BY

THE time has been when plays were not so plenty,

And a less number, new, would well content ye.
New plays did then like almanacks appear,
And one was thought sufficient for a year:
Though they are more like almanacks of late;
For in one year, I think they're out of date.
Nor were they, without reason, join'd together;
For just as one prognosticates the weather,
How plentiful the crop, or scarce the grain,
What peals of thunder, or what showers of rain;
So t'other can foretell, by certain rules,
What crops of coxcombs, or what floods of fools.
In suchlike prophecies were poets skill'd,
Which now they find in their own tribe fulfill'd.
The dearth of wit they did so long presage,
Is fallen on us, and almost starves the stage.
Were you not grieved, as often as you saw
Poor actors thresh such empty sheafs of straw?
Toiling and lab'ring at their lungs' expence
To start a jest, or force a little sense?
Hard fate for us, still harder in th' event:
Our authors sin, but we alone repent.

Still they proceed, and, at our charge, write worse; 'Twere some amends, if they could reimburse.

But there's the devil, though their cause is lost,
There's no recovering damages or cost.
Good wits, forgive this liberty we take,
Since custom gives the losers leave to speak.
But if provok'd your dreadful wrath remains,
Take your revenge upon the coming scenes:
For that damn'd poet's spar'd, who damns a
brother,

As one thief 'scapes, that executes another.
Thus far alone does to the wits relate;
But from the rest we hope a better fate.
To please, and move, has been one poet's theme,
Art may direct, but nature is his aim;
And, nature miss'd, in vain he boasts his art,
For only nature can affect the heart.
Then freely judge the scenes that shall ensue;
But, as with freedom, judge with candour too.
He would not lose, through prejudice, his cause;
Nor would obtain, precariously, applause.
Impartial censure he requests from all,
Prepar'd by just decrees to stand or fall.

SCENE I.

A Room of State. The curtain rising slowly to soft music, discovers ALMERIA in mourning, LEONORA waiting in mourning. After the music, ALMERIA rises from her chair, and comes forward.

Alm. Music has charms to sooth a savage breast, To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. I've read, that things inanimate have moved, And, as with living souls, have been informed By magic numbers and persuasive sound. What then am I? Am I more senseless grown Than trees or flint? O, force of constant woe! 'Tis not in harmony to calm my griefs. Anselmo sleeps, and is at peace; last night The silent tomb received the good old king. He and his sorrows now are safely lodged Within its cold, but hospitable bosom. Why am not I at peace?

Leon. Dear madam, cease,

Or moderate your grief; there is no cause-Alm. No cause! Peace, peace; there is eternal cause,

And misery eternal will succeed.

Thou canst not tell-thou hast indeed no cause.
Leon. Believe me, madam, I lament Anselmo,
And always did compassionate his fortune;
Have often wept, to see how cruelly
Your father kept in chains his fellow-king:
And oft, at night, when all have been retired,
Have stolen from bed, and to his prison crept ;
Where, while his gaoler slept, I through the grate
Have softly whispered, and enquired his health;
Sent in my sighs and prayers for his deliverance,
For sighs and prayers were all that I could offer.
Aim. Indeed thou hast a soft and gentle na-
ture,

That thus could melt to see a stranger's wrongs.
Oh, Leonora! hadst thou known Anselmo,
How would thy heart have bied to see his suffer-
ings!

Thou hadst no cause, but general compassion.

Leon. Love of my royal mistress gave me cause; My love of you begot my grief for him: For I had heard, that when the chance of war Had blessed Anselmo's arms with victory, And the rich spoil of all the field, and you, The glory of the whole, were made the prey Of his success; that then, in spite of hate, Revenge, and that hereditary feud Between Valentia's and Granada's kings, He did endear himself to your affection, By all the worthy and indulgent ways His most industrious goodness could invent; Proposing, by a match between Alphonso, His son, the brave Valentian prince, and you, To end the long dissention, and unite The jarring crowns.

Alm. Alphonso! O Alphonso! Thou too art quiet-long hast been at peaceBoth, both! father and son are now no more. Then why am I? Oh, when shall I have rest? Why do I live to say you are no more? Why are all these things thus? Is it of force? Is there necessity I must be miserable? Is it of moment to the peace of heaven, That I should be afflicted thus? If not, Why is it thus contrived? Why are things laid By some unseen hand, so as of sure consequence, They must to me bring curses, grief of heart, The last distress of life, and sure despair?

