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 Vol • III 
 
 AURENG-ZEBE A TRAGEDY 
 
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 iiniUii iiiiir!i!:i«iii{iiiiiiliiiiiiiiBii)iiiiiii i J 
 

 AURENG-ZEBE A TRAGEDY 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN 
 
 AND 
 
 BOOK II OF THE CHACE 
 
 A POEM BY WILLIAM SOMERVILE 
 
 EDITED WITH BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIRS AND NOTES 
 BY 
 
 KENNETH DEIGHTON 
 
 EDITOR OF SELECT PLAYS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 
 ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND COMPANY 
 
 U PARLIAMENT STREET S-W 
 
 MDCCCXCII 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 Prefatory Note , ix 
 
 Biographical Sketch of John Dryden S 
 
 Chronicle of his Life and Works 25 
 
 ' V Title-page of the First Edition of Aureng-Zebe ... 29 
 
 The Epistle Dedicatory 31 
 
 Prologue .... 47 
 
 ,,. -Persons represented ^5°" 
 
 Aureng-Zebe, A Tragedy 
 
 Act i ........ 51 
 
 » ii .^ . . 73 
 
 .. iii , 97 
 
 ,. iv 120 
 
 ,, V , I4S 
 
 Epilogue I7S 
 
 Biographical Sketch of William Somervile . . . 187 
 The Chace, A Poem 
 
 Book ii . 193 
 
 General Index . . 219 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 John Dryden Frontispiece 
 
 Reproduction by the Autotype Company of an 
 engraviti^ by Edelinck after the portrait by 
 Kfteller. 
 
 Title-page of the First Edition of AURENG-ZEBE 29 
 
 Reproduced, somewhat reduced in scale, by 
 Messrs. Walker & Boutall, London. 
 
 The Emperor Akbar Deer-stalking by Night Facing 183 
 
 Reproduction by Messrs. McLagan and Gumming 
 of Edinburgh of a cotemporary painting by a 
 Delhi Artist in the possession of Colonel H. B. 
 Hanna, late B.S.C. F'or a description of this 
 picture see pp. 183-4. 
 
PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 As pointed out by Mr. Archibald Constable, Dryden's 
 Aureng-Zebe is in the main a dramatised version of inci- 
 dents recorded in Bernier's Travels : and from the same 
 source Somervile largely derived the materials which in 
 the Second Book of the Chace he worked up into a graphic 
 picture of one of the more manly pastimes of imperial 
 life while Moghul sway was yet at its full height of glory. 
 It has been thought, therefore, that the two poems would 
 form a fitting pendant to the French traveller's piquant 
 narrative. The foot-notes are intended to clear up what- 
 ever in language or allusion might present a difficulty to 
 an Indian reader, and the memoir of Dryden will, it is 
 hoped, illustrate the poet's position as a dramatist and the 
 peculiar difficulties with which in that capacity he had to 
 contend. As regards the historical Aurangzib, Dryden's 
 portraiture, so far as it goes, is faithful enough; but to 
 those who care to follow out the \i(orkings of a mind so 
 strange and complex, at once powerful and inefficient, bold 
 and suspicious, conscientious yet unjust and intolerant, I 
 would recommend the perusal of chapters ix. and x. of 
 Keene's Sketch of the History of Hindustan. 
 
 K. D. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 Dryden's life covers a period of nearly seventy years. 
 His birth in 1631 almost coincides with Charles's rupture 
 with Parliament. At the Restoration, he was twenty-nine 
 years old. When he died, the reign of William the Third 
 was coming to a close. The interval had witnessed the 
 emigration of the Puritans to America, the quarrel regard- 
 ing ship-money, the battles of the Civil War, the triumph of 
 the Parliamentary party, Charles the First's execution, the 
 establishment of the Commonwealth, Cromwell's subjuga- 
 tion of Ireland, two wars with the Dutch, the plague and 
 the great fire of London, the rebellion of Monmouth, 
 James the Second's arbitrary rule, the Revolution, the con- 
 test in Ireland between James and William, the rise of 
 party government in England, the peace of Ryswick, the 
 first and second Partition Treaties. At Dryden's birth 
 Shakespeare had been dead only fifteen years, Bacon only 
 five. Descartes, Hobbes, Calderon, Corneille, Massinger, 
 Balzac, Milton, Bentley, Bossuet, Locke, Montaigne, 
 Boileau, Moliere, were contemporary with the earlier or 
 with the later years of Dryden's life ; but, with the excep- 
 tion of Milton, England during the seventy years produced 
 no great poet, whether dramatic, epic, or lyric. The 
 times, indeed, were far from favourable to poetry. In the 
 uproar and anarchy of Charles's later days, the arts of peace 
 found no recognition. During the eleven years of the 
 Commonwealth, poetry was discredited and dramatic acting 
 a thing forbidden. With the Restoration this ban was of 
 course withdrawn. But the pent-up passions of the hation, • 
 
 B 2 
 
4 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 now freed from an intolerable restraint, burst forth into 
 the wildest excesses of indulgetice — excesses which the 
 character of the King and the privations he had undergone 
 combined to encourage, while his courtiers were only too 
 glad to find excuse for their own inclinations in the sanc- 
 tion of their master's example. In such an atmosphere it 
 was almost impossible that poetry of an elevated tone could 
 live and thrive. Under a monarch like Charles the Second 
 the stimulus of patriotism had no existence ; religion, in an 
 age which made a boast of scoffing, offered no incentive to 
 what was pure and noble ; wit, where it was not trivial, 
 plumed itself upon obscenity ; learning dwelt apart among 
 a few studious recluses ; material, sensual, and momentary 
 enjoyment alone appealed to a society that had not pith 
 and marrow enough to sin by way of ambition. In an 
 evil hour for him, therefore, was Dryden born. Had he 
 lived fifty years earlier, he might have been known to us as 
 among the giant race of Elizabethan dramatists. Had he 
 lived fifty years later, his breadth of mind and grandeur of 
 imagination would have found healthier engagement and 
 purer aims. Still, amid such an environment as was his, 
 he has left us much that will last with the English language, 
 and even from those most grudging of their praise has 
 earned for himself the recognition of holding the first place 
 in the second rank of English poets. 
 
 It will be convenient to divide this biographical sketch 
 into periods : from Dryden's birth to the Restoration ; from 
 the Restoration to 1681 ; from 1681 to 1688 ; from 1688 
 to 1700. 
 
 1631 — 1660 
 
 Of the first of these periods, the particulars are few and 
 meagre. We know that Dryden was born at Aldwinkle, 
 All Saints, Northamptonshire, in August 1631, his father 
 being Erasmus, third son of Sir Erasmus Driden, Bart., 
 and his mother, Mary, daughter of Henry Pickering, rector 
 of Aldwinkle. But of his earlier days nothing further has 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 5 
 
 been ascertained than that he " had his first learning " at 
 Tichmarsh, and thence was sent to Westminster School. 
 There he obtained a King's scholarship, and with it pro- 
 ceeded in 1650 to Trinity College, Cambridge, taking his 
 B.A. degree in 1654. Of his life at Trinity almost the 
 only recorded incident is, that in 1652 he was "dis- 
 communed " for some offence against College discipline ; 
 but, though he never obtained his M.A. degree, he seems 
 to have remained in residence for nearly seven years. In 
 1654 his father died, leaving him a small property, and in 
 
 1657 Dryden came to live in London. There he is said 
 for a time to have found a home with his cousin. Sir 
 Gilbert Pickering, an influential adherent of Cromwell, to 
 whose party all Dryden's relations belonged. What his 
 literary occupations were at this time, is uncertain ; but so 
 far he had produced nothing that at all gave promise of his 
 future greatness as a poet. The death of Cromwell in 
 
 1658 prompted his first work of any mark, a poem of some 
 150 lines, entitled "Heroic Stanzas, consecrated to the 
 Memory of His Highness Oliver, late Lord Protector of 
 this Commonwealth." 
 
 1660 — 1681 
 
 With the Restoration, any hopes that Dryden may have 
 founded upon the interest of his relations died away, and 
 for some time his career was obscure, though in the two 
 years following Charles's return he wrote three poems of 
 considerable merit, Astrcea Redux, in celebration of the 
 King's restoration, the Panegyric on his coronation, and a 
 complimentary poem addressed to Clarendon, the Lord 
 Chancellor. The change of politics which these poems 
 declare exposed him later on to the charge of time-serving 
 complaisance, though from the poet's subsequent career we 
 may justly infer that the new order of things was more in 
 accordance with his real feelings than the stern morality of 
 the unbending Puritans. Whatever the degree of his sin- 
 cerity in thus espousing the Royal cause, the publication of 
 
:6 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 these poems led to an intimacy with Sir Robert Howard, a 
 younger son of the royalist Earl of Berkshire, himself a 
 poet of some merit, and their intimacy to the marriage of 
 Dryden, in 1663, to Howard's sister, Lady Elizabeth, — a 
 .marriage which, from whatever cause, does not appear to 
 have been a very happy one. Shortly before his marriage, 
 rDryden had made his first essay in dramatic writing, The 
 Wild Gallant being performed at the King's Theatre in 
 February 1663. This play was a failure, and even as sub- 
 sequently revised is a wretched thing. The Rival Ladies, 
 his second play, brought out in the same year, had a better 
 reception ; and in 1665, having in the interval helped 
 Howard with his Indian Queen, Dryden produced with 
 great success his Indian Emperor, a sequel to Howard's 
 drama. For the next year and a half the theatres were 
 closed in consequence of the plague and great fire of 
 London. Between 1667 (when they reopened) and 1681, 
 Dryden brought out seventeen dramas, including an ope- 
 ratic version of part of Paradise Lost, and adaptations of 
 Shakespeare's Tempest and Troilus and Cressida. Of these 
 seventeen, six were comedies, which even in Dryden's day 
 met with slight favour, and have since found but few apolo- 
 gists ; one was a tragi-comedy. The Spanish Friar ; four 
 were " heroic plays " in rhymed verse, of which the last 
 and finest is Aureng-Zebe ; two were tragedies in blank 
 verse. All for Love and CEdipus, and one, Amboyna, a 
 tragedy mainly in prose. 
 
 1681— 1688 
 
 With the year 1681 we come to a fresh epoch in Dryden's 
 poetical career. Up to that time' his poetry, apart from his 
 dramas, had been inconsiderable in amount and kind, the 
 Heroic Stanzas, Astrxa Redux and Annus Mirabilis, making 
 up all that was likely to be of permanent fame. In none 
 of these poems is there anything of satire, in none of his 
 dramas any indication that political satire was a weapon 
 of which he was at will a master. Yet at a single bound 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 7 
 
 he leaps forth as the greatest political satirist of his own 
 time and country, in many ways the greatest political 
 satirist of any time and any country. In a single year he 
 poured forth Absalom and Achitophel, the Medal, and Mac- 
 Flecknoe. The occasion of the first of these poems was the 
 rebellion of Monmouth with Shaftesbury's instigations 
 thereto. Shaftesbury having escaped punishment by the 
 grand jury throwing out the bill, a Medal with the legend 
 LcBtamur was struck by his adherents to commemorate the 
 event. Thereupon Dryden, at the suggestion, it is said, of 
 the King, wrote the second of these poems, again bitterly 
 satirizing Shaftesbury. The Medal, like Absalom and 
 Achitophel, gave rise to many poetical rejoinders, among 
 which was one by Shad well. Though not generally con- 
 descending to answer personal attacks, Dryden in this case 
 thought fit to retaliate, and the result was Mac-Flecknoe, in 
 which Shadwell is represented as succeeding to the throne 
 of dulness lately occupied by a miserable poet named 
 Flecknoe. The Second Part of Absalom and Achitophel, 
 the greater portion of which was written by Nahum Tate, 
 followed almost immediately afterwards, and Dryden con- 
 tributed some two hundred vigorous lines, in which Shad- 
 well received a further castigation. Dryden's next work, 
 produced a month later, was of a religious character, the 
 Religio Laid, or exposition of a layman's creed, the subject 
 being suggested by the political controversies in which 
 'religion so largely mingled. In the same year Dryden 
 co-operated with Lee in producing the Duke of Guise, the 
 story of the French League being used as a parallel to 
 the contest of the Court with Shaftesbury and Mon- 
 mouth, though Dryden almost immediately afterwards 
 disavowed any political meaning, attributing the design 
 of the play to Lee, and declaring his own share to 
 have been inconsiderable. Among minor works upon 
 which he was engaged at this period were a Preface and 
 Life contributed to a new translation of Plutarch then pub- 
 lishing, a translation of Maimbourg's History of the League, 
 
8 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 and two volumes, in 1684 and 1685, oi Miscellanies, among 
 which were translations from Virgil, Horace, and Ovid. 
 In 1687 came out the famous poem of The Hind and 
 Panther, a justification of the Roman Catholic faith, to 
 which Dryden had recently become a convert ; and in 1688 
 Britannia Rediviva, in celebration of the birth of James's 
 heir. 
 
 1688 — 1790 
 
 With the Revolution, which followed a few months later, 
 Dryden, who, as a Roman Catholic, was unable to take the 
 oaths of allegiance, lost his offices of Poet Laureate and 
 historiographer, and for the rest of his life had to depend 
 almost entirely upon his literary works. For a time he 
 returned to dramatic writing, and during the years 1690-4 
 produced Don Sebastian, an altered version oi King Arthur, 
 Amphitryon, Cleomenes, and Love Triumphant ; together 
 with a translation of Juvenal and Persius, and contributions 
 to two further volumes ol Miscellanies. In 1694 he under- 
 took his translation of Virgil, completing it about the 
 middle of 1697, in which year he also composed his famous 
 Ode of Alexandet^s Feast. His latest work was his Fables, 
 including versions of the first Ihad, of some of Ovid's 
 Metamorphoses, and tales from Chaucer and Boccaccio. 
 Early in 1700 he was attacked with gout ; one of his toes 
 mortified, and amputation was advised by his doctor. To 
 this operation he refused to submit, and on the ist of May 
 death relieved him of the burden he had borne so long and 
 with so much fortitude. His body was embalmed, and on ' 
 the 13th of May was buried with great pomp in the Poet's 
 Corner of Westminster Abbey by the side of Chaucer and 
 Cowley. Dorset and Montague undertook to raise a monu- 
 ment to the poet, but failed to do so. The Duke of New- 
 castle is also said to have given an order for one, an order 
 which, if given, was never executed ; and Dryden's grave 
 remained unmarked until twenty years later, when a plain, 
 but striking, monument was erected over it by the Duke of 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 9 
 
 Buckinghamshire, the patron to whom Aureng-Zebe is dedi- 
 cated. This monument, which is surmounted by a bust of 
 Dryden (placed there in 1730 by the Duchess of Bucking- 
 hamshire), the work of the sculptor Scheemakers, bears the 
 following inscription : — 
 
 J. DRYDEN. 
 Natus 1632 ■ Mortuus Maij i . 1700.- 
 JoANNES Sheffield Dux Buc- 
 
 KINGHAMIENSIS POSUIT* I72O. 
 
 Dryden's Dramas, more especially his Heroic Plays. 
 
 Modern criticism of Dryden's plays has generally been 
 severe, and not always just. For this there are several 
 causes. His comedies are largely tainted with gross in- 
 decency, and altogether unfit for the stage of to-day. His 
 tragedies, though comparatively free from this taint, are 
 in some cases based on repulsive subjects. In many of 
 them the extravagance of action and the turgid rant of 
 language are such as to create wonder at their having ever 
 been admired ; while the rhymed metre of the " heroic 
 plays " is altogether opposed to the national conception of 
 serious drama. With rare exceptions, the characterization 
 is feeble, and the resort to supernatural agency, to which 
 Dryden was in his early days so much addicted, only adds 
 to the improbability which the more than human attributes 
 of his heroes had already emphasized. Further, the com- 
 parison which is inevitable between Dryden and his prede- 
 cessors of the " great age " has largely helped to bias the 
 bowl and incline us to a rigour of judgment which other- 
 wise might not have been called down. Among the earliest 
 and most notable critics of Dryden is Johnson,' whose 
 political views would tend to make him lenient. Of the 
 Conquest of Granada, the most famous, though not the 
 
 ' Life of Dryden. 
 
lo BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 best, of the " heroic plays," he thus writes : " The two 
 parts of the Conquest of Granada are written with a seem- 
 ing determination to glut the publick with dramatick 
 wonders, to exhibit in its highest elevation a theatrical 
 meteor of incredible love and impossible valour, and to 
 leave no room for a wilder flight to the extravagance of 
 posterity. All the rays of romantick heat, whether amorous 
 or warlike, glow in . Almanzor by a kind of concentration. 
 He is above all laws ; he is exempt from all restraints ; he 
 ranges the world at will, and governs wherever he appears. 
 He fights without inquiring the cause, and loves in spite of 
 the obligations of justice, of rejection by his mistress, and 
 of prohibition from the dead. Yet the scenes are, for the 
 most part, delightful ; they exhibit a kind of illustrious de- 
 pravity, and majestick madness, such as, if it is sometimes 
 despised, is often reverenced, and in which the ridiculous 
 is mingled with the astonishing." With this, a criticism of 
 qne of Dryden's earliest plays, may be coupled a criticism of 
 one of his latest : — " Don Sebastian is commonly esteemed 
 either the first or second of his dramatick performances. It 
 is too long to be all acted, and has many characters and 
 many incidents ; and though it is not without sallies 
 of frantick dignity, and more noise than meaning, yet 
 as it makes approaches to the possibilities of real life, 
 and has some sentiments which leave a strong impres- 
 sion, it continued long to attract attention. Amidst the 
 distresses of princes, and the vicissitudes of empire, are 
 inserted several scenes which the writer intended for 
 comick; but which, I suppose, that age did not much 
 commend, and this would not endure. There are, how- 
 ever, passages of excellence universally acknowledged ; the 
 dispute and the reconciliation of Dorax and Sebastian has 
 always been admired." Macaulay' is much more ruthless. 
 These are some of his utterances : " His plays, his rhyming 
 plays in particular, are admirable subjects for those who 
 wish to study the morbid anatomy of the drama. He was 
 
 ' Edinburgh Review, January 1828. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ii 
 
 .utterly destitute of the power of exhibiting real human 
 beings. Even in the far inferior talent of composing 
 characters out of those elements into which the imperfect 
 powers of our reason can resolve them, he was very de- 
 ficient. His men are not even good personifications ; they 
 are not well-assorted assemblages of qualities. Now and 
 then, indeed, he seizes a very coarse and marked dis- 
 tinction, and gives us, not a likeness, but a strong caricature, 
 in which a single peculiarity is protruded, and everything 
 else is neglected ; like the Marquis of Granby at an inn- 
 door, whom we know by nothing but his baldness ; or 
 Wilkes, who is Wilkes only in his squint. These are the 
 best specimens of his skill. For most of his pictures seem, 
 like Turkey carpets, to have been expressly designed not 
 to resemble anything in the heavens above, in the earth 
 ■beneath, or in the waters under the earth. ... As is the 
 love of his heroes, such are all their other emotions. All 
 their qualities, their courage, their generosity, their pride, 
 are on the same colossal scale. Justice and prudence are 
 virtues that can exist only in a moderate degree, ,and which 
 change their nature if pushed to excess. Of justice and 
 prudence, therefore, Dryden leaves his favourites destitute. 
 He did not care to give them what he could not give 
 without measure. The tyrants and rufifians are merely the 
 heroe^ altered by a few touches, similar to those which 
 transformed the face of Sir Roger de Coverley into the 
 Saracen's head. Through the grin and frown the original 
 features are still perceptible. ... It must be allowed that 
 the worst even of the rhyming tragedies contains good 
 description and magnificent rhetoric. But, even when we 
 forget that they are plays, and, passing by their dramatic 
 improprieties, consider them with reference to the language, 
 we are perpetually disgusted by passages which it is difficult 
 to conceive how any author could have • written, or any 
 audience have tolerated, rants in which the raving violence 
 of [the manner forms a strange contrast with the abject 
 tameness of the. thought. The author laid the whole fault 
 
12 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 on the audience, and declared that, when he wrote them, 
 he considered them bad enough to please. This defence 
 is unworthy of a man of genius, and, after all, is no 
 defence. Otway pleased without rant; and so might 
 Dryden have done, if he had possessed the power of Otway. 
 The fact is, that he had a tendency to bombast, which, 
 though subsequently corrected by time and thought, was 
 never wholly removed, and which showed itself in per- 
 formances not designed to please the rude mob of the 
 theatre." Macaulay's criticisms are probably influenced 
 by a political animus that warps his judgment. They 
 were, moreover, written in the first flush of youth and eager 
 feeling. Scott, in his notices of the various plays, is more 
 generous and more discriminating. Thus, of the heroic 
 plays he remarks :'■ " It is impossible to conceive anything 
 more different from the old English drama, than the heroic 
 plays which were introduced by Charles the Second. The 
 former, in labouring to exhibit a variety and contrast of 
 passions, tempers, or humours, frequently altogether neg- 
 lected the dignity of the scene. In the heroical tragedy, 
 on the other hand, nothing was to be indecorous, nothing 
 grotesque : the personages were to speak, not as men, 
 but as heroes ; to whom as statuaries have assigned a 
 superiority of stature, so these poets have given an uniform 
 grandeur of feeling and of expression. It may be thought 
 that this monotonous splendour of diction would have 
 palled upon an English audience, less pleased generally 
 with refinement, however elegant, than with bursts of 
 passion, and flights of novelty. But Dryden felt his force in 
 the line which he chose to pursue and recommend. The 
 indescribable charms of his versification gratified the ear of 
 the public, while their attention was engaged by the splen- 
 dour of his images, and the matchless ingenuity of his 
 arguments. , . . The ' Indian Emperor 'is an instance, 
 what beautiful poetry may be united to, we had almost said 
 thrown away upon, the heroic drama. The very first scene 
 ' Introduction to the Indian Emperor, vol. ii. pp. 318-20. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 13 
 
 exhibits much of those beauties and their attendant de- 
 formities. A modern audience would hardly have sate in 
 patience to hear more than the first extravagant and ludi- 
 crous supposition of Cortez : — 
 
 ' As if our old world modestly withdrew ; 
 And here, in private, had brought forth a new.' 
 
 But had they condemned the piece for this uncommon 
 case of parturition, they would have lost the beautiful and 
 melodious verses, in which Cortez, and his followers, de- 
 scribe the advantages of the newly-discovered world ; and 
 they would have lost the still more exquisite account, 
 which, immediately after, Guyomar gives of the arrival of 
 the Spanish fleet. Of the characters little need be said ; 
 they stalk on, in their own fairy land, in the same uniform 
 livery, with little peculiarity of discrimination. All the 
 men, from Montezuma to Pizarro, are brave warriors ; and 
 only vary in proportion to the mitigating qualities which 
 the poet has infused into their military ardour. The 
 women are all beautiful, and all deeply in love ; differing 
 from each other only, as the haughty or tender predomi- 
 nates in their passion. But the charm of the poetry, and 
 the ingenuity of the dialogue, render it impossible to peruse, 
 without pleasure, a drama, the faults of which may be im- 
 puted to its structure, while its beauties are peculiar to 
 Dryden." Of his later plays Scott' remarks : " His style of 
 tragedy, we have seen, varied with his improved taste, 
 perhaps with the change of manners. Although the heroic 
 drama, as we have 'described it at length in the preceding 
 pages, presented the strongest temptation to the exercise of 
 argumentative poetry in sounding rhyme, Dryden was at 
 length contented to abandon it for the more pure and 
 chaste style of tragedy, which professes rather the repre- 
 sentation of human beings, than the creation of ideal 
 perfection, or fantastic and anomalous characters. The 
 best of Dryden's performances in this latter style are un- 
 
 1 Life, vol. i. p. 407. 
 
14 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 questionably 'Don Sebastian' and 'All for Love.' Of these, 
 the former is in the poet's very best manner ; exhibiting 
 dramatic persons, consisting of such bold and impetuous 
 characters as he delighted to draw, well contrasted, forcibly 
 marked, and engaged in an interesting succession of 
 events." Hallam, in whom the judicial cast of mind 
 was as prominent as in Macaulay it was deficient, ob- 
 serves :^ " Most of Dryden's plays are singularly ill-adapted 
 to the stage of our own day. Nothing, happily, can be 
 more alien from the present constitution of the theatre 
 than the artistic principles inculcated in his rhyming 
 tragedies and the moral principles inculcated in his comedy. 
 These faults in taste and decency it would be impossible 
 to eradicate without total reconstruction. But many of 
 the tragedies in question had their value as illustrations of 
 history. 'The Conquest of Granada' and 'The Indian 
 Emperor ' illustrated the progress of the Spanish dominion. 
 ' Amboyna ' described the sufferings sustained by our mer- 
 chants at the hands of the Dutch. ' King Arthur ' revived 
 one of our national legends. In ' The Duke of Guise ' the 
 veil of French history served for a political allegory. In 
 many of these there is, however, as great a sameness of 
 character as in the plays of Byron. There exists even a 
 graver charge against Dryden's heroes. They were often 
 eminently unnatural. Dryden has contended somewhere^ 
 that, as the dramatist is not confined to the probable in 
 character, he cannot be restricted to the bounds of nature 
 in action. The fallacy of the reasoning is plain enough ; 
 but if literally understood it may account for many of his 
 deviations from the fidelity of life." . . . Again,^ "The 
 first tragedies of Dryden were what was called heroic, and 
 written in rhyme ; an innovation which, of course, must be 
 ascribed to the influence of the French theatre. They have 
 occasionally much vigour of sentiment and much beautiful 
 poetry, with a versification sweet even to lusciousness. 
 
 ' Edinburgh Review, July 1855. " Essay on Heroic Plays. 
 
 ' Literary History, iv. pp. 282-3. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 15 
 
 ' The Conquest of Granada ' is, on account of its extrava- 
 gance, the most celebrated of these plays ; but it is inferior 
 to ' The Indian Emperor,' from which it would be easy to 
 select passages of perfect elegance. . . . Dryden may pro- 
 bably have been fond of this species of tragedy, on account 
 of his own facility in rhyming, and his habit of condensing 
 his sense. Rhyme, indeed, can only be rejected in our 
 language from the tragic scene, because blank verse affords 
 wider scope for the emotions it ought to excite ; but for the 
 tumid rhapsodies which the personages of his heroic plays 
 utter, there can be no excuse. He adhered to this tone, 
 however, till the change in public taste, and especially the 
 ridicule thrown on his own- plays by the 'Rehearsal,' 
 drove him to adopt a very different, though not altogether 
 faultless, style of tragedy. His principal works of the 
 latter class are All for Love, in 1678, the Spanish Friar, 
 commonly referred to 1682, and Don Sebastian, in 1690. 
 Upon these the dramatic fame of Dryden is built ; while 
 the rants of Almanzor and Maximin are never mentioned 
 but in ridicule. The chief excellence of the first tragedy 
 appears to consist in the beauty of the language, that of the 
 second in the interest of the story, and that of the third in 
 the highly-finished character of Dorax. Dorax is the best 
 of Dryden's tragic characters, and perhaps the only one in 
 which he has applied his great knowledge of the human 
 mind to actual delineation. It is highly dramatic, because 
 formed of those complex passions which may readily lead 
 either to virtue or to vice, and which the poet can manage 
 so as to surprise the spectator without transgressing con- 
 sistency. . . . But Don Sebastian is as imperfect as all 
 plays must be in which a single personage is thrown for- 
 ward in too strong relief for the rest. The language is full 
 of that rant which characterized Dryden's earlier tragedies, 
 and to which a natural predilection seems, after some 
 interval, to have brought him back." . . . The estimate 
 formed of Dryden's dramatic poems by the French critic, 
 Taine, is especially valuable because the poet's apologists. 
 
i6 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 as well as the poet himself, have justified the heroic plays 
 on the ground that they owe their origin to the French 
 drama. "Such," says Taine,' "is this tingedy [Tyrannk 
 Love], which is called French-like ; and most of the others 
 are like it. In Secref Love, in Marriage d, la Mode, in 
 Aureng-Zebe, in the Indian Emperor, and especially in the 
 Conquest of Granada, everything is extravagant. People 
 cut one another to pieces, take towns, stab each other, 
 shout loudly. These dramas have just the truth and natu- 
 ralness of the libretto of an opera. Incantations abound ; 
 a spirit appears in the Indian Emperor, and declares that 
 the Indian gods ' are driven to exile from their native 
 lands.' Ballets are also there ; Vasquez and Pizarro, seated 
 in ' a pleasant grotto,' watch like conquerors the dances of 
 Indian girls, who gambol voluptuously about them. Scenes 
 worthy of LuUi are not wanting; Almeria, like Armide, 
 comes to slay Cortez in his sleep, and suddenly conceives a 
 love for him. Yet the libretti of the opera have no incon- 
 gruities ; they avoid all which might shock the imagination 
 or the eyes ; they are written for men of taste, who shun 
 ugliness and heaviness of any sort. Would you believe it ? 
 In the Indian Emperor, Montezuma is tortured on the 
 stage, and, to cap all, a priest tries to convert him in the 
 meanwhile. I recognize in this frightful pedantry the 
 handsome cavaliers of the time, logicians and hangmen, 
 who fed on controversy, and for pleasure went to look at 
 the tortures of the Puritans. I recognize behind these 
 heaps of improbabilities and adventures the puerile and 
 worn-out courtiers, who, sodden with wine, were past 
 seeing discordances, and whose nerves were only stirred by 
 the shock of surprises and the barbarity of events. Let us 
 go still further. Dryden would set up on his stage the 
 beauties of French tragedy, and in the first place, nobility 
 of sentiments. Is it enough to copy, as he does, phrases 
 of chivalry ? He would need a whole world, for a whole 
 world is necessary to form noble souls. Virtue, in the 
 > Vol. ii. pp. 10-14. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 17 
 
 French tragic poets, is founded on reason, religion, educa- 
 tion, philosophy. Their characters have that uprightness 
 of mind, that clearness of logic, that lofty judgment, which 
 plant in a nian settled maxims and self-government. We 
 perceive in their company the doctrines of Bossuet and 
 Pescartes ; with them reflection aids conscience ; the habits 
 of society add tact aq4 finesse. The avoidance of violent 
 actions and physical horrors, the meed of order and fable, 
 the art of disguising of shunning coarse or low-bred persons, 
 the continuous perfection of the most measured and noble 
 style, everything contribates to raise the stage to a sublime 
 region, and we believe in higher souls by seeing them in a 
 purer air. Can we believe in them in Dryden ? Frightful 
 or infamous characters every instant drag us down by their 
 crudities in their own mire. Maximin, having stabbed 
 Placidiug, sits on his body, stabs him twice more, and says 
 to his guards : • • 
 
 ' Bring me Porphyrius and my empress dead : 
 I would brave heaven, in my each hand a head. ' 
 
 Nourmahal, repulsed by her husband's son, insists four 
 times with such indecent pedantry as this : 
 
 ' And why this niceness to that pleasure shown, 
 Where nature sums up all her joys in one. . . 
 Promiscuous love is nature's general law ; 
 For whosoever the first lovers were, 
 Brother and sister made the second pair, 
 And doubled by their love their piety. . . 
 You must be mine, that you may learn to live.' 
 
 Illusion vanishes at once ; instead of being in a room with 
 noble characters, we meet with a mad prostitute and a 
 drunken savage. Lift the masks; the others are little 
 better. Almeria, to whom a crown is offered, says inso- 
 lently : 
 
 ' I take this garland, not as given by you, 
 But as my merit, and my beauty's due.' 
 
 Indamora, to whom an old courtier makes love, settles him 
 
 c 
 
1 8 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 with the boastfulness of an upstart and the coarseness of a 
 kitchen-maid : 
 
 ' Were I no queen, did you my beauty weigh, 
 My youth in bloom, your age in its decay. ' 
 
 None of these heroines know how to conduct themselves ; 
 they look on impertinence as dignity, sensuality as tender- 
 ness ; they have the recklessness of the courtesan, the 
 jealousies of the grisette, the pettiness of a chapman's 
 wife, the billingsgate of a fishwoman. The heroes are the 
 most unpleasant of swashbucklers. Leonidas, first recog- 
 nized as hereditary prince, then suddenly forsaken, con- 
 soles himself with this modest reflection : 
 
 ' 'Tis true I am alone. 
 
 So was the godhead, ere he made the world, 
 And better served himself, than served by nature. 
 ... I have scene enough within 
 To exercise my virtue.' 
 
 Shall I speak of that great trumpet-blower, Almanzor, 
 painted, as Dryden confesses, after Artaban, a redresser of 
 wrongs, a battalion-smiter, a destroyer of kingdoms ? They 
 are but overcharged sentiments, extemporized devotions, 
 exaggerated generosities, high-sounding brag of a clumsy 
 chivalry ; at bottom the characters are clods and barbarians, 
 who have tried to deck themselves in French honour and 
 fashionable politeness. And such, in fact, was the English 
 court : it imitated that of Louis XIV. as a sign-painter 
 imitates an artist. It had neither taste nor refinement, and 
 wished to appear as if it possessed them. Panders and 
 licentious women, bullying or butchering courtiers, who 
 would go and see Harrison drawn, or mutilate Coventry, 
 maids of honour who have awkward accidents at a ball, or 
 sell to the planters the convicts presented to them, a palace 
 full of baying dogs and yelling gamesters, a king who would 
 bandy obscenities in public with his half-naked mistresses, 
 — such was this illustrious society; from French modes 
 they took but those of dress, from their noble sentiments 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 19 
 
 but high-sounding words." . . On the other hand, 
 Taine's analysis of All for Love, too long for quotation 
 here, is almost wholly complimentary, and forms a tribute 
 of praise such as has been bestowed upon the poet by none 
 of his English critics. 
 
 That Dryden does not stand in the first rank of drama- 
 tists may be conceded at once. It may further be conceded 
 that his mind was not eminently of the dramatic cast. 
 Subtle reasoning, pungent satire, musical rhythm, lofty 
 declamation, descriptive power, impassioned eloquence, 
 were his in prodigal measure, and are abundantly displayed 
 in his satirical, didactic, lyric, and narrative poems. Yet 
 that his dramatic writing was not greater than it is, is 
 without doubt largely due to the circumstances of his life 
 and his times. To the predilections of Charles we owe it 
 in no small degree that Dryden at the outset took for his 
 province the imperfect imitation of a foreign drama, while 
 that King's predilections, no less than Dryden's inclination, 
 led to the adoption of rhymed metre. The dissoluteness 
 of his comedies was but a reflex of the dissoluteness of 
 the Court and of the poet's aristocratic friends. His office 
 of Poet Laureate and the narrowness of his means made 
 it necessary that he should write to please, while a restless 
 ambition to be the first poet of his age urged him to 
 handle such subjects and in such a manner as would most 
 quickly and most surely bring him to his goal. His 
 temperament was not one that leads " to scorn delights and 
 live laborious days " for the purer satisfaction of realizing 
 a grand ideal. He had but httle of Milton's sublimity, 
 little of Shakespeare's " myriad-mindedness.'' But had he 
 combined the varied gifts of both, he would have been out 
 of joint with the time, and such success as his worldly 
 > spirit craved would have been impossible to him. That he 
 was subject to pitiful weaknesses,- that he had not more 
 back-bone and truer loftiness of aim, detracts of course 
 from his character. . Yet I cannot believe that amid more 
 favourable surroundings the author of All for Love and 
 
 c 2 
 
20 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 Don Sebastian would h^vq been incapable of scaling 
 greater heights than those he ever touched ; I cannot allow 
 that the powers of hini who created Ventidius and Dorax 
 are in any way to be gauged by the crude efforts of his 
 Maximin arid Almanzor. Though the highest dramatic 
 genius was not his, indomitable perseverance almost 
 supplied its place. In his conception of the dramatic 
 spirit, in mastery of versification and metre, in creative 
 faculty and strength of characterization, his progress was 
 uniform and sustained ; and Don Sebastian is as superior 
 to Aureng-Zebe as Aureng-Zebe is superior to the Indian 
 Emperor. With this progress he had in great measure left 
 behind that love of indecent language and , indecent 
 situation which defiled a,ll his comedies and sonie of his 
 tragedies. At the period at which he wrote Aureng-Zebe, 
 Dryden was in a transition stage, and already beginning to 
 free himself from the fascinations of his " lov'd mistress," 
 rhyme. A careful study of Shakespeare and his great 
 successors had taught him to suspect that blank verse is the 
 fitter medium for dramatic representation ; and though he 
 still adheres to rhyme, it is rhyme of an easier and more, 
 broken cadence. His language is far less tumid and 
 ornate ; he has abandoned the sword-play of metaphysical 
 love-cornbats ; his men are more like men, his women 
 more like women, neither impossible creations of perfect 
 heroism, beauty, and power, nor monstrosities of vice and 
 cruelty. Extravagance there is, extravagance, cruelty, and 
 arrogance ; but all in a subdued tone when compared with 
 their exhibition in the Conquest of Granada, Tyrannic 
 Love, or the Indian Emperor. The characters are well 
 discriminated, and fairly complete ; the local colouring 
 well maintained ; while many passages claim unalloyed 
 admiration alike for the beauty of their poetry and the 
 justness of their sentiments. Throughout Dryden has 
 followed Bernier closely, and the character of the hero, if 
 somewhat flattering, is in the main authorized by history. 
 In his Nourmahal, the poet, confounding together two 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH it 
 
 distinct persons,, has given us a portraiture which belongs 
 to neither Nilr Jahan nor to Mumtdz Mahal 5 but the 
 conception is not in itself untrue to nature, nor can I agree 
 with Saintsbury that Nourmahal's raving in the final scene 
 is altogether an " extravagant and ludicrous rhapsody." It 
 might at all events be paralleled from our older drama- 
 tists. The Emperor and Morat are fairly faithful likenesses 
 of their originals; Indamora and Melesinda have not a 
 httle that is pleasing in their respective parts, while their 
 characters are sufiBciently individual and distinct.. 
 
 In estimating Dryden's work, some account, I have said, 
 must be taken of his pecuniary circumstances. Throughout 
 the greater part of his life he was more or less pressed upon 
 by narrowness of income ; and to this in a considerable 
 degree may be attributed the haste with which he " huddled 
 up " his plays, and the subservience of which he was guilty 
 to popular taste. In his early days, the scanty pittance 
 bequeathed him by his father was eked out by hack' 
 writing for a bookseller, and by some sort of assistance 
 from his relations. When, after the Restoration, he took 
 to writing for the theatre, his income became larger ; and 
 the share granted him in the King's Theatre, to which he 
 engaged to supply three plays a year, amounted for a time 
 to something between ^^300 and ;^4oo annually. His 
 appointment, in 1670, as Poet Laureate and Historio- 
 grapher gave him an additional ;^2oo, and, with his own 
 private means, his total income during the years 1670-4 is 
 computed at something between ;£6oo and ;^7oo a year, a 
 sum representing more than ;£'2,ooo now-a-days. In or 
 before the year 1679 a further pension of ;£"ioo was 
 conferred upon him by the King, and in 1683 his ofifice in 
 the Customs brought him in something more. But the 
 burning of the King's Theatre in 1672 largely diminished 
 his incomings from that source, and. by 1684 his contract 
 with the Company came to an end. In 1685 his salary 
 from the Crown was four years in arrear, and at best it was 
 paid with great irregularity. From the Revolution 
 
22, BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 onwards, he had to depend almost entirely upon his pen.. 
 The proceeds from his dramas are unknown, his Miscel- 
 lanies produced only ;^3oo, and though it has been 
 computed that his receipts from the translation of Virgil 
 amounted to something like ;^i,2oo, his total income 
 during these twelve years must have been very inadequate 
 to the style of life to which he had been accustomed. It 
 may, perhaps, seem strange that, enjoying for some years 
 an income sufHcient for the comforts and even the luxuries 
 of life, Dryden should not have put by something for a 
 rainy day. But this period was of short duration, the 
 habits of the time were far from thrifty, the poet appears 
 to have been of a careless disposition, and this carelessness 
 was no doubt exaggerated by ■ the uncertainty of his 
 receipts, more especially those derived from the Crown. 
 
 By those who desire fuller details of Dryden's life, the 
 following works may be consulted with advantage : John- 
 son's Life; Scott's Life, Vol, i. of Dryden's Complete 
 Works ; the Dictionary of National Biography ; Christie's 
 Globe edition of Dryden's Poetical Works ; Saintsbury's 
 Dryden, in Macmillan's series of English Men of Letters. 
 
CHRONICLE 
 
CHRON I CLE 
 
 OF 
 
 SOME OF THE PRINCIPAL EVENTS 
 
 IN THE 
 
 LIFE AND TIMES 
 
 OF 
 
 ft 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN 
 
 fflftarlfB tl)f iFtrat, asting; of Engten*. 
 Siiai) 3la1)att, Smptxot of f^tnDoatan. 
 
 Born at Aldwinkle, All Saints, Northamptonshire. 
 Goes to Westminster Scliool, 
 
 ffiommoninealtf) protlaimtt in ®nglanti, ^lanuarS 30, 1648-9. 
 
 Entered at Trinity College, Cambridge. 
 
 Matriculated. 
 
 Graduated as B.A. 
 
 His father dies, leaving him a' small estate, 
 
 Leaves Cambridge. 
 
 ^uxanspi proclat'ms i)ttnseU. ffintiieror of ^iniiaBtan, unber 
 tiie title of ^lamzix, S)uls 21, 1658. 
 
 Elegy on Cromwell. 
 
 1831. Aug- 
 ust 9th (7) 
 
 ? 
 
 1630, 
 May lltb 
 July 6th 
 
 16S3-{. 
 Januatiy 
 
 16M. 
 June 
 
 1699. 
 
26 CHRONICLE OF JOHN DRYDEN 
 
 CEi^arlrs ${. of ffinglaini) enters Hontion, jDttas 29, 1660. 
 meatoratton. 
 
 1661. Astrcea Redux, celebrating the Restoration. 
 
 1662. 
 November Elected a Member of the Royal Society. 
 26th 
 
 1663. 1'^^ Wild Gallant, his first acted play, performed at the King's 
 February Theatre. 
 
 Angast (7) The Rival Ladies, his seCOttd play, acted. 
 December Married to Lady Elizabeth Howard. 
 
 1664. Helps Sir Robert Howard in The Indian Queen, a tragedy upon 
 Montezuma. 
 
 1663. Produces a sequel, The Indian Emperor. 
 
 {The Srteatres tloeeb from itttas 1665 till t1)e en!) of 1666 oiuing 
 to tJ)e piagtie and tije fflreat JPice of EonSon. 
 
 1666. Retires for some time to Charlton, in Wiltshire, a seat of his father- 
 
 in-law, Lord Berkshire, where his eldest son was born. 
 
 During his retreat he writes the Annus Mirabilis and the Essay on 
 Dramatic Poesy. 
 
 1667. 
 Uarcb 
 
 Secret Love ; or. The Maiden Queen, 
 7 Sir Martin Mar-all. 
 
 1668. Defence, of his' Essay on Dramatic Poesy. 
 
 1668. An Evenings Love ; or. The Mock Astrologer, 
 
 1669. The Archbishop of Canterbury, at the King's request, confers upon 
 him the degree of M.A. 
 
 1669. Tyrannic Love ; or. The Royal Martyr, 
 
 1669. The Conquest of Granada. 
 
 1670. Appointed Poet Laureate and Historiographer to the King, 
 
 1672. Marriage cl la Mode,, and The Assignation. 
 
 1673. The State of Innocence, and Amboyna, 
 
 1673. Aureng-Zebe, a tragedy, first acted it is believed in the Spring of 
 
 this year. ' 
 
 1678. All for Love, and The Kind Keeper. 
 
 1679. (Edipus, in conjunction with Nathaniel Lee, and an alteration of 
 Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida. 
 
CHRONICLE OF JOHN DRYDEN 27 
 
 The Spanish Friar, in which he satirized th^Roman Catholics. *B81' 
 
 Absalom and Achitophel. 1M2. 
 
 The Medal, and MacFlecknoe, 1B82. 
 
 Religio Laid. 1M2. 
 
 The Duke of Guise, in conjunction with Lee. *^2' 
 
 Preface to a new translation of Plutarch's Lives, 1883. 
 
 Translation of Maimbouig's History of The League. *^' 
 gainfa 15. »utt«Bg to tl)e fflroton of Enslantt. jFrttuars 6, 1685. 
 
 Threnodia Augustalis, and Albion, and Albanius, l*^* 
 
 Conversion to Roman Catholicism. IMS' 
 
 The Hind and Panther, and A Song for St, Cecilia! s Day. 1087. 
 
 Britannia Rediviva, 1888. 
 
 Z)o« Sebastian and Amphitryon. 1690. 
 
 Af?«^ Arthur. 1691. 
 
 Cleomenes, and Z^iw^ Triumphant. 1692. 
 
 Translation of Juvenal and Persius. 1893. 
 
 Translation of Fresnoy's ^?^ «^ Painting, 1896. 
 
 Translation of Virgil, and Alexander's Feast, 1697. 
 
 Fables, and Secular Masque. 1899. 
 
 During March and April he was confined to the house by gout. 1700, 
 " A toe mortified, and he declined to submit to amputation," and he 
 died with great composure on the 1st May at his house in Gerrard 
 Street, Soho, London. On the 13th May he was buried in the " Poet's 
 Corner " of Westminster Abbey, by the side of Chaucer and Cowley. 
 
AURENG-ZEBE: 
 
 A 
 
 TRAGEDY. 
 
 Adted at the 
 
 Royal Theatre. 
 
 Written by 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN, 
 
 Servant to his Majefty. 
 
 •Sed, cum fregH fuhfellia verjn. 
 
 Efwrit, i>iu8am Paridi nif verieUt4gavea. Jav. 
 
 HicenCeD, Roger z'estkange. 
 
 LO NI>0 N^ 
 
 Printed by T. N. for Henry Uerringtnan, at the Anchor in 
 theLower Walk of theNew Exchange^ 1676. 
 
To the Right Honourable 
 
 JOHN, Earl of MULGRAVE^ 
 
 Gentleman of his Majesty's Bed-Chamber,^ and 
 Knight of the most Noble Order of the 
 Garter 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 ''' I "'ZS a severe reflection which Montaign' has made on 
 X. Princes, That we ought not, in reason, to have any 
 expectations of Favour from them ; and that 'tis kindness 
 enough, if they leave us in possession of our own. The bold- 
 ness of the Censure'^ shows the free Spirit of the Author: And 
 
 ' Earl of Mulgrave, " John Sheffield, Earl of Mulgrave, afterwards 
 created Marquis of Normanby, and at length Duke of Bucking- 
 hamfshire], made a great figure during the reigns of Charles II., and of 
 his unfortunate successor, of William III., and of Queen Anne. His 
 bravery as a soldier, and abilities as a statesman, seem to have been 
 unquestioned ; but for his poetical reputation, he was probably much 
 indebted to the assistance of those wits whom he relieved and patron- 
 ized . . . born in 1649, and died in 1720. He was therefore 
 twenty-seven years old when he received this dedication " (Scott). 
 
 " Gentleman . . . Bed-Chamber, a title given to the personal 
 attendant upon a king or prince who has charge of the arrangements 
 of the bed-chamber, and who in former days slept in a room adjoining 
 his master. 
 
 ' " Princes give me enough, if they take nothing from me ; and do 
 me good enough, if they do me no harm ; that is all I ask of them " 
 (Montaigne, Vol. iii., ch. ix., Of Vanity). 
 
 ■" Censure, not necessarily in the modern sense of blame, but here, 
 as frequently, in the radical sense of opinion. 
 
32 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 
 
 the Subjects i?/^ England may justly congratulate to themselves, 
 that both the Nature of our Government, and the Clemency 
 of our King, secure us from any such Complaint. I, in 
 particular, who subsist wholely by his Bounty, ' am oblig'd to 
 give posterity a far other account of my Royal Master, than 
 what Montaign has left of his. Those accusations had been 
 more reasonable, if they had been plac'd on^ infer iour Persons. 
 For in all Courts, there are too many, who make it their 
 business to ruine Wit ? And Montaign, in other places, tells 
 us, what effects he found of their good Natures.'^ He 
 describes them such, whose' Ambition, Lust, or private 
 Interest, seem to be the only end of their Creation. If good 
 accrue to any from them. His only in order to their own 
 designs .•'' conferr'd most commonly on the base and infamous ; 
 and never given, but only hapning' sometimes on well 
 deservers. Dulness has brought them, to what they are ; and 
 Malice secures them in their Fortunes.^ But somewhat of 
 Specious^ they must have, to recommend themselves to Princes, 
 {for Folly will not easily go down in its own natural form 
 with discerning Judges.) And diligence in waiting, is their 
 gilding of the Pill ^^ for that looks like Love, though 'tis only 
 Interest. 'Tis that which gains 'em their advantage over 
 witty Men ; whose love of Liberty and Ease, makes them 
 
 ' who subsist . . , Bounty, see Biographical Sketch, p. 21. 
 
 2 placed oil, made against. 
 
 2 Wit, witty (ie. wise, learned, intellectual) men, 
 
 * what effects . . . Natures, what results, consequences, could 
 be ascribed even to the best of them. See, for instance, his Essays Of 
 the Inequality amongst us. Of the Art of Discoursing. 
 
 ^ such, -whose, see note 1, p. 155. 
 
 ^ In order , . . designs, with a view, to. secure their own 
 objects. 
 
 ' hapning, falling by chance. 
 
 8 Dulness . . . Fortunes, their natural dulness of intellect ha? 
 made them what they are, and their natural spitefulness prevents them 
 from becoming anything nobler. 
 
 ' somewhat of Specious, some plausible qualities. 
 
 >» their gilding . . . Pill, that with which they hide the 
 unpalatableness of their real nature. 
 
THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 33 
 
 •willing too often to discharge their burden of Attendance on 
 these officious Gentlemen?- ^Tis true, that the nauseousness 
 of such Company is enough to disgust a reasonable Man ; 
 when he sees, he can hardly approach Greatness, but as a 
 Moated Castle, he must first pass through the Mud and 
 Filth with which it is encompassed. These are they, who 
 wanting Wit, affect Gravity, and go by the name of Solid 
 men ; and a solid man is, in plain English, a solid, solemn 
 Fool. Another disguise they have, {for Fools, as well as 
 Knaves, take other names, and pass by an Alias) and that is 
 the Title of honest Fellows. But this honesty of theirs ought 
 to have many Grains for its Allowance ■'■ for certainly they 
 are no farther honest, than they are silly :^ They are 
 naturally mischievous to their power ;'^ and if they speak not 
 maliciously, or sharply, of witty men, 'tis only because God 
 has not bestow' d on them the gift of utterance. They fawn 
 and crouch to men of parts^ whom they cannot ruine : quote 
 their Wit when they are present, and when they are absent, 
 steal their Jests : But to those who are under 'em, and 
 whom they can crush with ease, they show themselves in their 
 natural Antipathy ; there they treat Wit like the common 
 Enemy, and give it no more quarter, than a Dutch-man 
 would to an English Vessel in the Indies ; they strike Sail 
 where they know they shall be master' d, and murder where 
 they can with safety. 
 
