips , And wish'd him tell the wondrous tale again : Left all my sports , the Woman now return'd , And sighs uncall'd wou'd from my bosom fly ; And all the night , as my Adraste told me , In slumbers groan'd and murmur'd , Alexander . Cas. Curse on the name ! but I will soon remove That bar of my Ambition and my Love. Rox. At last to Zogdia this Triumpher came , And cover'd o're with Laurels forc'd our City : At night I by my Father's order stood , With fifty Virgins , waiting at a Banquet . But oh how glad was I to hear his Court , To feel the pressure of his glowing hand , And tast the dear , the false-protesting lips . Cas. Wormwood , and Hemlock henceforth grow about 'em : Rox. Gods ! that a man should be so great and base ! What said he not when in the Bridal Bed He clasp'd my yielding body in his arms : When with his fiery lips devouring mine , And moulding with his hand my throbbing breast , He swore the Globes of Heav'n and Earth were vile To those rich Worlds ; and talk'd , and kiss'd , and lov'd , And made me shame the morning with my blushes . Cas. Yet after this prove false ! Pol. Horrid perjury ! Cas. Not to be match'd . Pol. O you must find revenge . Cas. A person of your Spirit be thus slighted ! For whose desire all Earth should be too little . Rox. And shall the Daughter of Darius hold him ? That puny Girl , that Ape of my ambition ? That cry'd for milk , when I was nurs'd in bloud ! Shall she , made up of watry Element , A Cloud , shall she embrace my proper God ? While I am cast like Lightning from his hand ! No , I must scorn to prey on common things ; Though hurl'd to Earth by this disdainfull Jove , I will rebound to my own Orb of fire , And with the wrack of all the Heav'ns expire . Cas. Now you appear your self ; 'T is noble anger . Rox. May the Illustrious bloud that fills my womb , And ripens to be perfect Godhead born , Come forth a Fury , may Barsina's Bastard Tread it to Hell , and rule as Soveraign Lord , When I permit Statira to enjoy Roxana's right , and strive not to destroy . Enter Sysigambis , Statira , in mourning . Cas. Behold her going to fulfill her Vow ; Old Sysigambis whom the King engag'd , Resists and awes her with Authority . Rox. 'T was rashly vow'd indeed , and I shou'd pity her . Sys . O my Statira , how has passion chang'd thee ! Think if you drive the King to such extremes , What in his fury may he not denounce Against the poor remains of lost Darius . Stat. I know , I know he will be kind to you , And to my mourning Sister , for my sake ; And tell him , how with my departing breath I rail'd not , but spoke kindly of his person , Nay wept to think of our divided Loves , And sobbing sent a last forgiveness to him . Rox. Grant , Heav'n , some ease to this distracted wretch ! Let her not linger out a life in torments , Be these her last words , and at once dispatch her . Sys . No , by the Everlasting fire I swear , By my Darius Soul , I never more Will dare to look on Alexander's face , If you refuse to see him . Rox. Curse on that cunning tongue , I fear her now , Cas. No , she 's resolv'd . Stat. I cast me at your feet , To bath 'em with my tears ; or if you please , I 'le let out life , and wash 'em with my bloud ; But still conjure you not to rack my Soul , Nor hurry my wild thoughts to perfect madness . Shou'd now Darius awfull Ghost appear , And my pale Mother stand beseeching by , I wou'd persist to death , and keep my Vow . Rox. She shews a certain bravery of Soul , Which I shou'd praise in any but my Rival . Sys . Dye then , rebellious wretch , thou art not now That soft belov'd , nor dost thou share my bloud . Go hide thy bafeness in thy lovely Grot , Ruine thy Mother , and thy Royal House , Pernicious Creature ! shed the innocent Bloud , and Sacrifice to the King's wrath The lives of all thy people ; fly , be gone , And hide thee where bright Virtue never shone : The day will shun thee , nay the Stars that view Mischiefs and Murders , deeds to thee not new , Will start at this ; — Go , go , thy crimes deplore , And never think of Sysigambis more . Exit . Rox. Madam , I hope you will a Queen forgive , Roxana weeps to see Statira grieve : How noble is the brave resolve you make , To quit the world for Alexander's sake ? Vast is your mind , you dare thus greatly dye , And yield the King to one so mean as I : 'T is a revenge will make the Victor smart , And much I fear your death will break his heart . Stat. You counterfeit a fear , and know too well How much your Eyes all Beauties else excell : Roxana , who though not a Princess born , In Chains cou'd make the mighty Victor mourn . Forgetting pow'r , when Wine had made him warm , And senseless , yet even then you knew to charm : Preserve him by those arts that cannot fail , While I the loss of what I lov'd bewail . Rox. I hope your Majesty will give me leave To wait you to the Grove , where you wou'd grieve ; Where like the Turtle , you the loss will moan Of that dear Mate , and murmur all alone . Stat. No , proud Triumpher o're my falling state , Thou shalt not stay to fill thee with my Fate : Go to the Conquest which your wiles may boast , And tell the world you left Statira lost . Go seize my faithless Alexander's hand , Both hand and heart were once at my command : Grasp his lov'd neck , dye on his fragrant breast , Love him like me , which cannot be exprest , He must be happy , and you more then blest . While I in darkness hide me from the day , That with my mind I may his form survey , And think so long , till I think life away . Rox. No , sickly Virtue , no , Thou shalt not think , nor thy Loves loss bemoan , Nor shall past pleasures through thy fancy run ; That were to make thee blest as I can be , But thy no thought I must , I will decree ; As thus I 'le torture thee till thou art mad , And then no thought to purpose can be had . Stat. How frail , how cowardly is woman's mind ? We shriek at Thunder , dread the rustling wind , And glitt'ring Swords the brightest eyes will blind . Yet when strong Jealousie enflames the Soul , The weak will roar , and Calms to Tempests roul . Rival , take heed , and tempt me not too far ; My bloud may boyl , and blushes shew a War. Rox. When you retire to your Romantick Cell , I 'le make thy solitary Mansion Hell ; Thou shalt not rest by day , nor sleep by night , But still Roxana shall thy Spirit fright : Wanton , in Dreams , if thou dar'st dream of bliss , Thy roving Ghost may think to steal a kiss ; But when to his sought Bed , thy wandring air Shall for the happiness it wish'd repair , How will it groan to find thy Rival there ? How ghastly wilt thou look , when thou shalt see , Through the drawn Curtains , that Great man and me , Wearied with laughing joys , shot to the Soul , While thou shalt grinning stand , and gnash thy teeth , and houl . Stat. O barb'rous rage ! my tears I cannot keep , But my full Eyes in spight of me will weep . Rox. The King and I in various Pictures drawn , Clasping each other , shaded o're with Lawn , Shall be the daily Presents I will send , To help thy sorrow to her Journeys end . And when we hear at last thy hour draws nigh , My Alexander , my dear Love and I , Will come and hasten on thy ling'ring Fates , And smile , and kiss thy Soul out , through the Grates . Stat. 