SCENE II.

_The_ GOVERNOR'S _Palace_.

_Enter_ ARTEMIA, SAPRITIUS, THEOPHILUS, _and_ HARPAX.

_Artem._ Sapritius, though your son deserve no pity, We grieve his sickness: his contempt of us We cast behind us, and look back upon His service done to Cæsar, that weighs down Our just displeasure. If his malady Have growth from his restraint, or that you think His liberty can cure him, let him have it: Say, we forgive him freely.

_Sap._ Your grace binds us Ever your humblest vassals.

_Artem._ Use all means For his recovery; though yet I love him, I will not force affection. If the Christian, Whose beauty hath out-rivall'd me, be won To be of our belief, then let him wed her; That all may know, when the cause wills, I can Command my own affections.

_Theoph._ Be happy then, My lord Sapritius: I am confident, Such eloquence and sweet persuasion dwell Upon my daughters' tongues, that they will work her To any thing they please.

_Sap._ I wish they may! Yet 'tis no easy task to undertake, To alter a perverse and obstinate woman. [_A shout within: loud music._

_Artem._ What means this shout?

_Sap._ It is seconded with music, Triumphant music.--Ha!

_Enter_ SEMPRONIUS.

_Semp._ My lord, your daughters, The pillars of our faith[45], having converted, For so report gives out, the Christian lady, The image of great Jupiter born before them, Sue for access.

_Theoph._ My soul divined as much. Blest be the time when first they saw this light! Their mother, when she bore them to support My feeble age, fill'd not my longing heart With so much joy, as they in this good work Have thrown upon me.

_Enter priest with the Image of Jupiter, incense and censers: followed by_ CALISTA _and_ CHRISTETA, _leading_ DOROTHEA.

Welcome, oh, thrice welcome, Daughters, both of my body and my mind! Let me embrace in you my bliss, my comfort; And, Dorothea, now more welcome too, Than if you never had fallen off! I am ravish'd With the excess of joy:--speak, happy daughters, The blest event.

_Cal._ We never gain'd so much By any undertaking.

_Theoph._ O my dear girl, Our gods reward thee!

_Dor._ Nor was ever time, On my part, better spent.

_Christ._ We are all now Of one opinion.

_Theoph._ My best Christeta! Madam, if ever you did grace to worth, Vouchsafe your princely hands.

_Artem._ Most willingly---- Do you refuse it?

_Cal._ Let us first deserve it.

_Theoph._ My own child still! here set our god; prepare The incense quickly: Come, fair Dorothea, I will myself support you;--now kneel down, And pay your vows to Jupiter.

_Dor._ I shall do it Better by their example.

_Theoph._ They shall guide you; They are familiar with the sacrifice. Forward, my twins of comfort, and, to teach her, Make a joint offering.

_Christ._ Thus---- [_they both spit at the image._

_Cal._ And thus---- [_throw it down, and spurn it._

_Harp._ Profane, And impious! stand you now like a statue? Are you the champion of the gods? where is Your holy zeal, your anger?

_Theoph._ I am blasted; And, as my feet were rooted here, I find I have no motion; I would I had no sight too! Or if my eyes can serve to any use, Give me, thou injured power! a sea of tears, To expiate this madness in my daughters; For, being themselves, they would have trembled at So blasphemous a deed in any other:---- For my sake, hold awhile thy dreadful thunder, And give me patience to demand a reason For this accursed act.

_Dor._ 'Twas bravely done.

_Theoph._ Peace, damn'd enchantress, peace!--I should look on you With eyes made red with fury, and my hand, That shakes with rage, should much outstrip my tongue, And seal my vengeance on your hearts;--but nature, To you that have fallen once, bids me again To be a father. Oh! how durst you tempt The anger of great Jove?

_Dor._ Alack, poor Jove! He is no swaggerer; how still he stands! He'll take a kick, or any thing.

_Sap._ Stop her mouth.

_Dor._ It is the patient'st godling! do not fear him; He would not hurt the thief that stole away Two of his golden locks; indeed he could not: And still 'tis the same quiet thing.

_Theoph._ Blasphemer! Ingenious cruelty shall punish this: Thou art past hope: but for you yet, dear daughters, Again bewitch'd, the dew of mild forgiveness May gently fall, provided you deserve it, With true contrition: be yourselves again; Sue to the offended deity.

_Christ._ Not to be The mistress of the earth.

_Cal._ I will not offer A grain of incense to it, much less kneel, Nor look on it but with contempt and scorn, To have a thousand years conferr'd upon me Of worldly blessings. We profess ourselves To be, like Dorothea, Christians; And owe her for that happiness.

_Theoph._ My ears Receive, in hearing this, all deadly charms, Powerful to make man wretched.

_Artem._ Are these they You bragg'd could convert others!

_Sap._ That want strength To stand themselves!

_Harp._ Your honour is engaged, The credit of your cause depends upon it; Something you must do suddenly.

_Theoph._ And I will.

_Harp._ They merit death; but, falling by your hand, 'Twill be recorded for a just revenge, And holy fury in you.

_Theoph._ Do not blow The furnace of a wrath thrice hot already; Ætna is in my breast, wildfire burns here, Which only blood must quench. Incensed Power! Which from my infancy I have adored, Look down with favourable beams upon The sacrifice, though not allow'd thy priest, Which I will offer to thee; and be pleased, My fiery zeal inciting me to act, To call that justice others may style murder. Come, you accursed, thus by the hair I drag you Before this holy altar; thus look on you, Less pitiful than tigers to their prey: And thus, with mine own hand, I take that life Which I gave to you. [_Kills them._

_Dor._ O most cruel butcher!

_Theoph._ My anger ends not here: hell's dreadful porter, Receive into thy ever-open gates Their damned souls, and let the Furies' whips On them alone be wasted; and, when death Closes these eyes, 'twill be Elysium to me To hear their shrieks and howlings. Make me, Pluto, Thy instrument to furnish thee with souls Of that accursed sect; nor let me fall, Till my fell vengeance hath consumed them all. [_Exit, with_ HARPAX.

_Artem._ 'Tis a brave zeal.

_Enter_ ANGELO, _smiling_.

_Dor._ Oh, call him back again, Call back your hangman! here's one prisoner left To be the subject of his knife.

_Artem._ Not so; We are not so near reconciled unto thee; Thou shalt not perish such an easy way. Be she your charge, Sapritius, now; and suffer None to come near her, till we have found out Some torments worthy of her.

_Ang._ Courage, mistress; These martyrs but prepare your glorious fate: You shall exceed them, and not imitate. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTE:

[45] _The pillars of our_ faith, &c.] Here, as in many other places, the language of Christianity and paganism is confounded: _faith_ was always the distinctive term for the former, in opposition to heathenism.--GIFFORD.