 This, my Lord, is the Character of a Courtier without 
 Wit ; and therefore that which is a Satyre to other men, 
 must be a Panegyrick to your Lordship, who are a Master of 
 
 ' to discharge . . . Gentlemen, to leave to these sycophants 
 that obsequious attendance at Court which is so burdensome to 
 them. 
 
 2 But this honesty . . . Allowance, this claim of theirs to be 
 considered honest men can only be allowed with many modifica- 
 tions ; an adaptation of the proverbial phrase, cum grano salis. 
 
 ^ for certainly , . . silly, i.e. if their wits were sharper, they 
 would be ready enough to use them for dishonest projects. 
 
 ■* to their poiaer, to the extent of their power. 
 
 ' men of parts, men of ability, men highly endowed. 
 
 D 
 
34 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 
 
 if. If the least of these Reflections^ could have reacKd your 
 Person, no necessity of mine could have made me to have 
 sought so earnestly, and so long to have cultivated your kind- 
 ness. As a Poet, I cannot but have made some observations 
 on mankind: The lowness of my Fortune has not yet brought 
 me to flatter Vice ; and 'tis my duty to give Testimony to 
 Virtue. 'Tis true, your Lordship is not of that nature^ 
 iv'ich either seeks a Commendation, or want it. Your 
 mind has always been above the wretched affectation of 
 Popularity. A popular man is, in truth, no better than a 
 Prostitute to common Fame, and to the People. He lies 
 down^ to every one he meets, for the hire of praise ; and his 
 Humility is only a disgui^d Ambition. Even Cicero him-^ 
 self, whose Eloquence deserv'd the admiration of mankind ; 
 yet by his insatiable thirst of Fame^^ he has lessened his 
 Character with succeeding Ages : His Action against Catiline 
 may be said to have ruined the Consul,^ when it sav'd the 
 City: for it so swell' d his Soul, which was not truly great, 
 that ever aftenvards it was apt to be over-sef with vanity. 
 And this made his Virtue so suspected by his Friends, that 
 Brutus, whom of all men he ador'd, refus'd him a place in 
 his Conspiracy.^ A Modern Wit has made this Observation 
 on him. That coveting to recommend himself to Posterity, 
 be begg'd it as an Alms'' of all his Friends, the Historians, 
 
 ' Reflections, charges. 
 
 ^ lies down to, couches before. 
 
 ' he, the supplementary pronoun is due to the length of the paren- 
 thesis between the nominative case and the verb. 
 
 * the Consul, Cicero himself, who v?as Consul at the time. 
 
 ° over-set, overwhelmed, overborne. 
 
 " Conspiracy, sc. against Caesar ; cp. Julius Ccesar, ii. i. 141-52, 
 " Cas. But what of Cicero? shall we sound him? I think he will 
 stand very strong with us . . . Bru. O, name not him : let us not 
 break with him ; For he will never follow anything That other men 
 begin." 
 
 ' an Alms, "A.S. celmcesse, a word of three syllables . . a 
 corruption of ecclesiastical Latin eleeniosyna, borrowed from Greek; 
 the result being that the word has been reduced from six syllables to 
 om:^ (Skeat, Ety. Diet.) 
 
THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 35 
 
 to remember his Consulship : And observe, if you please, 
 the odness of the event ;^ all their Histories are lost, and the 
 vanity of his request stands yet recorded in his own Writings. 
 How much more great and manly in your Lordship, is your 
 contempt of popular applause, and your retir'd Virtue, which 
 shines only to a few ; with whom you live so easily and 
 freely, that you make it evident, you have a Soul which is 
 capable of all the tenderness of Friendship ; and that you 
 only retire your selp from those, who are not capable of 
 returning it. Your kindness, where you have once pladd it, 
 is inviolable : And His to that only I attribute my happiness 
 in your love. This makes me more easily forsake an Argu- 
 ment, on which I could otherwise delight to dwell: I mean, 
 your Judgment in your choice of Friends ; because I have the 
 honour to be one. After which, I am sure you will more 
 easily permit me to be silent, in the care^ you have taken of 
 my Fortune ; which you have rescu'd, not only from the power 
 of others, but from my worst of Enemies, my own modesty 
 and Laziness. Which favour, had it been employ' d on a more 
 deserving Subject, had been an effect!^ of Justice in your 
 Nature ; but, as pladd on me, is only Charity. Yet, withal, 
 'tis confer}^ d on such a man, as prefers your kindness it self, 
 before any of its Consequences ; and who values, as the 
 greatest of your Favours, those of your Love, and of your 
 Conversation.^ From this constancy to your Friends, I might 
 reasonably assume, that your Resentments would be as strong 
 and lasting, if they were not restrain' d by a nobler Principle 
 of good Nature and Generosity. For ceriainly, 'tis the same 
 composition of Mind, the same Resolution and Courage, 
 which makes the greatest Friendships, and the greatest 
 Enmities. And he who is too lightly reconcil'd, after high 
 Provocations, may recommend himself to tf/.e . World for a 
 
 ' event, outcome, consequence. 
 
 ^ retire yourself, hold yourself aloof from. 
 
 ' in the care, considering the solicitude. 
 
 * effect, result. 
 
 * Conversation, society, intercourse ; the older and more proper 
 sense of the word. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 
 
 Christian, but I should hardly trust him for a Friend. The 
 Italians have a Proverb to that purpose, To forgive the first 
 time shows me a good Catholick, the second time a Fool. 
 To this firmness in all your Actions (thoughyoii are wanting 
 in no other Ornaments of Mind and Body, yet to this) I 
 principally ascribe the Interest^ your merits have acquired you 
 in the Royal Family. A Prince, who is constant to himself, 
 and steady in all his undertakings ; one with whom that 
 Character of Horace will agree, 
 
 Si fractus illabatur orbis, 
 Impavidum fevient runisa,' 
 
 Such an one cannot but place an esteem, and repose a con- 
 fidence on him, whom no Adversity, no change of Courts, no 
 Bribery of Interests, or Cabals of Factions, or Advantages of 
 Fortune, can remove from the solid foundations of Honour 
 and Fidelity. 
 
 Ille meos, primus qui me sibi junxit, amores 
 Abstulit ; ille habeat secum, servetque sepulcro.' 
 
 How well your lordship will deserve that praise, I need 
 no inspiration to foretel. You have already left no room for 
 Prophecy : your early undertakings have been such, in the 
 service of your King and Country, when you offer' d your self 
 to the most dangerous employment, that of the Sea ;* when 
 you chose to abandon those delights, to which your Youth and 
 Fortune did invite you, to undergo the hazards, and, which 
 •was worse, the company of common Sea-men, that you have 
 
 ' Interest, influence. 
 
 " Si fractus , . . runice, Horace, Odes, iii. 3. 7,8, " If the 
 universe should fall in, its ruins tumbling on the just man will find 
 him all unawed " ; lines imitated by Pope, Prologue to Satires, 88, 
 " Thou stand's! unshook amidst a bursting world." 
 
 ^ Ille meos . . . sepulcro, Virgil, .i^neid, iv. 28. 9, "My 
 heart to him on whom 'twas set Has passed ; and let him hold it yet, 
 And keep it in his tomb " (Conington's Translation). 
 
 * when you offer' d , .. . Sea; "The Earl of Mulgrave, in the 
 Dutch war of 1672, served as a volunteer on board the Victory. He 
 behaved with distinguished courage himself, and has borne witness to 
 that of his unfortunate admiral, James, Duke of York "... (Scott). 
 
THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 37 
 
 made it evident, you will refuse no opportunity of rendring 
 your self useful to the Nation, when either your Courage or 
 Conduct^ shall be requited. The same zeal and faithfulness 
 continues in your B loud, which animated one of your Noble 
 Ancestors to sacrifice his life in the Quarrel of his Sovereign ?■ 
 though, I hope, both for your sake, and for the publick Tran- 
 quillity, the same occasion will never be offer' d to your Lord- 
 ship, and that a better Destiny will attend you. But I make 
 haste to consider you as abstracted from a Court;^ which (if 
 you will give me leave to use a term of Logick) is only an 
 Adjunct, not a Propriety of Happiness. The Academicks,^ I 
 confess, were willing to admit the Goods of Fortune into their 
 Notion of Felicity ; but I do not remember, that any of the 
 Sects of old Philosophers did ever leave a room for Greatness. 
 Neither am I form'' d to praise a Court, who ad7nire and 
 covet nothing, but the easiness and quiet of retirement. I. 
 naturally withdraw my sight from a Precipice / and admit 
 the Prospect be never so large and goodly,^ can take no pleasure 
 even in looking on the downfall, though I am secure from the 
 danger. Methinks therms something of a malignant joy in 
 that excellent description of Lucretius. 
 
 ' Conduct, management of affairs. 
 
 ^ The same . , , Sovereign, " In 1548-9, there were insurrec- 
 tions in several counties in England, having for their object the 
 restoration of the Catholic religion, and the redress of grievances. 
 The insurgents in Northamptonshire were 20,000 strong, headed by 
 one Ket, a tanner, who possessed himself of Norwich. . . The Earl 
 of Northampton, marching rashly and hastily against him, at the head 
 of a very inferior force, was defeated with loss. In the rout Lord 
 Sheffield, ancestor of the Earl of Mulgrave, and the person alluded 
 to in the text, fell with his horse into a ditch, and was slain by a 
 butcher with a club " (Scott). . 
 
 ' as abstracted from a Court, in your private capacity and not as a 
 courtier. 
 
 ■* The Academicks, the followers of Plato, who taught in the 
 Academia, a piece of ground near Athens originally belonging to the 
 hero Academus, and subsequently a gymnasium. 
 
 ' a Precipice, the precipitous heights of a Court. 
 
 ° and admit , . ., goodly, and granting the view to be as, 
 extensive and beautiful as it can possibly be. 
 
38 THE EPISTLE , DEDICATORY 
 
 Sauve mari magno turbantibus sequora ventis 
 E terrS, magnum alterius spectare laborem ; 
 Non quia vexari quenquam est jucunda voluptas, 
 Sed quibus ipse malis careas, quia cemere suave est.' 
 
 / am sure Ms Master Epicurus,- and my better Master 
 Cowley/^ prefer' d the solitude of a Garden, and the conver- 
 sation of a Friend to any consideration, so much as a regard, 
 of those unhappy People, whom in our own wrong, we call 
 the great. True greatness, if it be any where on Earth, is 
 in a private Virtue ; removed from the notion of Pomp and 
 Vanity, confin'd to a contemplation of it self, and cetitring 
 
 on it self : 
 
 Omnis enim per se Divum natura, necesse est 
 Immortali sevo summS, cum pace fruatur ; 
 -Cura semota, raetuque 
 
 Ipsa suis pollens opibus*- 
 Jf this be not the life of a Deity, because it cannot consist 
 with Providence,^ 'tis at least a godlike life: I can be 
 Contented, (and I am sure I have your Lordship of my 
 opinion) with an humbler station in the Temple of Virtue, 
 than to be set on the pinacle of it. 
 
 ' Suave . . • suave est, Lucretius, ii. 1-4, "It is sweet, when 
 on the great sea the winds trouble its waters, to behold from land 
 another's deep distress; not that it , is a pleasure and delight that any 
 should be afflicted, but because it is sweet to see from what evils yoii 
 are yourself exempt " (Munro's Translation). 
 
 2 Epicurus, the Greek philosopher, B.C. 342 to B.C. 270, who in 
 the physical part of his philosophy followed the atomistic doctrines of 
 Democritus and Diagoras. These doctrines are set out by Lucretius 
 in his six books De nrum nattira. 
 
 ^ Cowley, Dryden's admiration for Cowley is evidenced in many of 
 his prose pieces, though that admiration lessened as he grew older. 
 
 " Omnis . . . opibus, Lucretius, ii. 646-51, " For the nature 
 of gods must ever in itself of necessity enjoy immortality together 
 with supreme repose, far removed and withdrawn from our concerns ; 
 since exempt from every pain, exempt from all dangers, strong in its 
 own resources, not wanting aught of us, it is neither gained by 
 favours nor moved by anger " (Munro's Translation). 
 
 ° because , , , Providence, because it is inconsistent with the 
 idea of Providence that he should so withdraw liimself from all con- 
 sideration of this world. 
 
THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 39 
 
 Despicere unde queas alios, passimque videre 
 Errare, atque viam palantis quaerere vitse.' 
 
 The truth is, the consideration of so vain a Creature as man, 
 is not worth our pains. I have fool enough at home^ 
 without looking for it abroad : and am a sufficient Theater'' 
 to my self of ridiculous actions, without expecting"^ company, 
 either in a Court, a Town, or Play-house. 'Tis on this 
 account that I am weary with drawing the deformities of 
 Life, and Lazars of the people,^ where every figure of 
 imperfection more resembles me than it can do others. If I 
 must be condemned to Rhyme, I should find some ease in my 
 change of punishment. I desire to be no longer the Sis)rphus 
 of the Stage / to row I up a Stone with endless labour (which 
 to follow the Proverb, gathers no MosseJ and which is 
 perpetually falling down again. T never thought my self 
 very fit for an Employment, where many of my Predecesors 
 have excelVd me in all kinds ; and some of my Con- 
 temporaries, even in my own partial Judgment, have out- 
 done me in Comedy. Some little hopes I have yet remaining, 
 and those too, considering my abilities, may be vain, that I 
 may make the World some part of amends p for many ill 
 
 ' Despicere . , , vita, Lucretius, ii. 9, 10, " from which you 
 may look down upon otliers and see them wandering all abroad and 
 going astray in their search for the path, of hfe " (Munro's Transla- 
 tion). 
 
 2 I have , , . home, I find in myself enough of the fool, i.e. 
 of what is foolish ; cp. All for Love, iv. I, " I have a fool within me 
 takes your part." 
 
 ^ a sufficient Theater, Seneca, Epistles, i. 7, 11, "Satis magnum al- 
 ter alteri Theatrum samus," "One may find in one's neighbour a 
 theatre large enough ; " taken by Seneca from Epicurus. 
 
 * expecting, waiting for. 
 
 * Lazars of the people, those afflicted with every moral disease. 
 ^Sisyphus of the Stage, Sisyphus was punished in Hades for his 
 
 crimes by having to roll up-hill a huge marble block, which as soon as 
 it reached the top always rolled down again ; and Dryden here 
 bemoans himself on his fruitless endeavour to popularize the heroic, 
 drama. 
 ' some part of amends, something in the ways of amends. 
 
40 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 
 
 Playes, by an Heroique Poem. Your Lordship lias been 
 long acquainted with my design ; the subject of which you 
 know is great^ the story English, and neither too far 
 distant from the present Age, nor too near approaching it. 
 Such it is my opinion that I could not have wisKd a nobler 
 occasion to do honour by it to my King, my Country, and my 
 Friends ; most of our antient nobility being concerned in the 
 Action. And your Lordship has one particular reason to 
 promote this undertaking, because you were the first who 
 gave me the opportunity of discoursing it''' to his Majesty, 
 and his Royal Highness : They were then pleas' d, both to 
 commend the Design, and to encourage it by their Commands. 
 But the unsettV dness of my condition has hitherto put a stop 
 to my thoughts concerning it. As T am no successor to 
 'Homer in his Wit, so neither do I desire to be in his 
 Poverty. I can make no Rhapsodies^ nor go a begging at 
 ' the Graecian doors,^ while I sing the praises of their 
 Ancestors. The times qf Virgil please 7ne better, because he 
 had an Augustus /^^ his Patron. And to draw the Allegory 
 nearer you, I am sure I shall not want a Mecasnas' with 
 him. ' Tis for your Lordship to stir up that retnembrance in 
 his Majesty, which his many avocations of business have 
 caused him, Lfear, to lay aside. And, (as himself and his 
 Royal Brother are the Heroes of the Poem) to represent to 
 them the Images of their- Warlike Predecessors ; as Achilles 
 is said to be roused to Glory, with the sight of the Combat 
 before the Ships. For my own part, I am satisfi'd to have 
 
 1 the subject . . . great, the subject is supposed to have been 
 the exploits of the Black Prince. 
 
 2 discoursing it, giving a sketch of it. 
 
 ^ Rhapsodies, recitations of epic poetry ; from payjraSos, one who 
 stitches or strings songs together, especially a person who recited epic 
 poetry ; from pawreiv, to sew or stitch, and abri, a. song. 
 
 ' nor go . . . doors, i.e. like the rhapsodists who wandered 
 from house to house reciting poems. 
 
 ' a Meccenas, a patron ; C. Cilnius Msecenas was the great patron of 
 literature in the reign of Augustus, and especially befriended Horace 
 and Virgil. ■ 
 
THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 41 
 
 offer' d the Design; and it fnay be to the advantage of tny 
 Reputation to have it refund me. ' 
 
 In the mean time, my Lord, T take the confidence to 
 present you with a Tragedy ; the Characters of which are 
 the nearest to those of an Heroick Poem. 'Twas dedicated to 
 you in my heart, before ^ twas presented on the Stage. Some 
 things in it have pass'd your approbation, and many your 
 amendment. You were likewise pleas' d to recommend it to 
 the King's perusal, before the last hand was added to itj^ 
 when I received the favour from him, to have the most con- 
 siderable event of it modelPd by his Royal Pleasure. If 
 may be some vanity in me to add his Testimony then, and 
 which he graciously confirm' d afterwards, that it was th^ 
 best of all my Tragedies ; in which he has made Authentick^ 
 my private opinion of it ; at least, he has given it a value by 
 his Commendation, which it had not by my Writing. 
 
 That which was not pleasing to some of the fair Ladies in 
 the last Act of it, as I dare not vindicate, so neither can I 
 wholly condemn, till I find more reason for their Censures. 
 The procedure of Indamora and Melesinda, seems yet, in my 
 Judgment, natural, and not unbecoming of their Characters: 
 If they who arraign them fail not more,* the World will 
 never blame their conduct : And I shall be glad, for the 
 honour of my Countrey, to find better Images of Virtue 
 drawn to th£ life in their behaviour, than any I could feign 
 to adorn the Theatre. I confess, I have only represented a \ 
 practicable Virtue, mix^d with the frailties and imperfections j 
 of humane^ life. I have made my Heroine fearful of death, 
 which neither Cassandra nor Cleopatra would have been; 
 and they themselves, I doubt it not, would have out-done 
 
 1 it may . . . refused me, it may be better for my reputation 
 that I should not be permitted to undertalce it. 
 
 " before the last hand . , . it, before the final touches were put 
 to it. 
 
 ' made Authentick, stamped with authority. 
 
 - fail not more, are guilty of no worse shortcomings. 
 
 * httmane, see note 3, p. 75. 
 
42 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 
 
 Romance in that particular. Yet their Mandana^ (and the 
 Cyrus was written by a Lady) was not altogether so hard- 
 hearted : for she sat down on the cold ground by the King of 
 Assyria, and not only piti'd him, who dy'd in her defence ; 
 but allowed him some favours, such, perhaps, as they would 
 think, should only be permitted to her Cyrus. / have made 
 my Melesinda, in opposition to Nourmahal, a Woman 
 passionately loving of her Husband, patient of injuries and 
 contempt, and constant in her kindness, to the last : and tn 
 that, perhaps, I may have err'd, because it is not a Virtue 
 much in use. Those Indian Wives are loving Fools^ and 
 may do well to keep themselves in their own Countrey, or, at 
 least, to keep company with the Arria's and Portia's'* of old 
 Rome : some of our Ladies know better things. But, it may 
 be, I am partial to my own Writings : yet I have labour'd as 
 much as any man, to divest my self of the self opinion^ of an 
 Atithor ; and am too well satisfi-d of my own weakness, to 
 be pleas' d with any thing I have written. But on the other 
 side, my reason tells me, that, in probability, what I have 
 seriously and long consider' d, may be as likely to be just and 
 natural, as what an ordinary Judge (if there be any such 
 amongst those Ladies) will think fit, in a transient Presenta- 
 tion, to be plac'd in the roofn of that which they condemn. 
 The most judicious Writer is sometimes mistaken, after all 
 
 ' their Mandana, the character of Mandana, or Mandane, mother 
 of Cyrus, which they so greatly admire, in Mademoiselle Scuderi's 
 romance of Artamhie, ou Le Grand Cyrus. 
 
 Those Indian . . . Fools, those Indian widows foolishly show 
 their love to their husbands by performing Sati after their death ; see 
 note 3, p. 170. 
 
 " Arrids and Portia's, Arria, wife of Csecinna Psetus, who, when her 
 husband was ordered by the Emperor Claudius to put an end to his 
 life, and hesitated to do so, stabbed herself, handed the dagger to her 
 husband, and said, " Psetus, it does not pain me " ; Portia, wife of 
 Brutus, who, after her husband's de^th, put an end to her life by 
 swallowing live coals ; cp. Pope, January and May, 675. 6, " And 
 witness next what Rqman authors tell, How Arria, Portia, and 
 Lucretia fell. " 
 
 * self-opinion, self-conceit. 
 
THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 43 
 
 his care : but the hasty Critick, who judges on a view^ is full 
 as liable to be deceiv'd. Let him first consider all the Argu- 
 ments j^ which the Author had, to write this, or to design the 
 tither, before he arraigns him of a fault : and then, perhaps, 
 on second thoughts, he will find his Reason oblige him. to 
 revoke his Censure. Yet, after all, I will not be too positive. 
 Homo sum^ humani a me nihil alienum puto.^ As I am a 
 Man, I must be changeable : and sometimes the gravest of us 
 all are so, even upon ridiculous accidents.'^ Our minds are 
 perpetually wrought on by the temperament of our Bodies : 
 which makes me suspect, they are nearer alWd, than either our 
 Philosophers or School-Divines will allow them to be. I have 
 observed, says Montaign,''* that when the Body is out of 
 Order, its Companion is seldom at his ease. An ill Dream, 
 ■or a Cloudy day, has power to change this wretched Creature, 
 who is so proud of a reasonable Soul, and make him think 
 what he thought not yesterday. And Homer was of this 
 ■opinion, as Cicero is pleased to translate him for us i 
 
 Tales sunt hominum mentes quali pater ipse 
 Jupiter, auctifera lustravit lampade terras.' 
 
 '^judges on a view, forms a hasty judgment, a judgment at first 
 sight. 
 
 ^ Arguments, pressing reasons. 
 
 ^ Homo . . . ^2<^o, Terence, ^eo«if. i.-l. 2S,."Iamamanand 
 
 think nothing of human nature foreign to myself. ' 
 ' upon ridiculous accidents, for the most trivial causes. 
 * says Montaign, Dryden does not appear to be quoting literally 
 from Montaigne, though that writer in his essay entitled An Apology 
 Jor Raimond de Sebonde (as well as in many other places), expresses 
 the same sentiments, and there quotes the couplet immediately follow- 
 ing, with the substitution of quale: for quali, which is thus freely 
 translated, " Men's minds are influenced by the external . air, Dark or 
 serene, as days are foul or fair." 
 
 " Tales . . . terras, these lines of Cicero, quoted by St. 
 Augustine in his De Civitate Dei, are a somewhat florid rendering of 
 Homer's simpler words, Odyssee, xviii. 136. 7, 
 
 ToTos yap v6os ecrriv imx^oviav avdpanraiv 
 olos fiT 'fipap ayria-i rrar^p avhp&v re 6eS)P re. 
 
44 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 
 
 Or as the same Author, in his Thusculane Questions'- speaks 
 with more modesty than usual of himself : Nos in diem 
 vivimus ; quodcunque animos nostras probabilitate per- 
 cussit, id dicimus.^ 'Tis not therefore impossible, but that 
 I may alter the conclusion of my Play, to restore my self 
 into the good Graces of my fair Criticks. And your Lord- 
 ship, who is so well with them;^ may do me the Office of a 
 Friend and Patron, to intercede with them on my promise of 
 amendment. The Impotent Lover in Petronius,* though his 
 was a very unpardonable crime, yet was receiv'd to mercy on 
 the terms I offer. Summa excusationis meee haec est ; 
 placebo tibi, si culpam emendare permiseris." 
 
 But I am conscious to my self of offering at^ a greater 
 boldness, in presenting to your view what my meanness can 
 produce, than in any other error of my Play. And therefore 
 make haste to break off this tedious Address, which has, I 
 knoiu not how, already run it self into so much of Pedantry, 
 with an excuse of Tully's, which he sent with his books De 
 Finibus,' to his Friend Brutus, De ipsis rebus autem, 
 SEepenumerb Brute vereor ne reprehendar, cum hasc ad te 
 scribam, qui tum in Poesi, (/ change it from Philosophia) 
 
 ' Thusmlane Qtiestions, the five books of the Tuscalance Disputa- 
 tiones, a series of discussions on various points of practical philosophy, 
 supposed to have been held at Cicero's Tusculan villa. 
 
 '' Nos in diem . . . diciinus, we live from day to day, i.e. are 
 not bound down to any one set of doctrines, and speak out everything 
 that has struck our minds as at all reasonable." — Tusculmia DisptUa- 
 tiones, v. II. 33. 
 
 ' who is . . , them, who finds such favour in their eyes. 
 
 ' Petronius, a reference to the tale of the Ephesian Matron in the 
 Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter, by some identified with C. or T. 
 Petronius, an accomplished voluptuary at the court of Nero. 
 
 ' Summa . , , permiseris, " the only excuse I have to offer is 
 that if I am allowed to mend my fault, I will hereafter give you 
 satisfaction." — Petronihs Arbiter, Sat. ch. 130. 
 
 ° offering at, attempting. 
 
 ' De Finibus, the five books De Finibus Bonortim et Malorum, a. 
 treatise discussing the opinions of the Epicureans, Stoics, and 
 Peripatetics, on the Supreme Good, that is, the _fims, or end, towards 
 which all our thoughts and actions ought to be directed. 
 
THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 4S 
 
 turn in optimo genere Poeseos tantum processeris. Quod 
 si facerem quasi te erudiens, jure reprehenderer. Sed ab 
 eo plurimOm absum : nee, ut ea cognoscas quae tibi 
 notissima sunt ad te mitto : sed quia facillimfe in nomine 
 tuo acquieso, & quia te habeo aequissimum eorum studiorum, 
 quse mihi communia tecum sunt, sestimatorem & judicem. ' 
 Which you may please, my Lord, to apply to your self, from 
 him, who is 
 
 Your Lordship's most obedient humble Servant, 
 
 DRYBEN.^ 
 
 ' De ipsis . . . judicem, " concerning the matters themselves, 
 Tiowever, I am constantly dreading that I shall be blamed for writing 
 in this way to you who have so distinguished yourself alilce in 
 Poetry and in the highest style of Poetry. Were I to write as if I 
 Tioped to instruct you, I should rightly be blamed. But nothing is 
 farther from my intention than this. I do not submit my writings to 
 you with the view that you should acquire a knowledge of that in 
 -which you are already so proficient ; but because I so readily accept 
 your authority in such matters, and because I have in you so just a 
 critic and judge of those studies to which you and I are both so much 
 :given." — De Fin. iii. 2. 6, 
 
 2 Dryden, in all his other Dedications, Dryden signs himself 
 "John," or "J." "Dryden," and it is not easy to see why he has 
 ■varied here. 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 OUR Author by experience finds it true, 
 'Tis much more hard to please himself than you r 
 And out of no feign'd modesty, this day. 
 Damns his laborious Trifle of a Play ■?■ 
 Not that it's worse than what before he writ, 
 But he has now another taste of Wit f 
 And to confess a truth, (though out of time)^ 
 Grows weary of his long-lov'd Mistris, Rhyme. 
 Passion's too fierce to be in Fetters bound. 
 And Nature flies him like Enchanted Ground. 
 What Verse can do, he has perform'd in this, 
 Which he presumes the most correct of his : 
 
 ' laborious . . . Play, condemns as worth nothing the Play on 
 which he has spent so much labour ; probably an allusion to the phrase- 
 operose nil agere, to spend a lot of labour in doing nothing ; to damn, 
 has become the proverbial expression for crying down, hissing off the 
 stage, a play. 
 
 2 another , . . Wit, a different conception of what constitutes 
 excellence in writing dramas. 
 
 ' though, out of time, though perhaps this is not the time for such a. 
 confession. 
 
48 PROLOGUE 
 
 But spite of all his pride a secret shame, 
 Invades his breast at Shakespear's sacred name ■} 
 Aw'd when he hears his Godlike Romans rage. 
 He, in a just despair, would quit the Stage. 
 And to an Age less polish'd, more unskill'd. 
 Does, with disdain the foremost Honours yield.^ 
 As with the greater Dead he dares not strive, 
 He would not match his Verse with those who live ; 
 Let him retire, betwixt two Ages cast. 
 The first of this, and hindmost of the last.' 
 A losing Gamester, let him sneak away ; 
 He bears no ready Money from the Play.^ 
 The Fate which governs Poets, thought it fit. 
 He shou'd not raise his Fortunes by his Wit. 
 The Clergy thrive, and the litigious Bar ; 
 Dull Heroes fatten with the spoils of War : 
 All Southern Vices, Heav'n be prais'd,^ are here ; 
 But Wit's a luxury you think too dear. 
 When you to cultivate the Plant are loath, 
 'Tis a shrewd" sign 'twas never of your growth : 
 And Wit in Northern Climates will not blow. 
 Except, like Orange-trees, 'tis hous'd from Snow. 
 There needs no care to put a Play-house down,'' 
 'Tis the most desart place of all the Town.* 
 
 "^ But spite . . , «3?«^, !'.f, he feels how unworthy he is to walk 
 in Shakespeare's footsteps. 
 
 " And to an Age . . , yield, in this there is something of the 
 feigned modesty which in 1. 3, above, he disavows. 
 
 ' The first . . . last, " There is no arrogance here, but merely 
 an allusion to the writer's age " (Saintsbury). This seems doubtful to 
 me. 1 
 
 < He bears . . . Play, he makes but little money out of his 
 plays. 
 
 ' Ail Southern Vices, referring especially to the vices imported from 
 Italy ; Heavn be prais'd, said sarcastically. 
 
 " shreivd, clear, unmistakeable. 
 
 ' to put . . . dozun, to ruin the fortunes of a theatre. 
 
 ' 'Tis the most . . . Town, ic. and therefore few will come to 
 the rescue ; the theatres were then in the outskirts. 
 
PROLOGUE. 49 
 
 We and our Neighbours, to speak proudly, are 
 Like Monarchs, ruin'd with expensive War.' 
 While, like wise English^ unconcern'd, you sit. 
 And see us play the Tragedy of Wit.^ 
 
 ' ruitCd , . . War, " alluding to the rivalry between the 
 King's and the Duke's houses " (Saintsbury) ; i.e. the two theatres, in 
 the former of which the actors were called the King's servants, in the ' 
 latter the Duke's, i.e. the Duke of York. 
 
 * wise, prudent in not interfering in the quarrels of other nations. 
 
 ^ The Tragedy of Wit, a conflict of intellect which must be fatal fo 
 one or other of the two rival companies. 
 
 E 
 
Indian Lords, or 
 Omrahs, of sev- 
 eral Factions. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 THE old Emperor' [in love with Indamord\. 
 Aureng-Zeb^ his Son [in love with Inddmora\. 
 Morat^ his younger Son [son of Nourmahal\. 
 Arimant, Governour of Agra [in love with Indainord\ 
 
 Dtanet* 
 
 Solyman? 
 
 Mir Baba. 
 
 Abas.^ 
 
 Asaph Chawn!' 
 
 Fazel Chawn? 
 
 Nourmahal,^ the Empress. 
 
 Indamora,^" a Captive Queen [of Cassimere, in love with 
 
 Aureng-Zebe\. 
 Melesinda, Wife to Morat. 
 Zayda, Favourite Slave to the Empress. 
 
 SCENE, Agra, in the Year 1660. 
 
 ' Emperor, Shdhjahan, who reigned from 1628 to 1658. 
 
 '•' Auretig-Zebe, more properly Aurangzib, Shahjahan's third son, 
 who ascended the throne under the title of 'Alamgir, in 1658. 
 
 2 Morat, more properly, Mur^d (Baksh), the youngest of the four 
 sons. 
 
 ■* Dianet, more properly, Bianat. 
 
 ° Solyman, more properly, Suliman. 
 
 ' Abas, more properly, Abbas. 
 
 ' Asaph Chawn, more properly, Asaf Khan. 
 
 ' Fazel Chawn, more properly, Fazl Khan. 
 
 ' Nourmahal, more properly, Nilrmahal, or Niirjahan, was in reality 
 the wife of Jahangir, father of Shahjahan, while Shahjahan's wife was 
 Mumtaz Mahal. 
 
 '" Indamora, an imaginary personage, whose name is formed from 
 2nd- and the Latin avior, love. 
 
A U R E N G-Z E B E 
 
 A 
 
 TRAGEDY 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Arimant, Asaph Chawn, Fazel Chawn.' 
 
 Arim. T T EAV'N seems the Empire of the East to lay 
 
 i. X On the success* of this important day : 
 Their Arms are to the last decision bent/ 
 And Fortune labours with the yast event : 
 She now has in her hand the greatest stake, 
 Which for contending Monarchs she can make. 
 What e'r can urge ambitious Youth to fight, 
 She pompously* displays before their sight : " 
 Laws, Empire, All permitted to the Sword, ° 
 And Fate could ne'r an ampler Scene afford.^ 
 
 ' Chaivn, see notes 7 and 8 opposite. 
 
 2 success, issue, result. Dryden, like the Elizabethans, frequently 
 uses the word in this neutral sense, or, like them, qualifies it by some 
 adjective. 
 
 3 are . . . bent, are directed to the final decision of the quarrel. 
 * pompoiisly, in great splendour. The word has not here that 
 
 sense of exaggerated, overweening, display which is so common in 
 its more modem use. So, in As You Like It, v. 4. 188, " The duke 
 has put on a religious life And thrown into neglect ih.& pompous court." 
 
 ^ permitted . . . sword, subjected to the issue of arms. 
 
 ° And Fate . . . afford, cp. Henry the Fifth, Prol. i. 3, 4, 
 " A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, And monarchs to behold the 
 swelling j««c." 
 
 E 2 
 
52 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Asaph. Four several' Armies to the Field are led, 
 Which, high in equal hopes four Princes Head : 
 Indus and Ganges, our wide Empires Bounds, 
 Swell their dy'd Currents with their Natives wounds :' 
 Each purple River winding, as he runs, 
 His bloudy arms about his slaughter'd Sons. 
 
 Fazel. I well remember you foretold the Storm, 
 When first the Brothers did their Factions form : 
 When each, by curs'd Cabals of Women, strove 
 To draw th' indulgent King to partial Love.'' 
 
 Arim. What Heav'n decrees, no prudence can prevent. 
 To cure their mad Ambition, they were sent 
 To rule a distant Province each alone.* 
 What could a careful Father more have done ? 
 He made provision against all, but Fate ; 
 While, by his health, we held our peace of State.' 
 The weight of seventy Winters prest him down. 
 He bent beneath the burthen of a Crown : 
 
 ' several, separate, distinct ; the radical sense of the word so 
 common in Elizabethan literature. Cp. e.g. The Tempest, iii. i. 42, 
 " for several virtues Have I liked several women.'' 
 
 ^ their Natives wounds, the wounds of those native to the country ; 
 d^d is used in an anticipative sense, currents that were dyed with the 
 blood of those slain. 
 
 ' When each , , . Love, the reference may be to the espousal 
 of Aureng-Zebe's claims by Roshanara-Begam, the sister, and her 
 hatred towards Dara. History does not record any " Cabals of 
 Women " at the Court. 
 
 partial Love, love shown in a preference of those who by birth had 
 no claim to such preference. 
 
 * To rule . . . alone. "To save himself, therefore, from some 
 impending and overwhelming calamity, Chah-Jehan resolved to 
 bestow upon his sons the government of four distant provinces. 
 Sultan Sujah was appointed to Bengale ; Aureng-Zehe to the Decan ; 
 Morad-Bakche to Guzarate ; and Dara to Cahoul and Moultan. The 
 three first-mentioned Princes repaired to their respective provinces 
 without delay . . . Dara, because he was the eldest son and 
 expected to succeed to the crown, did not quit the court of his father." 
 — Bemier's Travels, ed. Constable, .p. -15. 
 
 * we held . . . State, while, so long as he continued in health, 
 the kingdom had peace. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 53 
 
 Sickness, at last, did his spent body seize, 
 And life almost sunk under the disease : 
 jyiortal 'twas thought, at least by them desir'd, 
 Who, impiously, into his years inquir'd :' 
 As at a Signal, streight the Sons prepare 
 For open force, and rush to sudden war : 
 Meeting, like winds broke loose upon the Main,'' 
 To prove, by Arms, whose Fate it was to Reign. 
 
 Asaph. Rebels and Parricides ! 
 
 Arini. Brand not their actions with so foiil a name : 
 Pity, at least, what we are forc'd to blame. 
 When Death's cold hand has clos'd the Father's eye. 
 You know the younger Sons are doom'd to die.' 
 Less ills are chosen greater to avoid. 
 And Nature's Laws are by the States destroy'd.* 
 What courage tamely could to death consent. 
 And not, by striking first, the blow prevent ? 
 Who falls in fight, cannot himself accuse. 
 And he dies greatly who a Crown pursues. 
 
 To them, Solyman Agah. 
 
 Solym. A new Express^ all Agra does affright : 
 Darah and Aureng-Zebe are joyn'd in Fight ; 
 
 1 Who . . . inquir'd, looking at his advanced age, they saw- 
 hope that his disease would prove fatal. " This illness was in 
 September 1657, when Shah Jahan was upwards of 64 years of age." 
 Bemier's Travels, footnote, p. 25. For the phrase " into his years 
 inquir'd," cp. Dryden, The Assignation, v. 4. p. 468, ed. Scott and 
 Saintsbury, "But thoninquir'st into thy father's years ; Thy swift 
 ambition could not stay my death, But must ride .post to empire." 
 
 2 the Main, the sea at large ; literally, the chief, the principal, 
 sea ; cp. King John, ii. i. 2$, Othello, ii. i. 3. 
 
 ' You know . , die, referring to the internecine struggles for 
 Empire, which so generally took place among his sons at the death of 
 an Eastern monarch. 
 
 ■* And Nature's . . . destroy'd, the natural term of men's 
 livas, i.e. the lives of the sons, are cut short by the political struggle 
 for supreme power. 
 
 5 Express, special information rapidly conveyed ; the adjective 
 literally means nothing more than ' exactly stated.' 
 
54 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 The Press of people thickens to the Court, 
 Th' impatient crowd devouring the report. 
 
 Arim. T'each changingnews they chang'd affections bring. 
 And servilely from- fate expect a King.' 
 
 Solym. The Ministers of State, who gave us Law, 
 In corners, with selected friends, withdraw : 
 There, in deaf murmurs, solemnly are wise ; 
 Whisp'ring, like winds, ere Hurricanes arise. 
 The most corrupt are most obsequious grown. 
 And. those they scorn'd, officiously they own.^ 
 
 Asaph. In change of Government, 
 The Rabble rule their great Oppressors Fate : 
 Do Sovereign Justice, and revenge the State.® 
 
 Solym. The littie Courtiers, who ne'r come to know 
 The depth of Factions, as in Mazes* go, 
 Where Int'rests meet and cross so oft, that they 
 With too much care are wilder'd^ in their way. 
 
 Arim. What of the Emperor ? 
 
 Solym. Unmov'd, and brave, he like himself appears, - 
 And, meriting no ill, no danger fears : 
 Yet mourns his former vigour lost so far, 
 To° make him now spectator of a War : 
 
 ' expect 14 King, are ready to receive any sovereign that fate may 
 give them. 
 
 ^ officiously they own, they are eager to acknowledge ; officious, 
 though occasionally used in its more proper sense of ' obliging,' 
 'dutiful,' 'serviceable,' more commonly has the bad sense of 
 ' obtruding one's service,' ' meddling' ; cp. e.g. Coriolanus, i. 8. 14. 
 
 •'' The Rabble . . . State, the rabble take upon themselves to 
 decide the fate of those by whom they have so long been oppressed, 
 to do what they consider supreme justice, and to set right the wrongs 
 of the State. 
 
 * as in Mazes go, wander about as in a labyrinth. 
 
 ^ are ■wilder' d, are bewildered, lose their way ; cp. Pope, Statius, 
 i- 589, "wildereU in the maze of fate." 
 
 ' To make, as to make. In relatival constructions, e.g. so . , 
 as, sometimes so, sometimes as, and sometimes both, were in former 
 days omitted ; cp. e.g. Merchant of Venice, iii. 3. i o, Julius Ccesar, 
 iii. I, 40. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 55 
 
 Repining that he must preserve his Crown 
 
 By any help or courage but his own : 
 
 Wishes, each minute, he could unbeget 
 
 Those Rebel-Sons, who dare t'usurp his Seat : 
 
 To sway his Empire with unequal skill, 
 
 And mount a Throne, which none but he can fill. 
 
 Arim. Oh ! had he still that Character maintain'd. 
 Of Valour, which in blooming Youth he gain'd. 
 He promis'd in his East' a glorious Race ; 
 Now, sunk from his Meridian, sets apace. 
 But as the Sun, whe'n he from Noon declines. 
 And with abated heat^ less fiercely shines. 
 Seems to grow milder as he goes away. 
 Pleasing himself with the remains of Day ■? 
 So he who, in his Youth, for Glory strove. 
 Would recompence his age with Ease and Love. 
 
 Asaph. The name of Father hateful to him grows. 
 Which, for one Son, produces him three foes.** 
 
 Fazel. Darah, the eldest, bears a generous mind ; 
 But to implacable revenge inclin'd. 
 Too openly does Love and hatred show : 
 A bounteous Master, but a deadly foe.'' 
 
 Solym. From Sujah's valour I should much expect, 
 But he's a Bigoi of the Persian Sect :° 
 
 ' in his East, while in his East, his early days. 
 2 Pleasing , . . JDay, gratifying himself with the .mellowed 
 charm of his setting. 
 
 * Which,, . . , foes, instead of one son in whom he might find 
 the solace of filial love, he has in his children three rebellious, 
 enemies. 
 
 * Darah, . . . foe, " Z)a>-o was not deficient in good qualities ; 
 he was courteous in conversation, quick at repartee, polite, and 
 extremely liberal : but he entertained too exalted an opinion of him- 
 self. . . . He was also very irascible ; apt to menace ; abusivf 
 and insulting even to the greatest Omrahs ; but his anger was seldom 
 more than momentary." — Bemisr's Travels, p. 6, where his character 
 is detailed at greater length. 
 
 * From Sujah's valour . . . Sect, " Sultan Sujah, the second 
 son of the Great Mogol, resembled in many characteristic traits his 
 
56 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 And, by a Foreign Int'rest* seeks to Reign, 
 Hopeless by Love the Sceptre to obtain. 
 
 Asaph. Morafs too insolent, too much a Brave,* 
 His Courage to his Envy' is a Slave. 
 What he attempts, if his endeavours fail 
 T' effect, .he is resolv'd no other shall. 
 
 Arim. But Aureng-Zebe, by no strong passion sway'd, 
 Except his Love, more temp'rate is, and weigh'd •* 
 
 brother Dara ; but he was more discreet, firmer of purpose, and 
 excelled him in conduct and address. ... Sultan Sujah declared 
 himself of the religion of the Persians, although his father and 
 brothers professed that of the Turks. . . . Mahometanism is 
 divided into various sects. . . .. Among all these sects there are 
 two leading ones whose respective partisans are mortal enemies to each 
 other. The one is that of the Turks, called by the Persians 
 Osmanloiis, or Followers of Osman, whom the Turks believe to have 
 been the true and ' legitimate successor of Mahomet. . , . The 
 other is that of the Persians, called by the Turks, Chiahs, Hafezys, 
 and A iy-Meitians that is, Sectaries, Heretics, and Partisans of ^(c / 
 because the Persians believe that this succession and pontifical authority, 
 . . . belonged only to j4/y, the son-in-law of Mahomet." — Id. 
 pp. 7, 8. 
 
 ' a Foreign Interes't, " When he avowed himself one of the latter 
 sect. Sultan Sujah was evidently actuated by motives of policy ; for 
 as the Persians were in possession of the most important offices in 
 the kingdom, and ex^cised the largest share of influence at the 
 Court of the Mogol, he hoped thus to secure interest and support, 
 whenever the tide of events should render them necessaiy." — Id, 
 pp. 8, 10. 
 
 2 Morat, " Morad-Pakche, the youngest of the MogoPs sons, vifas 
 inferior to his three brothers in judgment and address . . . He 
 used to boast that he had no secrets ; he despised cabinet intrigues, 
 and wished it to be known that he trusted only to his .sword and to 
 the strength of his arm." — Id. pp. lo, ii. 
 
 ' Envy, jealousy. 
 
 * weigh' d, deliberate, well-poised in his aims. " Aureng-Zebe 
 . . . was devoid of that urbanity and engaging presence, so much 
 admired in Dara : but he possessed a sounder judgment, and wjis 
 more skilful in selecting for confidants such persons as were best 
 qualified to serve him with faithfulness and ability. . . . He was 
 reserved, subtle, and a complete master of- the art of dissimulation." — 
 Jd. p. ID. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 57 
 
 This Atlas^ must our sinking State uphold ; 
 In CounciP cool, but in performance bold : 
 He sums their Virtues in himself alone,* 
 And adds the greatest, of a Loyal Son : 
 His Father's Cause upon his Sword he wears, 
 And with his Arms, we hope, his fortune bears." 
 
 Sofym. Two vast Rewards may well his courage move, 
 A parent's blessing, and a Mistris Love. 
 If he succeed, his recompence, we hear. 
 Must be the Captive Queen of Cassimere? 
 
 To them. Abas. 
 
 Abas. Mischiefs on mischiefs, greater still, and more : 
 The neighb'ring plain with arms is cover'd o'r : 
 The Vale an Iron-Harvest seems to yield 
 Of thick-sprung Lances in a waving Field. ° 
 The polish'd Steel gleams terribly from far. 
 And every moment nearer shows the War. 
 The Horses Neighing by the Wind is blown. 
 And Castl'd-Elephants' o'r-look the Town. 
 
 Arim. If, as I fear, Jr/bra^ these pow'rs commands. 
 Our Empire on the brink of ruine stands : 
 Th' ambitious. Empress with her Son is joyn'd. 
 And, in his Brother's absence, has design'd 
 
 ' Atlas, son of lapetus and Clymene, who having made war with 
 the other Titans upon Zeus, was condemned to bear heaven on his 
 head and hands ; or, according to Homer, to bear up the columns 
 which keep asunder heaven and earth. 
 
 ' Council, deliberation. Council, an assembly, Lat. concilium, an 
 assembly called together, and Counsel, consultation, Lat. consilium, 
 ■deliberation, were formerly often confused with each other. 
 
 ' He stems , . . alone, in himself unites all the good qualities 
 of his brothers. 
 
 * And with . , . bears, and, as we hope it will turn out, 
 -sustains his father's good fortune by his prowess. ■ ■ 
 
 " Cassiinere, Kashmir. • 
 
 * The Vale . . . Field, probably an allusion to the harvest of 
 armed men that sprang up from the teeth of the dragon sown by Cadmus. 
 
 ' CastVd-Elephants, elephants with their lofty haudahs, filled with 
 warriors, which towered above the streets. 
 
S8 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 The unprovided' Town to take with ease, 
 And then, the person of the King to seize. 
 
 Solym. To all his former Issue she has shown 
 Long hate, and labour'd to advance her own. 
 
 Abas. These Troops are his. 
 Suraf he took ; and thence, preventing Fame, 
 By quick and painful Marches hither came. 
 Since his approach, he to his Mother sent, 
 And two long hours in close debate were spent. 
 
 Arim. I'll to my Charge, the Cittadel, repair. 
 And show my duty by my timely care. 
 
 To them the Emperor with a Letter in his hand: after him, 
 an Ambassador, with a Train following. 
 
 Asaph. But see, the Emperour ! a fiery red 
 His Brows and glowing Temples does o'r-spread, 
 Moral has some displeasing Message sent. 
 
 Amb. Do not, great Sir, misconstrue his intent ; 
 Not call Rebellion what was prudent care. 
 To guard himself by necessary War ■? 
 While he believ'd you living, he obey'd : 
 His Governments but as your Vice-Roy sway'd :* 
 But, when he thought you gone," 
 T'augment the number of the bless'd above. 
 He deem'd 'em° Legacies of Royal love : 
 
 ' unprovided, undefended, without any sufficient preparation to 
 meet an enemy; cp. Hi. Henry VI., v. 4. 63. Also used of a person 
 unarmed, Bichard III. iii. 2. 75, Lear, ii. i. 154. 
 
 * Surat, on the Gulf of Cambay, one of the earliest possessions of 
 the English East-India Company. The accent is on the first syllable, 
 not Suratj as usually pronounced by Englishmen. For the capture of 
 Surat, see Bernier, pp. 28, 30. . ' ' 
 
 * To guard . . ,. War, that care consisting in providing him- 
 self with troops necessary for his own safety. 
 
 * His Governments . . . sway'd, ruled but as your vicegerent 
 .the Provinces entrusted to him by you. 
 
 ° gone, a euphemism. 
 
 * 'em, i.e. the governments entrusted to him. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 59 
 
 Nor arm'd :his brothers Portions to invade, 
 But to defend the Present you had made. 
 
 Emp. By frequent Messages, and strict Commands, 
 He knew my pleasure to discharge his bands : 
 Proof of my life my Royal Signet made ;' 
 Yet still he arm'd, came on, and disobey'd. 
 
 Amb. He thought the Mandat^ forg'd, your death con- 
 ceal'd : 
 And but delay'dj till truth should be reveal'd ; 
 
 Emp. News of my death from Rumor he receiv'd; 
 And what he wish'd, he easily believ'd : 
 But long demurr'd, though from my hand he knew 
 I liv'd, so loth he was to think it true. 
 Since he pleads ignorance to that command. 
 Now let him show his Duty, and disband. 
 