'T is well , I thank thee ; thou hast wak'd a rage , Whose boiling now no temper can asswage : I meet thy tides of Jealousie with more , Dare thee to dwell , and dash thee o're and o're . Rox. What wou'd you dare ? Stat. Whatever you dare do , My warring thoughts the bloudiest tracts persue , I am by Love a Fury made , like you : Kill , or be kill'd , thus acted by despair . Rox. Sure the disdain'd Statira does not dare . Stat. Yes , tow'ring proud Roxana , but I dare . Rox. I tow'r indeed o're thee ; Like a fair Wood , the shade of Kings I stand , While thou , sick Weed , dost but infect the Land. Stat. No , like an Ivy I will curl thee round , Thy sapless Trunk of all its pride confound , Then dry , and wither'd , bend thee to the ground . What Sysigambis threats , objected fears , My Sisters sighs , and Alexander's tears , Cou'd not effect , thy Rival rage has done ; My Soul , whose start at breach of oaths begun , Shall to thy ruine violated run . I 'le see the King in spight of all I swore , Though curst that thou mayst never see him more . Enter Perdiccas , Alexander , Sysigambis , Attendants , &c. Perd. Madam , your Royal Mother , and the King. Alex. O my Statira ! O my angry dear ! Turn thine Eyes on me , I wou'd talk to them : What shall I say to work upon thy Soul ? Where shall I throw me ? whither shall I fall ? Stat. For me you shall not fall . Alex. For thee I will : Before thy feet I 'le have a Grave dug up , And perish quick , be buried straight alive : Give but as the Earth grows heavy on me , A tender look , and a relenting word ; Say but , 't was pity that so great Great a man , Who had ten thousand deaths in Battels scap'd , For one poor fault so early shou'd remove , And fall a Martyr to the God of Love. Rox. Is then Roxana's love and life so poor , That for another you can chuse to dye , Rather then live for her ? what have I done ? How am I alter'd since at Susa last You swore , and seal'd it with a thousand kisses , Rather then lose Roxana's smallest charm , You wou'd forgo the Conquest of the world ? Alex. Madam , you best can tell what Magick drew Me to your charms , but let it not be told For your own sake ; take , take that Conquer'd World , Dispose of Crowns and Scepters as you please , Let me but have the freedom for an hour , To make account with this wrong'd Innocence . Stat. You know , my Lord , you did commit a fault , I ask but this , repeat your crime no more . Alex. O never , never . Rox. Am I rejected then ? Alex. Exhaust my Treasures , Take all the Spoils of the far conquer'd Indies ; But for the ease of my afflicted Soul , Go where I never may behold thee more . Rox. Yes , I will go , ungratefull as thou art ! Bane to my life ! thou torment of my days ! Thou murd'rer of the world ! for as thy Sword Has cut the lives of thousand thousand men , So will thy tongue undo all woman-kind . But I 'le be gone ; this last disdain has cur'd me , And I am now grown so indifferent , I could behold you kiss without a pang , Nay take a Torch , and light you to your Bed : But do not trust me , no , for if you do , By all the Furies , and the flames of Love , By Love , which is the hottest burning Hell , I 'le set you both on fire to blaze for ever . Exit . Stat. O Alexander , is it possible ? Good Gods , That guilt can shew so lovely ! — yet I pardon , Forgive thee all , by thy dear life I do . Alex. Ha! Pardon ! saidst thou , Pardon me ? Sys . Now all thy Mothers blessings fall about thee . My best , my most belov'd , my own Statira . Alex. Is it then true that thou hast pardon'd me ? And is it giv'n me thus to touch thy hand , And fold thy body in my longing arms ? To gaze upon thy Eyes , my happier Stars ? To tast thy lip , and thy dear balmy breath , While ev'ry sigh comes forth so fraught with sweets , 'T is incense to be offer'd to a God. Stat. Yes , dear Impostor , 't is most true that I Have pardon'd thee ; and 't is as true that while I stand in view of thee , thy eyes will wound , Thy tongue will make me wanton as thy wishes ; And while I feel thy hand , my body glows : Therefore be quick , and take your last adieu , These your last sighs , and these your parting tears ; Farewell , farewell , a long and last farewell . Alex. O my Hephestion , bear me or I sink . Stat. Nay , you may take , — Heav'n how my heart throbs , You may , you may , if yet you think me worthy , Take from these trembling lips a parting kiss . Alex. No , let me starve first ; — why , Statira , why ? What is the meaning of all this ? — O Gods ! I know the cause , my working brain divines : You 'l say you pardon'd but with this reserve , Never to make me blest , as I have been , To slumber by the side of that false man , Nor give a Heav'n of beauty to a Devil . Think you not thus ? speak Madam . Sys . She is not worthy , Son , of so much sorrow : Speak comfort to him , speak , my dear Statira , I ask thee by those tears ; Ah canst thou e're Pretend to Love , yet with dry eyes behold him ! Alex. Silence more dreadfull then severest sounds : Wou'd she but speak , though Death , eternal Exile Hung at her lips , yet while her tongue pronounces , There must be Musick even in my undoing . Stat. Still my lov'd Lord , I cannot see you thus ; Nor can I ever yield to share your Bed : O I shall find Roxana in your arms , And tast her kisses left upon your lips : Her curs'd embraces have defil'd your body . Nor shall I find the wonted sweetness there , But artificial smells , and aking odours . Alex. Yes , obstinate , I will ; Madam , you shall , You shall , in spight of this resistless passion , Be serv'd ; but you must give me leave to think You never lov'd : — O cou'd I see you thus ! Hell has not half the tortures that you raise . Clyt. Never did passions combat thus before . Alex. O I shall burst , Unless you give me leave to rave a while . Sys . Yet e're destruction sweeps us both away , Relent , and break through all to pity him . Alex. Yes , I will shake this Cupid from my arms , If all the rages of the Earth can fright him ; Drown him in the deep bowl of Hercules ; Make the World drunk , and then like Aeolus , When he gave passage to the struggling winds , I 'le strike my Spear into the reeling Globe To let it bloud ; set Babylon in a blaze , And drive this God of flames with more consuming fire . Stat. My presence will but force him to extremes ; Besides , 't is death to me to see his pains : Yet stand resolv'd never to yield again . Permit me to remove . Alex. I charge ye stay her ; For if she pass , by all the Hells I feel , Your Souls , your naked Ghosts shall wait upon her . O turn thee ! Turn ! thou barb'rous brightness , turn ! Hear my last words , and see my utmost pang : But first kneel with me , all my Souldiers , kneel , [ All kneel . Yet lower , — prostrate to the Earth : — Ah Mother , what Will you kneel too ? Then let the Sun stand still To see himself out-worship'd ; not a face Be shewn that is not wash'd all o're in tears , But weep as if you here beheld me slain . Sys . Hast thou a heart ? or art thou Savage turn'd ? But if this posture cannot move your mercy , I never will speak more . Alex. O my Statira ! I swear , my Queen , I 'le not out-live thy hate , My Soul is still as death : — But one thing more , Pardon my last extremities , — the transports Of a deep wounded breast , and all is well . Stat. Rise , and may Heav'n forgive you all , like me . Alex. You are too gracious ; — Clytus , bear me hence , When I am laid in Earth , yield her the world . There 's something here heaves , and is cold as Ice , That stops my breath ; — Farewell , O Gods ! for ever . Stat. Hold off , and let me run into his arms , My dearest , my all Love , my Lord , my King ; You shall not dye , if that the soul and body Of thy Statira can restore thy life : Give me thy wonted kindness , bend me , break me With thy embraces . Alex. O the killing joy ! O extasie ! my heart will burst my breast , To leap into thy bosom ; but by Heav'n This night I will revenge me of thy beauties , For the dear rack I have this day endur'd : For all the sighs and tears that I have spent , I 'le have so many thousand burning Loves ; So swell thy lips , so fill me with thy sweetness , Thou shalt not sleep , nor close thy wandring Eyes : The smiling hours shall all be lov'd away , We 'l surfeit all the night , and languish all the day . Stat. Nor shall Roxana — Alex. Let her not be nam'd . — O Mother ! how shall I requite your goodness ? And you , my fellow Warriours , that cou'd weep For your lost King : — But I invite you all , My equals in the Throne as in the Grave , Without distinction to the Riot come , To the Kings Banquet . — Clyt. I beg your Majesty Would leave me out . Alex. None , none shall be excus'd ; All Revel out the day , 't is my command ; Gay as the Persian God our self will stand , With a Crown'd Goblet in our lifted hand . Young Ammon and Statira shall go round , While antick Measures beat the burden'd ground , And to the vaulted Skies our Clangors sound . Exeunt .
