Act 3 — ACT III.[335]

ACT III.[335]

SCENE I.

The Palace of Syphax at Cirta.

Syphax, with his dagger twon[336] about her hair, drags in Sophonisba in her nightgown and petticoat; Zanthia and Vangue following.

Sy. Must we entreat? sue to such squeamish ears? Know, Syphax has no knees, his eyes no tears; Enragèd love is senseless of remorse. Thou shalt, thou must: kings’ glory is their force. Thou art in Cirta, in my palace, fool: Dost think he pitieth tears that knows to rule? For all thy scornful eyes, thy proud disdain, And late contempt of us, now we’ll revenge, Break stubborn silence. Look, I’ll tack thy head To the low earth, whilst strength of two black knaves 10 Thy limbs all wide shall strain. Prayer fitteth slaves, Our courtship be our force: rest calm as sleep, Else at this quake; hark, hark, we cannot weep.

So. Can Sophonisba be enforc’d?

Sy. Can? see.

So. Thou mayest enforce my body, but not me.

Sy. Not?

So. No.

Sy. No?

So. No: off with thy loathèd arms, That lie more heavy on me than the chains That wear deep wrinkles in the captive’s limbs! I do beseech thee.

Sy. What?

So. Be but a beast, Be but a beast.

Sy. Do not offend a power 20 Can make thee more than wretched: yield to him To whom fate yields. Know, Massinissa’s dead.

So. Dead!

Sy. Dead.

So. To gods’ and[337] good men’s shame.

Sy. Help, Vangue, my strong blood boils.

So. O[338] yet save thine own fame.

Sy. All appetite is deaf; I will, I must. Achilles’ armour could not bar[339] out lust.

So. Hold thy strong arm, and hear me. Syphax, know I am thy servant now: I needs must love thee, For (O, my sex, forgive!) I must confess We not affect protesting feebleness, 30 Entreats, faint blushings, timorous modesty; We think our lover is but little man, Who is so full of woman. Know, fair Prince, Love’s strongest arm’s not rude; for we still prove, Without some fury there’s no ardent love. We love our love’s impatience of delay; Our noble[340] sex was only born t’obey, To him that dares command.

Sy. Why, this is well; Th’ excuse is good: wipe thy fair eyes, our Queen, Make proud thy head; now feel more friendly strength Of thy lord’s arm: come, touch my rougher skin 41 With thy soft lip. Zanthia, dress our bed. Forget old loves, and clip him that through blood And hell acquires his wish; think not but kiss, The flourish fore love’s fight and[341] Venus’ bliss.

So. Great dreadful lord, by thy affection, Grant me one boon. Know I have made a vow—

Sy. Vow! what vow? speak.

So. Nay, if you take offence, Let my soul suffer first, and yet——

Sy. Offence? Not, Sophonisba; hold, thy vow is free 50 As——come, thy lips!

So. Alas, cross misery! As I do wish to live, I long t’enjoy Your warm embrace; but, oh my vow, ’tis thus: If ever my lord died, I vow’d to him A most, most private sacrifice, before I touch’d a second spouse. All I implore, Is but this liberty.

Sy. This? go, obtain. What time?

So. One hour.

Sy. Sweet, good speed, speed, adieu!— Yet, Syphax, trust no more than thou may’st view.— Vangue shall stay.

So. He stays.

Enter a Page, delivering a letter to Sophonisba, which she privately reads.

Sy. Zanthia, Zanthia! 60 Thou art not foul, go to; some lords are oft So much in love with their known ladies’ bodies, That they oft love their—Vails:[342] hold, hold, thou’st find To faithful care kings’ bounty hath no shore.

Zan. You may do much.

Sy. But let my gold do more.

Zan. I am your creature.

Sy. Be yet;[343] ’tis no stain; The god of service is however gain.

[Exit.

So. Zanthia, where are we now? speak worth my service; Ha’ we done well?

Zan. Nay, in height of best I fear’d a superstitious virtue would spoil all, 70 But now I find you above women rare. She that can time her goodness hath true care Of her best good. Nature at home begins; She, whose integrity herself hurts, sins. For Massinissa, he was good, and so; But he is dead, or worse, distress’d, or more Than dead, or much distress’d. O sad, poor,— Who ever held such friends? no, let him go; Such faith is praised, then laugh’d at; for still know Those are the living women that reduce 80 All that they touch unto their ease and use, Knowing that wedlock, virtue, or good names, Are courses and varieties of reason, To use or leave, as they advantage them, And absolute within themselves reposed, Only to greatness ope, to all else closed. Weak sanguine fools are to their own good nice; Before I held you virtuous, but now wise.

So. Zanthia, victorious Massinissa lives, My Massinissa lives. O steady powers, 90 Keep him as safe as heaven keeps the earth, Which looks upon it with a thousand eyes! That honest valiant man! and Zanthia, Do but record the justice of his love, And my for ever vows, for ever vows!