 Amb. His Honour, Sir, will suffer in the Cause, 
 He yields his Arms unjust if he withdraws :" 
 And begs his Loyalty may be declar'd. 
 By owning those he leads to be your guard.^ 
 
 Emp. I, in my self, have all the Guard I need ; 
 
 • Proof . . . made, the fact that I was still living was proved 
 to him by the receipt of my orders bearing the impression of my Royal 
 Signet. " In vain did he [Shah Jahan] despatch courier after courier 
 announcing his convalescence, and assuring the two brothers [Aurang- 
 zeb and Murad] that the whole of their proceedings should be buried 
 in oblivion if they immediately returned to their respective govern- 
 ments ; the united armies continued to advance, and as the King s 
 malady was really considered mortal, the Princes had recourse to their 
 usual dissimulation, affirming that the letters purporting to bear the 
 King's sign-manual were forgeries by Dara; that Chah-Jehan was 
 either dead or on the point of death ; and that if he should happily be 
 alive, they were desirous of prostrating themselves at his feet, and 
 delivering him from the thraldom in which he was h^ld.by Dara." — 
 JSeHiier's Travels, pp. 33, 34. 
 
 2 Mandat, mandate ; O. F. mandat, from.L^t. iriandatwm, a charge, 
 order, commission. 
 
 3 He yields . . . withdraws, the act of withdrawing would be 
 an acknowledgment that he had no right to take up arms. 
 
 ' By owning . . . guard, by your acknowledging that his 
 forces are assembled for your protection. 
 
6o DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Bid the presumptuous Boy draw off with speed: 
 
 If his audacious Troops one hour remain, 
 
 My Cannon from the Fort shall scour' the Plain. 
 
 Amb. Since you deny him entrance, he demands 
 His Wife, whom cruelly you hold in bands :'■ 
 Her, if unjustly you from him detain, 
 "He justly will by force of Arms regain. 
 
 Emp. O'r him, and his, a right from Heaven I have ; 
 Subject, and Son, he's doubly born my Slave. 
 But whatsoe'r his own demerits^ are. 
 Tell him, I shall not make on Women, War. 
 And yet I'll do her Innocence the grace," 
 To keep her here, as in the safer place. 
 But thou, who dar'st this bold defiance bring, 
 May'st feel the rage of an offended King. 
 Hence from my sight, without the least reply : 
 One word, nay, one look more, and thou shalt die. 
 
 [Exit Ambassador. 
 Re-enter Arimant. 
 
 Arim. May Heav'n, great Monarch, still augment your 
 bliss* 
 With length of days, and every day like this. 
 For, from the Banks of Gemna^ news is brought, 
 Your Army has a bloudy Battel fought : ' 
 Darah from Loyal Aureng-Zebe is fled ;' 
 And forty thousand of his Men lie dead. 
 
 > scouK, properly ' to cleanse by hard rubbing,' then ' to pass 
 quickly over' ; Shakespeare uses both scour and skur in this latter sense. 
 
 '' bands and bonds were formerly two spellings of the same word, 
 
 2 demerits, faults ; though the word was formerly used in the sense 
 of merits also. 
 
 '^- do her. . . . ^a<r^, show that kindness' to Morai''s yoMng and 
 innocent wife. 
 
 ^ May ; Heav'n , ■ . . bliss, a common form of address to an 
 Eastern monarch in the form Mubdrakbdd hazaral sal&mat I 
 - ^ Gemna, more 'pto^exXy Jamuna, a river which, rising in the peak 
 Jamnotri of the Himalayas, debouches into the Ganges at Allahabad. 
 
 ' Darah . . . Jled, the battle of Samugarh, now Fathabad, is 
 described by Bender, pp. 47-54. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 6i 
 
 To Sujah next your conquering Army drew ; 
 Him they surpris'd, and easily o'rthrew.' 
 
 Emp. 'Tiswell. 
 
 Arim. But well !^ what more could at your wish be done, 
 Than two such Conquests gain'd by such a Son ? 
 Your pardon, mighty Sir ; 
 You seem not high enough your Joys to rate ; 
 You stand indebted a vast sum to Fate : 
 And should large thanks for the great blessing pay. 
 
 Emp. My fortune owes me greater every day. 
 And, should my joy more high for this, appear. 
 It would have argu'd me' before of fear. 
 How is Heav'n kind, where I have nothing won, 
 And fortune only pays me with my own ? 
 
 Arim. Great Aureng-Zebe did duteous care express : 
 And durst not push too far his good success.* 
 But lest Morat the City should attack, 
 Commanded his victorious Army back ; 
 Which, left to march as swiftly as they may,' ") 
 Himself comes first, and will be here this day, >• 
 Before a- close form'd Siege" shut up his way. J 
 
 Emp. Prevent his purpose, hence, hence with all thy speed- 
 Stop him ; his entrance to the Town forbid. 
 
 Arim. How, Sir ? your Loyal, your Victorious Son ? 
 
 Emp. Him would I, more than all the Rebels, shun. 
 
 Arim. Whom with your pow'r and fortune. Sir, you trust; 
 Now to suspect is vain, as 'tis unjust. 
 
 ' To Sujah . . . overthrew, see Bernier, pp.. 76, 77 for an 
 account of the battle of Khajxla. : drew, advanced towards. 
 
 "^ But well! Do you say nothing more than " well " ? Is that all 
 the praise you grant to his achievements ? 
 
 3 It would . . . fear, it would infer that before his success I 
 was afraid ; a common construction with argue in former days. 
 
 * good success, see note 2, p. i. 
 
 * Which . . . may, and having left his army to follow with all 
 possible expedition, he, &c. 
 
 » a close-fornCd siege, an investment of the city so closely made as 
 to prevent his entrance. . , 
 
62 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 He comes not with a Train to move your fear, 
 
 But trusts himself, to be a pris'ner here.^ 
 
 You knew him brave, you know him faithful now : 
 
 He aims at Fame, but Fame from^ serving you. 
 
 'Tis said, Ambition in his breast does rage : 
 
 Who would not be the Hero of an age ? 
 
 All grant him prudent ■? prudence interest weighs,* 
 
 And interest bids him seek your love and praise. 
 
 I know you grateful ; when he march'd from hence, 
 
 You bad him hope an ample recompence : 
 
 He conquer'd in that hope ;' and from your hands. 
 
 His Love,* the precious pledge he left, demands. 
 
 Emp. No more ; you search too deep my wounded mind : 
 And show me what I fear, and would not find. 
 My Son has all the debts of duty paid : 
 Our Prophet' sends him to my present aid. 
 Such virtue to distrust were base and low : 
 
 I'm not ungrateful — or I was not so !* 
 
 Inquire no farther, stop his coming on : 
 I will not, cannot, dare not see my Son. 
 
 Arim. 'Tis now too late his entrance to prevent : 
 Nor must I to your ruine give consent. 
 At once your Peoples heart and Son's you lose : 
 And give him all, when you just things refuse. 
 
 Emp. Thou lov'st me sure ; thy faith has oft been tri'd, 
 In ten pitch'd Fields, not shrinking from my side. 
 Yet giv'st me no advice to bring me ease. 
 
 1 But trusts . . . here, but is ready to allow himself to be shut 
 Tip in this fortress entirely in your hands. 
 
 2 from, derived from, to be gained by, &c. 
 
 ' grant him prudent, acknowledge his prudence, foresight. 
 
 ' interest weighs, teaches a man to ponder what is for his own 
 advantage. 
 
 = He conquered in that hope, it was the hope of that reward that 
 merved him to his victory. 
 
 * His Love, his loved one, Indamora. 
 
 ' Our Prophet, Muhammad, 
 
 ^ or . . . so, or at all events I have not been so hitherto. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 63 
 
 Arim. Can you be cur'd, and tell not your disease ?i 
 I ask'd you, Sir. 
 
 Emp. Thou should'st have ask'd again : 
 
 There hangs a secret shame on guilty men. 
 
 Thou should'st have pull'd the secret from my breast, 
 
 Torn out the bearded SteeP to give me rest : 
 
 At least, thou should'st have guess'd 
 
 Yet thou art honest, thou could'st ne'r have guess'd. 
 Hast thoji been never base ? did Love ne'r bend 
 Thy frailer Yirtue," to betray thy Friend ? 
 Flatter me, make thy Court,* and say, It did : 
 Kings in a Crowd would have their Vices hid.' 
 We would be kept in count'nance, sav'd from shame : 
 And own'd by others" who commit the same. 
 
 Nay, now I have confess'd. 
 
 Thou seest me naked, and without disguise : 
 I look on Aureng-Zebe with Rivals eyes. 
 He has abroad my enemies o'recome, 
 And I have sought to ruin him at home. 
 
 Arim. This free confession shows you long did strive : 
 And Virtue, though opprest,' is still alive. 
 But what success did your injustice find ? 
 
 Emp. What it deserv'd, and not what I design'd. 
 Unmov'd she stood, and deaf to all my prayers, 
 As Seas and winds to sinking Mariners. 
 
 ' Can you . . . disease ? do you hope to be cured without 
 telling me, whom in this matter you regard as your physician, what 
 the disease is under which you are labouring ? 
 
 ' bearded Steel, barbed arrow-head. ' Barb ' is the Lat. barba, 
 a beard. Cotgrave gives " Barbele, Bearded ; also, full of snags, 
 snips, jags, notches ; whence Flesche barbeUe. A bearded or barbed 
 arrow." 
 ,^ Thy frailer Virttte, -joax virtue in its weaker moments. 
 
 * make thy Court, fawn upon me, flatter me ; Fr. faire la court &. 
 
 ^ Kings . . . hid. Kings would wish to have .their vices hidden 
 by the abundant vices of others. 
 
 * own'd by others, kept in countenance by others. 
 
 ' opfrest, borne down for the time being ; cp. Lear, v. 3. 5 : " For 
 thee, oppressed King, am I cast down." 
 
64 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 But Seas grow calm, and winds are reconcil'd ■} 
 Her Tyrant beauty never grows more mild. 
 Prayers, promises, and threats were all in vain. 
 
 Arim. Then cure your self by generous'- disdain. 
 
 £mj>. Virtue, disdain, despair, I oft have tri'd, 
 And foil'd, have with new arms my Foe defi'd. 
 This made me with so little joy to hear 
 The Victory, when I the Victor fear. 
 
 Arim. Something you swiftly rnust resolve to do, 
 Lest Aureng-Zebe your secret Love should know. 
 Morat without does, for your ruine wait ; 
 And would you lose the buckler^ of your State ? 
 A jealous Empress lies within your Arms, 
 Too haughty to endure neglected Charms,* 
 Your Son is duteous, but (as Man) he's frail : 
 And just revenge o'r vertue may prevail. 
 
 Emp. Go then to Indamora, say from me, 
 Two Lives depend upon her secrecy. 
 Bid her conceal my passion from my Son. 
 Though Aureng-Zebe return a Conqueror, 
 Both he and she are still within my power. 
 Say, I'm a Father, but a Lover too : 
 Much to my Son, more to my self I owe. 
 When she receives him, to her words give Law : 
 And even the kindness of her glances awe." 
 
 See, he appears ! 
 
 [After a short whisper, Arimant departs. 
 
 ' are reconcitd, no longer contend with each other. 
 
 ' generous disdain, nobleness of mind that scorns to be fettered 
 by a disgraceful passion. 
 
 ^ buckler, defence ; literally shield ; cp. Pope, Odyssee, iv. 961, 
 "His covntxy's buciler, and the Grecian boast." 
 
 • io endtire , , , Charms, patiently to bear your neglect of 
 her fascinations. 
 
 ' When she . . , awe, when she receives him, do you keep the 
 ardour of her language within bounds, and even deter her from giving 
 him too kind looks. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 65 
 
 Enter Aureng-Zebe, Dianet, and Attendants. Aureng-Zebe 
 kneeis to his Father, and kisses his hand. 
 
 Aur. My Vows have been successful as my Sword : 
 My prayers are heard, you have your health restor'd. 
 Once more 'tis given me to behold your face : 
 The best of Kings and Fathers to embrace. 
 Pardon my tears ; 'tis joy which bids 'em flow, 
 A joy which never was sincere' till now. 
 That which my Conquest gave I could not prize ; 
 Or 'twas imperfect till I saw your eyes. 
 
 £mp. Turn the discourse : I have a reason why 
 I would not have you speak so tenderly.* 
 Knew you what shame your kind expressions bring, 
 You would in pity spare a wretched King. 
 
 Aur. A King ! you rob me, Sir, of half my due : 
 You have a dearer name, a Father too. 
 
 Emp. I had that name. 
 
 Aur. What have I said or done. 
 
 That I no longer must be call'd your Son ? 
 'Tis in that name. Heaven knows, I glory more, 
 Than that of Prince, or that of Conqueror. 
 
 Emp. Then you upbraid me ; I am pleas'd to see 
 You're not so perfect, but can fail, like me. 
 I have no God to deal with.' 
 
 Aur. Now I find 
 
 Some slie Court-Devil has seduc'd your mind : 
 Fill'd it with black suspicions, not your own : 
 And all my actions through false Opticks^ shown. 
 I ne'r did Crowns ambitiously regard : 
 Honour I sought, the generous mind's reward. 
 
 ' sincere, complete, unalloyed. Cp. Dryden's' ffi</j^««, i. 1, "Thus 
 pleasure never comes sincere to man, But lent by heaven upon hard 
 usury." 
 
 2 so tenderly, in such affectionate terms. 
 
 ' / have . . . witA, you are not after all something more than 
 human in your perfections. 
 
 * Opticks, eyes, glasses. 
 
 F 
 
66 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Long may you live ! while you the Scepter sway 
 I shall be still most happy to obey. 
 
 Emp. Oh, Aureng-Zebe ! thy virtues shine too bright, | 
 They flash too fierce : I, like the Bird of Night,' \r 
 
 Shut my dull eyes, and sicken at the sight. J 
 
 Thou hast deserv'd more love than I can show : 
 But 'tis thy fate to give, and mine to owe. 
 Thou seest me much distemper'd in my mind : 
 PuU'd back, and then push'd forward to be kind.^ 
 
 Virtue, and fain I would my silence break. 
 
 But have not yet the confidence to speak. 
 Leave me, and to thy needful rest repair. 
 
 Aur. Rest is not suiting with a Lover's care. 
 I have not yet my Indamora seen. \Is going. 
 
 Emp. Somewhat I had forgot ; come back again : 
 So weary of a Father's company !^ 
 
 Aur. Sir, you were pleas'd yourself to license me.* 
 
 Emp. You made me no relation of the Fight, 
 Besides, a Rebel's Army is in sight 
 
 Advise me first : yet go 
 
 He goes to Indamora ; I should take \Aside. 
 
 A kind of envious joy to keep him back. 
 
 Yet to detain him makes my love appear :* 
 
 I hate his presence, and his absence fear. \Exit. 
 
 Aur. To some new Clime, or to thy native Sky, 
 O friendless and forsaken virtue flie. 
 Thy Indian Air is deadly to thee grown : 
 Deceit and canker'd malice rule thy Throne.^ 
 
 h 
 
 ' Bird of Night, the owl ; cp. Julius Ceesar, i. 3, 26, " And 
 yesterday the bird of night did sit Even at noon-day upon the market- 
 place, Hooting and shrieking." 
 
 ' and then . . . kind, and the next moment impelled to be 
 affectionate. 
 
 ' So 'iveary . . , company ! Are you already so weary of your 
 father's society ? 
 
 ■* license me, gave me permission to depart. Dryden has hit off 
 the Hindustani phrase, rukhsat dena, to grant dismissal. 
 
 ' makes . . . appear, would betray my love for Indamora. 
 
 ° Thy Indian . . . Throne, this Indian climate, once so pro- 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 67 
 
 Why did my Arms in battel prosp'rous prove. 
 To gain the barren praise of Filial love ? 
 
 The best of Kings by Women is misled, 
 
 Charm'd by the Witchcraft of a second Bed. 
 Against my self I Victories have wonn,i 
 And by my fatal absence am undone. 
 
 To him Indamora, with Arimant. 
 But here she comes ! 
 
 In the calm Harbour of whose gentle breast, 
 My Tempest-beaten Soul may safely rest. 
 Oh, my heart's joy ! what e'r my sorrows be. 
 They cease and vanish, in beholding thee ! 
 Care shuns thy walks ; as at the cheerful light. 
 The groaning Ghosts, and Birds obscene-* take. flight. 
 By this one view, all my past pains are paid : 
 And all I have to come'' more easy made. 
 
 Ind. Such sullen Planets at my Birth did shine,' 
 They threaten every Fortune mixt with mine.' 
 Fly the pursuit pf my disastrous" love, 
 And from unhappy Neighbourhood remove. 
 
 Aur. Bid the laborious Hind,' 
 Whose hardned hands did long in Tillage toil, 
 Neglect the promis'd harvest of the Soil. "ctl 
 Should I, who cultivated Love with bloud,* 
 Refuse possession of approaching good ? 
 pitious to your stay, has now grown fatal to you : deceit and venomous 
 malice now rule the throne that was once your seat ; for canker's 
 malice, cp. Romeo and Juliet, i. I, 102, "your cankered hate." 
 
 ' Against my self . . . wonn, the only rfisult of my victories is 
 my own ruin. 
 
 2 Birds obscene, vultures, crows, &c. 
 
 ^ to come, in the future. 
 
 * Such sullen , . . shine, the belief in astrology was still held 
 in Dryden's day. 
 
 * They threaten, that they threaten ; a very common omission of 
 the relative. 
 
 ^ disastrous, in its literal sense as a term of astrology. " 
 ' Hind, peasant. 
 
 ' who cultivated . . . bloud, who sought the harvest of my 
 love by waging wars. 
 
68 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Ind, Love is an aery good' Opinion makes : 
 Which he who only thinks he has, partakes. 
 Seen by a strong Imagination's Beam ; 
 That tricks' and dresses up the gaudy Dream. 
 Presented so, with rapture 'tis enjoy'd : 
 Rais'd by high Fancy, and by low destroy 'd.' 
 
 Aur. If Love be Vision, mine has all the fire 
 Which, in first Dreams, young Prophets does inspire : 
 I dream, in you, our promis'd Paradise : 
 An Ages tumulf of continu'd bliss. 
 But you have still your happiness in doubt : 
 Or else 'tis past, and you have dream't it out.* 
 
 Ind. Perhaps not so. 
 
 Aur. ■ Can Indamora prove 
 
 So alter'd ? Is it but, perhaps you Love ?° 
 Then farewell all ! I thought in you to find 
 A Balm, to cure my much distemper'd mind. 
 I came to grieve a Father's heart estrang'd ; 
 But little thought to find a Mistris chang'd : 
 Nature her self is chang'd to punish me : 
 Virtue turn'd Vice, and Faith Inconstancy. 
 
 > an aery good, an unsubstantial possession : before Opinion there is 
 an ellipsis of the relative that. 
 
 ^ tricks, decks out in fantastic shapes ; properly an heraldic term, 
 =blazon, trick meaning a delineation of arms, in which the colours are 
 distinguished by their technical marks, without any colour being 
 laid on. 
 
 ' Presented . , , destroy'd, when thus presented (as trickpd 
 out in the gaudy dream due to imagination), it is rapturously enjoyed ; 
 raised to the sublimest height when Fancy is aloft, perishing utterly 
 when Fancy's wings droop. 
 
 •■* tumult, tumultuous ecstasy ; cp. Wordsworth, Laodameia, 73-6, 
 " Be taught, O faithful consort, to control Rebellious passion : for the 
 Gods approve The depth, and not the tumult of the soul ; A fervent, 
 not ungovernable, love." 
 
 ' and you , , . out, and your dream is at an end. ' 
 
 ' Is it but . , . Love 1 Is all that you can say as to the exist- 
 ence of your love nothing more than a ' perhaps ? ' refemng to 
 Indamora's words above, " Perhaps not so.'" ' 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 6c> 
 
 Ind. You heard me not Inconstancy confess : 
 'Twas but a Friend's advice to love me less. 
 Who knows what adverse fortune may befall ? 
 Arm well your mind : hope little, and fear all. 
 Hope, with a goodly prospect, feeds your Eye : 
 Shows, from a rising ground, possession nigh : 
 Shortens the distance, or o'r-looks it quite ■} 
 So easie 'tis to travel with the sight. 
 
 Aur. Then to despair you would my Love betray. 
 By taking hope, its last kind Friend, away. 
 You hold the Glass, but turn the Perspective, 
 And farther off the lessen'd Object drive. ^ 
 You bid me fear : in that your change I know : 
 You would prepare me for the coming blow. 
 But, to prevent you, take my last Adieu ; \ 
 
 I'll sadly tell my self you are untrue, l 
 
 Rather than stay to hear it told by you. J \Going. 
 
 Ind. Stay, Aureng-Z,ebe, I must not let you go,"| 
 And yet believe your self, your own worst Foe," l 
 Think I am true, and seek no more to know. J 
 Let in my breast the fatal Secret lie, 
 'Tis a sad Riddle, which, if known, we die. 
 
 \Seeming to pause. 
 
 Aur. Fair Hj^pocrite, you seek to cheat in vain ; 
 Your silence argues* you ask time to feign. 
 Once more, farewell : the snare in sight is laid,^ 
 'Tis my own fault if I am now betray'd. \Going. again. 
 
 ' O'r-looks it quite, entirely overlooks the interval. 
 
 ^ But turn . , . drive, invert the object-glass and the eye-glass 
 so that the ^object instead of being brought nearer,, seems at a greater 
 distance. A perspective or prospective was also used for an optical 
 instrument, either- for seeing distant objects clearly, or for seeing 
 pictures as though they were solid ; thus answering in the former 
 sense to the telescope, in the latter to the stereoscope. Cp. Milton, 
 Vacation Exercise, 71, " Time's long and Az.x\i prospective glass." 
 
 3 AnA yet . . , Foe, sc. in doubting the truth of my love. 
 
 * Argues you ask, is evidence that you desire. 
 
 * the snare . . . laid, from FroVerbs, i. 17, "Surely in vain 
 the net is spread in sight of any bird." 
 
JO DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Ind. Yet once more stay ; you shall believe me true, 
 Though in one Fate' I wrap my self and you. 
 Your absence 
 
 Arim. Hold ; you know the hard Command 
 
 I must obey : you only can withstand 
 Your own mishap.^ I beg you on my Knee, 
 Be not unhappy by your own Decree.'' 
 
 Aur. Speak, Madam, by (if that be yet an Oath.) 
 Your Love, I'm pleas'd we should be ruin'd both. 
 Both is a sound of joy.'* 
 
 In Death's dark Bow'rs our bridals we will keep : 
 And his cold hand 
 Shall draw the Curtain when we go to sleep. 
 
 Ind. Know then, that Man whom both of us did trust, 
 Has been to you unkind, to me unjust. 
 The Guardian of my Faith so false did prove, 
 As to solicite me with lawless Love : 
 Pray'd, promis'd, threaten'd, all that Man could do. 
 Base as he's great ; and need I tell you who ? 
 
 Aur. Yes ; -for I'll not believe my Father meant •? 
 Speak quickly, and my impious thoughts prevent. ° 
 
 Ind. Yo've said ;' I wish I could some other name ! 
 
 Arim. My duty must excuse me. Sir, from blame. 
 A Guard there. 
 
 Enter Guards. , 
 
 Aur. -. Slave, for me ? 
 
 Arim. My Orders are 
 
 * one Fate, one and the same destruction. 
 
 ' you only . . . mishap, you alone can avert your own ruin by 
 yielding to Shahjahan. 
 
 ' by your ov/n Decree, by determining to disobey. 
 
 * Both . . . joy, in that word ' ' both " there is happiness ; the 
 ifect that we shall perish together is a solace to me. 
 
 ' /'// not , . . meant, I refuse to belieye that your words point 
 at my father. 
 
 " prevent, anticipate and so stop. 
 - ' Vdve said, you have hit the mark, in mentioning your father's 
 name. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 71 
 
 To seize this Princess, whom the Laws of war 
 Long since made Prisoner. 
 
 Aur. Villain. 
 
 Arim. Sir, I know 
 
 Your Birth, nor durst another call me so. 
 
 Aur. I have redeem'd her ; and as mine she's free. 
 Arim. You may have right to give her liberty : 
 But with your Father, Sir, that right dispute ; 
 For his commands to me were absolute ; 
 If she disclos'd' his love, to use the right 
 Of War, and to secure her from your sight. 
 
 Aur. I'll rescue her, or die. {Draws. 
 
 And you, my friends, though few, are yet too brave 
 To see your Gen'rals Mistris made a slave. \All draw. 
 
 Ind. Hold, my dear Love ! if so much pow'r there lies, 
 As once you own'd, in Indamora's Eyes, 
 Lose not the Honour you have early wonn ; 
 But stand^ the blameless pattern of a Son. 
 My love your claim inviolate secures : 
 'Tis writ in Fate, I can be only yours. 
 My sufferings for you make your heart my due : 
 Be worthy me, as I am worthy you. 
 
 Aur. (Putting up his Sword.) I've thought, and bless'd 
 be you who gave me time : 
 My Virtue was surpris'd into a Crime. ^ 
 Strong Virtue, like strong Nature, struggles still : 
 Exerts itself, and then throws off the ill,* 
 I to a Son's and Lover's praise aspire : "S^- 
 
 And must fulfil the parts which both require. 
 How dear the cure of jealousie has cost 1 
 
 ' disclos'd, revealed. 
 
 2 stand, stand up for all time, continue to show yourself. 
 
 3 My virtue . . . Crime, the suddenness of your revelation for 
 the moment tempted me to harbour the thought of violence t owards 
 my father. 
 
 * Strong Virtue . . . ill, resolute virtue, like a strong consti- 
 tution, struggles manfully against the disease by which it is assailed, 
 and at last succeeds in throwing it off. 
 
72 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 With too much care and tenderness /are lost.' 
 So the fond Youth from Hell redeem'd his Prize, 
 Till looking back, she vanish'd from his eyes !" 
 
 \Exeunt severally. 
 
 ' With too muck . . . lost, if I show too much care and tender- 
 ness towards you, I' shall by that means lose you ; i.e. for the time, I 
 must acquiesce in things as they are, since by struggling against my 
 father I shall only make sure of ultimately losing you. 
 
 ^ So the fond youth . . . eyes, Orpheus, On the death of his 
 wife, Eurydice, followed her to Hades, and there by the charm of his 
 music persuaded Pluto to allow her to return to earth. The permission 
 was, however, granted only on the condition that Orpheus should not 
 look back upon her till they had reached the upper world ; and just 
 as they reached its confines he, in his anxiety, turned to see whether 
 she was following him, when he beheld her, as a consequence, snatched 
 away into the infernal regions, 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 73 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Betwixt the Acts, a Warlike Tune is plaid, 
 shooting off Guns, and shouts of Souldiers 
 are heard, as in an Assault. 
 
 Aureng-Zebe, Arimant, Asaph Chawn, Fazel Chawn, 
 Solyman. 
 
 Aur. 'WJ HAT man could do, was by Morat perform'd : 
 V V The Fortress thrice himself in person storm'd. 
 Your valour bravely did th' Assault sustain ; 
 And fiU'd the Moats and Ditches with the Slain. 
 Till, mad with rage, into the Breach he fir'd : 
 Slew friends and foes, and in the Smoak retir'd. 
 
 Arim. To us you give what praises are not due : 
 Morat was thrice repuls'd, but thrice by you. 
 High, over all, was your great conduct' shown : 
 You sought our safety, but forgot your own. 
 
 Asaph. Their Standard, planted on the Battlement, 
 Despair and death among the Souldiers sent : 
 You, the bold OmraK- tumbled from the Wall ; 
 And shouts of Victory pursu'd his fall. 
 
 Fazel. To you, alone, we owe this prosp'rous day : 
 Our Wives and Children rescu'd from the prey : 
 Know your own interest. Sir, where e'r you lead, 
 We joyntly Vow to own no other Head.- 
 
 ' your great conduct, the skill and prowess with which you led and 
 directed us. 
 
 ^ Omrah, " from Umard, the plural of the Arabic word Amir, a 
 commander, a chief, a lord. The old travellers use the word Omrah 
 as a singular for a lord or grandee, although properly speaking it 
 should be applied collectively." — Footnote 3, Bemier's Travels, p. 41 
 
u 
 
 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Solym. Your wrongs are known. Impose but your com- 
 mands ; 
 This hour shall bring you twenty thousand hands. 
 
 Aur. Let them who truly would appear my friends, 
 Employ their Swords, like mine, for noble ends. 
 No more : remembei: you have bravely done : 
 Shall Treason end, what Loyalty begun ? 
 I own no wrongs ; some grievance I confess. 
 But Kings, like Gods, at their own time redress. ' 
 Yet, some becoming" boldness I may use ; 
 I've well deserv'd, nor will he now refuse. [^Aside. 
 
 I'll strike my Fortunes with him at a heaf'* 
 And give him not the leisure to forget. 
 
 [Exit, attended by the Omrahs. 
 
 Arim. Oh ! Indamora, hide these fatal Eyes ; 
 Too deep they wound whom they too soon surprise :* 
 My Virtue, Prudence, Honour, Interest, all 
 Before this Universal Monarch* fall. 
 Beauty, like Ice, our footing does betray ; 
 Who can tread sure on the smooth slippery way ? 
 Pleas'd with the passage, we slide swiftly on : 
 And see the dangers which we cannot shun. 
 
 To him Indamora. 
 
 Ind. I hope my liberty may reach thus far : 
 These Terras" Walks within my limits are. 
 
 ' at their own time redress, in their own good time redress any 
 injuries they may have inflicted ; i.e. and so I may expect my father 
 to do. 
 
 ' becoming, proper, suitable ; here the urging of his suit for the 
 release and bestowal of Indamora. 
 
 ^ /'// strike . . , heat, I will strike for success while the iron is 
 hot ; I will urge my cause with my father before his gratitude for my 
 ■ services has time to cool. 
 
 * Too deep . . . surprise, they captivate as by sur-prise all on 
 ' whoin they are turned, and pierce with a wound that is beyond all cure. 
 
 ' this Universal Monarch, beauty, lord of all. 
 
 ° Terras, the old spelling of the word, as in Spenser, F, Q., v. 2, 
 21 5 from Fr» turrasse, a, platform, terrace. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 7S 
 
 I came to seek you, and to let you know, 
 
 How much I to your generous Pity owe. 
 
 The King, when he design'd you for my Guard, 
 
 Resolv'd he would not make my bondage hard : 
 
 If otherwise, you have deceiv'd his end ; 
 
 And whom he meant a Guardian, made a friend.'- 
 
 Arim. A Guardian's Title I must own with shame: 
 But should be prouder of another name. 
 
 Ind. And therefore 'twas I chang'd that name before : 
 I call'd you friend, and could you wish for more ? 
 
 Arim. I dare not ask for what you would not grant : 
 But wishes. Madam, are extravagant. - 
 They are not bounded with things possible : 
 I may wish more than I presume to tell : 
 Desire's the vast extent of humane mind,'' 
 It motmts above, and leaves poor hope behind. 
 I could wish 
 
 Ind. What? 
 
 Arim. Why did you speak ? yo've dash'd my fancy quite : 
 Ev'n in th' approaching minute of delight.* 
 
 I must take breath 
 
 Ere I the Rapture of my wish renew, 
 And tell you then. It terminates in you. 
 
 Ind. Have you consider'd what th' event^ would be ? 
 Or know you, Arimant, your self, or rne ? 
 
 ' And whom . . . friend, and turned him into a friend, as you 
 have shown yourself to me, whom he intended to. be nothing but a 
 watchful guardian. 
 
 2 are extravagant, refuse to be kept in bounds ; for the use of the 
 ■word in its literal sense, cp. Othello, i. i. 137. 
 
 ^ Desire's . . . mindf desire is as vast as the human mind 
 itself, knows no limits other than thought ; humane, the old spelling 
 •of the word, whether meaning 'pertaining to a man,' or 'worthy of a 
 man,' 'benevolent.' Conversely, Pope, Essay on Criticism, ii. 6^/6, 
 uses 'humanly' for 'humanely,' "Modestly, bold and humanly 
 severe." 
 
 ■* Even . . . delight, at the very moment when my delight 
 seemed assured. ; 
 
 ' event, result, issue, that which comes of any act. . 
 
76 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Were I no Queen, did you my beauty we gh, 
 My youth in bloom, your Age in its decay ?' 
 
 Arim. I my own Judge, condemn'd my self before : 
 For pity^ aggravate my crime no more. 
 So weak I am, I with a frown am slain ; 
 You need have us'd but half so much disdain. 
 
 Ind. I am not cruel yet to that degree : 
 Have better thoughts both of your self, and me. 
 Beauty a Monarch is. 
 
 Which Kingly power magnificently proves. 
 By crouds of Slaves, and peopled Empire loves. ^ 
 And such a Slave as you, what Queen would lose ? 
 Above the rest, I Arimant would chuse : 
 For counsel, valour, truth, and kindness too, 
 All I could wish in man, I find in you. 
 
 Arim. What Lover could to greater joy be rais'd ! 
 I am, methinks, a God by you thus prais'd. 
 
 Ind. To what may not desert, like yours, pretend 1 
 You have all qualities that fit a friend.* 
 
 Arim. So Mariners mistake the promis'd Coast :* 
 And, with full Sails, on the blind Rocks are lost. 
 Think you my aged veins so faintly beat. 
 They rise no higher than to Friendships heat ? 
 So weak your Charms, that, like a Winter's night, 
 Twinkling with Stars, they freez me while they light ? 
 
 * Were I . , , decay ? Even if I were no queen, as I am, but 
 merely your equal in birth, you would hardly have ventured to hope 
 for my love, if you had thought of the contrast between my youth and 
 beauty and your own battered, age. 
 
 ^ For pity, out of pity, for pity's sake. 
 
 ■'' Which kingly power , . . lorves, which grandly asserts its 
 sovereign power by the throng of those it enslaves, and which, like a 
 monarch, loves a well-peopled empire. 
 
 * that fit a friend, having raised his hopes by her previous words 
 to the highest pitch, she by the pause ending in the words " that fit a 
 friend " effectually dashes them to the ground. 
 
 ' the promis'd Coast, the harbouring shore which their hopes had 
 promised them. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 77 
 
 Ind. Mistake me not, good Arhnant, I know 
 My Beauty's pow'r, and what my charms can do. 
 You your own Talent have not learn'd so well ; 
 But practise one, where you can ne'r excel.' 
 You can at most, 
 
 To an indiff'rent Lover's praise pretend : 
 But you would spoil an admirable friend.^ 
 
 Arim. Never was Amity^ so highly priz'd ; 
 Nor ever any Love so much despis'd. 
 Ev'n to my self ridiculous I grow ; 
 And would be angry, if I knew but how. 
 
 Ind. Do not. Your anger, like your Love, is vain : 
 When e're I please, you must be pleas'd again.* 
 Knowing what pow'r I have your will to bend, 
 I'll use it ; for I need just such a Friend. 
 You must perform, not what you think is fit : 
 But, to what ever I propose, submit. 
 
 Arim. Madam, you have a strange Ascendant' gain'd ; 
 You use me like a Courser, spurr'd and rein'd : 
 If I fly out, my fierceness you command. 
 Then sooth, and gently stroke me with your hand. 
 Impose ; but use your pow'r of Taxing well : 
 When Subjects cannot Pay, they soon Rebel. 
 
 Enter the Emperor, unseen by them. 
 
 • But . . . excel, i.e. the part of a lover. 
 
 ' You can . . . friend, at best you would make but a poor 
 lover, and in trying to play that part would spoil that in which you 
 so excel, the part of a friend. 
 
 ' Amity, disinterested friendship. Cp. Byron, "Friendship is love 
 without its wings," a translation of the French, L'amitii c'est V Amour 
 sans ailes." 
 
 ^ When e^re , . . again, whenever such is my pleasure, you 
 cannot help showing yourself complaisant to my wishes ; you may 
 determine to be angry, but you will find it inipossible to maintain your 
 resolution. 
 
 ^Ascendant, ascendency; but, like 'disastrous,' 'ill-starred' 
 'influence,' &c., a relic of astrology in 'ascendancy,' 'lord of the 
 ascendant.' 
 
78 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Ind. My Rebels punishment would easie prove : 
 You know y'are in my pow'r by making love. 
 
 Arim. Would I, without dispute, your will obey, 
 And could you, in return, my life betray ? 
 
 Emp. What danger, Artmant, is this you fear ? 
 Or what Love secret which I must not hear ?' 
 These alter'd looks some inward motion show. 
 His cheeks are pale, and yours with blushes glow. \_To her. 
 
 Ind. 'Tis what, with justice, may my anger move : 
 He has been bold, and talk'd to me of Love. 
 
 Arim. I am betray'd, and shall be doom'd to die ! \Aside. 
 
 Emp. Did he, my Slave, presume to look so high ? 
 That crawling Insect, who from Mud began,^ 
 Warm'd by my Beams, and kindl'd into man ? 
 Durst he, who does but for my pleasure live, 
 Intrench on love, my great Prerogative ? 
 Print his base Image on his Sovereign's Coin ? 
 'Tis Treason if he stamp his Love with mine.^ 
 
 Arim. 'Tis true, I have been bold ; but if it be 
 A crime 
 
 Ind. He means, 'tis only so to me. 
 
 You, Sir, should praise, what I must disapprove : 
 He insolently talk'd to me of Love : 
 But, Sir, 'twas yours, he made it in your name : 
 You, if you please, may all he said disclaim. 
 
 Emp. I must disclaim whate'er he can express : 
 His groveling sense will show my passion less.* 
 
 ' which . . . hear, which you are unwilling I should hear. 
 
 ■■' That crawling . . . began, an allusion to the fancied genera- 
 tion of insects from the mud of the Nile ; cp. Pope, Essay on 
 Criticism, i. 40-3, "Those half-learned witlings, numerous in our isle, 
 As half-formed insects on the banks of Nile, Unfinished things, one 
 knows not what to call. Their generations so equivocal." 
 
 ^ ' Tis Treason . , . mine, it is treason if he seeks to make his 
 love pass current together with mine ; cp. Coriolanvs, v. 2. 22. 
 
 * His groveling sense , , . less, every expression of mv love 
 which one of so grovelling a nature as his could give utterance to,' 
 would but debase the passion that I feel. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 79 
 
 But stay, if what he said my message be, 
 What fear, what danger could arrive from me ? 
 He said. He fear'd you would his life betray. 
 
 Ind. Should he presume again, perhaps I may. 
 Though in your hands he hazard not his life, 
 Remember, Sir, your fury of a Wife ;' 
 Who, not content to be reveng'd on you, 
 The Agents of your passion will pursue. 
 
 Emp. If I but hear her nam'd, I'm sick that day ; 
 The sound is mortal,^ and frights life away. 
 Forgive me, Arimant, my jealous thought : 
 Distrust in lovers is the tender's fault. ' 
 Leave me, and tell thy self in my excuse. 
 Love, and a Crown, no Rivalship can bear ; 
 And precious things are still possess'd with fear.* 
 
 \Exit Arimant bowing. 
 
 This, Madam, my excuse to you may plead ; 
 
 Love should forgive the faults which love has made. 
 
 Ind. From me, what pardon can you hope to have, 
 Robb'd of my love, and treated as a Slave ? 
 
 Emp. Force is the last relief which Lovers find : 
 And 'tis the best excuse of Woman-kind.' 
 
 Ind: Force never yet a generous Heart did gain : 
 We yield on parley,* but are storm'd in vain. 
 Con straint, in all things, makes the pleasure less ; 
 Sweet is the love which comes with willingness. 
 
 ' your fury of a Wife, your furious wife. 
 
 ' mortal, deadly. 
 
 ' Distrust , . . fault, the reading here should, be tend(r'st for 
 tender's, as in Scott's edition, i.e. in lovers, distrust is a fault that is 
 provoked by the very smallest cause. 
 
 * precious things . . . fear, those who possess things of great 
 value are ever fearful of their loss. 
 
 ' the best . . , Woman-kind, the best excuse that women can 
 have for yielding. 
 
 * parley, used in its technical sense of negociation in war with 
 a view to coming to terms. 
 
8o DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Emp. No ; 'tis resistance that inflames desire : 
 Sharpens the Darts of love, and blows his Fire. 
 Love is disarm'd that meets with too much ease : 
 He languishes, and does not care to please. 
 And therefore 'tis your golden Fruit' you guard 
 With so much care, to make possession hard. 
 
 Ind. Was't not enough you took my Crown away, 
 But cruelly you must my Love betray T 
 I was well pleas'd to have transferr'd my right, 
 And better chang'd your Claim of Lawless might,^ 
 By taking him, whom you esteem'd above 
 Your other Sons, and taught me first to love. 
 
 Emp. My Son, by my command his course must 
 steer :' 
 I bad him love, I bid him now forbear. 
 If you have any kindness for him still, 
 Advise him not to shock^ a Father's will. 
 
 Ind. Must I advise ? 
 Then let me see him, and I'll try t'obey. 
 
 Emp. I had forgot, and dare not trust your way. 
 But send him word. 
 
 He has not here an Army to command : 
 Remember he and you are in my hand. 
 
 Ind. Yes, in a Father's hand, whom he has serv'd ; 
 And, with the hazard of his life, preserv'd. 
 But piety to you, unhappy Prince, 
 Becomes a crime, and duty an offence : 
 Against your self, you with your Foes combine, 
 And seem your own destruction to design. 
 
 ' your golden fruit, the treasure of your love, or- chastity ; with 
 an allusion to the golden apples of the Hesperides. 
 
 ''■ But cruelly . . . betray i Must you also wrong me by 
 seeking forcibly to rob me of the love I have given to another ? 
 
 3 I was . . . might, I was well content that you should have 
 the crown that belonged to me, and found in' marrying your son 
 a good exchange for that of which your lawless might had robbed 
 me. 
 
 '' to shock, to encounter, as in the shock of war. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 81 
 
 Emp. You may be pleased your Politiques' to spare : 
 I'm old enough, and can my self take care. 
 
 Ind. Advice from me was, I confess, too bold : 
 Y'are old enough it may be, Sir, too old.^ 
 
 Emp. You please your self with your contempt of Age : \ 
 But love, neglected, will convert' to Rage. - 
 
 If on your head my fury does not turn. 
 Thank that fond dotage which so much you scorn.'' 
 But, in another's person, you may prove. 
 There's warmth for Vengeance left, though not for Love. 
 
 Re-enter Arimant. 
 
 Arimant. The Empress has the Anti-chambers past, 
 And this way moves with a disorder'd haste : 
 Her brows, the stormy marks of anger bear. 
 
 Emp. Madam, retire : she must not find you here. 
 
 \Exit Indamora with Arimant. 
 
 Enter Nourmahal hastily. 
 
 Nour. What have I done, that Nourmahal must prove 
 The scorn and triumph of a Rival's Love ? 
 My eyes are still the same, each glance, each grace. 
 Keep their first lustre, and maintain their place ; 
 Not second yet to any other face. 
 
 Emp. What rage transports you ? are you well awake ? 
 Such Dreams distracted minds in Feaver3 make. 
 
 Nour. Those Feavers you have giv'n, those Dreams have 
 bred. 
 By broken Faith, and an abandon'd Bed. 
 Such Visions hourly pass before my sight ; 
 Which from my eyes their Balmy slumbers, fright. 
 In the severest silence of the night. 
 
 ' your Politiques, your sage counsels, your arguments that savour 
 so much of policy. 
 
 ^ Vare . . . old, the pause should here be after enough. 
 
 ' convert, used in a neuter sense, as frequently in Shakespeare. 
 
 * Thank . , , scorn, you may well thank that doting love for 
 you which you so much despise. 
 
 G 
 
82 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Visions, which in this Cittadel are seen ; 
 Bright, glorious Visions of a Rival Queen. 
 
 Emp. Have patience, my iirst flames can ne'r decay : 
 These are but Dreams, and soon will pass away. 
 Thou know'st, liiy Heart, my Empire, all is thine : 
 In thy own Heav'n of Love serenely shine : 
 Fair as the face of Nature did appear, \ 
 
 When Flowers first peep'd, and Trees did Blossoms bear, \ 
 And Winter had not yet deform'd th' inverted Year.'- i 
 
 Calm as the Breath which fans our Eastern Groves, 
 And bright as when thy eyes first lighted up our Loves.^ 
 Let our eternal Peace be seal'd by this. 
 With the first ardour of a Nuptial Kiss. 
 
 SjDffers to kiss her. 
 
 Nour. Me would you have, me your faint kisses prove. 
 The dregs and droppings of enervate Love ? ^ 
 Must I your cold long-labouring'' age sustain, 
 And be to empty joys provok'd in vain ? 
 Receive you sighing after other Charms,. 
 And take an absent Husband in my Arms ? 
 
 Emp. Even these reproaches I can bear from you : 
 You doubted of my Love, beheve it true. 
 Nothing but Love this patience could produce ; 
 And I allow your rage that kind excuse. 
 
 Nour. Call it not patience ; 'tis your guilt stands mute : 
 You have a cause too foul to bear dispute.^ 
 
 ' And Winter . . . year, and the year had nut yet passed into 
 hideous wintei". 
 
 2 And bright . . . Loves, and bright as when your eyes first 
 kindled love in mine, love then reciprocated by you. 
 
 ^ TAe dregs . . . Love, cp. Pope, Essay on Criticism, iil. 608, 
 9, " Strain out the last dull droi^pings of their sense, And rhyme with 
 all the rage of impotence " ; and for enervate. Pope, Imitations of 
 Horace, ii. i. 153, " On each enervate string they taught the note To 
 pant" ; Wordsworth, Ecclesiastical Sonnets, i. 9, "The Pictish cloud 
 darkens the enervate land. " The word, though so expressive, is almost 
 obsolete now. 
 
 ■• long-labouring, incapable of action, impotent. 
 
 ' dispute, argument. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 83 
 
 You wrong me first, and urge my rage to rise, ) 
 
 Then I must pass for mad ;' you, meek and wise, > 
 Good man, plead merit by your soft replies. ) 
 
 Vain priviledge poor Women have of tongue : 
 Men can stand silent, and resolve on wrong. 
 
 £«/. What can I more ? my friendship you refuse, 
 And even my mildness, as my crime, accuse. 
 
 Nour. Your sullen silence cheats not me, false Man ; 
 I know you think the bloudiest things you can. 
 Could you accuse me, you would raise your Voice : 
 Watch for my crimes, and in my guilt rejoyce. 
 But my known virtue is from scandal free. 
 And leaves no shadow for your calumny. 
 ' Emp. Such virtue is the plague of humane life : 
 A virtuous Woman, but a cursed Wife.^ 
 In pain of pompous' chastity y'are proud : 
 Virtue's adultery of the Tongue, when loud,* 
 I, with less pain, a Prostitute could bear. 
 Than the shrill sound of Virtue, virtue hear.'' 
 
 In unchaste Wives- — 
 
 There's yet a kind of recompensing ease : 
 
 Vice keeps 'em humble, gives 'em care^ to please : 
 
 But against clamorous Virtue, what defence ? 
 
 It stops our mouths, and gives your noise pretence.' 
 
 Nour. Since Virtue does your indignation raise, 
 'Tis pity but you had that Wife you praise. 
 Your own wild appetites are prone to range ; 
 And then you tax our humours with your change. 
 
 ' Then . . . mad, then, forsooth, I am to be regarded as being 
 out of my senses. 
 
 ^ A iiirtuous . . . Wife, a virtuous woman, when her virtue is 
 such as yours, is only another name for a cursed wife. 
 
 ' fomfous, ostentatious. 
 
 * Virtues . . . lout/, virtue, when it manifests itself in such 
 shrill boastings, is little better than adultery of the tongue. 
 
 ' T/ian the shrill . . . hear, than listen to the shrill repetition 
 of the word "Virtue." 
 
 ° care, anxious desire. 
 
 ' gives . . . pretence, gives you an excuse for scolding. 
 
 G 2 
 
84 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Emf. What can be sweeter than our native home ! 
 Thither for ease, and soft repose, we come : 
 Home is the sacred refuge of our life : 
 Secur'd from all approaches, but a Wife.^ 
 If thence we fly, the cause admits no doubt : 
 None but an Inmate Foe' could force us out. 
 Clamours, our privacies uneasie make : 
 Birds leave their Nests disturb'd, and Beasts their Haunts 
 forsake.' ■ 
 
 Nour. Honour's my crime that has your loathing 
 bred :* 
 You take no pleasure in a virtuous bed. 
 
 Enip. What pleasure can there be in that estate,' 
 Which your unquietness has made me hate ? 
 
 1 shrink far off 
 
 Dissembling sleep, but wakeful with the fright. 
 The day takes off the pleasure of the night. 
 
 Nour. My thoughts no other joys but pow'r pur- 
 sue :° 
 Or, if they did, they must be lost in you.' 
 
 And yet the fault's not mine 
 
 Though Youth and Beauty cannot warmth command ; 
 The Sun in vain shines on the barren Sand.* 
 
 ' but a Wife, except those of a wife. 
 
 * an Inmate Foe, an enemy within the walls, i.e. a wife who ruins 
 all domestic peace. 
 
 * Birds . . . forsake, an Alexandrine. 
 
 ■* Honour'' s . . bed, my only crime, and that which has caused 
 
 you to loathe me, is that I have ever been chaste. 
 
 ^ estate, condition of lif?. 
 
 ' My thoughts . . . pursue, you cannot charge me with seeking 
 any other joys but those of power ; it is no sensual gratification that 
 you can accuse me of. 
 
 ' Or, . . . you, or, if I did seek any other joys but those of 
 power, it would be vain to hope for their gratification by you. 
 
 * And yet . . . Sand, and yet it is not my fault that I cannot 
 elicit any warmth of passion from you ; I have both youth and beauty, 
 but they are as powerless to call forth a harvest of love in you as the 
 sun is to generate fertility in the barren sand. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 85 
 
 Enip. 'Tis true, of Marriage bands I'm weary grown. 
 Love scorns all ties, but those that are his own.' 
 Chains that are dragg'd, must needs uneasie prove : 
 For there's a God-like Uberty in love.* 
 
 Nour. What's Love to you ?' 
 The bloom of beauty other years demands ; 
 Nor will be gather'd by such wither'd hands : 
 You importune it with a false desire : 
 Which sparkles put, and makes no solid fire.* 
 This impudence' of Age, whence can it spring ? 
 All you expect, and yet you nothing bring.° 
 Eager to ask, when you are past a grant ; 
 Nice in providing what you cannot want.'' 
 Have conscience ; give not her you love this pain : 
 Sollicite not your self, and her, in vain.' 
 All other Debts may compensation find : 
 But love is strict, and will be paid in kind." 
 
