Chapter 50

MONTEZUMA, _Indian High Priest, bound_; PIZARRO, _Spaniards with swords drawn, a Christian Priest_.

_Piz_. Thou hast not yet discovered all thy store.

_Mont_. I neither can nor will discover more; The gods will punish you, if they be just; The gods will plague your sacrilegious lust.

_Chr. Priest_. Mark how this impious heathen justifies His own false gods, and our true God denies: How wickedly he has refused his wealth, And hid his gold, from christian hands, by stealth: Down with him, kill him, merit heaven thereby.

_Ind. High Pr_. Can heaven be author of such cruelty?

_Piz_. Since neither threats nor kindness will prevail, We must by other means your minds assail; Fasten the engines; stretch 'em at their length, And pull the straitened cords with all your strength. [_They fasten them to the rack, and then pull them_.

_Mont_. The gods, who made me once a king, shall know, I still am worthy to continue so: Though now the subject of your tyranny, I'll plague you worse than you can punish me. Know, I have gold, which you shall never find; No pains, no tortures, shall unlock my mind.

_Chr. Pr_. Pull harder yet; he does not feel the rack.

_Mont_. Pull 'till my veins break, and my sinews crack.

_Ind. High Pr_. When will you end your barbarous cruelty? I beg not to escape, I beg to die.

_Mont_. Shame on thy priesthood, that such prayers can bring! Is it not brave, to suffer with thy king? When monarchs suffer, gods themselves bear part; Then well mayest thou, who but my vassal art: I charge thee, dare not groan, nor shew one sign; Thou at thy torments dost the least repine.

_Ind. High Pr_. You took an oath, when you received the crown, The heavens should pour their usual blessings down; The sun should shine, the earth its fruits produce, And nought be wanting to your subjects' use: Yet we with famine were opprest, and now Must to the yoke of cruel masters bow.

_Mont_. If those above, who made the world, could be Forgetful of it, why then blamest thou me?

_Chr. Pr_, Those pains, O prince, thou sufferest now, are light Compared to those, which, when thy soul takes flight, Immortal, endless, thou must then endure, Which death begins, and time can never cure.

_Mont_. Thou art deceived; for whensoe'er I die, The Sun, my father, bears my soul on high: He lets me down a beam, and mounted there, He draws it back, and pulls me through the air: I in the eastern parts, and rising sky, You in heaven's downfal, and the west must lie.

_Chr. Pr_. Fond man, by heathen ignorance misled, Thy soul destroying when thy body's dead: Change yet thy faith, and buy eternal rest.

_Ind. High Pr_. Die in your own, for our belief is best.

_Mont_. In seeking happiness you both agree, But in the search, the paths so different be, That all religions with each other fight, While only one can lead us in the right. But till that one hath some more certain mark, Poor human kind must wander in the dark; And suffer pain eternally below, For that, which here we cannot come to know.

_Chr. Pr_. That, which we worship, and which you believe, From nature's common hand we both receive: All, under various names, adore and love One Power immense, which ever rules above. Vice to abhor, and virtue to pursue, Is both believed and taught by us and you: But here our worship takes another way--

_Mont_. Where both agree, 'tis there most safe to stay: For what's more vain than public light to shun, And set up tapers, while we see the sun?

_Chr. Pr_. Though nature teaches whom we should adore, By heavenly beams we still discover more.

_Mont_. Or this must be enough, or to mankind One equal way to bliss is not designed; For though some more may know, and some know less, Yet all must know enough for happiness.

_Chr. Pr_. If in this middle way you still pretend To stay, your journey never will have end.

_Mont_. Howe'er, 'tis better in the midst to stay, Than wander farther in uncertain way.

_Chr. Pr_. But we by martyrdom our faith avow.

_Mont_. You do no more than I for ours do now. To prove religion true-- If either wit or sufferings would suffice, All faiths afford the constant and the wise: And yet even they, by education swayed, In age defend what infancy obeyed.

_Chr. Pr_. Since age by erring childhood is misled, Refer yourself to our unerring head.

_Mont_. Man, and not err! what reason can you give?

_Chr. Pr_. Renounce that carnal reason, and believe.

_Mont_. The light of nature should I thus betray, 'Twere to wink hard, that I might see the day.

_Chr. Pr_. Condemn not yet the way you do not know; I'll make your reason judge what way to go.

