THE MOURNING BRIDE. A Tragidy -Neque enim lex æquior ulla, Quam necis artifices arte perire sua.-OVID. de Arte Amandi TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, THE PRINCESS. MADAM, That high station which by your birth you hold above the people, exacts from every one, as a duty. whatever honours they are capable of paying to your Royal Highness: but that more exalted place to which your virtues have raised you above the rest of princes, makes the tribute of our admiration and praise rather a choice more immediately preventing that duty. The public gratitu/le is ever founded on a public benefit; and what is universally blessed, is always a universal blessing. Thus from yourself we derive the offerings which we bring; and that incense which arises to your name, only returns to its original, and but naturally requites the parent of its being. From hence it is that this poem, constituted on a moral whose end is to recommend and to encourage virtue, cf consequence has recourse to your Royal Highness's patronage; aspiring to cast itself beneath your feet, and declining approbation, till you shall condescend to own it, and vouchsafe to shine upon it as on a creature of your influence. It is from the example of princes that virtue becomes a fashion in the people; for even they who are averse to instruction will yet be fond of imitation. But there are multitudes who never can have means nor opportunities of so near an access, as to partake of the benefit of such examples. And to these Tragedy, which distinguishes itself from the vulgar poetry by the dignity of its characters, may be of use and information. For they who are at that distance from original greatness as to be deprived of the happiness of contemplating the perfections and real excellences of your Royal Highness's person in your court, may yet behold some small sketches and imagings of the virtues of your mind, abstracted and represented on the theatre. Thus poets are instructed, and instruct; not alone by precepts which persuade, but also by examples which illustrate. Thus is delight interwoven with instruction; when not only virtue is prescribed, but also represented. But if we are delighted with the liveliness of a feigned representation of great and good persons and their actions, how must we be charmed with beholding the persons themselves! If one or two excelling qualities, barely touched in the single action and small compass of a play, can warm an audience, with a concern and regard even for the seeming success and prosperity of the actor: with what zeal must the hearts of all be filled for the continued and increasing happiness of those who are the true and living instances of elevated and persisting virtue! Even the vicious themselves must have a secret veneration for those peculiar graces and endowments which are daily so eminently conspicuous in your Royal Highness; and, though repining, feel a pleasure which, in spite of envy, they perforce approve. If in this piece, humbly offered to your Royal Highness, there shall appear the resemblance of any of those many excellences which you so promiscuously possess, to be drawn so as to merit your least approbation, it has the end and accomplishment of its design. And however imperfect it may be in the whole, through the inexperience or incapacity of the author, yet, if there is so much as to convince your Royal Highness, that a play may be with industry so disposed (in spite of the licentious practice of the modern theatre) as to become sometimes an innocent, and not unprofitable entertainment; it will abundantly gratify the ambition, and recompense the endeavours of your Royal Highness's most obedient, and most humbly devoted servant, WILLIAM CONGREVE PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. BETTERTON. THE time has been when plays were not so plenty, Still they proceed, and, at our charge, write worse; Good wits, forgive this liberty we take, Then freely judge the scenes that shall ensue; L ACT I. SCENE I.-A Room of State in the Palace. The curtain rising slowly to soft music, discovers ALMERIA in mourning, LEONORA waiting in mourning. After the music, ALMERIA rises from her chair and comes forward. Alm. Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. Leon. Dear madam, cease, Or moderate your griefs; there is no causeAlm. No cause! peace, peace; there is eternal cause, And misery eternal will succeed. Thou canst not tell-thou hast indeed no cause. Have softly whisper'd, and inquired his health; Sent in my sighs and prayers for his deliverance; For sighs and prayers were all that I could offer. Alm. Indeed thou hast a soft and gentle nature, That thus couldst melt to see a stranger's wrongs. O Leonora, hadst thou known Anselmo, How would thy heart have bled to see his sufferings! Thou hadst no cause, but general compassion. Leon. Love of my royal mistress gave me cause, My love of you begot my grief for him; For I had heard that when the chance of war Had bless'd Anselmo's arms with victory, And the rich spoil of all the field, and you, The glory of the whole, were made the prey Of his success; that then, in spite of hate, Revenge, and that hereditary feud Between Valentia's and Granada's kings, He did endear himself to your affection, By all the worthy and indulgent ways His most industrious goodness could invent; Proposing by a match between Alphonso His son, the brave Valentia prince, and you, To end the long dissension, and unite The jarring crowns. Alm. Alphonso! O Alphonso! Thou too art quiet-long hast been at peace— Both, both-father and son are now no more. Then why am I? O when shall I have rest? Why do I live to say you are no more? Why are all these things thus ?-Is it of force? Is there necessity I must be miserable? Is it of moment to the peace of heaven That I should be afflicted thus ?-If not, Why is it thus contrived? Why are things laid By some unseen hand so, as of sure consequence, Leon. Alas, you search too far, and think too deeply! Alm. Why was I carried to Anselmo's court? Or there, why was I used so tenderly? Why not ill treated like an enemy? For so my father would have used his child. O Alphonso! Alphonso! Devouring seas have washed thee from my sight, No, I will live to be thy monument; But in my heart thou art interr'd; there, there, My love, my lord, my husband still, though lost. Alm. Know'st nothing of my sorrows.-If thou didst-If I should tell thee, wouldst thou pity me? Tell me; I know thou wouldst, thou art compassionate. O no, thou know'st not half, Leon. Witness these tears! Alm. I thank thee, Leonora, Indeed I do, for pitying thy sad mistress; For 'tis, alas! the poor prerogative Of greatness, to be wretched and unpitied. But I did promise I would tell thee-what? My miseries? thou dost already know 'em ; And when I told thee thou didst nothing know, It was because thou didst not know Alphonso: For to have known my loss, thou must have known His worth, his truth, and tenderness of love. Leon. The memory of that brave prince stands fair In all report And I have heard imperfectly his loss ! But fearful to renew your troubles past, I never did presume to ask the story. Alm. If for my swelling heart I can, I'll tell thee. I was a welcome captive in Valentia, Led on his conquering troops, high as the gates And bulging 'gainst a rock was lash'd in pieces! join'd. For when my lord reheld the ship pursuing, I might be his beyond the power of fate : And grant that time may bring her so ne relief. flight; They shake their downy wings, and scat er all Leon. Hark! The distant shouts proclaim your father' triumph. [Shouts at a distance. O cease, for heaven's sake, assuage a litt e Alm. And joy he brings to every other heart, I must be sacrificed, and all the vows I gave my dear Alphonso basely broken. No, it shall never be; for I will die; First, die ten thousand deaths!-Look down, look Alphonso, hear the sacred vow I make; If ever I do yield, or give consent, yours. Alm. I thank thee. 'Tis but this; anon, when all Are wrapp'd and busied in the general joy, Thou wilt withdraw, and privately with me Steal forth, to visit good Anselmo's tomb. Leon. Alas! I fear some fatal resolution. Alm. No, on my life, my faith, I mean no ill, Nor violence. I feel myself more light, And more at large, since I have made this vow. Perhaps I would repeat it there more solemnly. 'Tis that, or some such melancholy thought, Upon my word, no more. Leon. I will attend you. GONSALEZ, ALMERIA, and LEONORA, Gon. Be every day of your long life like this! The sun, bright conquest, and your brighter eyes, Have all conspired to blaze promiscuous light, And bless this day with most unequall'd lustre. Your royal father, my victorious lord, Loaden with spoils, and ever-living laurel, Is entering now in martial pomp the palace. Five hundred mules precede his solemn march, Which groan beneath the weight of Moorish wealth. Chariots of war, adorn'd with glittering gems Succeed; and next, a hundred neighing steeds, White as the fleecy rain on Alpine hills, That bound and foam, and champ the golden bit, As they disdain'd the victory they grace. Prisoners of war in shining fetters tollow; And captains, of the noblest blood of Afric, Sweat by his chariot wheel, and lick and