 ' 'Tis, true , . . own, cp. Pope, Eloisa to Abelard, 7S-6, 
 " Love free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings and 
 in a moment flies ; " bands and bonds were formerly used indifferently 
 both in the figurative sense of moral obligation and in the literal sense 
 of fetters. 
 
 ° Chains . . . love, the chains of love when not worn easily 
 are but as the fetters that the prisoner drags heavily after him ; for to 
 love, worthy of the name, there belongs a God-like freedom. 
 
 '' What's Love to you 1 what has a man of your age to do with love ? 
 
 * You importune . . » fire, you importunately pester love with 
 a desire that has no substantiality in it ; a desire that sends forth a 
 mere shower of sparks without any real warmth in them. 
 
 ' impudence, shameless effrontery. 
 
 ° All . , . bring, the bargain you would make is wholly one- 
 sided ; you expect everything from the object of your love, and i/et 
 have nothing to give in return. 
 
 ' Eager . . . want, eager in asking, though incapable of re- 
 ciprocating anything ; scrupulous and exact in .providing for yourself 
 that which you are incapable of enjoying. 
 
 ' Sollicite not your -self, do not vainly tax yourself, and her, for that 
 which is impossible to both % you have no real love to give and she none, 
 to return. 
 
 ' in kind, in the same article ; kind, literally, nature, sort, character^ 
 
1 
 
 86- DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Emp. Sure of all ills, Domestic are the worst ; 
 When most' secure of blessings, we are curst.' 
 When we lay next us what we hold most dear, 
 Like Hercules, invenom'd Shirts we wear ; 
 And cleaving^ mischiefs. 
 
 Nour. What you merit, have : 
 
 And share, at least, the miseries you gave.^ 
 
 Your days, I will alarm,^ I'll haunt your nights : 
 
 And, worse than Age, disable your delights. 
 
 May your siek Fame still languish, till it die •? "> 
 
 All Offices of Pow'r neglected lie, 
 
 And you grow cheap in every Subject's eye." 
 
 Then, as the greatest Curse that I can give ; 
 
 Unpiti'dj be depos'd ; and after live. \_Going off. 
 
 Emp. Stay ; and now learn, 
 How criminal soe'r we Husbands are, 
 Tis not for Wives to push our crimes too far.' 
 
 ' When most secure . . . curst, when most confident of being 
 blessed with happiness, we find ourselves cursed with misery ; secure, 
 without care, anxiety, and then over-confident ; cp. Macbeth, iii.'S. 32, 
 " And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy." 
 
 ^ When we lay . . mischiefs, when we hug to ourselves that 
 which we prize most dearly, we find it to be to us like the poisonous 
 shirt of Nessus sent by his wife to Hercules (which when he attempted 
 in the agony caused by the poison to tear ofiF, tore off the flesh with 
 it) ; cp. Antony and Cleopatra, iv. 12. 43 : for cleaving mischiefs, cp. 
 Samson Agonistes, 1037-9, "3- thorn Intestine, far within defensive 
 arms, A cleaving mischief," said of womankind. 
 
 ' What you merit . . . gave, may you obtain that which you 
 deserve ; and at least share in the agonies that others (^sc. herself) owe 
 to you. 
 
 * alarm, make unendurable by my vociferous complaints and^re- 
 proaches ; startle as men are startled by the call to arms ; alarm ; 
 Ital., alle arme, to arms ! ... 
 
 ' May your . . . die, may your reputation, already diseased, 
 continue to languish till it altogether perishes ! 
 
 ' All Offices ... . eye, may you in your love-frenzy neglect all 
 your imperia;! duties, till you become the scorn of your subjects ! 
 
 ' 'Tis not . . . far, it is not for wives to exasperate their 
 husbands^by reproaching them with their ill deeds. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 87 
 
 Had you still Mistris of your temper been, 
 
 I had been modest, and not own'd my Sin. 
 
 Your fury hardens' me : and what e'r wrong "^ C^j^^'^'-'^'^ 
 
 You suffer, you have cancell'd by your tongue. ) ^^ f Y.i-C-r '^^ 
 
 A Guard there ; seize her : she shall know this hour, (, f,^ £^ ^ 
 
 What is a Husband's and a Monarch's pow'r. /(^ l^t^ ^^^ 
 
 [Guard seizes her. " 
 
 Enter Aureng-Zebe. 
 
 Nour. I see for whom your Charter you maintain : ' 
 I must be fetter'd, and my Son be slain. 
 That Zelyma's ambitious Race* may reign. 
 Not so you promis'd, when my beauty drew 
 All Asia's Vows ; when Persia left for you 
 The Realm of Candahar for Dow'r I brought :" 
 That long contended Prize for which you fought. 
 
 Aur. The name of Step-mother, your practis'd art,* 
 By which you have estrang'd my Father's heart. 
 All you have done against me, or design. 
 Shows your aversion, but begets not mine. "V_ 
 Long may my Father India's Empire guide : / 
 And may no breach your Nuptial Vows divide. 
 
 ,^ I see . . , maintain, I see for whose sake it is that you mean 
 to assert your power, to exercise those privileges which marriage has 
 given you. 
 
 ' Zelyma's ambitious Race, sc. Aurangzib ; thougli " Zelyma " is a 
 poetical figment, all the emperor's sons being by Mumtaz Mahal. 
 
 ^ when Persia . . . brought, when leaving Persia for your 
 sake, I brought as my dowry the realm of Kandahar. This " Dow'r " 
 is of course apocryphal. Nurmahal, or Niir Jahan, Jahangir's wife, 
 was the daughter of Mirza Ghayas, a Persian who, being reduced to 
 poverty, migrated to India. Niir Jahan was first married to Shir 
 Afghan Khdn, a young Persian on whom Akbar bestowed a jagir in 
 Bengal. On his murder she was brought to Jahangir's court, and later 
 on married by him. Mumtaz Mahal, Shahjahan's wife, was the 
 daughter of Asaf Khan and niece of Nur Jahan. Neither brought 
 any dowry at marriage. 
 
 ■* your practis'd art, the stratagems you ha ve employed to secure 
 the succession to the throne for your son. 
 
88 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Emp. Since Love obliges not,^ I from this hour, 
 Assume the right of Man's Despotic pow'r : 
 Man is by Nature form'd your Sexes head : 
 And is himself the Canon of his Bed.^ 
 In Bands'' of Iron fetter'd you shall be : 
 An easier yoke than what you put on me. 
 
 Aur. Though much I fear my int'resf* is not great, 
 
 \Kneeling. 
 Let me your Royal Clemency intreat. 
 Secrets of Marriage still' are Sacred held : 
 There sweet and bitter by the wife conceal'd." 
 Errors of Wives reflect on Husbands still : 
 And, when divulg'd, proclaim you've chosen ill. 
 And the mysterious pow'r of Bed and Throne, 
 Should always be maintain'd, but rarely shown.' 
 
 Emp. To so perverse a Sex all Grace is vain : 
 It gives 'em courage to offend again : 
 For with feign'd tears they penitence pretend : 
 Again are pardon'd, and again offend. 
 Fathom our pity when they seem to grieve f 
 Only to try how far we can forgive. 
 Till lanching out into a Sea of strife. 
 They scorn all pardon, and appear all Wife.' 
 
 ' obliges not, has no binding force with you. 
 
 ^ the Canon of his Bed, a law unto himself as regards his wife. 
 
 ^ Bands, see note i, p. 85. 
 
 * my interest, the influence which I can exercise. 
 
 " still, ever. 
 
 ^ There . . . conceaVd, those who are wise conceal the 
 ^bitters that are mixed with the sweets of marriage ; There is a mis- 
 print for Their. 
 
 ' And the mysterious . . . shown, and while the power of 
 husband and monarch should always be maintained, its mysteries, 
 secrets, should rarely be divulged. 
 
 ' Fathom . . . grieve, while seeming penitent for their sins 
 are merely using th'eir grief as a cloak beneath which to discover how 
 far it is safe to try our patience. 
 
 " all Wife, in their natural colours of disobedience and fury. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 89 
 
 But be it as you please : for your lov'd sake, 
 This last and fruitless trial I will make. 
 In all requests, your right of merit use : 
 And know, There is but one I can refuse.' 
 
 [Ife Signs to the Guards, and they remove from the Empress. 
 
 Nour. You've done enough, for you design'd my Chains •? 
 The Grace is vanish'd, but th' Affront remains. V] 
 
 Nor is't a Grace, or for his merit done f ' 
 
 You durst no farther, for you fear'd my Son. 
 This you have gain'd by the rough course you prove ; 
 I'm past Repentance, and you past my Love. \_Exit. y^ 
 
 Emp. A Spirit so untam'd the world ne'r bore. 
 
 Aur. And yet worse usage had incens'd her more. 
 But since by no obligement she is ti'd,^ 
 You must betimes for your defence provide. 
 I cannot idle in your danger stand f 
 But beg once more I may your Arms command : 
 Two Battels your auspicious Cause has wonn ; 
 My Sword can perfect what it has begun, 
 And, from your Walls, dislodge that haughty Son. 
 
 Emp. My Son, your valour has, this day, been such. 
 None can enough admire, or praise too much. 
 But now, with reason, your success I doubt : 
 Her Faction's strong within, his Arms without." 
 
 ' In all requests, . . i refuse, in all the requests you may have 
 to make, employ that right which your merit claims ; and learn that 
 there is but one request that I can refuse, the request to abandon 
 Indamora. 
 
 ' design'd my Chains, though you now order your guards to stand 
 aside, you had intended to have me confined, 
 
 ' Nor is't a Grace, . . . done, nor is this favour (of can- 
 celling your orders for my confinement) worthy the name, or granted 
 for the sake of my son's deservings. 
 
 * But since . . . t€d, and since no ties of duty or oath bind 
 her. 
 
 ' I cannot . • . stand, I cannot remain an idle spectator while 
 you are in danger ; but must act. 
 
 " Jler Faction's . . . without, she is powerful in the party she 
 
90 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Aur. I left the City in a Panic fright ■)- 
 Lions they are in Council, Lambs in fight.^ 
 But my own Troops, by Mirzah led, are near : 
 I, by to morrow's dawn, expect 'em here. 
 To favour 'em, I'll sally out ere day : 
 And through our slaughter'd foes enlarge their way. 
 
 Emp. Age has not yet 
 So shrunk my Sinews, or so chill'd my Veins, 
 But conscious Virtue in my breast remains. 
 But had I now 
 
 That strength, with which my boiling Youth was fraught ; -| 
 When in the Vale of Balasor I fought," l 
 
 And from Bengale their Captive Monarch brought f J 
 
 When Elephant 'gainst Elephant did rear 
 His Trunk, and Castles justl'd in the air ;' 
 My Sword thy way to Victory had shown : 
 And ow'd the Conquest to itself alone. 
 
 Aur. Those fair Idea's to my aid I'll call, 
 And emulate my great Original.® 
 Or, if they fail, I will invoke in Arms, 
 The pow'r of Love, and Indamora's Charms. 
 
 has within the walls, her son is powerful in the army he has outside 
 the walls. 
 
 ' a Panic fright, sudden and unreasonable terrors were in ancient 
 literature ascribed to the influence of the God Pan. 
 
 ^ Lions . . , fight, they are bold as lions when nothing but 
 words are to be used, timorous as lambs when arms have to be 
 employed. Cp. Coriolanus,\. i. 158-61, "What would you have, 
 you curs, That like not peace nor war ? the one affrights you, The 
 other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, Where he should find 
 you lions, finds you hares ; Where foxes, geese.'' 
 
 ^ When . '. , fought, Balasor is qn the coast of Orissa; but 
 there is no record of the emperor's having fought there. 
 
 ' And from . . . brought, Shahjalian, when in rebellion 
 against his father in 1624, conquered Bengal, . then .governed by an 
 Imperial Viceroy, but this Viceroy was not "brought captive." 
 
 ' Castles . . , air, the haudahs clashed against each other in 
 the combat. 
 
 " my great Original, sc. Shahjahan. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 91 
 
 Envp. I doubt the happy influence of your Star : 
 T'invoke a Captives name bodes ill in War. 
 
 Aur. Sir, give me leave to say, what ever now 
 The Omen prove, it boded well to you. 
 Your Royal Promise, when I went to fight, 
 Oblig'd me to resign a Victor's right. ' 
 Her liberty I fought for, and I wonn : 
 And claim it as your General, and your Son. 
 
 Emp. My ears still ring with noise, I'm vext to death ; 
 Tongue-kill'd,* and have not yet recover'd breath 
 Nor will I be prescrib'd my time by you : 
 First end the War, and then your Claim renew. 
 While to your Conduct'' I my Fortune trust. 
 To keep this pledge of duty^ is but just. 
 
 Aur. Some hidden cause your jealousie does move. 
 Or you could ne'r suspect my Loyal Love. 
 
 Emp. What love soever by an Heir is shown. 
 He waits but time to step into the Throne,. 
 You're neither justifi'd, nor yet accus'd •? 
 Meanwhile, the Pris'ner with respect is us'd.° 
 
 Aur. I know the kindness of her Guardian such, 
 I need not fear too little, but too much. 
 But how. Sir, how have you from virtue swerv'd ? 
 Or what so ill return have I deserv'd ? 
 You doubt not me, nor have I spent my bloud. 
 To have my faith no better understood :' 
 
 1 a Victor's right, the right he had to Indamora as her conqueror. 
 ' Ton^ue-kiWd, wearied to death by a woman's scolding. Milton, 
 Samson Agonistes, 404, speaks of the "Tongue-batteries " of Dalila. 
 3 Condzict, guidance, management. 
 
 * this pledge of duty, this hostage for the faithful discharge of your 
 duty, sc. Indamora. 
 
 * Yoti're . . . acctis'd, I neither acquit you of such designs nor 
 accuse you of them. 
 
 ° the Pris'ner . . . us'd, Indamora is treated with all con- 
 sideration. 
 
 ' To have . . . understood, with no better result than to have 
 my loyalty suspected by you. 
 
92 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Your Soul's above the baseness of distrust : 
 Nothing but love could make you so unjust. 
 
 Emp. You know your Rival then ; and know 'tis fit, \ 
 The Son's should to the Father's Claim submit. \ 
 
 Aur. Sons may have right, which they can never quit. ; 
 Your self first made that Title which I claim : 
 First bid me love, and authoris'd my flame.' 
 
 Emp. The value of my gift I did not know : 
 If I could give, I can resume it too. 
 
 Aur. Recal your gift, for I your power confess : 
 But first, take back my life, a gift that's less.- 
 Long life would now but a long burthen prove : 
 You're grown unkind, and I have lost your love. 
 My grief let unbecoming speeches fall : 
 I should have di'd, and not complain'd at all. 
 
 Emp. Witness ye pow'rs. 
 How much I sufifer'd, and how long I strove 
 Against th' assaults of this imperious love ! 
 I represented to my self the shame 
 Of perjur'd Faith, and violated Fame. 
 Your great deserts, how ill they were repay'd ; 
 All arguments, in vain, I urg'd and weigh'd : 
 For mighty Love, who Prudence does despise. 
 For Reason," show'd me Indamora's Eyes. 
 What would you more, my crime I sadly view. 
 Acknowledge, am asham'd, and yet pursue. 
 
 Aur. Since you can love, and yet your error see. 
 The same resistless pow'r may plead for me. 
 With no less ardor I my claim pursue : 
 I love, and cannot yield her even to you. 
 
 Emp. Your elder Brothers, though o'rcorae, have right •* 
 The youngest yet in Arms prepar'd to fight. 
 
 ' authoris'd my flame, gave your sanction to my love for Indamora. 
 ' a gift that's less, which was a gift less valualjle than the possession 
 of Indamora as my wife. 
 ^ For Reason, in the place of reason. 
 ' have right, have a better claim to the throne. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 93 
 
 But, yielding her,' I firmly have decreed, 
 That you alone to Empire shall succeed. 
 
 Aur. To after Ages let me stand a shame. 
 When I exchange for Crowns my Love or Fame. 
 You might have found a mercenary Son, 
 To profit of the Battels he had won : 
 Had I been such, what hinder'd me to take 
 The Crown? nor had th'exchange been yours to make.'' 
 While you are living, I no right pretend; 
 Wear it, and let it where you please descend. 
 But from my Love, 'tis Sacrilege to part : 
 There, there's my Throne in Indamora!s heart. 
 
 Emp. 'Tis in her heart alone that you must Reign : 
 You'll find her person difiScult to gain. • 
 
 Give willingly what I can take by force : 
 And know, Obedience is your safest course. 
 
 Aur. I'm taught, by Honour's precepts, to obey : 
 Fear to Obedience is a slavish way.* 
 If ought my want of duty could beget ; 
 You take the most prevailing means, to tiireat.' 
 Pardon your Bloud that boils within my veins ; 
 It rises high, and menacing" disdains. 
 Even death's become to me no dreadful name : 
 I've often met him, and have made him tame : 
 In fighting fields, where our acquaintance grew, 
 I saw him, and contemn'd him first for you.' 
 
 ' yieldini; her, if you yield her up to me. 
 
 2 Toprofit of, to take advantage of. 
 
 ' Nor had , . . make, nor in that case would it have been in 
 your power to enforce the exchange you would now have me make, 
 the exchange of Indamora for your crown. 
 
 * Fear , , . way, to be brought to obedience by fear is a 
 slavish way. 
 
 5 You take . . . threat, by threatening me you take the 
 readiest way to make me forgst my duty ; to threat, the infinitive used 
 indefinitely. 
 
 ° menacing, threats. 
 
 ' contemned . . . you, despised him first when fighting in your 
 cause. 
 
94 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Emp. Of formal duty' make no more thy boast : 
 Thou disobey'st where it concerns me most. 
 Fool, with both hands thus to push back a Crown •? 
 And headlong cast thy self from Empire down. 
 Though Nourmahal I hate, her Son shall Reign : 
 Inglorious thou, by thy own fault remain. 
 Thy younger Brother I'll admit this hour : 
 So mine shall be thy Mistris, his thy pow'r. \Exit. 
 
 Aur. How vain is Virtue which directs our ways 
 Through certain danger to uncertain praise ! 
 Barren, and aery name ! thee Fortune flies ; 
 With thy lean Train, the Pious and the Wise.^ 
 Heav'n takes thee at thy word, without regard ; 
 And lets thee poorly be thy own reward. 
 The World is made for the bold impious man ; 
 Who stops at nothing, seizes all he can. 
 Justice to merit does weak aid afford ; 
 She trusts her Ballance, and neglects her Sword.^ 
 "Virtue is nice to take^ what's not her own ; 
 And, 'while she long consults," the prize is gone. 
 
 To him Dianet. 
 
 Dia. Forgive the bearer of unhappy news : 
 Your alter'd Father openly pursues 
 Your ruine ; and, to compass his intent, 
 For violent Morat in haste has sent. 
 The Gates he order'd all to be unbarr'd r 
 And from the Market place to draw the Guard. 
 
 * formal duty, ceremonious marks of duty. 
 
 " Fool . . . Crown, what a fool you show yourself in thus 
 resolutely refusing a crown ! 
 
 3 With thy . . . Wise, with your hungry retinue ^ade up of 
 the pious and the wise; cp. Juvenal, i. 74, " Probitas laudatur et 
 .alget." It is possible, however, that lean here means scanty. 
 
 * She trusts . . . Sword, of the two symbols of power that she 
 bears, she places too much reliance on her scales, and neglects to use 
 jher sword, — which would often be more efficacious. 
 
 * nice to take, scrupulous about taking. 
 ' consults, deliberates. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 95 
 
 Aur. How look the people in this turn of State ? 
 
 Dia. They mourn your ruine as their proper' fate. 
 Cursing the Empress : for they think it done 
 By her procurement, to advance her Son. 
 Him too, though aw'd, they scarcely can forbear ■? 
 His pride they hate, his violence they fear. 
 All bent to rise, would you appear their Chief,- 
 Till your own Troops come up to your relief 
 
 Aur. Ill-treated, and forsaken, as I am, 
 I'll not betray the glory of my name : 
 'Tis not for me, who have preserv'd a State, 
 To buy an Empire at so base a rate. 
 
 Dia. The points of Honour Poets may produce •? 
 Trappings of life,* for Ornament, not Use : 
 Honour, which only does the name advance,^ 
 Is the meer raving madness of Romance. 
 Pleas'd with a word, you may sit tamely down ; 
 And see your younger Brother force" the Crown. 
 
 Aur. I know my fortune in extremes does lie : 
 The Sons of Indostan must Reign, or die.' 
 That desperate hazard Courage does create ; 
 As he plays frankly, who has least Estate,^ 
 And that' the World the Coward will despise. 
 When Life's a Blank, who pulls not for a Prize ?'" 
 
 Dia. Of all your knowledge, this vain fruit you have. 
 To walk with eyes broad open to your Grave. 
 
 1 p-oper, own ; Lat. proprius. 
 ^ forbear, keep their hands off. 
 ^ produce, adduce, exhibit. 
 
 * Trappings, mere outside ornaments ; cp. Ha7nlet, i. 2. 86, 
 ■• ' These but the trappings and the suits of woe. " 
 
 ' advance, lift on high. 
 
 ^ force, seize upon forcibly. 
 
 ' The Sons . . . die, see note 3, p. 53. 
 
 * As he plays . . . Estate, as he plays most venturously who 
 lias least to lose ; for frankly, cp. The Conquest of Granada, Ptl ii. 
 V. 2, " 'iJ!&& frank gamesters." 
 
 ' And that, i.e. and I know that. 
 
 '" who pills not for, who does not snatch at. 
 
96 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Aur. From what I've said, conclude, without reply, 
 I neither would usurp, nor tamely die. 
 Th'attempt to flie, would guilt betray, or fear : 
 Besides, 'twere vain ; the Fort's our prison here. ' 
 
 Somewhat I have resolv'd 
 
 Morat, perhaps, has Honour in his breast : 
 
 And, in extremes, bold Counsels are the best. 
 
 Like Emp'ric Remedies,^ they last are tri'd ; 
 
 And by th'event condemn'd, or justifi'd. 
 
 Presence of mind and courage in distress. 
 
 Are more than Armies to procure success. \_Exit. 
 
 ' the Fort's . . . here, the fort here is nothing better than a 
 prison ; it would be as useless to try to escape from this fort as from a 
 prison. 
 
 2 Emp'ric Remedies, remedies suggested by experiment as opposed 
 to those discovered by scientific observation ; hence frequently used in 
 the, sense of quack. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 97 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Arimant, with a Letter in his hand: Indamora. 
 
 Arim. A ND I the Messenger to him from you ?* 
 ±\. Your Empire you to Tyranny pursue ■? 
 You lay commands, both cruel and unjust, 
 To serve my rival,^ and betray my trust. 
 
 Ind. You first betray'd your trust in loving me. 
 And should not I my own advantage see ? 
 Serving my Love, you may my Friendship gain, 
 You know the rest of your pretences vain,^ 
 You must, my Arimant, you must be kind : 
 'Tis in your Nature, and your Noble Mind. 
 
 Arim. I'll to the King, and streight my trust resign. 
 
 Ind. His trust you may, but you shall never mine. 
 Heav'n made you love me for no other end, / 
 
 But to become my Confident^ and Friend : v 
 
 As such, I keep no Secret from your sight. 
 And therefore make you judge how ill I write : 
 Read it, and tell me freely then your mind : 
 If 'tis indited as I meant it, kind." 
 
 • And I , . . you ? and was I, of all men, chosen to be your 
 messenger to him, I who am his rival in love ? 
 
 2 to Tyranny, even to a tyrannical extent. 
 
 3 To serve . . . trust, those commands obliging me to serve 
 my rival and to betray the trust confided to me by the emperor. 
 
 * You know . , . vain, you are aware that your pretences to 
 my love are utterly useless. 
 
 ' my Confident, the form " confidant " has since the beginning of 
 the eighteenth century taken the place of the older " confid«it." 
 
 ^ If His . . . kind, whether it is couched, as I had intended it, 
 in loving terms. 
 
 H 
 
98 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Arivi. (reading) I ask not Heav'n my freedom to restore, 
 
 But only for your sake I'll read no more : 
 
 And yet I must 
 
 (Reading) Less for my own, than for your sorrow, sad 
 
 Another line, like this, would make me mad' 
 
 (As reading) Heav'n ! she goes on^ — yet more and yet 
 
 more kind ! 
 Each Sentence is a Dagger to my mind. 
 
 (Heading) See me this night 
 
 Thank Fortune, who did such a friend provide. 
 For faithful Arimani shall be your Guide. 
 Not only to be made an Instrument, 
 But preingag'd without my own consent !^ 
 
 Ind. Unknown t'ingage you still augments my score,''' 
 And gives you scope of meriting the more. 
 
 Arim. The best of men 
 Some int'rest in their actions must confess ; 
 None merit but in hope they may possess.^ 
 The fatal Paper rather let me tear, 
 Than, like Bellerophon, my own Sentence bear.^ 
 
 ' Aiiother line . . . mad, Arimant's comment here has almost 
 a comic ring. 
 
 ' Not only . . . consent! To think that I should not only be 
 used as a go-between in their love, but that my consent to so degrad- 
 ing an office should be assumed beforehand as a thing that I should 
 not venture to refuse ! 
 
 •'• augments my score, adds to the debt I already owe you ; increases 
 the score already standing against me. 
 
 ' None m^rit . . . possess, none display their merit, exercise 
 their good offices in behalf of others, except in the hope of benefiting 
 themselves in some way or other. 
 
 ' Than, . . . bear, Bellerophon, son of Glaucus and Eury- 
 mede, was accused by Antea, wife of Proetus, whose offers of love he 
 had rejected, of having made improper proposals to her. Proetus, un- 
 willing to kill him with his own hands, sent him to his father-in-law, 
 lobates, King of Lycia, with a letter in which the latter was requested 
 to put him to death. lobates accordingly sent him to kill the monster 
 Chimaera, thinking he was sure to perish in the contest. Bellerophon, 
 however, obtaining possession of the winged horse, . Pegasus, rose with 
 him in the air, and killed the Chimsera with his arrows. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 99 
 
 Ind. You may; but 'twill not be your best advice.* 
 'Twill only give me pains of writing twice. 
 You know you must obey me, soon or late : 
 Why should you vainly struggle with your Fate ? 
 
 Arim. I thank thee, Heav'n, thou hast been won- ' 
 drous kind ! 
 Why am I thus to slavery design'd. 
 And yet am cheated with a free-born mind ?* 
 Or make thy Orders with my reason sute, 
 
 Or let me live by Sense a glorious Brute'' \She frowns. 
 
 You frown, and I obey with speed, before 
 That dreadful Sentence comes. See me no more : 
 See me no more ! that sound, methinks, I hear 
 Like the last Trumpet* thund'ring in my ear. 
 
 Enter Solyman. 
 
 Solym. The Princess Melesinda, bath'd in tears, 
 And toss'd alternately with hopes and fears, 
 If your affairs such leisure can afford. 
 Would learn from you the fortunes of her Lord. 
 
 Arim. Tell her, that I some certainty may bring ; 
 I go this minute to attend the King. 
 
 Ind. This lonely Turtle* I desire to see : 
 Grief, though not cur'd, is eas'd by Company. 
 
 Arim. (to Solym.) Say, if she please, she hither may 
 repair. 
 And breathe the freshness of the open Air. \Exit Solym. 
 
 ' your best advice, that which you may most prudently do. 
 
 •^ Why am I . , . mind ? Why is it that I should be destined 
 to such slavish work while vainly conscious of being endowed with free- 
 dom of reason ? 
 
 3 Or make . . . Brute, if I am to be regarded as a reasonable 
 being, adapt your orders to such a being ; or, if I am to be regarded 
 as a mere brute beast, then let me, like such a beast, surrender myself 
 to mere sensual enjoyment. 
 
 * the last Trumpet, of course in Arimant's mouth an anomaly. 
 
 « Turtle, from remote times used as an emblem of chaste and faith- 
 ful love. ... 
 
 H 2 
 
loo DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Ind. Poor Princess ! how I pity her estate, 
 Wrapt in the ruines of her Husbands fate ; 
 She mourn'd Morat should in Rebellion rise ; 
 Yet he offends/ and she's the Sacrifice. 
 
 Arim. Not knowing his design, at Court she staid ; 
 Till, by command, close pris'ner she was made. 
 Since when, 
 
 Her Chains with Roman Constancy sTie bore ; 
 But that, perhaps, an Indian Wife's is more.^ 
 
 Ind. Go, bring her comfort : leave me here alone. 
 
 Arim. My love rriust still be in obedience shown. 
 
 \Exit Arim. 
 
 Enter Melesinda, led by Solyman, who retires afterwards. 
 
 Ind. When graceful sorrow in her pomp appears. 
 Sure she is dress'd in Melesinda^ s tears. 
 Your head reclin'd, (as hiding grief from view,) 
 Droops, like a Rose surcharg'd with morning Dew. 
 
 Mel. Can flow'rs but droop in absence of the Sun, 
 Which wak'd'* their sweets ? and mine, alas ! is gone. 
 But you the noblest Charity express : 
 For they who shine in Courts still shun distress.* 
 
 Ind. Distress'd my self, like you, confin'd I live : 
 And therefore can compassion take, and give. 
 We're both Love's Captives, but with Fate so cross, 
 One must be happy by the others loss.' 
 Morat, or Aureng-Z^be must fall this day. \ 
 
 Mel. Too truly Tamerlairis Successors they, L 
 Each thinks a World too little for his sway.^ ) 
 
 ' Yet he offends, yet it is he who is the offender. 
 
 ' But that, . . . more, I say 'Roman constancy,' though 
 perhaps I might better say 'Indian constancy,' since Indian wives 
 may not unjustly be counted superior to Roman wives ; see note 3, 
 p. 42, of The Epistle Dedicator^. 
 
 1 wah'd, called forth, elicited. 
 
 * For they . . . distress, ' noblest,' I say, for those who, like 
 yourself, shine in Courts are ever wont to shun distress, not to comfort 
 it, as you now do. 
 
 * Each thinks . , . s'cvay, Tamerlane (Timtir-lang, i.e. the 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE loi 
 
 Could you and I the same pretences bring, 
 Mankind should with more ease receive a King j' 
 I would to you the narrow world resign, 
 And wanf^ no Empire while Morat was mine. 
 
 Ind. Wish'd freedom I presage you soon will find ; 
 If Heav'n be just, and be to Virtue kind. 
 
 Mel. Quite otherwise my mind foretels my Fate ; 
 Short is my life, and that unfortunate.'' 
 Yet should I not complain, would Heav'n afford 
 Some little time, ere death, to see my Lord. 
 
 Ind. These thoughts are but your melancholy's food ; 
 Rais'd from a lonely life, and dark abode :'' 
 But whatsoe'r our jarring fortunes prove, 
 Though our Lords hate, me-thinks we two may love. 
 
 Mel. Such be our loves as may not yield to fate •? 
 I bring a heart more true than fortunate. 
 
 \Giving their hands> 
 
 To them Arimant. 
 
 Arim. I come with haste surprising news to bring : 
 In two hours time, since last I saw the King, 
 Th'affairs of Court have wholely chang'd their face : 
 Unhappy Ailreng-Zebe is in disgrace : 
 And your Morat, (proclaim'd the Successor) 
 Is call'd, to awe the City with his power. 
 
 lame Timjir), like Alexander, found the world too small for his ambi- 
 tion of conquest. 
 
 * Could you . . . King, if you and I could set up the same 
 claims to universal monarchy, the question of supremacy would more 
 easily be settled ; for I should willingly yield to you the sovereignty of 
 the world, which is too narrow for the successors of Tamerlane, and 
 feel no desire for empire so long as Morat was mine. 
 
 2 want, lack, feel the want of. 
 
 ** and that unfortunate, and not only short but unfortunate. 
 
 * Rais'd . . . abode, you having only just now been set free 
 from the loneliness of captivity. 
 
 * Such . . . fate, may our loves be too strong to be subdued 
 by fate. 
 
I02 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Those Trumpets his triumphant Entry tell. 
 And now the Shouts waft' ne^r the Cittadel. 
 
 Ind. See, Madam, see th'event by me foreshown : 
 I envy not your chance, but grieve my own. 
 
 Mel. A change so unexpected must surprise : 
 And more, because I am unus'd to joys. 
 
 Ind. May all your wishes ever prosp'rous be, 
 But I'm too much concern'd th'event to see. 
 
 My eyes too tender are 
 
 To view my Lord become the publick scorn. 
 
 I came to comfort, and I go to mourn. \Taking her leave. 
 
 Mel. Stay, I'll not see my Lord, 
 Before I give your sorrow some relief ; 
 And pay the Charity you lent my grief. 
 
 Here he shall see me first with you confin'd : \ 
 And, if your virtue fail to move his mind, > 
 
 I'll use my int'rest that he may be kind. J 
 
 Fear not, I never mov'd him yet in vain. 
 
 Ind. So fair a Pleader any Cause may gain. 
 
 Mel. I have no taste,^ me-thinks, of coming joy ; 
 For black presages all my hopes destroy. 
 Die, something whispers, Melesinda, die ; 
 Fulfil, fulfil thy mournful Destiny. 
 Mine is a gleam of bliss, too hot to last, 
 Watry it shines, and will be soon o'r-cast.^ 
 
 Indamora and Melesinda re-enter, as into the Chamber : 
 
 Arim. Fortune seems weary grown of Aureng-Zebe, 
 While to her new made Favourite, Moral, 
 Her lavish hand is wastefully profuse : 
 With Fame and flowing Honours tided in,* 
 
 ' waft, are being carried. 
 
 ' taste, foretaste. 
 
 ' Wafry it shines, it is like the sun when surrounded by vapours 
 and soon to be shrouded in clouds. ■ . . 
 
 * With Fame . . . in, his fame is loudly blazoned abroad, and 
 from all sides currents of honour flow towards him ; tided in more 
 properly belongs to flowing Honours only. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 103 
 
 Bom on a Swelling Current smooth beneath him 
 The King and haughty Empress, to our wonder, 
 If not aton'd,' yet seemingly at peace. 
 As Fate for him that Miracle reserv'd. 
 
 Enter in Triumph, Emperor, Morat, and Train. 
 
 Emp. I have confess'd I love. 
 As I interpret fairly your design. 
 So look not with severer eyes on mine. 
 Your Fate has call'd you to th' Imperial Seat : 
 In duty be, as you in Arms, are great. 
 For Aureng-Zebe a hated name is grown. 
 And Love less bears a Rival than the Throne.' 
 
 Mor. To me, the cries of fighting Fields are Charms : 
 Keen be my Sable,^ and of prooP my Arms. 
 I ask no other blessing of my Stars : 
 No prize but fame, nor Mistris but the Wars. 
 I scarce am pleas'd I tamely mount the Throne :' 
 Would Aureng-Zebe had all their Souls in one : 
 With all my Elder Brothers I would fight. 
 And so from partial Nature force my right." 
 
 Emp. Had we but lasting Youth, and time to spare, 
 Some might be thrown away on Fame and War : 
 
 ' atari! d, reconciled, made atone ; frequent in this sense in 
 Elizabethan writers. 
 
 ' And love . . . Throne, love, even less than a throne, brooks 
 a rival to its power. 
 
 ' Sable, '■ ' or sabre, a kind of simetar, hanger, or broad sword ' ; 
 Phillips, ed. 1706. — F. sabre, a sabre. — G. sabel, a sabre, falchion." 
 (Skeat, Ety. Diet.) 
 
 ' of proof , arms are said to be ' of proof when in the manufacture 
 they have been so severely tested that they will endure any strain 
 likely to be put upon them. 
 
 * / scarce . . . Throne, I should be almost better pleased if I 
 had had to make my way to the throne through dangers and blood- 
 shed. 
 
 ' And so . . . rijf,^^, and compel Nature to yield me that right 
 which by the accident of birth she would keep from me. 
 
i;04 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 But Youth, the perishing good, runs on too fast : "1 
 And unenjoy'd will spend it self to waste ;' r 
 
 Few know the use of life before 'tis past. I 
 
 Had I once more thy vigour to command, 
 I would not let it die upon my hand :^ 
 No hour of pleasure should pass empty by, 
 Youth should watch joys, and shoot 'em as they 
 flie.-' 
 
 Mor. Me-thinks all pleasure is in greatness found. 
 Kings, like Heav'ns Eye, should spread their beams 
 
 around. 
 Pleas'd to be seen while Glory's race they run : 
 Rest is not for the Chariot of the Sun. 
 Subjects are stiff-neck'd Animals, they soon 
 Feel slacken'd Reins, and pitch their Rider down. 
 
 £mp. To thee that drudgery of Pow'r I give : 
 Cares be thy lot : Reign thou, and let me live. 
 The Fort I'll keep for my security, 
 Bus'ness, and publick State resign to thee. 
 
 Mor. Luxurious Kings are to their people lost ; 
 They live, like Drones, upon the publick cost. 
 My Arms, from Pole to Pole, the world shall shake : 
 And, with my self, keep all Mankind awake.* 
 
 £mp. Believe me, Son, and needless trouble spare ; 
 'Tis a base world, and is not worth our care. 
 The Vulgar, a scarce animated Clod, 
 Ne'r pleas'd with ought above 'em, Prince or God. 
 
 ' Arid . . . waste, and unless enjoyed will spend itself in mere 
 waste ; to here indicates the excess to which it will go in spending 
 itself. 
 
 ^ die upon my hand, perish unused. 
 
 ° shoot . . . Jlie, cp. Absalom and Achitophel, Pt. ii. (Nahum 
 Tate's portion), 1031, 2, "while he with watchful eye Observes, and 
 shoots their treasons as they fly" ; Pope, Essay on Man, i. 15, 4, 
 " Eye nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies. And catch the manners 
 living as they rise." 
 
 ■* And, with myself, . . . awake, and keep the whole world, like 
 myself, in action. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 105 
 
 Were I a God, the drunken Globe should roul :' -^ 
 The little Emmets'^ with the humane Soul 
 Care for themselves, while at my ease I sat, 
 And second Causes'' did the work of fate. 
 Or, if I would take care, that care should be 
 For Wit that scorn'd the world, and liv'd like me.* 
 
 To them, Nourmahal, Zayda, and Attendants. 
 
 Nour. My dear Morat, [JSmbradng her Son. 
 
 This day propitious to us all has been : 
 You're now a Monarch's Heir, and I a Queen. 
 Your youthful Father' now may quit the State, 
 And find the ease he sought, indulg'd by fate. 
 Cares shall not keep him on the Throne awake. 
 Nor break the golden Slumbers he would take. / 
 
 Emp. In vain I struggl'd to the Goal of Life," ^ 
 While Rebel-Sons, and an imperious Wife > 
 
 Still dragg'd me backward into noise and strife. ) 
 
 Mor. Be that remembrance lost ; and be't my pride 
 To be your pledge of peace on either side. 
 
 ' the drunken . . . roul, the world should reel about in 
 drunkenness. 
 
 ' The little Emmets, so in Dryden's CEdipus, v. i, "this mole-hill 
 ■earth Is heaved no more ; the busy emmets cease " : among the various 
 forms of the word we now spell emmet were two, amete, and emete, the 
 former of which was contracted into amt and later ant, while the 
 latter, retaining its middle vowel, survives as emmet. 
 
 ' second Causes, he himself, the Great First Cause, withdrawing from 
 all interference in mundane affairs ; cp. Bacon, Essays of Atheism, 
 " .£/Kw«M is charged, that he did dissemble . . when he affirmed ; 
 That there were Blessed Natures, but such as enioyed themselves, 
 without having respect to the Government of the World." Cp. also 
 Dryden's Cleomenes, ii. i, "that god which Epicurus dreamt Dis- 
 daining care, and lolling on a cloud." 
 
 * like me, indifferent to everything around. 
 
 ' Your youthful Father, your father who affects the passions of 
 youth. 
 
 ' the Goal of Life, sc. ease and contentment. 
 
io6 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 To them, Aureng-Zebe. 
 
 Aur. With all th'assurance Innocence can bring, 
 Fearless without, because secure within, 
 Arm'd with my courage, unconcern'd I see 
 This pomp ; a shame to you, a pride to me.i 
 Shame is but where with wickedness 'tis joyn'd ; ^ 
 And, while no baseness in this breast I find, > 
 
 I have not lost the birth-right of my mind. ) 
 
 Emp. Children (the blind effect of Love and Chance, 
 Form'd by their sportive Parents ignorance) 
 Bear from their birth th'impressions of a Slave ■? 
 Whom Heav'n for play-games first, and then for service gave.' 
 One then may be displac'd, and one may Reign : 
 And want of merit, render birth-right vain.* 
 
 Mor. Comes he t'upbraid us with his innocence ? 
 Seize him, and take the preaching Brachman hence.^ 
 
 ' a shame . . . me, which is a disgrace to you, but a source of 
 pride to me. 
 
 " Bear . . . Slave, are stamped as slaves to their parents' will. 
 
 ^ Whom Heav'n . . . gave, whom Heaven gave first for the 
 amusement, and then for the service, of their parents. 
 
 ■" render . . . vain, annul birthright. 
 
 ' Brachman, one of the various forms of the word now more 
 properly spelt Brahman, from Sanskrit brdhmana, f. brahman, praise, 
 worship. This form was in use as late as Pope, in whose Temple of 
 Fame, lOO, we have, "And Brachmans, deep in desert woods 
 rever'd." Of Aureng-Zebe, Bernier, Travels, p. lo, writes, "When 
 in his father's court, he feigned a devotion which he never felt, and 
 affected contempt for worldly grandeur while clandestinely endeavour- 
 ing to pave the way -to future elevation. Even when nominated 
 Viceroy of the Decan, he caused it to be believed that his feelings 
 would be better gratified if permitted to turn Fakire, that is to say, a 
 beggar, -a. Derviche, or one who has renounced the World ; that the 
 wish nearest his heart was to pass the rest of his days in prayer or in 
 offices of piety, and that he shrank from the cares and responsibility of 
 government. . . . The high opinion expressed by Chah-Jehdn of 
 his son Aureng-Zebe, provoked the envy of Dara, and he would some- 
 times say to his intimate friends, that, of all his brothers, the only one 
 who excited his suspicion, and filled him with alarm, was that Nemazi — 
 or, as we should say, ' that Bigot,'' that ever-prayerful one." 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE lof 
 
 Aur. Stay, Sir ; I, from my years, no merit plead : 
 All my designs and acts to duty lead. \To his Father. 
 
 Your Life and Glory are my only end ; 
 And for that prize I with Morat contend. 
 
 Mor. Not him alone ; I all Mankind defie. 
 Who dares adventure more for boty than I ? 
 
 Aur. I know you brave, and take you at your word : 
 That present service which you vaunt, afford.^ 
 Our two Rebellious Brothers are not dead : 
 Though vanquish'd, yet again they gather head. 
 I dare you, as your Rival in renown, 
 March out your Army from thTmperial Town : 
 Chuse whom you please, the other leave to me : 
 And set our Father absolutely free. 
 This, if you do, to end all future strife, 
 I am content to lead a private life :'* 
 Disband my Army to secure the State, 
 Nor aim at more, but leave the rest to fate. 
 
 Mor. I'll do't. Draw out my Army on the plain : 
 War is to me a pastime, peace a pain. 
 
 Emp. (to Morat) Think better first. 
 (To Aur.) You see yourself inclos'd beyond escape. 
 And therefore, Proteus-^-ik&,^ you change your shape. 
 Of promise prodigal, while pow'r you want. 
 And preaching in the Self-denying Cant.^ 
 
 Mor. Plot better; for these Arts too obvious are. 
 Of gaining time, the Masterpiece of War :° 
 Is Aureng-Zebe so known ? 
 
 ' both, sc. Shahjahan's "life and glory." 
 
 ' afford, display. 
 
 ^ I am content . . .. /j/&, j«« Bernxer, pp. 56^7. 
 
 * Proteiis-like, the prophetic old man of the sea, who when 
 questioned as to the future changed himself into various shapes, but if 
 held fast, returned to his own form and gave a true answer to the 
 inquiries. 
 
 * p-eaching . , , . Catit, using this cant about self-denial. 
 
 " for these . . . War, for you employ these arts only to gsia 
 time, a practice most excellent in war. 
 
io8 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Aur. If Acts like mine, 
 
 :So far from int'rest, profit, or design, 
 
 Can show my heart, by those I would be known :' 
 
 I wish you could as well defend your own. 
 
 My absent Army for my Father fought : 
 
 Yours, in these Walls, is to inslave him brought. 
 
 If I come singly, you an armed guest. 
 
 The world with ease may judge whose Cause is best.^ 
 
 Mor. My Father saw you ill designs pursue : 
 And my admission'' show'd his fear of you. 
 
 Aur. Himself best knows why he his Love withdraws : 
 I owe him more than to declare the Cause.* 
 But still I press our duty may be shown 
 By Arms. 
 
 Mor. — — I'll vanquish all his foes alone, 
 
 Aur. You speak as if you could the Fates command, 
 And had no need of any other hand. 
 But, since my Honour you so far suspect,' 
 'Tis just I should on your designs reflect. 
 To prove your self a Loyal Son, declare 
 You'll lay down arms when you conclude the War. 
 
 Mor. No present answer your demand requires ;' 
 The War once done, I'll do what Heav'n inspires. 
 And while the Sword this Monarchy secures, 
 'Tis mannag'd by an abler Arm than yours. 
 
 Emp. Morat's design a doubtful meaning bears : \Apart. 
 In Aureng-Zebe true Loyalty appears. 
 He, for my safety, does his own despise ; 
 Still, with his wrongs, I find his duty rise. 
 
 ' JCnozvn, judged, estimated. 
 
 '' If I come . , . iest, bom the fact that I come unattended by 
 any, while you, presenting yourself as a guest, are baclced up by your 
 troops, the world may judge, &c. 
 
 ^ my admission, the fact that he has gladly admitted me within the 
 ivalls. 
 
 ■* the Came, sc, Shahjahan's rivahy for Indamora. 
 
 • No present . . . requires, there is no necessity why I should 
 now declare what I will do or not do. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 109. 
 
 I feel my Virtue strugling in my Soul, 
 
 But stronger passion does its pow'r controul. 
 
 Yet be advis'd your ruine to prevent. [To Aur. apart. 
 
 You might be safe, if you would give consent. 
 
 Aur. So to your welfare I of use may be,' ' , 
 
 My life or death are equal both to me. \ / 
 
 Emp. The peoples hearts are yours ; the Fort yet mine :. 
 Be wise, and Indamora's love resign. / 
 
 I am observ'd •? remember that I give ' 
 
 This my last proof of kindness, die, or live. 
 
 Aur. Life, with my Indamora, I would chuse ; 
 But, losing her, the end of living lose. 
 I had consider'd all I ought before ; 
 And fear of death can make me change no more. 
 The peoples love so little I esteem, 
 Condemn'd by you, I would not live by them.* 
 May he who must your favour now possess, 
 Much better serve you, and not love you less. 
 
 Emp. I've heard you ; and, to finish the debate, \_Aloud'.. 
 Commit that Rebel pris'ner to the State. 
 
 Mor. The deadly draught he shall begin this day :* 
 And languish with insensible decay. 
 
 Aur. I hate the lingring summons to attend. 
 Death all at once would be the nobler end. 
 
 ^ So . . . lie, proYided only I may be of use in securing your 
 well-being. 
 
 ^ I am observed, Morat notices our talking together. 
 
 3 Condemn'd . . . them, if you condemn me, I do not care to 
 owe my success to them. 
 
 * The deadly . . . day, a reference to the poust, which "is 
 nothing but poppy-heads crushed, and allowed to soak for a night in 
 water. This is the potion generally given to Princes confined in the 
 fortress of Goiialeor, whose heads the Monarch is deterred by prudential 
 reasons from taking off. A large cup of this beverage is brought to 
 them early in the morning, and they are not given anything to eat until 
 it be swallowed ; they would sooner let the prisoner die of hunger. 
 This drink emaciates the wretched victims, who lose their strength 
 and intellect by slow degrees, become torpid and senseless, and at 
 length die." — Bernier's Travels, pp. 106-7. 
 
no DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Fate is unkind ! me-thinks a General 
 
 Should warm, and at the head of Armies fall.' 
 
 And my ambition did that hope pursue, 
 
 That so I might have di'd in fight for you. [To his Father. 
 
 Mor. Would I had been disposer of thy Stars : 
 Thou shouldst have had thy wish, and di'd in Wars. 
 'Tis I, not thou, have reason to repine, 
 That thou shouldst fall by any hand, but mine. 
 
 Aur. When thou wert form'd, Heav'n did a man begin ;' 
 But the brute Soul, by chance, was shuffl'd in.' 
 In Woods and Wilds thy Monarchy maintain : 
 Where valiant Beasts, by force and rapine, reign. 
 In Life's next Scene, if Transmigration be,^ 
 Some Bear or Lion is reserv'd for thee. 
 
 Mor. Take heed thou com'st not in that Lion's way : 
 I prophesie thou wilt thy Soul convey 
 Into a Lamb,' and be again my Prey. 
 Hence with that dreaming Priest. 
 
 Nour. Let me prepare 
 
 The pois'nous draught : his death shall be my care. 
 Near my Apartment let him pris'ner be. 
 That I his hourly ebbs of life may see. 
 
 Aur. My life I would not ransome with a pray'r : 
 'Tis vile, since 'tis not worth my Father's care. 
 I go not. Sir, indebted to my grave •? 
 You pai'd your self, and took the life you gave. \Exit. 
 
 Emp. O that I had more sense of vertue left, \Aside. 
 Or were of that, which yet remains, bereft. 
 
 ' Should warm, . . . fall, ought to perish in the heat of battle 
 and at the head of his army. 
 
 2 Heav'n . . . begin. Heaven intended to form a noble man. 
 
 ' Bui . . . in, but the sensual soul which animates you was by 
 ■some accident allowed to find its way into your body. 
 
 * if Transmigration be, if there is any truth in the doctrine of 
 transmigration. 
 
 5 I prophesie . . . Lami, cp. Merchant of Venice, iv. i. 130-8. 
 
 ' I go not . . . grave, in going to my grave, I no longer owe 
 you aught, since you, &c. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE in 
 
 I've just enough to know how I offend, 
 And, to my shame, have not enough to mend. 
 Lead to the Mosque 
 
 Mor. Love's pleasures why should dull devotion stay ? 
 Heav'n to my Meksinda's but the way.^ 
 
 \Exeunt Emperor, Morat, and Train. 
 
