SCENE III.

_Enter Don RODORICK, carried by two Servants_.

_1 Serv_. It was the only way that could be thought on, To get down by the ladder to the boat.

_2 Serv_. You may thank me for that invention.

_Rod_. What a noise is here, when the least breath's As dangerous as a tempest.

_2 Serv_. If any of those rogues should hear him talk, In what a case were we?

_Rod_. O, patience! patience!-- This ass brays out for silence.

_Enter, at the other end, MANUEL, leading JULIA, GONSALVO, HIPPOLITO, and AMIDEO_.

_Gons_. Hark! what noise is that? go softly.

[_They meet on the middle of the stage_.

_Rod_. Who's here? I am betrayed! and nothing grieves me, But I want strength to die with honour.

_Jul_. Roderick! Is it thy voice, my love?--Speak, and resolve me, Whether thou livest, or I am dead with thee?

_Man_. Kill him, and force our way.

_Rod_. Is Manuel there? Hold up my arm, that I may make one thrust At him, before I die.

_Gons_. Since we must fall, We'll sell our lives as dearly as we can.

_1 Serv_. And we'll defend our master to the last. [_Fight_.

_Enter Pirates, without their Captain_.

_1 Pirate_. What's the meaning of this uproar?--Quarrelling Amongst yourselves at midnight?

_2 Pirate_. We are come in a fit time to decide the difference.

_Man_. Hold, gentlemen! we're equally concerned. [_To RODORICK'S Servants_. We for our own, you for your master's safety; If we join forces, we may then resist them, If not, both sides are ruined.

_1 Serv_. We agree.

_Gons_. Come o'er on our side then. [_They join_.

_1 Pirate_. A mischief on our captain's drowsiness; We're lost, for want of him! [_They fight_.

_Gons_. Dear madam, get behind; while you are safe, We cannot be o'ercome. [_To JULIA_.

[_They drive off the Pirates, and follow them off. RODORICK remains on the ground_.

_Rod_. I had much rather my own life were lost, Than Manuel's were preserved.

_Enter the Pirates, retreating before GONSALVO, &c_.

_1 Pirate_. All's lost! they fight like devils, and our captain Yet sleeping in his bed.

_2 Pirate_. Here lies Don Roderick; If we must die, we'll not leave him behind.

[_Goes to kill him_.

_Jul_. O, spare my Roderick's life; and, in exchange, Take mine! I put myself within your power, To save or kill.

_1 Pirate_. So, here's another pawn, For all our safeties.

_Man_. Heaven! what has she done?

_Gons_. Let go the lady, or expect no mercy!--The least drop of her blood is worth all yours. And mine together.

_1 Pirate_. I am glad you think so:-- Either deliver up your sword, or mine Shall pierce her heart this moment.

_Gons_. Here, here, take it.

_Man_. You are not mad, to give away all hopes

[_MANUEL holds him_

Of safety and defence, from us, from her, And from yourself, at once!

_Gons_. When she is dead, What is there worth defending?

_Man_. Will you trust A pirate's promise, sooner than your valour?

_Gons_. Any thing, rather than see her in danger.

_1 Pirate_. Nay, if you dispute the matter!--

[_Holds his sword to her breast_.

_Gons_. I yield, I yield!--Reason to love must bow: Love, that gives courage, can make cowards too!

[_Gives his sword_.

_Jul_. O, strange effect of a most generous passion!

_Rod_. His enemies themselves must needs admire it.

_Man_. Nay, if Gonsalvo makes a fashion of it, 'Twill be valour to die tamely. [_Gives his_.

_Hip_. I am for dying too with my dear master.

_Amid_. My life will go as easily as a fly's; The least fillip does it in this fright.

_1 Pirate_. One call our captain up: Tell him, he deserves little of the booty.

_Jul_. It has so much prevailed upon my soul, I ever must acknowledge it. [_To GONS_.

_Rod_. Julia has reason, if she love him; yet, I find I cannot bear it. [_Aside_.

_Gons_. Say but, you love me; I am more than paid.

_Jul_. You ask that only thing, I cannot give;-- Were I not Roderick's first, I should be yours; My violent love for him, I know, is faulty; Yet passion never can be placed so ill, But that to change it is the greater crime. Inconstancy is such a guilt, as makes That very love suspected, which it brings; It brings a gift, but 'tis of ill-got wealth, The spoils of some forsaken lover's heart. Love, altered once, like blood let out before, Will lose its virtue, and can cure no more.