Leon. Alas! you search too far, and think too deeply.

Alm. Why was I carried to Anselmo's court?
Or there, why was I used so tenderly?
Why not ill-treated, like an enemy?
For so my father would have used his child.
Oh, Alphonso, Alphonso!

Devouring seas have washed thee from my sight-
No time shall raze thee from my memory;
No, I will live to be thy monument:
The cruel ocean is no more thy tomb,
But in my heart thou art interred; there, there,
Thy dear resemblance is for ever fixed;
My love, my lord, my husband still, though lost.
Leon. Husband! Oh, Heavens!

Alm. Alas! what have I said?

My grief has hurried me beyond all thought.
I would have kept that secret; though I know
Thy love, and faith to me deserve all confidence.
But 'tis the wretch's comfort still to have
Some small reserve of near and inward woe,
Some unsuspected hoard of darling grief,
Which they unseen may wail, and weep,

and

Alm. Oh, no, thou know'st not half, Know'st nothing of my sorrows-if thou didstIf I should tell thee, wouldst thou pity me? Tell me; I know thou wouldst; thou art com passionate.

Leon. Witness these tears

Alm. I thank thee, Leonora-
Indeed I do, for pitying thy sad mistress:
For 'tis, alas! the poor prerogative
Of greatness to be wretched, and unpitied-
But I did promise I would tell thee-What?
My miseries! Thou dost already know them:
And when I told thee thou didst nothing know,
It was because thou didst not know Alphonso:
For to have known my loss, thou must have
known

His worth, his truth, and tenderness of love.
Leon. The memory of that brave prince stands
fair
In all report-

酵

And I have heard imperfectly his loss;
But, fearful to renew your troubles past,
I never did presume to ask the story.
Alm. If for my swelling heart I can, I'll tell thee.
I was a welcome captive in Valentia,
Even on the day when Manuel, my father,
Led on his conquering troops high as the gates
Of king Anselmo's palace; which, in rage,
And heat of war, and dire revenge, he fired.
The good king, flying to avoid the flames,
Started amidst his foes, and made captivity
His fatal refuge-Would that I had fallen
Amidst those flames-but 'twas not so decreed.
Alphonso, who foresaw my father's cruelty,
Had borne the queen and me on board a ship,
Ready to sail; and, when this news was brought,
We put to sea; but being betrayed by some
Who knew our flight, we closely were pursued
And almost taken; when a sudden storm
Drove us, and those that followed, on the coast
Of Afric: There our vessel struck the shore,
And, bulging 'gainst a rock, was dashed in pieces;
But heaven spared me for yet much more afflic-
tion!

Conducting them who followed us, to shun
The shore, and save me floating on the waves,
While the good queen and my Alphonso perished.
Leon. Alas! were you then wedded to Al-
phonso?

Alm. That day, that fatal day, our hands were
joined.

For when my lord beheld the ship pursuing,
And saw her rate so far exceeding ours,
He came to me, and begged me by my love,
I would consent the priest should make us one;
That, whether death or victory ensued,
I might be his, beyond the power of fate;
The queen too did assist his suit—I granted;
And in one day was wedded and a widow.
Leon. Indeed 'twas mournful-

Alm. 'Twas as I have told thee-
For which I mourn, and will for ever mourn;
Nor will I change these black and dismal robes,
Or ever dry these swoln and watery eyes,
Or ever taste content, or peace of heart,
While I have life, and thought of my Alphonso.
Leon. Look down, good heaven, with pity on

her sorrows,

And grant that time may bring her some relief! Alm. Oh, no! time gives increase to my afflic

tions.

The circling hours, that gather all the woes
Which are diffused through the revolving year,
Come heavy laden with the oppressing weight
To me; with me successively, they leave
The sighs, the tears, the groans, the restless cares,
And all the damps of grief, that did retard their
flight:

They shake their downy wings, and scatter all
The dire collected dews on my poor head,
Then fly with joy and swiftness from me.
[Shouts at a distance.

Leon. Hark!
The distant shouts proclaim your father's triumph.
O cease, for heaven's sake, assuage a little

This torrent of your grief; for, this I fear, 'Twill urge his wrath, to see you drowned in tears. When joy appears in every other face.