_Mont_. 'Tis much too late for me new ways to take, Who have but one short step of life to make.

_Piz_. Increase their pains, the cords are yet too slack.

_Chr. Pr_. I must by force convert him on the rack.

_Ind. High Pr_. I faint away, and find I can no more: Give leave, O king, I may reveal thy store, And free myself from pains, I cannot bear.

_Mont_. Think'st thou I lie on beds of roses here, Or in a wanton bath stretched at my ease? Die, slave, and with thee die such thoughts as these. [_High Priest turns aside, and dies_.

_Enter_ CORTEZ _attended by Spaniards, he speaks entering_.

_Cort_. On pain of death, kill none but those who fight; I much repent me of this bloody night: Slaughter grows murder when it goes too far, And makes a massacre what was a war: Sheath all your weapons, and in silence move, 'Tis sacred here to beauty, and to love. Ha--[_Sees_ MONT. What dismal sight is this, which takes from me All the delight, that waits on victory! [_Runs to take him off the rack_. Make haste: How now, religion, do you frown? Haste, holy avarice, and help him down. Ah, father, father, what do I endure [_Embracing_ MONT. To see these wounds my pity cannot cure!

_Mont_. Am I so low that you should pity bring, And give an infant's comfort to a king? Ask these, if I have once unmanly groaned; Or aught have done deserving to be moaned.

_Cort_. Did I not charge, thou shouldst not stir from hence? [_To_ Piz. But martial law shall punish thy offence. And you, [_To the Christian Priest_. Who saucily teach monarchs to obey, And the wide world in narrow cloisters sway; Set up by kings as humble aids of power, You that which bred you, viper-like, devour, You enemies of crowns--

_Chr. Pr_. Come, let's away, We but provoke his fury by our stay.

_Cort_. If this go free, farewell that discipline, Which did in Spanish camps severely shine: Accursed gold, 'tis thou hast caused these crimes; Thou turn'st our steel against thy parent climes! And into Spain wilt fatally be brought, Since with the price of blood thou here art bought.

[_Exeunt Priest and_ PIZARRO. [CORTEZ _kneels by_ MONTEZUMA, _and weeps_.

_Cort_. Can you forget those crimes they did commit?

_Mont_. I'll do what for my dignity is fit: Rise, sir, I'm satisfied the fault was theirs: Trust me, you make me weep to see your tears: Must I chear you?

_Cort_. Ah heavens!

_Mont_. You're much to blame; Your grief is cruel, for it shows my shame, Does my lost crown to my remembrance bring: But weep not you, and I'll be still a king. You have forgot, that I your death designed, To satisfy the proud Almeria's mind: You, who preserved my life, I doomed to die.

_Cort_. Your love did that, and not your cruelty.

_Enter a Spaniard_.

_Span_. Prince Guyomar the combat still maintains, Our men retreat, and he their ground regains: But once encouraged by our general's sight, We boldly should renew the doubtful fight.

_Cort_. Remove not hence, you shall not long attend; [_To_ MONTEZUMA. I'll aid my soldiers, yet preserve my friend.

_Mont_. Excellent man! [_Exeunt_ CORTEZ, &c. But I, by living, poorly take the way To injure goodness, which I cannot pay.

_Enter_ ALMERIA.

_Alm_. Ruin and death run armed through every street; And yet that fate, I seek, I cannot meet: What guards misfortunes are and misery! Death, that strikes all, yet seems afraid of me.

_Mont_. Almeria here! Oh turn away your face! Must you be witness too of my disgrace?

_Alm_. I am not that Almeria whom you knew, But want that pity I denied to you: Your conqueror, alas, has vanquished me; But he refuses his own victory: While all are captives in your conquered state, I find a wretched freedom in his hate.

_Mont_. Couldst thou thy love on one who scorned thee lose? He saw not with my eyes, who could refuse: Him, who could prove so much unkind to thee, I ne'er will suffer to be kind to me.

_Alm_. I am content in death to share your fate; And die for him I love, with him I hate.

_Mont_. What shall I do in this perplexing strait! My tortured limbs refuse to bear my weight: [_Endeavouring to walk, not being able_. I cannot go to death to set me free; Death must be kind, and come himself to me.