 Zayd. Sure Aureng-Zebe has somewhat of Divine, 
 Whose virtue through so dark a cloud can shine. 
 Fortune has from Morat this day remov'd 
 The greatest Rival, and the best belov'd. 
 
 Hour. He is not yet remov'd. 
 
 Zayd. He lives, 'tis true ; 
 
 But soon must die, and, what I mourn, by you., 
 
 Nour. My Zayda, may thy words prophetick be : 
 I take the Omen, let him die by me. [Embracing her eagerly. 
 He stifl'd in my arms shall lose his breath : 
 And Life it self shall envious be of Death. 
 
 Zay. Bless me, you pow'rs above ! 
 
 Nour. Why dost thou start ? 
 
 Is Love so strange ? or have not I a heart ? , 
 
 Could Aureng-Zebe so lovely seem to thee. 
 
 And I want eyes that noble worth to see ? 
 
 Thy little Soul was but to wonder mov'd : 
 
 My sense of it was higher, and I lov'd. 
 
 That Man, that God-like Man, so brave, so great ; 
 
 But these are thy small praises I repeat. 
 
 I'm carri'd by a Tide of Love away : 
 
 He's somewhat more than I my self can say. 
 
 Zay. Though all th'Idea's you can form be true, 
 He must not, cannot be possess'd by you. 
 If contradicting int'rests could be mixt,^ 
 Nature her self hath cast a bar betwixt. 
 
 1 Heav'n . . . way, in going to my Melesinda, I am going to 
 my heaven. 
 
 ° If contradicting . . . mixt, even if it were possible to recon- 
 cile the conflicting interests of your parental love for your son and 
 your sensual love for Aureng-Zebe, 
 
112 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 And, ere you reach to this incestuous love, 
 You must Divine and Humane Rights remove. 
 
 Nour. Count this among the wonders love has done : 
 I had forgot he was my Husband's Son ! 
 
 Zay. Nay, more : you have forgot who is your own : 
 For whom your care so long design'd the Throne. 
 Morat must fall, if Aureng-Zebe should rise. 
 
 Nour. 'Tis true ; but who was ere in love, and wise ?' 
 Why was that fatal knot of Marriage ti'd, 
 Which did, by making us too near, divide ?' 
 Divides me from my Sex ! for Heav'n, I find, 
 Excludes but me alone of Woman-kind.^ 
 I stand with guilt confounded, lost with shame, 
 And yet made wretched only by a name. 
 If names have such command on humane Life, 
 Love sure's a name that's more Divine than Wife. 
 That Sovereign power all guilt from action takes, ' 
 At least the stains are beautiful it makes. 
 
 Zay. Th'incroaching ill you early should oppose : 
 Flatter'd 'tis worse, and by indulgence grows.* 
 
 Nour. Alas ! and what have I not said or done ? 
 I fought it to the last : and Love has wonn. 
 A bloudy Conquest ; which destruction brought. 
 And ruin'd all the Countrey'* where he fought. 
 Whether this Passion from above was sent 
 The Fate of him Heav'n favours to prevent," 
 Or as the curse of fortune in excess ; 
 
 ' but who . . . wise 1 Dryden's adaptation of Publius Syrus, 
 Sent. IS> Amare et sapere vix Deo conceditur. 
 
 ^ divide, separate us {sc. herself and Aureng-Zebe). 
 
 ^Excludes , , . fFOTKa»-;52H(/, she as the wife of Aureng-Zebe 's 
 father being alone of all women forbidden to love Aureng-Zebe. 
 
 ■• ThHncroaching ill . . . grows, an adaptation of Ovid's lines- 
 Remedia Amoris, 91, 2, Obsta principiis : sero medicina paratur Cum 
 mala per longas convahtere moras. 
 
 * all the Countrey, sc. her being, her heart. 
 
 ° The Fate . . . prevent, the construction is "to prevent " 
 («.(f. hinder, stave off} "the Fate of him whom Heaven favours." 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 113 
 
 That, stretching, would beyond its reach possess : 
 And, with a taste which plenty does deprave,^ 
 Loaths lawful good, and lawless ill does crave ? 
 
 Zay. But yet consider 
 
 Nour. No, 'tis loss of time : 
 
 Think how to farther, not divert my crime. 
 My artful Engines^ instantly I'll move : 
 And chuse the soft and gentlest hour of Love. 
 The Under-Provost of the Fort is mine. 
 But see, Moratl I'll whisper my design. 
 
 Enter Morat with Arimant, as talking : Attendants. 
 
 Arim. And for that cause was not in publick seen : 
 But stays in Prison with the Captive Queen. 
 
 Mor. Let my Attendants wait ; I'll be alone : 
 Where least of State, there most of Love is shown.* 
 
 Nour. My Son, your bus'ness is not hard to guess ; 
 
 \To Mor. 
 Long absence makes you eager to possess : 
 I will not importune you by my stay ;■* 
 She merits all the Love which you can pay. [Exit with Zayda. 
 
 Re-enter Arimant, with Melesinda ; then Exit. Morat runs 
 to Melesinda, and embraces her. 
 
 Mor. Should I not chide you, that you chose to stay 
 In gloomy shades, and lost a glorious day ? 
 Lost the first-fruits of joy you should possess 
 In my return, and made my Triumph less ? 
 
 Mel. Should I not chide, that you could stay and see 
 Those joys, preferring publick Pomp to me ? 
 
 1 with a taste , . . deprave, with a taste rendered vicious by 
 satiety. 
 
 ° artful Engines, skilful stratagems. 
 
 ' Where least , . . shown, love is shown most effectually by 
 the absence of all ostentation of it. 
 
 ^ I will not . . . itoj/,. I will not pester you by remaining, will 
 not by my presence hinder you from.the delights you seek ; importune, 
 accented on the first syllable. 
 
 1 
 
114 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Through my dark Cell your shouts of Triumph rung : 
 I heard with pleasure ; but I thought 'em long. 
 
 Mor. The publick will in Triumphs rudely share.' 
 And Kings the rudness of their joys must bear : 
 But I made haste to set my Captive free : 
 And thought that work was only worthy me. 
 The Fame of antient Matrons you pursue ; 
 And stand a blameless pattern to the new. 
 I have not words to praise such Acts as these : 
 But take my Heart, and mold it as you please. 
 
 Mel. A trial of your kindness I must make, 
 Though not for mine so much as Virtue's sake. 
 The Queen of Cassimeer 
 
 Morat. — No more, my love ; 
 
 That only suit I beg you not to move. 
 That she's in Bonds for Aureng-Zebe I know,^ 
 And should, by my consent, continue so.' 
 The good old man, I fear, will pity show. 
 My Father dotes, and let him still dote on ; 
 He buys his Mistris dearly with his Throne. 
 
 Mel. See her ; and then be cruel if you can. 
 
 Mor. 'Tis not with me as with a private Man, 
 Such may be sway'd by Honour, or by Love ; 
 But Monarchs, only by their int'rest move. 
 
 MeL Heav'n does a Tribute for your pow'r demand : 
 He leaves th'opprest and poor upon your hand." 
 And those who Stewards of his pity prove, 
 He blesses, in return, with publick love ; 
 In his distress, some Miracle is shown : 
 If exil'd, Heav'n restores him. to his Throne. 
 
 ' The publick . . . share, the common people insist upon 
 sharing the triumphal entry of their leaders. 
 
 " That she's . . . know, that she is kept in cmfinement on 
 account of Aureng-Zebe, I am well aware. 
 
 ' Heav'n. does . . . hand, in return for the power placed in 
 your hands by Heaven, it demands that you should pay tribute by 
 succouring the poor and oppressed. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 115 
 
 He needs no Guard while any Subject's near : 
 Nor, like his Tyrant Neighbours, lives in fear : 
 No Plots th' Alarm to his retirements give : 
 'Tis all mankind's concern that he should live. 
 
 Mor. You promis'd friendship in your low estate ; 
 And should forget it in your better fate ;' 
 Such Maxims^ are more plausible than true ; 
 But somewhat must be given to love and you. 
 I'll view this Captive Qu^en ; to let her see, 
 Pray'rs and complaints are lost on such as me. 
 
 Mel. I'll bear the news : Heav'n knows how much I'm 
 pleas'd, 
 That, by my care, th' afflicted may be eas'd. 
 
 As she is going off. Enter Indamora. 
 
 Ind. I'll spare your pains, and venture out alone. 
 Since you, fair Princess, my protection own.' 
 But you, brave Prince, a harder task must find ; 
 
 \To Morat kneeling, who takes her up. 
 In saving me, you would but half be kind.^ 
 An humble Suppliant at your feet I lie ; 
 You have condemn'd my better part to die. 
 Without my Aureng-Zebe I cannot live ; 
 Revoke his Doom, or else my Sentence give.^ 
 
 Mel. If Melesinda in your love have part. 
 Which, to suspect, would break my tender heart : 
 If Love, like mine, may for a Lover plead. 
 By the chaste pleasures of our Nuptial bed, 
 By all the int'rest my past suffrings make, 
 
 ' You promis'd . . . /«/«, your promise of friendship was made 
 when things were at a low ebb with you, and may well be forgotten 
 now that fortune has raised you to a higher state. 
 
 ^ Stick Maxims, sc. as you have just given utterance to. 
 
 ^ Since you . . . oivn, since you avow that you have taken my 
 protection upon yourself. 
 
 * you luould . . . kind, i.e. by leaving Aureng-Zebe to perish. 
 
 * Revoke . . . give, either revoke the sentence passed upon 
 him, or pass a like sentence upon me. 
 
 I 2 
 
ii6 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 And all I yet would suffer for your sake ; 
 By you your self, the last and dearest tie- 
 
 Mor. You move in vain ; for Aureng-Zebe must die. 
 
 Ind. Could that Decree from any Brother come ? 
 Nature her self is sentenc'd in your doom. ' 
 Piety is no more, she sees her place 
 Usurp'd by Monsters, and a savage Race. 
 From her soft Eastern Climes you drive her forth, 
 To the cold Mansions of the utmost North. 
 How can our Prophet suffer you to Reign, 
 When he looks down, and sees your Brother slain ? 
 Avenging Furies will your life pursue : 
 Think there's a Heav'n, Moraf, though not for you. 
 
 Mel. Her words imprint a terror on my mind. 
 What if this death, which is for him design'd. 
 Had been your Doom, (far be that Augury !) 
 And you, not Aureng-Zebe, condemn'd to die ? 
 Weigh well the various turns of Humane fate, 
 And seek, by mercy, to secure your State.' 
 
 Ind. Had Heav'n the Crown for Aureng-Zebe design'd, 
 Pity, for you, had pierc'd his generous mind. 
 Pity does with a noble nature suit : 
 A Brother's life had suffer'd no dispute.' 
 All things have right in life, our Prophet's care 
 Commands the beings ev'n of Brutes to spare." 
 Though int'rest his restraint has justifi'd, 
 Can life, and to a Brother, be deni'd ? 
 
 ' Nature . . , doom, in sentencing him to death you are con- 
 demning yourself who are one with him in nature ; in birth you are 
 part and parcel with him, and in dooming him you are dooming all 
 natural affection. 
 
 2 to secure your State, to make your own position impregnable. 
 
 ' A Brothet's . . . dispute, there would have been no question 
 in his mind as to sparing your life. 
 
 * Commands . , . spare, cp. TAe Conquest of Granada, Pt. ii. 
 i. I, " Our holy prophet wills that charity should even to birds and 
 beasts extended be." Dryden has here apparently confused Moslems 
 with Hindoos. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 117 
 
 Mor. All Reasons for his safety urg'd, are weak : 
 And yet, me-thinks, 'tis Heav'n to hear you speak. 
 
 Mel. 'Tis part of your own being to invade' 
 
 Mor. Nay, if she fail to move, would you perswade ?- 
 
 [Turning to Inda, 
 My Brother does a glorious fate pursue. 
 I envy him, that he must fall for you. 
 He had been base had he releas'd his right : 
 For such an Empire none but Kings should fight 
 If with a Father, he disputes this prize, 
 My wonder ceases when I see these Eyes. 
 
 MeL And can you then deny those Eyes you praise ?* 
 Can beauty wonder, and not pity raise ?* 
 
 Mor. Your intercession now is needless grown : 
 Retire, and let me speak with her alone. 
 
 [Melesinda retires, tveeping, to tAe side of the Theatre. 
 Queen, that you ma)' not fruitless tears employ, 
 
 \Takiiig Indamora's liatid. 
 I bring j'ou news to fill your heart with joy : 
 Your lover King of all the East shall Reign : 
 For Aureng-Zd>e to morrow shall be slain. 
 
 Ind. The hopes you rais'd y'ave blasted with a breath : 
 
 [Starting back. 
 With Triumphs you began, but end with Death. 
 Did you not say, my lover should be King ? 
 
 Mor. I, in Morat, the best of lovers bring ? 
 For one forsaken both of E^rth and Heav'n, 
 Your kinder Stars a nobler choice have given : 
 My Father, while I please, a King appears ; 
 
 * 'Tispai . . . inaade, cp. above, " Nature her self is sen- 
 tenc'd in your doom." 
 
 ' ivould you persmadi t do you fancy that it is in your power to use 
 stronger persuasion ? 
 
 ' And can . . . praise ! And can you deny -anything to that 
 beauty you praise in such terms ? 
 
 ' Can beauty . . . raise? Can beauty whicli excites your 
 wonder not call up your pity also ? in reference to Jlorat's words two 
 lines above. 
 
ii8 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 His pow'r is more declining than his Years. 
 
 An Emperor and Lover, but in show : 
 
 But you, in me, have Youth and fortune too. 
 
 As Heav'n did to your eyes and form Divine, 
 
 Submit the fate of all th' Imperial line ; 
 
 So was it order'd by its wise Decree, * 
 
 That you should find 'em all compris'd in me. 
 
 Ind. If, Sir, I seem not discompos'd with rage, 
 Feed not your fancy with a false presage. 
 Farther to press your Courtship is but vain : 
 A cold refusal carries more disdain, 
 Unsetled Virtue' stormy may appear : 
 Honour, like mine, serenely is severe. 
 To scorn your person, and reject your Crown, 
 Disorder not my face into a frown.^ \Turns from him. 
 
 Mor. Your fortune you should rev'rently have us'd :'' 
 Such offers are not twice to be refus'd. 
 I go to Aureng-Zebe, and am in haste : 
 For your Commands, they're like to be the last. 
 
 Ini. Tell him. 
 With my own death I would his life redeem ; 
 But, less than Honour, both our lives esteem. 
 
 Mor. Have you no more ? 
 
 Ind. What shall I do or say ? \A.side. 
 
 He must not in this fury go away. 
 
 Tell him, I did in vain his Brother move ; 
 
 And yet he falsly said, he was in love. 
 
 Falsly ; for had he truly lov'd, at least, 
 
 He would have giv'n one day t6 my request. 
 
 Mor. A little yieldingmay my love advance :* 
 She darted from her eyes a sidelong glance, 
 
 ' Unsetled Virtue, virtue not firmly fixed, virtue that has any 
 doubts as to its own firmness. 
 
 ' Disorder . . . frown, sully my beauty by even so much as a 
 frown. 
 
 ^ Your fortune . . . us'd, you should have accepted with more 
 grateful submission the good fortune offered you by me. 
 
 * advance, promote the success of. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 119 
 
 Just as she spoke ; and, like her words, it flew : 
 Seem'd not to beg, what yet she bid me do. 
 A Brother, Madam, cannot give a day ; [To her. 
 
 A Servant, and who hopes to merit, may.' 
 
 Mei. If, Sir ■ [coming to him. 
 
 Mor. No more set speeches, and a formal tale. 
 
 With none but States-men and grave Fools prevail. 
 
 Dry up your tears, and practise every Grace, 
 
 That fits the Pageant of your Royal place.- [Exit. 
 
 Mel. Madam, the strange reverse of Fate you see : 
 
 [To Ind. 
 I piti'd you, now you may pity me. [Exit after him. 
 
 Ind. Poor Princess ! thy, hard fate I could bemoan. 
 Had I not nearer sorrows of my own. 
 Beauty is seldom fortunate, when great : 
 A vast Estate, but overcharg'd with Debt. 
 Like those whom want to baseness does betray : 
 I'm forc'd to flatter him I cannot pay. 
 
 would he be content to seize the Throne : 
 
 1 beg the life of Auretig-Zebe alone. 
 
 Whom Heav'n would bless, from pomp it will remove," 
 And make their wealth in privacy and Love. , [Exit. 
 
 ■ A Brother . . . may, from me on the score of brotherly love 
 you need not hope to obtain a respite of Auren^-Zebe's life, even for. a 
 day ; though from me as your lover, and a lover who hopes to meet 
 the reward of his deserts, you may hope for mercy towards him ; 
 Servant, a frequent term of gallantry in former days for a devoted 
 lover. 
 
 ^ That fits . . . place, that it becomes the splendour of your 
 position to display. 
 
 3 from pomp . , . remove, it is sure to free from that pbnip 
 which would mar the perfect enjoyment of its gifts. 
 
120 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Aureng-Zebe solus. 
 
 DISTRUST, and darkness, of a future state. 
 Make poor mankind so fearful of their fate. 
 Death, in it self, is nothing ; but we fear 
 To be we know not what, we know not where.' \Soft Mustek, 
 This is the Ceremony of my fate •? 
 A parting Treat ; and I'm to die in State. 
 They lodge me, as were I the Persian King •? 
 And with luxurious pomp my death they bring. 
 
 To him Nourmahal. 
 
 Nour. I thought before you drew your latest breath. 
 To smooth your passage, and to soften death ; 
 For I would have you, when you upward move, 
 Speak kindly of me, to our Friends above ■? 
 Nor name me there th' occasion of your Fate ; 
 Or what my Interest does, impute to Hate.^ 
 
 Aur. I ask not for what end your pomp's° design'd ; 
 Whether t'insult, or to compose my mind : 
 
 ^ To be , , . where, cp. Hamlet, iii. I. 78-80, "the dread of 
 something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn 
 No traveller retlims." 
 
 - This is . . . fate, this {i.e. the Soft Music he hears) is aa 
 accompaniment to my death, a ceremony which marks that death is at 
 hand. 
 
 3 th^ Persian King, the pomp and ceremony of Persian Kings was- 
 and is proverbial. 
 
 * our Friends above, the dear ones who have passed to heaven 
 before us. 
 
 ' Or what . , . Hate, or impute to hatred to you that which, 
 interest in my son's behalf compels me to do. 
 
 8 your pomp, the music which he takes as a prelude to his death. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE i2i 
 
 I mark'd it not ; 
 
 But, knowing Death would soon th'assault begin, 
 Stood firm collected in my Strength within : 
 To guard that breach did all my forces guide, 
 And left unmann'd the quiet Senses side.^ 
 
 Nour. Because Morat from me his being took, 
 All I can say will much suspected look : 
 'Tis little to confess your fate I grieve; 
 Yet more than you would easily believe. 
 
 Aur. Since my inevitable death you know, 
 You safely unavailing pity show : 
 'Tis Popular^ to mourn a dying foe. 
 
 Nour. You made my Liberty your late request : 
 Is no return due from a grateful breast ? 
 I grow impatient, till I find some way 
 Great Offices,^ with greater, to repay. 
 
 Aur. When I consider Life, 'tis all a cheat ; 
 Yet, fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit f 
 Tsust on, and think to morrow will repay : 
 To morrow's falser than the former day ; 
 Lies worse ; and while it says, we shall be blest 
 With some new joys, cuts off what we possest. 
 Strange couzenage ! none would Jive past years again. 
 Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain ; 
 And, from the dregs of Life, think to receive 
 What the first sprightly running could not give.^ 
 
 ' To guard . . . side, to man that breach in my soul by which 
 death would endeavour to enter, to resist that attack which death 
 would make upon my constancy, I directed all my efforts, and paid 
 no heed to the organs of sense, which were undisturbed by this 
 attendant pomp. 
 
 " Popular, a thing that all are wont to do. 
 
 ' Offices, kindnesses, favours. 
 
 * men . . . deceit, encourage the deception, are onjy too 
 willing to be deceived with hopes which they well know to be vaiij. 
 Cp. Macbeth, v. 5. 24-6. 
 
 * What , . . give, what life in its early vigour could not 
 give. , 
 
122 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 I'm tir'd with waiting for this Chymick Gold,' 
 Which fools us young, and beggars us when old. 
 
 Nour. 'Tis not for nothing that we life pursue ; 
 It pays our hopes with something still that's new : 
 Each day's a Mistris, unenjoy'd before ; 
 Like Travellers, we're pleas'd with seeing more. 
 Did you but know what joys your way attend. 
 You would not hurry to your journeys end. 
 
 Aur. I need not haste the end of life to meet ; 
 The precipice is just beneath my feet. 
 
 Nour. Think not my sense of Virtue is so small : 
 I'll rather leap down first, and break your fall. 
 My Aureng-Zebe, (may I not call you so ?) 
 
 [Taking him by the hand. 
 Behold me now no longer as your foe ; 
 I am not, cannot be your Enemy : 
 Look, is there any malice in my eye ? 
 
 Pray sit \Both sit. 
 
 That distance shows too much respect, or fear : 
 You'll find no danger in approaching near. 
 
 Aur. Forgive th'amazement of my doubtful state : 
 This kindness from the Mother of Morat P' 
 Or is't some Angel, pitying what I bore, 
 Who takes that shape, to make my wonder more ? 
 
 Nour. Think me your better Genius'^ in disguise ; 
 Or any thing that more may charm your eyes. 
 
 ' this Chymick Gold, an allusion to the transmutation of metals 
 and the Grand Elixir of the alchemists, the aurum potabile, which 
 they pretended would restore youth and confer immortality ; cp. 
 Dryden's Rival Ladies, v. 3, " I'll watch it patiently, as chemists do 
 Their golden birth ; and when 'tis changed, receive it With greatei 
 care than they their rich elixir. Just passing from one vial to another. " 
 
 ^ This kindness , . . Morat I To think that I should receive 
 such kindness from one who, as the mother of my rival, necessarily 
 hates me. 
 
 ' Genius, the good spirit supposed to accompany a man through life 
 and prompt his better actions, as his evil genius prompted his worse 
 actions j cp. Macbeth, iii. I. 55-7, Antony and Cleopatra,.\\, 3. ig-22. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 123 
 
 Your Guardian Angel' never could excel 
 
 In care,i nor could he love his charge so well. 
 
 Aiir. Whence can proceed so wonderful a change ? 
 
 Nour. Can kindness to desert, like yours, be strange ? 
 Kindness by secret Sympathy is ty'd ; 
 For Noble Souls in Nature are alli'd. 
 I saw with what a brow you brav'd your Fate ; 
 Yet with what mildness bore your Father's hate. 
 My Virtue, like a string wound up by Art, 
 To the same sound, when yours was touch'd, took part, 
 At distance shook, and trembled at my heart.^ 
 
 Aur. I'll not complain my Father is unkind, 
 Since so much pity from a foe I find. 
 Just Heav'n reward this act. 
 
 Nour. 'Tis well the debt no payment does demand, 
 You turn me over to another hand." 
 But happy, happy she, 
 And with the bless'd above to be compar'd, 
 Whom you your self would, with your self, reward : 
 The greatest, nay, the fairest of her kind. 
 Would envy her that Bliss which you design'd. 
 
 Aur. Great Princes thus, when favourites they raise, 
 To justifie their Grace, their Creatures praise.' 
 
 Nour. As Love the Noblest passion we account. 
 So to the highest Object it should mount. ^ 
 
 ' care, solicitude for your welfare. 
 
 '' like a string . . . heart, an allusion to the ascertained fact 
 that if two stringed instruments are tuned to the same pitch, and the 
 strings of one are touched, the other instrument, if near it, will give 
 forth a responsive sound. Cp. The Princess, iii. 74, "Consonant 
 chords that shiver to one note." 
 
 ^ You turn . . . hand, you leave it to another to pay your 
 debt ; referring to his words, " Since so much pity from a foe I find, 
 Just Heav'n reward this act. " 
 
 * To justifie . . . praise, seek to justify their extravagant 
 partiality by magnifying the merits of the low-born, base creatures 
 they have raised to eminence. 
 
 ^ So . . . mount, so it ought to mount to the highest object, 
 as mine does in fixing itself on you. 
 
124 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 It shows you brave when mean desires you shun. 
 An Eagle only can behold the Sun : 
 And so must you ; if yet, presage Divine 
 There be in Dreams, or was't a Vision mine ? 
 
 Aur. Of me ? 
 
 JVour. And who could else employ my thought ? 
 
 I dream'd, your love was by love's Goddess sought ; 
 
 OflScious Cupids, hov'ring o'r your head, 
 
 Held Myrtle wreaths : beneath your feet were spread 
 
 What Sweets soe'r Sabean} Springs disclose, 
 
 Our Indian Jasmine,^ or the Syrian Rose :'' 
 
 The wanton Ministers around you strove 
 
 For service, and inspir'd their Mother's Love : 
 
 Close by your side, and languishing, she lies, 
 
 With blushing cheeks, short breath, and wishing eyes ; 
 
 Upon your breast supinely lay her head, 
 
 While, on your face, her famish'd sight she fed. 
 
 Then, with a sigh, into these words she broke, 
 
 (And gather'd humid kisses' as she spoke.) 
 
 Dull, and ingrateful ! must I offer love ? 
 
 Desir'd of Gods, and envi'd'ev'n by Jove : 
 
 And dost thou ignorance or fear pretend ? 
 
 ' Sabean, the country of the Sabeans, in Arabia Felix, produced all 
 the most precious spices and perfumes of Arabia, and carried on an 
 extensive trade with the East, 
 
 ^ Indian Jasmine, a most fragrant ilower, of which commonly are 
 made the wreaths hung round the necks of guests at a festival ; the 
 Chameli, ox Jasininum grandiflorum. 
 
 ^ Syrian Rose, the Damask Rose, so. famous for its scent. In his 
 description of Damascus, YJin^^s, Eothen, ch. xxvii. , writes, "High, 
 high above your head, and on every side all down to the ground, the 
 thicket is hemmed in, and choked up by the interlacing boughs that 
 droop with the weight of roses, and load the slow air with their damask 
 breath. There are no other flowers. " 
 
 * humid, moist, fresh ; cp; Dryden's translation of Virgil, Eclogue, 
 X. 20, " And hung with humid pearls the lowly shrub appears " ; a 
 line imitated by Pope, Fable of Dryope, 65, " Thy branches hung with 
 humid pearls appear." 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 125 
 
 Mean Soul ! and dar'st not gloriously offend ?' 
 Then, pressing thus his hand 
 
 Aur. I'll hear no more. [Rising up. 
 
 'Twas impious to have understood before -^ 
 And I, till now, endeavour'd to mistake 
 Th'incestuous meaning which too plain you make. 
 
 Nour. And why this niceness to that pleasure shown,^ 
 Where Nature sums up all her joys in one ; 
 Gives all she can, and labouring still to give, 
 Makes it so great, we can but taste and live : 
 So fills the Senses, that the Soul seems fled, 
 And thought it self does, for the time, lie dead ; 
 Till like a String scru'd up with eager haste, 
 It breaks, and is too exquisite to last ?^ 
 
 Aur. Heav'ns ! can you this, without just vengeance, 
 hear? 
 When will you thunder, if it now be clear ?^ 
 Yet her alone let not your Thunder seize : 
 I, too, deserve to die, because I please." 
 
 Nour. Custom our Native Royalty does awe ; 
 Promiscuous Love is Nature's general Law : 
 For whosoever the first Lovers were. 
 Brother and Sister made the second Pair, 
 
 ' Mean Soul ! . . . offend, cp. Pope, Essay on Criticism, i. 
 152, " Great wits may sometimes ^/uniaj/y offend." 
 
 ' 'Twas impiotis . . . before, it was an act of impiety in me 
 even to have suspected you of such an atrocious crime. 
 
 ' And why . . . shown, and why should you manifest such 
 scruples about indulging in that enjoyment ? 
 
 * It breaks . . . last, and being strained to such a pitch it (the 
 pleasure) gives way from its own excess. 
 
 ' When will you . . . clear? If heaven does not now by its 
 thunder declare its wrath, we can never expect it to do so. 
 
 ^ because I please, merely from finding favour in such a woman'* eyes. 
 For this and the two lines above, Scott compares Seneca's Hippolytus, 
 which Dryden closely imitates, Magne regnator deum Tarn lentus 
 audis scelera ? tarn lentus vides ? Ecquando siBva fulmen emittes manu. 
 Si nunc serenum est ? — Afe velox cremet, Transactus ignis. Sum 
 noceus, merui mori, Placui novcrae. 
 
126- DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 And doubled, by their love, their piety.' 
 
 Aur. Hence, hence, and to some barbarous Climate fly, 
 Which only Brutes in humane form does yield. 
 And Man grows wild in Nature's common Field. 
 Who eat their parents, piety pretend f 
 Yet there no Sons their Sacred Bed ascend. 
 To vail great Sins, a greater Crime you chuse ; 
 And, in your Incest, your Adult'ry lose.** 
 
 Nour. In vain this haughty fury you have shown, 
 How I adore a Soul so like my own ! 
 You must be mine, that you may learn to live : 
 Know joys, which only she who loves can give. 
 Nor think that action you upbraid, so ill : 
 I am not chang'd ; I love my Husband still ; 
 But love him as he was, when youthful grace. 
 And the first down began to shade his face :* 
 That Image does my Virgin-flames renew. 
 And all your Father" shines more bright in you. 
 
 1 pUty, natural affection ; Lat. pietas. So /Eneas from his dutiful- 
 ness to his father is called //aj'. 
 
 ' Who eat . . . pretend, savages who eat the dead bodies of 
 their parents, do so under the pretence that natural affection enjoins 
 the act. Cp. Montaigne, Vol. ii. ch. 12, "Nothing can be imagined 
 so horrible, as for a man to eat his father ; yet the people of old, whose 
 custom it was to do so, looked upon it as a testimony of piety, 
 and affection, meaning thereby to give their progenitors the most 
 worthy and honourable sepulture ; lodging in themselves, and, as it 
 were, in their own marrow, the bodies and reliques of their fathers ; 
 and, in some sort, vivifying and regenerating them, by transmutation, 
 into their living flesh, by means of digestion and nourishment. " 
 
 3 And, . . . lose, merge your crime to him (adultery) in the 
 still greater crime to yourself and me (incest). 
 
 ■* But love , . . face, Langbaine traces this speech also to 
 Seneca's Hippolytus, Thesei vultus amo ; Illos priores quos tulit 
 quondam puer. Cum prima puras harba signaret genas. Taine, vol. 
 ii. p. 12, sarcastically remarks that Dryden in this passage thought he 
 was imitating Racine's Phedre, il. 5. Dryden, in his CEdipus, i. I, has 
 the same thought, put as a reflection into Creon's mouth. 
 
 * all your Father, aW that was attractive in your father; so. All far 
 Love, i. I, "I have not wept this forty years ; but now My mother 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 127 
 
 Aur. In me a horrour of my self you raise ; 
 Curs'd by your love, and blasted by your praise. 
 You find new ways to prosecute my Fate •} 
 And your least guilty passion was your Hate. 
 Nour. I beg my death, if you can Love deny. 
 
 \Offering him a Dagger. 
 Aur. I'll grant you nothing ; no, not ev'n to die. 
 Nour. Know then, you are not half so kind as I. 
 
 \Stamps with her foot. 
 
 Enter Mutes, some with Swords drawn, one with a Cup. 
 
 You've chosen, and may now repent too late. 
 Behold th'eifect^ of what you wish'd, my hate. 
 This Cup, a cure for both our ills has brought : 
 
 \Taking the Cup to present him. 
 You need not fear a philtre in the Draught.^ 
 
 Aur. All must be poison which can come from thee ; 
 
 [Receiving it from her. 
 But this the least. T'immortal Liberty 
 
 This first I pour like dying Socrates / 
 
 [Spilling a little of it. 
 Grim though he be. Death pleases when he frees. 
 
 As he is going to drink, Enter Morat attended. 
 
 comes afresh into my eyes," i.e. all the tender nature of a woman ; 
 cp. also Henry the Fifth, iv. 6. 31, and Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 Philaster, i. I, " Shrink not, worthy sir. But add your father to you," 
 i.e. all the noble qualities of your father. 
 
 ' You find . . . Fate, in displaying this passion for me, you 
 find a new way to add to the horrors of my state. 
 
 ' effect, issue, result. 
 
 ' You need . . . Draught, you need not fear that I have 
 mingled in the draught a charm to provoke your love ; what I now 
 desire is your death ; said with bitter sarcasm. 
 
 * like dying Socrates, Socrates wished to do so, but on asking of the 
 
 attendant (Plato, Pktsdo, Ixvi. 20), "What do you say as to offering a 
 
 libation, is it allowable or not ? " he was answered, " We only mix so 
 
 much poison as is necessary for the purpose " ; and therefore abstained 
 
 . from his purpose. 
 
128 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Mor. Make not such haste, you must my leisure stay : 
 Your Fate's deferr'd, you shall not die to day. 
 
 [Taking the Cup from him. 
 
 Nour. What foolish pity has possess'd your mind, 
 To alter what your prudence' once design'd ? 
 
 Mor. What if I please to lengthen out his date 
 A day, and take a pride to cozen'^ Fate ? 
 
 Nour. 'Twill not be safe to let him live an hour. 
 
 Mor. I'll do't, to show my Arbitrary pow'r. 
 
 Nour. Fortune may take him from your hands again. 
 And you repent th'occasion lost in vain. 
 
 Mor. I smile at what your Female fear foresees : 
 I'm in Fate's place, and dictate her Decrees. 
 Let Arimant be call'd. \Exit one of his Attendants. 
 
 Aur. Give me the poison, and I'll end your strife : 
 I hate to keep a poor precarious life.^ 
 Would I my safety on base terms receive. 
 Know, Sir, I could have liv'd without, your leave. 
 But those I could accuse, I can forgive : 
 By my disdainful silence, let 'em live." 
 
 Nour. What am I, that you dare to bind my hand ? 
 
 \To Mor. 
 So low, I've not a Murder at command f 
 
 ' prudence, foresight. 
 
 2 cozen, cheat ; from ' ' F. cousiner, ' to claime kindred for advantage, 
 •or particular ends ; as he, who to save cliarges in travelling, goes 
 from house to house, as cosin to the honour of every one ' ; Cotgrave. 
 So in mod. F., cousiner is 'to call cousin, to sponge, to live upon 
 ■other people ' ; Hamilton and Legros. The change of meaning from 
 ' sponge ' to ' beguile ' or ' cheat ' was easy " (Skeat, Ety. Diet. ). 
 
 ^ a poor precarious life, a life the continuance of which depends 
 merely upon the granting of humble entreaties. 
 
 * By my . . , live, let them owe their lives to the fact that I 
 disdain to reveal their guilt; by "those" and "them" Nourmahal 
 alone is meant. 
 
 ' So low . . . command 1 Have I fallen so low that I have not 
 •even a single murder at my beck and call ? as though murders 
 were ministers ever ready to obey her command. Cp. Macbeth, i. 5. 
 38-48. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 129 
 
 Can you not one poor Life to her afford, 
 Her who gave up whole Nations to your Sword ? 
 And from th'abundance of whose Soul and Heat, 
 Th' o'rflowing serv'd to make your mind so great.^ 
 
 Mor. What did that greatness in a Woman's mind ?* 
 Ill lodg'd,^ and weak to act what it design'd. 
 Pleasure's your portion, and your slothful ease : 
 When Man's at leisure, study how to please. 
 Soften his angry hours with servile care. 
 And when he calls, the ready Feast prepare. 
 From Wars, and from affairs of State abstain : 
 Women Emasculate a Monarch's Reign ■} 
 And murmuring Crouds, who see 'em shine with Gold, 
 That pomp, as their own ravish'd Spoils behold* 
 
 Nour. Rage choaks my words : 'tis Womanly to weep •,\ 
 
 [Aside. I 
 In my swoll'n breast my close" revenge I'll keep ; j 
 
 I'll watch his tender'st part, and there strike deep. [JExit.J 
 
 Aur. Your strange proceeding does my wonder move ; 
 Yet seems not to express a Brother's love. 
 Say to what Cause my rescu'd life I owe. 
 
 Mor. If what you ask would please, you should not know. 
 But since that knowledge, more than Death, will grieve. 
 Know, Indamora gain'd you this Reprieve. 
 
 Aur. And whence had she the pow'r to work your 
 change ? 
 
 Mor. The pow'r of Beauty is not new or strange. 
 
 ' And from . . . great, from the surplus of whose magna- 
 nimity you derive such greatness as belongs to you. 
 
 ' Whut did "... mind ? A question of appeal equivalent to 
 " a Tvoman's mind was no fit place for such greatness." 
 
 ' /// lodg'd, op. As You Like It, iii. 3. 10, "O knowledge ill- 
 inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatched house ! " 
 
 ■* Women . . , Reign, when women share a monarch's rule, 
 they only enfeeble it. 
 
 * as their own . . . behold, regard that display of wealth as a 
 robbery from themselves, 
 
 ' close, secret. 
 
 K 
 
I30 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Should she command me more, I could obey ; 
 But her request was bounded with a day.' 
 Take that f and, if you'll spare my farther crime. 
 Be kind, and grieve to death against your time.^ 
 
 Enter Arimant. 
 
 Remove this Pris'ner to some safer place : 
 He has, for Indamora's sake, found grace : 
 And, from my Mother's rage must guarded be. 
 Till you receive a new Command from me. 
 
 Arim. Thus love, and fortune, persecute me still. 
 And make me Slave to every Rivals will. \Aside. 
 
 Aur. How I disdain a Life, which I must buy 
 With your contempt, and her inconstancy ; 
 For a few hours, my whole content I pay :* 
 You shall not force on me another day. 
 
 \Exit with Arimant. 
 
 Enter Melesinda. 
 
 Mel. I have been seeking you this hour's long space, 
 And fear'd to find you in another place ; 
 But, since you're here, my jealousie grows less : 
 You will be kind to my unworthiness. 
 What shall I say, I love to that degree. 
 Each glance another way is robb'd from me. 
 Absence, and Prisons, I could bear again ; 
 But sink, and die, beneath your least disdain. 
 
 ' But her request . . . day, her request did not go beyond 
 asking that your death might be deferred for one day. 
 
 ' Take thai, sc. a reprieve for one day : if you'll . . . crime, 
 if you wish to spare me the commission of a further crime {sc. his 
 murder). 
 
 ^ grieve . . time, wear yourself out to death in due time ; this 
 use of against is now colloquial only, but was common in good 
 Elizabethan English in the sense of ' in expectation of,' ' in anticipa- 
 tion of.' 
 
 * For a few . . . pay, the sacrifice of all peace of mind is the 
 exorbitant price I pay for the respite of a single day. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 131: 
 
 Mor. Why do you give your mind this needless care, 
 And, for your self, and me, new pains prepare ? 
 I ne'r approved this passion^ in excess : 
 If you would show your love, distrust me less. 
 I hate to be pursu'd from place to place : 
 Meet, at each turn, a stale domestick face.^ 
 Th'approach of Jealousie Love cannot bear, 
 He's wild, and soon on wing, if watchful eyes come near. 
 
 Mel. From your lov'd presence, how can I depart ? 
 My eyes pursue the object of my heart. 
 
 Mor. You talk as if it were our Bridal night ; 
 Fondness is still th'efifect of new delight f 
 And Marriage but the pleasure of a day : 
 The Metall's base the Gilding worn away.^ 
 
 Mel. I fear, I'm guilty of some great offence, 
 And that has bred this cold indifference. 
 
 Mor. The greatest in the world to flesh and bloud ; 
 You fondly love much longer than you shou'd. 
 
 Mel. If that be all which makes your discontent, 
 Of such a crime I never can repent. 
 
 Mor. Would you force Love upon me, which I shun ? 
 And bring coarse fare, when appetite is gone ? 
 
 Mel. Why did I not, in Prison, die before 
 My fatal freedom made me suffer more ? 
 I had been pleas'd to think I dy'd for you. 
 And doubly pleas'd, because you then were true ; 
 Then I had hope ; but now, alas, have none. 
 
 Mor. You say you love me ; let that love be shown, 
 'Tis in your power to make my happiness. 
 
 ' passion, passionate emotion ; the word was formerly used of any 
 strong emotion — love, desire, sorrow, anger. 
 
 2 a stale domestick face, the face of one who by being seen at every 
 turn has lost all charm. 
 
 ^ Fondness . . . delight, fondness is never provoked but by 
 some fresh, untasted, delight. 
 
 * The MetaWs . . . away, the gilding being worn away, the 
 baseness of the metal is apparent. 
 
 K 2 
 
132 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Mel. Speak quickly : to command me is to bless. 
 
 Mor. To Indamora you my Suit must move : 
 You'll sure speak kindly of the man you love. 
 
 Mel. Oh ! rather let me perish by your hand, 
 Than break my heart, by this unkind command : 
 Think 'tis the only one I could deny ; 
 And that 'tis harder to refuse than die. 
 Try, if you please, my Rival's heart to win : 
 I'll bear the pain, but not promote the sin. 
 You own what e'r perfections man can boast, 
 And if she view you with my eyes she's lost.' 
 
 Mor. Here I renounce all love, all Nuptial ties : 
 Henceforward live a stranger to my eyes : 
 When I appear, see you avoid the place. 
 And haunt me not with that unlucky face. 
 
 Mel. Hard, as it is, I this command obey, 
 And haste, while I have life, to go away : 
 In pity stay some hours, till I am dead. 
 That blameless you may court my Rival's Bed. 
 My hated face I'll not presume to show ; 
 Yet I may watch your steps where e'r you go. 
 Unseen, I'll gaze ; and with my latest breath, 
 Bless, while I die, the Author of my death. [ Weeping. 
 
 Enter Emperor. 
 
 Emp. When your Triumphant fortune high appears. 
 What cause can draw these unbecoming tears ? 
 Let cheerfulness on happy Fortune wait. 
 And give not thus the Counter-time to Fate.' 
 
 Mel. Fortune long frown'd, and has but lately smil'd : 
 I doubt a Foe so newly reconcil'd. 
 
 ' And if she . . . lost, and if she look upon you with eyes as 
 partial as mine, she cannot help yielding to your love. 
 
 ' And give not . . . Fate, and do not, instead of keeping time 
 with fate, be out of time, out of tune or accord, with it ; time.&ni tune 
 were formerly often used synonymously. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 133 
 
 You saw but sorrow in its waning form, 
 A working Sea remaining from a Storm ;' 
 When the now weary Waves roul o'r the Deep, 
 And faintly murmur ere they fall asleep. 
 
 Emp. Your inward griefs you smother in your mind ; 
 But Fame's loud voice proclaims your Lord unkind. 
 
 Mor. Let Fame be busie where she has to do f 
 Tell of fought fields, and every pompous'* Show. 
 Those Tales are fit to fill the peoples ears ; 
 Monarchs, unquestion'd, move in higher Spheres. 
 
 Mel. Believe not Rumor, but your self; and see 
 The kindness 'twixt my plighted Lord and me. 
 
 \Kissing Morat 
 This is our State ; thus happily we live ; 
 These are the quarrels which we take and give. 
 {Aside to Mor.) I had no other way to force a Kiss. 
 Forgive my last Farewel to you, and Bliss. \Exit. 
 
 Emp. Your haughty carriage shows too much of scorn, 
 And love, like hers, deserves not that return. 
 
 Mor. You'll please to leave me judge of what I do,* 
 And not examine by the outward show.'* 
 Your usage of my Mother might be good : 
 I judg'd it not. 
 
 Emp. Nor was it fit you shou'd. 
 
 Mor. Then, in as equal Ballance weigh my deeds. 
 
 Emp. My Right, and my Authority, exceeds. 
 Suppose (what I'll not grant) Injustice done ; 
 Is judging me the duty of a Son ? 
 
 ' A working , . . Storm, the remains of a storm as seen in the 
 waves still churning themselves though the forces that had first roused 
 their violence had now subsided. Saintsbury compares Tennyson, 
 Elaine, 1. 1300 ; " Sea was her wrath yet working aftej: storm ". 
 
 ' where . . .do, where she has a right to be busy. 
 
 ' pompous, see note 4, p. 51. 
 
 * You'll please . . , do, you will be good enough to leave me 
 to judg6 for myself as to my own actions. 
 
 * And not . . . show, and not judge of things by mere appear- 
 ances. 
 
134 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Mor. Not of a Son, but of an Emperor : 
 You cancell'd Duty when you gave me pow'r. 
 If your own actions on your Will you ground, 
 Mine shall hereafter know no other bound. 
 What meant you when you call'd me to a Throne ? 
 Was it to please me with a Name alone ? 
 
 Enip. 'Twas that I thought your gratitude would know 
 What to my partial kindness' you did owe : 
 That what your Birth did to your Claim deny, 
 Your merit of Obedience might supply.^ 
 
 Mor. To your own thoughts such hopes you might pro- 
 pose : 
 But I took'* Empire not on terms like those. 
 Of business you complain'd ; now take your ease : 
 Enjoy what e're decrepif* Age can please : 
 Eat, Sleep, and tell long Tales of what you were 
 In flow'r of Youth, if any one will hear. 
 
 Emp. Pow'r like new Wine, does your weak Brain sur- 
 prise, 
 And its mad fumes, in hot discourses, rise : 
 But time these giddy vapours will remove ; 
 Mean while I'll taste the sober joys of Love. 
 
 Mor. You cannot love, nor pleasures take, or give ; 
 But life begin, when 'tis too late to live. 
 On a tir'd Courser you pursue delight,* 
 Let slip your morning and set out at night. 
 If you have liv'd, take thankfully the past : 
 Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last. 
 If you have not enjoy'd what Youth could give, 
 
 ' my partial kindness, sc. in wishing you to succeed me. 
 
 ' Your merit . . . supply, you might make up for by your 
 desert shown, in ready obedience to my will. 
 
 ' took, accepted, undertook. 
 
 ' decrepit, broken down by age ; from " Lat. decrepitus, that makes no 
 noise ; hence creeping about noiselessly like an old man, aged, broken 
 down " (Skeat, Ety. Diet. ). 
 
 ' On a tir'd Courser . . . delight, you pursue delight upon a 
 steed too exhausted ever to come up with it. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 135 
 
 But life sunk through you Hke a leaky Sieve, 
 Accuse your self you liv'd not while you might ; 
 But, in the Captive Queen resign your right. 
 I've now resolv'd to fill your useless place ; ) 
 I'll take that post' to cover your disgrace, \ 
 And love her, for the honour of my Race. ) 
 
 £m^. Thou dost but try how far I can forbear, 
 Nor art that Monster which thou wouldst appear : 
 But do not wantonly my passion move ; 
 I pardon nothing that relates to Love. 
 My fury does, like jealous Forts, pursue 
 With death, ev'n Strangers who but come to view.^ 
 
 Mor. I did not only view, but will invade : 
 Could you shed venom from your reverend shade. 
 Like Trees, beneath whose arms 'tis death to sleep f 
 Did rouling Thunder your fenc'd Fortress keep, 
 Thence would I snatch my Semek, HVeJove,* 
 And midst the dreadful Rack' enjoy my Love. 
 
 Emp. Have I for this, ungrateful as thou art, 
 When Right, when Nature, struggl'd in my heart ; 
 When Heav'n call'd on me for thy Brother's claim, ° 
 Broke all, and suUi'd my unspott'd fame ? 
 
 ' that post, sc. of lover. 
 
 " My fury . . . view, my jealousy expends itself upon all who 
 look upon Indamora with a loving eye, even though they have no 
 sinister intentions against her ; just as forts hurl their missiles against 
 strangers that come to view them, though only from curiosity and not 
 with any intention of attacking them. 
 
 ' beneath . , . sleep, e.g. the upas-tree. 
 
 * Semele, daughter of Cadmus and Hermione, beloved by Zeus, who 
 by her request visited her in thunder and lightning. By, the latter she 
 was consumed, but Zeus rescued from the flames his prematurely born 
 son, Dionysus, who later on carried off his mother from the infernal 
 regions to Olympus, where she was made immortal "under the name of 
 Thyone. Dryden seems to have somewhat confused his mythology. 
 
 ' Rack, moving body of cloudy; cp. Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 Shepherd's Bush, iii. 2, " He [the north wind] blows still stubbornly. 
 And on his boisterous rack rides my sad ruin." ■ • 
 
 ^ When Heaven . . . claim, when piety • urged me to support 
 your brother's claim to the throne. 
 
136 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Wert thou to Empire, by my baseness, brought, 
 And wouldst thou ravish what so dear I bought ? 
 Dear ! for my Conscience and its peace I gave :^ 
 Why was my Reason made my passion's slave ? 
 I see Heav'ns Justice ; thus the pow'rs Divine 
 Pay Crimes with Crimes, and punish mine by thine. 
 
 Mor. Crimes let them pay, and punish as they please : 
 What Pow'r makes mine, by Pow'r I mean to seize. 
 Since 'tis to that they their own greatness owe 
 Above, why should they question mine below ? \Exit. 
 
 Emp. Prudence, thou vainly in our Youth art sought. 
 And with Age purchas'd art too dearly bought : 
 We're past the use of Wit, for which we toil ; 
 Late Fruit, and planted in too cold a Soil. 
 My Stock of Fame is lavish'd and decay'd ; 
 No profit of the vast profusion made.* 
 Too late my folly I repent ; I know 
 My Aureng-Zebe would ne'r have us'd me so. 
 But, by his ruine I prepar'd my own ; 
 And, like a naked Tree, my shelter gone, 
 To Winds and Winter-storms must stand expos'd 
 alone.^ 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Aureng-Zebe, Arimant. 
 
 Arim. Give me not thanks, which I will ne'r deserve ; 
 But know, 'tis for a Nobler Price I serve. 
 By Indamora's will you're hither brought : 
 All my reward, in her command I sought* 
 
 The rest your Letter tells you. See, like Light, 
 
 She comes ; and I must vanish, like the Night. \_Exit. 
 
 ''Dear! . . . .faz'^, I say " dear "(«>. at a great price), for the 
 price I paid for it was my peace of conscience ; Conscience and its 
 peace, a hendiadys. 
 
 ^ No profit , . . zKfla/,?, without any return for so vast an outlay. 
 
 ' To Winds . , , alone, an Alexandrine. 
 
 ■• All my reward , . . sou^/it, I ask no other reward than to 
 obey her command ; I need no thanks of yours. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 137 
 
 Enter Indamora. 
 