Zan. Ay, true madam; nay, think of his great mind, His most just heart, his all of excellence, And such a virtue as the gods might envy. Against this, Syphax, is but——and you know, Fame lost, what can be got that’s good for——

So. Hence! 100 Take, nay, with one hand.

Zan. My service.

So. Prepare Our sacrifice.

Zan. But yield you, ay or no?

So. When thou dost know.

Zan. What then?

So. Then thou wilt know.

[Exit Zanthia.

Let him that would have counsel ’void th’ advice Of friends, made his with weighty benefits, Whose much dependence only strives to fit Humour, not reason, and so still devise In any thought to make their friend seem wise. But above all, O fear a servant’s tongue, Like such as only for their gain do[344] serve. 110 Within the vast capacity of space,[345] I know no vileness so most truly base. Their lord’s their gain; and he that most will give, With him (they will not die, but) they will live. Traitors and these are one; such slaves once trust, Whet swords to make thine own blood lick the dust.

Cornets and organs playing full music, enter under the conduct of Zanthia and Vangue, the solemnity of a sacrifice; which being entered, whilst the attendants furnish the altar, Sophonisba sings a song; which done, she speaks.

Withdraw, withdraw; all but Zanthia and Vangue depart.—

[Exeunt attendants.

I not invoke thy arm, thou god of sound,— Nor thine, nor thine,—although in all abound High powers immense. But jovial Mercury, 120 And thou, O brightest female of the sky, Thrice-modest Phœbe, you that jointly fit A worthy chastity and a most chaste wit, To you corruptless honey and pure dew Upbreathes our holy fire; words just and few, O deign to hear! if in poor wretches’ cries You glory not; if drops of withered eyes Be not your sport, be just; all that I crave Is but chaste life, or an untainted grave. I can no more; yet hath my constant tongue 130 Let fall no weakness, tho’ my heart were wrung With pangs worth hell; whilst great thoughts stop our tears, Sorrow unseen, unpitied, inward wears: You see now where I rest, come is my end. Cannot Heaven virtue ’gainst weak chance defend? When weakness hath out-borne what weakness can,— What should I say?—’tis Jove’s, not sin of man. —Some stratagem now! let wit’s God be shown, Celestial powers by miracles are known. I have’t; ’tis done.—Zanthia, prepare our bed. 140 Vangue!

Van. Your servant.

So. Vangue, we have perform’d Due rites unto the dead.

[Sophonisba presents a carouse to Vangue.

Now to thy lord, great Syphax, healthful cups, Which done, the king is right much welcome.

Van. Were it as deep as thought, off it should thus.

[He drinks.

So. My safety with that draught.

Van. Close the vault’s mouth lest we do slip in drink.

So. To what use, gentle negro, serves this cave, Whose mouth thus opens so familiarly, Even in the king’s bedchamber?

Van. O, my queen, 150 This vault with hideous darkness, and much length, Stretcheth beneath the earth into a grove, One league from Cirta (I am very sleepy); Through this, when Cirta hath been strong begirt, With hostile siege the king hath safely ’scaped To, to——

So. The wine is strong.

Van. Strong?

So. Zanthia!

Zan. What means my princess?

So. Zanthia, rest firm And silent. Help us; nay, do not dare refuse.

Zan. The negro’s dead!

So. No, drunk.

Zan. Alas!

So. Too late! Her hand is fearful whose mind’s desperate. 160 It is but sleepy opium he hath drunk. Help, Zanthia!

[They lay Vangue in Syphax’ bed and draw the curtains.

There lie Syphax’ bride; a naked man is soon undress’d; There bide dishonoured passion.

[They knock within, forthwith Syphax comes.

Sy. Way for the king!

So. Straight for the king. I fly Where misery shall see nought but itself. Dear Zanthia, close the vault when I am sunk, And whilst he slips to bed, escape; be true; I can no more; come to me. Hark, gods, my breath Scorns to crave life, grant but a well-famed death. 170

[She descends.

Enter Syphax, ready for bed, with attendants.

Sy. Each man withdraw, let not a creature stay Within large distance.

Zan. Sir!

Sy. Hence, Zanthia! Not thou shalt hear; all stand without ear-reach Of the soft cries nice shrinking brides do yield, When——

Zan. But, sir——

Sy. Hence!—stay, take thy delight by steps, Think of thy joys, and make long thy pleasures. O silence, thou dost swallow pleasure right; Words take away some sense from our delight. Music! 180 Be proud, my Venus; Mercury, thy tongue; Cupid, thy flame; ’bove all, O Hercules, Let not thy back be wanting; for now I leap To catch the fruit none but the gods should reap.

[Offering to leap into bed, he discovers Vangue.

Hah! can any woman turn to such a devil? Or—or—Vangue, Vangue——

Van. Yes, yes.

Sy. Speak, slave! How camest thou here?

Van. Here?

Sy. Zanthia, Zanthia! Where’s Sophonisba? speak at full—at full. Give me particular faith, or know thou art not——

Zan. Your pardon, just-moved prince, and private ear. 190

Sy. Ill actions have some grace, that they can fear.