ACT IV. Enter Clytus in his Macedonian habit ; Hephestion , Eumenes , Meleager , &c. in Persian Robes . Clyt. AWay , I will not wear these Persian Robes ; Nor ought the King be angry for the reverence I owe my Country , sacred are her Customs , Which honest Clytus shall preserve to death . O let me rot in Macedonian rags , Rather then shine in fashions of the East . Then for the Adorations he requires , Rost my old body in eternal flames , Or let him Cage me , like Calisthenes . Eum. Dear Clytus , be perswaded . Heph. You know the King Is God-like , full of all the richest Virtues That ever Royal heart possess'd ; yet you Perverse , but to one humour will oppose him . Clyt. Call you it humour ! 't is a pregnant one , By Mars there 's venom in it , burning pride ; And though my life shou'd follow , rather then Bear such a hot ambition in my bowels , I 'd rip 'em up to give the poyson vent . Mel. Was not that Jupiter whom we adore A man ? but for his more then human acts , Advanc'd to Heav'n , and worshipt for its Lord ! Heph. By all his Thunder , and his Sov'raign Power , I 'le not believe the Earth yet ever felt An arm like Alexanders ; not that God You nam'd , though riding in a Car of fire , And drawn by flying Horses wing'd with Lightning , Cou'd in a space more short do greater deeds , Drive all the Nations , and lay wast the World. Clyt. There 's not a man of War amongst you all That loves the King like me ; yet I 'le not flatter , Nor sooth his vanity , 't is blamable , And when the wine works , Clytus thoughts will out , Heph. Then go not to the Banquet . Clyt. I was call'd , My Minion , was I not , as well as you ? I 'le go , my Friends , in this old Habit thus , And laugh , and drink the King's health heartily ; And while you blushing bow your heads to earth , And hide'em in the dust , I 'le stand upright , Strait as a Spear , the Pillar of my Country , And be by so much nearer to the Gods — But see , the King and all the Court appear . Enter Alexander , Sysigambis , Statira , Parisatis , &c. Par. Spare him , O spare Lysimachus his life ; I know you will , Kings shou'd delight in mercy . Alex. Shield me , Statira , shield me from her sorrow . Par. O save him , save him , e're it be too late ; Speak the kind word before the gaping Lyon Swallow him up ; let not your Souldier perish , But for one rashness which despair did cause . I 'le follow thus for ever on my knees , And make your way so slippery with tears , You shall not pass . — Sister , do you conjure him . Alex. O Mother , take her , take her from me , ( kneels . Her watry eyes assault my very Soul , They shake my best resolve . — Stat. Did not I break Through all for you ? nay now my Lord you must . Sys . Nor wou'd I make my Son so bold a prayer , Had I not first consulted for his Honour . Alex. Honour ! what Honour ! has not Statira said it ? Were I the King of the blue Firmament , And the bold Titans shou'd again make War , Though my resistless Arrows were made ready , By all the Gods she shou'd arrest my hand . Fly then , ev'n thou his Rival so belov'd , Fly with old Clytus , snatch him from the jaws Of the devouring Beast , bring him adorn'd To the Kings Banquet , fit for loads of Honour . Exeunt Heph. Eum. Par. Stat. O my lov'd Lord ! let me embrace your knees , I am not worthy of this mighty passion : You are too good for Goddesses themselves ; No woman , not the Sex , is worth a grain Of this illustrious life of my dear Master . Why are you so Divine to cause such fondness ? That my heart leaps , and beats , and fain wou'd out , To make a dance of Joy about your feet . Alex. Excellent woman ! no , 't is impossible To say how much I love thee : — Ha! again ! Such Extasies life cannot carry long ; The day comes on so fast , and beamy joy Darts with such fierceness on me , night will follo A pale Crown'd head flew lately glaring by me , With two dead hands , which threw a Chrystal Globe From high , that shatter'd in a thousand pieces . But I will lose these boding Dreams in wine ; Then warm and blushing for my Queens embraces , Bear me with all my heat to thy lov'd bosom . Stat. Go , my best Love , and chear your drooping Spirits ; Laugh with your Friends , and talk your grief away , While in the Bow'r of great Semiramis , I dress your Bed with all the sweets of Nature , And crown it as the Altar of my Love ; Where I will lay me down and softly mourn , But never close my eyes till your return . Ex. Stat. Sysig . Alex. Is she not more then mortal man can wish ! Diana's Soul , cast in the flesh of Venus ! By Jove 't is ominous , our parting is ; Her face look'd pale too , as she turn'd away : And when I wrung her by the Rosie fingers , Methought the strings of my great heart did crack . What should it mean ? — Forward , Laomedon . Roxana meets him , with Cassand . Polip . Phil. and Thess. Why Madam gaze you thus ? Rox. For a last look , ( she holds his hand . And that the memory of Roxana's wrongs May be for ever printed in your mind . Alex. O Madam , you must let me pass . Rox. I will ; But I have sworn that you shall hear me speak , And mark me well , for Fate is in my breath : Love on the Mistress you adore to death : Still hope ; but I fruition will destroy : Languish for pleasures , you shall ne're enjoy . Still may Statira's Image draw your sight , Like those deluding Fires that walk at night ; Lead you through fragrant Grots , and flowrie Groves , And charm you through deep Grass with sleeping Loves ; That when your fancy to its height does rise , The light you lov'd may vanish from your eyes , Darkness , Despair , and Death your wandring Soul surprize . Alex. Away ; lead , Meleager , to the Banquet . Ex. cum suis. Rox. So unconcern'd ! O I cou'd tear my flesh , Or him , or you , nay all the world to pieces . Cas. Still keep this Spirit up , preserve it still , Lose not a grain , for such Majestick Atomes First made the world , and must preserve its greatness . Rox. I know I am whatever thou canst say ; My Soul is pent , and has not elbow room ; 'T is swell'd with this last slight , beyond all bounds : O that it had a space might answer to Its infinite desire , where I might stand And hurl the Sphears about like sportive Balls . Cas. We are your Slaves , admirers of your fury ; Command Cassander to obey your pleasure , And I will on , swift as my nimble Eye Scales Heav'n when I am angry with the Fates . No Age , nor Sex , nor dignity of bloud , No tyes of Law or Nature , not the life Imperial , though guarded with the Gods , Shall bar Cassander's vengeance , he shall dye . Rox. Ha! shall he dye ? shall I consent to kill him ? To see him clasp'd in the cold arms of death , Whom I with such an eagerness have lov'd ? Do I not bear his Image in my womb ? Which while I meditate , and roul revenge , Starts in my body like a fatal pulse , And strikes compassion through my bleeding bowels . Pol. These scruples which your Love wou'd raise might pass , Were not the Empire of the world consider'd : How will the glorious Infant in your womb , When time shall teach his tongue , be bound to curse you , If now you strike not for his Coronation ! Cas. If Alexander lives , you cannot reign , Nor shall your Child ; old Sysigambis head Will not be idle : — sure destruction waits Both you and yours ; let not your anger cool , But give the word , say Alexander bleeds , Draw dry the veins of all the Persian Race , And hurl a ruine o're the East , 't is done . Pol. Behold the Instruments of this great work . Phil. Behold your forward Slave . Thes. I 'le execute . Rox. And when this ruine is accomplish'd , where Shall curst Roxana fly with this dear load ? Where shall she find a refuge from the arms Of all the Successors of this great man ? No barb'rous Nation will receive a guilt So much transcending theirs , but drive me out : The wildest Beasts will hunt me from their Dens , And Birds of prey molest me in the Grave . Cas. No , you shall live , pardon the insolence Which this Almighty Love enforces from me , You shall live safer , nobler then before , In your Cassander's arms . Rox. Disgrac'd Roxana , whither wilt thou fall ! I ne're was truly wretched till this moment ; There 's not one mark of former Majesty , To awe my Slave that offers at my Honour . Cas. Madam , I hope you 'l not impute my passion To want of that respect which I must bear you ; Long I have Lov'd — Rox. Peace , most audacious Villain ! Or I will stab this passion in thy throat . What , shall I leave the bosom of a Deity To clasp a clod , a moving piece of Earth , Which a Mole heaves ? so far art thou beneath me . Cas. Your Majesty shall hear no more my folly . Rox. Nor dare to meet my Eyes ; for if thou dost , With a Love-glance thy plots are all unravell'd , And your kind thoughts of Alexander told ; Whose life , in spight of all his wrongs to me , Shall be for ever sacred and untouch'd . Cas. I know , dread Madam , that Cassander's life Is in your hands so cast to do you service . Rox. You thought , perhaps , because I practis'd charms To gain the King , that I had loose desires : No , 't is my pride that gives me height of pleasure , To see the man by all the world admir'd , Bow'd to my bosom , and my Captive there : Then my veins swell , and my arms grasp the Poles , My breasts grow bigger with the vast delight , 'T is length of Rapture , and an age of Fury . Cas. By your own life , the greatest oath I swear , Cassander's passion from this time is dumb . Rox. No , if I were a wanton , I wou'd make Princes the Victims of my raging fires : I , like the changing Moon , wou'd have the Stars My followers , and mantled Kings by night Shou'd wait my call ; fine Slaves to quench my flame , Who lest in Dreams they should reveal the deed , Still as they came , successively shou'd bleed . Cas. To make attonement for the highest crime , I beg your Majesty will take the life Of Queen Statira as a Sacrifice . Rox. Rise , thou hast made me ample expiation : Yes , yes , Statira , Rival thou must dye , I know this night is destin'd for my ruine , And Alexander from the glorious Revels Flys to thy arms . Phil. The Bowers of Semiramis are made The Scene this night of their new kindled Loves . Rox. Methinks I see her yonder , O the torment ! Busie for bliss , and full of expectation : She adorns her head , and her eyes give new lustre ; Languishes in her Glass , trys all her looks ; Steps to the door and listens for his coming ; Runs to the Bed , and kneels , and weeps , and wishes , Then lays the Pillow easie for his head , Warms it with sighs , and moulds it with her kisses . O I am lost , torn with imagination ! Kill me , Cassander , kill me instantly , That I may haunt her with a thousand Devils . Cas. Why d' ye stop to end her while you may ? No time so proper , as the present now : While Alexander feasts with all his Court , Give me your Eunuchs , half your Zogdian Slaves , I 'le do the deed ; nor shall a waiter 'scape , That serves your Rival , to relate the news . Pol. She was committed to Eumenes charge : Rox. Eumenes dyes , and all that are about her : Nor shall I need your aid , you 'l Love again ; I 'le head the Slaves my self , with this drawn Dagger , To carry death that 's worthy of a Queen . A common Fate ne're rushes from my hand , 'T is more then life to dye by my command . And when she sees That to my arm her ruine she must owe , Her thankfull head will straight be bended low , Her heart shall leap half way to meet the blow . Ex. Rox. Cas. Go thy ways , Somele ; — she scorns to sin Beneath a God : — we must be swift , the ruine We intend , who knows , she may discover . Pol. It must be acted suddenly , to night Now at the Banquet Philip holds his Cup. Phil. And dares to execute , — propose his Fate . Cas. Observe in this small Viol certain death ; It holds a poyson of such deadly force , Shou'd Esculaepius drink it , in five hours ( For then it works ) the God himself were mortal . I drew it from Nonarris horrid Spring , A drop infus'd in Wine , will seal his death , And send him howling to the lowest shades . Phil. Wou'd it were done . Cas. O we shall have him tear ( Ere yet the Moon has half her Journey rode ) The world to Atoms ; for it scatters pains All sorts , and through all nerves , veins , arteries , Even with extremity of frost it burns : Drives the distracted Soul about her house , Which runs to all the pores , the doors of life , Till she is forc'd for air to leave her dwelling . Pol. By Pluto's self the work is wondrous brave . Cas. Now separate , Philip and Thessalus Hast to the Banquet ; at his second call , Give him the fatal draught that crowns the night , While Polipercon and my self retire . [ Exeunt omnes praeter Cassand . ] Yes , Alexander , now thou payst me well , Bloud for a blow is Interest indeed : Methinks I am grown taller with the Murder , And standing straight on this Majestick pile , I hit the Clouds , and see the world below me . O 't is the worst of racks to a brave Spirit To be born base , a Vassal , a curst Slave : Now by the project lab'ring in my brain , 'T is nobler far to be the King of Hell , To head Infernal Legions , Chiefs below , To let 'em loose for earth , to call 'em in And take account of what dark deeds are done , Then be a Subject-God in Heav'n unblest , And without mischief have Eternal rest . Exit . The Scene draws , Alexander is seen standing on a Throne with all his Commanders about him , holding Goblets in their hands . Alex. To our Immortal health , and our fair Queens ; All drink it deep , and while it flys about , Mars and Bellona joyn to make us Musick . A hundred Bulls be offer'd to the Sun , White as his beams . — Speak the big voice of War , Beat all our Drums , and blow our Silver Trumpets , 'Till we provoke the Gods to act our pleasure Sound while they drink . In bowls of Nectar , and replying Thunder . Enter Hephestion , Clytus , leading in Lysimachus in his Shirt bloudy , Perdiccas , Guard. Clyt. Long live the King , and Conquest crown his Arms With Laurels ever green ; Fortune's his Slave , And kisses all that fight upon his side . Alex. Did I not give command you shou'd preserve Lysimachus ? Heph. You did . Alex. What then portend those bloudy marks ? Heph. Your mercy flew too late ; Perdiccas had , According to the dreadfull charge you gave , Already plac'd the Prince in a lone Court , Unarm'd , all but his hands , on which he wore A pair of Gauntlets ; such was his desire , To shew in death the difference betwixt The bloud of the Aeacides , and common men . Clyt. At last the door of an old Lyons den Being drawn up , the horrid Beast appear'd : The flames which from his eyes shot gloomy red , Made the Sun start , as the spectators thought , And round 'em cast a day of bloud and death . Heph. When we arriv'd , just as the valiant Prince Cry'd out , O Parisatis take my life , 'T is for thy sake I go undaunted thus To be devour'd by this most dreadfull creature . Clyt. Then walking forward , the large Beast disery'd His prey , and with a roar that made us pale , Flew fiercely on him ; but the active Prince Starting aside , avoided his first shock , With a slight hurt , and as the Lyon turn'd , Thrust Gauntlet , arm and all , into his throat , And with Herculean force tore forth by th' roots The foaming bloudy tongue ; and while the Savage , Faint with that loss , sunk to the blushing Earth To plough it with his teeth , your conqu'ring Souldier Leap'd on his back , and dash'd his skull to pieces . Alex. By all my Laurels 't was a God-like act , And 't is my Glory , as it shall be thine , That Alexander cou'd not pardon thee . O my brave Souldier ! think not all the prayers Of the lamenting Queens cou'd move my Soul , Like what thou hast perform'd ; grow to my breast . embraces him . Lys. However Love did hurry my wild arm , When I was cool my fev'rish bloud did bate , And as I went to death , I blest the King. Alex. Lysimachus , we both have been transported , But from this hour be certain of my heart : A Lyon be the Impress of thy Shield , And that Gold Armour we from Porcus won The King presents thee ; but retire to Bed , Thy toils ask rest . Lys. I have no wounds to hinder Of any moment ; or if I had , though mortal , I 'd stand to Alexander's