Alm. And joy he brings to every other heart, But double, double weight of woe to mine: For with him Garcia comes-Garcia, to whom I must be sacrificed, and all the vows

I

gave my dear Alphonso basely broken. No, it shall never be; for I will die

First, die ten thousand deaths-Look down, look down,

Alphonso, hear the sacred vow I make! [Kneels.
One moment, cease to gaze on perfect bliss,
And bend thy glorious eyes to earth and me!
And thou, Anselmo, if yet thou art arrived,
Through all impediments of purging fire,
To that bright heaven, where my Alphonso reigns,
Behold thou also, and attend my vow!
If ever I do yield, or give consent,
By any action, word, or thought, to wed
Another lord, may then just heaven shower down
Unheard of curses on me, greater far
(If such there be in angry heaven's vengeance)
Than any I have yet endur'd!.And now [Rising.
My heart has some relief; having so well
Discharged this debt, incumbent on my love.
Yet one thing more I would engage from thee.
Leon. My heart, my life, and will, are only

yours.

Alm. I thank thee. 'Tis but this: anon, when all

Are wrapped and busied in the general joy,
Thou wilt withdraw, and privately with me
Steal forth, to visit good Anselmo's tomb.

Leon. Alas! I fear some fatal resolution.
Alm. No, on my life, my faith, I mean no ill,
Nor violence-I feel myself more light,
And more at large, since I have made this vow.
Perhaps I would repeat it there more solemnly.
'Tis that, or some such melancholy thought;
Upon my word, no more.

Leon. I will attend you.

Enter ALONZO.

Chariots of war, adorned with glittering gems,

Succeed; and next, a hundred neighing steeds, White as the fleecy rain on Alpine hills,

King. Your zeal to heaven is great, so is your debt:

Yet something, too, is due to me, who gave

As they disdained the victory they grace.
Prisoners of war in shining fetters follow;
And captains of the noblest blood of Afric
Sweat by his chariot wheel, and lick and grind,
With gnashing teeth, the dust his triumphs raise.
The swarming populace spread every wall,
And cling, as if with claws they did enforce
Their hold; through clifted stones stretching and
staring,

As if they were all eyes, and every limb
Would feel its faculty of admiration;

you

While alone retire, and shun this sight; This sight, which is indeed not seen (though twice

The multitude should gaze) in absence of your eyes.

Alm. My lord, my eyes ungratefully behold The gilded trophies of exterior honours;

Nor will my ears be charmed with sounding words,

Or pompous phrase, the pageantry of fools.
But that my father is returned in safety,
I bend to heaven with thanks.

Gon. Excellent princess!

But 'tis a task unfit for my weak age,
With dying words to offer at your praise.
Garcia, my son, your beauty's lowest slave,
Has better done, in proving with his sword
The force and influence of your matchless charms.
Alm. I doubt not of the worth of Garcia's deeds,
Which had been brave, though I had ne'er been
born.

Alm. My women. I would meet him. [Attendants to ALMERIA enter in mourning. Symphony of warlike music. Enter the King, attended by GARCIA and several officers. Files of prisoners in chains, and guards, who are ranged in order round the stage. ALMERIA meets the King, and kneels: afterwards GONSALEZ kneels and kisses the king's hand, while GARCIA does the same to the princess. King. Almeria, rise-My best Gonsalez, rise. What, tears! my good old friend

Gon. But tears of joy.

Believe me, sir, to see you thus, has filled

Mine eyes
with more delight than they can hold.
King. By heaven, thou lov'st me, and I'm
pleased thou dost ;

Take it for thanks, old man, that I rejoice
To see thee weep on this occasion-Some
Here are, who seem to mourn at our success.
Why is't, Almeria, that you meet our eyes,
Upon this solemn day, in these sad weeds?
In opposition to my brightness, you
And yours are all like daughters of affliction.

Alm. Forgive me, sir, if I in this offend.
The year, which I have vowed to pay to heaven,
In mourning and strict life, for my deliverance
From wreck and death, wants yet to be expired.

stowed

In filial duty, had atoned and given

A dispensation to your vow-No more!
'Twas weak and wilful-and a woman's error.
Yet, upon thought, it doubly wounds my sight,
To see that sable worn upon the day,
Succeeding that, in which our deadliest foe,
Hated Anselmo, was interred-By heaven,
It looks as thou didst mourn for him! just so
Thy senseless vow appeared to bear its date,
Not from that hour wherein thou wert preserved,
But that wherein the cursed Alphonso perished.
Ha! What? thou dost not weep to think of that!
Gon. Have patience, royal sir; the princess

mony.

Gon. What she has done, was in excess of goodness;

Betrayed by too much piety, to seem
As if she had offended. Sure, no more.