_Alm_. I've thought upon't: I have affairs below, [ALM. _musing_. Which I must needs despatch before I go: Sir, I have found a place where you may be, [_To him_. (Though not preserved) yet, like a king, die free; The general left your daughter in the tower, We may a while resist the Spaniards' power, If Guyomar prevail.

_Mont_. Make haste and call; She'll hear your voice, and answer from the wall.

_Alm_. My voice she knows and fears, but use your own; And, to gain entrance, feign you are alone. [ALM. _steps behind_.

_Mont_. Cydaria!

_Alm_. Louder.

_Mont_. Daughter!

_Alm_. Louder yet.

_Mont_. Thou canst not, sure, thy father's voice forget.

[_He knocks at the door, at last_ CYDARIA _looks over the balcony_.

_Cyd_. Since my love went, I have been frighted so, With dismal groans, and noises from below; I durst not send my eyes abroad, for fear Of seeing dangers, which I yet but hear.

_Mont_. Cydaria!

_Cyd_. Sure, 'tis my father calls.

_Mont_. Dear child, make haste; All hope of succour, but from thee, is past: As when, upon the sands, the traveller Sees the high sea come rolling from afar, The land grow short, he mends his weary pace, While death behind him covers all the place: So I, by swift misfortunes, am pursued, Which on each other are, like waves, renewed.

_Cyd_. Are you alone?

_Mont_. I am.

_Cyd_. I'll strait descend; Heaven did you here for both our safeties send.

[CYDARIA _descends and opens the door_, ALMERIA _rushes betwixt with_ MONTEZUMA.

_Cyd_. Almeria here! then I am lost again. [_Both thrust_.

_Alm_. Yield to my strength, you struggle but in vain. Make haste and shut, our enemies appear.

[CORTEZ _and Spaniards appear at the other end_.

_Cyd_. Then do you enter, and let me stay here.

[_As she speaks,_ ALMERIA _overpowers her, thrusts her in, and shuts_.

_Cort_. Sure I both heard her voice and saw her face: She's like a vision vanished from the place. Too late I find my absence was too long; My hopes grow sickly, and my fears grow strong.

[_He knocks a little, then_ MONTEZUMA, CYDARIA, _and_ ALMERIA, _appear above_.

_Alm_. Look up, look up, and see if you can know Those, whom in vain you think to find below.

_Cyd_. Look up, and see Cydaria's lost estate.

_Mont_. And cast one look on Montezuma's fate.

_Cort_. Speak not such dismal words as wound my ear; Nor name death to me, when Cydaria's there. Despair not, sir; who knows but conquering Spain May part of what you lost restore again?

_Mont_. No, Spaniard; know, he who, to empire born, Lives to be less, deserves the victor's scorn: Kings and their crowns have but one destiny: Power is their life; when that expires, they die.

_Cyd_. What dreadful words are these!

_Mont_. Name life no more; 'Tis now a torture worse than all I bore; I'll not be bribed to suffer life, but die, In spite of your mistaken clemency. I was your slave, and I was used like one; The shame continues when the pain is gone: But I'm a king while this is in my hand--[_His sword_. He wants no subjects, who can death command: You should have tied him up, t'have conquered me; But he's still mine, and thus he sets me free. [_Stabs himself_.

_Cyd_. Oh, my dear father!

_Alm_. When that is forced, there yet remain two more. [_The Soldiers break open the first door, and go in_. We shall have time enough to take our way, Ere any can our fatal journey stay.

_Mont_. Already mine is past: O powers divine, Take my last thanks: no longer I repine; I might have lived my own mishap to mourn, While some would pity me, but more would scorn! For pity only on fresh objects stays, But with the tedious sight of woes decays. Still less and less my boiling spirits flow; And I grow stiff, as cooling metals do. Farewell, Almeria. [_Dies_.

_Cyd_. He's gone, he's gone, And leaves poor me defenceless here alone.

_Alm_. You shall not long be so: Prepare to die, That you may bear your father company.

_Cyd_. O name not death to me! you fright me so, That with the fear I shall prevent the blow: I know, your mercy's more than to destroy A thing so young, so innocent as I.

_Cort_. Whence can proceed thy cruel thirst of blood, Ah, barbarous woman? Woman! that's too good, Too mild for thee: There's pity in that name, But thou hast lost thy pity with thy shame.