health , till all My veins were dry , and fill 'em up again With that rich bloud which makes the Gods Immortal . Alex. Hephestion , thy hand , embrace him close ; Though next my heart you hang the Jewel there , For scarce I know whether my Queen be dearer , Thou shalt not rob me of my Glory , Youth , That must to Ages flourish . — Parisatis Shall now be his that serves me best in War. Neither reply ; but mark the charge I give , And live as Friends . — Sound , Sound my Armies Honour ; Health to their bodies , and eternal Fame Wait on their memory , when those are ashes ; Live all you must , 't is a God gives you life . ( Sound . [ Lysimachus offers Clytus a Persian Robe , and he refuses it . ] Clyt. O vanity ! Alex. Ha! what says Clytus ? Who am I ? Clyt. The Son of good King Philip. Alex. No , 't is false , By all my Kindred in the Skies Jove made my Mother pregnant . Clyt. I ha' done . Here follows an Entertainment of Indian Singers and Dancers : The Musick flourishes . Alex. Hold , hold , Clytus , take the Robe . Clyt. Sir , the Wine , The weather 's hot ; besides you know my humour . Alex. O 't is not well , I 'd burn rather then be So fingular and froward . Cylt . So wou'd I Burn , hang , or drown ; but in a better cause I 'le drink , or fight , for Sacred Majesty , With any here . — Fill me another Bowl ; Will you excuse me ? Alex. You will be excus'd ; But let him have his humour , he is old . Clyt. So was your Father , Sir , — This to his memory . Sound all the Trumpets there . Alex. They shall not sound Till the King drinks ; — by Mars I cannot tast A moments rest for all my years of bloud , But one or other will oppose my pleasure . Sure I was form'd for War , eternal War ; All , all are Alexander's Enemies , Which I cou'd tame ; — yes , the Rebellious world Shou'd feel my wrath : — But let the sports go on . The Indians Dance . Lys. Nay Clytus , you that cou'd advise — Alex. Forbear ; Let him persist , be positive , and proud , Sullen , and dazl'd , amongst the Nobler Souls , Like an Infernal Spirit that had stole From Hell , and mingled with the laughing Gods. Clyt. When Gods grow hot , where is the difference 'Twixt them and Devils ? — fill me Greek wine , yet fuller , For I want Spirits . Alex. Ha! let me hear a Song . Clyt. Musick for Boys : — Clytus wou'd hear the groans Of dying persons , and the Horses neighings ; Or if I must be tortur'd with shrill voices , Give me the crys of Matrons in sack'd Towns. Heph. Lysimachus , the King looks sad , let us awake him : Health to the Son of Jupiter Ammon ; Ev'ry man take his Goblet in his hand , Kneel all , and kiss the Earth with adoration . Alex. Sound , sound , that all the Universe may hear , That I cou'd speak like Jove , to tell abroad The kindness of my people . — Rise , O rise , My hands , my arms , my heart is ever yours . [ Comes from his Throne , all kiss his hand . ] Clyt. I did not kiss the Earth , nor must your hand , I am unworthy , Sir. Alex. I know thou art , Thou enviest my great Honour : — Sit , my Friends , Nay I must have a room : — Now let us talk Of War , for what more fits a Souldiers mouth ? And speak , speak freely , or ye do not love me , Who think you was the bravest General That ever led an Army to the Field ? Heph. I think the Sun himself ne're saw a Chief So truly great , so fortunately brave , As Alexander ; not the fam'd Alcides , Nor fierce Achilles , who did twice destroy , With their all-conqu'ring Arms , the famous Troy. Lys. Such was not Cyrus . Alex. O you flatter me . Clyt. They do indeed , and yet you love 'em for it , But hate old Clytus , for his hardy Virtue . Come , shall I speak a man more brave then you , A better General , and more expert Souldier ? Alex. I shou'd be glad to learn , instruct me , Sir. Clyt. Your Father Philip , — I have seen him March , And fought beneath his dreadful Banner , where The stoutest at this Table would ha' trembl'd . Nay frown not , Sir , you cannot look me dead . When Greeks joyn'd Greeks , then was the tug of War , The labour'd Battle sweat , and Conquest bled . Why shou'd I fear to speak a truth more noble , Then e're your Father Jupiter Ammon told you ; Philip fought men , but Alexander women . Alex. Spite ! by the Gods , proud spite ! and burning envy ! Is then my Glory come to this at last , To vanquish women ? Nay he said , the stoutest here Wou'd tremble at the dangers he has seen . In all the sicknesses and wounds I bore , When from my reins the Javelins head was cut , Lysimachus , Hephestion , speak , Perdiccas , Did I tremble ? O the cursed Lyar ! Did I once shake or groan ? or bear my self Beneath my Majesty , my dauntless courage ? Heph. Wine has transported him . Alex. No , 't is plain , meer malice : — I was a woman too at Oxydrace , When planting at the walls a Scaling-Ladder , I mounted spite of showrs of Stones , Bars , Arrows , And all the lumber which they thunder'd down , When you beneath cry'd out , and spread your arms , That I shou'd leap amongst you ; did I so ? Lys. Turn the discourse , my Lord , the old man rav'd . Alex. Was I a woman , when like Mercury I left the walls to fly amongst my Foes ? And like a baited Lion , dy'd my self All over with the bloud of those bold Hunters : Till spent with toil , I battel'd on my knees , Pluck'd forth the Darts that made my Shield a Forrest , And hurl'd 'em back with most unconquer'd fury . Clyt. 'T was all Bravado , for before you leapt , You saw that I had burst the Gates in sunder . Alex. Did I then turn me like a Coward round To seek for succour ? Age cannot be so base ; That thou wert young again , I wou'd put off My Majesty to be more terrible , That liké an Eagle I might strike this Hare Trembling to Earth : shake thee to dust , and tear Thy heart for this bold Lye , thou feeble dotard . Clyt. What do you pelt me like a Boy with Apples ? He tosses Fruit at him as they rise : Kill me , and bury the disgrace I feel . I know the reason that you use me so , Because I sav'd your life at Granniccus , And when your back was turn'd , oppos'd my breast To bold Rhesaces Sword ; you hate me for 't , You do , proud Prince . Alex. Away , your breath 's too hot . ( flings him from him . Clyt. You hate the Benefactor , though you took The Guift , your life , from this dishonour'd Clytus , Which is the blackest , worst ingratitude . Alex. Go , leave the Banquet ; thus far I forgive thee . Clyt. Forgive your self for all your Blasphemies , The riots of a most debauch'd , and blotted life , Philotas murder — Alex. Ha! what said the Traytor ? Lys. Eumenes , let us force him hence . Clyt. Away . Heph. You shall not tarry ; Drag him to the door . Clyt. No , let him send me , if I must be gone , To Philip , Attalus , Calisthenes , To great Parmenio , and his slaughter'd Sons : Parmenio , who did many brave exploits Without the King , — the King without him nothing . Alex. Give me a Javelin . ( takes one from the Guards . Heph. Hold , Sir. Alex. Off , Sirrah , lest At once I strike it through his heart and thine . Lys. O sacred Sir , have but a moments patience . Alex. Preach patience to another Lion ; — what , Hold my arms ? I shall be murder'd here , Like poor Darius , by my own barb'rous Subjects . Perdiccas , sound my Trumpets to the Camp , Call all my Souldiers to the Court ; nay hast , For there is Treason plotting 'gainst my life , And I shall perish e're they come to rescue . Lys. and Heph. Let us all dye , e're think so damn'd a deed . ( kneel . Alex. Where is the Traytor ? Clyt. Sure there 's none about you ; But here stands honest Clytus , whom the King Invited to his Banquet . Alex. Be gone , and sup with Philip , strikes him through . Parmenio , Attalus , Calisthenes , And let bold Subjects learn by thy sad Fate , To tempt the patience of a man above ' em . Clyt. The rage of wine is drown'd in gushing bloud ; O Alexander , I have been too blame , Hate me not after death , for I repent That so I urg'd your noblest , sweetest nature . Alex. What 's this I hear ? say on , my dying Souldier . Clyt. I shou'd ha' kill'd my self , had I but liv'd To be once sober : — Now I fall with honour , My own hand wou'd ha' brought foul death ; O pardon . ( dies . Alex. Then I am lost , what has my vengeance done ? Who is it thou hast slain ? Clytus ; what was he ? Thy faithful Subject , worthiest Counsellor , Who for the saving of thy life has now A noble recompence ; for one rash word , For a forgetfulness which wine did work , The poor , the honest Clytus thou hast slain ! Are these the Laws of Hospitality ? Thy Friends will shun thee now , and stand at distance , Nor dare to speak their minds , nor eat with thee , Nor drink , lest by thy madness they dye too . Heph. Guards , take the body hence . Alex. None dare to touch him , For we must never part ; cruel Hephestion , And you , Lysimachus , that had the power , Yet would not hold me . Lys. Dear Sir , we did . Alex. I know it ; Ye held me like a Beast , to let me go With greater violence : — O you have undone me ! Excuse it not , you that cou'd stop a Lion , Cou'd not turn me ; you shou'd have drawn your Swords , And barr'd my rage with their advancing points ; Made Reason glitter in my dazl'd eyes , Till I had seen what ruine did attend me . That had been noble , that had shew'd a Friend , Clytus wou'd so have done to save your lives . Lys. When men shall hear how highly you were urg'd — Alex. No , you have let me stain my rising virtue , Which else had ended brighter then the Sun. Death , Hell , and Furies ! you have sunk my Glory : O I am all a blot , which Seas of tears , And my hearts bloud , can never wash away ; Yet 't is but just I try , and on the point Still reaking hurl my black polluted breast . Heph. O sacred Sir , this must not be . Eum. Forgive my pious hands . Lys. And mine , that dare disarm my Master . Alex. Yes , cruel men , you now can shew your strength ; Here 's not a Slave but dares oppose my Justice ; Yet I will render all endeavours vain That tend to save my life : — here I will lye ( falls . Close to his bleeding side , thus kissing him , These pale dead lips that have so oft advis'd me , Thus bathing o're his Reverend face in tears , Thus clasping his cold body in my arms , Till death , like him , has made me stiff and horrid . Heph. What shall we do ? Lys. I know not , my wounds bleed afresh With striving with him ; Perdiccas , lends your arm . Ex. Per. Lys. Heph. Call Aristander hither , Or Meleager , let 's force him from the body . Cries without , Arm , Arm , Treason , Treason , Enter Perdiccas bloudy . Perd. Hast , all take Arms ; Hephestion , where 's the King ? Heph. There , by old Clytus side , whom he has slain . Perd. Then misery on misery will fall , Like rouling billows to advance the storm . Rise , sacred Sir , and hast to aid the Queen , Roxana fill'd with furious Jealonsie , Came with a Guard of Zogdean Slaves unmark'd , And broke upon me with such sudden rage , That all are perish'd who resistance made : I only with these wounds through clashing Spears Have forc'd my way , to give you timely notice . Alex. What says Perdiccas ? is the Queen in danger ? Perd. She dyes unless you turn her Fate , and quickly ; Your distance from the Palace asks more speed , And the ascent to th' flying Grove is high . Alex. Thus from the Grave I rise to save my Love , All draw your Swords , with wings of Lightning move ; When I rush on , sure none will dare to stay , 'T is Beauty calls , and Glory shews the way . Exeunt .
ACT V. Statira is discover'd sleeping in the Bower of Semiramis . The Spirits of Queen Statira her Mother , and Darius , appear standing on each side of her , with Daggers threatning her . They Sing . Dar. IS Innocence so void of cares , That it can undisturbed sleep , Amidst the noise of horrid Wars , That make Immortal Spirits weep ? Stat. No boding Crows , nor Ravens come , To warn her of approaching doom ? Dar. She walks , as she dreams , in a Garden of Flowers , And her hands are employ'd in the beautifull Bowers : She dreams of the man that is far from the Grove , And all her soft Fancy still runs on her Love. Stat. She nods o're the Brooks that run purling along , And the Nightingales lull her more fast with a Song . Dar. But see the sad endwhich the Gods have decreed . Stat. This Poniard's thy Fate . Dar. My Daughter must bleed . Chor. Awake then , Statira , awake , for alas you must dye : Ere an hour be past , you must breath out your last , Dar. And be such another as I , Stat. As I , Chor. And be such another as I , Statira sola . Stat. Bless me ye Pow'rs above , and guard my Virtue ! I saw , nor was 't a Dream , I saw and heard My Royal Parents , there I saw 'em stand ; My eyes beheld their precious Images : I heard their Heav'nly voices ; where , O where Fled you so fast , Dear shades , from my embraces ? You told me this , — This hour should be my last , And I must bleed ; — Away , 't is all Delusion ! Do not I wait for Alexander's coming ? None but my loving Lord can enter here ; And will he kill me ? — hence , phantastick shadows ! And yet me thinks he should not stay thus long ! Why do I tremble thus ? if I but stir , The motion of my Robes makes my heart leap . When will the dear man come , that all my doubts May vanish in his breast ? that I may hold him Fast as my fears can make me , hug him close As my fond Soul can wish , give all my breath In sighs , and kisses ; swoun , dye away with Rapture ! But hark , I hear him : — ( noise within . Fain I would hide my blushes , I hear his tread , but dare not go to meet him . Enter Roxana with Slaves , and a Dagger . Rox. At length we have conquer'd this stupendious height , These flying Groves , whose wonderfull ascent Leads to the Clouds . Stat. Then all he Vision 's true , ( retires . And I must dye , lose my dear Lord for ever : That , that 's the murder . Rox. Shut the Brazen Gate , And make it fast with all the massie Bars : I know the King will fly to her relief , But we have time enough : — where is my Rival ? Appear Statira , now no more a Queen , Roxana calls , where is your Majesty ? Stat. And what is she who with such Tow'ring pride , Wou'd awe a Princess that is born above her ? Rox. I like the Port Imperial Beauty bears , It shews thou hast a Spirit fit to fall A Sacrifice to fierce Roxana's wrongs . Be sudden then , put forth these Royal Breasts , Where our false Master has so often languish'd , That I may change their milkie Innocence To bloud , and die me in a deep Revenge . Stat. No , barb'rous woman ! though I durst meet death : As boldly as our Lord , with a resolve At which thy Coward heart wou'd tremble : Yet I disdain to stand the Fate you offer , And therefore fearless of thy dreadful threats , Walk thus regardless by thee . Rox. Ha! so stately ! This sure will sink you . Stat. No , Roxana , no ; The blow you give will strike me to the Stars , But sink ny murdress in Eternal ruine . Rox. Who told you this ? Stat. A thousand Spirits tell me : There 's not a God but whispers in my ear , This death will crown me with Immortal Glory ; To dye so fair , so innocent , so young , Will make me company for Queens above . Rox. Preach on . Stat. While you the burden of the Earth , Fall to the Deep so heavy with thy Guilt , That Hell it self must groan at thy reception ; While foulest Fiends shun thy society , And thou shalt walk alone , forsaken Fury . Rox. Heav'n witness for me , I would spare thy life , If any thing but Alexander's Love Were in debate ; come give me back his heart , And thou shalt live , live Empress of the world . Stat. The world is less then Alexander's Love , Yet cou'd I give it , 't is not in my power : This I dare promise , if you spare my life , Which I disdain to beg , he shall speak kindly . Rox. Speak ! is that all ? Stat. Perhaps at my request , And for a gift so noble as my life , Bestow a kiss . Rox. A kiss ! no more ? Stat. O Gods ! What shall I say to work her to my end ? Fain I would see him : — yes , a little more , Embrace you , and for ever be your Friend . Rox. Oh the provoking word ! Your Friend ! Thou dy'st : Your Friend ! what must I bring you then together ? Adorn your Bed , and see you softly laid ? By all my pangs , and labours of my Love , This has thrown off all