_Gons_. In those few minutes which I have to live, To be called yours, is all I can enjoy. Roderick receives no prejudice by that; I would but make some small acquaintance here, For fear I never should enquire you out In that new world, which we are going to.

_Amid_. Then, I can hold no longer;--You desire, In death, to be called hers; and all I wish, Is, dying, to be yours.

_Hip_. You'll not discover? [_Aside_.

_Amid_. See here the most unfortunate of women, That Angelina, whom you all thought lost; And lost she was indeed, when she beheld Gonsalvo first.

_All_. How?--Angelina!

_Rod_. Ha! My sister!

_Amid_. I thought to have fled love in flying Manuel, But love pursued me in Gonsalvo's shape: For him, I ventured all that maids hold dear; The opinion of my modesty, and virtue, My loss of fortune, and my brother's love. For him, I have exposed myself to dangers, Which, great themselves, yet greater would appear, If you could see them through a woman's fear. But why do I my right by dangers prove? The greatest argument for love is love: That passion, Julia, while he lives, denies, He should refuse to give her when he dies: Yet grant he did his life to her bequeath, May I not claim my share of him in death? I only beg, when all the glory's gone, The heatless beams of a departing sun.

_Gons_. Never was passion, hid so modestly, So generously revealed.

_Man_. We're now a chain of lovers linked in death; Julia goes first, Gonsalvo hangs on her, And Angelina holds upon Gonsalvo, As I on Angelina.

_Hip_. Nay, here's Honoria too:--You look on me with wonder in your eyes, To see me here, and in this strange disguise.

_Jul_. What new miracle is this? Honoria!

_Man_. I left you with my aunt at Barcelona, And thought, ere this, you had been married to The rich old man, Don Estevan de Gama.

_Hip_. I ever had a strange aversion for him: But when Gonsalvo landed there, and made A kind of courtship, (though, it seems, in jest,) It served to conquer me; which Estevan Perceiving, pressed my aunt to haste the marriage. What should I do? My aunt importuned me For the next day: Gonsalvo, though I loved him, Knew not my love; nor was I sure his courtship Was not the effect of a bare gallantry.

_Gons_. Alas! how grieved I am, that slight address Should make so deep impression on your mind, In three days time!

_Hip_. That accident, in which You saved my life, when first you saw me, caused it, Though now the story be too long to tell. Howe'er it was, hearing that night, you lay Aboard your ship, thus, as you see, disguised, In clothes belonging to my youngest nephew, I rose ere day, resolved to find you out, And, if I could, procure to wait on you Without discovery of myself: but fortune Crossed all my hopes.

_Gons_. It was that dismal night Which tore my anchor up, and tossed my ship, Past hope of safety, many days together, Until at length it threw me on this port.

_Hip_. I will not tell you what my sorrows were, To find you gone; but there was now no help. Go back again, I durst not; but, in fine, Thought best, as fast as my weak legs would bear me, To come to Alicant, and find my sister, Unknown to any else: But, being near The city, I was seized upon by thieves, From whom you rescued me.--The rest you know.

_Gons_. I know too much indeed for my repose.

_Enter Captain_.

_Capt_. Do you know me?

_Gons_. Now I look better on thee, Thou seemest a greater villain than I thought thee.

_Jul_ 'Tis he!

_Hip_. That bloody wretch, that robbed us in The woods.

_Gons_. Slave! darest thou lift thy hand against me? Darest thou touch any one whom he protects, Who gave thee life? But I accuse myself, Not thee: The death of all these guiltless persons Became my crime, that minute when I spared thee.

_Capt_. It is not all your threats can alter me From what I have resolved.

_Gons_. Begin, then, first With me.

_Capt_. I will, by laying here my sword. [_Lays his sword at Gonsalvo's feet_.

_All_. What means this sudden change?

_Capt_. Tis neither new, nor sudden.--From that time You gave me life, I watched how to repay it; And Roderick's servant gave me speedy means To effect my wish: For, telling me, his master Meant a revenge on you, and on Don Manuel, And then to seize on Julia, and depart, I proffered him my aid to seize a vessel; And having, by enquiry, found out yours, Acquainted first the captain with my purpose, To make a seeming mastery of the ship.

