Act 4 — SCENE II.[47]

SCENE II.[47]

The Place of Execution. A scaffold, block, &c.

Enter Antoninus, supported by Macrinus, and Servants.

Anton. Is this the place, where virtue is to suffer, And heavenly beauty, leaving this base earth, To make a glad return from whence it came? Is it, Macrinus?

Mac. By this preparation, You well may rest assured that Dorothea This hour is to die here.

Anton. Then with her dies The abstract of all sweetness that's in woman! Set me down, friend, that, ere the iron hand Of death close up mine eyes, they may at once Take my last leave both of this light and her: For, she being gone, the glorious sun himself To me's Cimmerian darkness.

Mac. Strange affection[48]! Cupid once more hath changed his shafts with Death, And kills, instead of giving life.

Anton. Nay, weep not; Though tears of friendship be a sovereign balm, On me they're cast away. It is decreed That I must die with her; our clue of life Was spun together.

Mac. Yet, sir, 'tis my wonder, That you, who, hearing only what she suffers, Partake of all her tortures, yet will be, To add to your calamity, an eyewitness Of her last tragic scene, which must pierce deeper, And make the wound more desperate.

Anton. Oh, Macrinus! 'Twould linger out my torments else, not kill me, Which is the end I aim at: being to die too, What instrument more glorious can I wish for, Than what is made sharp by my constant love And true affection? It may be, the duty And loyal service, with which I pursued her, And seal'd it with my death, will be remember'd Among her blessed actions; and what honour Can I desire beyond it?

Enter a Guard bringing in Dorothea, a Headsman before her; followed by Theophilus, Sapritius, and Harpax.

See, she comes; How sweet her innocence appears! more like To heaven itself, than any sacrifice That can be offer'd to it. By my hopes Of joys hereafter, the sight makes me doubtful In my belief; nor can I think our gods Are good, or to be served, that take delight In offerings of this kind: that, to maintain Their power, deface the master-piece of nature, Which they themselves come short of. She ascends, And every step raises her nearer heaven.

Sap. You are to blame To let him come abroad.

Mac. It was his will; And we were left to serve him, not command him.

Anton. Good sir, be not offended; nor deny My last of pleasures in this happy object, That I shall e'er be blest with.

Theoph. Now, proud contemner Of us, and of our gods, tremble to think, It is not in the Power thou serv'st to save thee. Not all the riches of the sea, increased By violent shipwrecks, nor the unsearch'd mines, (Mammon's unknown exchequer), shall redeem thee: And, therefore, having first with horror weigh'd What 'tis to die, and to die young; to part with All pleasures and delights; lastly, to go Where all antipathies to comfort dwell, Furies behind, about thee, and before thee; And, to add to affliction, the remembrance Of the Elysian joys thou might'st have tasted, Hadst thou not turn'd apostata[49] to those gods That so reward their servants; let despair Prevent the hangman's sword, and on this scaffold Make thy first entrance into hell.

Anton. She smiles, Unmoved, by Mars! as if she were assured Death, looking on her constancy, would forget The use of his inevitable hand.

Theoph. Derided too! despatch, I say.

Dor. Thou fool! That gloriest in having power to ravish A trifle from me I am weary of, What is this life to me? not worth a thought; Or, if it be esteem'd, 'tis that I lose it To win a better: even thy malice serves To me but as a ladder to mount up To such a height of happiness, where I shall Look down with scorn on thee, and on the world; Where, circled with true pleasures, placed above The reach of death or time, 'twill be my glory To think at what an easy price I bought it. There's a perpetual spring, perpetual youth: No joint-benumbing cold, or scorching heat, Famine, nor age, have any being there. Forget, for shame, your Tempe; bury in Oblivion your feign'd Hesperian orchards:— The golden fruit, kept by the watchful dragon, Which did require a Hercules to get[50] it, Compared with what grows in all plenty there, Deserves not to be named. The Power I serve Laughs at your happy Araby, or the Elysian shades; for he hath made his bowers Better in deed, than you can fancy yours.

Anton. O, take me thither with you!

Dor. Trace my steps, And be assured you shall.

Sap. With my own hands I'll rather stop that little breath is left thee, And rob thy killing fever.