that was sweet and gentle ; Therefore — . Stat. Yet hold thy hand advanc'd in air ; I see my death is written in thy eyes , Therefore wreak all thy lust of Vengeance on me , Wash in my bloud , and steep thee in my gore ; Feed like a Vulture , tear my bleeding heart . But O Roxana ! that there may appear A glimpse of Justice for thy Cruelty , A grain of Goodness , for a mass of Evil , Give me my Death in Alexander's presence . Rox. Not for the Rule of Heav'n : — are you so cunning ? What you wou'd have him mourn you as you fall ? Take your farewell , and taste such healing kisses , As might call back your Soul ? No , thou shalt fall Now , and when Death has seiz'd thy beauteous limbs , I 'le have thy body thrown into a Well , Buried beneath a heap of Stones for ever . Enter a Slave . Slav. Madam , the King with all his Captains and his Guards Are forcing ope ' the doors , he threatens thousand deaths To all that stop his entrance , and I believe Your Eunuchs will obey him . Rox. Then I must haste . ( stabs her . Stat. What is the King so near ? And shall I dye so tamely , thus defenceless ? O ye good Gods ! will you not help my weakness ? Rox. They are far off . ( stabbing her . Stat. Alas ! they are indeed . Enter Alexander , Cassander , Polipercon , Guards and Attendants . Alex. Oh Harpy ! thou shalt reign the Queen of Devils . Rox. Do , strike , behold my bosom swells to meet thee ; 'T is full of thine , of veins that run ambition , And I can brave whatever Fate you bring . Alex. Call our Physicians , hast , I 'le give an Empire To save her : — Oh my Soul , alas Statira ! These wounds , — Oh Gods , are these my promis'd joys ! Stat. My cruel Love , my weeping Alexander , Enter Physicians . Wou'd I had dy'd before you enter'd here , For now I ask my heart a hundred questions ; What must I lose my life , my Lord , for ever ? Alex. Ha! Villains , are they mortal ? — what , retire ! Raise your dash'd Spirits from the Earth , and say , Say she shall live , and I will make you Kings . Give me this one , this poor , this only life , And I will pardon you for all the wounds Which your Arts widen , all Diseases , Deaths , Which your damn'd Drugs throw through the lingring world . Rox. Rend not your temper , see a general silence Confirms the bloudy pleasure which I sought ; She dyes . — Alex. And dar'st thou , Monster , think to scape ? Stat. My life is on the wing , my Love , my Lord , Come to my arms , and take the last adieu : Here let me lie , and languish out my Soul. Alex. Answer me , Father , wilt thou take her from me ? What is the black , sad hour at last arriv'd , That I must never clasp her body more ? Never more bask in her Eyes-shine again , Nor view the Loves that play'd in those dear beams , And shot me with a thousand thousand smiles . Stat. Farewell , my dear , my life , my most lov'd Lord , I swear by Orosmades 't is more pleasure , More satisfaction that I thus dye yours , Then to have liv'd anothers : — Grant me one thing . Alex. All , all ; — but speak , that I may execute Before I follow thee . Stat. Leave not the Earth Before Heav'n calls you : spare Roxana's life , 'T was Love of you that caus'd her give me death . And , O sometimes amidst your Revels think Of your poor Queen , and e're the chearful Bowl Salute your lips , crown it with one rich tear , And I am happy . ( dyes . Alex. Close not thy eyes ; Things of Import I have to speak before Thou tak'st thy Journey : — tell the Gods , I 'm coming To give 'em an account of life and death , And many other hundred thousand policies , That much concern the Government of Heav'n . — O she is gone ! the talking Soul is mute ! She 's hush'd , no voice , no Musick now is heard ! The Bower of Beauty is more still then Death ; The Roses fade , and the melodious Bird That wak'd their sweets , has left 'em now for ever . Rox. 'T is certain now you never shall enjoy her ; Therefore Roxana may have leave to hope You will at last be kind for all my sufferings , My torments , racks , for this last dreadful murder , Which furious Love of thee did bring upon me . Alex. O thou vile creature ! bear thee from my sight , And thank Statira that thou art alive : Else thou hadst perish'd ; yes , I wou'd ha' rent With my just hands that Rock , that Marble heart ; I wou'd have div'd through Seas of bloud to find it , To tear the cruel Quarry from its Center . Rox. O take me to your arms , and hide my blushes , I Love you , spight of all your cruelties ; There is so much Divinity about you , I tremble to approach ; yet here 's my hold , Nor will I leave the Sacred Robe , for such Is ev'ry thing that touches that blest Body : I 'le kiss it as the Relique of a God , And Love shall grasp it with these dying hands . Alex. O that thou wert a man , that I might drive Thee round the world , and scatter thy Contagion , As Gods hurl mortal Plagues when they are angry . Rox. Do , drive me , hew me into smallest pieces , My dust shall be inspir'd with a new fondness ; Still the Love-motes shall play before your eyes , Where e're you go , however you despise . Alex. Away , there 's not a glance that flies from thee , But like a Basilisk comes wing'd with death . Rox. O speak not such harsh words , my Royal Master , ( kneels . Look not so dreadful on your kneeling Servant ; But take , dear Sir , O take me into Grace , By the dear Babe , the burden of my womb , That weighs me down , when I wou'd follow faster . My knees are weary , and my force is spent : O do not frown , but clear that angry brow ! Your eyes will blast me , and your words are bolts That strike me dead ; the little wretch I bear , Leaps frighted at your wrath , and dyes within me . Alex. O thou hast touch'd my Soul so tenderly , That I will raise thee , though thy hands are ruine . Rise , cruel woman , rise , and have a care , O do not hurt that unborn Innocence , For whose dear sake I now forgive thee all . But hast , be gone , fly , fly from these sad ey●● Fly with thy pardon , lest I call it back ; Though I forgive thee , I must hate thee ever . Rox. I go , I fly , for ever from thy sight . My mortal Injuries have turn'd my mind , And I cou'd curse my self for being kind . If there be any Majesty above , That has Revenge in store for perjur'd Love , Send Heav'n the swiftest ruine on his head , Strike the Destroyer , lay the Victor dead ; Kill the Triumpher , and avenge my wrong In height of Pomp , while he is warm and young , Bolted with Thunder let him rush along . And when in the last pangs of life he lyes , Grant I may stand to dart him with my eyes ; Nay after death Persue his spotted Ghost , and shoot him as he flies . Exit . Alex. O my fair Star ! I shall be shortly with thee ; For I already feel the sad effects Of those most fatal Imprecations . What means this deadly dew upon my forehead ? My heart too heaves , Cas. It will anon be still — ( aside The poyson works . Pol. I 'le see the wish'd effect ( aside . E're I remove , and gorge me with Revenge . Enter Perdiccas and Lysimachus . Perd. I beg your Majesty will pardon me , A fatal Messenger ; Great Sysigambis hearing Statira's death , Is now no more . Her last words gave the Princess to the brave Lysimachus ; but that which most will strike you , Your dear Hephestion , having drank too largely At your last Feast , is of a surfeit dead . Alex. How , dead ! Hephestion dead ! alas the dear Unhappy Youth ! — But he sleeps happy , I must wake for ever : — This object , this , This face of fatal Beauty , Will stretch my lids with vast , Eternal tears . — Who had the care of poor Hephestion's life ? Lys. Philarda , the Arabian Artist . Alex. Fly , Meleager , hang him on a Cross : That for Hephestion . — But here lies my Fate ; Hephestion , Clytus , All my Victories for ever folded up : In this dear body my Banners lost , My Standards Triumphs gone ! O when shall I be mad ? — Give order to The Army that they break their Shields , Swords , Spears ; Pound their bright Armour into dust away . Is there not cause to put the World in mourning ? Tear all your Robes : — he dies that is not naked Down to the wast , all like the Sons of sorrow . Burn