Act 4 — SCENE III. A Prison.

Enter Orsames, Geron.

Ger. May I not know what ‘tis afflicts you so? You were not wont to hide your Soul from me.

Ors. Nor wou’d I now, knew I but how to tell thee; Oh, Geron, thou hast hitherto so frighted me With thoughts of Death, by Stories which thou tell’st Of future Punishment i’th’ other World, That now I find thou’st brought me to endure Those Ills from Heaven thou say’st our Sins procure. There’s not a little God of all the Number That does not exercise his Arts on me, And practise Power, which by my suffering He grows more mighty in—I’ll not endure it.

Ger. Why not, as well as I?

Ors. Thou may’st do what thou wilt; but there’s a Difference (As vast as ‘twixt the Sun and lesser Lights) Between thy Soul and mine; Thou canst contented sit whole Days together, And entertain thy Lute, that dull Companion, Till duller Sleep does silence it and thee: But I, whose active Soul despise that drousy God, Can ever dare him in his height of Power: Then when he ties thee to thy lazy Couch, Where thou’rt so far from Sense, thou’st lost thy Soul; Even then, my Geron, my divertive Fancy Possesses me, beyond thy waking Thought— But, Geron, all was but an airy Dream; I wak’d, and found my self a thing like thee.

Ger. What was your Dream?

Ors. Why, I will try to tell it thee —Methought I saw the Firmament divide, And all the Clouds, like Curtains, draw aside; The Sun in all his Glories, ne’er put on So bright a Ray, nor Heaven with more Lustre shon! The Face of Heaven too bright for mortal Eye Appear’d, and none durst gaze upon’t but I; In Jove’s illustrious Throne I only sat, Whilst all the lesser Gods did round me wait; My Habit, such as cannot be exprest; Iris in all her various Colours drest, The Morning-Sun, nor Sun-declining Sky, Was half so beautiful, so gay, as I. The brightest Stars in all Heaven’s Canopy Were chosen out to make a Crown for me; With which methought they glorify’d my Brow, And in my Hand they plac’d the Thunder too; The World was mine, and thousands such as thou, Still as I moved, low to the Earth did bow; Like thronging Curls upon the wanton Sea, They strove, and were as numerous as they: Thither I soon descended in a Cloud; But in the midst of the adoring Croud, Almighty Woman at my Feet did bow, Adorn’d with Beauties more than Heaven can show: But one among the rest (for there were store) Whilst all did me, I did that one adore; She did unking me, and her wondrous Eyes Did all my Power and Thunder too despise; Her Smiles could calm me, and her Looks were Law; And when she frown’d, she kept my Soul in awe. Oh, Geron, while I strive to tell the rest, I feel so strange a Passion in my Breast, That though I only do relate a Dream, My Torments here would make it real seem.

Ger. ‘Tis lucky that he takes it for a Dream. [Aside. —Pray do not form Ideas in your Fancy, And suffer them to discompose your Thoughts.

Ors. In spite of your Philosophy, they make A strange Impression on me.

Ger. That’s perfect Madness, Sir.

Ors. Geron, I will no longer be impos’d upon, But follow all the Dictates of my Reason. —Come tell me, for thou hast not done so yet, How Nature made us; by what strange Devices. Tell me where ‘twas you lighted on me first; And how I came into thy dull Possession? Thou say’st we are not born immortal, And I remember thou wert still as now, When I could hardly call upon thy Name, But as thou wouldst instruct my lisping Tongue; And when I ask’d thee who instructed thee, Thoud’st sigh, and say a Man out-worn by Age, And now laid in the Earth—but tell me, Geron, When time has wasted thee, for thou’rt decaying, Where shall I find some new-made Work of Nature, To teach those Precepts to, I’ve learnt of thee? —Why art thou silent now?

Ger. You ought not, Sir, to pry into the hidden Secrets of the Gods.

Ors. Come, tell not me of Secrets, nor of Gods— What is’t thou studiest for, more new Devices? Out with ‘em—this Sulleness betrays thee; And I have been too long impos’d upon. I find my self enlightened on a sudden, And ev’ry thing I see instructs my Reason; ’. has been enslav’d by thee—come, out without it.

Ger. I dare not, Sir.

Ors. Who is’t thou fear’st?

Ger. The Anger of the Gods, Who will not have their high Decrees reveal’d, Till they themselves unfold ‘em in their Oracles.

Ors. What are those Oracles?

Ger. Heavenly Voices, Sir, that expound what’s writ In the Eternal Book of Destiny.

Ors. I’ll know what’s writ in that eternal Book, Or let thee know what it contains of thee.

Ger. What will you do?

Ors. Throw thee into the Sea; by Jupiter, I will. [Offers to take him up.

Ger. Stay, Orsames— ’.is true, I have Commands from Cleomena, But yet the Time is hardly ripe for the Design. [Aside.

Ors. Begin your Story—or, by Heaven—

Ger. I shall—When you consider who I am, With how much Care and Toil I’ve brought you up; How I have made my aged Arms your Cradle, And in my Bosom lull’d you to your rest; How when you wept, my Tears kept time with yours, And how your Smiles would dry again those Showers; You will believe ‘tis my Concern for you, And not your Threats, makes me declare a Truth.

Ors. Forward, my dearest Geron, Whilst I as silent as a healthy Sleep, As growth of Flowers, or motion of the Air, Attend each long’d-for Syllable thou breath’st.

Ger. Be pleas’d to walk into the Garden, Sir, And there I’ll tell you Wonders to ensue; But first, great Sir, your Pardon for the past. [Kneels.

Ors. I give it thee—Gods, this is fine indeed! Thy Language and thy Mien are altered. Oh, how my Soul’s inlarg’d already! go, lead the way.

[Exeunt.