Van. How came I laid? which way was I made drunk? Where am I? think I, or is my state advanced? O Jove, how pleasant is it but to sleep, In a king’s bed!

Sy. Sleep there thy lasting sleep, Improvident, base, o’er-thirsty slave.

[Syphax kills Vangue.

Die pleased, a king’s couch is thy too-proud grave.— Through this vault say’st thou?

Zan. As you give me grace To live, ’tis true.

Sy. We will be good to Zanthia; Go, cheer thy lady, and be private to us. 200

Zan. As to my life.

[She descends after Sophonisba.

Sy. I’ll use this Zanthia, And trust her as our dogs drink dangerous Nile[346] (Only for thirst), that[347] fly the crocodile. Wise Sophonisba knows love’s tricks of art: Without much hindrance pleasure hath no heart. Despite all virtue or weak plots I must: Seven-wallèd Babel cannot bar[348] out lust.

[Descends through the vault.

SCENE II.

Neighbourhood of Utica.

Enter Scipio and Lælius, with the complements of Roman Generals before them. At the other door, Massinissa and Jugurth. Cornets sound marches.

Mass. Let not the virtue of the world suspect Sad Massinissa’s faith; nor once condemn Our just revolt. Carthage first gave me life; Her ground gave food, her air first lent me breath: The earth was made for men, not men for earth. Scipio, I do not thank the gods for life, Much less vile men, or earth; know, best of lords, It is a happy being, breath well famed, For which Jove sees these thus.[349] Men, be not fool’d With piety to place, tradition’s fear; 10 A just man’s country Jove makes everywhere.

Sci. Well urgeth Massinissa; but to leave A city so ingrate, so faithless, so more vile Than civil speech can name, fear not; such vice To scourge is Heaven’s grateful sacrifice. Thus all confess, first they have broke a faith To the[e] most due, so just to be observed, That barbarousness itself may well blush at them: Where is thy passion? They have shared thy crown, The proper right of birth, contrived thy death: 20 Where is thy passion? Given thy beauteous spouse To thy most hated rival. Statue, not man! And last, thy friend Gelosso (man worth gods) With tortures have they rent to death.

Mass. O Gelosso! For thee full eyes——

Sci. No passion for the rest?

Mass. O Scipio, My grief for him may be expressed by tears, But for the rest, silence, and secret anguish Shall waste—shall waste! Scipio, he that can weep, Grieves not, like me, private deep inward drops 30 Of blood. My heart! for god’s right give me leave To be a short time man.

Sci. Stay, prince.

Mass. I cease; Forgive if I forget thy presence. Scipio, Thy face makes Massinissa more than man, And here before your steady power a vow As firm as fate I make: when I desist To be commanded by thy virtue, Scipio, Or fall from friend of Rome,[350] revenging gods Afflict me with[351] your torture. I have given Of passion and of faith, my heart.

Sci. To counsel then; 40 Grief fits weak hearts, revenging virtue men. Thus I think fit, before that Syphax know How deeply Carthage sinks, let’s beat swift march Up even to Cirta, and whilst Syphax snores With his, late thine——

Mass. With mine! no, Scipio; Libya hath poison, asps, knives, and too much earth To make one grave. With mine! Not; she can die. Scipio, with mine! Jove, say it, thou dost lie.

Sci. Temperance be Scipio’s honour.

Læ. Cease your strife, She is a woman.

Mass. But she is my wife. 50

Læ. And yet she is no god.

Mass. And yet she’s more: I do not praise gods’ goodness, but adore; Gods cannot fall, and for their constant goodness (Which is necessited) they have a crown Of never-ending pleasures; but faint man (Framed to have his weakness made the heavens’ glory), If he with steady virtue holds all siege That power, that speech, that pleasure, that full sweets, A world of greatness can assail him with, Having no pay but self-wept misery, 60 A[352] beggar’s treasure-heap,—that man I’ll praise Above the gods.

Sci. The Libyan speaks bold sense.

Mass. By that by which all is, proportion, I speak with thought.

Sci. No more.

Mass. Forgive my admiration: You touch’d a string to which my sense was quick. Can you but think? Do, do; my grief—my grief— Would make a saint blaspheme! Give some relief; As thou art Scipio, forgive that I forget I am a soldier. Such woes Jove’s ribs would burst: Few speak less ill that feel so much of worst.— 70 My ear attends.

Sci. Before then Syphax join, With new-strength’d Carthage, or can once unwind His tangled sense from out so wild[353] amaze, Fall we like sudden lightning ’fore his eyes: Boldness and speed are all of victories.

Mass. Scipio, let Massinissa clip thy knees! May once these eyes view Syphax? shall this arm Once make him feel his sin? O ye gods! My cause, my cause! Justice is so huge odds, That he who with it fears, heaven must renounce 80 In his creation.

Sci. Beat then a close quick march! Before the morn shall shake cold dews through skies, Syphax shall tremble at Rome’s thick alarms.

Mass. Ye powers, I challenge conquest to just arms.

[With a full flourish of cornets, they depart.