King. To seem is to commit, at this conjuncture.
I would not have a seeming sorrow seen
To-day.-Retire; divest yourself with speed

Of that offensive black: on me be all
The violation of your vow; for you
It shall be your excuse, that I command it.
Gar. [Kneeling.] Your pardon, sir, if I pre
sume so far,

As to remind you of your gracious promise.
King. Rise, Garcia, I forgot.-Yet stay, Al-

meria.

Alm. My boding heart!--What is your pleasure, sir?

King. Draw near, and give your hand, and,

Garcia, yours:

Receive this lord, as one whom I have found
Worthy to be your husband, and my son.

Gar. Thus let me kneel to take-O not to take-
But to devote, and yield myself for ever
The slave and creature of my royal mistress!
Gon. O let me prostrate pay my worthless

thanks

King. No more: my promise long since passed, thy services,

Enter ALONZO.

Alon. Your beauteous captive, Zara, is arrived, And with a train as if she still were wife To Albucacim, and the Moor had conquered.

King. It is our will she should be so attended. Bear hence these prisoners. Garcia, which is he, Of whose mute valour you relate such wonders? [Prisoners led off. Gar. Osmyn, who led the Moorish horse;

but he,

Great sir, at her request, attends on Zara. King. He is your prisoner; as you please dispose him.

Gar. I would oblige him, but he shuns my
kindness;

And with a haughty mien, and stern civility,
Dumbly declines all offers. If he speak,
'Tis scarce above a word; as he were born
Alone to do, and did disdain to talk;
At least to talk where he must not command.
King. Such sullenness, and in a man so brave,
Must have some other cause than his captivity.
Did Zara, then, request he might attend her?
Gar. My lord, she did.

King. That, joined with his behaviour, Begets a doubt. I'd have them watched; perhaps

Her chains hang heavier on him than his own. Enter ALONZO, ZARA, and OSMYN bound, conducted by PEREZ and a guard, and attended by SELIM and several mutes and eunuchs in a train.

King. What welcome, and what honours,
beauteous Zara,

A king and conqueror can give, are yours.
A conqueror indeed, where you are won;
Who with such lustre strike admiring eyes,
That had our pomp been with your presence
graced,

The expecting crowd had been deceived; and

seen

The monarch enter, not triumphant, but,
In pleasing triumph led, your beauty's slave.
Zara. If I on any terms could condescend
To like captivity, or think those honours,
Which conquerors in courtesy bestow,
Of equal value with unborrowed rule,

Per. Great sir,

Your order was she should not wait your triumph, But at some distance follow, thus attended.

King. 'Tis false; 'twas more; I bid she should be free;

If not in words, I bid it by my eyes. Her eyes did more than bid-Free her and her's, With speed-yet stay-my hands alone can make Fit restitution here.- -Thus I release you, | And, by releasing you, enslave myself.

Zara. Such favours, so conferred, though when
unsought,

Deserve acknowledgment from noble minds.
Such thanks as one, hating to be obliged,
Yet hating more ingratitude, can pay,
I offer.

|
King. Born to excel, and to command!
As by transcendent beauty to attract
All eyes; so, by pre-eminence of soul,
To rule all hearts!-

Garcia, what's he, who, with contracted brow,

[Beholding OSMYN as they unbind him. And sullen port, glooms downward with his eyes, At once regardless of his chains, or liberty? Gar. That, sir, is he of whom I spoke; that's Osmyn.

King. He answers well the character you gave
him.

Whence comes it, valiant Osmyn, that a man
So great in arms, as thou art said to be,
So hardly can endure captivity,
The common chance of war?

Osm. Because captivity

Has robbed me of a dear and just revenge.
King. I understand not that.

Osm. I would not have you.

Zara. That gallant Moor in battle lost a friend, Whom more than life he loved; and the regret, Of not revenging on his foes that loss, Has caused this melancholy and despair.

King. She does excuse him; 'tis as I suspected. [To Gon.

Gon. That friend might be herself; seem not to heed

His arrogant reply: she looks concerned.
King. I'll have inquiry made; perhaps his
friend

Yet lives, and is a prisoner. His name?
Zara. Heli.

King. Garcia, that search shall be your care:
It shall be mine to pay devotion here;
At this fair shrine to lay my laurels down,
And raise love's altar on the spoils of war.
Conquest and triumph, now, are mine no more;
Nor will I victory in camps adore:

For, lingering there, in long suspence she stands,