grind, With gnashing teeth, the dust his triumphs raise. The swarming populace spread every wall, And cling, as if with claws they did enforce Their hold through clifted stones, stretching and As if they were all eyes, and every limb [staring, Would feed its faculty of admiration : While you alone retire, and shun this sight; This sight, which is indeed not seen (though twice The multitude should gaze) in absence of your eyes. Alm. My lord, my eyes ungratefully behold The gilded trophies of exterior honours. Nor will my ears be charm'd with sounding words, Or pompous phrase; the pageantry of souls. But that my father is return'd in safety, I bend to Heaven with thanks. Gon. Excellent princess! But 'tis a task unfit for my weak age, With dying words, to offer at your praise. Garcia, my son, your beauty's lowest slave, Has better done, in proving with his sword The force and influence of your matchless charms. Alm. I doubt not of the worth of Garcia's deeds, Which had been brave, though I had ne'er besa born. Leon. Madam, the king. Furish My women. I would meet him, [Attendants to ALMERIA enter in mourning. SCENE IV. Symphony of warlike music. Enter MANUEL, attended by GARCIA and several Officers. Files of Prisoners in chains, and Guards, who are ranged in order round the stage. ALMERIA meets MANUEL, and kneels; afterwards GONSALEZ kneels, and kisses MANUEL'S hand, while GARCIA does the same to ALMERIA. Man. Almeria, rise!-My best Gonsalez, rise! What, tears! my good old friend ! Gon. Take it for thanks, old man, that I rejoice Man. Your zeal to Heaven is great, so is your Yet something too is due to me, who gave [debt: That life which Heaven preserved. A day bestow'd In filial duty, had atoned and given A dispensation to your vow-No more. Man. I tell thee she's to blame not to have feasted heaven, There's not a slave, a shackled slave of mine, But should have smiled that hour, through all his care, And shook his chains in transport and rude harmony! Gon. What she has done was in excess of goodness; Lay'd by too much piety, to seem Man. To seem is to commit, at this conjuncture. The violation of your vow: for you, It shall be your excuse, that I command it. ་ Gar. [Kneeling.] Your pardon, sir, if I presume so far, to remind you of your gracious promise. Man. Rise, Garcia-I forgot. Yet stay, Almeria. Alm. My boding heart!-What is your pleasure, sir? Man. Draw near, and give your hand; and, Receive this lord, as one whom I have found Gar. Thus let me kneel to take - O not to take- Gon. O let me prostrate pay my worthless thanks Man. No more; my promise long since pass'd, thy services, And Garcia's well-tried valour, all oblige me. Alm. Oh! [Faints. MANUEL, GONsalez, Garcia, ALONZO, and Attendants. Alon. Your beauteous captive, Zara, is arrived, And with a train as in she still were wife To Abucacim, and the Moor had conquer'd. Man. It is our will she should be so attended. Bear hence these prisoners. Garcia, which is he, Of whose mute valour you relate such wonders ? [Prisoners led off. Gar. Osmyn, who led the Moorish horse; but he, Great sir, at her request, attends on Zara. Man. He is your prisoner; as you please dispose him. Gar. I would oblige him, but he shuns my kindness; And with a haughty mien, and stern civility, At least, to talk where he must not command. Man. That, join'd with his behaviour, Begets a doubt. I'd have 'em watched; perhaps Her chains hang heavier on him than his own. SCENE VI. MANUEL, GONSALEZ, GARCIA, ALONZO, ZARA and OSMYN bound, conducted by PEREZ and a Guard, and attended by SELIM and several Mutes and Eunuchs in a train. Man. What welcome and what honours, beauteous Zara, A king and conqueror (ar give, are yours. I might be pleased, when I behold this train Per. Great sir, Your order was, she should not wait your triumph; But at some distance follow, thus attended. Man. 'Tis false ! 'twas more; I bid she should be free: If not in words, I bid it by my eyes. Her eyes did more than bid.-Free her and hers Zara. Such favours so conferr'd, though when unsought, Deserve acknowledgment from noble minds. Man. Born to excel, and to command! Garcia, what's he, who with contracted brow [Beholding OSMYN as they unbind him. And sullen port, glooms downward with his eyes; At once regardless of his chains, or liberty? Gar. That, sir, is he of whom I spoke; that's Osmyn. Man. He answers well the character you gave him Whence comes it, valiant Osmyn, that a man So great in arms, as thou art said to be, So hardly can endure captivity, The common chance of war? Osm. Because captivity Has robb'd me of a dear and just revenge. I would not have you. |