_Alm_. Your cruel words have pierced me to the heart; But on my rival I'll revenge my smart.

_Cort_. Oh stay your hand; and, to redeem my fault, I'll speak the kindest words-- That tongue e'er uttered, or that heart e'er thought. Dear--lovely--sweet--

_Alm_. This but offends me more; You act your kindness on Cydaria's score.

_Cyd_. For his dear sake let me my life receive.

_Alm_. Fool, for his sake alone you must not live: Revenge is now my joy; he's not for me, And I'll make sure he ne'er shall be for thee.

_Cyd_. But what's my crime?

_Alm_. 'Tis loving where I love.

_Cyd_. Your own example does my act approve.

_Alm_. 'Tis such a fault I never can forgive.

_Cyd_. How can I mend, unless you let me live? I yet am tender, young, and full of fear, And dare not die, but fain would tarry here.

_Cort_. If blood you seek, I will my own resign: O spare her life, and in exchange take mine!

_Alm_. The love you shew but hastes her death the more.

_Cort_. I'll run, and help to force the inner door. [_Is going in haste_.

_Alm_. Stay, Spaniard, stay; depart not from my eyes: That moment that I lose your sight, she dies. To look on you, I'll grant a short reprieve.

_Cort_. O make your gift more full, and let her live! I dare not go; and yet how dare I stay!-- Her I would save, I murder either way.

_Cyd_. Can you be so hard-hearted to destroy My ripening hopes, that are so near to joy? I just approach to all I would possess: Death only stands 'twixt me and happiness.

_Alm_. Your father, with his life, has lost his throne: Your country's freedom and renown is gone. Honour requires your death; you must obey.

_Cyd_. Do you die first, and shew me then the way.

_Alm_. Should you not follow, my revenge were lost.

_Cyd_. Then rise again, and fright me with your ghost.

_Alm_. I will not trust to that; since death I chuse, I'll not leave you that life which I refuse: If death's a pain, it is not less to me; And if 'tis nothing, 'tis no more to thee. But hark! the noise increases from behind; They're near, and may prevent what I designed; Take there a rival's gift. [_Stabs her_.

_Cort_. Perdition seize thee for so black a deed.

_Alm_. Blame not an act, which did from love proceed: I'll thus revenge thee with this fatal blow; [_Stabs herself_. Stand fair, and let my heart-blood on thee flow.

_Cyd_. Stay, life, and keep me in the cheerful light! Death is too black, and dwells in too much night. Thou leav'st me, life, but love supplies thy part, And keeps me warm, by lingering in my heart: Yet dying for him, I thy claim remove; How dear it costs to conquer in my love! Now strike: That thought, I hope, will arm my breast.

_Alm_. Ah, with what differing passions am I prest!

_Cyd_. Death, when far off, did terrible appear; But looks less dreadful as he comes more near.

_Alm_. O rival, I have lost the power to kill; Strength hath forsook my arm, and rage my will: I must surmount that love which thou hast shown; Dying for him is due to me alone. Thy weakness shall not boast the victory, Now thou shalt live, and dead I'll conquer thee: Soldiers, assist me down.

[_Exeunt from above, led by Soldiers, and enter both, led by_ CORTEZ.

_Cort_. Is there no danger then? [_To_ CYDARIA.

_Cyd_. You need not fear My wound; I cannot die when you are near.

_Cort_. You, for my sake, life to Cydaria give; [_To_ ALM. And I could die for you, if you might live.

_Alm_. Enough, I die content, now you are kind; Killed in my limbs, reviving in my mind: Come near, Cydaria, and forgive my crime. [CYDARIA _starts back_. You need not fear my rage a second time: I'll bathe your wounds in tears for my offence. That hand, which made it, makes this recompence. [_Ready to join their hands_. I would have joined you, but my heart's too high: You will, too soon, possess him when I die.

_Cort_. She faints; O softly set her down.

_Alm_. 'Tis past! In thy loved bosom let me breathe my last. Here, in this one short moment that I live, I have whate'er the longest life could give. [_Dies_.

_Cort_. Farewell, thou generous maid: Even victory, Glad as it is, must lend some tears to thee; Many I dare not shed, lest you believe [_To_ CYD. I joy in you less than for her I grieve.