 Ind. 'Tis now that I begin to live again : 
 Heav'ns, I forgive you all my fear and pain : 
 Since I behold my Aureng-Zebe appear, 
 I could not buy him at a Price too dear. 
 His name alone afforded me relief, 
 Repeated as a charm to cure my grief 
 I that lov'd name did, as some God, invoke. 
 And printed kisses on it while I spoke. 
 
 Aur. Short ease : but long, long pains from you I 
 find: 
 Health, to my eyes ; but poison, to my mind. 
 Why are you made so excellently fair ? 
 So much above what other Beauties are, 
 That, ev'n in cursing, you new form my breath ■} 
 And make me bless those Eyes which give me death ? 
 
 Ind. What reason for your curses can you find ? \ 
 My Eyes your conquest, not your death, design'd. > 
 If they offend, 'tis that they are too kind. ) 
 
 Aur. The ruines they have wrought, you will not see : 
 Too kind they are, indeed, but not to me. 
 
 Ind. Think you base Interest Souls, like mine, can 
 sway ? 
 Or that, for Greatness, I can Love betray ? 
 No, Aureng-Zebe, you merit all my heart, 
 And I'm too Noble but to.give a part.^ 
 Your Father, and an Empire !'' am I known "j 
 
 No more ? or have so weak a judgment shown, V 
 In chusing you, to change^ you for a Throne ? J 
 
 ' That,, ev'n . . . breath, when I meant to curse, you compel 
 me to bless. 
 
 2 And Pm too Noble , . . Jiari, and I am too noble to give a 
 part only ; a transposition, of but. 
 
 ^ Your , . . Empire I Do you suppose I would accept your 
 father's love even when accompanied by the gift of an Empire ? 
 
 * change, exchange. 
 
138 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Aur. How, with a truth, you would a Falshood bHnd !'"| 
 'Tis not my Father's love you have design'd ; |- 
 
 Your choice is fix'd where Youth and Pow'r are joyn'd. j 
 
 Ind. Where Youth and Pow'r are joyn'd! has he a 
 name? 
 
 Aur. You would be told ; you glory in your shame : 
 There's Musick in the Sound ; and, to provoke 
 Your pleasure more, by me it must be spoke. 
 Then, then it ravishes, when your pleas'd ear 
 The sound does from a wretched Rival hear. 
 Morafs the name your heart leaps up to meet. 
 While Aureng-Zebe lies dying at your feet. 
 
 Ind. Who told you this ? 
 
 Aur. ■ • Are you so lost to shame ? 
 
 Morat, Morat, Morat : You love the name 
 So well, your e'ry question ends in that ; 
 You force me still to answer you, Morat. 
 Morat, who best could tell what you reveal'd ; 
 Morat, too proud to keep his joy conceal'd. 
 
 Ind. Howe'r unjust your jealousie appear. 
 It shows the loss,, of what you love, you fear f 
 And does my pity, not my anger move : 
 I'll fond it,''' as the froward Child of Love. 
 To show the truth of my unalter'd breast. 
 Know, that your life was given at my request : 
 At least Repriev'd. When Heav'n deni'd you aid. 
 She brought it ; she, whose falshood you upbraid. 
 
 Aur. And 'tis by that you would your falshood hide ; 
 Had you not ask'd,* how happy had I dy'd ! 
 
 ' How . . . blind! How, in truly saying that you would not 
 accept my father's love, you seek to conceal the falsehood which lies 
 in your having accepted Morat's love ! 
 
 " It shows . . . fear, it shows that you fear the loss of what 
 you love. 
 
 ^ fond, fondle, cherish ; used as a verb in Twelfth Night, i. 2, 35 
 though in a slightly different sense. 
 
 * ask'd, sc. for my reprieve. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 139 
 
 Accurst Reprieve ! not to prolong my breath, 
 It brought a ling'ring, and more painful death. 
 I have not liv'd since first I heard the news ; 
 The gift the guilty giver does accuse. 
 You knew the price, and the request did move,i 
 That you might pay the Ransome with your love. 
 
 Ind. Your accusation must, I see, take place f 
 And I am guilty, infamous, and base. 
 
 Aur. If you are false, those Epithets are small ; 
 You're then the things,* the abstract of 'em all. 
 And you are false : you promis'd him your love. 
 No other price a heart so hard could move. 
 Do not I know him ? could his Brutal mind 
 Be wrought upon ? could he be just, or kind ? 
 Insultingly, he made your love his boast ; 
 Gave me my life, and told me what it cost. 
 Speak ; answer. I would fain yet think you true : 
 Lie ; and I'll not believe my self, but you. 
 Tell me you love ; I'll pardon the deceit. 
 And, to be fool'd, my self assist the cheat. 
 
 Ind. No ; 'tis too late : I have no more to say. 
 If you'll believe I have been false, you may. 
 
 Aur. I would not ; but your crimes too plain ap- 
 pear : 
 Nay, even that I should think you true, you fear. 
 Did I not tell you, I would be deceiv'd ? 
 
 Ind. I'm not concern'd to have my truth believ'd. 
 You would be cozen'd ! would assist the cheat ! 
 But I'm too plain to joyn in the deceit : 
 I'm pleas'd you think me false 
 
 1 and the request did move, prompted him to seek your love. 
 
 " take place, have their way, go to their mark ; cp. CEdipus, i. i, 
 " And then a thousand deaths at once advanced, And every dart took 
 place. " 
 
 3 the things, the things themselves ; sc. guilt, infamy, baseness: Cp. 
 Dry den's Amboyna, "now I could swallow down the thing ingratitude 
 and the thing -Oixadxx, but the names are odious; " 
 
I40 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 And, whatso'er my Letter did pretend, 
 I made this meeting for no other end.^ 
 
 Aur. Kill me not quite, with this indifference ; 
 When you are guiltless, boast not an offence. 
 I know you better than your self you know : 
 Your heart was true, but did some frailty show : 
 You promis'd him your Love, that I might live ; 
 But promis'd what you never meant to give. 
 Speak, was't not so ? confess ; I can forgive. 
 
 Ind. Forgive what dull excuses you prepare P 
 As if your thoughts of me were worth my care. 
 
 Aur. Ah traitress ! Ah ingrate ! Ah faithless mind ! 
 Ah Sex, invented first to damn mankind ! 
 Nature took care to dress you up for Sin ■? 
 Adorn'd, without ; unfinish'd left,* within. 
 Hence, by no judgment you your loves direct ; 
 Talk much, ne'r think, and still the wrong effect. 
 So much self-love in your composures'* mix'd. 
 That love to others still remains unfix'd : 
 Greatness, and Noise, and Show, are your delight ; 
 Yet wise men love you, in their own despight : 
 And, finding in their Native Wit no ease. 
 Are forc'd to put your folly on to please. 
 
 Ind. Now you shall know what cause you have to rage ; 
 But to increase your fury, not asswage : 
 I found the way your Brother's heart to move. 
 Yet promis'd not the least return of Love. 
 His Pride, and Brutal fierceness I abhor ; 
 But scorn your mean suspitions of me more. 
 
 ' / viade , , . etid, it was for this very purpose that I brought 
 about this meeting. 
 
 ^ Forgive . , . prepare ! do not talk of forgiving me, but 
 spare yourself the clumsy pretexts you are endeavouring to fashion 1 
 
 ' for Sin, as an impersonation of sin. 
 
 * unfinish'd left, i.e. without a soul to beautify the building of your 
 body, 
 
 * composures, compositions ; cp. Troilus and Cressida, ii. 3. 251, 
 Antony and Cleopatra, i. 4. 22. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 141 
 
 I oVd my Honour and my fame this care : 
 Know what your folly lost you, and despair. 
 
 [^Turning from htm. 
 
 Aur. Too cruelly your innocence you tell ; 
 Show Heav'n, and damn me to the pit of Hell.^ 
 Now I believe you ; 'tis not yet too late : 
 You may forgive, and put a stop to Fate : 
 Save me, just sinking, and no more to rise. [She frowns. 
 How can you look with such relentless eyes ? 
 Or let your mind by penitence be mov'd, 
 Or I'm resolv'd to think you never lov'd. 
 You are not clear'd, unless you mercy speak : 
 I'll think you took th'occasion thus to break.' 
 
 Ind. Small jealousies, 'tis true, inflame desire ; 
 Too great, not fan, but quite blow out the fire : 
 Yet I did love you, till such pains I bore. 
 That I dare trust my self and you no more. 
 Let me not love you ; but here end my pain : 
 Distrust may make me wretched once again. 
 Now, with full Sails, into the Port I move, 
 And safely can unlade my breast of love f 
 Quiet, and calm : why should I then go back. 
 To tempt the second hazard of a Wrack ?* 
 
 Aur. Behold these dying eyes, see their submissive awe ; 
 These tears, which fear of death could never draw : 
 Heard you that sigh ? from my heav'd heart it past. 
 And said. If you forgive not, 'tis my last. 
 Love mounts, and rowls about my stormy mind. 
 Like fire, that's born by a tempestuous wind.° 
 
 1 Show Heavn . . . Hell, while showing the heavenly nature 
 of your mind, condemn me to the lowest depths of hell. 
 
 2 th'occasion . . , break, the opportunity of thus breaking with 
 me. 
 
 ' unlade , . , love, discharge from my heart the burden of love 
 I have so long borne. 
 
 * Wrack, shipwreck ; the older spelling of wreck. 
 
 * that's born . . . wind, that owes its devastating effect to a 
 fierce wind. 
 
142 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Oh, I could stifle you, with eager haste ! 
 Devour your kisses with my hungry taste ! 
 Rush on you ! eat you ! wonder o'r each part, 
 Raving with pleasure, snatch you to my heart ! 
 Then hold you off, and gaze ! then, with new rage, 
 Invade you, till my conscious Limbs presage 
 Torrents of joy, which all their banks o'rflow ! 
 So lost, so blest, as I but then could know ! 
 
 Ind. Be no more jealous. \Giving him her hand. 
 
 Aur. Give me cause no more : 
 
 The danger's greater after, than before,' 
 
 If I relapse ; to cure my jealousie 
 
 Let me (for that's the easiest parting) die. 
 
 Ind. My life! 
 
 Aur. My Soul ! 
 
 Ind. My all that Heaven can give ! 
 
 Death's life with you ; without you, death to live.^ 
 
 To them Arimant hastily. 
 
 Arim. Oh, we are lost, beyond all humane aid ! 
 The Citadel is to Morat betraid. 
 The Traitor, and the Treason, known too late ; 
 The false Abas deliver'd up the Gate. 
 Ev'n, while I speak, we're compass'd round with Fate. 
 The Valiant cannot fight, or Coward flie ; 
 But both in undistinguish'd Crouds must die. 
 
 Aur. Then my Prophetick fears are come to pass : 
 Morat was always bloudy j now, he's base : 
 And has so far in Usurpation gone, 
 He will by Parricide'* secure the Throne. 
 
 ' 772^ danger . . . before, like a relapse, is worse than the 
 original attack. 
 
 ° death to live, death in life. 
 
 ' Parricide, the murder of a father ; the original sense is a murderer 
 of a father. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 143 
 
 To them the Emperor. 
 
 Emp. Am I forsaken, and betray'd, by all ? 
 Not one brave man dare, with a Monarch, fall ? 
 Then, welcome death, to cover my disgrace ; 
 I would not live to Reign o'r such a Race. 
 My Aureng-Zebe ! [Seeing Aureng-Zebe. 
 
 But thou no more art mine ; my cruelty 
 Has quite destroy'd the right I had in thee. 
 I have been base, 
 
 Base ev'n to him from whom I did receive 
 All that a Son could to a parent give : 
 Behold me ptihish'd in the self-same kind, 
 Th'ungrateful does a more ungrateful find.' 
 
 Aur. Accuse your self no more ; you could not be 
 Ungrateful : could commit no crime to me : 
 I only mourn my yet uncanceled score :' 
 You put me past the po^'r of paying more : 
 That, that's my grief, that I can only grieve. 
 And bring but pity, where I would relieve ; 
 For had I yet ten thousand lives to pay. 
 The mighty summ should go no other way. 
 
 Emp. Can you forgive me, 'tis not fit you shou'd. 
 Why will you be so excellently good ? 
 'Twill stick too black a brand upon my name : 
 The Sword is needless ; I shall die with shame. 
 What had my age to do with Love's delight, 
 Shut out from all enjoyments but the sight ? 
 
 Arim. Sir, you forget the danger's imminent : 
 This minute is not for excuses lent. 
 
 Emp. Disturb me not 
 
 How can my latest hour be better spent ? 
 To reconcile my self to him is more. 
 Than to regain all I possess'd before. 
 
 ' TV ungrateful . . . find, great as has been my ingratitude, 
 Moral's is greater still. 
 
 - my yet uncancelVd score, the debt of love which I still owe you. 
 
144 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Empire, and Life are now not worth a pray'r : 
 His love, alone, deserves my dying care. 
 
 Aur. Fighting for you, my death will glorious be. 
 
 Ind. Seek to preserve your self, and live for me. 
 
 Arim. Lose then no farther time. 
 Heav'n has inspir'd me with a sudden thought, "j 
 
 Whence your unhop'd for safety may be wrought, j- 
 Though with the hazard of my bloud 'tis bought. J 
 But, since my life can ne'r be fortunate, 
 'Tis so much sorrow well redeem'd from Fate.' 
 You, Madam, must retire ; 
 Your beauty is its own security. 
 And leave the conduct of the rest to me. 
 Glory will crown my life, if I succeed ; 
 If not, she may afford to love me dead." [Aside. 
 
 Aur. My Father's kind, and Madam, you forgive : 
 Were Heav'n so pleas'd, I now could wish to live. 
 And, I shall live. 
 
 With Glory, and with Love, at once I burn : 
 I feel th'inspiring heat, and absent God" return. \Exeunt. 
 
 1 ' Tis so much . . , Fate, by dying I shall escape so much 
 sorrow that fate had in store for me. 
 
 ' dead, when dead, in death. 
 
 ' absent God, the noble enthusiasm which for a time had left me ; an 
 allusion to the prcesens Deus, the present, aiding, propitious god of 
 classical literature. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 145 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Indamora alone. 
 
 THE night seems doubled with the fear she brings, 
 And, o'r the Cittadel, new spreads her wings. 
 The Morning, as mistaken, turns about, 
 And all her early fires again go out.' 
 Shouts, cries, and groans, first pierce my ears, and then 
 A flash of Lightning draws the guilty Scene, 
 And shows me Arms, and Wounds, and Dying men. 
 Ah, should my Aureng-Zebe be fighting there. 
 And envious Winds distinguish'd to my ear, 
 His dying groans, and his last accents bear !' 
 
 To her Morat, attended. 
 
 Mor. The bloudy bus'ness of the Night is done. 
 And, in the Cittadel, an Empire wonn. 
 Our Swords, so wholly did the fates employ,* 
 That they, at length, grew weary to destroy : , 
 Refus'd the work we brought ; and, out of breath, 
 Made Sorrow and Despair attend for Death.^ 
 
 ' And ail ... go out, the rays of light which had begun to 
 shine in the east ; cp. Macbeth, ii. 2. 6-10. 
 
 2 draws the guilty Scene, reveals, depicts, the scene of bloodshed. 
 
 ^ And envious Winds , . . bear I And winds, jealous of my 
 happiness in being loved by him, bear to my ears, by which any 
 utterance of his is so clearly distinguished, his dying groans and last 
 words. 
 
 * Our Swords , , . employ, the fates employed our swords so 
 incessantly in the work of destruction. 
 
 ' attend for Death, wait for death to put an end to them ; Sorrow 
 and Despair, the abstract for the concrete. 
 
 L 
 
146 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 But what of all my Conquest can I boast ? 
 My haughty pride, before your eyes, is lost : 
 And Victory but gains me to present 
 That Homage, which our Eastern world has sent.^ 
 
 Ind. Your Victory, alas, begets my fears : 
 Can you not then triumph without my tears ? 
 Resolve me ; (for you know my Destiny 
 In Aureng-Zebe^ s) say, do I live, or die ? 
 
 Mor. Urg'd by my love, by hope of Empire fir'd ; 
 'Tis true, I have perform'd what both requir'd : 
 What Fate decreed ; for when great Souls are giv'n, 
 They bear the marks of Sov'reignty from Heav'n. 
 My Elder Brothers my fore-runners came ; 
 Rough-draughts of Nature," ill design'd, and lame : 
 Blown off, like Blossoms, never made to bear f 
 Till I came, finish'd ; her last labour'd care.* 
 
 Ind. This Prologue leads to your succeeding sin : 
 Bloud ended what Ambition did begin. 
 
 Mor. 'Twas rumor'd, but by whom I cannot tell. 
 My Father scap'd from out the Cittadel : 
 My Brother too may live. 
 
 Ind. He may. 
 
 Mor. ^ He must : 
 
 I kill'd him not : and a less Fate's unjust* 
 
 ' And Victory . . . sent, and victory brings me no other gain 
 than that of presenting to you the homage which the whole Eastern 
 world offers. 
 
 " Rough-draughts of Nature^ the mere blocks roughly-hewn and not 
 elaborated to perfection ; cp. The Conquest of Granada, Pt. i., ii. i, 
 " His victories we scarce could keep in view, Or polish them so fast as 
 he rough-drew. " 
 
 ' to bear, sc. fruit. 
 
 ' Till I . , , care, cp. Burns, Green- grow the Rashes, 0, 
 " Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, And then she made the 
 lasses, O." 
 
 ^ and a less jFate's unjust, and that he should perish by any other 
 hand would be a fate inadequate to his crimes. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 147 
 
 Heav'n owes it me, that I may fill his room ; 
 A Phoenix-Lover,' rising from his Tomb. 
 In whom you'll lose your sorrows for the dead ; 
 More warm, more fierce, and fitter for your Bed. 
 
 Ind. Should I from Aureng-Zebe my heart divide, ] 
 To love a Monster, and a Parricide ? \ 
 
 These names your swelling Titles cannot hide. J 
 
 Severe Decrees may keep our Tongues in awe ; 
 But to our thoughts, what Edict can give Law ? 
 Ev'n you your self, to your own breast, shall tell 
 Your crimes ; and your own Conscience be your Hell. 
 
 Mor. What bus'ness has my Conscience with a 
 Crown? 
 She sinks in Pleasures, and in Bowls will drown.^ 
 If mirth should fail, I'll busie her with cares ; 
 Silence her clamorous voice with louder Wars : 
 Trumpets and Drums shall fright her from the Throne, 
 As sounding Cymbals aid the lab'ring Moon." 
 
 Ind. Repell'd by these, more eager she will grow ; 
 Spring back more strongly than a Scythian bow •} 
 
 ' A Phcenix-Lover, a lover rising from his tomb as the phoenix rises 
 from its own ashes ; cp. Samson Agonistes, 1703-5, " Like that self- 
 begotten bird In the Arabian woods embost, That no second knows 
 nor third." 
 
 ^ What bus'ness , . . drown. Conscience and a crown have 
 nothing to do with each other ; my conscience, when I am king, will be 
 lulled to sleep in pleasures and drowned in the flowing bowl, 
 
 ' As sounding . . . Moon, an allusion to the belief, still prev- 
 alent in India, that the beating of cymbals, &c., helps to free the 
 moon when in eclipse from the presence of the evil spirit by which she 
 is possessed. Cp. Dryden's CEdipus, ii. i, "A vast eclipse darkens 
 the labouring planet : Sound these, sound all our instruments of war ; 
 Clarions and trumpets, silver, brass, and iron, And beat a thousand 
 drums to save her labour." Bemier, Travels, pp. 300-4, gives an 
 account of an eclipse of the sun witnessed by him at Delhi with the 
 ceremonies performed by the natives, and an account of the origin of 
 eclipses as given in the Vedas. 
 
 * a Scythian bow, the Scythians were of old famous for their skill in 
 archery. 
 
 L 2 
 
148 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Amidst your Train, this unseen Judge will wait ; 
 Examine how you came by all your State ; 
 Upbraid your impious pomp ; and, in your ear, 
 Will hallow,' Rebel, Tyrant, Murderer. 
 Your ill-got pow'r wan looks and care shall bring : 
 Known but by discontent to be a King. 
 Of Crouds afraid, yet anxious when alone ; 
 You'l sit and brood your sorrows^ on a Throne. 
 
 Mor. Birthright's a vulgar road to Kingly sway ; 
 'Tis ev'ry dull-got^ Elder Brother's way. 
 Dropt from above, he Hghts into a Throne ; ] 
 
 Grows of a piece with that he sits upon, \ 
 
 Heav'ns choice, a low, inglorious, rightful Drone. ) 
 But who by force a Scepter does obtain, 
 Shows he can govern that which he could gain. 
 Right comes of course,* what e'r he was before ; 
 Murder and Usurpation are no more.^ 
 
 Ind. By your own Laws you such Dominion make. 
 As ev'ry stronger Pow'r has right to take : 
 And Parricide will so deform your name. 
 That dispossessing you" will give a claim. 
 Who next Usurps, will a just Prince appear ; 
 So much your ruine will his Reign endear.' 
 
 Mor. I without guilt, would mount the Royal Seat ; 
 But yet 'tis necessary to be great. 
 
 ' hallow, halloo, shout out ; the form in the text is not uncommon 
 in earlier writers. Cotgrave gives " ^a/Zen To ^o//ozf, or incourage 
 dogs by hallowing." 
 
 2 brood your sorrows, brood upon, or over, your sorrows, 
 
 ' dull-got, cp. Lear, i. 2. II-IJ. 
 
 ■* Right comes of course, legitimacy follows as a matter of course ; 
 the de facto king is acknowledged as king dejure. 
 
 ' Murder . . . no more, no one remembers the means by 
 which the crown was gained. 
 
 " dispossessing you, the mere act of dethroning one so criminal as 
 you will be. 
 
 ' So much , . . endear, so greatly will he be endeared as a 
 king merely from having crushed you. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 149 
 
 Ind. All Greatness is in Virtue understood : 
 'Tis only necessary' to be good. 
 Tell me, what is't at which great Spirits aim, 
 What most your self desire ? 
 
 Mor. Renown, and Fame, 
 
 And Pow'r, as uncontrol'd as is my will. 
 
 Ind. How you confound desires of good and ill ! 
 For true renown is still with Virtue joyn'd ; 
 But lust of Pow'r lets loose th' unbridl'd mind. 
 Yours is a Soul irregularly great, 
 Which wanting temper,^ yet abounds with heat : 
 So strong, yet so unequal pulses beat. 
 A Sun which does, through vapours dimly shine.* 
 What pity 'tis you are not all Divine ! 
 New molded, thorow lighten'd,'' and a breast 
 So pure, to bear^ the last severest test ; 
 Fit to command an Empire you should gain 
 By Virtue, and without a blush to Reign." 
 
 Mor. You show me somewhat I ne'r learnt before ; 
 But 'tis the distant prospect of a Shore, 
 Doubtful in mists,' which, like inchanted ground, 
 Flies from my sight, before 'tis fully found. 
 
 Ind. Dare to be great, without a guilty Crown ; 
 View it, and lay the bright temptation down : 
 'Tis base to seize on all, because you may ; 
 That's Empire, that which I can give away •? 
 
 ' 'Tis only necessary, the only thing of vital importance is, &c. 
 
 ' wanting temper, lacking self-restraint. 
 
 ' So strong . . . shine, strong but irregular emotions, such as 
 yours, are like the sun when, overcast by vapour, its powerful beams 
 only fitfully shine forth. 
 
 * thorom lighten'd, illuminated throughout. 
 
 * to bear, as to endure. 
 
 ^ Fit to command . . . Reign, a breast (i.e. soul) fit to com- 
 mand an empire, honourably gained, as it should be by you, and to 
 reign without any act to blush for. 
 
 ' Doubtful in mists, obscured by mists. 
 
 ' That's Empire . . . away, that is true empire, not what I 
 can seize upon at will but what I can resign with equanimity. 
 
ISO- DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 There's joy when to wild Will you Laws prescribe, 
 When you bid fortune carry back her bribe ; 
 A joy, which none but greatest minds can taste ; 
 A Fame, which will to endless ages last. 
 
 Mor. Renown, and fame, in vain, I courted long ; 
 And still pursu'd 'em, though directed wrong. 
 In hazard, and in toils, I heard they lay ; 
 Sail'd farther than the Coast, but miss'd my way : 
 Now you have given me Virtue for my guide ; 
 And, with true Honour, ballasted' my Pride. 
 Unjust Dominion I no more pursue ; 
 I quit all other claims but those to you. 
 
 Ind. Oh be not just to halves :^ pay all you owe : 
 Think there's a debt to Melesinda too. 
 To leave no blemish on your after life ; 
 Reward the virtue of a sufPring Wife : 
 
 Mor. To love once past, I cannot backward move ; 
 Call yesterday again, and I may love.^ 
 'T was not for nothing I the Crown resigh'd; 
 I still must own a Mercenary mind : 
 I, in this venture, double gains pursue, 
 And laid out all my Stock to purchase you.^ 
 
 To them Asaph Chan. 
 
 Now, what success ? does Aureng-Zebe yet live ? 
 
 Asaph. Fortune has giv'n you all that she can give, 
 Your Brother 
 
 Mor. Hold ; thou show'st an impious joy, 
 
 And think'st I still take pleasure to destroy : 
 Know, I am chang'd, and would not have him slain. 
 
 ' ballasted, steadied. 
 
 ' Oh he not . . . halves, be not just to the extent of doing only 
 half of what you should do ; to expresses the terminus ad quod, 
 
 3 Call yesterday . , . love, it is as impossible for me again to 
 love Melesinda, or any one else but you, as for you to recall the time 
 that has fled. 
 
 '' And laid . , , you, and invested my all in the winning of 
 you. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 151 
 
 Asaph. 'Tis past ; and you desire his life in vain. 
 He prodigal of Soul, nish'd on the stroke : 
 Of lifted weapons, and did wounds provoke : 
 In scorne of Night, he would not be conceal'd ; 
 His Souldiers, where he fought, his name reveal'd : 
 In thickest crouds, still Auretig-Zebe did sound. 
 The vaulted Roofs did Aureng-Zebe rebound," 
 Till late, and in his fall, the name was drown'd. 
 
 Ind. Wither that hand which brought him to his 
 fate. 
 And blasted be the tongue which did relate. 
 
 Asaph. His Body 
 
 Mor. Cease to inhanse^ her misery : 
 
 Pity the Queen, and show respect to me. 
 
 'Tis ev'ry Painters Art to hide from sight, 
 
 And cast in shades, what seen would not delight. 
 
 Your grief, in me such sympathy has bred, \To her. 
 
 I mourn ; and wish I could recal the dead. 
 
 Love softens me ; and blows up fires, which pass 
 
 Through my tough heart, and melt the stubborn Mass. 
 
 Ind. Break, heart ; or choak, with sobs, my hated 
 breath ; 
 Do thy own work : admit no foreign death.' 
 Alas ; why do I make this useless moan ? 
 I'm dead already, for my Soul is gone. 
 
 To them Mir Baba. 
 
 Mir. What tongue the terror of this night can tell. 
 Within, without, and round the Citadel ! 
 
 1 rebound, re-echo ; cp. Pope, Pastorals, Autumn, " Through rocks 
 and caves the name of Delia sounds, Delia, each cave and echoing 
 rock rebounds." 
 
 " inhanse, enhance, increase ; from " O. Prov. enansar, to further, 
 advance . . . — O. Prov. enans, before, rather ; formed from Lat. 
 in ante "... (Skeat, Ety. Diet.). 
 
 3 admit no foreign death, do not allow yourself to perish by any 
 hands but your own. 
 
152 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 A new form'd Faction does your pow'r oppose ; 
 
 The fight's confus'd/ and all who meet are foes : 
 
 A second clamour, from the Town, we hear ; 
 
 And the far noise so loud, it drowns the near. 
 
 Abas, who seem'd our friend, is either fled ; 
 
 Or, what we fear, our Enemies does head : 
 
 Your frighted Souldiers scarce their ground maintain. 
 
 Mor. I thank their fury ; we shall fight again : 
 They rouse my rage ; I'm eager to subdue : 
 'Tis fatal to with-hold my eyes from you.^ 
 
 [£xit with the two Omrahs. 
 
 Enter Melesinda. 
 
 Mel. Can misery no place of safety know ? 
 The noise pursues me wheresoe'r I go, 
 As Fate sought only me,' and where I fled, 
 Aim'd all its Darts at my devoted head. 
 And let it ; I am now past care of life ; 
 The last of Women ; an abandon'd Wife. 
 
 Ind. Whether Design or Chance has brought you here,'! 
 I stand oblig'd to Fortune, or to Fear :'' l 
 
 Weak Women should, in danger, herd like Deer. j 
 
 But say, from whence this new combustion springs ? 
 Are there yet more Morafs 1 more fighting Kings ? 
 
 Mel. Him from his Mother's love your eyes divide, 
 And now her Arms the cruel strife decide,^ 
 
 • Thefighfs confus'd, the fighting is indiscriminate ; there is no 
 knowing who are friends and who are foes, and so friends fight with 
 friends. 
 
 2 'Tis fatal . . . you, they will find that to bear me from you 
 is fatal for them ; the fact that I have to leave you will make me fight 
 with double fury ; cp. what Antony says (Antony and Cleopatra, iii. 
 13. 178-182) when obliged to leave Cleopatra to contend with Caesar. 
 
 ' As Fate . . . me, as though fate sought me only as a victim. 
 
 ■• I stand . . . fear, I owe a debt of gratitude either to the 
 chance, or to the fear, which has made you seek me out. 
 
 ^ And now . . . decide, and now the cruel strife between 
 mother and son is to be decided by the army which she has set in 
 motion. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 153 
 
 Ind. What strange misfortunes my vext life attend ? 
 Death will be kind, and all my sorrows end. 
 If Nourmahal prevail, I know my fate. 
 
 Mel. I pity, as my own, your hard estate ; 
 But what can my weak Charity afford ? 
 I have no longer int'rest in my Lord : 
 Nor in his Mother, He :' she owns her hate 
 Aloud, and would her self Usurp the State. 
 
 Ind I'm stupifi'd with sorrow, past relief 
 Of tears : parch'd up, and wither'd with my grief. 
 
 Mel. Dry mourning will decays more deadly bring,^ 
 As a North Wind burns a too forward Spring. 
 Give sorrow vent,' and let the sluces go. 
 
 Ind. My tears are all congeal'd, and will not flow. 
 
 Mel Have comfort ; yield not to the blows of 
 Fate. 
 
 Ind. Comfort, like Cordials after death, comes late. 
 Name not so vain a word ; my hopes are fled : 
 Think your Moral were kind, and think him dead. 
 
 Mel. I can no more 
 
 Can no more arguments, for comfort, find : 
 
 Your boding words have quite o'r-whelm'd my mind. 
 
 {^Clattering of weapons within. 
 
 Ind. The noise increases, as the Billows rore. 
 When rowling from afar they threat the Shore. 
 She comes ; and feeble Nature now I find 
 Shrinks back in danger, and forsakes my mind. 
 I wish to die, yet dare not Death endure ; 
 Detest the Med'cine, yet desire the Cure. 
 
 ' I have . . . He, he cares nothing further for me, nor his 
 mother for him. 
 
 * Dry fnouming . . . bring, cp. Romeo and Juliet, iii. S- S9i 
 " Dry sorrow drinks our blood " ; and the Song at the end of Canto v. 
 of The Princess. 
 
 2 Give sorrow vent, cp. Macbeth, iv. 3. 2og-io, " Give sorrow 
 words : the grief that does not speak Whispers the o'er-fraught heart 
 and bids it break. " 
 
154 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 1 would have Death ; but mild, and at command :' 
 I dare not trust him in another's hand.^ 
 In Nburmahal's, he would not mine appear ; 
 But arm'd with terror, and disguis'd with fear." 
 
 Mel. Beyond this place you can have no retreat : 
 Stay here, and I the danger will repeat.* 
 I fear not Death, because my life I hate : 
 And envious Death will shun th'unfortunate. 
 
 Ind. You must not venture. 
 
 Mel. Let me : I may do 
 My self a kindness, in obliging' you. 
 In your lov'd name, I'll seek my angry Lord ; 
 And beg your safety from his conqu'ring Sword : 
 So his protection all your fears will ease, 
 And I shall see him once, and not displease. [Exit 
 
 Ind. O wretched Queen ! what pow'r thy life can save ? 
 A stranger, and unfriended, and a slave ! 
 
 Enter Nourmahal, Zayda, and Abas, with Souldiers. 
 
 Alas, she's here ! 
 
 [Indamora withdraws to the inner part of the Scene. 
 Naur. Heartless^ they fought, and quitted soon their 
 ground, 
 While ours with easie Victory were crown'd. 
 To you, Abas, my Life and Empire too. 
 And, what's yet dearer, my Revenge, I owe. 
 
 Abas. The vain Morat, by his own rashness wrought. 
 Too soon discover'd" his ambitious thought ; 
 
 ' at comtnand, for me to make use of when and as I please. 
 
 2 I dare not . . . hand, I dare not allow the remedy to be 
 administered by any hand but my own. 
 
 ^ But arnid . . . fear, but hideously masked with terror and 
 fear. 
 
 ■" the danger will repeat, will again face the risk of going out to 
 discover how things are. 
 
 ' Heartless, without any spirit. 
 
 * discover'd, revealed. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 155 
 
 Believ'd me his, because I spoke him fair, 
 And pitch'd his head into the ready snare : 
 Hence 'twas I did his troops at first admit ; 
 But such, whose^ numbers could no fears beget j 
 By them th' Emperor's Party first I slew, 
 Then turn'd my Arms the Victors to subdue. 
 
 Nour. Now let the head-strong Boy my will controul. 
 Virtue's no Slave of Man ; no Sex confines the Soul ■? 
 I, for my self, th'Imperial Seat will gain, 
 And he shall wait my leisure for his Reign.^ 
 But Aureng-Z^be is no where to be found. 
 And now perhaps in Death's cold arms he lies : 
 I fought, and conquer'd, yet have lost the prize. 
 
 Zayd. The chance of War determin'd well the strife, 
 That rack'd you, 'twixt the Lover and the Wife.* 
 He's dead, whose love had sulli'd all your Reign, 
 And- made you Empress of the World in vain. 
 
 Nour. No ; I my pow'r and pleasure would divide ■? 
 The Drudge had quench'd my flames, and then had di'd." 
 I rage, to think without that Bliss I live ; 
 That I could wish what fortune would not give ; 
 But, what love cannot. Vengeance must supply ; 
 She, who bereav'd me of his heart, shall die. 
 
 ' such, whose, such was by derivation the natural antecedent to 
 which, the former meaning so-like, soin-kind, the latter, what-like, 
 what-in-Jdnd, and this co-relation was the ordinary one in Elizabethan 
 English. 
 
 ^ no Sex . . . Soul, courage belongs as much to one as to the 
 other sex ; a. sentiment which Dryden frequently repeats, e.g. 
 Amboyna, v. I, "there is no sex in souls." 
 
 ' And he . , . Reign, he shall wait to reign till I let him ; 
 when I find it good to abdicate, then he shall reign, but not before. 
 
 •* The chance . . . Wife, the cruel strife in your heart between 
 your love for Aureng-ZeBe and your duty to your husband has been 
 fitly ended by the death of the former. 
 
 ^ I my power . . . (f«OTi«'«, I would enjoy both my power and 
 my pleasure, each at its proper season. 
 
 • The Drudge . . . di'd, I should have used him as a drudge 
 to satisfy my lust, and then should have put him to death. 
 
156 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Zayd. I'll search : far distant hence she cannot be. 
 
 \_Goes in. 
 
 Nour. This wondrous Master-piece I fain would see ; 
 This fatal Helen} who can Wars inspire, 
 Make Kings her slaves, and set the World on fire. 
 My Husband lock'd his Jewel from my view ; 
 Or durst not set the false one by the true.'* 
 
 Re-enter Zsc^As., leading Indamora. 
 
 Zay. Your frighted Captive, ere she dies, receive ; 
 Her Soul's just going else, without your leave. 
 
 Nour. A fairer Creature did my eyes ne'r see ! 
 Sure she was form'd by Heav'n in spite to me ! 
 Some Angel copi'd, while I slept, each grace, 
 And molded ev'ry feature from my face. 
 Such Majesty does from her forehead rise. 
 Her cheeks such blushes cast, such rays her eyes. 
 Nor I, nor Envy, can a blemish find ; "\ 
 
 The Palace is, without, too well design'd : l 
 Conduct me in, for I will view thy mind.' J 
 Speak, if thou hast a Soul, that I may see, [To her. 
 
 If Heav'n can make throughout another Me.^ 
 
 Ind. My tears and miseries must plead my cause ; 
 
 \Kneeling. 
 My words, the terror of your preference awes : 
 Mortals, in sight of Angels, mute become ; 
 The Nobler nature strikes th' Inferiour dumb. 
 
 ' This fatal Helen, this Indamora, as fatal to us as Helen was to 
 the Trojans. Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 689, punning on Helen's 
 name, calls her i\tvavs, eXawSpos, eXcnroXis, i.e. destroyer of ships, 
 men, cities, or, adopting Paley's suggestion for keeping up the play 
 on words, " Hell to ships, hell to men, hell to cities." 
 
 ' the false . . . true, her and myself together. 
 
 ' The Palace . . . mind, cp. The Tempest, i. 2. 457-9, 
 " There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple : If the ill spirit have 
 so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't," said by 
 Miranda of Ferdinand. 
 
 * another Me, another as perfect as myself in every respect. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 157 
 
 Nour. The Palm is, by the foes confession, mine ■} 
 But I disdain what basely you resign. 
 Heav'n did, by me, the outward model build : 
 Its inward work, the Soul, with rubbish fill'd.^ 
 Yet, Oh ! th'imperfect piece moves more delight ; 
 'Tis gilded o'r with Youth, to catch the sight. 
 The Gods have poorly robb'd my Virgin bloom. 
 And what I am by what I "was o'rcome.* 
 Traitress, restore my Beauty and my Charms, 
 Nor steal my Conquests with my proper* Arms. 
 
 Ind. What have I done, thus to inflame your hate ? 
 I am not guilty, but unfortunate. 
 
 Nour. Not guilty, when thy looks my pow'r betray, 
 Seduce Mankind, my Subject, from my Sway, 
 Take all my Hearts, and all my Eyes away ? * 
 My Husband first ; but that I could forgive : 
 He only mov'd, and talk'd, but did not live. 
 My Aureng-Zebe, for I dare own the name. 
 The glorious Sin, and the more glorious flame ; 
 Him, from my beauty, have thy eyes misled. 
 And starv'd the joys of my expected Bed." 
 
 Ind. His love, so sought,' he's happy that he's dead. 
 O had I courage but to meet my Fate ; 
 That short dark passage to a future state ; 
 
 ' The Palm . . , mine, even she, my rival, confesses my 
 superior charms. 
 
 ' ffeaa'n . . . filVd, Heaven formed her outwardly on the 
 pattern of myself, but in place of my noble soul gave her one of 
 utter worthlessness ; model was and is still used both of the pattern 
 after which something was formed and of the thing itself so formed. 
 
 ' And what , . . o'rcome, undone by the very charms that once 
 were mine and now have passed into your possession, 
 
 * proper, own. 
 
 * all my Hearts . . . Eyes, all those who were once my devoted 
 slaves, and whose happiness was in beholding me. 
 
 ' And starv'd , . , Bed, and robbed me of the feast of love 
 which I looked for from him. 
 
 ' His love, so sought, his love being sought in so vile a manner. 
 
iS8 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 That melancholy Riddle of a breath.^ 
 
 Nour. That some thing, or that nothing, after Death •? 
 Take this, and teach thy self. {Giving a Dagger. 
 
 Ind. Alas ! 
 
 Nour. 'Why dost thou shake ? 
 
 Dishonour not the vengeance I design'd : 
 A Queen, and own a base Plebeian mind ! ' 
 Let it drink deep in thy most vital part : 
 Strike home, and do me reason in thy heart.* 
 
 Ind. I dare not. 
 
 NoUr. Do't, while I stand by and see, 
 
 At my full gust, without the drudgery.^ 
 
 I love a Foe, who dares my stroke prevent," 
 
 Who gives me the full Scene of my content, 
 
 Shows me the flying Soul's convulsive strife. 
 
 And all the anguish of departing life : 
 
 Disdain my mercy, and my rage deiie ; 
 
 Curse me with thy last breath ; and make me see 
 
 A Spirit worthy to have Rival'd me. 
 
 Ind. Oh, I desire to die ; but dare not yet : 
 Give me some respite, I'll discharge the debt. 
 Without my Aureng-Zebe I would not live. 
 
 Nour. Thine, Traitress ! thine ! that word has wing'd thy 
 fate, 
 
 ' That melancholy . . . breath, that painful riddle as to the 
 significance of life. 
 
 ° That some thing . . . Death, cp. Hamlet, iii. i, 78, "the 
 dread of something after death." 
 
 ' a base . . . mind, sc. in fearing to die. 
 
 * do me . . . heart, justify my feelings towards you by making 
 the stroke mortal ; perhaps with an allusion to the phrase " do me 
 reason " in the sense of ' ' pledge me," a phrase often used by Dryden, 
 e.g. The Wild Gallant, i. 3, and more frequently found in the form 
 "do me right." 
 
 ' At my . . . drudgery, while I with full zest enjoy the sight 
 without having the drudgery of doing the deed, cp. Cleomenes, v. 2, 
 " Fortune, thou hast reduced me very low, To do the drudgery of fate 
 myself," i.e. to kill myself. 
 
 • prevent, anticipate, forestall. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 159 
 
 And put me past the tedious forms of hate.' 
 
 I'll kill thee with such eagerness and haste, 
 
 As Fiends, let loose, would lay all Nature waste.^ 
 
 [Indamora runs back : as Nourmahal is 
 running to her. Clashing of Swords is 
 heard within. 
 Sold. Yield, y'are o'rpow'r'd : resistance is in vain. 
 
 [ Within. 
 Mor. Then death's my choice : submission I disdain. 
 
 [ Within. 
 Nour. Retire, you Slaves : Ah whither does he run 
 
 \At the door. 
 On pointed Swords ? Disarm, but save my Son. 
 
 Enter Morat staggering, and upheld by Souldiers. 
 
 Mor. She lives ! and I shall see her once again ! 
 I have not thrown away my life in vain. 
 
 \Catches hold of Indamora's Gown, and falls 
 by her : she sits. 
 I can no more ; yet, ev'n in Death, I find 
 My fainting body byass'd by my mind :' 
 I fall toward you ; still my contending Soul 
 Points to your breast, and trembles to its Pole.'' 
 
 To them Melesinda, hastily, casting her self on the other 
 side of Morat. 
 
 Mel. Ah wo, wo, wo ! the worst of woes I find ! 
 Live still : Ohjive ; live ev'n to be unkind. 
 
 ' And put me . . . hate, and goaded me to sudden vengeance, 
 all such wearisome expression of hatred as reproaches and recrimina- 
 tions being now laid aside. 
 
 ^ As Fiends . . . waste, as that with which fiends, let loose 
 from hell, would, &c. 
 
 3 byassed by my Mind, made to turn towards you ; the bias of a bowl 
 was either a weight placed within it, or a particular shape given to it, 
 to enable it to talcs a circuitous path. 
 
 * Points . . . Pole, cp. Pope, Temple of Fame, 431, "And 
 the touched needle trembles to the pole." 
 
i6o DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 With half shut eyes he seeks the doubtful day ; ' 
 But, Ah ! he bends his sight another way. 
 He faints ! and in that sigh his Soul is gone ; 
 Yet Heaven's unmov'd, yet Heav'n looks careless on. 
 
 Nour. Where are those pow'rs which Monarchs should 
 defend ? 
 Or do they vain Authority pretend, 
 O'r humane Fates, and their weak Empire show, 
 Which cannot guard their Images^ below ? 
 If, as their Image, he was not Divine, 
 They ought to have respected him as mine.' 
 I'll waken them with my revenge ; and she 
 Their Indamora shall my Victim be. 
 And helpless^ Heav'n shall mourn in vain, like me. 
 
 \_As she is going to stab Indamora, Morat 
 raises himself, and holds her hand. 
 
 Mor. Ah, what are we. 
 Who dare maintain with Heav'n this wretched strife, 
 Puft with the pride of Heav'ns own gift, frail life ? 
 That blast which my ambitious Spirit swell'd. 
 See by how weak a Tenure it was held ! 
 I only stay to save the Innocent : 
 Oh envy not my Soul its last content. 
 
 Ind. No, let me die ; I'm doubly summon'd now ; 
 First, by my Aureng-Zebe ; and, since, by you. 
 My Soul grows hardy, and can Death endure : 
 Your Convoy makes the dang'rous way secure." 
 
 Mel. Let me, at least, a Funeral Marriage^ crave ; 
 Nor grudge my cold embraces in the Grave. 
 
 1 the doubtful day, the daylight which he but dimly, doubtiuUy, can see. 
 
 2 their Images, as rulers of the earth, the facsimiles of the gods in 
 heaven. 
 
 ' as mine, as being my image, and therefore demanding their respect 
 and solicitude. 
 
 * helpless, sc. to rescue her. 
 
 ' Your Convoy . . , secure, accompanied in death by you, I 
 have no longer any fear. 
 
 ' A Funeral Marriage, a union in death. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE i6i 
 
 I have too just a Title in the strife : 
 
 By me, unhappy me, he lost his life : 
 
 I call'd him hither ; 'twas my fatal breath ; 
 
 And I the Screech-Owl that proclaim'd his Death.^ 
 
 \Shout within. 
 
 Abas. What new Alarms' are these ? I'll haste and see. 
 
 [^xii. 
 
 Nour. Look up, and live : an Empire shall be thine. 
 
 Mor. That I contemn'd, ev'n when I thought it 
 mine. 
 Oh, I must yield to my hard Destinies, \To Indamora. 
 
 And must for ever cease to see your eyes. 
 
 Mel. Ah turn your sight to me, my dearest Lord ! 
 Can you not one, one parting look afford ? 
 Ev'n so unkind in Death ? but 'tis in vain ; 
 I lose my breath, and to the Winds complain : 
 Yet 'tis as much in vain your cruel scorn /' 
 Still I can love, without this last return. 
 Nor Fate, nor you, can my vow'd faith controul ? 
 Dying, I'll follow your disdainful Soul : 
 A Ghost, I'll haunt your Ghost ; and, where you go, 
 With mournful murmurs fill the Plains below.* 
 
 Mor. Be happy, Melesinda, cease to grieve. 
 And for a more deserving Husband, live : 
 Can you forgive me ? 
 
 Mel. Can I ! Oh my heart ! 
 
 Have I heard one kind word before I part ? 
 
 • And I . . . 'Death, cp. Macbeth, ii. 2. 3, in. Henry VI., ii, 
 
 6. S6. 
 
 ^ Alartns, outcries, shouts. 
 
 ' Yet 'tis , . . scorn, vain as it is for me to hope for a parting 
 look of affection from you, it is equally vain for you to expect by your 
 scorn to quench my love. There seems to be a confusion of con- 
 structions between " your cruel scorn is as much in vain," and "it is 
 as much in vain to show your cruel scorn." 
 
 * fill the Plains below, Dryden gives to Melesinda language which 
 would have been appropriate in a dying Greek or Roman, the Plains 
 below being an allusion to the Elysian fields. 
 
 M 
 
i62 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 I can, I can forgive : is that a task 
 
 To love, like mine ? Are you so good to ask ? 
 
 One kiss Oh 'tis too great a blessing this ; [Kisses him. 
 
 I would not live to violate the bliss. ^ 
 
 Re-enter Abas. 
 
 Abas. Some envious Devil has ruin'd us yet more : 
 The Fort's revolted to the Emperor ; 
 The Gates are open'd, the Portcullis drawn f 
 And deluges of Armies,^ from the Town, 
 Come pow'ring in : I heard the mighty flaw,* 
 When first it broke ; the crowding Ensigns saw. 
 Which choak'd the passage; and, (what last I fear'd,) 
 The waving Arms of Aureng-Zebe appear'd, 
 Display'd with your Morafs : 
 In either's Flag the golden Serpents bear, "| 
 Erected Crests alike, like Volumes rear, \ 
 And mingle friendly hissings in the Air. j 
 Their Troops are joyn'd, and our destruction nigh. 
 
 Nour. 'Tis vain to fight, and I disdain to flie. 
 I'll mock the Triumphs which our Foes intend ; 
 And, spite of Fortune, make a glorious end. 
 In pois'nous draughts my liberty I'll find : 
 And from the nauseous World set free my mind. \Exit. 
 
 At the other end of the Stage, Enter Aureng-Zebe and 
 Attendants. Aureng-Zebe turns back, and speaks, entring. 
 
 Aur. The lives of all, who cease from combat, spare ; 
 My Brother's be your most peculiar care ': 
 
 ' I would not , . . Wm, to prolong my life would be to violate 
 the bliss given me by this parting kiss. Melesinda shortly afterwards 
 performs the rite of Sati. 
 
 2 tke Portcullis drawn, i.e. drawn up to allow of entrance. 
 
 ^ deluges of Armies, floods of troops. 
 
 * flaw, a sudden and violent blast of wind. Dyce {Glossary to 
 Shakespeare) quotes Smith's Sea Grammar, 1627, " A flaw of wind is 
 a. gust, which is very violent upon a sudden, but quickly endeth." 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 163 
 
 Our impious use no longer shall obtain ;' 
 Brothers no more, by Brothers, shall be slain. 
 
 {^Seeing Indamora and Morat. 
 
 Ha ! do I dream ? is this my hop'd success ? 
 I grow a Statue, stiff, and motionless, 
 Look, Dianet ,^ for I dare not trust these eyes ; 
 They dance in mists, and dazle with surprise. 
 
 Dia. Sir, 'tis Morat ; dying he seems, or dead : 
 And Indamora' s hand 
 
 Aur. Supports his head. \_Sighing. 
 
 Thou shalt not break yet heart, nor shall she know 
 My inward torments, by my outward show ; 
 To let her see my weakness were too base ; 
 Dissembled Quiet sit upon my face : 
 My sorrow to my eyes no passage find, 
 But let it inward sink, and drown my mind. 
 Falshood shall want its Triumph :'' I begin 
 To stagger ; but I'll prop my self within. 
 The specious Tow'r no ruine shall disclose ; 
 Till down, at once, the mighty Fabrick goes. 
 
 Mor. In sign that I die yours, reward my love, [To Ind. 
 And seal my Pasport to the Bless'd above. [Kissing her hand. 
 