_Man_. How durst he take your word?

_Capt_. That I secured, By letting him give notice to the ships That lay about: This done, knowing the place You were to fight on was behind the rock, Not far from thence, I, and some chosen men, Lay out of sight, that, if foul play were offered, We might prevent it: But came not in; because, when there was need, Don Manuel, who was nearer, stepped before me.

_Gons_. Then the boat, which seemed To lie by chance, hulling not far from shore, Was placed by your direction there?

_Capt_. It was.

_Gons_. You're truly noble; and I owe much more Than my own life and fortunes to your worth.

_Capt_. 'Tis time I should restore their liberty To such of yours, as yet are seeming prisoners. I'll wait on you again. [_Exit Captain_.

_Rod_. My enemies are happy; and the storm, Prepared for them, must break upon my head.

_Gons_. So far am I from happiness, heaven knows My griefs are doubled! I stand engaged in hopeless love to Julia; In gratitude to these:-- Here I have given my heart, and here I owe it.

_Hip_. Dear master, trouble not yourself for me; I ever made your happiness my own; Let Julia witness with what faith I served you. When you employed me in your love to her, I gave your noble heart away, as if It had been some light gallant's, little worth: Not that I loved you less than Angelina, But myself less than you.

_Gons_. Wonder of honour! Of which my own was but a fainter shadow. When I gave Julia, whom I could not keep, You fed a fire within, with too rich fuel, In giving it your heart to prey upon; The sweetest offering that was ever burnt Since last the Phoenix died.

_Hip_. If Angelina knew, like me, the pride Of noble minds, which is to give, not take, Like me she would be satisfied, her heart Was well bestowed, and ask for no return.

_Amid_. Pray, let my heart alone; you'll use it as The gipsies do our money; If they once touch it, they have power upon't.

_Enter the Servant, who appeared in the first act with GONSALVO_.

_Serv_. O, my dear lord, Gonsalvo de Peralta!

_Rod_. De Peralta, said you? You amaze me!

_Gons_. Why?--Do you know that family in Seville?

_Rod_. I am myself the elder brother of it.

_Gons_. Don Rodorick de Peralta!

_Rod_. I was so, Until my mother died, whose name, de Sylva, I chose, (our custom not forbidding it) Three years ago, when I returned from Flanders: I came here to possess a fair estate, Left by an aunt, her sister; for whose sake I take that name; and liked the place so well, That never since have I returned to Seville.

_Gons_. 'Twas then that change of name, which caused my letters All to miscarry. What an happy tempest Was this, which would not let me rest at Seville, But blew me farther on, to see you here!

_Amid_. Brother, I come to claim a sister's share: But you're too near me, to be nearer now.

_Gons_. In my room, let me beg you to receive Don Manuel.

_Amid_. I take it half unkindly, You give me from yourself so soon: Don Manuel, I know, is worthy, and, but yesterday, Preserved my life; but, it will take some time To change my heart.

_Man_. I'll watch it patiently, as chemists do Their golden birth; and, when 'tis changed, receive it With greater care than they their rich elixir, Just passing from one vial to another.

_Rod_. Julia is still my brother's, though I lose her.

_Gons_. You shall not lose her; Julia was born For none but you; And I for none but my Honoria: Julia is yours by inclination; And I, by conquest, am Honoria's.

_Hon_. 'Tis the most glorious one that e'er was made: And I no longer will dispute my happiness.

_Rod_. Julia, you know my peevish jealousies; I cannot promise you a better husband Than you have had a servant.

_Jul_. I receive you With all your faults.

_Rod_. And think, when I am froward, My sullen humour punishes itself: I'm like a day in March, sometimes o'ercast With storms, but then the after clearness is The greater. The worst is, where I love most, The tempest falls most heavy.

_Jul_. Ah! what a little time to love is lent! Yet half that time is in unkindness spent.

_Rod_. That you may see some hope of my amendment, I give my friendship to Don Manuel, ere My brother asks, or he himself desires it.

_Man_. I'll ever cherish it.

_Gons_. Since, for my sake, you become friends, my care Shall be to keep you so. You, captain, shall Command this carrack, and, with her, my fortunes. You, my Honoria, though you have an heart Which Julia left, yet think it not the worse; 'Tis not worn out, but polished by the wearing. Your merit shall her beauty's power remove; Beauty but gains, obligement keeps our love.