Theoph. By no means; Let him go with her: do, seduced young man, And wait upon thy saint in death; do, do: And, when you come to that imagined place, That place of all delights—pray you, observe me, And meet those cursed things I once call'd Daughters, Whom I have sent as harbingers before you; If there be any truth in your religion, In thankfulness to me, that with care hasten Your journey thither, pray you send me some Small pittance of that curious fruit you boast of.

Anton. Grant that I may go with her, and I will.

Sap. Wilt thou in thy last minute damn thyself?

Theoph. The gates to hell are open.

Dor. Know, thou tyrant, Thou agent for the devil, thy great master, Though thou art most unworthy to taste of it, I can, and will.

Enter Angelo, in the Angel's habit[51].

Harp. Oh! mountains fall upon me, Or hide me in the bottom of the deep, Where light may never find me!

Theoph. What's the matter?

Sap. This is prodigious, and confirms her witchcraft.

Theoph. Harpax, my Harpax, speak!

Harp. I dare not stay: Should I but hear her once more, I were lost. Some whirlwind snatch me from this cursed place, To which compared, (and with what now I suffer,) Hell's torments are sweet slumbers! [Exit.

Sap. Follow him.

Theoph. He is distracted, and I must not lose him. Thy charms upon my servant, cursed witch, Give thee a short reprieve. Let her not die, Till my return. [Exeunt Sap. and Theoph.

Anton. She minds him not; what object Is her eye fix'd on?

Mac. I see nothing.

Anton. Mark her.

Dor. Thou glorious minister of the Power I serve! (For thou art more than mortal,) is 't for me, Poor sinner, thou art pleased awhile to leave Thy heavenly habitation, and vouchsafest, Though glorified, to take my servant's habit?— For, put off thy divinity, so look'd My lovely Angelo.

Ang. Know, I am the same; And still the servant to your piety. Your zealous prayers and pious deeds first won me (But 'twas by His command to whom you sent them) To guide your steps. I tried your charity, When in a beggar's shape you took me up, And clothed my naked limbs, and after fed, As you believed, my famish'd mouth. Learn all, By your example, to look on the poor With gentle eyes! for in such habits, often, Angels desire an alms[52]. I never left you, Nor will I now; for I am sent to carry Your pure and innocent soul to joys eternal, Your martyrdom once suffer'd; and before it, Ask any thing from me, and rest assured, You shall obtain it.

Dor. I am largely paid For all my torments. Since I find such grace, Grant that the love of this young man to me, In which he languisheth to death, may be Changed to the love of heaven.

Ang. I will perform it; And in that instant when the sword sets free Your happy soul, his shall have liberty. Is there aught else?

Dor. For proof that I forgive My persecutor, who in scorn desired To taste of that most sacred fruit I go to; After my death, as sent from me, be pleased To give him of it.

Ang. Willingly, dear mistress.

Mac. I am amazed.

Anton. I feel a holy fire, That yields a comfortable heat within me; I am quite alter'd from the thing I was. See! I can stand, and go alone; thus kneel To heavenly Dorothea, touch her hand With a religious kiss. [Kneels.

Re-enter Sapritius and Theophilus.

Sap. He is well now, But will not be drawn back.

Theoph. It matters not, We can discharge this work without his help. But see your son.

Sap. Villain!

Anton. Sir, I beseech you, Being so near our ends, divorce us not.

Theoph. I'll quickly make a separation of them: Hast thou aught else to say?

Dor. Nothing, but to blame Thy tardiness in sending me to rest; My peace is made with heaven, to which my soul Begins to take her flight: strike, O! strike quickly; And, though you are unmoved to see my death, Hereafter, when my story shall be read, As they were present now, the hearers shall Say this of Dorothea, with wet eyes, "She lived a virgin, and a virgin dies." [Her head is struck off.

Anton. O, take my soul along, to wait on thine!

Mac. Your son sinks too. [Antoninus falls.

Sap. Already dead!

Theoph. Die all That are, or favour this accursed sect: I triumph in their ends, and will raise up A hill of their dead carcasses, to o'erlook The Pyrenean hills, but I'll root out These superstitious fools, and leave the world No name of Christian. [Loud music: Exit Angelo, having first laid his hand upon the mouths of Anton. and Dor.

Sap. Ha! heavenly music!

Mac. 'Tis in the air.

Theoph. Illusions of the devil, Wrought by some witch of her religion, That fain would make her death a miracle; It frights not me. Because he is your son, Let him have burial; but let her body Be cast forth with contempt in some highway, And be to vultures and to dogs a prey. [Exeunt.