_Cyd_. But are you sure she's dead? I must embrace you fast, before I know, Whether my life be yet secure, or no: Some other hour I will to tears allow, But, having you, can shew no sorrow now.

_Enter_ GUYOMAR _and_ ALIBECH _bound, with Soldiers_.

_Cort_. Prince Guyomar in bonds! O friendship's shame! It makes me blush to own a victor's name. [_Unbinds him,_ CYDARIA, ALIBECH.

_Cyd_. See, Alibech, Almeria lies there; But do not think 'twas I that murdered her.

[ALIBECH _kneels, and kisses her dead sister_.

_Cort_. Live, and enjoy more than your conqueror: [_To_ GUYOMAR. Take all my love, and share in all my power.

_Guy_. Think me not proudly rude, if I forsake Those gifts I cannot with my honour take: I for my country fought, and would again, Had I yet left a country to maintain: But since the gods decreed it otherwise, I never will on its dear ruins rise.

_Alib_. Of all your goodness leaves to our dispose, Our liberty's the only gift we chuse: Absence alone can make our sorrows less; And not to see what we can ne'er redress.

_Guy_. Northward, beyond the mountains, we will go, Where rocks lie covered with eternal snow, Thin herbage in the plains and fruitless fields, The sand no gold, the mine no silver yields: There love and freedom we'll in peace enjoy; No Spaniards will that colony destroy. We to ourselves will all our wishes grant; And, nothing coveting, can nothing want.

_Cort_. First your great father's funeral pomp provide: That done, in peace your generous exiles guide; While I loud thanks pay to the powers above, Thus doubly blest, with conquest, and with love. [_Exeunt_.

EPILOGUE

BY A MERCURY.

To all and singular in this full meeting, Ladies and gallants, Phoebus sends ye greeting. To all his sons, by whate'er title known, Whether of court, or coffee-house, or town; From his most mighty sons, whose confidence Is placed in lofty sound, and humble sense, Even to his little infants of the time, Who write new songs, and trust in tune and rhyme: Be't known, that Phoebus (being daily grieved To see good plays condemned, and bad received) Ordains, your judgment upon every cause, Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws. He first thinks fit no sonnetteer advance His censure, farther than the song or dance. Your wit burlesque may one step higher climb, And in his sphere may judge all doggrel rhyme: All proves, and moves, and loves, and honours too; All that appears high sense, and scarce is low. As for the coffee-wits, he says not much; Their proper business is to damn the Dutch: For the great dons of wit-- Phoebus gives them full privilege alone, To damn all others, and cry up their own. Last, for the ladies, 'tis Apollo's will, They should have power to save, but not to kill: For love and he long since have thought it fit, Wit live by beauty, beauty reign by wit.

SECRET LOVE; OR, THE MAIDEN QUEEN.

_Vitiis nemo sine nascitur; optimus ille Qui minimis urgetur_. HORAT.

THE MAIDEN QUEEN

The Maiden Queen is said, by Langbaine, to be founded upon certain passages in "The Grand Cyrus," and in "Ibrahim, the illustrious Bassa." Few readers will probably take the trouble of consulting these huge volumes, for the purpose of ascertaining the truth of this charge. Even our duty, as editors, cannot impel us to the task; satisfied, as we are, that, since these ponderous folios at that time loaded every toilette, Dryden can hardly have taken more from such well-known sources, than the mere outline of the story. Indeed, to a certain degree, the foundation of the plot, upon a story in the "Cyrus," is admitted by the author. The character of the queen is admirably drawn, and the catastrophe is brought very artfully forward; the uncertainty, as to her final decision, continuing till the last moment. In this, as in all our author's plays, some passages of beautiful poetry occur in the dialogue; as, for example, the scene in act 3d betwixt Philocles and Candiope. The characters, excepting that of the Maiden Queen herself, are lame and uninteresting. Philocles, in particular, has neither enough of love to make him despise ambition, nor enough of ambition to make him break the fetters of love. We might have admired him, had he been constant; or sympathised with him, had he sinned against his affections, and repented; but there is nothing interesting in the vacillations of his indecision. The comic part of the play contains much of what was thought wit in the reign of Charles II.; for marriage is railed against, and a male and female rake join in extolling the pleasures of a single life, even while the usage of the theatre compels them, at length, to put on the matrimonial chains. It is surprising, that no venturous author, in that gay age, concluded, by making such a couple happy in their own way. The novelty of such a catastrophe would have insured its success; and, unlike to the termination of the loves of Celadon and Florimel, it would have been strictly in character.