 Ind. Oh stay ; or take me with you when you go : 
 There's nothing now worth living for below.* 
 
 Mor. I leave you not ; for my expanded mind' 
 Grows up to Heav'n, while it to you is joyn'd : 
 Not quitting, but enlarg'd ! A blazing Fire, 
 Fed from the Brand.* [Dies. 
 
 ' Our impious use . . . obtain, the impious custom by which, 
 on the death of the father, the sons destroyed one another in their 
 rivalry for the crown, shall no longer prevail ; see note 3, p. 53. 
 
 2 Dianet, pronounced here as a dissyllable, Djdtut. 
 
 " Falshood . . . Triumph, this false woman (Indamora) shall 
 not, as she expects, have the glory of gloating over any weakness shown 
 by me. 
 
 * There' s nothing . . . below, eg. King John, Va. A,. 106-II. 
 
 * expanded, sc. by its union with hers. 
 
 ° Fed from the Brand, lighted up from the torch of your love. 
 
 M 2 
 
1 64 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 Mel. Ah me ! he's gone ! I die ! {Swoons. 
 
 Ind. Oh dismal day ! 
 
 Fate, thou hast ravish'd my last hope away. 
 
 O Heav'n ! my Aureng-Zebe 
 
 \She turns, and sees Aurtng-Zehe: standing by her, and starts. 
 -What strange surprise ! 
 
 Or does my willing mind delude my eyes, 
 And shows the Figure always present there ? 
 Or liv'st thou ? am I bless'd, and see thee here ? 
 
 Aur. My Brother's body see convey'd with care, 
 
 {Turning from her, to his Attendants. 
 Where we may Royal Sepulture prepare. 
 With speed to Melesinda bring relief ; 
 
 Recal her spirits,' and moderate her grief 
 
 {Half turning to Ind. 
 I go, to take for ever from your view 
 Both the lov'd Object, and the hated too.^ 
 
 {Going away after the Bodies, which are carried off. 
 
 Ind. Hear me ; yet think not that I beg your stay : 
 
 {Laying hold of him. 
 I will be heard, and after take your way.' 
 Go ; but your late repentance shall be vain : 
 
 {He struggles still : She lets him go. 
 I'll never, never see your face again. {Turning away. 
 
 Aur. Madam, I know what ever you can say •? 
 You might be pleas'd not to command my stay. 
 All things are yet disorder'd in the Fort ; 
 I must crave leave your audience may be short. 
 
 Ind. You need not fear I shall detain you long ; 
 Yet you may tell me your pretended wrong. 
 
 Aur. Is that the bus'ness ? then my stay is vain. 
 
 Ind. How are you injur'd ? 
 
 Aur. When did I complain ? 
 
 ' Recal her spirits, revive her, bring her to her senses again. 
 ' and . . , too, sc. himself. 
 ' take your way, be free to leave me. 
 
 * / hiow . . , say, I anticipate every excuse you can intend to 
 make. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 165 
 
 Ind. Leave off your forc'd respect 
 
 And show your rage in its most furious form : 
 I'm arm'd with innocence to brave the Storm. 
 You heard, perhaps, your Brother's last desire ; 
 And after saw him in my Arms expire : 
 Saw me, with tears, so great a loss bemoan : 
 Heard me complaining my last hopes were gone. 
 
 Aur. Oh stay, and take me with you when you go. 
 There's nothing now worth living for below.^ 
 Unhappy Sex ! whose beauty is your snare ; 
 Expos'd to trials ; made too frail to bear. 
 I grow a fool, and show my rage again : 
 'Tis Nature's fault ; and why should I complain ? 
 
 Ind. Will you yet hear me ? 
 
 Aur. ■ Yes, till you relate 
 
 What pow'rful Motives did your change create. 
 You thought me dead, and prudently did weigh,^ 
 Tears were but vain, and brought but Youths decay. 
 Then, in Morat, your hopes a Crown design'd f 
 And all the Woman'' work'd within your mind. 
 I rave again, and to my rage return. 
 To be again subjected to your scorn. 
 
 Ind. I wait till this long storm be over-blown. 
 
 Aur. I'm conscious of my folly : I have done. 
 I cannot rail ; but silently I'll grieve. 
 How did I trust ! and how did you deceive ! 
 Oh, Arimant, would I had di'd for thee ! 
 I dearly buy thy generositie. 
 
 Ind. Alas, is he then dead ? 
 
 Aur. Unknown to me, 
 
 ' There's nothing . . , below, quoting with sarcasm her words 
 to Morat. 
 
 ' weigh, consider, reflect. 
 
 ' yottr hopes . . , designed, your scheme was to xazivj Morat 
 and so gain a crown. 
 
 * all the Woman, all the subtlety and fickleness of woman's nature ; 
 see note 5, p. 126. 
 
1 66 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 He took my Arms :, and while I forc'd my way, 
 Through Troops of Foes, which did our passage stay, 
 My Buckler o'r my aged Father cast. 
 Still fighting, still defending as I past, 
 The noble Arimant usurp'd my name ; 
 Fought, and took from me, while he gave me fame, 
 To Aureng-Zebe, he made his Souldiers cry,i ] 
 And seeing not, where he heard danger nigh,^ \ 
 Shot, like a Star, through the benighted Sky. J 
 A short, but mighty aid : at length he fell. 
 My own adventures 'twere lost time to tell ; 
 Or how my Army, entring in the night, 
 Surpris'd our Foes : the dark disorder'd fight : 
 How my appearance, and my Father shown,'^ 
 Made peace ; and all the rightful Monarch own. 
 I've summ'd it briefly, since it did relate 
 Th'unwelcome safety of the man you hate. 
 
 Ind. As briefly will I clear my innocence : 
 Your alter'd Brother di'd in my defence. 
 Those tears you saw, that tenderness I show'd. 
 Were just effects of grief and gratitude. 
 He di'd my Convert.* 
 
 Aur. But your Lover too : 
 
 I heard his M'ords, and did your actions view ; 
 You seem'd to mourn another Lover dead : 
 My sighs you gave him, and my tears you shed.'^ 
 
 ' To Aureng-Zehe . . . cry, pretending to be me, he called out 
 to his soldiers "To Aureng-Zebe!" and this rallying-cry was taken 
 up by them. 
 
 ''■And seeing . . . nigh, the night being too dark for him to see 
 where the battle raged most hotly, where the danger was greatest, he 
 guessed by the fierceness of the noise, and rushed to that point. 
 
 ' How my appearance . . . shown, how by appearing myself and 
 showing my father with me ; my Father shown, a Latin idiom. 
 
 ^ my Convert, a convert to ray views of what made the nobleness of 
 life. 
 
 ' My sighs . . . shed, the sighs that you breathed and the tears 
 that you shed, were due to me, should have been breathed and shed 
 for me only. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 167 
 
 But worst of all, 
 
 Your gratitude for his defence was shown : 
 
 It prov'd you valu'd life when I was gone. 
 
 Ind. Not that I valu'd life ; but fear'd to die : 
 Think that my weakness, not inconstancy. 
 
 Aur. Fear show'd you doubted of your own intent : 
 And she who doubts becomes less innocent. 
 Tell me not you could fear ; 
 Fear's a large promiser, who subject live 
 To that base passion, know not what they give. 
 No circumstance of grief* you did deny ; 
 And what could she give more who durst not die ? 
 
 Ind. My love, my faith. 
 
 Aur. Both so adult'rate grown, 
 
 When mix'd with fear, they never could be known.^ 
 I wish no ill might her I love befal ; 
 But she ne'r lov'd who durst not venture all. 
 Her life and fame should my concernment be f 
 But she should only be afraid for me. 
 
 Ind. My heart was yours ; but. Oh ! you left it here, 
 Abandon'd to those Tyrants, Hope and Fear : 
 If they forc'd from me one kind look or word, 
 Could you not that, not that small part afford ? 
 
 Aur. If you had lov'd, you nothing yours could 
 call ■} 
 Giving the least of mine, you gave him all.' 
 
 ' circumstance of grief , outward manifestation, accompaniment, of 
 grief; cp. Othello,, iii. 3. 354, "Pride, pomp and circumstance of 
 glorious war." 
 
 ^ never could be known, never could be recognized as what they 
 profess to be. 
 
 ' should my coruemment be, are matters with which I should 
 concern myself. 
 
 ■" you nothing , . . call, you could call nothing your own, 
 everything belonging to you would be merged in me. 
 
 ° Gimng . . , all, in giving to him the least- thing that was 
 due to me, in showing the smallest interest in him, you gave every- 
 thing. 
 
1 68 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 True love's a Miser, so tenacious grown : 
 He weighs to the least grain of what's his own. ' 
 More delicate than Honour's nicest sense : 
 Neither to give nor take the least offence. 
 With, or without you, I can have no rest : 
 What shall I do ? y'are lodg'd within my breast : 
 Your Image never will be thence displac'd ; 
 But there it lies, stabb'd, mangled, and defac'd. 
 
 Ind. Yet, to restore the quiet of your heart, 
 There's one way left. 
 
 Aur. ' Oh name it. 
 
 Ind. 'Tis to part. 
 
 Since perfect bliss with me you cannot prove, 
 I scorn to bless by halves the man I love. 
 
 Aur. Now you distract me more : shall then the day, 
 Which views my Triumph, see our loves decay ? 
 Must I new bars to my own joy create ? 
 Refuse, my self, what I had forc'd from Fate ?^ 
 What though I am not lov'd ? 
 Reason's nice'' taste does our delights destroy : 
 Brutes are more bless'd, who grosly feed on joy. 
 
 Ind. Such endless jealousies your love pursue, 
 I can no more be fully bless'd than you. 
 I therefore go, to free us both from pain : 
 I pris'd your Person, but your Crown disdain. 
 
 Nay, ev'n my own 
 
 I give it you ; for since I cannot call 
 
 Your heart my Subject, I'll not Reign at all. \Exit. 
 
 Aur. Go : though thou leav'st me tortur'd on the 
 Rack, 
 'Twixt Shame and Pride, I cannot call thee back, 
 
 ' He weighs . . . own, a confusion of constructions between 
 "He weighs even to the least grain what is his own," and, "He 
 weighs most carefnlly even the least grain of what is his own." 
 
 ^ what . . . Fate, what by my courage I had compelled fate to 
 yield to me, sc. possession of Indamora. 
 
 ' nice, scrupulous, fastidious, over-dainty. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 169 
 
 She's guiltless, and I should submit ; but Oh ! 
 When she exacts it, can I stoop so low ? 
 
 Yes ; for she's guiltless ; but she's haughty too ; 
 
 Great Souls long struggle ere they own a crime : 
 She's gone ; and leaves me no repenting time. 
 I'll call her now ; sure, if she loves, she'll stay ; 
 Linger at least, or not go far away. 
 
 [^Looks to the door, and returns. 
 For ever lost, and I repent too late. -i 
 
 My foolish pride would set my whole Estate,' I 
 Till, at one throw, I lost all back to Fate.^ J 
 
 To him the Emperor, drawing in Indamora : Attendants. 
 
 Emp. It must not be, that he, by whom we live. 
 Should no advantage of his gift receive. 
 Should he be wholly wretched ? he alone. 
 In this bless'd day, a day so much his own ? 
 
 \To Indamora. 
 I have not quitted yet a Victor's right : 
 I'll make you happy in your own despight. 
 I love you still ; and if I struggle hard 
 To give, it shows the worth of the reward. 
 
 Ind. Suppose he has o'rcome ; must I find place 
 Among his conquer'd Foes, and sue for grace ? 
 Be pardon'd, and confess I lov'd not well ? 
 What though none live my innocence to tell ? 
 I know it : Truth may own a gen'rous pride : 
 I clear my self, and care for none beside. 
 
 Aur. Oh, Indamora, you would break my heart ! 
 Could you resolve, on any terms, to part ? 
 I thought your love eternal : was it ti'd 
 So loosly, that a quarrel could divide ? 
 I grant that my suspitions were unjust ; 
 But would you leave me for a small distrust ? 
 Forgive those foolish words [Kneeling to her. 
 
 ^ set . . . Estate, stake my all. 
 
 '^ lost . . , Fate, lost again to fate what I had won from it. 
 
I70 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 They were the froth my raging folly mov'd, 
 When it boil'd up : I knew not then I lov'd ; 
 Yet then lov'd most. 
 
 Ind. (to Aur.) You would but half be blest ! 
 
 \Giving her hand, smiling. 
 
 Aur. Oh do but try 
 
 My eager love : I'll give my self the lie. 
 
 The very hope is a full happiness ; 
 
 Yet scantly measures what I shall possess. 
 
 Fancy it self, ev'n in enjoyment,- is 
 
 But a dumb Judge, and cannot tell its bliss. ^ 
 
 Emp. Her eyes a secret yielding do confess, 
 And promise to partake your happiness. 
 May all the joys I did my self pursue. 
 Be rais'd by her, and multipli'd on you.^ 
 
 A Procession of Priests, Slaves foUoiving, and last 
 Melesinda in white. 
 
 Ind. Alas ! what means this pomp ? 
 
 Aur. 'Tis the Procession of a Funeral Vow, 
 Which cruel Laws to Indian Wives allow,'' 
 When fatally their Virtue they approve ;* 
 Chearful in flames, and Martyrs of their Love. 
 
 Ind. Oh my foreboding hearf ! th'event I fear ; 
 And see ! sad Melesinda does appear. 
 
 Mel. You wrong my love ; what grief do I betray ? 
 This is the Triumph of my Nuptial day. 
 
 ' Fancy . , , bliss, fancy, even when enjoying the object of its 
 desire, is but a dumb judge, and cannot put into words the extent of 
 its delight ; possibly Dryden is here using Fancy in the sense of love, 
 a sense so frequent in Elizabethan writers. 
 
 2 Be rais'd . . . you, be called up by her and descend upon 
 you in fullest measure. 
 
 ^ '7» the Procession . . . allow, the ceremony of Sati, 
 according to which widows were burnt with the corpses of their 
 husbands. Sati was abolished by Lord W. Bentinck in 1829. 
 
 ^ approve, give proof of ; as frequently in Elizabethan English. 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 171 
 
 My better Nuptials ; which, in spight of Fate, 
 
 For ever joyn me to my dear Moral. 
 
 Now I am pleas'd ; my jealousies are o'r : 
 
 He's mine ; and I can lose him now no more. 
 Emp^ Let no false show of Fame your reason blind. 
 Jnd. You have no right to die ; he was not kind.^ 
 Mel. Had he been kind, I could no love have shown. ^ 
 
 Each vulgar Virtue would as much have done." 
 
 My love was such, it needed no return ; 
 
 But could, though he suppli'd no fuel, burn. 
 
 Rich in it self, like Elemental fire,' 
 
 Whose pureness does no Aliment require. 
 
 In vain you would bereave me of my Lord ; 
 
 For I will die : die is too base a word ; 
 
 I'll seek his breast, and kindling by his side, 
 
 Adorn'd with flames, I'll mount a glorious Bride. \^Exil. 
 
 Enler Nourmahal dislracled, wilh Zayda. 
 
 Zay. She's lost, she's lost ! but, why do I complain 
 For her, who generously did life disdain ! 
 
 Poison'd, she raves 
 
 Th'invenom'd Body does the Soul attack ; 
 Th'invenom'd Soul works its own poison back.^ 
 
 Nour. I burn, I more than burn ; I am all fire : 
 See how my mouth and nostrils flame expire.^ 
 
 ' he was not kind, sc, and therefore you owe him no such sacrifice 
 as might justly be paid to a loving husband. 
 
 - J could . . . j/5oi»w, my performing ia^« for him would have 
 been no manifestation of love, but a mere act of ordinary duty. 
 
 ^ Slack vulgar . . . done, the most ordinary feelings of a wife 
 would have prompted as much. 
 
 * Elemental fire, the fire of the elements, which is ever bright 
 without needing any fuel to sustain it. 
 
 ^ works . . . back, throws back upon the body the poison 
 received fiom it, and so adds to the body's agony. 
 
 ^ expire, used transitively ; cp. The Indian Queen, by Dryden and 
 Lee, V. I, "She has expired her latest breath " ; Pope, Temple of 
 Fame, 414, "long flaky flames expire.^' 
 
172 DRYDEN'S TRAGEDY 
 
 I'll not come near my self 
 
 Now I'm a burning Lake, it rowls and flows ; 
 
 I'll rush, and pour it all upon my Foes. 
 
 Pull, pull that reverend piece of Timber^ near : 
 
 Throw't on 'tis dry 'twill burn 
 
 Ha, ha ! how my old Husband crackles there ! 
 Keep him down, keep him down, turn him about : 
 I know him ; he'll but whiz, and strait go out. 
 Fan me, you Winds : what, not one breath of Air ? 
 I burn 'em all, and yet have flames to spare. 
 Quench me : pour on whole Rivers.^ 'Tis in vain : 
 Morat stands there to drive 'em back again : 
 With those huge Bellows in his hands, he blows 
 New fire into my head : my Brain pan glows. 
 See, see ! there's Aureng-Zebe too takes his part ; 
 But he blows all his fire into my heart. 
 
 Aur. Alas, what fury's this ? 
 
 Nour. That's he, that's he ! 
 
 [Staring upon him, and catching at him. 
 I know the dear man's voice : 
 And this my Rival, this the cursed she. 
 They kiss ; into each others arms they run : 
 Close, close, close ! must I see, and must have none ? 
 Thou art not hers : give me that eager kiss. 
 Ingrateful ! have I lost Morat for this ? 
 
 Will you ? before my face ? — poor helpless I 
 
 See all ; and have my Hell before I die ! \Sinks down. 
 
 Emp. With thy last breath thou hast thy crimes confest : 
 Farewel ; and take, what thou ne'r gav'st me, rest. 
 But you, my Son, receive it better here : 
 
 [Giving him Indamora'5 hand. 
 The just rewards of Love and Honour wear. 
 
 ' that reverend . . . Timber, sc. her husband, Chah Jehaii. 
 
 ^ four . . . Rivers, cp. Kin^ John, v. 7. 38, "And none of 
 you will bid the winter come To thrust his icy fingers in my maw, 
 Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course Through my burnd 
 bosom." 
 
OF AURENG-ZEBE 173 
 
 Receive the Mistris you so long have serv'd ; 
 Receive the Crown your Loyalty preserv'd. 
 Take you the Reins, while I from cares remove, 
 And sleep within the Chariot which I drove. ^ 
 
 ' Aiui sleep , . , drove, and enjoy peace and rest in the land I 
 once ruled. 
 
Epilogue 
 
 A Pretty task I and so I told the Fool, 
 Who needs would undertake to please by Rule -^ 
 He thought that, if his Characters were good, 
 The Scenes entire,^ and freed from noise and bloud ; 
 The Action great, yet circumscrib'd by Time^ 
 The Words not ford d, but sliding into Rhime, 
 The Passions raised and calm'd by just Degrees, 
 As Tides are swell' d, and then retire to Seas , 
 He thought, in hitting these, his bus'ness done. 
 Though he, perhaps, has fail' d in eifry one : 
 But, after all, a Poet must confess. 
 His Art's like Physick, but a happy ghess} 
 
 • by Rule, by following out the set rules of dramatic composition. 
 
 ^ entire, complete in themselves. 
 
 ^ circu7nscrib'd by Time, due attention being paid to the Unity of 
 Time. Dryden's Prologue to Secret Love ; or, The Maiden Queen, 
 begins with the lines, 
 
 " He who writ this, not without pains and thought, 
 From French and English Theatres has brought 
 Th'exactest Rules by which a Play is wrought. 
 The Unities of Action, Place, and Time ; 
 The Scenes unbroken " •- 
 
 and this is ridiculed in The Rehearsal, Act i. 
 
 ' ghess, guess ; the insertion of the h seems to be diie to the same 
 reason that later on caused the « to be introduced into the original 
 word gest, viz. the desire to indicate that the g is hard ; cp. Spenser, 
 Faerie Queene, iv. lo. 23. 
 
176 EPILOGUE 
 
 Your Pleasure on your Fancy must depend : 
 The Lady' s pleas' d just as she likes her Friend.^ 
 Ho Song/ no Dance ! no Show ! he fears you' I say. 
 You love all naked Beauties, but a Play. 
 He 7nuch mistakes your methods to delight ;^ \ 
 
 And, like the French, abhors our Target-fight :^ \ 
 But those damn'd Dogs can never be i'th' right. ) 
 True English hate your^ Monsieur's paltry Arts ; 
 For you are all Silk-weavers,' in your hearts. 
 Bold Britons, at a brave Bear-garden'' Fray, 
 Are rouz'd: and, clatfring Sticks, cry. Play, Play, Play. 
 Mean time, your filthy Foreigner will stare. 
 And mutter to himself. Ha gens Barbara !' 
 And, Gad, 'tis well he mutters ; well for him ; 
 Our Butchers else would tear him limb from limb. 
 ' Tis true, the time may come, your Sons may be 
 Infected with this French civility f 
 But this in After-ages will be done : 
 Our Poet writes a hundred years too soon. 
 This Age comes on too slow, or he too fast P 
 And early Springs are subject to a blast ! 
 
 ' The Lady's . . . Friend, i.e. it is not the actual desert of her 
 lover that causes the lady's fondness for him, but her own estimate 
 of those deserts ; another version of the doctrine that beauty is in the 
 eye of the beholder. 
 
 - He much . . . delight, you will say, the poet fears, that he 
 greatly mistakes the proper way to delight you. 
 
 ' our Target-jight, boisterous displays of combats on the stage. 
 
 ' your, used colloquially, the Monsieur every one knows so well. 
 
 ' Silk-weavers, "Enemies, namely, like the English silk-weavers, to 
 the manufactures of France " (Saintsbury). 
 
 ° Bear-garden, or Paris-garden, the famous bear-garden in South- 
 wark. 
 
 ' Ha gens Barbare ! what a barbarous race ! Saintsbury prints gent 
 to avoid the false concord. 
 
 ' civility, affected civilization. 
 
 ' This Age . . . fast, the age which will appreciate such 
 dramas lingers too long, or your poet is in too great haste to bring 
 it on. 
 
EPILOGUE. 177 
 
 Who would excel, when few can make a Tesf- 
 Betwixt indiff^retit Writing and the best 1 
 For Favours cheap and common, who wou^d strive, 
 Which, like abandon'd Prostitutes, you give 1 
 Yet scatter'd here and there I some behold. 
 Who can discern the Tinsel from the Gold: 
 To these he writes ; and if by them allow' d, 
 'Tis their Prerogative to rule the Crowd. 
 For he more fears (like a presuming Man) 
 Their Votes who cannot judge, than theirs who can. 
 
 ' can make a Test, are capable of judging correctly. 
 
 FINIS 
 
THE CHACE 
 
 BOOK- II 
 
 N 2: 
 
THE EMPEROR a K B A R D E E R - S T A L K I N C, 
 
THE EMPEROR AKBAR DEER-STALKING BY 
 NIGHT 
 
 This picture is a representation of the youthful Emperor 
 Akbar (born 1542 a.d., succeeded to the throne in 1556) 
 indulging in the mode of chasing which is described in the 
 Aln-i-Akbari (the mode of governing of Akbar), ■ as 
 follows : — 
 
 ' Ghantaherah^ is the name given to the following mode of hunting. 
 The hunter takes a shield or a basket, the concave side being turned 
 from him. He then lights a lamp, which being put in the concavity 
 of the shield, will conceal him, and commences to ring bells. Other 
 hunters lie at the same time in wait. The light of the lamp, and the 
 sound of the bells, will attract the animals towards the place, when 
 they are shot by the hunters in ambush. The sound of musical 
 instruments will so enchant deer, that they are easily caught ; or some- 
 times hunters will charm them with a song, and when the deer 
 approach will rise up and cruelly slay them. From a long time His 
 Majesty has disapproved of these two methods. (Slochmann's transla- 
 tion, p. 292.) 
 
 This picture, for the original of which I am again 
 indebted to Colonel Hanna, contains, like many others 
 executed by Indian artists, unmistakable evidence of 
 Western art-training and influence {see Preface to Bernier, 
 p. xvi) in many of the details, such as the halo of glory 
 round the Emperor's head, the hunting-lodge (?) to the 
 
 ' More correctly transliterated G'hantaherd, from the Hindee word 
 g'kanta, n bell, and herd, the past participle of hernd, " to seek, look 
 after, search for, hunt, chase," so that the word means "bell-chased." 
 —A. C. 
 
1 84 THE EMPEROR AKBAR DEER-STALKING 
 
 left, and the rustic bridge or grotto at the end of the lake , 
 or river in the middle distance. 
 
 In the background is the army, drawn up at a distance, 
 clear of the tract reserved for hunting {Bernier, p. 37S), 
 with the Emperor's "travelling throne" {Takhi-i-rawdii) in 
 the centre. Above the Emperor's head is inscribed, in the 
 Persic character, in somewhat faint lettering, his name, and 
 title given in the Moghul fashion, Akbar Khan. Behind 
 the female who is carrying the decoy-lamp, and tinkling a 
 hand-bell, is seen the celebrated Mir Shikir (Superintendent 
 of the Chase) Amal-i-Mir Kalan Khan. The Moghul type 
 of features of the three attendants close to the Emperor is 
 well defined. — A. C. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 WILLIAM SOMERVILE 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 Of William Somervile, author of the Chace, but little is 
 known. Johnson, Life, tells us that he was born at Edston 
 in Warwickshire, in 1692, and educated at Winchester and 
 New College, Oxford. His family was ancient, and he him- 
 self held a high place in the county. Among his poems 
 were Odes to Marlborough, Fables, Field Sports, Hobbinol, 
 or the Rural Games, Epistles, &c. Of his principal poem, 
 The Chace, Johnson remarks, " To this poem praise cannot 
 be totally denied. He is allowed by sportsmen to write 
 with great intelligence of his subject, which is the first 
 requisite to excellence ; and though it is impossible to 
 interest the common readers of verse in the dangerous 
 pleasures of the chace, he has done all that transition and 
 variety could easily effect ; and has with great propriety 
 enlarged his plan by the modes of hunting used in other 
 countries.'' 
 
 The poem is in four books. The first of these treats of the 
 origin of hunting ; the manner of hunting introduced into 
 England by the Normans ; the advantage of this exercise ; 
 the situation of the kennel, the diversion and employment 
 of hounds in the kennel ; the different sorts of hounds for 
 the different kinds of chace ; their sizing, and sorting ; and 
 a physical account of scents. The second gives a detailed 
 account of hare-hunting in England, yith the rules to be 
 observed in it ; and thence passes to the hunting of larger 
 game in India during the Moghul rule, especially in the 
 reign of Aurangzib. The third is mainly engaged with 
 
1 88 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 fox-hunting, though the hunting of the hon, the elephant, 
 the tiger, and the wild boar by the Arabs, is also described 
 at some length and in some detail. In the fourth we have 
 directions as to the breeding of hounds, and entering of 
 whelps to the chace ; an account of the diseases to which 
 hounds are liable, and especially of madness among them, 
 with the remedies to be employed ; and lastly a description 
 of otter-hunting. 
 
 Dr. John Aikin, in a critical essay prefaced to an edition 
 of The Chace, published in London by T. Cadell in 1796, 
 says of Somervile's description of the "Asiatick way of 
 hunting," see pp. 207-215 of this text : — 
 
 This humble though animated English hunting-piece \i.e., the 
 description of Hare-hunting] is succeeded by a contrast, representing 
 the Chace in its utmost pomp and magnificence, with respect both to 
 the persons engaged in it and the objects. It is an eastern picture, 
 copied from the relations of travellers ; and to which, therefore, the 
 writer has brought nothing but his acquired skill in poetical painting, 
 with the enthusiasm inspired by a favourite subject. It is truly a 
 grand and noble piece, abounding in rich images and striking incidents, 
 and wrought with great force and distinctness of colouring. Its 
 character being, as it were, historical, there is little scope for strokes 
 of the fancy ; yet the effect of the martial music and shouts of the 
 surrounding hunters upon the enclosed wild beasts, is conceived with 
 true poetic imagination. 
 
 Tygers fell 
 Shrink at the Noise, deep in his gloomy Den 
 The Lion starts, and Morsels yet unchew'd 
 Drop from his trembling Jaws. 
 
 And the mutual rage of the encircled savages against each other, with 
 their sudden tameness at the approach of their human foe, are striking 
 ideas. If any objection lies against this splendid picture, it is, that 
 being introduced thus early, it has a tendency to flatten and diminish 
 the subsequent scenes. 
 
 Somervile died on the 19th July, 1742, and was buried 
 at Wotton, near Henley-upon-Arden. He had been 
 married to Mary, daughter of Hugh Bethel of Yorkshire, 
 who died before him without leaving any issue. By his 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 189 
 
 will, proved the 3rd September, 1742, he remembered 
 New College, the place of his education, by leaving to the 
 Master and Fellows 15 vols, of Montfaucon's Antiquities 
 and Addison's Works for their library ; and, apparently to 
 encourage provincial literature, he bequeathed twenty 
 pounds to purchase books for the parish library of the 
 place of his residence. 
 
 The first edition of The Chace was published in 1725 by 
 George Hawkins, and sold by T. Cooper at the Globe in 
 Pater-Noster-Row. It is a handsome well printed quarto, 
 embellished with a frontispiece, engraved by G. Scotin, 
 after a design by Gravelot, representing the poet offering 
 his lyre to Diana, who is attended by her nymphs. Such 
 was the popularity of the poem that it reached a sixth 
 edition in 1773 ; and since then it has been reprinted and 
 issued in many forms. 
 
 In 1796 William Bulmer issued, from the Shakespeare 
 Printing-office, Cleveland-Row, a very sumptuous edition 
 in quarto, illustrated by wood engravings by John Bewick, 
 who died before the book was published, although "he 
 had prepared and indeed finished on wood, the whole of 
 the designs except one." This edition is dedicated to 
 " The Patrons of Fine Printing," and a choice copy printed 
 on vellum is in the King's Library, British Museum. In 
 1802 Bulmer re-issued this edition, but the wood blocks 
 had then begun to show signs of wear. The Bewick 
 illustrations have been copied in some of the later reprints. 
 
 The edition of 1796 issued by T. Cadell, mentioned 
 above, contains engravings by J. Neagle after drawings by 
 T. Stothard, R.A, and a reprint of this edition appeared 
 in 1802. 
 
 In 1804 another illustrated edition, with plates by Scott, 
 after original paintings by Sartorius, was published by 
 Messrs. Hurst and Chappie, and within the last few years 
 the plates of this edition have been used to illustrate 
 popular reprints of The Chace on several occasions. 
 
 In June last (1892) that portion of Book the Third of 
 
igo BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 The Chace, which treats of fox-hunting, was issued in a 
 handsome oblong folio volume by Messrs. Day and Son, 
 and Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co., " Ltd.," 
 of London, with numerous spirited full-page and smaller 
 illustrations by Miss G. M. Scarlett. 
 
THE CHACE 
 
The Argument of the second Book 
 
 OF the Power of Instinct in Brutes. Two remarkable 
 Instances in the Hunting of the Roebuck, and in the 
 Hare going to Seat in the Morning. Of the Variety of 
 Seats or Forms of the Hare, according to the Change of the 
 Season, Weather or Wind. Description of the Hare-hunting 
 in all its Parts, interspersed with Rules to be observ'd, by 
 those who follow that Chace. Transition to the Asiatick 
 Way of Hunting, particularly the magnificent Manner of 
 the Great Mogul, and other Tartarian Princes, taken from 
 Monsieur Bernier, and the History of Gengiskan* the Great. 
 Concludes with a short Reproof of Tyrants and Oppressors 
 of Mankind. 
 
 ' The History of Genghizcantha Great, first Emperour of the Antient 
 Moguls aiid Tartars. . , . By the late M. Petis de la Croix . . . 
 and now faithfully translated into English. London. 1722. 8vo. 
 Chapter vii. of Book iii. " The Moguls Hunting." — A. C. 
 
Book the Second 
 
 NOR will it less delight th' attentive Sage 
 T' observe that Instinct, which unerring guides 
 The brutal' race, which mimics Reason's I^ore^ 
 And oft transcends : Heav'n-taught'' the Roe-buck swift 
 Loiters at Ease before the driving Pack, 
 And mocks their vain Pursuit, nor far he flies 
 But checks his Ardour, till the steaming Scent 
 That freshens on the Blade, provokes their Rage. 
 Urg'd to their Speed, his weak deluded Foes 
 Soon flag fatigued ; strain'd to Excess each Nerve, 
 Each slacken'd Sinew fails ; they pant, they foam ; 
 Then o'er the Lawn he bounds, o'er the high Hills 
 Stretches secure, and leaves the scatter'd Crowd 
 To puzzle in the distant Vale below.^ 
 
 ' brutal, literally nothing more than dumb. 
 
 ' Lore, acquired learning. 
 
 ' Heav'n-taught, guided by the instinct with which he is gifted hy 
 heaven. 
 
 * Loiters . . . below, at first, the air being too fresh to hold the 
 scent, the roe-buck can afford to loiter about at no great distance in 
 front of the hounds hurrying hither and thither in pursuit, and spending 
 their energies in the vain endeavour to track him ; but when, as the 
 day becomes warmer, the scent lies well upon the grass and the hounds 
 are better able to wind him, then with a few light bounds the roe-buck 
 clears the meads, in security urges his flight over the hills, and leaves 
 his pursuers baffled by the strong scent clinging to the valley in which 
 he had loitered so long. 
 
 O 
 
194 THE CHACE 
 
 'TIS Instinct that directs the jealous^ Hare 
 To choose her soft Abode ; with Step revers'd 
 She forms the doubling Maze f then, e'er the Morn 
 Peeps thro' the Clouds, leaps to her close Recess. 
 
 AS wand'ring Shepherds'' on th' Arabian Plains 
 No settled Residence observe, but shift 
 Their moving Camp, now, on some cooler Hill 
 With Cedars crown'd,^ court the refreshing Breeze 
 And then, below where trickling Streams distill 
 From some penurious Source,'' their Thirst allay, 
 And feed their fainting Flocks. So the wise Hares 
 Oft quit their Seats, lest some more curious" Eye 
 Should mark their Haunts, and by dark treach'rous Wiles 
 Plot their Destruction ; or perchance in hopes 
 Of plenteous Forage,' near the ranker Mead' 
 Or matted" Blade, wary, and close they sit. 
 When Spring shines forth. Season of Love and Joy, 
 In the moist Marsh, 'mong Beds of Rushes hid. 
 They cool their boiling Blood : When Summer Suns 
 Bake the cleft Earth, ^^ to thick wide-waving Fields 
 Of Corn full-grown, they lead their helpless young : 
 But when Autumnal Torrents, and fierce Rains 
 
 ' jealous, crafty, subtle 
 
 ^ with Step . . . Maze, walking backwards and going over the 
 ground again and again with many windings and turnings so as to 
 puzzle pursuit. This manoeuvre of the hare is a fable of some antiquity, 
 and only a fable. i 
 
 ' ■watid'ring Shepherds, the Bedouin Arabs who lead a nomad life in 
 the Desert. 
 
 * With Cedars crowned, the cedars are chiefly confined to the 
 Lebanon. 
 
 ' penurious Source, the streams being almost dried up by the heat. 
 
 * curious, inquisitive, prying. 
 
 ''forage, food ; OXATTenclnfourage, forage, pillage. 
 ' the ranker Mead, the meadow land with its more luxuriant growth 
 of grass. 
 
 ° matted, tangled. 
 
 '" the cleft Earth, the soil parched and chapt. 
 
THE CHACE 195 
 
 Deluge the Vale, in the dry crumbling Bank 
 Their Formsi they delve/ and cautiously avoid 
 The drippi;ig Covert f yet when Winter's Cold 
 Their Limbs benumbs, thither with Speed return'd 
 In the long Grass they skulk, or shrinking creep 
 Among the wither'd Leaves : Thus changing still, 
 As Fancy prompts them, or as Food invites. 
 But ev'ry Season carefully observ'd,'' 
 Th' inconstant Winds, the fickle Element, 
 The wise experienc'd Huntsman soon may find 
 His subtle, various'' Game, nor waste in vain 
 His tedious Hours, 'till his impatient Hounds 
 With Disappointment vex'd, each springing Lark 
 Babbling' pursue, far scatter'd o'er the Fields. 
 
 NOW golden Autumn from her open Lap 
 Her fragrant Bounties show'rs ; the Fields are shorn. 
 Inwardly smiling,' the proud Farmer views 
 The rising Pyramids* that grace his Yard, 
 And counts his large Increase ; his Barns are stofd. 
 And groaning Staddles" bend beneath their Load. 
 All now is free as Air, and the gay Pack 
 In the rough bristly Stubbles range unblam'd ;'" 
 
 ' Forms, the technical term for the bed of the hare, 
 
 " delve, hollow out. 
 
 ' The dripping Covert, the sheltered copse dripping with rain : the t 
 in Covert is mute. 
 
 '' carefully observ'd, being observed ; if he observes ; a Latin idiom. 
 
 * various, constantly changing its abode. 
 
 ^ Babbling, the sportsman's term for the vain whimper of hounds 
 unsuccessful in picking up the scent. 
 
 ' Inwardly smiling, with secret satisfaction. 
 
 ' The rising Pyramids, the stacks of hay and corn sloping at the top. 
 
 ' Siaddles, a word still in use in some parts of the country for the 
 stone supports on which the stacks are raised, or for the beams of wood 
 laid upon such supports ; here, from the word groaning, the latter are 
 probably intended. 
 
 "• All now . . . unblam'd, there are now no crops to hinder 
 hunting, and the hounds are at liberty to range freely amidst the 
 stubble without the farmer objecting. 
 
 O 2 
 
196 THE CHACE 
 
 No Widow's Tears o'erflow,' no secret Curse 
 Swells in the Farmer's Breast, while his pale Lips 
 Trembling conceal, by his fierce Landlord aw'd : 
 But courteous now he levels ev'ry Fence, 
 Joins in the common Cry,' and hollows loud, 
 Charm'd with the rattling Thunder of the Field. 
 Oh bear me, some kind Pow'r invisible ! 
 To that extended Lawn, where the gay Court 
 View the swift Racers, stretching to the Goal ;■' 
 Games more renown'd, and a far nobler Train, 
 Than proud Elean Fields* could boast of old. 
 Oh ! were a Theban lyre' not wanting here. 
 And Pindar's voice, to do their Merit right ! 
 Or to those spacious Plains," where the strain'd Eye 
 In the wide Prospect lost, beholds at last 
 Saruiris' proud Spire, that o'er the Hills ascends, 
 And pierces thro' the Clouds. Or to thy Downs, 
 Fair Cotswold^ where the well-breath'd Beagle climbs, 
 With matchless Speed, thy green aspiring Brow,' 
 And leaves the lagging Multitude behind. 
 
 ' No Widow's Tears d'erflow, no widow has to lament the damage 
 done to her crop? by the hounds. 
 
 ^ the common cry, the shouts of the huntsman and the cries of the 
 hounds, 7/5c rattling Thunder of the next line. 
 
 ^ To the . . . Goal, the race-course ; probably here that of 
 Newmarket, a favourite resortof the Court in former days. 
 
 '' Elean Fields, at Elis, on the west coast of the Peloponnpsus, the 
 festival of the Olympian games was held every four years ; among 
 these games were horse-races, foot-races, chariot-races. 
 
 * Theban lyre, Pindar, Who in his Olympian Odes celebrated the 
 Olympic games, was a native of Thebes. 
 
 * those spacious Plains, Salisbury plains, near to which stands 
 Salisbury cathedral, famous among other things for the height of its 
 spire. 
 
 ' Sarum, the Roman name for Salisbury. 
 
 * Cotswold, an open down iu Gloucestershire,, formerly much used 
 for coursing ; cp. The Merry Wives of Windsor, i. I. 92. 
 
 ' Brow, summit of the slope. 
 
THE CHACE 197 
 
 HAIL, gentle Dawn ! Mild blushing Goddess hail ! 
 Rejoyc'd I see thy purple Mantle spread 
 O'er half the Skies, gems pave thy radiant Way, 
 And orient Pearls^ from ev'ry Shrub depend. 
 Farewel, Cleoraf here, deep sunk in Down'' 
 Slumber secure, with happy Dreams amus'd, 
 'Till grateful Steams^ shall tempt thee to receive 
 Thy early Meal, or thy officious Maids, 
 The Toilet plac'd,^ shall urge thee to perform 
 Th' important Work. Me other Joys invite, 
 The Horn sonorous calls, the Pack awak'd 
 Their Mattins chant," nor brook my long Delay :' 
 My Courser hears their Voice ; see there with Ears 
 And Tail erect, neighing he paws the Ground ! 
 Fierce Rapture kindles in his red'ning Eyes, 
 And boils in ev'ry Vein. As captive Boys . 
 Cow'd by the ruling Rod, and haughty Frowns 
 Of Pedagogues severe, from their hard Tasks, 
 If once dismiss'd, no Limits can contain 
 The Tumult rais'd, within their little Breasts,' 
 But give a Loose to all their frolic Play.'-' 
 So from their Kennel rush the joyous Pack ; 
 
 ' orient Pearls, glistening dew-drops. 
 
 ° Chora, a fanciful name for some fair lady. 
 
 ' Down, feather bed. 
 
 * grateful Steams, the pleasant smell of breakfast ready for your 
 enjoyment. 
 
 * The Toilet placed, having prepared everything for you to malie your 
 toilet, to array yourself for the day. 
 
 ^ Their Mattins chant, send forth their cries joyfully at the break of 
 day ; F. matins, morning prayer, Lat. matutinus, belonging to the 
 morning. 
 
 ' nor brook . . . Delay, impatiently await ray coming to let 
 them loose for the chace. 
 
 ' no Limits . . . Breasts, nothing can check their outburst of 
 joy at their release from school. 
 
 ' give a Loose, give free vent to ; frolic, formerly often used as an 
 adjective. 
 
igS THE CHACE 
 
 A thousand wanton Gayeties^ express 
 Their inward Extasy, their pleasing Sport 
 Once more indulg'd,^ and Liberty restor'd. 
 The rising Sun that o'er th' Horizon peeps, 
 As many Colours from their glossy Skins 
 Beaming reflects, as paint the various Bow'' 
 When April show'rs descend. Delightful Scene ! 
 Where all around is gay, Men, Horses, Dogs, 
 And in each smiling Countenance appears 
 Fresh-blooming Health, and universal Joy. 
 
 HUNTSMAN, lead on ! behind the clust'ring Pack 
 Submiss attend, hear with respect thy Whip 
 Loud-clanging,^ and thy harsher Voice obey : 
 Spare not the straggling Cur, that wildly roves ; 
 But let thy brisk Assistant" on his Back 
 Imprint thy just Resentments ; let each Lash 
 Bite to the Quick, 'till howling he return, 
 And whining creep amid the trembling Crowd. 
 
 HERE on this verdant Spot, where Nature kind. 
 With double Blessings crowns the Farmer's Hopes ; 
 Where Flow'rs autumnal spring, and the rank Mead 
 Affords the wand'ring Hares a rich Repast ; 
 Throw off'' thy ready Pack. See, where they spread 
 And range around, and dash the glitt'ring Dew. 
 If some stanch Hound, with his authentick Voice, 
 Avow the recent Trail,' the justling Tribe 
 
 ' wanton Gayeties, frolicsome gambols. 
 
 " indulged, being indulged. 
 
 ' the various Bow, the many-coloured rainbow. 
 
 * Loud-clanging, sharply cracking. 
 
 ^ thy brisk Assistant, your hunting-whip. 
 
 ^ Throw off, the technical term for sending the hounds into covert to 
 find the game. 
 
 ' If some . . . Trail, if some well-tried, steady, hound shows 
 by his whimper, which may be thoroughly trusted, that he has picked 
 up the fresh scent. 
 
THE CHACE 199 
 
 Attend his Call.^ then with one mutual Cry, 
 
 The welcome News confirm/ and echoing Hills 
 
 Repeat the pleasing Tale. See how they thread 
 
 The Brakes," and up yon Furrow drive along ! 
 
 But quick they back recoil, and wisely check 
 
 Their eager Haste ; then o'er the fallow'd Ground* 
 
 How leisurely they work,^ and many a Pause 
 
 Th' harmonious Concert" breaks ; 'till more assur'd' 
 
 With Joy redoubled the low Vallies ring. 
 
 What artful Labyrinths' perplex their Way ! 
 
 Ah ! there she lies ; how close ! she pants, she doubts 
 
 If now she lives ; she trembles as she sits. 
 
 With Horror seiz'd. The wither'd Grass that clings"* 
 
 Around her Head, of the same russet Hue,' 
 
 Almost deceiv'd my Sight, had not her Eyes 
 
 With Life full-beaming her vain Wiles betray'd. 
 
 At Distance draw thy Pack, let all be hush'd, 
 
 No Clamour loud, no frantick Joy be heard. 
 
 Lest the wild Hound run gadding o'er the Plain 
 
 Untractable, nor hear thy chiding Voice. 
 
 Now gently put her off;'" see how direct 
 
 To her known Muse^^ she flies ! Here Huntsman bring 
 
 ' the justling Tribe . . . Call, the whole pack eagerly obey his 
 summons and join with him in verifying his discovery. 
 
 2 The welcome News confirm, throw up their heads, with a loud cry 
 confirming his sagacity. 
 
 ^ Brakes, bushes, thicket. 
 
 ■« fallow'd Ground, soil now lying fallow. 
 
 * work, a technical term when the hounds, laying their muzzles close 
 to the ground, endeavour to track the game. 
 
 * TK harmonioiis Concert, the giving tongue in unison ; the first 
 edition has consort. 
 
 ' more assur'd, they being more confident of having hit off the scent. 
 
 * Labyrinths, mazes made by the hare as she turns and winds. 
 
 " the same russet Htie, almost of the same colour as the fur of the hare.- 
 
 '" put her off, start her. 
 
 " Muse, muset, oxmusit, "the opening in a fence or thicket through 
 which a hare, or other beast of sport, is accustomed to pass " (Nares, 
 Gloss.) : O.F. musette, a little hole, or corner to hide things in. 
 
200 THE CHACE 
 
 (But without hurry) all thy jolly Hounds, 
 
 And calmly lay them in.' How low they stoop, 
 
 And seem to plough the Ground !" then all at once 
 
 With greedy Nostrils snuff the fuming Stream'' 
 
 That glads their flutt'ring hearts. As Winds let loose 
 
 From the dark Caverns of the blust'ring God,* 
 
 They burst away, and sweep the dewy Lawn. 
 
 Hope gives them Wings, while she's spur'd on by Fear. 
 
 The Welkin' rings, Men, Dogs, Hills, Rocks, and Woods 
 
 In the full Consort join. Now, my brave Youths, 
 
 Stript for the Chace," give all your Souls to Joy ! 
 
 See how their Coursers, than the Mountain Roe 
 
 More fleet, the verdant Carpet skim, thick Clouds 
 
 Snorting they breathe, their shining Hoofs scarce print 
 
 The Grass unbruis'd ; with Emulation fir'd 
 
 They strain to lead the Field, top the barr'd Gate,' 
 
 O'er the deep Ditch exulting Bound, and brush 
 
 The thorny-twining Hedge :* the Riders bend 
 
 O'er their arch'd Necks ; with steady Hands, by turns 
 
 Indulge their Speed, or moderate their Rage." 
 
 Where are their Sorrows, Disappointments, Wrongs, 
 
 Vexations, Sickness, Cares ? All, all are gone, 
 
 And with the panting Winds^" lag far behind. 
 
 ' lay them in, send them in pursuit ; a technical term, more 
 commonly ' lay them on.'' 
 
 ^ to plough the Ground, their noses being kept so close to it. 
 
 " the fuming Stream, the strong scent left by the hare. 
 
 ■■ the blusfrino God, .(Eojus, who kept the winds shut up in a 
 bag. 
 
 ' Welkin, sky ; A. S. wolcnu, clouds, plural of woken, a cloud. 
 
 ' Stript for the Chace, who have stripped off your coats in order the 
 more easily to follow the chace. 
 
 '' top , . , Gate, leap the locked gate between the fields. 
 
 ' lirush . , . Hedge, clear the hedge, just touching its topmost 
 boughs : thorny-twining, with close-set thorns. 
 
 ' Indulge . . . Rage, give free rein to their horses, or check 
 their impetuosity. 
 
 "^^ the panting Winds, the winds that seem to be labouring to keep 
 pace with them. 
 
THE CHACE 201 
 
 HUNTSMAN ! her Gatei observe, if in wide Rings^ 
 She wheel her mazy Way, in the same Round 
 Persisting still, she'll foil the beaten Track.-' 
 But if she fly, and with the fav'ring Wind'' 
 Urge her bold Course ; less intricate thy Task : 
 Push on thy Pack. Like some poor exil'd Wretch 
 The frighted Chace leaves her late dear Abodes, 
 O'er Plains remote she stretches far away, 
 Ah ! never to return ! for greedy Death 
 Hov'ring exults, secure to seize his Prey. 
 
 HARK ! from yon Covert, where those tow'ring Oaks 
 Above the humble Copse aspiring rise. 
 What glorious Triumphs'* burst in ev'ry Gale 
 Upon our ravish'd Ears ! The Hunters shout. 
 The clanging Horns swell their sweet-winding Notes, 
 The Pack wide-op'ning load the trembling Air 
 With various Melody ; from Tree to Tree 
 The propagated Cry, redoubling Bounds," 
 And wingbd Zephirs waft the floating Joy 
 Thro' all the Regions near : Afflictive Birch' 
 No more the School-boy dreads ; his Prison broke, 
 
 ' Gate, manner of going ; in the modern spelling, gait. 
 
 ^ wide Rings, windings and doublings. 
 
 ' sheHl foil . . . Track, she will puzzle the hounds by going 
 over and over the same route : Cotgrave gives " Fotilee. The Slot of 
 a Stag, the Fuse of a Buck upon hard ground, grass, leaves, or dust ; 
 wecallit (most properly) Vafoyling" ; and Halliwell, Arch, and Prov. 
 Diet., s.v. foil, " To ntn the foil, a phrase in hunting,, used when 
 game runs over the same track a second time in order to puzzle or elude 
 the hounds. The foil is the track of the deer." 
 
 ■• with the fav'ring Wind, running with the wind, and so leaving a 
 stronger scent. 
 
 ' glorious Triumphs, bursts of triumphant sound from the sportsmen, 
 from the huntsman's horn, and from the pack itself. 
 
 * The propagated Cry . . . Bounds, the clamour is echoed from 
 tree to tree with redoubled force. 
 
 ' Afflictive Birch, the birch-rod with which school-boys were com- 
 monly flogged. 
 