all the Spires that seem to kiss the Skie ; Beat down the Battlements of every City : And for the Monument of this lov'd Creature , Root up those Bowers , and pave 'em all with Gold : Draw dry the Ganges , make the Indies poor ; To build her Tomb , no Shrines nor Altars spare , But strip the shining Gods to make it rare . Exit . Cas. Ha! whither now ? follow him , Polipercon . Ex. Pol. I find Cassander's Plot grows full of Death ; Murder is playing her great Master-piece , And the sad Sisters sweat , so fast I urge ' em . O how I hug my self for this Revenge ! My fancy 's great in mischief ; for methinks The night grows darker , and the lab'ring Ghosts , For fear that I should find new Tortures out , Run o're the old with most prodigious swiftness . I see the fatal Fruit betwixt the Teeth , The Sieve brim-full , and the swift Stone stand still . Enter Polipercon . What , does it work ? Pol. Speak softly . Cas. Well . Pol. It does ; I follow'd him , and saw him swiftly walk Toward the Palace ; oft times looking back , With watry eyes , and calling out , Statira . He stumbl'd at the Gate , and fell along ; Nor was he rais'd with ease by his Attendants , But seem'd a greater load then ordinary , As much more as the Dead out-weigh the Living . Cas. Said he nothing ? Pol. When they took him up , He sigh'd , and enter'd with a strange wild look , Embrac'd the Princes round , and said he must Dispatch the business of the world in hast . Enter Philip and Thessalus . Phil. Back , back , all scatter : — with a dreadful shout I heard him cry , I am but a dead man. Thes. The poyson tears him with that height of horrour , That I could pity him . Pol. Peace ; — where shall we meet ? Cas. In Saturn's Field . Methinks I see the frighted Deities , Ramming more bolts in their big-belly'd Clouds , And firing all the Heav'ns to drown his noise . Now we should laugh . — But go , disperse your selves , While each Soul here , that fills his noble Vessel , Swells with the murder , works with ruine o're : And from the dreadfull deed this Glory draws , We kill'd the greatest man that ever was . The Scene draws , Enter Alexander and all his Attendants . Alex. Search there , nay probe me , search my wounded reins ; Pull , draw it out . Lys. We have search'd , but find no hurt . Alex. O I am shot , a forked burning Arrow Sticks cross my shoulders , the sad Venom flies Like Lightning through my flesh , my bloud , my marrow . Lys. This must be Treason . Perd. Wou'd I could but guess . Alex. Ha! what a change of Torments I endure ? A bolt of Ice runs hizzing through my bowels . 'T is sure the arm of Death , give me a Chair ; Cover me , for I freeze , my teeth chatter , And my knees knock together . Perd. Heav'n bless the King ! Alex. Ha! who talks of Heav'n ? I am all Hell , I burn , I burn again . The War grows wondrous hot , hey for the Tygris ; Bear me , Bucephalus , amongst the Billows : O 't is a noble beast ! I would not change him For the best Horse the Sun has in his Stable : For they are hot , their Mangers full of coals , Their Mains are flakes of Lightning , curls of Fire , And their red Tails like Meteors whisk about . Lys. Help all , Eumenes , help , I cannot hold him . Alex. Ha , ha , ha , I shall dye with laughter . Parmenio , Clytus , dost thou see yon fellow ? That ragged Souldier , thar poor tatter'd Greek ? See how he puts to flight the gaudy Persians , With nothing but a rusty Helmet on , through which The grizly bristles of his pushing Beard Drive 'em like Pikes . — Ha , ha , ha . Perd. How wild he talks ? Lys. Yet warring in his wildness . ( come : Alex. Sound , sound , keep your Ranks close , ay now they O the brave dinn , the noble clank of Arms ! Charge , Charge apace , and let the Phalanx move . Darius comes , — ha ! let me in , none dare To cross my fury ; — Philotas is unhors'd ; — Ay , 't is Darius , I see , I know him by the sparkling Plumes , And his Gold Chariot drawn by ten white Horses : But like a Tempest thus I pour upon him . — He bleeds , with that last blow I brought him down ; He tumbles , take him , snatch the Imperial Crown . — They fly , they fly , — follow , follow , — Victoria , Victoria , Victoria , — O let me sleep . Perd. Let 's raise him softly , and bear him to his Bed. Alex. Hold , the least motion gives me sudden death ; My vital Spirits are quite parch'd , burnt up , And all my smoaky Entrails turn'd to ashes . Lys. When you the brightest Star that ever shone : Shall set , it must be night with us for ever . Alex. Let me embrace you all before I dye : Weep not , my dear Companions , the good Gods Shall send you in my stead a nobler Prince , One that shall lead you forth with matchless conduct . Lys. Break not our hearts with such unkind expressions . Perd. We will not part with you , nor change for Mars . Alex. Perdiccas , take this Ring , And see me laid in the Temple of Jupiter Ammon . Lys. To whom does your dread Majesty bequeath The Empire of the World ? Alex. To him that is most worthy . Perd. When will you , sacred Sir , that we should give To your great memory those Divine Honours , Which such exalted Virtue does deserve ? Alex. When you are all most happy , and in peace . Your hands , — O Father , if I have discharg'd ( rises . The duty of a man to Empire born ; If by unwearied toil I have deserv'd The vast renown of thy adopted Son , Accept this Soul , which thou didst first inspire , And with this sigh , thus gives thee back again . ( dyes . Lys. Eumenes , cover the faln Majesty , If there be Treason let us find it out : Lysimachus stands forth to lead you on , And swears by those most honour'd dear Remains , He will not tast the joys which Beauty brings , Till we revenge the greatest , best of Kings .
FINIS .
EPILOGUE to Alexander the Great , WHAT e're they mean , yet ought they to be curst , Who this Censorious Age did polish first : Who the best Play , for one poor Errour blame , As Priests against our Ladies Arts declaim , And for one Patch , both Soul and Body damn . But what does more provoke the Actors rage , ( For we must show the grievance of the Stage ) Is , that our Women who adorn each Play Bred at our cost , become at length your Prey : While green , and sour , likes Trees we bear 'em all , But when they 're mellow straight to you they fall : You watch 'em bare and squab , and let 'em rest ; But with the first young down , you snatch the Nest. Pray leave these poaching tricks , if you are wise , E're we take out our Letters of Reprize . For we have vow'd to find a sort of Toys Known to black Fryars , a Tribe of choopping Boys : If once they come , they 'l quickly spoil your sport ; There 's not one Lady will receive your Court : But for the Youth in Petticoats run wild , With oh the archest Wagg , the sweetest Child . The panting Breasts , white Hands and little Feet No more shall your pall'd thoughts with pleasure meet . The Woman in Boys Cloaths , all Boy shall be , And never raise your thoughts above the Knee . Well , if our Women knew how false you are , They wou'd stay here , and this new trouble spare : Poor Souls , they think all Gospel you relate , Charm'd with the noise of sett'ling an Estate : But when , at last , your Appetites are full , And the tir'd Cupid grows , with action , dull ; You 'l find some trick to cut off the Entail , And send 'em back to us , all worn and stale . Perhaps they 'l find our Stage , while they have rang'd To some vile canting Conventicle , chang'd : Where , for the Sparks who once resorted there With their curl'd Wigs that scented all the Air , They 'l see grave Blockheads with short greasie Hair. Green-Aprons , steeple-Hats , and Collar-Bands ; Dull sniv'ling Rogues that wring , not clap , their Hands : Where , for gay Punks that drew the shining Crowd , And Misses that , in Vizard , laught aloud ; They 'l hear young Sisters sigh , see Matrons old To their chop 't Cheeks their pick'led Kerchers hold ; Whose Zeal too , might perswade , in spight to you , Our flying Angels , to augment their Crew : While Farringdon their Hero struts about 'em , And ne're a damning Critick dares to flout ' em . FINIS .