The Maiden Queen was first acted in 1667; and printed, as the poet has informed us, by the command of Charles himself, who graced it with the title of HIS play. Dryden mentions the excellence of the acting, so it was probably received very favourably.

PREFACE

It has been the ordinary practice of the French poets, to dedicate their works of this nature to their king; especially when they have had the least encouragement to it, by his approbation of them on the stage. But, I confess, I want the confidence to follow their example, though, perhaps, I have as specious pretences to it, for this piece, as any they can boast of; it having been owned in so particular a manner by his majesty, that he has graced it with the title of his play, and thereby rescued it from the severity (that I may not say malice) of its enemies. But though a character so high and undeserved has not raised in me the presumption to offer such a trifle to his most serious view, yet I will own the vanity to say, that after this glory which it has received from a sovereign prince, I could not send it to seek protection from any subject. Be this poem, then, sacred to him, without the tedious form of a dedication, and without presuming to interrupt those hours which he is daily giving to the peace and settlement of his people.

For what else concerns this play, I would tell the reader, that it is regular, according to the strictest of dramatic laws; but that it is a commendation which many of our poets now despise, and a beauty which our common audiences do not easily discern. Neither indeed do I value myself upon it; because, with all that symmetry of parts, it may want an air and spirit (which consists in the writing) to set it off. 'Tis a question variously disputed, whether an author may be allowed as a competent judge of his own works. As to the fabric and contrivance of them, certainly he may; for that is properly the employment of the judgment; which, as a master-builder, he may determine, and that without deception, whether the work be according to the exactness of the model; still granting him to have a perfect idea of that pattern by which he works, and that he keeps himself always constant to the discourse of his judgment, without admitting self-love, which is the false surveyor of his fancy, to intermeddle in it. These qualifications granted (being such as all sound poets are presupposed to have within them), I think all writers, of what kind soever, may infallibly judge of the frame and contexture of their works. But for the ornament of writing, which is greater, more various, and _bizarre_ in poesy than in any other kind, as it is properly the child of fancy; so it can receive no measure, or at least but a very imperfect one, of its own excellences or failures from the judgment. Self-love (which enters but rarely into the offices of the judgment) here predominates; and fancy (if I may so speak), judging of itself, can be no more certain, or demonstrative of its own effects, than two crooked lines can be the adequate measure of each other. What I have said on this subject may, perhaps, give me some credit with my readers, in my opinion of this play, which I have ever valued above the rest of my follies of this kind; yet not thereby in the least dissenting from their judgment, who have concluded the writing of this to be much inferior to my "Indian Emperor." But the argument of that was much more noble, not having the allay of comedy to depress it; yet if this be more perfect, either in its kind, or in the general notion of a play, it is as much as I desire to have granted for the vindication of my opinion, and what as nearly touches me, the sentence of a royal judge. Many have imagined the character of Philocles to be faulty; some for not discovering the queen's love, others for his joining in her restraint: But though I am not of their number, who obstinately defend what they have once said, I may, with modesty, take up those answers which have been made for me by my friends; namely, that Philocles, who was but a gentleman of ordinary birth, had no reason to guess so soon at the queen's passion; she being a person so much above him, and, by the suffrages of all her people, already destined to Lysimantes: Besides, that he was prepossessed (as the queen somewhere hints it to him) with another inclination, which rendered him less clear-sighted in it, since no man, at the same time, can distinctly view two different objects; and if this, with any shew of reason, may be defended, I leave my masters, the critics, to determine, whether it be not much more conducing to the beauty of my plot, that Philocles should be long kept ignorant of the queen's love, than that with one leap he should have entered into the knowledge of it, and thereby freed himself, to the disgust of the audience, from that pleasing labyrinth of errors which was prepared for him. As for that other objection, of his joining in the queen's imprisonment, it is indisputably that which every man, if he examines himself, would have done on the like occasion. If they answer, that it takes from the height of his character to do it; I would enquire of my overwise censors, who told them I intended him a perfect character, or, indeed, what necessity was there he should be so, the variety of images being one great beauty of a play? It was as much as I designed, to shew one great and absolute pattern of honour in my poem, which I did in the person of the queen: all the defects of the other parts being set to shew, the more to recommend that one character of virtue to the audience. But neither was the fault of Philocles so great, if the circumstances be considered, which, as moral philosophy assures us, make the essential differences of good and bad; he himself best explaining his own intentions in his last act, which was the restoration of his queen; and even before that, in the honesty of his expressions, when he was unavoidably led by the impulsions of his love to do it. That which with more reason was objected as an indecorum, is the management of the last scene of the play, where Celadon and Florimel are treating too lightly of their marriage in the presence of the queen, who likewise seems to stand idle, while the great action of the drama is still depending. This I cannot otherwise defend, than by telling you, I so designed it on purpose, to make my play go off more smartly; that scene being, in the opinion of the best judges, the most divertising of the whole comedy. But though the artifice succeeded, I am willing to acknowledge it as a fault, since it pleased his majesty, the best judge, to think it so.