202 THE CHACE 
 
 Scamp'ring he flies, nor heeds his Master's Call. 
 
 The weary Traveller forgets his Road, 
 
 And climbs th' adjacent Hill ; the Ploughman leaves 
 
 Th' unfinish'd Furrow ; nor his bleating Flocks 
 
 Are now the Shepherd's Joy ; Men, Boys, and Girls 
 
 Desert th' unpeopled Village ;' and wild Crowds 
 
 Spread o'er the Plain, by the sweet Frenzy seiz'd. 
 
 Look, how she pants ! and o'er yon op'ning Glade 
 
 Slips glancing by f while, at the further End, 
 
 The puzzling Pack unravel Wile by Wile,'^ 
 
 Maze within Maze. The Covert's utmost Bound 
 
 Slyly she skirts ; behind them cautious creeps. 
 
 And in that very Track, so lately stain'd 
 
 By all the steaming Crowd,'' seems to pursue 
 
 The Foe she flies. Let Cavillers deny 
 
 That Brutes have Reason ; sure 'tis something more : 
 
 'Tis Heav'n directs; and Stratagems inspires, 
 
 Beyond the short Extent of humane Thought. 
 
 But hold 1 see her from the Covert break ; 
 
 Sad on yon little Eminence she sits ; 
 Intent she listens with one Ear erect, 
 Pond'ring, and doubtful what new Course to take. 
 And how t' escape the fierce blood-thirsty Crew, 
 That still urge on,^ and still in Vollies loud," 
 Insult her Woes, and mock her sore Distress. 
 As now in louder Peals, the loaded Winds 
 Bring on the gath'ring Storm, her Fears prevail ; 
 
 ' Desert . . . Village, desert the village, which is thereby made 
 empty. 
 
 * Slips glancing by, glides with the motion of a swiftly glancing 
 ray. 
 
 ^ unravel . . . Wile, puzzle out the various wiles by which she 
 endeavours to elude them. 
 
 ^ so lately . . . Crowd, which the sweating pack has but a 
 moment ago streamed through in full cry and befouled by its passage — 
 thus blinding the scent. 
 
 * iirge on, press forward. 
 
 " Vollies loud, eager outbursts of sound. 
 
THE CHACE 203 
 
 And o'er the Plain, and o'er the Mountain's Ridg , 
 Away she flies ; nor Ships with Wind and Tide, 
 And all their Canvass Wings skud half so fast. 
 Once more, ye jovial Train, your Courage try. 
 And each clean' Courser's Speed. We scour along, 
 In pleasing Hurry and Confusion tost ; 
 Oblivion to be wish'd.^ The patient Pack 
 Hang on the Scent unweary'd ; up they climb, 
 And ardent we pursue ; our lab'ring Steeds 
 We press, we gore ;* till once the Summit gain'd, 
 Painfully panting, there we breathe* awhile ; 
 Then Hke a foaming Torrent, pouring down 
 Precipitant," we smoke along the Vale. 
 Happy the Man, who with unrival'd Speed 
 Can pass his Fellows, and with Pleasure view 
 The struggling Pack ; how in the rapid Course 
 Alternate they preside," and justling push 
 To guide the dubious Scent ;'' how giddy Youth' 
 Oft babbling errs, by wiser Age reprov'd ; 
 How, nigard of his Strength, the wise old Hound 
 Hangs in the Rear, 'till some important Point" 
 Rouse all his Diligence, or 'till the chace 
 Sinking'" he finds ; then to the head he springs. 
 With Thirst of Glory fir'd, and wins the Prize. 
 
 ' clean, clean-limbed ; free from spavins, splints, &c. 
 
 ^ Oblivion to be wish'd, with an enviable forgetfulness of all troubles. 
 
 ^ gore, pierce with our spurs ; gore, from Anglo-Saxon, gar, a spear^ 
 and unconnected with either gore, clotted blood, or gore, a triangular 
 piece let into a garment. 
 
 * breathe, pause to take breath. 
 
 * Precipitant, headlong ; a word now rarely used, precifitate having 
 taken its place. 
 
 ° Alternate they preside, each in his turn takes the lead. 
 ' To guide . . . Scent, to pick up the doubtful scent and guide 
 the rest in following it up. 
 
 * giddy Youth, the younger hounds, so easily diverted from the track. 
 ' some important Point, some difficulty greater than usual. 
 
 '" Sinking, losing heart. 
 
204 THE CHACE 
 
 Huntsman, take heed ; they stop in full career. 
 
 Yon crowding Flocks, that at a Distance gaze. 
 
 Have haply foil'd the Turf.^ See ! that old Hound 
 
 How busily he works, but dares not trust 
 
 His doubtful Sense ; draw yet a wider Ring,^ 
 
 Hark ! now again the Chorus fills. ^ As Bells, 
 
 Sally'd a while, "* at once their Peal renew, 
 
 Apd high in A.ir the tuneful Thunder rolls. 
 
 See, how they toss,^ with animated Rage 
 
 Recov'ring all they lost ! — That eager Haste 
 
 Some doubling Wile foreshews."— Ah ! yet once more 
 
 They're check'd — hold back with Speed'' — on either Hand 
 
 They flourish round* — ev'n yet persist — 'Tis Right : 
 
 Away they Spring ; the rustUng Stubbles bend 
 
 ' foil'd the Turf, see note 3, p. 201. 
 
 ^ draw . . . Hing, made a wider cast ; spread out the pack so 
 as to take in a wider area, and thus give more chance of recovering the 
 scent. 
 
 ' the Chorus fills, the whole pacic takes up the cry. 
 
 * Sally'd a while, in some editions of the poem, the reading here is 
 " Silenc'd awhile," and the meaning is much the same. Before bells 
 can be rung, they have to be "raised," i.e. turned mouth upwards. 
 When the rope is pulled, the bell swings completely round until it 
 stands upright again, and the clapper falls against the lip of the bell, 
 causing it to sound, the bell remaining in its upright position until the 
 rope is pulled again. At ? ome distance from the end of the rope there is 
 a tufting of wool which is called the " sally "or " sallee,'' and Somer- 
 vile refers to the position of the ringers when the " sallies " are in their 
 hands, and the bells are " set " ready to be pulled off again. The 
 verb to " sally " is sometimes used by ringers when teaching a beginner 
 to handle a bell. Thus, ' ' You take the rope's end and I will sally for 
 you," i.e. the instructor will manage the sally — the most difficult part 
 — while the learner has only to pull at the rope's end at the proper 
 time. 
 
 6 toss, throw up their heads. 
 
 ^ That eager Haste . . . foreshews, their hasty taking up of the 
 chase forebodes that they have been misled by the crafty doubling of 
 the hare. 
 
 ' hold . . . Speed, addressed to the huntsman. 
 
 ^flourish round, circle about with their tails flourished in the air. 
 
THE CHACE 205, 
 
 Beneath the driving Storm.^ Now the poor Chace 
 
 Begins to flag, to her last Shifts reduc'd. 
 
 From Brake to Brake she flies, and visits all 
 
 Her well-known Haunts, where once she rang'd secure, 
 
 With Love and Plenty blest. See ! there she goes, 
 
 She reels along, and by her Gate betrays 
 
 Her inward Weakness. See, how black- she looks ! 
 
 The Sweat that clogs th' obstructed Pores, scarce leaves 
 
 A languid Scent' And now in open View 
 
 See, see, she flies ! each eager Hound exerts 
 
 His utmost Speed, and stretches ev'ry Nerve. 
 
 How quick she turns ! their gaping Jaws eludes. 
 
 And yet a Moment lives ; 'till round inclos'd 
 
 By all the greedy Pack, with infant Screams^ 
 
 She yields her Breath, and there reluctant" dies. 
 
 So when the furious Bacchanal^ assail'd 
 
 Threician Orpheus, poor ill-fated Bard ! 
 
 ■ the driving Storm, the eager rush of the pack. 
 ' black, sc. with stains of mud. 
 
 ^ The Sweat . . . Scent, in the First Book of this poem, 11. 
 347-57, the following explanation is given of the manner in which 
 scent is carried : — 
 
 " As fuming vapours rise. 
 And hang upon the gently purling brook, 
 There by th' incumbent atmosphere compress'd, 
 The panting chace grows warmer as he flies, 
 And thro' the net-work of the skin perspires ; 
 Leaves a long-streaming trail behind, which by 
 The cooler air condens'd, remains, unless 
 By some rude storm dispers'd, or rarefied 
 By. the meridian sun's intenser heat. 
 To every shrub the warm effluvia cling, 
 Hang on the grass, impregnate earth and skies.'' 
 
 ' infant Screams, cries like those of an infant. 
 
 5 reluctant, struggling against her fate. 
 
 ° Bacchanals, Orpheus, on his return to Thrace after the loss of his 
 wife, Eurydice, in the bitterness of his grief, shunned the society of 
 the Thracian women, and was by them torn in pieces under the excite- 
 ment of their Bacchanalian orgies, his head being thrown into the 
 river Hebms. 
 
2o6 THE CHACE 
 
 Loud was the Cry, Hills, Woods, and Hebrus' Banks, 
 Return'di their clam'rous Rage ; distress'd he flies, 
 Shifting from Place to Place, but flies in vain ; 
 For eager they pursue, 'till panting, faint, 
 By noisy Multitudes o'erpower'd, he sinks, 
 To the relentless Crowd a bleeding Prey. 
 
 THE huntsman now, a deep Incision made. 
 Shakes out with hands impure^ and dashes down 
 Her reeking Entrails, and yet quiv'ring Heart. 
 These claim the Pack, the bloody Perquisite'* 
 For all their Toils. Stretch'd on the Ground she lies, 
 A mangled Coarse ; in her dim glaring Eyes 
 Cold Death exults, and stiffens ev'ry Limb. 
 Awed by the threat'ning Whip, the furious Hounds 
 Around her bay ; or at their Master's Foot, 
 Each happy fav'rite courts his kind Applause, 
 With humble Adulation cow'ring low. 
 All now is Joy. With Cheeks full-blown'' they wind 
 Her solemn Dirge, while the loud op'ning^ Pack 
 The Concert swell, and hills and dales return 
 The sadly-pleasing" Sounds. Thus the poor Hare, 
 A puny, dastard Animal, but vers'd 
 In subtle Wiles, diverts the youthful Train.' 
 But if thy proud, aspiring Soul disdains 
 So mean a Prey, delighted with the Pomp, 
 Magnificence and Grandeur of the Chace ; 
 Hear what the Muse from faithful Record sings. 
 
 ' Returned, re-echoed. 
 
 ^ impure, soiled by the operation. 
 
 ' the bloody Perquisite, in hare-hunting the heart and entrails are 
 thrown to the hounds ; in fox-hunting the mask (i.e. head), the pads 
 {i.e. the feet) and the brush {i.e. the tail) are cut off, and the rest of the 
 body becomes the " perquisite." 
 
 ■* full-blown, inflated with breath in sounding the horn. 
 
 ° loud-op'' ning, giving tongue together. 
 
 ' sadly-pleasing, pleasing, as indicating the triumph of the sports- 
 man, sad, as being the death-note of the quarry. 
 
 ' Train, band, company. 
 
THE CHACE 207 
 
 Why on the Banks of Gemna^ Indian Stream, 
 Line within Line, rise the Pavilions proud. 
 Their silken Streamers waving in the Wind ? 
 Why neighs the warrior Horse ? From Tent to Tent, 
 Why press in Crowds the buzzing Multitude ? 
 Why shines the polish'd Helm, and pointed Lance, 
 This Way and that far-beaming o'er the Plain ? 
 Nor Visapout^ nor Gokonda rebel ; 
 Nor the great Sophy ^ with his num'rous Host 
 Lays waste the Provinces ; nor Glory fires 
 To rob and to destroy, beneath the Name 
 And specious Guise of War. A nobler Cause 
 Calls Aurengzebe^ to Arms. No Cities sack'd. 
 No Mother's Tears, no helpless Orphan's Cries, 
 No violated Leagues, with sharp Remorse 
 Shall sting the conscious Victor : But Mankind 
 Shall hail him good and just. For 'tis on Beasts 
 He draws his vengeful Sword ; on Beasts of Prey 
 Full-fed with human Gore. See, see, he comes ! 
 Imperial Delhi op'ning wide her Gates, 
 Pours out her thronging Legions, bright in Arms, 
 And all the Pomp of War. Before them sound 
 Clarions and Trumpets, breathing Martial Airs 
 And bold Defiance. High upon his Throne, 
 Borne on the Back of his proud Elephant, 
 Sits the great Chief of Tamui^^ glorious Race : 
 
 ' Gemna, the Jumna, or Jamuna, a river rising in the peak 
 Jamnotri, in the Himalayas, and flowing south-east till it empties itself 
 into the Ganges at Allahabad. 
 
 " Visapour, now called Bijapiir. Like Golconda, it was often in 
 rebellion against the great Moghul, each state assisting the other if 
 driven to extremity. (See 'Bermex's Travels, pp. 193, 4.) 
 
 ' the great Sophy, or Sufi, a title borne by the Shahs of Persia, 
 literally meaning ' a wise man. ' The first monarch of the name was 
 Ismail Sophi, the founder of the Suffavian dynasty, at the beginning 
 of the sixteenth century. 
 
 ' Aurengzebe, or Aurangzib, the third son of Shahjahan, who 
 succeeded to the throne, under the title of 'Alamgir, in 1658. 
 
 ' Tamur, more properly Timiir, the founder of the Moghul dynasty. 
 
2o8 THE CHACE 
 
 Sublime' he sits, amid the radiant Blaze 
 
 Of Gems and Gold. Omrahs^ about him crowd, 
 
 And rein th' Arabian steed, and watch his Nod : 
 
 And potent Rajahs;' who themselves preside 
 
 O'er Realms of wide Extent ; but here submiss 
 
 Their Homage pay, alternate Kings and Slaves.^ 
 
 Next these with prying Eunuchs girt around. 
 
 The fair Sultanas of his Court ; a Troop 
 
 Of chosen Beauties, but with Care conceal'd 
 
 From each intrusive Eye ; one Look is Death. ^ 
 
 Ah, cruel Eastern law ! (had Kings a Pow'r 
 
 But equal to their wild tyrannick Will) 
 
 To rob us of the Sun's all-chearing Ray, 
 
 Were less severe. The Vulgar close the March,^ 
 
 Slaves and Artificers ; and Delhi mourns 
 
 Her empty and depopulated Streets.' 
 
 Now at the Camp arriv'd, with stern Review, 
 
 Thro' Groves of Spears, from File to File, he darts 
 
 His sharp experienc'd eye ; their Order marks, 
 
 Each in his Station rang'd, exact and firm, 
 
 ^ Stiblime, on high. 
 
 2 Omralis, see note 2, p. 73j o" Aureng-Zebe. 
 
 ' Rajahs, Hindoo princes subordinate to the Emperor. 
 
 ^ alternate . . . Slaves, kings in their o.wn dominions, slaves 
 when at the Emperor's Court. 
 
 " one Look is Death, Bernier, Travels, p. 373, describing the march 
 to Kashmir, writes, "Truly, it is with difficulty that these ladies can 
 be approached, and they are almost inaccessible to the sight of man. 
 Woe to any unlucky cavalier, however exalted in rank, who, meeting 
 the procession, is found too near. Nothing can exceed the insolence 
 of the tribes of eunuchs and foOtmen which he has to encounter, and 
 they eagerly avail themselves of any such opportunity to beat a man 
 in the most unmerciful manner." 
 
 ^ close the March, bring up the rear. 
 
 ' Delhi . . . Streets, speaking of Aurangzib's progress, Bernier, 
 Travels, p. 381, writes, "The whole population of Delhi, the capital 
 city, is in fact collected in the camp, because. deriving its employment 
 and maintenance from the court and army, it has no alternative but to 
 follow them in their march or to perish from want during their 
 absence. " 
 
THE CHACE 209 
 
 'Till in the boundless Line his Sight is lost. 
 
 Not greater Multitudes in Arms appear'd, 
 
 On these extended Plains, when Amman's Son^ 
 
 With mighty Porus^ in dread Battle join'd, 
 
 The Vassal World the Prize. Nor was that Host 
 
 More numerous of old, which the great King^ 
 
 Pour'd out on Greece from all th' unpeopled East ; 
 
 That bridged the Hellespont from Shore to shore, 
 
 And drank the Rivers dry. Mean while in Troops 
 
 The busy Hunter-train mark out the Ground,^ 
 
 A wide Circumference ; full many a League 
 
 In Compass round ; Woods, Rivers, Hills, and Plains, 
 
 Large Provinces ; enough to gratify 
 
 Ambition's highest Aim, could Reason bound 
 
 Man's erring Will. Now sit in close Divan' 
 
 The mighty Chiefs of this prodigious Host. 
 
 He from the Throne high-eminent presides. 
 
 Gives out his Mandates proud. Laws of the Chace, 
 
 From ancient Records drawn. With rev'rence low, 
 
 And prostrate at his Feet, the Chiefs receive 
 
 His irreversible Decrees, from which 
 
 To vary, is to die. Then his brave Bands 
 
 Each to his Station leads ; encamping round, 
 
 'Till the wide Circle is compleately form'd. 
 
 Where decent Order reigns, what these command 
 
 Those execute with Speed, and punctual Care ; 
 
 ' Amman's Son, Alexander the Great, who pretended to trace his 
 descent from Zeus Ammon, originally an Aethiopian, or Libyan, 
 afterwards an Egyptian divinity. 
 
 ' Porus, King of the Indian provinces east of the Hydaspes, who, 
 in B.C. 327, vigorously opposed the passage of Alexander over that 
 river. 
 
 ^ the great King, Xerxes, who, in B.C. 480, crossed the Hellespont 
 by a bridge of boats when on his way to the conquest of Greece. 
 
 * mark out the Ground, according to Bernier, extending "sometimes 
 four or five leagues." 
 
 ' in close Divan, in secret conclave ; divan, properly a council- 
 chamber, Arabic and Persian divdn. 
 
 P 
 
2 10 THE CHACE 
 
 In all the strictest Discipline of War : 
 As if some watchful Foe, with bold Insult 
 Hung low'ring o'er their Camp. The high Resolve, 
 That flies on Wings/ thro' all th' encircling Line, 
 Each Motion steers, and animates the whole. 
 So by the Sun's attractive Pow'r controll'd. 
 The Planets in their Spheres roll round his Orb. 
 On all he shines, and rules the great Machine." 
 E'er yet the Morn dispels the fleeting Mists, 
 The Signal giv'n by the loud Trumpet's Voice, 
 Now high in Air th' Imperial Standard waves, 
 Emblazon'd rich with Gold, and glitt'ring Gems ; 
 And like a Sheet of Fire, thro' the dun Gloom 
 Streaming Meteorous. The Soldier's Shouts, 
 And all the brazen Instruments of War, 
 With mutual Clamour, and united Din, 
 Fill the Large Concave.^ While from Camp to Camp, 
 They catch the varied Sounds, floating in Air. 
 Round all the wide Circumference, Tygers fell* 
 Shrink at the Noise, deep in his gloomy Den 
 The Lion starts, and Morsels yet unchew'd 
 I>rop from his trembling Jaws. Now all at once 
 Onward they march embattl'd, to the Sound 
 Of martial Harmony ; Fifes, Cornets, Drums, 
 That rouse the sleepy Soul to Arms, and bold 
 Heroick Deeds.^ In Parties here and there 
 
 " The high Resolve . . . Wings, the imperial orders conveyed 
 with winged speed. 
 
 '^ the great Machine, sc. of the universe. 
 
 ^ E'er yet . . . Concave, the whole of this passage is imitated 
 from Paradise Lost, i. 536-41, " which " [the mighty standard], " full 
 high advanced, Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind. With gems 
 and golden lustre rich emblazed. Seraphic arms and trophies ; all the 
 while Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds : At which the universal 
 host up-sent A shout that tore Hell's coiuave." 
 
 ^ fell, cruel, fierce. 
 
 ° Now all at orue , . . Deeds, here again Somervile is imitating 
 Milton, Paradise Lost, i. 549-53, " Anon they move In perfect phalanx 
 
THE CHACE 211 
 
 Detach'd o'er Hill and Dale, the Hunters range 
 
 Inquisitive ;' strong Dogs that match in Fight 
 
 The boldest Brute, around their Masters wait, 
 
 A faithful Guard. No Haunt unsearch'd, they drive 
 
 From ev'ry Covert, and from ev'ry Den, 
 
 The lurking Savages. Incessant Shouts 
 
 Re-eccho thro' the Woods, and kindling Fires 
 
 Gleam from the Mountain Tops ; the Forest seems 
 
 One mingling Blaze : like Flocks of Sheep they fly 
 
 Before the flaming Brand : fierce Lions, Pards,"* 
 
 Boars, Tigers, Bears, and Wolves ; a dreadful Crew 
 
 Of grim blood-thirsty foes : growKng along, 
 
 They stalk indignant ; but fierce Vengence still 
 
 Hangs pealing on their Rear,^ and pointed Spears 
 
 Present immediate Death.* Soon as the Night 
 
 Wrapt in her sable Veil forbids the Chace, 
 
 They pitch their Tents, in even Ranks, around 
 
 The circling Camp. The Guards are plac'd, and Fires 
 
 At proper Distances ascending rise,* 
 
 And paint th' Horizon with their ruddy Light. 
 
 So round some Island's Shore of large Extent, 
 
 Amid the gloomy Horrors of the Night, 
 
 The Billows breaking on the pointed Rocks, 
 
 Seem all one Flame," and the bright Circuit wide 
 
 to the Doiian mood Of flutes and soft recorders — such as raised To 
 highth of noblest temper heroes old Arming to battle." 
 
 ' Inquisitive, eagerly searching every nook and corner. 
 
 ^ Pard, a leopard, from the Sanskrit Pardaku a tiger, through the 
 Latin Pardus. 
 
 ^ Hangs . . . Rear, follows them up with loud shouts. 
 
 * Present immediate Death, threaten them with immediate death if 
 they attempt to break through the line that is hemming them in. 
 
 ' and fires . . . rise, "To prevent robberies every Omrah 
 provides watchmen, who continually perambulate his particular quarters 
 during the night . . . and there are guards posted round the 
 whole army at every five hundred paces, who kindle fire.s." (Bernier, 
 Travels, p. 369.) 
 
 * all one Flame, one mass of flame. 
 
 P 2 
 
212 THE CHACE 
 
 Appears a Bulwark of surrounding Fire. 
 
 What dreadful Howlings, and what hideous Roar, 
 
 Disturb those peaceful Shades ! where erst the Bird 
 
 That glads the Night, had chear'd the list'ning Groves 
 
 With sweet Complainings.' Thro' the silent Gloom 
 
 Oft they the Guards assail ; as oft repell'd 
 
 They fly reluctant, with hot-boiling Rage 
 
 Stung to the Quick, and mad with wild Despair. 
 
 Thus Day by Day, they still the chace renew ; 
 
 At Night encamp ; 'till now in streighter Bounds^ 
 
 The Circle lessens, and the Beasts perceive 
 
 The Wall that hems them in on ev'ry Side. 
 
 And now their Fury bursts, and knows no mean ;'* 
 
 From Man they turn, and point their ill-judg'd Rage 
 
 Against their fellow Brutes. With Teeth and Claws 
 
 The Civil War begins ; grapling they tear. 
 
 Lions on Tygers prey, and Bears on Wolves : 
 
 Horrible Discord ! 'till the Crowd behind 
 
 Shouting pursue, and part the bloody Fray. 
 
 At once their Wrath subsides ; tame as the Lamb 
 
 The Lion hangs his Head, the furious Pard, 
 
 Cow'd and subdu'd, flies from the Face of Man, 
 
 Nor bears one Glance of his commanding Eye. 
 
 So abject is a Tyrant in Distress. 
 
 AT last within the narrow Plain'' confin'd, 
 A listed Field,^ mark'd out for bloody Deeds, 
 
 ' when erst . . . Complainiiigs, Philomela, who was changed 
 into a nightingale, and whose song is supposed to be a lament for 
 Itys; c'^. Horace, Odes, iv. 12. 5,6, " Nidum ponit, Ityn flebiliter 
 gemens, Infelix avis." 
 
 ' streighter Bomids, limits that day by day have been drawn closer. 
 
 ^ mean, moderation, restraint. 
 
 * the narrow Plain, the plain now contracted by the game being 
 each day driven in closer and closer. 
 
 ' A listed Field, a space enclosed like the scenes of ancient 
 tournaments with fixed boundaries, lists. 
 
THE CHACE 213 
 
 An Amphitheatre' more glorious far 
 
 Than ancient Rome cou'd boast, they crowd in heaps, 
 
 Dismay'd, and quite appall'd. In meet Array'^ 
 
 Sheath'd'' in refulgent Arms, a noble Band 
 
 Advance ; great Lords of High Imperial Blood, 
 
 Early' resolv'd t' assert their Royal Race, 
 
 And prove by glorious Deeds their Valour's Growth 
 
 Mature, e'er yet the callow Down has spread 
 
 It's curling shade.^ On bold Arabian Steeds 
 
 With decent" Pride they sit, that fearless hear 
 
 The Lion's dreadful Roar ; and down the Rock 
 
 Swift-shooting plunge, or o'r the Mountain's Ridge 
 
 Stretching along, the greedy Tyger leave 
 
 Panting behind. On Foot their faithful Slaves 
 
 With Javelins arm'd attend ; each watchful Eye 
 
 Fix'd on his youthful Care,' for him alone 
 
 He fears, and to redeem his Life, unmov'd 
 
 Wou'd lose his own. The mighty Aurengzebe, 
 
 From his high-elevated Throne, beholds 
 
 His blooming Race ;" revolving in his Mind 
 
 What once he was, in his gay Spring of Life, 
 
 When Vigour strung his Nerves. Parental joy 
 
 Melts in his Eyes, and flushes in his Cheeks. 
 
 Now the loud Trumpet sounds a Charge. The Shouts 
 
 Of eager Hosts, thro' all the circling Line, 
 
 ' All Amphitheatre, the amphitheatre at Rome was a place for the 
 exhibition of public shows of combatants, wild beasts, and naval 
 engagements, and was entirely surrounded with seats for the spec- 
 tators ; whereas in those for dramatic performances, the seats were 
 arranged in a semicircle facing the stage. 
 
 ' meet Array, proper order. 
 
 ' Sheath'd, enveloped and protected. 
 
 ■* Early, while yet in their first youth. 
 
 & e'er yet . , . j^iarfe, before the first signs of the beard's manly 
 growth have shown themselves. 
 
 ^ decent, becoming. 
 
 ' his youthful Care, the youth whom he is bound to watch over, 
 
 " His blooming Race, his sons in the bloom of vigorous youth. 
 
214 THE CHACE 
 
 And the wild Howlings of the Beasts within 
 Rend wide the Welkin, Flights of Arrows, wing'd 
 With Death, and Javelins lanc'd' from ev'ry Arm, 
 Gall sore the brutal Bands, with many a wound 
 Gor'd^ thro' and thro.' Despair at last prevails, 
 When fainting Nature shrinks, and rouses all 
 Their drooping Courage. Swell'd with furious Rage, 
 Their Eyes dart Fire ; and on the youthful Band 
 They rush implacable. They their broad Shields 
 , Quick interpose ; on each devoted Head 
 Their Flaming Falchions,'' as the Bolts oi Jove, 
 Descend unerring. Prostrate on the Ground 
 The grinning Monsters lie, and their foul Gore 
 Defiles the verdant Plain. Nor Idle stand 
 The trusty Slaves ; with pointed Spears they pierce 
 Thro' their tough Hides ; or at their gaping Mouths 
 An easier Passage find. The King of Brutes 
 In broken Roarings* breathes his last ; the Bear 
 Grumbles in Death f nor can his spotted Skin, 
 Tho' slick" it shine, with varied Beauties gay, 
 Save the proud Pard from unrelenting Fate. 
 The Battle bleeds,' grim Slaughter strides along, 
 Glutting her greedy Jaws, grins o'er her Prey. 
 Men, Horses, Dogs, fierce Beasts of ev'ry kind, 
 A strange promiscuous Carnage, drench'd in Blood, 
 And Heaps on Heaps amass'd : What yet remains 
 Alive, with vain Assault contend to break 
 Th' impenetrable Line. Others, whom Fear 
 Inspires with self-preserving Wiles, beneath 
 
 ' lanc'd, tlie older form of launch'd, from f . lancer, to hurl, dart. 
 
 ' Gor'd, see note 3, p. 203. 
 
 •* flaming Falchions, curved awords flashing as they descend upon 
 the heads of the wild beasts ; falchion, from Low Lat. falcio, a sickle- 
 shaped, sword. . . . 
 
 * broken Roarings, roars gasped out in death. 
 
 ' Grumbles in Death, dies uttering a loud grunt. 
 
 " slick, smooth, glossy; the older form of " sleek." 
 
 ' The Battle bleeds, the combat is one scene of bloodshed.- 
 
THE CHACE 215 
 
 The Bodies of the Slain for Shelter creep. 
 
 Aghast^ they fly, or hide their Heads ciispers'd. 
 
 And now perchance (had Heav'n but pleas'd) the Work 
 
 Of Death had been compleat ; and Aurengzebe 
 
 By one dread Frown extinguish'd half their Race. 
 
 When lo ! the bright Sultanas of his Court 
 
 Appear, and to his ravish'd Eyes display 
 
 Those Charms, but rarely to the Day reveal'd. 
 
 LOWLY they bend, and humbly sue, to save 
 The vanquish'd Host. What Mortal can deny 
 When suppliant Beauty begs ? At his Command 
 Op'ning to Right and Left, the well-train'd Troops 
 Leave a large Void^ for their retreating Foes. 
 Away they fly, on Wings of Fear upborn, 
 To seek on distant Hills their late Abodes. 
 
 YE proud Oppressors, whose vain Hearts exult 
 In Wantonness of Pow'r, 'gainst the brute Race, 
 Fierce Robbers like your selves, a guiltless War 
 Wage uncontroU'd : here quench your Thirst of Blood ; 
 But learn from Aurengzebe to spare Mankind. 
 
 > Aghast, the h has properly no place in this word, it being from a, 
 the A.S. intensive prefix and A.S. gastaiz, to terrify. 
 ^ a large Void, a wide clear space. 
 
GENERAL INDEX 
 
GENERAL INDEX 
 
 Absent God, 144, 3. 
 Academicks, the, 37, 4. 
 Against, 130, 3. 
 Aghast, 215, i. 
 Alarm, 86, 4. 
 All the Woman, 165, 4. 
 All your Father, 126, S- 
 Alms, 34, 7. 
 Amity, 77, 3. 
 Ammon's son, 209, i. 
 Amphitheatre, 213, i. 
 Arria, 42, 3. 
 Ascendant, 77, 5. 
 Atlas, 57, I. 
 Atun'd, 103, I. 
 Authoris'd, 92, i. 
 
 B. 
 
 Babbling, 19S, 6. 
 Bacchanals, 205, 6. 
 Bands,=bonds, 85, i ; 88, 3. 
 Bearded steel, 63, 2.' 
 Bear-garden, 176, 6. 
 Bellerophon, 98, 5. 
 Bird of night, 66, I. 
 Brachman, 106, 3. 
 Buckler, 64, 2. 
 Byassed, 159, 3. ' 
 
 Cankered, 66, 6. 
 
 Canon, 88, 2. 
 
 Castl'd Elephants, 57, 7- 
 
 Chymick gold, 122, i. 
 
 Cicero, quoted, 43, 6. 
 
 Cicero, de Finibus, 44, 7 ; 48, i.. 
 
 Circumstance, 167, i. 
 
 Cleaving mischiefs, 86, 2. 
 
 Composures, 140, 5. 
 
 Conduct, 73, i. 
 
 Confident, a, 97, 5. 
 
 Consults, 94, 6. 
 
 Conversation, 35, 5- 
 
 Convert (neut. vb.), 81, 3. 
 
 Cotswold, 196, 8. 
 
 Council, 57, 2. 
 
 Cozen, 128, 2. . 
 
 Crawling Insect, 78, 2. 
 
 D. 
 
 Decrepit, 134, 4. 
 Delhi, 208, 7. 
 Demerits, 60, 3. . 
 Disastrous, 67, 6. 
 Divan, 209, 5. 
 Drudgery, 158, 5. 
 Dry mourning, 153, 2. 
 Dull-got, 148, 3. 
 
 E. 
 
 Elean fields, 196, 4. 
 Elemental fire, 171, 4. 
 Emmets, 105, 2. 
 Empiric, 96, 2. 
 Engines, 113, 2. 
 Enervate, 82, 3. 
 Envy,=jealousy, 56, 3. ' 
 
GENERAL INDEX 
 
 Epicurus, 38, 2. 
 Expire (trans, vb.), 171, 6. 
 Express, 53, 5. 
 Extravagant, 75, 2. 
 
 F. 
 
 Falchions, 214, 3. 
 Flaw, 162, 4. 
 Foil, 201, 3. 
 Fond (vb.), 138, 3. 
 Forage, 186, 7. 
 Forms, of Hare, 187, i. 
 Frankly, 95, 8. 
 Frolic (adj.), 197, 9. 
 Funeral Marriage, 160, 6 . 
 
 G. 
 
 Gate,=gait, 193, 1. 
 Gemna, 60, 6. 
 Genius, the, 122, 3. 
 Ghess, 175, 4. 
 
 Gloriously, 125, i. 
 
 Golden Fruit, 80, i. 
 
 Gore (vb.), 203, 3. 
 
 H. 
 
 Hallow, 148, I. 
 Heartless, 154, 5. 
 Helen, 156, i. 
 Hercules, 86, 2. 
 Homer, quoted, 43, 6. 
 Horace, quoted, 36, 2. 
 Humane, 75, 3. 
 Humid, 124, 4. 
 
 I. 
 
 Inhanse, 151, 2. 
 Inmate Foe, 84, 2. 
 
 J- 
 Jasmine, Indian, 124, 2. 
 
 L. 
 
 Lay them in, 192, i. 
 
 Lean, 94, 3. 
 
 License, 66, 4. 
 
 Lodg'd, 129, 3. 
 
 Lucretius, quoted, 38, i, 4 ; 39, i. 
 
 M. 
 
 Mandana, 42, i. 
 
 Mandat, 59, ^. 
 
 Mattins, 197, 6. 
 
 Maze, of the Hare, 194, 2. 
 
 Mecsenas, 40, 5. 
 
 Menacing, 93, 6. 
 
 Milton, imitated, 210, 3, 5. 
 
 Montaigne, quoted, 31, 3. 
 
 „ referred to, 32, 4. 
 
 Moon, eclipse of, 147, 3. 
 Mulgrave, Earl of, 31, i ; 36, 4. 
 Murder, personified, 128, 5. 
 Muse, 199, 1. 
 
 Nice, 94, 5. 
 
 N. 
 
 O. 
 
 Offices, 86, 6 ; 121, 3. 
 Officiously, 54, 2. 
 Omrah, 73, 2. 
 Opprest, 63, 7. 
 Opticks, 65, 4. 
 Orpheus, 72, 2. 
 Ovid, 112, 4. 
 Own'd, 63, 6. 
 
 Palace, of the body, 156, 3. 
 Panic fright, 90, i. 
 Pard, 211, 2. 
 
 Parents, bodies of, eaten by chil- 
 dren, 126, 2. 
 
GENERAL INDEX 
 
 Parley, 79, 6. 
 
 Parricide, 142, 3. 
 
 Passion, 131, i. 
 
 Perquisite, of hounds, 206, 3. 
 
 Perspective, a, 69, z. 
 
 Petronius Arbiter, ii, 4, 5. 
 
 Piety, 126, i. 
 
 Plains below, 161, 4. 
 
 Politiques, 81, i. 
 
 Pompous, 133, 3. 
 
 Pompously, 51, 4. 
 
 Portia, 42, 3. 
 
 Porus, 209, 2. 
 
 Poust, the, 109, 4. 
 
 Precipitant, 203, 5. 
 
 Proof, of, 103, 4. 
 
 Proteus, 107, 4. 
 
 Provinces, government of, by 
 
 Shahjahan's sons, 32, 4. 
 Publius Syrus, 112, i. 
 Pyramids, of corn, &c., 195, 8. 
 
 R. 
 
 Rack, 13S, 5. 
 
 Rebound (trans, vb.), 151, I. 
 
 Rhapsodies, 40, 3. 
 
 Rose, Syrian, 124, 3. 
 
 Rough-draughts, 146, 2. 
 
 Sabean, 124, 1. 
 
 Sable (sb.), 103, 3. 
 
 Sally'd, 204, 4. 
 
 Sarum, 196, 7. 
 
 Sati, 170, 2. 
 
 Scent, how carried, 205, 3. 
 
 Scour, 60, I. 
 
 Second causes, 105, 3. 
 
 Secure, 86, i. 
 
 Semele, 135, 4. 
 
 Seneca, quoted, 39, 3. 
 
 „ imitated, 125, 6. 
 Several, 52, I. 
 
 Shahjahan's sons, character of, 55, 
 
 4, 5 ; S6, 2, 4 ; 106, s. 
 Shepherds, Bedouin, 194, 3. 
 Sincere, =unalloyed, 65, i. 
 Socrates, 127, 4. 
 Sophy, the, 207, 3. 
 Staddles, 195, 9. 
 Success, tissue, 51, 2. 
 Such, whose, 155, i. 
 Surat, 58, 2. 
 
 Take place, 139, 2. 
 Tamerlain, 100, 5. 
 Tamur, 207, S- 
 Target-fight, 176, 3. 
 Terras, 74, 6. 
 Theatres, rivalry of, 49, I. 
 Theban lyre, 196, 5. 
 Throw off, 198, 6. 
 Thusculane (Questions, 44, i, 2. 
 Tongue-killed, 91, 2. 
 Transmigration, 110, 4. 
 Trappings, 95, 4. 
 Turtle, 99, 5. 
 
 I 
 
 U. 
 
 Unity of Time, 175, 3. 
 Unprovided, 58, i. 
 
 Virgil, quoted, 36, 3. 
 Visapour, 207, 2. 
 
 W. 
 
 Waft (neul. vb.), 102, i. 
 Welkin, 200, S- 
 Wilder'd, 54, 5. 
 Wrack, 141, 4- 
 
 Z. 
 
 Zelyma, 87, 2. 
 
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 Terms, and an Index. Cr. 8vo, pp. 468. Price 5s. nett. 
 
 The authors lay no claim to originality, but have exercised a judicious choice in 
 
 the selection of subject matter The narrative style which has been adopted 
 
 by the authors will make the book acceptable to general readers who are anxious to 
 make acquaintance with modern science.— -iVat^Mrf. 
 
 It is hardly to be expected that this second volume of " Constable's Oriental Mis- 
 cellany" will meet with such universal acclamation as the first volume, which con- 
 sisted of Berniers Travels. But when rightly considered, it equally shows the 
 thoroughness with which the publishers have thrown themselves into the enterprise. 
 — The Academy. 
 
 While the essays are such as would attract and instruct a general reader, they 
 appear to have been written specially with a view to the needs of Indian students 
 
 approaching the study of science for the first time They are well adapted to 
 
 this end, and cannot fail to create in their readers a desire to push their knowledge 
 further. — Tke Scotsman. 
 
 The new volume of "Constable's Oriental Miscellany" would have delighted 
 Macaulay and the champions of "Occidentalism" in Indian education in Lord 
 William Bentinck's day. .... Messrs. Gall and Robertson .... have prepared 
 a collection of essays which will be at least as. acceptable to the general reader as to 
 the student, in which the results of the most modern researches in physical science 
 
 are brought up to date In each case the subject is ta-eated in a cleai; and 
 
 interesting way .... it is a most commendable undertaking.— The Bombay Gazette. 
 
 The title sufficiently indicates the lines on which the two collaborators have worked. 
 Theirs is no dry-as-dust .text book ; it is rather a collection of scientific facts forming 
 
 chapters in what has aptly been called the romance of science Messrs. 
 
 Archibald Constable and Co. have a particular interest in this country, and their 
 Oriental Miscellany is so well edited, printed, and published, that it is easy to pre- 
 dict for it a wide popularity.- -Tke Madras Mail. 
 
 The second volume of " Constable's Oriental Miscellany," just published under 
 the above heading, has been designed to meet an undoubted want, and will hardly 
 
 yield in usefulness to any in the projected series While elementary principles 
 
 are explained with sufficient clearness to enable the work to be used independently 
 of other text books^ the compilers have devoted much attention and space to many 
 of the results of scientific researches which have mainly distinguished the present 
 century. The Darwinian theory, for instance, is not only admirably summarized in 
 itself, but we are furnished with a useful ^?'/«> of the arguments /«? et con, together 
 with an account of the more recent discoveries of paleontologists which have 
 strengthened the doctrine of the evolution of organic beings, and an outline of the 
 views regarding it of the savants of all nations. The book is one which should 
 secure a large number of general readers, who will find in it a vast store of useful 
 information placed before them in a peculiarly readable and acceptable form. — The 
 Pioneer. 
 
 This is a popular treatise covering a very wide range of subjects A well- 
 written book like a modernized Lardner, or a_/f« de siecle edition of the " Scientific 
 Information for the People " of the " Useful Knowledge Series." — Tke Educational 
 Times. 
 
 The authors write about what they know, and they write with clearness and pre- 
 cision, and on the topics which they discuss they have spoken with that accuracy 
 
 which comes from full knowledge The value of tne book is enhanced by a 
 
 glossary of technical terms, which will be of the utmost possible use to the beginner, 
 and also of use to those who are somewhat advanced in their studies. — The Aberdeen 
 Daily Free Press. 
 
Archibald Constable and Company's Publications 3 
 
 Forthcoming volumes^ in active preparation 
 
 Letters from a Mahratta Camp, during the year 
 1809, by Thomas Duer Broughton. A New Edition, 
 with an introduction by the Right Honble. Sir Mount- 
 STUART K Grant Duff, G.C.S.I., F.R.S., Notes, Coloured 
 and other Illustrations, and a Map. — In the Press, 
 
 Hand Atlas of India, Physical, Political, and Statis- 
 tical, with Plans of the Principal Cities. Prepared by J. G. 
 Bartholomew, on the basis of The Indian Government 
 Surveys. 
 
 Other publications 
 
 Studies in Mohammedanism, Historical and Doctrinal, 
 with a chapter on Islam in England. By John J. Pool. 
 With a Frontispiece and Index, pp. xvi. + 420. ' Cr. 8vo, 
 full cloth. Price 6s. 
 
 An interestingsurvey — all the more readable, perhaps, on account of its informal 
 
 and even discursive arrangement — of Mussulman faith, practice, and history 
 
 A conspicuous feature of Mr. Pool's work is the account of the Moslem propaganda^ 
 
 which _Mr. Quiiliam, a Liverpool solicitor, is now prosecuting in that city 
 
 It is tinged by no rancour or contempt, and exhibits a conscientious endeavour to 
 appreciate the Mohammedan standpoint. As a "popular text-book," dealing with 
 some of the most picturesque aspects of Islam, it deserves more than ordinary 
 attention." — The Times, 
 
 Mr. Pool .... has done good service in publishing this popular exposition of 
 the doctrines and real character of Islam. So far as he errs at all, he errs on the 
 
 side of too much leniency to Mohammedanism Mr. Pool's too favourable 
 
 account of the Moorish rigime in Spain is the only part of his book that is open to 
 serious question. The rest of the volume is both readable and instructive. He lias 
 evidently studied Islam with great care, and he states his own views with exemplary 
 moderation. — The Spectator. 
 
 The chapter which gives information on this matter [Islam in Liverpool] is natur- 
 ally the most interesting in the volume As to the other parts of Mr. Pool's 
 
 book it is difficult to speak too highly. His account of Mohammed and his system 
 is fair and full, abounding in all kinds of illustrative anecdote. — The^ Glasgow' 
 Herald. 
 
 In the forty-one chapters of this volume the promise of the title is well kept, and 
 every aspect of Islam faith and practice is discussed in a clear, comprehensive, and 
 interesting manner. — The Liverpool Mercury. 
 
 These "Studies in Mohammedanism" are conspicuously fair. The writer is 
 devotedly attached to Chiistianity, but he frankly and gladly acknowledges that 
 Mohammed was a man of extraordinary powers and gifts, and_ that the religion 
 which bears his name has done incalculable service to humanity in keeping the 
 sublime truth of the unity of God before the eyes of the non-Christian world steeped 
 in polytheism. — The Bradford Observer. 
 
4 Archibald Constable and Company's Publications 
 
 The History of the Moghul Emperors of Hindu- 
 stan Illustrated by their Coins. By Stanley Lane- 
 Poole. With a Map of Mediaeval India, showing the 
 mints of the Muhammadan Rulers, a Genealogical 
 Tree of the Moghul Emperors, and Index. 8vo, full 
 buckram, pp. i88. The impression for sale is strictly 
 limited to loo copies, numbered and signed. Price 8s. 
 nett. 
 
 Under preparation 
 
 Ancient India, its Invasion by Alexander the Great, 
 as described by Arrian, Q. Curtius, Diodoros, Plutarch, 
 and Justin : Being Translations of such portions of the 
 works of these and other classical authors as describe 
 Alexander's Campaigns in Afghanistan, the Panjdb, Sindh, 
 Gedrosia, and Karmania. With an Introduction, containing 
 a Life of Alexander, copious Notes, Illustrations, Maps, 
 and an Index. By J. W. McCrindle, M.A., M.R.A.S., 
 F.R.S.G.S.— 7?i the Press. 
 
 Indian Field Sports. A Series of Ten Coloured 
 Plates, after the illustrations by Captain Thomas William- 
 son, of the Bengal Army, published in 1807. With an 
 Introduction and a Description of each Plate. — In the 
 Press. 
 
 The Present Situation in Central Asia ; authorized 
 translation of the work Antagonismus der Englischen and 
 Russischen Interessen in Asien, Wien 1890. Brought up 
 to date, with a Map embodying the latest information. — 
 Shortly. 
 
 Some Memories of Books, Authors, and Events, 
 from the Life of a Publisher's Assistant. By the late 
 James G Bertram. With a Portrait of Sir Walter Scott 
 from an engraving by Lewis, after the drawing by Geddes. 
 — Shortly. 
 
Archibald Constable and Company s Publications 5 
 
 Memorials of the Disruption in the Scottish 
 Church, Historical, Financial, and Pictorial.— ^ar^ next 
 year. 
 
 The Migration of Symbols. By Count Goblet 
 D'Alviella, Professor of the History of Religions in the 
 University of Brussels. An authorized translation, edited 
 by Sir George Birdwood, M.D., K.C.I.E., C.S.I., LL D., 
 Officer of the Legion of Honour and of the French 
 Academy. With five full-page Plates and 139 Illustrations 
 in the text. — Early next year. 
 
 Prem Sagar, or Ocean of Love. A new translation of 
 Professor Eastwick's edition of the Hindi text of Shri LulKi 
 Lai Kavi. By Frederic Pincott, M.R.A.S., Author of 
 the Hindi Manual, Editor and Annotator of the Sakuntala 
 in Hindi, and Translator of the Sanskrit Hitopadesa. With 
 copious notes, philological, mythological, and historical, 
 emendations of faulty readings in the text, and explanations 
 of peculiar idioms. 
 
 English Settlements in Indo-China. By J. Chailly- 
 Bert. Authorized English translation, with an Introduc- 
 tion, Maps, Notes, and an Index. 
 
 The Indian Magazine and Review. A publication 
 which aims at interesting its readers in the people of India, 
 in their literature, their history, their art, and their customs; 
 their various phases of development, and particularly in 
 their progress. 
 
 Published on the first of each month. Subscription, 5s. 
 per annum, in advance, post free; single numbers, 6d., 
 postage extra. 
 
6 Archibald Constable and Company's Publications 
 
 North Indian Notes and Queries. A Monthly 
 Periodical devoted to the systematic collection of authentic 
 notes and scraps of information regarding the country and 
 the people. Edited by William Crooke, B.A., Member 
 Asiatic Society of Bengal an'd Folklore Society, Bengal 
 Civil Service. 
 
 Subscription, los. 6d. per annum, in advance, post free. 
 
 ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND COMPANY 
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 DRYDEN (John) and SOMERVILE (William). 
 Aureng-Zebe, a Tragedy; and Book II. of The Chace, 
 a Poem. Edited, with biographical memoirs and 
 notes, by Kenneth Deighton. (With Illustrations and 
 an Index), pp. x. + 222. Archibald Constable and 
 Co., Westminster (I^ondon). 1892. 8°. 
 
 \Forms Vol. III. of Constable's Oriental Miscellany of Original 
 and Selected Publications. ] 
 
 DRYDEN (John) and SOMERVILE (William). 
 Aureng-Zebe, a Tragedy; and Book II. of The Chace, 
 a Poem. Edited, with biographical memoirs and 
 notes, by Kenneth Deighton. (With Illustrations and 
 an Index), pp. x. + 222. Archibald Constable and 
 Co., Westminster (London). 1892, 8°. 
 
 [Forms Vol. III. of Constable's Oriental Miscellany of Original 
 and Selected Publications.] 
 
 DRYDEN John) and SOMERVILE (William). 
 Aureng-Zebe, a Tragedy; and Book II. of The Chace, 
 a Poem. Edited, with biographical memoirs and 
 notes, by Kenneth Deighton. (With Illustrations and 
 an Index), pp. x. + 222. Archibald Constable and 
 Co., Westminster (LiOndon). 1892. 8°. 
 
 IPorms Vol. III. of Constable' s Oriental Miscellany of Original 
 and Selected Publications.^ 
 
 DRYDEN (John) and SOMERVILE (William). 
 Aureng-Zebe, a Tragedy; and Book II. of The Chace, 
 a Poem. Edited, with biographical memoirs and 
 notes, by Kenneth Deighton. (With Illustrations and 
 an Index), pp. x. + 222. Archibald Constable and 
 Co., Westminster (London). 1892. 8°. 
 
 [Forms Vol. III. of Constable's Oriental Miscellany of Original 
 and Selected Publications. ] 
 
 DRYDEN (John) and SOMERVILE (William). 
 Aureng-Zebe, a Tragedy; and Book II. of The Chace, 
 a Poem. Edited, with biographical memoirs and 
 notes, by Kenneth Deighton. (With Illustrations and 
 an Index), pp. x. -t- 222. Archibald Constable and 
 Co., Westminster (London). 1892. 8°. 
 
 [Forms Vol. III. of Constable's Oriental Miscellany of Original 
 and Selected Publications.'] 
 
WF^