[_Exeunt_.

THE INDIAN QUEEN, A TRAGEDY,

WRITTEN BY THE HON. SIR ROBERT HOWARD, AND MR DRYDEN.

THE INDIAN QUEEN

The plays of Sir Robert Howard were tolerated by his contemporaries, on account of the rank, gallantry, and loyalty, of the author; at least, we are now unable to discover any better reason for their success. The Committee, alone, kept possession of the stage till our time; and that solely supported by the humours of Teague, an honest blundering Irish footman, such as we usually see in a modern farce. From a hint, given by Langbaine, Sir Robert Howard seems to have been suspected of frequent plagiarisms. At any rate it is certain, that, in the composition of the Indian Queen, he was so fortunate, as to have the assistance of our great poet, who was bound to him by ties of personal obligation.

It is, of course, difficult even to guess at the share which Dryden had in the Indian Queen. Several of the characters have a strong resemblance to others, which he afterwards drew in bolder colours. Thus, Montezuma, who, like the hero of an ancient romance, bears fortune to any side which he pleases to espouse, is justly pointed out by Settle, as the prototype of Almanzor; though we look in vain for the glowing language, which, though sometimes bordering on burlesque, suits so well the extravagant character of the Moorish hero. Zempoalla strongly resembles Nourmuhal in Aureng-Zebe; both shewing that high spirit of pride, with which Dryden has often invested his female characters. The language of the Indian Queen possesses, in general, greater ease, and a readier flow of verse, than Sir Robert Howard appears to have possessed, when unassisted. Of this he seems, himself, to have been sensible; and alludes to Dryden's acknowledged superiority, when maintaining against him the cause of dramatic blank verse, as preferable to rhyme[1]. Besides general hints towards the conception of the characters, and a superintendance of the dialogue, it is probable, that Dryden wrote some entire scenes of the following piece. In the third act particularly, the passage respecting the incantation, which resembles that in the Indian Emperor, has strong traces of our author's manner.

[Footnote 1: "But writing the epistle in so much haste, I had almost forgot one argument, or observation, which that author (Dryden) has most good fortune in. It is in his Epistle Dedicatory, before his essay of _Dramatic Poesie_; where, speaking of rhyme in plays, he desires it may be observed, that none are violent against it, but such as have not attempted it, or who have succeeded ill in the attempt: Which, as to myself, and him, I easily acknowledge;--for, I confess, none has written in that way better than himself, nor few worse than I."

_Introduction to the Great Favourite, or the Duke of Lerma_.]

The Indian Queen was acted in 1664; and received, says Langbaine, with great applause. It was printed in 1665.

Prologue

_As the music plays a soft air, the curtain rises slowly, and discovers an Indian Boy and Girl sleeping under two plantain-trees; and, when the curtain is almost up, the music turns into a tune expressing an alarm, at which the Boy awakes, and speaks;

_Boy_. WAKE, wake, Quevira! our soft rest must cease, And fly together with our country's peace! No more must we sleep under plantain shade, Which neither heat could pierce, nor cold invade; Where bounteous nature never feels decay, And opening buds drive falling fruits away.

_Que_. Why should men quarrel here, where all possess As much as they can hope for by success?-- None can have most, where nature is so kind, As to exceed man's use, though not his mind.

_Boy_. By ancient prophecies we have been told, Our world shall be subdued by one more old;-- And, see, that world already hither come.

_Que_. If these be they, we welcome then our doom! Their looks are Such, that mercy flows from thence, More gentle than our native innocence.

_Boy_. Why should we then fear these, our enemies, That rather seem to us like deities?

_Que_. By their protection, let us beg to live; They came not here to conquer, but forgive.-- If so, your goodness may your power express, And we shall judge both best by our success.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

_The Inca of Peru_. MONTEZUMA, _his General_. ACACIS, _son to_ ZEMPOALLA. TRAXALLA, _General to_ ZEMPOALLA. GARUCCA, _a faithful subject to_ AMEXIA. _The God of Dreams_. ISMERON, _one of the prophets, a conjuror_. _Officers and Soldiers. Peruvians and Mexicans. Priests_.

AMEXIA, _the lawful queen of Mexico_. ZEMPOALLA, _the usurping Indian Queen_. ORAZIA,_daughter to the Inca_. _Attendants of Ladies_.

THE INDIAN QUEEN.