I have only to add, that the play is founded on a story in the "Cyrus," which he calls the Queen of Corinth; in whose character, as it has been affirmed to me, he represents that of the famous Christina, queen of Sweden. This is what I thought convenient to write by way of preface to "The Maiden Queen;" in the reading of which I fear you will not meet with that satisfaction, which you have had in seeing it on the stage; the chief parts of it, both serious and comic, being performed to that height of excellence, that nothing but a command, which I could not handsomely disobey, could have given me the courage to have made it public.

PROLOGUE.

I.

He who writ this, not without pains and thought, From French and English theatres has brought The exactest rules, by which a play is wrought.

II.

The unities of action, place, and time; The scenes unbroken; and a mingled chime Of Jonson's humour, with Corneille's rhyme.

III.

But while dead colours he with care did lay, He fears his wit, or plot, he did not weigh, Which are the living beauties of a play.

IV.

Plays are like towns, which, howe'er fortified By engineers, have still some weaker side, By the o'er-seen defendant unespied.

V.

And with that art you make approaches now; Such skilful fury in assaults you show, That every poet without shame may bow.

VI.

Ours, therefore, humbly would attend your doom, If, soldier-like, he may have terms to come, With flying colours, and with beat of drum.

_The Prologue goes out, and stays while a tune is played, after which he returns again_.

SECOND PROLOGUE.

I had forgot one half, I do protest, And now am sent again to speak the rest. He bows to every great and noble wit; But to the little Hectors of the pit Our poet's sturdy, and will not submit. He'll be beforehand with 'em, and not stay To see each peevish critic stab his play; Each puny censor, who, his skill to boast, Is cheaply witty on the poet's cost. No critic's verdict should, of right, stand good, They are excepted all, as men of blood; And the same law shall shield him from their fury, Which has excluded butchers from a jury. You'd all be wits-- But writing's tedious, and that way may fail; The most compendious method is to rail: Which you so like, you think yourselves ill used, When in smart prologues you are not abused. A civil prologue is approved by no man; You hate it, as you do a civil woman: Your fancy's palled, and liberally you pay To have it quickened ere you see a play; Just as old sinners, worn from their delight, Give money to be whipped to appetite. But what a pox keep I so much ado To save our poet? He is one of you; A brother judgment, and, as I hear say, A cursed critic as e'er damned a play. Good savage gentlemen, your own kind spare; He is, like you, a very wolf or bear; Yet think not he'll your ancient rights invade, Or stop the course of your free damning trade; For he (he vows) at no friend's play can sit, But he must needs find fault, to shew his wit: Then, for his sake, ne'er stint your own delight; Throw boldly, for he sits to all that write; With such he ventures on an even lay, For they bring ready money into play. Those who write not, and yet all writers nick, Are bankrupt gamesters, for they damn on tick.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

LYSIMANTES, _first Prince of the Blood_. PHILOCLES, _the Queen's favourite_. CELADON, _a courtier_.

_Queen of Sicily_. CANDIOPE, _Princess of the Blood_. ASTERIA, _the Queen's confident_. FLORIMEL, _a maid of honour_. FLAVIA, _another maid of honour_. OLINDA, SABINA, _Sisters_. MELISSA, _mother to_ OLINDA _and_ SABINA.

_Guards, Pages of Honour, Soldiers_.

SCENE--_Sicily_.

SECRET LOVE OR THE MAIDEN QUEEN.